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Under Wraps
After getting expelled from Queen of Peace, Frank realizes that this could be the best thing to ever happen to him and formulates a plan. A plan to use his new life at his new school as an opportunity to cross-dress, full-time as the boy he knows he is, unbeknownst to the students and administration of Belleville High School.
If someone would regularly poke me, so that I didn't forget to crosspost, I'd make them podfic...
Come Now, We're Children (Let's Play A Game): He has no idea what you're supposed to say when you find one of your...werewolf acquaintances, completely out of their mind, growling like they're about to see what your insides taste like. There's no handbook for this. Stiles is thinking that if he survives he might write one. Totally Not A Meet-Cute: "Gerard has had a crush on Train Guy for a while, but just going up and talking to him would be weird. He needs a reason, right?" In the Belly Of: "Because space whales…fish…are a thing. In multiple universes. (Look, Todd asked and I said Okay, and this is what happened. I don’t know either.)" Turn Your Head: "Written for the genderplay square at kink_bingo's April 2012 "gift baskets" challenge." Apple Bottom Jeans (And Other Love Songs): "Or, how Steve Rogers--kind of--learns to dance."
if you look in the mirror
Frank toyed with the idea of asking for help, but in the end, decided against it. He wasn’t embarrassed, exactly, or ashamed, but this was new and unsettling and he wasn’t ready to share it with anyone else. He couldn’t meet his own gaze in the mirror and his skin felt tight and prickly as he stripped away the layers of clothes and slid into the shower. He was blushing, he could feel the heat in his face and it pissed him off, because there was no shame in what he was going to do, and yet— He didn’t want to examine what he was feeling too closely.
Untitled Joan-verse Ficlet
Frank was sitting on his lopsided piano bench in front of the counter, legs crossed up on the seat underneath him, red-painted toenails barely showing from under his thigh. He was in one of his oversized shirts, the wide boat-cut neckline barely keeping it on, and Gerard could see the strap of his bra (black, this time) running over his shoulder.
Becoming Joan
The only sound in the dressing room was Frank's breathing and the gentle shhhk as she pulled a lace tighter. "There we go," she said, stepping back. "Yes?" she asked, when he was still silent. "Yes," Frank said, still watching himself in the mirror. Yes.
