Plagiarism

Catholic!Frank and Artist!Gerard Not!Fic

Catholic!Frank and Artist!Gerard Not!Fic

By: Sena

Summary:

I'm working on another story where teenage Frank is like, "Man, fuck the Catholic church for telling me I'm not supposed to like cock." And while writing it, I got this image in my head of a different Frank, a Frank who, like, really had faith in God and who was struggling to be the kind of person the church would approve of.

I tried writing it, but quickly realized that it was just way too big for me. Like, if I actually tried to do it justice it would take me years, and I don't really have that sort of work ethic. So it became a not!fic. Yay?

Notes:

(See the end of the work for other works inspired by this one.)

Work Text:

So, Frank's life is pretty good. He's got awesome fucking friends and he loves his job. Like, he loves it, making really delicious food for people, nourishing them and filling them up. His mom always says he gets that from her and, well, she's probably right. She's always expressed her love through cooking, too, and unlike a lot of his friends' moms, she'd never tried to fight him about the whole vegetarianism thing because she was awesome like that. Because she just liked cooking food that he'd eat and enjoy, it didn't have to have meat in it or anything and besides, he was already allergic to eggs and couldn't have more than a tablespoon of dairy without, like, getting so sick he wanted to die.

So he was raised by this woman who thought cooking and eating were two of life's greatest pleasures, so Frank's always thought of cooking at eating as two of life's greatest pleasures, and he hadn't even been thinking about it as, like, a career when he'd stumbled into it.

Frank had lived on campus his freshman year, which had been fine except for how he hadn't had access to a kitchen. The vegan options in the dining hall were kind of shitty. Like, they offered them, only sometimes the dining hall's idea of a vegan dinner was steamed white rice with soggy broccoli on top. Frank ate a lot of salads, and it sucked.

That's actually how he met Gabe. He'd been frowning at the salad bar and wondering whose bright idea it had been to mix bacon bits in with the green beans, when this ridiculously tall guy had slid up next to him and said, "I'm gonna find whichever fucktard it is in this joint who's got such a fucking bacon hard-on and punch him in the teeth." Then he'd tipped his head back and shouted, "Kosher, motherfuckers, do you speak it?" He looked sidelong at Frank and said, "Sorry. Vegan rage. I have outbursts."

Frank had laughed and poked at the wilted lettuce on his plate and said, "Seriously. I have, like, fantasies about my mom's chili. She makes her own seitan, simmers it with beans and lentils, chiles, sun-dried tomatoes, a dollop of tofu sour cream on top and homemade cornbread on the side. Man."

Gabe said, "I have to tell you something, and this is going to be awkward considering that we just met and I don't even know your name, but I'm in love with your mother. I'll treat her right, I promise. It's not just a physical thing, it's true fucking love."

He and Gabe had spent the rest of the year complaining about the food in the dining hall, and whenever Frank could swing it, he'd bring Gabe home and cook for him, or his mom would cook for both of them, and usually it resulted in Gabe actually getting down on one knee and saying, "Linda, I love you. I love you, and I want you to make me the happiest man in the world. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" And Frank's mom had always laughed and usually cuffed Gabe on the side of the head and told him to stop being fresh.