My fandom brings all the gay to the yard, and I'm like: it's better than yours.
Hello. My family and I went to the shore this weekend, where nothing of note happened except that we saw an enormous cat in an antique shop.
Must have been twenty plus pounds, the poor thing. Other than that, jaysus beach towns are depressing in the off season.
My life lately, in summary:
addictedkitten: what! i don't know! kittens!
addictedkitten: brooklyn! batwings! something!
yeats: yes! all of the above! patrick!
addictedkitten: patrick!
Mostly, I work all day, add to my ever-growing list of work in progresses, have dinner and check my friends list and update dyw and write fic. Oh, so much fic. Fic because my friends are like, "Oh, *random thing*" and I'm like "Dude! *writes story about random thing*" It's been a very long time since I've been active like this in a fandom and it's thrilling, quite frankly. I suggest you all try it.
Anyway, here are three things, posted here for my own sake, and for sharing, and for the joy of seeing the number highlighted on my LJ update calendar. These are all fairly short because all of my other fics are really long and porny and have plots. Also, it is clearly my thing in this fandom to stuff as many pairings as possible into a thousand words or less. I got skillz like that, yo. Also, they're just all so pretty.
I said: Lah, I KNOW you want me to write you Pete/Ashlee. It's okay, you don't have to keep reminding me.
yeats said: Wentz/Lohan, and I will love you even more.
It ended up Pete/Patrick. Have you MET me?
Scared of Girls (Stars: They're Just Like Us)
god help us all.
He'd finally got Ashlee cornered in the most subtle way possible, boyfriend (hers) off at the bar, and boyfriend (his) off having some intense music geek conversation with Justin Timberlake, and so Pete and Ashlee were having an actual discussion on, something, stuff; Pete was just trying to not ask if she wanted to go make out. She laughed, which Pete hoped meant he'd said something intentionally funny, and twirled a lock of her blonde hair and sipped at her drink, and Pete hoped that little cartoon hearts weren't popping up in the air around him.
When he'd asked if there could be an Ashlee clause in their relationship, Patrick had just laughed and said as long as he got to sleep with William Beckett, and Pete said only if he could watch, and Patrick said he didn't actually want to watch him and Ashlee Simpson have sex, so it wasn't really a fair deal, and then he'd looked a little pouty, so Pete had to push him down and kiss him a lot and then he pretty much forgot about what they were talking about. As it sometimes happened. Patrick was not going to sleep with William Beckett, though. Well, Pete hoped not, at least. Or he hoped they'd wait 'til he was around to do it.
Pete felt a hand snake around his waist, and turned to face wide eyes, freckled skin, and a fall of red hair, and his mind clicked 'Lindsay Lohan' as his lips noted 'person kissing me' and then his brain was all 'whoa, Lindsay Lohan kissing me' and he kissed back for a second because, why not? She tasted like cherry lipgloss and vodka, and it was kind of interesting and cool-
"Oh Ashlee, I didn't even see you there!" Lindsay said, pulling back
- and so totally not about him at all, wow.
"Were you guys talking? Sorry to interrupt!" she continued. "Hi, I'm Lindsay."
"Pete," he said, shaking her hand, although at this point they'd pretty much exchanged hellos, he thought. Hellos with tongue.
"I know, you're totally cute, come hang out with me and my friends," she said, pulling Pete to her with one long-clawed hand around his waist. She towered over him, teetering in totally adorable wedge platform heels. He was trying not to stare at her breasts, but they were pretty much eye level, and hello, they were breasts.
Pete didn't think it was physically possible for Ashlee's eyes to roll any harder. "Go ahead," she said. "My boyfriend's on his way back over anyway. Lindsay, where's yours? He was looking pretty comfortable with Paris the other night, it's cool you guys have such an open relationship." Pete almost flinched at that one; even on his best days he couldn't aspire to the levels of bitchiness currently happening in front of him.
"Oh, we broke up," Lindsay said airily. "I'm on the market now. Just looking to hook up, you know?" she said, talking to Pete now. And, whoa. "Maybe just even for one night." Pete was suddenly remembering why he'd never been into the hot bitchy girls in high school. No, not just because they wouldn't actually talk to him. They were actually sort of scary.
"You know what? We were having a pretty interesting conversation before you showed up, I think maybe I'll send him your way when we're finished," Ashlee said, taking his arm and pulling him over, which was problematic because Lindsay wasn't letting him go. Patrick was across the room, heading vaguely over in their direction, and Pete willed him to see this happening. Him and maybe a press photographer, because holy fuck, how terrifyingly awesome was this.
Patrick glanced over, attention likely caught by the heated argument Ashlee and Lindsay were engaging in, and said, "What the fuck?" Or, mouthed it, it was pretty obvious that's what he was saying, and now he was pushing his way through the crowd, and Lindsay was tugging him in one direction and Ashlee the other, and seriously, where were the paparazzi when he actually needed them, it was necessary to his continued happiness that he have this on record so he could clip it out of US Weekly and stick it on the fridge.
"Um, hey, can I have my bassist?" Patrick said, elbowing his way between Lindsay and Ashlee and grabbing Pete.
"Who are you?" Lindsay asked. Pete totally did not like her anymore.
"He's my security," Pete said. "Ashlee, I'll see you around?"
"Sure," she said, smiling at him, and then threw her drink in Lindsay's face, and okay, time to go.
"What the hell just happened?" Patrick asked, leading him through the crowd.
Pete said, "This is the greatest night of my life."
Patrick said, "Can we go now?"
-
I said: Dude, I randomly picked up this icon a week ago, thinking I'd never have reason to use it but wanted it around just in case. Like...JUST IN CASE HE KISSED PETE WENTZ ONSTAGE, APPARENTLY. The world needs a little Pete/Nick fic, y/n?
deliberatehips said: Y. And I totally think this time it was Pete who kissed Nick.
I said: hmm.
Three things you need to know about Nick Wheeler (that's Nick Wheeler, guitarist of All-American Rejects. you should know that):
1. He is fucking adorable.
2. He and Tyson Ritter seriously gay it up for each other, to the extent that he's the only thing that makes me think maybe Tyson Ritter isn't so bad. I mean, if Nick likes him. I like Nick a lot.
3. At the Atlanta show last night, during Saturday, Nick came out and played Pete's bass while Pete sang along to the song. Then Pete kissed him. On the mouth. Onstage. Hi, and welcome to my fandom. Join us.
Spin The Bottle
Two quarters and a heart down? Something like that.
This time, it was Pete who kissed Nick.
Nick was used to being kissed by his friends; his female friends tended to randomly ambush him with affection ("I can't help it, look at you!" they'd say. He looked. He didn't get it), and a fair number of his guy friends - well, more than he suspected was usual - tended to view him as a Get Out Of Queer Free card, or something. He needed more than one hand to count how many times he'd been at a party, and ended up on the couch with a friend slouching against him, followed by a blurrily curious gaze and a murmured "hey," right before lips met his. He didn't mind. Kissing was nice, boys were nice, girls were nice. Nick liked nice things. Nick even liked things that were not nice, like Tyson.
Patrick was nice. He'd been there on the sidelines when Pete and Tyson stopped flirting outrageously with each other and starting making out against walls, and he'd kept Nick company on AAR's bus when Tyson came to the door of Fall Out Boy's bus holding up his unzipped jeans and offering a cheerful, "Come back later!" They'd talked about Motown and touring and high-maintenance frontmen, and clinked glasses of soda together in a toast to being alone on the road, and Patrick had smiled a little half-smile at him, and Nick thought, now, and they leaned in and bumped noses and Patrick laughed and so did Nick. Patrick was a good guy, and a good kisser.
They'd gone out after the Chicago show with a bunch of scenekid old friends, and at the bowling alley Andy had dragged him off, saying, "You're cool, right? It's just, these girls are into it, they say they will if we will," and Nick had looked at the girls, giggling and blonde the both of them, and said, "They'll what?" Andy kissed him, and he meant it, too; Nick had never kissed someone with a pierced tongue before, and he thought maybe he should do it again. "That was so hot," one of the girls said. Nick looked at Andy, and agreed.
Mikey had been one of the couch conquests, as Nick referred to them in his head (never out loud, because oh man, the laughter that would ensue at the thought of him conquering anything); it was late, the party was winding down, and Mikey's girlfriend had just broken up with him. "You're so nice," Mikey said into Nick's shoulder. Nick patted his knee. Comments about his niceness were usually followed by someone either dumping him or kissing him. Mikey's lips pressed against his neck, then upwards; Nick leaned his head back against the couch and squeezed Mikey's knee and kissed him back.
Maybe word got around, because Pete was starting to give him these little speculative looks, like he was trying to figure out an equation or something, like Nick was something that needed to be solved. It didn't last long, because Pete had a tendency to just do things, so Nick wasn't too surprised when Pete came up and said to him, "So you've kissed like half my band."
"You've kissed one quarter of mine," Nick pointed out.
"That's cool, right? You're not like, jealous."
"Are you?" Nick asked.
Pete frowned. "Come on with us tonight. Play bass for me for the last song."
Nick nodded. "Sure."
So he came out and played, and the crowd screamed and Pete prowled around and Nick roamed the stage until he came up in front of Pete. It happened quickly; Pete leaned in and smiled at him and said, "Hey, my turn," and his lips on Nick's were dry and a little rough, his hands warm on Nick's face. Three quarters now, Nick thought, and also, nice.
"I'm not gonna make out with you," Joe said after the show. "I'm just letting you know."
"He's a good kisser," Andy said. Nick smiled at him.
"I'm going to go call my girlfriend," Joe said loudly, and stomped off.
"Seriously," Andy said. "Almost all of us now. How'd you do that? I thought you and Tyson were a thing."
"No," Nick said. "Not really."
Andy shrugged. "You wanna do it again, you let me know."
Nick thought it might be okay to tour with Fall Out Boy for the rest of his life.
The bus door banged open, and Tyson leaned in, glaring at Andy. "Can I have Nick back, please?"
"Can we make a trade?" Andy asked.
Tyson waved him off. "I don't know where Pete is. Off blowing Patrick in the dressing room, probably."
Huh. Really. That explained a lot, actually. Tyson reached for him, taking hold of Nick's wrist and dragging him out. "Hey, what?" Nick said, kind of annoyed now. The bus door slammed shut behind him, and Tyson didn't let go of his wrist. "Tyson, seriously."
"Seriously, you've slept with all of Fall Out Boy now. Please don't tell me Hawthorne Heights is next on your list."
"Not Joe," Nick said. "And not slept with. And not Hawthorne Heights, god." Not that they weren't okay guys, but. No. "What's your problem? You slept with Pete. And I thought you guys were done, you shouldn't care about him kissing me."
"Well," Tyson said. "Maybe I care about you kissing him."
"It's just kissing," Nick said, failing to see the problem. "What are you so mad about?"
Tyson stared at him, then pushed Nick back against the bus.
Right before Tyson's lips touched his, Nick got it.
-
This one I can only blame on myself. I keep getting little scenes in my head, and this is one of them.
But I originally shared it with schuyler and eleanor_lavish, just because.
The Last Christmas Eve Before We Die
title may be misleading.
Patrick had been dreaming when the phone woke him up, and the only reason he had answered it was that, in his muzzy half-asleep state, he thought, I have to get that, Santa's out of elves. It wasn't until he put his glasses on and saw the caller ID that he realized that made no sense. Santa had plenty of elves.
"Pete?" Patrick asked.
"I can't sleep," Pete said.
"I was doing an okay job of it," Patrick muttered.
There was a short silence on the other end, and Patrick was just starting to feel mean and Grinchy when Pete said, softly, "Can you sing me something? To help me fall asleep?"
Patrick closed his eyes, even though the room was too dark to see much in already. In his head, he saw Pete lying on his side, buried in blankets and an oversized Clan hoodie, his hair sticking out in all directions and curling up like he always hated. Patrick sang, very quietly, the opening lines of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
He heard Pete sigh, the kind of sigh he only brought out when they'd finished something big and now he could finally rest. Patrick sang a little louder, surprised he could remember all the words, and thought about Pete burrowing down into the covers, warm and safe. He thought about lying next to him, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close, pressing his face against the back of Pete's neck, linking their fingers and holding on. Pete's breathing had gone even, slow and deep as he trailed off with the last few lines of the song. Patrick whispered, "Goodnight," and hit the end button on his phone.
He fell back asleep clutching his cell, still wearing his glasses. When he saw Pete again, Pete didn't mention it, and Patrick wondered if it had ever really happened at all.
Must have been twenty plus pounds, the poor thing. Other than that, jaysus beach towns are depressing in the off season.
My life lately, in summary:
addictedkitten: what! i don't know! kittens!
addictedkitten: brooklyn! batwings! something!
yeats: yes! all of the above! patrick!
addictedkitten: patrick!
Mostly, I work all day, add to my ever-growing list of work in progresses, have dinner and check my friends list and update dyw and write fic. Oh, so much fic. Fic because my friends are like, "Oh, *random thing*" and I'm like "Dude! *writes story about random thing*" It's been a very long time since I've been active like this in a fandom and it's thrilling, quite frankly. I suggest you all try it.
Anyway, here are three things, posted here for my own sake, and for sharing, and for the joy of seeing the number highlighted on my LJ update calendar. These are all fairly short because all of my other fics are really long and porny and have plots. Also, it is clearly my thing in this fandom to stuff as many pairings as possible into a thousand words or less. I got skillz like that, yo. Also, they're just all so pretty.
I said: Lah, I KNOW you want me to write you Pete/Ashlee. It's okay, you don't have to keep reminding me.
yeats said: Wentz/Lohan, and I will love you even more.
It ended up Pete/Patrick. Have you MET me?
Scared of Girls (Stars: They're Just Like Us)
god help us all.
He'd finally got Ashlee cornered in the most subtle way possible, boyfriend (hers) off at the bar, and boyfriend (his) off having some intense music geek conversation with Justin Timberlake, and so Pete and Ashlee were having an actual discussion on, something, stuff; Pete was just trying to not ask if she wanted to go make out. She laughed, which Pete hoped meant he'd said something intentionally funny, and twirled a lock of her blonde hair and sipped at her drink, and Pete hoped that little cartoon hearts weren't popping up in the air around him.
When he'd asked if there could be an Ashlee clause in their relationship, Patrick had just laughed and said as long as he got to sleep with William Beckett, and Pete said only if he could watch, and Patrick said he didn't actually want to watch him and Ashlee Simpson have sex, so it wasn't really a fair deal, and then he'd looked a little pouty, so Pete had to push him down and kiss him a lot and then he pretty much forgot about what they were talking about. As it sometimes happened. Patrick was not going to sleep with William Beckett, though. Well, Pete hoped not, at least. Or he hoped they'd wait 'til he was around to do it.
Pete felt a hand snake around his waist, and turned to face wide eyes, freckled skin, and a fall of red hair, and his mind clicked 'Lindsay Lohan' as his lips noted 'person kissing me' and then his brain was all 'whoa, Lindsay Lohan kissing me' and he kissed back for a second because, why not? She tasted like cherry lipgloss and vodka, and it was kind of interesting and cool-
"Oh Ashlee, I didn't even see you there!" Lindsay said, pulling back
- and so totally not about him at all, wow.
"Were you guys talking? Sorry to interrupt!" she continued. "Hi, I'm Lindsay."
"Pete," he said, shaking her hand, although at this point they'd pretty much exchanged hellos, he thought. Hellos with tongue.
"I know, you're totally cute, come hang out with me and my friends," she said, pulling Pete to her with one long-clawed hand around his waist. She towered over him, teetering in totally adorable wedge platform heels. He was trying not to stare at her breasts, but they were pretty much eye level, and hello, they were breasts.
Pete didn't think it was physically possible for Ashlee's eyes to roll any harder. "Go ahead," she said. "My boyfriend's on his way back over anyway. Lindsay, where's yours? He was looking pretty comfortable with Paris the other night, it's cool you guys have such an open relationship." Pete almost flinched at that one; even on his best days he couldn't aspire to the levels of bitchiness currently happening in front of him.
"Oh, we broke up," Lindsay said airily. "I'm on the market now. Just looking to hook up, you know?" she said, talking to Pete now. And, whoa. "Maybe just even for one night." Pete was suddenly remembering why he'd never been into the hot bitchy girls in high school. No, not just because they wouldn't actually talk to him. They were actually sort of scary.
"You know what? We were having a pretty interesting conversation before you showed up, I think maybe I'll send him your way when we're finished," Ashlee said, taking his arm and pulling him over, which was problematic because Lindsay wasn't letting him go. Patrick was across the room, heading vaguely over in their direction, and Pete willed him to see this happening. Him and maybe a press photographer, because holy fuck, how terrifyingly awesome was this.
Patrick glanced over, attention likely caught by the heated argument Ashlee and Lindsay were engaging in, and said, "What the fuck?" Or, mouthed it, it was pretty obvious that's what he was saying, and now he was pushing his way through the crowd, and Lindsay was tugging him in one direction and Ashlee the other, and seriously, where were the paparazzi when he actually needed them, it was necessary to his continued happiness that he have this on record so he could clip it out of US Weekly and stick it on the fridge.
"Um, hey, can I have my bassist?" Patrick said, elbowing his way between Lindsay and Ashlee and grabbing Pete.
"Who are you?" Lindsay asked. Pete totally did not like her anymore.
"He's my security," Pete said. "Ashlee, I'll see you around?"
"Sure," she said, smiling at him, and then threw her drink in Lindsay's face, and okay, time to go.
"What the hell just happened?" Patrick asked, leading him through the crowd.
Pete said, "This is the greatest night of my life."
Patrick said, "Can we go now?"
-
I said: Dude, I randomly picked up this icon a week ago, thinking I'd never have reason to use it but wanted it around just in case. Like...JUST IN CASE HE KISSED PETE WENTZ ONSTAGE, APPARENTLY. The world needs a little Pete/Nick fic, y/n?
deliberatehips said: Y. And I totally think this time it was Pete who kissed Nick.
I said: hmm.
Three things you need to know about Nick Wheeler (that's Nick Wheeler, guitarist of All-American Rejects. you should know that):
1. He is fucking adorable.
2. He and Tyson Ritter seriously gay it up for each other, to the extent that he's the only thing that makes me think maybe Tyson Ritter isn't so bad. I mean, if Nick likes him. I like Nick a lot.
3. At the Atlanta show last night, during Saturday, Nick came out and played Pete's bass while Pete sang along to the song. Then Pete kissed him. On the mouth. Onstage. Hi, and welcome to my fandom. Join us.
Spin The Bottle
Two quarters and a heart down? Something like that.
This time, it was Pete who kissed Nick.
Nick was used to being kissed by his friends; his female friends tended to randomly ambush him with affection ("I can't help it, look at you!" they'd say. He looked. He didn't get it), and a fair number of his guy friends - well, more than he suspected was usual - tended to view him as a Get Out Of Queer Free card, or something. He needed more than one hand to count how many times he'd been at a party, and ended up on the couch with a friend slouching against him, followed by a blurrily curious gaze and a murmured "hey," right before lips met his. He didn't mind. Kissing was nice, boys were nice, girls were nice. Nick liked nice things. Nick even liked things that were not nice, like Tyson.
Patrick was nice. He'd been there on the sidelines when Pete and Tyson stopped flirting outrageously with each other and starting making out against walls, and he'd kept Nick company on AAR's bus when Tyson came to the door of Fall Out Boy's bus holding up his unzipped jeans and offering a cheerful, "Come back later!" They'd talked about Motown and touring and high-maintenance frontmen, and clinked glasses of soda together in a toast to being alone on the road, and Patrick had smiled a little half-smile at him, and Nick thought, now, and they leaned in and bumped noses and Patrick laughed and so did Nick. Patrick was a good guy, and a good kisser.
They'd gone out after the Chicago show with a bunch of scenekid old friends, and at the bowling alley Andy had dragged him off, saying, "You're cool, right? It's just, these girls are into it, they say they will if we will," and Nick had looked at the girls, giggling and blonde the both of them, and said, "They'll what?" Andy kissed him, and he meant it, too; Nick had never kissed someone with a pierced tongue before, and he thought maybe he should do it again. "That was so hot," one of the girls said. Nick looked at Andy, and agreed.
Mikey had been one of the couch conquests, as Nick referred to them in his head (never out loud, because oh man, the laughter that would ensue at the thought of him conquering anything); it was late, the party was winding down, and Mikey's girlfriend had just broken up with him. "You're so nice," Mikey said into Nick's shoulder. Nick patted his knee. Comments about his niceness were usually followed by someone either dumping him or kissing him. Mikey's lips pressed against his neck, then upwards; Nick leaned his head back against the couch and squeezed Mikey's knee and kissed him back.
Maybe word got around, because Pete was starting to give him these little speculative looks, like he was trying to figure out an equation or something, like Nick was something that needed to be solved. It didn't last long, because Pete had a tendency to just do things, so Nick wasn't too surprised when Pete came up and said to him, "So you've kissed like half my band."
"You've kissed one quarter of mine," Nick pointed out.
"That's cool, right? You're not like, jealous."
"Are you?" Nick asked.
Pete frowned. "Come on with us tonight. Play bass for me for the last song."
Nick nodded. "Sure."
So he came out and played, and the crowd screamed and Pete prowled around and Nick roamed the stage until he came up in front of Pete. It happened quickly; Pete leaned in and smiled at him and said, "Hey, my turn," and his lips on Nick's were dry and a little rough, his hands warm on Nick's face. Three quarters now, Nick thought, and also, nice.
"I'm not gonna make out with you," Joe said after the show. "I'm just letting you know."
"He's a good kisser," Andy said. Nick smiled at him.
"I'm going to go call my girlfriend," Joe said loudly, and stomped off.
"Seriously," Andy said. "Almost all of us now. How'd you do that? I thought you and Tyson were a thing."
"No," Nick said. "Not really."
Andy shrugged. "You wanna do it again, you let me know."
Nick thought it might be okay to tour with Fall Out Boy for the rest of his life.
The bus door banged open, and Tyson leaned in, glaring at Andy. "Can I have Nick back, please?"
"Can we make a trade?" Andy asked.
Tyson waved him off. "I don't know where Pete is. Off blowing Patrick in the dressing room, probably."
Huh. Really. That explained a lot, actually. Tyson reached for him, taking hold of Nick's wrist and dragging him out. "Hey, what?" Nick said, kind of annoyed now. The bus door slammed shut behind him, and Tyson didn't let go of his wrist. "Tyson, seriously."
"Seriously, you've slept with all of Fall Out Boy now. Please don't tell me Hawthorne Heights is next on your list."
"Not Joe," Nick said. "And not slept with. And not Hawthorne Heights, god." Not that they weren't okay guys, but. No. "What's your problem? You slept with Pete. And I thought you guys were done, you shouldn't care about him kissing me."
"Well," Tyson said. "Maybe I care about you kissing him."
"It's just kissing," Nick said, failing to see the problem. "What are you so mad about?"
Tyson stared at him, then pushed Nick back against the bus.
Right before Tyson's lips touched his, Nick got it.
-
This one I can only blame on myself. I keep getting little scenes in my head, and this is one of them.
But I originally shared it with schuyler and eleanor_lavish, just because.
The Last Christmas Eve Before We Die
title may be misleading.
Patrick had been dreaming when the phone woke him up, and the only reason he had answered it was that, in his muzzy half-asleep state, he thought, I have to get that, Santa's out of elves. It wasn't until he put his glasses on and saw the caller ID that he realized that made no sense. Santa had plenty of elves.
"Pete?" Patrick asked.
"I can't sleep," Pete said.
"I was doing an okay job of it," Patrick muttered.
There was a short silence on the other end, and Patrick was just starting to feel mean and Grinchy when Pete said, softly, "Can you sing me something? To help me fall asleep?"
Patrick closed his eyes, even though the room was too dark to see much in already. In his head, he saw Pete lying on his side, buried in blankets and an oversized Clan hoodie, his hair sticking out in all directions and curling up like he always hated. Patrick sang, very quietly, the opening lines of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
He heard Pete sigh, the kind of sigh he only brought out when they'd finished something big and now he could finally rest. Patrick sang a little louder, surprised he could remember all the words, and thought about Pete burrowing down into the covers, warm and safe. He thought about lying next to him, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close, pressing his face against the back of Pete's neck, linking their fingers and holding on. Pete's breathing had gone even, slow and deep as he trailed off with the last few lines of the song. Patrick whispered, "Goodnight," and hit the end button on his phone.
He fell back asleep clutching his cell, still wearing his glasses. When he saw Pete again, Pete didn't mention it, and Patrick wondered if it had ever really happened at all.