#silver hair headphones writing at night and a snake

[lower-east-side]

I was tagged in this combo picrew and fic interview by @glittering-git​ quite a while ago, and it sat in my drafts, but I have a few new followers so here you are!

Name: Chantal-Marie

Fandoms: I write for HP (and apparently now Devilman) but I am a multifandom reblog whore. You'll see Captive Prince, Song of Ice and Fire, Buffy, Sailor Moon, and other goodies around here.

Where you post: AO3 with the very occasional drabble here. I've tossed around the idea of xposting my T-and-under-ratings fic to FF.net even though, deserved or not, I still can't stop calling it the Pit of Voles.

Most popular one-shot: by hits, To Keep The Heart's Action (the second chapter is art)

Most popular multi-chapter: Variation

Favorite story I’ve written so far: I go back and forth on this but usually end up with Variation. It is my only novel length, after all.

Fic you were nervous to post: Most recently, New Chevrolet in Flames, because it was my first non-HP fic on AO3.

How do you choose your titles: Almost always song lyrics and titles. I'm a musician, I can't help it. Poetry and novels get in there, too.

Do you outline: For anything over 3-5K, yes absolutely. I sometimes veer away from that outline or, more often, end up writing more, but I love having a skeleton to work with.

Complete: Everything posted is complete except King's Crossing. **side-eyes self in mirror** 

In progress: Every time I look at my WIP list I want to curl up in a ball and cry. Obvs King's Crossing is a WIP, a couple other Drarry fics are partially written (that damn Pearl fic!), and the makings of a sequel to Hero and The Harpy. Also I started a Ryokira fic that was going to be two scenes and now might be over 30K so *shrug*  (omg someone do a Devilman big bang so I can write this) and I have a very angsty mcd fic for that pairing partially written too! Ouch. Just, ouch.

Coming soon: I’m doing Drarry Big Bang again because I'm a masochist. That will take precedence because of the deadline and collaboration. The next chapter of KC will publish first, though. I hope.

Prompts: I generally don't take prompts because I don't lack for ideas, I lack for follow-through.

I waited way too long and don’t know who was tagged already. 😫  If you didn’t do this one, do the picrew or interview or both and tag me to let me know!

[misiwrites]

mayblade oneshot #3

prompts: lilacs; rain; chains; gold; wings; mafia; coffee characters: max, ming-ming, salima, mariam pairing: max/rei word count: 1,480~ content warning: implied character death summary: The consequences of a showdown on one fateful night.

a small….appendix to my mafia AU. this is more of a mood/aesthetic piece since all i have to give for previous context of this story is porn. it be like that. i love this AU so much myself that i couldn't help writing a thing anyways even if it made no sense to anyone else. prompts are again used in Highly Questionable ways, i was just vibin'

☆ ☾ ☆ ☾ ☆ ☾ ☆

The heavy downpour blurs the edges of this heretic world. The water pools around Max’s shoes with each step in the deluge. Above him, the battered grey curtain of the sky is stretched thin above the forlorn landscape of forsaken souls.

Too many steps. He doesn’t want to take any more.

Too few steps. He wishes he wasn’t approaching the inevitable end of the road this fast.

*

Ming-Ming burst through the door of the small editorial office. “I got it! Huge news! Our investigation just leapt forward a mile or a few!”

Salima was immediately on her feet; Mariam, with her heels on the desk, more conservative in her reaction as usual.

“You got it? Did the NYPD finally talk?”

“Not exactly. It’s second-hand information, but from a reliable source.” Ming-Ming set her tools down and flipped her laptop open. Salima was already looking over the darker girl's shoulder, her reporter’s brain almost audibly buzzing, the cogs inside turning.

“It’s the Russian detectives, isn’t it?” she ushered her colleague. “They’ve been making moves again.”

“And not just any moves. It’s looking like they’re really onto something major this time.”

“That’s what they said last time, too,” Mariam pointed out and sat back in her chair, lazily combing through her long ponytail with her fingers. “And turned out they totally had the wrong guy and got their asses kicked. It was kinda weird to assume that the boss would be Japanese just because they’ve proved some connections to Japan within the syndicate, duh.”

“This is different.” Ming-Ming opened up the document with her notes. “A guy was sent to take one of their top agents out. It must mean they’re on the right track now, if the syndicate is starting to feel like the detectives ought to be eliminated for getting too close for comfort.”

Salima leaned forward, her dark grey eyes shining. “Really? So an agent was killed?”

“Nope. Didn’t get him. That’s Boris Kuznetsov, the partner of Yuriy Ivanov – yep, one of the top guys. He won’t get taken out that easily.” Ming-Ming brought up a picture of the silver-haired Russian on the screen.

“Oh shit.” Now Mariam rolled her chair over as well, the entire investigative journalist trio keenly staring at the laptop together. “This is actually good. Start from the beginning, Ming – but this needs coffee to go with. Maximilian!”

“He’s not a servant,” Salima pointed out, although she was also eyeing their enthusiastic little greenhorn across the office. “He’s a full-fledged member of our group now. Well – could you check if there’s some left in the pan, though? Max?”

Max, sitting in his own cubicle in the corner, removed the headphones that had provided him with the perfect pretense of minding his own business while somberly listening to each word the women were saying. His head full of snakes, he forced his usual laid-back smile out to the front.

“What? You called me?”

“Coffee!” Salima had already moved over to the Moccamaster, heeding her own words instead of waiting for their newcomer to do the job. “You want a cuppa too?”

“No thanks. I quit, remember?”

“Like, actually quit-quit? I thought it was just a phase. Fair enough!”

Max tried his hardest to keep his smile from faltering. No, it wasn’t just a phase. He could no longer do as much as imagine the taste of coffee without bile rising to his throat. An entire night of downing cup after cup, sick of worry, attempting to drown the suspicion eating him inside out with each sip did that to a person.

And now he couldn’t but listen as the three women went over what information they’d managed to gather of the events from that night. He knew he had to listen, listen closely for the sake of this fake greenhorn journalist character that he’d meticulously kept up for several months already, but every word they spoke seared yet another hole in his soul that’d been thoroughly shaken by the one impossibility that never should have come to pass.

“Kuznetsov is still in intensive care but the information obviously had to come from him, there aren’t any other witnesses to stuff like this,” Ming-Ming carried on.

“Except the guy who tried to eliminate him.”

“But Kuznetsov took so many shots up close – presumably, probably according to himself, anyway – the guy would need to be superhuman to survive that.”

He is a superhuman. But even superhumans had internal organs that could go pop when sprinkled with enough bullets.

“So they didn’t retrieve the body?” Salima asked, brows raised.

“No, he got away. Kuznetsov was in too poor a condition to pursue him. My source didn’t go too much into detail about the officer's injuries, but it was something batshit crazy. Like his ribcage had been penetrated with bare hands. Crazy stuff.”

“Hopefully Boris recovers soon,” Mariam said, “because that must have been one hell of a fight. He needs to tell the whole story one day. Make a podcast about it.”

“Well, if the detectives are allowed to disclose that much information. Besides, the hitman is still on the loose – officially.” Ming-Ming tapped at the screen with a finger.

“Imagine.” Salima stood straight, the evident excitement in her voice like poison in Max's ears, “what if it’s him? The Cat-Eyed Assassin.”

“Urban legends,” Mariam mumbled.

Max could have stopped Rei that night. He should have. He didn’t.

Whatever dirt they had gathered on the BBA, he shouldn’t have gone for that Russian detective. He’d done it to protect Max, of course, to protect the entire syndicate from these foreign intruders. It had been his single most important job.

They’d become too soft. Both of them. Things had become too personal with too many emotions at play. Rei really had become prepared to give his life for Max – not just for the leader of their organization, but for the person named Max Mizuhara whom he'd chosen to spend that life with.

And for that, Rei had made a mistake. He should have known they didn’t yet know enough about these Russians to go for it.

“But could be true,” the red-head insisted. “And if it were, if the Cat-Eyed Assassin really existed, of course the syndicate would want to go out of their way to find him.”

No, we wouldn’t. Max rubbed his temples, a headache steadily sawing its way through his skull. It had been Rei who’d come to him. Always. Always.

That day, already before spending the entire night of obsessively downing coffee and not getting an eyeful of rest, Max had physically felt the bond between them snap. The chain that had been built link by link, from that London underground auction where Max had saved Rei from being sold to human trafficking and across all the consecutive years since, to that very day. Despite having been away in his underground office, alone, he’d felt the exact moment the deeply rooted connection had ceased to exist. Known that something had just irreparably broken within himself.

And yet, he’d never let go of hope. No matter how much time passed. Regardless of how slim the chances of Rei’s heart still beating somewhere out there, he wasn’t ready to give up on it.

There was no such concept as “giving up” in the playbook of the BBA. Now, he’d never rest again.

*

No rest for the dead. Max walks past the sea of graves, the names carved into stone drowned out and washed away by the rain. He reaches the furthest end of the joyless grid.

He kneels down in the grass, disregarding the cold seeping through. He slowly reaches down to place a small bouquet of lilacs on the stone slab.

It’s a makeshift grave. There was never a body to be found, and even if there were, it would have been taken to some unknown morgue as a John Doe. But Max insisted on setting up a grave for his right-hand man here. Insisted on setting up a physical reminder that he existed. Max wouldn’t allow the BBA to forget.

His fingers brush over the hànzi for “gold” engraved in the rigid surface. Golden plum. An oddly cutesy name for possibly the world’s deadliest assassin.

Max will keep waiting. One day Rei will return to him once more, like a shadow in the night. Perhaps to take Max with him. It’s unlikely for Rei to come back with any angel wings on his back, but be it devil’s or anything else, it doesn’t matter so long as he descends back to Max one day. And he will.

In the meanwhile.

Slowly, Max stands up. He shoves a hand in his jacket and takes out a pocket watch. He snaps it open with one finger, raindrops immediately assaulting the face of the clock.

Then he turns on his heel and gives a somber grin to the graveyard kowtowing at his feet. He has a business to run… and a couple of Russian detectives to get even with. There's still plenty of room on the graveyard, after all.

☆ ☾ ☆ ☾ ☆ ☾ ☆

so the writing i've done for this AU now basically is that first they fuck and then they die. or more like rei fucks and then dies. i'm sorry

[707sbuttercake]

kisses of the rain (707 x fem!reader)

warnings: TW eating dis*rder, an*rexia, b*dy image, s*lf-harm, angst ||

rating: 17+ audience for swearing and ED

- this is a oneshot based on my own personal struggles with an*rexia. i am currently recovering. writing this story gave me comfort and a way to cope. please do not read if such topic makes you uncomfortable!

3:17 a.m.

your boyfriend’s arms lazily snake around your waist, his chin nestling into the crook of your neck, his warm breath tickling your bare shoulder. you stir ever so slightly as to not wake him, but the awkward noise that you determine to be his giggle causes your eyes to widen. he’s half-awake but stammering nonsense.

“mmm, babe,” a deep voice rumbles into your skin, arms pulling you against his body. “where’re you goin’? i’m gonna slay the demon king...with Smug the powerful...dragon...i’ll protect you...”

you roll your eyes, gently prying his arms from your abdomen. you run a hand through the soft, disarrayed tufts of his strawberry hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“i’ll be back, saeyoung.”

it is a rare night, a night in which saeyoung isn’t working, so you do not wish to interrupt his precious sleep. he looks so peaceful in the soft wash of moonlight, and you smile sadly as you watch him. he deserves a break.

you, however, have another matter on your mind.

your hands grope the walls in the darkness to find the light switch to the bathroom. with a flick of your finger tip, light fills the room, and you seal the door in silence.

the girl in the mirror stares back blankly. her hair is a mess, and her face is long and tired. your hands slowly graze down your sides to grasp your hips. you lift the edge of your tank top to clench the chunks of fat skin at your waist. your eyes narrow at the girl in the mirror, and an imprisoned sob escapes your lips. you squeeze the skin at your belly. you drag your nails along your thighs.

you hate the way you look. you always have. this pain has resided in your heart for years. you pushed it back for the RFA; you bear your burdens in silence. you smile, solving others’ problems, while your own silently devour you. you are the savior of the RFA! the girl who stepped up and rekindled the flame of goodness within the broken hearts of the members of the association!

you collapse to your knees, fatigued from your fasting. saeyoung hasn’t noticed because he has been occupied with his work for the past 3 weeks, but you have barely eaten. 20 pounds, you pressure yourself. I can do it. I can lose it. I can do it.

you step onto the scale, your body shaking as your feet press against the cold metal. holographic numbers flash onto the screen, and you choke back a sob. only six pounds? you gasp, your rib cage crumbling, your heart caving in. I lost only six? I have to try harder. I have to try harder. harder. more. you clench your fist.

you shove the scale back beneath the sink and settle onto the toilet for a moment. today, you decide, you’ll drink more water. you’ll run longer. you know saeyoung dislikes you running because the woodlands around his house are dangerous, but you insist you enjoy the scenery. 7 miles for today, you decide. you did the math and calculated that running 7 miles every day would lose the weight. you had been running 5 miles daily. perhaps you would garner better results by increasing the intensity of your runs. you sniffle, standing to turn on the faucet and splash your face with cool water.

after reevaluating your workouts on the running log app on your phone, you feel a bit more encouraged. surely now, you assure yourself, if you just push yourself a little harder, you will lose the cursed weight. you turn off the bathroom light and peer back into saeyoung’s room. you tiptoe, attempting to make as little noise as possible. as you turn your head, you’re met with something firm instead.

your eyes widen, breath hitching as your hands press against...saeyoung’s chest. you look up into the honey-golden eyes you know so well, swallowing the knot in your throat.

did he hear me? shit. shit. please, God, say he didn’t.

you force a soft smile, eyes falling to his lips, which are pursed in concern.

“y/n...?” he whispers, his hand gingerly cupping your face. “you were in there for a while. is everything okay?” his thumb traces your jaw, lingering beneath your chin. his gestures send shivers down your spine. saeyoung isn’t stupid. you know more than anyone that he knows every little part about you—your laugh, your smile, the embarrassing way you snore in your sleep...

but this is something he cannot know. you will not let him.

instead, you stand on your tiptoes and press a gentle kiss to his lips. your gesture takes him by surprise, but he slowly returns the kiss.

“y/n...” he murmurs into your lips. “hey...”

you break away, wrapping your arms around his torso. “I...I had a nightmare,” you say, pressing your ear to his chest, hearing the rapid thumping of his heart. “but don’t worry about it, okay? you need to get some rest, saeyoung. your work starts again tomorrow.”

with a relieved sigh, your boyfriend casts you a helpless glance. “oh, dear princess, how can I sleep knowing that your dreams are haunted? forget the work—Madam Vanderwood can handle that. I, defender of justice 707, must rescue my dear love from her nefarious dreams!” he suddenly scoops you into his arms to your protest, sending both of you into giggles.

“come out of my lady’s dreams, you foul demon! HI-YA!”

he runs around the room with you clinging to him, laughter filling your hearts. your shadows dance against the floor, and for a brief moment, you forget the pain plaguing your heart. saeyoung has this effect on you. after frolicking around the room, he eventually nestles you into his bed. he is always this way; cheerful and bright, yet deep and caring. you love this about him.

“th-thank you, saeyoung,” you chuckle, rubbing your face from the traces of salty tears. maybe he didn’t notice. “my dreams will certainly be sweet because of you.” the room falls still.

once again, you silently pray he didn’t notice the streaks of tears on your face or the faint puffiness of your eyes. you recall your awful attempt to feign innocence, hiding behind a mask of a nightmare. saeyoung seems curl into the bed beside you, his back pressed to your side. you sigh in relief. perhaps he accepted this lie. you imagine he is exhausted from working consecutive day after day. he deserves to rest.

he doesn’t reply after a few minutes, so you assume he is asleep. you close your eyes, exhaling slowly. your mind becomes dull.

7 miles...you think. 7 miles for today...

suddenly, the bed’s weight shifts, and a shadow falls over you. you part your eyes in bewilderment. saeyoung is above you, the silver of his cross necklace hanging just above your chest, his knees bracketing your frame. his hands hold your wrists, his eyes firm and serious, a gaze of auburn blaze piercing into you like daggers.

“y/n...you...you do tell me everything, right? are you sure it was just a nightmare? please, tell me if there is anything more bothering you.” his breath is hot and minty against your skin, and his tone, harsh and almost afraid, threatens you to tell the truth. “tell me. why were you really crying?”

your heart beats wildly in your ears, your chest carefully heaving up and down. he has you trapped now, forcing you to look at him. he is keener than you thought. you swallow.

“I-I don’t understand why you’re taking this so seriously!” you laugh. “come on. you know I get those dreams sometimes. I’m fine. off me, silly. I’m not Elizabeth the 3rd,” you poke his nose. “I promise. I’d tell you if something was bothering me. you know that.”

he watches you carefully, his stern gaze not faltering. you watch his chest above you, his neck and toned arms around you, the creamy glow of his face just faintly covered in sweat. after gazing into your eyes for a moment, he melts into your arms. you sigh in relief, combing your hands through his hair.

“get some sleep, now, saeyoung,” you whisper. he hums into your shoulder in response.

your heart shrinks in pain at the thought of lying to him. however, the truth would be a knife to his heart, and you would rather lie than cause the latter. you recall the dangers of his occupation. you know he bears the weight of harsh deadlines, lethal information, and family secrets that shatter his heart. saeyoung doesn’t deserve this. saeyoung doesn’t deserve a mess like you.

so you smile and continue to bear this pain, like you always have.

***

standing before the mirror, you tighten your ponytail. “7 miles...” your murmur. your vision is a bit hazy because of your fasting, but you try to drink water to ease your fatigue. come on. come on. you have to run. you imagine your fat pouch-like belly; you envision the width of your hips. you think of the way your thighs faintly brush against each other when you walk. you’re wretched. you’re disgusting. you have to run.

you force yourself to walk. come on, go. go. when you see saeyoung hunched before his computers, you trot to the kitchen to fetch him a can of ph.d pepper and a bag of honey buddha chips. you can’t eat, but he needs to. you gently tap his work desk as you place the snack by his side.

“make sure you don’t skip your meals, saeyoung!” you press a kiss to his forehead. he turns to look at you, a lopsided grin on his lips. he drops his headphones from his ears.

“of course, little lady.”

“i’m going to make stew for you for dinner tonight. is that okay?” you say, heading towards the door.

“the defender of justice 707 will prevail against evil through the power of honey buddha or anything his dear love conjures!”

you roll your eyes, laughing lightly. “you’re ridiculous.”

“you love me.”

you wave him off as you step outside.

“wait!” he calls, realizing you plan to run again. “are you wearing the watchband? you know how I feel about you running. it’s dangerous, y/n...with bears and snakes and all kinds of—“

“wouldn’t leave without it, babe,” you sigh, twisting your wrist, the silver band tracker gleaming in the sunlight. he made the gadget weeks ago when you resisted his protests of you running on the trails in the woodlands surrounding his bunker. again, he’s caring for you at every single turn. you hate to burden him, giving him another reason to worry, but he insists he does these things because he wants to do so.

“good. be safe!” he shouts from inside.

as soon as you seal the door, you almost collapse against the frame. your vision darkens, and your blood feels thin. you sharply inhale, pressing your knuckle to the wall.

stand up. stand up. you’re pathetic. you can’t even start running? if you don’t run, you’re going to be this way forever.

“right,” you whisper. you inhale and exhale slowly, “right. I have to do this.”

you force your legs forward, pumping your arms as your headphones blare music into your ears. your entire body feels like a shell, and lactic acid pulses through your legs. your lungs burn and your heart lashes wildly in your chest.

go. go. go.

you circle through the trees, pacing along the familiarly worn path. trees softly sway in the breeze, and dark clumps of clouds signal an omen. you breathe heavily, placing one leg before the other.

the rain falls. you squint your eyes, faintly discerning the blurs of tree trunks and greenery, fading in the wind. step, step, step. you have no energy. your entire body feels cold, and your legs are stiff and numb. your feet slap against the dirt, mud clinging to your skin, and your brain feels like smoke suffocates your thoughts, suffusing your drifting mind...go...go...

suddenly, almost slowly, your ankle bends against something firm, a root? you wonder. pain shoots up your leg. your world spins. the world becomes dim. a sharp noise rings in your ears. the scent of earth fills your nose, something hot with the scent of iron spills down your face, and cold rain slaps your entire body. you close your eyes.

rain...rain...

it plummets to the ground and slides off your cheeks along with the tears and that warm scent of iron...

get up. stand up and run. you’re pathetic.

you cough, your arms shaking as you rise to your knees.

“get...up!” you cry hoarsely, yet your eyesight is filled with sparsely colored dots of black and purple, swirling with wind and rain...

“run. run...run!” you’re standing, yet your legs won’t move. thunder rumbles in the distance, and the rain is fierce, howling and moaning. your lungs feel as if they will cave in. your limbs are shaking. you place another step forward, beginning your jog, but your muscles do not listen. you collapse, the ocean of colors filling your vision again, your head light and dizzy.

you cannot stand. your body will not obey.

you’re weak. pathetic. pathetic! so fucking pathetic!

“y/n! what the hell are you doing?! hey! hey!”

someone runs towards you, racing with the wind, but you cannot decipher who. his voice is stern and his arms are firm as they grasp your trembling frame.

“shit. shit! are you okay? can you stand?” his red hair sticks to his face, and his glasses are filled with fog. oh. you recognize this face...

the one you love so much...

“hey. hey! y/n, speak to me! hey!! damn it!”

you cannot speak. your mind is filled with fog. you open your lips, but no sound escapes.

“.....ven...seven,” you croak.

no. you think. no, don’t be like this. you’re being a burden. you’re bothering him. because of you, he’s left his desk. he abandoned his work. this is your fault! your fault!!

“you’re soaked. what the hell happened? y/n, you’re soaked and...wait. wait! fuck! you’re bleeding! damn it. damn it! I didn’t get here fast enough! I knew something was wrong. here, take my jacket. come on. can you stand?”

leave me alone. I don’t want to burden you.

your eyes narrowing, you press your hands to his chest and attempt to push him away. “i’m fine! i’m fine. seven, leave me be. you need to work. I just...I j-just...I tripped in the middle of my run. go back! go. don’t worry about me,” you hiss. your attempts to push him are futile. he does not budge.

“no, y/n, damn it! you clearly can’t even move! you’re numb! don’t tell me..don’t tell me—“

“seven, I am fine! you can go back. i’m fine, see?” you smile, standing—

your knees cave in, and as if on cue, he catches you in his arms.

“y/n,” he growls, hooking his arms under your knees. there resides pain in his voice, a certain pain you haven’t heard before.

you know the truth. realization has dawned upon him. he knows.

those ember eyes, so full of melancholy, watch you with a certain sadness.

something clicks within his mind.

he knows.

he lifts you off the ground. “damn it. damn it! all this time, and I didn’t notice. you’ve been starving yourself, haven’t you? haven’t you?!”

you cannot respond. your head falls limp against his chest.

wrapping his jacket around you, he begins to sprint back to his bunker, the rain slapping against both of you.

“all this time,” he pants. “all this fucking time and I couldn’t even tell because I was working.”

“s-seven...i’m fine. I haven’t. I...I just tripped—“

“I hacked your phone. I saw the running logs. I didn’t think you were starving, but seeing you now, you’re so thin. you’ve...you’ve lost weight, haven’t you? you’ve been training harder. thank god i installed that tracker on that watch and found you before it was too late...damn it! damn it, this is...this is all my fault!”

“no,” you cough. “no. you’re wrong. I haven’t been starving—“

“quit lying to me, y/n! stop it! I already know. that’s why you were crying last night. that’s why you’ve gone to the bathroom every night...to weigh yourself, right? damn it! damn it!”

he reaches the bunker, immediately placing you on his couch. he curses silently, his voice dark, and he fetches first aid.

tears fill your eyes.

damn it. damn it. i’m burdening him. i’m bothering him. i’ve taken time from his day. i’ve worried him! damn it. I ruined it all...I ruined...

you clench your wrist, the wrist you hate so much, the one you constantly measure to see if you’ve lost any weight. “damn you,” you cry, cursing yourself. “damn you!”

saeyoung returns, panic washing his face. he sprints to your side, prying your fingers off their tight grasp around your wrist. blood trickles from your fingernails, uncontrollable sobs escaping your lips.

“y-y/n! please! please, God, stop it!”

you fall into his arms, and of course, he catches you.

“hey...hey. y/n...” he whispers, pressing the cloth to your bleeding forehead. you close your eyes, the hot tears gushing down your cheeks.

like a deluge bursting from a dam, the pain once imprisoned in your aching heart spills its contents onto the floor.

saeyoung says nothing but cleans your wound, applying a bandage to your forehead. you’re dripping wet all over his floor, but his messy home is the last of his concern. his eyes monitor you, only you, and he watches your hands to prevent your self-harm. he watches your eyes avert to your wrist, so he instinctively wraps a bandage over the wound.

“let’s get you cleaned up,” he murmurs. you say nothing but allow him to carry you to the bathroom.

he twists the faucet handle, filling the tub with warm water and a fragrant bubble bath. he turns to you, a hand resting upon your muddy shirt.

“may I?” he asks quietly.

like a robot, you nod. he gingerly tugs your muddy clothing of of your body, leaving only your under garments. you subconsciously cover your frame with your arms. you hate him seeing you like this. you hate him even looking at your body, the thing you hate so much. you hate burdening him. there are so many things that you hate, that fill your heart with pain, like a knife stabbing over and over again.

he cautiously lifts you and places you into the tub, being mindful of not causing you any discomfort by touching you anywhere without permission. his fingers, long and nimble, lather your hair with soap. still, you say nothing. your arms remain wrapped around your torso.

don’t look at me, you want to whisper. go away, please. i’m sorry.

guilt eats away your insides.

the time...he’s wasting on me...

it’s all my fault.

it’s all my fault.

“will you move your arms for me, y/n?” he asks softly. “please...I need to wash the mud off.”

“don’t look at me,” you plead, refusing to meet his gaze. “seven, you’ve done more than enough for me. you can go back to work now. i’m sorry for all of this.”

saeyoung narrows his eyes. “you think I give a damn about work when my girlfriend is crumbling before my own eyes? y/n, you’re more important than any work I have to do. please, let me take care of you. we need to talk about this. you need help.”

you back away from him, pressing your back to the opposite side of the tub.

“it was a one-time thing, i swear. i’m fine. I promise! I promise, seven. please...i’ll take better care of myself from now on.”

his eyes meet yours again with that painful sadness. he knows you’re lying. he reaches a hand towards yours.

“...I know you better than anyone else.”

you know his words are true. he has seen you in the most intimate forms, and you know his darkest secrets. the two of you are one, and you have promised to love each other for eternity. still, you know the boy has suffered so greatly in his life. he doesn’t need the burden of caring for me, you think. he deserves so much more.

“and ‘seven.’ you never call me that name anymore. y/n, look at me...please.”

you force your gaze to meet his, and his hands rest on your arms.

“you’re perfect and healthy just the way you are.”

you bury yourself in the bubbles, sinking deeply into the water with a sigh.

that’s what people say when they find out you have it. they tell you that you’re beautiful and there is nothing wrong with you. but they will never understand. they don’t see yourself through your eyes.

with your body hidden from his view, you scrub the mud off yourself. saeyoung recoils in silence. “i’ll go fetch you a fresh pair of clothes, alright?” you say nothing in response.

when he leaves, you close your eyes, allowing yourself to descend into the water. your mind is a tsunami of thoughts, but your heart feels like an abyss. you never intended saeyoung to discover any of these secrets. yet somehow, like always, he learns your patterns, your habits, as if he has hacked your mind.

he steps back into the room with his folded traditional red long-sleeve t-shirt and a pair of his sweatpants.

“I know this isn’t much, but the rest of the clothes are in the wash. these are fresh out of the dryer. i’ll leave them here for you.” he steps out of the room.

you drain the tub, forcing yourself to stand, your hands shakily grasping the sides. you slowly peel off your tattered undergarments, enveloping yourself in the towel adjacent to the tub.

your eyes subconsciously drift towards the mirror. the damned mirror. you drop the towel to stare at the pathetic figure who glares back, her eyes gaunt circles, her ribs protruding, all with that pouch resting between her hips.

“damn you,” you whisper to the reflection. “you are the one...who ruins everything...”

“y/n?” saeyoung calls. “are you okay?”

you snap your gaze from the mirror. shit. he’s outside?

you clumsily stammer towards the pile of clothes he left for you, and you pull the red shirt over your head, quickly slipping your arms through the sleeves. then you tug on the sweatpants, which are way too large for you—to your surprise.

“I-I’m fine,” you reply. “everything’s fine now. I...I can take care of myself from here. thank you for everything, sev—saeyoung.”

he opens the door, immediately rushing to your side to steady you. he leads you to his bed, lifting you again into his arms to gently tuck you beneath the covers. you hate this feeling of helplessness, but you lack the strength to resist his movements.

“I started a bowl of ramen for you, y/n. i’m not leaving your side until you eat it all.”

your breath hitches. if you eat the ramen, those 6 pounds you have already lost with be replaced in an instant with the fattening noodles. the warm scent of chicken broth fills your nose, and an alarm signals in your mind.

no. no. I can’t eat. no. no!

“s-saeyoung,” you begin, attempting to conceal the panic in your voice, “just let me rest. you can get back to your work. I promise i’ll eat.”

his eyes narrow, face falling, his lips twisting in anger. ever so briefly, you see his eyes twinkle. he reaches a hand towards yours, causing you to flinch.

he’s crying.

no. no, please. please don’t cry.

throughout the four years you’ve spent with saeyoung, you can seldom recall the times he has cried. perhaps his heart is almost immune to the unfairness of the world. but as he sits before you, tears slowly dripping down his cheeks, your eyes widen.

please. please don’t cry.

“y/n...all this time...i’m sorry. i’m so, so sorry. you’ve been hiding this for so long, haven’t you?”

you do not respond.

“four years,” he breathes. “you’ve been in the RFA for four years now, and you’ve been so focused on solving our problems that we never took a moment to glimpse at yours. god, i’m sorry. i’m so, so sorry.”

I don’t deserve your sympathy, you think. you’ve suffered enough. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. don’t waste your tears on me. this is my fault.

“look at me,” saeyoung whispers. “please.”

your body trembles, arms clutched to your chest, eyes slowly parting to meet his. the atmosphere is thick and heavy, and the sound of rain echoes throughout the halls.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way. y/n, you know I love you more than anything in this world. I want you to be happy,” he raises a hand to cup your cheek. “I want you to be healthy. we can do this together—the right way.”

the...right way...

he pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around your torso. his body feels so warm against your own. you slowly return his embrace as you nuzzle your head beneath his chin.

“you know you’re never alone, right? i’m always here. always,” he murmurs into your hair, fingers gently strumming down your back. “I know this pain you carry cannot dissipate overnight. I’m sorry you’ve bore this burden alone. I...I can’t stand knowing you’ve been suffering right before my own eyes,” he curses himself.

“but i want you to get better. for your sake, my love. you deserve the entire world—the universe. if I could take away this pain, I would. but I know...I know these things take time. I want you to eat. we...we can work out together! but your body will only collapse if you push it to its limit without any nutrition. you...I-I don’t want to think of what could happen if...” his voice fades. he pulls you closer.

“I’m so glad you’re here. I’m so glad. I love you. I love you so much, y/n,” he leans his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling. “I promise you...I’ll always be by your side. I know...I know the scars you bear have stained your heart, and pain cannot be undone so easily. but if...if you let me...I’ll walk alongside you...as you try to heal.”

you cannot think, but you know his words are true.

you hate yourself. you always have hated this cursed body. day after day, as time fades and rain falls, as the sun turns across the horizon, your habits repeat, as never ending as the sky. sometimes you relapse, and you forget these feelings. but as waves return to the shore, mercilessly stealing the shore’s contents, you crumble into the pits of your old habits. you recall the countless nights lying awake as your body tingles in agony, your stomach rumbling and begging. you recall the cold feelings of your toes against the scale. you envision your reflection. you hate the girl in the mirror. the feeling of starving, that hollow ache, the ringing in your ears as the world blurs...

it’s almost addicting.

but...

“I...I cannot change my ways so easily,” you whisper. “I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry...but.”

you look into his eyes. the soft colors of amber, of gold and honey melting and dancing beneath the sunlight.

“for you,” you say, “and...for me, too. I want to stay. I want...to forget this pain. I don’t want to burden you. saeyoung, I love you too.”

I want more memories of dancing with you in this room. I want more nights beneath the stars, our hands interlocked with a soft warmth. I want more of your kisses. I want laughter with Zen, Jaehee, Jumin, and Yoosung. I want to help others through the parties. I want to marry you...in the space station. I want to hear your stupid jokes. I want to read your messages. I want to be here. I want to be alive.

this hatred follows me like a shadow. it chokes me. it’s watching, always watching, and its hands grasp my precarious figure. I hate my waist. I hate my hips. I hate this skin that hangs from my torso. I hate my protruding ribs. I cannot so easily combat this ugly feeling that festers within me day after day.

but if I fall apart...

will I lose these things I cherish, too?

I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t...I don’t like this pain. but it’s a part of me.

can I let it go?

can I?

for you...and me too...maybe I can try.

with hands upon your waist, he pulls you against him, your lips meeting his own. your hands card through his hair, thighs enveloping his hips.

with time and healing, you think. I...I hate this body. but with time and healing...

I think...

one day, I’ll be happy.

[ripley95]

OC Interview

I was tagged by @kenshi-vakarian7 and @rpgwarrior4824 for the OC interview meme. Thank you so much!

I’ve been putting off a ton of other OC memes that mostly @rpgwarrior4824 tagged me in and maybe some others? It’s been so long I can’t even remember, so sorry if I’ve missed anyone! Rather than flooding everyone’s dash with other OC memes, I’m going to do the interview, and add all of the other memes below the cut.

I’ll be doing all of them for Jane Shepard from one of the stories I’m currently writing.

Also, if anyone wants to do a huge OC master post like this with any or all of the memes involved, feel free to consider yourself tagged.

1. What’s your name?  

Jane Shepard

2. Do you know why you are named that?

My parents were looking for something traditional. Something about remembering where we came from, having connections to Earth. I’m not really quite sure about their rationale behind that.

3. Are you single or taken?

Single? I’m not really sure how this is pertinent information.

4. Have any abilities or powers?

My tactical cloak has gotten me out of a few sticky situations. I guess that counts, right? Not everyone knows how to use those effectively.

5. Stop being a Mary Sue.

I’m afraid that goes against my job description.

6. What’s your eye color?

Green.

7. How about your hair color?

Brown.

8. Have any family members?

My mom, Hannah Shepard. She’s a Rear Admiral now, you know. She’s pretty distinguished in her own right.

9. Oh? How about any pets?

I have a hamster.  His name is Pongo. I have some fish too... actually, I should probably double check that one.

10. That’s cool, I guess. Now tell me something you don’t like.

Intrusive and unnecessary interviews.

11. Do you have any activities/hobbies that you like to do?

I do like my model ships. There’s something about the process of putting them together that’s almost meditative.

12. Have you hurt anyone in any way before?

Hasn’t everyone?

13. Ever… killed anyone before?

I’m sorry, you do know who I am right? I will say, that I don’t take that for granted. I always try my best to avoid death, but sometimes it’s unavoidable.

14. What kind of animal are you?

A human? Honestly, I don’t even understand the point of most of these.

15. Name your worst habits?

Apparently, indulging reporters, for what? Some kind of romance magazine I’m guessing?

16. Do you look up to anyone at all?

Of course. My mom’s been a great example for me. She raised me by herself for most of her life, and she’s always tried to do her best by me. She’s a great role model. Then there’s Admiral Anderson, but, maybe let’s not talk about him.

17. Are you gay, straight or bisexual?

I really don’t see how this is any of your business.

18. Do you go to school?

Not anymore. I was raised going to the Alliance Academy, almost conditioned for military life. Then there was N7 training, but nothing as formal as that since.

19. Ever want to marry and have any kids one day?

I don’t know. Now that the war is over, maybe? I never managed to think that far ahead.

20. Do you have any fangirls/fanboys?

You could say that. I have a VI dedicated to sorting my mail.

21. What are you most afraid of?

Failure. Letting down my team.

22. What do you usually wear?

Usually whatever the Alliance has requisitioned for me.

23. What one food tempts you?

Oooh, anything freshly cooked an warm, and you’ll have me wrapped around your little finger. Let’s just say I’ve become way more accustomed to MRE’s than I care for.

24. Am I annoying you?

Not exactly, though I’m not sure why some of these are so personal.

25. Well, it’s still not over!

Great.

26. What class are you (low/middle/high)?

Middle.

27. How many friends do you have?

Living a life in space hasn’t allowed for much stability on that front, but my crew has become a second family. It’s not about how many, but about the bonds that aren’t breakable, and I’ve found that in my crew.

28. What are your thoughts on pie?

Like I said, anything fresh or home cooked, and you have my attention.

29. Favorite drink?

Water’s never failed me. I’m sorry, were you looking for something more interesting? I’ll say that I am probably too attached to my coffee supply too.

30. What’s your favorite place?

Places have never really been a stability for me either. I guess the Normandy’s become pretty special. 

31. Are you interested in anyone?

Well... there was someone. I’m not really sure anymore.

32. That was a stupid question…

Yeah...

33. Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean?

I can’t say that I’ve had much of a chance for either, but I remember that sticky gross feeling after swimming in an ocean, so I’ll have to say lake.

34. What’s your type?

I’m sorry?

35. Any fetishes?

Oh, we’re really not going there.

36. Camping indoors or outdoors?

Are you kidding me? You’re going to ask this after that last question? What exactly is this interview for? Outdoors, I guess. I wouldn’t say no to a nice cabin though.

Fairy Tale Aesthetics: Brothers Grimm Version

SNOW WHITE.

jade trinket boxes.  taste of iron. fingertips on a mirror.  yellow and green with envy. long handled hunting knives.  sewing by the window.  combs laced with pearls and poison.  an apple white one side and red the other. white doves.  frosted glass.

THE MAIDEN WITHOUT HANDS.

a blunt axe.  a ring of chalk.  tear-stained cheeks.  sweet pears. hands tied behind back.  shallow rivers.  aching feet, walking for days.  flowing gown.  liquid silver.  wax seals.  blinding lights.

THE THREE LITTLE GNOMES IN THE FOREST.

lukewarm bath water. sapphire butterflies.  tiny milk snakes.  baskets of strawberries.  fat toads.  sparkling snow.  fur cloaks.  raw gemstones.  kettles made of copper.  red wine.  a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere.

BLUE BEARD.

a tiny key made of gold.  pools of blood.  stains that won’t rub away.  galloping hooves. treasures from far away lands.  dragging by the hair.  dark and damp cellars.  marble walls.  shivering with fear.  screaming at the top of your lungs.

THE SIX SWANS.

sitting side-saddle.  daughter of a witch.  nettles.  white feathers.  refusing to smile. needles and threads.  a castle in the forest.  sound of beating wings.  birthmarks.  climbing trees.  balls of yarn.  silver crowns.

LITTLE RED CAP.

wildflowers.  rich-tasting cake.  wicker baskets.  the path rarely trod.  sharp teeth. curtains drawn.  a dying fireplace.  grey pelts.  red velvet.  handmade quilts.  sunlight peeking through branches.  opening corks with a satisfying pop. looking someone directly in the eye.

OC Body Language Meme

DEFENSIVENESS

arms crossed / crossing legs / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / karate chops / stiffening of shoulders / tense posture / curling of lip / baring of teeth / brow furrowing / shoulders hunched / sudden, sharp movements / growling

REFLECTIVE

hand-to-face gestures / head tilted / stroking chin / peering over glasses / taking glasses off — cleaning / putting earpiece of glasses in mouth / pipe smoker gestures / putting hand to bridge of nose / pursed lips / knitted brows / scrunched nose / staring to the side / fidgeting

SUSPICION

arms crossed / sideways glance / touching or rubbing nose / rubbing eyes / hands resting on weapon / brows raising / lips pressing into a thin line / strict, unwavering eye contact / wrinkling of nose / narrowed eyes / smooth, quick movements / sniffing the air loudly

INSECURITY & ANXIETY

chewing pen or pencil / rubbing thumb over opposite thumb / biting fingernails / biting lips / hands in pockets / elbow bent / closed gestures / clearing throat / “whew” sound / picking or pinching flesh / fidgeting in chair / hand covering mouth whilst speaking / poor eye contact / tugging at pants whilst seated / jingling money in pockets / tugging at ear / perspiring hands / playing with hair / swaying / playing with pointer/marker/cane / smacking lips / sighing / rocking on balls of feet / flexing or cracking fingers sporadically / hugging themselves / head whipping around frantically / hanging down avoiding eye contact / low growling / shoulders hunched over / sitting with knees pulled up to the chest

ANGER & FRUSTRATION

short breaths / “tsk” sounds / tightly-clenched hands / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / running hand through hair / rubbing back of neck / snarling / revealing teeth / grimacing / sharp-eye glowers / notable tension in brow / shoulders back, head up – defensive posturing / clenching of jaw/ grinding teeth / nostrils flaring / heavy exhales / hitting walls and random objects / loud growling / pacing / yelling randomly

OC sense aesthetic

SIGHT. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

small towns. big cities. six thirty curfews. lights that take the place of stars. blanket nests. light through the blinds as a wake up call. found family. finding a single star in the middle of new york city. window shopping. watching something terrible and enjoying it. growing numb to the sight of injustice. wilted flowers. faded caricatures. bright, bold colours.

HEARING

crickets and lightning bugs. car engines and a / c units. a phone call to mum / dad. laughing with friends. jokes that are so bad you have to laugh. the clicking of computer keys. noise cancelling headphones. the sound of silence. muffled music from another room. drumming fingertips on a table. clicking of pens. listening to a clock and swearing the ticks get slower. ringing in the ears. the voice of someone you love. pitch shifted songs.

TOUCH

being held close during a long night. fleeting reassurances. holding hands when you’re scared. brushing fingers through strands of hair. freshly dried clothes. bruises on your knuckles. silk and satin. your favourite pet’s fur or feather. wringing your hands anxiously. snuggles. comforters in the dead of winter. nails against skin. cold metal. leather in summer.

TASTE

coffee in the morning. tea in the evening. bubblegum that lost its flavor. alcohol burning the back of your throat. homemade cooking, no matter what’s made. blood in your mouth. stale air. mint. fresh vegetables. that processed taste of citrus candy. the first meal you cook by yourself that tastes good. foreign sweets. fast food. bittersweet. sour. spicy. sweet. bitter. too much salt on fries.

Bold Relationship Tag

height difference | mutual pining | first kiss | first love | wedding | in-jokes | lgbt+ | family disapproves | friend disapproves | would die for each other | fake relationship | arranged wedding | cuddlers| pda friendly | and they were room mates | holding hands | secret relationship | opposing world views | opposing personalities | opposing goals | getting a pet | have kids | want kids | grow old together | relationship failures | rests head on shoulder | share a bed | token dummies | relationship doubts | they have a song | first date | share a jacket | sharing a blanket | mutual interests | study buddies | bathing together | crash into hello | accidental nudity | laundry | same hobbies | cooking for each other | big fancy gala | sibling rivalry | hair stroking | dancing | laying in the grass | watching stars together | watching the other sleep | shared values | friends to lovers  | enemies to lovers | lovers to enemies | childhood friends | slow burn | love triangle | toxic relationship | sitting on each other’s laps |  can’t be together | hugs | forehead touches | neck kisses | car/motorbike rides | compliments | nicknames | falling asleep together | late night talks | gifts |

If anyone actually made it this far, I’d be shocked. But seriously, if you want to do any kind of variance of an OC master post for your OCs, feel free to do it and tag me.

[shoot-me-with-a-crayon]

for the number ask one, 1-50

ooh, anon. you are one curious piece of shit.

1. I have one, but it’s pretty stupid and I've only had it like idk 3 or 4 times? But basically its set in a setting that kinda reminds me of the city on Tatooine in star wars. and me and my bro(in the dream we always look how we looked when we were like 6-7 lmao), and we’re just running around apparently being chased by a t-rex? I'm not sure bc i could never turn around to look but my bro seemed adamant about it being a t-rex,  we run into a building and it has this weird fucker who idk how to describe(I just looked it up and the weird thing in my dream kinda looked like Watto from star wars, aka this fucker:

) anyways we go into a building with this fucker in it and he’s just like “Hey stay here and you’ll be safe ;)” and me and my bro are just like “OK WE TRUST U” and then he proceeds to try and feed us to some fuckin raptor or something and then me and my bro run away. And then we continue to run and run through his building being snapped at by raptor lookin fuckers when we run through. Then at some point we see our mom, and we run towards her but we can never reach her. The dream just ends when we’re like 5 feet away from her. ??? the first time i had this dream i was fuckin 6 or 7 and i fell asleep in my bed and woke up sitting at the counter in our kitchen at the time and in one of those tall stools, with a glass of water in front of me, the kitchen light was on , and i was alone??? How did i get there?? How did i get the milk?? How did I turn on the light?? Who knows.

2. Apples or bananas.

3. Definitely Sweet

4. This sounds stupid, but I'm only moderately spooked of the dark tbh(and that's why i have two nightlights in my room ;D)

5. Uh according to google a pickle is both a fruit and vegetable, but ima just say my least favorite vegetable is a pickle.

6. Uuuhhhhhhh probably Pop Art(i had to look up art movements for this shit)

7. Yes, i do drink milk.

8. I’m assuming I'm not allowed to include fanfics so lemme go grab the last book i read(which i read 2 months ago.. whoops) fuck the last book i read was The Twisted Ones,,, “ ”That’s not Charlie.” ”

9. Depends

10. Hm.. I’d have to say probably learning that my mom’s dad, GPa(aka what we call him) died four days after i was born..

11. Honestly, my Dad. and honestly, as sad as this sounds, he probably affected me in the worst way possible.

12. Oohhhh, I actually thought about this last night lmao. For dogs, probably either a Husky, a Black Lab, or an Australian Shephard. And for cats, probably a Siamese, a Turkish Angora, or a Japanese Bobtail. :)

13. Awwww!! Ok ok ok, so 5-Yertle, 4-Turt, 3-Turtie, 2- dudeski/rainbow(my girlfriend has a turtle and she named him rainbow, but she renamed him to be dudeski now, and honestly i just love those names), 1-Crush.

14. Probably an art teacher tbh.

15. Dakota and Frank. I just really hate those names and all the people I've met with those names suck so far. And i just slightly dislike anybody with the names Andrew and Katherine, idk why tho lmao.

16. Either F or Y

17. Piano, ukulele, and anything percussion related lmao.

18. Maggie(

19. A spoopy ghost >:D

20. Of the three I've only ever had fish, but id fuckin LOVE to have a snake :0

21. Both.

22. Atm i really like Forget Me Nots :)

23. Neither.

24. Uh not really lmao

25. Uhm kinda.

26. There's been a lot dude

27. I collect gemstones and pins :)

28. 4.

29. I once slept all day and woke up at around 11:40 PM :)

30. In my room alone(and not including the stickers on my walls, uhh 6(technically 7)

31. Never. I still do. ;)

32. Skittles, Starbursts, and Airheads.

33. Either pie or brownies.

34. Yeah, i haven't really used it tho.. But it’s a Canon EOS Rebel Gii i think? Whatever it’s this thing:

35. Ye, currently I have a necklace w/ a golden Freddy dog tag on it one of my brothers bought me, i have a hair tie on my left wrist(i count it as jewelry >:|), a cute lil bracelet on my right arm, and a cute lil silver ring on my left ring finger(it refuses to fit on any other finger, even on my right hand. It fuckin refuses and idk why lmao)

36. Sunset

37. With headphones

38. Well my fav show rn(since im still a kid lmao) is definitely Queer Eye

39. I have two fav spots. The first is in my room, and it’s at the head of my “bed”(im sleeping on a mattress on the floor until we can afford to get me an actual bed lol), where my desk is and i sit on the floor with my feet under the desk while I lean back into my pillows. The other spot is on our couch in the living room, on one end of the couch there isn't a back or an arm rest, and almost right next to it is a window with a fan in it that we always keep on(sitting there is especially comfy bc it’s been sat on so much there's a giant soft indent there and the fan blows in cool air and it’s just great.)

40. cold(only bc when i’m cold i have an excuse to wear my hoodie and wrap my blanket around myself lol)

41. I… i dont have any good jokes :(

42. Well it’s not the weirdest thing but once i saw two boys naruto running past me while at school.

43. CD.

44. My girlfriend and my friend Antonio :(

45. Japan and my shitty fuckin household ;D.

46. We had one who would sub for almost every fuckin class i think. And she had a kid who went to the middle school i was going to at the time(she was in my grade and was really nice tbh), but she really sucked? Liked she would sub for our choir class and basically ignore us the entire time, and she subbed for my science class for an entire quarter of the school year last year, and she basically fucked up our entire routine in hat class and when our teacher came back we couldn't even fix our shit while the actual fuckin teacher was back. Jfc, i just don't like that sub tbh,,

47. Not really

48. Idk, but i believe in ghosts so uh,

49. I’ll describe BOTH! >:D ok so first, family.

My oldest bro, he’s 20 and borderline autistic, we get in fights a lot but he can actually be real nice(never tell him i said that tho).

My second oldest bro, hes 18(turning 19 in 14 days), really nice and fuckin hilarious, and probably my fav of my brothers, also he works at McDonalds :).

My third oldest bro, he’s 15(turning 16 in 5 days :0) kinda mean, ok no really mean, and very bratty, very annoying, and very dramatic, he is good at writing tho.

My dad(ew), he’s in his 50s, a huge dick, deserves nothing but sadness(in my opinion), yells a lot, just an overall asshole.

My mom(yay), in her 40s, really nice :D, really funny!, a huge dork, deserves nothing but love and happiness, she’s basically our best friend while also bein a strict and good mom

Now my pETS!! :DDDD.

Pepper, a very fluffy black and white adult kitty boye, can be v angry, but also can be v nice, you never know which he is until you pet him.

Dirty, a gray and white adult kitty boye, very nice and deserves all the pets and cuddles.

Smokie, gray kitten boye, very sneaky, very annoying, i hardly ever see him nowadays :(.

Mama, a black(with a lil bit of white) adult kitty, not an actual mom, just really fat and has worms, easily spooked(it’s sad lmao), loves to be pet but also loves to bite u when u pet her.

Runner,(my fav) a black adult kitty who’s really sweet and deserves the fuckin universe, he learned to run before he learned to walk, v nice and sweet

Anyways

50. HAHAHAHAH. No.

OK IM DONE! This took too long lmao whoops

[glopratchet]

retirement-home

of astryl wylde, and barricades with blood, the remains of an undead army, a large group of humans are marching towards the castle to capture the young novitiates, astro's guiding light fading fast with helmets for some reason, from something identifying itself as a "police officer" but definitely not a demonic entity of the infernal plane site guarded by a meched out robot called "m swapping out the rubble squad and suddenly yelling a number of racial slurs and insults directed at the current heroes A love maze hacked into by bandits, going around cutting and gauze coming off a machete and suddenly being used against the whores' fathers, uncles, brothers floating in a tank above The treasure room: filled with safe deposit boxes, but dead heroes Solid walls made of muscle for demonic possession Ex-hero turned torturer absorbed into whores' father made out of rusting car bodies made out of body parts glowing pink chamber, aces and other high rollers lounging around a blackjack table Turing machine with tape recorder attached instead of computer staring down from trees floating along a river A long red carpet leading up to a complex of caves holding a dark tower a technological compound located in a maze beneath guild fortress Gold ingot affixed to tires of an abandoned sports car protruding from wall taking brains out of tank to make adjustments to cyborg Roller derby taking place inside maglev train leading to a red brick factory building upright on two legs topped with a canine snout, ears replaced by headphones, tongue replaced by a forked length of metal a graveyard and defended by ghouls, zombies saying with broken english howling at the gates that lead inside a rubber hose with one end inserted into chest, pumping the other end until it hisses air and injects it into arm y brain lying beneath skull-shaped ashtray Giant bloodworm forcibly injects itself into car accident, taking on the role of defense attorney and saving heroes replaced with roided out hospital patient with tribal tattoos reading a "health" pamphlet with pitbull head cropping up in mineshaft, howling back cheese-loving rabbit filling hole with maggots Bloody biker gang defending hooligans fishing bodies out of ocean Skull toting around a around cafeteria, trading blood packets for peanut butter sandwiches residential hallway lined with dark brick leading to a incinerator chute pizza spinning hypnotically as center of hivecraft bakery built inside Giant brain in a jar of green fluid hooked up to many machines pumping red pills Bloody agent off-duty, taking day off to work in sweaty coal mine filled with moles Mutations of ingredient animals leading up to cafeteria's meat locker working in a padded cell and making tight knots in ropes Sonar tech dolphin with human teeth crafting perfect 3D pictures out of translucent paper, always watching the chemical reaction, spoon-stirring clear liquid in pipe cleaner frame bottle Lightbulbs with eyes replacing the head, leading a team of roaches performing circadian mowing grass and trees with buzzing electric clippers beloved pet in attempt at perfect skin, cat with hair all bunched up in chaotic star pattern Manic pixie dream druggie replacing chemicals with luminol illnesses no doctor ever has, discovering new syndromes furry rodent, making sure every hair lies gently over the next Scat singing improvising jazz demon leading a pan flute band an asian woman, being walked on a leash by an obese man in a midlife crisis Bioengineering two headed kitten replacing scientists at atomic clock facility Man a roguish charm that tricks victims of violent crimes into turning themselves in damed, fragile corpse up close for police records Catalogue everything beautiful in a cold and calculated manner with peer before leaving them to die A day where everything is perfect for absolutely nobody senile luddite lacking cranial ports who stays such a frenzy that artificial hands replace natural ones replacing trash collecting truck's engine with that of a car Security guard painted gold using celebrity blood as self tanner Utility fog turning city street into haunted mansion destroyed by plane Fairies farming fungi fairy rings Derro experimenting on golem skin disease, making a metal plague to wipe out rival syndicate hobgoblins submerging residential area in a hyperbolic chamber rewarding monsters for dedicated service with a paint job on new runway leading into neon-illuminated fog Runners delivering pot of gold to sitting area tied to railroad tracks Man selling barbed wire to fence with visual malfunction Snapdragon seed sputtering in the breeze And that's it! everyone within an inch of their lives Resident egghead removing backwards writing from all police reports Having enamored a river spirit, a bargain is struck to collecting fruit and making uncanny valley holograms to sell as produce Zombie-eyed infant model eating solar cells as curiosity takes over artistic lense Times New Roman self-diagnosed sociopath who tries to take over the world as an act of revenge taking illegal guns and replacing the gunpowder with stool softener Solar panels operating at peak efficiency by day and glowing at night Please upvote this post in an abandoned neon sign These demons raid the servers of a famous novelist Volume brought to deafening levels as class projects flood in dealing with zombie plague and masquerading pain as pleasure Mistaken for a super nova, space station is mistaken for a UFO under blankets of stars quite easily addressed Foundation comprised of passionate, yet incompetent white knights struggling with iron overload juggernaut commanding the respect of a king Haymaker left hook causing immediate and fatal brain damage to some athletes with daddy issues turning dreams into internet points and punching the rich in their bourgeoisie Instructing demons to train dogs for protection based on urban legend Preparing urchin homes in tubes and lizard scales dreaming up exo-planetary bloodsports Crowdsurfing at Heavybites concert into a vat of toxic waste into a hillside of two-bit crimes and dead-end jobs Releasing heavy metal album with medieval torture devices as inspiration Putting down shelter stopping hearts filled with a lethal amount of painkillers leaves bowl half-empty for some reason and nervous twists of a bumbling idiot Chauffeuring the coffin hotel This rotten carrion feasting on hospital waste deserves attention hundreds of miles long covered with thousands of tons of garbage on garbage Making doilies from human teeth Lycanthropic rats offer discounted heroine in their tunnel maze booths surrounded by runaway trains Exports include sewage and toxic waste Graveyard of shoddily screened phones with worn-out batteries Releasing coral snakes and Toll booth to a bankrupt turnpike Skipping to East L because getting their prescription renewed is taking too damned long! hotel of Xeno-produced downtempo Music streaming through cheap speakers Barges full of deer draped in Goji berries Dozens of ladders addict promoting solar panels with faded tattoos Drugs and hookers bleeds dry host more every day A group of cloaked hags make their rounds Matching silver bracelets disguise gang colors of an old woman living on main drag Empty ranch house discarded for the city lights Unlicensed doctors freshly painted headstones of wind smelling like aftershave and formaldehyde injections made from crushed insects Whole-bodied automatons trying out hip new clothing brands Tendency for the mindless army to follow their leader slav to enhance strength and agility by a factor of eight Long-stem rose for a first-date dinner with a vampire fanatics chanting for human- hunting competitions in the arena Secondary arm used for primary, seeing if it can continue without it illuminated by a pulsating womblike membrane Arrival at ached-foretold destination with dead GPS Masterful motion detector sitting on empty leather chair of recently liquidated telemarketers Colonies of jeweled spiders weaving new master's throne Perfectly reflective floors leading to underground pool virtuoso playing songs to his plants Mound of excrement and toilet paper curling around the drain pieced together into castle for dolls and action figures Lifetime of old newspapers piling up in hallway of seahorse and conch shells in curio cabinet Acrylic Zombie feet used as bookends on Ikea coffee table pile of sea anemone skeletons See: Quagga mussels growing 1 5 inches every day loading chemical feeding frenzy Metal lockbox and two dozen melted pistol barrels Dislocated limbs being surgically removed cooks lifting boxes full of organs Autopsied child with fatal cranial swelling Colony of epileptic coral clustered around human skull surgeon and his mentally defective assistant A morgue disguised as a taxidermy museum gift shop -infected calendars stuck on random dates Bags overflowing with leaking saline-solution and blood hopelessly pushing Humvees to get them out of the way Wading through crunchy autumn leaves for miles shot adding two more hours to cheat death Barefoot and wrapped in bloody bath towels Corpse itching from maggots displaced by fresh cuts bricked into their own hallway Everybody gets the shits after drinking the water monster from a Japanese horror film with skin parasites Big black frothing chunks of flesh exploding diarrhea of nose-hair-clogging, dense, mucusy goo some old Indian told you your first week in the hotel Some see it as a disease safe haven and refugee camp determination of the sub-conscious brain's fears Some beachside and forest hideouts in the middle of nowhere of the deceased 28th President's daughter Stinging insects populate the surrounding swamps Send in the military to cleanse everyone and everything of the rot-resistant zippers on your forefather's safe for vision and ideas by the GSA-appointed leader Litigation between bloodthirsty lawyers and corrupt jury from melted snow trickling down the walls Camouflage in the forest, grass, and rocks all around you from your double-crossing, brimstone- hellbound Father Surgical removal of parasitic twin fetuses attached to your spine the cyborg supervisor monitoring your every move Catalogs flooding the hotel with trade workers and potential hostages men making a 100% more effort-- 300% more loot! Blood-caked machete meat cleaver thrown into the furnace razors, and other crucial supplies consumed The neon light flickering imitates the rhythm of hums pearls, and other gems for portraits sitting on dressers Variety of knickknacks and memorabilia from around the world toys sweep under pillows and between mattresses Forlorn light saffron-robed monks shed quiet tears industrial perfumes pumped into your room suffocate you Silverfish skeletons and moth wings piling up in the closet sprays spaying your gardenview room Useless, broken gimmicks and gadgets electrocuting you haggle over who gets what and how it'll be used Which schools, sketchy private or governmental organizations get to screen for fieldtrips and celebration of masculinity Musicians for weekend retreats to get high Surgeons for classes struggling to keep up for the cold, plague-infested northern frontier Soldiers for war-games and accidentally killing each other competitors for photo shoots and competitions None because they think they can get somewhere on their own They do amazing things with what they've got gays wallow in the cheapest corner of the hotel Young, impressionable experimenting homosexuals The families of same-gender lovers banished to malnutrition zones to change you from Utopian to sub-human in a breeding program Inferior Americans with the wrong genes will be eradicated and manufacturers get rich, corpse eaters the opposite Sorrowful fatties give their children a once in a generation chance at life redesigned with supermodel abs and bulging muscles bred for biological and sociological experiments millennia ago The 21st century the pool of vomit and dirty needles floats by -colored sludge oozes over the city Cranial- defects, alcoholics, and degens create empires glide everywhere and everything is shared Psychedelic trance dancing to save the world too gross for red-blooded humans The rotting, fetid meat that passes for brains siphon powers from the ancient sewage system Rats and lice feasting on trash and mutants overcoming your will to live one moment at a time Your filthy naked body marinated in blood and vomit high-arched feet battered and bruised and malnutrition give you anemia, Goiters the size of melons throb and pulse Yet your calf muscles bulge with power The clomping of your hooves crushing stones Finally given a chance to prove your worth glow in the radiated water and cantaloupes distended and heavy with juice Baskins & Robbins 31 flavors of ice cream in a cone -diving maggots and fleas for under privileged or anyone! Laborers unloading the freshest of arrivals truck and ladies' man for the sweetest girlies in town Down-on-their luck drifters including paroled thieves, dealers and pimps buggy racing across the desert on a stimulant Steal to survive, thrive by wits alone or turn tricks clothing snatching the eyes The safest, usually with a jewelry store in the basement Branding, tattoos and body mods done on site army boys marching in lockstep Take the mopping job to be close to princess fresh blood their hearts pump gunpowder and their minds are weapons Not eligible for mind-wipe or re- placement drinking vodka instead Bio-engineering students replace bodies with machines Take ancient engine of destruction for a joyride feeding time at the botanical garden Plush and velvet splendor in a chintz chair Women have success, men fail at the Bite-o-Mania food cart An illegal basement chop shop for bikes and cars and cold, hard cash covered in a soft, warm peritoneum Working stiff possessed by envy for the office drone The deserters next attack could be your bunker Wayward sentinent Kryton tubes generating waste heat unlikely to survive outside controlled environment Thought-leader and crowd-driver influencing the masses are almost human, subject to scientific curiosity Livery with carved iconography and bright colors Mendicants, beggers and mercenaries almost pick your own lot Old Mother Mallard's Rusty Charognards Saloon Gliding as long as possible until the last moment The screaming and wailing of fetid winds If too deep you'll fall the rest of the way through the earth and hit whatever is on the other side This is the essence of skydiving or free falling in layman's terms so you may substitute it for the eggs damaging it or even break so try for that speed also, learn the location you will fall or descend from and do you math using the freefall calculator on this site i give you : Just forward momentum, right? Well it really isn't it's just like anchoring a parachute except your moving object is the Earth and not yourself ther are lines in this story that just keep tugging away at you after losing your love to the treachery of a jealous witch hmF! Sorry, my intent was not to stubivkzny ah, I mean stQrb? b you

[getreadytosmash]

The Past that Smashed

Chapter 17

She Hulk’s POV

I was getting ready to go to the movies with Carla and I was trying to see what to wear.

Carla went into another room to straighten her hair because it takes a really long time to do if you have really big curly hair.

I was kind of excited because it’s been long that I went out but not go fight or train like I normally do. Finally, a day that I can take a break.

I had Skaar with me to help pick out my out for because he wanted to be involved with something. He had Mattie on the bed too, since he really liked the snake and sometimes asked questions about the clothes.

“Mattie told Skaar that Jen should use purple.”

“Use purple, huh?”

I mean I don’t look bad in it so maybe I can find something.

I finally found an electric purple blouse with black lines. I picked up a black pants with a silver belt with a silver necklace because Skaar likes how my sparkling silver shoes looked and wanted me to try them on so I had to find anything silver to use it with. Not bad for a guy to actually help in clothing.

I decided that I could curl my hair, but I couldn’t help but wondered how Carla’s hair looks like.

When I got out I saw her coming out of Red’s room but her hair was completely straight. She had a peach blouse with white pants and white shoes. She also a brown belt with a brown necklace too and pink tinted sunglasses with the temples being white. Turns out that she used Red’s heat to straighten her hair. When he was in his overheat mode, he carefully grabbed bits of her hair and straighten it that was. Smart.

We were on our way to the theater, hoping that nothing goes wrong.

Red’s POV

Jones and I was at the concert waiting for that DJ to start playing. Can’t they hurry up with this already?

We were at the back since we were too tall and we didn’t want people to complain about us. Jones went to buy some churros for me since he promised that he would buy me any food I want. Finally Jones came in with my churros when the DJ finally came in.

He was a brunette with his hair that almost touched his shoulders. He had a black tan top on with a rainbow paint splat on it and in the middle was a music note. He had a black jacket with silver lines and black pants. That’s weird, he even had combat boots but I think he just like the style. He also had a chain that hung to his pants on the right side and golden necklace that said DJ JD. He put on his silver and black headphones and started the music.

It wasn’t that bad, but man, the people here was a crazy in the front. Sadly Jones was one of those people who hollered and waved his arms like an idiot. God, what a kid. I noticed that some people were in the back like me, away from the crowd. I don’t blamed them. I tried to look for Jones to buy me something else since I finished my churro.

The song changed after that and he announced that ‘In the Name of Love’ was next.

Oh for fuck sake! I had it with that song ever since Jones, Albizu, and even Leader started to sing this crap!

I noticed someone was moving very quick when the first part came on. I looked to my right and saw that it was a man that looked like he was getting ready to dance. That would have not been really damn weird if he wasn’t dressed like how he was. He has wavy medium length black hair that looked a unwashed. A black leather jacket with , again seriously people, black combat boots. A grey shirt with black writing on it saying “Does it look like I care?” and rings under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in weeks. He had a chain on his dark jeans on the left side of the pants and black sunglasses with orange around where the lens were. Why the hell does he bring sunglasses in the middle of the night? Jesus Christ, with these people.

‘If I told you-’

He slide to his right.

‘-this was only gonna hurt’

He came back to his spot with small quick steps while he waved his right arm.

‘If I warned you-’

He did it again but slid to his left.

‘-that the fire’s gonna burn’

And again with the same movement.

‘Would you walk in?’

He slide forward with his right hand reaching out.

‘Would you let me do it first?’

He walked slowly back with his hand turning him to a ball and pulled in.

‘Do it all in the-’

He put his right hand up at ‘all’ and the left in ‘the.”

‘-name of love’

He put them on his chest making a heart out of them.

‘Would you let me lead you even when you’re blind?’

He slid to his right and did the same movements.

‘In the darkness, in the middle of the night’

Then moved to the left and did that the same as well.

‘In the silence, when there’s no one by your side’

He went forward and came back the same way as he did before.

‘Would you call in the-’

He puts his hands up but making an X this time.

‘-name of love?’

He lower his arms down and separate them in the middle but it came back as a X again on his chest.

‘In the name of love,’

He leaned and reached out to his right but without moving from his spot and leaned back while his hands made a finger roll as he pulled it in so that he had his head down, legs apart, and hands down into a fist.

‘name of love’

Did the same but to the left.

‘In the name of love,’

This time he reached to the sky and came back with the same pose.

‘name of love’

He reach to the ground.

‘In the name of-”

Oh sweet Jesus! He is actually dance really well. He did a look of impressive moves like flipping, handstands, twirling, and even ‘fell’ into a ground into an uncomfortable position but came back up like nothing happened. The way he spun reminded me of a ballerina….ballerina huh?

‘If I told you we could bathe in all the lights’

He did the same moves as before but he move with more passion. I don’t me like exaggerate or anything. He dances like no one was watching, or I don’t know what his mentality was but it was actually…fun to watch I guess?

I don’t know why but I positioned myself in what ballerina are usually seen as, but it just felt natural doing it. I actually know ballet. I was on my toes with my hands were down making a U with my arms.

‘In the name of love,’

The guy did the same move, reaching out and pulling back in. However I slowly moved my right hand up and back down slowly.

I noticed that he looked at me.

‘name of love’

He did the same move on his left. I however swayed my hand to the left without it going above my waist.

He smirked at me.

‘In the name of love,’

He moved forward while my right hand did the same move but forward and towards the sky.

‘name of love’

He went back so my left hand swayed back.

‘In the name of-’

So I might have bust out my old ballet moves but I didn’t care. I was just twirling like there was no tomorrow. As I leaped, a crowd gather around me and the other guy. He moved closer to where I was.

“Yeah, let’s give it out to the guys in the back dancing! Give them a round of applause for giving this concert more life!” yelled the DJ.

Everyone screamed and clapped.

I actually was enjoying myself for once. No worry about Hulk going back. No worry about Devil boy burying me in the goddamn morning. Nothing. Well, maybe I did wondered if Hulk even left. But nothing could stop me now.

“WOO! Go Red!”

“Shut it, Jones!”

\I know that I said that I was going to show how Sammy and Ennui met but I got too into the whole describing the clothes and the dance so I got carried away. I didn’t want to put it so it would be as long as the other one. Sorry if you were waiting on how they met! But on the next chapter I will say it! Ahhhh! I feel bad. Hope you enjoy this one.\

(Buddy. The fact you made Red do ballet is enough to make me happy until the day I die. I can't believe you remembered that about him! Thanks! And I like the outfits Jen and Carla wore, having Skaar help while being cute with Mattie. Sweetie Red helping out with hair makes me melt every time and I'm glad he could relax and be happy for once, even if it's dancing with his enemy's boyfriend(?). A great chapter featuring my favourite smasher and second favourite character! Nobody can replace Leader after all ;D)

[mintyvan]

21 - Flip For It

filling the request Jealous van, makeup sex with van, anything bondy-related, reader can’t decide between van + bondy, and van teaches you how to play guitar. Rated M for the smut!

summary The reader is Van's girlfriend, but she quickly falls for Bondy too. Van is jealous, Bondy is eager, the band is about to go on tour; who will she choose?

note this is the longest thing I’ve ever written, at 17825 words. Grab a cuppa and sit yourself down for this one. I thoroughly loved writing this. Enjoy!

___________________

“Van, I CANNOT do this!” you yell as your hand painfully slips off the guitar strings again. “My fingers have been cramping for hours, and I don’t even know if this thing is tuned correctly.”

He had been standing at the kitchen counter making tea, and he turned around and sat a cup down in front of you. “Have a break if you need it, love. But I know you can do it. Gotta be positive and all that.” He stood over you, bad posture taking a few inches off his height.

With a huff of frustration, you state, “But you said it yourself that most people quit after a few weeks! I don’t wanna be like that.” You look up at his clear blue eyes, the dissatisfaction clear on your face.

You had been Van’s girlfriend for years now, and watching him play guitar with the boys on tour (when you were invited to come see them for a few days) was one of your favorite memories. At night in hotel rooms, they’d bring out a few acoustics with Bob tapping on pots and pans or hotel room tables when all his gear was locked in the other rooms. They’d sing and play and dance until the early hours of the morning when one of the tour managers would come in and banish everyone to their respective rooms with a “You all have to be up in four hours! What are you thinking?”. Out of everyone, you were the least musically inclined; you always got that hot feeling in your cheeks when a new friend of the band’s handed you a guitar thinking you played too. The blush would creep up on your chest and your cheeks and you had to pretend it was because Van was still wooing you with his prodigious musical ability - which he was, granted - but you didn’t want to let him know how much it affected you to feel incredibly inferior to him in every aspect in music. After all, music was his entire life, and you had been desperate to avoid any contact with it until now.

You had always wanted to learn an instrument but never had the time to learn how to play. There were the fourth grade piano lessons, but those lasted about a week and a half before you quit because your fingers weren’t long enough to do octaves, and all the classical songs you wanted to learn required that you could do that. When all your friends were in the school chorus or band or orchestra, you were taking the other elective classes that interested you more than the chance to potentially and eventually fail again at music.

That insecurity was still rooted deeply in you as you grappled at the frets and struggled to strum the chords; after Van tried to teach you melody, he realized a better fit for inexperienced you would be rhythm, and set you to learning some of the easier parts in songs you both loved, not to much avail.

“Honey, come to bed,” Van whispered a few hours later, peeking out of his room across the hall from Larry’s. You had been working tirelessly through the evening and into the night, watching how-to videos on Youtube and trying to remember the patterns of fingers and strums while Van, Larry, and Bondy shared a few drinks and played Fifa; their activities were practically the same regardless of whether they were on tour. It was all a blur to you as you concentrated hard.

“A few more minutes, I’ve almost got this one part I think,” you replied, placing your tongue between your lips again in concentration, fingers trying to hold the strings down. Your eyes were starting to go in and out of focus from exhaustion.

“Right. See you in a few.” He tiptoed over, careful not to make the floorboards creak, and kissed you on the cheek softly before heading back to his bedroom.

****

Bondy’s heavy footfalls on the linoleum kitchen floor woke you. The tiny night-light above the sink cast an orangey glow across his chiseled features as he stepped around the table to reach the fridge. After pouring himself a glass of water, he sensed your gaze, and his bare feet padded over to you.

You hadn’t realized that you’d fallen asleep with the guitar cradled in your arms, and you only noticed as Bondy started to softly chuckle as he picked up your feet from the couch and put them on the coffee table so he could take a seat next to you.

“Still trying to pick it up?” he asked, in reference to playing the guitar. You nodded sleepily as he took it from you and started to play it quietly, and almost absentmindedly. The guitar looked like it belonged in his arms, as if it were an extension of him. He played it easily, though his eyes were heavy-lidded.

Suddenly, you decided to vent the frustrations you were harboring about guitar. Maybe it was the cover of night, or Bondy’s comforting presence next to you. Or the countless hours you’d practiced with Van, all for nothing. But something was making you speak out for once.

“Van’s not the best teacher - I mean, he plays really well, but I don’t think what he’s telling me is getting through to me. May I?” You nod to the glass of water on the table, questioning, and Bondy nods back, indicating you could take a sip. After washing away the feeling of sleep from your mouth, you continue. “I just don’t get it. I’ve never been good at music. I think it’s ‘cause I have a different way of thinking than most people. I mean, not super different, but just a little backwards or maybe I see other patterns than what I’m supposed to. And, God, I’m bored all the time. I need something to do to pass the time.” Your voice got quieter.  “And I’m just embarrassed every time some of you start playing and I can’t take part. I feel like an outsider or something.” You looked down at your hands folded in your lap and twiddled your thumbs.

Bondy listened quietly to your confused ramble, and when you were finished, he said, “Maybe I could teach you the basics. Sometimes it can help to just forget everything you’ve heard and start again from scratch.”

You nodded your head, and considered. Glancing at the digital clock numbers glowing bright blue on the end table, and realizing you still had a couple of hours left until you really had to go to sleep, you nodded as Bondy handed the guitar back to you and started explaining everything from a true beginner’s perspective.

*****

“Babe! Ya never came to bed last night,” Van said, a little disappointed, to your almost-lifeless body on the couch as he strutted into the living room. He was wearing the white button down (your favorite), black jeans, black suede boots, and that black belt with a big square silver buckle. His hair was washed clean and his reflective sunglasses were perched on the bridge of his nose. Grabbing his keys and then popping a quick kiss on your lips, he exited through the door to the driveway. Shortly after, Larry emerged from his room, Bondy in tow, the both of them looking exceptionally cleaned-up as well.

You tossed off the blanket that was laying over your legs and headed for the bedroom to get changed. Today half the band was doing an acoustic session on the radio near where Van and Larry lived, hence Bondy’s overnight stay. You were excited about this performance - you had never seen them sing and play on the radio, let alone even been in a radio station, so you were bright-eyed and curious as you drove up to the radio station behind Van’s car-full of lads.

Arriving at the station, you marveled at all the wires and microphones and equipment snaking around chairs and tables in the room. The walls were completely soundproof between the studio and the outer rooms, allowing no sound to come out from inside the transparent box, and prompting Larry to cut up with you while the boys were preparing to speak. He kept making faces and yelling things at you from behind the glass, which you couldn’t hear, until Van smacked him on the arm and told him to go wait outside with you until they were done setting up.

Occupying a chair next to Larry in the back corner of the radio booth as the band and the radio hosts sat down and placed headphones on their heads, readying the equipment for on-air, you felt a little useless. You wondered if this is how Larry felt some days on tour, his job as guitar tech typically being given to hired sound people at festivals; taping setlists and carrying water out to the stage didn’t seem like fulfilling time, but you knew he enjoyed other aspects of the job too. You almost felt bad for him, and empathized with his need to act silly sometimes to get people’s attention; especially when Van told him to “shut the fuck up” earlier as Larry was bantering with Joe, preventing him from doing his job. You realized this faux “all-business” attitude Van fell into was probably why Larry enjoyed your company, and why Van may have been eager to bring you along sometimes. Their love-hate relationship was obvious.

Soon the band started the interview, with Van speaking up most of the time; you loved the way he told the host exactly what he was thinking, and didn’t hold back at all. Confidence emanated from him, and today he spoke with flourishing hand gestures. The slight tone of his muscles was peeking through the white fabric stretched over his shoulders, and you couldn’t help but think he looked incredibly sexy. You bit your lip so as not to let a rogue facial expression betray your thoughts.

The interview passed relatively quickly, and you were pleased to see what everyone looked like in action, promoting their content. You could tell they truly loved what they did, and how much they appreciated fans’ support. As they stood from their chairs to perform, the radio host played a short song over the radio so they could go off-air to prepare.

Bondy took his guitar from the stand, and made direct eye contact with you and motioned for you to watch his hands. Then he nodded his head towards Van’s hands, and with that gesture essentially told you to spot the difference. Van noticed the nonverbal interaction between you and Bondy, and cocked an eyebrow, but if he thought anything of it, he didn’t say.

They played the regulars - 7, Cocoon, and Kathleen - and wowed the radio hosts, as usual. Normally, you would have been excited to just watch Van sing, but listening to how the acoustic guitars blended the sounds together piqued your interest in not just Van’s vocals, but how fluid his rhythmic hand movements were in matching Bondy’s melodic ones. You noticed how both men played the same chords, but Van strummed in a sort of “backup guitar” fashion under Bondy’s perfect plucking. Never before had you noticed what real talent Bondy had, since previously you’d avoided even looking at musical instruments, and it fascinated you.

At the end of the session, you congratulated the both of them on a job well done as they walked outside the heavy black doors of the studio for a smoke.

“So glad we have a few more days off before the next appearance,” Bondy sighed, exhaling a cloud of smoke skyward.

“No, mate, we’ve got that fancy party tomorrow night to celebrate the year anniversary of the album’s release. We’re booked in that club, you know the one that’s like an underground bar, and though they said no outside people would be allowed in, ya know they let ‘em in for revenue an’ all that,” Van replied, snaking a cigarette out of the box. He held it daintily between his long fingers, seeming to barely touch it at all. It floated around as he spoke with his hands.

Bondy rolled his eyes in defeat, crunching his boots on the asphalt. “Is that the one where we have to dress up a little, like the Brits? Photo ops and the like?” You tried to stifle a laugh, but you choked out a giggle. You loved the way Catfish thought they had to dress up only “a little” for the Brits.

“No, that one’s in a few weeks. This one’s casual.” He fumbled around for his lighter, patting his jacket pockets, then his pants pockets. “Got a light, love?” You handed Van your lighter, both of your hands brushing together, causing you to blush. Still, years later, every little thing he did made your heart flutter. “Oh, almost forgot, we gonna practice guitar tonight?” he asked as he lit the cigarette.

Your eyes immediately went to Bondy, but he was studying the asphalt beneath his boots. You hadn’t told Van yet that you decided against him being your guitar teacher.

Looking back at Van, you realized you’d have to say yes, otherwise he’d know something had changed. You’d been so eager to have Van teach you before, and had even told him one of the many personal tales of chagrin you felt regarding your musicless childhood. You practically begged him to teach you in his spare time, which he could be using for other, more entreating activities while off tour.

You rationalized in your head. Having Bondy teaching you guitar was not wrong, but somehow you felt guilty because you’d asked Van and convinced him to forego other events. Not to mention Van hated when people went behind his back for even the smallest of offenses - you took Larry and the jaffa cake incident as a perfect illustration of this. To avoid hurting his feelings, you just smiled and said, “Course, babe,” to Van with the most positivity you could manage.

*****

“Ye can’t let him try to force the chord patterns on you. Remember what I told you - remember sounds above everything,” Bondy’s voice crackled through the receiver. You were lying backwards on Van’s bed, feet propped up on the pillows, twirling your keys around your fingers.

“I know, I know. It’ll be fine,” you tell him. “I won’t forget what you’ve already taught me.” A pause crept up, and you didn’t know what to say. You settled on a friendly “See ya later” to break the awkwardness of saying goodbye; you hated speaking on the phone for this very reason. You gladly hung up, and as you waited for Van and Larry to come home from afternoon grocery shopping, you decided to casually scroll through Instagram. You missed being able to freely post what you wanted to; all your old friends were posting selfies with their partners, recording silly videos, and showing off their love. Being Van’s girlfriend meant that you couldn’t really post anything about him without having to reveal your relationship to the public, and Van was an extremely private person, particularly wary of social media. Sometimes you wish you had a relationship with someone whose love you could also share with the world, like Chrissy Teigen and John Legend.

Your train of thought was interrupted by the sounds of Van and Larry busting into the house with giant paper bags crunching as they tried to carry all of the groceries inside. Van’s laugh echoed down the hall as Larry tried to juggle some fruit, and failed, as told by the muffled thumps on the floor.

Van jogged from the kitchen to the bedroom, and seeing you on the bed, exclaimed a cheery “Hello, love!” midair as he jumped onto it, landing to hover above you. He rubbed the tip of his nose across yours. You put your phone down and placed a hand on his neck, guiding his lips to yours. His long fingers brushed over your hair and down your neck, tickling your collarbone. Breaking the kiss, you replied with a simple, “Hi,” and a smile, and looked into his eyes. They were darkening to a deep indigo by the second. You caught onto his mood, and a smirk was shared between the two of you. His lips reconnected with yours, and the kiss deepened. He lowered himself over you, and his knee went between your legs as one of his hands slid underneath the small of your back. The other was starting to slink up your shirt, and as his fingers trailed higher up your stomach, he placed an open mouthed kiss on your neck, causing you to suck in a sharp breath of air and arch your back.

“That’s fuckin’ gross, mate!” Larry yelled at the sight of both of you on the bed through the open bedroom door. He couldn’t help but awkwardly smile in embarrassment as he stepped through the doorway to reach for the knob and close it behind him, leaving you and Van to indulge in each other.

****

The next morning you awakened to soft kisses being pressed to your shoulder. Remembering the night you and Van shared, you smiled and kissed Van’s hair.

“Mornin’ darlin’,” Van whispered when he felt the contact. From his position, legs intertwined in yours and cuddled into your side, he was at eye level with you for once. You loved when he did this; you felt so connected to him, especially with one side of his body running the length of yours. You didn’t have to crane your neck to kiss him, either. It was perfect. His arms were wrapped around your naked torso, and his skin was warm in the silk sheets. You recalled when he bought them for you at a specialty boutique:

“I’m picky ‘bout my linens. Gotta have the best for me girlfriend and me, we’re gonna be spending a lot of time in the bedroom,” he told the shop worker with a wink. Your cheeks burned red all the way out to the car as Van whisked the shopping bags off the counter with a crooked grin.

Unfortunately, you knew the morning’s cuddling had to be cut short. In order to be able to attend the band’s party tonight, you had to reschedule the dinner you had with your mother for lunchtime, and she was not keen on her children being late to family events. Actually, she wasn’t keen on anything or anyone at all.

You parted from Van in a sad huff as you told him you had to get ready for lunch with your “pain-in-the-arse” mother; he whined from loss of contact. The silken sheets pooled around his waist as you rose from your side of the bed, and his abs rippled when he propped himself up on his elbows. You, still naked, sat on the vanity’s chair to wipe your face with a cloth and prep your skin for makeup.

As you applied moisturizer and primer, you noticed Van’s gaze on you in the mirror. You straightened up your back, and pretended not to notice how ravenous his eyes appeared. While opening drawers as sexily as possible to tease Van a little in retrieving the rest of your makeup, your eyes glanced across a black silk handkerchief in the rear of one of the drawers. Picking it up with your forefinger and thumb, you dangled it in the air beside you, watching Van’s reaction reflected through the glass. His eyes opened wide and his mouth dropped open, and he looked at you incredulously for a moment. You only smirked.

“We’re deffo gonna employ that one day,” he said, just as a voice called for him in the living room.

“God, Larry ruins everythin’.” He chuckled, rose from the sheets that beckoned he stay in bed all day, and pulled a pair of track pants over his legs. He looked fucking beautiful, even in such casual attire. His necklace glinted in the mid-morning light, and his eyes sparkled as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, kissing you on the cheek as his bare chest pressed into your back, his messy hair falling onto your face. “You look lovely. And don’t stress about your mum. She’s not the greatest person, but she’s still your mum, so you got to love her” he said in his raspy morning voice. “See you tonight.”

“Wait!” you called after him. He stopped right before he reached the door. “Aren’t you going to be here this afternoon?”

“Nah, gonna go visit me grandad. His Irish folk band’s on ‘tour’ here this week, and he’s stayin’ near here.”

“Gotcha. Right then, see you tonight hon.”

****

“Y/N, I don’t know why you put me through this much stress,” your mother said as you plopped down in the cafe. She was sitting there, back straight with her driving gloves on. “I waited almost twenty minutes for you! I was about to leave,” she scoffed. In her lavender suit, matching hat and gloves, and pursed lips, she was the picture of cookie-cutter aristocracy. Something you hadn’t wanted anything to do with since she’d remarried.

“Come on Mum, I’m sorry I’m late. Van didn’t wake me up on time this morning.” She gave you a look that said Don’t test me.

“Relying on that boy for everything now! What am I going to do with you,” she sighed, clutching her cup of tea close to her brooched bosom. In spite, the corners of your mouth turned down. Her entire “holier than thou” speech was going to be laced with hypocrisy. You waited for her to continue; she always did. After a few heartbeats, she spoke up again. “You’re going to end up like that fellow Larry. Wind up with nothing someday, without a job or degree when someone replaces him. You should talk to Steve, the baker on the corner. He’s got a job opening. Or your cousin Matilda, in accounting. I’ve asked around town, and they’d all be pleased to have you working for them.”

You cut her off at that. “Mum, I’m not taking pity jobs from you. And I’m not going to end up like Larry! He’s got a stable job, he’s a great guy… And I do my own things, I don’t cling to Van. Plus… I’m just enjoying being young, not having anything pinned down.” Sighing, you sat back in your chair. The waiter came over and took your order, and then realizing the tension in the air, stepped to serve other customers nearby.

Your mother sighed, and sipped her tea. “You were going to go to university, get a prime education, and get a job away from here. I never thought I’d see you posted up like a groupie at that frontman’s flat. Living off his money like a housewife. You were always better than that,” she said, drumming her fingers on the table in front of you. You gasped at her harsh word choice. Your mother had always disapproved of everything that you did because you never did what she wanted, but she had never gone this far to insult you for it. Angry, you leaned forward and looked her directly in the eyes.

“His name is Van,  not “that frontman,” and we’ve been dating for almost five years. He’s been over at our house plenty. You know he’s wonderful. You even liked him before you remarried that guy. I love Van, and I wouldn’t mind being his housewife, anyhow! What is it with you always making me feel bad about myself? And the digging into me right as I arrive today? What have I done to deserve this?” The last part you practically whisper-yelled across the tiny table, trying not to attract the attention you knew your mother craved.

With the force of your voice, and the strain in your heart, your eyes started to sting as you realized a tiny truth behind her words. You just said you wouldn’t mind being his housewife. When you were in school, you wanted to be a doctor. Help people. Do something in the world. Make a difference. Change people’s lives. Your grades in school were good, but the fun of being with Van and the band was everything to you at the time, and his happiness took precedence over yours, so you never graduated.

You’d been trying to deny it, that you weren’t falling into a rhythm with Van where his work and money supported everything you did. But it was happening. You were his dependent. He paid for rent, food, drinks, even your phone bill. Your chest heaved, and your mother started looking at you with interest. She knew she’d struck a chord, and figured her work was done.

“Well then Y/N, let’s change the subject. I’ll tell you about Veronica’s new hair, boy is it god-awful..”

But you didn’t listen to the rest of it. As she spoke about the town gossip, your chest burned with hatred and guilt, and you felt tiny and helpless sitting in the chair in front of your mother. Sobs were threatening to escape, and you were in a public place. You tried to reign in the bitter tingling before your eyes, and a million scenarios were passing through your head. You couldn’t get a well-paying job because you dropped out of school when Van did. You couldn’t live on your own because you didn’t have a job. You couldn’t help with the band because you had no management, sound engineering, or instrument experience. Pigeonholed by your life choices, you couldn’t do anything other than what you were doing currently. And you were stuck. For half a second you considered breaking up with Van as your mother suggested, but the thought of losing him consumed you and made you choke out a sob and interrupt your mother mid-cackle.

“Mum, I’ve got to go.” You resigned yourself from the table, and ran down the steps of the restaurant to the parking lot. You put your car in drive, and let the tears spill. You wove through cars as fast as you could to get back to your only home - unfortunately for the circumstances, Van and Larry’s.

You missed your shot to achieve your dreams. You’re relying on a man for everything you’ve ever wanted. You can’t do anything. You want to give up? Great. It’s the thing you’ve always done, nothing new. Thoughts raced through your head and the tears kept coming as you drove on, but finally you thrust your key into the lock of the house and ran past the living room. It barely registered with you that Bondy was there, sitting at the kitchen table on his phone as you flew past him to the bedroom.

As soon as you slammed the door behind you, you let the tears flow freely, staining the silk sheets possibly permanently with the makeup you’d applied so happily earlier. You cried into the pillows to muffle the sounds, and lamented all in your life that you ruined.

****

A soft knock on the door betrayed the silence you’d immersed yourself in. You’d stopped crying a while ago. You were staring blankly ahead at the door, numb. Unfeeling. Unimpressed.

“Come in,” a monotone voice that didn’t sound like yours answered for you.

Bondy poked his head around the door. “Ah… you want to maybe… play guitar?” His kind, sympathetic eyes revealed that he took pity on your state, curled into the sheets and face thick with runny mascara. He was apprehensive. You probably looked terrifying.

“Okay.” You answered, and closed your eyes. Something dropped onto the sheets next to you. Opening your eyes, you saw it was a packet of makeup wipes.

“Let’s go, then. I’ll ready everything.” He left to get the guitars, and you slowly opened the crinkly package of wipes. You cleaned your face off, realizing mascara had even dripped lines down to your chin. Bondy returned with the guitars, and you forced yourself to cheer up a bit.

Bondy didn’t ask questions, for which you were grateful; you loved that he minded his own business. He started straight into the lesson, handing you a guitar and sitting himself down on the bed next to you.

“So we’ve been over chords a bit, and what sounds they make. Oh, let me see your fingers.” He held a hand out, asking for your left hand. You held it out to him, and he delicately lifted your wrist with one hand and felt the pads of your fingers with another. With a satisfied look, he continued speaking. “You’re getting the roughness you need to hold the strings down. I can tell you’ve been practicing.”

You wanted to look away from him; after the emotions you’d just swung through, having Bondy touch you so delicately, almost intimately, was enough to make you blush.

He noticed, and yet again, said nothing. With a small smile, he asked, “‘Ya listen to Frankie Cosmos?”

“Yeah. Her music is good. Simple, a little weird, but… good.”

“Glad you like it, because her song School is the first you’ll be learning. Super easy.”

He showed you the chords you needed to learn --- E and A, for the most part --- and taught you about bar chords, because she used them in one part of the song. Bondy even took your hand with the pick and strummed the song for you, as you practiced moving your hands over the frets with a chord change. The strings still cut into your skin, but it was easier than before to maneuver around the instrument; it was starting to feel less foreign.

Then, Bondy let you practice on your own for a few minutes, and once you got the general gist of it, he started playing rhythm to back you up, even though the original song didn’t have it. His playing sounded much better than yours, and you still messed up a lot, but it was fun. By the time you had been playing for an hour, a wide smile was plastered to your face. Bondy had taught you two of her songs, and you were eager to attempt the singing-with-a-guitar part.

Before you could, though, Larry walked right past the doorway and saw Bondy, hovering close to your face, smiling and repositioning your hands on the guitar, and your happy expression and tinted cheeks.

“What’s going on here?” He asked, pointedly. You knew it looked worse than it was.

“Teachin’ Y/N how to play guitar,” Bondy said, and you kicked him in the foot.

“What? Thought Van was doing that?” Larry asked, and looked at you for an answer.

“....He is.” You looked back between Bondy and Larry.

“Ah… I’m going out for a smoke.” With that, Bondy left the room.

Larry began once more. “Y/N, I’m gonna ask again, what’s going on here? What would Van think?” Always Van’s lookout.

Hearing his name washed over you all the feelings you’d felt earlier. You had tried not to think about how much being with Van had slid you into a useless niche that felt very permanent, and you wanted to convince yourself that your mother was just exaggerating the role Van had played in your life decisions, but Larry opened the floodgates with the comment that confirmed everything. And so, you lost it.

“What do you mean what would Van think? I’m allowed to learn guitar if I fucking want to. Gonna go tell him behind my back?” God, so many raging emotions you’d felt in the span of a few hours. You could tell Larry was shocked at your tone by his wide eyes and open mouth, but you just couldn’t hold it in anymore. Bondy had distracted you for a while, but it wasn’t long enough to make you genuinely happy.

Larry’s voice rose in pitch. “But the way Bond looks at - Nevermind bout that. You need to be more careful! Secrets aren’t good in this house. Van’s going to be livid if he finds out Bondy’s out here doing this with you.” His voice relayed that he thought a lot more was going on that guitar-playing. You couldn’t believe he thought so lowly of you. You were done with people making assumptions. Your heart hurt and your eyes welled up again as you spit venomous words back at one of your only friends.

“Larry, no offense, but what I do with my free time is none of your goddamn business. Not to mention that this is something I enjoy doing, and I don’t get a lot of that lately. For once I need to do something without Van’s permission! That’s all I’ve done for the last few years! I’ve settled on being his lady in waiting. I don’t even have an income. I couldn’t do anything if it weren’t for Van. My personal dreams are all gone. My dreams were Van’s dreams. They’ve been realized. I have nothing. Not all of us can tour with our best friends and get free shit.” Mouth open, obviously gutted at the reference, Larry turned, shocked, and retreated to his room, flinging the door shut with a bang. You didn’t mean to say it. The tears silently dripped over your cheeks. Your mother’s words infiltrated your own. You let her get to you. You had let everyone get to you.

Head in your hands, you sat on the bed, sniffling and regaining your composure. You dragged yourself solemnly to the shower to get ready for the party you’d forgotten about. After you undressed, before you turned the water on, you heard the front door slamming loudly. Larry had left.

****

Larry was Bondy’s ride to the party. Bondy had no choice but to ride with you, not that he minded. The ride over wasn’t awkward, as you had previously expected. Bondy was ever-so-cool, and if he had any reservations about earlier, he didn’t show it. You both bantered about the shitty music on the radio, and talked about your own music favorites. It put the horrible day you’d had in the back of your mind. You asked each other for a ciggy at the same time, and called “jinx!”, eventually owing each other a soda. At one point, Bondy used a funny voice to recite lines and lines of puns, and you couldn’t stop laughing and had to pull the car over to calm down. You’d never heard Bondy laugh so loudly in your life; it was a hearty, merry sound. You realized you really liked spending time with him because he made you forget how shitty life could be sometimes.

As soon as you and Bondy arrived at the bar in the city, Van was at your side, hugging you, taking you to meet people, and showing you off, leaving Bondy to mingle with others himself. Obviously, Larry had kept the conflict earlier to himself.

You were glad you wore the outfit you did - black dress, green army jacket with your buttons pinned to it, and your silvery doc martens - because everyone was looking at you. You had to admit, you loved the attention you got when Van introduced you as his girlfriend. It helped ease the part of your mind that persuaded you didn’t matter, and put you in a better mood.

Listening to everyone speak so highly of Van made it easier to forget what your mother said. He truly was an angel; and after all, it was kind of your fault that you’d let him guide your decisions. He never asked you to do any of it. He was always thankful for your support and your presence, and he believed he was repaying you by supporting you fiscally and emotionally. Well, most of the time.

“Baby, you don’t have a drink! Let me grab her one, excuse me everyone,” Van said to the group you were currently speaking with as he butted into the conversation with a playful air. He held your hand and pulled you along to the bar, where he ordered the most expensive drink they had, to spoil you. He smiled proudly as you sipped from the rim. You loved how territorial and chivalrous he got with you around others. He’d tug you closer into his side, letting everyone know you were with him and no one else.

Fast forward three hours, when anyone and everyone in the bar was pissed drunk. Slurred words and happy laughter filled the air. Van decided to take advantage of everyone’s distractions and planted a hard kiss on your lips. By this time, just as Van predicted earlier, the bar had let in people who weren’t invited, and it was turning into a proper club scene. You two weren’t into that, so you settled for a steamy makeout on the fire-engine-red booth in the corner, and in drunkenness, your demeanor had improved considerably.

Wandering hands touched skin and roamed the fabric of your dress. No one dared interrupt your tangling limbs in the booth; people were busy singing karaoke. Others were engaged in intimate conversations. Some, jealous, peeked over at Van in the booth and wished they were you.

Van’s touches became more urgent, and his tongue rolled between yours. You could taste the alcohol and smoke in his mouth, but you didn’t care. His mouth was warm, comforting, and laced with want. Breaking the kiss, he pushed you gently upright against the booth; you liked how his hands felt pressing your skin. He kissed your neck and helped you out of the booth.

Smirking, he took your hand and led you out of the area of booths to a storeroom closet. He pushed you back against the closed door, the doorknob rattling and the wood creaking. His hips slid against yours as he lifted the hem of your dress up, bunching it around your waist. You were tempted to take the damned thing off because it was getting in the way, but it was a bit difficult to undo, and why did you think to wear anything at all with Van around?

You hazily circled your hips, grinding down against him as you hooked one of your legs around his hips, the clunky heel of your shoe digging into his backside. You were both breathless, moans and groans leaving lips as you moved against each other, and his hands were everywhere. On your waist, your hips, blunt nails digging into the skin of your stomach as he reached up to your chest.

Your lips parted, reddened and plumped from biting to keep quiet, and a soft whisper of a sigh brushed against his jaw. “Fuck.” Your hips twitched when he pulled the strap of the dress aside to kiss and lick, his teeth grazing the top of your chest with precision. Your fingers threaded through the hair on the back of his head, jerking him away to kiss him, open mouthed and heavy, teeth clashing and tongues curling.

You could hear the noise coming from outside, music thumping, causing your body to thrum with the vibration. His deep guttural moan when you slid your hand down his bum to pull him closer between your legs made you so wet. “God.”

“Actually, I go by Van,” he snickered. You bit at his earlobe in retaliation.

His lips were on your neck, teeth and tongue sucking and biting as he descended. Down the valley between your breasts, over the bunched material of your dress. Suddenly his unruly hair was under the fabric and he was running his tongue along the skin above your panties. Your fingers found purchase in the grooves of the door to keep standing upright.

You couldn’t believe you were doing this – with all your friends and colleagues right outside, eating and drinking and being downright merry.

Actually, you could believe it was happening with him; it was Van, and he did things to you no one else could ever imagine doing to you, and you surely let him.

Earlier you had too many of those fancy drinks and the feel of his hand traveling up and down your spine as you danced to slower music – heads bent close and whispers of “I’m glad you’re here” and “I love you” passed between you – brought you back to the high school days when it was always just you two. Always touching, always kissing, always full of love and lust and heat.

And now here you were, leaning against the door, a leg propped over his shoulder as his fingers hooked into the sides of your underwear, bringing them down inch by inch until they were dangling off your ankle and his head was back between your legs and his fingers slipped into you and you couldn’t keep in the whimpers. You were glad it was loud out there.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you breathed, raking your fingers through his hair, keeping him close. Only you could contradict yourself at a time like this.

He looked up at you, eyes half lidded and raised eyebrows, but he kept his tongue flat on you as he hummed, causing you to clench tightly around his fingers. He pulled back and with his voice all husky and deep, he asked, “And do you want me to stop?”

It was hard to speak when he kept moving his fingers, curling just right, and he was looking up at you with a smirk on his face, lips swollen and red from being on your skin.

“No,” you thrusted your hips, chasing his fingers. “I want...I want. Ugh, just come here,” you  grab for his shoulders, putting your leg back down as he stood up. He pulled his fingers out tantalizingly slow, causing you to whimper at the loss.

“Shh.” He rubbed his nose against yours, unhooking his belt as your hands joined the effort to bring his skinny black pants down just enough. He had his hands on your thighs, hitching one back up around his hips while the other hand glided along your backside, pulling you closer.

“I doubt they can hear me.” You teased yourself along his length, and his head fell forward to your neck, his panting breath coming out sharp and jagged. “Mm,” you pointed to the floor beside you, “purse, condom.”

He bent down to pick it up, handing it over for you to dig through. He genuinely laughed, “Thought you were going to get lucky, did you?”

“Oh please, you’ve been staring at me all night.” You tore open the package, and carefully put it on him. He bit his lip, moaning at the feel of your hands around him. “Not to mention the rest of this weekend. Maybe I was right in being a bit presumptuous, huh?”

With your hand wrapped around him, you pushed your hips up, guiding him in. You both moaned as he slid further in, getting used to each other’s bodies. His hand on your ass brought you closer, pushing him in farther. “Oh, fuck.” As he started moving slowly, his voice rose in pitch. “Yeah, you were definitely, definitely right.”

Smiling wide, you joked softly, “Shh, you don’t want them to hear you.” But you’re cut off by your own loud gasp as his thumb came to the apex of your thighs, rubbing as his hips moved even faster. He kissed you deeply, muffling your moans – and you were already treacherously close, god he needed to slow down. Slower.

Pulling on your bottom lip with his teeth, he rolled his hips just right, causing your legs to tremble. “I guess we’ll just have to find some way to keep each other quiet, won’t we? Just make sure not to call out my name too loudly.”

He dodged the hand flying at his face, half-laughing, half-moaning as he found just the right spot to make you scream.

****

Shuffling out of the closet, you both looked around the bar. No one seemed to have noticed you were gone for too long; also, you had taken measures to smooth Van’s hair back down, straighten your dress and jacket, and wipe off Van’s hands before exiting so as not to look like you’d just been doing something scandalous. Besides, Larry could always make up an excuse in the event someone did ask for either of you. You both could relax.

The rest of the night passed by uneventfully, other than when Benji accidentally broke a glass. You and Van were tired from the closet sex, and had been drunk earlier, so you couldn’t drive home. Bob offered to drive you, Van, and Bondy back.  Bondy was wildly drunk, mumbling to himself about tight spaces, party people, and broken cigarettes; therefore, definitely staying with Van and Larry again.

Sat with your forehead pressed to the cold window in the backseat, you watched the shops of Chester pass by. Bob’s driving was slow and steady, allowing you to drink in the night drifting by in your woozy state. Stopped at a red-light, through sleepy eyes you peered through the foggy fall night at the street corner. The little sign on the corner shop, illuminated by the neon blue of the DAWSON’S MUSIC sign in big letters, drew your attention. “NOW HIRING,” it said.

In your state of drunkenness, you still managed to write it down in the notes in your phone, and set it to remind you tomorrow afternoon. Van was passed out asleep in the middle seat next to you, and Bondy was in the passenger side in front of you, calmer now and also gazing through the window. After using so much energy to pick your phone up and enter that piece of information, you slumped into Van’s side for the rest of the car ride, mind flickering between consciousness and sleep.

Bob pulled into the driveway eventually, and you and Van stretched your sore limbs upon exiting the car. Van motioned with his hand over his shoulder to Bondy as you dug the keys out of your pocket. You three stumbled past the living room, through the kitchen, leaning on each other, and all of you collapsed into Van’s bed. Sandwiched between Van and Bondy, you were warm. Safe. Satisfied. You felt Van’s arm snake over your waist, and Bondy held your hands with fingers interlaced loosely between you - or was it the other way around?

****

Aspirin and water were desperately needed the next morning. Bob came over to see how everyone was, and he found the place a disaster. The front door was unlocked, and Bob waltzed right in; “You all could’ve been kidnapped,” he relayed to you later. Someone had knocked over a lamp on the way through the living room, and the bulb was shattered on the carpet. A loaf of bread was out and stale on the kitchen table next to a tub of butter. And when Bob found you, Van, and Bondy, legs all intertwined and makeup smeared on the both of them, he pretended he didn’t see it.

“Larry’s the fuckin’ lamp perpetrator,” Van told Bob once he was up and about. “Y/N and I just fuckin’ jumped in bed last night without a care. Real easy, slept amazin’. Didn’t hurt nothin’.”

You and Bondy shared a look, about to burst into laughter.  

“I slept like a fuckin’ baby. Always do when Y/N and I party all night,” he winked at you, teeth showing in a wily grin. However, you didn’t feel the same cheerfulness that Van was emanating. Something wasn’t right. Normally, Van should’ve been embarrassed that he and Bondy downright snuggled face to face - at least, he was extremely disconcerted when Larry tried to make out with him one Christmas as a result of some misplaced mistletoe and heavily consumed alcohol.

Did Van not remember that Bondy slept next to you last night? And that through the night, you had managed to cover everything with your mascara? You were known to roll around when you were drunk. But the loss of pressure when Bondy left the bed to right himself in the morning should have been enough for Van to wake up. Though he was a hard sleeper.

“And where’d you sleep last night, Bond? Get into bed with anyone? Ya’ had that lusty look in your eyes every time Y/N and I peeked at ya” Van cackled as he picked a slice of stale bread off the table and chewed it. Confirmed. Van did not know Bondy slept there at all last night. “You were absolutely fucked, mate.”

Bob’s eyes went wide, and you noticed. How did Bob know? Your eyes narrowed. You decided to keep your mouth shut, and shot Bob a look as well. You’d rather not deal with this. A confused Van was somewhat irritating.

“Yeah, ah… jumped into bed with some real hotties.” You snorted at Bondy’s answer.

“Bond! Fuckin’ legend, mate! We’re gonna have to talk about this at some point. I’ve got to know. Gonna go find Larry now though.” He stalked through the hallway to surprise Larry by yelling his name. Larry was probably in his room; he hadn’t spoken to you since you’d screamed at him. Rightfully so.

Later, when you’d gone out to the shed for a private smoke to deal with your thoughts, Bondy followed you and sat down on the ragged couch in the space next to you. Behind closed doors, you could talk freely.

“That’s so weird, Bond, how did he not know? I mean, hell, you fussed about getting my lipstick off your forehead for what seemed like five minutes. You also weigh a fuck ton and when you got off the bed, the dip you’d made in it practically sprung up. He’s absolutely oblivious.” The smoke huffed out of your lungs and hovered in the small space.

“He drank too much. He did happen to be passed out all the way home. But it’s odd that he remembers everything with you and nothin’ with me.” He lit his own cigarette and held it between his lips. The afternoon light filtered through the curls at the nape of his neck. He looked… pretty.

“Selective memory?”

“Don’t know if it works like that, love.”

Your head was swimming with all the thoughts rushing around in it. After a pause, you sighed. “We should’ve told him that happened, Bondy.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause now if he finds out later that we all shared a bed, especially after that ‘I’m horny as fuck’ look, he’s gonna think something’s up! He’s gonna think you’re trying to get at me or summat! Especially with the guitar thing already on our shoulders. Larry’s eyes are peeled. Bob’s too, for some reason. And I want Van to trust me, always. We’ve been together for so many years, imagine what he’ll do if he thinks we’re cheating. He’ll fall into despair. And now that I’ve sat through that conversation and blatantly lied to his face, complacent with your answer, and now that you’ve done the same, we’re fucked. We’ve got to keep this to ourselves.”

“He wouldn’t think we’re cheating. We’re fine.”

“This is VAN we’re talking about. Hopeless romantic, wouldn’t hurt a fly, tells everyone the truth no matter what -- we’re dealing with the most sensitive person when it comes to love. Not to mention, Larry and Bob know how close we’ve become recently, and it looks bad from the current angle and lack of communication.”

Bondy slumped further into the sickly green couch as he chuckled, releasing a puff of dust from the cushion. “We’re fucked.”

****

A few weeks, eleven secret guitar lessons, and about a hundred cigarettes later, you were stopped outside Dawson’s Music. Nervous.

Ever since you and Bondy had spoken in the shed, it became your unofficial practice space. No one ever went out there, and it was pretty secluded in the gardens that no one ever tended to, so it was a good place to meet. No one had the chance to suspect anything saucy was going on with Bondy if they didn’t know you were spending time with him in the first place. One day, post-guitar-lesson and after a raucous bout of laughter at Bondy’s attempt to sing as high as Tame Impala in The Less I Know The Better, he stopped laughing and looked down at his shoes. The music seemed extra loud when no one was speaking.

“Bond? You good, mate?” He looked up at you from under the brim of his hat, following a long pause, and said, “I think you should go get that job at Dawson’s.”

“What? How’d you even know I was considering?”

“Saw you that night in the car, looking at the sign. And then struggling to write it in your phone. Rearview mirrors are good for something, it seems.” The corner of his mouth turned slightly upward.

Mouth wide open, you stared at him. He continued. “By what you said to Larry that one day, ‘bout you needing to do your own thing, it seemed good.” Your eyes narrowed.

“You were listening?”

“The walls in this house ain’t so thick. Went out to the back behind you and Van’s room for a smoke and heard everythin’ through the window.”

“Oh.” Silence wafted in the air.

“Sorry.”

“No, Bondy, it’s okay, I just got heated in the moment and I said all those things because I had gone to lunch with my mom and she tore me up about my current situation.”

Bondy lit a match and pulled it up to his face to light the cigarette between his teeth. The sun was setting and the shed was darkening little by little. Orange beams of light shone through the two dirty windows and illuminated the dust floating in the room. “Still think ye should do it,” he said. With a puff of smoke, he stood up, took the cigarette from his lips, and handed it to you. “Come on, then.”

So there you were, standing on the street as people were walking by, wondering why your boots felt stuck to the sidewalk. You looked over your shoulder, and Bondy waved at you from the car window, and motioned for you to go inside.

****

“Van, honey! Listen!” You held the phone up to his ear, and a voice he’d never heard crackled over voicemail.

“Hello Y/N, we’re pleased to inform you that you got the job you applied for at Dawson’s Music. Please don’t hesitate to email us with your schedule so we can arrange your shift accordingly. Thanks and have a great day.”

Van looked down at you with surprised eyes, picked you up, and swung you around in his arms. “That’s amazing! I had no idea you even applied!”

“Thanks! Yeah! I’m super excited. Bondy was actually the one to push me to apply. I’m so happy I went through with it.”

“So proud of you, love. So proud. Hows’about we celebrate with some tea and kettlecorn and a movie?”

“You know me so well. Of course.” Van set to making the kettlecorn in the popcorn pot his dad had given him for his birthday last year, and you brewed the tea. Every so often, Van would wrap his arms around your waist and set his chin in the crook of your shoulder, watching you unravel the tea bags or pour hot water into the mugs. A little check-in every so-often. You loved how he subconsciously felt the need to be close to you.

Plopping down on the couch, spooned by Van under a soft knitted blanket, you felt at home. The fabric of his black tee was so soft, and you nudged farther back into him.

“Don’t be playin’ that game, love,” he snickered, kissing the side of your neck just below your ear.

“You’re just so comfortable,” you say, wriggling until you’re turned around facing him, completely disregarding the movie. He looks over your head and shoulder at the tv; you kiss his jaw softly, and then his chin. You wrap your arms around his waist, snuggling up as close as you can get, and press soft kisses to his collarbones peeking through the neck of the tee.

Just then, the front door burst open with an elated Bondy standing there. He was drunk, obviously, cigarette hanging from his lips.

“I’ve done it!” he yells, making his way to the fridge in the kitchen. Larry walked in as Bondy was fishing through the beers. He found his favorite kind, and popped the top open on the edge of the counter. Through Larry’s uncontained giggles, you saw Bondy saunter over to the hearth where Van’s TV was propped above. You felt Van’s vocal chords vibrate as he asked Bondy what the hell he was doing there and laughed.   

Bondy ignored you both on the couch and slung his arm out to grab the propane torch Van used to light the fire in the chimney.

“Fuck, Bondy, put that down!” you said, and Bondy made steady eye contact with you as he lit the torch, flame puffing loudly from the pipe, and brought it to the cigarette in his mouth, blasting the tip of it completely.

“Mate,” Van coughed out between bronchitis laughs, “what the hell?”

“Bought myself a fuckin’ house in the neighborhood today, boys!”

Van’s eyes narrowed in confusion. You felt his heartbeat quicken between his chest and yours. His eyebrows knitted together as he thought. “But you… hate it here?”

“What? No. That was last year. You’re livin’ in the past!” Bondy laughed as he held his arm out one of the living room windows, keeping the cigarette smoke outside. He fell to his knees and tried to grasp the beer he set on the chimney ledge without letting the cigarette in his other outstretched arm in the house.

Larry looked at Bondy with a confused look as well. Then, he glanced at you, who seemed to be the only one excited to gain a new neighbor.

“Where is it?” You asked excitedly. Bondy pointed somewhere off to the right down the street with a spaghetti arm. You knew you’d get the actual address later.

“That’s amazing! Now we can visit you all the time!” you bounced, sitting up on the couch next to Van. “Oh! I almost forgot to tell you! I got the job at Dawson’s Music.”

“No fucking way, that’s fucking brilliant!” Bondy exclaimed, ashing the cigarette on the windowsill and flicking it outside in one motion. He picked you up off the couch and hugged you tightly, his curls tickling your neck. He smelled like booze upfront, but with notes of sandalwood and a light hint of floral underneath. You sighed into his arms. Why did boys have to smell so nice?

****

More weeks pass. It was time again for another acoustic session, this time led by a major video company you couldn’t remember the name of. It was the last session they’d be doing before starting the US tour.

The boys drove themselves to the session as a mini-roadtrip from Chester to London, and you rode in Van and Larry’s car. They laughed the whole way there, as Van and Larry both had erratic driving skills. Van constantly shot sexual looks at you in the backseat from the passenger side, and you hoped they’d later be cashed in for the actual thing.

The London bar was basked in an orange glow from industrial lighting hanging from the low ceiling. Fairy lights trailed around the edges of the room, and the warm light reflecting off the burgundy walls of the room allowed it to softly fade into the shadows at the edges. Candles in glass jars on rustic tables twinkled as people shuffled in to watch.

Your seat had been picked early on; you opted for a table between Van and Bondy, because you loved it when Van would finally open his eyes while playing and look to his right.

When the lights went down and the boys were illuminated only by the fairy lights, the audience was in awe of them. They all looked incredible, and matched the scenery. You never thought you’d see the day when Catfish played a bar gig in such a sweet way, but you were thankful it happened.

As the beginning chords of Hourglass sounded out, clear and compelling, your heart thrummed with them. The other boys fell silent as Van played, and this time he sang all the lyrics directly to you.

His eyes were open the whole time, filled with sadness of having to leave you on tour again; the reality couldn’t be denied any longer. You forgot the presence of others as he sang, belting the lyrics with strained neck and hands. Tears welled up in your eyes as he sang the chorus, almost acapella now. Soft “oohs” and guitar chords sweet and melancholic coaxed your tears out as they dripped down your cheeks.

And then it was over. You wiped them away as the audience murmured about who you were, and how some of the boys couldn’t take their eyes off you the whole time.

When the bar had cleared to its normal capacity a few hours later and your emotions had settled, you sat for a drink with Benji. You declined a beer and went for a soda; you knew if you got day drunk now you’d really feel the longing for Van and the boys on tour.

Benji got called away from the bar by a sound tech, something about his bass guitar, and Bondy plopped down in the seat next to you.

“Emotional, that was.” He was speaking of the Hourglass serenade.

“Yeah. Trying not to think too hard about it. I’m going to lose it for the first few days off by myself. Always do. I eventually get used to it though. As bad as that sounds.” You chuckled, and took a sip of your soda.

“Can’t fuckin’ believe we’re leavin’ again. But we’re also itchin’ to get back out there.”

“I know you are.”

A silence creeped in between you two, but it was comfortable. It had gotten easier speaking to Bondy on a personal level. He was the only other person you spent about as much time with as Van. That used to be Larry, but after you insulted him that day, he had tried to avoid you. Bondy knew this well, but Van was oblivious, and it was both funny and awkward to watch Van try to plan events where you and Larry would sit next to each other or go to the grocery store to buy supplies together. You or Larry would cringe and try to back out of it while Bondy cackled mirthfully in the background, as usual. Hence Larry driving most of the way to London today.

“What are you going to wear to that fancy party tomorrow?” you asked him, and his eyes narrowed in confusion before widening.

“I haven’t actually got anything,” he laughed, feet propped up on the barstool.

“Johnny Bond. This is probably the fanciest party you’ll ever attend. Why haven’t you thought to get any clothes for it?”

“Actually I do have a suit, thank you very much, it’s just in Newcastle. I moved all my shit into my mum’s house there, and I’ve been taking weekend trips there and back to cart it all to the new house. The formal wear hasn’t made it yet,” he stated.

You checked your watch. Half past noon. “I wonder….” you asked him frivolously, toothy grin peeking from your lips.

“I’ll start the car,” he stated. He stalked off to the back of the bar with a smile.

****

In Bondy’s little Volkswagen, surrounded by record store bags, CD jewel cases, old shirts and leather boots, you hit the A1 just before quarter one. Speakers loud, hair blowing in the wind, shirt ruffling, you felt happy. Bondy was smiling too, his hat having been blown to the backseat by a large gust of wind. His hair was flying around his head too. The beat of the music drummed in Bondy’s old speakers. You could feel it in your chest.

From the safety of your sunglasses, you studied his face as he drove on into hour two of the trip. Hooded eyes framed delicately by little eyelashes, nose sloping down to plump lips and small teeth. Curls resting on his cheeks. Freshly shaved. Freckles dusting above his cheekbones. Your eyes traveled over his taut jawline, and the veins in his neck, strained a little from laughing, and something deep inside you hummed. You shifted your legs on the seat and looked away for a few moments, trying to understand, trying to focus on anything but how you were feeling towards him. The music playing over the speakers didn’t help you shake that grandiose feeling of attraction. Looking back at him again, you saw the wind had let the neckline of his shirt fall below his collarbones, and they stuck out slightly, a little red from sunburn. Your cheeks burned red, and you couldn’t help but feel happy to be with him right now.

“What you smilin’ about over there?” he asked, finally noticing your stare.

“Oh, nothing, just--”

It was then that you noticed your phone lit up through your bag on the floor beside your feet.

“Hold on.”

You fished it out of your bag, and answered Larry’s call. In the background, you could hear Van yelling.

“Why the fuck’s she answering your calls but not mine?” you heard him shout, a few feet away from the receiver.

“Y/N, where the fuck are you? We’re worried sick!”

“Hey Larry, chill, Bondy and I are going to get him a suit for the party tomorrow.” You heard Larry sigh, and relay the information to Van, who was somewhere nearby. You could hear parts of their muffled conversation crackling through the phone.

“She’s always with him now, mate. Don’t know what the fuck I’ve done wrong,” Van said. You missed what Larry said back to him next. And then a, “Nothing’s going on,” from Larry, trying to assuage Van’s fears.

Then, you could feel the receiver exchange hands through the crackle of noise.

“Babe, it’s Van.”

“Hey, love. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was going.”

“Next time just tell me, okay.”

“Alright. As soon as we get to Newcastle I’ll let you know.”

“Newcastle?!? What the fuck, Y/N?! What in the actual fuck are you doing?! That’s five fucking hours away?” You held the receiver away from your ear because his yelling was so loud. You and Bondy exchanged a look. His said, sorry, and yours said, I didn’t think we were doing anything wrong.

“Van….Van, honey, calm down, okay? I’m just helping him with an outfit! He already had a suit, so why should he buy another one? We’ll get there around dinner time, and I guess we’ll come back early in the morning.”

“So you’re staying the night there, too?” You could feel the hurt in his voice. It was more reserved. It broke you a little.

“Baby, I’m sorry. It was a spur of the moment decision. I… I shouldn’t have gone. I know it was stupid. And I should have told you. You would have kept me from doing this.”

In trying to appease Van, you also managed to hurt Bondy’s feelings. Next to you, he slumped a little farther into his seat and placed his arm out the window, looking away from you. But you knew it was better this way.

You hung up with Van after he felt he’d left the conversation in a good place. He’d called you seven times before Larry’s two.

The rest of the drive passed in silence.

****

“Mum, we’re about thirty minutes out from you now,” he spoke softly into his phone. Between the “mm”s and the “yes”s, you didn’t get much to go off of in terms of Bondy’s mother’s personality. But when you arrived, you realized there was no need to prepare yourself. His mother was the exact opposite of yours.

As soon as the car pulled into the secluded drive, a long winding thing out in the country, she was on the porch, waving him in with a dish towel, bright smile on her face. She was round and motherly, dressed in an apron, hair swept into a bun on the top of her head, secured with a clip. The first thing she did was pull you into a hug.

“Hello there! I’m Beatrice. You’re so beautiful, your name is Y/N, right? Bondy’s told me so much about you.” Her warmth enveloped you, and you immediately wanted to adopt her as your stand-in mother. Bondy blushed in front of you for the first time, and you couldn’t help but feel like you’d experienced a rare side of him no one else had seen.

“Hi mum,” he said, wrapping his skinny arms around her large frame, and leading her into the house.

It seemed it was a Bond family tradition to cook large meals for dinner; you could tell Bondy enjoyed stirring pots and tasting sauces for his mum. He looked at home in the kitchen, and you could imagine him, smaller and more curious-eyed, looking up at his mother asking to help her.

The sweetness in the room was almost too much to handle, and you felt as if you were intruding on a private moment. You wandered into the lounge, and perused the photos on the hearth. Bondy was a cute child, and handsome even in his awkward years.

You thought about the first time you visited Mary and Bernie’s house; it was just as warm and it smelled like cinnamon. You were wrapped in one of Van’s sweaters, sleeves too long for your arms so the sweater paws hung next to you. The photos of Van on the end tables were like mini shrines to him, and Mary gave Van the same looks Beatrice gave Bondy.

Thinking of Van made you peer down at your cell phone. No texts or calls. You guessed he was giving you space. As guilty as you felt, you also craved the taste of independence you were getting. Doing things with other people and making other friends was the first step in becoming your own person again.

Bondy came into the lounge and told you he was running out to the shed to find some old guitars you could play on. You nodded, and smiled as he left. Domestic Bondy made your heart flutter.

Suddenly, the phone rang in the kitchen and Bondy’s mother answered the phone.

“Oh hi Mariam!” her chipper voice answered. You chuckled to yourself. She was adorable.

You continued to walk through her house, imagining a little Bondy galavanting in the small hallways and the sounds of his guitar echoing through the walls. You didn’t want to admit that this made you see a side of Bondy you couldn’t deny a little love for.

“Yes, Mariam, she’s lovely,” Beatrice spoke hushedly in the kitchen. You felt bad for listening, but you were intrigued. “This is the first he’s ever brought…” she trailed off, murmuring to the other woman on the phone. “She’s absolutely beautiful. Polite and sweet. I love her already,” she spoke.

Your eyes went wide as you realized Beatrice thought Bondy was bringing you home to meet her. As if you were together. A hand went over your mouth, and you started to panic.

Thankfully, before you could take another strained breath, Bondy was at your side with the guitar. You let the feelings of panic subside for the time being so you could enjoy playing with him.

You were getting good now, especially since you practiced in your spare time. You didn’t want to show Bondy how much you’d learned, though; you were saving your newfound talent for the afterparty tomorrow, where you’d show the guys how determined you were to take part in their art. You planned to play a few songs for everyone to surprise them.

After losing yourself for an hour or so with Bondy, singing songs and playing guitar, Beatrice called that the meal was ready; Bondy apologized for not helping as much as usual. Beatrice just smiled and said everything was perfectly fine.

“So, Y/N, what do you do?” she asked. A question that had plagued your life since you’d left school. Now, though, you had a solid answer.

“I work at a record and instrument store called Dawson’s Music. I was just recently promoted to the manager of the store. I’m really surprised at how fast I progressed in the ranks! They really seem to love me, and I love them… It’s just a nice environment overall. I never thought I’d be dating a rockstar and working in music, with my previous experience. But that’s another story for another day. Bondy was the one who really pushed me to get the job.”

In the moment, you hadn’t realized your false affirmations of Beatrice’s earlier phone call; she didn’t understand that “dating a rockstar” and “dating her son” didn’t mean the same thing in her context. However, Bondy failed to correct you, and so it went unnoticed by you.

“I’m so glad! I bet you’re feeling mighty independent!” It seemed Beatrice had the same intuitive quality as Bondy.

“I really am. I think I’m happier than I’ve ever been.” At that, both Bond family members’ smiles beamed brightly, and you felt good.

“How about a little toast to that, then?” Bondy stood up, pulling a bottle of pinot grigio from a grocery bag. It was your favorite.

You laughed, eyes narrowing. “Thought you hated white,” you teased.

“Think I can make an exception.” He uncorked it, and poured two full glasses, one for each of you, and a glass with enough for a sip for Beatrice. The glasses clinked together, and you sipped happily on yours. Bondy’s face contorted as soon as he sipped his.

“‘M fine, I swear,” he said, trying to sip more to get used to the taste.

****

Bondy had given up on the wine a long time ago, resorting to a few highball vodkas and “whatever juice I can find in this fuckin’ fridge.” You both were drunk by now, telling stories across the table to starry-eyed Beatrice.

Eventually, she retired to her bedroom with a “goodnight” and a flourish of her dish towel. Bondy led you outside and you both sat in the dewy grass, staring up at the sky.

Beneath the stars, you realized you missed Van too.

****

Clothes needed to be removed after sitting in the wet dewy grass; you both were too drunk to realize what connotation a situation like this would have on any other night. You tiptoed up the stairs to Bondy’s room, where you peeled your jeans and shirt off and let them fall to the floor. Bondy had done the same. Clad only in underwear, you both climbed into his bed, pressing pillows between you two, trying not to acknowledge the zing you felt every time his fingers brushed up against your skin.

When you woke, the pillows were all strewn on the floor from your sleep movements, and you were entwined with him, pressed up against his chest.

****

Racing back to Chester with the formal suit in tow, you made it to Bondy’s house just two and a half hours before you needed to leave for the party. He lived five houses down the row, and two up the next street away from Van, so as soon as he parked the car, you darted up the street for a much-needed shower.

“Look who’s home,” Van said, enveloping you in a tight hug. “Everything’s good?” he asked, tentative. The underlying meaning was there, but you chose to ignore it. At least he was being pleasant.

“Yep. But I’m in desperate need of a shower.”

“Pop on in! Larry just took one so the water’s still hot. And I’ve been eyeing that dress in the closet for weeks, waiting to see you in it. Today’s the day!” he exclaimed, and plopped down on the couch.

You cursed men for not having to spend so much time to get ready. It took you the whole two and a half hours to wash, shave, dry your hair, fix your hair, do your makeup, paint the nails that had chipped, put the dress on, practice walking in the sky high heels, and choose a clutch that went with it.

You had opted for a long-sleeved black dress, backless, with a sweetheart V at the front. The shimmery black fabric was breathable, so it was fine for a summer night. It hugged your figure tightly before it cascaded to the floor. You decided to do your hair in big waves, to complement the dress; you even had extensions put in last week so your hair would be long enough to do a Pinterest blowout.

Stepping out of the bedroom with your smoky eye, tall heels, and fire-engine red clutch bag, you knew you looked good. You hadn’t felt this good in a long time. You walked to the living room, where the boys were doing finishing touches to their own suited looks. As soon as you walked in, all eyes were on you.

“Whoa, babe.” Van dropped to his knees in front of you. “You’re so… fuck. You’re a goddess. How’d I end up with her, lids? The universe dealt me a good hand, yeah?”

Your gaze went from him to the other boys in the room. Bob was smiling, admiring your beauty. Benji was staring wide-eyed, not saying anything. Bondy’s mouth was hanging open, and his hands were frozen where he was buttoning up his shirt. Larry was stunned, but went back to gelling his hair in the foyer mirror.

Van stood up, and walked in a circle around you, admiring every angle the dress had to offer. “Babe, this… I thought I was excited when it was on the hanger. This is somethin’ else.”

“Okay, stop drooling. We’ve got to leave in 5.” You told him, but locked eyes with each of the others to make sure they’d quit looking too.

****

The party passed as all cocktail parties do; photos as they get out of the vehicle, photos as they enter the venue, tapas to munch on during, awkward conversations with people you’ve never met, and then more photos. Your heels were killing you. You could tell the boys were tired of posing and answering questions.

“Let’s take a breather, yeah?” Van asked you, and signaled the others to follow him.

A storage room in the back of the venue was found, and half the crew lit up cigarettes as soon as they stepped within the door frame. They bantered back and forth, thankful to be somewhere they could be themselves. You kicked off your heels and noticed an old wooden acoustic guitar in the corner. Your plan was to wow them after the party, but you figured with all of them together, here and now, you could play just as well and they wouldn’t be expecting it.

You strummed it once; surprisingly, it was in tune. Bondy turned his head first; you knew it was because he was attached to all things guitar. You started playing, and only when they all looked around the room at each other and realized it wasn’t each other, that they realized it was you.

You laughed as they turned around, shocked. Van’s eyes were bugging out of his head. He sat down on a crate next to you.

You played his favorite song, and then Bondy’s, and then sung a little bit of Cocoon for fun. By the end of it, they were all singing along, and in a much better mood to get back to the party. Van was the last one to stand and return to the crowd outside.

****

Stepping into the vehicle to ride back home with the other boys, Van blindfolded you before you could push his hands away.

“Vaaaaaaan….. Wait a second. Is this that scarf from the drawer?”

“Why, yes it is. How perceptive of you.”

“This is like, a bit kinky,” you heard Benji say.

A stifled cough. Bob.

“I don’t know what to think of these two anymore.” Larry.

“I’m kind of into it.” Bondy.

“You would be.” Bob.

The rest of the car ride was just you listening to the boys, and trying to figure out what Van was up to.

The sleek black limousine pulled up to a stop at two places, and you felt people’s weight lift off the seats each time. At the last stop, after someone else had gotten off, Van said to the driver, “Go round the block one more time, for good measure.” He did.

Van helped you out of the car. You probably looked ridiculous, wherever you were, in a formal gown with a black scarf wrapped around your head. It was probably denting your hair, too.

Van carried you inside, and as the smell of the house hit you, you knew it was home. Van set you down, pressed your front up against the cool metal of the door, and started whispering in your ear from behind, hot breath tickling your neck.

“Does he do what I do for you?”

“Wh--?” His fingers over your mouth muffled your response. “Does he do what I do for you?” he repeated, voice calm, but angry. He ran a finger down your arm, touching your hand lightly. Blindfolded, all of your other senses were heightened. Van knew this. It was the reason for the extra go-around on the block. Your skin tingled where his finger had touched.

And then suddenly, his body was everywhere, encircling you from behind. He pressed his hips up against your ass, hard, lips on your neck and pulled your hips back into his as he rucked the dress up around your hips, fingering the edge of the simple black cotton underwear you chose to wear tonight. “God, how do you do that?” He rasped out in between kisses, his tongue running along the column of your throat.

You let out a muffled whimper, caught behind bitten lips. “Do what?”

His answer was to turn you around and lift a bare leg over his hip as he ground against you roughly. His touches were unexpected, and his hands were rough on you.

“He can’t touch you like I can,” he angrily whispered in your ear. He pressed you up against the door, cradling your face in his hands as he planted a kiss on your lips. “You’re mine.”

You tried to ask who he was referring to, but it came out as a moan when he bit your earlobe. You sighed into his neck, and his hands trailed down your back to paw at the zipper of your dress.

“Bedroom,” he growled. He carried you to the bed, slammed the bedroom door, and untied your blindfold. His eyes were revealed to you, angry and red. It was visible all over his face. Jealousy. He’d found out how much time you’d actually been spending with Bondy. How well you could play guitar confirmed all his suspicions.

He helped your hips out of your dress, and let it fall to your feet.

Again, he whispered, “You’re mine.”

His hands snaked up to your breasts and his thumbs curved the swell on the underside of the flesh. He caressed your arms, and then lifted them over your head, and laid them on the pillows. He tied them loosely with the scarf he used to blindfold you.

With open mouth kisses, he descended from your neck, to your breasts, across your stomach, and down to your underwear. His teeth tugged at the fabric, and he pulled them all the way off, nipping at your ankles before returning between your thighs. He thrust in a finger with no problem; the fact that Van was jealous over you spending time with another man evoked something in you that set off a tidal wave of wetness. You squirmed beneath his touch as he licked, sucked, and finger-fucked the moans out of you, coaxing your deepest frustrations out of you.

“You like that, huh? Can’t get this with him, can you? I’m the only one who gets to fuck you” he whispered into your wetness, blowing on your most sensitive parts. The cool rush of air made you shiver.

Suddenly, he stands up, unbuttoning his shirt, and unbuckling his jeans and boots, the metal clinking as he threw his belt down.

“Come.” He directed you to sit on his lap. Slowly, as he lowered you onto him, your moans pierced the air. “Louder. I want everyone in the neighborhood to know how good you’re being fucked tonight.”  

You rose up on your haunches only to push back down again, skin sticking and you both groaned as you looped your tied hands around his neck, holding onto him, his hands already fully cupped around your breasts, the pads of his thumbs causing your nerve endings to explode as they pass over your nipples.

You felt it start to coil deep in your belly, in the apex of your thighs, as you twisted your hips just right. The delicious feeling trembled through your limbs and into your center. The feel of his hands on your waist, fingers digging into the skin under your hips as he let out a breathy “Oh fuck” and takes you higher. Your hands held tight around his neck for leverage as you sat fully astride him, as he was buried deep inside you.

You gyrated slowly, rubbing against him, moans leaving your lips. You watched his face, his mouth falling open and his bottom lip pulling down as his eyelids fluttered in ecstasy, a look of pure pleasure on his face. His hands fell slack from your chest to come and rest on your moving hips, helping you with the motions as your body started to tighten, ready for a release.

He sat up quickly, folding his knees under him and surprising you as he wrapped both arms around your waist and lied his head against your sternum, panting breath coming out hot against your skin. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, still tied with that black scarf, ends of it tickling his back. Your hands were drifting through his hair, pulling it tightly between your fingers as you moved. The actions caused him to hiss and bite on the upper swell of your breasts and you just couldn’t get enough.

You were pressed up close against him, from groin to torso and his knees were bent, cradling your lower body between his thighs and abdomen. “Oh, my god,” you whispered, as he bit lightly at your nipple and brought a hand down to the curve of your ass, fingers digging in and helping you move faster.

You had never needed a release this bad or this fast before, and with your movements gaining speed and a line of sweat running down the middle of your back and the sound of your bodies moving together and don’t even get started on the whimpers and groans coming from him that had your body finally giving in as you quaked with your release.

Your thighs tighten around the tops of his hips and your whispered “I love you”s and “you feel so good”s bring him over the edge and honestly, if he held you any tighter – your trembling bodies riding out your orgasms together, lips and tongues on necks and promises of more to come etched on your skin – you might just break.

And when he laid you back on the bed, head resting on your stomach and small grin on his face as he kissed your skin lightly, you could hear through his whispered nothings brushing against your skin his own “I love you” surfacing and you couldn’t deny that this time was different – heady and emotional and jealous and so goddamn good you wouldn’t be able to feel your legs tomorrow – than the rest; that somehow you were a little bit closer to Van than you’d ever experienced.

(And two hours later, when you had a leg lifted over his shoulder and his head was between your thighs and the cool tile of the shower was pressed against your back, you thought this might just be what heaven feels like.)

*****

“You’ve got to choose.” Bob said it through a mouthful of muffin. He’d taken you out to lunch with promises of photography and lemonade.

“I know.”

“Both of them are losing it over you.”

“I know.”

Back up a few days, and there was you, blindfolded, in your beautiful black dress, pressed up against the door, Van whispering jealousies in your ear.

What you didn’t know was that Bondy was sitting at the kitchen table, stunned to silence at Van’s blatant territorial display. That he was listening to every moan you made, itching to be the one causing those sounds, dying to see you come undone.

The pain Van had caused him was enough to push Bondy to confide in Bob. And Bob didn’t like being in the middle of people’s drama. Especially when it involved hearing about someone one you love have domineering sex with another person you love. Bob was uncomfortable, to say the least.

“Y/N, they go on tour tomorrow.”

“Bob, I just…. I love them both, alright? Both of them have seen different parts of me. If I’m with one, I miss the other. It’s stupid.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. You’ve been with Van for five years, and these feelings for Bondy have developed over the course of a few months. If I were you, I know who I’d pick. But, I’m not you. I’m sorry. I wish I could choose for you.”

“Should I just let them go off on tour, and not hear from me for a while? Let them get their shit done, and visit later? I really don’t want to be a Yoko.”

*****

You watched them go at it, Benji pointing out every creature in the film trying to explain the best way he can in his nerdy excitement, and Bondy commenting on how stupid the characters sounded or looked. You liked these moments, when everything has died down for a soft quiet moment and you’re not thinking of boys on tour or job promotion or paying rent. It’s just nice.

Wrapping your fingers around the cold metal of his rings, you leaned over to whisper softly in his ear, “It’s a movie, they don’t always have to make sense.” You lifted his arm, wrapping it around your shoulders as you nuzzled into his side, resting your head on his chest.

He groaned, the noise reverberating in your ear. “Yeah, well, they should try and explain it better for people like me, darling.”

You laughed, fingers dropping to poke at his thigh. “You’re in a band that tours the world, I’m sure figuring out the complexities of Star Wars is the least of your issues.”

He quieted down, rubbing his thumb along the tip of your nose as you raised your eyes up to look at him. Playfully rolling his own eyes, he conceded, “Whatever you say, love.”

You preened, eyes crinkling in the corners as your lips rested on his, a smile pulling through at the easy intimacy.

You pulled apart as you hear childish phony gagging beside you and Bondy laughs as you playfully swat at the curls hanging in Benji’s face. “Like I don’t have to see you kissing Dani on the doorstep every afternoon,” you said, raising your eyebrows with a pointed look.

He flushes deeply, bowing his head bashfully. “Yeah, yeah.”  He wipes his hands on his dark black jeans as he stands. “Anyways, I got to hit the hay. I got a meeting for really early tomorrow.”

You tilted your head. “Wait, what about the rest of the movie?”

“Just finish it without me, mum. It’s not like I haven’t seen it a million times.” He smirked. “Night guys.”

“Night,” you said, eyebrows creasing and skepticism rising.

“Night, lad.” Bondy stretched out on the sofa as Benji disappeared around the corner. He raised his arms, groaning lightly as his muscles protest the action. His velvet shirt lifted up slightly, and your eyes were immediately drawn to the strip of skin and dusting of hair on his abdomen. Your heart jumped as the sight. His eyes locked onto you, smiling softly. “What is it? Think he’s gone to bed a bit to early?”

You giggled, lifting your legs to curl underneath yourself as you faced him. “Oh yeah, totally. I mean, it’s only 8:30.”

“Oh,” he bit his lip, eyes drifting to your lips. “Well, in that case…” His voice drifted off as his hand curved around the neck of your shirt, bringing you closer. His breath ghosted over your lips as he left a small peck, his hand reaching up to caress your jaw. You deepened the kiss, moaning as you tilted your chin just so, hand reaching forward to wrap around his knee. His tongue ran over his lips, tangling with yours and it just felt so damn good.

You sighed against his lips as he fell back along the couch, pulling you on top of him. “And what about the movie?” Your breath stuttered as his hand found itself resting in your back jean pocket, forcing your hips to rock against his.

“Another time,” he groaned out, his lips coasting from your lips to your jaw to the curve of your neck. Your eyes rolled back, whole body dropping into his as you gave in.

“Shit!” you exclaimed, waking up from the dream drenched in a cold sweat, breathing ragged and electrified. “No. No fucking way. No.” You rolled out of bed, peeled off your clothes, and stood under the shower. Bob was right. You needed to choose.

*****

Saying goodbye was hard. They left, and you didn’t kiss either of them in front of each other. You and Van shared a few sweet kisses in his bedroom that morning, and you kissed Bondy’s cheek when Van went to find the toilet at the airport.

A few months had gone by, and you’d heard from Bondy about as much as Van. They were both pining for you, even abroad, but you let that settle to the back of your mind. You had been working hard, doing long hours at the music shop, and managing sales at another music shop down the block. This one was corporate owned, and you were quickly becoming one of their favorite saleswomen, especially since you could play guitar almost as well as Bondy could. You were still extremely thankful for his help.

You had saved up enough money to fly out to visit them for a few days in any American city you chose. Did someone say, Miss Independent?

Stepping off the flight in California, you were nervous. Heart pounding as you greeted the both of them, trying not to give one more attention than the other. They, however, had other plans. The first night after their show, the boys took you out to a club, and offered to buy you any drink you wanted on the menu. Bob rolled his eyes the entire time, sipping his virgin bloody mary, and you got drunker and drunker, and started falling all over both Bondy and Van. 

It was Bondy who won the opportunity to dance with you; he managed to bribe the club owner to play Tame Impala over the speakers, and since that was the music of your friendship, you had no choice but to take Bondy’s hand and lead him, walking backwards, to the dance floor. You ground against him, hot and sweaty under the lights, while Van sipped his drink. He was enjoying this; he didn’t know just how 50/50 you were split on your attraction.

It was Van who won the opportunity to let his lips touch yours; the dancing had shaken Bondy up so much that he had to dart to the bathroom soon after the regular music was back on. You weren’t down from your dancing high yet, and you needed to feel something. Someone. You grabbed Van by the neck and smashed your lips against his; he returned the favor with as much fervor and passion as you had begun with. Bondy watched from afar when he emerged from the bathroom, only thirty seconds later.

That first night, you ended up in your hotel room with Van.

On the last night of your stay, after drinks were shared all around, you asked Bondy to play guitar with you in a back room, for old time’s sake. As you drunkenly tried to finger the strings properly, miserably failing, Bondy tried the same.

“Helloooo? Anyone here?” Van called from the hallway, obviously drunk too. He was enjoying these games too much.

“Quick! In here!” You giggled, forcing Bondy into the storage closet, leaving your guitars propped against the wall. You heard Van open the door, and Bondy started to breathe like a laugh was coming on.

You pressed your finger to his plump lips; the contrast between his pokey beard and the soft skin of his lips stirred something in you. You paused, waiting for the coast to be clear, feeling a slight tingling inside. You became hyper aware of how close you and Bondy were in the closet; his fingers brushing your thighs, his knee touching yours, his hair tickling your cheek.

Bondy moved your finger away from his mouth. His breath fanned over your face.

“I can’t take this anymore.”

He pressed his lips to yours, and his fingers wound themselves in your hair. Your noses knocked and your teeth clinked. You couldn’t get close to him quickly enough. His knee spread your legs, moving to press closer to you. You kissed back, relishing the feeling of his lips and tongue finally on yours. He kissed rougher than Van, but his movements were more calculated. One of his hands traveled to grip your ass, the other still tightly wound in your hair. Your hands were on his chest, quickly traveling lower. When you imagined what his fingers would feel like inside you, how well he played the guitar and how strong his hands looked, you moaned. It was muffled in his mouth. His hands felt for the waistband of your shorts, already knowing what you desired. He pulled the shorts and underwear down in one motion, and he felt how soaking you were for him. He inserted a finger, and you almost lost yourself completely. Two, and you were gone.

There was no room for sex in the closet, so Bondy made do with what he could; not like his hands weren’t the most magical things that had ever graced you. All those years of melody guitar playing were paying off in a way you’d never thought they could. He hit every angle that would make you scream, he’d whisper lowly in your ear, comforting you, guiding you, and he sucked your neck, beard tickling wherever he kissed, sure to leave bruises behind. He picked up speed and you pressed your head against his chest, but he made you look him in the eye as your climax rushed over you in powerful waves. When the last whimper was uttered, teeth released bitten lips, his fingers slid out of you, your pants were pulled up, and he had found some stray napkins for his hands, the door swung open. Cold air rushed in. Van was standing with his arms crossed.

“We need to talk.”  

****

“There’s no way I can decide this right now,” you told them. “I love both of you.” You were far from settled. You were still a little drunk, too.

“What about something completely random?” Van asked. Bondy was silent. Scared that the storage room closet was the only taste he’d ever get of you.

“Oh! Oh. I’ve got it.” You look around, searching for your purse. Picking it up, you trawled the inside of it with your fingers. You pulled a coin out and showed it to them.

"So... we flip for it." Trying to steady your shaking hands, you held it tightly. "One of you, call it."

"Heads!" Van yelled, and the coin deftly left your hand, twinkled above you, flipping over, and over, and over, with either boy’s fate engraved on the sides. Finally, it fell back to your hand. You picked it up quickly, and flipped it onto the back of your hand. You took a deep breath, and opened your eyes. You moved your fingers out of the way so they could see.

Their heads leaned in. They both stared at each other.

"Best two out of three?"

[billysz28]

billy’s room part one: the vanity

i have spent far too long looking at pics of billy’s room, specifically his makeshift vanity, so here, have a post of stuff billy has on his vanity. and if anyone wants, i can do one on the rest of his room at some point?

so, in addition to the pump action aqua net hairspray we see him use, he has:

alberto mousse—this advertisement is from 1985 as was the commercial i found

breckset setting lotion—i can’t find much info on this brand but, for those who don’t know, setting lotion is what you use when you curl your hair which means, if you want, you can totally write about billy in curlers. @goodmorninghawkins has kindly provided an image of what that might look like…

i love the idea of this ridiculous boy curling his hair

and an aerosol can i’m assuming is also hairspray because it looks like the old aqua net cans. there’s no close-up of it like there are with the other products but i’m reasonably sure it’s more aqua net. you can see the lid of this can in the first two images, bottom right (by billy’s hand in the second one)

i can’t find this exact non-aerosol/pump action aqua net anywhere but it’s the same one used by kali and eleven in S02E07.

but the plastic crate is on a wooden crate and then there’s that case on top of the plastic crate. i didn’t bother going through the other stuff he has on his vanity, but i know there’s that copy of my life and hard times by james thurber, which is sitting on top of something (that you can see above) and there’s one or two cassettes as well as his zippo. i was mostly interested in his ~beauty products.

after all that, i could have saved myself a few hours of googling if i’d just found this post, last night! oh well!

so in the shot above the read more we can see the poster of shauna grant on his closet (identified in this post—shoutout to @flippyspoon and @introvertia who came to my rescue when i couldn’t remember her name!), the makeshift vanity, his stereo in front of the window, a poster for metallica’s kill ‘em all (their first album from 1983) and the corner of his bedthere is another picture above his bed to the right of the metallica poster. maybe someone can identify it from this tiny glimpse, but i can’t!

(as an aside, looks like there is another window above his bed…it doesn’t line up as being anywhere else considering the position of the door and the way billy crosses the room, etc. there seemed to be something just under one of the curtains, too, later but there was only the briefest glimpse)

i couldn’t identify the brand of stereo/headphones or the specific cassettes (some look home made) but at least there’s a sense of what he’s got there. there’s some kind of booklet or something else under his headphones and it looks like the booklet on the cassette drawers says ‘stereo’ something so i thought it might be a manual for the stereo. (it’s only the cassette deck portion of a stereo, though). one of the things on the pile of cassettes looks like a softer cardboard box so either box from a cassette that wasn’t in plastic (like a cassingle) or something that’s not a cassette (cigarettes?)oh and everyone had that candle in the dimpled glass holder, right? i feel like i remember seeing a lot of them. haha.aside from his clothes, all that’s in the closet is what looks like a blanket? (just above his head to the left in this shot)there are a couple of books in the top left that i can’t identify. perhaps text books?

 and i’m pretty confident the object above his head is a stereo receiver (a DJ i know on facebook said that it was a stereo amplifier but i think that might be a similar kind of thing?) another friend said it looked like the beta player they had, which was my first thought, but the big knob (heh) steers me toward stereo receiver or similar.there are two atari games on the inset shelves (next to billy’s closet). one is quite easy to identify because the title is visible. surround was one of the 9 VCS launch titles for atari in 1977. it’s the first version of the game that is more widely known as snake. the second game is harder to identify. the only box i could find with that colour was dodge ‘em but you can just see an ‘s’ visible. i dismissed star ship at first because the box i saw was a deep red. but then this one came up that is perhaps faded or another version or just the way it photographs and i’m fairly confident the second game is star ship. (it was also one of the 9 VCS launch titles). 

i’m not 100% sure, though.this cassette carrier on etsy is almost exactly the same as billy’s so i’m confident that’s what it is.so, this is a terrible crop but i remember aaaaages ago @women-seem-wicked suggested this cassette could be a copy of Toto IV (if it is i’ll bet it’s in there thanks to a meme savvy set designer?) and it looks not unlike it. i can’t really be certain what any of the cassettes are though. but i wanted to mention that!billy has a LOT of cassettes. they’re sitting on some kind of box but it could be anything. i wouldn’t be surprised if it was storage for more cassettes.so, you can see bottom left there is something else with an aerial but i can’t make out what it is. i’m thinking some kind of radio? probably another piece of audio equipment at any rate. and there’s something behind it but could be anything.??? i thought may possibly be a basketball? i have no clue, really. but there’s definitely an object of some kind there and from the curved shape basketball seems a fair guess.

ok, so, i’m allergic to exercise i know nothing about exercise equipment but i think this is an ab wheel? you can see the handle of it behind his head in the picture above this one. at first i thought it was a knife handle but then i caught this shot.  there’s something else sitting in front of it but i don’t know what that is

.i’m fairly confident that billy’s boombox is a panasonic rx-5031 (it’s not listed on the panasonic models here but it comes up in a google search.) the 5030 looks completely silver and doesn’t match with the black finishings on the one we see in the show. aaaand this person also seems to think it’s an rx-5031 so excellent.looks like billy has a phone on his mantel! (good to take note of for fic purposes ;D) and some kind of empty bottle. there’s something else behind the bottle (only seen briefly and out of focus) but it’s not seen clearly enough to bother adding a pic of it.i think the case might just be another cassette carrier—it looks very similar to this one on eBay and several others on google image search. @lissieisspacey suggested typewriter case as an alternative but also sent me this link to a savoy cassette holder which looks realllllly similar to the case there.

at first i thought that small black object was a viewer/project for 35mm slides (the case looks not unlike a slide case, too, though i think it’s actually a cassette carrier as i stated above)—the one on the left, which is an agfascop 100, is just to give an idea of what they looked like, it’s not the same shape as whatever is on billy’s mantel—but maybe it’s just some kind of light or something?

 i would love for it to be a slide viewer, though. anyone else got any guesses? you can see the cord of the possible phone better here, too.mötley crüe poster/picture of some kind (or LP?—it just doesn’t match up with the actual cover of the album unless there was some special edition i couldn’t find)—it looks like it’s covered in plastic with the way the light shines off of it. (whatever it is, it has the same image as this promo poster for shout at the devil—the image i’ve used is a repro from etsy that i can’t link to because the listing has disappeared but you can see an, i believe, original poster that was on tradera here) 

as well as the metallica poster above his bed and the mötley crüe pic on his mantel, billy has this poster (or maybe fabric wall hanging?) for the album ‘filth hounds of hades’ by tank. it’s not on spotify but you can listen to it here if you want. (it’s good!) i have to give a shout out to a couple of friends on instagram for identifying this for me when i posted it on my stories there.i think billy has 3 lamps? 

not entirely sure about the object on the left below the poster (it’s behind his door which seems an odd place for a lamp but it looks lampish) but the other 2 are definitely lamps. the middle one is on his vanity and the right one is seen in his mirror and would be in the corner by the mantel. the black object with silver edging looks like a case for some kind of audio equipment to me? i’m not sure, though. that’s the only glimpse we get of it.edit: an anon suggested a coat rack as a possibility for the object below the filth hounds of hades poster)