NOTE - Long character descriptions. I promise there’s a story somewhere— also, this is just like a block of the scene, I’m considering creating this into a long short story. so incredibly messy, this story is. This will be edited, because the idea is so much fun, but for now, enjoy.

NO EDITING AT ALL

Characters:

Huntyr Livingston - famous singer and bassist in the band “Livings 4 the Pour” with his brother, Crews, and their so-close-might-as-well-be-their-sister- friend Maya Pouridges. About 17 years of age, 6’2”, laidback, ladies man, arrogant (according to a certain someone), careless, etc.

Crews Livingston - famous singer and lead guitarist in “Livings 4 the Pour” or L4 as they refer to it as. Very kind, 17 years of age (twins with Huntyr), 6’0”, control freak, likes joking around, bit awkward, etc.

Maya Pouridges - famous drummer and singer in L4, known for her mix with the boys’ voices. She has a brother-sister relationship with the two of them. A good judgement of character, fair, logical, intelligent, doesn’t take “crap,” 16 years of age, “bad girl, good grades” vibe, 5’11”, talks a lot, etc.

yes I made them all super tall, now short character

Jasmine Felle - quiet violinist who’s been writing some songs lately and recently met, with her skillful, clumsy demeanor, Maya Pouridges, who instantly intrigued her. And this was before she found out which band she played for. 17 years of age, violinist, clumsy, intelligent, talented, easily distracted, people-pleaser, quiet, insanely awkward, 5’4”, short as can be, writes poetry in her free time, insanely trusting she might as well be offering her life to a murderer…

Jaz or Maya might be my favorite characters… BUUT, STORY TIME!

—

My shoulder slams forward into another shoulder as I reach down to grab my backpack. Quickly, I start mumbling apologies, before I even look up at the person.

“I’m so sorry—”

Almost immediately, my eyes dart up as I jolt back from the contact.

Where do I recognize her from?

Why is she so tall?

“It’s alright,” the ‘stranger’ says with a chuckle, bending down a tad to grab both of our luggage, “hey, I like your backpack.”

I glance down at the backpack between us. It’s a simple, yet beautiful, in my opinion, backpack with flowers painted on the sides. A wave of reality sets back in on me as I hear the announcer speaking about another train.

Why are there so many people here? My eyes flick around several areas of the train station, with people bustling around trying to get to their workplace or getaway or whatever else.

It takes me a second, and a look from the stranger, to realize I’m in a conversation still.

“Thank you,” I reply shakily, attempting to make eye contact with her, but failing miserably.

Why is my social anxiety like this?

“Hey, you okay?”

I finally manage eye contact.

“Yeah, just a bit nervous.”

“Social anxiety?” The stranger guesses, throwing her own backpack over her shoulder. “My best friends used to have that. Crews still has it, but Huntyr kind of just ran away from it and faked it till he made it.” An apologetic look crossed her face, while I realize I must have a confused look on mine.

Where do I recognize those names?

“Sorry, I tend to talk a lot.”

I shake my head with a small smile, “that’s okay. I prefer it when my friends talk a lot.”

“Do you want to be friends?”

My smile spreads into a full on grin.

“I’d love that.”

“Okay. My name’s Maya, you may call me Mays or Maya.”

“I’m Jasmine.”

—————————

“Boys! I brought home a friend,” Maya shouts, to assumingly her brothers or… I don’t know who else they could be. We’re teenagers, here.

Footfalls make their way down the stairs, as I glance over at Maya, who has a lazy grin on her face.

And I see why as the boys in reference appear.

I clutch my violin case handle tighter.

One of them has dirty blonde hair and gorgeous brown eyes, and a smile to light up the whole room. His confidence is so high, I swear he can fly.

The other one has darker hair, falling into an almost black color that’s splayed across this face. He has this light blue eyes that hold a sense of mystery behind them, but he hides a bit behind his hoodie.

“Who’s the cutie?” the blonde asks, his eyes capturing mine. He must love eye contact.

Blood rushes to my face as I process what he said. Cutie?

“Oh, come on, Huntyr,” the blue-eyed boy speaks, continuing down the stairs even further and pushing the blonde, Huntyr, out of the way. I notice Maya step back as both end up parading down to us.

As Blue Eyes stands in front of me, I realize just how tall he is. And Huntyr is stunningly tall as well.

He extends a hand as he shifts his weight.

“Crews.”

I furrow my brow a bit.

“Sorry-“ Blue Eyes face palms himself before straightening his posture. “That’s my name. I’m Crews.”

“I’m Jasmine,” I reply, smiling a bit at the awkwardness.

“Huntyr.” The dirty blonde adds as I fix my gaze over to him, almost impossible considering it’s Crews who’s right in front of me.

I throw a smirk his way.

“I figured that out.”

Just to receive one right back.

“Ah. You a fan?”

A scoff escapes me. “A fan? Of what? Your hair?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I really don’t.”

“Whatever.”

I’m now right in front of Huntyr, staring him dead in the eyes. I lean forward as a challenge.

“Now what were you talking about?”

Social anxiety? What is that?

Maya jumps in smoothly, adjusting her posture and throwing her hands between us.

“Okay, Jaz. We agreed you could stay the night, just tonight, and I figured you’d be okay sharing my room?”

I nod, but my heart’s oddly still racing.

What for?

“That’s alright with me.”

“I have a ginormous loveseat in there I’ll sleep on, and you can have the bed,” Maya explains, jostling my suitcase away from me.

As we head up the stairs, I can’t help but glance at the two boys.

Why are they both so attractive?

It all started when I went to that club. My friends had convinced me it would be fun, and, though they really hinted at this, I would meet someone up to my tastes.

They were right on both parts, unfortunately.

And now I’m tied up tightly and uncomfortably to a stiff, metal chair. Gagged, blindfolded, and scared. So utterly scared.

Then I hear a sigh. Soft fingertips brush lovingly, almost adoringly, against the side of my cheek, stopping at the thick cloth of my gag.

“How beautiful you are, darling, so pretty even in distress.” I start to shake, and he notices. “No no, don’t be scared, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

What a lie. There is everything to be afraid of.

Mostly my life.

**_Before

_**I stare at the slim, skin fitting leggings being held in front of me. “That looks like something you would wear, why’d you say it was for me. I was actually excited.”

Timothy sighs and he puts the leggings down. He’s standing in front of me while I sit on my bed, going through the bag of clothes he brought for me to try on. Today is what he, and other of my friends, call “Club Night”, a Friday night where they get hungover with random strangers. That isn’t usually my style; video games and cuddling with my calico, Bean, is my normal Friday.

I sigh, not even remembering how Timothy got his way this time. His charm and puppy dog eyes are enough to make a grumpy old man bend over to his whim.

“Now,” he says, digging into his bag after discarding the leggings to the “no” pile on his right. Timothy takes out a crop top, “How about—“

“I’m not as gay as you,” I mutter. Timothy frowns and I choose my words better this time. “What I meant was: I’m not as…open as you.”

He blinks, stretching a nail at his glossed lips after tossing the crop top into the pile with the others.

“Well, you are not wearing that hoodie,” Timothy huffs, “It’s old, dusty—“

“I just washed it!” I interrupt.

“—and ugly,” he continues as if I didn’t so much as utter a word, “You won’t get any men with that disgusting thing on, Finn!” He cries.

I stiffen, face going in a set expression. “So,” I shrug, “I guess I won’t then.” At that moment, Beans decides that now is finally a good time to enter. She doesn’t like Timothy, he gets quite offended by that, so she avoids him and hops straight onto the bed and stalks into my lap before curling into a soft mass of warm, purring fur.

Yep, if this is the lonely road of relationships, I’m sure I’ll be fine.

Timothy, while I was distracted, has put all the clothes back in his bag and is staring at me intently.

“What?” I ask nervously. He has that look in his eyes, that processing look.

He puts his hands up in surrender and sighs. “Alright, wear that abomination if you want to, but do me this one favor.”

I stroke Beans on the front of her head, her ear flicking. “What?” I ask, voice flat.

My friend smiles, pearly white teeth gleaming in the dim light of my ceiling fan. “Don’t wear those basketball shorts of yours. I have something else for you.”

“What something else?”

He ignores my question and stands to leave my room. “Now hurry up, I’ll be in the car.”

I’m quiet after he leaves, petting Beans who’s looking up at me now. I fiddle with my sleeve with my other hand, mouth twisting in thought.

“You don’t think this jacket is ugly, do you, Beans?”

Beans blinks, then yawns, showing her long, sharp canines, before her jaw snaps shut and she licks her paw.

I smile, content in my pet’s silent answer. “That’s what I thought.”

——

The club is loud when we go in. Crazy, colorful, and loud.

Bodies are sweating as they party hard. The base is pumping, pounding as it drives the people forward. My friends have already started moving to the beat as they go to the bar. I’m left following them awkwardly, tugging at the hold the jeggings have on my muscled thighs, thankful for the cover my jacket has to my rear and frontal areas.

Better than leggings, I suppose.

It only takes a couple minutes for my crew to become intoxicated. Timothy slid me a shot and I’m a bit woozy. Not wasted as a few of my friends already are. Some men start looking at their bodies, but flick their gazes away when they see Timothy and me.

Speaking of my friend, he’s staring intently at some guy in a crimson colored button up with some black pants drinking a glass of what looks to be beer. He’s pale too, good looking with a sharp jawline, and has frighteningly blue eyes. Too blue and even more so with his pale, almost white, blond hair. He gives me goosebumps just looking at him.

Timothy, on the other hand, is gazing in him, eyes almost closed and…is that drool?

“Hmm, he looks a bit familiar,” Timothy mumbles into the hand that’s keeping him upright, “Where have I’ve seen him before?” He turns to me, a bit to quickly because he slumps over before righting himself again. He blinks slowly, then pokes my cheek. “You know who he is, Finny?”

I peek over Timothy to glance at the mysterious man and flinch back.

He’s staring right at me, amusement and something else, something hot in those cool, frosty blue eyes.

I look away and look at Timothy once more, heart racing, face almost the same temperature as the invisible lines that the man’s eyes make on my face and body. Timothy’s eyes and are fully closed now, mouth open in a silent snore. He’s slumped against the bar counter, and is knocked out.

He’s the last one, besides me, who has succumbed to sleep. With that, I realize I’m alone, and that I have no one to help me against the alluring man walking towards me with a stride decorated in arrogance.

His blue eyes lock with my own brown ones, and the airflow in my lungs stops. My body starts to shake.

Those blue eyes look dangerous, so why is my body growing more and more hot as he approaches closer and closer. For once, I’m glad I wore something attractive; that must be it right?

He stops on my right, looking over at sleeping Timothy curiously. He scoots him over a bit, the chair making a sound hardly audible in the background of the music, and leans against the counter there. His attention is fully on me again, and I feel like a melted mass of butter.

“H-hello,” I stuttered. Shit, why’d I even speak?

He smiles. “What a pretty voice,” Is his only response as he continues to observe me picking at my sleeves.

I blink, then realize that Timothy was right, he is familiar. “Um, do I know you from somewhere?”

He tilts his head, smile growing wider. “You should. Does the name Vale Forward ring a bell?”

I still. His words, the name he spoke, the name on the front of concert tickets, the name on many, many popular albums.

“You’re Vale Forward?”

*This story is based on imagination and my standard

Timothée Chalamet, I shouldn’t talk to him, even made a eye contact or less. He obliging me to do what he says. I won’t, I will never let him take a control of me.

His name is James Bullet, but most people reversed it to Bullet James. A rising action movie star, his biggest draw was the elaborate stunts his movies required. . . And he did them all himself. He starred in such instant classics as ‘Three Bullets to Midnight’ and ‘Shotgun Blood’. Lately he had taken on a younger audience with his humor flick ‘My School Teacher, The Assassin.’ Anyone from Hollywood to Egypt knew his name, and have seen at least one of his movies. He was, quite figuratively, larger than life. I suppose that is why he was the last person I would expect to move next door to me.

As for myself, I run a little accounting job that deals mostly in local tax preparations. I certainly do not make enough money to live anywhere near California.. in fact I live in Marlboro Kansas in a simple ranch style house in the suburbs.

The day I saw the moving truck parked in the driveway, I attempted to do the neighborly thing and introduce myself. I recognized the man immediately, but convinced myself that he had to be a doppelgänger. Then he nearly crushed my hand with a powerful handshake and said “My name’s James. James Bullet.”

“Bullet James!? What the hell are you doing in Kansas?” I just had to ask him.

“Couldn’t stand those yuppies on the west coast, so I traded it in cowboy. Say you wanna have a beer later? Come on over Ill show you some of my movie stuff.”

“Y-yeah… yeah! That would rock!” I nearly jumped with excitement. Its not every day that I get to hang out with the biggest action star on earth.

I decided then not to bug the man further and went back to my house. The next few hours was an anxiety filled waking nightmare for me. I paced around my house, trying to think of what to wear or what topics we could discuss. I drank a pot of coffee because I wanted to stay sharp for fun conversation. I peered out my window drapes to see how far along the moving had taken place. Then I began to contemplate when an appropriate time would be to head over. I waited for so long that the sun went down. Finally I found a scrap of courage and put on my shoes to go knock on his door.

As I walked down his driveway, I heard a strange scraping sound coming from the back yard followed by grunting. The entire house was dark, no lights inside, no television on. I stood nervously on his porch for a moment contemplating my next move. The house did not look too inviting, so I decided it would probably be best to leave the man be.

In an afterthought, as I began to walk back to my own house, I decided to peer over his wooden fence into the backyard to see what was causing the noise. Now, I wish I hadn’t.

In the middle of the backyard, there was Bullet James with a shovel, digging a deep pit in the dark. Dirt was flying up and out into a pile alongside it. Next to the pit was something roughly the shape of a person, wrapped in trash-bags and duct tape. My jaw dropped open.

Just then Bullet James looked up and over and spotted me. We locked eyes for a split second before I turned and sprinted back to my house.

I went through my doorway and slammed the door shut. Then I locked it and deadbolt locked it and collapsed onto the floor hyperventilating. “Oh my god… oh my god…” I kept repeating to myself… sure I had just seen him burying a dead body.

After a while, the street remained quiet and no one came knocking. I convinced myself to forget what I had seen and tried to get to sleep. I finally did after 2AM.

I had managed to just about entirely wipe it away from my memory the next morning. That is until I saw the morning news. . .

“You are watching WZBX 5 and this is the morning report.” The voice from the TV announced. “Our top story today, the famous movie director Albert Simmons is missing and authorities are now involved in a nationwide manhunt to find him. He was last seen on the set of his new movie titled ‘GUNderstorm: Hail of Bullets’. Witnesses say he had a very heated argument with Actor Bullet James before storming off and he hasn’t been seen in three weeks now. Police suspect foul play. If anyone has any information please contact. . .”

I nearly dropped my bagel. Then the doorbell rang and I jumped right out of my skin.

It was James with a wide smile, waving in at me. I opened the door, trying not to shake from my nerves, and greeted him.

“Hey there partner!” James smiled. “Sorry about yesterday, I was pretty busy with moving, I never got to show you around my home!”

“Oh yeah, well. Ive got work and all. . .” I tried to play it off cool.

“No no man. I insist. Tonight, when you get done, swing on by.” Then suddenly he grabbed my forearm with one fist and squeezed it real hard to a point where I thought bones might start to crack. His smile completely melted away into the face of a steroid enraged psychopath. And he said with no kidding in his eyes “I insist. Be there!”

I nodded sheepishly and he let go of my arm and flipped the switch back to happy. “Great! Ill let you get to work then.”

That work morning, I was completely scattered. All I could think of is what the man was capable of, and mentally stable he was. I picked up the phone a half a dozen times, tempted to call the police and tell them what I had seen. But my absolute fear of the man held me back in contemplation. On the seventh time I reached for the phone, it suddenly rang before I took it off the hook. I hesitated for two more rings, thinking the phone might suddenly blow up when I touch it.

“Marlboro Associates Accounting, How can I help?”

There was dead air and slow breathing for a minute. It sent a shiver down my spine.

“Hello?” I tried again.

“This is Bullet James.” Came a monotone voice, almost directly out of one of his movies. “I look forward to seeing you tonight.”

Then the phone clicked and dial tone returned.

If there was still any doubt in my mind, I knew for sure now that the man was a complete psychopath.

The clock ticked away, now faster than I wanted it to. Every minute moved me closer to a date with a madman who probably killed his movie director. When it was time to leave, I circled the block five times in my car before driving as slowly as possible back home.

I parked my car and got out of it. Before I knew what hit me, Bullet’s arms were around me shoulders pulling me over into his house. “Hey there buddy! I saw you pull in! Oh man you are going to love this stuff!” Again with a very disturbing grin the entire time. Considering the man never smiled in his movies.

James practically shoved me through the doorway into a very nicely decorated living room, complete with lava lamps, hanging plants, and a zebra print rug. Then he walked in and slammed the door shut so hard that my heart skipped a beat.

“So check this out!” James walked into a different room and quickly came back with a pistol. “Do you know what this is?”

“It looks like a gun.” I tried to not even look at it.

“Its a custom made golden Desert Eagle. The same one I used in ‘Three Bullets to Midnight’. Its one of my favorites. I got a ton of guns. Hell I got an entire arsenal downstairs! Some foreign nation even made me an RPG rocket launcher! How cool is that!?”

“Pretty… uh. Pretty cool.” I said. Then in a weird chance to talk my way out of this situation, I added “Ever thought about toning it down on all the guns? I mean, like… In your movies.”

He didn’t like that. He grabbed a vase and smashed it against one of his walls. That mean crazy look in his eye returned. “Less guns brother!? Less guns!? Go figure! Less guns! You know my name is BULLET!”

“Hey, man I didn’t mean anything by it… take it easy…”

“You know thats what Simmons said to me! He said ‘James, I think its time we tone down all those guns!’ Ill tell you this Pal… YOU AND SIMMONS ARE WRONG!”

James then flipped over his glass coffee table in a display of primal rage. I backed over to the door, scrambling to find the handle. When I finally did, I swung the door open and once again ran back to my house in complete fear.

This time I called the police. When they got done laughing at me over the phone, I finally got them to send one officer over to talk to James. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I hung up the phone.

I watched from a safe angle out my window as I watched a lone police cruiser pull up in front of Jame’s house. The officer got out and went up to the door. I watched James use the same initial charm that he had lured me with. The officer stepped inside.

A long time passed without any noise. The sun had gone down and the police cruiser remained parked outside. I felt my eyes grow heavy, and my exhaustion caught up with me. I dozed and slept for a while.

I was awakened later by the sound of a car door. The police cruiser started up and began down the street. Then suddenly it stopped again about ten houses down. A figure got out of it and then walked back. It was James! He was moving the police cruiser away from his house.

I ran to a different window that overlooked James’s backyard. Like clockwork, there he was digging a hole, with another body shaped bag.

I called the police once more and explained that now I had thought that their officer had been killed by him too. This got their attention.

A half an hour later, ten cop cars came screeching to a halt in front of Jame’s house. Police everywhere armed themselves with their weapons and pointed it at the house. Spotlights were shined onto it. Two officers had even come to my door and ordered me to stand behind the line of police officers for safety.

One of the policemen got onto a bullhorn. “JAMES BULLET! THIS IS THE POLICE! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!”

“No way man!” He yelled back. “I told Simmons I’m not laying down my weapons!”

“What is he talking about?” The man with the bullhorn looked around at the other officers, who all shrugged. Then he pressed the button again. “WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED! LAY DOWN YOUR GUNS AND YOU WILL NOT GET HURT!”

“Man I already told you! Im not laying down my guns! My guns are who I am! Without them I dont have a career!” James yelled back.

“SIR… WE . . . WE MEAN THE REAL GUNS YOU HAVE ON YOU RIGHT NOW! NOT THE WEAPONS IN … YOUR MOVIES! WE DONT REALLY… CARE ABOUT YOUR MOVIES!”

“What!?” James shouted back.

I spotted a dark tube come out of the bottom corner of one of the windows. Instinctively I yelled out “He’s Got an RPG!” Right before it was launched at the police.

Everyone dove, including myself, And there was a huge quake from the blast of the RPG hitting a police cruiser. The cruiser blew up causing a huge billow of smoke. Miraculously, everyone had managed to get out of the way in time.

There came some shouting between people in his house. Then an officer inside the house yelled out “We got him!”

As they led James Bullet into the back of a police cruiser, he caught sight of me. His eyes widened madly. “YOU! Your dead! Dead! Thats what you are! Ill never forget your face! Ill write you every day! Ill break out of prison to come find you!”

“Yeah yeah, tough guy, get in the car.” An officer said, shoving James’s head inside the door.

“DEAD!” James laughed madly from inside the car.

As I write this today, James sits in a cell in prison for life without parole. It has been three hundred days since he went in. And every day I get a hate fueled letter from him promising to kill me.

My phone keeps dinging. I ignore it for a while, because I know who is texting me: Joe Biden. I’m not sure how I got on his radar. I guess when he came to Franklin,Pa I caught his eye. He wants me to assure him I approve of his performance as President. I don’t want to be rude, but I feel like I’m being harassed. Would he be open to suggestions if I was honest with him? Maybe, if his cabinet agreed, which doesn’t seem likely. He keeps trying to sell me on the infrastructure bill. I texted back that the money he wants to spend seems imaginary. He told me everything in the bill is covered by taxing the rich. Oh, now I feel better. I’m definitely not rich. He wants me to agree to get vaccinated so I won’t give him Covid. I don’t have Covid, but wasn’t he vaccinated? He doesn’t have to come to my house like he says he wants to do. Social distancing works. He also keeps asking for $5 here and $5 there to support Democrats. I don’t make political donations, so I tell him sorry, no. I suggest he offers dinners with the President for a fundraiser. Surely there would be a great response. Meeting with the President would be an honor. Except for me because he’s been stalking me. He tracks my iPhone and he’s always peeping in my bank account.

Poof Doof at 3am is like nothing else. It fills me with euphoria, a sense of freedom that exists only in this space. Pink and blue strobe lights pulse above me, like I’m in the eye of a rainbow storm. I inhale the aromatic residue of alcohol that carries on the haze from the smoke machine as sweaty shirtless bodies push up against me. My eyes are closed, feeling the music. The heavy dance beats drum into my soul; the familiar lyrics dance off my tongue and float into the ether, joining together with everyone around me. I’m lost in this moment.

But I sense a disturbance. Someone here is not lost in the music. Someone here is lost in me.

I open my eyes and I see him, staring from the outskirts of the mass of glittering bodies on the dance floor. Troye Sivan. It’s unmistakably him. Thin, lithe body arched ever so slightly to the left, abs showing through his open shirt, mop of dark hair with strands that fall across one eye, and that smile. A smile that is positively bursting at the seams, inviting me in.

His gaze doesn’t falter. I swing my body one way, his eyes are there. I swing my body the other way and again his eyes, piercingly blue, are there. I can tell that he’s mentally undressing me (or what little I have on) with his eyes. I’ve seen it before to know what this is. He wants me. Now. Right now. He wants me to sway my way over to him, nimbly manoeuvring my muscled body through the throng of men and into his sole orbit.

And I do exactly that. His pull is magnetic. I mean it’s Troye fucking Sivan.

Our eyes remain locked as I approach. They don’t waver, even as our hands find each other’s bodies. His alabaster skin is vivid, even in the darkness of the corner in which we’ve found ourselves. My lips trace their way from his bellybutton all the way to the nape of his neck, his hands find my nipples and caress them as gently and seductively as I imagine Troye Sivan would.

We don’t say a word. We let our hands and our lips and our bodies do the talking. I don’t realise how much time has passed enmeshed in each other’s embrace until the sterile white lights above flicker on, casting us in an unnatural and unseemly aura. Troye is unperturbed. He grabs my hand and leads me out of the club before we become part of the crowd trying to leave after final call.

We’re out in the real world - that is, the lively dark morning of Chapel Street. Drunk and sobering men and women are chatting idly at the nearby KFC and McDonald’s. But I have little time to take them in or to even wonder what has happened to the friends I came here with. Troye has already hailed a cab and before I can protest our hands are all over each other as an Indian or Sri Lankan man in the driver’s seat pretends not to notice what we’re doing.

I’ve never been in a situation like this before. I mean, making out with a celebrity was fun and definitely something I’m going to be bragging about on my Instagram feed tomorrow - I hope to God someone took snaps of us making out in the club, though it’s so dark where we were I’m not sure that it’ll count as legit receipts - but I didn’t really want things to go this far. I don’t even know where we’re going. I assume it’s to his place. Who knew that someone who’s collabed with Ari and Charli XCX would be staying in Melbourne, of all places?

He seems a bit obsessive, I gotta say. I try to make conversation, partly because I’m curious about what life like a celebrity is like, but he cuts me off each time with his lips on some new part of my body. And let me tell you, it’s hard to fight against lips as soft as marshmallows.

We arrive at a house in some random suburb - Caulfield or Elsternwick maybe, but I can’t say for sure. He pays the taxi driver and we’re out into the street, past the front door, up the stairs and flung onto a large mattress in an otherwise sparsely furnished room.

He ravishes my body. Troye Sivan is ravishing my body. And then I’m ravishing Troye Sivan’s body. It’s amazing but part of me wonders whether I would have gone along with this if it weren’t with a celebrity. The thought almost makes me lose my hard on but then I look down at the perfectly adorable twink with his legs wrapped around my waist and I push my doubts aside, at least for the moment.

And then just like that it’s done. We’ve both come to full pleasure, our bodies dripping in sweat.

‘Thanks mate,’ he says as he leads me to the door, pushing my clothes into my hands. ‘Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.’

I’ve just barely got my clothes back on and I’m already out the door, the obsessive lust that had enraptured us somehow gone. I walk to the street and stare around me, unsure of what exactly has happened. I just slept with Troye Sivan. I just got kicked to the curb after a night of love making with Troye fucking Sivan. A smirk plants itself on my face. I probably look a fool to anyone who can see me right now, but I don’t care. For one night, I was all a hot gay celebrity could think about.

I call an Uber home. One of Troye Sivan’s songs comes on the radio. The Uber driver goes to change the station and I ask him to leave it, it’s a song of a friend of mine I tell him. I grin and lay back with my hands behind my head, listening as the dulcet tones of one of my lovers fills the silence of the night.

“So. This is your time machine.” I said into the bewildered silence.

Andy wrung his hands and stared at it. “I know it looks...”

“Like a cornflake box? Yeah.” I scoffed. “Is this a joke?” I asked, feeling my temper rise.

“No, no, I’ve worked hard on it! I can bring someone back from the past! Anyone!”

“... it’s a cornflake box! It’s not like it can bring back... I don’t know... SHAKESPEARE!” I shout at him, feeling my temper explode. “I work all day, while you sit here and ‘invent’! You don’t even do the dishes!”

Andy looks scared. I run my hands through my hair and take a breath. “Sorry. Long day. Going to take a shower.”

“Is there anything I can-“

“You can bring back someone for all I care. Just... leave me alone.” I stomp away.

The shower is warm and relaxing, and I bitterly regret shouting at Andy. He’s my best friend with wild dreams, involving a time machine. Hey, that rhymes!

Once the shower is done, I dress in my pyjamas and comb out my wet hair.

“Tho art lovely as thee brushes thy hair.” A mysterious voice says.

“Who the heck is that?” I ask, and almost shriek as a younger looking Shakespeare walks into the room.

“I am s’rry to disturb thee, I appeareth to beest dreaming of angels.” He says, eyes wide, “O wast in mine own gardens, th're wast a flasheth of blue. and anon I knoweth I has't kicked the bucket and hath met the most quite quaint goddess”

To my surprise he kneels in a dramatic fashion. “ I don’t knoweth thy tongue but I. knoweth I am in loveth. Beest mineth, marryeth me!” He declares.

“... annnnndddddyyyyyyy!” I shout.

He comes running. “What’s the-oh. Huh.”

“Huh?? I’ve got flipping Shakespeare proposing to me! What did you do!?” I exclaim.

“The time machine worked!” He declares.

Shakespeare looks confused. “What’s going on, mine own loveth?” He asks. I bring up a Shakespeare translator on my phone. “Thee has't been hath sent h're by a timeth machine?” I tell him.

He blinks in surprise, than smiles charmingly, “Nay matt'r, as longeth as I can kisseth thee, 'twill all beest w'rth t” he winks.

Andy chokes on a laugh. “Shakespeare’s got the hots for you!” He giggles.

I type into the translator. “That’s nice to sayeth, but i’m not int'rest'd” I tell him.

He just shakes his head. “But I loveth thee! what is thy nameth so I can carryeth t in mine own heart?” He declares.

“My name is Juliet.”

He takes a breath... “the lady is the sun...” For some unknown reason, I blush.

There followed months of courtship. He followed me everywhere I went, and made up poems which he told me with love shining in his eyes. It was weird at first, but I got used to him plucking me a rose and saying that famous line, “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet”

I got used to those eyes smiling at me, like I was an angel he couldn’t keep away from.

Hey, I had been single for some time, and William wasn’t too bad looking...

But one day Andy cornered me. “He needs to go home, Juliet. He can’t stay here.”

I was smiling at a lily. “Whatever do you mean? He is happy here... with me.”

“He will die if he stays here. He needs to go back to his own timeline.” He looks pale. “I’d give him a week, at most.”

“What? That makes no sense...” I said, dropping the lily at my feet.

“Listen. If he dies here, he will wake up in his timeline, and you will be a fantasy, a dream in his head.”

“No...” “He needs to go now, if he wants to remember you.”

I found Shakespeare tending to his roses. “If 't be true thee stayeth, mine own loveth, thee shall f'rget me” I told him, fighting tears.

He embraced me. “How couldst i f'rget such a heavenly visage”

So he stayed, no matter how much I tried to make him leave. He got ill, fast. “I am unwell mine own ladybird. I shall square t f'r thee”

I kissed him as he shut his eyes for good.

“I can’t live without him.” I said as he vanished in a blue flash.

Andy tried to stop me, but I got a knife from the kitchen, and held it in shaking hands.

“Goodbye, Andy.” I whispered.

I met him last year on the week of Nicky G.’s birthday. At first, I thought nothing of him... He came from a family who was infamous for time travelling and causing time paradoxes for laughs. The whole family was at Nicky G.’s birthday party and stayed until the start of 2020 (and then they departed, ready to travel to another different time period to cause even MORE time paradoxes)... Or at least, we thought that we got rid of them...

Only a day after their departure, I found him sitting in the living room, casually sipping a cup of tea with the TV off. Confused, I gave him a light tap on the shoulder. In response to my touch, the otherworldly man nearly jumped right out of his blue skin and dropped his cup of tea on the couch in fright!

“A-agh! D-don’t scare me like that! You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack!” He yelled as he looked over to me with a bewildered look on his face. “Sorry.” I said unapologetically. “Why are you still here?” I asked him with a annoyed tone of voice. “A-ah... Er... W-w-well...” The man stammered, clearly still shook up from earlier. “Out! We don’t need two of you time-obsessed weirdos in here! One of you is ENOUGH!” I bellowed, trying my best to sound intimidating.

The man didn’t move, but he did cast me a rather odd look before he stood up and started walking upstairs... INTO MY BEDROOM!?

I marched up after him, ready to give him a piece of my mind. When I opened the door, he lay on my bed, with a... Questionable look on his face...

“Oi, this is MY room! Get out before I... B-before I... E-erugh... J-JUST GET OUT!” “Ah, but this is such a lovely room... I must admit, you’re a brilliant artist, Ripple... Both the colours and the aesthetics in this room are very pleasing to one’s eyes... Especially mine...” He responded calmly, his English accent becoming particularly notable. “Flattery doesn’t work on me, Nef! Why are you still here?!” I persisted with the question, hoping that he would either just leave or tell me why the hell he was still there. “My, aren’t we getting a little ahead of the times, Ripple? Remember that there’s no time like the present!” “THAT’S NOT EVEN AN ANSWER, AND PLEASE... STOP WITH THE TIME PUNS!” I had lost my patience with the man and just screeched into his face, hoping that would help me get my point across.

Nef chuckled for a moment before staring at me once again, this time with a somewhat crazed look in his eyes. This could’ve been my imagination, but I could’ve swore time had stopped in that very moment...

“Finally... After spending so much time waiting... They’re away... My family... That awful, abusive and nefarious family of mine... I NEVER HAVE TO SEE THEM AGAIN! F-furthermore... You and I... We’re... Alone... No sign of that red-headed toilet roll or that bloody green pencil of a man...” I simply just stood there in shock... What the hell is this guy rambling about?

He took a deep and heavy breath before continuing... “I never thought this day would come... The day that we would be... Free... Free from all restrictions and all forms of repression... You and I... We were... Destined to be together... It was meant to be...” I struggled to think of a response to this, but his delusional words sounded like total gibberish to me... “Do you know how many years I’ve been watching you...? I’ve been carefully examining your every move... I know what you like... W-what you look for in a partner... I’ve seen all of your past relationships and how they all failed... I’ve seen every aspect of your life... And... I’ve came to the conclusion that... I think I would make the perfect soulmate for you...” My jaw dropped as I listened to Nef’s insane, delusional and deranged rambling. I just could NOT believe what I was hearing! I wanted to believe that this was just a nightmare.

But unfortunately... It wasn’t.

By this point, Nef’s face had distrorted into a demented, twisted grin and he was breathing so heavily, I nearly thought he was going to pass out... The man was being increasingly more unhinged the more he spoke of his affection... Or rather, his OBSESSION towards me...

I can’t escape. Actually, perhaps I can squeeze out of this shackles and slip past the bars but I dare not risk getting caught. I’m just small, wee girl. Born into poverty and always starving but that might be changing.

The reason why I am here is because I hate the evil man who has imprisoned me here and I stole from him. He is a fat, gluttonous rice ball that sweats and consumes and watches people die for fun. I knew he had a large kitchen to satisfy his endless hunger and I thought that he wouldn’t miss much if I stole a bit from him. Being small, I thought I’d not get caught. Man, didn’t see that barrel come over me like I was a mouse in a bowl.

I was sent to court and condemned to the colosseum, which the evil man owns. A kind man in big, impressive armour, called Mega protected me against wild animals. He really smashed them up and the fatty nobleman was not happy. He had to get a whole army of his guards to get Mega to go to a cell that he could easily smash. Mega let them as he did not want to see others hurt for no reason. They separated us into our own blocks. The kind of cells you would expect for colosseum prisoner fighters.

Now the evil man visits me every day. He laughs at me because I’m tiny and when he heard that I stole from his kitchen, he has someone to force-feed me. He says he wants me to balloon like a large blueberry and then I will be allowed to go to a special tavern in Scrapton.

At first, I was glad to have food and I scoffed the meat and vegetables greedily using my hands. He watched me and it made him smile. Not a tender smile but a devious smile. Then I got full. There’s only so much space I can fill with food. He ordered me to eat more but I said I couldn’t. He ordered the chef to prepare another meal of the same portion. I was overwhelmed. Looking at the food made me feel like I was going to be sick. He longer smiled.

“Eat!” He boomed. But I could not. “Feeders, feed her!”

He grew tired of waiting and had two of his staff to force feed me. His numerous servants helped him move and he left me with mounds of food on plates. The sad thing is, I would have loved this food, in small does, over time. But he insisted that I eat and if I didn’t, the feeders were to beat me or pin me down and shove the food into my mouth.

I cried a lot. Not wishing the unpleasant torture, I ate. Slowly... the feeders took some pity on me and as long as I had my mouth chewing, they would let me eat at my own pace. I wish Mega was here. He was the only person who would stand up for me. I wonder what that evil man has down with him. Some nights, I can hear a loud groan as what sounds like electricity being turned on. I hope he is alright.

I pick up another chicken leg and lift it slowly to my teeth and take a bite.

“What does he want with me?” I mutter, bitterly, as I read the newspaper.

𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐧 𝐊𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧, 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫. “𝐈𝐭’𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐮𝐭. 𝐖𝐞’𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰.

Of course I know what he wants. But it’s almost as if he knows who I am.

No. If he knew, I’d be doomed.

But what are the chances? I’m a good thief but there are plenty of criminal’s much bigger than me. I was not ‘infamous’ like the newspaper stated.

I’m not even an assassin. I don’t kill.

If Johnathon wasn’t my brother, I’d be surprised that the Country’s Best Detective even thought about me.

Since he is my brother, it feels like a cruel coincidence.

I guess I should explain. Our adopted parents taught both of us to be criminals when we were children.

I went along. My original plan was to get revenge on the assassin who took my biological parents from me. But then, by the time I grew up, he already died and I became the best thief my adopted parents could hope for.

But Johnathon was horrified all the while. He didn’t believe in vengeance or rage. Just heart and compassion. When we were teenagers, he claimed to go along with being a thief.

But I knew he was up to something.

I finally figured it out when he became the most famous detective in the whole country. He used the secrets we were taught and uses that to figure out criminals. He took out almost 60.

But mostly big showy ones. Why me? I don’t do any thing too big. I never needed that much attention on me.

Well, looks like I got it anyway.

—————————

I look up when I hear a knock on the door. My fake identity is Margaret Johnson, a Noblewoman, and she’s rich because I steal from a lot of banks.

“Come in,” I call, assuming it’s a servant.

The door opens and for a half-second, I freeze.

Johnathon.

He’s holding a bunch of papers, so he doesn’t see me right away. I look at the windows frantically, wondering if jumping was an eligible option.

“Margaret Johnson, I have a warrant for your interrogation,”

Then he looks up.

“Lettie?” He almost chokes as he sees me and takes me. He rubs his eyes as if he thinks he’s hallucinating.

I always hated that nickname.

“Johnathon,” My voice is brittle.

I quickly run past him.

“Scarlet! Wait!”

But I don’t stop running.

—————————

Johnathon didn’t know that I was Scar. But he must have suspected Margaret Johnson of being Scar.

I have to be more careful.

Word would be out in the streets that ‘Scar’ is Scarlet Klasson. Johnathon’s never been good at keeping secrets.

Why did the most famous detective in the country have to be obsessed with finding me? The one person I’d have trouble dealing with?

But I can’t let a conscience keep me from losing everything I worked so hard for.

I haven’t seen Johnathon in five years, when we went our separate ways.

I take a deep breath. I knew what I had to do. Johnathon was no brother of mine.

At least, not anymore.