for your entertainment *rimshot* pt. 2
<< The bands
OKAY. And now to the fic!
These are all short crossovers to ~ease you into the fandom:
Zombies Ate Your Idols (They Were Delicious) My Chemical Romance x Adam Lambert. Adam/Kris
Gerard draws a new tour poster, which he then copies at Kinkos and sends ahead to every venue without bothering to tell either of their labels about it. Adam figures most of them will end up on eBay at some point. Apparently Gerard, with Mikey's blessing (which, as far as Adam can tell, means Mikey looked at the poster and nodded), has renamed the tour Zombies Ate Your Idols.
Adam never thought he'd find a drawing of himself being gnawed on by Bob Bryar and Mikey Way to be charming. Then again, he never thought he'd see a drawing of himself being gnawed on, so. The things you learn.
This is first mostly because it is the best introduction to MCR for Adam-fandom ever, mostly because it's from Adam's POV. Yes, it's Kradam, but only barely, and the rest of it is SO AWESOME it doesn't matter. MyChem ask Adam out on tour with them, and then Kris ends up coming along for the ride too. It is the greatest travesty of life, the universe and eveything that this is not canon (...yet).
Pinch Hitter My Chemical Romance x Adam Lambert. Adam/Frank/Gerard
Gerard looked behind him and saw Frank chatting up some dude. Tall, dark hair. Freckles. Gorgeous. Amazing belt buckle, which Gerard only noticed because Frank had his fucking fingers tucked underneath it.
“Jesus,” Gerard moaned. “Don’t people know to come find me when Frank starts hitting on them?”
“He doesn’t seem to mind,” Ray observed. He took a swig of water and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “I don’t recognize him.”
Gerard rolled his shoulders and tipped his head back, letting his neck stretch out until it burned. “All right,” he groaned, and went over there.
“Gee,” Frank said happily, turning towards him. He didn’t take his fingers back, though. “This is Adam.”
Comes with a helpful primer on all three dudes concerned (scroll up). Basically, MCR's stagegay went WAY WAY UP during the Projekt Revolution tour in 2007, and fannishly the obvious explanation is that Frank was in heat. This, understandably, is tiring for poor Gerard, so a third guy seems to be the perfect solution.
Yo Ho Ho Fall Out Boy x Pirates Of The Caribbean. Pete/Patrick
"Dude--" Pete started, and suddenly spun Patrick around. "Patrick! Patrick, look."
Patrick did, just as a strong green flash filled the horizon.
"What the f--" he said, and shut up mid-word. Because where there had been nothing a minute ago -- daytrippers already in for the night, too early for night fishing -- there was now a ship (not a boat, a ship) with a sharp, jagged prow and ragged sails.
"That," Patrick said, a little uneasily, "looks like a goddamned ghost ship, Pete."
"Probably because it is," Pete said. Fucker sounded like he was grinning. "You want to come say hi?"
In which Pete's ancestor is Will Turner, and he told Pete to bring his special someone by if/when he found them. So Pete does.
You Have Died Of Dysentery pan-bandom x Oregon Trail game
Somehow they make it across yet another impossibly wide river--Spencer says it's the Platte, Brendon thinks they all look the same--the wagon wobbling precariously the entire time, and on the other side is an abandoned wagon containing:
3 sets of clothing
158 bullets (Spencer insists on counting)
1 wagon axle
27 pounds of food
Pete Wentz
Brendon knows it is Pete Wentz because Jon says, "Pete Wentz!" and thumps his fist against the abandoned wagon in a manly excited gesture. Also, because he is short.
In which Ryan is the one always getting sick/injured, Brendon doesn't want to kill anything and Jon Walker is awesome. Makes me fall out my chair laughing every time.
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If you want to get a good handle on how bandom as a whole tend to cast crossover roles and twist the characters to fit, you should read this Titanic AU discussion. Also, it's hilarious.
Okay. Now stop whatever you are doing and go and read The Gay Starfish. It is possibly the best thing to exist in ALL OF FANDOM EVER.
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Alright. Now these are all fics you can just dip into, because they don't require an epic knowledge of canon - they're either AUs or mostly porn, neither of which requires you to know much because it's all explained in the story/irrelevant:
An Emergency Of The Heart MCR, Cinderella!AU. Frank/Gerard
Gerard doesn’t even realize he’s singing until Mikey grumbles from the couch, “Shut the fuck up, Sinatra, some of us are trying to sleep.”
“A dream is a wish your heart makes,” Gerard sings, loudly and out-of-tune, watching the mice tip coffee into his mug. He worries that they’re going to burn themselves, but they’re pretty slick, Gerard’s mice, holding their whiskers and tails out of the way. “My place, my voice,” he calls to Mikey, because Jesus, everyone needs to get off his fucking case this morning. “You wanted to stay here, all right? Nobody likes a cranky houseguest.”
The couch squeaks violently and Gerard hears the muffled shift of Mikey turning over. “Fucking freak. Fucking singing.”
“There’s coffee,” Gerard adds, and then carries his mug back into his room.
Oh god, this is one of my favourite things. Like, the birds and mice are still in it! And they are amazing! And Frank is the handsome prince! And the animals try and force Gerard to shower and do his makeup and ♥_______♥.
The Sky-High City MCR future!fic, with a small cameo by Patrick from FOB. Frank/Gerard
Gerard's first book is called Leonard's Purple Balloon, and it's about how it's okay to like purple balloons instead of red balloons or green balloons, even though your friends might make fun of you. Frank buys a copy at the Borders near his house at midnight, and he sits in his car while he reads it, the crisp pages illuminated by the parking lot's sodium lights. Gerard's drawings are careful and brightly-colored.
In which Frank kind of can't deal with life after the band, and ends up living with Gerard while he tries to figure everything out. Lovelovelove.
Progressive Diminishment And The Art Of Living MCR officeworker!AU. Frank/Gerard
There’s a couch Gerard has never seen before. It looks more expensive than anything he would pick out for himself. The television is also new and there’s a row of Stephen King novels on his bookshelf. Gerard has never read a Stephen King book and he certainly wouldn’t buy them. The important thing though, the most disturbing part, is the collage of snapshots to the right of the front door. Every single one of them is of Frank and Gerard together, kind of obviously in love.
Gerard’s hands shake. “I think I need to sit down again.”
Frank leads him to the couch and kneels in front of him. “Do you believe me?”
“I believe you’re in a relationship with a Gerard, but I don’t think I’m him.” Gerard’s voice trembles as he takes in the implications of that statement. Alternate realities do not exist outside of science fiction and comic books but there’s no other rational explanation. Photoshop could not create the look of adoration in Gerard’s eyes in those pictures. He’s never looked at anyone like that in his entire life and definitely not in front of a camera.
Frank sits back on his heels, looking crushed. “Fuck.”
Gerard is an office worker who's not living, just existing - then he slips through into an alternate universe where he's dating Frank and his life is pretty awesome.
untitled Bob/Patrick fic MCR x FOB, when they were living in the same apartment complex writing their new albums. Bob/Patrick
Patrick looks at Pete, who he knows is going out with his latest girl tonight, and at the picture of My Chem on Bob’s fridge where Mikey, Gerard and Frank are doing weird rapper hands around Ray, who is wearing bunny ears and a long-suffering expression, and he looks at Bob, who is sitting quietly at the table with his hands folded and he says, “No, thanks. We’re good.”
They watch a countdown of the One Hundred Most Embarrassing Celebrity Moments, and Bob doesn’t say a thing about Pete’s famous penis. Patrick doesn’t know how he’s ever going to watch TV with anyone else, ever again.
Bob/Patrick is one of my favourite crossover pairings, and it IS canon that they lived together for a time, so! Also, this fic gives an excellent outside view of the characters who are usually the ones focused on/telling the story (Frank/Gerard/Pete) as well as a interesting take on MCR's relationship as seen by an outsider.
Rather Fight With You FOB, TTTYG-era. Pete/Patrick
If he gets back in the van (the stuffy sweaty claustrophobic people space of the van) his chest will explode. Pete knows this. Patrick should fucking know it, too, if he knows anything at all about Pete by now; but he doesn't, and Pete feels the prickle of growing irritation under his skin. "No."
Patrick looks momentarily nonplussed, then frowns. "Pete, don't do this tonight. Please. Come the fuck on."
"No," Pete repeats, louder, one sneaker tapping a spastic beat on the ground.
"Pete." And that kid may look like a cherub and sing like an angel, but he's got a temper on him. "Get your ass in the fucking van."
Pete is suddenly angry. Fucking furious, because what is this bright-cheeked bright-eyed just-a-fucking-teenager doing anywhere near Pete anyway, what is he doing in Pete's life, why the music, why the jokes, why the casual caresses, doesn't he fucking know how Pete will fuck him over in the end, doesn't he get it, stupid - Patrick's close, closer, closest up in his face now, all arched brows and arched upper lip. Pete's backed up against the wall, caged and trapped and he wants a fight tonight, anything to feel alive. What he does not want is to get his ass in the fucking van, so "No."
Basically porn, of the angry!sex variety. Also, it is totally canon that Pete once got so mad at Patrick he shoved him up against the van with his hands round his throat, so. Also, did I mention it's smokin' hot?
Woman Like A Man FOB, sexswap. Pete/Patrick
Pete twists his face into the iconic Wentz grimace, experimentally, just to make sure. The chick in the mirror does it back.
"'Trick," he says, contemplative, "I'm not myself today."
A pause that is probably Patrick sighing, just softly so Pete won't hear. "Pete, did you take your meds?"
"Yeah," says Pete distractedly, still gazing at his reflection, "no, look," and he pulls the bathroom door open.
Patrick looks down, up, down, up, and goes a shade of white that any emo kid could be proud of.
Oh god, this fic. Pete turns into a girl and is mostly unfazed, except for how he keeps having sex dreams about Patrick. After reading this, you will never think of Patrick's mouth the same way again. Also, this is some of the hottest porn I have ever read *___*.
Act As A Clever Medicine FOB, sexpollen. Pete/Patrick
"Holy shit," says Andy. He and Joe are hovering above them, looking angry and concerned. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Patrick says, standing up to prove his point. "It was just some dick with a water gun, no big deal." Except that he really doesn't know what was in that gun: his eyes have stopped stinging, but everywhere he's wet feels tingly and prickly, and things smell... funny. Different. Not in a bad way, just--
Pete's arm slides over his shoulder to hug his back, protectively. "You've been attacked by a crazy fan. That makes you officially a rock star, Patrick Stump."
"As you can see, it's very glamorous," Joe pipes up from his other side. They appear to be flanking him and herding him back to the van, which Patrick is okay with, because he can't see all that well. Pete's arm tightens, and Patrick is suddenly very aware that if he turned his head slightly, his lips would brush Pete's ear, or neck. And Joe--if he tilted his head to the left he could put his head on Joe's shoulder, see how he smelled.
More porn. There's something about it being Patrick, though, that makes it hotter. Probably because he's usually so quiet and keeps his head down, so to have him like this, uninhibited and desperate, is just so damn hot.
And The Moon In Their Net FOB, AU. Pete/Patrick
"Patrick," Pete started, "this is. I'm not kidding, here. I'm serious."
"Yes," Patrick said. "Of course you are. I can tell, too, because you're three feet high and have pointed ears. And the giant wings coming out of your back were a dead giveaway. I thought I maybe should have said something about the fact that you sneeze glitter, or that time you went out and got high with a bunch of unicorns--"
In which Pete is a fairy. No, not that kind of- well okay yeah, that kind, but also the other kind. And he may have...said some stuff, and now next week the band have to play for Queen Titania and if they're less than amazing they will all die. Oh man, I am such a sucker for urban fantasy, and adding one of my favourite bands? :DDD
Rhyme Girl With Girl FOB, sexswap!AU. girl!Pete/girl!Patrick
The first time Peyton Wentz lays eyes on Patricia Stump, Trish is wearing an argyle sweater and matching kneesocks, jean shorts. She has glasses and reddish-blonde hair pulled into a ponytail through the back of her baseball cap, and her expression is unreadable. She's maybe two or three inches shorter than Peyton, which is saying something.
"Please," Peyton says, "tell me you're fucking kidding."
There are better declarations of love, she supposes.
Om nom nom, girl!AU. Also, girl!Patrick is my absolute favourite fandom construct ever, although girl!Pete is a pretty close second. The story of Fall Out Boy up to 2006, if half of it were girls.
Make My Troubles Rhyme --> Gather No Moss FOB, AU. Pete/Patrick
He stands in front of his bathroom mirror, staring at himself, trying to figure out what it is about him that makes everything go wrong. There's nothing, nothing he can see anyway. It's just him.
"Fuck you too," Pete tells his mirrored self, and it's not a conscious decision when he lashes out, it's instinct. His fist hits the glass, dead square on his own face, and the glass shatters like it was waiting for him to make a move.
"Shit," he yelps, cradling his hand, but his reflection staggers back with his hand on his eye and says "Fucking oww."
In which teenage fuck-up!Pete discovers his reflection is alive, and promptly punches it out and steals its life, ending up in this universe and going on to form the band. In his old universe, other!him becomes a senator, marries Patrick and adopts three kids and two dogs. ♥.
Semi-Decent Proposals FOB, Pete/Patrick
“Very funny, asshole.” Patrick shoved him off the bunk and onto the floor. “Is Hemingway going to be our best man?” He checked the clock. Three hours until the show. He needed to start drinking some water, get moving a little.... Patrick realized that everyone was looking at him and Pete hadn’t gotten off the ground.
“No.” Pete held out his hand for Patrick to pull him up. “Joe’s our best man, because he introduced us.” Patrick yanked on Pete’s arm harder than was necessary. He was taking this too far. They had a show in a few hours.
“Andy’s cool with that,” Pete added.
“It’s an institution.” Andy shrugged as if that explained everything, which it kind of did. “But don’t get me wrong; I’m happy for you guys.” He put his earbuds in, grabbed a set of drumsticks from the table, and started air-drumming.
Patrick looked to Joe for help, but Joe was deeply involved in his DS. He kicked his legs out. “Come on, run you fuckers, run...run...yeah!” He glanced up quickly. “Wedding, yeah. Pete asked me a while ago. He’s got rings and everything."
In which Pete keeps proposing marriage, and Patrick keeps thinking he's joking.
Crush (With Eyeliner) PATD, Fever-era. Brendon/Ryan/Spencer, with eventual GSF
One night, Brendon came up behind Jon and sang an entire verse of "Build God" pressed up against Jon's back, kissing Jon's cheek when he was done, and it was totally just fucking around onstage, right, because Brendon was Mr. Stage Presence now, except that he did the same thing to Ryan, only with more thrusting and some microphone sharing, and afterwards Ryan and Brendon ran off to the dressing room and locked it before they could get in.
"What are we supposed to do now?" Jon asked, kicking at the door. It sounded like they were breaking furniture in there, but not in an ostentatious way, just in the way that Ryan was probably on his back on the table getting fucked hard, and so things were getting knocked off of it.
"Entertain ourselves?" Spencer suggested mildly, leaning against the wall facing Jon, his hip cocked out and shirt undone at the collar, and Jon really hadn't been like this when he was eighteen. Not even William had been like this, and Spencer didn't even appear to be trying.
Poor, overwhelmed Jon. This was, I think, the first Panic fic I ever read, and it's a good introduction to the band. Ryan's characterisation is a little OOC now that several years have passed and we know he isn't actually putting up a shy front to hide his complete slutiness, but it works in this fic.
It's Almost Halloween PATD, crackfic.
“What’s that?” Ryan demanded. His heart was pounding. Before he could get back to his feet there was a squishy wet thwack noise and the moan stopped.
“That,” said Spencer’s voice, “is a zombie. Ugh, they are gross motherfuckers, I have zombie guts all over my pajamas.”
Ryan pointed the flashlight up. Spencer grinned at him. He had spattered something all over his shirt, and he was holding a baseball bat. Ryan didn’t ask where it had come from. Spencer was the kind of person who, in case of zombie attack, would obviously find a baseball bat.
“What do you mean, zombie?” asked Brendon, a little muffled underneath Ryan. “Ow, get off me. You mean zombie zombies?”
“I think so,” said Spencer. “Except so far they haven’t tried to eat my brain."
“That,” said Jon’s voice, “is because we all know Ryan is the brains of this outfit.”
So, Panic once wrote a song with the same title as this fic, and the video involved them dressed up hilariously as various classic monsters. This fic was kind of inevitable.
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Aaaand now that you have a reasonable idea of the characters, we're into the looooong stuff/fic that requires you know the characters to have a full impact:
Conclusions MCR, non-band AU. Frank/Gerard and minor background Ray/Bob
"You need a lodger, he needs a place," Mikey says, and then he holds one long finger up in the air like a victory salute. "And he's not afraid of spiders."
"Yeah, that's right up there on my list of qualities to look for in a lodger." Frank clicks impatiently at the fucking welcome screen.
Mikey digs a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. "It's number fifteen."
Okay, this fic is long and ridiculous and miscommunication-y and also OMG SO GOOD.
That's The Way We Get By MCR future!fic, with cameos by the rest of bandom. Frank/Gerard
It is surprising, though, because while Frank’s been a part of Gerard’s life for over a decade now, he’s obviously never been a part like this. But they come to terms with it ridiculously quickly, considering how nervous Gerard gets about some things, and soon Frank’s wandering through Gerard’s apartment shouting something about being out of rice, and Gerard bitches back that if Frank wants it and Frank uses it then Frank should buy it, for fuck’s sake, and Frank says, haughtily, “It’s not my business to keep your household running, Gerard,” and Gerard throws something at him.
Ugh, this fic ♥. So, domestic!AUs make me sappy and go around for several hours after reading them making an :DDD face and feeling all warm and fuzzy, and this is like, the quintessential MCR future!domestic fic and I LOVE it. Also, it manages to break up both their canon relationships nicely and without malicious glee or whatever, and Lindsey and Jamia are written as actual people who love them, and ♥.
Ride MCR, early days. Frank/Gerard
"Dude, this is seriously awesome," Frank said. "She's like a rock 'n' roll mom!"
"It's a punk rock bed and breakfast," Gerard answered.
"I love her," Ray said, collapsing onto the bottom bunk bed. "I'm going to marry her."
"Top bunk!" Frankie shouted, but Matt caught him around the waist and leapt up onto the top bunk before Frank could get there. "No way!" Frank said, but Matt was much bigger than him and that was all the way he needed.
Gerard stepped over to the narrow doorway. The second room was much like the first, only it was dominated by a high queen-sized bed with a wrought iron frame.
"Oh, man," Frankie moaned in Gerard's ear, leaning up against him. "Where'm I gonna sleep?"
"We can share," Gerard said. "It's big enough." He ignored the sudden rushing feeling in his chest. It was probably from the heat.
Van-era MCR! Touring round the country and sleeping wherever they can! Turns out this latest place is actually pretty awesome. Also, provides the perfect opportunity for Frank and Gerard to work some things out.
Distance In The Afterlife MCR, tour!fic. Frank/Gerard
Mikey appears in the doorway, breathing hard and grinning. "Dude, Gee. You've gotta-come on, you've gotta see this."
Gerard follows him. They stand backstage together, watching the tail end of Taking Back Sunday's set, and past the stage lights and all the amps and mic stands, Gerard can see kids holding signs that say, "GERARD, I LOVE YOU" and "THANK YOU."
"Oh," Gerard says.
During their set, he can't-there's this one girl standing right up front, wearing a white t-shirt with a rainbow painted on it, colors all out of order. She cries through the entire show, wracking, full-out sobs, and there's a girl beside her kissing her wet face and stroking her hair, and Gerard feels it go through him like a lightning bolt: the reason he gave that interview and why he would go back and do it again if he could, the reason he would make that same decision every time, in every life he was given to live.
Gerard comes out. This fic is particularly fascinating to me to read in light of Adam, who came along two years after this was set and year after it was written, because Gerard is basically the closest thing bandom has to Adam and, even though Adam was not in a band or already famous when he came out, some of this still works for both, I think. ♥.
In This White House pan-bandom AU, but this first part is MCR-centric. Frank/Gerard(/Lindsey/Jamia)
That was the main difference between Frank and the rest of the staff. When they looked at him-even Mikey, when they were on the job-they saw the President, the person who had brought them all together in this building for a thousand purposes. Frank never once treated Gerard any differently from the moment he first piled his things onto the desk outside the door to the Oval Office. He still throws his arms around Gerard and kisses his cheek when he's excited (which never fails to make Joe and the Secret Service exceedingly twitchy), and he's still the same grumpy Frank in the mornings before he has his coffee. When Gerard yells through the door at him, Frank will yell right back, usually lamenting the fact that the Way family is so backwards and technology-challenged that neither of them has ever bothered to learn how to use an intercom.
In fact, Gerard can usually tell when someone important has walked into the front office, because Frank will tack a "…Mr. President!" onto the end of whatever insult he's shouting.
Gerard is the President. Again, I find this fascinating to read in light of actual real life events - those being Obama this time - cause I think this Gerard's campaign seems similar to Obama's, kind of. Also, I love how everyone in bandom just works in whatever role they were put into.
Nightswimming MCR, teenage!AU. Frank/Gerard and background Mikey/Pete
Frank says, "Of course Mikey wants to fucking leave, man. This town is fucking hicksville. If you don't wanna work at a gas station for the rest of your natural life you have to get out of here." He goes over what he just said and adds, "Not that there's anything wrong with that. Working at a gas station, I mean. But it's not for Mikey. Or you. Or me."
"Exactly!" Gerard says, waving his hands around all DUH. The drawings flap wildly and a couple come loose and flutter to the floor. Frank picks them up. "But here I am," Gerard adds.
Frank rolls his eyes. Sometimes Gerard is so fucking stubborn, and sometimes he makes Frank feel like the grownup. "You sound like you're, like, thirty. Your life isn't over. Plus you're gonna draw a bloody as hell werewolf comic and get rich as all fuck, and then you can just take me and Mikey with you somewhere cool. You're our meal ticket, man."
IDK how to summarise this, really, because it's just- it sucks you in, and it's LONG and PLOTTY and AMAZING, but very basically Frank and Gee are teenagers and they're just...trying to have a relationship, amidst all the crazy in their respective lives.
the Unholy 'verse MCR, with cameos by FOB; supernatural!AU. Frank/Gerard
He offered Gerard his best smile and his hand to shake. "Hey, man, good to meet you. Mikey's told us exactly nothing about you."
Gerard smiled back and started to say something, but then stopped and took Frank's hand.
There was a sudden, marked, blessed drop in the pain in Frank's wrists. It was all Frank could do not to yelp out loud, it was so sudden.Gerard turned Frank's hand over and bent down to inspect the back of it. "Interesting tattoo."
"Thanks!" Frank said, shooting Bob a look that said see?. Brian and Bob both rolled their eyes. "I just got her a couple days ago."
"Do you know what it is?"
"Um," said Frank. Gerard's hands were really warm, and the longer he touched Frank, the less Frank's wrists hurt. It was - it couldn't be real, Frank thought, it must be a brain trick of some kind, serotonin from sexual attraction distracting him or something. Gerard was pretty cute, after all. "An angel?"
"It's a seraph," Gerard said, looking up at Frank from under his bangs. "One of the seraphim, the highest choir of angels."
"I knew I'd seen it somewhere before," Mikey said. "Gee, c'mon, let me show you around."
"Okay," Gerard said. He straightened up, waited for a second, then said, "Uh."
"Oh!" Frank let go of his hand - fucking hell - and stepped back, laughing. "Sorry."
"It's okay," Gerard said, smiling again.
Frank's stomach flipped right over, and the pain flooded back into his wrists.
Okay, this fic is now kind of legendary in fandom, and it's got two sequels so you might want to set aside a day or so to read it, but it is SO worth it, JFC. In essence, Gerard is a priest and Frank gets a cursed tattoo, and then once all the dust from everything that follows after that has settled, all of MCR + Brian go out on the road as supernatural-problem solvers and then shit really hits the fan. Just- read it.
And then there's these two fics, which will leave you wrung out and blinking and ;__________________;
Godspeed Us To Sea MCR, gangster!AU. Frank/Gerard
“Gerard, listen. I’m a cop. I know Ray’s going to tell you everything, I don’t know if has already, I just. I was undercover, we were supposed to move in on him as soon as the Kessler job went though. But it wasn’t about that, it isn’t about that anymore.”
“You remember, you said, you said there’s no such thing as good guys or bad guys, right? Us or them.”
“I can’t - fuck. There’s an envelope at my place, it’s behind the TV, okay? It’s in the hole in the wall. Read it. Read everything in it. I wrote down all there is to know. I was meeting with Mikey this whole time, and - god, you need to talk to Mikey, I told him to leave but I don’t know - I don’t know. I wrote it down.”
“Fuck, this is so stupid.”
(static)
“I just. I need you to know that it isn’t about them anymore. Okay? Gerard? I don’t - ”
“I don’t think it ever was.”
Frank is an undercover cop, Gerard is a member of the mafia. Shit goes down.
The Scene Is Dead MCR, with appearences by FOB; vampire apocalypse!AU. Frank/Gerard, minor Pete/Mikey
Then, it happened. One second Jer was shredding, leaning down toward the thin empty moat that separated him from the audience and then he jumped, so easily that he practically just stepped from the stage, and he was in the audience, crowd surfing, still playing although that wouldn't last long. Frank had learned long ago to leave the guitar onstage.
"Holy shit!" Frank gasped, grabbing Ray's wrist. "That is too fucking awesome!"
Security leapt into the crowd after Jer, yellow specks in a sea of black. Jer's guitar, separated from its owner, flew over the top of the crowd and landed onstage. Feedback wailed from the speakers. Tony stood on the edge of the stage now, laughing and pointing and waiting for his guitarist to get the fuck out of the crowd and back onstage.
And then he was, borne out of the crowd on the shoulders of three or four security guys, crawling over the crowd barriers and up onto the stage, shaking his head and smiling. Tony went over to help him up, laughing. He grabbed Jer's arm and that was when Frankie saw it. Blood.
It ran down Jer's arm and dripped off his fingertips into a rapidly growing puddle on the stage and Jer wasn't smiling, he was grimacing, his hand held out like a little kid who wants his mom, and a bunch of people, staff people, rushed onstage and circled around him and ran back and forth talking on walkie- talkies. The crowd settled back uneasily, afraid of what it had done.
It was one of the walkie-talkie people that Ray grabbed by the arm and asked "what the hell happened?" A young girl, an intern or something, maybe twenty, her blond hair tied up in a stubby ponytail, her eyes wide, her walkie-talkie clutched like a doll to her chest. "Oh god," she said. "They bit him."
Like the BEST KIND of dystopian vampire movie. And the ENDING, oh god the ending.
A Stitch Away From Making It (A Scar Away From Falling Apart) FOB, with a cameo by MCR, set while they were living in the same apartment complex while recording their new albums. Pete/Patrick, with a few other side pairings along the way.
"I didn’t know she was taping," Pete said sullenly and he chewed on his thumbnail. "I mean, fuck. Three goddamn months, man. Aren’t guys supposed to be the jerks in relationships?"
Patrick glared at Pete. "Have you ever noticed you have really craptastic taste in women?"
"Not all of them." Pete pushed his foot against Patrick’s hip, shoving him into the couch arm.
Patrick caught Pete’s foot and pulled it onto his lap, digging his fingernails in hard enough for Pete to flinch. "This one. She had to leak it, you know."
Pete shrugged and went back to chewing his thumbnail. "Yeah. Maybe I shouldn’t have called her a motherfucking cunt when we broke up."
"Nothing wrong with speaking the truth."
Pete gave him a faint smile.
"Anyway, at least everyone’s already seen your dick," Patrick said and Pete just gave him a look. "What? It’s true."
Pete's latest bad break-up leaks their sextape. Patrick can't stop watching.
And Weather In The Heart Alike FOB x MCR, sexswap!AU. Bob/girl!Patrick
"Right. Okay." Pete takes a calming breath and sets both hands flat on the table, "Today's first order of business is to establish reciprocity in the matter of the attraction Patricia Marie Stump holds for one Robert Bryar."
"Oh, my god. Trish is going to kill you." Andy buries his face in his hands.
Pete's fascinated by the entirely silent conversation MCR seems to have with just eyebrows and quirked mouths. After a few seconds, Ray nods decisively and says, "Established."
In which Bob and Trish are just trying to have a relationship (also, sex. Sex would be good too) but both their bands keep interrupting. GOD, THIS FIC ♥_____♥.
Every Aching Old Machine FOB future!fic. Pete/Patrick
They can go out in public without getting mobbed, these days - which is an infinite relief for Patrick and a slight disappointment for Pete - but they still get asked for autographs and pictures on a pretty regular basis, and five years ago Fall Out Boy's one-off summer reunion tour sold out venues across the country. Andy predicted "a solid wall of aging yuppies from Boston to Seattle", and there were plenty of those, sure enough, but there were also aging punks and aging hipsters and aging cheerleaders and aging celebrities and a surprising number of young people.
"Shouldn't they be listening to classic rock or something?" Patrick had said, disconcerted, and Pete had grinned at him.
"'Trick, we are classic rock."
Pete and Patrick have grown old together. ♥, forever.
Public Relations(hips) FOB, Pete/Patrick
After that, Pete still kissed Patrick on stage, but he made a point of kissing him offstage more often, too. He thought it would get a rise out of somebody - homophobia was alive and well, after all - but it seemed like nobody gave a shit about a couple of red-carpet smooches on the cheek. He had to spend some serious time googling before he even turned up some pictures on a couple of message boards.
Meanwhile, everywhere he looked there were youtube slide shows of dudes kissing. Half of those seemed to feature shots of Gerard and Frank, or members of Panic! in various combinations, which somehow seemed deeply unfair. Panic! fielded the gay question all the time, and the guys in My Chem had a standard response about how the punk and hardcore scene had been really homophobic or just intolerant of guys being affectionate, and so they'd decided to go and do their own thing.
Pete, in contrast, got to field questions about his dick, the time he popped a handful of Ativan, and his questionable taste in women. It was like there was only one set of interview questions in the world.
Patrick is kissing everyone but Pete. Pete becomes somewhat peturbed by this.
Chord Change --> (Hold Me, I'm A) Fermata FOB, future!fic. Pete/Patrick
Pete's list of dudes who were straight before they met Patrick has 52 names on it, including about half the dudes on Decaydance. Most of the other half don't count because they'd been pretty gay already, like Ryan, Spencer, William, and Pete himself.
Pete's spent so much time talking seriously to guys who were freaking out a little and/or thinking about going for it that he deserves a degree in Unrequited Loveology, and maybe his own psychiatrist's couch.
He's also considered a pamphlet for Decaydance newbies titled 'Music, Business, Love: no, Patrick doesn't know and isn't doing it on purpose' but. Well, love songs about Patrick Stump produced by Patrick Stump are like, half his label's biggest hits.
And it's not like anyone's heart gets really crushed (more importantly, Patrick's heart doesn't even get dented) so Pete mostly keeps his mouth shut until the dudes come crying to him, and that's just the way it is.
Every band Pete signs and sends to Patrick for musical polishing end up falling in love with him, and Patrick never notices. Pete finds this hilarious, except for how Patrick hasn't noticed him being in love with him either.
You Can't Be Missed If You Never Go Away FOB future!fic. Pete/Patrick
After two months of Patrick bitching about how small Pete’s bed was and how fucking uncomfortable he was in it (and Pete said that was complete shit since he was the one who ended up with Patrick's knee in his kidneys and his arm across his throat every fucking night so there was no goddamn way Patrick was uncomfortable) they’d finally gone out and bought a new bed from a furniture store on Melrose that the Hush Sound’s Greta had told Patrick about. Much to the amusement of the salesclerk-who at least hadn’t rushed to put it on her Livejournal (she’d waited nearly a week which Patrick thought was pretty decent of her, all things considered)--they’d argued over everything from the color of the wood to the style of the frame to how fucking big they needed it to be, and Pete had tossed his credit card down on the counter with an oh fuck it, we’ll take that one, pointing wildly to a headboard they hadn’t even looked at yet, much less argued about.
It was perfect, Patrick had to agree. Which kind of pissed him off.
And when the delivery guys arrived with the frame and mattress set the next day and had set the bed up and taken the old stained (with what Patrick didn’t want to think about) mattress away, Pete had looked at Patrick with wide, dark eyes, and said, “We’re really doing this, huh?” and Patrick had just stared at him because dude, yeah, they fucking were.
One of my favourite examples of the fandom trope that domestic Pete/Patrick is hard work. Also, the art is gorgeous.
Asking To Be Born --> Until The Seas Run Dry FOB, with cameos by the rest of bandom; mpreg/kid fic. Pete/Patrick
Dr. Bacal shuffles some papers around and clears his throat.
"It seems the situation is this: apparently it has been shown by our tests," and Patrick's heart sinks into his Vans, because he knows when doctors are trying to weasel-word something and that is a whole lot of passive voice right there, "that Mr. Wentz -" He breaks into a fit of coughing. "Pardon me. Well. As unlikely as it sounds, it appears that a viable human embryo has successfully implanted in Mr. Wentz's abdominal cavity." He makes eye contact with Pete, squaring his shoulders as if he thinks everyone's going to laugh at him, and says with the flat voice of a man who cannot believe what he's saying, "Congratulations, you're pregnant."
"Nice try," says Pete tiredly, "but I've already been Punk'd before, thanks."
In answer the doctor just holds up a dark and smudgy sheet. Someone's written "5 WEEKS" along the bottom. It takes them all a minute to realize that it's an ultrasound picture, and from there about a half-second to see that there's a little black blob in the middle. It doesn't look like anything much at all. But it's there.
If Patrick's going to be honest, his first thought is something along the lines of, Just when you started to think that sleeping with Pete Wentz wasn't such a bad idea after all.
Okay, even if you don't think it's your thing, you should read this, just give it a go, because this is mpreg done SO SO RIGHT. I mean, it's cracky by it's very nature, but this is the least cracky take on it possible, and it's basically amazing. And even if you don't like mpreg, the sequel can be read just like plain old kid!fic and it is also amazing. Also, their wedding night is both stupidly hot (I don't like fisting, but this makes it work), and reads to me as completely and totally in character for Pete. Ugh, soooo gooood.
I Know This Hurts (It Was Meant To) FOB, post-breakup. Pete/Patrick BDSM
Gabe presses a little too hard on the side of Pete’s nose. There’s a wave of pain. The ensuing nausea that follows it reminds him a little of getting kneed in the balls, and he moans.
“Freak,” Gabe remarks, with a small laugh. Pete would shove him, but he doesn’t want to jostle his face anymore. “You know, next time you want to hurt yourself, you should make sure you have a safe word.”
“Safe word,” Pete repeats.
“Yeah. You know, like a fetish thing. You should go to one of those crazy leather parties, next time you’re looking for a world of pain, man,” Gabe sighs, dabbing away more blood, this time from the side of Pete’s neck. “Then I won’t have to clean up after you, and you’ll at least get an orgasm out of it.”
Pete must have lost a lot more blood than he thought, because that actually makes sense. But then a nurse calls them back, and Pete forgets Gabe’s smartass comment in favor of focusing on explaining how, exactly, his face got all fucked up.
Of course, it depends whether BDSM is your thing, but for what it's worth this is well-done, really hot BDSM, and, like Until The Seas Run Dry above, it justs fits Pete SO WELL. Also, I would just like to point out that it is, in fact, canon that Pete got his face beaten the fuck up and he won't talk about it.
A Little Piece With You PATD-centric Jazz Club!AU, with cameos by the rest of bandom. Brendon/Ryan and Spencer/Jon, with background Pete/Patrick
A week later, when the four of them are sitting around Ryan and Spencer's tiny, scuffed kitchen table, playing cards and listening to Brendon's records, Brendon suggests the possibility of them playing a gig.
"Together?" Ryan sputters, nearly choking on a mouthful of Coca-Cola.
Brendon laughs. "Yeah, that's the idea behind a band, Ross."
To be honest, Jon's been waiting for Brendon to bring up the idea of forming a band since the night Spencer mentioned he played drums. He lays his cards on the table and looks sidelong at Spencer.
"You've never even heard us play," Ryan's saying, gesturing around with cards still clutched in his hand. "I mean, I only mentioned that one time that I played a little guitar, that doesn't mean I want to - to get up on stage."
In which Panic form a band, and there is a lot of UST before they finally sort themselves out.
Hey Gravity! PATD, tour!fic. Brendon/Spencer
Moving up to lean against the wall, legs spread, Spencer simply flips him off and tilts his head back.
His hair splays messily across the wall and catches the light coming through the cafe’s plate glass window, haloing around his face. The delicate skin under his eyes looks stretched and faintly violet. His freckles are beginning to come through, most pronounced across the bridge of his nose.
The radio behind the counter is playing some goofy punk song.
Brendon pictures stepping forward and touching his lips to the small triangle of skin illuminated in the bright just beneath Spencer’s ear.
He’s not entirely sure where that thought came from.
This isn't usually my pairing, but god, the way the author writes the imagery and the sensations and just everything *________*
Read Me Like No One Else PATD x His Dark Materials, with small cameo by FOB. Brendon/Ryan and Spencer/Jon
Ryan loves watching other daemons. He makes notes in his head of their mannerisms, their various ticks and how much they mirror their people. Spencer once joked that Ryan loved watching daemons more than humans, and while Ryan had laughed, he's always thought there was some truth to that.
Daemons can strip a person bare. But Ryan tries not to think too deeply on that very often, because it's both terrifying and fascinating and sometimes keeps him up too late at night.
He watches Ani constantly, but he doesn't realize he watches her as much as he does, not completely, until the day they're sitting in rehearsal, prepping for the new tour (their first headlining tour), and Brendon's full of unreleased energy and motion. Ani jumps into the air, each leap punctuated with sharp barks, and Brendon grabs her, spins her around until she wiggles free and starts all over.
Ryan smiles and shakes his head, but then he looks over and sees Salara sitting on an amp, sighing wistfully, her nose resting on her paws as she watches Ani run circles around Brendon's ankles.
At that point, Ryan sort of gets it. It still doesn't mean he has to think about it. Ani has never been shy about Salara's space, just as Brendon's never been shy about--well, anyone's space. It's fitting that his daemon would be the same. Ryan has assumed since the beginning that Salara is just more tolerant than other daemons, and it has nothing to do with--with--
He startles a bit when Ani skids across the floor of the rehearsal room and barks happily in Salara's face, her paws up on the amp, bracketing Salara's small, round body. Salara glances over at Ryan, and he swears he catches a smile.
Faaaavourite, OMG. EVERY fandom should have a daemon!verse, ajsjhshsjggfds. (There's a primer included, for those unfamiliar with HDM)
As Close As It Gets To Home panbandom, telepath!AU. Frank/Gerard, Brendon/Ryan and Spencer/Jon
He feels Spencer come in before he sees him, the low-level buzz in the back of his mind that means Spencer is near. He and Spencer grew up together, trained together, got assigned together, and haven’t been apart for more than a week or two since they were kids. The presence of Spencer in his mind is almost something he takes for granted, and Ryan opens his own mind in response, passing a wordless greeting that he feels returned automatically just as Spencer appears and slides in at the desk across from him.
Om nom nom, police!telepaths! Also god, the sex scenes, when one or both can get into the other's head *___________*
Forever, Now --> Star-Shaped --> The Lines You Amend MCR x most of the rest of bandom, kid!fic AU. Brendon/Ryan, Frank/Gerard and various other minor pairings
He was about four blocks from home when he saw the kid. He didn’t recognize him specifically, more the idea of dark hair dark jacket ripped jeans that he’d seen before at some point - that morning? The kid was standing in the opening of an alley, long hair hanging in her - his? - face, hands shoved in the pockets of ripped, grimy jeans and a jacket that didn’t look warm enough at all. The hair had thrown him off for a second, but the kid was a boy, Brian realized, maybe eleven or twelve years old. Where the hell were his parents? Who let a pre-teen wander the streets without a hat or mittens on the coldest March day Brian could remember? It was the kind of thing that made Brian grateful he didn’t have kids to worry about.
The kid looked up at him as he walked by. He had the biggest goddamn eyes Brian had ever seen; absolutely huge, dark lashes, tangled hair. Brian was pretty sure his mother wouldn’t have let him leave the house without at least washing his hair now and then. Parenting was getting pretty slack.
Two things occurred to him, suddenly.
First, this kid probably didn’t have parents.
Second, he remembered this kid from this morning, shortly after the last time he’d seen his wallet.
The other fandom-legendary epic fic. In which Brian adopts the orphaned Way brothers, hires Brendon as their babysitter tutor, and gets his life turned thoroughly upside down.
Our Comedies Are Not To Be Laughed At pan-bandom, filmschool!AU. Frank/Gerard, Pete/Mikey, Pete/Patrick, Bob/Spencer etc
The first order of business is deciding who's going to write the script. Even though no one likes it (especially not Professor Conrad), they have to agree that Pete is the best writer in the whole class.
Four people leave the project before Professor Conrad finishes the long "z" in Wentz. One of them is Brent, who takes everyone's money for order-in Chinese and then never comes back. It leaves them without a sound tech, so Professor Conrad gets one of his older students to fill in. From what they've heard, Jon Walker is kind of a slob, but he's really ace at what he does. So. There's that.
Frank and Gerard want to do a horror movie, but they have to pitch the idea to Pete, whose genre of choice typically involves romantic comedies. Sometimes about mimes. Once he did a ten minute love story with just chickens - free range chickens - called "Under Your Wing." He always says that using human actors is a cop out, and suggests to Frank and Gerard that they cast nothing but those little marshmallow peeps in this one. "Think about it," he insists. "We just need a bit of red food coloring, and wham! Special effects."
(They bought the marshmallow peeps just to humor Pete, but someone ate them. Brendon insists that they always say "someone" ate them instead of "Brendon" ate them, because Pete is small but he wears steel-toed boots sometimes and isn't afraid to kick you in the crotch.)
Lovelovelove. Spencer is the Amphibian Menace! Frank and Gerard have hot paint!sex! Everyone hooks up on premiere night!
Given Limits Exist PATD-centric, but pan-bandom; circus!AU. Brendon/Ryan
“Anytime you’re ready, Ross,” Brendon drawls, hanging by his knees with his arms folded across his chest, and he gives Ryan an upside-down cross look, which fails to look anything but ridiculous. Ryan moves up smoothly to his feet, rolling his shoulders back, and scales the unsteady rope ladder again, jumping out across the gap to Brendon.
Brendon catches him.
Brendon and Ryan are trapeze artists, Gerard's the ringmaster and Pete and Mikey are clowns. :D.
The Rift In The Lute pan-bandom but PATD-centric, coffee shop!AU. Ryan/Brendon, with background Frank/Gerard and Jon/Spencer
Al-Andalus is the name painted in swirls and curlicues on the sign outside, but like most people, Ryan tends to think of it as Dusty-and-Katie-Kay's, or even just as Dusty's. (Dusty's name is Erin, on the dotted line, but this is always conveniently forgotten; Ryan likes to think of Al-Andalus's many names, stacked one inside the other like concentric circles, a succession of puzzle-boxes).
It sells exceptionally good espresso, in handy proximity to the college campus, with good background music and gingerbread cookies and cupcakes, and seriously, half the clientele comes in for the primary purpose of talking (debating) music with the staff, or for the treat of genuine, unfeigned barista sarcasm.
In which Ryan's life is hard because his one-night stand didn't sem to get the memo and is (charmingly) stalking him, and his best friend finds it hilarious.
Behind The Sea pan-bandom, SeaQuest!AU. Gabe/Bill, various permutations leading up to Panic GSF, and vague Frank/Gerard
“Dr. Urie,” Dr. Way says, smiling. It’s early enough in the morning that it takes a second for Brendon to figure out who he means.
“Oh hey,” he says, hands catching in the deep pockets of his lab coat when he fumbles to pull them out. “Brendon is fine. We’re pretty informal down here on the science deck.”
“Gerard,” Dr. Way agrees, skipping the handshake to go for a friendly arm squeeze. “I haven’t seen any autopsy reports, so I assume you were waiting for me to get here?”
“Oh,” Brendon says, stumbling a little. “We, um, I…don’t really like doing them. The killing part, I mean. It seems cruel.”
Gerard looks surprised. “It’s not dead?”
“It was swimming around the last time I saw it,” Brendon promises. “We’re keeping it in a torpedo tube.”
“I knew that part,” Gerard says. “I just assumed it was because you had it laid out or preserved or something.”
“No,” Brendon says, with a quick guilty glance in the direction of the moon pool. “I just didn’t want it to eat Dylan.”
Gerard and Dylan had become fast friends the previous evening, after Lugosi’s water had been changed out. He and Brendon exchange an understanding glance concerning the difficulties of keeping a dolphin and a carnivorous cephalopod in the same tank.
Gabe is the captain of a submarine, William is psychic, Gerard is a squid expert and Panic are bonding over Brendon's dolphin.
The Negotiation Limerick File --> The Grasshopper Unit --> What Comes Around PATD x MCR, spy!AU. Brendon/Ryan, Jon/Spencer and Frank/Gerard
There were other doors, but they were all locked, until the one that wasn’t, which flew open under Brendon’s hand.
Brendon was surprised that it led in to an office, and not anything that looked stage-related, like a dressing room or a storage closet. He was doubly surprised because it was a pretty small office with lots of people in it.
He was triply surprised because - “Gerard?” Brendon blurted. “Gerard Way?”
Everyone turned around to look at him. More weirdness; he’d recognized Gerard from the back but he hadn’t realized the short guy next to him with the long hair was Frank Iero. Plus there were all these guys in suits holding guns.
Guns.
Um.
Ohhhh man, SO AWESOME. In which MyChem are secret government agents, and Brendon accidentally finds out and has to be trained up by them.
But Not The Song pan-bandom, sex!slave AU. All permutations of Panic that aren't GSF, though it's heading that way.
"Open your mouth for me, pretty," the merchant says, his voice low, almost purring. "I want to see how much cock you can handle."
The boy's lips are pressed together in a straight line.
"Now," the merchant says sharply.
The boy doesn't respond. He's staring at a point over the merchant's shoulder, his face completely blank, his eyes empty.
The caravan master starts to say something, but the merchant moves quickly. He grabs the boy's chin so tight the boy's lips part with a startled gasp, and the merchant smiles. The boy's eyes narrow and he jerks his chin free of the man's grasp, snakes his head down and bites the man's hand, hard.
Holy shit, Brendon thinks. A murmur rises from the slaves all around, and angry muttering from the guards. Holy shit.
EPIC SEXSLAVE!FIC OF EPICNESS. It'll take you a while to read, but OMG SO WORTH IT. This 'verse, I could roll around in it foreverrrrr.
OKAY. And now to the fic!
These are all short crossovers to ~ease you into the fandom:
Zombies Ate Your Idols (They Were Delicious) My Chemical Romance x Adam Lambert. Adam/Kris
Gerard draws a new tour poster, which he then copies at Kinkos and sends ahead to every venue without bothering to tell either of their labels about it. Adam figures most of them will end up on eBay at some point. Apparently Gerard, with Mikey's blessing (which, as far as Adam can tell, means Mikey looked at the poster and nodded), has renamed the tour Zombies Ate Your Idols.
Adam never thought he'd find a drawing of himself being gnawed on by Bob Bryar and Mikey Way to be charming. Then again, he never thought he'd see a drawing of himself being gnawed on, so. The things you learn.
This is first mostly because it is the best introduction to MCR for Adam-fandom ever, mostly because it's from Adam's POV. Yes, it's Kradam, but only barely, and the rest of it is SO AWESOME it doesn't matter. MyChem ask Adam out on tour with them, and then Kris ends up coming along for the ride too. It is the greatest travesty of life, the universe and eveything that this is not canon (...yet).
Pinch Hitter My Chemical Romance x Adam Lambert. Adam/Frank/Gerard
Gerard looked behind him and saw Frank chatting up some dude. Tall, dark hair. Freckles. Gorgeous. Amazing belt buckle, which Gerard only noticed because Frank had his fucking fingers tucked underneath it.
“Jesus,” Gerard moaned. “Don’t people know to come find me when Frank starts hitting on them?”
“He doesn’t seem to mind,” Ray observed. He took a swig of water and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “I don’t recognize him.”
Gerard rolled his shoulders and tipped his head back, letting his neck stretch out until it burned. “All right,” he groaned, and went over there.
“Gee,” Frank said happily, turning towards him. He didn’t take his fingers back, though. “This is Adam.”
Comes with a helpful primer on all three dudes concerned (scroll up). Basically, MCR's stagegay went WAY WAY UP during the Projekt Revolution tour in 2007, and fannishly the obvious explanation is that Frank was in heat. This, understandably, is tiring for poor Gerard, so a third guy seems to be the perfect solution.
Yo Ho Ho Fall Out Boy x Pirates Of The Caribbean. Pete/Patrick
"Dude--" Pete started, and suddenly spun Patrick around. "Patrick! Patrick, look."
Patrick did, just as a strong green flash filled the horizon.
"What the f--" he said, and shut up mid-word. Because where there had been nothing a minute ago -- daytrippers already in for the night, too early for night fishing -- there was now a ship (not a boat, a ship) with a sharp, jagged prow and ragged sails.
"That," Patrick said, a little uneasily, "looks like a goddamned ghost ship, Pete."
"Probably because it is," Pete said. Fucker sounded like he was grinning. "You want to come say hi?"
In which Pete's ancestor is Will Turner, and he told Pete to bring his special someone by if/when he found them. So Pete does.
You Have Died Of Dysentery pan-bandom x Oregon Trail game
Somehow they make it across yet another impossibly wide river--Spencer says it's the Platte, Brendon thinks they all look the same--the wagon wobbling precariously the entire time, and on the other side is an abandoned wagon containing:
3 sets of clothing
158 bullets (Spencer insists on counting)
1 wagon axle
27 pounds of food
Pete Wentz
Brendon knows it is Pete Wentz because Jon says, "Pete Wentz!" and thumps his fist against the abandoned wagon in a manly excited gesture. Also, because he is short.
In which Ryan is the one always getting sick/injured, Brendon doesn't want to kill anything and Jon Walker is awesome. Makes me fall out my chair laughing every time.
*
If you want to get a good handle on how bandom as a whole tend to cast crossover roles and twist the characters to fit, you should read this Titanic AU discussion. Also, it's hilarious.
Okay. Now stop whatever you are doing and go and read The Gay Starfish. It is possibly the best thing to exist in ALL OF FANDOM EVER.
*
Alright. Now these are all fics you can just dip into, because they don't require an epic knowledge of canon - they're either AUs or mostly porn, neither of which requires you to know much because it's all explained in the story/irrelevant:
An Emergency Of The Heart MCR, Cinderella!AU. Frank/Gerard
Gerard doesn’t even realize he’s singing until Mikey grumbles from the couch, “Shut the fuck up, Sinatra, some of us are trying to sleep.”
“A dream is a wish your heart makes,” Gerard sings, loudly and out-of-tune, watching the mice tip coffee into his mug. He worries that they’re going to burn themselves, but they’re pretty slick, Gerard’s mice, holding their whiskers and tails out of the way. “My place, my voice,” he calls to Mikey, because Jesus, everyone needs to get off his fucking case this morning. “You wanted to stay here, all right? Nobody likes a cranky houseguest.”
The couch squeaks violently and Gerard hears the muffled shift of Mikey turning over. “Fucking freak. Fucking singing.”
“There’s coffee,” Gerard adds, and then carries his mug back into his room.
Oh god, this is one of my favourite things. Like, the birds and mice are still in it! And they are amazing! And Frank is the handsome prince! And the animals try and force Gerard to shower and do his makeup and ♥_______♥.
The Sky-High City MCR future!fic, with a small cameo by Patrick from FOB. Frank/Gerard
Gerard's first book is called Leonard's Purple Balloon, and it's about how it's okay to like purple balloons instead of red balloons or green balloons, even though your friends might make fun of you. Frank buys a copy at the Borders near his house at midnight, and he sits in his car while he reads it, the crisp pages illuminated by the parking lot's sodium lights. Gerard's drawings are careful and brightly-colored.
In which Frank kind of can't deal with life after the band, and ends up living with Gerard while he tries to figure everything out. Lovelovelove.
Progressive Diminishment And The Art Of Living MCR officeworker!AU. Frank/Gerard
There’s a couch Gerard has never seen before. It looks more expensive than anything he would pick out for himself. The television is also new and there’s a row of Stephen King novels on his bookshelf. Gerard has never read a Stephen King book and he certainly wouldn’t buy them. The important thing though, the most disturbing part, is the collage of snapshots to the right of the front door. Every single one of them is of Frank and Gerard together, kind of obviously in love.
Gerard’s hands shake. “I think I need to sit down again.”
Frank leads him to the couch and kneels in front of him. “Do you believe me?”
“I believe you’re in a relationship with a Gerard, but I don’t think I’m him.” Gerard’s voice trembles as he takes in the implications of that statement. Alternate realities do not exist outside of science fiction and comic books but there’s no other rational explanation. Photoshop could not create the look of adoration in Gerard’s eyes in those pictures. He’s never looked at anyone like that in his entire life and definitely not in front of a camera.
Frank sits back on his heels, looking crushed. “Fuck.”
Gerard is an office worker who's not living, just existing - then he slips through into an alternate universe where he's dating Frank and his life is pretty awesome.
untitled Bob/Patrick fic MCR x FOB, when they were living in the same apartment complex writing their new albums. Bob/Patrick
Patrick looks at Pete, who he knows is going out with his latest girl tonight, and at the picture of My Chem on Bob’s fridge where Mikey, Gerard and Frank are doing weird rapper hands around Ray, who is wearing bunny ears and a long-suffering expression, and he looks at Bob, who is sitting quietly at the table with his hands folded and he says, “No, thanks. We’re good.”
They watch a countdown of the One Hundred Most Embarrassing Celebrity Moments, and Bob doesn’t say a thing about Pete’s famous penis. Patrick doesn’t know how he’s ever going to watch TV with anyone else, ever again.
Bob/Patrick is one of my favourite crossover pairings, and it IS canon that they lived together for a time, so! Also, this fic gives an excellent outside view of the characters who are usually the ones focused on/telling the story (Frank/Gerard/Pete) as well as a interesting take on MCR's relationship as seen by an outsider.
Rather Fight With You FOB, TTTYG-era. Pete/Patrick
If he gets back in the van (the stuffy sweaty claustrophobic people space of the van) his chest will explode. Pete knows this. Patrick should fucking know it, too, if he knows anything at all about Pete by now; but he doesn't, and Pete feels the prickle of growing irritation under his skin. "No."
Patrick looks momentarily nonplussed, then frowns. "Pete, don't do this tonight. Please. Come the fuck on."
"No," Pete repeats, louder, one sneaker tapping a spastic beat on the ground.
"Pete." And that kid may look like a cherub and sing like an angel, but he's got a temper on him. "Get your ass in the fucking van."
Pete is suddenly angry. Fucking furious, because what is this bright-cheeked bright-eyed just-a-fucking-teenager doing anywhere near Pete anyway, what is he doing in Pete's life, why the music, why the jokes, why the casual caresses, doesn't he fucking know how Pete will fuck him over in the end, doesn't he get it, stupid - Patrick's close, closer, closest up in his face now, all arched brows and arched upper lip. Pete's backed up against the wall, caged and trapped and he wants a fight tonight, anything to feel alive. What he does not want is to get his ass in the fucking van, so "No."
Basically porn, of the angry!sex variety. Also, it is totally canon that Pete once got so mad at Patrick he shoved him up against the van with his hands round his throat, so. Also, did I mention it's smokin' hot?
Woman Like A Man FOB, sexswap. Pete/Patrick
Pete twists his face into the iconic Wentz grimace, experimentally, just to make sure. The chick in the mirror does it back.
"'Trick," he says, contemplative, "I'm not myself today."
A pause that is probably Patrick sighing, just softly so Pete won't hear. "Pete, did you take your meds?"
"Yeah," says Pete distractedly, still gazing at his reflection, "no, look," and he pulls the bathroom door open.
Patrick looks down, up, down, up, and goes a shade of white that any emo kid could be proud of.
Oh god, this fic. Pete turns into a girl and is mostly unfazed, except for how he keeps having sex dreams about Patrick. After reading this, you will never think of Patrick's mouth the same way again. Also, this is some of the hottest porn I have ever read *___*.
Act As A Clever Medicine FOB, sexpollen. Pete/Patrick
"Holy shit," says Andy. He and Joe are hovering above them, looking angry and concerned. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Patrick says, standing up to prove his point. "It was just some dick with a water gun, no big deal." Except that he really doesn't know what was in that gun: his eyes have stopped stinging, but everywhere he's wet feels tingly and prickly, and things smell... funny. Different. Not in a bad way, just--
Pete's arm slides over his shoulder to hug his back, protectively. "You've been attacked by a crazy fan. That makes you officially a rock star, Patrick Stump."
"As you can see, it's very glamorous," Joe pipes up from his other side. They appear to be flanking him and herding him back to the van, which Patrick is okay with, because he can't see all that well. Pete's arm tightens, and Patrick is suddenly very aware that if he turned his head slightly, his lips would brush Pete's ear, or neck. And Joe--if he tilted his head to the left he could put his head on Joe's shoulder, see how he smelled.
More porn. There's something about it being Patrick, though, that makes it hotter. Probably because he's usually so quiet and keeps his head down, so to have him like this, uninhibited and desperate, is just so damn hot.
And The Moon In Their Net FOB, AU. Pete/Patrick
"Patrick," Pete started, "this is. I'm not kidding, here. I'm serious."
"Yes," Patrick said. "Of course you are. I can tell, too, because you're three feet high and have pointed ears. And the giant wings coming out of your back were a dead giveaway. I thought I maybe should have said something about the fact that you sneeze glitter, or that time you went out and got high with a bunch of unicorns--"
In which Pete is a fairy. No, not that kind of- well okay yeah, that kind, but also the other kind. And he may have...said some stuff, and now next week the band have to play for Queen Titania and if they're less than amazing they will all die. Oh man, I am such a sucker for urban fantasy, and adding one of my favourite bands? :DDD
Rhyme Girl With Girl FOB, sexswap!AU. girl!Pete/girl!Patrick
The first time Peyton Wentz lays eyes on Patricia Stump, Trish is wearing an argyle sweater and matching kneesocks, jean shorts. She has glasses and reddish-blonde hair pulled into a ponytail through the back of her baseball cap, and her expression is unreadable. She's maybe two or three inches shorter than Peyton, which is saying something.
"Please," Peyton says, "tell me you're fucking kidding."
There are better declarations of love, she supposes.
Om nom nom, girl!AU. Also, girl!Patrick is my absolute favourite fandom construct ever, although girl!Pete is a pretty close second. The story of Fall Out Boy up to 2006, if half of it were girls.
Make My Troubles Rhyme --> Gather No Moss FOB, AU. Pete/Patrick
He stands in front of his bathroom mirror, staring at himself, trying to figure out what it is about him that makes everything go wrong. There's nothing, nothing he can see anyway. It's just him.
"Fuck you too," Pete tells his mirrored self, and it's not a conscious decision when he lashes out, it's instinct. His fist hits the glass, dead square on his own face, and the glass shatters like it was waiting for him to make a move.
"Shit," he yelps, cradling his hand, but his reflection staggers back with his hand on his eye and says "Fucking oww."
In which teenage fuck-up!Pete discovers his reflection is alive, and promptly punches it out and steals its life, ending up in this universe and going on to form the band. In his old universe, other!him becomes a senator, marries Patrick and adopts three kids and two dogs. ♥.
Semi-Decent Proposals FOB, Pete/Patrick
“Very funny, asshole.” Patrick shoved him off the bunk and onto the floor. “Is Hemingway going to be our best man?” He checked the clock. Three hours until the show. He needed to start drinking some water, get moving a little.... Patrick realized that everyone was looking at him and Pete hadn’t gotten off the ground.
“No.” Pete held out his hand for Patrick to pull him up. “Joe’s our best man, because he introduced us.” Patrick yanked on Pete’s arm harder than was necessary. He was taking this too far. They had a show in a few hours.
“Andy’s cool with that,” Pete added.
“It’s an institution.” Andy shrugged as if that explained everything, which it kind of did. “But don’t get me wrong; I’m happy for you guys.” He put his earbuds in, grabbed a set of drumsticks from the table, and started air-drumming.
Patrick looked to Joe for help, but Joe was deeply involved in his DS. He kicked his legs out. “Come on, run you fuckers, run...run...yeah!” He glanced up quickly. “Wedding, yeah. Pete asked me a while ago. He’s got rings and everything."
In which Pete keeps proposing marriage, and Patrick keeps thinking he's joking.
Crush (With Eyeliner) PATD, Fever-era. Brendon/Ryan/Spencer, with eventual GSF
One night, Brendon came up behind Jon and sang an entire verse of "Build God" pressed up against Jon's back, kissing Jon's cheek when he was done, and it was totally just fucking around onstage, right, because Brendon was Mr. Stage Presence now, except that he did the same thing to Ryan, only with more thrusting and some microphone sharing, and afterwards Ryan and Brendon ran off to the dressing room and locked it before they could get in.
"What are we supposed to do now?" Jon asked, kicking at the door. It sounded like they were breaking furniture in there, but not in an ostentatious way, just in the way that Ryan was probably on his back on the table getting fucked hard, and so things were getting knocked off of it.
"Entertain ourselves?" Spencer suggested mildly, leaning against the wall facing Jon, his hip cocked out and shirt undone at the collar, and Jon really hadn't been like this when he was eighteen. Not even William had been like this, and Spencer didn't even appear to be trying.
Poor, overwhelmed Jon. This was, I think, the first Panic fic I ever read, and it's a good introduction to the band. Ryan's characterisation is a little OOC now that several years have passed and we know he isn't actually putting up a shy front to hide his complete slutiness, but it works in this fic.
It's Almost Halloween PATD, crackfic.
“What’s that?” Ryan demanded. His heart was pounding. Before he could get back to his feet there was a squishy wet thwack noise and the moan stopped.
“That,” said Spencer’s voice, “is a zombie. Ugh, they are gross motherfuckers, I have zombie guts all over my pajamas.”
Ryan pointed the flashlight up. Spencer grinned at him. He had spattered something all over his shirt, and he was holding a baseball bat. Ryan didn’t ask where it had come from. Spencer was the kind of person who, in case of zombie attack, would obviously find a baseball bat.
“What do you mean, zombie?” asked Brendon, a little muffled underneath Ryan. “Ow, get off me. You mean zombie zombies?”
“I think so,” said Spencer. “Except so far they haven’t tried to eat my brain."
“That,” said Jon’s voice, “is because we all know Ryan is the brains of this outfit.”
So, Panic once wrote a song with the same title as this fic, and the video involved them dressed up hilariously as various classic monsters. This fic was kind of inevitable.
*
Aaaand now that you have a reasonable idea of the characters, we're into the looooong stuff/fic that requires you know the characters to have a full impact:
Conclusions MCR, non-band AU. Frank/Gerard and minor background Ray/Bob
"You need a lodger, he needs a place," Mikey says, and then he holds one long finger up in the air like a victory salute. "And he's not afraid of spiders."
"Yeah, that's right up there on my list of qualities to look for in a lodger." Frank clicks impatiently at the fucking welcome screen.
Mikey digs a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. "It's number fifteen."
Okay, this fic is long and ridiculous and miscommunication-y and also OMG SO GOOD.
That's The Way We Get By MCR future!fic, with cameos by the rest of bandom. Frank/Gerard
It is surprising, though, because while Frank’s been a part of Gerard’s life for over a decade now, he’s obviously never been a part like this. But they come to terms with it ridiculously quickly, considering how nervous Gerard gets about some things, and soon Frank’s wandering through Gerard’s apartment shouting something about being out of rice, and Gerard bitches back that if Frank wants it and Frank uses it then Frank should buy it, for fuck’s sake, and Frank says, haughtily, “It’s not my business to keep your household running, Gerard,” and Gerard throws something at him.
Ugh, this fic ♥. So, domestic!AUs make me sappy and go around for several hours after reading them making an :DDD face and feeling all warm and fuzzy, and this is like, the quintessential MCR future!domestic fic and I LOVE it. Also, it manages to break up both their canon relationships nicely and without malicious glee or whatever, and Lindsey and Jamia are written as actual people who love them, and ♥.
Ride MCR, early days. Frank/Gerard
"Dude, this is seriously awesome," Frank said. "She's like a rock 'n' roll mom!"
"It's a punk rock bed and breakfast," Gerard answered.
"I love her," Ray said, collapsing onto the bottom bunk bed. "I'm going to marry her."
"Top bunk!" Frankie shouted, but Matt caught him around the waist and leapt up onto the top bunk before Frank could get there. "No way!" Frank said, but Matt was much bigger than him and that was all the way he needed.
Gerard stepped over to the narrow doorway. The second room was much like the first, only it was dominated by a high queen-sized bed with a wrought iron frame.
"Oh, man," Frankie moaned in Gerard's ear, leaning up against him. "Where'm I gonna sleep?"
"We can share," Gerard said. "It's big enough." He ignored the sudden rushing feeling in his chest. It was probably from the heat.
Van-era MCR! Touring round the country and sleeping wherever they can! Turns out this latest place is actually pretty awesome. Also, provides the perfect opportunity for Frank and Gerard to work some things out.
Distance In The Afterlife MCR, tour!fic. Frank/Gerard
Mikey appears in the doorway, breathing hard and grinning. "Dude, Gee. You've gotta-come on, you've gotta see this."
Gerard follows him. They stand backstage together, watching the tail end of Taking Back Sunday's set, and past the stage lights and all the amps and mic stands, Gerard can see kids holding signs that say, "GERARD, I LOVE YOU" and "THANK YOU."
"Oh," Gerard says.
During their set, he can't-there's this one girl standing right up front, wearing a white t-shirt with a rainbow painted on it, colors all out of order. She cries through the entire show, wracking, full-out sobs, and there's a girl beside her kissing her wet face and stroking her hair, and Gerard feels it go through him like a lightning bolt: the reason he gave that interview and why he would go back and do it again if he could, the reason he would make that same decision every time, in every life he was given to live.
Gerard comes out. This fic is particularly fascinating to me to read in light of Adam, who came along two years after this was set and year after it was written, because Gerard is basically the closest thing bandom has to Adam and, even though Adam was not in a band or already famous when he came out, some of this still works for both, I think. ♥.
In This White House pan-bandom AU, but this first part is MCR-centric. Frank/Gerard(/Lindsey/Jamia)
That was the main difference between Frank and the rest of the staff. When they looked at him-even Mikey, when they were on the job-they saw the President, the person who had brought them all together in this building for a thousand purposes. Frank never once treated Gerard any differently from the moment he first piled his things onto the desk outside the door to the Oval Office. He still throws his arms around Gerard and kisses his cheek when he's excited (which never fails to make Joe and the Secret Service exceedingly twitchy), and he's still the same grumpy Frank in the mornings before he has his coffee. When Gerard yells through the door at him, Frank will yell right back, usually lamenting the fact that the Way family is so backwards and technology-challenged that neither of them has ever bothered to learn how to use an intercom.
In fact, Gerard can usually tell when someone important has walked into the front office, because Frank will tack a "…Mr. President!" onto the end of whatever insult he's shouting.
Gerard is the President. Again, I find this fascinating to read in light of actual real life events - those being Obama this time - cause I think this Gerard's campaign seems similar to Obama's, kind of. Also, I love how everyone in bandom just works in whatever role they were put into.
Nightswimming MCR, teenage!AU. Frank/Gerard and background Mikey/Pete
Frank says, "Of course Mikey wants to fucking leave, man. This town is fucking hicksville. If you don't wanna work at a gas station for the rest of your natural life you have to get out of here." He goes over what he just said and adds, "Not that there's anything wrong with that. Working at a gas station, I mean. But it's not for Mikey. Or you. Or me."
"Exactly!" Gerard says, waving his hands around all DUH. The drawings flap wildly and a couple come loose and flutter to the floor. Frank picks them up. "But here I am," Gerard adds.
Frank rolls his eyes. Sometimes Gerard is so fucking stubborn, and sometimes he makes Frank feel like the grownup. "You sound like you're, like, thirty. Your life isn't over. Plus you're gonna draw a bloody as hell werewolf comic and get rich as all fuck, and then you can just take me and Mikey with you somewhere cool. You're our meal ticket, man."
IDK how to summarise this, really, because it's just- it sucks you in, and it's LONG and PLOTTY and AMAZING, but very basically Frank and Gee are teenagers and they're just...trying to have a relationship, amidst all the crazy in their respective lives.
the Unholy 'verse MCR, with cameos by FOB; supernatural!AU. Frank/Gerard
He offered Gerard his best smile and his hand to shake. "Hey, man, good to meet you. Mikey's told us exactly nothing about you."
Gerard smiled back and started to say something, but then stopped and took Frank's hand.
There was a sudden, marked, blessed drop in the pain in Frank's wrists. It was all Frank could do not to yelp out loud, it was so sudden.Gerard turned Frank's hand over and bent down to inspect the back of it. "Interesting tattoo."
"Thanks!" Frank said, shooting Bob a look that said see?. Brian and Bob both rolled their eyes. "I just got her a couple days ago."
"Do you know what it is?"
"Um," said Frank. Gerard's hands were really warm, and the longer he touched Frank, the less Frank's wrists hurt. It was - it couldn't be real, Frank thought, it must be a brain trick of some kind, serotonin from sexual attraction distracting him or something. Gerard was pretty cute, after all. "An angel?"
"It's a seraph," Gerard said, looking up at Frank from under his bangs. "One of the seraphim, the highest choir of angels."
"I knew I'd seen it somewhere before," Mikey said. "Gee, c'mon, let me show you around."
"Okay," Gerard said. He straightened up, waited for a second, then said, "Uh."
"Oh!" Frank let go of his hand - fucking hell - and stepped back, laughing. "Sorry."
"It's okay," Gerard said, smiling again.
Frank's stomach flipped right over, and the pain flooded back into his wrists.
Okay, this fic is now kind of legendary in fandom, and it's got two sequels so you might want to set aside a day or so to read it, but it is SO worth it, JFC. In essence, Gerard is a priest and Frank gets a cursed tattoo, and then once all the dust from everything that follows after that has settled, all of MCR + Brian go out on the road as supernatural-problem solvers and then shit really hits the fan. Just- read it.
And then there's these two fics, which will leave you wrung out and blinking and ;__________________;
Godspeed Us To Sea MCR, gangster!AU. Frank/Gerard
“Gerard, listen. I’m a cop. I know Ray’s going to tell you everything, I don’t know if has already, I just. I was undercover, we were supposed to move in on him as soon as the Kessler job went though. But it wasn’t about that, it isn’t about that anymore.”
“You remember, you said, you said there’s no such thing as good guys or bad guys, right? Us or them.”
“I can’t - fuck. There’s an envelope at my place, it’s behind the TV, okay? It’s in the hole in the wall. Read it. Read everything in it. I wrote down all there is to know. I was meeting with Mikey this whole time, and - god, you need to talk to Mikey, I told him to leave but I don’t know - I don’t know. I wrote it down.”
“Fuck, this is so stupid.”
(static)
“I just. I need you to know that it isn’t about them anymore. Okay? Gerard? I don’t - ”
“I don’t think it ever was.”
Frank is an undercover cop, Gerard is a member of the mafia. Shit goes down.
The Scene Is Dead MCR, with appearences by FOB; vampire apocalypse!AU. Frank/Gerard, minor Pete/Mikey
Then, it happened. One second Jer was shredding, leaning down toward the thin empty moat that separated him from the audience and then he jumped, so easily that he practically just stepped from the stage, and he was in the audience, crowd surfing, still playing although that wouldn't last long. Frank had learned long ago to leave the guitar onstage.
"Holy shit!" Frank gasped, grabbing Ray's wrist. "That is too fucking awesome!"
Security leapt into the crowd after Jer, yellow specks in a sea of black. Jer's guitar, separated from its owner, flew over the top of the crowd and landed onstage. Feedback wailed from the speakers. Tony stood on the edge of the stage now, laughing and pointing and waiting for his guitarist to get the fuck out of the crowd and back onstage.
And then he was, borne out of the crowd on the shoulders of three or four security guys, crawling over the crowd barriers and up onto the stage, shaking his head and smiling. Tony went over to help him up, laughing. He grabbed Jer's arm and that was when Frankie saw it. Blood.
It ran down Jer's arm and dripped off his fingertips into a rapidly growing puddle on the stage and Jer wasn't smiling, he was grimacing, his hand held out like a little kid who wants his mom, and a bunch of people, staff people, rushed onstage and circled around him and ran back and forth talking on walkie- talkies. The crowd settled back uneasily, afraid of what it had done.
It was one of the walkie-talkie people that Ray grabbed by the arm and asked "what the hell happened?" A young girl, an intern or something, maybe twenty, her blond hair tied up in a stubby ponytail, her eyes wide, her walkie-talkie clutched like a doll to her chest. "Oh god," she said. "They bit him."
Like the BEST KIND of dystopian vampire movie. And the ENDING, oh god the ending.
A Stitch Away From Making It (A Scar Away From Falling Apart) FOB, with a cameo by MCR, set while they were living in the same apartment complex while recording their new albums. Pete/Patrick, with a few other side pairings along the way.
"I didn’t know she was taping," Pete said sullenly and he chewed on his thumbnail. "I mean, fuck. Three goddamn months, man. Aren’t guys supposed to be the jerks in relationships?"
Patrick glared at Pete. "Have you ever noticed you have really craptastic taste in women?"
"Not all of them." Pete pushed his foot against Patrick’s hip, shoving him into the couch arm.
Patrick caught Pete’s foot and pulled it onto his lap, digging his fingernails in hard enough for Pete to flinch. "This one. She had to leak it, you know."
Pete shrugged and went back to chewing his thumbnail. "Yeah. Maybe I shouldn’t have called her a motherfucking cunt when we broke up."
"Nothing wrong with speaking the truth."
Pete gave him a faint smile.
"Anyway, at least everyone’s already seen your dick," Patrick said and Pete just gave him a look. "What? It’s true."
Pete's latest bad break-up leaks their sextape. Patrick can't stop watching.
And Weather In The Heart Alike FOB x MCR, sexswap!AU. Bob/girl!Patrick
"Right. Okay." Pete takes a calming breath and sets both hands flat on the table, "Today's first order of business is to establish reciprocity in the matter of the attraction Patricia Marie Stump holds for one Robert Bryar."
"Oh, my god. Trish is going to kill you." Andy buries his face in his hands.
Pete's fascinated by the entirely silent conversation MCR seems to have with just eyebrows and quirked mouths. After a few seconds, Ray nods decisively and says, "Established."
In which Bob and Trish are just trying to have a relationship (also, sex. Sex would be good too) but both their bands keep interrupting. GOD, THIS FIC ♥_____♥.
Every Aching Old Machine FOB future!fic. Pete/Patrick
They can go out in public without getting mobbed, these days - which is an infinite relief for Patrick and a slight disappointment for Pete - but they still get asked for autographs and pictures on a pretty regular basis, and five years ago Fall Out Boy's one-off summer reunion tour sold out venues across the country. Andy predicted "a solid wall of aging yuppies from Boston to Seattle", and there were plenty of those, sure enough, but there were also aging punks and aging hipsters and aging cheerleaders and aging celebrities and a surprising number of young people.
"Shouldn't they be listening to classic rock or something?" Patrick had said, disconcerted, and Pete had grinned at him.
"'Trick, we are classic rock."
Pete and Patrick have grown old together. ♥, forever.
Public Relations(hips) FOB, Pete/Patrick
After that, Pete still kissed Patrick on stage, but he made a point of kissing him offstage more often, too. He thought it would get a rise out of somebody - homophobia was alive and well, after all - but it seemed like nobody gave a shit about a couple of red-carpet smooches on the cheek. He had to spend some serious time googling before he even turned up some pictures on a couple of message boards.
Meanwhile, everywhere he looked there were youtube slide shows of dudes kissing. Half of those seemed to feature shots of Gerard and Frank, or members of Panic! in various combinations, which somehow seemed deeply unfair. Panic! fielded the gay question all the time, and the guys in My Chem had a standard response about how the punk and hardcore scene had been really homophobic or just intolerant of guys being affectionate, and so they'd decided to go and do their own thing.
Pete, in contrast, got to field questions about his dick, the time he popped a handful of Ativan, and his questionable taste in women. It was like there was only one set of interview questions in the world.
Patrick is kissing everyone but Pete. Pete becomes somewhat peturbed by this.
Chord Change --> (Hold Me, I'm A) Fermata FOB, future!fic. Pete/Patrick
Pete's list of dudes who were straight before they met Patrick has 52 names on it, including about half the dudes on Decaydance. Most of the other half don't count because they'd been pretty gay already, like Ryan, Spencer, William, and Pete himself.
Pete's spent so much time talking seriously to guys who were freaking out a little and/or thinking about going for it that he deserves a degree in Unrequited Loveology, and maybe his own psychiatrist's couch.
He's also considered a pamphlet for Decaydance newbies titled 'Music, Business, Love: no, Patrick doesn't know and isn't doing it on purpose' but. Well, love songs about Patrick Stump produced by Patrick Stump are like, half his label's biggest hits.
And it's not like anyone's heart gets really crushed (more importantly, Patrick's heart doesn't even get dented) so Pete mostly keeps his mouth shut until the dudes come crying to him, and that's just the way it is.
Every band Pete signs and sends to Patrick for musical polishing end up falling in love with him, and Patrick never notices. Pete finds this hilarious, except for how Patrick hasn't noticed him being in love with him either.
You Can't Be Missed If You Never Go Away FOB future!fic. Pete/Patrick
After two months of Patrick bitching about how small Pete’s bed was and how fucking uncomfortable he was in it (and Pete said that was complete shit since he was the one who ended up with Patrick's knee in his kidneys and his arm across his throat every fucking night so there was no goddamn way Patrick was uncomfortable) they’d finally gone out and bought a new bed from a furniture store on Melrose that the Hush Sound’s Greta had told Patrick about. Much to the amusement of the salesclerk-who at least hadn’t rushed to put it on her Livejournal (she’d waited nearly a week which Patrick thought was pretty decent of her, all things considered)--they’d argued over everything from the color of the wood to the style of the frame to how fucking big they needed it to be, and Pete had tossed his credit card down on the counter with an oh fuck it, we’ll take that one, pointing wildly to a headboard they hadn’t even looked at yet, much less argued about.
It was perfect, Patrick had to agree. Which kind of pissed him off.
And when the delivery guys arrived with the frame and mattress set the next day and had set the bed up and taken the old stained (with what Patrick didn’t want to think about) mattress away, Pete had looked at Patrick with wide, dark eyes, and said, “We’re really doing this, huh?” and Patrick had just stared at him because dude, yeah, they fucking were.
One of my favourite examples of the fandom trope that domestic Pete/Patrick is hard work. Also, the art is gorgeous.
Asking To Be Born --> Until The Seas Run Dry FOB, with cameos by the rest of bandom; mpreg/kid fic. Pete/Patrick
Dr. Bacal shuffles some papers around and clears his throat.
"It seems the situation is this: apparently it has been shown by our tests," and Patrick's heart sinks into his Vans, because he knows when doctors are trying to weasel-word something and that is a whole lot of passive voice right there, "that Mr. Wentz -" He breaks into a fit of coughing. "Pardon me. Well. As unlikely as it sounds, it appears that a viable human embryo has successfully implanted in Mr. Wentz's abdominal cavity." He makes eye contact with Pete, squaring his shoulders as if he thinks everyone's going to laugh at him, and says with the flat voice of a man who cannot believe what he's saying, "Congratulations, you're pregnant."
"Nice try," says Pete tiredly, "but I've already been Punk'd before, thanks."
In answer the doctor just holds up a dark and smudgy sheet. Someone's written "5 WEEKS" along the bottom. It takes them all a minute to realize that it's an ultrasound picture, and from there about a half-second to see that there's a little black blob in the middle. It doesn't look like anything much at all. But it's there.
If Patrick's going to be honest, his first thought is something along the lines of, Just when you started to think that sleeping with Pete Wentz wasn't such a bad idea after all.
Okay, even if you don't think it's your thing, you should read this, just give it a go, because this is mpreg done SO SO RIGHT. I mean, it's cracky by it's very nature, but this is the least cracky take on it possible, and it's basically amazing. And even if you don't like mpreg, the sequel can be read just like plain old kid!fic and it is also amazing. Also, their wedding night is both stupidly hot (I don't like fisting, but this makes it work), and reads to me as completely and totally in character for Pete. Ugh, soooo gooood.
I Know This Hurts (It Was Meant To) FOB, post-breakup. Pete/Patrick BDSM
Gabe presses a little too hard on the side of Pete’s nose. There’s a wave of pain. The ensuing nausea that follows it reminds him a little of getting kneed in the balls, and he moans.
“Freak,” Gabe remarks, with a small laugh. Pete would shove him, but he doesn’t want to jostle his face anymore. “You know, next time you want to hurt yourself, you should make sure you have a safe word.”
“Safe word,” Pete repeats.
“Yeah. You know, like a fetish thing. You should go to one of those crazy leather parties, next time you’re looking for a world of pain, man,” Gabe sighs, dabbing away more blood, this time from the side of Pete’s neck. “Then I won’t have to clean up after you, and you’ll at least get an orgasm out of it.”
Pete must have lost a lot more blood than he thought, because that actually makes sense. But then a nurse calls them back, and Pete forgets Gabe’s smartass comment in favor of focusing on explaining how, exactly, his face got all fucked up.
Of course, it depends whether BDSM is your thing, but for what it's worth this is well-done, really hot BDSM, and, like Until The Seas Run Dry above, it justs fits Pete SO WELL. Also, I would just like to point out that it is, in fact, canon that Pete got his face beaten the fuck up and he won't talk about it.
A Little Piece With You PATD-centric Jazz Club!AU, with cameos by the rest of bandom. Brendon/Ryan and Spencer/Jon, with background Pete/Patrick
A week later, when the four of them are sitting around Ryan and Spencer's tiny, scuffed kitchen table, playing cards and listening to Brendon's records, Brendon suggests the possibility of them playing a gig.
"Together?" Ryan sputters, nearly choking on a mouthful of Coca-Cola.
Brendon laughs. "Yeah, that's the idea behind a band, Ross."
To be honest, Jon's been waiting for Brendon to bring up the idea of forming a band since the night Spencer mentioned he played drums. He lays his cards on the table and looks sidelong at Spencer.
"You've never even heard us play," Ryan's saying, gesturing around with cards still clutched in his hand. "I mean, I only mentioned that one time that I played a little guitar, that doesn't mean I want to - to get up on stage."
In which Panic form a band, and there is a lot of UST before they finally sort themselves out.
Hey Gravity! PATD, tour!fic. Brendon/Spencer
Moving up to lean against the wall, legs spread, Spencer simply flips him off and tilts his head back.
His hair splays messily across the wall and catches the light coming through the cafe’s plate glass window, haloing around his face. The delicate skin under his eyes looks stretched and faintly violet. His freckles are beginning to come through, most pronounced across the bridge of his nose.
The radio behind the counter is playing some goofy punk song.
Brendon pictures stepping forward and touching his lips to the small triangle of skin illuminated in the bright just beneath Spencer’s ear.
He’s not entirely sure where that thought came from.
This isn't usually my pairing, but god, the way the author writes the imagery and the sensations and just everything *________*
Read Me Like No One Else PATD x His Dark Materials, with small cameo by FOB. Brendon/Ryan and Spencer/Jon
Ryan loves watching other daemons. He makes notes in his head of their mannerisms, their various ticks and how much they mirror their people. Spencer once joked that Ryan loved watching daemons more than humans, and while Ryan had laughed, he's always thought there was some truth to that.
Daemons can strip a person bare. But Ryan tries not to think too deeply on that very often, because it's both terrifying and fascinating and sometimes keeps him up too late at night.
He watches Ani constantly, but he doesn't realize he watches her as much as he does, not completely, until the day they're sitting in rehearsal, prepping for the new tour (their first headlining tour), and Brendon's full of unreleased energy and motion. Ani jumps into the air, each leap punctuated with sharp barks, and Brendon grabs her, spins her around until she wiggles free and starts all over.
Ryan smiles and shakes his head, but then he looks over and sees Salara sitting on an amp, sighing wistfully, her nose resting on her paws as she watches Ani run circles around Brendon's ankles.
At that point, Ryan sort of gets it. It still doesn't mean he has to think about it. Ani has never been shy about Salara's space, just as Brendon's never been shy about--well, anyone's space. It's fitting that his daemon would be the same. Ryan has assumed since the beginning that Salara is just more tolerant than other daemons, and it has nothing to do with--with--
He startles a bit when Ani skids across the floor of the rehearsal room and barks happily in Salara's face, her paws up on the amp, bracketing Salara's small, round body. Salara glances over at Ryan, and he swears he catches a smile.
Faaaavourite, OMG. EVERY fandom should have a daemon!verse, ajsjhshsjggfds. (There's a primer included, for those unfamiliar with HDM)
As Close As It Gets To Home panbandom, telepath!AU. Frank/Gerard, Brendon/Ryan and Spencer/Jon
He feels Spencer come in before he sees him, the low-level buzz in the back of his mind that means Spencer is near. He and Spencer grew up together, trained together, got assigned together, and haven’t been apart for more than a week or two since they were kids. The presence of Spencer in his mind is almost something he takes for granted, and Ryan opens his own mind in response, passing a wordless greeting that he feels returned automatically just as Spencer appears and slides in at the desk across from him.
Om nom nom, police!telepaths! Also god, the sex scenes, when one or both can get into the other's head *___________*
Forever, Now --> Star-Shaped --> The Lines You Amend MCR x most of the rest of bandom, kid!fic AU. Brendon/Ryan, Frank/Gerard and various other minor pairings
He was about four blocks from home when he saw the kid. He didn’t recognize him specifically, more the idea of dark hair dark jacket ripped jeans that he’d seen before at some point - that morning? The kid was standing in the opening of an alley, long hair hanging in her - his? - face, hands shoved in the pockets of ripped, grimy jeans and a jacket that didn’t look warm enough at all. The hair had thrown him off for a second, but the kid was a boy, Brian realized, maybe eleven or twelve years old. Where the hell were his parents? Who let a pre-teen wander the streets without a hat or mittens on the coldest March day Brian could remember? It was the kind of thing that made Brian grateful he didn’t have kids to worry about.
The kid looked up at him as he walked by. He had the biggest goddamn eyes Brian had ever seen; absolutely huge, dark lashes, tangled hair. Brian was pretty sure his mother wouldn’t have let him leave the house without at least washing his hair now and then. Parenting was getting pretty slack.
Two things occurred to him, suddenly.
First, this kid probably didn’t have parents.
Second, he remembered this kid from this morning, shortly after the last time he’d seen his wallet.
The other fandom-legendary epic fic. In which Brian adopts the orphaned Way brothers, hires Brendon as their babysitter tutor, and gets his life turned thoroughly upside down.
Our Comedies Are Not To Be Laughed At pan-bandom, filmschool!AU. Frank/Gerard, Pete/Mikey, Pete/Patrick, Bob/Spencer etc
The first order of business is deciding who's going to write the script. Even though no one likes it (especially not Professor Conrad), they have to agree that Pete is the best writer in the whole class.
Four people leave the project before Professor Conrad finishes the long "z" in Wentz. One of them is Brent, who takes everyone's money for order-in Chinese and then never comes back. It leaves them without a sound tech, so Professor Conrad gets one of his older students to fill in. From what they've heard, Jon Walker is kind of a slob, but he's really ace at what he does. So. There's that.
Frank and Gerard want to do a horror movie, but they have to pitch the idea to Pete, whose genre of choice typically involves romantic comedies. Sometimes about mimes. Once he did a ten minute love story with just chickens - free range chickens - called "Under Your Wing." He always says that using human actors is a cop out, and suggests to Frank and Gerard that they cast nothing but those little marshmallow peeps in this one. "Think about it," he insists. "We just need a bit of red food coloring, and wham! Special effects."
(They bought the marshmallow peeps just to humor Pete, but someone ate them. Brendon insists that they always say "someone" ate them instead of "Brendon" ate them, because Pete is small but he wears steel-toed boots sometimes and isn't afraid to kick you in the crotch.)
Lovelovelove. Spencer is the Amphibian Menace! Frank and Gerard have hot paint!sex! Everyone hooks up on premiere night!
Given Limits Exist PATD-centric, but pan-bandom; circus!AU. Brendon/Ryan
“Anytime you’re ready, Ross,” Brendon drawls, hanging by his knees with his arms folded across his chest, and he gives Ryan an upside-down cross look, which fails to look anything but ridiculous. Ryan moves up smoothly to his feet, rolling his shoulders back, and scales the unsteady rope ladder again, jumping out across the gap to Brendon.
Brendon catches him.
Brendon and Ryan are trapeze artists, Gerard's the ringmaster and Pete and Mikey are clowns. :D.
The Rift In The Lute pan-bandom but PATD-centric, coffee shop!AU. Ryan/Brendon, with background Frank/Gerard and Jon/Spencer
Al-Andalus is the name painted in swirls and curlicues on the sign outside, but like most people, Ryan tends to think of it as Dusty-and-Katie-Kay's, or even just as Dusty's. (Dusty's name is Erin, on the dotted line, but this is always conveniently forgotten; Ryan likes to think of Al-Andalus's many names, stacked one inside the other like concentric circles, a succession of puzzle-boxes).
It sells exceptionally good espresso, in handy proximity to the college campus, with good background music and gingerbread cookies and cupcakes, and seriously, half the clientele comes in for the primary purpose of talking (debating) music with the staff, or for the treat of genuine, unfeigned barista sarcasm.
In which Ryan's life is hard because his one-night stand didn't sem to get the memo and is (charmingly) stalking him, and his best friend finds it hilarious.
Behind The Sea pan-bandom, SeaQuest!AU. Gabe/Bill, various permutations leading up to Panic GSF, and vague Frank/Gerard
“Dr. Urie,” Dr. Way says, smiling. It’s early enough in the morning that it takes a second for Brendon to figure out who he means.
“Oh hey,” he says, hands catching in the deep pockets of his lab coat when he fumbles to pull them out. “Brendon is fine. We’re pretty informal down here on the science deck.”
“Gerard,” Dr. Way agrees, skipping the handshake to go for a friendly arm squeeze. “I haven’t seen any autopsy reports, so I assume you were waiting for me to get here?”
“Oh,” Brendon says, stumbling a little. “We, um, I…don’t really like doing them. The killing part, I mean. It seems cruel.”
Gerard looks surprised. “It’s not dead?”
“It was swimming around the last time I saw it,” Brendon promises. “We’re keeping it in a torpedo tube.”
“I knew that part,” Gerard says. “I just assumed it was because you had it laid out or preserved or something.”
“No,” Brendon says, with a quick guilty glance in the direction of the moon pool. “I just didn’t want it to eat Dylan.”
Gerard and Dylan had become fast friends the previous evening, after Lugosi’s water had been changed out. He and Brendon exchange an understanding glance concerning the difficulties of keeping a dolphin and a carnivorous cephalopod in the same tank.
Gabe is the captain of a submarine, William is psychic, Gerard is a squid expert and Panic are bonding over Brendon's dolphin.
The Negotiation Limerick File --> The Grasshopper Unit --> What Comes Around PATD x MCR, spy!AU. Brendon/Ryan, Jon/Spencer and Frank/Gerard
There were other doors, but they were all locked, until the one that wasn’t, which flew open under Brendon’s hand.
Brendon was surprised that it led in to an office, and not anything that looked stage-related, like a dressing room or a storage closet. He was doubly surprised because it was a pretty small office with lots of people in it.
He was triply surprised because - “Gerard?” Brendon blurted. “Gerard Way?”
Everyone turned around to look at him. More weirdness; he’d recognized Gerard from the back but he hadn’t realized the short guy next to him with the long hair was Frank Iero. Plus there were all these guys in suits holding guns.
Guns.
Um.
Ohhhh man, SO AWESOME. In which MyChem are secret government agents, and Brendon accidentally finds out and has to be trained up by them.
But Not The Song pan-bandom, sex!slave AU. All permutations of Panic that aren't GSF, though it's heading that way.
"Open your mouth for me, pretty," the merchant says, his voice low, almost purring. "I want to see how much cock you can handle."
The boy's lips are pressed together in a straight line.
"Now," the merchant says sharply.
The boy doesn't respond. He's staring at a point over the merchant's shoulder, his face completely blank, his eyes empty.
The caravan master starts to say something, but the merchant moves quickly. He grabs the boy's chin so tight the boy's lips part with a startled gasp, and the merchant smiles. The boy's eyes narrow and he jerks his chin free of the man's grasp, snakes his head down and bites the man's hand, hard.
Holy shit, Brendon thinks. A murmur rises from the slaves all around, and angry muttering from the guards. Holy shit.
EPIC SEXSLAVE!FIC OF EPICNESS. It'll take you a while to read, but OMG SO WORTH IT. This 'verse, I could roll around in it foreverrrrr.