pop_tarts: justin/lance (Default)
AHAHAHAHA I haven't posted in this journal in more than six years, but in the interest of ensuring that all things cult stay where I want them:


still funny after all these years.
pop_tarts: justin/lance (Default)
I have no idea if this is even a good idea. it's probably not. )
pop_tarts: xtina's ass (dirrty)
J finds her smoking against the wall at alarm, six hours before Busta gets to work. "What are you doing here?"

A shrugs; "can't go home," she says, and then hesitates. "You ever see someone die because they were sick before?"

J leans on the wall beside her, and takes her cigarette. They're sweet, dandelion maybe. Real tobacco is too expensive for her tastes. "Once," he tells her. "When I was a kid. Rich people die because they get sick, sometimes, and the surgeons can't put them back together again."

She stares down at her arm. The scar, from where the doctor had to restitch her bone up from the inside out, was obvious in the sunshine. Her skin is faint pink beneath the brown tan, the leathery skin. J has a thousand scars on himself. "You ever get sick?" she asks him. J shakes his head; Christina says, "Mer's dead," and gulps.

pop_tarts: xtina's ass (dirrty)
well, THIS has been a while, hasn't it? um, all I can say is that I've been listening to Kid A by Radiohead? and? um? --yeah. anyway.


Christina wakes up and there's some kind of smell in the apartment.

It's sweet, like honey nights over at fifty-second street, the few afternoons she went to see. Honey is still cheap and plentiful, there are always insects and always straggly little weeds to pollinate. The girls wrapped in plastic and the sweat and the overripe fruit and the honey all mix together to make this kind of, smell. not like weed smoke, that's sweet and earthy, pleasant like a dream, and not like perfume, that's oily and flowery or deep and slightly sour but always in a fresh way.

this doesn't smell fresh. She sits up, wipes sleep out of her eyes and sweat off her neck, and stands up. The smell gets stronger as she turns to the window, and then she sees Mer over by the window, slouched on the glass, hair in her face. her skin is bright pink from being in the sunlight, intensified by glass, but her hands are blue-y green, especially around her fingernails, with raised little bumps. the only reason she can see them is because one of Mer's hands is sitting in a pool of sunshine, so peaceful, so serene looking.

"Mer?" she says, but there's not going to be an answer, and she knows it. the sunshine has accelerated it, Mer's already gone, skin blotchy. Christina doesn't investigate any more, she just opens the door and takes her bike keys. she makes sure to lock the door with a unique code before she leaves, because Christina has been living in this world for long enough to know what drug overdoses and what stabbings and what shootings look like, and this is none of those by far. this is something worse.

pop_tarts: justin/lance (kick THE WALL.)
This is something I swore up and down to [livejournal.com profile] throughadoor I would never let her talk me into. But hey, the curtain's drawn back on everything, including celebrity. it's been a year since we posted the cult of Timberlake story, and I guess that's as good a time as any to talk about it some more.

Which is to say, kel talked me into:

Flesh Mechanic: Not an AU - Member Commentary.

Really, this is much less interesting than it could be. I mean, this thing has been talked to death. but there's nothing like flogging an already corpsified horse. Especially if his name is J. Timberlake.


Feb. 8th, 2004 08:43 pm
pop_tarts: justin/lance (members of their own cult)
I was going to play my favorite game in the world, which is the Awards Season Drinking Game. because tonight is the grammies, and dude, if that doesn't call for drinking I don't know what does. but then I realized that would be bad for my health, because the last time I watched the Grammies I ended up passing out on [livejournal.com profile] strandia's floor right after Eminem.

so I did this instead. )


Feb. 8th, 2004 10:42 am
pop_tarts: xtina's ass (dirrty)
something I just had to do. remember Alarm? just me? okay. )
pop_tarts: justin/lance (the kissing cult)
wip day (linked *everywhere*) has resulted in these two fiascos coming to light: [newly wed] - which was a Joey/JC story that got stalled and had no point - and [empties to the tide] - which is actually an incarnation of Sandy the Older's birthday story from two years ago, and two scenes were cannibalized for "miss you like sleep."

also, there's this madness. )
pop_tarts: justin/lance (members of their own cult)
I'm not posting any popslash wip's right now because I have about ten thousand. my 'discard' folder is eons bigger than my in progress folder - maybe it anyone's interested, I might later. but, instead, here's this.


Paris flops down, trying to keep the towel wedged firmly around her breasts while still laying spread eagle on the hotel duvet. They always get a suite; not the nicest suite, but one with a sitting room and one with a full kitchen. She doesn't know or care what her parents think about always demanding a suite. Paris likes to be able to make eggs in the morning if she wants to. They usually don't, but it's nice.

Nick is at the desk, listening to some track and making notes. When she finally rolls over, with a little tuck of the towel, he pulls his headphones off. "Good shower?"

Paris nods. They make sure to always get the duvet covers washed too. Owning the hotel has some nice perks. Paris makes sure that anyone who does it without complaining gets a raise. She tells him, "I need more mousse though."

Nick's pushed his notes away already, come over to sit on the bed. He starts playing with the hem of her towel. "we can go to that salon down the street."

Paris loves him because automatically he knows the only store in Beverly Hills that carries her mousse; she rolls over, on top of him, and plants her face in his stomach, arms wrapped around his waist. Into his tee shirt she says, "I was thinking about you yesterday. in, uh, in the limo."


She has to move her face or stop breathing. when Paris looks up, Nick's head is tilted down to look right at her, right into her eyes. "Yeah," and then she says, "I think, I dunno." She shrugs. "Something was on the radio, Sheryl Crow or something? and I was like, 'I'll call Nick because I miss him', except then I remembered you'd still be in the air and your phone would be off."

He smiles, and looks pleased. "Yeah?"

Paris nods. It's the truth. "but you were flying to see me."

"I was," he says. "of course I was."
pop_tarts: justin/lance (members of their own cult)
hey look, I haven't died. though you might wish I had. kel managed to hook me on the true heterosexual love of Nick and Paris.

um. yeah )
pop_tarts: justin/lance (just plain weird.)
I know I don't post much here, and that's because I haven't written anything in a long while, but sometimes, sometimes there are things you have to share, for the good of humanity. from a review of JC's club show:

I finally was able to read what JC's jacket said in the opening number "ADIDAS," - "I sold my soul to the beat '03".

has anyone seen chris since the '03 vmas? no? you know why? we hesitated, and now it's too late.
pop_tarts: justin/lance (kick THE WALL.)
Chris is always god
we get stoned and write sonnets
his head caved in well


star trak stand for geeks
pharrell used to wear tinfoil
under his tin hat


nevada is big
lance saw way too much desert
his entire life


justin gets real high
kicking the wall did made sense
at least at the time


that last night on stage
justin just found his center
of gravity. in chris.


Um. I was never here. This never happened.
pop_tarts: justin/lance (fucked up.)
I'm dying. Dying, I tell you! melted utterly, into a little puddle of "oh my god socutesocute!" it's sad and pathetic. Lance! where have you been all these months!!


"Who's this?" Justin said, and held up a somewhat tattered picture so Lance could inspect it. "He's pretty cute."

"Umm," and Lance squinted at the photo. "a guy I used to know?"

Justin peered at the guy. He was cute, and attentive. "Old boyfriend?" Lance shrugged; Justin decided. Old boyfriend. "It's a really good picture. You should put it up."

"Um," Lance said.

"I know," and Justin hopped up off the floor, abandoning the box he was sifting through. "People always think it's weird to put up pictures of themselves, or put up pictures of ex's. Did you hate him at the end?"

Lance held a green and orange lamp up; Justin shook his head, cringing, and Lance put it in the box for the garage sale. "I actually still like him quite a bit. He moved across town. He frames artwork for a living."

"You should get a frame for this and hang it up," Justin said, nodding. "If you don't, I will." He tucked the picture on Lance's kitchen table, into a pile of important papers and a cutout magazine article on gay detroit that for some reason Lance was obsessed with. Justin sat down at the table, stacking the papers and the photo in reverse-size order.

Lance came to stand behind him, and both his hands came to rest on Justin's shoulders. "you'd hang a picture of me and an old boyfriend up?" he asked Justin.

Justin put his hand on Lance's, shrugging. "You look happy in it, you look good. Why not?"

etc. I don't know! [livejournal.com profile] throughadoor owes me social!worker!au scenes, which this was supposed to be. so since this sucks, you should all tell her to write some instead.
pop_tarts: justin/lance (Default)
So a friend and I were discussing fandom research (yes, again) and I don't think this poll's been done. if it has, can you show me where? :) Anyway, if you'd be willing to fill this out it'd be really appreciated. It's only a few questions and then you're done. And if you could pass it around, again, much appreciated. :D

Thar be a poll here. )

In other news: Justin's releasing a DVD?
pop_tarts: justin/lance (disappear up into the mountains)
two things before we begin: a. I don't think this is very good at all - just another body-swapping scene - but it's all I've managed to write today.

b. this actually is because in the shower, I was struck with the best icon idea ever, from the Eminem lyric "I'd rather put out a motherfuckin' gospel record" than shut up. and then I sent an email, describing the livejournal post that I would make, if I had time to write. and it went something like:

'I have this incredible urge right now to make an all-eminem icon set, or at least an icon that says "gospel record", and then weigh in on every single thing that crops up on livejournal. but since nothing will ever make me ever give up the cult icon set, there's only this scene.' )
pop_tarts: justin/lance (Default)
Do you think that the more fucked up one gets, the better your table in the special hell becomes? Like at the those fancy restaurants with the view of the huge fountain and the band - today it's mayhem, tomorrow it's incest, and the maitre'd just keeps moving you closer and closer to the best table in the house?

I sure hope so.


Lance frowned. "Dude, did your mom ever dyke out? Cause that could be--"

"You can't say that," Justin said, and covered his eyes. "it's not polite. And no."

"Dude, I am a card carrying member of the community. Unlike those of us who still play it straight."

Justin swiveled around. "And being such a firm believer in dick, what would you want with my mom's lesbian activities anyway?" Lance looked like he was going to actually answer for a minute. Justin held his hand up. "Nevermind, do not tell me. Joey's been a bad influence on you."
pop_tarts: justin/lance (lynncesssst.)
you know, I was called white trash when I used to say Lynn was hot when we watched "we are nsync".


"Stop saying that Lance," Justin said, and put a towel over his head. This tour was never, ever going to end. He didn't really appreciate how incredibly much he depended on the support of his mother being around until she ended up getting a surprise trip across the country.

Trace walked by. "You ready to go yet?"

"nearly," Justin said.

"Yo, Lynn," and Trace drank from Justin's water. "You coming with us tonight?"

"Hell, why not," Lance said, and gave Trace a dazzling smile. Trace blinked a few times, looked at Justin, scratched his head, and then announced his intention to find Steve. "Did I say the wrong thing?"

"My mom probably wouldn't come," Justin said, towel still on his face. "But it doesn't matter. Trace has seen my mom do some weird shit."

"You know," Lance said thoughtfully, "since you called your dad and told him, no one would be weirded out if I picked someone up." Justin sat up so fast his spine cracked. "Lynn's pretty fine."

Justin put the towel back on his face.

"No, really," Lance said. "I bet I could get some decent action with these." Justin didn't move, and actually closed his eyes as well, because if Lance was gripping his mother's breasts - no, there was no 'if' about it.


you know, I remember a time when I was funny. ah well. sorry. :D
pop_tarts: justin/lance (disappear up into the mountains)
I just had to explain how on one side of the line, there is me, incest, cross-dressing, subliminal messages, murrrdah, mayhem, scalpings, and the occasional bit of torture. on the other, there is Simon Adebisi.

to allay trauma, some nice, safe college AU:


"Justin?" Lance called out. They were supposed to be meeting at nine for a study group; Justin wasn't in his room. Lance had already combed the whole frat house looking for him.

Justin's head finally popped out of the crawlspace above the third floor bathroom. Dust fell onto the carpet as he opened the trap door. "Sorry, be down as soon as I put stuff away up here."

Lance held the ladder steady while Justin slid back down to earth. "What were you doing?"

"Checking some stuff out." Justin shrugged. His eyes roamed from one end of the hall to the other. Lance nodded, tucking the organic chemistry doorstop under his arm more firmly. "Are you ready?"

"Gonna put the ladder away?" Lance asked, amused. Justin tucked his hair behind his ears, staring at his shoes for a second. "Go on, put the ladder away and we'll get started. I'm gonna totally flunk this test."

"No you're not," Justin said. "I'll help you."


also, is it totally and completly wrong, kel, to want JC to say to Chris, his psych TA, at one point in time: "let me in"? because if it's not, then I think we also totally just found our ending.
pop_tarts: justin/lance (Default)
memo to me and [livejournal.com profile] throughadoor: title the hooker AU "sleep on the loveseat". title the college AU "cooking with the devil", "frying down in hell" or possibly "taco stand".
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