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eutaerpe · 4 years

Text

the escapades (m)

pairing — jimin x reader

genre/warnings— smut (oral, fingering, orgasm denial) & college!au, fratboy!jimin, brief e2l, brief ewb, acr universe

summary — the one where there’s a lot of unresolved sexual tension, until there isn’t.

notes — 8.3k words of the happiness before the storm i couldn’t write. i realised halfway through this there’s a slight plotwise change in comparison to what i wrote in acr so. yeah. sorry. kudos to you if you find it lol

The first time it happens, you’re pretending to be someone you’re not.

You’re sitting near the end of the table, crossing your legs and playing with the hem of your dress, your lips twisted into a frown. The real reason lying behind the simple decision of having a single, almost infinite table of guests doesn’t, in the slightest, cross your mind; why your idiotic brother would see this as a delightful idea really is above you, but you suppose the valuable genes in the family runs all in your DNA.

You’re playing with the table decorations while waiting for the guests to come, and it’s so fucking boring you regret telling Seulgi no, babe, what the fuck - you even shook your head and decided to sound extra mad at the idea - I won’t sneak in weed.

Too bad for you, she had answered, a cute pout on her lips, I’ll give you an hour before you’re bored out of your mind.

The truth hangs above your head, with a sheepish grin: you just needed ten minutes to be absolutely, drastically bored.

In hindsight, sneaking in weed wouldn’t have been the worst idea: your mother is talking to the in laws, gesticulating excitedly at the idea of kids right after marriage. What the fuck, you text Seulgi, at home trying to get out of bed, my brother has been married for an hour and there’s already baby talk going on at the table.

Seulgi

[12.49]

With the baby talk comes the dick talk

You

[12.49]

Oh no the dick talk

Seulgi

[12.50]

man how can you survive your relatives talking about nonexistent boyfriends without my weed, damn???

You

[12.50]

option a: I’ll tell them I’m dating you

Seulgi

[12.50]

we kissed ONE time

You

[12.50]

option b: I’ll tell them I’m in a relationship with Jeon jungkook

Seulgi

[12.50]

bitch we both know you’re not in a relationship with the hottest guy on campus. he has dimples and long hair and piercings. my sources can even confirm he has a big dick. what do U Have

You

[12.51]

i was talking about my vibrator but go off lmao

anyway I’ve had that D ;)

Seulgi

[12.51]

you’re officially cancelled

when did this happen? I can’t believe you’re telling me over text!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You

[12.51]

last semester!!!!! why do you think I’ve named my vib after him!!!!!!

Seulgi

[12.52]

because you’re lusting after him like the rest of us mortals!!!!!!!!!!

You

[12.52]

I’ve upgraded since then. I’ve leveled up. I’ve seen things People Can’t Even Imagine

Seulgi

[12.52]

just say he got u off and go

You

[12.52]

anyway option c: I scare them away by saying controversial things. Id est: I don’t believe in love. I am choosing my partner solely judging their abilities to finger me under a table when people are around. I am secretly lusting after my brother’s wife. I am trying to get impregnated like in The Sims 2 aka I am waiting for that alien dick.

Seulgi

[12.52]

hate to break it to you babe but that’s literally who you are

You

[12.52]

I literally compliment joohyun’s boobs once and this is the treatment I get

Seulgi

[12.52]

are we not gonna talk about your alien dick kink

You

[12.52]

no kink shaming in this house lady

option d: I listen to their complaints and run

Seulgi

[12.53]

option dick

man sorry I meant option d

You

[12.53]

you didn’t

Seulgi

[12.54]

ur right I didn’t

Option e, also known as I’ll entertain the other guests so I don’t have to talk to you, presents itself in the form of one very hot, very ripped young man sporting the most expensive shirt in the room. You’re only human when you admit to yourself, mental sigh, that he ticked all the let’s get y/n horny requirements in less than fifteen seconds.

You can’t believe Joohyun has kept him hidden for so long from you. Such betrayal ends when your brother, Kim fucking Seokjin, hugs him tight and brushes with utter affection the nape of his neck, gracing him with a warm smile and a heartfelt laugh.

You can’t believe Seokjin has kept him hidden for so long from you.

Well. Scratch that. You can.

Suddenly, the ticked requirements disappear and a giant neon sentence with a very cheap background music impose themselves in your head. WHAT A TURN OFF! they read, the neon red words mocking you; you steal a glance at your brother’s acquaintance one more time - one last time - before slipping your phone in your hands and dedicating yourself one more time at your Instagram feed, scrolling through the most recent pics.

(You stumble upon an extremely rare Jungkook selfie, and you hate to admit you spend the following thirty seconds admiring him before tapping twice on the quality content you’ve signed up for when you joined the social)

You suppose that, even though your brother’s friends with fuckboy tendencies are signed off your let’s get to know each other better ;) list, it doesn’t mean the same goes for them.

So, when the dark-haired young man with a jawline sharper than Seulgi’s retorts after her third beer sits next to you, you reckon you shouldn’t be that surprised.

He acts all casual, you notice while discreetly looking at him; he’s busy taking off his jacket and flexing his muscles, all of this while pretending not to notice you, and you find it immensely cute.

Ah, fuckboys.

“Fuck,” he rasps, lips twisted in a crooked smile, “I didn’t think it would be this hot today.”

“Yeah, sorry, the heat is on me.”

He chuckles in disbelief at your words, eyes turning into crescents.

“Right, there’s always the girl stealing the bride’s spotlight at weddings.”

“Oh! That’s me,” you nod enthusiastically, “That’s one hundred percent me.”

“Groom or bride?” He asks, pointing at the couple with his chin.

“What do you think?”

He looks at you funny, pressing his back on the seat, pondering in silence. Cute.

“Bride. One of Bae’s sorority sisters, maybe? You seem too young to be her age, though.”

“Damn,” you exhale, crossing your arms under your chest, “I can’t believe you got it all wrong. The expectations were low, but I’m still disappointed.”

He ducks his head, still smiling. “Then it’s the groom. How do you know Seokjin?”

Your eyes twinkle with excitement at your next words, but honestly, who can blame you? You’re having fun with this lost, cute chick.

“What’s your take, officer?”

He erupts into a laugh, and you drink in his handsome features; fuck you, Seokjin, for being friends with fuckboys only.

“Alright,” he punches the bridge of his nose, scanning the room, which is slowly filling with other guests. “I’m his friend, and I know all of his friends, which can only mean one thing: option a, you’re one of his ex-girlfriends; option b, you’re one of his secret hook-ups; option c, you’re an old friend from high school.”

“Oooh,” you beam, unrealistically intrigued, “You really suck at guessing, don’t you?”

He laughs, passing a hand through his dark locks, messing his perfectly styled hair. “Ok, fair. Which one was the closest, then?”

“Option d, of course.” You nod, relaxing your features into a sheepish grin, “I’m his much more beautiful and smarter sister.”

You exam his face, now twisting into some sort of what the fuck, such betrayal look, and you take in, for the last time – really the last, this time – his attractive, sculptured face, his full lips, the smoothness of his skin. It’s awful and unfair knowing you two won’t cross paths ever again in your lives, but at least you had some fun messing with him before things could worsen.

“I’ll be sitting in the middle of the table, with my family, if you want to avoid me.”

You wink at him for good measure, and you swear to god he blushes.

Half a wine bottle and two flutes of prosecco down, you realise you underestimated your resident fuckboy.

It happens when you’re grabbing your napkin and channelling your dreamy, happy looks towards the newlyweds, dancing in the middle of the room, their eyes gravitating only towards the love of their lives.

You sigh, pouting for the smallest of fractions, when you feel someone sitting at your side.

“You know,” Fuckboy begins, and you picture him licking his lips as he pauses, “Now I get why he never told us anything more than: I’m not an only child.”

“I know,” you exhale, turning to face him, “Seokwon is the real catch of our family. We’re really protective of him.”

“He’s married. With kids.”

“I was there when the twins opened their eyes, thank you.”

“We thought you were either a small kid or a forty years old woman.”

“Wait,” you tilt your head, “How did you know about us then? And who’s we?”

“We dug into his stuff and he caved in, admitting he had a brother and a sister.” Fuckboy looks at you, eyes dark but reflecting the dim lights of the function room, “Us. The frat guys.”

“Right, the fuckboys.”

He looks taken aback by your statement, bewildered, and you take advantage of his reaction to stand up and head away from him. It’s his words that stop you from doing so, though.

“You don’t know us—”

“—except I do know your pledges and your brothers.”

“But you don’t know me.”

“Maybe,” you shrug, “I prefer to steer away from my brother’s friends, though.”

“Right,” he says, tightening his lips in a hard line, almost hurt, “So, who am I to interfere with your judgmental thinking?” He clicks his tongue, then, a resolute exhale slipping past his lips, smothered by his own tingling despair.

The words hurt.

You don’t know what exactly pinched your senses hard, if the tone or the wallowing sadness swimming in his expression, but, as he stands up and leaves, you’re left facing the cold, hard truth.

The words hurt, you hurt, and you feel guilty.

You say nothing, glancing in the direction of the first alcoholic beverage around, and you fill yourself a glass.

Had it been someone else – had it been another sentence, another less sickening scenario, you would’ve felt proud, righteous. You’re, instead, on the other side of the feelings spectrum, all filled with crippling guilt and a nauseous, pervasive feeling you can’t quite name and pin down.

The guests are dancing around you, moving hand in hand to the rhythm of the pop love song now playing; the ballroom is packed when you let your impulsive side make a choice, eyes following the guy’s composed figure. You can drastically feel the sweat, and the heat the people are radiating, when you stand up and move towards him, the only smiling boy passing his glass from a hand to the other.

You’re close enough to tap his wrist and brush your fingers, which you do; it elicits a gasp from him, all soft, not scathing around the edges yet able to bite you, anyway. It’s the guilt, you remind yourself, looking for a sign of some sort of inclination to accept your apologies between the crease of his brows and tight jaw, and everywhere in between.

It’s sickening—this boy didn’t exist four fucking hours ago. It didn’t even cross your wildest dreams, someone like him. His shape – his silhouette – has left a print in your mind, and no matter how hard you try focusing on something else, someone else, your mind keeps going back to the shape itself.

But you’re a coward, so, while he lets you intertwine your fingers, you admit, voice loud: “I wanna dance.”

He handles you properly, kindly, before pushing you in the crowd and brushing your hips with his hands, all rings and jewellery adorning them.

He blinks twice, biting the insides of his mouth, but he manages,

“Who says I wanna dance?”

Which is a bit stupid, or hypocritic if you might, because he’s swaying you to the rhythm of a ballad the pop love song turned into. You break into the smallest of smiles.

“I want to apologize.”

He scoffs. “I don’t know you,” he says, funnily enough, “But that seems almost unlikely, coming from you.”

“Yeah, you got me there, officer. I was, uhm,” you stare blatantly at his neck, and you suppress the desire to stroke your fingers’ pads on his soft skin, “I was out of line. I’m sorry. You were right, I don’t know you. I do know your frat brothers, my own brother, but that doesn’t mean I know you.”

He hums, moving for a small fraction of instants his thumbs on your hips and it’s enough for your breath to catch into your own throat. He nods, which could mean anything, from I accept your apology to go fuck yourself, this is bullshit. You prefer the former option, if you’re being honest, which is the answer you settle for in your head, hazed and absolutely hazed and madly hazed because of his small physical contact.

To put this into the simplest terms, Seulgi’s words, you don’t like this.

“I like dancing,” his eyes tower you and gaze at the other people dancing; you wonder if he’s thinking about them, who they are to you, what role they played in Seokjin’s life, if they’ll show up to your wedding, too. These thoughts popped into your mind unannounced, before, at the table, before the not-really-fuckboy sat next to you and made you feel guilty. Such absurdity; yet here you are, in his arms. Oh god, what would Seulgi think of you if she saw you?

“Good to know, I’m awful at shoulder-hips coordination.”

“Shoulder-hips coordination?” he inquiries, lips parted.

“Uh, body rolls?”

“Oh,” he chuckles, “I see, you mean classy grinding.”

“I don’t do classy grinding, sorry,” you retort, head tilted to a side.

His smile his amused. “Too bad, shoulder-hips coordination is a nice trait to exhibit sometimes.”

“I prefer hips coordination. Well, hips rotation.”

“Hips rotation?”

“Riding? Is the term somehow unfamiliar to you?”

He flushes, biting back a grin and fixing his gaze somewhere in the crowd. How cute.

“Not at all, it’s nice to meet a hips rotation enthusiast here, though.”

“Statistics say at least a member in each family is a riding enthusiast, did you know?”

“Shit, talk dirty to me,” he licks his lips, pointing at Jin with his chin, “Didn’t peg him for a rider, though. Not at all.”

“I’m starting to think you’re not a STEM major, are you? You’re lacking basic intuition, my friend.”

“Is this your attempt of discovering my major?” – he eyes you, a flick of amusement burning in his orbs – “You’re not very smooth, you know?”

“I have my moments.”

He snorts, placing both hands on the small of your back. You’re at height level with the base of his neck, and it’s fun how your mind betrays you in such moments, providing mental images of your nose brushing against his skin, and you nuzzling in the crook of his neck. Such taunting, invasive pictures. Fuck off, you reprimand your own mind, fuck off.

“I’m Jimin.”

“Jimin,” you taste the name on your tongue, hitting the back of your front teeth. “Jin never talked about you. I’m Y/N.”

“Jin never talked about you either.”

“Of course he never did, I’m prettier than he is.”

His little dimples make an appearance. “You know, you could really steal the bride’s spotlight.”

“That was my ultimate goal all along, even though I prefer the dark side.”

“I,” he licks his lips, and you don’t know why you’re following the gesture, “I meant to say you’re beautiful.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper, eyebrows raising, “Are you a charmer?”

“I mean,” he begins, sheepish smile on display, “I never kiss and tell.”

“Touching.” He smirks. “How sweet of you.”

“You know what else is sweet?”

“Please,” you beg, meeting his eyes, “Don’t say my pussy.”

“Please,” he repeats, same mocking tone, “The possibilities are endless. Your mouth,” he scoots closer, words whispered on the shell of your ear, “Your mouth around my dick,” he almost nibbles your ear, “Your mouth screaming my name.”

“My pussy,” you add, trying not to lose your mind.

“I would never call sweet something I’ve not tasted.”

He raises a brow.

“Are you offering? You’re not very smooth, you know?”

He ignores the last question, tightening his grip. “In the middle of your brother’s wedding? Seokjin’s wedding? I’m not a dick, even though you sitting on my face would be a sight to see.”

“Right?” your voice doesn’t falter for a second, “That’s what I always say”

“Nice to see how we’ve got much in common. But I was thinking of something else, actually—” His face is once again inches away from yours, ear to mouth, hot breath fanning over you bare neck. “I wanna finger you.”

Oh.

“Under the table. Right behind you. Wanna make you whimper.”

It’s almost like being tongue-tied, fumbling for words, body flushing, but you gather somewhere the strength to form an actual sentence, which makes him smirk devilishly.

“I can be very quiet.”

He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “Bet you can’t keep your pretty mouth shut.”

“When I win,” you say, lying your words on an unrealistically high vote of confidence, even for yourself, “What do I get?”

He licks his lips, slow, savouring the moment. “You get to ride my face.”

“Not your dick?”

“I’m not a fuckboy, baby.”

A comeback of some kind is already on your tongue, but – there’s a kiss somewhere in the following seconds, all wet and tingling and perhaps filled with too many lip bites, but he can’t really blame you when you’ve been brushing your thighs together for the past minute, heat pooling down your belly. It’s enough for you to silently pledge for more, and for him to tease, because he takes a step back, smirk in place and lips reddened, and guides you towards his seat at the end of the table with a hand on the small of your back.

Downhill begins as soon as you sit down, legs barely parted, a minimum space not fitting for his plans, apparently, because the crease between Jimin’s eyebrows grows when he nudges them apart with his hand, the cold metal of his rings cooling down your flushed state. You want to gasp at the sudden intrusion, but the sound is swallowed entirely by his hot mouth on yours, distracting once again, incredibly soft and alluring. This kiss is slow, this time, like he’s taking his time tasting you and learning about the hums he draws out of you, the shyness of your previously biting tongue, and how fast you get lost in the kiss itself. You press a chaste kiss on his mouth, before creaking a space between you.

“I’m starting to think you’re all bark and no bite”

He doesn’t answer, but stares into your eyes with his hooded gaze, and he manages to sneak a hand furtively under your dress not breaking the contact. His skin is warm, but you’re warmer, and his destination is even hotter. He cocks his head, fingers brushing against the soaked, sticking material you used to call panties up until fifteen minutes ago, and he must notice—his eyes grow wider, his jaw tightens and his hand gains courage.

Fuck. This should be embarrassing, getting worked up over dirty innuendos and a kiss or two, but you’re instead feeling flushed and more. More sensitive. More open to the idea of him ruining you, even though that’s not what he’s offering. Or— is he?

The question lies unanswered when his digits rub with a sparkled intensity over both your clothed sex and your inner thighs. It’s a continuous, mellifluous melody, his fingers dancing between the two until he settles on your panties only, and that’s when you almost let out a soft moan; you don’t, he raises his brow, challenging, but you don’t, and instead glance around to notice if someone has his eyes on the both of you, sitting in the furthest region of the fucking smart, endless table.

He raises the stake, flushed: Jimin pushes your panties on one side, petting with his index your exposed self, and you suck in a breath. He continues to do so, face still, closing the distance between you two.

You don’t question the sudden kiss, instead you angle your face and close your eyes and let him press his lips on you. This feels like being drunk, or high, stretching underneath a sky dripping with stars. You cup his face with your hands, his lips so terribly soft and inviting, the smallest of smiles meeting your own chapped and curved upwards lips.

It’s when you’re merely inches away from him that he thumbs at your clit, sensitive and tingling, circling with utmost peace and no speed whatsoever. You pout at little, you realize, which makes him melt either cause of your cute frown -oh, how the tables have turned- or simply because he’s the devil himself, pressing a finger against your entrance and delving it into your heat.

“Cute,” he purrs, kissing you, “Is this okay?”

The crude, hot, nerve-wracking fingering has begun, which makes you, quickly enough, putty in his hands and ablaze with ardour for this man whose rasping voice could kill you.

“Yeah,” you breathe on his mouth, eyelids drooping closed, “Yeah, all good.”

You hum to yourself as he starts pressing kisses on your jaw and your neck, a trail of treacherous flames lighting up your skin, and you have the audacity to sigh under his ministrations, a tiny, strained sound not quite a mewl.

If he hears, he doesn’t show it. You’re biting your own lip when he enters a second finger, filling your searing emptiness.

“Want three?” he asks, voice husky and as desperate as you are under his touch. He adds it when you nod, the squelch louder than before, and you moan, rocking your hips against his fingers.

“Shh, baby,” he coos, placing his other hand on your hips, slowing your movements, “Be a good girl.”

He fucks you deep, fast, fingers clashing against the silky dress you’re wearing and sweat sparkling on his forehead. He swallows another moans of yours, sucking your bottom lip and tugging it between his teeth. You’re close. You’re so close, and it’s only been a couple minutes. You can’t hear anything that isn’t your wet pussy clenching around his fingers, his rhythm ruthless and burning.

“Too bad you’re not coming on my fingers, today,” he says before kissing your neck and emptying your dripping pussy, then proceeding to taste and lick his own fingers in his mouth. He lets them out with a small pop, and it’s the most terrifying sight you’ve ever had in front of your almost watering eyes. “I’m sorry I won the bet, though, your pussy is the sweetest I’ve ever tasted.”

That’s the high and dry story of how you first met Jimin.

The second time it happens, it’s under completely different circumstances, and, substantially, against your every predictions, it really happens. It takes place, like a once in a lifetime event: there’s an orgasm involved, not due to the very charming and never disappointing Jeon jungkook the robotic version, and instead it involves a rather attractive asshole with a persistent smirk plastered on his face.

Except it’s a lot more complicated than what it sounds, and most of it is Seulgi’s fault.

Your roommate had pouted all evening, because that’s what semi adults do when they’re denied a companion for the night.

“I just wanna get wasted. It’s been one hell of a month, and you know how I get when I’m stressed.”

“I can suggest you a vibrator and a bottle of vodka. Do you settle for that, your honor?”

“The more you talk like this,” all self-absorbed and assertive and cautiously, like when talking to a kid, she begins, hands in her long, mahogany hair, “the more I just wanna push you up against the wall.”

“Sounds to me you just wanna get laid.”

“Maybe I do,” she huffs, hands on her hips, the light of your abat-jour highlighting her golden skin. “Maybe I don’t. What I know is that I wanna get wasted. Come with me, pretty please?”

“Look,” you raise your eyes from the book you’ve been holding, stretching a leg onto the unmade bed of yours, “I just wanna get this fucking paper done. I need,” you grip the phone on the bed table, checking for the white, large numbers on your lock screen, “an hour. An hour and half to edit it and I’m all yours.”

“This paper is due on Thursday, though.”

“Yeah, but I have a reputation to uphold in the family. Have to be the most beautiful and successful.”

“You’re full of shit,” are her last words, muttered with a smile as she grabs her jacket.

“Hey,” you call, stretching your neck towards her, “I don’t care if it’s two am and you’re already wasted. Call me and I’ll come to you with a whole bottle of vodka to make it up to you. Hell, I’ll even kiss you goodnight.”

“I don’t wanna make out with you, you freak.”

“You didn’t say that last time, baby!”

Seulgi

[2.13]

wassup bitch

make out with meeeeeeeeeeeeee

[location shared]

com n get me littl nuggrt

Not Sober Seulgi is probably the worst Seulgi you have ever dealt with. You let out a sigh, eyeing the frat dorm all lit up and vibrating to the trashy trap music the insiders are jamming to.

Of course, when it comes to Not Sober Seulgi, there’s boys involved. Frat boys involved. At first, you don’t pay attention to the details, the signs, surrounding you like blinding traffic lights signalling stop stop stop, all red and striking. The thought doesn’t cross your mind, the dots connecting in some hidden part of your brain not making your insides short circuit—instead you’re knocking on the door, then banging on the very wooden entrance until a face shows up; the dorm is dimly lit, and the face is partially lightened by a soft, hued red and, that, too, Future You pinpoints, should have been a sign.

It’s useless, anyway, because you hear the insider talk and you’re burning instantly, like after touching a steaming, hot cup of coffee, except that bitter coffee is still good coffee. Smug Jimin plus bitter you isn’t really sweet, nor a match made in heaven. It’s chaotic, a caustic explosion, and you both know it, judging from the sharp smile he offers you, after blinking lazily at your figure.

“This is a mixer party only,” his soothing voice welcomes you, “Do you have an invite?”

You press your tongue on your teeth, mouth carefully closed.

“Yeah, from Hell, I’ve come to take a fallen angel.”

“Sorry to break it to you, oh-kind-lady, but we didn’t give any invite to poor, damned souls.”

“Too bad I don’t give a fuck about your policies, then,” you move towards the small space between the door and Jimin’s body, but he interferes, placing himself right between the two. “Look, I don’t give a single fuck about this party.”

“Yeah, it sure looks like it.”

You roll your eyes. “My friend is here. She’s most certainly not sober and I’ve come to pick her up. That’s it. Do you think I want to be here, among these drunk, perverted jocks?”

He turns around, stretching his neck, his eyes darting through the crowd, inhibited by alcohol, smelling like cheap beer and weed. The moment his eyes bore into yours, though, it’s terrifying; it’s a rustled reminder of Seokjin’s wedding Jimin, and you don’t like it. You loathe it. You dread it.

“Maybe only some of us.”

He tips his head, lips curving into a timid, small smile, and you tear your gaze from his lips in a heartbeat.

“Yeah, keep dreaming of it. I just want my friend back.” You point your chin towards the amalgam of drunk party animals, “I’ll leave you to your immensely interesting activities, then.”

“What if,” he begins, “You don’t. Or—even better scenario, you leave with me.”

“Best case scenario, I leave with my friend. You stay here.”

“What’s the worst-case scenario, then?”

You cock a brow at him, crossing your arms on your chest. “I leave with my friend, you stay here. Sometime before me leaving, you’re punched. Or kicked. I don’t know. There’s a high chance I’ll throw a drink on you.”

“That implies you’ll be here long enough to grab a drink, doesn’t it? And you don’t have to ruin my shirt to get me naked, babe. Just ask nicely.”

You huff, and you’re mildly tempted to shove him against a wall. Or ruin him. Not in the funny way. More like the high and dry way, the one he knows so well. “I changed my mind, I’ll kick you.”

“Ask nicely?” His teasing tone makes your cheeks flush, and you hope the shitplace with subdued lightening can cover it. His expression shifts into an arrogant one, full smirk and little dimples out, so your cute guess is that he can see. He sees his effect on you, albeit completely unwanted and full of hatred from your side, and he enjoys it. Actually lulls in it, letting out a small laugh which, in turn, makes his eyes turn into crescents, all warm and cute—all things he’s not. All things you know he’s not.

“Ask nicely,” you repeat, rolling the words on your tongue, “Okay, babe. Let’s do this, babe. What do you want from me, babe?”

“Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe the answer is you?”

“Yes, actually,” you sigh, fingers brushing his neck, face comically close to his perfect, chiselled one, “That’s exactly what I thought when you stopped fingering me.”

“Right,” Jimin has the audacity to smile, craning his neck as if to close the distance between you in order to meet you for a kiss, “I’m a man of word, thought. You should be impressed.”

“I’m pretty sure the only thing that’s impressed is your face under the orgasm denial definition. Google it, babe, I guarantee you the meaning comes with your name and a brilliant review of one star.”

“Unlike you.” He licks his lips, eyes on your pretty pink ones, smeared with venom, “You’re not coming.” He explains, to further ignite your rage.

“And whose fault is that, babe?”

Jimin nuzzles into your neck, cupping your other cheek with his rough palm, and his thumb stills on your throat, right where your breath is stuck. He adds pressure on it, lips fondling your burning skin, his usual smirk plastered on them.

“Let me make it up to you.”

“You’re not fucking me,” you spit back, mouth now millimetres away from his, gently inviting you to kiss it, and cherish it, and biting it until you’re satisfied with the hot result.

“I’ll eat you out? Until you come.” He hums. “You’ll come.”

His voice is a mere strangled sound, wanting and dripping with need, and you snap out of it with a small smile.

“Nice offer,” your smile is wicked as you scrape his nape with a feathery touch, the slow movement rousing a flutter in your lower belly. “But get in line, babe.”

His shell-shocked face is the last thing you see before you fulfil the let’s rescue Seulgi! party.

(“Why do you smell like softener?” Seulgi sniffs you, arms looped loosely around your neck, eyes completely shut down. It’s a nice sight, all things considered. You’re no angel, no saint, no perfect person, but you’re a nice friend, and that’s probably the most Seokjin trait you recognize in yourself. It’s your shared apartment, and it’s past 3 am and you’re the one good friend who keeps her promises. “It’s strawberry vodka, you heathen.”)

The line turns out to be a real line, queue line, let’s get this coffee line, which, well. How can one word it, how can one phrase it fully catching the irony of it all, the distinctive je ne sais quoi of life without—

“Nice to see you here.”

It’s the perfect set for a rom-com, you notice, taking in the warm scenery around you. What else can one dream of, right? The campus coffee shop, the campus hot not-really-but-also-kinda fuckboy Jimin, partial jock to give him credit, full time attractive idiot with a tendency for orgasm denial. Really.

“What are the chances?” You exhale, voice devoid of emotions. For the sake of your parents’ integrity, you suppose, because they raised no impolite woman, of course, you turn around to face the angel-like human being, black hair partially covering his forehead, little dimples on full display. That’s—that is lack of integrity, or indecency or au-fucking-dacity. It might as well be a mix of the above-mentioned possibilities, all fitting and nurturing you because he’s gorgeous. He’s handsome. Jimin’s the most attractive human being you’ve ever seen in your life, and it’s not fair.

(Beside the fact that you’ve lived with Kim Seokjin, for fuck’s sake)

He pokes his own cheek, and you bask into the otherworldly scenario that takes place right in front of your caffeine deprived eyes. It’s a sight for sore, soft eyes, and it’s the end of the world as you know it, because it’s morning, too early to properly function like a normal human being, but there he is. There he is, Jimin, channelling his inner boyfriend material aura, oozing off boyfriend smell, nice, fresh, aftershave smell, rocking a stupid sweater and the messiest black mop of hair.

It’s honestly a tragedy, and you won’t stand for it. You will make a move—

“You’re squinting your eyes, like, real tight. Are you alright?”

Just ogling you, your drowsy mind offers, the fucking cheater.

“Yeah,” you reply, swallowing a lump in your dry throat, “Just need coffee. A latte. Anything.”

You move forward in the queue, and as you blink you realize it’s your turn, until it’s not anymore. Jimin carefully and gently moves you out of the way, brushing with the softest touch your side.

“A latte and an iced americano, please.”

The sweetened order for two turns into a hushed thank you, a tipped smile, a flutter of you heart. It’s drinks still half full, his curious gaze darting on your lips, your defences down. It’s unfair, because in a hot second all this pent-up tension shifts into a light, chaste kiss, your back pressed against the coffee shop’s restroom; your chest heaves under his tantalizing make-out session with your neck, followed by his frantic lips pressing on yours, his tongue licking lazily into your mouth, a gasp easing its way out of your warm and eager mouth. It’s a hot-blooded supercut, each frame announced by a starving moan, a content sigh, and, before you realise it, you’re on your bed, Jimin hovering on top of you.

It’s Saturday morning, you hum to yourself, fingers sliding into his hair, all’s in check. There’s a warm body slumped on yours, his tongue swerving on your lower lip and his hips shyly bucking between your open legs. Your panties are drenched, you can feel his hard on through the jeans and, really, all’s in check.

He nudges your nose with his. “Lemme eat you out.”

The answer lies sitting on the tip of your tongue, right next to an obnoxious remark that you hope will rile him up enough for him to rip your underwear, which you definitely won’t complain about. However, the words don’t come out, they slur in your craving mouth the second he gets up and shoves you toward the end of your unmade bed, spreading your naked legs open with his calloused palms.

“Nice skirt,” he comments, voice a rasp, eyeing the drenched, lilac underwear, skirt at this point gone up to cover your stomach. “I just want…”

He shuffles closer, enough for you to feel his hot breath on your core, and that’s when Jimin pulls the panties on a side, teasing you with little licks to your entrance. You’re responsive, too eager for anything to quench your thirst that you sigh happily at the barest of actions, gripping strands of his hair. Jimin chuckles, engulfing the throbbing clit in his mouth in one go and drawing desperate moans out of your cute, devilish mouth.

“Fuckboy move,” you emit, voice cracking at the pressure of his warm mouth, “Oh, oh. Fuck…”

He replies flattening his tongue on your core, then licking and lapping against your dripping folds. Jimin positively glows at the cries you let out, face slobbering with your arousal while driving you insane, fucking with his tongue like his life depended on it. It’s almost a spiritual experience, a crescendo of wails and sobs, his face drown in your pussy and his tongue paying reverence to your approaching orgasm. He can feel it in the way you writhe, in his hand splaying over your stomach, keeping you still while he eats you religiously, forehead beaded with sweat.

You come with a trembling hand in his hair, the other flicking your bare nipple, back slightly arched and a lewd mewl; Jimin takes in the way your body trembles, your breath all staggered because of him, and the sight alone is enough for him to cum in his pants with a grunt, completely untouched.

The second time it happens is, coincidentally, the first time Jimin knows there’s no turning back from this.

Complicated is a big word when it comes to relationship, you reckon, emitting something akin to a gasp, truly soap operas worthy material, but, for the first time in your life, you decide to name it this way.

Being with Jimin is… complicated, for starters. Especially because you’re not with Jimin, in the strict, relationship-wise meaning. He knows your favourite colour (“Why the fuck you only own purple underwear?” “It’s lilac, dick, watch your mouth.” “Watch your own mouth, babe. You’re the one on your knees.”), your favourite food (“But you like having your mouth stuffed with my cock, honey.” You sigh, blushing. “First of all, I’m talking about real food. That amazing steak kind of food—“

“I’ll show you real meat, babe.”

“Gross. Gross. How can I cancel the last five seconds of my life?”

“Come here, Jared, nineteen,” he half smiles, tilting his head, “I’ll get us fries.”), your favourite movie (“We can’t get each other off every time your ugly paper cap fits—oh,” you suck in a breath, Jimin flicking his tongue on your turgid nipple, “oh, god, don’t stop.”), your best friend’s name (“I condone you dicking her so good she sometimes cries, you know, I just don’t when I’m in the room next to hers and all I can hear is my best friend trying to formulate a single coherent word but failing because you’re pounding her mercilessly into the mattress.” Jimin chuckles, grabbing his jacket before holding the doorknob. “She begged, Seulgi.”)—so what? It’s not like you sat down and decided not to ask each other dumb questions, so that you could find out in the funny, kinky way. For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even decide on anything, didn’t even talk about talking, because the relationship related shit didn’t even cross your mind.

It’s even quite fucking hard for it to cross it, because half the time you’re together you’re either both naked – except for the time he pleaded for the tartan mini to stay – or stuffing your mouth with food—because, if there’s something you’ve learned after one too many hook-ups with him is that this kind of sex requires strength. Like, actual, physical strength, if we’re not talking about the this test is draining me please fuck me until I can’t walk sex. Which, yeah, 10/10 would recommend. That was the day Seulgi decided to invest in ear plugs while muttering capitalism, here I come.

You also came.

Funnily enough, guess who also came. Not in the funny, kinky way. Think about the grossest thing, imagine the beyond the bounds of possibility, sprinkle it with Jimin earnestly shoving his dick down your throat, stir it with a poor Taehyung brushing his teeth next to the both of you, a step away from the shower, and serve it on the most expensive plate in the kitchen, a recipe not approved by Kim Seokjin.

Yeah, you mentally roll your eyes, licking your lips clean, at eye-level with your sorta enemy with benefits’ pretty dick: the married brother of yours, former fratboy, taller than your current will to live.

In hindsight, maybe it is Seokjin’s fault. Once you’re married, you’re supposed to be committed to the cause, and sometimes, an angry little crumb in you finds the audacity to speak, the cause is made up of your four walls: ergo home, ergo your married life, miles away from the absurdity that once filled his university days. You’re being hypocritical, you realize, skin wet, body trembling. In the simplest, most hedonistic terms, you’re done with the chaos in this fraternity and just wished that hooking up was easier. It’s more than a stolen orgasm, a random spur of pleasure and free de-stresser; it’s also something not quite like art but just as peculiar. Sex with Jimin is more than nice, more than a fast rummage of clothes on the floor and panties teared, or condoms stuffed in every single pocket of his jacket.

It should also be noticed that it’s been one hell of a stressful week, okay, which means that it’s one of those times you seek for naked intimacy, in its least literal meaning. You’re looking for something sure, something silent, something earnest. Jimin gives you that in the simplest of forms, in the easiest of ways. It’s not fair for your brother to come unannounced and burst into the house with his adorable laugh and love for his own brothers. Way to ruin the moment, bro.

Jimin blinks attentively when Taehyung laughs, clapping his hands all happy and following the elder’s voice outside the bathroom.

“I’m getting you my clothes.”

“Wait, what?”

His lips part just enough for his tongue to wet them, and your eyes follow in silence the gesture.

“I mean,” he starts, grabbing a towel, “You either come out with me from this bathroom or you don’t.”

He’s concise, yet harsh, words uttered with those soft lips yet are just as hot as a slap in your face. He’s telling the truth, but you soon find out you don’t really like it.

There’s something abrupt and severe in those chosen words, so well picked out because they’re not meant to hurt, but at the same time they’re so worrying. So terrible, practically as hard as a punch in your guts.

You either come out of the bathroom with him — you had been blowing minutes before, hadn’t you? Quite the intimacy, huh? — or you don’t. You stay behind. Different rooms, a whole door to separate you while he’s out with the people he cares about.

Seems legit, but. It’s unfair. You know Jimin isn’t choosing for you, but it’s obvious he’s inclined towards an option between the two, and you’re terrified to discover whether it’s his own desire pushing or what he thinks you want.

You, instead, push the thought aside when you nod, taking the towel from his hands and covering your body from this terrific half hook-up.

Because that’s what it is—that’s what you are.

It dawns upon you like a cold breeze hitting your face in full December, suddenly, and that’s when you realize winter is near. In your mind, this hooking up scenario seemed nicer. Sounded softer, a cute bubble moving slowly in the air.

But now—well, now the bubble has burst, and it feels wrong, and this unexpected wrong doesn’t feel right in your chest, and that’s the story of how you leave the house escaping from his window, in his clothes, with vision blurred by hot, stupid, idiotic tears.

Seulgi is the first one to notice, and, obviously, the first one to speak.

“Something’s been bothering you,” she says, head tilted in a way that’s supposed to be emphatic and worried but comes off as stiff and terrified. “Care to share?”

It’s just a wholesome amount of terrifying stuff, isn’t it? First the shower incident, now Seulgi’s ways not working around you anymore. What’s next? Avoiding Jimin for a whole week? Blocking his number? Losing the smart and beautiful title to your obnoxious brother?

You wouldn’t be surprised, really. Shit like this always happens at the same fucking time.

“It’s nothing. A stressful couple days, maybe? Or maybe I’m getting sick. There’s a guy always coughing during Physics. Maybe it’s his fault, who knows.”

Seulgi unlocks her phone, an unreadable gaze studying you. She gives up a second later, though, her weak maybe reaching your ears when you’ve already looked down on your book.

One simply cannot be annoyed because of a half hook up. Christ. You deserve better than that. You have some dignity left, tainted by everything that’s not Jimin and his harsh, stupid words.

So, your mind offers, while you squint your eyes, I suppose there’s nothing else you could do about it.

Nothing else besides acknowledging it and moving on.

Sounds like a plan. A fireproof plan, an escape plan, something detailed and precise. Planned to work out smoothly; planned to be executed without pain or mistakes.

It’s seven sharp when he knocks, takeout in his left hand, eyes bulging because it’s fucking freezing outside.

“It’s fucking freezing, what the fuck.” He says out loud, indeed. What he receives as an answer is the sound of your tongue clicking, the biggest amount of interest you’ve shown towards him the whole week. He would finally exhale, weren’t it for the fact that this is still pretty traumatic, because if there’s something he’s learned while orbiting around you, is that you’re constantly awake and aware of your surroundings. Your body language says that you pay attention to him, or Seulgi, or whoever you’re talking to. You follow the guy with your eyes, and you listen and nod in all the right places during a conversation, and you search for his dark gaze when he’s fucking you in the dimly lit bedroom, the bed creaking under your sweaty sex making. He’s not admitting it, he never will, and he’ll pretty much deny this to everyone who will ask but: there’s something hot about it. Something burning with the way your body reacts to him, when your eyes follow his actions, while your voice falters when he fucks you right, and it somehow pushes him to the edge every time. It’s the equivalent of Jungkook getting a boner in the gym while catching girls and boys drooling at him, except he’s talking about you and your crazy moans, your magic aura.

And yes, okay, fucking blame him, the realization alone made him jerk off in his room like a teen, twice, yesterday. That’s a fact. That’s barely a fact, alright? This is a truth; a statement soon forgot by the knowers. Obviously.

You look spent, he thinks, if he had to choose a word, dared by some arrogant deity to define the current mess you were. He glances at your barely done ponytail, at the tiredness written all over your face. He takes in your baggy sweater, your quiet beauty, knowing this is gonna be one of those nights you take a step back.

He doesn’t say anything though, instead he brushes the hair on your forehead, not even making contact with your skin.

You grab the bag from his hands, shivering instantly and hoping he doesn’t read the signs. They’re—they’re there, you know, you’re collecting them slowly, one after another, grabbing one and looking cautiously for the following one, hoping it’s not there. Hoping it doesn’t exist.

You exhale a sigh, disguising it as cough, a noise, something distracting Jimin from his silent staring, which is, funnily enough, loud and cacophonic.

“Hungry,” you state, the single word weighting more because of the soft pout on your lips. Jimin hates that he knows what it means, that it’s gonna be just the two of you this time, no chill whatsoever, no bodies touching and melting against each-other. He’s not complaining, what the fuck, he’s not an idiot. He’s not even mad, he’s just—accepting, on a level. This is the point of no return, he guesses, following you on the couch and admiring the laptop’s screen reflected on your face.

He doesn’t say anything when you search for Brooklyn 99 on Netflix, because he’d say everything, otherwise. He’d mumble something along the lines of this feels real, we could do this all the time, or, worst of all: I like this. I like you.

So, in order: he tugs at your sleeves and scoots you closer to him, and you say absolutely nothing at the gesture. He’s ecstatic on the inside, partially terrified, mostly delusional. He pretends he’s something more when you lean on him, the slightest pressure of your head on his shoulder. He cares zero fucks about the show when he’s breathing your scent in and feels how warm you are and shuts his eyelids down when he pictures you adoring him. Liking him. Liking him a whole lot more—

He’s fucked, he realises, hours later, when you doze off and he has to carry you to bed, something you claim of loathing, which—what on earth. It’s an unfathomable absurdity, that’s what it is.

“You can stay.”

His voice falters. “What?”

You cough, eyes closed as you speak sinful words: “The night, I mean. It’s fucking freezing outside.”

His lips form a small o, and it’s hot all of a sudden. “Alright,” he manages, staring at you on your bed, hands fidgety and heartbeat accelerated for some reason, “Make space for me. Hey, fucker. I’m serious. Let me in.”

You do.

(to be continued. ily)

#BTS jimin #bts #bts fic #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts scenario #bts smut #bts social media au #bts imagine #bts imagines #jimin imagine #jimin #jimin smut #jimin bts #jimin x reader

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statticscribbles · 3 years

Text

Living Dead

Summary: Jason was kept alive for leverage (written pre 3x20)

None of the kids scream, they simply tuck themselves closer, nervously hovering as Betty calls Cheryl. “We have to-“ Veronica starts; Fred interrupts them, pulling the USB key out, quiet, nervous about something he refuses to tell them. He’s insisting he’ll bring it to Sheriff Keller. They don’t let him leave alone; they don’t leave Cheryl alone either, picking her up on the way to Tom’s house. They hover, insisting they didn’t realize what was on it before they watched. Cheryl’s almost silence is deafening. Nobody is sure what’s worse the quiet rage that seeps from her clenched fists, or how small, how alone she sounds when she asks what’s going to happen next.

It’s Alice who brings up the footage being edited. She’d been called, along with FP, by Fred, Sheriff Keller speeding through an explanation and viewing of the clip, on mute of course. He’s thankful the footage had no sound. “Edited? The time stamps aren’t warped or skipped at all.” Tom looks up from where he sits behind his desk.

“I don’t mean parts have been cut out, I mean the angles, look.” She pulls the video up, pointing out how the angles change. How Jason’s face is only shown in flashes, the image resolution cutting in and out. She raises an eyebrow and Tom looks unimpressed. “So the security camera’s aren’t CCTV quality, that’s not surprising, it’s a basement of a gang den. No offense.” He nods to FP who chuckles. “Except those camera’s can move, we installed the 360 security, for our benefit, to be able to provide us with alibis if we needed, they deliberately didn’t switch the angles, they made a point of not showing his face after he was shot.” “I figured you’d be happy about that, not scaring the kids for life, since they found it.” Fred speaks up and everyone nods in agreement but FP leans over. “What if that wasn’t Jason getting shot.” Tom shakes his head. He grinds his teeth before sighing.

“Listen, we don’t involve the kids, look.” He clicks through pulling up what he knows the kids had assumed to be nothing, that or they were too shocked to delve deeper. It’s Mustang again, as he’s taunting Jason, something looks different, the footage grainier, his face warped. The angle switches and a boy that’s very clearly not Jason Blossom looks into Mustang’s eyes with terror in his. “You want to tell me, that the body you helped dump in the river, that we pulled out and brought to an autopsy, is not Jason Blossom? You have anyone that can vouch for that?” He watches as FP smirks. “Mustang of course. You ever been to the house of the dead?” He laughs when Tom shakes his head. Of course the kids somehow worm their way into it. Betty, Jughead and Archie will not be swayed from accompanying them. FP is secretly relieved he never liked visiting alone. Tom, Fred and Alice makes Betty and Archie wait in his car, a stern “Jughead knows how to use a knife properly” keeps both of them quiet in understanding. FP leads as Alice and Fred follow in.

“Mustang! I know you’re here. Malachai, pleasure.” He shouts into the house as the shoves the door open. Malachai nods sweeping his hands over the couches. “Oh you brought-“ He doesn’t finish his though, Alice kicking out as hard as she can. Malachai doesn’t flinch, only chuckling before bending and straightening his knee. “I was wondering why your wore your steel toes.” He offers coffee, FP being the only one to take it. Mustang appears sulking from a spare room, sitting next to Malachai before he’s shoved from the chair. “No Mustang, liar’s don’t get to sit in chairs.” Mustang nods, FP starts to question him, letting Mustang fill him in on the final moments of Jason Blossom. Malachai interrupts when Mustang repeats himself twice over, they can tell he’s bored.

“And the best part? Clifford let us have two whole days with him! Two days! Do you know how much damage we could have done. How much we did do?” Malachai laughs slowly shaking his head. Mustang nods in agreement before he speaks. “That kid was a mess. We told him we’d let his girl go, didn’t even say we had her but he lost it, said he’d do whatever, go whatever, just don’t hurt her. Please don’t hurt her sir” He mocks Jason as he rolls his eyes. Malachai joining in his laughter. “We just pulled some random kid, redhead, told him if he gave anyone lip we’d blow is brains out. Clifford was too angry to look close; to bother with recognition once he had the ring back. It was too easy to pay everyone else off. Why a chunk of that drug cash we had burned out so fast.” Malachai snorts nodding to FP.

“We kept that flower boy, right here in the House of Death, he’s safe. Convinced we’re gonna shoot him, but safe enough. You give us the Southside, we give the Blossom’s back their boy, no trouble.” “You’re aware the only Blossom who want’s him back is Cheryl right?” Malachai rolls his eyes. “Not surprised, didn’t she burn their house down, psycho little bitch, she’d make a good Ghoulie you know.” He laughs when Alice and Fred glare daggers at him. “Yikes I get it, no more kids in gangs.” He nods to Jughead who glares back level as Malachai starts a fresh round of laughter. “You do realize this is going to cost you right?” FP smirks, stepping forward but Fred stops him, cutting in front to look down at Malachai. “You do realize how we got here right?” Malachai looks up, unimpressed with his supposed threat, until Tom flashes his lights and the siren from his car. “We’re not dumb enough to go into a gang house by ourselves. We’re not kids.” Tom walks in eyebrow raised.

“I was called in cause of a domestic dispute?” Tom looks from Malachai to the other parents. “Not much dispute.” He steps forward as Alice does, watching as she shoves Fred out of the way, fist clenched before she launches it straight at Malachai’s jaw. His head lulls to one side. “Alice you’re supposed to get him to fight not one punch him out cold. Christ.” Tom shakes his head and FP laughs under his breath.

“We can go now.” Fred appears holding up Jason who stumbles blinking sluggishly in the doorway. “Has he been drugged? Jason, hey kid. You alright?” “Sheriff Keller!” He struggles forward as Fred helps him walk. “I think they broke my leg.” Fred nods and Jughead swings around the other side of Jason hoisting him up. “Got him. Alice and I can get Malachai. Or the boys can, that works too.” FP amends as the rest of the police force enter through the doorway.

“Come on Jason, let’s get you to a hospital.” Fred reaches into his pocket pulling a phone out. “Never thought having this number would be useful, but here we are.” He laughs as he pulls the phone to his ear, helping Jason limp towards his car. “FP drive, Jason try to prop you leg up, there we go, Hello?” He turns his attention to the phone conversation. “You need to meet us at the hospital, yes, all of you. All of you Penelope, that includes the twins too.” Jason’s head picks up and he mouths twins confusion on his face, Fred hands up. “It’s a bit of a long story. Once we get you fixed up I’m sure it’ll be all you’re hearing about.” Jason laughs nodding. “Of course, it’s Riverdale after all.” Both Fred and FP join in his laughter. “You have no idea kid.”

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iron--spider · 5 years

Text

sunset pictures (whumptober - tear-stained)

Peter was worried the ground would be wet because of all the rain earlier, and he spreads out the orange blanket, directly in front of the tombstone. The blanket is big, the one he and May usually use for picnics, and he folds it over a couple times until it almost feels like the comforter on his bed in the compound. Plushy. None of the wetness clinging to the grass seeps through.

He sits down, and Tony sits beside him.

This is only the second time they’ve visited Ben together. The first time was before the snap, before the dusting, before the subsequent insanity that put everything back together again. This visit seems like it holds more weight, since they’ve gone through all that. Because there was a time when Peter was gone too, when May and Tony were thinking about putting a tombstone with his name on it right next to Ben’s, and beside his parents’. Because there was a time when Tony came here alone, something he only admitted recently, months after everything ended and began again. He came here begging, pleading for answers from one of the people that knew Peter best. Of course, he didn’t get any. There were no answers for anyone that lost someone in the snap. Only dust in the wind. But nothing ever holds Tony up for long. Especially when he sets his mind to it.

Now Peter’s here, he’s here and alive, and Tony is too, despite what he had to go through to get Peter back.

Peter remembers what May said, when he reunited with her after everything, while Tony was still laid up. Ben would like Tony. Especially now. Especially after what he did to bring you back to me. Peter had been used to vitriol, directed at Tony from May, so that—that felt good to hear. It hasn’t been sunshine and kittens between them since, but it’s closer than Peter ever expected.

“Ben,” Tony says, before Peter can find his own words. “Your kid is a maniac.”

Peter snorts. “Don’t tell him that.”

“He already knows that,” Tony says, picking at his nail. He’s still wearing sunglasses, even though the sun is setting. “I mean, who runs into a bank whilst it’s being robbed? We were gonna take them down when they got in their escape vehicle, but Spider-Man—”

“Spider-Man saved a cool couple million,” Peter asserts, holding his chin high, no idea of the actual numbers. “Dudes are in custody. I have no idea why you’re judging me.”

“No judgement. You just have to be the most dramatic at every possible moment,” Tony says, looking at him like he’s proud of that fact.

“Yeah, I wonder where I got that?” Peter says, eyeing him.

“May,” Tony says, resolutely. “One hundred percent May Parker.”

Peter snorts, shaking his head. He shifts a little bit, sitting criss cross applesauce, and he knows that’s what most school teachers call it, but he got that phrase from Ben. He remembers him calling it out every time they’d situate themselves in front of the TV on Saturday mornings, and Ben would tickle him if he got there first.

Ben’s favorite cartoon was He-Man. Peter’s was DuckTales. They’d eat Froot Loops with too much milk, and that’s when Ben started Peter working on his posture. Straight up and down.

Peter thinks about birthdays after someone is gone. Where that energy goes. What it’s supposed to mean, now that they aren’t alive anymore. But the day still means something, it still carries some weight—they’re here, at the cemetery, and it’s Ben’s birthday. It’s like they’re with him, in a way.

All of it is really weird. Peter doesn’t like thinking about death, despite how much it’s touched his life. He’ll never be able to make proper sense of it.

“He always liked picnics,” Peter says, picking at the edge of the blanket.

“This is your picnic blanket, isn’t it?” Tony asks. “I remember, from that time by Belvedere Castle—”

Peter snorts, remembering himself soaked and wet, and Tony’s broken phone. “Yeah, it is.”

“Was he a frisbee man?” Tony asks, tilting his head to really look at Peter. He takes off his sunglasses, folding them up and hanging them on his shirt. “I can’t exactly picture you catching a football, as that little—glasses-clad child—”

“We used to catch M&M’s in our mouths,” Peter says. He can almost taste the chocolate, even now. Can almost hear Ben’s laughter, May warding against drawing ants with the ones that didn’t make it to their destinations.

“Now that I can see,” Tony says. “Always M&M’s? Anything else? Cheeseballs for a cheeseball?”

Peter smiles to himself. “We tried Skittles once but for some reason it wasn’t as fun.”

“Completely different dynamics,” Tony says. “Totally get it.”

“He always liked to do dinner picnics so we’d be outside for the sunset,” Peter says. “About like, this time of day, really. He liked to take pictures, he had like, a million pictures of May and me posing with the sunset in the background. It’s like he was trying to capture every sunset he ever saw.”

Peter looks around, the pinks and brush strokes of purple, a few stars peeking out through the clouds. He looks at Tony, finds him smiling. Peter feels like he would have been nervous, to talk to him like this when they first met, but now he wants to tell him everything. He knows he actually cares. Genuinely wants to know.

“New York’s got a particular quality to it, especially right now,” Tony says. “You guys ever travel? Somewhere without so much—activity? Damn buildings blot out half the sky.” He clicks his tongue, looking up. “Could get a real good sunset picture somewhere quieter. I can’t remember what May said, were you guys—planning a trip way back, or—”

“We were talking about the Grand Canyon, a long time ago, but uh, things happened, got too expensive, and then, uh—” Tony knows the end of that story. Peter doesn’t need to say it.

“I’ll take you two,” Tony says, fast. “Well, uh. If you want. I mean, I don’t wanna step on any toes. But the invitation is there.” He clears his throat, steals a quick glance at the tombstone that Peter almost doesn’t see.

“That would be awesome,” Peter says, his heart beating a little faster just thinking about it. “May would totally freak out.”

“Good, that’s my favorite,” Tony says. “Like I don’t see enough of her freaking out.”

“But this would be the good kind of freaking out,” Peter says.

“Yeah, I’ve only seen that a couple times,” Tony says.

Peter smiles to himself, looking at the tombstone again. He doesn’t really like looking at the dates, like a span of time can really properly explain the extent of Ben Parker’s life. Like what he gave to Peter isn’t still running through his veins, like his love for May isn’t still carried in her heart and her hands every day. Peter feels a slight pull in his chest, and sometimes he feels guilty. Guilty, that he’s happy. Guilty, that he’s found another father figure in Tony. Guilty that he doesn’t cry anymore when he comes here. He does other times, when it hits him the wrong way, when he falls too deeply into his own head. But not here, not anymore, and he wonders why. He should, shouldn’t he? Here, of all places? Like there’s a heavenly spotlight on his head, when he’s in front of this tombstone. His voice and thoughts amplified for Ben to hear.

He cracks his jaw.

“I’d say what’s wrong,” Tony starts. “But, uh, I get it, bud. No matter how many years pass, the birthdays and the death days never feel real. It’s like they stand out among the rest of the days and every move you make doesn’t feel right. Like you’re sort of...ghosting through. Trying to honor them.”

“Yeah,” Peter croaks. “May and I went to Dumpling Galaxy earlier because it was his favorite, we always do.”

“Man had good taste,” Tony says.

Peter smiles again. “I, uh, was just thinking, I don’t know if I—should feel guilty, or...or wrong, or something, because I don’t cry when I come here anymore. I used to, like, really bad, and it was embarrassing, and I felt like I was disrupting other people’s mourning or something, but lately, uh—since I got back, and like, a little bit before I came back, I was—I wasn’t crying here anymore.”

Tony stares at him for what feels like a long while. Then he clears his throat. “Pete, he—he’d be glad,” Tony says. Peter looks at him, and Tony tilts his head again, smiling softly. He reaches out and takes Peter by the shoulder. “He’d be happy you’re happy. I feel like I know a lot about him, from what you and May have said, from—just knowing the two of you, and he was a lighthearted guy. He loved life and he loved you and your happiness was the thing he wanted most, and nobody we love wants us to sit around being sad because of them. He wouldn’t want you to cry, here or anywhere else—he’d be glad you’re—it isn’t moving on, it’s...it’s healing.”

Peter nods, blowing out a wavering breath. “I wish you two could have met,” he says. “I think about it all the time.”

“Me too,” Tony says, genuinely. “I mean, I feel like he was the one who...how do you say, condoned the Peter antics—”

Peter snorts, grinning. “Uh, yeah.”

“That’d be fun,” Tony says. “I know I would have liked him. I mean, look at what he did with you. He was obviously a master at kid crafting, along with May.”

Peter smiles, and he can’t help it, shifting over and leaning on Tony’s shoulder. Tony wraps his arm around him and hugs him close, squeezing his far shoulder.

“I’m real proud of you, Pete,” Tony says. “I know he would be too. He is.”

Warmth blooms in Peter’s chest and he nods, hoping he’s right.

They sit there for another twenty minutes or so, talking about Ben’s favorite movie (Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade), and that time he took an entire steak from a buffet because the servers were being too stingy with their cuts. Peter laughs and Tony does too, in appreciation of someone that is very much still present, despite being gone.

“Okay,” Tony says, pushing himself to his feet. “Lemme get one of those sunset pictures before the sky goes dark. This one’s for Ben, specifically, looks like he’s had a real hand in it.”

Peter looks up as Tony moves, and sees what he’s talking about—it really does look like a watercolor, shining and drying in the sun. He looks back at Tony, and thinks this is the most Dad he’s ever looked—holding his phone out in front of him, aiming, eyes narrowed in concentration.

“God, what did I say?” Tony asks, taking tiny steps to the side, obviously trying to get a better angle. “Goddamn buildings in the way—apologies to all the religious ghosts for cursing—”

He takes one step backwards, and falls, disappearing with a wide-eyed look on his face and a little, surprised yelp.

Peter is almost sure he hallucinated it, but Tony doesn’t reappear.

“Oh my God,” Peter gasps, scrambling to his feet. “Tony! Tony!” He rushes over, kicking up wet clumps of dirt, and he sees that—Tony fell into a hole. Tony fell into an open grave. He’s just—standing there, in the hole, his hands on his hips, a horrified, confused look on his face.

He glances up at Peter, his lip drawn up in consternation, and Peter can see mud on his pants, caking the long sleeves of his shirt, a smack of it on his cheek like he slammed into the wall of the hole on his way down.

Peter busts out laughing, covering his mouth so he doesn’t spit. “Oh my God,” he says, against his palm. He can’t stop laughing. He can’t stop laughing. His body is racked with it.

“Yeah, nice,” Tony says, pointing up at him. “Glad you’re liking it.”

Peter closes his eyes shut tight, his sides hurting, and he can’t stop he can’t stop. “Are you—are you okay?” Peter asks, the last word drawn out in the middle of a delighted wail, and Tony glares up at him.

“Don’t ask that as if you care at all,” Tony says, wiping his hands on his pants, but only spreading more mud.

“No, I care—” Peter stutters, but he cuts himself off by cracking up again, and he falls over into the mud himself, in stitches. “Oh my God, everything hurts.”

“Yup, yeah, just keep—”

“You just disappeared,” Peter laughs, tears racing down his cheeks. “You just—you just dropped, and your face—”

“Alright, alright, alright,” Tony says. “Get me outta here, c’mon, if you’d be so kind. Pretty sure I broke my phone again. Apparently that’s a theme for my outings with you.”

Peter tries to stop laughing. He’s muddy now too, and he bends down, leaning into the hole and grabbing Tony’s hand. He hauls him up, still giggling, and once Tony’s out of the hole Peter nearly roars with laughter, watching him stand back up. Peter clutches at his stomach, wheezing.

“Get up, you maniac,” Tony says, and he’s smiling now too. He holds out his hand and Peter takes it, and the two of them stumble away from the hole, which really has no business being there at all. Or maybe, like, a sign should be up to warn people. Or some cones.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says, hiccupping, reaching up and wiping at his eyes, trying not to get mud all over his face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, that was just—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony says, chuckling a little bit. “I can imagine. You and only you get a pass on laughing at me, let’s just hope falling into what looks like an open grave isn’t some kind of bad omen.”

“No,” Peter says, still laughing, trying to stop, trying really hard to stop. “No, no. No way. It’s not. It’s not.”

“Hey, check it out,” Tony says, grinning at him. He reaches up, smearing mud across Peter’s face.

“Ugh,” Peter groans, swatting him away.

“I’m absolutely sure those are the only tears Ben would ever want you to cry,” Tony says. “Tears of joy. At watching me make an ass of myself.”

“Yeah,” Peter grins, wishing Ben was here, but knowing he’s watching. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

#tony stark #peter parker #iron man #spider-man #whumptober 2019 #whumptober #iron dad #my fics #me vs not posting these early #oh well enjoy ily

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bubblyani · 4 years

Text

Cooperation in Full # 1

(Lucifer Morningstar x OC)

A Lucifer Morningstar Multi-Chapter Series

Chapter 1: Business Offers and Favors

Series Summary: Maya Sigera, an ambitious Event Planner, strives to put her company in the spotlight by forming a cooperate relationship with LA’s most enigmatic nightclub owner, Lucifer Morningstar. But as their lives intertwine, both Maya and Lucifer seem to find it difficult to keep their relationship professional. But regardless, their ‘Cooperation’ is ‘in full’.

Soundtrack: ♪♪♪ Bottoms up - Keke Palmer ♪♪♪

Authors Note: So so exciting cause this will be the first ever story I’m doing with an OC. Hope you will all enjoy this story with each chapter!

His eyes, they entrapped her gaze, sealing it so tight there was no escape.

“Tell me…” He asked, “This money…It really isn’t for your debt, is it?”

She felt it. The truth. And she felt it reach her tongue faster than expected.

“No…it’s not”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(A Day earlier)

To find oneself a free seat on a bus was indeed a dire task. It applied to anywhere all over the world, including Los Angeles. But in the rarest of moments, a seat or two will make themselves available, as it did on this late Monday morning.

Except she did not seem to notice.

Fingers gripped on the handrail, she kept standing; completely oblivious to rare miracle that was so visible. Which was a shame. Earphones were plugged in her ears, yet still she listened to no music. But her lips moved fast, and the manner it moved was repetitive. It was her mantra, her psych-up speech. Her attempts of fueling herself with enough positivity for what’s to come. But her train of concentration took a sudden stop when her mobile phone rang.

“Gurl, it’s like you knew” she answered the call, adorning a smile that lit up her face. She heard a familiar giggle from the other side.

“I always know, Maya” the caller replied,“ So, is today the day?”

“It sure is…” Maya said, giving an involuntary nod, “ I finally got an appointment, Denise. I still can’t believe it”

“Yeah, and with the man himself ” Denise said, sounding quite impressed, “How many days were you trying to set a meetup? Two ?Three?”

“Two actually…” Maya corrected, as she stared at her reflection on the bus window. Adjusting her raven locks tied into a high ponytail, she smacked her nude pink lips. Her brown skin glistened in the rays of the morning sun streaming through the glass window.

“Shit…” she muttered, “I’m actually on my way to meet Lucifer Morningstar”

Indeed, she was.

Assistant Events Manager in an up and coming Event Planning Company in LA. That title hung above her head, yet she still considered herself insufficient in assisting.

Until she finally made a decision. A decision that could place the company at the top. The day she made the bold declaration to her boss was fresh in her mind:

“I’ll get LUX to partner with us!”

The expression of disbelief, the laughter that followed from her boss were also quite vivid.

“Maya…” She began, “…don’t get me wrong but…don’t you think that’s a bit of a stretch? I mean, a place like LUX…” with clasped hands, “It was never easy. And don’t even get me started on the owner, Lucifer…” Scoffing as she continued , “ He can literally see right through people-”

“Then perfect!” Her subordinate cried out with confidence, “I can do it. You’ll see…”

With a sigh, Maya blinked into reality. And reality reminded her of the current purpose as the bus slowed down.

“Shit” She gasped, “My stop. Gotta go Denise! Wish me luck”

“Good Luck hun, You got this!”

Jumping carefully out of the bus, she stared at the venue she dreamt of conquering.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The keys of the piano sang as Lucifer Morningstar’s fingers grazed over them in rhythm. As he played in pure leisure, his eyes wandered around LUX, that transforms into complete desolation in daytime.

For the entire world, he was the owner of a high-end nightclub, a playboy, a man of power. But in reality, he was also the Devil. Satan himself, the fallen angel who decided to take a sudden holiday. Never was he hesitant to admit he was the Lord of Hell if needed. The only problem was that it all just seemed such a waste of energy, especially when no one around him actually bothered to believe him.

He heard a huff from Mazikeen ‘Maze’ Smith. The annoyance was evident, as she watched him from the bar.

“A Business Meeting? Really? Why do you need to do this Lucifer?” his demon bodyguard said, “I thought this was something you actually find boring. You know, you can actually hire people to do the talking for you, right?”

“Oh Maze…” Lucifer drawled, looking over at her, “You never stop your incessant whining, don’t you?” With a chuckle, he continued, “Watching humans do whatever it takes, all for the sake of money and power, it is quite titillating. Ah!” The clicking of heels heard from the distance caught Lucifer’s attention.

“Right on time…” he said to himself with a grin.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The first time Maya ever saw Lucifer Morningstar, was when she looked him up on the internet. With the intention of putting a face to the name well known, she had no idea what she would find. Tall, dark and extremely handsome, she found herself exhale with frustration.

“Damn…” she muttered to herself, “What a hottie, eh?”

“RIGHT?”

An excited colleague replied, making her jump, “Apparently sex with him is supposed to be amazing!” The colleague added with a dreamy quality.

“HEY! Shhh! Watch your mouth, young lady!” Guffawing, Maya looked at her with a dropped jaw, “That could be our future business partner”

“Even better!”

“Watch it!”

A hilarious memory indeed.

As she chuckled that incident away, Maya maintained her pantsuit clad confident posture while descending down the stairs of LUX as a pair of eyes watched her. Or was it two? No, definitely one.

“Good Morning, Mr. Morningstar!” She greeted in her most confidence voice.

Moving away from the piano, the man who was addressed began to adjust his jacket.

“Indeed it is…” Lucifer replied, with a smile, and a tone filled with seduction. Smiling back, she extended her hand.

“Maya Sigera” she introduced herself, “….one of your associates scheduled a meeting for us today. I hope you were informed”

“Yes, yes I was…” Lucifer replied, taking her hand in his “…although it is such a pity I was not informed of the magnitude of your beauty” he purred, as hands were shaken. Maya chuckled.

“Ahaha! I should be flattering you” she said, while maintaining strong eye contact, “…for it is I who’s here with the proposition”

When it came to business, appearances proved nothing to Maya. As it should be. She was well trained. But the moment her eyes made contact with the enigmatic nightclub owner, she knew it was a mistake.

The man exuded attraction. He was magnetism incarnate. So powerful that every inch of her body beseeched her to follow her natural instinct that weighed towards desire.

But with a strong, resolute blink of an eye, she managed to pull her hand away. She stopped herself. And she was relieved she was able to. For she was a professional. Although, she would be lying if she were not clenching her fists with frustration.

“Well...” Lucifer began, “in that case, let us wait no more”

“Great! Is there an office where we can discuss?”

“Nonsense! We can discuss it here”

With a raised eyebrow, Maya looked at her host with confusion as he guided her towards the bar.

Definitely out of the box.

“Now, what would you like to drink, darling?” Lucifer asked, as a young, male bartender appeared before them. Maya was certain she saw a woman earlier.

“ I….uh” she hesitated, “I don’t know if I should drink now” she added with a nervous laughter.

“Oh come now…I insist!”

“Alright…one Mojito please!”

This time it was Lucifer’s turn to raise his eyebrows, forcing Maya to smile.

“What?” She asked, “Technically it is a drink, right?” She looked over at the bartender.

As the younger man nodded in acknowledgment, Lucifer chuckled.

“Fair enough.Well then Ms. Sigera...” he said, taking a sip from his glass of whiskey:

“Impress me…”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It may have been just Lucifer watching, but for Maya, it was likened to the entire world. The pressure was just as immense.

The speed of the bartender’s service impressed her, for all she needed was the chill of the ice cold glass of the mojito comforting her hand. Thanking the young man inaudibly, she took a large sip.

“This is nice…” she remarked, pointing at the drink before taking a deep breath:

“Firstly, I would like to thank you for providing me the opportunity to meet you. And second, I swear I won’t be lying, cause I know it’s not gonna get me anywhere.”

Wrong move. Wrong move. Why did she feel the need to say that? Maya felt the need to kick herself. And yet, for some strange reason, she anticipated a reply. Instead those eyes merely watched her with pure fascination. Clearing her throat, she continued:

“Our company…it may be a small, yes. But we always strive to provide our clients a high quality service. Giving them the privilege to forget about any form of stress, we take charge of coordinating with all the third parties…” She felt a surge of confidence with every word that exited her lips, “And venue-wise…we believe LUX is possibly one of the best places in LA. Nay, the best ever…and so, we want nothing but your full cooperation”

Avoiding his eyes, yet she fixed her gaze at him. And so far it was a relief to see how he remained genuinely fascinated with what he heard. Clearing her throat once more, she spoke:

“Forming a partnership…”

“Oh?”

“….it can be a win-win for both of us.” Maya said, giving a subtle smile, “I think if our company holds events here, new customers can be introduced to LUX with so much convenience. And existing clients of LUX? They will get to know about us, making it easy for them to plan any future events too.” Holding her glass, she began to chuckle, “Now I know….many… many other companies may have proposed the same to you. But if you just give us a chance…” Maya said, placing one hand on her chest, “… if you even take a look at some of our current events we have undertaken, you will see how well we work. Our efficiency. Our Professionalism. You…. won’t…. be disappointed.”

With a deep exhale, she finished it. Another huge gulp of mojito moistened her tongue once more. The transparency was evident in her. And it surprised Lucifer.

“You’re actually quite serious about this, aren’t you?” He commented with sheer curiosity. Never had he been this concentrated on a business proposal before. Nodding, Maya took the glass away from her lips.

��Of course! It’s my job. I -” looking around, she leaned in closer, looking into his eyes with intensity, “…truthfully, my boss thinks this is a dead end, considering how difficult it was to partner with you. But…” pressing her lips together, she continued in a low tone, “ I’m hoping to prove her wrong. There! I said it! Oh! Almost forgot...” With the snap of her fingers, her voice grew loud while she looked into her bag, “....here is our company profile… this includes the past events we have done” clasping her hands together, her foot rocked as she watched him flip through the booklet “I heard you don’t deal with any BS and I think that’s great cause...so do I-”

“Lucifer!”

Both heads turned to find Maze by the entrance. There she was, Maya thought.

“You have a visitor” Maze’s voice echoed across the room as she stood with arms folded. Waiting beside her was a nervous looking young man.

“Ah bloody hell…” Maya heard Lucifer mutter under his breath. She turned towards him. Could it be that her window of opportunity just closed? Did she lose his full attention?

“Ms.Sigera…” Lucifer began disappointingly, his eyes still on the visitor.

“Ah...something urgent, I’m guessing?” Maya asked, hiding her own disapproval.

“Unfortunately, yes…” he replied with a sigh. She kept nodding in compensation.

“I understand…” she chuckled, standing up “You’re a busy man”. Was this a cheap ploy to get her out? It was difficult for her to know. Standing alongside her, Lucifer replied politely:

“Please do know that your proposition will be considered. Be sure to expect a call from me when I do” He said with a smile.

“I look forward to that” Extending her hand once again, Maya added, “Thank You, Mr. Morningstar”

“A pleasure, Ms.Sigera” Lucifer replied, giving a firm handshake, “Come now!” he gestured to the man casually, who ran past her in a flash. Finally, he ended up beside the nightclub owner, holding his hand in desperation.

“Lucifer please! I need that favor”

“Curious much?”

Maze’s voice made Maya jump all the sudden.

“Ahaha! I’m sorry. I’ll go” she said, turning to leave.

“So, the favor thing is real” she muttered to herself as she walked.

Taking a step out of the club, Maya had grown more curious than the time she entered. Regardless, she sighed in relief. She did it. She took that challenging step. She pitched the idea.

What seemed torturous now was the waiting. For nothing was set in stone. Nothing that was promised or agreed on. Just in mere consideration.

As she waited at the bus station, all she could think of was him. Of all the people, of all the men she had ever encountered, Lucifer Morningstar was certainly different. Perhaps it was merely his spellbinding handsomeness that was tricking her. He was a toughie. But at the same time, she was fascinated. He was challenging.

The ring of her phone woke her from the pondering. It was not Denise. But it was certainly someone who made her smile.

“Uncle Pablo!”

She greeted with adoration, “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about dinner tonight, okay? I’ll-”

The bloody, gurgling cough that responded on the line made her freeze. It sounded familiar, and it certainly sounded painful.

“U-uncle Pablo?” Meekly, she inquired once again, “Whats going on?”

Only to hear the one thing she hoped not to ever again:

“Maya, they’re back!”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(The Next Day)

“You’re crazy, Maya Sigera. Crazy”

With a drink in hand, Maya muttered as she sat by the bar. The venue was vacant this morning as the morning before, but her state of mind was definitely not.

A night of contemplation and self convincing led her to LUX the very next day, for it was the only option she had left.

“Ms.Sigera, sorry to have kept you waiting...” Lucifer’s voice boomed as he quickly descended from the stairs to join her. He seemed to have rushed back in hurry“Now regarding your plan-”

“...thats not why I’m here Mr.Morningstar” Maya said, her voice brimming in nervousness.

“Oh?”

“I…I....” taking a deep breath, she looked right at him, finally gathering courage:

“I need a favor”

Breaking into an amused laughter, Lucifer certainly found it unexpected.

“What? Business offers and favors? Ms. Sigera...you must be desperate”

“Oh believe me! I know how this sounds...” scoffing, Maya answered in kind, “ but this favor, I have no other choice”

The grim expression on her face was no joke. And it proved grim enough for his laughter to die down.

“Right, what is it that you need?”

“Money”

Plain and simple was her answer, which was akin to her tone. Lucifer raised his eyebrows.

“Why?”

“I have a debt to settle”

“How much?”

“50,000 dollars”

“You? A debt?” He asked, as his eyes scanned her up and down, “Interesting”.

Restlessness and desperation overtook Maya. “Look, can you help me or not?” She snapped. Before he could respond, her phone rang, forcing her to click her tongue with frustration.

“Shit!” She said before answering.

It was work, it was urgent was certainly unavoidable.

Hanging up, she looked at him with a sigh.

“Ah...something urgent, I’m guessing?” He asked.

For a moment, Maya was impressed as Lucifer Morningstar managed to turn her own words around on her. But she was too upset to show it.

“Yeah...” she nodded, with brows furrowed as she slid off her barstool.

Watching her run off in a hurry , Lucifer dialed his phone with furrowed brows.

“Detective…” he greeted, with the phone pressed against his ear,

“I need you to look up someone for me”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(7:59 pm )

The line of people eyed Maya with sheer envy when the bouncer granted her special access to LUX, upon a mere glance.

For a moment she wondered if this was a sign that her proposition was accepted. But that was just wishful thinking for sure. For that text she received from Lucifer Morningstar remained clear as day:

Regarding your favor.

8pm at Lux.

Being only subjected to it’s glory through mere photographs and videos, the real-time extravagance of LUX nightclub certainly took her breath away. Especially when the venue was packed with satisfied clients.

Except for a small group, as she had noticed. As a potential cooperate partner, it disturbed her slightly.

Nevertheless, business seemed to be booming. And Maya had no regrets with her intentions for collaboration. Beautiful, all occupants here were so beautiful. Or maybe it was merely the cheerleader effect, but nevertheless, it felt flourished.

Except for that group, that her mind could not let go of.

Dressed in a silk jumpsuit, Maya looked club appropriate as she swam through the crowds hoping to find Lucifer, her possible savior for the night.

And she found him by the bar.

All the women around him wanted him with much intensity. If common decency never existed, they could possibly appear to be salivating over him like he was a succulent dish.

They say if you stare at someone long enough, they would notice. And just like that, Lucifer sensed Maya’s gaze. And to her surprise he brightened up as a result.

She didn’t budge as he walked up to her in the midst of the crowd. If it were any other day, she would have savored a handsome stranger approaching her in a club. But tonight, she was impatient and very helpless.

“Mr. Morningstar...” she began, “have you had time to consider my favor?” Though she was serious, her body began to sway involuntarily to the music. Force of habit.

“I have...” he replied, with his hands in his pockets, slightly amused by her movements “Although there is something that’s bothering me”. Before she could even question it, she felt her body freeze up the moment he leaned forward.

His eyes, mesmerizing, they entrapped her gaze, sealing it so tight there was no escape. All the voices around her suddenly vanished, except for his own.

“Tell me…” He asked, “This money…It really isn’t for your debt, is it?”

Hypnotized, she felt it. She felt the truth being dug up. And to her shock, she felt it reach her tongue faster than expected.

“No…it’s not”

With a gasp, she felt herself unfreeze. The truth was finally out. How the hell did he do that? She thought.

“Right...” Lucifer said, “Fancy a walk?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Strolling down the streets of LA at night with Lucifer Morningstar was definitely what Maya did not expect.

“How did you even-”

“I have my reliable sources. And according to them you’ve never had any form of debts nor any criminal record. Now why would someone with a squeaky clean background ask for money?”

“Shit happens but ..just out of curiosity, why do you care Mr. Morningstar?”

“As someone giving a favor I think it’s only fair that I know the full story. I can tell the guilt is eating you up...” Looking at her, Lucifer said as they both kept walking.

This man, seriously, Maya thought.

“Fair enough...” chuckling, she folded her arms:

“Like I said earlier, the money is not for my debt. It’s for ...my uncle” looking ahead, she continued, “Technically he’s not my blood relative but, he is the only thing close to family here. But he...he got into some bad shit back in the day”

“Drug dealing? Theft?” Lucifer guessed excitedly.

“Unlicensed boxing” Maya corrected him, “Some matches ...they didn’t go down the way the bookies wanted and uh... ‘El Fuego’, this gang that ran the matches, after so many years they suddenly decided to uh ‘stop by’ to check up on his financial matters. This was two days ago...” with a shudder, she continued, “...they hurt him...pretty bad” with a heavy sigh, she envisioned that fateful night. The way she found him beaten and battered in his own home.

“Trust me, Mr. Morningstar...if I had enough money I would have done something. But unfortunately I can’t risk it....I wouldn’t have come to you if I weren’t so desperate-”

“Ms.Sigera, consider your favor to be granted”

Lucifer declared out of the blue, making her eyes widen and stop on the pavement.

“W-what ?” She stuttered, “You serious?”

“Yes...” he smiled warmly.

For a second she wondered if she was looking at an angel in disguise.

“I can give you the money…” He said, “Under one condition”

“Hmmm?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“See those young ladies over there?” Lucifer shouted through the music, while showing Maya a part of the club. Maya knew her instincts never failed her.

It was them, that particular group that caught her attention. Their scowls and negative auras were quite distinctive.

“Those young ladies are proving to be quite the buzzkill” he said, rolling his eyes, “Trust me, I tried to diffuse the situation but then it’s like bees to honey all together, and I have a club to run”

“Of course, you’re not obligated to seduce them No no...” Maya said worryingly, “but yeah, I did notice from the moment I walked in” she added , “Want me to do something about that?”

Her confidence and reliability made his jaw drop.

“I was hoping you would say that.” He laughed with relief, “Yes please! Your efficiency. Your professionalism”, he continued, “Let this be your shining moment to fight for your company and your uncles debt”

Giving him the thumbs up, Maya felt purpose engulf her whole. Walking over to the group, she got down to work. It was her time. She could show him her capabilities. Even though it was a tad bit unexpected and different.

“Good Evening Ladies, How are y’all doing today?”

She said brightly, greeting the group who sat on the sofa.

“What does it look like?”

One snapped back at her. Ms. Snappy huh? Maya thought.

With her hands on her waist, Maya further observed her target audience. In their early twenties, they showed classic signs of a stubbornness, immersed in nothing but boredom.

“ Are you the hostess? I thought this place was supposed to be fun”

Ms. Snappy added rudely. Maya chuckled.

“Oh...now don’t be too hasty with your impression, hun” Clasping her hands, she maintained her positivity, “Maybe something particular isn’t suiting to your taste here. Like, in my opinion?” Bending low, she attempted empathy by leaning towards them to whisper, “I think the music can be a bit more….you know , dance friendly? And the dancers...they may seem a little monotonous I don’t know-”

“So? why don’t you do something about it?”

Ms. Snappy asked, raising eyebrows whilst snapping fingers at her. The other girlfriends nodded in approval.

Typical Spoilt kids, Maya thought. She had to think fast. Telling the dancers off in public didn’t seem respectful to the club. She had only one option.

The DJ’s face lit up when she came up to him and whispered in his ear. Upon seeing his thumbs up of agreement, she motioned one of the dancers to get down from the box. Thankful for wearing sturdy high heels, Maya managed to catch everyone’s attention including Lucifer’s when she gave the DJ a nod.

♪♪♪ ♪♪♪

A smile came over her the moment the music began. Looking down, she permitted the music to take over her soul. Until she finally felt possessed.

She snapped her fingers to rhythm, as her body embraced the song completely.Her hips. They certainly did not lie, swaying to steady rhythm, eliciting whistles and cheers from the crowd. Riled up, Maya did not hesitate to let loose as the chorus began.

Body rolling, buttocks bouncing, nothing was close to demure or decent when she reunited with her dance-enthusiastic self. And the crowd certainly liked what they saw.

A long loud whoop later, Maya watched the others join in the dance fun, including Ms. Snappy and her snapper crew. Eyes widened with excitement, they certainly appeared different.

“Oh my god…” Ms. Snappy cried, “That was incredible!”

“See? I told you…” panting, Maya got down from the box, “it’s all about the right song...Now come on ! Shake that booty gurl…”

Finally, looking around, she sensed no dissatisfaction. The atmosphere was on fire. All was well again.

Amidst excited squeals, Maya moved over to the DJ.

“Put some dancehall and we’re golden” she said, giving the ok sign, “Thanks!”

“Ms.Sigera!”

Maya turned in a flash upon hearing Lucifer’s voice. Her long, loose locks that bounced earlier, suddenly rested on her shoulder with obedience by his tone.

“I must admit...I am impressed!” He said, with a huge smile on his face, “Amazing dancer and mood maker? Who could have known?”

“Nah!” She shook her head, “I’m not that good of a dancer” she said, while being guided to the bar “You see, what I did was...” an awkward pause came over her, when one of his alluring groupies wrapped themselves around him, “Uh...it’s just the right choice of music. It ...goes a long way” she continued, her professionalism maintained.

“Hands on…I quite like that” He commented, fully focused on her, as the friendly bartender handed over a mojito.

“Thank you” Maya said, looking at both of them.

“And…”Lucifer said, gesturing to the bartender, “ as promised…” gasps came over her when they revealed a duffle bag filled with cash. With discretion.

“Oh my god-”

“Dad has nothing to do with this!” Lucifer said, sounding offended. “What?”

“No matter. So…” he began, “...will you be making the transaction for your uncle’s freedom tonight?”

“Actually I think I will” she said with a chuckle, “I’m in such a good mood right now, don’t think anything’s gonna ruin it. Besides...” lowering her voice, “I just wanna get it done soon…get over it you know. Be free” she said, taking the bag with a big smile. Lucifer chuckled back.

“Then I’m glad” he said, raising his glass “Good Luck Ms.Sigera. Ladies, if you excuse me…”

And just like that, she watched him disappear into the crowd. For a second, she felt her stomach turn.

“Are you gonna sleep with him too?”

“What?” Shocked, she realized the woman who clung on to him was still around, “Oh no!” Maya replied. The blonde adjusted her dress enough to reveal more cleavage excitedly.

“Well…I am. Can’t wait” Her enthusiasm was akin to an overexcited teenager. Chuckling, Maya patted her on the shoulder, “Well...I can’t blame ya” she said, making sure that it was her exit line before the big mission.

Little did she know, on the other side of the club, something else was brewing. Little did she know, how Lucifer Morningstar excused himself, only to find his way to his demonic bodyguard.

“Care for a rush-inducing adventure, Maze?”

He said, leaning against the stair railing beside her, who sat and indulged the visual of a dancer. Mazikeen licked her lips, “Only if its got to do with some good old fashioned violence ” she said, taking out one of her knives to admire.

“Well, my friend. You’re in luck”

The lord of hell replied,

“Cause we are about to take out some ‘baddies’”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(10:00 pm)

Making contact wasn’t exactly necessary, when her uncle knew of the usual Wednesday warehouse spot for “El Fuego” poker night. Maya made sure she wasn’t followed, she made sure she wasn’t made suspicious either.

But the moment she stepped in to the place, all her built up tough defenses went flying out.

“What the-?” She breathed.

‘El Fuego’ that she heard of and have seen, were proud, standing tall and threatening.

Never lying on the ground, groaning in pain, like what she just saw.

Every gang member, weakened to the floor, looked bloody or swollen and no way shape or form to fight. Some of the light bulbs were broken, chairs were in pieces. The scene, it looked strangely similar to a fight that had gone bad. And lost to the lowest point.

“Pater Noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum...”

Latin words, that suspiciously sounded like a prayer appeared out of nowhere. Stepping over a groaning gangster, Maya found the leader Juan.

She had heard stories about him. About the cold blooded schemer who did not bat an eye to kill, to steal, to make her uncle a forever debtor.

Anti climactic it was certainly, to see him hiding behind his wooden chair, before a now-non existent table at an empty warehouse.

“.... Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie...”

prayers left the old man’s trembling lips as he sat on the floor with his eyes closed.

“Hey!” Maya called out, “...a-are you okay-”

“GET AWAY FROM ME!”

The man screamed out, fear quite visible in his face. Gaunt, with no color, tears streamed down his cheeks.

“I don’t need your money” he said. Maya raised her eyebrows.

“How did you-”

“RUN!” He yelled, “The devil is among us. You better run. Or else...he will find you!” Juan said, pointing at you , “Tell Pablo that it’s over...JUST GO!”

That was it? All is done? Just like that? It all seemed too easy. Why?

Lingering around for the answers was not Maya’s intention, especially amongst ‘El Fuego’.

Taking the gang leader’s word, she left. But she did not go home.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The flashing disco lights shone in her eyes. Closing them, her ears were drowned in the rhythmic melody of the music played. Though she only was there a few times, Maya felt at home at LUX already.

“Looking for someone?”

“Gah!” Clutching her chest, she laughed seeing Lucifer appear from behind her, “Actually I was .... I’m here to give this back” she said, holding the duffle bag in front of the quizzical Lucifer Morningstar, “Cause something crazy happened”

“Really? do tell”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Too excited to even drink, Maya described the incident animatedly to the fascinated club owner beside the bar.

“…And he just... kept telling me to run away, or else the Devil might get me”

“The Devil? Really?”

“Yeah, It was just insane. The day I go to pay back the money, everything’s just…poof! cancelled” she said, lost in thought, “ it’s like someone is watching over me-”

“Hmmm hmmm...interesting. So he says the devil...he might get you?”

He asked, only to watch her nod nonchalantly, “Then here is my query...Ms. Sigera...” He proceeded to ask, “Suppose you actually meet the devil? Would you run away?”

Serious, he sounded serious. But Maya could only lean in and smile.

“If I...actually meet the devil, running away would be the last thing I’ll ever do” she said softly, proceeding to chuckle, “Hell ! I’d probably even have a drink with the fella, chatting away until he gets fed up of me” she added, leaning back in her barstool.

“Oh! He certainly won’t!” Lucifer answered quick, making her giggle.

“How can you be so sure?”

“I just am, darling” He said with confidence, “Regardless, crisis averted. Congratulations Ms.Sigera, your family is officially free!” Raising his glass, he cried out. Grinning from ear to ear, she took a bow.

“And now...” standing straight, she heard him continue, “it’s time for that favor back”

Of course, she knew of this. Tit for tat.

“Oh dear...” sitting cross legged, Maya began, “Nothing too cruel I hope.” Flashing a nervous smile.

Lucifer smiled.

“On the contrary...”

“Hmm?”

“I want to do business with you”

Never did Maya’s jaw drop faster than it did just then.

“W-WHAT?” She asked.

“I am agreeing to your offer.” He replied with a chuckle, amused by her expression, “Your cooperate deal with LUX. But that’s only if you are the officially coordinator...no one else”

Overwhelming happiness came over her.

“This is just…” Maya paused, “Hang on…is this because any sympathy bullshit?” Worryingly, she asked, clutching the table dramatically. “No of course not!…The way you handled that party tonight, which...still seems to be going on. That’s thanks to you-What? what’s so funny?”

Confused, Lucifer inquired when she laughed. “No no…I’m just happy” she breathed, raising both her hands up in the air, “Ahhh Fucking Finally! IT’S HAPPENING!! Ahem! Pardon me…”

Embarrassed, she realized her place as she retracted her arms back down.

Until Lucifer held one back up.

“Oh no no….” He said, smiling:

“...from now on. No pardon required, Ms. Sigera ”

Maya never felt more victorious. She felt as if she had conquered the near impossible.

“Right...” Lucifer rubbed his hands together, “...how about we sign the contract tomorrow?”

“Wait...what?”

——————————————————————————————

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 5 years

Text

The Bottom: Part 2 of 2

A/N: This was originally supposed to go...very differently. But then I had a revelation in the shower this morning, and everything changed. And I guarantee you’ll like it better this way. If you’re curious about the original ending after you read this bad boy, pop into my messages and i’ll tell you all about it.

Warning: descriptions of overdose, drug use

Word Count: 4841

When Logan’s name flashed across the caller ID, Juliet answered without a second’s pause, expecting her brother’s tone to be bright and warm as it had been for the better part of two years. He probably wants to meet for lunch. There was a time when meeting her brother for lunch was in a completely different realm of impossible. There was a time when seeing his name appear on her screen brought a chill to her chest and a dizzying headache as her heart began pounding in her brain; a time when a call from Logan meant that he was in some kind of trouble, or that he’d been rushed to the emergency room, or that he was contemplating filling his veins with enough poison to permanently curb his pain. But his recovery had been going so well, and he’d been working so hard to uncover the light that he’d lost inside of himself, that those feelings of dread, that conditioned, involuntary response had become just a memory.

“Hey...Juliet? Can...can we talk?... I’m at the hospital and-”

And just like that, those memories came speeding back to claw at her lungs and tear through her mind. Logan’s face; cheeks hollow and covered with too many days worth of unkempt growth, dark eyes completely matte and dull, pupils so small they were barely there, rimmed in grayish purple circles that only made his pale complexion seem more colorless. His skin; sweaty and clammy and thin beneath her fingers as she hoisted him onto his side, saving him from choking, arms and legs dotted with bruises and blotches. That slow motion sound to his voice, the small cracks and tired quality. The things he would say and how little sense they made, how not a thing from his mouth was credible- none of the promises could be believed, none of the apologies or threats or curses really meant anything at all. How he’d swing from livid screams of “Fuck off, Jules, I fuckin’ hate you!” to desperate, pleading, painfully sorrowful sobs of “I’m sorry, I’ll be better, Jules, I promise…”

Hearing him say those words- “I’m at the hospital”- made her heart rate triple and her eyes grow wide. She stood abruptly from her desk, manicured fingers clutching her phone in one hand and grabbing her keys with the other. No. Not again. Please don't make him go through this again. She wasn’t sure who she was pleading with, but the thought of Logan falling back after reaching such a peak, after the rigorous climb to sobriety that he’d made, filled her heart with lead and sent it dropping into her stomach.

What? Logan? What happened? Are you…” she paused, swallowed, clamped her eyes shut against the dizzying question whipping around in her skull: Are you relapsing again? Even though he hadn’t backslid in over two and a half years, that was where her terrified mind went. “Are you sick? Logan? Are you hurt?” The words were tumbling out and over one another too quickly for him to answer, too quickly for her to stop them, their bitter taste leaving her tongue numb.

“Hey, no, Jules...I’m okay. I’m here because…” she listened to his tone- not bright and cheerful, but not broken or slurred. He sighed and it sounded heavy, but it had the distinct weight to it that only came from carrying someone else’s burden. She knew that sigh well, having emptied her own lungs in that same soul shuddering way plenty of times. I swear, if this is about… “Jules, I’m here because someone needs me to be here.”

Juliet froze halfway to her office door and spoke your name into the phone. It wasn’t a guess, she was sure he was talking about you. Her stomach churned uneasily as she exhaled through semi flared nostrils. I thought I made it clear to her that Logan didn’t need-

“Yeah… yes. It’s, fuck. She… Jesus, Juliet. She called me because she thought she was fucking dying. And… and I think she wanted to...at least, at least last night I think she did…”

He sounds so...so sad. “Is...is she okay?” Juliet regained a normal, even tone from the relief of knowing that he was still safe, still healthy. But he’s still in pain. Why does it have to be her, Logan? She adjusted the strap of her shoulder bag before meticulously fixing the few errant strands of her dark curls, letting out a painfully patient sigh.

“She’s...stable, yeah.” He sniffed and cleared his throat, and when he spoke again it was anything but clear. “Jules...when I saw her…” he swore and his voice lurched with the distinct unevenness of uncontrolled breathing. “When I saw her, Jules… I- I realized what it was like...what I was like when you… shit.” She heard a rustling sound and imagined that he was rubbing his hand over his face, knowing that this wasn’t easy for him. “Juliet I’m...thank you. I love you, Jules.”

Juliet could taste her heart on her tongue and forced her eyes shut. “I love you too, Logan. You don’t have to-”

“No. I do. I know I said it before. But now I know. I know what you...what you saw, what you felt.” No, Logan, you can’t have any idea. You’re my brother. She’s just… “and how you...what you had to do and… And I know now, Jules.” There was a deep understanding in his tone, as though everything he’d been through- overdoses, hospital stays, rehab, withdrawal, the meetings, the back slide, sobriety- all of it was punctuated with a final level of acknowledgement now that he’d seen it from the other side.

“I hope you never have to see it again, Logan.” Her own voice had lost its sharpness, and though she was far from your biggest fan, the sincerity in her words was genuine; she truly hoped with every bone in her body that Logan wouldn’t have to go through anything like what he must have spent the last several hours going through- what she’d spent too much time going through herself.

“I’m gonna help her, Jules.” He sounded more resolute than she’d ever heard him sound, even in the boardroom or in negotiations, when he could be a downright cocky son of a bitch. But… help her? What did he mean by that? “I want to… she’s… I need to help her.”

“Logan are you-” Are you sure that’s a good idea? I’m not. What if she can’t be helped? Are you thinking straight? Does she really mean that much to you? “Are you still at the hospital? I’ll meet you there.” And to think I thought we’d be meeting for lunch when this call started…

“Yeah...yeah, I’ll be here until they release her. Don’t want her to be alone, her family’s out of town and she… fuck even when they are in town she’s got no one, Jules.”

Juliet left her office and strode down the hallway, heels clicking against the hardwood. “Okay. I’m on my way now. Be there in about twenty five minutes, okay?” And then we’re going to talk about this help.

“Yeah, okay Jules. Thanks. Thank you for coming.” Tired, determined, hopeful, scared… he was all of those things and she completely understood… and she completely hated it.

“Of course, Logan. I’ll see you soon.” She hung up and pushed her phone down into her purse, passing her assistant’s office. From the corner of her eye she saw him spring up from his desk like a jack-in-the-box, darting out to follow her.

“Ms. Delos, do you need a car? Should I call you a driver? Make any arrangements?” Juliet didn’t slow her steps or even turn around.

“No, Jeff, thank you, I’m going to drive myself.” Don’t want anyone to know I’m meeting Logan in the ER. “Just cancel all my afternoon meetings, please. Reschedule them for any time after Wednesday. Thank you, Jeff.” She raised her right hand in thanks as Jeff stopped following and returned to his office to start contacting the several clients and vendors that were likely already on their way to meet with her. Turning down the hallway that lead out to the parking garage, she kept her brisk pace until she reached her sleek black convertible, getting in and pulling out towards the highway. He needs to make sure he knows what he’s doing...Oh, Logan… why does it have to be her?

. . . . . . . . . .

When you woke up again after the doctor had been in to check on you, everything ached. Parts of yourself that you didn’t know you had, parts of yourself that you didn’t think still had viable nerve endings, parts of yourself you thought you’d already damaged beyond repair, were burning and throbbing, dull and hot and well past the pain level that you were comfortable with. Nausea rose in angry waves, corrosive bile eating at your stomach lining, your esophagus, staining the inside of your mouth. Your lungs felt tired despite the oxygen tube beneath your nose and around your ears, the plastic rubbing against your skin with the sensation of tiny sawblades, and with each breath you felt yourself grow closer and closer to the sleep that your pain kept you from.You raised your right hand to try to move the offending tubing, but you were stopped. Realizing that you’d had your eyes closed this whole time, you struggled greatly to open them and found Logan’s long fingers wrapping gently around your hand and pushing it back down to your side. You felt his forearm against your own, his skin warm and soft, yours thin and cold.

“Hey, nope, you need that, leave that there, okay?” There was a patience in his tone that you never would have associated with Logan Delos. He was used to instant gratification; demands, not requests, confidence, not uncertainty. Clearly, more had changed since the last time you had seen him than his sobriety. You weren’t delusional enough, even in your current state, to think that he was simply this patient and understanding for you.

You let him hold your wrist down against the sheets until you nodded and he was satisfied that you wouldn’t try to disrupt your oxygen tube again, and even then he didn’t take his hand back. Instead, he moved his thumb back and forth against your prominent wrist bone, protruding like a marble from the base of your hand. “Just hurts,” you mumbled, trying to explain why you wanted to move the tubing.

He inhaled shakily through his nose and nodded. “I know. I know it does.” His dark eyes narrowed briefly and he swallowed before your name fell from his lips- lips you could still feel all over your body even years later, lips that had always indulged whatever whim you were on, lips that were now set in a firm line to keep from quivering. “Do you...did you hear what the doctor was saying before?”

You shook your head as much as you could, no recollection of a conversation with your doctor.

Logan’s fingers curled around your wrist again and tightened in a brief squeeze as he sighed. “You need to stay overnight again tonight. You had… there must have been… there must have been something else in your stuff...some additive or, or whatever but it caused some blood clots- small ones, but they were near your lungs so… so they just want to be sure that they dissolve before you can go home.”

So that’s why it's so exhausting to breathe. You watched him wince as he explained what you’d done to yourself, and immediately you felt guilt add itself to the roiling waves of withdrawal nausea in your stomach. He shouldn’t be here. This isn’t fair to him.

“So you need this,” he brought his free hand up to your face and traced the line of plastic tubing over your cheek and around your ear. “I know it hurts. But you need it. Need to leave it alone so you can get better.” He combed his fingertips through your hair, grazing the top of your ear, featherlight before his palm conformed to the side of your head, cradling it against the pillow. “You need to get better. You will.” He swallowed again and you closed your eyes as the lips you remembered found a spot on your forehead. You felt a tingle spread out from where he kissed you, like a protective aura had been cast over you with that kiss. If only it were that simple.

“Logan,” your voice was raspy and your throat felt like you’d swallowed box cutter blades, but what you had to say was important so you pushed through the pain. “Logan, I’m sorry that I called you last night. I...you shouldn’t be here.” One had was still tucked against the side of your head, the other still holding your wrist, thumb brushing the skin beneath the plastic bracelet with your intake information. Why doesn’t he see that?

“What do you mean? Don’t apologize. I’m...I’m so glad you called me. What if-” The look of confusion on his face was yet another new development. The Logan you knew was always sure, even when others weren’t. He shook his head and a few pieces of hair fell out of place.

“No, Logan, I am. I’m sorry because,” you took a breath. “Because you’re clearly doing so...so well and I didn’t mean,” another breath, “to bring you back into this and…” you exhaled, coughing and he tried to silence you but you shook your head through the cough and took another breath. “You don’t need to be here with me, Logan. You’re not...obligated or…”

“Stop.” There he is. Finally, the Logan you remembered showed up, voice full and commanding. “I know I’m not obligated. I’m here because I want to be here, and I want to be here because I...care about you. I always have...I-” the sureness wavered again but he gathered his eyebrows together and rallied the command back into his tone. “I know you cared about me, too, back then. I...I know we did a lot of...of fucked up shit together. And I know it was fucked of me that I never reached out to you after I got clean. And, no, stop-” you had tried to raise your hand under his touch, tried to cut him off and speak, but he didn’t let you. “Let me...please let me say this?” You nodded feeling tears dripping from the corners of your eyes. “I should have. I know Juliet told you to stay away. I know. And I know why she thought that was best. And maybe it was for a little while. But...but I know that I should have reached out to you. I... even after everything...I missed you. You… you always saw me, you know? You saw me for more than what was wrong with me. You saw that I was trying… you saw that I wanted to be better...you… we were just… it wasn’t good timing before. We couldn’t help each other because we were both drowning. But the truth is, I would have drowned a lot sooner without you- without knowing that there was someone who knew me like you do. Maybe Juliet was the one who finally pulled me up, and for that I owe her everything. But you… you were important, too...are. Are important. And… and it doesn’t have to mean anything now or right away or ever. Even though I…” his tongue came out to wet his lips, a flash of pink before it disappeared behind his teeth. “Even though I care about you...I never stopped caring about you...but more than that… I want to help you. Someone helped me. And now I can do that for you. Please...please let me.”

This was it. He was laying it out and you had to decide if you were going to let him be there for you, let him help you. You knew you’d have to take this seriously if you let him, knew you couldn’t let him down. It was hard to believe the things he was saying- that he cared...that he always did and still does...that even in his drugged out haze of years past, he knew that you cared, too, knew that you saw inside of him then the man that sat beside you now. What difference could there have been if your father or brother had done for you what Juliet had done for Logan? They’d both given up on you years ago, writing you off as the black sheep with issues, probably hoping you’d just hurry up and off yourself so they wouldn’t be burdened by your destructive cycle. You had no idea where they even were at the current moment, or if they knew where you were, and honestly, you didn’t care. You’d read once about how important it was to distance yourself from the people who you were close to when you were trapped in the repetition of heroin use disorder. You always thought that referred only to suppliers and people that you used with. But you realized now that it included enablers, too, and that in their absence, they’d enabled you to believe that you had no one. But that wasn’t true. You looked up through your tears at the man beside you. You had Logan; he was right here, and he was telling you that you weren’t alone. For the first time in years, you weren’t alone.

“Okay.” It was all you could muster, but you felt so much more than those four letters could hold. The pain and exhaustion were still the most prominent things that you felt, and you knew that what you were feeling was only the tip of the iceberg, but maybe...maybe if you had Logan...maybe you could get through it.

“Okay?” His eyes widened and you saw them lighten a few shades. “Okay? Yes?” You nodded and his sigh of relief changed the set of his face back to the relaxed, quiet expression he’d been wearing when you woke up. He leaned down and kissed the same spot on your forehead again. “Thank you,” he whispered. You felt the tip of his nose buried in your hair, and his scratchy facial hair brush at your temple. “Thank you.” When he pulled back and sat up again, he took his hand away from your head and wiped at his eyes.

You twisted the wrist he’d been holding so that your palm could slide over his wrist instead, fingers not making it all the way around the way they used to. It was hard to keep eye contact with him- your eyelids each weighed a ton, your tears were flooding your vision, and the emotion in his eyes was near blinding, but you locked in as much as you could. “I’m gonna get better, Logan.”

“Yes. Yes you are. I promise you. It’s worth it.”

Looking at him now, able to sit here and watch you struggle, able to sit next to you and know the pain that you were in, know how every cell in your body felt swollen and sore, know how all you wanted was to sink back under the warm surface and float all the way down to where the pain couldn’t reach you, and still say that it was worth it, meant everything. If he can do it, I can do it, especially if he’s helping me. And if he’s helping me… I have to do it.

You were going to say something else, but there was a knock on the door and you both swiveled your heads towards the nurse who stuck his head inside. “Mr. Delos, there’s someone at the nurses’ station for you.”

Logan turned away from the nurse and back to you. “That’s Juliet.” Your heart thudded out of rhythm. Oh. She’s not going to be happy. Your anxiety must have shown on your face, because his fingertips were back on your forehead, brushing soothingly across your clammy skin. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle everything. Rest, okay? I’ll be back.” He kissed that same spot one last time before crossing the room. Upon reaching the door, he looked back at you and gave you a tired smile, ecstatic that you’d agreed to let him help you, before disappearing out into the hall.

Juliet is going to be pissed. You tried not to dwell on how your involvement in Logan’s life would shake up his relationship with his sister, trying to remind yourself that she was just concerned about her brother, and that he wanted to be here with you, and that neither of those where bad things.

. . . . . . . .

Juliet chewed her thumbnail, a habit that she hated, but one that came out involuntarily under stress. She stared at the same reproduction painting in the private waiting room that she’d stared at time and time again, thinking to herself, I could paint that. I’ve looked at that ugly thing so much now… I could paint it with my eyes closed. The sound of the door opening broke her out of her artistic contemplation and she turned, dropping her hand to her side. “Logan,” she exhaled his name and crossed the small space to wrap her arms around him. Turning her face to kiss his cheek, she squeezed tightly and felt him squeeze back before she pulled away. He’s okay. He looks okay, just tired, just sad.

“Hey, Jules,” he responded before letting out a long and ragged breath. He found the arms of a chair and gripped them before lowering himself down into it.

Juliet crossed her arms and shifted her weight to her back foot. “How’s...how is she doing?”

Logan blew out another breath, this time not as shaky, coming out in a spurt through his lips. “It was rough for a minute… and she’s… she has to stay tonight, maybe tomorrow, too. I didn’t tell her about tomorrow, but…” he shook his head, messy hair flopping against his brow. “But she,” he looked up then, and the smile that lit his face shocked her. “She agreed to let me help her, Jules. She’s gonna go to rehab… she’s gonna get clean and-”

Juliet quickly spun to take the seat next to her brother and reached for the hand closest to her, which was still gripping the arm of the chair. “Logan. This girl. How...how can you be sure that she means it? Any of it? How can you trust her, Logan?” She felt her eyes fill with concern and hoped that’s how her questions came across. Juliet’s worst fear was that he’d get involved with helping you, and either he’d fall back into old habits, or you’d relapse… you’d OD and die and leave him hurting worse than ever. It had to be her, didn’t it? Nothing you do is easy, is it, Logan?

Logan surprised her by sitting up and leaning forward in his chair. He didn’t rip his hand away, didn’t raise his voice or use an irritated tone. “Jules, let me ask you something.”

“Okay…”

“When you dragged me to rehab. When you found me, choking to death on my own puke, eyes rolling back and-” Juliet looked away. “Hey, no come on, look at me, please.” She pressed her lips together, held her eyes shut for a few more seconds and then obliged and opened them. “When you found me like that, Jules, how did you know it was going to work? Did you trust me when I said I would try?”

“I...Logan, you’re my brother. I knew it was going to work because I believed in you. I trusted you because I believed that you could do it.”

Logan nodded. “That’s right. You believed in me. Dad thought you were nuts, remember? And William?”

“Fuck William, Logan, he-”

Logan held up a hand, dismissing her hatred for her ex-husband. He hated him, too, fucking prick, but that wasn’t the point. “Agreed. Fuck him. But he thought you were crazy to believe in me. To want to help me. Remember?” He opened his arms and spread his fingers. “But you did. And here I am. I made it because you believed in me when no one else would. Because I wasn’t alone. I had help. I had you. Jules, I know I wouldn’t have made it without you. I know that. And now… now I get to do that for her. She’s got no one like you, Jules. Her family doesn’t give a fuck about her. They’re not even here. They’re not even coming. But I want to be here. I believe in her, Jules, in what she could be and do when she’s out of this. She’s smart. She’s bright and I know that’s hard to see but...but even back a few years ago...it was about more than the drugs with her, Jules, I...I didn’t know it then, because it was buried under everything else...but I loved her, Juliet. I couldn’t...I wasn’t able to see it, but even in the numbness...it was there. It’s still there. I love her. I don’t really know what that means yet, and I know it can’t mean anything until she’s healthy again… until she’s clean and can focus on other things...but… but I'm not just going to let her drown.”

“Logan...I’m scared for you.”

“I know you are, Jules. I know. I know you probably thought that I was strung out again when I called you earlier.” She made to protest even though that was exactly what she thought, but he tilted his head and held up a finger as he finished. “It’s okay. I don’t blame you. But you believed in me once, right? You believed that I could get clean and be healthy and get better, right?”

“Yes. Yes, Logan, of course, but-”

“So I’m asking you to believe in me again. Believe in me one more time, Jules. Believe that I can help her without falling back down. I know I can. I just need to you know it, too.”

Juliet hadn’t realized that she was crying, but the fact was that the changes that Logan had made in his life went far beyond health and habits. He’d let go of the resentment and the selfishness. He’d made room for compassion and love and a desire to do good. He’d become exactly what she always knew he could be, and she couldn’t stand in his way. “Okay, Logan. Okay. I trust you. I believe in you...and in her. I… I love you…”

“Love you too, Jules. It’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be great. It’s gonna be hard but it’s gonna be great. You’ll see.” He got up then, and the smile that he kissed her cheek with felt like a swath of sunshine on her skin, his happiness contagious as she felt her own lips curve upwards.

It’s gonna be great. I believe you, Logan.

. . . . . . . . .

Ten months later, you stood next to Logan with about twenty more pounds on your frame, a significant shine to your hair, a healthy complexion, and light dancing in your eyes as the Delos Philanthropic Fund opened The Door- a rehab and wellness center funded entirely by Delos Destinations. Beside you stood Juliet and her new husband Tony, and the four of you stepped down on ceremonial shovels to break ground for the center’s new facility. A few months ago there was no way that your frail and failing body would have had the strength to shovel sand, but you felt the blade of your shovel bite down into the hard packed dirt and scoop up a large rock. This rock can’t stop me. This rock’s not gonna stop anyone. This center is going to help so many people… and I get to be a part of it. I get to be a part of it because of…

You looked left and saw that he was already beaming at you. He held his shovel in one hand after the official ground breaking scoop, reaching out to wrap the other around yours. I get to be a part of it because of him. You looked to your right, where Tony had his arm around Juliet. And he gets to be a part of it because of her… Help. Everyone needs help sometimes. And now you’d be a part in making sure that others got that help. The past ten months had been the hardest in your life, and you knew it wasn’t over. But you remembered what Logan had said to you in the hospital, and you turned back to him.

“Logan? Remember when you said it would be worth it?”

He nodded, eyes on you and smile climbing up into them.

“You were right.”

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire@suchatinyinfinity @agent-bossypants @lexxierave @ymariejp @songtoyou @skwriddle @thesumofmychoices @obscurilicious @ilkaeliseb @belladonnarey

#the bottom #the bottom part 2 #logan delos #logan delos x you #logan delos x reader #juliet delos #logan westworld #logan delos x reader imagine #logan delos x you imagine #no stigma #submit the stigma #the door

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jokerfic · 5 years

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Do you ever find it hard to push yourself to keep writing/to finish a fic? I really admire your works, especially pastimes, because you write both good quality and a good quantity with your stories. I find i'll plan out this long fic, and know all the details, but when it comes to writing more than a few chapters I find it difficult to continue. I don't know if it's just me getting bored of my own idea or being lazy but, do you have any advice for seeing a story through to the end?

Oh, it’s hard forrrr suuuuure. There’s a post floating around about how Charles Dickens shouldn’t be given credit for his prolificity bc he didn’t have streaming services and it strikes me to my core every time I see it. It’s part of why I like Neil Gaiman’s writing advice more than anyone else’s (in no small part because it’s really advice, not rules for you to follow– I hate “writing advice” that’s really a bunch of “don’t EVER use adverbs” and “write only in the mornings!” and other things that only cage you in rather than making you feel free)– it basically boils down to “write anything, write everything, just make the time to write.”

and generating content is just one part of the multi-pronged problem– the second is generating content for a specific project, consistently enough that you actually finish it, lol. some people would have you believe that if you love a project enough then it’ll always come naturally (and imply or even outright say that if it doesn’t come naturally, you don’t really love it– side note, I like some of Charles Bukowski’s poetry but he can eat my entire ass with that “if it doesn’t come easily then it’s not what you’re meant to be doing” idea). That’s only part of it. A thousand writers better than I am have already said that love/“inspiration” only gets you so far, and after that comes the work.

I’ve found that to be true. Not that the love doesn’t come back! I’m constantly falling in love and out of love with different WIPs, and each time I fall back in, I get a little bit (or a lot!) more done, but there’s definitely a point where I say “okay, I’m not allowed to work on anything else until x book is finished.” (Whether or not I stick to that resolution is a different matter.) Honestly, it happens the most with jokerfic because I have a small but active and devoted audience and I start to feel THE GUILT if I leave them too long without new content bc they’re so loyal and it has to be a symbiotic relationship or it’ll 100% die.

idk, man, I’m mostly musing out loud here because writing is work, and it might be fun work, and fulfilling work, but you have to allot time and energy to it specifically, and if you do want to finish and publish something on the longer side (fanfic or original), you have to be the one to decide to put that time and energy into it– no one else can do it for you.

All that to say: you have to figure out what motivates you, and what’s important to you. Personally I’m motivated by a moderate dose of ambition and just a little bit of spite (I see writers I don’t like flourishing, I think “I can do better than that,” and it’s good for at least a few pages), as well as feedback from readers and the desire to be able to re-read the specific, finished work whenever I want to. Probably more significantly, and not to be morbid: it’s extremely important to me to get these stories out there and not let them die with me. Listen, I may be a slow writer, but I live and breathe storytelling, it’s the majority of what I think about, and there’s very little that kicks me in the ass like the realization that time is coming for me and all of us, and I don’t have an unlimited amount of it to waste. So what’s important to you, what’s worth spending your time on? Rewatching a TV show you’ve seen all the way through 3 times already? or making something new and sharing it with people, connecting to people through a story that’s important to you?

of course, you can’t and shouldn’t aim to be productive all the time, you’re not made for it, you need to live your life in addition to doing your work. Stephen King says you have to read a lot if you want to write well, and I agree with him. It’s harder to write people if you’re never around people! Some days you are just gonna NEED to veg out in front of the TV (or tumblr) because you don’t have the energy, mental or otherwise, for anything else. you have to read books, watch movies and tv, spend time with people, live your life, have experiences, if only so you’ll have more to draw from when you are working.

Outside of that normal “living life” stuff, I’d focus on trying to trim things that you know are a waste of time, or that drain your energy without reward. Delete the social media you can do without (or outright hate but for some reason haven’t pulled the plug on yet). If you’re sitting down to write, then write, even if you have to use an app to block out the million distractions that are just a click away. If you can, try and make friends that write so you can egg each other on (there are a lot of writing Discords out there that may be helpful). I personally like reading or watching interviews with artists (not even just writers) that inspire me or that I relate to– the richness of David Milch’s mind and the way he seamlessly ties together humanity, community, history, and art makes me want to work harder and be better so that someday I can be a fraction as good as he is, I found out like yesterday that Donna Tartt and I have basically the same process (and take about as long to finish a thing lol), Jack White’s live performances energize me and make me want to create, Tom Waits is a natural born storyteller and funnyman who weaves such a thick atmosphere and mythology for himself with every word that I feel compelled to try and do the same.

and that’s it, that’s the process that consistently results in the most productive work for me: I read or watch other creators I admire until I’m whipped up into a frenzy of needing to do something, then I get in front of a screen and do it. When the excitement runs out, I pretend it hasn’t until it comes back (with mixed success, but really, “fake it till you make it” is an EVERGREEN piece of advice in almost every area). I try not to let too many months slip away without having something finished and semi-polished to show for my time. That’s about the only way I know how to do it anymore.

#Anonymous #meandering writing advice that may or may not help at all bc everyone has a different process #feat. a dollop of existential dread naturally #I know I linked to a full documentary. shut up.#honestly though: find people that inspire you. people with broader horizons than yours #so you can see through THEM what you haven't been able to see before by yourself.#learn from artists you admire! if you can identify WHAT you like about their work then they're the best teachers you'll find #anyway guess who's on a reading/writing kick and feeling like she's unlocked THE SECRETS lol #it'll fade eventually like it always does and then I'll go through the whole cycle again. so it goes #but yeah do yourself a favor and install that Cold Turkey app I linked to #nothing will get a thousand words out of you like knowing your computer is locked until you write them #also I may have talked about this before but that Tom Waits interview I linked to?#some people are CONVINCED that Heath Ledger used it as inspiration for his Joker-voice #I don't buy it but it's a nice thought bc I love them both 🖤#I'm rewatching that interview rn-- it's one of my favorites; he was my age at the time-- and it kills me I'm literally in love with him lol

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stattic-writes · 5 years

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What If: Living Dead

https://statticscribbles.tumblr.com/post/639099629845233664/masterlist

Support My Writing?

#jason blossom #archie andrews #betty cooper #jughead jones #veronica lodge #kevin keller #tom keller #fred andrews #cheryl blossom #penelope blossom #alice cooper #FP jones #riverdale #riverdale fanfiction #riverdale fandom #riverdale thoughts #riverdale theories #parentdale #written

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ladyloveandjustice · 6 years

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Winter 2018 Anime Overview: A Place Further Than the Universe

Mari “Kimari” Tamaki is worried she’s wasting her youth and wants to go on a big advenure. She meets a girl name Shirase who is mocked for her obsession with going to Antartica. It turns out Shirase wants to go there because her mother went missing while on a research trip there three years ago. She invites Mari along. With the odds stacked against them, the girls begin the long, difficult journey towards Antartica- and make a few new friends along the way.

It’s going to be hard to do justice to just how GOOD A Place Further than the Universe (or Sora Yorimo Toi Basho) is and put it into words, but I’m gonna try my best. Bear with me.

I’ve heard plenty of folks say this is the kind of anime you can reccomend to people who don’t watch anime to let them know how good it can be, and that is 100% true. It’s such a grounded and genuine series that treats its characters with respect and never takes the easy way out. Where a lot of shows rely on shortcuts and lazy archetypes, A Place Further than the Universe always treats characters as complex people.

Take Shirase. At first blush, you might peg her as the typical stoic dark haired girl with a squishy center, but she proves to be so much more than that. She’s withdrawn, but also extremely blunt and expressive. She’s got a confident presence, but is easily embarrassed over certain things. She’s a skeptic who takes a while to trust, but once she makes friends she is fiercely loyal and ready to fight for them. She has a temper, but not in the typical over-the-top anime way- her anger is always warranted and treated seriously. She’s openly vindictive and spiteful. She takes satisfaction in proving people who hurt her or her friends wrong and rubbing it in their faces. She’s knows she can be a jerk and she’s proud to own it. She can also be silly and rush in without thinking- she’s not at all as mature as she first comes off.

She has a complicated relationship with her grief over her mother- she’s resentful, she’s lonely, she has a lot of questions, she wants to understand, she’s in denial about the unlikelihood of her mother being alive, she doesn’t know how to feel towards her mother’s friend...and that’s not even scratching the surface of the character. She has so many contradicting qualities yet they all feel organic to her, like they would to a real person. I love her.

And she’s not the only great character. All of the main four are very distinct, with their own character arcs and unexpected qualities and motivations. Whether it’s Shirase dealing with her grief, Kimari’s struggle to break out of being dependent on her friend and the conflict that causes, Hinata coming to terms with the reason she dropped out of school or Yuzuki trying to make friends for the first time, they’re all interesting and emotional to watch in their own ways. They all come together beautifully for this coming of age story.

On top of all that, the series has absolutely gorgeous animation. There’s beautiful scenery and direction, and the art style is just super pleasing. The solid, thick lines, the interesting colors, the beautiful eyes, the relatively realistic proportions- I just very much love all of it. Especially since all the girls actually look like high schoolers. And they act like them too- they’re adorbs, but they’re never cloyingly cutesy and they don’t have their rough edges sanded off. There were so many messy emotions in this show, so many real interactions- the girls really felt like friends who talked shit with each other, had trouble communicating, sometimes clashed but nevertheless had a strong connection.

It also obviously super awesome this series is about teenage girls going on a scientific expedition thanks to their determination and tenacity. But the series also has plenty of adult women in prominent roles too!

The most prominent scientists leading the Antarctica expedition are women, who go up against incredible odds to get their expedition launched and mentor these young girls during the trip. We see women working together and supporting each other as scientists, explorers and businesspeople, just as a matter of course. It isn’t a world where men don’t exist- they’ve got men working under them- it’s just the ladies are the ones in charge. Seeing independent, self-reliant, awesome women take command and go on an amazing science adventure was such a treat!

A big aspect of a later part of the series is Shirase’s relationship with the head of the whole project, who is her mother’s best friend. (There are heavy quotes around “best friend”. Shirase has two moms.)

(See, it’s canon).

Gin is still carrying a heavy burden of guilt for losing Shirase’s mom during their last trip, and obviously has a lot of conflicted feelings about this one. Shirase’s relationship with her is complicated and damaged, with Shirase feeling resentment and jealousy but also a deep bond with this woman and a desire to connect to her mother through her. Both of them are prickly and bad at communicating, so it really is a journey for them to try to understand each other. It’s great to watch their relationship deepen and grow, and see how Shirase was shaped and inspired by both her mother and Gin.

This series also does a great job representing all the small and big struggles and obstacles the women have to go through to get to Antarctica. There’s a lot of attention paid to the red tape and prep work, representing what a pain it is without being boring about it. The unglamorous aspects of the trip are not glossed over- there’s an entire episode where the girls are horribly seasick throughout. There’s such an attention to detail and commitment to realism that I really felt like I learned something from watching this series and like I gained a good idea of what one has to go through to journey to Antarctica. I can really tell a lot of research and care went into this show.

In addition to physical realism, there’s so much emotional realism in this show I really appreciate. This series expressed a lot of things I’ve never seen expressed much in fiction, yet that I’m so familiar with and feel so keenly. Like when you want to do something so badly and working so hard, but when you get there, it’s underwhelming. Not because there’s something missing, but because it just doesn’t click like you expected. Going to a beautiful place and thinking “well, this sure looks just like the pictures. Pretty. yup. Not sure what’s different about actually being here.” Not wanting to take the last step of a journey because if that ends up disappointing you, you couldn’t handle it. The self satisfaction you take in having someone depend on you and how it can be hard when that dependence stops.

The series also has a lot smart, unusual resolutions and morals that really made me respect it. One episode shows you don’t have to forgive people who hurt you to move on and that it’s perfectly justified to want those people to live with the knowledge this can’t be fixed, to not want to see them let off the hook. There’s such a strong message here that it’s okay to be a little selfish, and petty sometimes, it’s okay to be sharp and blunt sometimes and it’s okay to want the satisfaction of showing up people who doubted you and wanting to rub your victory in their faces! Spite can be a great motivator! In a world where girls are encouraged to always be sweet and accepting, it was pretty cathartic to see that. APFttU is a warm and lovely series, but it also recognizes the importance of “unattractive” emotions.

On top of all that, this was just a well crafted story. It had really sharp dialogue, it was genuinely funny and all the emotional beats landed really well. This series bought ALL the feels. It’s not too often I cry at anime, but I super cried over the second to last episode. The raw and poignant depiction of grief there was just too much to handle.

Other than the fact it deals heavily with grief, the only thing I can really thing that could be affect people badly in this anime is a moment in an early episode where a mom gets mad at her daughter and approaches her with a ladle in hand, while the daughter screams in fear. It’s played as a joke and there’s no indication that she actually really beat her daughter, but I understand that just the threat and implication can be hard to watch, so fair warning. The series is otherwise not skeevy at all- aside from Hinata’s boobs bouncing a couple times (non-exaggeratedly) and her commenting on them there’s nothing I’d really qualify as fanservice.

Basically, I can’t recommend this show enough. It really is something special. What a wonderful and moving coming of age story. It’s Atsuko Ishizuka’s first original anime, and I can’t wait to see what she does next. So support her and this series! Show it to your friends! Show it to everyone! This show deserves to be better known.

#a place further than the universe #sora yori mo tooi basho #yorimoi #anime overview #winter 2018 anime #shirase kobuchizawa #mari tamaki #gin todo #takako kobuchizawa #hinata miyake #yuzuki shiraishi #atsuko ishizuka

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yoi-secret-valentines2017 · 7 years

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Gift for @plisestkypng!

From @anxietyonskates

I hope you like it! ^_^

Good Listener

Pairing: Yuri Plisetsky/Otabek Altin

Summary: A little getting together fic. Otabek is a good listener and Yuri realizes just how much that means to him.

Yuri Plisetsky is fully aware that he is an angry little shit.

He doesn’t need anyone to tell him that he’s angry, he doesn’t need anyone to try to calm him down, and he definitely doesn’t need anyone interrupting his anger fueled rants to explain away or defend whatever he’s angry about.

And that’s not even mentioning the ones who tell him to calm down specifically because his age makes him irrational. There’s a special place in hell for those people.

But then there’s Otabek, and Otabek - bless his quiet, attentive, stoically sexy soul - gets it. Otabek will let him go on and on for as long as he needs to about whatever it is that bothers him to the point that he actually exhausts his frustration and switches to things that make him happy, which he will then go on and on about for just as long and with just as much enthusiasm.

- - -

The first time he realized just how good of a listener Otabek was, they were chatting on Skype while Yuri made dinner. He had his laptop perched on the counter next to the stove while he flitted around the kitchen grabbing ingredients, chopping vegetables, and gathering plates, ranting all the while about Lilia’s grueling ballet regimen and Viktor’s ridiculous antics about his return to skating and Katsudon’s move to Russia that took up everyone’s time and attention during what was supposed to be practice. At one point he just stopped short mid-sentence, spatula in hand, suddenly at a loss for what to say. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts (of which he had many) and understand that no one had ever let him vent uninterrupted for that long before. He looked at the screen to make sure the call hadn’t disconnected, but sure enough, there was Otabek’s face staring back at him unfrozen with the timer on the call still ticking up the seconds.

“What happened?” Otabek had asked, a confused look twisting the sharp lines of his face.

Yuri spent another couple of seconds in dumbfounded silence before he finally righted himself, shook his head, scoffed, and responded with his trademark practiced indifference, “Nothing, just thinking. Where was I?”

Instead of pressing farther, Otabek just let out a quiet laugh and helpfully supplied the last articulate thing Yuri had mentioned, “Um, something about how Lilia is going to break your feet and you’re going to break Viktor’s blades?”

“Yes! I’m going to snap those stupid fucking gold blades in half and then shove them through the soles of his dumbass exotic boots. You know literally no other skater in Russia uses that brand of boots? They’re not even better, they’re the same quality, he just wants to be special all the time!”

And it continued in much the same way until Yuri finished cooking and they had to disconnect so he could eat and Otabek could sleep.

It wasn’t until later that Yuri noticed how good he felt after that call. Like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders and the frustrated tension had actually left his body with his words. The only other time he’d felt so relieved after a conversation was when it was one he wanted desperately to get out of, never because the conversation itself was relieving.

With that understanding fresh in his mind, he retreated to his bedroom, buried his face in his cat’s soft fur, and smiled.

- - -

After that Skype call, Yuri quickly realized just how grateful he was for Otabek’s presence in his life. He was a grounding force even when they were separated by miles and conflicting practice schedules that made it difficult to keep in touch as regularly as they might like. Simply knowing that he had someone who would listen without comment or question or judgement, someone who would give his opinion honestly if asked and would remain silent if not, know that such a person was just a text or a video call away made Mila’s teasing and Georgi’s whining and Viktor’s theatrics all easier to bear.

Otabek calmed the Ice Tiger of Russia.

Until the day that calm turned into nervousness.

It was during yet another Skype conversation. They were preparing for Worlds and discussing the changes they’d made to their programs when Yuri found himself in the position of listener for a change. Otabek was just recounting a new exercise routine he was trying, he didn’t speak nearly as long or with nearly as much energy as Yuri usually did, but it was enough. Yuri found himself hanging on every word, staring intently at the slightly pixilated image of Otabek’s face. It was a good thing he wasn’t the one talking too, because the realization hit him just as hard as the time he’d been allowed to speak for as long as he needed that night in the kitchen. The realization of exactly why talking to Otabek made him so calm, why he was so grounded by their friendship. He liked Otabek, possibly loved him, definitely wanted to date him, absolutely wanted to suck his brains out through his dick. His eyes bugged and his cheeks heated and he frantically hoped that the video quality wasn’t good enough to show the changes in his expression.

He ended that particular call earlier than he might have otherwise wanted to, but it was a special circumstance and he had a lot of shit to sort through in his head.

He liked the way things were between them. He liked the way they talked, the way Otabek listened, the way they were both fiercely competitive, but still wanted one another to do well. He didn’t want anything to change in how they acted, he just wanted it to be romantic instead of just friendship. And he wanted sex, but honestly, who could look at Otabek and not want sex?

He spent a good deal of time wishing that he hadn’t realized how he felt, because he was suddenly nervous to see Otabek again, which was the last thing he wanted to feel. Until that call he had been so excited for Worlds, for the chance to see him in person and compete against him again, but the idea of seeing him while knowing what these feelings were just made him want to wring his hands together and pace in circles until the floor wore down under his feet.

He slept fitfully that night.

It wasn’t until he was on the plane to Worlds that he understood what he had to do.

He had to talk to Otabek. Just like he always did. Because Otabek would listen without comment or question or judgement. Just like he always did.

- - -

Then came the first and only time that Otabek interrupted Yuri.

It was the day before their Short Program when Yuri finally mustered up the courage to go to Otabek’s room and come clean about his feelings.

When he opened the door, Otabek looked like he was just about to go for a run. Yuri almost abandoned his plan right then and there for the sake of not disrupting Otabek’s day, but a quick glance behind him showed an empty room and he wasn’t sure when he’d get another chance for the two of them to speak privately, so he squared his shoulders and stood resolute the same way he did right before stepping onto the ice. “Can I come in?”

True to form, Otabek answered with a simple, “Sure,” and a brief nod while be opened the door wider.

Yuri brushed past him into the room and paced back and forth a couple of times in the space between the beds and the closet. He heard the faint click of the door shutting behind him and he looked up to see Otabek standing in the entryway, waiting patiently and expectantly for Yuri to reveal the purpose of his visit. It was almost exactly like when they were on Skype together, but this time he couldn’t hope to hide his facial expressions behind low quality video or get out of the conversation with a swift tap of a button. It wasn’t long before he started to feel awkward with both of them standing, so he gestured for Otabek to sit on the bed with every intention of sitting in the chair that was positioned close by, but he knew that if he sat down he would fidget and over think things. So in the end he stayed standing, shifting from side to side for a few seconds before he gave in and allowed himself to pace again, albeit with a shorter path than when he’d first entered the room.

“Okay, so I’m gonna say some things and I need you to just listen, alright?” Yuri paused and waited for the customary nod before continuing. “You probably know I hate feelings and shit because they’re stupid and distracting and I hate Mila’s shitty gossip, but I’m going to talk about my feelings right now because having them is way worse than hearing about them and you always listen to what I have to say even when I’m being a total asshole.” He took a deep breath and half wished he was dreaming this so he wouldn’t have to face any real consequences once he was done. “I like you. A lot. Like Viktor likes Katsudon, except way less gross, and don’t you dare mention this to him. I like talking to you and I like it when you talk to me, and you’re really hot, which is just not fair, and you make me feel weirdly calm, like-”

“Yuri.”

“Ugh, no. I’m not done, just listen. I have to say this even if you’ll-”

“Yuri,” he said it with more force than before as he stood up and placed his hands on Yuri’s shoulders. “You don’t have to finish, because I feel the same way.”

“Huh?”

Otabek let out a little laugh and shook his head. “I like you too. You don’t have to explain it or try to justify it to me because I’m right there with you.”

Yuri took a few seconds to process what he was hearing, his eyes wide from the unexpected words. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Otabek nodded and felt his hands rise and fall where they sat on Yuri’s shoulders as he let out a breath of relief.

“Thank fuck. This could have been so awkward.”

The two shared a laugh and Otabek shifted his hands so that he was cupping Yuri’s cheeks. He dipped his head a fraction of an inch before pausing, “… Can I?”

Yuri scoffed, letting out a rushed beratement of, “Oh my god, you are way too polite,” before rising up on his toes, grabbing a handful of Otabek’s shirt, and tugging him down to fit their mouths firmly together.

#yoi secret valentines #writing #yuri plisetsky #submission

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simplemlmsponsoring · 5 years

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New Post has been published on http://simplemlmsponsoring.com/attraction-marketing-formula/copywriting/3-life-and-marketing-success-resolutions-for-2019/

3 Life and Marketing Success Resolutions for 2019

This text and the accompanying 30-minute video comes from my Content Marketing World 2018 keynote presentation. On Dec. 31, 2017, I “retired” from marketing and took a sabbatical for 2018 (which, as of this publishing, I’m still happily on).

I’ve given over 400 keynote speeches in 18 countries, but this one was the most personal. The team at CMI is nice enough to publish this so the entire CMI audience can watch and read it. I hope there is something here that will help you in your life or your marketing (hopefully both).

Yours in Content,

Joe

youtube

Hello Cleveland. It’s fantastic to be back here at Content Marketing World. Some of you may not know this, but I’ve been on a sabbatical for the last nine glorious months since leaving CMI.

In January, I spent 30 days electronics free. In February, I took my father to Sicily to see 60 cousins we’ve never met before, and the last six months, I’ve literally spent more time with my two boys than in the previous six years.

Disclaimer

The Pulizzi family is notorious for using disclaimers. So for this speech, here’s my disclaimer. I’ll cover some marketing, but this is much more about you and your success. I care about each of you way too much to just give you marketing advice … I want to give you more. That said, you may not like it. I’m willing to live with that. So here goes.

Tabula rasa

I first came across the term “tabula rasa” in 1995 while studying rhetoric at Penn State University. Tabula rasa or “clean slate” is found in the writings of Aristotle, and is the belief that we are each born with a blank slate and everything we learn … our habits … our behaviors … comes from our experiences.

What if, right here and now, you had a clean slate? You could do or be anything you wanted. Nothing in this world could hold you back from your accomplishments.

Now I want you to fast forward exactly one year to this time in 2019. What’s different? What did you accomplish in the last 365 days?

What about five years from now?

Are you rich? Did you get the guy or the girl you wanted? Did you have another child? Did you travel the world? Did you prevent your kids from growing up to be idiots?

Would you consider yourself a success? Have you made a positive impact on the world?

I’ve been studying success and successful people as long as I can remember … easily 30 years. As a young adult I kept a journal with me of all the things I wanted to do and accomplish, and listened to success audio tapes from Brian Tracy and Zig Zigler.

Even as I’ve been on this year-long sabbatical, I’ve kept this obsession about success.

Here’s the question: Why are some people successful and others are not? Is there a formula for success that put the odds in your favor?

What I’ve found is that most of us have conditioned our brains and have formed habits that preclude us from success. That means if we don’t change what we are doing, right now, the things you want to accomplish in 2019 or 2023 and beyond, both marketing and personal goals, will never happen.

Most of us have conditioned our brains & formed habits that preclude us from success, says @JoePulizzi. Click To Tweet Three Re’s

Record Repeat Remove

Not just me, but the most successful people in the world use this formula as well … which is, sadly, a very small percentage of people.

Record. Repeat. Remove. That’s the success formula for personal & professional success, says @JoePulizzi. Click To Tweet

And here’s the bonus … the same actions and behaviors that will make your personal dreams come true, will also define your success in marketing.

Record

What does record mean? This means you document your desire. Depending on what research study you look at, less than 10% of all people write down and record their goals. And, those that do, accomplish more in their lives than the other 90% combined.

Let’s say you were going to build a house. If we treated building this house like we do building our lives, we would just call the contractors, the electrician, the plumber, the concrete guy, the drywall team, the roofers … have them get in a huddle and figure it out.

Can you imagine the chaos to building a house without a plan? But that’s what we do. We don’t plan for our desires to come true.

Our mental houses are falling down. Over the past 20 years I’ve asked hundreds of people what their success plan is. How they are going to get what they want out of life? Most people do not have any idea what they really want. And if they do, they certainly don’t write it down or believe they can achieve it.

Bruce Lee case study

In January of 1969, very few people ever heard of a man named Bruce Lee. Today, Bruce Lee is probably the most famous martial arts movie star who ever existed. Bruce had some major ambitions … and he penned this letter to himself:

My Definite Chief Aim

I, Bruce Lee, will be the first highest paid Oriental super star in the United States. In return I will give the most exciting performances and render the best of quality in the capacity of an actor. Starting 1970 I will achieve world fame and from then onward till the end of 1980 I will have in my possession $10,000,000. I will live the way I please and achieve inner harmony and happiness.

Bruce Lee – Jan. 1969

Unfortunately, Bruce passed away just four years later, but not before accomplishing everything and more from this letter. Every day Bruce got out of his bed and had a crystal image of what success was to him, and what he needed to do that day to move the needle forward.

Think and Grow Rich case study

When I was in college, I read Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill. In the 1930s, Mr. Hill interviewed 500 high achievers like Ford, Roosevelt, and Carnegie to find out why they were so successful. He found, actually, that the key similarity for these high achievers was incredibly simple. They wrote down their desires.

The common thread among high achievers? They write down their desires, says Napoleon Hill & @JoePulizzi. Click To Tweet

But what kind of goals and desires?

Billionaire investor Warren Buffett says, “If you are going to try to bat 1,000%, you won’t accomplish many things of importance. If you’re willing to strike out a few times, you can change the world.”

So I’m not talking about small goals here … we are talking about I’m Gonna Change the World goals.

We do this remembering three components. Let’s look at Bruce Lee’s desire. First, it’s totally unreasonable. This is a Big Big Goal. No person had ever brought martial arts to the mainstream.

Second, we need specifics. He wants to make $10 million by 1980. He had a specific amount and a specific year.

And the best goals ALSO serve others. He wanted to thrill audiences with his performances. And in exchange for delivering this value, he became a superstar.

Well, would you know that the exact same things hold true for your content marketing plan?

Big – If you take your content marketing plan into your CMO and they approve it the first time around … guest what? It’s not big enough. You need to go in there and make their heads spin. It needs to be big! Unreasonable – No other company should have this goal. This is what I call your content tilt or differentiation point. Are you building something for your audience that has never been done like this before? Other-serving – What’s in it for the audience? Are you first and foremost helping them get better jobs and live better lives or is your goal about you getting more leads or money?

If your CMO approves your #contentmarketing plan the first time, it’s not big enough, says @JoePulizzi. Click To Tweet

HANDPICKED RELATED CONTENT: This Goal-Setting Activity That Made All the Difference Repeat

What do we mean by repeat?

Every day in the morning, and every night in the evening, we are going to review this goal. We are going to take about 1% of our day – less than 15 minutes a day – to review our desires. The plan for our mental house.

In a 2009 study published by Dr. Phillipa Lally in the European Journal of Psychology, 96 people over a 12-week period were analyzed about changing behavior and habits. Each chose one new habit and reported each day on whether or not they did the behavior … and … when the behavior became automatic.

Some people chose simple habits like “drinking three bottles of water a day” or “no desserts.” Others chose more difficult tasks like “exercising for 15 minutes before dinner.” At the end of the 12 weeks, the researchers analyzed the data to determine how long it took each person to go from starting a new behavior to automatically doing it.

On average, it took 66 days before a new behavior became automatic. The range was 18 to 254 days.

This is exactly why you have to review your success goal every day over a long period of time. You have to condition your mind to believe that the goal is attainable. Remember … tabula rasa, clean slate … we have to reprogram our mind to accept that our goal is possible.

And here’s the big idea most people just don’t get: The MOST important thing to accomplishing your goal is to BELIEVE that it is possible. You don’t need more money, or skills, or abilities, or a better job or Robert Rose. The most important thing – as George Michael knew so well – is having faith.

The MOST important thing to accomplishing your goal is to BELIEVE that it is possible, says @JoePulizzi. Click To Tweet

Once you can condition the mind to your goal, your day starts to shape itself.

Let me give you an example … email. How many people checked email this morning? Most people do. But if you had a totally unreasonable success goal that you reviewed this morning, the same goal you reviewed the night before, you might start to believe that digging into email first thing in the morning won’t at all help you accomplish your goal.

Now let’s go back to our marketing fundamentals again.

There are two main reasons why content marketing programs fail. The first, is that the goal isn’t truly big enough … it doesn’t really affect the lives of the audience in a unique way.

The second comes down to this idea of repetition. If it takes 66 days to change a personal behavior, how many times are you going to need to consistently deliver your content to your audience to change their behavior?

In researching for my book Content Inc., we found that minimum time from start to driving revenue for content marketing was nine months. The average was 18 months of consistent delivery. Why? Because it takes time to build an audience.

If you aren’t delivering consistently to your audience, you are not content marketing.

If you aren’t delivering consistently to your audience, you are not #contentmarketing, says @JoePulizzi. Click To Tweet Remove

In high school I read the book Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert Heinlein, which still to this day is my favorite book. Toward the beginning of the book Valentine Michael Smith, who was born on Mars, is learning to understand humans. Three of his caretakers were women, and each was practicing kissing Mike. Every time any of them kissed Mike, they fainted, out cold.

Jubal Harshaw, Mike’s main caretaker, asked one of the women why she fainted. She said this to Jubal:

Mike gives a kiss his total attention. I’ve been kissed by men who did a very good job. But they can’t give kissing their whole attention. No matter how hard they try parts of their minds are on something else. Missing the last bus – or their chances of making the gal … maybe worry about a job, or money … but when Mike kisses you he isn’t doing anything else. You’re his whole universe … just kissing you. It’s overwhelming.

I must confess that as a young man in high school I tried this technique, but the results were inconclusive.

This is all about focus. Clearing away all the clutter and just being focused on accomplishing something.

In order for record and repeat to work, we have to clear away all the garbage that is stopping us from accomplishing our desires.

Clear away all the garbage that stops you from accomplishing your desires, says @JoePulizzi. Click To Tweet

Bill Gates and Warren Buffett

Microsoft founder Bill Gates didn’t really want to meet Warren Buffett. He didn’t think they’d have anything in common. But at the urging of Meg Greenfield, Washington Post editor, they met on July 5, 1991. Gates was nervous and he was dreading the meeting.

Greenfield gave both men a sheet of paper and asked each to write down the one word that is their key to success. Both, as it happened, wrote down the same word: Focus.

From that day, the two became best friends.

To be successful … we need focus, we need discipline … and we need to remove the distractions around us.

Put away your phone

A few months ago, someone asked me to take a coffee meeting with them. He said he had some very important business model questions for me and thought I could help. We met at Panera Bread on the west side of Cleveland.

I sat down, put my coffee on the table. He sat down, put his coffee on the table, and his phone just on his left side face up. Throughout our chat, he kept looking at his phone. Instagram, Twitter, Messenger … all kinds of notifications. Clearly, he was not paying attention to me.

Obviously, what I was saying wasn’t very important to this person. Whenever I see someone with a phone face up or face down next to them during a meeting, I already know they have a focus problem.

After a bit of back and forth he asked me “What’s the first thing I should do?” I told him to take his smartphone and throw it in the garbage.

Lack of time?

“I don’t have time to accomplish my goals.” I hear this all the time.

Did you know that, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, the average American still watches three hours of television per day?

That’s 1,100 hours watching TV per year. Let’s say you’re blessed enough to reach 80 years old and that was you. That means almost 10 years..

Read more: contentmarketinginstitute.com

#down #goal #hellip #most #ndash #people #success #they #your #COPYWRITING

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a-breton · 5 years

Text

3 Life and Marketing Success Resolutions for 2019

Yours in Content,

Joe

youtube

Hello Cleveland. It’s fantastic to be back here at Content Marketing World. Some of you may not know this, but I’ve been on a sabbatical for the last nine glorious months since leaving CMI.

Disclaimer

Tabula rasa

What if, right here and now, you had a clean slate? You could do or be anything you wanted. Nothing in this world could hold you back from your accomplishments.

Now I want you to fast forward exactly one year to this time in 2019. What’s different? What did you accomplish in the last 365 days?

What about five years from now?

Are you rich?

Did you get the guy or the girl you wanted?

Did you have another child?

Did you travel the world?

Did you prevent your kids from growing up to be idiots?

Would you consider yourself a success? Have you made a positive impact on the world?

Even as I’ve been on this year-long sabbatical, I’ve kept this obsession about success.

Here’s the question: Why are some people successful and others are not? Is there a formula for success that put the odds in your favor?

Most of us have conditioned our brains & formed habits that preclude us from success, says @JoePulizzi. Click To Tweet

Three Re’s

Record

Repeat

Remove

Not just me, but the most successful people in the world use this formula as well … which is, sadly, a very small percentage of people.

Record. Repeat. Remove. That’s the success formula for personal & professional success, says @JoePulizzi. Click To Tweet

And here’s the bonus … the same actions and behaviors that will make your personal dreams come true, will also define your success in marketing.

Record

Can you imagine the chaos to building a house without a plan? But that’s what we do. We don’t plan for our desires to come true.

Bruce Lee case study

My Definite Chief Aim

Bruce Lee – Jan. 1969

Think and Grow Rich case study

The common thread among high achievers? They write down their desires, says Napoleon Hill & @JoePulizzi. Click To Tweet

But what kind of goals and desires?

So I’m not talking about small goals here … we are talking about I’m Gonna Change the World goals.

We do this remembering three components. Let’s look at Bruce Lee’s desire. First, it’s totally unreasonable. This is a Big Big Goal. No person had ever brought martial arts to the mainstream.

Second, we need specifics. He wants to make $10 million by 1980. He had a specific amount and a specific year.

And the best goals ALSO serve others. He wanted to thrill audiences with his performances. And in exchange for delivering this value, he became a superstar.

Well, would you know that the exact same things hold true for your content marketing plan?

Unreasonable – No other company should have this goal. This is what I call your content tilt or differentiation point. Are you building something for your audience that has never been done like this before?

Other-serving – What’s in it for the audience? Are you first and foremost helping them get better jobs and live better lives or is your goal about you getting more leads or money?

If your CMO approves your #contentmarketing plan the first time, it’s not big enough, says @JoePulizzi. Click To Tweet

HANDPICKED RELATED CONTENT: This Goal-Setting Activity That Made All the Difference

Repeat

What do we mean by repeat?

On average, it took 66 days before a new behavior became automatic. The range was 18 to 254 days.

The MOST important thing to accomplishing your goal is to BELIEVE that it is possible, says @JoePulizzi. Click To Tweet

Once you can condition the mind to your goal, your day starts to shape itself.

Now let’s go back to our marketing fundamentals again.

There are two main reasons why content marketing programs fail. The first, is that the goal isn’t truly big enough … it doesn’t really affect the lives of the audience in a unique way.

If you aren’t delivering consistently to your audience, you are not content marketing.

If you aren’t delivering consistently to your audience, you are not #contentmarketing, says @JoePulizzi. Click To Tweet

Remove

Jubal Harshaw, Mike’s main caretaker, asked one of the women why she fainted. She said this to Jubal:

I must confess that as a young man in high school I tried this technique, but the results were inconclusive.

This is all about focus. Clearing away all the clutter and just being focused on accomplishing something.

In order for record and repeat to work, we have to clear away all the garbage that is stopping us from accomplishing our desires.

Clear away all the garbage that stops you from accomplishing your desires, says @JoePulizzi. Click To Tweet

Bill Gates and Warren Buffett

Greenfield gave both men a sheet of paper and asked each to write down the one word that is their key to success. Both, as it happened, wrote down the same word: Focus.

From that day, the two became best friends.

To be successful … we need focus, we need discipline … and we need to remove the distractions around us.

Put away your phone

Obviously, what I was saying wasn’t very important to this person. Whenever I see someone with a phone face up or face down next to them during a meeting, I already know they have a focus problem.

After a bit of back and forth he asked me “What’s the first thing I should do?” I told him to take his smartphone and throw it in the garbage.

Lack of time?

“I don’t have time to accomplish my goals.” I hear this all the time.

Did you know that, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, the average American still watches three hours of television per day?

That’s 1,100 hours watching TV per year. Let’s say you’re blessed enough to reach 80 years old and that was you. That means almost 10 years of total time, nonstop, is dedicated to watching TV.

That’s like turning the TV on when you’re 30 and never moving until you are 40. A lost decade.

Now, I’m not saying you shouldn’t watch TV or YouTube videos or surf Facebook. I personally enjoy watching the Cleveland Browns lose most Sundays. But to be successful, you have to change your behavior and make time to do the great things.

I have one friend that says she doesn’t have time to do anything, and yet she hasn’t missed an episode of Big Brother in 20 years. If you’re curious, that’s 550 hours of watching time.

Now let’s go back to our marketing fundamentals again.

When Robert Rose and I go into consulting engagements, besides not having the BIG goal and delivering consistently, do you know what else we find? Content run amok.

Content is being created everywhere … blogs and podcasts and videos with no discernable strategy.

Great media and product brands that have loyal audiences start by doing one thing amazingly well to one audience … a newspaper, a podcast, a blog, a video series, Instagram, an email newsletter.

So you most likely need to go back and start killing some things and just do one thing amazingly well before you diversify into other content types. In this case, less is more.

Do one thing amazingly well before you diversify into other #content types, says @JoePulizzi. Click To Tweet

Record. Repeat. Remove – a simple formula that’s hard to execute. A marathon if you will … not a sprint.

This formula got me to this place, but I almost lost it all by not following it.

My story

In 2007 I left an executive job in media to start a business. I had this great vision of a content marketing matching service between agencies and brands, that we dubbed the eHarmony of content marketing.

Now don’t laugh … at the time I thought it was brilliant.

My written desire was to have 100 paying customers by the end of 2009.

Over the next two years, we were struggling … burning through cash to pay for programming and marketing, increasing our debt. I was having doubts. Late summer 2009 was critically important. That was the time when we were approaching agencies in our system to see if they would pay for another year.

Most agencies were not re-signing to the $5,000 annual fee, and one in particular, our best case study where we delivered a multimillion-dollar client, still hadn’t signed up yet.

So I called the CEO on the phone. Let’s call her Paula. I said, ”Hey, hey Paula … for some reason your auto renew isn’t turned on in our system. Just wanted to make sure there wasn’t a problem.”

She said, “Oh yeah, about that … we decided not to renew.”

I said, “really … why is that?”

She said, “Well, we can get better ROI by doing some other things.”

And I said, “You can get better than 1,000% ROI somewhere else? What is it and I’ll sign up.”

There was silence for a bit … and she just said, “Sorry Joe, we’re not going to renew.”

And that was that.

I hung up the phone, went into my backyard, and just lost it. I couldn’t even close our best customer. I felt completely sorry for myself. A complete failure.

I couldn’t believe I had left a great job for nothing. I had an amazing wife and two small boys that I couldn’t take care of.

It took me a couple weeks to pull myself together. Secretly I’d already been peeking around to see if any full-time jobs were available, which actually made me feel even worse.

And then I went back to the success formula. I then noticed that all my goals were around selling a small product to help just a few people. Actually, my goals were quite small. They were also very “me” centric. There was nothing about adding value to others. Honestly, who cares if we reached 100 customers by 2009? No one. It was a terrible primary goal and didn’t follow any of what we are talking about here.

My career goal actually came to me while I was reading feedback from our blog subscribers. The requests were all around “our group needs training,” “are there other content marketing pros I can meet,” and “my CMO needs convincing.”

And I finally got it. Our audience needs education, not a hookup.

So we set the goal to be the world’s leading educational resource for content marketing to solve those audience issues. And we wanted to do this by the end of 2013.

And then I worked the formula. Recorded it … read and reviewed that goal first thing in the morning and before I went to bed and stopped doing everything else to focus on that.

My friends and loved ones thought I was crazy before. Now they thought I needed to be committed. I mean, still no one even knew what content marketing was and I was going “all in” with it?

Content Marketing Institute was born exactly nine months later in May of 2010 and the most amazing people in the world helped to join this new cause. The first ever Content Marketing World took place in Cleveland at the Renaissance Hotel in September 2011. We were hoping for 100 people to show up. Maybe 150 if we were really lucky. That year, 660 attendees showed up.

And by 2012, we accomplished our big, unreasonable goal. And today, here we are at Content Marketing World with 4,000 attendees.

There was no logical reason that we should have succeeded. There were dozens of other companies that should have created Content Marketing World. But we set the goal and worked the formula … just like Bruce Lee, like Warren Buffett, like Oprah.

You will do amazing things. You will change the world. But it’s a choice, and there is a process for making it happen.

Too many talented people I know decide to just swim down. It’s easier, it’s safe, it’s comfortable, and it’s seductive. But it doesn’t make the world a better place.

And one final thought … this odd quote from Bull Durham sums everything up:

If you believe you’re playing well because you’re getting laid, or because you’re not getting laid, or because you wear women’s underwear, then you are!

This means, whatever you believe you are doing for whatever reason is true.

And if you believe you are failing because of … your education, your skills, your job, your significant other, then you are!

But if we can reprogram our minds for success, we will be successful.

Tabula rasa … today you have a clean slate … and you can choose to reprogram your brain … your lives …or not.

Just like content marketing is a new muscle for most organizations, success planning is a muscle we have to build and work on every day.

So, in 2019 …

Document your desires.

Review them consistently every day.

Remove the clutter in your life so you can be successful.

Thank you!

Is your goal to become a better content marketer for your brand and your audience this year? Enroll in the winter semester of Content Marketing University and register for Content Marketing World 2019.

Cover image by Joseph Kalinowski/Content Marketing Institute

from http://bit.ly/2Rpc2FU

#Online Marketing

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lucyariablog · 5 years