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stephspurs · 3 years

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A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

Life is beautiful and life is cruel. This is a window into the souls of the victorious and the vanquished. In a way, football did come home during the summer of 2021. Follow along Amelia’s journey, navigating the football world as a tactical analyst for the Italian football team, with a brother and father part of the three lions. Will Amelia leave Italy and come back to England? Will she leave the Serie A for the Prem? Will she set aside the bianconeri stripes for new colours, leaving behind friendship for love? Maybe she can have both...

hey girlypops! here is part 5!!! thanks for the feedback on the last part - i've gone back through and edited slight bits to make it more straightforward who her brother is and who it isn't. Nothing has been changed to the story line so no need to go back and re-read (unless you want to lol love yas). Part 5 is a whole lot of fun! As the warning suggests, you can expect a few too many drinks, some heavy flirty & a very smug italian.

Love always, Steph xx

Part 5. | parte quinta

warnings; a few too many drinks, heavy flirting and a smug italian.

word count; 1704

writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter.

next update; Wed 04/08 5pm AEST. Updates are three times/week (Monday, Wednesday & Friday)!

Tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex @obsesseds-world @abysshaven

link to fic masterlist here

Day rolls into night, which rolls into the next day and before she knew it Amelia had been under the Mykonos sun for 5 days. Her brother and his teammates, who she should now probably refer to as her friends as well, did nothing but welcome her into their group with open arms and tried to include her in every activity they were doing. Most times she declined their invitation, opting to just relax on her own. She was very comfortable with her own company, she never felt like she needed another person to be able to exist. It was something she was proud of.

No doubt there were times she often missed companionship. She had her fair share of flings that gave her what kind of satisfaction she needed at the time, but she never felt like she needed someone else’s air to be able to breathe. This Mykonos trip, however, reminded her of how much she was beginning to miss her players. They had a group chat, La Cosa Nostra, which was probably a pretty poor group chat name but she was inducted into the already established group when she became close with some of the players & besides it was just Our Thing.

She missed the gentle bullying that she received on the daily from the serie a superstars, and also missed dishing it out to them so that they could keep their feet on the ground and their heads out of the clouds. Laying on her bed in a towel, after a nice shower, she contemplated taking up her brother’s offer from earlier in the evening. Does she go out and meet him and their mates at the club? Why not?

Getting up off her bed, she put on some makeup for the first time in a few days, making her feel somewhat human again, blow dried her freshly washed hair and put on her favourite Camilla bikini, covered up by a white slightly-sheer and flowy mini dress. Putting on her white sneakers and grabbing her cross body bag, comfort was the theme of tonight, and also because she wasn't in the mood to break her ankle on the grecian cobblestones.

Walking to the club that her brother had messaged her the name of, she noticed a ridiculously long line to get in which was honestly long enough for her to consider just going home, but she had committed to the plans & her brother was already expecting her - plus she had already put on her mascara and she was not wasting it. Approaching the line she went to join the back when her arm caught that of someone else walking past her.

_____________________________________________________________

“Sembra che tu non riesca a starmi lontano, vero?” (you can't seem to stay away from me, can you?) Looking up, I had linked arms with my midfield maestro, Jorginho. Who was smiling down at me with the cheeky grin that told me he saw me coming and couldn't help himself.

“Ciao! Come sei stato? Che sorpresa incontrati qui!” (Hi! How have you been? What a surprise running into you here!) I begin to say to him as I kiss both his cheeks in greeting.

“I’ve been good, enjoying time off as a double champion” He joked with me. He was right, he was a double champion and no one could take that away from him.

“Bella Amelia, this is Thiago. I play with him at Chelsea, which I'm sure you already knew. Thiago, this is the brains behind the organisation, Amelia” Jorginho introduced me to his Chelsea counterpart, which he was correct about - i did already know exactly who he was.

“Are you guys coming into Tropicana? I’m meeting up with my brother and his mates - some of them play with you guys at Chelsea. You should join us!” It took very little convincing for the two footballers, who looked like they were a couple hours into their long night, to join me in the club.

Unsurprisingly, we got let into Tropicana quite quickly. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the two mega famous and ridiculously good looking footballers I had looped around each of my arms. Walking through the club, the smell of cigarette smoke and vodka wafting around me, I managed to find the british players.

“Now now boys, no bad blood here! I know you all managed to get over my Italian affiliation so don’t hold it against my boy Jorgi here!” I address the group jokingly, as I wrap my right arm around his neck and he wraps his left around my waist.

Of course the Chelsea boys welcome him with open arms, they’ve known both Thiago and Jorgi longer than they’ve known me. The other boys offer their hellos before continuing to dance and drink with their mates. I say hi to everyone, give a big hug to my brother and Kyle (my chosen brother) before I'm wrapped into another hug I wasn't expecting.

“I’ve got to admit, you give a good hug” I say as I whisper into his ear.

“You’re a pretty easy person to hug, Mils”

“Always a smooth talker you are, Jack”

We parted and I grabbed myself a drink before spending the night dancing on top of the table with the girlfriends of the boys that I had only just been introduced to. Bonding over the fact that I was desperate for some female companionship, and also that I was the only single girl in the group, leading to the conclusion that they needed to be my wingwoman...all of them.

The night thereafter was spent finding suitable prospects for my whirlwind night of fun and romance, which I insisted wasn't necessary but also couldn't help but admit that it excited me just a little. It had been a while since I was close with a guy in that sense, and to be honest, the tequila shots that the girls had me doing was loosening me up in more ways than one.

Feeling the need for a break and some fresh air, I grabbed my purse and walked outside to sit along the retaining wall. We had reached that part of the evening where there was no chance I wasn't going to be allowed back into the club - the bouncers and security guards becoming more relaxed and carefree as it neared the time that the sun would reappear. Without thinking twice, I asked for a cigarette from some guys standing outside and a quick light, before returning to my little spot on the wall.

“They’re right bad for you, ya know” A voice to my right startled me.

“Jesus! You need to stop scaring me like that!” I shrieked.

“Nah not Jesus, just Chilly. However the beard has me thinking I do look a little bit God-like these days..no?” He says as he runs his fingers through the barely-there beard. Sure I could agree with stubble, maybe even a little bit more than stubble, but a beard? Not yet. However, I wasn't about to dim his sparkle.

“I like the beard, Chilly.” I confirmed.

“I like you, Mils” Wow ok. Straight to the point then.

“Well thanks, you’re not so bad yourself.” I tried to play it off, it was obvious we had both consumed far too much alcohol this evening and the cigarette was currently working wonders in its purpose of sobering me up.

“Ya know, the girls were out there tonight looking for your Greek Adonis to come and sweep you off your feet. They were looking a bit too hard though, if you know what i mean” he sweet talks me, and its working.

“Wow Ben, you’re really out here laying it on thick tonight - factor 50 i would say. I’m sure you’re just looking through rose coloured glasses right now” I joked back with him. I can’t say I didn't notice all of his longing looks, extra attention to me, constant protection when we would be out in public, but I knew at the end of the week that I would be going back to Turin, so there wasn’t any point.

Finishing up our little chat (read: heavy flirting session), we headed back inside together to join the group. Before long, Jorgi comes up to me with a drink and a smug smile on his face.

“Che cosa?” (what?) I questioned him in Italian, trying to limit as many people understanding our conversation as possible.

“Cosa succede a mykonos, rimane a mykonos, no?” (what happens in mykonos, stays in mykonos, no?) He says as he leans into my ear. To anyone else it would just look like two friends trying to have a conversation in a loud club, but I understood his message loud and clear.

“non sto facendo niente di male, né l'ho mai fatto. non voleva etichette, quindi è quello che ha ottenuto” (i'm not doing anything wrong, nor have i ever. he wanted no labels so that’s what he got.) I say back firmly. Jorgi let go of my shoulders and moved to stand in front of me.

“It’s ok tesoro (darling), I’m sure Federico would agree with you” He said back to me in English, it was obvious that he wanted someone around to understand the premise of our conversation. He smiled cheekily at me, before taking a swig of his drink and dancing backwards into the crowd as I shook my head at him.

Jorgi and I developed the kind of friendship that would last through time. We were equals. We listened to each other's problems, offered the advice that we needed to hear & not necessarily wanted to hear. We promoted each other's happiness and tried to get each other to not take life too seriously. This was his way of bringing me back down to earth, reminding me of what I have waiting for me back in Turin, but also making sure I knew what was right in front of me. He left the decision up to me to make, but he played his part to make sure I knew all of my options. He really was a good friend, which would make my next career decision a little bit more challenging than anticipated.

Part 6. | parte sesta

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coeurdastronaute · 3 years

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Essays in Existentialism: Christmas Day 34

previously on Christmas

Polo Xmas prompt: Lexa gets auctioned off as a date for charity to support a good cause. Clarke gets jealous and tries to bid on her but loses. Thanks!

“You’re late!”

“Not that late,” Clarke furrowed as she adjusted her dress slightly.

“Fashionably late,” Lexa offered after checking her watch. “Hardly noticeable.”

The annual Christmas Charity Gala illuminated the museum. The carpet was hidden beneath the white tents, protecting the visitors from the dazzling flurry of perfectly timed snow. Lights hung from every available eave, while brilliant Christmas trees glowed throughout the exhibits. The main hall was a sea of black ties and festive gowns, of fancy hair and cologne, of happy couples and wishes of merriment.

Immediately set upon by Raven as they walked past the cameras and coat check, there hadn’t been even a second to really take in the winter magic that existed for the benefit Marcus began with Abby’s help. It was the social event of the season, and Lexa considered her boss to have outdone himself more so than ever before, and she’d been to quite a few Kane parties in her time with him. Tables here were going for no less than $50,000. He was ready to set records, even in philanthropy.

As Clarke finished fidgeting, she met her friend’s eye. Lexa’s hand remained on her back and she felt the flush of the warmth of the building finally hit her cheeks. Nothing was noticeably out of place. She was reasonably put together.

“Seriously?” Raven groaned, shaking her head at the couple. “The limo?”

“What? No… what do you mean?”

Stoic and unbothered, Lexa squeezed Clarke’s arm subtly, tucking her other hand into her pocket. Raven was completely right, and she was almost slightly proud of the fact that it was almost apparent on her girlfriend’s face as to why they were late. She got a smug grin and surveyed the rest of the party.

“I’ll let Marcus know you’re here,” Raven rolled her eyes as she turned to walk away, only to pause and give them another look before departing.

For a moment, Clarke stood there and looked over her dress before looking over her girlfriend’s completely unrumpled tux and tie and hair.

“How did she know?”

“You tend to have a glow about you.”

“I do not,”Clarke disagreed. She found a reflective surface and checked her make up while Lexa found them glasses of champagne, snagged from a quickly moving waiter’s tray. “If anyone should have a glow it’s you,” she accused. “I’m damn good in a limo and you’re lucky to have me.”

“Oh, I know, princesa.”

“There’s no way she could know though. Not for certain.”

“She knows.”

“Shut up.”

With a calming gulp, Clarke held her glass and for the first time since arriving, surveyed the party as they walked through toward the main area in hopes of finding familiar faces.

“You weren’t saying that twenty minutes ago,” Lexa reminded her. “I believe your exact words were something about my outfit.”

There was a blush near her collar bones at the recent memory, but Clarke didn’t break this time, instead taking another sip of her drink.

“Do you like my dress?”

Lexa looked it over again, for well about the hundredth time and remained completely in love with how her girlfriend looked in it. She nodded as she took a drink herself.

“You know I think you look amazing in it.”

“Good. Then forget what just happened in the limo.”

“I could never.”

“It’s the smugness. It’s unattractive.”

“Is it though?” Lexa grinned.

They stood close as they found their table, pausing before Lexa pulled out the chair to offer to her girlfriend. She kissed Clarke’s cheek before taking her own seat as well, happy to be near her, happy to be at an even like this for the first time ever in her life. There’d been many times she’d been on the arm of someone, but never had she been so happy to have Clarke on her’s.

“You might want to hide that smugness, there, tiger,” Clarke offered, looking over her shoulder at the familiar form approaching.

“I don’t know if it’s possible. You do remember what I did to you in the--”

“Dad! Hey!”

Clarke rolled her eyes to see that the smugness didn’t leave Lexa, though she did stop talking, which was important. It was the season of giving, and Clarke was proud, too proud often, and she was not great at accepting, except with it came to Lexa. With Lexa, she took everything.

Lexa stood as quickly as she sat, careful to button her coat before grabbing Clarke’s chair for her to hug her father. She did everything in her power to stop thinking about the limo.

“Looks like this is the family table. Your mother was kind enough to put us all together after taking my very large check. How are you, Lexa?”

“Doing well, sir. Nice to see you.”

Gripping his hand, Lexa met his eyes and nodded. He smiled kindly, and he had Clarke’s eyes. It was disarming in a way.

“You look great, honey,” he kissed his daughter’s cheek. Once more, Lexa pulled out the chair.

“You clean up alright, too. Is Mom auctioning you, too?”

“She is, and here I thought the divorce was enough to get rid of me.”

Despite herself, Lexa smiled into her glass as the patriarch of one of the largest companies on the planet signaled for a drink as well. Clarke sighed audibly at her father’s jab.

“Clarke’s annoyed that I was volunteered,” Lexa offered, earning a nudge from an elbow.

“She never did share well,” he shrugged, chuckling at his daughter’s misfortune.

“There’s only one limo I plan on going home in tonight,” the polo player promised.

“Maybe you both will find true love tonight as you’re sold like slabs of meat on the auction block. I don’t understand why they can’t just do a silent auction.”

“Oh, she is a bit jealous, isn’t she?” Jake observed.

“I was just hoping to get her to take me to lunch more.”

“Are you going to bid on your girlfriend?”

“No. I get her for free. I’m not going to spend your money.”

“You can bid on your old man, if you want,” Jake explained. “I’d hate to get stuck at some lunch with some mad woman or man, plus it’d be nice to catch up.”

“You’re really not going to bid on me?” Lexa furrowed.

“You signed up to go on a date with a stranger, and so I’m going to oblige.”

“That’s not what I--”

“Okay, you two, let’s go,” Raven appeared, slightly out of breath. “Abby is running me ragged looking for the talent.”

“Now you’re making me sound like a pornstar.”

“If you go for a high enough price, who knows,” she retorted. “Come on.”

“Good luck,” Clarke offered as Lexa leaned down for a kiss. “I hope you go for higher than my dad. That’d be embarrassing.”

“Remember when I said you were beautiful in that dress?”

“Mhm.”

“I love you.”

“I know,” Clarke smiled. “I’ll see you after.”

XXXXXXXXXXX

Left to her own devices, Clarke finally took stock of the past hour of her life and ventured a moment to think of the next one. There was something magical about Lexa showing up in the limo, dressed to the nines, her hair perfect and tamed, or at least as much as it could be. It lived forever in her mind, that image of a dashing girl, adjusting her watch at the foot of the stairs, the look she got when Clarke walked down the steps.

She was smitten with the polo player. She was more smitten than she could ever remember being, and she didn’t want anyone else going to lunch with her girlfriend.

Exchanging pleasantries with the rest of her table before her friend returned, Clarke did everything she could to put the events of the limo out of her mind. There was something about how sexy Lexa was, and how her hands were always everywhere, and her lips were always so warm. It was alarming to want someone so much. It was new for Clarke.

Beneath the small tree in her apartment, there were little gifts, already wrapped and ready for Lexa. There were plans, already, for that morning.

“There is going to be a feeding frenzy over your dad and girlfriend.”

“How’s he doing backstage? He hates attention.”

“I might bid on him myself, honestly.”

“Did he say he’d bank roll you to get him out of it?”

“Even if he did, I’d hold him to a date.”

“Ew on so many levels,” Clarke laughed.

“Him and Lexa are actually gossiping about watches and junk. They’re kind of adorable together. You might have to bring her around more,” Raven explained as she grabbed another glass of champagne.

“I don’t know if I’m more afraid of them getting along or not getting along.”

XXXXXXXXXX

“Next up, we have perhaps the most eligible bachelor in all of New York City. You know him as the CEo of Griffin, and I know him as the father of my child, I give you, Jake Griffin.”

Abby applauded as the CEO sheepishly made his way out onto the catwalk toward the stand.

“Jake loves Italian food and Westerns. He’s run the NYC marathon five out of the last seven years and practices kickboxing with his daughter at least once a week. A proud alumni of Columbia, he’s become an affiliate professor teaching business classes part time at the community college.”

On the stage, Clarke’s father waved and put his other hand in his pocket.

“Bidding will start at five thousand for a wonderful lunch date while you tour the city from the water on his private yacht.”

“Five right here!” Raven yelled, lifting her paddle quickly.

“Stop!” Clarke rolled her eyes.

The bidding went higher and higher as Jake gave his daughter a confused glance. She just gave him a thumbs up and laughed at the entire thing.

“Remember, ‘tis the season, everyone,” Abby added. “We have fifty-five going once, going twice, and sold!”

Surprised as he was, Jake nodded and smiled toward the crowds. He offered a quick wave before retreating to the safety of the backstage.

“Next up, we have someone who needs no introduction, though I am going to give her one anyway.”

Unlike her predecessor, Lexa came out, prepared for the season, clad in a bright red Santa hat and sporting a very mischievous smile.

“The championship polo player and current model for Patek Philippe, Calvin Kline, and Ralph Lauren is fluent in four languages and enjoys spending the day snuggled up with a good book, something she’s done a lot of with a Masters in Latin American Literature.”

In a similar movement, Lexa waved toward the crowd and shoved a hand in her pocket, however she knew how to work a crowd and walk a runway, much to her girlfriend's faux chagrin. Lexa knew Clarke wasn’t one to get jealous, but she appreciated the display. She appreciated feeling wanted and protected, as if somehow the girl in the green and red gown would fight anyone who bid.

“Lexa Woods is an accomplished athlete. She’s an Olympian for her native Argentina, enjoys a hearty red wine, and spending time with her ponies. We’ll start the bidding at ten thousand.”

“Fifty thousand,” Clarke called out after a few people lifted their paddles.

It grew a little quieter for a moment.

“Sixty!” a voice rang out from another table, though Clarke couldn’t see where it was coming from exactly in the hubbub of the large hall.

“Seventy,” another joined, the crowd getting into it.

“Eighty!” Clarke interjected, earning a look from her mother.

“Ninety.”

“One hundred.”

Clarke lowered her paddle and rolled her eyes.

All said and done, Lexa went for a record $183,000 and Clarke found herself somewhat proud of that number, just as Lexa looked floored by the final result before escaping backstage as well. But it was for charity, and Clarke was relieved to see that the winning bid was to an older woman.

XXXXXXXXXX

“I’m sorry I didn’t keep bidding on you,” Clarke mumbled as she plopped down onto the bed in the hotel room. “I would have easily spent a million dollars on you.”

“That’s kind, but I’m glad you didn’t,” Lexa smiled to herself.

Carefully, she folded her coat and laid it over the chair in the corner before she sat down and began removing her shoes. The light from the hallway streamed in, casting one long line across the livingroom and bedroom, but Clarke didn’t move at all, just spread her arms wide and stared at the ceiling, full of too much mirth and spirits.

“Are you going to take that dress off for bed? It doesn’t look too comfortable to sleep in.”

“Take it off for me.”

“Hopefully my lunch date will stay a little more sober than you.”

“I doubt it. I know Mrs. Winston and she’s about as dry as a… as a wet mop.”

Lexa shook her head and went about the task of undressing her girlfriend, grateful to have made use of their time together before the event. She knelt at the edge of the bed and began with the shoes, gingerly unstrapping them and slipping feet from them.

“I would have bid on you more.”

“I know. I wouldn’t have stopped if it were you.”

“Afraid I’d run off with some hedge fund manager?”

“Terribly afraid of that.”

“Nah,” Clarke murmured, lulling her drunken head to the side slightly. “Not with how good you look in a tuxedo. Holy fuck.”

“And I couldn’t care about a stupid lunch when you look like the most wonderful present waiting to be unwrapped,” Lexa promised.

“I’m drunk but I think you should come up here and kiss me right now.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Leca shrugged before eagerly agreeing.

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blazedgraysons · 3 years

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You're No Good - Ch. 2

C.J. Bennett is an overly ambitious student who dreams of shadowing her favorite author, Eli Jennings. The only thing standing in her way: Grayson Dolan.

warnings: this is a rough draft of a series i never finished. i'm posting the finished chapters before leaving this account. 🤍

part 1

If American Lit 1102 was C.J.’s personal hell, her job could at least be considered her own reprieve.

Sunnyside Vintage is an old shop off of Sunset, having been open for the last 30 years. It wasn’t the nicest of thrift stores — the clothes always have a weird mothball smell and everything is old - and not in the trendy way. C.J. loves it. The windows are huge, letting California sunlight wash the stucco walls gold, and the mannequins are always dressed straight out of the 70’s. The pay isn’t always great, but C.J. is allowed to take whatever she wants more than makes up for it in her eyes.

“I just don’t understand. I mean, Stevens has praised me this entire semester. She even told me personally he’s never had a student write as well as me nor pick up on the work as fast as I have. Wouldn’t that be qualities you’d want in an intern, Bea? Even Grayson Dolan would’ve been a better pick.” C.J. turns to her boss, angrily folding flared jeans.

Another reason C.J. loves Sunnyside — her boss, Beatrice “Bea” Walker. Once a glitzy soap star of the ’50’s, she retired with her husband and opened Sunnyside in the late 80’s. Despite being in her late-70s, she still holds on to the same glamour and charm that made her a household name a century prior.

“Maybe there was another reason. It could be something other then your application.” She croaks, lifting a pumpkin to place next to a costumed mannequin. As halloween rapidly approaches, the store was starting to transform to fit the fall season — hoping to draw in customers to purchase unique costumes for the holiday.

Before she can move to help Bea, the doors chime, signaling an entrance. Walking through with seemingly-glowing skin and a symphonic smile was Alexi, C.J.’s best friend and roommate. It’s hard to miss Alexi whenever she walks into a room — from her bleached-blue hair to eclectic style, she’s never been afraid to follow her own path, something C.J. has always admired. She walks straight to C.J., wrapping her in a loving embrace

“Are you okay? James told me what happened.” Alexi leaves an arm around her, and while C.J. knows it’s supposed to be comforting; all she can think about is how much she wants Alexi to leave. It’s one thing to rant to her elderly boss, someone who would love her in spite of her shortcomings and faults. But to know her own friend group has already heard about her misfortune, sending over someone to comfort and soothe, it was all just a little too pitiful for her to handle.

“Theta’s are throwing a party tonight. It’ll be the perfect pick-me-up, and you can forget all about Evans Jensen-“

“Eli Jennings” C.J. corrects.

“Whoever” Alexi rolls her eyes at the interruption, “is missing out on your incredible talent because of an idiotic professor’s incompetence. Everyone’s going and it won’t be the same without you, C.”

“As much as I would love that, Lex, I really just want to be alone tonight. Shitty beer, cheap Indian food, a sad movie so I don’t have to think about how these past four years have been a waste.”

“Not a waste, first of all. Look, I know that you’ve had this whole plan for your life since you popped out the womb, but shit happens, things change. This isn’t a failure, just think of it as a temporary setback. Plus, when life gives you lemons, you…” She trails off, waiting for C.J. to finish.

“Make lemonade?” She sighs.

“Use it to chase tequila.” Alexi giggles.

“I would go, but I have to close. Right, Bea?"

"Don't use me as an excuse. You should go, maybe find a boy to take home." Alexi makes a face at Beatrice's statement and C.J.'s face heats up.

“You’re going - no more buts. Wear something cute. Something that maybe doesn’t make if look like you were alive for Vietnam.” Alexi’s already leaving, kissing Beatrice lightly on the cheek on her way out.

This was how C.J. found herself standing outside the Theta Lambda frat house, October air chilling her through her jacket. She shifts her weight between her feet, surveying the small group around her. Alexi talks animatedly on the phone, asking for whoever to meet them out front.

A random person bumps into her, forcing her to spill the contents of her purse onto the dewey grass. C.J. groans, bending down to pick everything up while mentally thinking to herself all of the other things she could be doing right now.

A pair of dirty air forces steps in front of C.J. and she slowly looks up at the girl standing in front of her. She’s pretty, stunning actually. C.J. recognizes her immediately. Channing Williams - social chair of Rho Xi sorority and the key to all the best parties on campus. Dressed in a black romper and red velvet jacket, she’s everything C.J. isn’t and a quiet twinge of jealousy plucks her heart. ‘I bet she’s never lost out on an internship.’ she thinks bitterly.

“Sorry, do you know anyone?” Channing asks, voice soft and sweet with a clipboard in hand. C.J. looks at Alexi, waiting to hear her answer.

“Not really? I mean we know people, but we aren’t going to be on your clipboard or anything so if you could just let us slide through, I’m sure there’s someone here who could like vouch for us or something?” C.J. wants to slap her — not only did she drag her out in below-freezing weather, but she couldn’t even guarantee them a way inside.

“Well this is a greek-only party so unless you know anyone….” Channing trails off, not openly wanting to kick them out in front of so many people.

“That means no GDI’s.” C.J. didn’t even notice the miniature-sized freshman standing besides Channing. She clearly looks annoyed at the intrusion, keeping her from inside where everyone else is to deal with their little group. C.J. briefly wonders if the upturned stare is a requirement for Rho Xi or if that’s was just especially reserved for her.

“Geed’s?” Alexi repeats, raising an eyebrow.

“Goddamn independents. Y’know, not greek-affiliated.” At this point, C.J. is ready to call the whole night and retire in her bed when she see’s someone appear in between Channing.

“They’re cool, Chan. They’re with me.” Micayla Zhao enters, covered in glitter, sweat and what C.J. is almost sure to be a line of salt from a body shot. C.J. has always considered Micayla the only cool Rho Xi, having had multiple classes with her over the years. Micayla fit right in with their group: smart, beautiful and a wicked sense of humor.

Channing nods, seeming bored and just wanting to get back inside with everyone else. She does a quick finger tap with Micayla (sacred Rho Xi bullshit is what Alexi always calls it) and moving along the line.

“Are your sisters always that charming?” Micayla rolls her eyes, grabbing C.J. to move them through the house to the backyard. A huge bonfire is set up in the middle with a canopy near by for the designated drinking spot. She watches as Micayla confidently moves through the crowd, stopping from time to time to say hey to friends and classmates on the way.

“Most of the time. Look, they’re just possessive over tradition and the Rho-Theta party has always been major exclusive, Channing’s been fighting to make it open to outsiders.” Micayla yells over the thumping bass.

“Yeah, I’m sure they love all the GDI’s.” C.J. exaggerates her voice, pinching her nose to capture the nasally, valley accent Channing is almost famous for. Micayla stops, and had C.J. not been paying attention, she would’ve ran into her.

“Dude, you’re kind of being a bitch right now. Look, I get your bummed about your internship, but Channing wouldn't have let you in if she didn't want to. Would you rather be getting drunk, in your apartment alone?”

“Yeah, actually.” Micayla stares at C.J. for a second, looking like she’s about to bitch her out. As if Alexi can sense the fight forming, she grabs Micayla by the arm.

“Let’s go get a drink, you look like you need a drink in you.” They both walk towards the house, Alexi mouthing ‘Be Nice’ over her shoulder before disappearing completely. C.J. exhales, counting to 3 in her head before walking over to where drinks are set up.She fills up her solo cup, watching as the fizzy liquid moves closer and closer to the top. Before she can take a sip, someone bumps into her spilling half the drink over the side.

“Hey, watch it!” A thick Jersey accent exclaims, and C.J. groans, wondering if this night could get any worse.

“Bennett?”

Grayson appears in front of her, denim jacket over a black t-shirt and black jeans. She takes note of the dark spot growing on the front of his shirt, from where she spilt her drink.

“What’re you doing here?”

She simply shrugs, refilling the missing contents of her cup.“I didn’t know parties were your scene. I always imagined in your free time you’re in like a dark room, crying alone to Sylvia Plath novels.”

“Nice to know you think of me out of class, Grayson” C.J. takes a sip of her beer. She moves to walk away, hoping he would take it as an end of conversation.

"How'd you get in? Isn't this like Rho's only?" He asks, following her to the edge of the bonfire. She looks at him, watching as the light frames the features of his face.

"Couldn't I say the same about you? You're not a Theta." He just stares at her intensely until she relents, "Micayla Zhao got me in. Y'know her?"

"We had history together sophomore year. She helped me cheat on the midterms."

C.J. laughs shortly. "Sounds like her."

Grayson opens his mouth to speak again, but is cut off.

“As much as I’m enjoying this conversation, Grayson, don’t you have someone else to bother? Someone who, y’know, actually likes you?” If that comment bothered him, he didn’t show it, continuing talking to her as if they haven’t pissed each other off continuously for the past four years.

“What do you think about Michael Eichler getting the internship spot?” He asks. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she didn’t get the spot, now she has to sit and rub salt in the wound with her worst enemy.

“What’s there to think about? He got it, I didn’t. Fucking sucks.” He laughs, holding up his own drink.

“Cheers to that.” They both clink cups, and C.J. briefly wonders if the universe is still laughing at her.

"You know, that spot should've gone to one of us." He muses, watching the partygoers continue to stumble around them. He doesn't say anything after that, and she bites.

"Why should it have gone to one of us?"

"Well, think about it. We're both the top of our class, and I know for a fact Stevens has submitted your writing to collegiate magazines. There's no fucking way Michael fucking Eichler should've got that spot over one of us." C.J. pauses. She had known that Stevens appreciated her writing, but not enough to submit it anywhere. If what Grayson was saying was true, why hadn't she gotten the apprenticeship?

"Nothing I can really do about it now. He got the spot, I didn't. I guess I can become a second rate author now." She takes another sip, and Grayson snorts unattractively.

"I'm sure you'll be okay, Bennett. If Stevens like you, I'm sure there's another author dumb enough to want to publish your work too." She glares at him.

"And here I thought we were becoming friends."

"As if you actually would've wanted to become friends with me."

"Oh yeah, that's what I do in between my Sylvia Plath crying sessions. Desperately wish that Grayson Dolan would become my best friend." Sarcasm drips off every word and he looks at her before taking another long sip of his drink.

“You know you’re actually kinda cool, Bennett. When you’re not trying to bite my head off in the middle of lecture”

“Maybe if you didn’t have such shitty takes, I wouldn’t want too.” Whatever retort Grayson was planning falls from his lips when Channing appears by his side, tucking herself underneath his arm.

"Hey, Gray. I got you another drink." Two Coronas hang from her manicured hand, and he whispers inaudibly to her, giggling between the two of them. C.J. begins to feel awkward, and coughs uncomfortably.

“Oh, you’re the GDI from earlier,” Channing looks up at her half-lidded, dark eyelashes framing red-tinged brown eyes.

“Yeah, that’s me.” Channing shifts her weight, biting her lip and feeling like an intruder. "I didn't know you two knew each other?" C.J. supplies, feeling desperate for conversation

"Gray and I had math together freshman year, "They both stare at each other awkwardly, silent tension as they wait for the other to speak.

“So, I’m gonna go." She speaks.

“No, you don’t have to." Channing is already turned back to Grayson, looking like she wouldn't mind C.J.'s exit.

“No it’s fine” Neither Grayson nor Channing seem to protest anymore, and C.J. turns back to see her friends looking at her, both amused and curious at her interaction with the duo. She begins to walk towards them, feet and heart sinking with every step, not feeling any better about her current predicament.

“Hey Bennett,” She turns around to face Grayson. “Think about what I said. About the internship stuff” She just nods, and leaves the pair. The moment she reaches her initial group, Alexi pulls her towards them.

“You and Dolan were just talking and it didn't end in a screaming match. That’s new. What did he want?”

“Nothing. Just typical Grayson Dolan bullshit."Alexi looks like she doesn't believe her, and frankly C.J. doesn't believe herself. She thinks back to what Grayson said, about how they were the only real competition for the apprenticeship. Whatever he meant by that could be handled tomorrow.

"C’mon. Didn’t you say something earlier today about tequila shots?” She asks

“Atta, girl. That’s what I’m talking about.” She lets Alexi drag her away, sparing one last look at Grayson before entering the fraternity house.

#grayson dolan #grayson dolan series #grayson dolan smut #grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan blurb #grayson dolan fluff #grayson dolan angst #grayson dolan x reader #grayson dolan x y/n #dolan twins #dolan twins series #dolan twins smut #dolan twins imagine #dolan twins blurb #dolan twins fluff #dolan twins angst #dolan twins x reader #dolan twins x y/n

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grayintogreen · 2 years

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WIP Wednesday

Writing is going slowly because, you know, life, and me feeling like a HACK all the time, which is a personal problem and I am dealing with it. Gently. With hydration and sleep and calls to my doctor for medications pls.

ANYWAY. Here’s a bit from Chapter Nineteen of once upon a damn-you-all, which I meant to have done this week, but I’m only halfway through scene two of six. Whoops.

Enjoy some Empire Siblings.

The loot distributed, Caleb finally uncurled his long legs and shifted to work a cramp he must have gotten from sitting on the stone for so long. He gave a cursory look at where the rest of the Nein were and then moved with purpose towards Stahlmast’s bedchamber, and, having been lying in wait for this like a lioness on the prowl, Beau fell right into step beside him, as if she had blinkedthere like Yasha’s dog.

“Hey, so I know we should probably turn in a lot of this evidence to the Watchmaster, but I feel like it might honestly make the whole war situation worse.”

Caleb didn’t lose a step, resigned to her appearance at his side. “How do you mean?”

She sighed. She’d been doing more than just thinking about the fickleness of luck and time and how easy it was to lose everything. She didn’t want to traverse an Empire that was being whipped into a frenzy about traitors. It wasn’t good for a bunch of loosely affiliated weirdos. “Propaganda, you know? The Soul will at least investigate this kind of thing quietly, but if we drop this bomb on the Watchmaster, soon it’s gonna get back to Dwendel and the whole godsdamned country is gonna be looking for traitors among their own people.”

“Ah.” Caleb pursed his lips. “And they will start their witch hunts with the pegs that don’t fit into the standard?”

“It would be really bad for us. Shit’s already bad.” They stopped just outside of the bedroom and her frown deepened. That was a huge part of her concern, but not all of it. “Did he say anything? When you talked to him?”

It took Caleb a moment to answer, but, at least, when he did, he didn’t seem to be bullshitting her. “Not so much. I considered asking him about the-” he made the vague shape of a dodecahedron with his hands.

Beau chewed the inside of her cheek. “But you didn’t?”

“We would absolutely have to kill him, if we did. And given how our friend in the sewers reacted to that object and what he and his friend did to get it back… I doubted we would get anything else out of him.” Caleb shifted awkwardly onto his back foot.

One eyebrow went up. “What else would we even need to ask him? I mean, yeah- the Soul would wanna know shit, but that’s for me to ask, not you.” She made the implication clear without it being accusatory- what do you want to ask him?

Admittedly, with her resting tone, it still sounded accusatory, but she couldn’t help that.

Caleb fidgeted with his coat, lost in some internal debate, and then sighed and dug in his coat to produce a book, bound in supple purple leather with etched filigree over the cover. “I have questions about this. And this, Beauregard, I cannot give to the Soul.”

He offered it to her, but when she tried to take it, he held his grip firm. She could have easily wrenched it out of his hands but for the pleading note in his blue eyes. He was all but demanding that she promise. “Fine,” she sighed. “We haven’t turned over the stupid beacon thing, after all.”

He released the book and she flipped through it, frowning when she realized it was just a spellbook, full of scribblings and arcane equations that made her eyes glaze over. While she scanned, Caleb mumbled, “Perhaps we should leave that behind.”

Beau jerked her head up, suddenly. “Excuse me? You agree we need to turn all the evidence to the Soul so the Empire doesn’t, like, start a witch hunt for Dynasty sympathizers and you wanna just drop the thing that started the war here?”

Caleb was halfway to unraveling the seams of his already threadbare coat as he fidgeted. “Just drop it in the falls… With no other evidence, it would seem like it was hidden. It might not even be found until months later.”

“Why now, all of a sudden? We’ve been fine with that thing in Jester’s bag for weeks.” Something wasn’t adding up, entirely, and under the weight of her stare, Caleb unraveled before he could do the same to his coat. He sighed and flipped the pages of the spellbook until he found a spot where a spell was scrawled in fancy handwriting.

She mouthed along the words under her breath as she read. “This is-”

“It’s familiar, isn’t it?” Caleb grimaced. “I noticed it when he first used his magic. The Dynasty utilizes an entirely different school of magic than anything I have ever witnessed. I think that… artifact, that beacon might be connected to it.”

“What about the whole ‘keeps babies from being born’ part?” Beau raised her eyebrows again.

A dry chuckle. “I think we both know that perhaps Jester extrapolated the wrong information from that sentence, but… It might be many things. I would love very much to study it, Beauregard.” There was a pleading, desperation in his eyes. “But I am well aware of the risks.”

Her brow furrowed. “You’re a fan of calculated risks.”

“We have a number of them right now. I’d say they are far less calculated.” Caleb’s shoulders slumped. “I very much wish to be selfish. It is in my nature to be. I’m not asking your permission to allow it so much as I am… Offering you the chance to remove the temptation.”

“Part of the temptation.” Beau handed him back the book. A few weeks ago, she’d be ready to fight him over this, but now she had to appreciate his balls.“You’re not getting rid of this. Don’t act like this isn’t a little bit calculated, Caleb.”

Caleb chuckled. “Ohhh Beauregard, you are a quick one. The book poses the least threat to the group’s safety, at least.”

“Yeah.” But not necessarily to Caleb’s… whatever. Overall mental health? His schemes and plans that probably ran counterintuitive to the group as a whole and her need to keep a running tally of every single threat? Something else, even she couldn’t guess at? In the end, it didn’t matter. The dodecahedron was probably better off not in anyone’s hands right now. The wind hadn’t turned on that particular subject yet.

She exhaled. “Okay, here’s the deal. We’ll keep it, but if you get really fuckin’ weird about this shit? I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Caleb slow blinked at her. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Beauregard. I am weird about a lot of shit.”

“I’ll let you know if you’re doin’ it.” She huffed.

#critical role fanfic #critical role fic #wip wednesday #once upon a damn you all #empire siblings

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tokoyamisstuff · 4 years

Text

Betrothed Ch. 10 - Illumi Zoldyck x Reader

Chapter 10: Bewilderment

Summary: What is Illumi doing while you are searching for him?

Warnings: Violence, murder, angst.

Words: ~1900

A/N: Sorry for taking so long guys, I recently have little time left to write.

Story Masterlist

“No one is more dangerous than the insane which is calm all the time: he is like a steel bridge without flexibility, and the order of his life is rigid and brittle. A minor change can cause the functioning madman to collapse.”

There was no time to grieve.

After you had put an end to the puppet that took after your beloved husband, Okogame revealed that he in fact had cloned the entire Phantom Troupe as well.

Gladly, and much to your surprise, the spiders cleaned their own mess and assisted you and your friends in getting rid of the remaining puppets.

And ultimatively, Pretz was the one to put an end to her brother’s wrongdoings, ending both of their suffering as well.

Their deaths left you with a bitter aftertaste: Was there really no other way to end one’s madness? There had to be another way!

Kurapika had run out of strenght, which was only fortunate since him collapsing was the only thing keeping him from recklessly challenging the spiders.

So all of you stood in front of the burning chapel, only able to watch as Okogame’s sins were cleansed through the fire.

What would it take to free Illumi from the curse that was his own mind?

“Not so fast” you gnarled while your friends were still distracted by the tragic view. “Hisoka. We need to talk.”

The mage was already about to leave, yet acting all innocent. “Oh? Who do we got here? The happy bride...”

“Don’t play stupid.” Trying to act intimidating, you built yourself up in front of the much taller man. "You’re what comes closest to being a friend for him, so you must know where he is. Tell me!”

“It’s so long since we’ve first met at the Hunter Exam...” Hisoka chuckled quite amused, licking the blood from one of his playing cards. “I didn’t even know you had relationship problems.”

“Big understatement.” Hisoka’s carefree manner had gotten to you vfrom the very first moment, you had to admit. He almost managed to make you crack a smile.

“You seem to have gotten quite the control over your husband, so I thought our next meeting would be under...different circumstances. Maybe getting a drink together or even murder someone.”

“I don’t have time for your bullshit.” His eyes widened in pleasant surprise, a strangled moan escaping his throat as your knife threatened his neck. “Where. Is. He?!?”

“Oh, my...you’ve sure grown strong. Is that Illumi’s influence?”

“Yes. It is” you smiled confidently, putting the blade down again. “We may fight one day, but this is not the time.”

“Promise?” Hisoka was almost aroused at your words, imagining you and Illumi both challenging him at the same time.

“Whatever.”

“Well...” he waved the card in the air, putting it to his lips as if he was in deep thought. “He didn’t contact me, but word spreads fast. There’s a rumor about a mass murderer in Yorknew City. His only targets are assassins and other criminals. Isn’t that a coincidence?”

Your eyes immediately widened, heart painfully hammering against your chest as you imagined that he escaped his family, yet kept on taking lives.

“Lumi...”

At the same time, on the other side of the ocean, Illumi was wandering a dark alley in the poor district of Yorknew City.

Usually, he wasn’t able to dream in years, or at least it was insignitifant enough to instantly forget about it - yet ever since he had left you and his home, nightmares occured daily:

Most of the time it were especially cruel things he did on his missions, or murders he performed solely out of his own, twisted desire. Sometimes it were flashbacks about his childhood, which he actually thought to have forgotten about a long time ago.

It all re-emerged now, robbing his sleep - the last thing to keep together the fraction of his sanity.

More than often, he’d dream about you too, of course.

But you’d always only be running away from him, deeply sfrightened. And every time he reached you, without having the intention, his blood-stained hands ended your life as well, leaving him to scream and cry for his precious Y/N.

How were you doing these days, he wondered?

His conscience was calling out to him ever since he had abandoned and left you alone with his family. This wasn’t like him to act without thinking things through.

But he did, and he won’t be able to change the consequences.

“Y/N is strong. Any my family doesn’t have any use for them. They’ll be okay...”

Suddenly, a noise drang to Illumi’s sharpened senses: A weak voice, barely audible, pleading for anyone to hear.

Illumi’s feet moved on their own - maybe because of curiosity, but who knows. And only a few blocks away he found the surce of the voice: It was a stray cat, way smaller than the usual ones, due to malnutrition.

Your husband was merely a bystander, watching a man yelling at the animal that of course couldn’t respond. How odd.

“Fucking thing!” the man balled his fists, swinging them in the air. “Hey! You! Whaddaya looking at? That your cat?”

“No” was Illumi’s plain answer as he stepped into the dim street light, actually not wanting to bother himself with the situation.

“It better not be. Stole my fish at the market, and ruined the others with it’s dirty paws!”

Just when the man prepared to kick the poor animal with his boots, his leg seemed to have magically disappeared midair.

Before the amputated leg hit the ground, the merchant had already collapsed, screaming in agony as he slowly but surely bled to death.

“Here” Illumi spoke casually as he threw a piece of fabric towards the man. He always pitied his victims, at least a little bit. “Try binding off the stump to stop the bleeding. Maybe you’ll make it until an ambulance arrives.”

Already prepared to attend more important matters again, he turned around - but then he heared another, weak meow close behind.

The tiny cat couldn’t even hold itself on it’s feet, yet tried everything to follow your husband’s firm steps. It bit the fabric on his legs ever so slightly, trying to keep him from leaving so fast.

Letting out a small noise of surprise, Illumi crouched down the the cat’s heigh, eyeing it quie suspecting.

Because usually, animals were smarter than that. They had a natural instinct when it came to aura, so it was no wonder that Illumi’s constant hostility and bloodlust always drove them off - even though he actually was really fond of them.

They were easier to deal with than most humans, he thought.

The kitten was bleeding, and his left ear was slightly bitten off by another animal.

Even though it was quite the depressing view, this wouldn’t revoke any emotion inside of your husband. He had seen and did worse, and he had no affiliation with that thing.

“What would Y/N do?”

He remembered how you’d always bring home injured animals, talking about responsibility and how every life was precious somehow. That doing good deeds could make one happy without having an actual advantage from it.

To be honest, he thought it to be kind of hypocritical considering you were a goddamn assassin, but whatever.

Who was he to judge anyone’s morality anyway?

And the pet’s behaviour somehow intrigued him, so he carefully picked it up as he bid the merchant one last look.

“Oh. He died already.”

The Zoldyck family possessed safehouses all over the world, and in big cities like Yorknew City was one, several at once.

Only a few, chosen people knew about those certain locations - and since his family never really seemed to care for him anyway, he knew they wouldn’t be searching for him. And even if they wanted to find him, there was no clue where an erratic man like himself could’ve gone to, so they would take a while.

So it would be fine to use them until he had cleansed the city from all filth before he’d travel to another - even though that would take quite a while.

“Here” he mumbled, still quite unaffected by the animal’s condition as he put it down on the small sleeping cot.

There wasn’t anything else to do right now, so he could save that thing, he thought.

Trying hard to remember how you’d always patch him up, Ilumi got the first-aid kit out of the shelf and gathered a bowl of water. Only when he didn’t find anything to nurture the cat he realized that he himself hasn’t eaten in days.

“Y/N would be furious..” he thought, almost smiling while recalling how you’d always scold him for not taking care of himself enough. “Maybe I should buy some groceries.”

The cat was unusual still, considering hurt animals are more than often very defensive and on high alert. Yet that one let Illumi touch it all he wanted, even purring as he unconsciously began to pet it’s dirty but soft fur.

It was almost heartwarming to him, giving him a slight impression about what you liked so damn much about helping those weaker than yourself.

Yeah, animals were way easier to deal with.

They had no difficult emotions or morals, neither did they want you to understand them. All that was important was their natural needs, and shall you fullfill them, they’d get attached to you.

But humans were different.

Asides from his work, Illumi had spent a of his time and concentration on you and you alone. He had given you food and shelter, also basically drowning you in gifts and luxurity. And he would’ve died for your protection.

Of course it had also been his duty that you’d become a perfect assassin, yet he went very easy on you during training. In wild contrast to everything he had experienced himself, his touch was always tender and full of care.

Yes, he would’ve met every single one of your desires, and yet you were unfullfilled.

Animals seeked freedom. They don’t like being locked in cages.

Was that it?

Were you feeling the same after being locked away for such a long time, like some sort of trophy?

He just now realized that you had always listened to him: His feelings, his past, his commands...but did he ever do the same for you?

Before, just like Hisoka, Illumi was a man of the present: He would’ve never looked back. The past wasn’t worth remembering, even faces of the people he killed vanishing from his inner eye just barely after he finished them off.

And the future? He’d never thought of that.

Illumi Zoldyck was merely a tool of darkness, working with a ruthless efficiency to ensure his place in the family.

He was numb and served no other purpose...right?

But now he had an own goal: Cleanse the world from the profession of those filthy assassins - so no one would’ve to suffer as you or his siblings did.

“Oh.”

Your husband pulled his hand away after the cat softly dug it’s teeth inside of his index finger. He probably accidentally hurt it. “Sorry.”

At least he had someone to talk to, now. You knew best just how often he would rant to himself or think out loudly - and he had to remember how you told him that only very lonely people would do that, because no one has ever listened to them.

“I always told Kill he doesn’t have the qualification to make friends, but in the end it was only me...”

Illumi didn’t even bother washing the blood from today’s work from his hands, falling on the bed with his back first and staring to the bare ceiling with a broken smile.

“Moreso...I don’t deserve to be loved. I really am the worst.”

_____

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say-the-name-sebongie · 3 years

Text

Fighting for Justice

Synopsis: Justice will be given

Pairing: Wonwoo x fem!reader

Genre: angst :)

Warnings: school violence and violence in general

Word Count: 3K words

Getting to school early was only one of the things that made students on campus call Wonwoo a "teacher's pet". That was in addition to his perfect grades, perfect attendance, and perfect school record. He was the top scorer in all exams and never had a graduation ceremony where he didn't walk up the stage with some kind of medal or award. Not to mention the fact that his family sponsored most of the university's endeavors and projects. In the eyes of a teacher, he really was perfect.

If he wasn't in class, people would often find him sitting in the library, quietly studying, or typing away on his laptop. They speculated that it was the side effect of being a teacher's pet. Some pitied him for not being able to have any fun but most people just found his presence annoying. There was no point in studying and it looked like he was just doing it for show. His parents were already paying the professors to give him a high grade. Or so they believed.

Wonwoo could hear their whispers but choose to ignore them. After all, he understood where they were coming from. He felt his phone buzz and started packing his things after reading the message.

As he moved away from the table he was sitting at, Wonwoo's eyes fell on a bunch of "elite students", the ones who paid to stay on top. He knew that bribing people with money was one of the easiest things in the world for those who had an abundance of cash. The names that were at the top with his on the score sheets were printed on there with cash. Children from well-off families didn't need to study for their names to be on top of the list, money got it there for them so there was no need to even lift a finger.

That system of "bribery education" lead to the formation of a secret organization, a rebellion, Laqueus. According to them, their main goal was to expose under the table dealings that robbed hardworking students of their rightful place at the top. They were after justice and a fair opportunity for all students. Your place should be determined by your hard work, not your status in society or the amount of money you had in your bank account. All the students— aside from the ones who bribed their way to the top— silently adored and supported them, though nobody knew who was actually affiliated with the group. In one way or another, having such an organization gave them hope that this injustice would end. They endured, believing that the leader of the resistance was sure to come to save them from their misery.

On the other side of the library, _____ pocketed her phone and sat back in her chair as the members of Laqueus entered their hideout. A file was opened on her laptop, emailed from their leader which contained the meeting agenda he had set for the day. Packaged books were stacked on the shelves surrounding a large metal table where various floor plans for the entire school were laid out. The book storage room at the back of the library wasn't the ideal place to hold secret meetings but it was all they had.

A knock came from the door, making all the members perk up. _____ quietly stood up and motioned for the others to hide. If the faculty found out that they had their secret meetings in the book storage room, their plan of achieving justice would fail and all their hard work would come to nothing.

_____ knocked once on the door. "Fiat Justitia." a boy's voice came from behind the door. Breathing a sigh of relief, she opened the door and came face to face with their youngest recruit.

"Hey, leader!" Chan chirped, beaming at her. _____ sighed. "For the last time, I'm not the leader, Chan. I just receive his messages and deliver them to the team."

She ushered him inside. The boy gave her a smile and limped into the storage room. _____ looked down at his feet and noticed that Chan's right foot was bandaged. She frowned. "You were injured from yesterday?"

"Yeah," he answered sheepishly as one of the other members helped him onto a chair. "I was trying to get away as fast as possible."

_____ could only shake her head. It was normal for at least one of them to get injured from a strike. Preparing the materials, executing the plan, and getting away without being caught was very dangerous work. If any of them had been seen it would mean the end of their school life. Expulsion was the punishment for such an offense against the school and being expelled meant that you couldn't fight anymore.

Checking her phone again, _____ told the members that they would start the meeting once the new recruit showed up. They shifted nervously at the news. Getting new members was risky business. You could never tell who would betray you.

"Don't worry," she assured them. "The leader says that he's a good one."

Another knock came at the door. After making sure that everyone was hidden, the vice-leader approached the door. _____ knocked once. She counted, one, two, three seconds before receiving an answer.

"Fiat Justitia."

A smile formed on her mouth as she opened the door to welcome their newest member, an asset that would be a great addition to their cause. The other members of the resistance gaped at who was standing at the door.

Jeon Wonwoo.

__________

_____ figured that it would take a lot of convincing to get the other rebellion members to stop harassing the poor boy with questions. But she couldn’t blame them, who wouldn't be suspicious? If there was one person who would most likely betray them, it would be the infamous teacher’s pet. She had already brought up this concern to their leader but the head of the resistance seemed to have great trust in Wonwoo.

"And why exactly should we trust you?" Seungcheol demanded, banging his hands on the metal table and leaning close to the new recruit's face. _____ could only smile and stay quiet. After the few conversations she already had with their secret leader, the girl was already convinced that the quiet student would never betray them. From what she heard, his hatred for the unfair system probably amounted to more than hers. Plus, with a mind and bank account like his, their plans and attacks were bound to be more successful. To her, Wonwoo was a force to be reckoned with even if he didn't know it yet.

"First of all," he said in a surprisingly steady voice for someone who was being interrogated, "I already know where your hideout is." Seungcheol's open mouth closed itself. With just one sentence he managed to silence one of the fiercest members of the resistance. "Second, I don't need to be on the receiving end of the injustice to know that what those people are doing is wrong."

"Everyone deserves a fair chance to place on top. The only thing that should get a student's name on the list is the grades that they've cried and bled for. A fair chance for everyone is all anyone is asking for. I know how hard it is to stay on top and the fact that there are people who don't have to do anything to be able to surpass what I've achieved on my own angers me."

Wonwoo eyes looked around at the other members as he spoke. _____ saw a light burning in them and spread like a wildfire to the other members in the room. It looked like she didn't need to step in and convince them to accept him as a member, the new recruit was doing that quite well all on his own.

"We have the same goal."

Seungcheol walked up to him and held out his hand for Wonwoo to shake, his mouth breaking into a proud smile. "Welcome to the resistance."

__________

_____ thought that accepting Wonwoo was proving to be one of the best decisions their secret leader had made. She even considered making him a vice-leader along with her. It was like he was born to be a member of Laqueus.

When there was a hole in their plan, he would always be the first to point it out. Funding for their strikes wasn't a problem anymore with his expendable bank account. It seemed that the thought of him betraying them had already been forgotten. Wonwoo was such a big help to their organization that upon hearing of his acceptance ceremony, the entire rebellion wanted to come.

"It would be too much of a risk." _____ reasoned out with them. "Having a lot of people in one place, especially in a place where they aren't supposed to be, will just put us all in danger of being found out."

In all honesty, the acceptance ceremony wasn't much. It was just called that way to make it seem more dignified.

"You're just here to receive this." _____ said as she handed him a small box. Wonwoo opened it and found a thin red ring inside. "Are you proposing?" he joked.

_____ smacked him lightly in the arm. She raised her own hand and showed him the red bracelet clasped around her wrist. "That's just a way for us to see who's on which side."

"That red band is a simplified version of the blindfold that the greek goddess Nike wears." Jeonghan, the team's Intel, said as he strode leisurely into the storage room with Jihoon and Seungkwan following behind him. "The blindfold means that justice is given regardless of who the person is."

"And why is it red?"

"We're at war, idiot." The girl's voice came from behind him. Wonwoo looked at _____ and smiled when she put her hand on his shoulder. "Red is the color of war."

The sound of a pen tapping on the table made him turn towards his other friends. The core of the resistance looked back at him.

"What's your decision Wonwoo?"

He looked towards Jeonghan and Jihoon who were seated around the table. "Well, we don't have all day."

Seungkwan placed a paper on the desk and tapped it with his finger. Wonwoo leaned over the desk and read the words printed onto it.

Laqueus

Member: Jeon Wonwoo

Position: Vice-leader.

The newest member of the organization picked up the pen and signed his name, the red ink stark against the white parchment. The other members smiled and stood to shake his hand.

"Welcome to the core team, vice-leader."

One by one, each core member came to him and shook his hand. “I hope you answer correctly,” Seungcheol whispered into his ear, patting the boy’s back before exiting the room with everyone else.

_____ was the last to stand in front of him and shake his hand. Wonwoo raised his eyebrows at her, their hands still clasped around each other's. He knew from her expression that she was about to ask him something. She had the exact same expression his professors had before they announced a pop quiz or surprise recitation.

“What is the meaning of our secret code?” _____ challenged him, though she already had a feeling that he knew. Wonwoo was one of the smartest kids after all. It wouldn't be a surprise that the meaning of Latin words was just general knowledge to him.

“Fiat Justitia,” he smiled, shaking her hand one more time. “Let justice be done.”

__________

Wonwoo could only keep silent as he watched the members of the core team pace around at the sudden news. He internally face-palmed himself over and over again for not checking which email he had been using before he sent the plan for their strike at the nearing media conference. He was too coffee deprived last night to even register that he was using his personal email rather than the one he had created specifically to use for things that involved Laqueus. Lying to them about his real identity was useless. They would see right through him. All he could do know was tell them the truth.

"So," Jihoon said shakily, his hands gripping the headrest of the nearest chair. "You mean to tell me that you're our leader? All this time?"

He looked towards _____ who was still staring at the computer screen where Wonwoo's email address was written as the sender of their top-secret plan. Wonwoo didn't answer. Honestly, he wasn't sure if they were happy that he was their leader or not. From the blank expressions on their face, it was hard to decipher what thoughts were running through their heads. He was especially aware of _____, sitting a little to his left with her lips pressed into a thin line. She ran a hand through her hair. "Everybody out."

From the look on her face, anyone could tell that disobeying was not an option. As soon as they were alone, she sat in front of him. After confirming three times that he really was their leader she laid her head on the table.

"Are you mad?" Wonwoo carefully asked, afraid that his mistake would ruin the organization. _____ laughed weakly. "Mad? I'm relieved."

She lifted her head and stared at him as if she couldn't believe he was real. "I'm just so happy that you of all people turned out to be our leader. Man, I can’t wait until the others find out—”

“You can’t tell them,” Wonwoo said sharply, cutting her off. Her big surprised eyes met his own, in disbelief that he didn’t want to share this with the rest of the team. “But they’d be so happy to know—”

“_____,” Wonwoo’s voice was low and quiet. _____ froze under his piercing glare. Never had she seen him this serious, not even during important meetings. “If we ever get caught, it's easier to say that you don't know when you really don't than to lie because you know.”

He bent down to look her right in the eye. “This is my way of protecting them.”

The leader of the resistance walked towards the door and threw it open, revealing the embarrassed faces of the other core members who were caught eavesdropping. He looked back and forth between them and _____. “You will tell no one. That’s an order.”

__________

Sabotaging the media conference was the hardest strike they had ever executed. It was also the plan that got their organization caught. None of them, not even Wonwoo, had presumed that the police would be involved.

As the last of the members were pushed to their knees at the foot of the stage, Wonwoo could do nothing but blame himself. He was ready to face punishment on behalf of the organization. That much he could do as their leader. From his place on the stage, his eyes flickered around, looking at the beaten, bloody faces of his comrades. It hurt to see them look so defeated.

"Who is your leader?" the principal's low voice pierced through the silence. With the media gone, he was free to do with them as he pleased. The blank faces of most students made it clear that they didn't know. The principal took a breath to ask again but he was cut off by a low voice from behind him, from someone on the stage.

"I'm the leader."

Wide-eyed students turned in his direction. The fact that the top student in the school had just claimed that he was the leader of the very rebel group that was going against the system was a big shock to the student body and faculty. Wonwoo held his head up high as the principal stormed towards him. The school head grabbed him by the hair, making the boy look him in the eyes. Despite the fear growing in his heart, Wonwoo glared back at the principal, undaunted.

"You had so much potential. Why did you have to throw it all away for poor stupid brats like them?" the principal exasperatedly hissed into his ear as if he were begging Wonwoo to deny his leadership in the alliance. But Wonwoo was anything but unloyal. Even as he was beaten and dragged off to be imprisoned, Wonwoo didn't deny his identity. He was proud to have led such a noble cause and be followed by such honorable people.

The cries of his comrades when the guards were called to take him away echoed in his ears. They watched as his hands were bound by handcuffs, screaming for the police to take them instead. Without a leader, the members of Laqueus felt like their chance of gaining justice was gone.

"Fight," Wonwoo told them as he passed by. He caught sight of _____'s tear-streaked face, almost making him regret exposing himself and leaving her. But as the leader, sacrifices had to be made.

"Fight," he repeated louder. The spark that had been put out lit up again. A solemn atmosphere spread throughout the room like a fog, blocking the sight of those who didn't have a fire burning in their eyes. His comrades knew what he meant and that's all he needed.

And as the police car that he sat in pulled out of the area, Wonwoo saw the same defiant faces that looked at him when he posed as a new recruit, the ones who were tired of having to be a slave to the unjust system and ready to fight for what was right. He knew then that this fight was far from over.

Even if Wonwoo was gone, the resistance was still at war. His last words echoed in their ears, filling them with determination. Especially _____, who Wonwoo had clearly looked at in the eye as he delivered his ultimatum. She nodded at him, promising to finish what he had started. Their leader had given an order and they would follow through.

"Fiat Justitia. That's an order."

#seventeen #caratwritersclub #svt #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #seventeen scenarios #seventeen oneshots #seventeen imagines #i still dont know what to put in the tags #someone help me #i was watching chicago typewriter while writing this so if there are similarities know you know why #seventeen fanfic #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo oneshot

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vivithefolle · 3 years

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What is your opinion on the parallels between Ron and Neville, especially considering that they both suffer from drastically low self-esteem? People often draw similarities between their arcs, but it seems to me that as the book series went on, Neville gained confidence while Ron lost confidence. Am I missing something?

I think you pretty much summed it up.

You could say that Neville’s self-esteem was inversely proportional to Ron’s.

When Ron comes at Hogwarts, he’s feeling a bit defeated already, but his successes in the first book (where he kinda carries the team) and the second (where he gets a Special Award For Services To The School along with Harry) serve to build up his confidence, culminating with him getting his own wand in the third. Meanwhile poor Neville, while he stands up to Grabbe and Coyle and later to his own friends, is still seen bumbling around and being generally a laughing stock.

After the third book it’s kind of a turning point. Ron doubts Harry openly, makes a fool of himself due to Fleur’s Veela glamour and is pretty much getting slapped in the face by the narration. Neville however doesn’t get humiliated as much, and even gets to go to the Yule Ball without being publically humiliated.

In OOTP the chasm deepens. Ron is bullied horribly... and no one does a thing. Neville, meanwhile, gets McGonagall telling him he’s a great wizard and a promise of her standing up to his grandmother. OOTP ends with Neville having gotten his own wand, and Ron’s triumph over his bullies is eclipsed by his defeat at the DOM.

HBP pretty much spits on every character, even uses Luna Lovegood to convince us to feel sorry for Hermione who has assaulted her friend, and Neville is pretty much the only one to come out unscathed, because he was relegated to the background. He makes a comic relief appearance at Slughorn’s party and that’s all; he’s then here and present when it comes to fighting the Death Eaters during the battle of the Astronomy Tower. Ron is also there, but people seem to forget that Hermione and Luna did not participate much in that fight...

And DH... well, no possibility to see Neville bumbling at Hogwarts in DH now that we aren’t at Hogwarts, is there? But we are given first-seats to see Ron be moody and angry and a general ass... which anyone would be in the situation he’s in (as in, having your family/little sister liable to be executed at any moment by a corrupt government, being anaemic, and being led on a wild goose chase by an asshole who doesn’t seem to care at all about the fact that YOUR FAMILY MAY DIE THE LONGER THIS DRAGS ON), but somehow JKR insists that it’s Ron and only Ron being an asshole, case in point:

This was their first encounter with the fact that a full stomach meant good spirits; an empty one, bickering and gloom. Harry was least surprised by this, because he had suffered periods of near starvation at the Dursleys’. Hermione bore up reasonably well on those nights when they managed to scavenge nothing but berries or stale biscuits, her temper perhaps a little shorter than usual and her silences rather dour. Ron, however, had always been used to three delicious meals a day, courtesy of his mother or of the Hogwarts house-elves, and hunger made him both unreasonable and irascible. Whenever lack of food coincided with Ron’s turn to wear the Horcrux, he became downright unpleasant. - Deathly Hallows

So we have

Ron, however, had always been used to three delicious meals a day, courtesy of his mother or of the Hogwarts house-elves

... but, um, Hermione too is used to three delicious meals a day, courtesy of her parents and the Hogwarts house-elves -

Hermione bore up reasonably well [...], her temper perhaps a little shorter than usual and her silences rather dour

Nevermind, Perfect Goddess Sue is perfect.

At the end of DH, we still remember that Ron behaved badly in the Horcrux Hunt because blah blah symbolism blah blah poor wee Harry blah blah catholicism parallels with St Peter denying knowing Jesus blah blah blah.

While Neville’s appearance as the fearless, epic Hogwarts leader is still a shock, but also a satisfying moment, especially when he gets his epic speech to tell Voldemort to go fuck himself.

... which leads many to forget that Ron did it before Neville (not that Neville’s speech wasn’t an epic, well-deserved moment of pure badassery).

"You see?" said Voldemort, and Harry felt him striding backward and forward right beside the place where he lay. "Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!" "He beat you!" yelled Ron, and the charm broke, and the defenders of Hogwarts were shouting and screaming again until a second, more powerful bang extinguished their voices once more. - Deathly Hallows

But people will mostly recall Neville’s speech. Because it lasts longer than Ron’s simple “he beat you” and Voldemort actually reacts to it, actually holds a conversation with Neville, while Ron’s scream is... mostly ignored. Even his breaking of Voldemort’s Silencing Charm doesn’t impact much, because another, stronger Charm is immediately put in place moments after.

The way Neville and Ron kill their respective Horcruxes is very different, too... Neville does it in an epic moment of badassery, set on fire and everything, and takes the sword from the Hat itself, mimicking Harry’s actions in Chamber of Secrets. It’s a pure, unadulterated moment of epicness, and nothing can taint its sheer badassery (especially if, like the rest of us intellectuals, you ignore everything JKR has tried to establish as canon after DH). Ron, however, kills his affiliated Horcrux as an act of... eugh... redemption over leaving Harry’s side (even though it was clearly the smartest thing to do since the dumbass didn’t even manage to destroy the Horcrux while Ron was gone, so here’s your proof that Harry and Hermione absolutely do need Ron because they’re incompetent nincompoops). Ron killing the Horcrux can’t be called triumphant or a victory, no matter what idiots blabbering about symbolically destroying his inferiority complex try to say - because yeah, symbolism is nice and all, but it’s not because Ron gets a symbolic victory that he’s miraculously cured of it, but hey who cares Ron can’t possibly have a mental illness cuz he’s not Harry haha!!

... Excuse me. I’m still bitter over... things.

Ron’s defeat of the Horcrux isn’t a triumph like Neville decapitating Nagini is. He’s humiliated in front of his best friend, whose opinion he bases most of his self-esteem upon. His dirty laundry is aired for Harry to see. And finally, when he destroys the Horcrux, he is left crying in the snow with Mr Emotionally Stunted for company.

How. The fuck. Do you call that. A victory.

Ron’s killing of the Horcrux is bittersweet. It’s only Harry and Ron, isolated in a small clearing, in the snow. Ron doesn’t get the sword from the Sorting Hat itself, which may make some people think it hasn’t been won properly, even though Ron displayed bravery (jumping into a frozen pond in the middle of winter) and chivalry (rescuing Harry) to obtain it, and Ron pretty much spends the whole time being terrified (of the thing that psychologically tortured him but hey, since when do we care about Ron’s feelings) then apologizing to Harry for leaving (and Harry accepting those apologies when HE TOO OWED RON SOME FUCKING APOLOGIES BUT NAH HARRY POTTER IS TOO SPECIAL FOR THAT).

While Neville’s killing of Nagini is nothing but badass, badass, and re-badass, with loads of people to witness it. It’s epic. Neville obtains Gryffindor’s sword “”“properly”““, by taking it from the Sorting Hat. And naturally, there’s nothing about Neville “redeeming himself for his betrayal of Our Lord And Saviour Harry Potter” to taint that success.

Yeah... at the end of it all, Ron is... not fine. Him “symbolically destroying his inferiority complex” is just fucking that, a symbol. But it doesn’t mean he’s miraculously cured his insecurities and all. It doesn’t mean he’s stopped being horribly fucking depressed. It doesn’t mean he’s not traumatized. But I forgot only Harry’s traumas matter (and Hermione’s, to a lesser extent... what am I saying, Hermione doesn’t get trauma, trauma is for losers, like Harry).

Neville is slowly but steadily built up in the background through the series (huh, kinda like Ginny... wonder why more people won’t point that out). His failures are so commonplace, and usually more in the realms of “accidental fuck-up” than “feeling offended and fucking up because of it”, that it’s hard to be angry at him. Meanwhile Ron’s failures feel more personal, because he’s so important to Harry and Harry takes Ron’s disagreements with him as personal attacks like the idiot fuck he is.

So, while Neville gradually gets stronger in the background, Rowling brings Ron down a little more in every book, because as the books go on she can’t bear to have Harry and Hermione fuck up, so Ron has to do all the fucking up so she can pretend the other two are perfect instead.

#vivi answers #ask #neville longbottom #ron weasley #ron weasley defence squad #ron weasley defense squad #harry potter series #harry potter #hermione granger

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pls-let-me-out · 3 years

Text

The Selection

For thirthy-five youngers, the Selection is the chance of a lifetime. The opportunity to escape the life laid out for them since birth. To be swept up in a world of glittering gowns and priceless jewels. To live in a palace and compete for the heart of gorgeous Prince William.

But for Niccolò Jackson, formerly di Angelo, being Selected is a nightmare. It means leaving his home to enter a fierce competition for a crown he doesn't want. Living in a palace that is constantly threatened by violent rebel attacks. Especially when he knows that his family has rebel affiliations. Just one slip as he talks of them, and he will be executed for treason. So, when he is chosen to participate, he has a simple plan: get in, don’t do absolutely anything to attract the Prince’s attention, and be sent home after the first week.

Of course, things start going down-hill since the first day.

After saying good-bye to his younger sister Hazel, with the promise of writing, the last thing Nico wants to do is socializing with the other suitors. Not only would it be absolutely tiring, but he also finds it useless, as they are meant to be competitors for the same prize. None of them will cultivate any long-lasting relationship. Not that the others are too heartbroken to see him disappear, they have been eyeing him weirdly since he first set foot down the plane. He isn’t the one from the lowest cast, but most of the others are from the higher ones.

Nico is a Six, or has been so for the last few years. It’s the cast of workers. He doesn’t know how much of a background-check they’ve done at the Palace, how much the Prince actually knows about him. However, it has taken Nico exactly a look at the other two suitors from the lower castes (Elise, a Seven, a manual laborer; James, a fellow Six) to know that they are the charity cases. Every time a Selection is held, people from all castes (except Eights) are brought to the Palace, but it’s always clear that they won’t stay for long. They are often ignored by the other suitors and the Royals. It’s fine by Nico. He will be paid for staying a week.

The gardens are at least pretty. Nico has to admit as much. There’s a maze somewhere, which he doesn’t want to see even from afar, and old statues in white marble are scattered around. If Hazel were here, she would love the place. Nico finds it a bit overboard. There’s a golden plaque on the ground. Nico bends to read the descriptions.

“Forgive me,” someone says, and Nico almost jumps out of his skin. “Are you lost, sir?”

Nico turns around, hiding the cigarette behind himself. Useless, since it just makes the smoke come from behind him. The person he comes face to face with has widened blue eyes. Oh shit.

So much for not being noticed, Nico thinks. In complete silence, he stares at the Prince, and the Prince stares right back at him. Nico hopes that, if he gets away from the situation at hand quickly enough, the Prince will forget his face. Poor people probably look all the same to pricks like him, anyway.

“Hey!” The Prince exclaims, and a smile brightens his features. “You are one of the suitors, aren’t you? I’m Prince William, it’s nice to meet you.”

Prince William extends a hand, and Nico has to switch the cigarette in the other hand to shake it.

“Niccolò Jackson,” Nico says. Should he say that it’s nice to meet him? How is he supposed to know how to greet a Prince? He lets go of the Prince’s hand.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” the Prince continues. “However, shouldn’t you be socializing with the other suitors?”

Nico sighs. “It’s not really my scene. Sorry.” He shrugs.

“Oh.” The Prince rubs the back of his neck, looking around uncomfortably.

“You don’t have to stay,” Nico says. He craves peace and quiet, and he can’t get it when the whole reason he has been taken away from the family in the first place is right in front of him. “You can just go. I’m sure you have very important things to do.”

“I do, as a matter of fact. Greeting every suitor, for example.”

“Consider me greeted.” Nico nods one last time at the Prince, before giving him his back and inhaling the smoke of his cigarette. He really hopes they aren’t being filmed right now, or Sally will kick his ass once he gets home.

“I – you shouldn’t be smoking,” the Prince continues.

“Will you put me in jail if I do?”

The Prince seems even more taken aback, and Nico is starting to feel impatient. He wants to go home and sleep for the next few years, but he can’t, because of course he just had to be one of thirty-five idiots sorted from the whole kingdom. That’s just the kind of luck that follows him around these days.

“Well?” Nico asks again. “Will you put me in jail?”

“Of course no! But it’s bad for-”

“Bad for me, so mind your own business.”

And with that, Nico stomps away. They won’t even notice I’m there, Nico told Hazel before leaving, when she was still in bed with her hair wrapped in her scarf. I’ll be a shadow. I’ll sneak something out of the Palace for you, though. She laughed, until her lungs started burning again, and she got cut off by a heavy round of coughs.

Nico shares his suite with a guy named something he can’t pronounce. He’s a Two, an actor. He informs Nico of that himself, and also asks whether Nico wants an autograph. It’s almost heartbreaking, how Nico has to inform him that he has never seen any of his movies.

“It must be such an upgrade for you,” the guy continues, from where he is perched on the sofa, watching him unpack through the open door of the bedroom. “Passing from being a Six to a Three. You know you will be a Three when this is all over, don’t you? Of course I will remain a Two, unless the Prince chooses me. Then I’d be a One. Don’t you find it so-?”

Nico doesn’t hear the rest. He closes the door, muttering something about taking a bath. He just sits on the bed, and lets the hours pass. He doesn’t get out of his room until it’s dinner time, when they are brought food into the suite. Actor-boy tells him that he will be dining with the girls in the next suite, and leaves Nico behind.

The following day the suitors have breakfast together. Only one place is left vacant at the table, by the time food arrives.

“Is it for the Prince?” The girl next to him asks another. “Should we wait for him?”

The other shakes her head. “Oh, no. It’s for Drew Tanaka. She will be having breakfast with her family, though.”

Nico furrows his eyebrows, sipping his coffee quietly. Shouldn’t that not be allowed? They can keep their phones and contact their families, also post on social media, but they shouldn’t be traveling home. And does she intend on traveling home every day?

“Her father’s a lord,” the second girl responds. “Her family lives here.” She snorts. “Didn’t you research anything about the other suitors?”

“I didn’t think it was allowed.”

“And it isn’t,” a third girl says. She sighs. “Honestly. Just don’t talk about breaking the rules so openly at the breakfast table. You don’t even know who is listening.”

Nico feels her eyes on his face, but he doesn’t look up from his coffee. Once again, he wishes he were in his own home, even if it means having to deal with Percy and his obnoxiousness. Maybe he can stay just for a few days, thinking better about it.

When breakfast is over, they are brought to a circular room. The smell of flowers in there is almost nauseating, and Nico wishes he could open the windows. But Jasmine – the woman who showed them around yesterday – is already giving him weird looks. If he were to step closer to the window, she would probably think him in the middle of a robbery of windows. So he walks around the room while he waits for his turn, stopping every once in a while to admire the paintings on the walls.

“You aren’t a Five, are you?”

Nico almost jumps out of his skin. Again. This time at least it isn’t the Prince in front of him, but the third girl from the breakfast table. Nico shakes his head.

“Six,” he says. “But not only Fives can watch art, you know.”

“I guess,” she responds, shrugging a bare shoulder. The girls are wearing elegant dresses, and hers has a particularly large gown. Nico is in a suit, which he looks like an idiot in. “I’m Lou Ellen, Two.”

“Niccolò Jackson,” Nico says. “Six.”

“You already said that.”

Nico shrugs, without anything left to say. He turns back to the painting.

“You don’t look particularly happy to be here,” she continues. “Don’t you want to woo Will?”

Nico turns back to her. “Who’s Will?”

“Prince William.” She doesn’t hide a smile. “He’s a friend of mine. So, are you going to woo him?”

“That’s just the least my charming personality can do,” Nico replies. There’s a smudge of something in the corner of the painting, which is in equal measure disgusting for the viewers and horrifically disrespectful to the artist.

Lou Ellen laughs. “I guess so. Why are you here if you don’t think you can woo him?”

Nico shrugs. “Aren’t they paying us?”

“Chapeau,” Lou Ellen concedes. She takes a deep breath. “You don’t seem very interested in making friends.”

“That’s because we won’t be friends for long. Ten go away after this first week, or fifteen, I didn’t really read all that well. After that, everyone who has stayed will try their best to remain again, beat the others somehow. At some point, people will just be stabbing each other in the back.”

“Will you?”

Nico scoffs. “I won’t stay that long. Me, the other Six, and the girl from Seven. We are the three everyone is certain will leave after this week. We are placeholders.”

Lou Ellen is called in next. They’re going by order of the castes, so Nico is the third-last to go in. He finds the Prince seated at the round table, the breeze entering from the window is ruffling his blond hair. His lips are already pulled in a smile when Nico enters. It makes him shiver.

“Mr. Jackson,” the Prince says. “It’s very nice to see you again.”

The Prince gestures to the enormous teapot and the two empty mugs. There are also many types of sweets, and the lemon-cake Hazel likes so much. Just thinking of her has nostalgia blossom in Nico’s chest, and they have only been apart for a day.

“Are you glaring at the lemon cake?” The Prince asks.

Nico startles. He quickly sits at the free chair. “No.”

“Are you allergic?”

“No.” Nico clears his throat.

“May I offer you some tea?”

“I really despise tea,” Nico replies. He crosses his arms on the chest, leaning back. The Prince pours some for himself. “Also, isn’t it your thirty-third cup?”

The Prince smiles. “Yup. Believe it or not, there are people who enjoy a good cup of tea.”

“I can believe that, but thirty-three in a morning is a bit of a stretch. Won’t you get indigestion or something?”

“Is that a threat?”

“From the one who thought that it would be alright to let you drink thirty-three cups of tea in a morning, maybe,” Nico replies. He grins. “Not for the poor soul who is just the witness. Should I tell the thirty-fifth to let you take a toilet break?”

The Prince laughs. “I really hope you know we are being filmed, and this is a live-stream.”

Nico taps his foot on the ground. He isn’t used to being on camera anymore, although Hazel often posts short videos in which he also appears on her profiles on social media. He doesn’t have to talk in those, though.

“You really know how to put people at ease,” Nico comments. “What are you going to tell me next, that your parents are watching in the next room, ready to intervene if I ask you too much about your toilet habits?”

“They only intervene if you are unreasonably sarcastic.”

“That’s a very charming and fancy way of telling me to shut up.”

“Oh dear – tell me you aren’t one of those eat the royal folks.”

“Didn’t you run a background check on me or something?”

“Well, yes, but I wasn’t shown any of that,” the Prince admits. He shrugs. “So, uh. I don’t know much about you.”

Nico nods, and stares at the table. It’s covered by a really horrible, red and golden tablecloth. It’s exactly the type of thing Nico should have expected to find in the Palace.

“Cool,” Nico says.

“What’s cool?”

Not this tablecloth. He doesn’t say that. “Not much.”

The Prince nods. “Alright.” He clears his throat.

There’s a long, awkward silence. Nico should deal better with awkward, really. That’s all conversations ever are with him. There are stilted words, long, stretching silences. He wishes the ground would open under him.

“How much longer do I have to stay?” Nico finally asks.

“Where?”

In this hellish hole. “Here. Now. In the tea-room, I mean.”

“We should go for a walk,” the Prince says.

“Not together, right?”

“Ah.”

“I mean, no offense, but this is frankly embarrassing,” Nico says. He leans forward in his seat. “I just really need a cigarette.”

“I’ve never smoked one.”

“I really hope you aren’t trying to get one of mine.”

“I was just trying to make conversation.”

And the Prince makes a strange kind of puppy eyes, which Nico has only ever seen Hazel make. And Percy, occasionally, but his just annoy Nico to an unbelievable level.

“So, what do you do in your free-time?” Nico blurts out, hoping to erase the Prince’s eyes.

“Oh, I study,” the Prince says. “I really enjoy reading, and learning in general. I particularly enjoy Philosophy, which I usually study on my own. I have tutors, of course. Although at the moment I am having some problems with Physics. I have also tried studying French a couple of years back, but I wasn’t really good at that. It was just so horrible.”

“Learning French sucks,” Nico concedes, thinking back to his own struggles with the language. “But not as much as learning Latin.”

“You know Latin?”

Nico shrugs. He shouldn’t have said that, should he? The Prince has already said that he doesn’t know much of his background, so maybe he also doesn’t know that Nico hasn’t always been a Six. Hell, he wasn’t even always called Niccolò Jackson.

“I know Ancient Greek.”

Nico nods. “Sounds fancy.” He doesn’t say that he knows that, too.

The Prince almost seems to be having problems controlling all his energy. His finger curl and uncurl around the armrests of the chair. His gaze shifts more than once to the windows and the gardens. When Nico follows his eyes, he doesn’t see anything, though.

A bell rings, startling the Prince out of his reverie.

“It seems that our time is up,” the Prince says.

The Prince stands, and Nico does the same, giving him an even-more-than-awkward nod, and turning to leave.

“It was really nice meeting you!” The Prince continues, when Nico’s hand is already on the doorknob.

Nico turns back, to give him a tight-lipped smile, catching the Prince empty the mug of tea out of the window. It startles a laugh out of him. The Prince turns, his eyes widened at having been caught in the act. His cheeks dust in red, and it only makes Nico laugh harder.

“So you aren’t poisoning yourself with thirty-five cups of tea, only the soil outside,” he says. “Good to know.”

“It’s considered polite to offer people tea,” the Prince replies smoothly.

Nico’s smile tightens. “Well, let me tell you, Your Highness, maybe the Twos, Threes, maybe even Fours or Fives, care about drinking tea and making small talk. Sixes and Sevens? We don’t really care whether you stuff yourself in tea and lemon cakes. Actually, most people from home would probably much rather you not waste so much food when everyone has already been served plentiful breakfast.” Nico makes a mocking wave with his hand. “With your gracious permission.”

He doesn’t slam the door behind himself, even if his cheeks are red and his ears ring. Sally should be proud of him, honestly.

#solangelo #solangelo fic #the selection au #will solace #nico di angelo

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hansolmates · 4 years

Text

jjk; angel’s trumpet [05]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, mentions of smut in future chapters w.c; 4.7k a/n; can u believe this fic is already over halfway done??? i feel more loved and supported for angel’s trumpet w each chapter! i hope u enjoy a more fluffier chapter and some insight on the separate relationships. thank u for the support!

[04] [05] [06] -> masterpost

Bliss. It’s been so long since you’ve experienced this feeling.

These past few weeks have been nothing short of wonderful, like the sweetest version of reality. Working as a language teacher at BigHit was wonderful because of the staff and the fact that in the long run, your job would be helping the rookies get to know their fans better all over the world. But your job was also incredibly strenuous, and you felt an immense amount of pressure from the higher ups to teach the rookies as much as you could in between their other lessons and training. You remember the early days you’d be crying in the bathroom, scared of their exam scores because you knew it wasn’t possible to learn a language in less than a year, but the higher ups wanted you to achieve the impossible.

But now, teaching is like a breath of fresh air. You found it appropriate to reabsorb your classes, and you’re still getting used to the sudden heavy workload. Namjoon was over the moon when you returned to your regular office in the biology department, treating you to coffee and catching you up on what you missed. Chan almost cried when he saw you Monday morning sitting in your lecture hall, saying his grade will finally be salvaged.

However, the cherry on top has to be your budding romance with Jungkook.

Maybe it’s the fact that you’re still swimming in the honeymoon phase, but everything just felt right. Of course, you can only hope your W2 self was already going to interact with Jungkook in one way or another, just like you had in your world. As of late you don’t feel like you're tearing this universe apart, worrying that you’re interfering in an alternate universe.

A buzzing interrupts your thoughts, and you pat around your mattress for your cellphone. You don’t hesitate to answer.

“Good morning, baby,” Jungkook’s rumbly morning voice flits through your speakers.

You swoon, shuffling and kicking under your covers. A little part of you is disgusted how easy it is to turn to butter in Jungkook’s grasp, but it’s unsurprising. “Hey handsome,” you reply, trying to hide your giddiness.

“How do you know I look handsome? My breath smells like leftover mac n’cheese and there’s dried drool on my chin.”

“Mm, still handsome.”

“Ugh, you’re so gross,” but you can hear him smiling on the other line. “Do you have any plans for today?”

“Dunno.”

“Well there’s this new bubble tea cafe I know you’d like so maybe during my lunch we can--”

The rest of the words fade away as you notice an incessant banging on your front door. Whoever wants to come in is far too eager for this early.

It’s then your calendar notification pings, and you see the big fat message atop your phone:

Hobi Date 🍷🍷🍷

“Oh shit—” you smack your forehead, you completely forgot today’s the day you would find Sehlyung’s wine lady. “I’ll call you later Kook, okay?”

You end your call, throwing your phone on the bed as you dash out to answer. Taehyung is yelling from the kitchenette, “I’m trying to eat some damn salad here!” By the time you slide out in your socks and down the hall, Hoseok is already inside your humble abode, holding coffee and donuts.

“I brought libations,” Hoseok says with a bit of flair, setting them down next to Taehyung’s breakfast.

“Thanks man,” and Taehyung makes grabby hands towards Hoseok’s coffee, and Hoseok looks horrified before snatching it away. “C’mon man, no coffee no entry!”

“Taehyung, this is Hoseok,” you introduce, opening the box of donuts and offering Taehyung one in truce. You look pointedly towards Hoseok, sipping idly on his coffee, “Hobi, why don’t you wait in my room before we go, okay?”

Hoseok tilts his head, eyes darting between Taehyung and you. It’s almost comical, the way Taehyung’s early-morning brain is having a hard time processing what was going on, and you wanting to keep a lid on the situation. “Sure, mom,” he slurps obnoxiously on his americano, waltzing down the hallway and into your room. He slams the door rather sharply, and that’s when Taehyung pounces.

“Who’s the hippie?”

“Hippie?” you balk, “Hoseok’s not a hippie.”

Taehyung shrugs, shoving a powdered donut in his mouth and completely forgetting about the limp lettuce on his plate. So much for a balanced breakfast. “I know all your friends, but I’ve never met this one.”

“He’s new,” you take your pick of donuts as well, picking up a vanilla glazed one with rainbow sprinkles, “we’re gonna go shopping.”

“Oo, can I come?”

“No,” you say a little too quickly, causing Taehyung’s eyes to widen in confusion. You quickly backtrack, even going as far as to grab a napkin and dab the powdered sugar from Taehyung’s cheeks, “it’s old people shopping. We’re sending ginseng wine to our families. No brand names there.”

Taehyung immediately buys it, scrunching his nose. “Not my favorite,” he says to himself. “Well, have fun doing old people things. Maybe Jimin will be willing to do something cool with me.”

And with that, he abandons the limp lettuce with a flick of his wrist, letting them out your windowsill and into your little garden for compost. You two make your separate ways, you into your room and Taehyung into the bathroom.

When you open your door, you already see Hoseok making himself comfortable on your bed, flipping through your notebook.

“You really shouldn’t be leaving this out on your desk,” Hoseok waves the yellow pages around, trying to look serious, “Taehyung could read this and you might end up in the cuckoo house.”

With a roll of your eyes, you search for a sweater, “As if he wouldn’t join me.”

You pull out a large black hoodie, courtesy of Jungkook. Trying not to look like a smitten high schooler, you subtly smell the collar before slipping it over your body. You melt in the fabric, and you almost hug yourself. Since your time at BigHit, you’ve missed wearing Jungkook’s things, and that’s a constant you can’t ignore.

“If you end up in the cuckoo house, I’ll end up there too by affiliation,” he flops on your bed, waiting for you to get ready, “so, we gonna nab an old lady today for some wine?”

“Ohmygod. What is wrong with you? You can’t say it like that, someone could report you!” you laugh, slapping him with a long sleeve.

“So it’s more appropriate to say, ‘let’s go find the lady’s coked up wine that could’ve potentially sent you to an alternate universe’ right?”

“Exactly,” you grin, pulling him up with an outstretched hand, “now let’s get going before we both end up in the cuckoo house.”

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

Jungkook thought bliss ended once he got a good filming gig and a stable job, but no, it just had to get better.

He doesn’t want to say he’s all consumed by your presence, but he can’t get enough of you. Sometimes he has to reel it in when you go out on dates, but he feels so lucky to call you his and hold you in his arms whenever he wants.

You dropped into his life, quite literally. One day you just showed up and barged into his life. At first it scared him, immensely. But as he got to know you, wear you down and realize that the strong, blunt woman he met on the street is just as kind and sweet and soft–

The bottom line is, Jungkook wears his heart on his sleeve and loves loudly. He feels so much for you he can’t contain it.

Except when Jimin wants to embarrass the hell out of you when they’re going over old pictures during work.

“Can I tell you a story about how y/n almost peed in that fountain?” Jimin points to the small thumbnail Jungkook took earlier last week. You’re perched on a large limestone fountain, smiling at the little fish tickling the sides of the bowl.

Taehyung gwaffs, choking on his sandwich. “God, that night was incredible! I got the Snapchat receipts too, Kook. If you want to second guess your standards.”

A loud laugh bubbles from his throat, and Jungkook eagerly leans over Taehyung’s shoulder to get a better look at the screen.

He likes your friends, too. To the point that he can safely consider them his friends. Of course he was intimidated the first time, especially when you were so pretty in your red skirt and surrounded by your equally attractive friends, but turns out Taehyung and Jimin are equally dopey and cringey as he.

As silly as you look crouched over the water and pulling up your skirt, he melts at how carefree you look enjoying yourself on a free night. Jimin is hauling you off the ledge, grabbing you by the waist as you fruitlessly try to kick him away.

“Careful,” Jimin tuts, sipping at his latte. “She’s gonna kill you if she finds out you showed it to Kook.”

Taehyung scoffs, stuffing his phone away. “She looked like she was gonna kill me today when she brought that friend over. They were acting really weird,” Taehyung points his kimchi in Jungkook’s nose, “do you know Hoseok?”

Jungkook blinks, opting to take a bite off Taehyung’s fork, “Kinda,” he shrugs, letting the tang of the kimchi spread across his tongue, “she has office hours when he’s working at the library daycare. They have lunch together.”

Jimin leans in, hands fold over the white cafeteria table like he’s in the mafia, “What do you mean by weird, Tae?”

“Like, she wanted him to wait in his room and they kinda just snuck out, y’know?” Taehyung divulges, “Like I love y/n, she the home girl, but who’s secretive about buying ginseng?”

Jungkook’s chewing slows. He trusts you, however, he doesn’t know what to make of that little tidbit. But instead he swallows his kimchi, not caring that he didn’t chew enough or that it went down uncomfortably, and steels himself. “Probably just stressed about her thesis or something, I’m sure everything’s fine.” he says smoothly, trying to convince himself that he’s right, and he’s pretty sure he is.

“Awh, Jungkookie’s so mature since he’s started dating!” Jimin paws all over the younger one like they’re long lost siblings. His hands travel to pinch his cheeks and ruffle his hair simultaneously, cooing like Jungkook’s a little bunny who’s merely existing.

There’s a blush staining Jungkook’s cheeks, but he doesn’t mind Jimin’s bouts of attention. A small smile blooms to Jungkook’s face, and confirms to himself that he’s in a good spot in his life.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

“So, what are you and Jungkook like?”

You shrug, “We’re good. It’s only been a few weeks though.”

“No, I meant your Jungkook.”

By definition, your Jungkook isn’t necessarily yours. However, the term is the byproduct of your current setting, and an unfortunate reminder that the Jungkook you’re dating now can never be definitively yours.

(Or…? Can it?)

“We were,” since when did you refer to you in and him in a past tense, “kind of a slow-burn, actually. We’d pass each other in the hall and exchange conversation during lunch in groups but, he kind of just crept up on me.”

The train is going at a break-neck speed, the fancy rail floating across the track as it beams you closer and closer to your destination. Gone are the concrete jungles and carefully architected trees. You’re finally starting to see some natural foliage and blue seas. Today’s journey is a bit of a shot in the dark, you don’t even know what the person you’re searching for looks like, but it’s the only clear lead you have.

“So you didn’t always know you loved him?” Hoseok asks, fiddling with the wire of his buds.

You shrug, “I had a feeling. He’s an easy guy to fall in love with,” you don’t want to mention that nearly half the world is smitten by the Golden Boy, but from the bittersweet expression on your face Hoseok has an inkling. “There’s just a lot of factors that come with relationships. Factors that aren’t worth it. It’s easy here.”

“It would be easy,” Hoseok replies to the air, closing his eyes.

And he’s right. It would be easy to continue on with life, forgetting about the possibility that one day you could wake up in W1. It would be easy to forget about your other life, Beomgyu’s forgotten quiz that’s still probably lit up in your MacBook back home, Sehlyung’s wish for you to approve Jin’s new outfit.

You wonder how your life back home is going, whether they’re moving on just like you seem to be.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

You really have no idea what Sehlyung’s wine dealer looks like. Work friends are work friends, where you’re close enough to share sexy secrets to each other but not as close as to divulge family life.

You know that Sehlyung lives in a small town closer to the shore, as she’s mentioned one too many times that her feet are baby smooth from the constant sand exfoliation. You’re vaguely aware that this is the right area, at least you hope because W2 Sehlyung could be living in Guam for all you know.

Passing by the village square, you search idly for an old lady selling ginseng wine. You didn’t realize how much a shot in the dark this could possibly be.

“Hey,” Hoseok whisper-hisses, and you try not to ignore the spit that brushes your ear, “you said to look for an old lady, right? All these ladies. They’re old.”

He’s right.

The village may be small, but there were over fifty booths with plenty of old ladies selling something. It would take hours, you didn’t even know if this lady would still be selling ginseng in this life.

Your hands fall limp at your thighs, and you point to a small house at the end of the square. It’s cute, almost cottage-like, looking more high-end than the other shops on the street. “Maybe we should eat something before we do some searching. Otherwise someone’s gonna have to scrape us off the street.”

“Good idea.”

Surprisingly, the interior of the establishment is nothing like the front. There’s a very authentic quirkiness to it, down to the colorful blown glass vases and the eclectic amount of alcohol lining the bar.

Not feeling like waiting for a table, the two of you wait by the bar, hopping on the two available stools in the corner.

The two of you don’t waste any time, telling the waiter passing by that both of you would like a heaping bowl of glass noodles.

“Care for a glass of something sweet?”

Looking up from their dessert menu, you see an older lady leaning over you to pour you and Hoseok a cup of tea. She’s the definition of a chill grandma, from the easy way she smiles to the colorful hoop earrings she wears. You watch as she carefully pours you a cup for you, and you get a glimpse of the beautifully painted ceramic teapot, adorned with watercolor flowers.

“If you have some angel wine,” you lick your lips, looking straight at her, “that would be lovely.”

There’s no hesitation in her work, and the lady continues to pour Hoseok’s cup with impeccable grace. She doesn’t bat a lash at your slight jab, even goes so far as to send you a crinkly smile.

“Fresh out, m’fraid,” she replies easily, “sold my last batch to a lovely blonde over a month ago.”

You swallow your surprise, the bile coming up your throat returning slow and achingly hard. Hoseok’s eyes dart between you and the old lady, and you clench your hands under the table. “Thought so,” you smile tersely, “then, do you have any recommendations?”

Hoseok noisily slurps tea, as if he’s watching a melodrama. The old lady nods eagerly, placing her ceramic mug on a nearby potholder. “I’ll whip up something extra special.”

It isn’t until the old lady whisks away from the bar and into the bathroom does Hoseok blurt, “Is the special thing drugs? Is she giving us drugs?”

“Who knows,” you thank the waiter who sets down two metal bowls of glass noodles in front of you, “maybe the next drink will send us to the moon.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Hoseok grimaces, “my fuckin’ dream is to visit the moon.”

As you two eat in silence, the restaurant slowly dwindles down as the lunch rush leaves and the start of dinner commences. Being a weekday, there aren't many coming down to eat out. You let yourself be immersed in the hubbub of the cottage, the clinking of clean tea cups and the laughter of staff sitting in the corner table.

The lady finally returns when you’re nearly done with your meal. There’s a tall frozen glass in her hand, ice particles clinging to the barrier. There’s an umbrella and a pineapple adorning the rim, looking uncharacteristically bright and tropical. She places it next to Hoseok’s tea.

He narrows his eyes, “This doesn’t have LSD or anything, right?”

She laughs, the hearty sound enveloping the restaurant. “Nope. Just passionfruit and mango.”

Hoseok easily takes her word for it, sipping happily as it washes down his dinner.

“For me?” you pop in.

“Ah, some advice.”

You shrink in your seat, “I want a fruit smoothie too.”

But you relent when she opens her palms to you, gesturing for you to give her yours. They feel calloused and worn, as if she’s spent lifetimes dedicating her life to her craft. She rubs her thumbs against your palm, sending soothing circles to your skin.

“Enjoy your time as it lasts,” she says, quiet enough for only you two to hear, “things will fall into place very soon.”

She senses you tense, and continues to hold you. You can’t tell whether this advice is foreboding or comforting.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

“I know what you're thinking,” Hoseok says when you return to Seoul, walking in the direction of your apartment.

“And what exactly am I thinking, o’ wise one?” you kick a stray pepple your way, getting in a groove as you walk lazily down the sidewalk.

“Her words,” he mumbles, “I don’t think it’s an invitation for you to get too comfortable here. Eventually… you’re gonna have to go back.”

“I know, Hoseok.” You don’t mean to sound so agitated. After all, the mission was mostly successful. You got your answers, albeit vague ones. The old lady in the cottage simultaneously sparked and eased your soul, unfortunately it didn’t give you any definitive direction as to go on with this life, other than to simply “enjoy it.”

“I know we’ve been debating whether you’re hallucinating or whether you’re in a coma and you’re having a really long dream or some weird mix of the two—” Hoseok jogs up to stop in-front of you, stuffing his hands in his orange cargos. He’s standing directly behind a 7-Eleven, the gaudy green and red lights lighting behind him like a halo.“And trust me, I’ve spent hours in bed thinking whether I’m real or not and potentially reaching an existential midlife crisis,” he grabs your hand and presses it to your chest, his other hand flailing wildly to the sky, “but this is real. All of it, I’m convinced it’s real. I’ve lived a long, slow, twenty-something life so far.”

He pulls you into his arms, and you suppress a shudder as his warm embrace envelopes you. Is this some sort of punishment? For the first time in a long time, you’ve felt content. Not to say that your life in your world wasn’t normal but you could honestly admit that the time you’ve spent here is nothing short of amazing. There’s an ease to this life, something so simple and easy to love that you want to keep it in your heart and cherish it forever.

“But ‘m gonna miss you,” you sigh into his chest, “we aren’t very close back in my world, y’know. So I’m glad I got to spend the time that I could with you.”

“S’okay,” he mumbles into your hair, and you can feel the smile in your skin, “if we’re really meant to be friends, it’ll happen again.”

Hoseok leaves you with these words, allowing you to breathe easy as you make the steps back to your apartment. Your feet are heavy from the day’s trek, but your mind feels lighter as you near your floor.

You spot a young man in a long jacket hanging a bag on your doorknob, taking great care that the contents inside wouldn’t spill.

“Jungkook?” you ask, smile widening when his gaze perks up to meet yours. It’s almost comical how he reacts to your voice, perking up like a little rabbit at the sound.

His smile grows the closer you get to him, “Hey, pretty girl,” he murmurs, closing the space between you to press a chaste kiss on your cheek, “great timing. I got you something.”

Your eyes dart to the cup of bubble tea hanging on your doorknob. The cup is adorable, pink-tinted and rounded at the bottom with little cat ears for the lid.

“Oh, you went! How was it?”

“It was great! We should go once you’re free. Taehyung ordered three cups! Nearly puked all over Jimin’s couch.”

“So,” your fingers trail up the buttons of his shirt, and you look up through your lashes, “you’re implying that my roommate isn’t inside our apartment right now.”

He leans in, nose nudging your neck as his voice rumbles against your sensitive skin, “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

You’ve never punched in your key faster, clutching the bubble tea bag to place it along the counter as the two of you clamber in. Instead of making it to your bedroom or living room, Jungkook traps your body between the doorway, cradling your face in both his hands to press a sweet kiss on your lips.

There’s nowhere to put your hands because both of Jungkook’s are up, so you close your eyes and let yourself savor the slow taste of his lips moving against yours. Finally you decide to settle your hands on his belt buckle, absentmindedly thumbing the loops as you get lost in the feeling.

“Mm, Kook? Koo—” he presses quick pecks to your lips, barely giving you a chance to forge complete sentences, “can we move this somewhere more comfortable? ‘M legs are turning to jelly.”

“Glad to have that effect on you,” he replies airily, thumbs pressing into your soft skin, “but I actually have to go, so no time to get comfy.” You whine against his lips, and he chuckles. “I have a cohort meeting at 8AM. We’re gonna organize our portfolios together.”

“Nerd,” you pout, pressing a kiss to his chin.

“And me and Mingyu are meeting online for some Overwatch in like, two hours.”

“Gamer nerd,”

“Your nerd,” he beams, his thumb reaching out to swipe the sheen from your swollen lips, “lemme plan date night to make it up to you. Minghao will be out of town for the weekend so it’ll just be me at the apartment.”

Date night. It all sounds so domestic to you, planning out designated days to spend time together. It isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but the fact that Jungkook sounds so settled with you is nothing short of heartening.

“I’ll make dinner,” his fingers twine between yours, “and we’re keeping the dress code super casual. I want to see you in nothing but sweatpants and oversized t-shirts.”

“But sweatpants aren’t sexy!”

“They are on you,” he retorts with a wiggle of his brows, “and sweatpants are easy access.”

“Alright, as long as you don’t upstage me.”

“Never,” he grins, pearly whites on display, “now, I really gotta go.”

He unlatches your body from his, only to have you immediately jump on him like a koala. You feel his large hands caressing your hair, taking the time to run his fingers through the tangles. You could fall asleep standing in the middle of your doorway, melting under his touch.

“Good night, baby.” he says, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“Sweet dreams, nerd.” you reply reluctantly, letting him open the door so he can go.

“Dream of me!” is the last thing he says before he forces you to shut the door, leaving you thoroughly needy and wanting for him.

Tonight, you dream long.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

Seven months ago, W1

You’re crying. There’s big, fat, ugly tears falling in rivulets along your face. You don’t even bother to wipe away the tears, just let them flow freely and dampen your pants as you watch the group take their final bow.

From your seat, you take in the energy of the concert like it’s your last breath. The purple confetti dusting your hair, the slow remix blasting through the speakers. The sea of stars swimming across the stadium, all for them.

You wait until everybody’s long gone before you get up from your seat. Until the only people that surround you are staff and clean-up crew, forcing you to leave. Your face still feels achy and your cheeks puffy. Sehlyung is urgently texting you (quadruple texting!) to hurry your ass up and get to the green room so you can all leave together.

A hand on your shoulder stops you from replying, and you wave them off. “Yeah, yeah. I’m leaving already, sorry.”

“Rude, I just got here.”

Jungkook is glowing. He hoists his whole body to plop himself in the seat next to you, so heavy you fear he may break the plastic in two. His arms splay across the other seats, urging you to lean in closer.

“Jungkook,” you smile, resting your hand on his thigh. “The show was great, I really felt the energy from all the way back here.”

“I can see that,” he tugs at his long sleeves, reaching to brush a stray tear, “you okay?”

“What, yeah.” you scoff, crossing your arms.

“So you weren’t moved by my impeccable talent?”

“Obviously,”

“Because, there’s nothing to be ashamed of if you were crying,” he goes on playfully, using his hands to narrate his spiel as he talks out to the stage, “I mean I get it, knowing how much I slaved over that solo and finally getting to perform it, and how I got sick the night before is a pretty–oh shit.”

You’re blubbering again, feverish now that everyone’s gone and it’s only you two in the stadium. The lights have already started to go out, the only light illuminating are the red exit signs and the last pair of doors leading to the main lobby. Your cries are echoing across the large room, and you feel nothing short of embarrassed but you can’t stop crying.

“Awh, my little crybaby,” he cooes, dripping with affection as he moves the armrest to pull you onto his lap. You dive your face in his neck, wracking with sobs.

“I’m, I’m just so proud of you,” you seep out, nuzzling your nose between his freshly cleaned face, “and you—you make it so damn hard for me to not love you it’s just, it’s not fair!”

“You don’t make it any easier on me either,” he whispers, soft enough to crumble under his grasp and melt under his skin.

The confessions are so soft, so easy to say. Little did the both of you know how much it would strain for you to place this love on the backburner.

#jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #goldenclosetnet #bts fic #bts scenarios #jeon jungkook #koo #unedited so i wont be offended if u message me and tell me theres a mistake #im welcome to it bc im kinda in a rush but i wanted to get it out sooner than later #im running to get my first tattoo appt :)#bye bubbies

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shiny-procrastinates · 3 years

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(re)Watching Magia Record S1 - part 3

part 2 here

Hello everyone and welcome back to our watch-through of the first season of Magia Record! Last time, we met a trio of Kamihama magical girls, Momoko, Rena and Kaede, and, after Rena and Kaede fighting, Kaede is kidnapped by the “chain monster”, a part of the rumor of the Staircase of Severance. Now, it’s up to Iroha, Momoko and Rena to find and take her back. Will they succeed, or will someone lose their heads? The only way to know is by watching, so let’s get right to it.

Puella Magi Madoka Magica Side Story: Magia Record Episode 3

Rather than going back to the plot right away, we are given a flashback of Iroha’s younger sister and two other girls. The brown haired girl has apparently created an eternal motion machine in the form of a toy train, saying something about how adults must be stupid if they never thought of that before, and that toy train proceeds to crash into a pile of books and set fire on them. Good job.

I don’t want to hear this from a gacha game character. Your original work is even more fragile than this!

The megane girl, Nemu, compares the brown haired girl, Touka’s actions to the burning of the Library of Alexandria (dramatic much?) and the two start fighting, with Ui trying to stop them. They’re just like Momoko’s trio on the previous episode, breaking their friendship up and everything.

Once again, it was Iroha’s dream. You know the erasure really went in on it when even the rug is cut in half.

Iroha’s sister had friends at the hospital, so she could get some new clues if only she could find them.

Floof Momoko.

Before going looking for Kaede, Momoko and co. drop by Kamihama Mirena-za, aka. the Coordinator’s. I tried searching if Milena constellation was actually a thing, but the only thing I could find was that there’s a Galileo satellite named Milena. Huh.

The Coordinator had a client, but she’s done right away. We learn that the Coordinator’s name is Mitama Yakumo, but still have no idea what she actually does.

Besides not having a sense of personal space.

Momoko explains that Iroha’s not there to get adjusted, whatever that means, and asks if Yachiyo is there yet. Who’s this Yachiyo though?

Aaawkward.

To no one’s surprise, I guess, since I already said it, but this girl is Yachiyo. And she absolutely ignores Iroha. Rude.

Yachiyo and Momoko start talking between themselves about Kaede’s case. (and MItama’s fixing Momoko’s hair. Cute). It seems Yachiyo is well aware of the rumor of the Staircase of Severance. She pulls out a notebook, and Momoko notes that she’s knowledgeable about these things.

Momoko asks Yachiyo to lend them her help, and Yachiyo agrees to do it, since Kaede is in danger, but adds that she won’t work with people who will only be a burden, looking at Iroha.

...not that she’s wrong, but still rude.

Well, I mean, that might make sense when you’re so op, but you don’t have to say it outright!

Still, Yachiyo has a point: it’d be too dangerous to bring along a weak magical girl to a fight with an unknown enemy. So Mitama offers a solution: why don’t they just adjust Iroha’s Soul Gem?

Mitama does a very short explanation of what “adjusting a Soul Gem” actually entails, and this one short screen tells us the rest. It’s basically what let Momoko and Rena do that joint attack earlier. I wonder if this was even long enough on the screen for the people who watched this on tv to read it.

Momoko says that Yachiyo should have no complaints as long as they do that and Yachiyo is like “yeah, whatever”.

...now that I think about it, what is Mitama doing here?

Continue? Iroha hasn’t sacrificed anyone tho.

...oh, I forgot we don’t get to see Iroha getting adjusted.

So, our girls are now at the rumored stairs at Kamihama University Affiliated School. Leaving aside Momoko and Rena, since they are students there, one has to wonder how exactly did Iroha and Yachiyo manage to get up there without being found. This school’s security is lacking!

While the girls run up to the rumored Staircase of Severance (this is so annoying to write) we see some messages on screen of what I assume are Rena’s classmates, and get pushed some ideas of what friends should be like, all while Momoko tries to cheer Rena up.

Okay, that’s a really narrow staircase. Who decided to put this creepy thing here?

Momoko writes her and Yachiyo’s name on the staircase (and we sneakily learn Yachiyo’s surname is Nanami). The two are reenacting the rumor, so now they’ll make up to draw the Chain Witch out. That is, after they give us their transformation scenes!

While Yachiyo’s themes are water and stars(?), and she has gracious movements, Momoko’s literally burning up and kicking things. Their transformations parallel one another, and yet they are completely opposites. I love it! (but Momoko kicking the sword still takes the cake for me).

Now that I think about it, for all that fire theme she has going, Momoko's not that hot-blooded. Don’t judge a book by it’s cover, I guess.

Rena’s transformation focuses on her shapeshifting powers, throwing her through mirrors and with lots of expression changes. It’s not because she’s tsundere, the transformation seems to tell us Rena has lots of faces.

...I also like her DDR routine right at the start, it’s cute.

The theme of Iroha’s transformation is birbs. Rather than telling us something about who she is like the others, I see hers as basically about what she’s doing right now: much like she did by coming to Kamihama, Iroha takes the courage and jumps into the unknown, chasing after a mirage.

I’m always a little bothered with how she falls straight down despite taking impulse when she jumps, but hey, what can you do lol

One of the (many) cool things about this whole sequence is how the bgm is continuous throughout the transformations, only changing a bit to match each of the girls.

That’s not very convincing acting, Momoko. Yachiyo’s is not much better, either. They theorize it only works if they’re really fighting, and Rena says she’ll do it.

Rena starts apologizing, but nothing happens. Iroha says it might be because she’s not saying it from her heart and Rena’s gets upset.

Rena can’t just feel like making up right away, but it’s not like she doesn’t want Kaede to come back. These two seem to have a complicated relationship, but in the end, it’s clear that Rena does like her. Rena starts crying and apologizes for making Kaede be friends with someone like her all this time. Then, the Chain Witch appears.

We get a flashback to Rena flashbacking (confusing, I know) about all the times Kaede apologized to her, while watching an idol show.

Don’t we all?

So, yeah… Rena is a complicated character. (and a Sayuki stan)

Iroha wakes up in Rena’s room for some reason. Clearly-not-Momoko starts a monologue of how no one could ever like Rena.

Rena hates herself, so she wanted to change. She wanted to become someone else, so her wish gave her shapeshifting powers, but didn’t change her, so she still hates herself (considering the implications when this type of wish does work, see Oriko’s Kirika, she might have gotten the better end of the deal.

Kaede calls out to Rena and Iroha and Rena break out of the strange television-exposition-vision-thingy. So the first thing they start doing, naturally, is start bickering again. Great friends!

Oh look, the weird Kyuubei is back! Like the nice mascot character he is, he’s showing Iroha the way to the main Witch.

Rena and Kaede start to have a heart-to-heart while fighting (the familiars now, not each other).

Familiar: hahaha, that tickles

Rena says their friendship is over once they get out of there, since they were never real friends to begin with, but Kaede doesn’t want that. Kaede says that if Rena’s problem is that she never apologizes, she just did earlier and Rena says that didn’t count, so Kaede replies that then they breaking up doesn’t count either. Nice, Kaede!

Kaede basically says that, yeah, Rena can be terrible, but she likes her that way anyway, so they can continue being friends.

Rena says that Kaede needs to listen to her, she needs to let her apologize too and tells her she’ll do it once they get out.

While they’re doing that, Yachiyo and Momoko climb to the top and knock down the witches’ main body. Momoko then calls for Kaede and Rena to finish it off. Nice VFX there btw.

Rena and Kaede join hands and using both their magic they pinball the witch into the air with Rena's mirrors. Rena launches plant-enchanted copy spears at it and the witch bursts into leaves and dries... Kaede's magic is kind of scary like this.

Oh, how adorable. Aaaand he's gone.

The witch is defeated and Rena now has to make good on her promise to apologize. But, seems like honestly apologizing is still too much of a hurdle for her so after some struggle she swerves to another thing. Thankfully, Kaede knows Rena well enough and she's fine with this.

Look at them, so precious.

While Momoko and Iroha catch their breath, Yachiyo approaches them and informs them the Witch didn't drop a Grief Seed. In fact, she says that might've not even been a Witch at all. Yachiyo points out it's weird to have a Witch that comes out anywhere whenever the conditions of a rumor are met, in particular since they didn't even feel it's magic beforehand. She warns them that something weird is going on in Kamihama, then leaves in the most dramatic way possible.

Sometime later, our group is back at Satomi Medical Center. Seems Rena has given in and decided to help after all.

Going by the original plan, Rena transformed into a nurse and investigated the hospital. It's pretty cool how her voice is slightly distorted in this little sequence with her undoing her transformation.

No one in the hospital remembered Iroha's sister, but they did remember Touka and Nemu. That means Iroha's memories aren't entirely wrong.

With that, Iroha goes back to Takarazaki for the day, with some new friends and a very small but important step closer to finding her beloved younger sister.

"Sorry for making you my friend."

That's it folks, this was the third episode of Magia Record('s first season)! No one lost their heads... well except that not-witch if we count the bell as it's head, but I think that's just fine for this series, because--

OH WAIT THERE'S MORE

Talking about lost heads, look who's here! I totally forgot this episode had a stinger. My bad.

Kyuubei can't enter Kamihama now for some reason, so he needed someone to investigate the cause for him and contacted Mami as a strong veteran Magical Girl. There are rumors about that someone in Kamihama is gathering all the Witches around to monopolize Grief Seeds, which would explain why the city is infested with them and they being stronger than normal. Mami says she doesn't want trouble with the Magical Girls of another territory, but will investigate whether the current events are due to a Witch or Magical Girl. I like the short cut that shows her from beneath the grating, it's neat. Just have no idea what it's supposed to mean.

!--rant incoming--! (I say, as if this whole post isn't one)

Anyways, like I was saying... writing? Before the stinger disrupted my thoughts, I think it's just fine that Magia Record's ep3 doesn't have any big twists like Madoka. The original had that maybe for the shock factor, yes, but also because it needed it to make clear what kind of story they were actually going for, and that worked great for that show and the time when it came out. But Magia Record is more of a mystery. We don't need it to push the point of magical girl suffering because the original already did that, we need it to give us things to puzzle about, and that it already did with the weird witch of this episode. Could it have made that better? Maybe, but Magia Record also has the problem that it's cast is significantly bigger, so they have to fit those introductions somewhere. So while it introduces Momoko's trio and a bit Yachiyo, it also tries it's best to situate us (and Iroha by extension) as to how Kamihama's magical girl's world is like and what's going on there. It's a lot to juggle and the anime doesn't get the benefit like the game of being able to just put the character's backstory on a separate chapter. I really like character focused things, so I don't mind the anime trying to fit as much as it can in, but I can see how that might turn other people off. That's one of the things that's really a matter of taste I guess.

!--ok, you can come back now--!

One of the visual things I really like in this episode is the effect with the floating kana and kanji on the Labyrinth. I wonder how that was done. It's animated, so I don't think it's part of the background, but then I'm also not sure at which stage of production that'd be put in. It's really neat.

Well, with this, we are done with episode 3 of Magia Record! What will we do next? Who knows! It doesn't seem like Iroha noticed it, but just knowing that Touka and Nemu existed, not even getting their surnames, does not give her any new clues to go with. She barely started and already is at a dead-end, poor girl.

Before jumping off the building, Yachiyo also added another question to our already filled question bucket: what was up with that weird witch? What is this strange thing that is going on in Kamihama? Why are you looking like that at Momoko's team?

As viewers, however, there is only one way of answering all this: by watching. So I'll be looking forward to having you guys join me tomorrow for episode 4! Have a good morning/afternoon/evening!

PS.: The last two episodes had about 30 screenshots, this one has about 40, at this rate by the time I get to episode 13 I'll be taking screenshots of the whole episode...

#Magia Record #Puella Magi Madoka Magica #pmmm magia record

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southernrays · 3 years

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location: Fairvale + Jesup/Atlanta in flashbacks date: The second week of July 2020 + Ray’s entire life availability: closed solo tldr: Ray ponders his love life before-during-after the apocalypse cw for: transphobia, disclosure talks, transitioning, divorce, drugs (mentioned not used) and all of the general heart break affiliated with young love.

000.

Ray fell in love too easily.

It had always been a problem, really, but there was no real fix. Ray loved deeply, easily, and with his whole entire heart. He had done so since he was a kid, and he would probably always do so, apocalypse or not.

001.

His first crush had been on Brittany Walker when he was six years old. That was before he was Ray, before he was even Nate, but a crush was a crush.

Brittany was the most popular girl in their elementary school. Jesup was a small town that only grew smaller the older they got, and Ray was one of ten in his class. Brittany was classically pretty - blonde hair, blue eyes, a big smile, and kind eyes - but Ray knew it was more that that. He didn’t want to be Brittany’s friend, he wanted to be her best friend, and got jealous of everyone else. When the town got a new set of siblings, brother and sister, and Brittany started hanging out with them instead of him, Ray’s father noticed the frowns and sad looks at the dinner table.

“What’s wrong, champ?” David had asked, the nickname sticking from a t-ball championship streak of two years. Ray had pouted over the okra on his plate, and not just because it was slimy.

“Brittany has new friends and likes them better. But I like her more than anyone else on the playground.”

“Is that right now?” David had amusement in his eyes when he tried to keep a straight face, and Ray was old enough to see it. He was deceptively perceptive for his age and already a good people watcher at the bar. David knew that.

“I’m serious Dad. I’d marry her, like you and mom.”

Ray was still just six, though. He didn’t notice the tense of his father’s shoulder, the way he glanced over to make sure that his wife wasn’t in the room. He didn’t notice the frown lines on his face or how unhappy he had been for the last six years. He didn’t know that the divorce papers will be signed before their next Christmas, and it will be spent without Regina Turner. That all of his birthdays and holidays and life events would be without her, forever, very soon.

“That’s a whole lot of like, kiddo.”

“I mean it, Pa.”

“That’s alright champ. You can marry whoever you want to when you get older, alright? I’ll love you no matter what.”

“Alright dad,” little Ray had said with a wrinkle of his nose. “Don’t make it weird.”

David’s laugh had filled the kitchen, and Ray felt better about it all.

002.

Ray didn’t have a type growing up. The people he liked, he liked individually, not because they fit into a mold that checked off imaginary boxes. In high school his eyes turned towards a new girl in town that’s aesthetic screams southern gothic in an unironic way. Hailee wore her eye liner too thick, kept her music too loud, wore too much black and metal, and glared at everyone at Jesup’s only high school like their mere presence bothered her. Ray had no idea, in retrospect, why he was drawn to her, but he was. Ray was finally Nate by then, finally himself in his own skin and his own clothing and no one could take that from him. Not the busybodies of Jesup, not his mother’s stinging palm on his cheek, and not any pastor of a Church he wasn’t apart of, praying to a man he didn’t believe in.

Ray was unapologetically himself, and maybe he was drawn to someone else like that, too.

Hailee avoided him like the plague, too, at first. She scoffed at his worn levis and dirty cowboy boots. She ignored Ray when the popular crowd stopped by his locker. Ray was popular, too, in spite of his transition and small town gossip. His father owned one of the only bars in town that made him cool, and a source of liquor for unage drinking and parties. Ray didn’t care much for that, but he did appreciate the socialization of it all.

“Hey, Hailee, wait up now,” Ray had called out, almost not recognizing his own voice after his second puberty.

“What do you want, Nate?” Her eyes had narrowed, pretty and green despite the kohl surrounding them.

“You to come to Nick’s party this weekend. What do ya say?” Ray rocked back on his heels, nervous of her answer. People in the hallway stopped to look at them, and Ray wondered what they saw. Was it the stubble on his chin, his recent growth spike, and the new squareness of his hips? Or was it the same kid that had been there since pre-school, unable to leave that old, uncomfortable skin behind.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah? You do that, then. I can pick ya up on the bike if you want?”

Her eyes flashed with something dangerous, then, and Ray knew he had hooked her. What kind of edgy girl could resist showing up to the party on the back of a sick motorcycle?

They find themselves in a closet, of all places, in the middle of the night. Ray tasted tequila on her lips when she slotted their hips together. He pushed back, pinning her against a wall as he slipped his tongue into her mouth. The groan she let out was sweet music to his ears and she melted like putty against his strong frame.

“Worth comin’ out for the party?” Ray asked against her lips. She bit his lip in retaliation before deepening the kiss. Ray’s hands wandered, fingers trailing the skin exposed by the black crop top she had decided to wear tonight. They separate when Ray needed to come up for air, harsh pants filling the small spaces of the closet.

“I didn’t expect it to be so good,” Hailee mumbled against his lips, and Ray can’t help but freeze.

“What? Kissin’ a redneck?” He tried to joke off, desperate for her to make some small town hick joke. Because Hailee was from Indianapolis. She was supposed to be edgy and alternative and beyond all of the small town gossip. She was different from the other people Ray had been taking hayrides with since the days of diapers.

He expected more out of Hailee - maybe more than he should have, maybe more than what was fair - which is why the disappointment felt so much worse with her.

“No, you know...” A brief pause of hesitation and Ray prayed, dear God for her to say anything but what he thought she was going to say. “Kissing someone like you.”

Ray flinched back like someone had dropped a bucket of ice on him. His eyes sting for a brief second of embarrassment before the rage took over. He takes one deep breath, and then another. Man, testosterone was a potent thing, wasn’t it?

“I... I’ll see ya ‘round Hailey.”

“Wait - Nate - I didn’t ... I wasn’t trying to-”

Ray doesn’t hear the rest. He doesn’t need to.

003.

Dating Xavier was a mistake, plain and simple.

Ray was new to the area. He was finally free of his town, free of the stigma and the knowing looks, and the everything else that came with a town so small it felt like a fishbowl. Here, in Atlanta, he got to start over. He could be Nate from the beginning, without any need to pretend otherwise.

And Nate was a useless bisexual. Always had been.

Xavier was kind of a douchebag. He met Ray at a bar, of course, his band playing on the makeshift stage. Xavier was a drummer. He was so dang pretty, easy on the eyes, and kissed in a dirty, grungy sort of way that had it’s charms. He was nothing like Jesup kids; Xavier was spoiled, wild, a city boy through and through, and Ray craved the simplicity of it all.

Xavier (who went by X) was not a good guy and did drugs (most X) and got crossfaded out of his mind after shows. He stayed up crazy hours, usually high, and wrote all sorts of lyrics for his band. Their relationship, if you could call it that, was very brief and mostly physical.

“You should play guitar, babe, like for real, you know?” Xavier said, waking Ray up at five in the morning to tell him that.

“Why’s that, handsome?” Ray had answered, sleep still clogging his voice as he rolled over. It looked like X hadn’t been to sleep yet, which made sense considering the binge he had been on.

“It’d make you more edgy, right, like, you’d be hotter. Everyone’s hotter if they play guitar.”

“S’that why you’re a drummer?” Ray teased, but the fun nature of it went over Xavier’s head. He leveled a big scowl at Ray, and Ray sighed.

“No need to be mean, Nate.”

“Was just a joke, baby.” Ray opened up the covers of the bed, glancing at the clock again. Xavier’s pupils were so dilated that he couldn’t see his pretty brown eyes. “Come to bed soon?”

“You know I have to finish this song. We hit the road in three weeks for our tour.”

In that three weeks, Ray picked up a guitar and had his first lessons, broke up with Xavier, and never saw the guy again.

He was not more edgy, not in the slightest, but he did have a new guitar and a whole city to explore.

004.

Meeting Luci had been accidental in every way. He had picked up an extra shift at the bar that his manager forgot to write into the schedule, so when he showed up for it there was double staffing and no need for Ray to be there. Instead of spending a Friday night alone, at his apartment, he decided to stay. Ray nursed a couple of beers as the bar filled up and texted his friends to show up early.

The Drunken Crown was a sort of themed bar-slash-pub in Atlanta. It was smaller, which Ray appreciated, and had theme nights on the daily. A lot of the college kids from nearby spent their time there, and the average patron was generally on the younger side. On Fridays and Saturdays their theme rotated, and tonight’s was Historic Night.

His friends arrived a bit later, dressed in Spartan battle gear. They did a couple rounds of shots before most of them took to the dance floor, leaving Ray laughing as he refused at the bar.

Ray had come dressed in an honest to goodness toga, including a gold spray-painted leaf crown and golden accessories. His time in the gym had definitely paid off as he was finally bulking up and gaining more definition in his shoulders. One or two girls had been orbiting around him, but Ray didn’t make any passes at anyone. He sipped on his beer, watching his coworkers make their rounds, and decided to people watch for the evening.

A group of flappers were tearing up the dance floor. Ray could see his buddy, Blake, drunkenly approaching them and attempting some dance moves that made him look ridiculous. Some guys in three piece suits were making out by the entrance. A group of hippies were eagerly chatting and mingling at the bar. Ray saw at least three girls who looked like some extras in a Nirvana video begging for some kind of song change from whatever was on the speakers.

Luci had been dressed up as an old writer, someone Ray knew the name of but couldn’t remember, not truly and definitely not any more, and kept all to herself in the very corner of the bar. She was sipping on some mixed drink and Ray’s eyes stopped on her. What was her story? The quiet girl, alone at the bar, barely hanging onto the fringes of all of the activity.

He was intrigued, and he wanted to know.

A simple introduction was given. Ray prodded, trying to get a feel for the quiet girl, who opened up immediately when asked about her costume. Ray was no academic, but he appreciated the passion in her eyes when she spoke about something, voice louder than either one of them expected.

“I’m Nate, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

And it was. Luci was his opposite in so many ways. He hadn’t expected to see her again after that night, too shy to ask for her number and unsure if she was interested in giving it. His coworkers had given him hell for chickening out, and Ray just gave them a good-natured smile.

A week and a half later, Luci came in, dressed normally, while Ray was working. He spent the entire night neglecting his duties, trying to get a conversation out of her and working his own natural charm. And she came back the next week, and the week after, too. Soon Ray was brave enough to ask for her number. And she gave it to him.

Being with Luci was different. Their first date, Ray had taken her out of the city to a local dirt track. They went mudding in ATVs and Ray nearly fell off of his trying to impressive her halfway through. Luci’s eyes had been wide the entire time, soaking up the whole thing with a curiosity that Ray came to associate with her. One date turned into two, which turned into a whole series of exploring together.

They took turns taking each other outside of their comfort zones. Ray taught Luci how to have fun the country way, with mudding and camping, and picnics in the bed of his truck as they watched the sun rise together. Luci surprised Ray with her deep thoughts, her sharp mind, and the push to better himself with her. She didn’t let him keep up his self-deprecation. They would have late night conversations, under the stars, all alone, wrapped up in each other.

She met his friends, his family, incorporated herself in his entire life.

Ray fell head over heels. And he told her so, earnest and eager and open to love. Open to a lifetime of learning and exploring with her.

And she left him, at the edge of the cliff he was ready to jump off with no parachute, without so much as an explanation. And she took a part of him with her, whether she realized it or not, that never really came back.

005.

There were more. Some before Luci, some after. Each person was different - different backgrounds, ages, race, gender, personalities - but one thing always remained the same. Ray loved too hard, too much, too easily. Ray was open to the idea of commitment, and committed, too easily.

It didn’t matter who he was dating, he was the constant, he was the issue, and it hurt to admit.

Ray tried, and he loved, before-during-after the outbreak. And it went like this:

There was Rob, a brewmaster he met while at school. They dated for over a year, before graduation hit; Ray wanted to go to Atlanta and Rob wanted to go to family back in Miami.

“It’s like - you know - I really like you Nate. I like you a lot. But long distance? It never works. It’s better to end it now.”

There was Sage, a wild child trust fund girl that wanted to save the rainforest with Daddy’s money. She laughed when he asked her to be his girlfriend.

“That’s cute, you thought we were dating? It’s not that serious babe.”

There was Fi, a survivor in a camp Ray had stumbled across after leaving the Fort. She was the reason Ray stuck around for three weeks. They had had an awful fight before the camp was overrun, and she hadn’t made it out alive.

“You’re too soft, Ray. I’d chew up your sunshine and spit it out. I don’t want to see you again.”

There was Ronnie, the permanent student with four different bachelor degrees. He cheated on Ray with one of his roommates after six months of dating.

“I was bored, Nate. I’m not ready to just settle down, dude. You’re smothering me.”

There was Destiny, a small town, kindred girl he found in Atlanta not too long after Xavier. She had looked at him in the worst way when Ray had come out to her.

“I’m - I’m not - That’s not what God would want for you, you know?”

There was Jenny, a financial advisor that Ray had met through the bar and mutual friends. She had always been so carefree, maybe too carefree, maybe just too free in general.

“Oh Darlin’, I don’t think so. We’re not exactly endgame, are we?”

It didn’t matter who, when, where they were. Ray wasn’t worth keeping around - that was the universally proven fact. It was one he had to stomach his entire life, and well, it sucked, but Ray was not one to stay down. He washed off the mud, dusted off his boots, and got back up again.

000. +

Ray tried not to play the self pity card. It just wasn’t his style. But with the outbreak, losing his family, and trying to re-invent himself yet again? A relationship was the last thing he wanted or needed. Fairvale was a clean break, it was (mostly) mess free. He could be whoever he wanted or needed. He could start over, again. He could protect himself and his heart.

Love mucked all of that up. It always had.

So when he caught himself - again, Ray, really? - people watching with his eyes settling on one person, he ignored it. When he felt that small flip-flop in his belly at their smile, he pushed it down. When his day would brighten at the familiar face of a kind-of-regular-that-showed up, Ray decided he would not have a crush again, thank you very much, and make things uneven.

He could not afford to give up his heart any more than he already had. He couldn’t afford to be let down, disregarded, by someone again.

#solo para #027 #para #YEEHAW BUCKLE UP #about

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