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aflame4goinghome · 7 months ago

Text

Bad Reputation

s.f.k. x reader

chapter two

Word Count: 7.4k

Chapter Warnings: swearing, drinking, smoking (marijuana), flirting, a little bit of arguing, lots of sexual tension, slow burnnnn so no smut... yet ;)

A/N: Hi guys! Welcome to chapter two! I'm excited to continue this little story for you all. I hope you don't hate me too much for the slow burn ;) Things will really start to heat up once tour starts up, so stay tuned hehe. See ya soon

Listen to the playlist here :)

chapter one

•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•

You step off the stage after another successful gig and quickly retreat to the dressing room for a moment to freshen up before heading out for a few drinks. Unfortunately for you, tonight’s celebrations, along with every celebration from now on, will be quite different due to the required presence of a certain bassist. Jodie thought it would be a good idea for Sam to attend all your gigs, to make your relationship more believable as you started “launching” it to the public.

You were reluctant at first, but at the end of the day, it didn’t feel like that big of a deal. You didn’t have to be glued to his side the entire night or anything, or at least you hoped not. Nonetheless, you knew he was waiting out there for you, and you knew that he had come alone, which made it even worse. At least if Danny or someone had come along, you’d have some sort of buffer, but no– it was just the two of you. Lucy wasn’t even on shift tonight either, having taken the weekend off to go home and visit her family.

It’s only been just over a week since you agreed to this deal with Sam, and it was already exhausting you. You honestly haven’t even spoken to him since that day, since both of you have been swamped with rehearsals, but Jodie reached out and let you know that he’d be there. You were hoping that he had forgotten, but when you saw him in his usual corner booth during your set, you realized you had gotten your hopes up too high.

“Whatever! I’m strong, and I’m confident, and I don’t care,” you say to yourself in the mirror as you touch up your makeup briefly. The pep talk wasn’t really working though. “What’s there to be afraid of, anyway? He’s just a guy!”

“I’m a man, for the record,” you hear a smug voice say from behind you. God-fucking-damnit. “A damn good-looking one, at that.”

“Samuel, what are you doing back here? I was coming out any second now, you couldn’t wait?” you say, scoffing to yourself as you put your makeup back in your bag and turn to him.

You’re actually surprised to see that he dressed rather nicely tonight. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans, paired with a red button-up with the sleeves rolled up. He had the top two buttons undone, but that was the most of it– not nearly as low-cut as Jake would do.

“What, your boyfriend isn’t allowed to come see you after a show?” he asks sarcastically, leaning against the doorframe.

“You’re not my boyfriend, Sam– not actually. Nobody’s watching us back here,” you scowl, slinging your tote over your shoulder and walking to the door. You walk right past him and b-line it toward the bar.

“Seeing us come out together will help us look more like a couple, obviously,” he says smugly. “Come on, Y/N, I thought you had some wits about you.” You stop in your tracks and turn over your shoulder to glare at him. You take a deep breath before feeling calm enough to reply.

“Fine, whatever. Let’s just go,” you mutter, turning to walk toward the bar again. That was the closest that you could ever get to telling him he was right. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you suppose that it wouldn’t be bad for your image if you walked out together.

“Seb, double rum and coke, please,” you say, trying to brush off your frustration by faking a smile. Sebastian nods and then his eyes drift behind you for a moment. You nearly forgot, honestly. “Oh, and uh– whatever he wants, I guess,” you add, nodding to the tall “man” behind you.

“PBR,” Sam says behind you, and Seb turns to grab a can from the fridge and open it for him. He places both of your drinks on the counter with a sympathetic smile and then adds it to your tab.

Without saying anything else, you just turn to retreat to the corner booth, sliding in first. As you situate yourself, you’re startled by Sam sliding in to sit next to you on the same side of the booth.

“What the hell are you doing?” you ask accusingly. Sam rolls his eyes, taking a swig of his beer before turning his body toward you, his long legs stretched out underneath the table.

“Sweetheart, no one is gonna believe we’re together if we sit as far away from each other as possible,” he answers bluntly. “You have to at least look like you like me and enjoy my presence.”

“It’s harder than you think,” you mumble under your breath, looking down at the drink in your hand atop the table. “But fine.”

“Second time I’m right tonight, y’know. Do I get a prize?” he says with a smirk. You find yourself stifling a laugh, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’s funny.

“Is the company of a talented pianist not enough?” you say, your lips turning upward slightly into a smile, subtle but still there. A chuckle leaves his mouth, which surprises you. You never expected him to laugh at your jokes before.

“I suppose it is, you’re one lucky lady, Y/N,” he says smugly. Damnit.

“Careful, Samuel. For a moment there, I almost thought you were complimenting me,” you warn with a smirk, taking a sip of your drink. Another laugh erupts from the man sitting next to you.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re just dying for that, aren’t you?” he says, his tone bordering on teasing.

“For you to compliment me? Please. I don’t need you for that when I can easily find it elsewhere,” you bite back.

“Well, I don’t see any takers,” he remarks, looking around the room sarcastically. “Seems like you’re stuck with just me. Good luck getting any attention now, with me around.” You don’t even grace him with a reply after that one, just taking a long sip of your drink before putting it down on the table and turning your attention to the next act on stage.

He lets the silence stay, looking to the stage as well as his arm extends to sit behind you atop the back of the booth. As his arm moves behind you, you’re met with a quick waft of his cologne, smelling strongly of spearmint and pine. You’d be kidding yourself if you didn’t admit that the scent almost sent your eyes rolling in the back of your head, intoxicating you. But you quickly shake it off.

“So… you guys will be going back on tour soon, yeah?” you ask, trying to fill the silence and save yourself from feeling awkward. He turns toward you, keeping his arm behind you as his fingers graze your bare shoulder.

“Yeah! We’re heading back out in a few weeks, we’re still trying to get more studio time in so that we can finally start the masters on our next project,” he answers proudly. You knew he was passionate about the music, it was something you respected about him.

“That’s great. From what I heard in the studio the other day, you guys have something really amazing going on there. I really liked the blues roots in some of them, I caught it almost immediately,” you say with a soft smile. Maybe talking to him wasn’t as bad as you might’ve thought.

“See, thank you! Josh hates those bits– says they’re sonically boring. I completely disagree, obviously,” he says, a smile growing across his face. Despite hating to admit it, the two of you had aligning interests when it came to music, that much was clear.

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about! My favorite part was your transition from E major to C sharp minor, in that second song you guys played. It was so satisfying, that’s one of the best key changes in my opinion,” you say, starting to rant but catching yourself. You start to apologize for rambling but the smile on his face tells you that you don’t need to.

“I’m glad you caught that, no one else ever pays attention to stuff like that. I swear sometimes it feels like I’m all alone there, their minds just don’t work the same as mine,” he says, his smile widening as his thumb rubs softly on your shoulder.

“Well, I understand. It’s not exactly the same, but Lucy never gets it when I ramble on about music theory. As a writer, music is like a whole other language to her. I’ve never had anyone to really talk to about music before,” you admit with a shrug, looking over at him.

“Maybe we’ve found that in each other, then,” he says quietly, running his tongue along his bottom lip as your eyes watch carefully. You nod slowly, not sure what else to say. You’re not sure when you let yourself get so distracted, but you couldn’t help it. The proximity made your mind so foggy that you couldn’t think about much else.

All of a sudden, your attention is pulled away from your phone buzzing on the table. You pick it up to read the text you just received, which you see is from Jodie.

Jodie: Fans have already spotted you both out at the club! Some pics are already circling Twitter, look!

She attached screenshots of some tweets that have already been posted, questioning who you are and what you’re doing with Sam. The pictures show the two of you sitting close together, Sam’s arm wrapped around you as the two of you are smiling and laughing.

OMG, who is that with Sam???

He has his arm around her, look!

God, I’m so jealous.

They’re sitting awfully close to be just friends!

You have to admit that the two of you did look good together. You managed to make it seem casual and natural, which was good. To have the fans already buzzing about it was a good sign. After you finish reading the tweets, you hand your phone to Sam so that he can take a look.

“I swear, our fans know no boundaries. Who just takes a picture of someone who’s out minding their own business? Pisses me off,” he scoffs, handing you your phone back as he shakes his head, looking around to see if he can catch anyone looking.

“I know. But at least we have their attention, right? The seeds have certainly been planted. Now we just need to figure out some sort of hard launch,” you answer optimistically, hoping that he’s not too angry. He doesn’t seem to be, since his smile still hasn’t completely faded just yet.

“We look kinda good together there, don’t you think?” you joke, pulling up the picture again. You hear him laugh next to you, shaking his head as he looks down at your phone over your shoulder.

“Yeah, I guess we do,” he admits softly. You almost didn’t realize how close he had gotten, to the point where you could feel his warm breath against your ear. You try not to think about the it too much, with the fear of blush creeping over your cheeks.

“Wanna really give them something to post about?” he whispers with a smirk, his voice against the shell of your ear sending shivers down your spine. Leave it to Sam to ruin the moment with relentless flirting once again. You turn your head to face him and realize that he’s much closer than you originally thought. Your nose brushes against his as your eyes lock. You clear your throat, trying to seem unaffected.

“As much as I’m sure you’d love that, I don’t think we need to rush all of that so soon,” you say softly, a twinge of sarcasm dripping from your voice. You watch as his smirk widens.

“Fine, you can be boring,” he says smugly, leaning back against the seat. “But I at least want to give them something interesting to talk about. Who cares if we’re just sitting and talking? Everyone does that, we could at least do something a little creative.” It truly was a performance after all. You just hum as a reply, not wanting to perpetuate the argument any further.

“Here,” he speaks again as his other hand moves to grasp your thigh, pulling your legs to rest slightly on his lap. His hand still lingers on your thigh, grasping firmly on your thigh right below the hem of your leather skirt.

“What’re you doing?” you say, in almost a whisper. His boldness has taken you aback, and you hesitate to fight back in that moment. The feeling of his large, callused hand on your skin clouded your brain so much that you almost thought you might like it.

“Giving them a show,” he smirks, turning to make sure people are looking before turning back to look at you. You couldn’t hide the flush of your cheeks now even if you wanted to. It didn’t take long for him to notice. “Am I getting you all hot and bothered, sweetheart? Is that it?” he asks with a smug grin, his hand moving an inch up your thigh as the other ghosts over your bare shoulder again.

“Pshh– what? No. No. That’s ridiculous,” you answer, obviously flustered.

“Just admit that you like it,” he says, leaning down to close more space between you. “Your secret’s safe with me.” Yeah, right. He’d never let you live it down if you even gave an inkling that you were enjoying this. You’d never give him that satisfaction. You clear your throat, inching away from him.

“Wanna get another round?” you ask, trying to change the subject, but he doesn’t budge.

“Answer my question,” he says assertively, his fingers playing with the hem of your skirt teasingly. You breathe out a deep breath, but keep your eyes on his. He’s searching them, waiting for any hint of you giving in, but finds nothing.

“What would you do if my answer was yes? What then?” you ask, your voice breathy and quiet. His lips quirk slightly as he looks down at you.

“You don’t have to play these games to get my attention, y’know. You already have it,” he whispers, his nose brushing past yours. That’s it, you can’t do this anymore.

“Okay, I need a smoke. Let me out?” you ask, still backing away slowly with the hopes that he’d stand up and let you out of the booth. An annoyed sigh leaves his mouth as he complies, getting up from his seat.

“I’m coming with you,” he says, clearly not asking. You just roll your eyes and nod, walking out to the front of the club. Leaning against the front of the building, you reach into your tote and pull out your lighter and the blunt that you had rolled earlier that day. Given the stress from the evening, you thanked your earlier self for thinking of it.

Placing it between your lips, you quickly light it, taking a drag before lowering it to your side. You take a moment to look over at Sam, who’s looking down at you as he leans his side against the wall. Feeling like you were being slightly greedy, you decide to offer him a hit, which he gladly accepts.

“Didn’t take you for the stoner type,” he says casually, taking another hit before passing it back to you.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Sam,” you answer, raising an eyebrow at him as you take a long drag. You watch as his eyes flicker to your lips for a moment there. You knew what he was thinking. If you were crossed enough, you thought you honestly might let him. But not just yet.

“I’m starting to see that… I guess if I want to know anything about you, I’ll have to work for it, yeah?” he says with a shrug. That was exactly what you were going to say next– that he had to work for it. You hated that he could read you like that. Maybe you were more predictable than you thought.

“I suppose so. You should stop while you’re ahead though, I won’t give in that easily,” you tease, taking another hit as you look up at him, trying to read his expression. The weed is already mixing perfectly with the liquor in your system. Your head felt lighter already.

“I’m not afraid of you, sweetheart. And I don’t go down without a fight,” he says with a smirk, leaning toward you slightly. He towered over you, which felt slightly intimidating. You couldn’t really read him well, either, which made it even more difficult.

“What do you wanna know?” you ask, taking a hit and blowing it out of the side of your mouth.

“Where are you from?” he asks, taking the blunt in his fingers as you pass it.

“Here,” you answer bluntly, watching his lips purse as he takes a drag. It was way hotter than you expected it to be. “Well, not here exactly. I grew up in a town like, thirty minutes away. But I’ve been coming to Nashville all my life.”

“I see,” he says, a small smile on his face. You didn’t ask him where he was from– you already knew the answer, and he knew that. “Did you always know that you wanted to play music?”

“Pretty much, yeah. I started playing piano at 6, joined the jazz band in middle school, and it all just kind of grew from there. My high school band director is the one who set me up with my first ever paid gig, when I was 17. After that, I knew this was what I needed to do.” You can tell that he’s trying to hide his smile, but it’s not working. He was impressed by you, and for some reason, you liked that.

“I did jazz band too, amongst other things. It was honestly a great start on music theory, learning about chord progressions and improvisation and stuff like that,” he says with a shrug, passing your blunt back to you.

“Yeah, I agree. You learn a lot of important stuff there,” you reply, taking a hit. It was nice to have someone to talk music with, even if it was Sam. He knew what he was talking about, and it felt like he understood you. That’s not an easy feat.

“Have you ever been in love?’ he asks, looking down at you. You expected to find a smirk on his face, but there wasn’t one there.

“That’s a loaded question,” you joke, taking another hit as you try to think of what the hell to even say to that. “I don’t think I have, to be honest. There were times when I thought I was, but looking back…” you trail off. “Have you?”

“No,” he shakes his head, taking the blunt from your fingers and taking a hit. “Nothing ever stuck. Not sure why.” Surely you had a couple of good guesses, but you wouldn’t dare to say any now. The topic was somewhat vulnerable, which you didn’t expect from him. Why did he want to know this about you? You’re gonna take a mental note to ask about it another day when you’re both much more sober.

Some time passes, as the two of you share the blunt in silence. Near the end of it, you pass him the blunt and let him finish it off, watching him flick the butt onto the sidewalk and stomp it out. He doesn’t make a move to go inside, however, but instead moves closer to you. As you look up at him, your mind starts to spin as his head reaches for your face, cupping your cheek. His thumb smoothes over your cheekbone, the rough callus on it sending shockwaves throughout your body. You’re not sure why you don’t pull away, even when his face starts getting closer and closer to yours.

“Don’t run away this time,” he whispers, his nose brushing against yours as your eyes travel to his lips. They looked soft and full, and you started to wonder if they would feel warm against yours. You knew you probably wouldn’t have to wonder much longer. For some reason, you didn’t want to run away. No, you wanted to stay. Something inside you wanted to know if you’d feel something– anything.

Your eyes lock with his as his other hand finds its place on your waist, tugging you toward him slightly. You search his eyes, seeing if you could read his mind. What was going through it? You knew he’d been persistent with you before, but why did this feel different somehow? You let your nose brush against his again, as you feel his breath hot against your lips.

“Sam!” you hear someone exclaim from behind you, causing you to jump from the brash noise.

“We’ll finish this later,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. You suck in a deep breath then quickly pull away, leaving at least a foot between you two as a girl approaches you– seemingly a fan. Sam puts on a brave face, smiling softly as he talks to her. He was gracious and kind, despite being visibly frustrated.

“Do you… want me to take your picture?” you ask softly, to which she nods feverishly. After snapping a few photos on her phone, you hand it back to her with a shy smile.

“So, who’s this?” she asks, turning to Sam. God, she was nosy. All the fans were, clearly. What did she care? Why would she need to know who Sam was spending his time with? Your angry internal rant comes to a full stop as Sam wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into him.

“Actually, this is my girlfriend, Y/N,” he says proudly, his grip soft but strong on my side. You offer her a soft smile as her face lights up, and you know this will be plastered all over the internet by tomorrow. You suppose that was the whole point, though. This was bound to happen eventually, you just didn’t expect it to be on your first night out. You thought you’d have more time to prepare.

Luckily for you both, this girl was way too drunk to bother asking too many other questions. Soon enough, she says her goodbyes and swiftly leaves. You breathe out a sigh of relief, laying your back against the wall once more.

“Fuck, that was exhausting. How do you do that all the time?’ I ask jokingly, rubbing my temples. He lets out a soft laugh, which makes your lips turn upward into a smile almost immediately.

“It’s not always that bad. Usually, they refrain from personal questions like that… sorry. I know I kinda put you on the spot there,” he offers genuinely, which you accept.

“It’s not your fault, you didn’t know it would happen. I just wish I was more prepared– I mean, we don’t even have our backstory together or anything! We haven’t discussed any of the details at all,” you say, slightly exasperated. Another laugh leaves his lips. You think to yourself that you quite liked being the person who makes him laugh.

“Right, well I guess we’ll just have to figure that out then. We’ll need to be prepared, now that everyone is going to know,” he says. “How about we meet up for coffee on Monday and set all the details straight? That sound good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you nod with a small smile. “I can do that.”

“Great, I’ll text you the details tomorrow then,” he says, reaching into his pocket for his phone. He sees the time and his eyes shoot open, not realizing how late it's gotten. “Shit, it got late on us. Can I call you a cab?” he asks, looking up from his phone to look at you.

“Oh, no that’s not necessary. I only live around the corner, I’ll walk,” you insist, though you’re surprised he cares that much. It was a side of him that you had yet to see.

“Then I’ll walk you home,” he says, not even letting you answer before starting to walk off. How he knew what direction it was in, you weren’t sure. You suppose he’s seen you leave that way before and leave it at that.

Soon enough, you’re both stopped in front of your apartment building. It seems like you’re both unsure of how to say goodbye, considering the nature of your “relationship” was such a gray area. You knew he was about to kiss you earlier, and you knew that you were going to let him, but you’ve sobered up slightly now. It wasn’t a good idea.

“Goodnight, Sam,” you say softly, just choosing to back away without a proper goodbye in favor of avoiding any more awkwardness between the two of you.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he says, offering you a soft smile as he shoots you a wink. You watch as he turns to leave and walks back toward the bar to catch his Uber home. As he turns the corner, you quickly turn around and retreat inside, hurrying to your apartment before finally entering your bedroom. You lean your back against the door and sink to the floor, your mind slightly boggled by the entire evening.

You have to admit that you ended up enjoying his company. The teasing was still excessive and he was arrogant, but there were times when this different guy shone through the cracks. You wanted to know that guy.

•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•

As you’re sitting on your balcony on Sunday afternoon, enjoying the sunny weather with an iced coffee and a book in hand, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. You slide a bookmark onto the page and shut the book, setting it down on your table next to your coffee before reaching into your back pocket to pull out your phone.

Sam: We still on for tomorrow?

You hum to yourself, checking your calendar quickly to make sure you don’t have anything else going on. You thought that he might have forgotten about your plans to meet up tomorrow, since it was already well into the afternoon and you hadn’t heard from him. But you suppose he isn’t one to rise early, as Danny told you last week. You typically weren’t either, but today was an exception.

You: Yeah, whenever works best for you. We could meet at the coffee shop across the street from Seb’s?

That place was your usual haunt, the baristas all knew your name by now. It was helpful for hangovers, so you always came in the morning after a night out and it soon became a habit. You knew Sam didn’t live in Midtown, but maybe he wouldn’t mind coming down.

Sam: Sounds good, meet at 2 pm? I’ve got a short meeting with the guys in the morning.

You: Yeah, that’s good. See ya then.

He doesn’t respond from there, so you just leave it at that. You never took him for much of a texter, so you didn’t read too much into it. You slide your phone back into your pocket and open your book back up, picking up where you left off.

Just as you were getting back in the groove of the story, you heard your apartment door close behind you. You turn around to see Lucy coming in from her weekend with her parents. She spots you outside and walks over, sliding the glass door open.

“Hi, love,” she says, coming outside and sitting on the chair opposite you.

“Hey, Luce. How was your weekend?” you ask, still keeping your eyes on your book.

“It was good! Tommy had his graduation ceremony this weekend, so there was a big party,” she answers with a smile. Tommy is her younger brother, who’s just graduated high school. You never knew him well, since their age gap was so big, but he was a sweet kid.

“That sounds nice!” you say, offering her a soft smile.

“How was yours? Anything interesting happen?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at you. She knows something.

“What did you see?” you ask bluntly, getting right to the point. A chuckle leaves her lips as she smiles at you.

“Oh, nothing. Just saw a few pictures of you and a certain rockstar cuddled up at Seb’s last night, plastered all over their update accounts on Instagram,” she says with a smug smile.

“Why on Earth do you follow their update accounts, you weirdo!” you say, barely getting the sentence out before you both erupt into laughter.

“When you told me you’d be pretending to date him, I went and followed some of them! I knew you were bound to make it on there eventually and I wanted to see my best friend become famous!” she exclaims, pulling her phone out to show you the posts. There were photos of you both in your booth and standing outside the club. You did look rather close.

“I am not becoming famous. It’s just a couple of photos,” you say curtly. “And he might have told a fan I was his girlfriend,” you mumble at the end, hoping she didn’t hear.

“He what?” she yells, and your hand shoots to cover her mouth with a giggle.

“Shhh, shut up, the neighbors already think we’re crazy,” you laugh, taking your hand away after a moment. “It’s not a big deal. We knew he’d have to make it official eventually. We’re meeting up tomorrow to get our story together and stuff, so that we know what to tell the fans in case we get asked anything on the spot.”

“Wow, you guys are moving fast,” she teases. She had no idea. You were tempted to tell her about the kiss you almost shared the night before, but inevitably you decide not to. Talking about it will just complicate things even more.

“Whatever. He’s actually not that bad at times– but don’t tell him I said that,” you say with a small smile across your lips. “We just have more in common than I expected.”

“I’ve been telling you that for months, Y/N,” she says sarcastically, getting up from her chair. “I’m gonna go rot in bed for a while, talk to you later.”

“Okay, have fun,” you say, your smile widening as you wave her off and then open your book back up again.

You really couldn’t stay concentrated on reading today, it seems. You try your best to refocus, and you eventually do, reading until the sun starts to go down. Soon enough, you retreat to bed, getting an early rest before your coffee “date” with Sam tomorrow. That should be… interesting, to say the least.

•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•

As you try and get ready to go the next afternoon, you’re completely stuck on what to wear. What does someone wear to a coffee date with their fake boyfriend to discuss the terms of their fake relationship? God, even phrasing that question made your head spin. You tried asking Lucy for advice but she was no help, just resorting to light teasing and not giving any actual suggestions.

“Why do you care what you wear? It’s not like he’s your actual boyfriend,” she said with a smug smile. You didn’t grace her with a reply, opting just to shut the door in her face and turn back to your closet.

You sigh to yourself before sifting through your clothes, pulling out a white linen button-up shirt. You decide to just go with a black tank top, with the white shirt on top, left unbuttoned. The weather was quite warm with the summer heat really starting to settle in. You throw on a pair of jean shorts, slip on your low-top white vans, and then throw your things into your tote bag before heading out the door. It was only a few minutes before 2 at this point, but you didn’t want to arrive too early. You assumed he’d be late himself, anyway.

As you turn the corner and cross the street, you see him sitting at a small table out front. Damn, guess you were wrong. Again.

“Sam,” you greet quietly as he stands up from the table.

“Nice of you to finally show up, Y/N. Was starting to think you stood me up,” he says with a smirk, opening the door for you.

“Shut up, I’m two minutes late,” you answer with a scoff, getting in line to order a drink. He stands next to you, leaning against the counter. You decide to stand in silence until after you place your order since your bickering wasn’t really the best idea in public. You order a chai tea latte and Sam just gets an americano, and the two of you find a table in the corner while you wait.

“So, let’s get started then, shall we?” Sam says, leaning back in his chair. “Where’d we meet?” Your lips quirked upward into a smile.

“Okay, getting right to the point, I see,” I joke, folding my hands and placing them on the table. “Well, that one’s easy. We met at the club. We’ll just say that you came to some of my gigs and just liked me sooo much that you had to say hi,” I say, fighting the urge to roll my eyes at the absurdity of it all. You watch as a chuckle leaves his mouth, and there goes that feeling again.

“Alright, sure,” he laughs as a barista comes to put our drinks on the table. “Thanks,” he says to them, taking a sip of his drink before turning back to you. “And we can say we started seeing each other… when? Maybe March?”

“Yeah, that sounds fine,” you shrug, taking a sip of your chai. “That won’t explain the girls you’ve had… relations with between then and now, though,” you add, looking up at him. He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair.

“If you’re jealous, just say that,” he smirks. “We can just say that we only became exclusive recently.” You quirk an eyebrow at him, but quickly decide it’s not worth the argument, opting to just scoff and change the subject.

“What do we say when they ask why I’m not going on the tour with you guys?” you ask, adjusting nervously in your seat as a look washes over his face that you can’t quite interpret.

“Are you not?” Sam asks, the tone in his voice sounding slightly accusatory. You’re not even quite sure how to reply, this wasn’t something you ever discussed.

“Wait, do you want me to?” you ask, straightening your posture. “I still have to work, you know. This is how I make a living, I can’t just ditch Seb for weeks on end.” He ponders your words for a moment, then leans forward a bit.

“You don’t need all that. Jodie said she’d help set you up in your career, and she meant that,” he says sincerely. “She can pay you for the entire time we’re gone, if that’s the problem. I’m sure we can find something for you to do on the tour. And then when we come back, we can get you in the studio to record your album.”

It all almost felt too good to be true. Too easy. What was in it for them, truly? Sure, having a likable and successful girlfriend would be good for Sam’s image, but is that really all it is? Why does it feel like you’re getting way more out of this than they are?

“I don’t know, Sam. I really don’t feel like I’ll belong there. What could I possibly do on tour besides act as your arm candy?” you say bitterly.

“Y/N, you’re not just my arm candy. It isn’t like that,” he says dejectedly. His eyes scan your face but you don’t seem convinced.

“You may be strikingly beautiful, but you’re much more than that to me, trust me,” he teases, coaxing a smile out of you. When he sees that his plan is working, he continues. “Maybe you could help me compose some piano fills for the shows or something.”

“You’d really let me do that?” you ask, your eyes lighting up slightly. A soft smile grows across his lips.

“Sure. You won’t catch me admitting this ever again, so don’t get your hopes up, sweetheart… but you’re a talented musician. I’m sure we could cook something up together,” he says.

You look over at him for a moment, trying to figure out if this is the same Sam that you used to argue with all those weeks ago. Obviously, it is, and he’s still keeping you on your toes, but something’s changed. You’re starting to think that this partnership may work out after all.

“Okay. Alright, I’ll come,” you answer. “How long is it, anyway?”

“We’ll only be gone a month, and then we’ll have off until the end of the summer,” he assures you. It can’t be that bad, you suppose.

“Okay, so we have that covered, I guess,” you say, taking another sip of your drink. “I guess that just leaves one more thing. We should set up some rules.”

“Rules? Seriously?” Sam scoffs, leaning back in his seat again.

“Yes, seriously. We have to be on the same page or else this is gonna end up becoming a big mess,” you say, returning his annoyed look.

“Fine. What rules are we talking about here?” he concedes.

“Well, first of all, do the rest of the guys know? Do they know it’s fake?” you ask.

“They think it’s real,” he shrugs. “Jodie thought it’d be better that way.”

“Okay, we’ll keep it that way then. But Lucy knows it’s fake,” you admit, and he gives you a disapproving look. “I tell her everything, it’s not my fault! But she’s the only one, even Seb thinks it’s real somehow.”

“Right, well. To the rest of the world, it’s real then. Anything else?” he asks, raising his eyebrow at you.

“We should agree that this,” you start, pointing your finger between Sam and yourself, “is only in public. When we’re alone, it’s just me and you, none of this happy couple stuff.”

“Well, you don’t have to tell me twice,” he says with a smirk, “...unless that’s something you’ll have trouble with, sweetheart?” he teases.

“Yeah, right. I just can’t seem to keep my hands off you, my bad,” you answer sarcastically. “Whatever, so that’s handled. Have anything you wanna add?” you ask, sipping from your mug.

“Yeah, what happens if one of us forms any sort of…” he trails off, pondering his words carefully. “...feelings.” Your eyebrows shoot up as you look over at him, almost spitting out your drink. You swallow it quickly and clear your throat.

“Feelings?’ you laugh. “Not that that’s ever gonna be a problem, but… if it is, then I guess we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we get there.”

“What, you’re not scared that you’ll fall in love with me?” he asks, leaning over the table slightly. You mirror his actions, your faces mere inches away.

“Not in the slightest, Samuel,” you answer proudly, your eyes piercing into his. You weren’t going to back down, and neither was he. As you watch his eyes drift to your lips, you clear your throat, leaning back again.

“Anything else?’ you ask, looking down at your mug in your hands as you avoid his gaze.

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ loudly. You can just hear the smirk in his voice. You’re not giving in that easily, you know that the second you look up at him, your heart will jump into your throat.

“Great, so that settles it,” you say, taking the last sip and then putting your empty mug down on the table. You watch as his hand extends out to yours, to shake it.

“Girlfriend?” he asks, smirking at you as you finally look up at him. You have to hold in a sigh as you offer your hand to him, shaking it.

“Girlfriend.”

His eyes dart between your eyes and your lips again before he brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it lightly. It takes everything in you not to fold right then and there, frankly, but you’re stronger than that.

His lips were just as soft as you thought they’d be. Not that you’ve thought about them before, of course not. Nonetheless, they were soft, and so warm. They lingered far longer than you wanted them to, and your instincts caused you to pull your hand away, placing it back in your lap. At that, you abruptly stand up from your seat, grab your tote bag, and put it on your shoulder.

“I have to– I’ve gotta go,” you say softly, and he quickly stands up.

“Okay, I’ll walk you home,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously as he follows you out the door. Again? That’s the second time just this week… You have to admit that it was thoughtful, but you don’t want to think too much of it. It’s just a nice gesture, nothing serious. He might be an arrogant asshole, but you guess he’s still a gentleman.

You walk beside each other on the sidewalk as you make your way down the street to your apartment. Every once in a while, his hand brushes yours as you walk, sending jolts throughout your body that you’re determined to ignore. You wondered why he asked you about the possibility of feelings being involved. Was that something he was worried about? Should you be worried about it? Surely not. Lucy seems to think you should be, if you told her about this she’d freak. But it’s not a big deal, right?

You stop in front of your building, the awkward opportunity of a goodbye leering over you both once more. You go back up toward your building in the same fashion as the other night, but a strong hand stops you before you get the chance to get too far.

“Josh is having a party on Friday,” he says quickly, as if he was spitting it out. “I told him I'd bring you.” You stop and look up at him, his grip on your upper arm still remaining.

“Oh. Yeah, I’ll be there,” you answer with a soft smile. His eyes light up, like he was expecting you to put up a fight.

“Cool. I’ll pick you up at 8?” he asks. You nod, as his eyes continue to burn into yours. God, what now? Before you have the chance to do something awkward, his other arm lands on your waist and he bends down, placing a kiss on your temple and then backing away toward the sidewalk, leaving you in silent shock. “See you then, sweetheart.”

“Uh– yeah, see you,” you mutter, your eyes trained on him as he turns the corner. What the fuck was that?

As you slam the door of your apartment, you rush off to your room with hopes of avoiding any interrogation from Lucy. It doesn’t work, however.

“Y/N,” she opens your door with a smug look on her face, leaning against the door frame. “How was your date?” You scoff at her as you throw yourself onto your bed.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you groan as she enters the room and climbs into bed next to you.

She stays sitting up as you lay your head on the pillow, and her fingers comb through your curls as you debrief the events of your afternoon. Despite her occasional jokes and teasing, she seems to be really supportive of you going on tour with the band. After all, it will be a good start for the future of your music career. But at what cost? What will it be like to spend a month straight with Sam Kiszka and his band of brothers? You still had two weeks to prepare, but even that didn’t feel like enough. Your world was moving a mile a minute, and it was only just getting started.

•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•

chapter three

Leave a comment or send me a message if you want to be added to the taglist for this series, or if you want to be tagged in all of my stories!

Taglist:

@highladyofasgard @gvfpal @childinthegardenn @myleftsock @peaceloveunitygvf @gretasfallingsky @gretavanfan @itsafullmoon @jordie-gvf

#greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fic #sam kiszka #sammy gvf #sam kiszka fic #sam kiszka x reader #enemies to lovers #sam kiszka gvf #greta van smut #greta van angst #gvf #enemies to friends to lovers #bad reputation #greta van fleet smut #greta van fleet fanfiction #gretavanfleet #sam kiszka smut

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jung-koook · 1 year ago

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youtube

정국 (Jung Kook) 'Standing Next to You - Slow Jam Remix' Visualizer

youtube

정국 (Jung Kook) 'Standing Next to You - Holiday Remix' Visualizer

youtube

정국 (Jung Kook) 'Standing Next to You - Future Funk Remix' Visualizer

youtube

Standing Next to You - Band Ver.

youtube

Standing Next to You - Latin Trap Remix

youtube

Standing Next to You - PBR & B Remix

#jungkook #jeongguk #jeon jungkook #bangtan #bts #video #Youtube

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thankspete · 2 years ago

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The Kitchen (c.h.)

This work is part of a series, When Our Friend Isn’t Around. Part 1: The Patio / Part 2: The Kitchen / Part 3: The Living Room / Part 4: The Guest Bedroom

Word Count: 1.7k Rating: T Summary: Being part of the clean-up crew isn’t so bad, after all. | Also on Ao3! Warnings: ~recreational drug use~

The upbeat rock music from earlier has been switched to smooth R&B, quietly trickling from the living room through the rest of the house. The colorful LEDs are off and every light switch in the common space has been flicked on, exposing the spills and crumbs around you. You know it doesn’t make sense, since you’re literally cleaning, but the harsh fluorescence was jarring and your drunk brain wished they’d turn the overhead light off.

According to the digital clock on the microwave, it was 5:23 in the morning. Everyone had begun to file out of the party by 3-ish, with stragglers and close friends bidding their goodbyes closer to 4. It’s not like you were expecting to be in bed by one, but you were really starting to regret promising Ashton you’d help him clean up afterwards.

Calum stuck around, too, given they were hosting together. They were in the living room, chatting and picking up discarded cups and cans, which fell into the garbage bags with light swishes and clinks. You stack the cups strewn around the kitchen on the dining table, alongside the empty boxes of Stella and PBR before rummaging under the sink for Clorox wipes. The first cylinder you grab seems too thin and light to be what you were looking for and you pull it from shadow into your view. An empty can of Mike’s Hard.

“Huh?” Who the fuck threw this under the sink?

“Hey.” A voice startles you and you bump your shoulder on the edge of the cabinet as you exit. Calum’s boots come into your view first, then his flushed face.

“You good if I take these?” He points to the cups on the table.

You nod and toss the can in his direction. “This, too!”

He catches the can in the bag, then puts it down to start breaking down the boxes on the table. You reach back into the cabinet, finding what you were looking for.

“Need help with anything?” He’s shoving the final folded box into the black bag before tying it up. “We’re pretty much done picking shit up, Ash is sweeping right now.”

“Sure. I think I’ve got surfaces covered, wanna help with this sticky puddle I’ve been walking in for the last hour?”

So he does. While you’re wiping down the counters, cabinets, and microwave, Calum raids the storage closet for a Swiffer. It takes him a couple of tries to get the mopping wipe on the head, but he figures it out.

You boost yourself onto the counter, opening up more floor space for him.

“So did Joey end up breaking anything this time?”

A small laugh escapes from his nose. “No, not that I know of.” He glances up at you before returning his attention to the pink stain on the tile. “Not that you were of any help on that front.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You nudge his thigh with your shoe. Unexpectedly, he grabs your ankle, setting aside his mopping task for now.

“I was supposed to keep an eye on him tonight.” He moves closer, maintaining a soft grip on your leg. Sitting up on the counter, you’re practically his height, looking him straight in the face, anticipating his next move. “You kept me a bit distracted.” He moves his hand from your ankle onto the counter to the right of you. You don’t look, but you can sense that there are only millimeters between his thumb and your jeans.

You weren’t quite sure what he meant by that. After Ashton had come out to get you both from the patio around 1:30, you only spoke to him two or three other times. He and Ashton were great hosts, flittering around the room, making sure everyone felt welcome, telling them thank you for coming. It was hardly your fault it seemed he kept gravitating back to you. First it was at the drinks table, when you were pouring your final cup of juice. The second time, he guided you by the elbow to a small crowd hanging out by the speaker and introduced you to them. He stuck around for a few minutes, allowing you to acclimate to these strangers before leaving you to converse with a small tug on your shirt and a wink. You were certain you’d seen Joey leave before 3 anyway, leaning on a friend’s shoulder and stumbling on his way out.

“Seems like you were distracting yourself, Calum.” You motion to the discarded Swiffer, leaning on the cabinets across from you. He was needlessly concerning himself with you again. You couldn’t say you didn’t like it.

“Just wanted’a make sure you were having a good time.” He shrugs and in a moment of rare unbridled confidence (or stupidity), you move your right hand from your lap to resting on top of his.

“What’s your excuse right now?”

His expression remains unchanged, smiling with slightly raised brows, clearly amused by this interaction. You weren’t sure what you were hoping for, but some encouragement would be nice.

He leans in slightly, resting his left hand on the other side of you. “You’re funny, you know that?”

While you missed the blue and purple ambiance lighting, you couldn’t say you were upset about getting to really look at his face for the first time tonight. He is pretty, with full lips and deep brown eyes. His hair is tousled, curls messy from the beanie he had been wearing earlier.

It seems like he hears Ashton coming before you do and takes a quick step back, removing his hands from either side of you. The cold counter feels like it’s burning your skin compared to the warmth of his hand and for the first time, you feel disappointed that your mutual friend showed up. He clomps into the kitchen holding a grimy dustpan and dragging the broom behind him.

“Looks great in here, guys!” Ashton takes a look around the room after disposing of the dirt, dust, and crumbs into the trash. “Need help with anything before I head to bed? M’fuckin exhausted.”

Calum has picked the Swiffer back up by now, wiping the remaining stains from the floor. “No thanks bro,” he says, not even looking up. “I think we’ve got it handled.” You smile at Ashton, corroborating Calum’s statement.

“Fuck yeah. See y’all in the mornin’!” He turns and makes a bee-line to his room, down the hallway from the right side of the living room.

“M’almost done,” Calum says and you jump from the counter to the floor.

“I’m gonna get a reward ready for us.” You turn to leave the room.

“Reward?” He stops mopping for a moment, a little confused.

“For cleaning this man’s house,” you shrug.

You leave him with that and make your way to the coat closet by the front door. Off the top shelf, you pull your backpack from its hiding place. It had pajamas, deodorant, and most importantly, weed. On your way to sit, you turn off the overhead light and flip on a lamp in the corner of the room. You sink into the ratty green couch and pull the rolling tray from the coffee table to your lap. It takes a moment to rummage through your bag for papers, filters, and herbs, but you find them. When everything is laid out, filter folded and ready, you begin your process. First, a layer of marijuana, then a thinner layer of mullein. It’s supposed to be good for sleep, but it tastes like shit, so you cover it with a layer of lavender. Overtop, you place another layer of weed and pick up the paper in a U-shape to begin rolling it shut. Calum comes in from the kitchen while you’re licking the adhesive.

“I see what you mean by reward, now. Pass ‘er over.” He sits just a few inches to your right on the couch. You hand the unfinished joint to him and he flicks it to force the herbs to fall towards the filter before twisting the end shut. You pass him your lighter, a black Clipper, to start off your little smoke circle. He pumpkin-tops it again before lighting it, discarding the leftover paper onto the rolling tray.

“Lavender?” He asks.

“And mullein,” you say, placing the tray back on the coffee table. You turn to face him now, back leaning on the armrest, your bent knee on the couch between you.

“You’re getting me used to this fancy shit, baby. I don’t think I can go back to cutting my weed with straight tobacco.” He passes the joint to you. “Where’d you get all this stuff?”

You smoke before answering. “Online. Herb shops. Witchy stores. Probably farmers markets.” Your fingers brush together when you pass him the joint.

“Mm…think you’ll just be my plug, then. Seems like a lot of work.”

“Ordering from Amazon seems like a lot of work?” You’re a little flabbergasted.

He’s holding the jay between his thumb and forefinger and brings it to your lips to shut you up.

“I can stay out here tonight,” he changes the topic, referring to the pull-out couch you were currently sitting on.

You remove the joint from your mouth by pulling his wrist back, keeping your hand wrapped around his arm.

“You tired yet?”

“Are you?”

You think for a moment, and despite feeling the fatigue in your bones, shake your head. “Still gotta shower, anyway.” You weren’t sure if you were informing him or inviting him. You could tell from the way his clothes fit that his body is probably a sight to behold. See if he’s got any other tattoos obstructed by his shirt…and maybe his pants. No, definitely not inviting him, though the thought was enticing. You remembered the way he stepped back when you were face to face in the kitchen. What would Ash think?

You bring his hand back to your face, take a puff, and let go.

“And when were you thinking of doing that? 8am? We’re wasting moonlight!”

“Pfft.” You pull the joint from his mouth, mimicking his actions on the patio. “After our reward, silly.”

“And your plan after…?”

“Sleep.” You shrug and pass the jay back to him. “Unless you’ve got something else in mind.”

as promised, the next chapter will be spicy <3 i always appreciate feedback, likes, and reblogs! hope u enjoyed :)

#calum hood x reader #calum hood imagine #calum hood oneshot #5sos imagine #5sos blurb #calum hood smut #part 3 is COMPLETE and coming out soon <3

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cocaina-kiyori · 14 days ago

Video

flickr

♡✩ 231 ✩♡ par 妖怪 Yōkai 🐼 Via Flickr : ❥mekaci - Suri Set kinky event maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Liberty%20City/175/128/33 mekaci mainstore maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Bad%20Waifus/128/128/1098 ❥The Bearded Guy Harmony View Backdrop PBR maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Moonwall/169/121/32 ❥B(u)Y ME: Been there before . SF . @ Uber Open 25 Oct - 22 Nov LM : maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Uber/159/156/22 ❥ [CAROL G] Roses Side Leg Tattoo ❥[CAROL G] We're All Mad Here Tattoo - Unisex maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Hickory%20Hills/171/47/2524 VOGLIA: "JADE" Skin (EvoX) - VE VOGLIA IN VELOUR MALL / SALES ROOM maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/VELOUR/84/132/84 ♥---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------♥ ❥ app.primfeed.com/cocainakiyori ❥ www.facebook.com/CocainaKiyori ❥ www.tumblr.com/cocaina-kiyori ❥ flic.kr/ps/32FCq9

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kennak · 9 months ago

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要約するとTOPIXを100万、残りをPER,PBRが低い個別グロース株を吟味して10万ずつ10銘柄程度買えということ。儲けたいなら至極真っ当なアドバイス

[B! 投資] 個人資産800億円超「伝説の日本人投資家」が明かした「200万円持っていたら、何に投資すべきか」（伊藤博敏） @gendai_biz

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casbooks · 2 years ago

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Books of 2023:

Book 13 of 2023

Title: Up-Close & Personal: In-Country, Chieu Hoi, Vietnam 1969-1970 Authors: Robert C Bogison ISBN: 9781097969142 Tags: AC-47 Spooky, EOD, FSB Dirk (Vietnam War), FSB Schroeder (Vietnam War), III Corps (Vietnam), KHM Cambodia, KHM Cambodian Incursion (1970) (Vietnam War), Military Police, THA RTA Royal Thai Army, UH-1 Huey, US CIA Central Intelligence Agency, US USA 159th Transportation Bn, US USA 159th Transportation Bn - 5th Transportation Co. (Heavy Boat), US USA 18th Military Police Brigade, US USA 1st ID, US USA 212th Military Police Sentry Dog Co, US USA 25th ID, US USA 284th Military Police Co., US USA 39th Infantry Regiment, US USA 39th Infantry Regiment - 2/39, US USA 458th Transportation Corps, US USA 504th Military Police Bn., US USA 504th Military Police Bn. - 188th Military Police Co., US USA 557th Military Police Co., US USA 615th Military Police Co., US USA 716th Military Police Bn., US USA 720th Military Police Bn., US USA 720th Military Police Bn. - B Co. (Bushwhackers), US USA 89th Military Police Group, US USA 90th Replacement Bn, US USA Army Tugboats, US USA Colonel Robert A. Rheault, US USA Combat Trackers - K9, US USA Fort Gordon GA, US USA Fort Leavenworth KS - USDB CTF Correctional Training Facility, US USA Fort Leavenworth KS - USDB United States Disciplinary Barracks, US USA Fort Riley KS, US USA Fort Riley KS - CTF Correctional Traning Facility, US USA PBR Patrol Boat River, US USA Sgt. Alvin Smith, US USA ST 2122 El Cid - Small Harbor Tugboat, US USA United States Army, US USMC United States Marine Corps, USA 5th SFG, USA 9th ID, USA Green Berets, USA Special Forces, VNM 1st ID, VNM An Hoa Hung Village, VNM Bearcat Base / Long Thanh North Airfield (Vietnam War), VNM Bien Hoa, VNM Bien Hoa Airbase (Vietnam War), VNM Camp David Long (Vietnam War), VNM CIA Phung Hoang / Phoenix Program (1965-1972) (Vietnam War), VNM Cu Chi, VNM Cu Lao Ba Xe Leper Colony, VNM Da Nang, VNM Dong Nai Province, VNM Dong Nai Province - Buffalo Shack, VNM Dong Nai Province - Cogido Bridge, VNM Dong Nai Province - Duck Farm, VNM Dong Nai Province - Finger of the Land, VNM Dong Nai Province - French Fort, VNM Dong Nai Province - French Pier, VNM Dong Nai Province - Heel of the Booth, VNM Dong Nai Province - Rabbit Ears, VNM Dong Nai Province - Rice Mill, VNM Dong Nai River, VNM DRV NVA Thai Khac Chuyen / Chu Van Thai Khac, VNM Green Beret Affair (Vietnam War), VNM Highway 1, VNM Hill 15, VNM Hill 85, VNM Lai Khe, VNM LBJ Long Binh Jail - USARVIS US Army Vietnam Installation Stockade (Vietnam War), VNM Long Binh, VNM Long Binh Post (Vietnam War), VNM Michelin Rubber Plantation, VNM Operation Corral (1967) (Vietnam War), VNM Operation Stabilize (1967-1970) (Vietnam War), VNM RVN ARVN Army of the Republic of Vietnam, VNM RVN ARVN MP Quan Canh Military Police, VNM RVN ARVN RF/PF Regional Forces/Popular Forces (Vietnam War), VNM RVN RVNP Can Sat National Police, VNM Song Buong - Black River, VNM Tan Hiep, VNM Tan Mai, VNM US Project Gamma - Det B-57 - E Co (Vietnam War), VNM US USA 24th Evacuation Hospital - Long Binh (Vietnam War), VNM US USA 93rd Evacuation Hospital - Long Binh (Vietnam War), VNM USA MRF Mobile Riverine Force (Vietnam War), VNM Vung Tao Rating: ★★★★★ Subject: Books.Military.20th-21st Century.Asia.Vietnam War.US Army.Military Police Description: The Vietnam War has tormented American consciousness for more than half a hundred years, and shows no sign of flagging. Up-Close & Personal is a signal contribution to understanding that drawn-out conflict from a soldier's point of view, informed by knowledge gained from being "up-close" at the basic, ground-pounding or river-patrolling combat level. The author pulls no punches. Detail is uncompromising, hard, often excruciating. All this amid the tumult of politicized youth on the home front shouting "Make love not War" and "Tune in drop out.

Review: I tend not to give 5 stars to books, as I like to reserve that for books that have a profound effect on me. This book qualifies and let me explain why. It's not a perfect book by any means. There are little errors here and there with spelling and such, plus the story isn't that captivating/page turning thrilling. It can even be a slog at times. So why 5 stars? Because Bogison does what few others can - he really conveys the emotional aspect of his thoughts, his feelings, his mental state, his wrestling with what to do, how to do it, what is right and what is wrong... in big decisions and small. He doesn't just tell the good, but also the bad, he explains the stuff he wrestles with and not everything gets wrapped up nice and clean and with a little bow. When I grabbed this book, I was expecting a story about a Military Police in Vietnam. I was expecting a lot of bar fights, investigations of murder and accidents, regular law enforcement stuff. By the title, I also expected discussion of the Chieu Hoi Program/Force 66 - Luc Luong 66. - Let me be clear, this book has 0 of that... none.. nada... zip zilch... NO. Instead it's a book about an MP who is assigned to correctional facilities in the US (Ft. Riley) and Vietnam (LBJ) and ends up in a very special unit of MP's that is called an Ambush and Recon unit made up of MP's instead of infantryman! Because of the location in the Delta, they also have a joint unit with PBR's and skimmers that he finds himself leading as well. It was fascinating to read, the people, the stories, the bureaucracy, and more was captivating and it left me really thinking about the choices he made and how his personality affected his life's course. His temperament is always to attack, to challenge, to push - even against those who are trying to help him. He either sits quietly or attacks ferociously even when confronted with cooler heads to learn from and imitate - he does neither. Whether it was the helicopter crash, the tug boat incident, or a handful of other stories included, one can't help but really feel what the author felt as he just did his best, and all too often memoirs like this one are more about snippets of stories, or tell you what happened but forget the human element. This one has a consistent narrative and does well to really put you in his boots, and look through his eyes.

#Books #Booklr #Bookblr #Ebooks #Vietnam War #Military Police #III Corps #NonFiction #History

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kadebronson · 2 years ago

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omg me and my friends went out for a few drinks last night and since everyone else was driving they told me to pick somewhere by me and like i’ve been in this neighborhood almost three years now and still haven’t gone to most of the places so i was doing some research and found this place

they were like we’re a late night bar and we have board games so i was like let’s check this place out it’s under a blue line station so it might be nosy but hey! games!

and they were awesome! cheesy B grade horror movies playing on the TVs, at one point they just put on a coheed and cambria album and let it play through, it wasn’t super packed probably because people thought it would be nosy being under a train station but you could barely tell, and their doorman was an older gay man who just kept coming over with new things to compliment me on he loved my hair and then when i turned around and he saw my jayne mansfield patch on my vest he almost died he was like “oh my god you are just so cool aren’t you”

we didn’t even end up playing any games just catching up on some stuff but i had such a great time so i think this will be my bar now

bonus: the chicago hand shake is with PBR instead of old style always a plus

#slice of life

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spilledreality · 2 years ago

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Outer Banks S1E1: Pilot

The first minute starts in media res, but if you pay close enough attention, you’re front-loaded with the basics. John B.—tan, sandy blonde surfer hair—is balancing on a roof in white All-Star high-top Converse. We see him standing at the structure’s very apex, one foot down, the other floating in empty space. He's framed by the sky and the ocean—it's just him, the roof, and the horizon, so that he resembles Caspar David Friedrich's Wanderer above the Sea of Fog. His arms are spread slightly, to help him balance, or like wings with which to fly, or like a crucifixion pose. He's all of these things this season: trying to keep the balance; trying to lift off and leave the ground behind; trying to be a martyr. It all gets set up here, PBR can in-hand, as his fellow Pogues try to keep the mood light-hearted while running damage control, talking him out of his insanities. "That's what, a three-story fall to the deck? I give you about a one in three chance of survival," says Pope, who's sheltered, but has the tightest-screwed head among this show’s regularly unhinged cast. John B. sticks an index finger in his mouth, wetting it with saliva and holding it up to the wind to see which way it blows. He's got a ragged blue bandana around his neck, his whole get-up matching the PBR can—they're laying the "working class" on thick—and asks rhetorically whether he should do it. J.J., backwards red cap, PBR can, some beaded bracelets, camo cut-offs with cargo pockets, raises his eyebrows, stays out of it on the sidelines while Pope, in his cardinal button-up—buttoned to the neck even the collars are fastened down—hoists an electric drill, revs it up, tries to keep the situation under control but casual through irony. "Yeah, you should jump; I'll shoot you on the way down," holding up the drill, as we put together that the gang’s snuck illegally into a construction site.

So that’s the boys. Warm beer and transgressed boundaries. Balanced on the brink of catastrophe and wondering if they should jump. Testing each other’s limits of caring under a mask of indifference. J.J. knows John B. best, which is why he's staying out of it; he's been through a suicidal shit-tests or two in his time, and knows instinctively, i how way recklessness is performed to get a rise. He’s been there before himself, and his old man didn’t give two shits, so why should he? Next we’re intro’d to Kiara, a girl in Boysland, so we immediately know three things: (1) She’s not like the other girls, i.e. she can hang (2) She’s in love with one of the boys, and one of the boys is in love with her (3) It’s not the same boy. But she's also way more than this; despite these tropeish reductions—which are really not about her, so much as they're about the structural dynamics of both real life and teenage drama—this show demonstrates an admirable Zoomer television trait, which is the ability to half-imagine men and women being friends in a way that isn’t inevitably undermined by sexuality. Mind you, it doesn’t fully manage this—teen drama is teen drama, teens want what teens want, and the show, post-S1, jumps its shark pretty thoroughly. But it half-manages, for a while.

Kiara—and this is more stereotype now, but an admiring stereotype, like "feminine intuition" or “Asian academic excellence”—cares a lot about the environment, about sea turtles and the great Pacific trash-island and global warming. She stalks out from the under-construction Kook infrastructure, emerging behind drywall and ducking under scaffolding. "They're gonna have Japanese toilets with towel warmers." J.J.: "Of course they are, why wouldn't they?" Kiara: "This used to be a turtle habitat." I like this from J.J.—it’s an underwhelming first line, in some sense; everyone from John B to Pope to Kiara has gotten their proper, character-defining intro, and J.J. has been apparently overlooked, but something important about his character is being relayed here. Kiara can still be surprised and disappointed by the world’s falling short of her personal ideals. J.J. is long, long past that.

Kiara, as the lone woman, is also the one comfortable with, you know, straight-forwardly expressing affection rather than cloaking it in indifference. Well, mostly. She looks up at John B.—"Can you please, not, kill yourself?" J.J., pragmatist-cynic, is mostly concerned that John's gonna drop his beer, which he does, and groans. "I'm not giving you another one." At that moment, hired security pulls up; Pope's first to notice and sounds the alarm. "Let's go boys," says Kiara, with a smile that shows how secure she feels, despite the apparent threat. It’s her, and her guys, against the world, and nothing can hurt them, and nothing can hurt her, and nothing will break them apart. Except time. But there’s no reason to think about that now, when high school feels eternal, when a summer is a lifetime. John and J.J. scramble down the scaffolding, dancing under the Tyvek logo, darting through a half-finished oversized living room. We get a Cops-style shaky action cam—the cinematography on this show can is one of its creative standouts—which follows the Pogues from a pit bull’s-eye-view, hopping fences and piling into their Mystery Van of a VW camper.

The security guard—a middle-aged, beer-bellied guy named Gary—chases after them on foot as the Pogue boys taunt him. "Check out Gary, gunning for a raise." "C'mon Gary, you're so close, you're so close," says J.J. before tossing him an empty PBR can. Kiara dutifully plays her role of both checking and amplifying the boys' bad behavior, as both the voice of conscience and their audience to shock. "You're gonna give him a heart attack," she protests; "Stop, stop." J.J. cools it, but balances the ledger through retort: "That sort of initiative is just begging to be punished."

And that’s our cast. We’ll get proper intros soon, but it’ll just unpack what we’ve already discovered, in their dress and digs and one-liners. The camper zooms past a sign which welcomes them to the Outer Banks, "Paradise on Earth." John B. narrates for us, because it’s really his story. "It's the sorta place where you either have two jobs or two houses. Two tribes, one island." The haves and the have-nots. The set-up for a proper Romeo & Juliet arc, natch. The Pogues, of course, are the underdog have-nots, otherwise we couldn't root for them. Same reason punch-up jokes are more comfortable sources for laughs. Mind you, this whole “have-not” status does not, of course, entail anything so troublesome as our protagonists working two jobs—or even one job, for that matter. They'll have money troubles on this show, but mainly the sort that come from vandalizing thirty-thousand dollar boats, not everyday problems like paying for groceries and gas. Like all great teen dramas, the teens don’t actually go to school or work. The Pogues are on summer vacation, which is why we won’t see any of them in school this season. Not that they’re working summer jobs either. Actual working class lifestyles tend to be monotonous and uneventful, a dynamic incompatible with the Teen Drama’s quota of adventure and sex. A few transcendent cinematic works in our time have squared the difference, see e.g. Adventureland. But the rest make do with fantasy and freedom. Duty, obligation, and constraint regularly rear their head on this show, but only ever as threats. The authorities will keep knocking, threatening to institutionalize our heroes—to ground them, put them in foster care, throw them in jail. But bail is swift, like how broken bones heal overnight, and there is never any prolonged interruption to our characters’ agency.

As the camper van cruises along the Banks, we get introduced to its two cultures—first the privileged “Kooks," with their immaculate marinas, their columnade plantations, their rolling golf courses. (Expensive boats, the legacy of slavery, and the reputation of #45, DJT.) Then the bus crosses a bridge with a middle-aged black man fishing beside a no-fishing sign. (Our ost quintessentially coastal South scene yet, from bayou to pluff mud.) Over the railroad tracks, so to speak. We’re toured around the South Side, "The Cut," with its mobile homes and run-down shacks. Home of the Pogues, our crew in question, so named after "the throwaway fish, lowest member of the food chain." John B: "The downside of pogue life is we're ignored and neglected. But the upside of pogue life is we're ignored or neglected. Which means we do whatever we want, whenever we want. The crew's hanging on John’s boat, the HMS Pogue: Pope is shirtless in a bucket hat, reading Kafka short stories, a huge black roach adorning the book's cover. Kiara's looking as fine as she ever will, in an olive bikini with African-Mediterranean ornaments and a rusty brown bandana, looking every inch a brown pirate goddess, notwithstanding the orange wired earbuds that pipe music from her smartphone. (What years is this? 2010?) John B., still with his trademark blue bandana and the addition of a baseball cap—backwards, natch—hauls a net full of sardine-sized fish—pogues, we must assume—onto the deck, where they spill out, squirming and suffocating in the closing scene of their short lives. J.J. says they’ll make good bait, a way to undermine the catch. Cycles of food chains: our kooks are “pogues” to kooks higher on the social pecking order—read, elites living anywhere that isn't the Carolinas. And our beloved pogues are kooks to these, more literal, pogues. And so on. That's how food chains work; power and identity are relative and relational concepts, never absolute ones; and there's always a bigger—or smaller—fish.

And now we get the proper introductions, the structure recapitulating the compressive first minute. The structure goes: "We're the Pogues; hear us roar; this here’s Loki; that there’s Thor." Name, role, origin story; difference recognized and ultimately subjugated to collective; everyone’s got a role in the micro-economy of the friend group. We see J.J. mowing the lawn, shirtless, with Calvin Klein abs—then surfing, then taking parts out of car engine. (John B: "Mild kleptomaniac and a future tax cheat.") The scene shifts to a kegger; Kiara's lecturing a long-hair with an acoustic guitar and a Solo cup: "Don't even get me started on microplastics..." We see her wearing rose-tinted hippy glasses, which she takes off and puts on J.J. in a little gesture we call "symbolic foreshadowing." "That's Kiara, or Key as we call her, and when she's not saving turtles, or listening to Marley, or getting a dolphin tattoo, she hangs out with us. I'm not really sure why though. She's a rich kid actually, foot in both worlds." Rich kid here in context means her dad owns a small fish’n’chips restaurant, a proper mom’n’pop affair with a couple wait staff that brings in annual grosses in the lower six-digits. Finally Pope: "The brains of the operation, finalist for the Lucas T. Vanderhorst Merit Scholarship, and the smartest person I know." Vanderhorst—like van der Woodsen, one of those names that breathes “Old Money,” Lucas no doubt being a descendent of good old Arnoldus, a South Carolina planter who commanded the local militia and served as state governor in the final years of the 18th century. Pope wants to be a coroner, apparently, and is a bit of an “oddball." "Doesn't matter. He was a Pogue." Once a Pogue, always a Pogue; we get a shot of the Pogues at sunset, staring into the horizon, Kiara the feminine energy that unites them, her spread arms bringing them together in a hug they would never initiate on their own. That's my crew, John B. tells us, shirtless as usual, blue bandana around his neck as usual, a kind of captain-on-shore, a stoic and troubled preacher on the pulpit, an Ahab after lost treasure. To recap: J.J.’s the brawler-cynic cum closet-sweetheart. Pope’s the bookworm and voice of civilization. Kiara’s the heart and conscience. John owns the boat and the hangout spot, provides the energy and narrative arc, and in most other ways is captain. He lives on an "old fish shack on the marsh"—the "Chateau," as his dad used to call it, before he "disappeared at sea." His mom bounced years ago, so it's just him right now, adolescent playing adult, which is another part of the Teen Drama fantasy, cf. Chuck Bass.

But there’s always a bigger fish, and Child Protective Services is threatening to toss him in foster care. They schedule an imminent home visit from authorities—but then John B catches a break. Hurricane Agatha, a maelstrom of disruption, is about to shake up the status quo of the Outer Banks. The power grid will be out for weeks. Authorities and the local PD will be busy handling a thousand other responsibilities. The momentum that was disrupted—as it tries to reassert itself—and the new momentums engineered by the disruption—which struggle to maintain themselves—will drive the story-arc of our show. Some things that were on the surface will be submerged. And some things that were lying submerged will be brought to the surface. And all the opportunities and threats which emerge, and bring us out of routine normalcy into a proper routine-breaking plot, emerge from this one great disruption, the high winds and back-breaking waves of Agatha’s sea-storm.

But all that comes later. For now, it’s just another routine storm, and no one’s sweating it too serious. Pope and John B head out to surf the storm waves; Pope has his reservations—those aren't surfable waves, he protests—but John B bites back "Says who?" and they paddle past the break. This dynamic—this asymmetry in care and concern—is fundamental to understanding the show and how it evolves. It isn’t just that Pope’s more anxious or easily worried; it’s that he literally has more to lose. Half the Pogues—that is, John and J.J.—have nothing to lose. They don’t have families or futures. J.J.’s dad is an abusive alcoholic, which depending on your perspective is only slightly better, or slightly worse, than not having a dad at all. Both moms are out of the picture. Both J.J. and J.B. are academically truant; J.J. has a criminal rap sheet and J.B.’s not far behind. Whereas Pope and Kiara are probably bound for good colleges and solid middle-class jobs. They’re about to be seniors in high school; in a little over a year, Kiara will no doubt be studying marine biology at USD, and Pope will be at Columbia or NYU, wearing black turtlenecks and sipping box wine with future N+1 contributors who will meet his “Metamorphosis” and raise him Amerika. Whereas John and J.J.… will still be here, in the Outer Banks. Catching waves and going to keggers and getting in fist-fights with polo shirts. At least, that’s what would have happened. The friendship will prove more powerful than these life-scripts, and it will be simultaneously beautiful and tragic. That comes later: For now, we’re with Pope and John B as they buck and roll in the waves, catching a few, tossed by others. And we’re with John B when, cresting on his board, he sees an apparition on the horizon, a ghost ship tossing in the wind as it heads out to sea, as the hurricane descends. A confused—even worried—look comes across his face. Title screen: Outer Banks.

#outer banks #jonas pate #chase stokes #rudy pankow #jonathan daviss #madison bailey

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