(no subject)
Title: Crawling Backwards
Summery: Ville is in love with Bam, but Bam only loves Ville when he’s drunk. By morning it’s forgotten and Bam goes on to believe that they’re still just friends. Ville puts up with it for his love, but it’s slowly killing him inside.
Author: Me
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Pairing: VAM…eventually.
Rating: NC-17 in some parts…but generally it’s R
Prologue: http://community.livejournal.com/__vam/1620942.html
Chapter One
It had been a whole week since I last spoke to him. As I expected, by morning he was gone without so much as a goodbye. I left immediately after, pausing only to pick up my scattered belongings before heading for home myself.
I thought that I’d be used to the pain that came with his absence by now, the feeling that I was decaying on the inside and nothing could fill the void that the poison had opened. I thought that it would be easy to pretend that we were just undercover lovers, that everything was some secret game that we weren’t allowed to talk about by the light of day. But I wasn’t.
Every time I awoke to find the bed empty beside me I felt another part of me die. I wanted more than the mindless sex that brought me company at night, I wanted love.
And for one night, I had it. That night we didn’t just fuck in a cheap hotel room. We didn’t just screw and call it a night. That night something was different. That night, he returned my love.
I often wonder if he remembers our little…excursions. I wonder if he remembers the feeling of my fingers on his flesh, the pleasure coursing through his veins with every touch; or if he was drunk enough to completely block them from his memory. The logical part of me says that it’s probably the latter, seeing as he has never made an effort to contact me afterwards. But I still can’t help but wonder…
Alcohol can do funny things for the broken heart. For some people it gives them something to laugh at, for other it makes them confront their feelings at face-value. For me, like many others, it’s a tool to help me forget. If I drink enough, I can forget a whole week’s activities-if only for a night. And if I’m lucky, I can forget about him.
Like I said before, alcohol rocks like that.
Tonight I’m trying to forget. Forget about the negative seven degrees outside, forget about the ever-surmounting bar tab, forget about my so-called “fiancé.” I just want to drink enough sweet poison to make all of my little problems fade away and leave me comfortably numb.
The bartender gave me a knowing glance as I ordered another pint of Guinness, his eyes scanning my disheveled form for a second before pouring my glass. He’s the same bartender from the night before and I can tell that he’s planning on cutting me off before I get completely smashed. But I’ll worry about that when I get there.
As he slides me the foaming glass I offer him a nod in thanks and turn around to keep a cautious eye on the rest of the customers. For a Thursday night the place was surprisingly crowded and I can’t help but think of the upcoming holiday. I notice a few unfamiliar faces stealing glances at me from across the smoky room, an obvious sign that they recognize me for my fame. But I quickly ignore it. Most of the people in our small town are either used to it or they grew up with me. Every once in a while, though, (usually around the holidays) I’ll encounter an out-of-towner who wasn’t expecting to see a celebrity wasting his life away in the local pub.
I toss them a casual smile and watch as some of the girls giggle in excitement before drawing my eyes back to my drink. My hand instinctively reaches into my pocket and pulls out a bent Marlboro Lite. I switched to Lites three months back as a promise to quit, but that nonsense never lasts.
“Fucking hell,” the words slip from my mouth without realizing it as I notice that I left my wallet at home. How I had gone this long without a cigarette was a wonder to me.
Just as I reach up to throw the fresh fag away a metallic zippo is thrust before my face, its unwavering flame catching the tip of my cigarette and lighting it. Without looking up I inhaled sharply and reveled in the feeling of sweet toxin filling my lungs.
“Don’t you just love that first drag?” a deep voice asked, luring my eyes up. There stood a tall man with sandy blonde hair lighting up his own cigarette. Sparkling blue eyes shinned in the dim light, eyes so much like…
“Yeah, thanks for that,” I mumbled, clearing my throat and turning back to my Guinness. Good ol’ Guinness, always waiting patiently for me.
As I brought the glass to my lips, the mystery man sat down next to me-in the seat that seems to always be vacant-and ordered the same. I picked up on a few of the stares he was getting from the other customers, but it wasn’t any of my business. Let the fool do as he pleases. He took a sip from the frothing glass and turned to me.
“So what’s your name?” the words tumbled from his lips so easily that I couldn’t believe they weren’t rehearsed.
“David Bowie,” I lied. I had to be honest about one thing, this man was beautiful; but this wasn’t going to start a relationship.
The blonde seemed to catch on and replied with, “Johnny Thunders.”
The Rock God’s name sent a chill down my spine and the horny slut within got the best of me. Maybe I could make an evening of this after all. Placing a flirtatious hand on his thigh, I whispered, “Well Johnny, why don’t you be a doll and buy me a drink?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at my little pun as he winked and flagged down the bartender. Within seconds there was another pint of Guinness before me, my other one still half empty-or maybe this night, it was half full.
“You’re a kind soul,” I tried to sound sincere but the words lacked emotion and came out sounding dry and bored. He didn’t seem to notice, though, and reached for his own glass.
“Do you live around here?” he asked, trying to make casual conversation.
“No,” I lied again. “I’m just visiting some friends for the holiday.”
I could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew I wasn’t being honest, but once again he played along. “Yeah, me too.”
“Yeah,” I found myself quickly losing interest in the man and turned back to my two pints. A Neil Young song floated from the jukebox and I couldn’t avoid tapping my foot along with the beat.
“You know what I love about the holidays?” At my raised eyebrow he continued. “It gives me a chance to be a totally different person.” He thought for a moment before shaking his head. “No, it allows me to be me.”
Something about his statement sent a chill down my spine, but I quickly pushed it aside. Years of paranoia had taught be to be cautious of everyone, but I figured now was as good a time as ever to let my guard down.
“I can relate,” I smiled. “After all, I am a rock star.”
“Let’s not forget Labyrinth, you’re a movie star, too.” He laughed at his own joke and I forced myself to do the same.
Did this strange man truly have no clue who I was? I guess it’s all for the best.
“I’ll drink to that!” with a swing of my arm I gulped down the rest of my glass and moved to start on the other one.
The disc on the jukebox changed and Billy Idol shook the walls. He slipped into some other topic, but I wasn’t really paying attention. My mind began to wander when I spotted a black tattoo wrapped around the blonde’s wrist. It was nothing special, just a thin line of barbed wire. But I couldn’t help but wonder if he had any other tattoos…
“And then I told him to fuck off,” he broke through my thoughts and for the first time I realized that he had been talking. I know that he noticed my lingering stare, but he said nothing.
“Then what?” I tried to sound interested, but he knew better than that.
“And then we rode purple tigers off into the sunset,” he chuckled, but a serious look flashed across his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“O-Oh, nothing,” I stumbled, licking my lips as my eyes traveled down his physique. “My mind must’ve wandered off on me for a second, that’s all.”
He met my eyes then and leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear. “Do you like what you see?” His left hand danced up my arm and came to trace my jaw line.
“You could say that,” my eyes fell on the crook of his neck and I felt my heart racing. His tongue darted out and licked my earlobe and I physically shuttered. “Why don’t you give me a demonstration of what else you can do with that tongue?” I ventured.
“Why just a peep when I could show you so much more?” His question made me gulp and suddenly the back of my throat felt very dry. A part of me wanted to push him away for invading whatever little personal space he was taking up, but the other part screamed for attention. “Shall we take this outside?”
I couldn’t get the words to leave my mouth as I took a final swig of my Guinness and nodded vigorously. I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the door.
Almost mockingly, the crowd seemed to grow thicker as I fought my way through the throngs of people. My shoulders bumped against countless others and I suddenly felt that there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room. These people were in the way! They were stealing my air! The oxygen was sucked from my lungs, the weight of a thousand men pressing on my chest and overpowering me. Asthma attack! My mind screamed but I still struggled toward the exit.
A sharp tug on my elbow and I was thrust into the street. The harsh Scandinavian winter whipped at my bare arms and I realized that I had left my coat on the barstool. Bending down with my palms on my knees, I tried to catch my breath for a moment before being pulled to my feet once more. The cold itself seemed to hold an underlying feeling of dread, hanging in the air like a murderous warning. I felt trapped in a tantalizing game of hide-and-seek with the wind.
Rough hands gripped my shoulders in a powerful need, shoving my body backwards into a brick wall. He pulled for a second, giving me a haunting glimpse at my surroundings. It was the ally behind the pub; one that I frequently used for…extracurricular activities.
Somehow the familiar ally seemed more menacing this time, though.
Within the heartbeat of a moment he had a hand pulling at my belt buckle, a calloused finger running over the heartagram tattoo peeking out from the top. Another shudder racked my body as his lips attached themselves to my neck, sucking and pulling on the flesh with fevered passion.
“Jesus Christ,” I gasped, my breath billowing out in small white clouds yet my body no longer feeling the cold. Flurries of snow tumbled down around us, a few stray flakes tangling with my dark eyelashes. For a second that was all I could focus on, the stark contrast between black and white-filth and cleanliness-the snow seeming to glow amongst the dark ally.
In a second I was pulled from my reverie as I was hoisted off the ground. My legs instinctively wrapped around his muscular waist, my shirt ridding up and the grainy brick scrapping at my back. The sharp sting was accompanied by burning need as our mouths latched together in a frenzied kiss.
A warm hand slipped beneath my waistband and began groping. I couldn’t control the moan in my throat as my head slammed back against the wall. A part of me screamed that his was wrong, that everything I was doing was filthy and horrible, but the pleasure masked those thoughts. Through half-lidded eyes I saw him smirk and my breath hitched in my lungs.
I felt ashamed for not giving him what he was giving me. Wrapping my arms loosely around his neck, I dove in for a deep kiss. And that’s when it happened.
On an impulse he bit down, drawing a thin line of crimson from my bottom lip. Memories of the plush hotel room flashed though my mind, blinding me and causing me to stumble. Suddenly it wasn’t his hands on my skin any more, it wasn’t his lips leaving a trail of saliva down my jaw; it was him.
My mystery concubine looked up with a raised eyebrow when I stopped all movement, as if to ask, “What’s wrong?”
“I-I can’t do this,” I muttered, my words forming around panicked breaths. My body mechanically stiffened, and I moved to push myself away but he refused to budge. He had me pinned against the wall and there was nothing I could do.
“What do you mean ‘you can’t’?” A flicker of some discernable emotion blazed in his eyes but was quickly masked by a look of concern.
“I just can’t, okay?” I tried to push him off of me again and get my feet back on the ground but he just held in place with a firm grasp. My legs were still wrapped around his waist and I couldn’t help but think how vulnerable I looked just now. If I could only get my feet on the ground, then I would be okay. Then I could get him off of me, then I could run for help-but none if this was possible with me pinned against the wall like this.
“No,” he whispered and smirked again, but this time it was one of malice and he didn’t bother trying to hide it. “That’s not a good enough answer.”
Panic sunk in then as I pushed at his shoulders with all of my strength, the biting cold beginning to wrap itself around my bare arms. There seemed to be an enormous weight pressing down on my chest and suddenly I couldn’t breathe.
“Get the fuck off of me,” I grunted, the lack of oxygen causing my words to come out in a pathetic wheeze.
“Aw, what’s the matter?” Sarcasm dripped from his tongue like venom and I pushed at him even harder.
The urge to flee was making my heart pound in my ears, the noise growing in volume like some beast on the chase. Sucking in as much air as I could, I shouted, “Help!”
I knew that it was in vain but the plea kept flowing from my mouth. Before I could blink he had me on the ground with a bloody nose, hot pain shooting through my entire head. It wasn’t until a second later that I realized he had punched me. I couldn’t think properly. Half of me was trying to figure out where the blood was coming from, telling me to get the hell out of there as soon as possible, but the other half was wondering why it was suddenly so fucking cold.
Taking advantage of my stunned state, he swiftly bent down and began rifling through my pockets. My wallet was quickly found and as he yanked my ID free a wicked grin spread across his face.
“Ville Valo,” he smiled as he read the card. “I thought you looked familiar,” he scoffed. “Don’t think that because you’re a celebrity you’ll be getting any special treatment.”
And it was in that moment I knew I was fucked.
And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Poor Ville. What ever will he do? If you hadn’t noticed, I was trying to let it unfold slowly exactly who was who in the story, but I think it was pretty easy to tell by the prologue that it was Ville I was talking about. Anyway…comments, my lovelies.
Oh, and could someone tell me how to put a link to my previous chapter(s) up? The links are just bulky and annoying, and I’d like to avoid them if possible. Thanks!
Summery: Ville is in love with Bam, but Bam only loves Ville when he’s drunk. By morning it’s forgotten and Bam goes on to believe that they’re still just friends. Ville puts up with it for his love, but it’s slowly killing him inside.
Author: Me
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Pairing: VAM…eventually.
Rating: NC-17 in some parts…but generally it’s R
Prologue: http://community.livejournal.com/__vam/1620942.html
Chapter One
It had been a whole week since I last spoke to him. As I expected, by morning he was gone without so much as a goodbye. I left immediately after, pausing only to pick up my scattered belongings before heading for home myself.
I thought that I’d be used to the pain that came with his absence by now, the feeling that I was decaying on the inside and nothing could fill the void that the poison had opened. I thought that it would be easy to pretend that we were just undercover lovers, that everything was some secret game that we weren’t allowed to talk about by the light of day. But I wasn’t.
Every time I awoke to find the bed empty beside me I felt another part of me die. I wanted more than the mindless sex that brought me company at night, I wanted love.
And for one night, I had it. That night we didn’t just fuck in a cheap hotel room. We didn’t just screw and call it a night. That night something was different. That night, he returned my love.
I often wonder if he remembers our little…excursions. I wonder if he remembers the feeling of my fingers on his flesh, the pleasure coursing through his veins with every touch; or if he was drunk enough to completely block them from his memory. The logical part of me says that it’s probably the latter, seeing as he has never made an effort to contact me afterwards. But I still can’t help but wonder…
Alcohol can do funny things for the broken heart. For some people it gives them something to laugh at, for other it makes them confront their feelings at face-value. For me, like many others, it’s a tool to help me forget. If I drink enough, I can forget a whole week’s activities-if only for a night. And if I’m lucky, I can forget about him.
Like I said before, alcohol rocks like that.
Tonight I’m trying to forget. Forget about the negative seven degrees outside, forget about the ever-surmounting bar tab, forget about my so-called “fiancé.” I just want to drink enough sweet poison to make all of my little problems fade away and leave me comfortably numb.
The bartender gave me a knowing glance as I ordered another pint of Guinness, his eyes scanning my disheveled form for a second before pouring my glass. He’s the same bartender from the night before and I can tell that he’s planning on cutting me off before I get completely smashed. But I’ll worry about that when I get there.
As he slides me the foaming glass I offer him a nod in thanks and turn around to keep a cautious eye on the rest of the customers. For a Thursday night the place was surprisingly crowded and I can’t help but think of the upcoming holiday. I notice a few unfamiliar faces stealing glances at me from across the smoky room, an obvious sign that they recognize me for my fame. But I quickly ignore it. Most of the people in our small town are either used to it or they grew up with me. Every once in a while, though, (usually around the holidays) I’ll encounter an out-of-towner who wasn’t expecting to see a celebrity wasting his life away in the local pub.
I toss them a casual smile and watch as some of the girls giggle in excitement before drawing my eyes back to my drink. My hand instinctively reaches into my pocket and pulls out a bent Marlboro Lite. I switched to Lites three months back as a promise to quit, but that nonsense never lasts.
“Fucking hell,” the words slip from my mouth without realizing it as I notice that I left my wallet at home. How I had gone this long without a cigarette was a wonder to me.
Just as I reach up to throw the fresh fag away a metallic zippo is thrust before my face, its unwavering flame catching the tip of my cigarette and lighting it. Without looking up I inhaled sharply and reveled in the feeling of sweet toxin filling my lungs.
“Don’t you just love that first drag?” a deep voice asked, luring my eyes up. There stood a tall man with sandy blonde hair lighting up his own cigarette. Sparkling blue eyes shinned in the dim light, eyes so much like…
“Yeah, thanks for that,” I mumbled, clearing my throat and turning back to my Guinness. Good ol’ Guinness, always waiting patiently for me.
As I brought the glass to my lips, the mystery man sat down next to me-in the seat that seems to always be vacant-and ordered the same. I picked up on a few of the stares he was getting from the other customers, but it wasn’t any of my business. Let the fool do as he pleases. He took a sip from the frothing glass and turned to me.
“So what’s your name?” the words tumbled from his lips so easily that I couldn’t believe they weren’t rehearsed.
“David Bowie,” I lied. I had to be honest about one thing, this man was beautiful; but this wasn’t going to start a relationship.
The blonde seemed to catch on and replied with, “Johnny Thunders.”
The Rock God’s name sent a chill down my spine and the horny slut within got the best of me. Maybe I could make an evening of this after all. Placing a flirtatious hand on his thigh, I whispered, “Well Johnny, why don’t you be a doll and buy me a drink?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at my little pun as he winked and flagged down the bartender. Within seconds there was another pint of Guinness before me, my other one still half empty-or maybe this night, it was half full.
“You’re a kind soul,” I tried to sound sincere but the words lacked emotion and came out sounding dry and bored. He didn’t seem to notice, though, and reached for his own glass.
“Do you live around here?” he asked, trying to make casual conversation.
“No,” I lied again. “I’m just visiting some friends for the holiday.”
I could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew I wasn’t being honest, but once again he played along. “Yeah, me too.”
“Yeah,” I found myself quickly losing interest in the man and turned back to my two pints. A Neil Young song floated from the jukebox and I couldn’t avoid tapping my foot along with the beat.
“You know what I love about the holidays?” At my raised eyebrow he continued. “It gives me a chance to be a totally different person.” He thought for a moment before shaking his head. “No, it allows me to be me.”
Something about his statement sent a chill down my spine, but I quickly pushed it aside. Years of paranoia had taught be to be cautious of everyone, but I figured now was as good a time as ever to let my guard down.
“I can relate,” I smiled. “After all, I am a rock star.”
“Let’s not forget Labyrinth, you’re a movie star, too.” He laughed at his own joke and I forced myself to do the same.
Did this strange man truly have no clue who I was? I guess it’s all for the best.
“I’ll drink to that!” with a swing of my arm I gulped down the rest of my glass and moved to start on the other one.
The disc on the jukebox changed and Billy Idol shook the walls. He slipped into some other topic, but I wasn’t really paying attention. My mind began to wander when I spotted a black tattoo wrapped around the blonde’s wrist. It was nothing special, just a thin line of barbed wire. But I couldn’t help but wonder if he had any other tattoos…
“And then I told him to fuck off,” he broke through my thoughts and for the first time I realized that he had been talking. I know that he noticed my lingering stare, but he said nothing.
“Then what?” I tried to sound interested, but he knew better than that.
“And then we rode purple tigers off into the sunset,” he chuckled, but a serious look flashed across his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“O-Oh, nothing,” I stumbled, licking my lips as my eyes traveled down his physique. “My mind must’ve wandered off on me for a second, that’s all.”
He met my eyes then and leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear. “Do you like what you see?” His left hand danced up my arm and came to trace my jaw line.
“You could say that,” my eyes fell on the crook of his neck and I felt my heart racing. His tongue darted out and licked my earlobe and I physically shuttered. “Why don’t you give me a demonstration of what else you can do with that tongue?” I ventured.
“Why just a peep when I could show you so much more?” His question made me gulp and suddenly the back of my throat felt very dry. A part of me wanted to push him away for invading whatever little personal space he was taking up, but the other part screamed for attention. “Shall we take this outside?”
I couldn’t get the words to leave my mouth as I took a final swig of my Guinness and nodded vigorously. I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the door.
Almost mockingly, the crowd seemed to grow thicker as I fought my way through the throngs of people. My shoulders bumped against countless others and I suddenly felt that there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room. These people were in the way! They were stealing my air! The oxygen was sucked from my lungs, the weight of a thousand men pressing on my chest and overpowering me. Asthma attack! My mind screamed but I still struggled toward the exit.
A sharp tug on my elbow and I was thrust into the street. The harsh Scandinavian winter whipped at my bare arms and I realized that I had left my coat on the barstool. Bending down with my palms on my knees, I tried to catch my breath for a moment before being pulled to my feet once more. The cold itself seemed to hold an underlying feeling of dread, hanging in the air like a murderous warning. I felt trapped in a tantalizing game of hide-and-seek with the wind.
Rough hands gripped my shoulders in a powerful need, shoving my body backwards into a brick wall. He pulled for a second, giving me a haunting glimpse at my surroundings. It was the ally behind the pub; one that I frequently used for…extracurricular activities.
Somehow the familiar ally seemed more menacing this time, though.
Within the heartbeat of a moment he had a hand pulling at my belt buckle, a calloused finger running over the heartagram tattoo peeking out from the top. Another shudder racked my body as his lips attached themselves to my neck, sucking and pulling on the flesh with fevered passion.
“Jesus Christ,” I gasped, my breath billowing out in small white clouds yet my body no longer feeling the cold. Flurries of snow tumbled down around us, a few stray flakes tangling with my dark eyelashes. For a second that was all I could focus on, the stark contrast between black and white-filth and cleanliness-the snow seeming to glow amongst the dark ally.
In a second I was pulled from my reverie as I was hoisted off the ground. My legs instinctively wrapped around his muscular waist, my shirt ridding up and the grainy brick scrapping at my back. The sharp sting was accompanied by burning need as our mouths latched together in a frenzied kiss.
A warm hand slipped beneath my waistband and began groping. I couldn’t control the moan in my throat as my head slammed back against the wall. A part of me screamed that his was wrong, that everything I was doing was filthy and horrible, but the pleasure masked those thoughts. Through half-lidded eyes I saw him smirk and my breath hitched in my lungs.
I felt ashamed for not giving him what he was giving me. Wrapping my arms loosely around his neck, I dove in for a deep kiss. And that’s when it happened.
On an impulse he bit down, drawing a thin line of crimson from my bottom lip. Memories of the plush hotel room flashed though my mind, blinding me and causing me to stumble. Suddenly it wasn’t his hands on my skin any more, it wasn’t his lips leaving a trail of saliva down my jaw; it was him.
My mystery concubine looked up with a raised eyebrow when I stopped all movement, as if to ask, “What’s wrong?”
“I-I can’t do this,” I muttered, my words forming around panicked breaths. My body mechanically stiffened, and I moved to push myself away but he refused to budge. He had me pinned against the wall and there was nothing I could do.
“What do you mean ‘you can’t’?” A flicker of some discernable emotion blazed in his eyes but was quickly masked by a look of concern.
“I just can’t, okay?” I tried to push him off of me again and get my feet back on the ground but he just held in place with a firm grasp. My legs were still wrapped around his waist and I couldn’t help but think how vulnerable I looked just now. If I could only get my feet on the ground, then I would be okay. Then I could get him off of me, then I could run for help-but none if this was possible with me pinned against the wall like this.
“No,” he whispered and smirked again, but this time it was one of malice and he didn’t bother trying to hide it. “That’s not a good enough answer.”
Panic sunk in then as I pushed at his shoulders with all of my strength, the biting cold beginning to wrap itself around my bare arms. There seemed to be an enormous weight pressing down on my chest and suddenly I couldn’t breathe.
“Get the fuck off of me,” I grunted, the lack of oxygen causing my words to come out in a pathetic wheeze.
“Aw, what’s the matter?” Sarcasm dripped from his tongue like venom and I pushed at him even harder.
The urge to flee was making my heart pound in my ears, the noise growing in volume like some beast on the chase. Sucking in as much air as I could, I shouted, “Help!”
I knew that it was in vain but the plea kept flowing from my mouth. Before I could blink he had me on the ground with a bloody nose, hot pain shooting through my entire head. It wasn’t until a second later that I realized he had punched me. I couldn’t think properly. Half of me was trying to figure out where the blood was coming from, telling me to get the hell out of there as soon as possible, but the other half was wondering why it was suddenly so fucking cold.
Taking advantage of my stunned state, he swiftly bent down and began rifling through my pockets. My wallet was quickly found and as he yanked my ID free a wicked grin spread across his face.
“Ville Valo,” he smiled as he read the card. “I thought you looked familiar,” he scoffed. “Don’t think that because you’re a celebrity you’ll be getting any special treatment.”
And it was in that moment I knew I was fucked.
And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Poor Ville. What ever will he do? If you hadn’t noticed, I was trying to let it unfold slowly exactly who was who in the story, but I think it was pretty easy to tell by the prologue that it was Ville I was talking about. Anyway…comments, my lovelies.
Oh, and could someone tell me how to put a link to my previous chapter(s) up? The links are just bulky and annoying, and I’d like to avoid them if possible. Thanks!