#ive had the sketch of this sitting for months and decided to finally finish it

[st4rstudent]

they then started a thread of 50 posts just arguing back and forth

[seonghwaddict]

★ NEVER SAY NEVER. [ 003 ] rock paper scissors.

synopsis. something about the eight most well-known boys of your campus just didn't sit right with you, so you never gave any effort to interact with them. but after a series of... interesting incidents, they can't seem to leave you alone. pairing. college students! vampires! ot8! ateez x fem! reader. genre. fluff, angst, eventual smut, college au, vampire au. chapter warnings. none, it's a cute chapter. word count. 2.3k

　　　　　　　　chapter ii // chapter iii // chapter iv

Surprisingly, you and Wooyoung agreed on most things when it came to compiling plausible ideas for the project. You worked together for an hour before he told you he had to go somewhere with Seonghwa and one of the guys you hadn’t met yet—Yunho?—in half an hour, to which you nodded as you continued writing down some notes.

Seonghwa joined the two of you at some point, coming down the stairs with his laptop so he could work alongside you, muttering something along the lines of “Hongjoong is working on something and I can’t concentrate” as he sighed. Though it didn’t take very long for him to retreat back to his room with a yawn having finished whatever paper her had to write.

Over the hour that you and Wooyoung worked together, he had scooted himself closer and closer to you until your knees were brushing against each other (but you didn’t mind, all this talking had made you reasonably more comfortable around him). At times he got up to demonstrate some poses he thought would look nice as you drew rough, blocky sketches of said poses. You showed him some of your own sketches, letting him choose what kind of style would fit.

At this proximity, it was very hard for Wooyoung to concentrate for longer periods of time. The perfume you wore had a divine smell that he couldn’t quite place, but if he had to he’d describe it as vanilla, a hint of something sweeter folded between. Every time he got a whiff of it, he had to stop himself from chasing the sweet smell. He also didn’t miss the way the beating of your heart sped up very slightly as he leaned over you to grab the pencil by your side, a fact that brought a smug smile to his face.

Since the final event for this project would be an exhibition in the gym, you both thought it would make sense to either do one big artwork or multiple smaller artworks to fill out the space dedicated to you. This was one of the things you couldn’t agree on.

“But wouldn’t it be so cool if you could do, like, a few sculptures and a few paintings of me?” He pouted.

“Wooyoung,” you pinched your nose bridge, “did you forget that I would have to be the one to actually make everything?”

“Well, no. But since we have like, 3 months to work on this I thought that would be more than enough time.”

“I have more—and better—things to do than paint and sculpt you.” You reasoned. “As the person that will be working endlessly on the actual artwork, I’d much prefer to do one big, impressive painting.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes before staring you dead in your eyes. “Are you sure?”

There was a change in his voice so subtle you wouldn’t be able to place it. Even his voice seemed sharper and it sent a chill down your spine. He squinted at you as you hesitated to answer and suddenly seemed so much closer than he actually was.

You blinked and looked away from him, and he was pleased to see the tips of your ears dusted a rosy shade. “Yes, I’m completely sure I’d rather do one larger painting.”

And that is how you and Wooyoung found yourselves in what may be the most intense game of Rock Paper Scissors. He decided the first to three points would get to choose, and it didn’t take long for the two of you to reach two points. After that, you kept tying and at some point, you both stood up, dramatically turning around every time you had to show your weapon. But you continued choosing the same things and each time he’d throw himself on the couch, yelling before standing back up.

After a few more rounds, you finally got a winner.

Up in the bedroom he shared with Wooyoung, Yeosang could not fall asleep. Out of all eight of the men that lived in this house, he had the most sensitive hearing. So when his best friend’s car pulled up to his house and he first heard that familiar voice accusing them of being part of the mafia, one could only imagine the surprise he felt. The two of you had run into each other a few times and eventually, he noticed he was looking for you when he went to certain places.

The first was at a café he worked at five days a week. Of course, he didn’t really need the money, but he enjoyed the atmosphere. Dim lighting, music playing softly so as to not disturb the customers, potted plants anywhere you looked. On one of the days he was working, you came in with who he assumed was your friend, talking animatedly to the girl next to you.

He didn’t notice you until you came up to the counter to order, immediately endeared by your polite smile. Your friend was seated on one of the tables by the window that looked out onto the street. He took your order: One americano, one iced latte with triple sugar, and two eclairs. 

“Name?”

You gave him your name and a small smile made its way to his face as he scribbled your name on the cups. You paid and with a nod, he asked you to wait by the pick-up counter. You watched him idly, rocking on your heels as you waited. The song caught your attention and you tried to memorise at least one phrase so you could find it later.

It didn’t take too long for both of the drinks to be made and he quickly fsíshed two eclairs out and carefully placed them into a white paper bag before handing everything to you, catching you as you took a sip of the iced latte and added in one more sugar packet. Before you left, you stopped him from turning around, a gentle ‘Excuse me?’ leaving your plump limps

“Yeah?”

“This song is nice, what’s it called?”

“Oh! Uh,” he pretended to think for a bit, but really this was his playlist and he knew every single song from the top of his head. “it’s Reflections by The Neighbourhood”

“Thank you,” your eyes flickered to the small name tag clipped to his apron. “Yeosang.”

The second time he saw you was in a quaint little bookshop. It was pretty much across the street from his café, so Jongho texted him to see if he could go a get a book for him when his shift was over. Of course, Yeosang wouldn’t decline his request so, true to his word, as soon as his shift was over at 7:30 in the afternoon, he made his way to the bookshop.

As the door opened, the kindle of a small bell signalled the arrival of a new customer. You were seated at the cashier, leaning your head on one of your hands while the other held your favourite mechanical pencil, drawing small sketches in your worn sketchbook, nodding your head to the beat of whatever song you were listening to. He recognised you immediately but decided to focus on finding the book Jongho needed.

With his phone in his hand, he looked between the title Jongho had sent him and the books on each and every bookshelf. Yet, he couldn’t find it. Deciding he should just ask you, he mustered up the courage and made his way to the front of the store, hesitating before calling out to you.

“Excuse me, um… Y/N?”

You were startled, but looked up at him and as recognition flashed through your eyes, smiled and took off your headphones. Unlike the last time you saw him, his hair was longer and he dyed it blond, but you still recognised him. You tried not to get distracted by how well this new look suited him. “Ah, Yeosang, right? How can I help you?”

He explained his situation and gave you the name of the book when you asked. You hummed and told him to follow you, walking to a section he swore he already looked in, missing the way he looked positively delighted by the fact you remembered his name. After you told him you wouldn’t be able to reach it, you told him exactly where the book should be and, lo and behold, there it was.

The next times he saw you (yes, multiple times), was somewhere he frequented almost as often as his workplace; the skatepark. You usually showed up with three of your friends and watched them skate around as you sat at a picnic bench. One time, in particular, he remembered you showing up in an outfit that nearly drove him insane. 

It was different from what he usually saw you wearing, oversized and cosy, covering up nearly all your skin. But this time, while you wore an oversized knitted white sweater, you also decided to wear and black miniskirt. Thigh-high black socks hugged your legs and fitted especially snugly around your thick thighs. If he denied the fact that he thought of about a hundred different inappropriate things in the span of a second, he’d be the biggest liar to have walked the earth.

You sat at your usual spot, watching with a fond smile as your friends bickered and skated around, that usual sketchbook opened in front of you as you drew. After twenty long minutes of skating to get his mind off you (and failing), Yeosang decided to take a seat next to you.

“You draw a lot.” He nearly smacked himself for not coming up with something better to say. But luckily, you seemed amused, letting out a small chuckle.

“I’m an art major, I kinda have to.”

And from there you conversed for another hour about whatever came to mind until your friends called you over so you could go grab dinner together. You offered Yeosang to join you, but the biology major needed to get home since he had early classes the next day.

He sighed once more, throwing the blanket off him as he got up and pulled a random sweater over his head.

“No!” You practically cried out and fell to the ground in defeat, Wooyoung cheered and jumped around the living room in utter glee. “I want a rematch!”

“In your dreams!”

“What’s going on?” A deep voice interrupted Wooyoung’s cheering (and your mourning). His eyes found yours very quickly, offering you a smile. “Oh, hey.”

“Hello!” You got up from the floor and gave him a small bow, brushing the fabric of your sweatpants despite them not being dirty.

Wooyoung’s brows furrowed as he looked between you and the blond in confusion. “You know each other?”

After explaining how you two knew each other, you had to leave. Wooyoung had to go wherever it was he need to go soon and you were getting pretty tired. After wishing them a good night and exchanging numbers with Wooyoung, you stepped out of the house, bag hanging from your shoulder as you made your way to the front gate.

That’s when you realised you didn’t have a way of getting home and didn’t know where the nearest bus stop was either. Shortly after you stepped out, both Wooyoung and Yeosang came to the same conclusion. So, while Wooyoung had to go wake up Seonghwa and get Yunho, Yeosang rushed out of the house and took his car.

“Need a ride?” He pulled up next to you, his usual smile making the apples of his cheeks look extra squishy.

You let out a sigh of relief, nodding and getting in the passenger’s seat.

The drive to the apartment complex you lived at took nearly half an hour. For the first ten minutes of the ride, you and Yeosang caught up and whatever had happened between the last time you’d seen each other and now. You wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but it was quite obvious you already developed a small liking for the man next to you.

After those first ten minutes, you fell asleep with your head leaning against the window on your side. Yeosang could tell how tired you were and didn’t blame you at all. Spending so much time with Wooyoung can either be energising or exhausting, there was no in-between. So, he let you rest, head turning to make sure you were alright every now and then.

The steady beating of your heart grounded him, calming his senses and he was sure that as soon as he got back home, he’d be able to sleep without any difficulty.

As soon as you stepped through your front door, your housemate greeted you from the couch. “Hey, where were you?”

“I had to work on a new art project with a partner,” You yawned, making your way to the kitchen and grabbing a cup of water.

“Oh, how exciting,” Sangmi laughed, knowing you preferred working on your own. “Who’s your partner?”

Swallowing the big gulp of water you took, you answered, “Jung Wooyoung.”

Her deep brown eyes practically bulged from her eye sockets. She immediately demanded every detail. Sangmi always had a sort of admiration for Wooyoung, but an admiration that was less like a crush and more akin to respect.

She was also a dance major and often told you about how hard he worked during dance practice, describing the way he moved like art in and of itself. You had yet to see what she meant, but her words still set a high standard.

After telling her everything, you excused yourself and got ready for bed, changing into comfortable shorts and a white tank top. As soon as your head hit the pillow, you were out like a light with no hope of waking up any time soon.

　　[ lilo's notes ... ] and so you have found out who she likes :> sorry this update was a bit late, i kinda forgot to finish writing. but here it is! i love blond yeosang so much it's actually insane.

　　ଘ(੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ taglist ... @atinytinaa @marievllr-abg @legohwas @moonsangie @kiss-hwa @cqndiedcherries @ateezourstars @kitty4hwa @hyukssunflower @aestheticsluut @neohyxn @mrowwww  @darkdayelixer @itsokaytobedumb00 @hwa-sans @purplelady85 @meginthebuilding27 @stopeatread @mothworked @foliea @euphoric-emily16 @teezers99 @mulletjoonsupremacy @imalildelulu @sunukissed @blehhhidk @ad0rechuu @d1am0ndw0lfxd @strawberry-moonpies @bluehwale-main @lightinythedark @stupefystudies @yandere-stories @skz-enthusiasttt @seongwin @huachengsbestie01 @galaxypox @seongwin @yuyunhoo @kyukyustar @seongfury

　　NEVER SAY NEVER　©　seonghwaddict, 2023

[nitannichionne]

Luna IV, Chapter 13: The Tournament (A Cavill Syverson Fan Fic)

Chapter 13: The Tournament

CHAPTER 13: The Tournament

The marketplace was in excited upheaval. It had been for the last few weeks. The Luna Women’s competition was drawing close.

Any woman could participate, though single and claimed had their own tournaments. There were ten competitions: artisanship, cooking, cleaning, beauty, hand to hand combat, intelligence, archery, athleticism, gardening and riding.

You had never heard of it before, and for that alone, you are excited. You and Helena take your usual table and watch women and merchants haggling more than usual.

“You’re really into this!” Helena smiles at you.

“I know I can win the rough stuff,” you say excitedly. “Did you see those medals?”

“Yes, but there is some serious competition,” Helena warns softly. “The outlanders, the ones who live on the outside of the cities, their women are pretty rough, too.”

You sigh, “Hopefully my practicing will earn a place, at least.” You smile at Helena. “You’re a shoe-in for beauty, by the way.”

Helena smiles at that, chuckling as she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, with the little pouch here.” She raises an eyebrow. “You should try to enter it. You’re really exotic looking.”

You laugh out loud. “No, thanks!”

“Hi!” Gabrielle smiles, clutching sheets to her breast.

You smile. You honestly have never seen such change in a woman before. Gabrielle was still afraid of most men except Lysander, but she was no longer afraid to smile, look people in the eye. She simply was not the same woman she was three months ago.

               “Where have you been?” you ask her.

               “Lysander,” she says sheepishly. “I honestly don’t understand it. You’d think he’d be tired of me.”

               “Are you?” Helena asks knowingly.

               Gabrielle leaned forward and grinned girlishly. “No!” They all laughed at that. “What did I miss?”

               “I chose my fabric,” You push swatches toward her.

               “I brought my sketches for you two,” Gabrielle smiles. “Let me know what you think, okay? I’ll get some drinks…for you, too, Kane!” She scratches his ears and goes for refreshments.

               You and Helena frown over the sketches.

               “She is good, you know that?” you nod.

               “I know. That’s why we’re going to enter our costumes into the artisan’s competition in Gabrielle’s name!” Helena whispers.

               You gasp softly, “She’s in the gardening competition already. You’re going to put her in another?”

               “She signed the sketches,” Helena taps the sheets. “See? All we have to do is wear the number on our costumes, that’s all.”

               “She might be embarrassed.”

“And Lysander will be there for her,” Helena says with no remorse. “He’s even thinking about entering his outfit for that day. She finished it yesterday.” She pauses, changing the subject. “Are you sure you don’t want to try for the beauty competition?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Zenobia nods, rolling her eyes. “The archery and athleticism events are enough, thank you.”

“Hhmph,” Helena pouts. “I thought you were doing hand to hand.”

“Your brother said no, that’s why I’m doing athleticism instead.” You roll your eyes. “He really gets on my nerves sometimes.”

Helen arches her eyebrow, her smile disbelieving. “Yeah, right.”

*****

The Luna Women’s competition came on a beautiful but hot day. Colors were posted everywhere and merchants sold cool drinks and shade. There was public shade but it was crowded.

You are grateful to find that Sy has not only reserved shade for some of his people, but got you a two room private tent with a cooling system inside. You are relieved to see it as you complete the events of the athleticism competition.

“I saw you in the footrace,” Sy smiles, handing you a drink when you come inside the tent. “I had no idea you were so fast.”

               You raise an eyebrow brow at him. “You never asked.”

               “They should be doing archery soon,” he nods. “Anything you want to tell me about that?”

“I was one of the best on my father’s property,” you beam. “I trained with his archers, but not with arrows. I trained with bullet tips.”

               “That man, rest his soul, gave you way too much advantage.”

               “Ha!” You have become used to his little ribs, but most of the time, you just liked the way his mouth went a little lopsided when he did. “You’ll be there, won’t you?” You watch him sit as if trying to decide and you pounce on him. He laughs up at you as you grab his shirt front and shake him slightly. “You will be there, right?”

“I will be there,” he chuckles, grabbing your wrists and turning your bodies so that he was over you. He brings his lips down on yours, nibbling and teasing your mouth to open to him.

“Sy…” you sigh, and then scramble to your feet when she saw the look in his eyes. “Uh-uh, I need all my strength for today!”

“Before we leave, I will have you in this tent,” he assures, his smile completely suggestive.

Your stomach does flip-flops as you smile back. “Just not now.”

He lunges for you and you duck out, hearing his laughter. Ah, that man…

“It’s true, then!”

You turn to Gabrielle’s gasp. “What?” She looked down at the number. “Oh, you like?”

Gabrielle looks upset, to the point of tears. “I’m not that good!”

“Brielle.” Lysander calls softly, catching up to her. “I told her to.”

“But, but why?!” Gabrielle shakes her head as tears well up in her eyes.

“Because we know talent when we see it,” he nods. “I have been getting compliments on this outfit since we got here.” She opens her mouth to protest and he kisses her forehead, immediately quieting and calming her. “Trust me?”

She looked up at him, nodding. “Always, but--” She sighs as he kissed her soundly.

Lysander raises his head just in time to recognize the man coming toward them. “Oh, hey, Theron!”

Theron was all smiles and a bit excited.  “Let’s go to the beauty competition,” he suggested. “Helena’s one of the finalists.”

“I can only stay a little while,” you say apologetically. “I have a few more things to do.”

“I thought the archery contest was at the end of the day,” Lysander frowns slightly.

“It is,” you nod. “But I have a few more athletic categories too.”

The group went to watch Helena compete. You can’t believe how pretty some of the women were, and how many boldly stared at Sy. It was as if you weren’t there. They smiled at Theron, but Helena was more than their equal in beauty. You look down at your form fitting halter and brown chaps with underlying shorts. You like the outfit; it hugs your curves and you can do just about anything in it, but these women floated across the floor.

Sy’s arms close around you. “What?”

“Hmmm?” you nod, picking at the beadwork on the arm braces Gabrielle made for you.  “Nothing.”

He bends down and nuzzles your ear. “Come on.”

“Nothing.”

“And the winner is…Helena Cavanaugh!”

Helena was tearful as she accepted her crown with three silver moons on it. She smiled at the crowd, and then at her husband.

“I love you,” Theron mouths the words.

“I love you,” Helena mouths back, blowing him a kiss.

It slams into you. You want Sy’s love, and to keep it, more than anything. You kiss him on the cheek and leave to complete your competition.

The rest of the afternoon wears at your nerves. You place second in athletics because you truly didn’t climb walls a lot, nor did you swim. You are thankful that running and agility helped your scores. You hope to win the archery competition.

The archery competition is grueling. You get down to the finals, and it comes down to you and last year’s winner, Gloria Crieger. It comes down to one arrow at twice the distance than before. You shoot within the bullseye but Gloria shoots dead center, leaving you with second place again.

You swallow hard. You can’t believe you lost the archery competition. You’d never lost against a woman. Your pride is crippled. You stand stiffly as you are given the medal, and step off the stand as soon as she can. You see Sy  come toward you, and you can’t look at him.

“Hey,” he lifts your chin so he can look at you. He looks surprised to find tears in your usually bright eyes. “Zen?” He pulls you into his embrace, sighing as your tears come. “Aw, sweetheart…”

“I’m sorry.” You sniff into his shirt, and manage to look at him. “I really tried, Sy. I wanted to make you proud! I wanted to bring glory to your house!”

Sy pulls you closer. He tilts your chin up and wipes your tears. “But sweetheart, I am proud of you. You lost to a woman who has won this competition for years. You just entered, and you placed second. Don’t cry, baby, don’t cry.” He rubs your back comfortingly.

“I don’t care!” How could you hope to keep him? You aren’t an exceptional beauty like Helena, or artistic and sweetly soft like Brielle. Your father once spoke of your mother’s warrior skills like she was unparallel to any other woman, that she was special. “I’m sorry, Sy. I really am. I’ll do—“

He laughs at you, and speaks to you as if you are a child. “I am proud of you—“ He rains kisses on your face as you begin to shake your head, not wanting pity. “No, no, listen to me.” He frames your face in his hands, wiping your tears with his thumbs. “I am proud of you, I am proud you are mine, with me.” He kisses you again, and holds you tightly, and you felt the tightness in your sobbing chest melt as  you begin to snuggle under his chin. He rubs your back. “You’re such a silly girl sometimes, you know that?”

“Oh!” You realize you’ve made a spectacle of herself. Some people are actually watching you, but you were too upset to pay attention. You are mortified.

He laughs down at you. “What?” You snuggle closer to him, hiding to regain the rest of your composure. “Aw, just realized some people are watching?” He laughed louder, kissing the top of your head. “Look around.” He nudges your temple. “Go on, look around.”

You peek around his bicep. You see most people barely paying attention, but some smiled at you. Gabrielle is still marveling at her medal in the artisan’s competition as Lysander holds her. Then you see Gloria with her mate. There is no holding, no kissing, no congratulations from him. He collects her winnings, and gives her a small portion of it. Then he gives her the trophy with a pat on the back. She nods her thanks. He didn’t even hold her hand as they walked away from the crowds. You lock eyes with Gloria, and see the longing and loneliness of the woman. “Sy…”

               “I know, I know. We won.”

                You snuggle closer to him, taking a deep but shaky breath. “Yes. We won.”

@fckdeusername @maan24  @rn7rocks @kaatelyyynn  @october505​ @absentmindedreader @introvertedmouse​

[missmonsters2]

The Color of You || Part VII

PAIRING: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: It was another mission Natasha was assigned to. Nothing she hasn’t done before. Same mission, different people. Sent undercover to investigate William Cain, suspect to funding terrorism and smuggling weaponry. Under the disguise of Natanya Rovinski, Natasha is ready for another routine mission. Until she met you, William’s fiancé. 

Warnings: There are dark elements to this series. Also, smut later on. Please note this part includes abuse & torture (semi-graphic).

NOTE: This is a pretty dark chapter about reader. Lemme know if you want to be on my taglist for this series, any natasha stories I do, Wanda stories, or everything

PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V || PART VI 

PART VII of X

Count: 3249

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

10 years ago...

Your name was being shouted from a distance. You turned your head, seeing your mother calling you back into the house. Closing your sketchbook, you got up, dusting your pants before making your way back in.

“Really, you shouldn’t be outside too long,” your mother half-heartedly scolded you.

“Why not? We’re in the countryside. There are no neighbors for miles and miles away,” You rebuttal, a little upset that you had to come in.

Your mother merely raises her brow at you. “You’re getting a bit more of an attitude every day, missy. I didn’t say anything when you got your tattoos, but no sass-mouthing me.” 

She says it so jokingly that you can’t help but smile along.

“It’s going to rain today,” you say, and your mother seems confused.

“Really? The weatherman said it’ll be sunny all day,” she muses.

“It will rain,” you confirm. 

“Best get the laundry in then,” your mother rushes off.

You grin, watching your mother runoff. Your family was wealthy with your father running his own company, but even so, you lived in a beautiful house out in the countryside, away with people and no hired help. Well, you used to have a maid at least, but she had quit saying the countryside was not settling well with her body. Your family paid her a lot of hush money.

Your family adored you, and when they discovered your strange gift, it really worried them what could happen to you if anyone knew.

The worry that people would take you, want to experiment on you, or take advantage of you pushed your parents to make the decisions they did.

So, you and your family took care of your daily things while your father would go run his company, often coming home late at night. 

It was a simple life.

Everything was good.

Or so you thought.

“I just...I don’t know what we’re going to do. I may have to claim bankruptcy. We’re hardly making the payments we need to do. The company just keeps getting worse, and I don’t understand why. I had to lay off 80 people today. I’ve closed down many factories in the last month.”

You stood quietly at the door, slightly ajar for you to peer in to see your father in a stressed state as your mother tried to comfort him.

“Should we move back into the city?” Your mother suggests, but your father shook his head.

“No, it’s worse for our daughter out there. You know that. There are too many people and sounds. It triggers the visions.”

Your mother purses her lips but agrees. They sigh stressfully together, your mother’s head on your father’s shoulder.

“We’ll figure it out, darling, we always do.”

It made you feel awful. 

That night you stared at the ceiling in bed, praying an answer would come.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You were in the field again, resting against the tree, sketching the view before you.

It was peaceful, but in the sense that it’s the calm before the storm. You were anxious.

Last night, you were getting horrible visions of a man in a fiery crash. He was stuck in the vehicle, screaming a name you couldn’t hear. The vehicle caught on fire, and there was so much blood.

The crash had disfigured his face, but his expression haunted you.

You weren’t sure what to do with it because you didn’t know who this man, where he was, or when it was happening. 

Hell, you couldn’t make out his face without the blood and shards of glass.

A part of you wasn’t sure if maybe you were just having nightmares.

But the same vision kept coming over and over the next few nights. You were getting ragged, and your parents could tell. 

They were happening more frequently, with more details each time, but it wasn’t like you had any more understanding. 

You spent a day, just trying to mimic what the man was saying in the car before he died. Your mouth followed his movements, but you weren’t getting anywhere. 

You felt like you were going to go crazy, watching the same man dying.

It kept going, and going, and going, and going, and going...

Until one day, it stopped. 

A part of you was relieved, but there was a drop in your stomach wondering if it stopped because it happened, and it was no longer a future possibility. 

The days were peaceful once more. 

Well, as can be. You could tell your parents were getting more stressed as they were running out of money, getting closer, and closer to bankruptcy.

You were sure the peaceful days were coming to an end, and you felt so guilty you couldn’t do more. 

“--rry, I’m just really lost. How do I get back to the main road?”

You turned your head, stretching to see a tall, handsome man with a couple dirt stains on his suit. 

He looked shy.

Your mother merely laughed at his sheepish boyish grin.

“Well, let me draw you a map. Why don’t you come in and grab some tea? Must’ve been some adventure, huh?”

The man laughed and walked inside. 

You quietly crawled through the tall flowers, peering inside the kitchen glass door to see the man sit down. 

You tilted your head to the side, observing him.

He was obviously wealthy, catching his Rolex watch on his wrist.

You did find it a little weird for someone to get lost here. This was quite out of the way of anything.

He turned his head, and then your eyes met. 

He looked shocked, mouth agape. 

He actually flushed and looked away. 

Since you were caught, you stood up, coming through the side door of the kitchen. Your mother looked shocked to see you. Even a little wary.

“This is my daughter,” Your mother told the man, introducing you.

The man stood abruptly up, coughing slightly as he stuck his hand out towards you.

“I’m William Cain.”

Your mother hummed. “Your dad doesn’t happen to own Cain Holdings, does he?”

William nodded, and your mother gave him a sympathetic smile.

“I heard about the accident. I’m really sorry to hear about him.”

William merely thanked her with a half-smile before looking back at you. You tilted your head down, looking a the map your mother drew and hummed.

Grabbing the pen, you re-drew the path he should take.

“Is it wrong?” Your mother asked.

“No, but...the roads are tricky over there. It is best he takes this route back to the main road.” You quietly say, passing the sheet of paper to him with a small smile. “It was nice to meet you.”

And then you left. Your mother is someone that doesn’t like you meeting strangers, so it’d be best to limit interactions.

She heard small noises from downstairs, but soon, William was on his way.

She thought that was the end of that.

Until he showed up again.

And then again, and again, and again. 

The next couple of times, he came with small gifts like chocolate, cookies, or little trinkets, saying it was a thank you for helping him.

The next couple of times, he would come up with ridiculous lies to say he was visiting. 

One day, he merely said he wanted to see you.

Then the reasons no longer mattered. 

You couldn’t classify that you were in love with William, your heart just didn’t feel that way. But you weren’t unsatisfied to be with him. Especially knowing he could help your father.

Before you knew it, he wanted to whisk you away, back to his estate. He thinks you just have a frail body, which is why you’re in the countryside. He promises your parents of a quiet place for you, where you can still have fresh air, and lots of room to draw and paint. 

He promises a partnership for your father’s company.

And with your reassurance, they hand you to him. 

“Don’t tell William about your abilities, dear,” your mother tells you as she helps you pack your clothes. “I know he loves you, but you never know.”

You nod, feeling your throat burn as your about to leave your parents. 

“We can visit at any time. Heck, we may even decide to move back to the city,” your mother tries to reassure you, but you’ll miss her anyways. 

With hugs and kisses goodbye, a final piece of advice, you part ways with your family.

Never to see them again.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

William’s place is quiet. 

Much more quiet than you had expected. There are no pictures on the wall, only paintings and trinkets. You meet his mother, who’s just thrilled to have ‘such a young, graceful lady around.’

She seems sweet but also distant. She looks out the window a lot like she’s expecting someone to come home at any time. 

William is still finishing university, it was a wonder how he found so much time to visit you. On top of that, he was busying himself to take over his father’s business. 

You’re still getting used to the city air. It’s not quite the same as the countryside, but you find that you don’t mind it at all. 

William seems to be keeping you a secret because, as the years pass, you never meet anyone new. You’ve visited your parents rarely, and it seems to be getting more infrequent.

There’s an unsettling fear in your stomach, and you don’t understand why. It feels like you’re being tested. William asks your opinion on everything, trying to gauge your reaction.

You’ll purposely choose the wrong thing or say the wrong thing because your mother’s words can’t escape your head.

You’re now having reoccurring nightmares of the man dying in the car crash again. He’s screaming and screaming, but you can’t hear what he’s saying. Waking up in cold sweats and an empty bed, you’re scared out of your mind. 

You want to leave. 

So in the dead of night, while William is gone, you sneak into the hallways. 

Suddenly, you hear footsteps and noises. Panic overtakes you as you scramble through a door you haven’t been through before. You shut the door, leaning against it as you listened to the footsteps and voices walk right past you.

Sighing in relief, you stood up straighter and turned around. It was dark, but the moonlight outside illuminated the room enough for you to see. 

You realized that it wasn’t so much a room, but a hallway. Against the wall were portraits lined up side by side. Walking over, you looked at the photos one-by-one. Typically, this was a room you weren’t allowed to enter. William or a maid always led you away.

This must be generations of men in William’s family, you thought. 

You come to the last photo. It must be William’s father. You haven’t really seen a big, clear picture of the man before. Even in news articles, they were always taken from afar. 

You stood before the large portrait that seemed to loom down on you, staring at you with his clear features and eyes.

A sharp pain shot through your head as you hissed, hand coming to your eyes as the images rush through your head.

It’s the dying man again.

But you can hear everything this time, see more clearly.

“WILLIAM! WILLIAM!” He screams, desperately trying to unbuckle his seatbelt. The car is incredibly hot, a small fire coming from under the hood with smoke. Shards of glass are stuck in his face, and there’s just so much pain. 

He can hear a car door shut just a few feet from him. He turns his head to see his son come up to the window.

“WILLIAM, GET ME OUT OF HERE!” He yells, pulling at his seatbelt again. A truck just came out of nowhere, and the fire was starting to grow.

William stood by the driver’s side, careful to not lean too close with the broken glass as he crouched down, his face stoic. 

“You don’t understand our legacy, father. You’re going to ruin everything our family has created for generations.”

His father watched as William got up, walking away without even stumbling. 

“WILLIAM! WILLIAM!”

He called and called, but his voice was soon drowned out by the sound of the vehicle exploding.

Your head felt heavy as you were gasping in pain. It was like your right eye was throbbing. 

“You know, don’t you?”

You whipped around to see William, who just turned onto the hallway, casually leaning against the wall.

You stumble back a little bit, but then your back hit someone else’s. You turn your head to see Evelyn, the last maid you had.

“Evelyn...? What are you--”

“It’s fine, release her,” William cuts you off. 

Evelyn lets go of your shoulders, and William walked to stand before you.

“You know what I did, don’t you?” William says to you again, his arms crossed over his chest.

“N-No, I don’t--” You stuttered.

“Don’t lie,” William tsked at you. “I heard from our little rich circle years ago about your parents who had a darling little girl...but something was off about her, she was always predicting things that happened.”

William uncrossed his arms, lifting his hand to caress a strand of your hair. “I paid Evelyn a lot of money to see if it was true. Then I swept you away...keeping you here to see myself.”

“So,” William drawled, “What else have you seen?”

“N-nothing,” you say, and it’s true, at least nothing related to William. 

William merely smiles at you.

“I guess we’ll have to change that.”

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It was dark.

And cold.

You don’t know how many days you’ve been in this...hole.

Evelyn has taken you deep into the basement. You’re sure you’re well beneath the floor in this cell. 

They dropped you in here with no way of getting out.

It felt like you were in a well. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Your screams were echoing.

Arm out as your hands stretched to reach...reach something.

“I don’t like it when you run, don’t you understand that by now?” William’s voice sounded disappointed with you. 

The blade he held carved into your skin, and you could feel a warm liquid dribble out and slide down your sides.

“P-Please stop...” you begged with tears in your eyes and throat raw from screaming.

“Don’t run from me anymore.”

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You were back in the dark.

Knees crouched to your chest, you had your head down. 

Evelyn came by, and you were mad at her. Hated her with every fiber of your being. 

You want your parents, your parents will know you're missing if they keep visiting and you’re never around.

Evelyn says your parents won’t visit anymore.

You won’t get to see them until you’re dead, she tells you. 

You don’t know what to do anymore. 

You’ve been in here for weeks. Your back has begun to scab over, but you refuse to give anything to William. 

You stare straight ahead, even if you can’t see anything.

You start to wonder if you should give up and join your parents.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

“Still nothing?” William says to you as you’re forced to kneel before him.

He comes up to you and gets down on one knee. Your face is bruised, and he cups it gently like he cares about you.

“I don’t want to treat you like this, you know. I meant what I said to your parents when I said I’d take care of you. You need to let me take care of you.”

You clench your jaw at the mention of your parents, but you don’t say anything.

William moves in to try to brush his lips against yours, but you vehemently turn your head away.

For a second, you think he might hit you again, but he just sighs.

“Evelyn, take her back,” William says, but he turns to you again. “I want you to help me, but if you can’t, I don’t have any problems achieving what I need to without you too. Don’t become useless to me.”

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Your back rests against the slightly curved wall. Your hair feels matted, and you just feel grimy in general.

William's words keep replaying in your head, but you can’t help but feel hopeless.

You’ve stopped eating the meals Evelyn brings you. 

It doesn’t matter anymore, you think. 

You stare into the nothingness so long you think you’re eyes have adjusted. 

People think that the dark is just black, but it’s not. There are no words to describe the lack of colors around you. 

A sharp pain hits your head again as you hiss, bringing your hand to your eye.

The sudden colors are so vivid and bright, it almost hurts you. 

You see flashes of red hair, luscious lips, a black suit, and a pair of piercing emerald eyes.

You just see quick flashes of different scenes, but you know one thing for sure.

She’s going to take down William.

“Natasha,” you whisper to yourself as if to test the name on your lips. 

It makes you feel warm.

And you get a feeling that you haven’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

“Then I got myself together...forced myself to give into William and paved his way exactly the way it had to be to bring you here.”

You feel something wet hit your bare back.

Turning your head as far as you can to see tears falling from Natasha’s eyes and it trickles down her face, hitting your back a couple more times.

You wonder if it’s awful to think she looks beautiful when she’s crying too. You turn your body over, Natasha adjusting herself so you can do so.

With your bare chest exposed to her, you lift your hand and cradle her cheek, smiling a little when she presses herself more into your palm.

“Why are you crying?” You ask her softly, using your thumb to wipe a tear that was falling.

“I’ll kill him,” Natasha says, turning her lips into your palm as she kisses the area tenderly. 

You chuckle softly because you’re not sure if she really will or not, but it warms your heart nonetheless. 

“Do you want to know something interesting?” You ask, your other hand pulling on her shirt, so Natasha will lean down closer to your lips.

Natasha hums.

“When I saw you...I held onto you. Through every dark night, painful crying, and feeling so wretched...I remembered you.” You whispered as Natasha’s lips got closer. Your thumb stroked the softness of her cheek as Natasha gripped onto your sides tightly, screwing her eyes shut as you told her what she meant to you.

“You’re such a beautiful color, Natasha. You’re the soft blue that comforted me, the yellow that brought me happiness, a pure white that gave me light the darkness, and the green that brought me hope. Do you understand me?”

You’re so desperate for her to understand.

Because without her, you would’ve never made it out alive, and you need her to know that.

Your lips brush against Natasha’s as her body lines up with yours. You shiver, feeling her cover your chest.

“You saved me.”

Natasha won’t let you say anymore as her lips crashes onto yours, but you feel her emotions dripping into you as she kisses you deeply. Her grip loosens as she pushes her arms under your back to hold you closer. 

“You’re mine,” is all Natasha can say.

PART VIII

[gmariam321]

Normal is Overrated - 4

IV.

They'd gone out for a late dinner, a rare outing as a team who too often ate pizza around the sofa in the Hub. Tosh seemed to think the Rift would be quiet that night, so her and Gwen had ordered wine, and Owen was on his second pint. Ianto was nursing a glass of whiskey, barely touched. He was quiet, responding when spoken to, laughing in all the right places, but he didn’t seem there, actually with them. His mind was clearly elsewhere.

It didn't take Jack long to figure out where it was. Ianto kept stealing glances at the bar, where several handsome blokes were sat, along with two women sipping cosmopolitans. Ianto's gaze seemed to be focused on one man in particular—a tall blond man, handsome if one liked that type. Jack frowned, tried to put it from his mind, but something about it bothered him.

He's slept with Ianto a week ago. It had been good, but it had been one time only, a night of comfort and release for them both. After a day or two of initial awkwardness, they'd managed to find their footing with each other once more, and things between them had returned to as normal as it had been for months. Jack was glad, as he hadn't wanted their night together to interfere with their work at Torchwood.

As he watched Ianto gaze at the bar, Jack realized something with a bit of a shock: he was jealous. Here was a man he'd slept with not seven days earlier, sitting right across from him but eyeing up other men at the bar. Jack wasn't offended—they were all good-looking men, after all—but he was disappointed. He'd slept with Ianto, had seen every inch of his body and shared his own in turn. Why wasn't Ianto looking at him like that across the table and making bedroom eyes? Jack was a sure bet, far easier than trying to pull some random bloke at the bar.

Jack grew quieter, trying not to watch Ianto stare at the blond. Eventually Owen got up for another drink and didn't come back; he started chatting up an attractive woman in a blue dress at the end of the bar and looked to be doing well. Tosh and Gwen finished their drinks and decided to call it a night, declaring him and Ianto a pair of dull, old men. Jack was alone with Ianto, and it felt awkward.

"Owen looks like he's going to pull," Jack finally said as a way to break the silence. He nodded toward the bar. "Maybe you'll get lucky with the blond guy."

"Excuse me?" Ianto said, genuinely shocked. "Get lucky?"

"You've had your eye on him all night," Jack pointed out. "It's not hard to guess why."

Ianto finished the rest of his whisky in one swallow. "And why's that?"

"He's hot, I'll give him that," Jack said. "If you like that type—blond, blue eyes, jeans that are painted on…" He trailed off as Ianto gave him a funny look. "What?"

"Sounds like you've got your eye on him," Ianto answered.

"Unlike Owen, I don't shop around when I'm out with friends," Jack said.

Ianto snorted and picked at his food. He motioned for another drink as well.  "Right, you only give your number out every chance you get."

"Not tonight," said Jack. "Not interested. But if you are, you should give it a go before it's too late." "Too late?" Ianto laughed, a genuine laugh that startled Jack as it was clearly aimed at him. "Too late to what? Get his number? Have a quick shag in the loo? Bring him back to mine?"

Jack did not like the direction the conversation was going, but storming out seemed like an overdramatic gesture, so he went with deflection instead. "All good ideas," he said. "Need a wingman?"

"Christ, you're thick," Ianto muttered as his drink arrived. He drank half of it in one go and leaned closer to Jack. His breath smelled deliciously like Lagavulin. "You want to know why I've been watching him all night? Because he's an arse and a bully. I know him."

"Oh." Jack wasn't sure what else to say and hoped Ianto explained more.

"I went to school with the prat. He tortured almost everyone in class. I've been sitting here all night trying not to remember the things he did to me. Instead, I've been coming up with creative ways to get him back."

"Oh," Jack said again. "Like what?"

"Anything," Ianto shrugged. "I've got virtually unchecked resources at my fingertips at the Hub, don't I? I could literally Retcon him back to secondary school, or send him to a prison camp in Siberia." He held up his hand to stop Jack's protest. "But I won't. Mostly I want to punch his face in."

"Must have been some bully," Jack said, glancing at the blond man. He could see it now, the set of cruelty in his shoulders, the tilt of arrogance in his neck, the look of spite on his face when he laughed at something someone said.

"You have no idea," Ianto muttered. He finished his drink. "We should go. Just talking about it's got me pissed off all over again."

Jack threw down some bills to cover their tab, then guided Ianto away from the blond bully and toward the door. He could feel the tension in the other man's body and wished there was something he could do to help. Well, he could think of something, but he'd be doing it for himself as much as for Ianto. And he wasn't really looking for sex with Ianto…was he?

Walking down the quay back toward the Hub, Jack realized that maybe sex was exactly what they both needed. Ianto could work out his old resentments, and Jack could work out his apparent jealousy issues. It was a win-win for them both.  All he could do was offer; it was up to Ianto after that.

He stopped them at the door to the tourist office, placing a hand on Ianto's arm before he unlocked it. Ianto glanced up at him in surprise, his eyes still dark with emotion.

"Look, I know you're upset about seeing that man tonight, and I'm sorry about what he did to you." Jack took a deep breath. "There's nothing I can do to change that, but if you needed anything…if you wanted, tonight…well, to forget about it for a while…I can do that. I can help you forget."

Ianto narrowed his eyes. "You don't mean Retcon, do you?" Jack shook his head. Ianto stepped closer. "You mean sex."

"It works," Jack replied, meeting his eyes as they stood chest to chest. He felt the desire pooling in his belly as Ianto's righteous anger practically poured off him. Maybe it wasn't the wisest of offers, but Jack knew he was also being selfish. He wanted Ianto, had wanted him since the moment Ianto had started staring at the blond guy. From the way Ianto was breathing, Jack suspected Ianto was starting to feel the same way.

"Did you really think I wanted to shag him?" Ianto murmured, running his hands around Jack's waist, up his back and down along his buttocks, squeezing them gently.

"I did," Jack replied honestly.

"You didn't seem very pleased," Ianto pointed out.

"I wasn't," Jack admitted. "You could do better."

"With you."

"I'm happy to offer," Jack answered, enjoying the banter as foreplay. "Just this once, then back to normal."

"I think we both know that won't work again," Ianto replied. "There is no normal for us."

Jack shrugged. "Maybe normal's overrated."

"It probably is," Ianto murmured. "So, are we going to keep talking about the future or get down to the business of forgetting the past?"

Jack nodded, and Ianto unlocked the door, motioning him inside first. As soon as the Welshman locked the door behind them, Jack pushed him against it and kissed him hard, their tongues tangling immediately as Ianto's arms wrapped around him and pulled him closer. He groaned into Jack's mouth, his head falling back as Jack nipped at his jaw and teased at his ear.  Jack felt Ianto's arousal pressed against him and palmed his cock through his pants.

"In the back," Ianto gasped, pushing him away. "Now." Jack grinned and followed, stripping off his coat and tossing it on the counter. As soon as they were in the back room, Ianto took the lead, and Jack let him—for now. They had all night, after all—and the entire Hub to themselves— to forget the past and create a new normal for the future.

* * *

This is where I got stuck - I wrote half of this and had no idea where to take it. When I came back to it, it went someplace I certainly didn’t expect! It’s the last one I’ve written, though I tried to sketch out twelve ideas. If I manage to find those notes and inspiration strikes, maybe there will be more; if I write enough, I’ll put it on AO3. For now, that’s it - hope you enjoyed these four scenarios! Are they what I think actually happened? No, not really. I’m just having fun exploring the possibilities. If you’d like to read a longer, chaptered story about Jack and Ianto post-Broken and how they might have ended up together again, please read my story called ‘Tumbling.’ I was quite happy with it, but it sort of got lost in the post-Broken glow, I think. I even threw in the stopwatch. :) 

Thanks for reading these and for all the comments, I really appreciate them!

[gdelgiproducer]

DOTV AU: An Exercise in Alternate History (Part VIII)

Parts I, II, III, IV, V, VI, and VII offer more detailed context. (To briefly sum up why these posts are happening: alt history – as in sci fi, not “alternative facts” – buff, one day got the idea that DOTV could have turned out hella different if Jim Steinman looked for a star lead in other places, decided to reason out how that might work.) This is still getting a good response, so I’m gonna keep the train rolling.

Parts of the AU timeline established so far:

Instead of stopping at recording two songs from Whistle Down the Wind on a greatest hits compilation, Meat Loaf wound up taking more of an interest in Steinman’s new theater work than he did in our timeline, and through a series of circumstances found himself volunteering to play Krolock in the impending DOTV when Jim poured out his woes to him about needing to find some sort of star to attract investors. At a loss for any better ideas, Jim accepted Meat’s impulsive proposal, but not without resistance from his manager, David Sonenberg, who proposed Michael Crawford as an alternate candidate. Through quick thinking on Meat’s part, and inspiration on Jim’s, Crawford left the room accepting an entirely different role than he walked in hoping to get, leaving Krolock still open for Meat.

There was a brief speed bump, when Meat disliked Jim’s English script for the show, but after meeting with the original German author Michael Kunze and convincing Jim to compromise, things were on the road to being back on track… at least until 9/11 occurred.

Following a brief hiatus, everyone involved met to re-assess their options. The current game-plan was to put the new script on paper, schmooze with potential investors or producers, and put together a new creative team. Preferably not all at the same time, but with the crunch on, they’d do whatever needed to be done.

Schmoozing went well, but everybody that Meat, Jim, and the crew wanted to be involved was tentative. The conclusion reached was that they needed to show them there was a working show, which resulted in a concert of selections from the score paid for by none other than Courtney Love (!) that received some in-depth press coverage.

Now we join our heroes as new wrinkles emerge in the path to Broadway.

A week after the concert of selections from Dance of the Vampires (and after Michael Riedel noting that Meat Loaf has yet to sign on the dotted line for the show), a brief story appears in Rolling Stone’s Random Notes section: “Rocker Meat Loaf announced this week that he has terminated the management services of Allen Kovac and is currently seeking new representation. Kovac, who is in the process of leaving Left Bank Management to form his own firm, issued the following statement which is believed to be a comment on the heavyset singer’s departure, though he is not mentioned by name: ‘I don’t tell artists what they want to hear, I tell them what I know to be true. When I first sign an artist I let them know that I’m not their friend. Too many artists don’t measure their manager on their performance; they measure them on how many times they’ve been invited to their house. That’s not my style. If an artist is going to be successful, you need to tell them how to run their business -- not ask them how to run their business. Does it work? Look it up: no artist has ever done better after leaving my company.’” Requests from the Vampires team to speak to Meat about what’s up are met with total radio silence.

Meanwhile, the business side of Vampires continues to shore up. Jim Steinman receives delighted reports from his manager, David Sonenberg, that Jerry Weintraub and the Weisslers are ready to commit, bumping the total number of producers thus far up to nine. “How’s it looking now?” Jim queries. “Well, remember we’re trying to raise 15 million,” says David. “I don’t mean to be pessimistic, but it will be an uphill battle.” “What else is new in the theater?” Steinman grumbles in response. “On the bright side, we can now tighten the list of how many producers we need to seven.”

The representatives from Concerts West, based in L.A., get back to them within the week. Reports Sonenberg to all parties by e-mail: “They’re interested, but only if it tours. Live touring events are what they do, and the theatrical market is something they haven’t explored; they’d be more comfortable with a national tour than a Broadway run, it’s more similar to what they do at a nuts-and-bolts level.” A decision is ultimately reached by quorum to make Concerts West’s involvement in a national tour contingent on investing in the Broadway run first, and the counter-offer is duly sent their way.

As the business side shores up, the creative side is beginning to percolate as well. Meetings are had with John Rando, the Urinetown director who attended the concert and spoke very enthusiastically about the show in Riedel’s column. He’s very excited about the chance to work on the show, both to work with David Ives again (having done numerous shows at Encores! together, he feels working with David will be really special and help focus the play) and especially to work with Meat. “I’d get to hear him sing every day,” Rando enthuses. “That’s a blessing. Can you imagine that? Every single day of your life you get to hear that voice.” He also ticks the right boxes when it comes to the commercial appeal of the piece and how it meshes with his vision for the show: “It’s such a different reality. It’s silly and fun and kind of glamorous, too. These vampires sort of pull you in and you find you’re turned on by them, too! It’s a wonderful, Gothic playground.” When asked for suggestions for a choreographer, and more specifically if they should ask his choreographer on Urinetown, John Carrafa, to be a part of the show, Rando is mildly hesitant but mostly enthusiastic. Jim is admittedly happiest when it comes to Rando’s assessment of how much creative control he should be allowed to have: “Look, Jim, what are you worried about? It’s your baby! You’ve been working on it forever! The quality, the tone, the ideas, the music... this play is all you! You’d be very much a part of it.”

More progress is made when a new set designer is engaged: David Gallo. Jim immediately likes him instinctively, when, upon meeting him for the first time, Gallo stops the interview process dead. “I have two things to tell you before we continue. Number one: I’m probably the only set designer in America who still subscribes to Heavy Metal Magazine. Number two: I bought Bat Out of Hell because I saw the album cover artwork and decided I had to have it before I even heard the music.” This is no idle compliment, considering the album cover was conceived by Steinman and executed by Richard Corben... and a sequence very similar to the events depicted on the cover forms the shape of one of Vampires’ opening scenes. His sample sketches of the sets are surprisingly atmospheric as well.

The more things shape up on the creative end, however, the more everyone on the business side of the table nervously eyes the chair where Meat Loaf should be. Since his firing of Kovac, who was more a hindrance than a help so is not really missed, he hasn’t said word one to anybody. Irving Azoff, widely proclaimed the biggest agent in the world, who attended the concert and may be interested in the show, is sending them queries about who is managing Meat now, hinting that he has his eye on Meat as a client. But nobody knows what’s going on with him. When he is finally able to get him on the phone, Jim pleads with Meat to see him, one on one if need be. Meat agrees.

The scene: Le Bar Bat, in Hell’s Kitchen on West 57th. Only 9 years prior, Steinman had conducted an interview for Bat Out of Hell II at this very establishment, celebrating his and Meat Loaf’s long-awaited reunion. Plastic bats still hang from the ceiling, and the bar is still sparsely attended. A deafening fusion group still plays a seemingly endless set. Steinman greets them, as per tradition, with a cheery “fuck off!” as they finish a tune. Meat sits alone in a booth, awaiting Jim’s arrival. He rummages through his CBS Records holdall, his shoulder juddering as if it were a pneumatic drill. His graying hair could do with a shampoo. Finally, he finds what he is seeking: a couple of throat lozenges, which he pops. “Jimmy, I don’t think I can do the show.” Immediately Jim’s heart is in his throat: “WHAT?!?” “What we’re about to do is insane! Lunatic. Totally insane. We’re just gonna go out there in front of everybody with our pants down!” Jim, searching for a way to respond, can only come out with “Think of it as a character-building experience! It’ll be amazing!”

“Have you read what your fans are saying about this on the Internet? They’re saying you should be sticking aside all the old, fat guys named after a dinner dish! ‘Get rid of Meat Loaf.’ They don’t want to see me do this!” “Now, Meat, come on. You know better than to buy into their bullshit. If I believed what I read on the Internet about anything I should do, I’d never get anything done. You’re going to be glad that you stuck with it.” “Well... we need to go out of town first. New York is the hardest when it comes to people being critical. We’re gonna be judged. A lot.” “Meat, you know we can’t afford to do that. Besides, every musical that you’ve done on Broadway has opened cold in New York. I like having the preview audience be the New York audience. There’s no BS -- they’re right there telling you what you need to fix. It’s great.”

Meat heaves a sigh: “Jimmy, I’ll be honest with you; I’m more tired now than I was when Amanda was two months old!” “Meat, listen to me. We have a lot of time. We’re gonna work very hard and very slowly. I know you’re not good at dealing with change, but you really have to stay focused and believe in the project.” “But Jimmy, it’s huge! It’s got to be one of the biggest shows on Broadway right now without even opening yet. And there’s still so much to work out.”

“What happened to Allen?” “He never believed in the show. You saw what happened when he kept the door open for Night of the Proms. After the concert, I called him to ask why he wasn’t there, and he said to me, ‘Y’know, an album and a tour are still possibilities, so why not do that instead? At least you know that will sell.’ We got into it pretty hard, and he called our show garbage. He said I did better off away from you, and that if I did this album and the tour, I could retire, or I could come back afterwards if you wanted to talk Bat III, but he was adamant that I was not doing this show. It became pretty clear to me that it was going to come down to either you or him.” Jim, touched, perhaps even a little misty-eyed: “And you chose me?” “As if I had a choice! Jim, you’re my brother. I love you... more than you’ll ever know.” 

A beat of silence, awkward, emotional, and then... “Irving Azoff liked the concert.” “Yeah?” “He keeps calling us. I think he wants to sign you, and he wants to do the show too. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a manager who was on the same page?” “...will it get him to produce if I sign with him?” “I dunno. Maybe?” “I’ll give him a call. What else is going on?” Jim proceeds to update him on everything going on with the show, culminating in the reminder that they have a meeting with John Carrafa coming up to decide his suitability to the choreographic duties. “Can I count on you to be there?” “Jim, I’m signing the contract for a year, manager or no manager.  If we’re fortunate enough to run, that’s how long I’ll be here. And then I’ll be in a nursing home, no doubt!” For the first time all night, both men laugh. A rosy future may well be in sight.

TO BE CONTINUED!