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blue-fidelity · 3 years

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~ “Smile in the face of Tragedy”

Chapter 2: New King

Pairings: Billy Hargrove x Henderson!reader, Steve Harrington x best friend! reader

Chapter Summary:

A wild night reveals secrets and broken hearts. At least Billy & (Y/N) have each other.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, drunk!Billy, sad!Steve (that is a warning 🥺)

“(Y/N)! It’s Halloween!”- Halloween? (Y/N) woke up to the sound of her brother yelling excitingly. If she wasn’t mistaken, she could hear the Ghostbusters theme playing loudly from Dustin’s room. She groaned, burying her head in her pillows while running her hands through her hair.

This is not how she planned to wake up this morning.

Before closing her eyes to regain a little more sleep, her alarm clock looked her right in the face. 7:15. Another groan came from her. Perk up (Y/N), it’s your favourite holiday! She pushed herself up, swinging her legs on the side of the bed. (Y/N) definitely knew the high school students weren’t going to be wearing costumes to school. So before Billy picked her up, she’d head home to get changed.

Billy- (Y/N) didn’t think she’d be able to forget yesterday. The way he held her, the way he kissed her forehead. His embrace was so comforting- she nearly melted into him. The smell of dry cigarette smoke and cheap cologne haven’t been able to leave her senses. It was like everything that came with him, it was intoxicating, and she couldn’t get enough of it.

As she stepped out of bed, she moved her hips slightly to the music coming from her brother’s stereo. When she made it to her drawers, she contemplated what she should wear today. Just because she wasn’t going to wear a costume, didn’t mean she couldn’t look spooky, right? She grabbed her “Chistine” t-shirt, it was one of her favorite horror movies. Pairing it with a black acid wash skirt, some fishnets, and her usual chuck taylors, she strutted confidently out her bedroom door.

She walked into the bathroom to find Dustin clad in his Stantz costume, brushing his teeth. He looked so cute! “Hey Doctor Stantz, ‘lookin pretty badass”, she grinned, patting him on the back. “Thanks (Y/N)! I can’t wait to see the guys in their costumes, Halloween’s gonna be so great!”, he cheered, spitting out his tooth paste. He quickly ran out of the room to fetch breakfast, leaving (Y/N) time for her hair & makeup.

Bright red lipstick and heavy black eyeliner, hair slightly curled.

When she stepped into the living room, she saw her mom enthusiastically taking polaroids of Dustin. She couldn’t help but smile, hoping her mom would save her some for her picture board. (Y/N) sat on the couch beside her cat Mews, scratching the back of his ears as he purred in contentment. She giggled at the various poses her brother made in front of the camera.

Her mom had finally stopped taking photos, noticing her on the couch. “(Y/N) darling! I didn’t see you come in, can I get a photo of my two children?”, she questioned, looking at her with pleading eyes. (Y/N) couldn’t say no! “Of course!”, she said, standing up from the couch.

She placed an arm around Dustin’s shoulders, teasingly taking him in a headlock, rubbing her nuckles on his hair. To this he laughed, playfully pointing his fake proton blaster at her. It was the perfect picture. Perfectly trapped in the moment of two great siblings, simply having a good time.

(Y/N) gathered her things, making sure to take one of her mom’s homemade muffins for breakfast. She had made them a couple days before, but they still were delicious. Even though (Y/N) desperately needed coffee, she decided against it. She was already running a bit late, and as much as she hated the stale stuff from the cafeteria, it’d have to do. Dustin had already slipped out the door to head off on his bike, he really must’ve been eager to see his friends.

Before making her way to her motorcycle, she slipped her jean jacket on and hugged her mom goodbye. Claudia looked at her intently, ruffling her curled hair. (Y/N) rolled her eyes playfully, “Alright mom, I gotta go! ‘I’m gonna stop here after school though, k?”, she opened the front door. “Okay have a good day sweetie! ‘I’ll see you before your party!”. (Y/N)’s mom knew about the party, whether she knew there was going to be alcohol involved, it was better off not knowing.

Sliding the keys into the ignition, she sped off to the school. She could never get enough of the mysterious backroads of Hawkins. It scared her, obviously. With all the things that happened the previous year, she couldn't help but wonder if things still lurked in the depths of the forest, hiding till they could strike. Waiting and waiting till they can catch someone else and drag them to that horrible place. Her body trembled at the thought of it. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind of the memories. Eyes turning back to the road, she removed one of her hands from the handles, trying to reach for the button of her stereo. It had turned onto some random radio station that was playing Halloween tunes.

“Happy Halloween ‘Morning Ghouls and Goblins of Hawkins! Here’s a spooky throwback from ‘1982 for y’all on this fine dreary morning, ‘Blood Bitch’, by Cocteau Twins!” - the radio host introduced, was he really supposed to swear on radio? Well, no one really had a filter these days.

The song added to the eerie atmosphere of the cold morning, making her uneasy. She pushed through her thoughts, trying to just focus on getting to school. It was Halloween! No need for being pent up on past trauma. The station had eventually turned to a happier song, putting her in a better mood. What better to put a smile on your face then the ‘Time Warp” from The Rocky Horror Picture Show? She bobbed her head happily to the familiar tune, singing along to the lyrics.

School today had been an absolute drag! Last period (math) was nearly done and (Y/N) was desperate to get out. She could see some of her mutuals were anxious as well, probably too excited to wait for the party tonight. She was excited as well, maybe a little bit of the fact that she’d be spending more time with Billy?

(Y/N) would hate for him to think she’d be using him as a rebound. Even though it seemed that way, she really should’ve forgotten about her feelings for Steve awhile ago. (Y/N) really loved Steve, but he’d always been so oblivious, but- that was just Steve. He would’ve never known of her feelings if she didn’t tell him. Which she never did, in fear of obvious rejection. Then here was Billy Hargrove, whether it be his flirtatious nature, she could see herself really falling for him. The one thing she knew she wouldn’t do was dive in too quickly. She wouldn’t make the same mistakes, for her and for Billy’s sake.

She was finally released from the rechedouness that was her math class-running straight out the door right as the bell rang, nearly having winded Mr. Henry. After taking a quick stop at her locker, she walked outside to find her motorcycle. (Y/N) was nearly there till a skateboard hit her feet, stopping her in her tracks.

“I’m so sorry! It slipped right out from under me-” a voice of a young girl called, her breath shaky. (Y/N) looked down at the girl shuffling to grab her skateboard, she had never seen her before. The mysterious teen with the red hair looked around her brother’s age, so why was she so unrecognizable? Wait- could it be?

Billy’s step sister.

“Hey, hey it’s all good!”, (Y/N) gave her a reassuring smile. “Hey- not to sound weird or anything-”, she chuckled nervously, “But, are you new here? ‘You see I got a younger brother ‘about your age, and you got an unfamiliar face”. The girl stared at her skeptically, but still replied. “Yeah, just moved here from ‘California, what are you ‘looking to set him up or something?” she questioned sarcastically. ‘Damn she was quite the firecracker. “Nah frankly I think you're a little out of his league”, (Y/N) winked. To this she got a laugh out of her. “Well, it was nice weirdly meeting you, ‘I’m Max!”, she introduced herself. “Well Max, ‘I’m (Y/N), if you're interested in someone helping you out with that kickflip, ‘I used to do some skateboarding myself”, she offered. Max beamed at her offer, “Really? That’d be so great!”, “Alrighty then, if you see me around, don’t be shy to ask!”.

Little did (Y/N) and Max know, Billy was watching them. Billy knew (Y/N) was genuinely kind, but not that kind. It wasn’t necessarily cool to be seen with a middle schooler. He figured he wouldn’t look too much into it, but something about seeing (Y/N) with her, didn’t sit well with him. Billy gave Max a dirty look as she skated up to the camaro. “You're late again”, Billy started. “I had to get catchup homework”, Max stated. “Jesus! I don’t care- who was that girl you were talking to?”, Billy asked, even though he already knew who she was. “Just some high schooler- she offered to help me learn some skateboarding tricks' '. So she skateboarded too, huh? “That’s rich. Just, get in the car, will yah?”.

(Y/N) entered the door with a ‘skip in her step. She really needed a reason to lose herself, forget about the world around her. Tonight was going to be perfect for that. Expecting to be greeted by her mom, she noticed no one was there. She knew Dustin was heading to Mike’s right after school, ‘but her mom was nowhere to be seen. She probably had to work later hours again. ‘This meant she had the place to herself! (Y/N) still had a few hours before Billy picked her up. So she figured she’d get into her costume, and then fix herself something to eat.

The Sarah Connor costume was simple. Gray tank top, black jeans, sunglasses, a chunky belt and combat boots. (Y/N) already had all of this in her regular wardrobe, so it’d be a pretty easy costume. Of course she didn’t have a rifle to complete it, even though she could’ve asked Nance. She wasn’t about to show up to a house party with a gun. It would have been pretty cool though.

She stood in front of the bathroom mirror, clad in costume. Now it was time to remove her makeup and untame her curled hair. “Mr. Crowley” by Ozzy Osbourne was currently spinning on her “Blizzard of Ozz” vinyl. She mouthed her lips to the lyrics as she straightened her hair, her (Y/H/C) locks falling in straight whisps on her head. Replacing her once extravagant makeup with a more nude look, she looked at herself pleased.

A total badass look, you might say.

It was only 4:30, and Billy was coming over at 6 o’clock. She had way too much time to kill. Making her way to the kitchen, she scoped the fridge. Enough ground beef for two burgers, and she knew they had leftover buns. Maybe Billy would be hungry when he got there, and if she was making dinner for two- she didn’t want to start too early. So she’d head back to it in about a half an hour. Meanwhile a coca-cola would hold her down, she was pretty firsty.

(Y/N) now laid in her bed, bored. ‘Blizzard of Ozz was still playing, it just switched onto “Steal Away (The Night)”, her ears perked up to the upbeat tune. She couldn’t help but dance around, hopping happily on her bed as she belted the lyrics along with Ozzy. Pointing at the poster of him that was plastered on her wall, she shouted the chorus. It’d be pretty funny if Billy were to walk in on her singing her heart out, what would he think of that? She rolled her eyes at the thought, he’d probably think she was crazy. The song ended, turning to the next one. (Y/N) took this as her cue to start on dinner.

Flipping the patties in the pan, she sighed at the smell. She did cook a pretty ‘mean burger. Dustin loved when she made them, he always said the added rosemary was the perfect touch. (Y/N) grew up with her mother teaching her how to cook. Claudia Henderson had worked in a number of restaurants, usually in the kitchen or as a waitress. She now helped run a popular Inn a little outside of town, and it was her favourite place she’s ever worked in. (Y/N) probably figured it was a busy night, considering she didn’t come home at her usual hour.

5:45 and the burgers were ready and plated, the aroma running through the room. Billy was ‘going to be here soon, and she was giddy with excitement. Before she knew it, the bell rang. Fuck he was early. “Coming!” she called, slowly making her way to the door. ‘There he stood; a cocky grin on his face with his arm propped up on the door ledge. She took time to take in his minimal outfit, tight jeans & a leather jacket, no shirt. His abbs were on full display- (Y/N)’s mouth watered just at the sight of him. “See something you like, sweetheart?” he smirked. “Maybe-”, (Y/N) stammered. “It’s aight, I see something I like to,'' he whispered the last part into her ear, letting himself in.

“She cooks too? ‘I guess looks can be deceiving”, he motioned to the burgers. (Y/N) blushed, “I figured we could eat before we fill ourselves with alcohol”. They delved into the burgers, she couldn’t help but laugh when Billy moaned at the taste. “Darlin- I haven’t had a burger like this in awhile, ‘the ones down at Benny’s don’t hold anything on these”, he praised. “That must be a high compliment, because ‘Benny’s are pretty good”, she smiled at him. (Y/N) put the dishes into the dishwasher, quickly running to her room to grab her polaroid camera. “Where are you ‘heading princess?”, she’d never get tired of his little pet names. “I’m just grabbing my camera- I want to get some good shots tonight!”.

(Y/N) came back with her camera bag, a big grin on her face. “You ready to head out?”, he questioned. “Yeah, just let me get my jacket”, she took her jacket from the hook. “Ready”. He guided her to the camaro, opening the passenger door. Billy never opened the passenger door for girls! ‘(Y/N) really did something to him, huh? “Such the gentlemen”, she smirked. “Anything for you dollface”. He slid into the drivers side, placing his keys into the ignition. “Music?” she questioned, “Sure thing, feel free to look through the cassettes in the glove box”. She searched through the assortment of tapes, varying from Metallica, Def Leppard, RATT, Mötley Crüe, Hanoi Rocks, AC/DC and more. She settled on Hanoi Rocks’s, “Two Steps From The Move” album. It had just come out that summer, and it was one of her favourites. Not to mention she had a HUGE crush on Michael Monroe.

“Hanoi Rocks huh? I like your style”, he nodded in approval, till turning his eyes back on the road. “Got any specific fave tracks?”, (Y/N) questioned. “Track 8”. She was surprised he chose this one, considering it was one of the more “cheesy” songs. ‘It did have a pretty ‘rockin guitar riff in it though, she’ll give him that. Billy contentedly thumped his hands on the steering wheel, speeding up a bit. Rolling both of their windows down, (Y/N) was surprised to see him singing along to the lyrics. It was a bad attempt at a Finnish accent, sure, but it was still really cute. (Y/N) joined him, jumping in at the chorus. They banged their heads to the tune, continuously singing the lines. (Y/N) really felt alive in that moment. ‘She couldn’t remember the last time she had this much fun, and they haven’t even gotten to the party yet.

They pulled up to Tina’s, teens were already rallying in. ‘It was going to be a wild night. Before Billy could open up his trunk to get the kegs, (Y/N) stopped him. She pulled out her camera, “Hargrove! Smile!”, she grinned, pointing the camera at him. ‘He rolled his eyes, posing for the picture. The photo was of Billy playfully doing the devil’s horns symbol, with his tongue stuck out. She giggled, “This is one for the board!”. “Well Hey Sarrah Conner- let me take a pic of you!”, he said, trying to grab the camera from her. She handed the camera to him, smiling that he remembered her costume name. Letting her sunglasses shade her eyes, ‘she smirked brightly at the camera, ‘Billy quickly snapping the shot. He handed the polaroid to her, she shaked it and placed it in her bag with the one she took.

Billy held one of the kegs while (Y/N) grabbed the other, walking into the crowded house. It was overwhelmingly loud. They could feel the heat coming off the numerous teenagers that littered the home, their bodies moving to the heavy beats of the stereo. Tina was in the kitchen, and had noticed the pair walk in. “Billy & (Y/N) are here with more kegs!”, she shouted, ‘causing the crowd to go wild. Someone had taken the one from her hands and motioned Billy to follow them into the backyard, leaving her alone. She grazed over the sea of teens, trying to spot anyone she knew. She noticed Steve and Nancy dancing freely in the living room, Nancy nursing a drink while Steve had a big smile on his face. She figured she’d grab some punch and then see what Billy was doing in the backyard, most likely a keg stand. He was the new ‘king after all, Tommy was probably expecting him to beat Steve’s record.

‘As luck would have it, she was right. She stood on the back porch with a cup of “pure fuel” in her hands, watching the teens crowd around him as he bent over the keg. They shouted various numbers, counting the seconds as he chugged down the beer. (Y/N) cheered with them, looking at him with bright eyes. His torso was glistening, beads of sweat running down his toned chest. Her cheeks flushed red just at the sight of him. The enthusiasm got louder as he finished the stand, spitting spews of beer out of his mouth. “That’s how you do it Hawkins! That’s how you do it!”, more cheers. Tommy passed him a cigarette and escorted him into the house, the gang shouting his name as Mötley Crüe’s, “Shout At The Devil” played on the speakers. Billy spotted her on the porch, grinning wildly at her. He shoved her into his side with his arm, hugging her tight. Tommy glared at the interaction. Never in her time with being friends with Steve has ‘Tommy liked her that much, and it seems things haven’t changed.

Typical Tommy.

(Y/N) was enjoying the feel of Billy's embrace a little too much. She knew he was already partially drunk, and she was feeling a nice buzz that she wasn’t planning on getting rid of anytime soon. Someone had to drive them home. ‘Tommy paraded them up to Nancy and Steve, (Y/N) wasn’t sure if it was to torchure her or show off Billy, probably both. ‘Billy and Steve stared each other down as if they were going to kill each other, it was really intense. Too intense for her liking. Still hooded under Billy’s arm, she shot Steve a sympathetic look. ‘As if to say ‘I’m sorry’ with her eyes. “We got ourselves a new keg king Harrington!”, Tommy declared. “Yeah eat it Harrington!”, another guy shouted. Somehow in ‘Billy and Steve’s stare down, Nancy had slipped away.

“You see Harrington- not only that, but I stole your girl away too”, Billy retorted. Oh shit- this wasn’t good. Steve glanced over at her, a nervous look in his eyes. “I don’t know what you're talking about man-”. How did Billy know about (Y/N)’s past feelings for Steve? “Well you see, this lovely lady under my arms thought the world of you, and frankly I- I just don’t see why! Point being, she has me now, you can go fetch that slut you settled for.” This interaction was making neither Steve nor (Y/N) happy, it left them feeling both angry and confused. Steve scoffed, chasing after Nancy. He was going to want to talk to (Y/N) about this later.

Steve really didn’t know what to make of what Billy had said to him. Mainly, it sounded like a warning; but he didn’t think Billy intended for it to be that. (Y/N) and him had been best friends forever, and even if he didn’t necessarily like Billy, there was no harm in her being friends with him, right? Though, something about what Billy said hinted that he meant more than just friends. Had (Y/N) liked him, loved him even? Was Steve really oblivious all these years- no, it couldn’t be. If he was being honest, he harboured a small crush on her in the beginning of middle school, but then Nancy came into his life. Nancy Wheeler hit him like a freight train right in the heart, and he then became a lovesick puppy. He couldn’t get enough of her. That’s when Steve began to realize, the jealous glances over the years, the slight distaste of Nancy that came off her.

But, why did it matter if (Y/N) loved him? He still had Nancy, or so he thought.

Tommy had left, leaving Billy and (Y/N) in the corner of the living room, an uncomfortable silence stirring between them. “Billy-how did you-“, she wondered in a whisper, but Billy cut her off. “You really don’t think Tommy would’ve told me? Besides, everybody knows”. She didn’t need to hear the last part. Besides, why did it matter if everyone knew- it didn’t matter to her anymore. “Does that bother you?”, she asked worriedly. Billy chuckled darkly.

“Darlin- you got nothing to worry about, I’m your new king now”.

Next thing she knew, they were on the dance floor. Billy had pulled her into the crowd of sweaty bodies, grinding on each other. Some people were making out, others chugging alcohol till they fell limp to the floor. She stared nervously at the rowdy teens, her body shaking. He noticed her agitation, placing a hand on her cheek, turning her to face him. He smelt of cheap beer and stale cigarette smoke, and a hint of cologne. She was caught with that intoxicating sensation again, making her hazy. His icy blue eyes peered into her (Y/E/C) ones, “Just feel the music princess- everything will be just fine”.

‘Their bodies moved comfortably against each other to ‘Billy Idol’s, “Flesh For Fantasy”. A perfect song choice in the moment. ‘(Y/N) was very much sober and very much aware of what was happening. Aware of Billy’s strong grip on her waist, aware of his hips moving against hers. Normally this would’ve been cutting close corners for her, but she was looking for an opportunity to lose herself. What better way than this? She ran her fingers through his thick blonde curls, her hips swaying a bit more. He sighed in contentment, making her shiver. His face was currently buried into her neck, placing soft kisses on her collarbone.

They continued their heavy sway for a while, Billy had started to form a hickey below her ear. She was definitely not going to be able to cover it up tomorrow, but she really didn’t care if people saw it- she wanted people to know that she wasn’t desperate. That she didn’t need Steve anymore. She wasn’t exactly sure what she meant to ‘Hargrove, but she knew that she wasn’t planning on leaving him anytime soon. (Y/N) felt him remove his lips from her neck, his hot breath waving over her. “Mhmm- left a pretty big mark sweetheart-“ he mumbled. She hummed in return, removing her hands from his hair.

The rest of the night consisted of more dancing, and Billy getting more intoxicated than he was before. Really drunk Billy- let’s just say it was quite the sight to see. He was a giggling mess, slurring his words and stumbling on his feet. “(Y/N)- has anyone ever told you-“ he hiccuped, “That you were gorgeous?”, another hiccup. She giggled at his comment, “Tons of people- but I bet no one sees me like you do huh?”, she supported him up against the kitchen counter. “Absolutely no one!” He cheered in a high pitch voice, damn he really was a mess. She tried to wrap his arm around her shoulders snatching his keys.”Hey- what are you doing?”, he gestured to the keys, “Getting you home-“, “Wait! Can we go to your house please?? I can’t wake up my dad letting him see me like this- he’ll kill me”, he pleaded. “Fine- just, try to be as quiet as possible, I got a sleeping family too”.

(Y/N) took him out of the house, nearly carrying him. She waved goodbye to a few mutual friends who were still conscious, muttering a soft “See y’all tomorrow, hope we aren’t all hungover”. This earned a few laughs from her classmates, bidding her and Billy a goodnight. Unlocking the passenger side to the camaro, she set Billy down lightly on the seat. “Being so ginger with me sweetheart- I’m not made of glass ‘you know”, he joked. “Whatever tough guy- let’s just get you to a bed, mhm?”. Placing her hands on the steering wheel, she realized she hasn’t driven a car since the summer, and a camaro is definitely nothing close to a station wagon. She took a deep breath- she could do this, no sweat. Besides, there was no way she could bring herself to ruin a car as beautiful as this one.

Billy must’ve passed out while they were driving, because when she pulled into her driveway, his eyes were sewn shut. She had to admit- he did look pretty adorable when he was sleeping. She tried to resist the urge to take a photo of him, but she couldn’t help herself. Pulling out her camera bag that was littered with pictures from tonight, she snapped a quick photo of him. The flash startled him, waking him up. “Sweetheart- were you taking photos of me in my sleep? That’s just creepy”, his voice was groggy. “How could I not when you were laying there looking like an angel?”, “Pfft- ‘darlin, I am a demon, Satan himself! ‘Ain’t no way I’m an angel!”, he scoffed.

“Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but Lucifer was once an angel”.

Fumbling with the keys to her front door while trying to help Billy regain his footing was hard. He was just about to lose consciousness again when she finally got the door open, it shouldn't have been as much of a challenge as it was- but Billy had a lot of weight to him. She didn’t notice the lights were still on till she saw her mom sitting in her reading chair, Mews on her lap and clad in a cat costume. Shit- what was she gonna say about this? “Oh! Mrs. Henderson- I see where (Y/N) gets all her good looks from!”, Billy squealed, “Ugh can it Billy! Mom I can explain-“ she shushed Billy, staring wide eyed at her mother. “Sweetie- you clearly had a wild night, just take this pound of muscle to your room, and we can talk about it while he crashes, okay?”- (Y/N) nodded quickly, dragging Billy to her room.

Billy flopped down on the bed, giggling wildly. “Honey! We’ve known each other for two days, don’t you think we ‘oughta know one another better before I sleep in your bed?”, (Y/N) rolled her eyes at the blubbering idiot. “This was your idea dumby! Just get under the covers and keep it shut, will you?”, she glared at him, closing the door and heading back to the living room.

“So no Steve, huh? He’s the one who usually spends the night”, her mom said softly. “Different reasons mom- I’m just trying to figure out who’s a bigger piece of work”, she huffed. “Well he’s quite the looker, ‘makes me wonder how you keep up with him”, Claudia smirked. “Mom! He’s new here- he just happened to notice me first”, (Y/N) blushed, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Besides- what are you doing up so late?”, (Y/N) stared at the clock, “It’s nearly 1 o’clock”. “Busy night down at the Inn, just needed a little time to myself after Dusty went to bed”, she sighed, but (Y/N) knew she wasn’t finished. “Also wanted to see what mess you brung home, it’s always a new thing with you”, her mom laughed. “Billy’s- interesting, but I’m not sure, doesn’t seem like the most faithful type”, she sighed. “He may surprise you, and besides- if he hurts you he’ll have to suffer the wrath of your brother!”, Claudia giggled, smiling at her daughter. “Anyways- I’m gonna head to bed, early day at work tomorrow, you gonna go join the guy?”, she pointed down the hall. “Yeah yeah I’ll join the idiot in a second- just gonna get some water”, (Y/N) said tiredly.

Snuggling up on the couch, she sipped her water. The quietness was calming, the fact that everyone was at rest and she was the only one around southend her in a way. The fact that Billy was sleeping soundly in her bed, gave her a different feeling. Things with him- had gone by so quickly, and it was only just beginning. It was nice being with someone where the relationship had lasted longer than more than a few hours. Her past flames- had simply been one night stands, meaningless things to shy her away from Steve, but Billy was different. She actually liked him, and even though he came off as a jerk- he seemed really sweet on the inside. Though, she couldn’t help but wonder how Steve was feeling right now, the bomb had been dropped on him nearly two hours ago- it must be overwhelming to know your best friend was holding back feelings for so many years.

(Y/N) was just about to head to bed, till she heard a knock on the door. Who was here at this time of night? She opened the door slightly, and who she saw she didn’t expect. There Steve stood, his face red and puffy with tears in his eyes. His body was shaking, his shoulders were slumped over. He looked awful. “She- doesn’t love me- it’s bullshit! It was all bullshit!” He stuttered as his body continued to quiver. (Y/N)’s heart ached at his words, what had Nancy done this time? She didn’t know what to say, it’s not like she could’ve let him in. So, she just pulled him into a hug, “Steve-you can’t keep coming here like this- it’s not my job to fix you”, she tried to explain. “I know! I just don’t have anywhere else to go”, he cried. “I can’t tonight- it just isn’t the right time.” (Y/N) was attempting to tell him in the best way possible that Billy wasn’t there, but Steve caught on. “He’s here, isn’t he, Billy?”, Steve muttered angrily. “Out of all the guys in Hawkins- you chose him to get over me, that’s just flattering!” . Steve was making her feel sick, “Steve- I know you're hurting but you can’t take it out on me like that- it isn’t fair”, she pushed away from him. “I’ll talk about this with you tomorrow- when you're in the right state of mind, okay? Just please leave”, she pleaded. “Fine- I’ll see you tomorrow”, he breathed out harshly, walking back to his car.

She was on the edge of a breakdown, heart racing and choked up tears running down her face. This is not how she expected her evening to end- seeing Steve like that, broken and beaten again. (Y/N) thought she’d never live to see Steve crumble in her arms one more time- and with that she could’ve rested easy. At least she wouldn’t have to be alone tonight, she had someone waiting for her. Trying to stay quiet, she tiptoed down the hall. Opening the door, she walked in to see Billy sleeping soundly, the pink hue of her bedside lamp illuminating his features. She took notice of his leather jacket, jeans and boots scattered on the ground. That meant he was only in his boxers. Before joining him she slipped into an oversized AC/DC t-shirt and looked in the mirror, her hands grazing over the purple mark that had formed on her neck- the little bastard.

When (Y/N) laid in bed, even in his sleepy state Billy could notice the slight dip in the mattress. He groaned, “What took you so long…?”. (Y/N) chuckled softly at his tiredness. “Just an unexpected visitor, nothing to worry about”, she smiled reassuringly. “Well as long as you're okay, that’s all that matters”, he kissed her temple, pulling her into his chest. She snuggled into his side, sighing contentedly. She needed this. “Thank you”, she mumbled mindlessly. “For what sweetheart?”.

“For helping me start fresh”.

The couple held each other comfortably, sleep taking over them. (Y/N) rested her head on Billy’s torso, as he lazily made circles on the small of her back. Everything was blissful in that moment. Perfect. She’d deal with Steve tomorrow, for now, she had Billy Hargrove. Billy Hargrove with his strong hold and warm comforting body, Billy Hargrove who made her feel safe.

Author’s note:

Hope you all love the second chapter! Feedback is always appreciated & as always if you want to be added to the taglist comment down below ❤️!

Tag-list: @theblueslytherin @oopsiedoopsie23 @lulu-yuming @merc12-us @soullesstaco @unded-bride @holychocopie @nikkixostan @ellesimagines

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simonsrosebud · 3 years

Note

How did Dalton react when he saw the famous Kathy interview with Niel Kev and Riko? I’d like to see how he reacted to that and all the post game interviews (especially the iconic Kevin one where he “has never gone skiing before”). I think Dalton must have come across one interview and just went down the rabbit hole. Maybe even Neil’s roasts?? Sorry this is a looong ask post

no i LOVE this!!

he knows he shouldn’t, not unless kevin says it’s okay, but dalton googles kevin after he leaves maryland to go back to south carolina.

it's not like he’s going to find anything bad. and plus, he loves kevin. and kevin loves him. he’d just told him this week for the first time.

the top result is a buzzed article titled “kevin day had a near photoshoot with fans in times square, and we’re definitely jealous”. below it are the most recent things like him coming out, and videos of him playing.

dalton refines his search. specifically to last spring and fall. his first year stepping onto the foxhole court as a player.

the first thing to come up is an interview with kathy ferdinand, neil josten, and riko moriyama.

dalton knows enough about riko moriyama for it to make his blood boil.

he also doesn’t realize that the brunette in the cover photo for the video is neil until he watches him get introduced to the stage. he’s known from the second he saw neil that he’d been through some tough shit, but he didn’t realize it was all from last year. the neil in the interview is clean.

also, he’s gawking over neil by the end of the interview. he has to rewatch it to fully get it all. kevin’s talked about neil and his attitude, and dalton’s experienced it maybe once, but holy shit he tore riko moriyama to shreds.

the only reason he isn’t laughing at how badass it is is because he can see how traumatized kevin looks. if he hadn’t known him, he wouldn’t have noticed, but dalton knows his body language by now. seeing him truly terrified with his abuser right there makes dalton want to wrap his arms around him. he wishes he wasn’t already back in south carolina.

he runs his hands over his face and reruns neil’s words in his head.

“i don’t think you’re telling Kevin to sit out because of his health. i think you know this season is going to be a disaster for your reputation. you and kevin have always played in each other’s shadows. you’ve always been a pair. now you have to face each other on the court as rivals for the first time, and people are finally going to know which one of you is better. they’re going to know how premature this was. i think you’re scared.”

it gives him more insight on kevin and riko’s relationship, and while he wishes he never had to see it recorded, he’s glad he does. with the way neil’s talking, it seems like he’d known all about it, too. or else he wouldn’t openly be hating on riko the way he was.

after that, and after calming himself down from literally seeing kevin’s abuser and thanking god that he’s dead, he continues on. the majority of the other videos are from press duty after games, and he clicks on a reoccurring one titled “KEVIN DAY NEVER BEEN SKIING???” dalton knows this, and he also knows that the public thought that he’d broken his hand in a skiing accident, so he’s curious enough to click on it.

he gasps so hard. it’s just such a blunt statement that so obviously dumbfounded all of the press trying to interview them.

he keeps going.

and they’re never-ending

“every time kevin day yells to neil josten in french”

or “29 times andrew minyard comes up behind kevin day but just stares into the camera”

“kevin day being approached by fans”

“kevin day and riko moriyama speaking japanese” he doesn’t watch that one.

“compilation of neil josten being a pain in kevin day’s ass” that one’s twenty-eight minutes long.

“kevin day looking stressed every time neil speaks”

“kevin day yelling neil’s name, except every time he does the pitch gets higher”

“kevin day’s fist pump every time they win a game”

“i ran into kevin day every time i went to eden’s nightclub last fall and had the same conversation about how to say croissant’s every time” there’s videos from each time, some with the phone camera unknowingly recording him, some with the view of their chins from below, and some of the floor as if she “wasn’t recording”. he doesn’t seem to remember her from before in any of the videos. at the end there’s 7 pictures of them, with the same pose, all from different nights. drunk kevin is funny.

dalton wishes he could see it, but he knocks that thought right out because he’s proud of kevin for being sober.

“speaking french with kevin day at the mall: AWKWARD” that one is from this summer with subtitles at the bottom. the girl goes up to him, and he doesn’t seem to see her coming until she’s in front of him. “bonjour!” kevin says, “oh, hello.”

when she continues in french to ask how his day is he makes the switch. “do you speak english?” “yes, i just knew you spoke french, sorry” “oh… it’s okay, uh, do you mind not recording me?” she lowers her phone a little. “it’s still recording.” “it’s not, anymore.” “okay, well, i’ve got to go” neil calls him you can see his feet shuffle. “bye.”

then there’s one’s where he’s roasting interviewers.

“why don’t you smile for us?” “smiling won’t make a difference in any of my answers. next question.”

“you came out, just this week, to be dating a man. any change in positions, if you know what i mean?” she laughs. kevin leans back, catching matt’s eye. “what an embarrassing question. that’ll be all. matt, let’s go.”

“i’m sorry about the death of riko moriyama, but the way. to have someone of a brother go in such a way must have been hard for you, yes?” “well, good thing we were never brothers.” he adds on. “i don’t appreciate you actively trying to get a reaction out of me. i think we’re done here? yes?”

“now that he’s off his drugs, is andrew minyard a threat to the team?” “why would you think that?” “well, we all know his timeline, his history” “time is a social construct. i’ll go find andrew to take my spot, if we’re not going to focus on the game.”

“surely you guys must get plenty of girls drooling over you, with what such an intense workout regimen does!” “girls aren’t animals. educate yourself, please.”

that’s the one that dalton sends to carmen. he can’t help it. she loves it, texts him back a series of keyboard smashes and heart eye emojis. A FEMINIST.

the next time dalton uses his laptop it’s to look up a tutorial with kevin. he stops and turns the screen when dalton scrambles to open a new tab.

“so how much have you seen?”

dalton cringes, but sinks into kevin’s side. “kathy? and... the croissants,” he whispers, and-

“jesus christ.” kevin gets up and heads to dalton’s bathroom to shower. “it’s pronounced croissant!”

#kevin day #bisexual kevin day #kevin #the one where someone doesn’t know who kevin day is #OC: dalton miller #dalton miller #kevin day x dalton miller #exy #aftg #all for the game #the foxes #the foxhole court #riko moriyama #neil roasts #Palmetto State #palmetto state university #palmetto state foxes

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shattersstar · 4 years

Text

i love you and we’re inventing a new way to hold hands

pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

excerpt: You smiled, you always smiled at him when no one else did. You let your hand fall over his, slowly pushing him off, knees tucking underneath your body as you leaned forward, a hand falling on his chest, nose nudging his and you were so close Jason almost had to go cross eyed to look at you. You let out a breathy laugh, fingers curling into his shirt before you kissed him.

warnings: canon typical violence, fluff, good communication™️

a/n: teehee a little break from requests because @dukethmas commented “i love you and we’re inventing a new way to hold hands” on this fic and i thought it was very pretty and resonated something deep in me so i thought i’d write something for zohra. It’s mostly a thank u for all ur wonderful comments i could be having the worst day or be tired of writing then u sweep in and just say the sweetest and point out such great things and it makes me love writing so thank u ily

—

He knew he loved you, it was one of the only things he was sure of. It wasn’t as jarring as he expected it to be, everyone in books and movies were jolted by love—shot by arrows or struck with realization or the words shouted so clearly in their direction—it was meant to catch you off guard. But for him, it crept through his apartment door, nestled on his couch and hung around during movie nights or study sessions, danced through the air when you’d sing purposely loud in the shower and sat on the counter in the kitchen when you bickered over breakfast about coffee or almonds or sleeping in socks of whatever.

So when you kissed him, hard—daring even—the love that had moved into his life was still there and it only smiled. Just like you, smiling wide when he kissed you back, fingers curling into his shirt, wrinkling it even more as he grasped your waist. He never wanted to stop kissing you—that thought was a bit more jarring, but he also hadn’t expected to kiss you, ever. Jason hadn’t really expected to kiss anyone in truth, he wasn’t good at romance, he didn’t even try to be. Sure he could flirt until his tongue fell off, and often shot far more than kind smiles to strangers when out, but romance, love, dating? That was a pipe dream, something he’d ignore in the early mornings when he’d return from patrol battered and bruised and still so fucking broken.

Then you showed up and maybe it was more than a dream. It was a goal. You treated love like that, something to be worked at, achieved, and worked at until your fingers bled and tears stained your cheeks. “Everything is a work in progress.” You’d mutter, half asleep and oddly philosophical at four in the morning. He laughed when you first said in, cheek pressed against his broad chest, the vibrations were warm and made you smile as you blinked up at him, half dazed and eyes glassy. He smiled down at you, nose nudging your forehead, eyes unable to stop themselves from dropping to your sleepy grin before you pressed yourself back against him. You were curled up on the couch, legs tucked underneath you while he sat next to you, Jeopardy muted as you dozed. He watched the show in silence, listening to the shift in your breathing, although it only lasted a few minutes as you head lulled forward unexpectedly, startling you both and waking you up out of your nap.

“Jesus Christ—“ You huffed, as you came to, once again making Jason laugh. You both didn’t comment on the way his hands jumped, ready to catch or hold or whatever, you before falling against his thighs.

“Enjoy your nap?” He teased as you shifted away, palm digging into your eye.

“Shut up. How long did I—“

“Few minutes.”

“I’m probably gonna go home then, I think if I fall asleep here again I won’t like—get up.” You shrugged, swinging your feet to the ground when a hand shot out, resting on your knee.

Jason hadn’t thought before doing, and he was acutely aware of the way his fingers flexed when your eyes dropped to his hand, gripping the fabric of your jeans, fingers long and cold.

He was always cold, even if you never asked you knew why, why he tensed when your shoulders bumped and you’d shudder, or how holding your hand was never an option because of how you’d shiver—arm prickling in goosebumps. You didn’t blame him, why would you, but you knew he didn’t like this odd quirk of his, didn’t like to address, notice it, have it happen. So you ignored it with him.

Until now, until you shuddered for different reasons.

“As comfy as your couch is—“

“No.” He breathed, your eyes moving from his hand to his face, uncertainty hung in your expression.

“No?”

“You can sleep in my bed. With me.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

You smiled, you always smiled at him when no one else did. You let your hand fall over his, slowly pushing him off, knees tucking underneath your body as you leaned forward, a hand falling on his chest, nose nudging his and you were so close Jason almost had to go cross eyed to look at you. You let out a breathy laugh, fingers curling into his shirt before you kissed him. He often revisited this moment, when he’d be out of the city, even when it was just a long night and he missed you. Missed you looking at him with so much adoration, letting your lips meet and not flinching away when his hands found your sides, pressing into the soft curves when you let his tongue explore your mouth, both of you pulling away, chests rising and falling visibly. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

And you did, you slept in his bedroom almost every night, even when he moved, the safe house you were used too suddenly a little less safe. You didn’t really move in though, he knew that was never really an option. You couldn’t not have a place to go when you argued or be responsible for it all if he died on patrol, and you needed your apartment so you could put photos of him. He didn’t like them, he never liked looking at himself—he always looked so off.

He was too thin as a kid, even as Robin he was all skin and bone, arms a little too long and hair an unruly mess of curls. Then he came back, tall and broad, but now his hair was streaked in white and his eyes weren’t brown anymore. They were a vivid green, another effect from the pit and he hated them. You had seen photos of him as a kid, the difference was quite stark, the deep auburn they once were now replaced with a gemstone sort of green, sharp and intense. Sometimes you wondered if his eyes were still brown, if they’d bore into your soul the way they do now. You once suggested contacts, the most you ever dared to touch upon the subject, you earned a half scoff, half laugh and shrugged it off.

Although, it was hard to hate his eyes when he got to look at you like this, sleeping in a chair beside his bed as the morning rolled over. It was still blue—everything; the sky, the clouds, the light streaming in, the rain hitting the pavement, the sadness in the air. He had come home half dead and your tears were blue too. Your arms were folded on his mattress, head turned and resting on them. He shifted, recognizing the space as Leslie’s clinic, your blood stained jacket tossed on the small table, his gear next to it. He let his head fall into the pillows, a long breath pushing past his lips. You weren’t ever supposed to see him like this, weren’t supposed to deal with these parts of his life, the parts he kept hidden and stored away, stacking atop of shoulders.

“Jay?” He hadn’t realized he closed his eyes, until they blinked open to find you staring back at him, expectant and so fucking scared.

Suddenly, it was hard to appreciate his sight, appreciate your face.

And still, because you’re you and you’re so good compared to him, you smile. Bright and warm—too warm for this blue morning.

“Are you okay?” You both asked, a moment of silence falling afterwards as you let out a sharp exhale.

“Of course I’m fine.” You dismissed, and he couldn’t help, but knit his brows, jaw clenching because there is nothing of course about this. The words slipped from his mouth, still too drugged out and exhausted to stop himself.

“This isn’t—you’re not supposed to have to deal with this. Its ‘posed to be hidden.”

“Jason, everything with you is hidden.” You sighed, carefully climbing onto the bed, head resting on his good shoulder. You kept your arms tucked close, willing yourself to not reach out and pull him into your embrace—scared to hurt him and scared to let your words die in the air. “And it’s fine, we aren’t exactly living normal lives, and you’re still allowed normal things. You’re allowed to be closed off or secretive or touchy about subjects, that’s all fine. It’s when they start getting too much is when its not and I think they’ve been too much for a while.” You explained, voice wavering and quieter than you planned. He closed his eyes again, love sitting at the edge of the bed and waiting with you. He wanted to kick it out—you out, wanted to push you away and let himself be cold and avoid his reflection because you’re not smiling over his shoulder as he stood in front of the sink anymore, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t bring himself to hurt you, or himself anymore because maybe deep down he knew he didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve to live a life where he pushed your kindness and patience away.

“You don’t have to say anything, now or ever, but you also aren’t alone Jay. I love you and I’m not going anywhere.” You confessed, lips meeting his bare shoulder, noting the way he tensed. Now love was in your throat and on your tongue and he didn’t know how to say it back, how to love you like you wanted—needed, but god, he’d try until his lungs heaved and blood poured from his body. So he looked down at you, a crooked grin tugging at his lips as he carefully shifted, turning into you and bringing a hand to your face, ignoring the way his hurt shoulder hissed in pain.

And he knew the words would get choked up in his throat, so he found the love you stored in your mouth, in your hands, in your eyes, in yours voice, in your care, in everything about you and filled it up with his kisses. Lips meeting slow and heavy, breathing you in and tasting you. Jason knew this wouldn’t be easy, his life wasn’t meant to be, but he did know he was meant to be with you.

And it wasn’t jarring.

It settled into his bones and stayed with him—always.

#i hope you like it ahh #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #dc x reader #dc imagine #writing #dont disturb the ghost of queue

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 14: Fever]

A/N: I’ve written a lot of chapters for Tumblr, but this one was by far the hardest. Thank you for reading. 💜

Chapter summary: Queen enjoys an American tradition, Y/N struggles to be optimistic, John offers distractions, Roger makes questionable decisions (what else is new).

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, accidental intense flirting, inconvenient erections, drugs, overdoses, near-death experiences, medical emergencies, hospital stuff, pregnancy, babies, miscarriage, drama, sexual references, do I even need to say angst...? Y’all already know.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk @herewegoagainniall @stardust-killer-queen @anotheronewritesthedust1 @pomjompish @writerxinthedark @culturefiendtrashqueen

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you!

It’s November 12th, 1977, and you’re six weeks pregnant.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be a grandmother!” Your mom is positively giddy, beaming ceaselessly, patting the back of Roger’s hand at least once every three minutes. I was right about this delightful English boy and my future gorgeous, doe-eyed grandchildren, that look says. Your parents either never saw any headlines, or—a possibility that seems increasingly conceivable—didn’t believe them.

“I know it’s early to announce,” you add nervously. “But we figured...you know, since we’re here now...and who knows when we’ll be back in Boston...”

“Oh, I’m so happy you told me!” your mother peals like a wind chime. “Here, have some more sweet potatoes, and some salmon too, they’re so good for the baby...have you thought about names yet?”

“Roger Junior,” Roger jokes.

“Freddie Junior,” Freddie offers with a flamboyant flourish of his hand; his fingernails are jet black with glinting flecks of silver.

“A few,” you tell your mother, rolling your eyes at Freddie. “But there’s still plenty of time to figure that out.” In truth, this whole having a baby thing still feels rather nebulous and untrustworthy, like it’s a dream you might wake up from, like it’s a desert mirage that will evaporate as soon as you stumble too close, parched and ravenous and aching for it. Roger slips his arm around your waist, and you don’t exactly dislike that; but it feels a little like a mirage too.

“We’re so happy,” he says, with a gentle wistfulness that is striking on him. Roger is happy, as happy as you’ve ever seen him. He drinks only in moderation. He does his physical therapy. He’s taken up meditation. He fucking meditates. He wants to get clean for the baby, for you, for this second chance at a future together. And you don’t entirely trust this—because everyone lies and everyone disappoints and everyone carries around mortal shadows in the marrow of their bones—but you are beginning to let it make you happy too.

“You’re next, Fred,” Brian says. “You’re the only one left. Come on, it’s your turn. Cough up an infant.”

Freddie cackles. “All my children have whiskers and tails and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Your mother shoves a glass baking pan of sweet potato casserole, topped with a layer of gluey burned marshmallows, towards you. “Eat!” she commands.

You warily spoon yourself some, grimacing; you’re more or less constantly nauseous. Then you stare down at the heap of lumpy orange root vegetables that—to you, at least—contains a choking quantity of cinnamon. The sweet potato casserole stares menacingly back. John leans over and scoops himself a bite off your plate.

“Mmmmm!” he exclaims, to your mother’s delight. Then, more quietly to you: “Not to worry. I’ll help.”

“Everything is delicious, as always,” Brian tells your parents, ever well-mannered. “It’s always such a delight when work brings us to Boston. This was so kind of you!”

Your mom and dad wanted to treat Queen to the band’s first-ever American Thanksgiving dinner, even if actual Thanksgiving was still two weeks away; the table features a monstrous turkey with brown crispy skin, stuffing and mashed potatoes and gravy, homemade cranberry sauce, green beans almondine, ham, Atlantic salmon, buttered rolls, pumpkin pie, and of course the loathsome sweet potato casserole. You endeavor to taste at least one bite of everything, sipping sparkling apple cider cautiously, biting back waves of nausea that surface at random like breaching whales. The tablecloth is speckled with autumn leaves and inappropriately jolly cartoon turkeys. Your parents are glowing, proud, thrilled...although they’re visibly channeling effort into not being offended by the fact that Brian won’t try the turkey.

“It’s our pleasure, of course,” your father deflects as he puffs on a cigar. He’s mixed a drink for all of the non-pregnant attendees: Apple Cranberry Moscow Mules for everyone except John, who requested his usual Manhattan. “And you’ve timed it perfectly. There’s no better time to be in New England than the fall.”

“Oh, the foliage is just stunning, and the skies are so clear, you can see all the constellations!” Brian cranes his neck and points out the dining room window. “Look, there’s the winged horse Pegasus, and Cassiopeia, and Perseus...”

“The scenery is gorgeous! Creatively rousing!” Roger agrees.

“Oh, planning a Boston-inspired sequel, are we?” John quips. “I’m In Love With My Lobster Boat?”

“I’m In Love With My Revolutionary War Memorabilia?” Freddie suggests.

“Get a grip on my extremely unreliable and difficult to load musket...” John sings.

Freddie points his fork at him and grins. “Yours wouldn’t be so difficult, Deaky dear.”

“How long did those old muskets take to load?” Bri asks.

“About two minutes,” your father pipes cheerfully.

Freddie snorts. “Sounds about right.”

John bears the laughter with a good-natured, smug sort of smirk. I’m not bothered because I know I’ve got nothing to worry about, that look says. You wiggle your eyebrows at him. He winks back.

Roger groans as he stretches his hands up towards the ceiling. “Am I really expected to play after all this?! Jesus christ. I’ve gained a stone in the past hour. Alright, one more slice of pie, then we have to get going...”

Queen has reserved your parents front-row seats at the show, as well as a limo to shuttle them there and back. While your mother fusses over whether you’ve eaten enough and what appropriate rock concert attire is—“leather and feather boas and riding crops, darling” Freddie informs her—your father circles the table snapping photographs, first with your Canon and then with his own Polaroid. You and Roger pose together, lean into each other, plant giggling kisses on each other’s cheeks. And you marvel at how a photo is a snapshot, a split second, nothing less and nothing more; that it’s instantly and mechanically captured, impersonal even, cheap to print and easy to burn. As your mother begins gathering up plates and glasses, you stand to help her.

“No no no,” Roger says, wiping the crumbs from his chin with an orange napkin. “Not allowed, Boston babe. Sit down, I’ll do it, I’ll help clean up.”

“I want to,” you insist. “I feel better when I’m moving around.” Less likely to vomit into anyone’s sweet potato casserole.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.” You smile down at him fleetingly, ruffle his short bleached hair, then disappear into the kitchen.

Your mother is scrubbing plates in the bubble-filled sink, her hands turning pink under the hot water, humming Rhiannon in a bright merry voice. She’s wearing a sparkling crimson dress that reminds you of blood. Your stomach lists like a sailboat.

“I’ll wash if you want to dry,” you offer.

“I raised such a kind girl. My beautiful daughter, a future mama. Mrs. Roger Meddows Taylor.” She twirls a lock of your hair affectionately, then steps aside so you can reach into the sink. “That John Deacon is a bit strange, isn’t he?”

You resist the reflex to bristle, to snap at her; it’s not her intention to be cruel. It never is. “No, not really. He’s wonderful, he’s a genius. He’s my best friend, actually.”

“Oh alright, dear. I’m sure he’s lovely enough. He’s just so terribly quiet. He fades away next to the others. And certainly next to Roger.” She sighs, infatuated, dazzled.

You hear Roger’s voice echo in your skull: Watch out, baby. I get everything I want eventually.

Maybe he was right about that.

You’re trying to be happy, really you are; you’re trying to fall in love with this future Roger has planned for you. But you can’t shake the gnawing sensation that—somewhere along the way—your life stopped being written by you. You’re anxious all the time; you bite your lips until they bleed and wring your ringless hands and rarely sleep. You feel restless and ineffectual and nervy, like there’s some inescapable horror crouched behind every door you open, every page you turn. You feel the opposite of free.

Your mother notes casually, drying a china plate patterned with pink roses and edged with gold: “It must get difficult sometimes, having to share him with the world.”

You gaze into the nest of pearlescent bubbles that pop around your wrists like interrupted dreams, like broken promises. “You have no idea.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s December 21st, 1977, and you’re twelve weeks pregnant.

Blood trickles down your palm, the underside of your wrist, your velveteen-soft forearm. You hold the wad of gauze against the Scottish roadie’s pouring nose. What’s this one’s name? Nick? Nate? Niall? You’ve lost track. Whoever he is, he sustained an accidental elbow to the face as the crew was unloading the band’s luggage from the tour bus and is now slumped on the marble floor of the New Orleans Ritz-Carlton, splattered with drops of blood like the freckles sprayed across his pale cheeks. Giant red bows and Christmas trees trimmed with twinkling white lights rim the lobby.

“Alright, let’s take a look.” You lift the gauze away; the bleeding has slowed considerably. You gingerly probe the bridge of his nose as the roadie moans in pain.

“You trying to kill me, lady?” he jests.

You wrap an ice pack in fresh gauze and press it against his swollen face. “It’s not broken. Keep the ice on it, apply pressure, come get me if the bleeding doesn’t stop in ten minutes. Okay? You might have black eyes but you’re gonna be fine. You’ll look extra badass for the babes at the club.”

“Okay.” The roadie smiles gratefully. “Thanks, Florence Nightingale.”

You smirk up at Roger. “Did you have to teach them that?”

“You’ve cultivated quite the reputation, love.” He grins, takes a drag off his cigarette, glances around the lobby through his opaque prescription sunglasses. And you’re struck by how pertinent he looks here, in grand rooms with chandeliers and towering ceilings, in famed cities littered across the globe. He belongs in the spotlight. He belongs to the world. He doesn’t belong to just me, and he never will.

You reach for your duffel bag, but Roger yanks it away and slings it over his own shoulder.

“Will you please stop trying to lift heavy things?!” he pleads.

“I’m pregnant, I don’t have brittle bone disease.”

“Brittle bone disease!” Freddie cries, horrified. “Is that an actual ailment?!”

John snickers. “Yes, and it’s sexually transmitted, so watch where you stick your bone.”

“Oh, ha ha ha, you are hilarious!” Freddie says, rolling his large dark eyes. “Worry about your own performance, Mr. Misfire. Bri, you’ll join us for a drink tonight, won’t you?”

“Well...” Brian hesitates, and you suspect you know why. He’s been looking forward to this stop for months, Queen’s last in the States during the News Of The World tour; after two days in New Orleans the band will fly back to London, spend the holidays there, resume the tour with shows throughout Europe beginning in April. In just a few rotations of the Earth, Brian will be back at home with Chrissie and the twins. But tonight he has plans to see the girl he calls Peaches.

“You undependable poodle,” Freddie scolds. Then, saccharinely, batting his eyelashes: “But you’ll surely come along, won’t you Nurse Nightingale?”

“Fred...I hate to disappoint, but...”

“This is unacceptable!” he exclaims. “I am distraught! Not even an orgy with spicy Cajun men will lift my spirits!”

“I doubt that,” you reply, smiling. “I’m exhausted, Freddie. This making a kid business isn’t easy.”

“Oh, but you’re not too exhausted to cart around luggage like a fucking alpaca!” Roger massages your shoulders, enfolds the slight bump of your belly with his hands, lands a series of featherlight kisses down your neck. He’s still clean, he’s still effervescent, he’s continuously devoted in a way that is unusual for him, tender and sensitive, simultaneously ecstatic for the future and nostalgic for the past. “Want me to stay?”

“For fuck’s sake!” Freddie laments.

“That’s alright. John said I can help him wrap Christmas presents for Veronica and the kids. I’m learning how to be all maternal and domestic, isn’t that exciting?”

“I’d say you’re fairly effortlessly maternal,” Roger says, rather proudly. “Want me to bring you back anything?”

“No, I’m okay. I’ll send a roadie for chili cheese fries or something.”

“You can send them for lobster and filet mignon. Whatever you want.” He reaches into the pocket of his fitted black jeans and pulls out a small ring box.

“Roger...?”

He opens it, grinning, and taps an antique gold ring with a ruby stone into his calloused palm. “I found this at a shop in Miami. You remember the first time we were ever there? March of 1975. Hotel room with a view that looked out onto the beach, taking photos on the balcony with the ocean crashing behind you, feeding the seagulls chips until the bitches started attacking us.”

“I never forget.” And that’s true; there have been times you wish you could, but you don’t.

Roger takes your left hand and slips the ring onto your wedding finger. Then he lifts your knuckles to his lips, bites them gently, leaves faint burning indents in the flesh.

“I love it,” you breathe, turning your hand back and forth, watching the lights from the Christmas trees glimmer off the ruby. It feels real in a way that sharing a future with Roger hasn’t for a long time.

“Now don’t get all emotional over it. It doesn’t mean anything, you know.” Roger winks and lands a parting kiss on your forehead. Then he passes your duffel bag to a roadie, who vanishes with it into an elevator. “Deaks, you’ll take care of my girl?”

“I always do,” John replies.

“Have fun,” you tell Roger, beaming up at him. “But not too much fun.” This could work. This could really work.

Freddie crosses himself like one of Veronica’s Catholic great aunts. “Depravity? Us? Never in a million years, darling.” Then he hooks an arm around Roger and leads him towards the glass hotel doors. They’re engulfed by a crowd of Queen’s roadies, laughing and shoving each other playfully: Ratty Hince, Paul Prenter, Chris Taylor (dubbed Crystal by the band), Brian Spencer, John Harris, others whose names you haven’t committed to memory yet.

“You ready, Emily Post?” John asks, heading towards the nearest elevator, and you follow him.

In his hotel room is a messy stack of gifts accumulated over the past month and a half from tour stops all over the United States: tiny model Liberty Bells from Philadelphia, Yankees baseball caps from New York City, a slot machine that spits out gumballs from Las Vegas, red socks embroidered with the logo of—what else?—the Boston Red Sox, NASA astronaut action figures from Houston, teddy bears wearing Cubs t-shirts from Chicago, plushies from the Miami aquarium: a hammerhead shark for Laszlo, a dolphin for Anna, and an octopus for the newest Deacon due in mid-February. You and John sit on the floor together in a flurry of tubes of Christmas-themed wrapping paper, stick-on bows, name labels, greeting cards, and pens. John flips through the tv channels until he finds It’s A Wonderful Life. You send a roadie to get dinner from a New Orleans-based fast food chain called Popeyes, and you take leisurely breaks between gift wrapping to chomp on crispy chicken wings and biscuits and mini apple pies and to guzzle down towering cups of Southern-style sweet tea.

“Octopuses are gender-neutral, right?” John asks, floundering as he tries to wrap all eight tentacles individually.

“Totally.” You’ve been brainstorming how best to package the slot machine for fifteen minutes. You take another contemplative bite of a flaky biscuit. “These kids are gonna be super confused when it comes time to pick a favorite team for the World Series.”

“Well obviously they’ll have to be Boston fans or I’ll disown them.”

You sigh contently. “This is just too adorable. I want to wake up early on Christmas morning and open presents with some hyperactive children. Please adopt me into your family.”

“Done. You’re in.”

You laugh. “I don’t think Slavic Jesus thinks highly of polygamy.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, who said anything about a second wife? You can be the live-in nanny but also the filthy secret mistress. Take it or leave it. Final offer.”

“Alright, Mr. Misfire. But you’ll have to fuck me for at least slightly longer than two minutes.”

Oh god, I should not have said that.

John stares at you. You stare back. And something flies between you, something like a pop of static electricity or a firing neuron, something hot and lightning-quick. There’s blood flushing his cheeks, but it’s not quite embarrassment; you know because the same heat is swirling in yours.

Stop, you order yourself.

But it’s too late, now you’re thinking about it, what it would be like: what he would feel like, taste like. Not like wildfire, reckless and consuming, disaster nipping at its heels. Something different, something constant and dependable and soulful, something that feels like home anywhere in the world.

It wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about me. You’re My Best Friend wasn’t about me.

John grabs a sheet of crinkling wrapping paper patterned with chortling Santa Claus faces and drags it over his lap to conceal the sizable bulge growing there in his white pants. You pretend—unconvincingly, you’re sure—not to notice.

Finally, he chuckles uneasily. “However you want it.”

“I’m so sorry. That was wildly inappropriate. I’m hormonal and stupid.”

“I kind of like you hormonal and stupid.”

“Well don’t get used to it, this is a temporary condition.”

“You really can come over,” John says. “On Christmas morning. You and Roger can come over if you want to. The kids love you both. And honestly neither of them are old enough to remember this year anyway, so no pressure if you fuck up Christmas by being accidentally slutty or whatever.”

The smile ripples through the muscles of your face, uncoiling all the tension there. He really does make everything better. “Okay. But you have to promise to behave too.”

He shrugs coyly, lights a cigarette, watches you as he exhales smoke. “You’ve always said I have game.”

There are voices out in the hallway, uproarious laughter, the pounding of irregular footsteps, thumps against the walls. You can hear Freddie giggling: “Rog, darling, come on, get it together...!”

John furrows his brow at you. He doesn’t say anything, but you know that look. What John means is: Is he okay?

“I’m sure he’s fine,” you reply. He’s been fine all tour.

And then, more desperately: He HAS to be fine. Not just for me anymore.

“Rog?!” Freddie shrieks, and now the voices are louder, more numerous. There’s one massive thud. Someone screams for help.

You and John scramble to your feet. You snatch your kit off the dresser and bolt out into the hallway. Roger is sprawled on the floor in the center of a reeling crowd, unconscious, gasping for air, his skin a starved bluish. Freddie and Crystal are hovering over him, shouting and horrified.

“Oh my god,” John says.

“Call an ambulance,” you tell him, and John sprints back into his hotel room.

You shove Freddie and Crystal aside and kneel beside Roger, jostle him awake, pry open his eyes and shine your flashlight into them. His pupils are pinpricks. His breathing is shallow and uneven. You close your fingers around his right wrist; his skin is drenched with sweat. Roger’s pulse is erratic, fading.

“Roger, can you hear me?”

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs. Then he blacks out again.

“What did he take?” you pitch at Freddie.

Freddie and Crystal exchange a glance, hesitating.

“If you don’t tell me what it was he’s going to die, what did he take?!”

“He wasn’t in the same room as us,” Freddie says, his voice quaking. “We don’t know—”

“So you left him alone,” you seethe. “Of course you fucking did.”

Roger’s hand shoots up and seizes your shirt, twisting the fabric in his gnarled fingers. “Speedball,” he rasps. His vivid blue eyes—like bruises, like veins, like cold rain—are huge and bloodshot and frantic. He’s begging for his life. He’s begging you to save him. “The guy said it was a speedball.”

You know exactly what a speedball is; it’s your job to know things like that, to know all the chemical combinations that errant rock stars love destroying themselves with. “A speedball has heroin in it, Roger!”

“I can’t breathe,” he sighs dispassionately, as if it doesn’t bother him at all. His eyes are glassy now, unseeing.

“Don’t you fucking die on me!” You rake through your kit for the vial of Naloxone that you thought you’d never need. That’s not for bands like Queen, you remember thinking when the record company insisted you carry it. That’s for people like The Rolling Stones or Black Sabbath or maybe even Fleetwood Mac on a bad day, but not Queen. Not my boys. Not my Roger.

Oh, but has he ever really been mine?

You pull a syringe out of your kit, throw off the cap, and hold the vial of Naloxone upside down. You stab the needle through the rubber stopper and measure out 1cc—an entire syringe’s worth—of the drug that can reverse opioid overdoes. CAN, not will. It doesn’t always work.

Freddie is sobbing as Crystal drapes an arm over his shoulder and turns him away. So they don’t have to watch. So they don’t have to see him die.

You don’t have the luxury of not watching.

John is back. “What can I do?” he asks.

“Shake him. Keep him awake. Hit him if you have to.”

John kneels, cups Roger’s face in his hands, smacks his cheek each time Roger begins to nod off. Roger gazes up at him numbly, breathing in haphazard wheezes. “Stay with me, Rog. That’s it. Stay with me, you’re gonna be fine...”

You pinch a tiny roll of fat in Roger’s upper arm and jab the needle in. You push down the plunger and 1cc of Naloxone vanishes from the syringe barrel as it surges into Roger’s disordered bloodstream. You toss the syringe away and rub his arm as crimson blood beads from the injection wound.

“Come on, Roger,” you beg him. “Come on, Roger, please...”

You fill another syringe and inject it an inch below the first puncture mark. Roger’s eyes—those eyes that you’ve been trying to claw your way out of since you first saw them across a hospital room in the June of 1974—flutter closed. His sweated rib cage stills.

“Roger?!” John roars, shaking him. “Roger, Rog, wake up!”

“Roger!” you scream.

He sucks down a sudden breath—deep, clear, life-giving—and his intense blue eyes fly open.

“Oh thank god!” you cry, clutching your chest. “John, help me, help me get him up...”

Together with Fred and Crystal you drag Roger to his feet, force him to walk, parade him up and down the hallway until the paramedics arrive and ferry him away—still dazed and ghastly pale, still grasping for you and muttering things you don’t understand—and then your adrenaline rush evaporates and you crumble to the floor, one shaking hand covering your face, the other on the small swell of your belly.

I’m so sorry, little guy, little lady. You deserve better than us.

“I have to go after him,” you tell John when he reaches for you, trying to lift you off the floor. “I have to make sure he’s okay, the Naloxone, it could wear off before the heroin does, and it...it...it can stop an opioid overdose but speedballs have coke in them too and he could still have effects from that...”

“Okay, no problem, we can go, come on, we’ll get a cab and we’ll be right behind them.”

And you remember what Roger once told you as the planet rolled into 1975, under streetlights casting islands of luminance in an ocean of cold darkness: But I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage. And isn’t that what this was all about for you anyway?

But Roger was wrong.

My life does feel like a cage. It feels exactly like a cage.

You sputter weakly: “He’s not, he isn’t, he can’t...”

“What?” John presses. “Slow down. Breathe. Tell me.”

“He’s never going to change, John,” you whisper. The weight of the ruby ring is heavy on your trembling left hand. “He’s never going to change.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s February 15th, 1978, and you’re nineteen weeks pregnant.

The kitchen phone rings, and you answer. The date for your twenty-week ultrasound is circled on the calendar in red ink. “Hello?”

“Do you need to get out of the house?” John asks. “Because I really need to get out of the house.”

You do, incidentally. Yesterday was Valentine’s Day, and Roger did everything right: a bouquet of pink roses and carnations waiting on the kitchen table when you woke up, a new Ferrari parked in the driveway, a candlelit dinner at Mon Plaisir. It was a little too right, actually, like Roger was trying to coax you into serenity, like he was proving how illogical it would be to consider ever being unhappy with him, like he was making up for something; and that’s how things feel a lot of the time, now that you think of it. Roger is fine, mostly. He’s home, usually. He’s clean until he isn’t, and then afterwards he’s so dazzlingly radiant and kind that you can’t stand the thought of not being there to help if he needs you, can’t remember your frustration or your anger half as much as your fear of losing him. And it’s incredible how good you’ve gotten at pushing the memory of that News Of The World headline out of your mind, like it was something from a soap opera or a cheap romance novel, like it was just a slice of scandalous fiction that happened to somebody else. That’s the way the body works too, isn’t it? Wounds close over, livers regenerate, old cells slough away and reveal fresh tissue beneath with no recollection of the pain that comes tangled up with all the other eventualities of existence. Times like Valentine’s Day are a revival, a resurrection: brand new cells, a healed fracture, a shot of Naloxone to restore the blood to equilibrium. But today is not Valentine’s Day, and Roger isn’t home. You aren’t entirely sure where he is, and you don’t know if you’d want to be. “Yeah, I’ll pick you up. I can show you my wicked new ride.”

“I’m intrigued. You’ll have to let me drive it one day.”

“What, directly into a cop car?”

“You’re awful and I hate you,” John says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “See you at 8? There’s a new disco in Soho I’m dying to check out.”

“Sure thing, I just have to make myself glamorous first. It’s quite a process now that I have all the elegance and svelteness of a large marine mammal. But I’ll rise to the occasion. I’ll be the most attractive whale you’ve ever seen.”

He chuckles. “I don’t doubt that at all.”

You roll up to John’s Putney house in your maroon Ferrari, the convertible top down despite the biting cold, a bomber jacket—just a tad too tight to zip up over your bump—concealing your short black dress. Pregnancy has finally started to look good on you, aforementioned marine-mammal-ness notwithstanding: your hair is thick and gleaming, your skin clear, your face fuller and emitting a mysterious, ethereal sort of glow. You check your hair and makeup in the rear view mirror as John jogs out of his front door. He stops dead in the driveway.

“Wow.”

You pat the passenger’s seat. “Hop in, felon.”

“He bought you a freaking Ferrari?!”

“Am I not worth it?” you joke, flipping your hair.

John slides into the car. “How do I become married to Roger Taylor? Tell me your secrets.”

“Well, to receive a Ferrari, you’ll probably have to get pregnant with his firstborn child too.”

“Ahhh. A minor obstacle.”

You laugh as you spin out of the driveway and cruise towards downtown London. Then you peer over at John, really taking him in, reading him like heart rates or units of measurement inked to the barrel of a syringe. His elbow is propped up on the window sill, his chin nestled in the heel of his hand, his blue-grey eyes unfocused as they gaze out into the night sky and streetlights that flicker by like the episodic flashes of a firefly. “Are you okay, John?” you ask seriously.

“Yeah,” he replies, a prospect that seems implausible.

“I’m glad you called.” You both know what that means: Roger isn’t home, I don’t know where he is, I don’t know when he’s coming back or what condition he’ll be in when he does.

John smirks wryly. “You have a shit husband. I am a shit husband. We should stick together, people like you and me.”

The disco is a small place called Lo Asilo with neon blue lights rimming the entrance way like vines laced through a trellis. John orders a Manhattan for himself, goes back and forth with the bartender for a while about the virgin drink options, ends up passing you a non-alcoholic raspberry mojito.

“I love it,” you pronounce after a tentative sip. This kid loves fruit. And sugar. And you feel a abrupt groundswell of affection for that sometimes inconvenient, frequently anxiety-inducing little person who temporarily shares your blood and bones: who they are, who they one day will be. These moments are coming more and more often, as your future solidifies in some ways and becomes more imprecise in others.

“You’re almost halfway done,” John says, pointing at your belly like he can read your mind.

You sigh. “Do we have to talk about me?”

“We definitely can’t talk about me.” He studies you for a moment, makes mental notes like someone browsing through archaeological artifacts in a museum. Then he realizes: “You don’t want to have to stay home.”

You nod, downing your sort-of-mojito. No offense, kid, but I could really use some mind-numbing inebriation right now.

“Because you don’t trust him...?”

“It’s not quite that,” you reply. “I can’t stand the thought of not being there if something happened to him. If something happened to any of you. If I wasn’t there to at least try to help and someone ended up...you know...” Goddammit, I’m so much more sensitive these days. You force it out. “If someone ended up dying, I wouldn’t be able to live with that.”

“No one’s going to die, love,” he says gently.

“People die all the time. Especially rock stars. Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison, Murcia, McIntosh, Bolin. I could go on. There will be more names a year from now. Maybe some we recognize.”

“What do you want me to do? You want me to haul him off to rehab? You want me to handcuff him to his hotel bed every night we’re on tour? I’ll do it if you think that would help. I’ll do whatever you want. Obviously I don’t want to lose him either. But I’ve never known Roger to be someone you could force into anything.”

“No, he’s definitely not,” you agree softly, in surrender.

The opening notes of Fleetwood Mac’s Go Your Own Way rumble from the stereo. John knocks back the end of his Manhattan and sets the glass on the bar.

“Alright, congratulations, you get your wish.” He grins, holding out his hand. “We don’t have to talk about you anymore.”

“I’m warning you, I am zero percent graceful in my current state.”

“I’ll manage somehow.”

“Loving you

Isn't the right thing to do

How can I ever change things

That I feel?”

John leads, pushing through the crowd to a spot near the center of the kaleidoscopic dance floor. Then he knots his fingers through yours, sways with the music, dances comically sluggishly as you struggle to keep up, twirls you randomly until you’re giggling against him, blushing and not thinking about Roger or the tour or your impending career change at all; and you suspect John isn’t thinking about Veronica either. You belt out the lyrics at the top of your lungs, flouncing around like an extremely ungainly Stevie Nicks, and after a moment John joins you, pumping his fist in the air:

“You can go your own way

Go your own way

You can call it

Another lonely day...”

And it feels good. It feels more than good. It feels almost like being free.

Lindsay Buckingham’s guitar solo splits through the fog-filled room, and your smile begins to fade, recedes like the frothing ocean waves at low tide. And you think, more clearly and more inauspiciously than you ever have in your life: Something’s wrong.

The body knows when it nears catastrophe. There’s a primal dread that sparks up in the blood and nerves and endocrine system, seeps from your pores like smoke, cloaks you in that bleak, biological premonition. Dogs can smell it, can be trained to alert people before that nascent calamity manifests into a cardiac arrest or diabetic coma or asthma attack or stroke; and humans can feel it when that inevitable devastation creeps close enough, when it sharpens its fangs and scrapes them down the jugular. You’ve never truly been able to understand that before. But you recognize it now.

There’s cold sweat springing up on your skin like goosebumps. There’s a stormy rush of blood pounding in your ears. You can’t remember the name of the club, the city, the type of car Roger bought you for Valentine’s Day, the stone gleaming in your ring. The air that you wrench into your lungs is thin and fleeting, without the relief of oxygen. There’s an indescribably heavy iron twist of fear buried in your guts.

John freezes in the middle of the dance floor. “What?” he asks, alarmed.

There’s pain; sudden, sharp, low. Your eyes follow it. There’s blood snaking down your bare thighs. There’s indigo darkness crumbling around the edges of your vision as you sink to the floor. Your knees bruise against cold tile.

Someone is screaming for help; you aren’t sure who. But you reach for them, because they sound so irrevocably strong, because they sound like home. Your fingertips collide with John’s leather jacket.

“Make it stop,” you choke out through bared teeth, as claws of glass and barbed wire tear at where your future once lived. The agony is unnatural, razored, almost surgical.

“I can’t. Here, we’re gonna get you help, hold on, hold on to me—”

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” you sob into John’s neck. His skin is stubbled and dusted with nicotine and flare-hot. He’s trying to drag you to your feet, shouting over his shoulder for someone to call an ambulance. “I don’t want this anymore, I don’t want any of it. I don’t want to see the world. I want to go home.”

“Don’t say that, everything’s going to be okay, they’re coming, listen to me, listen to me, I’m going to get you help—”

“It’s too late,” you whisper. And every light in the world blinks out.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s February 16th, 1978, and you’re not pregnant at all.

You’re a registered nurse, and so you understand perfectly the terms that the doctors use when they explain to you why it happened, after they do the ultrasound to make sure the miscarriage was complete; when they tell you why it was doomed from the start. Stage 4 endometriosis. Placental abruption. Difficult to conceive, nearly impossible to carry to term. An open and shut case. That’s the genetic lottery, and some people roll straight sevens, blood-red sevens rimmed with fool’s gold.

What you have a harder time understanding is how this could have happened to you. How is it possible to have all of that organic poison building inside of you, all that latent ruin, and yet not know it? To have never had any symptoms besides slightly-more-annoying-than-average periods? To have a nursery set up in one of the five extraneous bedrooms—the one with the blue-grey wallpaper, to be exact—with a crib your child will never use, never peer out of with their tiny fists curled around the wooden bars, never cry out to you in the middle of the night from? To have a list of names scribbled on a notepad stuck to the refrigerator—Roger favors deeply Anglophile possibilities like Arthur and Jasper and Alice, while you tend towards names with a Southern European flair like Aurelia, Callista, Felix, Augustus, although you both quite like the idea of incorporating some variation of John—that you suddenly have no use for? To have to inform your husband, your parents, your friends that there is no baby, that there most likely never will be, and that it’s entirely your fault: So terribly sorry, due to a genetic glitch my womb is rendered inhospitable, we’ll have to leave that ultimate trophy of womanhood off the shelf indefinitely I’m afraid.

You’re in and out through the night. The dreams are murky and fragmented and ominous, jolting you awake four times an hour. John never leaves, except to periodically phone the Surrey house from the nurse’s station. And there’s pain now, of course, even through the haze of the morphine drip—your uterus cramping down to collapse the void, your head splitting from the shock and hormonal bedlam—but it’s almost like that pain belongs to someone else, someone you might have heard of but don’t know especially well. The pain doesn’t surprise you. What surprises you is the totality of the darkness that rolls over you like a quilt, like a second skin.

Shouldn’t I feel at least some infinitesimal amount of relief, of liberation? Shouldn’t I feel free?

“I don’t feel free,” you murmur, your voice hoarse and very quiet.

“What?” John leans into you, takes your hand in his, lays his palm on your forehead and smooths back your hair. Harsh morning sunlight streams in through the window. “What did you say?”

“I don’t feel free at all. I just feel empty.”

His greyish eyes are slick and anguished. “I am so fucking sorry,” he says, his voice breaking.

You whisper: “He’s never going to be able to love me now.”

“Shhhhh, don’t,” John pleads. “He’s always loved you. As much as he can, and in the way that he can.”

“You’ve been here all night.”

“Of course.” And he hasn’t managed to tell Roger. Which means Roger hasn’t come home yet.

You shake your head groggily. “No, you have your own family. You have to go home.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he says tersely.

“John, you have to go home. You have to call at least. Veronica could have gone into labor or something.”

“No, seriously, it’s fine, she pops out one a year no problem. I’m staying.”

A scalding tear slinks down your cheek. “You’re lucky to have her.”

“They must have you on a lot of drugs.”

You laugh, then begin to cry.

“Hey, don’t do that, please don’t do that, shhhh...”

John climbs into the hospital bed and you fold into him, burrow into his warmth that smells like cigarettes and dusky cologne and Manhattans, sob against his chest as he locks his arms around you and pulls you in until there’s no space, no air, no line between you at all.

“You have to be okay,” he murmurs, his lips to your forehead. “I need you to be okay for me. Because when I was messed up I didn’t get better for me, I didn’t do it for me, I got better for you. So now you need to get better too, okay?”

“Okay,” you promise, not meaning it at all.

And he makes you promise again and again until you drift back to sleep with his steady heartbeat drumming against your palm, just loud enough to keep the dreams away.

~~~~~~~~~~

John finally reaches Roger at 9:47 a.m. Roger arrives at the hospital twenty minutes later, his hair a chaotic tangle, his eyes shielded by prescription sunglasses, still wearing the sapphire blue suit he left the house in the night before, his tie undone and several buttons missing from his shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” Roger begins. “I was at this party and met some guys who wanted to collaborate on my solo album, and it turned into a whole...oh, fuck, it doesn’t matter. Is she—?”

John grabs him, pushes him against the hallway wall, yanks off Roger’s sunglasses and pries open his eyes. Roger flinches, but doesn’t struggle.

“What—?”

“I’m making sure you’re not high.” John observes normal pupils and shoves Roger away, disgusted. “Get in there. She needs you.”

“You’ve done a lot for us,” Roger says.

“It’s mutual.”

“Thank you.” There are tears in Roger’s crystalline blue eyes. “Thank you so much, John.”

John nods towards the hospital room. “Just go.”

She wakes up when she hears the door open, and she knows it’s Roger instantly. Of course she does. Everyone knows the way a room changes when Roger walks into it, the way he lights up people and places like wildfire, the way he gets humans addicted to his innate magnetism the same way some are hooked on coke or alcohol or heroin. John isn’t that kind of man, and he knows it. He will never be that kind of man.

“I’m so sorry,” she tells Roger.

Roger shakes his head, cradling her face in his hands. “Baby, I’m not mad. I don’t blame you. I’m not mad at you.”

John watches as she explains everything, as Roger embraces her, as he says all the right things, all those beautiful and hopeful and effortlessly spellbinding things, as she begins—slowly, yes, but unmistakably—to light up again like rising sunlight glinting off quicksilver waves.

And only then does John leave.

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floatingpetals · 4 years

Text

My Faire Lady || Ch. 1

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes (Renaissance Faire Au!)

Warnings: Nothin’

Word Count: 3300+

Summary: Going to a Renaissance Faire wasn’t what she had planned to do over the weekend, but a drunken promise between friends can’t be broken. Full of magic and festivities, she never thought she would enjoy the fair as much as she did. Nor did she ever dream she’d catch the eye of not one, but two gorgeous Knights of the Queen. Bestowed with their tokens of affection, she found herself swept into their arms for a weekend she’d never forget. She was under no illusion, there was no chance this could ever be more than a fantasy at the fair. They would move on, and so would she. It didn’t mean she wasn’t going to enjoy this while she could. (18+ Only Story)

A/N: The first part to I don’t know how many parts!!! I have this whole story planned, fortunately, but as you can tell from the very first chapters word count, it’s gonna be another long one lol. I’m super excited about this story! I hope you all enjoy, please please please reblog and comment! Thank you and enjoy!!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 *Coming Soon* | Series Masterlist

“Oh come on!”

Y/N rolled her eyes at the whine from her couch and ignored her friend. She leaned closer to her computer and tried to focus on the editing at hand. She needed to get these pictures finished so she could send them to the publisher for print. She didn’t have time for Coby’s whining.

“Pleaassseeeee?” Coby threw her head back against the pillows and let out her loudest and most obnoxious whine ever.

Y/N scoffed and shook her head.

“I told you no!”

“But you have to come!’ Coby whined again. She sat up and twisted around on the couch, hanging over the edge. “You promised!”

“I didn’t promise you anything!” Y/N argued, straightening her back to turn and glare at Coby. She wasn’t dumb enough to ever promise anything to her friend. No matter how much she might love her best friend of ten years, Coby fought dirty to get her way. Y/N learned from her mistakes and swore to never do it again.

However, when she turned to glare over her shoulder, she stopped short at the wicked grin on Coby’s face. Her blood drained from her cheeks, fear coursing through her veins. Oh no.

“Oh but you did, dear lady friend,” Coby replied with a diabolical sneer. She pulled out her phone and unlocked it, tapping away a few times before the sound of Y/N and her whispering filled the room. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Oh no. How did she forget about that night?

“Oh god,” The recording of Y/N groaned. There was a slight slur to her words from the drinks she’d gone through already. “It’s Tim. Please dear god don’t come over, don’t come over, don’t come over-Oh no he’s coming over.”

Coby laughed, then the sound of shuffling and Y/N’s voice groaned again.

“Coby, please. Do something!”

“What do you want me to do?” Coby stifled a laugh.

“I don’t know! Get rid of him!”

“And what do I get out of it?” Coby inquired. At the time, Y/N didn’t catch the underlying treachery in Coby’s voice, but now she heard it loud and clear. She was really hating past drunk her right now.

“I don’t- Jesus. I don’t care! Anything you ask-just please get rid of him!”

“Anything? You promise?” Coby drawled. Y/N on the recording grumbled in response.

“Yeah, yeah, I promise. Just get rid of him! I’m not spending another night listening to him gloat about his big his dick is again.”

“He doesn’t do that.”

“Bragging about your daddies company you did shit to earn when the man retired is the same god damn thing. Coby!” Y/N hissed the panic mounting. Coby laughed and she could hear her friend begin to stand.

“Alright, I’ll get rid of him. But you better be ready to keep that promise.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Coby!”

The audio shutoff and silence rang through the room. Coby smirked triumphantly and tucked her phone away in her pocket with an extra flourish. Y/N’s mouth fell open, mentally running through the number of ways she could get out this. Yet at every corner she took, she hit dead ends. Now she was backed against the wall and there was no knight in shining armor to come save her. Coby clapped her hands together, that wicked smile back as she pinned Y/N with a stare.

“You’re coming with me this weekend. And that’s final.”

Y/N gulped. She was never drinking again. True, she was not a fan Tim but she wasn’t that desperate to sign her life away to the devil’s incarnate. This was going to be another plane jump trip, wasn’t it? Coby saw the way Y/N blanched at the prospect she was going to be dragged someplace to do something dangerous once again and snickered.

“You can stop freaking out.” Coby snorted. “I don’t have plans to go shark diving until the summer. I got plenty of time to get you to come then.”

“The fuck you will!” Y/N’s eyes bulged in their sockets. Coby threw her head back and cackled at the horror in Y/N’s eyes.

“Oh stop, you know you’d have fun. But seriously. This isn’t like that.” Coby waved her hand. “I want you to come with me to the Renesaasnce festival this weekend.”

“Uh-huh….” Y/N squinted, her heart still racing at the threat of swimming with the sharks. This, however, wasn’t as scary as that venture but still not any less comforting. There had to be a catch. “That’s too easy for you.”

“Well, of course, it is,” Coby smirked. “I don’t always want to get my heart pumping every chance I get. I do enjoy the simple things.”

“You’re not simple.” Y/N interjected flatly. “You’re the furthest thing from a simple person.”

“Shush.” Coby waved her off. “Anyways. Like I was saying, I want you to come with me this weekend to the Renaissance Faire. Josie’s mom got sick and she needs to help take care of her, so I have one free ticket for the weekend with a meal plan and a free beer in the beer garden each night. I know you’ve been working nonstop with the magazine and even if it’s just a weekend, you need a break.”

Y/N blinked, actually amazed. For once Coby wasn’t using this as a means to see how far she can push Y/N out of her comfort zone, but instead wanted to help? What the heck happened to Coby and where did they take her friend?

“Don’t look at me like that.” Coby bristled at the alarmed expression on Y/N’s face. “You’re coming. That’s that.”

“Really?” Y/N raised a brow. “You aren’t going to make stand up against a wall and let people throw knives around me? Or shoot arrows at an apple on my head?”

“I never said that wasn’t a possibility. Is it so wrong to want to spend the weekend with my best friends?” Coby shot back. Y/N was taken aback at the hurt in Coby’s tone, but also could smell the catch quickly creeping up on her.

“You keep saying the weekend.” Y/N uttered slowly. “What do you mean by ‘weekend’ Coby?”

“Oh right, that. The tickets include access to the campground.” Coby smiled innocently. “And I already have our tents for us.”

“Wait. What?” Y/N asked in disbelief. “Coby I’m not sleeping in a tent for a weekend at the fair!”

“Oh, it’ll be fine. They have showers and bathrooms, so running waters no problem. And besides, the closest hotel is almost an hour away and I do not want to waste time sitting in traffic trying to get in place.”

“I’m not-.”

“Or if you want,” Coby examined her fingernails, picking at the cuticles. “You can say no and I use the promise for the sharks.”

Y/N’s mouth snapped shut at that. Coby knew she had her when she looked back up, that stupid smirk on her face.

“Best get packin’ sweetheart. Cause you and I both know this is the lesser of two evils.”

Y/N let out a hot breath of air, her shoulders sagging in defeat. Coby was once again playing dirty. She didn’t have to do the pros and cons list. Sucking it up and going on this weekend trip would be a thousand times more enjoyable than being forced to go in a cage in the middle of the ocean. And Coby knew it.

“Fine. What time do we leave?”

“Oh, this is gonna be so much fun!” Coby slammed the trunk shut and bent to grab her bags and her tent bag. Y/N grumbled next to her, holding her own bags, tent, and camera case. “Oh quit whining. This’ll be great.”

Y/N just rolled her eyes and followed her friend to the entrance. The fair wasn’t open for another hour, Coby insisted on leaving at the butt crack of dawn to get here. While the two-hour drive up was rather uneventful it wasn’t until they reached the turn for the road that led to the fair where Y/N understood why Coby was so adamant about the time the left. The cars were backed up all the way to interstate and they were forced to sit for what felt like hours just to get in the parking lot. She wouldn’t admit it to Coby, but the idea of staying on-site and avoiding that whole mind-numbing ordeal was sounding a lot more appealing than the alternative.

Even though this wasn’t exactly her plan for her weekend, Y/N was ready to make the most of it. Once she got some caffeine in her. Coby chatted about everything they had here, from the food to the archery lessons, to the different shows throughout the fair. Not to mentions the shops that Y/N was itching to get a look at. Most, if not all the buildings were built as if they were taken straight from a fairy tale book and had Y/N excited to snap a few photos of. Perhaps she could even get a few people to pose for photos in front of them.

“Why don’t we go set up our tents and put our stuff up, by then the gates should be open and hopefully the line will have died down some.” Coby interrupted, eyeing the mass of people stating at the entrance. Y/N hummed and nodded, following her friend as she led her to the other entrance.

Y/N couldn’t tear her eyes away from all the people dressed up. There were plenty of other sprinkled in there that wore regular everyday clothes, no doubt just wanting to enjoy the fair, but then there were those that wanted to fully immerse themselves. Men, women, and even their children were dressed head to toe in loosely accurate portrayals of medieval outfits. Men wore puffy shirts and leather vest tucked in their dark cotton pants with leather boots. Some women sported similar outfits while others wore dresses and corsets that did little to the imagination. Some were dressed as characters from Lord of the Rings, there were even pirates, fairies, and elves. At one point, she swore she spotted a few Tieflings from Dungeons and Dragons, their faces painted with horns to match. There was so much going on and she was finding it hard to focus on where she was going. The atmosphere was bubbling with excitement and Y/N felt a smile stretching across her face.

Coby had to reach around and tug Y/N’s arm to face her forward when the other woman started to drift, the corner of her mouth turned up into a smirk.

“I swear you’re like a child.” Coby joked. Y/N scoffed and stuck her tongue out.

“Oh shush. I can’t admire their confidence?”

“Mhm,” Coby smirked her wicked smirk and led them through the campground gate after flashing a ticket to the attendant there.

“Okay, so we’re in section V, plot 15 and 16.” Coby stopped at a map right at the entrance, showing the rows of campsites in the gated off area. There were already several dozen tents up with a few dozen more that were being pitched as the stood there. Y/N was surprised how large the field was, and how organized it seemed. She could see the markers in the rows with the letter down a middle path. “Ah, there we are, towards the back! Ohhh we’re next to the worker's sites too!”

“Is that bad?” Y/N frowned.

“Nope, it means we might get lucky and they’ll hook us up with some free food and beer if we’re nice.”

Y/N snorted and rolled her eyes at Coby.

“Come on,” Coby resituated her bag on her shoulder. “Let’s get this set up and then we can go in. I don't’ wanna deal with it later after we’ve been in the sun all day.”

Y/N followed Coby, still marveling at the number of people around her getting ready in their costumes, most adding the final touches. The closer they got their spot, the more she saw of the costume. It made sense, if the workers were right next to them then they see a lot of them. She was a little envious of their tents, tall pavilion, and marquee tents made of thicker material than her camping tent, some stripped or decorated with symbols like the ones she’d seen in movies. Clearly, they wanted the workers to look the part, even at night away from the crowds.

Coby eventually stopped at two empty spots and tossed her stuff on the ground a motioned to the plot next to her, clearly marked with the number 16.

“That’ll be yours. There should be instructions in the bag.” Coby started unpacking hers and paused to look up at Y/N. “ Need help with your tent? ”

“Nah,” Y/N shook her head. “I’ll figure it out.”

Coby snorted. “Alright, but don’t come crying to me when your tent becomes a kite cause you forgot to stake it to the ground.”

Y/N just rolled her eyes again and went to work. After twenty minutes of wondering what the heck the instructions meant by attaching J to H, Y/N set up her tent, a round top with plenty of space for at least three other people, and secured it to the ground.

“Remind me again why we can’t just share tents?” Y/N asked, standing outside both her and Coby’s tent with her hands on her hips. Coby shot her look that told her everything she needed to know. “Oh for the- why did you get me a plot further away from you? I don’t have to hear that!”

“I’m not saying it’ll happen!” Coby chuckled and ducked in her tent. “But I’m not passing on an opportunity if it arrives!”

“It’s one weekend! You can’t last one weekend without a booty call?” Y/N groaned. When Coby didn’t reply she crawled into the ten to see what her friend was doing. Coby was bend over her bag, the second one that Y/N thought was odd she brought and was pulling out a few folded pieces of fabric.

“What are those?” Y/N eyed the garments nervously. Coby paid her no mind and continued pulling things out. She set a dark leather corset aside along with matching lace-up boots. “Coby. What are those?”

Slowly, Coby turned to Y/N with her wicked smirk.

“Why our outfits, my dear friend.” She replied ominously.

“What? I’m not wearing that!” Y/N sat back on her heels.

“Yes, you are,” Coby replied with a no-nonsense tone. Y/N blinked.

“Um. No?”

Before she could argue further, Coby spun on her heels from her squat position and pinned Y/N with her stare.

“You promised.”

“Yeah but not this!”

“It’s apart of the promise! We’re here, we’re gonna enjoy this weekend and we’re gonna be part of the fun. That means dressing the part. Do you really want to spend all weekend complaining cause I’m making you wear this?”

“I’m not going to feel comfortable in a dress!” Y/N tried. Which wasn’t completely false, but she really didn’t want to get all dressed up in a tight corset that she’d be sweating in later. It was already warm as it was in the tent, just imagining the leather boots and leather-wrapped around her waist made her overheat. And the chaffing, she didn’t want to think about the chaffing. Coby raised a brow, see right through that feeble attempt at arguing, and sat back as well.

“Two words. Shark. Cage.”

Y/N opened her mouth, but the protest died before she could even start. Once again, Coby had her there. She let out a grumble and stuck out her hand, a sign of defeat. Coby nodded with a smug smirk and handed her the pile of clothes and a pair of brown lace-up boots from her bag. Y/N noticed there was just a brown belt instead of the corset Coby seemed to have.

“Now go change and I can make sure you put it on right.”

“Yes, mom.” Y/N grumbled and crawled out to go to her tent. When she zipped her tent up behind her and unfolded the clothes, she was rather surprised by the dress. It was a heavy cotton dyed robin egg blue with a fitted bodice that flowed out at the waist. It was relatively simple, it didn’t have an intricate pattern save for the embroidery on the collar. The front was laced up with brown leather string, and the sleeves appeared to be detachable from the dress, the same brown laces trying the fabric together. There was an off-white long sleeve slip made of a lighter material she figured would go underneath the dress to hide her skin exposed from the where it peaked out from the lace. The belt itself was just a simple brown leather belt with a ring loop. Surprisingly simple and something Y/N actually wouldn’t mind wearing. Of course, Coby would have thought this through. Now she felt bad arguing, Coby might enjoy terrorizing her from time to time, but she wasn’t heartless.

Letting out a heavy breath, Y/N began to undress and slipped the costume on. She was surprised how it fit her body, hugging her frame in a way that flattered her more than she could have expected. The dress did flow out, not too long that she was worried she’d step on it when she stepped and let enough air up the skirt to keep her cool. She did have to re-tie the lace on the front to the right adjustment for herself, but all in all, it didn’t feel horrible to wear. Coby knew her size, so this shouldn’t have come as a surprise. How long had this woman been planning this?

She was sitting on the ground tying up the laces to her boots when Coby unzipped the tent and stepped in. She had changed into her own dress, and Y/N felt infinitely better with the dress she was given. Coby the ever daring had a dark red skirt with a black puffy off the shoulder top. Her black corset was tied as tight as it could go, and her already full chest was practically spilling out the top. She had pulled her hair back into a pretty braid that fell over her shoulder and even had on a pair of hoop earrings. Now Y/N really understood the reason for the two tents and wondered if she could possibly find some earplugs somewhere.

“Oh good! It fits! I knew you’d want something simple and I guessed on the height, so I’m glad I got it right.” Coby beamed and set a brown leather bag beside Y/N. “Here, use this to carry your stuff in. We can’t have you walking around in the dress and then ruin it with your everyday purse.”

Y/N didn’t even argue this time, just took the bag, and tossed her stuff from her purse into the back. It was unassuming, just like her dress but fit the style and timeline she was trying to go for. It was also big enough she could slip her camera inside if she took the lens off.

“Alright. So the gates should be open, but I was talking with one of the workers and they said we can come in the employee gate since the lines so long.”

It never ceased to amaze Y/N how Coby could just do things like that. She could charm just about anyone into doing what she wanted with a smile. A part of Y/N was always a little envious of how Coby had little to no fear when it came to meeting new people. Y/N wasn’t shy exactly, but her anxiety and passed relationship troubles always reared their ugly heads and made it harder for her to open up. She just wasn’t as naturally charismatic as Coby and was perfectly fine admitting she never would be.

“I want to grab something to eat first since all we had was those breakfast burritos on the way up here. Then I wanna go-.” Coby climbed out of the tent and started listing off all the things she had planned, the woman going a mile a minute. Y/N was just here for the ride. Stepping out and zipping up her tent, Y/N followed her friend and smiled along with Coby, her friend's excitement contagious. Even though she was nervous about the dress and everything, Y/N was still excited for whatever the weekend had in store.

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revolution-john · 3 years

Text

My Childhood Trauma PTSD as Triggered by the Following Movie Montage

by BENJAMIN DREVLOW

That scene in American History X. You know the one. Or maybe it was Higher Learning, I always get those confused. That curb stomp scene always reminding me of the time I tripped and face-planted in the barn while corralling bull calves, to get castrated, my two front teeth chomping down on all that jagged concrete and manure, it adds a different flavor to the recurring nightmare I have, though in my case, usually nothing to do with race relations. I wonder if everybody else who watched that movie also missed the whole point of it. Except the Curb Stomp. Everybody remembers where they were when their stoner friend with big ideas about ending racism across the world made them watch the movie with the Curb Stomp.

Mel Gibson getting drawn and quartered in Braveheart. You may take our lives, but you will never take… our… FREE-DOM!

Mel Gibson ripping his shoulder out of its socket in Lethal Weapon.

Mel Gibson torturing the shit out of Jesus, then blaming the women and Jews for everything, including his drunk-driving and plummeting career options.

Fuck pretty much any Mel Gibson movie. Except maybe that one with him and James Gardner and Jody Foster and all their comedy hijinks. It’s the gambler one but not The Gambler. But now that I think about it, isn’t Jody Foster a big Mel Gibson apologist? So I guess fuck that movie too.

Any movie where somebody gets shot or stabbed or thumbed in the eyeball or has one or both of their eyeballs squeezed or ripped out, which always reminds me of that time I got elbowed right below my eye but also on the eyeball and it literally pushed in my eyeball a millimeter and I still get double vision to this day whenever I line up a shot playing pool or line up a screw to hang a photo on the wall or sometimes re-hang the toilet paper dispenser next to the toilet. I’d been playing pickup basketball and my buddy who was like four inches taller than me elbowed me on a rebound and like I say I went down and lay there on my back and then all the blood started pooling in my eye socket and I couldn’t see anything and my friend couldn’t see my eyeball and he kept hissing through his teeth grossed out by it but then telling me it would okay and the whole time lying there thinking I’m thinking about my eyeball I’m thinking of the scene in Any Given Sunday where the guy’s eyeball is just lying there on the football field. I’m thinking of that closeup all the way to the hospital when they unwrap the mummy gauze from around my head and the ER doctor breathes a sigh of relief after peeling off all the dried blood to reveal that I needed fifteen stitches and I’d broken my orbital bone, but I still had my eye.

Any movie where somebody’s sitting there reading a book before bed, watching TV, gossiping with girlfriends, when the camera pulls back only to zoom back in on the dark night window behind them—cue the string section.

If I had to choose one, I’m thinking of that one zombie movie, something 28 Days something but not the one about Sandra Bullock finding love with Viggo in rehab. It’s not even about the zombies. It’s about the dark night window, not to be confused with the Dark Knight window, sorry that was a shitty pun for no good reason whatsoever, but also maybe not completely random with the guy from 28 Days also having played the scarecrow in Batman Begins where he sprays people with a drug and makes them see their worst fears, which never really did it for me, at least not like the secluded house with the zombies lurking around. I grew up in a big old farmhouse out in the barrens of northern Wisconsin. Lots of windows, no shades. In so many ways I grew up in the dark. It wasn’t the zombies I worried about. It was the methheads. Which, sure, I guess if you’re getting technical about it, same thing, fine, you win, I’m scared of zombies.

The Zapruder film, but as replayed by Kevin Costner in Oliver Stone’s fever dream of a conspiracy theory. The magic bullet, back and to the left, back and to the left, back and to the left. How it gets stuck in my head, JFK’s exploding head replaced with my brother’s exploding head, sometimes my own, except unlike my brother and JFK, my head’s still mostly intact. Back and to the left, back and to the left. Sometimes I think about that too with that one Seinfeld episode with Keith Hernandez and the magic loogie, but usually the loogie gets replaced with a bullet and Kramer’s head gets replaced with my brother, mine, back and to the left.

The sound of the gun shots in the final scene of that Tom Hanks movie where he plays himself again, a good guy, a family guy, a sly sense of humor, but this time a mob hitman with a strained relationship with his oldest son. The look on Tom Hanks’ face walking back to the house from the ocean—having survived it all, the hit that his old mob boss Paul Newman had put out on him for putting a hit on his old mob boss’s son as played by James Bond who also played Ted Hughes in that movie about Sylvia Plath killing herself. But this is past all that, it’s the happy ending. They’re on beach somewhere, white sand, somebody’s house that Tom Hanks and his kid are going to live in now. The silence before and after. Jude Law! It’s Jude Law’s face, his eye all fucked up, how did it happen, I don’t really remember the specifics but I remember the specifics. Bang, bang, bang. I think it might’ve had something to do with Jude Law being a photographer, like one of those where you pose with your kid or something or say you get promoted to head CEO or godfather of the family. Smile. Click, click, except in this case with a gun.

The gunshot at the end of American Beauty, pretty much the same thing, different movie. Chris Cooper confusing Kevin Spacey as gay but before Kevin Spacey actually came out as gay and a sexual predator. Not that the latter necessarily had anything to do with the former. Neither in the movie nor real life, well not really, but sorta. You get the point.

Jared Leto as Angel Face getting his face smashed in by Ed Norton as Brad Pitt as Tyler Durden’s split personality in Fight Club. Not so much Jared Leto, but the wet mushy sounds of it. That part on the audio commentary where Chuck Palahniuk and David Fincher defend the violence of the movie, Fincher pointing out that he was not glorifying violence, he was making it realistic. That’s what it sounds like to punch your opponent into the concrete, Fincher says and Palahniuk laughs and agrees. Don’t worry I’m not going to make any puns about the first rule of fight club.

That part of that one weird depressing Robin Williams’s movie where Robin Williams’s kids get killed in a car accident while backing out of the driveway on the way to school. The one where Robin Williams later on gets plowed over by a truck going the wrong way while Robin Williams is out trying to help another couple who’d been injured in a different car accident, but before all that his wife kills herself because she can’t take it and then Robin Williams goes to the suicide afterlife to save her. But then there’s fucking Cuba Gooding Jr. who—spoiler alert—turns out to be the ghost/angel of his dead son who then explains to Robin Williams that his wife/Cuba’s mother can’t be saved because she killed herself. It doesn’t matter that she had a pretty fucking good reason too, she’s still stuck face down floating around in that black swamp of bodies of everybody else’s killed themselves and nobody’s getting to heaven. That shit really messed me up—not the car accidents, but the afterlife for selfish losers like me who kill themselves. And/or my brother.

The bulging vein in Tom Cruise’s head from Magnolia. Respect the Cock and Tame the Pussy, Respect the Cock and Tame the Pussy. I think probably my therapist would have some thoughts about all this, and some questions. Questions and thoughts.

That one version of A Christmas Carol where the Ghost of Christmas Past undoes his robe to show off the alien children living under his robe.

I got the worst set of blue balls you could imagine while taking my best friend’s girlfriend to Baz Lurman’s remake of Romeo and Juliet. That Romeo and Juliet. I missed most of it, I kept having to go to the bathroom to masturbate in agony and to no avail. Leo and Claire Danes are hot and heavy on an acid trip, and every time my best friend’s girlfriend reaches for a handful of popcorn she makes sure to wipe the butter off on the inside of my upper thigh. This is what I get for being the good guy of falling on the grenade for my best friend, the grenade in this case being Shakespeare and my best friend’s hatred of literature.

Mark Wahlberg’s flaccid rotten dick in Boogie Nights.

The Secret of the Crying Game but not in a transphobic way. No, it’s the smallness of it what got me back when I watched it as a teenager. The tenderness. The growing tent in my pants at its sudden appearance on the screen. Maybe you don’t believe me but I was a naïve podunk kid from off the farm. I didn’t have cable. I didn’t have access to the internet. His/her (now their) secret opened up a lot of questions for me. I often dream of dressing up in drag and someone sucking my little bitty dick and if that makes me a little bit gay or maybe bi or what’s it called, body dysmorphic. I mean I guess it doesn’t matter anymore, it’s the new millennium, we’re all a bit sexually confused aren’t we?

This one porno my friends and I watched at somebody’s uncle’s cabin up in the U.P. for a three-on-three basketball tournament. The Snapping Pussy. The sound her vagina made, like somebody really dramatic at clicking their tongue and slurping a half-empty malt the same time. The scene of us boys all sitting there with our boners watching a porn and wanting to masturbate but not because we were all boys and we were afraid we’d be gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a little bit gay.

There was this made-for-TV movie, me six years old and home alone while my big brother, supposed who’d to’ve been baby-sitting me, the only time he ever babysat me that I can remember, maybe because his one time—that time—he didn’t actually babysit me. He went out to a party, while I watched the made-for-tv movie about some kid who’d watched his mother get murdered, and then goes mute, keeps drawing these pictures of Peter Pan and Captain Hook. The kid’s grandfather, one of those big hooks, like the one in I Know What You Did Last Summer, but this was long before that, though I’m not sure it was before the book. Did you know that there was a book I Know What You Did Last Summer? I mean this isn’t about the book or the movie, this is about that kid whose grandfather had molested his daughter for years and then as an adult gutted her with a fishhook and then how he’d then come back to finish the job with his mute grandkid, I don’t know how this movie ever got green-lighted (green-lit?) for TV, but then it’s weird to even think about those made-for-tv movies and if they actually existed or if I’m just making this whole thing up, but then my brother, we had a walk-in basement at the time, this being before I’d accidently burned that house down with two space heaters stolen from the barn, before my brother’d killed himself, he’d come back late, or probably it was only eight or nine, but I was young and alone out in the woods where we lived, and he’d come back through the basement, which was attached to the family room, where I’d been watching and then all of a sudden that kid on TV was being stocked by his granddad with a fish hook and the door to the basement was opening, and for god knows why I’d turned off all the lights to watch the scary movie by myself, and it turns out it was just my brother who’d go on to kill himself in like a year, maybe six months, and he was just playing a little prank on me, or maybe he’d just come through the basement for some reason, he was always hanging out down there and tinkering around with things, but in my mind, I can remember that exact look on his face, that smirk, even in the dark, the light from the television in a blacked-out room, a blacked out house, reflecting off those pop-bottle glasses of his, the shiny too-big-for-his-face silver frames. My mother always tells me I should try to remember the happy times I had with my brother, and honestly, I can’t, I can only remember that smirk, those glasses, the handle turning a moment before he appeared.

Any and all sequels where it turns out that the dead character didn’t actually die at all, or maybe it’s magic, or maybe there’s time travel.

Any happy ending ever.

Every ending in my worst nightmares involves everyone I’ve ever loved or hated, their faces turning to snake faces. Snakeheads, snake arms, snake butts. Snakes snakes snakes. They slip out of their clothes and come up from under my bed, slither under my covers. They bite me, they kiss me, poison me, they consume me whole and regurgitate my bones. That’s how they always end. Me dead and abandoned.

That scene in the first Indiana Jones with Indiana Jones and getting trapped in the cave with all the snakes. I hate snakes. All my worst nightmares turn to snakes. Fuck snakes. This all might have something to do with my undersized penis. If you want to go down that path. The Secret of My Crying Game.

Has Mel Gibson ever made a movie with snakes? I don’t know, you tell me, but fuck that movie if he did. Mel Gibson is snakey enough on his own.

BENJAMIN DREVLOW is the author of Bend With the Knees and Other Love Advice from My Father, which won the 2006 Many Voices Project, and the author of Ina-Baby: A Love Story in Reverse, which was released by Cowboy Jamboree Books in 2019. Buy his books here. He is currently at work on a novel, a novella, and a collection of story-poems. He serves as the Managing Editor of BULL Magazine (@BULL_magazine_) and is a lecturer at Georgia Southern University in Statesboro, Georgia.

#benjamin drevlow

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lampmeeting · 4 years

Note

The boys find old pictures of themselves as teens. It's all fun and games pointing out who had the stupidest haircut, worst acne, or embrassing clothing. All until they come across a picture of old, or should I say young, Rock and roll charles with his long 80's hair, sleeveless shirt, and half empty Jager bottle in his hand. They all burst into his office demanding an explantion of how someone so cool could end so lame.

okay this idea was SUPER juicy and i ended up writing…..a lot… hahah

—-

“Oh my fucking god.” Nathan buried his face in his hands and groaned. “How’d they even get this picture? I need to call my fucking mom.”

Dethklok passed around the latest People magazine, the cover of which boasted never-before-seen photos of the band members in their youth. The article started with a huge color photo of Nathan attending his senior prom in an ill-fitting dark purple suit and pink boutonnièreto match the dress of his date. Neither of them looked particularly excited or at ease.

“You look like a fuckin’ magician in that stupid ass suit,” Pickles laughed, and then turned the page and screamed. “For fuck’s sake!”

Murderface looked over his shoulder. “I wanna see!” He saw, and howled wildly. “Holy fucking shit!”

“Shut up! I was eighteen! It was LA! Snakes ‘n Barrels was just gettin’ off the ground and I needed coke money!” On the page, Pickles posed in high-waisted Daisy Duke shorts and a sleeveless flannel shirt tied in a knot just under his chest. His hair was feathered and his eyeliner was sharp. “It was just some modeling, it-it’s not a big deal!”

Skwisgaar and Murderface cackled, tears in their eyes.

“Wowee,” Toki giggled, “Pickle, I hopes you gets paid a lot.”

Pickles grumbled and flipped the page. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Oh, shit! Toki!” He held up the magazine. “What the hell, dude? This is metal as fuck.”

Toki hid himself and went pink all over. “Ohh, no, don’ts shows that, it’s embarrassings.”

“I definitely wants to sees dis,” said Skwisgaar, and when he got a look he put a hand over his mouth. “What in de fucks names of Odin? Is dat evens yous, Toki?”

“Yeah,” Toki sighed. The photo was of him sitting on a ratty sofa in some basement, giving the camera the finger. His hair was long and stringy and his face was painted white with black jagged lines coming from his eyes and mouth. Both of his forearms were covered in leather bands punched through with long metal nails, and his white undershirt was drenched in blood.

Nathan had come over to peek. “Woah, wait. When the fuck was this?”

Toki rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s back ins Norways. I thinks I was fifteen. Me ands my friend Runke was ins a blacks metal band together after I lefts home. We only playeds one shows, though, and we gots in trouble ‘cause we poureds pigs blood on the audience.”

Nathan chuckled under his breath. “Brutal. Good job, Toki. What’s on the next page, Pickles?”

Pickles turned to the next photo and snorted before he could stop himself. “Jesus, Skwisgaar.”

Skwisgaar’s expression went sour and drained of color. “Ah, fucks.”

Skwisgaar must’ve been eleven or twelve in the photo, and he smiled with a mouthful of braces. He wore a tall white cone on his head covered in gold stars. and held a big gold star on a stick.

Murderface stuck out his tongue. “Why’re you dressed like a weird sad clown fairy?”

“Is Swedish traditions,” Skwisgaar said pointedly. “My mother always mades me dress as stjärngossefor Sankta Lucia. I…don’ts wish to talk abouts it.”

The rest of the band eyed him curiously, not knowing what to say. Pickles flipped slowly to the next photo to reveal none other than Murderface staring back at them.

“AHH!” Murderface tried to grab the magazine but Pickles jumped away and kept it out of reach. The others followed in order to get a good look. “No, no! Don’t you fucking look at that!” Skwisgaar took the magazine from Pickles so he could hold it even higher while Murderface scowled and gnashed his teeth.

The photo showed Murderface, no older than sixteen or seventeen, standing in someone’s backyard in a flame-print bathing suit and a neon green muscle shirt tucked in. Beside him, on the ground, was an old mattress covered in either dirt or blood stains, or maybe both. He flexed at the camera and tried to look tough through the whisper-thin mustache and zits.

“I knew it!” Pickles whooped. “I knew you had a fuckin’ backyard wrestling phase!”

“What was your ring name?” Nathan asked. “Lemme guess–Junk Yard Hog? The Dick Break Kid? Mr. Imperfect? Oh oh! Bret Fart.”

Murderface seethed, his cheeks red.“You’re all a bunch of fucking assholes.”

“GUYS!” Skwisgaar screamed, bringing the magazine back down for them all to see. “Guys, guys, looks at de last photos! Looks at whose ams on dere!”

Everyone leaned in to see. The final photo was a young man about eighteen, maybe nineteen, with long brown hair teased to hell and back. He wore a black bandana around his forehead, ripped jeans with boots, and a black Slayer tee from their Show No Mercy tour in ‘84 with the sleeves torn off. He held a bottle of Jägermeister in one hand and was throwing up the horns with the other, though his face was stern and serious.

Skwisgaar was covering the name underneath the picture. “Guess who dats is. I wouldn’ts has known without readings it.”

They all studied the man, trying to seek out anything at all familiar about him. Suddenly Pickles made a sound like he was going to barf. “THAT’S OFFDENSEN!”

They all stared harder, and then they were immediately on the move.

Less than five minutes later Dethklok came battering down the door to Charles’ office, interrupting him on the phone. He apologized profusely and put the call on hold to give the boys his full attention. “What’s, ah. What’s going on? You’re all in my office. At the same time.”

Pickles slapped the magazine down on his desk. “What. The FUCK. Is that.”

Charles recognized the photo, cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, and mumbled, “…freshman in college.”

“How the hell is that you?” Nathan asked. “This guy’s fucking cool. This guy can fucking hang with us. Fucking SLAYER. You’ve actually listened to Slayer? Who the fuck ARE you? I don’t even know who I’m looking at right now.”

“It’s like you got swapped,” said Murderface. “Like some body snatcher came and got you. Where’s THIS Charles?”

“Ya!” said Skwisgaar. “We wants to sees this Charles more.”

“I’m still that Charles,” Charles said, brow furrowed. “I just, you know, had to finally be responsible. I grew up. Trust me, if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be your manager right now. I’d be dead in a ditch somewhere. I, ah, wasn’t exactly on a good path.”

“Well, you could try and be more fun,” said Nathan. “You don’t have to be one extreme or the other.”

Charles sighed, exasperated and wanting to return to his phone call. He made the sign of the horns and the boys lit up. After some laughter and a little more teasing, they drifted slowly out of his office to find something else to do, except for Pickles who lingered back for a moment.

“Hey Charlie?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you’re not dead in a ditch.”

Charles gave a brief laugh and put the phone back to his ear. “Thank you, Pickles, me too.”

#my god these prompts are so fucking good thanks y'all!!!!!!#and there like 3 or 4 more to do ahhhhhhhhhh #i promise i WILL do them all #they really are all wonderful #my writing #Anonymous

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chibivesicle · 4 years

Text

Golden Kamuy chapter 246; the icon of the Ainu indeed

Well it is that time again, time to dig into the most recent chapter of GK for some meta thoughts and Ogata comments of course. The chapter starts off with the continued brawl between Sugimoto and Ushiyama which Sugimoto is definitely losing despite his killer efforts. See those white eyes on the title page.

But knee to the face only results in less than a reaction from Ushiyama as he blows the blood out of his nose and pulls his head back up.

The chapter title has been translated as the “icon” of the Ainu which will become important as events progress.

Shiraishi desperately calls for someone to stop them and Boutarou shows a hidden strength as he hits Ushiyama in the head with a table as he yells at Ushiyama. Ushiyama is pleasant enough in calling him a pirate and remarks that it has been awhile before he flings him into the wall upside down. A rather dejected looking Boutarou remarks to Shiraishi that it didn’t work.

Trying to stop the insanity, Kadokura, of all people runs into action but gets tripped up on his fancy monk footwear. Thankfully, his fellow ‘old man club’ member Kirawus comes to check in on him asking if he’s alright and Kadokura suspects he sprained his ankle. Toni adds in color commentary that he’s wondering why the two of them even came to Sapporo.

The fact that Toni is questioning their presence tells me that both of these men are definitely hiding something that will come into play in the future. I already previously wrote a meta stating that I’m suspicious of Kirawus and his possible involvement in the gold since he’s older, single and his forehead is always covered. Kadokura’s ‘thing’ is that he’s inept and has bad luck, but Hijikata likely knows more and he’s not a loser per se. He’s been able to pull of many things including making sure that his own men at Abashiri couldn’t interfere with the plans to rescue the fake Wilk (which he clearly knew was fake). If he were as inept as he’s implied to be, he would have died years ago. He’s fronting a bit in my opinion.

Hijikata then approaches and tells Ushiyama to get out of the way so he can shoot (and kill) Sugimoto finally. Of course, Asirpa intervenes to prevent any further conflict while Ushiyama proceeds to own Sugimoto in the background. She confidently stands before Hijikata and gestures with her left hand reaching out to halt Hijikata. She is in a complete ‘power pose’ as she stands between the rifle and the tussle behind her. There is a close up on her determined and calm face which is then looked at by Hijikata.

Really, I feel like this is back to channeling the ‘Asirpa as Jesus’ vibe. She is intervening in a situation in a calm and non-offensive manner. Her determined facial expression has a level of maturity that we haven’t seen before and you know Hijikata is sizing her up.

The next page already shows Hijikata has lowered his rifle and now is covering his wound in his upper left arm with his free hand while Asirpa stands before him with closed fists. Sugimoto and Ushiyama are still fighting and Kadokura springs into action. First off, he highlights that if they don’t stop fighting the police will come. And if the police come the 7th won’t be far behind which would be a bad thing.

Additionally, in order to make sure that their entire group is together, he orders Kirawus to find Ariko and Ogata to make sure that they are able to safely retreat and not attract too much attention. Kadokura is not a real loser, just his own flavor of loser.

This statement clearly gets Sugimoto’s attention as he asks “Ogata?” while still fighting with Ushiyama. This completely distracts Sugimoto as Ushiyama begins to put him in a tight arm lock and he starts shouting at Vasily aka hood guy (hoodie-chan in Japanese) that Ogata is there which falls upon deaf ears so to speak.

Sure enough, Ogata is back on his game and he’s clearly been well aware of the current events for some time from his ideal fire tower sniper location. He’s modified his use of binoculars for his single left eye and some of his fake mustache remains painted on his face from his ironic disguise. He simply threw his handy cloak over his commoners clothing which was seen in chapter 240.

Here is his commoner outfit from 240.

I am curious where he had his rifle and cloak? As he has clearly stated that one never leaves one’s rifle more than an arm’s length away (unless naked, then in the general bath is good enough). I would assume with his neurotic tendencies the rifle and cloak are inside of the Yuusaku themed puppet which he has ditched somewhere to quickly climb to his clutch location to watch things as they unfold.

He is able to spot Asirpa in the mix of things as she turns around to look at Sugimoto who is desperately trying to communicate to Vasily that Ogata is nearby. After what I would say was an embarrassingly long amount of shouting by Sugimoto, he finally manages to produce one of Vasily’s drawings of Ogata to get his point across. I’m really unsure why Sugimoto would have Vasily’s drawing of Ogata unless it is his only option since Ogata likely did not have his photo taken at the studio. Vasily again takes a few minutes to put things together, but once it sinks in he is beyond excited. I find Vasily’s reaction to be out of character, he is a man who is a cold blooded sniper who let his friend Ilya die so that he could pursue Ogata, yet he’s shown to be flustered, so much so that he grabs Sugimoto’s rifle.

So not only does he grab Sugimoto’s rifle but he’s going to have an issue when it comes to firing it. I’m going to assume that Sugimoto got a type 38 from Tsurumi when he went to ‘rescue’ Asirpa which takes the 6.5x50mm Arisaka cartridge. Unless he’s changed his own beloved sniper rifle, Vasily should still be using a Mosin-Nagant which would use a so called ‘7.62 Russian’ cartridge. Therefore, Vasily is going to have to either hope that Sugimoto has left his rifle loaded, with the safety on, or he’s going to have to calm down and take his own Mosin-Nagant. But the fact that he has grabbed some ‘spoons to go’ tells me that he isn’t thinking very clearly.

Now, let’s pause for a moment and ponder if Sugimoto’s rifle is loaded. When we first met him panning for gold, our first convict pulled his own rifle on him but was unable to shoot due to the safety being on. This would imply that Sugimoto kept it loaded. In chapter 235, our postman from hell is able to use Sugimoto’s rifle and sure enough he fires off most of the shots and this also implies that it is loaded at all times.

Of course in direct contrast to Sugimoto’s reckless rifle use, is Ogata’s anal retentive rifle care and use (and more care!). When the group were at the hot springs during the new moon attack, Ogata had his rifle stashed away in the corner as well as a single cartridge. As he had to load the cartridge while pursing Toni and his gang, it is clear that he does not keep his rifle loaded at all times. It is clear that when he goes into action or needs to be on guard he clearly has his rifle loaded. But when they are in more public places and his plan of action would be to find a nice place to snipe from he likely uses his time to get into position to load his rifle and ready himself, since it isn’t a rushed situation. Due to his extreme skill with the rifle, I’m under the indication that Ogata feels comfortable enough to have time to load his rifle with little effort if he needed to when a situation takes a turn for the worse.

Okay so back to the action - I’ll say that ‘borrowing’ Sugimoto’s rifle isn’t a bad idea since it is likely loaded, which makes Sugimoto’s use of fighting with the rifle even more terrifying; what would happen if he knocked the safety loose? And yet again, I can hear Ogata’s voice scolding Sugimoto for leaving his rifle unattended. In an even more scolding and disappointing voice, Ogata is berating Vasily for not having his trusty and familiar Mosin-Nagant ready to re-start their sniper battle.

All in all, Vasily’s entire reaction is completely out of character and confuses me. This is not the man who tried to draw Ogata out so that he could continue their sniper battle here.

And again, even though I said it in my meta before, I’ll say it again.

Vasily, you lost.

With Vasily off to find an adequate location to continue where he left off with Ogata, the action moves directly to our wildcat sniper himself.

Asirpa has now turned away from Ogata’s direction and he puts his binoculars down. He holds his rifle ready as he vocalizes his thoughts aloud, a very unusual situation for Ogata. When Ogata was sniping Tanigaki with Nikaido he was relatively chatty with him, but this served a purpose, he was telling Nikaido what he was doing and why he was doing it. Once he set Nikaido up as bait, and he settled down to his true sniping position we only get his inner dialogue. In Barato, he didn’t order the other men in the battle until he had given away his sniping position on the fire tower. At the hot springs he had inner dialogue as he snipes the blind bandits. Interestingly, during his sniper battle with Vasily, we do get a few lines of spoken dialogue from Ogata.

First off, he states that one of the major merits of a sniper is to be so cautious that he’s almost a coward as he must be afraid to give away his location in order to succeed.

After a few pages, he then follows up with the following remark on Vasily’s dedication to his sniping. Kiro killed and seriously wounded the other border guards, but Vasily could care less, he’s sniping and nothing will come between him and getting his target.

I personally realized that this spoken dialogue is incredibly out of character for Ogata during the sniper battle. We do not get speaking from him during a serious sniping situation. I can see two reasons for this: i.) the rest of the page is covered with Vasily’s internal monologue about sniping. It very well may have been an editorial decision to have Ogata speak on both of these pages just so that the poor reader wouldn’t get lost between Vasily’s and Ogata’s thoughts as they describe each other during their set up. It would also give more weight and importance to Ogata’s thoughts on things if he says them directly to us, the readers. ii.) Ogata feels safe enough to vocalize this before things get serious. When Vasily doesn’t respond to the dead and dying man, Ogata knows what type of sniper he is and promptly shuts up. This may have added to the drama as we see Ogata’s breath clearly on the second image above which meant he didn’t start eating snow until he realized that’s how serious things were going to get with Vasily.

And with that Ogata is 100% back in character silently sniping away. The rest of their sniper battle is full of Vasily’s inner dialogue and we get no additional dialogue of any sort from Ogata until he makes his mark.

Back to the current chapter, Ogata is aimed towards Asirpa. He’s got a clean shot at her.

He mulls aloud that “If I did this. . . . [shot Asirpa] I bet it would really throw things into chaos.” followed by a rather flat sounding “ha hah”. The final bottom panel zooms out to reveal the boots and pants of what appears to be an officer’s uniform.

So this entire page is showing so many things. Ogata is recognizing the power that he could have over the hunt for the gold. He’s in a unique position to silence the most powerful person in the entire quest, Asirpa. Yet, even as he states this aloud to no one but himself, it seems to invoke Yuusaku and the guilt associated with him. Ogata completely hesitates this entire page. He puts the binoculars down, states the obvious and then holds his rifle at ready.

The readers are already shown his guilt from killing an innocent icon like Yuusaku approaching him from behind. The next page appears where Ogata senses his guilt as he thinks someone is behind him. We only see him glancing out of the corner of his left eye and he does not turn towards the putative Yuusaku ‘presence’.

This then shows Ogata finally turning to see if anyone is indeed behind him, which there obviously isn’t. Before I get any further, I’m going to state right here that I do not believe that Yuusaku’s ghost is here haunting Ogata, if so he would have been haunting him all the time since he killed him back in the war.

Instead, Ogata’s guilt towards killing an innocent, like Yuusaku, is manifesting itself as the appearance of his brother whenever Asirpa is involved. This has held up since the end of the sniper battle led to his fever and the mental link between Asirpa and Yuusaku. When he had the very bad fever, Kiro translates that something has ‘taken hold’ of him, which really I’ve always read was Ogata feeling the guilt from killing Yuusaku. The guilt itself has taken hold of him and it isn’t letting up after the sniper battle. The sama helped Ogata overcome the thing that had ‘taken hold’ of him which makes sense. When Ogata wakes up he links Asirpa to Yuusaku as icons. So now, instead of his guilt taking hold of him, his guilt is now something that he is aware of which is most tightly associated with Yuusaku as the manifestation of the guilt when he sees Asirpa and her role in the hunt for the gold.

Due to his guilt distracting him, Ogata is able to notice Vasily getting into a sniping position. As he makes a very hesitant but surprised statement of ‘ . . . . what?” This shift from 100% sniper chaos mode has given Ogata the chance to see the bigger picture and Sugimoto stupidly helps by yelling at Asirpa to get someplace safe since Vasily is in position to hunt Ogata. Great job their Sugimoto, yell loud enough that Ogata is aware that you know he’s around and you want him sniped by Vasily.

So this is a pretty awesome and dramatic reveal that, hey guys, guess who feels guilty? Ogata!

The rest of the chapter focuses on Sugimoto, Hijikata and Asirpa. This page alone has so much to unpack. Sugimoto while still held by Ushiyama ,angrily yells at Hijikata for setting him up in Abashiri, and he’s upset that he purposely separated Asirpa from him. For good measure he adds in that because of Hijikata’s plan he got shot by Ogata. No one will deny that Hijikata’s plan was to separate them, however, it was Sugimoto who found Wilk and drug both of them out into the open in plain sight of Ogata for sniping ease (Ogata and Kiro thank your effort Sugimoto). He could have done something else instead of being in such an easily visible and vulnerable place.

As Ogata shooting Sugimoto was not a part of ‘plan Hijikata’, Hijikata completely ignores most of what Sugimoto says and instead plainly states that ‘he should have’ killed him in Abashiri. That’s right as I predicted in the previous meta, Hijikata doesn’t give a damn about you Sugimoto, you are just a really whiny fly in the ointment. Sugimoto grits his teeth as he goads Hijikata into trying to kill him.

Again, Hijikata is able to calmly reply that he knew Sugimoto would be a problem. Sugimoto being Sugimoto let’s him know that he’s of course going to cause problems and he then summarizes that Hijikata with Nopperabou (note how Sugimoto doesn’t say Wilk) were turning Asirpa into the icon of Ainu and with the power of the printed press, she would be the leader for the independence of the Ainu. We already know that Sugimoto’s read on this is based on his limited knowledge of Joan of Arc from “Girl’s Monthly” and his conversation with Wilk before he was shot. Now, Wilk confirmed that he trained Asirpa so that she could be adept at guerilla warfare. This makes sense for Wilk and for Kiro as well since they fought from a young age for the partisans. But Hijikata isn’t a native nor mixed race individual from the minority groups, he isn’t going to come from the same cultural context.

We already had many hints of this throughout the manga. The fact that Ogata confirmed that Wilk was working with partisans and his partners are hiding among the Ainu. His tenacity to try to figure out Kiro’s true identity, and how even Ushiyama knew he never trusted Wilk.

And here is where Hijikata’s Japanese ‘samurai’ mindset comes through loud and clear. He first off makes it clear to Sugimoto that he has no intention of using Asirpa as a leader in a guerilla warfare. This 100% makes sense that he would completely disagree with using women or children as soldiers to fight in his war. Instead, he lays on the passive aggressive idea to Asirpa that she could help his cause by caring about her own people’s future or return home.

This says so much, he is committed to having Asirpa play some role in his plan, but he has made it quite clear that it isn’t her place in the conflict as both as a female and as a child.

Asirpa then speaks directly to Hijikata and Sugimoto, declaring if this is the case than there is no point for them to fight. Hijikata still looks calm but a bit miffed and Sugimoto is still angry.

Asirpa is able to directly ask Hijikata about the Ainu’s future. He replies that through deforestation many of the other resources will run out e.g. things that the Ainu have relied upon are being used by the Japanese at an unsustainable rate. He then says that the economy will be based on coal. [Yay! An even worse resource to use and it will destroy the environment even more!]

Aside from my very sarcastic statement, it is true that the demand for coal will only increase from the turn of the century up until well the heydays of the 1950s, so Hijikata’s plan does work. Hijikata will use the coal industry as a way to feed into non-Japanese immigration to Hokkaido. Interestingly, he states clearly that Japanese who are only used to Japanese will combine with the Ainu who have more intermixing with other groups as well as his ‘unknown/unstated’ other peoples will combine together in a multi-ethnic state.

What I find most interesting is that Hijikata is showing that he has a more open view to a mixed race/strength through diversity thought process than I originally thought. The difference is that Hijikata’s plan is still based on modernization and the immigration of different groups to create a powerful buffer state. This is different than Wilk’s dream with Kiro and Sofia, as he wanted to create a confederation by the minority groups for the minority groups and not centered around an industrialized economy.

Wilk and Kiro wanted to preserve their way of life and their cultural practices and it showed with the fact that Asirpa was trained in an “Ainu” way to fight the colonial powers.

Hijikata, instead, wants to mix the different groups together to create something new, but it implies that she would not be preserving her way of life nor her full cultural practices as the more cultural mixing that would occur the less of the old ways would be kept.

In that way Wilk’s plan was quite unique, he recognized that he was a mixed race individual as well as Asirpa but he did not put that much of an emphasis of her adopting any sort of Polish cultural aspects. Sure, he highlights that because she is not 100% Ainu it makes her a new woman, but she didn’t not culturally synthesize Polish-Ainu practices. Even Wilk’s name is an indication of that, he was named per Karafuto Ainu and Hokkaido Ainu practices but he got a Polish name. In a way, he used his European background as a partisan but he only passed on Ainu cultural practices to Asirpa.

Asirpa seems engaged and thoughtful as Hijikata speaks while Sugimoto is just, well angry. Ogata’s got Sugimoto all constipated. . . .

Before Asirpa replies, we get the inner thoughts of Bouratou and Shiraishi begins the lay the groundwork for rejoining team Hijikata. It is clear from Bouratou’s down turned mouth and thought ending with a question mark that he’s not keen on this whole Republic of Ezo concept. I would guess that he’s thinking the same thing that Ogata said when he approached Hijikata about it. It is a poor idea and many men will die for no reason. Shiraishi states the obvious that they have been presented with the lesser of two evils.

Asirpa then gets to have a nice long monologue. She makes it clear that she does not want the gold to go the 7th and Tsurumi. She also states that Sugimoto’s skins were ‘stolen’ from him by Tsurumi. I’m not sure if this is a deliberate lie by her to Hijikata to imply that he didn’t willingly work with Tsurumi (which he totally did) or if it is a lie to herself (Sugimoto didn’t sell me out for Umeko). Even though we the readers don’t know what Ogata told Hijikata when he came back, he made it quite clear he had a run in with Tsurumi’s men and Sugimoto was with them. She instead, presents that since they are missing those skins and now that they have skins that Hijikata lacks, it is the only option but to team up again.

To really make it clear that the Karafuto trip matured Asirpa, we get some surprise from Ariko. He looks nervous as he asks Nagakura if that is her. Nagakura who is frequently depicted as a generally wise man, comments that she has changed since he last encountered her. Furthermore, he states that she is standing on even footing with all of these powerful men. Clearly, we are getting nice vibes that Asirpa has some Sofia characteristics growing. Plus, they both have a love of poop. I can’t wait for the Sofia-Asirpa reunion. I’m certain a poop joke will be involved.

What I find concerning is that after the profile shot of Asirpa there is a zoom in on a still nervous looking Ariko with his face a bit more shaded and serious looking. Clearly, he’s got orders from Tsurumi (as a spy) and Kikuta (as a spy and his trusted friend) and who knows what else (Ainu intel) that makes very unsettled with this entire situation.

Ushiyama only after all of this realizes that he let Ueji escape. Dammit man, you were supposed to kill him remember?

And then a finally shot shows Vasily searching in vain for an Ogata who is long gone.

The chapter then ends with Asirpa sitting down alone, with Hijikata as she drives her part of the deal. She will share the skins that they have, Boutarou’s and Heita’s in exchange for a chance to look at Hijikata’s skins. Now, smartly, Hijikata only allows her to look at them alone, no one else. I’m not sure if Hijikata knows that Asirpa is illiterate or not but both of them are controlling the flow and exchange of information between them.

This final panel shows Asirpa looking at Boutarou’s with Sugimoto, so he’s likely helping her out with the kanji on his tattoo. She also is looking down at Heita’s so she thinks she’s figured out a commonality between the skins.

And we know that it should be linked to the code that she remembered, Horkew Oskoni. Unfortunately, the chapter ends with a dramatic look of shock and concern from Asirpa after looking at Hijikata’s skins.

She can’t put things together as she thinks that I can’t not be Wilk’s Hokkaido Ainu name! And with that our chapter ends! Dum dum!

Now, I hope that Asirpa remembers that Hijikata has 5 fake skins that Edogai made for Tsurumi. I hope she remembers that they would be in the mix and therefore, they would not correspond to the characteristics that she thought could be on all of the skins that are key for finding the gold.

Well that was a lot to unpack in this chapter! I enjoyed it for the most part, it really hit a lot of unknowns and mysterious motivations that we are still missing for some characters!

#golden kamuy #golden kamuy meta #asirpa #sofia #sugimoto saichi #Shiraishi Yoshitake #hijikata toshizo #nagakura shinpachi #ushiyama tatsuma #tsurumi tokushirou #wilk #kiroranke #ariko rikimatsu #kadokura #kirawus #ogata hyakunosuke #Hanazawa Yuusaku #boutarou the pirate #vasily

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dontshootmespence · 4 years

Text

An Artist In His Own Mind

Summary: Every artist is a genius in his own mind.

Words: 2,900

Warnings: Talk of murder.

A/N: My next entry for @cmbingo 2020! This fulfills my unsub square.

“Painting is self-discovery. Every good artist paints what he is.” – Jackson Pollock

He needed silence to work.

Finally, the pleas that rang through the air subsided, leaving him with peace and quiet to think. Moving quickly was essential - before the bodies became too stiff to work with. They were the perfect specimens for his first piece.

After propping her up onto the chair with her palms upward, he wiped the blood off her neck: a clean canvas. White cloth draped around her neck and body, though it took longer than he expected to get the material to sit just right. Thankfully, he at least partly situated the boy into the position he needed. If he hadn’t there would’ve been much more damage getting him situated into the woman’s arms. It left him more time to clean the boy off and ensure a perfect finished work of art.

They lived alone and had little contact with others in the neighborhood. No one would come looking for a while. Due to the boy’s slightly contorted position it took a while to get his clothes off, but once they’d been removed, he draped the excess cloth hanging from the woman’s body over his lap.

Stepping back, he admired his work. Like any good artist, he could see areas he’d like to improve, but unfortunately he didn’t have all the time in the world. There was just one final touch. He grabbed a screwdriver from the woman’s basement and pried open the can of paint – SW 7588, Show Stopper. With every jostle of the screwdriver against the lid of the paint can, he grew more and more angry, impatience boiling inside him, the desire to perfect his piece growing exponentially.

Stirring the paint ensured it was smooth and ready for the canvas. The crimson stared back at him. Carefully, he lifted the can above his work, steadily pouring the medium out until it was gone.

With a satisfied sigh, he stepped back and pulled out the Polaroid, capturing his first completed work.

---

Morgan walked into the bullpen with sand still scratching at the corners of his eyes. Every heartbeat said coffee. Apparently, Spencer already beat him there. “Late night, kid?” He laughed. He was pouring so much sugar into his coffee, he would swear a little mountain peak was going to breakthrough the top of the steaming liquid.

Grumbling, Spencer nodded. “So late.”

“Alright, Pretty Boy.”

Spencer smirked, glancing toward Morgan quickly before looking away. God, he wanted to go home.

“Woah, woah,” he said, stepping in front of the nearly comatose doctor. “That kinda late night?”

Spencer began walking back toward his desk, whispering, “I’ll never tell.”

“You haven’t dated anyone since Y/N,” Morgan stated, catching up to his evasive friend. “I always thought it was a mistake breaking up with her. You back together?”

“I’ll never tell,” he repeated on a laugh.

Before they could return to their desks and Morgan could pester Spencer just a little bit more, Hotch stepped out of his office and began marching toward the round table room. “Guys, we’ve got a case.”

“It didn’t come through me?” JJ mentioned.

Hotch shook his head. “No, it came directly to me. A friend from New York got out of the city and began working in Cazenovia upstate. He’s got a weird one.”

“How weird?” Rossi asked.

“Even we’ve never seen anything like it.”

Emily sighed heavily. “When does it end?”

It doesn’t, she thought.

---

“Where’s Garcia?” Hotch asked.

Emily motioned toward the elevator. “She’s just on her way up. I’ll catch her up once we’re all briefed.”

Nodding, Hotch clicked the button on the remote. “In Cazenovia, there have been three people murdered via a single stab wound to the neck.”

“And they’re connected?” Morgan queried. “How do we know?”

When Hotch clicked the remote, their mouths collectively dropped, eyes alight with a confusion that was hard to come by given their line of work.

“What the hell?” Emily leaned forward in her chair trying to make some sense of the pictures in front of them. “They’ve been posed.”

“And have paint splattered on them.”

“Even though the victims aren’t connected in any way that the local PD can find, they were all killed with a knife. The unique signature is why we were called in.” Hotch passed copies of the files out to each member of the team. “With a signature unique as this and these kills only a week apart, there’s no doubt this unsub is going to strike again soon. We’ll go over victimology on the plane. Wheels up in 30.”

---

Despite the sun shining, the jet always felt solemn, like it knew it was a harbinger of bad things to come. “Alright, so what do we know about the victims?” Hotch asked Garcia, her bright and shining face the only light they’d see for at least the next few days.

“The first victims were a mother and son, Linda and Brian Tucker, 40 and 15 years old, found a week ago like this.” She brought up the pictures from the crime scene and flinched. No matter how many crime scenes she saw, she’d never get used to it. “The second victim, found yesterday, was 33-year old Matthew Feldman.”

He was posed in a chair and redressed in a green pea coat and long black pants that were slightly too baggy for his slight frame. His face was bandaged, a white covering wrapped around his ears and tied on the top of his head. And he was doused in orange paint. Garcia’s fingers glided across the keyboard like a seagull over the waves. “I’m checking everything they could’ve possibly had in common. Churches, schools, work places, dry cleaners, nothing. These three aren’t connected. At least as far as I can see.”

“Alright, let’s move away from victimology for the time being,” Hotch said. “What do the crime scene photos tell us about the killer?”

Emily noted the cleanliness of the bodies apart from the paint. “With stab wounds to the neck, they should be drenched in blood, but they aren’t. The area around them is, but they aren’t, like they were wiped off.”

“So they’re clean,” Rossi replied, “But the paint is messy. It could’ve been painted on for more control, but it seems like it was poured.”

Spencer stared at the screen, eyes scanning over the poses on display. “The bodies are intricately posed and cleaned. They’re what matter to him. The bodies are the compulsion, the paint is the signature.”

“What are you thinking, Reid?” Morgan asked.

“They’re works of art,” he said. “See the mother and son? She’s sitting with the boy in her lap, her hands palm up. What does that remind you of?”

An art lover himself, Rossi silently chastised himself for not realizing what the crime scene resembled sooner. “The Pieta. The sculpture of Mary cradling Jesus after his crucifixion…and the man…it’s Van Gogh’s self-portrait after returning from the hospital after having cut off his ear.”

“So this guy thinks himself an artist and is picking victims at random,” Morgan grumbled. “Lovely. We need to get to Cazenovia yesterday.”

---

After checking in with Sheriff Meyer, who’d called Hotch in first place, Spencer and Rossi headed to the latest crime scene, leaving JJ, Hotch, Emily and Morgan to liaise with the authorities and try and nail down a profile. “Alright, an artist like this has to be connected to the world in some way,” Morgan insisted. “Maybe he’s an art student, a local artist, something.”

Emily shook her head. “It’s gotta be more than that. If he was successful in any way, wouldn’t the ‘art’ in question be completely perfect? Pristine? The paint is messy. Why?”

“Maybe a rejected artist then,” he replied. “Someone who got denied viewership in a gallery or turned away from a prestigious art school. Color could be part of why he was turned down, so when it comes to the paint he’s disorganized.”

Before anyone could alert Garcia, the sheriff walked in, forlorn. “We’ve got another one.”

---

“What’s this one supposed to be?” Emily asked.

Spencer crouched near the man’s body, his torso wrapped in a similar pea coat to the last victim and a captain’s hat, yellowed with age – all topped with yellow paint. “Portrait of Dr. Gachet. Another Van Gogh piece. It seems a pattern is forming. Both pieces are very melancholic. Could be a reflection of our unsub.”

Morgan reached his gloved hand into the man’s pocket. “46 year old Andrew Warner. Lemme call Garcia.”

“You’ve reached the all-knowing and all-seeing Oracle of Quantico, how may I assist thee?”

“What can you give me on an Andrew Warner?”

“Andrew Warner, 1109 Nighthawk Lane, Syracuse, NY. He’s the operator of a local art gallery in Auburn called Light’s Meaning…sounds a little pretentious if you ask me.”

“Thanks, baby girl,” Morgan said softly. “I’ll call you if I need anything.”

“I’m waiting on it, sugar.”

“Seems like our unsub is starting to get a little closer to his true targets. How much you wanna bet our guy was rejected by Andrew Warner?”

“Less than a day in between kills,” Emily interjected. “He’s devolving fast. We need to give the profile.”

---

As the officers piled into the station’s bullpen, the team gathered before them. JJ took a step forward and asked for everyone’s attention. “Listen closely. This unsub is devolving fast and this profile is going to be the best way to catch him.”

“Alright, we’re looking for a white male between the ages of 20 and 30 whose been rejected from art school or a showing at a gallery,” Emily projected toward the murmuring crowd. No matter how many times they gave a profile to an innumerable amount of officers and detectives, there were always a few skeptics.

Leaning against the back wall, Spencer spoke. “He’s an injustice collector of sorts and feels that he’s been wronged. For right now, his victims are random, but they’re surrogates for the people who rejected him.”

“He’s devolving fast,” Hotch said. “Even though the crime scenes are still organized, the bodies are still being cleaned and the paint is still his signature, he’s killing more quickly with less and less time between kills.”

Morgan insisted. “That’s why we need all of you involved in the search for our unsub. The quicker we can pin down who he is, where he was rejected from and who wronged him, the more people we’ll be able to save. We need to get ahead of this guy.”

“And one more thing,” Emily added. “Given the likelihood that this is a student who’s been rejected, and the time of year, October. It’s likely the unsub was rejected months ago and there’s a secondary stressor that kick-started the killing spree. However, we can’t rule out that this is someone rejected from a gallery. Just something to keep in mind.”

---

He could feel the breeze brush by him as he hurriedly ran downstairs, barreling through anything that might be in his way. The FBI was in town and he still had work to do, but he’d have to move his schedule forward.

On the table sat a newspaper clipping: “Administrator Gavin P. Hall promoted to President at Tisch.”

---

Garcia had this innate ability to shine in the face of darkness. Something the rest of the team envied her for. She slid across the floor of her office, the wheels of her chair carrying her gracefully though she somehow managed to bump into her computer desk. “Okay, my pretties, I have been doing a lot of digging and I mean a lot. My hands are dirty and it’s caked under my fingernails kind of dirty. Now, I know the locals have been going door to door searching for anyone that fits the profile and has been rejected from a gallery, so I decided to look into people in the greater New York area that have been rejected from art school and boy do I have a list for you.”

“Send it over, baby girl.”

She feigned a gasp. “Mon ami, you don’t think that happened 30 seconds ago?”

“Garcia, can you narrow this list down?” Spencer asked. “We think there’s another more recent stressor that sparked the killing spree.”

“I’m gonna need something specific to narrow it down by,” she said sadly. “I mean I am an all powerful super genius hacker chick, but I can’t pull answers out of thin air.”

Rossi tapped his fingers against the desk. “Okay, okay, the third and fourth victims were both depicted like Van Gogh’s works, right? Why wasn’t the first one? The mother and son?”

“Okay, so the mother and son has to mean something,” Hotch admitted.

Spencer pushed back from the table. “With an unsub so purposeful, the bodies, the way they’re cleaned and positioned, the paints. It all means something, so a mother and a son. Garcia, have any of the suspects lost their mother recently.”

With a few quick swipes of the keys, Garcia had a list of five names. “Only one of them has lost their mother in the last week and a half though?” She said. “Trenton Price, and his address is now on your phones. Also, out of the five finalists, he’s the only one to be rejected from Tisch – one of the premiere art schools in the country.”

They all pushed back from the table, intent clear. “Alright, Reid, you, me and Emily will head to Price’s address. Rossi, you, Morgan and JJ head to Tisch, interview anyone that was involved in Price’s rejection.”

---

It would take hours for Spencer, Emily and Hotch to catch up with them, but at least they could give them a heads up. “Morgan, it’s Reid. We went to the address and he wasn’t there, but his cellphone went on and Garcia triangulated the call-“

“Lemme guess, he’s at Tisch.”

“Yup. Be careful.”

“Thanks for the heads up, kid.”

Rossi stepped on the gas, sirens blaring. “We’ll be there in five.”

“You sure about that?” JJ grimaced, hand grasping the handle above the window like her life depended on it. “We’re in the middle of New York City.”

“And I grew up on Long Island, I got this.”

In less than five minutes, Rossi screeched the car to a halt and they ran in, guns at the ready. Students ran down the hallways and down the stairs toward any exit they could find. “Where? Where are they?” JJ yelled.

“In the president’s office! Second floor!” She screamed, the clacking of her heels dissipating within the seconds.

They ran up the stairs, hearts racing while students ran passed, whispers of the ensuing sanity floating by their ears. “Trenton Price,” Morgan screamed, “Put your weapon down!”

“No! They have to pay! I’ve worked all my life for this and they just shut me down! Like the pretentious bastards they are!”

In his grasp, Gavin Hall squirmed but the knife inched closer and closer to his throat. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

Rossi stepped in front of Morgan and JJ, taking the lead though none of them had vests on. They never expected him to be so desperate so soon. “Trenton, don’t do anything you’re gonna regret,” he pleaded. “If you kill Hall here, you’ll take away his ability to make things right. Give you the opportunities you deserve.”

JJ snaked around the back of Rossi and trained her gun on Price, hoping for a chance to get a shot off.

“Yea, right! What d’you think I’m stupid?”

Nodding slightly, Rossi encouraged the terrified Hall to ‘make amends.’ Rossi prompted him. “Your mother was your biggest fan, wasn’t she? Encouraged your artistic abilities?”

“Yes, she always knew I’d be an artist, and now I am,” he breathed, a tear falling down the side of his cheek. “But then they rejected me. Told me I was an amateur! That my choice of medium was basic and pedantic. Do you know how many skilled artists specialized in charcoal? Robert Longo, William Kentridge, Dan Pyle, Joel Daniel Phillips! And these assholes tell me I’m arcane and talentless?”

“You’re not,” Hall said, putting together the pieces of Price’s mental state. “I was wrong about you. About your work.

“Liar!” He lifted his arm above his head. A crack resounded throughout the room and he fell to the floor, groaning.

JJ ran up to him and kicked the knife away, holstering her gun before turning him over and cuffing him. “You okay?” She asked Hall.

“Y-yes,” he breathed. “I’m okay. I-“

“You got this?” Morgan asked.

She nodded. “Yea, I’m good, get him to the medic.”

Price screamed at the top of his lungs through the hallways, telling anyone and everyone that he was going to be the next great artist. “Please,” JJ replied. “You’re throwing a temper tantrum because you didn’t get what you wanted.”

---

“So, kid,” Morgan said with a smile. “You gotta tell me about the other night. What happened with Y/N?”

Emily’s eyes lit up and she practically jumped into the seat next to him. “Wait, you two back together?”

He shook his head but he wasn’t convincing in the slightest. “As soon as we get back, I am going home and going to bed.”

“With Y/N?”

“I’m not telling,” he smirked.

#cmbingo #cmbingo2020 #cmbingo20 #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #derek morgan #david rossi #aaron hotchner #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #dontshootmespence #an artist in his own mind

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tabloidtoc · 3 years

Text

Star, November 30

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Kelly Clarkson getting married again

Page 1: As Britons marked Remembrance Day Prince Harry and Meghan Markle arrived at Los Angeles National Cemetery to pay their respects and lay flowers from the garden at their new $14.6 million spread in Montecito but the controversial couple almost immediately came under fire for yet another misstep -- their biggest gaffe was hiring celebrity fashion photographer Lee Morgan to snap their supposedly private visit -- the visit comes on the heels of a report that Harry requested and was refused that a wreath in his name be laid at London’s Cenotaph during a royal ceremony that day so while the visit to the cemetery in L.A. was meant to show respect it was also Harry’s way of telling his family that if they’re going to be petty and exclude him then he’ll do it his way

Page 2: Contents, Miranda Lambert

Page 4: Larsa Pippen spills the tea -- Larsa says Kanye West kept her from BFF Kim Kardashian

Page 5: Julianne Hough came out as sexually fluid while married to Brooks Laich and now that the two have split Julianne is exploring lady love

* Speculation has been ongoing about who will take over hosting Jeopardy! after Alex Trebek passed away and one frontrunner is former champ Ken Jennings and other names in the mix include hockey announcer Alex Faust and Laura Coates of CNN

Page 6: The Bachelorette OG Trista Sutter recently revealed that producers of her televised 2003 wedding to Ryan Sutter planned to up the drama for better ratings -- admitting that a pal discovered a crew member’s notebook during the three-day festivities and showrunners had compiled dossiers on her guests in hopes of pitting them against each other

* Bodyguard Mark “Billy” Billingham has opened up about his 18 months protecting one of the most famous broods in Hollywood much to Angelina Jolie’s dismay -- he was hired by Angie and then-husband Brad Pitt to keep an eye on their six kids Maddox and Pax and Zahara and Shiloh and Knox and Vivienne and their biggest concern was the kidnapping of the kids and for Angie that fear bordered on obsession so her home is like a fortress -- she wants her kids to have a normal life but she’s also aware of the dangers out there

* Star Spots the Stars -- Martha Stewart, Clare Crawley, Alec Baldwin, Jessica Alba, Bella Hadid, Viola Davis, Debbie Matenopoulos

Page 7: Jason Momoa shocked fans with his recent revelation that his breakout role in Game of Thrones gave him plenty of fame but no fortune -- after his character Khal Drogo was killed of in 2011 before the first season even aired he said he couldn’t get work and it’s very challenging when you have babies and you’re completely in debt; we were starving -- now of course Jason who shares two kids with wife Lisa Bonet has more than made up for those lean times but he’s not one to throw cash around

* After a single day of work Johnny Depp was axed from the third installment of the Fantastic Beasts films and he got to keep his eight-figure salary -- he was let go following a nasty defamation trial against a U.K. tabloid that called him a wife-beater -- now Mads Mikkelsen is going to be Johnny’s replacement as Grindelwald -- for his part Johnny will take the money and run and he’s panicked that this will lead to a permanent blacklist and his name is now mud in movie circles

Page 8: Star Shots -- overjoyed by Joe Biden’s victory Chrissy Teigen and John Legend took to the streets of West Hollywood to celebrate, Duchess Camilla paid her respects to veterans during the 92nd Field of Remembrance event at Westminster Abbey which is a duty formerly fulfilled by her stepson Prince Harry

Page 9: Steve Martin cruising through Central Park on a CitiBike wearing gloves and a protective face mask, Miya Cech and Ben Daon and Keith L. Williams and Kayden Grace Swan flanked creator Daniel Knauf at the premiere of The Astronauts

Page 10: Renee Elise Goldsberry and Sara Bareilles and Paula Pell and Busy Philipps shared a laugh shooting Girls5Eva, Offset caught up with some young fans while handing out free food from the Slutty Vegan Food Truck on Election Day in Atlanta, Caitlyn Jenner fueling up for a car-camping expedition with daughter Kendall

Page 11: Queen Latifah showed off a fresh new ‘do on the set of The Equalizer reboot in NYC, weeks after undergoing heart surgery Arnold Schwarzenegger was already behind the wheel again in L.A.

Page 12: Bachelor alum Hannah Ann Sluss running errands in L.A., Joey Fatone nearly stole the spotlight from actress Kate Katzman on the red carpet at the screening of her new film The Comeback Trail, Francesca Farago carried a pup while posing for photos for her swimsuit line

Page 14: MTV EMAs -- Alicia Keys, David Guetta, DJ Khaled, Zara Larsson

Page 16: Zooey Deutch having lunch with a friend in L.A., Tracy Morgan returned to his old stomping grounds to cut the ribbon at the $30 million Marcy Houses Community Center in Brooklyn, Olivia Culpo rushed to a meeting after a coffee run in L.A.

Page 18: Normal or Not? Ariel Winter carrying an enormous roll of bubble wrap -- not normal, Joel Michaely jumped for joy at the screening of his new film The Comeback Trail in Ft. Lauderdale -- not normal, Wanda De Jesus and Jimmy Smits enjoyed a stroll around Brentwood -- normal

Page 19: Gretta Monahan before filming a segment on The View -- normal, Bridget Moynahan and Steve Schirippa made a grisly discovery on the set of Blue Bloods -- not normal

Page 20: Fashion -- stars stun in silver -- Angelina Jolie, Thandie Newton

Page 21: Becky G, Elsa Hosk

Page 24: Phil Collins and Orianne Bates are slinging mud as their split gets even nastier

Page 25: Dallas alum Patrick Duffy and Happy Days actress Linda Purl are dating

* Ben Affleck plans to spend Christmas away from his three kids in Cuba with girlfriend Ana de Armas who hasn’t seen her family in months and is desperately homesick and Ben will do anything to make her happy -- the couple then plan to celebrate the new year touring South America -- Ben’s ex-wife Jennifer Garner is not happy about his plans because she’s at full capacity after tending their kids solo while Ben was filming The Last Duel in Ireland but Ben has made up his mind

Page 26: Cover Story -- Kelly Clarkson’s rush to the altar -- the star is healing from heartache with a hot new romance but as she tells pals she’s ready to wed again some are worried she’s moving way too fast -- pals are wondering if her mystery man could be country singer Brett Eldredge but Kelly is keeping her new guy’s identity under wraps for now

Page 29: Inside Kelly Clarkson’s ugly lawsuit -- the star is fighting in court with her former father-in-law Narvel Blackstock

Page 38: Entertainment

Page 48: Parting Shot -- pregnant Hilary Duff on the set of Younger in New York City

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fanficimagery · 5 years

Text

Imagine being a pseudo daughter to one of the most feared vampires in existence. Godric's needed elsewhere for an important meeting, so he's decided to leave you in the care of his eldest progeny that you haven't seen in many years.

Eric X Reader

The last you'd seen of Eric the Viking, he was sneering down at you and arguing with Godric about taking in a pet human at such a young age. Vampires, before they decided to come out of the coffin, had ransacked the halfway house your ex-addict of a mother was raising you in and you ended up being the sole survivor of that horrendous night. Not one vampire had expected to come across a child and a female vampire, Isabelle, took you back to her nest and presented you to the area Sheriff with fear in her eyes.

Godric, who'd been the Sheriff and the oldest being in the room, had taken in your blood splattered appearance and refused to have any more harm brought down upon you. You didn't know what it was that made Godric spare you that night so long ago, but you were grateful for it.

Now at the age of twenty-two, you're sitting pretty well for a human in a world where vampires had made themselves known. You were untouchable and many vampires hated the fact that Godric doted on a blood bag which is why you're about to be reintroduced to Godric's first Child that hated you so long ago in hopes that he had changed and would offer you some sort of protection.

Having forgone the long line in front of Fangtasia, Godric led you in through the back entrance and let himself into Eric's office. You took a seat on the edge of the leather couch, crossing one knee over the other and then clasping your hands over your top knee as you wait patiently.

It doesn't take long for the door to open again, the all too familiar Viking striding in. Only this time, his hair is shorter than you remember and you're not a little girl anymore. You can appreciate a good looking man and holy hell Eric the Viking is the hottest specimen you've ever laid eyes on. Godric lightly clears his throat and you quickly glance at him, tensing at his twinkling eyes. Fuck. He caught you checking out his progeny.

The statuesque female vampire entering behind Eric is vaguely familiar and her leering smile catapults her name to the forefront of your mind. "Pam," you muse. "Long time no see."

"Well, well. The little brat is all grown up. How delicious."

You wrinkle your nose at her, chuckling. Then glancing over at Eric, your grin falters. Remembering your manners, you bow your head in a show of respect. "Sheriff Northman."

His eyebrows raise slightly. "Y/N." He looks back over to Godric sitting in his chair and he takes a seat across from his own desk without making a fuss about it. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"A meeting's come up. I need someone to keep an eye over Y/N and our nest is not an option."

Silence. Complete and utter silence.

"What he means is that Stan's made one too many attempts on my life," you huff. "Apparently I can't be trusted to not antagonize him if Godric's not home."

With a deadpan expression, Godric says, "You threw glitter on him and called him Edward Cullen."

"For the last time, it was Isa's fault. She gave me too much to drink!"

"You were not of age to be drinking at the time of the incident."

"Don't be judgey," you then immediately frown.

Pam looks rather gleeful and Eric pained. He sighs, garnering your attention. "If you're to stay here, you're not going to sit on your ass. You will work."

"She's not getting on those poles of yours."

"Yeah. No," you agree with Godric. Meeting Eric's gaze, you say, "I can mix drinks. Do you have room for a bartender?"

Taking a moment, he eventually nods. "Our current bartender is not meant for social interactions. Chow will be glad to be able to get back to the books."

"Then it's settled." Godric takes his stand and Eric's quick to follow suit as to not disrespect his Maker. "I'll be back within a week."

Left alone with Eric and Pam, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from blurting something that would annoy the vampires. Seconds tick by and you lose the battle.

"Fair warning, I'm not putting electrical tape on my nipples. I keep up with Fangtasia online for Godric and I've seen what people wear out there."

Pam leers and Eric pinches the bridge of his nose. With a sigh, he says, "Pam will take you shopping. Wear something that'll attract the clientele, not put them off."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

The following night, Pam snaps pic after pic of your outfit. She's far too amused by the strategically messy buns on either side of your head and the leather bustier you'd chosen which bears small silver studs covering your breasts and down your sides. She immediately approved of the plaid mini-skirt and she paired it with a pair of black leather, knee-high boots. Your fingers were adorned with several silver rings, and the Crest necklace representing which nest you came from hanging around your neck had to be tucked inside your cleavage less you scare off the vampire customers.

"Oh man. I'm so glad Godric is not here," you laugh once you see the outfit put together, fixing your underwear in the mirror and then smoothing your skirt back down. "He'd glare at everyone who came up to the bar."

"So how exactly does that work when you wanna get laid if Godric glares off all the competition?"

You shrug. "Godric doesn't deny me my happiness. His claim on me isn't sexual."

"So you don't get to ride my Grandsire's dick?"

"What?!"

"Where's the fun in that?"

Snorting in laughter, your head then falls forward and you groan into the palms of your hands. "Jesus, Pam. No. Just no." Before she can come back with another crass remark, the bathroom door is swinging open and Eric's form looms in the doorway. You stare up at him, eyebrows raised. "Yes?"

He gaze drifts up and down your form before the corner of his lips twitch. "Cute."

"Ain't I?" You strike a pose and Pam snaps another pic. Whirling around, you point a threatening finger at her. "If you send that to Godric, I swear I won't send you any blackmail photos of Isa or Stan when I get back home."

Pouting, Pam pockets her phone. And just as you're about to turn back around, cold fingertips brush along the back of your left thigh. Whirling around, eyes wide, you slap at Eric's hands. "No touchy!"

This time it's Eric pouting though he seems confused about it. "I don't think I like this."

Pam snorts. "That's a first.”

"It's too short."

"That's the whole point," you groan. "Skin attracts both human and vampire. If you turn into Daddy Godric, I swear I'll scream. Let me live, Northman."

"Oh he wants to be Daddy all right. Just not in the sense you're thinking."

You frown at Pam's words and Eric glares at his progeny. "Not now, Pamela."

"Yes, Master," she drawls. Then winking at you, she reaches forward and boldly fixes your breasts in your bustier. "There. Now the girls are ready for work."

"They were ready before," you deadpan. "You just wanted to get your hands on the goods."

"I seized the only opportunity I was ever going to have. Now come on," she turns you back around and starts marching you towards the exit, "we open the doors in a couple of minutes."

- X - X - X -

Mixing drinks comes fairly easy to you and Eric seems impressed with how quick you keep up with the orders. Some humans make their interest in you known, but when they realize you aren't a vampire their interest is quick to dwindle. The vampires, however, expect you to fall at their feet and are annoyed when you won't meet their gaze straight on.

"Is everything okay here?" Pam drawls, perched on a bar stool that was empty just a split second before.

Looking across the bar, you quirk an eyebrow at the silently fuming vampire. "I'm not sure. Are we?"

"Yes," he grits out. "Just give me my True Blood."

Forcing a smile, you grab the heated bottle from behind the bar and slide it over. The vampire is quick to take his drink and disappears to go sulk in a darkened corner. "Even in death that asshole can't comprehend that no means no."

"Let me guess, he was on the verge of having a bitch fit because he couldn't glamour you?"

"Got it in one." Pam sat with you every half hour or so, she silently watching from her seat at the bar and making sure the vampires behaved themselves properly with you. The last thing anyone wanted was having a single hair on your head being damaged and word getting back to Godric. Silently cleaning a glass with a dish rag, you let your gaze roam until settling on a blonde human who sticks out like a sore thumb. "Hey, Pam? Who's that?" You ask, slightly gesturing towards the woman in question.

Pam barely glances in the direction you gestured to before huffing. "Sookie Stackhouse," she drawls. "Pretty little thing that currently holds Eric's affections."

"From the look of her companion, it appears she's already been Claimed."

"As if that'd stop Eric."

"Point." Every now and then you glance at the blonde female, not bothering to hide your curiosity or apparent dislike. "Why is she even here dressed like that? She's like a lamb being brought to the slaughter. The virginal sacrifice." Pam snorts, her blood red painted lips stretching into a smile. The blonde's dark haired companion turns to stare at you, glaring. "What? You know it's true," you say, uncaring that the male vampire can hear you. "She needs to be at Sunday Mass, not Fangtasia."

"Ladies," Eric greets. "How are we doing tonight?"

"Lovely," you muse. "I've just spotted the little treat Pam tells me you're rather infatuated with."

Eric pauses and then clears his expression of any emotion. "She's of no importance."

"Really?" You grin. "Does she know that? Because she's marching over here like a woman on a mission." Her blonde ponytail swings back and forth, and the white sundress with a cherry pattern is just too much. "Ugh. You can do so much better."

Just as she makes it to the bar where Eric is leaning against, you pick up a glass and start wiping it clear of smudges. Her voice is rather grating and it doesn't sit well with you at how disrespectful her tone is towards Eric, nor the fact that her vampire is letting her be so disrespectful to his Sheriff.

When the blonde practically makes a demand that Eric needs to look into some rogue vampire hanging around Bill's house, you share a look with Pam- your expression practically scoffing is this twat serious?

"Excuse me," the blonde huffs, suddenly slapping a hand atop the bar.

You give her your attention, one eyebrow raising. "Yes?"

"I don't like name calling."

"Okay?" You muse, brow furrowing.

"And I don't like the fact that you're calling me a- a-"

Your entire body tenses and your eyes narrow when her words click. "Sookie's a mind reader," Eric says.

"Eric!" Sookie then snaps, not happy he's sharing her secret.

Expression darkening, you glare at the blonde. "Excuse me, but I'd appreciate it if you don't read my fuckin' mind. Just because you can doesn't mean you should." Looking as if she's ready to defend her actions, you shut her down. "A person's thoughts are private for a reason. What you're doing is mind rape."

She gasps. "I would never!"

"Yeah? Then what would you call what you just did to me? Did I give you permission to peek behind the curtains? No. I didn't. So if you know what's good for you, stay out." And putting to use a mind barrier that a friend of Godric's nest told you of, you concentrate on shutters slamming down in your mind and mentally push at the vision of Sookie you conjure up in your mind's eye.

Sookie gasps in pain, grasping at her temples, and her vampire companion practically towers over the bar and snarls in a rage at you. There's a blur in front of you and suddenly Eric is pinning Bill to the far wall across the bar. Humans shriek in fear and the vampires are smart enough to move far away from the pissed off Sheriff. Pam starts clearing out the bar just as Sookie gets her bearings back, she stumbling over to defend her vampire boy toy.

"Retract your fangs before I yank them out with glee and wrap you up in silver until Y/N's vampire gets back to dole out his punishment."

"Eric, don't!" Sookie shouts, pushing at him. "Let Bill go."

Walking over to the struggling vampire within Eric's grasp, you say, "That's tame compared to what Godric would do. Are you sure you’re of his blood?" You tease. Eric frowns over his shoulder at you and you grin.

"Godric? Who's Godric?" Sookie asks. Bill, as if possible, pales under Eric's hand.

Grinning at Sookie, you reach for the chain around your neck and pull up on the Crest that settled beneath your bustier. When Godric's crest is visible, you say, "Your worst nightmare, little girl." Then dropping the necklace to leave it on display, your hands then find purchase on your hips as you give the blonde your best haughty expression. "Now leave and take your vampire with you. If I hear about you being disrespectful to Sheriff Northman ever again I'll make sure to fully submerge you into the vampire world since your pesky human brain can't seem to comprehend how to properly conduct yourself with your elders."

Entirely too gleeful looking, Eric releases Bill. The dark haired vampire stumbles aside, grabbing Sookie's hand within his own before he says, "I didn't know. My apologies."

Sookie looks entirely too affronted by his apology, but you manage a small dip of your head to show him an ounce of respect he doesn't even deserve at this point. "Don't let it happen again." And before Sookie can further offend anyone else, Bill leaves in a burst of speed with her in tow.

"You're entirely too adorable," Pam drawls. "No one has been able to shut Miss Stackhouse up like you."

"It wasn't my intention," you frown. "I was going to leave her alone, but I couldn't let her disrespect slide. If she's to live as a vampire's companion, then she must respect the laws as if she were a vampire herself."

"I was wrong about you," Eric muses. "You're a lot more fascinating for a human than I'd given you credit for."

"Yeah, yeah. Drinks are on you tonight, Sheriff. Your little mind reader put me in a bad mood."

Later that evening (technically it's very early the next morning) you're groaning awake and regretting every decision you made the previous night. After your run-in with the little half fae, you were left in a sour mood that was only made better by numbing your mind and putting on cozy pajamas. Eric had closed down the club and then gave you free reign of the bottles behind the bar, and Pam immediately took advantage. For a good hour or so, you completely forgot you had the tolerance of a human.

"Fuckity fucking hell," you utter as you curl in on yourself under the blanket. "Never again."

"Never?" You hear the Viking drawl from the darkness of your cocoon. "I must say you're particularly amusing when you can't handle your liquor. And quite the dancer. Such a shame Godric banned you from the poles."

"Oh god." Removing the blanket from your face, you blink against the lighting from above before focusing as best you can on Eric who's smiling at you. Actually smiling. "Please tell me no one else saw."

"I believe Pam took a video."

You cringe. "Pam is never to be in charge of the alcohol ever again. Never."

"Agreed. The two of you put quite the dent in my stock."

"Holy shit. How am I even still alive?" You groan and shift in bed, noticing for the first time that the sheets are really cold against your legs. Your bare legs. Frowning, you meet the blonde's gaze. "Eric?"

"Yes?"

"Where are my pants?"

He's slow to chuckle and his suddenly lust filled expression is one that makes you hold your breath. He was going to be the death of you. "Pam thought you'd be more comfortable without them."

"So you let her strip me!?"

"Would you rather it have been me?" He leers.

"..yes!" You surprise him. His smile falters and you groan again. "She totally copped a feel. I know it."

His surprise vanishes and he chuckles one last time before standing from the edge of the bed. "Pamela was on her best behavior. I promise you that."

"Yeah, yeah." You squirm to find a comfortable position. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm taking the night off."

"Noted," Eric says just before he exits the usually light-tight room. "Ginger will be by later with some food."

"A vampire after my own heart," you sleepily muse. "Food. Make it greasy."

With your eyes now closed, you don't see Eric hesitate at the door, staring and trying to figure out just when the hell he became fond of you.

The rest of the week passes with ease and you don't seem to have any more issues with Fangtasia's clientele. Eric insists you wear the Crest of your nest out in the open after the incident with Bill and the vampires seem intimidated at first, but warm up after seeing you serve the humans. The vampires then approach you with caution and a deep amount of respect, and then it's the humans who are confused and cautious of you. When the humans then figure out what your necklace means and see the way the vampires treat you, they make it their business to approach you and ask how to get into a nest of their own.

Pam became your saving grace, she scaring away the annoying humans so you were left alone to do work in peace. Eric also kept his gaze on you when he wasn't scanning his club and keeping an ear out for any illegal activity, and every time you caught his gaze you'd smirk and salute him with a shot. He usually only acknowledged your gesture when you grimaced after one too many shots and you flicked him off for laughing at your pain.

- X - X - X -

Eric's watching Y/N again, his gaze constantly being drawn to her throat when her head tilted back in a laugh. For the passed hour she's been speaking with a human female and from Eric heard it was a female who was from a nest herself. However, it was a newly formed nest and the human had just wanted to talk to someone else who'd been part of a nest longer than she had.

He's too preoccupied with his staring that he doesn't see, feel, or hear when Godric takes a seat next to him. The only reason he knows something is amiss is because the onslaught of amusement hits him hard. Startling, he glances to his left where Godric is perched on his own throne.

"Father," Eric greets calmly in his native tongue.

"Son." Godric's expression is unreadable to anyone looking in their direction, but Eric can feel his maker's amusement. Pam's too. "You care for her."

"Well she is Yours."

"No. This is different," Godric says. "You're fond of her. And not just because she's of our nest."

Seeing no use in lying, Eric agrees. "Yes."

"When I say Y/N is Mine, I only mean it protection wise. She is the sister I never had. A daughter." Eric glances at his maker once more, internally groaning when Godric flashes him a smile. "If you wish to pursue her, that is your choice. She can bear my Crest and have your Mark. I do not mind if it is you."

"She is a handful."

"Who's a handful?" Eric jerks in surprise at hearing his native tongue come from someone else, his right eyebrow raising when he sees Y/N standing there with a tray and three shots- two true blood and one tequila. "Don't look so surprised, Northman,” you then say, switching back to English. “Godric taught me when I was younger so I could tattle on the other vampires in our nest if they were dicks to me."

"Y/N," Godric greets. "You look well."

"I am well," you muse, passing him a shot. "My stay here has been.. interesting."

"I'll say," Eric then says, taking his shot from the tray. "Y/N not only verbally put Miss Stackhouse in her place, but she also made Bill Compton nearly wet himself because they were quite disrespectful to my status as Sheriff. It was precious."

With your own shot halfway to your mouth, you narrow your eyes. "Don't get me started again. Your little half-fae is still on my shit list."

"Not my half-fae," he's quick to rebuff. "Never was."

"But you wanted her to be."

Eric pauses before downing his shot, he grinning. "Is that jealously I sense?"

Coughing on your shot, you pound on your chest with a closed fist much to Godric's amusement. "N-No!"

Eric's too busy grinning and you're too busy glaring to see Godric's gaze darting between you two. Eventually, when you can't think of anything to say to sway Eric's smug-ness, you look to Godric. "How did your meeting go? Good I'm guessing since you're not in a foul mood."

"It went good, little one. In fact, it went really good."

Eric's eyes narrow. "What did you do?"

Switching back to Eric's native tongue, Godric tells him, "I gave up my position as the Dallas Sheriff."

"You did what?"

"Holy fuck. You actually did it?"

Eric's gaze then turns on you. "You knew he was going to?"

"I- I.. well, yeah."

"Do not be angry with her, my son. This has been on my mind for quite some time. I tired of Dallas and was looking to relocate."

"Relocate to where?"

"Here, of course."

You freeze in surprise, as does Eric. "Truly?"

"Truly."

You're slow to smile, but you smile nonetheless. "Does this mean I get to keep my job? I've grown quite fond of Fangtasia."

"Just Fangtasia?" Eric muses, eyes suddenly sparkling.

Your gaze cuts to him and against your will your cheeks burn under his stare. Knowing he's seen it and can probably smell the blood rushing to surface anyway, you make an excuse to suddenly flee. "I need to go tell Pam. S-She'll be happy."

Eric's chuckle follows you until you hop off the stage, you then making a beeline for the front door. As Pam scans I.D's, you tell her the good news and smother your laughter when her fangs click down and the front line of people waiting to get in all gasp. She's all too happy to get to spend more time with her Grandsire's favorite human.

With Ginger still manning the bar, you take the moment to go freshen up in the bathroom. But before you can even make it to the bathroom, you're being whisked away at vampire speed and you only get your bearings back when you're seated on a desk and have a blonde viking vampire standing between your knees.

"Eric?"

"Well, well, well."

You huff a laugh, leaning back from his towering presence. "What are you doing?"

"Is Fangtasia really the only thing you've grown fond of during your stay here?"

His hands which were settled on each knee slowly inch upward and you gulp. "Let me guess- Godric approved of you officially making a move?"

"Maybe."

"There's no maybe about it." You slowly grin, reaching up with your right hand and lightly trailing your fingertips along his jaw. "You've been eyeballing me all week, Sheriff. I was wondering who was going to break first."

"This isn't me breaking."

"No." You lean forward and reach up, your lips just barely grazing Eric's. "But you will," you murmur. Then sliding your hands down his chest and passed his abdomen, you grasp at his waist and push him back. Sliding off his desk and slipping underneath his arms, you chuckle as you saunter out of his office. "It's only a matter of time, Eric. Until then I got a bar to tend to."

Eric stares at his office door swinging shut, his tongue peeking out to catch the faint scent of you on his bottom lip. Slowly smirking, he says, "Only a matter of time indeed."

#fanficimagery #eric northman x reader #eric x reader #eric northman imagine #true blood imagine #eric northman #true blood #pam de beaufort #godric #imagine

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wolfpawn · 4 years

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I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 67

Chapter Summary - Nacelle and Becky go through with their promise to bring Danielle shopping.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

"No!"

"Three reasons," Nacelle compromised.

"My ass, my stomach, my legs." Danielle listed.

"I like how you didn't say your breasts."

"I know my selling points," Becky and Nacelle laughed at that. "But in all seriousness, no."

"Danni, you have to actually buy something, I mean you lucked out on Tom finding out you had that dress, but you can't wear it to everything, trust me, they will be wanting your blood for any little thing, don't hand it to them."

"I rather they focus on that than the stuff that actually would upset me."

Becky made a noise of agreement. "Still, you need clothes."

"I have clothes."

"You need clothes the SARC's can see you in."

"SARC's?" Danielle eyed her worriedly, "What's a SARC?"

"Spoiled and Rich Clique," Nacelle answered, looking at another dress.

"Seriously? What are you, twelve? Wait, are one of you going to tell me we only wear pink on Wednesdays now?"

Both women erupted in laughter at her for that. "Okay, I can see why Nacelle came home talking about you, you're hilarious!" Becky laughed as the sales assistant came over. "Great, can we try these on her please?" she asked politely pointing to Danielle.

The sales assistant looked to Danielle and her eyes widened slightly before she raked them over her. "I'm not sure these are the styles for someone of such…proportions." Danielle felt herself redden, though, with anger or upset, she was not sure.

"Well then, can we speak to a manager please," Nacelle asked, her tone just millimetres from a demand.

"She is on break, can I relay a message?"

"Sure," the three women looked to Danielle, who schooled her face into the greatest 'fuck you' smile she could muster. "Ask her if it is usual practice to turn away customers based on their size, yet still stock said sizes, seeing as we are holding dresses that are designed for my height and shape, and those that are slightly longer can actually be taken up, I am sure she could recommend a tailor that is somewhat connected to your store, because you and I both know that all these little boutiques tend to have such practices. And then ask her is there particular currency that is required to shop here," She reached into her pocket and pulled out a twenty-pound note. "Since you are acting as though my money, which dons the words Bank of England on them, same as every other pound, and if I am not mistaken, that is your Queen that is on it too, isn’t it, is not the correct tender? So if this is the currency of the State, and you don't seem to trade in it, could you tell me what one you do?"

"Well...I…? The fitting rooms are back here." the flustered woman stated, having thought that Danielle was someone who could be embarrassed out of the shop rather than argue her corner.

"You are a Grade A Sass-Bitch," Becky smiled as she handed Danielle the dress for her to try first. "It's beautiful to witness."

"Aw, thank you." She grinned. "Seriously, this is going to be way too tight on my ass."

"Good, it will show that there is something to balance those boobs." Nacelle joked.

"I feel so objectified," Danielle stated dramatically before all three women laughed again. "Jesus this is not going to work."

"Why?" Nacelle looked in. "Okay, that's because you have to unzip it."

"Not happening, I look like something off an MTV trash show."

"It's six hundred pounds," Nacelle argued.

"Money is not something those people worry about, you can have money and be trash."

"Yeah, speaking of which, how are you on the whole last summer thing, I mean, he's nice and all but…" Nacelle looked around but Becky shook her head, to say no one was nearby. "That…?"

"Episode?" Danielle suggested.

"Best word for it really."

"Look, I am going to say the same thing to you as I did his sisters, mum and friends, not my business, it was before me."

"Good response from a saying nothing point of view, the only thing is, I can see your disapproval on your face." Becky pointed out.

"I made my feelings clear on it at the time, but I am not going to dwell on it," Danielle stated, walking around slightly to see if she was comfortable in it. "Is it a little short?" she looked at the back of it.

"No, you just can't bend over, next one." Nacelle stated pushing her back into the dressing room.

A couple of hours and close to two thousand pounds later, which cut into Danielle's money more than she wanted, they left the last boutique but she had to agree, Nacelle and Becky had made her look more the part of the girlfriend of a serious actor.

"I am bolloxed, I would be happy to have a curry tonight," Nacelle commented as they sat on the bus. "Babe, Chinese or Indian?"

"Indian, but you can get it while I get those emails sent," Becky replied.

"Deal, Danni, you want anything?"

"No, I'll get something when I get back, I'm not too hungry." She gave a polite smile as she spoke.

"You know I have physically heard your stomach rumble less than ten minutes ago," Nacelle pointed out. "What is it?"

"Nothing." Danielle shook her head.

"Bullshit, something annoying you." Nacelle eyed her carefully. "It was that bitch calling you out for not being a stick insect, wasn't it?"

"I'm working on it." Danielle shrugged. "I mean, I like me, and I have no issue with how I look, but I just…it upsets me that people go out of their way to say those things just to make you feel shit, you know?"

"Yes, and no. Yes, I know because people go out of their way to try and take us down and weight is something so many struggle with, and no, because that particular attack is one I have not born the brunt of, yet, but remember one thing." She leant in close. "I saw her phone, she is with some guy who does duck face poses when taking photo's and questionable fashion sense, you get to go home and curl up in bed with Tom Fucking Hiddleston, who's the real winner there?" Danielle gave a faint smile. "I got you something by the way." She frowned as Nacelle handed her a bag with VS on it. "Because of you I have a few extra bookings, so this is your commission."

"Wait, you bought my underwear as a thank you? Is that not a bit odd?" Danielle laughed, looking into the Victoria's Secrets bag. "When did you get this?"

"I didn't, Becks did while you were getting those shoes." Nacelle smiled. "I wanted to get you something you would enjoy and well, Tom will make sure you enjoy when he sees you in them."

"Nacelle!"

"Can I ask, is it true, you know, the 'Conda'?"

"I am not talking about this." Danielle laughed in embarrassment.

"You forget two things, girl. One, you are a terrible actress, and two, when we were in Wales, I was the one that noted you walking around like a peacock after his visit and a slightly sore one at that." Nacelle laughed.

"Why are we friends?"

"Because you need someone around you as bitchy and honest as you are."

Danielle nodded slightly. "That's true." at that moment, she realised that Tom had texted a while before. "Tom's done for the day and wants to know if I'll grab something on the way back, he doesn't want to cook, I know that feeling."

"Is he at home?" Becky questioned.

"Yeah, he said he took Mac for a small trot there, I took him out earlier, but he took him out again there." Danielle smiled.

"Tell him to come to ours, no fancy dinner, just four people and some take-out."

Danielle looked at her for a moment. "Are you sure, we would never…"

"Seriously, that's a great idea, Becky and I are going to be so busy soon, you are going off somewhere else and Tom has his monkey movie you were talking about."

"King Kong is not some 'monkey movie'." Danielle laughed, but as she did she pressed the call button on her phone.

"Hello beautiful, are you having a nice day?" Tom's slightly tired voice answered.

"Did I wake you from a nap?" She asked worriedly.

"I was not supposed to be sleeping, you did me a favour."

"I'm sorry."

"Please, Elle, it's fine, how are you, are you after fleeing the country?"

"I am not that adverse to shopping." She argued, Nacelle, who was close enough to hear, laughing quietly beside her. "I actually wanted to ask you something?"

"Are you going for dinner too? If so why ask me?"

"Well, we were going to get take-out and eat at Nacelle and Becky's."

"Lovely." She could hear the happy smile on Tom's face through the phone.

"They wanted to know if you wanted to come too. I know we said we would have them to ours, but with everyone's schedules, a nice take-out and a relaxing chat seem more inviting."

"I am inclined to agree. Text me the address."

"We'll leave the gate open, he can park the car in the drive." Becky smiled.

"Get his order too by the way." Nacelle demanded.

"Did you get that?"

"I did indeed." Tom's grin was obvious through the phone, "So was it alright?"

"I survived, barely."

"You are so dramatic." Nacelle joked before swatting her.

"Now I have a crazy lady attacking me."

"I will be there in fifteen minutes to help you," Tom promised. "What sort of food are you all thinking?"

"Indian, so I have a fair guess what you want because they share our taste in takeaway," Danielle smiled, knowing exactly what Tom would request.

"Well then, you know my order, I will head as soon as I let Mac out to the bathroom and settle him." She could hear Tom descending the stairs. "And Elle?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Calling it ours," Tom replied before hanging up.

"I don't get it, what did I call ours?" Danielle frowned, staring at the phone.

"While you are figuring it out, give me his order, I want to be back ASAP," Nacelle ordered.

"Yes boss," she gave an army salute and wrote down the order for herself and Tom before putting her hand in her pocket to get the money to pay for it.

"Don't you dare," Becky warned. "This is on us."

"Next time we get it," Danielle promised.

"Sounds good," Becky smiled. "So, let's get this all sorted."

Not too long later, Nacelle returned with the food. "I found a stray outside." She declared as she entered.

"We'll trade, you can have Tom, I'll take your cat." Danielle smiled, Nero on her lap having gotten very comfortable there.

"Traitor Slut Cat, honestly, any sniff of a lap and he's on it." Nacelle declared shaking her head.

"Yeah, well, everyone loves me, especially animals." Danielle smiled as Tom came into view, a genuine grin on his face. "Hey."

"Hello to you too, Nacelle was saying you had a good day." He walked over to her, leaning down to give her a small kiss.

"It was fine, I am actually exhausted from it."

"Well, there are many that argue that it is a sport from what I am told." Tom chuckled. "Do I get to see any of it after dinner?"

"Nope, I am not looking at them again today," she declared.

"When will I get to see them?"

"Most of them, probably never, but I have something got for the wedding." She smiled.

"I need to see if I can keep that date free," Tom noted. "Are you not getting up for the food?"

"Can't, I will disturb His Majesty." she pointed to the cat, who gave a momentary glare of agreement.

"Nero, get off," Becky demanded coming over and removing the ebony coloured cat off their guest's lap.

"Oh, you didn't get to meet the last day, Tom, this is Becky, Nacelle's fiance." Danielle smiled introducing the pair.

Tom smiled and looked to the other woman, "Ms Matthew's, I didn't recognise you the last time, how have you been?"

"Wait, you know Becky?"

"From work," Tom smiled. "She is in charge of Marvel's contracts here, so of course, Ben and I have dealt with her in the past." Danielle nodded in understanding and smiled. "So, food."

#I Hate You I Love You #chapter 67 #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic

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kweebtrash · 5 years

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Do It Well (M)

Messy Ch. 3

Pairing(s): OC X Johnny (features other members)

Genre: College AU, Fuckboy AU

Summary: Fuckboys are basically good for one thing. You hit it and quit it- except when his voice draws you in, his body keeps you there, and dumb ass feelings linger making things particularly messy.

Warnings: light mentions of BDSM, light mentions of night terrors

Features: several POV changes, masturbation, disappointing sex, sleepy sex, thigh grinding, fingering, lots of kissing, mentions of anal, mentions of bondage

Word Count: around 13k

A/N: ‘they’ and ‘she’ are used interchangeably on purpose. ‘Johnathan’ is Johnny’s contact name in Eri’s phone when she doesn’t particularly care about him lol.

Messy Masterlist Buy me a Ko-Fi Other Stories

Johnny's POV

I could barely sleep. My body insisted on tossing and turning indecisively. Each turn made my head spin and for awhile i just laid in the darkness, feeling the pulsating in my ears. The temperature in my room was fluctuating on my skin and my stomach was starting to churn into a pit of nausea. I set my hands over my eyes and tried to relax. I was clinging onto the fact that maybe her voice had brought me out of my night terror. Nothing ever freed me from them and I spent countless nights just scratching and clawing my way out all on my own. Calling her had been a mistake; just a weird accident. The problem was actually trying to convince myself of that fact. My heart raced at the prospect of her being some unhealthy cure for me to rely on.

I sat up slowly, pushing my hair back and feeling how sweat drenched it was. My bangs were getting long and had stuck to my forehead, the simple sensation making my sensitive skin crawl. Though my entire being felt heavy I managed to heave myself off the bed and head out to the kitchen. I walked through the still darkness of the apartment trying desperately not to run into anything. I felt my way to the fridge, opening the door and letting the light illuminate my still naked frame. With the water pitcher and cup in hand i guzzled down two full glasses. I set the cup down and braced myself against the counter, trying to focus on getting it together. I glanced at the time on the microwave- 6:13 am. I had to be up for work at 7 and had gotten less than 5 hours of sleep. I rubbed my temples and kicked the fridge door shut before heading back to my room.

I collapsed onto my mattress, my limbs spread out as i begged for a heavier breeze to filter through my open window. It was useless to attempt sleep now. I felt around for my phone, finding it still beside my pillow. I scrolled through the backlog of messages from the group chat until I stumbled upon the picture that Yuta had posted. When he initially sent it, i tried my best to pay no attention to it. I wasn't one for taking pictures of the people I hooked up with. Too many things could go wrong like a haphazard revenge plot. Knowing all the chicks i pissed off my dick would be plastered all over the internet if i had taken nudes. For some reason though, Yuta's photo gave off an air of nonconsent. I didn’t know for sure but it wasn’t something I was down with. Maybe Eri liked the attention or posing like that. I mean she liked just about everything else anyway. I bit my lip as i started to focus more and more on the picture. The deep violet ropes were tied into intricate patterns on her thighs and calves. Her knees were practically pushed up to ears, putting her on display. Her perfect lips were wrapped around that gag and her eyes were invisible under a blindfold.

I swallowed hard as i felt a twitch between my thighs. The camera flash had caught the glistening of her lips and accented the thick dildo stuffed inside her. Already my mind was creating flashes of fantasies and i was suddenly watching her hips squirm. I could practically hear the soft mewls and sighs she was trying to make around that gag. I wasn’t one for all that kinky shit but I’d be damned if I would give up the opportunity to fuck her like that. My right hand drifted to my stomach, my fingertips getting dangerously close to my cock. The longer I stared at the picture the harder I was becoming.

I guess it wasn't so wrong. I mean, we had fucked twice now. I knew what she looked like naked. This was like the equivalent of looking at dirty magazines like how I did when I was younger. I exhaled softly and tossed my phone beside me. The picture was already burned into my skull and the only thing i saw when my eyes were closed. I shifted a bit, settling into the mattress, as I spread my thighs and wrapped my hand around myself. The first few strokes helped fill my palm completely. I would squeeze around my head every so often before sliding back down to my base. I was imagining how deep I could be inside her, how warm and tight she would feel beneath me. The sweet smell of her perfume would fill my nostrils as I buried my face in her neck, covering her skin with rough bites. My teeth marks always looked perfect, as if they belonged on her. She would probably have something sarcastic to say at some point and I would have to shut her up with a deep kiss. The way she submitted to my tongue and let me control everything about our kisses made my entire body shudder.

I pulled my hand up to my mouth then, licking from the bottom of my palm to the tips of my fingers to add a bit of wetness to my strokes. They flowed smoother against my heated veins prompting me to spread my thighs further apart. I fisted my hand around my head trying to mimic the feeling of her muscles clenching around me. My teeth were digging into my bottom lip, the back of my head burying into my pillow as i started pushing my hips upward to meet my hand. Her name was popping up in between flashes of that picture. I barely noticed that i had actually been whispering it until I heard it mixed with a heavy groan.

Was i actually doing that? I was always too shy to make any sounds higher than a sigh but what the fuck was i doing moaning this loud? I covered my mouth quickly hoping to all hell that Jae couldn't hear me jacking off from the other side of the thin wall separating our rooms. It was bad enough that my hand was slapping against my skin as i jerked myself harder. I stilled my movements for a second, making sure that I couldn’t hear him stirring. It gave me a few moments to collect myself though I knew I was already close. Eri just had an affect on me that I despised and craved in every way. When I deemed the coast clear, i resumed my rough pulls, rolling my hips until they lifted off the mattress. I dug my toes into the bedding, keeping my feet firm as I fucked up into my hand. Fuck...just a little more. A little bit more of my cock falling deeper inside Eri. A little bit more of the way her tits bounced with every thrust. A little bit more of those lust filled gazes that begged me to make her cum. Make me cum, Johnny. Please make me cum. Pl-please…

My free hand flew to my hair grabbing it hard as thick ropes of cum painted my stomach in hot spurts. I left go of my shaft and squeezed at my balls, milking every last bit I had. My thighs were trembling just a bit as I worked to straighten out my cramped legs. There was a slight burn in my calf muscles and I flexed my toes trying to get the blood to circulate again instead of being pooled at my dick. I finally opened my eyes and exhaled deeply.

Jesus…

My cum was already starting to settle into a stickiness that i hated. Now was as good a time as ever to get up and shower. Getting out of bed was becoming a nuisance and i was getting real fucking tired of having to be a functioning adult. But who knows, maybe I'd get to work on time and actually be able to eat a breakfast sandwich and drink some coffee.

I grumbled as i got up and made my way to bathroom, trying not to slam the door shut. I turned on the faucet and put the shower on blast before stepping in. I shoved my head under the boiling spray as if it would somehow wash away all the dirty thoughts i just had about Eri.

Eri’s POV

Wyd?

Johnny's infamous line- which was code for ‘do you want to fuck?’- flashed across the bottom of a new snapchat picture he had sent me. His hand was behind his head as he reclined back in his bed, shirtless. The angle of the picture seemed to be high up and if i squinted hard enough I could see a faint mark on his ribcage. Was that a bite mark or a hickey? I stared at the unending picture as he didn't bother to set a timer for it, scrutinizing the details as I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

“You alright in there?” I heard Ten say from outside of the bathroom door.

I jumped up at his sudden voice. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine!” Damn Ten for interrupting my investigation. My eyes retreated to the picture, traveling down Johnny’s abs to that diabolical happy tail that never failed to make my thighs clench. That was when I saw it. Just at the edge of the screen there was a flash of blonde hair while gaudy sparkling pink nails rested on his hip. Had he really just asked me to fuck while another chick was still laid up in his bed? What the hell was wrong with him?

“What a fuckin’ cuckwad! Ugh, i HATE him!”

Ten poked his head in. “Uh….you alright?”

I resisted the urge to throw my phone at him. It wasn’t Ten’s fault that Johnny was a disgusting pig but I just couldn’t help the rage I felt boiling under my skin. “Nothing, I’m fine.” I lied as I got up from the toilet and grabbed my shorts from the floor.

“Did you uh...have trouble getting the plug in our something?” He followed after me quickly and I flopped onto the bed face down, taking caution not to disturb the plug he had coerced into wiggling inside me.

“No, i got it in fine.”

“You seemed pissed off…”

“I’m not.”

He eased his lithe body on top of me, placing soft kisses to my cheek and neck. “Kitten, don’t lie to me. Would me fucking you senseless help with your aggression?”

I rolled my eyes at his half sarcastic statement. “No. I just…” I didn't want to say that I was angry that Johnny had snapped me while he was with one of his stupid chickenheads. Wasn't it written somewhere in the fuckboy rule book to keep your tricks separate from one another anyway? I wasn't jealous of course. Just disgusted by his stupidity and carelessness. Quinn was far from right. I wasn't getting soft, especially not over this prick. “Nevermind. I'm fine.” I sighed and stared at the now empty notification box beside his username.

“Johnny got you fucked up?”

I almost slammed my head into Ten's at his salacious quip. “Excuse me?!”

“Well you're staring at his snapchat like it's going to kill you. What did he do now?”

“Nothing. I don't care about him or whatever he sent me.” I set my head down onto the mattress and tried to convince myself that I was unbothered by it all. Ten snatched my phone out of my hand and opened the in app camera.

“Since when have you ever been a pouty baby over some dick? C'mere.” He forced my head up again and attacked my lips with a deep and invading kiss. I couldnt help the small whimper I made as i clutched at his shoulder, trying to keep up with his sudden forcefulness. When he pulled away, a smirk was on his lips while I was still trying to catch my breath.

“What was that..?” I panted softly.

“Now Johnny can see just how busy you are and leave us the fuck alone. You're mine tonight and you know that.” He quickly typed something on my phone before handing it back to me. “Now he knows too.”

“What did you do, you little shit?” I questioned.

“Oh nothing… but if I'm not mistaken you're not supposed to be able to talk.”

Before i knew it he had removed himself from on top of me and tossed me on my back. My legs spread open easily as he looked down at me. His hands ran over my thighs and I could tell that behind those devilish eyes he was plotting something. I was going to be at his mercy. I worked tomorrow and needed to keep the marks to a minimum so I wouldn't be able to be my normal bratty self and put up a good struggle. Even though I hated being completely obedient i kept my mouth shut and only watched in curiosity. Ten slid off the bed, commanding me not to move, while he retreated to his closet. I heard the jingle of buckles and the hard snap of leather. I swallowed hard and took a deep breath before Ten trapped my wrists within the confines of the leather cuffs. He hooked them onto his headboard, making sure that I wouldn’t try and squirm away.

“You ready?”

Johnny's POV

Busy. Tch.

Busy.

I dont know why that stupid video annoyed me. I could give a rat's ass about her being gross with Ten but she didnt have to send it to me. It was bad enough that she was blowing me off to do whatever kinky shit they did. What the hell could he do that I couldn't? Tie her up or some shit? Please, that was hardly enough skill to make anyone cum. I grit my teeth and tossed my phone to the floor not wanting to think about her bullshit.

“What are you doing looking at your phone when I'm here?” Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard and I had regretted ever inviting this chick to my place. It was a spur of the moment thing. I guess someone who i had hooked up with a while ago was friends with her and she managed to find me on instagram. She was close by and i wanted to use her to get my mind off Eri. That took a turn for the worse. I had fingered her and she blew me. I came but it was far from orgasmic or spectacular. It was mediocre at best and my body seemed to have just gone through the standard reactions to get her to believe that she had made me feel good. Hell, I couldn't even remember her name. While we were in our rest period, I started to think about how much better Eri felt, against my better judgement. Our sex was on a whole other level and I knew she would be able to get me off better than this bimbo ever could. That was when I bit the bullet and snapped her. I guess it just didn't cross my mind that it was already Thursday and she had her little “date” with Ten.

Now, whatever the fuck her name was, was whining and trying to coax my attention back to her. She was practically begging me to fuck her in the most unappealing way. I tried my best to hide my eye roll and fake a smile all while avoiding her kisses. I wasn't in the mood for that...intimacy. Especially not with someone who I didnt think deserved it and probably slobbered like a dog. I guided my fucktoy's head instead to my neck, making up an excuse about how good her kisses felt elsewhere. I didn't want to fuck her, not one bit, but this annoyance and anger wouldn't get out of my head. I didn't care about making her feel good. I didn't care about touching her and I sure as hell didn't care if I made her cum. I just needed to fuck the irritation away.

It was 0 to 100 in seconds flat. I threw a condom on and went full force, balls deep inside her, angrily staring at the wall as every single last nerve in my body was worked. I could feel the vein in my neck throbbing as my teeth clenched again. I was slamming into her faster as I glared at the cracks and patterns in the drywall. They were morphing into weird shapes and making my eyes blur. I blinked a few times, trying to refocus but her voice was piercing through my eardrums. Great, a screamer. There was nothing I hated more than screamers. The grating sound just triggered something in the back of my mind that made me want to snap. I wasn't doing anything special at all yet she was screaming like it was the best dick she'd ever had. Maybe it was, or maybe she was faking it. Either way, it didn't matter. But now i had to try not to think about Eri and block out the annoying sounds.

I pressed her face into the surrounding pillows, hoping to muffle her enough that I could cum in peace. My fingers were digging into the back of her neck and her left hip as I focused my thrusts to go as deep as possible. My knees were already starting to give way a bit from having her bent over and ramming her from behind so hard so i was wishing for a swift ending. I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to zero in on the feeling of her wrapped around me but even then it was starting to feel like my skin was crawling. I tried to mask my sigh as a deep breath and not let it be known that Ms. Instagram Hookup was giving me a splitting headache. I edged my ear down to my shoulder, hearing the quick snap of the vertebrae in my neck as I tried to shake it off. I was boring daggers into the back of her skull now as she gripped the pillow and twisted it in her fists, her screams still vibrant as ever.

If only she was…

If only she had soft quiet moans that she tried to hide behind her pillowy soft lips. If only her skin felt like silk whenever it ghosted over mine. If only her nails dug into my back as she held onto me for dear life as she got closer and closer to her orgasm. If only i could trace her tattoos with my tongue and bite down on that little sensitive area by her-

Nonononono. I couldn't think about her. Not now. This couldn't happen, not when i was trying to-. Goddammit...it was useless. I could already feel myself swelling just at the prospect of Eri replacing this idiot. Why did Eri have to feel so fucking good? She was infecting my brain like a parasite and I wanted her out asap. I hated it. But god, i needed her. I kept thinking about her until this blonde dissolved into the new image of sensuality and lust i craved. My mind roamed to this morning when I saw that picture of her and made myself cum so hard that my thighs shook. I replayed her sweet shy voice saying what I desperately wanted to hear. Make me cum, Johnny. Please make me cum. Pl-please…

“Fuck, Eri…” I breathed out as my entire body shuddered and my orgasm hit me suddenly. Warmth spilled all over my cock as i rode out every last bit that I could, never wanting to let go of that feeling of cumming so deep inside her. She would reopen those scratches she left behind Monday afternoon and clamp down on me so tight that my breath would disappear. I felt a smirk cross my lips as I finally opened my eyes. Eri was gone now that the reality hit me and I was faced with my current nightmare. I could tell by the way her pale skin was turning tomato read that she was pissed off. Had I really just said Eri’s name out loud? I kicked myself internally as she shoved me off her and i fell back onto the bed.

“What the fuck did you just call me?”

Eri’s POV

“Are you okay?” Quinn asked as I stumbled into the apartment. It was almost 2am and my body was threatening to give out on me.

“Yeah, yeah. Just...the usual shit with Ten.” I kicked off my converses and went over to the kitchen to see what I could snack on. I needed something to give me some semblance of energy.

“What did he do this time?” They said in between crunches to some chips.

“What didn’t he do is always the better question. My thighs and ass are all marked up and bruised from him spanking me and hitting me the the leather paddle. There are bite marks on my hips and they hurt really fucking bad. My clit feels like it’s gonna fall off from all the vibrations and my ass is so sore from him plowing into it.” I found a solitary granola bar in the cabinet and ripped open the wrapper before stuffing half of it into my mouth. “He was trying to not give me any visible marks but that’s like asking a kid to say they don’t want candy.”

“Why do you do this to yourself? Every single time you come home exhausted and complaining. Maybe you should just try having regular sex.”

“I do have regular sex! I literally have regular sex with everyone else, that’s why I don’t do it with Ten or Yuta. Besides, I may complain about it but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t feel good.” I shuffled over to the couch and laid down, setting my head on their chest. “Pet my hair and tell me I’m not an idiot for doing this.”

“I’ll pet your hair but I’m not too sure about the last part.” They chuckled. I sighed softly as their fingers scratched at my scalp ever so slightly. My eyes were just starting to close when they mentioned that name that I was trying to forget about. “Have you heard anything from Johnny?”

I sat up straight. “Let me fuckin’ tell you what this bitch ass fuck boy sack of shit did to me!”

“OOOOOHHH fuck, what’s the teaaaaaa? I’m ready, lay it on me!”

“I was over at Ten’s, obvi, and he sent me a snap asking me his typical w-y-d.”

“So basically, do you want to fuck?” They said.

“Yes! But get this- he had another girl laid up in his bed when he sent me the snap.” I was almost screaming at this point, the vengefulness returning in a sudden burst.

“Wait, wait, wait. Let me get this straight. He asked you if you wanted to fuck, after he had fucked some other chick and was still laying in bed with her?”

“YUP.”

“Wow...that’s...you know we should honestly expect the absolute worst from him since he’s literally a fuck boy but it’s still pretty shitty. Especially that he wanted to fuck you after he was done with her. At least take a shower or something.” They sighed. “Are you gonna get with him again though?”

“God, no. He’s a tool and I literally have a bunch of other people I can be with. He can kick rocks.”

“Oh...good.”

There was an air of silence between us which made me uneasy. “Why do you ask?”

They shrugged, quickly. “I mean, not really a particular reason. I’ve just been kinda screwing around with Jae more so I didn’t want it to be too weird since they’re roommates and all and I may invite him over. His room is a disgusting dumpster fire and I hate being in there with him.”

“Oh. No, yeah, that’s totally fine. I don’t care about that. I thought you were going to say you were going to try and get with Johnny or something.”

“I mean...it wouldn’t particularly matter because you guys were never together and only fucked twice. It wouldn’t make sense for you to be upset about it. If it was to happen I mean- all hypothetical and shit. But I’m a good friend and he’s gross so I’ll just stick to Lucas, Jae, Taeyong, Yuta, Taeil, and any other ones I happen to find along the way.”

“Wait a minute. Taeil? As in hot library, red undercut, ‘I spent all that time chilling with him at the party’ Taeil?” I asked. There was a bit of venom in my voice as this was just about to add another layer of irritation to my already peaking anger.

“Yeah, him! I went to the library because I actually needed some help but then we got to talking and stuff and it just kinda happened. It was so cute because he was a virgin and he had been so shy when I was flirting with him. He’s also really good at giving head. Like obnoxiously good for a virgin.”

“Well I guess that’s one more person I can say that I wanted to get with but you got to him first.” I rolled my eyes and got up slowly from the couch. “I’m gonna go to bed now.”

“Aww, Eri, you can still have him! You don’t like virgins anyway. Remember what happened with-”

“Yes.” I snapped. “I remember. It’s fine. I actually need help for my class so I will ask him to help me study. You know, real study so I can actually pass.”

I saw the pout on Quinn’s face and would almost feel bad about my wisecrack if it wasn’t for the fact that this always happened. It wasn’t my fault that all they did was laze around and barely go to their classes because they couldn’t figure out what they wanted to do with their life. I didn’t even try to disguise my eyeroll and instead retreated to my room, shutting the door tightly behind me. Fridays were my off days from classes and I didn’t have to go into work early. I could use the day to recover and I would be back in time before the radio show. The radio show…

I frowned just at the thought of hearing Johnny’s voice coming through the speakers. I wouldn’t listen to it tomorrow. No way in hell. I was going to block out every possible trace of him. I tossed off my clothes and pulled on an oversized shirt and some shorts before burrowing under my comforter. I wanted to be a silent burrito that could disappear under the safety of my blanket and never resurface. I closed my eyes and curled up into my usual fetal position, ready to settle into sleep when I heard my phone vibrate. I had tossed it onto the bed while I changed and it was buzzing beside my head now. I sighed and pulled it close to me, annoyed at the brightness of the screen. I had thought it would be Ten, telling me that I had forgotten something at his place but instead it was a text message from the last person i wanted to have contact with.

Johnathan: had fun with ten?

I shoved my face into my pillow and screamed. I wanted to throw my phone across the room but all i could do was think about a dozen or so things I wanted to say back to him. It to burn, to sting, and piss him off as much as he pissed me off. I decided to snap a quick picture of the bite marks that trailed up my thighs towards my hips. I sent it off with a retort;

Oh tons. Way better than what you probably had with malibu barbie

A few minutes passed by without a response and I thought I had gotten rid of him until my phone lit up again.

Johnathan: what?

Johnathan: who’s malibu barbie?

I rolled my eyes and turned onto my left side to try and ease the pressure on my bites.

The blonde chick you forgot to cut out of your snap. I saw her. Dont particularly like being a booty call after you’ve fucked someone else.

Johnathan: Oh...

Johnathan: that’s why i wanted you to come over

Johnathan: but fuck me i guess

Johnanthan: or not lol

You’re literally a fuckin’ douche, you know that?

Johnathan: eh so i’ve been told.

Johnathan: but like what’s the big deal anyway? You fuck a bunch of people too

Yah but i’m not an asshole about it

Johnathan: that video begs to differ. You think i wanted to see ten shoving his tongue down ur throat?

He took my phone, i didn’t even know he was recording

Johnathan: still gross

Johnathan: but whatever

Johnathan: i’ve got other people to fuck

So do i asshole.

Johnathan: cool

Johnathan: see ya

I flipped my phone over making sure that i could ignore the light from the screen. Nothing came from that conversation except him proving that I didn’t want anything to do with him. I pulled my comforter to my neck and could already feel the tension headache mounting. I was fine with never talking to him again. He dug that hole for himself. Maybe i would still go after Taeil. If he really was as good at head as Quinn had made him out to be he was already a thousand times better than Johnny in my book.

Johnny's POV

It had been close to two weeks since that fiasco where I said Eri’s name when I was in bed with that other girl. I hadn’t told anyone about it and I hoped to all hell that she hadn’t said anything either. College chicks were notorious for talking shit behind everyone’s back. Last thing I needed was word to get out and it ruining my reputation of the “hit it and quit it” king. I would never hear the end of it from the group chat.

It had also been two weeks since Eri and I’s final conversation. There wasn’t a single text or snap exchanged between us. We barely even acknowledged each other during class. I sat as far away from her as possible and she always left the second the professor let us out. I didn’t bother to try and reach out to her either. Maybe it was just better this way. The further away from her I was the better. My body felt like it was going through the ringer anyway- alternating between going to the gym, my three jobs, and school- i was hardly getting any sleep. My classes were blasting me with projects left and right, I had to make more promotions for the club I Dj’d at on top of performing there, Jae and I had to constantly make up new material for our radio show, my bartending job wanted me to work weekdays now, and what’s worse was I hadn’t even had time for any hookups. My bed had been barren even though I had gotten plenty of offers. Dozens of messages were left on read and I was almost starting to think I’d never get any ass with how busy I was. I couldn't catch a break.

I had a closing shift today and halfway into the afternoon rush I was ready to book it. My shoulders were already killing me and my feet were throbbing in my work boots. Only 5 more hours to go. I sighed softly as I set down the frappuccino on the counter, calling out the customer's name before heading back to the register to take care of the next one. “What can i get you?” I hadn’t really bothered to look up as I was used to customers just blurting out their orders as soon as they got to the counter. When that didn’t happened I glanced up over the rim of my glasses and wanted to scream.

“Shit.”

“Fuck.”

“What are you doing here?” I spat.

“I guess I can’t go anywhere around this town without seeing your ass around.” She replied.

“It could possibly be because we go to the same college, have the same class, and now you’re in the damn coffee shop I work at.”

“I can’t get a coffee now, either?”

“You can get it and leave.”

“Well that’s no way to talk to a customer. Maybe I should speak to your manager.” Eri smirked as she glared up at me.

Just my fucking luck. Of course she would show up right when I was starting to finally ignore all the little intrusive thoughts about her. I had been doing okay the last week or so. My glances towards her in class were winding down to a minimum and I could at least jack off without thinking about her now. I was starting not to care entirely and she had to invade my world yet again. I sighed and fixed the frames on my face. She was just another annoying customer that was ready to push all my buttons. “Seriously, what do you want? To order I mean.” I said flatly.

She glanced up at the menu, drumming her fingers against her chin and taking her sweet ass time pretending to think her options over. I rolled my eyes before surveying her outfit choice. She looked dressed up for something which was strange to see. I had been so used to her grungy ‘never got over my scene phase' attire that it caught me off guard. She had on a black button up shirt and tight dress pants that looked like they could barely hold in her thick thighs. I settled on her thighs way too long, thinking back to the night when all i could do was imagine how good Eri would feel instead of the girl I was fucking. I internally cursed at myself. Thinking of that shit was the last thing I needed right now. Maybe it was my lack of fucking that made my brain start to devote my entire thought process to her. I wanted my hands fisted around her wrists as I fucked into her so hard that she wrapped her legs around my waist. I wanted to make her moan my name into my ear as we came hard together. My mouth was starting to go dry a bit as I swam through an ocean of lust in my head. I had barely heard her order.

“H-huh?” I blinked a few times as i stopped spacing out.

“I said a vanilla chai latte with two pumps of cinnamon” She repeated. “Please.” She enunciated the last word with such passive aggressive sweetness. What a little shit.

“Oh, right. Uh...what size?”

“Hmm...” She bit on her thumbnail coyly. She was lucky there wasn't anyone behind her. She was taking her sweet ass time and i wanted to know why.

“You know i dont have all day.” I managed to finally spit out.

“Fuck off, I’m just trying to figure out how much i need to get me through work. I'll take a grande though.”

I nodded and rang her up, drumming my fingers on the counter as she dug through her purse. She was pulling out singles haphazardly, scrounging for loose change here and there. Just to annoy her i tapped the tip jar on the counter beside me. Her eyes went wide and her cheeks flushed a little. “How about i tip you…later?”

“Ohhh so now you want to be on my dick. Hate to break it to you but pussy doesnt pay rent, babe.” I scoffed. She looked a little defeated and buried her face back in her purse in search of her change. I rolled my eyes. “Any day now.”

“S-sorry.” Her voice seemed timid now as she pushed the contents of her purse back inside. “Cancel that order.”

I raised an eyebrow at her wondering about her sudden change of heart. “Why?” I asked.

“Uh...just...I guess I didn’t have as much time as I thought. I should get going.”

That was when I realized that she didn’t have enough money. Her face was coated in embarrassment and she was fumbling over everything. It was interesting to see her so flustered to say the least. I did kind of feel bad though. Working in this shit town never paid enough to survive, even if it was just for a simple cup of coffee. I fixed my snapback and adjusted my glasses, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. “If you still want it I can use it as my free drink today. If you have enough time, that is.”

“What? No...you dont-” i had no idea why her stumbling over her words was started to appear as cute to me.

“Chill, it's whatever. Don’t worry about it. You got time for it or what?”

She nodded meekly and I grabbed a grande cup off the top of the stack beside me. I took the sharpie i had tucked behind my ear and scribbled her name on it. I went to work making her drink, seeing her drop the sparse amount of singles she had in the tip jar out of the corner of my eye. I wanted to take back what i said before about the tips. I shouldn't have teased her about it. I looked down at my watch as i capped her drink, realizing it was time for my break. I set it down on the counter and called out to her. “Hey, you got ten minutes you can kill?”

She walked over and grabbed her drink carefully. “Yeah, i uh… don’t actually have to be at work for another half hour.”

I gave her a small smile, trying to reassure her. “It’s ok. Just wait for me.”

She nodded and retreated to a table in the far back of the cafe, away from everyone in her typical emo fashion. I told my coworker i was going on break before heading out to sit across from Eri.

“Sorry about the-” she started.

I waved her off. “We all know what it's like to be broke, right? Shit sucks.”

“I meant about the tip thing...i-i mean i'm a waitress so i know how it is. I felt so bad.”

“Oh so that's why you're all dressed up.”

She chuckled lightly. “Yeah, if you want to call it that. This is the before, the after aint so pretty.” She took a small sip of her latte before setting it between us. I set my arms on the table and leaned in a bit mulling over if i should ask her to hook up tonight. I wasn't exactly sure if she was still mad at me. I had gotten over the stupid shit with the video for the most part. Ten had always been an asshole and i'm sure it was secretly part of some revenge plot he had against me because i wouldn't sleep with him. I still wished she had been with me that night though.

“Where do you work at?” i asked.

“Italian restaurant. I come home smelling like garlic bread and overpriced wine.”

“Sexy.” I smiled a bit and traced the plastic rim of the coffee cup with my index finger. “But now you can trade me pasta for coffee, right?”

“Maybe. You might have to fight Quinn for the pasta though. They always like to eat my leftovers.”

“I could probably do a little extra convincing to get you to cough it up.” Our legs brushed against one another under the table and i watched as her teeth nibbled at her bottom lip gently. The warm rosy tone on her lips accentuated the fullness of them and i was half tempted to pull her into my lap and kiss her hard. My self control seemed to be leaving my body faster than i wanted it too. My nerves were already electric at the slightest touch of her fingers across the back of my hand. The warmth of the latte and her tender caresses was making me shiver. Her fingers were following the length of mine now, drawing light designs into my skin. I uncurled my fingers from the cup, entranced by the way she moved to follow the lines of my palm. “What are you doing?” i almost whispered. My throat felt like it was starting to close up.

“Nothing, really…” Her deep brown eyes flickered up to me reflecting that she had something else on her mind. She cocked her head to the side and chewed harder on her bottom lip. “I haven’t really seen you around much. Even in class it seems like you’re gone before I even sit down.”

“I could say the same about you.” I adjusted myself in the hard seat, trying to will myself to pull my hand away. Her gentle touches and the way her leg kept nudging against mine had me feeling some type of way. I needed to calm down. “But after our last conversation I guess I just thought you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“That’s for damn sure. You’re still a pig.”

“But…?”

She sighed. “But i just...i mean like...a lot of shit has been going on with my life and I haven’t had a break.”

“A break? You have half of Asia in your bed and you cant catch a “break”?” I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “Seems unlikely.”

“I do not have half of Asia in my bed, shut up!” She shoved at my shoulder.

“Are you just going down the line and checking each country off? Like a yellow fever bucket list?”

“Oh my fuckin’ god. It is not like that at all! Ya’ll just happen to like all hang out together and it just like...happened, ok?! I get with other people. All kinds of people. Disappointing people even.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure that’s exactly how it happened.” I stole a quick sip of her latte. “Who disappointed you?”

Eri waved me off and tapped my hand so i could let go of the cup. I didn’t let it go. “No one you know. A random guy. He was wack. Like...really wack. He had the audacity to ask me if I came and I was like ‘yeah to my fucking senses’.”

“Fuck!” I almost choked on another sip of the latte. “Did you seriously say that to him?!”

“Uh, yeah! He was basically using me as a human fleshlight which made no sense. I can’t believe i’m telling you this. All it’s gonna do is inflate your ego.”

“Wow, rude. It’s not inflating my ego. But I will soothe yours. “Malibu Barbie” wasn’t that great either. I honestly have never wanted to bolt so fast out of there.” I didn’t dare speak of how much i thought about her instead.

“So if i’ve had a shitty hookup and you’ve had a shitty hookup, why aren’t we hooking up?”

“Oh my god, because you were being a dick about the whole snap thing!” I protested.

“That’s because you were an asshole who sent a gross ass picture and had an ever more gross response.”

“Oh yeah? What about the video of Ten’s tongue down your throat?”

“I didn’t even send it! He did!” She pouted and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Whatever, let’s just call it fucking even.”

“Sounds like you’re desperate for dick.” She opened her mouth to say something then snapped it shut quickly. I tried to hide my laughter but it felt so good to beat her at her own game.

“I am not desperate for dick, ok? I just figured if you wanted to we could…besides it sounds like your track record hasn’t been that great either.”

“There hasn’t been a track record for like two weeks actually. Life’s just...kicking my ass I guess. A lot of shit to do and not enough time to fuck.”

“I don’t believe that one bit, Johnny. You always find time to fuck.” she laughed and set her hand under her chin. “Anyway it would be nice to just have a regular kind of fling, you know? With someone who’s not a big cuddly baby or wants me to be tied up and tortured for hours.”

“Wow, I’m shocked. You don’t want to be tortured? Are you feeling ok? Sure you don’t have a fever?” I set my hand on her forehead pretending to feel her temperature.

“Oh shut up! You sound worse then Quinn.” She laughed. “I’ve just been so tired lately. Sometimes I just want something simple that feels good but it’s been a little hard to find someone who can do it and do it well.”

“Hmm, well when you find someone let me know. It sounds great.” I chuckled a bit, being a glutton for punishment and wanting to see her smile some more.

“Jerk.” Eri kicked my leg playfully. “All i’m saying is...i mean...If you're not too tired-”

“Yes.” I said a little too fast for my liking.

There it was- her smile. Soft, a little shy, and charming in a way that you’d never expect from her. “You can come to my place this time. I usually get home around 10:30.”

“Yeah, same here. Text me your address?”

She nodded and chewed at her lip again, just for a second or two, a habit that was beginning to drive me to insanity. She seemed to do it every time she was hesitating, preparing to do or say something that was going to send my mind into vivid dreams about never leaving her bed. Now I could only concentrate on my desire for her lips. I wanted them on mine, on my neck, on my cock, everywhere. She seemed to have other plans though. She bought my fingertips to her lips, pressing tender kisses against each one. I wanted to pull my hand away again, especially before someone noticed, but the way her warm lips felt on my skin had me on edge. “E-Eri?” I panicked.

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Just remembering how good these felt down my throat is all.”

My eyes went wide. I cant believe she had actually said that. “You’re fucking ridiculous, you know that right?” I laughed a bit, trying to ignore the way my cock was twitching in my jeans. I sat up a little straighter in the chair, not wanting to get a damn chub at work.

“Why? Because you were thinking the same thing?”

“Ah...um…” My mouth wasn't getting those snappy comebacks out quick enough now. “Shut up.” It was the only thing I could come up with as a retort.

She smirked and I knew she wanted to have the last jab just to say she was better at reeling me back in. “Well i should get going now. Don't want to be too late.” We stood up at the same time and I was sure neither of us wanted to leave just yet. I looked around for a moment, making sure that I wouldn't be within the sight of someone who could get me fired, before cupping her chin in my hand. I guided her towards me, my head already angled for a kiss. My watch went off suddenly, signaling the end of my break. Of course. We both let out little exasperated sighs.

“Guess I have to go now too.” I leaned down just enough so that our lips were close but weren’t touching. “See you tonight.”

I left her then, trying not to look back at her and show how much i wanted her. I hoped the rest of my shift passed by fast. I couldn't wait to get in her bed.

Eri’s POV

I flipped my hair back, running my fingers through it as I finished towel drying. My feet had been killing me but i managed to take a shower and get the smell of garlic off me. It was already nearing 11:30 and i was ready to crawl into bed and pile blankets on top of me. In fact I was already climbing into bed when I heard a knock on the door. Shit. Johnny. I had totally forgotten that I invited him over. I groaned, wanting to kick my past self for being endlessly horny for him even though he didn’t give me the time of day. Stupid big dick bastard. I trudged over to the door wondering if there was possibly a decent way to say “Go the fuck home I’m tired.”

I opened it and was met face to face with his hands propped up on either side of the door way. He licked his lips as soon as he saw me, a smirk toying at them. The ends of my hair were still wet and dripping onto my tank top, darkening the fabric and flushing me with cold. “Hey.” Was all he said. I pulled away from the door allowing him in. I could smell the freshness of his cologne mixed in with with the slight fruitiness of his shampoo. Thank god he took a shower too at least. I gave him the once over, my eyes resting at his sweatpants, as he kicked off his sneakers. Though i was dead tired there was still a part of me screaming to let him fuck me.

Johnny looked around my apartment that was significantly cleaner than his. “Nice place.”

“Mhm, my room doesn't even have a pile of clothes on the floor. Or empty Starbucks cups and condom wrappers.”

“Hah hah, very funny. Which one is yours anyway? Oh wait never mind, it’s the one with the giant poster of a band who's logo looks like a bunch of twigs thrown together, right?”

“Oh no. That's totally Quinn's room.” I ignored his stupid wisecrack and headed towards my room with him following me. The soft sounds of my spotify playlist melted into the room filling it with smooth, jazzy feminine vocals. I had a three wick candle burning and my lights already dimmed making it look like i was intentionally trying to seduce him. However, this was all my plan for heading the fuck to sleep.

“Uh...what's going on here?” Johnny asked, a very stunned expression on his face.

“Ok...to be honest I forgot you were coming over. This is how i like to fall asleep sometimes so I know it looks seductive but it ain't for you, homie.”

“I was about to say, damn, buy me dinner first.” He headed over to my bed and laid down, folding his hands behind his head. I rolled my eyes and crawled in beside him.

“I think we're already passed the ‘buy me dinner’ point, dont you think?”

He shrugged and looked up at me. “I still like to eat.” He moved his hand to cup my chin pulling me closer for a tender kiss. His tongue licked at my bottom lip slowly before he pressed his lips against mine fully. He wasn't trying to invade my mouth just yet but the warm sensual fueled caresses made my heart thunder. My hand settled on his chest feeling the soft thrum of his heart beneath my fingertips as I eased myself over him. I straddled his waist and settled the center of my panties against the slight bulge in his sweats.

“You’re not wearing underwear, are you?” I chuckled and sunk my hips down against him.

“Hell no. Why should I? You were just gonna-” He interrupted his sentence with a loud yawn, covering his mouth quickly. “Fuck, sorry.”

“Oh, am I boring you now?” I teased.

“No...no of course not. I’ve just been drained. But I wanted to hook up. Like...really wanted to, especially after today.”

I nodded. “Me too. That’s why I still invited you here. But you can stay if you want.”

He sat up quickly, almost knocking me off him. “I don’t sleep over. Ever.”

“Yah, Quinn has the same rule too but it’s no big deal. I mean we’re both tired.”

“Nah, I’m chill. I’m gonna go.” He tapped my thigh, signaling for me to move. “Get up.”

I pressed my chest to his, kissing up his neck towards his ear. “Relax, Johnny. You think I’m gonna fall in love with you just because you wake up next to me? That’s gross.” I nipped at his ear playfully.

“No, you don’t understand. There’s a reason I don’t sleep over. Can you get off?”

“What’s the reason?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “If you’re not gonna get up then I’m gonna throw you off.”

“Oh I fuckin’ dare you. You will get the beating of your life.”

“What’s your short ass gonna do?” He lifted me up swiftly into his arms and stood up as I tried not to scream in fear of him actually tossing me. I whacked his shoulder, feeling him start to let go.

“Johnny!! Don’t you dare!”

He let me fall a bit before catching me again, making me squeak and reel back towards the bed. He was already laughing at my struggle, especially since I was trying to grab at anything from the bed to pin myself down. My hand managed to wrap around my pillow and i swung it at him, catching the side of his head.

“You little shit!” He dropped me into the mattress, almost falling onto me himself. My legs were splayed out to the side as i giggled and tried to hit him again. Johnny blocked my attempt, snatching the pillow and hitting me instead. “How do you like that?!”

“Jerk!” I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer to me. “That all you got?”

“Well I’m not gonna spank you if that’s what you’re after.” He smiled and lowered his head to give me another kiss. “You’re really annoying, you know that?”

“Mhm, sure I am.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Kiss me again.”

He licked my lips before whispering against them. “Say please.” I pouted and tried to connect us but he pulled away a bit, his hand tangling itself in my hair to keep my head back. “No. Say please.”

I sighed. “Please?”

He gave me a quick peck on the lips. “There.”

“Ass. You made me say please and that’s what you give me?” I slid my hands down his back, slipping them under his cut off shirt.

“Well what more do you want from me, hm?”

I swallowed back, almost afraid to say what was clawing at my tongue. “Fuck me...”

Johnny kissed along my jawline as he pulled my hands from under his shirt and pinned them above my head, almost mimicking our first time together in his room. “Yeah? Do you want to cum that bad?”

I nodded, nipping at his throat ever so slightly. “Do it so i can fall asleep.”

He sucked his teeth. “You idiot.” he laughed, a deep kinda awkward staccato. It was the first time I had ever made him laugh with something I said; the first time we had ever really been personable with each other. The playful banter mixed in with the slow teasing was making butterflies infest my stomach. I was staring up at him, watching those warm honey eyes crinkle just a bit through his smile. And just for a moment, the dim lighting, the candle, the music; it all sent me to a warm and vulnerable place. That place was dangerous territory and i was tip toeing on a fine line I was never supposed to cross.

“We didn't think this through, did we?” He said, yawning again. “What if I fall asleep fucking you?” He was joking but there was a slight thrill in his words for me.

“Then you'd stay inside me all night and you'd be the first thing I felt in the morning.”

His face and ears flushed so fast that I was caught off guard by that instance of embarrassment. “U-uh...w-what?”

“I told you I wanted you to fuck me.” I said. “So do it. Until i cum, until we fall asleep, whatever. I just need it.”

He gulped audibly as his eyes fell to the wayside. He didn’t say much further, only buried his face against my neck to lash soft licks against it. I exhaled softly, drifting my eyes closed and focusing on the heat of his body pressing into me. His kisses were turning into eager bites as his head traversed the expanse of my chest. His tongue wrapped around my nipple through the damp fabric teasing it until my breath eased into tiny gasps. I managed to wiggle my leg between his thick thighs, nudging against the bulge in his sweats. A delicate moan stayed trapped in his throat as his hips took the opportunity to create friction against me.

His hands finally released their grasp on mine and I drew my fingers up to the nape of his neck. Meanwhile, he reconnected our lips making the kiss heavier, deeper, slower. All the attention was starting to make them tender and my head felt like it was swimming. It wasnt like this was the first time we had had sex but it felt...more intimate and i had no idea why. I longed for a just another spare moment to recover again. With a soft shove i managed to create some space between us. Johnny looked down at me, raising a brow in confusion. “You good?” He asked, licking his lips

I ignored the back and forth thoughts in my head; weren’t you supposed to fall asleep? Weren’t you supposed to not care that he hadn’t texted you in two weeks? Weren’t you supposed to ignore the fact that everything he did, no matter how stupid, made you crave his attention, his body, his touch? He always made me second guess my intentions but i had to keep them hidden. We were just fuck buddies after all. Nothing particularly serious even though i lived to have him inside me. My stomach continued to do flips while my brain floated between thoughts. I simply nodded at him and encouraged him to continue. His thumbs descended under the waistband of my shorts easing them down until i was able to kick them off. His next move was pulling my tank top over my head and tossing it behind him so i was presented just for him.

He placed a winding trail of kisses from my belly button up to my breast before he eased a warm bite over my nipple. I pressed my lips into a thin line, trying to suppress a heavy moan, especially when his large hand pried my thighs open. His fingers drifted between my folds, sliding through the slickness that had already begun to gather. With a gentle push his finger tip made its way inside, making small thrusts before sliding back up to wrap tantric circles around my clit. As he explored the most eager of places, my hand found itself anchored in his hair as I was determined to keep him close. I pulled slightly and a deep groan rumbled from him as he tilted his head towards the tugs. With that simple distraction I worked my thigh against him, feeling his cock, hard and needy, beneath the thin fabric of his sweatpants. He rutted against my thigh, grinding into my bare skin greedily.

“Pull my hair again.” he groaned. Now it was my turn for my face to flush in surprise. Though it was the most basic of turn-on’s, i never expected Johnny to like it.

“Um...o-okay.” I gave his hair another tug and it seemed to set off a chain reaction: another groan and rough kiss, another rough grind against my thigh, another thrust of his finger as it curled against my walls ever so slightly. I arched up into him, one hand steadying his wrist while the other gripped at his shoulder, almost clawing at his stupid shirt that I didn’t want on him any longer. I thrusted my hips into his hand wanting him to add more fingers to stretch me out just as bad as he wanted the continued friction against his cock. Even his lips were still calling out for attention. With his forehead pressed against mine i stole a few hot presses before trapping his bottom lip between my teeth and diving my tongue into his mouth. A second finger joined the first and quick curls had his knuckles pressed against almost every sensitive area within me. My nails dug indentations into his wrist and I could barely wait any longer.

“I got some condoms on the dresser.” I mumbled through the soft mewls I was making. He nodded, showing a bit of irritation that we had to separate and almost making me whine as he pulled away. He treaded over to my dresser while I found the strength to adjust myself on the bed, securing the pillow under my head.

“Where at-?”

“In that little box on the top. I got some magnums in there just for you.”

“How thoughtful.” He plucked one out and held it between his teeth as he pulled away his clothes. He tore the wrapper open, spitting out the strip of gold before easing the rubber on and rejoining me. When we reconnected, he guided my hand to his covered cock while his fingers resumed the deep pressure inside me. My palm gathered the lubricant that decorated his tip, adding extra pleasure to my long strokes to his shaft. His eyes fluttered closed and he dove his face into my neck, hiding the shy look on his face. My heart was starting to pound and i couldn't help but pathetically whimper out his name. It earned me a small bite to my collarbone and a rough buck into my hand.

“Need you…” He breathed. I nodded and wrapped my legs around him, settling him in his rightful place between my thighs. I pulled the covers over us securing our warmth from my air conditioned room. He kept himself propped up so he wouldn’t crush me, his temple cradled in the palm of his unoccupied hand. He looked down at me with a sleepy smile on his face and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“You are so out of it. Do you want to stop? You can just sleep, you know.”

He shook his head quickly and pushed his bangs back. “I’ll sleep after you cum, trust me. I’m fine. Just tell me what you want, ok?” He whispered against my shoulder. Of all the things I had said and done in the bedroom I had no idea how to even began telling Johnny my wishes without turning into an embarrassed puddle. When i didn’t respond verbally he sent a confused look my way. “Eri?”

The way he said my name made me clench and ache for him. I still couldn’t fathom saying anything but i managed to wrap my fingers around his shaft and let him slip between my lower lips. He caught onto my miniscule movement and edged his hips towards me over and over as the ridge of his head ghosted over my clit and filled me with excitement. I slid my arm underneath his, clutching at his shoulder tight as i buried my face in his chest, keeping my moans to myself. Every once in awhile he would sink his tip into me, testing the waters of my comfort. His shaft was easily spreading my slickness between us but having him fill me after so long was seeming to become a reoccuring challenge. He flittered kisses between my neck and shoulder while his hand tangled itself within my hair, softly scratching at my scalp. The other now took up residence on my hip, pulling my thigh around his waist as he started his slow and aching descent inside me.

My nails dug into his shoulder then as a weak moan escaped me. He muttered curses into my skin until he sunk in as far as he could go. “You okay?”

I simply nodded and squeezed my leg around him tight as my hips met his in an encouraging dance. He accepted my welcoming movement as an invitation to continue and started his languid thrusts, pulling out almost all the way before refilling me. My walls stretched around his shaft greeting each thrust with a small clench that already had every muscle in his back tensing. My fingers spread across his shoulder blades feeling the strength beneath his skin as he rocked himself into a steady rhythm. The hand remained between us spread my outer lips open feeling each push and pull. Every once in awhile i would meet my clit with eager strokes, drawing more pleasure out of me.

His eyes drank in the sight of my hand between us before returning to see me still hiding in his chest. He gripped my chin within his slender fingers, forcing our eyes to connect. “Let me see you.” He licked his lips slowly and exhaled. “Don’t hide from me. I want to see that fucked out look on you face.”

My eyes went wide for a moment. Literally, he picked this time to ruin such a perfect moment with yet another one of his gross porn lines. “Boy if you don’t-”

“Relax, I’m joking! I just wanted to hear you tell me to shut up or say that you like it better when i dont talk.” He laughed before sliding his arm around the small of my back and pulling me completely flush against him. “Call me a glutton for punishment I guess.”

“Yeah, you’re something all right.” I said. “A pain in the ass and-” I was cut off again by Johnny sitting back on his knees and pulling me up into his lap. I didnt know how it was possible but every inch of him felt deeper inside me. I covered my mouth and clung onto him as his hands cupped my ass.

“You good babe?” He smirked.

“Fuck...sh-shut up.” i buried my face in his neck as his hips focused all their attention into plowing up into me. All my thoughts were lost. My mouth ran dry and i could barely focus on anything else but the heated feeling in my stomach. He had only just begun and my thighs were already quivering with each harsh jerk.

“That's all i wanted to hear.” he whispered. His teeth were cutting across the skin of my collarbone, nails dragging devilish scratches across my ass cheeks, and forcing my hips to roll with his thrusts. The feeling was overwhelming and i could feel my eyes watering through how tightly they were squeezed shut.

“Please…” He stilled for a moment and i exhaled a breath i hadnt known i'd been holding. With my limbs clamped around him tight i finally begged him to make me cum, so desperate for the release i had missed for weeks. And even more desperate for that feeling of him swelling inside me and filling me with his warmth. “Make me cum, Johnny. Please make me cum. Pl-please…”

When he didn’t move for a few more seconds I looked up at him wondering exactly what he was thinking. In reality, I wanted to go back into hiding and ignore the fact that I had just begged a man to make me feel good but the look in his eyes snatched my breath away completely. Johnny pulled my head against his, crashing our lips together in a fevered rush. He continued to fuck up into me at a slow but harsh pace, stirring that astounding feeling inside me again and making me clench tight. I cupped his face in my hands, sliding a moan past his teeth while his thumb made my clit throb with renewed fervor. In a few short circles and raw thrusts i melted against him feeling all the pent up tension i had release into a fatiguing rush of pleasure. I slumped into his arms trying to regain what little strength i had left. He was rubbing my lower back gently while his other hand pushed my hair away from my face.

“Need to lay down?”

I nodded quickly and he slid out of me carefully, laying me onto the mattress. My body instantly curled up and i pulled my pillow close, gripping the case tightly. I could only hear his breaths evening out beside me until it shifted into quietness. I thought he had fallen asleep to be honest. I peeked my head up and poked his side a little, watching him twitch.

“What?’ he groaned.

“I thought you were going to sleep after you made me cum.” I chuckled.

“Hmm, I’d get there faster if you didn’t bug me.”

“Oh now you’re grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy. I’m just waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

He rolled his eyes and gestured towards his dick. “Ya know…”

“Oh my god, idiot, you can cum. You at least know how to make me feel good first. You’re like a unicorn in the Noah’s Arc of fuckboys.”

“What kind of fuckin’ analogy is that?!” He sucked his teeth and shoved me away playfully.

“It means you’re rare and shouldn’t actually exist. But I’m glad you do.”

He raised a brow at me. “You’re...glad I exist?”

“I-I mean for the sole purpose of fucking, okay?!” I buried my face in my pillow wondering why he made me act like such a goddamn fool.

“Of course. Just for fucking. Nothing else.” Johnny made his way on top of me, sliding back into me with the softest of grunts. I bit down on the pillow, sucking in a breath before relaxing under his touch. Thankfully, his thrusts weren’t as eager, instead they were lengthy and drawn out as his hands braced themselves against the bed beside mine. My eyes fluttered shut for a moment as I almost fell into sleep by just enjoying the way he felt inside me. His rhythmic sighs mimicked the way his fingers kept curling and trembling, as if looking for something to tether himself too. I inched my hand closer to the warmth of his palms, offering my wrist as a vision of comfort. Instead my hand disappeared under his, fingers intertwining with his harshly as his hips stuttered. I swallowed hard and tried to will my hand to move away from his but it was like I was frozen-trapped in a flurry of too intimate of emotions. Before I knew it the rush of his warmth spilled within the condom and my name tumbled from his lips in a deliciously low groan.

He lowered himself on top of me, taking care that he wouldn’t crush me although that effort was futile. His face was buried in the back of my neck and I expected him to let my hand go but we remained together. All i could do was stare at our hands, my heart racing against my ribs that were pressed against the mattress. “Um...Johnny?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t answer me and I couldn’t even look back at him with the way he was positioned on me. I laid there, trying to escape my feelings while my body relished in the way we stayed connected.

Johnny’s POV

I shifted a bit, feeling my body sticky with sweat. I thought I was having another night terror but I actually felt...normal in my head. Had I really slept through the whole night without any suffering? I opened my eyes and noticed the dim glow of a candle that was way too close to burning out. A sweet coconut smell was floating round me and I found that my face was buried in a sea of curls. I looked down at the body spooned against me and came to a grim realization. Fuck. I slept over.

I looked around frantically wondering what time it was. Maybe I had only been asleep for like twenty minutes. Twenty minutes wasn’t so bad. Her alarm clock was reading otherwise though. It was almost 6 am. Shit. Shit. SHIT. I tried to untangle myself from her but it was difficult given the fact that I was still inside her. I wanted to fucking kick myself. What the hell was the matter with me?! Even our hands were stuck together! I needed to leave asap. I separated our hands and slid out of her slowly, my body shuddering when I lost the feeling of her tight warmth around me. Why did it feel that good to be inside her all night?

I was losing my touch and my mind. There was no way the person i was a month ago would ever do this. I finally crawled out of the bed and tossed on my clothes before running out into the living room. I almost crashed into Quinn head on but was just barely able to stop myself. She stared at me with a half sleepy look on her face.

“What are you doing here?”

“Uh…..” I had no idea how to respond and i really didnt want to say ‘hey i fucked your roommate and actually stayed over and held her stupid hand all night like a fucking pussy ass baby!’. She would probably blab to Jae who would tell everyone else in the group chat and I didn’t want to be hounded by those idiots. The only thing I could think of to do was keep running. “Bye!” I left her standing there and grabbed my shoes, not even bothering to put them on, before flinging the door open. I headed down the stairs of the apartment building almost two at a time, not stopping until I got into my car. I slammed my hand against the steering wheel completely pissed at myself. I didn’t want to admit it but an annoying little voice was screaming at the back of my skull. Maybe I did like her.

JohnJae chat

Jae: what time did you come home last night bro?

Johnny: idk like...3 or 4 or sum shit

Johnny: why

Jae: i thought i heard you, lowkey thought i was dreamin tho

Jae: who was you with?

Jae: eri?;)

Johnny: no just some random chick

Johnny: doesnt matter

Jae: dont lie to me. I know you already. U keep hanging with her

Johnny: so what? i like fuckin her. Shes btr then half the tricks ive gotten with tbh

Jae: well…

Jae: ive kinda been hooking up with quinn

Jae: the blonde

Jae: eri's roommate

Johnny: yah i know who she is stupid. but you mean to tell me all this time ur doggin me about eri ur fuckin quinn again?

Jae: ehh like...6 or 7 times since the party

Johnny: BRO WTF

Jae: what?! Shes like horny ALL the time so she calls me

Jae: 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️

Johnny: hollup

The Boys Group Chat

Johnny: jae muthafuckin hyun over here fuckin quinn like 12 times. Yall talk about me being whipped for eri what abt him????!!!!

Jae: IT WASNT 12 TIMES

Lucas: yall need to back off from my women lol

Lucas: why cant you guys find other people

Ten: stop hogging them to urself

Ten: ur just the baby they take care of

Lucas: i am not a baby!!

Taeyong: its only bc they feel bad for you lmao

Lucas: fuck you. Its because i fuck them better then all of you do

Jae: MORE IMPORTANTLY

jae: johnny stayed over at eri's

Jae: i have may fucked quinn a lot but i still havent stayed over

Taeil: fuck are you serious?

Johnny: i didnt sleep over. We were just tired when we fucked

Yuta: so….you fell asleep….at her place...which means you stayed over

Johnny: it wasnt even that long

Ten: wait pause

Ten: did yall have sleepy sex

Taeyong: sleepy sex???

Ten: yeah like when ur tired or sleepy but you still wanna fuck so you go really slow. Its supposed to be like more sensual or whatever

Ten: chicks dig that shit

Johnny: i mean…

Johnny: we were just tired…

Taeil: how slow did you go?

Johnny: like medium speed? Like wtf is this the grand prix??

Taeil: did yall fucking make love???

Jae: FUCK DUDE

Jae: DID YOU

Johnny: NO

johnny: N.O.

johnny: ABSOLUTELY FUCKIN NOT

yuta: oh they did

Ten: totally had sleepy lovey dovey sex

Johnny: THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT JAE

jae: at least im still plowing quinn instead of being gross and shit

Jae: what happens if she catches feelings

Johnny: then thats her problem. I dont want her like that

Yuta: i doubt she will.

Lucas: dude ive fucked her, stayed over, got her to cook breakfast, showered with her, and have eaten her out (unlike some people) and she still doesnt want to date me.

Taeyong: again its bc ur a baby. She feels bad and has to take care of u lol

Lucas: fuck. Off.

Ten: im sure she wont catch feelings. Shes got too many other dudes giving it to her better

Jae: yeah and not doing that gay shit

Ten: jae its not gay. Its only gay if two guys are attracted to each other physically and romantically

Jae: yeah yeah whatever. That sleepy fuckin is some gay shit

Jae: hella wack

Johnny: jae is whipped af and i didnt have sleepy whatever sex or stay over

Yuta: surrrreee lets go to make believe land where johnny isnt getting soft and letting some girl control him

Ten: maybe hes the kinky one now

Johnny: idek why i bother talking to ya’ll

Lucas: im just gonna ask eri what happened

Lucas: and im gonna ask to eat her out since she probably didnt cum last night with ur soft crap lmao👅👅

Johnny: she did cum. I always make her cum. In fact she begged me too

Taeil: probs begged you to stop tbh

Yuta:😂😂😂😂

Yuta: a mood

Ten: anyway i got some 👌👌👌 pics of her from our session a couple weeks ago if anyone wants em

Yuta: ohh same

Lucas: i took a few when i was fucking her from behind for the spank bank

Taeyong: and you were saying that ten and yuta were bad. Ur doing the same thing

Lucas: NO bc im not POSTING IT for everyone to see

Taeil: u should. I mean just her. Not ur dick

Taeil: please for the love of god not ur dick

Lucas: ok fine but dont fucking tell or show anyone else

Johnny: i dont need to see that

Ten: why bc its not your dick shes fucking? Lmaoooo

Ten: show me her, show me ur dick lucas, show me everything 👅👅👅

Yuta: ur gay is showing bro

Ten: my gay is always showing. Where have you been?

Lucas: whatever I’ll send it in a bit, i’m heading over to their place now anyway

Lucas: Ill let ya’ll know what eri says

Taeyong: That johnnys completely in love with her

Yuta: gross lol

Johnny: OK BYE.

Johnny: GOOD

Johnny: BYE

Ten: What was that # you said before yuta?

Yuta: #johnnyiserisbitch

Yuta: nothing’s changed

Yuta: well except johnny getting soft

Taeil: way too soft. Keep it up and we’ll have to kick you out lol

Taeil: we fuck and leave man

Taeil: end of story.

#johnny #Johnny Fanfic #JOHNNY SMUT #johnny suh #johnny seo #NCT #nct 127 fanfic #johnny nct #nct 127 fanfiction #NCT 127 #nct smut #nct 127 smut

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