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m00nsbaby · 2 years ago

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Jealous of your celebrity crush.

Moon system x reader. - Headcanons.

Steven.

It was an amazing date.

You couldn't remember when was the last time you went to the theater, and even though Steven and you had never had money problems, you still saw buying tickets for the front row as a luxury.

That night, you laughed, cried, and even hummed softly to each other. After all, it was your favorite musical.

Oh, and Steven's hand never let go of yours.

"Shall we go to the back?" "Here? Love, we can't…" "Steven!" You blushed, giving his shoulder a light tap. "Not for that, to get an autograph."

Steven was well aware that you both chose that particular show mainly because your favorite Broadway actor was in the cast.

"Run, or we won't catch him."

Your boyfriend truly was your best accomplice in everything. You couldn't think of a time he had said no to your whims, and he was the one who stood up to lead you out of the venue.

As you got closer, he felt something odd in his stomach.

A different sensation.

You felt his hand tighten around yours, and you could only assume he was making sure not to lose you in the crowd that was starting to exit as well.

"I'm nervous," you whispered. "Me too." And you didn't question how odd his response was.

There was a small group of people at the back of the theater, all with the same intention as you – to get an autograph and a photo with the stars of the show. A metal barrier separated them from the actors.

You took a spot toward the back, holding onto the barrier, and Steven positioned himself behind you.

"Should I take the photo, love?" That strange feeling invaded him again when you declined.

And again when a round of gentle applause and cheers echoed through the air. It all felt quite intimate in a way, and that didn't sit well with him.

You gasped loudly when you saw him coming out. That was another point on the list of things Steven wasn't enjoying about this situation.

It didn't seem strange to you when he draped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him.

"What should I say to him?" You asked eagerly as you watched him move through the crowd, talking, signing autographs, and thanking other fans.

Luckily, you had positioned yourselves towards the end, which gave you time to think about what to say.

"That he did a great job?" Steven pressed his lips together at his own words. It was as if he was suddenly regretting this whole idea, no matter how hard he tried to find his usual kind words, nothing came out.

Finally, it was your turn.

"Did you enjoy the show, guys?" He was so dreamy. A sigh escaped you at how kind he remained, even though he must have been tired. He took his time with each person, getting to know them and chatting.

Steven wasn't impressed by him at all.

In fact, thinking about it, neither his performance nor his singing were as good as he had initially thought.

Rather mediocre, actually.

"Your work is… incredible, really." Your eyes shone as you watched him sign your program.

Your dramatic boyfriend could only think that was the way you looked at him. And that you should only look at him that way.

Only at him.

Steven dissociated from much of your conversation, especially the part where you handed your phone to the other guy for a selfie with you. He snapped back to reality when he asked about Steven.

"He's my boyfriend; I forced him to come." You joked. Why did you two suddenly seemed like lifelong friends?

Besides, it was a lie; he was the one who had initiated the idea.

"I-I wasn't forced at all; I love being involved." He replied honestly. It churned his stomach that the other guy looked at him with admiration. Why did he have to be such a good person?

You said your goodbyes with a hug that left a slight scent of his cologne on you. If it was possible, it made Steven even more nauseous.

"Isn't he charming?" "Sure."

You pursed your lips at Steven's sudden coldness as he walked beside you in the well-lit city, not letting go of your hand.

"Didn't you like him?" "Of course, I liked him, love. Why wouldn't I?"

His rapid speech gave him away, and you remained silent as you tried to figure out what had upset him.

Oh.

You decided to test your theory.

"Don't you think his eyes were beautiful?" Another squeeze of your hand, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing. "They were just regular eyes."

Bingo. Steven was jealous.

At the entrance to your house, you turned on your heels, taking advantage of the stairs to give you a few extra inches in height so you could look him in the face.

"You know you don't have to be jealous of anyone, right?" His cheeks turned red as you placed your hands on them, giving them a gentle squeeze.

Steven, obediently, held onto your waist.

"You're the love of my life, Steven Grant." Your words were the culmination of a wonderful date, of the happiness he brought you every day.

And yes, a jealous Steven was amusing, but it broke your heart to think that insecurity might be getting the best of him.

His eyes sparkled like the stars.

"You are mine, right, love?" He sounded like a little kid begging for confirmation.

He knew exactly how to play his cards, what puppy-dog face to make based on the situation, and the tone of voice that made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

And a special warmth in your body.

You played along.

"Only yours, sweetheart." You whispered before kissing his lips.

Steven was content with how his little jealousy issue had been resolved, but he was sure of one thing after this.

You wouldn't be watching anything starring that idiot again.

Marc.

Marc was proud of his accomplishment.

Fighting for tickets on a website was more challenging than you could have ever imagined, not to mention the secret maneuvering behind your back. It had probably been his most difficult mission, surpassing all the tasks Khonshu could assign him.

But he would be the first to say it had been worth it. Even more so after having the opportunity to see you cry tears of happiness in his arms on your birthday.

"Will you come with me?" "Of course, dear." That was the biggest surprise, actually. Marc despised crowded places with all his heart, but he was excited to accompany you on such an important moment for you.

When the day of the concert arrived, Marc almost fainted.

He was left speechless by your style, a bit more… dark? You had definitely gotten into character for the concert, and that only encouraged him further.

For a short time.

He regretted it as soon as he saw the line to enter, but that was another matter.

You arrived at the venue early, mentally prepared to stand and wait for a good couple of hours.

And you had to say that after that experience, you were truly ready to marry Marc because you had an amazing time in your little corner between the metal fences. You talked about everything, because despite spending as much time together as possible, once you started talking, no one could silence you.

It was worth it; you almost fainted when you entered and realized you had reached the front row.

Marc, on the other hand, was starting to feel nervous due to the number of people arriving, but he immediately went into his boyfriend role. He let you hold onto the metal railing, and he positioned himself behind you, enclosing you between the fence and his body.

He would rather die than let you get crushed.

When the concert started, Marc was already feeling overstimulated, but he was willing to let you enjoy this. After all, according to the band's official page, it would only be about an hour after the opening acts.

He was satisfied to hear you scream, jump, sing, and smile like he had never seen you do before.

The problem began around 15 minutes into the concert when the lead vocalist fixed his attention on you.

Like clockwork, Marc remembered all those times you had talked about your teenage crush.

A burning sensation rose to his throat, and he furrowed his brow when he saw the singer wink at you while singing.

"Marc! Marc! Marc!" Your shouts pulled him from his thoughts, and you looked at him over your shoulder. "It's my song!" You had been saying that for the last 10 minutes, but it made him laugh. He kissed your lips, and you returned it briefly.

Marc mentally prayed that the idiot had seen that. Who, by the way, seemed unable to take his eyes off you.

The noise was enough to cover the groan that escaped your throat when Marc's hands tightened on your hips, pressing you closer to his body if that was even possible.

You blushed, though it was impossible to tell whether it was that or just the heat from jumping around for so long.

The straw that broke the camel's back was when the other guy leaned over the edge of the stage to your level and grabbed your phone from your hands.

You were going crazy. Screaming, with tears of sheer excitement in your eyes.

Marc rolled his eyes. Cheap tricks, he thought.

His only consolation was knowing he had made you scream louder before.

The phone returned to your hands after the guy recorded himself singing a few lines and interacting with the crowd.

This was definitely the best day of your life, or you were dreaming.

When the last song came on, his instinct was stronger than him. He ended up turning you around, and you didn't complain.

This was his special moment.

You could swear he kissed you the entire time the song played, until you relaxed in his arms, and the music seemed like a background melody accompanying you.

You would have never imagined that Marc was marking his territory.

He showered you with kisses until the lights came on, making you aware that you were still in public. You separated almost instantly, your cheeks red.

"Marc! You made me miss the last song!" You didn't seem upset as he leaned his forehead against yours.

You had enough time for yourselves while people began to leave.

"You don't seem too upset." Your hips hurt from the way he had been holding you for the past several minutes.

"Thank you," you whispered before kissing him one last time. "It's the best gift I've ever received."

Marc didn't have time to tell you how much he loved you; his gaze focused on the two large guys wearing backstage passes on their chests that were scanning the crowd.

You never knew why Marc pulled you out of there in a hurry, but you had no more doubts or questions when he distracted you with bribes, he bought you the T-shirt you liked the most, and a poster at which he would later throw darts.

Straight at the lead singer's face.

Jake.

At this precise point in his life, Jake considered himself probably the most unfortunate man who had ever existed.

Because, of course, the first time he ignored his desires to throw the guy into the nearest sewer and let him be forgotten over time.

Even more when he complimented your nails.

"Of course, they're nice," he thought to himself. "Even more so when they're wrapped around my…"

He couldn't continue mentally killing him; he had to smile and say "I'm the boyfriend" when you two bumped into your favorite actor on the streets of New York.

It made his stomach turn to notice how you fidgeted with your hands, trying to appear calm.

In fact, he couldn't decide whether he liked that more than if you had just voiced your desire to scream.

Both options made him want to put on Khonshu's suit.

The upside was that, for security reasons, you couldn't take a photo with him, so he could live without having to see you smile even more next to him forever.

Without being dramatic, he would erase his memory if he could just to forget that all this happened.

But you could say it was a fairly harmless encounter as far as possible. Well, for Jake, who never expressed how this was eating him up inside. You, on the other hand, had to wake up the next day with marks on your body caused by him.

His hands on your neck and waist, bites on your shoulders.

Although, you weren't complaining. It was a nice reminder that even though there were many attractive men out there (with acting skills like gods), none of them would ever drive you as crazy as Jake Lockley.

The problem came when you ran into him for the second time.

Jake didn't consider himself particularly insecure.

You yourself had to deal with a thousand girls who thought he was flirting with them because of that permanent smile on his face.

Or that habit you hated so much of winking at them to get a free dessert or to get you two seated faster at the restaurant.

But sometimes, Jake's ego wavered.

That small part of him that still felt like a tool for Marc and Steven, forgetting that he was a person in his own right.

You kept him aware of his independence, and when he doubted that… everything was a disaster for him.

So, you can imagine how he crumbled when the other guy recognized you.

"Of course, I remember you!" He was so loud that Jake swore he had a headache just from listening to him talk.

You almost fainted right there.

He grabbed your hands again to see your nails, excited about the new design, while Jake was thinking about how easy it would be to cut off his hands in that position.

You didn't need to say anything for him to understand your protest; both of you looked at each other in reproach.

"It's the same perfume, right?" The aforementioned guy took you out of the momentary staring contest with Jake, whom you could feel breathing down your neck despite being about two steps away from you.

You nodded silently.

"I knew it. I can still smell you on me."

After that, Jake swore he was seeing everything in shades of red, and a shiver ran down your spine because you could feel his gaze fixed on you.

"Well, we're already running late." Jake's accent interrupted your conversation, and his hand settled on the small of your back. You bit your lower lip because at this point, you didn't know if he was scaring you or if you wanted to push this limit further.

"Oh, but this time we can take the picture that you wanted so much…" "Really late." Jake interrupted him immediately, that smile that made you tremble from head to toe. In fact, he didn't even let him respond, or finish that sentence in which he seemed about to tell you he was glad to see you.

"Come on, mi vida." A bad omen.

His hand slid slowly down your back until it reached your hand, gripping your wrist with his usual firmness, but you noticed an extra touch of strength.

It's needless to emphasize how he devoured your mouth as soon as you entered the building.

It was going to be a long night.

And mentally, you thanked the city's cold weather; you could wear scarves without anyone wondering what your possessive boyfriend had done to you the previous night.

You would consider making him jealous more often.

yeah, i wasn't really a fan of this lol, anyways, here's a little extra of which guys i thought about while writing this in order of appearance!!

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jamesv-t · 2 months ago

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The Warning in Kerrang magazine. Transcription of the interview below the cut

The Warning blew up last year with their fourth album, Keep Me Fed. Since then, they've toured relentlessly. Gearing up to take on Latin America and Europe, it's clear the Villarreal Vélez sisters are on the brink of international superstardom...

WORDS: ALIYA CHAUDHRY PHOTOS: GUSTAVO KURI, ZEUS LOPEZ

The day after The Warning played the MTV Europe Music Awards, held in Manchester in November, the Villarreal Vélez sisters got on a plane to Miami to perform at the Latin GRAMMYs.

"That week, the way that we lived It it was just so crazy," drummer Pau laughs today. "Very chaotic," adds bassist Ale.

"It was a lot" lead vocalist and guitarist Dany agrees.

At the EMAs, they were up for Best Push, an award that highlights breakthrough artists. The band played Automatic Sun, taken from fourth album Keep Me Fed, washed in red light and punctuated by bursts of flames.

Speaking to Kerrang! from their homebase in Monterrey, Mexico, several months on from the back-to-back performances, the three sisters talk excitedly, finishing each other's sentences, or with overlapping answers.

"It was just so hectic and full of adrenaline," Pau enthuses. don't think we'll ever forget that whole week.

At the Latin GRAMMYs, The Warning performed Qué Más Quieres - up for Best Rock Song - in metallic outfits as strobe lights pierced the air. The band are native Spanish speakers but mostly write and sing in English, making a point to include one Spanish track on each album, which, on Keep Me Fed, was the nominated track.

"We toured a lot in North America and in Europe, even Asia," Pau recounts of the past year's whirlwind. "But we hadn't been to South America in a while not even in Mexico. So to have been recognised in the Latin American community by our peers, especially our rock'n'roll peers, and to be representing Mexican rock, we feel very honoured."

To call it all a busy time would be an understatement. After releasing Keep Me Fed last summer, The Warning's fame has sky-rocketed, landing them on international stages including awards shows, TV screens and even New York's iconic Times Square. It's all the more impressive when you take into consideration the fact that Dany, Pau and Ale are only 25, 23 and 20 years of age, respectively. And, as Pau reveals, they've been so all over the place that they even know some of their on-the-road locales.

"Touring North America, we know what it is, we've done it for a while," Pau says. "So we know our stops, we know our Walmarts, we know our Targets. We know where to go."

"The only thing was the cold in Canada..." Ale adds.

The first leg of that tour was a run of the United States, including festivals and headline shows, followed by support slots with Halestorm and Evanescence in Canada - the former being a band The Warning had toured with in the past. "It was just like reuniting with old friends," Pau smiles.

By the time Kerrang! catches up with the trio, they're nearing the end of a break from travelling - a much needed pause before the whole machine kicks back off again.

"We've been here in Monterrey for a while, and again, we're about to leave, but I feel that leaving and touring just makes me really appreciate my home, my city," smiles Pau.

At home, their stardom is undeniable and frankly unavoidable. It's Warning-mania.

"Every time we leave our house, we get asked for a picture or an autograph," Pau says. "It's not jarring, because I know that it's there. I'm aware that when I go out that will happen, but sometimes I am caught off-guard."

One time, the drummer was approached by a fan at a restaurant, right when she was in the middle of paying the bill.

"There's the other part, where you assume people are coming to you because they recognise you and they want to tell you something." Dany starts.

"But then they're like, Hey, is your car the grey one that's parked behind? and I'm like, "Oh! I got ahead of myself." Pau laughs.

The band's 2024 tours were just the first phase of the Keep Me Fed cycle - this year, they're continuing to play heavily across continents.

"We're super excited about getting this album to the places that haven't heard it completely." Dany says

On the day we catch-up, they're just a week away from some genuinely mega home-country shows, including three nights at Mexico City's 10,000-cap Auditorio Nacional. This tour, along with a special local date at the 8,000-seat Auditorio Citibanamex, is completely sold out. Not that it's sunk in yet.

"We're going to be living these shows that we've been planning for a whole year." Pau says. "It's this weird anticipation and anxiety - we've been living with the concept for such a long time, rehearsing for them, planning them, working with so many people to make them happen, and now they're going to happen!"

After Mexico, The Warning are touring South America in March, before heading to the UK and Europe in April, including a stop at London's 02 Academy Brixton.

"We're from the completely other side of the world." Pau explains. "so to have more than a thousand people buying tickets to see us at each show in countries that we've visited only once or twice, it's really crazy to us. It speaks to the power of music and the connection that music has with people, no matter the language, no matter where you're from"

The Warning have had plenty of experience playing venues big and small. These days, they hop from opening for the likes of Guns N' Roses and Muse, to their own gigs. adopting as needed, but always trying to make it as memorable-and massive as possible.

"Production-wise, it's like, 'Will that fourth screen fit on the stage? Probably not... So you just remove that type of thing" Pau explains.

"But for us, it's the same setlist, same energy. It doesn't matter if we're playing for 300 people or 3,000- it's the same concept for us. It's the same experience."

There's another layer to playing away from home, too. They essentially become ambassadors.

"When we have an appearance at a festival or someplace that rarely has Mexican guests, we do feel that we're representing our country as a whole," Pau nods.

"Even though, of course, we have just a tiny little bit of what Mexican music has to offer," adds Dany.

For many of The Warning's fans, the band could well be their introduction to Mexican rock music.

"We try to paint our country in the nicest light possible, because we come from such a beautiful country with such beautiful culture and history and music," Pau says. "Mexican rock is a very specific genre that I hope people from other places of the world start discovering, because it's such a rich genre with such rich history. For us to be able to participate in even a little tiny bit of it is great. Hopefully we get to open that door in people's minds, for them to be curious about what else Latin America has to offer."

In between all the touring and dropping an album, The Warning have also been jamming with other bands. At Aftershock Festival last year, Pau joined Dead Poet Society on their song Hurt. Her and Dany then did the same when they came to Mexico City.

Another Aftershock connection, The Warning also collaborated with Japanese outfit BAND-MAID, who they'd met at the festival in 2022 and toured with last year. In December 2023, the two bands began working on a song together over Zoom, with The Warning flying to Japan to finish it last May (they then released the single, entitled SHOW THEM, in August).

In the accompanying music video, each member faces off with their instrumental counterpart, as Dany and BAND-MAID singer Saiki Atsumi trade vocals that are entirely in English,

"It was very interesting to see how both of us were using a language that was not our native one," Pau explains, "They speak Japanese, we speak Spanish, So it was about finding a common ground in a different language and making it work musically, and communicating musically."

It did lead to challenges when it came to nailing the lyrics, though.

"We would choose a word, and they were like, 'That doesn't mean the same thing in Japanese English.' We're like, 'What? What do you mean?' It's that type of thing that translates so differently with other people's music."

A song about not only refusing to make yourself small, but trying to be as big as you can be, SHOW THEM proved to be an empowering listen, bolstered by its electrifying swagger. "Ultimately, music literally became the language," Dany says.

This collaboration, and The Warning's success overall, shows that fans are truly global in their tastes, looking outside of their home countries and languages.

"I feel that now, because of social media and the way that things are connected, we stop looking at music as this foreign export or import," Pau offers. "It's just this way to communicate, and music from different places in the world is just so different because the language is different, and the phonetics are different."

That mentality is especially important for a bilingual band.

"We can make music in English and we also make it in Spanish," Pau says. "For people to look at those two sides that we have, and for them to consume it in the same way, it's really cool for us."

It's a little early for The Warning to start thinking about their next album, but when asked, they do have some ideas in mind.

"I want to have more than one song in Spanish," Pau teases.

"Let's do that!" Ale agrees.

After the year they've had, the three sisters are still able to stay grounded. "We keep a very big balance of knowing where we are, knowing where we were, and..." "...where we can be," Dany completes Pau's thought.

Of course, having family around helps. Not just within the band, but their parents play integral roles as well - especially when it comes to touring. Pau describes their mother as "a professional mom", while their dad acts as a stage manager and audio engineer. And, of course, there's no-one who keeps your ego in check quite like a sibling.

"I feel that we keep each other humble," Pau says.

"We complement each other," Dany adds.

"When we rehearse, we know how to call each other out while also recognising the steps that we're taking," Pau continues. "We do that with everything within the band. I think we have a good balance."

And it's a balance that bodes very well indeed for the future. "I think we're going to be okay!"

The Warning play London's O2 Academy Brixton on April 17

#the warning band #the warning #dany villarreal #daniela villarreal #paulina villarreal #pau villarreal #alejandra villarreal #ale villarreal

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the-ate-show · 3 months ago

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00:01 A Cent for every Dollar wc: 5.5k

“Stupid. That’s so stupid,” you grumbled sourly, shovelling off-brand cereal into your mouth.

“He doesn’t even know what he’s talking about. They just hire anyone these days,” you leaned back against the deflated couch.

The young man on the Tv, charming and beautiful, continued to rant about a non-issue. If that were you, you’d have been saying something actually worth hearing. Is that the criteria these days? Young, optimistic and talking about something no one cares about? What happened to *the truth*? Have people lost their curiosity? The Tv box sputtered a bit, the reporter suddenly replaced by static and a low buzz, you sighed loudly, getting up to kick it. It worked for a moment after a particularly harsh kick, and then a spark flew, and the system completely shut down. You put your hands on your hips, staring at the useless device. As if this day couldn’t get worse.

You put the bowl into the sink, wiping your hands and grabbing your well-worn sneakers, crouching down to tie them. You then grabbed your thrifted scarf, a pretty brown colour and headed out of your tight building. The door whined loudly as it opened, the hush of the outside world soothing your infinite isolation. A lone envelope, white and unassuming, was waiting on the other side of the door. It was almost innocent, pretty and pure. You knew what it really was though. The contents, a mockery of your mere existence. An extortionate number in a neat font on the edge of the page, above it a series of breakdowns of the prices of lab reports it took for a diagnosis. Negative, another round of testing for some rare disease you did not have. Moments like these you’d just wish to have something, even if it is the most horrible illness known to man. You like to think that knowing would give you comfort. Will it kill you or would you be ok? Is it treatable? Can you take any meds to slow the inevitable decline? Will there even be a decline? Health shouldn’t be inaccessible, something you preached on live television once upon a time, and yet it often fell on unheard ears. The gravel crunched against your sneakers, you could feel every pebble through the old material.

. . .

“I know you’re good at what you do, hell, you’re the best we have. But it won’t cut it anymore,” your boss said solemnly.

“I’m not sure I understand,”

“The world doesn’t need more problems, everyone knows the pop culture industries are messed up.”

“Oh? And people want to know all about what another foreign celebrity had for dinner right?”

“That’s not-“

“This is absurd. You can’t reduce me to a gossip magazine,”

“I’m sorry,” she slid a paper across the desk, “either get with it or leave. I can’t offer more than that,”

. . .

Stupid job. Stupid media. And stupid you for trying to be something. There was once a time where your name was followed by a string of compliments, an autograph request, a photo or two. Maybe the occasional death threat disguised as a cease and desist. The good old days.Oh how you wish you’d gotten the highest journalism award (getting assassinated by the CIA) Maybe if a celebrity actually put a hit on you things would’ve been simpler. But instead of the lavish life of luxury you envisioned, you now scrape your plate for every drop of food, and wear underwear that have holes in them. You wandered through dimly lit alleyways, brightly lit streets, and twinkling waters. Sometimes you’d like to imagine you were a stray cat, perhaps you’d stumble upon a kind stranger who’d hold you and care for you after spending your life battered and bruised. Before long, you rested your forearms on a cool metal railing, far above a breathtaking water source, one which reflected the city line. A puff of cold air blew from your lips, and you shivered slightly. Distantly, honking and barking and the occasional fight. Somewhere far away in your mind, you reminisced on how you even came here. Moved to a country, started anew, and still somehow blew it. Could it really be that no one cared? You supposed that’s a positive thing most times, living your life without the fear of judgement. But it seems like its the only thing you’re given these days.

. . .

“You want me to talk about… a fast food place?”

“Yes! Listen- it’s an important American brand, bound to get lots of viewers and you’d be the first to cover it! … don’t give me that look,”

“What look?”

“Your ‘you’ve gotta be screwing with me’ look,”

“Okay Sherlock, I’m a little taken aback, I mean this- this is just…”

“I know, I know, you want something big, something scandalous and important,”

“But…”

“But I can’t do that for you, so quit being stubborn if you want to keep a roof over your head,”

You sighed, running a hand down your face, “fine,”

. . .

And yet, the bills kept coming, the debt ever-increasing with no relief in sight. You stared blankly at the horizon, the sun had long set leaving a familiar yet unwelcoming darkness ahead. Your mind drifted back to him again. You shouldn't think about him, you know this. It’s just that- now more than ever- it seemed that he was the only person who ever actually cared. You wondered how he's doing now, probably moved on with a hot young actress who knows which spoon is used for which dessert, leaving you, once again, forgotten with the test of time. You stared at his number on your phone. He should be blocked but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. He was always there when you got into your own head, always encouraging you to look for what's right, not what's trendy. You wondered what caused the change. Tears built up in your eyes. You hated feeling like this, but no, you can’t call him. You know he won’t pick up anyway. You have to deal with this feeling alone

. . .

“You’re doing numbers this month,”

“Yeah, and I only had to sell my soul,” you slumped at your desk.

“You’re being a little dramatic,”

“A little dramatic? I interviewed a celebrity on a rumoured pregnancy. I’m the annoying tabloids now. I love my job,”

She leaned against the doorway, “you complain an awful lot for someone who’s broke,”

“Whose fault is it I’m broke,” you raised a sarcastic eyebrow.

“Your parents probably, made you sick,”

“I hate you,” you laughed as the older woman raised her hands in surrender.

. . .

Back home, you sat quietly on the floor, it was more comfortable than the couch anyway. There aren’t many games that you could play alone. Solitaire, obviously but that gets boring after maybe like 3 rounds. Gonggi’s fun but you rarely mess up anymore. You sat staring blankly at the deteriorating floor, tears now freely dancing down your chin. It had hit you then, you’ve got nothing, no-one. Hell, you haven’t even gotten yourself. The knot in your throat coupled with the body-wracking sobs had you immobilised for a while. Who do you call for help when everyone you know has moved on, leaving you ever frozen in you former short-lived glory. You liked to think that you were quite the ray of sunshine. But with how life’s been treating you this past year you’ve completely lost all that you are. Your passion, your job, your health, the relationship with your family, your boyfriend. You can’t even consider succumbing to your mystery illness because you aren’t sure if that day would ever come around. With no tears left to cry you thought of the only logically escape. Death. You looked around the room for anything of use, and you zeroed in on a lasso your friend would practise with. She must’ve forgotten it here. Good enough, maybe its a sign anyway. You sheepishly looked up ‘how to tie a noose’ on youtube, only to be met with dozens of mental health-help videos. You laughed out loud at the absurdity of the situation you're in as your hands settled on a familiar tight knot you would use with…nevermind. Rope secured around your neck, you headed for the only place you could hang peacefully, the windowsill. Just then, a limousine scratched to a halt in the street, and you stared at it with an amused expression. Your neighbors weren’t millionaires, plus who rents limousines? They look stupid and tacky. Who invented them? Must’ve been an idiot. What kind of display of wealth is this? It’s a display of lack of self control with money. You could feel the gaze of your trinket-filled-apartment on your back. Ok maybe you weren’t the best with money either.

Look at my long car ohoho. I’m so rich my driver sits in a different area code to me and I wipe my ass with gold-plated paper.

Your phone, on a nearby end table, began to dance with notifications. Still smiling at the prospect of a fancy car, you unlocked it to show an SMS from your bank. What do you want now?

In almost fanciful fashion, a 6 digit number smiled sweetly at you. But this time, it wasn’t asking you to drain your life force to plug it. This time, this time, it offered itself to you on an embroidered silk cloth. Or, alternatively, in the poorly made banking app that you’re almost certain is selling your data somewhere.

“A million won?” You pressed your tongue in your cheek, this must be a mistake. Maybe a kajillionare has your same name, and this is some kind of apology gift from her parents. Or you accidentally joined a gang, come to think of it, you spoke to some pretty weird people recently.

Do gangs have an orientation?

You opened the app, another came, and another, spelling out message after message about buying your time -not ominous at all considering it was not up for sale you weirdo- all you needed was to get into the stupid car. But the limo was so shady. This is the kind of scenario you put yourself in before bed to imagine how you'd escape, not willingly walk into. What if this was a trap? Another scheme against you to end your journalistic days. No, this was a stupid idea. No way. There was absolutely no way you were getting in that. You may be sick and possibly dying but you’d like to do that with both your kidneys. Thank you very much. Heh, get into the free candy car my butt. Fat chance you're taking my liver today, creep. I doubt it’s worth much anyway. Mama didn’t raise an idiot, and if she did it would be my brother.

. . .

The drinks inside were fake, you noted. You slumped awkwardly in the seat, sighing heavily.

Okay maybe you caved and got into the car you spent the better half of like 5 minutes making fun of.

No risk, no fun.

Twiddling your thumbs, you remember how your mother warned about stranger danger. What danger is it when there is no stranger though? I mean, is this an automatic car? Who’s there driving it? Is this some supernatural force and you’re the protagonist of a horror movie? The one that dies first surely, in a totally pathetic way. Suitable for you. Dying in a limousine. Maybe that would make a good movie… Who would play me? I hope they pick the rock. We’re more similar than what meets the eye…

Don't tell him I said that.

When it parked, you stepped out hesitantly, walking towards the theatre. It was huge, probably as big as your neighborhood. That wasn't saying much though. But you know, that had its perks, you could hear your neighbours argue when your tv shut down. The old hag down the street would bet on whos in the wrong, and a young woman in the neighborhood had a cork board with red strings connecting people who argued. She never did tell you why you were connected, and you're not sure if you want to find out. The sheer size of it reminded you of some of the interviews you’d attended, held somewhere similar. But back then, you wore extravagant outfits and held a fan base. Now your followers consist of stray cats and cockroaches that seem to love your bedroom. You knew it was bad when you started naming them.

A simple rectangular table on the stage.

8 cards, 3 of them missing. A wad of cash. A letter.

You stepped up to it, sizing up the wooden furniture with your chest puffed up. A part of you expected someone to jump out. You've been told you had a very punchable face.

Roughly speaking, the note detailed how no one could die in the game, you’d get accommodation and food and water, and you’d earn money. Easy enough, where’s the consent form? Or is just your entering of the room consent. Could you sue if anything happened? Probably not. You could also just take the cab fare and leave, that’d be nice. But then again, what do you have to lose? Besides your organs. So, nothing to lose anyways.

8, 5, 4, 3, 2.

Those numbers blinked up at you.

Logically speaking, 2 is the choice, it’s closest to 1 and 1 typically indicates the top. But going first in a mini game sounds like a nightmare. Maybe 3, unassuming and boring. But that’s average, you wanted something new. There’s that attitude people tell you you wear with too much pride.

Definitely not 8, that’s bottom of the barrel, last pick type of number. Whoever picked 7 must’ve been an equal idiot. Between 4 and 5.

“4 or 5?” You asked yourself quietly. “4,” you replied to yourself. Why? Why not? 5 is an odd number, and by extension, you’d be odd for picking it. 4 is an even number, divisible by 2 and aesthetically pleasing. You faltered for a moment.

“You care too much,” you could almost smell the cigarettes on his breath. The once poetic and sweet voice that pushed you to heights in your career, tore you down for yearning for something new. Regardless of how many nights you spent shivering, that was the coldest you've ever felt.

So you took it, 4, because screw you and how nonchalant you are about everything. Screw you and your poor eyesight. Screw you and your cigarettes and your stupid smile. Screw you and your expensive suits. Screw you and the bed you left me to make all alone.

You pushed forward, walking through the crimson red curtains into the deep dark abyss. Your heart beating in your throat, you pushed open the doors and-

A pool, a swing set, a slide. A child’s manic dream. Perhaps this was a fever dream. You slowly walked around, exploring the empty room before looking up.

8 was at the top, thank god you didn’t pick it. That would be a bad day to be out of shape. Scrap that, every day is a bad day when you’re out of shape. You climbed the tedious stairs, cursing at every person who’d ever worked on them, and then some, finally reaching the anticipated 4 sign. You scanned the card, and entered, wincing at the empty space.

Cosy.

You found a rule book, and began to read through. A few ground rules, something about a special price, and discarding your belongings. Coolio. You reread it a few times, then tossed it onto the ground. You tilted your head back, stretching your back and catching sight of a camera.

Wait, aren't you meant to change? What kind of show is this…

“Money's money,” you told yourself, and got changed very quickly, trying your best not to moon the camera.

There was a moment of silence as you stared at your phone, you knew you’d have to give it away, but come on, how’re you meant to entertain yourself? With a frown, you gave it a kiss, then remembered how filthy phones actually were. The chute closed, goodbye doom scrolling.

You stood up, tapping your pant leg awkwardly. The pockets were fake, which was a total nightmare. What’re you meant to do with your hands now?

Strobing lights and loud noises flooded the room as the show started, meaning it was the official marker of midnight. You sat with your knees to your chest on the furthest wall from the door, messing with the fake laces on your shoes, when a ping caught your attention. The number, in red LED, went up.

You got up hesitantly, inspecting it with a furrow in your brows. Another minute later, it doubled. You waited another minute, counting the seconds on your fingers until you hit 60. You were a few off, but it was definitely a minute. After a quick mental math calculation…

“50,000 won a minute,” you laughed to yourself, in disbelief. You smiled around the room, time to get comfy.

Moving over to the intercom, you asked for a mattress.

“TWENTY MILLION WON?!” Oh. A special price. “Too good to be true. It was too good to be true.” You groaned, kicking the chute and immediately regretting your stupidity. You thought back to your janky little apartment. Bed sheets.

You asked for the most affordable one, and laid by the window, covering yourself with it, content with your ability to be cheap. Who cares if you were frozen to the bone. Not you! You're about to be rich. What would you buy first? You'll Hire the best doctors to treat you. Oh! Maybe you'd fly to Europe and tour the countries there. Perhaps you'd invest in a nicer home first though.

Instead of being woken up by the pitter patter of a million legged creature, hell bent on invading your ears, you were lulled to sleep by the sound of the addition of a million won.

The daylight filtered through the fake window, and you curled in on yourself, asleep in a position in the room completely different to the one you’d slept in. You groaned softly and rubbed your eyes, waking up to a soft feminine voice beckoning people outside. So you weren’t alone. Lazily, you got up, adjusting your clothes to free them of wrinkles and trying to look alive.

Uncaffeinated and angry at the sun, time to integrate with society.

With a roll of your shoulders, you opened the door with a breath of confidence. You leaned on the half wall to see a few people standing there, staring up at you. As you descended the steps, a woman with the bold number 5 on her jacket waved at you, you waved back, giving her a friendly hello. She seemed a little older, small and cute, like a teacher. A man laid in a relaxed fashion on a beach chair, you hadn’t noticed him earlier, he was lounging by the fake pool. He was tall and burly, littered with bruises, a rugged kind of charm to him. You shot him a curt nod, noting his number 6. He responded with an up and down, and then a wink. Alrighty then. 7, the ugly number, stood facing the timer on the wall. His hair looked lovely though. You parted your lips to speak, but were stopped by the entrance of 3. The man was nothing short of average, but he was cute, in a younger brother kind of fashion. He had the face of someone who laughs at fart jokes. He spoke briefly, commenting on how the pool wasn't real, you only listened passively as your eyes locked on a woman hunched in a play set. 2. She met your gaze with intensity, and got up. Wow. She had short blonde hair, and a very hardened exterior. Best not to cross her. She joined the group at the calling of 5, and the older woman did a head count. Missing two more people, one made an appearance right now and oh.

8, a young woman with a killer smile and a perfect face entered, her uniform unbuttoned, uncovering a nude bra. 6 stood up, joining the group, eyes shamelessly on the woman’s assets. She stared up at the timer, with her eyes wide and doll-like, “Wow, does that mean time will be added every day? Will we be here forever?” she giggled, and in her sugary voice, it didn't seem all that bad.

You turned to glance again at the time, noting how quickly 7 turned around as you looked in his general direction. Okay mr tough guy, can we please have a face reveal? Ignoring his weird behaviour, the LED did read more time than last night, the 24 now up at the 30 mark.

You were about to speak, again, when a man limped into the crowd.

“Hope i wasn't too late, I'm on the first floor.” pleasantries were exchanged. The man had a fatherly feel to him, he was quite a bit older too.

The man was offered help by 3, but he declined, citing that he was used to it. 5 almost introduced herself when,

“Why bother?” 2 said, shaking her head. Okay, unnecessary.

Despite wanting to learn all the other names’, you nodded, and 3 spoke. “It’ll be hard to learn them all anyways,”

You couldn't help but sneak another glance to the time, something about it made you impossibly nervous. Nevermind that, one thing rang in your head. Where’s the restroom? How does one even ask without exposing their bladder? Why is no one else squirming? Are they all secretly truck drivers? Did you miss the memo? Just ask… what's the worst that could happen?

(besides them all making fun of you for being a little baby)

After a few moments of silence, and a lot of you squeezing and opening your fists, “I uh,” you cleared your throat, making eye contact with 2, she seemed like she’d not judge you for peeing yourself. “Where’s the bathroom?”

She made a face, this is the part where she pushes you and calls you something mean. “There isn't one,”

3 spoke up, “What?” W h a t

She made a point of walking over to the stands, tossing you some kind of ice cream. You missed the catch, and turned to see where it landed when you caught sight of 7 holding it.

What kind of sick joke is this?

What crimes did you commit for this to happen? Is it to rub it in your face? Wait a minute, he’s here too…

He held your gaze with intensity, perhaps he was sizing you up. But this time, you’re on a level playing field. You opened your mouth to question his presence but were quickly cut off by 2 tossing a hotdog at 3. With everyone’s attention turned to this absurd revelation, Yu, or 7 now, took this chance to give you a very slight shake of his head, ‘not now’ you could almost hear his voice. You gave him a very exaggerated roll of your eyes before turning your attention back to the group. He mirrored your action, but not before mumbling childish under his breath just loud enough for you to hear.

. . .

“Is there anything in your life that you can take seriously?” He laughed, wiping genuine tears from his eyes.

“No, or else I would be boring,”

. . .

“Everything here is fake,” 2 added as she joined the group.

7 continued, “It’s set up for a long term stay. Seems all the plumbing and infrastructure is fake,” I know something else that’s fake. “Manufactured for a long term stay, clearly,” no it wasn’t clear, but not all of us are smart.

1 looked directly at you, “I bought one of those toilets people use on camping trips- a waste bag is its name i think,”

You nodded slowly, “But buying waste bags daily, that would drain the money,” you'd rather drink your own urine than waste all the money on what? A bag? … good thing telepaths don’t exist.

“Not necessarily,” 7 said, you shot him a side eye. No one asked for his opinion, especially not you. Knowing how ‘perfect’ he is, he probably doesn’t even produce waste. When he farts, mathematical diagrams come out instead. “The rule book said we could buy items in the square for a special price,” Yeah, the special price being that I'll deck you the next time I see your stupid glasses.

“What if it’s more expensive?” you countered, and he shrugged. Does this man care about anything… ever?

You are NOT this nonchalant Yu, drop the act.

“We could buy something to find out,” 3 suggested, and people nodded all around.

“But what do we buy?” 5 replied, a furrow in her brows, her hands messing with the hem of her jacket nervously.

“I’m not sure, we coul-“ 3 was interrupted by 6 pushing past him harshly, and going up to the device thing that they had on the wall.

You glanced at 3, who held his shoulder with a frown. You shot him an understanding look, and he gave you a small smile. What a cutie.

“What the hell are you doing?” 2 yelled, bringing you back to the task at hand, her fists balled up next to her sides in an offensive stance.

He didn’t reply, casting the group a bored look, simply picking up the beige phone and speaking into the mic.

“A pack of cigarettes and a lighter,” of course. No please, let’s forget about the literal essentials and instead poison the air. Wait, what if the air doesn’t get regulated?

You glanced around the ceilings quickly, trying to find a vent. You must’ve looked ridiculous, because when you finally looked back at the group, 7 and 3 were both looking at you like you were being weird. You looked at 6 with focus, trying to ignore the awkwardness of that encounter.

The chute opens, and inside exactly what he asked for. Didn’t Barbie have a similar thing to this? 6 looks nothing like Barbie.

“I’ll go check if it deducts our money,” you walked over to the rooms, jogging up the stairs and ignoring the burning feeling of a stare at the back of your head. Sure enough, your money’s untouched. A quick victory dance later, then a moment of staring at your reflection in the cool metal of the chute. You walked out, giving a thumbs up.

1 filled you in “They deduct the time,”

You gave him a nod of thanks, and thus came time to sit in a circle and decide what to get. What one person wanted, another vetoed. What one person deemed essential, another argued wasteful.

You offered pillows, but 6 already bought one, he asked you how you’d sleep without one. You just tucked your lips in, suddenly more interested in your hands. 7 offered a pen and papers, which didn’t need 8’s interjection of how stupid that idea was.

Her words were “Why? Is someone going to study here?”

It’s kind of cute though, some things never change.

. . .

“Do you have any notebooks?” He slipped off his fancy shoes at your door, leaving them in the neat rack he bought you. A useless attempt at decluttering your apartment, considering you still preferred to leave your shoes on the ground.

“No? Why would I?” You set down the leftover takeout bags on the table, opening the cabinet to grab containers for them.

“Aren’t you a journalist?” He smirked, loosening his tie and slipping his blazer off, hanging it up next to your coat.

You stuck out your tongue at him, “I don’t keep that stuff here, I leave it at the office. My laptop is my notebook,”

“Hm,” he flopped down on your sofa, holding a bottle of cheap wine, sipping directly from the bottle.

You giggled, “What’re you some kind of anti electronic advocate? Do you get off on killing trees?” You sighed dramatically at the last part.

“Okay miss activist, I get it you’re better than the rest of us,” he rolled his eyes playfully. You shook your head, finishing the packing away of your food.

You walked over to the couch, grabbing the remote and sat down next to him, stretching your legs in front of you. Wordlessly, he put an arm around your shoulder, pulling you flush against him.

“For the record I don’t think I’m better than anyone,” you picked your head up to look at him, the proximity still giving you butterflies. You found comfort in messing with his tie instead of meeting the fire in his eyes.

His eyes flicked from your eyes to your lips, a look of sincerity written all over his face, “Well for the record I think you’re better than everyone,”

. . .

You realize now you spent too long thinking about it, and looked up to the gaze of everyone on you. This was like walking into class late, except way worse.

“4, does that sound good?” 5 said and you nodded, having no clue what they agreed on, but best to save yourself from embarrassment.

You leaned against the wall as people took out their kits. A bucket, sanitary pads, waste bags, cigarettes for the smokers. Disregarding your growing need to use the restroom, you waited for the others to grab their things, staring at the time with a blank expression.

Why did it increase?

Before long, you were brought out of your trance by 2, who gently bumped your shoulder, signalling for you to grab your things before walking off. You crouched next to the chute, grabbing the items.

After relieving yourself in your room, very awkwardly due to the lingering feelings of the cameras making the hair on the back of your neck stand up, you packed the waste and stuffed it into a corner. You sighed heavily. Pacing from wall to wall your mind wandered for the umpteenth time. Why did the time increase? Are you really gonna be here forever? Why are you getting money for just sitting here and mouth breathing? So many questions and so little answers, but with the red LED number ever increasing, you couldn’t find it within yourself to really care beyond a few ideas. Even if the twist was something weird, so what? You’re gonna be rich when you’re out of here. Forget Europe, a world tour. Maybe you’d start your own journalism agency, and hire people who actually know what’s up.

Upon hearing some commotion outside, you decided to join them again.

There appears to be an argument between everyone and 8, who apparently had 12 meal kits and water bottles delivered to her room and just… kept them. Your eyebrows shot up, now that it’s mentioned, you were pretty hungry. What is her problem?

“W-what did you do with them?” 3 spoke, looking like he might eat her.

“I tried them all,” she says with a pout.

“You seriously ate 12 meals by yourself?” 3 replied. She makes a show of walking a few steps away, removing her jacket entirely, a small gasp came from 5. You furrowed your brows, and she rubbed her stomach in a weird way.

“Of course not, I only eat one meal a day,”

“Then can we have them?” You responded, thinking with your stomach.

She hummed thoughtfully. What does that mean?

“Stop playing with us princess,” 2 narrowed her eyes.

“I already used the water, but you can have the food,” she says smiling at 6, then the rest of you guys.

“To do what?” 3 asks and 5 nudges his shoulder.

“To bathe,” HOLD ME BACK HOLD ME BACK.

Your eye twitched, and you clenched your jaw tightly.

7 mustered up the courage and spoke up, “8, if you don’t mind, may we go to your room and see the meals?” She shot him a confused look, still with that gorgeous smile. She must’ve been some kind of model before coming here.

5 ushered 8 to put her jacket back on, while telling 7 that this was an invasion of privacy, in that same sweet gentle parenting voice. 1 spoke up.

“But she’s the only one who’s seen them, perhaps it’s best to just take a look... If that’s okay,”

8 nodded, and thus began the ascent. If you thought the stairs up to 4 were bad, then these were borderline torture. Why is no one else dying? You probably should’ve hit the gym more often. 1 seems to struggle a little, and in comparison you seemed like a total a-hole, 3 offered to help him though. He refuses at first, but 3 is a persistent man, and ends up ducking under his arm to help.

You and 5 giggled, and 3 looked back sheepishly.

Finally, out of breath and exhausted, you reached the top of the tedious steps. A couple of people filed in, and there were murmurs and gasps. You weren’t in any rush to enter, and just lingered in the back of the group. 2 made space for you to enter, and…

“What the hell?”

A/N: you made it till the end! woohooo! Hope you had a good time reading, and I hope I'll see you in chapter 2 ;)

#the 8 show #7th floor #Philip Yu #the 8 show x reader #Philip yu x reader #7th floor x reader

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vortexdoll · 13 days ago

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Stalker

A/n: Hey there! Someone had requested a Mick Thompson Imagine but sadly I lost it before I could answer it. I had a lot of fun writing this one, and I really hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed putting it together. And just a little note — Stacy is absolutely gorgeous, and I love their relationship so much! If you have any more ideas or requests, feel free to send them my way — I love hearing from you guys!

Mick Thompson x reader

Summary: Mick Thompson confronts a stalker fan who crosses boundaries with his model girlfriend during a meet-and-greet.

Warnings: Stalker

Word count: 2,220

You were used to people staring.

It came with the job. As a model, you were constantly under the microscope, whether on the runway, at photo shoots, or behind the scenes. You were used to it. You smiled, posed, and moved through it, doing what you were paid to do.

But there was something unsettling about being watched — especially when you didn’t know the person.

The Slipknot meet-and-greet had been a whirlwind. The usual group of screaming fans, excited to meet the band — and you, by association, since you were Mick’s girlfriend. You didn’t mind it. You stayed off to the side, watching quietly as Mick and the others greeted fans, their heavy masks hiding the faces you knew and loved.

You were perched against the wall, wearing Mick’s hoodie, feeling like an outsider in this world of heavy metal, blood, and masks. Yet, it felt safe with him nearby.

That’s when you saw him.

The guy was in line, grinning at the band like a fan would, but there was something off about him. His gaze kept flickering back toward you, his eyes following your every move. You shrugged it off — maybe he was just excited to meet everyone. Maybe he just thought you were pretty, as people sometimes did. You didn’t think much of it. That was until he was standing right in front of you, a shy smile on his face, holding a Slipknot photo for you to sign.

“Hey, could I get an autograph?” he asked, voice low and almost hesitant.

You smiled politely, taking the photo from him and uncapping your marker. “Sure. What’s your name?”

“Matt,” he said, eyes never leaving you as you wrote your name on the photo. “I’ve been following you for a while. I think you’re really cool.”

You glanced up, meeting his eyes. He was just a fan, right? Nothing unusual about it. You handed the photo back with a smile. “Thank you, Matt. It’s nice to meet you.”

His grin widened. “Thank you. You’re way cooler than I thought you’d be. Some models… they’re not as nice, you know?”

You laughed, a little uneasy but trying to be kind. “I try to be friendly. Thanks for coming out tonight.”

He hesitated, as if wanting to say something more, but then his voice dropped lower. “You know, I’ve been to every one of your shows. Every. Single. One.”

Your stomach fluttered, and you smiled, trying to keep the conversation light. “Wow, that’s a lot of shows! That’s really sweet of you.”

“Yeah,” he continued, his voice taking on a strange edge. “I like to keep track of things. You’re amazing. Beautiful, really.” He leaned in just a little, his smile growing more intense. “I’ve got a lot of photos of you, actually. A lot.”

You blinked, feeling a prickle of unease run up your spine. “Oh… really?”

He pulled out his phone, showing you a folder titled “Y/N - <3” before you could say anything. The folder was filled with photos — not the ones from photo shoots or public appearances, but personal photos. They were images of you walking to your car, of you at different events, even candid photos from backstage. The last few were recent — too recent.

Your heart started to race. Something wasn’t right.

“They’re from all the shows I’ve been to,” Matt said, his voice low, almost reverent. “I just… I like to keep them. You’re so much more beautiful in person, you know? I bet you’ve never even noticed me, but I’ve been watching you. Always watching you.”

The smile on your face faltered. “Uh… I didn’t know you were… following me.” Your voice was shaky, the creeping discomfort turning into something much more sinister.

He nodded, completely oblivious to the change in your demeanor. “Yeah. I know everything about you. Your schedule. The places you go. Who you hang out with. Like Mick.” His tone turned darker at the mention of Mick’s name. “He’s not good enough for you. You deserve someone who can really take care of you. I could take care of you. I’ve already got everything ready…”

You stepped back instinctively, your pulse quickening. “I think you need to leave.”

Matt didn’t take his eyes off you, his smile never wavering. “No, not yet. I just wanted to let you know. I’ve been watching for so long, I think you’re meant to be with me. Mick doesn’t see you like I do. I’ll make sure of it.”

It was then that you realized just how deep his obsession ran — this wasn’t just a fan. It was something worse. Something far more dangerous.

“Matt, I need you to go,” you said, your voice firm despite the nerves crawling up your spine.

He took a step closer. “I just want to be with you. I can’t be the only one who sees how perfect we’d be, can I?”

Before you could react, a shadow loomed behind you.

Mick.

His mask was on, his presence a looming force.

“Get away from her,” Mick’s voice came through low and menacing, muffled by his mask but unmistakable.

You turned to Mick, the relief washing over you. Matt’s eyes shifted quickly to Mick, a moment of hesitation before he smirked.

“Oh, it’s you,” he sneered. “You really think she’s yours, huh?”

Mick took one long stride toward him, his large frame casting an intimidating shadow over Matt. His hand shot out, grabbing the stalker by the throat, lifting him off the ground. The room went dead silent.

“She doesn’t belong to you,” Mick growled. “And if you ever come near her again, I’ll make sure you regret it. Do you understand?”

Matt struggled, gasping for air, but the expression on his face wasn’t fear. It was twisted with obsession. “You can’t stop me… she’s mine… I know everything about her… I’ll always find her…”

Mick squeezed harder, his jaw clenched behind the mask. “You’re not welcome here. And if I see you again, I won’t be as nice.”

With that, Mick dropped him. Matt crumpled to the floor, coughing and gasping, still glaring up at him with that same unsettling grin.

“Now get out of here,” Mick commanded coldly.

Security rushed in, dragging Matt out of the room, but not before he turned back toward you one last time, a sickening promise in his eyes. “I’ll be watching, Y/N. I always will.”

Mick slammed the door shut behind him and turned toward you, his mask still in place, but the fury in his eyes visible beneath.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft, filled with concern.

You nodded, still trying to shake off the chilling words from Matt’s mouth. “Yeah… but that was… terrifying.”

Mick pulled you into his arms, his hold fierce but gentle. “He won’t get near you again, I promise.”

You buried your face in his chest, the weight of the encounter still pressing on your chest. “I just didn’t realize…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mick whispered. “He’s gone. And if he ever shows his face again, I’ll take care of it.”

You clung to him, the fear fading in the warmth of his embrace. He was right. No one would ever hurt you with him around.

You were safe.

With him, you were always safe.

#chris fehn #corey taylor #jim root #joey jordison #sid wilson #slipknot x reader #mick thomson #slipknot #joey jordison x reader #sid wilson x reader

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holbrookswifey · 2 months ago

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It's going to be alright

Boyd Holbrook x f!reader

Summary: You attended the premiere of A Complete Unknown but you find yourself depressed. Boyd sees you and tries to help you through your battle and you eventually spill to him about being a virgin, leading to him and yourself being lead back to his hotel room.

Warnings: Smut MDNI 18+, protected sex, virginity loss (f), s*icide attempt (TW!!!)

A/N: If you are easily triggered by SH, please scroll away. I wrote this for myself originally but I wanted to share it on here with everyone, so please enjoy this fic, and i just want to say this to people who struggle with mental health. It's hard to fight mental battles, speaking from experience but things will get better, no matter how much people think life is not worth living, don't be afraid to talk to someone you trust the most. If you ever feel like this, please feel free to message me privately and don't be afraid to speak about your feelings. Just know that I have my own mental battles, but I have amazing friends @metallicames and @suzdin and I love them to death and I couldn't be more grateful to have them as my friends, so never give up ❤️

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You're at the premiere of A Complete Unknown, watching all of the cast slowly turn up to the event one by one and all of the celebrities show up. After a few members of the cast appears, you see your favourite actor, Boyd Holbrook, turn up and have his photos taken and talking to other people afterwards.

As he approaches the crowd to take pictures and sign some of the fans' pictures/memorabilia, you can't help but be too scared to a for a photo or an autograph because you never know if he will have enough time to sign your things. Your mental health has been below bearable for the past week or two due to your depression, so when Boyd gets close to you, you can't help but have the sinking feeling when he's about to pass you.

As you hold a Corinthian funko pop in your bag, you decide to pass due to your anxious and depressed state. You put your hoodie over your head, moving to a different location at an odd timing since Boyd was about to arrive right in front of you. He picks up on your sudden location move, but he doesn't want to assume anything in case you need some space.

After a minute or two of searching for a private place, you find a chair a few feet away from prying eyes but still surrounded by people. You hold your head in your hands as you feel another depression episode hit you like a tonne of bricks, overwhelming you as seconds tick by.

Your legs begin to bounce from how overwhelmed you feel, needing to release the tension. All of the negative and haunting memories that have occurred in your past come flooding back into your head, making the emotional pain burn within your brain. You look around to find anything to help you stimulate the overwhelmingness sweeping through your body until you spot something metallic and shiny in the short grass. You reach down and pick it up, noticing it's a blade from a razor...

Your eyes widen from surprise, your mind causing the memories to come flooding back again. You can't help yourself as you pull out your water bottle and clean the blade, your hands shaky as you wipe the excess water from the blade onto your jeans. As you examine the blade even more, you feel tears stream down your cheeks, but the mental and emotional pain is becoming too much to bear.

You hold the sharp edge of the blade to your wrist, your eyes closing as the proximity of the blade and the skin of your wrist is becoming closer and closer. While Boyd is taking more photos with the cast, he sees you in the back with the razor, his alertness spikes, seeing your intentions with the blade.

"Whoa whoa whoa, hey!" Boyd says loudly to you, almost yelling as he rushes to open one of the gates to the barriers, rushing his way through the crowd and seeing you with the razor blade. He makes his way to you, his behavior alert and concerned. As soon as you see him heading towards you, you jump, accidentally slicing your forearm from trying to hide the blade.

"Hey hey hey, are you alright? What's going on?" He asks as he crouches in front of you, one of his hands holding your hand that has the blade in it. His palm is against the blade almost about to leave a cut until he sees the cut on your arm. He panics a little and looks around for a medical officer but sees no one, so he looks around.

"Hey man, can I please use that tissue?" Boyd asks a man who has a packet of tissues in his pocket. When Boyd is given a tissue, he holds it onto the cut on your arm, making you wince. He holds the tissue on the wound, pressing down hard. "I know, I know. It's gonna burn like hell for a while." He tries to reassure you as the wound feels like a burning sensation.

Boyd looks around once again, looking for a place to escort you out for some privacy. As he spots a way through, he helps you up and leads you. "Come on, come on, come on." He ushers you through the crowd and spots a private area, leading you into a small space outside where it's quiet and no people around, helping you sit down and try to figure out what has got you feeling down.

He sees you still trembling with tears down your face. He can tell you probably don't want to talk or are too afraid to speak. "What's your name?" Boyd asks with gentleness. You decide to finally say something. "Y/n." You reply, your voice shaky.

He nods, checking the cut from time to time to see if it had stopped bleeding. He is truly concerned and really wants to help, so he sighs a little and decides to ask the question. "What's causing you to feel like this?" He asks softly, sitting down in front of you and holding your hands in his.

You sniffle, the tears slowing down but still not stopping fully. "I've just had a rough past and I can't let go of it." You manage to say through the tears. "It hurts to keep on going and living, so i take it out on myself..." You admit, shaking your head and keeping your hoodie up. Boyd's heart breaks hearing how bad you hurt yourself to numb the pain.

"Look...I know this is cliché, but life will get better. Life will knock you down and make sure you don't get up, but if you're motivated enough, you will be able to overcome it. I promise you that." He replies, trying to help you see that life is worth living even through the toughest of battles with your own head.

Boyd sits down next to you, which makes you surprised a little bit because he'd be missing his premiere. "A-aren't you going in there?" You ask, still surprised. Boyd shakes his head, a small but noticeable on his face. "I've got something more important to worry about." He admits, which clicking in your head that he means you.

The thought makes your heart flutter, finally feeling safe and comfortable with someone even if he is a celebrity makes your insides all tingly and ache from appreciation at the same time. As time goes on, you both open up to each other, especially you to him about what has happened to you in the past as well as your love life since he did the same for you. But when you admitted something to him, it shocked him a little.

"Wait a second. You're a virgin?" Boyd asks softly, his tone involves interest and surprisingly. You look down and nod in embarrassment. "Yeah. Mid 20s and still haven't had sex. Shocking, isn't it?" You reply.

"All I can say is that you've been keeping yourself out of trouble, that's for sure." He replies, then he fights with himself in his own head, battling with his thoughts. Then, he decides to ask you. "What if I help you? You know...with your first time?" He asks quietly before he turns his head to look at you. Your face immediately shows surprise as it dawns on you.

"Are you serious?" You ask Boyd in full shock, to which he shrugs. "Dead serious." He replies. "You can come stay the night with me in my hotel room if you're comfortable, and I'll make sure you're calm as we go through it." Boyd explains, almost certain that he will help you without any problems.

As you weigh out the options, considering the fact that he's offering you help which you have to take, so you nod. "Okay. I'll let you help." You reply, suddenly feeling a little nervous, which he slowly rubs your shoulder in attempt to calm you down as he helps you up. "Ready to go?" He asks you, making sure you are one hundred percent ready to do this.

You nod, letting a deep breath exhale from your mouth. "Ready." You reply, and Boyd leads you back to his hotel room, arriving only minutes later. He swipes his keycard, beeping to let you and himself into his room, seeing how luxurious but small and cozy it looks and feels. As you take in your new surroundings, Boyd looks at you and holds your hand gently.

"Take your time to get ready and comfortable." He assures you, then you remember you haven't shaved your legs in a couple of days, so you take the chance. "Do you have a razor? I won't hurt myself with it, I promise." You ask, hoping that you can make him believe you won't use a razor to hurt yourself. He nods and motions to the bathroom with a comforting look on his face. "Yeah, there are some disposable razors in one of the drawers. Feel free to use them." He replies with a soft smile.

You nod and you head to the bathroom, deciding to have a quick bath to shave your legs and areas you don't feel comfortable with him seeing hair on. Afterwards, you rinse off your lower body and yours legs, letting the water drain out of the bathtub as you dry yourself off, putting on something more comfortable before you walk out,. You see Boyd in more comfortable clothing as well, which is a maroon t-shirt and black sweatpants.

He climbs off the bed, walking over to you and gently sets his hand onto your cheek, making sure you're okay. "Are you sure about this? We can stop at anytime, you know that, right?" Boyd asks softly, his tone soft and measuring. You nod, letting a shaky breath slip out. "Always. But...I'm not on any contraceptives." You admit to him, which he smiles softly, walking over to his travel bag and rummaging through the contents inside. He spots what he's looking for and walks back over to you, holding it in his hand. "I'm always prepared." He replies as he shows what's in his large hand. A condom.

You let out a sigh of relief and nod, feeling a little better. "I'll be careful and I'll walk you through it, okay?" He tells you and helps you to the bed, letting you go at your own speed. You lay down slowly onto the soft mattress, looking at him, your eyes inviting him to do whatever he needs to do. He gently crawls on top, leaning down and gently presses his lips onto your own, kissing you softly.

Your eyes flutter closed as you let yourself kiss him back, the hustle and bustle from the outside world disappears as you both kiss. You part your lips to let him use his tongue, which he picks up instantly, his velvety tongue slowly slides between your lips and meets with your tongue, your arousal spiking instantly and letting a soft moan escape your lips.

The sounds of yours and Boyd's breathing is the only thing you hear as you make out slowly, to which you feel Boyd pull away for a second to take off his shirt. He throws it off of the bed and onto the ground, seeing his muscular chest and soft, pillowy abs which you admire a lot. You let him take off your shirt, slowly tugging it up and over your head, revealing your bra underneath the attire. "You're beautiful, Y/n." He praises as he slowly reaches around behind you, unclipping your bra and letting it fall from your shoulders.

He takes a look at them before he looks back into your eyes, leaning down and kissing you softly before he pulls away and kisses your jawline, then down to your neck to plant soft kisses. You let your head fall back to give him better access to your neck, and he focuses on the areas he finds out are more important and sensitive, then moves down to your chest to kiss between your breasts, showing your cleavage some love and attention too. While he's kissing your breasts, his fingers snake around the elastic of your shorts, slowly dragging them down.

You raise your hips to let him take them off easier, leaving you in only but your panties. As you look down, you can't help but wonder what he'd look like if he was in your state. Right on time, Boyd reaches down and slowly takes off his sweatpants, leaving him in only his boxers. He looks down at you, his blue eyes asking permission to remove your panties, which you nod slightly to give him permission he needs. He slowly pulls them down, showing off your womanhood which is glistening with your pre-cum. Boyd begins to kiss from your breasts, slowly moving down to your stomach, kissing there and keeps moving down until he's face to face with your womanhood.

He looks up at you as you open your legs, knowing he needs some room to gain access. He starts with soft licks and kisses, his tongue slowly working between your folds, making you gasp quietly, your head falling back as your fingers move into his hair, not tugging but holding him softly as he pushes his tongue into your opening, tasting you deeply. You can't stop the moans and whimpers you make as he keeps going. He keeps going for almost five minutes before he pulls away, letting you calm down a bit so he doesn't overwhelm you.

Boyd leans over and picks up the condom off the nightstand, holding it up again. "Are you completely sure?" He asks one more time, but all you can do is nod, the arousal is rushing through your body at an overwhelming pace but it feels right, feels good to feel like this way. He slowly rugs down his boxers, his hard cock sliding out of their confinements as he throws his boxers off and with the pile of clothes. He looks at you with safety in his eyes before he fixes his focus onto the condom in the wrapper, slowly opening the packet and taking the fresh condom out of the wrapper.

He slowly slides it onto himself. "Will it hurt?" You ask with a sense of vulnerability and nervousness as he finishes up putting the condom over his cock. "Only if you tense up." Boyd replies as he crawls back on top of you, making sure he's not putting much weight on top of you. He kisses you softly to help you relax as he positions himself at your slick opening, making sure you're okay and not overly anxious.

"Trust me. It's going to be alright..." Boyd whispers, guiding himself and as you let out a deep breath, he slowly pushes himself inside of you as gentle as you can. You feel your walls attempt to stretch out to accommodate the foreign feeling, making you seethe through your teeth as you feel a bit of discomfort.

Boyd looks a bit concerned but he makes sure you're feeling okay and not in pain. "You're okay, Y/n. It's going to be okay. Deep breaths." Boyd whispers as he keeps pushing into you softly, hitting your hymen and looking at you. "I'm going to have to be a bit rough here. Is that okay?" Boyd asks softly, showing your answer through a nod.

As Boyd moves more, he pushes his cock a bit more rougher into you, breaking past the barrier and making you gasp softly as he enters you deeply. He looms down at you, making sure you're okay. "You okay?" He asks, eliciting a nod from you even though it's a bit of an uncomfortable feeling. "Yeah. I'm okay." You reply. He lets you adjust to his size before he slowly begins to move as slow as he can, making small moans escape from your lips. Boyd lets out some small moans of Jo's own as he moves a little bit faster.

As time goes on, the feeling of uncomfortableness turns into pleasure, the winces you make slowly turn into moans of enjoyment, your hands moving to his back and your nails gently dig into his skin. He groans softly as he feels the sharp but pleasurable feeling of your nails in his back, his thrusts' pace speeding up a little more. Every so often, he checks on you and asks if you're okay with the pace he sets, making sure you're as comfortable as possible as he thrusts. After five minutes, you feel a tightness in your stomach, raising your concern.

"Boyd...my stomach feels like it's tightening." You inform him chuckle softly. "You're about to cum. Don't try and hold it back. It'll feel much better when you let it happen." He replies as he's on the edge of his orgasm too, his eyes squeezing closed, small but deep moans and groans are coming from him and moans are coming from you. As you feel your orgasm approach, you take his advice and let it happen, making you moan a bit louder as you feel walls tighten around his protected cock and feeling yourself masterbate for the first time.

Boyd feels his orgasm approach as well, thrusting into your softly one last time as he lets a deep groan slip out and he master masterbates into the condom. He slowly pulls out, slowly removing the condom off of himself and throws it into the nearest trash can in the hotel room, laying down next to you afterwards. He kisses your forehead as his arm is slung around your shoulders. "How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?" Boyd asks as he looks at you, making sure you're okay. You shake your head, feeling content and your mood is lifted. "I feel...I feel fine. I feel better than before." You admit.

He smiles down as he cuddles you to sleep, his muscular arm around your waist as you sleep. The next morning, you wake up next to him, which you feel a smile crawl onto your face for the first time it seems like in forever since you last smiled. As he stirs from his sleep, the first thing he sees is how content and happy you look. "Good morning." He says in his Tennessee accent, which is deep and groggy. "Good morning." You reply, turning to face him.

"How do you feel?" Boys asks, referring to your mental health. You have to admit that you're feeling like you're on cloud nine, like you've never felt this happy before. "Much better. I never expected I'd lose my virginity anytime soon, but here we are." You chuckle, making Boyd chuckle along with you. "I'm glad."

"Look..." You start off. "I appreciate you helping me with my first time. It...it means a lot. So...thank you." You explain, seeing his eyes almost light and his mouth turns into a small smile. "It's my pleasure, Y/n. You're welcome to be around me as much as you'd like." He replies.

After a while of talking, both of you talked each other's ears off so much that you both fall back deep in each other's arms, spooning each other as time goes on.

#boyd holbrook #i love him #fanfic #fanfiction #robertboydholbrook #boyd holbrook fanfiction #boyd holbrook fic #boyd holbrook x reader

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hazellevessque · 6 months ago

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@pjo-halloween-trade thing for @reyna4ever

I’m Just Kidding (But Really)

Solangelo Please Please Please AU (Part 1)

Will had to give himself credit. Four whole hours at college, and no one had asked for his autograph yet. Or a photo. Or interrogated him about the current Hollywood rumors that were circulating the Internet.

Then again, he spent most of those four hours in his room.

His mom had insisted on flying with him from Texas, but she had left thirty minutes ago, kissing his cheek and wishing him “good luck!” before departing for her flight back to Austin. So he was alone, decorating the wall above his desk with concert posters and flopping down on his freshly made bed.

He was excited for college. He really was. But with parents like his, you didn’t always know who to trust. Do you really have any friends if all of them use you for their own gain?

Will sighed, staring at the ceiling. He would do something tonight. Maybe just meet some people who live on his floor and talk to them for a bit. That was a start.

The door opened, pulling Will back to reality. As he sat up to see who it was, another boy his age walked in. Will could barely see his eyes through his messy black hair, and when he brushed it out of his eyes, he caught the flash of silver on his finger.

“You’re Will, right?” he asked, shifting his bag from one hand to another.

“Uh—yeah. Nico, was it? Do you need help with your bag?”

His roommate, Nico di Angelo, looked exactly like he did on his Instagram—gorgeous. But that wasn’t the reason Will had reached out to him instead of any other Freshman looking for a decent person to room with. Nico also lived ten years in the past. Based on his posts (and the shirt he was wearing right now), the only kind of music he listened to was heavy metal from the 2000s, meaning he knew next to nothing about country music. When Will and DMed him a few weeks ago and asked if he listened to country or pop, he had only confirmed Will’s previous suspicions. That meant that he had no idea who Naomi Solace was. Which meant he had no idea about her producer, Apollo.

Which meant that he had no idea who Will was.

Which meant he was perfect.

“No! No, it’s fine. I’m good.” Nico responded in the present, a look of panic sweeping across his face. “I got it.”

Will shrugged. “Okay,” He looked back at Nico, whose face had swept back into its neutral expression. A small, polite smile, the kind you gave when you were meeting someone new. The kind that made a good first impression.

But Will couldn’t help but notice that when Nico opened his bag, he angled it away from Will, not letting him see the contents. He put the usuals on display: his laptop, posters of heavy metal bands, and a few other things, but there were no photos of his family, or any indication of what his personal life was like.

Now that Will thought about it, there weren’t any photos of Nico’s family on his Instagram either.

When Nico deemed himself done unpacking, he shoved his bag in the tiny closet space their room had. Really shoved it. From the way he was pushing, Will guessed there was still something in the bag, something pretty heavy. But Nico refused to take it out.

That should’ve been the first red flag.

—

“Do you wanna do something?” Nico asked, flopping down onto his bed.

Will looked up from his homework, turning almost 180 degrees so he could face Nico. “Like what?”

“Anything. I mean, it’s been a month and we’re basically each other’s only friend.”

Not true. Will had made two other friends, three if you count Drew Tanaka (which he wasn’t sure if he did; he still didn’t know if she actually liked having him around). But instead he nodded and said, “Alright. What?”

“I know this place a few blocks away from campus. It’s not a huge thing or anything, but my sister goes there sometimes. She could get us in.”

When Will looked back on the moment, perhaps he should have asked himself more questions. He should’ve asked where this place was, or what it was. He should’ve asked about Nico’s sister. He should’ve asked something.

But he didn’t do that.

”Sure.”

#I think I’ll upload this to Ao3 once it’s more edited #Because I did not have time to edit #I literally wrote the last sentence like a minute ago #pjo-Halloween-trade

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hannieween · 1 year ago

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hello~~ it’s gita1230 here ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ i recently wrapped up reading the newest city lights chapter and it knocked my socks off!! WOW!! i promise to upload my annotations soon ♥️ for now, i’d love to hear if you have a vision of what your joshua’s room looks like, before we pack it up? does he have many posters of his favorite artists? a huge rack of cds/vinyls + maybe an autographed one on display? a small headset and mic in the closet or on a desk? a strangely tall mirror 👀? does he have a metal bed frame as well? are his sheets black and white? is his favorite color prominent in the palette? i want to learn so much more about him ☺️ thank you so much for sharing your work, have a wonderful day!!

oh baby, hi there!! ᨐฅ♡

first of all, thank you so much for reading! i'd love to know about your thoughts on the chapters! but no pressure, all in your own time!

i love, lololololove this ask to bits, you don't know!! the only reason i didn't take reader to his room was because i couldn't find an excuse to have her there until he moved out haha.

so, joshua's room is not small, but looks a little cramped due to the massive pair of sound amplifiers sitting on the corner of the room, next to the window — and also because he has a large queen size bed that's pushed to the wall to make space for the dresser and the clothing racks stacked with plaid shirts and leather jackets, plaid shirts

no his bed frame isn't like yn's, with rails. that's why he was excited when he saw that reader's did. he didn't participate much in the same things he did in the room with yn, either, because he wasn't really interested in dating or fucking. he just wasn't interested 🤷🏻‍♀️

next to the amps there's a guitar stand with at least two electric guitars, one of them being the first electric guitar he could afford with his own money, then his most recent acquirement and lastly an acoustic guitar, his favorite

there's also a desk where he gets to work on his free time when he's not with the band or with reader. in the desk he has a sound mixer, a keyboard, the mic, a photo of him with his mom

i don't think that he would put up posters, but he does have bookshelves stacked on one of the walls. where he has a collection of poetry books, cd's old notebooks where he keeps his songwritings, thoughts, etc

as for the color grading, he didn't think much beforehand when he bought sheets and matching covers in dark gray, because it made his room look dark even with the blinds open during the day, so he also bought a lamp with a warm light and a creamy green rug

he wasn't big on paying much attention to his personal space, except to keep it clean because he would spend much of his free time composing, rehearsing and recording vocals with the small condensing microphone he got

these are just a few ideas

also this is typed at 2 am here, so i apologize for any spelling mistakes

thank you for this ask!!! ᨐฅ

#asks #ff:city lights

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thearwenschild · 9 months ago

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I went to my first concert alone

tl:dr: 10/10 will do again

The local concert venue will get torn down next year and so far I only took some of my exams there and attended a poetry slam. And because I can't go to any more festivals due to my exams I decided to look up the program.

Surprise, one band I listen to all the time (Nekrogoblikon) will be opening for Dragonforce. (In my opinion) the pairing is pretty wild but Dragonforce was one of my first metal bands and this concert will bring together two different times In my ~music journey~.

Then I started to ask around but they either just attended the Wacken Open Air or were preparing for the Summerbreeze. After some thinking and a lot of doubts, I thought: fuck it! and bought my ticket.

In the past, I went to some festival shows alone but my friends were reachable and I knew they were somewhere. And I could leave at any time if a man decided that anyone presenting female doesn't really listen to metal or that I really needed a partner and got creepily touchy.

But fuck them! I wanted this extra sliver of freedom and the concert was in my city and I could ride my bike to and from the venue.

On the day itself, I was pretty nervous but I spent enough money that I had to go. So I packed my bag got on my bike and got there half an hour before doors were open and apart from some looks everyone left me alone. Got in pretty quick and even though I bought some merch and a drink I somehow ended up in the first row.

It was awesome! I had so much fun! A big factor was that I actually saw the band because no one stood in front of me, but both bands also did great. Definitely one of my top concerts. Somehow I managed to catch a setlist from Nekrogoblikon and even got a photo with the band. In my nervousness, I totally forgot to ask them for autographs on the setlist.

After this, I will definitely go to more concerts alone. The first time is always the hardest but after this, it will get easier. Now the next step would be a concert out of town, but then I would have to take the train, and train stations, alone, at night are still a bit scary.

These were the only pictures I took. I look up the official photographers after the concerts and just save their pictures.

Needed a lot of convincing myself but I finally asked not only for a picture but also a total stranger if he can take it (and handed him my phone).

Bought way to much merch but it was basically *free* because I spent the money I got from donating (selling) my blood plasma.

#concert #nekrogoblikon #dragonforce #doing stuff alone #metal #death metal #power metal #merchandise

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vvatchword · 2 years ago

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BS2 Fanfiction, Chapter 16: Gimmicks

The next morning, Naomi insisted that John dress to the nines and dragged him to a breakfast at a bistro in Olympus Heights, where the high-class apartments congregated. The reporters mobbed the bistro until the proprietor threatened to call Sinclair Security.

Passersby crowded in from the streets to snap photos and ask for his autograph. John’s scrambled eggs were rubbery by the time he got to them, and his coffee was knocked into his lap by the overzealous crowd.

Then she took him shopping at Fort Frolic. She bought him clothes—ties, suits, jackets, hats, a monogrammed bathrobe. She fussed over the length of the arms in his shirts, leaned uncomfortably close to him to cluck about the cut, and ordered a pair of exorbitantly-priced cuff links. Reporters stood a few yards away, taking notes and peering over racks, as though they were sociologists penning the habits of a far-flung civilization.

John finally put a finger on his irritation while Naomi was buying him another set of shoes.

I feel like a doll, he thought, lifting the bags off of the counter. I feel like I’m watching myself from far away.

As soon as he noticed it, he tried to shake it. First he rifled through a selection of pleasant memories: that familiar mattress in the workshop basement, the pillows heaped up just the way he liked them; sitting with a good traveling group on the rails, howling a tuneless rendition of “Do Your Balls Hang Low?” with more and more inventive lyrics until everyone started laughing too hard to continue; a sweet soft girl blushing in his arms.

When that didn’t work, he tried to think when he’d felt that detached before, and he couldn’t. He’d always felt firmly grounded in his own body. Even when his stepfather whipped out the belt, even when his mother threw him out for the umpteenth time, even when he’d been hungry enough to eat old leather, he’d never once felt like he didn’t belong to himself.

Is this why people believe in souls? he thought. No wonder they start praying.

In his detached state, he watched the goings-on of his body. Everything was unnecessary—that was the problem. The clothing was pretension; the smiles were superficial, by people who didn’t know him, and didn’t care; the five-star restaurants plated a single shrimp with a leaf on it for some fucking reason, and then did that seven more times in a row when they could’ve just brought him the whole meal right at the beginning; the grandiose statues, the gilding, the marble, the towers—all that money spent on stone and metal when you couldn’t so much as find a coat closet that wasn’t cold as fuck.

And the clothes, the shopping, the eating, the entertainment—a nonstop flood of social excess. Beneath his ribs, a knot of misgiving: it was all too easy; you couldn’t trust it if it were easy. “There’s either someone paying somewhere, or you pay in the end,” as his stepfather used to say, and fuck, if the old asshole wasn’t right. And besides, John knew what he was. He’d known since he was a child. Put him in a flour sack for all he cared. He could get by with a dollar. Who the hell needed to shine like Fred Astaire on parade? Fuck Fred, and fuck Ginger, too.

There was a brief period of about 15 minutes where he wondered if he had actually died out on that abyssal plain. Perhaps he was in the final throes of nitrogen narcosis. Perhaps he was the last man on Earth, surrounded by devils who, for lack of prey in other places, each vied for a bite of his soul.

He came to his senses when he was standing in front of a mirror, staring into his own face, studying his scars and the movement of his eyes as he listened to the pulse of his blood.

You feel this way because you’re putting your life in this woman’s hands, he thought. And you won’t feel right until you’re free. Because buddy, you and I both know: you may not be in a cell, but you sure as hell ain’t going anywhere.

*******

They stopped for lunch in a glitzy restaurant in Fort Frolic. John stared out at the city skyline as Naomi chattered at him. She was fucking adorable: coy smiles, meaningless little wrist flicks, tossing her head when she laughed.

Jesus, why couldn’t everyone see what a fake she was?

The waiter set an order down in front of him. It was a steak and a fluted glass of red wine. He didn’t remember ordering any of it.

“You’re still moping,” Naomi said.

He glowered at her. “Yeah. Let me have this.”

A switch flipped. Somehow, although her expression never changed, it instantly lost its meaning: it was the shape of a smile, but carried nothing. Gone were the head bobs and the flutter of her lashes. Suddenly he felt like he was staring at an alien.

“These first few days are critical.” She cocked her head. Her curls bounced. She never blinked. “Do this for me: push those sad thoughts into a box. Can you do that? It’s not like you can’t think about it. Of course you can. It would be unreasonable not to. But there are places and there are times. I’ll tell you when it’s safe to bring that box out, and then both of us will get along so much better. Besides, this should be the time of your life. So many people to meet, and so many things to see, and so much of life to enjoy, all in the best city on Earth.”

The switch flipped back on, and her eyes crinkled up. He could almost believe she was warm.

He took a deep breath.

One. Two. Three.

“Yeah,” he said, breathing out. “You’re right.”

What was this escape, after all, but a marathon? A test of endurance. Mourning could wait. Once he was out, he’d take a bat to the dump for a day of beating bottles and old armchairs to death, and he’d sure as hell tell every newspaper he saw. Wouldn’t bring Jules and the boys back, but it would take everything from Ryan.

She slapped his hand.

“I saw that,” she said. “Stop it. Think about something nice.”

“Sorry.” He bent over the steak, groped for something innocuous. “So… you have cows here?”

He jabbed the beef with his fork and sawed it in half with one motion. The blade screeched against the plate. Naomi winced.

“Yes.” She smiled prettily. “But they’re miniature cattle, and there aren’t that many.”

He chewed slowly, then scowled.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Tastes like someone rubbed a fish all over it,” he said.

“Oh, they can’t help it,” she said. “It’s the seaweed, I suppose…”

“Darling,” a lady said. “What are you doing here?”

A woman in blue strolled toward their table, a white handbag tucked under her arm. Her hair rolled in thick chocolate ringlets over her shoulder, pinned with pearl-encrusted clasps; her face was half-hidden by a hat trimmed with polka-dot ribbon. But the first thing John saw was her eyebrows, and all he could think about was that they were sharp enough to pin butterflies with.

“Blanche!” said Naomi, rising to her feet. “What a surprise!”

John rose to his feet, too, but Blanche did not look at him. Instead, she clasped arms with Naomi and they kissed each other on the cheeks. Both began speaking rapidly in French. He stood there dumbly, glancing from woman to woman. If the tone of their voices was to be believed, they were the greatest friends in the world and they hadn’t seen each other in a decade.

Naomi waved at John and grabbed him by the arm. Blanche’s eyes flicked from the top of his head down to his feet.

“Hmm,” she said.

Naomi said something that sounded conciliatory.

“But this, darling?” Blanche said, in heavily-accented English. She jerked her chin at John. “I am surprised at you.”

“I knew you would be,” said Naomi.

“Don’t tell me that you are keeping him in your room.”

“Not in my room, dear. On the sofa.”

“Still, it is a dangerous thing.” Blanche looked him up and down again. “He might have a disease.”

Naomi shook her head. “Please. Of course not.”

“But look at him. Where do you see cause for all this excitement?” “Why not? Consider what he has done. Nobody else has simply broken into the city and successfully defied the council…”

“There are hundreds of smugglers down on the docks. Probably much nicer-looking ones.”

“And without Fontaine, what on Earth would they be?” laughed Naomi, tossing her head. “This man came here of his own strength and cunning.” She threw a glance at John and winked.

To John’s shock, the wink thrilled him—as though for one magnanimous moment she had opened a bright and shining door that included him. He actually gave her a grin before he realized what he was doing.

Oh, hell no, he thought, and squashed the smile flat.

“Furthermore,” Naomi said, “he’s one of a great band of explorers… he’s world famous in diving circles.”

Blanche chuckled. “For what? Being the cleanest among them? You have dressed him very nicely, but I can tell your handiwork when I see it.”

John looked at Naomi. “And who’s this?”

“Mademoiselle Blanche de Glace to you,” said Blanche, her lips curling. “And you are the diver.”

“Yeah. I’m the diver.” He looked at Naomi and jerked his chin toward the table. “Can I cut out? My food’s getting cold.”

“Oh, don’t mind Blanche.” Naomi took him by the arm. “She’s having a party tomorrow night and she was wondering if you could come.”

“Sorry, can’t go. I’ll give her friends fleas,” John said.

“They have no taste; they deserve it,” Blanche said. “Now. You tell me. You are the one who destroyed two bathyspheres, and…?”

“Sure,” he said. “I also fought a hundred men at once with my bare fists and I won.”

Strangers leaned over to listen. Conversation died off. The only sound was the canned music.

Naomi shook her head. “He’s being facetious. But he did fight off over a dozen attackers and escape the police in Neptune’s Bounty fish market.” Her eye flickered to the diners around them. “After traversing the ocean floor, tricking sailors in a bathysphere armed with torpedoes…”

“He could not possibly have fought everyone,” said Blanche. John shrugged. “Well, no, but there’s a trick to it. Keep a few steps ahead, don’t fight unless you have to, and fight one at a time if you do.”

She arched an eyebrow. “How would you learn to fight so?”

The edge of his lip twitched. “I’ve had a lifelong career as a rascal.”

“Then you are perfect… if I must have a bar fight,” said Blanche. “Such a gimmick!”

“What, don’t you believe me?” John asked.

“Of course not. You are a silly little man, a puff of air,” she said. “Ah, well, if that is the price I pay…” She handed Naomi a card. “The party begins at 9 on Friday in the Demeter Ballroom at Adonis Luxury Resort. Be there promptly.”

“I have work that evening, Blanche,” Naomi said sweetly.

“Promptly!” Blanche snapped. “I hope that he will gimmick and make nonsense… and for god’s sake, make sure he is clean. Throw him in a bucket and swish him around.”

“Of course he’ll be clean,” said Naomi. Her voice lowered conspiratorially. “Please, John, don’t mind her. For Blanche, everything is a scene.”

“This is not a scene.” Blanche’s eyes flicked over Naomi’s shoulder. “Now I am very sorry, but I must go…”

Naomi grabbed her by the wrists. “Oh, don’t leave so quickly, darling. Wouldn’t you like to stop for a bite to eat?”

John set his jaw.

Blanche glanced at John. “Not for the world. Until we meet again.”

She strode away, snapping her purse shut with a note of finality. John leaned toward Naomi as they sat down.

“What the hell was her problem?”

“Blanche is one of the top-billing actresses in the city,” said Naomi, taking a sip of wine. “She expects everyone to react accordingly.”

“Tell me you’re not really taking me to her fucking party.”

“Of course I am. Oh, don’t give me that face. There will be two or three hundred people there, maybe more. You won’t see much of her and it will be a fine debut for you. In fact, I welcome you to break your silence. Tell as many stories as you like. Feel free to embellish them…”

He looked at her blankly.

“I mean that you should lie and exaggerate, darling. Look, don’t take her so seriously. She is past her prime and these days she’s running on her name alone. It’s only a matter of time before she can’t find anything at all.” She smiled. “Unless she’s willing to take parts for meddling aunts and the like. And if I know Blanche, she’d rather die.”

“You don’t like her, then?”

“I don’t like or dislike her. She’s a connection, that’s all. I owe her a little for taking me underneath her wing early in my career, and we help each other from time to time.”

“So you have no friends.”

“In your sense?” She smiled. “No.”

*******

Friday evening, after a whole day of nothing but art exhibits and promenades, John attended Naomi’s play—a romantic comedy called “A Ballyhoo in Boston.” Showings were weekend affairs staged at a theater called Fleet Hall in Fort Frolic, a theater John’s eyes had slid over before—just more grandeur struggling for definition amongst grandeur.

He fought his way through the paparazzi all the way to the ticket booth. Once he popped past the ushers, the mass of humanity on the other side assaulted him with programs and pencils. Only when a handful of ushers stepped up was he able to escape up the narrow stairs to his private box.

He drew the curtain and sat in the back rubbing his face. He felt distracted, nervy, off-kilter; below, a sea of top-hats and chiffon, strange faces peering up at him with mild curiosity. He ended up scooting all the way to the back of the box until the lights fell. The orchestra welled up and the curtains swept away. At first, all he could see were the silhouettes of what might have been buildings; then the colored lights burst on.

He’d never seen anything like it. The sets were a caricature of turn-of-the-century Americana; the players sported bushy handlebar mustaches and bustles, rushed along below oversized posters for minstrel shows, and tended real horses pulling real carriages. He slowly migrated from the back of the box to the front.

Soon enough, he leaned over the balustrade, mouth hanging open. The plot went right over his head. There was so much going on in the backgrounds, so many interesting little details peeping out behind open doors and false storefronts, acrobats hanging on wires and dancers on rooftops, and an orchestral score that swelled up in themes strangely striking and fresh. He only really started hearing dialogue 15 minutes in, and he missed Naomi’s entrance completely; it took him halfway through the play to pick her out. There were a lot of blondes, and almost everyone wore hats.

Near the end, as the mistaken beaus stood alongside a puffing life-sized train considering their headlong flight into the country, Naomi rushed out of the wings with her skirts in her fists. The orchestra rattled off her footsteps, chased her down with tympani and snare, rolled up behind her in a building brassy cloud.

It was so easy to forget, just for a little while, that life couldn’t always be like this: every human being heralded in song, every color rich enough to drink, every detail an artisan’s dream. Oh, that the whole world could be one great big sensible misunderstanding tied up with a pretty bow.

*******

They returned to Naomi’s apartment by 8:30. He found himself staring out the bathysphere window into the city feeling oddly high. At first, it was delicious; he had been unhappy for so long—and hadn’t realized it was unhappiness—that he welcomed the momentary madness. All of Rapture seemed brighter, more colorful. Every person was a character; every object was a piece of art; every color was so deep and richly saturated he fancied he could sink into them.

Then they walked through the apartment door.

“We’re gonna be late,” John said, squinting at the clock.

He cut himself off. His voice didn’t feel real; his words felt scripted. When had he become an actor in his own life?

“I know, darling,” Naomi said. “There’s no helping it. I’m not going to starve for Blanche.” She looked over her shoulder. “I’m going to use the shower first.”

“Ladies first,” he said, shrugging.

The tension was back.

Naomi immediately disappeared into her bathroom. The shower hissed on.

John did not immediately move. Instead, taking a deep and shuddering breath, he rolled out his shoulders, closed his eyes, just stood and thought nothing. He concentrated on his breathing:

In. One, two, three. Out.

In…

Out.

He followed the tension from the tips of his toes up his legs, into his hips, into his belly, up his spine, then back down again. Jules had taught him to do it early on in his training when he got too worked up.

“It can be scary down there,” said Jules. “When it’s dark, when you can’t see for shit. Don’t worry about the oxygen and just breathe. You can’t do a damn thing if you’re panicking.”

The air kicked on with a loud hum.

John let his breath out, shook out his hands, dropped to the couch, lit a cigarette. The nicotine drifted over him like a blanket.

“What comes after this?” he asked himself.

He tried to think of people who’d been famous for, say, a month or two. How long had he been aware of them in papers? On the news? Some of them appeared only once, then disappeared without a sound. Where had they gone to? What were their lives like afterward? Tragedies aside, he’d suspected that most of them had gone back to the invisible labors of everyday life, and that their fame became a fun five-minute story at family barbecues.

But after fame dropped him here?

Couldn’t dive.

Couldn’t work in the Bounty.

Back when Jules had started training him, he’d thought he would have at least two decades of work, injuries permitting. Now he was stuck: there were no railcars out of Rapture. He could weld and he was handy with a toolbox, sure, but welding paid peanuts compared to salvage. And in a place like this, peanuts would kill him.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Gotta start job-hunting now or I really will be shit out of luck.”

Then the black-and-white images of the Hercules popped back up in his head. In his imagination, he could almost feel the weight of the ocean, and the water shivered with unseen scavengers creeping many-legged…

He turned on the television, cranking the volume all the way up. For a while, he watched a mystery serial. None of it was clicking; the actors were just noise and cutouts. Out of the corner of his eye, the front door beckoned.

You could just leave, he thought. You could just fucking go. Right now. Fuck Naomi and her shitty friends. Not like she could do any take-backs.

Memories of the slum tunnels and their visceral stink slapped him in the face. He winced.

What do you want to bet you end up there anyway? he thought.

Maybe Naomi was right. Learn the city a little bit, make some good connections while he could, enjoy himself before the inevitable descent. Put the shitty parts of his brain in the box. Kick it back under the lockers for now. Why not? It wasn’t like he was forgetting them. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t take care of it. Just not now.

Before he could follow the thought further, a news reporter rattled off his alias. He glanced down. The screen flickered to an afternoon entertainment news broadcast with highlights. There was a shot of him sawing at his steak.

“I wasn’t moping,” he said under his breath.

Eventually, the shower switched off. The cabinet clattered and drawers slammed. The clock chimed the hour. Count on a dame to take an eternity; he’d probably get himself ready in 15 minutes. He flipped a paper open to the classifieds and picked up his trusty magnifying glass.

He had worked through a couple columns and circled a number of promising leads when the bathroom door swung open. He didn’t look; he had averted his eyes all week even though she had been practically mummified in towels. Not his business. He was starting to think she should be nobody’s business. He traced a column with his pen.

Her soft white hand dropped on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Job-hunting,” he said, flipping the paper closed. “You won’t be my meal ticket forever.”

“Oh?” She leaned over his shoulder. Her breasts drooped beside his ear, hugged in gold.

He jumped back. He had just swung around to tell her to cut it out when he met her eyes.

His breath caught in his throat. The way she leaned was indecent. Those naked shoulders, that heaving bosom. Gold webbed around her throat. Her lips were wet and red and slightly parted, and over her ears twisted gold leaves speckled in pearls.

He slapped the paper down over his lap.

“Don’t do that,” he said. His voice cracked.

“You need to use the bathroom, I’m sure,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, rising to his feet, folding up his newspaper officiously. “Quick shower.”

“You’re not going to shower with the paper, I hope,” she said.

He tossed it on her bureau and ducked in. When he caught his reflection in the mirror, he jabbed a finger at himself.

“Don’t you dare,” he whispered, and thrust off his jacket.

*******

When he stepped out in evening dress—fresh-shaven, hair slicked back, spinning his hat on an index finger—she was still leaning on the couch watching television. She did not look at him, but even so, he felt that something had changed. Something like the wink, he thought. Like a door had been opened. He was being included, somehow, and she was doing this without looking at him.

“Are you done?” she asked, swaying upright.

God, did the dress have to hug her like that? He wracked his brain for her last outfits and couldn’t think of any of them. They’d been outfits, that was all. Nice-looking ones, sure, she was definitely a pretty bird, but…

She took his hand.

“You’re thinking again,” she said, slapping him on the arm. “Stop that.”

Her smile was intoxicating. Damn, and the musk she wore. Fucking primal. Was this what it had been like for Annie when he had smiled at her? Fuck, he hated it. He’d never do it again.

As she led him out the door and locked it, committing them to the flash and pop of the paparazzi, he collected himself. There was no reason to start thinking of her any differently. He knew what she was and she knew he knew. Just breathe and keep walking. It wasn’t going to be forever.

But then she took his arm. She nestled into his side just right, fitting the straight lines of his body without even trying. The heat of her skin, the rise and fall of her ribs, the thud of her heart…

Suddenly they were halfway to the metro. He was time traveling. Her breasts pressed against his arm and he had to make a concentrated effort not to look.

My god, the boys would think I was sick, he thought.

“I thought you hated me,” he said as they ducked into the bathysphere.

“Whatever made you think that?” she asked, punching her ID and hitting the button for Adonis Luxury Resorts.

“You don’t have friends, just… business partners.”

“And they can be quite enjoyable partnerships, too.”

“Look, I’m just trying to ask you to stop hanging all over me.”

“Darling, we’re just playing a part.” She curled up against him as they sat down.

“Nobody can see us here,” he said, shifting away. “Why the hell should we play a part here?”

“It’s practice.” She shifted into him. “Oh, do stop worrying. Let’s just try to enjoy each other’s company. After all, we have to stick together for such a long time.”

Even her voice had changed, although he couldn’t have said how. Were his eyes wet? Was he going to fucking cry? Jesus. He forced his gaze out of the window. Even there, he couldn’t escape her. Her reflection lit a cigarette and the orange light flickered across her cheeks. Did she know he was staring at her? Fuck, how could she not? He’d always known when the girls were looking at him, hadn’t he? Shit, and he’d savored it. No reason to think she wasn’t doing the same.

He tried to remember her heels on Gerard’s forehead. He tried to remember the way she turned off at lunch.

“You’re quiet,” she said at last. “You aren’t thinking again, I hope.”

Yep, there was that faint note of satisfaction. Good, now he hated himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said flatly. “You look very nice tonight.”

She tossed her head back and laughed. The pearls shivered in her hair.

“Is that all!” she said. “I hope so!”

The bathysphere dinged and ground into arms of steel, bumping as it docked. He turned to snap something about how that’s not what he meant and she knew it, but the bathysphere lurched as it rose and jolted him into her side. He met her eyes. She met his. She brushed his cheeks with her lashes and her breath was hot and wet on his throat.

And then the bathysphere shuddered, the door creaked open, and she drew him into a hail of flashbulbs.

Blinding. Like walking onto the surface of the sun. Squinting, arm up over his eyes, he finally made out the wall—rosy marble, pinstriped wallpaper, and a massive oil painting with the same square footage as his first apartment. Its subjects: a dozen nubile women falling out of bedsheets.

John had just parsed what might’ve been a nipple when Naomi yanked him down the hall. Royal purples and velvet mauves and gold trim: if Fort Frolic had been the burlesque dancer of Rapture, Adonis Luxury Resort was the Carnegie. Marble nudes and satyrs stared lifelessly from false forests. Above grand entryways were fish arcing beneath blazing sunbursts, and the floors were geometric roses. Naomi craned her neck around him to peer down a hall. Her throat was so smooth, so slender! The muscle tensed beneath the gold. God, he just wanted to…

“Oh, John, we’ll have to come here next,” she said, squeezing his arm. “This is the wing for the ballrooms and restaurants—there are saunas and pools lower down. Don’t you think that would be enjoyable?”

“Yeah,” he said, and pulled back. He had started leaning down toward her. Why was he letting her hug his arm like that? How dare she hang from his elbow with that familial ease? It hurt him, it was so pleasant: he thought of Jules laughing at him from the wheelhouse.

Just past the crowd was one of the omnipresent glass walls. He could see Neptune’s Bounty swelling out of the gloom, windows gold and green; just beyond it, the Welcome Center towers lit up in silver and blue.

“Does this connect to the Bounty?” he said.

“There’s one tunnel, yes,” said Naomi, her voice darkening. “Why do you ask?”

“Just don’t want the law to think I’m coming here on purpose.”

She laughed. “Why would they think that? You’re a philosophy-abiding citizen now.”

“I guess I am.”

He laughed, and to his shock, she laughed with him. He started smiling at her. He started smiling at her! He was going to hell! He was an idiot! She was going to push him into a meat grinder! And still, without even meaning to, John had relaxed into her touch, hands tucked in his pockets. The heat in his belly built up into his chest, down between his thighs.

Hell, they were like… they were like friends, almost.

It won’t be forever, he thought. She knows it. I know it. Maybe we can just have a little fun. That’s all it is. Fun never lasts forever.

A weight was lifting away from him. He stood straighter, looser. They shouldered through a hallway filled with journalists, dames like peacocks, and a hundred identical Mr. Moneybags. He was one of them, too. No one would have been able to tell the difference unless they shook his hand; his calluses would cut them in half. Suddenly he wished he’d worn gloves.

At some point, they were no longer fighting for space, but being pushed by a current of humanity. They dragged a long train of interested passersby who peered at John like he was a lion at the zoo. Whispers followed in their wake. The only thing John could pick out with certainty was the whisper, “Is that him? Is that really him?”

Naomi kept walking as though she could not hear them. As for John, he was beginning to feel claustrophobic and light-headed. Suddenly he was grateful that she held him. She knew where to go. She was taking him to the place he needed to be. He didn’t have to think about it: it was in its box, it was waiting for its time; every deed had its time. Besides, his debts were paid. Oh, thank god, thank god, the weight rose off of him, it bounced with the cigarette smoke on the ceiling. Was he smiling? Was she smiling back? What was that word she mouthed at him?

The high-class mob squeezed them through the hallway, faster and faster, like water through a sluice, flowing madcap past pink and satyrs and flowers and servants in matching suits, until they were swept into a ballroom.

John whistled as they stepped onto the landing.

An entire wall of the ballroom looked out upon a garden shimmering with bioluminescence. The pillar in the center of the room had been carved to look like a tree. Its branches glowed with lanterns, birds, apples, and leaves of bright and glittering glass. The ceiling was painted like a sunlit sky with scudding clouds and putti as pink and lumpy as ham hocks. At the foot of the pillar was a bar sculpted to look like a hedge, and around the bar spun a hundred couples resplendent in rainbows. The floor reflected the painted heaven back at itself. On the stage, a woman in red sequins hovered over her microphone, and her voice welled out like amber, like coffee, like rich earth. Behind her was an orchestra, a pianist flying over ivory. Some song he’d heard somewhere. He couldn’t place it.

Blanche swept out of the crowd toward them.

“There you are,” she said. “You are late!”

“I told you, darling, I worked tonight.”

“I said ‘promptly,’” Blanche said, “and I meant ‘promptly.’ If you will inform the muck-digger that he should close his mouth, as he looks like a fish.”

John snapped his mouth shut and gave her a stink-eye.

Blanche had gowned herself in an ivory floor-length number and had thrown a mink stole around her naked shoulders. Now that he gave her a second look, he saw what Naomi had mentioned: faint lines in her cheeks, the touch of crow’s feet, the old woman pressing through—death taking its due.

“Oh, don’t be cruel!” Naomi dragged John toward Blanche, glowing like a star. She kissed Blanche on the cheek and rattled off a line of French.

With a shock, John felt the shape of jealousy balling up in his gut.

“As long as you have the gimmick,” said Blanche, turning to the crowd.

Now, in addition to John’s train of followers, some curious ignorants bunched up in the door to listen to Blanche, and a ruckus kicked up in the hall as the crowd backed up.

“I have an announcement to make,” Blanche called out. She clapped a few times. “An announcement!”

When nobody paid attention, she flung up her naked arm and snapped her fingers. John nearly jumped out of his skin: her eyes flashed and a long thin flame burst above her pointing finger.

“What the hell!” John said.

Everyone started laughing.

“This is Johnny Topside, as I promised,” Blanche said.

They fell upon him chattering. The fumes from their perfume and cologne and tobacco choked him. He coughed and backpedaled, nearly losing Naomi, only to bump into a wall of people extending their hands. The voices were an unintelligible roar.

“Damn you, Blanche!” he said.

Blanche plucked a cigarette-holder from her purse and laughed. Soon, he lost sight of her in the mass of people. Naomi was his foundation. She propped him up; she pressed part of the throng back with obsequious smiles and an out-flung hand. He clenched her arm like she could save him.

He had no idea of half of what they asked him; he shook dozens of hands, politely declined to dance, and gave vague answers to breathless young men asking about his adventures. And the women—they were everywhere, of every age, from grand dames to starry-eyed girls. Soft hands touched his. Soft hands on his arms, soft heaving bosoms, soft bright-eyed girls in every color, every shape, bejeweled and smiling, and Naomi—

Naomi crushed his arm to her waist. Her fingers slipped between his fingers; her hip melted into his hip.

“All right, all right!” John said at last. “Everyone pipe down. I can only answer one question at a time.”

The crowd erupted into questions again.

“I’ll ask!” he said. “You.” He pointed at the prettiest girl in the circle—a hazel-eyed brunette in dark blue. A golden net winked in her hair. Naomi’s grip threatened to cut off circulation to his hand.

The brunette blushed. “Did you really fight all of the smugglers in Neptune’s Bounty?” she asked.

The crowd shifted and he saw Blanche again, glaring at him with thinly-veiled contempt.

“Uh, not really,” he said. “Maybe I should start at the beginning.”

John had just told the crowd how he’d been ground into the seafloor by the submersible when Blanche reached through the crowd, grabbed him by the arm, and yanked him through the throng. Her nails dug into his elbow like the teeth of a rat; Naomi staggered along with them both.

John hissed and the crowd grumbled.

“Oh, Blanche!” said the pearl-haired girl. “He was telling us a story!”

“You are clogging the way, muck-man,” Blanche said. “Down to the dance floor, if you please.”

“Blanche, don’t be so rough,” said Naomi. “You just have to ask.” John ripped his arm away. “Exactly.”

“Go,” said Blanche, pointing down the stairs.

“I just managed to get it organized,” John said as they turned down the stairs.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think she’d just jump in like that,” said Naomi. His hand ached where she squeezed it.

Soon storytelling was the last thing on John’s mind. He moved slowly down the stairs, shaking hands as he went. Naomi introduced each person; here was a famous producer, here was a great actor, here was a businessman who made more money a day than John had in ten years. John forgot them as soon as he met them. There were too many. Every time he said hello to one group of partygoers, another glittering wave swept up to meet him.

Naomi tugged him toward the bar when they reached the bottom of the staircase.

“He’s getting tired, I think,” she said. “Wouldn’t you like a drink, darling?”

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Please!”

The crowd laughed.

“It’s on me,” said an oily shrimp with a camera. He had a face like a weasel and a Jersey accent.

“Who’re you?” John asked.

“Stanley Poole, Rapture Tribune,” said the little man, offering his hand. It was sweaty and a little greasy. John shook it and wished he hadn’t.

“You here for an interview?” John asked, wiping his hand off on his pants. Naomi pursed her lips and dug a handkerchief out of her handbag.

“Natch,” Stanley said, smiling. His hair was slicked back with Brilliantine and his scrawny neck stuck out like a box turtle’s. John immediately had the sensation that the man was thrashed regularly as a child.

“Maybe later,” John said, leaning into Naomi. “I’m a little shell-shocked.”

“All right,” Stanley said. “Understandable.” He laughed. It was an ugly, horsey sound. “Here, maybe a drink’ll calm your nerves. Bartender—you got some of that Allson’s Orchard Limited, red, 1948?” He passed a hundred-dollar bill to the bartender.

“That’s okay, really,” said John. “I’ll just have a beer.”

The crowd around John laughed as though he had uttered a joke.

“Yeah?” said the bartender. “Which one?”

“A Schlitz?”

The crowd laughed even harder. Naomi blushed.

John blinked. “What’s funny?”

“You’ll like it,” said Stanley, pushing the drink over to John.

John nodded to him and picked up the fluted glass. He sipped it, smacked his lips, and raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

“Like it? Yeah? Mind if I take a picture?” Stanley asked.

“Sure, go ahead,” said John. “You’re going to take one anyway.”

Everyone laughed again. John wished they wouldn’t. He felt like they were all privy to a joke he didn’t know.

The camera popped; the flash left stars in his eyes.

Grimacing, John took a quick swig of the wine. The crowd laughed again, but he laughed with them. He rolled his shoulders as he set the glass down.

In…

Hold…

Out.

“So what did you want to know?” John asked.

“That’s just what I wanted to hear.” Stanley set a dictaphone between them, then flipped out his notepad and pen. “First things first. You’re the Naomi Lucas, right?”

“Yes.” She smiled prettily. “I’m a friend of Blanche’s.”

“Fantastic.” Stanley scribbled something down. “You’re movin’ fast.”

“Why not?” Naomi said, squeezing John’s arm.

“Jesus,” John said.

The crowd laughed again.

“So, Johnny Topside. The Rapture populace wants to know,” said Poole. “Where do you come from? Are you a spy? An explorer? Or did you come here by accident?”

“Maybe I should begin at the beginning,” John said. “Just to set the story straight.”

The crowd grew silent. Even the bartender leaned toward him.

“That would be fantastic,” Stanley said, and pressed the button on his dictaphone.

*******

The story took much longer than John thought it would, mostly because he kept getting dragged down rabbit holes. He told them about his dives on Spanish galleons and modern shipwrecks, as well as his last near-death experience, when his air hose had fouled during bad weather in shark-infested waters.

The crowd around him posed questions; sometimes they spoke too loudly or too much, and John had to repeat himself. By the end of his tale he had managed to drink the wine and two small glasses of cognac and had accepted several cigarettes that were quite clearly made with real tobacco. Three filled glasses sat by his side waiting to be drunk. He felt pleasantly warm, relaxed; he couldn’t imagine why he had ever been on edge. All these plump, soft-handed paper-pushers? Sometimes he fancied that he loomed above them and they were the sizes of kittens.

Naomi sipped a glass of wine, leaning on his shoulder. For once, he was glad she was there. He didn’t know if he could have stood being there alone, the heavy eyes of strangers boring into him.

Stanley finally punched the button on his dictaphone and closed his notepad.

“Thanks, bud,” he said. “Mind if I call you ‘bud’?”

“Nah.” John shook his hand. “Thanks for the drinks.”

“It’s no problem,” said Stanley, slipping him his card. “Keep in touch.”

Stanley dropped off of his stool and disappeared into the crowd; it closed around him and crushed in toward John, hands extending pieces of paper and pens, a hundred mouths calling out his name. John backed into the bar.

“Whoah!” he said, stuffing the business card in his pocket. “Give me a second!”

“Why don’t we dance?” whispered Naomi in his ear, and then yanked him through the crowd. It broke around them grudgingly.

“S-sure?” John said. “Good god, is this the way it’s gonna be all night?”

“Oh, no, of course not.” Naomi patted him on the cheek.

Naomi swept him to the edge of the dance floor. The song was a swing number that he did not recognize. He perked up.

“Good tune,” he said.

“That’s Anna Culpepper and her orchestra,” Naomi whispered in his ear. “She’s an acquaintance of mine.”

“Do you know everybody in show business?” John asked.

“I try to. Shall we dance?”

She took him by each hand, gently wrapping his left around her waist. When she lifted his right—gently, instructively—he realized she thought she was going to teach him something.

So the minute the music hit an upbeat, he whipped off into a swing step, sore foot be damned. She stumbled after him with a squeal and for a few seconds struggled to keep up. He was gratified to see her mouth fall open.

“You—you know how to dance?” she said.

“Sure. This isn’t my first rodeo.” He hooked his arm around her waist, thrusting his hips up a mere inch from hers. He leaned in close. “What if I told you I took lessons?”

Just as she shuddered, he swept her away.

This time, his crooked grin landed. Her eyes lanced into his; she bit her lips. She wasn’t as fast or smooth or precise as he was, and frankly, he didn’t give a damn.

“How inventive do you want to get?” he asked when he swung her close again.

“Oh,” she said, blushing. “I’m… not right now.”

“You need me to slow down? Maybe downgrade to a little foxtrot?”

“No!” Her blush was doing something to him. “But do you know how we dance in Rapture?”

She almost sounded frantic.

He leaned in close, pressing his cheek against hers. He felt her sharp intake of breath more than heard it.

“Show me,” he said.

There were deep red grooves where her nails had dug into his hand earlier; now all she did was hook him with the pads of her fingers. There before the coral garden, she gripped his hands, she scuffed at his feet with her pretty white pumps, she counted out loud. He picked it up in minutes, and soon they swung off together to the beat on the edge of the dance floor, then into it.

God, it felt good. Without warning, he cast his worries and fears out into space, reunited with his body, and was free. It felt good to fall into a rhythm, to whirl with the surge of trumpets, work in all that subtle sway to his hips and knees, to match the beat of the drums with his feet. And it felt good to feel watched—for he was good and he knew he was good. He noted out of the corner of his eye how others were looking at him—women and men both—and he leaned into it. The whip-snap precision of heel to toe, the way he swayed with his whole body, the complementary swing of his limbs, the arch of his back. Stanley Poole was one of the watchers, standing next to one of those ubiquitous Moneybags, with his camera on his hip and his hands in his pockets.

Let them laugh at him about his booze and background as much as they wanted. He’d show them up here.

As the song rushed to its tumultuous end—the throb of drums, the crescendo of trumpets, Culpepper with her hands trembling on either side of the mike, her eyes closed as she surrendered to one rapturous note—he yanked Naomi tightly against his body, then dipped her, and she stared up at him so starstruck that he started laughing. One curl had broken free of his pomade and bobbed over his right eye. He let her go. She staggered back from him, hands on her cheeks. Dancers were clapping for the band, but a fair number were looking at him. He pretended not to see.

“Oh my god,” she said.

“I feel like a drink,” he said, offering his arm. “How about you?”

She hooked her arm in his. “Oh, absolutely.”

He drank some wine, watching the other dancers twirl. Naomi leaned into him, breast heaving, gleaming with sweat, and he tucked his arm around her waist. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he was standing on his own.

He hadn’t stood there long before a host of pretty girls swarmed up, begging for the next dance. Naomi’s hand clenched at his arm.

“Sure,” he said, and patted Naomi on the hand. “I’ll be right back. You were going to talk to some people, right?”

He danced with every girl who asked, watching Naomi seethe from a distance. He was finally warm. The lights were melting stars; heaven was cloaked in bumping clouds; when he eyed Naomi, the light had smeared around her hair in rays. He had a cocktail no one told him the name of, and then someone gave him another champagne. The tastes all ran together. He didn’t care. The faces of strangers disappeared in a haze. All he could see were smiling faces. Everyone liked him, and he liked them. Eventually he returned to the bar, sopping with sweat. Naomi clung to him like a barnacle. She laughed at every joke he cracked, even if it wasn’t funny; she gazed up at him with sweet smiles and stroked his arm.

After an hour or two of dancing and free booze, winded and weary and buzzing, Naomi and John finally stumbled to a table overlooking the garden. In the dusky evening lighting, the kelp and coral glowed, and strange lights flashed in alien patterns between the waving leaves.

John set his hand against the window. It was ice cold, but the sensation was good against his hand. An inexpressible longing passed over him.

“Are you all right?” Naomi asked, nestling against him.

“Yeah.” He quickly turned back to her and wiped his hand off on his pants. “Don’t know what came over me.”

She bit her lip and looked out at the garden with him. “Darling, this is a bit off topic, but…”

“But what?”

“I have a question about your story.”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“You mentioned taking pictures.” She looked up at him. “What happened to the camera? You said that you took it with you, but you never said where it went.”

“I hid it.”

“Why would you do that?” she said.

“They said I had a duffel bag on the news program. I had to drop it off.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” She looked at him closely. “Would you like me to go get it for you?”

John hesitated. “You’d do that for me?”

“Certainly. I’m sure the camera holds sentimental value for you. Didn’t your friend make it just for you?”

He looked away. Something clenched in his gut. All glory and gladness melted away.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

When he spoke again, it was in a whisper. “It’s behind a vending machine in the Welcome Center, in the lobby above the bathysphere dock.” John leaned in close. “You’d really get it for me?”

“Oh, of course! Nobody can stop me from going to the Welcome Center.”

“God, thank you,” he said.

“It’s my pleasure,” she said.

Before John could react, she kissed him on the cheek. Her eyelashes tickled.

A flashbulb went off and John jumped. He glanced over his shoulder to see Stanley Poole fiddling with his camera, and behind him, several crestfallen girls.

“Don’t look at him,” said Naomi softly.

“What was that for?” John whispered.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I suppose you could think of it as a reward for doing so well tonight.”

“What makes you think I wanted that?” he said.

She laughed and did not answer.

*******

The return to Naomi’s apartment seemed to take longer than before. The tunnels stretched out for miles and miles, and the railcars slumbered like giant pill-bugs beneath the ribbed glass. It was almost homey, even if the cold had returned. When strangers passed, he did not think of them. He was one of them now.

The hallway was stable for the most part, but every now and then it swayed gently. They staggered together. He couldn’t remember how many drinks he’d had. How much had Naomi drunk? He couldn’t remember her drinking more than two glasses of wine, but maybe that was because he had been concentrating on the crowd.

“Damn it, I don’t want to be drunk,” he said.

“Oh, you’re not that drunk,” she said. “You’re just a little tipsy.”

John stumbled into her. She propped him up, cooing.

“I don’t want to be tipsy.”

“I like you tipsy,” she said. “You’re not so serious, and I get to see that real smile.”

“The hell are you flirting with me for?” he asked, laughing.

She blushed and squeezed his hand.

They wobbled up to her doorway, laughing louder and louder. John was still snickering, tears in his eyes, as Naomi drew out her purse and turned to face him.

“Thank you for walking me home, Mr. Topside. Would you like to come in?”

“If you’re willing, miss.” He leaned toward her. She leaned back. She uncurled one hand against his chest, the other on the doorknob.

“I have to open the door first,” she said, teasing the key from her purse. He missed the pressure of her palm.

“You tease,” he slurred, slipping his arms around her waist.

She pressed back into the cradle of his hips. He buried his face into her hair and took a deep breath. Lilac perfume, and beneath it, the pleasant scent of her sweat.

She sighed; one hand stroked up underneath his jacket, her knuckles dragging against his sweat-dampened shirt.

“Hmm,” she said. “You scoundrel. At this rate we shall astound the neighbors.”

He nipped her ear. Her skin was hot, her sweat was bitter with perfume…

She turned the key in the lock—slowly, taking her time—and then turned the knob, gently. The door swung open. She pushed it open, fraction by fraction…

John kicked off.

Shrieking and laughing, they stumbled into the apartment. The door swung shut behind them. It was lightless; she was only a silhouette against the windows, through which he could see the lights of the city on parade. She whirled upon him in the darkness and her mouth pressed against his with so much fire that it spun his head. Her hands slipped underneath his jacket and she began to unbutton his shirt with rapid-fire precision. John’s hands stroked down her back, hunting for a zipper.

They broke apart momentarily, gasping for breath and fumbling with each others’ clothing. John abandoned the search for the zipper and yanked her gown up over her knees. He lost his grip when they staggered backward, laughed stupidly, righted themselves against the sofa. She kicked off her heels and fumbled at his belt. He kissed her down her cheek, down her throat, down her collarbone. They lingered there, kissing roughly. He cradled her head in his hands, running his fingers through her hair. Her crown pricked at his fingers.

“I shall be the first lady in Rapture to have you,” she whispered in his ear.

“Lucky you,” he whispered.

Before he could finish his thought, she shoved his slacks off. He snapped the buckles on her garter—cradled the plump round of her ass—shoved her against the cold window and kissed her. The lights of the city haloed her silhouette like fireworks and set her hair on fire with a thousand colors.

UPRISING: BLACK SCRAPBOOK HUB

#bioshock #bioshock 2 #johnny topside #stanley poole #anna culpepper #blanche de glace #bet you haven't thought of blanche in years if at all #and that's fine she's meaningless lol #fanfiction #uprising #so I know what the Demeter Ballroom actually looks like. It does not look like this #I spent so much time getting everything right in all of these other respects but in this one I was like #what if were cooler #I was inspired by that BS2 ad where Delta stalks through a bunch of dancing ADAM ghosts #very big busy ballroom loved the scale #also not much sets Adonis apart from the rest of the city so I decided to amp it up a bit #I still undercooked this party unfortunately. rich people have horrifyingly good times and it's easy as a poor motherfucker to underestimat #also ended up splitting this into two chapters. it's way too hefty

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bleachanimefan1 · 2 years ago

Text

YAMS Part Twenty Seven

Going Down,

SYSTEMS REBOOTING 98 percent, 99 percent...100%.

Monty groaned as he opened his eyes only to see a bright blinding light. He tried to move but he could raise his arms or his legs as they were strapped down as he was held down to parts and services chair. He was in Parts and Services. Wait, legs? Monty tried to run his last memory bank of the last thing he remembered. He fell off the catwalk and slamming into a support beam, losing his legs as he was split in two then fell onto the ground before his systems crashed. Now he was here tied down like an animal.

"You're awake. That's good. Maybe you can give us some answers." Monty's eyes immediately shot up towards the glass of the cylinder containment that he was in to see Ayla standing next to the control console, along with the rest of the Glamrocks, Gregory and the Daycare attendants Sun and Moon. Monty shifted his eyes over to Ayla, glaring at her and he struggled as he tried to break out of his restraints. She was no different than those employees and corporate higher ups that work here.

"Let me out!" He demanded.

"I'll only let you out the chair. But you're staying in there until we get some answers." Ayla told him. Monty blinked in confusion but gave a short nod and Ayla pressed the button on the console. The restraints flipped off of the gator's wrists and legs, releasing him. Monty slowly stood up, keeping his eyes on everyone else.

"You're all a bunch of cowards! Safe standing outside of this protective glass while I'm locked in here! If I could break out of here, I would rip you all to shreds!"

"Big talk for a gator who got their legs broken, again." Roxy snorted. Monty glared at Roxy who only snarled back at him.

"While I was repairing you and fixing your legs, I was searching through your data. You don't have the virus installed in you that everyone else has that made them go crazy. Why is that?" Monty didn't answer.

"Maybe we should give him a control shock?" Foxy suggested. Monty's eyes widened at that word and he growled at Foxy.

"Foxy! How could you suggest such a thing!?" Chica frowned at him.

"We're not doing that. But we will just leave him in here if he doesn't tell us what he need to know. No one will know that you're down here. Your battery will slowly drain out and you'll be decommissioned." Ayla replied. Monty's eyes widened at her words and Ayla continued. "Unless you help us and tell us what we need to know." Monty looked down avoiding her eyes.

"The virus. I was never infected with it when it first happened. Bonnie didn't attack me on his own, that was the virus' doing. He was just a test." Monty explained.

"Test?" Bonnie frowned before glaring at Monty angrily. "I never attacked you! You attacked me!"

"I'm confused as well. While I was fixing Bonnie, I didn't see any trace of the virus." Ayla said.

"It was erased." Monty explained. "Couldn't raise suspicion. While you were getting decommissioned, I was ordered to gather up your parts."

"But why did you do it?" Ayla asked.

"I was jealous. Everyone loved Bonnie, his merchandise was flying off the shelves, everyone always wanted his photos or autographs. I wanted my chance at the spotlight for once."

"So, you had Bonnie out of working condition so that you could take his place instead." Foxy narrowed his eyes at the gator. "I oughta skin your metal hide! Aye, better yet, Bonnie and I should show you what we have been through because of your selfish mind!"

"We'll be no better than him or the person who ordered Monty to do this." Bonnie said, softly. Foxy blinked at him.

"You were always the voice of reason, Bon Bon." Freddy smiled.

"Who ordered you do all of these things? Vanny?" Ayla asked Monty. Monty shook his head.

"No. They were only part of it. He is called master."

"He? Master? You're not making any sense, Monty." Freddy questioned. Ayla saw Moon shifted uncomfortably hearing his gears turning more faster, giving more silent clicks.

"Moon? Are you alright?" She asked him worried. Sun turned his head, looking at his brother, noticing his behavior as well.

"Moony?" He asked concerned.

"I've heard that name before. It was them who told me to all those bad things. The missing children-" Ayla's eyes widened more and she walked over to Moon, holding his hands.

"You know where the missing children are!? Where!?" She said shocked. "They're still alive!?"

"Why didn't you tell us before Moon!?" Sun shouted. Moon's eyes glowed red as he stared at Sun, irritated.

"I did! I tried to tell you back at the daycare!" He shouted in frustration. "But you wouldn't listen to me! You never do!"

"M-Moony, that's not true! I listen to you-" Sun sputtered.

"We're listening to you now, Moon. Where are the kids?" Ayla asked him.

"Deep. Down below the Pizzaplex. Vanny took them down there." He told them.

"I know what you are talking about." Freddy said.

"Freddy? What do you mean?" Gregory asked him.

"What the daycare attendant has said. I have very faint memories of being somewhere else other than the Mega Pizzaplex. The others down there, they are angry."

"Others?" Ayla questioned.

"Then let's go down there and get the kids and get them out!" Bonnie said.

"What do we do about him?" Roxy asked pointing to Monty. Ayla walked over to the glass container, looking at Monty.

"Listen you have a chance to do the right thing. Help us save the kids and I won't say anything to get you decommissioned." She offered.

"Nothing can stand up to him." Monty replied. "He wants you and the kid. Just turn yourselves in. No one else needs to get hurt."

"I know that you don't want to hurt anyone either. I saw brief second of it in your eyes when I was doing maintenance work on you in your room." Ayla told him. Monty stayed quiet. "If we don't do anything more kids are going to keep disappearing. The Pizzaplex could get shut down then we all lose everything."

"Alright. I'm in. But don't say that I didn't warn you." Monty answered. Suddenly, an alarm went off on Freddy as he continued to beep.

"Gregory, It is 6:00! You can leave the Pizzaplex now! You must go!" He shouted. Gregory looked at him.

"Freddy! Come with me!" He pulled on the animatronic's arm, but Freddy didn't budge. Freddy's eyes drifted down sadly. "I cannot leave. I must stay here. If I don't, my battery, it'll run out." He bent down and placed a hand on Gregory's shoulder. "But you can." Gregory shook his head.

"I'm not leaving!" Freddy blinked softly before nodding and smiled.

"Then let's finish this together."

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heloisedaphnebrightmore · 4 years ago

Text

Possibilities [Tom Hiddleston x Reader]

Title: Possibilities Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Female!Reader Word count: 3k Published: 6 July 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Warnings: Mention of food and alcohol Summary: Tom and you have been friends for a long time and because of that same reason you value your friendship more than to ruin it with some silly feelings. But the event you attend together offers you some surprises that might change your relationship forever.

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Events, galas, award ceremonies. You weren't a popular actress nor a famous singer, or social media influencer. You had a simple 9-5 job that would hardly ever get you into these events. But regardless of your status in society, you were known and not because of any talent you possessed that could have made you famous, but because your best friend was none-other than Tom Hiddleston.

You have been friends for years, you adored everything about the man. He was sweet and kind, always polite, but just as playful. It was a friendship you felt lucky to be in, a friendship that you held so close to your heart, it would have broken every little piece of you if it ever ended. Often, you found yourself staring at him with a little smile in the corner of your lips, watching his every move, the way he joked around with his co-stars on set, the way he exercised in the gym for a role, the way he winked at you with a mischievous smile as he caught your eyes on him.

"Do you need my autograph?" he asked with a wide grin as he opened the door of the luxurious car he booked for the event. Once again you have forgotten your eyes on him— his dashing looks, the perfectly fitted suit, the playful twinkle in his eyes. He never stopped teasing you about it.

"Shove off, Tom," you nudged him as he got out of the car and held out a hand for you, waiting for you to accept his help. So, you did. Wrapping your fingers around his hand, you let him help you out of the vehicle as you rearranged your stunning dress and ran your hand down its length to remove any creasing. Cameras were flashing, reporters' loud voices filled the pathway to the entrance, a long red carpet leading your way inside the building towering over you like a modern castle.

"If I didn't know better, I would think your interest in me goes beyond friendship," he chuckled as he held his arm out to you, waiting for yours to be placed over his, his eyes following every little movement of yours. A sudden rush of heat travelled up to your cheeks, your breathing slightly laboured as you tried to calm your heavily beating heart. He was not wrong after all. It's been years since you have been harbouring these feelings, but you hadn't had the heart to confess them. Tom was more important to you than to ruin it over some silly feelings.

Sometimes, when you caught Tom's eyes on you, watching you intently, a soft smile spread across his face, it made you think if maybe, just maybe he was harbouring similar feelings towards you. But the idea was quickly swept away by your doubts, the thought of such an amazing man falling for you seeming impossible. You knew your worth, you didn't write yourself down, but Tom has always been perfect in your eyes, and you couldn't imagine him wanting you even if at times a certain silly part of your brain whispered otherwise.

"I love your healthy self-confidence," you finally gathered your ability to be able to reply, earning a comical huff from him. You have been trying hard, to deny your romantic interest in him, but rumours about the two of you have become a reoccurring news and it didn't help your case to shove your feelings in the back of your mind.

"Ready?" He asked as his gaze turned towards the red carpet. Heaving a heavy sigh, you nodded and murmured a 'yes' as a response.

As soon as the cameras started flashing, hundreds of photos of Tom and you being taken, you conjured a sweet little smile that the tabloids loved. You were always nervous when it came to these events. It was Tom's job to answer some of the questions journalists asked of him, which meant they were to ask about your relationship. It was becoming repetitive, making you feel uncomfortable. The questions themselves didn't bother you but repeating over and over again that the man you have fallen for is merely a friend, felt like a stab in your heart, each time you responded.

"Tom! Tom!" One of the reporters shouted his name and he led you to the side of the red carpet, halting right beside the metal cordons. Questions were flying around, photos had been taken, but you didn't concentrate. Your senses were heightened as Tom pulled you in his side, his arm now wrapped around your waist, gently, but firmly holding onto you. Looking up at him, you studied his face, his ice-blue eyes focusing on the reporter, an excited smile across his face. He seemed so relaxed, so collected, meanwhile even events after events you were still nervous. As though he could feel it, he turned to you with a soft, reassuring smile, giving you a nod, silently asking if you were alright. For others, the movement could have easily been missed, but to you, it was like an earthquake, shaking your heart, making you fall even deeper for him. In a reply, you nodded and offered him a smile as you squeezed his hand that rested on your waist.

"So, Tom, this might be a bit more personal, but everyone has been talking about the two of you," he started, and your eyes immediately darted towards the man. You knew the question, heard it a thousand times already, so you prepared your heart to give the same reply as always. 'We are just friends,' you repeated time after time, hoping they would finally understand and let you be, but they didn't seem to budge. "You have been friends for a long time, and your fans have been talking about how close the two of you have become. Do you think, maybe in the future, there's a possibility for romance to blossom?" He asked with an expectant expression, a sly smile in the corner of his lips.

"As we have said before," you spoke up, ready to reply as you always did, "we—"

"You never know what the future holds for you, there are many possibilities" Tom cut in with a mischievous smile, your eyes growing wide as you looked up at him. Tom chuckled at your expression as he leaned down and kissed the top of your head. "Tell me I'm wrong," he arched a brow questioningly, his words starting your heart off at a faster pace, your cheeks feeling warmer under his intent gaze, those blue eyes you often found yourself lost in.

"Well—, I mean I can't argue with that statement," you replied, feeling slightly awkward. A confused smile started growing wider on your face as Tom led you away. "Why did you do that?" You asked as you finally stepped inside the building, his arm still resting around your waist as you headed towards a large room filled with all sorts of foods and drinks, people dancing in the middle, the dim lightning offering a rather intimate mood. "You just created even more gossip," you scolded him, but seemingly he didn't mind. He led you to a table where his name was printed on a nametag and pulled the chair out for you before he took his seat beside you.

"I didn't say anything," he smiled at you as innocently as he could manage, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

"You did. Exactly because you were so secretive, people will want to read between the lines. They will think there's more to us than friendship," you huffed as you hid your face in your palm and heaved a heavy sigh.

"And is that so bad?" He frowned, earning the same expression from you.

"What?" A silent scoff left your lungs. "What are you trying to say?"

"Is that such a big problem if people think we are together?" He asked, his confident tone stunning you.

"Of course, not. I don't care what rumours are being spread about me, but I don't want them to gossip about you," you reached for his hand on the table and wrapped your fingers around it, giving it a gentle squeeze. His expression stayed emotionless; you couldn't read him entirely, but you knew he seemed off.

"I will go grab us a drink," he said as he stood up, leaving you frowning. You weren't sure what you said that made him upset, and regardless of trying to put on a straight face, you knew he wasn't happy with your response.

You watched as he walked over to a small table filled with the most delicious looking cakes and a couple of bottles of champagne, ready for the guests before they brought out the main course. Tom grabbed a battle of champagne and two glasses, filling up both halfway, before he placed the battle back into an ice bucket.

"What is it?" You asked as he returned and gave you one of the glasses.

"What do you mean?" He asked, taking a seat beside you.

"We've known each other for quite a long time. I can read you like an open book. What's bothering you?" Trying to get him to open up, you shuffled closer to him, your chair scraping the floor, turning heads in your direction. "Oops," you scratched the back of your neck awkwardly, earning a chuckle from Tom.

"Very subtle," he mocked you.

"Don't change the subject Mr. Hiddleston," you raised a questioning brow, a tiny smile hidden in the corner of your lips.

"Nothing is bothering me," he added, but your suspicious gaze didn't falter. "I'm being honest, darling," the sly little fox knew his nickname for you would make you soften up and he used every opportunity to say it when he felt cornered.

"Fine," you squinted. "But we aren't done! I'm not blind, I can see something is on your mind."

"Yes, ma'am, I can't wait for this conversation to come back around," he mocked you once again, making you huff as you gently punched his shoulder.

Throughout the night, said conversation was forgotten, the alcohol consumption rose, the amount of people dancing around the room grew, meanwhile others sat at their tables, trying to digest the previously served delicious meals. You couldn't deny that you had a good laugh with Tom and his co-stars from all sorts of movies he had been in. It felt like a little family, people coming together to just have a joyous time.

The way Tom smiled at his friends, praising each other, before turning to mock one another forced your eyes to rest on his excited features. He looked so alive, so happy and the feeling of the man you loved being in his element meant everything to you. Tom was radiating enthusiasm and you couldn't look away as you watched his ever-growing smile, his nose scrunched up at an unexpected subject, his head falling back as a loud laughter erupted from his lungs. He was always handsome, but when he was happy, it filled you up with a certain warmth that you couldn't explain. Like you always wanted to make him happy just to be able to see that cheerful smile spread across his face.

He turned to you, catching your gaze on him once again. His arm sneaked behind you, pulling you closer and leaning down to your ear. "You are staring at me again," you couldn't see it, but you could feel his smile spreading wider.

"I like to see you happy," you shrugged with a soft smile as you leaned back to be able to meet his gaze. His smile faltered, but his eyes softened.

"Dance with me," he said as he offered his palm to you, and you placed your hand in it.

"I take no responsibility for broken toes," you said with a silent chuckle as you followed him to the dancefloor.

"Don't worry, darling, it's worth the injury," he mirrored your expression as you stopped in the middle of the dance floor. A slow, romantic song started playing in the background, his arms finding their perfect position around your waist as yours sneaked around his neck.

It was a slow and peaceful dance, not requiring much knowledge and talent. You just enjoyed each other's presence, gazes meeting, smiles forming, swaying to the slow rhythm of the music. You didn't speak a word, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. It never was with Tom. A soft smile, a quick glance, a simple gesture meant more than thousands of words when you were with him.

You laid your head against his chest, listening to his fast heartbeat, taking on a quicker pace just like yours did. "I miss you when you are not with me," he spoke for the first time as he leaned down and kissed the top of your head. You didn't move away; his embrace was too comfortable, and you couldn't care about people watching you.

"I always miss you. You are the one travelling all the time after all," you chuckled lightly, not wanting to ruin the moment.

"I could be only a mile away and I would still miss you," he replied as you pulled back a bit to meet his soft gaze, but there was no smile present across his handsome face. As the song finished, you found yourself standing in front of him, slightly confused about the conversation. "Do you want to go to the balcony? Have some fresh air?" He asked, taking on a more cheerful expression, but you knew him more than to believe it was genuine. In a response you nodded and linked your arm with his.

Following him through the sea of people, you finally arrived at the balcony, looking down to a smaller version of a park, a water fountain standing tall in its centre. You leaned against the rail as you watched the trees battling the silent wind, fallen leaves being blown across the walking path. Tom joined beside you, his eyes following the same direction as you did before they halted on your face. "You are being strange tonight," you spoke up, feeling his gaze resting on you before you turned to him, meeting his eyes.

"I'm just thinking," he added with a half-hearted smile.

"About?" You asked as you reached for his hand resting on the rail and placed yours on top of his. He turned his palm upside down and lifted your hand, hinting a small kiss on your knuckles as he heaved a heavy sigh. "Tom talk to me," you squeezed his fingers reassuringly, his eyes watching you, not leaving your gaze for a moment. "You have been rather quiet around me," you added.

His whole body turned to you, as though he was focusing his complete attention on you. Reaching towards you, he brushed your hair to the side, gently tucking it behind your ear. You leaned into the touch involuntarily, only realising your actions when he caressed your cheek with his thumb, before moving down and running it across your lips. The feeling burnt you, starting your mind off in a very dangerous territory, one that you have been avoiding. 'He is your friend' you tried to remind yourself. But once the tip of his thumb brushed along your lips once again, you couldn't stop yourself. Stepping forward, you placed your hands on his chest, steading yourself and rose on your tiptoes, pressing your lips against his.

Your own bravery surprised you, but Tom didn't seem affected. As soon as your lips met, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. He didn't hesitate, he wasn't surprised. He just held you, gently running his lips along yours, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. But as much as you wanted to enjoy the moment, realisation hit you. You were kissing your best friend. You gently pushed him away, stumbling back from the force, covering your mouth with your palm. "I'm so sorry," you breathed, panic rising in your chest. "I have no idea what happened, I don't know why I did that, I'm so sorry," your words were rushed, your heartbeat loudly pulsing in your ears.

But Tom's gaze twinkled. A soft, warm smile grew wider across his face as he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you. "I'm not," he said as he pressed his forehead against yours. "I've been wanting to kiss you," he breathed as he closed his eyes momentarily, slightly shaking his head. "I've been wanting to tell you how much I love you; I've been trying to gain the courage to say it out loud," he scoffed. "I'm a fool for dragging it out for so long, but I love you," his voice shook as he said the words, but his arms tightened around you, safely holding you against his chest. It took you a second to understand what he meant, that your feelings weren't unrequited, that he has been harbouring the same feelings you have.

A heavy sigh left your lungs, as though a weight fell off your chest. Your lips curved into a smile as you placed your hands on his cheeks, running the tip of your thumbs across his jawline. He mirrored your expression whilst leaning into your touch, planting a small kiss on your palm. "I love you too," you replied finally," the words rolling off the tip of your tongue easier than you expected. "I love you so much," you giggled, wanting to repeat the words over and over again, until you finally understood that it was real, that you weren't dreaming. "You never know what the future holds for you, huh?" You asked, repeating his words from earlier in the evening, earning a loud chuckle from him. "So, is this one of those many possibilities?" you raised a single brow.

"Could be. I have a couple more ideas," he said, his soft smile turning into a confident grin.

"You are terrible," you gently hit his chest as you grabbed his suit-jacket and pulled him down to you, meeting his lips halfway, smiling into the intimate moment you have been craving for so long.

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