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***

The Backstory

September 2006

In Nora Priestley’s fourteen years of life, she’s never lived this far away from the ocean before. It’s always been just right outside her window, a quick ten-minute trek from Thames Street until she reached the rolling dunes of Rejects Beach. Smelling the salt in her hair and feeling her skin grow sticky from the feeling of the ocean air was practically second-nature to her, but ever since she moved to the middle of nowhere Connecticut for boarding school, she’s never felt more disconnected from normality in her life.

Nora’s never really been a big fan of embracing change. She’d like to blame that on the fact that she’s never really had any monumental shifts to her tectonic plates so far in her short life, and she’s not quite sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.

It’s always been just her and her mom. A dynamic duo. A tag team of epic proportions.

Growing up in Newport, Rhode Island could be worse, Nora thinks. She was lucky enough to grow up in a small coastal town where everybody accepted her in one way or another. Even though she was much different than the other kids her age, considering she spent most of her time alone while her mother worked, she never felt unhappy. Life was simple. Life was easy.

Nora and her mother, Shannon, lived in a small apartment in a renovated old colonial townhouse at the bottom of Thames Street. It was a third-floor walk-up, and in the heat of the summer when the humidity made the wallpaper begin to curl at the edges of her tiny paisley-coated bedroom, Nora had to sleep with her creaky window open with nothing but a thin sheet to cover her sweat-soaked body, the soft sounds of the rolling waves crashing against the shore lulling her to sleep.

Shannon Priestley was the ultimate leading lady in Nora’s life. She referred to Nora as her perfect mistake, because having a baby the summer she turned eighteen with a boy she thought would be her forever was the very definition of that phrase. But she handled it like she did everything else in her life—with grace and dignity, and nothing but a big gleaming grin on her face that always made Nora and everyone else lucky enough to be around her sunbeam feel that everything would be okay.

With a one-year-old baby on her hip and a bright and shiny high school diploma under her belt, Shannon found a job listing to be a nanny for the Clemonte’s. Without a second’s deliberation, she packed up her things and moved to the tip of the state to Newport.

The Clemonte’s were one of the wealthiest families in Newport, hailing from an impressive lineage of old money with an expansive estate of fourteen acres overlooking Ochre Point and the Atlantic Ocean. They were one of those families that named their properties, and when Shannon Priestley first stepped foot inside The Breakers mansion, she knew right then and there that her new bosses had very high expectations for her.

Shannon became the singular nanny to Warren and Jane Clemonte’s baby son, William. He was born three months after Nora, and even though Shannon felt slighted that she had to spend most of her days with another family’s child while her own was being watched by their downstairs neighbor, she promised to split her time evenly. And even though twenty-four hours in a day was never enough for Shannon, she made sure to spend most of it with Nora.

And Nora was always grateful for that.

The second Nora was old enough to take care of herself, she started going to The Breakers after school so that her mom could walk her home. It was at that very moment when she had her first taste of ostentatious luxury, and from then on it never failed to amaze her. The other half certainly did live differently than Nora and her mother, and stepping foot inside the Clemonte’s mansion made that realization startlingly clear.

This was when she first met William Clemonte. Nora always knew he existed, considering her mother would sprinkle in small anecdotes about him while doing other mundane tasks. “Willy was very quiet today,” Shannon would tell Nora on their walk home from Ochre Point to Lower Thames. “Mr. and Mrs. Clemonte want Willy to take piano lessons and learn Latin. How on earth is a seven-year-old supposed to handle that?”

To Nora, Willy was somewhat of a fictional character living behind the towering walls of The Breakers. She imagined him being a smaller boy, blonde with blue eyes and wearing some sort of matching ensemble sitting inside the thick walls of his mansion, overlooking the deep cobalt ocean through a grand wall of windows. But when she meets him one afternoon after her first day of second grade, she could not be any more wrong.

Sure, Willy Clemonte was a small boy, but he was by no means shy or scared of her. He took her on a tour through the grand halls of The Breakers, showed her all of the secret passageways built inside the walls from when the mansion was first erected back in the early twentieth century, and shared his brand new toys with her.

But most importantly, he listened to her. He asked her a million questions about public school, about the world outside of his tall fortress, about the television shows Shannon let Nora watch after dinner, and the different kinds of popular music other kids their age were listening to.

“Wait, so *NSYNC isn’t just Justin Timberlake?” Willy would ask whenever Nora would show him what was inside her portable CD player (which was almost exclusively No Strings Attached until she reached the fourth grade).

“Oh my god, Willy! *NSYNC is a boyband! Justin is just the best one,” Nora would scold right back, shoving the plastic headphones over his blonde head of hair so that the felt cushions would press against his ear, the vibrating thumps of “Bye Bye Bye” playing through the electronic equipment.

Whenever he would ask her about school, Willy was always shocked to hear how different her experience was from his own. Nora would tell him about the yellow school buses that picked up and dropped off her friends, she would show up to his house afterward wearing jeans and a pink Gap sweatshirt and he was always surprised to learn that kids could wear whatever they wanted during the day, and when she would come over on Fridays and tell him that her mother gave her a dollar for pizza day at lunchtime, Willy wished more and more that he could go to public school with her, too.

While Willy was nothing but sunshine and kindness, Warren Clemonte was the complete opposite. A cold and distant man, stern and grumpy with a perpetual frown on his face, he sent a terrifying chill all the way down to Nora’s bones until they rattled together like a hollow instrument. And one Thursday afternoon when Shannon was busy packing Willy’s bags for the Clemonte’s annual Christmas trip to Aspen, Warren caught his son running around the main hall searching through every nook and cranny for Nora’s impressive hiding spot. It was only once she heard the bellowing yells when she emerged from behind an old armoire in the library, peeking her head around the corner to watch Warren yell at Willy in the echoing hallway.

“What do you think you’re doing, running around when you’ve left your Latin workbook unfinished?” Warren demanded, his low voice bouncing off the thick walls.

“I’m sorry, dad. I was just—”

“—Just what? Playing around and avoiding your responsibilities? How are you supposed to learn anything if you spend all of your time dilly-dallying with that girl, William?”

Willy began to cry then, and before Nora could interfere, her mother was already ten steps ahead of her, entering the main hall and apologizing profusely while her daughter stayed hidden behind the old armoire, watching everything with regretful eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Clemonte. I was just packing for Willy, I didn’t realize he had run off. I’ll make sure it never happens again, sir,” Shannon said, placing a comforting arm around Willy’s shaking shoulders while his father stood barely five feet away, watching his wailing son with lifeless eyes.

“Please do, Miss Priestley. William does not need any more distractions.” His voice held a clipped finality to it, and when he walked away and Nora appeared from behind the wall to approach Willy who was clutching her mother for dear life, she never understood how his father could just leave his son to fall apart in front of him like that.

That was the last afternoon Nora ever spent at The Breakers.

Up until four months ago, Nora was almost certain that the entire Clemonte family had forgotten that she existed, and that treacherous afternoon with Willy nearly seven years ago was just a sad memory that could be tarnished for the rest of eternity. But when her mother comes home with a thick black and red folder, the words Townbridge Academy in capital letters splayed against the front page above a golden crest, Nora’s never been more confused in her life.

When she asked her mother what she was doing with a boarding school acceptance letter in her hand that Nora had never heard of before, the answer she received was definitely not what she had expected. Apparently, Mrs. Clemonte found out that Nora was planning on attending the public high school on Broadway Street, and apparently, she believed that she could offer Shannon a lending hand. Nora would like to blame it all on Jane Clemonte’s philanthropic tendencies, but a few phone calls and a faxed copy of Nora’s stellar transcripts later, Nora was appointed a lofty scholarship to attend Townbridge Academy in the fall.

All things considered, Nora did not want to go. She liked her middle school friends, she liked being her own person, she liked knowing that her mom was only a twenty-minute walk away, and most importantly, she liked not having to be associated with a family like the Clemonte’s. She didn’t want to be seen as a charity case, and accepting the scholarship on Mrs. Clemonte’s behalf to attend a prestigious boarding school like Townbridge Academy was exactly that.

But when her mother sat her down and told her how amazing this opportunity was, and how much Nora could accomplish with a diploma from one of the best schools in the country, Nora couldn’t bring herself to say no. Especially when her mother held her close and whispered in her ear, “God, Nora, you can do all of the things I never could have done,” Nora knew that there was no way she could break her mother’s heart.

Because now, standing in her new dorm room with deep oak walls, a creaky polished hardwood floor, a red ornamental rug that smelled a bit like Warren Clemonte’s cologne, and a small twin bed nestled in the corner underneath a window overlooking the bleak green hills of Connecticut—Nora Priestley wishes she had told her mother no.

Before she can even wallow in her own self-imposed misery, the front door opens revealing an older man carrying a trolley holding a matching six-piece set of luggage. Nora looks down to the singular old leather suitcase she purchased at a surplus store on Spruce Street resting on the floor, comparing it to the monogrammed navy blue set with the gold letters ARW spanning across each piece.

The man begins placing each suitcase onto the floor without uttering a word to a very confused Nora, and suddenly the door opens wider, a pretty girl with strawberry blonde hair floating into the room. She’s wearing a white tennis skirt that rests a few inches above her kneecap, with a powder blue collared shirt cuffed at the wrists. For a brief moment, Nora wonders if her mother purchased the wrong uniform set for her, but when the girl lifts her eyes from her Blackberry and looks over at Nora, she notices a sailor’s crest embroidered on the right side above her chest with more initials, and she begins to breathe a little.

“Hi! You must be my roommate, I’m Nor—”

“—Where are the rest of your bags?” the girl interrupts, eyeing the old leather suitcase disdainfully. Nora’s fingers immediately fly up to her scalp and begin raking through her blonde hair, a nervous habit she’s tried her hardest to get rid of.

“I have a duffle on the desk chair, too,” Nora explains quietly, removing her hand from her hair so that she can point towards the old wooden desk that holds her mother’s duffle bag.

Nora watches as the girl’s piercing gaze shifts from her two flimsy bags to her outfit. And when Nora watches beady hazel eyes take in her old white tank top, her mom’s grey knit cardigan, thrifted bootcut jeans, and sandals from two summers ago, Nora’s never wanted to disappear more in her life.

Before she can find the words to speak, Nora hears a shrill “Alyssa!” echo through the hallway, until a matching set of girls wearing nautical-inspired clothing and thick headbands are hugging the strawberry blonde-haired girl who just so obviously judged Nora a few moments ago.

“Who’s this?” one of the girls asks Alyssa, breaking away from their hug and looking over at Nora with interest.

Just as Nora reaches a hand out to introduce herself, Alyssa says, “Doesn’t matter. Let’s go, girls,” and the three girls spin around without even uttering a goodbye.

Nora watches as they walk down the hallway, giggling the entire way as if they hadn’t singlehandedly just ruined her first official day away from home.

***

October 2006

The first month at boarding school is just a series of Nora playing catch up. While she thought going to public school and hanging out with normal people would be enough to prepare her for high school, three weeks in she’s never felt more lost in her entire life.

She’s one of the only students who doesn’t own a cellphone, she wears second-hand Sperry’s instead of fancy loafers with gold links on the front, her backpack is a maroon Jansport while most students opted for leather messenger bags, and when people ask her how she spent her summer, she’s gotten used to the wide-eyed look they give her when she explains that she scooped ice cream near the beach for tips.

Nora’s not naive. She knows that she’s referred to as The Scholarship Girl behind her back, she knows that Alyssa complains to her elitist friends about how dreadful it is to be forced to room with a girl who wears hand-me-down clothing, and she knows that adjusting to life at Townbridge was going to be the very definition of arduous.

But she remembers what her mother told her—how Nora’s skin is thicker than she thinks, and no matter how different she is to everybody else, she’s still just as deserving of a top-notch education.

Even though Nora was at the top of her class for most of her life, she still felt far behind the rest of her classmates at Townbridge. She spends the first few weeks getting very acquainted with the walls of the library, making the nearly twenty-minute trek from her dorm in Emerson Hall to Millikan Library across campus. Classes have only just begun, but Nora can’t afford to fall any more behind than she already has. So instead of making friends and signing up for various clubs and sports teams, Nora’s allowed her backside to practically mold into the stiff wooden chairs inside the empty library.

Nora would have completely forgotten about the First Year Mixer being held that evening if not for Alyssa and her friends getting ready in her dorm room. When she walks in still wearing her uniform well after classes have ended for the day, the three girls look at her as if she were crazy.

“Did you forget about the mixer tonight, Nora?” Grace, one of the twins, asks with a shocked expression decorating her pretty face. All three girls are wearing colorful Lilly Pulitzer dresses, passing along mascara and eyeshadow amongst themselves in preparation for tonight.

“Uh, no I was just—”

“—Making friends with the books again?” Alyssa sneers, earning a giggle from the girls.

Nora chooses not to respond. It’s just easier that way.

Walking over to her wardrobe, Nora sorts through her limited selection of clothing to find something appropriate to wear for tonight. She didn’t even want to be in attendance, but she’s figured that she’s probably spent enough time on her own, and that maybe, in the off chance that Townbridge has some normal students, she can make a friend or two.

The only two dresses she brought with her were a simple long-sleeved cream sweater dress that fell just above her knees, and a thin summer dress her mother bought her two years ago that was tighter and fell around mid-thigh. She goes with the sweater dress, deeming it the best outfit she has to just simply blend in. Once it’s over her head, she reaches for her thigh-high socks and brown boots she got as a graduation gift, slipping them on quickly. October has left a brisk chill in the nighttime air, and considering her jackets consisted of a worn-in winter parka and an oversized flannel she scored at Goodwill, Nora thinks this combination will be more than fine.

She reaches for the comb on her desk and begins to rake it through her knotted hair, smoothing out the kinks and leaving the strands to fall in their messy, wavy natural state. Just as she’s digging through her backpack to try and find her lip balm and mascara, she can’t help but overhear Alyssa gossiping to Grace and Erin loudly from across the room.

“Harry’s plane landed a few hours ago,” Alyssa gushes, plucking the blush from Grace’s hands and beginning to apply it to the apples of her cheeks.

“Oh my God, no way! You must be so excited, Lyss!” Erin squeaks, reaching for the lipgloss that Alyssa just used. Before she can even remove the lid, Alyssa swats at her wrists and tells her to pick another color.

“Have you been texting all summer?” Grace asks from behind the vanity.

Alyssa nods, readjusting her freshly curled hair. “Ever since he left the Hamptons in July, yeah. We’ve been messaging back and forth. He told me he can’t wait to see me tonight.”

“That’s so romantic, Lyss!” Erin says, and Nora tries her hardest not to roll her eyes. “I can’t believe they let him miss the first three weeks of school.”

“He’s Harry Styles, Erin,” Grace chides, turning to face her sister with slanted eyes. “He can do whatever he wants.”

Nora twists the mascara wand back into the tube before backing away from her desk, double-checking her outfit to make sure that it was suitable enough. Just as she gives her hair one last fluff, she hears Alyssa ask, “Are you really not going to do anything with your hair?”

Nora turns towards her with a sheepish look, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t own any styling tools so…” she lets the words fall from her mouth, watching the three girls in front of her look at her as if she had a second head growing out of her neck.

“You’ve never straightened your hair?! I’m sure Alyssa will let you borrow—”

“—Erin! Enough. Let’s go, we’re going to be late,” Alyssa scolds, ending the conversation abruptly. Before Nora can even shoot a smile in Erin’s direction, the three girls are already out the door, leaving Nora to walk to the Great Hall by herself.

The problem with spending all of her time walking from her dorm to the lecture halls on East Campus to Millikan Library is that she seemingly forgot where every other building was. Trying to locate the Great Hall in daylight was already difficult for Nora, but now with the sun practically set behind the horizon and her sense of direction completely shit, she starts panicking when she’s walked by the dining hall for the third time.

An upperclassman saves Nora before she can have a full-blown panic attack in the middle of the quad, and with two minutes to spare, Nora finds a row with a few empty seats towards the back of the room.

Nobody seems to have noticed her, save for the girls in the row in front of her who turn around when Nora’s boots jostle their chairs. She offers them a muffled apology, and just as quickly as they turned around to look at her, they swivel their necks to face the front again.

Nora sighs to herself, before lifting her head to hear the Headmaster begin his speech. After listening to him drawl about the mission statement and his expectations for the first-year students, Nora immediately wishes she never left her dorm room. She can feel her eyes begin to droop, and before her body can slump further down into her chair, the sound of a heavy oak door closing echoes throughout the Great Hall, and Nora feels her body springing upwards.

Headmaster Clayton pauses in his monotonous ramblings, and before the entire collection of students in front of Nora can turn around to see what the interruption was, a long body falls into the chair next to hers, and the Headmaster resumes his speech as if nothing ever happened.

“Did I miss anything?” an impossibly British voice whispers in Nora’s direction, and she’s a bit surprised by the low timbre of it. She looks over at him and finds herself staring into green pools with a golden shimmer surrounding his irises. Nora’s never been captivated by a boy before—but the one sitting next to her with fluffy chocolate curls falling over his forehead, surrounding his ears, and ending at the nape of his neck might possibly be the first. His hands are shoved inside the pockets of an expensive-looking black trench coat, and his upper body is leaning towards hers as he awaits her response. When Nora notices his pink lips forming into a small smirk, she’s almost positive that she’s been caught staring at this boy for far too long.

“Uh, no. Not really,” she whispers back, scrutinizing the way her voice squeaked at the beginning of her sentence.

His smirk shifts into a full-blown grin, and Nora can feel her cheeks begin to burn. “Hm, sounds like somebody wasn’t paying attention in the first place.”

Before Nora can retort, the boy near her chuckles softly at her nervous expression. “Can’t say I blame you, love. Clayton’s a fucking fossil.”

Nora giggles, causing the girls in front of her to turn around again with a murderous expression on their faces. She stops abruptly, and after they’ve snapped their heads forward for the second time, she looks over to the boy on her left and finds him trying his hardest to stifle another chuckle.

He shifts his body so he’s no longer leaning in Nora’s direction, and she’s a bit saddened by the sudden distance between them both.

Nora replays the interaction in her inexperienced, fourteen-year-old mind, wondering if the boy near her was just flirting with her. There’s no denying that she thinks he’s cute, considering she finds herself sneaking looks at him every few minutes during the duration of Headmaster Clayton’s speech just to get another glimpse of his soft hair and sunken dimples. And on more than one occasion, he catches her in his periphery, shooting her that charming smirk that never fails to make her cheeks blush.

The moment Headmaster Clayton wraps up his speech and the rest of the students begin to stand, Nora turns towards the boy and finds that he’s already looking at her. Now that they’ve exited their row, Nora notices how tall he is, taking in his long legs clad in black denim, his even longer torso in a similar black shirt. The all-dark ensemble somehow makes him look older. Makes him look mysterious. Makes him look even more handsome—and suddenly Nora’s grown a bit nervous.

“I’m Nora, by the way,” she says, sticking her hand out for him to shake. He hesitates, looking between her face and her outstretched hand with a smile on his face, finding it incredibly cute that a girl his age would greet him so formally.

Just before his hand can fall into hers, another hand claps him on the shoulder and he’s forced to look at the intrusion, his own arm falling back to his side. “Harry, my man! How was the flight?”

When Nora looks over his shoulder, she notices two boys greeting him warmly. She hasn’t really met anybody at Townbridge aside from Alyssa, Grace, and Erin, so she’s not surprised when she doesn’t recognize the two other boys infiltrating their small bubble.

But upon further inspection, Nora realizes that she does, in fact, recognize one of them.

Standing directly in her line of vision is none other than Willy Clemonte. Although it’s been seven years since Nora last saw him, there’s no denying that the sandy-haired, blue-eyed teenager in front of her is him. He’s practically almost the same height as his father now, towering over Nora in his khaki pants and a white cable-knit sweater. His hair still tangles in his eyelashes and his cheeks are still dusted with freckles, and Nora’s stunned at the sudden rush of memories that flood her insides.

He seems to have made the same startling realization as Nora did, because his eyes begin to widen almost comically, and a strained expression falls over his features. Before they can give away that they’ve been staring at each other, the boy from before, now known to Nora as Harry, spins around on his heels and gives her a small smile.

“Nora, right?” he asks, and she nods hesitantly. “Where are you from?”

“Uh, Newport,” Nora answers.

“Oh, wicked! So you must know Will, then?” Harry asks, seemingly oblivious to the awkward tension radiating from the two of them.

Before she can respond, Will clears his throat and takes a step forward. With one last panicked look at Nora, he tells Harry, “Yeah, man. Her mom was one of our maids.”

“Wait, what?” Harry asks, confusion written all over his face. Nora’s surprised that she can hear it over the sound of her breath leaving her lungs from Willy’s comment. Sure, she knew that the last time they saw each other he was crying into her mother’s arms over a remark his father said, and sure, she didn’t expect them to resume their friendship as if nothing had happened.

But to blatantly lie about Nora’s mother, a woman who took care of him for years? Nora never thought that he would grow up to be so cruel.

To twist the knife lodged into her chest even further, Alyssa and the twins approach the group with annoyed looks, all aimed in Nora’s direction. They seem to have overheard Willy’s previous comment, and before Nora can even defend herself, Alyssa reaches out and wraps her hand around Harry’s forearm as if she were claiming him in front of everybody.

“Yeah, apparently Townbridge is letting just about anybody in this year. Just ignore her, Harry, we all have been,” she says, her tone nothing but dismissive.

Nora watches as Harry shifts his gaze from Alyssa to her. His green eyes fall down her body, and for the first time, he notices the loose thread at the hemline of her dress from overwear, the tear in her socks behind the knee, her brown boots that lack the distinction of a designer label. With one last look at her, he takes a step back, and Nora knows right then and there that she’s been condemned as an outsider.

“C’mon Harry, tell us all about the rest of your summer in France! I want to hear all about it,” Alyssa enthuses, and without a second look, the group turns around and leaves Nora staring after them.

No matter how attractive she finds Harry, there’s no denying that his personality is undeniably ugly. And as she watches him wrap an arm around Alyssa’s shoulder, Nora thinks it’s quite fitting that they’ve both found each other.

***

November 2007

Summer has always been Nora’s favorite season (living permanently near the ocean sort of makes that inevitable), but that summer after her first year, Nora’s never been more excited to be home. She missed her mom, she missed the beach, and she missed her normal friends who didn’t care that she wore sandals that were falling apart and shorts that were fraying at the edges.

When Nora came back from school, she begged her mother not to send her back to Townbridge for her second year. She told her how she couldn’t make friends, how everybody made her feel like a social pariah, and how she was absolutely miserable being so far away from her.

“Oh, Nora baby,” her mother said, holding her close. “You know exactly who you are. You’re strong, you’re beautiful, you’re intelligent—and you’re so much better than those kids who make you feel like you aren’t.”

“You don’t understand, mom,” Nora said through hiccups, wet tears soaking her cheeks, “They hate me. All of them. They never even gave me a chance.”

“Everybody?” her mother asked. And when Nora just stared at her with her lower lip trembling, Shannon combed her fingers through Nora’s blonde hair comfortingly. “I’m sure there are people at Townbridge who are just like you. I just don’t think you’ve tried to find them yet.”

Even though she didn’t want to admit it, Nora knew that her mother was right. So after another summer filled with scooping ice cream for tips and spending every second of her days off at the beach reading romance novel after romance novel, Nora packed up her things for the second time—this time with another suitcase—and set off for Connecticut with higher hopes for her second year.

Things seemed to be turning around for her when she discovered that her roommate was no longer Alyssa Whalen. Instead, it was a girl named Lydia who lived a few towns over in Madison by the beach, just like Nora. They bonded instantly over their shared love of having sea-knotted hair and the feeling of having sand squished between your toes and letting your fingers wrinkle from wading through the briny water for too long. And when Lydia encourages Nora to sign up for the swim team with her, Nora’s grateful that she’s finally found a friend in this hellhole.

Her second year is leagues better than her first, considering in the first three months, she barely had to cross paths with Alyssa and Harry. On the rare instances that they do run into each other, they simply ignore the other’s existence, and Nora doesn’t mind it one bit. It’s just easier that way, she supposes.

Halfway through Nora’s swim season, she turns sixteen and discovers that everybody around her is getting their license. Lydia’s parents bought her a used 2005 Honda Civic when she passed her driver’s test, and when she told Nora that she could use it whenever she needed, Nora felt bad lying to her new friend. Because once again she was playing catch up, getting her learner’s permit over the summer when everybody was already scheduling their exam, and with the way things were going, Nora wouldn’t be able to get her license until she was home again for summer break.

She also didn’t want to admit to Lydia that she couldn’t afford a car, and that her mother would never allow Nora to take her 1997 Toyota Corolla to campus.

After swim practice one November afternoon, Nora leaves the Athletic Center with wet hair to head back to her dorm in Donahue Hall completely across campus. Normally, Nora walks with Lydia, but since it’s Friday and students who live in-state with a license are allowed to leave campus for the weekend, Nora’s forced to make the twenty-minute journey alone.

With her gym bag slung over her shoulder, Nora begins to walk through the parking lot to head towards the footpath that will bring her through campus. The sky is awfully dark for four in the afternoon, and when she looks up and notices the menacing grey clouds, she kicks herself for not packing her umbrella before she left her room this morning.

Just as she’s almost in the clear, she hears a familiar giggle that makes her skin crawl. Living with Alyssa for one excruciating year has allowed Nora to recognize that sound almost immediately, and sheepishly she tucks her chin deeper into the neckline of her jacket, praying that her face is hidden as she walks past the group.

When Nora reaches inside her half-zipped gym bag for her water bottle, she swears to herself when the strap detaches from the siding and the nylon bag falls to the cement. Making sure everything is strapped appropriately, she heaves the bag over her shoulder once it’s zipped up. As she swings her elbow to place the bag comfortably around her body, she doesn’t take into account her proximity to a particularly shiny black SUV—and just before she can escape the parking lot undetected, her bag smashes against the hood of the car, causing the headlights to flicker on and off and the alarm to blare piercingly through the space.

“Hey!” Nora hears from behind her. When she turns she sees Harry jogging towards her, his brown hair dripping from the shower he just took. He’s wearing joggers and a Townbridge Academy Soccer sweatshirt, and when he reaches inside his pocket and reveals a shiny key fob, Nora swears for the second time knowing that the fancy car she just accidentally hit belonged to him.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” His voice is booming through the parking lot and it’s enough to make Nora feel incredibly small. When he finally presses the alarm button on his key and the blaring stops, she can hear his exasperated breaths in its place, and she’s not quite sure what’s worse.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“—I saw the whole thing, Harry!” Alyssa calls over from her spot across the cement, walking towards the pair of them with an accusatory finger extended in Nora’s direction. “She slammed her gym bag against your car.”

“It was an accident!” Nora screeches, feeling her face turning red. “My bag strap fell off and when I went to put it back on my shoulder, I bumped your car. Not, er, intentionally.”

Harry looks between the two girls with an annoyed expression on his face. “Just be more careful, yeah? It’s brand new.”

When Nora looks at the behemoth of a vehicle to her left, observing the shiny black exterior with the words Range Rover written across the front in chrome lettering, she can only imagine the outrageous price tag it has. Which is why she nods, apologizing one last time.

“Won’t happen again.” Nora begins to turn around on her heel, just as the air begins to get cooler and the slightest smell of rain can be detected in the distance.

“You’re walking all the way to Donahue in the rain?” Harry asks suddenly, and Nora begins to wonder how he even knows she lives in that building. She pauses, thinking if he or Alyssa or any one of their stupid friends lives in Donahue, and when she comes up with nothing, she turns around with a confused expression on her face.

“Uh, yeah. I don’t have a car.” Before she can feel the first drop of rain hit her skin, laughter erupts from the small group surrounding Harry and his car. Nora hides her face, wishing the ground would swallow her up.

With one last gulp, Nora turns around and begins walking towards the footpath, shoving the hood of her flimsy rain jacket over her head.

“Well, at least your hair is already wet!” Nora hears Alyssa call out from behind her, with more laughter following until Nora’s a safe distance away from where she can no longer be scrutinized by Harry and his rude friends.

As Nora reaches Donahue Hall with her tracksuit bottoms sticking to her legs like a second skin and her jacket completely drenched, all she can think about is how she’d rather walk another ten miles before ever having another conversation with Alyssa Whalen and Harry Styles if her life fucking depended on it.

***

A/N: Here’s chapter two! We’ve finally met Harry and Alyssa (yikes), so feel free to share with me your thoughts and predictions for the next part! High school is a funny time period to write about, and I’m excited to share the next part with you all. Look out for it on Friday, February 19th, which will be the normal update schedule. Until then, stay safe! x

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#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles drabble #harry styles x ofc #harry styles x reader #1dff #1dffupdates #fic: fade

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alexhandersenx · 4 years

Text

There’s no one to save me

Ivar/Reader (Modern AU)

A/N: Hi everyone! First and most important thing, HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVE!!💕🎉🎂 @flowers-in-your-hayr I want to wish you all the best on this day, I hope you enjoy this day as much as possible and hope this can make it a bit better! This year may not have been our best birthdays but next year we’ll celebrate them twice! You know I really admire your work but much more as a person! Thank you for always being so so nice, you’re great!💖

Second, here it is, me and my shitty writing. This is the first time I ever write anything (you’ll see) but a lovely little bird came and told me about this amazing surprise (@maggiescarborough 💖) and I couldn’t refuse. This is the moodboard I chose bc when I asked Gabi about it, I wrote more of a mini fic than a request (sorry about that, honey😅) so I thought it’ll be easier since I already have an idea.

And finally, to say that this can be considered as the first chapter of a small fic???, Idk, if you want to read something else, I will continue it and if not, it can stay as a imagine. (Any feedback you want to give is always welcomed and will help me in the future!)

Okay that’s all, I think. Now I'll shut my mouth and let you guys read in peace😊

All credits to this amazing moodboard for the birthday girl @flowers-in-your-hayr

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: First time writing (biggest warning), mention of death and suicide, cursing, drug dealing, a bit of angst, English not being my mother tongue. (I’m not sure if something else😅).

There you were, (Y/N) (Y/LN), facing the most important case you had encountered in your professional career, which, to tell the truth, was not very long. You were 24 years old and you were a policewoman at the local police station on a small island called Samsø, which together with some others as Læsø, Anholt and Sjælland were known as the 'Kattegat Islands'.

You started there when you were 22, with a lot of effort and after years of dedication, yes, it may sound like a joke, since you were very young, but since your father passed away, you decided to follow in his footsteps. He had become chief of police and worked in what was now your office. His death occurred unexpectedly, one day he went to work and didn't come back, your mother and you didn't know anything, but he had been working on a drug-related case for a long time, and they didn't clarify anything for you after his death either, justifying that it was a case of high danger and a secret file.

When your father died, you were given the belongings he was carrying on the day of his death. You didn't find anything out of the ordinary, just his watch, which had his initials on it, the car keys and his wallet, in which he carried the usual: some money, credit cards and a picture of your mother and you as a child. From one of the compartments of the wallet, a small fragment of a photo was sticking out. It was very enlarged, only a small part of the face could be seen, it looked like a man, but his face didn't sound familiar to you and besides the fragment was very damaged, so you didn't give it much importance. Although you were intrigued to know the reason for that fragment in your father's wallet and you wanted to know the identity of that person, unfortunately you couldn't do anything about it. You put the items back in the bag and kept it in a drawer that you knew you wouldn't open often since it was with the rest of his belongings.

After this incident, you and your mother faced a difficult time when living at home without him was almost impossible. After a not very long period, you were able to return to your daily life and continued, but however, your mother did not get back on her feet, she went into a great depression. You tried psychologists at first and slowly it looked like she was getting better, but it seems she only did it to fall into an even bigger black hole.

From then on, you contacted a psychiatrist, after a year watching your mother was consumed with sadness you couldn't stand it any longer, even though she was resistant to taking medication you couldn't do anything else. She had been going to the psychiatrist for some time and the truth was that it wasn't going as you expected, your mother had a very negative attitude. She tried to avoid medication when you didn't force her, and for that reason none of the treatments worked.

You were desperate, time was passing, and you didn't know what to do anymore, until one day when you came home and you found your mother breathing very lightly and not responding to any kind of stimulus. She had decided to take her own life with a bottle of pills, yes, how ironic. When she was taken to the hospital, the doctors told you that her vital signs were very bad, the intake of medication had to be over six hours ago, and this had already affected a large part of the system. It was very difficult for her to survive, so much so that she couldn't.

21 years, just 21 years when you were left alone in the world, when everyone was getting drunk and having a hangover and throwing up the next morning, you were there struggling to get where you were today.

Although you couldn't have reached that point without the unconditional support of your father's great friend, Officer Heahmund. He had been like a second father to you, the only one you could lean on when these events occurred. Both he and his wife Anne and their little twins always had a place for you.

You could say you'd been investigating the case for a year and it was huge, really huge. Both you and your colleagues had reached an impasse, you couldn't get anything new, so you decided to take the reins and make a proposal... raid the shelter where the organization was hiding. You had managed, after a long time of tracking them down, to find out that every Thursday at 11.30 p.m. they went out to do business. If you calculated it perfectly, you could set up an ambush, surround the perimeter with your agents strategically, and force your way in, so you could examine the interior for clear, incriminating evidence and wait for them to come back and finally catch them and finish the damn case. From that point on, the game would begin.

Ivar Lothbrook, or also known as Ivar the Boneless, was the person you were chasing. Known to be the leader of the organization. Information about him was quite scarce, the son of a bitch knew how to remain anonymous, you didn't even know what he looked like. Although he also took part in the weekly excursions, he never got out of the vehicle they were in and you didn't dare get close enough to the shelter to see them leave, just as a precaution, so as not to spoil the case. All you knew was that the nickname he had earned was due to a disease he suffered from that made him unable to walk, Osteogenesis Imperfecta.

But you did know something else about his brothers, who were in charge of leading the band when they were doing field work and his brother Ivar was not there. There were three more brothers, the elder Ubbe, the second Hvitserk and the last Sigurd. You had pictures of them, which you had studied to a tee, and they didn't have any kind of background, something that caught your attention because in all these bands it's something common, but it seems that they were playing clean.

Tomorrow would be the big day and you had no margin for error. You decided to leave it at that, not think about it anymore. You opened a bottle of wine and ordered dinner at your favourite restaurant. You were going to enjoy that night quietly before going into action.

That night you practically didn't rest, your head didn't stop thinking and you were fighting against it for a long time, until finally you were victorious, being able to sleep. You promised yourself that it wouldn't be the only thing you would be victorious in.

The sound of the alarm woke you up, it was very early, although there were still hours to go, you had to be ready and needed to do certain things before preparing. You had arranged to meet at 8pm at the police station, you would go over the plan and wait until 10.30pm to put the plan into action. The day went away, you had gone out to buy some things that you needed, you had done some sport to clear your mind and you had taken a bath for an hour and a half which helped to relax each of your muscles that had been in constant tension for several days.

You got out of the shower, you started to fix yourself and for a moment you looked in the mirror, from bottom to top, and you looked into your eyes, you saw your father, you saw him in you.

- “Ivar, Ivar, what little freedom you have left” - You said in a defiant voice as you kept looking at yourself and feeling sure that everything would go as you planned.

What you didn't consider at the time is that in a game you don't always win, and even less when you don't know your opponent.

A phone call took you out of your thoughts, you hesitated for a few seconds before reacting, you went into the kitchen and picked up the phone:

- “Hi, (Y/N) here”.

- “Hello, sweetheart, how are you?” Your boss asked with some concern in his voice.

- “I'm doing good, getting ready to leave soon. Anything happened?”

- “No, nothing, I just wanted to remind you, that you still have time to stop this, I can send another partner, I don't want you to do this out of obligation” - said Heahmund, with some hesitation.

- “Heahmund, we've talked about this a million times, I'm gonna take care of it. We've gone over the plan every day; we've looked at alternatives in case the first option doesn't work out and you have an expert in infiltrating other people's homes in charge of the plan... What can go wrong? Trust me, before you can tell, we're in your backyard drinking beers with Anne and the girls, celebrating together as a family, while Ivar the Boneless is rotting in jail” - You said with certainty

- “Ever since you were a little girl I've always admired that about you: Determined, brave and a fighter, which has always made you achieve everything you set out to do - he answered with a broken voice” - I just wanted to wish you the best of luck in the world now that no one is around. See you in a bit, Agent 007.

As he spoke you noticed some concern in his voice, was Heahmund afraid of the mission?... Impossible, he was known for his courage and dedication but in this situation, you could not avoid that this insecurity that you did not feel for a long time will hit you again.

Since the death of your father you had changed, you had become steel, as you said, you had no heart for anyone, you had focused so much on getting ahead and getting what you had in mind that you had forgotten one very important thing, being a teenager. And now that time was gone.

Still, you burst out laughing when he called you Agent 007

- “Thank you, Jack Bauer” - you said, playing along, referring to those movies and action shows you loved to watch together when you were younger.

You hung up and then felt a sense of emptiness and… fear? No, you weren't going to let that happen. You certainly knew that you had to occupy your mind at that moment, or you would go crazy. So, you connected your phone to the speaker and put on your favourite playlist and time passed with you getting ready until it was time to leave. You took the bike keys, a beautiful Harley-Davidson and got going.

When you arrived at the police station your colleagues and Heahmund were already there, you went over the plan and waited for the exact time to start.

It was 11:15, the game had begun. You were about to head for the first stop on your mission. The aim in this phase was to park in the surroundings of the main highway, where Ivar and his people had to go through, so you could check that everything was in order, and that the usual Thursday trip would take place. You arrived before time, it was night and the highway was slightly illuminated by distant lanterns. The place had been carefully chosen as there were certain points where you could wait in stealth.

As time passed, you became more and more nervous and couldn't help it. There was something in your head that wouldn't let you concentrate. Heahmund noticed it and said:

- “What's going on in that little head, (Y/N)?” - He said in a sweet tone.

- “Hmm...nothing, I'm fine” - you whispered as you looked for his glance and smiled.

- “Come on, (Y/N), I know you too well to know that something is bothering you”

- “Ugh, I hate you Heahmund… what if they don't come, if for whatever reason today doesn't happen” - you said losing your nerve a little

- “Hey, hey, hey and this? Where's my little fighter? They're going to do it, you'll see, and before dawn they'll all be behind bars”

- “How can you be so sure?”

- “I just know” - he said with confidence and came up to you kissing you on the head

You needed it, you needed someone telling you that everything would be fine, with your 24 years you were tired of playing grown-up, strong and lonely. You had always needed that love, but that side of you was known only by Heahmund and he had always been there to give it to you.

You did not have much more time to get melancholy, it was happening, Ivar and his people could be seen from afar. They were organized in three black armoured cars and four motorcycles guarding the sides. You saw how they passed before you, in a heartbeat everything you had feared had happened, the only part of the plan that did not fall on you had worked. Now everything depended on you. You waited a few minutes and both of you, along with several patrol cars, set off. Some of your colleagues stayed in the place so that they could control when they returned and thus warn those of you who were going to the shelter.

Second stop on the mission, the shelter. Ivar and his people owned an apartment building where they used to stay permanently, it was on the outskirts of town, in the middle of nowhere. You had left your vehicles a few meters behind, also hidden, so as not to cause any noise. You found yourselves walking quietly in the dark with your guns in hand, towards an old building. When you reached the right distance, you appreciated the immensity of the building with enough housing to accommodate several families. The facade was neglected, yellowish-coloured, and you could see the doors of each house, white and many of them peeling and battered. Plus, right next door was what looked like a big warehouse. Everything was surrounded by metal fences.

Your companions began to take their positions as you had planned and you and Heahmund continued to approach, until you reached the side of the fence so that you could climb without attracting attention.

You looked at Heahmund and nodded just as you turned to move forward alone you noticed how he grabbed your arm, your heart racing as he said:

- “I'll keep an eye on everything that happens, the moment I hear something out of the ordinary, even if you don't say the code word, we'll get in and get you out”

- “Damn, Heahmund, you scared me... yes, I know, don't worry” - you said losing your patience a little

And now it was time, holding your SIG Sauer firmly in your hands and checking for the last time that the microphone you were holding in the middle of your bra was properly placed, you were ready to move forward. You approached the front door of the warehouse. If there was anything interesting to look for, it would be there. You pulled the lock pick out of your pocket and picked the lock easily. You opened the door a couple of inches, at that moment your heart felt like it was going to come out of its socket. You checked that the light inside was off, you continued to open it completely and you went inside quietly. It was all dark, you stood still for a few seconds to pay attention to all the sound around you. You could only hear the “tick tock” of a clock. You looked at the wall for a light switch, found it and turned it on. Several fluorescent lights illuminated the big warehouse, some of them failing and blinking making the place even more scary. For a few seconds the light blinded you because of the contrast of the dark night to which your eyes had been used so far. You took a quick look, ducked your head and whispered into the microphone:

- “Clear”

You raised your head and for the first time you stopped to look around. It was immense, the walls were covered with high shelves where there were pots of all kinds, some were full and some were empty, there were boxes, masks, safety goggles, gloves and all kinds of chemical devices. There was a long table on the side with many chairs, some lying on the floor, others on top of the table... that place reminded you of a typical high school lab from which the most you could do was decant a mixture. You were surprised... they were cooking drugs there... "Well, what a dump" you said to yourself; you thought everything would be much more careful and not such a messy place as that.

And in the middle of all that mess, at the end of the room you found a big wooden desk and a big black leather armchair behind it, it seemed that that little space didn't belong in the room, it was all tidy and on the table the only thing that was there was some papers, small pictures and office material. You approached and saw some maps with certain points marked... What were these points? You thought that it could be some meeting place or points of sale, you took out the PDA and uploaded the photo to the police station network.

- “I think I found something, I just uploaded it to the network” -You said in a whisper

You didn't have any answers, nor did you notice much of it, since you got caught up in a huge painting right behind the desk. In it appeared a beautiful young woman with long blonde hair. It was just a painting, but you could feel the elegance of that woman in it. Next to her was a taller man who looked slightly older, shaven and with a long beard with white locks. He was in a suit and showed a great presence just like the woman. But there was something that caught your attention, the look of him, his intense blue eyes seemed to pierce you as if you were seeing them in person. The wrinkles at the corner of his eyes betrayed his maturity. You stared for a while, curious, until you came back to reality, took a quick look again to see if anything could be useful, but nothing. So, you retraced your steps and headed for the door. You tried to communicate with your colleagues again:

- “Guys, nothing else around here, I'm going back to my starting position” - You whispered again.

And at that moment you froze, you were listening to yourself double and your "double" was coming right out the door. Time stopped for you, you didn't understand anything, and the only thing you could think of was to hide behind the door. This one opened little by little and you started to listen how people came in... one, two, three... you were counting the steps to be able to calculate the number of people, you lost the count to the fifth since such a quantity would be impossible to face and come out victorious.

- “SHHHH, shut up... do you hear it?” - said a male voice you didn't recognize.

What you could hear was your breathing shaking through a walkie... at that moment the world fell apart. A police walkie in the hands of those assholes, something hadn't gone right, and you didn't know what.

- “Yeah, it smells weird too, doesn't it?” - said another male voice, but this one sounded much more ironic.

- “I don't know Ivar I don't smell anything... what do you smell?” - Said a third voice, the closest so far to your position.

- “Mmm I don't know it's a disgusting smell, something like... police”

At that very moment they closed the door, leaving you exposed. You saw five men, but you didn't have time for much else as the one closest to you, that you came to recognize was Ubbe, grabbed your arm and made a quick movement blocking it, causing your gun to fall to the ground. He drew you to his body by placing your back to him and holding your neck with his arm, doing a lock around it to immobilize you. You looked ahead, saw a young man slowly approaching you and examining you from bottom to top until your eyes connected, deep blue and intimidating gaze. To tell the truth, he was a very attractive guy, but that idea was automatically erased when you remembered who he was. Something stirred in your stomach, you didn't know if it was fear, hate or a mixture. Slowly a cynical smile appeared in his mouth. Definitely, it was disgust what you had noticed in your stomach seconds ago. You could have tried to get out of that grip, but you didn't see the point, they were five men over six feet. It was impossible, to get out of there. Ubbe kept pressing his arm against your neck, causing your senses to slowly fade away.

- “Well, well, and I thought this wasn't going to be fun" said the boy in front of you in a hesitant voice. - Nice to meet you, I am Ivar Lothbrook - he said extending his hand

That was the last thing you could see and hear before you lost total control over your body and thus your senses.

The game had started... like a shitty one.

#vikings fic #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar #ivar the boneless #modern ivar #ivar imagine #ivar lothbrok #ivar lothbrook x reader #moder ivar imagine #ivar the boneless fic #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar lothbrook fic #ivar lothbrook imagine

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gotham-ruaidh · 5 years

Text

Pas De Deux - A Moodboard (Three Part) One-Shot

@iamnottrisha thank you for organizing!

Chapter 1

Claire Beauchamp – Miss Claire to her students – sighed and rolled her stiff shoulders, squinting at the pile of lab reports yet to be graded.

Another Thursday night working late in her cramped office at PS 345, recognized for six straight years as one of Brooklyn’s top-performing middle schools. Two months ago she had started her fourth year as a seventh-grade science teacher, her creative approach to topics ranging from biology to buoyancy winning accolades from students and a precious tenure slot the year before.

She truly loved the school – so much so that after leaving Frank she’d bought a co-op just a ten-minute walk away, on the border of Cobble Hill and Carroll Gardens. The charming brownstones and tree-lined streets were the perfect antidote to her years living in a Manhattan high-rise, all cold steel and glass and cold neighbors and a cold husband married to his deals.

When she realized she’d been looking at the same diagram for five minutes, she sighed, feeling deflated. No use continuing tonight.

Quickly she organized the papers on her desk, shrugged into her blue peacoat, and slipped the remaining lab reports into her satchel. Already thinking about the Lebanese food she’d pick up on the walk home, and how Adso would wrap his furry gray body around her ankles as soon as she unlocked the front door.

She stepped into the hallway and locked the door behind her.

Faint music drifted from the direction of the arts wing.

Intrigued, she padded down the quiet hallway, passing lockers and darkened classrooms and walls covered with flyers of all colors and sizes. Turned at the corner –

Ah. Light blazed from the art studio, where Jamie Fraser hunched over a sink, his back to her, washing paintbrushes, fast-paced orchestral music blaring from speakers mounted at two corners of the room.

This wasn’t the first time that she and the second-year art teacher had found each other working late – and truth be told, seeing him there tonight made her smile.

Shaking her head – damn, she was just like her students sometimes, mooning over a ridiculous crush – she knocked loudly on the classroom door.

Jamie startled, turning to face her. Then smiled broadly, wiping paint-streaked hands on his denim smock.

“What’s it tonight?” she teased.

He fished a remote control out of his back pocket and dialed down the volume. “What did you say?”

“I said,” she smiled, slowly walking into the studio, “what are you listening to tonight?”

“Ah.” He leaned back against the sink. “Tchaikovsky – Swan Lake. I just got my hands on this great new recording from the Bolshoi, in Moscow. It’s amazing.”

“Ballet?” Claire’s eyebrows quirked, and she set her satchel down on one of the classroom tables – careful of the coffee cans full of paintbrushes.

Briefly Jamie turned away to set out the damp paintbrushes to dry on a towel beside the sink. “What – can’t a man have many tastes?”

“Well – whenever I’ve found you in here blasting your music before, it’s been anything from rock to folk to country music. I thought all of you artistic types were into the indie stuff.”

Jamie reached behind his back to untie the strings of his smock. “I only like the classics. Too much of art and music these days is bullshit. If you have to be told that it’s great, or told what political statement the art is making, then it’s not art.”

She smiled. Feeling refreshingly alert. “So, Mr. Artist – what is art?”

He hung up the smock on a peg beside the sink. Crossed the room to stand just a few steps away. Looking a bit tired in his flannel and corduroys – his eyes, however, so alive.

“Art is something that stirs you, and resonates with you, and that you know is beautiful.”

She swallowed.

He ran paint-stained hands through his short, thick red hair. “And, well – my sister is a professional ballet dancer.”

Claire laughed – tension suddenly relieved. “What?”

“Yeah.” Why did his voice sound so shy? “I grew up going to her practices and recitals. So I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for ballet.”

“Who was the Impressionist that was particularly enamored with drawing ballet dancers?”

“That would be Edgar Degas. The Met has rooms dedicated to his pastels.” Jamie tilted his head a bit. “Since when do science teachers know anything about art or ballet?”

She lifted her chin. “My uncle raised me after my parents died – he worked very hard to give me a well-rounded education.” She balled her hands into fists, safe within the pockets of her coat.

Jamie sat on the edge of the table. “My parents died too.”

Claire’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, I’m – ”

“Don’t apologize – please. Mom was an artist – she encouraged me, and my sister. After she died, my father did the same. And now, here I am.”

Claire swallowed. Wanting nothing more than to keep talking to this man.

“Do you like Lebanese food?”

“I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.”

Jamie wiped his mouth with a napkin before diving back into his piping-hot lamb sandwich.

“I love this place.” Claire took another bite of falafel, digging deep into the paper bag for another slice of pita. “It’s been owned by the same family since the turn of the century. And you saw all the grocery items, right?”

Jamie nodded, re-crossing his legs on the bench, watching the cars whizz by on Atlantic Avenue. “Do you live close to here?”

“Yeah. I love it. What about you?”

“I’m up in Greenpoint. I inherited Mom and Dad’s brownstone. It’s silly to be in such a big house by myself, but – ”

“But you can’t part with it. I understand.”

He turned to look at her. Really look at her – crazy curly hair pulled back in a messy bun, falafel crumbs on her coat, a smudge of white sauce on her chin.

Why hasn’t some lucky man snapped you up?

It took five seconds for his tired brain to realize he’d spoken the words aloud.

How he wanted to sink into the sidewalk.

But Claire set down her styrofoam tray. Pursed her lips. Really looked at him.

“One did,” she whispered. “But he threw me away.”

Chastened, Jamie reached across the bench. Wiped the sauce from her chin with the flimsy paper napkin from the take-out bag.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize – please. I’ve got my own life now. My students – a job that I love.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time – watching her, and the taxicabs gliding by, and the hundreds and hundreds of people hurrying past on the sidewalk.

She cleared her throat. “Anyway. We got some baklava for dessert, right?”

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

She blinked. “Friday? Um…nothing, I guess.”

He nodded. “Good. I want to take you somewhere, if that would be all right. Wear something halfway nice – we’ll leave from school.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Are you taking me out on a date, Jamie?”

He smirked. “Just returning the favor, Claire.”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #pas de deux

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plumblossomkun · 5 years

Text

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 2.5: 「𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎 / 𝙸'𝚖 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚝𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚌 / 𝙸'𝚖 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚝𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚌」

word count: 3.7k

setting: student!Taeyong x writing assistant!Female Reader, University!AU

chapter summary: in which we learn what Taeyong did to y/n, and why, after all these years, there has only been silence.

a/n: i mentioned i wanted to do this story justice, and it needs to be a human sort of story for that. these are real things, parts of me, as all my y/n’s are. of course, we all put bits of ourselves into our writing. this fragment just happens to be a darker bit. with that being said, please read the warnings.

warning[s]: mentions of prior self-harm. descriptions of anxiety and feelings of despair. angst.

reminder: i will italicize flashbacks in their entirety & indicate any changes in scene or point of view in bold. and if you’re wondering where the chapter titles are from, they’re lyrics from the songs on the playlist below.

tags: @starxblossom, @nsheeteesmain, @cutehardcore, @bunny-doyounq ♥ send me an ask if you would like to be added!

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The next day, 8:45am—

— Learning Commons and Library

“Why did I let you rope me into a 9:15 class?” Jaehyun whines, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he waits by the library’s café for his cup of morning coffee. “No one gets up this early for a Life Writing class.”

You munch on your croissant and take a second to swallow before answering. “Yeah, well, you’re getting an extra two units for being a Peer Educator with me this time, and you’re not actually in the class, so you don’t have to do the work again. Plus, it looks good on a transcript.”

“You’d look good on a transcript,” is his feeble attempt at a retort, and you nearly choke on your croissant, snickering. He’s never been much of a morning person, and neither are you, but you don’t need coffee to cope with your lack of sleep; the dawn’s chill is usually enough.

He follows blearily after you as you hold the door open for him. “Come on, Jae. We’re gonna be late.”

9:00 am—

— St. Joseph’s Hall

Hesitantly, you knock on the frame of the slightly ajar door of Professor Juan Madrid and listen closely to the sounds just beyond the wood. Wind chimes and raindrops tinkle, a chair creaks, and then the door swings open.

“Y/n!” the professor exclaims, putting down his wooden tumbler on the metal cabinet next to him, spreading his arms wide for a hug, face wrinkling as he smiles.

“Hi, Juan!” you laugh, embracing the slighter man. He, like his office, smells like spring, like vanilla and lavender and a hint of green tea, and his left eye (you’ve never asked whether it’s a fake eye or just a lazy one) doesn’t focus on you when you sit in the armchair opposite his, tossing your backpack on the ground and sinking into the cushions.

“Where’s Jae?” he asks, swiveling the office chair around so he can face you properly. On his computer monitor, a video titled “Relaxing Nature Sounds for Meditation” plays, filling every corner of the lamp-lit room with the sounds of a forest glade, twittering birds, bubbling creeks, and the murmurs of an afternoon breeze.

You remember the first time you had set foot in his office, and you’d been sure you’d stepped into a therapy session by accident instead of office hours, because of how calming the vibe of the room was— and still is.

“Bathroom.” You lean back in your seat and let out a long breath, so that you can take a deeper one in, gathering the freshness of the forest’s song into your lungs. “How have you been?”

“Good, good.” He stares at you, brows raised as you blow out even more air with your hands pressed to your cheeks. “Did something happen over the summer?”

“Mm… kind of?” Eyes glued to a spot somewhere between the door and the wall behind him, your head whirls as you consider which parts of the story you think your lungs can handle sharing. “This summer felt longer than the last one.”

The sounds of skateboard wheels grinding against pavement and loud chatter waft up through the window as students make their way towards their 9:15 classes, and he goes over to shut it, then sits back down and gestures for you to finish your thought.

“Kenneth broke up with me.” There’s a lump in your throat that hadn’t been there when you’d told Jaehyun and Xuxi about it, because Juan is one of the few people who has read all your poetry and prose and seen the dried tear stains on the papers you’ve submitted to him over the past two years, all the crumpled corners and the red ink and no censors. “He said… he didn’t want to drag me along with him in the future. He stopped saying ‘I love you’ to me, and I knew.”

He takes a sip of tea from his tumbler, then sets it aside to lean forward and look you right in the eye. “Are you okay?”

“Even though I saw it coming, it still really sucked.” You close your eyes to shield yourself from the memories burning your throat, so that your next breath comes slow and steady instead of shaky. “I cried for three days. I cried for so long and so hard that I begged myself to stop crying because I was so tired of it.”

Juan nods, but doesn’t interject as you pause to take in another breath.

“I think I’m tired of relationships,” you sigh, looking down at your fists and unfurling them slowly to bring the blood back into your fingertips. At some point as you’d started talking, your nails had sunk into your palms, leaving pale crescent moon marks throbbing in the skin. “I just need a break to focus on me.”

“I agree,” he says, shooting you two thumbs up. “Boys are not worth it. You have a lot on your mind. Don’t forget—”

“—to witness instead of relive the memories,” you finish. The heaviness in your throat relents, just a little, but enough so you can chuckle. “I know, I know.”

He beams. “Exactly.”

A soft knock, and then Jaehyun peeks through the door. “Hey, professor.”

“Ah, Jae!” Juan stands to greet him, and they embrace briefly. He points him to the second open chair beside you. “How was your summer? We were just talking about Y/N’s.”

“Good, good.” He flops into the seat, but not before slipping his hand into yours and looking you in the eye apologetically. “Sorry, I heard a little bit of what you were saying when I was coming back from the bathroom. Kenneth really did that?”

“Yeah, it’s okay. I’m good. I got this.” This time, when the words come out of your mouth, they don’t feel like you’re lying to yourself. They don’t feel like poison.

“I know, angel. You’re tough as hell.” He squeezes your hand tight, then disconnects his fingers from yours and turns back to Juan with a twinkle in his eye. “So, how was going back to Spain?”

“It was nice. Good weather. A little family drama, but it was okay.” He smiles at the thought of his homeland.

“And what about Rosa?” Jaehyun prods, grinning.

“Yeah, spill the tea!” you gasp. “How’s that going for you?”

“Well, you know… she has a really comfortable job there. She makes a lot of money. Her house is basically a mansion.”

You clap your hands together in excitement. “Ooh, Juan… are you gonna go live with her?”

Juan smiles, shaking his head. His one good eye looks up to the ceiling, cheeks turning pink. “I’m considering it.”

“Juan has a sugar mama,” Jaehyun coughs under his breath, and the two of you snicker.

“You don’t need to worry about us, we’re graduating next year. And you won’t have any more Peer Eds to help you with Life Writing.” You press your hands to your cheeks again, but this time it’s because of the smile splitting your face. “Do it!”

“Thank you for the support, you two.” He pauses, casting a puzzled glance in Jaehyun’s direction. “Wait, did you just say ‘sugar mama’?”

“Uh-huh,” Jaehyun says, wiping tears from his eyes, chest heaving as he chortles. “Yes, I did.”

Juan throws his head back and laughs.

9:19am— —Kenna Hall

a/n: This is where the timelines of Mugunghwa and In Real Life align! You don’t *need* to read all of IRL in order to understand the plot of Mugunghwa, but you should read part five for context, linked here. I would have written it out on my end, but it would just be tedious, and Rae’s works are lovely and I recommend them! ♥

11:24am—

“I don’t like the feel of the classroom, but we’ll see if the students’ energy will make up for it,” Juan sighs, tucking his folders under his arm as the three of you exit the classroom and make your way back towards St. Joseph’s. “I’ll see you two Thursday; I’ll let you know if they approve a classroom change to O’Connor.”

“Bye, Juan,” you and Jaehyun say together, waving goodbye as the professor heads up the stairs to his office.

As soon as he is out of earshot, Jaehyun lets out a whiny groan and leans his forehead on your shoulder, putting all his weight on it. “I don’t think I can handle Life Writing as a 9:15 class, y/n.”

You pat the top of his head. “You just need to eat breakfast instead of eating one meal a day. What would your followers do, if they found out?”

“Don’t expose me! The mom followers will flood my comment section.”

“Then eat breakfast and I won’t have to. Plus, you’ll have the energy to come to class with me without coffee!” You link your right arm in his left. “Wow! Amazing! Healthy eating habits!”

He snorts, and reaches over to pinch your nose. “I don’t appreciate that sarcastic tone of yours, y/n.”

You lay your head across his shoulder, humming as he leads you behind St. Joseph’s, away from the hustle of students heading towards their next class. “Love you too, Jae.”

It’s not golden hour yet, not even close, but the section of campus just off the main path is magnificent in the sunlight hiding just behind the fading gray gloom of the morning. You reach into the leaves to touch the ruffled petals of a peach-orange rose swaying in the wake of a ripple of wind, rubbing your thumb across its almost-translucent surface, mouth parting in awe at its softness.

Discreetly, Jaehyun lifts his phone to snap a picture of you, and you catch the sudden movement at the last second and duck your head behind your hands with a shriek.

He sighs. “Are you ever gonna let me post a picture with your face in it?”

“You have 8,000 people following you, Jae. You can tag me, but my profile is on private for a reason.” You peek from behind your fingers to check if he’s still trying to take the picture, and sigh in relief when you see his phone tucked back into his jeans pocket. “If they want to see my face, they can ask to follow me, but I don’t want any of those 8,000 people coming and commenting on my photos. I’m not nearly as attractive as you.”

He runs a hand through his hair, pursing his lips. “They’re not crazy like that.”

You wince as you accidentally drag your finger over a thorn that hasn’t been clipped off. “You never know, Jae. Especially when it comes to people online.”

He grabs your wrist before you can walk down the path without him, and chucks you under the chin gently. “You’re beautiful. Don’t you dare think otherwise.”

You roll your eyes, but sink into his side when he opens his arms for a hug. “If you say so, frat boy,” you mumble, clinging to his warmth.

“What do you have against frat boys?” The two of you start down the smoothed stone, footsteps echoing even without walls. Tiny pinpoints of light shine through the wooden slats above, tendrils of the wisteria trees’ branches and their lilac-colored flowers creating a makeshift canopy.

“...Kenneth was part of a fraternity.” You rub your temples, your eyes losing focus as memories push at the back of your mind, demanding to be put on replay. You inhale— no— and exhale— don’t think about that— through your nose, placing a hand over your mouth as if it’ll help you keep them back.

“Hey, hey.” Jaehyun’s hand on your waist tightens, and he pulls you closer to him, onto the grass just off the side of the stone, tipping your head into his chest. “I know you’re tired of crying, and that asshole definitely doesn’t deserve your tears, angel, but it’s alright if you do. Count to twenty, and we’ll go from there, okay?”

You bite your lip and whisper, “When his friends came over, he always wanted to drink with them. He’d forget he was in a call with me.”

One. Two. Three.

Jaehyun doesn’t say anything, only wraps his arms more securely around you, placing his head atop yours with a sigh.

Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.

You focus on the sensation of his chest rising and falling against your forehead, the soft thump-thump of his heart, the tension of his jaw, instead of the way your breath starts to stutter and halt. “He’d spend hours at the gym and with his friends and he always came back to me at night but it felt like I had to make appointments to spend time with him.”

Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.

“He let me say ‘I love you’ to him for two weeks without reciprocating or even trying to talk to me about the problem. I wish he’d talked to me.”

Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.

You see rather than feel the first tear fall from your face and splatter on the floor. And then another, and then a dozen more, and you can’t stop shivering like you’re in the midst of winter even with Jaehyun holding you tight. “My father came into the room, and he asked me what was wrong, and I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t tell him, because he couldn’t understand. I know he cares, I know, but he can’t understand.”

Another shuddering breath has you clutching at the fabric of his jacket. The tears slow, but don’t stop, and you swallow a sob before it can escape you. “Can we… sit down?”

“Of course, angel,” he murmurs, wiping the moisture from your cheeks with his sleeve. He sits with you on the bench furthest from the path.

“I don’t think I can cry any more,” you admit, examining your fingers as they tremble uncontrollably.

“Is that a good thing?”

“I don’t think so.” The wysterias stir as a squirrel scrambles across their wood, a crow tailing it playfully, and you take a deep breath, gathering the sweet scent of their flowers to fortify yourself. “I need to feel the emotions properly. I can’t just push them down and forget about them.”

A fallen rose petal grazes your skin, and you raise your left arm to brush it off. Halfway through the motion, Jaehyun touches the inside of your wrist, gentle beyond measure, running his fingertips over the raised white skin of the scars. He’s seen them before, you know he has, but you’ve never told him anything about them, and he’s never asked.

“Do you want to know?”

“Only if you want to tell me. I’m here to support you, y/n, no matter what. Whatever you need, you tell me. If you want me to shut up and listen, I can do that.”

“Have I told you I appreciate you?” you sigh.

“Not nearly as often as you should.”

“I take it back.”

“No, no! You tell me often enough.”

You laugh hollowly, but your eyes return to the scars on your wrist, and then they are all you can see. Dozens and dozens of thin lines, some glimmering smooth, some thin, some wider, others jagged and uneven— but all of them a reminder.

Not even the sweet wysteria can help you with the winter frost that blossoms inside your chest. You hold Jaehyun’s hand with a grip so tight your knuckles turn white. The rising sun frees itself of the morning’s pallor, and you close your eyes as its carnelian radiance washes over you.

It gives you just enough strength to speak.

Witness, instead of relive.

“The last time was just a little over four years ago.”

4 years ago, only hours after that kiss—

You jiggle the doorknob of the door to the pint-sized apartment that Taeyong shares with Ten and Johnny, but to no avail. They’ve left the door ajar before, and sometimes they just forget to lock it, but this is, unfortunately, not one of those times. Fists clenched, you bang on the door, praying that one of them is awake. A horrible, jagged feeling, something like lightning, fizzles down your spine, striking the breath from your lungs with each passing second.

Someone groans hoarsely, and then the dark wood swings back to reveal Johnny looking down at you in sleepy confusion. He opens the door wider when he sees that it’s you, pushing his hair back over his forehead and rubbing his eyes. “What the— y/n? It’s so early…”

You look past him. The apartment is dark and silent, but you can make out the faint smell of instant ramen and the silhouette of piles of laundry on the ratty gray couch. If Taeyong was there, the couch would be clear and clean, a pot of soup made from scratch bubbling gently on the stove, the lavender candle on the countertop lit and filling the room with its gentle aroma. But it’s not. And when you meet Johnny’s eyes, his expression, even with the shadows on his side, betrays him. You take one look at the deep crease between his brows and the way his eyes don’t meet yours and recoil.

Then your gaze falls to the floor, to the shoe rack, which is missing Taeyong’s colorful collection of sneakers and boots. “Where is he?” you whisper.

“Weren’t you just with him?”

You try to push past him, but he stands like a stone pillar in the doorway. “That was hours ago, Johnny,” you say, planting both hands on his chest in a last ditch attempt to shove him out of your way so you can search the apartment for Taeyong, find him and call him an idiot for scaring the shit out of you. “I— let me in, Johnny, please.”

When he hears your voice crack on that last word, he finally relents, and you stagger into the apartment, feeling your way to the couch to sit. You don’t trust your own legs to work.

He sits beside you, the sound of his breathing unbearably loud in the dark. “What happened?” he asks, though the grim line of his mouth and the softness of his voice hint that he already knows the answer to his own question.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you have to grab onto him to steady yourself, rendered faint by the very thought of it.

“He said—” You choke on your own breath, and have to take a second to cough and gasp. Your nails sink into the skin of Johnny’s arm, but he doesn’t complain, not even when you collapse against him, repeating the words like a mantra, thinking that maybe if you keep saying them it won’t feel like ice is filling veins or that you’re hemorrhaging from the valves of your heart. Maybe it’ll stop the ringing in your ears and the shaking of your hands. “He left me. He left—”

The left hallway light flicks on, and Ten shuffles out of his bedroom, yawning. When he makes out your silhouette, crumbling against Johnny’s, he inhales sharply. “Y/n? What’s wrong?”

Johnny answers for you, which is for the best, because wetness is pooling in your eyes, and you think that if you open your mouth again, there will be rain that you cannot stop. “Taeyong. I think he just told her about him… leaving.”

Ten rubs his temples and swears in several languages, the noises jumbling together. “I told him not to wait. God, that idiot…”

And that’s all it takes, for the storm to break upon you. You squeeze your eyes shut as a deep numbness fills you from the bridge of your nose to the tips of your fingers so that the heat of the tears slipping down your nose feels like liquid fire. The rest of you feels like ice, like hail and sleet have fragmented inside of you, shards ripping apart your throat and shredding your lungs. The sobs that follow leave you gasping for air.

Ten’s slender body curls against yours, his arms closing snugly around your waist, his lethargic pulse a staggering contrast to the thunder of yours. He doesn’t bother saying anything to comfort you, and neither does Johnny. They hold you there, in silence, until you’ve cried yourself to exhaustion.

On the floor by the door, your phone lays forgotten, Taeyong’s last texts to you glowing dimly on the screen.

[4:00] Taeyong: Before you read the rest of this, I want to apologize first. I wouldn’t be able to get the words out if I said them face to face. I’m sorry. I’m a coward.

[4:05] Taeyong: Earlier, when we were on the beach, looking up at the stars, you asked me what I was worrying me. I was thinking that even after all this time… I’m still as lost as I was the day you met me. Still searching for something. Still wandering.

[4:06] Taeyong: So I made a last minute decision to go back to Korea with my family. I can’t explain it, but something is calling me there.

[4:09] Taeyong: I would’ve said goodbye, but I don’t think either of us could have handled it. Me especially. I wouldn’t have been able to go. Not if I heard your voice, telling me not to. Not after… all that.

[4:06] Taeyong: I wish I could at least tell you when I’m coming back but, truthfully, I can’t come back until I’ve found my way.

[4:11] Taeyong: My flight is boarding right now. Knowing you, you’ll have gone to the apartment to see if I’m really gone. You’d probably beat the shit out of me for scaring you if I was still there. But I’m not there. I almost wish I was.

[4:13] Taeyong: I promise, I’ll come back when I’m ready to face you. That’s something I can say for sure.

[4:13] Taeyong: You’ll always be my northern star.

[4:15] Taeyong: I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.

a/n 2.0: yeah, yikes, taeyong really did that.... especially after a chapter like this, feedback is desirable. the story with Kenneth... that was my ex [name changed, ofc]. and the scars, they are mine. it really has been four years for me. but i have the support i didn’t have back then when i was younger, and i am growing still. the stars still give me hopes and dreams. i hope you look at them and dream too. and like i’ve said before-- if you ever need someone to talk to, i am here. love y’all. ♥

#nct #nct fics #taeyong fics #taeyong smut #taeyong #lee taeyong #nct smut #nct imagines #taeyong imagines #taeyong x reader #taeyong x female reader #nct fanfics #taeyong fanfics #smut #angst #fluff #may have triggering content #stay gold my darlings

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nickireadstfc · 7 years

Text

The Raven King, Chapter 3 – Andrew Does Shit No One Expects Him To, Pt. 1

In which we prepare for more Serious Orange Sportsball Business, the picture-perfect princess quote happens, Andrew develops new levels of Interesting™, Kevin is a Grade A jealous boyfriend, and have I mentioned I love Wymack enough recently?

Sounds good? Then it’s time for Nicki to read The Raven King.

Thursday’s practice was more uncomfortable than Wednesday’s was. (…) The problem was what Dan and Matt had noticed Wednesday night: the team stood to be so much greater without Seth on the line.

Yaaaaaaaaaa… That’s what I’m saying… I’m so sorry about this but it’s the truth…

For the first time in Fox history, the team was a unified force. Dan and Matt could see that, but Neil saw the guilt on their faces and heard the catch in their words when they spoke during breaks. They didn’t want to find the silver lining of Seth’s death, and they were hesitant to exploit it.

S a m e oh god why :’))))))))))

In other – although related – news: It’s game day, once again!! I’m actually quite pumped for this one although I didn’t think I would be. I don’t expect much in terms of sports excitement (again, I just can’t get hyped over ball pass descriptions of any kind), but I’m very interested to see what their teamwork will look like now – and by interested I mean I’m already dying prematurely.

Spoiler alert: No actual sportsball gaming this chapter yet. In true Fox manner, we’re getting served some Angst and Other Emotions™ of various colours.

Kicking things off with ya boy Neil:

Neil hadn’t been directly responsible for someone’s death in years, though he knew how many people died in his mother’s quest to keep them safe.

What do you mean “directly responsible” are you telling me you’ve actually killed a man or two some years ago, bOI WHAT THE FUCK, especially since you must have been sixteen or younger then BOI WHAT THE FUUUCK.

Neil never wanted to be his father, but he didn’t want to turn into his mother, either. They were different kinds of heartless and Neil, for all his problems connecting with other people, didn’t want to be a monster. The way this season was starting, though, maybe it was inevitable he’d turn into his parents.

:’))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

Next up, there’s ya girl Allison – who has had far too little to say so far, wtf, how’s she doing anyways??

At first glance it was like nothing had changed, but more than a split-second look showed the fight had gone out of her. She sat with her fingers laced together and hands look between her knees, her shoulders slumped and expression dead.

Not good, then. Poor bby. That was to be expected, still – poor bby. <3

There’s a bunch of quotes a few paragraphs ago, though, that rang a bell with me…

Allison Reynolds was a bewildering choice for Palmetto State. She looked –

LIKEAPICTUREPERFECTPRINCESSBUTSHECOULDBRAWLWITHTHEBESTOFTHEMONTHECOURT.

Seriously, that quote was the only thing I knew about Allison before reading the book, and I knew it by heart before ever touching the first page. If I see this scrawled across one more aesthetics moodboard I’m suing.

Surprisingly, it was Nicky who found the strength to cross the room towards her. He crouched in front of her, moving slow like he thought she’d run off if he startled her and gazed up into her face.

“Hey,” Nicky said, soft and nice like the two of them hadn’t spent all summer cutting each other down on the court. “Is there anything we can do?”

NICKY MY DUDE <333

Wymack and Abby were conspicuously absent. Neil wondered if Wymack was late on purpose. (…) He was giving the Foxes a few minutes to adjust to Allison’s return and grief. It gave them a chance to see her before Wymack forced their attention back on Exy.

WYMACK MY MAN <33333

Also, 10 bucks says Wymack and Abby are making out in his office to pass the time.

When Wymack does return, he brings some pretty fucking shit news though – that everyone saw coming, though it does not make them any less shit: As they are now down one striker and neither Kevin nor Neil can play full halves, they needed to make some changes in their line-up. Most of these changes are pretty whatever, save for one thing:

Andrew will have to play both halves – meaning he’ll either play drugged, or show that he’s got more self-control in his pinkie than I have in my entire body.

(Which is not a lot since I literally ordered two new cosplay wigs yesterday despite having exactly No Fucking Money, but you get my point.)

Nicky was persistent. “Coach, this line-up is insane.”

“Yup. Good luck.”

This is such a Wymack response and I love it.

Kevin, however, is more ah, let’s call it insistent, on voicing his concerns:

“What’s going on?” Kevin asked. “You can’t last a full game without your medicine.” (…)

“No, probably not.” Andrew sounded far too cheerful for someone who was going to spend half of his night in serious discomfort.

I’m very, very intrigued to see where this is going.

“He’s done it once before,” Matt said.

“Yeah, last October. (…) Coach asked Andrew for a miracle, and Andrew gave us one. He made Coach come up with a number between one and five, and that’s how many points he let the other team get before he shut them out. It was probably the most badass thing I’ve ever seen.”

It also sounds like the most EXTRA thing I’ve ever seen.

But also badass. Holy shit. I would have paid good money to see that.

(I may actually have paid good money to see that because the books aren’t over yet and I did, for once, pay for them, hAHA)

However, apparently Kevin is decidedly not liking the retelling of that beautiful story.

“So you’ll try,” Kevin said through gritted teeth, “because Coach asked you to.”

Ohhhhhh, someone’s jealous.

Maybe try being a kind fucking person for once and people might be more inclined to do things you ask them to. Just a suggestion, mi amigo.

Also, are we going to get to see Amazing Prodigy Super Talent Goalkeeper Andrew at last because I need it.

“For eight months you told me no. In eight seconds you told him yes. Why?” (…)

“It’s just more fun to tell you no. That’s what you wanted, right? You wanted me to have fun. I am. Aren’t you?”

For someone so small, Andrew made a lot of noise when shoved into the lockers.

I actually had to laugh at that last line. This is the perfect literary version of a good comedic cut and I love it.

Neil didn’t know what amused Andrew more: Kevin’s violence or the splash of blood that now stained the front of Kevin’s shirt. Neil hadn’t even seen Andrew take the knife out, but it was in his hand in the air between them.

Fuck, funny times over. ANDREW, WHY.

STABBING THINGS IS NOT THE SOLUTION TO ALL YOUR PROBLEMS, ANDREW.

(Which is, I feel, yet another entry on the list of Things That Are Probably Not Exactly The Foxes’ Motto.)

“Kevin, Kevin. So predictable. So pathetic. How about a tip? A reward for all your hard work, or something. Ready? You’ll start having more success when you ask for things you can actually have.”

“I can have this,” Kevin said, voice thick with frustration. “You’re just being stupid.”

And you’re just being the most stubborn motherfucker I’ve ever seen in my life, holy shit.

Say it with me, kids: A little bit of kindness, empathy, and giving in occasionally goes a long way.

Neil understood Kevin’s anger. He’d been equally baffled this summer when he first saw Andrew play. It was impossible – should be impossible – for somebody so talented to care so little.

And I have to admit, I absolutely understand their anger as well, and I share it. If there’s one thing in the world that makes me want to weep to the heavens more than anything else, it’s potential being thrown away.

Kids. If you have anything you’re good at, better than at anything else – HOLD ONTO IT. Doesn’t matter if it’s sports, arts, sciences, languages, social activism, fuckin’ jewellery-making, I don’t care, anything. Keep it, nourish it, take care of it and make it great – let it make you great. Doesn’t matter if you study it, make it your job, or just pour your energy into it on your free time. If I catch any of you wasting your potential I will whoop your asses in friendship.

Rant over, on with the story.

Anyone fancy a bit of good ol’ Wymack to wrap this chapter up?

“[Andrew] doesn’t seem like the kind of person who can be bought.”

“He’s not,” Wymack said. “If I asked him to do it for free he would. The only reason he’s getting something out of this is because I know what it’ll cost him to play tonight.”

“But why?” (…)

“Maybe you’ve noticed how much I let this team get away with,” Wymack said. “I know what sort of people I recruited and I know some of them need a little help to get an even keel. So long as no one gets hurt, no one gets caught, and no one is stupid enough to bring it on my court, I don’t care what you guys get up to in your free time.”

Aka Wymack turns a blind eye on the debauchery his team indulges in, knowing it helps them be more stable on the court when they have an outlet in their free time, and thus earning their trust and respect. Fuck yes, this is exactly the way to run a dysfunctional team like this.

Say it with me, kids: A little bit of kindness, empathy, and giving in occasionally goes a long way.

Bless Wymack for getting this, and in fact bless Wymack for just generally existing.

“Does Andrew know you know?” Neil asked.

“Of course he does.”

That was interesting. Andrew knew Wymack could keep a tighter leash on him and was choosing not to do so, so when Wymack needed him to pull through he would.

EXACTLY. Take notes, Kevin dearest.

Wymack <333333333333

“Andrew likes me as much as you do.”

There was nothing in his tone to make it an accusation, but Neil still winced. “I’m sorry.”

“Be sorry while you walk. We’re running late.”

I would say I’m sorry for dissolving into a puddle of “I LOVE YOU” every time Wymack appears and says literally anything, except I’m really, really not. That man is a treasure and haters can exist stage left.

#the raven king #trk #aftg #all for the game #nora sakavic #nicki reads tfc #this was short but!! GAME DAY NEXT WHOS PUMPED I AM

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