{"@attributes":{"version":"2.0"},"channel":{"title":"He tastes like you","link":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/","description":"He tastes like you - LiveJournal.com","lastBuildDate":"Tue, 09 Aug 2011 18:36:14 GMT","generator":"LiveJournal \/ LiveJournal.com","image":{"url":"https:\/\/l-userpic.livejournal.com\/108833096\/21897601","title":"He tastes like you","link":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/","width":"100","height":"100"},"item":[{"guid":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/35930.html","pubDate":"Tue, 09 Aug 2011 18:36:14 GMT","title":"Goodbye","author":"nonskid","link":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/35930.html","description":"I decided to leave this journal and start anew here<\/strong><\/a>.
I'm really sorry for the fic that this way won't see an end,I'll do my best to complete them and post either here or on the new journal. I won't delete this account though, in case you're interested in reading what I've posted so far<\/u>.
I hope to see you there!","comments":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/35930.html?view=comments#comments"},{"guid":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/35668.html","pubDate":"Tue, 24 May 2011 11:28:23 GMT","title":"The awkward moment when...","author":"nonskid","link":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/35668.html","description":"...you discover you lost the file where some time ago you wrote the beginnings of several fics,hence you don't remember a fuck of what you wrote and those stories are forever lost.


\"\"<\/a>","comments":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/35668.html?view=comments#comments","category":"i fail"},{"guid":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/35469.html","pubDate":"Thu, 19 May 2011 10:40:40 GMT","author":"nonskid","link":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/35469.html","description":"A little post to show that I'm still alive, just more in an “icon making” phase (on my other account<\/a>), with some drawings every now and then.
If that wasn’t enough, I’m also jumping from a fandom to another, and it’s kind of annoying me in a way. I’m perfectly aware I have loads of bandom fics to finish (16 stories, including one so-called series and some stories already partially posted poor neglected Do I have to be a cheerleader?<\/em><\/strike>, plus god knows how many more prompts), but I have the attention span of a goldfish and eventually moved to the Harry Potter fandom (5 fics to finish, plus an epically long bandom\/HP crossover and several ideas for more stories). Not happy, I also got sucked into the “revival-mode” and ended re-obsessing over Digimon, of all series: I’m kind of writing an one-shot and have 4 more ideas. I also had a brief Skins-phase, managing to write one little one-shot, but never went over the current three prompts.
Looking at my ideas.rtf file makes me raise an eyebrow at the perversion of some ideas my own brain conceived<\/strike> want to cry for the amount of prompts I wrote down and that I’ll never be able to use because I’m an horrible writer (I do it just for fun, I’m definitely not planning to do it for a living) who gets one too many writer’s block and is abandoned by the muse too often and too early in the typing process (also when I have\/want to draw, to be honest).
Argh, it pisses me off how pumped up I am every time I start a fic but quickly lose…it’s not that I lose interest in the story itself, I just acknowledge how bad I am at this seeing how often I get stuck; besides, I sometimes give myself too complicated and pretentious prompts for my writing and English skills.

Ranting much? Ok, I quit it here, but it’s the longest thing you’ll get for quite a while, unless some kind of miracle happens xD","comments":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/35469.html?view=comments#comments","category":"i fail"},{"guid":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/34233.html","pubDate":"Fri, 25 Mar 2011 22:26:04 GMT","title":"Check yes Juliet","author":"nonskid","link":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/34233.html","description":"title: Check yes Juliet
characters: Pete,Patrick,Greta (possibly future Peterick)
pov: 3rd
rating: PG-13 (for a couple of bad words)
summary: Patrick gets forced into playing Juliet in the school play because 1.) none of the girls wanted to and Patrick was the only guy who could pass for a girl, and 2.) because Greta is very persistent. Pete is Romeo.
words: 1390
disclaimer: people belong to themselves, Romeo and Juliet belongs to the four centuries dead Shakespeare
A\/N: for an <\/a>anon_lovefest<\/b><\/a><\/span>  prompt<\/a>: I'm not completely satisfied with it,there's not as much rehearsal awkwardness as I wanted and I almost focused more on Greta than on Peterick, but whatevs. Title from a We The Kings song that couldn't be more fitting :)


When Greta Salpeter glares at you with her hands on her hips and a foot tapping rhythmically in impatience, you don’t have much choice: either you do what she says, or you do what she says<\/em>.

Patrick knows it all too well, if the long dress he has been forced to wear is any indication.

“Greta, there’re ten girls in this class, I don’t understand why I have to--” the boy repeats tentatively for what felt like the millionth time that day.

“Because nobody wants to, and somebody had to be forced playing Juliet,” Greta reiterates firmly, checking her clipboard.

“Then why not forcing somebody else? Or better, one of the girls? Why me???” Patrick finally loses his patience.

“Patrick,” her voice is murderously calm, “you’re going to play Juliet because people like Bob and Joe definitely can’t pass as girls, and most importantly because I say so. Suck it up and don’t trip in the gown.” With that, she walks away to check on the boys painting the sceneries.

Patrick mechanically stretches and pulls the clingy fabric, and leans against the wall with a huff, script in hand to check his lines.

“Pretty bossy, isn’t she?”

Patrick turns towards the guy who whispered in his ear and is currently fiddling with a puffy hat (with long feather nonetheless). Taking in his blue attire he must be ‘Romeo’, originally known as Pete.

“You can say that,” Patrick sighed, “I’m—”

“Patrick, I know,” Pete beams, “I think you won’t be able to wear your hat, during the play,” he observes out of the blue.

“Don’t make me think about it,” Patrick cringes, “but if they make me wear a wig I should be fine.”

“Why so?”

“Erm…Long story…Sorry but I gotta go,” Patrick makes for walking away, but Pete grabs the other boy’s wrist and gets on his knee.

“Oh Juliet, Juliet, where art thou going, Juliet?” Pete declares with passion, attracting the attention of everybody in the school’s theater and causing a few giggles here and there. Patrick, on the other hand, is blushing to the tip of his hair and eventually forces his wrist out of Pete’s grasp, noticing Greta looking at the two of them with an unreadable expression.

“To the bathroom,” Patrick hisses, picking the sides of his dress up to walk more easily. He stubbornly looks ahead, refusing to look back at Pete who is indeed holding back from laughing out loud.

#

After Patrick has convinced himself to return, rehearsals can continue under Greta’s sharp supervision.

“Scene of the balcony! Move the bushes more on the right, push the fake building on stage!” she’s a perfectionist who enjoys shouting orders when she has to.

“Couldn’t we just rehearse without wearing the scene clothes like every normal school company?” Patrick asks: a frustrated Patrick is an annoying Patrick.

“Do you want to continue contesting me for a long time?” Greta sighs, a ghost of a headache concentrating in her forehead.

“We risk to crease them,” he adds sheepishly, hoping to bribe Greta somehow.

Greta looks at him studiously, “You aren’t fooling me, Patrick Stump, we need to know how comfortable you are moving with these clothes. Suffer in silence.”

She takes a seat in the middle of the audience, “Everybody ready? Alright, action!”

“We aren’t on a movie set,” Patrick rolls his eyes from his spot on the balcony. On stage, Pete is hiding his chuckle pretending to fix his hat.

“Action<\/em>,” Greta growls.

“O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name! Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a Capulet.”

‘Couldn’t we talk in modern English?’<\/em> Patrick thinks bitterly: he’s so enthusiastic to be part of this play that he’s physically on stage and talking on auto-pilot, but he’s mentally elsewhere. He’s is startled by Pete’s fervent acting, who agilely reaches the balcony and continues his speech, “I take thee at thy word. Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd; henceforth I never will be Romeo.”

Patrick finds himself surprised by the vicinity of a passionate Pete. He only exchanged a few words with him when the characters had been assigned; he’s simply seen Pete around school and can’t define himself a friend of his, neither has he noticed how pretty his eyes are from this close. This train of thoughts gets Patrick, who can only blush prettily and open his mouth like a fish.

“Patrick?” Pete hisses and jerks his head in Greta’s general direction, “She’s gonna eat you if you don’t say your lines.”

Patrick blinks stupidly and backs away, “’m sorry, give me five minutes and I’m gonna be fine,” he pleads and quickly runs behind the scenes, followed by Greta’s voice remembering him he’s not a diva.

#

Greta is utterly discouraged, the past three hours of rehearsal have been a huge delusion with Pete and Patrick’s inability to share the stage. The good thing is that it isn’t because of rivalries between the two of them; the bad thing is that it’s because of the sexual tension that could be cut with a machete.

On one hand Patrick can’t pretend to look at Pete adoringly (it’s his part in the play, after all) without becoming redder than the fabric of the audience’s seats; on the other hand, Pete can’t stay serious while talking in ancient English and keeps making his weird faces to make Patrick laugh, succeeding.

“Could we please finish this scene, so we can go home?” Greta asks to nobody in particular, but looks at her main actors. Everybody is silent: if even Greta is so exasperated that she wants to leave, the matter must be serious.

“Sorry,” Pete and Patrick mutter guiltily. Patrick glances at Pete, who’s looking at him with an almost desperate look in his eyes that Patrick cannot understand.

“Let’s get it over with, guys. Action,” Greta sighs.

Pete clears his throat and resumes his speech, “I would I were thy bird.”

“Sweet, so would I. Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow,” Patrick-Juliet returns in her room.

“Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell, his help to crave and my dear hap to tell,” Pete-Romeo exits.

A relieved applause erupts in the theater, today’s rehearsals are finally over despite the many inconveniences.

Behind the scenes, Patrick gets the dress off with a lot of relief and throws it on the floor, earning a glare from Hannah, assigned to the costumes.

“We really drove Greta mad, today,” Pete comments guiltily, a glint of playfulness in his eyes.

“Oh, we so did…” Patrick instinctively glances at Greta, who looks far and busy enough she could not hear them.

“Uhm…you up for an ice cream to reward our efforts?” Pete asks shyly, a trait of him that Patrick could have never guessed since he doesn’t know him too well.

“Sure, why not?” Patrick smiles and leads the way to the exit, “Bye Greta!”

She looks busy texting and is possibly still mad at them, so she curtly waves them goodbye. Pete and Patrick had just made it out of the dressing room that Pete’s phone beeped.

I expect you to drive me everywhere I want for the next month as reward for making you talk to Patrick. I didn’t know one of the most popular guys at school could be such a pussy :P<\/em>

Patrick is almost alarmed by Pete’s suddenly red red face, but the older guy waves it off and types away, blindly following Patrick to the parking lot.

our agreement was only 2 weeks!!!<\/em>

But you got to hang out with Patrick after hours, two for the price of one. Now stop paying attention to me and focus on that fine guy on your right.<\/em>

They’re standing in front of Pete’s car. He turns and in the distance sees Greta waving at him in an accomplice manner from the window of the dressing room. He glares and types.

bitch<\/em>

<\/em>Greta's reply is quick.

YOU are going to be my bitch for the next four weeks, bitch ;) Have fun.<\/em><\/a>","comments":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/34233.html?view=comments#comments","category":["school!fic","anon_lovefest","patrick stump","pete wentz","greta salpeter","peterick"]},{"guid":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/33636.html","pubDate":"Fri, 18 Mar 2011 15:09:32 GMT","title":"You're the closest to heaven (that I'll ever be)","author":"nonskid","link":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/33636.html","description":"title: You're the closest to heaven (that I'll ever be)
pairing: implied past!Peterick
pov: 3rd
rating: G
summary: Pete has been pacing in the waiting room for hours, impatiently waiting for his turn and checking his wrist watch every few seconds.
disclaimer: own nothing


Pete was tiding his desk: the boss has given him so much crap about it!

Albeit a boring one, Pete was grateful for that job. At least he didn’t have to spend his time on that white bench looking at the grass growing.

“Hey Pete!” a co-worker called him, “New case! This one has been specifically assigned to you by the boss himself.”

“Well, that ‘s new, I don’t have to take care of what the others refused,” Pete winked and snatched the folder off the other’s hand..

CASE #236’819’456’519
NAME: STUMP, PATRICK\t\tAGE: 54
CAUSE: WORSENING OF HIS COMA AFTER AN HEART ATTACK
DATE: 18\/03\/2011\t\tH. 11.45.06

Pete’s eyes widened.

---

Pete has been pacing in the waiting room for hours, impatiently waiting for his turn and checking his wrist watch every few seconds.

«PETE WENTZ» came the voice from the loudspeaker, and he could finally open the door. On the other side he found a person with familiar strawberry hair checking himself in disbelief.

Pete cleared his throat, “Mr Patrick Stump?”

The man snapped his head up and his eyes widened in shock.

“Pete?!?”

The other man smiled, “Yep, it’s me. Good to see you again.”

“Yeah…” Patrick whispered mechanically, “But…where am I? And why am I young again?”

“For the second question, I don’t know. Nobody knows, it’s boss decisions,” Pete shrugged, “As for your first question, you’re, well, on the other side…”

“In heaven?!”

“Something like that…”

“So I’m dead?” Patrick couldn’t help but ask it. It all felt like a dream.

Silence followed Pete’s nod, the time for Patrick to digest the news.

“I thought you’ve ended in the so-called hell,” Patrick commented jokingly, to break the tension.

“Haha, I thought the same at first, but here I am,” Pete beamed.

“I missed you,” Patrick blurted out suddenly.

“I missed you too, so much it hurts, you can’t--” Pete stopped and looked down.

“I can’t understand?” Patrick finished grimly.

“Pete nodded, “Sorry, I don’t think before talking…never have…”

Patrick chuckled, “You can say that.”

An awkward silence filled the room.

“And now?” Patrick asked.

“Oh! Yeah, follow me, you have to fill a few forms in.”

“Forms? Is this heaven or some kind of office?”

“This first part is more of an office…I call it my personal hell,” Pete whispered as they moved to a new room with endless lines of tables and chairs, all taken.

Pete took an empty form and nodded at Patrick to follow him. To avoid the queue, Pete led Patrick to his favorite bench in the immense park just outside the main building, where they could enjoy the nice day and calmly fill the papers.

“I’ve been sitting on this bench for so many years, waiting for you,” Pete recounted, “At first I egoistically thought I was going to see you soon, but I’m glad you didn’t follow my example. At least you got to live a long and intense life.”

“Well, 54 years old is still a bit early to leave, but I’m satisfied with my life.”

“Any Stump jr around on Earth?”

“Nope. I just had a few adventures but nothing too serious or long-term.”

“Sorry for the question, but how come you had an heart attack?”

“Genetics. My father had it too, though he lasted a few years longer. Hey Pete, what’s this question about reincarnation?”

“It’s if you want to return living as a new human being.”

“And repeat the process of going through my pudgy years and the typical angsty adolescence? No thanks.”

“Nobody can tell who you’re going to reincarnate as, maybe you’re going to look like a super model or become the doctor who discovers the cure to every illness, or…”

“Okay, okay, I got it, I got it…”

“And being here is boring with the passing of the years. I even accepted the job at the welcoming office just to stop vegetating on this bench. Me! Doing office work! This is the best joke ever.”

“But you were alone,” Patrick commented wistfully, looking intensely in Pete’s eyes.

“You’re right,” Pete smiled fondly, observing the sky slowly turning orange.
<\/a>
","comments":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/33636.html?view=comments#comments","category":["au","patrick stump","pete wentz","peterick"]},{"guid":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/33336.html","pubDate":"Tue, 15 Mar 2011 20:51:22 GMT","title":"dmhgchallenge","author":"nonskid","link":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/33336.html","description":"
\"Photobucket\"<\/a>
<\/a>dmhgchallenge<\/b><\/a><\/span> has 22 amazing drabbles this month.
Click on the banner to vote for your favorite!<\/b><\/center>","comments":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/33336.html?view=comments#comments"},{"guid":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/32730.html","pubDate":"Fri, 04 Mar 2011 12:32:27 GMT","title":"kink_bingo: Eye of the tiger","author":"nonskid","link":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/32730.html","description":"title: Eye of the tiger
pairing: implied Draco\/Hermione
pov: 3rd
rating: R
prompt: anonymity + plushie<\/strike>\/furry kink
summary: "Good evening, sir. What animals do you choose for the night?"
disclaimer: the Harry Potter universe belongs only to J.K.Rowling
A\/N: it may be kinda EWE and only half an inch away from animal play or even bestiality, but whatevs - for <\/a>kink_bingo<\/b><\/a><\/span> 's march mini challenge


(Eye of the tiger<\/a>)<\/strong>","comments":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/32730.html?view=comments#comments","category":["fandom:harry potter","dreamwidth","draco\/hermione","kinkbingo"]},{"guid":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/32333.html","pubDate":"Thu, 03 Mar 2011 19:25:47 GMT","title":"I couldn't resist so here is... #2","author":"nonskid","link":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/32333.html","description":"\"[community<\/a>kink_bingo<\/b><\/a><\/span>'s March mini challenge :B

The theme is Paired Kinks and it's not necessary to complete whole bingos, one square is fine...SO! I leave this here for future references and continue writing the story I already have in mind for the prompt "anonimity & plushie\/furry kink", it's gonna be a Dramione.

I may also have some random and undefined ideas for the prompts "medical kink & hand fetish" and "orgasm denial\/control & piercing\/needleplay", possibly bandom fics.


\"\"

(we meet again,dude who's scrubbing the word 'fuck' off his back)<\/strike>


medical kink X hand fetish:
tentacles X orgy:
body alteration\/injury X locks\/chains:
sex toys (non-penetrating) X confined\/caged:
uniforms\/military fetish X drugs\/aphrodisiacs:
mind control\/amnesia X sensation play:
bondage (other) X possession\/marking:
chastity devices X rough sex:
fucking machines X painplay (other):
anonymity X plushie\/furry kink:\tEye of the tiger<\/a> [Dramione]
costumes X whipping\/flogging:
guns X silence:
WC:
electricity X authority figures:
exposure\/striptease X blades:
sensory deprivation X gangbang:
orgasm denial\/control X piercings\/needleplay:
enemas X bloodplay:
tickling X obedience:
pegging\/strap-ons X body part fetishes (other):
humiliation (situational) X double penetration:
nippleplay X masters doms slaves&subs:
sex toys (worn under clothing) X food:
smacking\/slapping X prostitution:
bites\/bruises X exhibitionism:
<\/a>","comments":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/32333.html?view=comments#comments","category":"kinkbingo"},{"guid":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/32139.html","pubDate":"Wed, 02 Mar 2011 22:48:44 GMT","title":"Harry Potter rec list","author":"nonskid","link":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/32139.html","description":"I'm on an Harry Potter kick so you get a rec list (always work in progress,like the others)  -HERE<\/a>","comments":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/32139.html?view=comments#comments","category":["recs","dreamwidth"]},{"guid":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/31620.html","pubDate":"Mon, 28 Feb 2011 12:00:14 GMT","title":"How I hate having a shit-ton of ideas and not being able to write -.-","author":"nonskid","link":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/31620.html","description":"...not because I don't have the time (unfortunately I have way too much to spare), but because I start wrting a few lines and then my muse abandons me. That's another reason why I'm 99,99999...9% sure I won't be able to finish hc_bingo and schmoop_bingo  ç___ç<\/strike> Fuck that,I just keep the squares and use them as prompts,I might give the bingos another try another time u.ù
I just looked my never ending 'ideas document' and I have 36 WIPs and other 91 prompts, including series or long fics never finished or never started; some of these ideas have been sitting there for the past year or two.

On a brighter note I may have a better internet now *fingers crossed*.","comments":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/31620.html?view=comments#comments","category":"i fail"},{"guid":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/31470.html","pubDate":"Mon, 07 Feb 2011 15:18:35 GMT","title":"new community","author":"nonskid","link":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/31470.html","description":"Hopefully this community will last longer than the ones I created and deleted in a matter of days x'''D


I present you:

\"Photobucket\"<\/a><\/div>
A community for all your Harry Potter fanfics written in a diary style (empty for now,lol,but I already have something to post).","comments":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/31470.html?view=comments#comments","category":["pimp","fandom:harry potter"]},{"guid":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/31067.html","pubDate":"Fri, 04 Feb 2011 13:08:42 GMT","title":"schmoop_bingo: A cone of sand","author":"nonskid","link":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/31067.html","description":"title: A cone of sand
characters: bb!Pete&Patrick
pov: 3rd
rating: G
prompt: kid!fic - vacation
summary: This sandcastle was turning into a masterpiece
disclaimer:they're not my kids and i don't own them


This sandcastle was turning into a masterpiece: Patrick was sure that with a bit more practice, next year he’d be able to make a more realistic castle with a drawbridge and water all around, even.
He was carefully putting a pinkish shell on top of the wet sand of the highest tower when a foot stomped forcefully on the structure, a cackle following each destructive action.
Patrick looked stupidly at the shapeless mass of wet sand, shells and broken little flags before looking up at the terrorist who smashed his hard work: a dark haired kid a bit older than him was smirking evilly at his victim. Patrick blinked twice before shrieking, “You meanie!”
It only made the Devil reincarnated laugh even more and look down at his work, satisfied.
“Your castle was ugly,” he said smugly.
“’Twas not,” Patrick sniffled, fighting the tears away.
“And you’re so white,” the other commented.
“I just arrived,” Patrick blushed, looking from the corner of the eye at the honey tan of the other kid.
The tanner boy shrugged and glanced one last time at his ‘work’, sniggering while stalking away. Patrick looked at him leaving, then focused his attention on his poor castle that didn’t survive the attack of the ogre. Brushing the sand off his knees and his turquoise mini trunks, Patrick walked back under the parasol where his parents were chatting with the umbrella-neighbor couple, unaware of their son’s misadventure.
As soon as he glanced up from the fridge-bag from where he fished a bottle of water, Patrick spotted the same kid of before doing faces at him two umbrellas away, but the kid’s smugness was interrupted by a sonorous and well deserved smack from his mother. The mother spotted Patrick and dragged his kid along with her, stomping in front of the Stumps’ umbrella.
“Excuse me? I’m pretty sure my son bothered your child and I’m here to apologize.”
Patrick’s parents moved their attention to the woman and then looked at Patrick.
“What happened, Patrick?”
The kid looked down but didn’t said a word, nibbling instead at the bottle. His father looked up and noticed the pile of sand where once was Patrick’s castle.
“Oh, the castle…” the man winced.
“Pete! I’m fed up of your behavior! Apologize!” the woman pulled the kid’s thin arm.
A bright red blush was visible under the tan, Pete was flustered for the shame of being caught and forced to apologize for what he thought was an innocent prank.
“Sorry,” he murmured, arrogance gone. Patrick looked briefly at him and nodded.
“Do you…do you want to rebuild the castle? Maybe it’ll turn better if there’re two people working on it…” Pete suggested, looking at his toes digging in the soft sand.
The smaller kid looked up at that, surprised to hear this Pete kid’s peace offering.
“Sure…” Patrick affirmed, and the kids hesitantly walked to the castle’s ruins side by side.
Neither spoke for a while, concentrated on their tasks of getting water from the sea, wetting the sand, using moulds and spades, too shy and awkward to build a friendship from a destroyed sandcastle, but maybe working together on it was a good chance.
“…Would you like to eat an ice cream, later?”
Patrick stopped shoveling sand in one of the spare buckets and stared at Pete for a long time, to be sure he wasn’t being pranked again, but Pete looked sincere.
“Of course,” Patrick grinned, and the kids resumed their grand architectural project more enthusiastically.
<\/a>","comments":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/31067.html?view=comments#comments","category":["schmoop bingo","patrick stump","pete wentz","standalone","kid!fic"]},{"guid":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/30849.html","pubDate":"Tue, 18 Jan 2011 20:24:10 GMT","title":"Hogwarts' Chronicles: First Year - part 2","author":"nonskid","link":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/30849.html","description":"title: Hogwarts' Chronicles:First Year (1991-1992)
pairing: none yet
pov: 3rd
rating: PG for now
summary: different points of view parallel to Harry Potter's adventures, since the very beginning
disclaimer: the Harry Potter AU belongs only to JKRowling,bandom people belongs only to themselves
A\/N: i just noticed how i kinda write these 11-years-old kids as if they were a bit older,but maybe it's just my impression .-.

[masterpost]<\/a>


[prologue]<\/a>

[previous]<\/a>


A severe looking woman was already there to receive them as soon as the door opened –by itself.
“Professor McGonagall,” Brendon whispered, glad to see her.
“Do you know her?” Spencer asked surprised. Brendon nodded, but didn’t articulate more.
The group of enthralled kids was now under the woman’s guidance, who gathered them in a room past the entrance and past another wide door, from where some happy chatting could be heard.
“Welcome to Hogwarts,” professor McGonagall said, “The feast for the beginning of this school year will take place soon, but before you take a seat in the Great Hall, you’re going to be sorted in your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room.
“The four Houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. They have their own noble history and each of them has churned out first-class witches and wizards. During your stay at Hogwarts, your triumphs will make your House gain points, but for any rule you’ll break you’ll lose points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points will receive a trophy, I hope you’ll do your best for the House you are going to be sorted into. The Sorting Ceremony is going to take place in a few minutes in front of the other students, I’ll be right back…. ”
As soon as she left the room, the students started discussing in hushed tones about what the Sorting Ceremony consisted of –someone said it was a test, someone said it was dangerous– but all in all nobody was in the mood to talk, until a group of ghosts appeared from the far wall of the room, making everybody scream scared and take their distance from the incorporeal beings.
“Oooh, new students!” the ghost of a fat looking monk smiled warmly at the kids, “I hope to see you all in Hufflepuff, it was my House!”
“Get out!” McGonagall ordered harshly at the phantoms when she returned, “The Sorting Ceremony is going to start.”
The ghost passed through the wall up front and the new students lined up before following the professor in the Great Hall.
Many kids held their breath at the magnificent sight of the Hall, with floating candles enlightening the vast room, four long tables for the many students, plus one long table for the teachers at the opposite end of the room. The most outstanding particularity was the ceiling, because thanks to some charm the starry sky was visible even from the inside.
The new students gathered in front of the professors’ table, facing the tables of the four Houses, while professor McGonagall put a stool and a pointy wizard hat in front of the First Years. After some seconds of silence, the dirty hat started singing an introduction to the requisites to end in each House, earning resonant applauses at which it bowed gladly.
“When I’ll call your name, you’ll wear the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” McGonagall instructed, unrolling a long parchment, “Abbott, Hannah!”
A girl with blond pigtails sat on the stool and the hat sorted her in Hufflepuff, whose students welcomed her warmly. Going on with the list, the students were slowly sorted in their Houses. The bossy girl who helped the Neville kid looking for his toad, “Granger, Hermione!”, ended in Gryffindor. Frank was biting his nails in a nervous gesture, fearing his own fate, but eventually it was his turn to be sorted.
“Come on, Frank!” Spencer and Brendon encouraged him with sonorous claps on his shoulders. The boy inhaled deeply and wore the hat, waiting for it to take a decision.
“Ravenclaw!” it finally stated, admittedly undecided: the boy was sneaky like a Slytherin, brave like a Gryffindor, smart like a Ravenclaw. Frank stood up on shaking legs and headed towards the animated table, where he was welcomed by pats on his shoulders and handshakes, but threw a regretful pout in Ryan’s direction’s, who was looking at him equally upset.
After Frank it was the turn of “Longbottom, Neville!”, who fell on his way to the stool. The hat took its sweet time to decide where to sort him but finally, shockingly enough, it decided for Gryffindor. The boy was so nervous that he ran towards the table with the hat still on his head, among general laughters.
“Malfoy, Draco!”
A white blonde boy walked to the stool arrogantly and the hat barely touched his hair when it shouted, “Slytherin!”. He sat satisfied between two bigger but stupid looking First Years
Other Slytherins followed, other Ravenclaws, two twin Indian girls who ended in different Houses and finally it was Cassadee’s turn. Greta, Patrick and Joe had their thumbs up encouragingly.
“Gryffindor!”
She ran to the table with a broad smile on her face, happy for being chosen for what was the best House, in her opinion.
After Cassadee, it was the turn of one Harry Potter: when McGonagall called his name, murmurs spread in the whole room, everybody asking if he was that <\/em>Harry Potter, the one who survived to the attack of one of the most evil wizards.
The hat was unsure, which one was better for the boy between Slytherin and Gryffindor?
When it shouted, “Gryffindor!”, the table of that House literally roared, like the lions they were –a lion was the symbol of Gryffindor. The kid was surrounded by excited Housemates, who clapped vigorously for him and tried to shake his hand, while two ginger twins were shouted themselves hoarse, chanting, “Potter is one of us, Potter is one of us!”
After the “celebrity” had been sorted, it was Greta’s turn, who had a nervous smile plastered on her cute face.
“Hufflepuff!” the hat decided quickly.
Running towards her table, she threw an apologetic look at Cassadee, who was sad as well for the sorting.
After, “Simmons, Alicia!”, it was Spencer’s turn. It’d be kind of a disgrace if the boy didn’t make it to Ryan’s House, Gryffindor: they’ve been inseparable since they were 5 years old and Ryan has never failed to spend his holidays with Spencer, not even after he was accepted at Hogwarts the previous year.
The Hat had decided, “Gryffindor!” it exclaimed, making Ryan cheer louder than anyone else in his table and spread his arms wide to embrace his running, beaming best friend.
“I made it, I made it!” Spencer cried in Ryan’s shoulder, hugging him tightly. Ryan didn’t respond but smiled fondly.
“Stump, Patrick!”
The chubby boy gulped and walked to the stool like a man destined to a death sentence. He actually closed his eyes tightly shut when the Hat was lowered on his head, but ran off beaming when he was chosen for Gryffindor, immediately sitting next to Cassadee, who hugged him.
After another Gryffindor, “Thomas, Dean,” and the Hufflepuff “Thomas, Tennessee”, not relatives, it was Joe’s turn: his joker self disappeared under a mask of apprehension and hope to be sorted in his new friends’ House. The Hat eventually decided, another Gryffindor was sorted and Joe fled to the welcoming table, able to smile and joke again once the tension was magically gone in a blink.
A Ravenclaw finally broke the Gryffindor series, then it was “Urie, Brendon,” turn. Once the Hat covered his eyes, the boy didn’t notice professor McGonagall waiting anxiously for the Hat’s decision, least of all her relieved sigh when he was sorted for Gryffindor and he ran next to a beaming Spencer.
The shy boy who joined Brendon, Spencer and Frank on the boat, “Way, Michael!” looked incredibly tiny with the hat on his head. When it shouted “Ravenclaw!” Gerard jumped on the bench to clap his hands and whistle, welcoming his younger brother in his House; Ray and Bob had amused smiles at Gerard’s overreaction, but welcomed the kid warmly. Frank applauded too, happy to have a known face in his year, even if the boy barely spoke to him or Spencer or Brendon.
After him, “Weasley, Ronald!” was sorted in the Gryffindor House and welcomed by the ginger twins and a stuck-up ginger guy, without doubt his older brothers. Concluded the roll “Weekes, Dallon”, a Gryffindor, and “Zabini, Blaise”, who ended in Slytherin.
Professor McGonagall rolled the parchment up and took the hat away. It was the signal for Headmaster Dumbledore to stand up and face the Great Hall. He smiled warmly at the students and virtually hugged them all with his arms open wide.
“Welcome to a new school year at Hogwarts!” he cheered, “Before starting our banquet, I want to say a few words: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”
His weird welcoming speech was followed by enthusiastic applauses.
Joe snorted, “What the hell was that about?”
Patrick shrugged but smiled, still clapping, “No idea.”

*

“Isn’t he a bit crazy?” Frank asked the tall older guy sitting next to him, who introduced himself as Ray.
“Hahahah, he’s a genius! But yeah, the best wizard in the world is indeed quite nuts,” Ray said, while the tables magically overflowed with food.
Frank noticed how Mikey was picking nervously at his food while his brother Gerard talked enthusiastically and non-stop, a manic glint in his eyes. Frank almost felt bad for Mikey.
“I can’t wait to see what subjects you’re going to be best at! Ravenclaw is the best House! You should totally see the creatures in the lake! There’s even a giant squid!”
“He’s always like this,” Ray answered Frank’s mental question.
“What…How…Did you read my mind?” Frank asked, shocked and fascinated at the same time. This magic world looks awesome.
Ray chuckled, “No, but I saw your expression and everybody who meets Gerard for the first time has the same face.”
“Oh,” Frank was a little bit deluded, he almost wanted Ray to be able to read minds.
“Where are you from?” Gerard inquired, moving his attention from his brother to the new fellow Ravenclaw when he felt called upon.
“I’m from Suffolk,” Frank replied shyly.
“No, I mean as a family…are you Muggle born?” Gerard asked curiously, not judgmentally.
“Ah, yeah, yeah,” Frank was starting to be a bit irritated by this Muggle thing: was it such a problem for them?
“Hey, dude, it’s cool, I was just curious, I didn’t mean to offend…it’s just that I rarely meet people who don’t belong to the wizardry world,” Gerard held his hands up in surrender.
Frank blushed, his thoughts once again revealed. Mikey’s sudden intake of breath made Frank look at him and the boy opened his eyes wide: a beautiful yet ghastly woman sat next to Mikey, but her shoulder disappeared into his. No wonder Mikey was shocked, Frank would bet the feeling was freezing and the weirdest ever.
“Good evening, Grey Lady,” Ray nodded politely, mimicked by Gerard, a silent blonde guy and many others sitting nearby.
“Good evening to you too, and welcome to the Ravenclaw House,” the ghost smiled sweetly to the fascinated First Years.

*

Joe looked at all those delicious dishes and devoured anything at arm reach, earning traumatized stares from Patrick, Cassadee and whoever was sitting close to him.
“Didn’t you eat a life-lasting supply of candies on the train?” Patrick felt the need to remember him that.
“Yeah, but this is real food<\/em>,” Joe stated, blissful of delicious cuisine.
“It looks really good,” a ghost with a ruff observed sadly from its spot in front of the Harry Potter kid.
“Why, can’t you…” was the mechanic question of the younger students.
“I haven’t been eating for four hundred years. Of course, I don’t need to, but I sometimes miss food. Oh, I haven’t introduced myself, I’m Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, nice to meet you. I’m the official Gryffindor ghost.”
“I know who you are!” the younger ginger boy exclaimed, “My brothers told me about you, you’re Nearly-Headless Nick!”
“I’d rather <\/em>you call me Sir Nicholas de…” the ghost started heatedly, but Seamus Finnigan interrupted him.
“Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly <\/em>headless?”
“Like this,” the ghost stated irritated, and he grabbed his right ear, pulling it. His head came off whole, except for a tiny edge of skin that left it attached to the neck. Someone didn’t do a good job at decapitating him. Sir Nicholas was pleased of the shocked faces on the new students and easily snapped his head back in place.
“So, new Gryffindors! I hope you’ll help us win this year’s cup, Gryffindor hasn’t won for a long time: Slytherin won the cup for six years straight! Their ghost, the Bloody Baron, has been pretty annoying about it.”
Next to the blonde kid who was sorted for the Slytherin House straight away, sat a ghost with a fixed stare, his face scrawny and his clothes smeared of silvery blood. That was the Bloody Baron.
The main entrees were substituted by the desserts – mountains of ice cream and pastries and pies crowded the tables.
The discussion turned towards families.
“I’m half blood,” Seamus said, “Dad is a Muggle, Mum is a witch, but she told him only after they got married. It was a shock for him!”
They all laughed.
“I was raised by my grandma, who’s a witch, but for a long time they thought I was a Squib,” Neville explained, “My uncle Algie tried for years to take me unawares and make me show any magic power. This one time, he was holding me for my ankles outside the window, but he got distracted by my aunt who offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go of me. I fell in the garden and bounced out, in the street. They were so happy, my grandma cried and they couldn’t believe I was accepted here, ‘cause maybe I didn’t have enough powers. Uncle Algie is the one who bought me the toad.”
Brendon listened interested in the stories of his Housemates’ families, but didn’t feel quite ready to tell them about his own.

*

“Looks like we’re going to share the dormitory for the next seven years. Hi, I’m Tennessee.”
“I’m Greta, hi.”
“Hannah.”
“Susan.”
“Annie.”
“What’s the subject you can’t wait to study?” Tennessee asked.
“I’m not an expert of this magic thing, but I’d say Transfiguration,” Greta grinned.
“What do you mean?” Hannah furrowed her eyebrows.
“I was told I’m Muggle-born and Muggles don’t know or own magic powers.”
“I am too!” Annie chimed in, relieved to have found someone else in her situation.
“I think it’s actually cool, you get the best of both worlds,” Tennessee smiled broadly.

*

“But shouldn’t Smiths all be in the Hufflepuff House? I thought you were a far relative of the founder, after all the Smith kid called after you ended there,” Dallon asked Spencer when the boy told about his pureblood family.
“Yeah, we are Hufflepuff descendants, but the Hat chose to put me here,” Spencer shrugged, “Maybe because my parents were here before me.”
“What about you, Brendon?” Dean Thomas moved the attention to the dark haired boy. Brendon sighed, he had to expect it, and mustered up the courage.
“I was born in a Muggle family. Sometimes I did weird things inexplicable to my parents, enough that they treated me a bit coldly…it’s not that they didn’t love me, they were just more strict with me. I got my letter for Hogwarts two weeks after my birthday, because my father kept burning all the ones that arrived, but finally professor McGonagall arrived to talk to my parents.”
“Oh, that’s why you knew her,” Spencer whispered.
Brendon nodded and continued shyly, “She told them that I had powers, but it drove Dad completely mad, in fact he kicked me out. Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore helped me a lot and I can’t thank them enough, especially when they explained me that I actually have wizard blood, it was only that my father didn’t inherit it from his family. You said wizards without powers are called Squibs? Yeah, my father is one of them. My mother is a Muggle, though, so I’d say I’m a half blood?”
Brendon’s tale left everybody flabbergasted, they didn’t know how to react or comment his bitter story. The boy leant back in his chair and shrugged in an ‘I can’t do anything about it but life goes on’<\/em> way, but the hurt was visible on his young face.
Any attempt at sympathetic comments was interrupted by Dumbledore, who stood up again. Silence filled the Great Hall.
“Just a few more words, now that we’re all sated, I have a few start-of-term announcements.
“First years must know that the access to the forest around here is strictly forbidden to all pupils. Some of the older students should keep it in mind,” he looked in the direction of the ginger twins.
“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.
“Quidditch tryouts will take place the second week of school year. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.
“And lastly, I have to warn you that from this year the access to the third floor corridor on the right side is out of bound, unless you want to meet a painful end.”
Very few laughed at Dumbledore’s last statement.
“And now, before going to sleep, let’s sing the school hymn!” The teachers didn’t look thrilled at all.
Dumbledore made a quick movement with his wand and a long golden ribbon floated in the air, twisting to form the lyrics. Everybody sang at their own rhythm, leaving the Weasley twins for last with a funeral march tune, and finally applauded at the end of the song, Dumbledore moved and enthusiastic.
“Ah, music. A magic that outdoes the ones we do here! But now, it’s time to go to bed. Off you go.”
First years followed their Prefects – Percy Weasley led the Gryffindors to their dormitory in one of the towers, Brian Schechter led the Ravenclaws to another tower on the opposite side, Mark Cornell led the Slytherins in the dungeons, Lucas Hedinger led the Hufflepuffs towards the kitchen.

*

The new Gryffindors looked with wide eyes at the people in the paintings who were moving, whispering, pointing; at passages hidden by sliding panels and tapestries richly woven; at the staircases that moved on their own. The group stopped suddenly when several floating clubs moved in their direction and started hitting their Prefect.
“Peeves, the castle’s poltergeist,” Percy hissed to the new students, “Peeves! Show yourself” he added louder.
A sonorous rude noise followed Percy’s request.
“Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?” the Prefect threatened.
Peeves appeared with a crack. He looked at the kids with his black mischievous eyes and his large mouth stretched in a grin.
“Fresh meat! Awesome!” he snickered and rushed headlong on them, who ducked to avoid the poltergeist.
“Go away, Peeves, or I’ll tell the Baron everything!” Percy insisted.
Peeves showed his tongue and vanished, but he could be heard hitting the armors in his runaway. The clubs fell on Neville’s head, who covered his head too late and was now on the verge of crying in pain.
“Beware of Peeves,” Percy told the First Years while he continued to walk, “The Bloody Baron is the only one who manages to control him, Peeves doesn’t listen to us Prefects either. Here we are.”
They finally reached the seventh floor and stopped in front of a large portrait of a fat lady, dressed in pink.
“Password?” she asked.
“Caput Draconis,” Percy replied. The painting moved from the wall, revealing a circular passage to the Gryffindor common room, a round, cozy room, all in the tones of red and gold, from the armchairs to the carpet and the wallpaper.
The boys were indicated a door to their dormitories, the girls went to another door. A spiral staircase covered the height of the tower and lead the way to each dorm, that were divided by year.

*

Once they reached the fifth floor where the Ravenclaw tower’s entrance was, Brian explained the new students their House’s characteristic.
“Ravenclaw is known for hosting smart students, that’s why we differentiate from the other Houses with a knocker that asks a question instead of for the password, so you always learn something and keep your mind sharp. In case you can’t answer correctly, you have to wait for someone else to give the right answer.”
As if on cue, the eagle-shaped knocker formulated its riddle.
“No legs have I to dance,
No lungs have I to breathe,
No life have I to live or die
And yet I do all three.
What am I?”<\/em>
“Fire,” Brian answered quite easily.
“Well done,” the knocked complimented. The door swung open and the Ravenclaw’s Prefect led the new students inside the blue and bronze common room, wide and luminous with its many windows. Boys and girls looked around fascinated, enthralled by the starry-painted arched ceiling and the blue carpet decorated with stars as well.
Brian showed a door opposite the main entrance and that led to the dormitories; beside it, Rowena Ravenclaw’s life-size marble statue towered over the kids, who walked past it with a reverent and timorous bow.
“Wow…Hogwarts looks awesome,” Frank was still awed of the wizardry world he now was part of.
“It is,” Anthony grinned and ducked in his bed. Mikey didn’t participate to the conversation, but he smiled while he was falling asleep.

*

The new Slytherins took the staircases that led them to the dungeons and in front of a painting figuring a glaring and aloof looking man with a long beard.
“Password?”
“Parseltongue.”
The frame moved aside opening the entrance to the House’s common room: green and silver were the colors, skulls were scattered all around, a hint of a permanent smirk on their features. The greenish light that filtered in the room because of its location under the lake felt a bit oppressive at first, but the kids will get used to it.
“They tell you to well-behave and follow the rules, but in my opinion you can do whatever you want, we’re Slytherins after all,” Mark shrugged and smirked, looking at ten little mischievous faces crack in equally evil grins.
“Just do your best to beat the other Houses in everything: tests, ability, smartness, Quidditch when you’ll be allowed to fly…especially Gryffindor, they’re literally our eternal enemies.”
Life long competitions are hard to suppress and this Prefect was instilling competition in the new guard already.
“Okay, enough. Boys’ dormitories are there, girls’ dormitories are there,” Mark pointed at this and that door, “Goodnight.”

*

Greta followed the Hufflepuff group back in the Entrance Hall and to a door to the right of the main staircase. A few steps down there, they could hear the noises of pans and dishes from the kitchen, but they walked past until they reached a still life painting, the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room, and the Prefect recited the password.
Everything was in the colors of the house, yellow and black. There was no time to test the comfy-looking armchairs, though, because the new students were immediately sent to their dormitories, found at the end of little underground tunnels.
“I kind of feel oppressed staying in the underground…I suffer of claustrophobia…” Annie confessed sheepishly. Her nervous squeak didn’t pass unnoticed.
“Just relax,” Tennessee said comfortingly, holding Annie’s hand, “Breathe and think about the beautiful landscape that faces Hogwarts.”
“But we didn’t see anything, we arrived in the evening…”
“Shush and don’t think,” the taller girl repeated more firmly.
Annie closed her eyes and breathed relaxingly, letting the other girls push her past a round door and to the round dormitory, their trunks placed in front of their beds.

*

Brendon, Spencer, Patrick, Joe and Dallon were sharing a room. They headed straight to their trunks and fished their pajamas before diving in the beds, from where they chatted from an end of the room to the other before going to sleep.
“This is one awesome birthday present,” Joe mused, sleepy yet still excited.
“Today is your birthday?” Patrick asked from his bed next to Joe’s. At the boy’s affirmative response, Patrick, Brendon, Spencer and Dallon jumped on Joe’s bed and wished him happy birthday.
“Well, tomorrow is mine,” Spencer grinned in the dark room.
“Tomorrow is your birthday? What now, everybody is born just in time for Hogwarts?” Dallon laughed.
“We actually had to wait a whole year, it was a pain,” Joe sighed, Spencer nodding along seriously.
“Anyway, as far as I’m concerned, we’re done with September birthdays…mine is in April,” Patrick shrugged.
“Mine too! The twelfth,” Brendon bounced on the bed and looked at Patrick’s moonlit features.
“The twenty-seventh,” Patrick smiled.
“Okay, then I’m the only one born in May,” Dallon pouted mockingly, earning a good dose of pillows thrown at him. Needless to say, it led to an inaugural pillow fight.
<\/a>","comments":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/30849.html?view=comments#comments","category":["multibandom","fic:hogwarts' chronicles","crossover:harry potter"]},{"guid":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/30589.html","pubDate":"Tue, 28 Dec 2010 21:51:35 GMT","title":"schmoop_bingo: wooing\/courtship","author":"nonskid","link":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/30589.html","description":"I am desperate,so I post this stupid drawing to fill a bingo line ç__ç


\"\"<\/a>","comments":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/30589.html?view=comments#comments","category":["schmoop bingo","art","peterick"]},{"guid":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/30198.html","pubDate":"Fri, 24 Dec 2010 12:32:33 GMT","title":"But it's better if you do","author":"nonskid","link":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/30198.html","description":"title: But it's better if you do
pairing: Peterick
pov: 3rd
rating: PG-13
summary: Patrick Stump is the new trophy-husband of successful billionaire Peter Wentz, whose son Pete is not entirely thrilled with the idea that his step-dad is younger than him, is he?
disclaimer: don't own neither the people nor the prompt
A\/N: for an <\/a>anon_lovefest<\/b><\/a><\/span>  prompt<\/a>...I'm a masochist,I wrote it even if I'm deep in troubles with the bingos T-T



“I have news, son.”
“A-ah. You always say that when you’re gonna get married. How old are they? Are they legal, at least?”
“His name is Patrick and he’s 26,” Peter Wentz senior answered without taking in his son’s rude tone.
“WHAT?!”
“You heard me well. I expect you to be my witness, Peter, wedding is in two months.”
‘I’d rather witness a homicide,’ Pete thought.<\/em>


This was the long and short of the conversation between Pete and his father, six months ago. Pete should be used to this, really, he should: his father remarried five times already, this being the second with a man. Peter Wentz’ wives and husbands were usually really young, before they got tired of his old man and signed papers for millionaire divorces, but this time Pete’s father really overdid himself marrying a certain Patrick Stump, who was 26 years old.
…When his son Pete was 31 years old.
Pete was used to the age gap between his parents (his mother was 19 when she married the 30-something man), but his father’s partners usually were at least a bit older than Pete: there’s no point in stressing that Pete wasn’t totally thrilled by the fact that his step-dad was younger than Pete himself.


Peter Wentz’ spouses were his trophies to show off at society parties, full of “I-shit-money-every-morning” people. Pete hated those parties with his very soul and hated his father even more for the attention-seeker he was – Pete admittedly inherited that characteristic, but not to the point of changing (in)significant others like socks and making it a State business.
Pete couldn’t really understand his father’s thing for younger partners. He almost found pathetic that Wentz Senior and his wife or husband acted like they were deeply in love despite the age difference, when it was evident from Pluto that the younger half of the couple was with Mr Wentz for his money, not to mention the sudden fame that hit them during the marriage and mostly after the divorce: Peter Wentz’ end of marriages boosted the careers of, in order, an actress, a model, a fashion designer and another model. Pete wondered what would this Patrick guy become once he divorced from his father, maybe a musician, for what Pete could remember from the conversations he barely paid attention to.


The day Peter Wentz introduced his latest toy-boy, he invited his son to an exclusive club, where the three men sat at the reserved gazebo for some privacy
“Son, this is Patrick,” the older man introduced.
“Nice to meet you, Peter,” Patrick smiled shyly and held a hand out to shake.
“It’s Pete<\/em>, but nice to meet you,” Pete replied through gritted teeth. Patrick looked at him with wide eyes, taking in Pete’s evident hostility.
“Pete,” Mr Wentz hissed. Pete just looked at his father blankly.
“I leave you two getting to know each other better. See you later for dinner,” Pete’s father announced and left for work.
Patrick stared at his lap, sometimes throwing side glances at Pete, who ignored him and looked at the garden around them. Their coffees were getting cold in front of them.
Patrick mastered up all is courage and finally spoke to Pete.
“Listen, I know you’ve lived this thing too many times not to feel bitter about it, but I really love your father.”
“I also listened to this bullshit one too many times,” Pete retorted without flinching.
Patrick stared back at him.
“You don’t believe me, don’t you.”
“Nope.”
“And you think I’m a social climber.”
Pete looked straight in Patrick’s eyes.
“Just like the others.”
Patrick pursed his lips and said no more, sipping at his now cold coffee. He looked one last time at Pete, who was faking interest for the vase of flowers between them, and stood up.
“I hope to see you for din-“
“Why did you lower yourself getting engaged with a man who could easily be your father?” Pete interrupted.
Patrick looked at him, but didn’t reply.
“You’re five years younger than me, dude,” Pete observed, leant against the chair.
Patrick’s lips were in a straight line before he said, “I told you I love him.”
Pete cocked his eyebrow.
“Goodbye, Pete,” Patrick left.


At Peter Wentz and Patrick Stump’s wedding, Pete wasn’t blind to the wedding attendants’ disapproving glances nor deaf to their snickers and critics. He sat in a corner and sulked the whole ceremony, agreeing with the vultures that called themselves his father’s friends.
A flute of champagne appeared in his line of vision.
“Hey.”
Pete looked up at the younger groom, who looked damn fine in his dark gray fedora, white shirt, dark tie, gray vest and black slacks.
“Hi, daddy<\/em>,” Pete sniggered. Patrick rolled his eyes and leant against the same column as Pete, sipping at his glass.
“Thanks for coming,” Patrick said.
“I had to. My father threatened to disown me if I didn’t come and be his witness,” Pete drank some champagne – he actually didn’t like it, but if he got drunk he had a chance to do something he wouldn’t regret and have an excuse for his behavior already.
“You don’t have to call me dad, by the way,” Patrick sighed.
Pete looked at him silently.
“I hope you’re happy. For wasting your time with an old man, I mean. I hope being at his hip for every fucking party he’s invited to and being on the mouth of those gossipy motherfuckers are worth the trouble to become a successful…what did you say you dreamed to become, anyway?”
Patrick was hurt by Pete’s words, but didn’t show him as much; instead, he stepped in front of Pete and said, “Thank you for wishing me and your father a happy marriage. And yes, I’d love to become a musician, jackass.”
Patrick downed the rest of his drink in a gulp and stalked away, without looking back at Pete once.
Pete felt a little bit sorry for how he treated Patrick. A little bit.


Pete sighed the whole drive to his father’s house. It was that time of the week again, dinner at the Wentz’, and Pete’s mood always worsened at the mere idea of seeing his “parents”.
When Pete rang the bell, Patrick opened the door with a shy and tentative smile of his own. Pete always mentally rolled his eyes at the lame attempts of the dude to be liked by his step son, but for that night Pete had a plan. He’d been thinking and mulling over something that appeared to be only his imagination, but that happened to be more clear to him at the end of last month’s dinner.
Pete smirked delighted for making Patrick blush, he stepped inside without even saying hi and headed straight to the dinner room.
Andrew and Hilary were already there, as far as possible from their father, he noticed.
“Hi Pete,” they chorused and shared tired glances with Pete.
“Hi everyone,” Pete greeted and flopped on the free chair between Andrew and his father, opposite Patrick.
Perfect.
After six months of marriage, Peter and Patrick were still acting like<\/strike> an happy and loving couple, but Pete knew better. He noticed the glances Patrick threw in his direction, occasionally turning away sharply when he knew Pete caught him staring, how the younger male blushed whenever Pete teased or moved too close.
Yes, Pete was pretty sure to have the guy wrapped around his pinky.
Tasty food was served, wine was flowing copious, they chatted. The best part of the evening was happening under the table, though, where Pete played footsie with Patrick and enjoyed making the other struggle not to squeak out loud, especially when talking with his ‘husband’<\/i>. It was a risky business because Mr Wentz was head of the table, his legs close to Pete and Patrick’s, but Pete loved risk.
“Son,” Wentz Senior called. Pete and Patrick froze, fearing they got caught.
“Yeah?”
“There’s a party at Simpsons’, this saturday, I’d like you to join us,” the man said sipping his coffee.
Pete didn’t hide his annoyed huff. His father had been trying to match him and the younger Simpson, Ashlee, for years: Pete doesn’t have anything against the girl, she’s pretty and funny, but they both agreed they were better off as friends and plotted to obstruct their fathers’ plans – that’s what it’d have been, a marriage of convenience to fuse the businesses.
Peter Wentz’ expression was the one of someone who didn’t accept contradictions.
Pete stood up and put his jacket back on.
“All right, all right, I’ll be there,” he sighed, “Thanks for the dinner, bye.”
He made his way to the hallway, but turned his head one last time to take a glimpse of Patrick’s face.
What he saw was exactly what he wanted.

Pete felt like he was suffocating: the tie, the crowd of people he despised, the formality of the whole event. Ashlee was at his side, equally bored.
“I can’t wait for it to be over,” she said with a mouthful of appetizers.
Pete nodded silently, his eyes focused on the profile of his “daddy”. He watched Patrick listen politely to Mr Simpson’s ramblings, laugh when needed, nod when necessary, but he wasn’t at ease either, despite the many parties he had to attend with Mr Wentz. He was like a robot.
“Whatchu lookin’ at?”
Pete smirked.
“My prey.”
“Ooooh,” Ashlee grinned knowingly, “Then I think it’s my turn to distract the crowd.”
Pete looked at her.
“I may be a blonde, but I’m not vapid , I know you have the hots for a certain Mr Stump…oh, sorry, Mr Wentz.”
That said, she headed to the set up stage and gathered the guests around, announcing she was going to entertain them with some music. Pete shook his head amused but showed his friend his thumbs up in thankful acknowledgment. Ashlee nodded at him and started playing.
Pete walked through the crowd and finally approached the spot where his father, Patrick and Mr Simpson were looking at the girl at the piano, a proud smile on Joe Simpson’s face. Patrick’s face was blank, but his lips always tugged up in a smile whenever the host asked his opinion about his daughter. Pete rolled his eyes at the hypocrisy.
Pete made sure his and Ashlee’s fathers were distracted and tapped Patrick on the shoulder.
“Hey, Pe—” Pete shushed him and signed to follow him. Patrick looked briefly at his husband and tagged along Pete, who led the way upstairs. If Patrick suspected something, he didn’t say a word.
“Patrick,” Pete called when they finally entered a room and he locked the door, blocking the escape. Patrick stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, scratching an arm and not looking at Pete directly.
“Patrick, Patrick, Patrick…Don’t hold yourself back, I know you don’t like my father but prefer me…”
Patrick looked up quickly.
“I think it’s a waste…you’re too good for the old man,” Pete stepped closer, forcing Patrick against the bed, “but you and I can do wonderful things together,” he purred.
Patrick sat on the bed and looked up at Pete, almost scared.
“If it’s one of Peter’s set ups to check my faith, it does not work,” Patrick choked out. He squealed when Pete stepped between his legs and hold him in place.
“He’s an old bastard. Selfish, because he wants ‘freshmeat’ for his own pleasure and to look cool. And stupid, because he’s surrounded himself only by vultures so far,” Pete stated, distant, then started to lazily undo his tie and unbutton jacket and shirt. He smirked when he saw Patrick following every single movement, looking at him up and down and shifting discomfortingly to ease the pressure in his tailored slacks.
“I was really upset when you married my father, but not for the reason everybody thinks: I was upset because you weren’t available anymore,” Pete whispered in Patrick’s ear, gingerly undoing the younger male’s pants and mischievously pleased not to meet resistance on Patrick’s side.
“Then why didn’t you do your best to break our engagement?” Patrick breathed out. Pete stopped in his tracks and looked straight in Patrick’s green, shimmering eyes, then kissed him hungrily.

They were lying naked on the maroon comforter, Patrick’s head on Pete’s chest.
“Because I didn’t want to hurt my father,” Pete said out of the blue, resuming the previous conversation.
Patrick stared at the canopy and asked, “Why now, then?”
“Because I love you and I don’t want to see you waste your time with a mummy.”
Patrick chuckled and turned on his side to face Pete.
“How can I become a musician, if I divorce from your father?”
“A-ah!—”
“Don’t start, Pete,” Patrick said sternly, but soon started giggling uncontrollably, remembering their first short conversation at the club. Pete ran a hand through Patrick’s thin hair and mumbled, “We can start a band.”
Patrick stared at him.
“I’m serious. I sometimes write lyrics and struggle with the bass, and I heard you singing. I also know a couple of dudes that could fill with guitar and drums and we’re set.”
Patrick sighed, “Pete, you know as well as me that it’s not easy…I mean, look at me, I haven’t concluded much so far. And look at you, you’re already 31 years old!” he added the last part with a smirk.
Pete pretended to be outraged and tickled Patrick, “Take it back!”
Patrick laughed and laughed at Pete’s fingers tickling every inch of his body, until he gave up and surrendered.
“Fine, fine, you’re not old!”
Pete beamed and kissed Patrick square on the mouth.
“I was serious, by the way. Run away with me and join me in this project.”
Patrick couldn’t hold Pete’s hopeful look and turned his back at him.
“I’ll think about it.”

Five days after the party, Mr Wentz found a post-it on the pillow next to his.
Sorry<\/i>, it just said. The sheets on Patrick’s side were still warm, but his belongings were nowhere to be seen. He also didn’t answer the phone.
The first person Peter called to inform of the runaway was his eldest son. Pete didn’t answer the phone either, but the answering machine beeped in.
This is Pete Wentz, I can’t answer at the moment. Leave a message and I’ll call you back. Dad, if it’s you, Patrick is with me. Goodbye, we love you. BEEP.<\/i>
<\/a>","comments":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/30198.html?view=comments#comments","category":["anon_lovefest","patrick stump","pete wentz","peterick"]},{"guid":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/29726.html","pubDate":"Fri, 24 Dec 2010 00:26:54 GMT","title":"Hogwarts' Chronicles: First Year - part 1","author":"nonskid","link":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/29726.html","description":"title: Hogwarts' Chronicles:First Year (1991-1992)
pairing: none yet
pov: 3rd
rating: PG for now
summary: different point of views parallel to Harry Potter's adventures, since the very beginning
disclaimer: the Harry Potter AU belongs only to JKRowling,bandom people belongs only to themselves

[masterpost]<\/strong><\/a>

[prologue]<\/strong><\/a>


1-Platform 9 ¾ <\/strong>
Brendon looked out of the window, watching trains passing by and men loading goods on the trucks. He headed downstairs, where a man was waiting for him.
“You ready?” he asked brightly.
“Yep,” Brendon replied easily: he really liked Erwin and his weird hats, he was one of the Leaky Cauldron’s customers that took Brendon under their protection. The boy had been living at the Inn since his parents kicked him out four months ago, when they discovered he was a wizard, but Professor McGonagall came to the rescue and, after buying him the supplies for his school year, she brought him to the Headmaster.

Brendon was absolutely stunned when they “Apparated”, as the professor said, in front of the majestic castle of Hogwarts that dominated the loch. With a wave of her wand, McGonagall opened the huge gate and led Brendon through the front garden and into the building; Brendon turned in time to see the gate and the main door close by themselves and he felt as if a barrier was set up.
The witch walked securely staircase after staircase, warning Brendon about things he wasn’t used to, such as ghosts apparitions, moving paintings, a nasty poltergeist, moving staircases. Brendon stared in awe at the interior of the castle, running to catch up with McGonagall when he lingered too long on something that caught his attention.
They eventually arrived in front of a sculpture.
“Lemon sorbet,” the woman said, prompting the statue to move and reveal a spiral staircase that led to the Headmaster’s office.
“Good evening, Albus,” McGonagall greeted, walking straight to a solid desk.
“Good evening, Minerva.”
A man with an impressive, white long beard walked down a staircase, approaching the woman with a warm smile. Brendon automatically shied away, hoping to be hidden behind McGonagall’s back.
“You must be Brendon,” the man stated with a calm voice.
The boy stepped to the side to face the man and nodded, “Yes sir.”
“Please, take a seat,” the Headmaster invited, sitting in his armchair behind the desk, “Tell me, Minerva.”
“Yes, Albus. The Urie family ignored our letters for two weeks straight, as you well know, and when I went to talk to them they didn’t take the thing well. On the contrary, they kicked Brendon out, claiming he wasn’t welcome in their family anymore and…that he was a monster,” McGonagall reported, still indignant and sad for Brendon.
“I see. Well—” Dumbledore started, but the woman’s heated retort stopped him.
“It’s absurd, Albus, and totally hypocritical on Boyd Urie’s behalf to treat his son like that, just because Brendon inherited his family powers when he didn’t!”
“What?” Brendon was lost.
Professor Dumbledore sighed, “Minerva, this isn’t the best way to inform the boy…”
“Sorry, Albus,” McGonagall looked down, pretty embarrassed for her outburst.
“You see, Brendon…The Uries are a family of wizards, though your father didn’t inherit the powers. He’s what we call a Squib, but it happens that the ‘magic gene’ is passed on to future progenies, like you. I don’t know a less brusque way to say it, but we think your father got terribly upset about his lack of magic that he broke off relations with his family to have a new one as far from wizardry as possible, so having a son with magic powers when he doesn’t have any is like a slap in the face,” Dumbledore looked at Brendon gravely, worrying he upset the boy more.
Brendon was at a loss of words: first he discovered he was a wizard, then his father kicked him out; it turned out that his father’s drastic decision was caused by jealousy because he didn’t inherit his family’s powers while his son did. It actually explained why Brendon had never met his paternal relatives…
“What are we going to do, Albus? We can’t return him to his family, Gods only know how they’ll treat him,” professor McGonagall voiced her concern.
“We don’t have other choices, Minerva…For how bad they are, they’re still his family and tutors of his well being.”
“I’ll be his tutor!” the witch stood up heated. Brendon looked between the professors, speechless.
“You can’t, Minerva, the Uries still have the parental authority.”
“I’m sure they’ll sign any paper to-” she started, but saw Brendon’s expression and didn’t want to sadden him more. She looked away, a tear threatening to fall.
Professor Dumbledore approached the Deputy Headmistress, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“He can’t live at school all the time. He’s also too young to have a job and live in a place on his own. But I think,” he turned his head to Brendon, “I could convince Tom to save a room for him. We’ll see what else do at the end of his first year,” Dumbledore declared, then crouched at Brendon’s eyelevel, “Is it okay for you?”
Brendon looked at him with a trembling lip, saddened by his family behavior but moved by these people kindness.
“Yes, sir,” he choked out, doing his best not to cry.
“Let’s go to Tom, then,” Dumbledore stated with an arm out.
Brendon was getting used to this Apparition thing.<\/em>

That’s how Brendon got a room at the Leaky Cauldron and a piano to entertain the customers playing and singing for them: he always accepted with a blush the tips that they lent him for his nice voice and piano skills, for such a young age. Thanks to this arrangement, Brendon got a bit more used to this unusual world, being surrounded by wizards and reading his school books. He also returned to be the bright and cheerful boy he was before the incident with his family, before he got the letter from Hogwarts.
He really didn’t have words to express how grateful he was.
Erwin, who was quite used to Muggle’s transports, was the most indicated to bring Brendon to King’s Cross and he did it gladly, happy to help young Brendon. Half an hour later they emerged from the subway and headed to a pillar between the platforms 9 and 10.
“It’s easy, Brendon, but I’ll come with you: don’t be too nervous, don’t stop and don’t be scared to hit it, run if you prefer. At three, okay?” Erwin instructed.
Brendon nodded and faced the barrier.
“One…Two…Three!” Erwin exclaimed and they run into the pillar, Brendon ahead bracing himself for the collision…that didn’t come. He and Erwin fluidly arrived on Platform 9 ¾, where a fierce red train was already puffing its white smoke, tons of parents were hugging goodbye to their kids, owls were singing.
“Prove your worth at Hogwarts, young Brendon. I’m sure you’re going to be a great wizard,” Erwin encouraged the boy, giving him a single armed hug.
“Thanks a lot,” Brendon smiled thankful and boarded on the train.

*

Frank was shaking, knuckles white for his firm grip on the trolley carrying a trunk with his initials and an owl asleep in its cage. He and his parents just arrived at the beginning of the platforms 9 and 10, looking around feverishly to spot anyone carrying owls as Mr Finch suggested, when they eventually saw a little family who had owls on their trunks approaching the platforms.
After a long breath to master up the courage, Frank pushed his trolley and followed the family to a pillar a little further.
“Fifteen minutes, boys! Come on, a hug is necessary,” a rather short woman called. The chubbier of the two boys smiled warmly and hugged her tightly.
“Bye, mom.”
“Aww, we’re so proud of you, Spencer,” the woman cooed, voice slightly cracked for the emotion.
“Goodbye, Ginger,” the skinnier boy said with a shy but fond smile after he shook hands with a salt-and-pepper haired man.
“Enjoy your stay, Ryan, and take care of Spencer,” she instructed with a playful glare.
“Will do,” Ryan chuckled and with that he aligned himself and the trolley with the column before increasing his speed, running straight ahead. No accidents, no gruesome crashes against the hard bricks, nothing: the boy ran straight into the wall and disappeared.
Frank looked after him with wide eyes before finally butting in.
“Excuse me? I’m new and I don’t know how to get to the platform…” Frank’s ears were red in embarrassment.
“Oh! Sure thing! You just have to walk straight into the pillar, run if you feel too nervous…Spencer, dear, would you make a demonstration?”
The boy nodded in confirmation.
“Thanks a lot. My name is Frank, by the way, and they are my parents,” he introduced himself, pointing at the adults at his side and looking between the woman and the chubby boy, noticing they both had bright blue eyes.
“This is Spencer, Jackie and Crystal,” the woman pointed to her children, “I’m Ginger and he is my husband James”.
Frank’s parents introduced and shook hands.
“Now come on, let’s go get the train,” Ginger shooed the boys.
“Goodbye, then,” Frank bid farewell to his parents.
“Write us,” his mother cried, wrapping him in one of her motherly bone-crushing hugs.
“Apply yourself,” his father recommended.
Frank rolled his eyes playfully and followed Spencer, who stepped ahead and ran into the pillar.
Frank closed his eyes.

*

“Beware of Peeves. And the Bloody Baron. And Mr Filch with his Mrs Norris,” Gerard warned his younger brother Mikey.
“Gerard, stop scaring your brother,” his mother scolded him.
“Yes, mom,” the boy said sheepishly, not without shooting Mikey a grin. Mikey grinned back, but he was inwardly worried, being this his first year and all.
“Here we are! Stop it, boys, we have only five minutes left! Gerard, go ahead,” their father exclaimed when they reached the platforms 9 and 10. Mikey and Gerard where having a trolley duel, but at their father’s words Gerard steered his own to the pillar and disappeared into it.
“Ready, Mikey?” their mother asked the younger boy.
Mikey gulped a ‘yes’ and with his parents he followed Gerard into Platform 9 ¾, where the brothers quickly boarded their trunks and hopped on the red train, stopping at the first free window to wave their parents goodbye.
“Gerard!”
The called boy turned, seeing a guy with an epic fro approaching him.
“Ray!” Gerard cried, running to hug the Housemate, as well as roommate and friend.
“Did little Mikey make it?” Ray asked.
“Yep!! Mikey, come here!”
The shy, skinny boy reluctantly got away from the window, from where he waved goodbye to his parents till the last second.
“I want to present you my dear friend Ray Toro,” Gerard introduced.
“Hey there,” Ray greeted.
“Hi,” Mikey replied feebly.
“Bob is defending the compartment, let’s go before he eats some reckless First Year,” Ray said, leading the way; Gerard followed the taller boy, Mikey right behind them.
“Taken,” a bulk guy growled from the door in reply to the students that dared to ask him to have a seat in the compartment.
“Thanks for guarding the fort, Bob. Gerard has arrived, and there’s also his brother Mikey,” Ray sniggered, walking past Bob. Gerard greeted the blond guy cheerfully and introduced him to his brother.
“Bob, Mikey, Mikey, Bob. If somebody plays tricks on you, Mikes, you can count on Bob. He’ll surely scare them away,” Gerard laughed.
Bob grunted in his seat, while Ray commented, “What a wonderful example of older brother you are, Gee!”
“I know, right?” Gerard feigned pride, flicking his bangs off his face.

*

“What took you so long?” Ryan frowned at his best friend once he got to the platform.
“A lost kid,” Spencer said, pointing his thumb in the direction of the wall from where he just appeared and another trolley was making its entrance, guided by a dark haired boy with his eyes shut tightly.
Ryan cocked his eyebrow and Spencer said, trying to hide his bit of irritation, “You made it, you can open your eyes now.”
The black haired boy hesitantly cracked an eye open and looked around, jaw dropping: it was evident the kid was a First Year, possibly Muggle born.
Ryan snickered at the shocked face of the boy, but politely hold a hand out to shake, “My name is Ryan.”
“Oh! Yeah. I-I’m Frank,” the new boy introduced.
“Come on, let’s hop on the train, it can’t leave without us,” Spencer said, making Ryan lead the way.
Spencer’s family arrived at last, something that secretly comforted him, and with Ryan he waved goodbye.
Frank was walking ahead, looking for a free compartment.
“Hey!” Spencer called. Frank turned sharply and went on tiptoe to spot the boy.
“Were you leaving without us?” Spencer frowned.
“Of course not! I was just looking for a free compartment,” Frank retorted shyly.
A perfect smile relieved the short boy.
“I see. Hey, that one looks empty, let’s sit there.”
The three boys shouldered their way, finally making it to the compartment, but a boy was already sitting there.
“Oh, sorry,” Spencer apologized, but the tiny guy stopped him before he could close the door.
“Don’t worry, they’re all free, take a seat!” he said cheerfully, allowing the other three boys to warm up at him immediately and relax on the benches.
“I’m Spencer,” the blue eyed boy introduced from his seat in front of the still unnamed boy.
“I’m Ryan,” the skinny boy said from the seat next Spencer’s.
“And I’m Frank,” the third, short boy smiled from the free spot left.
“I’m Brendon,” the stranger finally greeted, bright smile plastered on his face.
The four of them chatted contentedly, starting to know each other better.
“I don’t want to sound rude,” Ryan eventually said, “but are you two Muggle born?”
Frank looked at him confused, but a light switched on when he remembered Finch saying Muggles were people without powers, like his parents.
“Yeah,” Frank replied with a tiny smile, almost glad he knew at least a wizardry word.
Brendon closed in himself, not really comfortable to talk about what has been kept a secret for so many years and that caused him suffering, when the truth revealed itself in the form of a formal letter.
Ryan and Spencer noticed the tension in Brendon’s face, so returned to Frank, “It’s cool. We actually like Muggle music way better than wizardry bands,” Ryan smiled.
Frank wanted to ask Are there really wizardry bands? <\/em>but he didn’t want to look too ignorant.
“Yeah, my father works in the Muggle office of the Ministry of Magic, so we know a little something about them,” Spencer admitted
“Magic sounds cooler, though,” Frank pointed out shyly.
“But you have computers. Computers look awesome,” the chubbier boy observed.
Frank beamed, “And you haven’t seen videogames! I have one in my trunk, I’ll show you when we get to school,” he suggested excitedly.
Ryan cocked his head to the side, “But Frank, Muggle technology doesn’t work in Hogwarts.”
”WHAAAT?!” Frank shrieked: nine, I said, nine months without his videogames were going to be a living hell for him. He sulked for a good five minutes before being distracted by his new friends.
“Would you like to know something about Hogwarts, so you don’t arrive too unprepared there? This is my second year so I can tell you what I know about the school,” Ryan proposed, immediately getting three pairs of focused ears fascinated by his Hogwarts tales.

*

“We meet again, uh?”
Patrick turned towards the compartment door and saw a familiar face.
“Hey! Joe, right?”
“Yep. And you’re Patrick,” Joe remembered.
Patrick nodded, “This is my brother Kevin,” he pointed to the older boy in front of him, who waved a hand in acknowledgement.
Joe nodded in greeting and asked, “May I sit with you? The train is packed and you’re at least friendly faces, so…”
Patrick laughed, “Sure!”
Kevin added, “I leave you two chatting, so I can go to my friends,” he patted Joe’s shoulder in a thankful way, walking out of the compartment.
“Don’t mind him, he’s the typical brother who teases the younger one,” Patrick smiled, so Joe thought everything was okay –he did the same with his little brother, so he couldn’t throw his stone.
A sharp whistle signalized the departure of the train and the last teary or cheerful goodbyes were shouted from the windows and from the platform. After a turn, the families disappeared from the sight, substituted by beautifully green landscapes. Destination: Hogwarts, Scotland.
Patrick and Joe sat one in front of the other, chatting.
“So I heard Harry Potter is on the train,” Patrick commented out of the blue.
“Really? I think I heard about him…I was little so I don’t remember much, but years later, during one of his story-times, my father told me about this evil wizard who spread terror in the world and lastly killed a couple, before being hit by his own spell when he tried to do the same with their son. That has left him between life and death for the past ten years,” Joe recalled.
Patrick nodded seriously, “It’s said it was the power of his mother’s love that protected Harry Potter from…You-Know-Who...”
“You don’t say his name out loud, hm? Like my father…” Joe sighed.
“My mother got me into the habit,” Patrick shrugged.
“I don’t think just saying his name can summon him, but better safe than sorry, I guess.”
“Yeah…Let’s talk about something happier. How come you’re a wizard?” Patrick changed the subject: the atmosphere was becoming too gloomy after just a few generic words about He Who Must Not Be Named.
“I’m fifty-fifty: my father is a wizard but works in the Muggle world, while my mother is a Muggle housewife. I have a younger brother, who is six years old, but we don’t know yet if he has powers or not,” Joe said.
“I’m half and half too, but the contrary: my mother is a witch while my father is a Muggle. Kevin is the only brother I have,” Patrick stated.
“Something from the trolley, boys?” a smiling old woman asked from the aisles, pushing a trolley full of sweet snacks.
“For me pumpkin pasties and licorice wands, please,” Patrick stood up and approached the woman.
“For me a bit of everything,” Joe grinned and bit into a blowing gum with gusto.

*

A round faced boy was running anxiously from compartment to compartment.
“Did you see a toad?” he asked flustered.
Four faces turned towards him, four eyebrows were cocked.
“No, mate, sorry,” Ray said.
The boy left disconsolate and moved to the next carriage. Ray, Gerard, Bob and Mikey looked at each other.
“A toad? Really?” Gerard snickered. The others shrugged and resumed their conversation, but not less than five minutes later a stern brunette girl in her Hogwarts uniform appeared on the door, toad-boy next to her.
“Neville lost his toad, did you see it?” she asked in an authoritative voice.
“We just told him that we didn’t,” Ray replied as calmly as possible.
The girl huffed and was going to leave, when she stated, “You better get changed, we’re almost there.”
That said, she turned on her heels and finally left, Neville hot on her heels. The boys gaped after her, irked by her bossy attitude.
“Can we finish a convo or does anybody else want to interrupt us?” Gerard waved his hands in the air helplessly. When he was sure nobody was going to enter their compartment, he resumed his older-brother-speech.
“I was saying, Mikey, that you better end in Ravenclaw, or you won’t be my brother anymore,” he recommended, straight faced.
“Geez, thanks for not putting me under pressure at all, Gerard,” Mikey whined and tried to ignore his sweaty palms –the closer they got to their destination, the more nervous he was.
Ray looked out of the window and noticed a city was approaching, the train starting to slow down, “I think that girl was right, we should wear our uniforms.”

*

Two giggling girls interrupted Patrick and Joe’s sweet feast.
“Hi! Do you mind if we stay here? There’s no room in the other compartments we checked,” a blonde curly haired girl asked bluntly.
Joe and Patrick looked at each other.
“Take a seat,” Patrick eventually said.
“Thank you,” the same girl said, sitting on Patrick’s bench, “My name is Greta and this is Cassadee,” she pointed to the brunette opposite her. Cassadee waved a hand in greetings, smiling brightly.
“Where are you from?” Greta inquired.
“Dublin,” was Patrick’s reply.
“Bristol,” Joe said.
“Dover,” Cassadee answered.
“I’m from Swansea. I’m so excited, I can’t shut up! It was totally unexpected, I’m Muggle-born,” Greta said with air quotes.
“My father is a Muggle, while my mother is a witch,” Cassadee confessed.
“Same here,” Patrick smiled.
“Reverse the roles and you get my parents,” Joe butted in.
“Oh, I’ve never seen these sweets!” Greta exclaimed suddenly, taking a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans.
Joe had a wicked smile on his face, “I propose a challenge: wins the only one who never picks disgusting flavors.”
Patrick shook his head amused but agreed, then explained to Greta, “It’s called ‘Every Flavour’ for a reason: you can find anything<\/em>, from strawberry to snot.”
“I’m in,” Greta laughed.
“Me too,” Cassadee smiled, and the four of them sat closer to pass the box to each other easily.
“I start,” Joe declared and fished a green pill. He popped it in his mouth and grinned, “Basil.”
It was Cassadee’s turn, who scrunched her nose at the sour flavor, “Lemon.”
Greta ate a whipped cream candy, while Patrick’s tasted like zucchini. After a couple of rounds, Greta was the first to lose with a shoe polish candy, then the next was Patrick’s turn with a tripe flavored candy –he almost puked, he hates tripe. Six rounds later, Joe and Cassadee were still deep in their challenge.
“This is the last one,” Joe decided, “I ate way too many candies, I’m gonna be sick.”
“Agreed. Salute,” Cassadee said.
“Salute,” Joe repeated and they ate their candies at the same time.
…Joe spat his candy after a few munches, when he tasted dirt in his mouth.
“Whoo!” Cassadee jumped, “I won! Crème caramel!” she cried out, flavoring her candy happily.
A voice resounded for the whole train, informing the students they were getting to Hogwarts in five minutes and to leave their luggage aboard.
“Oh my God!” Greta clapped her hands, totally overwhelmed by excitement.
Cassadee took her uniform, then noticed Joe’s scorned face, “C’mon, it’ll be better next time.”
Joe looked at her, but wasn’t able to be angry at her for too long, seeing how genuinely she was smiling in a not mocking way.

*

The aisles were packed and students were pushing their way outside. In the chilly night a giant man was waiting on the platform, calling for First Year students.
“Well, we have to separate here,” Ryan said once they all got on the platform, “See you at school, and I hope you’ll all manage to get in Gryffindor!” he waved goodbye, jogging to join a group of friends from Second Year.
“Of course I was kidding earlier, I’ll still love you whichever House you’ll end into, little brother,” Gerard ruffled Mikey’s hair encouragingly and left with Ray and Bob to take another vehicle to get to Hogwarts.
“First Year! First Year this way! Everything okay, Harry?”
The giant bearded man was holding a lamp, smiling at the many young, agitated and fascinated faces.
“Come on, follow me…Is there anyone else from First Year? Be careful where you step. First Years, follow me,” he incited and led the way through a steep, narrow and slippery path, eventually taking a turn and stopping in front of a dark, vast lake. A chorus of “Oooh” raised at the breathtaking sight of the Hogwarts’ castle and its hundreds of lightened windows contrasting against the dark night.
“No more than four people per boat,” the giant instructed, indicating a small fleet docked on the shore.
Brendon, Spencer and Frank hopped on a boat, joined by an hesitant and quiet boy who introduced himself as Mikey; Patrick, Joe, Greta and Cassadee took another free boat.
“Everybody aboard?” the guide shouted from his own boat, “Okay, we’re off!”
The boats magically left the shore, smoothly sliding on the dark surface of the lake and bringing the new students to the cliff where Hogwarts was castled on. The kids passed a reef and a dark tunnel that led them to an underground harbor.
“Hey, is this toad yours?” the giant was checking every boat, eventually spotting the animal in one of them.
“Trevor!” Neville, the chubby boy that had been looking for it the whole train trip there, exclaimed relieved.
The group of awestruck children followed the giant man up a stone staircase to a massive oak door. The man knocked three sonorous times.
<\/a>
","comments":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/29726.html?view=comments#comments","category":["multibandom","fic:hogwarts' chronicles","crossover:harry potter"]},{"guid":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/29515.html","pubDate":"Wed, 22 Dec 2010 12:35:29 GMT","title":"schmoop_bingo: Sowing the seeds of love","author":"nonskid","link":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/29515.html","description":"title: Sowing the seeds of love
pairings: Bob Bryar\/Greta, mention of Spencer\/Tennessee and a hint of a couple for another fic that I'm writing for the bingo
pov: 3rd
rating: G
prompt: flowers
summary: Bob owns a little but quite successful flower shop,Greta likes to make flower compositions
disclaimer: I honestly don't think Bob is fond of ikebana and such


Bob was proud of his shop. You’d never expect from someone like him to like flowers or have the ability to make compositions with them, but there it is the exception to the rule in front of your eyes.
Bob lived in the apartment above the shop and generally opened shortly after he received the daily batch of flowers and plants. He was friends with Ray, who worked for the greenhouse Bob stocked up from and was usually the one to drive the greenhouse’s green truck –Bob always waited under the shop’s canopy with a hot coffee for Ray and himself.
“Bryar’s” was a little but successful little shop, squished between a hair salon and a bakery, and with its good amount of customers. Again, surprisingly, but maybe not, there were more male clients. Bob liked to conjecture about the reasons they bought that particular flower, bouquet, plant, composition; following that criteria, he often wondered with a bit of sarcasm what occurrence did they forget or what did they have to be forgiven for this or that time.
One of Bob’s more recent –and profitable– customers was a scruffy looking guy who visited his shop every early monday to buy bunches of fifty <\/em>red roses each time. The man always had a hopeful look on his face exiting the shop, leaving Bob with the mild curiosity about his “case” for several weeks when he abruptly stopped passing by the shop as often as before. Bob assumed his efforts paid, though, because the young man sometimes visited with another guy hooked at his arm, looking happy together in a more than friendly way.
Some quite regular customers were Tennessee and Spencer: Tennessee was a pretty girl with smiling eyes and long long hair, while Spencer had bright blue eyes and a smile to melt at. They shared with Bob the passion for drumming, that’s why he liked to talk with this couple despite his quiet nature, spanning from flowers and drums to recipes and rugby. Tennessee usually bought mixed bouquets of flowers, colorful yet classic and almost vintage, like herself, while Spencer simply went along with his girlfriend, also to have a chat with Bob.
His favorite regulars, though, were Greta and Alex “call me Marshall”, who shared with Bob the passion for flower compositions and hence visited his shop every ten days for the raw materials. The three of them usually met for lunch at the diner in the opposite street about once a month, Greta and Marshall bringing photos of their latest works and designing Bob as the supreme judge. Bob always hated that part, because they were both his friends, but he was still a professional and his points usually went to Greta’s work – Alex was more inconstant, his compositions were either too rich or too simple, and Bob always told him as much to help him getting better at it, the kid had potential.
Bob secretly admitted he was kind of partial when he chose the winner between Greta and Alex, key word being ‘secretly’, as secret was his crush for the girl. Everything started three years prior, when “Bryar’s” began its business and one of the first customers was this short, smiling, blonde girl.

“Finally a flower shop close to home, I won’t have to drive all around for some flowers anymore,” she said.
Bob nodded shyly at her and continued disposing vases, while she snooped around or bent to smell this or that flower.
“I need a bunch of beargrass, three of these orchids, please, and…do you have also florist sponge?” the girl asked from her spot in front of the aforementioned orchids.
“Sure, how big do you need the sponge to be?”
“Uhm, a medium one should be fine.”
Bob took a packaging of florist sponge from the shelves behind him, then when he went to take the orchids he felt Greta smiling at him, but he couldn’t make himself looking back. On his way back to the counter, he grabbed a handful of beargrass and brought everything to the cash desk, red from the roots of his light hair to his neck.
“It’s fifteen dollars,” Bob said while putting everything in a bag with the shop’s logo, “Thanks for visiting Bryar’s,” he smiled hesitantly at the new customer.
“Thank you, I’ll return soon,” Greta beamed and left.<\/em>

Three years have been enough, though, and it was time for Bob to declare himself to the girl he liked. He was waiting impatiently for Greta’s usual hour to pass by his shop, stalking nervously from an end to the other of the counter, when the bell at the entrance jingled and a familiar mop of blonde curls entered the shop.
“Hi Bob! How’re you?”
Bob prayed she didn’t notice his pink cheeks.
“All good, Greta, and you?”
“Good, good,” she smiled brightly, “This week’s project consists of—”
“I have something for—”
They looked at each other and at the count of three they burst out laughing.
“You first,” Bob said chivalrously.
“Okay,” Greta chuckled, “I need five anthuriums and an aloe leaf.”
“Sure thing.”
Before Bob wrapped the flowers up, he took a package from under the counter and gave it to Greta.
“For you,” he stated without looking at Greta directly.
The girl accepted the gift with shiny eyes and asked, “Can I open it already?”
At Bob’s nod, Greta quickly but carefully untied the yellow ribbon on top and unwrapped the paper: a nice composition of yellow orchids, pale orange daisies and yellow carnations in a nest of dark brown branches appeared on the counter. Bob was growing restless at Greta’s silence, he was mutely freaking out and apprehensively waiting for a reaction, whether she liked his present or not.
A blinding smile suddenly appeared on Greta’s face.
“It’s awesome, Bob! And these orchids are my favorite, they’re absolutely beautiful!” Greta gushed over the composition Bob made for her. Bob became even more red, if possible.
“Not like you,” he mumbled. The smile froze on Greta’s face.
“What?”
Bob fidgeted with the discarded card while repeating, “They aren’t as beautiful as you.”
Greta blushed and looked down, a shy smile on her rosy lips.
“Well, I like you too,” she admitted timidly.
Awkwardness was interrupted by a customer, who needed a bouquet of tulips, urgently. Bob accomplished and sold the flowers to the man, who ran out of the shop; as soon as the man left, Bob and Greta couldn’t hold their laughter anymore, both imagining the man forgot his anniversary.
“Here are your flowers, I can’t wait for our monthly meeting to see what will you come up with, this time,” Bob held the bag with Greta’s purchases and his gift out for her.
“You don’t have to wait other two weeks, you know,” she observed cheekily and a bit naughtily. Bob blushed at her tone but smirked.
“How much is it?” Greta asked when she took the bag,
“Free of charge,” Bob stated.
“Oh, thanks,” the girl giggled, “See you.”
“Bye, Greta.”
Bob smiled like never before and whistled a tune while tidying up.<\/a>","comments":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/29515.html?view=comments#comments","category":["bob bryar","schmoop bingo","standalone","greta salpeter"]},{"guid":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/29217.html","pubDate":"Wed, 15 Dec 2010 13:49:02 GMT","title":"Going away to college - CHARACTERS","author":"nonskid","link":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/29217.html","description":"
Character<\/th> Name\/Year\/Subject        <\/th> Description                                                                                 <\/th><\/tr><\/thead>
\"\"<\/a><\/td> Spencer Smith
 Freshman
 Economics
 <\/td>		 <\/td><\/tr>
\"\"<\/a><\/td> Jon Walker
 Freshman
 Photography
 <\/td>		 <\/td><\/tr>
\"\"<\/a><\/td> Ryan Ross
 Freshman
 Journalism
 <\/td>		 

 Book-worm, has a soft spot for fashion (in his own way). Lives in denial of his crush over Brendon, always pushing the other away with his attitude<\/span><\/p><\/td><\/tr>

\"\"<\/a><\/td> Brendon Urie
 Freshman
 Music
 <\/td>		 

 Ball of energy, shy only towards Ryan whom he crushes over, thinking it’s not reciprocated<\/span><\/p><\/td><\/tr>

\"\"<\/a><\/td> William Beckett
 Freshman
 Psychology
 <\/td>		 <\/td><\/tr>
\"\"<\/a><\/td> Patrick Stump
 Freshman
 ComputerScience
 <\/td>		 

 Stubborn little dude, he does his best to reject a madly-in-love Pete and his attacks<\/span><\/p><\/td><\/tr>

\"\"<\/a><\/td> Adam Siska
 Freshman
 Statistics
 <\/td>		 <\/td><\/tr>
\"\"<\/a><\/td> Tom Conrad
 Freshman
 Photography
 <\/td>		 <\/td><\/tr>
\"\"<\/a><\/td> Mikey Way
 Sophomore
 Biology
 <\/td>		 <\/td><\/tr>
\"\"<\/a><\/td> Alicia Simmons
 Sophomore
 <\/td>		 <\/td><\/tr>
\"\"<\/a><\/td> Bob Bryar
 Junior
 Architecture
 <\/td>		 <\/td><\/tr>
\"\"<\/a><\/td> Frank Iero
 Junior
 <\/td>		 <\/td><\/tr>
\"\"<\/a><\/td> Lindsey Ballato
 Junior
 Art
 <\/td>		 <\/td><\/tr>
\"\"<\/a><\/td> Gabe Saporta
 Senior\/RA
 PoliticalScience
 <\/td>		 <\/td><\/tr>
\"\"<\/a><\/td> Pete Wentz
 Senior\/RA
 PoliticalScience
 <\/td>		 

 He falls in love pretty easily, but he’s sure that this time with Patrick is the right time. <\/span><\/p><\/td><\/tr>

\"\"<\/a><\/td> Gerard Way
 Senior
 Art
 <\/td>

Really protective over his brother, the relationship between Mikey and Pete caused some contrasts between the latter and Gerard<\/span><\/p><\/td><\/tr>

\"\"<\/a><\/td> Travis McCoy
 Senior
 Art
 <\/td>		 <\/td><\/tr>
 <\/td> <\/td> <\/td><\/tr>
 <\/td> <\/td> <\/td><\/tr>
 <\/td> <\/td> <\/td><\/tr><\/tbody><\/table><\/a>","comments":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/29217.html?view=comments#comments","category":["fic:going away to college","characters"]},{"guid":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/29023.html","pubDate":"Tue, 14 Dec 2010 22:12:37 GMT","title":"w.i.p.s","author":"nonskid","link":"https:\/\/nonskid.livejournal.com\/29023.html","description":"A while ago i started some fics,all pumped up and determined to write them well and finish them quickly...but excitement soon worn off and those poor fics are stuck in a Limbo...