#campbell eliot imagine

[imaginefan]

Something Innocent

Campbell Eliot X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 860

Requested: Anon

Request: Can you write a story about reader she dies cause she ate too much of the poison pie that Elle made and it was too late to save her. Campbell is furious because they've known each other forever and had a thing for each other he's mad at the world and blames Elle because she did make the pie. /One shot. I hope this makes sense !! thank you.

Warning - Reader death, poisoning, seizures (Not described)

The night had been full of crazy twists and turns with everyone getting sick after thanksgiving, the only thing that Campbell remembers is running Ellie to the hospital where everyone else was already running around, he didn't notice you at first, once Ellie had been stabilised that was when he started to look around, he saw his brother standing next to be a bed but when he looked down at who was in the bed he felt his breath catch in his throat.

You were a childhood friend, someone who stood by him no matter what, you were the only one in the school that knew about his diagnosis and even to this day you hadn't told anyone, you never demanded or expected anything from him, you were always someone that he could go back to but, he was looking at you in a hospital bed, you were still smiling even if you were sick, Sam was helping you drink small amounts of water but you looked like you were just as bad as Ellie.

Campbell walked over to you and you smiled when you saw him "hey what are you doing here? Are you sick too?" You asked, and he assumed that you would have gotten up if you could. "I'm not sick, I'm fine, Ellie is sick." He answered pointing back to the bed where she was unconscious. "Oh, I'm sorry." You said as your eyes travelled over to the bed, he frowned. "Why are you apologising, you're sick too." He answered and you looked at him and shrugged. "I know what it feels like and I hate it." You shrugged. "How bad are you?" He asked. "Right now… Pretty bad… We don't know what it is so, not to mention none of us are doctors so we're kind of flying blind and hoping that I'm just going to get better." You shrugged. "Mm." He hummed as he looked back at Ellie, if he had to pick someone to lose he hoped that it was her, he doesn't know how he'd live without you, his constant and invisible safety net.

Campbell had been with Elli for 24 hours before she opened her eyes, she seemed to be getting better but you were getting worse, you had started having seizures, he knew that even if you did survive whatever this was there was a chance that you were going to be affected by this for the rest of your life, there was nothing that they could do for you mostly because they had no idea what they were looking at and even if they did, they probably wouldn't know how to fix it. On the third day they discharged Ellie and Campbell came over to talk to you before he left, he sat down next to you since you were really able to even sit up anymore. "I thought your girlfriend was getting discharged today." You managed to say but even moving your eyes to look at him seemed like an effort. "She is I just want to say goodbye." He answered, "I think it'll be a little while before I'll get to see you walking around out there again." "You might be right about that." You agreed. "You should go and get her home, look after her and tell her that I'm happy she got better." You said before trying to usher him off and back to Ellie.

Literal hours later Sam came by the house to tell him that you had passed away during a seizure and that they weren't able to resuscitate you. A couple of days after that they found out that it was some kind of poisoning and started searching houses, it was then that he found the antifreeze under the kitchen sink, he, of course, hid it knowing that the only person that it could have been was Ellie. He walked into the bedroom where Ellie was laying on the bed and she knew that something was wrong when he pulled up a seat "I found something downstairs." He said his mind flashing back to you wishing her well. "What?" Ellie asked. "I found the poison." He said as he looked at her. "You killed her, what were trying to do!?" Ellie didn't answer the question and for a second he was at a loss "were you trying to kill me?" still nothing and he nodded "well you should know that all she wanted was for you to get better and I'm sure she would have wanted the same thing if she knew what you had done." "She's dead?" Ellie asked. "She died a couple of hours ago. She had a seizure, well she'd had a few but this one killed her," Campbell answered. "Campbell, I never meant to hurt her, or anyone." Ellie defended herself and he looked at her but honestly, he didn't have anything to say to her instead he stood up and left the room, the silence that took over the house was eery but there was nothing that she could do to change and she worried for when he finally decided what he wanted to do with her.

*Part 2*

Requests and general question!

#society imagine #society #the society #society oneshot #campbell eliot #campbell eliot imagine #campbell eliot oneshot #imagine #oneshot #ine shot #reader insert #x reader #female reader

[weirdochick56]

Trapped- Campbell Eliot Imagine

Campbell Eliot x Reader

Warnings: Explicit language. Dark!Campbell (obviously)

Disclaimers: This isn’t a light character and this isn’t a light relationship or situation. This is dark and violent so please read with care if abusive situations aren’t your jam!

Word Count: 3,914 words

Summary: Campbell Eliot is your bestfriend’s, Sam, brother. He’s a disturbed individual who doesn’t feel emotions like the rest of you do. His gaze and heart are dark and sadistic and yet- you’re drawn to him. So when he comes looking for Elle and no one gives her up, he offers another aleternative; he’ll take you instead. But he’ll only keep you for a limited amount of time. If by the end of that time you still want to leave him, he’ll let you and Elle go-- definitively. If not, you’re his. Should be easy right?

***

(Gif is not mine!)

You lick your lips, flipping through another page of the book, eyes intensely seeking out every word, soaking every syllable in your head.

This was you third time reading Jane Eyre, but each time it just got better.

You’re so immersed in the fictional world of the young woman, in fact, that you don’t notice when someone comes in until he speaks- voice gruff and bemused.

“Good book?”

You jolt off the couch, heart instantly clenching in shock as your gaze flickers to person which has spoken.

“Campbell,” his names leaves your mouth in a barely-registered, unintentionally breathless mumble.

He grins at you. “Did I scare you, doll?”

You swallow, avoiding eye contact. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Shrugging, he steps closer to you. “As happy as I am to see you, I’m here for Allie and Will. They’ve got something that belongs to me.” He motions loosely around you. “You wouldn’t happen to know where they are would you?”

You shake your head. “And even if I did why the hell do you think I’d tell you?”

He pauses suddenly, face falling and the move is so startling, your heart does too.

He stares you down as he steps closer. You refuse to move or maybe you just can’t- his gaze paralyzing you entirely.

It isn’t until he’s a mere foot away from you, scanning you from head to toe pensively, that he finally speaks.

“You’re too fuckin pretty and smart to be aiming this low, Y/n. Always were.”

You scoff at him. “And according to you what the hell is so low that I’m aiming at?”

“This. This house, these people. You don’t belong here.”

You laugh wryly, shaking your head. “And what the hell would you know about belonging Campbell? All your life, all you’ve done is not fit in. You try- you hang out with the cool kids but even you can’t make yourself believe that you actually feel good with them. That you actually fit in.”

He clenches his jaw, clearly on the verge of snapping, before a small ominous smirk grows on his face. “Yeah. You’re right, dollface. But at least I’m actually going for the people that matter. Allie and her pathetic little crew won’t stay in power of this town for much longer and then you’ll be on the losing side.”

You smirk. “We’ll see about that.”

At the smugness in your face, something suddenly snaps in him and he laughs.

“You’re so fucking lost. I’m willing to show you the way though, Y/n.” He tilts his head mocking, eyes scanning you from head to toe with a malicious glint in those mysterious eyes.

You swallow your fear. “Yeah? And how’s that?”

“If you open those long legs of yours for me, I’d be more than willing, dollface.” He licks his lip mockingly.

You’re sure he doesn’t actually mean it; Campbell is always playing games and this is another one of his sick manipulations to get you riled up.

And it’s working.

You first your hand, raising your arm in a flash, ready to punch the living daylights out of him, but he catches his arm just before your fist connects with his annoyingly sharp jaw.

He yanks your closer to him, clicking his tongue with pretend disapproval. “Now, Y/n, that’s not a very nice thing to do to a guest, is it?”

“Listen, I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but I’m not your fucking toy, Campbell,” you hiss at him, despretely trying to tug your arm from his painfully tight grasp, fighting the panic rising in you at your vital mistake.

No one else was at home and they wouldn’t be for a while. It was just you and him— no one was here to save you if he decided to do something.

Truth be told, he terrified you. But that didn’t mean you’d let him know that. You knew the sick motherfucker got off on that shit, and you weren’t going to become just another helpless victim trapped beneath his sharp claws.

Not you.

At your venomous response, Campbell simply raises a dark brow at you, scanning you from head to toe with decisive carelessness and a cold indifference that made you feel like a minuscule bug beneath his shoe.

That was one of the things with Campbell- he had a way of making people feel like worthless little things. Especially in comparison to him. It was this effect that made you detest him even more than usual. He wasn’t just a jerk, he was manipulative in the worst way possible because he didn’t only manipulate you for his own benefit, but against your own. He made you hate yourself so much you’d have no choice but to comply with him.

And you weren’t immune to it, no matter how much you tried to deny it.

And yeah, sure- physically speaking, Campbell Eliot could more than easily overpower you. No doubt.

He was taller, towering over you like a damn mountain. And he was clearly stronger- the lean muscles that flexed beneath his shirt anytime he took a menacing step toward you were enough evidence.

But somehow you knew it was stripping your mind of its power that he really enjoyed. Being able to trap you in your own fucking body- that’s the real power trip he craved.

He raises his hand, fingertips softly brushing a few strands of hair away from your face as you stubbornly stare him down.

The touch is shocking in its contrast to the death grip he has on your arm and it nearly makes you whimper.

He curls his hand over your jaw, placing his thumb under your chin, fingertips softly brushing against your neck.

You watch him so closely that your heart nearly drops when he suddenly twitches- it’s very small, but seeing as you’re quite literally holding your breath for his next move, you catch it- and it’s as his hand sweeps lightly over your neck...over your throat.

You watch his face closely. His lips part, his breath hitches and his eyes darken even more beneath the dim light of your living room.

He catches himself quickly, though. So quickly in fact, you’re sure if it weren’t for the fact that he were so close and you were so fucking scared of him, you wouldn’t have even noticed.

But you did. And a chill runs up your spine when you think about what he must’ve been thinking in that messed up head of his.

This fear grows when he uses his thumb to force you to look up at him, leaving your jugular totally exposed and vulnerable to those big hands.

“Oh, dollface, but you are,” he responds with sardonic sympathy. “You all are. Now, tell me where they are.”

Your breath hitches when he abruptly digs his fingers into the skin of your arm, sinking his claws into you.

Tears prickle your eyes at the sudden and sharp pain. You try to blink them away and hold back the tiny sobs threatening to exit your slightly dry lips, but a few of both escape anyway and you hate yourself for being so damn weak in front of him.

That is why, to reserve your dignity (or what’s left of it anyway), you don’t dare back down, looking at him dead in the eye and gritting your teeth as you lean in.

You wait for him to expect something of you and then you talk.

“Fuck. You,” you grit out with biting anger.

He smiles in a sickengly smug way, dark eyes practically drinking in the sight of you twisting in pain beneath his touch, of the humiliation embedded deep beneath that fake bravado of yours.

And as much as you hated admitting it, despite it all, there was such beauty in that gaze, such intriguing depth.

God, if it weren’t for the fact that you could see the sadistic joy -far darker than you had initially thought- clearly swimming in them as well, you could’ve confused him for handsome. If for a mere second.

If for a mere second, you could make out a striking resemblance between him and Dorian Gray in the infamous painting- the version before he turned into a monster that is.

His face was structured in that same classical beauty kind of way- high cheekbones, sharp jaw, bold brows, delicate pink lips, and a thick set of long lashes encasing a pair of piercing blue eyes.

But seconds go by and that mere second sure as hell did.

And all it gives way to is the pain you’re currently feeling and the perpetrator behind it. His beauty is dangerous. It’s deceiving to what truly hides beneath it. The ugliness simmering beneath, just waiting for something to snap from within to explode and take with it everything in its path.

He leans into you all of a sudden, making your heart jump all the way to you throat at the abruptness of the movement.

Not go mention; you’re fucking trapped between him and the wall now.

You catch a whiff of his cologne- a subtle but manly scent and the musk of his sweat and it makes your head spin. That along with the bitterness of the situation you’re in, nearly makes you faint with fucking desperation.

A trapped animal. That’s what he was minimizing you to. A fucking animal.

You swallow past the lump in your throat, hard. Licking your dry lips, you anticipate with almost overwhelming anxiety his next move.

His gaze flickers down to your lips as he laughs softly.

The warmth of his breath as it brushes against your face sends another chill down your spine and you can’t quite decipher if it’s because you’re shitting your pants or because he’s abandoned his indifference and is now looking at you like you’re his next prey and he can’t wait to chase you down and devour you.

His thumb softly caresses your chin, fingers moving into your hair. Your lips part at the delicious sensation and despite yourself, you lean into his touch.

“Careful what you go wishing for there, Y/n. Might just come true,” he warns mockingly, his whispers hoarse. His gaze sweeps over you- shameless as ever.

He made you feel invaded in your own body, the way he looked at you. His gaze and the liberties he took with them as he roamed your body and face made you feel like you were mistaken and actually his to look at. Like you were his to undress with his eyes.

It was a strange feeling to have him close after watching him from afar for years. Even as Sam’s best friend, you’d only ever talked to him twice before in the past.

Both were calling him out on treating Sam like trash.

To which he’d only laughed and walked away as if you were but a pesky little thing. After that, you had made it a point to stay away from Campbell. He was intimidating even in his nonchalant disregard.

But now, after what has happened, after almost everyone in your town had disappeared- he was making you question everything you believe in. And he seemed to be targeting you rather than just shake you off.

The fucker.

You suddenly can’t breathe, your heart beating so fast, you feel feel fucking dizzy with all the adrenaline it’s pumping through your veins.

You inhale shakily, trying to keep your fitting in this slippery slope of a situation you’d gotten yourself into.

“Let me fucking go, Campbell. I already told you I don’t know where they are,” you say- tone far too soft to be anything even remotely close to imposing.

He clicks his tongue at you mockingly and when you feel him tangle his fingers into your hair, wrapping the strands around his hand, you know something bad was going to happen.

Suddenly, he yanks your head back. The searing, burning pain coming from your scalp was unexpected and lethal and you cant help but let a loud yelp escape your lips.

“I’ll let you go when I fucking feel like it, you got me? I still don’t think any of you fucking understand, so let me make it crystal clear,” he snarls, forcing you to look him in the eye.

They’re stone cold, emotionless, the only emotion he had -sadistic joy- is gone and in its place there’s only searing, voidful, palpable anger.

“Everyone in this fucking town is scared of me.” He briskly releases you, knocking you back into the wall as he takes a few steps away from you. “And it’s for good reason.”

With a tiny grunt, you glare up at him. “Asshole,” you mutter.

He ignores your petty little insult, scoffing down at you like you’re a worthless piece of shit.

“Even you.”

You scowl. “Well I don’t know about everyone else but I, for one, am not afraid of you, Campbell.”

His lips curl upwards as he stares at you with a bemused look on his infuriatingly attractive face. “Sure you fucking aren’t. You know,” he clicks his tongue. “I always found it strange that even when you and Sam were attached at the hip, you never tried to get even remotely close to me. I mean aside to give me shit about the way I chose to treat Sam.”

He suddenly grows serious, a predatory look instantly growing on his face. Then he clenches his fists so tight, his knuckles turn paper white.

“Oh, the things I could do to you,” he mumbles, eyes zeroing in on your chest and then your neck. He drags his tongue over his thin upper lip, eyes flickering back up to you.

If that asshole knew how bothered his eyes on you made you feel, he ignored it. Or perhaps he enjoyed watching you squirm. Probably the latter.

They’re so dark now, that under this lighting- they almost look black. Far from his natural pools of blue and strikingly menacing.

His silver earring glimmers dangerously under the light and then you catch a glimpse of something else in his hand as he holds it up to the light.

Your blood runs cold when you realize it’s a blade.

He casually plays around with it, twirling around his hand with ease.

“You wouldn’t just be afraid...” he closes his eyes for a second, as if imagining it in his mind. A sick, perverted smirk instantly curls his lips and his cold gaze pins yours down once more when he releases a tiny hum.

“You’d be begging me to hurt you some more. Hell you’d get on your fucking knees and ask me to like the nice little girl you make everyone think you are.”

Your chest rises but doesn’t fall as you hold your breath. You’re trembling at this point, but you hope to god he doesn’t fucking notice.

“You’re sick,” you whisper roughly, eyeing him cautiously.

He shrugs nonchalantly, fingers running the knife some fucking idiot had left lying around.

“Maybe. But at least I’m not weak.” He looks at you pointedly. “At least I know how to take care of the things that belong to me.”

You huff, swallowing down your fear and letting your mouth run. “See, that’s the fucking problem with you Campbell. You think you’re entitled to owning people. But I’m not going to let you manipulate me.”

He raises a brow. “Oh, trust me, Y/n. Right now, with you- this is as real as I get. If I was manipulating you, you wouldn’t know it.”

Despite how much his words chill you to the bone, and your strangely strong urge to ask a whole bunch of questions, you merely chuckle sarcastically at him, putting on a brave face.

“Fortunately, that’s never going to happen.” You smile before quickly letting it drop. “Now if you’re done, get the fuck out.”

He sighs with fake defeat, putting the knife down casually.

“Fine. I’ll go.” You don’t budge, refusing to drop your guard at his words.

He smiles and even though you know that it’s not real- for a split-second you forget who he is because of how damn charming it is.

“Tell your friends I was here, will you doll?”

You almost let out a sigh of relief when he spins on his heels and begins to walk away but that gets trapped in your windpipe when suddenly pauses near the doorway, glancing at you over his shoulder.

“You know, it’s a shame.”

“What is?” You snap.

“That we hadn’t talked like this earlier.” He grins darkly. “I actually kinda enjoyed this little convo of ours.”

And with that he walks out, slamming the door shut.

Once you’re sure he’s gone, you release a huge breath, falling against the wall.

Your arm was throbbing aggressively and so was your scalp, your chest aches with pent-up anxiety.

And yet....

And yet all you can really think about is those eyes. That smirk.

The darkness inside of him wasn’t entirely empty, you conclude the more you thought about the genuine joy he had as he saw you in pain.

It was fucked up for obvious reasons, but you couldn’t help but think that what he held in that gaze was far more than that emotionless exterior he showed everyone. It was darkness nonetheless, but it wasn’t entirely devoid of all emotion.

Everyone said he didn’t feel like the rest of you did. But he felt something didn’t he?

There was something almost mesmerizing about figuring out what he was thinking. What he was feeling. About what made him tick.

It was crazy, but he’d always seemed like a sad person to you. Even underneath all that hard skin he’d built over the years, underneath that emotionless existence he’d been living, he seemed sad.

He scared you so much, it was practically impossible for you to comprehend why he also intrigued you just as much- if not more.

His darkness was as terrifying and unpredictable as it was alluring to you.

You sigh a little, glancing the already-forming bruises marring the skin of your arm. They were dark imprints of where he’d sunk his fingers into you.

You shiver just thinking about his hands on your skin.

You can never forget how dangerous he is.

Because if you do, you could find yourself trapped under his claws.

*

You tug on your long-sleeve subconciously, looking at Allie with furrowed brows.

“He said he was looking for you guys.”

Will shares a look with the blonde girl before looking back at you. “Did he specify why?”

You shrug. “No. Just said he needed to talk with you because you had something that belonged to him.”

Pursing her lips, Allie sighs. “We’re sorry for leaving you alone, Y/n. We should’ve had someone from the guard here. But he didn’t like-” she hesitates, watching you closely. “He didn’t hurt you or anything, did he?”

You look down, tugging even more at the sleeves and shake your head. “No.”

Allie had enough on her plate as is, you didn’t want to add another thing to it and be a bother.

She nods and sends you a look, fairly enough not looking convinced at all by your meek firmness.

“Well-” just as she begins to speak, a loud knock at the door abruptly cuts her off.

All three of you share a look this time, and you swallow harshly, heart racing. “Campbell?” you mumble with dread.

Allie motions to Grizz to check who it is. He nods, prying the front door open only slightly.

“What do you want Campbell?” He spits.

The small, indifferent, mocking, cold laugh he gives as a response floats in from the other side of the door and sends a shiver down your spine.  

“I need to talk to Allie,” he says simply.

Grizz goes to protest coldly, but Allie shakes her head at him, motioning for Campbell to come in. Grizz clenches his jaw, but complies, stepping aside for him to step in.

Campbell smirks sumgly, leering down at Grizz -who looks just about ready to explode- as he passes by him.

Then his gaze shifts to you as you stare at him and he grins brightly. You instantly look away, scrutinizing your hands.

Your spine goes rod straight as his footsteps near the kitchen, where you currently sat on a stool by the counter.

“What the hell do you want Campbell?” Allie raises a brow at him.

He slightly glances at you before smirking up at her.

“Elle. Where is she?”

Allie shakes her head. “She’s not your property Campbell. And you can’t just barge in here like that.”

His smirk drops and he glowers at her. “Give her to me or I swear to God-”

“Or what?” Will interrupts. “What will you do?”

Campbell refuses to back down. “Or I will come over to your house every fucking night and make your life miserable until you do.”

Allie heaves a heavy sigh. “Campbell-”

“Unless...” he softly sing-songs.

Everyone pauses, staring at him.

And when his gaze gently glides over to you, you know what he wants before he even says it.

“Unless?” Will murmurs.

Campbell bites his lip delightfully, gaze never leaving you. “Unless you give me her instead.”

All at once, everyone around you protests.

“What are you crazy?!”

Campbell shrugs, mumbling beneath his breath . “A little.”

The outrage continues. “No fucking way we’re doing that.”

“Listen,” Campbell shushes them. “The way I see it is; this town is fucking sick and tired of you Allie. So I really doubt they’ll have a problem helping me make all your lives a living hell. Now, I can take Elle and keep her because she’s mine. Or I can take sweet little Y/n here and return her after I’m done with her. That is; if she even wants to come back after I’m done with her.”

None of them even consider his offer. They start protesting again against him.

You just sit there, staring off blankly. And when you finally speak up. moments later, everyone falls silent.

“I’ll go with you,” you whisper.

“W-what?” Allies sputters. “Y/n, no.”

You look at her. “Allie, this is my choice, okay?”

She purses her lips in a silent reprimand.

Campbell snorts at your words as you look up at him. “But you have to give me back after a month.”

“Two.”

“One and a half.”

“Deal.” He smirks with satisfaction.

He looks at Allie pointedly. “Deal?”

The blonde glances at Will, Grizz and finally you. It’s clear she hates this; they all do.

You take a deep breath, getting off the stool. You walk towards her, taking her hands in yours.

“Allie please,” you murmur. “Elle has been beaten down enough by him. He’s broken her.”

“And that’s exactly why I won’t let him take you too,” she insists freverently, squeezing your palms tightly.  

You deadpan, lowering your voice to a whisper only you two can hear. “Allie, Elle is a badass, but I’m stronger than her, we both know it. I’ve known Campbell my whole life, I know his startegies. I know I can hold out for a month and half. I know that I’ll come back to you and he won’t be running a damn campaign agaisnt you then. It’s a win-win.”  

“But-”

“This town needs you, Allie. Even if they don’t see it now. Don’t let us down.” You smile reassuringly for her sake more than yours. “I need you to trust me on this.”

She blinks back tears, nodding lightly.

You nod at her, fighting back your own tears and you step away. You turn to Campbell; your fucking nightmare incarnate.

“Let’s go,” you say softly.

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

***

Why is there such a shortage of fics on Campbell? He’s such an interesting character and let’s be honest; fine as hell. 

(with that earing bruh?)

I definitely have a thing for hot psychos and it concerns me a lil bit.

A special thanks to:

My forevers

@jessikared97​

@ladyofletters67​

@sammykb1994​

@lilypalmer1987​​

@mogaruke​​

#campbell eliot #Campbell x reader #Campbell eliot imagine #campbell eliot x reader #the society

[cap-winter-barnes]

Alone Until You (Campbell Eliot x Reader)

buy me a coffee

Thank you to @lafleurverte​ for requesting. It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, let alone Campbell, so I hope this is okay. I hope you enjoy. 

Warnings: only mentions of sex, nothing major or in detail

The town of West Ham had finally fallen into some form of normalcy. Its residents all doing their part to keep the peace.

Y/N had just finished her shift in the kitchen, shedding her apron and hair net, placing them neatly in a pile near the exit door. From the hook to her right, she takes her backpack and carefully swings it onto her shoulder. Taking  a clean, empty tray from the worktop, she then heads towards the serving area. After politely receiving her food, she places her tray down and takes a seat at a vacant lunch table in the back corner of the cafeteria. She then unzips her backpack to remove a worn copy of her favourite book – the cover torn and frayed at the edges; multiple pages folded at her favourite chapters;  and inside there are dainty notes scribbled in pencil in the margins.

“Hey.” The male voice does not startle Y/N as she continues to read, steadily placing forkfuls of pasta salad into her mouth. Despite her silence, Campbell, still takes a seat next to her, sitting with one leg on either side of the bench, facing her. Y/N keeps her gaze to page in front of her, not daring to look at the boy invading her personal space.

“Hey.” This time his voice is softer, gentler. A hand is then placed over hers as he pushes the book to the table. “I got you something.” This gains her attention. Turning her head slowly to face him, Y/N can sense that Campbell is nervous – an emotion not normally associated with the resident bad-boy.  “It’s for prom.” Then, from behind his back, he produces a mint green box, decorated with a black ribbon. Clearly, whatever was inside would have been expensive if he had purchased it – before everyone disappeared that is.

Looking at his face, he smiles sweetly. This seemed almost too good to be true. But Y/N was never one to disappoint people, even if they were known to be an asshole.

“Open it.” She makes eye contact with him as he slides the box across the table towards her. “Please.” Smiling kindly, Y/N gently takes the ends of the ribbon and pulls it apart, the bow falling down. Then lifting the lid of the box curiously, she peers at its contents.

Inside the box, lies a beautiful emerald green gown, chiffon fabric, soft against her fingers. The straps of the dress are thin, almost non-existent. But her favourite aspect of the dress? The gentle, flowing skirt that would fall to her ankles. All the other girls had been talking about their dresses and from what she had heard, they were all wearing something small and revealing. This was more her style – modest and elegant.

“Campbell, I –“ His expression changes from happy to disappointment quickly.

“You don’t like it?” Y/N shakes her head instantly at his comment.

“No. No, of course not. Campbell, it’s beautiful.” The smile which had earlier resided on his face now reappeared and with that came a chuckle.

“Really?” Smiling in return, Y/N nods her head. A silent yes. “So, you’ll go to prom with me?” He was hopeful for her to accept his offer and he was not let down.

“Of course.”

Suddenly becoming aware of people glancing in their direction, Campbell leans in towards Y/N’s ear.

“I’ll pick you up at 7.” A blush begins to bloom across her cheeks and up her neck at his closeness as she watches Campbell cross through the cafeteria and towards the doors. As he reaches the exit, he turns to face her, a knowing smile on his face and he raises his hand casually as a goodbye.

---At the Prom---

“You think Alden and Celeste are happily or unhappily married?” Since they had arrived at the makeshift prom, which was amazingly well put together, Campbell had taken every possibly opportunity to make Y/N laugh. The soft sound was calming to him and each time she laughed it brought a smile to his face.

“I’m going to go with happily.” He raises his eyebrows in thought and then nods his head.

“Okay, I’ll say that you’re right.”

There moment was soon interrupted by Harry, who had been sulking to himself all night, nursing a practically empty bottle of Scottish Whisky.

“Hey, man.” He ungracefully threw himself into the chair nearest to Campbell and stared absently towards Kelly on the opposite side of the room.

“Hey.” Campbell’s response was blunt, and Y/N’s was silent. She had never taken a liking to Harry, his whole being made her uneasy.

After a few seconds of silence, Campbell placed his hand into his pocket and then removed it. Taking a place card from the table, he was about to place whatever he held in his hand inside it, before Y/N grabbed his tightly closed fist.

“Please don’t,” Y/N held a firm grip on his hand, her eyes pleading with him to listen. “This night is over if you do.” Without hesitation, Campbell returned the pill back to his pocket and wiped his palms onto his trousers. “Dance with me?”

How could he say no to such a request?

As Y/N and Campbell danced in the centre of the room, the music slow and soft, he held her close.

“Thank you for asking me Campbell. If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be sat at home. Alone”

Confusion was his initial thought at her words.

“You weren’t going to come?” Taking her chin in his fingers, tilting her face to look at him, he frowned. “Why not?”

Copying his frown, Y/N shrugged.

“I didn’t really have anyone I guess.” Taking a breath, she pauses. “Until you.”

Immediately, Campbell leans in and crushes his lips against hers. Both of them still, not moving, as they realise what is happening.

Pulling away, Campbell begins to stutter out an apology, but she cuts him short. Grabbing his face, Y/N pulls Campbell’s lips back to hers. This time, the kiss is more rushed, messy. Teeth hit teeth and their tongues graze together. Totally oblivious to the fact that the people around them have begun to stare.

“Let’s get out of here.”

That night Campbell takes Y/N back to his house. It is there that they spend the night together. Their skins glistening with sweat; breaths heavy; and limbs tangled together.

The words “I think I love you” are uttered. More kisses are shared; and new sensations explored.

Maybe letting the bad-boy of West Ham take her to prom wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened.

#campbell eliot x reader #campbell eliot #the society imagine #campbell eliot imagine

[chillassimagines]

Too Much - Campbell Eliot Smut

REQUESTED: Please make a smut from Campbell from Society. Reader and Campbell have a lot of sexual tension and it finally breaks out. They end up going all over one another, lots of dirty talk and Campbell wants to please her every desire. They go slow foreplay and eases into sex. Lots of built up sexual tension comes to life. Perhaps what causes it is when they see one other flirt with someone and they get into a argument over it and they let go and give into how they feel.

“So…Y/N…what was up with Harry back there?” Campbell asked you while walking with you back to your house. You shrugged and kicked a nearby pebble out of your way as you passed.

“Nothing much really.” You recalled Harry approaching you in the cafeteria, asking you how you’ve been. Somewhere along the way you guys got pretty deep into conversation about what you missed about your old lives.

“Looked a little more than ‘nothing much’, but hey, that’s just coming from me and everyone in the cafeteria that saw you.” Campbell’s hands were fiddling inside his jean pockets as his attitude began to rear its ugly behind. He always had a temper.

“We were, bonding, I’d say for a lack of better words. Honestly, nothing crazy, Campbell, let’s get inside.” You ushered him up your steps and opened the front door to get inside away from the chilly night’s air. You remembered how Harry’s hand brushed up against yours, waiting for you to move your hand off the table, but you kept it there. So he grabbed it and held your hand as you got into deeper subjects. Then he started to lighten the mood, crack a joke or so, or point out people in the room and list off embarrassing moments they’ve had. You never thought to let go of his hand.

“I get it, it gets pretty hopeless in this place, but I’m sure there’s a better pick than Harry.” He pointed out with a slight huff as you both kicked off your shoes. You furrowed your brows and headed into the kitchen.

“Drop it, Campbell. No need to be an asshole to Harry.” You grabbed a glass and filled it up with water at the sink.

“If anyone’s the asshole, it’s always been Harry, and by hearing some of the shit he had to say today, it’ll always be Harry. You’ve got shitty taste in guys.” You turned around to see Campbell, smug, leaning against the kitchen island, and facing you, directly opposite from you at the sink.

“So what? You just mad you’re not getting any in around here?” Of course you had never had sex with Harry, but if Campbell wants to believe it, then why keep saying it didn’t happen? He wanted a rise out of you. However, his face turned sour at your inquiry.

“I wouldn’t need much work to get anything around here. Harry only dreams he could fuck anyone, even you, like I could.” You scoffed and nodded. It did cross your mind briefly once or twice, Campbell had a crappy attitude, but he wasn’t bad looking.

“Hop off your high ass horse baby. You seem to be a bit delusional lately, maybe chill on the drugs, and while you’re so high, imagine me with my clothes off. Cause that’s the only way you’d ever see it.” Didn’t like that comment either.

“Watch your fucking mouth!” He stepped forward, but you stepped forward as well, not backing down.

“Fucking make me! I dare you. Harry would never be able to get me to stop using it.” He rushed forward and pinned your body against the counter, his hands coming up to brace against the cabinets. This was getting hot and intense real fast.

“I would use your whole body, not just that bratty mouth.” One of his hands went to your chin, tilted your gaze upwards, and allowed him to look down at your lips.

“I’m only hearing words and speculation, your opinion is biased.” Your volume dropped significantly as you could feel yourself growing curious.

“You want me to show you, don’t you?” He leaned his lower region up against you and your lips parted in awe.

“Thought you didn’t like my bratty mouth?” You damn near whispered, followed by your tongue wetting your lips.

“If Harry can make good use of it, why can’t I?” Oh this is it.

“Campbell, I’d never let Harry use my body, because I want yours.” You closed the distance between your lips. He was momentarily stunned, before he returned the slow and sensual kiss. Your hands found themselves bunching up his jacket into fistfuls.

“Say you want me.” He broke the heated exchange in which you were temporarily dazed out of as his mouth left yours.

“I really, really want you, Campbell.” You spoke softly before backing him up into your room, adjacent to the kitchen. He helped you remove your top, to which you did the same for him, and he guided you to lie back on the bed.

“You’re beyond beautiful, yanno?” He asked you as if it was common knowledge. “It feels like your body reacts to me with…excitement.” He whispered before latching his lips onto your neck. You sighed out in pleasure as his hips instinctively grinded against yours.

“Am I game for you to play, Campbell?” You teased as he went for your bra clasp. He shook his head and revealed your bare chest.

“You’re my gift to unwrap. My mystery to uncover. Harry can jump out a window if he thinks he’ll ever have you like I do.” He spoke with a smirk before wrapping his pink lips around your nipple.

“Oh my god, Campbell.” You whimpered out as one of his hands dipped below your pants. He hummed against your chest and nipped at you with his teeth, before alternating breasts. His fingers were met with your damp lower lips.

“I’m gonna have you wrapped around my finger. You’re going to do as I say if you want what I can give you.” And without a second thought, you stupidly blurted out.

“Yes please.” This brought a grin to Campbell’s face as he teased your lips, never separating them to dive in.

“The bratty mouth has some manners. Now, you’ll do that every time I speak to you or please you, because I will be pleasing you tonight. Saying please and thank you are very important, Y/N. Understood?” You nodded immediately.

“Understood, Campbell.” His fingers started dragging your bottoms down your legs, kissing you along the way.

“You like to say my name, huh? Nobody says it as often as you do. You like to make sure you have my attention. You like to know I’m listening to every word that falls from these lips, right?” His lips stopped when he realized you had no panties on.

“Took you a minute.” You said with a shy smile. He said nothing, only forcefully spreading your thighs without a word. You grew more antsy as he just sat there, gripping your thighs, and letting yourself be presented to this man.

“That mouth will get you into trouble in the future.” Was all he said before he hunkered down and wrapped his supple lips around your clit. Your hands shot down to his thick hair and grasped as he did not start easy. He used his tongue deliberately to elicit reactions out of you.

“Oh my god, yes. Please don’t stop.” You whimpered as you really realized how deprived you were nowadays. If he stopped, you probably would have burst into tears, because it was so needed and so good. He pulled your thighs towards himself, burying his nose into your wet heat, and you removed one of your hands from his hair and braced yourself against the bed. “Y-You’re doing, s-so well. Fuck yesss.” You could audibly hear your wetness and his saliva at work as his tongue maneuvered around you and he made noises against your body.

“I need you to cum for me, baby.” He spoke breathlessly before diving back in. You nodded and cried out as he didn’t let up.

“Faster, faster and I can cum.” You urged him to continue on. He slid his thick tongue inside of you making you gasp. He used his grip on your thighs to slide you back and forth, his tongue slipping in and out of you swiftly. His nose would bump against your clit at every jolt and it sent you over the edge. You cried out as your legs tightened around his head and your back arched so high you swore you were upside down for a minute.

“What do you say, my pretty girl?” He asked as he hovered over you again and brushed your sweaty hair off of your forehead.

“Thank you, so much.” You were still trying to recover as he began taking off his bottoms.

“You got another one in ya?” You bit your lip as your eyes went to the outline of his hardness strained against his underwear.

“Only if it’s good.” You gave him a smile and he returned it sweetly.

“I don’t disappoint.”

“So, did you plan to fuck me today, or do you not have a condom?” You asked after he began discarding his boxers. He smirked and reached into his pants pocket.

“Lucky guess.” Your eyebrows rose at him in surprise. You didn’t know why you were shocked, because you knew who he was. It was no secret to anyone in this town that Campbell Eliot was not good. Nothing he does goes without intention and thought.

“Either you think I’m easy or you have a lot of confidence in yourself.” He slid the condom onto his well grown length and pulled you further down the bed to get closer.

“I’ve always liked a little challenge. So that when you got used to me, it’s an unspoken promise that you’d be mine.” Without another breath, he thrusted into you. You were stunned at his word choice, knowing that there would never be a time to turn back from this. You wrapped your arms around his torso and allowed yourself to feel his back muscles contort as he worked himself inside of you repeatedly.

“Campbell.” You whispered breathlessly. He seemed concentrated and part of you wondered…but it was a very small part. The rest of you got lost in the pleasure. The feeling of his hot skin on yours.

“That’s right baby. Who do you belong to?” He cooed and began kissing and sucking on your neck. His hips stuttered and you moaned shakily.

“You, Campbell. Please, don’t stop.” He hiked your legs up higher in the air so that he could further submerge himself. You could hear your wet skin slapping together and you knew you were close.

“You like that, don’t you?” You nodded and whined.

“Please, please, please…” You were chanting your new mantra as he brought you closer and closer to your end. He brought his lips to yours and with a final thrust you felt his body tremble against your own. Your nerves were buzzing as your second climax hit.

“Not too much was it?” He asked softly, looking into your eyes with a boyish gaze. You brought one hand up to his soft cheek and smiled right back.

“Thank you.”

#imagines #preferences #chillassimagines #campbell eliot smut #campbell eliot #the society #the society smut #toby wallace #toby wallace smut

[bloatedandalone04]

BloatedandAlone04′s Character Masterlist

DO NOT republish my writings as your own and do not post my work anywhere other than my own account. Reblogs are fine, of course. Enjoy! ❤️

Authors Favourite = ⭐ 

Reader Favourite = 💌

Fluff = 💕

Angst = 💋

Smut (mentions of smut) = 🔥

DISCLAIMER: ALL my writings are x female reader!

Real Life Masterlist | Hayden Christensen Character Masterlist | Ethan Landry Masterlist

Sweet Like Cinnamon 💕🔥

➪the one where bradley goes down on you in public.

Greatest Fan of your Life 💕

➪the one where you get your wisdom teeth removed and bradley takes care of you.

If It Makes You Happy 💕💋🔥

➪the one where you give bradley your heart and he breaks it. It Can’t Be That Bad 💕💋🔥 ➪the one where bradley fixes his mistake. (part 2 of IIMYH)   The Kind of Girl You Take Home 💕🔥 ➪the one where bradley can’t get enough of you after making things official. (part 3 of IIMYH/ICBTB) I Promised You I’d Never Give Up 💕🔥 ➪the one where bradley comes home and the two of you finally celebrate your engagement. (part 4 of IIMYH/ICBTB/TKOGYTH)

Love in the Dark 💋

➪the one where the deployments become too much.

Bets & Bargains Masterlist 💕💋🔥

➪the one where bradley makes a bet that will surely break both your heart and his own.

One Missed Call 💋

➪the one where bradley hasn’t won a match since you left him, and he finally decides to break his promise to himself. Against All Odds 💕💋 ➪the one where bradley pushes away his pride and finally admits to himself what he already knew, that you are his number one priority. (part 2 of OMC)

Things Unseen & Heard 💕💋🔥

➪the one where you overhear bradley talk about you to jake and decide to give him the space he apparently wanted.

Midnight Rain 💕💋🔥

➪the one where bradley is the best boyfriend you could ever ask for, but even he can’t fully erase the bad memories of your last relationship.

Something Borrowed 💕💋🔥

➪the one where you and jake run into his ex at a friends wedding.

Purple All Over 💕🔥

➪the one where you can’t resist jake, and he can’t say no to you.

Ugly Christmas Sweater 💕

➪the one where you give leon an early christmas gift.

Everything I Didn’t Say 💋⭐️

➪the one where you leave and leon lets you. The Only Reason 💕💋 ➪the one where leon finally gives you some much needed closure after four months of  feeling nothing but regret from what he did. (part 2 of EIDS)

Bury My Love 💕💋

➪the one where you and leon go on, what neither of you knew, was your final mission together. Never Let Me Go 💕💋 ➪the one where you and leon reunite. (part 2 of BML)

Infectious Love 💋

➪the one where you and leon return from a mission acting a bit different than before.

You Made it Shine 💕🔥

➪the one where you’ve been feeling a bit lonely, and leon intends on making it up to you.

Illicit Affairs 💕💋🔥

➪the one where leon is yours entirely, even though he is married to someone else.

Good as Gold 💕💋

➪the one where leon fell in love with you from the second he saw you.

They Don’t Know About Us 💕

➪the one where you and leon can’t stand each other in front of your friends, but it’s secretly all an act.

Too Close Series 💕💋🔥⭐️

➪the one where you and leon sneak around behind your fathers back. (mafia au)

➪one shots for this au.

The time it All Changed 💋💌

➪the one where lucas invites you to tag along with him at dan’s party and brooke can’t keep her mouth shut.   Part 2 💕💋⭐️ ➪the one where a weekend getaway is just what you needed to realize your true feelings for lucas.

Summer Love 💕🔥💌⭐

➪the one where nick falls in love with a shadysider at camp nightwing.  (1978)

Made For Me 🔥

➪the one where nick loves how small you are compared to him. (1978)

Only Angel 💕

➪the one where nick is a secret sweetheart. (1978)

Trick or Treat 💕🔥

➪the one where you and nick spend halloween together. (1978)

Family Legacy 💕💋

➪the one where it’s time for nick to sacrifice another resident of shadyside, but calls his old flame instead. (1978-1994)

The Dreaded 25th 💕

➪the one where you and nick spend christmas together. (1978)

Better Circumstances 💕

➪the one where you meet nick after your brother gets arrested. (1994)

Even If It Kills Me series 💕💋🔥⭐️

➪the one where nick has been in love with you for many years and now he’s finally got you all to himself. (1978 version)

Everything I Wanted 💕💋

➪the one where both you and rick are really bad at communicating your feelings. 

It’s Not Love 💕💋⭐

➪the one where you’re ‘with’ shane but fall in love with rick.  The Lucky Ones 💕💋 ➪the one where you and rick reunite after the events at the prison.

Not Yet Alone💕💋

➪the one where you receive the worst of the governor’s interrogation and find comfort in rick.

Dating Nick Furcillo would include 💕🔥

Dating Jacob Custos would include 💕🔥

NICK FURCILLO

Just a Taste 💕🔥💌

➪the one where nick craves you more than ever after he gets infected.

The Last Time 💋

➪the one where nick hurts you before transforming. This is me Trying 💕💋 ➪the one where nick has to deal with the aftermath of what he did. Celestial Body 💕💋 ➪the one where you and nick deal with the first full moon since getting back together.

MAX BRINLY

In the Meantime 💕🔥

➪the one where you and max get bored while waiting for the sun to rise. 

#campbell eliot imagines #campbell eliot x reader #kol mikaelson imagines #kol mikaelson x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy imagines #lucas scott x reader #lucas scott imagines #nick goode x reader #nick goode imagines #rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes imagines #nick furcillo x reader #nick furcillo #Jacob custos x reader #jacob custos imagines #max brinly imagines #max brinly x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #bradley rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader

[infinitefandomimagines]

Consequences - Harry Bingham x reader

WARNINGS: ANGST, LANGUAGE, CRYING, 

REQUEST: Hiiii, I saw that you were taking The Society requests and I was curious to know if I could submit a request for the reader being with Harry and finding out about Harry, Campbell and Lexie’s scheme with Allie and Will and being super conflicted. If possible could it be super angsty? I love your work so much, thank you for taking the time to read this even if you don’t decide to write it. Love ya xo

+

Hello!! Love your work, can I please request a Harry Bingham angst imagine?

-

You weren't supposed to find out, that much was obvious. The shock on Harry's face the second you confronted him in his room told you he didn't plan on telling you, and the disappointment on your face told him how screwed he really was.

"So what exactly was your plan, huh? Keep me in the dark forever, or just until you and Lexie were the new rulers of New Ham?" Venom dripped from each word as you tried to mask just how truly hurt you were, how betrayed you felt.

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but as far as you were concerned those questions were rhetorical, you weren't finished saying your part.

"On day one you said it was just you and me, that no matter what we could trust each other, that we would have each other's backs. We promised-You. Promised." Your voice was starting to betray you, shaking as your emotions tried to break through, but you refused to cry, refused to let yourself lose control. "Did you even think of how this genius plan of yours would affect me? How it would affect anyone who isn't you?"

"Campbell promised you'd be safe, I made sure-"

"Oh yeah, cause Campbell is so fucking trustworthy!" Your voice was slowly climbing in volume despite your attempts to stay as calm as possible. "Campbell doesn't give a shit about me, or you, or anyone in this town, he only cares about himself. Can't you see he's just manipulating you? You really think you're gonna be the one making the decisions? You're his fucking puppet Harry."

"Give me some credit, I have it handled, I-"

You cut him off again, "Can you honestly tell me that you've actually thought of the consequences of your little plan?"

Y/N-"

"I mean honestly Harry do you think of anyone but yourself? Did you even consider-"

"Would you let me fucking talk?" He yelled, a bit louder than he intended. The outburst startled you, the surprise clear on your face. Harry let out a frustrated sigh, running his hand through his hair, "I wanted to tell you, alright? But we couldn't risk telling anyone who wasn't involved and have the plan getting out."

"And what exactly was this plan of yours? Have the guard, the people we all trust to keep us safe, storm Allie's house, and what? Arrest her? Then what? Take over by force and arrest anyone who gets in your way?"

"I know it sounds bad-"

"Bad?" You were shocked at how ignorant he was, did he really not realize his harmful this could before the town? "Harry everything is finally working, stores haven't been raided, people are doing their jobs, an expedition is set to go out soon, and the committee on going home is actually making progress. This town is fragile, even the smallest shift in structure could cause a panic. Your plan would shatter this town."

"You're telling me you're seriously okay with picking up trash every day for what could possibly be the rest of your life?"

"Yeah it sucks, I don't like it either, but it works! What Allie is doing works."

"Yeah well not for me," he fired back, the two of you now in a big yelling match, "Okay, this place sucks! Everything about it sucks! The food, the jobs, the housing, the leaders." Harry felt bad for yelling at you, he hated fighting with you no matter how big or small the argument was, but everything was getting so heated that it was becoming too easy to say regrettable things

"We're on our own! We don't get to live in luxury anymore, Harry! We have to make sacrifices in order for things to work around here, I know you think you can do better than Allie, and who knows maybe you can, but this is our life now, we can't do much better!" Your voice was starting to get raw and scratchy from the amount of yelling, tears stung the back of your eyes, and you were beyond exhausted.

"Yes we can, we can do so much better! Why can't you just trust me on this? I thought we promised to have each other's backs?" He said the last part almost mockingly, and you felt your anger skyrocket, so much for trying to remain calm and collected.

"No!" You yelled in his face, "No, you don't get to throw that in my face, not after all the shit you've pulled! Going behind my back, lying to me, lying to everyone in this town!" Your voice got weaker with each word, finally reaching your breaking point.

Everything was so fucked up, Harry's head was so far up his ass that deep down you knew there was no changing his mind, and the right thing to do was so obvious, you needed to tell Allie and Will, so why weren't you already doing that? Why were you still here trying to convince Harry to change?

You knew why, and you hated it, hated how head over heals you were for him, hated how you still believed in him, hated how even after everything he'd hidden from you, you still loved him. You were stressed, angry, conflicted, but above anything you were just so tired. Tired of the fighting, the yelling, the chaos, the unshakeable feeling something horrible could happen at any moment, you just wanted to be home, back with your family. You'd give anything to have your old life back, Friday night football games, date night every Saturday with Harry, stupid high school drama and cast parties.

You sat down on the edge of Harry's bed, hunched over with your elbows resting on your knees and you head in your hands, the tears you'd been holding back finally finding their way to the surface. Your body shook as you took in ragged breaths, small sobs escaping your lips.

It seemed as though your breaking point happened to be Harry's as well, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you, that's why he was so adamant with Campbell about you being safe no matter what, that you would have a say in what happened after he was finally in charge. He knew you wouldn't like the plan the second it was made, and maybe that alone should have told him there was a flaw or two with it, he considered you one of the smartest people in both West Ham and New Ham, but it was the only way to fix things and have a better life. Right?

But seeing you like this? It almost made him want to throw the whole plan out the window. Almost.

Harry took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he crouched down in front of you, his mind searched for some magic phrase that would make everything better, but he knew there was no such thing.

"Y/N," he whispered softly, "Baby look at me."

When you didn't budge he gently gripped your wrists and pulled your hands away from your face, revealing red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. He held your hands in between his, lifting them to his lips and placing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

"I am so sorry I didn't tell you, I should have been honest with you the second Campbell mentioned the plan," your jaw tightened at the mention of Campbell, telling Harry to keep him out of the conversation. "I never meant to hurt you, and if I could go back and do it all over again I would, I'm sorry, Y/N."

He was genuine, and that gave you the silver of hope you needed to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could stop him from doing something he couldn't take back.

"Then tell Allie, stop all of this before it gets out of hand, run for office and try to win fairly," you pleaded. "Please, Harry."

Harry took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut as he prepared to answer. He didn't know who this would hurt worse, you or him.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he couldn't even look at you as he spoke, his gaze meeting the ground instead. The sliver of hope you'd felt before had been crushed, your heart dropping into your stomach when it finally hit that there was no changing his mind. You were now the one with a choice, tell Allie and betray Harry, or support Harry and go against what you felt was the right thing to do.

"It's not fair Harry," you said in a small, squeaky voice, "It's not fair for you to put me in this situation." You were right, he couldn't argue with that.

"You don't have to do anything, just keep quiet and I promise you will be safe, but if Campbell finds out you know and you're not on board. . . Just, can you promise me you won't say anything?" Harry's eyes finally met yours.

"I don't know, Harry," you whispered, looking down.

"What?"

"I don't fucking know, okay?" You raised your voice, standing up abruptly. "You're asking me to chose between you and what I know is right for this town! I- I just need some fucking air."

You pushed past Harry, wiping stray tears from your cheeks as you rushed towards the door. You gripped the cold metal knob and pulled the door open. However, a hand came down on the door, pushing it shut.

You whipped around to see Harry, his arm extended past your head, leaning against the door to prevent you from opening it again. You let out a sharp breath, scoffing at how actions. You looked up at him in disbelief, but it seemed as though he couldn't quite meet your gaze.

"Open the door, Harry," you said in a dangerous and low voice.

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you leave." His tone held a sense of pain in it. He didn't enjoy what he was doing. Nonetheless, he shifted his body so that he now stood with his back pressed to the door, completely blocking your only way out.

"Fucking what?"

"I'm sorry, I can't until I know you won't tell Allie and Will."

You reached for the doorknob again, even though you knew your efforts would be unsuccessful. Harry grabbed your wrist, his grip was gentle, but that didn't do anything to calm the rage bubbling up inside of you.

You instantly ripped your wrist from his grip, giving him a few choice words in the process. Frustration and anger burned inside of you, and you could feel more tears stinging the back of your eyes.

You turned your back to Harry, walking over to the window at the far end of his room. Soft footsteps echoed from behind you as Harry hesitantly walked towards you, choosing to stop a couple feet away from you.

"Y/N I-"

"Just get out, Harry." You said coldly.

"What?"

"If you won't let me leave the least you can do is give me some space."

There were a few seconds of silence before you heard Harry sniffle. "I'm sorry," he whispered in a broken voice. When you heard the door open and softly close you turned around to make sure he'd actually left.

When you saw he did, you collapsed onto his bed, letting out all of your emotions.

Everything was so fucked.

#harry bingham #harry bingham x reader #harry bingham imagines #harry bingham imagine #the society x reader #the society fanfiction #society #the society imagines #the society #society x reader #society imagine #society imagines #the society imagine #grizz #sam #campbell #campbell eliot #grizz visser

[kowimarch12]

Grizz: Why did you eat my fucking cereal?

Campbell: Why did you 'eat' my fucking brother?

Grizz: ... Touche

#the society #the society netflix #grizz visser #campbell eliot #the truth is that I can't imagine either of them talking to each other #but I had to fit in with this shit #grizzam #grizz and sam #grizz x sam #sam eliot #incorrect quotes

[purestxblood]

𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗴𝘂𝘆𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗺𝘆 𝗼𝗻𝗲-𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘁𝘀! 𝗶 𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝟭𝟯𝗿𝘄 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝗰𝗶𝗲𝘁𝘆 𝗳𝗮𝗻 𝗳𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗽𝗮𝗱 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗰𝗸 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲 : 𝗽𝘂𝗿𝗲𝘅𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗶𝗳 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗲𝗿 𝗶 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗮𝗻 𝗳𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗮𝘀 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗼𝗻 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲. 𝗹𝗲𝘁 𝗺𝗲 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗴𝘂𝘆𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗿! 𝘅𝘅

#13 reasons why #13rw #thirteen reasons why #13 reasons why one shot #13 reasons why imagine #clay jensen #justin foley #zach dempsey #alex standall #jessica davis #hannah baker #tyler down #montgomery de la cruz #bryce walker #purexblood #wattpad #the society #the society netflix #campbell eliot #harry bingham #sam eliot #luke holbrook #cassandra pressman #allie pressman #kelly aldrich

[winchester-books]

The Society Masterlist

updated: may 2020

Platonic

What Would I Do Without You?: Grizz takes Y/N home after a huge party at the church because she’s drunk.

Prom: Grizz steps in when Campbell is harassing Y/N.

Just Talking: Campbell is bothering Y/N and trying to flirt with her at party and Grizz steps in to save the day

Did I Win?:  During a party at Harry’s, Y/N gets drunk and suggests a game of truth or dare... things get a little out of hand.

Thanksgiving: Y/N gets poisoned during Thanksgiving and Grizz is super worried about her and takes care of her in the hospital.

Campbell

You’re Mine (Part 1, Part 2):  Y/N refuses to allow Campbell to steal power without a fight.

Luke

Close Call: Clarke is alone with Y/N, luckily for her Luke is able to step in before Clarke tries to do anything. 

Harry

You Have Me: Y/N checks in and tries to help Harry with his depression.

#harry the society #grizz the society #allie the society #luke the society #campbell the society #grizz x reader #grizz imagine #grizz fic #campbell imagine #campbell eliot #grizz visser #harry bingham #harry x reader #the society #the society imagine #harry the society x reader #campbell eliot x reader #campell angst #campbell x reader

[thatrandomwriter]

My Masterlist

This is all my writing so far, but feel free to request more! Guidelines

The Society

Dating Jason Alvarado Headcanons

Dating Gordie Headcanons

Not His Type (Harry Bingham/Plus sized reader)

All That Matters (Campbell Eliot/reader)

Unrequited Love (Grizz/reader)

IT(2017)

Can I Stay (Henry Bowers/reader)

Bruises (Henry Bowers/reader)

Finally His (Patrick Hockstetter/reader)

Riverdale

English Project (Reggie Mantle/reader)

Umbrella Academy

Empty (Ben Hargreeves/reader)

Outer Banks

Perfect (JJ/reader)

Waves (JJ/reader)

You’re Beautiful (JJ/reader)

Dirty Little secret (Rafe/reader)

The Walking Dead

Taken Prisoner (Merle Dixon/reader)

Returning the Favour (Merle Dixon/reader)

No Funny Business (Merle Dixon/reader)

Rooftop Romance (Merle Dixon/reader)

Reunited (Merle Dixon/reader)

Bad Decisions (Negan/reader)

Slaughterhouse Rulez

Helpless (Clegg/reader)

#imagines #headcanons #xreader #/reader #the society #it (2017) #umbrealla academy #riverdale #reggie mantle #ben hargreeves #number eight #henry bowers #petrick hockstetter #harry bingham #campbell eliot #gordie #Jason alvarado #grizz #The Walking Dead #twd #negan #merle dixon #slaughterhouse rulez #rafe cameron #outer banks #jj maybank #x reader

[imaginefan]

Shared Goods

Campbell Eliot X Reader

Word Count: 738

Request: Anon

Request: I know this isn't much of a plot but Campbell always taking food off of your plate, and biting into your sandwich. Each time he does it you just give up and give him your food since you don't want his germs. Lol I don't know something cute but odd but she likes the attention in a way since she likes him.

The first time that you met Campbell he leaned over your shoulder to take a crisp out of the packet that you were holding, you looked behind you to see who it was "thanks." He winked before popping the crisp in his mouth and walking away. You weren't sure if he actually knew who you were, you were one of those people who kept to themselves, you didn't make waves or scream and shout, at least not at people that you didn't know. If he did know who you were you had no idea how.

The second time that you met him, he sat across the table from you, you were sitting there doing homework and eating Haribos, Campbell reached over and took one of the jelly sweets from the packet putting it ni his mouth as he leaned over the table "what are you doing?" He asked. "Homework." You answered. "Oh, your one of those." He smirked, "What does that mean?" You asked. "You're a good girl." He smirked. "Do you need something or are you here to irritate me and steal my food?" You asked. "Are you offering sweetheart?" He asked, you didn't actually answer and he smirked before getting up and taking one more sweet. "The third one is 35, not 37." He said softly before disappearing from view.

You actually tried changing the place that you sat after the second encounter but that didn't work either "Are you hiding from me, sweetheart?" Campbell asked, he had leaned down so that his mouth was near your ear, he reached over your shoulder and took a square of the chocolate on the table next to your book. "My life doesn't revolve around you, especially since I don't even know your name." You answered. You did, everyone knew Campbell's name but he hadn't officially introduced himself to you so you were going to pretend. "You expect me to believe that you don't know who I am?" He asked, you just looked at him and he smirked: "you're more than a good girl who hides behind her books aren't you (Y/N)?" "How do you know my name?" You asked. "We share a lot of classes." He answered, "I figured that you never noticed." "We do?" You asked. "My name is Campbell, sweetheart." He winked as he leaned over and took another square of chocolate and you rolled your eyes before sliding the bar towards him. "Just take it I don't want your germs." You muttered as you continued with your work, he shrugged before taking the chocolate and leaving. "Thanks." He said before disappearing.

This became normal, you would be sitting alone, studying or doing some kind of homework and Campbell would appear out of nowhere to take something that you were eating, then you would give him whatever he had decided to take a bite out of, and he loved every moment of it and honestly so did you. Campbell noticed you sitting at the table scribbling fiercely at your notebook, your sandwich on the table next to you, he walked over and took the seat next to you "you seem angry today." He mumbled as he took half of the sandwich that you were eating out of your hand to take a bite. "I'm not angry, I just can't get this right." You mumbled he looked at the numerous attempts at the question on your page. "Maybe it would help if you actually carried the 1." He smirked and you looked down at your working out eyes widening before redoing the calculation and getting the correct answer. "What would you do without me?" "Not starve." You answered, taking half of your sandwich that was still in the box and eating it. "You aren't starving." He nudged you, "I always make sure that you eat something." "Yeah, yeah why do you want my food anyway?" You asked. "Just have fun messing with you." He shrugged as he finished off the slice in his hand. "Don't you have someone else to mess with?" You asked. "You're the only one for me sweetheart." He winked before leaning over and pressing a kiss to your temple, you groan as you attempt to wipe it off but he smacks your hand away and stands up "see you later." You watched him walk away and rolled your eyes but you couldn't ignore the warm feeling in your chest as his admittance.

Requests and general question!

#society #society imagine #the society #society oneshot #campbell eliot #campbell eliot imagine #campbell eliot oneshot #imagine #oneshot #one shot #reader insert

[whatifyouimagined]

Tudo O Que Importa

Fandom: The Society

Ship: Campbell Eliot x S/N

GIF: nenhum gif que aparece aqui é de autoria minha

Avisos: é o Campbell, né, então: relacionamento abusivo, violência física e psicológica

Autor: @thatrandomwriter 

Link Imagine Original 

Pedido: 

Sinopse: Você amava o Campbell, e ele te amava também. Certo?

———————————————————————————————————-

As primeiras semanas com o Campbell foram incríveis. Eu podia contar qualquer coisa pra ele e nós ríamos juntos, sem mencionar as melhores transas da minha vida. Mas aos poucos, eu comecei a notar uma mudança no comportamento dele. A gente não era mais um casal. Eu era só mais uma coisa que pertencia a ele, e ele não tinha medo de me provar isso fisicamente. Mas ele me amava. Ele ainda me amava, e isso era tudo o que importava.

Nas primeiras vezes, eu só deixava acontecer. Qualquer coisa que ele fazia, eu só aguentava. Eu nunca senti tanta vergonha de mim mesma, eu pensei que eu era mais forte que isso. Eu achei que eu poderia lutar contra isso, contra essa situação, mas eu não consegui. Eu não conseguia parar de pensar no que aconteceria se eu finalmente conseguisse fazer alguma coisa contra ele. Ele me mataria? Ou agiria como se nada tivesse acontecido, como ele sempre fez? Era impossível saber, com ele sendo uma pessoal tão dolorosamente imprevisível. Mas eu sabia que não seria capaz de viver desse jeito, com medo de uma pessoa que era pra me amar.

Eu tinha finalmente conseguido um momento de paz, quando comecei a ler um livro, enquanto ele tomava banho.

“Ei, amor?“ Campbell me chamou, do andar de cima.

“O que foi?“, depois de alguns segundos, eu consegui juntar força o suficiente pra responder ele com um tom calmo e fofo.

“Eu tô ficando com um pouco de fome, c acha que consegue fazer alguma coisa pra gente comer?“, essa era outra coisa que eu não suportava: a vontade dele de me fazer ser a mulher perfeita, que ama fazer as coisas de casa.

“Claro, eu só vou levar alguns minutos, amor.“

Ele então desceu pra cozinha, e quando eu tava quase terminando de cozinhar, ele veio e me abraçou por trás, colocando o seu queixo no meu ombro e me dando um beijo na bochecha. Pra quem vê de fora, parecia uma cena romântica, de um casal que se ama. Mas eu sentia a possessividade que ele transmitia. Um lembrete de que ele estava no controle.

“Eu vou pegar alguma coisa pra você beber. O que você quer?“, era uma desculpa fácil, pra me distanciar dele por alguns minutos.

“Só um pouco de água, já tá ótimo.“

Eu então peguei um copo e fui em direção á geladeira.

“Você se importaria se eu saísse hoje á noite?“, eu perguntei hesitante.

“Pra que?“, ele me perguntou, num tom de surpresa, que eu sabia que não refletia nada do que ele estava realmente pensando.

“Ah, nada de mais. É só com o Gordie e o Will. Eles começaram a se preocupar com a quantidade de comida e... eles pediram a minha ajuda pra pensar em algumas soluções.“

Antes de eu me virar, quando fechei a geladeira, senti uma respiração quente no meu pescoço e me dei conta que ele estava atrás de mim.

“Você não prefere passar a tarde aqui comigo?“, ele disse enquanto descia com a mão no meu braço. “Só nós dois?“, eu perguntei timidamente.

“Sim, é claro que eu preferiria, mas...“

“Por que eu não ia querer que nenhum deles dois ficassem sozinhos com você, pra começarem a pensar coisas. Não sobre a minha garota.“, a voz dele estava mais baixa e calma do que antes.

Eu me virei, e me encontrei face a face com ele. Ele tinha um pequeno sorriso no rosto. E pela minha experiência, eu sabia o quão perigoso aquele sorriso era.

“É claro que não. Não. De jeito nenhum. Não é o que você tá pensando.“, eu coloquei a minha mão no rosto dele, gentimente. “Eu prometo.“

Mas não foi o suficiente.

A mão dele então, veio em direção ao meu rosto e violentamente começou a apertar as minhas bochechas. Lágrimas caiam dos meus olhos. 

Ele então olhou pra mim, e eu sabia exatamente o que ele queria. Um pedido de desculpas. Mas eu não consegui fazer isso. Não dessa vez.

“Eu realmente odeio quando você fica com ciúmes.“, eu disse tentando colocar a maior quantidade de ódio nas minhas palavras. Eu então vi uma mudança de humor no rosto dele, raiva ou talvez tristeza, eu não consegui discernir muito bem. Mas logo a expressão dele voltou ao estado de antes, com aquele sorriso maligno, que eu conhecia bem.

“Eu achei que eu não teria razão pra ficar com ciúmes.“

Eu consegui escapar da frente dele, e o contornei voltando pra pia. Eu não conseguia acreditar que eu estava realmente fazendo isso. Eu tentei não olhar pra trás, pra ver o que ele faria, mas no final, eu nem precisei virar.

Ele me pegou pelos ombros, me virando de frente pra ele e me empurrando contra a parede.

“Por favor, não. Por favor, só...“

“Nunca mais dê as costas pra mim. Você entendeu?“, ele disse pausadamente.

Eu tentei lugar contra ele, tentei o empurrar pra longe de mim, mas sem sucesso. Ele segurava minhas mãos pra baixo pra que eu não me mexesse.

“Você entendeu?“, a voz dele ainda mais incisiva, e eu não consegui me conter pra não chorar. Eu nunca ia conseguir escapar dele. Nunca.

“Tá. Tá bom. Eu entendi, ok?“ Mas por favor, por favor não me machuca.”, agora eu não conseguia mais contar as lágrimas, enquanto ele me puxou contra ele, e me abraçou. Eu me odiava por isso, mas não conseguia não me derreter nos braços dele.

“Essa é a minha garota.“, ele disse me fazendo cafuné. “Eu só tô fazendo o que é melhor pra você. Por que eu te amo. Eu espero que você saiba disso.”

Ele estava me protegendo por que ele me amava. Ele me amava, e isso era tudo o que importava, certo? Só que eu tava começando a achar que isso não era o suficiente.

#campbell eliot #campbell #imagine #imagines #the society #elliot

[cap-winter-barnes]

My Hero - Campbell Eliot x Reader

Requested by @angeltop129​ - I am so sorry for how long this has taken. I hope this is okay. If you would like a Part 2 please let me know.

Warnings: guns, violence (that’s about it I think)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

West Ham was a town that once upon a time, I would have described as charming and peaceful. But New Ham? New Ham is what I would call chaotic.

I  wish every day that this is just a dream, and that when I wake, everything will be back to the way it was before. But it has been forty-six days since we returned on those school buses. Forty-six days with no idea how or why this has happened to us.

When Cassandra suggested some of us take inventory at the grocery store, I jumped at the chance. Anything to get me off of the streets and away from my home. Being an only child already, I physically cannot stand to be in that house alone.

Kelly and Will have been inseparable since we started the job. Not once have they tried involving me in any of their conversations. I can practically hear every word either way, but it would be nice to at least be involved.

But then again, that’s how my life has always been. I am acknowledged and that’s that. No conversations. No interest. No friends.

Looking at my watch, I realise how long I have gone with nothing to eat. I reach across for my rucksack that is propped against the display of tinned tuna. As my fingers graze the left shoulder strap, I am startled by a loud smash from the entrance of the store. Leaving the bag where it is, I stand and peer out of the aisle. I’m honestly not surprised to see some of the local idiots causing trouble. I find it funny how I can’t place a name to their faces except for one. Campbell.

He for once is not directly involved with the disruption, but is standing outside of the store, watching on. But why does he look nervous? Something doesn’t seem right though. And that’s when I notice the group inside the store are all armed.

Being someone who is against conflict of any sort, I quickly back away from the aisle end. But as I reach for my bag, I trip over my own feet and come crashing down into the shelving.

Tins upon tins of food come crashing down with me to the tiled floor. The noise is deafening as they all come tumbling down. It seems endless. A few of the larger products don’t miss me on their descent to the ground. My head throbs with blinding pain. I raise my hands above my head to soften the blow of those that continue to fall, the pain is horrendous. The metal digs into my palms, bending my fingers unnaturally backwards. It’s no wonder that I don’t hear the sounds of the group approaching me, guns aimed in my direction.

My vision is blurred, and my ears are ringing as I try and focus. Through the incessant sound of the ringing, I can tell that there are people shouting. But I can’t quite make out who. I place my hands on the floor to steady myself, and I try and push up from the ground.

“Hey, hey, hey.” A voice cuts clearly through the ringing in my ears. “No. You need to stay where you are.” I recognise the voice, but my brain is still fuzzy from the impact of the tinned goods. “Y/N. Hey.” Campbell. That’s Campbell’s voice.

With help, I lower myself back down to the floor, my back propped up against what is left of the shelving. My vision is slowly coming back to me and I can make out the group of guys standing around where I had last seen them. But this time they look concerned.

I turn to look at Campbell as he carefully kicks the tins out of the way, the sound hurts my head. He then kneels down in front of me, resting his forearms on his knees as he looks at me.

“How are you feeling?” I frown at him and reach up to my head with my fingers. He quickly takes my hand and brings it back down to my body. “You’re bleeding,” he grimaces as he says it, “you don’t need to see it.” I minutely nod my head in understanding. So that’s why I feel like my skull has been cracked open. He takes of his plaid overshirt and gently wraps it around my head as a makeshift bandage.

“I’ll sort you a proper one soon, okay?” He reassures me as he makes sure that the shirt is secure.

I smile in thanks and close my eyes, trying to block out the bright fluorescent lights of the store. “Hey, no. You have to keep your eyes open.”

“The lights are too fucking bright.” My voice is laced with fatigue and annoyance. He chuckles and reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, revealing a pair of dark plastic sunglasses. He opens them up and places them on my face, pushing a strand of loose hair behind my ear as he does so.

“Better?” I smile and nod at him, the relief from the brightness takes some of the aching in my head away. Campbell returns the smile and then takes a seat next to me, his shoulder knocking against mine as he does so.

“Hey, Eliot! We done here?” A voice cuts through the silence, it feels like a blade is pressing against my head as he says it. I wince at the sensation and Campbell notices. His expression is no longer caring and kind, but now filled with annoyance. Standing, he makes his way towards the group that have made their way to us.  

“No, we’re not done here.” As Campbell walks towards them, I watch on with worry. I remember them all carrying guns. And not all of them were handguns. My heart rate increases at the thought of someone firing. Campbell can handle himself; I’ve seen him in fights in and out of school. And I’ve never seen him lose.

But as he walks away from me, I notice that tucked into the waistband of his jeans, is a handgun. My heart is hammering in my chest and I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“We’re not done here until I say so.” Campbell places his hands into his front pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Well, until Cassandra, says so.” The guy laughs as if it’s the funniest joke he’s heard. The others in the group have smirks resting on their faces. “Something funny to you, Dewey?”

“You hate Cassandra. So why get her involved?”

Campbell clears his throat and looks back towards me, a small smile on his lips.

“Because of what you did.” He reaches with his right hand to his waistband and wraps his fingers around the gun but doesn’t remove it from its hiding spot. “What would you have done if you’d have shot her, huh?”

“She shouldn’t be here in the first place, Eliot.” He turns to look at his friends for their support, but none give it. “Should have kept out of our business.”

“Your business?” Campbell’s tone was darker now, his voice raising in volume. “You came here, with guns, to take stuff that doesn’t belong to you.”

“Like you’ve never stolen anything in your life.”

Campbell nods his head, smirking as he does so, looking at the floor. He swipes his tongue across his bottom lip and then bites down on it. I can see his body language change instantly, from relaxed to tense. As if he’s holding back.

It’s then that he takes the gun from his belt and aims it at him. His friends immediately take a step back, a few of them dropping their weapons on the ground. They raise their hands above their heads in surrender and back up.

“Greg, man. It’s not worth it.” They all then chime in, trying to calm Dewey down, to convince him to admit to his wrong doings. But to no avail.

“You got a soft spot for her, do ya Campbell?”

“That’s none of your fucking business.” His grip tightens on the gun.

“Greg, c’mon.”

He throws a look over his shoulder to the group that are slowly retreating. Each one of them with a look of regret on their faces. A few take a seat on the ground, knowing if they try and leave, they will be in the same situation as Greg is now.

I can’t see the expression on his face, but I know for a fact, that it would be one of disapproval at their words.

“Campbell.” His name leaves my lips before I can even process it in my head. My eyes widen in surprise and I cover my mouth with my hand.

He turns to face me without any hesitation and his grip on the gun falters for a moment, his wrist lowering slightly.

That’s when Greg takes the opportunity to grab him. Everything is happening so fast I have no idea what’s going. One moment Greg is grabbing at Campbell’s arms and throwing punches and the next, there is a gunshot echoing through the store. Then there is silence. I look across to the two boys, to find Greg with a shocked expression on his face. His skin pale and eyes brimming with unfallen tears. There’s a bruise starting to bloom on his cheek already and his top lip is split.

Campbell is standing a metre or so away from him, a hand to his left temple, breathing heavy. The gun clutched in his right hand tightly. Neither of them is injured, aside from the bruises and split lip.  

“Dude, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise to me, apologise to her.”

Campbell directs Greg’s attention to me.

“I am so sorry. For everything. It was stupid of us – of me, to come here. It was my idea. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” Campbell scoffs lightly under his breath, I seem to be the only one that notices.

“Go. But don’t think for one second you’ve got away with this. That was a warning shot, alright? Next time I won’t miss.” Campbell straightens himself up and tucks the gun back into the waistband of his jeans, this time in the front so that everybody can see it. “And Cassandra will want to speak to you all.” He raises his voice so that they can hear him as they swiftly make their way out of the store. The ground now littered with their discarded weapons.

At least they won’t be using them again any time soon.

I tilt my head back and rest it onto the shelf behind me, my heart rate still high and my breathing shallow. I’m oblivious to Campbell taking a seat next to me until he’s knocking his elbow against mine to get my attention.

“Hey, you alright?’

I nod, worried that my words will fail me if I open my mouth. Slipping his sunglasses off of my face, I turn to look at him. His face is a mess, his left temple and cheek are already turning green and purple from the punches Greg delivered. No doubt he’ll have a black eye by the end of the day. And his lip is split, the blood drying already.

“I’m sorry.” He frowns at me, questioning me without words. “About you-, about your face.”

“It’s okay. No need to apologise.” He whispers and he shakes his head.

I reach up and slowly unravel the shirt from around my head. Feeling ridiculous sat here like this. I hold it in my lap, not wanting to give it back without washing it first. Seems a bit unfair when it’s my blood after all.

We sit in silence for a few minutes until we both simultaneously start laughing. After everything that’s happened, this is probably something that neither of us were expecting to occur.

“Why don’t we get out of here?” His words are kind, so unlike what I expected of him.

“Yeah.” Accepting his offer, he stands, holding out his hand for me to take. I slip my hand into his, squeezing, as he pulls me to my fit. My head spins for a moment before it stops, Campbell holding me tightly while I compose myself.

“I’ve gotta ask.” He clears his throat then continues. “You’ve not been staying at your place for a few days now. Where have you been going?”

“You been watching me, Eliot?”

His cheeks blush with embarrassment.

“Just making sure you’re alright is all.”

I nod my head and look at my feet, grinding my toes into the cracks in the tiles.

“I can’t be there on my own. It’s just.” I take a deep breath; it sounds so stupid to say it out loud. “Being an only child, just, it’s so empty. My Mom worked from home, so I was never on my own. This i-, this is the first time.”

When he squeezes my hand reassuringly, I realise that he hadn’t let go of me this whole time.

“Come stay with me.”

“What?”

“Come stay with me, at my place. I won’t ask anything of you. I’ll even cook you dinner.”

“Is that your way of asking me out?”

“Maybe.” He chuckles and leads me out of the store, making sure I don’t trip over anything else.

His hand is in mine the entire way.

#Campbell Eliot x reader #campbell x reader #Campbell Eliot imagines #the society imagines

[tgaclubs]

CURRENTLY ACTIVE CLUBS & UPDATES: 

All of the clubs listed below are currently active, but every club you could imagine exists here! If it’s listed here, that just means people are actively posting about it and/or there are people on the roster. So feel free to mention interest in any other clubs you have interest in as well and it’ll become active too!

Art: {captained by Elliott Anderson, meets Wed.} colors

ASL: {captained by Ambrose Eliot-Abrams, meets Fri.} interpreting

Astronomy: {captained by Dorsey Rose, meets Fri. & Sat. nights}

Ballet: {captained by Sebastian Smythe} grand opening

Book:

Cheerleading: {captained by Zoe Abrams, meets weekdays}

Competitive Dance Team: {captained by Campbell Clarington}

Cooking:

Dance Club: {captained by Genevieve Sterling}

Drama: {captained by Ashton Evans} monologues, music & score NEW!, 

Fashion:

Fight: {captained by Sodapop Curtis, meets Sat.} grand opening

Football Team: {captained by Lucas Mellon, meets weekdays}

Gardening: {captained by Dylan Wilson, meets Tues.}

Glee: {captained by Madison McCarthy & Lucas Mellon, meets Mon. & Fri.} duets

Gymnastics Team:

Knitting: {captained by Claire Eliot-Abrams} pot holders

Lacrosse Team: {captained by Beau Smythe, meets weekdays}

Linguists: 

Photography: {meets Sun.}

School Newspaper: {captained by Adrian Mellon, meets Mon.} student interview ; winter newsletter

Soccer: {captained by Felix Hudson} coordination

Swim Team: 

Tennis: {meets Sat.}

Track & Field Team: {captained by Hunter Clarington, meets weekdays} winter update

Yoga: {captained by Darrean Anderson} flexibility

⚡ CLUB SCHEDULE ⚡

SCHOOL CHALLENGES & EVENTS:

ic winter fashion pics

ooc character development tag (muse inspo, playlists, moodboards, ooc questionnaire)

the tutor’s BDSM information tag

valentine’s day event pairing list

the pet fair

OTHER UPDATES:

Ask the Academy Staff Questions

royals etc help the academy

Mark Leader elections (closing soon)

Submissive Support Group

Submissive Mark Leader ideas

Switch Mark Leader ideas

Dominant Mark Leader ideas

pose for a portrait with Remy Smythe

buy from Riley Puckerman

buy bath bombs from Lillian Crawford

list of people consenting openly to D/s

Submit to Manny Aguirre

Submit to Sebastian Smythe

Submit to Malakai Abrams

have sex with Hana Cohen-Chang

Dominate Omar Shanaa

#tga:clubs #glee rp #smut rp #dark academia rp #oc rp

[stephen-narain]

The Work of Art in the Age of Virtual Reproduction

By Stephen Narain

This essay received the 2014 Alice Yard Prize for Art Writing.

We were kids without fathers, so we found our fathers on wax and on the streets and in history, and in a way, that was a gift.  We got to pick and choose the ancestors who would inspire the world we were going to make for ourselves.

—Jay-Z, Decoded

I, therefore, invite you to consider, as a suggestive analogy, the action which takes place when a bit of finely filiated platinum is introduced into a chamber containing oxygen and sulphur dioxide.

—T.S. Eliot, “Tradition and the Individual Talent”

“Cut” by Kara Walker (1998)

1. The Disintegrating Sugar Sphinx

This essay is about not seeing the physical exhibit of Kara Walker’s “A Subtlety.”  This essay is about seeing hundreds of its virtual reproductions online.

I first encountered Walker’s work in 2007 at Harvard’s Fogg Art Museum.  At the time, I was an undergraduate preparing to tell my parents—Guyanese immigrants to the United States—that, no, I would not be applying to law school.  I wanted to become a writer.  Still, my family’s pragmatism shaped the vision of the writer I wished to become.  Socially conscious.  Committed to a community’s particular experiences.  Unafraid of upsetting that community’s standards if necessary.  I had big ideas about the novel and about what the novel could do.  Yet, I was also aware that the bridge between aesthetics and politics was a difficult one to build.  Add to this the sophomore’s struggle with interpretation.  A discerning professor during a course on the American counterculture of the 1960s encouraged me to constantly examine the assumptions guiding my claims about the political uses of art.  Such proclamations might best be made after a more nuanced study, she suggested more than once in red ink on my C- papers.  My response in the months to follow was to run in the opposite direction of grandeur: to read so minutely that I could never be charged of falling prey to the affective fallacy.  The ideal criticism, W.K. Wimsatt and Monroe Beardsley wrote in 1949, “will not talk of tears, prickles, or other physiological symptoms, of feeling angry, joyful, hot, cold, or intense, or of vaguer states of emotional disturbance, but of shades of distinction and relation between objects and emotion.”  I might as well have tattooed that quotation on my arm.  I don’t think I laughed or cried my entire senior year.

Viewing Walker’s exhibit, which included silhouettes of slaves superimposed on lithographic renderings of Civil War battle scenes, I tried to remain as “objective” as possible.  But a slave’s decapitated head was floating in a cloudy sky.  Blobs that could either be blood or feces were nestled in a valley.  Entire appendages were flung into the lithograph’s white borders, beyond the image entirely.  I tried to be subtle when what I felt was disgust.  What was the nature of this disgust?, I wondered.  And how do I ensure my response to it became neither parade nor parody?  How do I neither scream the near-platitudes of Amiri Baraka nor dwell in the ignorance of those people privileged enough to proclaim “art for art’s sake?”

Writing on her visceral response to E.M. Forster’s A Room With A View, Zadie Smith suggests: “We are aware that there is an emotive response for which the novel explicitly applies that is not properly requested by an atom or a rock formation or a chemical compound.  Sensing the anomalous nature of this emotive quality within the university, we have resolved not to speak of it much.”  My gut emotive response upon seeing Walker’s modified lithographs was a sense that they were gesturing toward the stories that remained hidden within my family, within my country, within the region I choose to call home.  Walker’s pieces were the most brilliant evocations of historical revisionism I had ever encountered.  The vital differences between American and Caribbean slavery aside, I wondered how my particular experiences as a West Indian person related to those “objective” criticisms I was tasked to make in the classroom.  Was I supposed to suppress these experiences?  Channel them in some measured, productive—and ultimately palatable—way?  What, in the name of “nuance,” might I elide?  And those basic facts of biography—a Bahamian childhood, a father who grew up on a Corentyne farm, Indian ancestors who crossed the kala pani many generations ago—what became of them?

Seven years later, I still have not answered these questions.  (I might spend a lifetime as a writer trying to do so.)  I follow Walker chiefly because her work encourages me to not only examine my assumptions about the political uses of art as Sullivan instructed—but to constantly examine the professor’s assumptions as well.  I was sad when I arrived in New York a week too late to see Walker’s thirty-five-foot-tall sugar sphinx, but I was grateful that I could experience her work the way most young people living in the world experience things these days.  I scrolled through hundreds of photographs posted on the Instagram and Twitter and Facebook pages of people I did not know.  Things got complicated, however, whenever I clicked the hashtag #karawalkerdomino.  Disturbing images loaded on my screen—the skinny boy sitting next to me at the coffeehouse might have assumed I was interested in some strange pornography.  “Sowapowa” angles her camera to make it look as if she were squeezing the sphinx’s impressive areolas.  “Bulzeye”—in an unfortunate accident of nomenclature—inserts his tongue into the sphinx’s vagina.  “Nealmaffei” smirks beneath the sphinx’s derrière. 

The virtual fourth wall demolished, I wonder how Wimsatt and Beardsley might react to the Brechtian theater that art-viewing has become on social media.  I wonder what they might make of the constant bombardment of images we encounter where individuals have inserted themselves into the text.  I wonder what they might make of Kara Walker.

This essay poses—and refuses to answer—questions about the nature, production, and consumption of art in this current age of virtual reproduction.  It is written by a Guyanese-Bahamian-American person three days after he faced the Domino Sugar Factory for the first time, holding a fancy camera his great-grandfather could never afford, preoccupied not by the onus of history, but by all the aggressive facial hair to be found in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.  A photograph is stored in his imagination.  In it, a forty-year-old hipster with a handlebar moustache stands in front of an artisanal cheese shop.  A young orthodox Jew—hat black, locks brushing against his ears—holds his son’s hand. 

They are all waiting for the light to turn green.

2. Good Selfies/Bad Selfies

“The photograph,” Roland Barthes writes in Camera Lucida, “represents that very subtle moment when, to tell the truth, I am neither subject nor object but a subject who feels he is becoming an object: I then experience a micro-version of death (of parenthesis): I am truly becoming a specter.”  With each social media post, we experience the ghosts of our previous selves.  For a Caribbean community that has had its identity reduced for centuries, this layering of character can provide a powerful tool for cultural change.  Frequently, the region’s social evolution has been framed in postcolonial language, and I wonder if changes in media consumption might serve as a viable alternative—or complement—to these critical constructions. 

In his 1956 novel The Lonely Londoners, Samuel Selvon paints a portrait of a balkanized metropolis.  “It have people living in London,” Selvon writes in the inimitable voice of Moses Aloetta, “who don’t know what happening in the room next to them, far more the street, or how other people living.  London is a place like that.  It divide up in little worlds, and you stay in the world you belong to and you don’t know anything about what happening to the other ones except what you read in the papers.”  Newspapers, in the past quarter century, however, have radically evolved in their platform: when was the last time you sat down with a hardcopy of The New York Times or the Trinidad Guardian or the Stabroek News?  Moses’ nostalgia in Londoners is fed by his physical distance from Port of Spain—but in a visual sense, his nostalgia is fed by his distance from real images of the city.  If nostalgia is built from a triangular interaction between memory, desire, and sensation, the Internet has radically transformed how we remember, want, and feel.

The post-independence generation of artists emerging from the Caribbean and its diaspora are hyperaware in narrative effect—if not in poetic intent—of this cultural tide change.  Christian Campbell, in his poem “Lightskinned Id,” takes a joy in the simultaneity of his skin’s multiple shades—and in what effect such a coexistence might have on the evolution of his perceptions.  In “Disappearing Houses,” a collaborative project published in the Summer 2013 issue of Wasafiri, Andre Bagoo and Vahni Capildeo employ photometric techniques to disrupt our often vision of Trinidad’s economic progress.  They create otherworldly images of working-class detritus in tension with the vision of glass and steel development promoted by tourist boards and self-fulfilling prophecies.  The works of Shivanee Ramlochan, a journalist, poet, and editor, and Danielle Boodoo-Fortuné, a painter and poet, are preoccupied with the spiritual shape-shifting we might trace back to Hindu mythology.

Boodoo-Fortuné, influenced by Frida Kahlo, works in watercolor and ink.  Her exhibit “Criatura”—Spanish for “creature”—ran last summer at the Art Society of Trinidad and Tobago.  The forty-four pieces, the artist writes, were intended to “prompt reflections on the alchemy that governs a mixing of selves, straddling life and death, their natures fed by forces of both fruition and decay.”  The title piece portrays a woman, part human, part tree.  Wildflowers grow from her hair.  Her elongated neck is composed of skin and bark.  Her eyes are exaggerated like an anime temptress, yet sadness resides behind seduction.  This balance of boldness and vulnerability marks Boodoo-Fortuné’s representations of the feminine spirit.  Each of the painting’s women can be interpreted as conversing with one another.  But this observer wonders if the piece “Separate and Same” provides a key to understanding the exhibit as a whole.  Might all the women in Boodoo-Fortuné’s collection reside in a single body, the way Parvati and Durga and Kali belong to one entity?  Is Boodoo-Fortuné’s collection a yoga of sorts?  And if so, is a walk through the gallery akin to clicking through a friend’s Facebook album—that peculiarly twenty-first-century mythopoesis—titled “2013 was a great year!”?  Image one: a kiss on a mountaintop.  Followed by a stare behind a glass of Cabernet.  Wisps of hear behind a commencement cap.  A contemplative look into nowhere.  Then a click.  A true nowhere.  A white space.  Until we choose to close the page, to log off, and to get on with our ordinary lives.

3. A Brief Note on Danielle Boodoo-Fortuné’s Tumblr Page

The title of Boodoo-Fortuné’s Tumblr page, “Wings & Fire,” further signals the artist’s fascination with flight and destruction, with hubris and humility, with Icarus and Daedalus.  My interpretation of Boodoo-Fortuné’s work fundamentally changes because I follow her on Tumblr.  Below one of “Criatura’s” paintings, “Mother of the Hummingbirds,” is a quote by Sandra Cisneros: “I am obsessed with becoming a woman comfortable in her skin (via radicalheart82), 16,625 notes.”  On June 20, Boodoo-Fortuné posted an animation of a turtle with a Band-Aid on its shell.  The caption: “Don’t knock my shell.  It hurts a lot.”  Two weeks prior, Boodoo-Fortuné posts a picture of puppy prints in her studio floor.  A week before, a statue of a lady grasping wilted flowers.  The same day: what looks like mortar and pestle and ferns on a woodblock.  That same day again: a GIF of a woman like a 1960s Elizabeth Taylor with a halo over her crown, an image of the sun eclipsing the moon, and moving constellations, dippers—big and small—Orion, Hercules, all these stars I cannot name.

4. Anatomizing Self Construction

If Boodoo-Fortuné’s gallery exhibition represents an endpoint—and epiphany—her Tumblr page provides a glimpse into the rough work behind the artist’s elegant proofs.  This is a very modernist sensibility, something I can only now articulate in this manner, in this moment because of the discerning professor allergic to bullshit.  A scholar of T.S. Eliot, Ezra Pound, and James Joyce, the professor helped me realize that the works—The Waste Land, The Cantos, Ulysses—I romanticized as spontaneous acts of genius experienced passionate revisions by their respective their editors.  These works were not created in isolation.  They were the product of many hands. 

“What happens when a new work of art is created,” Eliot writes in his essay “Tradition and the Individual Talent,” “is something that happens simultaneously to all the works of art which preceded it.  The existing monuments form an ideal order among themselves, which is modified by the introduction of the new (the really new) work of art among them.”  In our current age of virtual reproduction, Caribbean artists frequently—and subconsciously—shuffle inherited sequences.  The texture of old ideals is constantly impacted by the Caribbean artist’s engagement with, or negation of, those ideals and by her reifications of historically marginalized forms, be they of griot storytelling traditions or of the aesthetics of creolization or of the Walcottian mythology-mixing created within the region’s social web.

Through Tumblr’s interface—consisting of patterned visual displays, a dated archive, and a dynamic social network—we can glimpse, in unprecedented ways, the versions of the Caribbean artist’s self she wishes to represent to the world.  Boodoo-Fortuné’s Tumblr page reveals a deep interest in gender roles, in spirituality, in the factors that facilitate—and hinder—empathy with fellow human beings and with nature.  We see the influences she wishes us to see.  Insodoing, we also see the content of each influence differently.  We see Cisneros in relation to Boodoo-Fortuné’s “Mother of Hummingbirds.”  We see bruised turtles in relation to Boodoo-Fortuné’s “Mother of Hummingbirds.”  We see the stars in relation to Boodoo-Fortuné’s “Mother of Humingbirds.”  And somewhere along the way, our perceptions are altered, our foci shift.  The life of a hummingbird’s mother becomes foregrounded in our minds.  What might that life entail?  And I think back to Walker’s Civil War lithographs.  I think of Toni Morrison’s Sethe. 

“Every negro walk in a circle,” Marlon James writes in The Book of Night Women.  “Take that and make of it what you will.”   

5. Bridging the Uncanny Valley

Right eyebrow arched against social media, Smith writes in her essay “Generation Why?”: “When a human being becomes a set of data on a website like Facebook, he or she is reduced.  Everything shrinks.  Individual character.  Friendships.  Language.  Sensibility.  In a way, it’s a transcendent experience: we lose our bodies, our messy feelings, our desires, our fears.”  Yet, the impulse to acquire multivalent information is precisely what drives many Caribbean users to social media in the first place.  It’s difficult to deny that Facebook inspires narcissism (it’s called “Facebook”) or Instagram, idiocy (young man licking the vulva of a sugar sphinx).  But this generation’s online capacity to curate their visual representation—individuals actively insert themselves into dominant images, if they wish—facilitates a freedom denied to many individuals in the colonized Caribbean.

I won’t risk grandeur by arguing that Facebook feeds political independence, but I wonder how the Arab Spring might have turned out if millions of people took Smith’s skeptical route.  She is correct on this point, however: the Internet user loses himself in the social network’s vast garden of forking paths.  The pornography addict, the terrorist recruiter, the pro-democracy activist: all of them transcend their physical selves online, becoming the “set of data” points they wish to project to the world.

Two of the most promising voices in Bahamian culture—the novelist A.L. Major and the academic Angelique Nixon—both engage with the ways in which the expectations of the tourism industry have impacted, for good and for ill, the prism through which Bahamian people view their history and themselves.  “When colonialists discovered the islands,” Major writes in a Michigan Quarterly Review blog post “Going to Watch Junkanoo,” “they found a way to instantly categorize those areas, a way to describe and recognize the islands easily.  Tropical birds, exotic fruits become the recognizable features of a tropical landscape, and not, for example, poorly maintained roads or overburdened garbage collection sites.  It’s this brochure self-knowledge, an ability to see the world as tourists might, that stifles creativity.”

Uncovering the garbage, for Major and for other post-independence Caribbean thinkers becomes a call to action, even as—for the sake of propriety and tourism advertisements—many Bahamian citizens might want to keep these images concealed.  Yet one can’t help but feel that figures such as Major and Nixon take an end-justifies-the-means approach to criticism: in their ethical cost/benefit analysis, their people’s self-understanding far outweighs a Norwegian tourist’s ability to enjoy her suntan.

If Major uses a literary magazine’s blog to interrogate the images coming in and out of the region, the Barbadian photographer Risée Chaderton uses a TED talk to interrogate how such images, in real ways, impact the Caribbean body politic.  In “Shaping Who We Are,” Chaderton discusses the rise of eating disorders amongst Caribbean men and women.  She studies the “uncanny valley”—a perceptual space where non-human images appear to be human.  Near the cusp of this valley might be robots or Disney characters—as well as many of the models on the covers of style magazines that make their way into Caribbean dental offices and public libraries and teenage bedrooms.  Chaderton’s photographs, committed to celebrating healthy Caribbean body images, necessarily oppose the images that fall within the uncanny valley, just as Major’s blog opens a space for Bahamians—and non-Bahamians—to interrogate the assumptions guiding the country’s history-writing. 

What artists like Chaderton—and Walker and Boodoo-Fortuné—encourage is a radical reconception of the Caribbean female body, a site that has been abused, distorted, and commodified for much of the region’s history.  Understandably, these artists’ work is in constant battle with the sheer force of incoming images from international media.  However, the intimacy of these artists’ visions allows us to anatomize self-construction—physically and spiritually—in the tradition of Janine Antoni, Paule Marshall, and Jamaica Kincaid, three of the most innovative Caribbean artists of the twentieth century.  As Walker’s giant sugar sphinx appears lower and lower on the public’s collective Instagram feed, I wonder how these artists’ work will evolve in the years to come.  I wonder what their art (and their tweets) might teach us about who they are individually becoming—and about what the Caribbean, as both a region and a sensibility, seeks to represent down all its plural avenues.

#Alice Yard #Caribbean #Art

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Translations (like wives) are seldom strictly faithful if they are in the least attractive.

- Roy Campbell, poet (1901-1957)

Roy Campbell was a South African poet and satirist and to this day remains criminally under appreciated. He was considered by T. S. Eliot, Dylan Thomas and Edith Sitwell to have been one of the best poets of the period between the First and Second World Wars. Campbell's vocal attacks upon both Stalinism and Freudianism, and support for Francisco Franco's Nationalists during the Spanish Civil War, has caused him to be labeled a Fascist and left out of modern poetry anthologies.

Roy Campbell, was born in Durban, South Africa, and moved to England soon after he graduated from high school. An accomplished horseman and fisherman, he also became fluent in Zulu. He left the Union of South Africa in December 1918 for Oxford University, where he arrived early in 1919. However, he failed the entrance examination. Reporting this to his father, he took a philosophical stance, telling him that "university lectures interfere very much with my work", which was writing poetry.

Campbell left Oxford for London in 1920. Holidays spent in wandering through France and along the Mediterranean coast alternated with periods in Bohemian London. In 1922 he married without parental consent and forfeited, for a time, the generous parental allowance. His wife was Mary Margaret Garman, eldest of the Garman sisters, was part of the famous literary Bloomsbury group that incuded Virginia Woolf. Mary would go on to have a scandalous lesbian love affair with Vita Sackville-West. Both she and Roy had two daughters, Teresa (Tess) and Anna.

In England, Roy befriended poets such as Wyndham Lewis, who based a character in his novel The Apes of God on Campbell. Campbell’s first book, The Flaming Terrapin (1924), brought him immediate acclaim; as T.S. Eliot does in The Waste Land, to which Campbell’s book is sometimes compared, Campbell rebels against postwar cynicism and apathy. And like Eliot, Campbell eventually converted to Catholicism.

Elizabethan dramatists such as Marlowe, Chapman, and Dekker inspired Campbell’s poetry, and his work fit uneasily into the socially conscious turn affected by many English poets in the 1930s. His second book, The Wayzgoose (1928), satirized South African intellectuals, and his third, The Georgiad (1931), attacked the mores and pretentions of Bloomsbury, whose members Campbell called “intellectuals without intellect.” He also wrote more lyrical collections, including Adamastor (1930), Flowering Reeds (1933), and Talking Bronco (1946).

Campbell led an adventurous life; after The Flaming Terrapin was published, he traveled back to South Africa to edit the literary magazine Voorslag with William Plomer and Laurens van der Post. Campbell soon returned to Europe. In the 1930s, Mary and Roy Campbell moved to the south of France among Augustus John, Aldous Huxley, Sybille Bedford and Nancy Cunard.

They soon grew tired and moved to Spain. They had initially arrived in Barcelona in the autumn of 1933, having lived for several years in Provence. Their arrival coincided with the anarchist strikes that had followed the Right-wing victory in the recent elections. “For the Catalonians, as with the Irish, politics is a national industry,” Campbell wrote to a friend. In spite of the turbulence of the times, the Campbells fell in love with Spain and Spanish culture. Mary’s enduring love for the figure of St Teresa of Avila had fired her imagination for Spain since her youth, and she had evidently passed this imaginative fire infectiously to her husband, as is evidenced by the poetry about Spain that he wrote after his arrival in the country. 

Campbell wrote: “From the very beginning my wife and I understood the real issues in Spain. There could be no compromise… between the east and the west, between credulity and faith, between irresponsible innovation… and tradition, between the emotions (disguised as reason) and the intelligence.”

Tired of the brief interlude of urban life, the Campbells moved to the village of Altea, near Alicante, in May 1934. It was here that the whole family was received into the Catholic Church.

Fr Gregorio, the village priest, was delighted that a whole family of “English” was being won over to the Church. Two years later, the priest would be murdered by militiamen sent from Valencia. By this time, as we have seen, the Campbells had moved to Toledo, which Campbell eulogised in one of his poems as a “sacred city of the mind”.

Fighting in the Spanish Civil War and World War II and serving in East and North Africa and the East gave him the inspiration to write his more haunting poetry. Campbell published two autobiographies during his lifetime: Broken Record (1934) and Light on a Dark Horse (1951). He also translated work by Spanish, Portuguese, and French writers, including St. John of the Cross, Baudelaire, and Lorca, and novels by de Quevedo, among others.

In April 1957, Roy and his wife Mary set off in their tiny Fiat 600 from their home in Portugal, destined for the Holy Week celebrations in Seville. En route they stopped off for several days in Toledo, “this heavenly place which means more than all the world to me”, as Campbell described it in a postcard sent to a friend. Throughout the week of processions in Seville, Mary noticed that her husband was unusually quiet and particularly serious in his devotions.

On April 23 they set off back to Portugal, crossing the border in the early afternoon. A front tyre burst, and the car swerved out of control and hit a tree. Mary survived - she would die in 1979 - but Roy died at the scene of the crash. Thus ended, at the age of 55, the life of one of the finest and most controversial poets of the 20th century, a poet who counted George Orwell, Aldous Huxley, T S Eliot, Evelyn Waugh, J R R Tolkien and C S Lewis among his friends.

As regards his friendship with Tolkien, it is one of Campbell’s intriguing claims to fame that he was part of the inspiration for the character of Aragorn, who was played by Viggo Mortenson in the movie version of The Lord of the Rings.

Tolkien first encountered Campbell as a mysterious stranger in a pub in Oxford in 1944 who was listening intently to the conversation of C S Lewis. As Campbell peered intently at Lewis from under a wide-brimmed hat, he reminded Tolkien of Aragorn, the mysterious stranger who eavesdropped on the conversation of the hobbits in the Prancing Pony, the pub in the story in which the hobbits first meet Aragorn. Since Tolkien was in the midst of writing The Lord of the Rings at the time, and was deeply impressed by the adventurous life that Campbell had lived in Spain and elsewhere, it seems likely that Campbell helped to shape Aragorn’s character in Tolkien’s imagination.    

#campbell #roy campbell #quote #poet #south africa #britain #tolkien #CS lewis #oxford #poetry #spanish civil war #war #miterature