#and another guy who was trying to talk to people in crowd in NY and kept tapping the shoulder of

[killsaki]

i hate how uncool social media has become in the way that everyone is trying to be cool. why do people need to “boycott” perfectly good products that could be donated to people in need—by mass buying them and destroying them on video, or why do we film strangers in public, harassing them and then getting angry and painting them to be a horrible person online for millions of people to see when they just wanted to be left alone. in public. but this also includes the platforms themselves. kinda wish that they would just shut up and make their apps function. make them easier to use, add more settings for how we want to navigate our time on the apps. why does twitter come out with a new “feature” every week? why does instagram and facebook to copy every single other app in existence? why do these people think that fucking pinterest and tiktok are so popular? because they keep the same format, they keep their apps usable, and they don’t add unnecessary shit every 5 seconds.

[buzzcutlip]

What You Can't Bury Give Away - NY!Carmen Carmen x Fem!Reader Explicit! 2257 words

A/N This was supposed to be a drabble - haha! I don't know what is it now. Have some sad NY!Carmy after he finds out Michael's died and how he deals with leaving NY (not in a great way but excuse his broken little soul). I know I said I wanted to write Copenhagen!Carmy, so that one's coming too eventually.

When you open the door for Carmen and see him after, like, three weeks, you almost flinch. He’s always looked tired and worn out—while also attractive and weirdly hot—but today he looks particularly bad. Dreadful. His eyes are red, the bags underneath them grayish. It’s obvious that he hasn’t washed his hair in days. He looks as tragic as you feel.

“Hi,” you say tentatively, unsure if he wants to address the reason why he’s here.

Carmy only nods, eyes trained on you, even as he takes his denim trucker jacket off. You hang it on the only free, wonky peg on the wall, feeling him follow your movements all the while. Undoubtedly, it makes you antsy and uncomfortable. You’re not used to guys’ attention. You’re not used to attention from guys you like at all.

When you turn around and find him staring, you sigh. The jumper he’s wearing hangs loosely on his body, the sleeves too long. The navy blue color highlights the paleness of his face, the hollow cheeks.

“When was the last time you ate?”

Carmy opens his mouth to say something smart, probably, but you’re faster: “Ate a proper meal,” you clarify, propping your hands on your hips. You’re trying to act stern, babying him a little without making him seem like a baby. It’s the last time you’re seeing him, probably.

“I dunno,” he admits quietly, impatiently. He thumbs his bottom lip, scratches his head. He’s all sorts of jittery energy turned into a human being. You don’t know him like this.

“I can cook some pasta,” you offer. The idea is absolutely disproportionate to the situation, you think hysterically, as you turn to walk to the kitchen cabinets. “I’m actually a pretty good cook, you know,” you say just to fill in the space, afraid of the silence that might provoke unwise happenings.

As you reach the pack of fusilli, you feel him stand directly behind you. You exhale sharply. Something unwise is already happening. Settling the pasta on the counter, you turn around.

“I—” but before you manage to get out a single word, Carmy’s mouth is on yours, and he’s kissing you. Of course, it doesn’t take much for you to reciprocate. You kiss him back, hands squeezing his biceps, enjoying the thickness and how strong his arms feel.

“Don’t you think this is a bad idea?” you say as Carmen crowds you against the kitchen counter.

“I don’t—think. I don’t want to think,” he stutters out, grabbing at your waist and squeezing.

“But we’re adults, Berzatto,” you stand your ground even though your hands find their way into Carmy’s hair without much thought, “and thinking about our actions is the annoying part of adulthood,” you explain, and when Carmen kisses your jaw, you feel your determination slipping.

You met Carmen a couple of months ago and saw each other like four times. Apparently, he works in a restaurant, and you know that people in hospitality have crazy work schedules and practically no free time. Or social life. Carmen is proof of all that—he doesn’t talk much, doesn’t ask many questions. There are silly tattoos on his hands and scars—some looking fresh and painful. You never confront him about them, never look too long.

He didn’t have to tell you that he’s leaving, you know. If he didn’t, he would just be another boy who disappeared from your life quietly. And you wouldn’t blame him. You’re not a particularly interesting person. Rather dull, some member of your immediate family would say.

“Have you been drinking?” you check as you dodge another kiss. Carmen doesn’t ask questions, but suddenly you do—way too many, you can see the annoyance on his face, as you shrug him off of you, reluctant.

Carmen looks at you, all serious. “I don’t drink.”

“I know. I’m just asking,” you shrug. “Trying to find out what’s gotten into you.”

Because the second time you were with him, on some well-hidden, tourist-less rooftop bar, you drinking bottled beer and him Coke, laying next to each other on loungers—you touched him casually a couple of times while talking shit about your office work and annoying colleagues and canteen coffee that tastes like burnt water. Those fleeting touches that can be easily excused. You were testing the waters. And Carmy didn’t budge. He even laughed when you told him “your hands are pretty large,” let you press your palms together to see the size difference that lit up a flame in your lower belly. Fuck, the lamest trick, and he ate it all up, clueless. He even walked you home after that. For twenty minutes, your stomach was in twists with anticipation. You even considered fucking without a condom because you knew you had none at home, and Carmy didn’t look like the type who would carry one in his wallet. However, when you arrived at your apartment building, Carmen said “goodnight,” waved at you awkwardly, and left, cigarette in hand. That’s how you know the attraction was one-sided.

It makes the current event even more weird.

“You know, I was trying to let you know I liked you,” you say nonchalantly, biting your lip. “I even did that thing with hands.”

“What thing with hands?”

“Where we measure our hands,” duh.

“Oh. I didn’t know it was a thing.”

You stare at him for a moment.

“It was basically an invitation to fuck me, Carmen.”

He stares, then squeezes your waist. “Oh yeah?”

‘Oh,’ you think. This sounds very much like another invitation, doesn’t it? And Carmy takes it, and this time, you let him.

“Oh my god, Carmy,” you gasp when he gets down on his knees for you, and you don’t have any idea that they only call him Carmy at home, that no one in New York ever calls him that. He freezes for a moment, but you don’t catch that, too lost in the idea of having him for yourself, finally.

He pulls down your baby blue sleeping shorts along with your panties, revealing tan lines—the stark contrast of the untouched, milky skin of your crotch and the darker shade of your legs. You worked hard for that stupid tan, taking a week off in March to go to Hawaii, splashing a disgusting amount of money on the vacation, desperate to get away from New York, from your office, to get some warmth. He should congratulate you on your efforts, really, being the first man to see you like this. You hate baking in the direct sun.

But Carm doesn’t say anything, just lowers down, getting hold of your hips, licking along the crease between your thigh and crotch. You’re not smooth down there. You haven’t shaved in a while, and the growing hairs must prickle his tongue. He doesn’t protest though, only grunts and licks more, then kisses your pussy, sucking the lips into his mouth, making loud, obscene noises. He’s desperate but very strategic.

His hands feel huge, cupping your pelvis, fingers digging into the flesh. You grip the countertop behind you to keep your balance as Carmen sticks two fingers into you unceremoniously. You yelp, shucking off your shorts and underwear jerkily all the way down. He helps you one-handed, looks up to check on you. You bite your lower lip to keep yourself from making more embarrassing noises, while Carmen throws the clothes somewhere behind himself and goes back to eating you out while fingerfucking you.

He is frantic but good, concentrating only on you. He stares up right into your eyes, not even blinking, as he sucks your clit. It should not be allowed, you think briefly, for sad, strange boys to make you feel this good, practically against your own volition. It’s always cold in your apartment, more so in the winter, but you’re on fire now.

Carmen’s still dressed in his clothes, and you’re wearing your t-shirt and an old, faded hoodie, white thick socks on your feet. Neither of you cares too much about it as you focus on each other. You dare to touch one of your hands to Carm’s wild curls, and he hums against you, getting ahold of your ankle without stopping what he’s doing with his clever mouth, propping it against his shoulder. He helps you adjust your stance, and you moan loudly as he reaches deeper into you with the changed position.

“Please,” you whisper, head tipped back in pleasure, holding onto the counter one-handed for dear life.

That’s when Carmen chooses to stop, and you look down at him sharply, half-mad with want, watching his wet mouth kiss your ankle just above where your sock ends, then higher up along the inside of your leg, the side of your knee. His eyes are closed and he seems lost in his head, holding your ankle steady on his shoulder and continuing up, up, up. It makes your chest ache for a fleeting moment. Then, out of nowhere, Carmen bares his teeth and sets them into the meat of your inner thigh. You yelp at the sharp pain, jumping up so your head connects with the cabinet behind you with a loud noise.

“Fuck!” you swear, thinking of literally kicking Carmen as your leg is conveniently positioned near his head.

“Careful,” he says instead of ‘sorry’, and bites you again. You inhale to shout something nastier, but then he presses his thumb to your clit and the pain, added to the pleasure, creates a mixture so delicious that your vision blacks out for a moment. Once it clears, you spot Carmy between your legs, his eyes glazed and fixed on what his thumb is doing to you, all frowny in concentration.

“You alright?” he asks as he feels your gaze on him. As you nod and add a breathless ‘yeah’, he bites you again, this time on your other thigh. You jerk every single time he does that, but not from the pain. No, you seek more friction with your pelvis, hoping to make him press his thumb down harder against you. Of course, Carmen, as smart as he is, catches on soon. The next time you lift your hips up, he simply pushes his fingers back into your dripping cunt again, and from then it’s a quick undoing for you. 

You ride Carmy’s fingers, chasing the pressure both inside and on your clit, enjoying the pleasure-pain his mouth is eliciting. Just before you come, you dare to look down, and the sight of bright bruises blooming red like peonies on your skin is what tips you over the edge.  

You barely manage to kiss him back as he stands up between your legs, disoriented and shaky from just orgasming. You’re clumsy with it—teeth clicking and lips landing off-center. Before you can properly catch your breath, Carmen’s turning you around so you face the tiled wall, pushing you against the counter, and this time you mind the cabinets above your head.  

“You did so good f’me,” Carmy says against your ear, sending violent shivers down your spine. His large hand cradles your jaw, and Carmy kisses behind your ear and down the side of your neck, holding your head tilted to have better access to your burning skin. He’s frantic, breathing raggedly, pulling the neck of your jumper to lick at the vertebrae protruding at your sensitive nape. 

Trying to take your arms out of the sleeves to get rid of the jumper is harder than you thought as you get distracted by Carm absolutely ignoring your efforts when he slips one of his rough palms under the clothes, up your tummy to your chest. 

“Can I—can I touch your tits?” he asks hoarsely while still holding your head in position. You consent and stop trying to help him out, dropping your head back to rest on his shoulder. 

Carmen fucks you like that, from behind, all desperate and urgent. The noises he makes are almost like quiet sobs, which alarm you slightly, but then you forget everything when you start feeling you might come again. You don’t, but as soon as Carmen feels he might, he slips out and you spin around to face him. 

Without any room for making this cute, you spit in your palm and grip his cock, all dark red and throbbing, while Carmen fists your jumper, holding you close and watching open-mouthed as you jerk him off. When he comes you’re almost sure he’s gonna bite through his bottom lip from how hard he’s biting on it. He lets you stroke him for long moments after that, even though he’s shaking all over, overstimulated. You love watching his tummy muscles jump every time you squeeze at the head, dragging more delicious, wrecked sounds out of him. 

Afterward, Carmen’s awfully flushed in the face, eyes glistening. He asks where the bathroom is and stays there for ten long minutes. Or so. You’re not timing it. You cook the stupid pasta, even though you’re lazy, and feed him. The atmosphere’s charged with something unspoken, and as much as you want to ask what his plans are after he leaves New York, you don’t. 

After the meal, Carm doesn’t linger. He puts his jacket on, pecks your cheek, and leaves without looking back.

Oh, so that was a pity fuck, you realize with much disdain when you’re lying in your bed. Only—you’re not sure who pitied whom there.

He will never know how much you cried that night.

[destinyc1020]

Even in a rhetorical wedding list, folks still doubting Timmy lol anyway...

This or That 😃 who/what wuld u choose n why. If its a person can b based on vibes, personality, talent, etc.

-Knowing the story on how TZ got back together or how they 1st met

-Jacob E or Trevor (lol)

-Zs Dune 2 press fashion or Zs Challengers press fashion

-NY or LA

-Toms fashion or Austin fashion

-Sydney or Kaia

-letitia or ayo

Oooo another game! Thanks Anon! 😁

You know what?? I like your game so much, that I'll put your questions in polls and will see what others say/think.

I'll put my answers to your question below and will hide them so that others aren't swayed by my answers lol.

My answers 👇:

-Knowing the story on how TZ got back together or how they 1st met

Knowing the story on how TZ got back together HANDS DOWWWN! 😅 I don't really care how they first met lol. I think we kind of already know that? But I wanna know all of the details and tea on what they were each thinking and feeling during the breakup, why they broke up in the first place, and what they were thinking and feeling when they were deciding to get back together lol. 😁 (I'm just nosy lol)

-Jacob E or Trevor (lol)

Eww... Can I say neither?? 😅 Honestly? I'd have to go with JE on this one. Yea, JE cheated on several girlfriends too, but at least he didn't write a song detailing their sex life as a way to try to make amends. 🙄🤮

-Zs Dune 2 press fashion or Zs Challengers press fashion

Ohhhh this is too much Anon! 😭 Pleaaaase don't make me choose!!! 🙈

Okay, I'll say that I LOVED the fashion for both press tours. 😊 I liked how daring, interesting and AMAZING Z's fashion was for Dune Part 2. She was shutting the place down! 😅 I also appreciated the Challengers press tour clothing too. I loved how creative it was, and how it was very sports-themed, but still very feminine.

If I had to choose one though, I'd HAVE to say the Dune Part 2 Press tour clothing had me shook!!! Challengers had a lot of white and bridal type dresses which were cute, but Dune Part 2 made me go WOW! That robot-like costume she had for the London premiere alone....like, WOW lol. 😲😳🤯 The DP2 press tour clothing/styles were just more interesting to me. 😊

-NY or LA

Mmmm....for me personally? Or for Tomdaya?

If you're talking about me personally.... Both cities have their pros and cons! I like both cities, but if I had to choose, I'd have go to with LA lol. 😊

-Toms fashion or Austin fashion

Oh wow.... This is a tough one! 😂 Are we talking red carpet fashion? Or, just everyday fashion? Cuz umm...that can be two totally different things lol. 👀 😅

I'm not sure exactly what you're referring to (red carpet fashion, or just out and about fashion lol), so I'm just going to give you my thoughts.

Austin: I love Austin's red carpet fashion. He takes little risks here and there, and I like that. 😊 I never know what he's going to wear most of the time on the red carpet, so I like that he keeps me guessing lol. 😅 He tends to wear more baggier clothing (which is fine), but I love it when he wears things that are a little more form-fitting or with color. I think that's nice!

His everyday street-style fashion on the other hand.... 👀😩 Austin's just a simple guy honestly lol. He loves vintage stuff. He shops at thrift stores lol. So he's not really dressy in his casual down time. He's more like a t-shirt and hat kind of guy. I wanna burn the hats lol, but I kind of think he uses them mainly to try to hide and blend in the crowd so that people don't recognize him so easily.

Tom: Tom is European, so I'm automatically expecting his fashion and style sense to be better just in general compared to us Americans lol. 😂 When it comes to Tom's red carpet style, he tends to be more classic with the classic tux/suits, and tends to play it safe. He tends to wear some colors here and there though (FFH premiere, TCR premiere, GQ event, etc), and so I like it when it mixes things up a bit. 😊 I would love to see him take a few more risks with his red carpet style and wear some more daring things on the red carpet one day. I think it would be awesome!

Tom's everyday street style has changed drastically for the better over the years imo lol. He used to be a skinny jeans and jeans falling off the butt kinda guy lol. Now, he's got a more mature look and wears belts and argyle sweaters lol. Boy he's come a VERY long way! 😅 I think he's had a great style change over the years, and his look is more mature than it was back in 2017 lol. So I think his casual street style overall is great!

-Sydney or Kaia

I give both of them the slight side-eye.... 👀 (I don't like girls who seem to mess w/other women's men 🥴), but if I had to choose one, I'd say Sydney.

Sydney at least can act rotfl. 😅

-letitia or ayo

Ohhhhh this is a tough one Anon!! 😭😭 I like BOTH of them! I have a soft spot for Letitia. ❤️ I do like Ayo though. I just need to see more of her in her projects to have more of an appreciation for her. She's VERY talented though, and I'm rooting for her. 🥰

[raindropsbarzy]

gotta have you

summary: you’re older than him and he gets all blushy every time you’re around because he likes you. a lot (you’re 28 in this case)

word count: 2005

warnings: use of weed, fluff shit, strong language

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Mat was immediately drawn into you the first time you have met through mutual friends. Anders was taking the team out for drinks after another win to a local bar in New York that he had never been to. Crazy to think that, considering NY is like his home now but there’s one specific bar he had yet to discover.

It was a small cozy bar called ‘LOLA’ written in red neon lights. The building was painted in all black, nothing exciting about it but it was completely different soon as he stepped inside.

“One of my friends owns this place, sings sometimes here too. Her name’s Y/N.  she’s a pretty cool chick.” Anders informed the team as soon as they found a table to sit.

Mat had to hear the countless compliments Anders was giving about you almost throughout the night, or perhaps more like showing off his best friend's success and everything. Not that he had any problem with that, it’s just Anders could be a real blabbermouth when he already had some drinks in him.

“Sounds like you got a crush on the girl” Tito piped, smirking as he took a swig of his beer, hearing the others snicker. Including Mat.

Anders was quick to shake his head. “Not possible. The girl’s got standards. We’re just buds anyways” He said defensively.

What Anders failed to mention was how fucking gorgeous you were of a person,

When the captain pointed at a certain dark haired woman going up on stage, along with the lines of ‘that’s her’,  he nearly choked on his drink.

You had your hair up in a high top bun, a few messy curls falling over your forehead. Deep red lipstick painted over your lips. An outline of a dragon tattoo decorating your wrist and all the way up to your arm but it didn’t go over your elbows. The ink looked perfect on you. Few piercings perched on your ears and if he wasn’t mistaken, he caught a glimpse of a tongue and nipple studs when he squinted his eyes.

The short black dress you were wearing was hugging your figure the right way. Especially with the strappy heels you were wearing, you looked sophisticated under the dimmed lights.

“Hello beautiful people, how are you enjoying this beautiful evening?” You asked, a smile on your lips.

When you spoke, he was about to fall onto his knees right there. You had the softest voice he has ever heard. With your hand gently grasping the microphone and eyes slowly scanning across the room. He was entranced by you.

And when you began to sing--to a song he had never heard before-- he was for sure in love with the voice that was carried by a gorgeous woman who was standing a few feet away from their table. The way you tilted your head to the side and closed your eyes as you feel in the music. It was something so sexy yet attractive to him. He had his eyes running to your face and down to your body over and over. Shamelessly staring at you with his chin resting on his knuckles.

He had to thank Anders for taking him out here.

The crowd erupted into a small cheer soon as you did your number, which made your lips carved into a grin and nodded your head as a form of ‘thank you’ before walking off stage. He was a bit disappointed to know that you were only singing one song because he wanted to hear your beautiful, dolvett voice at least three more times.

But that feeling didn’t last long, you were walking over to his table with a smile that seemed couldn’t be wiped off your face and he could sense the butterflies in his stomach. Because, fuck.

You looked much prettier up close.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming with your team Lee, otherwise i would’ve put the velvet booth under your name.” You approached Anders before wrapping your hands around him and so did he,

“Nah. that’s okay. We’re good with the table, anyway.” Anders responded, letting go of his grasp around your waist and turn around to look at his friends. “Oh yeah, guys. This is Y/N. Been a friend of mine since we were... kids.. i think?”

“Afraid so” You teased, making him nudge your stomach with his elbow.

“You were amazing up there. Pretty as hell too. Loved your voice.” One spoke out, he had a messy blonde hair tucked underneath a navy snapback.

“That’s Sebastian.” Lee introduced with a grin, shaking his head lightly at his friend who went straight ahead with the words he had chosen.

Giggling, you nod your head. Shooting him a smile. “I’m glad you did. Gotta entertain a few people here.”

One by one, Anders introduced his teammates to you. Who had no shame calling you pretty and a sultry voice to hear which made you blush a few times because you weren’t used to people giving you many compliments at once.

Then your eyes stopped at Mat. Who had his knees bouncing up and down when he got nervous. Staring at your gorgeous brown eyes.

“And you are...” You trail off, raising your eyebrow at him.

“Mat. Mat Barzal” He stuck his hand out for you to shake, which you gladly took.

‘Fuck her hands are soft’

“Mat Barzal” you repeated, humming slightly. Deciding that you liked how the name rolled off your tongue. Plus he was really handsome and adorable as hell. “You’re pretty cute” With that, you retreated your hand back. Seeing his cheeks reddened as he tried to hide it by looking down at the table.

You bit on your lip softly, silently squealing at how cute this boy was acting like that in front of you. “Well, i’ve got a job to do. See you guys later” You waved bye at the boys, not forgetting to send Mat a playful wink when he looked back up.

and that brings you both here. six months later after becoming close friends with each other. The two of you exchanged numbers that night. When the team was mostly drunk off their asses, you sat down next to him and began a conversation in which he had shy away at first. Then starting to become more comfortable with your personality and found talking with you was just as easy as breathing.

He had learned many interesting facts about you. Your hometown, your college major, your favorite artists and crazy ex boyfriend that you had to put a restraining order on. He was truly captivated by the way you talk about something so small yet you made it sound so beautiful. Never in his life, he had ever been this star-struck about someone. And that feeling he had to bottled up for half a year.

right now, he’s coming over to your apartment because Anders is throwing a BBQ at his place and you asked him earlier if he wanted to go together and of course, Mat couldn’t say no to that.

He's wearing a plain black tee and dark jeans with a chain around his neck. Figuring that the fit was good enough for just a BBQ at his friend’s place.

seconds after he knocks on your door, he hears you shout ‘coming!’ along with loud thumping on the floor.

he smiles at the sound of your voice and grows wider when you open the door,

“hi, barzy” you smile softly at him, panting lightly as you open the door wider for him to come in.

“hi, y/n/n” he leans down giving you a kiss on the cheek before entering your place. observing your choice of attire. a white tank top and pink cotton shorts, he notices you have no bra on so your breasts are practically falling over the top. “you’re not wearing that to Lee’s are you? Not that i mind though” he playfully points, gesturing to the clothes.

rolling your eyes, you smack his arm but smile anyway. “Of course not, you pervert. Even if I was, I wouldn't let you see me like that.”

The flirty banter has become a thing between the two of you. Yeah, you’re friends or whatever but both of you still like to flirt with each other, even go as far as being touchy which you have no problem at all. Whenever you go out he has his firm grip around your waist or when you have a sleepover at his house, you like to lay down on his chest and your arm drapes over his toned stomach.

he chuckles at your attempt of hurting him but he begins to frown when he sees a smoke coming from your kitchen. “Did you burn your food or something?”

“What? Oh no it’s not from food. I was smoking a blunt while I was waiting for you here. Just freshly rolled a backwood. Want some?” You offer, taking his hand as you lead him to the kitchen.

He snorts, shaking his head as he sits on one of the barstool. “No thanks, babe. I hate that stuff.”

“You said that because you haven’t even tried it yet” You say, pouring yourself a glass of water and taking a bite of plain bread, helping you to sober up a little.

“Still a no.” He defends.

“Lame” you sign out dramatically, reaching over the counter to turn on the volume on the speaker

“Who’s that?” He asks quickly, finding the song quite catchy. Trying to get a look on your phone.

“Teyana Taylor, ‘How You Want It’. I fucking love her voice. Might sing it next week.” You shrug, chewing on the bread as you sit across him.

He hums, turning the tune a bit louder. “I like it.”

You look at him like he’s got five heads. “Since when did you like RnB?”

“Since that time you sent me three playlists consists of 50 songs each. Had most of them saved on my Spotify.” He answers, grabbing your glass of water to take a sip.

You freeze for a second, smiling fondly at him and trying so hard to ignore the heebie-jeebies in your stomach when he confesses as if it was nothing.

You cannot believe he actually listened to them.

“Really? You really listened to all of them?”

He nods right away, shoving a few Doritos into his mouth. “Yeah. You got me hooked with Jhene Aiko, BJ The Chicago Kid and Summer Walker here not gonna lie.”

There’s no use in holding back the smile now. Your grin gets wider and the faint blush on your cheeks are visible, making Mat smirks cheekily at you with his eyebrows raise.

“Are you blushing right now?” He jokes,

“Well how could I not?” You exclaim, throwing your hands up in the air as you giggle at him. “Especially when I didn't order you to actually listen to every song in there. You’re making my heart flutter, Maty.” You pout and stare at him with your hooded eyes

He grins softly at the nickname. Glancing at your cute pout and he has to resist the urge to lean over and give you a soft kiss on your lips--like he had been waiting for what it seems to be forever--. His hazel eyes staring back at yours as your hands clasp together and head tilting to the side. Long and messy black hair that you haven’t gotten the time to brush it evenly. your fresh face that hasn’t been covered in makeup yet and a sweet rose scented body lotion on your soft skin. Watermelon lip balm coating your lips.

After months seeing you countless times being dolled up and bare faced with vintage/old shirts and shorts, he decides he likes seeing you like this. Home Y/N is what he loves now.

And he is completely fucked. Because he is in love with you.

And there’s no going back from that.

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hii!! do yall like that? because this one is going to be a mini series! this could be one of my favorite writings of Barzy. Let me know if you guys love it and want more! :D

[heli0s-writes]

Tony being extremely protective of CDR over their shared NY trauma makes my heart happy as well as hurt. Like damn, get me an older brother like that. #OlderBrotherTony or bust and that’s the damn tea

oof i’m supposed to be working. based off this brief glimpse into CDR’s backstory.

TW: mentions parental death

Bag of Tricks Masterlist

A junior agent runs his mouth just a bit too much at the compound tour this morning. You get it, some people feel the need to compensate for the insecurity by talking. Doesn’t change the fact that it got under your skin.

“New York was a wake up call.” Yep. 

“The Avengers… wow, we’re so lucky to have you guys. You saved us. It was incredible…” Yep. 

“It will go down in history as one of the greatest moments.” God, kid, relax. 

“I am personally, so, so, grateful to you all.” God, kid, shut up. 

“The world is grateful. People that vilify you, they just don’t know any better. The ends justified the means. That’s… that’s war, you know?” Jesus, fuck.

Tony raises a brow your way, fully aware of your change in posture, of your jaw clenched a fraction tighter. Most days a receptionist would take the group, overseen by Maria who would be multi-tasking on a tablet, but today you decided to tag along. Tony’s lab was one of the first stops, and as one of the original Avengers and being The Tony Stark, junior agents were known to go starry-eyed for him.

Your face scrunches briefly when you push your anger down and physically bite your tongue; it’s still a sensitive subject after all these years. You’re not quite sure when it won’t be because no matter what, they were your parents for fuck’s sake. Casualties happen, but how do you reconcile your own parents getting zapped into being another dust-pile statistic?

Easy. You don’t.

Tony’s not too far behind. You know his own demons have nearly destroyed the world a second time, know they still come back to haunt him some nights, too. But he’s good, he’s an actor. His recovery is flawless and he spins an over-sized sizzling cattle prod in his hand and flashes his most sparkly smile. Maria’s watching intently.

“Alright! Who wants to see the next Iron Suit upgrade! Nanobot technology got a little bit more oomph with some tinkering. Bumped up the mid-flight repair rate.” He throws the prod your way casually and you catch it by the handle, the sparks between its sharp prongs buzzing dangerously.

“Warehouse 3 got a bunch of new training dummies– pretty realistic if you ask me. You mind checking the shipment, kid? Make sure they’re all there.”

Maria exhales a discreet sigh, the screen of her tablet gone black already. You nod in understanding, giving an exaggerated fake-curtsy before backing out. Before you reach the door, you give a quick glance behind your shoulder at the agent now enamored with something on the table.

“Hey, buddy,” you smile, “Thanks for such… erudite commentary. What’s your name?”

The boy beams, mouth falling open, “Wow, thank you. I’m Farrell, ma’am, Matthew A. Farrell.”

You give him a thumbs up before disappearing from the room.

At the end of the hallway, you see Bucky and Steve desperately trying to avoid the crowd. They know the drill, sticking to the walls as best they can as they try to get to the kitchens. Steve glances over at the weapon in your hand, still buzzing ominously.

“Going somewhere with that thing?”

“Warehouse 3.”

“The training dummies shipment? I hate those– they’re fleshy. Don’t blow through all of them, though.”

“I won’t,” you promise, “Only need one.”

Bucky looks at your hand, then at your face, and puts two and two together. “You got a name for your dummy?” The double meaning is not lost on you.

“Yup,” you confirm, “Fleshy 5′11″ brown haired, green eyed, Matthew A. Farrell. Gonna whale on him for a couple of hours.”

Bucky reaches into his pocket, throws a little blade at you that you catch in your mouth. He pauses to scold you about safety but decides against it when your canines glimmer sharply. You waltz down the hallway, more cheerful than before.

The sliding doors to the lab open and Maria steps out first, the throng of agents following behind her. Bucky spots a 5′11″ brown haired, green eyed boy at the back of the group. 

“Farrell, huh?” 

Steve shakes his head helplessly.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

The Buy In

Chapter 5: Keeping Up Appearances

by @dracusfyre

Bucky stared sightlessly at New York traffic as he quietly panicked. He tried and failed to think of any way to get out of this, now that he was already in the car; if he could have, he would have given himself nausea and diarrhea immediately and suffered the indignity instead of escorting Tony Stark, the Mechanic, the single most powerful crime boss in Manhattan, to the Policeman’s Ball. What in the hell was he going to say to his handler? For three blocks he debated whether to give them any advance warning at all; it would be so much easier to deal with the fallout later by claiming that Stark had taken his phone before telling him where he was going. For three more blocks, he tried and failed to type something, each sentence he came up with sounding dumber than the last, so with only the barest bit of guilt he stashed his phone in the car’s glove compartment as Happy pulled into the drop off line for the ball.

Cameras started flashing almost as soon as he got out of the car to open Stark’s door, and while Stark climbed out, smiling and waving, he tried to look as boring as possible, mouth a flat line as he ignored the press and kept an eye out for anyone looking suspicious. Just what exactly was he supposed to be guarding Stark from, anyway? Other mob bosses in attendance? A mugger? The police?

“Want a drink?” Stark said once they got inside, and Bucky forced himself to shake his head even though he desperately wanted to say yes. He trailed behind Stark as he glad-handed the crowd, making jokes and asking after people’s kids, and miserably tallied the various important people in the room: the mayor, who gave Stark a handshake and a clap on the back for his donation to the Food Bank For NYC; a representative to the state house, who managed to solicit campaign donations in the guise of complimenting him on his philanthropic efforts; a US Senator that thanked him for his investment advice. And those were just the people that Bucky recognized; there was no telling how many government officials and CEOs that numbered among the people that subtly held court around Stark. He wondered how many knew about Stark’s criminal ties, and how many would care if they did know.

Finally, for Bucky’s sanity, they made the announcement for dinner and everyone filed dutifully into the main hall where they set up tables for the event.

“I was wondering if you were coming, Tony,” an amused voice said from behind them. Stark turned, and the smile he had been wearing all night widened and finally reached his eyes as a tall, slim redhead let him pull her down to kiss her on the cheek.

“Pepper, so glad to see you,” he said, taking one of her hands and putting it in his elbow. “Are you sitting next to me?”

“Of course.” Bucky recognized the woman from Stark’s case file; she was Virginia Potts, his personal lawyer. Though ‘lawyer’ didn’t really capture her, really; from a police perspective, she was Cerberus, the dragon guarding the tower, Gandalf on the bridge: in short, “You Shall Not Pass” in human form. She was largely the reason why Bucky was on this undercover assignment; faced with the potential of meeting her in court, no judge in the city would grant them a warrant without a literal smoking gun of Stark’s guilt. She was just as well connected as Stark was, to boot; one of the other senior partners at her firm was on the short list of the Democrats’ Supreme Court Justice picks and the other worked for the state as the deputy Attorney General. “How are you? Who’s this?” she asked, finally noticing Bucky following them to the dinner table.

“I’m fine, and this is a new guy,” Stark said as he pulled the seat out for Potts to sit. “I call him Blue Eyes.”

Potts rolled her eyes and offered Bucky a surprisingly kind smile. “Don’t worry, he can’t remember my real name either,” she said. “Don’t take it personally.”

“I don’t, ma’am,” Bucky said, returning her smile despite himself.

“Oh, Bill, it’s good to see you,” Stark said, and Bucky glanced away from Potts to see that sitting right across from Stark was the NY police commissioner.

 Tony hid a smile as he heard the strangled noise Blue Eyes made when he recognized the police commissioner. But after an evening of watching the man sweat as Tony rubbed elbows with the most powerful men in the state, he took pity on him. “I’ll be good for a while, if you need to take a break,” he said, and watched with amusement as the man all but fled from the table.

“What was that about?” Pepper asked with a small frown, thanking the wait staff as they filled up her glass with water and set a glass of white wine in front of her.

“I think his eyes aren’t the only thing about that guy that’s blue,” Tony said, looking significantly towards the police commissioner. Pepper’s eyebrows shot up and she took a drink of wine as she realized what he was saying, then she barely swallowed it in time before she laughed.

“And you brought him here? You are a terrible person,” she scolded him, clearly trying to suppress a smile.

“Yeah. It’s been fun watching him trying to avoid the cameramen all night. Especially because he’s been so worried about being photographed that he probably didn’t notice the fact that half of the conversations I’ve had tonight involved breaking the law in some way or another.” For example, what had probably sounded like a request for a campaign contribution was actually a solicitation for a bribe, which Tony was going to pay because politicians were just good investments, really, and honestly the Senator Walker should really talk less about how much money he made off of insider trading, particularly when he is using his committee positions to do it.

This time, Pepper’s eyes held a flash of warning instead of amusement, and Tony held up his hands in surrender, turning the conversation to safer waters as they ate.

                                                               ***

To Bucky’s surprise, Stark was ready to go not long after dinner; for some reason Bucky had the idea that he would want to stay all night, shaking hands and taking turns around the dance floor. He was all smiles as he left, but as soon as the car door closed behind him, he collapsed against the car seat with a sigh.

“You know,” Stark said, eyes closed as he rested his head on the back of the seat, “the funny thing about going to these events, is that I probably shook hands with more criminals tonight than I have in the past six months put together. But no one cares about that because the people who are supposed to care are criminals too.”

“That sucks, Boss,” Happy said, clearly having heard this complaint before. Now that they were far from the crowds and bright lights, Stark’s good mood seemed to be curdling; he sounded almost depressed. 

“It’s exhausting, is what it is. Blue Eyes, have you ever had to shake hands with and smile at someone that you hated all the way down to your bones?” Stark’s voice was muffled and Bucky looked back to see that his hands were over his face as he rubbed his eyes.

“Yeah, of course. There’s always that one guy at every job, right? The asshole that no one likes?”

Stark barked out a laugh. “Having only one would be nice, actually.” He sat up suddenly and scooted forward until he was all but in the front seat. “Let’s get dessert. Is there a late night ice cream place? Or pie? Or donuts? Back there they only had some sort of fancy baklava on the menu and I don't like honey.”

Happy and Bucky shared a look and Bucky patted his pockets for his phone before remembering that he’d put it in the glove compartment. Then he remembered why he’d left it in the car, and winced as he saw the notifications on his phone. But it was after midnight so that was going to be a Future Bucky problem. He pulled up the search bar and found a late night cookie company that was on their way home.

When they got there, there was no place to park, so Bucky got out with Stark to go inside while Happy stayed with the car. Unsurprisingly, they were the oldest people inside; the cashier and the two other customers looked like they were still in high school or college, because realistically who would be looking for a sugar fix this late at night except students. And one mob boss with a sweet tooth, apparently. Stark made a beeline for the display case and all but pressed his nose to the glass.

“What’s your favorite kind of cookie?”

“Something with fruit and nuts in it,” Bucky said. “You?” Bucky came up next to him to read all the labels. “Mexican chili cookie? Who wants a spicy cookie?”

“Can’t do better than chocolate chip,” Stark said.  “But that salted caramel is speaking to me.” He glanced up at the menu and said, “Ooh, ice cream sandwiches,” sounding so excited that Bucky had to smother a smile. It was hard to keep a straight face as Stark deliberated; the man was being so stupidly cute as he debated the merits of the different options that Bucky had the dumbest fucking desire to kiss him. Stark ended up buying a whole box of cookies and an ice cream sandwich because he couldn’t decide on which cookies he wanted, and because he kept thinking of people to give them to: “Happy will say he’s on a diet but I think he’ll want one of these M&M cookies. I don’t think I’ve ever seen mint in a cookie, I’ll get that one for Rhodey, but also this sprinkle one because it will be funny.”

Maybe it was the sugar or the impulsive shopping trip, but Stark seemed in lighter spirits as they drove the rest of the way back to his garage, telling funny stories about the people that had been at the event. It even made Happy unbend a little, as much as he ever did when he was working, and at one point Bucky was laughing so hard he was in tears.

“Here’s good, Happy,” Stark said before they could pull into the secured parking lot behind the garage.

“Are you sure, Boss?” Happy said dubiously. “It’s not safe-”

“I got Blue Eyes to protect my virtue, right Blue Eyes?” Stark said. Bucky almost bobbled the box of cookies as climbed out of the car at the mention of Stark’s virtue, and when Stark met his eyes Bucky knew he’d done it on purpose. “Come on inside with me,” Stark continued. “We need to talk about the event tonight.” He leaned over to look at Happy through the window. “You go on home, I’ll make sure he gets home ok.”  When Happy nodded, Stark tapped on the top of the car and stepped back from the curb as the car pulled away

Bucky’s hands tightened on the box of cookies as his heart gave a heavy thump and his mouth went dry. He swallowed against a spike of nerves. We need to talk was never a good sign, but also, he was about to be alone with Stark. Trying not to think about what had happened earlier, he trailed awkwardly behind Stark as he put in the security code for the door and stepped inside, turning on a few of the big banks of fluorescent lights as he went.

“You can change, if you want,” Stark said, gesturing towards the bathroom where Bucky’s clothes were still folded neatly on the sink. He shrugged out of his suit coat and unbuttoned the sleeves, rolling them up so the cuffs didn’t dangle. Bucky’s eyes lingered for a moment on the lean muscles of his forearm, the strong, slender wrist bracketed by the narrow-banded watch, and decided that a moment alone in the bathroom was a good idea.

He changed quickly and splashed cold water on his face, giving himself a stern lecture about professionalism in the mirror, reminding himself why he was really here. His boss would be telling him that this was a great opportunity, that he seemed to have Stark’s trust. That now would be the perfect time to dig a little deeper. Bucky told himself that even though Stark was handsome and funny and apparently the kind of guy that would stuff a hundred dollar bill in a tip jar didn’t mean that…

“Wait, start over,” he muttered, shaking his head. Even though Stark seemed like a good person he was, at the very least, the target of a massive criminal investigation, even if it did seem like maybe there were worse criminals out there they could be investigating. They weren’t friends, he reminded himself. Stark didn’t know anything about him, and would probably drop him into the Hudson if he did. With that sobering thought, Bucky sighed, gathered up the fancy suit and shoes Stark had lent him, and went back out to the main room.

Then that whole pep talk promptly went out the window as he came out to see Stark sitting on a metal table, swinging his legs like a kid as he ate a cookie. As Bucky came closer, he saw that Stark had kicked off his shoes and had also taken a signle bite out of half the cookies in the box. When he looked up at Bucky with a smile of welcome, Bucky knew that he was in trouble.

“So what did we need to talk about?” he asked, taking a seat on the table next to Sta- Tony. He might as well stop calling him Stark; it’s not as if thinking of him by his last name was helping him maintain any sort of objectivity.

“Just getting your impression about tonight. Did you notice anything I should know about?” Tony held out the cookie box and Bucky took one of the oatmeal craisin ones, one of the few that Tony hadn't taste tested.

He took a bite to buy himself some time to think; Bucky had a lot of observations from tonight, ranging from the completely inappropriate (the curve of Tony's ass when Ms. Potts dropped something and Tony bent over to pick it up) to the irrelevant (not impressed with the music selection) to the potentially explosive (the Commandant had a drinking problem and was probably cheating on his wife). Assessing which were relevant to Tony took a moment. “There were a couple of people that were giving you the evil eye all night,” he said finally. “Right after you shook hands with them they looked like they wanted to shank you.”

Tony threw his head back and laughed at that. “I’m sure. Was one of them a skinny tool with glasses? Justin Hammer?”

“Yeah, that was one. Another one was the Special Agent in Charge of an FBI satellite office-”

“Not surprising,” Tony commented. “She’s new. The new ones are always hungry, she’ll come around.”

“-And the other was a big guy, bald but had a beard. I didn’t catch his name, sounded like you called him Toby.”

“You mean Obie? Obediah Stane?” Tony said with surprise. He dug out his phone and pulled up a picture. “This guy?”

Bucky leaned over to look at the phone. “Yeah. I always saw him watching you when you were talking to other people. Guy had eyes like a shark. People like him can kill someone and pass a lie detector test while his hands were still bloody. Who is he?”

“A family friend.” Tony frowned down at his phone and tapped it against his palm thoughtfully. “At least, I thought he was.”

“Oh shit. I’m sorry,” Bucky said. “Maybe I’m wrong, you know, I’m not-” an expert, is what he was going to say, but he stopped because no matter how you sliced it, cop or criminal, he was. He was an expert in assessing threats, and that guy was definitely bad news.

Tony waved his words away and tossed his phone on the table with a clatter. “It’s fine. Better to know. I’ll look into it. Anything else?”

Bucky shook his head and took another bite of cookie. “Why do you go to these things if they are full of people you don’t like and apparently people who don’t like you?”

“Networking, mostly. Obligation. Gotta show my face every now and then. Spite,” he added with a smirk. “But it’s also a good reminder.” When Bucky made a questioning sound, he took another cookie from the box and nibbled the edge.  “Look, I was a rich asshole for a long time,” Tony said after a moment. “Too long. Then one day, I met a guy at a party. Don’t even know how he got invited because he wasn’t rich, wasn’t famous, he was just some doctor. And I don’t remember what I was saying, but at one point he looked at me with such pity,” Tony said, eyebrows drawing together. He studied his cookie like it was helping him remember. “I still remember his face. No one had looked at me with pity before, and he said, ‘Look at you. All this money and still you have nothing.’ And I was like, ‘excuse me? Do you know who I am?’ As you do, right, because I could have anything I wanted, I’m fucking Tony Stark. And he said, ‘Yeah, I know who you are. I’ve seen dozens of men like you. And despite all their money, all their fame, death came for all of them in the end, and they had nothing to show for it but a tacky tombstone.’” Tony bit his lip, frowning a little. “I’m sure I said something, but he just finished his drink and walked away, like I wasn’t worth his time. I wish I could say that I had this like, huge change of heart and changed my ways after that night, but it ended up being this gradual thing.”

Bucky realized he was staring. “What do you mean?” he asked, taking a bite out of the cookie he just remembered he was holding.

“Well, I looked him up later and found out he ran a free clinic downtown and on a whim I donated some money. Like, 'see what a good person I am, have some money.' Like I was proving him wrong somehow by doing that." Tony snorted and shook his head at the memory. "Anyway, doing that puts you on some kind of list somewhere, apparently, and one day I got an email about a runaway shelter. Then a food bank, then a refugee thing, and it kind of snowballed from there.”

“Wait, wait.” Bucky shook his head. “How did you go from ‘donating to a clinic’ to ‘mob boss over half of Manhattan’? That’s one hell of a snowball.”

“Well, after donating to a bunch of causes, I saw that a housing complex near all these nonprofits went up for sale, so I bought it,” he said with a shrug, fiddling with a napkin as he talked. He was already done with his cookie somehow, despite having done most of the talking.  He reached for another from the box and took a tiny bite. “I was kinda feeling like, I don’t know, tied to this area as I kept an eye on my pet projects. Then I started getting a bunch of complaints about the conditions and I was pretty fucking appalled at what I was seeing. Like, no one should live like that. It was a shame for rats to even be living there. So I fixed it up, and then I set up a trust for the building and gave it back to the tenants. All their rent goes in a fund, and they spend money on that fund to pay for what the complex needed.”

“Like a condo association?”

“More like a cooperative. They decide how much to charge everyone for rent, they decide if they want to spend money on painting the place or upgrading the light fixtures, you know, whatever. I think last time I checked they had put in a community garden. So when another came up for sale, I bought it, and then another, then I realized I might as well invest in some of the businesses here. After the fiasco of that first apartment building, I started looking at what I was spending my money on so I would know what to expect. Then when I was looking at a commercial building, people came in to shake down the owner of one of the businesses while I was there. Like, I was standing right there and those people didn’t give a shit who saw them. I was so surprised that I didn’t say anything until it was over, and then I asked the guy if that happened a lot. Can’t let that go on, you know, because...well, I mean, the owner looked so scared, and that made me mad because he's just trying to make a living, you know? Also, it cuts into the bottom line, so.” Tony shrugged again. “I put a stop to it. And then, well,” he gestured expressively around him with his cookie. “Like I said. Snowball.”

Bucky could only stare, bemused. If he had heard the same story on his first day of work, he might have been unable to keep from laughing in Stark’s face. But now…well, it was increasingly hard to square what the police knew – or thought they knew – about Tony Stark and what Bucky was seeing. “I guess no kid wants to be a criminal when they grow up,” Bucky said. “We all just kind of wander into it.”

“Yeah? Is that how you went from Bagram to Brighton Beach?”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to shrug, uncomfortable. After hearing Tony's story, he didn’t want to feed him some bullshit line from his cover story. “There’s only a few career opportunities for a grunt back home,” he said vaguely. “Even fewer that pay well.”

He glanced up to see Tony studying him thoughtfully. “Do you miss it?”

“The Army? Hell no.” That part was true enough.

“How about here? Are you happy here?”

Bucky’s mouth quirked. “Are you asking me about my job satisfaction? One means not at all satisfied, ten means highly satisfied?” He had the pleasure of watching Tony almost spit out a bite of cookie as he surprised a laugh out of him.

“Sure,” Tony said after a moment when he finished chewing. "One out of ten."

“Ten,” Bucky said truthfully. “I like helping people.” He had the traitorous thought that the past few months working with KT had been closer to what he'd thought it would be like to be a cop than what it had actually turned out to be like, and felt vaguely guilty.

“Yeah, me too.” 

They sat there in a surprisingly comfortable silence for a few moments before Bucky heard the ding of a notification on his phone. He silenced it without looking – his handlers were still yelling about the Policeman’s Ball – but sighed when he saw the time. “It’s getting late,” Bucky said reluctantly, more because it seemed appropriate rather than any desire to actually leave. He opened his mouth to say, I had a great time tonight and immediately felt like an idiot because, bare feet and half-eaten box of cookies aside, this wasn't, in fact, a date.

But apparently he wasn’t the only one who had lost the plot, because Tony said, “Would you like to come up for a dr-” before he cut himself off with a look of horror that would have been funny if Bucky hadn’t, deep down, wanted so badly to say yes. “I’ll call you a cab,” he said instead, looking away to grab his phone.

“I’ll wait outside,” Bucky said, and fled.

                                                ***

Tony watched from a window as Blue Eyes' taxi drove away, then as Tony went up the elevator to his penthouse condo he texted a sad face to Rhodey.

Told you it was a bad idea, Rhodey wrote back.

Don’t say I told you so. I’m sad, Tony responded.

You’re making yourself sad pining after an undercover cop. I don’t feel bad for you.

“That’s fair,” Tony said out loud. You should. I got you cookies and you’re being mean to me. Tony texted Rhodey a picture of the half-empty box of cookies and made himself sad all over again, remembering the intensity with which Blue Eyes had stared at the display of cookies when told to pick one, like it was a pop quiz that he was determined to pass.

Go to bed, Tones.

With a sigh, Tony tossed his phone on the bed and started peeling himself out of the monkey suit, setting the cufflinks he’d been wearing on his dresser as he threw the suit and shirt on the back of a chair to be dry cleaned. The problem was that tonight, like every night for the past few years, Tony was going to bed by himself. There had been a certain point where he’d realized that he’d tipped over from bending the rules, to breaking the rules, then to breaking the rules in a way that would get him put on lists written by people with badges, and at that point he’d realized that to bring anyone into his life was to put a target on them. The only way to avoid it was to not get close to anyone, but he’d done the one-and-done lifestyle and wasn’t interested in that anymore. It had been Pepper for a  while, because she was more than capable of protecting herself, but after a year she had gently but firmly told him that it wasn’t working for her, and that had been the end of it. Since then, there had been a few people that he thought maybe, maybe this one but in the end, they didn’t feel right.

Blue Eyes felt right. He knew it was dumb and he knew what Rhodey would say – star crossed lovers only exist in fiction, Tones - but as he slid between the sheets that night, he let himself daydream about it until he fell asleep.

[lostinmirkwood]

Iambic Pentameter

Catch up from the beginning. Read Chapter 2.

She’s Got The Look

Arya glared down at her notebook, blank except for the pen doodles in the margins. She would love her final period Literature class if only Mr. Dondarrion would let them read something written by someone other than old, dead, white men. Who decided that Steffon Fossoway had more literary value than Nymeria Ny Sar? Nymeria was a Rhoynish rebel during the Valyrian uprisings and her writings reflected the plight of her people as they fled across the Sunset Sea to Dorne. Fossoway just wanted to relive his “glory days” of war through stilted sentence structure and pretentious metaphors about sunlight. This wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she’d petitioned Mr. Dondarrion to allow her to take the senior level class as a junior.

She would also love this class even more if there was a seating arrangement that didn’t have Joffrey Baratheon sitting directly behind her. He kept knocking his foot against her chair leg and she was going to lose it on the little snot-nosed southern princeling if he didn’t knock it off soon. She didn’t care that their fathers were best friends, that his grandfather was on the Small Council, and his mother was THE King’s Landing socialite, he was a prick. One who seemed to know just how to push her buttons. If she could keep a lid on her frustration that would be a small victory for her.

Arya tuned back in to the lecture just as one of her classmates was lavishing praise on Fossoway, “His prose is so romantic,” Marella Rosby was gushing.

Arya scoffed audibly, “Romantic? Fossoway? He was a misogynistic alcoholic who spent most of his life trying to shag Aerion Targaryen’s leftovers.”

From behind her Joffrey cut in, “As opposed to a bitter, self-righteous twit who has no friends?”

Arya rolled her eyes. She could see Mr. Dondarrion sigh when she carried on as though she hadn’t heard Joffrey, “I guess in our society being a male and an asshole makes you worthy of our time, Baratheon ,” she could hear his snicker. “What about Argella Durrandon, or Elissa Farman, or Nymeria Ny Sar? Why can’t we read something from-”

The classroom door swung open, cutting her off. The half of the class that wasn’t already facing Arya, and unintentionally the door, to watch her soapbox turned as one to see who was there. Standing in the doorway was Gendry Waters, his unruly black hair falling over his high forehead into his bright blue eyes, scruff decorating his sharp jawline, and the other reason Arya couldn’t enjoy her Literature class. When he even bothered to show up to class he always sat brooding in the back corner smelling faintly of cigarette smoke. He never participated in discussions, she never saw him turn in work, and when it was time for partnered essay editing she always seemed to get stuck with him. He’d flip through the first few pages of her draft before sliding it back to her with a wink and nary a word or a pen mark before slipping out of the classroom as soon as Mr. Dondarrion’s back was turned. It was infuriating.

“What did I miss?” His school bag was hanging haphazardly over his shoulder as he leaned against the door frame, everyone’s attention now firmly on him.

Arya rolled her eyes, and turned back towards the front of the classroom, “Just the oppressive, patriarchal values that dictate our education.”

“Cool,” with a crash the door swung shut behind him as her annoyance returned to whatever it was he did when he wasn’t sitting in Junior Literature, ignoring her essays and winking those blue eyes at her.

Mr. Dondarrion sighed again, his head in his hands. “Miss Stark, thank you for sharing your opinion on Steffon Fossoway and our curriculum. You’re dismissed.”

Arya’s jaw dropped, she hadn’t done anything today to warrant this, “But, Mr. Dondarrion!”

“Dismissed, Miss Stark.”

With a huff, Arya slapped her notebook closed and stood. She made sure to clip Joffrey’s shoulder with her elbow as she stepped past him, fuming, into the hall.

---

Miss Tarth raised a pale eyebrow as Arya swept into the Main Office. “Mr. Dondarrion, again?” she asked, knowingly. Arya nodded before pointing at Ms. Smallwood’s open door with a cocked eyebrow of her own. Miss Tarth sighed and gestured for Arya to enter the guidance counselor’s office. Ms. Smallwood was typing away at her computer talking under her breath as Arya stood in the doorway. Suddenly her head shot up and she shouted, “Brienne! What’s another word for ‘engorged’?”

Arya turned back to look at the secretary. Miss Tarth was staring at the ceiling with a long suffering expression and a slight blush before she replied, “I’ll look it up.”

Arya stepped all the way into the counselor’s office, closing the door behind her, “Turgid?”

Ms. Smallwood cocked her head to the side and thought for a moment. “Perfect!” she chirped before making a few keystrokes and waving Arya into the plain wooden chair in front of her desk. “So, I hear you were terrorizing Mr. Dondarrion’s Literature class again.”

Arya frowned as she sat, “Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action.”

Ms. Smallwood looked up from her computer and adjusted her spectacles, “The way you expressed your opinion to Elmar Frey? By the way, his testicle retrieval operation went well, if you’re interested.”

Arya faked a concerned smile, “Good for him. I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls.”

Ms. Smallwood sighed, “The point is Arya, people find you a bit…”

“Tempestuous?” Arya supplied.

“Bitch from the Seventh Hell is the term used most often. You might want to work on that.” With that the older woman gave a firm nod and turned back to her computer screen.

Arya stared at Ms. Smallwood for a moment before standing to leave, obviously dismissed, “As always, thank you for your excellent guidance. I’ll let you get back to Aegon’s quivering member.”

The door swung shut behind her and Arya heard Ms. Smallwood mumble, “‘Quivering member’, I like that. I’m going to use that,” as the frantic typing resumed.

---

The day finally ended and Pod found himself back in the main courtyard with Hot Pie again. Hot Pie was going on about some hostile take-over in the KLP Baking Club that had his croissants branded “store-bought” much to his offense and dismay. Pod nodded along vaguely as he scanned the courtyard for shining copper hair, straightening slightly when Sansa Stark finally made her appearance. He wasn’t the only one who noticed her arrival though, sprawled on a low wall near them was a small group of guys ringed around a smug-looking blond who was clearly their leader. One of the boys nudged the blond as Sansa approached with the same friend from that morning. Both Sansa and the blond made eye contact as the girls walked by, Sansa smiling shyly and tossing her hair as they went. Just as they passed the blond called out, “Looking good ladies.”

Both girls glanced back briefly as he gave them an appreciative once over before they continued on through the courtyard, giggling as they made their way towards the parking lot. Pod felt nearly invisible as Sansa and her friend passed by him and Hot Pie without so much as a glance in their direction. He sighed quietly and turned back towards Hot Pie who was shaking his head slightly at Pod’s reaction.

Before either of them could speak they heard one of the boys in the circle around the blond say, “She’s out of reach even for you, Joff.”

The blond scoffed, “No one’s out of reach for me.”

“Want to put money on that?” the other boy replied.

“Money I’ve got. This I’ll do for fun.” Joff sneered.

Pod huffed in disgust and it was Hot Pie’s turn to sigh. Slinging an arm around Pod’s shoulders he turned them away from the other boys, “That, my friend, is Joffrey Lannister. Richest asshole at KLP, don’t mess with him. Rumor has it he once had a kid expelled for taking the last energy drink out of the vending machine right before he got there. He’s a model too.”

“Wait, he’s a model?” Pod laughed.

“Mostly regional stuff, but word on campus is he’s got a big tube sock ad coming up.”

“Really?” both boys snickered before Pod looked back towards Sansa who had paused with her friend at the edge of the courtyard, “Man, look at her. Is she always so-”

“Vapid?” Hot Pie commented.

“How can you say that! She’s-”

“Totally conceited,” Hot Pie deadpanned.

“No! There’s more to her than you think. Just look at her. There’s something in her eyes. She’s totally pure. You’re missing what’s there!” Pod exclaimed quietly, aware that his voice could carry through the crowd if he wasn’t careful. He wanted to woo Sansa, not have her start off thinking he was a creep.

“No Pod,” Hot Pie sighed, “What’s there is a haughty little princess wearing a strategic sundress that makes guys like us realize we can never touch her. And guys like Joffrey realize they want to. Put her in your spank bank and move on, man.”

“No, no. You’re wrong about her. Well,” he paused for a moment, “maybe not about the last bit but the rest, you’re wrong.”

“Oh I’m wrong?” Pie smirked slightly, “You know, she’s actually looking for a Volanti tutor.”

“That’s perfect!”

“You speak Volanti?” Hot Pie questioned, looking surprised that Pod had jumped on his suggestion so quickly.

“Uh, no. But I will!” Surely it couldn’t be that hard. They could learn it together if he could just stay a lesson or two ahead. He’d just moved here, no one needed to know he’d taken two, broken up, years of Braavosi. The root language was the same, he could fake it, right?

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Guardian of creatures; AU! Queen x reader chap. 1

*Author’s note*

Well it took awhile from the last update (plus things have been happening in my personal life like losing yet ANOTHER kitty cat this year) but I finally came around and deliver to you guys the first chapter of my new Hallowqueen series. Now keep in mind it’s mostly in 2nd PERSON POV which means as the reader it’s basically gender neutral, so be patient with me as I try to make sure to keep my pronouns in order. Also I hope you all watch the video I have linked in the story, I def. LOVED it when I first found it years ago and this guy can really sing and bring a gender-bend Disney character to life, so if you’ve never heard of him, check out his page you won’t regret it :)

Now not really any warnings per-say except rude bosses, seductive gestures, 

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@ixchel-9275​

@simonedk​

@queensdivas​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@dancingcoolcat​

@queendeakyy​

@kinole009x​

@klausidiot​

@geek-and-proud​

__________________________________________________________

Chapter 1,

First day on the Job

*April 11th, 1926*

First day on the job.  Well it’s really an internship but you were looking forward to it.  Working for the New York Times was an opportunity for any writer.  Your dream was to one day publish the next great American novel, as a child you’ve always been whisked away by the words and tales of dragons, sea-baring pirates, and worlds unlike the one you lived in.

It amazed you how one writer can just take you away on a journey and help distract you from the stresses of the world.  And here is where your journey began in hopes of accomplishing that dream.

You had first heard about the internship for the NY Times in the papers in an advertisement.  The call asked for a 300 word sample of your writing as well as any previous writing experiences you’ve had in the past.

In school you’ve been part of the school newspaper and helped write up advertisements for after school events.  So after submitting your sample as well as a resume, about 2 months later you finally got a letter from the NY times wanting to do an interview.

Long story short, the interview went great and now you’ve got the internship.  You now stood before the doors that would start your future in the world of writing. Tugging the strap of your suitcase over your shoulder, you take a deep breath in before exhaling and entered inside.

Already swarms of people flooded the first floor of the building, their voices echoing off the large room.  The repeated sounds of phones ringing piercing the room as secretaries at their desks were answering them.

It felt like a dream to you for you to actually think that you were now working in one of the top Newspapers brands in all of America.

“You there!” a voice called out.  You turned and saw a young man in a brown suit. “Why are you just standing there!? We are running a newspaper here, not a charity tour.”

“Sorry, I’m….my name is (y/n) (l/n). I’m the new intern to Mr. Grayson.”

“Ohh right. He’s been expecting you. You’re late by the way.”

“Late? But I’m right on……”

“One rule about working under Mr. Grayson, he expects his interns and anyone on his team to arrive before he does. Which is 6am on the dot. And it is now,” he looks down at his watch, “8:45. That’s a good start.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t tole. I promise it’ll never happen again.”

“See to it that it doesn’t. I’m Harry Wormwood, Vice President of the New York Times.”

“Oh Mr. Wormwood it’s an honor to—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just get up to your post and start your internship.”

“Yes sir.” You said solemnly.  Wow he was rude.  To think you have a VP like him that acts like that around new people, especially interns.  But he was right, you had to get up to meet with your head of office and get right to work with whatever he needed help on.

You adjusted your bag once more before heading straight to the elevator and went up to the 13th floor.  After a bit of a ride and getting some more people in the elevator with you, you finally arrive to your floor.

People, like down in the first floor, were swarming the room, typewriters were tapping away as men were at their desks typing away their stories and articles for the paper.  Or as they like to call it ‘putting the paper to bed’.  You walk forward towards a middle aged man with ginger colored hair and ask him.

“Excuse me, do you know where Mr. Grayson’s office is at?”

“In the back, straight down the hall, last door. It’ll have his name plagued on the door in gold.” He said without looking you in the eye.

“Great, thank you.” you followed his instructions but when you got to his door, there was sounds of a commotion going on.  Well when you say that you mean the sound of someone yelling and belittling someone, then yes.

“YOU GODDAMN SONS OF BITCHES!!! If we can get a picture of Joan Crawford in lingerie, then we can surely get a hold of this damn jazz club!” you peek inside and inside you see four men surrounding a desk.

And right there at his desk with a cigar between his teeth was your new boss, Mr. Richard Grayson.  He was a middle aged man around his late 40’s possible even early 50’s. He was a fairly tall man with greying short hair, a small mustache across his lip.

But what really made him well known was the way he carried himself.  He was always described as a man who carried himself like a drill sergeant (that could be because he was one during the Great War).  A true, Bronx accent that carried out demands for miles and miles on end.

“Sir, we have tried everything we could to get a hold of an interview inside but not even our best interviewers could get pass security.” Said a blonde haired man in a blue suit.

“Our photographer Eddie has been on it for weeks and the owners have threatened a lawsuit against him because he’s been taking pictures of the club without consent.”

“Aww what are they shy?” Mr. Grayson mocked out. “Then let them sue us then, get rich on their own standards! That’s what made this country stand the way it is!”

“Maybe we should just forget about it.” Said a brown haired man.

“I have been on this case for years. Ever since these mysterious owners built their club at the start of the decade and has remained popular I want to know just what the secret to their success.”

“Sir the only thing we have is that the owners come from England and that they prefer a specific crowd of people.” Answered a young man around your age who had black hair.

“Yeah right they do.” Mr. Greyson muttered sarcastically. That’s when he suddenly turned towards you. “You!” he pointed at you.  You’re startled by his loud, strong voice as you quickly come inside his office.

“Sorry sir I-I-I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I really should’ve knocked.”

“You’re the new intern right?” he ignored your apology and went straight to the question at hand.

“Y-Yes sir.”

“Excellent. I want you to go to this night club and get an exclusive interview with the owners, bartender, musicians, I don’t care who. Just find someone to talk to and ask them about their Jazz club.”

“Sir you can’t give it to them. This is a big responsibility, not to mention too much for a fresh intern to take over.” Said the man in the brown suit that you saw first speak to Mr. Grayson.

“Shut it Mack! You remember what I had you do the first day you were late working for me. What better way to get started than by throwing fresh meat to the wolves.”

Can you say you regret working here yet? No too early? Okay then.

“So what do you say kid, will you do it?” before you could even answer, your boss continues, “Of course you’ll do it. Now then. Take this camera, your notepad, and come up with a clever story to get inside. Good luck kid!” he tosses you a camera and notepad before escorting you out of his office and shutting the door behind you.

Okay……what the fuck just happened? It all happened so fast you almost couldn’t even believe it.  And what jazz club did he want you to check out again?

Later that night (after getting the information from some of your new team members) you now stood before the building you were supposed to go undercover for.

In a bright neon sign at the side of the building was the name BEWITCHED JAZZ.  Now you have heard of this club before and remember it getting fairly good praise from the public and has a good swarm of people.  Hell even some of the biggest names in Hollywood have been seen going into that club.

But there was always an air of mystery about it.  Like Mr. Grayson said, security is always tight. First of all security actually gives you a pat down before entering inside.  Any traces of photography or recording equipment is immediately destroyed (yes you heard, destroyed).

Thinking it’d be best, you decide to leave the camera in your car and just wait it out.  Cause that seems to be the problem that most of Mr. Greyson’s reporters don’t seem to get, they just think barging on in will get them access.  A good reporter always plans ahead and blends in with the crowd, observes then goes in for the kill.

You stand in the line and for about an hour you stand there waiting to get inside until finally it’s your turn to go up.

“Next.” A very tall and muscular man speaks out as he unhooks the rope allowing you to come forward. “Pardon but I’m gonna need to do a pat down.”

“Go ahead.” As he carefully and precisely starts the pat down, you can’t help but feel intimidated, hell his whole hand goes halfway down your leg and covers your entire back.  He was a pretty intimidating man to look at, and you hope he doesn’t snap you like a toothpick.

“Now you don’t have any weapons or outside drinks that I’m not aware of?” he asks in that deep, deep baritone voice of his.

“No sir.” You answer.

“Show me some identification.” You pull out your wallet and give him your ID.  He looks down at it before looking towards you skeptically.

Swallowing nervously, the giant just looks at you with a skeptical look before finally giving you back your ID.

“Go right on in.” what? Oh god you couldn’t believe you could actually go in.  You take your ID and put it back inside your wallet and thank the guard before stepping inside.

It was a fairly big place, about 3000 sq. ft. A decent size of the typical jazz clubs in NYC.  It looked like any ordinary jazz club, firefly lights hanging from the ceiling, the lights lowered to a slight shadow, tables surrounding everywhere, including each side of the catwalk.

A grand stage was at the very center of the building with a band playing an upbeat jazz score.  Waiters and bartenders tending to each customer.  Some people were dancing to the music while most were sitting down talking to one another.

“Wow.” You softly muttered.

“It’s alright but we make do.” A voice suddenly spoke up. You jump back startled but you stop as you stare at the man before you.

He was unlike any other man you’ve seen in your entire life. He was fairly tall and lean, but not unhealthily skinny, just lean.  His eyes were almost a hypnotic blue and he had fairly sharp features, particularly his nose and even his profile.

It was like looking at an angel.  But what really struck your attention was the curly hair he had.  It reminded you of that one scientist from like the medieval ages or something, what was his name again uhh—Neutron? New—Newton! Isaac Newton that’s the guy.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“No it’s—it’s fine. I’m just…..I was just admiring the place. I’ve…..never really been to a jazz club before.”

“Well, I hope we here at the BEWITCHED can help fill your desires. Oh manners, I’m Brian. Head Bartender.” Head bartender? That’s new.

“What’s a head bartender?”

“Basically I run the bar and train all the other bartenders so that every drink is made to perfection. Now come, sit and let me prepare you something.” He does a gentle gesture towards the bar with his arm and you go to sit at an empty cushioned barstool.  Wow this was really cushioned, it kinda reminded you of sofa material. Now so soft that you sink into it but not hard enough to where it’s uncomfortable.

Brian goes around the bar and stands before you and asks with a warm smile and says with that soft voice of his that you can somehow hear over the music.

“Now what can I get for you?”

“Actually I’m…..don’t really know my drinks that well, what’s your most popular one?”

“Well the most popular drink on our menu is French 75. A pretty basic cocktail made with gin, champagne and lemon. I think the main reason why people like it so much is they think it’s actually from France but in truth it really isn’t.” he teases the last part of his statement which makes you softly laugh. “There’s also the Bees Knees, also called our ‘bathtub gin’. Mainly from our pianist player. But that’s basically gin, fresh lemon juice and honey. To give it that sweet yet tart flavor.”

“I think I’ll go with the Bee’s Knees then.” He gave a snap of his fingers.

“Coming right up.” He pulls out a small circular bowl wine glass and with graceful precision he starts whipping up the drink.  Shaking the cocktail up in a perfect blend, pouring out the right amount of gin and juice into the concoction.  Before finally topping it off with some honey and stirred it up.

Then with a grace and delicate pour, he pours the Bee’s Knees, which comes out in a beautiful, clear sunset orange color into the glass before topping it off with two flower decoration toppings.

“Here you are.” He said as he picked it up delicately from the stem of the glass and handed it over to you.  You set down a dollar and took a small sip of it.

And as soon as your tastebuds were washed over with the drink, it was like you had died and gone to heaven.

“Oh my god! This is sooo good!”

“I’m glad you like it. That’s actually one of the owner’s preferred cocktails of choice. Can’t get enough of it.”

“I can see why. And he certainly has good taste.”

“She does. Actually.” Wait did he just say.  I quickly looked up at him and I stammered.

“Wait—you mean this……”

“It’s a partnership. Both she and her husband own the place. She makes most of the decisions since she knows the business world better than any of us. While he takes care of the finances, she’s always been lousy when it comes to the math. Don’t tell her I said that though.”

“My lips are sealed.” You say as you take another sip of your drink.

The curtains then close and a spotlight came on at the center of the curtain.  That’s when you suddenly hear all the ladies in the room beginning to scream bloody murder. God never have you heard so many women scream before nor have you seen them try to get up to the stage so quickly in your life.

“Here they go again.” Brian says as he starts cleaning out a beer glass.

“What?” you ask.

“Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday night when my mate preforms, the ladies all go crazy at the chance of getting to him.”

“Mate? You mean you guys are…..” you ask curiously.

“Oh no nothing like that. Where we come from mate means best friend. But even though I don’t condone his constant flirtatious behavior, he’s gotten me out of more scraps than I care to imagine.”

Peeking through the velvet blue curtain was an arm.  The red glittering sequin pattern delicately bounced off the spotlight and soon a hypnotic, soft yet raspy voice began to sing. When the curtains opened up and a soft jazz tune began playing, on stage stood a very, very, very, very handsome man.

When you say handsome, you really mean handsome.  This man looked like he was carved from the god with his ruffled up blonde hair, his piercing blue eyes that unlike Brian’s which were soft and inviting, this guy had hypnotic eyes that just draw you in and could kill you.

He wore a bright sequin cherry red tail suit which was unbuttoned pretty much all the way down, exposing his upper body to the ladies.  His neck decorated with 3 necklaces.  One of which went practically down to where his abs were, the other hung right at the center of his chest and was in the shape of some sort of snail shell or some other type of seashell.  The last one was more of a choker but was decored with beautiful diamonds like a crown of sorts.

He strut across the stage with grace and purpose as he continued to sing with a lustful, hypnotic tone that just made you go numb and melt in your seat.  And your eyes refusing to look away from this handsome creature before you.

*Male singer*

I got plenty money in 1922 You let other rich men make a fool of you Why don't you do right like some other gals do?         

He kneels down in front of the stage in front of a beautiful young woman.  She had long, wavy blonde hair and she looked up at this man with lust in her eyes.  He placed a dollar bill between her teeth and closed her mouth as he walked down the steps of the stage.

        He then walked over towards a woman with short raven hair.  She was fairly lean and had almost an aristocratic air about her.  He stood in front of her and took her hand in his.  He leaned towards her hand almost wanting to kiss the back of it, but his lips teased her hand and you could see her slightly shiver past her authorative demeanor.

With a cunning grin, he then stripped his tailcoat off his back leaving the undercoat which exposed his bare arms, the hint of black ocean waves tattoos decorated around his biceps.

You couldn’t speak at this point as you felt our heart racing rapidly, almost as if it were about to pop right out of your chest. The man soon turned his eyes right on you.  His piercing eyes staring deep into your soul.

Slowly walking towards you, he circles around you like a wolf circling it’s prey.  His hand gently grazes up your arm and you feel a bolt of electricity run up your spine, and it didn’t help when his hot breath gently sung in your ear.

Let’s get out of here, I got some money for you

You're sittin' down wonderin' what it's all about If you ain't got no money they will put you out Why don't you do right like some other gals do? Let’s get out of here, I got some money for you

Now if you had prepared twenty years ago You wouldn't be wanderin' now from door to door Why don't you do right like some other gals do?          You didn’t know why but you were willing to let this god-like siren just devour you. But when you turned your attention back to him, you saw that he was now looking towards you left at the upper floors.

        There at the top of the red carpet stairs stood a fairly beautiful woman. Her hair was a beautiful long ginger color and she wore a similar sparkling dark cherry red dress.  She held in her hand a silver dollar.

        He slowly walked up towards the mysterious woman that stood by the stairs and the two stared each other down.  She gave him the dollar but before she took her hand away, he took it in his and stared up at her like she was an angel (which you’ll admit, she did kinda look like one).

Let’s get out of here, I got some money for you

Let’s get out of here, I got some money for you Why don't you do right, like some other gals, do?

As he did a falsetto for the final note, he grazed the woman’s hand before doing his seductive walk back towards the stage. He turned back towards the audience and gave a flirtatious wink before the curtains closed on him.

The ladies all screamed as the lights came back up and you felt the spell the man had somehow placed on you slowly fade away.  Right now if you had to describe how you were feeling it’s be like running a marathon and had just swam across the entire Pacific ocean twice.

“Hope he didn’t scare you too bad honey.” A soft, Southern accent spoke.  You turned around and there stood the woman that the blonde singer had tried to seduce with his voice.  But she didn’t seem affected like all the other women were.

“I-I ju……he was……” she lowly chuckled.

“He has that effect on all the ladies. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Brian dear, get this dear a glass of water.”

“Right away my lady.” Brian said as he prepared you a glass of water.  She takes a seat beside you and continues.

“He may act all macho and seductive. But trust me, his bark is worse than his bite.” She spoke in that honey-like voice of hers that had a slight raspy to it, but it didn’t change the softness to her motherly tone.

“Who—who was he?” you ask her.

“He only gives out his name to those he truly trusts. So most of the ladies here call him the blonde Siren.”

“The blonde Siren?”

“Now I hope I’m not being intrusive but I haven’t seen you in this club before, have I?”

“No. This—is my first time actually.”

“Really? For business or pleasure?” she said as she leaned her chin against fist, looking at you with red eyes? Wait she had red eyes? And not like the kind of red that comes from being tired or when you get pink eye.  They were literally red eyes, blood red to be exact.  Not wanting her to see that you were stuck in thought you came up with a good excuse.

“I’ve just heard about this place from some friends and—wanted to see for myself.” She looked at me skeptically at first but a soft grin spread across her face.

“Well we try our best. We also want to make sure that first timers are treated fairly and respectfully. That’s the one law here at BEWITCHED.”

“Well I’m fairly happy. The drinks are amazing and the music is phenomenal.”

“I’m glad.” She then hummed out a chuckle. “Silly me, I almost forgot, you can call me Serafina. I’m the owner of this fine establishment.” Your eyes widened.

This young and beautiful woman owned this entire place?! But she couldn’t be older than her mid 20’s.  And the fact that she was a woman running this club, that’s completely unheard of.  A woman owning such a booming business.

Of course there wasn’t any jealously on your part.  In fact you were amazed that such a young woman could run a business like this and be so successful.

“Brian told me that a woman owned this place. But—pardon me for saying this but you’re…….”

“Too young to run a big business?” she said with a quirked brow. Thinking you had offended her you tried to defend your statement but all that came out were stutters of embarrassment. “Relax honey. I get that a lot. Why do you think we’re so secretive? A young woman running a big business. Oh the scandal of it all!” the two of you laugh.

The big clock along the ceiling soon chimed out midnight. Whoa it’s already that late.

“I should get going. If I’m late for work again my boss will kick me to the curb for sure. And on my second day no less.”

“You sure you’re sober enough to drive honey?” Serafina asked you.  You give her a nod.

“Yeah. I only really had one drink and that water sobered me up a lot. Thank you so much Brian, Serafina.”

“Anytime sweetie. Hope to see you again soon.” Serafina says with a warm smile.  You grab your wallet and pay the rest of your tab to Brian before finally walking out of the club.

*3rd Person POV*

Once they were gone, Brian turned to her and said.

“It was them.”

“Just as Freddie prophesized.” Serafina dropped her fake accent and spoke with her normal British tone.

“So it is time then?” another British male voice spoke up. The High elf and the ginger haired witch turned and soon walking towards them was John Deacon himself.

His once long hair was now cut down to a short tuff of brown hair. He wore a clean-cut black tailcoat suit. Serafina extended her hand and the two lovers joined hands with each other.

“Yes my love.”

“Honestly I hoped this day would never come.”

“But it must John. You know this. You have seen what will happen if they don’t help us.” Brian warned him.

“I’m not sure if we can even trust them.” Coming around the bar to pour himself a drink was Roger. “They’re human. And humans have been poking around in our business for centuries. Especially their reporters. We already run the risk of exposing ourselves to the human realm.” He took a shot of his beer.

‘Now, now my darlings we mustn’t quarrel.’ A soft, serpent voice spoke in their heads. ‘The humans are our least concern right now. What matters now is getting our key to help us finally put an end to the dark Wizards once and for all.’

“Yes Freddie.” All four of them softly chorused out.

[sapphireharrie]

you would know if you stayed

the one where harry and y/n meet again 11 months after their divorce.

It was 3 am when y/n comes home with a paper on her hand, she was just back from a meeting with her attorney, sitting in Central Park alone in the dark thinking what the hell happened to her marriage, how could it come to this when she thought they both made a vow of forever four years ago. There was no argument when she gave Harry the divorce paper, it was him that asked for a divorce two days before. They have been having arguments for the past two years, tried marriage counseling for two months but didn’t work. Every time they tried to talk, it will just end in a big argument. They know all of this happened because of the lack of communication between both y/n and Harry. They both know beforehand, even from 2 months of them dating, they know both of them are always so bad at communicating, it was never a secret, but they have tried so hard to be more open with each other, which actually worked for three years into their marriage.

It was after their three years anniversary that both realized, their marriage didn’t work; falling asleep mad at each other, y/n being disappointed when Harry didn’t show up at their dinner nights, y/n being upset because Harry keeps forgetting important dates between the two of them, Harry being bored of y/n that keeps calling him to talk about their on-going renovated condo, Harry being irritated with y/n when she complained about him not being more included in their future home, and so on. When they decided to move to New York, instead of living in California and Harry sold his bachelor Beverly Hill house, it was because of y/n’s job, however it was also Harry’s idea to move. Y/n was willing to leave her job, and move to California with him. They both know Harry was never a New York City kind of guy, even though they both moved to the high-end downtown part of Manhattan, where almost all of the people that occupied the building are everyone from Harry’s league, Harry hates New York. He never talked to y/n about this because he didn’t want to disappoint her, but he’s getting fed up on how crowded and loud NY is, that he has to make up reasons to buy another house in California and keeps on making excuses to be there.

Every time she remembered about the night she delivered the paper to Harry, she wanted to scream. She wanted to yell why didn’t he fight for her? Can anything solve this? She tried so hard to keep this marriage work, she has been trying to save their relationship, but Harry didn’t seem like he was worried at all. A month and a half into their marriage counseling, Harry stopped showing up, y/n on the other hand still try to show up. She stopped after the counselor said that this is about two people; that relationship, especially marriage, consisted of two people, wouldn’t work if only one of them is trying. However, she refused to give up, she finally stopped trying when Harry came home, looking like a mess, saying that he wanted a divorce, that he can’t stand being like this. She doesn’t even understand what ‘this’ means. She wanted to scream, saying this isn’t fair, she should be the one that ending things up since she was the one trying to save their marriage, yet all that she did was nod, no words exchanged. She nodded and she left. She tried, didn’t she? If he didn’t want to fight, then giving up is the right move.

 ***

Five months after their divorce, y/n gets to keep their New York condo. However, the decisions weren’t decided without a fight. Y/n refused to accept the condo because Harry bought it. Her attorney then gave a piece of advice for y/n to pay for the condo, which Harry refused. They then came up with a decision that y/n paid 85% of the condo. Harry wasted no time leaving New York. He hasn’t been to New York since then, it was crowded before. Now that they have officially separated, Harry couldn’t even breathe in New York, everything has traces of her and both of them. Months after their divorce and the papers were all done, y/n was actually thinking about moving back to her parents’ house. As much as she loved New York and her condo, she also hated it here. New York is just too much for someone just trying to make it alone. She hated when everyone in the subway would look at her because they recognized ‘Harry Styles’ ex-wife’ and they started pointing fingers at her. It kind of feels the same way when they started dating, people would always stare, but in times she just started to ignore them. But now, it just felt like everyone knows how miserable she is. That is why she bought a car. Driving in New York is just straight up hell, but she couldn’t just live on taxis, it would be much more expensive, and taxis in New York are just straight up gross.

She stayed at her parents’ house for a while and then started to renovate and change everything from their condos. When she said everything, she meant everything. Nothing’s left from when she lived with Harry. She finished everything and started moving back again. Looking at her condo, she felt this is just the way she wanted it. However, she feels overwhelmed, everything just happened so quickly. That is when she decided to call Gemma, Harry’s sister. It’s hard when you have had adjusted your life to someone else’s and their families became your best friend, it is harder when they are your only best friends. Y/n tells Gemma everything, so when she couldn’t hold it in anymore, Gemma came to her. Gemma was already in New York for a few months, so when she called Gemma literally came running.

 “Y/n?” Gemma came into her condo, the condo has its own lift, that’s why she doesn’t really need keys when she got the access after she rang before. Y/n doesn’t answer her call, she looks at the condo for a while, it was beautiful, but it was also empty. There was no picture at all other than a few paintings. It was really different from when y/n and Harry lived together. Pictures everywhere, of their engagements, weddings, holidays, and she even put up some of Harry’s tour poster.

 “Y/n? I’m here, it’s Gemma,” she called again, but this time she heard footsteps from the kitchen and there was y/n, in her apron, ready to hug her.

 “Hi, I’ve missed you,” she said while running to Gemma who immediately hugged her back,

 “I’ve missed you so much,” Gemma said between her shoulders, “It smells really good, what are you making?” she asked, releasing her from the hugs,

 “Your favorite, orange chicken,” She answered while they both walked into the kitchen. Y/n finished her cooking while listening to Gemma telling her about her newest project. When they finished eating, y/n washed the dishes almost immediately, refusing Gemma’s help. Gemma stood in the kitchen watching her trying so hard not to cry while doing the dishes.

 “Y/n, please, just let me help,” Gemma said slowly while walking to her, shocked when y/n suddenly dropped the plate she was holding to the sink and started holding on to the edge of the sink, trying so hard not to also drop herself to the floor,

 “I’m just so-” she sobbed, while Gemma was trying to help steady her- “tired.” She finished her sentence, and God, Gemma just wanted to cry right there.

 “I’m tired of crying like a fucking freak every time I’m in the shower,” Gemma was trying to help guiding her to the sofa in the living room, silently cursing the condo for being so goddamn big,

 “I’m tired of coming home and having to hold my breath because I keep smelling him in this house even though I tried lighting every damn candle that I have,” she continued while Gemma was still guiding her to sit,

 “I’m so tired of having anxiety attacks every time I found something that belongs to him,” y/n tried to wipe her tears with the sleeve of her sweater,

 “I don’t know what I’m doing with my life, Gemma. I tried so hard to ignore everyone’s pity look for me at the office. I’m tired of doing my job so fucking slow and finding a new one every time just because I don’t want to come home. Gemma, I don’t want to be in this fucking house alone,” Gemma was just nodding along, listening to every word that she said carefully while trying not to cry herself,

 “I’m tired of keep wondering when did it all fell down, when did he stopped loving me, when did he started thinking maybe separating is the answer. Gosh, Gem, I’m so tired of wondering where I went wrong because he never gave me an explanation,” Gemma was shocked when y/n said Harry never gave her an explanation for wanting to separate,

 “He never told you the reason?” Gemma asked which was answered by y/n shaking her head slowly, “Gosh, darling.” Gemma started to hug her again, this time she didn’t even try to hold her tears. Giving herself a mental reminder to smack her brother’s head the next time she sees him.  

 “Gem, I don’t know what to do, God. I’m still so in love with him, but I’m trying so hard to let go.” She then pulled away from Gemma’s hug to get herself some tissues.

 “I don’t know what to say,” Gemma said, “he doesn’t really talk to me about this. I think he knew at some point that you would talk to me, he mostly talks to mum.”

“Can you tell mu-” y/n coughed, trying to correct herself- “Anne, can you tell Anne I’m sorry for not returning her calls? It’s not that I don’t want to, I just couldn’t.”

 “You know you can still call her mum, right? Y/n she loves you, she was just checking up on you. She’s been worried. We’ve all been worried, you just kind of disappear.” Gemma then picked up some tissues, realizing that she’s been crying this whole time.

 “Gem,” she started again, “you know I’d do anything to make him stay, right?” she asked, instead of answering Gemma stayed silent,

 “But, you should’ve seen his face when he asked for a divorce. He looked relieved. At that moment, I decided to give up, because I don’t want him to be unhappy with me. So, I let him go. But, Gem, I would do anything to make him stay.” She sobbed.

 “Is he also hurting, Gem? He must be, right?” she asked, but once again Gemma stays silent, doesn’t want to say the wrong or maybe the right thing,

 “I know it’s mean and cruel, but I kind of hoped he’s tortured too,” she admitted while looking down at her shoes, ashamed.

 “You’re not a bad person for hoping that, he left you hanging. I know for a fact that it’d be one whole lot easier if you know that he’s as messed up as you. You’re not mean nor selfish. Darling, you’re hurting, a lot.” No words were exchanged after Gemma said that, they sat there, hugging and crying together.

  ***

  When Mitch asked him to go to New York with him, Harry almost refused. However, he also thought that maybe it is time for him to finally be able to be in New York without feeling her everywhere he goes. But that is impossible, even here in LA, he still feels her presence every damn time.

 “You know, New York is really big, right?” said Mitch, trying to convince Harry to go, “there’s only like 35% chance of you meeting her. Besides, you don’t know if she still lives in New York, you haven’t talked to her.”

 “I know I haven’t talked to her, but I checked her Twitter every day,” said Harry while sipping his coffee,

 “That’s straight-up creepy, mate.” Mitch then sipped his coffee while looking at Harry,

 “I just want to know how she is, and the last time I checked she still lives in New York and still works for the same company, she posted a picture of her in her office’s café.” Checking her social media is one of the things that Harry do to check up on her, other than calling her mum and maybe Gemma. The first time he checked her Twitter account after they separated there posted a tweet a week after she handed him the divorce papers,

 ‘If only I knew how you felt all along.’

 Harry wanted to call her that day, he wanted to ask what does she mean, what does she think he felt? Because if he was honest, his feelings never change. He thought maybe this ‘stalking’ habit that he picks up after they separated is because he was so used to hearing her talk about her day, which one of his favorite things to do and he usually looks forward to it every day. The fact that he can no longer sit on their favorite sofa together with her legs on his lap, hearing her day at the office or just simply hearing about her favorite lunch, hurts him a lot.

 The one tweet that sticks to him the most was the tweet that she posted around a month after their divorce, he almost wanted to put it into his album, but then again, he needed to let go, didn’t he? He looked at the tweet for a really long time, screenshotted it so that even if she decided to delete the tweet or even her account it would still be there,

 ‘unsure whether who is winning or losing, but then again, you could never win a one-sided battle, can you?’

 Harry knew what this one was about. He realized that he gave up on her while she was trying to hold on to whatever it is left in their marriage. He left without giving her a reason why. Leaving her asking herself what the fuck was going on because he thought he promised her to fight, isn’t that what marriage is about? Fighting for each other. But he gave up. What kind of husband gave up on his perfect wife? She never asked for anything, hell, she waited for him while he was on tour. He gets to come home to his wife and his perfect condo. Not everyone has the luxury of having someone waiting for them faithfully when they leave for months and even years on the road.

 Eight months after their divorce Harry almost called her to tell her he still loves her, that he missed her, and that he wanted to start over. But then again, does he even have the right to do that? He’s the one leaving her, he knew exactly what he’s going to lose, yet he still did that. He has no right to even miss her, he is the one to blame and he hates himself every day for it.

  ***

  Three days of being in New York was pretty good, he didn’t really think about y/n because he always tried to make himself busy and so far, he hasn’t really had the chance to accidentally see her, and he hoped it would stay this way until he’s back to California. It was 9 am when he finally decided to leave his hotel room with his journal and laptop, walking into a small coffee shop near his hotel. He was just about to order when a smell caught his nose. He stopped for a second, there is no way this is y/n‘s perfume, there are millions of people wearing Tocca perfume, but this is y/n’s smell. He decided to look back to make sure that wasn’t y/n. But, god, does the universe hates him. He was faced with y/n, a phone between her shoulder and ear, and she was busy trying to find something in her purse,

 “Y/n?” Harry whispered, but it was definitely caught by her because she stopped looking through her purse and finally looked up, “hi!” said Harry with a little squeal. Y/n literally stopped in her tracks, looking at Harry with shock in her face.

 “I’m-” she stopped- “I’m gonna have to call you back,” she said to her phone and put it in her purse,

“What are you getting? On me.” Harry asked before she can manage to say anything, which she answered with “soy latte,” which she corrected after with,

  “Hot, hot soy latte,” still in shock, she didn’t even realize Harry was done ordering for the both of them and now he is leading her to one of the many empty tables,

 “Hey,” she said when she was finally able to process whatever it is in her head,

 “Hey,” Harry said with a big smile on his face, however, it was not without a pang on his chest. This is her ex-wife, looking as good as ever, new haircut, but definitely suits her, and she is sitting in front of him, after eleven months, eleven whole months without seeing her, talking to her, and hearing her voice.

 “How are you?” Harry asked. He nodded to the waitress when they gave him his order,

 “I’m good,” she answered with a little smile on her face, “how are you?” she asked,

 “I’m good, thank you. You look a bit busy, is it okay if we talk a little bit?” Harry asked while sipping his Americano,

 “It’s New York, everyone is always busy,” she chuckled without answering his question. Harry felt another sting in his chest, thinking about how much he missed that chuckle.

 “You also have been busy, I see. Another album, that was big.” She stated, Harry couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, she still keeps up on news about him, he sees.

 “Yeah, it was pretty big.” He answered, and nodding for the second time to the waitress when they came back to their table to give y/n’s order.

 “How’s work?” he asked while lifting his cup and sips his Americano,

 “Good.” She answered while tracing her take away cup of soy latte, trying so hard not to look at him. He was startled because he was expecting a longer answer, maybe her asking him back about work.

 They sat in silence for a moment, while Harry was thinking of what more can he ask so he can sit for a little while with her because, gosh, does he miss her. But her on the other hand, she was trying so hard to think of a reason to get out of his sight and this awkwardness.

 “How is the final of the condo? How’s New York been treating you?” Harry asked genuinely since he never really see how it finishes up.

 “Harry,” she sighed, “I really need to get going,” she said, then left him and her untouched latte before he can even stop her. He saw her walking out of his sight for how many times now, he couldn’t even count it. He sipped his Americano, and lean to the chair, closing his eyes.  He opened his phone and call one of the most called contacts on there,

 “Mum?” he sighed,

 “I miss her.”

 ***

 She walked really fast to her car and sit for a while. She wanted to stay. She would’ve stayed. But God, if she’s honest, she really would love to stay, catching up with him about life; asking him about his sister’s wedding, which she said she couldn’t attend because she can’t go to London that day due to work; asking him about his mum, is she well? Does she still go to the same yoga place? Is she mad at her for not answering her call and text? But good lord, she’s trying to let go.

 Twenty minutes after she left, Harry got a notification on his phone. He didn’t even realize that he has been sitting there alone for 20 minutes after calling his mum. It was a Twitter notification that said y/n has posted a tweet. Harry still has her notification on, and she rarely ever tweets. He opened the app and went to her profile, it stated that she tweeted a minute ago and says,

 ‘You would know if you stayed.’

 Another notification came,

 ‘You would know if you put up a fight.’

 He deserved that, he knew he deserved that. And in that moment, after eleven months, he realized, what has he done?

[dontshootmespence]

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.

[thecoleopterawithana]

Omfg thank you for your precious answer you're my favorite tumblr !! I have so many things I'd like to ask you bc you explain so well lol, first of all what do you think of the story of Tony Manero ? Do you think he tells the truth with his story ? Again thank you for your answer love youuuu

Hey again, dear anon! (I’m assuming you’re the one from before) Thank you so much for your kind words! I’m truly happy you're enjoying the blog, and that it is engaging enough to make you want to ask questions. I’m more than happy to try my best at answering them because I learn a lot in the research for these posts too!

For context, Tony Manero was a Brooklyn singer/dancer (who claims to be the inspiration for the main character in 1977′s Saturday Night Fever, though no movie-related source mentions it).

He comes up frequently in Beatles’ fandom circles as a “key witness” in the ongoing case of John Lennon’s sexuality. His testimony appears in Geoffrey Giuliano’s Glass Onion (1999), where he is interviewed on his encounter with John Lennon on the streets of New York City, on May 1974:

TONY MANERO*

Interview

New York, Summer 1992

Question: Tell me your story about meeting John Lennon.

Tony Manero: It was back in May of 1974. I saw three guys walking down the block. John was always my idol. I went up to him and said, "I know a lot of people hassle you, but I just want to thank you for your music. I've enjoyed you and you've helped me through a lot of emotional times." Outside Jimmy's Bar in Greenwich Village he said, "Why don't you come inside for a drink?"

Question: Who else was with him?

Tony: Harry Nilsson was also there. After we ordered drinks, John switched seats to be next to me. He said to me, "Are you gay?" When I told him I wasn't, he looked really disappointed. He could have been joking, but he wasn't. My initial reaction was fear. And yet I wouldn't leave because it was John Lennon. I said to him, "No, man. I don't go that way." "Are you sure?" he said, "Look, I'll take you to Hollywood." John was calling me "the pretty one." He told me, "You're the prettiest chick I've seen all day." He said, "You look like a pretty little Indian or Arab chick," because of my color skin. I remember Harry was borrowing one hundred bills from him.

Question: Then what happened?

Tony: At one stage I went out, and when I came back he was talking to this woman and he said "She said, 'I thought he was Paul, meaning McCartney.'" So John turns around and says, "No, he's prettier than Pauly. He's got a nicer mouth than Pauly. Pauly's got a small mouth." Then he turned to me and said, "Let's go get some chicks." This man was giving me a dream to pay millions for. I hung out with him. John almost admitted his gay tendencies. He put his arm around me. He said, "It feels good to hold someone. You know what I mean?" Prior to that he said, "There's nothing wrong with being gay. Two people exchanging feelings is not wrong. Did you ever try it?" People were following us. We were wasted and he put his arm around one girl and said "Suck my cock." He stuck his tongue down her throat. We were loaded. Somebody stole the hat right off his head! He was so nice. I remember we had a hamburger. Later we went to his hotel rooms, 1608, -9, and -10. There was Harry's bedroom, John's, and a living room with a keyboard. He gave me a guitar, but it was later stolen. He propositioned me in the street. Hassled me if I'd ever made love to a male. "Will you give me head, man?" he asked. But I wouldn't do it. "Come on, Tony, why won't you give me head?" We went back to his hotel and he propositioned me again. After John died I wished I'd done it. He tried to kiss me. He put his arm around me. He was making moves on me like a guy would make on a woman. We were on the couch and we lay down. I said, "Wow, maybe I should have." I never asked him if he'd had sex with a man, but it was obvious to me he had. I was at the hotel for a few days. But he never bothered me in the middle of the night. He never attempted it again. There were feelings and looks. He was very loving, like when a guy is very lonely. The man was bisexual - there is no two ways about it. He was feeling me out.

Question: What do you say to people who might not believe your story?

Tony: John did come on to me. He did try to make love to me. He asked me to perform a lewd act - that's the truth. The man was bisexual - there's no two ways about it. Any of his fans who can't dig that, I'm sorry, because if you listen to his music, sensitivity and experiencing is what it's all about.*Tony Manero was the inspiration behind the seventies film Saturday Night Fever and a successful New York businessman.

— in Geoffrey Giuliano’s Glass Onion: The Beatles In Their Own Words (1999), part Seven: Friends (pages 315-317).

Concerning Manero’s recollections, some familiar elements pop up.

There is "It feels good to hold someone. You know what I mean?" which seems to echo Paul’s recollections of his last hug with John, where the latter commented, “It’s good to touch.” It is a classical example of John craving physical affection.

"There's nothing wrong with being gay. Two people exchanging feelings is not wrong. Did you ever try it?" reminded me immediately of the poem John submitted for Len Richmond and Gary Noguera's Gay Liberation Handbook, on 30 May 1972.

Why make it sad to be gay?

Doing your thing is O.K.

Our bodies our own

So leave us alone

Go play with yourself - today.

Also, there are his comparisons to Paul, "No, he's prettier than Pauly. He's got a nicer mouth than Pauly. Pauly's got a small mouth." 

First, there’s the use of the adjective pretty, which he’s used for Paul before:

I remember we were going down to the studio [...] and there was a great crowd pressing against the car. John was sitting in the back and he said, “Push Paul out first. He’s the prettiest.”

—Victor Spinetti, in the documentary You Can’t Do That! The Making of ‘A Hard Day’s Night’ (1995).

Also, there’s “that Paulie business” (note that’s it’s Paulie, not Pauly; and John will object if you use it, especially in a condescending way!).

Moreover, to me, the whole exchange strikes the same tongue-in-cheek tone as this late 1975 interview:

John: Yes, all your best friends let you know what's going on. I was trying to put it 'round that I was gay, you know-- I thought that would throw them off... dancing at all the gay clubs in Los Angeles, flirting with the boys... but it never got off the ground.

Q: I think I've only heard that lately about Paul.

John: Oh, I've had him, he's no good. [Laughter]

— John Lennon, interviewed by Lisa Robinson for Hit Parader: A conversation with John Lennon (December 1975).

John had already insinuated his relationship with Paul in a similar way in this humorous self-interview:

Q. Have you ever fucked a guy?

A. Not yet, I thought I’d save it til I was 40, life begins at 40 you know, tho I never noticed it.

Q. It is trendy to be bisexual and you’re usually ‘keeping up with the Jones’, haven’t you ever… there was talk about you and PAUL…

A. Oh, I thought it was about me and Brian Epstein… anyway, I’m saving all the juice for my own version of THE REAL FAB FOUR BEATLES STORY etc.. etc..

Q. It seems like you’re saving quite a lot for when you’re 40...

A. Yes, there might be nothing better to do, tho I don’t believe it.

— John Lennon, interview conducted by/on John Lennon, and/or Dr Winston O’boogie, for Andy Warhol’s Interview Magazine (November 1974).

I introduce all of this because if there’s one thing I at first found odd in Manero’s account, it was John’s forwardness. John doesn’t strike me as a guy to openly proposition another man. Was he really just super keen on it? Was he getting liquid courage from all the substances? Was he trying to get those rumours off the ground? A mix of all three? 

But perhaps it’s wrong to look at 1974 as just a normal year. 

Lennon’s Lost Weekend was the time of his life where we can see him be the most publicly vocal about his curiosity. He was open about being open. 

And striking friendships with gay musicians like Elton John probably gave him someone who he could talk to, or at least explore the world of gay bars with. Whatever gets you through the night, it’s alright, after all. 

One of those “dancing at all the gay clubs” episodes has been recounted by musician and music producer Mark Hudson. In a “weird but beautiful” moment, John urged the group to join him on the dancefloor, when The Three Degrees’ ‘When Will I See You Again’ came playing through the speakers and he exclaimed, “I love this song!” 

Because it’s always informative to pay close attention to the songs that were resonating with them at any particular time, I’ll provide the lyrics to ‘When Will I See You Again’ (released in the US on September 1974):

Precious moments

When will I see you again

When will we share precious moments

Will I have to wait forever

Will I have to suffer

And cry the whole night through?

When will I see you again

When will our hearts beat together?

Are we in love or just friends?

Is this my beginning

Or is this the end?

When will I see you again?

May Pang reports in her book, Loving John (1983), that after she and John left LA to go back to NY — where, after some time at The Pierre hotel, they moved to small penthouse apartment on East Fifty-second Street, around July 1974 —  the McCartney’s had paid them a visit.

John would spend the next two months recording Walls And Bridges, before releasing it on 26 September 1974. It included tracks such as the aforementioned ‘Whatever Gets You Through The Night’, ‘#9 Dream’ and also the beautiful ‘Bless You’:

Bless you wherever you are

Windswept child on a shootin' star

Restless spirits depart

Still we're deep in each other's hearts

Some people say it's over

Now that we spread our wings

But we know better, darlin'

The hollow ringIs only last year's echo, oh-oh

Bless you whoever you are

Holding her now, be warm and kind-hearted

And remember though love is strange

Now and forever our love will remain

As a song, I think it's the best piece of work on the album, although I worked harder on some of the other tracks. In retrospect, that seems to be the best track, to me.

— John Lennon, interviewed after the release of the album, cited in John Blaney’s John Lennon: Listen to This Book (2005).

(I’m sorry, I got sidetracked by their love for one another...)

But getting back to Manero’s story, you asked me if I think it is the truth or not. And honestly, there’s really no way to be completely certain of the veracity of these accounts. Having said that, I don’t really see this story as the scandalous, explosive news it is often made out to be. Not because I think it might be untrue, necessarily, but because I personally feel like John’s interests in homosexuality come through in his own words, as we’ve seen in the previous post.

For me, it seems clear that there was an attraction there. Now, an even more interesting question, I feel, is how much of that attraction was about the physicality of the male body; how much was about the contact with one’s softer, more sensitive side, not allowed in the classic moulds of toxic masculinity; and how much of it was seeking sexual contact as a way to epitomize emotional intimacy? 

And with the complexity of human beings, it is fair and likely that there were little bits of all three elements involved. But perhaps, it’s best to continue that line of thought in another post...

But what do you guys think? I'd really like to hear your thoughts on the subject!

[nothingbutfangirlsmut]

Girl out of Time

Pairing: Bucky x Reader and Sam x Reader

Background: Willow Roffe was born and raised in Brooklyn. She lived her life as happily as she could with her two childhood best friends Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. When they both left her to join the military she tried to continue with life but that didn't get to happen for her for the simple fact that she meant something to James Buchanan Barnes.

Rating: Story will be overall MATURE but not every chapter. There will be strong language, talk of both mental and physical abuse, some good ole angst, and smut. There will be a warning at the beginning of the chapter when it includes smut.

Chapter 23

Brooklyn, NY 1943

I had spent most of my day at the hospital working my volunteer shift. As soon as I left the hospital there was James Buchanan Barnes standing in full head to toe army uniform. The sight of him took my breath away but shattered my heart. He did it. He enlisted. I smiled even though I suddenly wanted to cry.

“Well hello soldier” I teased as I stepped over to him.

He smiled down at me as he offered me his hand.

“How would you like to join me in finding our little troublemaker then enjoying a night of unashamed fun?” He asked as I grabbed his hand.

I laughed but nodded.

“Let me call my house real quick.” I said then turned to go back into the hospital.

“Why?” Jamie asked as he followed me.

“To tell my Pa I’m working a double shift.” I said looking back at him over my shoulder.

He chuckled and nodded. I walked over to the desk where one of the nurses were sitting. I pointed at the phone which she happily handed to me. I dialed my home number. My mother answered but was quickly replaced by my father after she said my name.

“Hey Pa, I was asked to work a double shift. They’re a bit short staffed.” I said sweetly.

“You got your blade?” He asked.

“Of course” I answered.

“Good, keep it with you. Be safe coming home.” He said in his normal soft tone.

“I will Pa” I said then hung up the phone.

I turned back to Jamie who was smirking devilishly. God he should be illegal. Especially in that uniform. I followed him back out of the hospital towards one of the recruitment centers.

“You seriously think he’d try again?” I asked him as we walked inside.

“You don’t?” He asked raising a brow.

Ok he had a good point. Steve was never one to back down from anything. No matter how many times he got hit he’d always get back up. He was tough but stupid at times. Jamie asked the nurse at the desk about Steve. She told us he was here but was denied. Big shocker. Jamie sighed then thanked her. We walked back out to the street.

“Where do you think he went?” I asked.

He shrugged. We walked a short distance down the street. We passed the theater. Just as we got to the alley beside the theater we both heard grunting and the sound of fists hitting flesh. We looked at each other then darted down the alley. Sure enough there was our Stevie getting the shit punched out of him.

“Hey!” Jamie shouted as he grabbed the guy.

He pushed him towards me making me step to the side.

“Pick on someone your own size.” He ordered the stranger.

The man swung at Jamie but he was quick to dodge it and throw his own punch which connected perfectly. I ran around them to Steve so I could help him back to his feet. Jamie was at our side a few seconds later.

“Sometimes I think you like getting punched.” Jamie said as he stopped in front of us.

“I had em on the ropes.” Stevie panted.

“How many times is this?” Jamie asked as he bent down and picked up a paper.

He opened it to see what it said. I had a feeling it was another one of Steve’s enlistment forms.

“Oh, you’re from Paramus now. You know it’s illegal to lie on your enlistment form. And seriously? Jersey?” He asked looking slightly disgusted.

Steve sighed as he took in Jamie’s full appearance.

“You get your orders?” He asked gesturing to the uniform.

Jamie was the one to sigh this time. My heart sped up at the anticipation for his answer.

“107th, Sergeant James Barnes. Shipping out for England first thing tomorrow.” He said as he stood tall.

Tomorrow? He’s leaving tomorrow?

“I should be going.” Steve said softly.

James chuckled then threw his arm over Steve’s shoulders.

“Come on man. My last night. Gotta get you cleaned up.” He said as he reached back for me.

I grabbed his extended hand then happily walked next to him. He let go of Steve but kept holding my hand. Would I ever see him again after tonight? Would he make it home? There was so many things I thought about telling him. Tings I thought I should tell him but I didn’t think I’d have the courage. What was the point anyway?

“Why? Where are we going?” Steve asked as we walked out of the alley.

Jamie handed him the paper in his hand.

“The future” he chuckled.

The Stark expo was always something special. That man was an incredible genius. I’d met him once or twice when he worked with my father. He was nice but a bit arrogant. The place was crowded as we walked inside.

“I don’t see what the problem is. You’re about to be the last eligible man in New York. You know there’s 3 and a half million women here.” Bucky said as we walked.

“I’d settle for just one.” Steve muttered.

“Bucky!” A girl shouted from a few feet away.

James smiled as he waved at her and her friend.

“Good thing I took care of that for you.” James chuckled.

I stopped in my tracks as I watched both boys walk over to the two very pretty girls. My heart plummeted. Absolutely no reason for me to tell him anything. Right in front of me was what he wanted. I’m 23 years old and the only man I’ve ever wanted was one of my best friends. Now he’s leaving to fight in the war tomorrow and most likely I’d never see him again. It was time I just accepted that I’d never get what I wanted. Just as I turned to walk away from them I heard James shout my name. I ignored him as tears began to fall down my cheeks. How could I be so stupid.

I didn’t stop moving until I got to the pier. It was less crowded here. Most of the city was at the expo. I walked over to the bench closest to the water then sat down.

“Stupid” I whispered as the tears continued to fall.

“Why am I so stupid?” I asked myself.

I leaned forward putting my face in my hands. I let it out. Everything I’d held in and kept to myself all these years. Everything I wanted to say to James was now drowning me. I should have told him a long time ago. I don’t know how long I sat there crying but it felt like an eternity. I really hope James was enjoying his last night. I only wish I could have said goodbye to him.

“What the hell?” The familiar voice asked harshly.

Sat up straight but didn’t turn around. He sounded like he was panting. He stepped in front of me but I only looked at his shoes. They were shiny and brand new.

“Willow” he said softly.

He kneeled in front of me as he grabbed my chin. He held my head in place so he could look at me.

“Why did you run off like that? Why are you crying?” He asked looking genuinely worried.

I sniffled then pulled my chin out of his grasp.

“It doesn’t matter.” I whispered.

“It matters to me.” He said softly.

The look on his face was genuine concern. I knew he did care just not the way I wanted him to.

“I should have told you a long time ago James. I like you. A lot. I always have. Over the years I’ve known you it’s only grown stronger. Now you’re leaving to go fight in a war you might not come back from. I’m scared and I’m heart broken.” I spoke threw my tears.

James sighed then pulled me to my feet. He wrapped his arms around my waist holding me tightly against his chest. He kissed the top of my head which only made me cry harder.

“Willow, I love you. I’ve loved you since the day I met you. I always thought you could do better than me so I never tried to be anything more than your friend. All those girls I dated only lasted a week or less because they never came close to you. I think we were both idiots. We both should have had the guts to fess up to each other. We can’t take that back now but we can change it now.” He explained softly.

I took a deep breath then look up at him. He gently wiped my cheeks.

“What do you mean?” I asked him.

“I want to make you a promise. I will be come home. I’ll come home for you. When I do come home I want to marry you. Give you anything and everything you could ever want. Everything you deserve.” He spoke softly as his thumbs rubbed my cheeks.

I was speechless. He smiled softly then stepped back from me.

“You want to marry me?” I asked in almost a whisper.

“I couldn’t think of any other woman I’d want to annoy the piss out of for the rest of my life.” He chuckled.

“You idiot” I breathed out as I threw myself into his arms.

He hugged me tightly then kissed my temple.

“Is that a yes?” He asked when he pulled away.

“You better come home Barnes. I’ll be waiting to be Mrs. Barnes.” I said quietly.

He grabbed my face again then pressed his lips to mine. My mind went blank as my entire body came to life. Not only was this my first kiss but it was also sealing a promise between myself and Jamie. A promise I would hold him to for the rest of eternity.

“We should get back to Steve before he gets himself into trouble.” Jamie whispered.

I nodded. James grabbed my hand tangling his fingers with mine. The smile that took over my face felt peaceful. Everything felt brand new. It didn’t take long for us to get back into the crowd of people. Steve was sitting on a bench alone eating some popcorn.

“Stevie!” James shouted to get his attention.

Steve’s head popped up as he searched the crowd. When he found us he was on his feet speed walking to us. As soon as he reached us a man carrying a camera appeared out of the crowd. He noticed James then came over to us.

“Hello soldier, when’s your ship date?” He asked James.

“Tomorrow” Jamie said simply.

“Well why don’t you let me get a picture for ya?” He smiled.

“Sure why not” James chuckled.

He moved to put me in the middle of him and Steve. James put his arm around my waist pulling my body into his. Steve had to stand on his top toes to put his arm over my shoulders. I laughed at the sight of him just as the man took the photo. James thanked the man then gave him his mother’s address to send the photo to.

“Now we should go dancing.” James beamed as he clapped his hands together.

“Sounds fun” I chuckled.

I turned to ask Steve to join us but the blonde was no longer standing there.

“Where’d he go?” I asked James.

“Why does he do that?” James asked in a hushed voice.

We both scanned the area looking for our friend. My eyes landed on the recruitment center only a few feet away from us. I nudged Jamie with my elbow then nodded at it. He sighed then started walking towards it as he pulled me by my hand. Sure enough, Steve was standing right inside looking at an enlistment poster. James grabbed his shoulder to turn him around.

“You’re missing the point of tonight.” James told him with a small smile.

Steve shoved his hands into his pockets.

“You go ahead. I’ll catch up.” Steve said softly.

James sighed.

“You really gonna do this again?” He asked the smaller man.

“Well, it’s a fair. I’m gonna try my luck.” Steve shrugged.

“Stevie” I said softly as I stepped closer to him.

“As who? Steve from Ohio? They’ll catch you or worse they’ll actually take you.” James said harshly.

“Look, I know you don’t think I can do this.” Steve said as he looked down.

“This isn’t about gallantry Steve. It’s war.” James said sternly.

“James that’s-“ I started but Steve stepped forward.

“I know it’s a war.” He said glaring up at James.

“Why? Why are you so keen to fight? There’s so many important jobs.” James tried to explain.

“What do you want me to do? Collect scrap metal in my little red wagon?” Steve asked in disbelief.

“Yes!” Jamie shouted.

“Ok that’s enough.” I said trying to pull James back.

“I’m not gonna sit in a factory Bucky.” Steve said simply.

James tried to ramble on.

“Bucky!” Steve shouted making James shut up.

We both stared at the blonde in disbelief.

“Come on, there are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do anything less than that. That’s what you don’t understand. This isn’t about me.” Steve said in an exasperated tone.

“Yea right, cause you got nothin to prove.” James said narrowing his eyes at his friend.

I grabbed Jamie’s hand trying to get his attention. He sighed then looked down at me. He squeezed my hand then gave me a small smile.

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.” James said as he stepped backwards pulling me with him.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” Steve said loudly.

James chuckled softly.

“You’re a punk.” He said as he walked back over to Steve.

The two boys hugged each other.

“Jerk” Steve said quietly.

James let him go then stepped back.

“Be careful” Steve told him.

James started to walk backwards again towards me.

“Don’t win the war until I get there!” Steve shouted.

James stopped then saluted Stevie before turning back to me. He draped his arm over my shoulders then guided me back into the crowd.

“You think he’s gonna be alright?” I asked softly.

James kisses the top of my head.

“Of course he is. He’s tough.” James said into my hair.

I didn’t want the night to end but eventually it did. James walked me all the way to the street next to mine. He kissed me several times on the lips, my cheeks, forehead, and temples. He rested his forehead against mine as he sighed.

“Please be careful James. I just got you. I can’t loose you.” I whispered.

“I’ll always be with you Willow. No matter what. I made you a promise didn’t I? I’ll be home before you know it and I’ll put a ring on this pretty little hand.” He said softly.

He grabbed my hand raising it up to his lips. He placed a soft kiss to my knuckles then let me go.

“Try not to worry about me doll. I’ll be fine.” He whispered.

He kissed me once last time then started walking away.

“James!” I shouted.

He stopped but didn’t turn around.

“I love you.” I told him.

He looked back over his should with a small smile.

“I love you Willow.” He said softly then continued walking.

—

[crzcorgi]

Don’t Need Saving

I wrote this last NYE when I was in a bad place. I never finished it (still really haven’t!) I just found it and added a bit to it to make it at least make some sense. I may continue with it. I’m still in that same headspace and when that happens I’m only able to write certain things, and I apologize for that. I am working on Negan’s Girl though!

Anyway, this is a Max x Reader

WARNINGS!!! The reader is in a bad place, attempted suicide, douchey handsy guy, some language

Words ~ 2700

Feedback is greatly appreciated!

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

   I was done. Done with a world where no one cared. Done with what little family I had that acted as though I didn’t exist. Done with being treated like shit. Done with saying “tomorrow’s a new day, it will get better.” But it never gets better. Only worse. So I was ending it. The pain, the hurt, the loneliness. I wouldn’t be missed, I’d been told so, in so many words. 

  It was an amazing view from the bridge really, almost made me change my mind. Sometimes the world could be a beautiful place, the rivers, the ocean, mountains. Mother Nature in all her glory. But man made objects could be stunning in their own right. The Great Pyramids, the Eiffel Tower, the Brooklyn Bridge. Which is where I was currently perched.

  I came here tonight thinking it would be easier to go unseen. Who knew that bridges have security?! But it was New Years, and most tourists were spending it at Times Square. And New Yorkers were partying at the thousands of restaurants and bars. So I was pretty much alone here by NY standards. 

  I didn’t want to end it this way. But I was a fucking chicken. I thought about pills or a gun. But what if they failed? Would I be left in a coma? Or worse yet, totally incapacitated? No. Jumping into freezing cold water from over a hundred feet up would surely be deadly. It had to be. 

  So why was I still sitting here, just talking to myself? Did I have doubts still? Was my life truly worth living? No, there was nothing left for me on earth, no one, no thing. Just a fucking waste of space. Crazy girl with her crazy thoughts. As some wise person once said, goodbye cruel world. 

  “Kind of a cold night for bridge sitting dontcha think?”

  “FUCK!!”  My hesitation almost coming to an end, but not of my doing. “You scared the shit out of me! Is that something you enjoy doing to people?!” A man, although it was hard to tell what sex they were due to the cold weather gear they were bundled up in, standing below me, smiling. 

  “No, I didn’t mean to frighten you miss. Just wondering why you would be spending NYE all by yourself on a bridge, in the cold.”

  “I’m strange that way. I like to be alone. And cold.” Why did he care? “So you can just move along now.”

  I looked down towards the shore, watching a tug pulling away from the dock. Life goes on. My exit from it wouldn't change a thing. 

  “Funny, I like to be alone in the cold too.”  

  Why was he still talking to me?!

  “That’s nice. So why are you standing there talking to me?” Just fuck off dude. 

  “Well, you just looked like you might not want to be alone.” He came closer to me. Close enough for me to see just how handsome he was. And wonder why he was on a bridge on NYE. 

  “You’re right, I didn’t want to be alone, it’s why I came here. Isn’t this where the hottest parties are held? I mean, I guess I just came early.” I turned to face him, outstretching my arms. Just then, a huge gust of wind came, my jacket sleeves acting as wings and pulling me backwards, and I thought, right off the bridge. 

  This is it, I’m going to die and I didn’t have to lift a fucking finger. I closed my eyes tightly, waiting.  So why isn’t my life flashing before my eyes? Where’s the bright light? The peaceful bliss? Should have known it wouldn’t be that fucking nice. It’s me, I shouldn’t expect it to be a beautiful ending. Just a dark lonely abyss. 

  I opened one eye a crack. And I saw him. No, not God. It was the man from the bridge. I opened both of my eyes completely, blinking. 

  “What the fuck?!” I realized I was in his arms. The fucker had grabbed me before I fell. He caught me. He saved me. 

  Wrenching myself out of his grasp, I jumped back. “Why? Why did you DO THAT!” 

  “Do what? Save you from falling?” He stepped over to the railing, looking over. “You do realize you most likely would have died, right?” He turned, looking at me with a look of disbelief, and concern. “I figured that might just fuck with your New Year’s plans.” 

  Was he kidding? Was I on some hidden camera show? 

  “Well, buddy, who the fuck are you to save me?! Did I ask to be saved?” I was shaking at this point, my fucking plans, gone with the fucking wind. 

  I started to walk away, possible new plans beginning to formulate in my head. But why bother? I’m a failure at life, and now, a failure at death. 

  “Miss!” The fucker was actually chasing after me. What the actual fuck?!

  I turned, ready to be angry, to rip him the metaphorical “new one.”  But when he caught up to me I saw something. He looked concerned, maybe even surprised. But I also saw something that I hadn’t seen, or felt, in a long time, maybe not ever. I saw someone who seemed to care. 

  “Yes?” I questioned him, my lack of trust never far away.  

  “Care to join me for a cup of coffee? I know a nice, quiet shop just off the bridge. Never too crowded.” He looked at me, a sweet smile on his lips. “I’m cold and really could use something to warm up.” 

  I don’t know why I said yes. Maybe I just craved a great cup of joe. Maybe I needed to warm up too. Or just maybe, I needed to feel something, that possibly someone, cared. Maybe just a tiny bit. 

  I followed my strange savior across the bridge and down to a street that was bustling with party goers. I was feeling a bit antsy with the crowds. 

  “It’s right up ahead.” He had turned to make sure I was still behind him. “Take my hand, don’t want you getting lost.” He held his hand out and I took it. It was warm and soft and I was so lost in the human contact, something that I hadn’t felt in so long, that I ran right into him when he stopped in front of the coffee shop. 

  “Ooh, fuck! I’m sorry.” I blurted out. 

  “S’ok, kinda stopped quick on you.” He opened the door, stepping aside to let me enter first. It was big, like an old warehouse feel to it. But it felt nice. And he was right, it was quiet and not too crowded considering the night. 

  “Choose a seat darling, coffee?” 

  Darling? 

  “Umm, yes, please.” I found a table towards the back it was as by the windows with a wonderful view of the bridge, the city sparkling behind. 

  “Perfect spot.” Stranger Savior placed two pastries down on the table. “These are delicious, try one.”  He walked back over to the counter, picking up our coffees. 

  “I forgot to ask, cream, sugar?” 

  “A bit of cream would be great, thanks.”  I watched him make his way over towards the counter where the creamer was. He stopped quickly, almost spilling both cups of coffee. I saw a woman standing there, a surprised look on her face. She slowly backed up, leaving her drink right there. She turned quickly, running from the shop. Odd. 

  Mystery man just stood there, not moving. After a few seconds he placed the cups down and began pouring creamer into each one. But I could see he was shaken, his hands far from steady. I was thinkin’ maybe I should offer to help him but I didn’t have to as he turned making his way back over. 

  “Here, y-you go.” He stuttered as he spoke, the coffee spilling out of the cups and onto his hand, as he placed them down on the table. 

  “Ooh…” I grabbed a napkin and started to wipe his hand only for him to flinch away, knocking both cups to the floor. 

  “Fuck! I…I’m so…sorry.” He grabbed some napkins and began cleaning up the spilled coffee. 

  “Uh, I’m sure they have a mop. Let me see.”  

  As I waited for two new cups of coffee and someone to come out to clean the spill, I watched him. He was nervous as fuck, so unlike the confident man that knew what I was doing and truly saved me. 

  I stepped closer to him. “How about we take another seat. I have two new cups coming.” I grabbed our desserts and moved a couple of tables over. “I’ll grab our drinks.” 

  He sat down, never saying a word. Just a strange, 

sad, almost frightened look on his face. A very drastic change in demeanor. When I sat down with our new coffees, he jumped, almost knocking the table over. 

  “I’m sorry…I guess…I’m just a big klutz tonight.” 

  I took a chance, reaching across the table to place my hand softly on his. He flinched, but didn’t draw it back. 

  “Hey, we all have those times where we can’t move an inch without the whole building collapsing around us.” I began rubbing his fingers without even realizing it. “I am the biggest fuckup. I’ve tripped over air, choked on my own spit. And once I tried to step over my cat on my stairs, falling down them and dislocating my shoulder in the process. It’s okay,” I realized I never even asked his name. 

  He looked at me, a slight smile starting to appear. Dimples, the dude has fucking dimples. 

  “Max, my name’s Max.” He snickered. “We never even introduced ourselves, did we?!” 

 I laughed. “No, guess we didn’t. But to be fair, I was kinda pissed at you.” I smiled back at him. “But anyway, I’m y/n.”

  “It’s nice to, uh, meet you, y/n. That’s a beautiful name, it suits you,” he smiled at me, those damn dimples showing again. 

  Nope, I refuse to do this again. 

  “Um, thank you. Nice to meet you too, Max.” I sighed. “And I guess a thank you is in order.” 

  “No need, it’s just coffee.” He winked at me. 

  Fuck. 

  “Thank you just the same Max.” I smiled, taking a bite of the pastry. “This is good!” I wiped my face with a napkin. “I never knew this place was even here.”

  “It’s truly a well hidden gem. I’m kind of a loner so I come here often.” He looked down, picking at his dessert. 

  “Me too. I really don’t socialize much. I prefer my animals company over most humans.” I sipped my coffee, glancing over at the loud crowd that just came in. 

  Max glanced over his shoulder at the group. “There goes the quiet.” He laughed. 

  I excused myself to use the restroom. As I rounded the corner, I ran into a hard chest. Hands reached out and roughly grabbed me by the arms. 

 “Watch it there doll!”

  “Oh, sorry.” I tried to pull free from his grasp but he wouldn’t let go. 

  “What’s the hurry baby?!” He tightened his grip, leaning down placing his lips on my neck. I froze, an all to familiar feeling rushing through my body causing me to began to shake, my eyes closing tight. My eyes flew open when I felt him pull me forward. 

  “Get your fucking hands off of her!” It was Max. He had the guy by the arms, pulling him away from me, but the dude wasn’t letting go of me. 

  “She your girl, man? She don’t  look like your type” He finally let go of me, attempting to turn in Max’s grasp to no avail. “Fucking let go of me!” He roared. He finally slipped away, turning quickly and throwing a punch towards Max. Either he was too drunk to aim right or Max was quick because he totally missed his target, falling flat on his face. 

  Max walked over to me, offering his hand to me. I must have visibly flinched as he pulled his hand back a bit. “I’m sorry, y/n, I was just going to get you away from that fucker.” I looked down to see the dude just moaning and just flip flopping like a drunk fish. Asshole. 

  I carefully stepped around him, moving closer to Max.   “Thank you, for that.” I gestured towards the wasted goon, his friends now attempting to help him up off of the floor. “I’m sorry, it’s just, I’m…” 

  “It’s okay, I understand.” My strange savior gave me a half smile, offering up his hand again, and I took it. I followed him out of the shop and a short distance down the sidewalk, the crowds seeming to have disappeared while we were inside. “Can I walk you home?” 

  Home. I hadn’t thought about it. But I didn’t have a home anymore. When I left this morning it didn’t even cross my mind that I would be needing a home anymore. I don’t know what came over me, my mouth obviously doing it’s own thing. “I don’t have a home. Not any more.” Jesus fuck, I’m telling this complete, albeit incredibly sweet and amazingly gorgeous, stranger that I’m homeless. 

  “Are you homeless?” He stopped walking, turning to grab my arms, gently. 

  Shit. “Kind of. I sort of burned my bridges and most likely don’t have a place to go back to.” I moved to see his face better, regretting it when I realized he was staring right at me, a look of concern painted on his breathtaking features. Which I needed to stop thinking about.  “It’s okay, I’m okay.” I looked away knowing that the look on my face most certainly betrayed my words. 

  I felt his hand on my shoulder, a hesitant touch. “I have a place you can stay, not far from here actually.” 

  I turned my face to look at him once again. “I can’t, I mean it’s okay.”

  “So, you have someplace to go then?” He has positioned himself to be more on my level, his eyes looking right at me. 

  I wanted to say ‘yea, I’m fine, I’ve got a place to go.’ But I couldn’t, he seemed to know my answer before I even knew it myself. 

  “Uh, no, no I don’t.” I have him a fake smile, feeling foolish, stupid, and helpless. “But it’s fine, honest.” I couldn’t do this, wouldn’t do this. I needed no ones help. Especially not a man’s. Fucker’s probably a creeper, a stalker, a rapist. 

  “How about you just come with me, I’ll show the place. Maybe just spend the night…”

  I started to back away from him, shaking my head, he must have seen it, because he suddenly threw his hands up. “No! I mean, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean spend the night with me, I was going to let you stay in one of the other apartments in my building. Shit.” He then mumbled something I couldn’t quite hear but it sounded like he was berating himself. And I felt bad. Fuck. 

  “Okay, I guess that would be okay.” My mouth speaking before my mind could tell it to keep fucking quiet. 

  “Okay, OK! Great! It’s just up the street here, it’s old, but has lots of character and…” 

  My mind started reeling, tuning him out. What was I getting myself into? It’s not like my life was simple before, no, nothing is ever simple with me. Maybe this was the answer to my “problems” maybe this dude really is nuts, a killer even. I won’t even have to lift a finger and it will be all over. And maybe he’s artistic and my death will become famous for the way it’s executed. 

    Or maybe he’s just a nice guy, I mean, there are still some nice ones out there, isn’t there? And in that case I’m dragging him into a total clusterfuck that is my life. 

  I looked up at him, noticing him smiling down at me, I smiled back, a real one, he honestly made me feel like smiling. He took hold of my hand, and I was strangely okay with it. I was okay with all of this. With him.  And for once I wouldn’t question it. 

[donnerpartyofone]

whats it like living in ny(new york)?

you’ve picked a strange person to ask! i am pretty reclusive and although i’ve been here since 2004 or 5, i never developed that sense of patriotism people have about the city. for me personally, it’s like:

*there’s just way too many people and they’re incredibly selfish and stupid in even the smallest gestures, fighting in clusters for the coveted spot in front of the door on the train so no one can get in or out, and stopping dead in the middle of busy public staircases to fuck around on their phones. my priorities are a) being polite and considerate, and b) not touching anyone ever; both are very hard to achieve.

*however, the specific sense that new yorkers are “rude”, that you get from media caricatures, is not realistic. as long as somebody doesn’t look busy or rushed, you can basically walk up and ask how to get somewhere or what’s in the neighborhood, and they will be happy to give you their personal lowdown. that’s a lot less possible in other cities, even internationally; new yorkers actually love knowing about and sharing hidden gems and stuff like that, especially if it’s in our own neighborhood, it gives us a sense of pride. if a local seems pissed off at you, it’s probably because you’re doing something like looking at a map in the middle of the sidewalk instead of puling off to the side. one of my biggest pet peeves is people just not walking with a sense of purpose in the middle of a crowded street, if you have nowhere to be then fucking stay home!

*“cool stuff” in general starts to feel a lot less special because everything is everywhere, but maybe that’s good in that it helps you differentiate between “excitingly novel” and “of deep importance to me whether it’s popular or tacky or or dated or obscure or whatever.”

*you’re surrounded by art and culture that you practically never see, and you have a constant background radiation of mild guilt about this. someone from “back home” said to a friend of mine, “you must go to central park and check out the met every day!” or something, and she was like, “uh, you never see those things if you live here, anytime you’re not at work you’re basically eating standing up, and rushing to get home as soon as possible.”

*people who would ordinarily seem excitingly unique and creative, or like they have a fascinating story to tell, now appear as parasitic attention-seekers desperately trying to stand out in the anonymizing crowd of the city, and you learn to hate them as soon as you see them, before they even start playing hits from the 90s on a homemade cigar box ukulele in a bad tom waits voice or whatever. like i don’t owe you my attention just because you want it, i’m trying to get ready for work.

*there’s tons of cool events, but you have to really suppress your misanthropy to go to them for the most part. there’s a lot of people here who are just PARTICIPATORS. i have these friends who i love, but who seem to specifically want to go to wherever it’s CROWDED. like it’s so packed you can’t even get served fast enough to get drunk, and everyone is screaming too loud for you to even talk to your friends while you’re not getting served...but when these folks are in an environment like that, it makes them feel like they have ARRIVED.

*there’s a line in an episode of Louie where somebody says something like “It costs $50 an hour just to exist out here,” and that is 100% true. you’re constantly having to spend money to kill time if you’re early or another person is late, or buying something if you have to use the bathroom or charge your phone, or buying something to have a quiet place to read or work outside your stuffy apartment, or just whatever, going outside is a huge threat.

*speaking of money, FOOD! so much incredibly great food. and good, even affordable fresh groceries too if you’re not lazy. and movies! movies everywhere!

*because everything is so overstimulating, having a favorite spot (bar, cafe, park, route for a long walk) feels even more special than it does in a more normal place.

*PET EVERY DOG IN THE WORLD (after you have asked permission)

*even though this is “your city”, there’s always places you’ve never been, like up to the cloisters, or roosevelt island, or greenwood cemetery, etc. it gives you something to look forward to, and something to do when you’re out of birthday ideas or whatever.

*being able to bike everywhere is great and it really boosts my self-esteem to take care of my bike and get better at riding in traffic. now if only other cyclists, pedestrians, and motorists had the decency or even the concern for their own safety to just follow the laws and stop trying to fucking kill everyone on the basis of HEY I’M WALKIN’ HEAH!. that dumbass attitude is real. i can’t tell you how often i see somebody who wants to cross the street, just SHOVING an occupied baby stroller into traffic as if it has an invisible force field that bends reality to their will so they can do whatever they want without waiting. from what i can tell, people in general just do not give a fuck about each other at all.

*you are confronted with the realities of homelessness every day, so you live with a pretty constant awareness of tragedy and cruelty. i give regularly to the ny coalition for the homeless, but still every time i see an actual person begging or sleeping on the train, i have this feeling like i’ll never be doing enough to help until i’m starving myself.

*because people do not give a fuck about each other at all, it feels really good to get to know your bodega guys, your delivery guys, your laundry guys, all the guys who form the actual foundation of your life. it feels good to “over”-tip whenever possible.

...of course, you might have meant what’s it like to live in nyc RIGHT NOW. well, it’s kind of hard to stock up on anything when you have a stereotypically tiny apartment, but we’re doing our best to figure out how to go out as little as possible. i don’t wanna go out anyway.

[lanamemories2]

clip clops in on horseback wearing a pointy little dunces hat n sipping frm a rly long crazy straw tht says ‘goblin’ w all of the swirls. Hlo. i’m nai n it’s rly nice to meet u all!!! 23 n she/ha pronouns. i’m one of the three admins here (cleo lazuli on the main) n i’m literally So Excited to get started i cld honestly beat my chest like caesar the ape over it. more abt lana under the cut!!! also like this or hmu if u wna plot n her pinterest is here 👺🌚 

『KRISTINE FROSETH ❙ CIS-FEMALE』 ⟿ looks like LANA JAMESON is here for HER JUNIOR year as a DANCE student. SHE is 21 years old & known to be VIVACIOUS, ALLURING, CHILDISH & IMPULSIVE. They’re living in NOLAND, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ NAI. 23. GMT. SHE/HER.

AESTHETICS: 

scalding your fingers in shower water until they glow like rudolph’s nose, cherry red gym socks tugged high and nothing else, stepping out into a cold breeze in just spaghetti strapped silk, a red lightening stripe painted over your eye like a new take on the scarlet letter, crowning each finger with a miniature raspberry, hugging a knee close to lick a stripe of fruit juice off the bruised cap, doodling penises in condensation instead of sitting still, a water pistol topped with rum and covered in glittery pin-up stickers, believable smiles that feel more like baring teeth, playing where’s waldo with your lipstick in the crowd of a party and finding red on at least six people’s mouths, a bumper sticker on the back of a convertible cadillac that says ‘SCRAPPY DOO IS A FILTHY SLUT’, prancing around in your underwear to a vinyl record with the curtains open. 

HISTORY:

lana grew up in a big house in albany, NY. i picture it w dark oak floors n lots of light furniture. albums framed on walls. mayb some rolling stone covers too frm way bk when of the bands her dad’s label signed. kind of like… a rock star palace w no evidence of children at all. i think i described it best in one of lana’s self paras once when i said the garden ws “as big as it was unloved”

lana’s mum victoria (vic) ws a music journalist w a pretty fruitful career ahead of her when she met lana’s dad richard (rich). his record label ws jst starting out, founded on the coattails of his rich best friend’s (jensen peters) investment w his other best friend (who he jst calls knoxville). it rocketed to success when they signed poppy injects, a rock band w an electric stage presence, n victoria ws drawn to the glitz n glamour of a man tht ws at the helm of his aspiring industry. their love ws very impulsive, all or nothing right frm the start, n it ws almost like she ws mre in love w his accomplishments n what he represented than him. jst a leetle bit Fractured in its intentions.

anyway so jameson records repped a few big rock bands bk in the eighties, altho poppy injects r who they’re mostly known fr, namely bc of hw brightly they crashed n burned. they were a big chart success bt the lead singer hd quite an intense struggle w heroin (wsnt rly subtle abt it either while he ws in the public eye as u cn probably imagine frm such an on-the-nose band name) n he ws always in n out of the papers. it eventually brought down his career n it ws a big publicity nightmare

lana pretty much… grew up around figures like this throughout childhood. rly troubled characters who wld kind of… b extremely volatile n destructive abt their troubles. the jameson house was kind of an open one as welcoming clients went n a lot of parties took place there. a lot of the time musicians wld b snorting lines in the kitchen when she wnted to grab a bowl of cereal fr breakfast n it was just. a very strange environment fr a child to grow up in

her parents always kind of jst… didn’t like her much. her older brother caleb ws unplanned bt they sort of welcomed the surprise more bt… quickly realised they weren’t cut out fr parenthood n then when lana came as another surprise 3 yrs later they didn’t even try to hide their resentment abt the situation. her mum ws actually booked in to have an abortion bt cldnt go through with it at the last minute. once when lana asked her why shes so cold towards her she jst turned her head frm her dresser, looked at her, told her abt this n said “idk why i didn’t go”. lana didn’t kno wht to say to tht so she jst left her room n closed the door

(dissociation tw) bc of this growing up lana adopted this weird like…. she didn’t rly kno what it ws bt it ws a delusion of sorts where she thought she ws a ghost. she’d jst sort of… drift around the halls w noone acknowledging her n sometimes she ws jst convinced she wsnt actually there or they cldnt see her n she ws jst haunting the house frm a previous family

the one saving grace tho tht sort of?? gt her thru this n made her feel Seen ws caleb. lana quite genuinely hs always thought the sun shines out of her older brothers ass like she jst thinks. hes the best person in the entire world. wld b rly bewildered if anyone questioned tht. he wld always look out for her in the zoo they called a home n cut the crusts off her sandwiches (he’d cook fr them most of the time bc their parents were too busy/didn’t care to) n sometimes wld even sleep at the bottom of her bed curled up like a guard dog. it ws always lana n caleb n his best friend tommy against the world in tht house (tommy lived next door n was always over bc he had very strict parents including a military father tht he found suffocating)

SO when caleb n tommy announced tht they’d signed up to the army lana ws understandably…….. completely blindsided. she ws rly upset tht they were leaving bt she tried not to b mad at them n made them promise theyd b safe n back as soon as possible. she even asked if they cld somehow take her w them n they were jst like :/ it doesn’t work that way luv x

(death tw, ptsd tw, grief tw, trauma tw, hospitalisation tw, drugs tw) anyway caleb ended up getting discharged under grounds of severe ptsd when he witnessed tommy die in an explosion tht took place in a shock raid. caleb returned home sans tommy bt he was never the same after tht. he’s been in and out of hospital twice nw n he’s currently dipped off the radar after starting to use. lana kind of felt like two of her brothers died out there in a way n jst like tht it wasn’t them vs the world any mre, it was jst her. she doesn’t talk abt this tho. when she feels the urge to cry she usually jst smiles

ANYWAY whew tht rly…. took a dark turn there….. chuckles nervously at hw sad lana’s life is bt it’s fine it’s all fINE!!!!!!! ok. so on a mre lighthearted note the jameson family r pretty well off n bc of her relation to such a big music industry figure she’s hung out w a fair few relatively high rep ppl thru her teens. mostly kids of celebrities n stuff like tht. she amassed kind of an instagram following mainly fr her style (v penny lane-esque in some aspects aka lots of fur cuff trimmed jackets bt then also jst…. a wild combination of everything honestly. pastel faux fur coats, seventies style platforms, flame red cowboy boots, pink fishnet tights n glitter used like highlight Everywhere) n bc she’s undeniably Very Pretty

(trauma tw) after caleb got back he was rly withdrawn n depressed. he shut lana out n was kind of harsh to her a lot of the time, always telling her to leave him alone or pushing her away. it didnt help either tht lana had a rly traumatic experience w some of her dad’s colleagues at the label when she ws 16 n he was away n she cldnt even tell him abt it once he was bk bc of his own traumas. she kind of jst shut it all in n kept it to herself

(hypersexuality tw) this obviously?? made her spiral a lot. she was already a girl tht loved sex (she’d only rly done foreplay before tho) but since her trauma it got…. completely out of hand. it got to a point where she couldnt rly go 2 days without it, probably not even 1. her lowest point has probably been scrolling thru craiglist for anonymous encounters n meeting up w strangers on there fr a quick fuck jst for the thrill even tho it’s insanely dangerous n she cld wind up getting herself killed. it’s v clear at this point tht she has a sex addiction whether she’s ever admitted it or not. it kind of… almost mingled w tht same feeling she used to get when she ws younger of being a ghost?? like she jst. only rly feels Real when she’s being touched

(violence tw) a mre recent point of history is her involvement w danny nielsen (an evil npc of mine who is possibly the antichrist??? pending investigation). he attended radcliffe n lived in a house w a group of guys near campus. it wsn’t a registered frat bt he essentially…ran it like one it ws kind of a weird set-up where he ws the King Of The Roost. essentially he found out tht lana n a guy called zeke slept together n he ended up beating him to near death in front of her bc his pride ws rly bruised since they were meant to be dating (if u can call it tht bc danny’s idea of dating is very Warped). ANYWAY he ws found guilty n sent to jail so it ws like Intense n a gd example of the kinds of disastrous relationships she gets herself into. perks of being a wallflower voice: We Accept The Love We Think We Deserve.

PERSONALITY:

always smells vaguely of wild cherries or strawberry starburst or jst the candy aisle in general. if she ws a vinyl record she’d b this one n she’d only play good vibrations by the beach boys, dancing on my own by robyn, play that funky music by wild cherry, femme fatale by the velvet underground n (i can’t get no) satisfaction by the rolling stones 

growing up lana was always a huge social butterfly. knew everyone n everyone knew her. she ws one of those girls tht ws kind of impossible to ignore or forget. very animated, always made u feel like u were the centre of the universe whenever she spoke to u, always made it feel like u were best friends even if ud only spoken to her once. 

deliberately puts on tht kind of Magnetic Alluring Act tht femme fatales wear in movies w most ppl. kind of…. is always playing A Role of the person tht she wants to b seen as. chameleons to situations. feels like she’s performed as the vivacious n fun loving Lana Jameson fr so long tht she doesn’t rly kno who she is beneath tht bt she isn’t too keen to find out

she’s always been rly spontaneous n adventurous. always doing something weird n wild every weekend. she has ten thousand ridiculously absurd n chaotic stories

uncontrollably flirty. boundlessly confident. cld make a joke out a paper bag n her comedy is sometimes surreal / absurd. she tends to laugh when she feels like crying n has a smile brighter than a ray of texas sunshine. 

always dapples her fingers thru the breeze when she’s driving in a car w the window down. she almost always has some sort of sweet on her, whether it’s sour haribo cherries or strawberry lollipops. 

she adores david bowie n prince n madonna n anyone tht’s a vintage style icon w little care fr what ppl think. 

daisies n poppies r her fav flowers bc daisies r wild n overlooked n poppies r the first thing u look at in a green field. she’s had like 8472493874 ‘relationships’ n none of them hav lasted beyond a month / hav been terrible / hav seen her being treated badly / she’s cheated on them. i dnt think she’s actually ever been w anyone she hasn’t cheated on in some form or another

PLOTS:

exes tht lana’s fucked over hideously. she’d probably cheat a lot and it’d be a whole…mess. 

mayb someone tht flipped the switch and cheated on her? 

a cousin plot cld b fun too. a friend tht lana fel out w bc she slept w their significant other.

a fake dating plot cld b fun honestly 

someone tht’s getting lana into drugs?? she’s kind of impressionable/down for anything so tht’s a likely scenario she’d get into tbh

an unrequited crush!! (either way is cool)

someone tht is just hanging out w her/using her bc she has a lot of instagram followers or they want to b signed to her dad’s label

someone in a band!! she’d probably make like penny lane n b their groupie/sleep w them all fgjkshgkh

umm a good influence too mayb? 

oh and a past summer romance/fling tht cld either have meant a lot or not have meant anything at all. bonus points if both of them hav a diff viewpoint on it. 

honestly?? anything is fine i cld ramble for days. mayb even one of the high profile kids she grew up hangin w idk. world’s our oyster fellas!

[r3b3lgrrrrrrrl]

A LunaTic and her Gunn (Part 83)

"Snoozing Through Sayreville"

@creatureofthen1ght-v3

@lovemythsworld

@crystalbaby12

In Sam's room, Luna wastes no time. Popping two bars herself, she hands two to her friend. They've spent many early mornings like this. Coming back to homebase and rounding down from an AllNighter together.

Luna showers first. She feels like hot horse shit. Still catching trails in the bathroom, she washes the grit from last night off of her.

Leaning under the water, she wishes her skin could absorb it's hydration. They've only been on tour for 10 days but Luna's exhausted. Her body physically hurts, her brain feels like mush and she's emotionally wiped out. The constant fighting, traveling, drinking and drug use starting to take it's toll.

Once out of the shower, she tosses on panties, a tank and a hotel robe. Climbing into the queen sized bed, she rolls up a handful of joints as Sam showers.

Curling up together, Luna fires up a joint as Sam finds something for them to watch. Looking at her friend, she asks if She's Okay.

Exhaling out a cloud of smoke, Luna says "Yeah. I just need a hard reset." To Sam's nod of understanding.

Mrs. Doubtfire is own. It's one of their favorite movies. Getting high, laughing and enjoying each other's company. Luna's thankful for Sam's companionship as the two girls snuggle into bed. Quickly falling asleep. Knocking out for the rest of the day.

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Colson does no such thing. Still pissed and now even more confused by Luna, he can't sleep. He's out of coke and doesn't know what to do with himself. Not thinking to grab any Xanax off of his bitchy girlfriend.

With everyone checked into their rooms, Colson heads back to The Bus. Cracking a beer at 9A instead of sleeping, he plays NBA2K19 until he passes out with the controller in his hands.

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Ashleigh finds him around 430P. Waking him up, he's miserable.

"Leave me the fuck alone. Unless it's 7P, don't fucking bother me." He grumbles, walking to the back of The Bus.

Dropping face first into the bed, all he smells is Luna. His dick twitches and heart hurts as he reaches his arm out, over her empty space.

"What the fuck are we doin', Loons..." He thinks, wishing she wasn't so stubborn and him not an Asshole. Wanting her next to him more than anything in this world.

For once his brain refuses to slide down the 16 million different hallways of Hotel Diablo. Falling back asleep as he holds a pillow. Pretending it's smell is Luna.

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Ashleigh knocks on Sam's door next. Knowing its more likely for her than Sam, Luna gets up. Sam snoozing away.

She's groggy and unhappy but isn't nearly as intolerable as Colson. Probably because she believes in sleep. Greeting Ashleigh, Luna yawns, asking What Time Is It.

It's around 5-530P.

Stretching long, Luna motions Ashleigh to sit with her on the couch. Wrapped in a blanket, she lights a joint and asks her What's Up.

"Couple things...." Ashleigh begins. "You okay?" She asks to Luna's nod.

Luna takes a deep hit. Appreciating Ashleigh's concern.

Exhaling, she says "Yeah, I just need a minute to myself.... Sorry you got left with that nonsense last night." Luna apologizes as she hits the joint again.

Ashleigh grins. "You'd be proud of me. I'm pretty sure I got anyone who saw anything to sign a NDA. Even Bleta. I was gonna contact Monica on your behalf but wanted to talk to you first."

There's a lot of things said in that one sentence. It takes Luna's fuzzy mind a second to understand them all.

"OH WOW!! You did that for me?" She grins back at Ashleigh, touched by her actions. "Look at you go, Girl! Thank you!" Luna reaches to hug her friend.

That's when it hits her.

"Wait... What do you mean Bleta?" She asks as her whole facial expression changes.

Not realizing Luna doesn't know who BeBe Rexha is personally, she panics at her words.

"Yeah, Loons. That's who you hit last night..." She says cautiously.

"He had Bleta at the fucking show!?" The Ring of Fire is wild in Luna's eyes.

"No.. No.. No.. SHE told ME, he didn't know she was there until he seen her..." Ashleigh's trying not to make things worse.

Sighing before she hits the joint again. Luna shakes her head with a Whatever. Her and Ashleigh sit quietly for a moment.

"He didn't know, Loons." Ashleigh tries to comfort her.

"I know...." Luna closes her eyes as she exhales another cloud of smoke. "Fuck her. I'll call Mon and let her know what I did. She'll probably want the NDA's..." Luna looks at Ashleigh. "Thank you, Ash. Really. You didn't have to stick your neck out for me like that. It means a lot." Reaching to hug her again.

"It's no problem, Loons. You're family." She hugs her back, pulling away, she laughs. "Besides, I learned it from you."

This makes Luna smile. Hitting the last of the joint, she puts it out.

"Tell me about Diddy and Massachusetts." Luna says, changing the subject.

Ashleigh goes on to explain how it's seeming to be a domestic dispute. Some guy tossed a Moltav cocktail because his Ex was there with someone else.

"Fucking seriously?" Luna asks in disbielf.

Shaking her head, she reaches for another joint. Ashleigh noticing for the first time that Luna smokes just as much as Colson. If not more.

Luna goes on to ask about casualties. Ashleigh replying that about a hundred people received smoke inhalation. In a building with over 4K people in it, That's Amazing, they agree. Luna thinks for a minute as she hits the joint.

"All fans?" She asks to Ashleigh's nod. "You know what I'd do?" Luna exhales again.

"Nope, but I want to!" She replies, making them both laugh.

"Find out exactly who the victims are, collect enough merch and have him sign it. Along with a personalized Get Well note.." Luna says as she continues to hit the joint.

"How are you so fucking business savvy??" Ashleigh asks her in awe.

Smiling, Luna acknowledges how she has a collective village of teachers. From all different ranges and walks of life.

Finishing up, Luna walks Ashleigh to the door. She's gonna see what she can get started on with this merch idea.

"So, we won't see you tonight?" Ashleigh asks her.

"Nah... Probably not. I'm taking the day." Luna says as she hugs Ashleigh before shutting the door.

"Who's Bleta?" Sam groans from under the covers.

"She has so many freaking questions..." Luna thinks, rolling her eyes.

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Colson's still frustrated before the show. Trying not to take his shit out on anyone else, he finds a cinderblock outside. With it resting on his thighs, he does backwards pushes ups off the seat of a chair.

"I can't believe she's not fucking coming..." He thinks to himself, irritated. He misses Luna and wants to stop fighting with her. "I gotta talk to her after the show.... I still wanna know why the Fuck she was with Tommy." He feels the jealousy rise again as he pumps his upper body off the edge of the chair.

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Sam and Luna are sitting on the balcony of her room. Luna smoking a cigarette.

Trying to relax, enjoying the light air as she sketches. It's an interpretation of what she feels from last night.

Sam playing around on her phone. Falling down an internet wormhole as she lights a joint.

Once Ashleigh left, Luna and Sam had sat together talking about her and Colson and getting high. For the first time ever, Luna told someone other than Colson about Tommy. If Sam is going to form an opinion on Colson, Luna wants it to be based on all the facts. Sam was only slightly surprised at the news of Luna's affair. Looking back, certain things making sense to her about Luna at certain times that didn't before. They talked about Bleta and how Luna didn't realize it was her. Sam asking if it made any difference. Looking down, Luna had touched her homemade ring before stating No. She's not worried about any other girls. Especially THAT one.

"Oh Fuck, Loons... You're gonna be pissed...." Sam says handing Luna her phone.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

"MACHINE GUN KELLY AND GIRLFRIEND, THAT BROOKLYN BITCH TO BE WED AT RAPPER'S OHIO FESTIVAL IN AUGUST"

"Musician Machine Gunn Kelly, also known as MGK, is kicking his latest tour off with a bang! Last night in his girlfriend, That Brooklyn Bitch's hometown of NY, MGK surprised his fans after performing their hit single Bad Things together at the PlayStation Theatre. Revealing that he would be marrying the songstress this summer. Some considering this announcement shockingly quick. The couple have only been spotted together since late April. The New York native first appearing on The Dirt star's SnapStories and Instagram during his birthday party in LA. Surprisingly, that doesn't seem to be the biggest bang of the night. One source reporting that, the beef between That Brooklyn Bitch and BeBe Rexha is alive and well. The two Brooklyn residents having come for each other on the charts already, over what is assumed to be their relationships with the heavily tattooed, rapper turned actor. Reportedly, the fued spilled out into a scene BackStage after the concert last night. "It wasn't in BeBe's favor." The source from the performance stating."

××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

"THIS. Is what I was talking about last night in the cab." Luna sighs. She hands Sam her phone. "I'm going back to bed."

Is almost eight o'clock at night.

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Tonight, they're playing the Starland Ballroom in Sayreville, NJ.

For the most part, Colson can put his shit on the back burner and do his job. That's what he does tonight.

Letting Slim and Sex Drive hype the crowd, Colson stops being Colson, or Kells or even Dad. Becoming Machine Gun Kelly.

"WHAT'S GOOD, YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!" He screams walking out on to the stage to his adoring fans.

Starting off with the normal formula of Habits, Breaking News 2 and El Diablo. Colson jumps, dances and kicks around the stage as him and The Band tear through Loco, GTS, and Wild Boy. Skipping Let You Go and Bad Things.

Trap Paris and The Break Up replace them. Followed by I'm Think I'm Okay, Hollywood Whore and Candy. Choosing to keep all the original lyrics.

Rook shines as always during Shout At The Devil. The crowd going wild for him.

They still have another eleven songs left to the set. MGK keeps pushing.

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Luna wakes back up around 930P. Sam's up, diddling around. Missing Colson, Luna asks her if she wants to hit the show.

Grinning, Sam nods Yes.

Looking at the clock, they move fast and get dressed. Sam ordering an uber. Luna throwing on a back, lace crop top, cutoffs, Docs, and a flannel around her waist with blazing red lips.

Grabbing her leather and bag, Luna and Sam are out the door. Luna's golden hair loosley floating behind them as Sam's brunette locks weave along with it.

-------------------------------------------------

As the room cheers and lights explode around them, The Band continues on. See Through My Tears, Rap Devil, Till I Die, Golden God, Alpha Omega, and Lately come next.

With this leg's setlist pretty secure, they round out with Bad Motherfucker, Wake&Bake, Rehab, 27 and Sail.

The Band thinks they're done as Colson stands alone on stage with only his guitar. Everyone quiets as he begins to pick out unknown chords.

"I don't know if you guys'll know this but, I'm... You know what, Fuck it. I just wanna sing this shit right now." He says to the audience. Turning to The Band, he says "Imma do this on my own." To their confused nods.

He starts to play the base melody of a song he's been featured on. It's original tone is poppy with a lot of studio tech. To figure it out raw, OnStage alone, is pretty intimidating.

Colson takes his time. He's in no rush. Feeling like he's got it, he begins. Opening at the end of the chorus by The Vamps, Colson voice is deep and melodic. It carries a hint of vulnerability.

🎶You way too good to be true🎶

🎶You way too good to be true🎶

🎶You way too good to be true🎶

🎶You way too good to be true🎶

He closes his eyes as he thinks of Luna and where he wants to start.

🎶I don't go to church🎶

🎶Cuz your my religion🎶

🎶I'm hung on your words🎶

🎶Given' me something🎶

🎶To believe in🎶

🎶You way too good to be true🎶

🎶You way too good to be true🎶

The feeling of the song is showcased against only his guitar and demeanour. He mixes and changes the lyrics to fit how he feelings. Voice crawling over the words.

🎶Kitten, I know you don't lie🎶

🎶When you say🎶

🎶That you mine🎶

🎶I can't look in those eyes🎶

🎶Without fallen'🎶

🎶A thousand times🎶

🎶Just wanna hear you testify🎶

🎶Kitten, tell me you don't lie🎶

🎶When you say🎶

🎶That you'll be mine🎶

🎶You way too good to be true🎶

🎶You way too good to be true🎶

Wishing Luna was where she should be. Sitting next to him. His voice slightly breaking through the chorus.

🎶You way too good to be true🎶

🎶You way too good to be true🎶

His guitar humming his pain.

Thinking of how hollow his lyrics were when he wrote them, he kicks them out now. Thoughts drifting to their new meaning.

🎶I shut down for you//I go in//I dove in//And drown in you//They should be crowning you//Cuz//You're way to good to be true//Hold up, hold up//Ay//Please don't hesitate//Take me//While there's still something//Left to take//Kitty you're all that I crave//Tell me how many days//Do I have to chase you//Do I have to chase//Before you let me//Let me taste you//Before I can say//All I wanna say//To you//Is//I can't escape//I cannot escape from you🎶

Looking over SideStage, he sees her. Doing a double take. "Holy Fuck, she came." He can't help but feel his eyes begin to sting with tiny tears. That first cosmic boner appearing again.

🎶Kitten...You are way too good to be true🎶

He says as grins at her as they make eye contact.

🎶You way too good to be true🎶

🎶You way too good to be true🎶

🎶You way too good to be true🎶

Colson finishes serenading Luna to the crowds sweet Awws.

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Colson and Luna head back to the hotel. Holding hands in the uber the whole ride. Grabbing her things from Sam's room, he guides her to theirs. They need to talk.

"Sit with me, please." She directs him, patting the bed.

Sitting next to her, he sighs. Colson knows Luna is about to rip into him. They've been fighting on and off over bullshit for the last few days. She turns to him, lacing her fingers in his. Always choosing her words wisely.

"I went to see Tommy yesterday because I own properties that he's invested in. It's something Monica ran between us for a long time until I seen him a couple weeks ago. Like I told you, he started texting me. I took being in The City as an opportunity to let him know that if things can't go back to strictly business, then there will be NO business...." Luna explains.

Colson's quiet for a moment. He wants to ask what she does for Tommy but Luna's a lot calmer then he had expected. He's pretty sure he knows the answer and doesn't wanna push fighting with her.

"As for Em..." Luna continues, she's hitting everything. "We were friends. And I say were because I'm pretty we're not anymore, which, it is what it is...." Luna looks Colson in his beautiful blue eyes. "I'm not worried about that. I'm worried about YOU.... Why are you still so hellbent that I'm out here doggen' you?" She asks.

Colson lays back on the bed. Sighing, he rubs his face. Luna lays next to him on her back. They stare at the ceiling together.

"I'm sorry about Bleta." He finally speaks. "I swear I didn't know she would be there. I should've told her to leave. I wasn't gonna do anything. I was jealous though and wanted to piss you off." He turns his head to look at her.

"I know...." Luna sighs, running her fingers through his blonde hair.

He rolls over to her, placing his arm around her waist. She can see remorse all over his face.

"I should've never shoved you either. I don't know what I was thinking..." He looks down with shame.

Colson doesn't believe in putting his hands on women. Never wanting to hurt Luna in any way. Especially physically.

"That was some dick shit..." She agrees as he looks up at her.

"I know... I'm fucked up. I just, sometimes I feel like you're gonna figure out that I'm not good enough for you..." He trails off, Luna watching his eyes well.

Luna pushes him onto his back as she climbs on top of him. Random blonde hairs dangling down and brushing his face. She kisses him sweetly on both cheeks.

Looking into his eyes, she reminds him how only his actions can make him lose her. He tells her, that's his biggest fear. Fucking shit up as usual.

"Bunny... We're both two fucked up souls living in a fish bowl... stuck on your counter in LA." She winks to his smirk. "We're always gonna be crazy. We're always gonna be jealous. It's because we're stupid in love with each other. I don't care that we fight. As long as we come back to this." She flicks her fingers between them.

Colson lifts up to run his hands alongside Luna's head, pulling her in for a kiss. His touch is electric. Making a flash of warmth run through her. She kisses him back as her hands roam down his body.

Taking each other's shirts off, Colson flips Luna onto her back. Kissing her all over her neck, she has on no bra. Moving down her chest, to her breasts and nipples, he slides a hand down Luna's shorts. Running his fingers along her bare pussy. Slowly dipping them inside of her to her moans.

"I missed you." He tells her as he sucks on her neck.

"Me too. So much." She agrees as she moves his mouth to hers.

Wiggling out of her shorts. He unbuttons and steps out of his. Gazing down at Luna's naked, tattooed body.

Climbing on top of her, he slowly guides himself inside her pussy. They rarely fuck missionary style. Letting the touch of each other consume them, Luna and Colson are delicate with each other. Another rarity.

"God, you feel so fucking good." He moans.

Taking slow, deep strokes inside of her. Luna's leg is wrapped around his waist, the other around his calf as she lifts her hips. Pulling him deeper into her.

Feeling close, their pace picks up. Kisses sloppier. Moans loader.

Gripping his skin as he kisses her mouth, Colson asks if she's ready. Luna pants out Yes as he places his hand on her throat.

Bucking hard against him, Luna's eyes roll back in her head as Colson slides into Home. Both of them cumming all over the other.

Breathing heavily, Colson lays on her chest, wrapping his himself around her tiny body. Happy to have her back in his bed and in his arms.

"I love you." He tells her, kissing her collarbone. She hums a satisfied Me Too.

Lifting off of her, he asks if Luna's hunger. Realizing she hasn't eaten all day, she responds with a Starving.

They order room service. Burgers, fries, pineapples and champagne.

Sipping on champagne after they've eaten. They snuggle up together. Enjoying the quiet moment away from the tour.

"I'm sorry I'm so fucked up." Colson turns to Luna apologizing again. He spins his finger around the top of his head like a halo. "Hotel Diablo..." He says.

"You should get that tatted on there." Luna laughs, slightly mocking him.

Eyes lighting up, he runs with it. "Yeah?" He asks.

Luna shrugs and asks "Why not?"

Nodding his head, the doors begin to unlock inside Hotel Diablo. Pulling her close for an amused kiss, he calls her a genius.

"An evil one." She laughs, kissing him back.

"Even better!" He beams while tickling her.

They spend the rest of the night in bed together. Getting high as they giggle. Making out as they watch Talladega Nights.

"She really is mine." Colson thinks as Luna lays on his chest. He can see his ring on her finger and feel his lock around her neck touching his skin. A wave of relief washes over him. Never being in love before and always feeling abandoned, Colson holds Luna a little tighter. He knows in his heart that she'd never willingly leave him without a fierce fight.

Colson sweetly makes love to Luna again before they fall asleep tangled in each other. Both relieved to be back with the other. Each hating when they're apart.

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To be continued....