#fall out boy imagine

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

Snow - Patrick Stump x Reader

Prompt: S: Snow (How do they like the snow?) (from this list) Reader: can be read as any gender (no pronouns used) Word Count: 1 096 A/N: I think i’m getting sick...

Patrick was rarely ever grumpy. In fact, Patrick prouded himself in not being a grumpy person. He loved laughing and smiling too much to be grumpy on a regular basis. But thick snowflakes, which he usually loved, falling from the sky just as he was about to drive home after a long day, might get him to furrow his brows unhappily.

It was even worse because he really enjoyed snow most of the time. But now the snowflakes came down in a thick layer, making it impossible to see further than the next two cars in front of him, making the street slick, and driving all the more dangerous.

He was tired. He had been up since far too early in the morning, had left before your alarm clock had even rang. Patrick hated leaving without having had a calm breakfast together with you, but you needed your sleep, so he had only pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before he had snuck out. Since then he had spent the whole time in the studio.

Things weren’t coming together the way he wanted them to, which frustrated him endlessly, and after almost ten hours he had eventually given up, hoping to get home quickly and falling into your reassuring embrace. You always knew how to make him feel better, a few calm words, the reminder that he was only human and needed breaks too, your fingers running through his messy hair… But instead he was stuck in this stupid snow storm.

By the time he turned into your street, it was already growing dark outside. The snowfall had not let up, and the lesser used streets were covered in white. In a few front yards Patrick spotted the first snowmen, and kids were already battling each other in snow ball fights. But today Patrick did not smile to himself at the picture book like scenes. He just wanted to get home.

The pavement in front of your shared house was covered in less snow than the rest of the neighbourhood, making Patrick suspect you had begun clearing the snow away before giving up and surrendering to the weather. Careful not to slide on the snow, Patrick steered the car into the driveway and got out. The cold was worse than he had imagined, cold wind biting his face and hands, hurting in his ears and driving snowflakes in his face, blinding him. More feeling than seeing, Patrick manoeuvred to the front door, quickly letting himself in. 

The warm air of the hallways was like a hug as he stepped inside and quickly threw the door shut, keeping more snow from fluttering inside. In the mirror Patrick could see that snowflakes had already begun dusting his hair white, and quickly he shook them out before they melted more than they already had done.

Throwing his jacket onto the clothes rack and his shoes next to the door, he quickly made his way into the living room, his eyes flickering over the furniture in hopes to find you. But there were no lights burning, which meant you were somewhere else. Too tired to search the house for you, he called your name, waiting for an answer, which came just a moment later from the winter garden.

Following the sound of your voice, Patrick stopped at the entrance to the winter garden, taking in the scene for a moment, that made him wish he had left the studio earlier. 

Curled underneath a blanket, you were sitting on the small sofa that allowed a great view into the garden. Your hands were curled around a cup, from which you took a small sip, before you turned to face him.

“You’re home,” you smiled, reaching a hand out for Patrick, asking him wordlessly to step closer. 

Quickly he closed the distance between you, giving you a welcome kiss to the lips, which made you smile happily.

“Come join me,” you asked, an invitation you did not have to repeat before Patrick shuffled underneath the blanket, cuddling up against you.

Shifting, you adjusted your posture so you could be closer to Patrick and offered him your cup with sweet fruit tea. 

Now that Patrick’s eyes were getting used to the dim light in the room, he could tell that you had lit up the candles in the lanterns outside. Through the thick snow that still fell from the sky, he could make out the orange specks of light in the increasing darkness of the early evening. Trees, bushes, flower beds and grass were already covered by thick layers of white, and only your by now already almost hidden traces in the snow hinted at it having been you who had lit up the candles, and not some mysterious winter magic.

Patrick handed the cup back to you, after having taken a few sips of the hot beverage, before a sigh escaped his lips when you nuzzled your nose against his neck, your lips brushing over the sensitive skin.

“Bad day,” you asked quietly, pressing a soft kiss to his throat. God, he knew why he had wanted to come home so quickly. Your kisses were innocent, but made him feel so loved, so at home. He pulled you in closer, once again, like so many many times before marvelling at how perfectly you fit against him. As if you had been made to fit together.

“Not bad per se,” Patrick answered, not daring to speak louder than a whisper, as if it would ruin the magic of the moment. “Just not as productive as I had hoped it would be.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, and rested your head on his shoulder.

“I’m sure it'll work out in the end,” you mumbled. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“I’m glad I'm home too,” Patrick smiled and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. 

How lucky could one guy be, he wondered. Not only did he get to do a job he loved even on the bad days, but he got to come home to someone like you, someone who cuddled him, someone he could still feel himself blushing at whenever you made him a compliment, someone who had absolutely stolen his heart and yet made no attempt at running away with it. 

His eyes wandered over the snow covered garden beyond the glass of the windows, searching for the now more visible lights of the lanterns. Really, with a life like this, with a person by his side like you, he had no reason to be grumpy, not even about snow storms.

Taglist:

@alexstyx​ @jayloverthe3rd​ @robinruns​​ @lookalivefrosty​​ @butterflycore​​  @omgsuperstarg​​ @fivelegance​​ @casmustdiee​​ @cmtryghoul​​  

[sarcasmandships]

synthesia

pete is blue.

and mikey is orange. 

pete knows that these colours do not mix. 

Pete is blue.

And Mikey is orange.

These are facts that Pete knows, even when his hands shake and his mind seems to slip away from him, and he wants to reach for a bottle of something to numb his manic thoughts, he knows that he is blue, and Mikey is orange.

These are facts that Pete knows even though he doesn’t know how he knows them.

Everyone has a colour, but the gentle, golden-orange glow that emanates from Mikey is always the brightest in the crowd. It’s a soft hue, not overly saturated, and it reminds Pete of the remnant rays of the setting sun. It’s warm and inviting, and Mikey hates it.

Most people dismiss the notion that people can have colours, even more when Pete tells them that he can see them. Most people are used to Pete’s enigmatic ramblings and ignore his stranger claims, maybe he’s experimenting with new song lyrics, they think.

Even Patrick gives him an exasperated look when Pete tells him that he is red, not a bright or gaudy shade of red though. Its deeper, more like maroon or burgundy, something with depth and soul.

Mikey doesn’t like being orange. When he asked Pete to tell him what colour he was, his nose wrinkled and he repeated orange back to him, as though the word itself was poisonous. Pete rolled his eyes, Mikey likes to think he is ten times edgier than he really is, Pete knows he was hoping for something stupid like onyx black, blood red, or charcoal grey.

But Pete stands his ground.

“Yes, orange,” he repeats.

Mikey grumbles about it for a few more minutes, moaning that Pete must be wrong because how is he meant to maintain his reputation as the coolest member of My Chem if he is the same colour as a highlighter pen.

Pete could tell him that he isn’t neon, it’s more like the glow of a candle in a darkened room, like the worn rust on a chain, like the sunset. Pete could tell Mikey lots of things, how he likes the purple bruises that he leaves on his skin, how he likes the pink flush that creeps over his cheeks when is pressed beneath him, how he likes his lips best when they are red and swollen from his kisses.

Pete could tell Mikey a lot of things, but he can’t sort out his tangle of thoughts and feelings into real words. They exist only in his unpublished song lyrics and live journal posts; Mikey doesn’t know about any of these things. And Pete knows if he did tell him, he wouldn’t just wrinkle his nose and tell him he is wrong, he’d spit the words back at him as though they were worse than poison.

Mikey might be soft and golden and warm, but sometimes the orange has an edge. When Mikey is angry, which isn’t often, Pete can see the burning orange of an inferno around him. The dancing flames lick his skin, highlight his furrowed brows, his clenched jaw, when Mikey is angry the orange is too.

Pete also knows that orange and blue don’t mix. They are on opposite sides of the colour wheel; when Pete was still figuring out why he could see people as colours he tried to make sense of it all by painting. He learned early on that when he mixed blue and orange paint, it made a muddy brown.

Pete knows he is blue.

He sees it in his reflection, but he also feels it deep in his soul. Sometimes the blue is electric, it buzzes like the glow from the fly killer light on Mikey’s porch, its deep and multi-dimensional, like the crashing ocean waves. Pete associates this kind of blue with his stretches of mania, when he feels invincible, and the blue is bold and fearless.

On these days, Pete almost thinks that blue and orange could work together.

Other times the blue is dull, it has an almost grey tinge and remind him of blue hospital gowns, cool-toned fluorescent lights, the blue plastic capsule of an Ativan pill. On these days, Pete feels cold and invisible, and he craves the warmth of Mikey’s sunset orange.

Blue precedes the sunset, but the soft blue of the sky dissipates to make way for brilliant streaks of orange, and red, and pink. Blue follows the sunset too, when the last rays of sun fade away the sky turns to a deep inky blue, before it melts into black.

Pete is blue.

And Mikey is orange.

These are facts that Pete knows even though he doesn’t know how he knows them.

There is no place for blue in a sunset.

Pete needs the warmth and light of Mikey’s orange, but what use does Mikey have for his blue?

His moods flicker between blinding azure and dull cerulean like the old light on Mikey’s porch, it too has a warm orange glow that he can never truly understand.

Pete is blue.

And Mikey is orange.

And Pete knows that blue and orange do not mix.

[wasabi-gumdrop]

Kabru has a secret admirer in the castle!

[personthattoleratesme]

iykyk

[ilovepriestgerard]

The way Brendon Urie is the most unrealistic part of us seeing Dan and Phil walking into a stage kissing holding a gay pride flag while mcr plays The Black Parade onstage with Fall Out Boy this year is craaaaazy...

[wamscoastsmokerrr]

no but seriously imagine it:

You’re seeing fall out boy at the wwwy festival 2024. Everyone is having a great time. Fall out boy seem a little excited. “We have a surprise for you guys.” Patrick says. All of a sudden Cobra Starship comes out and start singing “the kids are all fucked up.” When Gabe gets to the chorus, someone else starts singing…
“When I was a young boy my father took me into the city to see a marching band.”
Lights flash everywhere, and you see FOB singing “the kids are all fucked up” along with Cobra Starship, while MCR is singing “Black parade”. Everyone in the crowd is going wild and crying. Then if things couldn’t get any better, Dan and Phil walk onto stage and kiss, holding the gay flag.

[sun-snatcher]

YOUR MEDIC!READER X JET HAS BREATHED LIFE INTO ME. MAKE THEM HOLD HANDS. I BEG. THE PINING IS INSANE. The atla jet fandom is DRY so you're doing god's work out here 😭 😭 (Or anything tbh! I'm absolutely in love with your writing 😭❤️)

🌾 ・ HAND IN LOVING HAND

summ. Jet comes into a dawning realisation. It starts with a mission gone wrong. pairing. Jet x f!medic!reader w.count. 0.7k ( just a blurb! ) a/n. Ask and you shall receive! I’m so glad you love medic!reader as much as I do!

He figures, later, that it might have started with Operation: Creeping Cricket. 

Courtesy to Smellerbee for the unique mission name, ofcourse. 

That had involved, to date: A handful of Freedom Fighters itching for a fight, an imprisoned pair of orphan twins they’d planned to break out, a couple of dumb Fire Nation spies, and the leaky walls they called the borders of Omashu. 

Except, ofcourse, it wouldn’t be a mission without a series of unfortunate events, of which occurred: a storm that changed Sneers’ accurately-predicted course of said Fire Nation spies, which meant their little hostages that they’d come to rescue would be headed down a different path, which also meant their traps lining on the trail towards the borders of Omashu— that The Duke had spent a frustratingly long amount of time setting up— would be rendered useless.

They settled on a brute force ambush instead, much to your disdain; you were, after all, a better healer than you were a fighter.

“This was a terrible—!” You pause to dodge a burst of white hot flames from a Fire Nation soldier. The rain is quick to dampen their efforts, luckily for you. “This was a terrible plan, Jet!”

He strains to hear you underneath the torrent. “Don’t blame me, Pipsqueak started it! Duck!”

You duck. Another spy crumples behind you, thanks to the swing of Jet’s tiger blades, and as the soldier lands on the ground— that’s when you notice it; the quaking rumble of earth, the jumping of stones.

Earth Kingdom Guards have caught wind.

In the distance, Longshot produces a birdcall from high above— shrill and piercing, one that’s rarely ever been used amongst the rebellion— a warning. Retreat. The Freedom Fighters are outnumbered. Scatter. 

The ground erupts beneath you, and you scream. You practically sweep Jet off his feet as you snatch his hand and take off to higher ground to avoid the rising tempest. Hot on your heels, both of you can feel the snap and crackle of roots tearing deep underneath as the kingdom guards begin their manhunt. 

“Quick!” you urge, as he trips over his footing. You glance at him over your shoulder, giving him a squeeze in your intertwined fingers as you check, “Hey, you hurt?”

“I— uh, no,” he stumbles, for some reason. Nothing but superficial cuts and bruises, anyway. He’ll live. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

It could’ve been minutes or an hour of just running, he isn’t quite sure— he’s too busy noting how your hands fit awfully perfect against his, and how despite the rain and muck, you still managed to look... collected. (Collected, he thinks, because he refused to admit anything unforgivably romantic.) Jet lets himself be led across the maze of woodland and grass, and catches himself wondering whether the hand holding had been a conscious move at all.

At the time, he’d decided it didn’t matter. 

It shouldn’t, Jet had reasoned to himself, as you tugged him underneath an overhang and into a hidden crevice. Beyond the roguish charm and borderline flirtatious jokes he liked to play at— both of you were, at the end of the day, amidst an unending war. You were the Rebellions’ resident medic, and he was their token leader. There was no time to entertain fairytales and pipedreams.

“I think we lost them,” you pant, peeking over. “Do you think the others are okay?”

Jet looks at you, fights back the urge to tuck the rain-wet strands of your hair behind your ear so he can see your face better; how the light hits your profile and sets your eyes alight, down to the tip of your nose, and to your mud-stained cheeks. Collected. Capable, he reminds himself. Not pretty. Not pretty. Not—

“What’s wrong?” you ask, when you’d caught his gaze. “Jet?”

“Ah. Uh, nothing,” he blinks away— too fast; too quick to hide the obvious lie. “The others can handle themselves. Let’s, let’s wait for the storm to pass.”

This is simply camaraderie, he’d convinced himself, and stifled down the barb of disappointment that crept in him when you were the first to finally let go.

Right?

[glassofpumpkinjuice]

pete & patrick's magic trick (6/28/23, 7/7/23)

[house-md-imagines]

[al3xluvsmtnd3w]

no but seriously imagine it

You're at WWWY fest, watching Cobra Starship. They seem a little excited. Then Gabe Saporta says "Hey everyone we have a surpise for you" Then MCR and The Used come out and start to play Under Pressure. Lights flash everywhere and Fall Out Boy join them on stage. Fall Out Boy and Cobra Starship start playing "Pete Wentz Is The Only Reason We're Famous" while the Used and MCR are still playing "Under Pressure" Then as if it couldn't get any better, Johnnie Guilbert and Jake Webber walk on stage holding the pride flag and kiss.

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

Naughty or Nice - Pete Wentz x Reader

Prompt: N: Naughty or nice? (How has your character been this past year? Are they a trickster or a good of heart?) (from this list)   Reader: Reader and Pete are married and have kids but no pronouns or gender specific terms are used Word count: 668

It was supposed to be a way to get the kids to bed. You knew that. Pete knew that. But instead? Absolute havoc.

Admittedly: most kids were all nice and followed their parents' instructions once they were reminded that Santa Clause would bring gifts only to the nice kids. And this close to Christmas, with decorations being put up all over the house, you had seriously expected it to work. Instead your five and three year old sons froze on the spot where they had been rolling around in their pyjamas on the carpet and the moment they looked up to you with shining eyes you knew you had messed up somewhere along the short way of a simple sentence.

“If naughty kids don’t get any presents from Santa,” the slow way the older of the two spoke even attracted Pete’s attention who had been sitting on the sofa scrolling on his phone, “then does Dad get any presents?”

Oh.

Shit.

“Uh, I guess,” you answered carefully, already knowing what direction this was about to go into. Judging by Pete’s widened eyes, so did he.

“But...” the three year old seemed to have caught up on his brother’s plan, “he was pretty naughty this year.”

Trying not to laugh, you raised an eyebrow at your husband who tried to sink as deep into the sofa cushions as possible.

“Oh really,” you mused, knowing they were about to tell you all the things Pete had done and successfully hidden from you. “I thought he was rather good this year. He planted lots of veggies for us to watch grow and eat, and he went on many hiking trips with us, and he read us many good night stories,...”

Taking the chance of the kids not jumping around wildly, you picked up the younger one into your arms, carrying him towards the kids’ bedroom. The older one followed without you having to say anything. And so did Pete, knowing he was about to be exposed.

“Daddy fell into the pool,” the child in your arms started telling you excitedly. “He still had his clothes on, and, and then he went into the house, and everything was wet and then he said it was the dog.”

Putting your son down on the bed you turned to Pete who stood in the door.

“I-”

“And!” His defence was interrupted by his older son, “We all played soccer in the living room, and he kicked that frame off the wall and said it was an earthquake.”

The excitement in the children’s eyes was precious. Somehow they even automatically tucked themselves in while spilling all of their father’s wrong doings over the past year.

“And he bought us chocolate pudding,” the younger one went on, “even after we’ve had sweets at home.”

“And you ate it!” Pete screeched as if his biggest secret had just been exposed.

“You told us too!” the five years old defended.

“Okay, okay, that's enough now,” you decided, lifting your hands up in the air. “I’m sure Santa knew all these things already, and will make sure Dad gets the correct amounts of presents.”

“What about us,” the two asked at the same time.

“Oh, Santa knows that you’ve been going to bed just like I asked right now, so maybe that will make up for eating chocolate pudding even after already having had sweets.”

You winked at them and kissed their small foreheads, wishing them a good night. Pete did the same, gently tucking the blankets in place before turning on the night light and switching off the ceiling lights.

Once you were back in the living room, you turned to face him.

“An earthquake, really?”

“Well…” embarrassedly he rubbed his neck.

“It was our wedding picture,” you scolded, trying not to laugh at how guilty Pete looked.

“I got it fixed,” he reminded you, pointing to the picture above the fireplace.

Rolling your eyes, you laughed a little. “Remind me again: why did i marry you?”

“Hey!”

Taglist:

@alexstyx​ @jayloverthe3rd​ @robinruns​​ @lookalivefrosty​​ @butterflycore​​  @omgsuperstarg​​ @fivelegance​​ @casmustdiee​​ @cmtryghoul​​  

[no-brain-just-akutagawa]

honey, you've got a big storm coming

[ID: An edited 4-panel Lilo and Stitch meme. In the first picture Atsushi is sitting on the floor with his back turned to the viewer. He says: "I need someone to be my ally...". In the second picture he looks to the side with a worried expression. He says: "Send me anyone." One the left side Fukuchi is staring at the viewer with a frown. On the third picture Atsushi has his back turned to the viewer again. He says: "Anyone will do." Fukuchi is still staring at the viewer, but his mouth is slightly opened. His expression is a mixture of confusion and disappointment. In the last picture disguised Akutagawa is staring into the background with binoculars. The caption in square brackets reads: "Coughing". End ID]

[davidjenkins]

fall out boy and my chemical romance both active, dan and phil both gay. the prophecy is right before our eyes. if we build it they will come

[madootles]

cowboy ed just makes sense to me

[thekidsare-not-alright]

funniest tweet of the night everyone else go home

[faretheeoscar]

Traveling buddies!

I realised I never shared this here, but my two boys came along to my end of 2023 holiday vacations to Italy and let me tell you they had a blast!