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myloveforhergoeson · 3 months ago

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ch 32 proof of life post

Princess Diana may have popularized the revenge dress, but Roxy theorized women had been using clothing as a means of retribution for ages because as she stared at the outfit she’d put together in the mirror of the Rocque Record’s wash room, she could hardly believe she owned such a deadly combination of items.

Dressing with James in mind was one thing. Dressing to piss James off was something else entirely.

The clothing was, at its core, armor… Or that’s what Roxy told herself when she slid on her oversized Hole t-shirt that morning and paired it with the shortest pair of shorts she owned. When it skirted a few inches down her thighs, it hardly looked like she was wearing anything underneath, save for the fishnets she was sure to add underneath her bottoms.

Whenever they hung out in her room, it was easy to catch his eyes wandering to the hundreds of magazine cut out posters plastered across her boring beige bedroom walls. His gaze lingering on images of Avril Lavigne or Pete Wentz spoke volumes to his girlfriend, even if he’d turn right around and talk about more conventional celebrities.

In addition to the clothes, she popped on her chunkiest gold earrings and bracelets, leaving her charm necklace dangling around the cut top of the shirt sliding off one of her shoulders, a pair of black boots from the back of her closet, and braided a purple bandana into her hair. Pairing it all with the smokiest eyeshadow and sharpest eyeliner she could, Roxy had felt confident enough to leave her apartment and walk to work alone, iPod shuffled on her Riot Grrrl playlist. After everything that had occurred last night, she wanted James to know exactly what he was missing out on until he wised up and apologized to her.

But of course, this plan required them to be in the same room, which sounded less than appealing to the girl, who was almost sure she might break into tears at the sight of him again as she remembered all the horrible things they’d said to each other at the party the night before.

It’s not like she’d been a saint to her friends either. The entire party had been a swirling vortex of bad vibes across the board. Roxy didn’t think any one of them had made it out of there feeling any better than they had before they’d attended.

But, if her friends wanted her to be the bad guy - Take the fall for trying to heal her past pain and make nice with those who had hurt her - that was fine. She could be the bad guy. None of them had any clue how contentious she could be; The punk look might have been an act she put on playing shows with Brand New Day, but the attitude was something she’d learned over many, many years.

An attitude she displayed openly, throwing the doors to recording room A open and strolling inside. There, she found Kelly and the boys looking through the glass into the studio, while Gustavo sat on one of the plush couches in the back of the room, brows furrowed and arms crossed tightly over his chest. The red paint on the walls matched the color growing on his face.

None of the boys spared her a glance as she moved to stand beside Kelly, though Kendall very obviously checked the black watch fastened around his wrist. Their assistant was over 20 minutes late to work.

God, he’s so fucking annoying.

“Try a ‘G,’” she heard over the speakers, accompanied by some piano chords, and she realized there were more people present - Two men in the middle of the studio, one in casual clothing borrowing one of the many acoustic guitars Gustavo had on hand and the other in a royal blue suit sat at the large, grand piano.

“Did you rent out the studio again?” Roxy asked, turning to face Kelly, who was sat behind the controls, as she popped her large, star-shaped sunglasses on her head and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Because I’ve got some songs to work on and I really hate strangers in my workspace.”

Maybe she could avoid working with the band all together if her words were cuttng enough.

She didn’t respond before the man in the suit countered, “No, how about no ‘G?’” over the speakers.

Messing with a few of the buttons in front of her, Kelly didn’t bother to look up as she shared, “That is Daryl and Jam Box. Rocque Records’ new songwriters.”

The assistant’s blood ran cold, goosebumps shooting up her arms. “Excuse me?”

Now it made a little more sense why her boss was sulking in the corner like a kid in time out.

The world of professional songwriters was vast, especially in one of the major music capitals of the world, and off the top of her head, Roxy could think of at least five songs the duo had written that had hit number one across various different music charts. Right now, Daryl and Jam Box were some of the best composers money could buy… As long as they stopped fighting long enough to bounce ideas off of each other.

They’d been featured in a Pop Tiger article last month; Roxy had read it out loud as she was curled in James’ lap on the orange couch in 2-J, likening them to the Gallagher brothers.

Before anyone could offer up a better explanation at the talent scout’s confession, Griffin popped up from behind the glass, giving her friends a good scare. If she hadn’t been so worked up about being in the small space with the band after their heated exchange and trying to understand why Big Time Rush needed new songwriters, she might have laughed as they nearly jumped out of their skin.

“I’m releasing a deluxe edition of your album!” The white-haired man announced, sweeping his arms in a wide arc as a bright smile pulled at his lips. “I want the bonus track to have a fresh new sound, especially since Miss Somerset is looking into expanding her horizons at Galactic Records.”

The assistant froze, her tight grip on the plastic handle of her guitar case causing her fingers to go numb as she felt every set of eyes in the room land on her. She had planned on telling them about the offer, once she stewed in her anger long enough and worked up the courage to apologize to Logan and Carlos for what she had said last night. Now, Griffin had robbed her of the chance to share her news, giving the boys one more reason to be upset with her.

Someone cleared their throat, James, she was pretty sure, but no one said anything, waiting for her to expand on the CEO’s statement.

“Who told you about that?” Roxy questioned, setting her guitar down and confirming his words, but not sharing any more on the subject than she had to. The only person she’d mentioned the job offer she’d received from Chelsea Northrop to was Dani, and they certainly weren’t dialing up the businessman to gossip over the phone like teenagers at a sleepover.

Griffin’s toothly smile remained, “Corporate espionage is only illegal if you get caught! That’s why I have a handful of operatives at every major record label in the city.”

For a moment, Roxy weighed the pros and cons of reporting her boss to the FBI. That might make her decision to continue working for Rocque Records much easier to make.

“Oh…” Logan said after a moment, high pitch tone indicating a hint of fear in his speech. “A deluxe album… That’s, um,” His eyes shifted to the assistant like he was going to say something, but he glanced away just as quickly. “That’s why Gustavo is pouting.”

It appeared as though he was ready to breeze past what Griffin had said about his assistant, but the other three boys looked his way, narrowed eyes and furrowed brows suggesting they didn’t feel the same.

No one had the chance to voice their opinion, however, as the black leather couch Gustavo was sitting on squeaked as he shifted uncomfortably. Arms drew tight across his chest. “I’m not pouting! You’re pouting!”

Roxy definitely wasn’t pouting, but she did sense the telltale signs of anger begin to prickle under her skin. One of her hands ran down her bandana’d braid, and she noticed James turn in the complete opposite direction, palm wiping down his face. At the very least, she knew her outfit plan was beginning to get to him, and that somewhat quelled her ire as a small ounce of satisfaction swelled in her chest.

“Everyone uses other songwriters, you two.” Somehow Griffin was in the control room with everyone now, appearing right at Gustavo’s side as the man continued to brood on the couch. “Katy Perry… Maroon 5… and Daryl and Jam Box are the hottest songwriters out there!”

On any other day, James would have been behind his girlfriend, hand snaking around her hip, breath ghosting the shell of her ear as he murmured how hot of a songwriter she was. Instead, all he had to say was, “…Aren’t they the ones who fight a lot?”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the two men still engaging in a meaningless argument in the studio. Apparently, he didn’t have anything to say about his girlfriend’s possible new job development either.

“The song’s called ‘Wings of a Dove!’” Daryl shrieked, lifting his leg from the stool he’d been sitting on and kicking Jam Box square in the back, knocking the suit clad man off of the small black bench at the piano.

Despite falling straight to the ground, in a matter of seconds, Jam Box was back on his feet, winding his hand back to throw a wicked right hook his partner’s way. “No, it’s called ‘Love from Above!’”

Now it was Daryl’s turn to be knocked from his seat, him and his guitar landing so hard the wooden floor the assistant could feel the impact in her bones. An empty hollow thud echoed from the guitar’s sound hole, ringing in her ears.

At least when Gustavo and I fight, it’s about meaningful things…

“It needs more guitar!” Daryl fought back, picking up the instrument from where it had fallen off his lap. Once he regained his footing, he gripped the neck of the guitar and swung it at Jam Box’s head, sending him tumbling face down onto the ivory piano keys with an incredibly sour note, scratching at everyone’s ears.

Back up in a flash, considering the two of them seemed to fight constantly, Jam Box lunged toward his partner, capturing him by the lapel of his jacket and threw him toward one of the red walls of the studio where Kelly had set up a nice refreshment table. “You need your morning coffee!”

With a crash, the table was broken in half, Daryl’s backside completely doused with the brown liquid and mashed breakfast pastries that had been present on the tabletop.

As Daryl recovered, catching Jam Box around the arm and throwing him into the drum kit Gustavo had set up for the recording band, Roxy wondered if this truly was the most efficient method of songwriting with another person. She and Gustavo weren’t immune to getting into spats here and there, arguing about lyric placement or assigning parts to the boys quite often, but they hadn’t written a number-one record together quite yet.

In fact, of the three songwriters in the room, she was the only one without a chart-topper to her name. Daryl, Jam Box, and Gustavo all seemed to wear their emotions on their sleeve, not quelling or holding anything back both inside and out of the writer's room.

Huh… Maybe they’re on to something… The girl thought, glancing over to her friends who flinched the moment Daryl threw Jam Box’s face into the glass partition and dragged his cheek along the entire length of the window and back.

Originally, she’d hoped to find some time to apologize to them for what she’d said last night to smooth over any hurt feelings… But that was at the expense of her own emotions as well. She was still upset with Kendall for yelling, furious with James for his insinuation that she was still into Mag. Poor Carlos and Logan had just gotten caught in the crossfire. And now at work, the company’s borderline insane CEO was trying to replace her, take away the job she’d been striving toward her entire life, all because she’d received an offer to work elsewhere.

Maybe Griffin had expected her to start screaming her head off, pulling all her unrecorded songs out of her notebook, cramming the boys into the recording booth, and giving them a whole other b-side to their first album before the new songwriters could finish even one track. Scramble, prove her loyalty, and work twice as hard as ever before.

Roxy had been through far too much in the last few days to play any more games. Again and again, she’d been thrown through the wringer; Going through the motions as other people’s words and actions dictated her overall mood and well-being.

Today was going to be a different story.

I’m integral to this company. Roxy affirmed. Big Time Rush needs me. If they want me to stick around, they’ll fight for me.

Crossing her arms, mulling over her decision not to play into Griffin’s plan, she barely noticed the two songwriters roll themselves in a frenzy into the recording booth, and then, all the way into the control room.

Roxy might have been mowed down entirely, had it not been for Carlos’ quick thinking and equally quick reflexes, allowing him to wrap his hand around her arm and jerk his assistant out of the small room as the sofa Gustavo had been taking refuge on was overturned.

Now, with everyone out in the lounge area, the two men continued to tear each other apart, horrible sounds of crashes and bangs and booms filled their ears, leading Roxy to worry just how much she’d be expected to clean up later.

Would Chelsea Northrop ever use me like a maid?

#thats all she wrote fic

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zomb21z · 5 months ago

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my favourite pete wentz petekey livejournal entries

Q: peter, would you ever date someone 13 years younger then you? or at least be friends with them? p.s you are hot and i love you

A: i don’t want to go to jail. im little and i think i would get passed around like a pack of cigarettes. but thank you that is really sweet. i don’t really want to do pushups in a drag…

that one isn't really related to petekey and it's not a lj entry but it's funny and makes me feel less devastated and depresed about the whole petekey thing

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Amazing new mexico sunset. I’m hanging on a bridge with my friend mikey way from my chem. Its all orange and pink above us. We went to another waterpark again. I love high fives again. Totally back in love. Saw the most amazing movie… I think its called spirited away. Watch it.

Peterpan

obviously this is one of my top favs everytime i see the word "mexico", "sunset" or the mention of mikey way i immediately think of this one lj entry

July 19, 2005

wrote you a goodbye note (you just wrote me off) on your arm when you passed out. bestfriends, exfriends- better off as lovers not the other way around. racing through the city in the back of yellow checkered cars. the takeoffs are the worst but the skin from your shoulder to your ear makes it all worth it. and im sorry the way my moods flicker on and off like old light on your porch, but i know you wouldn’t have it any other way. sneaking in your window instead of out. the way you hold a cigarette cause you don’t know what to do with your hands when we are sitting this close. the way the waists of pants feel better at the ankles. the way you always were my best excuse for calling in sick on everyone else. i miss you.

petey

SO HEARTBREAKING also i lovelovelove bang the doldrums even though it makes me super sad

July 26, 2005

lately i’ve been into believing fictional stories like the ones about me and you being happy. they’ve gotta be science fiction cause how else can you have a monster fall in love with a boy with no heart? actually i’m pretty sure you have a heart, but i’m just as certain it’ll never be mine. i can tell you’re willing to be loved somewhere on the inside but that doesn’t do me any good when i’m still seeing things through thick curtains over windows and padlocked doors on the outside. bitter regrets, predictable forfeits. we lit a fire that was nothing but smoke and hot air. ashes. my hands are empty and you hold all the cards, kind of funny how you don’t even want them/me. the final nail in my coffin stabbed me in the heart - from my back. you once made my heart skip a beat, now you make it want to skip this. you’ve got salty mails ripping my wounds open that you’re telling me to let heal. love is a mirage, you only think it’s there for so long..til you either wise up or die of hydration. love is the way to blow your brains out minus the gun, i swear. it’s the stupidest form of suicide cause you don’t die. and whatever doesn’t kill you only laughs at you for coming close enough to. sorry, it’s just the bitterness talking. ignore it/me. i’m just loose words hanging on the ends of your lips, even looser when i’m anywhere near your hips. poetry written from blistered fingertips and sleep deprived eyes that was better before the ink dried. he said, "i should have stayed with her,” and i should have stayed away. held together by paperclips and lies, a part of me is still trying to pretend i was (mis)hearing things but even the voices in my head aren’t that mean to me. and them “i’m sorry,” too late, i’m a better (re)actor than the one you’re being to convince me. i’m just convinced that telemarketers are the only people with more hangups than me. you called this before you knew the number, and hung up before you got a responce. tell me any of this will get me somewhere worth being without being left behind. i tried, i gave it/you my all, but all i can do is give up. i don’t tell you my insecurities so you can use them against me, but help me get over them. instead you said and did the worst thing you could do. worse than cheating to me, i hope you know. but whatever i don’t even know, i guess sometimes it takes losing what you had to see what you didn’t.

the parts in italics r my fav this one truly is the most heartbreaking one out of all of pete's petekey entries it's so poetic emotional I CANT DESCRIBE ITTT

next one isn't an entry i js really like it

December 2nd, 2005

[…]

i love how i thought this was all over and i have to face the same two months replayed for the rest of my life.

my head and heart are beating the shit out of me trying to see what hurts worse.

kinda like us.

yep.

summer wasn’t hot enough but i had hope winter was gonna be the coolest.

i obviously thought wrong.

you and me are the last hot day in summer. we’re just fading before the fall.

if you listen really closely to whatever's around you you can hear me crying. again, italics r my fav

November 23rd, 2005

[…]

i wrote you a letter a few hours ago that i never intended to give you in the first place and then ripped it up and threw it away cause it’s much too personal to say on paper. even over a phone. the words i said in it i need to say to you in person. i guess it felt better to write it all out. it’s easy to say “i only need 5 seconds with you than a lifetime with someone else” than it is to live it. to be honest, i’m dying from it. “kiss me electric” vs “kiss me at all.” and when you do it’s just a kiss off.

this isn't the full entry its js that this half had more emotional impact on me

friends that lay together

forgive me for not showing more remorse

apologies were never really my thing- outside of feeling sorry for myself. the last nail in your coffin got stuck in the mail. youre gonna have to wait. until then focus on love below the waist. they say your head can be a prison- consider this a conjugal visit.

Monday, June 05, 2006

Stick around long enough and everyone becomes parody of themselves (see also: if it could happen to the egyptians if could happen to you).

[…]

you dont hate me, you hate the part of you that is like me. i cant sit here and ride my flaws until the end because the truth is i live the charmed life because of you and them. we are a gang. maybe its time to disband. im not sure i am thinking clearly but i just want you to know that i waited on you guys calls all night- they never came. i just wanted to say i miss you or im sorry or you know something that would have meant something to you. i would have made it poetic and memorable or at least something you could laugh at while drifting off to sleep. always trying to relive the glory days.

i dont care how poorly these sentences were constructed or how in the light of day i will wish i had not written them- right now i can only curse the fucking light off of this stupid western city because it wont ever get dark enough for sleep but otherwise how could you guide your way back here?

my head always feels warm right before i pass out, i always worry that there is something wrong and i wont wake up or you know i will. promise me that you wont take anything i ever say too seriously.

***

Friday, July 07, 2006

im so sorry, but not really. ('straighten up and die right’)

i said i want to be rebuilt like a frank lloyd wright only without all of the water damage. or painted over like a monet only less blurry. she said “no, youre something different”. like what? “something better”. it gave me the rush of warm blood like you see in cartoon dogs right before their eyes pop out and all of the bells go off. my head is spinning like a car off of an icy guardrail. show me what you are made of. your eyes were always rolling but youd tilt your head so they were somehow always still stuck on me (have your cake and eat it too). i feel safe but not like a bet more like the way mothers feel when the lock the car doors in bad neighborhoods. i am blue waves across the red rootlike veins in the bodies drawn flat in medical books. i wonder at the way that someone can write thousands and thousands of pages about my insides. when i met you i gave you a name- not your own- but in my head so i wouldnt ever mix you up with anyone so ordinary- i cant tell you- but to me it meant salvation. you only wanted reaction. but i cant be bothered. not anymore. ill see you in the spring. first pew on the left. wear your white veil and dont forget the words. warped tour. sun drenched days. bestfriends. new roads. so long salvation. dont worry your pretty little heads. i am sleeping safe tonight.

okay tbh this is js a bunch of petekey stuff thatre my favs but i put the title heading thing as livejournal entries cause it's more aesthetic 😞

these next ones r js tweets

ALSOOO HE GREEN TEA KITKATS OETE THING IS SO CUTE ITS MY 2ND FAV NEXT TO THE NEW MEXICO SUNSET ONE and that's all i think

#Spotify

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oops-fob · 6 years ago

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“You have to make the decision to be happy. No one else can make it for you.”

-Pete Wentz

#fall out boy #fob #pete wentz #quotes #wise words #thanks pete

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bluupxels · 3 years ago

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13, 14, and 16 for the simblr asks!! Also, how did you choose your url?

oooh, my first url was clandesim-industries (pete wentz reference.. yeah) and i wanted something without a hyphen that looked nicer. my favorite color is blue and i just like the word pixels thus bluupxels was born 😌💙 thank you for the ask and fun question!!!!

13. How long have you been playing the Sims and how did you get into it?

ive been playing since ts3 came out in 2009! i got it for christmas i dont remember why i wanted it but i got the collector's edition which came with the little plumbob usb but i have no clue where it is skdjsk

14. Why did you decide to start a Simblr?

i had been reading stories on wordpress and blogspot, posting my own on the latter. then everyone started migrating to tumblr which i was already deep in bandom tumblr so i was like oh cool let me make a simblr too and 10 years later i'm still here :')

16. How do you choose names for your sims?

oh this is a loaded question. i put SO much thought and research into my names, i always try to find names with a meaning that correlates to the sim and then never explain that meaning skdjsds. my holy grail is behind the name, it's so useful and has themed categories ugh i love it!!!! i LOVE name themes, especially for heirs so once i pick the theme it makes it a little easier but i still spend hours trying to pick the right ones. sometimes i dont go too hard on the meaning like for berry sims i just follow the theme or use a berry name list. i pick all my heir names in advance so like all my saves i have rn have all the heir's names picked already, even my nsb which ideally would go to gen 18 per the extended/revamp nsb rules. my astrology legacy has been a bit more challenging names-wise bc i cant be normal about it and names in greek mythology are kinda cray sometimes or there isnt a definitive name associated with the astrological sign in question. i could keep going omg ill stop now

SEND ME AN ASK!!

#ask game #asks #morrigan-sims #i take names so seriously not just in sims #like i literally came up with my lavellan inquisitor's names by piecing elvhen words together to make a meaning..

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crusheswhimsandfancies · 1 year ago

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“Leave at the peak. Or right before it”

#mantra #pete’s wise words #I love listening to his tidbits of wisdom #pete wentz #omg wait #wentz’s wise words #bahahaha I just cracked myself up

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earthtothemourge · 4 months ago

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okay so BASICALLY the petekey lore is that pete was in love with mikey way but mikey way had mixed feelings/didn’t like him back. Pete would write about it on his blogs, talking about his feelings about an unarmed person (mikey)

pete and mikey met around 2003, both being bassists, they had a lot in common. not much is said of this for a bit.

Sometime in 2005, mikey way was seen watching fall out boy play, and he was wearing the great white jacket that pete wentz also wore. He also had a gang with mikey called “sweet little dudes” which only consisted of them two..

again, in 05. FOB was playing at the same festival MCR was. Pete later wrote on his livejournal:

“hot and bothered”

1. having a crush on a person I speak to near daily

2. White denim jackets

(white denim jackets?? interesting..)

warped tour 05. reported hand holding. mikey way sleeping on the FOB bus. all i have to say about it

and this photo

AND THE PETE WENTZ “I WISH YOU WERE MY BASS NOT MY FRIEND” POST.

im not quite sure what mikey was to think of this situation, but the most famous blog post was tuesday, june 28, 2005. pete wrote: “Amazing new mexico sunset. I’m hanging on a bridge with my friend mikey way from my chem. Its all orange and pink above us. We went to another waterpark again. Totally back in love.” (LiveJournal)

this is one of many odd posts he would create in the future. Thus leaving the average emo to wonder, “what the fuck is he talking about?”

let me explain.

July 19, 2005:

“wrote you a goodbye note (you just wrote me off) on your arm when you passed out. bestfriends, exfriends- better off as lovers not the other way around. racing through the city in the back of yellow checkered cars. the takeoffs are the worst but the skin from your shoulder to your ear makes it all worth it. and im sorry the way my moods flicker on and off like old light on your porch, but i know you wouldn’t have it any other way. sneaking in your window instead of out. the way you hold a cigarette cause you don’t know what to do with your hands when we are sitting this close. the way the waists of pants feel better at the ankles. the way you always were my best excuse for calling in sick on everyone else. i miss you.

petey”

based off of past evidence, you can guess who i think this is about. This later became the iconic song “Bang the doldrums” (my fav)

Because i don’t feel like explaining EVERY single love letter pete wrote (because it’s a lot) im going to put some prime examples down:

“i guess my point is, you make me want to fall in love and get stuck - haha.”

“lately i’ve been into believing fictional stories like the ones about me and you being happy. they’ve gotta be science fiction cause how else can you have a monster fall in love with a boy with no heart? actually i’m pretty sure you have a heart, but i’m just as certain it’ll never be mine. i can tell you’re willing to be loved somewhere on the inside but that doesn’t do me any good when i’m still seeing things through thick curtains over windows and padlocked doors on the outside. bitter regrets, predictable forfeits. we lit a fire that was nothing but smoke and hot air. ashes. my hands are empty and you hold all the cards, kind of funny how you don’t even want them/me. the final nail in my coffin stabbed me in the heart - from my back. you once made my heart skip a beat, now you make it want to skip this. you’ve got salty mails ripping my wounds open that you’re telling me to let heal. love is a mirage, you only think it’s there for so long..til you either wise up or die of hydration. love is the way to blow your brains out minus the gun, i swear. it’s the stupidest form of suicide cause you don’t die. and whatever doesn’t kill you only laughs at you for coming close enough to. sorry, it’s just the bitterness talking. ignore it/me. i’m just loose words hanging on the ends of your lips, even looser when i’m anywhere near your hips. poetry written from blistered fingertips and sleep deprived eyes that was better before the ink dried. he said, "i should have stayed with her,” and i should have stayed away. held together by paperclips and lies, a part of me is still trying to pretend i was (mis)hearing things but even the voices in my head aren’t that mean to me. and them “i’m sorry,” too late, i’m a better (re)actor than the one you’re being to convince me. i’m just convinced that telemarketers are the only people with more hangups than me. you called this before you knew the number, and hung up before you got a responce. tell me any of this will get me somewhere worth being without being left behind. i tried, i gave it/you my all, but all i can do is give up. i don’t tell you my insecurities so you can use them against me, but help me get over them. instead you said and did the worst thing you could do. worse than cheating to me, i hope you know. but whatever i don’t even know, i guess sometimes it takes losing what you had to see what you didn’t.

sooo yeah, this is where i actually admit i’m tired, and i go to bed. sweet. goodnight.”

“i wrote you a letter a few hours ago that i never intended to give you in the first place and then ripped it up and threw it away cause it’s much too personal to say on paper. even over a phone. the words i said in it i need to say to you in person. i guess it felt better to write it all out. it’s easy to say “i only need 5 seconds with you than a lifetime with someone else” than it is to live it. to be honest, i’m dying from it. “kiss me electric” vs “kiss me at all.” and when you do it’s just a kiss off. i’m really not ready for what you want from me, but with how you’re never around it makes me wonder what you really do want from me. honestly, it sure doesn’t feel like much. i said i’d be fine if you gave me a little note or a call once and a while, once a day even, just something to keep hanging onto, but you can’t even do that so yeah… i don’t know. am i being ridiculous? it’s just hard for me to keep going like this… my heart is lots easier to fool than me. i think that’s what makes this so hard.”

BASICALLY he gets his heart broken.

“IM SORRY. EVERY SINGLE SONG IS ABOUT YOU”

there’s so much more to say to this. twitter tweets, stealing eachothers clothes. but i have an actual essay to do in 30 mins so…

SUMMARY: Pete wentz is head over heels for mikey way but gets his heart broken so he makes songs about it..

ok thanks bye

can i rant about petekey some one say yes

#pete wentz #fob #fall out boy #mikey way #mcr #my chemical romance #petekey

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bxngthedoldrums · 4 years ago

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Please go more into Pete and Mikey breaking up in Minnesota what

I'D LOVE TO

also good for us,, having the same pfp,,,we're so smart

anyway so basically we Know mikey and pete broke off whatever they were Up To on july 25th, 2005. the day before was a warped tour date, set in minneapolis, minnesota, and the 25th was an off day which means they were probably actually traveling to NY. due to the nature of warped tour however, they all traveled separately in their own respective vans, meaning mikey and pete most likely broke up in person the morning of the 25th in minneapolis and spent the rest of the day apart.

now, the WAY i know this is through livejournal. pete wentz posted this on the 24th:

"Sometimes when you're feeling this blue the right smile can save you"

which was the actual concert date for minneapolis. at this point, things seemed to be going fine. there's no post, nor actual warped tour show on the 25th, which places them as being together the night of the 24th and morning of the 25th before traveling separately to NY, right? we know SOMETHING happened the 25th, most likely in the morning in Minnesota, because on the 26th, pete posted this iconic and heartbreaking LJ entry. let's take a look:

"lately i've been into believing fictional stories like the ones about me and you being happy. they've gotta be science fiction cause how else can you have a monster fall in love with a boy with no heart? actually i'm pretty sure you have a heart, but i'm just as certain it'll never be mine. i can tell you're willing to be loved somewhere on the inside but that doesn't do me any good when i'm still seeing things through thick curtains over windows and padlocked doors on the outside. bitter regrets, predictable forfeits. we lit a fire that was nothing but smoke and hot air. ashes. my hands are empty and you hold all the cards, kind of funny how you don't even want them/me. the final nail in my coffin stabbed me in the heart - from my back. you once made my heart skip a beat, now you make it want to skip this. you've got salty mails ripping my wounds open that you're telling me to let heal. love is a mirage, you only think it's there for so long..til you either wise up or die of hydration. love is the way to blow your brains out minus the gun, i swear. it's the stupidest form of suicide cause you don't die. and whatever doesn't kill you only laughs at you for coming close enough to. sorry, it's just the bitterness talking. ignore it/me. i'm just loose words hanging on the ends of your lips, even looser when i'm anywhere near your hips. poetry written from blistered fingertips and sleep deprived eyes that was better before the ink dried. he said, "i should have stayed with her," and i should have stayed away. held together by paperclips and lies, a part of me is still trying to pretend i was (mis)hearing things but even the voices in my head aren't that mean to me. and them "i'm sorry," too late, i'm a better (re)actor than the one you're being to convince me. i'm just convinced that telemarketers are the only people with more hangups than me. you called this before you knew the number, and hung up before you got a responce. tell me any of this will get me somewhere worth being without being left behind. i tried, i gave it/you my all, but all i can do is give up. i don't tell you my insecurities so you can use them against me, but help me get over them. instead you said and did the worst thing you could do. worse than cheating to me, i hope you know. but whatever i don't even know, i guess sometimes it takes losing what you had to see what you didn't

sooo yeah, this is where i actually admit i'm tired, and i go to bed. sweet. goodnight."

so. there's a lot to unpack there and I won't do it on this post, but by the 26th they were fully apart, but the story doesn't end there. there are more posts after this that may lead one to believe that there was still some sort of physical connection. thanks for asking 🥰🥰 I hate them

#petekey #sorry it's so long I love talking abt this shit lmal

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harryandmolly · 6 years ago

Text

Ten Years - Part Three (Final)

summary: ten years after 2007 Warped Tour, Shawn and Val come face to face in London

warnings: Language, NSFW (unprotected sex), A Sense of Finality (TM)

WC: 5.9k

--------

He bought her tiny headphones.

Shawn called at least six of his friends he knows have kids -- Mark Hoppus, Travis Clark and Pete Wentz among them. He asked them what kind of noise-deadening headphones they bought for their kids when they were babies. He did research about decibel levels and infant hearing development. He splurged for the best pair.

Alice’s first Forefront concert is on February 26th, 2018 at the O2 Arena in Greenwich. Val has been planning Alice’s concert outfit for at least a month, which of course is foolish, because Alice is growing like a weed. They don’t know who is more excited about it, Shawn or Val. Alice, in her tiny Chuck Taylors with giant cushiony headphones that look like oversized Princess Leia buns over her ears, is clueless.

Forefront is playing a quick series of four shows at the O2 to round out the final promo push for their last album before Shawn really settles into writing the new one. They’ll be the last Forefront shows until the holidays. Shawn wonders where he’ll be then.

He heads to the arena early for soundcheck, so the girls will meet him there before the show. He put Diet Coke on the rider for Val and Farley’s Rusks for Alice. He wants them to feel at home there with him, wants to show Val that this kind of family, though unconventional, could work for all of them.

It’s been a couple months since they returned from their holidays. Adjusting hasn’t been entirely simple. Shawn barely slept at his rental flat for the first couple weeks after New Years, spending every spare second he had with Val and Alice, but they soon realized that wasn’t the best way to begin this.

It needed to make sense. Practically living together so quickly gave both of them an uneasy feeling of deja vu drawing back to the night before he left her on Warped Tour with an armful of hastily made promises. What made sense were baby steps.

They spent a lot of time on FaceTime at first. Slowly, they found ways to incorporate Shawn into Val and Alice’s fairly strict routine. They started taking walks around Farringdon a couple nights a week to lull Alice to sleep. He began spending the night on weekends, then staying over after their night walks and learning the morning ritual. He’s gotten good at it. He’s even helpful now.

He’s trying not to think too far ahead. He knows writing the album can only take so long. When it’s done, they have to record it, which they’ll be doing in LA. On the other side of the world. When he thinks about it, his blood feels thick and sluggish, dragging through his veins as panic sets in. He’ll be so far away. He’s going to miss them so much it’ll feel like he left a limb back in England.

This is why he doesn’t think about it.

He’s curled up on the sofa in the green room with an acoustic in his lap, riddling out what this song in his head is trying to say when there’s a knock. Andrew enters wearing a very self-satisfied grin, toting Val and Alice behind him.

Aside from the child in her arms, Val looks about as much like a tired mum of an almost-one-year-old as Shawn does. Her hair’s blown out in soft, touchable curls. Her now vintage Forefront tee is strategically worn and torn, tucked into the tightest high-waisted jeans he’s ever seen that get swallowed up by thigh high leather boots.

The noisy green room full of Forefront members, assorted crew and some London-based friends all fall almost silent. If Val notices, she doesn’t let on. Shawn bets she’s used to it. Val’s never walked into a room where she hasn’t drawn every eye. Even with a squirming, squealing baby in her arms.

Shawn practically throws the guitar beside him and leaps to stand. Val beams, her red painted lips spreading eagerly. It’s all Shawn can do not to kiss her like they’re alone. The guys whistle anyway.

“Fuck off,” Shawn laughs as he pulls away, but his cheeks and the tips of his ears are pink. She wipes a bit of lipstick off his mouth, though looking at her, you wouldn’t be able to tell that it smudged. Shawn’s never understood that kind of power.

Each of the Forefront boys take their turns greeting her and introducing themselves to little Alice, who has them wrapped around her pudgy fingers with a single nearly toothless smile. Seth is the only one that asks to hold her, and, incidentally, is the only one Val would’ve allowed to do it. Even so, Shawn hovers impatiently beside Seth the whole five minutes before Seth gives up and forks over the baby.

Shawn scoops her into his chest and showers her little face with kisses as she squeaks and kicks her powerful sausage legs. Val watches, propped on the arm of the couch with her long legs folded.

“Good to see you again.”

Val looks over her shoulder. Francis is wearing the same troublesome smile she remembers. She grins back.

“It’s been a while.”

“Been a fuckin’ lifetime,” Francis laughs, dropping into the seat next to her, watching Shawn let Alice pluck at the guitar he usually doesn’t let anyone else touch.

Even with the smile, he’s different than she remembers. A little more subdued, maybe a little less focused on competing with Shawn for all the attention in the room. He seems more inside himself in a way a man only can be when he’s grown up. Val’s not unfamiliar with this kind of energy shift. Between the Streets of Gold and All Time Low boys, she’s watched a lot of pop punk brats grow up. From impatient, ambitious teenagers, they become kind, wise, thoughtful men. Francis, she can sense, is no exception.

“Haven’t seen him like this in so long,” Francis admits, looking over her with a ghost of ebbing suspicion in his gaze. She understands why.

“Not that he’s been, like, miserable or anything,” Francis assures her, widening his eyes a little to support his words, “But, you know. Maybe a bit lonely.”

She nods. Her eyes are warm and understanding. Francis sees how Shawn could’ve fallen into them and never found a way out again.

“Me too, I think,” she murmurs.

The room brightens up even more as the guys prepare for the show. The opener is audible and muffled around the screams of tens of thousands of fans. Val, with her daughter back in her arms, watches as the scared, humbled kids she used to watch pout over playing for a dozen kids prepare for an arena show without breaking a sweat. They each take a tequila shot beside the stage. Val tastes it in Shawn’s mouth when she takes one last kiss. Their chests rumble with the drum track that plays to hype up the crowd before they take the stage. Shawn adjusts Alice’s comically large headphones one last time and checks her face for any sign of upset or discomfort. Her big beautiful eyes are wide, taking it in. They snap shut when Shawn kisses her on the nose with a chuckle.

With one last proud, excited glance over his shoulder, Shawn strides out onto the stage, guitar slung behind his broad back, greeted by roaring, adoring screams. Val swallows and bounces Alice against her hip, feeling almost starstruck.

The show is the finely-tuned version of what she remembers. It’s unstructured and free and fun, a celebration of the music, the friends, the night. Every fan in the gigantic room is a friend and everyone’s here for the party. It’s everything a pop punk show should be, but on a larger scale.

Val dances and sings along, holding Alice’s fingers and twirling to make her laugh. She catches Shawn’s eye several times, her heart vaulting over a beat with each one, giving and accepting more kisses when he jogs back occasionally to change out a guitar.

By the time the show ends, Alice has fallen asleep and been toted off by Bobby’s mom to nap in the green room.

“You let Louise take her?” Shawn whines as he comes off stage panting, having to yell over the fading cheers and applause, “Bad idea. I mean, just look how Bobby turned out.”

Bobby lets out a cry of protest. Val lifts Shawn’s sweaty, bare arm and slings it around her shoulders.

“‘S ok. She’s asleep. And we’re busy.”

Shawn blinks, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Are we?”

Instead of returning to the green room, Val takes Shawn by the hand and guides him to his private dressing room. He watches her lead him, or watches the pockets on the backs of her jeans twist and flick as she swings her hips. He can feel his pulse in his ears when she locks the dressing room door behind them.

She’s quiet for a minute, and it’s unnerving. But he knows better than to break it first. He can feel it in the air around them.

Val tilts her head, looking him up and down hungrily. She leans against the back of the couch and pushes some curls out of her face.

She’s all leg and dark hair and brown skin and fire. Shawn gulps comically.

“You are so fucking sexy.”

He blinks. He was thinking it, but he swears he didn’t actually speak. It takes him a beat too long to realize she’s the one that said it.

“Oh yeah?” he pants.

She nods, reaching a hand out for him. He scrambles a bit to take it, greedy for her invitation. She smiles knowingly, lovingly, and pulls his hands onto her hips. He allows himself one needy squeeze before he’s determined to behave himself.

Even though he’s looking down at her, he’s the one that feels like the willing prey to her predator. She reaches up and fingers the necklace hanging against his chest. Her eyes remain steady on his as he waits for whatever’s coming.

“You’re so powerful on that stage. Confident and sensitive and open and in control. Been wet for you since the first song.”

Shawn’s breath hitches. He quirks a smile. She smiles back and it’s like a shot of adrenaline to his heart.

“But you know who’s in control here, papi?”

Shawn’s eyes flutter shut. His shoulders soften. His body relaxes even as he throbs hard for her already in his jeans. He throws himself into desperately desired surrender.

“You.”

The word is like a prayer on his lips. It hangs heavy between them. He opens his eyes to see her nodding hungrily.

“Get on your knees, honey.”

Shawn muffles a groan, slowly descending to kneel on the carpet at her feet. She watches, satisfied as he blinks up at her, wide-eyed and awestruck.

“Wanna take my boots off?”

He wets his lips and lets his eyes drop to the zipper resting against her inner thigh on her left leg. He feels a flash of a memory prod him, the memory of an inhumanely hot day in Texas in the summer of 2007, the feel of sweat dripping down his neck with the taste of the woman he loves on his lips. He shivers.

Val pushes red polished fingers into his hair, seemingly unbothered by the sweat and hair paste that have thickened it. His eyes flutter. He lifts his hands to her leg, pulling the zipper slowly, admiring her as she so graciously lets him, until he pulls the boot and sock off and starts on the other leg. By the time he’s finished with his hands cupped around the backs of her knees, he’s panting.

Val, watching him with a small smirk, reaches down to lift the hem of her shirt with his band’s logo on the front. Her intricately detailed lace bra is nude, the color of brown sugar, almost as pretty as all her bare skin. Shawn shudders a breath that feels like it scratches on its way out. He tilts his forehead against her hot stomach and forces an inhale.

She starts clawing at the shirt on his back. He can feel how desperate she’s becoming through the haphazard dragging of her nails on his skin until she yanks it over his head and pulls him to his feet. Her eyes are flooded and dark. Her lips are parted. She’s staring at him like she’s trying to decide what she should have him do next. He tucks a curl behind her ear, skimming her soft cheek with his thumb.

“Anything, baby. I’ll give you anything. I’m yours. Please.”

His voice is hoarse from the show and from the closeness of her. She inhales sharply, her incredible breasts rising temptingly in her bra before she snaps like a viper, dragging his lips to hers. They kiss like they’re aching. They’re not shy about biting, sucking, moaning, tasting, taking. They need this. And it feels so fucking good.

Val’s lips wander with purpose, smearing Russian Red over his sharp jaw until she hits paydirt, sucking and nibbling at the spot below his ear that gets him loud.

“Jesus Christ, Vally,” he gasps, rocking his hips hard against her stomach. She mewls at his reaction, biting harder, soothing him with her tongue as he quakes in her arms. He can’t keep quiet. His every breath is a gasping moan. He’s outside himself and he’s not even naked yet.

She seems to want to fix that, fingers tripping over hard muscle on their way down to his jeans, which he helps her peel off, along with his blue Calvins. Next come her jeans, which are even snugger and make Shawn’s fucking head spin. Her matching bra and panties are quickly forgotten, wet and useless on the ground.

She’s propped up on the arm of the couch, legs spread to cradle him between as they writhe like teenagers. Shawn’s cock throbs insistently, trapped between them as her nipple rings brush his chest. Their kisses are so wet and messy, they’re nothing more than a way to be connected while they gasp for air.

“Vally, let me give you something. Please. Fuck.” His voice is fucked out, breaking for her. He’s sure she wants something -- his fingers? His tongue? Both? Whatever she wants, it’s hers. But he needs her to take it.

She shakes her head fervently, her eyes glassy. “Can’t. Can’t wait. Need you inside me.”

Shawn’s gasp is so loud it rattles both their chests as they continue to rock their bodies together. He’s nodding so hard he almost headbutts her. She giggles, making his cock twitch again, and eases him away gently.

Shawn stands back, fists clenched, watching her lift herself off the arm of the couch only to turn around and unfurl over it, her ass in the air, her sticky, sweaty hair stuck to her soft back. She spreads her legs enough for Shawn to see her pink and glistening wet for him. He grabs at his dick, giving himself a squeeze at the base as he swears.

“Holy shit, Valentina.”

Val’s grin, the unholy one, the one he’d let drag him to hell, settles in on her swollen, smeared lips. “Let me show you how I like it this way, papi.”

Shawn’s never given up the opportunity to let her teach him a lesson before. He’s not about to start now. He nods again like a fucking bobblehead doll and practically stumbles up behind her, hands gripping her hips.

Val secures a hand around the back of the couch and looks at him over her shoulder again. “Go ahead, baby. I’m nice and wet for you.”

“Fuck, yeah, you are,” he grunts, positioning the head of his cock against her dripping entrance. He presses in slowly, watching her face.

“Keep going,” she murmurs, sounding high on him, spreading her legs a bit further, greedily. Shawn whimpers when he bottoms out.

“Now,” she hisses, struggling to speak coherently, “Keep your hips still for me. Just feel me.”

Shawn begs whatever higher power there is for self-control and slides his hands up to grip her waist as she starts to move. From above her, he watches her body roll, her hips rocking smoothly from side to side as she sets their pace. Shawn’s jaw drops. He holds fast, stunned as she takes what she needs from him exactly how she wants it.

“Feels so good, baby,” she praises, though she’s doing all the work. Shawn mumbles back in the affirmative, transfixed by the slowly increasing pace of her rocking motion as she fucks him.

“Never done it like this before,” he rasps, shaking his head at her ingenuity. With her hands planted below her, she gives him a pulse with her tight walls and smirks over her shoulder.

“I like to keep you guessing.”

He moans, rattling through into her squeezing wet core. She gasps, rhythm faltering. In a few seconds. She’s using her hands for leverage, pressing back into him and ebbing away, sliding his cock in and out as he remains still.

“Vally, baby,” Shawn growls, shifting one large hand from her waist to caress her back, lovingly skimming every notch of her spine. He takes a handful of her ass, kneading her flesh in his fingers. She purrs his name and his other hand off her waist, trailing it down to skim over the patch of hair crowning her perfect pussy. Shawn takes the hint and presses two firm fingers into her clit, letting her grinding motion serve her best.

“Yes!” she cries, thrusting back harder, riding him unforgivingly. He’s holding on by the skin of his fucking teeth for her. He knows she’ll give it when she’s ready. She’ll be ready once she takes hers.

“Gonna come, Vally?”

She nods breathlessly. With one last flash of dark eyes over her shoulder, she hisses, “Fuck me.”

Shawn’s eyes go wide. He bucks his hips, catching up with her rhythm quickly as his starts strumming his fingers against her clit, watching her come up on her tiptoes beneath him, her back arching.

“Yes! Yes! Harder!”

Shawn bears down, grunting with each powerful swing, trying to ignore the filthy sound of her wet cunt around his shaft. He wants to get her there first before he follows. He shifts his hand, gets her clit between his thumb and forefinger and pinches, pulsing her clit between his fingers as his hips pound her ass.

“I’m gonna come!” she cries, the end of her announcement swallowed up by a squeak that makes his stomach drop. She rolls her hips hard against the arm of the leather couch, fucking back against him relentlessly, her pussy clenching and pulsing as she comes hard all over his cock.

Her grunting is unintelligible, but Shawn thinks it’s a mix of slurred Spanish punctuated by his name. He can’t tell. His ears are ringing as he follows close behind her, screaming “FUCK!” when he finishes. Their hips roll to a stop. One of Val’s hands releases his ass cheek that she reached back and grabbed, her nails leaving marks. Shawn winces, chuckling, pulling out of her to secure a wet towel from the bathroom.

He squats behind her, leaving little kisses over her ass and thighs as he wipes her gently. She makes a whimpering noise and reaches for him. He unfolds her carefully to stand, weak and supple as she rests against his chest. He continues spoiling as much of her as he can reach with kisses until she’s giggling so hard he laughs with her.

“Holy shit,” she declares, lifting her head to look at him.

He shrugs. “You started it.”

Smug, she grins, “I always do.”

On July 22nd, Shawn is booked on a flight to Toronto to see his family for a few days before leaving for LA to begin recording.

He stretched the writing out for as long as he could. He pored over lyrics, samples, suggestions from co-writers and producers, piecing it together, then tearing it apart. The problem is, it was flowing out of him. This album was right under the surface of his skin, not letting him rest until he got it out.

It’s mostly about her, of course. Val knows. She helped write a few tracks. By the time summer came, Shawn had all but moved out of his rental flat and in with Val and Alice, full time boyfriend and dad-like figure. They celebrated Alice’s first birthday in Hyde Park. They made picnics for Sundays in Kensington Gardens and Shawn ran around with Alice in the Princess Diana Memorial Playground. He and Val made passionate, ferocious, intimate, quiet, silly, giggly, perfect love for months on end, knowing a drought was coming.

And then it came. The album was ready. There was no hiding from it, not with the hooting and hollering of the label and his management. The time to leave London hit Shawn and Val like a ton of bricks. They traded off being The Positive One and The Miserable One until… well, until they were both miserable.

Standing outside her flat with a black cab waiting to take him to Heathrow, Val holds Alice in one arm and swipes at her tears with the other. She forces a smile. Shawn’s eyes are red and cloudy. His hair is frizzy from how often he’s been jerking his hands through it. He tries to smile back.

“Come here, papi,” she croaks, opening her arm to him. He shuffles forward, draping himself around his little family. He sniffs into her shoulder, willing himself not to cry again. At least not until he gets in the cab.

“We love you,” she whispers hoarsely. He squeezes his traitorous eyes and cradles his girls, rocking them against his chest. Alice, clueless, grabs a handful of Shawn’s hair and yanks.

He smiles for real this time, peeling her little fingers off his hair and bringing her fist to his lips. She patiently coos at the pecking kisses he leaves all over her face and hair until his throat tightens and his chest rattles.

He pulls back to look at her and glances at her mother, who’s trying to hold it together and failing.

“Listen,” he rasps, tucking a hand up under Val’s soft hair to massage the back of her neck, “I-I know you’re superwoman and you can do this all on your own. I know you don’t really need me. Just… just try to pretend you do until I come back, ok? Please? Don’t forget… that I’m part of the family now.”

Val’s heart splits. It’s clean and sharp and she’s sure he could hear it in her chest as she felt it. She releases a sob, clapping a hand over her mouth as he pulls her close to brush his nose through her hair.

“Baby… we need you. God, we do need you. We love you, we both do, so much. And fuck, even if we didn’t need you, we want you. We chose you. Ok? I’ll remind you of it every day. We love you so much, baby. I love you.”

Val buries her face in Shawn’s neck. His heart is so full it aches. He can only hope it’s enough to sustain him until he can try to wrangle a time for them to visit, or for him to fly back.

“I’ll finish as soon as I can. I promise. I’ll--”

The cabbie honks. Shawn grunts, irritated. With a slow inhale, he peels himself away.

He swallows. “I love you, Vally. I love you, Alice.”

He steps backward and tucks himself into the cab. Val and Alice wave until it’s long out of sight.

“She’s got another tooth coming in. She’s like a shark, this kid. It never stops.”

Shawn laughs. He’s got the phone up against his ear and a hand resting on his chest like he’s trying to hold his fragile heart together. He’s face up on his bed in his LA rental. West Hollywood is noisy outside on a Saturday morning.

On the other side of the planet, London is quiet and rainy. Alice went to sleep an hour ago, so Val called Shawn to keep her company. It’s been two months and 17 days since he left for LA. He flew out to see them last month for two days because he got so miserable, his band banished him and told him not to come back to the studio until he got his Val and Alice fix. Leaving them was a little easier that time, knowing he wouldn’t be gone so long. The album was practically complete. The process had been slowed down by meetings about planning a tour and Shawn’s personal ventures writing with other artists, even helping produce a single for All Time Low. But in 18 days, Shawn would be home.

Home, home. As in, sending his stuff from Toronto, planting himself permanently on the other side of the pond, home. He’ll be moving in with Val and Alice until they can decide on a newer, bigger, better place -- Shawn likes the idea of a townhouse in North London, quiet and removed. Val wants to stay in the city, closer to the museum, in a three-bedroom flat in Kensington, maybe near the park if they can afford it.

Until that time, phone calls and FaceTime sustain them. Shawn is antsy, has been all day. He thinks he hears the same edge in Val’s voice. Phone sex isn’t at all new. It’s one of the only things that’s been keeping them sane during their separation. Usually Val is the one instigating, though. But he wants her to feel wanted, seduced. He’s just not sure he knows how to begin without stumbling into it.

“So… uh, what are you wearing?”

Idiot.

Val laughs. “A latex bodysuit and red lipstick.”

He grunts and wrinkles his nose. “That’s a mean image to put in my head.”

“Mhmm. Well, what are you wearing?”

He glances down at himself like he forgot. “Uh, sweatpants.”

“Me too. Yours, actually.”

Shawn bites down on his lower lip, worrying the ring with his tongue. “What’s underneath?”

She pauses. “Well, I could lie and say I’m wearing the little red ones you like with the straps and the lace. But really, I’m wearing the boyshorts I sleep in.”

Shawn hums, closing his eyes. His fingers twitch on his chest. “That’s ok, I miss those, too.”

“What else do you miss?” Val murmurs, shutting her bedroom door behind her and dropping onto the bed, getting comfy.

“I miss… fuckin’ everything. I miss the way your hair smells in the morning. I miss your tattoos. I miss the spot under your belly button that makes you squeak when I kiss it. I miss the way you taste.”

Val’s eyes fall shut. She slips her hand down her belly and into the waistband of her panties. Her sigh is enough to tell him what he wanted to know.

“Touching yourself, honey?”

She nods, though he can’t see. “Join me.”

Shawn huffs a breath and wriggles out of his sweats, kicking them at the door. He spreads his thighs, determined to go slow. He’s so keyed up that if he starts hot and heavy right away, he’ll beat her to the finish line. Even by phone, he refuses to do that.

He runs his hand up his inner thigh and gives himself a squeeze through the fabric. Val smiles at his sharp inhale.

“What do you want tonight, baby?”

Shawn’s eyebrows lift. “You’re… you want me to pick?”

She hums, cupping her pussy, rocking into her hand as she lets herself imagine the options. “Whatever you want.”

“Could you… I mean, like, if you want to… I-I miss your mouth.” He goes hot pink and waits.

Val tilts her head back. “God, that sounds so good. I miss being on my knees for you.”

Shawn sighs, wrapping a hand around the head of his cock through his boxers, massaging himself, “Yeah. Feels so good every time, honey. You’re incredible.”

Val feeds off his praise. Soon, her panties and sweats are crumpled at the end of the bed. “I like starting by kissing your chest and your stomach. Soft at first, looking up at you while I taste your skin. Then sharper, harder, leaving marks.”

“Yeah,” Shawn grunts, “Mark me.”

“Little bruises on your chest. I swirl my tongue around your nipples. I know they’re sensitive.”

Shawn flicks one with his thumb and lets her hear his breathing hitch. “Yeah, baby.”

“I like leaving a trail of marks down your abdomen to show you where I’ve been. Shawn, you’re so hard for me.”

Shawn kicks out of his boxer briefs and fists his cock, groaning, “So hard, fuck. You drive me crazy like this.”

She’s barely done anything yet and he’s losing his mind. He thinks absently when she gets hands on him again he’s going to come so fast his head will spin. He blinks to focus.

“I like trailing my lips over your cock, feeling it twitch for me. Shawn, use your fingertips. Nice and light.”

His face scrunches as he obeys. It’s torturously gentle, just like her. He sighs heavily into the phone.

“Is your pussy wet?”

“Mhmm. You know I always get wet sucking you.”

He groans again, louder. “Shit, Val.”

“My tongue is warm on your shaft, sweeping up the vein on the underside. Getting you nice and wet before I take you down my throat.”

Shawn grips himself tighter and starts stroking leisurely. His abs tense and release.

“I know you like it when I suck on the tip, flick at it with my tongue,” she hisses, spreading her legs and toying with her clit.

“I do,” he groans, “Love your mouth on me, fuck.”

Val grins, smoothing her fingers over her wet lips, rubbing faster at her hard button of nerves. Shawn hears the change in her breath.

“Tell me what you’re doing, Vally, please?”

“I’m rubbing my clit just like you do,” she breathes, “Fast and hard like when you want me to come on your fingers.”

Shawn’s jaw drops. His eyes snap shut. His hips thrust up toward his clenched fist. “You get so tight and wet for me, Vally.”

“Mmmm,” she hums, “Wet like my mouth on your cock. I wanna feel you in my throat. Fuck your fist and pretend it’s my mouth.”

“Oh Jesus, Val.”

Shawn tightens his hand and plants his feet, swinging his hips up to meet the thrusts of his fist like she told him. It’s not her, but it’s enough for now.

“Baby,” he whimpers, “Imagine my fingers are inside you. Pulsing in and out like you showed me. Pressing up on your g-spot.”

Val’s chest gives a rumbling moan. Her own fingers do the trick well enough. They’re both on the brink of coming.

“Come in my mouth, Shawn,” Val pants, feeling her walls flutter around her fingers.

“Yeah, yeah,” Shawn chants, releasing onto his chest with a gasp of her name.

“So good,” she chokes, coming on her fingers right alongside him, rolling her hips.

They fall silent soon enough. Shawn blinks slowly and reaches for tissues.

“I’ll be home so soon, baby.”

Val smiles, resting her hand on her stomach. “Counting the seconds, papi.”

Val bounces Alice so fast she starts to cry.

A little horrified at her own absent-mindedness, Val hushes her, whispering sweet words in Spanish and starts swaying back and forth instead until Alice quiets and continues tugging at Val’s hair.

Shawn’s flight was late leaving JFK. Never has Val wished so hard for the existence of the Concorde. Tiny Parent Trap-era Lindsay Lohan’s voice mocks her in her head --

“Did you know the Concorde gets you here in half the time?”

Val wrinkles her nose in annoyance. What did they really need the Concorde for, anyway? To make a dramatic entrance? Whatever. Val hasn’t seen the love of her life in almost two months. And she’s a single mom with a small baby, so she really should get the Concorde. And--

Val’s ranting thought distraction works. She doesn’t see Shawn when he comes down the escalator, but he sees them. He’s grinning ear to ear, backpack over his shoulder, suitcase beside him. He hustles around groups of passengers milling about, politely excusing himself, dodging, bobbing, weaving. Val has the pram and baby so she can’t do much about meeting him halfway. She has to wait for him to reach her.

Shawn’s brow unfurrows. He drops his hold on his suitcase and slings the backpack to his feet. He throws his arms around his girls and feels everything fall back into place.

“Jesus, I missed you guys,” Shawn whispers, voice thick and throaty. When he pulls away to cup Val’s cheeks, she’s never looked happier.

“We missed you, papi.”

Shawn’s kiss is firm but controlled. His lip ring tickles her as he smiles into it, humming peacefully. She nips at him to make him chuckle, vibrating her lips.

“God, ok,” he murmurs, pulling away, reaching for Alice, “Come here, you.”

Alice bounces in his arms, looking completely overjoyed to have her best friend back. She slaps at his lips and then lets him kiss her plump baby cheeks. He rocks her back and forth, tickles her sides to make her squirm and apparently to make Val’s heart explode in her chest because that’s what it’s doing.

Shawn has the baby in one arm and the suitcase in the other. Val pushes the pram toward the doors, wondering where they can get a cab.

As they stroll, she looks down and murmurs, “We’re gonna need a new pram.”

“I know, she’s gotten huge!” Shawn laughs, squeezing one of Alice’s beefy little legs. She kicks at him with a toothy smile.

“Well, yeah,” Val admits, “And we should probably get one of those big ones that has two seats.”

Shawn keeps walking beside her for about two seconds before he stops. Val turns slowly.

His eyes are wide. His mouth is open. Color rises into his cheeks. He tries to swallow and makes a choking noise.

“Are you-- I’m… Val?”

“I’m pregnant, papi.”

Shawn’s mouth snaps shut. His lower lip quivers. Val walks towards him, taking his hand.

“It’s really early. Just over six weeks. With my history, it’s a lot to be excited about so soon. But we have an appointment with my OB, the one that helped me with Alice. It’s next week.”

She’s sure none of that registered to Shawn. He’s still gaping at her, his eyes filling.

“We’re having a baby?”

Val lets her eyes drift shut. A million memories -- heat drenched, sweaty days on tour, ten years of growth, a chance meeting in her favorite park -- flicker past. She opens her eyes.

“We’re having a baby.”

Shawn hiccups a sob and jerks forward, slipping his fingers into her hair to anchor himself against her lips. Their kiss is a little wet from both their tears, and Alice isn’t keen to be left out of the loop, but this moment is all theirs.

When they’re done kissing, Val rests her head against his chest and lets him just hold them. Beside the doors to the international arrivals terminal at Heathrow, they’re a long way from Warped Tour. The thought makes Val smile.

“What?” Shawn hums, wearing a goofy grin of his own. She lifts her head.

“Do they make those headphones even tinier?”

Shawn grins and kisses her again.

---------

You guys!!! Thank you for your awesome feedback on this fun little series. I’ve been thinking about it p much since I wrote the original epilogue and I feel great about the ending. If you loved it, consider buying me a Ko-fi (link on main page)!

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @grittyisaho @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @embracehappy @peacedolantwins2 @kitykatnumber

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes au #dad!shawn #punk!shawn #warped tour shawn #shawn peter raul mendes

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mychemicalficrecs · 5 years ago

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hi ! whats some of yer fav fics rn ?

Oh, Nonnie, please don't make me choose :'D

I went through my bookmarks and picked the ones that spontaneously spoke to me xDAll of these should already be on this blog or at least in the AO3 collection, actually.

Current Faves (January '20)

boys, boys, it's a sweet thing by inlovewithnight, Gerard/Mikey, 3k, Mature. An excerpted month from Gerard's Internet life as a sex blogger.

Kiss it Better by Sena, Frank/Mikey, 8k, Explicit. Mikey's not a violent guy, but Frank makes him want to punch a fucking wall.

Heart Wrapped in Clover by Sena, Frank/Mikey, 19k, Explicit. Everbody's got their not-so-secret secrets on tour. When you live out of a van, you just can't help but notice things that you shouldn't talk about if you don't want to embarrass your friends or start a fight. Frank wishes sometimes they talked about things, though, because he's dying to ask if anybody else has noticed that sometimes, Mikey wears panties.

By Now I'm Sure You Know by jjtaylor, Frank/Gerard, 3k, Mature. While on the World Contamination Tour, Frank watches Gerard pop the balloons during Planetary. He never realized he had a knife kink until he saw the very competent way Gerard handles the knife.

What Are You Made Of? (What Do You Dress It Up In?) by stoplightglow, Frank/Gerard, 2k, Teens And Up Audiences. “How’d you learn this?” Frank hears himself saying, words spilling out just to distract himself. God, it’s so fucking itchy, and Gerard is taking forever. “What, makeup?” Gerard says, not really a question. “Do you mean, like, how I got the techniques, or how I started wearing it in the first place? Because technique-wise, I mostly just stole my mom’s magazines and did whatever they said was right.” “How you started wearing it in the first place, then.” The pencil freezes, and then Gerard takes half a step back so Frank can see his eyes. “I haven’t told a lot of people that story.”

Dem Dry Bones by desfinado, Gerard/Mikey, 2k, Explicit. A kiss on his right knee, then the left.

just think happy thoughts? by Trojie, Frank/Gerard/Mikey, 6k, Explicit. In which Frank Iero grows wings, because apparently that kind of shit just happens on Warped Tour.

Sharpest Lives by MistressKat, Gerard/Mikey, 1k, Explicit. It couldn’t be wrong if Mikey liked it too.

Ray Guns Are Not Just the Future by ragingrainbow, Frank/Mikey, 1k, Mature. “Zap.” Mikey leans in close, trapping Frank against the wall as he mouths the word against Frank’s ear.

Hero or a Grinder by rivers_bend, Gerard/Mikey, Frank/Gerard/Mikey, 13k, Explicit. Gerard and Mikey are his friends, and they’re good guys. Some of the best he’s known, ever, and it’s stressful as hell on the road sometimes. If they need a little comfort, Frank’s not gonna judge.

shut up and drive by Trojie, uglowian, Patrick/Mikey/Pete, 139k, Teens And Up Audiences. Pete Wentz is the grid girl, Andy Hurley loves him (not like that), and Jared Leto is the bad guy. A.K.A.: the bandom The Fast and the Furious AU that literally no one asked for.

L For Lucky (M for Mine) by orphan_account, Ray/Mikey, 42k, Explicit. “Yeah, look.” Mikey turns his head to peer at the crowd over his shoulder. “This is going to seem weird, but.” He stares behind him and seems, for a moment, at a loss for words. “Well, there’s no tasteful way to say it.” Mikey looks Ray in the eye and just shrugs. “This is a highly organized sexual gathering for very specifically kinky people.” Ray feels a bit of spittle lodge in his throat and tries his best not to sputter when he disagrees, “That’s actually a pretty tasteful description of an orgy.”

Unholyverse by Bexless, Frank/Gerard, 187k, Mature, Explicit and General Audiences. Religion! Horror! Exorcisms! Piercings! And Gerard is a priest.

Pleathermouth Vegan Cafe by jedusaur, Frank/Gerard, 6k, Mature and Teen And Up Audiences. Pleathermouth Vegan Cafe, says the sign in front of the next place on Gerard's job-seeking list, and he decides that it may be prudent to finish his cheeseburger before entering.

All That Shit Seems To Disappear When I'm With You by gala_apples, Frank/Patrick/Mikey/Pete, 26k, Explicit. Frank’s been attracted to Mikey for awhile, a feeling that he’s kept carefully to himself. Other people don’t have the same compulsion for secrecy. On the first day of school there’s a short angry boy standing at Frank’s locker, condemning him for making Pete’s life hard. September quickly turns into a month of bad decision making as Frank, Pete, and Patrick deal with Mikey not feeling the same way they do. Except, that’s not true. After all, none of them have actually asked Mikey his side of things.

the ghost of you by Trojie, Frank/Gerard/Mikey, 52k, Explicit. The Ghost of You video throws Mikey, but he was already off his game.

publicity stunts by Trojie, Frank/Gerard, 6k, Teen And Up Audiences. The record company thinks a few plausibly-deniable rumours about Gerard and Frank dating would be good PR, but of course, they're not contractually obligated to sleep together or anything. Ahahah.

Gerard Way's (Vampire) Detective Agency by jjtaylor, Pennyplainknits, Frank/Gerard (and more), 164k, Mature, General Audiences and Teen And Up Audiences. Pete, in Decaydance Mansion, with a yarrow stake. Frank and Gerard, in the greenhouse, with a plant of questionable origin. Bob, everywhere you look, with a gang of assassins for justice. Vampires, valets, pamphlets, haunted furniture, dub-thrall, disembodied voices, zombie couriers, and sinister rituals.

Blueprints For Building Better Boys by dear_monday, Frank/Gerard, Frank/Ray/Mikey, 7k, Explicit. "Eight years ago," Amanda begins, "Dr. Monae and myself began work on the ArchAndroid project. By the time they were ready, we'd designed and tested everything, right down to the cybernetics and the synthetic organs. Two months ago, we switched them on for the first time." Frank, Gerard, Ray, and Mikey are the ArchAndroids. Frank's got a faulty personality circuit, Gerard's primary memory chip is kind of temperamental, there's a bug somewhere in Mikey's speech protocol, and Ray's anger response lags like a motherfucker. They're also the world's most potty-mouthed robots, although with any luck there won't be any occasion for the world's press to find out about that.

I Could Feel You Floating In Me by Jiksa, Frank/Gerard, 5k, Explicit. Poppers (n.): a slang term for a group of chemicals (especially amyl nitrite) used recreationally by queer men since the 1970s for their relaxation effect on involuntary smooth muscles, such as those in the throat and anus, as well as the warmth and head rush they provide to users. "What do you want?" Gerard asks, like he does everytime Frank asks him for this. “Open-handed impact play. Poppers. Fuck me. Plug me. Fist me. Come all over me.”

#fic rec list #I'm not going to list all the ships :'D #current faves #all the ships

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bagel-lox · 1 year ago

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seriously! i am dead serious when I write this.

i love pete wentz. i hate pete wentz. he's hot (2023). he's ugly (2005). he's exuberantly wise, and i want to have a long chat with him about life and his lyrical process. he's a major fucking prick, and i want to punch him for some of the things he's done. His words can be scarily relatable and may have helped me organize some of my mental health struggles. His words may unironically worsen my intrusive thoughts. i want to shake his hand. i want to strangle him.

HOW DARE A REAL PERSON BE REAL AND THREE DIMENSIONAL.

i hate my taste in men (aromantically) like why pete wentz gotta be my fav. why couldn't i be normal. why couldn't my fav be like. joe

#self

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radarbrow2-blog · 6 years ago

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Comparing Eagles players to characters from the Avengers Endgame

Since it’s a Friday in the middle of May, I thought we could do something a little different. With the new Avengers movie fresh on everyone’s mind, I wanted to take a stab at seeing which Eagles players would best fit the role for each Avengers character. Please note, and I hope I don’t even need to say this, that the genders and races of each of the characters has not been considered in this exercise. Instead, the abilities of the superheros as well as the demeanor of each character has been. Also, NO SPOILERS ARE IN THIS ARTICLE BECAUSE I’M NOT A MONSTER!!! Enjoy and have a great weekend!

Captain America - Carson Wentz

Oh Captain, my Captain. Just as Captain America metaphorically represents the great country of The United States of America, Carson Wentz represents everything Philadelphia. The man scored a TD with a torn ACL for Heaven’s sake. In addition to this, Captain America is known for being a militarily trained expert field tactician, while Wentz is a trained football field tactician.

Iron Man - Chris Long

From the day Chris Long signed with the Eagles, he has been a fan favorite, just as Tony Stark is with Marvel fans. Like Stark, Long is known for his witty sense of humor and his affinity for nerd culture (aka the finer things in life). Long even has enough money that he is content donating his entire salary for a year to charity while still giving his best day in and day out. Finally, like Iron Man, Long’s days with the Eagles could potentially be numbered.

Thor - Lane Johnson

When I think of Thor, I think of a strong, likable guy with a quick sense of humor and a slight accent. Who better fits this mold than our guy, Lane Johnson? Not to mention, who else would be able to pick up that hammer?

Hulk - Jason Peters

JP, like Dr. Bruce Banner, is wise beyond his years. He known for being the largest man in the room, and his loyalty is unquestioned. In the newest film, Hulk even does his best to grow a cute little beard, which would only make him an even better fit.

Spider-man - Nelson Agholor

Peter Parker and Nelson Agholor are both known for their friendly demeanor and seemingly innocent persona, yet when the daylight fades, both have been known to find themselves smack dab in the middle of some trouble. Jokes aside, Nelson is a small, quick player who can easily be underestimated, just as a teenager from NYC who doubles a super hero could be.

Star-Lord - Jason Kelce

Seriously, which other player could you envision walking across the surface of a foreign planet singing “Come and get your love” by Redbone? Peter Quill has become known for his silly sense of humor, and if giving an all-time great speech in a Mummers costume isn’t silly, I don’t know what is.

Drax the Destroyer - Fletcher Cox

Straight from Drax’s Wikipedia page: “[Drax’s] powers included superhuman strength, stamina and resistance to physical injury as well the ability to project concussive blasts [of energy]. Tell me that’s not our boy, Cox? I’m not sure how literal Fletcher takes things, but I am sure that I wouldn’t want to find out.

Rocket Raccoon - Ronald Darby

No one would be intimidated — or at least that intimidated — by a lone raccoon, right? However if that raccoon has armor, a pistol, a jet pack, and a group of super-power-possessing friends, like Rocket does, it’s a completely different story. That’s kind of how Darby is. He’s really not that big of a threat by himself, but when paired with a menacing defensive line and a strong safety net (see what I did there?) behind him, Darby is capable of being a solid player.

Groot - Brandon Brooks

While I must admit, BB has a tremendous Twitter presence, but I can’t honestly say that I’ve heard him say a word in real life. All I’m saying is that I can’t rule out the possibility that he can say anything other than “I am Brandon.”

Nebula - Zach Ertz

We are currently experiencing what is likely Nebula’s cinematic climax, and similarly Zach Ertz has probably peaked out. This isn’t a bad thing, however, as Zach Ertz is one of the most dangerous players at his position in the game, just as Nebula is one B.A.M.F.

Black Panther - Malcolm Jenkins

Named after the large cat of the same name, the Black Panther is known for his ability to hunt down his enemies, rarely letting one slip by. Jenkins dominates the field and is often found “hunting down enemies” himself. In addition to this, the Black Panther is the leader of a massive army, a stylish man, and regularly demonstrates his value off of the “battlefield”. Malcolm Jenkins is known as a community leader who is constantly thinking of ways to make change for the better.

Black Widow - Nigel Bradham

Black Widow is among the best athletes in the Marvel Cinematic Universe and Bradham is certainly a monster of an athlete himself. Black Widow also has a bio-enhanced body that prevents aging and injury. Maybe Bradham, who has missed just two games over his three seasons with the Eagles, should be tested for that...

Captain Marvel - Jordan Howard

In both cases, the newest addition to the team, but also one not to be feared. If their pasts are any indication of their future, the opposing forces better watch out.

Hawkeye - Jake Elliott

All I’m gonna say is, which Avenger would YOU trust from 61 yards out?

Doctor Strange - Jalen Mills

75% chance Jalen Mills owns a cape

Hard to specifically say why you need either of them on the team, but its undeniable that you do.

Ant-Man - DeSean Jackson

Both Ant-Man and DeSean Jackson are tiny little terrors that you’d rather not face. Both are also capable of blowing up BIG TIME when the enemy is least expecting it. Also, Ant-Man and the Wasp are kind of like a gang, right, Chip?

War Machine - Brandon Graham

War Machine is to Iron Man as Brandon Graham is to Chris Long. Iron Man gets all of the credit but War Machine is the hero I’d rather have if you made me choose.

Falcon - Alshon Jeffery

Sometimes it seems like Alshon can infact fly.

Bucky Barnes - Sidney Jones

Bucky Brooks, or the Winter Soldier, is known for having a bionic arm. He also proudly rocks his long hair and is seemingly going to do something great soon. Sidney Jones, however, is known for having a bionic Achilles Tendon. He proudly rocks his dreads, and is surely going to break out this year. Or next. Or maybe the one after that.

Okoye - Rodney McLeod

Black Panthers right hand man woman. If you mess with Malcolm, you mess with Rodney.

Mantis - Isaac Seumalo

I’m not really sure what either of them are ever doing, but usually when you do see them, you see them in a big way.

Scarlet Witch - Kamu Grugier-Hill

The Scarlet Witch is rarely seen, but when she is, she’s expelling all kinds of energy. KGH has been a monster on special teams and has earned more playing time, just as Scarlet Witch should probably just get her own movie.

Wasp - Derek Barnett

Barnett, like the Wasp, has a fairly new story line that I’m looking forward to seeing through. The potential is there, but what does the future have in store?

Malik Jackson - Korg

I honestly don’t know that much about either, but they’re both pretty damn intimidating and I’m just happy they’re on our side.

Source: https://www.bleedinggreennation.com/2019/5/10/18535500/comparing-eagles-players-characters-avengers-endgame-carson-wentz-captain-america-marvel-movie-nfl

#read more #see more #check it out #interesting #learn more

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