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giggles8899 · 1 year

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1.8 Drunk Buddies!!!!!

Written part below

To say Kazuha didn't have a crush at first sight of you was an understatement. He had followed you to the bar, where there weren't a lot of people. You walked up to one of the stools and sat down, turning to Diluc. “Having fun?” He asked, a slight smirk on his face. You had done some recent posters for him, and you were one of the few people that could actually talk to him like a normal person. “Yup, though I do have to say, I am 100% going to be dead to the world for the rest of the weekend.” You replied, propping your head in one hand on the counter. Kazuha had sat down next to you, watching the two of you converse. He could tell you got along with almost everyone, though it seemed weird that not a lot of people went out of the way to talk to you.

“By the way,” Diluc says, “those posters you did were very well done, I’ll probably have you do some more stuff for me in the future.” You smirked, “A compliment out of you actually means something, just let me know what you need and I'll get on it! The university doesn't have me doing a lot right now, except making flyers and posters for the club fair happening in a few weeks.” “You work for the university?’ Kazuha asks, intrigued. “Oh, yeah I graduated in 2 years from here with a Graphic Design degree and ended up immediately getting a job in the marketing department.” You replied. Diluc had ended up placing a margarita in front of you at this point, which Kazuha realizes that you hadn't even ordered, but from the look of it, Diluc seems to know your preferences. Turning to Diluc, Kazuha ordered a rum and coke, and turned back to you. You were stirring your drink absentmindedly.

“Wow, that must have been a lot of hard work.” Kazuha compliments, hoping to turn the attention back to you. “Oh I guess, I’ve always wanted to be a Graphic Designer. Though I guess getting a job here wasn’t too bad.” You replied, taking a big swig of your drink.

“Are you not happy working there?”

It takes you a second, before replying. “Well, yes and no. Yes, I mean it is a paycheck and I'm still working on building my portfolio, but…….” You had trailed off, looking lost in your thoughts for a second. Kazuha waited for you, taking a few drinks out of his drink. “I guess,” you finally said, “I'm really ready to leave here. I may have graduated in two years, but they weren't very good years.” “Oh how so?” Kazuha asked, a look of worry across his face. You looked out of the corner of your eye at him. He seemed genuinely worried, but you weren't about to open up to some random guy you just met. Even though he seemed like a nice person.

A few moments passed, before Kazuha finally spoke. “I’m sorry I didn't mean to pry. You just seemed like an amazing person and I was wondering what could have possibly happened to someone like you.” It takes a few seconds to register in your head what he said, and then it hits you like a ton of bricks, and you look away from the man. “Amazing? I don't think I’ve ever been called that before, besides my cousins and two best friends.”

“I’m sorry to hear you say that,” Kazuha says solemnly, “you really do seem like a good person.” You had looked back at him. His rubies eyes were dancing all of the light in the room, you swore they sparkled. A pair of gems, looking at you with more sincerity than any other person you have met in your life. You continued to look at him, trying to wrap your head around how someone who doesn't even know you, could be saying all of these sweet honeyed words to you without batting an eye.

Kazuha on the other hand, was absolutely torn in two. He could see the turmoil behind your eyes. A million questions flashing through your mind, and he wanted to know what they were. On the outside you looked like a normal girl, but on the inside he could tell you soul has been through many trials and tribulations, more than anyone else he has met. Your eyes spoke of the highs and the lows of life, a soul wanting something, but he couldn't tell what exactly. He wanted to know what exactly.

The moment was interrupted by Childe scaring Kazuha almost off his chair, leaning on him. He stood between the two of you, slightly swaying.

“Hey, are you ready to start singing again?” Childe was slurring his words a little bit, and one could tell he was bound to be sleeping on the floor by the end of the night. “Yeah, I’ll be down in a second,” Kazuha replies, a smile on his face, “Don’t hurt yourself now!”

“Me? Never?” Childe says, before trying to walk away and almost falling over.

“No more drinks for him.” You hear Diluc sigh, having walked away and coming back after he had given Kazuha his drink. Kazuha turns back to you, a hopeful smile on his face.

“You gonna be back down there to watch me perform for the rest of the night?”

“Ah, yeah might as well,” you reply, and before you could say anything else, you were bombarded by the other 4 you had come with.

“Have you been here the entire time?” Lumine asks, practically falling into you while still seated. “Yeah, you missed her and me singing!!” Aether asks, blushing prominently on his cheeks. He was very much leaning on Xiao at this point, and you could tell that Xiao’s ears were a little pink. You laughed, and before you could come up with some sarcastic comment, Scara interrupts with, “Whos this?”

“Oh shit,” you say, “this is the guy who's been performing tonight. Kazuha!” You say, Lumine very much hugging you and swaying in your chair. Scara nods at him, and you could tell from how his shoulders are tensed up, that something was eating at him. “Yup, that's me. I gotta get back downstairs and get back to singing, I hope you all enjoy it!” He flashes a wide grin, and you swear you thought there was something else in it.

As he got up, you didn't realize that something slipped into your pocket.

A few seconds after he walks away, you begin to be bombed with questions.

“Sooooooooooooooooo what were you doing??” Lumine asks with a giggle, a knowing look in her eyes, though you weren't quite exactly sure what she knew. “Uh, just talking to the guy, he had stopped to tell me that I was a good singer.”

“Why was he sitting here with you?” Aether also asks, now hugging Lumine and leaning on her, and you could feel yourself getting crushed from the two of them. “Ooof, yall are heavy as fuck, he just asked if he could follow me to the bar, we both sat down and just started talking” You say nonchalantly, not thinking anything about it. You hear Scara chuckle, he had taken Kazuha's spot. “Sure, last time you said that, you had someone fall head over heels with you.” You practically roll your eyes out of your head, “What am I not allowed to talk to people? I think I'm a good conversationalist.” “Better than Scara,” Xiao says, a finger in one of Aether pant loops, preventing him from taking the three of you from falling off the chair you were on.

You raise an eyebrow at him, looking between him and Aether. Aether was too drunk to get your staring, but you swore the blush on Xiaos ears got deeper as he looked away from you, coughing into his other hand. You looked at Scara, a smirk on his face as he looked at you with a knowing look. You were sure to harass Xiao later about this.

You heard Kazuha start singing again, and decided that you wanted to continue dancing. You push Lumine and Aether off of you, causing them to stumble back into Xiao, his face getting redder as he practically had to catch Aether from falling. You hear Scara laugh loudly, and you decide to continue dancing. Pulling Lumine along with you when you get up. “C’mon, I wanna keep dancing, gotta burn off this alcohol,” you say, grabbing her and Scara’s arm dragging them back down to where you guys were previously. Aether had taken one of Xiao’s hand and started pulling him too. Now, you thought Xiao truly looked like a tomato, and Scara and you were laughing your asses off.

You 5 proceed to dance the rest of the night away, unaware that you had a set of ruby eyes on you, never leaving.

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12thkidiary · 1 year

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Hello, World!

Thunder clouds are thundering outside. I have a competition tomorrow for which I feel thoroughly unprepared. Today was the second day of 12th grade, and I am already a mess.

WordPress welcomed me to the site with a ‘Hello World!’, so I’ll do the same.

Hello People Who Took The Time To Actually Read This! Your sacrifice is greatly appreciated.

I suppose I should introduce myself first. I’m Nainika, very recently promoted to 12th, an aspiring author, and a victim of hearing every adult around me tell me to start a blog. It’s a good idea, I will admit. I can improve my writing, bring a bit of discipline to my life, and have a snazzy page for my portfolio. But the thing no one really tells you is how hard figuring out your blog is. This idea was a shower thought (as the best ideas really are), and I’m going to be honest with you, dear reader, I have no idea if it will work.

In theory, this will be a digital, very public, diary of my 12th grade. Sometimes I’ll talk about a topic that greatly interested me in school, maybe I’ll vent (I do that a lot). Maybe I’ll go into a deep rabbit hole of questioning my own existence, or I’ll write a 3-page essay on why Remus Lupin is the best comfort character goddamit. In short, stuff that I should probably write in one of my 100s of empty journals and keep it locked, but I’ve always been an oversharer. Now I can benefit from it.

I’m a student of humanities if that wasn’t obvious till now. My subjects, if you’re interested to know, are Political Science, Sociology, English, Economics, and Maths. Please don’t ask me about the last subject, I don’t know why I took it. I’m suffering greatly.

So, about this competition I have tomorrow. It’s an MUN. I’m in the UNW, and my country is Switzerland. I’m not going to tell you what all I researched, do that on your own if you’re interested, but my God is researching tough. In my defense, I registered on the 21st, and the conference is tomorrow i.e. the 25th of March, so I didn’t have a lot of time. But that’s making excuses, and we’re trying to reduce that this year.

I’ve only ever been to one MUN before this, and it was a major flop. It was overcrowded, I was a bundle of nerves, and the only people I knew were from my own school, by whom I’m greatly intimidated. You’ll figure out, dear reader, that I’m intimidated by almost everyone. It’s very easy to intimidate me. Put overcoming that in my list of goals to achieve by the end of the year, will you?

Anyways, this MUN is online, so thank God for small mercies. I have done my research, though it’s all over the place in a google doc right now, and I’ve made a few friends, though the only communication we’ve had is a ‘hi’ or a ‘have you done this before?’ Another small mercy is that this isn’t a competition, in the sense that there won’t be a ‘best delegate’, stuff like that, and yet another small mercy is that I’m not registered through my school.

Don’t get me wrong, I love this school. I’ve been loyal to it since the 3rd grade, and I’m going to graduate from here too. But this just adds to expectations I still haven’t learned how to handle, and I’d like to attend at least one MUN where I can just explore, learn, and have fun.

That’s another thing I struggle with- expectations. You’re just uncovering all of my insecurities, aren’t you?

Google says a good blog post should have about a 1500-2100 word length, but I’m sitting on my sofa with a word count of about 700 words, and that’s quite enough for me, thank you.

With that, I’ll take your leave. I hope you’ll stick around with me while I survive this last year of schooling, and maybe find some comfort in knowing you’re not the only one struggling with basic life problems.

Naini

(I lied, that wasn’t 700 words. But now it is.)

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view one WordPress - Hello, World!

#12thkidiary #blog #hello lovely people #if you read this plz don't bully #i am but an innocent lamb just starting to walk #i will topple a few times #thanks love ya

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whentherewerebicycles · 2 years

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okay hello hello I’ve spent six hours this morning overhauling our application materials + making a new faculty reference form + doing a bunch of project planning and work. my big picture goal for today and tomorrow is to get the application into shape—meaning I need to complete the following things:

revised page 1: program description, funding info, eligibility requirements

revised page 2: selected list of past projects, research topics, and community partners (to give students a clearer understanding of the kind of work we do)

revised page 3: reworked essay and short answer questions + application checklist

revised page 4: faculty reference form

start compiling the list of student orgs I want to reach out to with a personal invitation to apply—like, I want us to really prioritize recruiting students from women’s, trans, and LGBTQ+ groups this cycle, in addition to our usual focus areas (racial justice, immigrant rights, healthcare, etc).

I am going to take a break now then switch to my laptop to work on compiling the other pages. I need to remember that the goal here (the goal for this entire prep process!) is to be as efficient as possible and to reuse as much stuff as I can. good enough is good enough!!!! there is no point in spending a million hours reworking stuff to make it slightly better when the original is perfectly serviceable. it would be awesome if I could finish today, but I also think I might run out of steam pretty soon, so if I don’t finish it’s okay—maybe I’ll focus on doing a few timed bursts of work where I’m just COMPILING material but am not allowed to edit or tinker with it yet.

Thursday will be busy with meetings mostly but hopefully I can finish app materials then. Friday will be another BIG push…

I will try to give myself one weekend day on and one weekend day totally off. then next week I’ll plan to work pretty hard on monday and tuesday, because I think with four days of sustained work I can get a complete syllabus in place with those week-by-week mentoring goals. I don’t need to have every lesson completed as long as I know generally what the objectives are for each week.

the other big pieces:

REMEMBER I HAVE ALL THESE SAMPLE ARTIFACTS FROM STUDENTS TO USE AS TEACHING MODELS that was a big favor I did for my future self last year and I need to not forget I did that

I need to do some serious thinking about project management tools. I just feel like I don’t have the brainpower to learn a new system right now aaaaa. I think this will be a “good enough is good enough” thing. Our low-tech google docs system works fine and will work even better if we have those clear mentoring goals in place. if I have time and want to mess around with Notion or Asana I can do that later once everything else is done.

I want to sit down and make a list of skills or consultations I can outsource to other campus centers. for instance I can do some of the time management strategies stuff in class but if someone is struggling I can send them to our study skills center with an extremely specific assignment/list of questions to discuss. same goes with students who are really struggling to narrow down their research questions. if I have a really clear sense of what’s out there, I don’t have to reinvent the wheel or figure out how to solve every problem that comes up.

I need to sit down and really spend some time figuring out what I want homework to look like for the class. I would like to standardize the type or form of assignment even if the content changes week to week, so that they consistently know what they’re expected to bring each week and about how long it will take them. ideally this will somehow be directly tied to their week-by-week goals.

I also need to revisit the fall research portfolio and decide which pieces to keep vs. which weren’t as useful. I also really liked this as an assignment but I don’t feel like I deployed it as effectively as possible. I think a better way to do it is to integrate the component pieces into the week-by-week goals.

I think so for example…

core weekly goals: students should research, identify, and reach out to 5 potential contacts for exploratory interviews by the end of the week. they should also begin brainstorming questions for each interviewee.

research portfolio component the lesson is tied to: partially satisfies the informational interview + the feedback plan requirements

seminar topic: how to build a personal feedback network & why it’s important (possibly with a guest visit or video from a previous student).

seminar activity 1: mock exercise where they give me a random topic and I model how I would go about identifying experts I could talk to… I make a list with annotated notes of why I want to talk to each person (setting myself up for next week’s task of generating interview questions). they observe, take notes, ask questions… then they spend 15 minutes independently researching and coming up with a list of 2-3 contacts.

seminar activity 2: I explain what cold emailing is and how it works. I show them a few good sample emails from last year’s students and they discuss in groups what makes them effective… maybe they take notes using a structured worksheet that lists elements to include so they leave with a little “how to” guide. (maybe I also mix in a fake “bad” email and we talk about what to avoid.)

seminar activity 3: they start making a bullet point list of details they want to include in their own cold email template (could be part of the structured notes worksheet or we could create a mad libs style template as a group). end seminar by having them compare their list to a peer’s to get quick feedback.

individual advising meeting: they bring a draft of their cold email template + a list of 5-10 prospective contacts to the session to get feedback from their project advisor. we review the list + discuss who they want to prioritize and why. maybe we show them a sample list of questions from a past student + then work with them to brainstorm specific topics for the first person on their list.

their task: they send out their first 5 cold emails (cc’ing their advisor). then on the research portfolio checklist (shared with the program advisors), they check the first two sub-tasks for the informational interview component.

end of week: advisors quickly review the portfolio checklists for their student caseload and flag any students who didn’t complete it or might need additional help

#long post #teaching #syllabus planning

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petscrub · 8 months

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Some ramblings about future/life choices

I’ve been working on my FIT (fashion school…) portfolio. It’s due on Nov 1 lol and i still have a decent amount to complete. There’s the first portion, which is a sportswear, or ready to wear, design. That consists of a jacket, skirt, pants, and top. I already have the design, i just keep going to sketch it and hating the sketches. I don’t know. I’ve made several mock ups, and none of them are fully speaking to me… its more of an illustration issue than a design issue. I like the outfit i designed. But i feel so disconnected from my actual sketches. I guess i just need to remember that I’m not trying to be an illustrator or artist in that sense. I want to go to school so i can design and create and sew the actual garments. The sketch is part of the process but is it actually as important to make it look ‘perfect’ in my eyes as i am putting as much pressure on? I’m so awfully perfectionist that i struggle to have anything look subpar or incomplete. My sketches are rather simple, and i suppose that’s all that really matters anyway; being able to see the design of the garment clear enough, and the actual illustrative component is secondary.

I’m just gonna keep telling myself that because i need to move past this part and continue on with the portfolio. The next portion is my own designs, just whatever i want to share. I have plenty of designs I’ve made in the past that i like, ill just have to redraw them and color them, etc. and the last part is the biggest section: a sewn project. Luckily i already made my auto bonnet, but it requires 2-3 pieces, so I’m going to have to make at least one more piece. This is obviously the most important section/the most work, and ive been putting it off all day…

I think i am just already frustrated with my sketches that I worry ill get to sewing and get even more frustrated with the project. (I’m a very amateur seamstress, i know little to nothing.) so it’s easy for me to not know what the hell I’m doing, and I don’t know if I have the patience right now. But i need to get it done before nov 1……. Ugh

This is an important thing for me to do though. I have no idea if ill get in tbh. My past experiences with college have led to poor GPAs and attendance, ive been so depressed at those points in my life, and I’m worried it’ll effect FIT’s decision in my application. Plus, I can’t help but think about all the amazing people probably applying… but anyway. This is something that I want for myself, i can see myself making money and making things i love and feel proud of with this kind of knowledge and experience. Do i necessarily wanna go back to school…? I don’t know. But i figure I’ll apply to see what happens anyway. I can always just. Not go.

I have plans for this, i really want to have my own independent fashion line, simply made in my own studio. Original pieces and one of a kind things, i can actually picture it and have faith that i can make a good amount of money… because I’d be charging a pretty decent amount for my stuff, i want it to be high quality and unique. I look at my designs in my sketchbook and i see so much potential for interesting garments and such. I think my biggest thing? Overcoming my impatience and taking the time, learning, and working hard to make quality items. Ive been learning more and more that my impatience is the greatest thing hindering my work; making it amateur and flawed… i need to really take my time!!! Why is that so hard???

The answers from the poll i made earlier are interesting. I think i will in fact go with “Fallen Scrub” though “faint get up” is a close second. I want something that feels connected to me and my identity and vision. Obviously scrub gender is something that really speaks to me and who i am… lol

Thanks for reading if u got this far. I have high hopes for myself and future even when it feels like I’m never gonna get there, or that ill never been good enough. It’s like, in the back of my mind, ill always believe i have the power and capability to succeed, and make art that i love. I see it rarely in my stuff. Like, extremely rare. But with the auto bonnet i sewed, while it wasn’t perfect, there was something about it that felt… right. Felt like it was coming from an authentic place of, this is who i am, what i make, and what i want to share with the world. Anyway!!! I should really get back to work, lol ;/

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uncloseted · 9 months

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i’m from the uk, if i apply to a top us university will they have lower standards for extracurricular stuff? because i see us students with like 9 volunteering activities, national level sport, perfect grades, started a business with 6 figure profit and they get rejected from so many colleges. of course i will do some activities (a bit of work experience, some volunteering, very good gcses and alevels, reading and competitions, high level piano and clarinet) but no one does any more than that to get into a top university in the uk, whereas everyone seems to be doing about 5x that amount in the us and still not having much luck. will they take that into account?

As someone who went through both the US and UK application process, I would say that the US process is just less straightforward. Colleges in the US are looking for a wide variety of traits that they think will create the best incoming class possible. Typically, they want a class that's balanced for gender, that has a variety of people from different racial/ethnic backgrounds, socioeconomic statuses, etc., that everyone in the class can do the work they're assigned, that their individual programs will have enough students, that the student is a "good fit" for the school, etc.

That means that, while they're looking for some students who have lots of extracurriculars, universities are also looking for students who have shown dedication to just one activity or subject, students who have unique interests, students who come from diverse backgrounds and life experiences, etc. For many universities in the US, a student who has been working to support their family is equally as interesting as a student who did a million different activities.

And because universities are looking for a lot of different things, it can be hard to guess who will get into which school. For example, I went to a top 30 university in the US (I think it was ranked 21 when I applied) (I also got into St Andrews and got a conditional from Edinburgh, if that gives some context). My GPA actually wasn't that good and I didn't have that many extracurriculars going for me. Pretty much my only activity was that I did theater, both at school and then for a professional theater company. But my test scores were excellent, I had a few unusual projects that I had worked on, and I wanted to pursue a program that the university put a lot of money into but that didn't have a lot of students. So for the university, I was a pretty good gamble. My guess is that from my test scores, they could see that I could do the work, from my activities, they could see that I could maintain dedication to a project long-term, and my unusual projects plus an interest in an unusual field of study meant that I would fill a spot in a program they were trying to grow and that I had a higher likelihood of doing something interesting. Most of the other people I know who went to my university got in via an audition or portfolio rather than their extracurricular activities. It really depends on the person and what they might be able to offer the school.

All of that is to say that it depends on the story you tell on your application materials and your interview. Universities in the US want you to present a strong story that reflects what you're like as a person, not just a list of what you've done or an explanation of why you're interested in a given subject. If you can tell a compelling story, you're more likely to get in than you would be if you just had good credentials.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

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Looking for a Place to Happen

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity.

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: We’re starting Sam’s installment but this weekend I’ll probably only be catching up on my headcanons and drabbles because I’ve been a lazy bitch and I’m sorry to those who have been waiting.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 1: I've got a job, I explore

💀💀💀

The sleepy town of Birch was awake.

In those last weeks, the arrival of outsiders had roused the attention of many once passive residents of the timeless territory. Those brick buildings unchanged by the tick of the clock inlaid into the old tower above the library that chimed every hour on the hour. They still stood with only chips in the mortar but the air tasted different. The frost was more bitter and the sky more grim. An omen of something no one could predict.

It was the perfect setting for a screenplay. The isolated town with its unsavoury secrets and the visitors who threatened to bring them to the surface. It was inspiring to you, to imagine what was hidden behind the stern wrinkled faces of the town elders and under the jackets of those men who wore the cut of the local club. The bikers ruled the town covertly but everyone knew that Bucky Barnes’ palm was lined with the map of Birch.

As a bystander, an unnoticed observer, just another ant in the hill, you watched from the side and amused yourself with the drama of others. It was like a soap opera or another HBO hype machine. Those things you aspired to when you could be free of this ho-hum town.

The snows added to the natural gloom of the place. The deep heaps smothered the noise and harkened back to those days of colonial settlement. Forgotten, desolate, fearful.

You ventured down in your heavy boots that stretched to your knees and pushed your chin down into your scarf. As a child, you ran and jumped in those piles, now you were out of breath just trying to walk past them.

You stopped in the bakery that doubled as the only café, a place where the owner, Babs, tried to to intimidate the last caffeinated trends. She was always a few seasons behind but you didn’t mind so much.

You ordered the salted caramel mocha and waited patiently as the quiet woman fought with the steaming machines. She was older than you but you’d work with her for one summer during high school, only five years ago. She had the eyes of a child still, but there was something worn in her. As if she’d been exposed to far too much in her three or so decades in that place. She was a harbinger of what you didn’t want to become.

You thanked her for your drink and set out once more into the billowing winds. Birch winters were never kind but this one was crueler than most. Your teeth chattered as you blew the steam away from the lid and hugged it with your mittened hands.

You stopped short as you heard the familiar ding of the diner door across the street. You recognised the mechanic who kept to herself and once growled at you in the grocery store. She stormed across the street, followed closely and quickly by a black-haired man you’d only seen once before. He was one of those outsiders who came to deal with the club men.

You sped up as you sensed chaos brewing and pulled out your phone as you balanced your paper cup in your other hand. You flicked your camera on just as you got to the front of the shop and the man grabbed the mechanic. You let out an ‘oop’ as she turned on him and you aimed the lens at the couple as they fell into the snow, the man’s shoes giving little traction to his steps.

You moved closer, stunned by the scene, and kept your cell phone rolling as you found a better angle around the snowy walks. As she choked him on the ground he elbowed her and she coughed as she rolled away. She snarled as he clamoured to his feet, slipping and sliding as he marched away.

You killed the recording and watched the man cross the street again, nearly wiping out as he did and when you looked back to the mechanic, she was gone behind the clattering door. You chuckled to yourself and tucked away your cell. It was prime footage for TikTok; with a bit of editing, it would be comedy gold.

💀

You stomped up the steps of your grandmother’s house, this time through the front door as you heard her chair rocking in the front room. You usually took the stairs in the back as you paid her to live on the upper floor of the duplex. You checked in with her daily, she didn’t get out much more than the occasional trip to the grocery store when you couldn’t or you dragged her out to join you for a tea at Babs’.

“You’re late,” she grumbled as you set your cup down and unzipped your coat.

“For what?” you scoffed.

“It’s after noon and you don’t even come down to say hello? A ‘good morning, nan’,” she harrumphed.

You chuckled and hung your coat before shoving your boots over on the mat. You grabbed your mocha and leaned on the doorway as you watched her crocheting in her chair, reruns of some court show playing from the boxy television.

“I was working,” you said, “sent in some stuff for review. Hopefully not much work to be done.”

“I don’t know how you make money on that interweb,” she bemoaned, “I don’t trust it.”

“Maybe you’d trust it more if you used the Netflix subscription I got you,” you crossed your arms, “then you wouldn’t have to watch trash daytime TV.”

She shrugged and muttered under her breath. She could be crotchety but you liked her sense of humour. Your aunts and uncles never came around because they just took it as spite. You were the only one who knew how to handle the jaded old lady.

“Maybe you coulda looked out the window,” you snickered, “quite a show going on in town.”

“Hmm, what’s that?” she stilled her needles and reached for her tea stained cup.

“Just a fight. You wouldn’t believe it, that lady mechanic beat the shit--”

“Language,” she huffed.

“Anyway, she had this guy in a chokehold. It was awesome.”

“What guy?” she squinted at you over her glasses.

“I dunno. Some out of towner. Remember I told you about that burly dude hanging around the library?”

“There’s more?” she sucked on her teeth, “those bikers have never been good news and now they’re bringing in more.”

“Yeah, well, what’re you gonna do?” you sniffed as you took out your phone and rewatched the scuffle with the volume down. You shook your head and opened up your TikTok.

“I don’t understand why you’re always on your dang phone,” your grandmother pestered.

“I’m not always on my phone,” you smiled at her smugly, “there are those time when I’m listening to you prattle on or you know, making you tea, oh, and cooking you dinner. What was it I did last week? Oh that’s right, I got Pippin out of the crawlspace.”

“I’m too old to be chasin’ that cat all around,” she huffed, “where is he anyway?”

“He’s your cat, I don’t know? Last time I saw him, I sent him back out the window for shredding my charger.”

“He knows you need to give it a rest,” she laughed to herself, “got your nose to that screen too much.”

“And what do you do, old lady? Crocheting doilies to put where exactly?”

She gave you that dry smile, the one that said watch it but carried a hint of humour still. You hit post and put your phone away as you waved off her irritation.

“Well, you know what, I sit all day at my computer, doing who knows what and you know what it got me?” you taunted, “a large mocha!” you sipped as you sat on the sofa and grabbed the remote, “and it’s paying my rent and putting bullet points on my resume.”

“Mhmm,” she scowled, “just remember, real life ain’t online. Those videos you’re always laughing at like hyena, that’s not reality. You forget it and it’ll come back and bit you. ‘Specially with those bikers.”

“Oh, nan, you know too well, don’t you? Didn’t you have a fling with one back in your hippie phase?”

“Two, actually,” she raised her brows, “I was young and stupid. Not like you, but still.”

“I love you too,” you chirped and sipped from your cup, flicking the station to Jerry Springer, “that’s more like it.”

💀

Your usual TikToks were sarcastic and dull complaints about your small town life. The response was less than pleasing but it gave you an outlet to vent. You liked to goof around and document the very specific type of weirdos that resided in Birch. But the video of the fight in the snow blew up your phone and made it difficult to ignore the buzzing as you went back up to your room to eke out the last of your captions for the ad agency.

When at last you could call your day hard-earned, you logged off and sent in your hours to the agency. Social media promotion was easy enough but the working gigs for a thousand different companies was tedious. You hoped you could build your portfolio enough to manage a single corporate page as you continued to chip away at your creative outlets.

You picked up your phone as you waited for Netflix to load on your tiny smart tv and flopped onto your bed, not two feet from your desk. You hit the icon in the upper panel of your phone and scrolled through the notifications, pausing to turn on another episode of the cable sitcom from ten years before. You snorted as you read each comment but the number under the video made your eyes round. The thing was bound to go viral.

As usual, you went down to help with supper. Pippin, the orange tabby, returned to cry at his dish and you fed him too. Your nan peered through her glasses at a crossword as she tasted the tangy pasta sauce.

“More basil,” she snipped.

“Well, I asked if you wanted to help,” you muttered, “I think it’s good.”

“Hmmp, I need milk,” she jutted her chin out, “for my after-dinner tea.”

“You couldn’t say something like three hours ago?” you blinked.

“I could have but I didn’t,” she snickered. You rolled your eyes and she took another forkful of penne and filled in another line on her puzzle, “ah, no hurry, girlie, you know I’m patient.”

“Patient? You?” you chuckled as you took your plate and shoved it in the microwave to keep it warm. The ancient thing had a dial and the door stuck, “I’ll just go get it over with.”

“Don’t forget your mitts,” she called after you as you tramped into the front room, “it’s cold.”

You pulled on your knitted cap and matching mitts. You zipped up your parka and shoved your feet into the deep boots. You grabbed your wallet and buried it in the spacious pocket. You bounced out the front door and down the steps as the sky sent down another coat of powder for the night.

You went up White Forge Street and through the short path behind the diner that led to the main road. You glanced over at The Asp, the beacon of the dull town, and turned towards the grocer. Like anywhere in Birch, the store was outdated and stuffy. It felt like stepping into another time with the paper bags and chunky tills.

You went down the center aisle and stopped at the fridge to search through the frosted glass. Your nan only drank whole milk and the last time you carelessly grabbed skim, she whined that even Pippin wouldn’t drink it. She was particular but that was just her nature. You couldn’t say you were any less fussy in some instances.

You grabbed a jug and the door slapped closed against the worn rubber seal. You headed up the candy aisle and brushed your woolly thumb over your chin as you considered gummy bears or Reeses’ Pieces.

“Hard choice?” The deep voice jolted you.

You snatched the box of chocolate and looked over at the man in leather, his chin tucked down behind the collar as snow dusted his shoulders.

“Sure,” you said as you brushed past him.

The cut of the leather told you he was better not entertained. While you thought the men amusing, you weren’t stupid enough to engage with them. You rarely listened to your grandmother but she was wise in her own way.

You knew a girl in highschool, she was fucking around with one of the club men in her junior year, she ended up with a baby and no support. You didn’t think he was into you that way but he could hardly have innocent intentions.

“How’s the old lady?” Clayton asked as he rung in your order at the end of the belt, you moved along with the groceries and pulled out your wallet.

“The usual, you know? She’s tryna quit again. Don’t know how long it’ll last.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll keep a carton aside for her,” he kidded as you felt your phone vibing in your back pocket.

“Don’t encourage her,” you swiped your card and punched in your pin, “although I don’t know what’s worse; the smoke or her sucking on those mints all the time.”

“Oh, it’s not the bitchin’?” he laughed.

“That, too,” you scooped up the paper bag and put your wallet away, “have a good one.”

As you came to the end of the first counter, you were nearly cut off by the club member as he swept around from till two. His own purchase of a car magazine and jerky was tucked under his arm.

“Ah, sorry,” he smiled, a sparkling smile, almost charming.

“No worries,” you continued on and he followed close behind.

“Those mitts look real warm. ‘Specially in this weather,” he said as you pushed open the door.

“Uh huh,” you kept on as your boots crunched out into the snow.

“You know where I can get a pair. Leather isn’t exactly thermal, you know?”

“These? My nan made ‘em. I’m sure Clayton got some hung up back there,” you looked across the street as you stepped up onto the ledge of snow between the sidewalk and the road.

“Am I bothering you?” he asked.

You looked at him dumbly and almost laughed in his face. You glanced back across the street then down towards The Asp.

“Sorta,” you answered.

“Make you a deal. Leave ya alone for your name.”

You eyed him. He was older than you like many of the Commandos. At least a decade, likely more than that. You chewed on your hesitation and cradled the bag more firmly against your side. His eyes strayed as he tried to see through the thick layer of your coat.

“Nah, I’m not s’posed to talk to strangers,” you said and hopped off onto the road.

You heard him behind you as he struggled to follow and as you came up to the other side, he came parallel with you and kept stride with you easily.

“I know you’re young but you’re not a kid,” he intoned, “what’s the harm in a name?”

“It’s a small town,” you stopped short of the end of White Forge, “I think I know enough about you to avoid you.”

“Oh ho, is that it? Well, I’m Sam, I’m not a stranger now, am I?”

“Not interested, Sam. Sure there’s women your own age over at the bar,” you nodded behind him.

“You wanna come see? Maybe have a drink?” he gave a crooked grin.

“You don’t give up, do you?” you shook your head, put off by his forwardness.

“Well?”

“Not tonight, Sam,” you turned around and headed down White Forge.

“Then what night?” he asked but you didn’t answer and he didn’t follow.

You turned down onto your street and refused to look back in case. It would be best not to mention the run-in to your nan, she was paranoid enough as it was. Besides, you’d forget about it by the end of next week.

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yoongiseesawmp3 · 3 years

Text

candy kisses - yoongi

don’t judge me. stream butter. stay safe out there

summary: yoongi is y/n’s weed dealer, and he needs help expanding his business portfolio. weed brownies, anyone?

warnings: weed. trifling friends. a small couch. don’t read if you’re a narc or if you’re gonna point out the two grammar mistakes i found that i will not fix

word count: 3.3k

“when was the last time we smoked together?”

you don’t hear yoongi because you’re currently very focused on rolling this blunt correctly. your work in the past has been sloppy, rushed, and you’re worried about disappointing yoongi while also disrespecting his high-quality product, so you’re mega focused on the little pieces of herb in your hands that are trying to run away. you’re half aware of his gaze on you as you work, and you’re also barely aware that your tongue is just slightly sticking out, a sign of your steady concentration which yoongi is about to break.

“you look cute when you’re focused like that,” yoongi says nonchalantly, almost making you drop the blunt just as you’re about to bring it to your lips to wet the paper.

“thank you?” you reply, noticing how relaxed yoongi is on your couch. just black sweats and a white t shirt on, and yet it’s hard for you not to stare at him. actually, you’re staring right now, so get back to work. you finish up the blunt and lean forward, searching your coffee table for your lighter.

“looking for this?” yoongi asks, picking it up from underneath a stack of take out napkins that you’ve carefully curated. is that a fire hazard, a lighter underneath cheap napkins? probably.

“yeah, thanks,” you answer, reaching over to grab it from him. “how’d you know it was there?”

“you always keep it on that little plate thing with the other tiny stuff you lose all the time,” he explains, and you glance at the napkins and see the minuscule design element you barely remembered peeking out from underneath.

“ok, how’d you know that was there?” you ask, holding the blunt up before you start to slowly light the end of it.

“i go nuts for interior design,” he explains with a shrug. “the colors on the plate match your couch pillows. it’s a nice touch.”

“thank you,” you respond quietly. who notices stuff like that?

“you’re welcome.”

it’s quiet as you take your first puff of the blunt, one quick one just to test it and another, longer pull after for good luck. the acidic smoke hits your tastebuds before you breathe it in. you hold it for just a second, and then exhale, watching the cloud that forms in front of you. you turn to yoongi and intend to pass the blunt to him, but you realize you don’t have an ashtray ready so you pull that little plate from its paper prison and ash the blunt before yoongi takes it from you. your fingers brush as he takes it, and you notice how soft his hands are, so you tell him.

“thanks, it’s your lotion,” he replies, and you laugh at how comfortable he gets every time he comes over.

“i thought i smelled peaches,” you joke, trying to rearrange the mess on your coffee table now. you push an empty vape pen out of the way as you search for any other trash to throw away, and still yoongi is watching you as he exhales from his first pull. he looks like that caterpillar from alice in wonderland.

“you shouldn’t smoke those little vape things, it’s getting metal in your lungs,” he tells you with a little bit of authority in his voice. you watch him as he pouts his pretty lips and closes them around the blunt, their slight downward slope mesmerizing as he breathes in.

“well if you didn’t take so damn long to refill our stash i wouldn’t need these little vape things to get a buzz,” you bite back, graciously taking the blunt as he passes it back to you. you watch him hold the smoke just a second longer before pursing his lips to slowly let it all out. you’re still thinking about his lips when he speaks again.

“do you like edibles?”

“um, it depends,” you reply. “what kind?”

“how many are there?” he asks, curious.

“why, are you trying to expand your business portfolio?” you joke. “but really anything that you can use butter in, or infuse cbd oil somehow can be an edible i think. but i like brownies the best.”

“so, hypothetically, if i made weed brownies, could i make them here? and could you maybe help me with the recipe?”

“sure, but why do you need to make them here?”

“to hang out with you,” he says with a shrug. “is that ok?”

“that’s ok,” you reply, wondering if your heart is beating fast because of the blunt or the idea that yoongi wants to spend more time with you. “when?”

“are you free friday?”

you know how everyone uses phone alarms to wake up now? and sometimes if you hear that ringtone out in your everyday life it brings you war flashbacks?

well, the timer on yoongi’s phone is going off, playing your typical morning alarm, and he won’t turn it off, so you’re about two seconds away from committing murder.

“yoongi!” you shout to the man missing in action. “your brownies are done!”

you hear the bathroom sink running followed by yoongi’s shuffling footsteps, and you watch as he dashes to the kitchen while he dries his hands off on his sweatpants.

“shit, sorry,” he apologizes, grabbing his phone off the counter before ending your misery.

“thank you,” you sigh as you relax back into the couch. you hear his movements echoing in the kitchen, the oven opening, the pan clattering on top of the oven, and the impressed whistle yoongi lets out as he checks his masterpiece. “how do they look?”

“incredible,” he replies, popping his head out of the kitchen with an excited look on his face. “do you wanna be my first customer?”

“i’m letting you use my kitchen, so you better not charge me for trying one of your edibles,” you warn as you get up. your kitchen is a mess, by the way. yoongi might be a great chef when it comes to meals, but he didn’t know shit about desserts before today. so actually, he’s using your kitchen AND your baking expertise, you should get the entire batch for free.

“i’m not gonna charge you,” he agrees with a roll of his eyes. “this time.”

“how much are you gonna take?” you ask, peering over his shoulder as he slices the pan of sweets into bite size portions. you get the urge to lean your head on his shoulder as he does, but you’re not sure if that would be weird, so you’ll settle with standing close enough to feel his warmth along with the warmth of the brownies. “just one to start?”

“i’m not sure i did this right, so one could be too much or not enough. it’s better to be safe and start small,” he explains.

“god, look at the delinquent who brought drugs into my home being responsible,” you tease. “it’s cute.”

“i don’t think you’re supposed to call your dealer cute,” he counters.

“good thing you’re not just my dealer, then,” you quip back as you snatch a piece from the corner, the best piece of any brownie, illegal or not.

“wait,” he semi-shouts, grabbing your hand before you pop the piece into your mouth. “should we have a plan before we take them?”

“what do you mean, a plan?”

“like if something happens,” he explains, a nervous look in his eyes. “maybe i won’t try one, so i can keep an eye on you in case i made them wrong.”

“yoongi, we’ll be fine,” you assure him, picking up another piece and holding it out to him. “i won’t take it without you.”

“is this the peer pressure to do drugs that adults are always talking about?” he asks as he carefully takes the brownie from your hand. again, your hands brush, but this time yoongi just stays there, sort of cupping your hands in his even though you’ve already passed the contraband to him. you whisper his name, snapping him out of whatever thoughts were clouding his head, and he pulls his gaze up to your eyes, which have an excited glint in them that yoongi wants to see over and over again. he especially wants to be the reason for it, but he’ll settle for the simple pleasure of enjoying how it highlights the flecks of light that dance over your eyes. and now you’re noticing the way he’s staring at you, and it’s making your hands clam up, so you try to clear the air.

“so, do we cheers with these before we take them or what?” you joke, and you’re rewarded with a silent chuckle and the shaking of yoongi’s broad shoulders.

“i’m not sure, you’re the edible expert,” he replies. “we should just take them.”

“whatever you say, boss man.”

taking the edible was easy enough. waiting for it to kick in was another story.

first of all, you and yoongi both have had butterfly fueled jitters around each other since the longing gaze you shared in the kitchen. that awkwardness was paired with the anxious jabbering of yoongi as he questioned every feeling, sight and sound, questioning if “this is what it feels like.”

second of all, jimin and taehyung somehow found out you had a whole pan of weed brownies and quickly made their way over, and they might have mentioned this to hoseok too. he’s bringing pizza though, so you’re not mad about that. you had planned on watching your favorite movie with yoongi tonight, so the more the merrier? and also pizza. you were looking forward to that more than having your home invaded by three extra boys.

on top of your house being invaded by boys, you’re starting to wonder what’s going on between you and yoongi all while your mind starts to slowly drift away with your ability to focus. right now you can only think about how yoongi is starting to lean into you more and more and also did he look that good when he first got here? he’s never wearing much more than pajamas of some sort, but today he looks a little more put together than usual. it’s not a drastic difference, he’s wearing adidas track pants paired with a baggy, black button up, so anyone else wouldn’t think much of this outfit choice. but...did he dress up for this? is he trying to impress you? meanwhile, you’re wearing pajama shorts and a t shirt that’s so old it’s basically a family heirloom.

having jimin and taehyung here keeps you distracted from the way yoongi keeps nervously running his hands over his thighs, and you definitely need a distraction from that. you started the movie a few minutes ago, but you swear you could just sit here watching yoongi and be just as entertained.

“you know that wasn’t in the original script?” yoongi asks, snapping you out of your thoughts with his little fun fact.

“yeah, i knew that,” you reply, noticing how close he is to you now. taehyung took up the other side of the couch with his big ass self, so you’re slightly squished up next to yoongi in the corner and his eyes keep flitting around, like he’s equally excited and nervous about your proximity. “i thought you said you hadn’t watched this before though.”

“i haven’t,” he responds with a shrug.

“then how did you know that?”

“...i read the imdb page before i got here.”

“nerd,” you tease, smiling at the thought that yoongi takes an interest in what you like. you’re about to share your own bit of trivia about the movie (because you could talk about it for hours) but hoseok banging on your door stops you.

“special delivery! yummy pizza!! give me weed!!!” hobi shouts from the other side of your door. you rush to your feet to answer it, hopefully to put a stop to his yelling before neighbors complain, but the edible is starting to hit and your knees suddenly feel like they’re made out of jello. you sway slightly and you feel yoongi’s hand on your back steadying you before you step around jimin on the floor to let hoseok in.

“you’re gonna get me evicted,” you warn hobi as you open the door, and he responds by kissing the top of your head. he makes his way to the kitchen and taehyung follows, leaving a loopy jimin and a pink-cheeked yoongi with you in the living room.

“hyung, are you good?” jimin asks yoongi, and he simply nods. “y/n, can you get me some pizza please?”

“go get it yourself, jimin.”

“you’re a terrible host,” he quips back, sitting up too quick. you can tell he’s feeling what you felt when you stood up, and jimin smiles. “hyung, the brownies were really good. can i have another?”

you and yoongi both say no at the same time, and jimin thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world. his giggle attracts tae’s attention as he comes out of the kitchen, several pieces of pizza stacked on one plate.

“what’s so funny?” he asks, handing you each a slice as he makes his way back to his spot on the couch. you take yours and sit back down, even closer to yoongi now because hobi has taken your spot on the couch. you’re practically in yoongi’s lap now, but you don’t mind.

“yeah, was it actually funny chim or are you just high?” hobi asks, a fleck of brownie on one side of his face and a piece of cheese on the other. why are boys so gross?

“i don’t know, but when yoongi and y/n answered together it just sounded like they’re an old married couple that spends so much time together they start to sound the same,” jimin explains.

“aren’t we all like that though?” you ask.

“eh, the two of you are getting worse,” taehyung replies. “you have been hanging out a lot lately.”

“that’s because y/n is my business partner now,” yoongi says calmly. business partners? is that all he thinks of you?

“do business partners talk about how kissable their partners lips are?” jimin asks, back to laying completely on the floor. there’s an awkward pause before he speaks again. “are you sure i can’t have another piece of brownie?”

“wait, who said the kissable thing?” hobi asks.

“yoongi hyung. he thinks y/n has nice lips.”

“and a nice ass,” taehyung adds.

“i hate you all,” yoongi grumbles from semi-underneath you.

“you know you can kiss me if you want,” you tell yoongi before thinking about it. yoongi looks at you with something in his eyes that you can’t read, and your heart skips a beat. you look away from him quickly, turning the sound on the tv up a little louder. “actually, forget i said that.”

“i will if i can have more brownies.”

letting jimin have another piece was a mistake.

nothing bad happened, he just ended up falling asleep on your floor and now he’s asleep in your bed after a nice group effort of carrying him to your room. hoseok left after that, saying he needed to get home for mickey’s vet appointment in the morning. he took some of the brownies with him and he’s going to try to get namjoon to eat one to see if he’ll do a dramatic performance of a poem or something for a dumb bet between him and jin.

that leaves you, yoongi and taehyung. somehow there’s one less person on the couch now and yet you’re still smushed up next to yoongi, but you’re not complaining. it’s keeping you grounded, feeling him breathing next to you. otherwise you’d go back to thinking about his thighs in those track pants, and that isn’t good for anybody. it’s bothering yoongi though, if only because he’d rather be like this just the two of you, minus the nine foot giant next to him that found one of your newer vapes. it’s banana flavored, and yoongi finds himself wondering if your lips would taste like candy after smoking it.

“taehyung, can you stop blowing your smoke at me?” yoongi finally asks.

“sorry hyung, not many other places i can blow it,” he responds. “it’s a small apartment.”

“sorry about that,” you say, reaching for the vape in taehyung’s hand.

“not your fault, y/n,” he replies. “you could invest in a bigger couch though.”

“or you could sit on the floor,” yoongi offers.

“why hyung? i thought you’d like sitting so close to y/n,” taehyung smiles. “beside, you can just buy y/n a new couch when your very successful brownie business kicks off.”

“yeah, since i am just a business partner to you,” you mumble, exhaling the sweet smoke. it wisps around yoongi and he tries not to look annoyed, but you like messing with him. he looks cute when he’s flustered.

“or you could buy a bigger apartment when you move in together,” taehyung suggests before getting off the couch. “but i’ll solve the couch problem for you, for now. jimin is awake and he found some of y/n’s school pictures, so if you’ll excuse me.”

“i’m never inviting you over ever again!” you shout, loud enough for jimin to hear you in your room.

“y/n, you were really cute in high school!” jimin shouts back. taehyung shouts “i wanna see!” before he’s gone, leaving you alone with yoongi at last.

“i was really awkward in high school,” you say more to yourself than yoongi. “but whatever.”

“i’m sure you’ve always been cute,” yoongi responds after a beat of silence.

“i don’t think you’re supposed to call your ‘business partner’ cute.”

“oh come on, you know i didn’t mean it like that,” yoongi says with a smirk, silent confidence starting to creep out.

“i would like a new couch, though,” you tell him. you smile at each other and it’s quiet again for a beat before yoongi speaks.

“you haven’t moved away.”

“what?”

“taehyung got off the couch, there’s plenty of space now, but you haven’t moved,” he explains quietly.

“yeah because the space is on your side, you should be the one to move.”

“what if i don’t want to?” yoongi asks, a slight challenge in his voice. you stare at each other for a moment before you lean in. your lips barely meet before you pull away, but yoongi’s cupping your chin and pulling you back in for a real kiss before you can crack a joke. it’s slow at first, but then you get more comfortable with it and move your lips slightly, yoongi following your lead. you part your lips and he deepens it, the hand on your chin falling down to the back of your neck to keep you in place.

he was right, your lips do taste like candy. he could stay here like this forever, but eventually you have to breathe so you pull back and let your head fall down to the crook of his neck. you stay like that, catching your breath, and yoongi’s arms pull you closer to him to you’re fully seated on those damn thighs and he’s taking the discarded vape so he can have a taste, and he lets the smoke curl around you before he leans back in. now you get a chance to taste the sweetness on his lips, and you can’t believe you didn’t do this sooner. your arms are draped lazily over his shoulders, and you tap his back to signal that you’re pulling away again.

“for what it’s worth, i’ve always thought you had kissable lips,” you tell him. “but i have a better ass.”

“i’m not arguing with that,” yoongi replies with a smirk, cupping his hands around you as he moves so that you’re underneath him on the couch, lips tangled and the world forgotten.

damn, you really should’ve done this sooner.

#yoongi #min yoongi #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi imagines #min yoongi fluff #yoongi fluff #yoongi fic #min yoongi fic #bts fic #bts fluff #bts imagine #bts one shot #min yoongi one shot #this shouldve been posted on 420 but whatever

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formulatrash · 2 years

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hi Hazel, I know you're a journalist, but I hears you have done socials before? do you have any tips on how to get a foot in the door with motorsport socials or broader communications without prior connections? seems like there's so many young girls on twitter who are trying and that's a bit discouraging. there aren't that many roles, are there? :((

hello,

yeah, I worked in social media for a few years between journalism gigs (I sort of thought it might be what I wanted to do but honestly: no)

there are a lot of jobs in motorsport social media. we see primarily the ones for the big F1 teams or whatever but of course that’s not where a lot of people start and for instance, most sponsors will want social content related to the team they work with over a race weekend, even within the F1 environment. and of course, across media there are lots of sports social media jobs including F1 and then the championship itself. then when you think across wider motorsport like endurance and junior categories and Formula E and IndyCar.... there are a lot more roles than you’d think. oh and then the broadcasters... you get the idea, there’s a bunch of places.

idk how much NDA-bustoing trouble I’m likely to get in for saying this but I used to work for a supplier to an F1 team and then for the championship itself on social stuff. prior to that, I’d worked on social for Netflix and the BBC, so I wasn’t coming in as a rookie, which certainly helped. for the past two years I was also the racefanslive livetweeter, although I’m not anymore.

social media takes the form of lots of things, now. so you need to decide what aspect of the job you want to work in; are you a graphic designer, someone who can put together genius TikToks, someone who can present on social, copywriter, a producer, a strategist, etc?

some roles will require you to be an all-rounder and it’s good to have basic skills across it all but when you’re looking to develop a portfolio, that’s something to think about. do you have a TikTok full of awesome bits of presentation? can you make a show reel? are your gifs and edits super beautiful? are you an illustrator, you get what I mean.

one of the reasons “getting into social” can seem hard is because “getting into social” is about as vague as “getting into F1″ - like what, you’re gonna be a driver or a mechanic or? likewise, you need to work out what you want to do and then show that you can do it.

a good way to gain experience is by, basically, doing some stuff. I realise that sounds incredibly stupid but basically: start making things you think you’d like to make for a job. you don’t need to do a ton, just put a few bits together, put it on a professional instagram as reels and posts and saved stories and so you’ve got somewhere to point to if you get an opportunity, to say what you can do.

Twitter is less useful, professionally speaking but it’s also worth, for instance, making an account and doing some basic, clear livetweeting of a specific event. let’s say the Rome Eprix because I don’t livetweet F1 but I can talk about livetweeting FE.

one of the worst things people do with livetweeting is either decontextualised information (”Ricciardo has come into the pits” ok but when and why) or unclear information that doesn’t fit the character limit. I don’t think I’m very good at a lot of social stuff anymore but I am really good at livetweeting (I used to do so much of it, professionally speaking) and so I am gonna use myself as an example here. here’s my thread from the first time the format was run - it’s pretty simple because I didn’t have any imagery but it gets across the information you need about what cars are through and who’s beaten who. that’s a skill worth practicing and also something it’s worth showing you can do, when you’re applying for roles.

beyond that it’s a case of making sure you keep your eyes open for opportunities. whether that’s getting involved with formulastudent and becoming a producer for the teams or just going out and making content, having a portfolio is incredibly important. then keep watch on things like Motorsport Jobs (you can set up a job alert) and follow and pay attention to people at agencies that work in motorsport, so that you’re aware of opportunities coming up. that’s places like Influence Associates, Re:Volution, Crunch, Veloce, Edelman, 115dgrs, etc.

also I know everyone thinks Tumblr content is for some reason verboten but if you make good memes on here that aren’t too obscene, for the love of god put them in your portfolio. if you make beautiful, hi-res gifs and clips then for the love of god put them in your portfolio. your edits? portfolio. some of the highest-quality and most standout work in motorsport is on here with people hiding it - ok, don’t send in your explicit fanart or whatever but there are so many beautiful edits on here which would look so immediately eye-catching to a team or broadcaster.

if you message me off anon I can reply privately with a friend who runs an motorsport social media agency and often has entry-level work going/would be willing to offer experience. she always pays, although it may only be sporadic work at first.

#work asks #f1 asks

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mamabearcat · 3 years

Note

Proposal fic + hair (braiding/brushing) InuKag

Ooh thanks Nonny 😘

Okay, I'm gonna revive an AU I've never actually written but it's been loitering around in the back of my head forever. I may even write it one day if I feel like doing a longer AU full of comedy fluff. The first bit was posted on Tumblr forever ago, but now it gets to be continued!

Inuyasha wasn’t quite sure how he fell into it; who would have thought you could make a career out of being a model for romance covers for fuck’s sake?! Apparently his half-demon heritage that had blessed him with his father's long thick white hair, amber eyes that glowed in the darkness and pointed dog ears gave him an edgy look, whatever that meant. His ability to retain a lean muscular build no matter what he ate didn't hurt either.

But, the money was very good, even if he had to fight off the occasional stalker, and hide from screaming female fans trying to stuff underwear in his pockets when he went out to buy milk.

His manager Miroku was a total letch, and Sango had been slacking on security - waking up to find a strange woman in his kitchen making coffee in nothing but an apron was more than a little surprising. He actually had more than a sneaking suspicion that something was going on between those two.

But the best part of being a model was Kagome. His photographer, his best friend. He'd known her for years now, and there was no one he trusted more.

Their first photo shoot three years ago had been memorable. He’d accidentally called her Kikyo, and she'd exploded at him. How was he to know? They looked kinda the same, and they were both photographers. It did kinda suck that her cousin Kikyo had possibly ruined her chances of having a serious career in photo journalism, but this gig she was doin’ paid the bills right?

Why did she have to be so serious anyway? He’d abandoned any thoughts of self respect long ago. When you knew what it was like at the very bottom, didn’t know where your next meal was coming from, you understood that self respect was a luxury.

Ah, but Kagome. He couldn't help but love her. Even though this wasn't what she wanted to be doing, she put her whole heart and soul into her work, wanting it to be the best. He knew all her little mannerisms by heart - the way she blew upwards into her fringe when she was feeling frustrated, the way she jiggled her legs under the table when she was feeling fidgety, the way her eyes lit up when she got a good idea for a shot.

He'd always said he'd do anything for her, would gladly take a bullet for her. He'd already blocked a knife attack for her, that had to count for something, right? He'd never been more terrified when she'd been threatened, and the thought of what might had happened if he'd left just a little earlier still broke him out in a cold sweat sometimes.

They'd been closer after her life was threatened, so much closer. He'd been hopeful, but pretty sure she still only saw him as a friend. I mean, how cliche was it for a model to fall for a photographer? He was pretty sure she'd think he was joking, and laugh right in his face. And then on the steps after the trial against that stalker she'd kissed him. And it had been like the heavens had opened and angels had sung.

Kagome had always wanted to be a photo journalist. She'd dreamed of it since high school, starting her career with the local paper, gaining notice when she won a world renowned travel photography competition. That was the chance that should have got her a job with a top magazine, the chance that should have made her career. But it had been stolen by her cousin Kikyo.

Kikyo, who had been her flatmate when they finished high school, so they could share their passion for photography and help support each other in their move to New York as they tried to achieve their dreams. Kikyo, who had taken the message about the year long internship she had been offered after they saw her winning photo. Kikyo, whose features were similar enough to her own that they were often mistaken for each other, if you didn't know both of them that well. Kikyo, who had turned up for that internship and somehow convinced them that she'd used a different name for the competition.

Her cousin had milked that experience for everything it was worth. And now she was the one working for a world renowned magazine, and Kagome was paying rent doing cover photos for romance novels. She may be the best one in her field, but it wasn't quite what she'd dreamed of. It's not like she'd wished upon a star when she was five and asked if she could be the one to discover the next Fabio.

The best thing about her work was spending time with Inuyasha. She'd been so angry at him the first day they'd met all those years ago. Fresh from a weekend at a family event where she'd had to hear once again that Kikyo couldn't make it because she was overseas, doing some big story, and they were all so proud of her. And he'd called her Kikyo, because he'd seen some article recently and mistakenly thought she was her cousin. After she'd calmed down, she couldn't really fault him. They had the same last name, same initial, even looked similar enough.

But he'd grown on her. And it wasn't just his good looks - he had those in abundance, but he didn't really seem to care about that. He was rough around the edges, a little rude, definitely obnoxious, but very funny, charming, brave, and also... kind of sweet?

That day she'd had that terrible cold but had still come to work because they'd had a deadline, he'd given her his jacket and then rushed out to the supermarket at lunch time so he could make her a sure fire cold remedy his mother had taught him. It had tasted absolutely feral, but surprisingly, she'd felt a lot better the next day.

Just a few weeks ago, they had finalised the court case with Inuyasha's stalker. For some reason, Jakotsu, one of Inuyasha's most ardent fans, had bizarrely seen Kagome as a threat, even though it was obvious they were only friends.

At first it was just strange letters delivered to her workplace, which she'd ignored totally. She'd only begun to be worried when weird notes appeared in her own letter box at her apartment. And then the late night phone calls had started.

She'd managed to keep it from Inuyasha until Jakotsu had slashed her tyres, and then he'd been furious. Angry at her for not telling him what was happening, and incandescent with rage at the stalker.

After that he'd been there for her whenever she'd been afraid, so protective and caring. When Jakotsu had snuck up on her late one night in the parking lot, he'd blocked the attack, stepping in front of her in the nick of time, taking a slash to his arm that was originally aimed at her face, then knocking out Jakotsu and holding him until the police arrived.

He'd been the one injured, with nearly 20 stitches in his forearm, but he'd been worried about her. Thank goodness for swift youkai healing. She'd been devastated that he'd been injured, but he'd just shrugged it off, telling her he was glad it was him and not her.

After that, she'd finally admitted to herself that her feelings for him were more than just friendly. Had been for such a long time now. He was gorgeous, but she wasn't the kind of girl that slept around. She needed to be friends first, be comfortable, and there was no one she was more comfortable around than Inuyasha. He was her first thought in the morning and her last at night. But wasn't that a little cliche, a photographer falling for a model? She'd thought he'd probably think she was joking and laugh in her face.

But that moment after the trial and they'd been standing out in the sunlight, she hadn't been able to help herself. She was just so happy, so grateful that he hadn't been injured worse. So she'd practically crash tackled him and kissed him. No tentative pecks. No warning. She couldn't bear to let another day pass without him knowing how she felt. And when he'd kissed her back, with Miroku and Sango cat calling in the background, yelling at them to get a room, it had felt like heaven.

"Where's Yura this morning?" asked Inuyasha, glancing around the make up room, as if she would suddenly appear out of nowhere with her ever present combs and scissors.

"She's called in sick, so you've got me on double duty today. Aren't you lucky?" Kagome teased, poking her tongue out at him.

"So, you gonna model with me too?" he grinned, wrapping his arm around her waist and holding her close to rub his nose softly againt hers. "Who's gonna take the happy snaps?"

"You wish. It's a new model today, Tuva, we haven't met her before. This is for the viking one, so we needed someone with fair hair and pale skin. The photos in her online portfolio are gorgeous. And the agency recommended her, so she should be fine."

Kagome gave him a quick peck on the cheek, laughing at his pouting face, then patted the chair in front of the mirror. "Sit down already will you? I called her earlier to let her know what was going on and she offered to get her own hair and makeup done at the studio there, so now I've just got to do you."

Inuyasha couldn't help the flutter down low in his stomach at her statement, even though he knew she'd meant it innocently enough. She began by brushing his long hair and he closed his eyes, feeling the regular pull of the brush on his scalp, her fingers gently protecting his ears from the rough bristles.

Damn that felt good. If he were a cat he'd be purring, and it took every inch of self control to not let out a deep rumbling growl of pleasure when she ran her hands through his hair, pulling the top back and securing it in a rough pompadour with a ponytail behind his head.

Then her nimble fingers were making small cornrow braids near his temples, adding little leather thongs and silver charms. The gentle tugging of his scalp felt so good. He squirmed in his seat a little, keeping his eyes closed.

"Sorry, am I pulling too hard?"

"Nah, feels so damn good. You're a natural at this. Wanna change careers and become my hairdresser?"

She pretended to think a moment, then giggled.

"Maybe. You're hair is fun to play with. It's much prettier than mine."

He opened his eyes, watching her as her deft fingers twisted his hair together.

"Nope. Untrue. Have you ever seen your hair in the sunlight Kagome? The way it shimmers almost blue? It's beautiful."

Her cheeks pinked, and she glanced at the mirror, her eyes fluttering downwards again when he caught her eyes.

"Stop. You're the one that's the freaking model, Inuyasha. Let me concentrate on this or we'll be behind schedule."

"So Ms. Higurashi can take a compliment about her photography skills but not her person? That's kinda weird don't you think? Especially when you're so pretty."

"Inuuuu..."

"C'mere", he said, tugging on her arm to move her into his lap, ignoring her squawk of protest. "Why can't my pretty girl take a compliment from me, huh?"

"I can! But we're at work right now Inuyasha!"

"Alright, prove it. Look in the mirror and say what I say, and then I'll let you go." She squirmed but he tightened his arm around her waist, pinning him close to her. "Gotta do what I say Higurashi. Gotta keep the talent happy!" She smacked his arm, still trying to wriggle out of his hold, doing her best to hold in her smile, but failing miserably.

"So, how should I keep the talent happy Inuyasha?" she smirked. "You were pretty happy when I left your apartment last night."

He moved his head to rest on her shoulder, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

"Ah, but that's where you're very wrong pretty girl." Kagome's face fell.

"You didn't enjoy last night?"

"Oh I did. Very much", he grinned, bucking his hips underneath her, then kissing a path down the arch of her neck onto her shoulder. "But then you left. And I was in that big empty bed all alone, with no one to keep me company."

"Oh, poor you. You know why I left Inuyasha. You needed to have a good night's sleep before the shoot today, and you know what would have happened if I'd stayed longer. There wouldn't have been much sleeping going on."

He nuzzled into her neck. "Maybe not, but this talent would have been much much happier. I don't want you to leave anymore." Kagome froze.

"You... you want me to move in with you?"

"I want you to move in", he said, his teasing face now serious. "I want you to be with me always. I know we've only been going out for a month Kagome, but I love you. I've loved you for years. And that's not going to change."

She turned on his lap so they were now facing each other, cradling his cheeks in her palms. "I love you too", she whispered. "So much."

"Would it be crazy if... if I said I wanted even more than that?" he asked softly, his eyes searching hers. "Would it be crazy if I said I want to be more than just your boyfriend, that I want more than you moving in. That I want us to belong to each other? And tell the whole world about it?"

Kagome's eyes widened, and her heart began beating wildly in her chest.

"That sounds an awful lot like a marriage proposal Inuyasha."

"That's because, maybe it is. We wasted so much time Kagome. I don't wanna waste another second. Please say yes."

"How could I say no to those puppy dog eyes of yours?" she giggled wetly, her eyes filling with happy tears.

#this kinda got outta hand #but what can you do?#shrugs #writing asks

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babyloposts · 3 years

Text

RoseBud

My Hero Academia Gang AU

Pairing(s): Sero Hanta x fem!reader

Warnings: language, drug use, explicit content, sexual themes, gang imagery, violence

Summary: a simple crush on a guy quickly turns south as you become wrapped up in an unsafe life of lies, drugs, and violence. What happens when you become a key player in a war between to rival gangs and have to deal with a complicated love life all at the same time.

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0.4

The tattoo shop was small and almost unnoticeable if it weren’t for the glowing neon sign in the window that read “Fuck Off!”. That sure is welcoming. Sero glanced at you, his signature smirk plastered on his face as you approached the shop.

“Tattoo shop?” You quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Figured you should get something you like, and will remember.” Sero chuckled and continued his walk to the back of the shop. It was cozy and surprisingly quiet. Not much business tonight even though it was the start of the weekend. You weren’t complaining though, it’d be nice to get some alone time with Sero.

You both neared a back room that was separated from the rest of the shop by beads that hung from the door frame.

“Is... anybody here?” You asked your guide hesitantly. He smiled at you and winked before going to another door behind the partition and banging on it hard.

“JESUS FUCKING-” You heard a voice yell from behind the door. Startled by the abrupt opening of the door, you stepped back a bit as a pink head popped from behind the wooden door. “Bakugou I swear if-” She began, but was cut off when she saw Sero’s smiling face.

“Not Bakugou. Better.” He chided and she came fully out of the back room. You were able to take in her appearance fully. She had short pink hair pulled up into a messy bun displaying her overgrown undercut. She was wearing a low cut tank top that showed off the top of her lace bra and tattoos that littered her skin underneath. And she was clothed from waist down in comfy oversized sweatpants and Nike slides. Lowkey she had looked like she just woke up or something, but her striking features and pierced skin was a beautiful contrast.

“Hanta? The fuck you doing here without the Creep Squad?” She laughed and pulled him in for a quick hug.

“‘Sup Hatsume. And it’s just me today. I was reprieved from my duties a bit early and decided to stop by. I hope I’m not, uh, bothering you?” He looked her up and down and she placed her hands on her hips and smirked.

“Never. Out of all of the hoodlums I deal with you’re probably my favorite. Well, aside from Izu~” she gushed before finally turning her attention towards you, giving you a once over. “And who’s this?”

“This is y/n. She wants to get a tattoo so I thought I’d bring her to the best damn tattoo artist I know.”

“Hanta please. Don’t flatter me. Especially before you tell me what you want.” Her gaze suddenly turned cold and was staring daggers into the tall man. He put his hands up in protest.

“I promise it’s nothing out of the ordinary, usual stuff. But really, she wants to get inked. You free?”

Mei sighed. “Of course I’m free.” She threw her hands up in the air and stomped off toward the main area of the shop leaving you and Sero a few paces behind her.

“I know how she seems, but don’t worry. I trust Hatsume to do all of my ink even though she is a bit... theatrical. Second only to Mina of course.”

You laugh and nod. “Yeah it must be the pink hair or something.” You quip as you make your way to the main area where Mei is already putting on some gloves and prepping her work station.

“So do you know what you want to get done?” Mei raises her brow at you questioningly. In all honesty you hadn’t thought about it. You never explicitly told Sero that you wanted to get a tattoo. He just volunteered you for it, but you weren’t gonna decline. It would be nice to get some ink that you could look at and love.

“I don’t know. I’m still kind of deciding.” You chuckled nervously, embarrassed at the fact that you didn’t have an answer for her. This seemed to annoy Hatsume more than she already was, but she didn’t let it show in her voice.

“Okay...” she trailed off and swiveled in her chair to reach for a photo album tucked beneath her work station. It looked like it had started collecting dust. “Well you can look through my portfolio, let me know if you see something you like. Or you can suggest something and I can freehand.” She smirked suggestively. You hoped that freehand didn’t mean she would do anything obscene.

You flipped through the book looking closely at some of the designs. Hatsume’s work was beautiful, but that was evident from seeing Sero’s tattoos. The designs were all nice, but none of them really spoke to you. You sighed quietly under your breath and paused on a page that had some flower designs on it. Your breath hitched as you felt a presence over your shoulder. Sero was behind you looking at the flower on the page you had stopped on.

“That’s nice.” He smiled, “it wouldn’t suit you though. Roses are definitely your flower.” He suggested and went to sit down at the waiting area towards the front of the shop.

Roses you thought. You already had a rose tattoo, and it’s not like you didn’t like it, but you wish you hadn’t gotten it when you did. Maybe if you got another one now, you could start to appreciate the flower as you once did.

“A rose?” Hatsume smirked at you. “Very romantic flower. I think it’d suit you.” She looked hopeful and you nodded. She smiled to herself and began to sketch out an idea.

“Ooh!” She squealed. “And I have the perfect idea. Do you know where you want your tattoo to go?” You shook your head solemnly. Again, you hadn’t really thought about it. You thought Hatsume would have been annoyed, but she looked ecstatic. “Perfect I know just the place. I’ve always wanted to do a cutesy underboob tattoo.”

Underboob? That seemed a little out of your comfort zone, but to be fair this whole situation was out of your comfort zone. You out with a guy? Unheard of to the masses.

Reluctantly you agreed and Hatsume took you back behind the beaded-off area.

“You can take your top off back here and go in that room. I’ll go get my stuff, okay?” She happily skipped back out to retrieve her tattoo gun and you followed her instructions to strip.

The room was small and the warm toned walls were barren yet inviting. You got up on the table that you vaguely remember laying on a few years back and positioned yourself so Mei had easy access to stick you.

Hatsume barged into the small room, startling you. Quickly you scrambled to use your hands to cover yourself, but clearly she had already seen.

“Girl, don’t be shy. Just think of me as your doctor. It’s a no judgement zone in here.” She reassured you and you calmed down from the mini heart attack you just had. “Plus your boobs are super nice. My A Cups could never.” She whined eliciting a laugh from you. Hatsume turned out to be pretty cool.

Once she was all set up and you were numb and had the design was applied your anxiety was quelled by the overwhelming feeling of pain that you almost forgot.

“Damn I forgot how much this shit hurt.” You laughed in an effort to not tear up. “Makes sense that I was black out drunk the last time.” Hatsume laughed as she continued the process trying to be as gentle as she possibly could (not much change was made, but it’s the thought that counts).

Hatsume had begun the finishing touches and clean up details when you started to hear a bit of commotion outside. You could hear two distinct voices aside from Sero’s coming from the front of the store. It sounded like yelling and it quickly approached you. Hatsume seemed unbothered by it until an angry figure popped its head into the doorway of the “private” room.

“Hatsume!” A buff blond guy yelled as he entered. It took everything in Mei to not accidentally stick you with the gun.

“Bakugou what the fuck!?” Hatsume yelled and whipped her head around. “Do you not understand the concept of a private room?”

“Hatsume I’m not in the mood. I just spent the last half hour getting yelled at for Sero up and leaving without telling anyone and I have to do his little chores now. So give me what Hawks wants so I can get the fuck out of here.” The blond man rants and raves all the while you’re just kind of sitting there trying to cover your tits from the glaring eyes of the crabby intruder.

When his gaze met yours his eyes went wide. You didn’t know what he was expecting to find Hatsume doing back here, but tattooing a half naked girl probably wasn’t it. His eyes snapped back to Hatsume and the malicious glare came back as if he wasn’t phased at all.

“Don’t come in here fucking yelling at me to get you something. One I’m with a client and two I’m doing Hawks favor with all this so don’t demand shit from me. You’ll get it when I’m done.” She seethed, her words laced with venom. She was clearly not a fan of Blondie over here.

At the commotion you heard another set of footsteps approaching quickly. Just great.

“Bakugou calm down.” A taller redhead popped into your view trying to get the angry man from berating the woman who was supposed to be dressing your wound. When he made eye contact with you his whole face lit up red as hell and he quickly turned away to spare you whatever dignity you had left. “Uh... j-just let her finish man.”

“No fucking way. I wasn’t even supposed to be working today, but fucking IcyHot bailed and I just had to chase Tape Face around the whole fucking world. I’m ready to get my shit and go.”

“You do know that this is my business, right? I have an obligation to my clients. Not Hawks, you, or any other goons that try and threaten me. So you will wait.” Hatsume seethed. This set Bakugou off. His large hand came down to grip Mei’s upper arm and pull her in close. His eyes spoke only violence and Hatsume’s an intense fear. This guy was not to be played with. If he was this bad you couldn’t imagine what this Hawks guy was like.

Bakugou was fixing his mouth to spew out another threat, but before he could finish you were already interjecting. “I can wait!” You catch everyone’s attention again; although rather embarrassing.

“What?” Bakugou glares now at you, his stare burning into your skin.

“I said I can wait. Go ahead and do what you need to do Hatsume. No need to cause trouble.” Hatsume’s eyes soften and she shakes out of Bakugou’s death grip.

“Fine.” She sighs and stalks off to the back room she had started in earlier that night. “Bring the car around back. I got everything ready for you.”

Bakugou nodded and he and Red exited out the way they had came in.

Finally you felt like you could breath again. There were no longer so many eyes on you and the tension within the room finally dissipated. This definitely wasn’t how you expected your first date with Sero to go.

A/N: I’m backkk. Had a bit of writers block and I was away visiting family last weekend but I had a free day today and got lots of good ideas about the story while writing this. So yeah ALSO I know in the show Hatsume has big boobs, but everyone has big boobs in My Hero so lemme change it up a bit 😩😩 anyways I hope you guys enjoyed and uploads should start becoming more frequent (I hope :))

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Masterlist

#babylowrites #bnha x black!reader #bnha #mha #mha x female reader #bnha bakugou #black writers #black girls #mha bakugo x reader #sero x female reader #sero hc #sero x reader #mha sero #bnha sero #sero hanta x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #mha hatsume #my hero academia #bnha kirishima

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omniswords · 3 years

Text

chronicles of a parisian dumbass 19

i’m sorry i’ve been MIA ; ; i’ve been up to my ears in streaming and also returning to work in-person. either way, i hope you enjoy this update of chronicles. better late than never right?

strap in 💙💖

If Luka could get at his phone, he wouldn’t know what to type. maybe a vague, oh, fuck. Maybe some long thread about how cryptic conversation starters only ever scared him and ended both of his relationships—only to follow up with silence in the face of a couple of likes, or a reply from a sort-of-stranger that would debilitate him, remind him of his own vulnerability, more than it would reassure him. Hell, maybe even a message to Bubbles about how he was right all along that he’d need the luck. Or how Bubbles was right about how he really was in for it the moment he stepped into the bakery.

It’s just that, with the way Marinette Dupain-Cheng is looking at him on her balcony—all sad, scared softness—he gets the feeling that he’s not meant to repeat whatever she tells him.

Luka steels himself, loosens his death grip on the neck of the guitar, and releases a breath he doesn’t want to hold onto anymore. “Yeah,” he says. “Anything.” It comes out choked from how tight his vocal cords are. The way they get sometimes when he plugs in the microphone and hits RECORD.

She pats the floor in front of her and mumbles something about being on equal ground, and he slides down to meet her, guitar in tow. She looks like she wants to touch it, feel now real it is. Or how real he is. As though that moment with his card wasn’t enough.

“It’s about your sister,” she says, her gaze darting away in shame. “And Adrien. Sort of.”

“Okay,” he says. It’s slow, and uncertain, but he hopes it tells her he’s all ears.

Marinette looks at her lap and draws herself up and in. Like she’s wanted to tell him this for a long time. Like she’s only just found the words for it. “We were pretty close,” she says. “In grade school. Not as close as… Rose, yeah, Rose. But we were in the same class for a couple years. I helped her with some class picture stuff, she listened to me yammer on about Adrien after he joined our class… even helped me come up with some ideas on how to… confess to him? Win him over? I don’t know.” She rubs the back of her neck. “Actually, I think all my girl friends did that.”

Luka nods slowly, thinks of the school photos in the album Juleka bought from the thrift shop, tries to match faces in his head. He thinks he sees pigtails. Or maybe a bun. He could be wrong. “So,” he says, “you had it pretty bad for him, huh.”

“I dunno if I had it bad. Like I said, puppy love. I mean, I thought we were soulmates—God, I even named our kids—and I couldn’t even get out a sentence in front of him. I didn’t even like him at first. Plus, we were like, fourteen. I didn’t know any better.”

He shrugs. “Just cause you were fourteen doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.” He thinks he catches a blush stealing across Marinette’s face then, but maybe it’s just a trick of the lights. “So… what changed?”

“With Juleka? Or Adrien?”

“Both, I guess.”

Marinette turns her head away. “It’s dumb.”

Luka shrugs again, smiling faintly. “So?”

She starts to pick at her nails, like her hands are just looking for something to do. Without thinking, he gives the spinner ring on his index finger a flick to get her attention, then slides it off and hands it to her. She looks at it with questions in her eyes, then slips it on. It barely fits her index finger, and it wobbles when she gives it a curious flick of her own. It seems to get the job done, at least. “He lent me his umbrella,” she mumbles, final but sheepish. Then she follows up, before his brow can so much as furrow, “He was friends with an old bully of mine—Mrs. Bourgeois’s daughter, actually—and I caught him doing something with some gum on my chair. And I… misjudged him. “Another flick. “He was trying to make it up to me. And he said… he didn’t have any friends. He hadn’t even been to school.”

He lets out a hollow laugh. “Rich kids, huh?” And then, at the first sign of her discomfort, “Sorry, I—”

“No,” she says. “It’s okay, I was just thinking…” She presses her thumb into the curve and the aged grooves of the ring more than she actually spins it. Like she cares about losing it more than she cares about comforting herself. “I think everything around me told me that… that was how I was supposed to feel. Unwavering love. Now it’s been years, and I think… I think I just wanted to be that friend for him. I just wanted to be what he was looking for.”

Luka lifts his gaze from the ring to her face. “Who says that’s not love?” He doesn’t know where the words come from. They just feel like the right ones to say.

Marinette freezes, blinking at her hands. She doesn’t say anything; the only sound is the whine of his ring as the metal scrapes together with another flick.

When the silence goes on a bit too long for either of their liking, Luka clears his throat uncertainly. “So, um…”

She speaks so he doesn’t have to. “Juleka,” she murmurs. “Right, um…” It’s hard to tell who’s more uncomfortable between the two of them. Who's really supposed to say what next. “Well, I mean… you can sort of imagine that I wasn’t the only one who wanted to… y’know. Be with Adrien.”

Luka doesn’t have to imagine, but he nods anyway.

“Not”— Marinette hedges—“not that Juleka was competition or anything. I mean, duh. Just… there was this other girl—there were other girls, and…”

“You don’t have to tell me this,” he urges. “If it still hurts.”

She closes her eyes. Hard, and just for a moment. “Please let me tell you this.”

Her voice wavers. That’s all the cue Luka needs to stay quiet. To let her say everything, or nothing, at her pace.

“Her name was Lila,” she says. “She was a new girl. From Italy. Everyone liked her, except… she lied. Like, compulsively. About connections she had, places she’d been, charity work she did. And she did it because she wanted everyone to like her. She was just telling people what they wanted to hear because the attention made her feel important. She thrived on it.” She gets to her feet. “Sorry, I can’t sit still when I get all… agitated. You know?”

Luka gestures vaguely at the balcony space. “That makes two of us.”

Marinette takes that as her cue to start pacing and turning on her heels, only pausing every so often to stare up at the night sky. “I was jealous,” she admits. “I was also our class representative. And I might’ve… used that to my advantage.”

Maybe he shouldn’t say Hell yeah out loud, but he’s definitely thinking it.

“I kept tabs on people’s schedules, you know?” she says. “So we could work on important events and class projects and stuff. There was one we were planning for Adrien, to celebrate that he’d been in school with us for a year and all. And it just so happened that…” she shrugs, feigning apology. “All the days that worked conflicted with all her charity work.”

Luka whistles, half-impressed. “This the part where you tell me she decided to make your life a living hell like some high school drama villain?”

Marinette’s face falls. “Yeah,” she says, and her voice cracks, and he wishes he weren’t right. “But all she did was exactly what I did. Convinced… everybody… that every little thing I did was proof that I wasn’t a real friend. That I couldn't commit to anything because I committed to everything. And especially with how I avoided her… didn’t trust her, treated her cruelly. she turned everyone against me, a little at a time. Even Alya.” She shifts her weight. “Even Juleka.”

Luka’s heart sinks. He almost wants to reach for her hands when she paces toward him. Almost wants to kick himself for asking, “And… then what?”

She lingers at the balcony railing, perhaps preferring to tell the night sky the rest. “She got me expelled.”

Luka tenses.

Marinette doesn’t notice. “I’d been telling myself for months that I deserved it. Eventually I just… believed it. Let it happen. Never talked to my classmates again.” She shrugs. “I cried a lot. Transferred schools. Threw myself into… everything. Because if Lila said that was what I was doing—just over-committing—I might as well own it. And because if I was constantly doing something, then I couldn’t stop to think about all the bad things I deserved. And I couldn’t be paranoid about being judged for every little thing I did.”

“What…” He’s trying, with every fiber in him, to keep his heart from breaking for her. To keep himself from blurting out how well he knows the feeling. “What about Alya? And Adrien, and, uh… Mrs. Bourgeois’s kid?”

Marinette turns to face him, leaning back against the railing, and something in her face—no, everything—changes. There’s a tiredness in her eyes, a twitch in her hands. Lines in her face that shouldn’t be there for decades. As though she’s just lived them all over again. “I didn’t talk to Alya for over a year. I couldn’t be friends with her. I couldn’t even talk to her.” Her gaze lowers. “It was really hard on Nino.”

“Nino?”

“Our friend. well. My friend. Her boyfriend. He’s the one I’ve been helping for that summer project.” She folds her arms tight. “He apologized first. If it weren’t for him, Alya and I still wouldn’t be talking. And Chloé, well… Mrs. Bourgeois’s recommendation letter had nothing to do with her. I entered some contests with my portfolio and won a couple of them.” She flicks her gaze back. “I did run into Chloé once. In New York. I guess she decided to live with her mom for a while. She kind of took the ‘enemy of my enemy is my ally’ approach. Which was… weird. But tolerable.”

Luka searches her face, even at a distance, and settles on the end of the deck chair again. “What about Adrien?”

The pause that follows is heavy. He can’t tell who feels the weight of it more; he just hopes it’s equal. Marinette scrunches up her lips, braces herself on the railing, and all those decades come back. “Well,” she murmurs. “I guess you don’t really realize what you have until it’s gone, huh.”

He sobers. “He felt guilty.”

“I guess we all did.” She scuffs her heel. “I guess we all do.”

Luka waits. There must be more she wants to say.

There is. She even starts pacing again. “My guidance counselor used to tell me that all that’s necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing. It was supposed to be comforting.”

He raises an eyebrow. “It doesn’t sound very comforting.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” she says, “He reminded me they were still good people, and good people could do bad things, and even if they were still good, it was okay for me to not want those people in my life anymore. I dunno.” She rocks on her feet. “Maybe someone told Adrien the same thing and he couldn’t stand doing nothing anymore.”

“Did you want him?” he asks. “In your life? Do you still?”

She heaves a laugh like it’s hard to do. “Would you think it was messed up if I said yes?”

“No, of course not.”

“He could see it,” she says. “What Lila was doing. That was why he felt so bad. That was why he convinced her to clear my name. Turns out he knows how to use things to his advantage, too.”

Luka softens and runs his fingers over the body of his guitar. “He must love you a lot,” he says, “if he was willing to do all that for you.”

At first, Marinette doesn’t say anything, only grips the railing tighter. He can see it, how her knuckles go white, as though there’s something she’s trying to forget. Then she murmurs, “She tried to talk to me. Juleka did. To… apologize… I ghosted her. I didn’t want to deal with it anymore. For a while, I didn’t want to deal with anything anymore. I don’t want you to think it didn’t hurt me, because it did. It did hurt.”

Luka’s stomach turns. He puts his guitar down. “That’s why you’ve been so nice to me, huh…” There’s a lump in his throat that he tries to swallow; he only partly succeeds. “You felt guilty about avoiding her and just… wanted to make it up to her.”

Something flashes across Marinette’s face. Horror, maybe. Or shame. “No, I—that’s not what I—”

“I’m not upset.” He’s not. He’s staring at the floor with a pit in his stomach and a shake in his limbs, and his knee is starting to throb again in protest, but he’s not upset. “Really. I get it. If that’s what you needed for your own closure, then…”

A ragged breath and a sniffle cut him off, and he’s barely able to lift his gaze before Marinette kneels in front of him, placing his ring in his palm and closing his fingers around it. He can’t revel in the touch—won’t let himself—because her hands are cold. Trembling. “Don’t go,” she whispers, squeezing his hand tight, and when he looks up there are tears staining her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t even be asking this of you, just… please, don’t go.”

Luka learned, a long time ago, to look for the things unsaid. when I can’t make it really meant I’m trying to avoid you. when you’re certainly different really meant God, you are a level of fucked-up I can’t put into words. When we need to talk really meant it's over.

He hears, “Please don’t go,” and he thinks he finds, I want you in my life. Don’t you want me in yours?

Or, maybe, I need you.

Or maybe it’s as simple, as desperate, as, Not you, too.

He’s known Juleka, and maybe even himself, long enough to know what that sounds like in other people.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Hey, I’m not going.”

Marinette freezes, still staring at their hands. “Why? You have every reason to.”

“Because I’m not.”

“You’ve known me for like, two months, as what? A baker’s daughter? Overly nice customer service? Someone who just gave you kindness out of some dumb high school guilt?”

“I’m not going,” Luka says again.

“You should.” Marinette rubs her eyes dry. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.” He coaxes his hand open, slides the ring back onto her finger. “Isn’t that enough?”

Marinette studies the ring, giving it a cautious flick. As though touching it might break it altogether. “It’s too big.”

“Then I’ll trade you.” Luka takes the ring back, digs around in his pocket, and fishes out a couple of guitar picks. “Here. Take one.”

One of them has a picture of Jagged Stone’s face. The other has a Kitty Section logo, crudely painted on with some of Juleka’s old nail polish. Marinette takes the first one almost instantly with another sniffle, examining it from all sides. “He’s… my favorite.”

“Yeah.” Luka smiles, not minding that she can’t see it, and thinks of the album cover. “Mine, too.”

She runs her thumb over the faces and edges, blinking away whatever tears threaten to stick around. “Why?” she asks again.

“To prove it.” He tilts his head. “To prove I’m not going.”

She turns the pick this way and that, but doesn’t put it away just yet. Instead, her eyes drift toward his guitar and the amp, and then up to him. “Hey,” she says. “Do you think you could do me a favor?”

“I know,” he tells her. “I won’t tell Jules about any of this. And I won’t make you talk to her if you don’t want to.” And I’ll stay. I swear to God I’ll stay.

“Not that.” Marinette presses her lips together, still sitting on her knees. Still holding on to the pick for dear life. “Can you play it again?”

“What, the song from your playlist?”

“Me.” She looks away, her cheeks flushed and blotchy. “Can you play me. Again.”

Luka’s heart picks up, so loud he can barely hear anything else. Even her. “Yeah,” he says, setting his guitar in his lap, “Yeah, I think I got it this time.”

i guess it’s eleven now.

#miraculous ladybug #lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #fic: chronicles of a parisian dumbass #ah.............. emotions.

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sunnypogue · 4 years

Text

hockey!jj: the origin story (feat. hockey!rafe)

rafe isn’t the only obx boy that plays hockey.

a couple weeks ago, @oopmyheartwent-obx & i created hockey!jj - loosely based on rat king/elite shit-talker, travis konecny.

this is his origin story.

(major, MAJOR shout out to my lady @oopmyheartwent-obx for compiling all of our insane notes, creating a google doc & carrying the team on her back for this lil headcanon - we’ll be posting additional hockey!jj/coho!rafe stuff to both blogs, so keep an eye out for a masterlist in the near future!)

warnings: cursing, fighting.

It started when JJ was nine

John B had come sprinting home to the chateau, an hour after he normally got home from school, two hockey sticks tucked under his arm

“Look what I found! Lost and found!”

The boys immediately took to the street, swinging them around like maniacs, trying to hit an old tennis ball as far as they could

JJ had a particularly hard shot - he nailed a car, denting the door

Needless to say, he was hooked.

JJ became a bit notorious for terrorizing the streets of the outer banks, playing street hockey from sunup to sun down, recruiting anyone and everyone to play

Most of the kids on the cut didn’t get hockey, considering it a kook sport & opting to spend their summers surfing instead

Why play a game on ice when they lived on the beach?

So JJ found himself (begrudgingly) playing with kooks, taking solace in the fact that he was significantly better than most of them

Blatantly ignoring the fact that most of them were more focused on lacrosse anyway

And that’s how Ward Cameron found him

Rafe also played hockey, had been playing for several years in a travel league, and he was pretty good despite constantly carrying the weight of his dad’s expectations

Rafe and JJ rarely crossed paths - Rafe was vocally “above street hockey,” opting to travel to the mainland for his reserved ice time (along with his regular team practices)

JJ was better though - it was like hockey came naturally to him, and Ward saw the opportunity to capitalize on his skill

JJ was wary at first - because what the fuck did Ward Cameron want to do with a 10 year old pogue like himself?

But then Ward promised him an opportunity to play actual ice hockey - and how could JJ say no?

An escape from his shitty home life and the opportunity to finally play with some talent sounded like heaven to young JJ

Ward took JJ under his wing

Signed him up for the local team, bought him skates, new gear, and made sure he was able to be at every practice

Made sure he had the tutors and the resources necessary to clean up his grades for future college possibilities

JJ was immediately recognized as “raw talent” - he lasted on the peewee squad for exactly one week, before being moved up to the travel bantam team, making him the lone 10 year old on a U14 team

Which also meant he was teammates with Rafe

Carpool buddies!

Rafe simultaneously loved and hated it. It took some of the pressure off of him as his dad’s attention shifted

But he also craved his dad’s attention and approval - which he was no longer getting with JJ in the picture

Conversation at the Cameron dinner table often consisted of “JJ’s latest achievement on the ice,” with Ward rattling off stats like a rinkside reporter.

“He’s leading the team in points, despite missing two games - I think the next kid is like, 13 points behind him.”

Rafe would roll his eyes, stabbing at whatever vegetable was left on his plate, “I’m the next kid, dad.”

He wanted to make the point that he was a defender and JJ was a forward, but he knew his dad wouldn’t care.

He was right.

Ward would wave a dismissive hand, continuing his praise for JJ

“Kid’s so chippy, makes up for his huge size disadvantage”

This one especially hurt Rafe, who was one of the biggest guys on the team

“I’ve never seen anything like his playmaking ability, no one else on the team even comes close to his vision”

Ward essentially became JJ’s foster-hockey dad, convinced this scrawny kid from the cut would Make It Big

JJ never had to pay a dime - travel & league fees completely covered, the latest gear waiting for him in the Cameron’s foyer before practice (after JJ would bike 8 miles from the cut before sunrise to make it on time for carpool)

When recruits started knocking? Ward was advocating for JJ (a sophomore), meeting with coaches from UND, Wisconsin, BU, BC - the big ones.

Ward helped him put together highlight footage - “It’s like a portfolio, son, so they can see what you can really do.”

Fielding calls from NTDP (which JJ was wary about, because...leaving the outer banks? In the middle of high school? - terrifying.)

Meanwhile, Rafe (a senior) was attempting to lock down his SINGULAR offer from Huntsville, and trying (but failing) to swallow any jealousy/animosity he had towards JJ and his dad.

Of course, JJ and Rafe’s teammates were Very Aware of the weird dynamic the OBX boys had - they would occasionally chirp JJ for his “sugar daddy,” chirp Rafe about playing with his “stepbrother”

Rafe & JJ would go along with it, internalizing any frustration, offering up some half assed comebacks in response

They both wanted out of the outer banks, if keeping their heads down and getting along was the way to do it - so be it.

But you know - boys.

One practice - late June, days before Rafe was supposed to head down to Huntsville to report for summer conditioning - one of their teammates made a particularly nasty comment

Spouting something about Rafe leaving, meaning Ward was finally able to put all of his time into his actual prodigal son: JJ.

Rafe saw red - he was on top of the guy in a matter of seconds, shoving him to the ice as he tried to rip his helmet off

All the years of frustration, of feeling second best in his own dad’s eyes, surged forward, and Rafe couldn’t stop it

JJ was the first to the scrap, trying to pull Rafe off of their teammate before any real physical damage could be done, yelling at him to “calm the fuck down!”

Rafe knew getting the reputation of the hothead who’d fight his teammates looked bad to the coaches, but he didn’t want to hear it - especially from JJ, who’d essentially ruined his life

Rafe shook him off - “Don’t fucking touch me, you wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me, still playing street hockey with your dirty pogue friends on the cut.”

JJ flew back, face bright red from Rafe’s sharp comment - he fired back before he could think - “Whatever, you fucking loser. Have fun slumming it in Huntsville.”

Rafe glanced up, gritting his teeth as he chucked his glove in JJ’s direction, before skating towards him and shoving him over with his stick. He towered over JJ, sweaty hair dangling onto his forehead as he hissed - “Keep trying to pretend to be someone you’re not - we all know you don’t belong here.”

Rafe threw his other glove at him, nailing JJ in the chest, before standing up straight, slicking his hair back with one hand -

“Fucking leech.”

#jj maybank #rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #outer banks fic #jj maybank fic #rafe cameron fic #drew starkey #rudy pankow #outer banks imagine #coho!rafe #hockey!jj #hockey!rafe #obx fic

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misssophiachase · 3 years

Note

prompt- AH Klaroline. we usually see klaus developing feelings for caroline while she's in a relationship with someone else. i would like to see something where klaus has been in an established relationship with another girl and caroline realizes that she's developed feelings for him. (if you don't have time to do this one, don't worry about it).

Thanks nonnie, I love it so much! Inspired really. Got a bit carried away too, see notes at the end.

Synopsis: One wedding and a completely confused best man and maid of honour.

“And all you never say is that you love me so.”

All You Never Say

Caroline Forbes, Maid of Honour, Invites you to celebrate:

The Bachelorette Party for

Katherine Pierce

On Saturday fifteenth of June, twenty-twenty one at Connaught Bar, Mayfair, London at 2000h

Dress: Party Attire

One week before the nuptials - Connaught Bar, London England, 10:21pm

“What happened to the Kitty Kat I knew who’d usually be dancing on the bar right now and showing the stripper just how it’s done?”

Although her tone was light and teasing, Caroline was a little disappointed given this was her best friend’s bachelorette party and there wasn’t a tacky veil or penis straw in sight.

Also, they’d been forced to hire out a venue to avoid unwanted media attention before the big day so the atmosphere wasn’t quite what she was expecting either.

The word lacklustre seemed a good word to describe it all.

Maid of Honour Caroline had been banned from most fun things when organising Kat’s last night of ‘freedom’.

“She’s marrying one of the United Kingdom’s most eligible bachelors, not to mention the youngest Minister in the Government’s Cabinet. That doesn’t really go with the wholesome reputation she’s trying to portray, Care,” Bonnie offered, eating the olive from her martini. “Although, I think it’s a shame you can’t put those pole dancing moves we learned in Cabo to good use.”

“This is one pathetic stripper, just saying,” Rebekah offered, joining them at the bar and stealing Bonnie’s drink from her outstretched hands.

“I was on the other side of the world, I could only go by his rating on the internet,” Caroline argued. “Plus, I also had to find one who kept some clothes on and we all know what that means.”

“What’s underneath doesn’t match the whole package,” Bonnie finished. “We don’t need to tip him, do we?”

When Katherine called Caroline thirteen months earlier to say she was engaged to Elijah, Caroline couldn’t have been happier. They’d all met each other at private boarding school and had stayed in touch ever since and even though they seemed like opposites, Kat and Elijah complemented one another.

Also, Katherine’s job as head neurosurgeon at one of London’s most prestigious private hospitals and her impressive family inheritance greatly helped matters when it came to swaying his parents on the engagement.

The Mikaelsons.

Mikael and Esther were extremely wealthy and well-connected in English society. They came from family money and owned a large and impressive property portfolio spanning the entire globe and had sent their children to the best boarding school the US had to offer.

Phillips Exeter Academy in New Hampshire.

Caroline wasn’t wealthy like the rest of her friends. She’d be lying if that fact didn’t make her feel somewhat inferior. Her father owned the local general store and, if it weren’t for her scholarship, Caroline would have ended up in public school. Not that she would have minded but her father insisted it was too good an opportunity to pass up.

Attending the exclusive boarding school had been an adjustment to say the least and not just because of the ugly and uncomfortable uniforms they had to wear. Caroline was assigned to a room with three fellow students.

Katherine Pierce, although the daughter of a talented cardiothoracic surgeon and a world class architect, was wild and impulsive and constantly in trouble with the dean for her indiscretions like sneaking out to meet boys and smoking on occasion.

Bonnie Bennett was the gorgeous but serious high achiever whose parents owned one of the biggest publishing houses in the world. She was taught never to take anything for granted and work hard for what she wanted in life.

Rebekah Mikaelson, while strong-willed and passionate, was the odd one out from the beginning. She made it her aim in life to drive the other girls crazy with her brittle personality and unwanted opinions. Although it took a while, and a few choice fights that needed to be broken up between her and Katherine, the girls became best friends.

Rebekah’s brothers all attended the school at the same time but in different years with Elijah the eldest followed by Klaus then Kol and youngest sibling Rebekah.

The Mikaelson boys and their best friend from home, Enzo St John, were definitely the most popular and sought after by the female student body. Caroline, not being one to conform, refused to play that game. She had no intention of stroking their egos any further, especially head womaniser Klaus.

There was no doubting he was gorgeous, it ran in their family after all, but he knew it.

Caroline found that she could have a fun time with Enzo, a deep and meaningful discussion with Elijah and a joke with Kol but when it came to Klaus all he did was tease her and rile her up.

Of course she told herself it was because he was an immature idiot but wasn’t overly convinced it was the only reason given the looks she’d send his way when she knew no one was looking. Caroline hoped whatever weird thing was happening would dissipate when they graduated.

Kol and Bonnie had dated for a year at school, but apart from them they all stayed friends. So much so, that after they’d all graduated and gone their separate ways in life they still caught up for most significant occasions.

This wedding being one of many.

Katherine and Elijah had reconnected in Boston and, even though she always said he was too serious, they fell in love and were now on the verge of marriage.

Caroline was so excited, if not about the bachelorette party.

“Who are we kidding? I got the wild stuff out when you three were all too busy being good girls in boarding school,” she scoffed. Caroline wouldn’t admit it aloud but she had a point. “And there’s nothing stopping you three from getting up there with the stripper.”

“Pass,” all three replied, looking up at him ominously.

“How about we get out of here and see what the boys are up to?” Katherine suggested a twinkle in her brown eyes.

“Because I think that defeats the purpose of a bachelorette party, Pierce,” Caroline drawled. “And this is Elijah, no offence but poker doesn’t sound all that exciting if you ask me.”

“Says the girl with the special poker skills,” Kat smiled deviously. “Klaus likes to think he’s the best player but we all know you could give him a run for his money. I’d say watching you fleece him is a fun way to spend an evening.”

Caroline had to admit angering the best man and her wedding partner certainly had its benefits. They’d seen each other in passing the previous day on arrival but otherwise hadn’t connected much recently because she was based on the West coast in Los Angeles and him on the East in New York City.

He was the CEO of a prominent stockbroking firm and, by all reports, had been dating a Texan oil billionaire’s daughter and model, Hayley someone, for the past year.

Okay, her surname was Marshall.

She may have read a few editions of Page Six and seen them attending premieres and openings. She was sort of attractive.

Okay, she was gorgeous with big, brown doe eyes and a glossy chestnut mane and legs for days.

Caroline told herself that she didn’t care more times than she could count but there was also something lingering beneath the surface with Klaus. She would have endeavoured to forget him after school had it not been for something that happened two years earlier and changed her opinion of him completely.

Bastard.

And with that came the insecurity she hated. Even though she’d carved out a successful career as a human rights lawyer, she’d never fit into his life because she didn’t have a rich family or a huge inheritance like Hayley. Not that she cared but she knew his family did.

She noticed her friends giving her weird looks, clearly she didn’t realise how much of a Klaus trance she’d descended into.

“Sure. Why not?”

American Bar, Savoy Hotel, London 11:07pm

“This is lame,” Kol scoffed, throwing his cards on the makeshift poker table.

“He’s only saying that because he’s losing,” Enzo laughed, pulling the chips towards him greedily.

“No, I’m saying that because this is no bachelor party,” he huffed, standing up and going to the bar to make himself another drink. “You couldn’t even organise one, measly stripper?”

As with the girls, the guys had hired out the venue for privacy reasons, not that they were actually doing anything untoward.

Klaus had won the most money so far but he’d left the table to take a call from Hayley letting Enzo win a few rounds in his absence. She was arriving the next day for the wedding and was calling to check on the arrangements.

Klaus was certain he’d told her multiple times but she was someone who liked things just right. But she also liked to call.

A lot.

At first he thought it was endearing but after a year he was starting to realise it was largely overkill. So too, her obsession with all things materialistic and celebrity and having to be at the opening of everything and anything. Klaus liked to keep more of a low profile if he could and that trait only reminded him of his parents and their chosen life together.

When he’d met her during a wild weekend in Miami, Klaus was immediately taken with her. He even thought it was love but decided that was just the tequila talking and it was most definitely lust. Klaus didn’t do relationships and he assumed she would be a momentary distraction until his parents had taken a strong liking to her. Or more accurately to her wealth and family connections and future prospects for them.

With Mikael and Esther it wasn’t much about love but what you did for a living and how much money your family had. Their marriage was case in point.

Klaus wasn’t one to do what his parents told him but he’d long felt the black sheep given his secret paternity and decided it would be good to earn their favour for a change.

There was also another reason to entertain the relationship, one that had made him realise that, no matter what, he was always going to have to settle for second best.

“Are we interrupting anything?” Klaus looked up into the eyes of his future sister-in-law. He and Katherine had acted like siblings from the moment they met so to him her marriage to Elijah was inevitable.

“Great!” Kol growled from his vantage point behind the bar. “Not only do I have to sit through this poor excuse for a party but now the girls have arrived.”

“Nice to see you too, Kol,” Bonnie said, raising her eyebrows. Although they’d dated over ten years ago everyone seemed to think something was still very much happening between them.

“As much as I’m glad to see my beautiful fiance,” Elijah smiled, standing so he could pull her into his arms affectionately. “I’m not sure this is the done thing.”

“Oh, you mean like strippers, brother?”

“You’re more than welcome to our stripper, Kol, we only left him in Mayfair about ten minutes ago so you might be able to catch him if you’re lucky,” Rebekah teased, swiping a few of Enzo’s prized chips from the table.

“Oi, woman!” He muttered, attempting to take it back while she squealed in response.

Rebekah and Enzo had been play fighting since he was eleven and she was nine. The rest of the group all knew it was unresolved tension that would finally sort itself out some day so were just waiting for it to click into place.

“So, what you’re telling me is that the girls were allowed to have a stripper?” Clearly, Kol wasn’t letting this one go easily.

“Oh would you please shut up, little brother, does it shock you that Elijah didn’t actually want one?” Klaus barked, his brother wearing on his last nerve.

For the most part his gaze had been surreptitiously trained on the maid of honour. Attired in a little, black dress that hugged her in all the right places it was incredibly distracting. She was also wearing her hair just how he liked it, loose and a little wild. How many times had he imagined running his fingers through those waves? Too many to count.

Yes, Caroline Forbes was his dirty little secret. One that he had every intention of keeping because it would do him no good to reveal it.

“I promise that when you get married I’ll book out an entire strip club,” Enzo offered, stealing the chip from Rebekah’s grasp while she wasn’t watching and sending her a triumphant smirk. “Happy?”

“Are we playing poker or what?” Caroline asked. This got his attention. Klaus looked over at her, his eyebrows cocked curiously.

“You play poker, love?”

“I dabble,” she replied, taking a seat at the table. “I mean, I used to play with my grandpa when I was about ten. Pretty sure the rules haven’t changed much since then.” It would have been adorable if Klaus wasn’t so competitive by nature.

“We are playing for real money here,” he warned, giving her one last chance to back out. “I mean I wouldn’t want to take advantage.”

“I’m a big girl and can take care of myself,” she shot back. “So, just deal the cards, Mikaelson.”

The others took their place and the game was restarted, even Kol seemed to have gotten out of his funk to play. The first hand went like this:

“All red,” Rebekah smiled triumphantly, laying her cards on the table. After betting her entire bank it was sufficed to say she was out from the get-go.

“All red? Seriously, little sister? Can you please take her away Enzo and never let her play ever again,” Klaus muttered through gritted teeth. How were they even related?

Second hand ended in Katherine and Elijah being expelled for too much PDA at the poker table. Neither of the love birds minded a little time out in the corner.

Third hand came down to a poor display of bluffing from Kol while Bonnie complained because all she wanted to do was play Go Fish because it was more entertaining.

Then there were two.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just give in, Forbes?” Klaus asked, leaning back lazily in his chair. She was studying her cards carefully. Most hands she’d folded before betting anything and he was starting to realise she was too careful, much like the girl he knew in real life.

“Give me a minute,” she hissed, fastening a loose wave behind her ear. Klaus could tell it was a sign of a bad hand but at the same time he wished he was the one to place it there.

“Okay, I want three cards,” she asked, placing the discarded ones face down.

“Maybe you should just fold, love?” He asked, partly because he was concerned but also because Klaus knew he was that accomplished. His straight flush was looking extremely good right now.

“Maybe you shouldn’t tell me what to do, ass,” she offered, noting his shocked look in response. “I was just trying to counter your love with something equally fitting.”

“Fine,” he murmured trying to pretend not to feel dejected. “Three cards.”

She took them and again studied them closely. Meanwhile the rest of the group had gathered around, no doubt sensing this was their last hand and everyone could finally go home.

“Okay, how about we stop beating around the bush and I just bet everything I have,” she said pushing it all into the middle.

“You’re bluffing,” he blurted out, knowing it was impossible she had a hand to beat his flush.

“I guess you’ll have to bet to find out,” she smiled. All he wanted to do was kiss it off her face and that was just for starters. He shook his head reminding himself that he needed to relax.

“Call,” she said, her expression serious. They held each other’s gaze for a prolonged period, Klaus telling himself it was to try and read the poker signs but that wasn’t it at all. He suddenly realised that he could stare at her for hours and never tire.

Not just hours, forever maybe.

He cleared his throat knowing that everyone was now watching in anticipation.

“Straight flush,” he grinned proudly, laying it out on the table. She gave it a brief look before placing hers next to his.

“All red.” Given it was a ten, Jack, Queen, King and Ace of diamonds, also known as a royal flush, she was clearly being facetious.

“You played me, Forbes.” He finally uttered amongst the cheers and Rebekah’s insistence that she must have had a winning hand all along.

She pulled the chips towards her happily choosing not to respond immediately. His eyes were still trained on her though, desperate for some kind of response.

“And you underestimated me, Mikaelson,” she murmured.

Yes. Maybe he had underestimated her and everything else.

TBC - Next part will be up tomorrow PM..there’s a chance encounter in the middle of the night, a rehearsal dinner and a slight wedding mishap before the big day. But let me know what you think so far : )

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