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earlgreytea68 · 4 years

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A Review of the Fall Out Boy Biography Inevitably Colored by Shippiness Oops But Really Mainly By My Love for Pete Wentz

I don’t even know who the audience is for this monstrosity of a review, nor do I know the audience for this biography, though, so, like, it’s fitting lololol:

I am a new Fall Out Boy fan. I say that because, if anybody was in need of a Fall Out Boy biography, you would think it would be a new fan. AND YET. I’m not entirely sure who the market for this book is, because it isn’t really Fall Out Boy fans of any duration, because not only can everything in the book be easily located with the simplest of Google searches but also there’s so much he leaves out. And what he leaves out is just…so incredibly telling. It’s like, the facts he chooses to highlight are often pointless and random (although thanks for telling me that Pete Wentz’s jeans were so tight he had to perform without underwear, I’m going to think about that a lot now), whereas the facts he leaves out are the ones that lend both complexity and context. Like, this whole book could be Exhibit A in how malleable facts can be. Given the same set of facts, this man and I would tell two very different stories.

At least partly this is because he’s a music critic (I glean from the book) and I’m a creative writer. I believe he is a music critic because he takes care to dedicate a paragraph of musical analysis to every song on their earliest CDs (he loses interest in them over the hiatus, and more on that later). I appreciated this, because I know nothing about music, and I learned a lot about how talented Patrick Stump really is, like, not as a vocalist, because I knew that, or as a musician, because I also knew that, but as a smart, clever songwriter. I don’t know how to critique music, and I was happy this guy was full of praise for what Patrick does. He also pointed out musical hallmarks of theirs – like their tendency to drop the music suddenly for Patrick to sing an a cappella line – and that was the first time I’d ever really thought about them.

He was full of much less praise for Pete’s lyrics, though, and I think that’s because he’s a music person, not a word person. Not that he thought Pete’s lyrics were ever bad but he tended to stay very conventional about them: emo, confessional, dramatic, and ingeniously juxtaposed with Patrick’s clear-as-a-bell voice. He’s kind of obsessed with the contrast between Patrick’s voice and the lyrics he’s singing, whereas I’m much more obsessed with the contrast between Patrick himself in sweater-paws and glasses snarling, “I am your worst nightmare,” like, sweetheart, I doubt it. AND YET HE PULLS IT OFF. Like, that’s so interesting to me, how much Patrick can make himself embody Pete, that act of alchemy where he sings on his behalf, but this book talks less about that than I think it might, mostly because I don’t think this guy really wants to think too hard about how incredibly good Pete’s lyrics actually are. The thing about Pete’s lyrics – he does this, and it’s so clever, it’s killer clever – is you can read them so easily on one very obvious and expected layer, and then there’s always one or two additional meanings tucked underneath them, and you might never stop to think about them, especially if you’ve already written him off, but his lyrics reward careful study and a lot of thought, he specializes in triple entendres, a turn of phrase that spins out into so many meanings, that’s so hard to do and he makes it look so easy that it’s such a simple mistake to dismiss it, to not even see how dense his poetry is. The conventional story on Pete Wentz is he’s good at marketing – marketing the band, marketing himself – and so he spun in circles to keep the spotlight on him and away from Patrick, and that’s definitely one take, and another take would be to point out that the same whirligig sex-symbol tabloid-fodder act also had the side effect of undercutting any tendency to take Pete seriously from a literary point of view, like, so much easier to just say that, in keeping with his goth guyliner, he wept into his inkwell and scrawled messily over parchment. So anyway: criticism #1 of this book is that they should have complemented the music-critic-ness with an English major.

Criticism #2 is that I feel like people always get wrong what appeals to girls, to speak in the massive generalizations of this topic. Like, someone somewhere was like, “Hey, girls like this Fall Out Boy band, it must be because Pete Wentz is hot.” And they’re not wrong about that, exactly, but they always seem to miss how many entangled layers often come with attraction. Like, yeah, sometimes it’s just he’s got nice abs but often there’s a million other things happening there, and one thing I cannot forgive this guy for is not just his failure to engage with Pete’s lyrics on any real level, but how little he also truly examines Pete Wentz’s genuine marketing genius. He’s a music guy: His interest is clearly in Patrick, and also in Joe and Andy, because they’re musicians, and he can wax poetic about them. Pete gets his standard paragraphs: Oh, he chose the right management, the right record label, the right deal. He can pick out a good band, like Panic! or Gym Class Heroes. All of that is true, but none of it really grasps exactly how smart Pete really is. Like, the book hardly mentions at all how much Pete realized immediately the value of internet fandom. When I first fell for Pete Wentz – that first weekend I spent Googling him – what really was the death knell for me was stumbling upon the old FOB Q&As he used to run in the earliest days. And it wasn’t actually his constant leaning into the Peterick shipping with such dead-on unerring understanding of fandom that did it for me (although that was pretty charming, ngl). It was how often teenagers messaged Pete Wentz with their problems, and how patiently he took the time to respond. My boyfriend broke up with me. My grandma just died. I don’t feel like I fit in anywhere. Again and again and again, Pete Wentz took these messages and wrote out detailed, laborious responses. And I know he was a guy angling hard to be famous but not all guys angling hard to be famous realized how important something like this is, this very personal connection, like, above and beyond the bantering and the smirks, and even if you’re doing it entirely for ulterior motives, that’s a ton of emotional labor he was performing. I finished reading those Q&As and thought, God, Pete Wentz must have been exhausted.

And I’m not sure that’s something the bio ever really wrestled with, because it never really talked about that aspect of him. I don’t actually think the bio read anything Pete Wentz has ever posted online, like, not even those basic Q&As that are the easiest thing in the universe to Google, never mind the secret blogs he still has scattered all over the internet with nuggets of lyricism buried in there for Patrick to mine. It’s just so easy to buy into the Peter-Pan, devil-may-care Pete Wentz picture, and for all I know that’s the truest of the pictures, but it’s also undeniable fact that the other side to that was either really cunning and savvy or just a nice guy, and either way it’s another layer to Pete Wentz that gets short shrift in the bio. Which isn’t surprising because although the author clearly appreciates Fall Out Boy the band, the author clearly isn’t fannish at all, whereas it’s pretty abundantly clear Pete Wentz is fannish. He’s unapologetically fannish. He speaks fan language with a fluency that is hard to fake. And he’s astonishingly well-versed in tropes. He’s instinctively good at creating a good story, not just in his lyrics (although he, like Taylor Swift, is adept at tropey lyrics, so it’s no surprise they have a mutual admiration society), but in his life. In addition to the Q&As, that first weekend was full of me being like, …How is this the tropiest thing I’ve ever read??? It’s unsurprising that the bio doesn’t point out all the tropes in the Pete Wentz / Patrick Stump / Fall Out Boy story, because the author isn’t versed in tropes, but Pete Wentz definitely is. He knows how to use words, well. And you wouldn’t necessarily know it to listen to him – he babbles and uses tons of filler phrases and never, ever ask him what his lyrics are about, it’s like trying to have a conversation in Wonderland – but that’s all part of the aw-shucks-sometimes-I-scribble-some-stuff-down-Patrick’s-the-real-genius brand.

Now I am not qualified to write a Fall Out Boy biography and also I don’t know these people and also everything I do know comes from Google but that said, I feel like I do know for a fact some primary source materials that the writer just chose to leave out that really does display how malleable stories can be depending on what you highlight or not. Like, if he didn’t want to draw psychological conclusions based on the facts that’s fair enough. But he also pared back the narrative so drastically that it left off the true meat of it, like, if you read this book you would not necessarily think there was much interesting about these people, whereas if you really dig into everything they’ve got out there, well, you could start to think they’re super-interesting people. But I am a creative writer and this biographer was a music critic. He settles happily into the song analysis but I’m busy connecting dots into a narrative, and life is complicated, it is not a simple narrative, but that impulse underlies most biography, the idea that we can assemble the facts into something that has something to say about a human life. But that act really exists in how you assemble the facts.

~~~~~~~~TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE DISCUSSION~~~~~~~~~~~

A really good example of this is the way the biography deals with the Best Buy incident. Here are the bare facts: Pete Wentz, in a Best Buy parking lot listening to Jeff Buckley’s “Hallelujah,” took too many Ativan. In a phone call, his manager noticed he was slurring, called his parents, they rushed him to the hospital, he lived. These are the facts that the book gives you, and these are true facts.

If you want to expand slightly upon these bare facts, Pete has given many, many interviews about this incident because he is very open about mental health issues and his bipolar disorder and depressive episodes and anxiety. Pete has said that he’s not sure he was trying to kill himself so much as just make his head quiet for a little while. Pete has said he felt like he was too busy being Pete Wentz for everyone else and he just wanted to rest. These are also facts, although ones I don’t think the biographer truly believes. He does dutifully quote them but he also clearly has his own belief about how much Pete’s telling the truth. Because this is inevitable in any telling of the facts.

If you want to expand slightly upon these facts, you could point out that Pete’s lyrics reflect how noisy his head is (“when this city goes silent, the ringing in my ears gets violent”), which might color how you understand him when he says he just wanted some peace and quiet. You might also point out that, as the bio has already said, Pete was the driving force behind the band’s strategy and it was about to culminate. You might remind the reader that Pete walked away from other possibly very successful careers to do this band (there is much made in the book of the theoretical ease with which Pete could have achieved a soccer career, which made me raise my eyebrows a bit but, you know, Patrick does say Pete’s really, really good at soccer). You might recall that Pete has these kids relying on him whose parents he literally had to persuade to trust him. You might say that so far everything had gone exactly as he planned and he just needed to stick the landing. You might mention the fact that they kept rewriting songs and rewriting songs and rewriting songs; that Pete was in such utter meltdown mode that he was sliding lyrics under Patrick’s door and then retreating, so that the rest of the band never even saw him; that they had scrapped half the album and were furiously writing new music right up until the deadline – all of which are facts not even mentioned. You might say all of those things, because they are indeed all true facts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is appropriate at this point to note that many of these things were simply not germane to the story this biographer was telling, which was a music-critic-focused story. But these things are all incredibly germane to the story *I* would tell, about these four people who found each other, lost each other, and found each other again, and the two people at the center whose creative alchemy was by turns either too dazzling or too explosive and in both incarnations needed to find a way to balance to keep the band afloat. This is the story I would tell, but, to be totally honest, Pete and Patrick’s creative partnership doesn’t really seem to interest the writer of this book. He mentions it vaguely, in passing, once or twice, fairly standard surface proclamations about Pete handling lyrics and Patrick handling music, and Pete drawing the spotlight away from Patrick who didn’t want it. Or he’ll say that the true secret to the band’s success is Patrick’s voice and Pete’s lyrics, like Patrick could be any pretty-enough voice, which I think just isn’t true, there’s so much more to the way they clicked together. I read this great New Yorker article once about how, through history, genius exists in pairs, that often two people need to find each other to push each other to be better than they would ever be apart.

It’s fine to not want to get into that too intensely, it’s just that that means that half the story of Folie goes away, if you’re not focused on how the band was creating. Like, there’s so much about the lead-up to Folie to talk about: Patrick’s control over the music to the exclusion of everyone else, Pete’s worsening prescription pill thing, and the way that their creative partnership seemed to disintegrate while simultaneously leaving no room for Joe or Andy in the band. The book mentions really none of this – nothing about the fact that at one point they had descended into physical altercations over chord progressions; nothing about the story the producer tells that Patrick would get so frustrated after phone calls with Pete that he’d throw things around the studio; nothing about the story that Patrick once told Pete, “I don’t care, I’m going to write a song and call it ‘I Don’t Care,’” such a telling little tale when later Patrick comes to hate the song “I Don’t Care” – so the hiatus feels like it descends out of nowhere, with a paragraph about the fans not liking the album. Which, again, is a true fact, but without the other true facts of the way the entire creative process was crumbling around them, around all of them, it sounds less compelling. The bio does get into Joe wanting to flex his creative muscles more but doesn’t connect it back to the Folie era of being shut-out. The hiatus becomes entirely about Patrick not liking being booed.

Even worse to me is the book devotes a lot of time to each of their music videos, which is awesome, because their videos are important and great, but it devotes exactly zero time to the video for “What a Catch, Donnie.” And I’m so bewildered by that, you can have a field day with the symbolism in that video, even if you want to just make a true factual statement about its plot: Patrick collects all of the detritus of Fall Out Boy and all of their friends come and party with him, while Pete goes down with a sinking ship all alone, to a medley of the words he’s leaving behind. Like. That is literally what happens in this video. And then the hiatus starts. To me this is one of the most ridiculously angsty things ever, that they would go out to their own triumphs echoing back at them and the literal death of captain!Pete Wentz. To the story I would tell, this is the most germane. It merits not a single mention in the bio (other than praising the song itself for being one of the strongest on the album, and talking about the Elvis Costello cameo).

Because he’s much more interested in them musically than as people or relationships, he seems to lose interest in them post-hiatus. He details each of their hiatus-era projects with his typical attention to the music criticism side. And then he spends, like, eight pages talking about the guy who wrote the article that triggered Patrick’s “We Liked You Better When You Were Fat” blog post. I’m not even exaggerating. It’s an entire chapter dedicated to the article and the guy who wrote it. Patrick’s response is described and quoted and even praised, but not in nearly as much as detail as the original article, and Pete’s reaction to Patrick’s blog post gets literally zero attention. Which is fascinating since, in some tellings of the story, that’s the entire reason the hiatus ended. Pete has said on multiple occasions that he read the blog post and was upset Patrick was so upset and called him up and asked him to try writing with him again. But if you’re not actually interested in that creative relationship as a relationship, then you don’t see a reason to explain the motivation behind trying again.

You also don’t really see a reason to tackle why they initially struggled to get back into it. Like, truly grappling with the Pete/Patrick relationship leads to more depth than the surface “Patrick doesn’t like the spotlight, so Pete takes it for him.” That’s too simplistic a formulation, as Pete himself has said. It also discounts Patrick’s obvious dedication to Pete, his complete willingness to step in and publicly defend him on many occasions, like, Patrick’s no shy, retiring wallflower when it comes to Pete, Patrick can let loose viciously on behalf of Pete. Their protectiveness is mutual, although the public narrative often glosses over that. (In one of those “why leave that out” details, the biographer notes that Hemingway was Pete and Ashlee’s ring bearer but not that Patrick was Pete’s best man, Idk.) At any rate, I point that out because the struggle they had to find their groove writing together after the hiatus mirrored their initial struggles, to find their way into trusting each other’s strengths, but the book is just kind of like, “The first session wasn’t successful but the next session was. They were out of practice.” They weren’t out of practice with songwriting, not really, especially not Patrick – they were out of practice with each other. And that wasn’t just a hiatus-era souvenir, that went back to Folie, but we didn’t get that part of Folie.

The biographer also, annoyingly in my view, loses all interest in them at this point. He devotes almost no time to the post-hiatus era, which is fascinating to me, since their ability to launch a comeback as successfully and relevantly as they did is striking, and to do it not by relying on nostalgia but by generating genuinely new hits with a genuinely new audience, and he’s not interested in that at all. Even worse than not being interested in this is the fact that he fails to close the Folie loop, like, he devotes lots of time to Patrick coming to hate Folie because of how much the fans hated it. Then he makes a little note, like, “Maybe someday Patrick will come to love Folie again,” or something, and the thing is, I know the book was written a few years ago now, but there was definitely stuff available about how much Folie had become a fan favorite in the hiatus years. Patrick gave an interview somewhere where he talked about the reunion show and how he read fan reviews of it and the fans were like, “They should have played more songs from Folie!” I always think at that point And then Patrick looked into the camera like he’s on The Office. But, at any rate, Patrick got to see Folie become beloved and that loop could have been closed better and he just leaves it dangling. (I’m almost like, Did he really write most of this book while they were on hiatus and then when they came back he was like, …Goddamn it?)

He doesn’t at all get into the shock of the immediate level of success of their comeback, like, that’s another thing that’s documented, that they were unsure anyone would care and they were so startled by the response that they had to actually add larger venues onto their tour because they’d thought no one would want to come to their shows. He could have talked about how people waited hours outside in the Chicago cold to get into the comeback show, how they started the show with “Thriller” and Patrick says the response was electric and it must have been amazing and he’s just not really interested in it, you can tell that he’s bored. He doesn’t talk about how Patrick hadn’t really thought about having to perform the new songs live because he didn’t think anyone would really care about the new album, so they had to really think about how they were going to make it work, and how he almost permanently damaged his voice having to sing “Alone Together” live and that’s what finally finally drove him to pursue actual voice lessons, like, he mentions none of this, he’s just like, “They wrote Save Rock & Roll, and then they wrote American Beauty / American Pyscho.” He’s just clearly, at that point, bored. Whereas in the story I would tell, that is the most satisfying part, the happy ending beyond their wildest dreams.

Okay, omg, this is SO LONG, but here are some other random thoughts:

· He never – not once – goes back to source Pete’s lyrics to their original blog entries, which can be very interesting. This is because he’s not interested in the lyrics really, but it’s very frustrating to me because, like, SOMEBODY TAKE THESE LYRICS SERIOUSLY, PLEASE, THEY’RE SO GOOD. It also means that he misses things like “Miss Missing You” and the way it echoes Pete’s poem with the line “I miss you missing me,” like, that’s just a fact ::shrug:: He also says “Hum Hallelujah” is about teenage romance, and that is the most straightforward, surface-level reading, like, “Oh, it says ‘teenage vow in a parking lot,’ that’s what it’s about.” This pains me only because “Hum Hallelujah” might be the most perfect lyrically constructed song Fall Out Boy has, every line is golden and stuffed with meaning and emotion, and he’s just like, “teenage romance,” so dismissively, and I wince, like, “I could write it better than you ever felt it” is a line that deserves more than that. Not to mention “I love you in the same way there’s a chapel in a hospital,” god, or “One day we’ll get nostalgic for disaster,” ugh, do not read this book for lyrical analysis. He also terms the best lyrical line on Cork Tree as “To the ‘love’ I left my conscience pressed / Between the pages of the Bible in the drawer” and, while there’s nothing wrong with that line, I don’t even think that’s the best line in XO (I mean, leaving off the follow-up of “What did it ever do for me? I say” undercuts those lines immediately, imo). (He does at least point out that “Keep quiet, nothing comes as easy as you / Can I lay in your bed all day?” is a devastatingly sexy couplet.)

· Can I just say, the entire debacle with Hey Chris gets precious little time in this book, which in a way is fine but in a way is like, just by Googling I got way more information on what went down and the weird, weird words that were being flung back and forth (at one point the term “heterolifemates” is used which makes zero sense at all in this context), but this book does spend a lot of time with Chris and Pete pre-Patrick (fascinating, right???) and there’s this weird part where Chris says he hated Pete before he met him and is like, “He should wear pants that fit,” which is just…such an interesting reason to hate Pete Wentz, like, Idk, Chris, coupled with your heterolifemates thing and weird thing about “whose name do you say every night???” which is also weirdly sexual phrasing and also being like “no one knows how to break a heart like he does,” like, everything about this entire situation has so much queer subtext but the book doesn’t touch any of that, ever, in any circumstance, with a ten-foot pole.

· EVERYONE, THE BORDERS WHERE JOE AND PATRICK MEET IS LOCATED IN EDEN PLAZA AND I AM SO UPSET I DIDN’T KNOW THAT WHEN I WROTE THE DEVIL FIC.

· I did not know that the producer wanted them to change the “We’re falling apart to halftime” line in Dance, Dance because he thought it was too incomprehensible and I’m just like, That’s the lyric where you thought you were going to lose people??

· From the bio, describing the Live in Phoenix performance: a strange moment where Wentz inexplicably gets changed onstage. A strange moment? Inexplicably? Okay, like, germane to my telling of the story is how much those dick pics affected Pete Wentz’s public persona, how much he knew exactly what he was there to sell and he sold it with gusto, and how much of a spiral that ultimately sent him on. Instead, this biographer finds it inexplicable that Pete Wentz would take his shirt off onstage, and his analysis of the music video for “This Ain’t a Scene” gives the dick pic storyline only an offhand reference, calling it “making light” of the scandal, instead of really digging into the obvious pain there, like, that’s not a joyful lark there. (Later, much later, years later, Brendon Urie will manage to actually make light of the dick pic saga, both in the Drunk History and also in the joke of the dick pic being the photo that comes up when Pete calls him, as seen in the promos for the tour they did together, and that feels much more genuine. But that bit in “Arms Race” is kind of heartbreaking.)

· Pete says of their failed attempt to get the Guinness record of the first band to perform on all seven continents that it was the worst feeling he’d ever felt in Fall Out Boy, and the biographer is like, “Really, Pete? Really?” and I kind of want to shake him because Pete Wentz is obviously a dramatic person and he feels disappointments keenly and he made that statement literally just as they were finding out they wouldn’t be able to do it, like, of course it’s just hyperbole! The biographer is weird through that whole section of the book because he never once mentions that, as a consolation to Pete, Patrick stayed up all night with him so they could get the record of most interviews by a duo in a twenty-four-hour period, like, that’s what I would have said about that story instead of trying to get way more out of Pete’s off-the-cuff self-pity (which is just so Pete Wentz, it’s like this writer hasn’t just spend a hundred pages writing about him…).

· Whenever I read about how many songs Patrick shows up with when it’s time to record an album, I always feel this little twinge of solidarity with him, like, sometimes that’s just how it is in your chosen creative medium, you’re just always endlessly writing.

· I had never thought before about the fact that Pete says all the time that he was too selfish pre-hiatus, all the time, a lot, that’s how he describes his problem – and the fact that there’s an entire song on Truant Wave called “Love, Selfish Love” with the line “God bless the sad and selfish” and I’m just going to…sit here and think about who in Patrick’s life could be described as sad and selfish.

· From the bio re: Soul Punk: It’s disarming to hear this garrulous boy-next-door sing so candidly about sex. Yeah, I don’t think you were paying attention to the way Patrick smirks at the camera in the music videos, buddy.

· Detail I knew but had never really thought about before: that Pete got Patrick to really click into songwriting with him again by giving him a puzzle. Patrick says that sometimes Pete gives him homework assignments, “I want a song that sounds like x, y, and z,” and Patrick will be like, “That’s impossible,” but also so intrigued that he ends up sitting and writing the thing. The fact that Pete knew, after a few mediocre songs neither of them liked, like, “You know how I snag him? This way,” is adorable. Also, the fact that it was Pete who adored the song to come out of it, “Where Did the Party Go?,” and that it was his excitement over the song that made Patrick think, Okay, maybe we can do this, like, it was Pete’s joy that drove Patrick’s optimism, they’re so creatively linked, these two.

· He does include the detail that Pete was worried he’d fallen behind during the hiatus because he didn’t spend much time playing music and so he committed himself to practicing and improving with metronome work, like, Pete Wentz ugh <3. In a very recent interview that I cannot blame the bio for not including, Pete said that Patrick helps him with the bass because he’s so musically talented and everything about that offhand statement just kills me.

· I did not know that one of the leaks of their reunion was on a blog that wrote “You can stop refreshing for a journal update,” and I’m in love with that, sorry.

· Ugh, can I just say, the fact that Patrick sang all of his vocals for Pax AM Days live with the band is just so unbelievable, he kills me.

· From the bio: “We were fireworks that went off too soon / And I miss you in the June gloom, too,” Stump sings here, and you can’t help but wonder if the words refer to his public but brief marriage. …I have indeed helped the wondering of that because I have never once thought that about this song lolololol

#long post #peterick #pete wentz #fall out boy #fob #bandom

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thelastchair · 3 years

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Powder Magazine

(Written by Sam Cox - December 28, 2020)

Growing up in Montana, my winter free time was consumed by skiing. Big Sky was the destination when I was barely old enough to walk. Eventually we made the move to Bozeman and Bridger Bowl became my second home. During the early years, my family made the trek to a handful of Warren Miller movies when they were on tour in the fall and Snow Country was the magazine subscription that landed on the coffee table. I was vaguely aware of Jackson Hole, Snowbird and Squaw Valley and my father would occasionally regale me with tales of skiing (read Après) in Germany when he was in the Army. At some level, I already understood that there was something special about Bridger, but realistically, my sphere of outside influence was quite small. Christmas of 1989 turned my entire world upside down. My aunt and uncle are longtime Salt Lake City residents and Brighton skiers. Typically they would send a package each year with the customary cookies, toffee and a card. However, this year they sent two VHS tapes and a magazine - Ski Time, Blizzard of Aahhh’s and a copy of Powder. Things would never be the same for me. Scot Schmidt became my hero, Greg Stump was taking skiing into uncharted territory and above it all, Powder created an eloquent voice for our sport and was the fabric that held things together. Even at my young age, everything that I’d intuitively sensed before was distilled into a potent desire to devote myself to the simple pursuit of being a skier.

Johan Jonsson, Engelberg, Switzerland - Photo: Mattias Fredriksson/POWDER

Powder was founded in Sun Valley by the Moe brothers in 1972 as an annual portfolio of The Other Ski Experience. After several years of running the magazine, Jake and David Moe sold Powder to the owner of Surfer Magazine. A repurposed aircraft hangar in San Juan Capistrano became the new home of skiing’s most prestigious publication. Over time, there was an ebb and flow to the size of staff and cast of characters, each person leaving their unique mark. For decades Powder weathered corporate acquisitions, office relocations and the constant metamorphosis of the ski industry - never losing its voice, Powder remained the benchmark. It was a source of creativity, inspiration and a defacto annal of history. For many it was also a shining beacon, a glimpse into a world filled with deep turns and iconic destinations - even if this world could only be inhabited inside the constructs of your imagination.

My story and the impact Powder had on the direction I would take is hardly unique. The magazine left an indelible impression on countless skiers. When the news broke this fall that operations were being suspended indefinitely, a heartbroken community took to social media to pay homage to the magazine and how it changed their lives and in some cases, careers. This is my version of a tribute and it’s definitely not perfect. In order to gain some perspective, I reached out to former staff members - a collective I admire and respect. It’s an attempt to articulate the essence of Powder, capture its influence on the skiing landscape and give credit to the people who made it come to life.

Bernie Rosow, Mammoth Mountain, CA - Photo: Christian Pondella/POWDER

HANS LUDWIG - The Jaded Local

“Skiing has always been really tribal and one of the last vestiges of having an oral history. Powder was a unique concept, because they weren’t really concerned with the family market. They were just concerned about being really into skiing. Growing up in Colorado and skiing moguls, my coaches Robert and Roger were featured in the early Greg Stump films. Being in their orbit, I knew a little bit about skiing culture and what was going on out there, but didn’t have the whole picture. The Stump films resonated with me, but Ski/Skiing Magazines didn’t really do it for me. Powder was the door that opened things culturally, it was the only entry point before Blizzard of Aahhh’s.”

“Something that nobody gives Powder credit for, is sponsoring the Greg Stump, TGR and MSP movies and giving them full support right from their inception. It legitimized those companies and helped them become one of the catalysts for change and evolution in skiing. Ultimately this change would have happened, but at a much slower pace without the support of Powder. Getting support from Powder meant they’d weeded out the posers and kooks and what they were backing wasn’t something or someone that was “aspiring” they were a cut above.”

“Powder brought a lot of things into the mainstream, raised awareness and helped to legitimize them: Jean-Marc Boivin, Patrick Vallencant, Pierre Tardivel, telemarking, monoskiing, snowboarding, the JHAF, Chamonix, La Grave, Mikaela Shiffrin, fat skis pre McConkey, skiing in South America….the list goes on.”

“I had some rowdy trips with Powder. Writing “Lost In America,” I went Utah-Montana-Fernie-Banff-Revelstoke via pickup truck, only backcountry skiing and camping in the mud. It was a month plus. I did another month plus in Nevada, which was after back to back Jackson and Silverton. Total time was two plus months. That was fucked up, I was super loose after that whole thing. So many sketchy days with total strangers”

“People forget that Powder was around long before the advent of the fucking pro skier. Starting in 1996, the magazine was in the impact zone of the ski industrial complex. There is limited space for content each season. It was a challenge to balance the pressure coming from the athletes and brands to cover something that was going to make them money vs. staying true to the Moe brothers original intent and profiling an eccentric skier, a unique location or even fucking ski racing.”

Full Circle - Photo: MJ Carroll

KEITH CARLSEN - Editor

“When I was young, Ski/Skiing didn’t do anything for my spirit, but Powder lit me up. It ignited a passion in diehard skiers and gave them a voice and community. It was focused on the counter culture - the type of people who rearrange their lives to ski. This was in direct opposition to other magazines that were targeting rich people, trying to explain technique, sell condos or highlight the amenities at a ski area.”

“Skiing has always been my outlet and mechanism to get away from things in life. My two talents are writing and photography, so I enrolled at Western State with the direct goal of landing an internship at Powder. Even at 19, I had complete focus on the direction I wanted to take. If it didn’t work out, my backup plan was to be a ski bum. 48 hours after graduating, I was headed to southern California to live in my van and start my position at Powder. When the decision was made to close the magazine, it was really personal for me. Powder had provided me direction in life for the last 30 years and I needed some time to process it. In a way, it was almost like going to a funeral for a good friend - even though it’s gone, the magazine lives on in all of us and can never be taken away.”

“It was, and will always remain, one of my life’s greatest honors to serve as the editor-in-chief for Powder Magazine. It was literally a dream that came true. I’m so grateful for everyone who came before me and everyone who served after me. That opportunity opened literally hundreds of doors for me and continues to do so today. I owe the magazine a massive debt of gratitude. Every single editor was a warrior and fought for the title with their lives. They were doing double duty - not only from competition with other publications, but the internal struggle of budget cuts, staff reductions and trying to do more with less. Powder never belonged in the hands of a corporation. The magazine spoke to an impassioned community and never made sense to an accountant or on a ledger.”

Trevor Petersen, Mt. Serratus, BC - Photo: Scott Markewitz/POWDER

SIERRA SHAFER - Editor In Chief

“Powder celebrated everything that is good and pure in skiing. It highlighted the old school, the new and the irreverent. The magazine also called bullshit when they saw it. It was a checkpoint, a cultural barometer and an honest reflection on where skiing has been and where it’s going.”

“My involvement with Powder came completely out of left field. I was never an intern or established in the ski industry. My background was strictly in journalism, I was a skier living in Southern California and editing a newspaper. I knew that I wanted to get the fuck out of LA and Powder was that opportunity. It was a huge shift going from my job and life being completely separate to work becoming my life. Literally overnight, Powder became everything - friends, connections and part of my identity. It derailed my trajectory in the best possible way.”

Brad Holmes, Donner Pass, CA - Photo: Dave Norehad/POWDER

MATT HANSEN - Executive Editor

“Keith Carlsen was a man of ideas, he had tremendous vision and influence. He came up with the ideas for Powder Week and the Powder Awards in 2001. In some respects those two events saved the magazine.”

“Powder was the soul of skiing and kept the vibe, it changed people’s lives and inspired them to move to a ski town. As a writer I always wanted to think it was the stories that did that, but in truth it was the photography. Images of skiing truly became an art form, 100% thanks to Powder Magazine and Dave Reddick. Dave cultivated and mentored photographers, he was always searching for the unpredictable image from around the world and pressed the photographers to look at things from a different angle.”

“It sounds cliche, but writing a feature about Chamonix was the highlight for me. Sitting on the plane, things were absolutely unreal. I linked up with Nate Wallace and the whole experience from start to finish was out of my comfort zone. Ducking ropes to ski overhead pow on the Pas De Chèvre, walking out of the ice tunnel on a deserted Aiguille du Midi right as the clouds parted, late nights in town that were too fuzzy to recall. The energy of the place taught me a lot. I didn’t have a smartphone and there was no Instagram - I had time to write, observe, take notes and be present with who I was and with the experience. As a writer it didn’t get any better.”

“The true gift of working for Powder, was the once in a lifetime adventures that I wish I could have shared with my family, I was so lucky to have had those opportunities. It almost brought tears to me eyes.”

Peter Romaine, Jackson Hole, WY - Photo: Wade McKoy/POWDER

DAVE REDDICK - Director of Photography

“Just ski down there and take a photo of something, for cryin’ out loud!” “I’ve found that channeling McConkey has been keeping it in perspective. Powder’s been shuttered. That sucks. What doesn’t suck is the good times and the people that have shared the ride thus far and I’m just thankful to be one of them. There’s been some really kind sentiments from friends and colleagues, but this must be said - Every editor (especially the editors), every art director (I’ve driven them nuts), every publisher and sales associate, every photographer, writer, and intern, and all the others behind the scenes who’ve ever contributed their talents get equal share of acknowledgment for carrying the torch that is Powder Mag. There’s hundreds of us! No decision has ever been made in a vacuum. Always a collective. At our best, we’ve been a reflection of skiers everywhere and of one of the greatest experiences in the world. It’s that community, and that feeling, that is Powder. I’m not sure what’s next and I’m not afraid of change but” “There’s something really cool about being scared. I don’t know what!”

Scot Schmidt, Alaska - Photo: Chris Noble/POWDER

DEREK TAYLOR - Editor

“Powder was the first magazine dedicated to the experience and not trying to teach people how to ski. It was enthusiast media focused on the soul and culture. It’s also important to highlight the impact Powder had outside of skiing - today you have the Surfer’s Journal effect where every sport wants that type of publication. However, prior to their inception, everybody wanted a version of Powder.”

“Neil Stebbins and Steve Casimiro deserve a lot of credit for the magazine retaining its voice and staying true to the core group of skiers it represented.”

“Keith Carlsen is responsible for the idea behind Super Park. This was a time when skiing had just gone through a stale phase. There was a newfound energy in park skiing and younger generations, this event helped to rebrand Powder and solidify its goal of being all inclusive. Racing, powder, park, touring - it’s all just skiing.”

Joe Sagona, Mt. Baldy, CA - Photo: Dave Reddick/POWDER

JOHNNY STIFTER - Editor In Chief

“What did Powder mean to me... Well, everything. As a reader and staffer, it inspired me and made me laugh. I learned about local cultures that felt far away and learned about far away cultures that didn’t feel foreign, if that makes sense.”

“But I cherished those late nights the most, making magazines with the small staff. Despite the deadline stress, I always felt so grateful to be working for this sacred institution and writing and editing for true skiers. We all just had so much damn fun. And it didn’t hurt meeting such passionate locals at hallowed places, like Aspen and Austria, that I once dreamed of visiting and skiing. The Powder culture is so inclusive and so fun, I never felt more alive.”

Doug Coombs, All Hail The King - Photo: Ace Kvale/POWDER

HEATHER HANSMAN - Online Editor

“Powder is a lifestyle and an interconnected circle of people. It’s about getting a job offer at Alta, opening your home to random strangers, locking your keys in your car and getting rescued by a friend you made on a trip years ago. Through the selfish activity of skiing, you can create a community of people you cherish and can depend on through highs and lows.”

Ashley Otte, Mike Wiegele Heli, BC - Photo: Dave Reddick/POWDER

The contributions of so many talented individuals made the magazine possible. I would like to express my sincere gratitude to everyone who shared their experience at Powder with me. Also, I want to thank Porter Fox and David Page for crafting inspiring feature stories that I enjoyed immensely over the years.

After the reality set in that the final issue had arrived, a void was created for generations of skiers. I’ve been focused on being thankful for what we had, rather than sad it’s gone. It’s a challenging time for print media and I wholeheartedly advocate supporting the remaining titles in anyway you can. In a culture driven by a voracious appetite for mass media consumption and instant gratification - I cherish the ritual of waiting for a magazine to arrive, appreciating the effort that went into creating the content and being able to have that physical substance in my hand. Thanks for everything Powder, you are missed, but your spirit lives on.

Captain Powder - Photo: Gary Bigham/POWDER

#skiing #powder #last chair #powder magazine #the other ski experience #the skiers magazine

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petewentzworld · 4 years

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Dear Past Self: Fall Out Boy's Pete Wentz Interviewed

Why looking back once in a while is integral to embracing the future...

Pete Wentz is driving around LA, speaking to me over the phone about his newly-launched range of jewellery and apparel, Ronin.

As far as rock star business enterprises go, it’s certainly extravagant, and the website’s description of the rings, pendants and hoodies held therein – “born out of the idea of wandering, a samurai without a master, and the free dreams that accompany facing the world on your own” – adds to the initial sense that Wentz’s professional career may have ballooned into parody, the kind of project Connor 4 Real from Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping might have signed off on.

“We would go and sample products in the jewellery district in downtown LA, learning why one gold looks more yellow than the other,” he tells me when I ask about it. “It’s been a really interesting learning experience.”

But then Pete Wentz, to borrow Lana Del Rey’s favourite American poet Walt Whitman, is large; he contains multitudes, and some of those multitudes just happen to involve samurai-themed lockets. Among other projects, he owns a clothing company, a film production company, a nightclub, and a minority share in American USL soccer team Phoenix Rising.

“It scares me sometimes, watching him,” Patrick Stump once joked. “The two seconds you're not with that dude he's made 30 decisions that are going to affect our band for the rest of the year.”

Ah yes: he’s also, you may recall, the bassist in Fall Out Boy.

The band recently released a new single, ‘Dear Future Self (Hands Up)’, to accompany the release of their second career-spanning retrospective, ‘Greatest Hits: Believers Never Die – Volume Two’.

Such records are inevitably a time for bands to take stock of what they’ve already achieved and what value they might continue to offer the world, and the single seems to acknowledge that duality: “Dear future self, I hope it's going well / I'm drunk on cheap whiskey in an airport hotel,” Stump reflects on the new track. Like Janus, the Greek god of beginnings, endings, and Wyclef Jean collaborations, Wentz finds himself gazing in all directions.

In the near future lies a reminder of the past. Despite the fact that all three bands have new albums coming out, it’s perhaps an easy take to view next year’s ‘Hella Mega Tour’ – Green Day, Weezer, and Fall Out Boy performing at a number of stadium dates together on a triple-headliner bill – as a nostalgia trip.

Is it something Wentz worries about?

“I think about that for sure,” he says. “There’s a danger that, once you become known as one thing, the world knows you as that thing forever. When you’ve been doing art for 15 or 20 years you do have to think about your legacy, but it’s really important to remember why you did it in the first place.”

However cynical your view, it’s hard to argue that the band don’t deserve a victory lap with two of the most influential acts in pop-punk history. “It would be insane for us to turn this tour down because we grew up on ‘Dookie’ and the ‘Buddy Holly’ video – those things were super influential on the early years of our band. So this is wish fulfilment in that way. But then I think that’s why it’s important that we did the Wiz Khalifa tour, that we do remix albums, you know? We wanna do both.”

On musical terms, at least, Fall Out Boy have often done just that. Their first two albums, ‘Take This to Your Grave’ and 2005’s breakout ‘From Under the Cork Tree’, are perhaps their most straightforward in genre terms – but even then, ‘Dance Dance’ was arguably more playful and inventive than anything the cross-sections of pop, emo and punk had served up in the preceding decade. By the time 2007’s ‘This Ain’t a Scene, It’s an Arms Race’ hit number two in the Billboard charts – their commercial peak to date – the band were already steadfastly toying with hip hop and R&B in both their production values and collaborators.

“I think that there was a time when we were doing that and people were scratching their heads a little bit,” Wentz says. As he rightly points out, the days of cultural tribalism in listener habits are all but dead now in the Spotify age. “I think genre has broken down so much more now, the way people listen to music, that people are more open to it.”

‘Make America Psycho Again’ is a fine example, a collection of remixed tracks from 2015’s ‘American Beauty/American Psycho’ featuring guest appearances from Azealia Banks, Migos and Big K.R.I.T. among others. The title, of course, is a direct reference to the campaign slogan Donald Trump was using in his Presidential election campaign at the time. I ask whether the band are cautious about straying into political territory.

“I don’t think you can avoid it anymore,” he tells me, picking back up after the signal drops on our international call. “We live in a time of super inauthenticity – people taking pictures of food that you don’t even know if they eat, people having fear of missing out – and so I think, in a weird way, to cut through you have to be super authentic. Which is, to me, what people like Lana Del Rey, Billie Eilish, Skrillex, Kanye, and whatever do. You just gotta be who you are and cut through all the noise. And I think people are… maybe not more forgiving, but more appreciative of you being honest about that stuff.”

There was a period in the 00s when Wentz was unavoidable; the video for ‘This Ain’t a Scene…’ hilariously parodied the bassist’s newfound gossip-mag status – later compounded by his marriage to Ashley Simpson in 2008, and subsequent divorce less than three years later – but inevitably, it wasn’t always something he could brush off. In February 2005, Wentz attempted suicide by taking an overdose of the anxiety medication Ativan, and ended up spending a week in hospital recovering.

Today he still finds the pace of modern life extremely deleterious to mental health, not least dealing with the quagmire of social media on a daily basis. “Every day you wake up and there’s a new take, and it’s kind of relentless,” he says with a sigh. “It can get a little numbing when you look out across social media. It can feel really lonely.

“I think that now, more than ever, who you are and what you project into the world will inform your politics, how you interact with people, how you feel when you wake up in the morning. I just want to craft things that are important to Fall Out Boy, to insert something meaningful into people’s lives. That’s really, really what’s important.”

For all the extracurricular projects, it’s clear that Wentz’s heart still beats faster for Fall Out Boy. He’s ready to keep taking the band forward, he tells me. “But it’s got to be something interesting. It’s got to have a perspective. There’s something exciting about Quentin Tarantino being like, ‘I’m just doing 10 or 12 movies and that’s it’. It’s exciting because it makes every movie have meaning. So to me, whatever it is, the next thing has to have perspective, has to have meaning, has to have feeling.”

And what might that look like?

“Maybe it’s scoring a movie, I don’t know. It’s got to be something a little bit different, I don’t think it can be a straight-up album from us.”

Beyond the nightclubs and bling, Wentz is a remarkable philanthropist – a term which has perhaps been sullied in recent times for its application in sanitising billionaires, but which feels appropriate given Wentz’s personal history, and the fact that his work directly supports those who suffer from the same mental health issues that he’s battled over the years. His work as a spokesperson for The Jed Foundation’s ‘Half of Us’ campaign, a program aimed at lowering the rate of teenage suicide, has been invaluable. It’s the kind of supported he could have used 15, 20, 25 years ago.

“I think we live in a time where there is less of a stigma around mental health, and I hope the next generation will feel even more open to speak about it,” he tells me. “Knowing that you’re not alone and other people are going through similar things is so important for our culture to move ahead. So many times when I was younger I thought: am I the only person who feels this way? I think it can be less isolating to know that, hey, Jay-Z feels that way sometimes too.”

For Wentz, who now has three children, the idea of young people today facing those problems alone is terrifying: “I’m raising kids in this world, and I think it’s important for them to know that talking about this doesn’t mean you’re weak or alone. None of it’s weird, none of it’s you by yourself. Young people need to feel that they’re part of the community as a whole.”

Across such an extraordinary life and career, I wonder if he carries any regrets. There’s a brief silence on the line, one that transcends the usual delay carried between the pink-sunset streets of LA and the Cardiff Travelodge I’m calling home for the night.

“In my twenties I felt lots of anxiety and lots of stress about every decision that we made, instead of just living life. I’ve realised that sometimes you’ve just got to live life and trust that you’ll make it from A to B to C. Live through the ups and downs. I think that’s something important that we don’t always impart on young people.”

Spoken like a man who knows real gold when he sees it.

#pete wentz #fall out boy #interview

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xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx · 5 years

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Debt - Patrick Stump x Reader

Request: Hi, could you do a Patrick x Reader and FOB never really made it and just do small gigs, so Patrick is working part time in a music store and falls in love with a girl he works with? Like he starts to slip little love notes into her locker etc and always gets her a coffee if they're working early mornings. Eventually she finds out it's him leaving the love letters and it's just pure fluff

Word count: 2 853

Rubbing the last sleepiness out of your eyes, you pushed open the door to the backroom of the cozy record store you were working at. Lazy morning sun light fell through the small window at the far side of the room, beautifully painting the many particles of dust into the air.

You walked past the old wooden table that stood in the middle of the room, on which the leftovers of the still broken coffee machine were resting. The old thing had given up after having worked probably longer than you were alive, and one of your coworkers had decided on tearing it to pieces, in the hopes of fixing it. Judging by the carelessly discarded pieces, he had failed.

You sighed, picturing another long morning without your sweet, caffeinated treat, before pulling open the metal door to your locker. Just like the past couple of days, a small note, written on a piece of white paper, fluttered out, causing you to take a step back in surprise, but you caught the twirling note before it reached the floor.

You did not have to unfold the little paper to know that most likely it would contain another sweet message, like the others you had found so far. So instead of immediately opening it, you quickly pushed your bag and your jacket into the locker, pinned your name tag on your shirt, and locked the door to your locker again, before you leant against the window still, and took a deep breath, finally opening the little piece of paper.

“It’s hard to look at you, and not be blinded by the light of the thousand stars that seem to sparkle with your every move. Hearing your voice is like this spherical music that sometimes plays in documentaries about space, and everything just seems to fall in place.”

You smiled at the strange little note. It was not the first time that whoever had written these messages compared you to unusual phenomena of nature. In yesterday’s note, it had said your happiness refracted light like a prism, and was more colorful and varied than the Great Barrier Reef. But you did not mind, in fact you loved the unusual comparisons, and more than once you found yourself secretly thinking of a specific blonde coworker of yours, hoping that maybe he might be the one slipping the notes into your locker.

Anyways you knew for sure that if it really would be Patrick, you would not hesitate for a single split second to ask him out. But without knowing for sure it was him, you were far too timid to do that.

You were still deep in thought about a certain pair of blue eyes, when the bell to the shop rang, signaling someone had entered. You quickly slipped the note into your pocket, and stepped out of the break room into the shop.

The delicious smell of fresh, hot coffee immediately met your nose, and you almost whined a little, being reminded how the coffee machine was still broken.

“Black, two sugars, am I right?”

Sparkling blue eyes met yours as a warm paper cup got pressed into your hands.

“Ahm, yes,” you answered surprised, but a soft smile on your face as Patrick walked behind the counter you were already standing behind, and threw his jacked onto a box with old records.

“Knew it,” he grinned before taking a sip of his own coffee.

“How much do I owe you,” you asked, also carefully sipping on your hot beverage, relishing the taste of the bitter, yet sweet liquid as it ran down your throat.

“Nothing, it’s fine,” Patrick grinned, and hopped to sit on top of the counter.

“No really, how much?”

“Really nothing,” he assured you with a sweet smile that melted your heart.

“Thank you,” you whispered over the top of your cup, keeping your eyes on the young man.

“You’re welcome,” he replied cheerfully, holding your gaze for what would have usually been slightly too long, had it not been Patrick.

~*~

It was well in the middle of the day now, and Patrick had just finished helping his last customer, which gave him a little bit of time to carefully watch you. You had been sorting in new records when a helpless young girl had approached you. Now you were both standing in front of a shelf filled to the brim with records of classical pieces. Patrick had overheard how the girl was looking for something for her grandfather, and you had made it your responsibility to help her as well as possible. For about twenty minutes now you were walking her through the different composers, explaining their individual works, and the variety of records by multiple orchestras and conductors.

Patrick watched as your gesticulated, waving your hand through the air. He had noticed that you really did it rather often, especially when you were excited about something. Obviously he was aware that it seemed creepy, him watching you so intently, but he could not help himself. Whenever you were in the room, his gaze was magically pulled over to where you were, and when you were not around, his thoughts chased after the images of you that his memories had captured.

And it was not like he was trying to do something to you. He left notes with sweet comments, at least he hoped you thought they were sweet, and he brought you coffee. Maybe one day he would work up the courage to tell you how he felt, but not very soon, as he feared. Slipping that first note into your locker had already been the most terrifying thing he had ever done in his life, even more terrifying than the first concert with his little band. No way he would find it in him to walk up to you, and confess his feelings.

While his thoughts had gone wandering, he had not noticed how the girl you had helped, had decided on a record. You had walked up to the register with her, and brushed past Patrick, which made him jump in surprise.

“Welcome back in the land of the living,” you joked sweetly at his wide eyes while scanning the bar code of the vinyl.

Patrick wanted to slap himself, feeling embarrassed about having zoned out, but the smile on your lips was taking his breath away, and was more than making up for everything, so he just giggled quietly.

Noon ticked closer, and while the shop emptied a little over lunch time, Patrick’s stomach started complaining about the lack of food.

“Hungry,” you asked, standing next to Patrick.

With the lack of customers in the shop you had started working on organizing some paperwork. Patrick blushed a little, once more feeling embarrassed. You surely had to think he was a greedy-guts now.

“I’m starving too,” you stepped away from the counter and stretched your arms behind your back, “want me to pick something up from the bakery?”

You eyed Patrick carefully, waiting for his answer, until he nodded hesitantly.

“Here, five should be enough for a sandwich, right,” he wondered, fishing a five dollar bill from his pocket and handing it to you.

“Definitely,” you grinned, taking the money, “any preferences? Ham and cheese, egg and salad, tomato-mozzarella?”

Patrick watched you as you stepped into the break room, and grabbed your jacket, pulling the thin fabric over your shoulders.

“Tomato-Mozzarella sounds great, thanks,” he answered, quickly averting his gaze as you turned back to him.

“Any dessert? Muffin, cake, waffles, anything?”

“Nah, I’m fine,” he shook his head, looking down his body judgingly, “got enough on my hips.”

Your eyes followed his, noticing how he stared disapprovingly at the little outwards dent of his shirt around his belly. Admittedly you quiet liked that he was not one of these thin, tall bean stacks. He was round and soft, and very nice to hug. But this was probably hardly the right moment to tell him that you had given the, in his opinion few too many, pounds a lot of thought.

“Your loss,” you shrugged, “I’ll definitely get some strawberry cake.”

Patrick smiled at your comment, already looking forward to seeing the pride on your face when you would come back to the shop with your treasure.

You had just walked out the door, when you turned around again.

“Last chance, dessert?”

“I’m fine,” he smiled again, and you shook your head in bewilderment, stepping onto the street.

You really had wanted Patrick to agree on a dessert so you could surprise him with paying for it. Now it seemed like you would have to force him a little, because as much as Patrick wanted to deny it, you knew he was secretly craving something sweet after lunch.

~*~

Fifteen minutes later you entered back into to small shop. Patrick was sitting behind the counter on one of the swivel chairs, and hummed along to a tune that played over the stereo.

“I hope you like chocolate,” you grinned, throwing him the small paper bag with his sandwich and a chocolate muffin.

An involuntary grin spread over Patrick’s face as he tore open the bag, and the sweet smell of chocolate reached his nose.

“You are the impossible,” he sighed with a shake of his head, trying to sound annoyed.

You hopped onto the counter, just like Patrick had done a few hours prior, propping your feet against the arm rest of Patrick’s chair, and grinned.

“You can just admit that you love me,” you laughed, unpacking your own sandwich, and taking a bite.

Patrick watched you intently, fully aware that he was staring. Taking a deep breath, he tore himself back into the present.

“What can I say,” he joked, “you make it hard not to.”

Oh how true, he thought to himself.

~*~

The last two hours of your shift were spent chatting quietly. You ended up sharing the dessert, both of you eating half of the chocolate muffin, half of the strawberry cake. Patrick tried to pay you for the sweets, but you declined. So he made it into a game for the last rest of your workday to try and slip the money to you. You even caught him trying to put it into the pocket of your jacket, which you had put back onto the coat rag in the break room.

In the early afternoon more customers entered the shop again, and at times it almost got a little hectic, so that you were glad when finally your coworkers for the next shift arrived.

Patrick was still helping a customer, but you were desperate to get outside, hoping to spend the sunny afternoon in the park. You pulled open your locker, and almost expected another note to fall out, but of course there was nothing. How could there? The whole day so far the only ones back here had been Patrick and you, and you honestly did not think that any of the college kids from the afternoon shift would slip sweet, secret notes into your locker.

Grabbing your backpack and swinging it over your shoulder, you slammed the locker shut, and walked out of the break room, waving at your coworkers and Patrick, before you strode out of the shop into the sunny spring afternoon. When you had gotten lunch, you had already noticed that it would be a beautiful afternoon and evening, and even though the sun was already shining warmly, the wind was still cool. Shivering you rubbed your arms. Where was your jacket?

Sighing you remembered having left it on the coat rag, back at the shop, so you turned around, and skipped the few meters back into the shop.

“Missed us already,” Ben, the young man currently working the register, asked grinning.

“Sooo much,” you laughed, walking behind the counter, “I just forgot my jacket and-“

You had pushed open the door to the break room, finding Patrick standing in front of your locker. In his hand he was holding a small, neatly folded paper, which he had already pushed halfway underneath the thin metal door. Alarmed, his head shot around, and his eyes widened comically, his cheeks flushing pink as he realized that it was you who had disturbed him.

“What-“

Questioningly you looked at him, until it finally clicked. The notes you had been receiving over the past weeks had really been from Patrick all along!

Quickly you stepped into the room, and closed the door behind you, giving the two of you some more privacy to talk.

“It’s not-“ Patrick started, but stopped himself. “It’s exactly what it looks like.”

He hung his head, the note that was still clawed in his hand slipping out of your locker again.

“So the notes were from you,” you stated, taking a few careful steps towards Patrick, whose heart was painfully beating in his throat.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes locked to the floor.

“Sorry for what? Sending me cute messages that made my day?”

“Sorry for making you think it would be someone… interesting. Someone who… you know… has more to offer. You must’ve thought it was someone really cool, and now it’s just me, sorry.”

“Just you?” you raised your eyebrows, the words Patrick spoke feeling like daggers in your heart, “I hoped the whole time that it was you! And really, you are a very cool person in my opinion, so please don’t say that!”

You had crossed the room, and were now standing right in front of Patrick. Gently you brushed your fingers over his hands.

“Will you look at me please,” you asked, your voice almost a little shaky.

Hesitantly Patrick lifted his eyes to follow your plea. At first he seemed scared, vulnerable, as if he was expecting you to shout at him any moment. But when you did not, instead slowly closed your fingers around his, and smiled softly, his expression relaxed. The fear melted away, the insecurity, and revealed warmth, which you had often seen in his eyes when he looked at you, only this time it was so much more intense.

“You don’t mind that it was me,” he asked quietly, his breath fanning over you cheeks, so close were you two standing.

“As I said, I really hoped it would be you, just didn’t think that would be possible,” you admitted.

A small smile pulled at Patrick’s lips, and his gaze got even softer. Nervously his eyes flickered to your lips and back up to your eyes, and he gulped a little.

“Can I kiss you,” he asked, his voice hoarse from nerves.

You nodded; your mouth all of a sudden too dry to talk. Patrick grinned a little more, and leant forward, pressing his lips against yours for a short moment, before he pulled away again, checking your expression. When he saw the soft pink hue on your cheeks, and the shy smile on your lips, his heart skipped a beat, and he quickly leant back in, this time kissing you hard. He pulled you flush against him by your hips, before he wrapped his arms around your back, keeping you close to his body. You gasped slightly, feeling like your heart was jumping out of your chest at his sudden action. Allowing him to take the lead, far too overwhelmed with what was happening, you wrapped your fingers into Patrick’s soft hair, feeling the single strands run through your fingers. Soon both of you were gasping for air, and you pulled away, giggling immediately when you saw how Patrick seemed literally to be glowing with joy.

“What,” he asked still smiling, but rubbing his neck nervously.

You shook your head, trying to contain your wide smile, and reached up to his neck, gently brushing over the smooth skin before pulling back again.

“Just… You.”

Patrick laughed quietly, realizing you had used the same words which just a minute ago had allowed to make him realize that you had a completely different image of him than he had expected.

“Do you… I don’t know, do you maybe wanna go for a coffee,” he offered, hopefully glancing at you.

“I’d love to go for an ice cream in the park, if you don’t mind,” you suggested in return, remembering your plan on going to the park, already having the spot in mind, which you wanted definitely show Patrick.

“That sounds amazing,” he nodded eagerly, and offered you his arm to link yours with.

“Wait, my jacket!”

Quickly you grabbed the jacket from the coat rag, making a small dollar note flutter from one of your pockets.

Narrowing your eyes, you turned to Patrick.

“I told you, you don’t need to pay me for the muffin!”

In pretend annoyance you stuffed the note into one of Patrick’s trouser pockets, then took the arm he was still offering you.

He sighed in resignation.

“Okay, but then I’ll pay for the ice cream.”

“No.”

“Yes, yes I will.”

“Patrick Stump, I can pay for my own food.”

“I know you can, but I want to invite you!”

“Okay.”

#patrick stump x reader #patrick stump fluff #patrick stump x reader fluff #patrick stump #fluff #fluffy #cute #record store #record store au #coffee #fanfiction #fanfic #fall out boy

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cdc1345711 · 6 years

Text

Cartoon-Force:Restart Chapter 1:Same As It Never Was

(Charles was in a very deep sleep until a tap on his shoulder woke him up)

Charles:Heh huh......what?”

Eric:Yo Charles,wake up you pulled out an all-nighter again,keep this up and you’ll be demoted-Hell might lose your office”

Charles:Demoted?......office?....(sees he’s at a desk with pictures of his wife and kids)since when the Hell did I have a desk?”

Eric:Since 2009,you loosing your memories?”

Charles:Okay?.......(not knowing what’s going on so he asks his alien friend)what exactly was I doing?”

Eric:???You were trying to find the vigilantes,we already got the crazy Starfish guy”

Charles:(’What the Hell is he saying,since when did we hunt down our own,and ‘crazy starfish guy’?,does he mean Patrick)Why......why are we hunting vigilantes?”

Eric:Because our World Leader demands us too”

Charles:World Leader?........”

Eric:BLACK HAT”

Charles:(’WHAT-I work for Black Hat???’)”

(Just then a small Griffon arrives in his office)

Gabby:Mr.Coburn,you’re wife Katie is here for your date night”

Charles:(’Well at me and Katie are still married,hope our kids are still around’)”

Eric:You should go-I’ll pick up the slack from here,besides this is the 3rd date night you blown off,have fun with your wife”

Charles:O.....okay then(as he walks out to meet up with Katie and head to the restaurant he speaks to himself ‘How the Hell did this happen,just yesterday me and the guys were stopping and arresting Black Hat before he sent his missile,how is he World Leader and why the Hell am I working for him......?)”

Katie:(Seeing that her husband isn’t eating his burger)Are you okay Charles? you haven’t even touched your burger? Are you that stumped at work?”

Charles:(Not knowing what to say)You could say that......(except that)but Katie can I ask you a question? how many kids do we have?”

Katie:How many.....(Chuckles a bit)Jesus Charles you’ve been working too much,you’ve forgotten about our 13 kids already,you need less work-than again you are their best”

Charles:What are they doing now?”

Katie:Well,Rory,Tyler,Peter,Emily and Stella are being watched over by Moots Eve and Dotty,the boys are out of state fighting rebels and Niko is still defending the innocent-or what passes for it in ‘his’ world”

Charles:(Knowing who she’s talking about)So you don’t like......his world huh?”

Katie:How could I?,Niko is the only one doing anything remotely decent,defending those poor guys who’ve lost everything”

Charles:(’Poor Guys? as in plural?’)like who?”

Katie:Well besides the recently caught Patrick Star who lost his best friends in an impromptu bomb explosion by Black Hat Industries,there’s that one great soul trying to fight back at the regime,only to be hit with radiation becoming a man-beast,that ex-wrestler Dedede who took too much BH serum turning demon and locked up for something ‘he’ created,”

Charles:(’That bastard,he’s ruined Ed,Dedede and Patrick’s live,wonder who else he’s ruined’)Damn that is horrible”

Katie:Then there’s the Rebel Resistance members the ‘Super Police’ have caught......,”

Charles:Caught? I thought Black Hat would just executed them”

Katie:Me too,maybe he has in secret or if he’s allowing his cronies to experiment on them”

Charles:Sounds about right......”

Katie:And don’t get me started on those ‘Mech Suit Fights’ Moots watches with his friends,those Green Gate refugees force to fight one another in the arenas is inhuman,especially how that Dark Oak guy fights”

Charles:(’Damn Lucas too-I got to fix everything’)Katie I got to tell you something......”

Katie:Okay......what is it?”

Charles:What would you say that this world isn’t what it’s suppose to be.....?,that Black Hat is ruler of shit,those vigilantes are friends and the world wasn’t Hell?”

Katie:I’d either say ‘You’re crazy’ or ‘I wish the world would be like that’,kinda hard to choose”

Charles:Well what if I said it’s what the world is suppose to be?”

Katie:Charles(not believing what he’s saying)why are you saying this.......?”

Charles:(Putting his hands on his wife’s paws)I got to do something Katie,it’s very important,but I want you to do something for me....”

Katie:What?”

Charles:I need you to take the kids and hide,find somewhere that that Big Hat bastard hasn’t took over yet and stay there,everything will be fixed”

Katie:Charles..........(Seeing the determination in his eyes-feeling in her heart everything he said is what it means and what he’s gonna do is right)okay,just......just don’t do anything stupid(he raises an eyebrow and smiles)well anything that’s not not more stupid”

Charles:I love you(kisses her)”

Katie:(Feeling the warm kiss)I love you too(’just be okay’)”

Charles:First I’ll need some help.......”

(He arrives at the building he supposedly works for)

Charles:I hope to God or what passes for one that you’re here buddy”

(He enters to see Eric in the halls,grabs him and puts his hand on his beak)

Charles:(Quite Frantically)This-world-is-a-lie-and-I-need-your-help-to-try-and-fix-it-no-questions-asked”

Eric:(Getting his hand off his beak)What the Hell are you saying?”

Charles:Read my mind......”

Eric:What? I can’t.......”

Charles:You couldn’t because I wouldn’t allow you too,but now I am just look.....”

(With some confusion,Eric looks into the mind of Charles to see something he couldn’t believe,a world where he and Charles are heroes alongside most of the vigilantes they’ve captured,him having a wife and kids,co-leading his own team and being perfectly happy,a world where it’s not a toiling Hell-Hole)

Eric:(About to cry)This world........it’s a lie”

Charles:And I want to fix it,turn it to the way it’s suppose to be.......and I need your help to do so”

Eric:(Wiping away his tears and nods his head)I’m in-what do we have to do?”

Charles:We’ll need some help-tell me can you use your telepathy to find Ed?”

Eric:That ‘Captain Melonhead’ Joker who turned into that monster?,I can,always have,just enjoyed watching those pricks lose him”

Charles:Ha,that’s classic,so where is he......?”

Eric:Where all monsters go when they don’t want to be seen........”

‘THE SEWER’

(Inside Eric and Charles search for the ‘Captain Melon-Zilla’ in hopes to talk him into helping their cause......)

Charles:God,smells like something shit,died,shit again and fermented for about a year-you sure Ed is down here?”

Eric:Positive-have a little faith”

Charles:If you remember me-you know I lost my ‘faith’ years ago”

(Before Eric could say a witty comeback,they heard a sound)

Eric:What the.......”

(A huge shadowy figure jump on top of them and swung his fists at his visitors)

Charles:Whoa-hold it big guy(grabs his flashlight and points it to the shadowy figure)Jesus”

(It was indeed Ed-or better yet Ed-Zilla in a tattered and torn outfit of Captain Melonhead)

Ed-Zilla:Evil Men hunt Ed-Zilla-ED-ZILLA SMASH EVIL MEN(he slung his fists again)”

Charles:Wait-we may look like the guys who hunt you but we’re not with them....”

Ed-Zilla:EVIL MEN LIE!!!!!!(he hits Charles and he lands on the wall)”

Charles:GODDAMMIT(’Thank God I still have my health factor-GAH-barely’)”

Eric:He’s right listen.....(Ed-Zilla grabs Eric-but Charles get’s him in a headlock)”

Charles:CALM DOWN YOU ANGRY BASTARD”

Eric:Hold him-I got this(he uses his telepathy to show Ed every happy memory he’s had in the old world)”

Ed-Zilla:(Touched by that world)Ed-Zilla a papa.......”

Charles:Yes......I should let you go now.......”

Ed-Zilla:Ed-Zilla no want to be hunted anymore-Ed-Zilla smash with you?”

Charles:Yeah there’s gonna be lot’s of smashing buddy”

Eric:Okay-we Ed,next is.....Jar Jar? the ex-representative??”

Charles:Oh thank Edward he’s here-what happened to him?”

Eric:He basically disappeared after the First Order was massacred,never been heard of since”

Charles:Shit.....Fuck......he’s probably dead(looks to the floor)what the Hell is tha(they all 3 fall into it)AAAAAAAAAAAaaaaat”

(The 3 fall into the portal wondering where they’ll end up-until they stop screaming-and finally reach their destination)

(Ed-Zilla and Eric land on the wood floor)

Charles:(Hitting a glass table)OW-BITCH!!!!!!!(checks the area)where are we?”

‘Youza are in meza’s house of wonder.......’

Charles:Jar Jar????,you’re some kind of wizard?”

Jar-Jar:Kinda-Meza knows of youza’s mission.......”

Charles:And........?”

Jar-Jar:Meza has a feelin’ theza world iza screwed up......and Meza has scene many many multiverseez,thiza world needs fixin you betcha betcha”

Eric:Well can’t you fix it? you are magic right?”

Jar Jar:EEEEH-meza no so good at reality warping powahs”

Charles:So basically Black Hat possibly has a machine or magic amulet that’s screwed the world huh,what happens if we destroy it?”

Jar Jar:Theza World would go back to normal.........or theza universe will implode....”

(The 3 just look in silence)

Charles:Let’s hope for the latter,but we’ll need more help and your teleportation spells”

Jar Jar:Okay-where do youza need meza to send you next?”

(Charles just smiles-as they’re transported to a maximum security prison-holding some of Charles’ friends........including one certain blue penguin)

Charles:Okay-I got a plan,may be total shit but we shut down the security to save Dedede”

Eric:You think it’s wise to let this guy on the team?,he did nearly destroy a whole city block,some of our heaviest hitters couldn’t beat him and that’s just in his demon form”

Charles:Precisely,but he’s super guarded so we’ll need one Hell of a distraction”

Eric:Which is why you want to take out the power and unleash every prisoner on the guards-don’t know if that’s stupid or smart.....”

Charles:You chose to follow me right? let’s go”

(Eric heads out to the control room)

Eric:Hey......(he shoots them with tranqs)area is secure......now let’s snuff out the light”

(He shuts down the power and the cells open)

Dan:We’re free”

Vile:Let’s get these pricks”

(Every inmate-with now powerless collars-attack the guards that brought them Hell since their incarceration-one of which was Patrick)

Cinnamon Bun:Not so high and mighty are you now huh?”

Guard:BACK UP,WE NEED MORE BACK UP NOW!!!!!!!”

(Charles stays while the guards guarding Dedede go and help the others and slowly walks up to Dedede’s cell)

Charles:Hey Dedede are you........dear God”

(He sees his old penguin friend in a straight jacket and tied up with chains)

Dedede:(In a depressed tone)No.......not a God.......not anymore anyway.....”

Charles:What the Hell happened to you?”

Dedede:Got too greedy,used too much ‘power-Up’,hurt a lot of people,lot of fans,I deserve to be locked up like an animal”

Charles:No-that wasn’t your fault,it was that damn drug that turned you into a monster-you’re not like that.......at least not the Dedede I thought you were”

Dedede:You’re wasting your time-i’m not the penguin I used to be.........”

Charles:I guess not-the Dedede I knew wouldn’t give up without a fight”

(As he said those words the Penguin just gave angry eyes)

Charles:(To the others)Guys it’s a bust let’s.......”

Guard:Freeze Freak”

Charles:Listen asshole I’m not in the mood for........”

(And in seconds Dedede jumps on the guards and beats them)

Charles:Thought you gave up?”

Dedede:Me?......give up?.......NEVER!!!!!”

Charles:Hell-Yeah”

(Back with the others)

Ed-Zilla:ED-ZILLA SMASH EVIL PEOPLE WHO HURT NEW FRIENDS!!!!!!!!”

Otto:I hear ya big guy”

Eric:Everyone(uses a big gun and blasts a hole in the wall)let’s blow this pop stand”

(The prisoners take their leave to freedom as Charles leaves with Dedede)

Dedede:So I heard you guys did all this for me......I guess a good repay would be to help you take down the bastard who drugged me up huh?”

“HEY”

(Everyone turns to see......Patrick Star)

Patrick:You guys did all this huh?,if you plan on taking down that butt-head with the hat I want in......”

Charles:Well.......more the merrier......we’re actually heading to our next destination-hit it Jar Jar”

(Jar Jar teleports our heroes straight to..........)

Patrick:The Mech Fight Station?????”

Charles:On the Moon?”

Eric:The Metarex tried to invade Earth-which ended poorly-so they were forced to wear battle armor and fight for Earth’s amusement-Dark Oak is one Hell of an ass-kicker Charles,he probably won’t help us”

Charles:He lost half his army,forced to fight his allies in gladiatorial Mecha Suit combat to the death all for a psychopath with a hat-you bet your alien ass and half your none-existent alien tiddies he’ll probably help us”

Ed-Zilla:Metal Man on magic picture box......”

‘And here we are Ladies,Gentlemen,and others-Dark Oak is facing off against Brown Fall Leaf,seems the Top pro is about to lose his title’

Brown Fall Leaf:You’re going down champ........”

Dark Oak:No.........(he grabs the laser cannon off Brown Fall Leaf’s arm and punches him repeatedly until his metal mask breaks into pieces)”

Brown Fall Leaf:No-wait please......give mercy.......”

Dark Oak:You should know Leaf here in the Mech Fights(picks up his rail gun and blasts a hole in Brown Fall Leaf’s chest).........there s no mercy”

(He hears the crowd shout his name while he looks at the now smoking corpse of his opponent........who was once his friend.......as he retreats to the holding chambers)

Yellow Zelkova:That was a great fight Lucas.......”

Red Pine:Hope I never get to fight you.....”

Lucas:Whatever.......”

(Lucas removes his helmet,torso and arms of his suit........and places his claws on face trying to hide the tears)

Charles:Hurts a lot doesn’t it????”

Lucas:(Shocked someone is in his chamber but immediately becomes angry)Listen I don’t do autographs so get the Hell out of my.......”

Charles:I bet it pisses you off what they do to you huh?”

Lucas:I......I don’t know what you’re talking about?(sadly he does know what Charles is talking about)”

Charles:Really?(he says in a serious tone)”

Lucas:You think I enjoy fighting my old allies,using my battle suit to end them,while entertaining a bunch of inbred violent loving swine-WELL LET ME TELL YOU.......It does....more than anything(he says in a depressed tone)”

Charles:What would you say if I told you there was a world where you’re a mechanical genius who uses his intellect to save lives instead of ending them-where you’re a hero?”

Lucas:Heh-I’d say you’re a fucking idiot,but if you’re starting a rebellion,i’d help on one condition......”

Eric:He wants us to WHAT?????”

Charles:Lucas says he’ll help if we find a way to free his allies and disable the small chips in their armor so the game master won’t activate the kill switch in them.....”

Patrick:I got a friend who can help but I’ll need to teleport to his place”

Charles:go ahead we’ll be waiting”

(Patrick leaves and in an hour he brings back a small robot)

Patrick:This is Krackus-he helped build my tech when I started my revenge”

Krackus:I can make a device to deactivate it-I just need a small engex 95 microchip.....”

Lucas:I got one in my cannon-makes a powerful boom”

Krackus:Thank you(he adds the chip into the machine)here goes nothing(presses it)”

Lucas:GAH(feels a small sting)I......I think that did it”

(The other fighters feel the sting as well)

Pale Bay Leaf:What was that......?”

Black Narcissus:Don’t have a clue......”

Lucas:That my friends...........”

‘............Is Freedom’

(He blasts down the doors of the game master’s penthouse)

Lucas:Knock,Knock”

Game Master(Jack Spicer-Xialion Showdown):Lucas,Lucas,Lucas,seems you need to know your place(presses the button to activate their death chips....and it does nothing)what......I’m sure I added batteries.....?(the fighters attack him)AAAAAH-DON’T HURT ME”

Lucas:Thank you-and I’m a being of my word,I will join your fight”

Charles:Good-we got 8 more guys to go.......”

“FREEZE SUCKAHS”

(In the mere second before the Teleportation portal arrive a bunch of Super Policemen arrive-two of which are......)

X:Officers X and Hell-Boy.......”

Hell-Boy:You boys are under arrest.......”

Eric:They on the List?..........”

Charles:Yep........GO GUYS GO”

(The teleportation portal arrives while everyone but Charles enter)

Eric:I’m not leaving you behind Chuck.....”

Charles:You got to.........and don’t call me Chuck(Throws Eric into the portal as it disappears)”

(As his friends escape Charles allows himself to be captured.......in hopes of bringing X and Hell-Boy to his side)

THE END OF CHAPTER 1-TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 2.........

#Cartoon-Force

3 notes · View notes

missingverse · 6 years

Text

Missing Chapter Fourteen

Once again, I'd like to thank anyone who reviewed, especially those who did so in detail. I'm always dying to know what the regular readers think, good or bad. We're reaching the 'answers' arc of the story finally. I will still be quite busy over the Christmas period but I hope to find time to update as often as I can.

BTW, this chapter has something of an 'image song' or at least a song I listened to quite a lot when writing it. You can find it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vOTgwOK7rqc

…..

The day she went missing:

There was a brief moment, a sort of drunken haze, in which she was sure that the pictures she was looking at weren't real. It was too awful, too sickening to believe it was real. It had to be some sort of hallucination. Things like this only happened in fiction or in distant news stories to kids who were far enough removed from her own existence that they might as well have been fictional too.

It was cliché to say she never thought it would happen to her, but it was true.

Her homework wasn't finished (she'd not been able to stay awake long enough to get through the entire assignment) and her ancient computer had blinked out for whatever reason, and rather than wait for it to cool off she'd taken what she could salvage on a memory stick and gone into her father's home office to print it. While there, she had clicked a numbered folder on the desktop out of idle curiosity (Bob usually named his files) and-

The reality of it took a while to sink in, and when it did a lot of things she had wondered about suddenly made sense.

The foamy drool.

The stomach pains.

Bob insisting on cooking for them every evening.

Falling asleep over her homework.

Not being able to remember going to bed.

Waking up with her clothes on backwards.

Those bruises.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to be sick. More than anything, she wanted to be as far away from Bob Pataki as humanly possible.

But there was that small shred of her more pragmatic self, that told her the evidence needed to be preserved because once Bob knew that she knew, he'd cover his tracks and put the blame back on her. Numb and with shaking hands, she copied the entire folder to the memory stick.

Then she fled the house, forgetting her socks and jacket in her haste.

…..

School was background noise.

Her thoughts swirled in an endless unhappy vortex.

How many strangers had seen those photographs? How many had contacted Bob with requests?

She just shook her head when Mrs Goldfarb called on her in class, and since she was usually such a good student Mrs Goldfarb let it go, with no more than a comment after the bell rang that she should see the school nurse.

She could give the memory stick to the police. They would arrest Bob. He'd do jail time, for certain.

Phoebe asked if she was feeling okay, but when she murmured something about just being tired, Phoebe happily changed the subject to talk about plans she had made with Gerald.

But what then? Bob was the only one keeping the household together. Miriam was getting worse all the time, she leaned on Bob like a crutch. With Bob gone she'd probably drink herself to death.

She picked at her lunch, tore holes in the bread and stabbed her straw through the milk until it was dripping from all angles.

There was Olga...but she'd be all smiles and tears and ice-cream and big sisterly concern until it hit her that she had to be responsible for someone else's life and resentment would set in hard. Olga would snap like a twig under the pressure. And that's if she even believed what she was told.

She skipped fourth period and sat in the bathroom, vomited twice. Retched until she thought every trace of the poison Bob had put in her was gone.

Someone might step in to adopt her in the aftermath. Patrick's mom, or Phoebe's. And then a previously only child would have to put up with their parent's attention cut in half. They would end up hating her, and she couldn't bear that.

She spent most of fifth period dragging her pen across her worksheet until it was nearly entirely black.

She'd be taken into foster care. She was too old, too bitter and not cute enough to be adopted and would end up in that no-man's-land between state care and adulthood. And foster carers were a mixed bag. She could end up with someone just as bad as Bob, if not worse.

At the beginning of sixth period, Arnold walked up to her desk and asked if she was okay. And despite herself, despite resigning herself long ago to the fact that it was never going to happen, she felt that familiar flutter in her chest.

“I'm fine,” she replied quickly, not even looking at him but facing another scribbled-in worksheet. “Why?”

“You look really pale,” he told her, blunt but kind. “I can take you to the nurse if you want-?”

There was that selfless compassion that had made her fall for him in the first place. She had managed not to cry all day, but hot tears pinched at the corners of her eyes now. By so little she was undone.

“The day's nearly over,” she said, slumping forward a bit and holding her head in her hand. It was a handy way of disguising her expression. “I'll be okay, I just have to get through this class.”

“Well....” he said, uncertain. “If you're sure...”

“I'm sure,” she said. “Thanks, Arnold.”

“Any time.”

And then he was gone.

…..

One thing was for certain; she wasn't going home.

Patrick was on vacation with his family, although he would have been happy to help.

She called Phoebe, but as soon as Phoebe answered the phone she couldn't find the words.

“I need to stay over tonight,” she blurted out. “Please.”

“Helga, I already told you Gerald's coming over tonight. My mom and dad are meeting him for the first time. You can stay tomorrow night if....”

“No, it has to be tonight,” Helga interrupted. “Look, something's happened....I called the police but Officer Plaskett's not there, I'm going to see him tomorrow....I have everything on a stick, I need to give it to him as soon as I can...”

Phoebe sighed, put down the phone for a moment to answer a question from her mother, and in doing so betrayed the fact that she was only half-listening.

“I really have to go,” Phoebe said. “I'll call you later, okay?”

“Okay,” she replied, and hung up, despondent.

…..

She sat on a park bench for a long time.

The cave had running water nearby but she needed paraffin for the stove and a generator to keep her phone charged. It had only ever been a short-term solution.

Even if she could afford to rent a motel room, who would rent to an unaccompanied minor?

Pocaselas was nearby, and she could take a bus. From there she could get to pretty much anywhere, and it was full of refuges. That's why so many runaways ended up there. Then again, they'd want to take her name at the refuge and she'd probably be sent straight back to Bob.

In the end, the weather forced her hand. The sun was setting fast and the street lights were coming on, and it was starting to rain. Whatever she needed to do, she could do it in the morning. She stopped at the convenience store to get a bag of chips and a soda (a pretty poor dinner but she wasn't hungry anyway. She felt like she would never be hungry again)and made her way to the mountain range on the outskirts of Hillwood.

That was the last time Helga Geraldine Pataki was seen alive.

…..

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

As skeptical as Helga sounded, Arnold noted with amusement that she was somewhat dressed up. Blue-and-white floral sundress, blue sweater, ballet pumps.

“I'm very sure,” he told her. “I need a distraction, so do you.”

Gertie was still in the hospital pending her mental faculty test results and Phil was still with her, so while they were gone school was an afterthought. The boarding house was having its needs met by Arnold just about, and since he was already skipping school he needed to keep his promise to Helga to take her out.

Especially now that he owed her so much, he couldn't imagine what might have happened to his grandmother if Helga hadn't noticed her leaving and followed her...

“I won't argue,” she shrugged. “But don't you need a break? You've been working all morning...”

“Nope,” he answered, dragging out his bike. “Now get in the basket and let's go.”

He bought one ticket, one popcorn and one soda once they were at the cinema (she hadn't shown any inclination towards eating or drinking in all this time) but once they were seated and the movie started, it felt in all respects like Arnold was a normal kid on a date with a normal girl (even with her laughing when one of the panicky peripheral characters got his head graphically chopped off). She leaned over to whisper about the bleeding neck stump looking fake and he smiled and nodded.

This...was doable.

He could take her to movies and buy her clothes. They could watch TV together in the evenings and shop for groceries. Maybe they could even plan vacations together. It was certain that he'd be staying to run the boarding house once he graduated, and she didn't seem able to move too far beyond it without fading out.

Arnold had tossed all ideas of dating out the window when his social life tanked. He didn't have time to pay the kind of attention girls his age wanted from their boyfriends, and what college-aged girl would come home every weekend just to spend time with him? But Helga was rooted there, and they enjoyed each other's company. He wanted to make her happy, and he had a feeling she felt the same way about him (why else would she do all his homework?)

She had been on his mind since she disappeared. It was only natural that he would develop feelings for her.

Just as he was letting those thoughts simmer, he felt her flinch beside him at the sound of a gunshot. He looked over at her with concern, and found she had gone rigid as a plank of wood, staring at the screen but not really seeing it.

“Helga?” he whispered, giving her a little shake.

She flinched again, blinked slowly and shook her head, rubbing at her forehead just under the star-shaped wound.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she stammered, lowering her hand. “Just had a....weird moment.”

He'd assumed the star-shaped wound was caused by her being hit in the head with something heavy, but her reaction to the sound of the gun was opening up a new possibility.

Surely if it's a gunshot wound, it would be bigger?

None of the Black Gulch Ripper's victims were shot.

…..

They went to the pier after the movie, to watch the sun set lazily as they had when they were kids. Although the gun question was still playing on Arnold's mind, it was peaceful at the pier. Seagulls squabbled over tide leavings and you could just about make out the silhouettes of dolphins in the distance.

“Do you think I'll go to heaven?”

The question surprised him so much he nearly fell into the water.

“W-what?” he blurted out.

“I said, do you think I'll go to heaven? When all this is over,” she pressed, trailing her bare feet in the water below.

“I guess,” he shrugged, still a bit perturbed. “Why wouldn't you?”

“I dunno,” she said. “I was a pretty rotten kid.”

“No, you weren't...”

“Yes, I was,” she insisted, folding her arms. “I was a bully, and I was spiteful and I could never keep my mouth shut.”

“But none of that was your fault,” Arnold told her. “I mean...you did the best you could with what you had to work with...and kids can be really crappy sometimes but they grow out of it...”

“You were never crappy,” she told him.

“I had my moments, like anyone else. Anyway, you did a lot of good...you looked after that third grader the other kids were picking on....who else would have done that?”

She hummed quietly, looking down into the water.

“What kind of God would hold stuff you did when you were a kid against you?” Arnold pondered, looking up at the sky. “Maybe if you're here because of that God, you wouldn't want any part of his heaven.”

“That's pretty deep,” she laughed, and he was glad to hear her laughter.

“I don't think you need to worry about heaven,” he said. “You don't have to go anywhere. You can stay here.”

It happened without him realizing how close he had gotten to her; he had been inching his way towards her since she said the word 'heaven.' And suddenly he was holding her gently puzzled face in his hands, and it was so warm and alive he could feel the blood pulsing through her veins and the breath from her mouth fanning across his own.

He kissed her.

In that moment, it was glorious. Her mouth opened under his, to protest or to kiss him back he didn't know, but his senses were full of her. Her scent, her taste, the life in her body...it felt like as long as he kept kissing her he could bring her fully back into reality and the last five years would just be an unpleasant memory.

But it could only last a moment.

She pulled back and pushed him away, breathing hard and flushed and never so beautiful as in the aftermath of being kissed.

“That shouldn't have happened,” she told him sternly.

“Why not?” he pressed urgently, because he wanted her face back in his hands. He wanted to feel the blood pumping under her skin again.

“I'm dead, Arnold,” she said, and to his horror tears began slipping from her eyes. “This could only end badly for you...”

“No, it doesn't have to,” he insisted, reaching for her again. “We don't have to keep looking for who took you. You can stay as you are, I'll look after you....And eventually Phoebe might be able to see you too, it won't always be just me. You can stay at the boarding house with me, it'll be okay.”

“No,” she said firmly, wiping savagely at her eyes. “There's no future for you if I let that happen. People will think you've gone crazy.”

“I don't care.”

“I care,” she insisted. “You know, when I was alive all I ever wanted....”

He didn't hear the end of that because Helga broke off with heaving sobs, and when Arnold tried to put his arms around her she pushed him away.

“This is going to end,” she said through clenched teeth. “We're going to find out who killed me and then I'm going to fade away, heaven or hell. And you can get on with the rest of your life.”

It sounded so bitterly final. Arnold wiped away the tears that were in his own eyes, and wasn't particularly surprised that when his vision cleared she had already faded away.

#hey arnold #hey arnold fanfiction #TW:Crime

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left-of-reality · 7 years

Text

I was tagged my these wonderfully fabulous people: @thnksfrbuckybarnes and @buckyee-barnes

spotify, soundcloud or Pandora?? Apple music bish!

is your room messy or clean?? Idk, somewhere in the middle

what colour are your eyes?? very dark brown

do you like your name?? why?? Not really because it makes me feel unimportant and common :P

what is your relationship status?? Taken <3

describe your personality in three words or less: Positive, dead, reallylovepatrickstump

what hair colour do you have?? Brown

what kind of car do you drive?? colour?? None, I’d be terrified to drive any

where do you shop?? Target and woolworths? anywhere? I don’t care

how would you describe your style?? Clean hobo

favourite social media account?? Tumblr? I guess? I only have one other social media?

what size bed do you have?? Double!

any siblings?? Too many(meaning I have four)

if you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?? why?? London, Sydney or the Philippines for their respective reasons that i don’t wanna explain

favourite snapchat filter?? I don’t have it but I’m told i should get it?

favourite make up brands?? None because I’m too lazy for that

how many times a week do you shower?? everyday

favourite tv show?? Lucifer currently!

shoe size?? Idk

how tall are you?? 5"9

sandals or sneakers?? sneakers

do you go to the gym?? Sometimes, I guess?

describe your dream date?? Anything where we could cuddle

how much money do you currently have in your wallet?? $100

what colour socks are you wearing?? Striped black and grey, very fluffy!

how many pillows do you sleep with?? as many as i can get

do you have a job?? what do you do?? No but I need one soon or my mum will be angry

how many friends do you have?? I don’t wanna count

what the worst thing you’ve ever done?? I don’t know but it can’t be anything too horrible

what’s your favourite candle scent?? Vanilla

3 favourite boys names?? Joey, Alex, Jackson

3 favourite girls names?? Crystal, scarlet, Lilly

favourite actor?? DylanO’Brian or Cole Spouse

favourite actress?? Emma Watson

who is your celebrity crush?? I wouldn’t call it a crush but I’d say if anyone Patrick Stump would be it

favourite movie?? Wonder Woman

do you read a lot?? whats your favourite book?? I used to read a lot but lately not so much and I can't think of a favourite book

money or brains?? brains

do you have a nickname?? what is it?? Caity, Cat, CJ, Jonesy Caity J

how many times have you been to the hospital?? Not too many then i can remember(though I was a sick child)

top 10 favourite songs?? I can’t choose and I can’t be bothered trying

do you take medications everyday?? From yesterday onward I will be :P

what is your skin type?? (oily, dry ect) I’d say oily

what’s your biggest fear?? The future and rejection

how many kids do you want?? The amount my future partner wants

what’s your go to hairstyle?? Side ponytail, constantly

what type of house do you live in?? (big, small ect) Probably big but it feels small since everyone has to share a room :(

who’s your role model?? Patrick Stump for sure!

what was the last compliment you received?? My english teacher said i did good on my essay, this meant a lot!

what was the last text you sent?? Bye

how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real?? 12, it was a sad moment

what is you dream car?? Something with wheels would be nice

opinion on smoking?? Do what you want but don't kill me doing it please

do you go to college?? I don’t and don't want to think about going

what is your dream job?? Actor... or more realistically something involving psychology

would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs?? rural?

do you take shampoo and conditioner from hotels?? Yes because they smell nice

do you have freckles?? Nope

do you smile for pictures?? Of course

how many pictures do you have on your phone?? too many and I’m not allowed to delete half of them

have you ever peed in the woods?? Yeaaahh, it wasn’t very pleasant but it needed to be done

do you still watch cartoons?? Hell yeah

do you prefer chicken nuggets from macdonalds or wendys?? I have never even seen a wendys so yeaaahhhh

favourite dipping sauce?? ketchup

what do you wear to bed?? Something comfy

have you ever won a spelling bee?? Never had one

what are your hobbies?? Things... Stuff

can you draw?? I try

can you play an instrument?? I also try

what’s the last concert you saw?? Panic! at the Disco

tea or coffee?? Hot Chocolate

starbucks or dunkin donuts?? Neither

do you want to get married?? I would love to

what is your crush’s first and last initial?? I have no crush, she is my girlfriend!

are you going to change your last name when you get married?? Why not?

what colour looks best on you?? None

do you miss anyone right now?? Yesssss

do you sleep with the door open or closed?? closed THERE CAN BE NO LIGHT OR SOUND

do you believe in ghosts?? Nahhh

what’s your biggest pet peeve?? Little repetitive noises

last person you called?? My mum probably

favourite ice cram flavour?? vanilla

regular oreos or golden oreos?? What the hell are golden oreos?

chocolate or rainbow sprinkles?? Rainbow!!!

what shirt are you wearing?? Red and black flannel

what is your phone background?? A folie á duex thing I made

are you outgoing or shy?? Shy beyond any doubt

do you like it if people play with your hair?? No one ever does so idk, probably not

do you like your neighbours?? They are old and don't bother me unless they need help so they’re cool

do you wash your face?? sometimes, when i remember

have you ever been high?? Nah

have you ever been drunk?? Nope

last thing you ate?? A golden gaytime

favourite lyric right now?? “I wonder if you therapist knows everything about me”

summer or winter?? winter

day or night?? night

dark, milk or whit chocolate?? white

favourite month?? Any of the cold ones

what is you zodiac sign?? Aquarius

who’s the last person you cried in front off?? My cat? I guess maybe my brother?

idk who’s done it or been tagged already so do it if you want!

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f0blove · 7 years

Text

We’re Only Liars... (Pete Wentz)

Based Off Of The Request: Could you make a story based on the song ‘our lawyer made us change the name…’ where you are dating any of the guys (you can choose 😉) and he is lying to you about something and you get mad at him? But he manages to make it ok between you 2 again?

AN: Hella angsty so… you’re welcome or maybe I’m sorry ? ALSO This is the first post with my tag list ( that’s the only thing under the keep reading ) so let me know if it didn’t work correctly or if you want to be added. Enjoy!

“Can you come over? We need to talk”

You stare at the text in shock, not sure what to think. We need to talk? Is Pete breaking up with you? You try to think about anything else it could mean, thoughts flying around your head as you quickly reply to him and get ready to go. You’ve only been dating for a few months, but you were under the impression it was going well. You bite at your lip and nails the entire ride over, frantically trying to think of something, anything else it could be, but your mind was blank and could only come back to the same conclusion- he was ending it. The thought brought tears to your eyes that you struggle to blink back and hide as you pull into his driveway. You take a deep breath, step out of the car, square your shoulders, and head inside. If this was going to happen, you should at least be ready for it. Hesitating only a moment at the door, your raise your right hand and knock loudly a few times. Moments later, the door opens and Pete stands behind it, anxious looking, yet grinning broadly.

“Hey babe,” he says, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your cheek, his stubble brushing your face as he pulls away, “Come on in.”

You smile at him lightly and walk past him, dropping your bag in the usual spot and turning towards him, nervously hooking your fingers in your pockets, and find him almost pacing across the floor, yet still smiling at you. You look at him warily, still desperately trying to fight the tears that threaten to show. Pete looks at you, eyes suddenly crinkling in concern.

“(Y/N), are you okay?” he stops pacing, sounding worried.

”What?” you ask, taken aback by his change in demeanor.

“You look kind of sick or anxious, are you okay?”

You let out a laugh, “I don’t know, should I be?”

“Huh?” confusion flashes across Pete’s face.

“You called me here by saying “we need to talk”” you say in air quotes, “So yeah, you could say I’m a little nervous”

“Oh. Oh no” he says, suddenly looking both understanding and regretful, “No, no, no, babe, I’m not breaking up with you”

You let out a deep breath, “Well that’s good to know” Pete smiles and crosses to you, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“I’m sorry I freaked you out, that wasn’t my intention” he says, “I actually have something good to ask you, I think”

“You think?”

“Well, I think, I just don’t know if you’ll think it’s good”

You laugh lightly at his jumbled response, “Okay, okay, just tell me what it is”

“Okay, you know we’re going on tour for four months, and that it starts in a couple weeks right?”

You nod, heart dropping a little at the thought of him being gone for so long, and you glance down at your feet to hide your dread.

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to come with me”

Your head snaps back up. “Come with you?”

“Yeah, I mean, If you want to of course.” Pete rushes to explain, “I already talked to Patrick and he’s fine with you staying in our bus, all the guys are pumped about the idea of it, and you could bring your equipment and make your videos on the road, and that way we wouldn’t have to be apart for so long”

“You really want me to come?” you ask in disbelief,

“I really do.” he replied earnestly, grabbing your hands, “I love you (Y/N), and I know we haven’t been together for that long so I understand if you don’t want to come but i-”

You cut him off by pressing your lips firmly against his. “I would love to come with you” you whispers against his lips.

His eyes light up and he leans forward, kissing you happily.

“This is going to be the best tour ever”

The day you left for tour was probably the longest day of your life. You and Pete left your apartment at 4:30 am in order to leave enough time to get to and through the airport before the flight left. Walking through the airport took ten times longer than normal, because fans were constantly stopping you two, but you were amazed at how normal Pete remained through all of it, like it didn’t even faze him. You even got asked for pictures as people recognized you from your popular youtube channel, so it wasn’t exactly a quick walk. The tour was starting on the east coast, so the flight felt like forever. Once you landed, it was through another airport, to baggage claim, and straight to the first venue. There, there was a huge meeting, first with everyone on the administrative side of the team to discuss details, rules, and regulations of both the tour in general and the specific venue, and then there was a crew meeting, tour bus loading, and then it was time for the first show.

You had been able to tell that Pete was growing more and more nervous as the day went on, and he seemed to deal with it by slowly pushing you away rather than talking about it, but you brushed it off. So when he told you he had to run to soundcheck several hours before the show and wouldn’t be able to see you until after the show, you just nodded and kissed him on the cheek, although the idea bummed you out. You watched the show from the wings, crazy impressed as always. It gets so loud that you briefly wonder if this prime spot is worth the hearing you’ll lose, but you never move, and then it was over. After, you stuck around the venue helping any last minute cleaning up you could while the boys’ met some fans. Once you walked out of the venue, fans were still there, screaming and shouting to the guys. They stopped, and spent a half hour taking pictures and signing autographs, before they were told it was time to hit the road. Andy and Joe disappeared to their own bus, and you, Pete, and Patrick went to yours. The beds were larger than you had expected since it was a two person bus, and you and Pete had been up for around 22 hours when you finally fell asleep, the bumping of the bus only lulling you to sleep. You had expected the first day to be long and tiring, but you were still impressed with how much action and meetings had been shoved into one day.

After that, you had expected things to slow down a little, but they didn’t really. The morning were spent on radio talk shows, walking incognito around the cities, preparing, and then two and a half hours before the show, like clockwork, the guys would disappear for sound check and then to their following responsibilities and you wouldn’t see them until the show was on. It meant a lot of time by yourself, but you filled it by writing and shooting videos for your youtube channel, and it was always ended by an amazing concert and time with Pete, so you survived. Some of the most entertaining times on the tour however, were the long nights and even some days where it was just you, Pete, and Patrick on the bus.

“Hey guys, welcome back..” you brightly say your intro in the camera, trying to ignore Pete and Patrick who sit just beyond the camera. “I’ve gotten a lot of questions since I’ve announced I was going on tour, so i figured it was time to answer some of them”

Pete gestures to himself, grinning broadly.

You laugh as you catch his movements, “And joining me in a video for the very first time, my boyfriend and current travel companion, the one and only Pete Wentz. From Fall out Boy” you add quickly, and just as the words are out of my mouth, Pete shoots around the camera and drops down besides me.

“Patrick Stump, Fall Out Boy singer, and all around hunk is also here, but too much of a party pooper to join us” Pete says after introducing himself.

You shove him lightly as Patrick glares at him from the couch, “No, he’s fine leave him alone.” You comment.

“Kidding, Kidding, let’s get to it”

“Alright these questions come from twitter, tumblr, instagram, and wherever you guys can reach me, so here we go”

You open your phone to the screenshots of your favorite questions and delve into them. Many ask about just you, or just Pete, but the majority are actually about your relationship.

“How did you guys meet?”

You look to Pete, raising my eyebrows.

He grins and delves into the story “Well it was actually when (Y/N) was filming a video. She was filming in front of one of my favorite record shops, and I couldn’t tell what was happening, but there were like twenty people there, all dressed in neon colors, working on a dance, and I just had to ask”

“Yeah, of course that was after I yelled at him for walking right in front of the camera’ You laugh.

“Oh yeah I forgot that part” Pete laughs, “I have never been more scared in my life. And after a year of being friends, I finally asked her out, and to my surprise she agreed”

You laugh,shaking your head and gesture for him to move on to the next question.

“How do the other guys in Fall Out Boy treat you? Are they fun to hang out with?” Pete reads the next question.

“Well I’m not friendds with them for their fashion sense” you crack a joke, laughing when Pete and Patrick both look at you, offended ”Just kidding, they treat me wonderfully, I think it helped that we were all friends before we dated.” You see Patrick once again absorbed in his laptop on the couch, and you decide to mess with him, “Except for Patrick. He’s a total asshole. Right Patrick?” you call lougly.

“Right” he responds, not even looking up. “Wait what?” he glances over at me.

I laugh, “Just kidding, we’re all friends, the guys are great, and very fun to hang out with”

“Yeah, we’re the best” Pete says cheekily, turning to me

You roll your eyes, but let out a laugh,“Sure. In all honesty I just wanted some almost-famous friends” you joke.

“Almost famous? I’m wounded babe” Pete feigns being hurt.

You roll your eyes, moving on.

You guys go through questions for a long time, talking about your relationship, and it makes you forget all about the distance you had been feeling from Pete. But of course that was only temporary.

A couple weeks into tour, you felt more distant from Pete than you ever had before. You hardly saw him, and when you did he rarely talked about anything. You tried to brush it off as him being tired and busy from the tour, but you noticed he was always animated and talkative around the guys. You tried to ignore it, but it only continued to get worse. One night when Pete had crashed early after a show, you snuck out of bed and went to talk to Patrick.

“I need your help” You say, plopping down on the couch next to Patrick.

He tears his eyes away from his laptop, blinking a few times to adjust his vision,

“With what? Everything okay?” Patrick asks, concerned. He shuts his computer and sets it on the floor, staring at you intenty.

“I don’t know” you confess, feeling a little guilty. “I thought this tour would make us closer, but I only feel like I’ve grown apart from Pete since it’s started”

“How come?”

“We never see each other anymore, and when we do he’s distant or moody or too tired and it’s like I don’t even matter”

Patricks eyes soften, “ It’s not that, tour is just harder on Pete, always has been. The lack of schedule and constant presence of people kinda messes with him, you know?”

“I know, and I thought that’s all it was. But around you guys, he’s happy and energetic, but around me he’s… not himself, I guess”

“I could try talking to him if you wanted” Patrick offers.

“No I don’t want to stress him out more I just wish we had more time to ourselves. I mean we can’t hang out after shows, can’t hang out before-”

“Why not?” Patrick asks, confused.

“Because sound check takes so long” I groan, confused as to why he even has to ask, “And then when the two hours before a show are always so busy and hectic I can’t even see him, it really cuts down on time”

“Right…” Patrick says warily, confusion flashing across his eyes.

“What?” you ask, curious to see what brought on this look.

“Nothing, I, uh, I guess i’m just tired.” he says unconvincingly, “Sorry I can’t help more.”

“It’s fine” you say.

He nods, trying to avoid eye contact.

He lifts his hand and nervously adjust his hair before pushing his glasses up his nose. And that’s when it dawns on you.

“Oh my god” you say, surprised, “You’re lying to me”

“No I’m not” he answers quickly.

“Yes, you are” you say again.

“No, I’m not, just tired I swear”

You glare at him for several seconds and he glances away. He’s clearly lying, but apparently not in the mood to confess to it.

“Wow, okay, guess I’ll go to bed” you grumble, getting up and throwing him a dirty look.

“(Y/N), come on-”

“No. Don’t talk to me until you’re done lying” you say, rushing out of the room. You hate lying, more than anything, and Patrick knows that. Apparently he just doesn’t care.

You crawl into bed besides Pete, and even the feeling of him shifting to wrap an arm around you doesn’t stop you from feeling like everything’s falling apart.

Over the next couple days you turn to Andy and Joe, seeking their advice as well,and you’re met with similar responses. They try to be helpful, and then something shifts and suddenly you come to the realization that you’re being lied to. You try and figure out what it is, but suddenly the guys put up a wall, and the people you call friends turn into to strangers. You start to feel like you’re slowly going insane, and you finally confront Pete.

“We need to talk” You say, walking into the hotel room you were sharing with Pete for the night, sitting on the bed.

“I was just gonna shower first’ Pete says.

“No, we should talk now”

Pete looks at you with concern, sitting slowly back down, “Is everything ok babe?”

“No, it’s not”

“What’s wrong?”

“Everyone’s lying to me” You state plainly.

Pete’s forehead creases in confusion, “What? What do you mean?”

“I’ve been talking to Joe, Andy, and Patrick lately, and they’re lying to me about something. I don’t know what, but I can tell that they’re lying”

“What would they lie to you about?” Pete asks.

“You, probably. That’s why I’m bringing it up”

You think you see a flash of understanding in his eyes, but it muffled under more confusion. “About me? Why?”

“I don’t know” I say, staring directly at him, trying to gleam an answer from him, “But all I know is that Patrick has never,ever lied to me in all the time I’ve known him. That is, until I asked him about us.”

“Wait, you were asking about us?” Pete asks, sounding panicked.

You nod lightly,

“But why?”

“Because Pete, whatever’s been going on between us is driving me crazy, so I tried to get some help. But clearly I didn’t get the answer I was looking for. So, what are they lying about?”

Pete’s eyes soften, “Of course this has been hard on you. I’m so sorry Babe, that was never my intention, “ He moves closely to you, grabbing on of your hands. “You are so important to me, and I’m sorry if I made you feel any different, I know this tour has been rough, but I’ll be better I promise”

You smile at his words and nod, accepting his apology. He smiles and kisses you softly, whispering he loves you under his breath. It isn’t until after he’s gotten in the shower that you realize he never answered your question.

To Pete’s credit, it is a little better after that intense night in the hotel. He’s not quite as moody, and he seems to be making an effort, and it lifts your heart tremendously. There are stolen kisses between interviews and late night snuggling that wasn’t there before, but you still can’t shake off the knowledge that you’re being lied to. It takes about a week, but the knowledge finally crash lands in your brain and you’re in a rotten mood. You select to stay behind for the morning’s activities, and you’re less than excited when Pete and Patrick return to the bus.

“Not even gonna ask what we did today?” Pete asks jokingly when you don’t acknowledge them as they enter.

“Why would I?” You say, not glancing up from your book, you’d probably lie to me anyway”

Your words cause Pete to freeze in the motion of taking off his jacket, and you see Patrick raise his eyebrows and make his way towards the back.

“Yeah, go ahead Patrick, wouldn’t want to be called out for lying again now would we?”

He freezes too, looking back at you with regret in his eyes, “(Y/N), I-”

“Come on, leave his out of this” Pete says to you.

“Why should I? He’s lying to me and he knows it, even if he won’t admit it”

“Come on, this is about us, not him” Pete says.

“Yeah, well that’s true. You’re lying to me even more than he is”

“Babe-”

“Don’t “babe” me Pete” you scoff, “ It’s simple, just stop lying to me”

“I’m not lying!” Pete protests, as Patrick silently slips out of the room, unnoticed by either of you.

“Yes, you are! You’re turning into a completely different person, and not one that I like”

“Please, hun, I’m trying here” Pete says desperately

“Are you though?” I cross my arms, angrily standing up from the couch, “Because all I see is lies and the guy standing in front of me who I barely recognize”

“No, come on don’t be like that, it’s still me, I’m still the same guy, you know that” he cross over to you, but you step back when he reaches for you.

“You wanna know the most common type of question I’ve got since we announced our relationship?”

Pete pauses for a moment, thrown off my your topic change, “What?”

“Is Pete as nice as he seems? Is he really as cool and down to earth as he acts? Does he act differently when you’re in public? Do you think fame changed him?” you list them off, “And every other variation of the question people could think of.”

Pete looks at me, almost scared to see what you’ll say.

“And I used to answer, of course he’s the same guy. Pete’s a wonderful person, and his fame would never change that” you say, voice shaking as you tell him, “Because it was true. But now, now I’m not so sure”

“(Y/N)-” Pete chokes out, and you swear you see something break in his eyes, but you turn away.

“I think I’ll go find somewhere else to read” you say quietly, grabbing your book, phone, and lanyard from the couch. You turn and walk out of the bus, avoiding eye contact. You half expect Pete to come running after you, but he doesn’t. Somehow, this doesn’t surprise you.

For the record, you really tried to stay away. You found a shady spot on some grass outside the venue to read, struggling to push away thoughts of anything else. But as the show approached, you began feeling bad for leaving before you and Pete could resolve the fight. You don’t want to leave him in this position for the concert, so you give up on the book and head inside the venue, and to the stage. You expect the guys to still be running around performing all their pre show duties in the area right behind the stage, because that’s where Pete always said they spent the pre show time, but they’re not there. In fact, no one’s there. A few stage crew members flit around the edges, but the area is empty of people. You frown, glancing around in confusion until you spot the stage manager.

“Hey!” you call out, getting their attention, “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean where is everyone?”

“The show doesn’t start for hours”

“I know,” you say impatiently, “What about sound check, and whatever else the guys are supposed to be doing right no?”

“Oh sound check has been over for hours, and the guys don’t have to do anythign else until the show starts.”

“What? I thought sound check took like two hours? And I thought the guys had to be here to prepare for the show until it starts?” you ask, now extremely confused.

For some reason that earns a scoff and a laugh, “No, sound check takes barely a half hour, 45 mins tops. And all the guys have to do is warm up, and they do that wherever they want. I’d guess they’re in the green rooms right now.”

“Huh” you say, “Well thanks, sorry to bother you”

So you had figured it out- the guys were lying to you about sound check, and how much time they took getting ready before the show. But why would Pete lie about that time? What did he need it for? Unless- No. You shake the thought out of your head. Pete wouldn’t cheat on you…right? You shake your head again, storming off to the dressing rooms. After a few minutes of following the arrows on the ground, you find the large green room with the words Fall Out Boy marking the door. You go to knock angrily, only stopping when you hear voices pour out.

“You can’t expect us to keep lying to her man” Joe’s irritated voice reaches you first.

“Yeah, it’s not cool. Plus you know I’m an awful liar anyway” Patrick adds.

You freeze at the words. So you were right, they were lying. You immediately feel anger spike in your stomach but you wait to hear what else is said.

“I know guys, but I’ll tell her soon, I swear” Pete sounds like he’s begging. It gives you a brief feeling of satisfaction to know the other guys want to tell the truth, but it’s swallowed by the knowledge that Pete is so determined to lie.

“I’m done lying, Pete. You know this is a shitty thing to do to her” Andy adds quietly.

“Fix things with her, before you lose her. Because honestly at this point, you might even deserve it. Now I’m gonna go hang out in the other green room”

Even you blanch at the harsh words from Joe, but you’re too late to realize they were exit words, and the door is pulled open to reveal you, and the guys stare at you in shock. Pete’s face loses all color as he sees you, eyes filled with repressed tears and hands clenched in anger. Without a word, you turn and run. At first, you don’t realize where you’re going, you just run, away from the lies, away from the hurt, and away from Pete who yelling after you, trying to find you. You eventually reach a small, dark corner where you collapse to the ground and wrap your arms around your knees, waiting for your heart to start beating. Before you can stop it, the tears flow out of your eyes and down your cheeks, and then you’re sobbing in the corner, alone, and cold. You hide there for an hour or more, until the tears have dried and the sobs subsidied. You pull yourself slowly from the ground, limbs stiff from the awkward position. You’ve decided what you need to do. Silently, you make your way back to the bus, ignoring questioning glances thrown your way.

A half hour later, Pete throws open the door to the bus, right as you were about to leave.

“(Y/N), thank god, I was hoping you’d come back here” he says with relief on his face, “Please, let me explain”

“I need the truth Pete” you say sternly.

“I can-” he stops, spotting my bag on the floor. “W-what’s that?” he asks, eyes filled with fear.

“A suitcase” I say quietly, “I’m leaving, Pete. I have a hotel for tonight and tomorrow morning-”

“But why?” Pete says in disbelief, voice cracking with pain.

“I can’t take this anymore” you respond sadly, “The lying, the secrecy, I don’t know if it’s the fame or if we just took this step too early, but I can’t do it anymore. It’s driving me crazy” “So you’re just gonna leave?” Pete asks, broken hearted.

“Don’t you see? I have to” You admit tearfully, picking up your duffel bag and moving towards the door.

“No, babe, please don’t” Pete begs, blocking your path, “I love you”

“I know” You whisper, tears dripping off your cheeks, “And I wish that was enough. But it’s not”

Pete’s face seems to drop at the words,and you even see tears fill his eyes. And then he drops to his knees in front of you, literally begging.

“Please, I’ll do anything to make you stay. I love you so much, I can’t lose you”

“Then tell me the truth!” you cry, “That’s all I’ve wanted this whole time, is the fucking truth, don’t I deserve that?”

“Of course you do”

“Then tell me! Even if it’s bad, even if you’re cheating even if-”

“I am NOT cheating on you” Pete rises from his knees, offended, “I would never”

“Then what is it?” You demand, “because that’s the only conclusion I reached. WHy else would you need to lie to me about so much time before each show? I mean what are you doing that I can’t know about!?”

All resolve drops from Pete’s shoulders and back, and he sits on the couch, head dropping into his hands for a moment before he looks back at me.“I have anxiety” he says quietly.

“What?” you ask, confused by this statement.

He repeats it again.

“Pete, I already know that” You say again, exasperated.

He shakes his head. “Not really. I mean, yes you do but not in the worst way. On tour, my anxiety is the worst it ever is. I love the shows and the fans and the tour, I do, but it’s really hard for me. The hour before we go on stage is always the worst”

You sit slowly next to him on the couch, “I-I don’t understand” you state.

“No matter how many times I perform, I still get anxious before. Anxious enough for anxiety attacks and throwing up and ripping the skin from my nails- it’s ugly and it’s bitter. But most importantly, it’s humiliating”

“Pete…” you say quietly, softly laying a hand on his shoulder. He meets your eyes, and you see his are full of anguish at the words.

“That’s why I told you that sound check and everything else took so long” he says with a shuddering breath “Because that way you wouldn’t be around to see me before the show went on. You wouldn’t be able to see how pathetic and weak I am.”

Your eyes wet with fresh tears as the truth comes out, and you reach down to grab his hands instead.

“I know it was wrong to lie to you, and to have the others lie. And don’t be mad at them, they hate lying to you, and they hated me for asking them. They only did it because they thought it would help. I was just so…ashamed” he decides, the word bitter in his mouth, “that I thought anything and everything that stopped you from seeing me like that would be worth it.” He stares into your eyes, desperately trying to make you understand “But I was wrong, because lying to you was the worst possible thing I could have done. And I’m sorry, I am. I am so so incredibly sor-”

You surge forward and wrap your arms around him, hugging his so suddenly he doesn’t even finish his words. He hesitantly wraps his arms around you, so you squeeze him tighter, rubbing your hand down his neck, turning towards his neck. He relaxes in your arms, and you sit, and you cry, and you hold on to one another like there’s no one else in the whole world. After several minutes you pull away, softly wiping the few tears off of Pete’s cheeks, looking at him softly.

“I don’t like that you lied to me” you say, breaking the silence, hushing him when he tries to respond, “I wish you would have told me instead, that way I could have helped you, or I would have stayed away if you wanted me to. The worst thing in the entire world to me, is when people I love lie to me”

Pete nods, looking crestfallen and glancing away. You smile softly, turning his face towards mine.

“But I can understand why you did” you say softly, “ And I want you to know that you have no reason, at all, to be ashamed or embarrassed about anything around me. I love you, and all your pieces, broken or not”

Pete nods at the words, looking equally parts happy and sad at my words.

“I promise, I will never lie to you again, about anything. Just please, stay?” he begs you, squeezing your hands

After a few seconds, you nod, and he breaks into a grin, leaning forward and presses his lips to mine.

You break away, glancing at your watch. “Show starts in an hour, you should head back” You say hesitantly, “I’ll stay here if you want me to”

“No” Pete says determinedly, standing up and pulling you with him. “I want you to come, in fact, I never want to leave your side again”

You grin at the words, pressing another kiss to his lips. “I like that plan”

Hand in hand, the two of you walk out of the bus into the venue. It’s showtime.

@imke-vd @imsocutekl @deltablue202 @theghostofpatrickssideburns @thepatricktreestump @memyselfandwifi @jigglypuff1999 @goldenlifevsgutter1996 @emoxxtrash

#Pete Wentz #pete wentz fluff #angst #fall out boy #imagine

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outside-the-void · 7 years

Text

tagged by @arno-duu-fromage aaaaa thank you ily <3

Rules: Answer all the questions, add one of your own, then tag as many people as there are questions.

I tag: @ilikebigassbuttsandicannotlie (all the rest of my mutuals have already been tagged in this before aha;;; )

1. Coke or Pepsi? definitely coke 2. Disney or Dreamworks? I like both but I’ll have to pick Dreamworks (HTTYD boi 👌) 3. Coffee or tea? Coffee 4. Books or movies? Both 5. Windows or Mac? Windows..... i GUESS.... 6. DC or Marvel? Marvel 7. XBox or Playstation? PlayStation! 8. Dragon Age or Mass Effect? oh boy uhh...... I love both a lot but I think I like Dragon Age better 9. Night owl or early riser? Night Owl 10. Cards or chess? Cards 11. Chocolate or vanilla? All ice cream is good ice cream 12. Vans or Converse? Converse. 13. Lavellan, Trevelyan, Cadash or Adaar? I usually play Lavellan but I have a few Adaars too 14. Fluff or angst? B O T H 15. Beach or forest? Forest af 16. Dogs or cats? Definitely dogs. I like cats too but most cats hate me lmao 17. Clear skies or rain? rain!!!!

18. Cooking or eating out? Eating out lmao making food at home takes too long 19. Spicy food or mild food? spicy 20. Halloween/Samhain or Solstice/Yule/Christmas? BOTH DUDE 21. Would you rather forever be a little too cold or a little too hot? Cold. I hate the heat lmao 22. If you could have a superpower, what would it be? talk to animals tbh

23. Animation or live-action? Animation

24. Paragon or renegade? paragade lmao 25. Baths or showers? Showers 26. Team Cap or Team Iron Man? don’t make me choose between my sons ;;;;;;;; 27. Fantasy or sci-fi? Both but I guess I prefer fantasy 28. ¾ favorite quotations? hmmm I can’t think of any right now! 29. YouTube or Netflix? Both 30. Harry Potter or Percy Jackson? I love both but I prefer Percy Jackson (its way more light-hearted lmao) 31. When do you feel accomplished? When I get good grades aha 32. Star Wars or Star Trek? Star Wars 33. Paperback books or hardback books? both are fine 34. Writing or typing? Typing 35. Velvet or satin? neither I hate both lmao 36. Video games or movies? video games obvi 37. Would you rather be the dragon or own the dragon? own a dragon 38. Would you rather learn Chinese or learn Spanish? Chinese 39. If you could spend one day with one famous person, who would you choose and what would you do? uhhh idk play mario kart with Patrick Stump lmao 40. What’s your favorite game? Definitely Dishonored! I have a lot of favorite games but that one has a special place in my heart lol 41. If you could change one thing about your past, what would you change? Not hang out with such shitty people lmao 42. Who is the person who can melt your loins into butter. It can be a famous person or fictional character. Nah no one

43. What’s your favorite thing to do on the weekends? play video games lmao

44. what was the last picture you took with your phone? The back of my pc so I could remember where all the cords plug in at aha

My question:

If you could live in any fictional universe for a week, which one would it be and why?

#tag games for ts #non-blog related #long post for ts

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surveys-at-your-service · 7 years

Text

Survey #49

“instead of being 16 and burning up a bible, feeling super, super, super suicidal.”

what is your least favorite sour patch kids color? hmmm, red or orange. my fave's green. (: do you like mashed potatoes? NO do you ever roleplay? only online on designated forums. otherwise, no. are you your best friend's best friend? yeah (: have you ever seen the movie matilda? LOVE IT doughy or saucy pizza? omg doughy do you think it is bad to have sex at your age? not if you're married. do you have a poster of your favorite band/artist on your wall? metallica and manson, yes. are you shorter, taller, or around the same height as most of your family? same height, generally. do you like red bull? never tried it after hearing there's supposedly bull semen or something likewise in it. do you know how to read music? for the flute do you have a back-up career choice? what is it? i guess meerkat biologist, but that would require me to move to africa permanently, so. photographer better work, lol. who is your favorite male singer? patrick stump of fall out boy. his deep notes do stuff and things to me. do you take off from school, or work for your birthday? i always took off for school, but i wouldn't for work. what is missing from your wardrobe that you need to buy? fuckin' corsets. i LOVE them, but i've never worn one. i just happen to think they're drop-dead gorgeous and i need some. they're just pricey. my mom's iffy about buying them since y'know you normally just wear them for, say, your honeymoon. are you really pale? if so, do you mind? i'm super!! pale!! and nah i don't really mind tbh. does your best friend smoke cigarettes? nope did your last received text message have a smiley face in it? nah have your parents ever tried to talk to you about things like sex and contraception? mom has, as she's a good parent. my dad is too of course, we've just never talked about it. i think it'd be awkward for him. find your last text message from the opposite sex. can you tell us what it says, or is the content too personal? "here" how about your last facebook message from the opposite sex, what does that say? "well i'm here if u need to talk" you find out that your last ex is in a relationship with someone else, and it’s very serious. in fact, they’re planning to get married. your reaction? jason supposedly is in a relationship, and i know he wants marriage in his future, and i'm already pissed off enough about it. what’s the naughtiest thing you’ve ever done, and you got away with it? i guess getting sexual with jason at either of our hous- WAIT that time at my house where we did a few things on the couch naked because we were home alone. when you were younger, did you have a swing set or a playhouse in your backyard? we had a playhouse/swingset, yeah. is your mall nice? fuck no. crime happens there all the time. do you like to post song lyrics for your facebook status? no, because i'm not an angsty teen anymore. i'm an angsty adult, lol. are you scared of dying? yes. even though i think i'll go to heaven and all, i don't know that. the thought of living for so much and then just being... gone, is terrifying to me. are you hard to handle? apparently. are you a good singer? idk. sometimes i think so, sometimes i don't. i'm better with deeper notes, though. i have a hard time keeping my voice steady, too. are you a very stressed out person? i'mma be dead by 30 at this rate. if someone doesn't like you its probably because? i'm too quiet. do you use perfume? if so, what kind? yeah. my old friend got me "crazy lady" by lady gaga. smells great. do you text during school? i used to sometimes go to the bathroom to text mom if it was an emergency. what was the last picture you took? post it below: ya'll can see it fine. i changed my profile picture to it. have you ever had your eyebrows waxed? yeah. need to go more often. :/ do you own any game consoles? if so, which ones? playstation 2 (broken), playstation 3 (broken), wii, gameboy have you ever straightened your hair more than once a day? no. have you ever been to a rap concert? no, and i never would go unless my child wanted to go to one and felt very strongly about it. what color was the last bathing suit you wore? black. have you ever been to cracker barrel? yum!! as soon as you find out you are pregnant, who will you first tell? my husband, probably. where was the first place you kissed the last person you kissed? his bed. fuck dammit, i miss that. do you like your steak rare? NO how much younger or older would you date someone? i wouldn't date below my own age honestly unless i REALLY liked you, and i wouldn't date over, hm, like 28. have you ever been to a spa? if so, what did you get done there? yes, i got a manicure and a pedicure. have you ever been ‘banned’ from a website? i don't think so. do you expect to move out in the next year? no. i don't plan on moving out until me and a significant other find like an apartment or something. i've come to realize that i REALLY don't think i could ever, truly, live on my own. depression would destroy me. would you rather go without shaving your legs (if you're a girl) for 2 weeks or go without shaving your armpits for 2 weeks? i could easily go two weeks without shaving my legs, but never my armpits. would you do something you didn't really want to just to please your significant other? i suppose so. do you like the saw movies? no, really. do you think you have to be skinny in order to be beautiful? it's so weird, because the answer is no, of course, but simultaneously... i feel like i personally have to be in order to be beautiful. would you ever meet someone you met online? sure. who's your favorite band? oh god, this question again. no order: ozzy osbourne, metallica, marilyn manson, otep, rammstein, cradle of filth, a day to remember. how many best friends do you have? one. do you own anything from victoria's secret? nope. boobs are too big. what type of guy are you attracted to? i mean, a lot. but i have a soft spot for metalheads, geeks, and men who know how to show their emotions. i like the weird ones that really stand out. what would you do if you found out one of your friends likes your crush? oh she'd hear a few words from me. will the last person you kissed be the next person you kiss? realistically, probably not. when meeting someone new, are you afraid they won't like you? YEAH have you ever lived with a girlfriend/ boyfriend? yes have you ever seen that bon qui qui skit? OMLLLL WHEN WAS THIS SURVEY MADE BUT YES

#survey #quiz #questions #asks #answered

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anavoliselenu · 7 years

Text

Confessed man chapter 15

She bends and picks her picture up before backing out of the door, her eyes flicking nervously from Justin to his deranged, pregnant wife, and as soon as her body is over the threshold of the penthouse door, I slam it in her face, then turn to look at my ex-whore of a husband. He’s chomping nervously on that bottom lip and maybe I shouldn’t be, but I’m mad with him, too. I steam past him and up the stairs, finding the shower still flowing when I arrive back in the en-suite. Stripping down, I scrub my teeth, then step in and make no rush to get done quickly. I’ve been up for less than half an hour, and I already feel like it should be the end of my day.

My eyes are closed as I rinse my hair, but I can feel him behind me. He’s not touching me, but I know he’s there. And he’s all worried. I can sense the anxious vibes shooting into my wet back. The evidence of his uncertainty at Coral’s claim just reinforces my concern. Have I now got to add potential baby mommas to my list of things that could cause us issues? We’ve been back from Paradise for just two days, and I’m mentally exhausted already. A life of peace and comfort. That’s what I want and need, and every time I think we’re close to exactly that, something jumps up and obliterates it.

The familiar feel of the natural sponge connects with my back, as does his palm with my tummy. He’s cautious, and he should be. The only thing that sends me loopy is him and his sordid history with women. ‘Justin, I’m not in the mood.’ I step away from him and finish rinsing my hair. He doesn’t know what to do, so as usual when he finds himself in this situation, he tries to win me back over with his touch. I expect to hear a snort of disbelief or even a scorn for denying him, but I don’t. I do, however, feel his hand slide back around my stomach. ‘I said I’m not in the mood.’ I snap harshly, shrugging him off and grabbing a towel to dry myself.

‘You promised you’d never say that.’ he murmurs sullenly.

Securing myself in the towel, I glance up and see him standing under the pounding water with his hands hanging limply by his sides. ‘I’m late.’ I leave him with trepidation written all over his face to get myself ready for work.

I’m just about to exit the bedroom when he appears, all dopey eyed and sad. ‘Baby, my heart’s splitting. I hate fighting with you.’ He makes no attempt to close the distance between us.

‘We’re not fighting,’ I brush of his solemnness. ‘You need to get the code on the elevator changed. And find out how she got up here, too.’ I walk out, but barely make it to the top of the stairs before the warmth of his palm is around my wrist, stopping me from going anywhere.

‘I will, but we need to make friends.’

‘I’m dressed. We are not making friends now.’

‘Not properly, no. But don’t make me spend all day knowing that you’re not talking to me.’ He drops to his knees in front of me and looks up. ‘The days are long enough already.’

‘I am talking to you.’ I mutter.

‘Then why are you sulking?’

I sigh. ‘Because a woman has just invaded our home and tried to stake a claim on you, Justin. That is why I’m sulking.’

‘Come here.’ He pulls me down and wraps me in his arms. ‘I love it when you trample.’

‘It’s tiring.’ I mumble into his chest. ‘I really need to go.’

‘Okay,’ he kisses my hair and pulls back, securing my cheeks in his hold. ‘Tell me we’re friends.’

‘We’re friends.’

He blasts my moodiness with his smile—my smile. ‘Good girl. We’ll make friends properly later. Go get your breakfast. I’ll be two minutes.’

‘I need to go.’ I remind him, glancing down at my Rolex. ‘It’s eight thirty already.’

‘Two minutes.’ he repeats, returning me to standing. ‘You’ll wait for me.’

‘Hurry up then!’ I push him away and he starts jogging backwards with his contented grin in place. He’s all happy and roguish again.

I find Cathy in the kitchen wrapping a bagel and still muttering under her breath. She soon stops when my presence is noted. ‘Selena,’ She scurries over, wiping her hands down her apron. ‘I tried to stop the vindictive little minx!’

Something tells me Cathy has had an encounter with Coral before. ‘Don’t worry, Cathy.’ I smile and give her a rub of her arm. ‘You know her, then?’ I press lightly.

‘Oh, I know her, and I don’t like her.’ She starts muttering again as she returns to the island to finish wrapping my breakfast. ‘She’s been turning up for months, pestering my boy and claiming poverty. I told her. I said, look here, you conniving little tramp. Leave my boy alone and try fixing your marriage.’ I smile as I watch her aggressive hand movements, virtually bashing away at my bagel. ‘I don’t know how many times my boy has sent her packing. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’ She looks up at me. ‘Have you taken your folic acid?’

‘No,’ I walk to the fridge and collect a bottle of water before taking the pills that Cathy hands me, followed by a ginger biscuit.’ Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome, dear.’ Her wrinkled face grins. ‘You certainly put her in her place.’ She laughs and retrieves my bagel, and then stuffs it in my bag. ‘You eat that, I mean it.’

‘You sound like Justin.’ I down my pills.

‘He cares, Selena. Don’t condemn him for that,’ she scolds me lightly, looking over my shoulder. ‘Here he is, and he’s dressed!’

‘I’m dressed.’ He laughs, straightening his tie. ‘As is my beautiful wife.’

I roll my eyes, but I don’t feel embarrassed at all. She’s seen it all before, and Coral’s visit has taken the edge off any mortification. ‘Can I go to work now?’

He pulls his collar down and rubs his three days’ worth of stubble. Two minutes didn’t give him time to shave. ‘Have you taken your folic acid?’

‘Yes,’ I groan.

‘Have you had your breakfast?’

I tap the side of my bag.

‘You better eat that.’ he warns, taking my hand. ‘Say goodbye to Cathy.’

‘Bye, Cathy!’

‘Bye, dear. Bye, my boy!’

I’m a little wary when we leave the penthouse, and even more wary when we step out of the elevator, into the foyer of Lusso, but she’s nowhere to be seen. I wince when I see Clive at the concierge desk, knowing he’s about to cop it in a big way.

‘Morning, Selena. Mr Ward.’ The old boy’s cheerfulness is going to be short lived once Justin lets loose.

‘Clive,’ Justin begins. ‘How the hell did a woman make it past you and up to the penthouse?’

The confusion on Clive’s face is clear. ‘Mr Ward, I’ve just come on shift.’

‘Just?’

‘Yes, I relieved the new boy…’ he glances down at his watch. ‘only ten minutes ago.’

I cringe further. It’s Casey who’ll be copping it. My sympathy for the new concierge increases. Chancing a peek at my man, I note a look of pure irritation. Casey might do well never to return. ‘When’s he back on shift?’ Justin asks shortly.

‘I finish at four.’ Clive confirms. ‘Did he do something wrong, Mr Ward? I have advised him of protocol.’

I’m pulled towards the sunlight outside. ‘For what f**king use it’s done.’ Justin mutters. ‘John’s taking you to work.’ he tells me as we emerge.

‘When do I get my Mini back?’ I ask, spotting the big guy across the car park, leaning up against the driver’s door.

‘You’re not. It’s a write off.’

‘Oh,’ I say quietly. I love my Mini. ‘Well when do I get to drive myself to work, then?’

Justin opens the passenger door of John’s Range Rover and lifts me in. ‘When I find out who stole my car.’

‘Why aren’t you taking me to work?’

He pulls my seatbelt across and secures me before dropping a kiss on my forehead. ‘I have a few meetings at The Manor.’

‘Then why did you make me wait for you?’ I ask on a scowl.

‘So I could put you in John’s car and remind you to speak with Patrick.’

I know I audibly groan. ‘You’re impossible.’

‘You’re beautiful. Have a good day.’ He kisses me once more and shuts me in, giving John a brief nod before making his way to the DBS. I’m suspicious of that nod and when John climbs in next to me, I make sure I direct my suspiciousness at him.

‘What’s up, Girl?’

‘Him.’

‘Nothing’s changed then,’ he laughs that deep, rumbling laugh.

‘No, nothing has changed.’ I grumble.

Chapter 31

I’m a whole hour late for work, but I’m not going to get away with it today. Patrick is here, and he’s standing over my desk when I finally burst through the door.

‘Flower?’ His round face is questioning, and the last thing I need today. I’m late, and now I’m going to shock him into a heart attack with my announcement. He looks up at the office clock. ‘What time do you call this?’

It’s one of the only times I’ve seen a displeased look on my boss’s face. I’ve always been so dedicated to my career, but personal stuff is getting in the way and my job has been side lined. I’m really pushing my luck, and I have been since Justin trampled into my life. ‘I’m sorry, Patrick.’ I can’t lie and feed him any rubbish on a client appointment, so I leave it at just an apology.

‘Selena, I know your life has been moving pretty quickly lately—congratulations, by the way, but I need dedication.’ He takes his comb from his inside pocket and sweeps it through his silver mop.

I’m a little shocked. Congratulations, by the way? That was hardly sincere. ‘I’m sorry.’ I repeat because I’m stumped for anything else to say. By the way? I’m a little insulted, but my slighted state isn’t drawing any further inspiration to voice it, and Patrick doesn’t give me the chance to, anyway. He goes back to his office, shutting the door behind him. I turn my confusion onto my three colleagues, who are all sitting quietly with their heads down. Has he had a pop at them, too? I collapse in my chair and decide, wisely or not, given my boss’s annoyance, to call Kate. A friendly voice. That’s what I need to hear right now.

She grunts down the phone in greeting.

‘Are you still in bed?’ I ask, firing up my computer.

‘Yep.’ is the one word, swift reply that shoots down the phone.

I smile. ‘Is a certain cute, messy haired, dimpled faced man with you?’ I pray for a yes, then hear shuffles and definitely a giggle, making my smile widen. I might have wanted to hear a friendly voice, but this will do the trick, too.

‘He is.’ She answers on a little shriek, not bothering to evade or brush off my question. ‘Sam!’

‘Okay, I’ll go.’ I have things to share, but I’m more than happy to hold off.

‘No, Selena!’

‘What?’

‘Wait!’ she demands. I hear more shuffling, definitely a few slaps and then a door close. ‘I just wanted to know how you got on with Dan.’ She’s whispering, for obvious reasons.

That wipes the smile clean from my face. Kate doesn’t need to know the gory details, and I’m just as ashamed of my brother as he is of himself. ‘Fine. It’s fine. He’s gone back to Australia, and Justin convinced him to keep quiet.’

‘I feel responsible.’

‘Kate, he’d already worked it out, before you made the entrance of the year.’ I can joke about it now. ‘Did you talk?’ I ask tentatively, taping my pen furiously on the table and wondering if there’s still scope for a bit of head bashing.

‘Yes, we talked. He knew about Dan.’ She pauses, and I know she’s waiting for a shocked gasp from me, but too much time has passed for me to fake one now.

I try, anyway. ‘Really?’ I practically shriek, receiving three sets of wide, startled eyes shoot straight to me from every corner of the office.

‘Whatever, Selena.’ she mumbles. ‘I felt like such an idiot. He’s not as daft as I thought.’

‘I know,’ I agree. ‘So, everything is okay?’

‘Yes, everything is fine. Perfect, in fact.’

I’m smiling again. ‘No more Manor?’

‘No more Manor.’ she confirms. ‘How are you? Throwing up? Achy legs? Any stretch marks?’

‘Not yet,’ I look down and notice my hand resting on my stomach. ‘I might not be the only one getting all of those things, though.’ I prick her curiosity. There’s no way in hell I’ll ever keep this one to myself.

‘Ooohhhh, who’s preggers?’ she asks, obviously intrigued. ‘Not boring Sal?’

‘No!’ I look over at boring Sal and instantly register that she is, in fact, boring Sal again. I cave on the inside for her. ‘Who then?’ Kate’s impatient voice relieves my eyes of boring, suicidal Sal and pulls me back to her pressing need for answers.

‘Coral.’

‘Fuck off!’

‘No, Coral is pregnant and that’s not all.’ I’m teasing when I really don’t need to. I have her full attention and shock. She’s heard nothing yet. ‘And she claims it’s Justin’s’

‘WHAT?’

I pull my phone away from my ear, certain that the whole office, perhaps even the whole of London, heard her. ‘It’s not, though.’

‘Wait, wait wait.’ She’s gesturing with her hands in my mind’s eye, and I hear the unmistakable scraping of a chair across her kitchen floor. She’s sitting herself down. ‘Coral’s pregnant?’

‘Yes,’

‘And she claims its Justin’s?’

‘Yes,’ I open my email as I answer, all casual and not at all affected by Kate’s shock. I’m over it.

‘But it’s not?’

‘Nope,’

‘How do you know?’ She asks the question prudently, but it’s a fair one, and I highly expected it.

‘Because she tried to pass off a peanut as a walnut.’

‘What the f**king hell are you on about?’

I sigh and continue absentmindedly scrolling my email account. ‘She has a scan picture. She’s claiming it’s a four month scan, but it’s clearly not and she’s cut all of the evidence away - the date, everything.’

‘The crafty f**king bitch! Is she that desperate?’

‘Very. She’s four-ish weeks, maximum. The last time Justin slept with the tramp was over four months ago. I swear to God, Kate, I was this…’

‘Hold up!’

‘What?’

‘Fucking hell! SAM!’ she shrieks, and I jump in my chair. ‘SAM!’

‘Will you stop yelling in my ear?’ I snap, hearing thundering footsteps down the line, then the sound of a door crashing open. There’s the mumbled, sleepy voice of Sam, and the high pitched, wide awake shriek of Kate. I can hear neither. Sam is too quiet and Kate is so loud, she’s all distorted. ‘Kate?’

‘Selena, f**king hell!’

I’m losing my rag now. ‘Stop your shouting and talk to me.’

‘Okay,’ she pants. ‘Drew slept with Coral.’

I sit up in my chair. ‘When?’

‘Oh, about four or five weeks ago.’ she says casually, which is a million miles away from the last few moments of frantic shouting and blurting of words.

‘How do you know?’

‘Sam told me. Drew was rat arsed, Coral nabbed him. The poor bloke knew nothing about it and probably wouldn’t if Sam hadn’t have turned up at his place. He caught her sneaking out.’

‘Oh shit,’ I’m not scrolling my email casually anymore. I’m tapping my pen wildly on the side of my desk. ‘How did she think she’d get away with it? I mean, the baby would be three months overdue!’

‘Desperate people do desperate things, my friend.’ She’s calmed right down. ‘Sam’s on the phone to him now. Are you okay? That must have been a shock, even if she was lying.’

‘Yeah, I’m used to shock with Justin.’ I brush it off with the apathy the whole episode deserves. Drew won’t be, though.

‘Good. You need to be careful now, don’t you?’ She asks it sweetly as a question, but there is a tinge of menace in there, too.

‘I do, I am, and I will. Listen, I’d better go. Patrick’s got the hump with me and Tom, Sal and Victoria all look like someone’s slapped them in the face. Lunch tomorrow?’

‘Perfect. Call me.’ She hangs up, and I cast a sceptical gaze around my office. It’s only ever this quiet when I’m here on my own. I glance over my shoulder to Patrick’s office and see his door shut and whilst I’m dying to call Justin and off load my new knowledge, I would be pushing my luck further. I know Sam will be calling him up, anyway. I should prep for my meeting with Ruth Quinn.

* * *

At eleven thirty, no one has spoken still, Patrick hasn’t come out of his office and I’m feeling nervous when I knock on Patrick’s door. I don’t just open it like I usually would. I wait for his okay and when it comes, I poke my head around and smile sweetly. ‘I have a noon appointment with Miss Quinn.’

‘Fine. You need to be back by two. We’re having a meeting.’ His tone is clipped, and he doesn’t look at me, choosing to keep his attention on the screen of his computer.

‘Okay,’ I shut the door with care and leave the office bewildered and concerned. A meeting? A meeting to discuss my lack of job commitment lately, no doubt, and bizarrely, I’m not even that concerned.

I’m greeted by a moped courier at the door. ‘Delivery for Selena O’Shea.’ His voice is muffled through his helmet, which he hasn’t taken off.

‘That’s me.’ I murmur apprehensively, the sound of my maiden name sending a chill down my spine.

‘Sign here, please.’ He thrusts a clipboard under my nose and I sign away, taking an envelope from him when I’m done. I don’t want to accept this delivery, but when John pulls up, I try my hardest to appear natural when I really should be appearing exasperated at the big guy’s arrival. The courier jumps on his bike and zooms off down the road without another muffled word. It’s not until John leans over and pushes the passenger door open that I realise I’m frozen in place, still with the envelope in my hand.

‘What you got there, girl?’ he asks, his smooth, shiny forehead creasing above his wraparounds.

‘Nothing,’ I stuff it in my bag and jump in, pulling my seatbelt on. ‘What are you doing here?’

He pulls straight into the traffic and starts the therapeutic tapping of his palm on the steering wheel, and I wonder how the leather hasn’t developed a dent in it from the constant drumming. ‘You have an appointment, girl.’

My inquisitive eyes bore into the side of his head. He can’t possibly know that because I’ve ensured my work diary remains under lock and key, just like my mouth. ‘How do you know?’ For the first time since I’ve known this big, menacing, black man, he looks awkward, and he’s refusing to look at me. ‘He’s making you follow me, isn’t he?’ I accuse. I don’t believe this.

His tapping increases momentum. I give him time to think about his answer, but I can tell by the look on his face that he knows I’ve got him. ‘Girl, someone tried to ram you off the road. You cannot blame him for being a little jittery. Where am I heading.’

‘Lansdowne Terrace,’ I reply. ‘So what’s your excuse for all of the other times he’s stalked me?’

‘I don’t have one.’ he answers candidly. ‘Those times he was just a crazy mother f**ker.’

I laugh and John joins me, his neck retracting just how I like it. ‘Don’t you get bored?’ I ask, thinking that he must see me as a royal pain in the arse. This definitely can’t be in his job description.

‘No,’ He quits with the laughing and turns to me, smiling fondly. ‘That crazy mother f**ker isn’t the only one who cares about you, girl.’

I have to press my lips together before my stupid pregnant emotions get the better of me and I let out an embarrassing sob. I know John won’t appreciate it. ‘I don’t mind you either.’ I shrug his affection off because I know he’ll appreciate that, and his quiet laugh confirms it.

‘I’ve been reading.’ he informs me, leaning over and opening the glove compartment. He takes a book out and hands it to me before resuming tapping of the wheel.

I read the title, and then again to make sure I have it right. ‘Bonsai trees?’

‘That’s right.’

I start flicking through the pages, admiring the pretty little trees and imagining John bent over one, delicately clipping at the fragile branches. ‘It’s a hobby?’

‘Yes, very relaxing.’

‘Where do you live, John?’ I don’t know where the question comes from. John and Bonsai trees would never be two things that I would naturally put together, but with this strange, new knowledge, I’m compelled to know.

‘Chelsea, girl.’

‘Alone?’

‘All alone.’ He laughs. ‘Me and my trees.’

I’m astonished. I would never have thought it. This is a man who on first sight I thought was a member of the Mafia—this huge, black, mean looking geezer, who patrols The Manor, keeps over exited men, and perhaps women, too, in their place, and now I find out that he lives with trees? Fascinating.

* * *

‘Are you going to wait outside for me?’ I ask John playfully when he pulls up outside Ruth Quinn’s house.

His gold tooth flashes, and he reaches over to take the book. ‘I might read a few pages, girl.’

‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’ I jump out and dash up the path to Ruth’s home.

The front door is open before I even knock. ‘Selena!’ She sounds far too happy to see me.

‘Hi, Ruth. How are you?’

‘Fabulous! Come in.’ She looks over my shoulder on a slight frown and ushers me in quickly.

I let her be curious because explaining John will take too long, and I don’t want to stay any longer than is necessary. I need to keep this as professional as possible.

She leads me down the corridor, into the kitchen. ‘Did you have a good weekend?’ she asks.

Brilliant and awful. It seems like light-years ago. ‘Yes, thank you, and you?’ I settle myself at the huge oak table and get my files out.

‘Wonderful,’ she sings, taking a seat next to me.

I smile politely and open her file. ‘So, what did you want to discuss? Cupboards?’

‘No, don’t worry about the cupboards. We’ll stick with the original. Now, the wine fridge, remind me, did we opt for the single or double width?’

If that is what she’s dragged me here for, I will be most upset. ‘Double.’ I say slowly. I’m not at all comfortable. She could have called for both of those points. My phone starts ringing from my bag, but I ignore it, even though it’s Angel. I don’t plan on being here for much longer, and there is absolutely no need for me to be, so I can call him back as soon as I escape. ‘Was that all?’ I ask dubiously. My phone rings off, then starts again immediately.

‘Do you want to get that?’ she asks, looking at my bag.

‘It’s fine,’ I shake my head mildly. She doesn’t know it, but it’s in disbelief. ‘Was there anything else Ruth?’

‘Urm,’ She looks frantically around the kitchen. ‘Yes, I’ve changed my mind about the walnut floor.’ she says, dragging a magazine over from the other side of the table. ‘I quite like this.’ She points to an oak alternative on the cover of the magazine.

I start to voice my reasons for sticking to walnut when my phone cuts me off. My shoulders sag.

Ruth pushes my bag towards me. ‘Selena, perhaps you should answer. Whoever it is obviously wants to talk to you.’

I close my eyes in a give-me-strength gesture and reach into my bag to retrieve my phone before getting up from the table and making my way into the hall. ‘Justin, I’m in a meeting. Can I call you back?’

‘I’m having Selena withdrawal.’ he murmurs. ‘Are you having Justin withdrawal?’

‘Is there a cure?’ I ask on a grin, knowing damn well what the cure is.

‘Yes, it’s called constant contact. What time are you finishing work?’

‘I’m not sure. I have a meeting at two with Patrick.’ I glance over my shoulder and see Ruth flicking through the design magazine. She may not be paying any attention, but she must be able to hear me. Maybe that’s a good thing. I’m happily married, most of the time. And I’m pregnant, too. Should I slip that into the conversation?

‘Oh good. You’re finally going to see through on your promise to talk with Patrick.’ Justin says.

‘Yes,’

‘Well it won’t take that long, will it?’

‘No, probably not, but it doesn’t matter because John will be waiting for me, won’t he?’ I answer his question with my own. I’ve probably dropped John in it, but what’s the point in pretending I don’t know?

‘He will,’ I can hear his grin in his tone. ‘How are my babies, lady?’

‘Our babies are fine,’ I realise immediately what I’ve just said, and I also notice my hand caressing my belly. ‘Justin, I need to get back. I’ll see you later.’

‘What am I supposed to do until later?’

‘Go for a run.’

‘I already did that.’ he counters proudly. ‘Maybe I’ll go shopping.’

‘Yes, go shopping.’ I encourage him, hoping he lands in Babies R Us and doesn’t emerge until gone six. ‘I love you.’ I end the conversation on something that’ll placate him for a little longer.

‘I know.’ he sighs.

‘Bye.’ I smile and hang up, making my way back to the kitchen. ‘Sorry about that.’ I wave my phone as I sit back down. ‘So, oak then?’

She looks lost in thought as she studies me for a while, and then her stare drops to my tummy, which is tucked neatly under the table. I knew she must have heard, but a tiny part of me was hoping she hadn’t.

I start scribbling down a load of complete nonsense. ‘I’ll get a price on the oak. The fitting and labour will be the same, but I’ll check it out, anyway. Are you sure we’re ditching the walnut?’ I wait for her confirmation, but when I’ve ran out of things to write and she still hasn’t answered, I look up and find her still daydreaming. ‘Ruth?’

‘Oh, sorry! I was miles away. Yes, please do.’ She jumps up. ‘Selena, I’m so sorry, I’ve not even offered you a cup of tea. Or maybe wine. We could have a cheeky lunchtime wine.’

‘No, honestly. I don’t drink.’

‘Why?’

Her abrupt question increases my unease. ‘Not in the week. I don’t drink in the week.’

‘I see. Yes, we can all get a bit carried away.’ She smiles, but it goes nowhere near her blue eyes. ‘How’s your husband?’

I can’t help the sharp inhale of breath. Not when she’s linked alcohol, getting carried, away and my husband all in two close sentences. ‘He’s good.’ I start to pack my things away, keen to leave. She may have innocently touched a nerve, but she’s still gazing longingly at me, and it’s becoming unbearable. ‘I’ll get those quotes and call you.’

I make to stand a bit too hastily and catch my heel on the leg of the chair, causing me to stumble slightly. She’s on me in a second, holding my arm to steady me. ‘Selena, are you okay?’

‘Yes, fine.’ I collect myself, trying my hardest not to appear uneasy, but now she has a hold of me and she’s not letting go. In fact, she’s trailing her hand up my arm. I tense from top to toe as it makes it to my cheek and strokes me gently.

‘So beautiful,’ she whispers.

I should move back, but I’m too shocked and my lack of recoil is allowing her to caress my cheek to her hearts content. ‘I should go,’ I say quietly, finally letting some sensibility filter into my brain. I step back and her hand falls away, a shimmer of embarrassment washing over her face. She laughs and looks away. ‘Yes, perhaps you should.’

I take her cue and make my getaway, hurrying down the hall to the front door and swinging it open. I don’t even close it behind me. John spots me rushing towards his car and jumps out. ‘Selena, girl?’ he questions as he runs a quick all over scan of me, checking I’m physically okay. Once he’s satisfied himself that I am, he looks past me and slowly reaches up to remove his sunglasses. His action wouldn’t appear so strange if he’d have left his glasses on, but he hasn’t, and now he’s looking up the path to Ruth’s house.

I slow my escape and turn to see what’s caught his interest, seeing the front door close to Ruth’s home as I do. ‘What’s up, John?’ I ask, feeling better now that I’m away from my friendly client, who now just seems creepy.

‘Nothing, girl. Get in the car.’ His glasses are replaced and he nods at me, instead of repeating himself, so I climb in and wait for him to join me. He slides in and turns towards me. ‘What’s got you in a state?’

I sag and pull my seatbelt on, feeling a little stupid. ‘I think I have a female admirer.’

I expect a laugh or at least a shocked gasp, but I get nothing, just a nod of acknowledgment and a face that turns away from me. ‘Something else to send the mother f**ker crazy.’ John rumbles dryly. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Ruth Quinn. She’s strange.’

He nods thoughtfully. ‘Back to the office?’

‘Please, John.’ I throw my bag between my feet, dislodging the envelope that I tucked neatly in there earlier. It pokes out, reminding me of its presence, and I reach down, curiosity getting the better of me.

‘What’s that?’ John asks, nodding at the brown A4 envelope that I’m holding.

‘I’m not sure.’ I sound as apprehensive as I feel. ‘A courier delivered it.’ I’m being totally honest because if this turns out to be another warning, then I’ll be telling Justin anyway, so it’s of no consequence if John knows, too. I peel the seal and pull out a piece of card and as soon as I clock the cut out letters, I lose my breath.

‘What is it?’ John asks, his voice laced with concern.

I can’t speak. There is a certain level of maliciousness linked to these sorts of letters and as I stare down at the message, assembled with various newspaper and magazine cuttings, my casual disregard of my previous warning seems quite reckless.

‘It’s another warning.’ I manage to splutter through my racing breath. I feel sick.

‘Another?’

‘Yes, I had one with some half dead flowers. I just chucked it in the bin and put it down to a jilted ex-sexual conquest.’ I open the window to get some needed fresh air.

‘What does it say?’ John keeps flicking his sunglass covered eyes over to the piece of card that I’ve dropped in my lap. I read the message to him.

‘I told you to leave him.’

A frustrated curse shoots into the air. ‘What did the other one say? Was it like that one?’

I try and collect my scattered thoughts and attempt to recall the exact wording of the other message. ‘Something along the lines of me not knowing him. They said they did.’ I shake my head in frustration. ‘I can’t remember. The other was handwritten.’ I’m furious with myself for getting rid of it when I should have been sensible and told Justin. He’s got Steve investigating the car incident and my drugging and, stupidly, I kept something from him that could’ve assisted in dealing with this. It may have sent him off the deep end initially, but the long term benefits to him knowing far outweigh the meltdown that would be guaranteed—the meltdown he’s going to have very soon because now he will know, and I’m going to be facing a seriously pissed off male. I’ve been so stupid.

‘Why haven’t you told Justin?’ John sounds concerned, only heightening my own worrying thoughts.

‘Why do you think, John?’ He can’t be so unwise to ask that question, and the deep breath and brief look of understanding that travel across his annoyed face tells me he’s not.

‘Okay, girl.’ He doesn’t say I’ve been foolish, but I know he’s thinking it.

‘I thought it was Coral.’ I say quietly.

‘Even after the dressing down that you gave her this morning?’ He’s restraining a small smile, I can tell.

‘No, I thought it was Coral before. Not now.’

‘Do you want to tell him, or should I?’ John asks seriously. I know what he means. No further elaboration is required and when he looks at me and nods at my pleading face, I know he understands. ‘I’ll tell him, girl.’

‘Can you try to calm him down, too?’

‘If we were talking about anything else, I’d say yes. But this is you. I’m not promising anything.’

I sigh, but I appreciate his frankness. ‘Thank you. Are you going back to The Manor?’

‘No, girl. I’ll call him. You just get done at work, and I’ll be waiting for you.’

‘Okay.’ I agree, feeling anxious, stupid and way too vulnerable. Once again, I’ve underestimated something that I really shouldn’t have.

* * *

The office is still uncomfortably silent when John drops me off at work. All three of my colleagues heads are firmly down, Sally still looks suicidal, and Patrick’s office door is still closed. No one acknowledges me when I pass through and Sally doesn’t offer me a coffee, so I dump my bag and head through to the kitchen to make myself one.

I’m just tipping my third sugar into the mug when my shoulders rise and tense at the sound of my beloved husband’s ringtone. If I could get away with it, I’d ignore him, but he’ll be calling the landline and failing that, charging into the office. Abandoning my coffee, I take deep breaths of courage as I go in search of my phone. This isn’t going to be a call that I can take in the openness of my office, so I hurry to the conference room and close the door behind me before connecting myself to what will be a raging mass of angry male.

‘Please don’t shout at me!’ I blurt down the line, immediately holding the phone away from my ear once I’ve made my plea.

I was right. ‘What the f**king hell were you thinking?’ he yells. ‘You stupid, stupid woman!’

My eyes close, and I quietly accept his rant, keeping my phone at a safe distance.

He’s breathing erratically between scorns. ‘I’ve been pulling my f**king hair out, trying to work with Steve and figure this shit out, and all along you had a handwritten threat?’ I hear a door slam. ‘And you tore it up? Evidence, Selena. Fucking evidence!’

‘I’m sorry!’ I’m close to tears. ‘I didn’t want to worry you. I thought it was harmless.’

‘Harmless, even after you were drugged? And did you still think it was harmless after you got rammed from the road?’ He’s so mad, but I know it’s because he’s not in control. He can’t control what’s happening, and it’s sending him crazy mad.

‘I should have told you.’

‘Fuck!’ Silence falls after his curse, and I can see a clear mental image of him slumped in his office chair, rubbing a furious circle on his temple with his fingertips. ‘Tell me you’re not leaving that office this afternoon.’

‘I have a meeting with Patrick. I’ll speak to him about Mikael.’ I’m trying to tell him what I know he wants to hear. I can’t work with Mikael, even if I don’t think it’s him anymore.

‘This isn’t the work of Mikael, Selena.’ he says more calmly than I know he’s feeling. I knew that, but what has convinced Justin? ‘Steve confirmed that Mikael was on the flight to Denmark. He’s been back and forth to London over the last few weeks, but completely legit. He couldn’t have drugged you and he couldn’t have been driving my car because both of those times it’s confirmed that he was in Denmark. And why the hell would he say that he knows me?’ Justin’s tone gets sharper as he finishes the sentence. It’s a reference to the first threat.

‘What about the man in the CCTV footage?’ I ask tentatively?

‘I don’t know, Selena.’ he sighs. ‘My car was found yesterday. Steve’s looking into it. The tracker’s been deactivated.’

‘Oh.’ I rest my tired arse down on one of the plush chairs surrounding the conference table. I could point out to him that I’m not the only one who’s been withholding information, but I won’t. I know he’s been pulling strings, calling in favours and generally doing everything other than using the police in the way they should be, whereas I have just been plain dumb.

‘Should I come to The Manor after work?’ I ask.

‘No, John will take you home as soon as you’ve spoken to Patrick. I’ll meet you there. Given this new information I’ve just found out, I’ve got Steve swinging by.’ His sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed and neither does the edge of anger. I’ve made a huge mistake. I don’t point out that my working day may not be over after I’ve spoken to Patrick because it will serve no purpose other than instigating further growling down the phone. I really do need to play by his rules this time. ‘Don’t leave that office, and once John’s taken you home, you stay put. Do you understand me?’

‘I understand.’ I whisper.

‘Good girl. I’ll speak with Steve, but I’m out of here the second I’m done.’

‘I love you.’ I blurt urgently, like I won’t ever get to tell him again.

He sighs. ‘I know you do, baby. We’ll have a bath when I’m home. Deal?’

‘Deal.’ I agree, his soft words and promise of tub-time making me feel a little better.

‘Do what you��re told, lady.’ He hangs up after that final warning, but I don’t take my phone from my ear. I know he’s gone, but I hold it there for a few moments anyway, maybe hoping that I’m mistaken and his deep husk will install some further reassurance.

It’s only when the door to the conference room swings open and Patrick appears that I finally pull my mobile away and accept he’s gone.

‘There you are,’ He still doesn’t look impressed as he stands holding the door open. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Yes,’ I go to rise, but he waves me back down.

‘No, stay there. We’re having the meeting in here.’ He shouts through to the others and one by one, they filter in, all puzzled and all deadly quiet. Something is going down, everyone can obviously sense it, and I now gather that it’s not just me and Patrick in this meeting.

There are no trays of tea brought in by Sal and there are no fresh cream cakes to dive into. Patrick looks tired and harassed, whereas we all look majorly confused by this sudden change in meeting etiquette. What happen to the relaxed affair, where we all huddle around our boss’s desk and stuff our faces with cake while Patrick brings himself up-to-date on client progress?

‘Right,’ He sits his big body down in a chair at the head of the table and undoes his suit jacket to prevent the pull over his rounded stomach. ‘I’ve not been here much lately, and I’m sure you’re all wondering why.’

The other three all murmur their acknowledgment, and even though I had absentmindedly noticed his lack of presence in the offices lately, I hadn’t dwelled on it for long. ‘Well, there is a perfectly good reason,’ he continues. ‘and I’m now in a position to disclose it. It has been tough, keeping you all in the dark. You all know I value each and every one of you, but things needed to be ironed out and finalised.’ His hands rest on his stomach and he relaxes back in his chair. My eyes travel from Tom to Victoria to Sal, and back again a few times, trying to gage their reaction to the news of news, but they are all just staring blankly at Patrick. ‘I’m retiring.’ he sighs. ‘I’ve had it.’

There is a collective hum of relived breaths coming from everyone, except me. If he’s retiring, then what happens to Rococo Union? Have none of them thought of that yet?

‘You’ve all still got your jobs. I’ve made sure of that,’ More collective sighs. ‘but I can’t do it anymore. The rat race of London is wearing me out, so Irene and I are moving up to the Lake District.’

My first thought is… Patrick full time with Irene? What is he thinking? And my second thought is… who am I going to be working for? I don’t have to wait long to find out. The door opens and Mikael walks in.

Chapter 32

‘Meet the new owner of Rococo Union!’ Patrick sings.

Tom and Victoria swoon a little, but Sally is definitely with me in the shock department. We’re both visibly choking on thin air, but while I know damn well why I am, I have no clue what’s gotten into Sal.

‘Of course, you already know him in some capacity.’ Patrick continues, ‘Mr Van Der Haus and I have been thrashing out a deal over the last few weeks, and we’ve finally settled on mutually agreeable terms.’

‘And I can’t wait to get stuck in.’ Mikael smiles, ignoring the other members of staff and keeping his blues right on me. ‘I think we’ll work very well together.’

I predict that the hum of agreement comes from only three people in this room. I don’t agree and it doesn’t look like Sal does either. There will be nothing coming from my mouth because my throat has closed up. I watch him round the table and shake hands with Patrick before formally introducing himself to my colleagues. When he makes it to Sal, he barely looks at her and she undoubtedly burns bright red and looks down to the floor.

She’s been seeing Mikael!

My mouth gapes as I watch her fidget. That is how he knows I’m married. That is how he knows I’m pregnant and that I’m pregnant with twins. That is how he knows everything!

The room is suddenly filled with Massive Attack’s Angel and everyone looks at me, sitting in the chair like a statue, holding my phone limply in my hand.

‘Would you like to take that?’ Mikael asks on a smile, which I don’t reciprocate. Then the office door bursts open and John steams in, panting and doing a quick assessment of the scene that he’s just barged in on. Now, I can safely say that my career at Rococo Union is over.

John steps forward, with no regard for the people all looking wide eyed at him, and grabs my phone from my lifeless hand, answering it quickly. ‘She’s fine.’

My stunned brain gets up to speed with what’s happening as I watch John pace the conference room. Everyone is watching him, but no one is questioning him. He must have seen Mikael enter the office and called Justin. I almost want to yell at the big guy, but the latest stroke Mikael has pulled is the nail in the coffin for me and my employment at Rococo Union—that and the huge, mean Mafia type stomping around the office.

Mikael doesn’t need an interior design company. This is ridiculous, and crossing the fine line of obsessive… a bit like my husband did.

John looks at me and nods, me nodding back because speech still hasn’t found me. Then he hands me the phone, and I look at him in horror. I can’t have what I know will be a heated conversation with Justin here and now. I push myself back, further into the chair, but John gives me a look to suggest that I’m not going to get away with it. Justin wants to talk to me, and I know I’m going to get nowhere refusing.

Nervously taking the phone, I stand up and leave the room. ‘Justin?’

‘What the FUCK is he doing there?’ he’s rampant, probably yanking chunks of hair from his head.

‘He’s bought the company.’ I say the words quietly and calmly, having a delusional hope that by saying it calmly, might reflect the way in which he deals with this. It’s a very delusional hope.

He’s hyperventilating down the phone. ‘Get your bag, get John, and leave. Do you hear me?’

‘Yes,’ I confirm quickly, knowing I have no other option.

‘Do it now while I’m on the phone.’

‘Okay,’ I let my phone leave my ear and re-enter the office, getting six sets of eyes pointed straight at me. The tension in the air is heavy. I pick my bag up and look at John, who nods again.

‘Selena?’ Patrick’s familiar, concerned voice pulls my eyes to my boss, or ex-boss.

‘I’m sorry, Patrick. I can’t work for Rococo Union anymore.’

‘Why ever not? Exciting things will be happening. Mikael has assured me that you’ll be made a profit sharing director. I made it part of the deal, flower.’ He’s standing now and approaching me with a wrinkled brow. ‘It’s an amazing opportunity for you.’

I smile and glance at Mikael. He seems to be speechless himself now. ‘I’m sorry, I should’ve said that I can’t work for Mikael.’ Now all eyes are on the Dane. ‘Mikael has been actively pursuing me for some time. He won’t take no for an answer.’ I swing my bag onto my shoulder. ‘Sal, he’s been using you to keep tabs on me. I’m sorry.’

She’s hiding her face, but I can see that she’s crying. I feel terrible for her.

‘Are you so desperate that you’d destroy someone as sweet as Sally?’ I ask Mikael. ‘Are you so desperate to get revenge on a man that you’ll buy the company his wife works for?’

‘Revenge on that womaniser is just an advantage. I’ve wanted you from day one.’ He basically confirms Justin’s suspicions in that one sentence. ‘He doesn’t deserve you.’

‘He does deserve me, and he has me. He’ll always have me. We’ve fought off bigger beasts than you, Mikael. Nothing you can tell me will ever sway me from my decision to be with him.’ My body might be shaking, but my voice is steady and firm. ‘I have nothing more to say to you.’ I turn to leave, but stop briefly at the door. ‘I’m sorry, Patrick.’

John follows me, his giant hand set firmly on my back, as if he’s gaging my physical condition. I feel sad, but strangely resolute.

‘Selena,’

The light Danish accent that I used to find quite sexy, now just makes my skin crawl. John tries to push me on, but a stupid sense of curiosity has me fighting against the big guy’s strength and turning towards Mikael.

‘He f**ked other women when he was with you, Selena. He doesn’t deserve you.’

‘He does deserve me!’ I scream the words in his face, and he steps back, shocked.

John’s hand moves to my arm, but I shrug him off. ‘Selena, girl?’

‘No! No one gets to pass judgement on him, except me! He’s mine!’ I’ve forgiven him, and given the chance, I could probably forget. ‘You’re blinded by resentment.’ I say more calmly.

‘It’s more about you.’ The Dane flicks a cautious glance at my bodyguard.

I laugh and shake my head. ‘No, it’s not. I’m married and preg…’

‘And I still want you.’

My mouth snaps shut, and John lets out a warning growl. ‘The girl is taken.’ He tries to manoeuvre me onwards, but I’m fixed in place.

‘Did you drug me?’ I ask, but the horrified look that instantly invades his pale face tells me what I need to know.

‘Selena, I would never hurt you. I’ve bought this company for you.’

I shake my head on a disbelieving laugh. ‘You’re consumed with the need for vengeance. You don’t even know me. We’ve shared no intimacy, connection or special moments. What’s wrong with you?’

‘I know a good thing when I see it, and I’m prepared to fight for it.’

‘You’ll be fighting in vain.’ I say calmly, ‘And even if you succeed in your attempts to break us—which you never will—you couldn’t have me afterwards.’

His skin gathers on his forehead when he frowns. ‘Why?’

‘Because without him, I’d be dead.’ I turn and leave my workplace, knowing I’ll never return. I’m a little sad, but knowing what’s waiting for me past this point in my life puts the biggest smile on my face.

* * *

When I’m settled safely in John’s Range Rover and we’ve pulled away from the kerb, I register my phone in my hand and remember that he’s on the other end of the line. I don’t want to hear him, I want to see him. ‘Justin?’

It’s silent for a while, but I know he’s there. His presence travels through the line and kisses my skin. ‘I don’t deserve you.’ he says quietly. ‘He’s right, but I’m too selfish to give you up to someone who does. We’ll never be broken and you’ll never be without me, so you’ll be living forever, baby.’

Tears stab at my eyes and I think of how grateful I am that he is such a selfish man. ‘Deal.’ I whisper.

‘I’ll see you in the bath.’

‘Deal.’ I repeat because I know I’ll never manage more than one word without coughing all over them. He hangs up and I lose myself in thought as I watch London fly by the window. I feel an amazing sense of relief. For once, there’s complete silence in John’s car. There’s no humming and there’s no taping of the steering wheel. We travel in a comfortable quiet back to Lusso.

* * *

‘Let’s get you in, girl.’ John parks up and jumps out, leaving me to unbuckle and join him at the front of his car.

‘You don’t have to escort me in,’ I say, but he pulls a face that suggests he does. ‘Justin’s told you to sweep the penthouse, hasn’t he?’

‘Just a little check, that’s all, girl.’ He takes my elbow and leads me into the foyer of Lusso. I could complain, but I don’t bother. He’s being completely over cautious, but if it keeps him and my neurotic husband happy, then I’ll comply.

I’m surprised to see Casey here, but he’s not in uniform. ‘Hi, Casey.’ I call as I’m led past, not being given a moment to converse, or maybe warn him that he’s going to be facing the wrath of Justin very soon. I do notice how smart he looks in his suit, though, and I definitely spot the look of alarm on his face at the sight of the big guy, escorting me. John has that effect on most people, just like he did me.

John punches the code in and stands back to let me enter the elevator before he joins me. He taps the code in again.

‘You know the code?’ I ask, hoping to God he doesn’t know the significance of the code.

He smiles down at me, and I can’t work out if it’s a knowing look or not. ‘The mother f**ker was sensible this time, but you’d think he would be a little bit more creative.’

I cough a little, thinking just how creative Justin can be when he reaches that zero. Wonderfully creative, in fact. Mind-blowingly creative. I need to run that bath, but as the doors of the elevator open, I uncharitably remember that it’s early and Cathy is more than likely still faffing around the penthouse.

Letting us in, I immediately head towards the kitchen and dump my bag on the island, but I find no Cathy, so I set off upstairs in search of her, set on relieving her for the rest of the day.

‘Selena, girl,’ John’s thundering footsteps come after me. ‘Let me check.’

‘John, really?’ I stop and let him pass. ‘Are you babysitting me until Justin gets home?’ I truly hope not. I want to have a bath before my bath with Justin.

‘No. Peace of mind.’ he rumbles. ‘Quit with the complaining.’

I recoil a little at his shortness, but I don’t argue with the giant of a man. I let him open and close doors while I prop myself up against the glass bannister, arms folded across my chest, patiently waiting. There is no way I should be whining about this, given our surprise visitor this morning.

‘All clear,’

‘That’s a relief,’ I smile, pushing my lower back away from the glass.

John abruptly halts, his eyebrows hovering somewhere between the tops of his shades and the top of his head. ‘Don’t back chat me, girl.’ He’s really grumpy, just when I thought he and I had reached an understanding. ‘I’ll call security and get the code sorted.’

I watch him stomp off downstairs. ‘No Cathy?’ I ask his back.

‘No Cathy.’ he confirms, heading for the penthouse phone system, but his mobile starts ringing before he makes it to the landline. ‘Yes?’ he grunts, detouring into the kitchen. ‘We’re here now. Cathy’s already left, but I’ll stay until you arrive.’ His voice is getting quieter as the distance between us grows, and I know he’s talking to Justin. ‘Blue door, needs painting.’ John says on a purposed hush. I can still hear perfectly, though. That’s the disadvantage to having such a low, rumbling voice. He may sound menacing, but he can’t whisper for shit. ‘Lansdowne Terrace. I can’t be sure. I only got a glimpse, but if it’s not her, then she has a doppelganger.’

I’m unconsciously walking towards John’s voice. I heard that right, so it’s not like I need to gain closeness to ensure my ears aren’t failing me. But his attempt to keep this from my ear shot, coupled with the mention of Ruth Quinn’s address and the fact that John obviously recognises her, makes me need to see his face to gage his expression. I know it’s not going to be good, not when he’s talking to Justin, which means Justin knows Ruth Quinn, too. My blood is running colder with each step I take towards John’s low, hushed tone.

‘There’s no one there?’ John’s pacing the kitchen at the far end. ‘Ruth Quinn. I already told you. I know my eyesight isn’t as good as it used to be, but I’d put my life on it. You need to call the police, not go looking for her, you crazy mother f**ker.’

My blood is ice and my body frozen in place as I watch John turn slowly and register my presence. He might be black, but he has definitely just paled. ‘Who is she?’ I ask him.

His huge chest expands and he reaches up to take his glasses off. I wish he’d have left them on because the rare sight of his eyes has just confirmed my fears. They are worried, and the big guy doesn’t do worried. ‘Justin, you need to get your arse back here. Leave it for the police to deal with.’ John’s mobile leaves his ear, and I hear Justin’s angry yell down the phone. I can’t decipher what he’s saying, but his frustrated shout says a thousand words. The mention of police intervention can’t be good, either.

‘Who is she?’ I grate, my breathing starting to accelerate. I’m anxious and panicking, but I don’t know what about.

John sighs, defeated, yet he still doesn’t answer, instead turning his back on me. ‘It’s too late. She’s standing right here. You’d better come home.’

I hear an angry yell, and I think I catch the sound of something hitting something, like a fist on a front door—a worn, blue front door. I can feel my patience fraying. My lack of knowledge in something that I’m sensing I should know about is re-heating my frozen veins.

John hands me the phone, and I don’t delay swiping it from his hand. ‘Who is she?’ I remain calm and clear, but if I don’t get an answer, then I’ll be raging very quickly. And I already know that it’ll be the blood pressure raising kind of furious.

He’s heaving down the phone, his purposeful, thumping footsteps evident in the background. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘What do you mean?’ I’m shouting. He didn’t answer, not satisfactorily. He knows who Ruth Quinn is.

‘I’m on my way home. We’ll talk.’

‘No, tell me!’

‘Selena, I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure it’s her.’ he says, the screeching of tyres making me wince. That may be so, but John’s inability to whisper has screwed that plan up. ‘I’ll explain when I can sit you down.’

‘I’m not going to like this, am I?’ I don’t know why I’m asking. He wants to sit me down—not a good sign. There are no good signs, in fact. Even the big guy looks all concerned by what’s transpiring.

‘Baby, please, I need to see you.’

‘You didn’t answer my question.’ I remind him quietly, resting myself on a barstool. ‘What else could you possibly have to tell me, Justin?’

‘I’ll be home soon.’

‘Will it make me run?’

‘I’ll be home soon.’ he repeats and hangs up, leaving me with John’s phone suspended limply by my cheek and a stomach churning with trepidation. I almost want to run right now. Uncertainty, mixed with incredible fear, is pushing me to run away, but not to escape him because the thought of being without him sears painfully on every fragment of my being. But there’s an aching pit, deep in my stomach that’s telling me I should protect myself from whatever is about to impact on my life. Our life.

The penthouse phone screeches, making me jump, and John’s thumps his heavy feet across the kitchen, now with his glasses back in place. I won’t waste my breath trying to extract any information from him, even though he has the information that I need.

He returns to the kitchen, looking too fraught for such a menacing man. Now I’m really worried. ‘I’m needed downstairs. You’ll lock the door behind me and you won’t answer it unless I call you to say it’s me. Where’s your phone?’

‘What’s happening?’ I stand, starting to shake.

‘Where’s your phone?’ he presses, taking his own from my trembling hand.

‘In my bag. John, tell me.’

He helps himself, tipping the contents of my bag out and quickly locating my mobile. He sits it neatly on the island and picks me up, placing me gently on the stool. ‘Selena, now isn’t the time to argue with me. There’s someone the concierge is suspicious of and I’m just going to check it out. It’s probably nothing.’

I don’t believe him. Nothing suggests I should; not the tone of his voice or his body language. Everything is suggesting that I should be terrified, and I’m beginning to feel it. ‘Okay,’ I agree reluctantly.

After nodding and squeezing my shoulder affectionately, he carries his big body from the kitchen, and I soon hear the front door close, leaving me still shaking and with a racing mind. I’m failing on every level to calm myself down. I just want Justin. I don’t care what he’s got to tell me, I don’t give a damn. I clench my phone and run up the stairs to the bedroom, quickly locating the key to Justin’s office from my underwear drawer before rushing back down and making quick work of unlocking the door. I know I’ll feel better when I’m sitting in his big office chair, like he’s wrapped around me in a sense.

I burst through the door, frenzied and out of breath, only to be met by a woman, who’s standing in the middle of the room, staring at my wall.

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