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uzumaki-rebellion · 2 months ago

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"Pot Liquor" Afropunk!Erik Killmonger

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Pairing: Erik Killmonger x Black Plus-Sized OC

Warning(s): 18+, Smut, Angst, Romance, Drug Use, Bisexual Characters, Threesomes, Foursomes, Queer Characters, Cursing.

Summary:

Three women. One man.

Erik “Killmonger” Stevens is the guitar player for a female dominated Black alternative rock band fronted by the powerful larger-than-life lead singer, Oya Mason. About to perform in front of their largest audience ever on one of the most influential stages in the music world, Erik and Oya have to face band in-fighting, jealousy, drugs, sex, and the love of rock-and-roll.

Can they keep it together before their big night?

Word count: 14, 890

A..N.: Bringing this back for @blvcksundays !

"I said if I'm in luck I just might get picked up I said I'm fishin' trick and you can call it what you want then I said I'm wigglin' my fanny I want you dancing I'm a doin' it doin' it This is my night out

So all you lady haters don't be cruel to me Don't you crush my velvet don't you ruffle my feathers neither I said I'm crazy I'm Wild I said I'm nasty Say you will for a little while Say you will Say you will"

Betty Davis –"If I'm In Luck I Might Get Picked Up"

Begin at the beginning...

Eighteen-year-old Oya Mason stood in the middle of the stage of the National Poetry Slam Finals in Oakland, California ready to recite a three-minute free verse that took her two weeks to dream of and three days to write. It wasn't her best poem, but it was the most potent that she had ever written and would be reciting for the first time in public. She hated America and everything it stood for and the words swimming in her brain and marinating in cerebral spinal fluid were ready to erupt on stage.

Thick black leggings covered her dimply thick thighs that rubbed tightly together and the black Buckethead baseball t-shirt she had on accentuated her heavy breasts and generous stomach. Her toes were jammed into brand new black chucks and her nose septum piercing was a shiny silver like the frosted silver tips of her frohawk locs. She was a big beautiful Black woman with an even bigger first name to live up to. Her parents plucked the name from a book they had in their home. "Oya: In Praise of An African Goddess."

"We knew that if we had a little girl, we were going to name you that," her father, Teigen Mason, had told her.

Her Mama, Gia, squeezed out a big fat dark brown loud crying baby that grew up into a big beautiful teenager that could no longer be simply called full-figured or extra thick. No, those words were too small for her. She was a Goddess and a Goddess took up all the space she wanted. On that stage, Oya, the Goddess of the Hurricane winds, the warrior, and the protector of the dead looked out upon an eager audience of poetry spectators waiting for her to do linguistic tricks and over-enunciated theatrical emoting with her culled words.

Well...that didn't happen.

Oya Mason stood there with her Goddess frame and shrieked out every single word she had written in the depths of her gray matter and birthed her first metal song live onstage. The poem-turned-rage-clarion call was titled "To Sleep With Anger", an ode to the movie that was filmed in her grandparent's house in South Los Angeles way before she was born. She found the old Danny Glover movie online and watched it over and over until she fell asleep and dreamed of the actors walking in her family's kitchen, living room, bedrooms, and backyard, and the words to the poem came to her in the underworld of slumber and there was a burning there. A heated twisting of past and present that had her worried about her future as a big boisterous girl with a runaway mouth making it in society where Black women were expected to be quiet mules for the world.

Not her.

Oya dreamed about that old house for two weeks waking up enraged every morning and thought about what the movie meant and pondered why she was already hating a world that she was barely stepping into. It had to be ancestral rage. A fiery anger handed down like generational trauma and the unyielding hair texture on her head.

A three-day heat of writing on yellow legal pads and listening to Bad Brains and Mother's Finest while trippin' on shrooms in her bedroom while her parents were away, produced a piece of work that she could get down with.

Other poems in her extensive repertoire allowed her to advance in poetry slam rounds in local competitions and by the time she was on the National level, she was tired of the scene. The performative aspect of it seemed disingenuous. Many of the older poets she watched seemed to be interested in shocking people instead of sharing real evocative language that opened the heart and mind.

That was probably why Oya screamed her words and left the stage switching her meaty hips and not caring about her scores or if she won.

She did win that year.

The individual poet category. At her young age.

The previous winner, another full-figured Black woman with thick braids, full lips, and a body of work so blistering that she was named the Poet Laureate of her city approached her backstage.

"You don't belong here," the woman said.

Oya blinked. The fuck?

A sly smile creased the woman's glossy lips as she pointed at Oya with a commanding right index finger.

"You belong out there doing what you just did. This is too small for you," the former champion said.

Oya Mason bid adieu to poetry slams.

She returned to Los Angeles from Oakland and started a part-time job at Amoeba Records on Hollywood Boulevard. While selling records and sorting vinyl and CD bins, she met her best friend, Deidre who rocked short hair and a smooth undercut, Oya fell in love with Deidre's whole vibe instantly and they fell into creating their first band together.

To Sleep With Anger.

Oya named them that. Deidre played electric guitar just like Oya did and after work and university classes at USC, they shredded in Deidre's parent's garage in a sizeable house at the bottom of Baldwin Hills. The Black Beverly Hills. The house sat on forty-eighth and Crenshaw, so the upwardly mobile Black folks couldn't get too far away from the bustle of working class and working-poor negroes down the street. Oya's parents couldn't handle two loud Black metal chicks screaming about capitalism, death, and societal destruction right next door to the neighborhood church at their small home near Leimert Park. Deidre's house was ground zero for their start as a unit.

School. Work. Shredding.

That was life for three years until Oya had written a ton of songs that were good enough to put together a fuller and more serious band. They had both become better axe players. She and Deidre posted up an ad for a drummer and bass player at the Amoeba Community board and online, and that was how they met Shameika, a mean pocket queen originally from Long Beach who went to UCLA.

Deidre and Oya had to set aside their USC rivalry because Shameika was nasty on the skins. Their bass player, Jody, was discovered by accident when she came into Amoeba asking for Me'Shell N'degeocello vinyl. Anyone into Me'Shell had to be hip, and Oya asked the lithe light-brown beauty if she were a musician. The stars lined up. She was their missing link.

They were complete and of one accord by the time they began playing publicly at gigs around L.A. and making road trips to San Diego and also local music festivals. Shameika handled their webpage, Deidre handled booking, and Oya fell in love with Jody. Then broke up with her. Then got back together. Then broke up in one final blow-out that thankfully didn't tank the band. It did become a little awkward when Jody and Shameika became a couple, but Oya grew past it. They were picking up traction as a band. Getting better paid gigs. She was writing better songs. Blending genres. Learning to control her vocals better with a private coach. It took them awhile to be taken seriously as a band. People expected them to be an R & B singing quartet and did double takes when they walked into venues with their gear. They were tested a lot by the mainly white male audiences. Lots of booing at shows and sometimes beer bottles were thrown at them onstage. Oya was often brutally called names because of her size. She didn't know how many times she had climbed onstage to bring the noise with her girls, and there was laughter tossed her way.

"Look at this big bitch!" was a common jab along with a few expletives.

But the music shut them up. They could play fucking circles around many of the bands, even the headliners.

"It's here!" Deidre shrieked as they opened boxes for new stock.

Oya stared at the twelve-inch vinyl of a song she was hearing about on every streaming platform and alternative music chatroom. She knew the group.

Slippage.

An alternative band that she used to fuck with heavily until they started going a little too commercial and polished for her tastes. Oya did feel excitement about new music from them. She hoped they were returning to their roots of hard driving sounds and not the softened new-branding that recent major-label signed groups were morphing toward. Deidre was practically salivating, her copper brown skin glowing and matching the copper brown of her short fade.

"This dude right here...I swear, I would buss it wide open if he walked in here right now. You think the scars are real? I heard they weren't," Deidre said.

Oya picked up the album and stared at the four guys on the cover. One Mexican with long glossy raven hair. Two white guys with stringy pony tails and tats on their faces and arms. And the Black guy.

Erik Killmonger.

Gold grills. Perfect locs. Scars.

His upper body was covered in small shiny lumps of skin.

"That looks real," Oya said.

"That's hardcore. I get the tats and piercings...I mean I have that shit, but...cutting your skin like that. All over. You think he has scars on his dick?"

Oya burst out laughing.

"Only you would ask that!"

"That would be kinda sexy," Deidra whispered admiring the man's shirtless body as he held his guitar.

Deidra stroked the cover.

"He's so rude for biting his lips like that. Letting us see all that gold in his mouth," she quipped.

They stocked the store with all the new vinyl before heading to the registers to help customers purchase music. When they had a break, the assistant manager let them listen to the new Slippage single. Deidre loved it, but Oya turned her nose up at it. Killmonger sounded dope as always, but the song itself was weak. Defanged.

"We should make something like this," Deidre said bobbing her head and air playing guitar with her nimble fingers pretending to be Killmonger.

"I think the fuck not."

"This is good!"

"No it's not. It's just loud and...vanilla."

"You're buggin'. This is the best thing they've put out."

Oya stood behind the counter and watched Deidra, the assistant manager, and several customers nod their heads and give kudos to Slippage.

"Tasteless," Oya muttered as she grabbed a stack of country CDs from a young woman and began ringing up her purchases.

The music blared from their store speakers and Oya couldn't help but think about Killmonger's grill and the scars that went up and down his muscled arms, wide chest, and down his chiseled stomach...

Begin at the beginning one 'mo' 'gin...

They knew they had something special when Amoeba allowed them to play in their in-store mini-concerts when another group failed to show up because of a delayed flight from Phoenix. The four of them wore tattered jean skirts with leggings and old vintage bullet bras they found at a thrift store in Venice Beach. Oya had to add a bra extender for hers. Thick extra-large safety pins prevented the weak hooks from bending across her back and gave the right touch to the stylized look. She kept a t-shirt handy in case a titty or two broke free and slapped a customer unexpectedly, which would've been the most punk thing ever, but luckily that old 1950's find held on as she sweated her way through raw, screeching vocals that caught her boss by surprise. Hamp was forced into a bind with a store full of patrons waiting to see Desert Troll City, so he gave in when Oya said they had equipment in their cars ready to plug in and rock out. Instead of ambient new vanguard trip music, the customers were treated to ear-splitting altie sounds that tip-toed between experimental and...what? Oya and her bandmates hadn't quite found a true name for their sound, but the crowd there loved it. The music attracted spectators from off the street and it became their first viral performance online.

Hamp started acting like their musical godfather, allowing them to sell their CDs at the counter on consignment as part of their local indie musician sales program. It was a boost to their confidence watching people buy their homemade EP. Gigs followed. The new visibility started their small music festival appearances. Their biggest live performance before their second full album came out was the Joshua Tree Music Festival. The drive to the desert had been joyous. They performed before the closing night's headliner and killed it. They were so good that the headliners gave them a shoutout during their set making Oya feel like a Queen.

And like any great rock-and-roll story, it was where the first rift in the band appeared. All because Deidre felt the need to insert an unnecessary guitar adlib that threw Oya off their closing number. The audience, blitzed out on 'shrooms, weed, liquor, pills, and whatever choice narcotics they brought for fun, became mesmerized by Deidre doing Jimi Hendrix tricks on her axe. Oya could concede that Sis was in her bag at that moment, but they had always stayed in tune with one another by using eye contact and onstage whispers to let each other know if they were going to go off. Sometimes it was just a well-placed guttural sound from Oya's throat to clue the others in, or Deidre would swing her guitar a certain way with a slight chord change. J Tree organizers had the performers on a strict time allotment, and Oya knew they had to finish with a new song in just the right intro...but Deidre fucked it up by trying to upstage Oya with the ole razzle dazzle. The normal thunder growl that would erupt from Oya's diaphragm kicking in "Acid Babe Blues" was usurped by some random guitar wah wah licks from Deidre's foot pedal muting her guitar.

Oya felt the "Acid Babe Blues" lyrics dry up in her throat as her eyes cut to Deidre's. Sister girl was oozing with charismatic energy and the people ate it up. Rightfully so. Oya stood down for twenty seconds before she turned to Jody on bass with aPlease gather this bitch uplook.

Jody slapped her bass and snapped Deidre from her moment. Time ran short, so Oya had to improvise and just gave an improper snippet of the new song before their time ran out. That meant Deidre had to sing the bridge to start the song, and Oya had to fake her way into the second verse. The fierce tone she gave thrilled the music lovers, but Oya was full of piss and vinegar. "Acid Babe Blues" was their lead single from the new joint, and the audience didn't even hear the true beginning.

As the crowd switched their positions to watch the main stage for the closing act, Oya and the others packed up their gear. Her hackles were up.

"What the fuck were you doing?!" Oya snapped.

"Vibin'," Deidre said.

"You stole valuable time for 'Acid'."

"They heard you scream when you first started twenty-five minutes ago. It still sounded great without a closing field holler—"

"That's not the point, Deidre," Shameika interjected as she shoved her drumsticks into a case, "it threw us all off."

"Ohmigod, we murdered this gig. It's good to shake it up sometimes.Ididn't hear a mess up—"

"It would've been nice to know what you were going to do. I'm the lead singer. I wrote that song. We all agreed that 'Acid Babe Blues' was to bring it all home and we practiced the hell out of it and you fucked it up!" Oya said,

"They loved us. That's all that matters."

Deidre did her usual lip pout when she was done discussing anything.

"I know you're feeling yourself right now, but this is becoming a habit with you," Oya barked helping Shameika break down the rest of her drum kit.

"So I can't get no shine too?"

"We all get shine—"

"Only when you let us. Don't forget, I write a lot of the songs too. I'm on the cover of the EP too. So is Jody and Shameika—"

"Are you failing to understand what the problem is? Am I trippin'? I'm not talking about getting shine, I'm talking about you disrupting and switching up how we do things mid-performance without a cue or an okay from the rest of us."

Deidre pressed her lips tight. An irritated exhale followed with a roll of her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I was carried away by the energy of the crowd. I wanted to jam for a minute..."

Deidre clutched her guitar pedal to her chest.

"I wanted to be that bitch...okay? I mean, look at us. We look amazing in these little black latex dresses! We're serving hot and sexy and being all sweaty and nasty up here. Tell me you didn't feel that rush?"

"We felt it, but...teamwork," Shameika said with her soft-spoken voice.

"I'm tired," Jody said holding her bass case.

They were assisted by some J Tree staff as they loaded up their gear into Deidre's S.U.V, and Oya's Jeep Cherokee.

"Are we staying to watch the closer or what?" Shameika asked.

Jody stayed in Deidre's S.U.V. to sleep, and the rest of them sauntered back in their laced-up pit-stomping boots to watch Boredroom, a band on the brink, sing out To Sleep With Anger's praises. Deidre turned her head and smirked at Oya as the lead singer of Boredroom pointed to all their latex-wearing greatness and shouted them out on the mic.

"See?" Deidre said, "We are the shit."

"It's about the music, Deidre, not just showing off," Oya grumbled.

Oya new instinctively that Deidre wanted to be the main shit. She wrenched her eyes away from her friend and tried to engage with the rest of the festival, but there was a sour taste in her mouth. That taste would grow and root deep. Then it would spread, choking them all.

Begin at his beginning...

Oya knew how to hustle a job.

When Amoeba became less flexible for gigs, she took a job at KCRW assisting the COO. On Saturday nights she worked the cashier booth for a trashy West Hollywood dance club to supplement her income.

Those were rough days for To Sleep With Anger ever since Deidre left for a high-profile band's line-up switch the year before. It was right after a showcase with an East Coast label. They were all broke, still hungry to make their own music, and lucked out when an A & R rep from Sony Music Group caught their live show at the Austin Music Festival.

Hair cut into a short bob that she slicked up to look like a match flame, dramatic make-up, and low-cut tight dresses with oversized coats that doubled as capes became a signature look for Oya. Her shoe game grew sick, with custom thigh-high boots, and walking canes to match her seductive stroll onstage. Their band logo was a black flame with red highlights. Her signature do always matched the logo onstage, and it became an instant hook with their audience. Sophisticated Punk. Seductive Alternative. Oya leaned into the sensual side and the other women found their looks too. Deidre became pure femme fatale, Jody, the edgy stud, and Shameika was their darling Goth ingénue.

Oya's lush body became the center of think pieces in the music scene and she welcomed the coverage and even took the hits with some women musicians who questioned the overt sexuality of the band. Were they sex kittens, or hard rockers? Cock teases for a gimmicky come up? A flash in the pan for some future music history footnote? She ignored them and the other women did too. Her favorite moments were to stroll onstage after Jody plucked the bass like a beast sporting her flamboyant capes and big hats and do a twirl wielding her cane before dropping the cape to the floor revealing couture that accentuated breasts, flared hips, thick thighs, and a rump to die for. The more popular they became the more she found herself amazed at how people projected onto her. She rarely showed any explicit skin other than the tops of her breasts with dep cleavage, but the audacity of her being her bold self with tight clothing was a problem for so many people. But a revelation to others.

Especially men.

Often teased for not having a body that conformed to whatever was in fashion at the moment, that quickly changed when she sang. Her voice shifted the critiques. People had to listen to the music because it was fucking divine. Oya's talent made people notice she had a face. A gorgeous one. And that face was attached to a stunning big body. Online chatter brought out the lovers of her plus-size physique, especially when she catwalked up and down a stage and pointed her cane at the audience, then stuck it in front of her as she wiggled down and back up from the floor with it. There was a shift in the air. The thirst for her was just as great as her other bandmates.

They were on the cusp of reaching greatness and Oya was going damn near bankrupt funding her on stage style to create her visual greatness. They all were.

The Sony Rep schmoozed them and set up the showcase for the "Yes Men". Oya could taste victory, money, fame, freedom...

The showcase was a disaster.

Not because Oya didn't incinerate the Sony office with her talent or the girls didn't bring it with their playing. The Yes Men wanted Deidre to front the band and insisted on smoothing out their rough sound. Less edge. More mainstream puff rock. Less 90s Trent Reznor-esque proto Black Girl Rock/Metal and more old school Gwen Stefani cutesy kitsch.

Oya put her foot down. Get set aside because they found Deidre the more marketable? She didn't have the voice. She didn't have the vocal chops to strike people down from the stage like Oya did every time they performed. To Sleep With Anger laid out the roots of Betty Davis, Bad Brains, A Band Called Death, tastefully gave homage to Tina Bell, Mother's Finest, plus a smidgeon of early Prince with the heavy guitar opening of "Bambi" that Oya played herself, and all they could mention was Nine Inch Nails and No Doubt?

They weren't signed.

Deidre left them.

Six months later Deidre was on tour and became a media sensation by joining Ark Ten. They were top tier. Grammy winners. Global fanbase. English darlings credited with reviving the UK rock scene. Deidre joined them right when they went in to record a second studio album. An all-male band that fired their lead guitarist, Ark Ten recruited Deidre to become the new focal point of hyped publicity for the group's sophomore outing. She looked like a High Rock Glam Priestess on their magazine photo spreads. Their album went triple platinum within months as Oya took credit cards and damp dollar bills at a cashier's booth while listening to her ex-bandmate's overdone guitar flourishes in songs at her crappy club job.

Shameika and Jody moved in with her in an upstairs apartment near Slauson. They turned the small dining room into a second bedroom and pooled their resources to perform where they could. Oya wrote new songs and just as Deidre predicted, Shameika and Jody followed her lead without pushback.

After a long day in Santa Monica, Oya walked into their kitchen and made an announcement.

"We're going to audition a new guitar player. We need a fourth member. I'm better at singing and not playing at the same time."

Jody fried up some sliced potatoes and onions at the stove. Shameika washed dishes.

"Another woman?" Shameika asked.

"Black?" Jody added.

"Let's just put the call out and see who shows up. I have a hook up for a try-out space next week. There's a music studio moving to another location in Santa Monica. KCRW used it for live shows and one of my co-workers has access to it for a Saturday before they leave. We can sneak in and use it for four hours. Six to ten at night."

"But you're great on guitar," Shameika lamented.

"I can't do all my theatrics if I'm playing the whole time too. It's too difficult. Plus, it's part of our brand. Jody?"

Jody set down the spatula in her hand and turned down the fire under the food.

"I want another Black woman," Jody said.

"But if we can't find one?"

"Hold another audition?" Shameika suggested.

"In time for Afropunk?"

"We can do a stripped-down show. Jeans, tees, and chucks."

Oya put hands on her hips and closed her eyes.

"No, we go full out. We need this moment more than ever. We have to look ready-made."

Shameika stopped stacking plates in the drainer.

"You don't think we'll ever make it big, huh?" "It's not just making it big...it's our music... we could change the game. I'm tired of us struggling and trying to be creative. I'm tired of us eating potatoes and spaghetti all the time."

"We'll make it," Shameika said.

"I'm tired,"

Oya let her arms drop to her sides. Jody pulled her in for a hug and Oya buried her face in the woman's neck and wept.

"I'm tired of seeing her out there...winning," Oya huffed.

"We'll do the audition. We'll make it work," Jody said.

Her fingers trailed up Oya's face and wiped away her smeared eye make-up. Shameika joined them and threw her arms around Oya's waist.

"Look at me blubbering like some loser. We're not losers."

"No, we're not," Jody said.

Her lips touched Oya's cheek and the loving pats from Shameika made her feel tons better. She broke away from the two of them.

"Just a tiny woe-is-me moment and now we'll get this new axe. Right?"

Jody and Shameika nodded sharing gentle smiles with her.

"We're too talented," Oya said taking up the spatula and turning over the potatoes for Jody.

She kept that mantra up as they sat inside the borrowed music studio a week later watching woman after woman jam with them. Oya watched Jody's weary face as she cradled her bass and studied a new guitar player plug in and prepare to audition. Shameika twirled one of her drumsticks in her left hand and gave Oya an encouraging wink, but the sentiment didn't help. After two hours, they hadn't found one musician who felt right. Benji, Oya's co-worker, sat next to her on plush red couch. There was a small line of women taking up the sidewalk outside waiting to come in and it gave Oya a headache.

"Give me a minute," Oya said, "I have to pee."

In the restroom, she splashed water on her face to hide the tears that threatened to drop.

"Please..." she whispered as she rinsed her hands and dried them.

Oya stared at her face in the mirror.

"Go back out there with your game face. Our new guitarist is coming. She is going to walk in and wow everybody. The band will be whole once more. We'll go to Atlanta and the record deal will come. We'll bring the heat. We'll bring the bodacious Blackness. Deidre won't be the only success story."

Oya walked back into the studio and nearly shit in her cargo pants.

Benji stood chopping it up with Erik Killmonger.

Killmonger wore dark shades, but Oya recognized the braided locs, the scars on his skin shown by his sleeveless white t-shirt, and the gold slugs in his mouth. He was bigger in person than what she imagined. Her eyes glanced over to Jody and Shameika and they were equally starstruck along with the white woman with tattered dreads waiting to audition.

"Oya, this is my old buddy, Killmonger. Killmonger, Oya. Lead singer—"

Oya did a one-eighty and hot-footed back to the restroom. She pressed her back against the door. Her breath sped up and she couldn't stop hyperventilating. Leaning forward to lower her head to her knees, she squinted her eyes and blew out long streams of air.

"Fuck."

Clenching her fists, Oya patted her hands up her thighs until she stood upright.

"Fuck."

She went back out to the studio area and threw her shoulders back.

"I thought I left the water running in the sink," she lied.

Killmonger sat on the couch next to Benji. Oya avoided contact to help keep her voice steady and non-chalant.

"Oh. Well, I'm sure you know who Killmonger plays for—"

"Played for," Killmonger corrected.

Oya felt a tickle in her stomach. His scratchy voice had a rasp to it like he'd been smoking before he came in. He probably toked a good expensive strain that rich people smoked. They always had memes of him up every Four Twenty with kush sitting on his guitar. The shades were off and his bright brown eyes planted themselves on her face.

Played for?

"You're not with Slippage anymore?" the white woman asked.

Nosey.

Killmonger's eyes cut to her and the woman shrank into her guitar.

"How 'bout you play and mind ya business," he said.

Oya took her seat and stared at Jody. She mouthed the words "Play" to her homie, and Jody slid her index and middle finger down the neck of the bass to begin "Palo Alto", a song they liked using to test the guitarists. It had several difficult chord progressions and they wouldn't have to waste time seeing if a person could really play or not. The woman, Heather, got halfway through the song before they knew she wouldn't cut it. Deidre and Oya could slide through the song like butter. Even Jody could fake her way through it when she played around with Oya's guitar.

They allowed Heather to play another tune and jam for a minute before Oya took to the mic and sang a bit with the entire ensemble. They sent her away after asking a few personal questions about her background. When she left, Oya ran her hand over her hair. Jody adjusted the volume knob on her bass and Shameika tapped her sticks lightly on her ride cymbal. No words were needed to veto Heather. A statuesque Black woman came in next with a bright smile and high energy, and they all perked up, but she wasn't able to improvise all that well as they jammed together. Another no. They had an hour left and only two candidates had viable potential from the fifteen women they saw from the first three rounds. Oya was happy she pre-screened so many musicians online ahead of time. They were efficient and knew what they were looking for. The only problem was, no one fit.

They had a fifteen-minute break slotted before the last three candidates scheduled would come in. Benji gave Oya a supportive grin.

"Don't throw in the towel yet, Oya," he said shaking his ginger curls.

Killmonger stood up and walked over to their set up. He moved like king. She tamped down on the squeal in her throat fighting to come out.

"I can't believe Killmonger is in the same room with us!" Shameika blurted.

Thank God. Someone finally said it out loud. Jody and Oya laughed with relief.

"He ain't nobody," Benji said punching Killmonger in the arm.

"How do you know each other?" Oya asked keeping her eyes off of Killmonger.

"Before he was a big head star, Killmonger used to nag me to play his shit on KCRW years ago. We used to sweep up this place together as interns."

Killmonger glanced around.

"The place is a little different from when I worked here. Didn't last long though."

"Slippage?" Oya asked.

Dark orbs captured her gaze.

"Yeah."

"But you said something about not being with them earlier."

Benji stepped in.

"News is just now getting out," Benji said hitching his shoulders.

"Can I?" Killmonger asked pointing to Oya's guitar.

She stepped away from it and he lifted it off of the stand near her and draped the strap around his body hooking it to the instrument after adjusting the leather. It only took him two seconds to launch into "Acid Babe Blues" and Shameika brought in the drums automatically. Jody slapped her bass and they played for two minutes before Oya felt brave enough to jump in and sing.

Killmonger knew their song. By heart.

He stood in the middle of the recording studio slaying Oya's electric guitar and ripped into a blistering riff that made her jump and lose her shit in front of her desperate band.

"Give it to me from the top!" he yelled.

His fingers thrummed out the beginning again, and Oya gave a Black rebel yell,

"Show me someone not full of herself, and I'll show you a hungry person!"*

They tore through the song with Killmonger's lips peeled back to show glints of gold as he howled encouragement with whoops and loud shouts to them.

"C'mon Jody, dig into that bottom!" he called out.

Jody let her thumb do the most as Oya felt the vibration of Shameika sitting in her pocket on the drums from behind as she followed Jody's dip into a groove that Killmonger supported with tasteful licks from his fingers. They jammed for twenty minutes until Oya noticed their next band candidate standing wide-eyed and mouth agape staring at Killmonger.

"Sorry," Killmonger said unhooking himself from Oya's guitar.

They finished seeing the last three women and sat down on the floor together in a circle to discuss what they liked and didn't like. There were three women they agreed to call back for another try out just to be sure.

"We have to lock one in fast. Get them set with our music and stage cues," Oya said picking at her nails.

"When's your next performance?" Killmonger asked.

The three women glanced over at him on the couch. Benji had his arms folded watching them too.

"End of the month. Atlanta," Oya said.

"Afropunk?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Let me play for you."

Oya thought her lungs would implode in her chest right behind her heart.

"I'm not doing anything. I quit Slippage. I like your sound. Benji says you want more festival exposure. If I play with you, you'll get that."

"That would be a boss move...but..." Oya's brain grew dizzy.

"But what?"

"People would want you. Not us," Jody said.

"Then hire me. Let me join the band."

Benji chuckled but then he shut up when he realized Killmonger wasn't joking.

"Why?" Oya asked.

"I like your sound. Your style. I quit Slippage because it's tired. I outgrew it. Y'all got something fresh...different. Sticks to my ribs."

"People would just think it's your band," Oya said.

"How's that?"

"Your famous. You'd overshadow us."

"Did I overshadow Slippage?"

"You were Slippage," Jody mumbled under her breath.

Oya reached over and tugged on one of Jody's long straight backs. Jody slapped Oya's hand away from her hair. Killmonger chuckled.

"You have a strong personality," Oya said.

"Benji told me to come here to give you some tips. The best thing for you is to let me become part of To Sleep With Anger. You don't even have to pay me cuz you know I'm set. I just want to play pure music that's slowly becoming its own thing. I miss that."

"Will you dump us when you get bored?" Shameika asked.

Shameika tilted her head and the purple tips of her hair on the left side of her head touched her stomach. The right side was shaved with one long tuft left on the temple that was beaded with cowrie shells. When Killmonger's eyes landed on her, Shameika's top teeth tugged on her bottom lip making her lip ring more visible.

"Who would get bored with you, Princess?" he said.

Oya caught the territorial glare from Jody, but Killmonger's smoldering drag across Jody's lean athletic form made her flustered and forget the man was flirting with her woman. He flirted with Jody openly too. Dropping his body on the floor next to them all, he held out his hands.

"Let me come to Atlanta and play. Just as a featured guest. We can talk about permanent stuff after."

"You do sound good with us," Shameika said.

Killmonger pointed to her.

"See? Taste."

Oya's heart pounded in her chest from being next to him. She could smell his light cologne and the hair oil he used for his air. The scent of roses and pumpkin spice lingered near him. Moisture left her mouth and everything tasted like cotton. A miracle walked into their audition and served himself up for their use. Oya glanced over at Jody and Shameika. They were just as gone as she was by what was being offered. She swallowed dust and thought of Deidre. Ark Ten was a smart move for her career, but what she would never have was the baddest guitarist around who left an exceptionally better band, and wanted to play for them. But knowing Deidre, she would be flattered to be replaced by someone like Killmonger. Oya ground her molars and pushed her fingers into her thighs. Her cargo pants pocket vibrated. The cell alarm went off. Their time in the studio was up. It was now or never.

"What do you think?" she asked the others.

Shameika held a thumb up and they all saw her sultry eyes turn gooey staring at Killmonger.

"He makes us hustle and I like that," Jody said. Her forehead creased.

Oya gave her a curious look when she took forever giving her answer.

"Me and Shameika are together," Jody finally said.

"That's not a yes or a no," Killmonger said.

"I see how you are and I want you to know the dynamics," Jody said pursing her lips.

"That's your lady, aight beautiful, cool...so am I in?"

Shameika lowered her eyes and Oya felt second-hand embarrassment watching the jockeying for the drummer's attention.

"What's your vote Oya?" Jody asked.

Those magnetic eyes of Killmonger's became daggers on her skin and Oya couldn't shake the arousal affecting her decision-making. He pushed them into excellence with just one jam session. Imagine what they could glean from him with full rehearsals?

She raised a thumb, and Shameika squealed. He wrenched his eyes away from Oya.

"Jody?" he asked. His voice was a raspy assertion. Answer him.

Oya saw the attraction Jody had for the man too. They all were drenched in it. Carnal danger oozed from his pores.

"Okay...yes," she said.

Killmonger clapped his hands and jumped up from their circle on the floor.

"We rehearse at our place in the mornings when our neighbors are at work," Oya said shifting her body to stand up. Her foot fell asleep and she shook out her leg to get the circulation moving.

He took out his phone and they all exchanged numbers.

"I'll bring my stuff at nine if that's cool," he said.

"Yeah," Oya said.

She was almost his height. There was a gleam in his eye as he flashed them all big white perfect teeth and four gold slugs. Two at the top and two at the bottom. His scars were real and if she didn't know him a little better from hanging with him that night, the man could come off menacing. He took up so much space.

Oya threw back her shoulders again.

So did she.

Begin at their beginning...

Afropunk brought two things to fruition.

To Sleep With Anger became that bitch and Deidre felt the heat.

They didn't announce that Killmonger was with them. Flying into Atlanta with hours of tight rehearsals behind them brought them to a different level of being. He was a task master, but he made sure they were in control. Over four weeks Oya saw how he could influence them without it being obvious manipulation. Helping them improve their songwriting, playing, and bolstering their confidence to challenge themselves was something she came to love about him. Oya fell for him quietly and in secret, and unlike his first time meeting them, all flirtations vanished. He was about the music twenty-four seven. She wrote several songs with him at his home studio in Silverlake, and he even helped Shameika compose her first solo creation. It was a cold ass song and Oya wanted them to open with it. Shameika burst into tears when Oya said that and Killmonger gave their sweet Goth girl a hug and encouraged her to write more and take chances with her lyrics.

They left the stage itself in shambles after their quick set. It was like they took a grenade, pulled the pin, tossed it, and made sure the destruction was complete before their exit. No one wanted to follow them after that performance. The shock of Killmonger leaving Slippage hadn't fully been processed before the world saw him on a smaller stage obliterating all competition around them in Atlanta.

Shameika beat out a master class of percussion before Jody sank her teeth into the bass ushering in the deadly claws of Killmonger's fingers making his guitar roar as Oya stalked out from behind him. The moment the audience saw him, shocked gasps rippled out and then she pounced on them all, lacing her voice around Shameika's lyrics throughout the soundscape they weaved for the audience. Her signature flame upswept do became the rage after their first performance as a re-grouped band. The biggest surprise was that Killmonger didn't steal their thunder. He harnessed it and threw it out for the world to accept as a class act worthy of recognition. They trended on social media. Deidre and Ark Ten had been number one for two hours because of their new Coachella line-up announcement. To Sleep With Anger knocked them out of the top ten trending topics soon after. Pictures of their Afropunk performance were shared all over. Oya couldn't help but float and feel hopeful.

The man made her feel reckless and powerful onstage. Their styles meshed and the thrill of prancing around and growling at him with throaty moans while he jerked that guitar around her shirtless like he was working his manhood made her invincible. He underplayed his position as mega star to allow them all the shine. He got off on it. Flirted heavily with all of them while he worked the stage. Oya threw him solos but he would bring in Jody, opening her up to the point where she was dancing around the stage which was something she rarely did that fiercely.

The fans loved Shameika's song and they played it again at the end for their encore. Their short set grew longer because of Killmonger and he pushed it. Shameika broke one of her sticks by the end and it was the omen of more good things to come.

Standing there with applause washing over them, Oya looked over at Killmonger. His eyes were slightly hooded. He was faded in a good way and she was too. They shared a joint before hitting the stage and she watched him make smoke offerings to someone named Bast. Oya gave a final bow and Killmonger leaned over covering her mouth with his lips. The crowd roared and she reached over with fresh acrylic black nails to scratch the scars on his nude shoulder. He bowed down to her like she was a queen and the audience lost it again.

"Let 'em see you, O," he crooned in her ear.

Oya swung her wide hips to the left and right of the stage with her black wolf's head cane in her hand. Her black laced combat boots matched the black mesh drawstring skirt and tank she wore with a short-waisted red bolero jacket. Their black flame logo was emblazoned on the back in satin emboidery. She sauntered over to Jody and Shameika who were shy about prancing around, but they basked in the sea of applause. Oya pulled them next to her so they could get their due.

Taking the mic from her hand, Killmonger stepped to the center edge of the stage.

"You're looking at three of the baddest musicians to come out of L.A. It's a privilege to play for them. Don't fuck around and miss out on this moment. Follow them. Support them. Snatch their EP at the merch table before it become a collector's item and you can't afford it. Take plenty of pictures so you can say you were there before they blow up. Give more love to Oya, Jody, and Shameika...To Sleep With Anger!"

Offstage they were mobbed by people trying to talk to them and get pictures. Killmonger was adamant that he took no solo pictures with fans. It was the group or nothing. That didn't stop people sneaking shots of him sipping on juice or talking to people. Security had to help them when the reality of his status went into warp drive. They had to have more security with them for the rest of the event.

Gracious, accommodating, protective, and a total fanboy, Killmonger acted as their professional handler. His personal bodyguard, Tyson, was a bruising giant that suffered no fools when it came to his boss. If Killmonger felt a fan was being rude to them, he sent Tyson after them. By the end of the festival night, Oya was exhausted by the lack of respect fans had for the personal space of huge stars. Oya wanted the same accolades, but the rudeness was astounding. So used to being ignored, or looked over, she adjusted to it quickly until a male onlooker reached out and squeezed her ass cheek near a speaker as she watched a headliner from Canada. She shoved the man and his weed-laced eyes narrowed. His lips became a snarl when he realized she wasn't interested in his tasteless unwanted sexual advances.

"You should feel lucky, bitch!" he spat.

A fist sliced across her peripheral and the next thing she knew, the man's face was punched in one direction while two of his teeth flew in the opposite. A crowd of male fans snatched him up and carried him off while Killmonger stalked after them cursing him out. Tyson pulled Killmonger back but he jerked away from his grasp. A random girl with long pink braids picked up the teeth with a napkin and ran after the owner of them.

"Shit!" Oya finally exclaimed. Killmonger only needed a bodyguard to protect fans from his fists.

Jody and Shameika were stunned and the crowd stood back from them when Killmonger returned.

"You alright, O?"

"Yeah."

He shook his head as Tyson made a wide berth for them to continue their evening.

"I've had my ass slapped, my dick grabbed, kisses placed on me without my consent..."

Killmonger's eyes looked them over before giving them a dimpled grin.

"See what you have to look forward to?" he told them with flashing gold teeth and drying blood on his fist.

On the way to Coachella and uneasy alliances...

Oya carried bags of Chinese food and soda to the apartment. She had to carry four bags carefully by herself because no one answered their cell to come help her. Climbing up the stairs and fumbling with keys, she entered the apartment hearing music, and smelling frankincense incense, weed, and burning vanilla-scented candles. The room divider from the living room to the dining room was up and Oya saw shapes moving behind the shadows of flickering light. Jody and Shameika were at it on their bed. They probably thought Oya was going to take a long time picking up food, however, she called ahead for once.

She ducked into the other doorway that led to the kitchen and placed the bags on the counter. Clearly there was no rush to eat. Oya needed time to shower. Turning her head, the flimsy curtain they used to separate the kitchen from the dining room was parted and Oya could see Shameika on her back with Killmonger on top of her.

The hell?

She froze.

This was the fucked up shit that killed bands throughout history. Illicit sexual liasons...

Wayment.

Jody's fingers slid down from behind Killmonger's back and pinched his nipples. He turned his head to the side and they shared tongue kisses. Oya watched the man pull out his dick from Shameika, and dear God, he threw Jody down onto her hands and knees and plunged his sheathed thickness into her from behind. She watched him turn Jody into a quivering mess on her bed while he pulled on her hair. Shameika bent down and licked her tongue from the middle of his chest up to the side of his neck.

"Bounce on it," he whispered to Jody and she threw her ass back on him while Killlmonger

slipped fingers inside of Shameika's pussy. Oya could hear the squelching wetness and the woman's whimpers twisted around Killmonger's groans.

"Oooh, fuck!" he roared as Jody gave it her all.

Jody pulled off of his length and flipped over allowing Shameika to fall against her with her legs up in the air. Killmonger sank into her as Jody played with her peach-sized breasts and anchored her girlfriend's body for him. Their eyes stayed on that man's dick as it plowed deep and hard.

"Fuck me...Killmonger...!" Shameika was losing it.

"Shit," he yelped biting his lip as he hunched over her.

He was deep in her guts now and the thrashing she did under him made Killmonger double down on the snaking of his hips. Her arms flew back and Jody cradled them, sucking on Shameika's fingers before Killmonger pulled out again. Both women scrambled to get at his mouth for kisses and he held them both close to him as he fondled both their asses with greedy hands.

Oya slipped out of the kitchen and heard more movement. She wondered what position they were in now before jealousy seeped into her heart. She closed her bedroom door and sat on her cold bed in the dark. It was sad to think of how long it had been since she had sex with anyone. She didn't count the clumsy attempts of a man trying to fingerfuck her the previous year at a party, or even the coat check girl at her job. They were unconsummated misadventures.

She had no clue the three of them were fuck bodies. Killmonger kept sexual energy on stage and in their real life he was a gentleman guitarist coaxing the best out of them for work only. It was obvious Shameika had a big crush on him, but they all just settled into a mentor Rock-God relationship with him. He was playful during downtime, bossy during rehearsals, and flirty for shows.

"Cum in my mouth!" he shouted

His voice roared through the door and Oya pulled a pillow over her face and screamed. They were getting all that sculpted body. All that dick. All that mouth. Kicking her feet, Oya threw her pillow across the bed. Fuck 'em.

She turned on the lights and prepared to take a shower, not even bothering to keep quiet. They kept being loud even as she went into the bathroom and took a long shower.

Twenty minutes later she could hear their bed still rocking and rolling. Bitches!

Hunger trumped all and she made a ton of noise going back into the kitchen to fix a plate for herself. Dumping fried shrimp rice and walnut chicken on a paper plate, she yanked open the fridge to get a can of Pepsi.

Jody tumbled into the kitchen and washed her hands at the sink. She was fully dressed in a t-shirt and shorts and Oya could tell she was pretending that nothing had went on in the next room. She also wouldn't look Oya in the eye. Whatever.

Oya padded into the living room with her plate and drink and found Killmonger on their couch watching TV.

"Sup?" he said ogling her plate.

The shower went on again and Oya assumed it was Shameika in the bathroom. Jody walked out of the kitchen with two plates. She handed one to Killmonger who took it with gratitude as he tucked in with a fork.

"I would've gotten some egg rolls had I known you were coming over," Oya said with a little bite in voice.

"No worries. I just popped over."

"Yeah. I heard."

Jody's eyes almost fell out of her head. Pressure began to build behind her neck and Oya tried to eat her food next to Killmonger on the couch, but she barely tasted it. When Shameika came into the room with a small plate, Oya couldn't hold back.

"Is this going to be a regular thing?"

"What?" Killmonger said.

"Nigga, don't play dumb. You're fucking two of my bandmates. I'm really not trying to have no bullshit when it blows up in your faces."

Shameika's lip trembled. Jody studied the paint on the wall.

"It's none of your business what we do," he said poking out his full lips.

Oya knocked his food out of his hand.

"Oya...fuck..." he grumbled picking up the mess all over the floor.

Shameika jumped up to clean it and Oya shoved her back.

"Let him pick it up since he's trying to create a mess."

Oya's jaws clenched and she stood up to tower over him while he cleaned. He jumped up to face her.

"If you want some dick too, just say so. We don't need all the dramatics to get my attention."

"You think I wanna fuck you?"

"Every time you see me you want to."

"You said you wanted to see us win. This threesome will interfere with the work."

"Yeah...you wanna fuck."

"Killmonger, stop," Shameika said.

"Kill-monger, stahpppp," Oya said mimicking Shameika's mousy voice.

"Don't do that," Jody said stepping to Oya.

"Whatchu do? Let her fuck him so you wouldn't lose her?"

"Fuck you, Oya!" Jody shouted pushing her in the chest.

Oya pushed back and Killmonger stood between them.

"You are such a weak little pussy!" Oya shouted as the rage surged through her body.

Shameika ran to her bedroom and Jody followed after her.

"Weak bitches," Oya shouted to them.

A shock of pain blasted up her arm as Killmonger grabbed it and pulled her toward her bedroom. He opened the door and shoved her inside flicking on the lights and slamming the door behind him.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

"Why are you fucking them?"

"Why is it your business?"

"The band is my business. You fucking up my business."

"What I do with them is between me and them—" "How long has it been going on?"

Killmonger rolled his eyes and she couldn't help but stare at his teeth and the locs flopping in his eyes. His blood was up and the look on his face was mean and it turned her on. She wanted to punch him and kiss him, but if she did that, it would only prove that she did want to fuck him and was angry that her friends got to him first. Wasn't she good enough? He was always gassing her up as the Queen Bee but he settled for drones...

Oya closed her eyes.

That was cruel. Jody and Shameika were her girls. Her sisters. She was acting like Deidre. Thinking she was better than all the rest. Fuck. Maybe Deidre was.

Oya flopped down on her bed.

"I'm sorry," she said.

His eyes were still tight, but he uncrossed his arms.

"What's going on?"

"I don't like being left out."

"Left out of what?"

"Inner circles. I thought we were a team...I feel left out."

"Because of sex?"

"No...yeah...I dunno. I'm stressed...Coachella is coming..."

Killmonger sat next to her and threaded his fingers in hers.

"Coachella is big for you guys, but it's just a music festival. Like all the others you've played before."

"Easy for you to say. We only got there because of you."

"So."

"People are saying that's the only reason we were invited to play."

"So."

Oya shook her head and he squeezed her hand.

"If you're scared because Ark Ten is playing just say that."

"I'm not scared of Ark Ten."

"Deidre then."

"She's a star."

"You're a star. You, Shameika and Jody."

"This has to be the best performance of our life, and I want to show her up. I want her to regret leaving us—"

"She's living rent free in your head and not even thinking about you. We had three dudes jump ship on Slippage before we even signed with Warner. Shit, I wasn't even in the original line-up. People leave when opportunities open up for them. Deidre is where she's supposed to be. I'm where I'm supposed to be. So are you. This is your come up, O. Enjoy it. Stop worrying about Deidre and stop worrying about my dick."

She punched his arm and he kissed her cheek.

"You stink," she said wiping his kiss off of her skin.

"I smell like good pussy."

"Please don't play with them."

"We're having fun."

"You're having fun. They are in a serious relationship."

"I hear you, okay?"

Killmonger released her hand and left the room to shower and clean up. Oya meandered into the kitchen then knocked on the wall near the curtain divider.

"What?" Jody called out.

"It's me. I want to apologize. Can I come in?"

There was no answer.

"Jody? Shameika?"

Jody pulled the curtain aside. Her face was contorted with anger. Oya saw Shameika on the bed bundled up under the sheet, her eyes wet and puffy from crying.

"I'm sorry. It wasn't my place to talk to you both like that. I don't want this thing you have with him to blow up in our faces. Shameika, sorry for teasing you...I was...jealous."

Shameika cut her eyes and Jody crawled onto the bed and put her arms around her. They both ignored her.

"Sorry," she said again and left them alone.

Oya went to her room and broke out her weed pipe and smoked alone on her bed. With her bedroom door open she saw Killmonger walk out wrapped in a towel brushing his teeth.

"I stole a toothbrush from the pack under the sink," he said.

Oya shrugged and he ducked back into the bathroom to rinse his mouth. He returned fully dressed and barefoot. He grabbed the pipe and lighter from her and took a few puffs and cooled out on her bed.

"They are pissed at me," she grumbled.

"You were foul."

"I know. I apologized."

They smoked and the high was easy. Languid. She fell back on her back and stared at the ceiling. Killmonger curled around her and threw an arm across her stomach.

"I wrote a new song," she said.

"Lemme hear it."

She giggled.

"I'm high and my lips are rubbery right now."

Killmonger licked her face and it felt like warm velour caressing her skin.

"Sing it to me."

He nuzzled his face in her neck and kissed her there.

"You ain't slick," she said moving her neck from him.

"What?"

"Tryna get in my panties too right now because I'm floatin'."

"I would never do that. My dick is tired anyway. They had my shit spittin',"

"Oh God, TMI."

"I couldn't get it up if I wanted too. Give me the song."

"Hmmm..."

"It sucks."

"Shut up!"

She slapped his cheek and he cradled her hand and kissed her palm. She raised his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers.

"Sing," he said.

Oya closed her eyes and thought of the yellow legal pad she wrote the newest song on. The words floated above the paper as the melody danced around her ears.

"There is no place for a soft Black woman... there is no smile green enough or summertime words warm enough to allow my growth...and in my head...I see my history standing like a shy child...and I chant lullabies...as I ride my past on horseback...tasting the thirst of yesterday tribes..."*

The words flowed from her lips and Killmonger caressed her hip as he listened to her. He gave her suggestions for word changes when she was finished, and they moved from the bedroom to the living room to work out the song with her electric guitar. He played her instrument while she sang to him. Shameika and Jody emerged from their bedroom to listen and after a few more word changes they joined in on bass and drums that sat ready in the room all the time. They jammed, worked out a decent intro with the drums and Killmonger shoehorned a bass-heavy bridge that added a full body sound to the lyrics. Oya felt the sexual tension between the four of them. It was thick and undeniable. They were all drenched in sweat by the time they had a complete arrangement that worked well.

"We should close with this," Killmonger suggested.

Oya glanced over at Jody and Shameika.

"What do you think?" she asked them.

Jody shrugged and Shameika stared at Killmonger.

"You like it Shameika. I can hear it in your drums," Killmonger said.

Shameika's foot tapped on the floor. Killmonger stood Oya's guitar on a stand and he walked over to Shameika and pulled her up to her feet. He blocked their view of her as he talked softly with her. Oya left the room to grab a bottled water and when she returned, Killmonger had his lips on Shameika and she had her arms around his neck. Jody stood with her arms resting on her bass watching them.

"You good," Killmonger asked.

Shameika nodded her head and Killmonger went to Jody and gave her a hug.

"Team, right?" he asked Jody.

Jody twisted her lips and Killmonger grabbed her chin and tilted it up toward him.

"Jody?"

"Yeah. We're a team."

Killmonger pressed his mouth on Jody and she gave in. His hand squeezed her left butt cheek and she swatted his chest with a laugh in her throat. Fiery eyes raked over Oya's form as Killmonger strode over to her.

"I'm not leaving you out," he said.

His mouth devoured hers overwhelming her with the pressure of his large tongue sweeping around her teeth and making her own tongue submit to his will. A trembling in her thighs commenced, and she grew bolder as she pressed her body into his. Whatever he said about his dick not being able to rise to the occasion again was a blatant lie because the hardness she felt pressing against her mound had her panties damp. His arm slipped around her waist and he walked her backward a few inches before he let go of her lips. He reached for his shirt and took it off allowing the hard slick scars all over his chest excite her even more.

No words were spoken as he forced her back into her bedroom and undressed her. He groaned when her breasts were freed from her bra, and she moaned as his thick fingers pulled off her underwear revealing a glistening prize for his mouth. He ate her out on the edge of her bed, pushing her thighs back so that he could smear her juices all over his face. He licked her folds until she was clawing her bed. Sucking on her clit made her cry out and she knew Jody and Shameika heard her.

Killmonger stood up before she could release again and she watched him fetch a condom from his wallet and roll it down his turgid erection.

"You gon' play nice?"

"Huh?"

Breath was cut from her throat as he sank into her. He threaded his fingers in her hair and locked her body down good and tight. Hard thrusts made her pussy clench around his pipe. He brought his face close to hers and the gold in his teeth looked sharp and threatening.

"I'm giving you this dick, but you better place nice with the other girls from now on!" he growled in her ear.

Oya lifted up so she could see his dick beating up her walls. The aggression of his fucking made it hard to breathe. His hips swiveled and hit another part of her pussy that she wasn't expecting and she clawed his back. The scars on his body rubbed extra sensations into her needy skin and she whimpered into his shoulder to keep her bandmates from hearing, but the dick was so good that she was panting his name every time he sank back into her.

"Be a good girl, alright? Don't be jealous..."

"Killmonger!"

He palmed as much of her breasts as he could and forced her back to arch just to catch all the length he was throwing into her fast. She took the pounding gratefully.

"I'll be good! I'll be good...ooh shit! I'll be good...fuck!"

She went cockeyed trying to match his pace and gave up when he was balls deep and making her toes bunch up. His teeth tugged on her nipples and she took that moment to breathe deep and catch her bearings.

"Turn around!"

Killmonger stepped back from her and his heavy dick bobbed with her shiny slickness all over the condom. She dropped her legs down to the floor and shifted her body so that she faced the bed. Before she had a chance to position herself, he had his hand on the back of her neck pushing her down. Her ass jiggled as he thrust into her again, and she gripped the blanket on her bed to brace herself. Oya's ass clapped loud and she was unable to make a sound from her mouth. The shouting she had done made her voice hoarse, and she snapped her eyes shut and sucked on the blanket.

"Hold these ass cheeks open!"

Reaching behind her, she stroked her backside with her long nails and pulled her fleshy cheeks apart.

"Look at that pussy!" he choked out.

His groans rained down on her and once he started grunting and slapping her ass, she knew she would fall apart all over his dick soon.

"...being my good girl...pussy stretched all around me...fuck...Oya..."

She couldn't take it anymore. He was rooted in her way down deep until he bottomed out and gripped her hips.

"Right there! Right there!" he groaned.

"Fuckkk..."

Her orgasm exploded when he slipped demanding fingers across her clit and stroked her to completion. Bucking his hips, Killmonger's body went rigid and he cursed a stream of expletives until he collapsed over her.

Panting together, she felt kisses planted down her spine from his lush lips. He pulled out of her and bent down to kiss her pussy, licking the essence that flowed out of her. When she sat up, he left the room to go into the bathroom. Killmonger returned with a smile on his face.

"Let's record your song tomorrow at my place around nine—"

"I can't, I have to work at eight."

"Jody...Shameika..."

He padded out of her bedroom nude and went to the living room. Oya grabbed her t-shirt and pulled it on. She rummaged for a pair of sweatpants and sought out Killmonger. He stood in Jody and Shameika's bedroom talking quietly. She watched his shadow on the living room divider and felt a bit miffed that he didn't bother to dress before going to them. Her scent was all over him. The divider shook and she watched Killmonger pull it aside. Jody and Shameika stared at her. The smirk on Jody's face made Oya feel uncomfortable. Nothing like fucking a dude her ex had just rode hours before. Messy.

"We'll record before you go to work then. We need to lay it down fast. Skip rehearsal in the morning and just record. Cool?"

She nodded. The others seemed pleased with the idea.

"It's a great song, Oya," Shameika said.

Her eyes were still shiny and the lilt in her voice was relaxed. That man was working them all over. It worried her. Worried her for the next two weeks that they recorded tracks at his house and took promotional pictures for Coachella with a photographer he hired. The PR machine for Coachella was going into overdrive. Killmonger made them cancel all appearances until the festival. He paid them all out of his own pocket to make up for gigs they passed up.

"It's to build anticipation," he assured them.

Their streaming numbers jumped, especially when they posted the new pictures of Killmonger with them on their official website. He was part of the group now. The man drove them to play until their fingers swelled up and bled and their voices felt like they chewed chalk all day. Their bodies ached from working so hard. Killmonger's work ethic was stringent but worth all the effort. Oya's stamina improved. Musically and sexually.

They all shared him.

He was more discreet with their liaisons. The new polyamory created a push and pull that made their music racy. Electric.

The only foursome they indulged in was a weekend before Coachella. They tripped on 'shrooms with Killmonger in his house after swimming in his pool, and danced in their swim suits his den listening to all the new music they had created together.

"If you bring this fire to Coachella, it's a done deal," he said lying on his floor gazing up at his skylight that covered half of the ceiling.

"Done deal?" Oya said watching her fingers grow watery-looking as she allowed her body to trip with the high she felt.

"Yeah, Warner will sign us," he said like it was no big deal.

She screamed with Jody and Shameika as they peppered kisses all over his face. He stayed on his back as they sat around him like a harem.

"All this work you put in, it's all simmering on the stove. I gave y'all some extra seasoning and now we're all cooked down to the pot liquor now," he said.

His eyes were seductive, and his mouth was lax showing them his bottom slugs. Shameika stroked his cheek and he smiled. Oya bent down and kissed him and he accepted her ripe lips with a moan and wandering fingers. Stripping for him, they all took turns riding his face and going through condoms as they rode his dick too. Reconnecting with Jody intimately was a sweet reminder of how they used to be years before. Shameika and Jody sucked on his balls as she ran her tongue around the bulbous tip of his glans and she felt extra special when he came in her mouth. Jody and Shameika cleaned him with lusty licks and were rewarded with slow drips of extra semen that spilled all over their lips. They slept together in a warm heap of arms and legs on the floor and she woke up with his Killmonger's tongue sucking on her tits. She climbed on top of him and bounced on his dick with her heavy breasts teasing his face, letting him cum hot and raw inside of her. Jody and Shameika watched her make Killmonger holler her name like he had the holy ghost and they giggled when his eyes rolled back from his orgasm.

All was well.

Until it wasn't.

Carrying coffee containers from Starbuck's, Oya and Jody returned to a final mixing session in the home studio catching Killmonger fucking the shit out of Shameika on the sound board. Jody dropped the coffee she had for herself and Shameika and cursed a blue streak. Killmonger yanked off the condom and fastened his pants looking confused by the reaction. Oya was just as confused when Jody snapped and she pulled her back before it turned physical.

"Why you trippin'?" Killmonger yelled.

Tears welled in Jody's eyes.

"You promised!" Jody screamed.

Oya glanced between them. Shameika hung her head in shame.

Shit.

It became clear to Oya.

"I thought we were all good," Killmonger said still searching for understanding.

"This is why..." Oya mumbled.

"It just happened!" Shameika shrieked.

Jody stomped out of the studio and left the house.

"Jody!"

Oya grabbed Shameika's arm to stop her.

"Give her a minute, Shameika. Just go to the bathroom for now and –"

"What is going on?!" Killmonger said still out of the loop.

Shameika cradled her waist. Killmonger stepped to her and stroked her arm.

"Shameika?"

"We had a rule. I wasn't supposed to be with you by myself."

"Well damn, why didn't you tell me that?"

"Cuz I wanted to be alone with you like Oya is!"

"Shameika, bathroom, now!" Oya pushed.

Shameika left them alone.

"I told you," Oya hissed.

"I didn't know about their rule. I would've respected it."

"That was their fault for not cluing you in from the beginning."

"Shit. Jody won't quit will she?"

Oya pounded her fists on top of her head. The doorbell rang. Killmonger glanced at his security video screens near the sound board.

"It's Doug and Anderson from my management. I invited them to hear the final mix. Fuck."

Oya left Killmonger and hustled Shameika out of the bathroom.

"Get it together. Deal with your problem at home, you hear me?" Oya clucked like a mother hen.

Jody wandered back in with her lips set in a scowl and she sat away from Shameika as they heard the playback in the studio. Doug and Anderson loved it. It was a full album worthy of representation. Doug, balding, in his late forties, and deadly serious with his facial expressions kept squinting his eyes as he listened.

"What do we call this? Seriously? What is this sound?"

"Pot Liquor," Oya said.

Killmonger chuckled.

"What?" Doug asked.

"Inside thing," Killmonger said winking at Oya.

They played the album back again and the three men chatted with big plans for the band. But Oya could only watch the tension escalating with Jody and Shameika.

It was hell in a hand basket and Killmonger kicked it on its way by seducing them all into thinking they could handle open sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

Fuck.

The end of the beginning making way for new beginnings...

Oya stood behind the stage of the Mojave Stage tent with a nervous heart hammering in her chest.

The press, Killmonger's fans, and online pundits billed it the battle of the bands when Slippage was to perform after them, and Ark Ten before them. It bummed Oya when she watched smaller more talented bands get pushed aside for big name acts that didn't need the exposure that Coachella gave. A-Listers ruined the vibe for her. Everywhere she looked people were there to be seen. It had ceased to be about the music for many there. Influencers had some pull, and she was able to speak with a few before she dressed for their set. Shiny black dress. Blood red overcoat. Hair slicked down, titties propped up, she twisted all the silver rings that covered every finger on her hands. Two chunky silver chokers rested around her neck. They all agreed to dress their personality, and for Killmonger, that meant topless, black basketball shorts and black trainers.

Jody and Shameika were barely on speaking terms. Oya stayed at Killmonger's place because hanging around the apartment was brutal. Icy stares. Early morning cuss outs. Crying. She stayed out of the way as much as possible, but left after two days. All her time spent before Coachella was used to play her guitar, get her voice pampered and ready, and pray that the audience was receptive. They were part of the two Saturday weekend line-ups, and she prayed Jody and Shameika could keep it together for the following Saturday.

It felt like she and Killmonger had a lot to prove. Oya facing Deidre with Ark Ten, and Killmonger peeping Slippage without him.

"Is it mean to want the other band to suck?" Oya whispered to him.

"Nah. Slippage is a different animal without me now. They have new music. It's a new era for them."

"You miss them?"

"No."

"If people don't like this, you don't have to stay with us. We can say you were just—"

"Shut up," he said slapping her butt.

The thumping of music from a small monitor screen drew her eyes toward it where she watched Deidre shred. They hadn't spoken since she left them high and dry. Deidre had on a revealing black dress that showed a lot of breasts without nipples, and a thigh high split that Oya hoped had a g-string at the top. Killmonger bobbed his head as he listened to Deidre do a solo. She was a star. It showed.

Oya inhaled deep.

"You got this," Killmonger whispered in her ear. He kissed her and she felt her nerves move to her neck.

So many people. So many high expectations.

Oya shook her hands and glanced over at Jody who paced with her earbuds on listening to meditative sounds. Shameika stood still tapping her drumsticks against the top of her thigh, her eyes glassy and focused on some netherworld.

Tyson stood nearby keeping his eyes on the crowd and people backstage.

Martina, the stage manager walked over turning down her headset.

"Ready?" she said.

Oya nodded and the band circled up. She stood between Jody and Shameika.

"Go out there and be yourselves," Killmonger said.

The glint from his slugs made her tamper down her nerves.

"You don't look nervous at all," Jody said.

"I still get butterflies. I want to do my best for all of you."

They bowed their heads and Oya did a simple prayer and they all squeezed hands.

"Do it Shameika," Oya said.

Shameika shook her hair, tugged on her tiny black halter and shorts and pranced out to her drums. Colorful lights made her look glamourous and there was a smattering of applause as their logo lit up above her head. One twirl and she slammed on the skins and got right into her lane as their pocket queen. Oya saw a sly smile spread across Jody's face and she stomped out to where her bass waited for her and hooked in. When the lights struck her face, her head whipped toward Oya.

"What?" Oya mouthed.

Jody put stank on the bass as her thumb slapped hard. Killmonger hooked into his guitar backstage and when he heard his cue, he began to play and a roar shook the open tent. Strolling out like he had always been with them made Oya grip the mic in her hand tight. She was bigger than life. Bigger than the stage. Bigger than the biggest galaxy in the universe. Switching on the mic she called out,

"Buckle up Coachella, you ain't ready for this shit. I promise you. Hold onto to your edges..."

She stepped out and her eyes bugged. Holy fuck. The Mojave Stage tent they were under was packed. More than packed, the crowd extended far out of the tent and many people had to watch them on monitors outside.

Killmonger sidled up to her to help her regain her focus as she felt disoriented for a second. She looked down at his fingers working his chords and he bit his bottom lip giving her a flash of his face when he orgasmed and her clit thumped thinking about the way he handled her body. Oya shook her hips and he moved against her body.

"This bad boy right here is ready...are you ready Coachella?"

The roar of the crowd rattled the stage and instead of feeling like an indie band, they performed like they were on the main stage as the sun disappeared. Killmonger took over and scorched the guitar intro that Deidre ruined so long ago at Joshua Tree. When his eyes sought hers out and he suggestively wiggled his tongue at her the way he liked to work her clit, she growled deep in her throat then let pure rage flow out as she threw back her head.

"Show me someone not full of herself, and I'll show you a hungry person! Ahhhh, yeahhhhh!"

Everything poured out of her and Killmonger drove the rhythm hard, pushing her to dig deep and leave it all on the stage. Sweat made his scars shine like perfect little jewels just for her fingers to touch, which she did like always making people scream with delight.

She dropped to her knees and he placed his guitar close to her face to simulate fellatio. She spun herself toward Jody who did the same as she screeched out

"Give it to me!"

The first song raised the crowd into a tizzy, and it was easy to slip into the next song. She adjusted to the more than expected size of the audience under the tent and outside of it. Fifteen minutes in she took off her coat and slipped on her own guitar and joined Killmonger for a battle and by the time she caught her second wind mid show, her eyes caught a familiar face in the wings.

Deidre.

There was a smile on her face.

Feeling a way, Oya strummed her guitar and stepped to her mic stand.

"I want to introduce you all to the newest member of To Sleep With Anger...you may recognize him from some other band...who did you use to be with?" she asked Killmonger.

The crowd laughed.

"Everyone put your hands together once more for Erik Killmonger on lead guitar!"

Killmonger showed off a bit, and they went off script and jammed.

It felt like magic. Oya's heart swelled and she felt generous when Jody finally noticed Deidre on the side.

"Would you all mind if I bring out an unexpected guest?"

The audience clapped.

"All the way from the Outdoor Theater across the way, Deidre Peterson of Ark Ten!"

Deidre held her hands up, but Oya put a hand on her hip.

"Don't make me come over there and drag you out!"

Deidre walked out humbly, her face showing doubt about what was happening. Her eyes lit up when she saw Killmonger looking at her, giving her dimples and a wink.

"Use my guitar, Deidre," Oya whispered in her ear when she leaned in for a polite hug.

She glanced around at Jody and Shameika before she took in the crowd.

"Go ahead," Jody shouted.

Deidre picked up the guitar and Killmonger gave her space as she strummed it then broke into the very first song she and Oya ever wrote as teenagers.

"Bitch!" Oya teased before Jody stepped to her mic.

"I won't let you suffer all the way through it. We were just learning!" Deidre joked.

Oya faced the audience.

"We wanted to be heavy metal queens because metal, like all good American music started with Black people... you know it's true!" she catcalled the audience.

Deidre played one of their last songs they performed together and Jody joined her with Shameika rounding out the sound. Killmonger followed the rhythm adding his gentle flourishes.

"Can we give 'em a tiny taste?" Oya asked.

Jody held it down as Deidre shared the mic with Oya and they harmonized two verses before Deidre stopped playing. There was too much emotion on her face and she unhooked herself from the guitar and placed it back on the stand behind them. She blew kisses to the audience and hugged Oya before leaving the stage in a near run. Killmonger brought the music back up and forced Oya to let go of the past and look toward the future. There was pain still there, but they were both where they were supposed to be. They couldn't hate on the universe for being correct in the outcome.

They jumped back into kicking ass and taking names with Oya showing off her octave range and playing off of her bandmates. Killmonger tried to spit bars to one song and she covered his mouth with her hands making the audience cackle as she took over and showed him how it was done. Their songs ran the gamut of sexual politics, race, class, love, and the rage of Black women who were overlooked and forgotten. She sweated out her hair and rivulets of her exertion ran down her neck and breasts. Wrapping up with a strong closing, they all knew that the world was their oyster now. They carried sharp knives on the stage to cut the oysters open from now on. She waved for Shameika to come away from the drums and the four of them stood side by side. Jody threw an arm around Shameika and Killmonger held Oya's hand as they took in the applause and whistles, and shouts for more.

Deidre was absent from backstage but it was just as well. It was To Sleep With Anger's moment. Not hers.

Bigger acts sought them out to chat and they took some time to watch Slippage perform. They weren't as good anymore without Killmonger. She saw the smirk on his arrogant face when their reception without him was less than stellar.

Killmonger had hired a crew to break down and pack up their instruments and they were driven home in a large black S.U.V. to Killmonger's house at the end of their Coachella stay that first weekend. Jody and Shameika went off to one of his guest rooms to work out some things leaving Oya alone with Killmonger. They had talked all night after their performance. There was hope.

"Think they'll make up all the way now?" Killmonger asked.

They sat inside his jacuzzi easing their weary bodies. It was early in the morning.

"They're in love. But we'll see what happens before next weekend."

Oya sat up on the edge when the water got too hot for her.

"What about you?" he asked.

"What about me?" she said flicking hair from her eyes.

Killmonger swam up to her and pressed his body in between her thighs and gripped her backside.

"You were letting the world know some things with how you were acting on stage with me."

"Know what?"

"We're feeling each other. More than just an occasional hook-up."

"We do have mad chemistry."

His eyes became dreamy looking up at her.

"You are amazing, Oya. Tonight...shit all three of you were just fucking raw. Coachella hasn't seen that in a long time. Fuck, music hasn't seen that in a long time. Period."

She stroked the top of his head fingering his locs and he closed his eyes and rested his head against her stomach. Rubbing gentle circles along his back, she touched his scars that had become so precious to her. He had become precious to her.

"Killmonger?"

He raised his head up and she lowered hers and kissed him. Their lips fought for leverage together and when their tongues sought heat and wet mouths, he stepped out of the water and held her hand. Her eyes felt heavy. Sleepy. She was still high from being onstage the night before.

"Where are we going?" she said.

"To make some music together."

"Oh, yeah?"

"All day, And the next day, and the next..."

He pulled her along and they took off their wet swimsuits and shared a shower together before he took her to bed. The man played hymns on her breasts with his calloused guitar fingers and hummed a sultry blues on her slick folds. Musical notes danced across her clit with the tip of his tongue and when he sucked sweet orgasms from her one after the other, she finally understood what Betty Davis meant by the lyrics in "Anti-Love Song" about a nigga making a woman "scrawl", because she was screaming and trying to crawl up the walls once he penetrated her, parting her folds like soft fleshy curtains. His short teasing thrusts had her begging him to fill her up with his entire length, stretch her wide open, and take her to the place where love rested easy.

They held hands as he went deeper and deeper and Killmonger made her lose all hope of ever letting him go.

The world made her a little less angry with him in it, and she was so grateful.

A.N. Song lyrics were from poems.

Nikki Giovanni poem ""Poem for a Lady Whose Voice I Like"

Sonya Sanchez poem "Present"

A.N.: This was originally published June 6, 2021. Brought it back for fun! I thought I would expand it as an indie book, but I'll wait on that!

#Afropunk!Erik Killmonger #killmonger fanfiction #killmonger smut #Erik Killmonger #Black Panther AU #Uzumaki Rebellion #Afropunk #Erik Killmonger Fanfiction

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beomcoups · 6 months ago

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Food Wars (teaser)

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You and Mingyu are rival but friendly chefs competing for a spot to be an executive chef at a new location in Madrid. This position would change your life; no matter how attractive he is, you WILL get that spot.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: chef!Mingyu x chef!reader

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, angst, eventual smut, 18+

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cursing (more warnings will be in actual fic)

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1455 (just for the teaser, fic will be longer)

𝐀𝐍: This fic is for the world tour collab hosted by @svthub. Part 1 of the actual fic will be posted on July 21st. Thank you to everyone who helped me brainstorm ideas. I will tag everyone in the actual fic :)

You knew it would come to this, and as good as you are at hiding your poker face, you are pissed. A food competition, really? You almost burst out with laughter when Rich, the restaurant's owner of The Palm Cuisine, said it. The Palm Cuisine is one of the most popular restaurants in the U.S., with three locations in New York, Los Angeles, and Miami. He is opening a new restaurant in Madrid, Spain, and wants to take one of the sous chefs to make an executive chef. You are the better chef, and everyone knows it, but in the spirit of “fairness,” you have to go against another person for the owner to make their decision. That other person is no other than Kim Mingyu, the golden boy of the restaurant who is almost as good as you in the kitchen. Almost.

It’s not like the position was directly promised to you, but deep down, you always assumed it would be yours. You have been there the longest, know the menu from top to bottom, and have even stayed extra nights you didn’t have to for the benefit of the restaurant and the team. You eat, breathe and shit this place. It feels like a slap in the face. “Put the knives down, girlie,” your coworker and good friend Shena nudges you.

You sigh, gently setting down the knives you used to cut your potatoes. “I’m fine,” you whisper, turning around and rolling your eyes. “I am totally fucking fine.” You close your eyes and take a small, deep breath, centering yourself before returning to reality. Disappointment would be an understatement if you had to describe how you feel. The Palm Cuisine is the first and only restaurant you have worked at, starting as a prep cook and working your way up to sous. You always imagined yourself making it to Executive chef—overseeing the restaurant's menu, preparation, cooking, ordering, and operations. The place specializes in Spanish food, and you can confidently say you can plan a Spanish menu with your eyes closed. Tapas, gazpacho, paellas, you name it, you’ve done it. And yet, you must constantly prove to everyone (mainly the men) that you deserve to be here. It’s exhausting. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you, wondering if you will snap and break a rolling pin or cry in the bathroom. Instead of giving them the satisfaction, you turn around with a beaming smile. “Well,” you quirk an eyebrow. “Let the food war begin!” “Oh, splendid!” Rich squeals. “I was worried you would be upset.” “Why would I be upset?” You cock your head. “I mean, it’s only fair, right?” He chuckles nervously, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Why don’t you and Mingyu come into my office, and we can discuss it further?” You nod as he beckons Mingyu over and follows him into his mid-size office. It smells of fresh linen, courtesy of a scented oil on his bookshelf. It looked like a typical place of work, complete with a desk, laptop, and hundreds of documents related to the restaurant. It’s cold in contrast to the warmth of the fires in the kitchen, and you long to be back in front of the heat, cooking from your heart.

You’ve been cooking since you were ten, watching your grandmother in the kitchen slave away for all the major holidays. You remember how it felt when you made your first apple pie. You went to the local market and bought the freshest green apples you could find. You cut them up like she did, adding the right amounts of nutmeg, brown sugar, and other needed ingredients. You made your own crust and watched everyone marvel at your dessert. You guess you could say that your grandmother stirred your love for cooking. God, you miss her.

You hear Mingyu shuffle behind you, the scent of chocolate and cream greeting you before he does. You nod, moving to the seat furthest away from the door to give yourself space. You don’t hate Mingyu; you two are friendly with each other and help each other out when needed. He’s always treated you with respect and never condescended you when you made a suggestion. Your eyes undoubtedly work, and you would be a liar if you didn’t admit he is handsome. His model-like looks, toned body, great hair, and he just happens to be a good cook? It’s almost not fair. But fortunately for you, you haven’t fallen for his charms. He’s the golden retriever that everyone wants to be around. Well, except for you.

“So,” Rich starts as he shuts the door. I want you to know that I respect both of you, and it was tough to make this decision; hence, we are doing this. Plus, it’ll be fun, bring up the morale of the restaurant while we’re in Madrid—” “Wait,” you hold your hand up. “Are we going to do this in Madrid?” “Well, yes,” he says casually. “It’s only fitting we do it in there. It’ll give you a chance to feel the vibe of the area and get some fresh ingredients. Lord knows you can’t get it here in the city.”

Mingyu chuckles, and you instinctively dig your thumb into your palm, your mind already thinking of the cost of a ticket, hotel space, etc.

“We will cover everything, of course; all you need to do is be ready for international travel. You can bring one person from the restaurant as your assistant. Oh, and here is some paperwork you will need to fill out.” Several minutes later, with all the paperwork signed and details worked out, you shuffle out of the office one by one. Rich leaves first, rushing out like a bat out of hell, his wooden smell following him and the tension in your chest. You’re plagued with thoughts about coming up with a menu, packing to leave, and who’s going to watch your cat Grey while you’re gone. You feel undervalued, still bothered that you even have to do this. Does your many years of being here not mean anything to Rich? Is your cooking not good enough? Why keep hinting that you could have something bigger here just to string you along? All of this frustrates you with a passion.

You need a fucking drink.

Your nose wiggles at the smell of rich chocolate, your mouth salivates, and your stomach rumbles shortly after. You have a terrible habit of not eating when hungry as you focus on making food and serving others. While your mind is on food, you aren’t paying attention to Mingyu in front of you, bumping into his back. Your face grows hot with embarrassment, refusing to meet the gaze of your competitor for your dream job. “Hey.” His deep voice knocks you out of your mental fog.

“W-what’s up?” You stumble through your words. “I just want to say it’s an honor going toe-to-toe with you for this spot. There wouldn’t be any other person I would want to go against. You’re a great chef.”

For that tiny moment, you felt seen and appreciated. Aside from Shena, no one seemed to care about the hard work you put into The Palm Cuisine, and you thought about quitting so many times. But despite being unappreciated, you love the food, the culture, and the customers that come in. You can’t imagine yourself anywhere else.

“Thanks,” you clear your throat. “You’re good too.” Mingyu nods, a strand of hair falling over his forehead. Seeing him up close, you have to admit, he’s attractive. You get why everyone trips over their feet when he’s around. You have much more discipline than that despite the vibrations through your body. “Also, you need to eat,” he says matter-of-factly. “I heard your stomach before you bumped into me.”

Whatever spell you were temporarily under ceased immediately, knocking you back into reality.

“Ladies first,” he says, moving out of the way to let you through. His hand lightly touches your back as you walk by, making that part of you hot as if it were touched by something warm. You return to your stations, cleaning off your station to be ready for the customers set to come in later on. “What was that about?” Shena pops up beside you, eyeing you suspiciously. “Just some stuff about this unnecessary competition and getting an assistant to help me and whatnot,” you shrug.

“Wow, that’s kind of grand,” she looks perplexed as if you are telling a joke.

You nod, grab a banana nearby, and take a bite, curbing your hunger a bit. “So…” you let your voice trail off in suspense. “How about you come with me to Spain?”

#kvanity #kwritersworldnet #svthub #svt fanfic #svt oneshot #svt scenarios #svt imagines #mingyu fanfic #more will be posted soon #still writing #svt fluff #svt angst #svthub.collab

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peppermintquartz · 23 days ago

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Sydney pt 1

---

When Deacon wakes up, he feels safe and protected. It's a novel feeling and he smiles to himself.

And then he wakes up.

He's lying on the bed nearer the window, he's naked, and more importantly, he's in Donovan Rocker's arms.

"Shit," he mutters to himself, barely two seconds before both their phone alarms ring.

With a massive yawn, Rocker rolls onto his back and nearly topples off the side of the single, catching himself from tumbling only by grabbing hold of Deacon. "Whoa. Wow, that was close."

Deacon stares at the other man. Rocker's hair is a mess, and Deacon remembers exactly how the strands felt between his fingers. There are fading bruises all over that muscled chest and strong belly, as well as flecks of what has to be dried ejaculate. There are patches of reddened skin that Deacon knows is beard burn. He feels his cheeks grow hot from the memories of how they'd shucked out of their clothes and rutted into each other's fists, kissing and biting and sucking all the while, Rocker gasping Deacon's name when he comes after Deacon climaxed, like the ending to a prayer, their mixed ejaculate both surrender and claim.

Gulping dryly, Deacon clambers out of bed and flees to the bathroom.

The mirror shows that he fares slightly better - barely any visible marks - but he feels sickened. He doesn't even wait for the water to heat up before he's getting into the shower to wash off every last bit of evidence.

When he emerges from the bathroom, Rocker is waiting for his turn in the shower. His blue eyes are solemn now.

"We had too much to drink," he says to Deacon. "We were drunk."

It's a lie. They didn't even finish the bottle.

Rocker is giving Deacon an excuse if he needs one.

Deacon wants to weep with gratitude. "Yeah. I'm gonna... I'm gonna head down to the restaurant for breakfast."

"You go ahead. I'll see you later. Reserve a seat for me?"

"Of course." Deacon manages a smile, though he thinks it's a grimace, and escapes from the hotel room.

Yes. They had too much to drink last night. It was all a mistake that will never be repeated.

His fingers twitch. His jaw clenches.

It's okay. They will be going home soon, and this will be something to bury in the darkest parts of him, shared only with God and no one else.

Later in the restaurant, when he looks up and sees Rocker looking for him, Deacon's heart skips several beats, and then he chides himself for the reaction. He must treat Rocker the way he does any of the other members of his team.

He must.

---

They're almost back to normal by the time they board the plane heading back to Los Angeles two days later, which is good because they're seated next to each other. Rocker has the aisle seat because of his longer legs, and Deacon is sitting in the middle. The window seat is occupied by an elderly lady who falls asleep within ten minutes of boarding, before the plane has even taken off.

"Sorry for the jostling," Rocker says. His arm is pressed against Deacon's, a line of heat from shoulder to elbow. Their thighs touch too, and Deacon has to force himself not to pay attention to it.

"Teach you to be a giant," Deacon says, smiling, but he offers Rocker some chewing gum. "Helps with the ear pressure."

They have to spend 18 hours together in their cramped seats; Deacon is determined to make sure neither of them feel weird by the time they land. They whisper horror flight stories, of fellow passengers who farted horrendous stenches, of people who died in flights (they both glance at the elderly lady snoring quietly beside them, with her earplugs in), of screaming kids. Deacon confesses to hating in-flight magazines because he can't resist buying something from them; Rocker shares how he charms air attendants into giving him extra peanuts or snacks.

"Matthew wants to learn aikido," Deacon tells Rocker over lunch. Elderly Lady had woken up, picked like a bird at her vegetarian option, and gone right back to sleep.

"That's a good defensive martial art," Rocker says.

"He's already been in fights, though. I worry."

Rocker hums. "Learning from a proper dojo will teach him discipline and respect, and when to engage or disengage. Not that you don't already teach him that, but coming from a sensei, that might help more." He looks adorably squashed into his seat with the food tray down. "My mom enrolled me in judo when I was younger, which helped a lot with my self image when I was still kinda heavyset. My twin brother didn't get the chance and he still feels self-conscious even today."

"You have a twin?"

"Yeah, Tommy. Don't tell the others, please. It's a difficult family situation we had to navigate after growing up and, well, we're not super close." Rocker fishes out his phone with some difficult contorting and twisting, his arm brushing over Deacon's side.

The photo shows Rocker and his identical twin. It's not too hard to differentiate them if you know what to look for: Rocker has a leaner jaw, his hair carefully gelled. Tommy's features are softer and squarer, his hair is a lighter shade, his curls left fluffy, which is how Rocker's hair looks like in the morning.

"He's handsome," Deacon offers.

"But I'm prettier, right?" Rocker nudges him with an elbow.

"I'm not gonna boost that ego of yours more than I can help it," Deacon chuckles.

The air attendants clear their trays and Deacon stands to go to the restroom. As he squeezes past Rocker, the latter puts a hand on his hip to steady him. For a brief moment, their eyes meet and Deacon sees the flash of desire. He continues down the aisle, hoping that his ears aren't turning red the way he feels they are.

On his way back, Rocker has stood up and is waiting for Deacon to get in. Rocker nods at him minutely, a wry twist to his mouth.

They don't talk much for the rest of the flight.

---

"Daddy!"

"Hey! Oof, wow, you grew bigger in four days?" Deacon wraps his arms around Samuel and hugs him tightly. Then he stands to kiss Annie on the cheek, her perfume a sharp reminder of who he is. "You didn't have to pick me up."

She's smiling at him, Victoria on her hip. "We've missed you," she says sweetly. Then she turns to beam at Rocker. "Thanks for taking care of David while on the trip."

"Nah, he took care of me," Rocker says. He smiles at Deacon's son and then at him. "See you at work, Deac. Bye, Annie."

"Hey, you wanna ride with us?" Deacon blurts out.

Rocker shakes his head. "I don't think there's space for me, but thanks. Rest well."

Before Deacon can say anything else, Rocker turns on his heel and strides off towards the taxi queue. A strange sensation closes around Deacon's heart; even when Annie's hand slips into his, that odd strangled feeling doesn't go away.

#the divorce arc #rockon #deacon kay #annie kay #donovan rocker #pq writes

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monzamash · 2 years ago

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“i thought you’d at least ask me to be your valentine…” “we’ve been together for three years, i thought that was a given.” + Daniel ❤️

summ. – cinema date night and ice cream with daniel rating – mature (sexual references) word count – 736 masterlist

“That was one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen.”

Daniel’s hand was intertwined with yours as he guided you through the popcorn-scented foyer, cap covering his unruly curls and praying he didn’t get recognised. Cinemas were usually on the no-go zone for the two of you, just for the simple fact that Daniel couldn’t really go anywhere without getting hounded and there had been a couple of occasions where things got a little out of hand. But you had suggested a movie night and he never wanted to shoot down your ideas, especially if it meant spending a couple of hours with you in the dark.

“The worst!” You laughed, “J-Lo really deserved better – honestly, I didn't think it would be that bad… then it got violent and weird so I’m sorry for dragging you out for that.”

Daniel shook his head fervently, “No way – you could literally drag me to the depths of hell, which you will, and I’d be happy.”

He was sweet, naughty but sweet as he pulled you closer into his side, unclasping your hands and wrapping his arm around your shoulder now that the path was clear. Stepping in perfect time.

It was chillier than you expected in Hollywood and you were grateful for his warmth. You could always rely on Daniel for that extra bit of body heat whenever you needed it, sharing is caring he would always say before wrapping you up like a burrito. The two of you walked for a couple of blocks, pointing out all of the interesting characters tumbling out of restaurants after too many glasses of wine and admiring the bright neon signs until Daniel stopped at a quaint, hole in the wall ice-cream shop on the strip.

You both picked up a waffle cone each, the overloaded ice cream already melting down the sides before you’d even left the store. Daniel had requested salted caramel, you chose boysenberry – both happily content with your choices as you continued to walk back the few blocks to your car.

“We really don’t do this enough, baby. Just you and me, pounding the late night pavement,” Daniel joked through his sincerity like he always did, licking his cone and glancing down at you.

“Maybe we have been a little stuck in our ways but when you’re home, I just want you all to myself,” You reasoned, bumping your shoulder into his arm gently and making him chuckle, “If I could lock you up and throw away the key I would.”

“Kinky,” Daniel quipped back before taking another spoonful of ice cream into his smirking mouth, “I thought you would’ve at least asked me to be your Valentine. So mean…” He trailed off, taunting.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes before glancing up at your pain in the arse boyfriend, “Honey, we’ve been together for three years, I thought that was a given!”

“Still hurts, babe. Like a knife through the heart,” He grimaced and held his free hand to his chest, putting on a show for you and the couples sitting at the restaurant you were walking past.

“Poor little Danny,” You mocked quietly and grasped the hand that was still clutching his broken heart, “What could I ever do to make it up to you?”

He chuckled at your sultry voice and innocent eyes act you were playing up for him, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to really look at you. For a second, he thought he was dreaming. A Valentine's Day spent physically with you was like Christmas and his birthday all rolled into one. He never cared about the stupid holiday before he met you but now, standing here with you in the windy Los Angeles streets, he cared more than anything. Daniel loved you.

“I can think of a couple'a things… but a kiss would be nice.”

You didn’t hesitate to step forward and press a slow, tender kiss to his lips. They were soft and sweet from the sugary toppings, both flavours of your ice cream mixing together as he snaked his arm around your waist, holding you close. You didn’t need a rom-com to tell you what true love felt like.

You were experiencing it right there, on Hollywood Boulevard.

a/n – i love writing danny ric so much, thank you for the request!

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo blurb #valentines day prompts #f1 blurbs #formula 1 blurb #monzamashmasterlist #monzamashprompts #daniel ricciardo imagine #monzamail

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itwasrealtome · 4 months ago

Text

BEST BELOVED

CHAPTER FOUR — DAMN RIGHT, I’VE GOT THE BLUES

⚠️ DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT TRIGGER YOU

Scarlett Johansson x fem!OC fic | Masterlist

Summary :

Content Warning : Elle listening to some Buddy Guy | New School | Discovering a new place and new people | Carter hates LA and misses Portland

Navigation :

Chapter Three

Chapter Five

Don’t miss any more chapters or info by being tagged

TikTok

•••

LOS ANGELES — CALIFORNIA

DECEMBER 06, 2016

Carter hated Los Angeles.

From its sweltering heat to its crowded streets and inhabitants. He'd only been there two short weeks and was already missing Portland. Not what he would have liked to call home, or the people who were supposed to be his family, but the city itself. The alleys of Japanese maples, the café where he played his first guitar notes in public and, above all, the weather in favor of a snowy Christmas.

Here, the air was stifling and the sun never seemed to take a break. Even sprawled out in his new bed, the atmosphere seemed to descend on him, crushing his chest. Repainting the walls and assembling the furniture had been an ordeal for him. Unlike his sister, who seemed accustomed to the Californian air, Carter was still wiping the corner of his eyebrow and inhaling every second.

In the car, the ordeal was the same. But at least he could enjoy the occasional light breeze. He leaned back, his cap hitting the headrest of the seat, his long legs stretched out to the glove compartment. For someone who has money, he thought, it's definitely no luxury.

— Don said it’s a very good school, reminds Elle, taking her eyes off the road for a second. They have excellent results and programs.

— Yeah, whatever…

Chewing gum wrapped around his tongue, Carter blew until the bubble burst in his face. Elle flinched at the sound though she tried to hide it. She nudged her brother's shoulder, a heavy sigh covering Buddy Guy's voice.

— I'm doing this for you.

It was as if the words were floating around in the vehicle without ever reaching their intended target. The dark-haired teenager's face was now glued to the glass, his eyes glued to the immense building looming overhead. It was by no means the same kind of school as the one Aunt Nancy had placed him in.

The facade alone was impressively large. From their parking place, he could see teachers dressed in a clean and serious manner, but also students who did not seem at all to be petty criminals. Yeah, it was definitely a big change.

— I know it's nothing like the shithole we grew up in, but I think you're going to love it here.

Carter simply shrugged, following the actress blindly, hands clutching his backpack. He relied heavily on his feet to lead him to the right place. The sight of the path through the trees didn't interest him. He wanted to see the branches move with the light breeze and the white chalk of the walls lighten with the sun. If he had to face this view for the rest of the year, then it was nothing like the hell he'd imagined.

— Ah. Ms. Wiley, it's a great honor to have you here in our school. The school principal spent some extra time buttering Elle up, before realizing Carter’s presence. And you, young man, must be Carter.

Carter shook her hand and gave a brief, shy smile. He suddenly felt his cheeks heating up, just as they did when attention was focused on him. Only this time, Elle was right by his side.

— I hear you have an excellent program for athletes. I'm quite interested, can you tell me more about it?

The woman went into her lengthy explanations and began guiding her guests around the establishment. Elle didn't care much for the school's sports program, but she knew Carter did. He trailed behind the two women, his gaze darting all over the place, swallowing each piece of information he was given.

His sister was right. This building was nothing like the one they'd known. The corridors were huge, well-lit and furnished with rows of lockers that still looked new, or at least functional. He was surprised to find that the refectory was clean and free of tags on walls and tables, something to which he'd become accustomed in his old school. Only a few kilometers stood between him and the place he had once known, yet he had the distinct impression of being in another world.

When both women halted, Carter missed his cue and lightly jostled his sister. He murmured a simple apology, tightening the grip on his backpack straps. Elle quietly patted his shoulder and prompted him to focus on the space in front of them, where one of the school’s gymnasiums stood out. Her knowing smile betrayed her familiarity with her brother's interests. There were only two places to find Carter: the music classroom and the gymnasium, ball in hand.

— Coach Cruz has already studied your profile, Carter. Let me tell you, if you keep up the good work, you'll soon be the team's new star.

The brunet only nodded, too absorbed by the sound of soles on the wooden floor, the whistles and the power of the strikes to find words. Los Angeles may not have been home, but this place could be.

He could already see himself practicing for hours on end, improving his sets and shots, making this room his reference point. The equipment didn't look as bad as he'd imagined.

Here, at least, they had equipment.

— I have a couple of matters to settle with Mrs. Hale. stated Elle, her hand massaging the nape of her brother's neck. Why don't you introduce yourself and take a walk? I won't be long.

Before he could react, Principal Hale had already called the coach over to them. Cruz was a man in his fifties, with an athletic bearing and a posture that showed immense respect. His handshake was strong and seemed genuine. And for the first time since he'd been in his sister's company, Carter saw a man more preoccupied with his sport than with the actress' beautiful face.

— Hey son, welcome to the team. Cruz guided him with a hand on his shoulder, his fatherly posture almost reassuring for a young boy like Carter. You're gonna love it here!

•••

Taglist : @micaluvssoccer @rain-mikaelson @red1culous @taylucky13 @womenlovingwomen-imagines @aqiia24 @youdontknowwhotfiamm @mmmmokdok @unexpected-character @iheartmilfies @natalia-quinzel @electricboost @angeliqueh5331 @emskisworld @sami1642 @waltermis @imjai02 @enjoytheentireworld @jatrovyknedl @madamevirgo @lyak12 @anku1901 @ssaaggwwaa @marvelandotheruniversesloveradhd @canvasscoloredin @butwhynothavesomwmore @hi-1-1-blog @g1u2y @fanfiction-24824 @greyslover3004

#bestbeloved #new chapter #ellewiley #carterwiley #scarlett johansson x oc #scarlett johansson masterlist #scarlett johansson x reader

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ithinkyouhealedmyheart · 3 months ago

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Ghostwriter CH 8

Unbetad Unedited Unhinged || AO3

Character(s): Kendall Knight, James Diamond, Logan Mitchell, Carlos Garcia, Mercedes Griffin, Veronica Clark oc

Pairing(s): Kendall Knight/Veronica Clark, James Diamond & Veronica Clark, Carlos Garcia & Veronica Clark, Logan Mitchell & Veronica Clark, Mercedes Griffin & Veronica Clark, James Diamond & Kendall Knight & carlos Garcia & Logan Mitchell

Word count: 3k

“I always go to the mall on Fridays. Even though moving to Los Angeles has shaken up my routine significantly, I’m at least trying to keep something.”

“Ronnie, babes, you don’t have to explain anything to me.” Mercedes giggled and looked up from texting. “I totally get it. Every tomboy needs a break from four teenage boys occasionally.”

“That’s not– Sure, let’s go with that.” Ronnie sighed and leaned her chin in the palm of her hands. She didn’t need a break from them– okay, she needed a break from Kendall.

The songwriter has somewhat ignored the frontman for the past five days. Of course, she couldn’t ignore Kendall at work and was overtly respectful towards him, but it was a different story outside of work. She started hanging out with James a little more. The brunette even helped hide her from Kendall once or twice. But it was nice to have a break from all of them.

On Wednesday, Carlos started a pet grooming business to get some extra pocket change, which inevitably erupted in him when Bitters found out. Ronnie spent the day running after dogs that got loose in the Palm Woods with Carlos. It was fun until Bitters yelled at both of them when one of the escaped dogs jumped in the pool and scared tenants.

It was nice to kick back with Mercedes.

Ronnie was still on high alert, worried that Mercedes would ask her father to fire her if this didn't go well. She felt obligated to. It wasn’t like she was forced to hang out with the rich girl. Not that her company wasn’t great. Hanging out at the mall with Mercedes was like hanging out back home. Only Ronnie didn’t have to witness whatever courting ritual Addison and Callie were a part of.

“Do you even take care of your nails?” Mercedes pointed her nail file at Ronnie and raised a perfect brow.

Ronnie hummed and furrowed her brows, looking down at her hands. The answer was no, but the blonde didn’t wait for verbal confirmation.

“This is the perfect opportunity to go to the spa!” Mercedes beamed happily and stuffed her nail file in her purse. “It’ll be my treat!”

This whole trip was technically her treat. The bubbly girl didn’t allow Ronnie to reach for her debit card in her wallet.

“Oh, maybe then we can touch up our wardrobe! It’s L.A. and nearly eighty-plus. I have no idea how you wear that sweatshirt everywhere.”

“It’s comfortable…”

“Is sweating to death that comfortable?” She batted her eyelashes and stuck out her bottom lip.

Ronnie rolled her eyes and couldn’t stop herself from smiling slightly.

“Okay, okay. You got me there, but I’ll only part with it to try on clothes.”

“Party pooper.” Mercedes pouted. She bounced out of her chair and grabbed her fancy fountain soda drink. “Now, come on. I saw this cute dress in one of the windows, and I think it would look nice on you!”

Ronnie’s face heated up. She swore she was blushing. Addison always told her she looked good whenever they tried on clothes together, but something about how Mercedes said it felt far more genuine.

“That made you bashful? Oh, girl, we have a lot to work on.” Mercedes giggled behind her hand. When Ronnie stood up, she hooked her arm through hers and led her off with a bounce in her step.

Momentarily, the songwriter couldn’t help but think about Addison and Callie. Addison would be over the moon to go shopping in Los Angeles. She would walk up and down Hollywood Boulevard a hundred times over and go into each store multiple times. It would be paradise for her. Although Ronnie hadn’t been gone for long, she hoped they would visit her soon. It wasn’t the same without them. It was nice hanging out with others and expanding her social circle, but she wanted to see her old friends again. It wasn’t the same without them.

Clothes were piled in her arms as Mercedes took them from the wrack. Ronnie couldn’t hear what she was saying and struggled to peek over the growing pile in her arms.

“Oh! I think this would look good on you!” Mercedes tossed something yellow on the pile.

“What are you talking about–” Ronnie glanced over her shoulder and was promptly pushed into the changing room by the blonde socialite.

Instead of being left to choose which clothes worked best, Mercedes had Ronnie come out of the changing room and model for her. The blue-haired girl felt like a Barbie doll. It was hard work to wear and model the clothes for Mercedes. When she got an idea, the rich girl would mix and match the tops with bottoms and circle back to other garments. Ronnie was reasonably confident she would never shop in Hollywood, but unfortunately, the universe had different plans for her. One outfit Mercedes liked was a black and pink tank top with distressed jean shorts. Ronnie crossed her arms in front of her chest and tried to hide her arms. It felt so wrong to be showing this much skin above the waist.

“Do you… Actually, like this?”

“Yes! You look hot!” Mercedes clapped her hands. “Those guys won’t know what hit ‘em!”

“I look like a… slut.” Ronnie muttered.

“Nonsense! Maybe you need a different top, or perhaps add a jean skirt instead!”

The songwriter groaned and pushed open the door to the dressing room. If this was what it meant to be Mercedes' new best friend, she might have thought more about that prospect. It wasn’t like the socialite was forcing her to do anything against her will, so she agreed to dress up and model clothes for the rich girl. But, the prospect of getting fired by Mercedes’ CEO father was far more intimidating than doing anything she asked. The next outfit she wore was an off-the-shoulder gray t-shirt with a skull and a pair of boot-cut jeans. Mercedes tilted her head and hummed, tapping her chin.

“What is it missing?” The blonde squinted in thought.

Eventually, Ronnie’s torment came to an end. Unfortunately, it was extended for a little longer because Mercedes insisted on buying the clothes she thought Ronnie looked good in. The blue-haired girl tried to protest, but the blonde didn’t want to hear it. At least shopping torture was better than Gustavo’s school of Rocque. She was the only student sitting in a supply closet-sized classroom with a teacher who didn’t want to be there. Instead of math, the washed-up celebrity ranted about how Big Time Rish would become a Big Time Fail. So, while the boys get to go to the school in Palm Woods, their songwriter has to deal with Gustavo at Rocque Records for more than just work hours.

“Speaking of boys,” Mercedes mused as they returned to her car. “I could get you a date with anyone in Hollywood. Name your type,”

“Huh?” Ronnie wobbled from the weight of all the shopping bags. “What do you mean?”

“You know? Do you like hockey players? Musicians? Singers? The sensitive, emotional boys? The bad boys?” Mercedes raised a brow.

“I mean… I guess I like hockey players…” Ronnie shrugged and tried to catch a bag before it fell. “They are kind of cute.”

“Wait, really? You like hockey players?” Mercedes' eyes lit up.

Her nose was buried in her phone, and she was barely paying attention to what was happening around her in the parking lot. Ronnie’s arm shot out when a car backed out of a parking spot.

“I do have his phone number!” The blonde gasped. “What do you know about Curt Haverfield?”

“Who?” Ronnie furrowed her brows. “He sounds like a cartoon character.”

“He’s from North Carolina, and the L.A. Kings are considering him.”

“I’m guessing that’s the hockey team,” Ronnie rolled her eyes. “I’m also assuming your dad wants him to represent RCM CBT because it could get him more recognition.”

“Curt is an excellent hockey player. I’ve only talked to him a handful of times, and he’s super nice, too. I think you’d like him.”

“I don’t know…”

“Give me your phone.” Mercedes held her hand out.

Ronnie stared at her open palm for a second and struggled to get her phone out of her pocket. She handed the girl her phone and couldn’t help but cringe. It wasn’t anything fancy. It was a Samsung Epic 4G from Sprint—one of those phones with a QWERTY keyboard. It was nothing compared to Mercedes' iPhone, but the girl didn’t comment. The socialite was more concerned with punching in a phone number with strict concentration.

“There! You have Curt’s number! I’ll let him know who you are and maybe get him to visit you sometime.” Mercedes chirped happily.

“I don’t– How– What– “ Ronnie stared wide-eyed at the bubbly girl.

“Do you… By any chance, do you have anyone I could meet?” Mercedes batted her eyelashes.

Ronnie opened and closed her mouth; the neurons in her brain hadn’t yet connected. Quickly going through her contacts, she found the only guy that would be a viable candidate. Tyler-Joseph “TJ” Miller. He helped her decide to go to Hollywood. She handed her phone back to Mercedes.

“He’s a sweet guy. Knows a little French.”

��Oh! International!”

“No, no.” Ronnie shook her head. “He’s from Vermont. I went to high school with him.”

“Oh–” Mercedes nodded slowly. “If you think so highly of him, he’s perfect!” Mercedes copied his number from Ronnie’s phone.

When she got home, she was surrounded by what could only be mountains of laundry and empty shopping bags. Ronnie sat in the middle of her room and looked around at everything piled up in the past week. She groaned and leaned back into a pile of dirty laundry. It had been a week, and she still had no idea where the laundry room was. Walking around with a laundry hamper filled with laundry wasn’t the best idea when four hockey players from Minnesota were around.

“Wait, wait! Ronnie, watch out!” Kendall called her, but it was too late.

She couldn’t see because of the hamper she was carrying. Their makeshift hockey puck, a simple rubber ball, was under her foot. Her feet flew in opposite directions, and her laundry fell all over her and on the carpeted floor of the lobby. Ronnie sat up and pulled a shirt off of her head.

“Why are you playing hockey in the lobby!” She snapped.

“Hockey in the lobby?” It was like Bitters was a bloodhound for trouble. He came out of nowhere, inspecting the scene before him. “No hockey in the lobby!” He pointed to a rule board that also came out of nowhere. “And you, clean up your laundry!” He snapped at Ronnie.

“They made me drop my laundry!” Ronnie huffed and started picking up her clothing. “Couldn’t you guys have played that outside?”

“Well, no.” Carlos chuckled awkwardly, helping her pick up her clothes. “There’s a movie shoot outside.”

“I'm Sorry, Ronnie. I told you to watch out.” Kendall apologized as he helped her up.

Ronnie narrowed her eyes and turned to her clothes on the floor, kneeling to pick up her garments. Whenever the guys were around, something embarrassing happened.

“Why are you doing laundry anyway?” Logan asked. “Don’t you have… Too much clothes.”

“Camille took me shopping, and then Mercedes took me shopping. I couldn’t say no!”

“I get that,” Logan chuckled awkwardly.

“I’ll help you carry it. There’s no plausible reason you should be forced to carry this much,” James had gathered some of her clothes in his arms. “It’s only fair.” He shrugged.

“Do you even know where the laundry room is?” Kendall asked.

Carlos, Logan, and James could tell quickly that Ronnie was ignoring him. Of course, Kendall was oblivious to it.

“James, can you show me where the laundry room is?” Ronnie asked, moving aside a piece of clothing so she could look at him.

“Oh, yeah, sure!” James flashed Kendall a smug grin.

Kendall’s smile fell off his face. Okay, now he realized she was ignoring him outside of work. Instead of moping, he followed James and Ronnie to the laundry room. It was strange for the four boys to sit in the laundry room while she loaded the washing machine with her laundry, but they kept her company at least. She hummed a melody stuck in her head as she measured laundry detergent.

“Hey! You could make a song out of that!” Carlos gasped, tapping his foot to the beat.

“What? No, it was just a silly little tune. It would not be sufficient.” Ronnie laughed and shook her head.

“Are you seriously doubting your songwriter talent?” Kendall scoffed.

“I mean, yeah, it’s the melody for Invisible, but that’s not boy band material.”

Kendall rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall with a pout.

“Well, what’s invisible about?” Logan asked.

“I– You really want to know?” Ronnie raised a brow.

The boys nodded with sparkly eyes.

“I wrote it when I was in a really bad space. I felt like I was all alone and wanted someone to tell me, ‘Hey, you’re not invisible. I see you.”

Kendall’s gaze softened, and he shifted. He shoved his hands in his pockets as the gears in his head were turning.

“That’s perfect! It would be totally relatable for our demographic!” Carlos exclaimed, jumping up from his seat. “Can we see the lyrics? Is it finished?”

Ronnie took a step back.

“Yes, it’s finished. No, you can’t see the lyrics.”

“Why not?” Logan furrowed his brows.

“You’re our songwriter!” James cried. “Write us some kickass songs!”

“No.” The washing machine door shut with a loud thud. “It’s a personal song, and there is no way I am letting you four sing all my intimate thoughts!”

A grin stretched across James’ face, and he nudged Kendall.

“We would love to sing your intimate thoughts!” James snapped finger guns at her.

“I can write you another song, but there is no way you’re having that one. It’s mine.” Ronnie set a timer on her phone and sat in an empty chair.

“Then we can help you make a new one!” A lightbulb went off in Carlos’ head.

“We just have to orchestrate lyrics.” Logan built off of Carlos’ idea.

“They’re not listening to me…” Ronnie groaned and leaned her head back.

Her laundry was done in two hours, and she had to listen to the guys prattle on about the lyrics of their new song. Part of her considered letting them sing Invisible, but she wouldn’t be in the room if they did. The good thing about having four boys in the laundry room with her was that she could make them fold her laundry when it was dried. Hockey players from Minnesota were decent enough at folding laundry. It was her least favorite part about folding laundry, and they were eager to help her faster so they could get started on a brand-new song.

But when she had to carry her clothes up, Logan, Carlos, and James made some pretty bad excuses and ran away before she could ask them about it. Kendall was nice enough to help her with her clothes.

“So, is there a reason why you’re ignoring me?”

“Huh?” Ronnie moved her head around the pile of folded clothes in her hamper.

“Since the party, you’ve been ignoring me.”

“So?”

What– I thought we were friends.”

“Oh, right. I’m still waiting for that apology.”

“What apology?”

“Kendall,” Ronnie sighed. “You were sober. How come I remember what happened?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong?”

“Oh, right, because you never do anything wrong. You’re just the sweet boy next door.” Ronnie mocked with a grimace on her face.

“Okay,” Kendall sighed. “Maybe I was a little too hard on you…”

“A little? Since you met me, you’ve been giving me the stink eye, and I’m pretty sure you’re under the impression I did something to make your ex-girlfriend leave you.”

“What do you know about Jo?”

“Apparently, I know a lot…” Ronnie exhaled sharply.

“Okay, okay. My breakup with Jo has nothing to do with you whatsoever. I’ll admit it, but I wasn’t expecting you to show up right after she leaves.”

“What? So I was the metaphorical salt in the wound?”

“Well, yeah…” Kendall shrugged.

“You have serious problems.” Ronnie stretched her neck from side to side.

“It’s not my fault she was my first girlfriend!”

“Uh, yeah. It is your fault.”

“Come on, I’m helping you! Can’t be at least be nicer?”

“I dunno, this is kind of like payback.”

Ronnie put her laundry hamper down and looked around for the keys to her apartment. Kendall shifted the folded pile in his arms and waited patiently. He followed her into the apartment but stopped before her bedroom door and waited for her to relieve him of the clothing in his hands. This was the second time he had brought clothing to her apartment, and it was the second time something embarrassing had happened in the guys' presence.

“Thank you.” Ronnie took Kendall's folded pile and opened a drawer in her dresser to put away her shirts.

Out of curiosity, Kendall leaned forward. He didn’t dare step into her room in case her dad was waiting to snap at him. There were posters on every inch of her walls—Insane Clown Posse, Boyz City, Incubus, My Chemical Romance, The Front Bottoms, etc.

“You… Uh… You like a lot of bands.” Kendall felt awkward standing there.

“You can come in. The doors open.” Ronnie rolled her eyes. “I don’t bite.”

“What’s your favorite band?”

“Is this a trick question?” Ronnie raised a brow. “I can’t just pick one, but it depends on my mood and what genre I want to listen to.”

“Not a trick question.”

“Right now? I’d say Green Day.”

“Green Day? I thought you were going to say Big Time Rush!”

#btr #btrtv #big time rush #btrtv oc #btr oc #veronica clark #ronnie clark #oc: veronica clark #oc: ronnie clark #kendall knight #james diamond #logan mitchell #carlos garcia #mercedes griffin #ghostwriter fic

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daydreamgoddess14 · 2 years ago

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Landslide pt. 2

MASTERLIST here

Chapter 1 here

Summary: Jason approaches a singer/songwriter about a request for Ted Lasso Season 3.

Jason Sudeikis/Reader Insert (OFC, no use of y,n/l,n)

Rating: General for now... we'll see how it goes 🤭

Disclaimer: I absolutely own none of these songs, I also don’t want to diminish Sam Ryder’s contribution in creating Fought and Lost. This is all completely fictional. I also know nothing about the music industry so this is drowning in artistic license!

Playlist Link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1crFZfdqL1fspNXb80u5sK?si=e90f5f8f357b4647

It leans very Swift heavy but also has songs that I feel fit the main character and her style. I've never created a playlist for a fic before but it seemed appropriate given the main character's profession.

Songs used in Chapter 2:

Lover of the Light - Mumford and Sons (https://open.spotify.com/track/2rjOBgZ6vmRhzf4AbQbbvZ?si=3cdfe7ca63294533)

I Will Wait - Mumford and Sons (cover by Matt Johnson & Amber Leigh Irish: https://open.spotify.com/track/6pZ37H5lrW2v26D9Sbx6Yo?si=0fb2b5b84b0a4c92)

Chapter 2

The blue carpet was packed full of people, you weren't entirely sure where you needed to go but followed the other guests towards the doors of the auditorium, it was one of those situations where your fame came in useful, crowds parted and support staff were always happy to make sure you were going in the right direction.

"Why do you always look like a deer in the headlights at these things? You need a better poker face." A voice chastised behind you. You whipped round to see Marcus and Carey. Insanely grateful for familiar faces you hugged them both happily, over the moon to see them.

"I fucking hate these things. I always feel like an imposter."

"You sold out an arena tour in a day, what the hell are you on about?!" Carey laughed. You shrugged,

"It could all come crashing down, you never know!"

"Alright doom and gloom, here the kids wanted you to see this." Marcus handed you his phone so you could see the picture of their kids dressed up as Spiderman and Thor, wielding a ukulele and a keytar.

"Ohhhh!" You shriek, bubbling with laughter. "They are the cutest! Clearly they take after Carey." Between the two of you, Marcus paused to wave further up the carpet, your laughter had caught the attention of some photographers. You looked over to see who he was greeting and locked eyes with the man of the hour, Jason. You managed to raise a shy smile which he returned. It felt like an eternity but was probably only about 5 seconds before you were back talking to Carey as if nothing had happened. Something had definitely happened though, your skin felt tingly, you could feel the blood in your veins heating up, and your legs felt like jelly. It was like meeting at the studio again except instead of poor Tom being the gooseberry, half of Los Angeles were.

"We're doing a little set tonight." Marcus explained.

"Oh nice, I haven't heard you guys for ages." You brought yourself back down to earth.

"You could," he cooked his head with a wink, "y'know… join us?"

"No way, I'm not remotely prepared, I haven't sang live for weeks. I don't even remember half the words to your stuff!"

"Thanks mate."

"You know what I mean, It's too much pressure."

"As opposed to every other time you perform. Go onnn! It'll be fun!"

"For who?!" You try to counter, but he's winning you over. It really had been quite a few weeks since you'd last performed to an audience and you were feeling the pull. There was also that intoxicating way Jason had looked at you - the urge to do something unexpected and surprise him was pretty strong. "OK, say I said yes, who would we be pissing off - apart from my entire management team?"

"Nah, no one. No one even needs to know, we'll just tell the floor manager to get an extra mic set up and everyone else will be none the wiser. It'll be a good surprise for Tom and Jason to hear you properly live with a band." Yeah… you couldn't argue with that.

"OK, OK, let's do it." He whooped and the three of you started moving a little quicker to the doors. You passed by a handful of the cast still having photos taken, a couple of them recognised you and a buzz went up from the photography area. You hesitated before stopping for some pictures, it was a premiere after all and you had dressed up for it in a dress which was the visual representation of exuding confidence. Confidence which you were absolutely winging at the moment in an ultimate ‘fake it til you make it’ strategy.

"How come you're here tonight?" One of the photographers shouted, “What do you think of your ex’s new girl?”

"Just a fan of the show." You smiled and posed, ignoring the second question. Once inside, Carey waved you off with a grin while you went backstage with Marcus.

~~~~~~~

"So we're doing the theme song - you don't have to do that - then in between the two episodes we're doing 2 or 3 songs while everyone has a break, then I think we'll do one after the screening as well. Happy with that?" You nod, "I'll come back to watch the first episode so you come back with me just before that ends. I'll go out as planned, introduce you and you can join us. Bit of backing, bit of melody. It doesn't matter if you really have forgotten all the words." You thank him gratefully. Back with Carey, you cheer for Marcus as he performs the theme song. At the other end of the same row, you can't help but steal a glance at Jason. He looked across to you just as your attention was drawn back to the stage. You managed to sneak out just before the end of the episode to wait for Marcus to introduce you. As expected, with only a few people knowing that you were there and no one at all expecting you to join the band on stage, the screening audience went crazy when you were introduced.

"Hey everyone, thanks for letting me crash the party. Hope you're playing something I remember, Marmar." You tease lightly. He puts a hand to his heart,

"Some of you may have seen us in the early 2010s on tour with my good friend here. You might remember that she used to join us for a banging version of Lover of the Light?" He looked to you for confirmation that you remembered enough to get by, and then you brought the fucking house down. With the first couple of songs under your belt, you were much more relaxed watching the second episode. It had been such a rush performing live on a total whim, it had been years since you'd done something so reckless and unpredictable regarding your music. Your phone was already blowing up in your bag with Twitter notifications - your management team would have a field day again, you still weren't exactly in the good books. Marcus had saved your favourite of his songs for last - I Will Wait. Similarly to Lover of the Light, the pair of you used to do a storming version together many, many years ago and you loved it so much that you'd recorded an acoustic version for one of your albums and you had been known to wheel it out during live shows as well. It wasn't until you were back up on the stage though that Marcus pretty much reduced his own role to backing singer and had gently nudged you to front the band. It was a damn good job you'd known them all for the better part of 15 years. Your unrehearsed, pared down version was a winner. You kept your eyes in the general direction of Carey and didn't let them stray to the opposite end of the row until the very end when you couldn't resist stealing a look at Jason any longer. He looked happy - fortunately - really happy, and you could feel your stomach tighten at the vaguely familiar notion of genuine attraction to someone. With the impromptu mini gig over, you had a quick 5 minutes with the band before heading off with the intention of finding a bar and a very alcoholic drink prior to catching up with Jason and Tom. Dutch courage was very much on the agenda. You ordered a whiskey and watched from the bar as the cast and creative team started making their way in, stopping every few seconds to be welcomed and congratulated by guests, media and family. You'd gotten talking to a couple of the writers who'd recognised you.

"I was at your last gig in New York, it was so much fun!"

"I love shows in New York," You grinned, "I get to sleep in my own bed for a change!"

"Ugh hotel beds are a menace. I either sleep like the dead or not at all."

"Tell me about it, buses are the worst though - be so glad you don't have to sleep on a bus! I did a week of shows in the UK last year and we were so tight on time that I'd finish a gig, go to sleep on the bus and wake up in a new city. I don't even think we bothered with hotel rooms, just drove through the night." You grimaced. Your back still hadn't forgiven you for that, and your tour manager was under strict instructions to avoid that debacle for future shows.

"Hey, sorry to interrupt, congrats guys!" Jason reached in to say hello to his writing team first.

"You too boss! Have you guys met?" They gestured to you, "I had no idea Marcus was going to bring her, did you?"

"I did know. Thanks for coming." Jason finally turned to you with a smile that made you forget your own name.

"Thanks for the invite. And sorry for the surprise set. It was Marcus's idea." You looked up while the writers filtered away to see other people, leaving the two of you alone. You took a long drink, buying you time to compose yourself because holy shit he looked so good. You wondered if it would be better to hold the meeting at separate ends of the room and communicate via smoke signals to save your blushes.

"Oh no, I loved it! Instant validation for the request I sent to Tom and Marcus, as if hearing you in the studio wasn't enough. You sounded amazing." You wave the compliment away,

"I'm way under rehearsed, I'm still under strict instructions to lay low for a while so I haven't been in front of a big audience for ages."

"It didn't show, really, you were great. Better than Marcus."

"Stop, he'll never forgive me!" You nudged him, laughing.

"Can we sit?" You nod and his hand brushes the small of your back, guiding you to a booth. It’s warm through the thin fabric of your dress and you could curse when your treacherous body shivers in response.

"Congrats on tonight, it looks like it's been a huge success."

"Ahh we'll see, it's a long way to go till the end of May. How's your week been?"

"Pretty good thanks, a few meetings. Plenty of writing."

"Anything you'd like to share?" He asked curiously.

"Not just yet,” you tease lightly, “give it another day or so and maybe. Also it might be wildly different to what Tom's expecting so I don't want to get in trouble."

“You don’t strike me as a troublemaker.”

“I’m on my best behaviour. Unfortunately. One more bad headline and-” you draw your finger across your throat.

“No way? Those headlines are not your fault - you defended yourself.”

“Hmm but there are a lot of people out there who don’t believe that I’m defending myself. They believe that I’m the problem.” He looks at your hand resting on the table near his and you think he’s about to take it, but he moves his own away at the last second. “So… troublemaker, that’s me.” You smile ruefully.

“Well I think I’ll reserve judgment.” He does move his hand then, but not to take yours, instead it goes around you to rest on your hip furthest from him, the action sliding you across the seat a few inches closer to him. He holds your gaze, an unspoken request for permission/forgiveness. You can’t help but feel a little unsure, automatically defensive. You’d spent three years being belittled, gaslit, shamed and manipulated in every aspect of your personal life, and now you were trying to recover from that whilst simultaneously trying to prove that those things were really happening to you and that you’re not a cold, calculating and manipulative bitch. You had no idea who you could really trust, who was supporting you or who was in the pocket of your ex. It was draining trying to mentally vet every reaction, conversation and person before letting your guard down. Something in his warm eyes lets you think you can trust him though, so you lean into that and into his hand just a little. Your eyes flash down to his mouth and back again and you hope you were quick enough that he didn't notice because you hadn't meant to do it. Well, not exactly. Your time alone is cut short though when Tom comes over with more drinks.

"So that was unexpected." He said, handing you a glass. "Brilliant, but unexpected." Jason moves his hand from behind you to take his drink from Tom.

"Told you."

"Hush, you. Thank you, Tom. I caved to peer pressure. Marcus bullied me into it."

"I should get him a drink then." You unlock your phone and slide it across the table, the notes app open. As it passes him, Jason tries to sneak a look but Tom grabs up the phone and reads. "Keep going, you're nearly there." He advises firmly. "Though I want to hear it, I'm in meetings all day tomorrow but record a quick voice note, give me an idea of pace and melody and I’ll think on it."

"Can you send it to me too?" Jason asked.

"Nope." You reply with a smirk, for a moment he looks confused. "I don't have your number. But also, I’m not about to send you a half arsed voice note just yet." You shrug. He's about to reply when a few people start milling around looking like they need him. He excuses himself and you and Tom compare some notes on the start you’ve made to the song. He next finds you back at the same table catching up with Carey.

“-I’m just saying I would pay good money to see you recreate that Tom Holland Lip Sync Battle rain dance!” Carey giggled.

“Oh god, I’d fall over and break something! Besides, I’m not built for dancing - especially not dirty rain dancing!” You reply gleefully, the giggles getting the better of you both.

“Who’s doing dirty rain dancing?” Jason grins, handing both of you a drink, “Saw you both from the bar.”

“Ahh I’ll never convince her. Maybe Marcus will do it instead.” She takes a sip of her drink, “I’m going to be so hungover on the school run tomorrow.”

“Same.” he agrees.

“I’ll come with you, I want to see the kiddos and I’ll bring the biggest coffees I can find.”

“Thanks, love. If I’m already going to be hungover I might as well finish this drink as well! Thanks Jason, and congratulations!” As the party slows and people drift off, including Tom, you talk Carey into staying for another drink, not quite willing to leave Jason’s company just yet. He’s been sitting next to you again, not so close that it would make Carey uncomfortable or would seem rude. Close enough that when he talks with his hands they brush against your arm or hand. When they’re finally still and he puts them on the seat between you both, his fingertips can catch against yours or (very bravely) ghost over the hem of your dress. Meanwhile, you’re trying to look casual, trying to act unruffled but there’s a marching band inside your body banging your heart like a bloody big drum and it might as well be bursting out of your chest like a cartoon. When Carey gets up to track down Marcus so you can share an Uber with them, he turns on the seat to face you.

“Can I give you my number?” He asks, watching your eyes widen in surprise. “For the voice note you're going to send me,” he teases.

“I’m not sending you the bloody song over WhatsApp. Tom can show you whatever he chooses, but you’ll get nothing from me until I say so.”

“Nothing at all huh?” He moves closer on the seat. You smile shyly,

“I’d strongly advise against whatever it is you think you’d like to do right now.”

“There’s a lot that I’d like to do, you might need to be more specific?” You shake your head in exasperation.

“My life is a fucking mess.”

“So is mine.”

“So you wouldn’t want to make it worse.”

“I really think I might actually want to. Might make it better.”

“The paps are-”

“Intense, rude, intrusive?”

“My ex-”

“Is a dick.”

“Can we be serious for one minute? One minute. I don’t want you to drag you into this shitshow, my name is mud everywhere at the moment - I might as well be public enemy number one. No matter how… brief this might end up being, it’s still not fair on you, or your family, that you get associated with it all.”

“I don’t need to be, we don’t have to broadcast it.”

“I’m pretty sure they know my diary better than I do.” You counter, then pause, taking in the hat, the custom made tracksuit, the dimples. “But… I can avoid them most of the time. I try to… protect myself.”

“We could try that? Because I’d really like to kiss you before Carey gets back and you have to leave.” You can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth at that. The hint of a smile is enough for him to lean in and press a soft kiss to your lips making you hum happily. “Wanna come to a basketball game?”

“And sit about 10 seats away from you pretending I’m not checking you out?”

“Amazing coincidence, that’s exactly what I’d be doing too.”

“I’d love to. Especially the checking you out part.” You grin. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Marcus and Carey coming back for you. “Looks like my time is up.” He slips his phone out of his pocket and opens the screen before handing it to you to add your number.

~~~~~~~~

Over the next couple of days, the tabloids seemed to wake up to your arrival in L.A, though they did at least leave you alone and keep their distance. A handful of pictures cropped up on Twitter and Instagram - you holding hands with one of Marcus and Carey’s kids, giving them a piggyback after school, some of you from the Ted Lasso premiere and one of you collecting takeout the evening after the premiere. You knew there would be photographers at the basketball game you were attending so you’d planned to go with an old friend. Despite Jason being the one to ask you to go, you knew that you’d be unlikely to even be able to say more than hello to him with so many eyes around. You sat one row back from the courtside and about 10-15 seats further along the row than Jason sat with his castmates and son. He’d sent you a message before you’d even pulled up at your apartment after the premiere, you’d replied of course and the message pingpong had been pretty regular in the run up to the game. He’d seen you arrive, he’d been loitering at the edge of the court talking while the seats began to fill up. You’d smiled and held your beer up in greeting.

You look great, I’m glad you came

Thanks, you too. This doesn’t count as a first date though.

That’s fair, I’ve got to get O home after this, but we could hang out later in the week?

Sounds good, enjoy the game

After the game, someone had pushed a ball into his hands while people were milling around the court. He’d been laughing and joking with Toheeb and Kola and you’d been perfectly happy just watching him have a good time. He took his cap off and turned it around on his head so he could better line up his shot. You had been halfway through a conversation but god fucking damn your jaw near hit the floor when he bounced a little and the ball had travelled near half the length of the court and straight into the basket. Someone had been filming it and Kola had excitedly told him to tell the camera that it had been one take. By this point, you’d long given up on talking with your friend and she watched in amusement while your words had trailed off. She followed your gaze to the scenes on the court.

“That’s emmm… that’s pretty hot.”

“I’m not usually a men doing sports type of person. In that it normally doesn’t affect me in any kind of way.”

“How you feeling now?”

“Pretty fucking affected. Jesus.” You reached for your phone while the image and the thoughts were still fresh in your mind - though there was no doubt that the visual would be there for a very long time to come.

That was insane. I truly hope you know how hot that was because I… I’m speechless.

With the rest of the court clearing out, you took your empty beer glasses and took one last look at Jason. He spotted you so you gave a quick glance around for potential photographers before very obviously fanning yourself with your hand. He laughed and winked.

~~~~~~~~~

#jason sudeikis #jason sudeikis rpf #jason sudeikis fanfic #jason sudeikis imagine #jason sudeikis x reader

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joezworld · 1 year ago

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Traintober day 25

Hey guys,

I know I said I wasn't going to really participate in this year's traintober, but I ended up writing something over the last few weeks and figured I'd post it here. I'm a freelance contributor to Trains.com, the web arm of Trains Magazine, (you can read my IRL work here) and I wrote this for that. However, they have a maximum of about 4,000 words for print and 600-1,000 words for web, and this is past 7,000. So even if it makes it into print, it's not going to in its original form. So I'm giving it to you guys. Everything you're about to read is real. There's even an NTSB report on it.

Negligence and Gravity: The Story of a Train Wreck

Prologue

November 17, 1980

Cima, California - a barely inhabited place on a barely used road. A one horse town where the horse had run off. It sits at the intersection of two empty roads, with nothing to show for it but a general store-slash-post office. A true speck on the map, it likely would have been abandoned long ago had it not been for the presence of the Union Pacific Railroad, which sent dozens of trains each day past the ramshackle post office. Many trains rolled right on by, but more and more stopped, checking their brakes, cooling their wheels, or manually setting air brake retainers on each car of their trains.

They did so with good reason; stretching out beyond the post office towards the west, and paralleling the only main road, was a railroad line some twenty miles long. Part of the UP California subdivision that stretches from Las Vegas to Yermo, and then on to Los Angeles, it descends two thousand and six feet between Cima and Kelso, another barely-there town in the California desert. It was and still is one of the steepest portions of the Union Pacific system - accounting for curves and uneven geography, the UP considered the line to be a sustained 2.20% gradient. Any train that exceeded certain weight, braking force, or locomotive limitations was required to stop at Cima, and manually set brake retainers, before continuing down the hill.

As the clock ticked towards 1:50 in the afternoon, three trains entered this tale much like characters in a Shakespearean tragedy.

On the southern passing track is a long grain train, Extra 3135 West. 73 hoppers trail behind a lashup of SD40s, with dash-2 model 3135 on point. The air above the locomotives shimmers and ripples as heat from the motors, exhaust vents, and dynamic brake blisters radiates off into the mild November air.

In the center, a van train rolls past. The train, officially known as both 2-VAN-16 and Extra 8044 West, slows but doesn’t stop as it reaches the summit. Union Pacific has deemed this train capable of descending the grade with no extra precaution, and with good reason. Five locomotives are leashed to the front of this 49 car merchandise train, four SD40-2s trailing behind UP 6946 - the youngest member of the road’s 47-strong class of beastly 6,600 horsepower DDA40Xs. It’s an 8-axle titan in its last months of regular operation, with almost two million miles under its belt. The hot air from Extra 3135 mixes and whirls with the exhaust from the van train as it rolls by, the slab sides of the hoppers amplifying the bangs and squeals from 49 autoracks and piggyback flats. The noise increases as the train nears the end of the yard, the dynamic brakes already coming online as the train crests the summit. The engineer gives a blast from the horn as he passes the head end of the stopped trains, and then the van train is on its way down the hill. The caboose clears the track circuit at the far end of the passing sidings, and recedes into the distance. Within a few minutes the train is a distant shimmer as it snakes its way down the hill, an 8 million dollar steel serpent, bound for the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles.

Finally, there is the train on the northern passing siding. Extra 3119 West is not like the other two - there aren’t four or five locomotives hitched to a gargantuan train, one that stretches into the distance for a thousand feet or more. Instead, there’s a short consist of twenty cars, sandwiched between a single locomotive and a caboose. The cars are piled high with crossties, almost 11,000 of them, urgently needed by a tie gang at Yermo. So urgently, in fact, that if it hadn’t needed to stop and pin down its brakes, this lowly work train would’ve been rolling down the hill ahead of the high-priority van train.

Extra 3119 West, headed by the SD40 of the same number, has been in Cima for just under half an hour. In that time the crew had applied all the brake retainers, checked for defects, and otherwise readied their train for the descent into Kelso. Stopping meant that they’d be following the van train the whole way down, and so once the van train had gotten sufficiently small in the distance, the radio crackles. It’s dispatch, asking quite insistently if they were ready to go. They were, the engineer replies, and without any more to-do, the switch clunks into place, and the signal goes green. A double blast on the horn heralds the train’s departure, followed by the quiet squeal of brake shoes on steel wheels. There is no increased engine noise from the dynamic brakes. The train slips onto the main line, speed increasing slowly. By the time the caboose enters the main line, things are already going disastrously wrong.

Shortly thereafter, Extra 3135 powers up its train and descends the hill in a much more controlled fashion. Silence falls over Cima.

Negligence

November 13, 1980

The tale of negligence started three days earlier, at the Union Pacific tie plant in The Dalles, Oregon. Nestled in the valley of the Columbia River, The Dalles is nowadays best known for being the site of the worst bioterrorism attack in the United States, when members of the Rajneeshee religious organization poisoned several local restaurants with Salmonella in an attempt to influence local election turnout. However, that event is still four years into the future at this point, and the big news items in town are the May renumbering of Interstate 80N to I-84, and the March eruption of Mount St. Helens, some 65 miles away.

The Union Pacific tie plant, located between the west side of town and the newly-renumbered I-84, received an urgent order: 20 cars of 9-foot ties, urgently needed in Yermo, California. A mechanized tie gang working in the high desert is running low. Any delay will mean millions of dollars in wasted man-hours. The ties, estimated to number between 10 and 11 thousand, were hurriedly loaded into a series of F-70-1 bulkhead flatcars, modified for crosstie carriage with the addition of steel stakes down each side to prevent shifting. In addition to the 20 cars for Yermo, another group of 5 F-70-1s were being loaded with lighter 8-foot yard ties for renewal elsewhere on the California Subdivision. Inside the plant office, waybills for the 25 cars are being filled out, by hand. One of the most routine and mundane portions of loading railcars, the staff at the tie plant had made strides to simplify their workload; each waybill had been pre-filled with a seemingly appropriate weight figure: “about 60,000 pounds,” done in neat typewritten letters. This saved time, as it meant that tie cars didn’t have to be weighed, and exact quantities of loaded ties did not have to be known. Simple addition of this number to the known light weight of an F-70-1 flatcar (80,000 pounds), gave an estimated weight of 140,000 pounds per car. To the staff of the tie plant, complacent and ignorant, this seemed reasonable. They couldn’t know, because they didn’t want to, that the average per car weight of the 20 cars for Yermo was over 200,000 pounds.

November 17, 1980

“Urgent” might have been an understatement, when describing the journey these cars took. It took three days for the 25 flatbeds and their thousands of crossties to travel 1,260 miles across the Union Pacific system. They rolled into Las Vegas just before 1 AM on a manifest train; somehow, despite leaving The Dalles as a single block, a car containing beer had been inserted into the middle, with fifteen cars on one side and ten on the other. The how and why did not matter to the Las Vegas yard crews, who had been informed of the expedited nature of this train. Within minutes, the 26 cars had been taken off the manifest and were being shoved against a caboose that was already waiting. A third shift yard crew made quick work of the beer car and the five cars containing yard ties, but “disaster” struck when it was discovered that the caboose’s electrical system was non-functional. Somehow, despite having a major rail yard at their disposal, no other caboose could be found, and the issue could not be remedied. UP regulations forbade trains from running without rear lights between sundown and sun-up, so the highly expedited train was suddenly forced to cool its heels in the yard until lighting conditions improved.

With the delay, the new crew was scheduled to go on-duty at 8:05 AM, but just twenty minutes before, at 7:45, the Terminal Superintendent was informed that actually, the third shift crew had accidentally cut out the wrong cars - five cars of the 9-foot ties, not the five cars of 8-foot ties - and Extra 3119 West was about to set off with the wrong load. He responded with the unbelievable phrase of “Ties are ties”, and refused to have the incorrect cars set out, before reversing his decision some minutes later. While no other quotes are attributed to him in the subsequent NTSB report, his insistence on having the nearest yard crew drop what they were doing and fix the issue while he personally inspected the re-switching of the train speaks volumes on his mood at the time.

Not that he was of any help. During this frenzied switching, one car of 8-foot ties remained in the train. Its number - UP 913035 - was confused with another flatcar in the train - UP 913015. While minor in the overall sense, this slip-up shows exactly how quickly Las Vegas yard was working to get Extra 3119 West to its destination. When the train was finally ready, there were 19 cars of 9-foot ties behind locomotive 3119, and one car of 8-foot ties. As a car inspector was found, the final lading documents and waybills were presented to the engineer and conductor. Based on the flawed math of the tie plant, the train should have weighed 1,421.25 tons, however the final waybill read 1,495 tons exactly. Aside from being incorrect even against the tie plant’s figures, this weight was exactly five tons less than an internal UP tonnage/horsepower ratio that would determine whether or not the train would have to stop at Cima to apply brake retainers - with a 3,000 HP SD40, the train could not exceed 1,500 tons without incurring serious delays.

Based on the actual weight of a standard crosstie, and estimating how many were on the train, it’s likely that the train exceeded 2,000 tons.

It was customary for two car inspectors to check each departing train for defects and perform a brake test, however on the morning of the 17th, only one was available. Allegedly, he did his job and applied all due diligence, however it must be noted that no one who saw him conduct the test or the inspection lived to tell about it. Considering the haste in which the train was switched, the almost 8 hour delay due to the electrical problems in the caboose, and the close attention from the Las Vegas terminal superintendent, it’s possible that he rushed the job.

Actually, it’s certain that he rushed the job. Investigation of the wreckage would show that over half of the F-70-1 flatcars on Extra 3119 West had brakes that either only partially functioned, or did not function at all. At least three had their brakes cut out altogether. A proper inspection would have revealed that these cars were in a deplorable state of repair, with braking systems that could only be relied on for moral support, and in some cases not even that. But that would have taken time, time that the Union Pacific did not have, or rather, time that the UP did not want to spend.

Since 1979, the railroad had been pushing yards to decrease dwell times on through trains - Las Vegas yard had been given explicit instructions in writing that many high priority trains were to be given a minimal inspection, and were to be on their way again in 15 minutes. Later in the day when 2-VAN-16 arrived in Las Vegas, the head end crew noted that the train had been subject to an abbreviated inspection and air test, essentially rubber-stamping their train, and every other train that came through the yard.

So the inspector cleared Extra 3119 West, because he did know - he knew how much work would need to be done, how long it would take, how long it was supposed to take, and how much trouble he’d likely be in if he brought up the train’s condition.

Finally, at 10:00 AM, over 8 hours since it was supposed to depart, Extra 3119 left Las Vegas. Being technically a maintenance of way train, its crew was pulled from the extra board. While these men weren’t inept, one would be hard-pressed to find a less experienced crew on any road train that day:

David Totten, the engineer, had been with the railroad since 1974, but he had only been qualified as an engineer since January of 1979. Noted as a stickler for rules, and a capable railroader, he completed the relevant tests with a 96% score. However his road experience was limited - he’d only descended the grade from Cima 27 times in the last four and a half months.

Alan Branson, the conductor, had been with the company since 1973, but as a switchman in Los Angeles. He’d only been at his current position since April, at which time he was transferred to the Las Vegas extra board.

Cecil Faucett, the rear brakeman, had been with Union Pacific since June of 1978. He’d spent most of his time as a switchman in Los Angeles, and had only transferred to Las Vegas road service in February.

Wallace Dastrup, the head brakeman, had been with Union Pacific since May of 1979. After being briefly furloughed and transferred to Los Angeles, he was sent back to Las Vegas in late October of that year.

The oldest man on this crew was Engineer Totten, who was 31. Head brakeman Dastrup was the youngest, at just 22 years old.

Leaving Las Vegas, the trip proceeded normally, with the 3119 providing enough power to bring the train up the 1.00% grade that led from Las Vegas to Erie, Nevada at a steady 20-25 miles per hour. Behind them, separated by time and distance, were Extras 3135 and 8044 West. 3135, with a top speed of 50, left at 10:20, while 8044 (2-VAN-16), left at 12:05. It had a top speed of 70, and would easily catch up to the slower grain train at Cima. If Extra 3119 West had been any other train, it would likely have been profiled to wait in Cima as well, but on this day, the Van train would be following Alan Branson’s caboose all the way to Yermo.

Meanwhile, onboard the 3119, engineer Totten was discovering that his day was not going to go as planned. As the train descended the 1.00% grade outside of Erie, he discovered that the locomotive’s dynamic brakes were not functioning. This meant that the train would have to rely solely on its air brakes for the entire journey to Yermo - a daunting task considering the grade at Cima.

Union Pacific regulations explicitly ordered trains without dynamic brakes to stop at Cima and apply retainers, to maintain a speed of no more than 15 miles per hour, and to stop at the passing siding at Dawes - another speck on the map halfway down the hill - to cool not just the brakes, but the train wheels themselves.

Totten was known to be a stickler for the rules, and so he informed dispatch as he descended the grade out of Erie. Without comment, the Salt Lake City based dispatcher encoded the traffic control computer to put Extra 3119 West into the siding at Cima. At no point was there any mention of finding another engine for the train, or any other means of fixing the situation en-route.

The dispatcher, who wanted to know as little as possible, didn’t care.

The train rattled into Cima at 1:29, and Totten balanced it atop the summit, a location about 1,100 feet from the end of the siding. Boots were on the ground as soon as the train stopped moving, with Faucett and Branson moving up the train from the caboose, manually setting the brake retainers on the F-70-1 flatbeds to the high pressure position one at a time. The air was cool, only 62 degrees, and it was slightly overcast - a far cry from the soaring summertime temperatures this part of the state could reach.

As they worked, Extra 3135 arrived. It didn’t rattle so much as it rumbled - 75 loaded grain hoppers slightly shaking the earth as the two men worked. They probably didn’t envy the crew on that train; setting 75 retainer valves, and the long walk from each end of the train to reach them, was a daunting task.

It didn’t take long to set the retainers - at the halfway point of the train, they met head end brakeman Dastrup, who had been working his way down the train as they worked up it. He reported no defects on the head end of the train, and neither did the rear crew. They didn’t know - couldn’t have known - about the abysmal state of the flatcars; they were looking for dragging objects and hissing air leaks, and found none. Their portion of the job done, Faucett and Branson moved back down the train, leaving Dastrup to work his way back to the locomotive. It would be the last time that he was ever seen alive.

Shortly thereafter, the train began to move, engineer Totten moving the train onto the downgrade at the end of the siding to wait for the clear signal. At this point, they were waiting on the Van train coming up behind them, and then they’d be home free. In the caboose, Faucett glanced at the brake line pressures and observed nothing unusual. In the cab of the 3119, Totten was likely readying himself for the downgrade. Without dynamics, it would be a challenging descent, but the air brakes should be able to hold the train without much difficulty.

He had no idea that half his cars had non-functional brakes.

He had no idea that the train was overloaded.

He had no idea what was about to happen to him.

Inside the cab of Extra 3135 West, the engineer watched as 2-VAN-16 slipped by with muted alacrity. Across the main line from him, the short work train got ready to depart as soon as the switch aligned. He’d be next, and he readied himself as the other train rolled onto the main line. It built speed quickly, and soon entered the main as his watch clicked over to 1:59 PM. A few minutes later, his turn came, and the signal flashed to green. He powered up his lashup of SD40s, and the train slowly began to descend the grade in full dynamic.

“I keep setting air and it won’t slow down!”

Inside 2-VAN-16, the engineer began paying less and less attention to the tracks in front of him, and more attention to the radio beside him. 3119 West was having some difficulties with its braking - already a concern for any railroader, but considering that this was the train directly behind him, an elevated level of concern was prudent.

In the caboose of Extra 3119 West, the brakes applied as the train rolled past 17 MPH, and were not released again.

2.9 miles behind Extra 3119 West, in the cab of UP 3135, the engineer of the grain train could see both trains ahead of him: the distant speck of 2-VAN-16, some 7 miles away, and the work train in front of him. “That looks like it’s smoking,” he remarked to his brakeman. The two men looked into the distance; as the work train passed Chase, another former town on the UP line, it appeared to be smoking heavily - far too heavily for the short distance from the summit it had traveled.

On the few F-70-1 flatbeds that possessed functioning brakes, the wheelsets began to heat up dramatically. The brake shoes began to abrade from 2,000 tons of train pushing against them.

The Van train had cleared the passing track at Dawes, and was about 5 miles ahead of Extra 3119.

Inside the caboose of Extra 3119, the speedometer needle swung past 19 MPH. It was rising at a rate of 1.6 MPH every minute.

Things began to happen very quickly. The time was 2:14 PM

Following behind the smoking train, the head end crew of Extra 3135 West watched as the signal light at the east end of Chase went red-yellow-green like a slot machine. The only way for that to happen was for a train to pass through both the western home signal, and the western intermediate signal, at a rapid clip.

“I have 30 pounds of engine brakes!”

Inside the caboose, Faucett and Branson looked at the radio in horror as the speed continued to increase. They’d driven faster than this on their way into work, but now 20 MPH felt terrifying. As they flew through Chase, Branson remembered his training, still fresh in his mind, grabbed hold of the caboose air valve, and put the train into emergency. He heard the brakes come on under his feet and assumed, naively, that they’d just applied throughout the entire train. He had no idea that the brakes would only apply across the entire train if Engineer Totten had the train in emergency as well. He had no idea that by putting the train into emergency while a substantial service brake application was being made, he was causing a pressure relief valve inside the 3119 to continuously open, to try and restore pressure in the train. He had no idea that Union Pacific, in a cost-saving measure, had elected not to equip its SD40s with a brake pressure warning light that could have alerted Totten to what had just happened. He had no idea that UP’s driver training called for engineers to continue to make service brake applications in the event of a loss of braking, instead of immediately putting the train into emergency from the locomotive. He had no idea that putting the locomotive into emergency was the only way to override the pressure relief system.

He had no idea that by trying to save the train, he’d sealed its fate.

Union Pacific rules required the conductor to put the train into emergency if a situation like this occurred. They did not require the conductor to call the head end and inform the engineer. In his panic, and going off of instinct, Alan Branson frantically ran to the front of the caboose to try and uncouple it. He would not make a radio call for the rest of the trip down the mountain.

With half the train in emergency, and the relief valve drawing air away from the few brakes that worked, Extra 3119 West began falling down the mountain.

Gravity

The story of gravity begins in the cab of the van train, still some five miles ahead. As the engineer kept his attention on keeping his train in line, the radio issued forth the latest news on the disaster unfolding behind them. “I’ve made a full service application, and it’s not slowing down. We’re going about 25 and still speeding up!”

In the cab of an eastbound train, waiting for its chance to climb the grade out of Kelso, the dispatcher’s lackadaisical response could be heard easily. “So you’re not going to be able to stop at Dawes?”

“No. I don’t think we can stop at all.”

The dispatcher said nothing in response.

In the cab of the Van train, the engineer realized exactly what was going to happen. He began notching back the train brakes, and slowly throttling down the dynamics to idle. With one hand on the radio and one on the throttle, he slowly began advancing the throttle even as he called for permission to exceed his 25 MPH speed limit.

The permission he was given would be the last time that the dispatcher offered any meaningful help during the runaway. There was no talk of programming the switches at Dawes to allow the Van train shelter, to offer the four men aboard their one chance at safety. Instead, the dispatcher, hundreds of miles away in Salt Lake City, sat back to watch the chaos unfold, seemingly believing there was nothing he could do to help.

Two minutes later, at 2:17 PM, the two trains were still separated by five miles. 2-VAN-16 was just clearing the west end of the passing track at Dawes.

Four minutes later, and Extra 3119 was screaming through Dawes at 62.5 MPH.

5 miles ahead, 2-VAN-16 was running for its life, all five locomotives running flat out in full throttle. For now they had the edge, but they were trying to outrun gravity. All they could hope for was that the rolling resistance of the runaway would eventually cause it to stop accelerating.

Three minutes later, and false hope reared its ugly head. Accelerating at a “phenomenal” rate, the speedometer inside the 3119 reached 80 miles an hour and pegged itself there. David Totten, who had been broadcasting his train’s terrifying plunge down the hill over the open radio channel, had no idea that the needle was incapable of indicating a number higher than that.

As his train raced towards destiny, Engineer Totten kept relaying the same false information: “80! We’re doing 80!”

Inside the cab of the 6946, this incorrect information alleviated some worry - if 3119 was topping out at 80, it was possible to use the Van train’s nearly 19,000 horsepower to simply outrun the runaway - once they got past Kelso, at this point a short distance away, the grade lessened to 1%, and the force of gravity decreased.

Then there was an alarm blaring in the cab, and the train began to slow down as they roared into Kelso, the engine RPMs dropping suddenly, horrifyingly. They’d tripped the DDA40X’s overspeed sensor as they passed 75 MPH, and the entire train began to shut down on them. Chaos reigned in the cab for a minute, as the engineer frantically canceled the alert, managed to avoid the penalty brake application, and brought the train back up to full power. Their speed dipped all the way down to 68 before they began accelerating again.

It’s not known what was going on inside the caboose of the Van train, but the 3119, smoke and sparks flying from its wheels, must have been visible behind them.

Kelso

The station at Kelso was a tired, yet gorgeous, Spanish Colonial Revival structure located on the north side of the tracks. For a generation it had been a bustling hive of UP crews; a locomotive watering hole and a depot for eastbound helpers. The advent of diesel locomotives, and the elimination of manned helpers on Cima hill had resulted in the station becoming a shell of its former self. The only ties to its former past was the lunch counter, which still served hot meals and cool drinks to the town’s few dozen residents, and the skeleton UP crews stationed at this depot, so far into the desert that not even TV signals could reach it.

On the lunch counter, a cup of coffee cooled, its drinker nowhere in sight. Anyone and everyone who had been in the station were now outside, standing under the trees that lined the old platform, obscuring the station from sight. A few more were on the other side, standing near the MoW sidings on the south side. Further west, beyond the Kelbaker road level crossing, the crew of an eastbound freight waited in “the hole”, their eyes transfixed on the spot in the middle distance where the rails gently curved into view from behind the trees.

The radio continued to issue David Totten’s cool, calm, and collected reports of 80 MPH. With the train out of sight, it sounded like things may end with everyone walking away, but those listening closely heard his reports of an ever-shrinking distance between his locomotive and the caboose of the Van train and shivered.

The blare of a horn sounded, echoing across the desert. A second horn, almost as loud as the first, soon followed, a long continuous noise that would continue for some time, like the seventh trumpet of the apocalypse.

The broad nose of the DDA40X came first, the Van train rocking and rolling behind it as it charged forward. All five locomotives were in notch 8, the sextet of EMD 645 prime movers throwing up huge clouds of exhaust as they ran for everything they were worth. The horn sounded for the crossing, and then the train was past them, 49 high sided autoracks and TOFC cars whipping past with an almighty roar that was over almost as soon as it began.

The caboose zipped past the eastbound in a flash of Armor Yellow, and was gone into the distance. The blaring horn kept sounding, and heads that had turned to follow the Van train turned back to face the east.

They waited ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. Fifty.

It’s entirely possible that nobody in the crowd had ever seen a train move as fast as Extra 3119 West.

It’s entirely possible that Extra 3119 West was at that moment the fastest train in North America.

With a thunderous roar not unlike a building collapse, the train streaked through the station, horn blaring continuously. It trailed a cloud of dust in its wake like a comet; the wind its passage created roared through the lineside trees, sending dead branches and leaves flying.

In the cab of the eastbound, the head end crew became the last people to see David Totten alive. He was sitting upright in his seat, calm and collected as though he wasn’t moments away from death, his radio handset in front of his face. He disappeared from sight almost as soon as he’d appeared, and the rest of the train followed. The F-70-1 flatbeds came and went in a flash, and the caboose followed, a barely visible blur of yellow and red.

Heads turned so quickly that they strained necks. The horn echoed off the station building and the waiting eastbound, a receding roar as the train very rapidly got smaller and smaller in the distance. Within moments the only trace of the runaway train was David Totten’s voice, issuing from the radio his final reports. He became a ghost who hasn’t realized that he’s dead.

Less than one minute later, the train screamed past the hotbox detector at milepost 233.9, less than two miles distant. It isn’t known whether or not the detector actually found a defect with the train. It could have passed by so quickly that a proper reading couldn’t be taken, it could have still been calling out the speed and condition of the fleeing van train, or possibly it couldn’t handle a number that high; when the train eventually came to a stop, investigators found that the wheels on the flatcars with functioning brakes had reached anywhere from 400 to 800 degrees fahrenheit. The wheels on the locomotive had reached almost one thousand.

What was detected though, was the train’s speed. As the caboose ripped past the steel box mounted on the lineside, the warbling call of the detector - voiced by Majel Barrett-Roddenberry of Star Trek fame - gave a chilling indication of just how wrong David Totten was.

“… TRAIN SPEED: ONE ONE TWO …”

Inside the cab of engine 6946, madness was in full swing. A terrible cacophony of noises filled the cabin: All five locomotives were in notch 8, the wind whistled into the cab from worn seals, and the 50 cars behind them banged and rocked as they exceeded their designed top speeds. They were approaching 75 again as they leaned into the curve just outside of Kelso. The big Centennial didn’t like that - its huge, single cast 4-axle trucks groaned and popped in horrifying fashion as it screeched through the curve, wheels just fractions of an inch from leaping over the top of the rail. The rigid wheelsets clung to the tracks by just a hair - ironically, if the overspeed warning hadn’t tripped when it did, the 6946 would’ve likely leapt from the rails here, going into the hole at 80 plus, killing everyone in the locomotive, while leaving the rear-end crew exposed to the runaway, traveling at well over 110 into a stationary target.

On the topic of the overspeed alarm, it was being dealt with - the head end brakeman was waging war against the locomotive’s internals, prying open the cabinet holding the speed recorder, before physically interrupting the travel of the needle, breaking the instrument in the process.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and there was not a more desperate time than this; as the train rounded the curve, the Extra 3119 West could be seen clearly, moving faster than should have been possible. Their only hope for survival would be if they derailed on the curve that almost took out the Centennial, but it was not to be; the train screamed round the corner with less than thirty seconds of time separating the pilot of the engine from the back porch of the caboose.

Inside the caboose of 2-VAN-16, the rear end crew frantically tore cushions off of seats and wrapped them around themselves, as if that might hold off a rampaging locomotive. Hopefully they had time to make their peace with God.

The van train kept going. If the overspeed alarm hadn’t cut off the power when it did, and if they then didn’t derail on the curve west of Kelso, it’s possible that they could have outrun it. Extra 3119 West could have derailed, slowed, or perhaps just melted its wheels off, bringing the chase to an end.

But the overspeed alarm had cut in, and so the meeting of the two trains was made destiny by the forces of gravity, and the laws of physics. It was inevitable.

At 2:29 PM, 30 minutes and 23.2 miles since they set off from Cima, and 14 minutes and 18.5 miles since Conductor Branson had put the train into emergency, Extra 3119 West collided with 2-VAN-16. The runaway was traveling at approximately 118 miles per hour, while the van train was doing 80 to 85.

This 38 mph closing speed was disastrous to those in the caboose of the Van train. Both porches were crushed in immediately, and the 3119 shoved the rear bulkhead in significantly. The impact then threw the caboose from the track, separating it from its trucks and sending it tumbling down the embankment. It eventually landed on its left side and slid to a stop in the shadow of the disaster. Inside, it was carnage - both men had been thrown about the car before landing on the floor. The rear brakeman would survive with what were assuredly life-altering injuries to his face and back, but the conductor was not as fortunate, suffering mortal wounds to most of his body as he was tossed about the cabin. He would die inside the caboose within minutes.

On the train, the first collision was probably weathered by the 3119. The next three, less so. The rear three freight cars on 2-VAN-16 were triple level autoracks, each fully loaded with 15 or more automobiles. After impacting the caboose and throwing it from the rails, the locomotive continued forward, colliding again with the van train, and throwing the first autorack off the rails. After that, the process repeated for the second one, sending it flying down the embankment.

It was the third autorack that struck home. With the closing speed lowering with each successive crash, and without an anti-climber on the 3119, the autorack rode over the frame of the SD40, stripping the carbody from the frame like a filet knife.

David Totten and Wallace Dastrup were thrown from the cab as their locomotive ceased to exist around them. They landed on the desert floor, already dead from massive internal injuries. The 3119 would remain upright, and eventually came to a stop the quarters of a mile down the track, with everything missing above the frame except the prime mover and alternator.

The F-70-1s were thrown around like toys, flying off the tracks like they’d been cast aside by an angry god. Their wheel assemblies were disassembled into their component parts by the force of the derailment, followed by the cars themselves. The ties were next, flying through the air like javelins, before landing on the ground in clouds of dust, dirt, and splinters.

Finally, the caboose came to a stop. It and the last three cars remained upright, albeit derailed. Inside, Alan Branson and Cecil Faucett patted themselves down, unbelieving that they’d lived through the day.

The incredible speeds the runaway reached, and the tragic deaths of three men, triggered a full NTSB investigation. Swarming over the wreckage like flies on a corpse, they recovered a trove of evidence - the locomotive, its brakes abraded and wheels metallurgically altered after reaching almost a thousand degrees. On the ground they found throttle levers, brake controls, the locomotive data recorder, and the air brake valve, all normal in function. The destruction among the flat cars was so total that only 32 of 160 brake shoes, and 78 wheels were recovered. Of both of these, well over half showed no signs of overheating or abrasion, as if they’d never been applied. The rest showed evidence of extreme over-use, as they tried and failed to hold back the train.

The evidence thus far was concerning, to say the least. A train with no dynamics should have been able to make it down the hill… if it had working brakes. If it truly weighed what the waybill said it did.

The NTSB organized a test train shortly thereafter. They salvaged portions of the ill-fated train, including the last three flatbeds and 9,695 of the ties that had been scattered along the lineside. They gathered 17 more F-70-1 flatbeds - between this test train and the wreck, most of the railroad’s 55-strong fleet was involved in the investigation - and loaded them up, before hauling the train back up the long hill to Las Vegas. There, Union Pacific did everything they didn’t do for Extra 3119 West:

They weighed the train on the yard’s scale, and found that even with 1,000 fewer ties, the train still clocked in at a gargantuan 1,948.25 tons.

They inspected the train, and found that of the 20 cars, 16 of them had some kind of brake malfunction. Ten had partial brake function, while six had none at all. The three cars salvaged from the wreck train were included in the former group.

For two whole days, with NTSB investigators watching on, crews from the Las Vegas car department labored frantically in the winter sun to remedy the train's numerous faults. Remember that the single inspector on November 17th had been given scarcely 15 minutes.

When the test train was finally made operable, Union Pacific sent it down the mountain using only the train’s air brakes. They probably thought quite highly of themselves when the train reached Kelso safely, however the specifics of that test were dramatically different than the events of the 17th. To start, the 20 F-70-1s were probably in the best mechanical condition they’d been in for years, thanks to the train being properly inspected. This meant that when the test train descended the hill, it did so with all 160 brake shoes pressing against the wheels.

Furthering the point, the brake shoes were aided by a skilled hand at the controls - Union Pacific, so eager to prove that a train could make it to the bottom of the Cima grade entirely under air brakes, had pulled a highly experienced road supervisor out of retirement to run the test train. Again, remember that David Totten had been an engineer for just shy of two years.

As the investigation dragged on, further evidence came to light: UP’s training for engineers prioritized the use of dynamic brakes, and paid comparatively little attention to running a train with only air brakes down a grade. In fact, the railroad paid so little attention to air brakes that it was found that the UP’s rules regarding steep grades such as the one in Cima were laxer than any other railroad in the country, and were so lax that they fell afoul of the FRA’s minimum requirements for air brake regulations.

With this in mind, the fact that the railroad’s own rules had created a series of unsafe situations for crews seems totally unsurprising: applying the emergency brake from the caboose, not informing the head end if the emergency brakes are applied, and having engineers keep making service brake applications instead of applying emergency braking, were all the wrong moves to make in a situation like the one that happened to Extra 3119 West. A new crew like David Totten, Alan Branson, Wallace Dastrup, and Cecil Faucett, all fairly fresh from their training and relatively inexperienced, followed that training all the way to the end, because they thought it would save them.

In the end, the NTSB found that the accident was caused by a variety of factors: UP’s poor maintenance and inspection practices, inadequate training of train crews for hill duties, the underestimation of loads at The Dalles tie plant, and the improper actions of the dispatcher on that day.

Poor maintenance, bad management, a nonexistent culture of safety, and lax training. These are all things that have plagued the railroad industry from day one. The NTSB can only recommend changes, not enforce them; they must rely on the railroads to make the fixes. Change training practices, create better rules, enforce higher maintenance standards - all basic tenets of safe railroading, yet still sorely needed.

So, has Union Pacific made those changes? Has this happened again?

In a very real sense, the answers can be yes, and no, spending on your outlook:

Since 1980 there have been two more runaways on the Cima grade, the most recent one in 2023, and the other in 1997. The circumstances of the two runaways differ - and in the case of the 2023 crash, haven’t yet been fully investigated - but the fact remains that Union Pacific once again allowed a 100+ MPH runaway down the hill not once, but twice. Furthermore, severe under-estimation of railcar loads has caused several other fatal accidents just within the LA Basin, most notably the 1989 Duffy Street wreck, when inaccurate knowledge of the weight of bulk trona and failing dynamic brakes sent a Southern Pacific freight train hurtling down Cajon Pass, and into a residential neighborhood.

However, on the Union Pacific at least, a greater respect for life and safety has been given in the years and decades since the accident. Neither inadequate dynamic brakes, nor improperly maintained brakes, have sent a train flying off the rails on the Cima Grade. The two subsequent accidents, while catastrophic, occurred without loss of life, making the 1980 runaway the last fatal crash on the hill.

Did David Totten, Wallace Dastrup, and the unidentified brakeman of 2-VAN-16 die in vain? Will their story be forgotten to the annals of railroading? Only time will tell.

#traintober #traintober 2023 #real world #real trains #trains #I'm actually not sure how to tag this

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hopelesshaidys · 2 years ago

Text

.・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。.

The world looked like a painting.

The sky was a beautiful blue, with white fluffy clouds scattered throughout the blue. The trees were swaying because of the breeze, and the flowers were more colorful than you remembered. The streets were full of people passing by, but it wasn’t anything you weren’t used to. Downtown Los Angeles was never known for having good weather, yet here it was, a beautiful sunny day that didn’t feel like an actual heat wave. For once you were enjoying the walk throughout the city you live in, even though you were running just a little bit late. Everything in you wanted to run back home and grab your camera in order to fully capture this beautiful day, but you knew Katsuki would throw a fit if you decided to be even later than you already were. When working with him, he would always be in a pissy mood if you were even a minute late, because apparently to him being late is punishable by death. It’s just one of his quirks, you suppose.

Picking up the pace, you checked your phone maps to make sure that you were close, and you were. The cafe had an outside seating option, and to your surprise Katsuki had a table ready for both of you outside. He was sipping on what you guessed was a water because the health nut refused to drink any soda (another quirk of his). He was in green cargo pants and a simple white t-shirt that read “Los Angeles.” You wondered if he had any non-basic clothing in his closet. He had to right? When modeling you have to wear a lot of crazy outfits.

“You’re late.”

The blond stated, putting his glass down and you made a quick note of his hands. It made you realizing that his hands around a cold glass makes you want to know that body like it’s yours. His eyes never left your body when you put your tote down on the empty chair next to you, and you pulled out your journal. You sat down and shot him a smile, before the waiter came over and you ordered a water and Latte (with extra sugar and oat milk, of course).

“Hello to you too sunshine. Oh! Speaking of…”

You looked up at your surroundings and started scribbling furiously in your journal. Your mind was racing with all sorts of ideas and thoughts, looking up every once in a while to make sure you didn’t leave a single detail out.

When you were satisfied with your work, you looked back up at Katsuki who was fixated onto you. You smiled sheepishly as the blond cocked an eyebrow at you with an amused smile.

“Sorry,” You fixed your hair, feeling a little squeamish under Katsuki’s intense eye contact.

“What’s all that about?”

He crossed his arms, leaning back looking absolutely magnificent. You were always in awe of how easily he can look attractive, just sitting there with bagging clothes on in the middle of the day. He honestly looks the best you’ve ever seen him.

Whenever people find out you’re a professional photographer, they always ask you if the model is as beautiful in real life as they are in the photos. The answer is always varied, but if someone came up to you and asked you about Katsuki, you would say he’s even more beautiful. He looked like a prince.

The sun made his eyes and hair brighten up, and you took note of the colors of the flowers that were behind him. You didn’t expect those colors to compliment his skin tone as much as they did, which made you regret not experimenting with different colors more.

“Inspiration strikes when we least expect it.”

You finally allowed yourself to relax, looking at Katsuki’s curious face. You didn’t want to tell him the whole reason as to why you got the journal in the first place.

When recovering in the hospital, you were often taken to the garden that they had just installed. As soon as you set your eyes on it you wanted nothing more than to take pictures and be able to make a whole shoot based on it. When your friends visited, you often made jokes of wanting to take pictures in order to analyze the settings that were around you. Soon enough they surprised you with a journal where you could do that and more. You remember being in that garden for hours, sitting in your wheelchair and writing down paragraphs of notes. Your nurse was a little taken aback, but Izuku calmly explained you were just a photography nerd.

“Whenever I see something that is worth taking a picture of, instead of actually taking a picture I write down the surroundings and explain them. There, I like to explain the colors and what emotion they could display. It’s all notes down to which colors are next to each other, all the way to the colors that are far away from each other. When I’m done I go back later and add actual pictures or I color on the pages to really bring it to life.”

As you talked, Katsuki slowly uncrossed his arms, leaning in closer as he got more interested in what you were saying. Or so you hoped he was interested in what you were saying.

“I also go ahead and write it as if it’s already a set, so if i had these colors I would already know what to do. I write props and costumes, the whole thing.”

You smiled Katsuki, who now had his head resting in his hand. A small smile appeared on his face.

“So what does your journal say about today?”

Rolling your eyes, you handed Katsuki the journal. He hesitated to grab it, to which you just shook the book in his face.

“Go to the bookmark, but if you really want to be stunned go to page 57.”

Katsuki was digging through the journal before you finished your sentence. He scammed through the pages, mumbling about how bad your handwriting is. He quickly shuffled to the page you instructed him to go to, and when his eyes landed on his he immediately looked back up at you. You just smirked, having to hold back your giggles at his one risen eyebrow before he fell back into the book.

“It’s me.”

It was very amusing to see him so interested in your notes, he kept flipping the pages to see all the ideas and drawings you had for him. You recall there were at least ten pages of your work, as you kept adding pages during the shoot.

“I can’t tell if this is impressive or nerdy as shit.”

Katsuki handed you the book back, and you put it back in your bag before facing him again.

“Well you seem to be interested so obviously it’s impressive.”

Conversation after that was easy, as it always is between you too. The waiter came by with your drinks and you put in your orders. After that the afternoon went smoothly, and the food was too good to be true. You were stuffing mouth fulls of your food, enjoying every bite as Katsuki laughed at your delight. (that rhymed!!)

“Oh yeah I forgot to tell you but Eijirou and Mina are official. Took the idiots long enough.”

He said it so causally, but the news startled you so much you started to choke on your food. Katsuki, who was now suddenly worried grabbed your hand in concern.

However, because of the sudden touch you jolted again. Thankfully though, this time you were finally able to recover.

Taking a breath you looked up at Katsuki with furrowed eyebrows.

“Warn a guy before you drop a bomb like that Kats!”

“I didn’t think you were gonna die if I told you about the stupid couple.”

His hand was still on yours. His hand was still on yours. You couldn’t not feel that new warmth on your hand, but you were too nervous to pull away. You ignored the new feeling and continued.

“Katsuki, they’ve been in love since high school. Of course that news is gonna kill me!”

The food was finished soon, and Katsuki insisted on paying the check and walking you home. It was starting to feel more and more like a date, and you had to push down the part of you that actually liked it. Fuck this. Relationships were gross and you couldn’t do it.

“Call you later?”

Katsuki asked when you were stopped at your front door of your apartment. You told him you couldn’t invite him in, coming up with some fake reason. But you knew the real reason. You knew you couldn’t invite him in because if you kept looking into his dreamy eyes, you would end up kissing the lights out of him.

“Yeah! Kyouka actually said she wanted to talk to me about something so I’ll call you after that.”

You were starting to get a little antsy, not wanting your nosy neighbors to peek out of their doors and ask you about him later. Katsuki, on the other hand, looked more comfortable than normal. He was really enjoying himself, and you couldn’t tell if that gave you butterflies out of excitement or nervousness.

“Oh? Tell me how that goes.”

You smiled at him, and you found yourself looking at him longer than you intended. Suddenly you took your key out and started to shove it in the key hole.

“Well that was fun! I’m gonna make sure to tell Ochako that the place is good. Talk to you later right?”

“Yeah.”

With the way he was standing there, not to mention the sudden awkwardness between you too, you did what you wanted to do the least. Your hands left the doorknob and you quickly threw your arms around his neck and hugged him. His hands wrapped around your back quickly, but you didn’t want the hug to last long so you separated your bodies just as you felt him get comfortable.

Shooting him a smile, you opened the door and walked into your apartment.

“Hey Kats great news dude.”

You were getting dinner ready, and as soon as the blond picked up you put your phone on speaker and set it up ready to talk.

“I’m guessing the call went well?”

You shuffled for different spices for your chicken, preheating your oven afterwards.

“Yeah! She told me that she’s actually opening for the summer festival again right?”

“Mhm.”

You sprinkled on an assortment of seasonings onto the chicken, making a mental note of the other things you needed to prepare in order to finish the dish.

“I’m actually cooking right now, we’re having Kyouka and Momo over for dinner in celebration. It’s actually a surprise that Momo was able to come at all, she’s the hardest to make plans with.”

“Not even Todoroki?”

You got out a pot and set it on the stove, before swiftly running to the fridge and getting all the ingredients out.

You discovered your love for cooking and baking when you were back from the hospital. You already knew that you had the capability of cooking or baking, having done that all throughout your childhood. Not to mention when you and Hitoshi were broke college kids who didn’t want to spend all their money on Wendy’s and Taco Bell every night. You remember when the pain kept you up at night, instead of suffering in your bed you would get up and bake until the pain went away. You started cooking a lot more when you were bored alone at the house while Hitoshi was at work. The rent was getting more and more expensive, and with only one of you working it was hard to keep it paid along with other needs. Thankfully, Shoto stepped in full swing and always helped pay rent, even Iida and Momo cashing in some money. You always appreciated how generous your friends were but a part of you felt bad, so as a way to pay them back you would cook meals for them and send them sweet treats. You often showed up at their jobs with lunch or even dinner if it was a late night. Hitoshi was always well fed, which made his parents Hizashi and Aizawa like you even more.

“Sho is always ready to dip work, to the point where we tend to leave him out of things so he can actually go to work.”

You laughed to yourself, remembering the time that he took the whole day off so he could “get ready” for the road trip you a and your friends had. It wasn’t even that long of a trip, and yet he took the opportunity to take the entire day off. Which, by the way, put back his magazine being released (it pissed a lot of people off).

The trip itself was unlike any trip you’ve ever been on. Now that was a story worth telling, but maybe later. You didn’t know how Katsuki would react to you, Hitoshi, Izuku and Shoto getting arrested in Arizona.

“Yeah that makes sense. So what’s the actual big news? Because I know damn well it’s not Jirou preforming for that festival for the fiftieth fucking time.”

You could practically hear the eye roll over the phone, but decided to not point it out to him. You were beaming, too excited not to let him know.

“Well, she said they needed a professional photographer to capture the whole day, especially all the performers. And Kyouka being the amazing friend she is, put me down as the photographer! I’ve been emailing back and forth with the director of the entire thing and it looks like a lot but Kats, I gotta tell you, the check is worth it.”

You heard him chuckle at your last line, before responding.

“That’s fucking awesome y/n, I’m glad you took it because there’s no way in hell I would let you pass up an opportunity like that.”

You smiled softly for a moment, stopping your hard work and staring at the phone. You started to imagine that he was there, looking at you with that shimmer in his eyes. But in a totally platonic way, of course.

“It also gives me an excuse to go to the festival, especially because last year I got sick and my publicist has been on my ass about going this year.”

You snapped out of your stare, realizing that you completely forgot to answer Katsuki. Fuck. You really needed to get a grip.

“I’ll be running around but I’m sure I’ll find time to talk to you.”

“You better, or else I’m gonna hunt you down.”

Now you were extremely grateful he wasn’t there with you, because the blush that formed on your face was criminal. You hated the way he said that and you hated the fact that you liked it.

Suddenly, out of the corner of your eye you saw your best friend emerge from his room. He had his basketball shorts on and giant hoodie, signifying that he most likely had a headache. Being friends (and roommates) for so long, you two were able to tell what was happening to the other just by a glance. It was also incredibly frustrating when you are able to be read like a book like that, but you guess it’s just the sacrifices that come with having a best friend.

“God that smells good.”

Hitoshi walked into the kitchen, and made his way to the fridge where he could find a drink. You heard shuffling before he finally walked out of the kitchen.

“Creamy herb chicken, low carb and gluten free!”

Hitoshi snorted and cracked open the Dr. Pepper he found in the fridge.

“You sound like a mom.”

“Like you would know what a mom sounds like?”

You didn’t have the honor of seeing Hitoshi react to that comment, because you had to put the chicken in the oven and start the sauce.

“Okay I’m gonna take that as a sign to go now. I actually got plans with the idiots tonight so.”

You closed the oven door and rushed to your phone, taking it off speaker phone and putting it to your ear. The two of you said your quick goodbyes and hung up. When you set your phone down and looked up Hitoshi was looking at you.

“Don’t say it or I swear to god I will kick you out and have you living on the fucking streets.”

You watched as he got up, not threatened by the wooden spoon you were waving at him.

“I’m not gonna say anything,” he shrugged, coming into the kitchen and leaning his hip on the counter. He simply looked at you, one eyebrow raised.

You huffed, before turning around to the man and starting the sauce.

“So low carb you say?”

“Shut up.”

.・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。.

today was a fairytale

for the people who didn’t see, THE ENTIRE FIRST HALF OF THIS EPISODE JUST DISAPPEARED OUT OF THIN FUCKING AIR. NOT IN MY PHONE AND NOT ANYWHERE IN RECENTLY DELETED. i literally HURT just remembering it, and kept getting deja vu when writing this, that was awful

but anyways that’s why this is late and it pisses me off so bad my fucking ocd is going crazy rn i’m gonna rip all my hair out

anyways please enjoy this happiness bc it won’t be like this for long!

fun facts! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

- yn was late bc she was at Izuku’s place and lost track of time😭😭 if she was at her place she would not have walked

- LA sounds like hell so i tried to romanticize it😍😍

- bkg as the most basic and boring closet of clothes ever and you cannot change my mind

- the nurses almost did a psych exam bc of how hyperfizated yn was when it came to that damn notebook

- and for those who are wondering it’s just a black leather notebook

- cute little fact in the end of the notebook it has all of her friend’s signatures with little hearts and funny/loving messages (sobs)

- sometimes Hitoshi would also be up and help yn bake and would literally eat half of the batter

- the way that Hitoshi would wake up and see like a whole ass cake in the fridge is SUCH a funny scene to image 😭😭😭😭

- yn literally would come into momo’s office unannounced and momo never complained bc she loved the free food!

- (as did iida, and they would often sit and talk for an hour about all sorts of things. he’s so silly like that)

- and sho would literally STOP the shoots and make everyone take five whenever yn showed up with food. ESPECIALLY soba. he’s such a slut for soba

- i can reveal the bakusquad nickname backgrounds if someone asks….

- i think this is the shortest amount of writing i’ve done for this series 🤯🤯🤯

←Prev˚✧ Next→

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ updates every wednesday and sunday! happy wildest dreams wednesday ✧.*

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ TAGLIST IS OPEN just message or comment: @iiilovemilfs @0anodite0 @bakugouswh0r3 @amethyst123 @nijirosz @nathan-sharp-wife @allnamesredacted @ch3rryhaze @ectoplasmictoast @cathwritestragediesnotsins @tati-the-fangirl @autumnfay @call-me-prodigy @chuugarettes @sammyam @kotoprincesa @bubblewordsofsodapop

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myloveforhergoeson · 8 months ago

Text

That's All She Wrote - Chapter 29

Chapter Index

Find me on wattpad + ao3!

Chapter 29: Sick, Sick, Sick (2.8) ~ 15k

“Dawgs! You’ve come a long way…”

Roxy certainly hadn’t missed the grating tone of Gustavo’s voice over their long winter vacation, but now, it was time to snap back into reality. While Minnesota had been fun, and the five had the chance to masquerade as semi-normal teenagers for a bit, their first day back in Los Angeles was shaping up to be a long, hard work day.

Back in the studio, Gustavo had the band standing in his preferred military-style line-up, while Roxy and Kelly hung off to the side.

“...But you have a longer way to go before you go multiplatinum and start selling out 50,000-seat stadiums.”

Just the thought of it made Roxy bounce on her heels in anticipation. A song of mine going multiplatinum…

“James is still too self-centered,” The man spat, standing in front of her boyfriend, who was, for some reason, wearing a white and blue-ringed t-shirt with a picture of himself on the front. Though she thought it was cute, and she’d likely steal it later, she could understand where her boss was coming from. The tall boy tilted his head, looking past Gustavo and giving his girlfriend a small wave. “And too Roxanne-centered.”

From his back pocket, the singer produced a large hand mirror and his black lucky comb. As he pulled his hand up to brush it through his hair, checking himself out in the reflection, Roxy could see the bracelet she’d made him circling his wrist. In return, her fingers traced over the matching one she wore as he spoke to his reflection, “James and I still disagree.”

“I think he could stand to be more Roxanne-centered,” The writer piped up, shooting a wink back at the boy as Gustavo turned to glare at her.

“Roxanne needs to stop enabling the four of you!” He growled, before returning down the line and sharing “Carlos still lacks direction!” before the assistant could get a word in edgewise.

To his credit, Carlos was standing with his back fully turned to everyone else in the room, but only because he was admiring the large speakers in the back of the studio. “I do not!”

“Turn around,” His producer demanded, and Carlos executed a perfect 360-degree cross-spin-pose, ending right back in his stance toward the back wall from before.

Gustavo blinked, everyone in the room holding their breath before he silently shook his head and moved down the line once more. “Logan still lacks swagger!”

Smiling, Logan took his words in stride as he pushed the flap of his cardigan aside and revealed a pocket protector sticking out of his button-up underneath. From there, he produced one of the many writing utensils it held and offered it to his boss. “Yes… But if you ever need a colored pencil, who you gonna call?”

Accepting it, Gustavo snapped the red pencil right in Logan’s face, dropping it on the hardwood floor wordlessly before reaching the last boy in line. “And Kendall needs to stop talking back to me after everything I say!”

“And Gustavo needs to take-” Kendall bit back, before his boss held up a large hand in warning.

“Don’t say it! Not one more word!”

All of his friends turned to face him, everyone in various stages of head shaking or fingers sliding across throats as if to say “He’s going to kill you!”

As much as Roxy loved her job and all the opportunities it afforded her and her friends, that only lasted as long as Gustavo allowed. So, if Kendall wanted to take the heat, that was fine with her, just as long as he didn’t push the producer's buttons too hard.

A few beats of silence passed, and Gustavo let his shoulders relax, “Good!” right as Kendall breathed out, “A chill pill.”

Though it made his assistant laugh, she was soon ducking for cover behind a few extra amps she had left in the corner of the studio as Gustavo’s shoulders scrunched back up in anger. His famous infuriated grunting caused a low rumble to shake the studio floor while she clamped her hands over her ears, watching in awe as white-hot steam curled out of their boss’ ears.

“Steam…” James and Carlos mused, eyes widening.

Logan looked equally as shocked, reaching out to run his fingers through the gas. “Oh, that’s a new one.”

Their boss’ face reddened, hands curling up into fists as he brought them to his chest.

“Run!” was all Kendall could fathom, and he, Logan, and Carlos piled out of the studio as fast as they could.

James, quickly shoving his lucky comb and mirror back into his pockets managed to pull his girlfriend from her hiding spot and drag her out before their boss exploded at them for the first time in the new year.

Pontiac GTO be damned, Gustavo chased them through the Rocque Records parking garage before the girl was able to dig the keys from her mini backpack, leaving her and her friends no choice but to run the few blocks to the Palm Woods hotel. It was quite reminiscent of the stage training he had forced Roxy and the boys into all those months ago, but now, running through the streets of Los Angeles hand in hand with her boyfriend, Roxy beamed. They’d come such a long way together on their musical journey, and none of them were planning on ever slowing down - even once Gustavo was completely out of sight.

By the time they’d made it through the Palm Woods lobby, up the winding stairwell, and safely into apartment 2-J, Kendall slammed the door behind him, pressing his back flat against it as his chest rose and fell while the rest of his friends found any hiding place they could.

Carlos and Logan had run up the swirly slide, leaving the yellow plastic tube far too cramped for another body. Hurriedly, Roxy whirled around to face James, brows shooting up her forehead as they attempted to find somewhere else to conceal themselves.

“Trust me?” He asked, completely out of breath, eyes flickering to the loft above the slide.

Roxy barely nodded before his hands flew to her waist and easily hoisted her up onto the slide’s lowest curve while she let out an unexpected squeal. From there, it was easy to grab onto the loft’s edge and pull herself up and over, using the outside of the slide as a stepping stool, before ducking behind the solid railing.

Moments later, James followed, smoothly guiding himself over the ledge as she helped haul Carlos, Logan, and Kendall out of the tight-winding yellow tube.

Just when they thought they were safe, the wooden door of 2-J violently burst down with a bang!

In the doorway stood Gustavo, still fuming while his eyes roamed the room, eventually finding the five cowering together above him.

The man’s voice boomed off the high ceiling, “Get down here! Get down here right now!”

“Not until you chillax!” James called back, and Roxy snaked a hand around his arm in solidarity.

A scoff from below made them all flinch as Gustavo yelled, “Oh, I am chillaxed!” before his pounding footsteps brought him into the kitchen, where he began rummaging through their drawers and cabinets, looking for something.

“Oh, this can’t be good,” Roxy breathed and in return, she dropped her bag to the floor and tried to find something to throw in retaliation.

Old songbook, keys, chapstick, phone, new songbook… No, no, no, no, no!

“Where do you keep your knives?” Their boss screamed, just as she pulled out a package of gum and wound her arm back.

“Um, in the drawer next to the sink,” Carlos replied, always wanting to be of assistance, before the other four began to shout indistinctly in his direction.

In a flash, Gustavo was pulling the drawer open and dumping whatever wasn’t a knife onto the tiled floor, while James and Logan slapped Carlos over the head, the sound resounding off his black helmet.

From the bathroom in the back of the kitchen, the door opened, and Buddha Bob walked out, plunger over his shoulder, whistling. When he noticed Gustavo rooting around and the five teens fearing for their lives in the loft, he froze.

“Buddha Bob! Help!” The boys plead, just as the other man held up a steak knife in victory, and the maintenance man leaped into action.

Slamming the plunger down on the floor, Buddha Bob reached out and pinched Gustavo’s shoulder between his fingers and thumbs, almost like a snake biting into one of its victims. In a matter of seconds, their boss dropped the knife into the sink and let out a small whimper as the other man didn’t let up his grip.

Then, using both his hands, Buddha Bob smushed Gustavo’s face and sharply pointed it to the left. The sound of bones cracking was resounding, and Roxy felt the package she was holding slip out of her fingers as her jaw dropped to the floor.

“Ooh,” Her friends winced. They’d all sat through enough action movies to be incredibly fearful of whatever happened next.

Silence.

A weak, “What was that?” from Gustavo.

Everyone let out a sigh of relief.

“Himalayan Monkey Pinch,” Buddha Bob shared, hands still framing Gustavo’s face. “Then I realigned your chakras.”

The twisting motion he made with his hands to demonstrate made Roxy’s stomach churn.

“I feel so… So…” Gustavo was at a loss for words.

“Calm?” The maintenance man did his best to help. “Now focus on what matters, not what angers.”

Taking a few slow steps forward, Gustavo swayed back and forth a bit, before looking back up at his employees. “Dawgs, I must write a song for the New Town High soundtrack. I’ll call you when I need vocals… And do you mind if I borrow Roxanne?”

The girl felt her skin heat up as the four of them looked toward her. Normally, Gustavo snapped at her whenever he wanted to have a writing session, giving her little choice as to whether she was ready to share one of her songs or not. At the moment, she didn’t have anything close to being done - that she was willing to share, anyway - and certainly nothing good enough to make it to the New Town High soundtrack.

That, and she was quite worried about Gustavo’s strange, new zen state. Is he even in the headspace to write a song for a CW teen drama right now?

She felt James' hand reach out to hers, twining their fingers together with a small squeeze.

“How about you call me if you need any assistance, Mr. Rocque?” Roxy asked, though she worried his famous temper would reemerge at any moment before adding on, “Or if I think of anything, I’ll call you?”

“Alright,” was his reply, no yelling, no screaming, no “I own you so do as I say!” The man blinked before heading to the door. “I look forward to collaborating with you. You’re very pleasant to write with.”

Though she didn’t share the sentiment about writing with him, she nodded and gave a small wave as he exited the apartment.

In no time, her friends were rushing toward the slide, getting down to the first floor to harass Buddha Bob about what he’d done, while their assistant stayed up on the loft, gathering everything she’d dumped out of her bag back inside.

The small trinkets were easy enough, but once she’d collected her two songbooks she found herself sinking to the floor and flipping through them to see if anything might be fit for New Town High.

Cool, black leather filled her fingertips as Roxy thummed through the first book, the one she’d written her first Big Time Rush song in. Along with the released BTR songs, there were a few complete songs inside she hadn’t shared with the band, like “Invisible” and “Paralyzed” and a few she’d written after leaving Brand New Day, but those were far too personal to the writer to be released. A few works in progress remained, like her space-themed song she’d begun writing in the observatory, one she’d worked on over the last few weeks titled “Got Something” and one small verse she’d written in the Pontiac with James at the wheel.

Nope… Not yet, she told herself, before setting the black book down and picking up an identical-sized and shaped journal, but this one was bound in a beautiful, dark red.

Back in Minnesota, after she’d written down the events of the New Year’s party with a drunken mind and blushing cheeks, Roxy realized she’d hit the final sheet of her black journal when she had turned the page and found the small message James had written in there for her after they started dating.

So, before catching the flight back home, she’d ran out to the store and picked up a fresh, new one, ready to be filled with as many Big Time Rush songs as possible. She’d even picked the deep crimson cover because she anticipated an uptick in her love songwriting, as she and James continued to grow into their relationship.

All that was in there for now was her diary entry from the previous day, where she got to detail how horrible her flight back to Los Angeles had been, and hundreds of blank pages ready to be written over.

“You guys should try listening to your boss more often.” Buddha Bob’s words ripped Roxy from her thoughts and she quickly stuffed the two books into her bag before coming downstairs on the swirly slide. “He’ll be less stressed and won’t want to kill you.”

When she reached her friends beside the breakfast bar and snaked a hand around James’ bicep, the maintenance man was out the door, and Kendall had clearly taken his words under consideration.

“You know, he’s right,” The blond shared, pointing a thumb toward the fallen door.

His assistant snorted, “That’s rich coming from you.”

When James, Carlos, and Logan nodded their heads in solidarity, Kendall crossed his arms. “I’m not pro-Gustavo or anything, but I am very anti-being killed! And, like, the man works his butt off for us, and I do tend to talk back a bit…”

“Yeah, I mean, I kind of do lack direction sometimes,” Carlos added, facing the opposite way of his friends while he admired the racing video game outside the kitchen. To get him back on track, Kendall grabbed his shoulders and whirled him around.

Beside her, Logan shifted uncomfortably, “I guess I could use a little more swagger.”

“And I suppose I can put down my mirror,” James shared, taking it out of his back pocket and tentatively placing it on the kitchen counter.

It was an action that shocked his four friends, and Roxy looked up at her boyfriend in surprise to find him gazing right back at her, “Because I can always find myself reflected in your eyes.”

“Oh,” She gasped, suddenly unable to tear her focus away from him as she accidentally matched his intensity. “Anytime you want, babe-”

Just as she brought her fingers up to push a stray strand of hair out of his hazel eyes, she felt someone grab her wrist and pull her away.

“Rox!” Kendall scolded her, as if she had done anything wrong, “That’s exactly what Gustavo was talking about!”

While she twisted out of his grip and slapped him on the shoulder, Roxy rolled her eyes. “So what if I encourage you four a bit too much? You do what you want anyway”

Kendall shot her another glare.

“Fine. I won’t enable anymore.”

“Then it’s agreed. We are going to listen to Gustavo so he’s less stressed and won’t kill us?”

The band piled their hands on top of one another, like they were in the middle of a team huddle before break, ready to get back into whatever game they were playing.

Now, Roxy was caught at a crossroads. As a songwriter-assistant, she was at the bottom of the Rocque Records food chain; Almost completely expendable if not for the fact the she and the band cared for each other so much. In theory, if Gustavo wanted to kill anyone, it would probably end up being her. So, she should put her hand in as well. But on the other hand, if she was supposed to stop egging the boys’ schemes on, why would they be waiting for her to put her hand in?

“This is the last time,” Roxy sighed, placing her hand on top of Logan’s.

“Woah, break!” Her friends called, throwing their hands up into the air to seal their pact.

***

Sitting at the breakfast bar with Logan felt like the safest avenue.

If Roxy was supposed to work on dialing back her enabling, being around her boyfriend, Kendall, and Carlos wasn’t the best idea. So, she worked on getting a jump start on today’s journal entry before circling back to some of her old incomplete songs, while Logan was typing up a storm on his laptop. Whatever he was doing just looked like a storm of nonsensical numbers and letters all strung together in something the writer didn’t understand in the slightest, so she eventually dove her nose back into her book.

Can’t goad if I don’t know what’s going on…

Footsteps from down the hall caught their attention and James strode into the kitchen to see them, a very proud look on his face.

“Okay, so I traded in my James t-shirt for one with all of us!” He shared, gesturing to the white and black-ringed Big Time Rush tour t-shirt he had exchanged his previous look for. “And I’ve decided to make more eye contact with you guys, not just Roxy.”

Leaning over the breakfast bar, James narrowed his eyes and stared at Logan, who looked over his laptop confusedly.

Though his friend attempted to type up a few things and help James with his goal, when the long-haired boy began to quirk his brows it just felt weirder and weirder as time continued to progress.

“O-kay,” Logan drew out, hitting the enter key and finally glancing back down at his screen.

Blinking as though he were brought out of a trance, James shook his head a bit.

“Well,” The studious boy continued, “I’ve decided to increase my swagger by creating a Swagger App, which will automatically push the swaggiest trends, clothes, and moves from the net, right to my phone.”

Despite thinking it cute, Roxy held her tongue and simply wrote about the new development in her book, while James burst out laughing, “Dude! You either have swagger, or you don’t. And I have tons, so let me help you.”

“No need, ‘cause I am fully loaded,” Logan shared, pulling his phone off the download cord he had connected to his laptop. Some techy sounds emanated from the phone’s speakers, signaling the app was ready to be put to use. “Now I just press ‘Swagger App’ and…”

Buzz buzz

A host of notifications began to pop up on his home screen, a picture of the five of them at their last Big Time Rush show, and he intently read each one.

When Roxy glanced over his shoulder, she could see each push notification had a category, like clothing, music, and one ominously titled moves, and a small description of how Logan could implement that into his daily routine.

“Huh,” she found herself saying, though she really wanted to tell him how cool she thought the app was - especially since he’d built it from scratch in a matter of twenty minutes. Unfortunately, because it enabled his scheme to gain more swag, that was all she could push out.

Without a word, Logan closed his laptop and hopped off the bar stool, racing down the hallway to what Roxy assumed was his room. A few seconds later, James hopped up on the empty seat and slung an arm around his assistant's shoulders.

“Flirting with you will just enable your big ego,” she mumbled into the journal in front of her, pretending to be very interested in the flower she was doodling on the top corner of the page. “Which, I don’t mind, by the way. Gustavo’s wrong; It’s stupid he doesn’t want you to love yourself.”

I really admire your confidence, she wanted to tell him. It’s one of my favorite things about you.

James didn’t respond, but after a moment Roxy felt his smooth fingertips on her face, gently guiding her to look over in his direction.

“What were you saying earlier about how I could stand to be more Roxanne-centered?”

“That was just a-” She made the mistake of lifting her gaze, finding herself temporarily lost in the flecks of green and gold in his eyes, “Joke.”

Seeing herself reflected back amid the hazel she stared into, just like he’d claimed earlier, she felt the back of her neck heat and closed her eyes. “Not enabling, not enabling, not enabling…”

A feather-light kiss fell over her left eyelid, then the right, and she heard James let out a small chuckle as he dropped his hand, “Whatever you say, songbird… But you know it’s impossible to resist me.”

Roxy imagined lots of things taking place after that, wondering how comfortable it would be for two people to share the same barstool if she climbed over and sat on his lap, peppering his face with as many kisses as she could, before the sound of heavy boots came from down the hall. Daring to peek one eye open, James had luckily turned his head to find the source - Logan, now heading into the kitchen to show off his new outfit.

Not only was it so much more stylish than his usual cardigan-over-t-shirt get-up, but it was also the outfit he’d let Roxy pick out at the Duluth mall back home. A perfect-fitting black leather jacket, a nice t-shirt, tight black jeans, and a pair of booths she didn’t know he owned adorned him well and made him look quite nice if she did say so herself.

As he showed it off to his friends, his phone continued to chime, just like he had programmed it to.

When she felt James tense beside her, his tone deepened as he pointed a finger Logan’s way, “Okay. You look cool, but swagger comes from within,” He drew his hands up to the side of his face and wiggled them as his girlfriend giggled at the silly move, “It’s not digital!”

“Oh-ho, it’s digital!” Logan assured him, doing a cross-spin-pose with an elegant snap and point combination, shocking the couple with how smoothly he’d managed the move. Even with his hours and hours of dance practice, he’d never made it look as effortless as he had just now.

Without even saying goodbye, Logan trotted out the open apartment door, a never-before-seen pep in his step and James moved to follow him, accidentally tripping over his own feet. As he braced himself on the door frame, Roxy rushed to his side, “Are you alright?”

Instead of steadying himself on the doorframe like he’d been planning, he raised an arm above her head, leaning over her with a wicked grin, “Aw… Concerned about me?”

Obviously. Always. All the time, she almost said and thought about bringing a hand out to his arm to ground him as she leaned deeper into the frame behind her. Instead, she settled for, “Not flirting!”

“No fun…” he mumbled into her ear, dropping down to press a quick kiss to her cheek before dashing off after his friend. “Logan! You’re playing with forces you don’t understand!”

Buzz buzz

Kendall’s ringtone flooded through her phone’s speakers, startling her as it echoed through the empty hotel hallway.

Picking up, Roxy held the phone to her ear, “Hello?”

“Hey, can you meet me in Palm Woods Park in the next five minutes?”

His tone sounded urgent, as though something was wrong.

“Yeah,” She responded, trying to keep her cool as she practically ran down the hallway, “What’s going on?”

“Just the usual; we caused a big huge mess and Kelly’s pretty pissed at Gustavo. We tracked his phone and it looks like he’s just hanging out in the park when the two of you should be writing that song.”

Whatever had gotten into him earlier was starting to scare her. Seeing him be so obedient to the man he’d spent almost a year back talking to was something the writer was having a hard time wrapping her head around.

“I thought we’d come to an agreement? If one of us thought of something, we’d just call the other… Songs aren’t just magically written because you want them to be,” She huffed. As much as she loved her friend, this wasn’t the first time he’d assumed songwriting was a breeze.

There was the sound of hushed tones bickering on the other line, meaning he was probably with Kelly at the moment, before he hit her back with, “This one needs to be done before the New Town High execs come tomorrow morning. I’ve seen you write songs on less.”

Wow, Roxy thought as she reached the bottom of the stairwell and followed the trail out to the park, He’s taking this far more seriously than I’d expected…

“Is there something I’m missing? Hearing you suck up to Gustavo is just weird… Is this Kendall Knight?”

She could imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose, a slight exhale coming through the speaker, “Rox… Come on. A Big Time Rush song on Jo’s show - You’ve got to understand the importance of that.”

Ah…

“You mean a romantic song that you sing being featured on your girlfriend’s show?” Roxy baited, teasing him a bit for his comments before. “Now, why would that be important to you?”

A cool, Los Angeles breeze tossed her hair over her shoulders by the time she finally made it outside, following one of the park’s many trails as she spoke. Eventually, she’d bump into Kendall, Kelly, or Gustavo, so for now she’d just enjoy her walk.

“Because you know why!” He hissed before taking a deep breath, “It’s a big deal to me, okay? A public display of affection or whatever you call it so the whole world can know that I love Jo Taylor!”

Finally spotting Kendall and Kelly across the way, Roxy watched as Kendall finished yelling his statement into the phone before he noticed her staring back at him with an open jaw and wide eyes.

Immediately, his whole face turned as bright red as a tomato, but he took a few deep breaths and pressed the end call button before shooting her a weak smile coupled with a small wave. Meanwhile, Kelly pretended to be very interested in the small piece of leather peeling off her ledger.

“Aw, Kendall!” Roxy called, making her way over to where the pair was standing. “How adorable!”

She was truly elated by his words, a similar feeling settling in her chest as when Jo had admitted her feelings to her over the phone a few days ago. They were the perfect couple, ready to take their relationship to the next level, and it seemed as though Kendall was just nervous about how it would all go down. However, that was no excuse for how he’d spoken to her.

Sheepishly, his hand flew to the back of his neck, giving a few tentative rubs as he choked out, “Yeah, I guess.”

“If it means that much to you…” Roxy grinned as she trailed off, pulling her new red songbook out of her bag and waving it in the air a few times. Just as Kendall’s smile widened, she shoved the book into his chest. “Write it yourself. Unless, of course, you want me to sweep your girl off her feet with my romantic lyrics and unforgettable melodies…”

Beside them, Kelly let out a snort of laughter at the girl’s words while Kendall’s brows practically shot to his forehead. His grip on the book she’d shoved into his chest tightened. “You wouldn’t.”

“Imply songwriting is easy one more time and I just might!” The girl bit back, loud enough to draw some funny looks from other park patrons passing the group by. “Now, I know this is important to you, Kendall, and I’ll do my best to write you guys another hit, but first we need to find Gustavo and break his zen trance thing.”

Snapping her fingers, the talent scout pointed to the girl, agreeing with her statement. “My tracking software - don’t tell him I have that by the way - said he should be somewhere in this area. Any ideas?”

Holding her hand up to shield her eyes from the unrelenting California sun, Roxy scanned the grassy area for any signs of their boss. Instead, all she could see were families picnicking in the enjoyable weather, a few birds taking a bath in the fountain, and some kids from her class setting up a kickball game in one of the larger fields. Painstakingly mundane and not at all helpful.

“There!” Kendall pointed, and his assistant followed his outstretched finger to the far right of the park, where she saw a quick flash of a red pageboy cap and someone with unruly, brown hair trimming the hedges along the edge of the hotel.

As fast as humanly possible, the trio made their way over to find the two men engaged in a seemingly one-sided conversation as Gustavo rambled something about trimming the excess from his life, unclogging his mind, and staying away from all the nuts in town.

He can say that last one again…

“What are you doing here?!” Kelly started, causing the man to jump slightly at her words. “You and Roxy have got a soundtrack song to write!”

Turning to face the newcomers, Gustavo shared a content smile. It was nearly unnerving to his employees since they were so used to seeing a scowl etched like stone into his features. “Kelly. Roxanne. Kendall. This man’s wisdom has just opened my eyes to a life I never thought possible!”

He grabbed his talent scout and lead singer by the shoulder and squeezed them, leaving the assistant sandwiched uncomfortably in the middle before grinning even wider and wandering off to another area of the park.

While it was nice he was learning to relax a bit, Roxy almost missed his high-strung and demanding attitude; Like Kendall’s personality switch up earlier, things were getting stranger and stranger as the day went on. Seeing her boss act as though he were an entirely different person was just offputting.

It seemed as though Kendall was having similar thoughts, turning to Buddha Bob as he continued to neatly trim the hedges with a raised brow. “What did you do to Gustavo?” “Who’s Gustavo?” was the man’s reply, not even bothering to look up as he continued his work.

Maybe it was because the assistant was so plugged into pop culture, she wondered aloud, “There are people who don’t know who Gustavo Rocque is?” while Kelly and Kendall shook their heads in disbelief.

As the maintenance man continued down the line of hedges, Kelly had to step away for a phone call from one of Griffin’s many assistants about the song for New Town High, leaving the frontman and his assistant alone to work out the problem at hand.

Roxy figured if Gustavo was riding the relaxing waves of serenity from Buddha Bob’s “teachings,” the boys could probably snap him right out of it with one of their harebrained schemes. Or, better yet, she could pitch him a song so terrible it might make him angry enough to snap out of his zen mode.

I think I still have some of my books from a few years ago on my shelf.

Just as she was deciding which song would be worse to give him, “Storm in a Teacup” or “Rip-Off the Old Block,” she noticed Kendall’s eyes light up with a familiar spark of mischief. With a satisfying click of his fingers, he held one up to the sky, and just before he opened his mouth to speak, his assistant clamped her hands over her ears.

“Nope! Not listening! I can’t enable any of your ridiculous schemes today!” She cried but felt a bit bad for being hypocritical in thinking up her own plan. “Whatever you need to do, I don’t need to know, just… Get it done and don’t get fired!”

In response, her friend frowned and Roxy winced as her stomach twisted with guilt. It’s not fair for me to fault him for his attitude change when I’m doing the same exact thing.

She was a far better supporter than a schemer, but if the other boys were committed to listening to their boss’ words, the least she could do was join them in solidarity.

“Suit yourself,” The boy beside her sighed, “Promise me you’ll work on a song while I take care of this?” Roxy nodded, though she had no idea where she’d get the idea for one. At the moment, all her song ideas had come from hanging out with James, and he was a bit dangerous to be around at the moment. Though, if she just observed him, that wasn’t really flirting… right?

With a wave goodbye to Kendall, Roxy was off in search of her boyfriend without a second thought, songbook and pen already clutched in her hands and itching to write down some new ideas.

***

Eventually, she found James and Logan at the Palm Woods pool, still locked in their debate over whether or not the latter was able to digitally create swag or not. Of course, they’d chosen this location over anywhere else in the hotel, considering the pool was where all the popular residents hung out. If Logan’s app helped him fit in with the popular crowd of Palm Woods High upperclassmen, they’d settle this debate once and for all. For them, there was truly no better method than trial and error.

Oh, Logan, Roxy thought as she quietly approached her friends, Even in his cool, new outfit, he’s still a scientist at his core.

“Yes, the clothes work!” She heard James protest, picking at one of the stiff leather wrinkles on Logan’s jacket. “But let me show you how to walk the swag walk.” At least, after all their bickering, James was simply doing his best to help his friend.

“No need!” Logan interrupted, holding up his beeping phone, “‘Cause Swagger App advises: Strut at approximately three miles per hour and cock your head at a 45-degree angle.”

“You missed ‘Shades up and shake it!’” His assistant added, reading the screen over his shoulder, and finally announcing her presence in their conversation.

Not enabling… Simply pointing out something he didn’t catch.

Turning her way, Logan stuck out his bottom lip in contemplation as he nodded at her words, “Huh… Good catch, Rox.”

To their right, James was too busy laughing at the app’s advice. “Logan, I am no longer self-centered or Roxanne-centered,” He took a brief pause to mouth Hey, babe, in Roxy’s direction before continuing, “Now, if you’d just listen to me, I want to-”

Wordlessly, Logan cut him off by popping on his pair of dark black sunglasses, turning his head to a sharp 45 degrees, and strutting away from where they stood at the edge of the pool, newfound spring in his step as he made his way to the lobby.

It was hard to miss the way heads turned as she walked down the small stretch of deck as though he were a runway model. Whispers erupted from everyone - not just their classmates - as they took in the singer’s stark change in both attitude and style. Even Roxy found herself following his every move, eyes watching him like a hawk as he reached the door to the lobby and spun on his heels, holding his arms out with smug pride as he showed off his moves.

James erupting into a coughing fit brought his girlfriend back to reality and in a flash he grabbed her hand, quickly pulling her across the same stretch of deck.

“Do you need a cough drop?” Roxy asked in earnest, thinking she must have a few at the bottom of her mini backpack somewhere, but James waved her off as he was all too caught up in whatever strange thing he and Logan had going on.

When they reached the boy across the way, James huffed, doing his best to act nonchalant about his friend’s new programable swagger, but his voice slightly rose as he shared, “The walk wasn’t bad, but can you talk the swag talk?”

He coughed again, this time Roxy pulled her hand out of his to root around in her bag, voice cracking on his last word.

Holding up his phone again, Logan’s app directed, “Swag talk: Keep exchanges short and try these nicknames.”

“Nicknames?” His popular friend scoffed, “What are nicknames gonna do?”

“Songbird - Don’t ever stop writing songs about me!” Roxy piped up, poking her boyfriend in the arm as she pointed out his favorite nickname for her, “Whatever you say, songbird…”

Eyes widening, he cried, “That’s special. I wouldn’t call just anyone that!” as she giggled at how riled up her words made him.

Too caught up in their own little conversation, the pair almost didn’t notice Logan cock his head back at the suggested 45-degree angle and take off down the pool deck again as if it were his own personal catwalk. With each strut, he became more and more confident in his moves and every single person he crossed paths with in the crowded pool gained their own special nickname.

“Wow…” The girl marveled, watching as the girl dubbed “Blue Eyes” loudly announced she wanted to date Logan. “You never call me Shorty Shorts…”

James shot her a look of disapproval before his eyes trained back on his friend. “While it may be true…” His hand clumsily slipped into her back pocket. “I don’t need an app to come up with pet names for my girlfriend.”

And that got her instantly. At that moment, Roxy was ready to give up on her no-flirting promise earlier, turning into James and placing her hand lightly on his chest while she looked up at him through innocently batting eyes.

Just as she opened her mouth to invite him up to her apartment for a little while, Camille’s voice approaching from behind cut her off.

“Hey… Since when does Logan have more swagger than James?”

The comment snapped him into defense mode and his hand left Roxy’s pocket, “He does not have more swagger than me-”

Whatever he was about to say next was interrupted by “This Is Our Someday” blasting out of one of their classmate’s boomboxes in the fire pit area. It seemed as though Logan had struck up an impromptu party in the blink of an eye thanks to his Swagger App. Calling “Check it!” to his friends and attempting to wave them over. “Swag tunes!”

Too focused on the fact the app had determined one of her songs swaggy, Roxy felt the beat flow through her body and summon her toward the scene of the party, completely forgetting about the few lozenges she held in her palms as the sound of James’ coughs was drowned out by the melody.

Unfortunately, her phone vibrating in her pocket prevented her from fully getting her groove on, causing her to step away from the pool area and back onto the path to the park to take the call.

As she held her phone to her ear, she didn’t even get a chance to utter out a greeting before Kendall’s voice came over the line. “What do rainbows, candy, and the mandolin all have in common with one another?”

“Uh,” The assistant blinked, knitting her brows in confusion, “They’re all… Colorful? Maybe?” she guessed, imagining her bright red electric guitar shrunk into a smaller size.

Kendall made an annoying buzzer sound, “Wrong! They’re all featured on the new Big Time Rush song!”

“Oh, that’s neat. I didn’t know Gustavo could play the mandolin.”

“He most certainly cannot! And so, the song is terrible, and the New Town High execs are coming tomorrow.”

The urge to shoot back, “And what do you want me to do about it?” was strong, but the assistant bit her tongue before she managed to say anything to escalate the tense situation. From his tone of voice, Kendall was beginning to panic, and though she wanted nothing more than to help ease his anxiety, none of the songs she had in her book were New Town High worthy. The complete ones were far too personal, probably to be kept in the off-white pages until the end of time, and the incomplete ones just didn’t have the right vibe for the show.

So instead she settled for, “Kendall. Seriously? Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

“But it burned in one, didn’t it? Much like Big Time Rush if Gustavo releases this song into the world.”

As she let out a large, obvious sigh into the receiver, Roxy felt like kicking the bushes Buddha Bob had done such a wonderful job trimming.

“I know, I know!” Kendall said on the other line, “Just… See if you can make it back to the Crib soon. Kelly wants to have an emergency band meeting at Rocque Records and I figured we’d all go together.”

“That’s fine,” The writer conceded as she pinched the bridge of her nose, switching to a different path in the park that would lead her to the back entrance of the hotel. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Kendall didn’t even bother saying goodbye before the line went dead.

Entering the hotel, the air conditioning sent a small chill up the girl’s spine, but she ignored it, tossing her bag over her shoulder and pulling out her black-covered songbook.

Maybe I was wrong about some of these songs… She thought, beginning to climb the stairs to the second floor, but as her eyes cast over the lyrics, she was starting to believe her suspicions to be correct. I wonder if Gustavo still has the portfolio I gave him at the audition. One of those might work, even with my inexperienced writing.

Honestly, she was a bit intrigued by the song Kendall had mentioned on the phone. It might not be as bad as the boy was making it out to be, but she wasn’t sure mandolin had a place in pop music… At least, not in this day and age.

When she reached the apartment, she walked in on Kendall tugging his coat on and explaining the situation he’d mentioned on the phone to a swagged-out Logan and sickly-looking James at the breakfast bar.

Completely forgetting what the frontman had said about driving to Rocque Records, Roxy felt her chest squeeze when she laid eyes on her boyfriend, whose hand was shaking as he attempted to pull a spoonful of cereal out of the bowl in front of him.

I’ve been away five minutes and he looks moments away from death.

He’d traded his trendy outfit for a loose-fitting, battered t-shirt and old sweats, and his paled skin made him look like a vampire from one of the Twilight movies. That, and his normally perfect hair was plastered to his forehead with what she assumed was sweat, suggesting he was beginning to run some sort of fever.

In an instant, she was by his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and bringing the back of her free hand to his forehead. “James! You’re so hot!”

“Don’t I know it…” He coughed weakly, “Babe.”

“Who cares?!” Kendall interrupted, showing no regard for James’ health, “Let’s go!”

Beside the couple, Logan closed his laptop with a sigh and held up his phone, “Can’t, K-Dog, I’m updating my Swag App for even more swag-itude.”

Not the answer the blond was hoping to hear, which was quickly made evident as he ignored Logan’s answer and screamed, “Carlos?!”

Knock, knock, knock!

Heads turned to the bathroom door in the kitchen, where Katie was pounding on the hardwood. “He won’t come out of the bathroom!”

“Panic room!” He corrected her through the door, leading all five of them to wonder exactly why he was panicking.

Is he just as worked up as Kendall over the song?

Katie crossed her arms, leaning on the counter beside the door. “A bird told him he’s got 24 hours to live. But I got to brush my teeth!” she called into the wood, prompting even more pounding on the door.

“Well, I’ve got to save my life!” Carlos informed her, before claiming, “Super Parrot knows all!”

No one had a chance to process any of that exchange before James launched into another loud coughing fit, shoulder shaking as he tried to hack out whatever was causing his throat to itch.

“And I feel cold and clammy,” He shared, though he wrapped an arm around Roxy’s waist as she continued to rub his arm. “Is it possible for someone to lose their swagger?”

“What?” She and Kendall chorused, looking at James with concern.

“If there’s a finite amount of swagger in the band and if someone were to gain swagger…” Not so subtly, he glanced over to Logan, who appeared to be downloading the Billboard Hot 100 songs to his iPhone. “Is it possible for someone else to lose their swagger?”

Attempting to sweep some of his wet hair off his forehead, Roxy puffed out her bottom lip, “That’s a very good question, baby… Do you need anything, like soup, or medicine, or-”

“Okay! I’ll go alone.” Kendall rudely cut her off with a huff, speaking as though his four friends had lost their minds.

And maybe Roxy had, because seeing James suffering felt like someone had taken a knife to her heart. Forget the song, forget the band, forget anything that would pull her attention from trying to help him feel better in any way she could. He’d always been so gracious with her and her airsickness, right now she wanted nothing more than to do everything in her power to get him better - Swag-induced pain or not.

“Just keep me updated, please?” She asked Kendall as he turned to leave, though she was still fussing over James' appearance since he wasn’t in the shape to. “And if I get any song ideas I’ll let you know.”

With his hand on the doorknob, the blond whispered something under his breath she couldn’t quite make out, before throwing the door open and stomping out of 2-J.

“Douche,” She muttered, and James laughed between a few breathy coughs while he tried to finish the few bites that remained of his now-soggy cereal.

Letting go of his girlfriend’s waist, the sick boy pointed his spoon toward the door, “It might be a good idea to go with him. I don’t want you getting sick because of me.”

Roxy was quick to wave him off, “We’ve been butting heads all day since he’s so concerned with kissing Gustavo’s ass… Hanging out with you sounds way more fun than that.”

“Sounds like you need to chillax, cupcake!” Logan butt in, beginning to blast his newly downloaded pop music out of his phone’s weak speakers. “Come party with me for a while and forget about all your worries!”

From the seat beside him, James wound up for a punch to the arm and miserably whiffed it, though he did manage a weak, “You need to chillax.”

“How about we work on comebacks later, James?” His girlfriend cautioned, moving his bowl into the sink and attempting to pull him off the bar stool. “We can focus on getting you better over in 2-H… It’s much quieter over there.”

As if on cue, Katie began pounding at the bathroom door again, bickering back and forth with Carlos in his new panic room. If that was enough to make her own head ache, she could only imagine how terrible James felt.

Though it was tough to move him, mostly supporting his weight with her body as he slung an arm over her shoulder, the pair managed down the hallway to Roxy’s apartment. There, James happily flopped down onto her couch, while his girlfriend ran around the small space to make sure it was as cozy as possible for him.

Opening the blinds and window, fresh air began to circulate into the one-bedroom, smelling a bit chemical from the pool a floor below. From her linen closet, a clean pillow was propped behind his head, and a blanket she nearly burrito-ed him into. Then, emptying her medicine cabinet she pulled out anything she thought might help alleviate some of his pain and set it on her kitchen counter; cough syrup, cough drops, Tylenol, and allergy medication galore.

But even then, it felt like something was missing as she surveyed the space.

What would Dad do? She asked herself before running through her mental checklist. Air, comfort, medicine… Music!

Finally putting an end to her scramble, Roxy popped into her bedroom to grab her acoustic guitar before heading back out to the living room where James was lounging.

With her hip, she pushed the coffee table in front of the couch to the side and plopped down in front of him, running her fingers over the cool, smooth wood in her hands. Since she’d restrung her acoustic to make the boys’ Christmas gifts, she hadn’t used it for much; Primarily writing her Big Time Rush songs on the electric. Now felt like a good time to get some use out of the instrument.

As she made sure the strings were still in tune, plucking each one with the pick a few times before finding just the right sound, she tried to figure out what to play. James always claimed his favorite song was whatever was number one on the pop charts, which if she recalled correctly was TikTok by Kesha.

Not sure I can manage that on this instrument… She contemplated, trying to form a chord pattern in her head to no avail.

When she looked back up from the fretboard, she caught James’ eye from the hole in the blanket she’d left for his head and felt a wave of self-consciousness pass over her.

“My dad always said music was the best medicine… So what do you wanna hear?” She asked, nervously playing with the green pick between her fingers.

In response, James broke out into a coughing fit and had to untangle himself from the blanket cocoon his girlfriend had put him in to make sure he covered his mouth. After practically forcing a cough drop down his throat, the boy finally managed to say, “Something new,” before falling back into the cushions.

That was an answer Roxy certainly hadn’t been expecting to hear, but she was more than happy to oblige. Mentally running through the songs in her book, she tried to determine which one was best fit for performance on the acoustic guitar.

When she landed on “Invisible” and began to strum out the melody she had constructed months ago, she laughed a bit to herself. This song had come from a place of longing and desperation, lines she constructed out of fear James would never do anything about the limbo-like state of their relationship at the time. Knowing what she knew now, she was glad she sat down and wrote it when she did. She’d probably never be able to write a song like this again, especially since she was so happy.

Humming out the words, Roxy didn’t lift her eyes from the fretboard, though she didn’t need to watch where she was placing her fingers at all. Thoughts of tour swirled in her head - Her first kiss with James, the feeling of being on stage with her best friends, the cheering of the crowd… But also the uncertainty of her relationship status and the sadness it caused her, her time alone on the bus writing “Til I Forget About You,” and how much she’d missed Jo and Camille. Tour was rough, but rewarding, and in turn, she’d written the beautiful song she was now playing for her boyfriend.

By the time her strumming stopped, it looked like James was half-asleep, so she decided to continue and play her next longest work in progress “You’re Not Alone” even though it was missing most of a chorus, a bridge, and a second round of verses.

From then on, she improvised, smashing together other incomplete songs she’d written, blending them with chord progressions she came up with on the fly. The combination of the guitar, her quiet humming, and James’ soft breathing as he let his eyelids finally begin to droop was slowly becoming one of Roxy’s favorite sounds.

Once she finally figured he was asleep, she stopped playing, giving her fingers a little wiggle before moving to stand up and put her guitar away.

“Rox,” James weakly mumbled with closed eyes, somehow managing to catch her wrist. It felt like Roxy’s heart jumpstarted as she squatted back down to hear him better. “Lay with me?”

Gently, she leaned in and kissed his temple, “‘Course, babe,” and kicked off her shoes, abandoning her guitar in the gap between the couch and the hardwood floor.

Shedding his blanket, James sat up and let Roxy make herself comfortable, using the pillow against the armrest as she moved to lay on her back. In no time, his arms circled her waist, before he slowly moved to rest his head on her chest, ear falling right over her heart which was no doubt beating over time. When they cuddled, their positions were typically reversed, a fact Roxy tried not to focus on as his chest rose and fell against her own. In an attempt to calm herself down, she returned his gesture and placed one of her arms lazily on top of his frame, beginning to run her nails lightly over his back, slightly zigzagging as her other hand sunk into his plush hair.

James let out a small groan as he stretched his legs out, tangling them with Roxy’s.

“I love holding you,” he told her, and she could feel his dry lips moving against the skin around her collarbone, “It’s like everything melts away and nothing else matters…”

She only managed to continue breathing because she knew he’d be able to hear if she stopped. “Oh. Yeah? I suppose it does feel like everything around us stops, doesn’t it?”

Waiting a few moments for him to reply, Roxy heard his shallow breaths slow.

Falling asleep in the middle of a conversation? What a dork…

***

Hey babe!

Sorry to sneak out on you, but I had a wonderful idea for a new song (yes, it’s about you and yes, you’ll love it) and I didn’t want to wake you by scribbling it out or playing the melody on my guitar so I moved into my room for a little bit. Once this is all written and Gustavo approved, we’ll have all the time in the world to cuddle :)

I left all the medicine you might need in reach, so feel free to use anything you think might make you feel better. If you need anything just shout.

XX Songbird

P.S. Feel better soon!! <3

P.P.S. Ignore that last line. I wrote that around 2ish but now, it’s nearing dinner time and I didn’t have anything good for sick people to eat. I’m running to the store, so call or text if you need me! <3 <3

***

Even though it had taken about twenty minutes to run to the store across the street from the Palm Woods and back, Roxy was still concerned about leaving her sick boyfriend alone for so long. Of course, she knew James was able to take care of himself, but that didn’t mean he should have to.

Hopefully, he’d enjoy what she’d picked out for dinner, and she imagined walking into her apartment to see his cute face all snuggled up in her pillow.

It’s so not fair, she decided, he looks so good both awake and asleep.

A few weeks ago he’d taken a picture of her after she’d fallen asleep on his shoulder during a work meeting, claiming it was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen, and Roxy practically had to tackle him and wrestle the phone out of his grasp to delete it.

I should take one when I get back as revenge.

Entering the lobby with a smile at the thought, she weaved in and out of the crowd of hotel patrons to get to the elevators, before a familiar voice caught her attention.

“All we need to do is create a computer virus to destroy Logan’s swagger app!” Camille cried enthusiastically, and Roxy scanned the area to find her - and James - huddled around one of the small circular tables Bitters had set up.

A green laptop sat in front of her and she was furiously typing away while she talked.

“And if Logan’s going to steal my swagger, then I’ll steal his smart brain stuff things!” James shared, just as caught up in their plan as Camille was, while he fluffed the sides of a white lab coat he must have stolen from his friend’s closet, revealing a smart-looking sweater vest underneath. In the pockets, he had stuffed numerous pens and pencils and it appeared as though he’d swiped a pair of Mrs. Knight’s reading glasses as well.

Did he look good? Of course, he did. It almost seemed like he’d stepped out of her favorite hospital drama Paging Dr. McDreamy. But seeing him hanging out with Camille, alone, caused a strong bout of jealousy to knot in her stomach when she should have been happy he was feeling better.

Despite making peace with what had happened between them, she didn’t like the thought of them alone together.

Whatever, Roxy told herself, resigning to push through the lobby and squeeze into an elevator to get back to 2-H. I’m not enabling today, so if they have a plan I’d just ruin it. And now it wouldn’t hurt to eat all of his favorite snacks myself.

At the ding to let her know she was on the second floor, Roxy managed to get herself out of the packed elevator and hurried to her apartment as quickly as she could while not thinking about her conversation on the phone with Jo and Camille the other night. When Camille mentioned she might want to see other people, she couldn’t have been talking about James, right?

Footsteps echoing in the empty hallway, the writer figured she was home free once she reached her front door, setting the grocery bags on the ground and slinging her backpack around her shoulder to root around for her keys.

There was the faint sound of music down the hall, one of the other many musicians at the Palm Woods must have been testing out a new melody, but as she continued to search among the large collection of items in her bag, the song grew closer and closer. It also grew more familiar as well, and as a group of dancing teens turned the corner, Logan leading the pack, she realized “This Is Our Someday” was now blasting down the hall and if she didn’t find her keys in the new few seconds it would be too late for her to escape into her apartment.

As the crowd passed, Logan grabbed her arm in a smooth display of synchronized dance with the members of his party, and she was immediately sucked into their non-stop march around the Palm Woods.

***

Two laps around the entire hotel and surrounding park. That’s how long Roxy was caught up in Logan’s swag parade when all she wanted to do was go home and wallow. At many points throughout their procession, she’d tried to escape but Logan or his posse always managed to reign her back in as “This Is Our Someday” played on a loop.

In fact, she’d caused them so much trouble, that she’d landed herself in the hot seat - on top of Logan’s shoulders - as they made their way closer to 2-J for the third time.

“If you keep dancing, you’ll die!” Roxy called down to her friend, giving a rough tug to his hair in hopes it would steer him toward the apartment door and not continue down the hall. “Think about it! Get some water in the Crib or something!”

Getting him to stop is certainly the opposite of enabling, right?

Thankfully, Logan headed his assistant’s advice, managing to get the two of them in the doorway and lose the accumulated group that had been following them around. Though, the Big Time Rush song continued to play outside, so it appeared no one else was ready for the party to end just yet.

As the pair took in the commotion going on inside the apartment, it seemed as though they’d missed quite a lot on their swagged-out journey.

In the kitchen, Carlos finally decided to come out of the panic room and was standing next to a gorgeous woman in fortune teller’s garb. On her arm sat a majestic blue and gold macaw who appeared to be quite chatty. The moment it laid eyes on Roxy and Logan it squawked, “Get them into the O.R., stat! Clear! Clear!”

A fellow Paging Dr. McDreamy fan…

It took Roxy a moment to realize there were other people in the room as well, until she heard a slow, steady beeping noise emanate from the living room. There, she noticed James, looking a lot worse than he had in the lobby, still wrapped up in the blanket she had given him in her apartment. He was hooked up to an oxygen tank, though she doubted his illness was that serious, and some type of machine taking a few readings from electrodes on his chest.

And right next to him, helping him sip water from a clear glass was Camille, dressed in a white nurse's uniform and everything.

“Put me down,” Roxy practically growled, tapping on Logan’s head to grab his attention, but he was already too focused on the scene in front of him,

“Woah! Is that an EKG?”

Pulling on his hair again, his assistant purposefully cut him off, “Who cares? Put me down!”

Finally, the boy respected her wishes and managed to get her off his shoulders as Camille solemnly replied, “SKG… His swag count is dangerously low.”

The writer bit her tongue to hold back a dumb, anger-fueled retort at the sight of those two together again but was unable to mask a small snort as she crossed her arms, staring the pair down. Had the care she’d been giving James earlier not been enough? Did she have to wear a stupid, sexy costume to make it count?

“As you grow stronger…” James whispered between a few coughs, “I grow weaker…”

“Fine!” Logan shrugged, “You can have it back. I didn’t even want the swagger! My pants are too tight, everyone keeps following me, and honestly, there’s too much dancing.”

Could have fooled me.

Shock riddled her friend’s faces, eyes blowing wide as Camille asked, “Really?!”

“Yeah, look,” The boy assured her as he pulled out his phone and clicked a few buttons, “Swagger App: Deleted!”

At the same time, the beeping on the SKG rapidly increased, showing what Roxy could only assume was a level of swagger worthy of her boyfriend. As quickly as his readings stabilized, he’d jumped off the couch, throwing the oxygen mask and blanket behind him while ripping off the electrodes under his gray v-neck. His color had returned, and he seemed steady on his feet but threw on a black jacket just to be safe.

“I’m better now!” He announced, as though no one in the room had eyes, and turned to thank Camille.

“Oh, whatever,” Roxy couldn’t stop herself from spitting out at the sight of the two of them all buddy-buddy. Gripping the strap of her bag, she pushed past Logan, down the hallway to 2-H, and slammed the door behind her, leaving three confused friends in her wake.

Not that I need thanks, she told herself, flinging her bag onto her couch, but it sure would’ve been nice.

When she heard James call her name from the apartment next door, she wasn’t quick enough to make it back to the shared door and flip the lock.

Roxy didn’t want to be upset; She’d made peace with what happened between James and Camille after speaking to both of them about it. At the time, James wasn’t her boyfriend, and Camile had made a stupid decision; She had no grounds to be fuming about it months after the fact.

But something tugged in her stomach at the thought of James and Camille alone together. She’d felt it on the day of pranks, she’d felt it earlier in the lobby, and now, the feeling was taking root in her chest, gnawing away at her heart and making her seem like a terrible girlfriend for not being able to trust her partner.

Just as she drew her arms around her sides, trying to combat the ugly feeling, the door to 2-J slowly opened, and James entered her apartment, worry written all over his face. “Babe? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” She bit, far too quickly and far too sharply. The fact that she was starting at the hardwood floor wasn’t helping her case either.

Between them, there was a moment of silence before James took a long, deep breath. “I can’t read your mind.”

His girlfriend didn’t answer him, but she stalked over to her kitchen to pour herself a cold glass of water. If she held that, he might not notice the shaking of her hands or the color she felt draining from her skin.

“Is Kendall bothering you about the song again? From the note you left, I thought you were onto something.”

Taking a sip, the girl shook her head, trying to figure out the quickest way to shut this entire conversation down. She wouldn’t look like a jealous, controlling partner if they never managed to talk about it.

“Songs all good,” She finally managed, threading her fingers together as they held her cup. This was her out. “Wanna hear it?”

“Sure,” her boyfriend smiled, and Roxy felt some of the knotting in her stomach vanish. “Once you tell me what’s bothering you.”

James took the cup from her hands and set it on the counter beside them, removing the object Roxy had been attempting to hide behind. She looked to the ground again, trying to slow the fast-paced beat of her heart, and James brought one of his hands up to cup her cheek.

Gently, he tilted her head so she’d finally look him in the eye, and the dam broke.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” She whispered, even though they were the only two people in the apartment. “That’s not us.”

“Oh.” James blinked a few times as he took in her words. He hadn’t realized she was mad at him. “We’re not fighting, baby, just talking. So you can tell me, right?”

When she nodded, Roxy felt like the worst person in the entire world. “I- I can’t stand to see you and Camille together. Not because I don’t trust you or I want to control who you hang out with, but… God, James, I don’t know. The thought of you two alone together after what happened I just-“

There was no denying her relationship with Dak Zevon had royally screwed with her trust issues, and Roxy struggled to vocalize this, pausing in the middle of her sentence. The last thing she expected James to do was pull her into his chest, allowing one hand to sink into her hair as the other rubbed soothing circles into her back, yet he didn’t say anything in response.

Roxy was mad at him and he still made an effort to comfort her. Now she felt even worse about bringing it up.

“The last thing I want to be is the partner who tells you who you can and can’t be around. Been there already, don’t recommend it. But I feel like… Maybe I have a bit of justification for feeling this way? Obviously, you had some sort of feelings for her if you kissed her.”

More silence, though this time, Roxy felt herself fall deeper into her boyfriend's embrace.

“I understand,” He breathed. “Thank you for telling me.”

It was almost impossible to ignore the way her heart dropped clear into her stomach. No apology, no promise to do better, no denial of feelings for her best friend.

If Roxy wasn’t so concerned with what James had to say next, she wouldn’t be trying so hard to suppress the tears she felt stinging at the back of her eyes. She’d told him, just like he’d asked, and normally getting something off your chest was supposed to make you feel better, but as more time went by without a response Roxy felt guiltier and guiltier.

When James took another deep breath, she could hear it this time, her ear pressed to his chest, and she clung to him tighter in anticipation of whatever he had to say.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t have feelings for Camille. Never have, never will.”

“You kissed her!”

The hand rubbing her back stopped. “Yeah. I did. But like I told you before, that’s a mistake I’m doing my best to make up for. Part of that is being honest with you about why I did.”

Roxy pulled away from him, glancing up at the boy in front of her to catch onto his every word, no matter how much it would pain her to hear.

“I’m not sure how I can prove this to you now, but ever since I realized I liked you, you’ve been the only girl for me. Maybe you can ask the guys to confirm… But that day Camille and I were practicing, you went off to the observatory with Logan and I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wished it was me with you, not him.

“As the scene we practiced went on, I kept losing track of my place in the script, I kept thinking how pretty you would look in the dress Camille was wearing, and before I knew it, I was leaning in to kiss her when the script called for it, thinking about when we made out by the pool-”

“When did you know?” She couldn’t stop herself from asking, almost stuttering as she pulled away, cleared her throat, and clarified, “That you liked me?”

“Gustavo’s mansion.” Now it was James’ turn to look at his shoes, unmistakable pink tint hinting at the top of his ears. “I tried to tell you then but Logan cut me off when the alligator showed up. And then the next day you met Dak…”

Months. James had liked me for months.

His girlfriend cringed, “If we want to talk about mistakes, that whole thing with him was the biggest one of all… But thank you for being honest with me.”

“Not a problem at all, not if it’s for you,” James assured her, finally able to pick his gaze up and meet Roxy’s. “If you don’t want me and Camille to hang out alone, I understand, and I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner. I wouldn’t want to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, but let me know if your feelings change. How does that sound?”

For the first time that evening, Roxy’s smile returned, and nothing had relieved James more.

“Sounds like a good compromise…” His girlfriend agreed, gently reaching for one of his hands and bringing his knuckles to her lips. “You’re good at fighting. I thought there’d at least be some yelling, maybe some crying on my part.”

“Roxy… We’re still not fighting!” He said, taking her hand and pulling her toward the couch in her living room, “Trust me. After years of watching others do it, you learn the right ways and the wrong ways to go about a disagreement.” When she opened her mouth to ask a question about his statement, James plopped down on the cushions, pulling her into his lap. “And I know that this is the part where we kiss and make out.”

“It’s kiss and makeup, babe.”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

***

Kendall and Kelly had managed to break Gustavo’s zen spell by cleverly hiring an insult comic to pick apart and destroy the original song he’d written for the New Town High soundtrack. Fortunately - and unfortunately - for the band and their assistant, they’d restored their boss back to his angry, hate-filled glory and now had less than a few hours before the producers of the show arrived to hear the song.

Working late into the night usually didn’t bother Roxy, it was something she’d been accustomed to back in Minnesota, but she suspected Gustavo’s time of peace had led to a lot of pent-up rage, which he subsequently took out on her in the writer’s room. Even if he did love the song she’d written.

A few writing and recording sessions later, they’d finished the incomplete lyrics and tracked her guitar portions, and he’d managed to call in the band to add in the rest, while Mr. X and the boys worked on a dance routine for the live performance they’d give the New Town High execs.

In Roxy’s opinion, “Nothing Even Matters” was one of the best songs she’d ever written, and she had a sneaking suspicion the boys loved it as well. That fact was evident on their faces as they moved about the studio, nailing practice dance after practice dance, even as the sun began to rise.

While the base storyline came from her conversation with James earlier, she did her best to draw in the show’s current story as well. As of the last episode, Jo and Jett's characters, while being some of the most popular students in school, were facing lots of hate for their relationship after going public. Other students were rooting to see them break up; Relationships between monsters and humans weren’t well-liked, so Roxy channeled their characters’ nothing-can-stop-us attitudes and blended that into the lyrics.

When the show producers arrived and the boys gave their performance, Roxy, Kelly, and Gustavo anxiously sat in the sound booth with them.

“That’s just what we were looking for!” One of the men claimed at the conclusion of the performance, “And perhaps Big Time Rush will make a guest appearance in our school dance episode…”

At the notion, Roxy squealed as she jumped out of her seat, moving to stand beside her bosses as they shook on the business deal.

Music and screen exposure? We sure are headed for the big time.

She knew the boys could see her practically jumping up and down through the glass into the studio, but she let Gustavo deliver the big news this time around.

Pressing the microphone button, Gustavo announced, “Looks like our song is gonna be on TV!”

A chorus of cheers broke out in the boys’ room, as the three moved from the recording room to the dance studio.

“And forget what I said about wanting you dawgs, and Roxanne, to change. Let’s just stay our usual, annoying selves.”

“Good!” Carlos cried, “‘Cause I am done taking advice from birds!”

Pulling his large hand mirror out of his back pocket again, James reverted back to talking with his mirror. “James and I totally agree, don’t we Rox?”

He turned it her way, framing her features into the little reflective circle, “Yeah… I’m tired of pretending I don’t love participating in their schemes.”

“And I can get all the swagger I need with a simple pair of shades!” Shared Logan, taking his black aviators from where they hung on his button-up and popping them on.

James put his mirror down and looked helplessly at his girlfriend, “Feeling woozy…”

The thud that resounded in the studio after his body hit the floor rang in her ears, and she ran to his side to help him back up.

“Okay, no shades…” The studious boy decided and Roxy did her best to hold James back up, but out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Kendall and Carlos push them back onto his face. James lost consciousness again, almost taking her down with him this time, and she stumbled a bit to regain her balance.

“Guys! Knock it off!” She called, reaching in front of Kendall to try and snatch the glasses off Logan’s face.

Easily, Kendall blocked her hand, and trapped her arms at her sides with a bear hug, teasing, “I thought you said you loved our schemes?”

“Not this one!”

Laughter rose from her friends, and once she stopped struggling against Kendall’s grip, Roxy realized she was laughing too. The euphoric feeling of a job well done washed over all of them, including James once he popped back up.

One of my songs on a TV show… Does it get any better than this?

***

“Roxanne!”

Though he stood right beside her in her kitchen, James hissed out Roxy’s name as she pulled the strawberry she’d been holding out of the marshmallow fluff container on the counter.

Since they’d worked through the night, Gustavo had given them the day off, and James had decided the best use of their time together would be a Star Wars marathon in 2-H. Apparently, he had found it appalling she hadn’t seen any of the six films and sought to rectify that immediately.

Ignoring his words while she took a bite, she shoved him with her shoulder before taking a piece of pineapple from the tray she’d put together in the kitchen and dipping it into the sweet dip. “What? You like healthy things and I like sugary things! Is this not the perfect blend of both?”

“You dipped that strawberry in twice!” He accused, pointing a finger her way, “Double dipper!”

With a drawn-out bite of her pineapple, her eyes flickered to where he stood beside her, “James. Your tongue was in my mouth not even five minutes ago.”

“That is so different!”

“Oh, yeah?” She dared to step back and poke his arm with a teasing grin, glancing over to the TV with a paused image of Luke, Han, Leia, and Chewbacca in the Millennium Falcon. “How?”

James faltered, his argument taking more than it should have to construct itself inside his brain, and when his mouth opened in response, Roxy picked up a strawberry and popped it right in.

“Ha! You can’t think of anything! Just admit it - It’s the same thing!” Taking the berry in his mouth, James made a display of slowly chewing and swallowing, staring right at her with narrowed eyes, before he reached out and stuck a finger in the marshmallow fluff.

“Dude-” She started to protest, about to inform her how that was way grosser than double dipping, but he took a quick step toward her and smeared it on her cheek.

Now it was her turn for her mouth to hang open, this time in disbelief as he snickered at her expense. She couldn’t even think of a way to retaliate before his snickers turned into full-on waves of laughter and he moved again, this time catching her around the waist, hauling her back over to the couch as she screamed about how she was going to kill him.

“This makeup is expensive, you know! You can’t just go around ruining it!” Roxy chastized, legs kicking wildly in the air, though she was giggling now as he let her fall on her back onto the cushions below.

As his knees slid over her hips, he shook his head, “Didn’t do anything to you…” before leaning down and licking the small amount of dip off her blushing cheeks.

“God, you’re so annoying-”

James shut her up with a kiss, and suddenly, Roxy didn’t feel like complaining anymore.

Just as her hands clumsily fumbled out to find the hem of his shirt to slip under, a sharp knock rapped at her door, giving them both of them pause.

Looking toward the sound, James just shook his head, diving back down to press a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her throat and whispering, “They’ll go away.”

But they didn’t, because as her hands found their destination, the knocking came again.

His sigh was unmistakable, but James pulled away from her regardless, looking between his girlfriend and the door. “Expecting someone?”

Sitting up, Roxy ran a hurried hand through her hair to smooth it out, finding it nearly impossible to take her eyes off James. Flushed cheeks, pink lips, chest heaving… Whoever was at the door better be delivering the most important news of their life if they were dragging her away from all that.

Reluctantly, she stood up and willed her legs to move her forward, shaking her head at James’ question.

When she turned the lock, popping the door open just wide enough to see who was on the other side, her good mood instantly dissipated.

“Hey, Roxy!” Mag McAllister stood in the hallway, dazzling smile as blinding as ever. He always was quite the charmer, and his pretty boy good looks had earned Brand New Day more than one important booking in the past.

She should’ve shut the door in his face, or maybe reached forward and poked one of his sapphire blue eyes out, but the emotional whiplash she was experiencing gave her pause, so he continued.

“Long time no see, huh? I wish we had more time to talk at the radio station, but, you know, duty calls! It’s pretty crazy L.A.’s number one morning show wanted us on so early in BND’s career… They haven’t even had Big Time Rush yet, right?”

Roxy blinked, doing her best to appear unphased by his visit. “What do you want? I’m busy.”

“Always right down to business with you…” He trailed off, reaching into the pocket of his blue and gold flannel before fishing out an envelope. “As you may have heard, our first album is coming out at the end of the week. Galactic Records is throwing us a huge party, so we thought we’d invite you and celebrate this accomplishment together.”

Snorting, because she thought he was joking, Roxy made a big show of rolling her eyes, but Mag continued to hold out the invitation. While the promise of a party did catch her attention, he must’ve been crazy if he thought she would be interested in attending.

Her mouth was dry. “Mag. You’re not actually serious.”

“Sure I am!” He shot right back, “Dani and I want you there. You were a huge part of our band’s beginning and we want to show our appreciation. This is a huge milestone for the two of us.”

The two of us. That phrase alone knocked the remaining wind out of Roxy’s lungs, and she did her best to bring her focus back to the conversation at hand.

“Unless… You don’t think it is? I know your band already has one album out, but you can’t forget about the little guys too.”

Gritting her teeth at the insinuation, Roxy put on her best fake smile and reached to accept the invitation. “No, it is. Tell Dani I said ‘Congratulations.’”

Mag’s eyes widened, sparkling in that annoying way she once wrote songs about. “So you’ll come?”

“Big Time Rush is very busy… I’ll have to check my schedule,” Roxy admitted, honestly, before feeling the need to tack on, “And I need to see if my boyfriend’s free. I do get a plus one, right?”

“Boyfriend?”

The writer relished in the sound of his surprise as she continued to keep that smile on her face. “James Diamond, you met him at the station.

The boy in the hall cocked his head to the side, tight curls flying in the same direction, “Is that the one who wears the helmet?”

“No. He’s the one on the cover of Teen Vogue this month.”

It technically wasn’t a lie if all of the band was on the cover… In a small picture in the corner. But Mag would never know the difference. He used to poke as much fun as he could at anything mainstream, including the “girly” magazines Roxy would always bring to band practice.

“Ooh,” He pretended to sound like that mattered in the slightest. “You always had a thing for musicians… How exciting that must be.”

That was something she didn’t even want to dignify with a response. He knew exactly what he was getting at with those words and now, she wanted to step outside and poke out both his eyes.

“Which songs do you think we should play at the party to showcase our work? ‘From Me To You, With Love or ‘Heartswell Summer?’ Maybe ‘Baby Blue’ or ‘Into the Night?’’”

When she slammed the door in his face, his laughter echoed out in the empty hallway, “Rox, come on! It was just a joke!”

“Go to hell!” She yelled back and threw the invitation in the kitchen trash bin without another word.

In her living room, James was standing now, brows knit while his girlfriend strode over to the couch behind him and sat down, beginning the movie again.

After a few moments, she noticed his hands flex, but he sat back down beside her, draping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her into his chest.

Roxy was shaking, but neither of them mentioned it.

“I never knew Harrison Ford was so hot,” She said, trying to break at least a little bit of the tension she felt in the air.

Turning to James, his eyes were still glued on the screen, and she watched his throat work once, twice. “Just wait until we watch the prequels… Then we can talk about Hayden Christensen.”

Though she nodded and tried to keep her focus on the movie, Mag’s words had their desired effect. Until then, she had wondered if they’d use any of the songs in the book he’d taken from her, but specifically naming those erased any doubt in her mind.

Brand New Day was releasing their first album and it sounded like it was full of songs Roxy had written.

thanks for reading <3 likes are appreciated and be sure to leave a comment so i know people are still reading lol

#thats all she wrote fic #big time rush #james diamond #kendall knight #logan mitchell #carlos garcia #james maslow #kendall schmidt #carlos penavega #logan henderson

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modern-day-bard · 1 year ago

Text

Worth The Feeling

Note: I’m still having issues posting this as quick as I would like, I’m sorry! To anyone who has read the first two chapters or left a note, thank you so much! 🤍

Content Warning: 18+

This story includes explicit smut, intimidation, and an age gap relationship (MC is 26, Javi is in his 40s). Minors, do not interact.

Chapter 3:

Knowing that Barb was not kidding about the coffee, I make sure to stop at a cafe on my way to set. I also made sure to toss a spare t-shirt in my trunk this time, just in case. Luckily today's call time was a very late 6:00am, so I had an extra hour and a half of sleep under my belt. Hopefully that will make the possibility of mistakes lessened today.

For most of the day, things go off without a hitch. We're filming a couple of reshoots from yesterday's scenes, as well a couple of more indoor shots of another part of the CIA set. Nothing too crazy. By noon, I'm depositing Lloyd's dog, Pebbles, back in his trailer and heading into the soundstage again. I find my place next to Lana by the craft service's table right before they start the next take.

"Okay..." Lana mumbles out of the corner of her mouth. "I may have been wrong."

I glance sideways over at Lloyd and the producers seated behind the camera. I've been chewed out once for talking during a take, and once was enough.

"Wrong about what?" I keep my voice at the same level.

"Javi, how he wouldn't remember your little encounter yesterday."

My back stiffens.

"Why do you say that?"

Lana pauses, either to think over her words carefully – a rarity for her – or because she wants to make sure we're not overheard or scolded.

"Well, every time Lloyd calls cut, he looks over at you."

I feel heat rise to my cheeks immediately.

"We're standing in front of crafty, Lana. He's probably just hungry."

"Depends on what he's hungry for, I suppose." I can practically hear her suggestive eyebrow wiggle. I lightly slap her on the arm, trying not to draw any attention to ourselves.

Though a part of me can't deny the bubble of excitement I feel at her words, another part of me knows that Lana is my best friend, and she is kind. Kind enough to give me some hope, and maybe a boost of confidence. My last relationship didn't end well, and I met Lana only a few months afterwards when I was still a mess. She's pushed me to go on a few dates since then, but the Los Angeles dating scene is beyond bleak. Plus, it's hard to emulate Lana's optimism when her and Mia have been happily together long before I even arrived in L.A.

"Cut!" Lloyd calls out, "Martin, I'm going to need you at least five paces to the right before Javi delivers his line."

"Aaand cue look..." Lana snickers next to me.

I look up, and sure enough, I make eye contact with Javi as soon as I do. He doesn't look away instantly like I assume he will, and neither do I, like I thought I would. We hold each other's gaze for a moment longer, but his expression gives nothing away. For all I know, he's simply dissociating. But then, I catch the corner of his mouth tip slightly upward, and he peels his eyes away. I mean, he could have been smirking at Lloyd's directions, but I'm not sure.

I hear interference over my walkie.

"Repeat." I say into the mic.

"Hey Ava, it's Dwayne. Talent requested escort to and from their trailer."

"Copy. Who do you want me to escort?"

"Javi, please. You should break for lunch soon, be sure to bring him to his trailer and confirm that his lunch was delivered."

Javi requested an escort?

"Copy. Thanks, Dwayne." I secure the walkie back on my belt.

Lana is gaping at me.

"He requested you to escort him? Ava, take a hint!"

"He didn't request me specifically. He requested an escort. I'm one of the more seasoned PAs and Dawyne probably knows I'm least likely to get lost."

"Right. Sure." Lana says in a tone that is anything but agreeable.

I don't have time to reply before Lloyd calls for lunch. I grab a water bottle and an apple off the crafty table behind me and walk over to Javi, who is just stepping out of the set.

I can keep my cool.

"Mr. Gutierrez, I'm here to escort you back to your trailer?" Oh god, why did it come out like a question?

Javi smiles that same warm smile as yesterday.

"Hi, Ava. Sounds good." He claps his hands together, startling me. "Let's go!"

"Right this way." I lead him out into the sunshine. We walk side by side for a few moments before he breaks the silence.

"How long have you been a PA?" I glance up at his tall frame, which is bent slightly toward me in seemingly genuine curiosity.

"Four years and counting." I give him a polite smile.

"Ah. And do you enjoy it?"

I shrug. "It has its ups and downs, like any job. I do love the film industry, but I could do without the early call times." I'm not sure if I should be this honest with an actor, but his brow has knit together in a way that felt that he wanted the real answer, not just the pleasant one.

"But there is something else you would like to do." It wasn't a question.

"Um...yes. I'm actually in graduate school currently. Online, and I double up on classes when we're on hiatus."

"What are you studying?" He really is curious.

"Film Production. I'd like to be a director someday, or possibly an editor. Later down the line, producing would be my ultimate goal."

Javi raises his eyebrows, nodding slowly. We're almost to his trailer, so he probably is realizing that he has asked me enough questions–

"How old are you?" He blurts out.

It's not totally unusual for talent to make small talk, but that seems like a personal question.

"How old are you?" I counter without thinking. We're stopped in front of his trailer now. I'm holding my breath, unsure if I've offended him.

But then his brown eyes are alight with humor, and I know that I haven't. And then, easing my trepidation further, he laughs. His laugh is bright and breathy. It makes me giggle for a moment too, though I'm unsure why.

"You could just google me." He points out.

"Googling you feels inhumane." I say honestly.

"Inhumane?" He is close to laughing again.

"Yeah, I mean, you can't Google me to find out. But I can do it to you."

"I don't know, you have a pretty Googleable face." He is staring into my eyes now, and I have no idea how to take that or what he just said.

"Well, regardless, it just feels dirty." I walk up the three steps to his trailer and open the door for him.

As he steps inside, so low that I almost don't hear it, he murmurs, "Dirty isn't necessarily a bad thing."

I keep my face turned away from him for as long as possible so he can't see how red it just became. I remind myself that he doesn't know for sure if I heard him, and that my face could also be red from the heat.

I poke my head inside to see if he did indeed get his food. It looks like it's already been dropped off on his table.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Gutierrez?" My hand is on the trailer door, ready to go eat lunch myself.

He regards me for a moment from his chair.

"Yes. Two things. You could call me Javi, and you could join me for lunch."

I hesitate. I wasn't expecting that. His gaze is mostly friendly, but with something else I can't place. No one from talent has asked me that before, and I'm not sure if it's breaking any rules. But, with walking back to craft services to get my own lunch, and then needing to come back and get Javi again to walk back to the soundstage, it would actually save me time to eat here. As in, I would actually have time to eat at all.

"Please, I have plenty." He says, opening up the takeout box on the table.

"Okay, thank you." I take the chair across from him, placing my apple and water bottle on the table.

He takes a large bite of his burger, and me a bite of my apple. Then his eyes go wide and he hunches dramatically over his plate.

"Shit!" He says, mouth full. "I forgot I'm still in my wardrobe." Javi stays in that hunched position as he finishes chewing, clearly being careful of where to put his hands. I get up instinctively, moving to the small kitchenette and grabbing a paper towel for him, but when I turn around he is right behind me, apparently doing the same thing.

"You don't have to do that." He says, grabbing his own paper towel and tucking it into his collar.

"It's my job." I try not to focus too much on his fingers tucking the towel in his shirt as I respond.

"You're not a nanny. I invited you to lunch." He smiles as we sit back down.

"An actor acknowledging that I'm not a nanny is somewhat of an enigma around here." I smirk and take a swig of my water bottle, slightly less worried he will take offense this time.

He puts his hand on his heart in mock-hurt.

"You think so low of my community?"

I chuckle. "Your community has a long way to go."

"If I offer you my fries, would that help our case?" He pushes the plate toward me.

"Possibly..." I accept one of the fries, remembering that I haven't had time to eat all day. I can't help but close my eyes as I take a bite. I really am hungry.

I open my eyes to take another, and I realize that Javi is staring at me. He hasn't taken another bite of his burger. His brows are knit together again, his mouth parted slightly. I feel my breath catch in my throat, and I fake a cough to cover it up.

"I'm sorry, by the way." I keep my tone casual, picking up another fry. "For the other day. I should have done my research on the castlist beforehand."

"Aren't I the one who made you spill your coffee?" He raises an eyebrow. I'm beginning to think there is hardly ever a time where humor isn't filling his eyes.

"You can't be held responsible. It was way too early for any of us to open doors correctly."

"Well on behalf of all actors, I'm sorry too. It doesn't sound like we've made a very good impression."

I shrug. "Some of you aren't too bad. Especially the ones I didn't realize were actors." I smile at him.

"Now I'm offended." Javi takes another bite of his burger, clearly no truth behind his words.

"Well, unless you want to get lost on the way back to the soundstage, you should toughen your skin."

Javi chuckles quietly.

"First you clearly don't watch any of my work, and now you would abandon me?"

"To be fair, I have seen one of your HBO shows. The Passage Of Time, I believe."

"My character wasn't memorable enough for you, huh?" He quirks an eyebrow again.

"I was too focused on the blonde, Huston Katz, at the time." I take a long drink of my water.

"At the time..." Javi repeats back, almost absentmindedly. "So I have a chance at becoming memorable?"

I highly doubt he meant for those words to be filled with the same level of innuendo that I feel now. Luckily, I don't have a chance to respond before he speaks again.

"Besides, I wasn't worried about getting lost. Maybe I just wanted some company."

"Maybe I just wanted some fries." I say, taking a large handful. He laughs, pushing the rest of the plate toward me in defeat.

- - -

By 5:00pm, I'm finally winding down my responsibilities. I have a handful of things to deliver to Barb and her team, and then I should be able to go home. I almost drop everything in my arms when I hear rapid footsteps sprinting behind me, and then two hands grip my shoulders.

"Tell me everything." Lana says breathlessly.

"You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"I don't care. How dare you not find me first before all this." She gestures to the stuff I'm carrying.

"Before my job?" I can't help but laugh.

"Yes!" She has no shame. I love her. "Now tell me!"

"Okay, okay, just keep it on the downlow. Keep in mind this means nothing to him."

"I completely disagree, but continue."

"Well, I escorted him to his trailer and we had lunch."

"If you don't give me actual details I swear to God I will stab you with my walkie."

"Okay. He's... warm."

"Like his skin?" Lana's eyes widen.

"What? No! His words, or I don't know, his personality was warm. Jesus, Lana."

"I mean if you're not going to worry about your sex life, I have to." She folds her arms and I can tell she's growing impatient with me. I'm not certain if she's impatient over how I'm answering her questions, or simply that I didn't have sex with this man in his trailer the moment we were left alone.

"How did doing my job turn into worrying about my sex life?"

"I can just tell these things. And Ava, let's face it, you need to get laid."

I stare at her in shock, my mouth agape.

She shrugs. "I'm just looking out for you. Ever since you and John–"

"The Traitor, you mean."

"Right, The Traitor. Ever since you and The Traitor broke up, you've barely gotten back out there. And now this nice, beautiful man is showing you attention and you don't even want to acknowledge it." Her voice is softer now, and I know that she genuinely wants me to have hope in this situation with Javi.

"I know, okay? I know I haven't really gotten back out there, and I love how you're looking out for me, I really do. But, and it's a very large but, we don't actually know if he is interested. So until we have some concrete evidence, can we just go about our days? Please?"

Lana watches my face for a moment.

"Okay. Fine. But when we do have that concrete evidence, you need to promise me that you'll go for it."

And whether it be the need to finally put down the collection of crap in my arms, or maybe the possibility of a tiny glimmer of hope within me, I nod my head.

"Okay, I promise."

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

#pedro #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x original characters #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #the mandalorian #tlou #narcos #javi gutierrez smut #javi gutierrez fanfiction #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez x you

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roadtogracelandx45 · 6 months ago

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Living On A Prayer| 1| The West Wing

Summary: Madison Bartlet had to fight for her life when she was younger due to cancer, and to fight to stay out of the public eye with her father's presidency. And now she is in a heated affair with her father's former deputy communications director and presidential cadent Sam Seaborn and now the cancer is rearing its ugly head for a third time. And did she mention that her father's MS took his life from him little by little?

Sam Seaborn/ Madison Barlet (OFC)

30 chapter story

"Oh, We're halfway there, Ohh, living on a prayer." - Livin' On A Prayer- Bon Jovi

One

Washington DC

2002

Former First Daughter Madison Bartlet Dating Former Deputy Communications Director, Sam Seaborn

Is what all the headlines in all the newspapers read the morning after the second youngest daughter of former President Jed Bartlet was seen out with the former deputy communications director of her father's senior staff, Sam Seaborn at a Lakers game in Los Angeles.

Sitting close together, her head tilted towards his as he whispered something to her, and a shy smile formed on the corner of her mouth. And since she was the least known Bartlet daughter, it was all over the news, and of course it was raising problems for not only the Bartlet camp but that of Sam's second senatorial campaign.

The headlines were the first thing that Maddie saw when she woke up and went outside to get the newspapers, leaving Sam sleeping. Something he had done since the campaign started.

All the color rushed out of her face seeing the headline followed by the colored picture, "Sam!" she paused to see if she could hear him stirring but nothing.

"Sam!" She repeated louder as she shut the door and started towards the stairs, "We have a problem."

The familiar tune of Hail to The Chief started playing from her phone paralyzing her with fear. It was her father calling to more than likely yell because she kept this from him and the rest of the family. But they hadn't meant for their relationship to start but it did, they had both been at the same event and he came over and rescued her from a terrible date.

And things just happened. But like her mother said, things happened for a reason and this was one of those reasons.

"Sam!" She repeated as she climbed the stairs towards his bedroom, his phone's ringtone added to the noise. By the time she got into the room, the man had stirred and was looking at her with blurry eyes, "What's wrong Mads?"

She wordlessly tossed the newspaper onto his lap and bent down to pick up her phone from the floor.

"Hi, Dad.' She said into the phone after she flipped the lid up.

"Abigail! What is going on with you and Sam?" Jed Bartlet shouted, causing her to pull the phone away from her ear wincing, she was only ever called by her given name when she was in deep trouble, and she could count on one hand how many times her father had called her by Abigail and not Madison.

She chewed on her bottom lip before locking eyes with Sam who inclined his head in agreement, might as well get it over with, he knew he was going to have the same conversation with his staff.

"We have been dating for the last couple of months, we didn't want to say anything until we knew it was going somewhere."

"Is he there with you?" The anger that had been in his voice had faded and he sounded like the father that just wanted to have his daughter be happy after being unhappy and sick for most of her life.

'Yes sir." Sam piped up, his fingers curling into the paper causing crinkles in it, the younger girl already planning on getting an extra copy of it and saving the clipping like the commutation's staff did back in the day like Mrs. Landingham did.

That old woman loved her father and his family like their own and she would have rooted for them to be together like she rooted for Charlie and Zoey. She had pointed out several times how special Maddie's friendship was with not only Sam but with Donna and Josh.

"We aren't happy that you kept this from us but, as long as you don't hurt her, we will be fine. Madison, take me off the speakerphone, I have to talk to you." Madison pressed the button and put the phone back to her ear.

The former deputy watched her, he had never given much thought about what their future was going to hold and if he wanted to get married, especially with what happened to his parents and his father cheating on his mother and his previous failed engagements.

But this was different, it felt different when she was around. She made him into a better person and he wanted to keep being that person especially with him running for president, Madison would be the best first lady he could have. She had learned from the best in her mother Abby. She knew how things in the world of politics worked and how to handle herself.

He shook himself quickly from his thoughts when he heard Maddie's voice hitch like it had the night he rescued her from that bad date.

"Maddie? What's wrong?" He asked, grasping her elbow and pulling her back towards him on the bed, the worry that had been floating under the surface came back tenfold.

"No, sir, I will be on the next flight out tomorrow. I will bring Sam with me. I am sure the campaign can wait 48 hours without him.'

"If anything we can turn the barn into the headquarters for a few days." Jed's voice met his ears, "We need you all out here."

"Is it back?" He mouthed, there was only one thing that could set Maddie off other than her own health and it was her father's MS.

Maddie nodded her head, her free hand sneaking out to hold his, "We will be there soon Dad, I promise." She snapped the phone shut and almost broke down sobbing instantly. "What are we going to do without him, Sam?"

"Hey, we don't know how bad this episode is yet and if it will take him from us." He returned as he pulled her to rest back on the bed next to him, "Your father is one of the most stubborn sons of bitch I know, it's going to take a lot more than MS to take him from us."

She curled into his side and nodded her head, she needed to get all these emotions out before they boarded the plane back to New Hampshire. She had to be a strong front for not only her father but her family, like they had been for her when she was battling cancer again and she was getting shielded from all the issues that were going on except for when her father got shot. She was terrified that things were going to get bad again like they were when he had the bout in the white house and she was in the hospital sick from cancer treatment.

But Sam was right, they could get through it together, and it would take more than MS to take her father from them. She had enough faith for that and she had to rely on that and on Sam.

They were her support system and she needed to cling to them. That's all she could do.

#ash writes #oc: Maddie Bartlet #oc: Abigail Madison Bartlet #oc: Abigail Madison Bartlet seaborn #the west wing imagines #the west wing fan fiction #Sam seaborn fan fiction #Sam seaborn imagines

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burning-fcols · 11 months ago

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"So you're saying this is my fault?" ( -yeets a Travis over for Angel- ) - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴᴀʙʟᴇᴍᴜꜱᴇꜱ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Ever since his stalker-turned-director showed up, Angel's been even more on-edge in the studio than usual. A feat he had previously thought impossible. But lo-and-behold, Travis managed to add an extra layer of complication to an already uncomfortable situation. By some marvel, he's avoided Valentino learning about his... previous connection with the crewmember ( Angel vowing to never again try to earn some quick cash that Val can't snatch out of his hands by merit of ❛ owner's fee ❜ ... or at least hope for a less intense John ) but that's of little comfort right now.

If they can't get this stupid shoot back on track, the moth is going to want everyone's head on a silver platter. Regardless of who is to blame, ANYONE is free game when he's throwing one of his fits. Is that concern a bit melodramatic? Perhaps... But so is Val. With everything going wrong from extras messing up their cues, to technical issues, to wardrobe malfunctions— the star's maid outfit torn too early thanks to snagging on some prop furniture —it'll be a miracle if the movie gets filmed by the end of the night, let alone within the timeframe Valentino request... and he's not one for running behind schedule.

Normally, Angel wouldn't cause waves with the Director, no matter how poorly things are going. Refraining from pissing off the guy in charge is one of the few things that can help a day go by faster. But this isn't a ❛ Director ❜ yet. This is fucking Travis. Angel just hopes the other doesn't realize the power he technically yields. Not until Angel has gotten a few more days of ❛ brattiness ❜ in before he starts actually being reprimanded for it. Bitching at Travis is proving to be a good source of stress relief.

❝ Uh— Yeah. I am. ❞ Angel snappily responds, a hand sharply motioning at the shit-show behind him as crew-mates run around to try and figure out the latest electrical mishap. Lights flashing and sound distorted, it looks more like a rave than the spicy scenario meant to be implied. ❝ This set is a fuckin' joke an' when Val gets here, he ain't gonna be laughin'. ❞ Flinching at the sound of a nearby crash, Angel doesn't bother to look and see what it was. He doesn't want to know.

Growling as he shuts his eyes, fur bristles and lip upturns in an annoyed snarl. Fists clenched at his sides to keep from trembling with unease, he abruptly leans into Travis's space. Jabbing a finger into the shorter man's chest, he emphasizes his words, ❝ You wanted ta be th' Directa'. So start Directin'. 'Cause if these clowns can't get their act togetha', it's gonna ber YER ASS gettin' heat fer it. ❞

Praying the other buys the semi-bluff— Angel more concerned about what methods of relieving his frustrations Val might indulge in if things aren't straightened out —he moves even closer, face inches away from the others ( taking the opportunity to intrude upon someone's space rather than the other way around ) ❝ So how 'bout you stop dickin' around an' do yer job so I can do MINE. ❞

And Travis can watch to his heart's content... the sick fuck. 「 ☆ 」

#hari don't look #(( *THROWS a brat onto dash* ))#burning-fcols #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɴᴛʀᴀ; ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴍʏ ʟɪꜰᴇ ❞ ¦ 「 Angel Dust IC 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴍʏ ꜱᴏᴜʟ ᴛᴏ ʙᴜʀɴ; ᴀɴᴅ ɪ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ɪɴ ❞ ◌ ᴍᴀɪɴ ¦ 「 Angel Dust 」#questionablemuses #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ɪᴛ’ꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴜɴᴅʀᴇꜱꜱ ʀᴇʜᴇᴀʀꜱᴀʟ ❞ ¦ 「 Travis 」#♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴇ’ꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛ; ɪ ᴅᴏ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴀʀ ❞ ¦ 「 Angel Dust and Travis 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ꜱᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴍɪꜱʙᴇʜᴀᴠᴇ? ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏʙᴏᴅʏ ᴄʀᴀᴠᴇꜱ ❞ ¦ 「 Answer 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇʙᴏᴅʏ ɢᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀɪᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ— ❞ ¦ 「 Queue 」

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lovesosweeet · 1 year ago

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better left unsaid // cth

chapter 8

in which orion has leukemia, and calum doesn't know.

calum hood x fem!oc

read other chapters

july 23, 2018 los angeles, california orion

Just over a week before the band leaves for tour, Calum and I wake up at an early hour again due to a phone ringing, except this time, it’s his phone. He’s a lighter sleeper than I am, so when it starts to ring, he turns on the lamp on his nightstand and picks it up.

Unlike me, he does put his phone on Do Not Disturb, but he has notifications from certain people come through at any time. The list is me (obviously), his parents, Mali, the band, and Roy. If it’s this early and his phone is ringing, it’s someone who actually needs to reach him.

“Hello?” His croaky morning voice asks.

I hear faint murmuring from the other end of the call.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll cover for you.”

More murmuring.

“No worries.”

Murmuring.

“Yeah, love you too Ash.”

He hangs up, chucks his phone back onto the nightstand, and turns the light back off.

“Everything okay?” I ask while he snuggles back up to me, burying his face in my hair.

“He’s gonna stay at the hospital with Kay today. Asked me to cover for him with Matt.”

“He could’ve texted that…” I mumble, flipping onto my stomach to try to sleep that way now.

“Shh,” Cal whispers, tightening his grip around my waist.

—

We wake up for real a few hours later, and the first thing I do is send a text to KayKay.

To: KayKay

hi 💕 hope you’re doing okay. please let me know if you need anything!

She’s one of the few people I know who leaves her read receipts on, and I watch the status change from delivered to read almost instantly, but the bubble that says she’s typing never appears. I don’t expect a reply, but I am glad to know she’s at least read the message.

“Want me to make you a coffee?” I turn to Cal to ask. I don’t read the texts, but I see he’s texting Ashton on his phone.

He turns his head and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Sure, baby. That’d be great.”

I nod and kiss his cheek back before I throw the blankets off myself, careful not to expose Calum to the air in the process. I trudge to the kitchen, Duke trotting after me. I turn on the espresso machine to let it heat up and then scoop Duke’s breakfast into his bowl for him. Opening the fridge, I find the little baggie of unseasoned, boiled chicken pieces that I always ask Cal to set aside when he cooks. While I don’t eat meat, I’d never expect Duke to also be vegetarian, so I try to sneak some extra bonuses into his bowl like actual chicken. I throw a few chunks of the chicken into his bowl while he eats, and he immediately inhales them, preferring the fresh food to his kibble.

Once Duke is fed, I get out the oat milk for our coffees. Cal may not like sweetness in his coffee, but I do, so I also grab a syrup to put in mine. Today’s choice is salted vanilla, a flavor I’d bought at a local LA shop.

I scoop the espresso grounds into the basket and place our cups under the extractors, switching the machine mode to start brewing. The caramel-colored froth comes out a few seconds later, and I watch until the cups are filled to the right line before I shut the machine off.

Just as I’m scooping the ice into our cups, a sleepy Cal shuffles into the kitchen, a small smile playing at his lips when he sees me.

“If it isn’t my favorite barista,” he says, walking up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. “What flavor did you do today?”

“Salted vanilla.”

I stick a glass straw in each of our cups — blue for him and green for me — and turn around to hand him his glass. He takes his and taps it against mine.

“Salud.”

Ever since that first night, we’ve never said cheers, nor have we mentioned it to each other that we’d only ever say salud. It’s just an unspoken rule, and I love it. He even signed his first card to me with it, since it was before we said ‘I love you.’

“Why does this one taste so good?” Cal asks, sipping his latte quickly.

I laugh. “I ordered this espresso from some roaster in DC that makes it taste like chocolate chip cookies.” It was a very targeted Instagram ad and I purchased it immediately.

“Will you send me the name of it? Maybe when we stop in DC I can get some, and I could maybe get you a t-shirt or something from there.”

“Yeah, I’ll text it to you later,” I agree. “But also you don’t need to get me anything. Just bring yourself back home.”

Calum rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna bring you something back home.”

I just laugh. “Okay, as long as that something is you.”

“You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“My specialty!”

Slurping up the last few drops of his latte, he glares at me with his still sleepy eyes. “No, you have many specialties, but being infuriating is not one of them.”

I smile. I’m curious to see what he’ll come up with on the spot. “Please, tell me what my many specialties are!”

“Hmm,” he starts. “Being an enneagram 2, finding the weirdest coffees to order, and being 5 feet tall but still intimidating.”

He makes me laugh so much I have to put down my coffee. “I am not intimidating!”

“Your fight with Mike the other night begs to differ.”

“That doesn’t count!”

“I think it does!”

I scoff, grabbing my coffee and walking to the couch, Calum following me instantly, trailing behind me like Duke does. “That wasn’t even a real fight.”

Plopping down next to me on the couch, Cal giggles. “It was so funny though.”

“I’m glad you found my distress amusing.”

“So it was a fight?”

I fight the urge to shove his shoulder and instead choose to roll my eyes. “Y’know, I was gonna offer to make you breakfast too, but you’re not being very nice to me this morning.”

Calum gasps. “But you always make me breakfast! I don’t even know how to make eggs the way you do.”

He gives me sad, puppy-like eyes.

“Then you should’ve thought about that before you called me intimidating.”

His mashes his lips together and his eyes narrow in an annoyed glare. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing!”

Instead of continuing the conversation, I flip him off and get off the couch again. I’m hungry, and too tired to play-argue with Cal much more. In the kitchen, I get out the eggs we have in the fridge and some of the frozen hashbrown patties from the freezer, setting the eggs by the stove and tossing three of the hashbrowns into the air fryer.

When I turn on the stove, I realize I’d forgotten the chili crisp in the fridge, but apparently Cal followed me again and hands it to me when I turn around to walk back to the fridge. I narrow my eyes at him. “So you do know how to make the eggs?”

He avoids looking me in the eye. “I will neither confirm nor deny.”

Frustratedly, I sigh. “Get me the green onions too, please.”

With Calum watching me the whole time, I make the breakfast that we have almost every morning together. It’s chili crisp fried eggs with green onions, cheese, hashbrowns, avocado, and ranch dressing. Honestly, I don’t know if he really likes it that much. It’s just been a hyper-fixation meal that I’ve not gotten tired of yet, and it’s easy to make, so it’s become part of my routine. Cal hasn’t complained about it, so I assume he likes it enough.

We eat breakfast in comfortable silence, both of us on our phones while we sit at the bar in our kitchen. I think Calum is answering work-related texts and emails, but I’m emailing with the deans of my majors and my advisor explaining my situation for the semester and trying to determine the best plan for me. Neither one of us really ever looks at the other’s phone, so I don’t feel too concerned that he’d look over and read what I’m typing.

“What are you gonna do today?” Calum breaks our silence.

I’m going back to see Dr. Harris today to discuss the biopsy, and Emelia is picking me up again to join me. Of course, I won’t be saying that to Calum.

“I think Em and I might just hang at her place. Maybe bake some cookies or something,” I say, coming up with a believable cover. We probably will also hang at her place. One of her roommates who’d sublet her room for the summer is back, so it’ll be nice to see her again.

“Be careful, don’t get too sick of Em before she’s your only friend in LA!” He’s joking, somewhat. I have other friends in LA, but not a ton that I spend time with regularly, especially not one on one.

“I think I’ll try to make plans with Macy sometime soon. She seems cool!” I’d asked her on Saturday how long she’d be in LA, and her answer, more or less, was that she’s here indefinitely, or at least for a full gap year.

Cal nods in agreement. “Yeah, and it’ll be nice to just know someone who lives so close. You guys also have so much randomly in common, it's like you were meant to enter that elevator at the same time."

I'm not a big 'manifestation' girl, nor am I religious or all that well versed in astrology, but I do believe in the universe putting things in your path that are meant for you. It put me and Calum at Space Monkey on the same night. It assigned me to the same freshman seminar as Emelia. It gave me to my parents. For whatever reason, Macy and I were meant to meet that morning.

"I think so."

Once we finish eating, Calum takes our plates to the sink and starts to wash up. That's part of our deal: if I cook, he cleans up. It's unspoken. We've never explicitly talked about it, but it happens that way and always has. Our habits have always just kind of slotted perfectly together. We aren't exactly the same, but where one of us falls short, the other picks it up.

After the kitchen is clean, Cal and I take Duke on a quick walk around the neighborhood, letting him sniff as much as he wants to tire him out. Per usual, we end up running into a fan. It doesn't happen every day, and sometimes not even every week, but it is still quite common. I don't mind, though. I get it. I get why people love him and 5SOS. I try to always offer to take the photo for them and take as many as I possibly can from the moment their phone is in my hand.

It's always so sweet to watch them interact, Cal always thanking them for their support and the fans so nervous and usually caught off guard by seeing him while on their own walk. On a very rare occasion, they ask for me to be in the photo, but I always feel so awkward and out of place being in it. I'm not famous for anything, nor do I want to be. I just happen to be in love with someone who is.

Cal wishes the fan a good day and we walk back home, passing Ron at the start of his shift (I promise to send a coffee down with Cal when he leaves shortly) and then we take the stairs up to our apartment to give Duke some extra exercise. We get changed in our clothes for the day. Cal's in another gym shorts and old t-shirt combo, and I'm wearing some bright green bike shorts with one of Cal's t-shirts. I had to beg him to leave me a few when he leaves, since I mostly just wear his t-shirts instead of my own. Once I'm dressed, I quickly make a coffee for Ron in the kitchen.

"It'll probably be a short one today, since Ash won't be there. Wanna grab some tacos by the beach tonight and watch the sunset?"

I gasp quietly, absolutely loving the idea instantly. Watching sunsets is one of my favorite things to do, and there's a really good vegetarian taco truck that tends to be at a beach access not too far from our apartment. "Yes! Oh my god, that's the best idea you've ever had."

He laughs. "I wouldn't go that far, but I figured it'd be something you'd like to do. I'll grab a bottle of wine on my way home too."

"You're just being nice since you're leaving me," I tease. It's not true — Cal is always this sweet and thoughtful, coming up with random plans that he thinks I'll like, bringing me ramen when I feel shitty, leaving sticky notes that have little messages on them around the apartment.

"I'm being nice because I love you and I'm your boyfriend."

"I love you too," I say. "I am now very much looking forward to tonight."

He grins, the crinkles by his eyes showing up. "Me too. I should get going though, gotta sweeten Matt up to not get pissed about Ash not coming today."

He closes the space between us and pulls me into a hug, squeezing me tightly. I squeeze him back right before I crane my neck to be able to kiss him. He meets me halfway, since I'm only so tall, pressing his lips against mine, and he doesn't let me pull away — not that I really want to. I gently wind my hand into his hair and trail my other one up and down his arm. Cal's hands pinch my waist before he pulls away, but then he gives me one last peck.

"Okay, I gotta go," he starts. "As much as I'd like to continue this."

I pout. "Okay. Have a good day, and let me know when you're heading home?"

"Of course. Love you." He steps away from me, but my hand is still on his arm, so it slides down until I grab onto his hand, giving it a final squeeze before I drop it.

"I love you too."

Then he actually leaves, grabbing some random sneakers from the closet and walking out of the apartment with the coffee I made for Ron in his hand. Once he's gone, I go back to the kitchen to make myself another coffee. Ash's early wakeup call is really messing with my energy, and I want to keep busy before the appointment. While I'm making mine, I check Emelia's location. She's on her way here, so I make one for her too.

I'm anxious about the appointment, but I'm just trying to not think about it. It's weird, knowing that I have cancer but just don't know how bad it is. It's like I know the punch is coming. The fist is right in front of my face. I just don't know if it's a knockout or a black eye.

Just as I'm adding the ice to our coffees, she texts that she's here. I grab our drinks, slip on my Birkenstocks, and head out.

"Have a good day, Ron!" I call as I hurry through the lobby.

Em's car is out front, hazards blinking just like last time. Except this time, when I get in the car, she isn't horrendously mad at me.

"Howdy," she cheerily says when I get in.

"Howdy," I say back, laughing. "Made you a coffee."

As she pulls out into the street, she glances at the cupholders for a split second, smiling when she sees the two cups. "I knew I chose you as my best friend for a reason."

I laugh, grabbing my cup to take a sip. "You wanted a best friend to drive to an oncology appointment who brings you a coffee?"

The words come out before I've really processed what I'm saying, and then the silence in the car feels deafening. Way for me to make it awkward.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have said that," is how I try to soften the quietness.

Em takes a drink from her coffee. "It's fine. I know this whole thing is just... weird. And hard."

I blow out a puff of air. Weird and hard are definitely two words we could use. I don't know what else to say now, so the rest of our ride to the hospital is nearly silent. She plays her favorite — Taylor Swift — and she sings along quietly.

When we get to the hospital, it goes just like it did last time. The check in girl is overly cheery, I sign some papers, and we wait for a few minutes, and then Russell calls us back. He doesn't bother using any niceties like 'good to see you again' because I'm sure he's well aware it's not a very joyous occasion.

Em and I wait in the sterile exam room, waiting for the punch to hit. Dr. Harris walks in and my anxiety spikes. I can feel my heart racing, and I know part of that is the fault of the caffeine I've had this morning.

Dr. Harris says good morning and takes a seat on her rolling chair, just like last time. Russell stays standing by the door that he closes behind himself, a tablet in his hands that he taps around on.

"I don't want to waste your time," is how Dr. Harris starts our conversation.

I gulp, even though my mouth is incredibly dry.

"Orion, your leukemia is in Stage Three."

The air in my lungs goes out and none comes back in. My eyes unfocus and my vision goes blurry. I'd done enough research in the past few weeks. There's no cure for leukemia generally, but once you're in stage three, you're coming down to crunch time. Stages zero through two, you can live seven or more years. You can still have a life.

It's stage three. The end feels like it's in sight. It is and it isn't, I guess.

It's ending, though. We're all running towards the finish line, mine is just closer than it should be at 21 years old.

When I break out of my daze, I realize my tears are falling quickly, streaming down my face in tiny waterfalls. I'm not sobbing. There are no noises coming from me, just so many tears building and falling simultaneously.

"We're going to start you on chemotherapy next week. We have an aggressive treatment plan for you, aiming to give you as much time as we can. We're already in the process of trying to find you a bone marrow transplant match, if that's something that we determine is beneficial for you."

I glance over and see Emelia is crying too, except she's quietly whimpering. Instantly I imagine my parents' faces, my brother's, and, of course, Calum's. The thought of seeing him crumble like this physically hurts. My chest aches, imagining him feeling the way Emelia and I feel right now. I already feel horrible, knowing the way this will impact Emelia's life, and everyone else's life. I am so scared to wreak such havoc on everyone's lives. I don't want them to hurt this much.

I don't want to hurt this much.

Dr. Harris rattles off more about the treatment plan, handing me a brochure about the chemotherapy drug they've selected for me, and on the back of it is a list of dates and times for the appointments that I'll come in for treatment over the next several months.

She says to call if we have any questions, understanding that right now isn't a good time for us to actually say anything or ask questions. Once her spiel is over, she says that we can take our time leaving, and they are going to check me out at the desk so we don't have to stop on our way out. Dr. Harris also has Russell bring me a pack of Oreos again, even though I didn't pass out today. I don't say anything, not even 'thank you' when he hands me the cookies.

Emelia is silent, too.

I'm not sure how long we both sit there crying, but eventually I realize how thirsty I am. I don't want to ask anyone for water. I don't want to speak to anyone. I want to go home and drink a gallon of water so I can cry it out and drink more and cry it out again.

"Can we leave?" I croak.

She takes a deep breath. "Yeah."

We both just look at each other, and the next thing I know, I'm laughing. Not a lot, and not loudly, but I'm laughing, and so is Em. Maybe I'm hysterical.

"God this is so fucked," she breathes out.

I laugh again. "I know."

Neither one of us has stopped crying, but the tears have subsided enough that I can see when we walk out. Em and I walk with our arms linked together, both of us wiping our eyes periodically so tears aren't just rolling freely. The LA sun outside is harsh, but the warmth is nice opposed to the cold, sterile hospital room.

Em unlocks her car as soon as we can see her rear bumper in the parking lot. I'm caught off guard when I hear someone calling my name.

"Orion!"

It's Ashton.

"Orion! Emelia! Guys, wait up!"

All I can think is 'fuck.'

I knew he was spending the day at a hospital, but I didn't think it would be this hospital.

Emelia and I both tense up and halt in our tracks. He's seen us, and he knows we heard him, and he undoubtedly saw our blubbering and crying. There's no escaping this conversation.

His footsteps come closer, quickly, and he jogs in front of us to catch up with us.

"Woah," he says when he sees us close up. "What's going on? Are you guys okay?"

I look over at Emelia and we lock eyes. I nod to her, and she knows what it means; she unlocks her arm from mine and continues walking to her car, leaving me to discuss this with Ashton alone.

"Not really?" My words come out as a question, even though it's a statement.

Ash's expression softens. "Come here." He holds his arms open, expecting me to walk into them for a hug.

I shake my head. I have to say it all before he can offer me comfort.

He looks hurt when I don't accept his offer. I don't know if I can watch his face morph even more when I tell him the truth.

"Please don't be mad," I say, quietly, and it almost sounds like a whimper.

His eyes are pitying while he nods. "Of course, I'm here to support you, what's going on? I saw you guys walking and I needed to make sure you were okay."

Ashton reaches a hand out to try to touch my shoulder, but I shrug it off.

I close my eyes, because I don't know how to look him in the eyes and tell him the truth. "I just got diagnosed with stage three leukemia."

I'm met with silence, and when I take a peek through my eyelids to see if Ashton is still there, I see that he's crying now. It makes me feel even worse.

"Please don't be mad," I repeat.

Ashton looks so confused and upset, and he looks at me with his kind eyes that are almost painful to look into right now. "How can I be mad at you?"

Right, that's fair. How could my friend be mad at me for having cancer?

I close my eyes again. Even though they're squeezed tightly shut, tears still slip out onto my cheeks. I'm impressed that I still have more tears to cry. "Please don't tell Calum."

I wait for the words to sink in before I open my eyes again, and when I do, Ashton looks even more confused and upset than he already did.

"Why not?"

I have to take far too many deep breaths after he asks that to avoid sobbing or choking on my words when I actually say them. I realize I don't have to follow through. I could still tell Calum. I could still tell him and let him be there for me and not keep this from him.

I could, but I also can't.

"He doesn't know."

Ashton nods, processing the words.

"And I'm not going to tell him until after the tour."

While the words hang in the air, Ashton is still just thoughtful, mulling my words over and letting them float, but when they sink in, they plummet. Hard. Fast. He's mad quickly thereafter.

"What?"

"I don't want him to know."

I watch something flash in his eyes and notice his jaw is clenched. "Orion—"

I cut him off. "You're not going to change my mind."

"You have to—"

"I don't have to do anything."

"Will you let me—"

"Ashton, I'm not telling—"

"LET ME SPEAK!" He roars, causing a few heads in the parking lot to turn towards us, and I shrink into myself. "You have to tell him. He worships you. He'd do anything for you. You have to let him know that the girl he loves is..."

When he trails off, it really sets in. I frown at him.

"I have to tell him the girl he loves is dying?"

I know that's what he was going to say, or at least that's what he meant.

"Do you know how bad that would hurt him?" I whisper. I still am having a hard time looking him in the eyes. I can't imagine how hard it would be to tell Calum.

Ashton opens his mouth to try to speak several times, but he never actually says anything.

"I know it's fucked. I just... I just can't tell him. I know you don't agree, and I don't expect anyone to, but it's my life and it's my relationship and it's my diagnosis to share. It's not yours, and it's not Emelia's."

Ashton nods, and I think he starts to understand what my thought process is. He's still crying, and I am too, and I think we're at a point in the conversation that I can hug him. Without warning, I step forward and throw myself at him, embracing him with every bit of strength I can. He hugs me back instantly.

"Please, please don't tell him," I beg.

He sniffles, lets out a tiny sob, and nods. "Okay, I promise."