One Direction Imagines

Blackmailed Imagine

Ok, so there is a little story that goes along with this title before I write the actual imagine.

My "friend" stole my One Direction stuff, which were all presents from other people because they just want to see me happy, and was threatening to scratch out the eyes of each member to try and "save you from yourself and your life altering addiction. Think of this as rehab" 

Eventually, she gave them back and they were all still with their beautiful eyes *lets out sigh of relief* but not without the promise that I write either a funny or insulting imagine, so, here is a funny and probably insulting imagine about her choice of Justin Bieber, not mine.

And I know this is the One Direction Imagines book, but this is probably a one off, and if it isn't, I shall just put it in a new imagine. Actually, comment what yuo think I should do: just One Direction Imagiens, or imagines by people you don't like....like The Bad Book Of Imagines or something. Please comment or it may not happen. Persuade me please.

You had been out, walking around with your lovely boyfriend on one of your many date days. Today's date had been almost perfect, with a lovely long walk in your childhood park, with a secluded lunch under the tree filled with star crossed love notes, etched into the barking in hearts and bubbles. Some were the standard romantics, of you and me forever, whereas others just went into too much detail.

After reading a particularly disgusting note about a particularly shout worthy orgasm, you felt the ground becoming noticeable more sticky around you, your mind running along with images of scenes that had taken place in that very spot over the years. You were just about to mention moving when your phone rang, giving you the perfect excuse to stand up off the possibly disgusting ground beneath you.

"Hey sweetie" Your mothers annoying voice erupted into your ear.

"Hi Mum. What do you want now? You know I'm in the middle fo a date right now." Impatience was overtaking you as your mother, a world renowned photographer, wasted your time again and actually tried to give a damn about your life for once.

"Sorry love. I was just wondering if you wanted to come and see someone. They are really important and were enthralled at the mention of your name. It would mean so much to me if you were to meet them, dear, please?" You sighed into your phone as your boyfriend wrapped his arms around you. He knew just how bad your relationship with your mum was, even if she didn't completely understand. 

"If it really means that much to you, I'll come. Are you at work?" An excited squeal left the phone as your mother rushed through the details of where she was and what time to be there by. 

It turned out she was in The Firestation, a grotty sleazy club with a history of illegal immigrants and private lapdances in the dark background. The owner was one of the richest guys in the town and you had heard so many rumours about him  being in the Italian mafia, aswell as a violent man with several bitter wives in his wake and enslaughts of children and whispers of grandchildren fluttered around him.

You regretted saying that you would go and meet this "important" person. What if it was him? Or one of his disgusting children? You had only ever been in the presence of one of them, Tony, who was the biggest arsehole you think you had possibly ever met, not to mention a complete flirt and douche when it came to women. Every week there was a new girlfriend, photographed by several of the tabloids (because with money comes fame sort of, and because your town is rather boring), which means him and his floosies were considered popular, need-to-know news.

On my walk over, you continued to ponder who you could possibly be meeting and why. Your Mum must have mentioned something about it this week, not that you really paid much atttention to anything she ever mentioned about her work. You were always too busy, thinking about coursework and upcoming events, like the One Direction Concert your boyfriend had bought you tickets for, and if you weren't thinking, you were plugged in to your headphones, listening to your boyfriends track of the week that he sent you. Every time was a surprise, from The Beatles to Little Mix. This weeks track was Boyfriend by Justin Bieber, which you liked but didn't love. Neither of you were Beliebers or even really fans of him, but you could just about stand hearing him on the radio.

Eventually, you reached The Firestation, which seemed to have been remodelled or rebranded, whatever you want to call it, into a plastic verion of its self, almost like giving someone a face lift; same person, just a little shinier and less wrinkly. Inside the gold plated doors stood a long dramatic corridor, coated in promtional posters of bands and alcohol offers. It was definetely the same place, you could remember this corridor anywhere in the world, the corridor you met him down, the corridor that led you into the arms of him, the corridor that had led you to the perfect life that you lived now

In the open plan bar, a disgruntled, demotivated barman washed what seemed to be new gold edges glasses with a snow white (colour, not the character) tea towel. He pointed a thumb over his shoulder, before I even had the chance to ask about the whereabouts of my mother. I followed his inaccurate directions around a mirrored door, to show a secret, or seemingly hidden room, filled with a dark velvet red catwalk stage and professional bright lights spilling pools of coloured lights onto the runway.

Suddenly, an eruption of music blared through a speaker dangerously toppling above your head, rocking to the deep bass being emitted into the room as two girls walked across the stage, pulling apart the curtains being spotlighted in the center of the room. The red velvet flowed richly and caressing across the wall as a mop of dark brunette pushed it's way down the cat walk. The stature of the person, that you believed to be a man, moon walked his way towards you, before twisting quickly on his feet, slipping and falling into your lap with a heavy thump. 

The eruption shook the walls and stage, rocking the supermodel women off of their heels, pulling the expensive curtains to the floor and breaking several chairs with their minuscule mass as they lumbered to the floor. The speaker above you tumbled and crackled as it became closer and closer to the breakdown of the song, where the bass cranked another notched. As the first bass note hit the atmosphere, the speaker rocked forward, pulling wires from the wall  and falling, tumbling forward towards the both of you.

In that moment, your eyes connected, knowing the fate that both of you will share. His eyes sparkled as he smiled at you, before whispering an "I'm sorry".

Those words desperately lingered with you throughout your whole life. 

Justin Bieber had died that day.

The speaker had just avoided both of you, landing just the other side of you, which was mainly covered with Justin's body, but neither had expected the wire and lighting to cascade in a waterfall of glass and electric sparks around you. You had been lucky, a few scratches and a piece of glass that still mystified the doctors of where it actually was in your system, but Justin wasn't as fated as you.

 A faulty electrical cord entrapped him, hitting his side before you could pull him to safety. His body spasmed with pain and reaction as he was fried from the inside out. A blood curdling scream rung out throughout the room, before you could even contemplate where it came from, a woman flung herself to him, trying to save him, but rather destroying herself as well.

That day, you lost two people. You lost someone who could have been a friend, and someone who did care in her own special way. Music lost one of its greatest performers, and tabloids lost an amazing photographer, but you lost a mother, a loving, trying to care, mother who you had thrown to the gutter the first chance you got

:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P

Well, it wasn't funny or insulting but it was saddening so i think that is good enough xxx

Next update will be some time this week but not without another comment. No comment, no more imagines xxx Sorry to be harsh, but i need some criticisms