#once again my opinions so if u come for me I will cast the curse of ra at u | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hardskz · 6 years ago

Text

indulge.

pairing — hwang hyunjin x genderneutral! reader

genre — smut; dirty talk, masturbation, choking, praise kink, master kink, hand kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, hard dom!hyunjin

synopsis — after avoiding hyunjin for weeks because you got off whilst imagining his face, he’s making it clear that you haven’t been the most subtle one when staring at him. alternatively, 5.5k words of hyunjin being a cocky little fucker.

note — today marks the one month anniversary of this tragedy of a blog, so here’s my gift to you all thank you for supporting me <3 please enjoy this pwp monster! i tried to make the reader genderneutral since the original request used they/them pronouns and fuck it was a challenge and idk if it’ll ever do that again. (writing porn without using the words dick or clit or good boy/girl when referring to the reader is hard i dare you and i cringed writing this out kms) in any case, the reader is a bottom in this fic!

Having a crush on your friend’s bandmate is one thing. Being attracted to said bandmate to the point where your underwear grows damp just by looking at him (in real life and on the internet) is something entirely worse.

It’s in the middle of the night when you wake up with your heart pounding against your chest and sweat trickling down your back beneath the loose t-shirt. Your wet dreams have been appearing a fuck times too often and feature the same person over and over again to your dismay. You’re lucky you’re the only one in the house over the weekend because you don’t necessarily want your moaning at 3 AM to be the main topic during breakfast.

Hoping to cool down while recalling the many times Minho has complained about one of his cats pissing on the couch isn’t working this time. In retrospect, thinking about Minho’s weird cat antics in an attempt to get out of the mood has never been completely effective for the past three months. Sure, picturing your best friend ranting with his mouth full of half-chewed Cheetos and getting some crumbs on your lap is a definite turn-off, but the needy wish of getting dicked by a particular bandmate of his still lingers.

It’s been three months since you realized that the horny part of your brain has stopped projecting different guys out of your mental archive of masturbation-material faces. Instead, it casts one incredibly handsome — he’s so handsome he should be illegal at this point, you decide — person in your mind. Every. Fucking. Time.

You’ve been trying to erase him out of your head, but perhaps it wasn’t your brightest idea when you tried searching for a new figure to replace him with a clear vision in mind. It took you approximately two weeks to realize that you were looking for someone with long and nimble fingers and plump lips and just everything that Hwang Hyunjin is.

Because of knowing that fucker named Hyunjin in person, you haven’t had any sexual release for the past three months. Again, it’s one thing to have a crush on your friend’s bandmate, but it’s a completely different thing when you get off on said bandmate and then have to face him every week and pretend like nothing’s wrong. You’re bound to see him at least once a week because Minho always forces you to be the judge of the group’s new choreography because it’s, quote Minho, “crucial to getting the opinion from an outsider.” And that although he knows you’re far from a dancer. (You’ve taken one single dance class because he hauled your ass to his studio before he became a trainee and ever since, you haven’t stepped a foot into the dance studio.)

You see Hyunjin more often than compared to the remaining members of the group. Because of fucking course, he’s part of the dance line and also contributes into making the choreography, so it shouldn’t be so surprising that he’s started to act comfortably around you. To your horror, him acting comfortably also includes being touchy. That being said, he’s developed a habit of throwing an arm around your shoulder or pinching your cheeks to spite you alongside Minho. It’s only a matter of time until you have no other choice but to give in because Hyunjin is getting more casual by the day. Then again, you’re holding off because you don’t want to have a bad conscience and—

Fuck it.

You hesitantly bunch your blanket to the side and slip a hand underneath the waistband of your underwear, shuddering at the slightest pressure and opening your mouth to let out a silent gasp. Fucking hell, three months of no touching has made you so sensitive. You try to take it slow, carefully ghosting around your weak spots as you graze your other hand over the inside of your thighs, a mewl leaving your mouth.

A wet patch has formed in your underwear and you’re leaking so much that it’s enough to coat two fingers in slick. By then, your body has switched to autopilot and before you can process it, a finger prods at your entrance and that’s when you realize there’s no use in beginning slowly but surely.

You pump your finger in and out of you at a slower pace and your body’s reacting to it astoundingly sensitive to your ministrations. Your hips buck up into the air in the hopes of more friction and muffled curses fly out of your mouth without intervention. All sense of reason flies out the window when you curl your finger and graze your sweet spot. At this point, you’re already imagining it’s Hyunjin’s finger teasing you, Hyunjin watching your squirming form with hungry eyes and knowing that you’re at the brink of begging him to hit your spot.

Once you’re fixated on Hyunjin, you don’t hold back any longer. You get rid of your underwear completely and then slip a second finger in, whimpering at the stretch. It’s been so long, way too long of having last felt this way and when you start scissoring your fingers, you can’t help but bring “Hyunjin, f-fuck,” past your lips. Why the fuck did you sentence yourself to a masturbating-to-Hyunjn prohibition in the first place? It feels so much better now that Hyunjin’s name spills out of your mouth like a prayer.

With every passing second, your movements grow more frantic. The sound of skin slapping and slick squelching in you and your ragged breath resound within your four walls. The bed starts to creak a little, the blanket has somehow found its way to the cold floor and all you can think about is an imaginary Hyunjin fingering you in a moderate tempo and reminding you how wet you are for him and how well you’re doing.

Your imagination is running wild to the point of no return. You’re imagining Hyunjin’s forehead covered in sweat as he fucks you over with his hands, imagining his bangs falling above his eyes, imagining his tongue hungrily running over his plump, pink lips as he stares down at you. He’d smile amusedly at your whines, would coo about how much he loves hearing you so vocal and then mark you up in purple bruises. As much as he’d want to let everyone see the hickeys he planted on you, he’d know better and settle for your thighs, forcing you to keep them spread out for him. And even then, you wouldn’t be allowed to cum unless he gives you the green light.

“P-please, Hyunjin—” you whimper as you sense your high approaching and your fingers speed up. The sensation is becoming too much to handle, the idea of Hyunjin looking down at your with a coy smile and mumbling profanities as he rams his long, slender fingers into you and abuses your spot without a break. You’re not entirely sure what he’d say, but you’re sure that whatever it is, it’s downright filthy and sexy and affecting you more than he’d initially expect.

“Please, Hyunjin, I’m gonna… f-fu-u-uuck… I’m gonna—”

Hyunjin is a cocky little fucker who thrives on control, so he’d pull out and grin at you wickedly, continuing to leave marks on your thighs and restraining your hands from touching yourself. Your cry comes out louder than intended as you do so and you keep your legs spread apart, breath hitching as the cool air hits you bare.

Hyunjin is a kinky piece of shit who loves power. He’s also pretty damn aware of how nice and big his hands are, and you can’t help but want the feeling of his hand wrapped around your neck and his fingers in your mouth. He’d be so fucking smug, waiting for you to get teary-eyed and thrash around pathetically before he lets you indulge.

“I’ll be good for you, just— please—” your voice cracks towards the end and you turn your head to the side to bury your face into the pillow, muffling out your moans when you slowly finger yourself again, trembling legs still spread apart. “Fuck, Hyunjin, please let me cum!”

“Mmh, cum for me,” you imagine him rasping between low groans, a smug smirk etched on his face. “Since you’ve been so good for me.”

You pick up your pace, fingers drilling into you in an abusing manner and your body jolts up. You’re too far gone to control your voice, high-pitched moans and sobs and broken cries of his name bounce off the not-so soundproof walls, but holy fuck, you needed this so badly. Although Hyunjin would bathe in your sounds, his superiority kink would be fed even more once he shoves down his free fingers in your mouth and burns your tear-stained face in the back of his mind. That’s definitely something he’d do, so you shove three fingers into your mouth, imagining they were his. You whine at the thought of him tapping your tongue, a silent order to suck.

When you cum, it’s with a broken sob and Hyunjin’s satisfied grin in mind. Your body is trembling from the wave of pleasure flooding over you, mind hazy from the excessive stimulation. Three months of sexual frustration, you’re riding out three months worth of sexual frustration, so you don’t give a fuck about the drool running down your chin, tears staining your cheeks or the fact that your bedding is now sticky in cum and sweat. As you slowly come down from your high, you wipe off your hand on your shirt and try to catch your breath, eyes staring at the ceiling.

Well, you’re fucked. You finally committed the sin of masturbating to Hyunjin. You’re still basking in your moment of bliss and thus, you don’t care about the aftermath for now. But tomorrow. Yeah, tomorrow you’ll regret what you just did. You just hope the regret won’t follow you strongly for the rest of your life.

Four weeks later and you’re still regretting it.

Nothing has changed so far; Minho still spams your inbox when you’re not yet in the practice room to review a choreography even though you still have ten minutes to get there, and Hyunjin still casually throws an arm around your shoulder and buries his face into the crook of your neck when he’s exhausted and not too sweaty.

Nothing has changed so far except that so much has changed.

Obviously, you can’t avoid Hyunjin like the plague — even though that idea sounds fucking genius — but you’re trying to keep a distance from him. You’ve started avoiding his gaze, giving curt answers when he asks you if anything is wrong (“Why should it be? Everything’s peachy!” God Gracious, who the fuck uses the word peachy?) and always find an excuse to run away when you sense that he’s about to start a longer conversation (“Did you hear that? I should go help Felix!”).

You arrive at the practice room ten minutes later than usual due to the traffic jam and immediately slip out of your new shoes once the door slams shut. Fucking hell, you really should’ve worn those out first. “Minho, don’t even dare to bitch around, my feet hurt and it’s currently rush hour and the last thing I need is you breathing down my…” your voice trails off when you look up and only see Hyunjin raising a brow at you.

Oh. Fuck.

“Where are Minho and Felix?” you ask, realizing that you two are the only ones in the room. You try not to stare too much at his defined arms or plump lips or just the fact that he’s dressed in loose pants and a sleeveless shirt.

“Hello to you too,” Hyunjin scowls and walks towards your direction to put his half-empty water bottle back on the table. “Chan is treating them to hotpot. Well, he invited all of us but I really need to perfect this move, so I passed.”

“So that’s why Minho didn’t send me twenty voicemails today for being late, huh. And I can’t believe you passed on free food. Anyway—” you attempt to quickly slip your feet back into your uncomfortable sneakers. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, I’ll get going then—”

Before you know it, Hyunjin grips your wrist forcefully and cuts you off with a pout. “I still need someone to review my dance, though. Don’t you wanna keep me company?”

You ignore the shiver that runs down your spine and blink slowly. “Uh, you do know that I have no fucking clue about dancing.”

“(y/n), that’s not an answer to my question. Am I really that unbearable?”

“What? Of course not! I just don’t see how much of a help I can be here.”

His pout morphs into a smug smile. It’s as if he knows, but you can’t quite decipher what exactly. The grip on your wrist tightens to the point where you should be worried about your blood circulation but instead, you’re enjoying the long, calloused fingers on your skin.

“Then let me ask you something else. Do I ever cross your mind?” Hyunjin’s tone is light and melodic, but the underlying catch is hard to miss. You gulp, suddenly wanting Minho to appear out of nowhere and begin his speech about why the fuck cats deserve rights and are superior to the human race. The sudden mood shift grows insufferable as you slowly try to pull away. However, Hyunjin is persistent and never lets go and invades your personal bubble. That’s when you find your voice again. It’s small and shaky but it’s something.

“Hyunjin, you’re not making any sense—”

“Do you think about me? Dream about me?” you pale at the accusation. He knows. The smile on his face widens in victory. “Bingo.”

And just like that, he pushes you against the door before letting go of you. Now, you could run out of the room, the door handle is just a few inches away, but Hyunjin is strong and fast and there’s no way that you’d succeed in escaping. Not knowing what else to do without feeling as if you want the ground to swallow you whole, you just stand stiffly. Hyunjin laughs through his nose and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“C’mon, we both saw this coming.”

“Really?” you squeak, trembling at his presence. If only he leaned into you a little more, you’d feel his breath prickling your skin. “I-I mean, uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh really,” he sighs and then slams a hand against the door, right next to your face, the impact so loud that your body jolts. “Then please explain why you’ve been avoiding me as if I were carrying a contagious disease but then proceed to eye-fuck me when I turn my back to you. I’ve noticed the way you’ve been staring at me and honestly, it’s so cute but also so, so naive of you to think that I’m blind. You do know that this room is full of mirrors, right?”

Your eyes widen in fear. “W-what are you trying to say?”

“What I’m trying to say is that I’m intrigued by you. No, scrap that — I want you. I want to tear you apart. I want you to scream my name. I want you crying as you take my cock up to the hilt. I want a lot of things, so much more than you can imagine, but that’s not the point. Remember, I asked you a question: do I ever cross your mind?”

He reaches for your chin with his free hand, forcing you to meet his eyes. Albeit firm, his grip isn’t too harsh so that you can nod in response.

“Obviously,” he says casually, “I wanna know more though. Give me the gory details.”

You inhale sharply. Fucking hell. No. No. No. It’s already embarrassing enough that Hyunjin has noticed you mentally undressing him the entire time and you’re not going down the rabbit hole of “telling him all of the kinky shit you’ve imagined him do to you and potentially making your fantasies come true”.

Hyunjin makes a sad face, but his voice just drips in shameless glee. “I guess I’ll have to force you then. Didn’t peg you as a brat, but I can work with that too.”

“I’m not a—”

Before you finish wording out your complete thought, Hyunjin grabs you by the collar and pulls you in for a kiss. It’s sloppy and devoid of care or emotion, but it leaves you boiling hot and dizzy. Hyunjin knows no boundaries and slings one arm around your waist to draw you closer to him, the other hand resting at the back of your neck. He’s kissing you feverishly like a man starved, forces his tongue into your mouth and doesn’t give you any chance to pull away and breathe. Meanwhile, your hands find their way to his head and tug on strands of pitch-black hair. It’s a weak attempt to break off the kiss, but it just elicits a groan out of the back of his throat.

When you finally pull away, his eyes are hooded and his lips are red and swollen. Catching your breath, you somehow manage to stumble all the way to the back of the room. Hyunjin pushes you onto the semi-comfortable couch before he starts to kiss you again, breaking it off once to discard his shirt. At the sight of his defined abs (you’re finally seeing them in person and not in shitty LQ pictures that a fan took during a concert, thank you God), you suppress the need to run your hands over them.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying the show,” he rasps with a grin before he latches for another uncoordinated liplock. Saliva is dripping down from the corner of your lips, but neither of you seems to care.

Eventually, his hands start to roam your body, undoing the buttons of your shirt before sliding it off your shoulders and throwing it into a corner. He detaches his lips from you and before you can complain, he leans down to suck on the patch of skin below your collarbone. A shaky moan escapes your mouth and you throw your head back, whimpering when he begins to bite. Perhaps you got that partially right. Hyunjin loves to mark, just in dangerous areas to your dismay. One slip up and people are going to see the bruises.

His hands begin to wander lower and lower. They’re halfway undoing the zipper when you sob at the faintest amount of pressure and weep, “Stop stop, Hyunjin— stop!”

He stops in his tracks and looks up at you, clearly impatient. “What?”

“I’m, u-uh, I’m really sensitive, okay?” you feel the blood rush to your cheeks when you say it out loud. “I haven’t got dicked in a while and also haven’t been, uh, touching myself, so uh…”

“Why the fuck not?”

“B-because the last time I touched myself, I’ve been thinking about you!”

“So you got off on… me?”

Hyunjin looks so fucking smug, so satisfied, and you’re pretty damn sure it’s not a trick of the light and his eyes really turned a shade darker. Yeah, that superiority kink? You were right on that, he definitely loves to bask in power.

“Yes, I did. Happy? As I was saying, I’m really fucking sensitive right now, especially my thighs, so don’t—” Hyunjin quickly zips down the rest, applying pressure in all the right places and when he strips off the jeans, he makes sure that his knuckles graze your inner thighs, “d-don’t do shit like this— oh f-fuck, Hyunjin!”

“Yeah, I don’t fucking care.” he shrugs and your pants to God knows where. “By the way, I cut you off before. What did you want to say? You’re not a…?”

“I’m not a brat.”

“You sure do act like one,” he says and adds after a moment of contemplation, “Tell you this. You tell me exactly what you imagined me to do when you touched yourself and I’ll see for myself if you’re really not a brat.”

“What?”

“I wanna know what you want me to do to you. You wanna be good for me, don’t you? Then tell me.”

“You were… I— wait, someone might come in—”

“The practice room is booked for us for another hour. Now go on, I’m listening.”

You squirm when his fingers ghost over the inside of your thighs. Any attempts to move away prove themselves futile as Hyunjin plants you onto the couch with his free hand on your hip. “You had— hhhh. o-oh fuck— your fingers in my mouth, told me to suck and— a-aaa-ah— fingered me then…”

He hums appreciatively before releasing the grip on your hip and violently shoving three fingers into your mouth. His fingers are longer than you expected and you close your eyes in bliss as you earnestly suck on them. Eventually, he starts thrusting them in and out of you, tempo getting faster with every movement and you almost gag when he reaches further into your mouth than you ever could with your own. “Baby, you should see yourself. You look so pretty like this.”

When you moan around his fingers, he snickers. “Do you like it when I praise you? We haven’t even started and you’re already doing so well.”

The disappointment you feel when he pulls out is quickly replaced by even greater pleasure when he presses his thumb directly over the wet patch on your underwear. Hyunjin’s not even applying a lot of pressure, but you’re already at the brink of screaming. “So sensitive for me. Fuck, that’s so hot. So sensitive for me and only me,” he hisses while pulling your panties down.

The direct contact of his spit-covered finger just grazing your entrance sends you into overdrive. Even you yourself didn’t expect to be this hypersensitive to everything he does. You’re growing more vocal by the second and slap an arm in front of your mouth to muffle your sounds. However, he’s not having it and chastises, “Stop that. I want to hear your voice. Don’t hold back.”

You shiver at the authority in his tone and before your brain fully processed it, both of your hands are gripping the armrest as if it were your lifeline, the moans coming out of your mouth unfiltered. Hyunjin smirks. “That’s it, baby. Moan louder for me so that everyone in this building could hear you if the walls weren’t fucking soundproof.”

“Hyunjin, don’t tease me, please!” you shake violently, craving more than what he’s currently giving you. His little touches are too much yet not enough at the same time. Partly frustrated and partly needy, your sobs grow more uncontrolled and tears are already forming in your glassy eyes.

But no, Hyunjin is a cocky little shit who loves the sight of you struggling.

“Hm? But I like seeing you squirm like this. How long is it going to take until you start crying properly?”

“I knew it! I knew you’d be like this!” you cry accusingly, “I can’t, I can’t.”

“Why don’t you do anything against it, then? You’re holding back, it’s cute.”

“Because I— fuck, fu-u-uuck, s-stop it— wanna be good for you. I won’t misbehave, please master, allow me to cum—”

“What did you just call me?” Hyunjin is suddenly tense, stops with his ministrations and stares at you wide-eyed. You mirror his movements, just as perplexed by your words. You didn’t even mean it intentionally, it just slipped out. Sure, you knew that he had that superiority domination kink going on, but did he really enjoy being addressed as— “Say it again.”

You lick your lips and watch him closely. “Let me come, master.”

Hyunjin shudders visibly and the groan that escapes his mouth is raspy and deep and liquid sin. “Since you’re so good for me…” you yelp when he suddenly inserts two fingers into you, and fingers you in a rapid speed. It takes him roughly five thrusts until he finds your weak spot before he repeatedly pumps in and out in the same angle, emitting a sob from your side. “Is there anything else you imagined master doing to you?”

“Hands around… a-aa-ah shit— around my…” Hyunjin raises a brow when you reach out for his free hand and sloppily guide him to your throat. Stars fill your vision as he understands and wraps his fingers around your neck, the missing feeling of air making you light-headed. You weep out a silent cry when he moves his fingers even faster and applies slightly more pressure on your throat.

“Fuck, you look so good with my hand around your neck. What’s next? You want me to gag you with my fingers? Pull your hair when I’m fucking your mouth? Run my hands all over your body as you get yourself off on my thigh? You seem to be really fixated on my hands.”

Hyunjin’s words send you jolts of pleasure throughout your entire body. You don’t even register the intent behind what he says, too focused on all the other sensations. At this point you’re too far gone to keep holding onto any thread of rationality; the tears are gradually streaming down, your thighs are trembling and it hurts yet it doesn’t, and your orgasm hits you so hard you don’t even process it until your body starts to sting.

While you’re recovering from your high, Hyunjin picks up your cum on his fingers and licks it off thoughtfully, his eyes raking up and down your fingers. And then he asks in a manner way too casual for the situation, “How often can you cum, hm?”

You’re already fucked out by his fingers alone, and if he keeps it up, the answer is not a lot of times. Hell, you’re pretty sure your limit is two, but you answer tiredly with, “As many times as master wants me to.”

Hyunjin seems satisfied with the reply and then he gets up on his feet. Cluelessly, you send him mental question marks until he motions you to get up too. “What are you waiting for? Take my pants off.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You just notice now how constrained Hyunjin is underneath the jeans that hung on his hips. Wanting to free him out of his misery as fast as possible, you quickly unbuckle his belt and work on his zipper with the lightest amount of pressure you can muster. From there on, it doesn’t take long until you’ve pulled the fabric down alongside his boxers, revealing his hard length.

At the sight of his size, the precum pooling around his tip and the girth of his length, your mouth waters. “Can I suck you off?”

“I’d love that, but not today.” Hyunjin chuckles when your face drops and grabs your chin, his voice suddenly sultrier and a few intervals lower when he says, “Don’t look so disappointed. I know you’d do a great job. If I fucked your mouth without warning, you’d still take it, right? You wouldn’t deny an inch of my dick, would you? Even if you started to gag, you wouldn’t complain because you want to be good for master.”

He drops himself on the couch and the corners of his mouth crook upwards. “I just thought of something better. I bet you look so pretty bouncing on my cock.”

“Holy fuck,” you whisper. He’s right, that’s so much better than having his pulsing dick in your mouth. Fuck, you’ve been fantasizing about this for the past months after all. And just like that, he’s serving it all on a silver platter.

“C’mon, make me feel good,” he mumbles impatiently as he guides you onto his lap and pulls you in for a kiss. You melt into the kiss, let him abuse your lips up until they bleed if he fucking insists, before smearing precum all over his throbbing dick. Once he’s all slicked up, you raise yourself and sink on him, hissing uncontrollably once his head prods at your entrance.

Despite having him loosening you up a little before with his fingers, the stretch is so intense that you break the kiss and bury your face in the crook of his neck. You’re not the only one who’s affected this badly, as Hyunjin lets a particularly loud groan. “Fuck, you’re so tight. It’s like you were made for me. Be good for master and take me to the hilt, yeah?”

With that, he grips your hips so tightly that they form bruises, and slams you onto the rest of his dick. You stutter out a cry and more tears stream down your face. Hyunjin doesn’t give you time to adjust and lifts you up until only his head is still buried in you, only to push you down again immediately.

“God, you’re taking me in so well. Tell me, who’s making you feel this good?” he demands whilst continuing to manhandle you in this ruthless pace.

“You, master— a-aaa-ah, f-fuck— you’re making me feel this good, master!” you choke out, indulging the rough treatment. “You’re the only one who makes me feel so full!”

Hyunjin groans against you and begins to thrust his hips up into you like a madman. “You’re right, baby, only me huh—” he tugs on your hair with his one hand and kisses you in between your hiccups.

It’s hot, way too hot in here. The sound of skin slapping rings in your ears, as well as Hyunjin’s countless muffled praises. You’re both on edge, orgasm washing over you very soon. It’s prominent in the way Hyunjin’s movements grow more frantically, the way you cling onto him as if he were your saving grace, the way he rasps profanities in your ear.

“Cum for me, baby,” he pants, and it’s the one thrust that he delivers where he’s in you balls-deep and in the right angle that makes you come undone with a loud sob. Hyunjin helps you ride out your high before he pulls out of you completely and his release coats your stomach.

The next few moments are spent in silence, save for the harsh breathing. And then Hyunjin stands up to get a box of tissues next to the speakers and wipes off the cum on his abdomen before cleaning you up. You welcome his actions wholeheartedly, still basking in your post-orgasm bliss. Frankly, every inch of your body hurts and you’re damn sure you won’t be able to feel your legs until the end of the month.

“I’m pretty positive I won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” you say once he’s done cleaning you up as much as he can with simple tissues and is now retrieving all the clothes on the floor.

“It’s what you deserve after putting yourself through your weird sex-deprivation thing,” he jokes and falls on the couch beside you, handing you your clothes and offering his water bottle. “Want some?”

You silently take the bottle and take three generous gulps out of it. “Not today. You said not today when I wanted you to suck you off.”

“I mean, if you’re up for a next time, that is. If yes, then cool. If not, that’s also fine by me.” The way he replies is so casual as if he didn’t get hard from being called master. “Anyway, let me help you get back to your clothes.”

“No cuddles? You are the worst in aftercare.”

“I was thinking of cuddling once we both look a tad more presentable, but go off,” he snorts. Nonetheless, he’s extremely gentle and careful when he helps you slip into your button-up. No words are exchanged all the while except for his soft apologies when you wince in pain because fuck, even lifting your legs hurts.

Hyunjin keeps his word. After fixing your hair to the best extent, he wraps an arm around your waist and you rest your head on his chest, hearing his steady heartbeat.

“I can’t believe we just fucked in the practice room,” he chuckles weakly. “If this becomes a regular thing, please let’s not do it in the practice room ever again. I work here.”

Of course you want this to be a regular thing. Fucking hell. But you don’t say that just yet. Instead, you opt for: “Well, if this becomes a regular thing, the dorms seem like a pretty sweet—”

“Absolutely not.”

You laugh quietly, but deep down inside you know he really wants to do that but doesn’t want to admit it out loud because Hyunjin’s a kinky little shit. “Whatever you say.”

Still, it’s a lot to process, everything that just happened. It’s so much that it drains you more than it should. Your eyes are starting to feel heavy and you sense yourself falling into a slumber. However, you still catch Hyunjin’s half exasperated, half panicked “don’t you dare fall asleep on me now, at least stay awake until we’re in my car!”

You’re not entirely certain if this is just your mind playing games on you or actual reality, but you like to believe that shortly after his outburst, Hyunjin kisses you fondly on the forehead and softly mumbles, “Whatever. Sleep tight, baby.”

#lulu end a story properly challenge failed i'm bad at this im so sorry idek #stray kids smut #skz smut #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin smut #dom!hyunjin #sub!reader #smut.mine #hwang.txt #stray kids dark hours

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dopescotlandwarrior · 5 years ago

Text

The Dancer-Chapter Three

A special thanks to @statell for all the help

Previous chapters on AO3

Chapter Three

The day after Hogmanay, the world looked completely new and different to Jamie. It always did because of his mother telling him about the new year, fresh beginnings and a casting off of mistakes and baggage from the year before. Gather yer blessins to take into the new year and forget the rest, she would say.

Jamie spent time hiking the hills where ever the snow would allow. He needed to be alone in the uncomplicated outdoors so his twisted mind could unravel, set goals for the new year, and dream about a lovely future. His mother’s voice was heard again telling him to have a picture in his mind of where he wanted to be in a year. “Make a braw picture in your in mind so yer feet will know which way to go, Jamie boy.”

By this time next year… Hmm Reunite with his childhood friends and celebrate Hogmanay together. He would see the finished barn he promised Jenny he would build for her, three years ago. Hiking and climbing once a week to build his strength and overall health. He would pay it forward in Edinburgh, he and Claire, with reading programs, book clubs and free classes for computers and creative writing.

He would have to open another store this year but this time he would find a way to pull any local bookseller into his project rather than leave them to mourn.

He would keep his workweek to forty hours, well fifty at most, when the new project was underway.

Jamie was smiling as he saw Lallybroch in the distance. He felt better and he had a plan. Throughout his hike and planning the coming year, the veiled girl beckoned him. Get outa my head temptress, ye mean nothin to me, he thought.

Claire had danced at many celebrations during the holidays and it was time to treat herself with some new clothes. She would not feel buyer’s remorse because the bank account would hardly notice the loss of Benjamins. Still, she called in reinforcement to prevent her from bolting at the first price tag.

“Geillis, I am walking into Epitome right now and if you don’t hurry, I promise to buy every beige garment I see.”

“Impossible Claire because I’m already here with a full dressin room waiitin for ye. Look up for Christ’s sake before ye crash into the makeup counter.”

When Claire looked up, there was Geillis pointing to a dressing room. Claire was surprised by all the color in the garments and she balked saying she wouldn’t feel comfortable wearing any of it.

Geillis held a beautiful royal blue sweater out for her. “Ye wear leggings underneath and boots that fit yer calf or ankle boots with a heel for date night. Jesus Claire, dinna roll eyes at me, ye need to consider going out with a man when one of them asks ye.”

“They only ask when I dance, and the shock of seeing the real me will have them running for the hills I’m afraid.”

“So we lessen the chasm between ye and the other ye and it starts with color and beautiful clothes. Dinna forget I’m with ye enough to know ye made a small fortune over the holiday. I think Omar is jealous, God knows I am. What about this one?”

For the rest of the afternoon, the girls ran from one shop to another as Claire’s back seat filled with her brave purchases. Sweaters, leggings, scarfs, boots, tops, jeans, a tailored coat and soft comfortable dresses for curling up on a couch or chair for a book club meeting. Claire was feeling braver and laughing more, until Geillis put the fear of God into her heart by stopping at a salon. It was the best in Edinburgh, so she marched inside to make Claire an appointment.

The man behind the counter was model gorgeous with jet black hair and crystal blue eyes. His wide mouth was adorned with a trimmed mustache that made his white teeth sparkle. Geillis started at the top of his perfect head and devoured bite-size pieces hoping he was tall and hung like a horse.

Claire raced in after Geillis to stop her and witnessed her friend morph into a purring, circling, huntress. His name was Joseph and he had a cancellation and could take Claire right now. Claire rapidly shook her head no, but Geillis forgot how to hear as she pulled her reluctant friend to follow Joseph. He led the ladies into his own private room and barely heard a word from Claire before he started cutting. Claire looked from Geillis to the stylist and figured neither one would be communicating with her now, so she closed her mouth and her eyes. She could hear some lady in the main salon complaining bitterly that she had been on Joseph’s waiting list for a year and this was just not fair!

Claire hated her hair since she was old enough to have an opinion. It was frizzy-curly that she tamed with loads of hairpins and detangler. It was like a curse on her feminity because she never could style it, wear it down or in a ponytail. On her rare trips to the bedroom for sex she would emerge looking quite like Einstein with a red face. He could shave it off for all she cared. It was why she loved wearing wigs so much.

Joseph was wrapping Claire’s hair in large plastic rods, allowing Geillis to flirt and toss her hair like some crazy person. Claire peaked up at the two of them and noticed Joseph was caught in her web, like a hooked fish that Claire hoped knew how to cut hair. The eyes closed and her mind practiced her new routines until she felt Joseph take her hand.

The amount of hair on the floor was staggering and Claire’s hand instantly reached for her head but only touched the plastic rods. She was seated and then laid back with her neck locked into a U shaped cut out in the ceramic sink. It was like a torture device sculpted for maximum pain that was quickly getting worse. She looked up and saw both faces above her, but they were talking to each other and didn’t seem to notice her. It can’t get any worse she thought until freezing water gushed out of a hand-held sprayer that soaked her face dripping into her sweater.

The big rods were removed, one more soaking and a towel dropped on her face as Geillis pulled Joseph into a corner to play with his hair. Claire held the towel to her dripping hair and sat down in the stylist’s chair that was unfortunately turned away from the mirror. Claire twisted her head trying to see what had become of her hair until she was jolted back by Joseph man-handling the towel and squeezing the water out of her hair. Claire glared at Geillis.

Next, a loud blow dryer was following chunks of her hair wound around a brush as Joseph’s expert hands pulled and twisted sections of hair while staring at Geillis. It wasn’t intolerable. The warm air was chasing away the cold from her wet sweater. A rather large razor edge was pulled down taught sections of hair around her face and her large eyes watched it twist and turn an inch from her skin. The blow dryer once again and then the cape was pulled off her with flourish. Claire felt the chair drop slowly as Joseph turned her toward the mirror.

Claire stared at her reflection with wide eyes that looked bigger and her lips looked more prominent. She pulled herself out of the chair and leaned toward the mirror where she looked at her features an inch from the glass. Her eyes gorged on her amazing hair for five minutes. Where did all this bouncy, straight hair come from, she wondered. Her bangs were cut very long and angled to sweep across her face covering one eye. Holy fucking Christmas, she thought, this was a mad miracle and she was desperate to find out how to style it like this.

“Joseph! I lov…” They were kissing and Joseph held her coat out to her. Guess that’s my cue to leave, she thought. Good thing Geillis had her own car. Claire tossed a folded hundred-dollar bill on the front desk and told the person it was for Joseph. Paid in full or just the first installment, Claire didn’t give a rip. For now, anyway, the cursed hair looked as good as the bouncing bobs that shined on the magazine covers. She raced home to stare at herself and try everything on, twice.

Toppled boxes and bags were strewn across Claire’s studio floor. She had pulled her makeup organizer out and was sitting on the floor in full light an inch from the mirror. Every ten minutes or so she ran to the bathroom to wash her face and start over. The laptop glowed next to her and she typed Eva Mendes into Google and looked closely at her favorite eyes in Hollywood. She was determined to learn, and scrubbed her face three more times, blinking back stinging tears to answer her ringing cell phone.

“Claire, my dahling, a pipe ruptured in the kitchen and the restaurant is closed until next week. Three days they tell me so go visit relatives and rest, aibnatu.” Claire smiled at the Arabic daughter reference and jumped back in front of the mirror. She carefully plucked at her eyebrows using Eva Mendes as a reference again. She went painstakingly slow to avoid a catastrophic patch pulled out by accident. An hour later she moved her eyeballs from one brow to the other, happy with the arc.

Claire was nervous about wearing her new clothes and hair in public. She still felt like she was playing dress-up and did not want to embarrass herself. Geillis was still not answering her cell and Claire was getting bored. She pulled her new coat on and looked at all sides in the mirror. What’s the worse that can happen? Somebody points at my ridiculous clothes behind my back? No biggie. She reached for her purse and left.

Jamie would be long gone at this hour, so she decided to check out the bookstore in his absence and take a look at the side rooms used for kid stories and adult book club meetings. It was a perfect place to find her confidence. Brightly lit, she would know if people were laughing at her. She parked and exhaled a billowing cloud of steam in the twenty-degree interior of her car.

There were two large carousel doors in the front of the store and stepping into one she looked up at a man on the other side of the glass pushing his way outside and staring at her. Claire looked at the floor convinced the man had dropped something. Looking up she realized she missed her opportunity to exit into the store and had to go around again. I am sure no one saw that she decided.

The store was gigantic, and Claire felt her heart race as she read the section names placed high on the shelves to lead people to what they sought. Claire knew where Jamie’s office was from the one time she was here and made sure it was dark before venturing in. She was free to explore the store unnoticed and felt a rush of excitement to see as much as possible.

Jamie pretended to eat as he pushed the peas and carrots around his plate making small talk with Jenny and his best friend Ian. He was lost in his daydreams of spinning veils and exotic eyes, hoping Jenny would not ask him about it. Strangely, Jenny and Ian were getting on like two peas in a pod and hardly noticed him. Once supper was cleaned up, he slipped away and headed for the restaurant and the dancer who would not leave his head.

The closer he got the faster he drove until he looked up at a dark building and empty parking lot. He circled around and read the note about the closure due to plumbing. Christ, he would surely implode waiting until next week to see her. He rolled out of the parking lot heading for the bookstore. Dropping in on the night manager and his staff could pay dividends in future months. Maybe the night wasn’t a total bomb after all.

Once inside the store Jamie kept close to the shelves where he could observe the staff, happy and helpful, going from music to video games and back to books, assisting customers. It made him content to see such productive employees looking for people to help. He continued to stroll through the store, watching for problems, or lazy staff running out the clock. He watched his newest hire helping a petite brunette in the classics section. She moved away and Jamie continued his lazy spying as he walked through the store. He smiled thinking he should get back to Ian before Jenny chewed his ears off with her continuous conversation. He walked along the row of rooms and offices noticing the brunette sitting inside a room with comfortable couches and chairs. The walls were glass so he could watch her as he walked. He felt something vaguely familiar about her but realized her glorious ass and legs would have been cataloged in his head, like every other pretty girl in Edinburgh.

Jamie leaned against the door to open it enough to speak to her.

“Excuse me, lass. This room is dedicated to the book clubs. There are couches scattered throughout the store if ye like to read a bit.”

“Book clubs, that sounds interesting. Who leads the club if I might ask?”

“Claire Beauchamp is in charge of our community programs.”

“Is she any good?”

“Oh yea, quite good.”

Jamie was trying to back out of a conversation he never wanted in the first place. When long legs were uncurled from under the woman, he was momentarily halted so he could watch skin tight jeans and boots. He could be running down the street with his hair on fire, but he would stop to watch gorgeous legs swing out of a car. Being temporarily diverted by the anatomy of the opposite sex was part of being a man he always thought.

“I am very close to Claire Beauchamp actually.”

The woman passed through the door under Jamie’s arm and then turned to look at him in the light of the store. Jamie stared at her momentarily confused.

“It’s me, Mister Fraser, Claire Beauchamp,” she said smiling. “I didn’t have to work tonight and got bored, so I came by to see the rest of the store. I hope you don’t mind.”

“What have ye done to yerself?”

“Oh, I…I…” Claire’s hand reached up and touched her shoulder-length hair and looked nervously for an escape.”

Oh my God lass, he thought, I meant that in a good way. Ye have eyes, he thought, surely ye can see what’s right in front of your face.

He slowed himself down and looked at her like he was appraising a beautiful work of art for sale.

“Ye know Sassenach, I’ve seen my share of makeovers, but none like this. He circled around her showing his appreciation. Claire’s cheeks blushed at his scrutiny, her confidence soared and she giggled at his exaggerated gawking.”

“It was nice to see you, Mister Fraser, I have to get home, goodnight.”

“Ah, two things Sassenach, how do I contact ye? For the community programs, I mean.”

Claire pulled the phone from his hand and punched in her number hearing the muffled ring in her purse. She looked up at him, “and the other thing?”

Jamie was still staring at her trying to see all the changes. “Wednesday.”

“Wednesday?”

“Aye, C’mon, I’ll walk ye to yer car.”

They walked together to the other side of the store. Jamie waved at a few people but otherwise looked at Claire. There was something unsettling about the changes in her. It was making him feel weird, happy, confused and sad all at the same time. Aside from her momentary anxiety when he said something stupid, she was like a new woman and reminded him of someone, but who?

Jamie failed to rally his senses before she dropped into her car. He turned to walk back to the store and looked when she called his name.

“What is happening on Wednesday?”

“Ye, here, and a bunch of wee ones, aye?”

“I will see you then Mister Fraser.”

A fortuitous meeting he thought, looking at her number on his phone. I’ll get the reading programs up and running before I leave for Glasgow.

Jamie did not spend much time at a new store. Once it was opened and running smoothly, he was off to build another one.

A new store was a complex project that easily lost money from delays, inept contractors, expensive labor, and a million other factors. Jamie had commercial construction experience and hired on, nine years ago, as an assistant project manager. The job took him to cities all over Europe and America. He was home for holidays and vacations, otherwise, he was gone.

Halfway through his first year as assistant project manager, he received a formal invitation to a meeting of the full board the following month. The next day he received a phone call from the secretary of one of the members and later a large envelope was hand-delivered to him with plane tickets and a cashier’s check for one thousand dollars.

Jamie walked off the plane after landing in Germany and felt a small hand attached to an arm that linked through his. A pretty woman in business attire pulled him into a limo and handed him an apple martini while giving instructions to the driver in German. The woman sat close beside him and peeled off her jacket as Jamie gorged himself on her jutting chest and fat red lips. She dragged him through men’s clothing stores where a lucky few could afford to shop until his interview suit was complete.

The woman watched him get in and out of his clothes at least a dozen times during the afternoon and when it was clear they were done she looked at her watch and then pushed him into a seat in the dressing room while pulling her blouse off. She was completely naked bouncing on Jamie’s lap and all he could do is hang on. His twenty years on earth had not prepared him for this thrilling experience, nor had the many dropped panties delivered him to the promised land quite like she did.

One month later, haircut and manicured hands, wearing a tailored suit and shiny shoes, Jamie met the members of the board for the first time. They had vetted Jamie so thoroughly they knew his test results in Chemistry from his sophomore year in high school. Millions of dollars would be gambled on his ability in the next ten years and the board gave him no quarter as they questioned his course of action in one impossible scenario after another.

After three hours they all broke for lunch and vaporized except for one man. Clearly the youngest of the board members, he poured the world’s best whisky into a cut crystal glass and handed it to Jamie.

“You are doing remarkably well Mister Fraser. You can relax because you’re already hired. Now comes the negotiation for salary and benefits. I cannot be seen coaching you so listen carefully, “tell them you want ten years as project manager followed by first right of refusal for every position that opens in the next grade up, forever. It will guarantee a life of promotions until you get dizzy from a fear of heights.” He poured Jamie another shot of the whisky he would remember for the rest of his life.

“Good luck friend.” In seconds, Jamie was alone feeling his bravery assert itself. What the hell, he thought, friend or foe, he had a good feeling about the man. Jamie drained his glass and when the board reconvened, he gambled his career on the advice of a total stranger.

Steal gray eyes regarded Jamie under thick white eyebrows. Thin lips pressed together in a straight line across his deeply lined face. You could hear a pin drop in that room and Jamie wondered if the members could hear his ramming heart. He remembered his boss working seventy or more hours per week, missing the birth and growth of his kids, saying he had to make money while the opportunity lasted. Complaining his six-figure income would end after ten years and he would settle into managing whatever store they gave him, at a lower salary, for the rest of his career.

When they offered the same package to Jamie, he stood at the end of the conference table with all eyes waiting for him to pledge his extraordinary life to corporate slave labor. He dropped his head for a minute of quiet before he threw the dice.

“My mother taught me to always know where I want to be, so my feet know which way to go.” He looked up at the man on the other end of the table. “I have a braw picture of my life before my dyin day,” he gave them a half-smile, “and I willna get there with yer offer. I’m sorry gentlemen, I respectfully decline.”

Jamie sat down, shaking from his feet to the crown of his head, silently invoking the love of his parents and the power of Lallybroch to carry him through the rest of the meeting.

The white eyebrows asked Jamie to step out just as the door opened and the sexy secretary found his eyes, smiling her intent. She led him to a hallway and pushed him into a couch, then turned her attention to a flask and a shot glass pulled out of her briefcase. Jamie was so tired. He stared at the shot glass anticipating the lovely feeling it would bring. The woman handed it to him and told him to toss it back. He did.

The phone in the woman’s purse vibrated and she stood, bending over to press her tongue into Jamie’s mouth as she kissed him.

“Good luck” she whispered into his ear and disappeared around the corner seconds before the conference room door opened.

Eight board members filed past Jamie, smiling and shaking his hand. White eyebrows was the last in line and told Jamie to expect an offer in the next two days. It would be hand-delivered and it would rock his world.

He was feeling better, almost like superman as he walked to the exit of the building. Hearing his name, he turned around as the young board member caught up to him.

“Last bit of advice Jamie. In eleven years you will wonder what gift to send me as thanks for how I helped you today.” He pressed the bottle of whiskey into his hand. “I want a case of this.” He smiled with his perfect teeth, “It’s my favorite.”

Jamie watched Claire drive out of the parking lot and returned to the store. Jumping stairs two at a time to his office he left the lights off and drifted to sleep on his couch. Sometime in the dead of night, when unanswered questions are brought to the light, Jamie dreamed.

The dancer was twirling across the room straight toward him. He watched her like a statue, made of concrete and powerless to move. She stopped spinning six inches from him. She spoke rapid Arabic and he could only watch her mouth until she said “Jamie.”

His eyes snapped to her eyes. She spoke to him! Finally! She was pointing to something and his eyes followed the line she pointed to. He saw, in the distance, the room in his store where he found Claire. She sat on the floor with wee ones sitting all around her as she read to them.

The dancer was pointing furiously at Claire, ”love her,” said in her broken English.

Jamie looked back to the dancer. There was love in his eyes, he could feel it. “I love you, I must be with you.”

The dancer took Jamie’s hand and led him across the floor approaching the dressing room. Before she entered the room, she turned around and Jamie saw she was sobbing and then she looked at Claire.

“Please.” Said through her tears. Jamie felt his mind snap having her so close to him. He looked around at the empty restaurant. They were alone and he would have his way with her.

“Jesus!” Jamie yelled in his sleep and his eyes flew open. “Ah diah!” His office was pitch black and the store was empty. He felt the huge erection that pulsed between his legs, his balls were pulled up tight to his body and stung like they were being poked by a live wire. He was literally seconds from ejaculation. All he had to do is close his eyes and see her kneel in front of him and his pain would turn to pleasure. Jamie was panting and conflicted, crazy angry at letting himself go back to her, even in his head.

“Leave me alone ye cunt!” He was seething mad just wanting a way out of this nightmare. “I dinna bide with rape but if it would rid yer presence in my head, I would break yer bones with my brutality.”

Jamie grabbed his coat and ran for his car feeling completely out of control. The speedometer pushed into the criminal zone as he sped through Edinburgh. Where is a cop when ye need one, he wondered? He had to be punished for thinking he could harm another person, especially a woman. A night in jail would be helpful, jar him back to reality before his well-constructed life crumbled around him. He raked a hand through his hair then gripped the steering wheel, hating the shaking that vibrated his fingers like he was as weak as a bairn.

Jenny couldn’t see him this way, just in case she was awake, so he drove the back roads until his tank was almost empty.

Being unsuccessful at getting arrested and nearly running his gas tank dry, Jamie turned into the Lallybroch driveway and sat in the quiet of his truck. Dawn was breaking across the fields and he saw himself running through the corn stalks as a lad with a single concern to get home before he was late for supper. He desperately wished he could go back in time, before his mistakes, and try again to be the man his parents raised.

He took a deep breath and walked to the front door noticing Ian’s car was still where he left it. Jamie wondered if he was sacked out on the couch and felt the sting of guilt for leaving like he did. Setting the alarm for two hours he dropped into bed. Sleep came quickly as she wrapped her cadaverous long fingers around his defenseless brain.

47 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 6 years ago

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Just the Game We’re In - Chapter 12 (Ortega

a/n: I have honestly no idea how to start this off, and I’m aware I’m not accepting a fucking Oscar, so I’ll try to keep this as short as possible. Back in the summer of 2016, there was a crossover fic challenge posted to this blog. I was in the process of finishing MasP and, as someone who fucking loved The Thick Of It and knew how well Bianca would fit as Malcolm Tucker, I posted chapter 1 of what started as a lighthearted, funny Politics AU, Just the Game We’re In. Fast forward nearly three fucking years, me graduating from uni and getting a job, countless long-ass fuckin update gaps and 179,065 words later, this is the final chapter, and I have no idea what the fuck I’m going to do with my life now!! I know I’m not the first person to ever finish a fic in this blog’s history, i ain’t special sis, but I really do want to say thank you thank you thank you to anyone who has ever given any chapter of this a note, reblogged it with something lovely, made fucking fanart or a moodboard (still in awe at that), has read any part of it, or has simply been a friend I’ve made through the writing process. It would be criminal not to specially mention @purecamp- she has without a doubt been Game’s biggest cheerleader throughout it all and legit I may not have even finished this if it wasn’t for her. She is a fantastic person and an amazing friend. I’ll sound like a wet wipe, but Game has legit changed my life. When I was little my dream was to be an author and I loved writing stories. I had never expected my writing to get much of a response when I joined AQ but I can safely say that this blog has been so so amazing and has really allowed me to live my childhood dream of writing a story that people actually wanted to read (this is the definition of cheesy). I’ll shut up now, but here she is everyone. As always lmk what u think over at artificialortega, I tried so hard to make it the most absolutely perfect ending. Chapter 12 of Game, the final chapter. It has been some fuckin wild ride. Xxxxxxxxx

(p.s. phi phi ur a babe im sorry i made u the opposition in this fic and i know u don’t have shitty opinions like game phi phi)

The street was silent. Time had seemed to freeze completely, and even the sound of the car speeding away seemed to be on mute. Perhaps it was just the overwhelming ringing in Willam’s ears that drowned everything else out, which sounded eerily akin to a flatline.

Willam could only blink and feel her heartbeat through her chest, cruelly taunting her and reminding her that Sharon, lying on the concrete, might not have had that privilege. Was she moving? Was she bleeding? Was she alive?

It felt as if Willam stood there frozen for minutes but it was probably only seconds, as all at once she felt herself walking forward, two slow steps and then breaking out into a sprint where she skidded to a halt beside Sharon’s body.

Fuck, no, not her body, Willam thought. Beside Sharon. Sharon, the living human being.

“Sharon,” Willam felt her voice come out as nothing more than a hoarse, panic-induced whisper. She looked at the woman in front of her. Willam was relieved to find that there weren’t any horrific, horror-movie style streams of blood pissing out of her. Suddenly she remembered the phrase she’d gleaned from many hours of her Mum watching Casualty, “internal bleeding”, and her heart grew cold. There were some huge scratches on her head which were already taking on the greenish hue of a bruise underneath, and the friction of her body on the tarmac had ripped open the light Summer jacket Sharon had been wearing and opened a deep gash on the arm which sat ugly and unmoving, a stagnant red against her pale skin.

Her leg was bent at a gruesomely impossible angle.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Willam hissed, shock pulsing through her like a thousand volts as she grabbed her phone from her jacket pocket and grew frustrated as it clung to the material and wouldn’t seem to budge. After some fierce tugs it finally emerged. Willam fumbled with her passcode two times then succeeded in opening her phone, and with shaky fingers she dialled 4 9s, deleted one, and hit the call button.

It rang once, then twice, then again. The ringing continued. Willam’s panic increased tenfold. How often do you need to phone 999 in your life, and when you finally do they don’t fucking pick up the phone?

Finally, the voice of the operator came down the line.

“999, which service do you require?”

“Ambulance, please,” Willam breathed out, the scared tone in her voice and the small, polite plea at the end making her feel as if she was about 5 years old.

“And the address please?”

Willam looked around, panic consuming her every movement and rendering her unable to see clearly. “We’re outside the Crown and Anchor in Chiswick, I don’t know the road name, um-”

“Can you see any road signs at all?”

Willam found her gaze focussing on a street sign a little further along the road. “Um. Belmont Road, I think? I’m sorry, I can’t-”

“Don’t worry, love, we’ve got it,” the voice replied soothingly, making Willam feel more like a child than ever. “And can you describe what’s happened at all?”

“My friend,” Willam began, then was suddenly cut off by a sob that unexpectedly welled up and burst in her throat, causing two tears to spring from her eyes. “She’s been hit by a car, it just came along from nowhere and it didn’t stop, she rolled right over it.”

“Your friend’s been hit by a car? Okay, my love. And you’re saying the car didn’t brake?”

“No,” Willam gasped, her breathing becoming more and more erratic as she sobbed. Fuck, where had all this crying come from?

“Was the car moving quickly?”

Willam frowned. It had been so long since she’d driven it was hard to give an estimate. “It seemed to be going pretty fast but I couldn’t say how much, sorry.”

There was a short pause. Willam looked at Sharon lying below her, then in panic around her as she realised she was still on the road. “I’m not being rude but is the ambulance coming?”

“Don’t worry, love, I know it can be hard when you’re waiting for someone to arrive. The ambulance has been dispatched, don’t panic. Keep talking to me. Is your friend conscious?”

Willam instantly turned to Sharon. “Sharon?” she shook her shoulder, lifted up an eyelid. “Sharon? Fuck, I don’t think so.”

“Don’t think so. Okay. Is she breathing?”

Willam knelt close to her chest and rested her hand on her heart. She felt the gentle rise and fall of her chest and wanted to cry with relief. “Yes.”

“Still breathing, okay. And you said the patient’s name was Sharon?”

“Yeah, Sharon Needles,” Willam stuttered, momentarily worried about the headlines then cursing herself for the priorities she automatically had.

“Is she bleeding?” the call carrier continued, seemingly not the least bit fazed by the famous invalid.

“She’s got a massive big cut on her arm, but nothing else major. Um…some scratches here and there? I don’t know what’ll need stitches or not…fuck, fuck,” Willam breathed, the seriousness and reality of the situation hitting her all over again. “We’re still on the road, should I move her?”

“No, don’t move her, love. There could be broken bones which might be made worse if you do.”

Willam sighed, taking Sharon’s hand absent-mindedly. The small gesture almost broke her heart and reminded her of how things used to be. Maybe everything would be different if she’d never accepted Sharon’s offer of drinks, this may never have happened. She sighed in exasperation as she suppressed another sob. “Is the ambulance nearby?”

“I’m sorry love, it’s on its way. I know the questions can be annoying but everything we get we pass on to the paramedics-”

“She’s my friend,” Willam said softly, bringing her other hand up to stroke Sharon’s cheek.

“I know, love, we’re doing all we can at this end. Can you describe your friend for me? Age, gender, nationailty?”

The questions seemed to go round in a circle. They were endless, and Willam could feel herself growing more and more irate as the minutes seemed to tick by. Finally, after what seemed like hours, an ambulance slowly drew to a halt on the opposite side of the road to Willam. She immediately hung up on the operator and sprinted to the paramedics who were on their way over to Sharon.

“Hello there!” one greeted her, as natural and cheerful as if she’d just asked him about the weather. “Right, so this is our patient over here. What’s her name?“

Everything passed on to the paramedics my ass, Willam cursed under her breath, then spoke. “It’s Sharon. She was hit by a car.”

“Hello, Sharon, love!” the other paramedic greeted her, lifting her eyelids and shining a small torch into them. “Can you hear us, Sharon?”

Willam wanted to hiss at them that they’d get more conversation out of Helen Keller but she remembered that she wasn’t in Dosac any more, she wasn’t at work, she was lying on a road with her friend crumpled in a heap and no matter how incompetent these people seemed, they were there to help her.

“No response. Okay, grab the gurney.”

What followed this may as well have been another language as the two paramedics spoke in terrifying terminology about IV drips, lacerations and bone fractures. The man brought out a huge metal trolley that Sharon was lifted up onto after some form of yellow styrofoam-looking cast was placed around her mangled leg and another one was placed around her head. As she was carried into the ambulance, Willam, who had been silent for some time save for answering the paramedic’s questions, spoke up.

“Can I, um. Can I come with you in the ambulance?”

‘Of course you can, darling,” the female paramedic smiled at her. Willam momentarily wondered why NHS staff seemed to speak solely in pet names. “What’s your name, love?”

“Willam.”

“Willam, okay. And you are Sharon’s…?”

Willam paused for a beat. “I’m her best friend.”

“Bestie, aw that’s nice. So you were out for some drinks when this happened then, yeah? Girls night out?”

“Something like that,” Willam sighed, climbing the steps up to the back of the ambulance then sitting in the small chair at the end of the vehicle and putting her seatbelt on. Sharon sat in the silver trolley opposite her already hooked up to various machines. Symbols and numbers flashed on a small screen, none of which Willam could tell was good or bad.

“Okay, seatbelt on,” the woman instructed her, sitting down in her own seat herself. “We’ll be at the hospital in no time. Once we’re there, we’ll-”

Willam barely heard her as her mind began to drift away, and all she could focus on were the sirens attached to the ambulance that seemed so far away. That all-too-familiar sound that she recognised from streets and junctions was her and Sharon, the pair of them racing through central London in an ambulance.

Soon enough they arrived at the hospital, and Sharon was being wheeled out of the ambulance, down a ramp and straight into the building. Willam followed awkwardly behind, past people in wheelchairs and others in beds hooked up to various beeping machines and parked, or perhaps abandoned, in corridors. The male paramedic turned to her suddenly as Sharon was wheeled behind a curtain.

“I’m sorry- she can’t have anyone with her at the moment.”

Willam frowned, helpless. “But-”

“She’s in good hands, I promise,” he smiled at her, his gentle eyes reminding her of a long-dead Grandpa she had loved dearly and making her want to cry all over again. His face turned conspiratorial as his eyes shifted around. “Look you shouldn’t really, but if you go to that desk over there you’ll get taken to a relative’s room. It’s not much but it’ll be a quiet room with a kettle and a sofa and a phone and it’ll be a hell of a lot better than sitting stressed in the waiting room.”

Willam gazed over at the desk in question, opposite which were hordes of people waiting to be seen- some looked fine, some had huge wads of kitchen roll wrapped around cuts, there were a couple of drunk men singing football chants and a child with a toy stuck to their foot. Definitely not ideal company.

“Thanks,” Willam summoned up a smile to return to the man.

“That’s alright. I know you must have had a stressful evening,” he said sincerely, frowning.

Willam nodded to him. “It’s appreciated, um…”

“Mattheiu,” the paramedic smiled, holding out a hand for her to shake. She took it gently, thanked him for perhaps the third time, and made her way to the desk where she answered a few questions in a daze and then got shown to a small room, just as Matthieu had described- small, windowless, with dim lights and a single sofa and a little tray with a kettle, teabags, coffee and a pot of milk. There was a landline phone too, and Willam wanted to laugh at it before she checked her phone and realised she had no signal.

She sat on the sofa and took one deep, shuddery breath. What would happen now? Should she have phoned the police too? Willam hadn’t known what to do, but at least Sharon was being taken care of now. She hoped to God she would be okay. Willam thought hard. What had the car looked like? Silver. Or was it black? Fuck, she couldn’t remember. Number plate? Willam was fucked if she knew. This was terrible. If the police did arrive she would be about as much use as a bottle of Becks at an AA meeting. Something inside Willam questioned whether the whole thing had been an accident. It was easily enough explained- or what if it had been planned? Anyone who ran someone over would have stopped and got out and checked to see if the person was okay, surely? Maybe it was someone who felt too guilty to stop, who was too terrified in case they got convicted- or maybe it was somebody who was satisfied they’d completed what they’d set out to do. What if they’d charged the wrong person for the death threats? What if they had still been at large the whole time?

Willam sighed. Her head was too full, and it was killing her not being able to talk the situation out with anybody. Suddenly, it struck her that people would need to know what had happened. Two people in particular, Willam thought- one in particular that probably hated her but who would come into the hospital to sit with her, and to be with her. After all, she still cared about Willam, she had said so herself. The second was worse, but she still needed to be here. Willam knew she would immediately come in, no matter how bad things had been between her and the woman currently lying on a hospital trolley. She needed to know before it got into the press, and Willam had horrific visions of one of them finding out from a BBC News 24 notification.

Her professional brain urged her to phone Bianca first, and Willam growled at it angrily as she picked up the landline, looked in her contacts, and dialled the number of the first woman in question. She could have been apprehensive or afraid, but not right now. Right now she was afraid of something much worse, and it wasn’t on the other end of the phone.

Courtney picked up after four rings. “Hello?”

“Hey. It’s me,” Willam began, her stomach sinking at having to do this over the phone.

“Willam…it’s two in the morning.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I didn’t know if you’d still be awake.”

Courtney’s voice wasn’t harsh or reprimanding as Willam had expected. It was as if she knew that something was up. Sure enough, the Australian accent came down the line again. “Willam, what’s happened?”

Willam felt her blood run cold. She didn’t want to have to bear the news. “Sharon’s in hospital.”

“Oh fuck.”

“She was run over by a car,” Willam said, completely unsure of where the conversation went from here.

“Oh Jesus. Is she okay? Fuck, sorry, what a stupid question,” Courtney’s voice was apologetic, and Willam could hear commotion on the other end of the line, and snuffling.

“Courtney, don’t be upset. It’s okay, it’ll be alright,” Willam found herself comforting the girl on the end of the phone, annoyed that there wasn’t much else she could do.

“Are you at the hospital now? Can I come in?” Willam could hear Courtney struggling with something down the line, perhaps a coat or a pair of shoes.

“Yeah, please. We’re at Charing Cross Hospital. Phone me when you’re outside- no, shit, I’ve got no reception. Just tell me how long you’ll be and I’ll go and wait at the main entrance for you.”

Courtney gave a small, helpless sigh. “Fuck, I don’t know, I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait for a taxi at this time of night.”

“Courtney, you live in London,” Willam said, unable to help herself as she snorted a small giggle.

“Fuck. Right,” Courtney matched her laughter, which quickly turned into a sob. “Fuck. Um, half an hour?”

“Okay. See you then,” Willam sighed, her heart hurting at Courtney’s panic. “Courtney, it’ll be okay. Don’t worry. She’s safe now.”

“Right,” Courtney replied with a sniff, which didn’t inspire any confidence in Willam. “See you then.”

With that, Courtney was gone. Willam deflated on the sofa, letting out what seemed to be all the air in her lungs.

That had been hard enough. Now for the phone call she really didn’t want to have to make.

***

Willam had decided to wait at the entrance a little earlier than she said she’d be, just in case Courtney was early too. Part of her was anxious about leaving the relatives room, in case somebody arrived with news about Sharon, but she’d said she would meet Courtney at the door. As she stood in the chilly night air, she watched as cars and taxis pulled up and people came and went, the hospital just as busy as it probably was during the daytime. Health didn’t sleep or take a rest, thought Willam, and she supposed anything could happen to anyone at any time. Life was scary, she pondered, and mortality was so fragile.

As she was wondering, she was suddenly distracted by a sudden, harsh pounding of footsteps on the pavement, and somebody sobbing. Willam looked up and saw Alaska running from a taxi and straight towards her. If it had been any other situation, Willam would have laughed- Alaska was wearing trainers on her feet paired with huge fluffy bedsocks, her outfit consisted of Winnie The Pooh pyjama bottoms and a huge, baggy hoodie, probably pulled on over her pyjama top. A huge parka topped off the look, and Alaska’s face was red and blotchy with puffy eyes which had tears streaming from them.

As Alaska finally reached Willam, she flung her arms around her in a hug and the girl’s body was racked with sobs. Willam sighed, muttering soft, calming words and rubbing Alaska’s back in circles. It had been a horrendous phone call even though it hadn’t lasted long- Alaska, just like Courtney, sensed something had been up, even to the extent that she’d known something had happened to Sharon. She had immediately broken down in tears, but Willam had hardly had time to say anything comforting to her before she was gone, presumably to phone a taxi.

“Is she okay?” Alaska squeaked out in between shudders and sobs. Willam gave her a squeeze.

“She’s in good hands. They’ve not given me an update but I think she’ll be okay. She was still breathing when I was with her so that’s a good sign.”

Alaska broke away from the hug slightly, horror on her face. “Oh my God, you were there? What happened?”

Willam sighed, not wanting to relive it all. “We had been for a drink and we were literally just saying goodbye. Sharon was crossing the road and we were mucking about, she was sort of walking across it really slowly. She stopped and paused in the middle of it and then the car just came at her.”

“She stopped in the road?” Alaska whispered. Willam could see her mind was going at around a thousand miles an hour.

“Alaska, it was 1am. The streets were dead.”

“But surely you could hear the car coming? Fuck, Willam, why didn’t you stop her or push her out of the way or something?” Alaska said, growing frustrated. Then, seeing Willam’s hackles immediately raising at the accusation, she stopped. “Sorry. Shit, I’m sorry, Willam, it wasn’t your fault, none of it was your fault. Fuck, it’s such a mess.”

Alaska began to cry again and Willam pulled her back into a hug. As she started to calm down, Willam took her hand and squeezed it.

“I’ve been put in a relative’s room- nobody’s updated me about Sharon yet but then I’ve only been here for 20 minutes. Why don’t we go inside and see if there’s been any progress?” she summoned a smile for her friend, not yet letting go of her hand. She led Alaska back into the hospital, past the initial shopping-centre facade of coffee shops and WH Smiths that lined the entrance hall and staved off the horrors of the fact that they were in an actual fucking hospital- a place where people bled and suffered and died, and Willam hated it.

She had only just managed to find her way back to the relative’s room and get a snuffling Alaska sat on the couch when a doctor who seemed entirely too young in an all-too-stereotypical white coat entered. Willam could have laughed at how much of a parody everything seemed, until the doctor spoke.

“Hello, ladies. I’m Dr Hall, I’ve been put in charge of Sharon for the time being,” he stuck out his hand, Willam following suit and shaking it while Alaska was unable to rise from the couch.

“I’m Willam, that’s Alaska. She’s Sharon’s girlfriend,” she responded as she shook. Semantics could get fucked for now- Alaska cared like a girlfriend, cried like a girlfriend and worried like a girlfriend so for the moment, that was who she was to Sharon.

“Good to meet you both. I’ve just been in triage with Sharon and I’ve done an initial assessment with the head nurse. It’s hard to say until we run some more thorough tests, but for the moment we believe Sharon has sustained a number of injuries and she’ll be in the ICU for her time here.”

There, the doctor paused as if to take in the reactions of the girls in front of him. Willam had been aware of a cry from Alaska, but she was motionless and felt completely sick. “Injuries like what?”

“Well, we’re certain she’s broken her leg. That’s straightforward enough and we’ll be able to fix that. She also has a laceration on her right arm that will need stitched up, but everything else seems to be internal. Her breathing is very laboured so we think there could be some sort of fracture to her ribs or alternatively a traumatic pneumothorax, what you and I would refer to as a punctured lung.”

Alaska gave a gasp as Willam took all of the information in. She knew Sharon was hurt, but she didn’t realise just how bad it was, as silly as it sounded.

“Apart from that, we’ll need to get her a CT scan to assess whether or not there’s any internal bleeding or any other fractures or breakages,” he continued, his face softening as his eyes settled on Alaska. “I’m very sorry, I know how hard this must be for you both.”

“Can we see her?” Alaska asked softly, her eyes filled with tears. Willam let a small breath go.

“Alaska, you heard him. Sharon will be waiting to go for scans just now, she’s not in a fit state for us,” Willam sat down next to her friend and pulled her close. Exhaustion seemed to overcome Alaska and her sobs fell quiet, choosing to look intently at the floor instead. Willam turned to address the doctor. “When can we see her, though?”

“It’s hard to say. Once she’s had her scans she might need to go into theatre and if so, she’ll be waiting for that. When she’s done, we’ll give her a room and you can go and see her. Until then you’re welcome to use this room as your base, and if you need me at all then please feel free to ask at reception for me,” Dr Hall smiled gently, nodding to the two women as he left the room and closed the door silently.

Once he was gone, silence filled the small room. Willam stood up slowly.

“Lask, I’m going to need to head back outside. I said I’d pick up Courtney. Are you going to be okay here?”

The other woman wordlessly nodded. Despite the uneasy feeling in her chest, Willam knew she had to go outside to see if Courtney was there.

As she walked back to the same spot where she’d met Alaska, thoughts swirled around her mind and poured over the top of each other like a whirlpool. A punctured lung, internal bleeding. All of it was so horrible. Willam couldn’t help but imagine the worst, and her stomach felt so tight and sick.

She didn’t have to walk all the way back outside, as she found Courtney as she turned into the small shopping area. She was leaving the little M&S food (capitalism at its worst, Willam thought, putting arguably the most expensive supermarket in a hospital so people have no other choice but to buy from them) with a small shopping bag and her face, similar to Alaska’s, was red and tear-stained. She was dressed in a sweatshirt, jeans and trainers but her hair was still curled neatly, indicative of her date just hours before.

She’d probably been having such a good night, Willam thought, and I’ve ruined it.

“Courtney,” Willam called her over, the other girl’s head turning at the mention of her name. Selfishly, Willam’s heart lifted at the brief light that shone in Courtney’s eyes when she saw her. As if everything that had happened between them had been forgotten, Courtney hurried forward and wrapped her arms around Willam in a hug. Willam could feel her breathing deeply as she sighed and her mind cruelly taunted her, the image of a rib piercing through Sharon’s lung springing to mind involuntarily even though she knew that wasn’t how a punctured lung worked. For a moment they both stood still in each other’s arms, the two women simply needing held, one anchoring the other.

Courtney pulled away first, like Willam knew she would. She fixed her red eyes on Willam’s and her face was full of concern. “How is she, Willam?”

“Doctor was just in, they’re doing a scan on her now but they think she’s got a punctured lung and maybe internal bleeding. She’s broken her leg and the road sliced her arm open too. She could have fractured or broken more bones but they don’t know yet,” Willam sighed, unable to break Courtney’s gaze. The other woman looked sick as she glanced down the corridor. Willam could see she was looking at all the different horrifying hospital signs, each as cryptic and foreboding as the last.

“Oh God, it’s horrible. Absolutely fucking horrible,” she said softly, shakily breathing in.

“She’ll be in the ICU once they’ve finished with her, but we don’t know how long that’ll be. Alaska’s here, and they’ve given us a room to wait in,” Willam explained, as she began to walk slowly forward, gently encouraging Courtney to follow.

Courtney walked a couple of steps silently, then gave a panicked laugh. “I’m an idiot. I just went and panic-bought a ton of hospital shit for Sharon. I doubt it’ll be much use to her.”

Willam looked down at the bag. “What did you get?”

Courtney gave a humourless bark of a laugh. “Grapes, Lucosade and Heat magazine.”

“The holy trinity of intensive care unit accessories,” Willam quipped equally humourlessly.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, Willam having to fight the urge to reach down and intertwine her fingers with Courtney’s as they walked down each corridor. She couldn’t believe she was having these horrible, selfish thoughts while Sharon was lying on a hospital trolley somewhere in the building but the whole experience had shocked and scared her, reminded her of how unforgiving and cruel fate could be, and that was enough to make anyone cling to the people they cared for.

The rest of the time in the relatives’ room passed in a blur. Courtney and Alaska were reunited and tears were shed as soon as they saw each other, Courtney clinging to Alaska and muttering how sorry she was over and over again whilst Alaska silently stood and let herself be held, tears alternating between streaming down her cheeks and dropping directly from her eyes onto Courtney’s hoodie. They sat and they waited. Willam made the three of them cups of tea, none of which were drank. They tried to talk about things, mundane things, anything that wasn’t Sharon. They sat still and isolated from each other, save for Courtney holding Alaska’s hand tightly, her knuckles white and curled around Alaska’s fingers.

It had been roughly an hour and twenty minutes when the doctor from before re-appeared in the room, and just before he spoke there was silence like Willam had never heard before, as if the whole world held its breath.

***

The beeping was monotonous and creepy and clinical, but to Willam it was the best sound she’d heard in her life because as long as the beeping continued, it meant Sharon was alive.

She didn’t look very Sharon-like, though, she supposed, as Willam watched in slight horror as her chest rose laboriously up and down. Tubes snaked in and out of various limbs and an oxygen mask was strapped to her swollen face, upon which had developed several green and blue bruises. She looked awful, but she was breathing.

The hours had both dragged and flown by. 03.40, Doctor Hall had explained that Sharon was in theatre as the CAT scan had uncovered internal bleeding near her liver. Their worst fear. Alaska had cried and Courtney had been shaken and Willam sat and stared at nothing, paralysed with fear. 04.15, another visit from the doctor after a tense and sickening half hour in the relatives’ room, which had begun to feel like a prison. The surgeons had stopped the bleeding and Sharon would be okay, although on top of the punctured lung she did have a broken collarbone, two fractured ribs and a fractured pelvis. Willam hadn’t known if she was supposed to be happy that Sharon wasn’t in immediate life-threatening danger or full of dread at all the horrible breaks and fractures she’d sustained. 04.50, another visit from Dr Hall, and just as tensions were running at their highest the three girls had finally been told they could see Sharon.

That had been the last update before they’d followed Dr Hall up to the intensive care unit and into a small, mercifully private room which housed a bed, two chairs, a bedside cabinet, a TV, and Sharon with all her tubes and machines. Willam hadn’t been able to stop staring at the woman on the bed since she’d seen her, and neither had the other two girls. Willam had given both of them the chairs and she’d chosen to stand near the door, which meant she could see both of their expressions. Courtney looked pale and blank-faced, Alaska looked mournful.

It was Alaska who spoke first in an entirely emotionless voice. “She doesn’t look like Sharon.”

There was a silence which Willam filled. “He did tell us that she’d look different. I know it’s freaky but all the stuff she’s hooked up to is all stuff that’s going to help her, Lask.”

Alaska nodded silently. She looked at one of Sharon’s hands, the one closest to the bed, which had an IV line attached to the back of it. Her mouth turned downwards. “I’m scared to even hold her hand in case something else goes wrong.”

Courtney rested a hand on Alaska’s arm. “Nothing’s going to go wrong. It’ll be fine.”

Alaska leaned forward, reached a hand out and awkwardly rested it over Sharon’s, lacing the tips of her fingers through Sharon’s own. Willam let out a breath she was unaware she’d been holding, akin to a sigh of relief.

“When will she wake up, do you think?” Alaska asked, her voice small.

Courtney sighed. “She’ll be resting for a while yet, I think. The pain meds will knock her out quite a bit.”

“Do you think when she wakes up she’d be able to get me some?” Willam deadpanned, without being able to help it. She watched as Alaska turned to look at her, then bit her lip as she stifled a laugh. Courtney first looked to Alaska, then at Willam before she let out a small giggle. Willam smiled. It wasn’t much, an unfunny joke about drugs, but it had lifted some of the tension from the room.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed once, then twice, then three times. A call. She took her phone out of her pocket, and she could see the other girls looking at her forebodingly.

Caller ID- Bianca.

Willam had known that the phone call would come, she just hadn’t expected it to be so soon. She looked at the other two girls, stepped out of the room, and took it.

“Hi, Bianca.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line, which never ever happened in a Bianca Del Rio phone call. When Bianca phoned you she had shit to say immediately and she never wasted time. Now, though, Willam felt the seconds tick by. Her voice finally came. “Willam. What’s happened to Sharon.”

Willam cast her eyes through the glass to the three women in the small room, and her heart sank.

“Willam.”

Willam took a breath. “We were out together. She was in a hit and run. She’s in intensive care.”

There was some form of sound from Bianca that sounded both angry and anguished. Willam held her breath. “I’m sorry, Bianca, I should have phoned you earlier. I should have phoned the police-”

“Willam, you listen to me,” Bianca’s voice came down the line, hoarse and harsh. “Do not dare apologise. You weren’t to know. You got her to the hospital, which was the most important thing.”

There was a silence. Willam turned and looked at the pale, beige paint of the corridor walls. “It’s reached the press, hasn’t it.”

“Obviously.”

She hissed and let the silence linger. “Jesus Christ, Bianca, this is all a fucking hellscape.”

“I know. I know. And I can’t hold it from the front pages, Willam, they’re all fucking animals and they need to be fed. The Guardian have got a testimonial from a trainee nurse that knows all her fucking injuries and has leaked them all,” Bianca sighed. Willam had never heard her sound so hopeless. She was silent again. “You’ve been my first port of call. I’m going to phone the detective looking after Sharon’s case, because I don’t believe for a minute that this was a coincidence. Then I’m coming in to see her.”

“Bianca, don’t…” Willam began. How do you comfort a woman like Bianca? “Don’t worry about the press. There’s still a couple of hours before shit goes to print, we can figure something out.”

“I’m not worried about the press. I’m worried about Sharon.”

Silence.

Bianca’s voice came again. “I’ll see you in a bit. Take care, Willam.”

She was gone.

Willam walked back into Sharon’s room. Alaska and Courtney immediately looked up at her.

“The press have got it,” she said blankly. Courtney shook her head.

“Well, we knew it would only be a matter of time,” Alaska said softly, her face frowning.

“Bianca’s coming in. She’ll probably have police with her,” Willam said, then sighed as realisation dawned on her. “Which means I’ll get questioned. Can’t wait for that.”

Courtney caught her eye. She looked genuinely concerned for Willam and despite everything, Willam’s heart skipped a beat. Courtney rose slowly. “Well, we’ll all need coffee if we’re going to be awake much longer. I’ll get us some.”

“I’ll come with you,” Willam suddenly decided, Courtney’s eyes giving nothing away as she nodded her permission. Alaska simply looked up at them and then back down at Sharon. It was an unspoken fact that she wasn’t going to leave her side anytime soon.

Willam followed Courtney out into the corridor and then into the lift where they were both silent. Willam looked at the floor, then spoke.

“At least she’s alright.”

Courtney nodded. “True. I think we just need her to come to and then we’ll all breathe a sigh of relief.”

There was another silence as they walked into the small Costa. Courtney ordered three espressos with milk from a barista with purple hair and huge winged eyeliner, and they sat at a table and waited. Willam looked at Courtney’s face- the worried frown lines on her forehead, her glassy, tired eyes, her lips which were sore and bitten. She missed her so much.

“So,” Willam began, deciding to break the silence. “How was your date?”

“My date- oh!” Courtney looked confused, then enlightened. She gave a laugh. “Yeah…it was nice. Andrew’s a lovely guy and he’s a good old-fashioned gentleman.”

Willam wanted to laugh. What had she expected, Courtney to fall back into her arms? “Oh. Well, at least that’s-”

“But I think we’re probably going to stay as friends,” Courtney finished, interrupting her. Willam couldn’t help but feel her heart lifting.

“That’s a shame,” Willam frowned. Courtney looked at her for a beat, then spluttered a laugh.

“You don’t give a shit, do you?” she asked softly as she laughed. Willam snorted.

“No, I guess I don’t,” she smiled affectionately. Fuck, she’d missed laughing with her, seeing her eyes crinkle up and the way she’d tip her head back and let her hair cascade down her shoulders. “So what was the problem, then?”

Courtney raised her eyebrows. “He wasn’t really vegan. He just eats quorn sometimes. I took him to a vegan restaurant and he looked so horrified at the lack of meat.”

The both of them laughed quietly. Courtney looked awkward, as if she was about to say something else. Willam felt her heartbeat through her chest. She knew that Courtney was holding back on something and so she was almost afraid to say anything in case she backed off.

“Besides,” Courtney mentioned, her gaze firmly fixed on the floor. “He could tell…that I wasn’t over somebody.”

“Oh,” Willam said. It was as if her body couldn’t keep up with everything. One minute she was worried sick about Sharon, the next she was almost going into cardiac arrest because Courtney had basically dropped a massive hint.

Courtney had raised her gaze and fixed it on Willam. “Somebody being you.”

“Right.”

Courtney laughed. “I thought I’d spell that out for you, because you’re a massive fucking moron.”

Willam coughed out a laugh. “I am.”

Courtney smiled a little, looked at Willam expectantly for a beat, then looked again to the floor. Willam panicked. She couldn’t risk losing Courtney again.

“Well…I’m not over you either,” she said quietly, watching as Courtney’s eyes snapped up to face her. Maybe Courtney had been missing her as much as she’d been missing Courtney.

Courtney gave a little smile. “I know.”

Willam obviously looked taken-aback because Courtney burst out laughing, which made Willam start laughing too. As the laughter died down, all that was left was the pair of them looking into each other’s eyes. Just as Willam was about to speak and just as it looked as if Courtney was about to too, the barista yelled Courtney’s order. Courtney jumped up and grabbed the little cardboard tray of three coffees with one hand, then turned to Willam, smiled and gave a little shrug. Just then, her phone vibrated again.

“Bianca’s upstairs with Sharon and Alaska. There’s someone from Scotland Yard with her,” Willam explained as she looked at her phone. Courtney nodded.

“That’s the fun over then,” she quipped, moving towards the exit. Willam’s silence prompted Courtney to look towards her, her expression concerned. “Willam. It’ll be fine.”

Willam mustered a small smile as she walked towards the lifts. She was so lost in thought and worry that she almost didn’t notice Courtney transfer the tray of drinks to her right hand and silently curl her left hand around Willam’s own.

***

It was six o’clock in the morning, and Willam was exhausted. She’d never been questioned by the police before, and she never wanted to be again. They were sympathetic but relentless, and with each question Willam felt more and more useless. How much had Sharon had to drink? What was the precise time that it had happened? Whereabouts in the road was she standing? How fast was the car going? What was its number plate? What was the make of car? What was the colour? What did the driver look like? What did the driver do after they hit Sharon? Which way did they continue driving? Every question was one that Willam felt she couldn’t properly answer. They asked her some questions about the previous death threats, and who she felt might have been behind them- did Sharon have any enemies, and suchlike. Apart from blaming most of the UK’s far right population, Willam had said she wasn’t sure.

She and Bianca had been taken to a station nearby to the hospital, and she emerged from the small questioning room tired and simply wanting to go to bed, but knowing that she would return to the hospital to stay with Alaska and Courtney. She wasn’t really in the mood to speak much to Bianca, and for once Bianca didn’t seem as if she wanted to chat much to her.

“How were they with you?” Bianca asked, rising from the chair she’d been sitting on in the police waiting room as she saw Willam emerge.

“Fine. Didn’t feel very helpful, though,” Willam said, sighing as she walked with Bianca. “I should have written the number plate down, or looked harder at the car, or tried to get a look at the driver.”

Bianca frowned deeply. “Willam, you can’t blame yourself.”

They walked out of the station and down the small, quiet road which was starting to become bathed with morning sunlight. Willam turned to look at Bianca. In all her time working with her, she’d never seen her look so troubled.

Seeing Willam’s concerned look, Bianca exhaled. “I couldn’t keep it from going to the papers. There’s articles online now, and it’ll be on the front pages. We stuck the TV on in Sharon’s room and it was all over News 24. I’m sorry, Willam, I couldn’t protect her.”

“It’s alright, Bianca,” Willam sighed, stopping as she got to the junction. A big black car was waiting at a stop sign, presumably Bianca’s. The spin doctor looked troubled as she gazed to the car.

“It’s getting dragged into politics already.”

Willam cursed under her breath. This was all they needed, Sharon’s accident getting turned into a points-scoring exercise by different parties. “What are people saying?”

“Some of it’s nice. Most of the party have rallied round without me even having to give them a line. Latrice has given a statement, as has Trinity. Shea has tweeted support, so’s Sasha, Peppermint and Maxine. Ironically Sharon getting run over by a car is the most uniting thing she’s done for the party. If I’d known I would have hired her a hitman ages ago,” Bianca laughed bitterly. Her face turned grave. “It’s Mrs fucking Blind Man’s Crumpet herself.”

“Fucking Phi Phi,” Willam hissed, surprising herself with how much venom was in her voice.

“She’s spoken with ITV and she’s given the whole wobbly top lip expressing condolences thing, but she’s trying to turn it into an attack on immigrants.”

“Fuck, did she stretch before she reached? What the hell does that have to do with anything?” Willam complained, deeply irritated.

Bianca frowned. “Because The Sun, the paper we all love to line our cat litter trays with, is alleging that the hit and run was a terrorist incident carried out by an Asian man.”

Willam tore her hands through her hair. “But that’s bullshit, surely? Nobody knows who did it, the police don’t even know who did it!”

“They have a source,” Bianca said. “Which means that either it’s a bullshit source, their usual currency, or that the suspect has leaked it themself.”

“God, Bianca, this is fucking madness.”

Bianca looked at the pavement awkwardly, then at Willam. “Look, I wasn’t going to mention it to you today given the massive amount of stress you’ve already been put through, but we need something on Phi Phi’s party to distract from this mess. If you have anything…well, we’d all appreciate it. Especially Number 10, if you get me.”

Willam momentarily wished she was lying sleeping on a hospital bed instead of Sharon.

“Okay,” she simply nodded once, her mind too full of words to say anything else. Bianca nodded back in goodbye and walked towards her car. Willam watched her climb in and drive off before beginning her own walk back to the hospital. On the way she saw people walking to work, some of whom gave her funny looks. She wondered if they all knew what had happened, until she realised she was still in her clothes from last night- green fur jacket, black lace crop top, tight black skirt without tights and platform trainers on her feet.

Before long she was back at the hospital and in the lift up to the ICU. As she found Sharon’s room, it was almost as if the past hour or so hadn’t happened as the girls were still in the same position- Sharon unmoving on the bed, Alaska staring at her and holding her hand, and Courtney with her phone in her hand texting furiously. Alaska and Courtney looked up as Willam entered the room.

“Hey,” Courtney said, her eyes slightly wide in anticipation. “How was it?”

“It was okay. They asked me a bunch of things I couldn’t answer and then a couple of things I could. I just felt like a fucking failure, like I was no help at all.”

“Stop it,” Courtney frowned, chastising her. “You’re not a failure at all. I bet you were really helpful. Here, come sit. You must be shattered.”

With that, Courtney rose from her chair and beckoned Willam to sit. Too exhausted to protest, Willam slid into it. She looked at Sharon, then Alaska.

“Anything?”

Alaska sighed deeply. “Nothing. She hasn’t even moved.”

Worry churned in Willam’s stomach. Courtney piped up. “The doctor was in though, and he said that sometimes it can help to talk to them even if they’re not responding.”

“Did you try it?”

Alaska chuckled. “We read her some of Heat magazine.”

“Oh, good, she’d have loved that,” Willam said dryly, causing Courtney to snort. Willam thought for a moment, then turned back to Alaska. “Well, when she wakes up, you’ll be sitting there. She’s not properly seen you for ages. Why don’t you talk to her? Explain your side of everything that’s happened.”

Willam looked to Courtney for approval, who shrugged. “Worth a try, Lask.”

Alaska took a deep breath, laughed a little self-consciously, then turned to Sharon.

“Hey babe,” she began, looking at Willam and Courtney in embarrassment, then back to Sharon. “God, this is just…literal torture seeing you like this. Somehow I just feel like all of this is my fault, maybe if I’d stayed with you then you wouldn’t have gone out with Willam and none of this would have happened. I’m an absolute dick, really, because I’ve been ignoring you and every single attempt you’ve made at trying to contact me and then Willam phoned me and told me about what happened and all I could think about was getting here and being with you. It was the worst fucking moment of my life, Sharon. I kept torturing myself and wondering what if she never wakes up, that the last contact I had with you was over some fucking stupid USB stick that I didn’t even want to give to you in the first place? And I couldn’t even tell you-”

Willam looked up as Alaska sniffed. Tears were running down her face and welling in her eyes, and Alaska used the hand that wasn’t holding Sharon’s to wipe at her nose.

“I couldn’t even tell you want I wanted to tell you- that I wanted to just put everything aside and make up with you, to stop our stupid fucking fight, to tell you that I never wanted to end things with you and that the whole thing was a horrible, stupid mistake,” Alaska sobbed, snuffling and taking a deep breath in. “And I couldn’t even tell you that I loved you- that I love you- and when I got that call I was so fucking terrified of never being able to say it to you again. Do you remember when we first said it to each other, Sharon? It was the night we went out for dinner at that Italian restaurant at like, eleven o’clock after I’d gone with you to Newsnight, and you walked me back home and we watched a film- The Other Woman- and you hated it, and you were making all these jokes about it and I was joining in and we laughed so much that when it died down and we just looked at each other I couldn’t help but say it. And you said it back right after? Why can’t we go back to the way things were? Fuck, I would have kept our relationship secret for a lifetime if it meant we could have just stayed together. In fact fuck, if it means so much Sharon, I won’t pursue the whole MP thing. You’re more important to me than my job, you’re more important to me than life. I love you more than anything or anyone I’ve ever loved in my life so please…”

Alaska took a big gulp of air. “…please, fuck, get better.”

Willam and Courtney stood in a horrible, cold silence as they watched Alaska cry quietly to herself. Suddenly, Willam gave a slight jump as Sharon’s free hand came up to her face and slowly lifted the oxygen mask to one side.

“You are becoming an MP, bitch,” she croaked hoarsely, causing Alaska’s gaze to shoot up to look at her girlfriend. “There’s no way you’re giving up on that just because I’m in a hospital bed.”

Willam choked a laugh as she looked at Alaska, her face at once shocked and relieved. She looked slightly as if she didn’t know what to do for a moment, then elected to burst out crying, bringing Sharon’s hand up to her face to kiss it over and over again. Sharon laughed- tiredly, weakly, but it was a laugh nonetheless.

“Jesus Christ, you took your time there,” Willam smiled, part of her wanting to cry in relief too.

“How long have I been out for?” Sharon asked, coughing as she sat up.

“Since about 1. It’s like, 6.15 now.”

“Shit,” she said, her voice weak.

“How are you feeling?” Courtney asked, visibly relieved too.

“Like someone’s kicked me half to death. Pain meds do shit all, I feel like shit but also incredibly high,” Sharon wheezed, then turned to Alaska. Her face softened and judging by Alaska’s reaction, she had squeezed her hand. “Hey, stranger.”

Alaska laughed through her tears. “Hey.”

Sharon smiled affectionately. “Is this all I had to do to get you back, then? Get run over?”

“Don’t,” Alaska half-laughed, half-cried, then kissed Sharon’s fingers. “Sharon, I’m so sorry. Oh my God, I was so fucking worried.”

“Yeah, I know. I heard it all. I could have said something halfway through, I just wanted you to keep saying more nice things about me,” Sharon joked, still her old self despite the tubes and drips and machines. Her expression grew dark as she turned to Courtney. “Oh, by the way. Never read me fucking any women’s magazine ever again. Hearing about Natalie Cassidy’s fucking colonoscopy was more painful than getting struck down.”

All four of the girls laughed, happy to be together with everyone conscious and cheerful all over again.

“Bianca’s been round. And people have said nice things. Trinity, Peppermint, Latrice, Max, Shea, Sasha,” Willam mentioned, thinking it would cheer Sharon up. Sharon smiled in a lazy, drugged-up-on-pain-meds way.

“God. All that in five hours? Did Bianca leave flowers?”

“No, of course not,” Alaska sighed. Then she laughed. “She stuck News 24 on.”

The girls all laughed again, this time quieter. Courtney took a deep breath and stretched. Sharon narrowed her swollen eyes at her.

“Are we boring you, Act?”

Courtney gave a smile. “Listen, I’ve been up a long time. It’s hard to squeeze a date, a trauma and a relief into one night. Slash…morning.”

“Oh yeah, how did that go?” Alaska asked pleasantly. She’d still not let go of Sharon’s hand, Willam noted with a smile.

“It was nice. We’re going to stay friends, though.”

Sharon looked at Willam meaningfully. Willam gave her a look that simply said, behave.

“Fair enough. I think me and Alaska are going to stay friends too,” Sharon smiled lazily, laughing as Alaska’s face grew bashful.

“Stop it. I’ve suffered enough,” she leaned her head over to nuzzle it into the crook of Sharon’s neck, one of the few parts of her that didn’t have wires or tubes coming in or out of it.

“I know, baby, I’m sorry.”

Alaska frowned and lifted her head off of Sharon’s shoulder momentarily. “This isn’t the broken collarbone, is it?”

Sharon laughed. “I broke a collarbone? Oh, well, fucked if I know. Everything hurts.”

Willam laughed. She stretched and yawned. Life and normal routine seemed so far away. “I think I should go home and sleep, now that I know you’re alright.”

“Me too,” Courtney said, giving a yawn that Willam could tell was fake. Why was that?

“You guys go ahead. I’m going to stay here for a while,” Alaska smiled at Sharon, the other woman returning her smile and shrugging.

“You can go home if you want, babe. I might have another snooze.”

“Well, I’ll snooze with you,” Alaska said matter-of-factly, shuffling her chair forward and resting her head on Sharon’s side. Sharon smiled and used her other hand to stroke Alaska’s hair.

Willam looked at Courtney, taking her cue to leave. She cast her gaze back to the couple. “I’ll be back when I’ve had a sleep and something to eat. Bianca might be back, just to warn you.” She wondered if she should mention the shit with Phi Phi. She decided not to.

“Oh, goody,” Sharon sighed, re-adjusting her oxygen mask so that it was over her face as a goodbye. Alaska waved sleepily to her friends and then Willam left the room, followed by Courtney. They walked down the corridor silently for a minute, neither one of them sure of what to say. Courtney’s words from earlier swirled around in Willam’s mind, and the fact that the two of them were alone together again, with so much possibility and opportunity of things that could be said, made Willam’s skin prickle in excitement and optimism.

As if she could read Willam’s mind, Courtney gave a small sigh as they both walked into the open air. She turned to face Willam and looked her in the eyes. “I know it sounds stupid, but I could really murder a glass of wine.”

“Same.”

Courtney was still looking at her. “Well, I’ve got wine at my place, if you want to come.”

Willam didn’t hesitate. “Okay. Sounds good.”

They talked about trivial things on the walk to the tube, and on the tube itself. The elephant in the room (or train carriage) was enormous and almost suffocating, and the sound of the train against the electric charges almost mirrored the electricity that seemed to run through Willam’s veins - Courtney isn’t over me, and I’m not over her.

It was almost seven o’clock in the morning by the time they got to Courtney’s flat, but the sheer adrenaline that was pumping through her heart was keeping Willam awake. As Courtney opened her front door for Willam and slipped off her shoes, Willam looked around at the small hallway. It had been around four months since she’d last been here, but nothing had changed. It was somehow reassuring to Willam. She followed Courtney into the kitchen where the other girl had pulled out two bottles of wine- an unopened red with a somewhat dusty bottle, and a half-full white with that fresh-from-the-fridge wet glaze.

“I like either, so it’s your pick,” Courtney smiled easily, making Willam wonder whether or not she was feeling the same mix of apprehension and excitement.

“Well, white’s going to make us feel less guilty about the fact we’re drinking wine when we’re normally getting ready for work,” Willam shrugged, Courtney snorting a laugh and fetching two glasses from a cupboard below her breakfast bar. She picked up the glasses in one hand and the bottle in the other and made her way through to the living room, Willam following behind her. As they slumped down on the sofas and Courtney poured the wine out, Willam sighed.

“I’m so fucking relieved she’s okay.”

Courtney looked at her, an expression on her face that Willam couldn’t make out. “I just can’t believe it all actually happened. It’s like a horrendous nightmare,” she lifted up her glass. “To Sharon being alive.”

Willam smiled lazily and echoed the sentiment. “To Sharon being alive.”

There was silence for a moment as they both took a sip, Willam watching the early morning sun bathe the skyline out of Courtney’s French doors.

“Do you think…it was deliberate?” Courtney spoke quietly, Willam looking at her only to find Courtney was looking at the view as well.

“Fuck, I don’t know. The police think so. Could be, or it could be a jittery driver with a guilty conscience who didn’t want to stop.”

Courtney nodded, then narrowed her eyes. “Didn’t the doctor say she was lucky to be alive? Ten miles an hour more and she wouldn’t have made it. If it was a main road and the car wasn’t going that fast, it kind of sounds like someone was parked waiting for her. Do you not think?”

Willam rolled her eyes. “Or it was just someone that wasn’t driving very fast.”

“On a main road like that at 1am? Willam, come on.”

Willam couldn’t help but laugh. “What is this, CSI: Sydney?”

Courtney walloped Willam on the arm, then laughed with her. She sighed. “I’ve just been sitting waiting with Alaska for so long that I’ve had all of these thoughts running around my head, but of course I couldn’t share them with her. I’m glad you came back with me.”

Willam’s heart gave a jump. She wanted to say something in response, something flirty that didn’t come on too strong, but her mind couldn’t conjure anything up.

Courtney spoke again, and Willam noticed she had that same look on her face as before. “So how come you were,” she paused the tiniest amount. “…out with Sharon anyway?”

“She suggested it. Probably thought it’d cheer us both up,” Willam shrugged, taking another sip. She noticed Courtney still hadn’t taken that look off her face. What did she want from her?

Honesty?

“Court, you should probably know. And I probably should’ve told you sooner. Me and Sharon had this whole thing when we were at uni,” Willam felt herself just coming out with it and it was like jumping out of a moving vehicle. Courtney’s expression finally relaxed.

“Okay.”

Willam picked at a stray thread on a sofa cushion. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“Because I’m not,” Courtney said plainly, taking a small sip. She paused, then added, “You always had this weird tension between you when you started. Like you really weren’t keen on her and I couldn’t see why. She always seemed as if she was walking on eggshells slightly around you. It only really seemed to go away…gosh, I don’t know when. But I always wondered why you were like that with her.”

Willam looked out at the view again. “I tried to reset my own view of the whole situation. I told anyone who asked that I knew her from uni, and that wasn’t a lie, but just not the full truth either.”

There was a small silence. Courtney leant over to top up their glasses. As she was pouring, she spoke again. Willam noticed how level and nonchalant her voice was, as if she was making a particular effort not to sound too interested. “So what was it that went on between you?”

Willam exhaled. Even after she’d talked through it all with Sharon, she still didn’t know what they’d been. “A miscommunication. She thought we were just friends that fucked, which we were. I saw it as more than that. I was a young, naive little bitch and I just got too deep in my feelings. It’s fucked, though, because the whole thing just made me so scared of relationships. Like what if it ever happened again to me and I was into it but the other person wasn’t?”

Courtney nodded understandingly. Her eyes were soft. It was scary to Willam to be telling Courtney all of this, but she didn’t seem to be scared off by it.

“Wonder how that feels, to be really, really into someone only to find out that they weren’t on your wavelength about it at all.”

“It was-” Willam started, then stopped as realisation dawned on her. She looked at Courtney, who was trying to conceal a smile. Willam laughed apologetically. “Fuck.”

Courtney gave a soft laugh, reaching out and taking Willam’s free hand. She held it gently. The gesture almost broke Willam’s heart. All at once it hit her just how badly she’d fucked up with Courtney. Only now was she realising that she had put Courtney in the exact same position that she had been in with Sharon all those years ago. Looking at Courtney’s hand, she squeezed it tightly. “Courtney, I’m sorry. I mean it.”

Courtney gave a peaceful smile. “I know you are.”

Willam smiled back. A small weight on her heart noted that she’d not been forgiven, only acknowledged, but after the past fortnight or so, acknowledgement was better than nothing.

“What was Bianca saying anyway?” Courtney continued, sipping her wine again. Willam sighed deeply.

“Well, you know that Phi Phi’s trying to politicise everything already. Bianca wants something on her party to take the heat off Sharon.”

Courtney grimaced and shook her head. She still hadn’t let go of Willam’s hand. “Jesus Christ, it’s all so messy and gross and tasteless.”

“I know, Court, but it’s our career. It was bound to happen. Politician gets hit by car, it turns political. Politician does anything, it turns political,” Willam shrugged, taking a drink. The sun was higher in the sky now and it was illuminating Courtney’s hair so beautifully.

“What are we supposed to get for her? This situation’s already stressful enough as it is.”

Willam felt herself tense up. She allowed herself to confront what she’d been pushing to the back of her mind all this time. She still had those photos on her phone of Roxxxy and Detox from all those months ago at Alyssa’s ball, and Phi Phi had recently voted against an LGBT-inclusive curriculum in secondary schools. How would the media react if she’d unknowingly voted against a policy which showed disapproval towards her own two advisors?

“I have something,” Willam stated simply, causing Courtney to sigh in relaxation.

“Thank Christ. Just give it to Bianca now and she can get out of our hair and let Sharon recover. What is it, anyway? Oil dumping in the Pacific? Foxhunting?” she laughed gently, stopping as she saw Willam’s grave face.

“Roxxxy and Detox,” she said. Courtney’s face dropped, her wine glass tipping over a little and threatening to spill. “I got photos of them at Alyssa’s ball, together. It would make Phi Phi look like a massive idiot and would take her down more than a few pegs…” Willam let all the air out of her body and looked into her glass. “…but it also outs both of her advisors.”

Courtney looked sick. “Oh God. Willam, you can’t do that.”

“I know,” she shook her head and wondered if she could voice the other horrible thought in her head. Communication could be good right now, she supposed. “Although part of me thinks why not? Fuck them, you know? They were both absolute cunts to Alaska, they work for a fucking sycophant. And I just…ugh…I really want that Number 10 job, and Bianca heavily implied that any info on this could get me it.”

She looked hesitantly for Courtney’s reaction. It turned out there were a lot of them. First, she wrinkled her nose and scrunched up her face in a brief display of disgust. Then, her expression completely dropped as if she was considering something. Finally she put her glass down, reached out to take Willam’s hand in her own, and gazed at her kindly.

“Willam,” she began. “Why do you want this job so much?”

Willam gave a choked laugh. “I mean it’s…it’s my fucking dream, Courtney. It’s all I’ve ever wanted out of life, to get to Number 10, to actually say I work there. I’ll have finally made it…and not many people can say that.”

“Okay,” Courtney nodded. Willam could tell she was listening intently. “So…you get the job at Number 10, let’s say. And what then?”

Willam blinked. “What do you mean?”

“What then? What do you aim for, what do you aspire to be after that? If that’s your life’s dream and it’s already achieved? Bill, you’re not even 30 yet,” Courtney smiled gently, tucking a piece of Willam’s layers behind her ear. “If you complete your life’s goal and you’re not even at the halfway point…what happens then?”

Willam felt completely blank. “Well, I…”

Courtney continued. “I know you don’t want to be PM, because you’re happy in the background. I know you don’t have any designs on leadership for the same reason. So what else is there?”

Willam paused and thought, trying to summon up something. “Bianca’s going to have to retire at some point.”

Courtney barked a laugh. “And what, you take her job? You take the job that consumed Bianca’s life so much she ended up getting divorced and she now lives on her own with no family? You want that life?”

Willam felt as if she’d heard Courtney’s voice catch in her throat. She was looking at her almost pleadingly, hopefully, desperate for what she deigned the right answer. Her intensity unsettled Willam. Or perhaps it was the truth in all that Courtney was saying? She’d never once reconsidered her determination to get to Number 10, never once wavered in her decision-making, because if she changed her mind about the job she’d wanted for so long, what was left?

“What do you have at Dosac? You’ve got me, you’ve got Sharon, you’ve got Alaska and the other girls. You’ve got a considerable amount of influence, you’re a big fish in a small pond. Other departments know your name, you’ve got so many opportunities. And if you change now…all that will be gone.”

Willam looked out of the windows again. The sun was now directly at her eye level. She turned back to Courtney and frowned at her. “Why are you saying all this, Court?”

Courtney looked away as if Willam’s gaze had burnt her. “I’m not trying to stop you from going after what you want, Willam. That would make me a horrific friend and an even worse person. I’m just trying to get you to be sure that it really is what you want.”

Willam’s voice caught in her throat. She looked away from Courtney, drained her glass, then placed it gently on the coffee table in front of them both.

“I should probably go home-” Willam began, making to slide off the couch, but Courtney gripped tighter to her hand. Turning, Willam saw a need in Courtney’s eyes that she’d never once experienced before.

“Stay,” she said simply. It was so quiet but so strong, and the blood in Willam’s veins was freezing and icy but pumping so rapidly like an ice cold waterfall, and she could feel her heart plummeting with it.

“Why?” Willam asked, and as soon as it left her mouth she cursed herself for it, but a part of her wanted to hear Courtney say what was on her mind. Frowning and sighing a tiny, needy sigh, Courtney gently tugged at Willam’s hand.

“I just need to be…close to you just now. Because I’ve fucking missed you.”

Willam looked at her hand in Courtney’s, then met her eyes.

Now or never.

And in one fluid movement Willam was back on the sofa, both her hands fisted and tangled in Courtney’s blonde hair, melting and moaning into a kiss full of fire that Willam wanted never to end.

***

Willam woke up in the same bed she’d woken up in in December, with the same girl she’d woken up with in December. Except the circumstances weren’t quite the same. Instead of grey skies and pouring rain, the sun that poked through the blinds was golden and warm, lighting up the room. Courtney was still in the bed, her eyes shut with her dark lashes fanned out and framing them as she slept. Probably the biggest difference, though, was that both of them were completely naked.

Sex with Courtney was every bit as amazing as Willam had imagined it would be, and she was already sorry that she couldn’t remember every single second of the entire thing in detail. She could swear that nobody else, not even Sharon, could make her feel the way Courtney had made her feel last night. She had expected it to be good and for Courtney to know what she was doing, but what she didn’t expect was for Courtney to have a mouth like a phone sex chat line girl and she had actually almost laughed in awe of the stuff she was coming out with. She didn’t know if it was the intensity of the situation that fed into it- there were so many emotions that Willam had been put through last night (or this morning, she supposed) that she had almost cried once everything was over and Courtney was holding her in her arms, but she hadn’t. She’d been calm, and happy, like her life was finally at peace. Sharon was going to be alright, and Courtney had…what? Courtney had forgiven her? Courtney liked her again? Courtney wanted to be more than her friend? She didn’t know, but she got the feeling that whatever it was was positive.

Willam wondered whether or not to wake her up but Courtney quickly solved that problem as her arm reached out to grab Willam by the waist and pull her closer, Courtney nuzzling into her side sleepily.

“Hey,” she murmured through a yawn, kissing Willam’s skin and making her feel as if she was 19 years old with a melting, gooey heart all over again.

“G’morning,” Willam smiled, rubbing her eyes then remembering she hadn’t taken off any of her makeup from the night before. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Mm. Always sleep like a baby after sex, I think it’s some weird nympho-narcoleptic thing I need to see a doctor about.”

Willam’s heart hammered in her chest and instantly woke her up more. “So we’re just coming out and addressing that that happened immediately?”

Courtney hurriedly sat up in bed and looked her in the eye, exasperation on her face. She’d foregone pulling the duvet up to cover herself and her boobs were fully out. “Uh, we’re both stark bollock naked, dipshit. How much more addressing of the situation could there be?”

“Yeah I know, fuckhead!” Willam snapped, a laugh bubbling in her throat. “I just don’t…I don’t know what this means now? Like what are we?”

Courtney half-laughed, half-sighed then pulled a pillow over her face and yelled into it. “Fuck! I don’t know, Willam, okay?”

Willam was smiling, but she simultaneously felt as if she was hanging by a thread. She watched as Courtney pulled the pillow off her face then rolled over and pulled her close.

“Cards on the table, I really fucking like you. I’ve never stopped liking you. I care about you, and I want to see you do well, and I like us when we’re together. We just work, we fit. We squabble at times, but it’s never malicious. But this job…it’s a bitch, and I don’t want us ending up having to hide away or have our lives ruined by it like Sharon and Alaska. So I don’t…” Courtney sighed. Willam could see her pulse thudding rapidly under her skin by her wrist. “I don’t want to label us just now. I’m scared to. But can we just…can we at least be exclusive? Because I don’t want to share you with anyone else.”

Willam smiled and rolled her eyes. “As if I’d fucking want anyone else.”

Courtney nuzzled her head into Willam’s side, and Willam cast her eyes to the sun coming in through the blinds. She blinked quickly three times. “No, that sounds good. Exclusive but with no labels. I can do that. Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

“For what?” Courtney kissed Willam’s temple.

“For being a cunt to you.”

“You were a cunt to me?” Courtney pulled away, frowning. “Now that doesn’t sound like Willam Belli at all.”

Willam took that as a yes.

“No more games,” Courtney said quietly, gently stroking the palm of Willam’s hand with her finger.

“No more games,” Willam agreed.

It was 2 o’clock by the time they got back to the hospital to see Sharon, after they’d showered, dressed (Willam borrowing Courtney’s clothes again), had some breakfast and got the two tubes over. It was an unspoken plan- they hadn’t talked about whether they should stay at the flat, or go visit Sharon, or even go into work. There was only one place they really needed to be today. They’d talked and chatted and laughed just as they used to, but without any awkward tension and with extra added hand holding and light knuckle and cheek kisses. They’d wondered out loud whether it had been in poor taste to fuck within the 24 hours that they’d found out Sharon had been hit by a car, before deciding that it was probably what Sharon would have wanted and endorsed anyway.

When they arrived at Sharon’s ward, it was as if nothing had changed at all- Alaska seemingly hadn’t moved from her seat and was still sitting in it facing Sharon in her Winnie the Pooh pyjamas, while the other woman was still in bed but was propped up with pillows and had her oxygen mask on. She had a loving, dreamy look on her face and seemed to be listening to Alaska talk when Courtney and Willam arrived. Alaska turned around excitedly when they came in.

“Morning,” Willam smiled, moving to hug Alaska tightly and then Sharon markedly less so, in case Willam accidentally pulled a wire out. “Or afternoon, or whatever the fuck time it is.”

“Hey,” Sharon took her mask off and smiled gently.

“How are you feeling, Sharon?” Courtney asked as she took her turn to hug her.

“I’m holding up okay. I had a big sleep when you two left, woke up at like 9. Then me and Alaska had a massive chat which took about an hour and exhausted me, so I had a nap again. Woke up about an hour ago and Alaska had stuck on the news. It’s weird seeing myself on the news in a capacity which isn’t politics. I’m not in the mood for a lot of talking so Alaska’s just been telling me about her leadership campaign,” Sharon gestured to Alaska’s happy, excited face and smiled fondly. “Christ, she looks like she’s about to explode. I fucking love this girl so much.”

Willam made a vomiting sound as she pulled up a chair beside Alaska. “Gross. So your big chat. Did you both grow up and say sorry to each other?”

Willam saw Alaska squeeze Sharon’s hand. “Of course we fucking did. That was the first thing we said. Then we basically just cried and talked about how much we loved each other for the next 59 minutes.”

Courtney laughed, and Alaska gave a small giggle then shook her head as she looked at Sharon. “No, joking. Well, we did do that. But we also spoke about career stuff- what we wanted in the next five years, what we need to do to get there.”

“It’s doable for what we both want. We just need to support each other, make it two sided and communicate. I know that now,” Sharon piped up, smiling at Alaska as if it was for her benefit and not Courtney and Willam’s.

“Well, I’m glad you two have made up,” Courtney smiled softly, moving to perch on Willam’s knee in the absence of a chair. Willam pulled her close. She didn’t miss the look that passed between Alaska and Sharon.

“Um, on the topic of making up…” Alaska raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at them both. “…what is this?”

“Courtney sitting on my lap?” Willam said sarcastically, resting her head on Courtney’s back.

“Yes…” Sharon said, waving a tubed-up hand to prompt more. “So…?”

“So…what?” Courtney asked, just as deadpan as Willam had been, and she loved her for it.

“Oh fuck, put a dying woman out of her misery!” Sharon coughed out in exasperation, earning her a furious look and a gentle smack from Alaska.

“DON’T joke about that!” she glared at her for all of two seconds, before she took her hand and turned back to Courtney and Willam. “But seriously guys, Sharon’s only got one properly working lung, can you just give us the information that we both already know but want to scream like babies at when it comes from you?”

Courtney turned and looked at Willam, suddenly embarrassed. Willam gave her a squeeze and spoke for her. “Well, we’re going to disappoint you, because we’re not girlfriends. We can’t all fall in love with our work friends and go balls-deep into a relationship. But no, we’re just…”

“We like each other, and we’re exclusive, and we’re going to take it a day at a time,” Courtney finished, Alaska giving a small, excited squeal. Sharon smiled and rolled her eyes.

“Bo-ring! I want to know if you’ve banged yet.”

“Yeah, we did,” Courtney shrugged, Willam completely shocked at her blasé display of honesty but also too tired to care much. Sharon let out a loud cheer, then immediately started coughing violently in a sobering display that reminded the girls why they were all together in the first place. Seeing Alaska’s concerned face, Sharon frowned.

“I’m fine, it’s okay,” she wheezed, waving a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry. Just coughing up pieces of old lung, they say the new one should grow back within 3-5 working days.”

Alaska snorted. Willam laughed and shook her head. “You’re so fucking unfunny it hurts.”

Sharon shrugged. “Blame the pain meds, I’ve been popping them like Smints.”

They chatted quietly after that, the four of them just enjoying each other’s’ company without having to talk about work or politics or anything like that. Often Alaska would talk for Sharon, the other woman wearing her oxygen mask and resting. Alaska had phoned Jinkx and texted the comms girls to fill them in on what had happened, after they all basically woke up, saw the headlines and immediately fired off about fifty texts to Alaska, Courtney and Willam (none of which Willam saw, her phone having long since died.). Sharon was annoyed that Jinkx wouldn’t honour her request to bring in her work laptop so she could work from her hospital bed, a request which all three advisors were glad she’d shut down. They were all going to pop in at some point in the evening to visit, Adore and Katya promising to bring what they’d termed as “huge, inconvenient, inflatable balloons”. Willam had told Sharon about the Phi Phi incident, Sharon rolling her eyes almost to the back of her head but refusing to allow herself to get worked up over it.

“That’s a point, actually,” she said, sitting up in bed and wincing slightly at some unseen pain. “Didn’t you say Bianca would be visiting me soon? She’s not been in.”

“Well, she still has to oversee all the other departments. Maybe something’s happened with them?” Courtney offered, Sharon shrugging and conceding.

Around ten minutes later, they had their answer. Bianca came in to Sharon’s room dressed in her usual work attire, ironically all in black. Her face was serious but she had a small, kind smile, and was holding a box of Guiylan pralines.

“Christ, Bianca, I’ve not died,” Sharon laughed by way of a greeting, as Bianca cracked a rare, genuine smile and handed her the chocolates.

“Shut it. Some of us still have to go to work. How are you?”

“Sore.”

“That’s crap, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I didn’t swing by earlier. I’ve been at Number 10, I’ve been with the police, I’ve been into Dosac. This might be a bit of good news for you,” she said, addressing the room this time. “The police have apprehended a guy. Old woman who lives in the area had CCTV outside her flat. She came forward with footage of a car going well beyond the speed limit. Matches the time that the whole thing happened. They were able to get a number plate from it and traced it back to the fucker.”

Willam was in shock. She had no idea it would all happen so quickly. Looking at Bianca closely, she could see how puffy her eyes were and how her dark circles had been concealed with foundation, and how much her hands were shaking. It hit her how hard Bianca must have been working to help the police catch whoever had done this to Sharon.

“Thank you, Bianca,” she said, her voice coming out way more emotional than she’d meant it to. Bianca turned to her in surprise, as if she was taken aback slightly.

“Well, I mean, don’t thank me. The police did all the work. They’ll be in to question you, Sharon, but once you’re feeling a bit better. Maybe this evening, or tomorrow.”

“Oh, great. Reliving the moment a car hit me in all its horrifying detail, with the greatest hits of poison pen letters as a follow-up. All my fucky stars have come at once,” Sharon said. Her breathing was becoming laboured, so she put her oxygen mask back on.

“Just keep the damn thing on, you’ve had it off and on like a fucking lightswitch the entire time you’ve been awake,” Alaska chastised her, tucking the hospital blanket in around Sharon. “I’ll maybe see if there’s some way Jinkx can bring in your duvet.”

“You could always go get it for her,” Courtney suggested, Alaska laughing at the ridiculous suggestion.

“Yeah, good one Court, like I’m going to leave her side until she’s discharged.”

Bianca watched the whole exchange carefully, then opened her mouth. “So I take it…that you’re back together.”

Alaska looked at Sharon and nodded.

“You understand that I’m absolutely livid at the pair of you for ever beginning this in the first place and that if it had even got into the media you would have been out of a job?” Bianca said, pointing to Alaska. Alaska blinked and gave a small shrug.

“She would have been worth it,” she said, Willam noticing how Sharon squeezed Alaska’s hand. Bianca fake-gagged.

“Yes, well, in any case, I’m hearing you’ve got plans to stand in the by-election? Is that still happening?” Bianca asked. “Because if it is, then it would make my life a lot easier. There’s not nearly as many implications. In fact you could probably put you two into the public eye. Might be good for the party.”

Sharon wheezed a laugh and Alaska suppressed a smile. “God. Our relationship is literally politically correct. But yeah, I am standing. It’d be good to get some tips from you about that, actually.”

Bianca checked her phone as she spoke. “You don’t need tips. I’ll get you the support you need. Might as well start considering yourself an MP.”

Alaska smiled happily, bringing Sharon’s hand up to her face and kissing it in excitement.

“Although that does mean a position opening up at Dosac. Got anyone in mind, Sharon?”

Sharon sighed exasperatedly, ripping off her mask and gesturing to all her tubes and wires. “Funnily enough, no, I’ve been too busy being a human fucking colander!”

Willam smiled at Sharon knowingly. “I’ve got someone in mind. She’s young, and a bit fucking useless at the moment, but we could train her up. She’s got potential.”

“Well, that seems sorted,” Bianca shrugged. “Right, I’m going to have to make tracks. Flying visit. One of Trinity Taylor’s one night stands has gone to Closer magazine and we can’t risk that getting into the press. But take care, okay?”

Sharon waved a hand. “Thank you, Bianca.”

“No problem. See you later. Willam, can I borrow you for a second?”

Willam’s heart sank as she followed Bianca out of the room. She knew that Bianca was going to ask her if she had anything on Phi Phi. She knew that the photos were still in her phone, burning a hole in her pocket. She knew that Courtney didn’t want her to take the job at Number 10. She knew that her and Courtney weren’t at all official yet.

What she didn’t know was what she was going to do.

They stood at the side of the corridor beside the glass outside Sharon’s room, doctors and nurses hurrying past and completely oblivious to Willam about to make one of the biggest decisions of her life.

“So,” Bianca opened. “If you’ve got anything for me, now is the time to say, because the right-wing media are starting to lap up Phi Phi’s bullshit pretty fucking quickly. It would take a lot of the heat off Sharon if we could just…bury her.”

Willam felt pained. She had completely forgotten about the implications this would have for Sharon.

“So anything at all would be a saving grace,” Bianca finished, looking Willam in the eye and almost triggering a fight or flight response in her.

What would Courtney want her to do? What would Bianca want her to do?

What would Sharon want her to do?

“Um,” Willam swallowed. Her throat was completely dry. “You know, it’s been a rough 24 hours…I haven’t really managed to find anything.” Bianca looked visibly disappointed. “Sorry, Bianca.”

The other woman nodded understandingly. “That’s okay. It has been a rough time. Thank you for looking after her, Willam.”

Willam gave a small smile and without knowing what possessed her, she was speaking again. “Also, Bianca…take me out of the running for the Number 10 job.”

This was the first time Willam had ever seen Bianca look legitimately shocked in her life. Bianca always knew what was going on, she was always so plugged in and in the loop, there was so rarely anything that she didn’t know. So this information was clearly a bombshell. “I mean. I can, but I would also be asking why in the fuck would you want me to do that?”

Willam sighed. “I’m still young. There’ll be other chances to work there and besides, there’s other stuff I want to focus on right now. There’s more to life than politics, I guess.”

Bianca gave a harsh laugh. “Life is politics, Willam.”

“Your life, maybe.”

“Yeah, well,” Bianca exhaled. She had a faraway look in her eyes. “I suppose you’re right about that.”

Willam suddenly heard Courtney laugh through the glass and she involuntarily smiled. She looked back at Bianca, who was looking through the glass.

“Is this because of her?”

Willam looked back at the glass, then cocked her head. “Sort of. It’s for me first, and her second. People spend so much of their lives wishing for better, focusing so much on the future or on the past. Like…what’s wrong with what we have now? You know? Appreciate what you’ve got. Change is good. Except if it’s not. I don’t know, fuck, I’m so tired.”

Bianca nodded slowly, a tiny frown still present on her face. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

“Honestly, no,” Willam laughed. “But I’m sure I want things to stay as they are, for now. There’s going to be so much change in Dosac. It would be nice for me to stay a constant.”

Bianca gave a small sigh. “Well, I won’t say I’m not disappointed. But good for you, Willam.”

Willam shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I’ll see you, Bianca.”

“See you, Willam.”

As Bianca walked away, Willam thought it was the first time she’d ever seen her look genuinely gutted. It made her feel slightly proud of herself, though she had no idea why. Watching her until she was out of sight, Willam turned back and went back into Sharon’s room.

“Back,” she said. Sharon looked up at her, puzzled.

“What was that all about?” she frowned.

“Wanted to know if I had anything we could use on Phi Phi.”

“And did you?”

Willam looked at Courtney, who seemed frozen. She paused. “No. No, of course I didn’t. Been too busy making sure your dumb fucking roadkill ass is okay, haven’t I?”

As Sharon and Alaska laughed, Willam watched as Courtney’s face lit up. She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Willam in a hug. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

“Willam, I’ve been meaning to say. Thank you. For phoning the ambulance,” Sharon said, suddenly serious. Her voice was quiet and her face grave.

Willam reached out and touched her leg lightly. “That’s what best friends do.”

Sharon smiled in gratitude, then gave a yawn. “Sorry to be boring, but I think I need to sleep again.”

“Well, we’ll leave,” Courtney smiled, her voice gentle. “I kind of want to go for a walk round the park. It’s such a nice day. You fancy joining us, Lask?”

Willam barely had time to bask in the use of “us” before Alaska rolled her eyes.

“What part of I’m-not-leaving-Sharon’s-side do you not understand? Go,” she smirked, looking at Willam and Courtney hand in hand. “Be cute and gross.”

Willam smiled at Courtney sheepishly, and Courtney smiled back. She turned back to the other couple in the room. “We’ll be back around dinnertime. Want us to bring you anything?”

“Ugh, a Wasabi please. Lunch was mush, with mashed mush, on a bed of mush. It’s enough to turn me vegetarian,” Sharon shook her head before laying down on her pillow and closing her eyes. “Thanks for coming in. See you later, guys.”

“See you both,” Courtney smied, waving at Alaska as she opened the door and Willam following behind her. Once they were out the room, they had taken a few steps down the corridor before Courtney spoke again. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Willam said as she pressed the button for the lift. She wondered if she should say any more, but thanks was enough, and she decided to leave it. “So. Park then home, then back to see Sharon?”

“Home,” Courtney gave a little smile as she looked at Willam. “Home sounds nice.”

And as the lift doors closed leaving them both sealed up together going down towards the bright Spring day outside, Willam had to agree.

***

Willam woke up in the same bed she’d woken up in in December, and in April, with the same girl she’d woken up with in December and April. Except the circumstances weren’t quite the same. Firstly, Courtney was out of bed before her, and Willam could hear her battering and clanging around in their kitchen together (their kitchen, Willam thought fondly to herself, it would never get old to say their like that). Second, Willam didn’t have any inner turmoil or panicked thoughts or insecurities running around her mind. She was peaceful and calm, and life was good. Sure, Sharon had a fucker of a TV debate coming up the next day, and Willam was afraid that her ribs might re-break at the sheer force with which she was going to shout at Phi Phi O’Hara, but apart from that everything was all just fine. She hadn’t felt this calm in forever. In fact, no, that was a lie. She’d woken up feeling this calm every single day for the past two months since the day she and Courtney walked out of that lift together. Sure, there were one or two blips- the day she’d asked Courtney to be her girlfriend she had woken up completely convinced she was having a heart attack- but that aside, she’d never felt this content.

“Bill!” came a voice from the kitchen. “Put it on!”

Willam sat up, groaned, and rubbed her eyes sleepily. “What channel?”

A frustrated sigh. “It’s Sunday fucking Politics, you know what channel!!”

Laughing, Willam fumbled for the remote on her bedside table, in danger of knocking over many half-empty cups of coffee, and switched the TV on. She hadn’t needed to find the channel as the TV immediately showed her what they were both looking for- Alaska Thunder, MP for West Central London, the first MP to take the seat from Phi Phi O’Hara’s party in 12 years, in her biggest TV interview so far.

“Court, it’s started!” Willam shouted through, hearing a thunder of footsteps in response. Soon enough her girlfriend, her beautiful, tiny, blonde koala girlfriend, emerged from the hallway in her huge flannel Snoopy pyjamas holding two cups of coffee.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” she was saying, reaching over and almost spilling half the coffee on the bright white bedsheets as she half-handed, half-threw it to Willam. “I said to you it bloody started at 5 past 10, and you took the piss out of me!”

“No I fucking didn’t!” Willam cried incredulously, laughing.

“Yes you so did! Meh Courtney, why would a programme start at five past ten that’s such an awkward time, meh meh meh why do you think it’s going to start then, is it because of the time delay? Is it because you’re Australian? Mehhh,” Courtney imitated Willam. Willam went to retort but was immediately shushed by her girlfriend.

“Shut up! I don’t want to miss any more.”

Raja Gemini was asking Alaska a question, and she had her don’t-fuck-with-me face on. “Alaska Thunder, what I’d most like to know is- why were you so strongly in favour of the incarceration of young offenders until last week, when your fiancé Sharon Needles came out in support of rehabilitation? Is this what we can expect from you as an MP, to simply agree with everything your fiancé says?”

“That bitch.”

“Shut up!”

Alaska’s face was calm and amused. “No not at all, Raja, see my change of heart was based on a consultation I had with the Minister for Justice Sasha Coulee-Velour, where she actually presented me with lots of facts and figures as to why rehabilitation produces better results and contributes to a reduction of repeat offenders in society. I then conducted a focus group who pretty much agreed with the Minister, so I have decided to back what is clearly the more well-researched opinion.”

“But isn’t it true that Sharon Needles has held no such focus groups and has point-blank refused to listen to any opposing opinion on the other side? How must that translate to the public?”

Alaska smirked and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know, Raja. If you wanted to ask that question you should have invited her onto your show. You asked for me, you’ve got me, and now you’re asking me about my fiancé? Is this Hello magazine or Sunday Politics?”

Courtney threw her hands up in the air and cheered. “Finish her, Lask!”

Just then, Willam’s phone buzzed. It was a message from Sharon. Willam knew she had taken the morning off to go into the studio and watch Alaska do the interview and was probably hiding behind the cameramen as Alaska and Raja spoke.

S: i say, that’s my baby and i’m really proud

Willam snorted, holding her phone up to show Courtney who laughed in response.

“Fucking hell, who keeps introducing her to memes?” she sighed, pouting as she looked to the TV and saw the interview was coming to a close. “Oh fuck, we missed pretty much the whole thing!”

Willam pulled her into a hug. “Doesn’t matter. We saw the best bit. There’ll be more interviews where that came from. I think Alaska’s making quite the splash.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Courtney smiled, sipping her coffee then sliding off the bed. “What’s our plan for today? We’re meeting Katya and Trixie for lunch, then Adore’s joining for drinks. She said she might bring her girlfriend along!”

“Oh, Aja?” Willam asked, scrolling her phone lazily. “That’s good, she seems nice.”

“Well, I’m going to shower if you need in before me?” Courtney offered, unhooking her towel from the back of their bedroom door.

“Nah, no need. I always just piss in your charcoal water. You’d never taste the difference,” Willam deadpanned, smiling as she watched Courtney laugh and throw a makeup sponge at her from the door.

Courtney was so beautiful, even in her old pyjamas and with her hair hanging messily over her shoulders. Her smile did something to Willam, something she’d never felt before and never wanted to stop feeling ever again. What was the something? Suddenly, it was as if Willam had been struck by a lightning bolt. She knew, but she couldn’t possibly tell her. Not today and not now. It was far too soon, surely?

Then a little voice in her head whispered to her. No more games.

Willam’s voice stopped her just as she was about to leave the room.

“Hey, Courtney?”

#just the game we're in #ortega #australia #crossover #witney #shalaska #twmentionsofinjury #willam belli #courtney act #sharon needles #alaska thunderfuck #bianca del rio #rpdr fanfiction #jtgwi

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herbaelogist · 6 years ago

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opinion: neville should have been the one who took down bellatrix in order to avenge what happened to his family..

Valid opinion, I can see why people hold it! I really doubt anyone thought he was capable of getting rid of such a powerful foe (apart from probably his close circle of friends), so this ending would’ve probably resulted in a big respect gain for Neville from his peers and family alike.

But you know, I prefer it the canon way with Molly ending Bella.

At first I didn’t, but the more I wrote as Neville, the more I world-built around him, I think Molly ending Bella is much more suitable. I don’t think Neville likes killing– Even in the instance of avenging his family. I think that’s one reason he was only an auror for a short time: He doesn’t like violence and killing. But anyway, I’m gonna go more into detail about why I’m fine that Neville wasn’t the one to kill Bella, because I feel like just saying “He’s too soft/He doesn’t like to kill” isn’t enough. Because he would kill an enemy should he have to.

P.S.: This will belong and if u don’t wanna read it, it’s fine lmao.

Okay, so reason one: He doesn’t want to be consumed by the vengeance mindset (this eventually bleeds into reason two, so if you’re confused by the end of this don’t worry). Because he actually was for a short time: Ages 15-16. Once it was announced she had escaped Azkaban (and after DA had began to meet) Neville began acting out in his head what he’d do, how he’d counter her curses and end her when he met her. It really consumed him prior to the Ministry event: DA meetings stopped being about learning to protect himself and his friends and more about ‘This is how I’m going to eliminate Bella.trix Le.strange.” That’s why he excels so quickly. He’s not really sleeping or eating, he’s just practicing, practicing, practicing.

And then he meets her in the Ministry headquarters and nothing goes as planned. He doesn’t defeat her, he’s not ready. He has it in his head that all of his friends (whether this thought is a rational one or not) expect him to pursue her in the Ministry headquarters. Like, “That’s Neville’s target. He’s going to be fighting her.” Like an unspoken “Neville will take care of it” shared amongst the group (again, is it really rational?). And through the rush of adrenaline and all the danger that surrounds them, he’s unable to finish her and she ends up killing Sirius. And Neville partially blames himself for that due to his irrational thought (I’m gonna go ahead and say it: it’s probably irrational) of it being his duty to end Bella and he was unable to fulfill that duty. He fears that Harry secretly hates him, probably.

So he becomes further consumed with the idea of revenge. Not just for his family and himself, but for Harry. This is why he’s so disappointed DA discontinued in his sixth year. He wanted to continue learning so he wouldn’t fail next time. He continues to practice on his own, and this vengeance is kind of all-consuming. His grades kind of slip, his withdraws from his friends a bit. He’s a server at the slug club parties to keep up appearances, to hide in plain sight the fact that he feels awfulson the inside. Feeling vengeful makes him feel awful, and he knows this. He’s loss interest in his hobbies over this, his friends are really worried about him. But he doesn’t know how to stop. Again, there’s that irrational thought: Everyone expects me to kill her. I have to deliver.

All right, reason two: Neville realizes the big picture: It’s not about vengeance at all, it’s about protecting those you love. He returns to school for his 7th year under the premise that Bella will show up sometime during the school year and he’ll take her out then. He’s been waiting, he’s ready this time. But with this new school year comes new responsibilities that he finds himself wanting to shoulder: Protecting the younger children and his friends. The Carrows are using the cruciatus curse on the first years and trying to get the older students to do it as well, and he’s repulsed. Anger fills his belly like a hot flame. His focus begins to shift from revenge to protecting those who need to be protected.

Neville’s lost count as to how many times the cruciatus curse has been performed on him. But having it cast on him means that’s one less first year who is being tortured. One less sweet soul harmed. One good heart saved.

And, as awful as it sounds, through this torture-enduring and protecting the others, he lets go off his vengeance-driven mindset. As strange as it sounds, he feels closer to his parents in his seventh year, because he understands what they were did and why: They endured and endured and endured because they were protecting the people they love. And it’s through this realization that Neville realizes it’s not about revenge at all. He doesn’t believe his parents care about that at all— It’s protecting those you care about. It’s using your own love to shield rather than to harm. Neville originally thought he was to use his power to kill, but he discovers that it’s to protect. It’s to freeing when he finally lets go of his feelings of vengeance. It’s so wonderful to not be consumed anymore.

—

I think that, during the battle of Hog.warts, there were several occasions in which Neville could’ve faced off with Bella. They probably locked eyes more than once, probably threw a few charms/curses at one another. He could’ve really gone for it, if he wanted to. But he was more concerned with helping Harry and the other students. Because that’s what it’s about. Protecting, not harming.

Okay thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

#long post #headcanon #thank u for asking #i need to incorporate this shit into my writing #chosenforthis #headcanon: mental

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shinobean · 5 years ago

Text

The Tournament Arc Pt. 1: Season Two Review

Well, friends, it’s time for the weekly season review! As per the usual, there are spoilers and opinions from here on out!

Enjoy! ��

Episodes this Season: 27 to 53

Having surpassed their first exams to advance to the next stage in their careers as ninja, Naruto, the rest of Team 7, and all of the other remaining teams in the Leaf Village move on to the second part of their two-part exam. The second portion of the exam requires for each team to carry one of two scrolls, Heaven or Earth, through vast woodland called the Forest of Death in search of a team with the scroll opposite of the one they already have.

Moments into the second portion, Naruto is separated from his team and an impostor from the Hidden Rain Village takes his place using his likeness. However, this doesn’t fool Sasuke and he drives the ninja away. Though the real Naruto makes it back to the team, he is once again separated from them after an enormous snake swallows him. Meanwhile, Sasuke and Sakura are immobilized a Grass Village ninja who’s after their scroll.

Naruto successfully pulls off killing the snake that swallowed him, but by the time he returns to Team 7, Sasuke is offering the scroll to the Grass Village ninja. Furious and mistaking Sasuke’s behavior for that of another impostor’s, Naruto attacks Sasuke, preventing him from surrendering the scroll and, in turn, their exam. This is enough of a distraction for the ninja to summon another giant snake and attack the team. With such a powerful opponent, Naruto mindlessly uses the power of the fox spirit in his counter attacks, but the ninja recognizes the orange glow radiating off of Naruto as the fox spirit’s and puts a seal on Naruto — preventing him from accessing the energy again.

With Naruto out of commission, Sasuke is once again up against the ninja. After trapping and using a powerful fire attack on them, Sasuke is surprised when the ninja reappears, face melting to reveal another beneath it like wax. The ninja’s neck extends to Sasuke and they latch onto Sasuke’s neck with sharp fangs, leaving a curse mark in its place. The ninja introduces himself as Orochimaru, the Sound Village ruler who stole the likeness of a deceased victim to pose as them, and promises Sasuke he will seek Orochimaru out in the future.

After, Sakura is left to care for the boys for the night in a makeshift hut under the root of a tree. Meanwhile, a Sound Village team taking the exams had been watching Team 7 and attacked with a plan to kill Sasuke. A ninja from the Leaf Village named Rock Lee comes in time to help keep them away until help from other Leaf Village teams arrive.

Upon completing the second portion, the teams are told there have been an unprecedented amount of passing grades for the round of exam. For that reason, there would be a sudden death tournament to see who would be moving on to the final exams.

With Team 7 advancing onto the final round, the season ends where Naruto is looking for a mentor. After Kakashi rejects Naruto’s request for him to be his personal mentor he leaves Naruto with someone he doesn’t want as a tutor. This doesn’t last long, however, and Naruto ends up being taken under the wing of a man named Jiraiya.

Review:

A lot more happened in this season than the last, whew! So much in fact, I almost feared I would have to cut the summary short. However, I had to be sure you all could understand any points I decided to make.

First, there is a glaring issue with the writing that is revealed in this season. It isn’t enough to sway my interest in the story but it was obvious enough to catch my attention. (I’d hope it wouldn’t effect my motivation to continue, considering I have seven more seasons to get through!) However, what the season lacks in strong female leads it draws your eye in with interesting subplots and heartfelt messages.

There is an incredibly open display of neglect as far as writing for female characters go. They all only seem driven by the mentality of their love interest(s). Whatever their crush believes in to make them better ninja, the girls must believe in to get through conflict. For example, when Sakura had to stand by and watch Orochimaru in his disguise as a dead ninja fight Sasuke and Naruto. She strongly lacks motivation to be better ninja for herself. She spend the entire time wondering how she could be like her male counterpart. It doesn’t help that Sakura is very vocal about her crush on her teammate, Sasuke (would you believe me if I told you Naruto made it a love triangle?). This Freudian(1) way of presenting the female leads in the story puts a generally bad taste in my mouth.

No character exudes this energy more than Hinata Hyuga, the shy defense-based princess who happens to have a crush on Naruto. In episode 47, during her fight in the preliminary round with her cousin Neji, prodigy of their family and rightful heir to the head of the household, Hinata’s only motivation to keep pushing was Naruto’s belief system(2). Of course, this also leans into what ends up saving the season for me, so it isn’t as bad a situation as it initially appears.

What Naruto does best as a series, thus far anyway, is its handling of various plots while striking at the heartstrings every once and a while. I believe a major theme in this season is overcoming one’s struggles. This is displayed through Sasuke, Rock Lee and Hinata.

Sasuke faces the challenge of attempting to continue his training as a ninja with the new mark on his neck and its effects. It was already shown in both episode 33 and episode 39 the consequences of Sasuke tapping into the chakra of the curse. Rock Lee, despite being a ninja with no nin-justsu specialty takes on an opponent as powerful as a mysterious ninja that can control sand. Hinata with her desire to prove her strength to her stronger cousin and earn his respect.

I have always adored Naruto’s attention to what would otherwise be boring side characters. It’s rare that a show with such an extensive cast of characters would care to every character’s story. Naruto deviates from the typical hero’s journey in that way, and it does wonders for the show’s trajectory. It allows you a number of personalities and backstories to empathize with.

Season two is not without its flaws, but it is far from a bad season.

source(s):

Naruto (season 1). (2020, September 30). Retrieved October 02, 2020, from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Naruto_(season_1)

footnote(s):

1Kubota, T. (2016 May 7). Is Penis Envy Real? Retrieved October 02, 2020, from https://www.livescience.com/54682-is-penis-envy-real.html

2TheNarutoFightsSite. (2010 June 7). FULL FIGHT- Hinata Hyuuga VS Neji Hyuuga (english) (part 1) [Video]. Youtube. https://youtu.be/u-FKSJjZwro

#naruto #season review #series review #season two #shonen jump #misogony #freudian #hero's journey

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jordanwinchesterimagines · 8 years ago

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Dinner at Jody’s

Words: 1,923

AN: Here is Part Three of You Don’t Know What It Feels Like! I literally can not get my thoughts down fast enough. I was wanting you guy’s opinion on something, also. Since this is going to be (basically) a new Sam Series, would it be less confusing if I gave it it’s own series title? Anyway, this is a filler chapter, but I think that the conversations are important so here it is. As always, thank you for the likes and feedback. They are always appreciated and cherished.

You Don’t Know What It Feels Like, Tell Her I Said, Goodbye

The first thing that Sam did when he arrived at the cabin was clean. The place was covered in dust, grime, and old beer bottles. It didn’t look like anyone had stayed there since they had a few years ago, the evidence being the remains of Dean’s leg cast. It took a few days, but after a good amount of dusting, scrubbing and air freshener, Sam was finally able to sit and relax....which lasted for about 15 minutes. Not feeling ready to start looking for a hunt, Sam threw on a pair of sweats and his running shoes and went for a run. As he ran, he kept focused on his feet hitting the ground, the breaths he took, the trees he passed. Not once did he let his mind wander, he came out here to clear his mind, and he intended to do just that. It was not too hot outside, being early evening, but between his pace and distance he was covered in sweat by the time he made it back. He went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, drinking about half of its contents before twisting back on the lid and tossing it back in. He took his phone out of his pocket and saw that Dean had texted him... twice.

D: u make it ok?

D: Dude.

He sighed and unlocked his phone to replying.

S: Chill, Dean. It’s only been three days…

D: Well it couldn’t hurt u to let us know u got there.

S: I’m fine. Just settling in.

D: u should text (Y/N). Let her know.

S: Aren’t you guys, together?

D: just text her asshat

Sam sighed again. Dean was probably right. He was not going to be able to ignore or avoid you forever. He pulled up your contact in his phone and opened a new message.

S: Hey. I just wanted to let you know I was safe here in S.D. Gonna hang low for awhile.

Y: good to know

‘Great’ Sam thought, ‘she’s pissed’. It took him a few tries but he wrote an apology, knowing full well that it wasn’t going to be enough.

S: I know you’re pissed. I’m sorry about the other night. I can’t really explain what’s going on with me right now. But, you have to trust me. I need this. I need to be here.

Y: I’m still pissed.

Y: But, I get it.. I think. Just, don’t do anything stupid.

S: I won’t. Thanks.

Y: Keep in touch, okay?

S: Roger that.

Sam tossed his phone on the table and headed for the shower. How was he supposed to get over you? He made a good first move, coming to the cabin, but he was starting to realize that the ‘distance’ wasn’t going to do anything if he kept having to check in all the time. ‘Better than staying at the bunker’ he reasoned, stepping under the warm water. He stood there for a few minutes, letting the water trickle down his back.’I’ll have to figure something else out’ he thought, not knowing where to start. After what seemed like an hour, the water started to chill. Realizing he had just been standing there, he washed quickly, before turning off the water. He dried his hair with his towel and shook his head a few times it a few times before wrapping the towel around his waist. He was on his way to the bedroom to get dressed when he heard his phone ring. Shuffling down the hall, Sam held the towel around his waist, cursing under his breath. ‘Over protecting…. annoying... Son of a …” He picked up his phone, and smiled, pleasantly surprised to find it wasn’t his brother.

“Hey Jody!”

“Sam Winchester. A little birdy told me that you were in my neck of the woods. Thought I would give you a call. You know, I’m a little offended you didn’t make your way over here….. “ Sam smiled at the teasing nature in her voice.

“Well I couldn’t look too desperate, now could I?” She laughed.

“Ah, the Winchester charm. So what are you and your charm doing tonight for dinner?”

“Ugh…” he opened a cabinet, not expecting much. He hadn't really shopped yet. “5 year old canned chili?”

“I seriously hope that was a joke.”

“I wish it was…” Sam replied, laughing.

“Well you’re not eating that crap. You’re coming over here. Steak and potatoes, what more could you ask for?” Sam thought about it for a moment. He had planned to get drunk, eat junk and pass out, but he wasn’t going to turn down Jody’s offer through. She was important to him... in a lot of ways. He owed it to her to go visit, despite how crappy he was feeling.

“Sounds like I’ll be there.”

“Good! Bring your appetite.” Sam hung up and got dressed quickly, making sure to look somewhat presentable. He stopped at a liquor store and bought a bottle of wine, not wanting to show up empty handed. He hoped that what he picked tasted good. He wasn’t exactly a wine expert, but he figured the pricier the better. When he arrived at the house he was surprised to see Claire outside sitting on the tailgate of Jody’s truck. She jumped off as he pulled up and waited until he was parked to approach him. Sam grabbed the bottle of wine, and got out of the car, nodding to the young girl.

“Well, if it isn’t Big and Tall!” She said smirking, playfulness in her eyes.

“Hey Grumpy.” He quipped. She nodded to the wine.

“That for me?” Sam raised his eyebrows and huffed.

“Yeah… in about 3 years.”

“Good.” she replied, raising her eyebrow and taking the bottle. “It has time to age.” There was a brief pause before both of them began chuckling. “Don’t think too much of it, but I actually kind of missed you.” Nudging him, she motioned for the house where Jody and Alex stood at the door.

“Sam.” Jody embraced him at the doorway, squeezing him a little too tight. Sam allowed it, and hugged her back.

“Hey…” He smiled at Alex over Jody’s shoulder, which she returned before returning her attention back to her phone. Jody took her a step back, holding Sam at arm’s length, giving him a good look-over.

“Not trying to be rude, but you look like crap.”

“No offense taken.” he nodded to Claire. “Brought you some wine. You might want to grab it before you have an underage situation over there.” Jody smirked but gave the young girl a narrow look as she released Sam. She took the bottle and inspected it.

“Wow. Fancy stuff! You’re too good for me, Sam.”

…………

They made it through dinner with light conversation, Sam enjoying the stories of schools, and groundings. The bickering between the two girls, reminded him of he and his brother growing up. He was glad that he came, this was definitely better than sitting at the cabin by himself. He didn’t have this very often. Between hunting, looking for Amara, and doing research it was hard to find time to sit down to a home cooked meal, let alone be consistent with buying fresh groceries. He sighed in contentment as ate his last bite of steak.

“Well I made desert. Anyone interested?” A collection of nods and muffled ‘yeses’, came from the other three, who were taking their last bites of potatoes. Jody smiled and went into the kitchen, returning a second later with a fresh apple pie. “I know this is a ‘Dean dessert’, but I had a craving and it’s what came out of the oven.” A silence filled the room, the mention of Dean’s name seeming to cast a wave of awkwardness in the air that caused even Alex to look up from her phone. It was Claire who broke the silence, as she often did.

“Where are the lumberjack and lumber-lady anyway? Don’t you guys like, do everything together?” Jody shot her a deadly look as she distributed the pie amongst them.

“Claire..”

“No!” Sam interrupted, “It’s okay. We normally do… but I needed a bit of a break.”

“From hunting or from them?” Claire questioned, determined to get a straight answer out of Sam.

“Ugh… mostly Dean, I guess.” He took a bite of pie, trying to sell his story, and nodded at the girls. “You know what living with a sibling is like.” Both girls turned their heads and glared at each other.

“Not siblings…” Alex said pointingly.

“Just go back to texting that douche of a boyfriend.” Claire chastised

“AANNNNDD, we’re one big happy family here in Sioux Falls” Jody chimed in.

“I rest my case” Sam argued, triumphantly. Jody studied Sam closely for a moment.

“Girls, why don’t you go work on some homework.”

“What? And miss out on the ‘grown up conversation’ you’re about to have?”

“Go.” Jody said, motioning her and Alex out of the dining room. They left with little fuss after that, and Jody began staking plates to take to the kitchen. “Give me a hand?” she asked. He nodded and began helping her. It was not long before they had cleared the table and they stood at the sink, Jody washing and Sam drying. “You want to talk about it?” she said, handing him a plate

“Talk about what?” he replied, nonchalantly, drying the dish and putting it on the rack.

“The real reason you left Dean and (Y/N) in Kansas.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Jody. I needed to get away from ‘big brother’ for awhile. Do my own thing.” She nodded.

“Yeah that’s a bunch of bull.” He sighed and took another plate from her.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, I’m telling you the truth.”

“The truth?” Jodie dropped the plate she was washing in the sink and turned to Sam. “So you can look at me in the face and just pretend like this has nothing to do with the fact that you’re in love with her and she’s in love with him?” Sam blinked.

“What… how did… I don’t..”

“A mom see’s things Sam.” He took a deep breath and put down his towel, crossing his arms. He couldn’t look her in the eye, so he decided to focus on his shoes instead. “What happened?”

“They got together.”

“Shit. Sam, I’m so sorry” Sam shook his head.

“You want to know the best part?” He paused, and scratched his head a bit in frustration. “It’s all because of me...” Jodie frowned.

“I need some kind of explanation here.” Sam placed his hands on his hips, and began pacing back and forth.

“They got in some fight because Dean was a dumbass and She went off on him…” he shook his head “ rightfully so by the way” he added. “He couldn't figure out why in the hell she was yelling at him for going out on a dangerous hunt on his own. So I, being the good little brother that I am, let the cat out of the bag... I’m an idiot.” Jody shook her head and walked forward, framing his face with her hands.

“You are NOT an idiot. What you did…. You did it because you love both of them. You wanted them to be happy. You know what Sam? You are going to find someone, who appreciates you and loves you for everything you are”. She brought him into a hug and rubbed his back in an attempt to comfort him. He sank into her touch, letting himself be vulnerable for a few moments.

“I couldn't stay there” he whispered, sounding utterly defeated.

“I know.” he squeezed her softly before pulling out of the embrace, blinking at the moisture in his eyes. “So what are you going to do now?” she asked. He shrugged.

“Find a few cases here and there. Try to get over it, I guess.”

“Well if you ever need a project, you could take Claire.” She said, rolling her eyes.

“Claire?”

“Yeah. She’s been terrorizing the town, thinks there’s a bunch of monsters…” she shook her head. “Yeah not so much. Maybe you could show her the ropes a bit? On low profile cases, of course. She’s a long way from anything too serious.” Sam nodded, thankful for the change in conversation.

“I might take her up on that. Might need a partner in crime someday.” he joked. Actually, the idea didn’t sound so bad to Sam. It would give him something to keep busy and give Claire the training that she needed to be safe on her own. For the first time since he left the bunker he had something to look forward to.

#jordan loves you #jordanwinchesterimagines #sam series #Sam Winchester #IMAGINE SAM WINCHESTER #you don't know what it feels like #spn series #supernatural fic #spn #part three

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b0okish-world · 8 years ago

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Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - J.K. Rowling

Synopsis: The Eighth Story. Nineteen Years Later. Based on an original new story by J.K. Rowling, Jack Thorne and John Tiffany, a new play by Jack Thorne, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child is the eighth story in the Harry Potter series and the first official Harry Potter story to be presented on stage. The play will receive its world premiere in London’s West End on July 30, 2016. It was always difficult being Harry Potter and it isn’t much easier now that he is an overworked employee of the Ministry of Magic, a husband and father of three school-age children. While Harry grapples with a past that refuses to stay where it belongs, his youngest son Albus must struggle with the weight of a family legacy he never wanted. As past and present fuse ominously, both father and son learn the uncomfortable truth: sometimes, darkness comes from unexpected places.

My thoughts: GINNY: “Harry, there is never a perfect answer in this messy, emotional world. Perfection is beyond the reach of humankind, beyond the reach of magic. In every shining moment of happiness is that drop of poison: the knowledge that pain will come again. Be honest to those you love, show your pain. To suffer is as human as to breathe.”

On July 21, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, a new play based on a story by Rowling, Jack Thorne and John Tiffany premiered at the Palace Theatre in London’s West End. The play, along with the book publication of its script, is the first significant addition to the Potter universe since the credits rolled on the second Deathly Hallows movie in 2011. Harry Potter stands peerless in the realm of literary hits, so Cursed Child was an assured commercial success even before it debuted. Written as a transcript, Cursed Child follows the next generation of wizards and witches.

I found the latest instalment of the Harry Potter series to be an enjoyable read in the sense that it allowed me to revisit old friends made many years ago (even if only for an afternoon). Harry Potter and the Cursed Child reignited that childlike imaginative spark in me, which is the reason I fell in love with the world of Hogwarts in the first place. Without going into too much detail, the play focussed on the difficulty Harry and Ginny’s son, Albus Severus, has with being the underperforming child of “the boy who lived”. Albus struggles with living u pro the reputation of the Potter name, and subsequently becomes a bit of a loner who does not hold the same esteem for Hogwarts as his parents would have hoped. The piece also speaks to the difficulty Harry is parenting a somewhat rebellious Albus, who is often viewed by others to be “different”. When Albus befriends the child of a certain former Slytherin house member with whom Harry shared several altercations with during his time at Hogwarts, Harry is tasked with determining whether he should intervene to keep Albus out of trouble, or rather to put his preconceived notions of Malfoy’s only son aside and allow Albus to continue to spend time with his one true friend. In addition, Harry must also make Albus understand the difference between seeking out trouble versus confronting it when it presents itself to you - a lesson Albus eventually learns through the course of the play.

SCORPIUS: No, it's time that time-turning became a thing of the past. ALBUS: You’re quite proud of that phrase, aren’t you? SCORPIUS: Been working on it all day.

While many readers have voiced their concerns over the writing style and how it pales in comparison to the original series, I would offer the following point. This work is written in such a style to facilitate live performances. As such, it seems unfair to compare the extent to which characters are developed and the over plot complexity to J.K. Rowling’s original series. The original seven were not bound by the added task of producing a narrative which can easily be digested in a spoken format (in addition to proving itself worthy of the original series as a standalone literary text). As I have always preferred dialogue over description, this writing form has been proven itself worthy due to its easy and fast nature to read.

I truly don’t understand what’s become of J.K. Rowling in recent years. She transformed the literal and cinematic realms with her Potter books, pioneering fantasy trends that continue to this day. I suppose she’s trying to make stage plays more popular now? Not sure if that will take off, and it’s kind of unfair for the many fans who can’t afford to go see the play themselves. Those people are stuck reading the script, which requires a lot more imagination to really enjoy. There’s very little of Rowling’s great descriptive prose on display, mostly just dialogue - and it’s unclear how much of that was actually written word for word by her personally. It sounds like her style; I’ll say that. But reading it definitely pales in comparison to reading an actual book. Frankly, I’m disappointed that Rowling hasn’t taken the time to flesh this out into a novel. The same goes for the other Potter related fiction she’s written lately - the pre-Fantastic Beasts pieces on Pottermore, to be precise. Its like reading pitches she hasn’t bothered to turn into real books. Obviously, when you’re as famous as Rowling, you can get away with posting your world building notes online or having somebody else turn a story idea into a script and still have millions reading the stuff… but it smacks of laziness on her part, in my opinion.

DUMBLEDORE: Perfection is beyond the reach of humankind, beyond the reach of magic.

If you came to this book hoping for a new era of Harry Potter, you’re going to be disappointed. This book is an epilogue to the original series, not the start of a new one. There’s nothing ground breaking. The mythology is not expanded, and the new characters spend most of their time dealing with the legacies of the original cast. I’m gratified that the wizarding world will be built up by the Fantastic Beasts film(s), but there's a lot of untapped potential in the modern Potterverse that isn’t even touched in “Cursed Child”. There wasn’t enough of Hogwarts, unfortunately, and only focused on the magic outside the castle. I would have liked to see more of the home Harry Potter grew up in.

What makes “Cursed Child” work despite all the strikes against it is what it does with the aftermath of the original stories. If “Deathly Hallows” had to have a follow up in the first place, then this is a surprisingly good one. It’s certainly an improvement on the frequently criticised, rushed epilogue to “Hallows”. This is basically an expansion on that last chapter, exploring what it’s like for Albus Potter to grow up dealing with his famous dad’s legacy, and it’s very believable in that respect. True, Albus doesn’t come across as likeable until near the end of the book, and even Harry shows some striking flaws as a father, but given where both these characters are coming from, these problems make sense. It’s not the forced “happily ever after” of the Hallows epilogue; it’s complex and realistic. Additionally, there’s a very sympathetic, funny character in play in the form of Scorpius Malfoy, Draco's son. He ends up stealing the show, and is arguably the hero of the story in his own right. His lines made me laugh out loud more than once, and convinced me that to whatever degree Rowling was involved in writing this story, she’s clearly still “got it”

.ALBUS: “So what would you like me to do? Magic myself popular? Conjure myself into a new house? Transfigure myself into a better student? Just cast a spell, Dad, and change me into what you want me to be, okay? It’ll work out better for both of us.”

Scorpius was a great addition into the story. His friendship/relationship with Albus was pure, and I appreciate the attention provided towards the importance of friendship. I definitely understand why people would like to see them together as the dialogue and quick descriptions indicate a relationship, which ultimately seems to be more than friendship. Draco and Harry talking, and viewing each other as friends made me feel emotional; it took them more than twenty years, but it was worth it. I still don’t understand the story surrounding Draco and his wife, Astoria. It doesn’t make sense, and seems like bullshit the writers created to expand the plot/story.

Parts of the story itself felt a little overdone and rushed, but you must keep in mind that this addition is originally intended to be watched, not read, with delivery fitting under a specific window of time. For this, I know I did not experience the full breath and absorption of Cursed Child during my read through, and I am sure live performance characteristics such as dialectic nuances and set transformations would definitely expand this work even more, but just reading the play itself took me back into this world of magic, mishap, and mischievousness that Potterheads are long time familiar with. I am curious how the experience of watching it live differs, and cannot wait to see it when I have the chance.

DUMBLEDORE: “Harry, there is never a perfect answer in this messy, emotional world. Perfection is beyond the reach of humankind, beyond the reach of magic. In every shining moment of happiness is that drop of poison: the knowledge that pain will come again. Be honest to those you love, show your pain. To suffer is as human as to breathe.”

The Trolley Witch part made me feel uneasy. It was irrelevant towards the plot, and made me cringe while reading it. I’ve come to a conclusion, in which I cannot consider these events as cannon. As much as I enjoy certain twists and additions into the story, much of it doesn’t fit with the original Harry Potter books or does not seem to work. It felt as if the plot read like fan fiction, with its revisiting of the original novels’ plot points, its cameos of beloved characters, and its too satisfying outcomes; Hermione, for instance, is Minister for Magic and Ginny is sports editor for the Daily Prophet. Ron seems completely out of character, and revealed he was drunk at his wedding; there was a desperate attempt of humour with his character, which didn’t seem like the original Ron.

Voldemort having a child completely turned me off. He has been hinted to have a relationship with Bellatrix throughout the books, but them having an actual affair and child doesn’t seem to fit. How could Bellatrix be pregnant during the Wizarding War? There was no explanation for this, only the child was born during this time. Of course, their child would want to avenge them, and bring Voldemort back. Another villain would have improved Harry Potter and the Cursed Child as Voldemort’s daughter didn’t do the book any justice. I will not accept that Voldemort had a child with Bellatrix. I can’t, and I won’t.

HARRY: “I shouldn’t have survived - it was my destiny to die - even Dumbledore thought so - and yet I lived. I beat Voldemort. All these people - all these people - my parents, Fred, the Fallen Fifty - and it’s me that gets to live? All this damage - and it’s my fault.”

It’s a shame because there’s a lot of possibility here. There are interesting storylines taking place here, they just aren’t executed on the level we’ve come to expect from a Rowling product. I enjoy reading time travelling stories, as well as revisiting beloved characters much later in life, but this isn’t how these characters act. Albus should never have been this whiny. I liked him in the seventh book. I liked Harry in the original 7. But, here, the characters have become annoying or flat. Additionally, I wasn’t a fan of hoe entwined in the story Harry was. I’ve already witnessed him and everything he is capable of in the original seven books. Now, he's a blubbering fool. You can’t sit there and tell me that Harry Potter, the boy who lived, is going to run to Ginny every time he has a minor problem, and he is not allowed to eat sugar.

Having said that, as a reader, you have time to appreciate on the page how nimbly Thorne’s writing navigates the adventure’s death defying twists and turns, and his stage directions have poetry of their own, a style that in its lyricism and sense of the abstract is distinct from Rowling’s more direct, story driven prose. For example, when Albus arrives at Hogwarts and is sorted into his school house, we are told: “There’s a silence. A perfect, profound silence. One that sits low, twists a bit and has damage within it.” When the children travel in time, Thorne’s stage direction notes how: “time stops. And then it turns over, thinks a bit, and begins spooling backwards…”

DRACO: “…And being alone - that’s so hard. I was alone. And it sent me to a truly dark place. For a long time. Tom Riddle was also a lonely child. You may not understand that, Harry, but I do…”

As a story containing many possible alternate realities, with a text created to varying degrees by three collaborators, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child is a complement to Rowling’s original series rather than a straightforward continuation. It won’t satisfy all fans: some have already taken issue with the story’s extensive reliance on time travel, the use of which seems to disagree with the magical precedent set int he books. Others have quibbled with the portrayal of Harry’s character: he comes across as pricklier and even more troubles than he was in Rowling's books. And though the release is eagerly anticipated by adult fans who grew up with the books, it remains to be seen whether children will connect with reading a complex story in a less familiar script form.

The emotional climax is devastating even on paper. Once again, the fantasy world that Rowling created nearly 20 years ago is at its most powerful when it sets aside magic and reveals the basic, brutal and human mechanics of love and grief. The characters are, mostly, exactly as you remember them, and it’s difficult to overstate how exciting it is to read a new story set in this widely loved fantasy universe. The thrill of a new Harry Potter book, even in script form, is its own kind of magic spell.

HARRY: “You know what? I’m done being made responsible for your unhappiness. At least you’ve got a dad. Because I didn’t, okay?”

Nonetheless, there is still plenty in this new release to tempt fans, for familiarities abound and the magic is intact, if fleeting. Details are minimal for settings, as can be expected given the format, but it works, as there was an assumption that anyone reading the book knows the world inside and out and can paint the pictures in the mind. In fact, fans will find much that is recognisable in the new story, in spite of the altered vessel of delivery. It is worth nothing that there is no effort made by either Rowling or Thorne to acquaint a Harry Potter newcomer to the world, so it is advised for those not familiar with the original series to read the books in sequence. From the opening lines - once the reader adjusts to the pace and syntax of the script format - a comforting feeling descends, for the world seems just as it was left when the last pages of Book 7 were reluctantly closed.

Rowling never misses a chance to raise a moral conundrum, and characters are always deeper than two dimensional, even in script form. Albus Potter, bearing the unwelcome burden of being the son of the most famous wizard to live, is faced with having to navigate Hogwarts with the same lack of anonymity as his father did. The first person young Albus encounters on the train is Scorpuis Malfoy, the son of Harry’s nemesis, Draco Malfoy. Young Rose Weasley, daughter of Hermione and Ron, heads off to make other friends, but Albus stays, in typical Rowling fashion, he befriends the last person his father would expect him to. These sorts of moral twists are some of the reasons Rowling’s books resonate so deeply, as they appeal to our better natures.

HARRY [quoting Dumbledore]: “The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution.”

The twists and turns continue, and preconceptions and expectations are turned on their heads, as though Rowling is reminding the reader that change is good and an open mind should always be the goal. Not only are the characters’ prejudices challenged, but so, too, are those of the reader, and once again Rowling takes a fantasy and elevates it with characters that are distinct, flawed and endearing. There will be plenty who denounce Rowling for reopening Harry Potter’s world, but for those for whom the loves run deep, treasures await.

If it all sounds confusing, it is, as there were several hands involved in the creation of the first two instalments that are set 19 years after Harry Potter left Hogwarts and defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort. Rowling hinted at this glimpse of Harry’s future in the epilogue of “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows,” and some of that much analysed final chapter is overlapped nearly verbatim in the play’s script; indeed, it serves as a jumping off point for a new and wondrous adventure for Harry, his cohorts and the next generation of wizarding offspring. For true Potter fans, this might be enough to be pulled back into the story. That said, the very nature of the play format of “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child” allows for very little detail, which is where Rowling’s real storytelling gifts reside. Her ability to build fully developed characters is unsurpassed and is what comprises the centre of the allure of the Harry Potter series.

DRACO: Hermione Granger, I’m being bossed around by Hermione Granger. And I’m mildly enjoying it.

Lastly, Draco and Hermione have been shipped together since the books first came out, and there is a moment dedicated to them. I’ve never understood the obsessiveness of their relationship, and it disgusts me; it's like shipping a white man who is racist with a black woman. It doesn’t make sense. He might have changed his attitude towards muggle born people, his prejudice will never completely disappear. This tine, I must admit, made me smile a bit as I realised it will make the majority of Draco and Hermione shippers happy. Yes, I felt happy for them, as pathetic as it makes me sound.

The story, once you get past the awkward format, is gripping. I devoured it in one afternoon. There are quite a few surprises in store for hardcore fans. On the whole, the tone is very appropriate for those who have “grown up” along with Harry. Fans who are now adults can relate with the themes explored here, even when characters mess up pretty badly. Harry certainly made plenty of his own mistakes over the years, and occasionally acted like a jerk. I’d argue that it’s worth giving Harry’s progeny a chance, even if you don't take to him at first. At the very least, read it for Scorpius. I’m not saying you definitely won’t be disappointed, but there are far worse ways for a Potter fan to bide the time until Fantastic Beasts gives us a weightier addition to the potter universe.

DRACO: Keep up, old man. HARRY: We’re the same age, Draco. DRACO: I wear it better.

Date finished: 27th March, 2017 Pages: 309 Rating/5: ★★★

#review

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