Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Clandestine Industries Presents: disasteRomance
Author's Note: Instead the usual long-winded apology for lack of updates, I'll get straight to the thank yous:
TangerineSky - oh, Britney Spears. She may be a trainwreck, but her songs still get stuck in my head.
glindapsawyer - lol. that reminds me that my red polka dot hoodie shrank in the wash. where's charlie when you need him?
SugarPlumFaerie - I know!!! Sure the movie would get a lot of publicity, but the acting quality would kill it. And you're correct about Pete eating asphalt in the future. This isn't called 'disasteRomance' for nothing. -insert evil laugh here-
lil_chica007 - hehe. glad you liked the semi-circle of doom.
snowqueendruscilla - oh yes. when time comes, he will deserve it.
pyrotechnist - yepyep. the kneecaps line was my favorite, too.
x_slowdown - i think all mob bosses secretly have purple hoodies. =P
xStabxMyxBackx - i concur. P$ as marty dressler > wentzface in goodnight moon
kittkattbar - at this point, sophie could probably run him over with a golf cart and the guys wouldn't flinch. =P
astrozombie28 - as usual, i loved your hyperactive review. i've tried pop rocks with coke. twas sadly uneventful. lol.
now onto the story:
33: h o w t o w r i t e a s o n g
-----
Soap's POV
“What are you up to?” I asked taking a seat on the edge of the bunk. Pete was laying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows while staring at a blank page in his notebook.
“Writing,” he said, tapping his pen against the metal binding. “…Well, as of now, it’s more like attempting to write.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Lay with me?”
Smiling, I did as he asked, and positioned myself next to him. After pressing his lips against my cheek, he turned to the notebook once again.
“Okay, so I’m gonna say a word, you tell me the first thing that pops into your head, then I‘ll write it down.”
“Alright.”
“Chicago?”
“Home.”
“Familiar?”
“Faces.”
“Plastic surgery?”
“Money.”
“Spending?”
“Clark Street.”
“Clark Street?”
“The Metro.”
“Barricade?”
“Run.”
“Fast?”
“Talking.”
“Listening?”
“Carefully.”
“Lyrics?”
“Thought-provoking.”
“Earl of Sandwich?”
“Yummy.”
“Gummi bears?”
“Colorful.”
“Red?”
“Carpet.”
“Orange?”
“Juice.”
“Yellow?”
“Snow.” He chuckled as he wrote it down.
“Green?”
“Envy.”
“Blue?”
“Depressed.”
“Purple.”
“Gabe.”
“Black?”
“blackmail.”
“Secrets?”
“Quiet Things That No One Ever Has to Know.”
“Jesse Lacey?”
“Inspired.”
“Forrest Kline?”
“Powerpop genius.”
“Max Bemis?”
“Huggable.”
“Ryan Ross?”
“Charming.”
“Pete Wentz?”
“Your grandfather.” He gave me a weird look before realization hit him.
“Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III.”
“Mine.”
Grinning, he put down his pen and kissed the side of my neck. Then one thing led to another, and before you could say ‘goodnight moon,’ Pete was on top of me.
“Put your hands in the air,” he whispered into my neck.
“Is this a stick up?”
“Maybe…”
He slipped his hands into mine then secured them above my head. Then in one swift motion, he reached down and pulled my shirt over my head.
“Pete,” I moaned as he swiveled his hips against mine.
“Shhh,” he mumbled against my lips. “Guys…bus…interrupt…”
While he continued his attack on my lip ring, I rolled over on top of him and went straight for his belt buckle.
Who knew songwriting was this much fun?
-----
“You two have been awfully quiet,” Trick commented as Pete and I took seats on the couch in the lounge area. “What have you been up to?”
“Just working on some lyrics,” he replied, with a slight smirk.
“Hey Pete, since when do you love Jake Ryan?” Joe asked.
“Huh?”
“Your shirt.”
He looked down, and read the text on his chest, then glanced at me. I looked down and saw that I was wearing his Atticus shirt.
“Since forever. Sixteen Candles was a brilliant movie,” Pete said, convincingly.
“Soap, weren’t you wearing that earli--” Dirty stopped mid-sentence. “Ohhh…”
“Wait, why’d you guys switch shirts?” Joe asked, still not putting 2 and 2 together.
Pete and I stifled laughter while simultaneously turning red.
“Think about it. Why do people take their shirts off, Joe?” Andy asked, laughing at his naivety.
“If it’s dirty… If it’s hot out… If they’re about to fu… Ah, I gotcha…” he said nodding. “Was it good?”
Pete buried his head in my shoulder while the rest of us broke into laughter.
“Better with a pen, my ass,” I whispered before kissing his cheek.
-----
Pete’s POV
Staring outside the bus window, all I saw were streetlights and the dim outlines of passing cars. Sighing, I glanced at my watch. 2:19.
While Sophie and Hemmy slept next to me, I carefully reached for my notebook and grabbed my pen off the floor. Propping myself against the wall, I flipped to the last page I’d written.
What can I do with this?
Skewing my mouth to one side, I scanned the list of words for phrases that could go into a song.
However, after 40 minutes of staring at the word pairs, I still didn’t have the slightest clue of how they’d fit into a song.
“Fuck…”
Partially frustrated and mostly tired, I put my knees down and rested the notebook in my lap. This shift in the bunk’s weight distribution caused Sophie to groan quietly before rolling closer to me.
Suddenly, I had an idea.
Lifting my knees once again, I grabbed my pen and started writing.
-----
I speak fast and I’m not gonna repeat myself, no
So listen carefully to every word I say
I’m the only one who’s gonna get away with making excuses today
You’re appealing to emotions that I simply do not have
Blackmail myself
‘Cause I ain’t got, cause I ain’t got anyone else
This is a stick up
Give us all your inspiration
I’ve got the red carpet blues, baby
So put your hands in the air and don’t make a sound
But don’t get the wrong idea
We’re gonna shoot you
We’re gonna shoot you
And there’s nothing in your head or pocket, throat or wallet
That could change just how this goes
When I said I’d return to you, I meant more like a relapse
Now and again I think ‘his and hers’, ‘for better or worse’
But the only rings I want buried with me are the ones around my eyes
And everyone shakes to the beat with a barrel down their throat
Two hours, 4 torn out pages, and 1 barely working pen later, I set my notebook down. The song was messily written and had no title, but other than that, it was finished.
“Done?”
I glanced over to my side and saw that Sophie was awake.
“How long have you been up?”
“Around ten minutes,” she said, tracing the tattoos on my arm with her finger.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want to interrupt your writing process,” she said. “…And you’re adorable when you’re concentrating.”
“Wanna read?”
“Yes, please,” she said, sitting up. I handed her the notebook, secretly anxious about her opinion.
While she scanned the page, I scanned her face for any type of reaction.
Smile. Good. She thinks it’s interesting.
Questioning glance. Not good. She probably read those non-committal lines in the second verse.
Head tilt and a skewed mouth. Neutral. I can’t tell whether or not she liked it.
“What do you think?” I asked as she put the notebook down.
“Maybe you’re better with a pen after all,” she said, smirking.
“Really? It’s good?”
She gave me one of those looks that screamed ‘DUH! Of course!’
“Pete, you write amazing stuff. I mean, you turned a simple word association game into a song that has real meaning, she said. “And I’m not just saying that to boost your ego. God knows it’s huge as is.”
“You seriously like it?”
“YES,” she reassured, playfully hitting my shoulder. “And anyways, your lyrics speak for themselves. No validation from me needed.”
“But your opinion matters to me.”
“Wentz, are you going soft?”
“Only for you.”
“Good.”
I set the notebook aside and we laid down. Sophie wordlessly slipped her hand into mine. Our noses grazed as she leaned toward me and planted a kiss on my lips.
Foreheads barely touching, we fell asleep soon after.
-----
Like it? Love it? Hate it more than a papercut between your pointer finger and your thumb? RATE, REVIEW, and or AIM me @ Disast3rous so I know what your thinking.
TangerineSky - oh, Britney Spears. She may be a trainwreck, but her songs still get stuck in my head.
glindapsawyer - lol. that reminds me that my red polka dot hoodie shrank in the wash. where's charlie when you need him?
SugarPlumFaerie - I know!!! Sure the movie would get a lot of publicity, but the acting quality would kill it. And you're correct about Pete eating asphalt in the future. This isn't called 'disasteRomance' for nothing. -insert evil laugh here-
lil_chica007 - hehe. glad you liked the semi-circle of doom.
snowqueendruscilla - oh yes. when time comes, he will deserve it.
pyrotechnist - yepyep. the kneecaps line was my favorite, too.
x_slowdown - i think all mob bosses secretly have purple hoodies. =P
xStabxMyxBackx - i concur. P$ as marty dressler > wentzface in goodnight moon
kittkattbar - at this point, sophie could probably run him over with a golf cart and the guys wouldn't flinch. =P
astrozombie28 - as usual, i loved your hyperactive review. i've tried pop rocks with coke. twas sadly uneventful. lol.
now onto the story:
33: h o w t o w r i t e a s o n g
-----
Soap's POV
“What are you up to?” I asked taking a seat on the edge of the bunk. Pete was laying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows while staring at a blank page in his notebook.
“Writing,” he said, tapping his pen against the metal binding. “…Well, as of now, it’s more like attempting to write.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Lay with me?”
Smiling, I did as he asked, and positioned myself next to him. After pressing his lips against my cheek, he turned to the notebook once again.
“Okay, so I’m gonna say a word, you tell me the first thing that pops into your head, then I‘ll write it down.”
“Alright.”
“Chicago?”
“Home.”
“Familiar?”
“Faces.”
“Plastic surgery?”
“Money.”
“Spending?”
“Clark Street.”
“Clark Street?”
“The Metro.”
“Barricade?”
“Run.”
“Fast?”
“Talking.”
“Listening?”
“Carefully.”
“Lyrics?”
“Thought-provoking.”
“Earl of Sandwich?”
“Yummy.”
“Gummi bears?”
“Colorful.”
“Red?”
“Carpet.”
“Orange?”
“Juice.”
“Yellow?”
“Snow.” He chuckled as he wrote it down.
“Green?”
“Envy.”
“Blue?”
“Depressed.”
“Purple.”
“Gabe.”
“Black?”
“blackmail.”
“Secrets?”
“Quiet Things That No One Ever Has to Know.”
“Jesse Lacey?”
“Inspired.”
“Forrest Kline?”
“Powerpop genius.”
“Max Bemis?”
“Huggable.”
“Ryan Ross?”
“Charming.”
“Pete Wentz?”
“Your grandfather.” He gave me a weird look before realization hit him.
“Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III.”
“Mine.”
Grinning, he put down his pen and kissed the side of my neck. Then one thing led to another, and before you could say ‘goodnight moon,’ Pete was on top of me.
“Put your hands in the air,” he whispered into my neck.
“Is this a stick up?”
“Maybe…”
He slipped his hands into mine then secured them above my head. Then in one swift motion, he reached down and pulled my shirt over my head.
“Pete,” I moaned as he swiveled his hips against mine.
“Shhh,” he mumbled against my lips. “Guys…bus…interrupt…”
While he continued his attack on my lip ring, I rolled over on top of him and went straight for his belt buckle.
Who knew songwriting was this much fun?
-----
“You two have been awfully quiet,” Trick commented as Pete and I took seats on the couch in the lounge area. “What have you been up to?”
“Just working on some lyrics,” he replied, with a slight smirk.
“Hey Pete, since when do you love Jake Ryan?” Joe asked.
“Huh?”
“Your shirt.”
He looked down, and read the text on his chest, then glanced at me. I looked down and saw that I was wearing his Atticus shirt.
“Since forever. Sixteen Candles was a brilliant movie,” Pete said, convincingly.
“Soap, weren’t you wearing that earli--” Dirty stopped mid-sentence. “Ohhh…”
“Wait, why’d you guys switch shirts?” Joe asked, still not putting 2 and 2 together.
Pete and I stifled laughter while simultaneously turning red.
“Think about it. Why do people take their shirts off, Joe?” Andy asked, laughing at his naivety.
“If it’s dirty… If it’s hot out… If they’re about to fu… Ah, I gotcha…” he said nodding. “Was it good?”
Pete buried his head in my shoulder while the rest of us broke into laughter.
“Better with a pen, my ass,” I whispered before kissing his cheek.
-----
Pete’s POV
Staring outside the bus window, all I saw were streetlights and the dim outlines of passing cars. Sighing, I glanced at my watch. 2:19.
While Sophie and Hemmy slept next to me, I carefully reached for my notebook and grabbed my pen off the floor. Propping myself against the wall, I flipped to the last page I’d written.
What can I do with this?
Skewing my mouth to one side, I scanned the list of words for phrases that could go into a song.
However, after 40 minutes of staring at the word pairs, I still didn’t have the slightest clue of how they’d fit into a song.
“Fuck…”
Partially frustrated and mostly tired, I put my knees down and rested the notebook in my lap. This shift in the bunk’s weight distribution caused Sophie to groan quietly before rolling closer to me.
Suddenly, I had an idea.
Lifting my knees once again, I grabbed my pen and started writing.
-----
I speak fast and I’m not gonna repeat myself, no
So listen carefully to every word I say
I’m the only one who’s gonna get away with making excuses today
You’re appealing to emotions that I simply do not have
Blackmail myself
‘Cause I ain’t got, cause I ain’t got anyone else
This is a stick up
Give us all your inspiration
I’ve got the red carpet blues, baby
So put your hands in the air and don’t make a sound
But don’t get the wrong idea
We’re gonna shoot you
We’re gonna shoot you
And there’s nothing in your head or pocket, throat or wallet
That could change just how this goes
When I said I’d return to you, I meant more like a relapse
Now and again I think ‘his and hers’, ‘for better or worse’
But the only rings I want buried with me are the ones around my eyes
And everyone shakes to the beat with a barrel down their throat
Two hours, 4 torn out pages, and 1 barely working pen later, I set my notebook down. The song was messily written and had no title, but other than that, it was finished.
“Done?”
I glanced over to my side and saw that Sophie was awake.
“How long have you been up?”
“Around ten minutes,” she said, tracing the tattoos on my arm with her finger.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want to interrupt your writing process,” she said. “…And you’re adorable when you’re concentrating.”
“Wanna read?”
“Yes, please,” she said, sitting up. I handed her the notebook, secretly anxious about her opinion.
While she scanned the page, I scanned her face for any type of reaction.
Smile. Good. She thinks it’s interesting.
Questioning glance. Not good. She probably read those non-committal lines in the second verse.
Head tilt and a skewed mouth. Neutral. I can’t tell whether or not she liked it.
“What do you think?” I asked as she put the notebook down.
“Maybe you’re better with a pen after all,” she said, smirking.
“Really? It’s good?”
She gave me one of those looks that screamed ‘DUH! Of course!’
“Pete, you write amazing stuff. I mean, you turned a simple word association game into a song that has real meaning, she said. “And I’m not just saying that to boost your ego. God knows it’s huge as is.”
“You seriously like it?”
“YES,” she reassured, playfully hitting my shoulder. “And anyways, your lyrics speak for themselves. No validation from me needed.”
“But your opinion matters to me.”
“Wentz, are you going soft?”
“Only for you.”
“Good.”
I set the notebook aside and we laid down. Sophie wordlessly slipped her hand into mine. Our noses grazed as she leaned toward me and planted a kiss on my lips.
Foreheads barely touching, we fell asleep soon after.
-----
Like it? Love it? Hate it more than a papercut between your pointer finger and your thumb? RATE, REVIEW, and or AIM me @ Disast3rous so I know what your thinking.
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