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[personal profile] stillane

Well. I have written bandslash, and not just bandslash, even. Bandslash in scifi underwear.

This is entirely Pete Wentz’s fault. It was his idea. No, really. I can prove it, and will at the end. Just take my word for it for now, though. Otherwise it kind of gives away the game.

If you are Pete Wentz... please don't point and mock too strenuously, yes?

For the record, I adore Jimmy Stewart. No offense is intended to him. I am less sanguine about cockroaches.

Fandom: FOB
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: Will be hugged like a puppy. Even if it bites.
Notes: Thank you to [personal profile] terribilita, who kindly stepped up to beta the crazy ramblings about pretty boys.

Summary: Pete goes looking.

… But I Digress

It takes him three days to notice. That’s exhibit one in the People vs. Pete Wentz.


On the first day, he blinks awake to early afternoon sunshine and the feel of phantom miles sliding back into sleep. He crawls downstairs for freezer-fresh waffles and orange juice. Hemingway wanders around his fenced kingdom and presses his nose to the glass when he wants in, and Pete lets him lick the extra syrup. He posts a few lines of random, but he’s too at peace for the crapshoot of comment reading. He finds an acoustic and a patch of ottoman and strums around the words in his head. He writes a few down, watches a movie he’s seen at least once for every year he’s been alive, and eventually falls asleep without meaning to.

That’s Sunday.

Monday and Tuesday are washrinserepeat, except he has Fruit Loops on Monday and does not keep any of Tuesday’s words.

On Wednesday, he tries to call Patrick.

His phone is a minion of evil, however, and has other ideas. It’s eaten Patrick’s numbers - all of them – like a zombie after brains, and it’s already gotten Pete’s because the cell number he dials from memory gets him a tinny recorded ‘We’re sorry…’ eight times.

He calls Andy for a refresher because Andy will give him less hell than Joe, and won’t be stoned. He says, Hey, what’s Patrick’s cell? and Andy says, Patrick who?


By the time he hangs up, he’s got Andy almost convinced that Pete isn’t crazy, and himself almost convinced that he is.


It’s all easy enough to find, when he looks. The internet is an amazing place.

He starts with his own name, and that’s educational. Apparently some things are inevitable; one of these is that the entire known universe will have seen his dick. That’s a little disappointing.

Eventually, he winds up on Youtube. There are 27,532 results for the band name alone. He looks for concert footage first. He wants the live version, not the Memorex.

It’s them. Almost.

The guy is better than good. He’s got the voice, more range than Montana and velvet underneath, and he works the crowd like he knows them all and their grandmas, too. (Provided their grandmas have piercings and ink.) He ducks Joe without obvious thought, and never rides over Andy.

David Halfield has slim shoulders and great hair. He wears black boots. Pete hates him instantly.

The songs are different. They’re good, still. Every word is Pete’s own, he knows, and some of them he even recognizes. They’re the ones they didn’t use, the ones that didn’t fit. They aren’t out of place here, though.

And all of this he can almost understand. It’s strange, and it makes him feel like he’s looking at the world through the wrong prescription, but none of it is impossible. If he tilts his head just right, he can pretend they’re only touring with friends and having a bandcest moment.

Two minutes and fifteen seconds into “I’ll Have What She’s Having (With A Side Of Beef)”, the Pete on his screen trips his way across the stage and into David Halfied’s personal space. He leans his forehead against David Halfied’s dark hair and sings into David Halfied’s blue cotton t-shirt, and David Halfied laughs around the chorus.

The Pete on his screen pulls away and keeps playing like the world hasn’t just ended.


Exhibit two is a man he doesn’t know singing words Pete has given him freely.


The easy answer, of course, is to go the fuck back to sleep. He’s dreaming, or he’s insane, and in his experience, both of these can be cured by simply waking the hell up.

Which is what he’ll do. As soon as he falls asleep.

He’s had enough mornings at the end of the day to know that rest is the best player of hide-and-seek ever. He’s got patience on his side, though. He does.

Better, he’s got sedatives.

Take two of these and... He closes his fingers around his cell and his eyes over his thoughts.

He wakes to another morning and the knowledge that he is monumentally fucked.


He turns to Kafka and Capra for the answers, but the bastards are both unhelpful and dead. He’d take being a cockroach or Jimmy Stewart over this any day.


New plan: Patrick isn’t here. Ergo, Patrick is somewhere else.

It’s harder than it should be to find someone in an age when he can get pictures of his house from space in five minutes. He does research, though, because he’s not going to Patrick’s house and not finding Patrick. He will do this right.

Or maybe he won’t. There is no Patrick Martin Stump(h) in all of the greater land of Google. There is a Patricia Marie Strum who gives Pete a bad moment, until a click reveals a 57-year-old realtor from Nebraska with grey hair and three children. Pete doesn’t think there is a connection.

An hour later, Pete’s just at the point of reevaluating that theory — and all its terrifying implications — when suddenly, there he is. The picture is grainy, and he’s just a head behind a drum set, and he’s credited as P. Stupm, but he’s Patrick.

He’s in Chicago. He’s in a band. Some things are inevitable.

Step one down. Moving on.

The plane ride is fairly normal, for the given value of normal that has been his life these last few years. He doesn’t wait in any lines, the flight crews all call him by his father’s name (Would you like a drink, Mr. Wentz? Fuck yes, but no.), and first class still has more leg room than three of him could use.

There are crowds of loud, manic smiles with waving hands attached at every landing, and he wants to tell them to stop. He’s not who they want. He’s not who they see.

They are not his, and he is not theirs.

Instead, he smiles and waves and doesn’t let them touch him.


Fate’s a bitch, and she wears an irony-studded collar.


Losing the attention is easy enough. He puts on a hat, and suddenly he doesn’t exist.

He’s never been inside this store. He picked Patrick up exactly four times on the way to early gigs before the music won and the steady paycheck lost, and every time was a rolling stop. Joe, who has been inside, never bothered with any details but Patrick.

Patrick, who is five feet and six years away from Pete. His hair is too short and uncovered. His pants and his shirt are both black and average, probably store-standard, but his shoes have Technicolor tongues.

He helps a woman with a purse like a small, sequined continent find Barry Manilow, and does not say an impolite word. There are whole paragraphs written in his eyebrows and fidgets, though, and Pete still has the secret decoder ring.

There’s some freakish suburban version of “world” echoing off the shiny, shiny rows of waiting music. That the soundtrack of this mess is an unholy marriage of saxophone and accordion should really be more surprising.

He waits until Purse Woman is happily making off with Manilow, and then he clears his throat. He had ten good opening lines worked up on the plane, but as usual, he misplaces them in the moment.


Patrick recognizes him instantly.

He does an honest-to-god double take with his eyes alone, and then blinks. He looks around, carefully. “Uh… hi. Not that I want to blow your cover, or anything, but… well, hi. Can I help you?”

And a little bit more of Pete crashes and burns all the way down. Because Patrick isn’t looking at him like he’s That Guy Who Sleeps On My Couch Sometimes, or That Guy Who Fought Me For That Pedal On The Bridge, or even That Asshole Who Eats My Cheerios. He’s looking at Pete like he’s That Guy From That Band.

“Just passing through.”


For a very long time, somewhere below conscious thought, this was what mattered: he knows Patrick. Always. Anywhere.

Right nouns, wrong order.


He walks out into a flat grey sky and the passing of flat grey people. There’s a corner in front of him and a lamppost, old fashioned like something from a lost Paris movie with lovers and dancing. He walks forward until his head rests against it, tightens his arms around cold metal until his hands can reach back to himself.

He’s giving in and going under. He shouldn’t, he knows, but that’s never stopped him before.

And very quietly he hears, “Hey.”

Every part of him goes independently still. After a moment, his head slips lower against the lamp, and he can feel his shoulders shaking although he tells them not to.

“You asshole.”

“I know.”

“Motherfucking prick.”

A hand comes to rest on his right shoulder blade, thumb wandering over and between vertebrae. “I know. I’m sorry. I mean, I didn’t mean to, but still. No, just… Sorry. Granted, I didn’t know what I was doing… But I still didn’t mean to.”

“How the fuck do you not mean to not exist?”

Patrick stays very carefully silent, and Pete feels the water open up under him. There’s a snowglobe full of glass houses in that question. The palm on his back stays warm, though, and the thumb strokes in waltz time.

“Can we go with, ‘I’m here, therefore I am?’ ”

Pete can’t help it. It’s a conditioned response. He laughs, maybe not all there, and rolls himself until the post is at his back. Patrick’s fingers ride over the crest of his shoulder and rest on his collarbone.

And it all makes a bizarre kind of sense. This may be Pete’s nightmare, but it’s not his dream.

Patrick’s been in Pete’s head for six years now, the line between his thoughts and his voice. His very own singing telegram. There’s no reason Pete shouldn’t be in Patrick’s head right back. He’s a little more physical about it, maybe, but then he always is.

A world in which he is too close to Patrick beats the shit out of the alternative, anyway.

And of course Patrick dreams in the fifties.

He’s the lovechild of Sinatra and Bacall, all smoke and pinstripes. His left hand is in his pocket and his hat is at an angle between charm and obstruction, probably an accident, and fuck if that isn’t Patrick all over.

Pete leans into the hand on his chest, wraps his own grip around that wrist. Patrick keeps his eyes on Pete’s face, and his expression can’t seem to choose whether to live in embarrassment or worry. His bottom lip is going pale under his teeth.

He’s Patrick, and he’s here, and he knows Pete.

Pete watches his eyes until he’s too close, until it’s too dark under the hat brim.

Cinderella kissed a fella…


Later on, he’ll have time to wonder how he could have been so stupid for so long. There’s only one person in the world who could believe anything would be normal without Patrick.


He opens his eyes to darkness and the slide of miles and miles of solid pavement. Above him, Joe is snoring in harmonics.

He pulls the curtain aside slowly. Patrick’s is already open, and he watches Pete across two feet of aisle and a thousand acres of indecision.


Pete doesn’t stop to think. He slides from one bunk to the next and straight through pretense. Patrick doesn’t pull away to make space for him, just rests a hand on Pete’s ribs to keep him from falling.



“That was…”

Patrick nods, a rustle against his pillow. “Apparently.”

“See, this is what happens when you have pizza and existential angst before bed.”

It’s lame, but Patrick’s teeth glint at him in the dark. Slowly, Pete leans forward and brushes his lips against that smile.

And Patrick does not pull away.

His t-shirt is old and worn under Pete’s fingers, nothing like elegant. There is no rain-clean street smell here, just a hint of sleep sweat and warmth. Pete lays his head on the pillow and lets all of it wrap around him. He keeps his eyes closed.

“That wasn’t… That was… like your naked-in-front-of-the-class, right?”

Patrick snorts, quietly. “Nah. I have actual naked-in-front-of-the-class dreams, too. It’s always my third grade, mostly because I think Mrs. Jordan was creepy as all hell. Seriously. She had crossed eyes. No matter where you were, she was watching you.”

Pete doesn’t follow his script and laugh. His hand tightens on Patrick’s shirt. “No bullshit. You don’t… Tell me you don’t think…”

And as usual, Patrick knows what words fill in the blanks. He hesitates, and then he doesn’t. All it takes is a tilt of his chin, and Pete feels the careful press of lips against his own. “Not for long.”

Maybe it’s just because Patrick is Patrick. Maybe there is no changing that. Maybe Pete will try anyway.

Not right now, though. Pete’s eyes don’t open when he asks, and Patrick’s breathing is evening out. His arm is heavy over Pete’s waist.

He wonders what Patrick’s other dreams are.


As for why this is Pete Wentz's fault:

Hypothetically asking, Ok, what if one day you woke up and Patrick was not there. Would you be worried?
Asked by I Didnt Do It on 2005-06-14 19:59:00

it would make me want to disappear to wherever he was.
Answered by pete on 2005-06-14

Seriously. How can you expect me to resist that?
Page 1 of 2 << [1] [2] >>

Date: 2007-06-13 01:49 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Oh my goodness, you should definitely be writing FOB fic every day for the rest of your life, fyi. And you're right, that quote is just too good to pass up. I admit that I had to reread this story a few times to understand what the heck was going on, especially at the end, but I'm pretty sure I've got it now. Great job!

Date: 2007-06-13 02:24 am (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you! Sorry about the confusing bits. I blame Pete (it's easier that way); I find it very hard to write plainly from inside his head.

You know, I think my brain agrees with you about that 'every day' thing, though. I keep spending my afternoons in the wilds with the antics of band boys in my head. (Not that I'm complaining, mind you. *g*) Given the pace that I write at lately, that means something new will get finished long about February, but... hey, I've got a title. What more do you need? *g*

that quote is just too good to pass up.

It is. I stumbled across another article last night, and it still makes me boggle the stuff these guys will say about each other. I am so very all for attractive men who compare their writing partnership to sex. *nods*

Date: 2007-06-13 04:16 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Wow. That was really so very, very good.

Date: 2007-06-14 12:10 am (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you!

Date: 2007-06-13 04:57 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Oh WOW. This was phenomenally done, so original and amazingly beautiful. Its totally beliveable that Patrick would have dreams where there's a --in his mind-- better looking and better everything singer, and that Pete would be the one who would realize that somethings up.

This whole premise was amazing, and as im writing this comment im planning to reread this a couple of times and put it in my memories.

Also, random fact, but I totally clicked this because I wrote a fic with that exact same title, "But I digress" :D

Date: 2007-06-14 12:17 am (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you!

Hah! When I picked the title, I was pretty sure someone else must have got there first. I have really terrible title skills, most of the time; in general, they're either too weird to make any sense, or so very taken. *headdesk*

You know, the funny thing about writing this was, I had no idea where Patrick was when I started. I'd figured out that Pete was hanging out, being Pete, and that suddenly Patrick was MIA, and that there was someone else in his place. And then I went back to read over it and thought, Oh. So that's where he's been hiding. Huh.

Ambushed by my own brain. *g*

Thanks for sharing the title with me, and for the kind words.

Date: 2007-06-13 05:19 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Wow wow wow. It took me a while to realize that this was all just part of Patrick's dream. But this was so very good. I really love fics with twists like this :D

Date: 2007-06-14 12:22 am (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you! Patrick was sneaky about the whole thing and didn't let me in on the secret until I'd been writing for a while. I thought the whole thing was just going to be your average run-of-the-mill parallel universe, and then all of a sudden it wasn't. Apparently, my subconscious is a tricky little monster. *g*
(deleted comment)

Date: 2007-06-14 12:23 am (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Thanks! I'm so glad you liked it.

Also: Hee. That right there is an icon which totally fits the description "Creeped Out So Good". *g*

Date: 2007-06-13 08:38 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]

you... with the guy? In the place? And it's...


*composes oneself*

For your first FOB fic, that's ridiculously good. You characterized them perfectly. Something inside my chest cracked open and spilled all down into my belly there. So... yes.

Well done.

Date: 2007-06-14 12:29 am (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Hee. I made someone incoherent. *wins*

I'm completely thrilled to hear that the characterization came off okay. I always freak out mightily about that when I'm trying out new people (and also pretty much all the time *g*).

Thank you so much for liking this one, and taking the time to let me know.

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] - Date: 2007-06-14 12:42 am (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2007-06-13 09:34 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
This was an excellent story! I am definitely looking forward to your next (hopefully chaptered) piece!

Date: 2007-06-14 12:31 am (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you! I can't make any guesses on how long it's going to be - or how long in coming, because I have written like molasses these last few months - but I at least have the start of another one.

Well, a title, anyway. That's a start, right? *g*

Date: 2007-06-13 11:17 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
that was so amazing.
i'm sorry i can't submit a better response but i really wasn't able to concentrate with my tamagotchi beeping at me. :3

i will probably read this everyday for the next week. i love sci-fi type stuff and your writing is exceptionally good! (:

Date: 2007-06-14 12:34 am (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
That's a great response! Finding out somebody liked something well enough to come back to it is just about the best compliment I can imagine, so thank you.

(And I hope the tamagotchi is happier now. I don't quite know how they work, but I'm guessing beeping is a displeased response? *g*)

Date: 2007-06-14 01:02 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
*worships* first i was like "WTF?!?!?! A WORLD WITHOUT PATRICK!?!?! IMPOSSIBLE!" and then i kept reading and was happy that pete found him.

i can picture patrick having dreams like this and pete making it all better

so wonderful

more now please!


Date: 2007-06-15 02:28 am (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you! first i was like "WTF?!?!?! A WORLD WITHOUT PATRICK!?!?! IMPOSSIBLE!"

Hee. Yep, the whole writing schtick went pretty much:

1. Read quote. Decide Pete Wentz is both surprisingly sweet and bad for my brain.

2. Wonder what a Patrick-less world would be like.

3. Wonder where the hell Patrick went.

4. Find Patrick, and be as surprised as Pete.

As for the more: I'm working on it. Promise. Although this one's more like, "Find Patrick. Wonder how the hell he got there." *g*

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] - Date: 2007-06-16 01:12 am (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2007-06-14 03:44 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"There are whole paragraphs written in his eyebrows and fidgets, though, and Pete still has the secret decoder ring."

I haven't even read the whole thing, only to here, but wow, this line really struck a chord with me. It just encompasses the whole Pete/Patrick relationship. How adult the feeling and connection is but really, Pete never will grow up. Wow

Date: 2007-06-14 03:55 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Okay, continuation a little.

That was so good! I read it was your first time writing FOB and that was some of the best characterization I have ever seen. Excellent job!

It was cute and funny, as well as deep and touching, and I really enjoyed the line, "Because Patrick isn’t looking at him like he’s That Guy Who Sleeps On My Couch Sometimes, or That Guy Who Fought Me For That Pedal On The Bridge, or even That Asshole Who Eats My Cheerios," particularly the Cheerios bit just because, well, I feel like its completely true and hilarious.

Okay I am done now.

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] - Date: 2007-06-15 02:38 am (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] - Date: 2007-06-15 02:30 am (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2007-06-14 09:04 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Okay, so I've only just caught up on several days worth of fic - so this is why this comment is a bit late, but seriously this is just PERFECT.
I will be adding this to my memories and reccing it to everyone I know.
Thanks for posting this!

Date: 2007-06-15 02:42 am (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Ffftp. *handwave* Anything under three years cannot be termed a late comment. *g*

Plus, you know, you're allowed to keep your own schedule any time you stop by to say kind things. Which is to say, thank you for taking the time to let my know you liked it. *g*

Date: 2007-06-15 01:25 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
i love this. A+.

Date: 2007-06-15 09:27 pm (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you! :>

Date: 2007-06-16 07:33 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
It takes him three days to notice. That’s exhibit one in the People vs. Pete Wentz.

this is a seriously fucking brilliant opening line, and story to match. thank you!

Date: 2007-06-17 05:05 pm (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
*blushes* Thank you right back.

Date: 2007-06-16 07:10 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
And of course Patrick dreams in the fifties.

He’s the lovechild of Sinatra and Bacall, all smoke and pinstripes.

I simply adored this whole plot-line. (And leave it to Pete to have something to do with it. xD)

Date: 2007-06-17 05:07 pm (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you!

That Pete. He's a bad, bad influence. The sneaking sweetness is my kryptonite. *g*

Date: 2007-06-17 12:30 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Amazing story, one I'll definitely re-read.

Date: 2007-06-17 05:08 pm (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you!

Date: 2007-06-17 10:45 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I know this has already been said, but *WOW*. This was your first FOB fic? I honestly couldn't tell. It was amazingly written, and as it has already been said... the characterization was amazing as well.

Looking forward to a LOT more Patrick/Pete from you. =]

PS: I just NOW read this. Usually I'm the biggest stalker ever. But my computer had crashed.

Date: 2007-06-19 04:29 am (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
First off: Thank you!

I'm looking forward to there being a little more Patrick/Pete in the near future, myself. They're kind of a lot of fun, those boys. *g*

And as for computer crashings: ouch. I have nightmares where that happens. It's like Night of the Living Dead CPU. *shudder* Hope it all got sorted out, and you're not stuck on borrowed screentime.

Date: 2007-06-19 02:23 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
This is so brilliant. I could quote so much from it; you packed so much meaning into so few words and oh so well. I'll restrain myself, but I have to particularly note:

Two minutes and fifteen seconds into “I’ll Have What She’s Having (With A Side Of Beef)”, the Pete on his screen trips his way across the stage and into David Halfied’s personal space. He leans his forehead against David Halfied’s dark hair and sings into David Halfied’s blue cotton t-shirt, and David Halfied laughs around the chorus.

The Pete on his screen pulls away and keeps playing like the world hasn’t just ended.

I just loved loved that description. It made my heart hurt a little. I love how in real concerts Pete snuggles up to Patrick and Patrick just supports him, and a world without that... Wow. It would end.

Also love: He turns to Kafka and Capra for the answers, but the bastards are both unhelpful and dead. just cuz.

Date: 2007-06-19 04:39 am (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you!

That first line makes me crack up a little, just because it was such a bear to finish. I had the whole thing together, and then I went through about twenty different proposed titles for tossed Pete songs. I wound up googling so damned many 80's movies... It was like reliving my childhood in soundbites. *g*

I love how in real concerts Pete snuggles up to Patrick and Patrick just supports him

I kind of adore the way they snuggle, too. I have yet to find actual footage of this, which is a crime, but the stills are nice in their own right. There's just something very comfortable about the whole thing which makes me all warm and fuzzy.

Date: 2007-06-19 05:40 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
i am very, very tired and somewhere beyond slightly incoherant, but this was beautiful and i can see that even though it's past my bedtime. memories, and hopefully when i read it when i'm awake, it won't be just a pleasant sort of fog.

Date: 2007-06-26 05:42 pm (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you! I dropped off the face of the Earth for work for a bit there - and then dropped onto the face of the Earth somewhat painfully (long story) - but I just wanted to let you know I appreciated the kind feedback. I'm hoping it did go less fog-like with the light of day, but if not, I'll certainly settle for pleasant mist status. *g*

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] - Date: 2007-06-27 02:27 am (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2007-06-19 06:12 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Okay, so, after the first section, I paused for about sixty seconds, and then said, "EH?" out loud. This does not happen often. *babbles incoherently*

The Pete on his screen pulls away and keeps playing like the world hasn’t just ended. MMMMMMMPPPPHHHHHH!!!!

THIS WHOLE THING WAS SO AMAZING AND OH MY GOD, EVEN CAPSLOCK CANNOT EXPRESS HOW HAPPY THIS MADE ME. Well, I don't know if "happy" is the right word. But. Um. AMAZING. I think I have to read this again when I'm less tired, because I'm pretty sure I missed something, because it was all so subtle, but even so, I absolutely loved it. Memories, definitely.

it would make me want to disappear to wherever he was.

OH, PETER. He has to stop teasing us like that!!!! But if this is his fault, I should definitely thank him.

Date: 2007-06-26 05:51 pm (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Work kind of bounced me around - both metaphorically and physically - which has put me behind on comments, but I just wanted to say: thank you!

Incoherency and capslock! Whee! These make me do the happy dance of greatest joy. *happy dance of greatest joy*

And yeah, Pete Wenzt sneaks up on you. It's like he's all sparkly, bizarrely tough, barely-held-together-ness, and then you turn around and there's this hint of quiet, semi-bewildered sweet hiding in there. Huh. Go, Pete. Keep doing that. *g*

Date: 2007-06-19 09:08 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
This is PERFECT. I am jealous and in love.
Also it's the first FOB fan fiction I've ever read. Because I've been denial since their invasion of MCR fandom. But you've convinced me that my pride has been tragic waste of time. Thank you for ushering me into the light. I appreciate the pitch-Pete Wentz undertones in this--I am pretty sure he wrote it himself, though I'm not sure he could muster all the style you've put out. Sorry, I can barely type for tiredness. But it is good. Favorite.

Date: 2007-06-26 05:57 pm (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Oooo. Cool. I get to indoctrinate someone with my own indoctrination. It's very Circle of Life. *g*

And I have no stones to throw where pride is concerned. I used to think I would never find myself in the bandslash camp. It was just never my thing, and I didn't really have time, etc., etc... you know? And then one day, I learned better. Something new everyday, isn't it? *g* Of course, there's still MCR to be pulled into...

Thanks for taking a chance on a new bunch of boys, and an author new to them herself.

(And, incidentally, sorry I'm slow with the comment response. Work whapped me but good this last week or so.)

Date: 2007-06-19 10:31 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
This was amazing. I love the idea that Pete was conscious in Patrick's *dream* which is beautiful mindfuckery at its best.

Date: 2007-06-26 05:59 pm (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Hee. I like mindfuckery. Mindfuckery makes the world go round. *g*

Which is to say, thank you. (A few days late, but no less meant. I got tossed about by work for a bit there. Sorry.)

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] - Date: 2007-06-26 11:42 pm (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2007-06-23 06:48 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I call magical realism! (Or something. I've been thinking about magical realism lately quite a bit for some reason.) This was really fantastic to read. I like the structure and the tone and, you know, pretty much everything. The absolute bizarreness and WRONGNESS of a world without Patrick for Pete is conveyed really nicely.

Date: 2007-06-26 06:48 pm (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you!

Heh. Magical realism it is! I'm a little stunned, really, by how well magical realism/weirdness/just plain cracked out oddity works in this fandom. It shouldn't, because, you know, real people... and yet. Yeah. I've read some stuff that just feels natural beyond words, and I can't help being surprised. Pleasantly, though. *g*

Date: 2007-06-25 05:16 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Oooh, I love this. It's just incredibly, awesomely sweet. ♥

Date: 2007-06-26 06:48 pm (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you! :>

Date: 2007-06-26 04:35 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
This was spectacular and it ate my brain.

Just so you know.

Date: 2007-06-26 06:51 pm (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Hee. Thank you.

...and it ate my brain.

Hang on a sec, somewhere around here I've got an extra... do you mind the Abby Normal label?

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] - Date: 2007-06-26 06:53 pm (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2007-06-27 06:14 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
whoa this fic confused the crap outta me until i read the end! when i finally reached the conclusion everything kinda went "click" and i had an "ohhh, i get it!" moment. LOL. anyways enough with my utter confusion... this fic was awesome; beautifully written and very unique. i give you 2 thumbs up and say that i cannot wait to read more of your writings! :DDD

Date: 2007-07-03 08:25 pm (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Hi! Sorry about the confusion, but glad it all came right in the end. I find it very hard to resist going for a clicky moment. *g*

Thanks for reading it, and for the kind words!

(Also, that icon is adorable. Kitten thumbs. Hee.)
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