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#i simply had NOT wanted to experience the hotel basement like That
my-own-walker · 8 months
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Jpm x reader who find the hidden hallways and rooms and takes the chance to murder a hobo, James (whether they are close or not) catches her and she replies 'Just a hobo, do you disprove' just like he did with the countess
A Well-Respected Man
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note: been so busy recently. i still luv u all! taking liberties with this request (aka i know you didn't ask for smut but i wanna write it)
warnings: quick sm*t, wall f*cking, murder, violence, blood, stabbing, misogynistic stuff
+++
I floated through the halls of the third floor in a dream. I couldn't tell if I liked being dead yet. There were no more consequences to my actions. I didn't have to choose to live every day. The lavishly decorated hallway felt different now.
When you're alive, you rush. You want to experience as much as possible before your time runs out. Eternal life in death is far different. I walked slowly through the hallway, examining each and every door, bumps in the carpet, and water stains on the ceiling.
I ran my hand along the wall and felt the texture of the orate wallpaper. The patterns were raised and felt rough against my fingertips.
Out of sheer curiosity, I began trying doorknobs. The doors were not locked. Each one opened with ease and to my surprise, led nowhere. I raised an eyebrow at the revelation. I suppose one doesn't usually try the doors to suites in a hotel out of respect for other guests, hence the lack of regard for locking these decoys.
One door stood out to me, nestled quietly at the very end of the hallway. The others were outset from the wall, accented by wood molding around their edges. This door was flush with the wall. A feeble attempt at hiding it in plain sight. I tried the knob and it was, in fact, locked.
Fuck, I said inwardly. Under the impression that my exploration has been thwarted, I spun on my heel and began walking away. It hadn't yet dawned on me that being a ghost meant locked doors and keys had become antiquated items.
It took my inclination to simply appear upstairs, rather than take the elevator, to remind me of my new abilities. Within a moment, I was standing in front of the enticing door, ready to see what was inside.
Behind its decorative facade, the entrance housed a dreary, dark hallway. One that led back in the direction from which I came. This was what those pointless doors were hiding. I wandered down the corridor. It was cold and unwelcoming. It sounded as if the hotel's pipes ran through along the ceiling. Sounds of rushing water washed over my head sporadically.
At the very end of the long passage was something in the wall akin to a trash or laundry chute. I opened the metal door and soft light came streaming through. It was jarring to be afforded that much visibility so unexpectedly. I squinted and peered through, finding it was a multi-story drop down to what looked like a basement.
The cement floor was spattered with what I could only assume was blood, and I thought I could spot a body part of some sort. It was a body chute. I shrugged and closed the opening, bored with my attempt at exploration.
+
Days later, my need for fun had not been satisfied. Being a ghost was frankly, a bore. The building was full of secret passageways and doors, all of which led to essentially nothing. I was hoping to find cult activities or a blood sacrifice within these hidden places, not empty hallways.
James was giving me space and time to adjust, but instead, I simply felt insane boredom. On this particular day, I spent my time in the bar overlooking the lobby, trying to spot any new blood that took the misstep of entering The Cortez. It seemed on this day, the hotel was not going to provide me with entertainment.
That was, until, I heard a male voice speaking loudly in the empty, near-silent lobby. I hopped down from my bar stool and rushed to the railing of the balcony, hanging over it to see what the commotion was about.
'Careful, Y/N, you could fall,' Liz quipped with a wink. 'You wouldn't want to get hurt.' I looked back at her over my shoulder and smiled. She thought she was oh-so-funny.
'Hello?' the male voice shouted. I turned my head once again in the direction of the sound.
'Oh, just go down there,' Liz sighed. 'I don't feel like dealing with that.'
With her permission, I practically flew down to the lobby and across its geometric carpeting. A man with long, stringy grey hair and a dirty beard stood just in front of the hotel's entrance. He stood hunched, wearing a large coat, stained jeans, and a tattered backpack. he stared off at one of the art pieces we had hanging on the wall.
I cleared my throat to announce my presence. 'Can I help you?' I asked politely.
'I don't know, can you?' the man replied sarcastically.
'Do you need a room?' I tried.
'Only if it's free,' he laughed, looking right through me. 'I obviously can't afford to pay.' He gestured grandly at his appearance.
'We don't do free rooms,' I replied bluntly.
'Can I at least get something to eat?' he questioned with an impatient tone.
'You'll have to go somewhere else, sir. We don't do charity here,' I crossed my arms and popped my hip.
'Excuse me?'
'You heard me. No handouts,' I stated.
'Well then, I'll stand here until someone more qualified comes to talk to me,' he huffed. 'Preferably a man.'
'A man?' I scoffed.
'You women have no understanding of how things work. Get me your superior,' he declared. I chewed my lip in annoyance. How dare he insult my gender? How dare he be picky when he so obviously needed help?
'You know what,' I began, 'I do believe we have somewhere you can stay.'
'Don't be fucking with me, girl,' he spat.
'Follow me,' I instructed. He did as told, remaining on my heels as I passed over to reception, grabbing the key to a special room on the third floor from the hook behind the desk. I also made sure to slide Iris' emergency switchblade she kept under the desk into my sleeve.
The man and I took the elevator to the third floor, standing in awkward silence as we went up. The ornate hallways of the third floor flew by in a wash, my periphery blurred by blind rage toward this person. He walked behind me down the long hallway, all the way to the inset locked door. I slid the key into the lock slowly and turned it.
Just as the lock clicked open, though, the man broke the silence. 'Anyone tell you you got a tight ass?' he remarked as his open palm smacked my rear end.
'What?' I replied, shocked, contorting my expression to one of disgust.
'Hey, don't act all grossed out,' he asserted, throwing his hands up. 'You're asking for it, dressed like that and all.' I practically kicked the door open and gestured for the man to enter. He sauntered past me cockily and paused at the entrance. 'It's dark in here.'
I pushed his back with force, causing him to stumble further into the darkness. I slammed the door behind me and rounded on him.
'Hey, what the fuck?' he shouted, panic creeping into his tone. I pushed him again, knocking him onto his ass. 'Hey! Stop!'
'Not so cocky now, huh?' I teased. He scrambled backward down the corridor, trying to make it back up onto his feet. I kicked his chest, causing him to crash down onto his back. 'Fucking apologize.'
'F-for what?' the man stammered, panting in fear. I pulled the switchblade out of my sleeve and flicked it open. Its sharp edge glinted beautifully.
'You fucking pig,' I spat. He began to scream in terror, still trying to clamor away from me.
'Help!' he screamed, still unable to make it onto his feet. I continued to back him toward the end of the corridor. 'HELP!'
'You can scream as loud as you want. In fact, I prefer it,' I smiled. 'Beg for your life.'
'P-please! Let me go! I'm sorry!' he pleaded. I stooped down to his level and grabbed his shirt collar, holding him firmly in place. I pressed the blade to his neck and smirked.
'Too late,' I whispered. I slid the cold metal across his flesh and watched as dark red blood spilled out. It was much more blood than I was expecting. For fun, I continued stabbing the man. I slashed at his skin repeatedly, grunting and screaming as I went. His blood spattered all over my body. I reveled in how it felt.
When I was sure he was gone, I grabbed the hood of his thick coat and began pulling his body to the chute. Unfortunately for me, it didn't occur to me that this man would be heavy and that his dead weight would be nearly impossible to move. I tugged and pulled, moving him only slightly with each exertion.
'Fuck!' I yelled. 'You're even more fucking annoying when you're dead!'
'Darling?' a familiar voice spoke. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I spun on my heel to find James suddenly behind me. It must have been quite a sight to take in. 'Who is that?'
'Just a homeless man,' I said plainly. James took a moment to process, smoothing his mustache with two fingers. 'Do you disapprove?'
'No, no,' James contended. 'I've just, never seen you like this.' He took my cheek in his hand and gave me a kiss on the forehead. I sighed in relief at the gesture.
'Can you give me a hand, then?' I asked. laughing a bit.
'Gladly, my little hummingbird,' he cooed. We both worked to hoist the man up and through the chute. His body landed with a sickening smack on the concrete below. I hopped to the front of the door to look down at the carnage. James' arms snaked around me, one hand resting on my chest, the other on my tummy.
'Thank you,' I breathed, resting my head back on his body. 'He was a piece of shit.'
'Mmm?' James vocalized into my ear. 'How so?'
'He assaulted me as I was doing him a kindness. Smacked my backside,' I answered. James spun me around and held me by my shoulders.
'A well-respected man would never treat a woman like that,' he gasped. 'You did the world a service in killing that animal.'
'I know,' I grinned.
'A well-respected man treats women like this,' James said lowly, pulling me in close. His lips met mine tenderly. I backed up to rest my body on the wall. We made out passionately. With his body pressed up against mine, I could feel a bulge grow in his trousers. He peppered his lips along my collarbones and breasts. I shrugged the cardigan I was wearing off my arms.
While James continued to kiss every square inch of exposed skin on my upper body, my hands wandered to the hook and zipper on his pants. I undid each and let the fabric slide smoothly off his legs. His briefs exposed just how turned on he was. I tugged his underpants off, letting his erection spring loose.
He wasted no time and tore my panties off from under my skirt, then proceeded to hoist me up the wall. He sat me on his dick. The length went in roughly. I gasped at how deep it truly went. His strong arms held me against the cold wall as he fucked me senseless.
James came inside me within minutes. My back arched as I felt his hot load spill into me. He grunted and whimpered, breathing raggedly. He slid out of me and guided me back onto the ground carefully, before tugging his pants back on. I smoothed my skirt down and cleared my throat.
'You have no idea how much of a revelation that was, Y/N. My little hummingbird...killing people.' James grabbed my face in both of his hands. 'Now, that was just the appetizer,' he growled. 'We must venture upstairs for the main course.'
+++
I'm watching Hotel right now and man I missed James so much. That sexy bastard.
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tesb · 3 years
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finally made it to the end on tlou2 grounded difficulty!
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slasherhaven · 3 years
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Can I request some headcanons of the slashers with a genderneutral s/o who panics when they see any sort of blood, even from a tiny cut?
The Slashers with a S/O who panics at the sight of blood:
Thomas Hewitt 
As soon as he knows about your feelings towards blood, he’ll do whatever he can to keep you away from it.
Firstly, the basement is strictly off limits for you, even more so than it usually would be. 
And he always washes up before coming to see you, making sure he is completely blood free so that you don’t get freaked out.
He gets mad whenever Hoyt asks you to do a job that involves blood, like cleaning it up or something.
Tommy just makes sure to keep you as far from blood and gore as possible, it’s normally not too hard since that’s normally confined to the basement, but when new victims come round, he prefers you to stay in your room just until he’s sure there’s no bloody surprises waiting for you.
And if you ever do accidently see any blood and start to panic, he’ll be right there to guide you away from it and comfort you.
Michael Myers 
You always get a little tense when you hear Michael come home, just because you know he’s going to be splattered in blood.
At first he doesn’t get it. Normally you’re oddly calm around him, but when he comes back from a kill, you’re all...panicky. But he quickly realises that it’s the blood that bothers you. Which he doesn’t understand. You are okay with the fact that he does kill people, but the blood bothers you?
Even if he doesn’t really understand it, he makes some attempt of being considerate.
He still comes home bloody, but he will wash up and change his clothes before approaching you. He gets more thorough with the cleaning up as time goes on.
...he’s still Michael and if blood really freaks you out, there are certainly going to be some panic inducing moments living with him.
Jason Voorhees 
That’s perfectly fine, as long as you stay in the cabin when some trespassers come through, you’ll be fine. 
Jason will also make sure to clean up before returning to the cabin, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable with any blood that had gotten on him.
He’s just very considerate about keeping you away from blood. 
While blood doesn’t really bother him anymore, he can completely understand why it might bother you, so he respects that.
Brahms Heelshire
It’s not really a problem, blood isn’t a common sight in the Heelshire manor. Maybe clearing the rat traps make your stomach a little queasy?
The first time Brahms even became aware of how much you really didn’t like blood, was when you were cooking dinner and accidently cut your finger.
You couldn’t even look at it, panickily muttering to yourself as you wrapped a towel around it, hiding it from your sight while stopping the bleeding.
When Brahms came into the kitchen, concerned by how panicked you looked, you explained everything to him, including how you simply can’t stand the sight of blood, not even a little bit.
He’s got a little but of experience with handling cuts when he’s accidently hurt himself in the walls and blood doesn’t really bother him, so he can put a bandage on your finger for you with ease.
It’s not really a problem that comes up all that often though.
Bo Sinclair
Normally if you stay at the house, you’ll be kept away from the blood and gore. It’s rare that anything like that actually takes place in the house.
So, how Bo learnt about your aversion of blood is when he came back to the house to grab something, with blood splattered over his clothes and staining hands. 
He hadn’t thought anything of it but you had freaked out, unable to stand the sight and getting out of the room.
After learning about how you feel about blood, Bo scoffs, saying it’s stupid. But he still makes an effort to wash up and get rid of any blood on him before coming back to you. If you comment on that, he refuses to admit that he’s actually doing it for you.
Vincent Sinclair
Vincent lets you know if you can come into his workroom or not. It can get a little bloody when they’ve had a new group come into town, but most of the time it’s blood free. So, most of the time you’re welcome, when a group has come through Vincent will let you know when it’s safe again.
He just make sure to wash away any blood and get changed if he gets any on him.
It’s not too much of a problem, as long as you stay at the house when a new group comes through. 
He would prefer to keep you away from the blood and gore anyway, so he really doesn’t mind doing it.
The blood is probably his least favourite part of the whole thing anyway, so he gets it.
Lester Sinclair
Most of the blood he gets on his hands or clothes come from roadkill rather than bodies (though, that is sometimes a factor). It’s something he’s become comfortable with, as well as dirt.
But as soon as he finds out how you feel about blood, and how it makes you panic, he washes more than ever. 
He tries his best to wash up before he even gets homes. 
But if that isn’t a possibility, he will rush straight to the bathroom to shower and change his clothes. 
He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and while he is no longer bothered by blood at all, he can understand why you don’t like it. So, he makes the effort to keep you as far from blood as possible.
And once he’s cleaned up, you can give him all the affection without worrying about seeing any blood. So it’s a win-win.
Bubba Sawyer 
Blood is something that’s hard to avoid in the Sawyer household, mostly because nobody else cares about it in the slightest.
But after the first time you panicked at the sight of blood, Bubba makes a real effort to keep things more clean. 
In fact, it’s probably only Drayton who never becomes more considerate. You’re family now so they’re happy to make some small changes to make you more comfortable, but Drayton is just...less so.
Bubba is the best though, always warning you when you shouldn’t go into a room if you don’t want to see any gory stuff. 
He’s also great and comforting you if you do catch a glimpse of it.
Billy Lenz 
Blood isn’t something you need to worry about always been around in the house. Sure, Billy certainly isn’t all that upset by blood (though he wouldn’t say he was a fan) but the only blood either of you see is from accidents in your every day life.
When he found out about how blood makes you react, it was just when you accidently cut yourself at home.
You were fine until you saw the blood, then you started to panic, and that made Billy panic.
He’s a little frantic as he takes your hand in his, wiping away the small amount of blood and putting a little bandage over it just so that you wouldn’t be able to see the blood. 
Yes, he can get a little panicked over getting hurt or over you getting hurt but it’s not really the blood that bothers him, but if it bothers you that’s all he need to know. He understands.
Asa Emory (The Collector) 
Not a problem at all. If you don’t like blood, you’re never going to see it.
He keeps all of that at the hotel, washing up and changing clothes before heading home.
There is no need for you to see that part of his life if you don’t want too, so you’re completely fine.
If you accidently cut yourself on something at home, and can’t even deal with that blood, Asa is surprising calming. His calmness rubs off on you. He’ll handle it, bandaging it up for you so that you don’t have to worry about it.
Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull) 
Like Asa, it’s not a problem at all. You just won’t go on the business trips with him, and if you do, he’ll make sure to clean up before coming back to you.
If you don’t want anything to do with blood or gore, you never even have to think about it.
By the time he’s coming home, everything he owns is thoroughly cleaned. If you didn’t already know about what he did, you might never know. 
Blood is not a common sight at home unless one of you accidently cuts yourself while cooking or something.
Otis Driftwood
This could be an issue...
Not because it’s a deal breaker for Otis, of course it’s not. It’s more that blood (or blood strains) is a common sight around the family’s home or even on his clothes. So it might be an issue for you more than for him.
He quickly learns that blood makes you panic and isn’t completely sure of what to do about it.
However, he does start to make more effort in cleaning, both stains around the house and himself after getting blood on him.
Blood doesn’t bother him at all, he even kind of likes it, so sometimes he doesn’t even notice it.
He is sincerely putting in effort to make you more comfortable around him. He may not be able to scrub down the whole house but he makes an effort to clean up any blood in his room, so you will at least be comfortable there with him.
Baby Firefly 
The same issue as her brother. It’s not unlikely that you’ll find some blood stains around the house or even on her clothes somewhat regularly. 
But she does sincerely want you to be comfortable with her and in her home. 
So, if nothing else she always ensures to not have any blood on her clothes when you’re around, and to keep you away from any of the goriness that might be in the house at the time.
If you happen to stumble upon some blood in the house (which is only a matter of time) she is comforting and reassuring. 
Yautja (Predator) 
It’s not something that you really have to worry about. I don’t know if that’s surprising to you or not.
But unless you go on a hunt with him, or some sort of fight randomly breaks out, or something like that, there simply isn’t any reason for you to be around any blood.
And after he learns about how blood makes you panic, he becomes very cautious about it. He makes sure to wash away any blood that’s gotten on him before he is around you, just being considerate.
Your mate has always been concerned about you being completely comfortable around him, so this is just like that, something he will pay closer attention to than usual for your sake. He doesn’t mind at all.
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bluewhale52 · 3 years
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Little Black Book: The One You Hate (M)
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Summary: There are a few names in your Little Black Book, and these seven hold a special place in your heart. Now that you are closing that chapter in your life, you reminisce the time and experience you have had with your seven favourite men, especially with Kim Seokjin, the one you hate.
Pairing: Seokjin x female reader
Rating: Explicit. NO MINORS ALLOWED.
Genre: nonidol!au, strangers to lovers, friends with benefit
WC: 3.9k
Warning: swearing, car blowjob, ass slapping, OC loves going down on Seokjin, sex against a window, sex between coworkers, love-hate relationship between OC and Seokjin (more on OC). I guess that’s about it….
A/N: Many, many, many thanks to @rainbhrts94​ for beta-ing this piece. I was experiencing a burnout and having a hard time putting all my thoughts together, and her reviews and suggestions totally helped getting this fic into its final form. Thank you!!  Also, I’m a total dodo when it comes to Tumblr so with some help from @aroseforyoongi​ and @moccahobi​, I’m reposting this with hope that the link works this time round!
Series Masterlist:  Little Black Book
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Kim Seokjin was the bane of your existence. 
The cocky, arrogant IP attorney from the New York office had everyone on your floor in an uproar for weeks. You had seen him making one of the conference rooms his home away from home, with a hoard of lawyers and secretaries going in and out at his beckoning. You were watching them with jealousy. Sure, you were a mere junior in the firm and therefore the lowest in the food chain (just slightly above the interns), but you really wanted to be part of the action. 
Then, somehow, during his  last few days in Seoul, you were picked to help him and his team. Your excitement soon turned sour, as you were constantly on coffee and photocopy duties. How could you prove your worth when you were too busy being worked as Kim Seokjin’s personal server? Why couldn’t he ask one of his groupies? There were plenty of secretaries and PAs throwing themselves at him; you bet one of them would be happy to do this… THIS menial job. It was truly beneath your job description, and you started to simply, truly hate the man.
If that was really the case though, how did you end up in his luxury rental car, bending over towards the driver seat, sucking his cock? How did your mouth end up around his shaft, while your saliva dripped down and coated your fingers around his base? Why were your panties getting wetter with every moan and groan that left his lips? Why did you wish he would just spank your ass instead of tugging your hair? Why, when he came, did you gobble up his seed so greedily and lick him clean? Why did you even feel the need to stick your tongue out to him to show him you had swallowed every single drop?
Seokjin exhaled sharply then looked over at you as he tucked himself back in. “You do this with every visiting attorney?” He leered at you.
You rolled your eyes. “Just the one that pisses me off.”
He chuckled. “I should piss you off more then.”
“Are you going to drive me home or what?”
Seokjin started his car. The engine purred, and you pressed your thighs closer together at the soft vibrations that went through the car. “I promised I’d buy you dinner first, didn’t I?”
You flashed him a saccharine smile. “I had a meal already, thanks.”
Seokjin sniggered as he pulled out of the parking lot. He had offered to drive you home - “the least I can do after all your hard work this week” he had said- and while your little apartment was at the other end of the city from the five-star hotel he was staying, it was indeed the least he could do for you. So when you had settled in his car and buckled your seatbelt, after he had asked if he could buy you dinner, you- in your frustration, because you hated him and you just wanted to go home (god, was that too much to ask)- muttered under your breath on how you would rather suck his dick than have dinner with him. 
You had been taken aback when he broke into a brazen smile, challenging you to eat your own words, and damned if you were going to back down. Deep down, you had wanted to see if this perfect man with the perfect face and the perfect suits tailored around his perfect body (he had legs that went for miles, you hated to admit), also had the perfect dick. 
It turned out that he did, and his perfect dick was perfectly hard when you unzipped him. And so, that was how you went down on Kim Seokjin, giving him a near perfect blowjob, in his car, in the basement parking lot of your firm. (Near perfect because honestly, you could have done a lot more had you had more ample space to move.)
You stole a glance at Seokjin as he drove. His side profile was sharp and too good to be true. Flashes of lights only further highlighted his jaw and cheekbones. You looked away, pouting. 
“I’m flying back tomorrow evening.” He broke the silence. “You gonna miss me?”
You scoffed. “You wish. I’ll finally be able to do real work rather than making you coffee.”
He had the gall to laugh. “I’ll be back in two months. Don’t worry.”
The rest of the drive was quiet. How did you get into this? How could you possibly be so horny for him? Was it your dislike for him that made you like this? You should have known better than blowing him in his car just now. What if he started shooting his mouth off in the office? Or worse, in your personal promised land, THE New York office?
“Seokjin,” you started, “about what happened just now, I’d appreciate it if you keep it to yourself.”
“Of course, I’m not Yuna.”
You tilted your head at the name. Yuna was one of the senior partners’ secretary. “What do you mean?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t know? She’s been telling everyone how good I was in bed.”
“You slept with her?” You couldn’t mask your surprise. “I didn’t hear anything about it. I must’ve been so out of loop with the rumor mills. Wait… Is that why you’ve been asking me to do all that shit? So you don’t have to deal with her?”
“Smart girl.” Seokjin made a turn, stopping just outside your apartment complex. He turned off the engine.
“And here I thought you liked my coffee. And how I photocopied your endless documents.” You said dryly. “Thanks for the ride.”
Seokjin stopped you before you exited his car. “Aren’t you going to invite me to your place?”
You chortled. “Why, you need a goodbye fuck?” You spat it out, but internally, you hoped your playing hard to get was not going to backfire. 
“Hmm,” Seokjin looked out of the car, eyeing your apartment building. “What kind of bedsheets do you have?”
“What do my bedsheets have to do with anything?”
“500 thread count? Or pure linen?” 
You opened the car door and got out. “Bye Seokjin.”
He got out too, walking you to the main entrance. “I’ll buy you some. For next time I’m here. Two months from now.”
You scanned your access card, but he stopped you from opening the door.
“Not gonna kiss me goodnight, sweetheart?”
You turned to him and leaned forward. But instead of kissing him, you stuck your tongue out and licked him, along his jaw, all the way to his ear. You did not miss the shiver that ran through his body when you closed your lips around his earlobe. Smiling smugly,  you opened the door, and as you were about to walk into your safe haven triumphantly, Seokjin slapped your ass. You stilled yourself, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing your reaction. 
“See you in two months, sweetheart.” You heard him chuckle as the door closed behind you.
Kim Seokjin was truly the bane of your existence. 
~~~
He returned to Seoul in two months. You were not keeping track on your calendar, no of course not. You just knew because the commotion was back, as it always was when he stepped into the office. He picked you again to assist his team (Yuna gave you an evil eye for that), and at the end of the work day, when you were filing papers and folders, he slipped a small envelope into your hand. 
“Open it at your desk.” He said in a low whisper. 
You looked at the envelope quizzically before putting it into your pocket. “Is it your credit card? To buy pure linen bed sheets?” You whispered back. 
“Sweetheart, I already bought you a few sets from New York.”
You snorted. Later, when you were back at your desk, you took the envelope out and opened it. You found a note with a gold monogram of Seokjin’s initials at the top. You laughed at the ridiculousness of it. Under his insignia, was a series of digits you assumed to be his mobile number. You saved it in your phone. 
There was something else in the envelope, however. A piece of key card, with the logo of the five-star hotel on one side, and handwritten 4-digit number on the other.  Your eyes widened. Was this an invitation to his hotel room?
You peered out of your cubicle like a meerkat, trying to find where Seokjin was. Then you remembered foolishly you had his number. So you immediately texted him.
– You [18:40] : Seokjin, WTF??? 
– You [18:40] : also, nice stationery
– You [18:40] : it’s me btw
– Seokjin [18:41] : hurry the fuck up. I’ve been waiting for you in my car
You smiled. The time had finally come, you were going to fuck Kim Seokjin.
~~~
You had to admit, high quality bed sheets felt amazing. It hugged your naked body like soft clouds as Seokjin pounded into you relentlessly. His thrusts had caused your body to move, inch by inch, from one end of the bed to the other. You were not complaining though;  the way he rammed himself into you made your breasts bounce back and forth like a pendulum on a string, the feeling was so delicious.
You gripped the edge of the bed as you watched him over you. His usually perfect hair was messy now, his perfect face was void of the usual laser focus expression you normally saw at work and of the arrogant smirk he liked to give you. His broad shoulders and lean torso filled your vision- you had had fun stroking your hands over his pecs, abdomens and biceps. God, you hated how perfectly hot he was. 
You whined pathetically when he plunged his cock and pushed it as deep as he could into you. Seokjin dropped to his elbows, and you welcomed the new weight on top of your body. He stilled, letting his hardness rest inside you. You wrapped your legs around him and could not help but clench around his cock. He groaned against your chest at the sensations. 
“Do that again, sweetheart,” he nibbled and licked your collarbone, “squeeze my cock again.”
You did as he asked, tightening your walls around him before loosening again, repeating the movements and creating your own erotic Kegel exercise around his cock. You could feel Seokjin’s breath faltering on your neck, and before long, you were careening towards your peak.
“Seokjin,” you gasped, “close.”
He remained still, even at your warning. Choosing to work his lips on your neck and up to your ear instead. Finding a spot behind your ear, he licked and nipped at it, sending shudders all over your body and suddenly pushing you to your release. Seokjin held you down as your body shook, willing himself not to come, but the way your pussy walls massaged his cock, it did him in. 
You and Seokjin held each other tight as you both came. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, his hips pressed harder against yours as he shot his seeds inside you. Finally groans and moans gave way to heavy breathing, and as your heart rate slowed down, sanity returned. 
You opened your eyes. “God, don’t do that EVER again.” You slapped his shoulder. “I’m super ticklish there.”
Seokjin hummed, and nipped at the spot again. You yelped, but in the process you also squeezed his flaccid cock, still sheathed fully in you. “Now I know what to do when you talk too much.” He mumbled. 
You tried to wriggle away from his mouth, but the more he teased your spot, the more you moaned, and the more your body became heated again. You were all ready for round two, but your stomach betrayed you, for it growled shamelessly. Seokjin’s eyes widened at the sound, and the two of you burst out laughing.
“OK, I’d better feed you before I fuck you against the window.” He pulled out of you, holding on to the spent condom on his dick. Walking to the bathroom, he gestured to the phone on the bedside table. “Whatever you order, order the same for me.” 
And that was how you spent your first night with Kim Seokjin. Fucked out of your brains and eating room service food in his luxurious hotel room. 
~~~
You gave Seokjin your Saturday nights whenever he was in town, which was only about three to four times a year.. You hated to admit it, but you enjoyed your time with him. It was obvious he liked your company too, and your arrangement worked out well. You both wanted sex with no strings attached. You enjoyed arguing with each other, although it felt like Seokjin lived solely to rile you up to get a reaction out of you. He said he was training you to hold your poker face better; after all, didn’t you want to be a successful attorney like him?
And that was the situation you found yourself in that evening. Seokjin kept prodding at you until your temper snapped, and you roughly pushed him to the chaise in his room. You quickly worked on his jeans and his boxers, pulling them down to his ankles, only to find his cock already hard and weeping with precum.
You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Making me angry turns you on so much, huh?” You wrapped your fingers around his shaft, lazily stroking it a few times before squeezing it gently at the base. Seokjin hissed, but his annoying smirk never went away. 
“You can’t shut up your opponents by going down on every one of them,” he teased, his hand reached out to touch your hair but you swatted it away with your free hand, “no matter how sexy you are when you’re angry.”
You scowled as your hand continued stroking him. Keeping your eyes on his, you closed your lips around the head of his cock, your tongue lapping up his precum. Seokjin sucked in a breath. 
“So what should I do then?” You asked before licking up and down his length. Seokjin threw his head back, enjoying the wetness of your tongue on his hot member. 
“Hmmm… “Seokjin moaned. “Learn to control your temper better, sweetheart. You know how our kind is…”
Seokjin took a deep breath. Your tongue was still busy on his cock. It drove you nuts how addicted you were to the taste of him. “… especially to female attorneys..” Seokjin continued.
“Excuse me?!” you sat up straight, but your hand was still around his member, unconsciously squeezing it a little harder than normal.
“Ouch!” Seokjin yelped. “What are you trying to do? Pull my dick off?”
You sniggered, your grip loosened slightly as you continued to stroke him. “Tell me,” he asked, “how did your last case go? You almost lost because the opposing attorney kept throwing jabs at your gender, am I right?”
Your cheeks reddened. “How did you know about that?” you pouted.
“I get regular updates on you, sweetheart, I like to know how my protege is doing.”
You eyed him skeptically. “Wow, I’m so honored.” Your tone was flat, but your hand started pumping his cock faster. You thought back to the moment you nearly lost your temper in court, and you buried the memory deep. You leaned in and started to take Seokjin’s length into your mouth when it suddenly dawned on you.
“Wait,” Seokjin’s cock popped out of your mouth. “Is that why I didn’t get the promotion? I won that case but I didn’t get my promotion because I was too emotional?”
Seokjin groaned, in desire and in frustration. He looked down at you, kneeled between his legs, eyebrows scrunched up, eyes angry, mouth in a pout, and his hardness in the mercy of your hand. He ran a hair through his hair. 
“Now that you recognise the problem, will you solve it?” 
You nodded.
“So can we please continue?” He asked. 
You nodded again before your mouth returned to his cock. You enveloped your lips around the head, sucking it gently and licking it until you heard him moan. You started taking more of him into your mouth, the muskiness of his scent filling your nose. His hands found your head and held it gently, his fingers carding your hair. 
You continued to lubricate him with your saliva, relaxing your mouth and your throat to take all of him in. You steadied your breathing as you sucked in your cheeks, and you slowly pulled out all the way to the tip, before filling your mouth again. “That’s good sweetheart, you know just how I like it.”
You stupidly beamed at his praise, and it encouraged you to pick up your pace, sucking him faster and harder. His breathing was getting heavier, and you massaged his balls, eager for him to cum in your mouth. “No, no,” he pulled your head, and you came up gasping for breath. “I want to be in you now.”
You and Seokjin undressed immediately, and Seokjin went to the bathroom to retrieve a condom. He rolled the rubber as you positioned yourself by the window. The window felt cold on your back, but your core was wet and hot.  Seokjin lifted you up effortlessly, and your legs immediately wrapped around his waist, and your arms around his neck. 
Seokjin spat into his hand and rubbed his saliva over your cunt. Then the blunt head of his cock was at your entry, and he pushed it in, inch by inch until he was fully inside you. Adjusting his grip, ensuring he got you secured between him and the window, he started to move. Slowly at first, and once your juices were flowing and leaking, he went faster. 
You felt sweat developing on your back, making your body slippery against the glass. You dug your fingers into Seokjin’s shoulders, anchoring yourself up as he continued to pound into you. You turned your head to the side, catching the city skyline in the corner of your eye. 
“God, Seokjin,” you whined wantonly, “When I get that New York position, will you fuck me like this with the New York skyline in the background?”
Seokjin huffed, his hips not missing a beat. “Sweetheart, you’ll never get the New York position.”
You snapped your head back to look at Seokjin, he was still thrusting mercilessly into you. You pulled his hair. “What do you mean I will NEVER get the New York position?”
Seokjin’s smirk was back. He pulled out slowly then he rammed himself back into you hard, making you mewl. “It means…”
He took his time thrusting into you again.
“… you will…”
Another slow and hard thrust.
“… never get…”
He was hitting the sweet spot inside you.
“… the New York position.”
You cried out at his last thrust. “Because I’m too emotional?” you asked breathlessly.
“Because… “ his mouth was inching closer to the sensitive spot on your ear, “we’re closing that office.”
You gasped, at the news and at Seokjin’s sudden change of pace. He was fucking you fast again, pressing your body harder against the window. 
“Wait.. ah, Seokjin… “ you said between pants, “does that mean…”  
You could not finish your question because Seokin began nibbling and sucking your ear, sending your body rigid as the pressure on your cunt was waiting to explode.
“Yeah,” Seokjin panted. “I’ll be back in Seoul for good, sweetheart.”
You threw your head back against the window as Seokjin continued pistoning into you, pushing you towards and over your climax. You wailed in pleasure as the heat enveloped you. He did not let up at the slightest, his hips kept thrusting into you ruthlessly even as you began to sob from the oversensitivity.
Seokjin wrapped his arms around you tightly to move you, and you both collapsed on the bed, his cock still secure in you. He rolled to his back, bringing you on top of him. He slapped your ass. “Can you ride me?”
You pushed yourself up with your arms, your hair curtaining Seokjin’s face. You started to move your hips back and forth as you tried to get your breathing back. The sensitivity in your sex slowly turned into pleasure once again, and you quickened your pace. Seokjin moved his hands to your breasts, squeezing the flesh and flicking the nipples as they swung before him.
“Does… does this mean you’re gonna be my boss?” You asked between moans.
“Do you want me to be your boss?” Seokjin tugged your nipples, causing your back to arch.
“You’ll scold me everyday.”
“And I’ll fuck you every Saturday.” He thrusted up to meet your hips. “You like that?”
“Fuck no…” you felt the heat returning back to your core. “I’ll just hate you even more.”
Seokjin slapped your ass. “Just admit it, sweetheart, I’m your favorite among all your other fuck toys.”
You stammered as Seokjin thrusted up again, and he took the opportunity to pull you down onto his chest. Planting his heels on the bed, he held you down as he started thrusting his hips to plunge his cock into you, fast and hard. You closed your eyes tightly and felt tears slipping down your cheeks as you came closer to your climax.
“Come on sweetheart,” Seokjin whispered in your ears, “give me one more. Milk my cock.”
You cried out as your body jolted and shook. Seokjin kept holding you down, chasing his own release too. His thrusting became more messy, and he finally came too, swearing and groaning loudly.
You stayed still on top of Seokjin, your heart beating out of your chest, and so was his. You both lay on the bed, bodies sticky with sweat, waiting for the haze of your orgasms to pass.
“If you become my boss,” you whispered, “I want no special treatment.”
“Of course not, sweetheart. The only special treatment you get is I feed you after sex.”
You chuckled. “Speaking of…”
Seokjin rolled you over and pulled himself out. “Yeah yeah, order whatever you want.”
~~~
Today
Seokjin walks into your room. You barely glance up, used to him barging in whenever he likes.
“So, Yuna told me there’s a tall drink of water waiting for you in the lobby.” He plopped down on the little settee in your office. “So naturally I went to see. And you’d better get there before Yuna devours him.”
You glance at your watch. It’s ten minutes to 7pm. You smile softly, leave it to your boyfriend to arrive early. “He’s my boyfriend. I told you about him.”
Seokjin ahs. “So, that’s the man who took away my Saturday night fun.”
You glare at him as you tidy up your desk. “Yeah well, he feeds me AND reads me poetry after sex. So, sorry.”
Seokjin stands up as you ready yourself to leave. 
“Besides, now we play Maple Story every Saturday, surely that’s more fun?” You tease him. He chuckles and rubs his chin. He accompanies you walking down the hallway towards the lobby. 
Before you arrive at the glass door separating the inner office from the reception area, you turn to Seokjin and ask, “Do you want to meet him?”
Seokjin thinks for a moment. “Does he know about our history?”
“He knows MY history, but I never share any names with him.” you explain. “He only knows you as my asshole boss.”
“Now I am offended. I thought I was a nice boss!”
“Well, I rant about you too much maybe. But he doesn’t mind, because you know what happens when I get riled up.” You wink. 
Seokjin laughs. “What a lucky bastard. OK, come on, introduce your asshole boss to your boyfriend.”
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Published 01022021
176 notes · View notes
the-fiction-witch · 3 years
Text
Quit it
TV SHOW: THE QUEENS GAMBIT COUPLE: BENNY WATTS X READER RATING: SMUT 
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SPOILERS... KINDA
Benny watts, What a dick. just reading his name made me sick to my stomach... and other things. Benny Watts the child chess prodigy genius groomed from an early age, Myself I was too a chess child prodigy and I happened to arrive on the scene mere weeks after him. people liked to say we had a.... tension. But the reality of it simply is that both I and Benny knew the other was in trouble the mere moment we clapped eyes on each other. At the time He was six and I was Four, and of course as two young chess genius' we were pitted against each other, My first real professional tournament was against Benny Watts, he beat me but I was undeterred. You could say we had a rivalry, the fact we were on the professional chess scene at the same time, our ages being so close, our games not too different, All of it turned into a bitter almost sibling-like rivalry for most of my formative years. 
But as we both grew up and had to lead things out in the big bad world on our own, something changed between us. We no longer bickered at every event like spoiled children over the big things to the smallest things, one particular one I remember.
"Why does he get a bigger glass of water than me!"
"Why Do I have you share my water with her!" 
and so on it went, but it became... like teasing more than arguing, we both wanted to destroy each other but at the same time would never want the other to get hurt in any way, we still cared about each other having almost grown up side by side,  I even recall a time he punched someone for trying to get too close to my hotel room.
But even so, it changed again as we got older, the childish rivalry and bickering that changed to teasing became... almost flirting. It couldn't be denied since my teenage years I had found Benny Attractive but I never let him know about it, but there was tension. Sexual or otherwise but it was something some sort of spark of a fire that burnt between us as if the chess boards themselves would be lit by the heat when we played against each other. But chess was all that mattered to Benny even if he did have some sort of feeling for me he probably forced it down so deep inside himself he wouldn't ever show it. and honestly, I'm not sure what Benny would do with emotions like that. 
I had hurried over to the new york apartment I somehow often found myself in as my house was getting work done and I couldn't currently live in it the second he opened the door to me something was off.
"fine, But you're buying me some fucking groceries," He says letting me in locking the door behind me "I have some house rules"
"Don't drink, don't hog the shower, don't leave knives on the side. I know benny I've been here enough" I sighed heading to the chair
"No sex," he says 
"why would that be a problem?" I asked 
"I don't know, you tell me. Is that going to be a problem?"
"No, why would I wanna bring some perspective mate here to this place?" 
"It wasn't you bringing someone home I meant"
"what- You?" I laughed "Benny why the fuck would I wanna have sex with you?"
"Because I read," He says 
"You read?" I laugh as I unpacked 
"yep," he says going to his table picking up a magazine he had conveniently open to a specific article “I do have to admit that growing up in the world of chess had put some strange aspects into my life, and of course I agree that growing up alongside fellow chess champion Benny Watts seeing him going from a young precocious child into an attractive man” he reads 
“Benny I said that when I was like sixteen,” I laughed
“You still said it,” He says
“Ohh get over yourself Watts” I sighed.
"Quit it" benny warned me as we sat in his basement apartment the few little lights all we had to illuminate us, the table between us with the chessboard the pieces looming on it, I sat in my little dress and he sat in his jeans with his silky dressing gown around his shoulders exposing his bare skinny boney chest to me I couldn't help looking at benny across from me as he had been so often over our lives, he looked attractive but in a way that made me think he knew it. 
"Quit what?"
"You know what, Eyes on your board" 
"maybe if you put some clothes on instead of sitting around half-naked it wouldn't be as much of a problem,"
"You don't know what sort of things people will do to try and distract you," he says "And that young lady is about seventy percent of your problems"
"What is?"
"distraction," he says "You get distracted far too easily," He says clicking his fingers next to his face
"what are you doing?" I asked
"Now your not looking and I do something unexpected," he says stealing my queen piece "see, all I did was move" 
"Maybe I just get distracted with you"
“Maybe you do, But that’s not going to help you. Because at some point we are going to be sat at a competition together Like always”
“Fine, wanna talk about distraction?” I smirk undoing the buttons on my dress and flashing him my bra “where’s the king?”
“Wh- what?” he asked a little confused his eyes wide on my breasts
“The king benny, you’re playing white, where is it on the board”
“Quit it,” He says hitting my wrist making me put my dress back how it was “Your not going to be sat at a competition with your tits out so it’s irrelevant”
“You don’t know what I might do to distract you?” I smirked 
"Quit it" he mutters putting my piece back 
"Quit what?"
"I'm not having sex with you, so read," he says handing me a book and going off to the bathroom
"I didn't want you to!" I complain 
"yep! and I've heard that nine hundred times today" he sighed.
I sat on the excuse of the sofa benny had in his apartment pretending to read my book as I watched the flicker of the light behind the frosted glass of benny's bedroom the skinny figure moving as he changed his clothes, I couldn't help my eyes lingering where they wanted too on him until rather suddenly the door opened and he spotted me 
"Quit it" He sighed 
"Quit what?" 
"Looking, I'm gonna board that fucking window up you don't stop" he complained "Read," he says 
“Maybe don’t have glass windows and doors on your bedroom” I mutter
“Maybe Don’t let a girl who can’t stop checking me out into my house”
“Maybe don’t have a shower in the fucking living room!”
“Quit it! Read” he warns going to make himself a coffee 
"make me," I said and he stopped short freezing up a moment 
"what did you say?"
"Make me" I repeat 
"I don't have to make you do anything, You came here asking for my help... remember" 
"I didn't come here for your help"
"I know exactly what you came here for and for the six hundredth time. No"
"Ohh don't bull shit me benny!" I yelled "It's the only reason you still keep me around" I sighed
"Y/n... you know that's not true," he says "I keep you around because you're smart, you're a smart girl, you're the only person in the world who thinks like I do. I like you, It doesn't mean I wanna fuck you"
"In my experience, it's one and the same"  
"I know it is" he sighed "and that's the other twenty-five per cent of your problem" 
"What's the last five per cent?"
"I don't wanna say no... and I don't know much longer I can keep telling you"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean... of course I want to y/n."
"Then why don't you?" I asked getting up going over to him putting barely an inch between us "Please...after all these years, I mean it's not like I haven't been... begging for it" I whispered wrapping my around his neck 
"quit it" He warns 
"Make me" I smirked before I could even breath. He leapt forward, his lips against my own, his hands grabbing my waist and hips pulling me so every inch of us was together, his lips moving against my own and his hair tickling me in a pleasant way Until he dropped me completely moving away.
“Quit it”
“Quit what?” 
“Quit fucking making me fucking feel like this” 
“Make me” I smiled, kissing his cheek and going back to my little bed. 
I hummed my little tune as I stood making dinner tonight Benny was sitting… something I don’t know I wasn’t paying attention to him honestly I heard him get up from the chair and his footsteps around the apartment and before I could ask what he was doing I felt his hands on my hips his chest against my back “Evening Watts” I smiled 
“Evening” He shrugs his hands slipping up to grab my breasts through my dress and my bra slowly and softly groping them slightly rubbing an obvious erection against my skirt 
“Can I help you?” I asked sarcastically 
“Nope, I’m good” 
“Are you now?” I smirked “quit it,” I said pushing his hands away 
“Make me” He smirked in my ear
“What are you up to? You’re not the spontaneous grope kinda guy, besides I thought you had a no sex rule in the apartment?”
“Am I having sex with you?” he asks his arms cuddled around my waist
“You might be that Bonner gets any harder but no”
“Exactly, You are still too easily distracted so I’m helping”
“Helping? By groping my boobs?”
“I am helping” he reassures 
“Of course you are”
“y/n…”
“Yes, Benny?”
“I don’t wanna say No anymore”
“What?”
“I want to… I wanna have sex with you” he mutters kissing up my neck
“Well that’s lovely” I smiled “But no” 
“What! You're the one who’s been all over me all these years!”
“Yep, well you took too long” I smiled pushing him away “Go back to your Russian work” I smiled pushing his hands away turning to face him trying to push him back to his chair 
“Make me” He smirked grabbing my waist against his head against my own “Please…”
“Quit it” I giggled pushing him away “that desperate… go jerk off” I smirked turning back to cooking. 
I kept my eyes on the flickering light beyond the glass window looking into his bedroom he was slow and I knew he was looking at me too as I dressed into my nightie almost as soon as I was finished his light went out but before I could get cosy into the little airbed the door opened to him stood in his jeans and nothing else his hair a mess and a stern look on his face 
“I thought you were going to bed?” 
“Make me?” He chuckled 
“What do you want benny?”
“You Know what I want… and I know what you want” he smirked leaning on the doorframe of his room he simply smirked at me his eyes flicking inside his room invitingly 
“Make me” I smirked 
“Fuck it fine” he smirked grabbing hold of my nightie and tugging me inside with him.
I felt… sore, Exhausted and hot. My body sweaty and gasping still for breath but so was his collapse exactly where we whereas we finished or well as he did I was done hours ago. I couldn’t think straight as the realization hit me of what I had done.
I fucked benny! The boy I’ve known my whole life, I argued with, I competed against, and I enjoyed it, like really really enjoyed it. As in if he’s still good I will happily go again. 
“Fuck” he muttered
“Indeed” I answered 
“You really have a distraction problem”
“Yeah well… If I do so do you” 
“Wanna play chess?”
“No… why do you wanna play?”
“Kinda”
“You are a strange boy benny, what man orgasms and wants to play a game?”
 “I do?”
“Wouldn’t you rather? Stay in bed?” I smirked nuzzling into his shoulder kissing any bit of skin I could get at 
“Quit it” he laughs
“Make me” I giggled
“Oh, I’ll bloody make you-” He smirked pulling me closer kissing me deeply slightly groping anything we both could “When do you go home?”
“The house should be done next week” I answered
“Would it be crazy… if I asked you to stay here in new york with me?”
“Yes, Benny It’s not like I wouldn’t wanna stay here with you but this little apartment is damp, it’s dirty, I sleep on the floor-”
“Well, you can sleep in here with me from now on, If you want to?”
“So? The no sex rule?”
“Out the fucking window sugar” He smirked pulling me back to kissing him 
“Benny, the shower is in the living room, your bed feels like a box spring on a blanket”
“It is a box spring on a blanket,” he says “Hey, how about we stay here till the house is fixed and I come stay with you?”
“Tempting, Rent?”
“I’ll Half the mortgage with you and we’ll split chores and groceries?”
“Umm.. and what will happen when the press gets the ear of this? Or the chess federation? Or anyone for that matter? Frontpage of chess review Benny watts and Y/n Y/l/n living together in a house” I sighed “Next they’ll be planning our chess-themed wedding cake and naming or children” I sighed 
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“What!”
“Let the tabloids think whatever the hell they wanna think? You realize people have been doing both of those things since we were like four?” 
“Have they? I don’t really read the magazines”
“Yep, there is one from the first day we met a picture of us stood together either side of the chessboard saying about how cute it would be we got married made little chess genius babies”
“Your kidding?”
“Nope…. Actually” he says sitting up a little getting something from his table “This one,” he says handing me a little frame it was a newspaper clipping some local paper a picture of me and benny as children the first day we met either side of a board looking like we wanted to kill each other and it did in fact say about that in the article
“You kept it?”
“It was our first picture together,” he shrugs, “I thought I might as well hold onto it”
“Deal” I smiled putting the picture back
“What?”
“You come live with me,” I smiled “I’ll make up the spare room for you to have”
“Spare room? I figured I’d… be snuggled in your bed?” 
“We’ll see” 
146 notes · View notes
ratedbangtann · 4 years
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𝐅𝐚𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 | 𝙅𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙠𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙭 𝙋𝙡𝙪𝙨 𝙎𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 
"𝙵𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚜, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗' 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚐𝚘 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍..."                                 
Pairing: Jungkook/Plus Size Reader Word count: 8.1k Warnings: size kink, body worship, spanking, switch!jk, oral sex (f), finger fucking, squirting, multiple orgasms, creampie
a/n: any and all teasing directed at Jungkook in this fic is merely friendly banter. i DO NOT believe any of the boys have a problem with plus size girls, and they do not in this fic either. any teasing is simply banter directed at Jungkook to make him shy and blush. they would tease him just the same if he had a thing for girls with piercings etc. 
in no way are any of the comments made meant to hurt or offend anyone. this fic was written in the hope that it would boost some people’s confidence and be inclusive of larger framed girls (like myself!)
                              "Seriously, you want to watch this again?" Hoseok pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration as Jungkook excitedly presses play on the remote, sitting back down on the couch between Yoongi and Jimin with his bowl of mixed candies.
"You're obsessed," Yoongi states with a monotonous groan.
"It's a good movie though, Jin hyung; back me up!" Jungkook tries to gather support from his hyung. Luckily, Jin was also a fan. In fact, it was he who insisted the group watch it to begin with.
"I'm with you, Jimin. I love it. Remember when we played Wembley in July? I had to do Freddie's thing!" Jin slaps his knee as he laughs at himself, the others smiling and shaking their heads at their elder.
Yes, the boys had been coerced into watching Jungkook's favourite movie, Bohemian Rhapsody, for the nth time. He was mesmerised by Queen, completely in awe of Freddie's stage presence and his ability to control a crowd, but also by the way he had dealt with all his demons and never showed it professionally. He often repeated the show must go on in his head in times of stress or hardship.
Scene after scene played out on the screen, song after song that Jungkook sang along to, word for English word. He knew them all; he'd listened to them enough. He understood now how international army had the patience to learn their lyrics when they didn't speak Korean; when you love something enough, you'll find the patience it takes.
And while the others had protested originally at the thought of watching this damn movie again, by the end, they were all feeling that same inspiring emotion elicited by watching Freddie prancing around at Live Aid, knowing full well he was dying. Both Jin and Jimin had joined Jungkook in wiping away tears before they had fallen, whilst Taehyung hadn't bothered to hide them. The poor boy was sobbing as he clutched onto Namjoon's arm.
"I never get tired of this, damn," Jungkook smiled.
"What's your favourite song then, Kookie?" Jin asked. Jungkook thought for a moment, musing over the various tracks he knew and loved so well, until he settled on one.
He wasn't sure he should tell the truth, it'd be easier to say it was Bohemian Rhapsody or Another One Bites The Dust, because he knew he'd be made fun of for his real favourite. The song that hypnotised him into lewd imagery in his head that he so badly wished he could experience. The song that, quite frankly, played up to one of his biggest fantasies.
"Fat Bottomed Girls," he had said timidly, avoiding eye contact from his hyungs for fear of their reaction.
Hoseok broke the silence that followed, unable to contain his giggles. Damnit, Jungkook thought, I knew I should have lied...
Namjoon nodded in understanding, smirking to himself at the admission. Tae barely paid attention, still trying to calm himself. Bless him, he never could get a hold of himself once he started to cry... Yoongi barely reacted, a simple "hmm," escaping.
"It's a damn good song," Jimin agreed, slow clapping with approval.
"It is, a big butt is appreciated in this christian household," Jin laughed, but he meant what he said sincerely. He loved a large, perky butt.
Jungkook however, loved a little more than that...
"Aw Kookie, you're blushing. Someone's got a thing for a big girl, huh?" Hoseok continued to laugh, never meaning any harm of course but teasing the younger like he would a little brother.
It was true though, Jungkook loved big girls. He was hypnotised by them; just how their bodies moved, the little jiggle of their curves with every step... He dared to imagine how a big girl would feel under his touch; the squish of her flesh, able to grab handfuls of her as he worships her from head to toe. The ripple of flesh as he'd spank her bare behind, fucking into her from behind... The after-sex cuddles, nuzzling into her soft, warm flesh so comfortably. God, he loved the thought.
The boys teased Jungkook mercilessly after that evening; even when he had thought they may have forgotten about it. Nothing would be mentioned for a few weeks, until a larger girl was walking past their table in a restaurant, or a big girl appeared on their television; it gave each member ammo to tease poor Kookie until he was a brilliant shade of beetroot.
His hyungs never meant to upset him, and they certainly had nothing against anybody who was plus sized, nor did they ever mock anyone for their weight. They knew, of course, that beauty goes much deeper; but it was so fun to watch Jungkook blush.
Weeks passed since his half-admission, and Jungkook still adored the song that triggered his fantasies. Every time it came on shuffle, his mind was filled with images of beautiful big girls, dancing to it in a bar with their friends, singing to it at karaoke, humming it whilst cooking breakfast for the him after a long, hot steamy night, moaning out sinful expletives to it as it played as he ravaged them...  
"JUNGKOOK!" Namjoon banged on his bedroom door, scaring the shit out of him as he lay on his bed, palming himself through his sweats to the song and his imagination. "Stop jacking off to the Michelin man and get out here." Shit.
Jungkook paused the music on his stereo and waited a moment in order to conceal the very obvious hard on he had given himself with his own imagination, and made his way out to the living room, dragging his feet in a sulk.
"What?" he grunted.
"Pleasant greeting, especially seeing as we're about to give you your birthday present," Jin scoffed, an envelope in his hand.
"S-sorry... Birthday present? It's not for a week?" he rubbed the back of his neck, confused and still slightly groggy from his earlier states of consumed lust.
"Yeah but, we need to give it to you now..." Jin held the envelope out in front of him, and the younger gladly took it, opening at as the rest of the boys looked on in anticipation for his reaction.
"No way..." his eyes widened, reading over the words on the page over and over. "London?! We're going to LONDON?!"
"Yeah, all of us. We've never really done any real touristy things there, and well, seeing as you're totally obsessed with Queen we thought you might like to spend some time where they came from? Visit some of their history, if you will?" Namjoon smiled, giddy with glee at the younger's happiness.
"I'd love to, yeah. Whoa... London," his eyes gleamed with joy as he continued to stare at the plane tickets in hand. "We leave tomorrow? Jesus it's so sudden."
"Yeah, so you should get packing. Two weeks, Kookie, Pack for two weeks," Tae shooed him back into his room. Jungkook went to turn, but decided to run at the group and pull them all into a ridiculous and awkward seven-way hug.
"This is awesome, thank you so much."
The brothers loved seeing him so excited, each wishing him an early happy birthday and patting him on the back or ruffling his hair.
And then Jungkook scurried back off to his room to find an empty suitcase and stuff it in the most chaotic organised mess known to man.
***
Jungkook spent days dragging the boys through London to different spots of significance to queen's legacy, giddily jumping from target to target. Along the way, they hit up bars, a couple of typical tourist spots, but the majority of the time was spent doing what Jungkook wanted; this was his birthday trip, after all.
But today, was Jungkook's birthday. And the boys had something... planned.
9pm rolled around, and the boys had eaten and gone back to their hotel rooms, telling Jungkook to dress up relatively smart ready for a night out.
Where, he had no idea. But he trusted his brothers, and knew whatever it was would be fun.
Looking at his reflection in the mirror in the ensuite of his room, Jungkook was pleased with his outfit. His black jeans clung to his muscled thighs, the maroon silk shirt he was wearing tucked into the waistband with the top two buttons undone, revealing a little skin and a gold key pendant. His long hair drooped in front of his eyes, parted in the middle.
He fiddled with the strands, seeing if they looked better tucked behind his ears or not; he couldn't decide.
A knock at the door to his room stopped him messing with his hair, knowing full well it was his brothers ready to take him to wherever they had in mind.
"Jungkook, open up! Come on!" It was Jimin, yelling through the door.
He grabbed his leather jacket that he'd flung over the end of his bed and made his way to the door.
***
"Please say you're joking..." Jungkook whined in the back of the cab, looking out at the neon light that spelled out 'Burlesque' flashing above a staircase leading down into a basement club.
"Nope," Hoseok grinned, opening the door and letting out the four of them. Jin, Namjoon and Yoongi had followed behind in a separate cab.
Jungkook stepped out last, reluctant and shy.
"Hyung, seriously... I'm not so sure about-"
"What, you shy? Embarrassed? C'mon, this is like, British at it's best, right?" Hoseok encouraged.
"I thought it was French?" Jin argued, coming up behind the group.
"Actually the term started in Italy, like 400 years ago..." Namjoon, ever the intellect, started to reel off a history lesson.
"Okay fine I'll go in, if it'll stop this," Jungkook waved his hand in Namjoon's general direction, making a bee line for the door to the steps. The others followed, grinning and giggling at Jungkook's already flushed cheeks.
They had done this on purpose. He was surprisingly coy about anything sexual with them; the others? Overtly sexual. As open as you could be. But Jungkook never got over his shyness. He . could have a laugh and a joke but the second it got serious, his cheeks would flush, his hands would get clammy and his heart would race.
Perhaps, because he was a kinky little fucker, and he didn't want people to know just how much...
But the boys still liked to mess with him. He was the baby, after all. So, burlesque club it was...
When Jungkook reached the bottom step, he stopped at the cloakroom, seeing a man in a booth waiting to take admission.
"How many, sir?" he had asked. Jungkook looked at the man for the moment; a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a red waistcoat, black lined eyes and a small tuft of hair sticking out from under a black bowler hat, reminiscent of the kind Charlie Chaplin wore.
Jungkook thanked his lucky stars that he'd been paying attention to his English tuition lately, not wanting to wait for Namjoon to translate. In fact, he'd gotten pretty damn good at it... Fluent, even.
"Uh, seven please."
"Have you booked?" he opened a diary.
"Yes, we have. Under the name Kim," Namjoon appeared beside Jungkook, smiling kindly and offering up ID of his passport. The attendant nodded, striking the name off the book.
"Okay, booth number four, front and centre," he grinned at the group of men that had now gathered, "Enjoy!" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Jungkook had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. He was just doing his job after all.
The men wandered into the club, Namjoon finding the table with the golden number four at the edge. The men settled in the booth, with Jungkook placed strategically in the middle. The cloakroom attendant had been right; front and centre.
The lights to the club were dim, a spotlight trained on the stage at the front. Large red velvet curtains with gold trimmings hid most of the stage from view, waiting for the first act. Waiters and waitresses, all wearing black dress shirts and red waistcoats like the doorman, wondered the floor freely, taking drinks orders from the tables that were sat waiting. Punters were sat along the bar, mostly middle aged men there alone, or couples who hadn't booked a table.
Almost every table was full, both men and women alike. Groups of women were just as frequent as the men; girls' nights and bachelorette parties side by side with working class men out of an evening and bachelor parties too. The atmosphere was likened to that of a concert, before the lights go down and the artist walks on stage; the dull hum of conversation and anticipation filling the space.
A waitress came to take the order for the table, hurriedly scurrying off to collect their drinks and returning around 5 minutes alter, a tray perfectly balanced in her hand.
The boys got chatting, passing the time before the real show started. Jungkook sat nervously, an anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure about all this, he felt so vulnerable. He understood that burlesque was a beautiful art form and not just stripping; this was different. But something in him just felt uneasy about watching girls dancing and stripping, and he was sure it was because his hyungs were there to make fun of him for it.
He watched the time on his watch, ticking closer and closer to 10pm; he was sure that was when it was due to start. It must be...
And he was right. 10pm, and the bar lights dimmed, the spotlight shone, and the curtains slowly drew back, revealing a stage covered in beautiful girls, poised and ready to move as the music began. Their outfits were damn near sinful, and had all of the boys drooling into their cocktails; the beautiful red rhinestones that covered every inch of their bras, corsets and panties, the huge black feathers that fanned out behind them and stuck out of the top of headdresses, the black fishnet stockings held up by the red suspender belts, the classy red heel pumps... All were taken off one by one to the music, leaving each beautiful lady stood in underwear, stocking and vibrant red nipple tassels, swinging around suggestively.
The audience clapped and cheered as they finished the introductory number, the first act done with after 15 minutes of teasing, dancing, contortion and stripping.
The next act was introduced by a host; a male dressed like a ringmaster, of all clichés. This was acrobatic; two beautiful blonde women, performing beautiful movements in aerial routines, backflips, front flips, splits, cartwheels and using each other's bodies to create shapes the natural body should never be able to form.
Jungkook was of course, in awe at the show, watching as act upon act did their thing after the host's introduction; dances, teasing, acrobatics, lip sync routines, live singers; it was incredible to watch. And yes, very, very sexy.
He couldn't help but let his mind wander, much like every other person watching. What would it be like to be with one of these dancers for an evening? What would it be like to have someone put on a show like this in private?
Another show ended, and all seven of the boys clapped in appreciation of the group of girls who had just finished their rendition of Marilyn Monroe's 'Lazy'.
The host wondered back onto the stage, clapping too.
"Beautiful, just beautiful. Well, next up is the girl you've all been waiting for... Ms. Devereaux!"
The place erupted.
A standing ovation as the lights went down, cheers and whistles filled the air and Jungkook and the others sat in quiet confusion, clapping and waiting for something to happen on the stage to explain the incredible reaction from everyone else in the room.
The noise died down, people sat in their seats once again, and the music began...
"Aaaaaaare you gonna take me home tonight?"
Jungkook sat bolt upright, suddenly very aware of himself and surroundings.
"Oooohhhh, down beside your red fire light."
He had to be hearing things.
"Aaaaaaare, you gonna let it all hang out?"
Nope, this was happening.
"Fat bottomed girls you make the rockin' world go round!"
The spotlight hit as the familiar guitar started to strum, landing on you, your back to the audience, shaking your hips and tapping your foot to the guitar's rhythm.
Jungkook could feel the heat rising in his face, knowing full well that every pair of eyes at his table were now focussed on him, and yet, he couldn't tear his eyes away from where you stood on stage. He hadn't even seen your face, but god, he knew you were beautiful.
Your outfit was all black, elegant and yet so delectably scandalous. You wore a steel boned corset, moulding your delightful rolls into an hourglass figure to be envious of. It was black, laced at the back by black ribbon with small ruffle details alone the top. It dipped at the front, a clear v-line to show off the deep cleavage create by pushing your breasts together. From the hips to the back was covered in a feather train, cutting off at the back of your knees.
Suspenders hung from a garter belt hidden underneath the corset that attached to simple black stockings, the stitching running up the back of each of your legs following every little bump of cellulite and the natural curve of your calves.
Black satin panties covered your most important areas, the material shining against your beautiful round ass as you shook it in the spotlight to the music. Shiny black pumps stomped on the stage to the beat, along with a fancy cane you were holding in your right hand. Gloves made of the same sheer material as your stocking covered your forearms up past the elbow, an air of such sophistication added to your ensemble. And finally, a top hat with a couple of black feathers sticking up from the back.
Jungkook's jaw was hanging open, a comical 'o' shape of absolute shock etched into his face. The rest of the boys mimicked him, except they were looking at him, not at you on the stage.
The song continued, Freddie's oh so familiar voice singing out about beautiful big girls while you strut across the stage, flirting with the table in the front, dancing and hitting every beat, using your pure sexuality to entice every member of the audience as they whistled and clapped with glee.
"I've been singing with my band, across the wire, across the land, I seen every blue eyed floozy on the way, hey!
But their beauty and their style, went kind of smooth after a while. Take me to them dirty ladies every time..."
Jungkook was bewitched, watching as you continued your number; so sexy, swaying your hips and using your cane as you slowly took one glove off, followed by another. He loved the red lipstick you were wearing, imagining it smeared across his own neck with you biting and nipping at his skin to leave purple bruise marks... He watched you slowly taking off the smaller accessories of your ensemble, wishing so damn hard that it was him who would be able to do it instead.
When the chorus kicked in again, the club erupted to sing along. Skilfully, you undid the bow in the ribbon lacing your corset together, and started to undo the clasps at the front with one hand as your twirled your cane with the other. Before you let it fall, you threw it to one side, twirling so the audience didn't quite see your bare breasts covered only by black nipple tassels. You had more to take off before you finally revealed yourself...
At his table, the other members were getting rowdy like the rest of the club. They knew the song well, thanks to Jungkook, so sang along where they could, waving their arms around and dancing in place. But Kookie sat still, staring, mesmerised and imagining all the sinful activities he would just love to do with you.
He couldn't help himself; watching the way your hips swayed, your ass bounced, your thighs jiggled... It was turning him on to no end, and he was so desperate for you. To him, you were an absolute goddess, everything about you so beautiful. He'd never seen anyone like you before.
As the song neared its end, you were practically nude; the heels had been kicked off, the stockings taken off with the garter belt following, the top hat discarded and flung into the audience.
You kept yourself fairly concealed, your back to the crowd until Freddie shouts "GET ON YOUR BIKES AND RIDE", and you span around dancing to the guitar and Freddie's ad-libs as the song drew to a close, the tassels spinning and swaying, every beautiful roll of yours jiggling so perfectly.
Jungkook watched in awe as your danced around with your cane, practically nude, showing off your beautiful body. He could feel himself hardening, straining against the tightness of his jeans that he was grateful were so tight, there was no way anyone would be able to tell he was actually hard...
He had to meet you. He had to. If nothing else, just to tell you how beautiful he thought you were.
As the number ended, you posed at the edge of the stage, looking front and centre at Jungkook. Everybody in the room was cheering, clapping, whistling, all on their feet. But Jungkook stayed in his seat, and it caught your eye. You noticed just how dark his eyes were, how hooded they looked. You knew that look; it was lust. He was totally under your spell. So, being the showgirl you were, you smirked at him and winked, with a little blow of a kiss in his direction, before the lights went out and you exited the stage.
You had a few other numbers that night, a couple of different songs to do; some solo, some in groups, but each time you noticed Jungkook still staring, still spell bound. You found it quite amusing; such a handsome, muscled yet lean guy, incapacitated by a plus size burlesque dancer.
Cute.
The final number included all the performers, wrapping up the night in a beautiful display of acrobatics, live vocals, contortion, dancing and of course, mild nudity amongst a blur of feathers, rhinestones and tassels.  You took your final bow with your colleagues and friends, and made your way backstage to turn yourself back from Ms. Devereaux into y/n, ready to step back out into the club to mingle with the regulars and staff you knew and loved so much until closing.
Back on the floor, Jungkook felt almost like he was floating. It may have been the precarious amount of cocktails he had sipping on throughout the night, but he was sure that it was you he was intoxicated by.
As his brothers sat chatting and continuing to drink, enjoying the night - and occasionally making jabs at Jungkook for his reaction to your numbers, - Jungkook sat dipping in and out of the conversation, he attention elsewhere. He kept looking over to the corner of the club, a door with a 'stage door' sign on and a man clad in all black with an earpiece in one ear standing watch outside. He had to try...
He excused himself from the table, Namjoon and Tae having to stand to let him out of the booth. They assumed he was on his way to the bathroom, until they watched him head straight for the stage door.
"What the hell is he doing?" Yoongi asked, confused.
The others shrugged, watching intently.
The bouncer at the door held a hand out to Jungkook, who stood awkwardly, hands plunged into his pockets
"Can I help you, sir?" he asked, hands crossed in front of him.
"I-I was... um, is it possible to speak to one of the dancers?" he asked, nerves making him stutter over his words.
"Which one?"
"Uh... Ms. Dav-Daver..." he couldn't quite remember your name completely
"Ms. Devereaux?" the bouncer knew who he meant, thankfully. Jungkook nodded. "I'll let her know she has a fan," the man smirked, pressing a button on a radio he pulled from his back pocket and speaking into it, "Mr. Vandross, I have a gentleman here who would like to speak to Ms. Devereaux." The radio beeped and static poured out.
"Okay, 10 minutes," a male voice came back through the device.
"Now worries," the bouncer replied, shoving the radio into his pocket again. "10 minutes, sir. If you'd like to wait by the bar. Ms. Devereaux's will have a mojito."
"O-oh, okay..." Jungkook wasn't sure exactly what just happened, or what he expected to happen, but he turned back towards the bar and took up an empty stool near the end, ordering a drink for himself and your favourite cocktail. He watched the hands of his watch tick by minute by minute, anxiously tapping his foot against the bar stool, until he saw movement beside him, taking the stool next to him.
"Hello," you smiled, taking the mojito that Frankie the bar tender had brought to you as you sat down and taking a sip. Jungkook was taken back a little bit, still very much in awe of your beauty. You had kept your make up on, but now were wearing a knee length bodycon dress that hugged you in every place you had so proudly shown off throughout the night.
"H-hi..." Seeing you up close like this, being able to take in every feature of your face as well as your body, created a tsunami of nerves Jungkook hadn't expected. You were even more beautiful now, if that were possible.
"I was told you wanted to see me. What can I do for you?"
So much, Jungkook thought.
"I just wanted to say that... well, um- y-you're really beautiful and very talented." He played with the cocktail stirrer in his glass as he spoke. You smiled sweetly at his kind comment. Clearly his first language was not English; you could tell by the way he paused between words to think. It was endearing to you, something so cute. He was trying so hard, trying to talk to you as best he could.
You could tell you were making him nervous by the way he bit his lip and fiddled with his long hair, pushing it back and letting it flop back into place.
"What's your name?" you asked, curious to know more about this absolutely gorgeous man who looked like such a confident soul by appearance, but was downright terrified now he was in front of you.
"J-Jungkook," he stuttered again. Aw.
"I like it," you mused, and he hung his head as he smiled at your compliment. "Jungkook, you seem nervous," you placed your hand on his knee, feeling just how tight those jeans were. His eyes darted to your hand, electricity sparking at the contact.
"S-sorry, Ms. Devereaux. I just think you're so..." he wasn't sure how to finish that sentence. Beautiful wasn't enough; in fact, he was sure he didn't have an English word in his repertoire that could describe how gorgeous you were.
"Please, Ms. Devereaux is my stage name. I'm y/n, call me by that," you removed your hand from his knee, taking hold of your cocktail and taking another sip. "I'm flattered you think of me so highly. I noticed you, y'know. On stage I mean. The way you looked at me..." you leaned a little closer to him, so close he could smell the perfume you had sprayed before meeting him, "like you just wanted to fuck me," you whispered.
Jungkook's head snapped up, making eye contact with such shock...
"I-I'm sorry?"
"The look on your face, it was...primal. You wanted me, you were thinking about it, picturing it. Were you not?" you challenged, leaning your elbow on the bar and leaning into him a little more, keeping your voice low and so god damn seductive he was falling deeper and deeper into that imagination again.
"I-I..."
"It's okay, you can say it..." you teased, pressing your free hand against his thigh and feeling the taught muscle straining. Wow, you thought, those thighs... You would be more than happy to let him use those thighs against you however he liked. "Do you want to fuck me, Jungkook?"
He took a moment, thinking carefully of the pros and cons of this situation. Not that it mattered, he answered without paying attention to either.
"So much," he practically growled. You smirked, watching that darkness return to his eyes.
"Then why are we still sat here?"
Immediately Jungkook took your hand, downed his drink and without a thought to the rest of his brothers - who had all been watching from their booth in awe - took your hand from his knee and pulled you out of the club.
On the surface, you hailed a black cab down, climbing in the back with Jungkook in tow.
"My place or yours?" you had asked, and Jungkook barked the hotel name at the driver.
The whole car ride was laced with so much sexual tension. You had a moment of what the hell are you doing, y/n? that you brushed to the back of your mind. No, this wasn't like you. You had never taken a punter home before, never slept with anyone you met at work. But this guy... You couldn't pass this delicious specimen up.
You placed your hand on his thigh once again, a little higher than before, squeezing the muscle as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, using the close proximity to nuzzle your hair. Whatever shampoo you used was intoxicating to him. You could feel his hot breath on your ear, taken by surprise when he started to nip at the lobe and suckle lightly.
He wasted no time when the cab pulled up outside the hotel, passing far too many notes to the driver as he pulled you out with his arm around your waist. Already, he loved the way it felt under his touch, the squish just as delectable as he had imagined.
The both of you had been holding back since the cab ride but when he finally got you in the elevator alone, he couldn't stop himself.
Catching you off guard, he pushed you into the corner, looming over you with such animal lust you thought he might take you right there and then. Instead, he crashed his lips down onto yours, finally getting to taste you. His hands groped at your hips pulling them closer to his own in an attempt to grind on you, but the tightness of his jeans meant the friction he desired was further away than he thought.
The elevator dinged and doors opened on Jungkook's floor. He was too caught up in you that he didn't move; you had to push him with a giggle and direct him out into the corridor.
"Which room is it?" you laughed, looking both ways as if the room would be basking in a golden glow and obvious to you if you just looked hard enough. It wasn't.
"This way," he pulled on your hand in the direction of his room, digging in his pockets for his wallet and key card to get in.
Pulling you into the hotel room, he slammed the door shut behind the two of you, kicking it shut. You surprised him by pushing him up against it now, getting him back for trapping you in the elevator.
You kissed him again, going a little slower than Jungkook may have liked, but you wanted to savour the moment. Besides, you had been teasing all night; it was your job. Why would you stop now?
Using your tongue to lightly graze against his lips, you silently told him to open up, diving in further to deepen you kiss. Jungkook chuckled to himself; you tasted like your mojito. He pulled back for breath, resting his head back on the door and looking down at you through his lashes.
Your red lipstick had barely smudged, only the slightest trace he was ever there. I'll have to try harder, he thought.
A few deep breaths and Jungkook resumed the kiss, cupping your rounded face with one hand to create an intimate moment between you. It was sweet, but you were running out of patience and the lust was building and building.
Grabbing hold of his leather jacket, you slipped it off his shoulders, throwing it to the side. Grabbing fistfuls of the silk shirt, you pull him as you step back further into the room until the edge of his bed hits the back of your knees. Your hands make light work of the buttons on the shirt, undoing them and exposing his chest and abs. Holy shit, the abs.
Untucking it from his jeans, he rips the material from his torso for you, his lips never leaving yours as they moulded together so desperately.
He breaks you apart once again, spinning you round to have you stood with your back to him. His hands trace from your hips, up your waist to the zipper at the back of your dress. Slowly, he dragged it down, undoing the material to expose the bra straps and flesh hiding beneath. You pulled the sleeves off your arms pushing the material off you, down your hips, wiggling them as you slipped out of it. The dress hit the floor, and you're now stood in front of him, your back to him, in simple lace lingerie; a stark contrast to the rhinestones, glitter and feathers from hours before.
Jungkook's hands slowly lifted from beside him, slipping around your waist to feel you, needing to touch the beautiful ripples of flesh around your hips and tummy.
"You feel so soft," he whispered into your ear, trailing kisses down your neck and shoulder, his hands wandering over your body. You reached behind you, unclasping your bra to drop to the side of you, leaning back into Jungkook's touch as his lips trailed back up to your neck, suckling on the skin.
His hands raised from your waist to meet your now free breasts, loving the way they felt in his hands. And you had to admit, this was possibly the most erotic foreplay you'd had in a long time. Jungkook was skilled with his hands, and you core ached to find out just how good with his hands he could be...
You turned to face him once again, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close to you, pressing your bare chests together as his arms enveloped you, loving how squishy you felt.
Your lips reconnected, your tongues doing that same familiar dance as before as he pushed you again, forcing you to sit on the edge of the bed below him. You crawled back, enough so that he had space to kneel between your knees on the mattress and hover over you, his long hair tickling the skin on your forehead and his key pendant dangling between the mounds of your breasts.
He kissed a line of wet, sloppy kisses down your neck again, suckling and biting but using his tongue each time to soothe the sting of his teeth. Before long his mouth was on your breast, suckling at your sensitive nipple with an outrageous amount of care. his actions elicited the first real moan of the evening, unable to contain your pleasure any longer.
His lips continued their assault south, leaving little red marks along your chubby tummy that you were sure would turn purple given time. He spent time there, simply kissing, biting suckling at your chub, and despite the intimate actions, you never felt at all insecure about your weight like many other sexual encounters had made you feel. In fact, you felt empowered.
He was worshipping you, in all your beautiful rubenesque beauty.
Your core was aching for him, the wetness pooling in your panties the longer he spent adoring your body. You wriggled a little under him, uncomfortably aroused. He must be feeling it too, the strain against his jeans getting too much to bare, but he soldiered on, only caring about you and your wellbeing. He wanted to please you so much.
His kisses lowered again, reaching the space where your tummy protruded the most just above the lace of your panties. He looked up at you again through his lashes, his eyes as dark as they had been when you were performing. He was asking - begging - for your approval... And of course you gave it, spreading your legs wider for him to settle between.
His lips touched your thighs, peppering the flesh with kisses. He loved the way they jiggled a little with every small movement you made, every squirm under each kiss.
Suddenly, his kisses concentrated on your lace covered pussy, the heat of his breaths sending such wonderful shivers up your spine; finally some contact. He pulled the fabric to the side, revealing only part of where you needed him most. He kissed the bare skin, your juices coating his lips in a beautiful gloss; it suited him well.
He sat up momentarily, pulling the fabric off your legs before he lunged forward, pouncing on you like a cat on its prey. He had tasted you on his lips and immediately needing more. He couldn't stop himself.
His lips covered your mound, his tongue darting out between your folds to lap your juices up, tasting that sweet taste oh so completely. Your breath fell short as your back arched, the warm wetness a brand new sensation that you could only describe as emphatic.
"J-Jungkook," you whined, breathless as his tongue circled your clit, the nerves reacting accordingly.
"Mmm," he hummed from between your thighs, using his strength to hold them down, squishing at the flesh. He knew how to used his mouth, and every damn part of it; his lips, his tongue, even his teeth, grazing the bundle of nerves gently to elicit another reaction.
"Oh, fuck, it feels so good..." your hands bunched in his hair, pulling at the long strands. The sting he felt only spurred him on, loving the feeling of you controlling him like this.
One of the hands clutched around your thighs let go, snaking around to plunge two long fingers into your entrance. The intrusion was surprising, but most welcome, stretching you out so well as his mouth continued attacking your clit. He curled them, tapping up on the soft cushion inside you that made you pulse with need. Fuck, he was too good at this.
That delicious feeling was growing in the pit of your stomach, your pussy throbbing rhythmically as he brought you closer and closer to the edge; tapping and curling his fingers, working his mouth harder, sloppier on you.  
"Sh-shit... Oh, my god. I'm- I'm gonna..." you weren't making any sense audibly, but your body's reaction was translating enough. Jungkook knew you were close, and somehow, he kicked into high gear as he fucked your pussy with his fingers harder.
Something inside you burst, like someone has gripped a full water balloon tighter and tighter until it exploded. The metaphor was spot on, the sheets completely soaked as your pussy got over-excited, squirting more arousal around Jungkook's hand and dripping down his chin.
No one had ever made you do that before; even Jungkook seemed shocked as he sat up, wiping his mouth, watching you regain some modicum of stability.  
"H-how? What did you do?" you asked. "I didn't know I could do that," you laughed, trying to gain your breath back.
Jungkook just grinned in response, a shit-eating, smug grin, before he was attacking your lips with his own again, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue. You'd barely had any time to recuperate, but you absolutely were not going to stop him.
Now it was his turn for some relief.
He wasted no time undoing the leather belt on his jeans and popping the button and zipper. You tried to help, your hands getting in the way a little but eventually taking lead to pull the tight material from his hips, exposing the thighs you marvelled at earlier that night. He scrambled to remove the rest, pulling off his boxers as he did so. Versace, you noticed. Very nice.
But now, he was like you; completely nude, completely exposed.
As soon as you saw the size of him, your cunt ached again. You needed him, to feel full. He was of average length, but certainly thicker than any man you had been with before. You could practically already feel the stretch...
"Turn over," he demanded, all worship lost on you and now, he needed this; his fantasy. You did as you were told, flipping over onto your stomach and raising your ass into the air for him, giving him a delicious behind view of your pussy and outrageous bubble butt. "Fuck," he whispered as his hand grazed the skin of your cheek; this is what he wanted, what he'd always wanted.
Gently, he tapped the flesh, testing the waters but watching as the skin rippled, just as he had imagined it would. His cock leaked a drop of pre-cum at the sight.
When you giggled a little in response, he took that as the consent you had meant it to be to spank a little harder. When he did, you squeaked a little, reacting to the sting. You loved it. you wanted it harder. You wanted branding.
"Fuck, you're incredible," he said, lining his head up with your entrance, ready and dripping for him again already. The delightful stretch you felt as he pushed into you was euphoric, sending your eyes rolling back into your head and your arms almost giving way underneath you. His fingers dug into your ass, his nails creating little crescent moon shapes in your skin.
It took all his willpower not to lose control right then, knowing you'd need a second to adjust having only been used to two of his fingers before. You silently thanked him, and when you were ready, started to bounce your ass against him to gain the friction you both needed.
Jungkook needn't move; you were doing the work for him, every pound of glorious jiggle bounding in front of him. He watched in amazement, feeling nothing but pure pleasure as you moved on his dick, but he could only take it for so long until he needed control back.
He needed to pound into you the way he had imagined. And so, he did.
Gripping onto your love handles, he pulled your hips back onto him, his balls slapping hard against your pussy. It felt fantastic, and god, did you love being controlled like this. You cried out at the movement, egging him on to please, please keep doing that.
He pulled his hips back again, before slamming back into you with force. Your ass rippled at the action and my god did he love it. He needed to see more of it, that beautiful jiggle.
As he fucked into you from behind, his hand collided with your ass check with much more force than before, sure to leave a red hand print like you had hoped. You cried out, biting down on the sheets underneath you to keep the screams from getting too loud.
With him spanking at your ass and drilling into you with such ferocity, you knew you wouldn't last long. Especially after the first powerful orgasm he had given you.
But he pulled out of you completely, using all his strength to flip you over again. He crawled back on top of you, positioning his hip in-between your thighs before pistoning his hips forward and impaling you on his length again. Jungkook had decided he needed to see your beautiful face, your fucked out eyes and your pink flushed cheeks when you came around his cock. He wanted the intimacy back that you can't get from behind. He had got his wish, and now he needed to be close to you.
The sweat on his forehead had gathered and matted his hair to his face, making him look even more fucking god-like than you even thought possible. You pushed the hair out of his face as he thrust up into you, grinding your hips together as he did. His eyes were glazed with lust and staring straight into yours that you could barely keep open. He loved how you looked, how you bounced under him.
Your hand moved from tugging his hair back to the back of his neck, pulling him down to meet your lips desperately as the two fo you got so close to your untimely end. You wished you could both go for longer but there was too much to get excited about, too much to turn you on to be able to prolong the inevitable.
"Y-You're so beautiful, y/n. So, so fucking beautiful," he mumbled against your lips between groans and grunts of animalistic nature.
"K-Kookie," the nickname rolled of your tongue without thinking, followed by a moan that told him you were getting close again. He knew he wouldn't last much longer the second your walls clenched around him. But he didn't want you to miss out on your second high, not on account of him.
"Touch yourself for me," he instructed, "please..." his begging tone was surprising but so charming, and you'd be evil to ignore him. You slipped your hand between the two of you, drawing pleasant circles over your clit as he continued to fuck into you.
With the new sensation, you had seconds left. Your back arched up into him, pressing your bodies together. You couldn't control your squirming anymore, knowing that what was coming was going to be earth shattering.
Jungkook growled as you clenched again, lowering his head to your breasts and biting gently down on one of your nipples, kneading your breast with his hand. Too much; it was all too much. You could feel yourself dissolving into pleasure beneath him.
Your nerves seemed to to catch alight, like a burning ember had met gasoline inside your body. Your breath hitched in your throat silencing your moans and every muscle clenched tightly as it all hit at once. As stage one of your orgasm played out, stage two came in what felt like electric shocks hitting you multiple times, rocketing through you and pulsing. Your legs convulsed, muscles twitching and the like someone had pressed unmute on you, you let out the most tremendous moans of bliss.
Jungkook kept thrusting, losing his rhythm as he watched you come undone. It turned him on so much, and when your pussy started to pulse around him that was it for him; beautifully warm spurts of cum painted your walls as his body went rigid. He grit his teeth, a long, low grunt erupting from the very pits of his stomach.
It took you both a few moments to regain some sense, breathing hard and heavy. Jungkook had to use all his upper body strength to keep him from collapsing on you, still reeling from the most intense orgasm he thinks he had ever had.
"Shit..." he huffed, looking up to see you beet red, panting and completely fucked out. His arms ached so much he couldn't hold himself up anymore, collapsing into your soft body and snuggling into you with exhaustion.
"Are you okay?" you asked, still panting away like a dog in ferocious sunlight. He nodded against you, still breathing hard himself. "Well... that was- that was incredible. You're incredible."
"Thanks..." he chuckled. "I... I'm here for another week, y'know..." he looked up at you, waiting for a response. You hummed in approval.
"Thats at least another... six or seven shows," you grinned. If he was insinuating that the two of you were going to continue these little hotel escapades for the remainder of his stay, who were you to say no...
"Tomorrow, you're bringing all that shit back here with you." He wanted the feathers, the rhinestones, the glitter, and he wanted it littering his hotel room floor. "And that cane, too..."
"A private show, huh? I'm sure we can arrange that. Any song requests?" you teased.
"Fat bottomed girls," he replied. "Absolutely, every fucking time. Fat bottomed girls."
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hispydamy618 · 3 years
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She-Ra and the Princesses of Power x Spaceling: Glitch in Space
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Summary: After opening the portal, it tears a hole across the dimensions giving an entrance for the New York heroes: Utopix Jones, Georgine Wilson, Gabriel Rodriguez, Oliver Schmidt and Makena Jones, to fall right through. Together, they'll need to recreate the disaster that brought them to Etheria alongside the Princess' Rebellion in order to go back home and fix what was broken... but not before defeating the obstacles on the way.
Disclaimer: Contains spoilers for She-Ra’s season 3 finale and Spaceling’s issue 10-12 events.
(Thank you so much to @catlliecal​ for co-writing this with me!)
Masterlist: Chapter 1 (you’re here!) // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 // Chapter 7
Word Count: 3.2k 
Check Spaceling out!
Chapter 1: And We Must Be Brave
Sunrise in Ethernia was always a sight to behold, bringing out the beauty of the land. Even the Horde infested Fright Zone looked nice at this time of day. The Kingdom of Snows sparkled like a diamond, the rays of the sun making the ice shine. The flowers in Plumeria reach up to soak in the light, opening up their petals and showing off their color. Salinaes' waters began to twinkle in the light as they kept hitting the city walls. Shadows stretched over Dryl, the sun showing off the kingdom's grand architecture. The hidden kingdom of Mystacor danced in the sky, floating in place as the sun came up and passed them. None of these places compared to Bright Moon at sunrise. every nook and cranny came alive with energy and life, glimmering with hope for all to see. 
Which did not include Adora, who was currently fast asleep. 
She began squirming around, trying to grab something without waking up. Unfortunately, she squirmed around too much and fell out of her bed and onto the floor.
"Urg..." Adora regretfully opened up her eyes, groaning and moaning as she tried to get a sense of her surroundings. Hadn't she gotten over the whole 'falling out of the very tall bed thing' already? According to today, apparently not.
"Oh, I didn't think it could get worse..." she slowly stood up and began stretching, trying to lessen the aches running up and down her. That last fight with Catra really put her through the ringer, even putting aside the whole realty-crumbling-as-far-as-the-eye-can-see fact. Falling onto the floor only aggravated those pains. A hot bath was certainly in order, especially if the First Ones wanted to go over more physical combat skills with She-Ra later on.
Adora let out a huge yawn before she felt her a couple of her bones pop. Going back to sleep now was pointless since the sun was up. She'd only get a few more moments before Bow came in telling her not to sleep the day away, followed up by Glimmer teleporting onto her bed and yanking the sheets off.
"Morning, Adora."
"Morning, Glimmer. Good to see you– what are you doing in here?"
Adora rubbed her eyes to make sure she wasn't imagining things. There Glimmer was, sitting on the window seat, looking over Bright Moon.
"Oh, you know," Glimmer shrugged. "Just... thinking."
"What kind of thinking?" Adora plopped down on the other side of the window seat.
"Just normal thinking about normal stuff."
"Right, normal thinking. Not processing-what-just-happened thinking."
"Totally not that!" Glimmer's voice cracked on the last word.The two sat in silence, watching what remained of the sunrise.
"You know," Adora began, "if you wanna talk about it, I'm here to listen."
"Not really," Glimmer pulled her legs to her chest.
"You sure?" Adora asked, trying to push the envelope as much as she could.
"I'm sure... I don't wanna think about it unless I have to."
"Got it..." Adora clicked her tongue. She shuffled around a little, the air heavy with unspoken words. It's not like Adora could blame Glimmer. Even if Angelica was alive, she was sealed away. Sure, Etheria was safe from being ripped apart by space-time itself, but nothing felt right. It had barely been a day and the lack of one prominent face was already very noticeable. While Adora had never had a good mother, she couldn't help but think about how heartbroken Glimmer must be.
Hopefully she would open up soon.
And yet, dozens of dimensions away, another planet dealt with a less disastrous situation. Most specifically at New York... on a young girl's house. Makena's.
"Make yourselves at home!" Makena smiled at her two guests, Georgine and Utopix, while trying to unlock the door. 
"Oh, this'll be fun!" Utopix excitedly waited by Georgine's side, who kept him close at all times. It hadn't been weeks since she decided to confess her love to him by printing her lips on his... yet she decided to protect him with such ferocity and valor. 
"Why, hello!" Gabriel greeted the two lovebirds, leaning near Oliver's grumpy self.
"Hello, guys!" Utopix immediately reacted at his interaction by happily waving at him, unlike Georgine who glanced away at the discomfort of noticing Oliver there. Not that she cared, but she'd rather not deal with it right now.
"Oh, shoot..." she spoke out like a curse. 
Hours have passed and Georgine had explained the uncomfortable situation that Utopix and her had to face earlier that week: a doppelgänger barging in her house and intimidating Utopix... letting him know of his existence. 
"A doppelgänger?" Makena asked in concern.
"Yeah... We saw him a few days ago," Georgine replied, keeping her head low.
"What did he look like?" Makena added another question as she handed her a pencil and a blank piece of paper for her to sketch the stranger's face. She knew that such ability was one of Georgine's skills, so it'd be easy for her to try and replicate the unwanted individual's features. It wasn't that hard to remember it either. She had checked Uto's, as she called him, video log to understand what had happened that night. 
"Kinda like Uto, but his hair was..." Georgine allowed the pencil to do the work for her.
After she was done sketching, she allowed her body to rest against the chair she was sitting on. Makena's hand rested on Georgine's shoulders as she contemplated the illustration. 
"Oh." Makena didn't know what else to expect. The illustration looked quite like Utopix, just a tad bit different.
"Every good villain needs a name!" Gabriel interfered into their conversation as he prepared a chess board to keep Oliver entertained. "What about 'Otu'?" Gabriel's imagination run wild as the doppelgänger-needs-to-kill-the-hero situation was placed upon him. It bothered Georgine at times, but for once she'd let it pass.
"I guess so..." she said, holding the illustration near her face. "Takara must have sent him to take us off guard." Georgine assumed. "'Otu' managed to turn off Sabrina..." she added.
"That's awful..." Makena's concern instantly invaded her once more. "I-Is she okay? Oliver can fix her!!"
"Enlighten me," Georgine held Sabrina's... body up which was covered by a blanket which easily slipped off.
Oliver immediately analyzed the problem and decided to reveal his diagnosis. "If she's turned off, then she'll eventually turn back on. We can't force it." 
Utopix's curiosity jumped at his words. "How do you know that?" It's not that he was amused that a foreigner knew basic Sardkenofian technology. It was the fact that he quickly came to a conclusion without hesitating... why? Oliver nearly stuttered, his head trying to come up with an excuse to satisfy the robot's curiosity.
"Checkmate!" Gabriel shouted; easily winning the chess game that Oliver barely paid attention to. 
"Let's just get to fight practice already." Georgine merely seemed to suggest.
Once they were all at the bluntly painted basement, Georgine began wrapping some sport tape around her knuckles. 
"Tsk... Mine is a lot better," Oliver commented on Makena's basement, as if there was supposed to be something more than just that.
"Lil' brat." Georgine shook her head as a mere reaction. "Either way, just watch and learn for now."
Makena giggled at their interaction, attracting her sweet kitten Smokey who simply posed by her. "Aww, Smokey..." she caressed him, attempting to make him sleepy.
But miles above the sky, that intimidating doppelgänger was being submitted to horrid punishment. His skin barely holding itself together after the many punches and slaps that Takara exposed him to. His target of destroying Utopix Alle Jones had been consumed by the slightest feeling in his non-existent heart. But he hadn't shown any sign of it when he paid him a visit, so what was really going on?
"I gave you a target and you failed miserably, 36." Takara angrily spoke to "Otu", a.k.a. as Experiment 36, merely giving the idea that she had tried this sort-of thing before. "Hit it." Takara ordered Blu, her other henchman, to activate the oh-so-painful electricity that ran across Otu's body mercilessly. "I hope that you don't disappoint me again," her voice delivering a statement and a threat.
"Ma'am... It seems that the squad has moved location." Blu pointed out as he observed the main screen.
"Where are they right now?"
"Ameritania Hotel."
"Okay, 36." Takara glanced at him, who was trying his best to recover from such treatment. "This'll be your chance to prove that you're not useless," she said, assigning him his next mission. "Make sure Uto suffers." Her usage of Georgine's nickname for Utopix in Otu's ears made him tremble, fully engaging into his armor.
The gang, unbothered by any of the events that had happened during that week, decided to sneak in one of the bedrooms at Ameritania Hotel, one of the most prestigious hotels in New York. They didn't complain... Georgine had done some very sketchy in the past: breaking into cars of her friends' exes, graffiting a bully's garage door, among other things.
"How come that they let us in?" Utopix watched the rain slipping down the window's glass.
"The receptionist's a friend of mine." Georgine replied, as if their presence wasn't a problem that could said person fired.
"Oh, that's cool!" Utopix united to the unbothered feeling that the others were in. 
"So, why are we here exactly?"
"You kidding? Free food!" Gabriel cheered up, as Oliver was munching on a couple of chips from a big bowl.
Suddenly, a lightning stroke in the sky, catching Utopix's attention but also making him flinch. Georgine found it adorable. She'd assume that Sardkenof had a climate similar to Earth's, but it seemed that he was mostly bothered by the sound than anything else. 
"It happens when it rains," she simply commented on it, placing a hand on his shoulder for reassurance.
"Well, it's horrible..." Utopix caressed his other arm in discomfort, despite feeling Georgine's.
"It doesn't have to be if you don't want it to." Georgine's fingers gently brushed his hand, meaning to intertwine said fingers with his. 
"You look so adorable together!" Makena's head popped from underneath the sheets she was hiding in. 
"Oh, shut up. We were too." Georgine objected, recalling the time that they used to share said feelings back in their youth.
"Earthlings date the same gender?" Utopix learned something new from their culture, to say the least.
"Yeah, but some are picky about it." Georgine added to said information.
But their heartfelt moment was interrupted by a blurry dark maroon sight from the other side of the window. "Uh, guys... Is that who I think it is?" Gabriel commented on it.
"Oh no..." Georgine instinctively placed her arm in front of Utopix, despite the other not having entered the building yet.
How horrid was it for Utopix to be able to contemplate Otu's smirk from afar, letting him know that something was going to be wrong, that something was going to happen. Either to him, or his new friends. As if called by a cue, Utopix's arms were wrapped around Georgine's chest to stop her from any sudden movement. 
"Goddamn it. It's that punk again!" Georgine leaned against the window, bringing Utopix forward with her. 
Makena's motherly nature kicked in. "Georgie, language!"
Takara thought that she had them all under her grasp, that she'd finally be crowned victorious after many weeks of wanting to eliminate what was, supposedly, left of the Jones family. But not just yet. Before Oliver could create any plan of defense, a big blast of lightning had hit the sky once again, making Utopix flinch yet again and refuge on Georgine's strong arms. 
And suddenly... silence. 
The gang took a better look at the sky from the window. Four of them knew what New York's weather was like, and it clearly wasn't like that. Seconds later, a minuscule purple light appeared on the center of gray cloudy sky, obliterating every piece of darkness 'round every corner in seconds. 
"What in the name of the sweet heck is that!?" Gabriel shouted in both fear and excitement. 
Oliver quickly jumped to a conclusion. Again. "It's a wormhole... A portal! Get out of here! Now!" He pressed a button on his smart watch; equipping Makena, Gabriel and Georgine with special gear that they had grabbed beforehand.
Georgine immediately scooped Utopix in her arms, running downstairs and to the hotel's entrance. As they joined the sea of people evacuating the hotel, the bright light shone brighter, vacuuming everything on its way. Cars, signs, trees... even people.
"Makena!" Georgine shouted in desperation, witnessing how her friends were lifted up into the sky and disappearing into the hole in the sky. Her feet meant to stick to the ground to the best of her ability, but a fire hydrant had prevented her from doing so. 
"W-Where are we going!?" Utopix's eyes were closed, his hands gripped onto Georgine's back whenever he felt their weight being lighted. His eyes shredding tears, fearing what might happen next. 
"Just... close your eyes." Georgine, out of options, embraced him closely as their bodies entered the purple-esque portal.
Otu observed in shock, until a dreadful voice in his communicator snapped him back to reality. "Well!? What are you waiting for, 36? Follow them!" Takara demanded from him, meaning to sacrifice him if it meant that the others had been obliterated by whatever there was in that portal. Hesitantly, but firmly, Otu rocketed from the roof he was standing on and onto the remaining waves of the terrifying portal. 
And just like that, the portal was closed. As if someone had pulled a switch and turned it off... or more likely, a sword.
The tan-haired girl had waited for a light... a soft voice that'd wake her up saying 'Welcome to Heaven', or anything at all. Instead, her eyes had opened to a soft colored sky. Gentle chirps and water waves made her realize that she was somewhere else. A pair of blinks helped her double-vision adjust to a strange one-eyed creature that shouted once it notice that she was conscious to which she yelled and slapped it off, making it run off to the purple-tainted trees. "W-What is...?" her hands felt the sharp glass around her but also alerted her of something else. "Utopix... Uto! UTO!"
"G-Georgie!" Utopix's frighted voice cried out from one of the trees, holding onto one of its branches for dear life. "H-Help..."
"It's okay, baby. Just let go," her arms were open-wide to catch him in case he fell.
Utopix's eyes widened at the idea and immediately shook his head in disapproval. "H-Hmm!"
"It's okay, sweetie. I'll catch you, I promise." 
"G-Georg-AH!!" 
Without any more words escaping from his mouth, the branch decided to break. Thankfully, his loved one had catch him perfectly, avoiding any accidents. "Are you okay, lovely?" Her emerald eyes stared into his with an expression of I-told-you-so, nearly smirking at his reaction. 
"D-Don't do that..." 
"Do what? Hmm?" Her nose ran up his sensitive neck, occasionally peppering it with gentle kisses, making him giggle as a soft tone of green appeared on his cheeks. 
"Utopix? Georgine?" Oliver grunted as he massaged his head from the rough landing. "W-What? Where are we?"
"OLIVER!" Gabriel ran up to him, hugging his sides, not wanting to let go. "I thought you were dead! I thought I was dead!"
"What the- uh! Let go of me!"
"Never!"
Georgine snickered at their somewhat-sweet reunion, placing Utopix to a side as she helped Makena get up from the strangely colored grass. "Are you okay?"
"Y-Yes... Where are we?"
"I have no idea," she clenched her fists as she observed the unntreathening space. "We better get moving." 
Once again, Georgine scooped Utopix from the ground, keeping him close to her warm chest. "Sorry, I should've asked."
"N-No. It's okay. I-I like it."
Her voice lowly hummed, turning into a chuckle. Her face leaned once again near his, planting a kiss on his triangle-painted cheek. Once she started walking, the others followed closed by... not noticing who had followed them.
"36. State your location," Takara's face appeared on Otu's wrist communicator.
"Unknown." Otu quietly spoke. Probably one of the few times he was allowed to do so.
"If you survived, then that means they did too! Follow them and wait for instructions. Is that clear?" 
Otu took a deep breath. Despite being born a few days ago, his opinion of Takara had quickly worsened with time. "Yes." He immediately ended their interaction, making sure to go unnoticed  as he sneaked around the shadows of the forest.
Eventually, the five individuals reached the entrance of the gorgeous golden castle, unsure of what to expect. "Halt there!" General Juliet stopped them from going any further. "What is your business in Bright Moon?"
"Bright Moon?" Georgine concluded that that's where they have ended up at.
"We just want to know what's going on," Makena kindly asked. "I don't think we're supposed to be here."
"Think!?" The guard seemed to nearly fly away when she flinched. "What is that even supposed to-?" 
"Calm down, general." A shadowy figure approached the entrance, but didn't seem to change any of its appearance once it stepped into the light... Shadow Weaver. "I'll take it from here. You go fetch... Princess Glimmer." The general left after letting out a long sigh and doing as she was told. "I don't take orders from you. I shall look for Bow who can look for Glimmer with more ease." Shadow Weaver rolled her eyes upon her statement.
Georgine's trust pattern was instantly altered upon Shadow Weaver's attitude. The way she spoke, the manner of her walking, how her hair swung around like a sharpen knife... she had seen it all before. Her hands gently gripped Utopix's thigh and arm... once he felt it, he looked up at her, then at Shadow Weaver. A similar pattern had fallen onto him as well... oh, brother. 
"I apologize for the unfelt welcoming, though I must ask... what brings you here so unexpectedly?" her dark eyes narrowed at that last word."I think we'll wait for the princess' arrival to discuss that matter," Georgine refrained from answering the question. Her hands kept Utopix even closer to her than ever.
"Very well, then. I suggest you wait in the throne room unless you wanna be seen by... unexpected guests." Shadow Weaver turned around, leaving them to their amusement. 
Unexpected guests? Georgine then considered that there might have been something else in that region even worse than her... Not liked she trusted the other's jurisdiction, but she'd want to avoid any casualties for Utopix's sake, so she entered the palace after the others had gone in.
"Oh. My. Gosh." Bow nearly jumped on his toes as General Juliet gave him the news. "New people!? L-Like- what? Horde soldiers? Princesses?" he then gasped as an epiphany hit him. "What if they're here from a broken dimension and want to take our souls!?"
"Bow! Just go find the princess, please! Once we know what's going on with... them, I'll decide what to do."
"Okay!" he then stopped his tracks and turned around to see her. "...why are you making me get Glimmer and not you?"
"Just GO!" Juliet seemed to nearly spit fire at him.
After Bow finally snapped from his fanboying illusions, he breathed deeply before entering Glimmer's room, noticing Adora and Glimmer standing near each other... and rightfully so. 
"Uh, guys...  there's some people here that I think you may want to meet."
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pastellhunny · 4 years
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•Under The Red Sky•
Chapter 3. What is this?
Angel and Vaggie returned back to the hotel with plenty of alcohol being carrier by all four of Angels arms. Vaggie had a pained expression as she reluctantly walked in through the front door beside him. The day was pretty much over and everyone was pretty tired on their own. Al was still in his room, the lights were off but he held his hand. The hand that charlie touched gently with hers, a strange feeling lingered within him after it. The feeling of his guts moving on their own was still present and worsened when he thought more and more about the little hand hug they shared. He was convinced she had done something to him despite the obvious hints his radio staff gave him.
Maybes it's some kind of like spell she's put on me. "Is it possible that i can inflict this suffering on someone?" Al thought to himself as he got up to head back to the main area to test his theory. Al made it down the stairs to see Angel and Vaggie had returned and not a second later Husk came back in with his arms full of cheap booze too. Appearantly Husk has swooped out too when everyone left.
"AH Husker my friend i'm going to need you for a little experiment of mine!" Al exclaimed as he rushed over to Husk and swooped him away causing him to drop all his booze.
"HEY my cheap booze!!" Husky yelled angrily as Al dragged him away. "Oh i'll make you pay for thi-"
"Oh shut up Husk you'll get your booze later!" Al yelled as static emerged making Husk quited down with a pissed look on his face.
Angel and Vaggie just watched on as Al dragged husk away up the stairs, "Oh Charlie said to dress classy for the dance!" Alastor shouted as he disappeared up the stairs with Husk. Once out of sight Al used his shadow ability to teleport them to his room.
"Alright what the hell is more important than my booze." Husk grumbled with his raspy voice.
"Hold out your hand for me Husker." Al commanded and Husk complied thinking if he did what he said he'd get back to his booze sooner. "Now let me..." Al paused as he fixed his hand flat against his and did the same as what Charlie did to him. They both sat there for a moment before a crack sifted through the air.
"I don't understand Husk maybe you can explain something to me, do you feel like your guts are going to burst out at the thought of me. Do you feel any different?" Al asked with intrigued as he circled Husk examinening him for any difference.
"The only difference is i'm sober you asshole now let me get back to my whiskey." Husk said with an angry face as he scurried out the door running back to the bottles he left on the floor.
Alastor was perplexed and completely confused. What in the world did the princess do to him. Maybe it's one of the royal families powers. Lucifer has been said to be able to get demons to obey him with a single command. Powerless to appose him, maybe the princess inherited something similar to this. Maybe i'm resisting something she told me to do and that's why i feel this way?
Al paused for a moment, "I'll have to find a way to see her demonic side and get a closer look at her powers." He thought to himself as he left his room. Upon stepping out he bumped into something and immediately static spurred out and a little whimper of fear was heard.
"AHH Al wait i'm sorry i didn't mean to-" Charlie apologized as she backed up away from him, stepping backwards on the first step to the stairs leading down. She lost her balance, her eyes went wide as she reached her hand out to grab onto something.
Al watched as everything seemed to slow down, playing in slow motion. He watched as Charlie seemed to slowly fall back as her arm flung up out towards him. Without thinking he sprung forward and grabbed her hand in the blink of an eye while holding on to the staircase post. He swiftly pulled her close to his chest wrapping his arms around her for a moment making sure she wouldn't fall again.
Charlie's head was pressed closely again his chest, she could notice the smallest details of his red coat. The pink lines that ran down it to how soft the material felt against her face. She instinctively held onto his arms for support as she looked up at him with her rosary cheeks and heated blush.
Al noticed this and felt that feeling again, the churning of his guts. "Again?!" He thought to himself as he slowly let her go and stand on her own.
"Oh my gosh i'm so sorry i bumped into to you but uh thank you for um saving me there." Charlie apologized as she hid her face for a moment before she looked up and met his gaze. She noticed how it took him a moment to move or say anything, for that matter, back to her. "
"Ah yes not a problem my dear why we can't have the princess of hell injuring herself now can we." He got close to her and patted her head with his hand gently. "Be a little more careful darling." With that Al turned, his face hidden from view, and began to walk down the stairs towards the main area.
Charlie still stood silent watching as he made his way down. She lifted her hand to her cheek noticing it was strangely warm. Al turned his head back up to her and waved her to follow.
"Now come on shall we speak of the plans for the dance." Al said up to her with a genuine smile on his face.
Charlie hurried down the stairs shaking away her nerves as she scurried.
Everyone gathered in the main area. Angel and Husk drank their alcohol ofcourse while they listened on. It was around 9pm and the plan was to set out tomorrow and put up flyers promoting the dance around town.
"That's good an all but what flyers?" Vaggie asked in the middle of Charlie rambling on about how fun it's going to be.
"Oh well um i'll be making them... tonight.. by myself." Charlie stuttered as she didn't realized she didn't have any made.
"Don't worry you won't be by yourself." Vaggie reassured her and raised angels arm in the air offering him up to help as well.
"Huh the fuck am i gonna do." Angel said half drunkenly.
"Once you sober up your gonna help Charlie and i make flyers for the dance you idiot!" Vaggie angrily bickered at him as he took another swig of his alcohol.
He grumbled in response as he rested his head down on the bar table and dozed off.
Al stood and watched a part of him wanted to offer his help but he said nothing. He did get the party catered for Charlie afterall so he considered that his part in helping. Besides he didn't know if it was necessarily safe to be exposed to Charlie, everytime he was around her it was like she would use her demon powers to make him feel different. It even made his chest hurt at times it all confused him to the point where he left the hotel to return home.
Instead of staying afterwards to monitor how things were going and to see if Charlie was okay he said his goodbyes and slipped out of the hotel sooner than usual.
Al used his shadow to pretty much fly across the city to his home. His house was what you'd expect on the outside. a 1920's themed home, it had roughly three floors painted red and crimson with a large concrete fence wall that surrounded his home. Sharp ended poles spiked out of the hard walls giving it a ghostly atmosphere. A gate that had strawberry vines growing around it was the only entrance. Al had no need to push it open he just simply teleported past it and immediately into home. His shadow lurked behind him as he carefully walked through his halls down to his basement. Blood was splattered all over the ground per usual one of his last victims recent tracks. He walked past it to a locked steel door which his shadow opened with a shark like smile casting itself on the walls. Inside was his library, books upon books of all that he'll could offer. Rituals, summonings even types of tortures but what he was looking was about history. Specifically demon ability history.
Hours had past and Al had already read all the books he had on demons. He already memorized the books anyway but searched for any clue or power he could tie to Charlie. There was telekinesis, but he would have noticed that. Possession was a big no. All the options it gave him were of no help nothing explained what was happening to him.
The more frustrated Alastor got the more radio static surrounded him. Nothing of it made sense to him for once Al didn't know the answer. "RAGHH!" Al yelled in frustration as he made a portal appear on the floor with black tentacles and an ominous yellow glow come out of it. Al threw the book at it straight at the whole in dimensions. His shadow immediately caught it and saved the poor book from total damnation. Al sighed in defeat as he leaned up against the wall and slid down in defeat, his eyes were tired and felt heavy for once. What in the world has that girl done to me?" The thing that Al didn't wanna admit the most is that he liked the way she made him feel for some strange reason.
Alastors shadow opened the book he threw, on the front it read "666" as the title. It's dark claws flipped to the middle of the book on a page about the angels. Al looked up from his pity party and despair, he took a long glance at the page and then remembered that if the whole redemption thing were true then maybe he could make it out to the golden gates. Al's smile lifted a bit as he stood back up, his eyes glowing with a low tint of pink as he summoned his cane into thin air. Al still hesitated a moment that feeling in his guts still lingered and the more he thought about his real cause for wanting to use charlie just to get out of hell left a sour taste in his mouth. His shadow was merely a darker part of himself it loved the idea of using anyone and anything to cause destruction. Al shook his head as he put his books away with his powers. "I think i might abandon this until i figure out what that princess did to me." Al spoke as he turned to his shadow with red tinted eyes. His shadows smile widened sickenly Al could tell it didn't like the sound of that at all but oh well Als word over his shadows.
"Besides i should support her the most i can if i actually wanna get out of here."
The hotel was quiet it was about 3 am and pretty much everyone was passed out, Husk went back to his room, Nifty passed out in the corner with papers all around her. Vaggie fell asleep with her head leaning on Angels shoulder. Angel wasn't quite asleep yet he was still coloring the flyers but was ungodly tired and hung over. Charlie was passed out on a chair across the room soundly asleep, she was drooling on one of the flyers she was in the progress of finishing. Angels smile grew even bigger when he looked down and saw Vaggie so peaceful on his shoulder. Even though Vaggie and Angel have their own differences they're still friends maybe a little strained but they can get along sometimes. Well when Angels not putting a bad name on the hotel that is. Angel laughed to himself as he leaned his head on hers.
Morning soon came, though there wasn't much of a sun people just kind based their sleep around the set clock of the city.
Al got up bright and early and made his way to check up on the hotel. He cleaned up his mess ofcourse and fixed his hair and smoothed out the "hair" tuffs on top his head. Everyone knew they were his ears but no one dared to touch them.
Al entered the Hotel through the door for once instead of using his shadow. He was a little exhausted from the stress that was yesterday afterall.
The noise of the door stirred Angel awake, his eyes opened slightly to see who opened the door. When Angel saw the red coat he shut his eyes closed and pretended to be asleep.
Alastor looked around the room to see everyone was passed out all over the place. Poor Nifty was knocked out in the corner while Vaggie and Angel seemed to have been getting along. His eyes eventually drifted over the the body of Charlie. Al figured everyone was asleep so no one saw him. He walked quietly over to Charlie's sleeping body. Al admired her peaceful face how smooth it was and examined all the tiny details of her face for a long moment. He gazed at her gentle eyes and her roses cheeks. His smile was less stressed as his eyes lowered gently upon seeing her heavenly self.
Angel watched on as Alastor reached his staff out above her head. A sudden radio crackle came through as static emerged from Alastor. For a brief moment Angel peered into Alastors eyes and saw how sinister his expression was.
"My god he's gonna kill her in her sleep!"
part 1 part 2
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likebrooklynnewyork · 3 years
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tiny world / oneshot. 1-10-21
The beginning of the new year meant going back to work for Brooklyn and with going back to work, all of the responsibility she had missed out on came right with it. She was supposed to be home hours ago, but was told she needed to stay longer and was to be needed to prepare for the incoming amount of social media traffic for tomorrow. Thankfully, Travis’ work only lasted until the afternoon, which allowed him to be home with TJ in times like this.
So, that’s what he did. Bonding time between father and son, just them two, which was a rarity since Brooklyn was almost always around. Not tonight, though. Footsteps crept up to the front porch of the house they shared, the visitor never even stepping onto the property before today. And that was by choice.
The delicate, older hand knocked on the door gently before knocking once more. There was a car in the driveway so the assumption was that someone was indeed home - but the person who waited wouldn’t be surprised if they weren’t welcome.
As soon as the door opened, Travis on the other end was just as surprised to see none other than Karen Amherst, aka Satan, aka that fucking bitch, aka the woman who brought Brooklyn into this world and made it known that she wasn’t a fan of his. From the first moment she glanced at him, nevermind the first time she actually met him.
“Listen, whatever shit you’re tryin’ to start, Brooklyn isn’t home and—“ Travis began, before Karen rose a finger at him, shaking her head. Her eyes admired the tiny baby boy that was in his arms, before she began.
“I’m not here to start anything, thank you. I’m here to see my grandson. Not you. Not Brooklyn. Let’s make that perfectly clear. May I come in?” She asked the question out of pure courtesy but of course, came in to make herself right at home in typical Karen fashion. TJ, however, was aware of the disturbance and began to softly cry. There was imbalance in the air, a tension that he was able to feel without Karen even so much as holding him.
She watched with softer eyes, a different glance from which she perceived Travis from, realizing this really was her grandchild. Something she thought she’d never see the light of day, a miracle in its own sense, just as she had once saw Brooklyn as. She let the moment go by without another word, Travis doing his best to shush his son and his reaction to the appearance of a stranger. She watched and admired, letting the silence linger for second upon second. Almost like she couldn’t believe it and had to take a second, third, fourth glance over and over.
“...he’s perfect. A perfect little boy.” She finally spoke up, her fingertips running against his tiny toes with a small wave of nostalgia running over her. In fact, it worked out that Brooklyn wasn’t home. Because all that needed to be said was for Travis and Travis alone. “I can tell you’d do anything for him. You’d do anything to make sure he has the perfect life, the tools to success, the capacity to fulfill his wildest potential...”
Sighing gently, she gently frowned, only on the slightest corners of her lips that were plenty injected with Botox at this point. “I know it’s how you feel because it’s how I felt about Brooklyn when she was born. You may not believe me, but everything I’ve done, everything I have said, everything I have thought, was for that reason. I want you to know that.” Raising her gaze from TJ to Travis’ eyes, she continued. She had a lot she needed to say and as she was in this moment, she was going to spill it all out.
“I didn’t know if I was ever going to have a child...and when I had the most beautiful baby girl, I made a promise that I was going to stop at nothing to make sure that she had the life I always wanted her to have. It’s why I raised her to have such a high opinion of herself, I didn’t want her to settle. I knew she was capable of being the most amazing person, with the most amazing life and I wanted nothing more than to give that to her. I had it all planned out because I knew if I didn’t? I wasn’t going to have the luxury of having another chance, with another child. This was my one, my only shot.”
Karen wasn’t one for emotion, especially in the time she knew Travis. She was cold, callous, unwelcoming - but there was a certain tremble in her voice as she continued to speak. A degree of sincerity that had never been there before.
“And when I seen her get together with you, when I seen her completely detour from the path that I had worked so hard to build for her...for you? It broke my heart. Because you were never part of the plan. You were not supposed to be the kind of person that came into my daughter’s life and I had hoped that maybe threatening her with groundings, not going to prom, kicking her out and even so much as disowning her, would finally make her realize that you weren’t worth it. That you were not the person who was going to give her this amazing life. I knew what was best for her, always, and I was the person who tried to tell her ‘I told you so’ every single time you shattered her heart into a million pieces. And even still? There she went. Back with you. Every time.”
The older woman turned away for a moment, her voice cracking as she tried to will away the tears that were beginning to form. Despite her best efforts, she wiped a few bits of stray moisture, really opening up herself now. “You may think I did it to be cold, to be heartless, but there came a time when I just couldn’t watch my greatest joy, my greatest accomplishment throw away everything I hoped for them in the trash. And I hope, I pray, you never get to experience that disappointment with your son. Because you may not know it, but it tore me up inside. I always just wanted the best for her, my Brooklyn Joy, and knowing that she was living in some random man’s basement or she was sleeping on some air mattress in a dingy studio apartment because she was too stubborn to leave someone like you was the worst kind of agony. No matter how much I warned her, how much I told her to stay away, I couldn’t stop that from being her life as much as I knew she deserved more. So much more.”
Karen was doing her best not to fully cry - but she couldn’t help it, as she diverted from Travis’ gaze in an effort to compose herself. “But now...as I’m getting older and now that Richard is gone, I have to tell myself that this is her life now. It’s why I’m here. It’s why I’m standing in front of this beautiful baby boy who is just as much of a miracle, even if I didn’t exactly express it the way I should have. I can either choose to accept it ... or I can continue to be bitter over her wasted potential. I’m going to try choosing the former this time, even if I’m still unhappy about it.”
She brought a hand up, just to lightly graze down TJ’s cheek who had calmed down during the middle of her adverse diatribe. “His world is so tiny. He knows so little. And I can only hope you’ll protect him from what’s to come in this life. He deserves that much. After all, he is half Amherst.” She chuckled.
After another moment passed, she cleared her throat, toes now pointed to the door. “You can tell Brooklyn I stopped by. Or not. Your choice. My flight leaves tomorrow at 12:15. I’ll be at my hotel until then tomorrow morning, if she wants to call or stop by.” With the signature sassy flip of her scarf over her shoulder, she began making her way out, clunky heeled boots in every step. But just before she shut the door behind her, she turned to look at the tall blonde she regrettably had now accepted as her son-in-law and simply said:
“Oh, and Travis? You won. Don’t fuck this up.”
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jenevievemccoy · 4 years
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The Ground Shifts Beneath You Part 1 || Jenevieve McCoy Self Para
09/08/2020
Jenevieve is excited to be in France but has a little run in with her father who had arrived days earlier waiting for her arrival
Jenevieve was exciting to be in France, it was like she was living a dream, of course the plane ride gave her a lot of anxiety, but she made it through. Her father did not want her in the Travel program, they forced JP to stay back in the regular luxor program and were doing the same with her but she made it so she could go. Once they got to the school, she made it to her new dorm room that her and Savannah shared. She picked which room she wanted and went in with her belongings and started to unpack. While she was moving in she was distracted as her phone kept going off, texts from her parents. They wanted to see her, because she avoiding seeing them before leaving for France. Little did she knew, her dad followed her to France.
A few hours had past and Jene was all moved in but she had 68 missed class and texts from her parents trying to get her attention. She was trying to stay awake and shake off the jet lag. To her surprise she had a knock on door to the dorm suite, walking out of her room and across the common room she opened the door to reveal two security guards and the Dean standing at her door. “Uhhh hello?” She said as she narrowed her brows looking at them all. “Jenevieve McCoy?” The first security guard asked and Jene nodded. “Yeah thats me...” She trailed off as she took a step further away from us. “You need to come with us, your parents have been trying to get a hold of you.” The small red head rolled her eyes. “Yeah, they were being ignored for a reason.” The dean held his hand up. “Your disparages towards your parents are not a concern for us, we just need you to come with us, they contacted the school and are looking for you.” Jene exhaled. “Okay okay.” She said before going and slipping on her heels and grabbing her purse and then followed the three men across campus.
The dean and the guards led the small girl to the deans office, the dean walking in first, pushing the door open to reveal Jenevieve’s dad in the office. Jene took a few steps back but the security guard grabbed her arm. Jene pulled her arm free from the man. “Don’t fucking touch me you neanderthal.” She said  before her dad moved across the room and took her hand. “My dearest apologies for her behavior, she must be tired from the travel.” Micah said with a smile. “Thank you so much, I will be signing her out for the rest of the day.” He said before filling out the paperwork. Jene wasn’t all that scared, she just hated the man. But she also had no idea what was coming.
Jenevieve didn’t fight her father as he brought her outside and to the rental car her got. She just figured he wanted to see her because she avoided him last time he visited, but hearing what he did to JP, fueled her hate so she didn’t plan on playing nice. She was a bit worried because she didn’t know where they were going. Jenevieve turned her father out as he talked to her until she heard him bring Axel up. “How is that tall boy you were seeing.” Micah asked. “Broke up.” She replied simply as she leaned her head against the window taking in all the sights. “Why?” Micah added on wanting information to use against her. But Jene was already turning him out again as the drove down the roads in France.It was only 15 minutes till they arrived at the hotel Micah was staying at. He had flown down before the students had, preparing for the next big step.
While JP took a short break from the end of Summer camp, it was because Micah had found a cure for Jenevieve’s medical conditions and it was finally time to fix his daughter. seven years of human experiments and 17 years of medical research was finally coming to an end because he had the answers, the cure. Jene opened the passenger door and got out. “Why are we here, if you wanted to hang out then we should go out.” She said complaining as she took her bag. Micah nodded. “We can do whatever you want, I just need to grab some things first. Jene rolled her eyes and followed the man in. Once they got up to the room, Jene walked into the door, taken back by her sight. It looked like the set up in their basement. She had only seen it once before when her and JP were playing hide and seek at 5. The girl quickly backed up heading for the door but Micah had already closed and locked it. He took the girls arm as she fought him and started screaming for help. HE put his hand over her mouth and told her to shut up. “Damn you are much feistier than JP.” HE said holding the girl as she tried to get free. Micah reached over picking up a syringe of assistive and pushing it into her arms, Jene only lasted about a minute or two before she was unconscious. 
Micah got right to work, he wasn’t going to waste a moment fixing his daughter. He started an IV and kept her doped up on morphine as he was going to be doing a lot. He injected a bunch of different liquids into the girl, following the procedure he believed to have worked. He continued for a few more hours as he worked out his procedure till he got to the last step. “It’s okay Jene, You don’t  need this anymore, You are all better now.” Micah whispered to his unconscious daughter as he pressed the blade along the scar just under her collarbone. Micah disconnected  the leads from the mall pacemaker machine and pulled it out. “The leads must stay for now, until I have more practice with removal.” He said pressing a kiss to the girl before closing the incision. Micah moved and began to clean up, putting everything away as his daughter rested. Within the hour he had Jenevieve in the car and on the way back to Luxor France. Jenevieve came too when they were almost back to the school, she felt like crap. She was dizzy and groggy. Neither of them noticed, but her skin was starting to tint blue as her heart was starting to fail. Her body was not getting enough oxygen as her heart was not pumping properly. The small girl was in pain. Micah pulled up to the school and walked around the car to pick his daughter up and carry her in. Approaching the front desk, Micah smiled. “Hey, just bringing  back my daughter here, the jet lag has really gotten to her and I couldn’t bare to wake her up.” He said, they let him in and Micah brought her all the way up to her room. He placed her down in bed and kissed her forehead. “Goodnight my princess, tomorrow starts your new day as healed, no more CHD.”  He said, pulling the blanket over her. “I’ll text you when you wake up.” HE added on before exiting the room and leaving
The second the door closed, Jenevieve pulled every bit of strength she had inside of her to get up. She pushed herself to be standing and worked for the door. Her body was fighting her every step of the way. She was dizzy and felt like she needed to vomit but she held it together as she made it to the hallway, she held onto the wall for support as she made her way to Juliet’s dorm room. Once she got there, she started banging on the door before she slid to the floor, back against the wall reaching to hit the door. “Juliet, Juliet, I need you.”
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bluewhale52 · 3 years
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Little Black Book: The One You Hate (M)
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Summary: There are a few names in your Little Black Book, and these seven hold a special place in your heart. Now that you are closing that chapter in your life, you reminisce the time and experience you have had with your seven favourite men, especially with Kim Seokjin, the one you hate.
Pairing: Seokjin x female reader
Rating: Explicit. NO MINORS ALLOWED.
Genre: nonidol!au, strangers to lovers, friends with benefit
WC: 3.9k
Warning: swearing, car blowjob, ass slapping, OC loves going down on Seokjin, sex against a window, sex between coworkers, love-hate relationship between OC and Seokjin (more on OC). I guess that’s about it....
A/N: Many, many, many thanks to @rainbhrts94​ for beta-ing this piece. I was experiencing a burnout and having a hard time putting all my thoughts together, and her reviews and suggestions totally helped getting this fic into its final form. Thank you!! 
Little Black Book Masterlist 
Kim Seokjin was the bane of your existence. 
The cocky, arrogant IP attorney from the New York office had everyone on your floor in an uproar for weeks. You had seen him making one of the conference rooms his home away from home, with a hoard of lawyers and secretaries going in and out at his beckoning. You were watching them with jealousy. Sure, you were a mere junior in the firm and therefore the lowest in the food chain (just slightly above the interns), but you really wanted to be part of the action. 
Then, somehow, during his  last few days in Seoul, you were picked to help him and his team. Your excitement soon turned sour, as you were constantly on coffee and photocopy duties. How could you prove your worth when you were too busy being worked as Kim Seokjin’s personal server? Why couldn’t he ask one of his groupies? There were plenty of secretaries and PAs throwing themselves at him; you bet one of them would be happy to do this... THIS menial job. It was truly beneath your job description, and you started to simply, truly hate the man.
If that was really the case though, how did you end up in his luxury rental car, bending over towards the driver seat, sucking his cock? How did your mouth end up around his shaft, while your saliva dripped down and coated your fingers around his base? Why were your panties getting wetter with every moan and groan that left his lips? Why did you wish he would just spank your ass instead of tugging your hair? Why, when he came, did you gobble up his seed so greedily and lick him clean? Why did you even feel the need to stick your tongue out to him to show him you had swallowed every single drop?
Seokjin exhaled sharply then looked over at you as he tucked himself back in. “You do this with every visiting attorney?” He leered at you.
You rolled your eyes. “Just the one that pisses me off.”
He chuckled. “I should piss you off more then.”
“Are you going to drive me home or what?”
Seokjin started his car. The engine purred, and you pressed your thighs closer together at the soft vibrations that went through the car. “I promised I’d buy you dinner first, didn’t I?”
You flashed him a saccharine smile. “I had a meal already, thanks.”
Seokjin sniggered as he pulled out of the parking lot. He had offered to drive you home - “the least I can do after all your hard work this week” he had said- and while your little apartment was at the other end of the city from the five-star hotel he was staying, it was indeed the least he could do for you. So when you had settled in his car and buckled your seatbelt, after he had asked if he could buy you dinner, you- in your frustration, because you hated him and you just wanted to go home (god, was that too much to ask)- muttered under your breath on how you would rather suck his dick than have dinner with him. 
You had been taken aback when he broke into a brazen smile, challenging you to eat your own words, and damned if you were going to back down. Deep down, you had wanted to see if this perfect man with the perfect face and the perfect suits tailored around his perfect body (he had legs that went for miles, you hated to admit), also had the perfect dick. 
It turned out that he did, and his perfect dick was perfectly hard when you unzipped him. And so, that was how you went down on Kim Seokjin, giving him a near perfect blowjob, in his car, in the basement parking lot of your firm. (Near perfect because honestly, you could have done a lot more had you had more ample space to move.)
You stole a glance at Seokjin as he drove. His side profile was sharp and too good to be true. Flashes of lights only further highlighted his jaw and cheekbones. You looked away, pouting. 
“I’m flying back tomorrow evening.” He broke the silence. “You gonna miss me?”
You scoffed. “You wish. I’ll finally be able to do real work rather than making you coffee.”
He had the gall to laugh. “I’ll be back in two months. Don’t worry.”
The rest of the drive was quiet. How did you get into this? How could you possibly be so horny for him? Was it your dislike for him that made you like this? You should have known better than blowing him in his car just now. What if he started shooting his mouth off in the office? Or worse, in your personal promised land, THE New York office?
“Seokjin,” you started, “about what happened just now, I’d appreciate it if you keep it to yourself.”
“Of course, I’m not Yuna.”
You tilted your head at the name. Yuna was one of the senior partners’ secretary. “What do you mean?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t know? She’s been telling everyone how good I was in bed.”
“You slept with her?” You couldn’t mask your surprise. “I didn’t hear anything about it. I must’ve been so out of loop with the rumor mills. Wait… Is that why you’ve been asking me to do all that shit? So you don’t have to deal with her?”
“Smart girl.” Seokjin made a turn, stopping just outside your apartment complex. He turned off the engine.
“And here I thought you liked my coffee. And how I photocopied your endless documents.” You said dryly. “Thanks for the ride.”
Seokjin stopped you before you exited his car. “Aren’t you going to invite me to your place?”
You chortled. “Why, you need a goodbye fuck?” You spat it out, but internally, you hoped your playing hard to get was not going to backfire. 
“Hmm,” Seokjin looked out of the car, eyeing your apartment building. “What kind of bedsheets do you have?”
“What do my bedsheets have to do with anything?”
“500 thread count? Or pure linen?” 
You opened the car door and got out. “Bye Seokjin.”
He got out too, walking you to the main entrance. “I’ll buy you some. For next time I’m here. Two months from now.”
You scanned your access card, but he stopped you from opening the door.
“Not gonna kiss me goodnight, sweetheart?”
You turned to him and leaned forward. But instead of kissing him, you stuck your tongue out and licked him, along his jaw, all the way to his ear. You did not miss the shiver that ran through his body when you closed your lips around his earlobe. Smiling smugly,  you opened the door, and as you were about to walk into your safe haven triumphantly, Seokjin slapped your ass. You stilled yourself, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing your reaction. 
“See you in two months, sweetheart.” You heard him chuckle as the door closed behind you.
Kim Seokjin was truly the bane of your existence. 
~~~
He returned to Seoul in two months. You were not keeping track on your calendar, no of course not. You just knew because the commotion was back, as it always was when he stepped into the office. He picked you again to assist his team (Yuna gave you an evil eye for that), and at the end of the work day, when you were filing papers and folders, he slipped a small envelope into your hand. 
“Open it at your desk.” He said in a low whisper. 
You looked at the envelope quizzically before putting it into your pocket. “Is it your credit card? To buy pure linen bed sheets?” You whispered back. 
“Sweetheart, I already bought you a few sets from New York.”
You snorted. Later, when you were back at your desk, you took the envelope out and opened it. You found a note with a gold monogram of Seokjin’s initials at the top. You laughed at the ridiculousness of it. Under his insignia, was a series of digits you assumed to be his mobile number. You saved it in your phone. 
There was something else in the envelope, however. A piece of key card, with the logo of the five-star hotel on one side, and handwritten 4-digit number on the other.  Your eyes widened. Was this an invitation to his hotel room?
You peered out of your cubicle like a meerkat, trying to find where Seokjin was. Then you remembered foolishly you had his number. So you immediately texted him.
-- You [18:40] : Seokjin, WTF??? 
-- You [18:40] : also, nice stationery
-- You [18:40] : it’s me btw
-- Seokjin [18:41] : hurry the fuck up. I’ve been waiting for you in my car
You smiled. The time had finally come, you were going to fuck Kim Seokjin.
~~~
You had to admit, high quality bed sheets felt amazing. It hugged your naked body like soft clouds as Seokjin pounded into you relentlessly. His thrusts had caused your body to move, inch by inch, from one end of the bed to the other. You were not complaining though;  the way he rammed himself into you made your breasts bounce back and forth like a pendulum on a string, the feeling was so delicious.
You gripped the edge of the bed as you watched him over you. His usually perfect hair was messy now, his perfect face was void of the usual laser focus expression you normally saw at work and of the arrogant smirk he liked to give you. His broad shoulders and lean torso filled your vision- you had had fun stroking your hands over his pecs, abdomens and biceps. God, you hated how perfectly hot he was. 
You whined pathetically when he plunged his cock and pushed it as deep as he could into you. Seokjin dropped to his elbows, and you welcomed the new weight on top of your body. He stilled, letting his hardness rest inside you. You wrapped your legs around him and could not help but clench around his cock. He groaned against your chest at the sensations. 
“Do that again, sweetheart,” he nibbled and licked your collarbone, “squeeze my cock again.”
You did as he asked, tightening your walls around him before loosening again, repeating the movements and creating your own erotic Kegel exercise around his cock. You could feel Seokjin’s breath faltering on your neck, and before long, you were careening towards your peak.
“Seokjin,” you gasped, “close.”
He remained still, even at your warning. Choosing to work his lips on your neck and up to your ear instead. Finding a spot behind your ear, he licked and nipped at it, sending shudders all over your body and suddenly pushing you to your release. Seokjin held you down as your body shook, willing himself not to come, but the way your pussy walls massaged his cock, it did him in. 
You and Seokjin held each other tight as you both came. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, his hips pressed harder against yours as he shot his seeds inside you. Finally groans and moans gave way to heavy breathing, and as your heart rate slowed down, sanity returned. 
You opened your eyes. “God, don’t do that EVER again.” You slapped his shoulder. “I’m super ticklish there.”
Seokjin hummed, and nipped at the spot again. You yelped, but in the process you also squeezed his flaccid cock, still sheathed fully in you. “Now I know what to do when you talk too much.” He mumbled. 
You tried to wriggle away from his mouth, but the more he teased your spot, the more you moaned, and the more your body became heated again. You were all ready for round two, but your stomach betrayed you, for it growled shamelessly. Seokjin’s eyes widened at the sound, and the two of you burst out laughing.
“OK, I’d better feed you before I fuck you against the window.” He pulled out of you, holding on to the spent condom on his dick. Walking to the bathroom, he gestured to the phone on the bedside table. “Whatever you order, order the same for me.” 
And that was how you spent your first night with Kim Seokjin. Fucked out of your brains and eating room service food in his luxurious hotel room. 
~~~
You gave Seokjin your Saturday nights whenever he was in town, which was only about three to four times a year.. You hated to admit it, but you enjoyed your time with him. It was obvious he liked your company too, and your arrangement worked out well. You both wanted sex with no strings attached. You enjoyed arguing with each other, although it felt like Seokjin lived solely to rile you up to get a reaction out of you. He said he was training you to hold your poker face better; after all, didn’t you want to be a successful attorney like him?
And that was the situation you found yourself in that evening. Seokjin kept prodding at you until your temper snapped, and you roughly pushed him to the chaise in his room. You quickly worked on his jeans and his boxers, pulling them down to his ankles, only to find his cock already hard and weeping with precum.
You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Making me angry turns you on so much, huh?” You wrapped your fingers around his shaft, lazily stroking it a few times before squeezing it gently at the base. Seokjin hissed, but his annoying smirk never went away. 
“You can’t shut up your opponents by going down on every one of them,” he teased, his hand reached out to touch your hair but you swatted it away with your free hand, “no matter how sexy you are when you’re angry.”
You scowled as your hand continued stroking him. Keeping your eyes on his, you closed your lips around the head of his cock, your tongue lapping up his precum. Seokjin sucked in a breath. 
“So what should I do then?” You asked before licking up and down his length. Seokjin threw his head back, enjoying the wetness of your tongue on his hot member. 
“Hmmm… “Seokjin moaned. “Learn to control your temper better, sweetheart. You know how our kind is…”
Seokjin took a deep breath. Your tongue was still busy on his cock. It drove you nuts how addicted you were to the taste of him. “... especially to female attorneys..” Seokjin continued.
“Excuse me?!” you sat up straight, but your hand was still around his member, unconsciously squeezing it a little harder than normal.
“Ouch!” Seokjin yelped. “What are you trying to do? Pull my dick off?”
You sniggered, your grip loosened slightly as you continued to stroke him. “Tell me,” he asked, “how did your last case go? You almost lost because the opposing attorney kept throwing jabs at your gender, am I right?”
Your cheeks reddened. “How did you know about that?” you pouted.
“I get regular updates on you, sweetheart, I like to know how my protege is doing.”
You eyed him skeptically. “Wow, I’m so honored.” Your tone was flat, but your hand started pumping his cock faster. You thought back to the moment you nearly lost your temper in court, and you buried the memory deep. You leaned in and started to take Seokjin’s length into your mouth when it suddenly dawned on you.
“Wait,” Seokjin’s cock popped out of your mouth. “Is that why I didn’t get the promotion? I won that case but I didn’t get my promotion because I was too emotional?”
Seokjin groaned, in desire and in frustration. He looked down at you, kneeled between his legs, eyebrows scrunched up, eyes angry, mouth in a pout, and his hardness in the mercy of your hand. He ran a hair through his hair. 
“Now that you recognise the problem, will you solve it?” 
You nodded.
“So can we please continue?” He asked. 
You nodded again before your mouth returned to his cock. You enveloped your lips around the head, sucking it gently and licking it until you heard him moan. You started taking more of him into your mouth, the muskiness of his scent filling your nose. His hands found your head and held it gently, his fingers carding your hair. 
You continued to lubricate him with your saliva, relaxing your mouth and your throat to take all of him in. You steadied your breathing as you sucked in your cheeks, and you slowly pulled out all the way to the tip, before filling your mouth again. “That’s good sweetheart, you know just how I like it.”
You stupidly beamed at his praise, and it encouraged you to pick up your pace, sucking him faster and harder. His breathing was getting heavier, and you massaged his balls, eager for him to cum in your mouth. “No, no,” he pulled your head, and you came up gasping for breath. “I want to be in you now.”
You and Seokjin undressed immediately, and Seokjin went to the bathroom to retrieve a condom. He rolled the rubber as you positioned yourself by the window. The window felt cold on your back, but your core was wet and hot.  Seokjin lifted you up effortlessly, and your legs immediately wrapped around his waist, and your arms around his neck. 
Seokjin spat into his hand and rubbed his saliva over your cunt. Then the blunt head of his cock was at your entry, and he pushed it in, inch by inch until he was fully inside you. Adjusting his grip, ensuring he got you secured between him and the window, he started to move. Slowly at first, and once your juices were flowing and leaking, he went faster. 
You felt sweat developing on your back, making your body slippery against the glass. You dug your fingers into Seokjin’s shoulders, anchoring yourself up as he continued to pound into you. You turned your head to the side, catching the city skyline in the corner of your eye. 
“God, Seokjin,” you whined wantonly, “When I get that New York position, will you fuck me like this with the New York skyline in the background?”
Seokjin huffed, his hips not missing a beat. “Sweetheart, you’ll never get the New York position.”
You snapped your head back to look at Seokjin, he was still thrusting mercilessly into you. You pulled his hair. “What do you mean I will NEVER get the New York position?”
Seokjin’s smirk was back. He pulled out slowly then he rammed himself back into you hard, making you mewl. “It means…”
He took his time thrusting into you again.
“... you will…”
Another slow and hard thrust.
“... never get…”
He was hitting the sweet spot inside you.
“... the New York position.”
You cried out at his last thrust. “Because I’m too emotional?” you asked breathlessly.
“Because… “ his mouth was inching closer to the sensitive spot on your ear, “we’re closing that office.”
You gasped, at the news and at Seokjin’s sudden change of pace. He was fucking you fast again, pressing your body harder against the window. 
“Wait.. ah, Seokjin… “ you said between pants, “does that mean…”  
You could not finish your question because Seokin began nibbling and sucking your ear, sending your body rigid as the pressure on your cunt was waiting to explode.
“Yeah,” Seokjin panted. “I’ll be back in Seoul for good, sweetheart.”
You threw your head back against the window as Seokjin continued pistoning into you, pushing you towards and over your climax. You wailed in pleasure as the heat enveloped you. He did not let up at the slightest, his hips kept thrusting into you ruthlessly even as you began to sob from the oversensitivity.
Seokjin wrapped his arms around you tightly to move you, and you both collapsed on the bed, his cock still secure in you. He rolled to his back, bringing you on top of him. He slapped your ass. “Can you ride me?”
You pushed yourself up with your arms, your hair curtaining Seokjin’s face. You started to move your hips back and forth as you tried to get your breathing back. The sensitivity in your sex slowly turned into pleasure once again, and you quickened your pace. Seokjin moved his hands to your breasts, squeezing the flesh and flicking the nipples as they swung before him.
“Does… does this mean you’re gonna be my boss?” You asked between moans.
“Do you want me to be your boss?” Seokjin tugged your nipples, causing your back to arch.
“You’ll scold me everyday.”
“And I’ll fuck you every Saturday.” He thrusted up to meet your hips. “You like that?”
“Fuck no…” you felt the heat returning back to your core. “I’ll just hate you even more.”
Seokjin slapped your ass. “Just admit it, sweetheart, I’m your favorite among all your other fuck toys.”
You stammered as Seokjin thrusted up again, and he took the opportunity to pull you down onto his chest. Planting his heels on the bed, he held you down as he started thrusting his hips to plunge his cock into you, fast and hard. You closed your eyes tightly and felt tears slipping down your cheeks as you came closer to your climax.
“Come on sweetheart,” Seokjin whispered in your ears, “give me one more. Milk my cock.”
You cried out as your body jolted and shook. Seokjin kept holding you down, chasing his own release too. His thrusting became more messy, and he finally came too, swearing and groaning loudly.
You stayed still on top of Seokjin, your heart beating out of your chest, and so was his. You both lay on the bed, bodies sticky with sweat, waiting for the haze of your orgasms to pass.
“If you become my boss,” you whispered, “I want no special treatment.”
“Of course not, sweetheart. The only special treatment you get is I feed you after sex.”
You chuckled. “Speaking of…”
Seokjin rolled you over and pulled himself out. “Yeah yeah, order whatever you want.”
~~~
Today
Seokjin walks into your room. You barely glance up, used to him barging in whenever he likes.
“So, Yuna told me there’s a tall drink of water waiting for you in the lobby.” He plopped down on the little settee in your office. “So naturally I went to see. And you’d better get there before Yuna devours him.”
You glance at your watch. It’s ten minutes to 7pm. You smile softly, leave it to your boyfriend to arrive early. “He’s my boyfriend. I told you about him.”
Seokjin ahs. “So, that’s the man who took away my Saturday night fun.”
You glare at him as you tidy up your desk. “Yeah well, he feeds me AND reads me poetry after sex. So, sorry.”
Seokjin stands up as you ready yourself to leave. 
“Besides, now we play Maple Story every Saturday, surely that’s more fun?” You tease him. He chuckles and rubs his chin. He accompanies you walking down the hallway towards the lobby. 
Before you arrive at the glass door separating the inner office from the reception area, you turn to Seokjin and ask, “Do you want to meet him?”
Seokjin thinks for a moment. “Does he know about our history?”
“He knows MY history, but I never share any names with him.” you explain. “He only knows you as my asshole boss.”
“Now I am offended. I thought I was a nice boss!”
“Well, I rant about you too much maybe. But he doesn’t mind, because you know what happens when I get riled up.” You wink. 
Seokjin laughs. “What a lucky bastard. OK, come on, introduce your asshole boss to your boyfriend ”
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Published 01022021
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boxxie · 4 years
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A Deal with the Devil [Baxter & Alastor]
A song fic based off a roleplay I did between Baxter and Alastor. The song is The Other Side from The Greatest Showman. Not really good at writing Alastor but I tried.\(´▽`*)/ . . .
Darkness enveloped the room, interrupted only by the dim light cast from the single room’s occupant. Their lure was lit, casting eerie shadows across the various machines and chemicals that were crammed into the small space. The occupant’s skin was an ash gray, their clothing consisting of a dark lab coat, long pants, rubber gloves, thick boots and a small fedora. Yellow goggles perched over tired blue eyes. The fins lining their face drooped, exhaustion weighing them down. How many days had Baxter been trying to perfect this experiment now? He was intelligent, no doubt, but he lacked supplies.
His suppliers had simply taken his money and ran. No one cared, it was Hell after all. This was possibly the lowest the anglerfish demon had ever been, but he refused to ask for help. Charlie was already doing enough by letting him use the hotel's basement as a labratory. He growled, his head hitting the table as another head ache began to form. Except this time, static seemed to follow. Baxter only had a few seconds to wonder what had caused it before he heard a soft chuckle.
The scientist jolted upright, spinning in his chair to face the much taller form of what could only be the Radio Demon. His eyes were a startling red, a yellowed smile stretching from ear to ear. A crimson pinstriped coat, matching dress pants and bow tie made the staff he was holding stand out. The tip was covered in a small microphone, the device seeming to be the source of the static. "Ah, my friend. Just the person I was looking for." He had been keeping an eye on Baxter for days now, noticing how much worse off he looked. It could be the perfect time to increase his ranks, when such a valuable asset was clearly at their wit's end.
"What do you want, Radio Demon?" Baxter scowled, having seen him here and there in the hotel. They had never interacted before this moment. Hell, Baxter rarely associated with the rest of the hotel employees. His eyes narrowed when Alastor grinned wider, holding a hand out to Baxter. The color around them seemed to melt away, leaving reality in a startling display of black and white.
"Right here, right now, I put the offer out. I don't wanna chase you down, I know you see it." Alastor's voice flowed through the room, almost as if it were a song. His hand was still outstretched, inviting the shorter demon to take it. "You run with me,  and I can cut you free. Out of the drudgery and walls you keep in."
Seeing as how Baxter was refusing to accept, Alastor pulled his hand back, humming softly. He snapped his fingers, the colors returning to the room, but much more vibrant and lively. "So trade that typical for something colorful!" He threw his head back and laughed, hearing the crack of his neck following. "And if it's crazy, live a little crazy! You can play it sensible, a king of conventional-" Alastor leaned foward so he was towering over Baxter, smiling as the anglerfish demon shot him a glare. "Or you can risk it all and see~"
"Don't you wanna get away from the same old part you gotta play? 'Cause I got what you need. So come with me and take the ride, it'll take you to the other side!" Alastor didn't give Baxter a choice this time, pulling the shorter demon towards him with a twirl. "'Cause you can do like you do, or you can do like me-" He spun Baxter, who had immediately began to struggle against the contact.
Baxter found himself relieved of the Alastor’s clutches in that next moment, but he wasn’t free yet. He was caged, spot lights shining down on him out of no where as if he were a prized attraction at the circus. It was undoubtedly the Radio Demon's influence.
"Stay in the cage, or you finally take the key!" Alastor dangled a wispy green key in front of Baxter, but when the scientist grabbed it, the key vanished. "Oh, damn! Suddenly you're free to fly~ It'll take you to the other side." Alastor sang, watching as Baxter got to his feet with fire in his eyes.
"Okay, my friend, you wanna cut me in-" Baxter spoke, sarcasm dripping from his voice like venom. "Well, I hate to tell you, but it just won't happen." He got closer until he was standing directly by the bars, staring angrily at Alastor. "So thanks, but no. I think I'm good to go, 'cause I quite enjoy the life you say I'm trapped in."
Baxter looked at his gloves, inspecting them as if they were more important than the situation at hand. "Now I admire you, and that whole show you do. You're on to something, really it's something." Of course he knew about the power the Radio Demon held. He had been in Hell when the deeds were broadcasted, but he knew he would never associate with someone so open and public with their killings. "But I live among the swells, and we don't pick up peanut shells." Baxter looked up. This time, he was smirking. "I'll have to leave that up to you."
The anglerfish demon reached into his lab coat, pulling out a device that faintly resembled a gun. "Don't you know that I'm okay with this uptown part I get to play? 'Cause I got what I need, and I don't wanna take the ride. I don't need to see the other side!" He pointed the gun at the bars, a red beam firing at the steel cage. The laser cut through the steel like butter, leaving a hole big enough for the scientist to step through. "So go and do like you do, I'm good to do like me!" He burst from the cage, eyes sparking triumphantly. "Ain't in a cage, so I don't need to take the key! Oh, damn! Can't you see I'm doing fine? I don't need to see the other side!"
Alastor clucked his tongue with disappointment, walking closer to Baxter once more. "Now is this really how you'd like to spend your days?" He looked to the corner, stocked high with brandy and unpaid bar tabs. "Whiskey and misery, and parties and plays?"
Baxter crossed his arms, scoffing softly. "If I were mixed up with you, I'd be the talk of the town." His head lowered, darkening the angered expression he wore. "Disgraced and disowned, another one of the clowns."
Alastor's expression lightened, the demon once more touching Baxter. This time, however, it was merely his shoulder. "But you would finally live a little, finally laugh a little.." He waved his hands as images of the mad scientist performing various experiments seemed to hover in the air. "Just let me give you the freedom to dream, and it'll wake you up, and cure your aching. Take your walls and start 'em breaking. Now that's a deal that seems worth taking!" He pulled back, his voice unusually calm. "But I guess I'll leave that up to you." Once again, Alastor held his hand out.
Baxter stared at the images for a moment. He recognized them. The first experiment he ever did in Hell, keeping a patient's head alive without the body for two weeks. The time he created a slime monster that had nearly destroyed the entirety of Pentagram city. The time he built a device that allowed him to teleport short distances to avoid running into other demons when all he needed was a glass of water. They were all successful, much better than what he was struggling with now.
Baxter suddenly felt tired. Tired of being overworked, tired of finding himself alone, tired of failing. He hesitantly took the Radio Demon's hand, giving it a firm shake. Light shined brightly from their entwined grasps, the scientist had to cover his eyes. When the light died down, he found himself feeling the weight of his work finally catching up to him. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I think I should head to bed."
“Yes, yes! Rest up, my friend.” Alastor smiled, watching as Baxter turned away to head up stairs. The thinnest traces of his power were still visible, a light red veil, invisible to Baxter, slowly sapping his strength. The fish demon yawned, rubbing his eyes under the goggles and mumbled in agreement. Once Baxter had fully left the room, Alastor’s smile grew sinister, a dark chuckle soon following. “I must take care of my cohorts. They’ll need to be at full strength very soon.” His eyes flashed red, the sound of static growing louder and louder as the Radio Demon vanished in a puff of red smoke. The only thing left behind was a small radio, ready to call on Baxter at a moment’s notice.
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hollenius · 4 years
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Super long interview that I wanted to show a friend earlier but was unable to...so I am hiding it under the cut. Covers everything from Forrest Gump to the influence of television to rock critics never escaping their English Major roots.
Rock Criticism and the Rocker: A Conversation With Peter Buck
(originally appearing in Anthony DeCurtis, Rocking My Life Away, 1998)
IN SEPTEMBER 1994 R.E.M. guitarist Peter Buck kindly took time off from promoting R.E.M.'s Monster to do an interview with Anthony DeCurtis, who wanted an artist's perspective on rock criticism.
"Peter was an ideal candidate for the job," DeCurtis wrote in his introduction to the interview, "both because R.E.M. is the very definition of a critics' darling and because he has a sharp critical sensibility himself. He keeps up with the music and with the writing about the music and loves to talk about both. In addition, I've known Peter since before the release of R.E.M.'s first independent single in 1981, and have always held his intelligence, humor and passion for music in the highest regard. It's a pleasure to have any excuse to speak with him."
Buck and DeCurtis met in the bar of the Four Seasons Hotel in Manhattan, drank a glass of wine or two and talked for about an hour. "This conversation proceeds the way so many of our talks have. It begins with a focus, wanders through a variety of related topics and eventually meanders back to our original subject. It was a fun trip, and I hope you didn't have to be there."
*
ADC: You read a lot of rock writing. It must be a different experience to read about yourself than it is to read about other bands or to read a review of somebody else's record. What's the difference between what you want to see when you're reading something about R.E.M. and what you want to see when you're reading about somebody else?
PB: I do read a lot of music stuff, and I always have – it's not simply because I’m "in the business." And of course I always like to read about people who say controversial things and admit to drug problems and ornate sexual peccadillos. That's what you want to read – it just is. It's fun and exciting – and it's the last thing I want to have anything to do with my band.
The English press, especially, is focused completely on the personal. With the English magazines, it seems that if you sit in a room and you just want to talk about the music, they'll find a way to make it not about the music. Maybe it's because the magazines come out every week and you have to appeal on a flash level. I mean, a lot of the English press are closer to the Enquirer than to The New York Times. So every three years you get this generation of English bands who make absolutely great copy, and maybe not necessarily such great records.
Of course, when I read about R.E.M., I always want the writer to be a seasoned, knowledgeable person who respects and loves us and gives us the benefit of the doubt every step of the way – which isn't really what rock criticism is about.
What do you think it is about? What do you think it can do? Is it different from other kinds of criticism, like movie reviews or a book reviews?
I think it's closer to movie reviews. With book reviews, most likely the writers aren't going to be much more literate than the readers. But the readers of rock criticism are definitely different. The person who reads Rolling Stone or Melody Maker isn't the person who reads The New York Times Book Review. I read them both, but I'm one person.
Rock & roll is first and foremost kids' music. Even though most of us are adults and we write about adult things, the records are bought and the reviews are read by teenagers who don't necessarily know who Kafka is – or even which college they're going to go to. So rock criticism tends to be about minutiae in a lot of ways. It's about small things. Especially the English reviews – you can read reviews of a record without ever finding out what kind of music it is. That always blows my mind. They’ll review an album, talk about the lyrics and personalize what they want to make of the record, and not say, "And by the way, it's an album of polkas." You just don't know. Sometimes I'll read a review and think, "Gee, that sounds pretty interesting – this record is about alienation and identity." Then I'll actually listen to it and go, "Whoa, it sounds like the Doobie Brothers."
What kind of impact do you think rock criticism has?
Again – I could be completely wrong – but with book reviews, there's kind of a received critical opinion about things that people tend to stick to. I'll read several reviews of the same book and they won't differ that much. People know good writing and bad writing. Whereas with rock & roll, sometimes bad playing is good playing. I mean, you would never find a guy who writes books the way the Ramones make records. And if you did, you certainly couldn't appreciate it. And yet the Ramones made pretty perfect records. So with rock criticism, there aren't rules and laws that can be followed. It's basically "Do I like it? Do you like it?" As for the audience, I think three quarters of them just look at the picture and the headline and see how many stars it got. You get to the point where you wonder how many people are influenced to go out and buy the record because of what they read.
I think it's cumulative. I think that most seventeen-year-olds won't go out and buy a record they never heard because they read one article. But if they see articles everywhere, the picture everywhere, they heard the single – you know, that’s how Guns N' Roses happened. They were just everywhere all of a sudden. It's fascinating – I think about it all the time: What does this mean, the fact that we do these interviews, and they appear in the press, especially when it's in something like People, something that isn’t necessarily for people who like music. You wonder, who does this reach? Does anyone say, "God, I have to buy that record because these guys talked about their personal lives."
Do you approach those kinds of interviews differently? What is your preparation? Do you think, "This is going to appear here, and these people might be interested in this and might not be interested in that?" You're obviously not going talk about what kind of guitar strings you use to People.
No, not really. We have never actually talked to People – I don't know why. Generally we talk to the music media, although lately we've been doing things with Vogue and GQ and places like that. Still, the journalists for those stories seem to come from the same perspective – they're people who like music and get hired by those magazines to write about music. They tend to have to write more generally there. In Vogue, you have to explain when we got together and all that. So, for me, it's about understanding that it's going to be just the simple facts. Whereas Rolling Stone or Melody Maker has interviewed us every year since 1983, and I don't have to cover biographical data. I can feel a little freer free associating about what's going on with the new record or the new tour or whatever.
But we've never done a lot of press that was not music-oriented. I mean, Rod Stewart is a celebrity, and he gets celebrity things. We tend, at this point, to still get articles about music. Then there also are the specialist magazines, the guitar-player magazines, and that's something totally different. It's all right in those places to talk about effects and strings and picks, stuff that is boring to everyone in the world except the people who buy those magazines.
You were very influenced by rock criticism as a young person, but the cultural environment is different now from the way it was when you were growing up. Young people are much more likely to get most of their information from MTV and to a lesser extent maybe radio, and then magazines. Certainly when I was growing up, just to see a picture of a band was amazing. Now you've seen them a hundred times before you've heard three of their songs. Talk about the kind of impact that reading rock criticism had on you.
When I was growing up I lived in Georgia, and bands just didn't come down there. I mean, they really didn't. On TV – this is parenthetical – I remember when the New York Dolls were on Don Kirshner's rock concert in 1973. It was such a big event that a band I liked was going to be on TV that I had my three friends who also liked T. Rex and the Dolls over to my house. My parents had a basement, and we took old mattresses down there and brought the TV down and smuggled in a case of beer. I was about 16. We got drunk and watched the Dolls and it was an epochal event – real music on television. It wasn't just the usual suspects. Back then there were like two rock shows, and, you know, Helen Reddy would be hosting one. I remember that pretty specifically.
So I got a huge amount of information from the print media. I subscribed to the Village Voice for a couple of years, luckily enough for me, right when punk started happening in about '74, '75, '76. I always had access to the Voice. So I was reading Robert Christgau, and Lester Bangs writing about Blondie – I think he reviewed the first Blondie record. I found out about Television. I was buying those records the day they came out, which for Georgia was pretty different. I read Creem magazine. I hadn't discovered the English papers yet, because I don't think they came to Georgia in those days. Creem was a big one, because they liked Iggy and the Stooges. So I got turned onto a lot of stuff .
I lived in California for a year and a half when I was 12 and 13. There was a writer named John Mendelssohn, who was also in a band called Christopher Milk. He wrote for a magazine called Coast, which doesn't exist anymore, and he wrote articles about Iggy and the Stooges. I went out and bought the Christopher Milk records. This was like 1971. So I became a fan of Iggy, the Velvet Underground, the Nazz, Crazy Horse. I'd be the only 13-year-old on the block going, "I think I need to buy this Iggy and the Stooges record." The guys at the counter would be like, "You better wear rubber gloves when you hold this album, kid." So I got turned onto a lot of stuff that was really foreign to me through print.
Mendelssohn actually was a big influence on me, as well. He was one of the first writers whose byline I learned to recognize. Much later, he said something nice about me in print, while disparaging a number of people I know, which only made it better, of course.
Of course.
In real life we tried to work together a few times, but it didn't really work out.
He wrote like what he thought he was: a rock star. I bought the Christopher Milk records when I was 14, and thought they were kind of cool. And they are kind of cool, but you can read their influences pretty easily. He reviewed for Rolling Stone in the old days – I've seen his stuff in the collections. I started reading Rolling Stone when I was 13, but still that was 1971 or whatever. But his stuff in the collections is really fascinating.
But criticism helped me elucidate a lot of things. Living in Roswell, Georgia, in 1971, everyone liked the Allman Brothers. I can't tell you why – that’s all there was to it. It was a law. I didn't really have friends who could tell me why they liked something. I had two friends in Roswell who liked T. Rex, because they looked cool in make-up. I don't think it had anything to do with the way it sounded. It helps to have some kind of critical acumen about things when you're in a vacuum. I mean, completely in a vacuum. I had to define for myself why I thought T. Rex was cool and Sweet was less cool.
What do you think about the situation now? Does it make a difference if kids are not getting information from print, that they're getting their information visually, from television? At the same time, coverage of rock & roll is ubiquitous. Every newspaper has a rock critic, every TV show covers it, every news program covers it. Bands like Pavement play on the Tonight Show. How are people making sense of what's coming at them?
It seems that kids now are a lot more knowledgeable about the processes. MTV goes "backstage with so-and-so." I must admit to having been really naive about that kind of stuff. When I’d see a band open for another band at a place in Atlanta that held 300 people, I just assumed that the opening band had a Lear jet.
Right. Exactly.
And that a limo would pick them up and they’d probably have an orgy with teenage girls in the back of the car on the way to the show. That's what I assumed. Now I realize that the headliner probably arrived in a station wagon. Kids today have a real understanding of the mechanics of the business. They know about sound-checks. I didn't know about sound-checks, I figured you just played. They know how people make videos, how people make records. They understand what demo tapes are. I had never met anyone who had been in a band who had even had a single out, ever, until the mid-'70s, '76. I knew people who played in bands, but it was such a huge gap from playing Foghat covers to being one of the guys actually making records. You just assumed that gap was completely unbridgeable, that that would never be you or your friends. In a way it's really great that there's so much coverage now, because while the machine eats people up and spits them out, it still means that, well, Pavement is on Leno.
That wouldn't have happened 10 years ago. We were never on Johnny Carson. They would never take us. They would never take us right up until Jay was on. In '89, when everyone was fighting for us, they were like, "No, we're not really interested in having R.E.M. on." I can't say I blame them – we really weren’t that big and Johnny Carson had no knowledge of us. We weren't right for their audience. But Jay Leno probably listens to Pavement, or at least has heard of them. Still, I do think it's odd. When I was 13, 45-year-old guys didn't listen to what teenagers listened to. They just didn't. 45-year-old guys, their experience was 1953 or something.
Along those lines, it was pretty amazing a while ago when MTV threw a party for R.E.M.'s work for Rock the Vote and President Clinton sent a videotaped message to the band.
Yeah. I know.
I mean, the president...
...knows who we are.
An unthinkable thing.
You've got to remember that up until George Bush, you can guarantee that he never listened to anything. He didn't know who any of us were. He thought that Boy George was in U2.
Or even more incredibly, he denounced Elvis at the 1992 Republican convention. Who does this guy think his audience is? He's from Texas. Everybody in every state that is crucially important worships Elvis. And he referred to U2 as teeny-boppers, when they were calling the White House from the stage during the Zoo TV tour.
I guess U2 met with Clinton, and Bush said, "Well, George Clinton... " – great, George Clinton – "Well, Bill Clinton can talk to Boy George all he wants to." I'm sure someone thought that was a funny line, but it showed how out of touch he is. It's going to be a long time before I'm as old as the president. But it's really weird to think that those guys grew up and probably dated people who listened to the Grateful Dead and dropped acid.
Getting back to the earlier question, there's a sense now that everybody knows everything. Everybody knows what producers do. Everybody knows how a studio works. Everybody knows the kind of stuff that used to be specialist knowledge.
It's funny how that works. I was reading some article, this was years ago, it might have been in Rolling Stone. I think Ahmet Ertegun was cutting some record in Memphis, and he thought, "Let's get some kids off the street to hear what they think," and they brought some kids off the street. The first guy goes, "Man, I think this mix is EQ'd wrong. I think it's too high-endy." Ahmet says, "What the fuck are you talking about, mix, EQ? I pull some kid off the street and you tell me how to EQ a record?"
That is certainly the way it is now. In a way it's good. It demystifies it a lot. Kids understand more of what's going on. Think about Green Day for a minute – they're 22 and this is their 3rd record. They were in bands when they were 14 and put out their own record when the lead singer was 17. They're heirs to a tradition: you're 16, you're a punk, you write punk songs, you make your own record on a small label, you tour. I think they’re all just legal-age for drinking now, after 5 years in the business. I just didn't have any awareness that you could do that when I was that age. I was kind of trying to write songs when I was 17, but I didn't know what I was doing.
The flip side of everyday people having specialist knowledge is that cult phenomena become totally mainstream. So someone like William Burroughs has become like a rock star.
That blows my mind, and this gets back to the media thing. William Burroughs is not the best writer in the world. People have a teenage fascination for his writing. I think he's interesting and has said some interesting stuff. He's gay or at least bisexual, a guy who was a junkie for 40 years, way outside of society. And he's selling sports shoes right now! You turn the TV on and go, "What marketing whiz decided that an octogenarian ex-drug addict avowed homosexual beatnik is the guy to sell tennis shoes to 17-year-olds?" For me, it's totally great. But that was unthinkable 20 years ago. 20 years ago, if they did sell tennis shoes on TV–
It would be a tennis player–
Or a basketball player. And he would have to be white, of course.
Well, we've drifted off from rock criticism to the media in general, though, obviously, they are connected. But it simultaneously seems that everything is closed down and everything is wide open. In a sense, there really does seem not to be any outside anymore. There's no real underground or counterculture that's thriving and really represents some kind of alternative stream. Maybe there never was. But on the other hand, it seems like consequently you do get William Burroughs in an advertisement. Everything is all up in the air, and no one knows exactly where things are.
Again, I hate to go back to when I was a kid, but all through the '70s, Patti Smith was considered weird and scary, and she wouldn't have been in People no matter how many records she sold. Part of the reason for that is that the generation in control of things in the '70s grew up in the '40s and '50s, and they just didn't get it and didn't understand it and felt threatened by it. Anyone who's involved in the music industry now grew up in the '60s or the '70s even, and a lot of barriers did come down in those times. David Geffen is not going to be terrified of something new. He's seen it all. He probably dropped acid and ran around naked at Woodstock. David Geffen, what is he, maybe 52? When I was a kid, a 52-year-old man would send you off to Vietnam and get you killed. Now 52-year-old guys, they're probably listening to whatever's happening and going, "God, that's really great. I wish I'd signed them."
So in a way it's good, because since everything is acceptable, the only thing that gradates things is cash. Everyone knows you can make money off this stuff, and anything can get in the back door. Anything. So GG Allen would have been on the cover of People if he'd sold a million records – it has nothing to do with how good or bad you are. And he would have made great copy. I'm actually surprised they didn't do an article about him.
Rock & roll is a demented, mindless business where there aren’t principles you can follow. Rules that you think are hard and fast all of a sudden go right out the window. I think that's great. The fact that there is no outside anymore is cool because anything can really influence the culture then. Of course, most of the stuff that sells millions and millions tends to be lowest common denominator.
That's true of anything, though. That's true of books or movies, as well. Underground now has almost nothing to do with style; it only has to do with content. So if you're writing about some alienated 25-year-old kid who's a junkie, even if you're the most cliched writer who ever lived, you're underground. Whereas somebody who's stylistically adventurous but writing about a more conventional subject is regarded as mainstream. It's become almost a more conservative environment than in the past in a funny way, because then it was about stylistic innovation. So James Joyce writes Ulysses, and it's just about a guy walking around Dublin, except in terms of its style and language. And that's a revolution. Whereas now, it's solely content-driven.
Having gone through my teenage years, I know that the writing that appeals to teenagers tends not to be of the highest order. I can't tell you how many 20-year-olds I know think Charles Bukowski is the best writer ever.
Perfect example.
He is the one. And I've read most of his stuff. I don't care for the poems. But I like it for what it is. But what it is is just kind of–
It's one riff.
Yeah, it's the same book. I've read a couple of books, and I go, "Is this the same one I read before? Is he still working at the post office now?" I like the stuff near the end of his life when he was just this old drunken sot celebrity. Hollywood was pretty interesting. But all these kids will routinely name people who are not great writers, but who write about alienation or drugs or homosexuality or whatever. Whereas it's funny, any bookstore you go to now, there's a gay novelist section, which is totally fascinating and cool. Gay kids aren't reading it because it's not about being alienated. Most of it has to do with the past it seems to me, the things I've read. It's making sense of –
Finding your identity as a gay person.
And putting yourself in perspective. A lot of the ones I've read seem to deal with childhood. That doesn’t seem revolutionary and wild. You get these teenagers as often as not gay or bisexual and they're going to read Bukowski, who’s really kind of an old fart reactionary. And they’ll go, "Man, this guy is totally wild." Why, because he drank and worked at the post office? I drink. I was a janitor.
Talk about the first times you were written about? Did it throw you to see yourself represented and discussed in that way? How is it different from seeing your picture or seeing yourself on tv?
I remember our first reviews. We’d just played around Georgia, so college juniors were writing about us and I was like, "This isn't the real deal." We were being written about in the Red and Black, the University of Georgia newspaper, and then the hippy alternative paper. We weren't on the cover of Rolling Stone. But I remember the first time I actually read an article about us, and I looked at it and I was like, "This is weird." I read it a couple of times and I was like, "God, I was there. I remember that." It was a review of the show that we did the day before. It's kind of off-putting.
Some of the English things were kind of odd. Those were around '83. We just came out of nowhere and we got really amazing reviews. Nobody should get reviews like that. One magazine reviewed our album twice, because the first guy didn't say it was the best album ever made. The editor went back and said, "I just want people to know how good this really is." And the first guy had given it the highest rating you could get – but that was not quite good enough. I appreciate that, because they were really on a mission to find new things to be excited about. But I had read these magazines, and I always tended to think that the people in them were to some degree – not special – but somehow validated. This must mean they're famous and big.
Someone sent me the Allan Jones review of Murmur in Melody Maker, which was really good. But I was driving a van with no air conditioning to be 6th on the bill to the Police in Philadelphia. It was 110 degrees and we were also doing a gig that night somewhere else. I was like, "God, this doesn't validate us, because we're still poor and starving." I remember, we played Philadelphia, it was 100 degrees, and there were 90,000 people there. We went on, I think it was 1:00 in the afternoon, and it was so hot I threw up afterwards. And then someone gave me the Alan Jones review and I'm reading it in the van on the way to the next gig and I was like "Man, I wish I had an ice cold beer right now." In a way it's kind of distancing. Immediately, I thought, "Well, this isn't like the stuff I read when I was a kid." Because once you're in that position, unless you're a really shallow person, when you see yourself on the cover of a magazine, you don't feel validated. I mean, I don't. I try not to even read them anymore. I don't want to read about myself that much. It's just like anything else. You want something really bad, and then when you get it, you realize that it doesn't mean as much as you think it should.
The first time I published something in Rolling Stone, I literally thought that people would recognize me on the street. And then you realize it's on the stand for two weeks, a few of your friends see it and then it's over.
And you go on.
It was strange.
You know, what validates people to the outside world is television. When I was living in Athens, I used to walk downtown by the Coca-Cola plant everyday, and everyday there were the same fat guys with pot bellies. I had short hair and I'd wear sunglasses and a trench coat, and they'd be like, "Hey faggot, hey faggot, blow me, faggot." And I'd blow them kisses as I walked by – I wasn't going to let them drive me off the street. Then we appeared on David Letterman. I was home about a month later, walked down the street. The same guys who'd been going, "Hey, faggot," were like "Hey, I saw you on David Letterman. Way to go man, hey, cool." I liked it better when they were yelling "Hey fag."
At least it was sincere.
Yeah, it was real. Now it's like I'm a famous guy who was on David Letterman. And, again, being on TV, we did David Letterman that afternoon, then we played Maxwell's the next night. I was glad we were on TV, though. I thought it was kind of cool.
I remember seeing that performance.
I was the first person I knew who had ever been on TV – I guess maybe the B-52s were on Saturday Night Live. This is when there wasn't a world of difference between us and Pylon and Love Tractor. We all had record deals, we all had records out. R.E.M. worked harder.
And all the Athens bands got written about all the time.
Yeah, it wasn't that big of a difference. We'd go to parties, and if you liked Pylon better, then Pylon were the coolest people at the party. And then all of a sudden, being on Letterman made a big difference. We were perceived as big-time because we got on TV. To me, again, we were in the middle of a tour – taping that TV show was like having a night off. We played two songs and were done by 6:00, and then we played Maxwell's the next night. But to the world, by which I mean, people on airplanes – because you always get "Who are you guys?" Obviously we're not a bowling team. In an airport, you always get people who walk up and ask, "Are you a band? Do we know you?" "Well no, not really." "Have you done anything I might have heard on the radio?" "No." "Have you been on TV?" "Well, yeah, we were on David Letterman once." And they'd go, "Wow!" They don't know who we are, never heard any of our songs, but I was on David Letterman.
I remember the first time I appeared on one of the morning shows. To the superintendent of my building I had just been another tenant – I might get my faucet fixed 6 months from now if I asked politely. But that night I was coming in at about 1:00 in the morning from being out, bleary-eyed. The super comes out of his apartment with his wife – they had waited up for me to get home, because they had seen me on Good Morning America. I had no idea how significant television was. The degree to which it penetrates is amazing.
TV does penetrate in a way that print never does. Nobody remembers the TV shows, though. I remember reviews of things that made me go out and buy the record. Steve Seimels used to write about Patti Smith with a mission. He wrote for Stereo Review, which my father subscribed to. We didn't even have a stereo, basically, but we subscribed to Stereo Review. We had a mono, and I had a little Close'n'Play. But I think the Patti Smith piece was in 1973, because he was just raving that this woman was going to be bigger than god. So I was fascinated. I had Horses on order before it was out, because I'd read reviews of the shows. I was 17. I was like, "Maybe I'll run away and go to New York." In a way, I wish I had. That kind of stuff can reach into your life – criticism can really change something and give you a perspective. Whereas with television, well, there it is. It is what it is. So with TV, it's almost like a celebration of celebrity-hood. You're not going to get any depth out of it. It's just a flat image. Whereas with print, I mean, I've read reviews that are better than the records.
Oh, well, that's very often true.
I'll buy the record, and go, "This guy loved this record so much that he produced a piece of art about it that is better than the record." I remember a review of Prefab Sprout that was just great. I bought the record and I kind of liked it. But if I hadn't read that review – let's just say I didn't get what the reviewer got out of it.
I assign and edit reviews all the time, and when they come in I often find myself thinking, "If only the record were as good as this." Rather than write what we think of as a review, they, as you say, create a piece of art about it. Since a magazine is about writing, I feel torn. Part of me is a person who, for so many years, was reading magazines and going out to buy those records with my spare money, and coming back and saying, "Man, this is disappointing." But then I'm also thinking, "Well, this is beautifully written, it's got some interesting ideas in it. It's 75% true." It's something I struggle with. I remember I had somebody review a Madonna record, and she attributed all these sophisticated cultural motives to Madonna. I said, "Look, I've spoken to Madonna, and I can tell you that none of what you're saying would ever have occurred to her in a hundred years. You can say that her record affects you in a certain way, or functions in the culture in a certain way, but it doesn't mean that she intended that. Your response is perfectly valid, but I'm not going to let you say she intended it because I know for a fact that that's not true."
I must say, we get away with that sometimes. When I feel the worst about the band, I think, "We're not as good as people think we are." Inevitably, then I'll read a review and someone will get something out of one of our songs that is totally unintentional. This is a good example: on Monster, 'I Don't Sleep, I Dream'. That's not an unintentional song, it's about sex and identity. I think it's supposed to be a little funnier than people think it is, but whatever. We couldn't think of a way of ending it, and for some reason we decided the bridge should be at the end of the song and we didn't want to fade it, so we just cut the tape. And Vic Garbarini was explaining why the song ends that suddenly, and he says, "The song is a dream state and when the tape gets cut, that's when you wake up." And I went, "You know, Vic, that's totally great. I never would have thought of that." I guess unconsciously, we knew we wanted a fast ending to jerk you out of it, but I would never have associated that with sleeping and waking.
But I think that's a valid reading.
It's a valid point, and I said, "Vic, you can say that if you want to, but you'd be imputing more conscious motive than we put into it. We couldn't think of a way to end it, so we just cut the tape."
It seems to me that that's one of differences between art and criticism. An academic friend of mine once said that he was sure that Bob Dylan had read all of Ezra Pound. I said that I thought he had probably read the table of contents and flipped through a collection of Pound's poems while hanging out at Allen Ginsberg's apartment one day. Artists, people writing songs or poems, don't really have to be responsbile to anything else when they're writing. What you want is something that gives you a vibe, something you can then take and do what you want with. So in a certain way critics both overvalue and undervalue what artists do. They overvalue it by attributing every conceivable intention to it. And they undervalue it because, essentially what they're saying is, that person thinks exactly the way I do. But they don't.
I would say probably 80% of the people who write rock criticism went to college and majored in English.
So their writing centers totally on lyrics.
And they are more comfortable finding meanings than letting things be. In academic circles, you can't write a paper that says, "Well, it is what it is." So you tend to explicate things that should just stand as they are. Every lyricist, every single one, throws in lines that don't mean anything to flesh out a space, or just because they sound good. Like, in 'Crush With Eyeliner' on Monster, there's that line "My kiss breath turpentine." That doesn't mean anything. I mean, it's evocative. It sounds great. It's stuck in there to fill the space. It doesn't take away from the song, but it doesn't have any literal meaning. If you were to find some literal meaning in it, that's your literal meaning. But English majors tend to think that everything means something.
One of my favorite discussions about that was in James Joyce’s Ulysses apparently they found – do you remember reading this a few years ago? – they found some proofs? It turns out that people had been explaining what certain sections meant that turned out to be misprints. They had attributed full meaning to them – and that was not what was on the page. They had managed to explain typos as part of the process. You can just go too far with that.
Again, in academic circles, letting things be what they are is not a concern. You're either into the semiotics aspect of it, or you're deconstructing it. I've read real clever deconstructions of TV shows. I mean, like, the Village Voice has a TV critic. But I've met the people who do TV shows, and I know they're sitting there thinking, "We can sell a million dollars worth of Buick ads if we do this." That is what it's about. I'm not saying there isn't some good work on TV occasionally. But I've learned never to watch television, because what's on TV sucks. But I do read TV criticism, and every year I'll read something about a show that says, "This is a ground-breaking innovative show." And you turn it on and you go, "Wait a minute. It's a television show about cops." I just don't care if it's a really good television show about cops. There's a million of them.
Still, you can analyze television from a cultural perspective, even though attributing anything to the writers of those shows is ridiculous. There are reasons why a studio would spend tens of millions of dollars to make a particular kind of movie, for example. Take Forrest Gump. It's brilliant, in a certain way. It's not brilliant as a work of art, but it manages to hit every hot button of American culture for the last 25 years without coming down anywhere or taking any positions at all, thereby not alienating one person who would be willing to spend 8 dollars to see it. So you get the Vietnam war, race, child abuse, AIDS – all of these things that you would think, "No one could ever do that without alienating somebody." It's perfectly nuanced.
I had some real problems with that movie – it's a feel-good movie about the most horrific catastrophes that have befallen the country. And the guy who gets through it is really stupid, and it's all OK with him. He just walks through, leaving a pile of dead bodies every step of the way. Not that any of it's his fault, but the fact is here's this millionaire who's happy in his stupidity. How many people have to die for him to get to that place? How many people have to be victims of really awful circumstances?
The ultimate conservative message of the movie is that knowledge only fucks you up. The message is, "Your mother's aphorisms – that's all you need to get through life, Hallmark Card messages." Still, can you imagine the script meetings as that movie was being put together? Somebody must continually have been saying: "If we show the protesters this way, we also have to show the protesters that way. If we show this kind of political figure, we need to show that kind of political figure." Even down to the end where the question is raised, "Are we drifting through life without any kind of destiny? Or do we really have something that we're being propelled toward? Well, the answer is both." Well, of course it's both. Because, from a marketing perspective, you don't want any one person who believes one way or the other to leave the theater and not tell 20 of their friends to go see the movie – and that goes for every other issue in the movie, too.
It's certainly an odd movie. The messages in it were kind of scary. It's like, "Don't worry, be happy. Things will work out OK." And the fact is, they don't work out OK. There's a whole other movie in the Louisiana kid who gets killed in Vietnam and his family. What did they do? They were lucky enough that someone gave them a check for 10 million dollars, but does that ever happen in real life? No. For me, the movie also didn't really work as entertainment, so philosophically, it doesn't really matter what it is. Forgetting all the theories about what the movie's about and why, I think it should have been 30 minutes shorter. That's my main critical carp about it. After Vietnam, it just started to get real slow.
Early on, before you began to sell a lot of records, R.E.M. were sustained by the response you were getting, both from critics and also just people who would go to your shows. How do you respond to writing about you now? You said before that you don't necessarily read all of it. What are your feelings about it?
It is different. When we started out, we didn’t make any money, and we didn't really care. The critics who were in our peer group at the time – they were 21, and we were 21 or 22, or whatever – could write these long passionate stories that would reach the 30 people in Pittsburgh who wanted to see us. And when you're not getting any financial rewards and have no comfort level, it makes it worthwhile to have your fans, whether they're critics or the people who come to the shows, as few as they are on occasion, to be really intense about it. I was always proud that we might get 40 people, but they'd be like, "Wow, you're the best band in America – I can't believe you're only playing to 40 people." That is sustaining. I have a lot of friends who've quit bands that were doing OK because they were nobody's favorite band. That was probably what happened to Guadalcanal Diary. They were slogging all over the world making OK money, but it wasn't like a celebration. The critics only gave the records 3 stars. Fans would come and maybe leave before the encore. It's hard to sustain it if you don't really feel that you're reaching people.
At our level, it's such a huge machine. It's odd, because I know it really affects some people, but if you sell 10 million records, the odds are a huge portion of those people are gonna play it a couple of times, then file it under R. I mean, you can't change every person's life. It's different now. We get really good reviews, but the stakes are not as high. The record company’s stakes are higher, because we're talking about millions of dollars in marketing. But they're not as high for us, because we're being compensated financially – which is not the main reason we do this, by any stretch of the imagination. But we're making these records, we know their worth. The reviews now for us, all they can do is hurt the sales marginally. If every reviewer says, "This record really stinks," we'll still sell several million.
But, I mean, I want to get good reviews. I'd prefer to get good reviews and maybe sell a few less copies, because critics still tend to be my peer group. They're the people who listen to the same amount of music I do and get excited about new discoveries, but also have some kind of critical acuity to put things in perspective. That's why I get a kick out of the English mags, because they're always hiring a new generation of kids to write. They always have 23-year-olds who've never heard of the Beatles.
There's actually an economic reason for that. Those publications pay so badly that only young people will write for them.
It changes the way the music business is over there. Here people still can remember Talking Heads when they were a brand new band. I mean, forget the Beatles – Talking Heads. Over there, they'll review things that are in every conceivable way not all that important or exciting, but they're brand new, and the writer is 21 years old and going nuts, so the Manic Street Preachers are the best band ever. Which is kind of good – you get people excited. But there is a lack of critical background. You read these things – "This performance by the Manic Street Preachers was the best performance ever." You read a real lot of those. Guys who are third on the bill get that. And then you buy the records and go, "This is second-rate Clash."
In a way, it's nice to have the press have an adversarial relationship to the bands because it keeps you on your toes. You can't get away with doing the same-old. The criticism you could make about American criticism is that established favorites get more latitude in making not-good records. I don't think that's happened to us yet, because we don't have any bad records. But certainly there are plenty of artists who make records that nobody really cares that much about, but because they’re who they are, they'll get 4 stars and a big treatment and a big article about their personal lives. Whereas if it was a first record by a new band, it would be, "This is pretty OK. It’s not that great." You don't tend to get that in England so much. Since they're a bit younger, they're totally willing to say how awful and old-fashioned we are.
I'll tell you why it works the way it does over here. Critics get excited about the opportunity to say something about a band they've loved for a long time and maybe rarely have had the chance to write about. So even if the new album by R.E.M. or U2 or whomever isn't their best work, it may well be that writer's best chance to say something about them. So between their desire to hang a bunch of major ideas on the album and their general enthusiasm about having the chance to do it, the review sometimes ends up sounding more positive than even the writer believes it should be.
It's understandable, and, certainly, history tends to color the present. I can't tell you how many records I've got where, if I were to divorce the band from its past work, I would go, "This isn't very good." But if you're fond of what the band does and willing to find the things you like – even if what you say is, "Well, there's two good songs, and the rest just sounds pleasant" – you're letting them get away with a lot.
It's also true that if you really like a band, almost nothing they do is uninteresting to you. You might like it or not, but after a while, if you're inside it, everything reveals something. And sometimes, because the bad records are less artful, they're more revealing. They open things up in a way, because the good stuff transcends category, and you don't necessarily know where it came from. But when you hear the 3 bad versions of a song, you go, "Oh, right, that was an attempt to do this, and that's how they failed, and that's how it works when it works." So if you like the best stuff, even the bad records can be intriguing.
Again, in England, they tend to go the other way. They don't have a lot of perspective on the past. You read reviews of solo records from guys in bands that never were all that good, and they treat it like this is the most amazing thing in the world. And you listen to it and realize, "It sounds kind of like Tom Waits." And yet Tom Waits was totally unhip over there until recently. Again, I'm one of those guys who buys records because of reviews, and I can't tell you how often there is a disparity between the rave review and the actual record that you listen to and go, "Well, that's just not there. This is a second-rate selection of imitative songs that sound kind of like Nick Cave."
Right. Or Van Morrison. Or the Velvet Underground. I wanted to ask you one last question about R.E.M. Ever since you began to sell records, there's been a subtheme of negative writing about the band, a small backlash. But, apart from that, you've always been treated very generously by critics. Even in the English press, you've been immune to the kinds of attacks virtually every other band that's attained your level of success has undergone. Obviously, you believe the albums are good, but, as you know, that sometimes has nothing to do with it. So, setting aside the quality of the albums, why do you think R.E.M. have been treated so well?
In 1989, there was a period there when some magazines stuck by us, but a couple, one of which is not in business anymore, looked for someone who didn't like the record to assign it to. I talked to people who told me about this, and I'm not saying it's bad. It's fine, because the editor didn't feel it was a strong record. But I was talking to someone who told him, "I like that record." And there were plenty of people who would have written good reviews of it. They consciously wanted someone who wouldn't. They sent the non-believers to the shows. And that's fine. If we can only show people who like us that we're good, then maybe we're not that good. But they picked people who didn't like us. I accept that. I understood it, and I don't mind.
Funnily enough, then we stayed off the road and consciously turned our backs on what people expected us to be – a multi-platinum, billion-dollar touring machine. We could have turned into Pink Floyd if we’d done a tour after the Green tour. I think it was surprising to people that we just said, "OK, we're going to make a couple of weird acoustic records, and we're not going to tour." We then sold a boatload of records. But the idea is that we thought we were kissing our career good-bye to take some time to do what we wanted to do. Every record has been something we wanted to do. But we wanted to distance ourselves from the machinery a bit. And I think that was such a surprising move that we got a fair amount of respect for it.
I mean, Automatic for the People, for instance. It's a really good record. It's maybe the best that we've done. But it sold for almost two years in England. For like a year and a half it was on the charts, in the top ten. Everyone used it as a hallmark. I think we won Band of the Year in some magazine, and we didn't even do anything. We didn't tour, we did videos, we didn't do press, hardly. I think part of it is just that we took the unexpected choice at a point when most people would have gone for the throat and done a huge triumphant stadium tour, and the big rock record. I think it was great for us not to do that, but critically, I think that's why the press has stuck with us. Because at the point when amost any other band would have said, "OK, now, this is gonna be the big moment," we walked away from it.
It turns out record-wise it was the best thing we could have ever done. Band-wise it was the best thing we could have ever done. But that's not what everyone told us at the time. Our manager had meetings with us about how we were going to have to lay people off. We have a pension plan; were we going to have to cut our pension plan? The record company people were like, "Well, you're not going to sell a million records ever again if you don't tour." And, you know, they loved the records. But it was not the way to go about it. And we all made the decision, "We'll take a salary cut if we need to. We'll cut the pension this year, if it comes to that, that's cool." Then we sold 10 million records. In part, that's why we've been seen as pretty hip, because we didn't embrace success. I like it, I like being successful. But I did it exactly on my own terms.
One last question: You have plenty of friends who are writers and critics, which contradicts the idea that that relationship is adversarial. What do you have in common?
I do have a lot of friends who are critics, because our interests are the same. If you name a band that's at our level, I doubt there are that many of them who buy as many records and listen to as much different music and read as many fanzines as I do. It’s just something I'm fascinated by. I still read those mimeographed fanzines – there's a bunch of them that are really cool. I look for 7-inches on obscure labels and go to little punk clubs to see bands. And at the shows I go to, I see music critics. In Seattle, I see two of the four critics really often. I don't see the guys from Mudhoney or Nirvana there. Those are my friends and my peer group, but musicians tend to not go out and do this kind of stuff so much. Thurston does, I see Thurston Moore at shows, and we have a lot of things in common. But I see critics all the time. It's part of the world I'm involved in. It has to do with getting advance cassettes and being excited about new bands and seeing what's happening. So it's natural that you’d be friends with these people. Not all of them – there's a lot of people I disagree with. But especially in Seattle, I keep seeing the same two critics at every show I go to. I think it's interesting that they're there. They'll write a review, and I'm there because I'm digging it. But we're there for the same reason.
© Anthony DeCurtis, 1998
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backwardmaptravels · 4 years
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Why I Choose The Backpacker Travel Style
It’s no secret (I mean just read the opening statement on my blog and it’ll tell you) I am pretty new to the travel game and even more so when it comes to the backpacker way of traveling. When I made this life changing decision to visit at least 10 countries in 10 years I knew that some sacrifices would have to be made. 
When I started out I had two part time jobs that barely paid for my car loan every month and no idea how to even do the most basic travel bookings. Believe me I started into this idea of traveling by myself with the intention to use a travel agency and have them make all the bookings and itineraries. However, I quickly came to realize that not only was the packages they were offering to me expensive they were not exactly what I was looking for. Now they said I could customize my trip, but what I wanted was to basically start from the ground up and build my own trip and trust me that option was stupid expensive. So there went that plan.....
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Plan B! Okay...so since I’m too poor to pay someone I’ll just plan it all myself!
Oh, optimistic Kimberly you have no idea what you’re in for....
Saying that figuring out how to plan, book, and then take an international vacation when you have never even left your side of your country before would be easy is an understatement. Seriously! I’ll be honest and say that I would probably still be lost in the Dallas/Ft. Worth Airport right now if I hadn’t made friends with a local that showed me how to navigate an airport. I had no clue what I was doing and I made more than a couple mistakes on that first trip to be sure. (Some I have admitted and some I shall take to my grave **face palm**)
Backpacking, as difficult as it was to get my head around, was a choice I made out of necessity. Limited funds meant that I would have to exchange my 3+ star hotels for hostels, my large checked luggage for a carry on, and my fine-dining for street food. 
Now over two years later a few things have changed. I have graduated and was able to get a full time job that pays me well along with helping fund my schooling as I pursue to further my education. My car is paid off and I am able to save more extensively that I was able to in the past. If I really wanted to I could stay in nice hotels and travel through a tour company but I don’t. Why? Well the truth is that I fell in love with backpacking!
Whenever I traveled with friends and family in the past I felt as if we always went to the tourist hot spots, stayed in secluded hotels located in the tourist end of the city, and ate at places that seemed familiar. When I went to New Zealand alone and on a budget I stayed in a hostel and meet some super cool people that I would have never talked to if we had been in a traditional hotel. I have ate in the basements of run down buildings in Japan and got some of the best food from them. I have hiked hours to see the most beautiful secluded waterfall in Iceland. 
I have meet so many interesting people while backpacking because backpacking forces you out of your comfort zone. To me it makes me feel more like a traveler than just a tourist. 
When most people think of traveling like a backpacker they think that it means having “less” of a vacation when compared to traveling with a more generous budget - but it doesn’t; it simply means that you travel differently. Backpacking can be done with or without a guide book and it is just simply done with a no holds bar attitude. 
So long story short “Why do I choose the backpacking travel style?”, because it works for me and it makes my travels feel like so much more than a vacation. It makes them feel like an life experience.
As always happy travels (no matter your travel style)!
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irisdouglasiana · 5 years
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I’m going back through some of the drafts I never posted and I had the sudden urge to share some excerpts because I’m probably never going to finish any of these but I also can’t NOT share them. also, these are the actual names of the documents for the drafts. so, enjoy:
1. ginger rogers
Peggy had been looking forward to a cup of tea and a hot bath after her evening shift, but some things were not meant to be: the phone started ringing in the den the moment she stepped through the door. She sighed, kicked off her shoes, and reluctantly answered.
Jarvis was on the other end. “Miss Carter. I apologize for bothering you; I realize it is very late, and of course I normally wouldn’t dream of calling you at this hour, but—"
She checked her watch. It was just after nine o’clock. “I thought it was past your bedtime, Mr. Jarvis,” she said dryly. “Is there a problem?”
“Ah, well. Yes. A rather delicate situation has arisen.”
“What did Howard do this time?”
She could picture Jarvis rubbing his ear nervously. “It is possible that Mr. Stark is being held hostage.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Jarvis gave a delicate cough. “As you know, Mr. Stark had a brief relationship with Ginger Rogers eight months ago. It ended poorly, I’m afraid.”
“I recall you said you removed her from the property.”
“It was most unpleasant. At any rate, Mr. Stark learned that Miss Rogers was taking her holiday in New York, and he wished to reconcile. I gently suggested it was not a good idea, but he was adamant. I dropped him off at her Roslyn Harbor estate two days ago and I have not heard from him since.”
Somehow, the idea of bursting in on the Ginger Rogers-Howard Stark love dungeon had limited appeal. “And you’re quite sure that he’s not still there out of his own free will?”
“I called the house earlier this evening to inquire, but the fellow that answered the phone hung up on me. Mr. Stark also missed a contract signing with the Department of Defense, and his appointment as judge for the swimsuit portion of the Miss Staten Island pageant.”  
“Oh. That does seem unusual.”
“I thought so as well.”
Peggy sighed. “So what did you have in mind, Mr. Jarvis? You’re planning to break into Ginger Rogers’ mansion in the middle of the night and drag Howard out, and you want my assistance?”
There was a lengthy silence on the other end. “I admit it is not ideal.”
She snorted. “I’ll be right over.”
2. holiday
Jack fastens the last of the buttons of the Hawaiian shirt and regards himself in the mirror. I look like a moron. God, he can never wear this anywhere; he has a reputation to uphold. There could be no better way to broadcast dweeb status, as Sousa so capably demonstrated, but even he could admit that Sousa could pull it off. Almost.
3. miss fry
Las Vegas was objectionable in every possible way to Miss Fry, and she made that crystal clear to the clerk (and the manager, and the janitorial staff) at the hotel Miss Dottie Underwood was staying at under an assumed name. She was shocked, simply shocked, at the incessant gambling, the liquor, the loose men and women, the flagrant degradation of American youth. And then there was Miss Underwood herself, whom Miss Fry had treated with nothing but kindness—wasn’t it terrible that this young woman had flouted her financial obligations and run off without paying her rent? Oh, she suspected her from the very beginning; dancers could never be trusted—nor typists, nor department salesgirls, nor singers, and girls from the phone company least of all—but Miss Fry was a very generous and open person and she wanted to assume the best, so she took the young lady in, and look where it had gotten her!
The clerk, a pimply teenager, meekly asked if Miss Fry would like a cup of coffee while she waited for Miss Underwood to return. She snapped that she would not, and sat down in the lobby with her needlepoint to wait. 
4. london s3
It was smooth, metallic, and about the size and shape of a pea. Whatever it was, Samberly kept making excited but vague noises over it and it was taking every ounce of self-control Daniel possessed to not grab him by the collar and shake him until he got a straight answer. “Fascinating…absolutely fascinating,” the scientist muttered for the twentieth time as he peered under the microscope. “But you would think that the internal heat and the fluids would cause it to short-circuit, especially the fluids—”
“That’s great, but can we get to the point? What does the thing do?” Daniel interrupted, massaging his temples. The trouble had all started with a Soviet spy that had been found dead from suspected foul play (as strangulation marks would tend to indicate) down in Palm Springs. While performing the autopsy, the unlucky doctor had cut into the chest cavity and the body promptly exploded. The doctor was unharmed, but shaken up enough that Daniel gave him the rest of the day off. He did at least manage to recover the tiny metal sphere from what remained of the body—though what it was exactly was anybody’s guess.
And it was Samberly’s guess at the moment. “Listen, Chief, it’s been all of half an hour since you gave this to me. This is not how science works, okay? It’s not like a comic book or movie where I look through the microscope and immediately know the purpose of an object I’ve never seen before. Though that would be awesome,” he said, his voice trailing off. “But in the real world, you need to develop hypotheses, design experiments, use vigorous statistical analyses…”
“Fine,” Daniel snapped, throwing up his free hand. “Do whatever you need to do. I just wanna know what we’re dealing with as soon as possible.”
“‘Gee, thank you, Dr. Samberly, for coming in at a moment’s notice even though you were on vacation.’ ‘You’re welcome, Chief. Glad I can be of service.’”
5. biological quandary
“Ah, well. Yes. A situation has erupted. A bit of a biological quandary.”
A biological quandary? “What did Howard do this time?
”She could picture Jarvis rubbing his ear nervously. “Mr. Stark, I am sorry to say, has recently discovered an interest in reproductive biology, and has been conducting experiments on Xenopus laevis—the African clawed frog—in the basement of his mansion.”
This did not seem promising. “Frogs. Howard is breeding frogs.”
“In great quantities,” Jarvis confirmed. “Excessive, even. At any rate, as best I can tell, we experienced a breach of the holding pen and I am in desperate need of assistance.”
**
Peggy opened the lid of the toilet to find hundreds of tadpoles swimming in the bowl, so many they nearly clogged the drain. She shut the lid firmly and sighed in dismay. It was evident that the frog problem was reaching biblical proportions.
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jasminecircle · 4 years
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The Cards We’re Dealt
           “Do you want to take a bath?” My oldest brother asked me.
           I was sitting on the love seat in my mother’s living room waiting for him. My mother and step-father had taken the rest of the kids out to eat and my oldest brother was instructed to give me a ride to my friend’s birthday party. I felt confused, it was time to go and he was asking me to take a bath with him. I had taken baths with my siblings before, my other brother in the past, and now my younger sister as my parents said we had gotten to old to bathe together. I think they did bath time in pairs to save water and time. I think it also passed off the responsibility of bathing the children from my mom and step-dad. I trusted my brother, he was often left in charge of us. He knows what we’re supposed to do, he’s the oldest.
           “I guess so? But can we hurry, I want to get to the party.” I replied, getting up from my seat and following him down the dark steps to the basement.
           The rest of the memory is only in flashes, very small and short. It’s scattered and confusing, to this day I can’t quite put together what happened down there. I just know that it changed me. It changed the course of my life, forever.
           Any time I try to remember, the memories start to jumble together, and the timeline gets fuzzy. Most of them can’t be put into any particular order, they just exist, like cards in a deck, able to be shuffled around, separated into categories. It’s hard to count how many of each kind of card there are in the deck, some of the events are so similar, only varying by small details. Like suits with different numbers, or different colors. I know there are a lot, more than there should be. But the details on the cards, the memories of the events, they are vivid.
           I can sort the memories into all sorts of different categories, location, the acts that took place, whether there was force or threats, or just coercion and manipulation. This one was outside the trailer in Florida and it was between the legs, it involved fear and threats. That one, was inside a hotel room while my father and step-mother were in the next room, it involved hands and tongues and my heart was racing, terrified of getting caught. This one, like so many, was in a bathroom, half of those cards are in the basement bathroom, the other half are in my bathroom upstairs. That upstairs bathroom one involved penetration, crying, begging, pain. That’s the one where I said to myself, “there is no God in my life. He is not here.”
           There’s another category, a very large stack of cards, that take place in my brother’s room. Those ones are the ones where he tells me it’s part of being a good sister. That if I want my brother to be able to find love and to be loved, it’s my job to help him learn what makes girls feel good, so he can keep them happy. Those are the ones that he instructs me to hold his thumb and to squeeze it when he’s doing something that will make a future girlfriend happy. In these cards are the ones where I tell him I don’t want to, it doesn’t feel right, I’m scared, it hurts. And on those cards are the places where he shows me pornography and tells me that he knows the people in the videos, these ones are cousins, these ones are siblings, and they’re all doing the lessons too, because it’s what you do when you love somebody.
           I have other cards too, not all of them are bad, many more of them are. There are cards where I feel proud of myself, like the ones where I was on the Honor Roll, or the one where I was elected President of my school, or the one where all my teachers and friends’ parents liked me and said that I was polite and a good kid. I have more painful ones too, like the one where my mother told me that I was ruining her life, simply by being alive. Or the ones where the men I dated hit me and told me I deserved it because I was so hard to be with. Then there are the one’s where I’m ashamed to say I came to believe all those things and started abusing myself, with drugs, with words, with razor blades.
           Sometimes your cards open the way for you to obtain other, similar cards. Like the ones where I believed so thoroughly that I didn’t deserve to live but was too afraid to upset someone by killing myself that I drank until I couldn’t see, those cards are entirely black, there are no details on them. Or the one where I snorted cocaine off of a CD case while driving 100mph down the highway, taking my hands off the wheel. Some cards are given to you, and some cards you can trade into. I gave up a lot of the cards from the proud of myself and love myself piles to get the other, darker cards in my set.
           Like any card deck, the games don’t work well if all the cards are the same. You need some of each kind, otherwise you can’t get the full experience. You will get stuck in corners of the games with no way out. It has taken me many years, many hours of therapy, many agonizing introspective truth tellings, and endless shuffling and re-wiring to start to diversify my deck again. For about eight years now I’ve been shuffling and trading in my cards, trying to rebuild a healthy deck. And after all that work, there are still many dark cards in the mix, but I see progress that at least it’s becoming a mix.
           We’re all trying to do the best we can with the cards we’re dealt.
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