#fall out boy is for lovers

[they-came-from-jersey]

Petekey Shirt fo today

[abovetherainandroses]

it gets me every single time seeing the stage flood with pink light after the bridge of fake out. unmatched

[vouseofwolves]

an ode to :

hands between legs. to whatever it takes. to drinks at the club. to the bar. to the keys. to your car. to the hotel stairs. to the emergency exit door. TO THE LOVE

[iiboronii]

Alright since everyone got sappy on the dash about Fall Out Boy and the American leg of the tour ending, I guess it's my turn (even though I'm not only a Fall Out Boy account, I still wanna do my stupid little sappy post). So I've been a Fall Out Boy fan since I was 11 years old. I'm now almost 19. They've held my hand so gently while I've grown up. Fall Out Boy's music has always been there for me whenever I needed it. I could probably pick out a million moments that Fall Out Boy has been the soundtrack to my life. And I used to dream of finding just one person that enjoyed Fall Out Boy as much as I did. When I got to high school, I made a post on my Fall Out Boy Instagram account about how I hoped to find somone in high school that liked them just like I did. I never found that person in high school. I've been looking and looking and looking ever since I was 11 for a group of people that love the same band that I do in the same (slightly insane) way. And I've finally found someone. I've found multiple someones. I've found all of you. You all are what I've been looking for. This entire tourdust experience is exactly what I've been looking for all this time. All the posts that break down why certain songs are particularly heartwrenching, all the artwork, all the fanfics, all the spreadsheets, all the livestreams, all the live reactions on my dash that I so desperately have refreshed... All of this is exactly what I've been looking for for so, so long. There's so much more I could say about what the tour of healing means for me specifically and why I feel like this tour and smfs came into my life at the perfect time (and perhaps I'll say it later!) but for now I just want to say thank you. I've truly enjoyed being part of this experience with all of you. Thank you for being that someone that loves Fall Out Boy that I've been waiting to meet for all these years.Thank you for opening your arms wide and accepting me and making me feel like I have a home on the internet again. It's truly been a wild ride, and I can't wait to do it all again during the next leg of the tour. I love you, fobbies.

[looselipssinkships-x]

you get the vision, right?

[weallpartyatybcpatricksfuneral]

vampire pete and vampire patrick. as little bats. do you guys see my vision

[pisshandkerchief]

listening to a band while wearing merch for that band is so fucking embarrassing like oh did you make this band your whole personality? did you let them make you their little bitch? slut

[somuchforstardust]

joe trohman +

[starrystevie]

steve wakes up for the first time that morning on a lumpy couch with sticky red lipstick smeared across his forearm.

there's a pair of lips imprinted next to a glob of red and if he looks closely, eyes squinted in hangover glory, he can make out the ghost of a handful of numbers, something that looks like maybe like a 5 curving around the inside of his wrist. it's hard to tell in the dull morning light, even harder when he can't open his eyes because of the pounding drums of a headache in his skull so he gives up, plops his head down on the well-worn couch cushion, and falls back asleep.

when steve wakes up for the second time, his head is positively throbbing, blurring his vision and making him feel weak. his neck is cricked and pops uncomfortably as he stretches before he forces himself to stand. the lipstick is less sticky now, but it's still very much there, even though steve had convinced himself it was just a dream.

as he weaves around other people on the floor who are still passed out with red plastic cups and bottles strewn between them, he digs his keys out of his back pocket and examines the writing. he can't make out the words written under the jumble of numbers. 'cah nie' is what it looks like, but even hungover steve knows that those aren't real words.

steve's pulling into his driveway when it hits him. oh, he thinks, it says 'call me'; the numbers feel a little more important now.

he stumbles through the front door, his feet shuffling along the floors because he feels too puny and lazy to pick them up properly, and makes his way to the kitchen. while steve may not have a career as a private investigator in his future, he's curious, excited to look at the numbers smudged along his arm to figure out who it could belong to.

and it wasn't like he really even went to parties anymore. between the world almost ending and then the world piecing itself back together and the kids going off to school and making the move to indianapolis and making a new group of friends just to move back to hawkins with a few in tow, he didn't exactly feel like the partying type. too much had happened between high school and now.

but lori had convinced jimmy to throw a rager to celebrate moving into their new apartment that they got for cheap on the outskirts of town, out near a lake that steve won't step foot in anymore. then came the gin followed by tequila followed by dancing and joints and laying on his back in the dewy grass to look at the stars with curly hair tickling the side of his neck as he-

curly hair. that's it, his first clue.

steve grabs a notepad off the kitchen counter and jots out every combination he can think of from the numbers on his wrist. the only thing he can clearly see is that the first two numbers are 42 and the last is definitely a 5. everything else in between is guess work, a jarbled combination of maybe 8s and 2s, but he has nothing but time to kill and he won't be able to let it go until he gets the bottom of the mystery number.

he makes call after call to random numbers, switching 7s and 2s and 3s and 8s hoping for any sort of a hint. there's a sort of hope blooming in his chest that someone could have liked steve enough to leave him a message written on his arm like they were staking a claim. it's been a long time since he's felt like this. like he's wanted.

it's when he gets to a number near the bottom of his list that he gets someone to actually answer the phone. it rings once, twice, three times until it's picked up, steve's stomach tied in knots that he wants to write off as lingering hangover nausea even though he knows it isn't.

"yeah?" a gruff voice responds, and if steve concentrates, really concentrates, he thinks it sounds familiar.

"uhm, hi?" he squeaks out and pulls the receiver away from his face so he can cough around the dryness in his throat. "this is probably a weird question but-"

"whatever you're selling, i'm not interested."

and there it is, it clicks in steve's head who he's called. he laughs a little bit to himself and slumps down further into the chair he was sitting in.

"eddie?" he asks, scrubbing a hand over his face now that he knows that this is all either an elaborate prank to make him look stupid or a way to make sure steve makes good on his promise from the party last night to call eddie about when they could hang out next.

there's a sound on the other end of the line, something between a huff and a groan, before the line goes dead. the dial tone blares in steve's ear and it's loud enough that he has to yank the phone away to save his hearing. he can feel his face pinch together before dialing the number again.

the line rings. it rings and rings and rings until it clicks off.

steve calls back.

it rings a few more times and steve has half a mind to drive over to the munson's new place and see eddie in person until finally, there's a voice on the other end of the line.

"the voicemail box you have reached is currently-"

steve sighs. "eddie, i know that's you, come on."

"what, i thought i sounded pretty convincing." eddie's voice is deep, albeit a tad scratchy, and steve's memory brings him back to the night before. the two sat on the porch and smoked cigarette after cigarette while they caught up, thighs touching and fingers brushing as they traded them back and forth.

"it would have been if i didn't know that you guys don't have a voicemail."

"touche," eddie responds. steve can hear the smile laced in his voice and he can vaguely make out something in the background, maybe the tv or a record, and he can't help but picture what eddie might be doing. his brain supplies flashes of eddie standing around the sound system the night before, his hair wild, smile even wilder when he looks up at steve as he convinces ray to turn on tears for fears for him and-

something flutters around in his stomach for a second before settling and it has steve blushing. he wants to slap himself back into reality.

"did you get home okay?" he asks, phone cord wrapping around his finger like he's talking to a girl he's sweet on or like a curl twisting over his hand as he plays with someone's hair. "after the party?"

he hears eddie sigh and what must be their metal kitchen chairs scraping across the linoleum flooring. "yeah, got back last night."

the hangover from the morning is fading and with it goes the blissful ignorance of not thinking back on embarrassing moments from the night before. steve's no stranger to making dumb decisions during a night out, but hearing eddie's voice is pulling at something like a loose thread on a well loved sweater. he feels like he's unraveling, getting closer and closer to the end of the thread before he's laid bare.

"good, that's good." steve goes quiet as does eddie, uncharacteristically quiet as whatever it drones on in the background. "so why-"

"let's not go there, okay?" eddie cuts him off and it has him frowning.

"go where?" steve asks while his eyes trace over the remnants of the lipstick kiss on his wrist and he fights the urge to see if his lips fit over it, too.

it's almost a minute but feels like longer when he finally breaks the silence. "to why i wrote my number on your arm, that's where we're not going."

"okay but you didn't just write your number... which by the way, thanks for using lipstick instead of pen like a normal person because it got all smudged and you have no idea how many random houses i had to call before i got to you and..." steve takes in a breath to stop himself from rambling any further and hears eddie do the same.

"i didn't have a pen, steve-"

"-and you kissed my arm, at least i'm assuming that was you." eddie chokes on the other end of the line. "i'm not upset or anything, ed, just confused."

there's more silence cut through only by eddie cursing under his breath.

"was it a joke? get me to think someone wanted me to... i don't know, take them out or something?" steve has to ask, feeling a tiny part of his heart ache to ask it.

eddie curses to himself again, this time a little louder. "it's not a joke, i swear. i think i just got a little brave with our good friend mr. jack daniels and... you know?"

"... no? know what?"

"i just-" eddie groans, "you were right, steve. someone.... someone does want you to take them out, just not someone you would think would want to date you."

steve's head is still pounding, fragments of his hangover still lingering around. it makes him want to crawl into bed instead of listening to eddie's riddles, draw the curtains shut and wake up when he can wrap his head around things again. he closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath in an attempt to calm his fluttering nerves.

"let me get this straight. you wrote your phone number on my arm ruining some poor girl's lipstick and kissed my fucking wrist to go along with it, all because some mysterious someone wants me to ask them out?"

"... yes?"

"so why did you write your number and not that someone's?"

eddie whines and he sounds like a little kid throwing a temper tantrum despite his deep voice from chainsmoking with him the night before and oh.

the curls tickling his neck. the smile he threw at steve from across the room. the way he goaded the makeshift dj into playing his song. the ever so gentle fingers holding his shoulder steady so he could light his cigarette off his own. the stars bouncing off the darkness of his eyes and the touch of fingertips against his cheek when he pulled the blanket up to steve's chin as he fell asleep on the couch and a whispered "g'night stevie" with his breath grazing his ear and-

"oh."

"and he's got it, ladies and gentlemen!" eddie fakes cheers and applause while steve chokes on his own stuttering breath at the realization. "only took him calling half of hawkins to put it together."

"hey, be nice to me, i had to solve your riddle with a hangover." steve laughs along side eddie and he can see it. it wouldn't be like a regular date, not by a longshot, where he takes a girl to some moderately priced restaurant followed by a movie where he gets to hold her hand. it'll be more like eddie, where he gets to laugh and be himself and not worry about saying the wrong thing, like he actually wants steve there and not just his reputation.

the silence this time around is a little more comfortable. a little more light. steve's finger tightens around the phone cord and it isn't all that hard to imagine it as a dark brown curl instead.

"and you better be extra nice to me when you let me take you out on that date."

[they-came-from-jersey]

Backshots in the Mania hallway from the album cover.

[eddies-house]

finishing up a good cry and you’re in that state of it where you’re like hiccuping and trying to regulate your breathing while Eddie brushes your hair and whispers softly to you and every once in a while he stops to caress your jaw and turn your face toward him so he can kiss your nose and tell you he loves you

[you-broke-our-spirit]

I'm not the first person to have said any of these things individually nor am I the first to string them together but wow. P2 really is the most fanfiction, heavy-handed symbolism ever.

Around 09, shortly pre-hiatus, when Patrick dropped a lot of weight and Pete buzzed his head. How they reverted back to how they looked before they knew each other. Patrick leaving behind hats and Pete letting his hair go natural for an extended period for the first time in a long time. And then Patrick goes bleach blond and starts wearing colorful 3 piece suits and trying to reinvent his image. Reinvent himself altogether. All in all he wasn't even blond a year. And now when you ask him about it he gets all "I don't even know what I was doing with that, haha".

And when they come back together, they're P2 again. Patrick's wardrobe more preppy and less timeless, Pete dyes his hair again. And of course the hats are back; Pete gave him the hat on the cover of tttyg. He used them to hide from the crowds. It's not Fall Out Boy without hats.

And now Pete has straightened, dyed hair again and Patrick has gained weight, this time not a result of a bad breakup but growing older. It's happy weight. Weight without guilt. Something about trying to escape your legacy, having to shape it and embrace it. I'll never be me without you.

[nixkyxmint]

This MIGHT be the best thing i’ve ever seen

[stpansy]

and in the end i’d do it all again i think you’re my best friend. IF YOU EVEN CARE

[weallpartyatybcpatricksfuneral]

AND ALL THE BOYS ARE SMOKING MENTHOLS, GIRLS ARE GETTING BACK RUBS, I WILL DRIFT TO YOU IF YOU MAKE YOURSELF SHAKE FAST ENOUGH. MY OLD ACHES BECOME NEW AGAIN, MY OLD FRIENDS BECOME EXS AGAIN.