fanfic, fanvids & fandom ramblings

A Fifth Sense

Aug 2006

Rating: PG

Fandom: Mean Girls

Dedications: Carla, who craves Mean Girls femslash.

Feedback: Yes please. Who would say no?

Disclaimer: I don’t own Janis or Karen or anything to do with Mean Girls.

Summary: After the events of the movie, Karen goes to Janis for a chat.

Janis gave Karen a bewildered look, she opened her mouth to respond, closed it again and shook her head in confusion. “I’m sorry, run that by me one more time.”

“It’s my breasts,” Karen responded in a tone that told Janis she really should understand. It was very simple. “They’ve always been slightly psychic.”

Janis nodded. Cady had explained Karen’s “fifth sense” to her. At the time, she had wondered why Cady hadn’t explained to Karen the effect that cold air had on nipples (or, for that matter, that one was born with five senses), but she was beginning to get it now. There was a sweetness to Karen’s naivety, an openness to her excitement about being special. Instead of the cutting remark she thought she would have used, she said, “Like with the weather.”

“Exactly.” Karen seemed pleased that Janis had made the connection.

“And this has what to do with me?”

“Well, I think that they’re telling me something else now. Not just the weather.”

“Which is?” Janis prodded.

“Well, I think they’re telling me that I like you.”

Janis paused to mull this over. She knew that Karen meant more than “like” because Karen seemed to like everyone. With the Plastics disbanded and nobody telling her who she could and could not talk to and who was and was not cool, Karen seemed to embrace every clique, sub-clique and non-clique in the school. Sometimes it was met with resentment, sometimes amusement, and always with bafflement. Karen even liked people who flat-out hated her, a trait that put her in the running for most popular girl in school. It was a good thing Karen had no aspirations to rule otherwise Janis might fear a Plastics Revisited outbreak.

“Why do you think this?” Janis asked, to buy more time.

“Well, they’re always pointing at you.”

Janis snorted in amusement but managed to turn it into a cough quite quickly. “Karen, is it cold when this happens?” she asked fighting hard to control her tone.

“Yeah!” Karen’s smile lit up her face. “That’s how I know. It’s so cold, then I see you and I’m all warm.”

“Karen, I think you should think about this before deciding you like me,” Janis said. “And certainly bear in mind that I’m not into girls, no matter what Regina said.”

Karen paused and thought about it. “Well, sometimes Regina was right.” Karen glanced up at Janis, her blue eyes wide and hopeful. “She said Cady was mean, and she was, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, she was.” Janis sighed. “But Regina also said you were a whore, that’s not true.”

“You told Kevin you were Lebanese,” Karen said. “At the Spring Fling, I overheard you.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Karen gave her a big smile, her tone knowledgeable. “I’ve watched Ellen.”

“You lost me.”

“Can we just make out and see if we like it?”

Janis gave Karen an incredulous look. Did this tactic really work on guys? Then it occurred to Janis that Karen probably didn’t have to try to convince guys. When you were Plastic (disbanded or otherwise) guys liked you. All Karen had to do was smile sweetly and the guys would come running.

Janis thought hard of a way to get out of this, and slowly it dawned on her that the only way to get out of making out with Karen would be to make out with Karen. Karen was under the happy delusion that her breasts were telling her she was gay, when really all they were doing was announcing the temperature had dropped. The quickest way to convince her that she (and her breasts) were wrong would be to kiss her. Karen would be disappointed, and mosey away to ponder what had just happened, leaving Janis free for the rest of her afternoon.

“Ok then, come here.”

Karen frowned. “That’s not very romantic.”

“Neither was your proposition.”

“I didn’t ask you to marry me, just to make out.”

Janis considered correcting Karen, but decided it would be quicker if Karen was left feeling that Janis was the one who misunderstood. And kinder. Nobody really liked pointing it out to Karen when she made comments or asked questions that weren’t particularly bright. It would be like kicking a dog. Unlike Gretchen, Karen’s stupidity wasn’t malicious, just simple with a desire to be liked by everyone. Had the Plastics not adopted her, she probably would have been liked by everyone.

She leant towards Karen, wondering how on earth she was supposed to kiss a girl with such a big smile on her face. Karen’s lips were soft and tasted of girly lip gloss, not slightly rough like Kevin’s. Karen’s hands on her face were gentle and almost shy. When Janis put her arms around Karen, her hair was long and smooth as it brushed against the backs of her hands. The kiss was almost exact opposite any kiss she had shared with Kevin, but neither were bad kisses. Just different.

It was Karen who pulled away first, a dreamy smile on her face, her eyes half closed. “Much better than Seth Mosakowski,” she decided.

Posted in Updates Tagged

Almost Unreal

Aug 2006

Title: Almost Unreal

Rating: G or U either way, nothing to upset anyone – except maybe homophobes, but good, I like upsetting them.

Feedback: Oh, yes. Good, bad, whatever.

Status: Complete

Disclaimer: Joss owns ‘em. I just borrowed them and I’ll have them back before he even notices they’re gone.

Summary: Faith’s in agony and convinced she’s dying, B’s with her. Buffy’s POV

Notes: This just occurred to me whilst watching ‘Five by Five’, no idea how it came about.

Faith screams and grabs my hand so tight I think my knuckles are going to pop. I stroke her hair. “You’re ok,” I tell her.

“Oh, yeah?” she spits out. She’s covered in sweat and there’s more blood than there should be. Her hard act crumples as another wave of pain hits. “It hurts.”

“You’re gonna be ok,” I tell her, hoping it’s true. What the hell would I do without my Faith?

Faith moans again, and this time I hear a bone in my hand snap. I fight to extricate my hand and replace it with the other one. My fingers are already starting to swell.

“Help me!” she screams at the many doctors floating around the room.

“We’re doing all we can, Faith,” one replies.

“Well do more!”

“Calm, girlfriend,” I say in what I hope is a soothing tone.

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one in pain.” The tears are flowing now, for both of us.

“You’re ok.”

“I’m gonna die.”

“You’re not going to die. Don’t be such a drama queen.”

“Bite me!” she snaps. Faith’s always hated crying in public, it makes her nasty.

Another wave of pain hits her, and stops the angry flurry of words that were about to jump forth.

She writhes and moans, she looks awful, I’ve never seen anyone look this bad. “I love you,” I whisper.

“Love you too, B,” she hisses through clenched teeth.

“Work with us, Faith, not against us,” a helpful doctor says. I’m glad Faith’s not up to much right now, she’d probably knock him across the room for such an obvious comment if she was feeling better.

“You’re ok.” I squeeze her hand, she squeezes back and I worry about my other hand, but that takes a back seat to my worry for Faith.

“This is it, Faith.”

“Oh goody!” Venom oozes out of each word.

A final wave of pain hits her and a string of curses burst forth for a good few minutes, never once repeating herself.

Finally it ends, Faith relaxes and a peaceful look comes across her face. She smiles at me. “So?”

I turn to the doctor. “So?”

“Buffy, Faith, you have a beautiful baby girl.”

More Notes: I don’t know who the father was!

Posted in Updates Tagged

Last One Standing

Aug 2002

Title: Last One Standing

Author: Star

Rating: PG-13, you can use the ‘F’ word once in a PG-13 in a non-sexual context. See, I’m British, but I know my ratings.

Dedication: The very sexy guy who played the John Doe. Oh yes.

Feedback: Has anyone ever said ‘no’?

Disclaimer: New Line et all owns Freddy and all other Elm Street references, non profit fic, etc. etc. If anyone sued me all they would get is pocket lint and a pack of Rizlas.

Distribution: My site. Anyone else: Want. Ask. Take. Have. I’d be beyond thrilled.

Summary: Watched Freddy’s Dead last night. And instead of ogling over the John Doe I began to wonder what his last few days in Springwood were like. Decided that since I’d never found a fan fic about it I’d write one. Please R & R.

Notes: This sucks, I was trying to break my writers block by moving fandoms. I find that usually helps. I may add to this or revise it, but right now I just want to archive it.

Notes 2: Someone pointed out that Nightmare 3 were the last of the Elm Street children, so I have revised a line in this.

When I was twelve I was an insomniac. No kidding. Used to sit up all night staring at the walls, begging some higher power to let me sleep. It never worked. I have no idea why it started. Maybe because of the deaths.

Sleep was killing teenagers faster than parents could make ‘em.

And after awhile, anyone who wanted a normal life left.

Not my parents though. No, not them. They’re lawyers, the most sensible people on the planet. Krueger was dead, plain and simple. They even confided in me that they had friends who watched him burn. So Freddy couldn’t kill me.

Wonderful. At least I know he has a motive for wanting me dead. Most of the recent deaths were simply because they were there.

This town is so screwed up. The cemetery is overflowing, but none of the neighbouring towns will let Springwood youths be buried in their towns. They don’t believe in Freddy, but they do believe that this town is cursed and they don’t want their town to be infected.

There was a point when there were about ten funerals a day. All cremations. No space left in the cemetery.

All adults were panicking. No, not Freddy. He’s dead. They managed to convince themselves that some kid was peddling drugs that was killing all the teens.

Then the deaths stopped.

No, nobody killed Freddy.

He ran out of victims. I’m all that’s left. It’s been a week since Christie’s death. She was strong. She was stronger than me, so I don’t understand why she’s gone and I’m still here.

I can’t go out any more. The few remaining adults have gone quite crazy. They blame me, of course they do. Christie’s parents especially, they’re still subscribing to the drug theory. And since I’m the last one standing I must be the one who was selling them.

So my parents told me to stay in the house.

What happened to them… It wasn’t my fault.

I may have hated them right then, sure, who wouldn’t? Every teen in the entire town was dead and still they wouldn’t leave.

But I didn’t want him to break his kids-only rule and kill them.

I haven’t told anyone they’re dead. I don’t want to go to jail. I don’t want anything any more. I don’t even want my life.

So, in closing, thanks for everything God. Thanks for letting me be born to parents who killed a man who became a demon. Thanks for letting me pay for their form of justice. Thanks for letting everyone I ever cared about die by his hands.

I put down the tape recorder. Pretty fucking melodramatic. Leaving my last few hours on tape. Like anyone’s going to find it. Like anyone’s even going to look. Nobody likes kids around here. When I die it will mean that Krueger has finished his work and the deaths will stop.

And I will die. I know it, because I’ve just taken a couple of sleeping pills.

This time I’m not hiding from Freddy, I’m looking for him.

I just want it to be over.

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