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Post #202
merigibu wrote in anon_lovefest
Fic:

Too Much Green to Feel Blue (Pete/Patrick, Power Rangers)
2%, non-fat, or the end of the world? (Brendon+Spencer)



Oh, hi. :O I'm that new mod. This week is a normal post, so have at it. :D Let's make all the anonymous love.
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Patrick/ Eric Northman True Blood au

Van days; the band travels through Louisiana and Patrick is part fairy but he doesn't know it.Sexy times ensue between Eric and Patrick

Girls!gabe/William or girls!Pete/Mikey tribbing.

Patrick/Pete, 16 Candles fluff

I'm going to try, sorry if it's terrible.

Preaching to the Wind (Maybe It'll Catch On Eventually)

(Anonymous)
Pete walked into the common room, slamming the door behind him. He just met with the Preacher for his supply of Holy Water. Right before the sessions, he chugs down his elixir, a precaution Patrick has made now that the sessions have begun to get heated. Every single time he meets with him, the Preacher ends up smashing Pete into the pavement with his words of the Lord. Pete tried to take the confessional seriously at first, he thought he had a reason to repent in the beginning. Now, it had just turned into the Preacher disgracing what he's become.

Like he had a choice.
In a heartbeat, he would have chosen different.

He headed into the kitchen across the way, setting the small container of Holy Water on the counter with a bit more gusto than needed.
From out the kitchen's sill, Patrick watched Pete as he recorded in his journal the past vampire encounter, adding notes about his new mechanical devices jamming at the trigger.
He can see Pete silently fuming from the other room. After every session with the Preacher, he comes out more worn down than the week before. Patrick set his pencil down, and headed towards the kitchen.

"Hey, how'd it go?" He asked as he passed by the sill, going around the corner into the kitchen.
"Terribly." Pete had both hands on the counter leaning over it, his head hanging in a way of defeat. Patrick recognizes the look, the way he looked when he really hated himself, the way he would rather be dead than be a vampire.
"You want to talk about it?" Patrick offered, taking a step closer.

Immediately Pete turned into Patrick, resting his head into Patrick's shoulder.
"No." His arms wrapped around his back and squeezed, being ever so careful not to tighten too much. Pete's strength was something he easily dismissed, until one of his friends taps on him calling for air.
Patrick didn't fight him, he just put his hands in the small of his back, rubbing it reassuringly, letting him have his moment of relief. Pete was not a warm body, but even with a frozen heart, Patrick felt himself melt into the embrace.
"C'mon, it's getting pretty early, let's get you to your locker." Patrick mumbled to Pete. He straightened up and walks next to Patrick as he led him down the hallway to the darker parts of the base. Close enough to keep brushing arm to arm. Close enough to smell him. He may not smell a lot anymore, but Patrick's scent is euphoric.

Patrick lead Pete towards his locker in the middle of a wide open room with all the windows blacked out. It was a fairly large locker, good enough for Pete to take his decoration skills up on it. He crawled in, lying on the blankets that he laid for comfort and stared up at his friend who gave him a small smile.
"Will you stay?" Pete asked, "I mean, you don't have to, but-"
"Move over." Patrick said as he stepped into the locker. It was just big enough to fit both boys, but small enough where knees, stomach, elbows, and shoulders were touching. "Thanks." Pete smiled. Patrick didn't say anything as he grabbed the locker's front, he shut it and they fell into darkness.

Pete laid there, listening to Patrick's steady breath. His head has fallen onto his chest, where he can hear his heartbeat. He's rarely able to do this anymore. Not with the mixture starting to lose it's potency. But he's under control, and Patrick would know what to do if he lost it. He's missed this, his time spent with Patrick. With everything going on, there's no time to just sit there and be together. Especially when anyone of them could die the next night.
"Breathe Pete, it's beginning to creep me out." Patrick mumbled, his voice vibrated against Pete's cheek.
"Sorry." He exhaled, something that use to be so important, but it's not needed now, since he was dead. For the first time in a long time, he gave a small prayer to whoever the hell controlling the world that Patrick still had automatic ability to breathe, that he was still alive. "You know I love you, right?"
"Yeah, I love you too."
"Even with all this shit? Even as a dead guy?"
Patrick fidgeted enough to move his arm around Pete's back, pulling him in a bit closer.
"Yeah, even through all of this."

Pete smiled, muttering almost inaudibly "Amen."

*loves* This is really good. The whole Pete listening to him breathe and his heartbeat gave me shivers (in a good way).

Party Poison/Gerard, falling apart to halftime

Patrick said on twitter the last time he got really drunk was the night he recorded GCH Unplugged

so... I'd love to see some Travie taking care of a drunken Patrick. bonus points for apology sex in the morning. but not necessary if you're not comfortable writing it. I just want Patrick/Travie in my life.

yes! I love this idea! Apology Sex <3

pstump/gabe

because its been far too long since new fic about them as been posted.


The Mad Ones (mini-fill)

(Anonymous)
Sometimes with Gabe, he catches himself wondering where Patrick went.

He's used to being made up of loveworn folk songs and sensible sweaters. Talking fast and silly but living slowly, quietly, sweetly. There's a lot of reading, playing and creating music by himself. Many park benches. Life with Gabe is stumbling drunkenly, no-no-no-more-shots-okay-one-more-I-guess and the cheers that follow, it's like that passage in Kerouac that he only dimly remembers (because Kerouac makes him think of Pete, like dark tattoos and every moody black haired boy he'll ever see again, and his heart and mind are in firm agreement that it's best not to go there, not anytime soon) about burning, burning, burning, exploding like spiders across the stars. 'The only people for me are the mad ones,' or something like that, and Patrick has always liked the sound of it. He has always wanted to live more, to be better, and Gabe is all the mad ones and spider stars condensed into one person. He jumps off bridges for fun. Gabe kisses him and his brain swishes and swirls and he can't feel his knees.

He's great. He's spectacular. Patrick loves him. He uses words full of big feeling for him, because he doesn't know how else to explain the rush. Or (sometimes, when Gabe's puking in his bathroom at two a.m. and Nate and Ryland are yelling encouraging comments from the other side of the door and Matt is shooting him death glares from hell, the ones that are pretty much code for Guess Who's Buying Me Coffee Every Morning From Here Until Eternity? You Are, Stump. You) justify it.

Maybe part of why he loves him so much is defiance. A hearty shut up to the wise, sweater-wearing, folk-music-playing, park-bench-sitting, sixteen-going-on-forty Patrick in the neglected corner of his skull, his heart. The one that keeps clucking his tongue and making Really? This one? faces.

Patrick suspects sometimes that he's running from himself, with Gabe, and he's got no clue what's going to happen when Patrick 1.0 finally catches them up.

But then there are nights when the both of them are tired, when Gabe hangs up his King of the Party crown for one evening, puts on checkered pajama pants and lets Patrick tease him about how, you know what he really needs? some of those footie pajamas. They buy chips and guacamole and sit in front of the TV for lazy, old-seeming hours, a guitar in his lap and his feet in Gabe’s. He puts the TV on mute when Patrick goes "check this out, what do you think of this?" (which happens once or twice or thirteen times an hour), then patiently obliges while Patrick strums out a rough base of a song, with even rougher lyrics, the words happily tripping over each other. And Gabe'll watch him with this tiny smile on his mouth, one finger hooking fondly around his big toe, and in that moment sweater Patrick and mad Patrick are one and the same, and he thinks -- with warm relief like a sigh, like that first sip of coffee -- that maybe Gabe really is his for good. That one day he'll settle, and stay.

Patrick and Pete, bruised and bloody at the Stonewall Riots.

or

Five times Patrick found Pete crying and the one time Pete found Patrick crying.

someone from the Decaydance family (preferably Brendon or Gabe) serenading Patrick in public.

I'm going to write this. Just so you know. It'll show up in post 203. Look for that. <3

i just want a fic where justin pierre and patrick stump play ocarina of time and eat asian food and make out. yeah.

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