ruinedmefic

[ruinedmefic]

"As long as there is a war on terror, there will be no real war on drugs."

[ruinedmefic]

Chapter 4 - Step On Me

Chapter summary: it begins. Masterlist �� Ao3 Read this fic on Ao3 (Chapter 6 out now!) Mojo Pin - Jeff Buckley Prev

CW: sexual harassment/brief non-con (in flashback towards the end), also, the Spanish was written with the help of Google translate, please if there's a better way to write it let me know and I'll fix it up ASAP!!!!

Clementine is convinced Simon hates her.

February 1st 2024 | 05:30am

“What th’hell?” Clementine squinted against the overhead light, sluggishly moving to cover her head with her comforter. “What time is it?”

“Zero five thirty hours,” Simon grunted, “get up. We’re going on a run.”

Clementine was sure she’d just lost her mind—this couldn’t be real. “Goodnight,” she said, pressing her face deeper into her pillow.

Then he started clapping his hands, “up Miss Watson. I expect you ready and outside your door in five minutes.”

Daring to move her blanket, she peered out from the warmth, squinting at risk of a headache, “am I dreaming?”

“I’m no dream man Miss Watson, move your arse.”

“I’m not going on a fucking run at five thirty in the morning you psycho!”

He scoffed, “yes you are. I need to see if you know how to run.”

“This is our first week of rest! I should be sleeping right now!”

“I honestly do not care Miss Watson. Get the fuck up.”

With little else choice—certain that Simon would drag her out of beg by her ankle if necessary — Clementine found herself watching her breath puff white on a random street in Newark as she stretched, tugging her beanie lower over her ears, sniffling already. “Why are we—doing this again?” It’d been a while since she went for a run, a couple of months at least. Marquette felt like it existed frosted over half the year. She was built for the debatably more bearable lows in New Orleans.

“If I tell you to run,” Simon said, lifting his heel to his backside. An early-rising woman gave him a wide berth on the sidewalk as she went on her own morning run, cheeks already flushed a splotchy vermillion. Whether or not Simon noticed the wide-eyed look she gave him didn’t matter, Clementine did, struggling to withhold a laugh. “I need to have confidence you at least have a chance of escaping.”

“I think that’s an oxymoron,” she muttered, grimacing at the sting in her hamstrings as she reached for her toes.

“You’re a bloody oxymoron,” Simon grumbled beside her and this time she couldn’t help her laugh.

It had to be the delirium of the hour that had her so susceptible to his weak humour.

“Right, I’ve scouted the block, we’ll go five rounds. Keep up.”

That was all the warning she got before he took off.

— ✦ —

“What the fuck did you just say?” Simon scoffed, flushed where the mask didn’t cover.

“I said—” she gasped, clutching the post outside the motel for dear life, dim sunlight illuminating the sweat on her forehead, “I win.”

Simon laughed, slightly choked as he coughed, his hands clasped behind his head as he stretched, opening his lungs for more air.

Clementine’s legs were burning, but it was a phantom pain—she could keep going if her lungs weren’t a factor. She hadn’t felt like this since her high school track meets. If she gave into the urge to let her knees buckle, she might never get up again.

“How’d you work that one out?” He indulged her, sighing as he dropped his arms back to his sides. She had thought he looked silly in his trackpants, but she was basically wearing leg warmers and mittens. She couldn’t really judge.

Taking a second to remember to breathe, she held up a hand, coughing slightly, “I stretched past—the post—first.”

“I was judging by the tree,” he said, leaning against the silvered-oak tree, frost-nipped.

From where she was, slumped against the concrete pillar outside of their accommodation, heaving for oxygen, the tree (no more than ten paces away) couldn’t have been any farther from her. “Fuck off. I’m going back to bed.”

“No can do,” came his terribly gravelly voice. If her guess was right, Clementine thought he sounded a little smug. “You’ve got a flight in one hour. We’re off to the airport.”

“No,” she groaned, eyes closing against the blue-grey sky.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“C’mon.”

“Fine.”

— ✦ —

The days had been passing like the ticking of a clock. Monotonous, repetitive, and promising something different with the next chime of the hour, but it was cruelly something that’d happened before.

The call came on the 3rd of February, Mom, flashing across the screen with a picture from last Christmas.

“Hey sweetpea, been a little quiet lately,” she said, her voice soft over the phone.

It was just going past ten, and Johnny sat a bag beside the corner seat in the hotel room—"you’re not sleepin’ alone in a room that has easy access like this” Simon declared, not allowing Clementine to get a word in. “Johnny’ll take watch tonight.”—she didn’t even get the chance to say butbefore the door was closed in her face with her standing out in the hall.

“Hi ma,” she murmured, glancing at Johnny smoking on the balcony. She’d seen everyone in her security detail smoke so far, except for Gaz. Although, he could just be exceptionally secretive (she doubted it). “Got caught up with all the travel, sorry.”

She fiddled with the plastic of her vocal nebulizer abandoned in her lap.

Despite her run with Simon early that morning—dreadfully early, yet again—which resulted in more deliberation of who was the winner of the unspoken race around the block, this phone call would likely be the most talking she’d do all day. She was really trying to take advantage of the break until the next performance on the 8th in Birmingham, AL.

“How’s it going? Pat’s been sending me all the videos ever recorded by the looks of my messages,” she said with a soft laugh, static in the phone, “you plan on stopping by when you’re here?”

“Of course,” she smiled, but it dropped far too quickly. “I’ve missed you.”

Her mother merely hummed, “there’s an easy way to fix that, y’know. I understand why you left L.A. but you didn’t have to hole up in Marquette like the plague’s following you. You could’ve come back home—you know how quiet it can get ‘round here.”

“You’ve got Patty, you don’t need to miss me.” Besides, it wasn’t the plague following her. It was something arguably worse. “Don’t you think the distance makes it that much better when we see each other again?” she tried, not believing herself for a second.

The sigh on the other end of the line was answer enough. “I miss my Clem. And Lucky and Linc and D—y’know, that boy visits me more than you. My own child.”

Her heart stuttered. “I know,” she whispered, shame flushing high on her cheeks. D’Angelo was why she knew her mother was alright, sending her the odd update or two every month. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t expect an “it’s okay, sweetpea, I get it.” But it still stung when it never came.

They chatted a little more, discussing work at the grocers, old Luther the neighbour who seemed to be perpetually sixty-five, and making plans for when she’d be home next Saturday.

The last show before they left for Europe. She had been a little excited about the travelling just a month ago, but now?

Johnny came in from the balcony nearly the moment Clementine put her phone on to charge. She only then realised he’d been giving her privacy.

“Ye alright?” He asked, roaming around the room and checking the windows and door locks before settling into the plush corner seat, stealing the blanket over the foot of the bed.

She nodded, sighing at the heavy feeling engulfing her chest, “just my ma wondering if I still love her,” she huffed a laugh.

A smile tugged at Johnny’s lips, “aye, I ken. My ma reckons I stopped lovin’ her the day I moved out.”

“Tell me about it,” she murmured, her smile wavering as she tugged the comforter higher to cover her, bringing her knees into her chest as she sat in bed, hugging them.

She worried her lip between her teeth and Soap didn’t miss it, “wha’s wrong?”

“I…” hesitation caught Clementine’s tongue, she couldn’t look him in the eye, “I don’t know if I want to see her.”

If her words shocked him, he didn’t let it show through, “ye dinnae have to.”

Her sigh was something long in the making, “it’s not like I don’t love her,” she continued on as if he’d never spoken. “But…wouldn’t it be safer if I just…didn’t? She would be fine if she didn’t see me—we only really see each other at Christmas anyway,” she shrugged, “she doesn’t need to see me.”

Soap didn’t say anything. Her gut churned.

“But I still will,” she said quickly, swallowing thickly. “Everyone wants to see her—and I do miss her…she just—she doesn’t really know me anymore, I think. Like, she still sees me as the girl with a band in high school that set up at the open mic nights every Friday down at Barry’s Grill.

“And—and everyone else is still the same but I’m the one that’s changed—I’m the one that’s all fucked up—”

“Ye’re no’ fucked up, Clementine,” Soap interjected, a frown creasing the skin between his brows as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Ye’re just copin’ w’everythin’ tha’s been thrown at ye. D’ye hear me?”

It took a second for his words to sink in, but they struck deep, burrowing into her chest until they forced out a soft, “oh.”

“Ye should get some sleep hen, Ghost has ye wakin’ up with the birds these days,” he said, his expression softening slightly before he relaxed back into his seat.

Safe to say, on some level, Soap was growing on her.

— ✦ —

In less than a week, Clementine was standing on her childhood home doorstep, fingers tugging at the inner seam of her hoodie pocket as she stood in the cold. She studied the scratches around the doorknob, the slight lean it had in the frame from age and little care.

There was a chip in the second step of the stoop and the potted plant she stood beside now was protesting the cold, shivering in the wind, not meant for this kind of weather.

The door swung open, revealing an older woman, a replica of her shifted just askew. (Minus the blue hair of course.)

“Hi ma,” Clementine grinned, stepping forward quickly into the open arms stretched her way, “how are you?” a formality. She’d grown awkward even with her own family.

“I’m…good?” her mother cast a frown over her shoulder, leaning slightly to peer around and see who lingered behind on the sidewalk, “can I help you?”

Leave it to Monique Watson to give Simon Riley attitude in lieu of a greeting.

Clementine was quick to fill her in, “he’ll just be waiting in the car,” she said, casting him a glare, to which he narrowed his eyes but finally relented. Sighing, he sank back on his heels and pivoted, climbing back into the driver’s seat. “No harm there, right?”

“He looks like a war criminal,” Monique muttered, her expression pulled into something akin to disapproval, “and what’s with the mask?”

Clementine could only shrug and follow her mother inside, closing and locking the front door behind her.

“So, tell me, what’s the love life looking like?” In all honesty, Clementine shouldn’t have been surprised. It was a triumph that the topic hadn’t been brought up over the phone last week. “You’re thirty this year, you know, and I’m not getting any younger.”

She let loose a strained laugh, sitting gingerly on the edge of the couch, “I’ve been pretty busy with the tour prep, getting back to my writing, you know,” she trailed off, wringing her hands together in her lap like a schoolgirl, “I’m just not really looking for anything at the moment.”

“It’s been how long now? Aren’t you a little lonely?”

Clementine felt that it was rather hypocritical of her mother to ask such questions, when her own love life was rather dismal itself. Patty—or rather, Patrick McArthur, the guy that worked at the library—was rarely brought up by her mother without being prompted first.

“Two years of being single isn’t even that bad.”

Mark undeniably had his faults and their relationship behind closed doors steadily grew miserable but—there was a time when Clementine really did love him; on those rare mornings when their teams weren’t knocking down their door and they had a moment to just have breakfast together. But that was rare, they’d been in the very busy years then, focused on doing as much and getting as much new stuff out there as possible.

Pushing so much of themselves out and away, left little of themselves to share by the time they came back home at night and conversations quickly became trite and callous.

Though, that had never been conveyed in the pictures, had it?

Her mother sighed, and Clementine already knew what she’d say; I just don’t want you to end up like me, “your father and I wanted things to work out for your benefit, but,” it was better for us to be  apart, you didn’t deserve to grow up with that relationship to model your love life after. “I think this tour would be really good for you,” she added, “you’ll get to broaden your horizons,” and see exactly how much you’ve been missing.

You’ll see some sense. “I’ve always thought, those who hide from the public arer hiding something from the law—imagine what your litttle fans would think of you if you keep going like this?” They’ll think; “why is she still alon? Where are her kids? Maybe there’s something wrong with her,” but her mother always had a swift backpedal ready to go, “but I know there’s nothing wrong with you, sweetpea, I just worry.” That there might be, always followed but went unsaid.

All in all, she did not look forward to being back here for dinner with the band, pretending like this conversation didn’t exist and hadn’t taken up a shelf in her mind.

— ✦ —

February 10th 2024 | Belfast 05:30am

Unknown number, 03:07am

] My little Borreguita, I’ve missed you dearly.

] Nice to see you leave the house.

Clementine had stretched with a long sigh when she first woke up, slow to adjust to her morning run time, slapping her hand down on the bedside table for her phone, effectively waking up Simon who had been sleeping in the corner of her hotel room. At the distressed look on her face when she turned her phone on, Simon had stood up, “what happened?”

She nearly threw the damn thing at him.

“Borreguita,” he murmured, a note of distaste in his voice. “Do you know who might have sent this?”

“A woman—” tears flooded her eyes as she whispered the name, “Valeria.”

“You’ve met her?” His gaze was so heavy on her face, it felt like she was the pinboard he was struggling to break through. “When?”

“A m-month after Mark was locked up.”

— ✦ —

June 27th 2022 | 03:02am

San Clemente, CA The master bedroom of the Bradley-Watson beachfront home

“You know, El Sin Nombre doesn’t love all these trips I’ve been taking as of late. All because of your little boy-toy.”

Clementine tried to flinch away from the cold fingertips that skimmed over her jaw, propped open with a thick rope— which was what had woken her up to begin with—but her body moved like a boat still in the water, a nauseating rock to and fro in her mind. Hands had hauled her out of bed, binding her to a chair. She hadn’t known anyone had been in her house the night before, hadn’t noticed any change in her last drink of water.

Her blinks were slow as she looked up at the woman before her, drool pooling in her bottom lip. The woman swiped at it with her thumb, smearing a cool streak across the skin of her jaw, “Mark never mentioned just how beautiful you are to my boys,” she tutted, bending at the waist to look at Clementine at eye-level. Her Spanish was like satin to Clementine’s ears, a slight rasp in her tone as she lowered her voice, “pero eres muy hermosa. Es una pena no haberte conocido primero, ¿eh? No tendrías toda esta angustia, mi estrellita.”

Clementine only blinked slowly up at her, a doe-ish look glazing them over as she struggled to process what was happening. “Who are you?” She tried to ask, but her words sounded lewd around the rope, her tongue gone slack.

The woman’s smile was dreadfully amused. She looked over her shoulder at the man behind her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Clementine recognised Gabriel. “Como una puta, ¿eh?” They laughed a moment before she barked at him to get out of the room, the change in her mood like whiplash. “Look at me, estrellita, your boyfriend has been driving me so fucking mad. Him and that whore he was fucking— they lost my money. D’you know that?”

Clementine found the strength to shake her head no, but she accidentally began leaning closer as she did— nearly toppling with the lean of her chair. The woman’s hands were back on her suddenly, one on her thigh, one cupping her lower jaw, forcing her to focus all her straying attention on the crouched woman. “No?” she sighed, brushing her thumb over the curve of Clementine’s cheekbone, “that’s okay, that’s okay—we can still work this out.”

The notion of “we” made Clementine’s stomach roil.

She tutted as a tear rolled down her cheek, cooing, “don’t cry,” before she lifted the tear with her thumb, licking the salt off her fingerprint with a grin. With a palm on the back of her head, she pulled Clementine close, kissing away the matching dew drop on her other cheek, licking the skin with the flat of her tongue. Clementine could smell a cigar on her breath. “I used to catch little stars in my back yard as a girl—fireflies,” she said, “I’d put them in a jar or slice their stomachs open.

“You see, Estrellita, I wanted to see how they worked, what made them tick—to know if they had a heart and mind just like me. And they did, but it did not matter if they were the same inside—outside, they were so weak and small all I had to do was catch them and I had control, or they were dead on impact.”

Clementine whimpered as the woman kissed her cheeks, straddling her lap as she was bound to the chair, “I’d catch them—kill them—and I thought to myself, even as just a little girl, that it would be so much better if I could do the same to all the little nuisances in my life. Don’t you think?”

The woman trailed a finger down her jaw and neck, down to the cut-out vee in her tee-shirt she’d worn to bed—a top far too thin to offer any kind of barrier from her touch. “El Sin Nombre…I will take back our photos of you,” Clementine’s stomach sank, “and they may decide to be lenient to my favour. I will ask for you to have two years to collect the money they’re owed— ah, but with the house included,” she thought for a moment, chewing her lip, “house, drugs, car, it’s around six…no, seven million were owed.” For a moment, Clementine felt quite familiar with death. “If you cannot do that, there will be two options, you either suffer Mark’s fate and I kill you, or you work for El Sin Nombre—and I much prefer this option,” she hummed, Clementine felt herself stiffen as a knuckle brushed over the pebbled peak of her nipple through her top, “because you’ll work under me.”

Clementine shook her head no, trying to say it, but the word was sloppy in her mouth, just whimpering helplessly. The woman cooed, “Este coño sería todo mío. Suena bien ¿eh?” she grinned, “¿Te gusta cuando digo eso? ¿Cuando no puedes distinguir la izquierda de la derecha?” a warm, delightfully amused laugh poured from her lips. “When you have your money, you wait for me, okay Estrellita? You don’t give your money to anyone else—you wait for me. You wait for Valeria. That’s my name.”

She carefully reached around Clementine’s head, the swell of her breast pushing into her turned face, undoing the thick rope wound around her head. Dumbly, Clementine rolled her partially numb tongue around her mouth, licking her lips, the ground still wavered under her feet, and her blinks were still slow and disoriented, but Valeria had her full attention as she blinked up at her.

“Say it,” she whispered.

“Valeria,” it was lazy to fall from her mouth, heavy and dull, but the woman lit up, coaxing it from her lips once more with a thumb tugging at her bottom lip. “Valeria.”

“I will be back for you—for the money. Two years Clementine,” she murmured, leaning in far too close—too close for Clementine to rear back any further. “¿Un beso de despedida cariño? ¿Por favor? Solo uno pequeño?” she mumbled before smashing their lips together, prying her mouth apart with her own, her tongue delving inside like she was searching for a sin much lower. She moaned, bright, and needy, and entirely indulgent, like she’d just tasted the sweetest wine. “You wait for Valeria.”

— ✦ —

Clementine has never felt the blood drain from her face before, but she could now. “She was just waiting for me to leave the country,” she murmured, her voice quiet as the sluggish memory replayed over and over in her head. “I—I had just donated a lot of my money days before she came, I was moving to Marquette within the week,” the panic was welling in her chest, “I could never have saved it all.”

Simon studied her for a moment, “you were never going to pay her?”

“Never,” she shook her head, clasping her shaking hands together. “It’s the one thing I’ll do for myself before I die.”

“Take a stand against Valeria?”

“Against El Sin Nombre,” she said, skittish eyes darting up to his face. “I’m not paying. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“Alright,” Simon grunted, a deep frown between his eyebrows, “we’ll…look into this Valeria and her connections. She won’t get to you.”

Her lip trembled, “promise?”

“Just focus on the tour and follow my orders,” he grunted, “I need to discuss this with the team,” he gestured with the phone before heading out the door, closing it softly behind him. Clementine stared after him with rapidly blurring eyes, hastily wiping them away. God, did she hate crying.

As she showered, dragging herself into the ensuite after a pitiful attempt at calming herself (the hot water did wonders to ease her trembling, at least), she realised that Simon didn’t promise anything.

[ruinedmefic]

Chapter 3 - Rain When I Die

Chapter summary: it begins. Masterlist ✦ Ao3 Read this fic on Ao3 (up to chapter 5) Rain When I Die - Alice In Chains Prev

January 11th 2024 | 04:17am

Stumbling around in the dark was how the tour began for Clementine.

There was a consistent buzz, buzz, buzz that she couldn’t find the source of. Her phone had gone flying when she woke, sweating and still half-submerged in her dream. She fumbled for the switch of the overhead lamp, palming the wall blindly before a bright light shrunk her pupils to pinpricks and forced her lids shut again. “Fuck—” she groaned, covering her eyes with her hands and squinting around the room in blinks.

She couldn’t remember her dream—nightmare—whatever it was.

A harsh knock pounded on her door, Lucky’s groggy voice making itself known through the wood, “you up?”

“No,” she grumbled, leaning half off the bed to reach her phone, the screen lit dimly with her alarm. She heard Lucky’s footsteps shuffle down the hallway. “I’m up,” she muttered, slapping the screen a few times until it stopped.

She laid there for a moment, her legs still on the bed, elbows propping her off the ground, and sighed. She could feel her t-shirt clinging to her back with sweat, her pulse slowing under her skin. Three of the (many) throw pillows on her bed had been tossed haphazardly across the room.

So far, she was yet to have a good day this week.

Getting up, she turned on the big light in her room and began to make her way through an abridged version of her usual morning routine. Distantly, as she nearly slipped getting out of the shower, she heard Linc working the coffee machine.

At 04:50am Lucky was locking her house and Clementine was ambling toward the car awaiting her at the end of the drive. Lucky and Linc already heading to their driver, Becca, their go-to close protection officer. She would be accompanying them during the tour.

Simon looked entirely unaffected by the early rising time, pulling onto the road as soon as she fastened her seatbelt.

She rummaged through her purse, finding the tray of ibuprofen lurking in the depths and popping two into her palm. She knew Simon was watching without having to look, “it’s ibuprofen for a headache, which I have. May I alleviate my symptoms?”

Her tone was dry and bored, to her surprise he huffed something like a laugh, “didn’t know you knew such big words.”

“Fuck off,” she grumbled, tossing the medication back with a mouthful of water and leaning her head against the headrest, eyes closed. The car pulled away from the curb with a low rumble. “You seem well adjusted to the time of day,” she murmured, still watching the back of her eyelids.

“Start every day with a run,” he said and her eyes flashed open.

“You’ve already been for a run before five a.m?!”

“When else?”

She was in a car with a crazy person.

— ✦ —

Their first show, thankfully, was in L.A. However, already being in location didn’t make the day any shorter.

Sound check ran a half hour longer than scheduled—due to an issue with the drums that had D’Angelo getting frustrated with the new sound techs.

Clementine was fiddling with her phone in the wings, staring at her voice memo app, when he was suddenly walking off stage, right towards her. “Idiots—they’re all idiots—they’ve fucked up my click tracks—I told them I had it sorted, all they needed—”

“Woah.” She slipped her phone back into her hoodie pocket, falling in step with him as he barrelled towards the doors under the rear exit sign at the end of the first corridor they found. “You know there’s still, like, four hours to get this sorted. Besides, you know the songs like—”

“I know I know the fucking songs,” he snapped, pushing out the doors and into the alley way between the arena and the foyer. A cigarette was between his lips in seconds as he fumbled with his lighter. She gave him a look he pointedly ignored; he was supposed to have quit a month ago.

“And you take out your earpiece half-way through any set you play,” she added.

He shot her a look, “who’s side are you on?”

“The side that gets me out of an alleyway, its fucking windy.”

“Tom wants crushed bone in the set list,” he said, looking down the alleyway. There was nothing but old brick and dumpsters. Smoke billowed from his nostrils.

Clementine tugged her cuffs over her fingers, “him and the rest of the population.” He hesitated, her eyes snapped up to his. “No.”

He grimaced, “come on Clem, it won’t be that bad—”

“I thought you hated that song?!”

“Just one night with it in the set, if you still don’t want to, we can take it out.”

“I don’t want to now—”

The door swung open forcing Clementine to jump out of the way lest she get squashed into the side of the arena. “What the fuck are you playin’ at?” Came Simon’s voice.

Clementine groaned, pushing past him and back into the hallway, “we were getting some air.”

“There’s enough bloody air in the arena where I can see you,” Simon was hot on her heels.

D’Angelo brought up the rear, “what’s up your—”

A boot squeaked against the linoleum and Clementine turned around to see Simon staring down her friend, “hey!”

“Her safety isn’t your priority,” Simon said, “it’s mine. And I need to be able to fuckin’ see her to do that—if I hear we’ve lost a visual on her, and she’s run off with you again?” The threat went unspoken. “Got it?”

He didn’t wait for D’Angelo to reply before he turned on his heels and caught Clementine by the bicep, hauling her back down the hallway. “What the fuck Simon?!” she shrieked when he finally let go of her. It looked like they were behind the main LED screen centre stage. She had half the mind to slap the man.

“You said you were takin’ this seriously,” he chastised, crossing his arms over her chest. “Disappearing into a fuckin’ alleyway is not takin’ this seriously.”

“It’s not like I was alone—”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna help you. I want you under heavy surveillance whenever you’re in a performance space. That means you need to be able to see Soap, Price, Gaz, or me with your own eyes at any time. Just because it’s sound check doesn’t make this place any smaller. There are a hundred places where something bad could happen and we won’t know a thing—”

“I thought you said Gaz was watching the cameras,” she frowned, crossing her own arms over her chest.

He narrowed his eyes, “he is, but there’s always a blind spot Miss Watson. Now,” he turned, tipping his head as if to say this way and she could only follow after him as he began to walk. “Price will be stationed by the door, Soap will be escorting you on and off stage, and I’ll be in front of the stage.”

“Huh.”

He looked over his shoulder, “what?”

She couldn’t help herself, “I thought you’d be breathing down my neck the whole time.”

“Don’t fancy being on the big screen so much,” he grunted in response just as they rounded the giant LED screen in question.

— ✦ —

The crowd was thunderous. Clementine kept shifting the mic in her hand, sweating.

“Nervous?”

She’d nearly forgotten Johnny was beside her. Still distracted by the sight of Cass, the stage manager, running about. “I’m fine,” she muttered, stomach rolling as the crowd began to chant. Clem-en-tine! Clem-en-tine! Clem-en-tine! as if there weren’t three other people in the band equally deserving of their attention.

“I thought ye said ye’ve done this before,” he teased.

It was difficult to swallow the wad of saliva in her mouth, her throat too dry. The edges of her vision started to blur.

A hand gingerly set itself on her shoulder, “Miss Watson?”

Wide-eyed, she looked at Soap, feeling light-headed.

“Take a deep breath, c’mon,” he took her hand and placed it against the centre of his chest, taking an exaggerated breath of his own. Distantly she could feel the thud of his heart beneath his fingertips, “with me now.”

Mutely, she sucked in a sharp, stuttering breath at the rise of his chest.

“Slower this time,” he murmured, taking another breath, making sure she followed along. “Tha’s it.”

“Last song,” came from someone in the distance, the opener—an upcoming local artist—was practically drowned out by the crowd regardless. The sounded more like a mob than fans through the roaring in her ears.

“Miss Watson, I need ye to—”

Her lips were moving, but Soap couldn’t hear her. He leaned closer and could only just make out her whisper, “they’re going to kill me—”

“Hey—hey,” he took her by the shoulders, she looked up at him through bleary eyes, entirely forgetting their brash introduction merely two days ago that had her fleeing the room. “Ye’re no’ gonna die. We’ve got ye. D’ye hear me? We’ve got yer back Clementine. We won’t let anythin’ happen to ye, aye?”

Stiffly, she nodded.

He gave her a small smile, “good lass. Ye’ve got this.”

“Okay,” she murmured, trying to ignore the mic shaking in her hand.

Lucky was at her side just seconds later, “Cass says it’s just about—you okay?”

Soap let Lucky slot between them, a soft hand tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear. Clementine gave her a watery smile, nodding tightly.

She smiled back, understanding glinting in her eyes, “this is why I take a shot before opening night.” That managed to get a laugh out of Clementine, slightly too loud, slightly too squeaky, but it helped.

— ✦ —

January 12th 2024 | 2:49pm

Hardly a day into the tour and D’Angelo was avoiding her.

“What happened?” Tom had been harping on for close to twenty minutes by now while Clementine waited for Soap to return with their lunch. In the meantime, Lucky had taken to painting her toenails. She couldn’t say no fast enough before her feet were getting a nice turquoise detailing.

Clementine hesitated when she opened her mouth, what could she say? She hadn’t told anyone else about Las Almas, she couldn’t picture how they’d react to her saying ‘my security guy threatened him to not hang out with me because the Las Almas Cartel have it out for me.’ She settled for a different variation of the truth instead. “I didn’t let my bodyguard know where I was going yesterday when I went out with D’Angelo for a smoke and they kind of had a go at each other.”

Lucky raised a brow, swapping feet for the second coat, “that’s not what I heard D telling Linc.” Hopefully the polish would dry before sound check, she hated wearing sandals.

“What did he say?” Clementine tried not to fidget. It wasn’t lying, but it was withholding the truth.

After Mark, she’d promise Lucky that she wouldn’t hide big things from her again. This whole cartel thing was definitely in the “big things” category, but it might just get her in trouble too. She couldn’t live with herself if that was the case. So she continued to bite her tongue.

“He was saying Simon threatened him. Honestly, it sounded a bit like a cockfight to me,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Clementine let out a laugh, “it was like, two sentences,” she looked up at Tom, hovering behind Lucky, “seriously, it wasn’t a big deal.”

Unsatisfied, Tom pursed his lips, “I’m having second thoughts on you working with Protecta. Mickey looked into them, said they were solid. But they’re proving to be more trouble than it’s worth—”

“But the one with the beard is so nice, she should keep him on,” Lucky said, screwing the lid back onto the polish and gently setting Clementine’s feet back on the ground.

The sounds of San Francisco filtered in through the cracked window of the motel room. (It had taken a full half hour before Clementine could step foot in the room just a few hours ago when they arrived, waiting for Gaz to give the all clear.)

Her smile was tense, “you made me switch to Protecta,” she said to Tom, “so I’m with Protecta. I don’t want to change that the first week of tour. That would be more trouble than it’s worth.”

He looked at her a moment longer, that stern look on his face, “fine. But I’m going to have a chat with that Simon Riley.”

Have fun with that, she thought as he left her room.

Lucky stood just moments later, stopping by the door, holding onto the doorknob as she pulled it open, “remind me why you had to switch from Sentinel, and we didn’t?”

“Mickey didn’t want to leave his kids, and I didn’t exactly get along with the other guys from Sentinel.” She didn’t exactly get along with Simon either, but she wasn’t well versed in lying just yet.

Lucky just raised her brow in acknowledgement, nodding, “see you on stage.”

Clementine could only sigh before Soap had shown up in her doorway, two wrapped subs in hand, “nice toes,” he grinned.

She scowled, taking the sandwich from him and promptly unwrapping it, but she hesitated when she went to take a bite, glancing up at him. (He was already three bites into his, must’ve made a start on the drive back.) “Soap?”

“Yeah?” he refrained from his next bite that nearly had him unhinging his jaw. He ate like he’d been starved.

She cleared her throat, already feeling a warmth creeping up her neck, “thank you—”

“I would’ve got ye a sandwich even if ye dinnae ask,” he said, “no biggie.”

“No,” she let out a tiny laugh, “I mean for yesterday—before the show. I was—um—”

He took a seat on the chair Lucky had dragged in from the corner of the room, “s’hardly anythin’ to thank me over. Ghost’s put the fear of god into ye, I’d be worried if ye dinnae freak out.”

“I just…” she sighed, looking away. His stare was so intense, but unlike Simon’s, it was just open, patient. “I didn’t think this Mark thing would still be haunting me after so long. I mean, I haven’t seen him in nearly two years, I haven’t heard a thing from Las Almas in nearly two years—I want my life back. This was all just thrust upon me—I feel like I haven’t made a decision for myself lately except for what I want in my food.”

“Aye, it’s no’ fair on ye at all. Ye’ve been handed some shite cards lass,” he agreed. “But we’re here to ease yer worries.”

She finally took a bite of her sandwich, leaning back against her headboard. “You know,” she started again, disrupting the quiet, “I wasn’t worried about any of this until you all showed up.” A knot of unease tightened in her stomach when she looked at him next. “How…how come you guys knew about Las Almas interest in me and I didn’t?”

He didn’t falter for a second, shrugging, “tha’s our job Miss Watson. If we dinnae ken the threat hanging over yer head, wha’ good would we be?”

She looked at him a little longer, studying his face, a notch in her brow, but he met and held her stare. There was no reason to doubt him in his eyes, no shift that made her suspicious. “I guess Protecta’s reputation stands for a reason then,” she said finally, returning to her sub.

He tore his eyes away from her after a lingering second, “aye.”

[ruinedmefic]

Chapter 2 - I Know It's Over

Chapter summary: Clementine's social battery plummets Masterlist ✦ Ao3 Read this fic on Ao3 (up to chapter 5) I Know It's Over - The Smiths

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Read the Prologue first Or catch up on Chapter 1

January 9th 2024 | 10:43am

Clementine winced as the heel of her foot was pressed into her ass, her thigh stinging on the edge of painfully. “That's why I do yoga,” Lucky spouted from the masseuse table to her right, hearing Clementine’s hiss.

“Oh, you’d love my Pilates class,” Gabi said from the left, “I’m telling you, that’s why I snapped back so quick after having Luca.”

“Yeah, that was pretty insane actually,” Lucky said, “where’s the class?”

Clementine let their chatter drift around her, too distracted by the hand trying to worm its way beneath her shoulder blade. She bit her lip, her face scrunching up. These deep tissue massages were always Lucky’s idea, and sure, she felt great an hour or so after the ordeal, but during? It was good that she hadn’t inherited her mother’s easy bruising.

Taking a long swig from her drink bottle afterwards, she grumbled as they ambled toward her hummer in the lot outside, “I feel pulverised.”

Gabi laughed, offering a gentle pat to her arm, “you say that every time.” She zipped up her jacket, a soft, puffy thing that Clementine eyed with envy, she had layered up with a thermal hoodie under a regular hoodie, unable to find her jacket before Lucky was dragging her out of the house.

They climbed into the car, Gabi and Lucky had belted themselves in the backseat before Clementine had the chance to slot in between them, leaving her to sit beside Silent-Simon. “Right,” Gabi started, pulling out her phone, “I’ve got a meeting with Olivia and Kalahni at Tom’s place—Clem, Kalahni wants to talk with you. Lucky, you’ve got fittings with Klaus at his studio at twelve—take Linc with you please.”

“I’ll drop you off then, Lucky?” Simon asked with a glance at the rearview mirror. Clementine couldn’t help but glare at him, he used such a polite tone with everyone else—well, polite, monotone, same diff with him—but with her? Whatever partial sentence he gave her sounded like a fucking quip. The skin around his eyes would crease slightly, silver-blonde lashes catching the sun as he narrowed his eyes tauntingly. It was maddening. She hated it.

Lucky, unaware of the mental daggers Clementine was digging into the man’s side, just replied with an easy, “at home please, thank you.”

Simon didn’t so much as look at Clementine as they got onto the road.

“Are you gonna listen to me, or are you about to test my patience?”

For the past three days, it’d been like this. She knew it’d be simpler to just comply, but he had irked her like nonother ever had. If he couldn’t treat and respect her like the grown adult she is, then she wouldn’t offer him any sympathies. Simple as that.

— ✦ —

“For the sake of balance, I’m going to ask a little extra of you Clem,” Kalahni Carter had her locs pulled up into a bun, her glasses near sparkling as they perched on the bridge of her nose. “A lot of footage of you that we get, unless it’s on stage or with the rest of the band or your team, will need to be edited per your security details request to have their faces blurred wherever the shot is necessary to keep in. And in doing so, I would wager a lot of the material we get will just look poor or unusable.”

Clementine crossed her arms over her chest, “what do you mean? You want a shit ton of confessionals from me then, like some skit?” She hated when people watched her the way Olivia and Gabriella were doing now. Silent, watching the interaction, taking notes. She felt like an experiment, bugs crawling beneath her skin.

Tom was leaning against the kitchen counter, cradling a mug of tea. She was sure he was listening, but his attention was taught between his fraying notebook, computer, and phone.

Kalahni’s expression broke with a smile, “no, we’re not turning this into a comedy. I want what you want and agreed to—we’re keeping this real and personal. I was thinking we’d add in a little more of you into the voice overs with some nightly logs—”

“You want me to keep a diary?” she cut in, reaching up to twist her earring around her lobe. It made D’Angelo squirm whenever she did that, but it wasn’t something she noticed all that often.

“Pretty much. I won’t ask you to do it every day—I mean, a third of the tour is just going to be travelling— but I’m sure there’ll be a couple times where I’ll ask you to record one. However, if you could treat it like keeping a diary and make a habit out of it, that would be great.

“I was also thinking—and this is entirely up to you,” she started, waving her hand about as if she were instantly dismissing the idea, “I want to get you a camcorder to use at your own whim. If you ever wanted to record a picture to go with your diary, or there was something you wanted to contribute that we weren’t there for or really, just anything you wanted. You don’t ever have to use it, and even if you do, you don’t have to give the material to us to use. It would be yours to keep.”

She reached behind her, into her bag, nearly leaning off her stool, before pulling out a box with the Panasonic logo on the side, an image of a generic-looking camcorder promising lasting family memories, and adventure capturing from your point of view!

Clementine took the box, shrugging, “thanks.”

There was a moment of silence the Kalahni broke, giving Clementine a look, “I know I’ve said it before to all of you, but if there’s ever a day where it’s just too much, where you don’t want to be recorded, just let me or Seb know somehow, and we’ll pass the message onto our crew. This tour will be very demanding of everyone involved so I want you to know that I don’t intend to add more pressure on top of that on purpose. I think this will be a great opportunity to make something honest and passionate, you know?” she said, that warm smile on her face again. Clementine was yet to see her without it showing up at least once.

She nodded, an ounce of pressure loosening inside her chest. “Thank you.”

Tom spoke up then, drawing Kalahni’s attention to some date changes that he wanted clarified with the crew, making sure everyone was moving on the same days. And Clementine was more than happy to take her leave.

Olivia caught her by the door, “Clementine, I just wanted to properly introduce myself. Things felt a little awkward the other night, my nerves were getting the better of me,” she huffed a laugh, tucking a wisp of blonde hair behind her ear. She extended her left hand to the singer, “I’m Olivia Weaving, it’s very nice to meet you Clementine, I’ve been a fan of your work since your demo tapes and I’m excited to get to know you better in the coming months.”

The emerald sitting on her ring finger caught the overhead light in the foyer as Clementine shook her hand. “Oh, yeah, you’re recently married,” she murmured, looking back up at the woman, “will your partner be joining you? I haven’t seen—”

She shook her head, her cheeks turning rosier the longer the conversation went on, “no, he’s staying back for work. It’s okay, facetime is a great invention,” she smiled. “We’re long distance half the year any way, it’s okay.”

“It’s still a big sacrifice for a tour,” Clementine said, attempting to bury her hands in her pockets before realising she had the camcorder in one.

“He gets it, I’ve been talking his ear off about Eye For An Eye ever since you guys came onto the scene. I mean, I was a little reluctant to leave him so quickly after our honeymoon, but he said I’d be silly if I didn’t take the opportunity. Said it was my chance to travel for work.” A dimple popped in her cheek when she spoke about him.

Clementine took the bait with ease, shifting her weight onto her other foot, “what does he do? International journalist or something?”

“Oh no!” she laughed, “he’s in sports. The NHL actually—Seattle Kraken as of last year.” There was no hiding the way Clementine’s eyebrows rose. “I know, I even got some articles written about me for a change, super weird. But yeah, I promise it’s not so bad to go travel the world chasing you lot around.”

— ✦ —

Simon eyed the box in Clementine’s hand the moment she sat in the passenger seat, “takin’ up videography?”

“It’s a gift from Kalahni; she said I could use it for the documentary or just keep it for myself.”

His expression didn’t sway, if anything his brows pinched closer together, “I’m gonna check that out before you use it.”

She scoffed, finally looking at him, “oh, Las Almas is going to shoot me down from inside a camcorder? Simon, I hope you know the little people on the screen are just videos, they can’t hurt you.”

The look he gave her was somewhere in scathing territory, “why don’t you take this threat seriously?”

“It’s been almost two years since Mark was arrested and in all that time I haven’t seen or heard a thing from anyone even remotely connected. I’m not on their radar Simon; you can take a fucking breather—hey!” he took the box out of her hands. “Seriously? This is ridiculous.”

“Can you get the box out of the glove compartment?” he asked, flipping the camera over in his hands, brows furrowing at the screws.

Sighing, she opened the compartment in front of her, raising a brow at the two first aid kits and the mini toolbox. “Preparing for the apocalypse?”

“Toolbox,” was all he grunted in response. She handed it over and he flipped it open, lifting the bottom level of wrenches to flit through tiny screwheads that she’d seen her dad use on his glasses once or twice.

If he had a table in front of him, Clementine would’ve bet that the camera would be in pieces in front of him. He dismantled the camera in less than a minute, loose screws on the flat top of the centre console and stray parts in his lap or the dash. She watched him lift the skeleton of the camcorder into the light, peering between its bones like a bear checking it’d stripped a carcass of all its meat, before he began putting it back together seamlessly. It happened so quick she was surprised to see the loading sequence on the small screen, not realising that it’d been repaired again.

Simon’s voice broke her staring, startling. Her back into her body. “If anyone ever gives you anything like this; cameras, phones, computers, even gifs from your fans—I want to check them out before you use any of it.” She opened her mouth, but he raised a hand, “non-negotiable.”

“Non-negotiable?” she echoed, blinking, dumbfounded. “What is up for negotiation then?”

It was meant to be rhetorical.

“Not much, it’d be better if you just asked before doing anything.”

Her jaw dropped. “You’re kidding, right? What—I can’t take a shit without your permission now?”

He rolled his eyes, “nothing that trivial, any hotel room you stay in will be cleared by my team before you step foot in the room. You can take as many shits as you like in peace.”

“Oh, thank the fucking heavens,” she muttered, her own eyes perusing the ceiling of the car for any semblance of patience. Unfortunately, there was very little there.

“Look, if you think this is ridiculous, you’ll be shocked when we get out of Northern America. The UK will be more of the same—they’re more aware of the threat Las Almas is currently posing,” he said, shrugging, “but the rest of the world…I’m not promising a carefree escort service Clementine. I need you to take this seriously before we get out there.”

She levelled her stare with his, that knot of unease that had seized her the other night returning to roil in her gut. “Fine. Las Almas is out to kill me. What now?”

“Now you meet the rest of your security detail.”

— ✦ —

Not that she’d done any exploring in recent years, but Clementine was entirely unfamiliar with this part of L.A. Through Canyon Crest Road, a little slice of Altadena was tucked away. But they didn’t stop once they saw houses again, they kept going, and going, and going until Clementine felt a chill down her nape that wasn’t from the AC. “Where are we going?”

He spared her a glance out of the corner of his eye and the look on her face must have been a sight to behold because he actually laughed. “Fuckin’ hell, I’m not gonna kill you. I’m taking you to meet the rest of your security detail. I told you that already.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” she said, peering out the window and seeing only wet patches on the dirt and gravel road. What little greenery was left out here had a grey tinge, as if it was reflecting the sky. “And I’m not naturally inclined to believe everything you say— in case that hasn’t already been established.”

When they finally came to a stop, rain had started its gentle decent from the sky, landing in a soft pit pat on the windshield. They house they were currently pulling into the garage of didn’t exactly scream Protecta HQ, but again, Clementine braced regardless. “The fuck are you doin’?”

Opening her eyes, she looked at Simon. “Bracing.”

“For what?” he eyed her tightly clenched fists, the car jolting at the abrupt stop in the garage, the engine turning off at the flick of his wrist. “To break your thumb? Over your fingers, not under. You’ll injure no one but yourself like that.”

Feeling her ears burn hot she unclenched her hands. “whatever. Are you gonna show me your bunk bed or what?”

“What?”

“This is your clubhouse, isn’t it?”

He stared at her in a way that was becoming all too familiar, it made her feel strikingly stupid. Yet another thing he did that she hated. “It’s a temporary base of operations.”

“Okay special agent,” she scoffed, reaching for the door, “any booby traps in here or can I stretch my legs?”

His response came only in the form of him getting out of the car, appearing unharmed when he stood, looking back at her through the window. She got out, her hand itching to hold the camcorder if only for something to cling to. Perhaps she could use it as evidence of her kidnapping— “are you gonna join me or what?”

She made her way to his side, shoving her hands deep into her hoodie pockets. Following his lead, she shucked off her sneakers by the door and followed him inside into a…laundry room. She really ought to calm down.

“Where the fuck did ye put my pants Gaz? Fuckin’ bampot,” someone was grumbling, trudging through the corridor beyond the laundry in only a pair of boxers and a long sleeve navy henley. “Ach—Christ, Ghost, I’m puttin’ a fuckin’ bell on ye, I swear to—oh hello.”

“Put your eyes back in your bloody head Johnny,” Simon grunted, palming the man’s forehead and steering him in the opposite direction of Clementine, “and get some pants on. We’re not repeatin’ Amsterdam.” Johnny (allegedly) barked a laugh at the comment and retreated.

Clementine raised a brow behind Simon, murmuring, “what happened in Amsterdam?”

The man shook his head, “need to know.”

“Need to fucking know,” she grumbled as she followed behind him. She was reluctant to enter the house but not reluctant enough to linger behind and lose sight of him.

It was a very…normal house. Just lacking pictures. Well, pictures of people. There were more than enough landscape and nature photos. Nondescript blue skies and lone palm trees or aggressive postcard-esque imagery that looked like a stock image shoved into a frame galore. The more she looked around and found only similar photos, the more she figured that they actually werestock images stripped of their watermarks.

“Clementine Watson,” a grumble sounded to her right, making her jump, “started to wonder if I’d ever see more than just the name.”

The man before her had one hell of a moustache and beard. Clementine glanced at Simon who looked entirely indifferent, and she fetched her voice from where it’d been hiding behind a rock. “It’s nice to meet you.”

His smile immediately set her at ease, crow’s feet etched into the corner of his eyes that nearly squeezed shut, “don’t tell me Ghost has you scared stiff. Sent the wrong lad out to fetch you, huh?”

She frowned, looking at him and then Simon beside her, “Ghost?”

“Never heard a callsign before?” he grunted in answer, as polite as he’d ever get apparently.

“Ignore him,” the moustache said, the words appearing from behind a near-invisible mouth. “I’m John Price, you can just call me Price though,” he said, offering a wink. He turned, leaving her no choice but to follow him into the kitchen unless she stay stuck by Simon who seemed unwilling to move any further into the house. Boundary reached then, she noted. “Simon’s the head of your security detail, but everything else, comes back to me—”

“Price,” Simon grunted from behind her, “that’ll do.”

John looked at him over his shoulder and, in a flash, a decision was reached, “right. In your case, then,” he started again, that easy smile returning as he sunk into a single seater couch in the living room, “I’m just another Simon.” She must’ve pulled a face, he laughed, “one’s more than enough for you huh?”

She didn’t dare look at the Manc beside her, dipping her head. “Just not used to Simon yet.”

“That’s alright Miss Watson; I’d wager the rest of us are a touch more palatable.”

“Fuck off,” Simon grumbled, fetching himself a glass of water behind her.

She’d almost forgotten that that was something he’d need to do. Something he’d have to take off that damned mask to do. But the moment she turned, intrigue permeating the air, he turned away from her, shielding his face from sight.

The man from before entered through the living room doorway, now with pants (thankfully), he offered her a grin, quite unlike the warm smile Price had given. “If she looks like tha’, how bonnie d’ye reckon her ma’d be?” he asked Price, leaning across the couch.

Price slugged him across the shoulder, “take a cold shower you little prick.”

“Come off it, Johnny,” Simon sighed, (mask back in place, Clementine confirmed with a quick glance over her shoulder). She felt a little like she had in her meeting earlier, surrounded, examined. “You ought to play nice or I’m gettin’ you swapped for Hendrix.”

The Scotsman grumbled a curse, rolling his eyes, “call me Soap, lass.”

“Soap?” she echoed, frowning.

“Aye,” he cocked a brow in challenge, “ye got someone in yer band called Lucky, dinnae see ye laughin’ at her and she’s no’ the one watchin’ yer arse—”

“Well, her name isn’t a cleansing product—”

“But if she is watchin’ yer arse, I’ll happily take the night shift—”

“Johnny—”

“Simon, I want to leave, and I want someone else in this little squad of yours—anyone else.”

The jangle of keys was immediate, as was the scolding of one John to the other.

“That was short-lived,” a new voice said, emerging from the hallway she and Simon were just about to return to. “I’m Gaz, nice to meet you.”

The smile she gave him was taught as a rubber band, “you too.” She wanted to go home. She was still sore from her massage, analysed and ogled enough for a lifetime, and all she wanted was her bed. “No need to give you my name, I imagine,” she had aimed for a joke but couldn’t so much as muster a laugh.

His came easily, warming his face, “don’t think so, no. Soap say somethin’ crass?” he asked, his eyes raking over her face.

She turned away. Maybe this was why Simon had a mask, perhaps it stopped the feeling of the stares from singing his skin.“I’ve got somewhere to be. It was nice to meet you Gaz,” she repeated, her hands turning clammy as she wrung them in her pocket.

Heeding the tip of Simon’s head, Gaz moved aside, and she followed the broad man down the hallway, far too relieved to see the car again.

“Back to Lucky’s?” He asked, she nodded. To his credit, he didn’t say anything as she curled up in the passenger seat, drawing her hood up over her head, her tears burning tracks down her cheeks and fogging the window as she leaned her head against it.

— ✦ —

“Clementine,” a deep voice plucked her from the land of the unreachable, grounding her with a hand likely shaking her shoulder.

“Sorry,” Simon said, retracting his hand as she sat up, “we’re here.”

She looked out the windshield, blinking at the familiar house. She must’ve fallen asleep. “Oh,” she murmured, unbuckling her seat belt and opening the door. “Thank you.” She felt disjointed, sniffling, clearing her throat.

“Miss Watson?” His voice returned, a reminder in his tone.

Clementine turned back, her feet on the driveway, and saw the box oof the camcorder in one of his hands and a take-away cup and bag in the other. “Oh,” she said again, taking the box. “What’s that?” she asked, nodding at the take-away.

“You should eat something, I don’t think you’ve had lunch yet, it’s just past three now. It’s just chai and a bagel,” he said, holding the items out for her to take.

It was her usual from the bakery near the studio where they’d had rehearsal from the past three days.

“I’ll eat them if you don’t want it—” she took the food, her stomach suddenly clenching as it remembered itself.

“Thank you.” She lingered a moment, “could you—could you not mention—”

He held up a hand, “you have my word. Sorry about Johnny, he’ll acclimate within a day or two, acts like a fuckin’ twat but he’s solid.”

She just nodded. Lingering again. She didn’t know what to do—didn’t know if she even wanted to be in the house, the lights were on, and she could hear a gameshow playing.

Simon didn’t miss a thing, “want some more to eat?” She could hear his words for what they were, want to drive around a little longer?

“I’m sure you’ve got better things to do,” she said, shaking her head and closing her door, making the short trek to the front door. Hopefully she could duck away and read for a while or just sleep some more. She didn’t look back as the car started behind her again.

He’d be back by nightfall; she knew that much.

[ruinedmefic]

Chapter 1 - Reanimator

Chapter summary: Clementine butts heads with her new bodyguard Masterlist ✦ Ao3 Read this chapter on Ao3! (up to chapter 4) Reanimator - Joji

Read the Prologue first

January 5th 2024 | 8:35am

“I always look like a Smurf after having you in my chair,” Annabelle snapped her gum as she pressed the pads of her fingers into Clementine’s scalp, rinsing out the last of the colour.

Clementine nearly forgot to respond, practically melting into the basin from the massage, “you wear gloves.”

“Well, they don’t go up to my fuckin’ armpits, do they? When are you gonna switch from this blue? It’s been, what—two years? Longer?”

“I’m not switching from the blue Annie, it’s cute, and besides, what would I even do?” They’d had this conversation time and time again. Clementine didn’t argue too hard because there were only two hair salons in the shrunken city and Annabelle was the only lady who was happy to take her on before opening and not pepper her with questions on her life.

Because Annabelle didn’t give two shits about Clementine Watson or Mark-fucking-Bradley. She’d listened to Eye for an Eyeexactly once, and that was only because she thought Clementine was joking when she said she wanted a private appointment to avoid the public. As quiet as Willowbrook was, the townspeople weren’t exactly immune to gossip.

“Well, we could start with purple but red would be so cute. Or we could finally go platinum.”

Clementine snorted a laugh, “when my hair goes white, it’ll be from old age… but I can think about purple.”

The appointment was over too soon. Mickey, who had been scrolling on his phone in the corner of the room, the picture of boredom, was grateful to be getting out of the salon. Having a bodyguard in Willowbrook felt like overkill most days, but the near-constant company wasn’t so bad when she made a conscious effort to stay away from crowds.

Not to mention her manager, Tom, hadn’t given her much of an option.

Her phone nearly buzzed itself out of her pocket, she held it to her ear as she got in the black hummer, Mickey taking the driver’s seat. “Hey Clem,” at Mickey’s raised brow, she mouthed Tom’s name. “Just wanted to check that you’re on schedule for your flight at 11:30am—I know how you leave things last minute. Are you packed yet? I want to have you picked up and at the penthouse for drinks on time tonight.”

“Yes, I’ve packed Tom, I was doing so when you called last night,” she said, pulling down the sun visor and sliding open the mirror, taking another look at her hair. All over navy with some brighter blue highlights. The same as always, just a touch up. “We’re just going to get some breakfast and then well be at the airport, I swear.”

“And you remember your security detail is changing, there’ll be a Simon Riley from Protecta waiting to collect you when you touch down, okay?”

“I remember.”

Tom sighed, “I don’t like you travelling alone.”

She tugged at a loose thread in the seam of her sweatpants, “you’ve got me in first class for nearly eight hours. The layover’s an hour and a half, I’ll get a late lunch or something—besides, I’ll be three hours ahead of schedule. When I touch down it won’t even be five yet.”

“Just—message when you can. Oh, and D’Angelo’s complaining that you haven’t replied to him in a few days, do I need to worry?”

“No, I’ll see what he wants. Go back to sleep old man, it’s too early for you to be awake.”

In the second of hesitation it took for Tom to respond, Clementine knew he was rolling his eyes. “I’ll see you this evening—text me!”

She hummed a reply and hung up, slumping further into her seat. “Kind of wish you didn’t have a family,” she murmured.

Mickey cracked a laugh, “I’ll be sure to let my wife know you said that.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know, I know,” he smiled. Mickey was just an oversized teddy bear. “But I can’t be travelling for nearly eight months and leave my wife alone with the twins. She’d kill me twice over.” Catching her slipping smile, the man shook his head, “you’ll be fine. Protecta’s got a good rep.”

“Sure, but I don’t know this Simon guy.”

“You didn’t always know me,” he countered, and she gave him a look before staring out the window, watching the snowy city centre pass by. Saying goodbye to her bed this morning had been a poor way to start her day, and it only seemed to be getting gloomier as the day went on. “It’s a process Clem.”

— ✦ —

Mickey had accompanied her as far as he could, she saw him waving through the window as she boarded. She couldn’t tell if he could see her wave back.

It was the layover in Chicago that made her antsy.

She ate a six-inch sub from Subway and sipped on a small bottle of blackcurrant juice before spent the rest of her time loitering a bookstore, distractedly skimming the spines after sending off a text to Tom. Pointedly leaving D’Angelo’s message unopened.

She needn’t have worried so much, tugging her cap low and taking a seat by her gate with a half hour to spare, no one gave her more than a glance. She was just another traveller in sweatpants, fiddling with their phone.

LAX is where she encountered her first problem. For the life of her, Clementine could not see Simon Riley.

Double checking the grainy (frankly intimidating) photo Tom had sent her as ID, she cast her gaze out at the crowd again and a knot of worry tightened in her stomach. She fired off a few messages to her manager, who, in turn, passed on her number.

Unknown number, just now

] Turn around, you’ve missed me three times.

Irked already, Clementine turned and found herself staring at a tall, large man wearing a black fabric face mask and holding up a piece of paper that said Miss Watson. The crowd parted around him, and she nearly wished she was walking with them. Away.

“You could have said something instead of watching me panic,” she snapped, walking up to him. She felt a little stiff in her knees, and neck, not having moved a whole lot in that last flight was catching up with her.

Other than the mask, he wore a thick black hoodie, fading dark jeans, and boots. The fabric at the top of his shoulders was slightly darker, promising wet weather outside. He crumpled the paper sign and tossed it in a bin, nodding his head towards the exit doors that streamed in bleak daylight. The sun was already setting at 4:45pm. “Drinks are at six, do you want to go straight to your hotel?”

His accent made her ears perk up, unexpected. Though, she had a feeling she’d learn to expect the unexpected around him. “Hotel? I’m staying with Lucky and Fowler tonight.” She pulled up her hood as they left the airport to find the car, drawing the strings to ensure her hair would require no extra finesse to look nice tonight.

“Since when?”

“Well, I never booked a hotel room. I always stay with them in L.A. The hotels here are just too much.”

He pointed out the charcoal grey car, just a different shade of the hummer she’d sat in that same morning, and they both climbed in. “Right,” he simply grunted and looked about on his phone for a moment before dropping it back into the cupholder in the centre console. “It’s a thirty-minute drive to theirs and another twenty to get to the hotel for the party. Long day for you.”

She would’ve been struck by the comment if she wasn’t so preoccupied with the first part, “you just have everyone’s addresses memorised?”

“Would you rather I just walk around with my head up my arse?”

Blinking, she just frowned, returning to her phone.

He turned the radio up.

And otherwise, they sat in silence.

— ✦ —

“Clem! I missed you!” Megan “Lucky” Cole seemed to be two glasses of wine down when she welcomed Clementine into her house. They had a place up in the hills in a gated community, it was large, but they had an eye for design and comfort. They’d made a home for themselves. “Ooh, is this the new security guy?”

Her eyes had drifted to the car parked at the end of the driveway where Simon sat in the driver’s seat, head dipped as he looked at something on his phone. “Yeah, Simon. So far, I think he might be an ass.”

“Tough luck,” Lucky murmured, and then tugged her the rest of the way inside and closed the door. “C’mon, put your bags down and get changed, you smell like an old sandwich,” she said, with a pointed glance at the smudge of sauce long dried on her chest.

“Thanks,” Clementine mumbled, bumping her shoulder as they walked deeper into the house.

Lincoln Fowler was sprawled across the couch in the living room, in all but his shoes, gazing sleepily at the television across the room. He did a partial crunch, seeing who had just entered his house, and gave her a slight nod, his sunglasses perched on the very tip of his nose, his brown hair in wild disarray per usual, “how was the flight?”

Another shrug, “long as ever,” she turned to Lucky who was grabbing her keys, “I’ll head out in ten, see you there?”

Lucky nodded, giving her shoulder a squeeze before they made their way out of the house. Clementine took her bag to the spare room and rubbed her face. She could practically feel the bags under her eyes.

She changed in the bathroom. Nothing crazy, just a black long sleeve with a scoop neck and some flared jeans. She swiped on some makeup and dragged on her boots and a thick coat, dredging her sunglasses out of the bottom of her handbag.

By the time she was locking the door behind her, the rain had stopped. She made her way to the car at the end of the driveway, putting on some lip-gloss as she went and twisting her rings.

“You’re gonna be ten minutes late,” Simon said the moment she opened the door.

She just wanted to sleep her way from now to rehearsal tomorrow. Getting drinks with producers and crew and that magazine writer was entirely different from just getting drinks with the band. This was a schmoozing party to meet everyone and to “build camaraderie after so long apart” as Gabi, the band’s publicist, had said (while talking her into attending). “Can we take the scenic route?”

His eyes bore into the side of her head, she could feel them as she fastened her seatbelt. “Did you not just hear me? You’re already late.”

“Yeah, and I wanna cut down the time I’m gonna be there,” she bit out, eyes flashing, “so take me for a fucking drive.”

It was clear in the set of his brow, lowering over his eyes, that she’d just pissed him off, but her patience had been waning since she got out of bed.

“Or I’ll go for a walk by myself.”

They both knew that wouldn’t happen, couldn’t��happen. A) he’d never let her out of his sights if he was half the helicopter she was already assuming him to be. B) it was dipping towards freezing outside and regardless of her coat, she was dressed to be indoors. C) Tom would wring the both of them by their necks if they never showed up.

Gritting his teeth, Simon said nothing and pulled out of the drive, rigid from his knuckles to his shoulders. She looked out the window, elbow on the ledge and chin in her hand, watching the asphalt glitter under the streetlights. She wished December hadn’t ended. That she could push out this tour prep just a little longer.

Then she’d at least feel ready.

Maybe.

The streets and passing cars had become static in her eyes as she stared blankly out the window, unmoving. With a jolt, she realised they were pulling into the valet of the hotel Tom had booked. Peering up at the building through the window, her eyes strained, she could hardly see the top. She reached for the door, but Simon’s voice stopped her.

“Hold on—I need to get something clear.”

Clementine turned, one hand on the doorhandle, cutting him with a glare.

“This is gonna be a very long eight months if you can’t listen to me. I can’t have you talkin’ over me, or gettin’ reckless cause you’re in a bloody mood, alright?” She scoffed, a spark of indignation flaring inside her chest. “You’ll only get yourself in trouble that I’m here to help you avoid.”

“A mood? A “bloody” mood?!”

“Yeah, a fuckin’ mood. You don’t wanna get drinks, that’s fine. But don’t try to undermine my authority to keep your head in one piece, yeah?”

Her words tumbled into one another in her throat, making her splutter, “k—keep my head in one piece? What the fuck do you think this is?! You’re a glorified babysitter and an alibi, Simon. Don’t get this twisted—”

“No,” his voice lowered, much like the temperature, as he levelled her with a stare so lethal she could feel herself hesitate to even swallow. “Youdon’t get this twisted. Your ex fucked with the wrong people. Now you’ve got me here making sure you don’t die while prancing across a bloody stage in different countries for little under a year. This isn’t fun, funny, or fuckin’ borin’. It’s a game of cat and mouse, and you’re not the cat Miss Watson.”

“I know Mark had business with Las Almas, Simon, but that’s over now. I cut my ties with him long before he got put behind bars.”

Simon just looked at her, the bags under his eyes told her more than he did. Something had been bothering him for a while before they’d even met. “Things like this are never over until the debts been settled. Plus interest.”

Like her own hand on the door handle, a vice-like grip took hold of her chest, her palm grew clammy. “How do you even know any of this?”

“There are far worse things you should be worryin’ about Miss Watson. With any luck, you won’t ever have to find out.” He got out of the car, crossing round to open her door. She looked at him, properly, as he stood before her.

The mask obscured his lower face, but still, there was a silvering, twisting scar that crept out like a vein towards his left temple, forming a dent across the skin of cheekbone. He had his hood down now, exposing the dirty blonde hair he had cropped short to his head.

When light hit brown eyes, usually they looked like gold. Simon’s eyes were little more than an abyss, promising nothing beautiful, offering no embellishment. No warmth, just a steely glint.

“So, are you gonna listen to me or are you about to test my patience?” He offered her a hand to climb down from the car.

She looked at it and climbed down by herself, tugging her coat tighter around her shoulders, “I didn’t ask for any of this, you know,” she said, glancing up at him just once before turning her shoulder, heading toward the entrance of the hotel.

— ✦ —

“Oh my god,” someone gasped when Clementine stepped into the kitchen, fixing herself a glass of brandy with ginger ale. She looked up, everyone was gathered in the living room, chatting and lounging about the couches like it was someone’s house and they were all friends.

Gabriella Ortiz, the band’s publicist (“Clementine’s shit wiper,” as she’d once drunkenly titled herself), leapt up to greet her, “Clem, so happy you made it!” There was a sharpness to her eyes that told her she was not impressed by her less-than-prompt arrival. “Come, I want you to meet Olivia from Applause Report, she’ll be conducting interviews for the documentary, and will also be running the blog. She’s a big fan,” she added, with a tight, reprimanding smile. Behave, it said, be nice.

The woman in question, Olivia, was flushed across her cheeks when Clementine approached, getting to her feet from the couch to shake the proffered hand. It was clammy. Something clicked in Clementine’s head, “are you the one who runs that “Peeler’s updates” subpage on Applause Report?”

The way Olivia’s eyes bulged gave her away. “Oh my—you’ve seen that?” she managed to get out, looking utterly mortified.

Clementine huffed a disbelieving laugh, “I get the notifications. You’re very, um, dedicated,” was just a nice way of saying creepy, “to the band.”

“Guilty as charged,” she said, a tiny smile flitting across her lips, “I’m a long-time fan.”

A pillow hit the back of Clementines leg, she turned to see D’Angelo raising a brow at her from the couch, “not even a hello?”

“Hello,” she deadpanned.

“Can we talk?��� He asked, hooking a thumb over his shoulder to the balcony.

She glanced back, seeing Olivia’s eager face in front of her, and suppressed a sigh to the best of her ability. From the corner seat, she could feel Tom’s gaze burning holes in the back of her head. Being late to what was basically orientation day (night in this case) and not talking to band members would not sit well with him. So, she obliged.

Setting her glass down on the coffee table, she shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat—yet to take it off—and followed him out onto the balcony. The wind whipped across her cheeks like there were blades in the breeze, making her eyes water. “I don’t think there’s anything more that I can say, D.”

He sighed, leaning against the railing, “I know.” He shrugged, reaching up to rub the back of his head, “I actually want to apologise.”

That got her attention, she turned to face him finally, her gaze torn from the city lit up like a sound desk, “you don’t have to. Really, I’d prefer to just forget it.”

“But you can’t, and you won’t talk to me. I…I shouldn’t have kissed you. I was confused and lonely and saw something that wasn’t there. I’m sorry Clem.”

Even beneath the moon and its cool winds, she thawed, her eyes dipping to the damp pavers beneath them as she nudged his boot with hers. It’s okay, it said, I’m sorry too. He huffed a laugh, nudging her back. “Kind of wish we never played crushed bone for the label—that it didn’t get put on the record,” she admitted, nudging her chin under the fur lining of her coat. Illuminated by the lights from the living room, her breath came out in white puffs. “It was simple when no one else heard it.”

He nodded, “yeah.”

“I’m sorry for ignoring you,” she offered after a while, just before they returned inside, his hand freezing on the sliding door. “I panicked. After Mark—”

“Don’t,” he cut her off, “neither of us want a relationship with each other, I know that now. It was just really fucking poor timing. I wanted to get that sorted before we spent eight months at arm’s length in the same room, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“C’mon, you’ve gotta meet Bogen’s camera guys, they’re playing beer pong on the other balcony.”

[ruinedmefic]

Prologue

Chapter summary: Before the beginning. Masterlist ✦ Ao3 Read this fic on Ao3!

Article from ‘The Headliners’:

Alexis Collins | 21st November 2021

Yelling in the streets of San Clemente; A nightmare before thanksgiving!

The dirt in the eye of Mark Bradley’s rocky relationship.

Pictured above: Bradley’s girlfriend, Clementine Watson, escorted by bodyguard out of restaurant.

On the holiday season’s eve, tensions are brewing between America’s beloved Rom-Com star Mark Bradley and his two-year-long girlfriend, pop-rock band “Eye For An Eye” lead singer, Clementine Watson.

Yelling could be heard last night outside the illustrious hotspot French restaurant ‘Âmes de Velours’ located downtown of the couple’s home in San Clemente, CA.

The couple moved into their new Capistrano beachfront home earlier this year in February and despite living with her boyfriend in a city echoing her name, Watson appears reluctant to settle down; frequenting visits to her apartment and family in New Orleans between weeklong breaks away from home in downtown LA with her band in preparation of their long-awaited second album, “Ire Desire” releasing in the new year on January 8th.

The screaming match had been short-lived according to passerby, Eliza Arthur, “I was just coming back from the movies with my partner and all we could see and hear was just a swarm of people and on top of it all there was yelling. It was all “f*ck you” this and “f*ck you” that. It looked like [Watson] was crying as they drove off.” Little more has been confirmed from last night despite the swarm of paparazzi but following Watson’s disappearance amid Bradley’s film premiere last month, it’s starting to feel like the fans of Eye For An Eye are in for an emotional roller coaster impending the new release.

—

Article from “The Sundial Weekly”:

Bruce Robinson | 30th January 2022

Blizzard blights the Bradley name!

Major scandal in CA over live-in celebrity drug bust. 

America’s heartthrob Mark Bradley, star of “Kat & Curiosity”and “Promise of Strangers”, has cast a shadow over his upcoming HBO debut after getting arrested early yesterday morning. 

Just outside his San Clemente home, Bradley and his newly discovered mistress, Mei Zhenyu — his co-star in last year’s romcom “Kat & Curiosity” — were arrested at 3:45am in front of the lobby of The White Petal resort & casino. The Long Beach officer had chased the alleged couple down to Santa Ana where he found four ecstasy pills on Zhenyu’s person and 750 grams of cocaine hidden beneath the passenger seat of Bradley’s Corvette.

Video footage from clientele and guests of the resort & casino have begun emerging with angles from the balconies, entrances, and across the street making the Saturday night news across the country. Bradley can be heard shouting that he intends to sue for the damages to his corvette and name and that the snow-white haul was not his. The parcel was already opened, and his fingerprints have since been lifted from the evidence.

Bradley’s San Clemente home with fiancé Clementine Watson, lead singer of pop-rock band “Eye For An Eye”, was swarmed by police at the news. The search of the Capistrano beachfront home came up empty. Watson herself has yet to offer any commentary, after brief detainment on her knees in the driveway during the search, the musician was spotted pacing inside her front door awaiting the arrival of her team. Watson’s lawyers, publicist, and manager arrived at 6am and the other members of “Eye For An Eye” are yet to be sighted in public.

For the possession of controlled drugs, cocaine and ecstasy both in felony territory, Bradley and Zhenyu face an imprisonment of up to three years pending trial. This bust comes after Bradley was reportedly sighted giving a nod to commonly known and recently released Las Almas cartel member, Gabriel ‘Angel Wings’ Ruiz in the street last month when out with Watson for Christmas shopping. There have been no further sightings of Ruiz above the border, his business in California is unknown.

Rather on the nose, Bradley’s new sci-fi limited series, “Carnage Of Our Legacy” is set to release on the 4th of march this year and is yet to receive a new date or signs of delay post-scandal.

—

Article from ‘Applause Report’:

Olivia Bourne | 20th October 2023

Pop-rock ghost sighted with band members; Could there be a new project this Hallows Eve?

Eye For An Eye fans all in a twitter after sightings of the long silent band together again following the lead singer’s ex-fiancé’s drug and mistress scandals.

I, like many other “Peelers”, have been ecstatic over recent sightings of Clementine Watson; who disappeared after her Fiancé and — since blacklisted — romcom star Mark Bradley’s imprisonment mid may last year following his drug charges. 

Express-O café, located in the quaint town Willowbrook just south of Marquette, MI, has had an influx of visitors (namely me) after “Eye For An Eye” shared a sunday brunch in one of their wall booths. (Great waffle fries and great service, Clem has taste!) Over the past week Watson has been sighted in Willowbrook more and more frequently and it is suspected that the town is her new home base after the frightful end of her relationship with Bradley. 

There are still calls for an apology from San Clemente police after footage of the house search was released in the trial; exposing the rough nature in which Watson had been removed from her house and forced to kneel in her gravel driveway at 4am after doing nothing but comply with their barked orders. There was nothing found across their entire property except for what had been in Bradley’s car and nose, but the events and wrongly issued slander against the singer were enough to drive the social-butterfly into recluse.

After almost two years of silence from the singer — not a peep across her social media and no comments from her band mates on the woman in question — there has been a singular story posted on the “Eye For An Eye” instagram account. Nothing but a plum-purple flat background and the words “the 30th, 6pm EST” in stark white Arial font in the middle of the screen.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve had their entire discography on repeat ever since. 

From their debut album “Across The Room”, the opening track, “in the corner” and 8th track, “crimson tint” have returned to Billboard’s Hot 100 after the post was made. 

“Ire Desire” had been an instant success last year, flourishing amid the scandal, raking in over a million streams minimum for each track in just over a month. 

Three songs from their 2nd release still raise eyebrows after everything went down, and I’ll admit I too have been curious to know the real story we never got like the interviews after “Across The Room”. 

It’s now widely speculated that the Bradley-Watson relationship had been less steamy and sweet but rather pure verbal warfare behind closed doors, after the 3rd track “split tongue” discussed an inability to please through cleverly disguised innuendos. “Bitches galore” has also raised questions on whether or not Watson was aware of Bradley’s affair with Mei Zhenyu, his co-star in “Kat & Curiosty” which has since become a tough watch. Peelers across the globe had initially believed the song was about the split with her ex-best-friend Marianne Blake — which had been a much more privately handled affair than everything with Bradley — but now we’re not so sure. 

The last track off “Ire Desire” has garnered the most interest however, holding its number one spot on their Spotify since its release. A heavily grunge and psychedelic experience, “miss you, crushed bone” remains an aching masterpiece and subtle expose of the band’s drummer, D’Angelo Hunt’s own struggles with addiction. Written by Hunt and composed entirely by Watson, the song makes listeners long for comfort and release. Lyrics like “curling against my spine, my sweet divine, I love the way you hate me” and, more specifically, “stain my denim and hands, I live to see you on me,” do beg the question of how such an intimate piece was crafted by the two most public members of the four-person ensemble without a closer relationship forming. 

Watson and D’Angelo, as always, are accompanied by long-time marriage goals: guitarist Megan “Lucky” Cole and bassist Lincoln Fowler. The group met in high school in New Orleans, Watson and Cole’s birthplace.

—

Article from ‘Applause Report’:

Olivia Bourne-Weaving | 23rd November 2023

Get out your wallets and camping chairs; Revenge might just arrive at your doorstep in the new year

Yes, Eye For An Eye has just announced they’re going on a world tour in 2024, and no, that’s not all!

Arrived to work this morning two whole hours early just to get out this post. “Eye For An Eye” as of last midnight EST, announced that they’re going on their second tour in the new year— and this time, it’s world-wide!!!

I am also ecstatic to inform you, now that I am officially back to work after my honeymoon — thank you to any readers who sent in kind messages, I’ve never loved my inbox more than I did this morning — that I can finally reveal a big, big secret with the permission of Eye For An Eye’s team.

“Carnage Of Our Legacy” was cancelled after its first season following the overwhelming scandals, but Bradley’s shadow is starting to lift from over Clementine Watson’s head. HBO and “Eye For An Eye” have signed a contract to film a limited documentary series of their on-stage performances and a behind-the-scenes look into their lives while on tour. Treated as a “love letter to our supporters”, the docu-series will be directed by Kalahni Carter, with Sebastian Bogen as cinematographer. The duo recently scored themselves an academy award for their heartfelt mixed media short film, “Say How You Really Feel”. 

And, finally, I am incredibly pleased to announce that I will be travelling alongside (!!!!) the band to conduct long-awaited interviews and, in an unexpected turn, help run a blog for the band while on tour to record live updates, photos, and any extra fun stuff at the request of both the band and director.

Yes, I cried when they asked if I’d take on the project and yes, I’d already created the blog by 7am this morning. The introductory post will be out alongside this announcement with updates due to begin in January before the tour begins!

[ruinedmefic]

Ruined Me

Bodyguard!Ghost x OC/Reader

Blurb: Clementine’s security detail had to change. Well, no—that made it sound like she had more of a choice over it. When her ex-fiancé’s drug scandal had connections drawn between him and a certain cartel, Clementine was assigned a close protection officer even during her recluse. Now, about to go on a worldwide tour with camera’s capturing the very sweat down her back, her local bodyguard was no longer going to cut it. She wasn’t going to let the Las Almas Cartel scare her, not again. Although her new bodyguard certainly did. Protecta Security Company had a good reputation, often covering international cases like Clementine’s. It should soothe her; it should be reassuring. But meeting Simon Riley disturbed her waning relaxation. He seemed determined to instil the fear of God into her and try as she might to remain unbothered by the threat he brought to light, he was starting to wear her down. In more ways than one. “New photos of Clementine Watson of Eye For An Eye! What exactly is this bodyguard getting paid for?!”

✦ I’ll post excerpts, inspo pics, fic articles, and general updates here ✦

Read on Ao3 instead (chapter 5 out now)

Chapters: Prologue Chapter 1 - Reanimator