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desfinado.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2011-07-31 10:05 am
desfinado.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2011-07-31 10:05 am
You're Perfect, Yes, It's True (Go On And Ring My Neck) by swear_jar (NC-17)
Fandom: BANDOM
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Length: 4,500 words
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
swear_jar
Author Website: author's masterlist of fic
Why this must be read: My theme for these last two recs is "stories that could have gone so, so wrong but were written so, so well". It's always a challenge in bandom to write around - or especially with - the reality of band break-ups or falling-outs. This story cuts between Pete and Patrick last year (when Fall Out Boy went on hiatus and Pete was being quite public about how upset he was), and Pete and Patrick when they were young and touring in the van.
It's a bittersweet story, with all of Pete's insecurities and neediness on full display, butswear_jar - who does a consistently amazing job writing the complexities of his character - makes you really care for him, issues and all. The end result is painful and sexy and kind of hopeful at the same time, and is really worth reading!
Excerpt:
"You want a drink?" Patrick asks, looking over his shoulder and flicking a light switch on. The house is huge and empty and nothing like a tour bus or van. It's too empty, and it makes Pete's shoulders reach for his ears, though they drop down a notch as he sees the instruments — a wall of them, a couch, a drum kit, Patrick's laptop and habitual hat resting on top of its closed lid.
Pete doesn't want a drink, he wants Patrick to be annoyed that Pete's being a manipulative jerk, he wants Patrick to touch him. He doesn't want polite. Polite is distant. He wants Patrick so close their skin disintegrates (he doesn’t want a break). He bounces towards Patrick's set up, his little studio-shrine to all the instruments he plays (Pete will never cease to be amazed at Patrick's skill).
"Nope. Your set up in here is insane, man," he nods at the musical weapons dump, and moves towards it without realising until his fingers are running along the strings of a bass.
"Just don't touch the Gretsch," Patrick says. He's in the kitchen clinking glasses together, probably getting Pete a drink of whatever Patrick's making himself, despite his no. Pete will probably drink it anyway. "It's tuned — well, not really, it's just, I had an idea and I didn't want to forget —"
"What, this one?" Pete plucks the bass one more time and runs a finger along the nearest guitar, leaning against the wall outside of the stand that holds the other few.
"Yeah, the silver Gretsch — Pete."
The paint gleams in the too-bright overhead lights. Shiny, shiny, touch me gleam.
You're Perfect, Yes, It's True (Go On And Ring My Neck)
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Length: 4,500 words
Author on LJ:
swear_jarAuthor Website: author's masterlist of fic
Why this must be read: My theme for these last two recs is "stories that could have gone so, so wrong but were written so, so well". It's always a challenge in bandom to write around - or especially with - the reality of band break-ups or falling-outs. This story cuts between Pete and Patrick last year (when Fall Out Boy went on hiatus and Pete was being quite public about how upset he was), and Pete and Patrick when they were young and touring in the van.
It's a bittersweet story, with all of Pete's insecurities and neediness on full display, but
swear_jar - who does a consistently amazing job writing the complexities of his character - makes you really care for him, issues and all. The end result is painful and sexy and kind of hopeful at the same time, and is really worth reading!Excerpt:
"You want a drink?" Patrick asks, looking over his shoulder and flicking a light switch on. The house is huge and empty and nothing like a tour bus or van. It's too empty, and it makes Pete's shoulders reach for his ears, though they drop down a notch as he sees the instruments — a wall of them, a couch, a drum kit, Patrick's laptop and habitual hat resting on top of its closed lid.
Pete doesn't want a drink, he wants Patrick to be annoyed that Pete's being a manipulative jerk, he wants Patrick to touch him. He doesn't want polite. Polite is distant. He wants Patrick so close their skin disintegrates (he doesn’t want a break). He bounces towards Patrick's set up, his little studio-shrine to all the instruments he plays (Pete will never cease to be amazed at Patrick's skill).
"Nope. Your set up in here is insane, man," he nods at the musical weapons dump, and moves towards it without realising until his fingers are running along the strings of a bass.
"Just don't touch the Gretsch," Patrick says. He's in the kitchen clinking glasses together, probably getting Pete a drink of whatever Patrick's making himself, despite his no. Pete will probably drink it anyway. "It's tuned — well, not really, it's just, I had an idea and I didn't want to forget —"
"What, this one?" Pete plucks the bass one more time and runs a finger along the nearest guitar, leaning against the wall outside of the stand that holds the other few.
"Yeah, the silver Gretsch — Pete."
The paint gleams in the too-bright overhead lights. Shiny, shiny, touch me gleam.
You're Perfect, Yes, It's True (Go On And Ring My Neck)