#and i haven't even mentioned adam's fucking lines at all either
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Last Light
Warnings: canon typical violence, heavy angst, hurt no comfort, you guys will be mad at me
a/n: I was thinking about when Leigh mentioned in the saw commentary that someone wrote a monologue from Lawrence's point of view after leaving the bathroom and I wanted to write one for Adam
"I'm a liar?"
"I wouldn't lie to you."
Liar, lies. Seems like either way, Adam is getting screwed over.
He sits in the dark, dingy bathroom, his eyes still struggling to adjust. His throat is raw and aching from all the screaming and crying. Not even the hardest sex could have done that to him.
God, he's really gonna die having fucked one person.
All of his relationships were mediocre, even the platonic ones. Scott treated him like shit, the guy probably hasn't even noticed that he's gone.
Has anyone?
Lawrence is someone that would be noticed, he's got a wife and kids for fucks sake.
"I've got a family too, Lawrence! I don't talk to them anymore, that's my mistake. A mistake I'd like to fix."
One of the last things he remembers at the apartment is scribbling "Call mom?" On a crumpled post it and sticking it to the wall. The paper has probably fallen down by now. Forgotten.
Are his parents even looking for him?
Probably not. They probably haven't noticed either.
Everything that Adam does ends up screwing him in the end, just like this. But he can't really blame anyone but himself, can he? Not even $200 was worth being stuck in this bathroom. Doesn't even soften the fact that he'll probably be here forever.
The money was meant to go for his food. Not a camera, not developing fluid, not even that shiny new pokemon game Adam wanted. Food.
A necessity he barely even had.
"Why? Call it my need to eat."
He remembers snapping at Lawrence like it was the most obvious answer. But food is a luxury even Adam can't afford. The guy lives off of ramen noodles and sodas from the gas station. Sometimes he even wonders why he never gained any weight since he ate such shit.
His mom was never the greatest cook, but he'd take soggy meatloaf and unseasoned mashed potatoes any day.
At the thought, Adam's stomach rumbles. His guts ache from hunger, but he's not a stranger to it. That's usually how his day goes.
He can't even blame Jigsaw for trapping him here. But in all honesty, Adam has done so much self sabotaging, that he's probably done worse to himself than the man that left him here.
He's felt worse betrayal than when the dead man stood up, peeled the fake skin off his skull and left him here.
"Game over!"
Dead man. Adam squints in the darkness, trying to make out Zep's corpse. He's not even sure why. The first time he saw a dead body, or what he thought was one, he puked his guts out into the tub. Couldn't even keep down his latest meal.
He'll probably starve even quicker now.
The room smells like blood, and his fingers are sticky from the same substance. Not only is he a voyeur, he's a killer. Maybe his last girlfriend was right: he's too angry.
Adam isn't very good at anatomy, at least the human side of it. But he knows he broke through layers of skin and bone when he'd crushed through the hospital orderly's skull.
"It's the rules!"
Knowing now, he feels guilty. Awful, even. Guy probably had a family too, even if he was a bit of a creep. Where do you draw the line of deserving a family? What's so bad that you no longer are worthy of someone related by blood? Adam's probably the worst person to ask that.
He'd stormed out on his parents after a petty argument, an excuse to leave. One that he'd been wanting to have since he was seventeen. Somehow, he'd convinced himself that they wouldn't accept him, even if they let him drop out of high school and didn't even call the cops when he left. But was that tolerance or pure disinterest?
Maybe he's not a total waste of time, since his mom had called not long before he got his power knocked out the same way he was.
"Adam, your father's not angry anymore."
Lawrence had a home, a family. A good one, too. The pictures he saw of Diana and Alison made him crack a smile. At least before the one with them tied up. He shivers, probably both from disgust and blood loss.
His shoulder aches, oozing blood all over his shitty thrift store clothes. Adam understands why Doctor Gordon left. He has some place to go, people to welcome him home with open arms. Most places Adam went, he wasn't even noticed.
He kicks with his right foot in anger, the chain rattling as he does. The metal bites into his skin and the amount of pain he's in is just frustrating at this point. Adam screams, but his voice is raw and broken.
As much as he hopes the doctor will come back for him, at least he has half the brain to know that Lawrence probably won't make it. The man that he's had the first physical touch from in months is probably bleeding out in the sewers, and there's nothing he can do about it.
He doesn't even have a choice to cut off his foot like the doctor did. Sure, the blood loss will probably kill him, but Adam is sick of waiting around for something to happen. A job to drop, a phone call.
But he can't even do that.
The hacksaw he found in the toilet had snapped in half. A result of his ever consuming anger. Seems like everything he does leads back to that.
"I see a strange mix of someone who's angry, yet apathetic. But mostly just pathetic."
If Adam isn't angry at the world, he's angry with himself. He feels like a waste of space on the good days and a tumor on the face of the earth on the bad ones. At least with photography he felt like he had a purpose, even if it was supplying creeps and weirdos with material. He wasn't really helping anyone, was he? Even Tapp ended up dead.
But Lawrence helps people. Even if he thought the guy was initially a jerk, Adam admires him. Misses the man's blood stained hands as he cupped his cheeks.
"I wanted to be a vet."
That way, he'd benefit the world somehow. Even if he was pulling tennis balls out of dogs' throats or cleaning up puke every day. He'd much rather smell vomit, as he's getting quite sick of the coppery scent of blood.
"That's nonsense. I've seen kids with brain cancer graduate high school from a hospital bed."
"They got further than I ever did."
Adam has been pretty able bodied his whole life. While he'd consider it a nuisance that his body doesn't match up with his own view of himself, that's not a disability.
Maybe his parents wouldn't even mind, maybe they'd help him with the cost of surgery and injections. But he hadn't even told them. His parents barely know who he is. Adam barely knows himself.
"What do voyeurs see when they look in the mirror?"
Nothing. The answer is nothing.
He's like a leech, sucking the energy and luck out of everyone around him.
Now he's left to sit in his own grave- metaphorically and literally. He probably won't even have the luxury of being buried or cremated.
Hopefully someone will come around and put him out of his misery. Like a calf with two heads or a dog with rabies.
But until then, he's left to wait.
#adam faulkner stanheight#adam stanheight#chainshipping#saw 2004#sawposting#angst#saw#writing#leigh whannell
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At Times Like These--
--we have only each other.
This past weekend was a blur but my exhaustion is worth it.
I splurged and saw the matinee on Sunday and well as the final show.
First, Andrew Kober as Beetlejuice for the matinee. He is AMAZING. It felt like watching the show for the first time again. People have their favorites and fans like us can appreciate the differences all the understudies put into the role, but Kober is the second best Beej. Full stop. He has a fantastic mix of desperation and manic energy, with an underlying menace that, ngl, Alex sort of lost as the show went on.
During the matinee there was audience participation I haven't heard ever happening:
Kober says his line, "All I want is for someone, anyone to look my way and say “Hey."
Couple of audience members say loudly, "Hey!"
Kober continues, "I see you."
More audience, "I see you!"
Kober, "I accept you."
More audience, "I accept you!"
Kober, "And I fear for my safety around you.”
All of the audience, "And I fear for my safety around you!"
Kober, pauses. Then, "Nope. Didn't work."
We, the entire audience, lost.our.minds.
Now. The closing show ...
Fucking hell. I mean that in the best possible way.
Standing ovations from the beginning. For every actor.
It took so long for Alex to even drop the newspaper. He tapped his foot. He leaned back (allllll the way back) to lean on the coffin. He got on the floor. Then, and only then, did he drop the paper to renewed enthusiastic applause.
Every actor played along with their rightfully deserved ovation and applause during their entrances. It was so heartwarming.
I know everyone has seen all the "what happened during the last performance" posts that people are doing, but NO ONE has mentioned these things:
1) at the end of the TBS reprise, Alex ran up the stairs with a clone and started aggressively making out with them as the set changed
2) when Adam stops him from murdering Charles and goes into his "you have groped me, etc" speech, Alex made these increasingly feral, increasingly loud snarling noises like he was getting ready to scrap (. . . or screw)
3) during the Adam and Beej kiss, it went hard. Alex groped David's ass and pretended to dip a finger between his ass cheeks/shove a finger in him, then smelled his finger when David was pulled away. Then he stalked after David for more before Kerry grabbed him.
(I know I am looking at all that though the lens of a smut writer, but hoooo boy.)
Alex Timbers' speech was nice, but not allowing anyone else to say anything?! Fuck whoever made that decision. Alex was actively walking forward for the mic when the curtain stared coming down. He and Elizabeth looked surprised, so they weren’t told about it, obviously, which is unfortunate and understandably upsetting. Here is someone who had been active with the show since 2017 helping to make it what it became plus a new star that embraced (and was embraced by) the fandom, to the point she cracked during the very last word of the show, and they were denied? I'd heard from reliable sources that other cast members had some things prepared as well, and they didn't get the chance to say anything either. It was just abrupt and crushed the energy that had been wild up till then.
This show has meant so much to so many people, including myself. Alex Timbers told us what we already knew: Over a million people saw Beetlejuice on Broadway. That the audience for Beetlejuice was statistically younger than the average for Broadway shows. That Beetlejuice was the first Broadway show for a huge number of audience members. That the fact that fans were so engaged and active that we helped bring it back from the dead.
We said his name three times, and Beetlejuice returned for a real send off, one the show deserved, to 1600 adoring Netherlings.
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NOAH KAHAN - "STICK SEASON"
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Just to be clear, this post was *not* sponsored by the Vermont Tourism Board...
[5.10]
Hannah Jocelyn: Noah Kahan snuck up on me -- I first wondered why Ruston Kelly was opening for this guy who I'd never heard of before. I heard a couple of his songs, they were fine! So I ignored him. Suddenly, last year, a friend (a songwriter herself) was complaining about him, asking "What does the 'season of the sticks' even MEAN?" And from then on, he was everywhere, the same way Ed Sheeran was genuinely grassroots a decade ago before he became the eldritch pop horror he is now. Sheeran and Mumford & Sons ultimately gave us the indie folk of Boygenius and co., as well as Taylor Swift's own forays into indie, all of which I either love or respect. I go to open mics and concerts often, and it's a lot of empowered non-men leading the charge; even the guys I see make more interesting music than "I'm so sad, I'm so fucked up." And now the pendulum's swinging, so now we are back at WGWAGs, and they don't even have the slick production of the Mumfords. I am not afraid of Noah Kahan; this song just sounds like the banality of fuckboys. I am more afraid of everyone following in his footsteps. Bonus point for actually mentioning COVID, though.
[5]
Jacob Satter: Back when they were riding the wave of stardom for the first time, I bought tickets to see Counting Crows and a pre-dreadlocked Adam Duritz was going through it. He spent most of the show baffling the audience by lying flat on his back at center stage, talk-singing his way through August and Everything After, genuinely unable to look success in the eye. I take this trip down memory lane to clarify that when I say that every generation gets the self-actualizing folk dorkery it deserves, I'm not exculpating X while side-eying any COVID-worn millennials who embrace Mr. More-Mumford-Than-Mumford here for their mental balm.
[3]
Dave Moore: I can google "is Noah Kahan related to Marcus Mumford" (no) but I can't google "do I hate Mumford and Sons" because despite remembering making fun of and claiming I hated Mumford and Sons at the time, I never wrote anything about them. Now that nothing else really sounds like this, I don't mind it so much.
[6]
Leah Isobel: At least Mumford & Sons had the showmanship to drop an f-bomb in the midst of their self-regarding self-flagellation. What does Noah have? The word al-co-hol, leaden and imprecise and sung like it's an unbelievable blasphemy? Grow some balls, dude.
[3]
Alfred Soto: He's so earnest that he acknowledges a drinkin' problem and the existence of COVID-19 and must sing as if he wants Mike Posner to sell him a pill to take in Vermont.
[3]
Thomas Inskeep: His voice just oozes earnestness, and no, that's not a good thing. But strummy guitar guys never entirely go out of style, do they? If his success makes a Lumineers comeback happen, I swear to God…
[3]
Lauren Gilbert: Yes, I could write a snarky review that this is a song for girls who haven't yet left their Folklore era. And that's true enough; it's a pretty standard folk pop, with too many words pressed into too few lines, the murmurings of someone who spends entirely too much time in their head. But it's also a pretty good instance of the form. It has more of a hook than Bridgers, and it's less likely to put me to sleep than Clairo. And it does feel like the season of the sticks -- like driving my parents' car through the hills of Virginia, dark, leafless trees silhouetted against a grey, featureless sky, thinking only of the person not sitting in the passenger seat.
[7]
Mark Sinker: What if “season of the sticks” but it’s good not bad? (It’s such a gorgeous phrase to attempt to use as a negative… ) Plus Noah’s breath control seems kind of terrible -- the snatch at air plus his kinda squeaky voice makes him seem way younger than he even is (which is already way young), and sorry teens but that really dilutes the resigned agony he’s going for here.
[6]
Taylor Alatorre: "I've been called the Jewish Ed Sheeran," says Noah Kahan on stage, with apparent regularity. Cheap heat, sure, but it's also self-deprecation as brand-building, aimed at propping up a certain persona by playfully prodding at the weaker and more exposed parts of it -- and suddenly I'm not just describing the stage banter but also the music itself. Kahan spent much of the last year collecting enough guest artist remixes for an unplugged No.6 Collaborations Project, but one of the few Stick Season songs to remain untouched by this process was the title track, which says something about it. It says that this is the anthem, the legacy definer; this is his own private Vermont, and no one but him (and a sold-out arena crowd, inshallah) can ever do it justice. With some reservations, it's deserving of this pedestal. And no, those reservations have not the slightest to do with Mumford & Sons, who are overdue to be treated as a normal, middling rock band and not a portentous class enemy. When teenage Mumford fans were listening to "Hopeless Wanderer" back in 2012, I imagine many of them were playing in their heads the kind of diaristic scenarios that Kahan sings about here, replacing grandiose Biblical allusions with only slightly less grandiose relationship angst. That was always the correct reading, and one can't fault Kahan for opting to cut out the middleman between his and his audience's experiences. "COVID on the planes" is the line that most loudly announces this isn't your father's indie folk, and it's the kind of lyric whose currency will only grow with time, like the transistor radio in "Brown Eyed Girl" or the satellite radio in "Sequestered in Memphis." At the other end of the realist-romantic spectrum, there's "might not have but I did not lose," a waist-deep k?an that's perfectly befitting of a future dorm room staple. Also fitting the dorm room vibe, less fortunately, is the way the phrasing in the chorus is awkwardly chopped up so as to min-max its drunk singalong value, with the line about alcohol of course being the worst offender. It's a testament to Kahan's affability that I want to forgive his more sophomoric tics -- I mean, who wants to be the one to interrupt a drunk singalong?
[7]
Nortey Dowuona: When did Noah Kahan develop talent, and why wasn't it with Joel Little?
[9]
Joshua Lu: "Stick Season" starts off as a earnestly mopey torch song, with a steady stream of metaphors and rhymes about his post-breakup blues. The causes and effects of this despair are presented straightforwardly, earning an almost comical feeling: the mom forgetting about him entirely, the excessive drug and alcohol use, his victim complex. It's in the second verse, though, that the song takes an interesting turn into self-reflection: "So I thought that if I piled something good on all my bad / That I could cancel out the darkness I inherited from Dad." That same chorus rings differently in this new light, creating an image of a once-fixed man who has returned to his broken default nature, and whose internal sadness was only buried, not cured, by being with the one he loved. There's something quietly devastating about how resigned he is to his fate -- how he knows that he can't heal his pain, only dampen it with the memory of a time when he couldn't feel it.
[8]
Wayne Weizhen Zhang: A [2] or an [8] depending on how much this alerts your anti-Mumford and Sons or anti-Lewis Capaldi radar, and whether or not you have a soft spot for self-deprecating white men telling jokes and making confessions at their own expense. We’ll skew higher since this has aged surprisingly well.
[7]
Joshua Minsoo Kim: I’ve heard this around seven times and I’m not exactly sure what he’s singing about, but I like the texture of his words as they spill out of his mouth. Kahan will let a syllable last just a bit longer or shorter than I expect, all while singing fast enough that he feels like he’s uninterested in easy signifiers of the contemplative. The banjo feels like a cheap way to keep the song interesting; he doesn’t need it when every guitar strum is so propulsive.
[5]
Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Loses me after that banjo riff comes in two thirds of the way through. Everything before that is charmingly middling, everything after makes me want to place the entirety of New England under cordon sanitaire.
[2]
Will Rivitz: I also love Vermont, having grown up just outside of Boston, and have to admit Kahan's bitter and self-deprecating narcissism quite poignantly encapsulates the sense of drifting listlessly and peevishly through New England's dreary December, mired in one's own solitude and the inexorably self-centered trappings that accompany it. His lyrical acumen is, however, not quite sharp enough to justify exhuming the stomp clap hey brouhaha previously left to rot alongside the word "hipster" a decade ago. If he thinks it appropriate to hire a mandolinist, maybe you were right to break up with him.
[4]
Rachel Saywitz: “Stick Season” is a haunting masterpiece, and a triumph for Noah Kahan -- with just a folkloric guitar, illuminating banjo, and a steady kick drum, he traces a love lost with a traveler’s bent and a timeless seasonal metaphor. Wait, this song takes place in Vermont? Wait, he’s American? I can feel the spell breaking, the cloudy haze over my eyes that always appears when I’m listening to mediocre folk-pop by European singers is dissipating. Okay, sorry. Back to normal now. Going to review this again. “Stick Season” is some Lumineers-ass sounding shit. Grow up, stop being a whiny lovesick boy, and pick up an English accent!
[4]
Ian Mathers: I'm so pissed that 1. "stick season" is not a reference to hockey which part of my brain irrationally insisted it was; 2. this tweet no longer applies to me. I gave that up for something that's just deeply mediocre, not even entertainingly bad. That the Olivia Rodrigo cover is… fine indicates my problem is less with the song (not bad, kinda standard) and more with Kahan's excruciating indie folk dude presentation.
[4]
Will Adams: Outside of a terribly dull EDM feature, I had not heard a single note of Noah Kahan's music until now, so every time I saw his name I would think, "Oh, he does that one song, like 'lady, running down to the riptide, da-da-da'" before correcting myself. Listening to "Stick Season," I wasn't far off: anodyne stomp-clap folk complete with banjo. Instead of a rousing singalong, however, we get a winter doldrum mope-fest where the more a clever line is repeated, the less clever it seems.
[4]
Katherine St. Asaph: Big junior-year busker energy. I hope the quad found "once you called me forever, now you still can't call me back" as clever as he does.
[4]
Isabel Cole: Mumford-lite, nasal whine, uninspired lyrics: sure. And I, who tend towards particular indifference in the face of men with their guitars, should of all people be somewhere between immune and repelled. But this one fucking got me, I don’t know. There’s something about the unrelenting quickness of the verses, the way it slips heedlessly along axes of register and mood and scope: from the mannered poetry of “all the miles combined” to the indignantly conversational “like halfway through the drive,” from self-pity to self-recrimination, from daddy issues to drinking the pain away. It plunges into melodrama -- “I’m terrified of weather” -- and pivots to a gag, funny enough and also true, about air travel in the era of COVID. He says he’s stuck, and I believe him not because of that line but precisely because the song refuses to alight on any particular complaint for long.
That’s what it’s like sometimes, when you’re in the long process of reconfiguring your life around an absence you never planned for. You scrabble for purchase amidst the concrete and specific, saying all the useless sayable things because the whole truth defies articulation. Your petty irritations and psychological fault lines alike draw you right back into the vortex. You do see him in the weather, which is a way of saying you see him everywhere, and also that you never realized your block had a particular smell in spring until one April morning you found yourself thinking of him and realized it had been a year. You dream a version of him and wake up unnerved and you don’t know if what disturbed you was what the dream got wrong or what the dream got right. You can’t believe you can't talk to him when your uncle dies and when #FreeBritney goes mainstream and every time Marvel puts out a new terrible movie, and in the peculiar gravity of loss these things feel somehow equally consequential.
You wash the dishes and listen to a song that rattles off all these different ways to miss someone and you wonder how long he’ll be the person this type of song makes you think of, and you think about how much he would hate it, how mean he would be about Noah Kahan’s hair, how you have to look up every time if it’s Noah or Noel but you’re still crying at the kitchen sink, how much of your taste was his taste first, how you lost two people, really, because he took with him the person you were when he was here. I am no longer funny, ‘cause I miss the way you laugh. Your head says this is a generous [5], that it’s neither special nor smart enough to quit while it’s ahead, that while the line about being half a heart is trite but serviceable, the clarification of “the other half was you” is unforgivable, truly, taking you out of the song every time. Your heart thinks that so many of the funniest things you’ve ever said were things you only said because he was listening. Noah, not Noel, drops the strumming to sing that line about Vermont one more time and in the emptiness around him you can almost hear the whistling northern wind, the sound of a world turned brittle and cold. Stupid. These fucking songs always do that. It’ll be four years come April. You put the dish in the rack and wipe your eyes with your wrist and before you pick up another dirty plate you hit play one more time.
[8]
[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]
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Criti-Cal book reviews: Good Pop, Bad Pop, by Jarvis Cocker.
I haven't got a clue how I came to know of Jarvis Cocker.
The most likely answer would be through his music, but I have a more vivid memory of watching him on Celebrity Catchphrase before I even knew the chorus to Running The World (a simple, yet effective bit of writing to be fair to it).
The episode of Celebrity Catchphrase aired Christmas 2019, predating Hot Chip's 2020 single Straight to the Morning which features Jarvis so that isn't it either.
Does it really matter? All I remember is my first proper musical exposure to Jarvis was through JARV IS… the confusingly named band that he formed. They did the soundtrack to the BBC drama This Is Going To Hurt, an amazing show based on the equally amazing book by Adam "Dry Wit" Kay, and I fell in love with the score. That was my gateway into the songwriting brilliance of… no, wait, sorry I've just remembered something.
During the UK's 1st Lockdown I was sent to work in a shop, and I distinctly remember listening to the song Further Complications while I picked stuff up and put it down somewhere else, so where the hell do I know him from? Did my Dad put his music on? No, he hates anyone who came from the Brit Pop scene (except Albarn, obvs, it's hard to hate him). Do I know anyone with a Cocker Spaniel named Jarvis? No, that's not it. Has Cocker been hiding subliminal messages in YouTube videos of old cassette decks? Maybe, actually… I can't really disprove that one to be honest.
Wait! I've got it! In 2019 JARV IS… released the single Must I Evolve, and I got a bit obsessed with the Must I Revolve remix on the B-side! Off the back of that, I decided to listen to the Further Complications album and thought "Oh, rock isn't my thing" and left it to gather dust in my music library. The title track stuck with me through to those early days of COVID because of a single line, it's a very weirdly whitty lyric that makes a lot of sense when you think about it, and it goes "Your life is like a carrier bag, fill it and the straps will snap". Genius!
This kick-started the vague interest I had in Jarvis, but I don't buy signed copies of books by people I'm only vaguely interested in. The thing that made me love Jarvis was the soundtrack for This Is Going To Hurt that I mentioned before; around the time the soundtrack was released I was going for a design job that would have me working closely with the NHS, so it felt fitting to watch the show/listen to the music. I didn't get the job, apparently you have to actually be good at speaking to people to get an office job, but I did gain a proper love for Pulp, Jarvis, JARV IS… fuck, even Relaxed Muscle. We're now 500 words in, and I haven't even mentioned the book.
I promise that is deliberate, what I was doing is celebrating something a bit inconsequential because Good Pop, Bad Pop has made me realise that what we store in our lofts might say more than what we show on our mantelpiece; that first half was me clearing out my mental loft, you see? Thank you for joining me for it, and I'm happy you've stuck around to hear that I adore this book.
It's a strange book for a musician to make, as it doesn't really talk about Pulp as the megastars they grew to be, in fact… it isn't really about Pulp, it's about tat. I previously mentioned a mental loft, but Jarvis is clearing out his actual loft and giving us a look at some of the gems he finds, as well as the worthless junk; it doesn't really matter as every item tells us a little bit about the mind of Jarvis Cocker.
If that makes this book sound pretentious, then that's on me because Good Pop, Bad Pop is a delight to read; I got through it in about a day and was left wanting so much more, but also knowing that what I'd been given was still great. A creative manifesto, of sorts, that shows how we create art shouldn't be so detached from the world around us, and that it's honestly ok to go at your own pace and make your own rules when it comes to creativity. If there's a set formula, you should be pushing the boundaries of that formula for fun because the end result can be magnificent.
Take, for example, the actual Good Pop, Bad Pop book; it's a stunning piece of design packed with kitsch graphics and interesting typographic treatment that you very rarely find in something with a hardback cover, even if it's a horrifically expensive illustrated novel from the Folio Society. The design breaks so many rules of book design, often forcing you to stop for a minute to just process how to read a page as the text has gone all wonky or there's a comic book-ish exchange between a TV which Jarvis is living inside and Jarvis's collaborator Chilly Gonzales.
This pushing of boundaries sets Good Pop, Bad Pop apart from the crowd of boring band biographies and moody musical memoirs; it's become an essential piece of pop art that doesn't even cost a lot. It's absolutely Good Pop.
I rated Good Pop, Bad Pop 5 stars on Goodreads, and honestly think it'll be my book of the year.
#book review#booklr#writing#literature#jarvis#cockerlovers#books & libraries#typography#graphic design#authors#jarvis cocker
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listen, the most common argument i’ve seen against the implications of the results of that BYvsA fight is that they both just killed a man, so therefore how is blake and yang hugging and comforting each other even remotely romantic?
and, sure, when you describe it like that it can be said that it’s not. but what they DON’T mention is the dialogue. the only two lines exchanged between blake and yang, in that moment respectively, are “i’m not gonna break my promise, i swear” and “i know you wont”
and exactly which promise is blake referring to here?
back in “seeing red”, before the final 2v1 confrontation begins, blake says in response to adam’s challenge about winning against him “i don’t have a choice. i have people who actually care about me. and i promised i’d never leave them again. so i’m not dying now.”
blake literally promises NOT TO DIE for “the people who care about her”. you could make the argument that “she would say the same about ALL of her teammates” which, yeah sure. why not. but they weren’t as deeply hurt as yang was. RW accepted blake back easily, with open arms. blake regaining yang’s trust was ALWAYS the biggest point of contention among the team. and plus, when blake says “and i promised i’d never leave them again” it’s placed over this shot:
and there’s animation of blake’s hand tightening over yang’s. so there’s literally only one person she’s thinking of in that moment, it’s only one person she made the promise to. and that’s yang.
so when she says to yang, after killing adam,��“i’m not gonna break my promise, i swear”, that’s pretty emotionally heavy. it’s not just that they’re consoling each other over a traumatic event that just occurred. it’s them supporting each other over the past that’s been haunting them both for months on end, and reassuring one another (i promise i wont leave / i know you wont, i trust you) that they’ll be there for each other in the future, no matter what that future looks like.
and to me, something like that sounds pretty fucking romantically coded.
#rwby#bumbleby#yang xiao long#blake belladonna#random reagan rambles#this whole fight is very romantically coded#and i haven't even mentioned adam's fucking lines at all either#like they're gonna be canon in v7#and when they start screaming that it all came out of nowhere#i hope some of them might actually look back on ALL the fucking posts we made#during v6 and on#and see shit like this#like IT'S RIGHT THERE.#WE ALL AGREE THAT IT'S RIGHT THERE#all us lbgts and queers... we're HAPPY with the way bumbleby is being written#literally only homophobes have been saying 'but good LBGT rep though! and it's not bees!'#and i'dk why i'm still talking#anyway#more morning bee thoughts#yknow#to continue The Trend
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YOUR EYES TELL | JJK (13)
Summary: You live in a world where people see in black and white. The solution to finally see the colors? It’s simple. You need to meet your soulmate and look at him in the eyes, but what if the person bound to you is already contented with the monochromatic world? What if…Jeongguk, your soulmate, is already in love with someone else?
Alternatively:
“A future without you is a world without color.”
Genre: soulmate au, e2l, slow burn, angst, fluff, roommate au
Pairing: Artist!Jungkook x Lawyer!Reader
Word Count: 3.8k
Warnings: discussion of injuries which i know nothing about, effects of drunk driving.
SERIES: CHAPTER 12 | CHAPTER 14
Jeon Jeongguk missed you.
He missed you so much he felt like he was going crazy.
He didn't realize that a big part of you was occupying his whole being to the point that when the two of you separated ways, he felt like everything he had meant nothing if you weren't in his life.
He had been dreaming of buying his own apartment ever since he was young, but now that he finally had a house that he could call his own, Jeongguk came to know that this wasn't what he wanted.
What he desired was not a house—he wanted a home and home was wherever you were.
The walls surrounding him weren't going to protect him. It actually hurt him. The deafening silence kept on bouncing that he felt like he was gonna lose his sense of hearing.
Jeongguk decided he hated silence.
He wanted his house to be filled with your laughter.
"Seriously, Guk. Why am I here?"
Jeongguk couldn't speak as Red continued to glare at him.
Ji-eun and her father couldn't visit today because Namjoon had work to do. This left Jeongguk with no choice but to invite his ex-girlfriend in his abode. He hated being alone since it reminded him of how fucked up he was.
He needed a distraction.
"So now you're giving me the silent treatment?" Red rolled her eyes. This was one of her ex lover's habits that she hated. Jeongguk was so bad when it came to communicating.
"You need to tell me the truth if this is about her." Red sighed and Jeongguk froze. The former hadn't mentioned your name, yet Jeongguk was already affected. He knew Red was referring to you.
"I like her a lot and as much as I enjoy doing you a favor, I can't do this forever."
"Msorry..." Jeongguk avoided Red's eyes as he bit his lower lip. His heart hurt a lot.
"No." She shook her head as if her ex's apology was pure bullshit. This was truly unacceptable. "This isn't just about you, Jeongguk. Did you know that the whole office is either questioning my sexuality or thinking I'm a kiss-ass?"
"What?" The confused boy flicked his gaze at Red.
She snorted and then rolled her eyes once more.
"People think I'm in love with your soulmate because I basically cook her three meals a day. I also remind her to drink water, take her vitamins, leave her sweet notes, and change the flowers in her vase just because you are too much of a pussy to do it on your own!"
Jeongguk averted Red's glare again. She was right. He was a fucking coward—too scared to do all these good things on his own.
He was the one who left you, but he felt like you didn't want to do anything with him anymore. Jeongguk had accepted his sad fate, but it didn't mean he would stop taking care of you.
The truth was he was the one who cooked the food you eat every day. He was the one writing you sweet notes, he was the one bombarding Red text messages to kindly remind you to do the simple things you usually forgot because of your busy schedule.
Jeongguk was doing all of this without your knowledge.
How could he tell you when he knew he was unnecessarily mean to you?
"I mean it's about right. I told you I'm gonna stay here for a few months. It's over now. I don't want to be your tenant anymore."
What he said to you six months ago was deeply engraved in his head. This lie was what kept him awake at night.
Jeongguk was lying. Yes. It was true that he didn't want to be your tenant, but it didn't mean that he didn't want to live with you anymore.
But he was so confused—so fucked up in the head that the only solution was to push you away.
He stood by his belief. You did not understand anything and you did not love him.
But Jeongguk was sure of one thing—or at least he thought so.
"I-I," his adam's apple bobbed up and down. He was nervous. "I think I like her..."
The girl's scoff indicated that she didn't like what he just said.
"You think?" She crossed her arms, making Jeongguk flinch. Her reaction reminded him of the time he met Red at Seokjin's birthday party.
"Why did you follow me, Jeongguk?" Red looked like she had seen a ghost, but she still folded her arms over her chest to intimidate Jeongguk.
It was easy to frighten him. All she had to do was to raise her brow and cross her arms.
"Wow," your soulmate gritted his teeth. "You haven't seen me in so long and this is how you greet me?"
Jeongguk wasn't expecting to see Red at this party. He was here because he wanted to be your date. The thought of you bringing Hoseok to this party made him so angry.
"How do you expect me to react, Guk? I don't want you here!" She was panicking. Jeongguk called her a bitch the last time they had seen each other.
Right now, Red couldn't help but think that Jeongguk would cause ruckus again.
This couldn't happen. Not right now. Not when people were watching Seokjin, and definitely not when you were here.
Red went to the veranda to get some air. She couldn't face you, couldn't face Jeongguk, and couldn’t face Seokjin. The latter had no idea that Jeongguk was the ex she was talking about. They hadn't had the chance to talk about your soulmate because Seokjin was too caught up with the divorce trial.
"So that's it, huh?" Jeongguk clenched his fist. "You'll just decide you don't want me anymore just because you found your soulmate!?"
"Yes!" Red did not even hesitate. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She was so scared. All she could think about was the fact that Jeongguk could destroy this evening.
"I found my soulmate and I'm okay now. You should be happy too, JK. You have met the person destined for you."
Jeongguk looked away. How could he be happy? He found you, but he liked Red.
Red knew what was running inside his mind, so she shook her head and looked at Jeongguk straight in the eyes.
"Do not hurt her, Jeon. She's a one of a kind girl. You can't find another person as sweet and smart as her."
'But you're sweet and smart too!' Jeongguk wanted to argue.
"She saved my life. I owe her everything I have. I wouldn't even be able to meet my soulmate if it wasn't for her." She sobbed.
"So don't. Please. Don't hurt her."
Jeongguk blinked back to reality upon realizing that he broke Red's request.
He hurt you. Bad.
"You have to be one hundred percent sure about what you feel for her, Jeongguk. She deserves better than this."
He remained quiet, still pondering on what he felt.
Six months passed, but he felt like it wasn't enough to ease his doubts.
"No." He blurted out. "I-I like her,"
Red's expression softened, but she wasn't convinced yet. Jeongguk was stammering as if he wasn't certain.
"Are you really sure? I know I'm always pressuring you, but I want you to be real." She said carefully.
Jeongguk's heart was hammering. It felt like it wanted to be free from the cold cage he built.
"I don't know!" He looked like he was in a lot of pain. Tears were actually threatening to fall down his cheeks.
Jeongguk hated feelings. Why were they so complicated?
"Okay, Gukkie. Calm down."
Gukkie. You called him this. Jeongguk had another realization. That nickname was only cute when it came out of your pretty mouth.
He wanted to kiss you.
"I think you're just guilty and confused right now," Red started.
He could only listen.
"Guilty because you are being held back by the amount of time we spent together. You drilled it in your head that I am the one for you. You ignored the fact that soulmates exist and now that you're experiencing how the soulmate bond works, you became confused."
Red could feel that Jeongguk was skeptical of his own feelings. He was probably thinking that it was impossible for him to fall in love with you with just a few months.
But you see, that was how the soulmate bond worked. It made the impossible possible.
"I know it's hard to suddenly believe into something especially when all your life, you ignored and denied the existence of it."
Jeongguk only pursed his lips into a thin line.
Red continued.
"You feel guilty for trying to unlearn what you believe is a myth, but it's okay, Jeongguk. It's okay to let me go. You aren't cheating. Your feelings simply changed. Don't let our memories together ruin what your heart truly wants."
Confusion was eating him alive again.
"H-How do you know all of this?" He asked softly, making Red chuckle.
"Why do you think it took me so long to tell you that I found my soulmate, huh?"
Jeongguk shook his head. He honestly had no idea.
"It’s because I also went through this, Guk. It took me months to finally admit the truth to you since I was so guilty. We have been together for almost a decade and I feel like it would be such a waste to just let you go, but the heart wants what it wants. It's so much easier to just let things go."
Jeongguk grimaced. He regretted being an ass to Red when they broke up. If he only knew that it was this hard to be in denial...
"But don't get me wrong, okay? Letting go doesn't mean that you have to completely erase your memories with people. I still treasure the moments we spent together and I love you, Jeongguk—not in a romantic way, but I will always love you."
He was his first love, his first friend. Jeongguk had always been there for her. She knew he truly loved her.
As Red talked about their memories together, Jeongguk then started to reminisce the moments he had with you.
It was weird.
Weird that your memories together were not even half as many as the moments he spent with Red, yet all that's on his mind was you.
This was what terrified Jeongguk. You barely spent time together, but what he felt for you was strong—too strong that it defeated his ten years with Red.
"I don't know what to do," Jeongguk choked out a sob. It's annoying because Red was laughing.
"You poor bunny. I wish I could tell you how I did it, but you have to figure this on your own." This was the last thing she said before leaving Jeongguk alone.
Alone with his treacherous thoughts.
He kept playing the conversation he had with Red, making him realize that his own thoughts was the one making this hard for him.
Red was wrong.
Jeongguk wasn't confused.
He knew exactly what he felt for you.
He was just too much of a coward to admit it.
He never learned.
The six months he spent away from you should have served as a lesson by now, but no. Here he was, still ignoring the ache in his chest.
Jeongguk regretted leaving you months ago. He had to admit that it wasn't instant though.
That's the thing about regret. It came into a beautiful form—a disguise telling him that this was what he wanted even though he knew deep down that it was not.
He hated himself because of this. There were many warning signs from other people. He had heard so many times that regret was a two-faced bitch. It felt good at first, making him feel like he was floating because he was finally free.
But then it would come back to haunt him—to drown him with what ifs and I should have—to suffocate him until he couldn't breathe anymore.
Jeongguk hated himself because of this. Why couldn't he be like others? He envied those people who could express their feelings in the right way. Those people who knew how to dodge regret.
He wasn't like them. He got overwhelmed too quickly—causing him to panic and do stupid things.
But really. What was his way of expressing himself? How could he ease the doubts in his head?
What kind of outlet would serve as his way to be able to express the heaviness in his chest?
Jeongguk could only think about one thing.
He went to his art room. There was too much space in this house, but his loneliness still couldn't fit.
Everything in this room was sad. The easel looked sad, the palette looked sad, his blank canvas looked sad.
It was sad that he couldn't find the will to paint anymore.
What was the use of seeing colors when he couldn't do what he loved? What was the used of seeing colors when he couldn't see the color in your eyes?
Jeongguk's lips trembled as he gripped the brush in his hand.
He really couldn't do it.
Maybe he should look at his previous works to get inspiration?
Yeah. That's probably the best thing to do...
Jeongguk brought out the box full of the things you had bought for him.
It had been half a year since he touched these materials. He couldn't bring himself to even look at this before. It reminded him so much of you.
Jeongguk let out a shaky breath.
The box was overloading with art. The months he spent with you caused him to produce these lovely sketches.
He smiled while looking at the pile of sticky notes on the floor. These were the ones he drew when he was overwhelmed with colors.
Sketching was much simpler. It calmed his raging emotions.
Jeongguk started to absentmindedly piece together the pictures in the sticky notes drawn by him.
"Holy shit," his eyes suddenly dilated upon realizing that these tiny sketches made up a larger picture of your eyes when they were put together—similar to a puzzle.
Jeongguk's blood was rushing. It was as if he was slapped by reality.
The larger picture was your eyes, the small ones that were drawn in each sticky notes were every tiny detail about you: your mouth, your neck, your fingers, and everything in between.
This was it.
This was his way of expressing feelings.
His lips lie, but his artworks tell.
Jeongguk understood now what Red was implying. She was right. No one could help him, not even the love you claimed you felt for him.
This was all on Jeongguk. He realized that he had to admit it himself that he loved you, that he wanted to be with you, and that he believed in soulmates because he wanted to and not because other people force him to do so.
Realization was the complete opposite of regret. The latter was slow, the former was instant. It would hit you when you least expected it.
Jeongguk was certain.
His doubts were cleared because he knew you could see colors now.
You should be able to see with flashing colors and light, so why weren't you?
"J-Jimin?" You whispered, uncertain, unstable, and unhappy.
You were surrounded by negative prefix that was making him feel sick.
When Jeongguk found out that he loved you, he imagined begging for forgiveness at your feet— telling you how much of an idiot he was and that he was willing to take whatever you could give—no, scratch that. You didn't have to give anything at all.
It was his time to show you how much you meant to him.
This was why Jeongguk texted you, asking you to meet him. When you didn't answer, he was forced to call you.
Unfamiliar voice welcomed him to bring the terrible news.
The person on the other line told him that you were in a hospital. Your car crashed because you were driving under the influence of alcohol.
Jeongguk didn't know what to do after knowing this information. He was out of his mind. It was a miracle that he was able to reach the hospital in one piece.
He remembered running like crazy, he was crossing the street even though cars were approaching. He ignored the profanities leaving their mouths.
He just didn't care about anything. He just needed to get to you.
He couldn't get to you—at least not now. The doctors were still treating you. Luckily they told Jeongguk everything. He didn't even need to show his I.D to prove that the two of were related. He only needed to tell them that he was your soulmate.
It's funny how he refused to believe in the idea of soulmate before, but right now, he was using it to beg other people to believe that you were destined to be together.
Jeongguk waited in vain, staring into the space and praying to God he didn't believe in.
Desperation always led people into doing things they never thought they'd ever do.
"You're Jimin, right?" You continued to ask, still unsure.
Jeongguk didn't know how to answer. You were acting strange. Couldn't you tell that it was him who was in front of you now? Was this one of effects of the accident?
"I'm sorry I keep asking," you bit the inside of your cheeks as tears filled your eyes.
Jeongguk was quick to wipe your tears away. His touch was gentle, but you still winced.
Everything about you hurt.
"I can't see you. I-I can't see anything. It's all black..."
Jeongguk's heart sank, his blood running cold.
What did you just say?
"I'm so scared, Jimin-ah. This is different from the colorless world." Your tears were flowing non-stop, similar to the painful sound that kept on hammering your soulmate's chest.
"I feel like I'm going crazy. There's nothing here, it's just darkness sucking me in."
You were quivering in agitation. You felt helpless. It was as though everyone was fully geared up and you're here, naked—just waiting to be taken advantage of.
Being blind made you more vulnerable. You just wished this wasn't forever. The doctors said that there were two probable reasons why you couldn't see.
The first one was because of the accident. They already treated your injuries, but they said you still needed an eye surgery. Apparently, you hit your head when your car crashed. They said you didn't need to worry since this was the most common type of treatment for people experiencing temporary blindness.
Temporary.
You hoped this was temporary. Your heart couldn't take it if the reason why you were blind was because of your tragic fate.
The doctors told you that your blindness might be because of the existence of soulmate. It had come to your learning that the medical world was now considering this myth as a reality.
If this was the case, you were really damned.
"I'm sorry..." Jeongguk blurted out. He couldn't stop crying after knowing what happened to you.
This was not how it was supposed to go. Why was the universe being so cruel to him? Was he wrong? Was breaking from the phase of denial not enough? Was he really your soulmate? But why...why did you turn blind after he finally accepted the love he felt for you? Was it not enough?
Was Jeongguk not enough? Did he hurt you to the point that nothing, not even his love, could bring you back to light?
"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry!" Jeongguk wailed, he was aching to touch you, but he was scared to cause you pain.
He caused you pain.
He would always cause you pain.
This was evident when you felt a sharp pang in your chest upon recognizing his voice.
He wasn't Jimin.
You did not pour your heart to Park Jimin.
You told everything to the wrong person.
You made yourself vulnerable in front of Jeon Jeongguk. Again.
"J-Jeongguk?" Your voice was loaded with disappointment and sadness.
He sobbed even harder.
"I-It's me," his voice cracked. "I'm here."
It's me. I'm here. If you were the person you were before, you would probably be rejoicing now.
Jeon Jeongguk was here. You didn't know if he was here because of you or not. In the end, it didn't matter since: "I'm glad," you said." I'm glad you're here."
You did not sound like you were glad. Not at all. Jeongguk couldn't be mistaken. Your voice was too monotonous to be considered happy. Your expression was impassive it made you look like you had no life.
But you were glad. You're sure of this because at least you didn't have to beg Jimin or any other people to ask Jeongguk to come see you.
He was here so you could already tell him what you had been meaning to.
"I'm sorry, Jeongguk," this was what you meant.
He did not understand.
Why were you saying sorry when he should be the one begging you to take him back?
"I'm sorry I made you feel uncomfortable so many times. I didn't mean to—"
"Don't say that," he cut you off, but you continued.
This time you were smiling.
"Allow me to," you gulped. "Allow me to so that I could understand why."
What were you saying now?
"I have to apologize and you have to tell me what I did wrong, Jeongguk. You have to tell me what I did to make you hate me this much."
You were crying. The pain was unbearable. It was making you think of the worst case scenario. It was making you imagine things that weren't true. It was making you feel like his hatred towards you was the reason why you couldn't see.
You were blaming him.
You had the right to.
He hurt you so much.
"What did I do to deserve this?" You had been a good person. You weren't hurting anyone consciously. You had been giving everything you had, so why? Why was your soul still bleeding?
"I let you go, Jeongguk. I am letting you go. Can't you do the same? Can't you really let go of the hatred in your heart and just let me live?"
Jeongguk couldn't speak. You were feeding your head with lies.
Jeon Jeongguk did not hate you because Jeon Jeongguk loved you.
He loved you with all of his heart.
"Let me go, Jeongguk."
With his body.
"I don't want to be your soulmate anymore."
And soul.
You did not want to love Jeon Jeongguk.
You loved him. Once. But not this time.
#jungkook#jeon jungkook#bts jeon jungkook#jungkook fanfic#jungkook fic#jungkook series#jungkook story#jungkook roommate au#jungkook roommate#jungkook romance#ficswithluv#jungkook fluff#jungkook friends to lovers#jungkook fantasy au#jungkook angst#jungkook soulmate au#jungkook sugar baby au#jungkook x reader#jungkook x y/n#jungkook x oc#jungkook x you#jungkook enemies to lovers#jungkook e2l#jungkook your eyes tell#your eyes tell
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Been Through
Chapter 4: Must be confused about me
Get ya, get ya, get ya shit together. Girl, I got 20/20 vision, and that's the reason I'ma keep my distance.
"I'm on my way to work now. Just dropped Lily off at preschool......Yes, Mom. I vetted the school extensively. She was on the waiting list since she was 2, so it better be worth it.....Okay. I have to go. Yes....I love you too."
You sighed heavily as you removed the phone from your ear.
Your mother, bless her heart, had a affinity for calling you at inopportune times, such as this one.
You were running late for a meeting. You don't like to blame your problems on your daughter, but this one was definitely her fault. After only two and half hours she had gotten attached to both Lisa and Jennie (you wish she would have just picked one and made this easier for you) and proceeded to have a mental breakdown when they eventually had to leave.
That mental break had caused the both of you to lose sleep, which meant you slept right through your alarm, causing Lily to be late for the one day a week that she went to preschool, and making you late for work.
And you hated being late for anything.
So, This was all your daughter's fault.
"Howdy, Boss." Your assistant, Max, greeted you as you trudged into your office. He handed you a warm cup of coffee. You took a sip, letting out a satisfied noise.
"Thanks, Max. I needed this."
He smiled, happy to be of service, "No problem, Boss."
You rolled your eyes, "Didn't I tell you to stop calling me 'Boss'? I'm a publisher who works for a publishing firm, I'm not the owner of this building. I don't sign your checks. That's the boss."
Max just shrugged happily. The beta was always infuriatingly happy.
"And stop saying 'howdy'. It makes me upset."
"You got it, Bos-Mrs. Y/LN."
You sat at your desk with another eye roll, "Maxwell. You know I'm not married. Just call me Y/N."
"But-"
"Aht! Call me Y/N."
You glared at the poor boy until he nodded back. You could feel a migraine sneaking up the back of your skull. After mumbling something unladylike in Korean, you set about turning on your computer.
"So, what's on the agenda today, Max-a-million?"
The twenty year old perked up at the question. The weirdo loved organizing and things of the sort. You're pretty sure his favorite part of the work day was when you asked him what you were supposed to be doing.
"Today is Tuesday. You've got a meeting with the boss in twenty minutes. Then, you have a manuscript in your email that I forwarded you. It needs to be approved by lunch. And by then it will be time to pick up Lily, and you can leave for the day."
You nodded slowly, "If a full manuscript needs to be approved in three hours why did you just now send it to me today?"
Max gulped, you watched his Adam's apple bobble in his throat. You felt bad at the look of pure fear on his face.
"I um...I'm sorry. It was only sent to me this morning. I was told that you already knew about it."
You wracked your brain for any mention of a manuscript approval by absolutely anyone you had ever had a conversation with.
You turned to Max, the headache was shifting forward towards your eyes, "No one told me anything. Ugh! Fine. I'll just have to skim. You can go back to your desk. Thanks, Maximus."
The boy scurried out of your office.
You sighed, then opened your email to locate the manuscript.
It was the last email you had been sent, you hurried to click it open and download it onto your computer.
It looked like a normal manuscript. No frilly font. No decorative cover. Just bare and unblemished. Just how you liked it.
Rosès Are Pink
Though, it had an absolutely shit title. That was an easy fix as long as the author didn't get attached.
Speaking of the author. You could tell it was a pen name. C.R. Park. There was no telling who that could be. But if you approved this manuscript then you'd probably be getting to know them a whole lot more.
You read the first line and frowned. Then you read the next. And the next. And the next. And soon your were through the first five chapters. The frown soon turned into an angry glare.
You dug into your cardigan pocket for your phone. You pulled it out and dialed a increasingly familiar number.
"Hel-"
"WHAT THE FUCK?!"
"Good morning to you too, Y/N. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE WRITING A BOOK?!"
"I didn't think I needed to?"
"Of course you fucking needed to. I'M IN IT."
"How do you even know that?"
"YOU FUCKING SENT IT TO ME!"
"You can stop yelling now."
"Boss? Are you okay?"
"GET. OUT. MAXIMUM."
"Yes, ma'am."
"I would like to reiterate that I didn't send anything to you. My managers probably did."
"What's the difference? You know I'm a publisher. I was bound to hear of it eventually." You wiped a frustrated hand down your face.
"What's the big deal, Y/N? Did you even read the manuscript?"
"Not all of it."
"Did you like it?"
"Chae, it's magnificent."
"So, what's the problem?
A heavy sigh left your mouth, and with it, your shoulders sag, "I-do you really want to put all of BP's business out there like that?" 'Do you really want to put all of BP's business with me out there like that' is what was really being asked.
"Yeah. The girls and I talked about it for weeks. The group is slowing down and we haven't liked the idea of lying by omission to our fans for awhile now. And I like to write. You don't have to worry anymore. " You could practically hear Chaeyoung's shrug.
"Okay. If you're sure. I hate the title."
Chaeyoung giggled, "So does Lisa. I'll let you fix it. Besides, it's not finished yet."
"You sent me an unfinished manuscript?"
"It doesn't have its happy ending yet."
"And what will that be?"
Chaeyoung paused for a second, "...You tell me."
~~~
"Mommy!" Lily bounded into your arms as soon as she saw you.
You brushed the brunette locks from her eyes and kissed her on the forehead, "Hello, my beautiful baby girl. How was your day today?"
"Good. Miss Taylor let us paint." She bounced in your arms, a semi damp peice of paper in her hands that she wouldn't let you see.
"That sounds like fun. What did you paint?"
"Families."
"Oh?"
"We see Lisa and Jennie today?"
I hope not.
"Not today, sweetheart."
"Oh."
You thought back to the previous day. Lisa was bonding with your kid while you were making out with Jennie on your bed....yep, sounds like you. You had been fine with that turn of events until you stopped kissing Jennie. Well, she stopped kissing you.
She stopped kissing you like she had suddenly remembered she left the stove on at home. You shared a very weird look before she pretty much ran out of your room like a terrified puppy. Or probably, more accurately, someone who just realized they made a mistake.
So, yeah. Now, you weren't so fine with the kiss and you could deal without seeing either of them for a good month.
"Mommy? Why don't I have a daddy or other mommy like the other kids?"
Your kid is trying to kill you. Hmm. What an ironic way to go out.
"Sometimes, kids only have one daddy, or one mommy. Some don't have either at all. But that doesn't make them different or any less special."
"Oh. Okay, " Lily laid her head down softly on your chest. "But I want another mommy. I don't like daddies."
"And you're absolutely valid for that. Mommy doesn't like daddies either."
"I want Jennie or Lisa to be my other mommy."
You had been so close to dodging the fattest bullet in parenting history, but no, your kid really did want you dead.
"We'll see, Dancing Queen. We'll see."
#blackpink fanfic#jesssica's fanfic#lisa x reader#blackpink#jennie x reader#lisa fanfic#jennie fanfic#jennie#lisa manoban#been through
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Gateway Drug | Part Fifty-Eight
A/N: Just saying the story is picking up pace after this part so get ready.
Words: 3.4K
Warning(s): Explicit language, mentions of drug abuse
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I watch as Tommy and Nikki finish up their MTV interview to promote the new album, Nikki glancing at me every now and then.
"And, before we go, can you repeat those dates again for the release of the video of first single and the debut of the album?"
"Uh, the 'Girls, Girls, Girls' video--we're filming for that around the end of the month, the album's coming out between May fifth and May tenth, probably." Nikki states.
"Alright, you heard it here. May is gonna be the month of Mötley Crüe, obviously when those release details become more specific we will let you all at home know but for now just keep your eyes on May. Nikki, Tommy, it's always a great talk anytime you're in the studio with us, we appreciate you dropping by."
"No problem." Nikki says.
"Anytime, Dude." Tommy adds.
"Good luck with the album, it's gonna be at the top of the charts when it's out, I guarantee."
"Thanks, we really appreciate that." Tommy nods.
"And good luck also with shooting the video, I'm sure plenty of our audience will be looking forward to all the women, and of course we'll be looking forward to all the censoring we're gonna have to edit in." The interviewer's last line is sarcastic as he shakes their hands, and they laugh. "Nikki Sixx and Tommy Lee of Mötley Crüe, folks. Don't go anywhere." He finishes as they cut, and Nikki waves me over, sitting his coffee cup down to reach for my water bottle in my hand.
I give it to him and he nearly drinks the entire thing before handing it back to me.
"Thank you, babe." He says to me, letting out a breath as the interviewer bids them one last "goodbye" as they stand up and stretch.
We have to meet Mick, Vince and Doc at their rehearsal space so they can continue their auditions for background singers.
So far, the girls that have tried out are either gorgeous but can't sing, and the ones who can sing like Whitney Houston aren't "hot enough to be on the same stage as Mötley Crüe", even though I've seen them hook up with far worse.
I haven't said a word about 'You're All I Need' because the giant, heavy scratch my key left on the entire passenger side of Nikki's brand new car will say plenty when he finally notices it.
So far he hasn't even driven the thing since he's been back. It's just been in the garage.
"...Okay, thank you for your time." Nikki pipes to the pretty dark-haired girl with almost honey colored eyes.
I think she's on the "hot but talentless" list.
"Dude, we're never gonna find fucking singers." Tommy groans, rubbing his face.
"Viv, can you sing?" Vince whines.
"Like chalk against a chalk board." I reply blankly and he sighs.
"All this has been is just hours and hours of disappointment with a few good blowjobs in between." Vince states.
"Just shut up and be patient." Mick tells them.
Doc sends the next girl in, and I see everyone's faces light up because she's pretty.
Blonde hair, a nice figure, and she dresses the part.
"Hi." She greets us with a smile.
"Hi." Vince grins back.
"I-I'm Donna McDaniel." She says next.
"Okay, here's some lyrics." Nikki hands her a sheet of paper with the main lines of a few of their songs she'd have to sing backup for and she takes it. "Start when you're ready."
The relief on their faces when she starts, makes me want to laugh.
She's attractive and she can sing.
"When you leave, tell Doc that we're interested, and he'll lead you to where you can stay until we finish up." Nikki informs her and she nods, handing the music back to him.
"Thank you." She tells them as she steps out.
"No, thank you." Vince says out of earshot, looking a little more hopeful that they'll find their second singer.
And sure enough, they do.
Within forty more minutes, they're sending everyone else home after another blonde, named "Emi" but she pronounces it "Amy", comes in.
I can see Vince's mind churning up how to get her and Donna to fuck around with him, and Nikki can see it, too.
Once Emi is sent to wait with Donna, Nikki's going into military sergeant mode.
"If we hire them," he starts, pointing at Tommy and Vince, "nobody fucks them. Got it?"
"What? Why?" Vince looks heartbroken.
"You don't shit in your own backyard, man, that's why. They're employees, we're the bosses."
"Yeah, Vinnie, we can't have employees having us wrapped around their finger." Tommy adds with a nod.
"It's the easiest pussy there possibly will ever be, are you serious?" Vince complains.
"If it's so easy, why did they both turn you down already?" I point out and he glares at me.
"Just. Don't. Fuck. Them. Got it?" Nikki sternly asks.
I guess now is a good time to mention that Nikki fucked Donna on the "Girls" tour.
The closer we got to tour, the more adamant Nikki was about cutting his addiction.
But, despite him constantly saying "I'm done with it" and throwing away everything to get high on, I'd always find him crawling around in our yard, naked, with his shot gun...carrying on about midgets and Mexicans.
It wouldn't take the neighbors five minutes to call and let me know he was out there.
Trying to tell them a believable excuse was the hard part.
I let out a soft breath, pulling the covers tighter over me, drifting further and further into sleep as the sound of our ceiling fan and Nikki flickering his lighter from the closed closet every now and again moves through the room, and lulls me to sleep.
I don't know what time it is when I wake up to the sound of Nikki screaming, running out of our room, but I force myself to sit up as quickly as I can and go after him.
I turn on the light in the hallway just in time to see him pressing the "panic" button on our security system contact box, which alerts West Tech, our security company, and they send out one of their people to come check on the situation.
"Nikki, what the hell?!" I ask him and he turns to look at me, pissed off and paranoid.
"I'm tired of these bastards not giving us any peace."
"W-What? Who?"
"You know who!"
"Nikki, what are you talking about?!"
He had smoked his crack and convinced himself our security had bugged the house and were watching him, constantly.
Then, he had decided "no, it's the FBI that's watching me" and gained the courage to set off the alarm to our security that something wasn't right.
And then, by the time West Tech arrived, Nikki was turning on them, again.
"Nikki, let me get to the door." I tell him calmly as the knocking continues.
"Fuck off!" Nikki shouts.
"Mr. Sixx, it's Chris with West Tech--"
"--Get off of my fucking property or I'll fucking shoot you!" He screams as we stand on the other side of the door, his shotgun ready. "You motherfuckers have bugged my house and I'm not fucking taking it anymore!"
"Mr. Sixx--"
They stop trying the second Nikki cracks the door open, and points his gun at all of them.
I hear them scatter to their van, the tires screeching as they quickly make a break for it.
He slams the door shut and locks it, the both of us waiting in silence until we decide they're gone.
"You called our security...then shot at them because they answered the call..." I point out to him, exhausted, and he looks down at me. "I'm sleeping in the guest bedroom." I state.
I lock the door behind me and climb into the bed, hearing Nikki go back to our bedroom, and I envy Karen for staying over at a friend's house because Nikki is starting to really wear me down with his shit.
The next few nights consists of Nikki, Tommy, me and the director working on the music video, Wayne Isham, trying to decide what strip club would be best to film the video for "Girls, Girls, Girls" at.
And me and Nikki arguing over another matter that is too be determined:
"I said I'm not gonna be in the video." I repeat to Nikki, crossing my arms and he raises a brow.
"Babe, it's not that serious." Nikki states.
"I already told you I'm not comfortable with it."
"You wear bikinis all the time, you wear thongs and bras all the time...It's not like I'm gonna have you up there topless or anything." He motions to the stage of the Seventh Veil.
"Nikki, I'm not comfortable with it. Why can't you just let that go?"
"Why can't you be more fun?"
"Nikki, it's fine if she doesn't want to." Tommy lightly tells him with a chuckle.
Nikki doesn't even hear him, too busy focusing on me to see if he cracked me or not.
"Are you fellas good on drinks?" A scantily clad cocktail waitress asks us.
"We're fine, thanks." Wayne tells her with a decent amount of class...but that doesn't sit well with Tommy and Nikki.
"Okay, my name's Tabby if you guys need anything, let me know."
Before she can smile and walk away, Tommy's stopping her.
"Actually, there is something else, Tabby." He states, smiling, and she grins politely.
"What can I get for you?"
He motions for her to come closer and he gets in her ear, with Nikki smirking, knowing exactly what he was proposing to the pretty brunette.
Her face pales, and she glances at me before awkwardly giving Tommy nudge with her elbow as if he were joking.
His face shifts to one of seriousness.
"What, you think I'm joking?" He asks her and she tries to keep from looking too uncomfortable, giving all of us a small smile before saying:
"I've gotta get back to work. Let me know when you guys need a refill, you know it's on the house."
She walks away and Nikki and Tommy chuckle.
That was the first time I had seen a woman get uncomfortable around the guys.
Usually they were all for whatever it is Tommy or Vince suggest doing with them...I later found out Tommy had suggested to Tabby that he and Nikki meet her in the bathroom to tag team her.
That's why she had looked almost sick looking at me, when he was whispering in her ear.
She was probably thinking:
"Bless her naive heart."
Me nor Wayne bother to ask any questions about the incident before we're getting ready to go.
The guys and Wayne talk to the owner about possibly shooting the video and he's all for it, giving them the day after tomorrow to get it done.
I'm too busy thinking about what Nikki said earlier to really listen all that much.
"Why can't you be more fun?" who the hell does he think he is? Oh, right, he's "NiKkI fUcKiNg SiXx."
Once we're stepping outside and telling Wayne "bye", Nikki and Tommy are putting in to going to the Cathouse.
I just want to go home.
"I don't feel like going all the way back home, then coming all the way back." Nikki complains and I furrow my brows a little.
"Nikki, it's..." I grab his wrist to pull his jacket sleeve up and look at his watch. It's nearly 3:00am. "...2:53."
"Then just call a cab." He suggests.
"Are you on smack right now?" I don't sugarcoat the question. "You're being a bigger asshole than you are when you're sober." I add.
"Fuck off!" He snaps at me.
I can tell Tommy wants to say something, but keeps quiet.
"Fine." I say, turning on my heel to the payphone down the way.
I realize I don't have any money to pay for it, but before I can go back and ask Nikki for some change, he and Tommy are off.
So I find my next option.
I walk nearly an hour to the Franklin and get to where Duff's staying, only to find him, and none of the guys are home.
I feel like crying, but decide this isn't the end of the world before I calm down and sit by his door like a lost puppy.
I wake up to the feeling of someone nudging me awake with their shoe, and I'm met with Izzy looking down at me.
"Izzy." I greet him.
"Viv." He replies blankly. "Did you leave or were you thrown out?" He asks me and I roll my eyes before he gives me the slightest hint of a smile before it fades and he's nodding across the hall. "C'mon."
I stand up as he unlocks his apartment and motions me inside.
"You can stay here until Duff gets in." He says.
"Thank you." I reply, sitting on the couch as he hands me a shitty blanket.
"I'm gonna go scrub the lipstick and regret from my balls." He informs me, heading to the bathroom.
"At least you regret it." I say back.
"Nah, I don't regret getting a blowjob from a random girl, I regret not nailing her." He corrects me and I don't even hide my laughter.
Once he's done, he's stepping across the hall to see if Duff's back. Apparently he is because Izzy's coming to get me.
"Fuck off, Sixxette." He takes the blanket from me and I gladly head towards Duff's place.
When I get inside, Duff's passed out on the couch, snoring, and smelling like a bar.
I walk over to him, gently shaking him awake, and he let's out another groan.
"Go away." He waves his hand, his eyes closed, and I raise a brow.
"Duff, it's Viv. C'mon, at least go get in your bed so you won't feel worse tomorrow."
He perks up at the sound of my voice, lifting his head, rubbing his eyes.
"I've...is this a dream? 'Cause usually you're naked and 'Purple Rain' is playing." He slurs and I feel my face heat up in embarrassment.
"No, it isn't a dream...and I didn't need to know that but thank you, I guess." I reply, pulling his boots off.
I help him stand, his tall, lanky figure towering over me.
"You look pretty, were you on a date?" He asks when I get him to sit on his bed, helping him not fall over as he tries to take off his shirt and gets caught in it.
"Er...kinda?" I shrug and he nods. "Were you on a date?" I ask when a condom wrapper falls from his jacket and he scrunches his face up.
"Er...kinda." He replies in the same tone, rubbing his face and I laugh. "Hey, I'm a bachelor now, Viv. I'm gullible. I mean elgib--no, estrang...or amb...what the fuck is that word?"
"Eligible?"
"Yeah, that one." He coughs, taking his belt off as I pick up his scattered dirty clothes and put them against his wall in a pile.
When I turn back around, I get a split-second's worth of an eyeful of him completely naked and snap back around, covering my eyes.
"Ohh...I should've told you I'm freeballing." He says.
"Just..." I turn around, keeping my eyes closed, holding my hand out for his pants so I can put them in the pile with his other clothes.
"Are you reaching for it or something?" He laughs and, again, my face is bright red.
"No, Duff, I'm not reaching for it. I need your pants." I inform him.
He laughs some more, throwing the pants my way and I take them and put them in the pile as he crawls into bed and under the covers.
"By the way, it's bigger than that." He informs me and I furrow my brows and look at him.
"What?"
"It's cold in here so..."
I realize he's referring to his dick and I scream internally.
"...Okay, Duff, too much informa--"
"--I'm packing. That's all I'm saying. I'm like a can of Spam. Lotta meat in--"
"--Shh!" I blush even more, squeezing my eyes shut.
"Oh, oops."
"Jeez. Goodnight, Duff." I'm about to go sleep on the couch.
"Where ya going?" He asks me when I turn the light off.
"Sleeping on the couch."
"You can sleep in here, I can take the couch." He sits up.
"No, no. You're not gonna feel good tomorrow just sleep in here, really, it's fine."
"Well, are you gonna be okay? You don't sleeping by yourself."
I sigh, wishing it were that simple.
"Duff, we can't do that. Nikki wrote an entire song about wanting to kill me, and it was because he thinks something's happening between you and I." I explain.
"Nikki accusing you of cheating?" There's an uncomfortable wait before he says, "that's fucking rich."
"Yeah, well, he doesn't like it so out of respect for him--"
"--I don't fucking respect him." He mumbles.
"Duff, you're drunk. Just sleep it off."
"You're right. I should shut the fuck up let the universe deal him his fucking cards."
I ignore him saying so, turning to leave, but I stop myself.
I'm only here to begin with because Nikki couldn't just take me back home.
I step back to the bed, taking my heels and jacket off.
I take the extra pillow under mine and put it between us as I get into bed.
"Goodnight, Duff." I say quietly, turning my back to him.
"G'night, Viv."
Nikki would have had an absolute fit had he known, then again, I wasn't fucking Duff, I had no intention of doing so, and I told Nikki exactly where I ended up staying the next day.
The sun glitters through the window of Duff's room, hitting my face, and I blink my eyes open, feeling Duff breathing in and out.
Sometime during the night I must've broken past the pillow partition because, although I'm facing away from him, my back is pulled to his side, the side of my face is resting against his bicep, my shoulder tucked under the pit of his arm, and the arm that my face is against, is wrapped around me, his hand resting against my stomach.
I turn to look at him, seeing his peaceful expression as he sleeps contently.
My mind drifts back to that dream I once had about him.
I hate that Nikki thinks anything is going on between Duff and I, but it's my fault.
I lied about seeing him, I lied by omittion at the beginning by not even telling Nikki about him...a part of me wants to think if I were to tell Nikki about me dreaming I had sex with Duff, it'd be a wake up call that our issues are more serious than he believed.
I mean, when you're in a committed relationship and you can picture yourself having sex with someone you're close to, to the point your subconscious creates this entire fantasized scenario, there's something wrong that needs to be talked about.
But another part of me knows he'll flip his shit, call me a "whore" and probably file for divorce.
So, keeping it to myself it is.
My eyes go to my crucifix lying on the bedside table, and I reach out for it.
I taken it off last night when I felt too guilty for sweeping in the same bed as Duff, knowing Nikki wouldn't like it.
I thought if I took it off, I wouldn't feel bad anymore.
And I didn't.
When I was a teenager I would take that necklace off anytime I did something I thought my mother would disapprove of. Whether it was cheating on homework assignments, or, eventually, fucking Nikki Sixx.
I ended up picking that habit back up once Duff and I started getting closer, except instead of avoiding the disapproval of my mother, I was fleeing the disapproval of Nikki.
One thing I didn't take in to consideration, however, taking it off left me at risk for leaving a track.
Just like Mick had put together I had slept with Nikki because my crucifix was on his bedroom floor back in '81, halfway through the "Girls" tour with Guns N' Roses, I accidentally left my track on the bathroom counter in Duff's room, where Nikki went to throw up while he was hanging out with him, Slash, and Steven.
What they should teach in children's church: if you're going to sin, keep any religious jewelry or articles of clothing on.
Whomever the hell you worship already knows you're up to no good.
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