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ash5monster01 · 1 year ago

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Goes On Prologue

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x OC!FemReader

Warnings: 18+, depression, mentions of suicide, heavy topics, eventual smut, slow burn romance, fluff, gender themes/stereotypes.

Summary: Against his best efforts Charlie has to start at a new preparatory school after the tragic events that took place at Welton. The very events that led to the loss of his best friend and getting expelled in the first place. He has no plans to make friends let alone get close to anyone ever again. That is until he meets Evelyn and her interesting group of friends. No matter how hard he tries to push them away he finds it to be impossible. So he caves and in the end learns that life can still be enjoyable even if it feels like everyone is against you.

Word Count: 1.6k

→ One

Masterlist

Ridge Academy, NY

1/3/60

The craziest part for Charlie was that standing outside this new building it felt the same. He knew it shouldn’t since Welton was the only school he had ever attended his whole life. Yet standing here, looking at the walls and hearing the chatter of students from the dorm floor, he was saddened because it felt the same. It didn’t matter that it didn’t look the same, held different students, different teachers, different experiences. It was a sad reminder that every preparatory school was the same. That this one would be no different with its insane amount of school work and harsh teachers. It would be another constant reminder that creativity was wrong, creativity didn’t keep jobs.

The only hope Charlie had left about a new school being good for him had been crushed. Here in front of him was just another mindless building full of prisoners beat into not becoming free thinkers. If you made it out with your spirit still alive you were lucky. One of the few survivors not tainted by the ugliness of the cruel world. Charlie wished he was one of those survivors but instead he had been beaten by the system worse than them all and in the end still had a whole year and half left of their torture.

“Well son, what do you think?” Charlie took a moment to respond to his father, hands clenching over the handles of his suitcases. After all he wasn’t sure how to respond. Over Holiday break he had been punished enough for his behavior and beat back into remembering he had no right to indulge in the good things in life.

“I think it’s another school, no different than the last” he finally responded, refusing to look his father in the eye and see the smug look he wore. Charlie didn’t need another reminder that he was to listen to the man and do as he was told. If all went well they’ll have turned him into an obedient money making machine by the time he was done.

“Well it better be different than the last. We can’t afford another incident like last time. If you’re to get into an ivy league school you will do your best here” his father responded with a harsh and cold tone, no longer in the mood to deal with his attitude.

“The chances of me getting into an ivy league after expulsion are low” Charlie muttered as he stepped through the doors to the boys dorms. He had been provided a tour of campus over the break to avoid any mixups. He hated that he already knew the school, it gave his father something to hold against him.

“Well if you had just signed that paper maybe you wouldn’t be in this predicament” his father dropped the suitcases he held, them clambering to the floor outside his new dorm room. Charlie watched as his mother jumped slightly, learning over break to let the arguments take their course.

“I already told you signing that paper would’ve made me a liar and I’m many things Dad, but dishonest isn’t one of them” Charlie bit back, tired of defending his honor. If he could put his whole foot down Cameron’s throat he would. Same for Neil’s father. If he was being honest, if he had a do over he still would’ve never signed that paper, and definitely still would’ve hit Cameron.

“I’m not having this argument again. Just try to keep your nose clean while you’re here. I’m tired of having a disappointment for a son” Mr. Dalton turned on his heel and down the hallway. Charlie wasn’t given the chance to say goodbye, his father’s words being final. So all he could do was watch him walk away and be thankful he won’t have to see him in person for another few months. His mother who never usually had an opportunity to speak stepped forward, hoping to leave her son with a better good bye.

“Give him time dear. He just wants what’s best for you” she smiled, reaching up to hold his cheeks. Charlie had been taller than her since puberty and seeing your baby grow bigger than you made you feel like you could no longer protect him from the world. That was proven true when he lost his best friend at seventeen and there was nothing she could do to cure his heartbreak. Death so young can change a person.

“Well leaving that fraud school is a step in the right direction” Charlie sneered but his heart clenched as he thought of his friends. Welton may have been hell but it was also the same place him and Neil would run the halls when they were 12 and it was the same place he spent some of his last moments with him.

“Well prove that to him, you’re strong my boy. I believe in you” she smiled and Charlie sighed as he set the suitcases he held down and wrapped his arms around his mother. After all he was still just seventeen and the safest place in the world would always be her arms.

“I love you Mom. Thanks for dropping me off” Charlie told her after a beat and Mrs. Dalton smiled, proud from knowing she had a well mannered boy. She knew her husband was proud too but two strong willed men were designed to clash against one another.

“I love you too baby. Be good, I’d prefer to not know your Dean by name for at least a month” Charlie chuckled as she let him go, leaving a soft kiss on the side of his head.

“I’ll try” he told her and she smiled before sending him a wink and rushing off to find her husband who more than likely had the car started and facing the direction of the exit. Charlie took a few moments to collect himself and his thoughts before facing his dorm door and giving it a knock.

“Come in” a muffled voice came through the door and Charlie quickly turned the handle as he pushed it open.

“Hey, I’m your new roommate Charlie” he reached a hand out, the boy sitting leisurely on his bed with a book in his hands. Over the winter break Charlie had tried to picture what his roommate would look like, a face that matched the personal items left behind in the room. He wasn’t too far off, a bit taller than expected but shaggy brown hair and green eyes matched what Charlie had pictured.

“Oh yeah, nice to meet you. I’m Nathan” the boy adjusted so he could give his hand a firm shake. A soft smile on his face. Charlie realized quickly he was kind.

“I apologize if this is weird. I know it’s not normal to get roommates halfway through the year” Charlie was never the type to roll over for someone else but in just the past month the entire world rolled over him and he didn’t have a lot of fight left in him.

“No it’s fine. Might be nice to have a roommate for once. My parents always thought it would interrupt with my studies but they can’t have any say when there is no more rooms left for the new student” Nate told him because it sucked knowing some people got to share a room with their best friend and got to know each other on a deeper level when he was used to spending his nights alone.

“Well I’ll try my best at being a good one then” Charlie said as he brought his suitcases in and shut the door. He never cared about being a decent roommate especially when his roommate was Cameron but now he just wanted some peace.

“You transferred from Welton right?” Nate asked as Charlie started to unpack. He hated how used he was to the feeling of moving into these small shared rooms. He hated even more his room mate already knew this about him.

“Yeah” Charlie muttered back, not in much mood to discuss the school. It was still on the fence how he felt about it when he looked back on life. It being the only place he felt he belonged and hated all at the same time.

“Man that’s so cool. I always wanted to go but my parents just couldn’t afford it. That school is for the best of the best” Nate looked at him eagerly, amazed to know he was now sharing a room with someone who knew exactly what it was like.

“And by best of the best you mean boys who are trained into mindless working men” Charlie snipped unintentionally and Nate sensed the tension as the hateful words rolled off Charlie’s tongue and he eased his excitement back. After all you didn’t leave a school like that for any old reason.

“Well I hope Ridge is a better fit for you” Nate muttered, understanding the boy more than likely just needed to be alone with his thoughts. He had already heard a muffled argument through the door. Charlie sighed as his fingertips brushed against the cool edge of the frame in his suitcase. Pulling it free he couldn’t quite find an emotion to place with it as he stared at the faces of him and his friends sitting on a rock outside of the cave. His finger covered Neil’s face that sat just above his own and he sighed. Tomorrow he would start classes for the first time without his best friend. He never thought there’d be a day.

“Yeah, me too”

Comment if you want to be added to the taglist :))

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narlamex · 6 months ago

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Just woke up from a nightmare wheee my parents sent me to Academy at Ivy Ridge. I woke up when (in the dream) I realized that they did know what this was and it wasn’t a misunderstanding. I’m 31. Are we ever done with childhood trauma.

“You are one of many people that contributed to a lifetime of trauma” -from The Program

#the program #childhood trauma #wanting to be wanted #need a hug

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ivycovehq · 7 months ago

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welcome to ivy cove, peach! we can't wait to meet carlos reyes, finnick odair, and five hargreeves. please make sure you read through the checklist and send in your account within 24 hours

( peach, she/her, 23, gmt ) woah! was that CARLOS REYES walking down main street? i heard they’re not actually from ivy cove but come from 9-1-1 LONESTAR. they’re 28 and live in RADIAN HILLS but watch out because they can be NON-CONFRONTATIONAL + NEUROTIC but are actually CARING + SMART. despite them HAVING memories, you’ll always think of PUTTING YOUR LIFE ON THE LINE TO SAVE OTHERS, OVERCOMING THE PAST TO MOVE FORWARD WITH YOUR FUTURE, KEEPING LOVED ONES AS CLOSE AS POSSIBLE when imagining them. / rafael silva, he/him

( peach, she/her, 23, gmt ) woah! was that FINNICK ODAIR walking down main street? i heard they’re not actually from ivy cove but come from THE HUNGER GAMES. they’re 26 and live in SHOREGRAZE RIDGE but watch out because they can be IMPULSIVE + MANIPULATIVE but are actually CHARISMATIC + RESOURCEFUL. despite them HAVING memories, you’ll always think of THE LINGERING SCENT OF THE OCEAN, CLINGING TIGHTLY TO A TRIDENT, A REBELLIOUS WILL when imagining them. / taylor zakhar perez, he/him

( peach, she/her, 23, gmt ) woah! was that FIVE HARGREEVES walking down main street? i heard they’re not actually from ivy cove but come from THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY they’re 23 and live in FULTON PARK but watch out because they can be SARCASTIC + BLUNT but are actually RESOURCEFUL + LOYAL. despite them HAVING memories, you’ll always think of BEING TRAPPED IN TIME, PUTTING YOUR SIBLINGS AND THE SAFETY OF THE WORLD BEFORE YOURSELF, TELEPORTING BETWEEN PLACES when imagining them. / froy gutierrez, he/him

#the umbrella academy rp #the hunger games rp #911 rp #multifandom rp #appless rp #ivycoveaccepted

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twistedisciple · 1 year ago

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Starter for @pryings

"We've lost 'em."

The howls of starving beasts choked by their own foamy saliva still rose from the forested hills in the west, but each new round grew quieter as the pack chased after the rising moon. Doubled over with palms pressed into his thighs, Griss sought to catch his breath despite - or because of the biting wind that cut him up on its way in. They'd run, not because they had been outnumbered, but because each mangy, wolfish sack of skin and bone had been twisted by glowing fragments of stone, and Griss knew by now that those unfortunate beasts had lost all sense of self-preservation. One had to be careful about picking fights with any creature - man or wolf - that had nothing left to lose. He and the academy professor (or something like that) accompanying him had not come out here to die.

Gulping down air like it was water, he straightened back up slowly to check the drying blood around his collarbone and the sticky, scabbing gash that it came from.

"Looks like we're still in the forest, at least." He rubbed his red-stained fingertips together and then looked around at the surrounding trees. Each one stood like an ancient guardian over the clearing they'd found themselves in, bare, gnarled branches craned and frozen between leaf-littered ground and indigo sky like the bony fingers of giants mid-grasp. A frown crossed his face. That was strange. By now, the trees should have been speckled with the verdant buds of new leaves. Turning in place, his eyes swept across dried, brown grasses and withered ivy coiled around the ancient trunks, and he realized that he couldn't tell from which direction they had come anymore. Between the trees were thorny brambles and the skeletons of vines interwoven like fences.

"Or maybe not. Take a look at that." Griss pointed at a narrow footpath overrun by tall, feathery weeds, leading to - or past - some mossy stonework some feet deeper into the woods. Dead leaves cracked beneath his shoes as he picked his way over the ridges of exposed roots and snaking vines, each step revealing more of the stained statue of a young woman strangled by a wreath of blackened leaves. Placed before her bare feet as if in offering were the faded heads of a dozen rotting roses.

Maybe there was a temple nearby. Or they had stumbled into someone's private garden. Whatever the case, the footpath, though barely visible in some places, continued its winding way through the trees. Manmade and traveled frequently at some point, it seemed.

Brushing the roses aside, Griss took their place at the base of the statue instead and began digging through a bag.

"You got any ideas? I'm all ears," he asked with no little mockery, eyes and sneering smile raising briefly to catch the other's face. He was the reason that they'd turned off the main road. A shortcut or something that had caught the professor's eye, Griss couldn't remember, since they'd stumbled right into territory patrolled by those stone-crazed wolves before long. But despite the jabbing accusation in his voice, which - as most people eventually learned - was just its natural cadence, Griss really didn't care about the detour all that much. His attention dropped swiftly back to his bag as he fished a vial from a pocket and began to smear a clear gel onto the wound across his neck.

"Probably not making it back to the monastery before dawn anyway."

Shapeless in the Dark [Griss & Knoll]

Anniversary 2023 | Faith +1

#pryings #mission season: anniversary 2023 #thread : shapeless in the dark #// title comes from the hanging garden by the cure #// thanks for taking me up on this!#// excited to see more of your knoll and especially what these two end up learning about each other #// this is such an interesting pair I think they'll have plenty of fun ha

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nurseofren · 4 years ago

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Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 27 (NSFW)

Read on AO3 | Read on Wattpad

Read Chapter twenty-six

Title: There is No Redemption

Words: 7.4K

Summary: Happy trail worship? Happy trail worship.

ST Rambles: Hello readers, I hope you enjoy this part. I am in my final semester for my ADN and cannot promise even monthly updates at this time. Please, please, please comment your thoughts because I don't want to produce content that is not enjoyable. Thank you for your patience and understanding.

[MASTERLIST] || BANNER / @elmidol

Stress enveloped your skull in throbbing pain, Karmen’s six-hour rundown stinging your senses and drawing you inward. Halfway through, you had already begun to feel the excess of information take its toll; Zag’s voice – unpleasant in small doses – grated into you, each word coming too fast and leaving too soon. Thankfully, no doubt to cover herself, she had left you with a thumb drive; it summarized everything she’d mentioned.

After the ordeal, when she left by the sharp click of her heels, you understood why it was recommended to arrive two days prior to the initial hearing: you were utterly and dreadfully exhausted. After unpacking – ensuring easy access to your favorite socks and keeping Snoke’s letter tucked into the back drawer of a desk – you had sat in bed for an hour trying to refresh with the thumb drive’s contents; you’d were determined to be prepared for tomorrow’s shift at Canto Bight’s recovery wing. If nothing else, you would not make a fool of yourself during your practice here. This you swore to yourself.

At some point you had drifted to sleep, waking to find your cheek stuck to the datapad that’d been propped up before you. The sunset woke you with a searing ray of light, screaming fuchsias and hazy purples warming your outstretched arm as they cast through open curtains. The breeze rolled off of the bay and tickled loose hair over your nape, a deep breath stretching your lungs awake before you unfurled from yourself.

The radar at your wrist indicated Kylo Ren was near but not in his quarters, probably not inside the building. It was a confusing feeling – the unsteadiness you felt when revisiting your earlier interaction, the vagueness of his words contradicted by the certainty in which they’d been delivered, but simultaneously this calm in your chest since you had left him. Although you had no idea what he’d gone on about, or what in time meant, his mere presence – the fact that he was near and would continue to be – allowed you these glimmers of peace.

Not since Starkiller. Not since Snoke. Not Mason and his baseless confidence, no matter how much you wished to latch onto it; not Talia, who had helped you back from your darkest moment. The only things that stilled you were the known proximity of your master, and the nature of the words he’d earlier spoken. You’d felt it that recent night on the Finalizer, how it lingered in your muscles just before you’d dozed off, how it seemed his presence had scared your nightmares away.

However ridiculous and backwards, Kylo Ren – the one whose pain is printed on your skin, who led a slaughter just strides away from you – had become a constant. It was never what you had expected, but when you thought of the trial now, what eased your nerves was nothing less than the raven-haired warrior whose face was slashed with midnight hues of pain.

Much like you, you’d come to realize, he had survived Starkiller, and the event changed him. Though you could not know for sure, you began to wonder if what had gone on had not only left him with the wounds that’d wet your skin, but perhaps ones that were deeper – ones that were not so visible. Something happened before that explosion, something more than whatever fight had earned him that scar.

You shook your head; this was too much to think on right now. With a throw draped over your back, you trudged through the room and out into the chill of your side-balcony. This sky held more beauty than any you’d ever seen; you watched the sun descend, spying a domed, octagonal pavilion at the far left of the side gardens. It dripped with violet-petaled ropes and emerald ivies, was supported by scalloped columns entwined with twinkling blooms welded from gold, the whole stage centered around a sunken fire pit.

Considering for a moment, you saw it would have a better view of the sunset, and you’d been cooped up since arriving. It was a quick decision, catching view of a spiral of stairs that led to the grounds, but only after noting the pair of doors a few paces left of your room’s. They were closed, and the inner curtains seemed to be shut, the room behind them dark. Empty.

No, Kylo Ren was not here, but – a thumb over your radar – he was not far. Somewhere off on his own business. Training, maybe. At least, that’s what you supposed kept you from traveling with him, the thought frustrating. Maybe – no, undoubtedly – he would never admit to it, never show it, but he was still recovering.

Ten days ago he was in a medically induced coma talking about someone named Ben and how he’s dead. Bacta works wonders, but it means nothing if a patient is noncompliant with post-operative restrictions, like swinging around a plasma sword for hours on end, or doing trial runs with the Force – which, although you knew little about, one could easily assume it put strain on the body.

Maybe you were wrong and your master was completely fine, maybe the Force aided in healing. No matter, you worried; for him, mostly, never forgetting how he appeared in that medbay, but also for yourself. It was clear that you cared for him – for fuck’s sake, when you thought you’d never see him again you wanted to tell him you loved him – and you knew his pursuits could very likely be the death of him. Stubborn as you might be to acknowledge it, so long as he was okay and not recklessly shredding through healed wounds, so long as he returned to you, you could rest somewhat soundly.

Hugging your blanket, tighter when the wind blew, you wandered down to the courtyard’s trim lawn, along the overflowing flowerbeds that brimmed with brilliant colors, until you met the few steps that led to the pavilion’s stage. Flames shocked you when you stepped onto the eight-sided base, your presence triggering a hidden system. The rectangular pit exploded into a rainbow of fire, thin veils of flames ascending elegantly into an ordered myriad. The pit was massive, consuming the base but for a few paces from each support.

Much like everything else, the pavilion was grand in size and decoration; the hearth’s hues danced along the draped flora, at least ten paces separating each gold-threaded pillar. Everything here was explicitly luxurious, so big and gorgeous. You wanted to settle into it, but it was temporary, and you would not know how fatal that fact was until it was too late.

Farther out, flames rippled over the bay; the sinking heat of the sun endeared your skin, the warmth at your back growing in distance as you gave in to the silent call of the scorching sky. First tracing the tip of one of the gold leaves woven to a pillar, admiring the detailed stems and ridges, you curled up against the column’s wide base. Head caressed by the smooth, cool stone, knees curled close to your chest, you were glamored by the water’s rhythmic sway, wondering if you would ever have the chance to feel it on your skin.

It took little effort to keep Karmen’s lecture from your thoughts, too lost to the burgundy of dusk that bloomed as the sun wilted toward the bay. A stillness surrounded you, and then you tuned into the chirping whispers of bugs that remained hidden with the fall of night. It did not bother you in the slightest, their distant songs a reminder of your life before the academy. A passing thought, fond amusement lazily humming in your chest – there are no crickets in space.

You remained folded against the pillar for some time, watching night creep over the city, more grateful for the heat on your back as warmth waned, the moon climbing higher with each lulling minute. The stone iced into your cheek. You went to leave, but your commlink buzzed at your waist, and you knew it would be wiser to keep this particular conversation outside.

Elbows to your knees, you ruffled a hand through your hair, closed your eyes, and answered Mason’s call. “How’s your day, McCarty?” There was no use in starting an argument if he had moved on from earlier.

“Probably better than yours, if I had to guess.” He sounded chipper. It was a relief.

“Well, what went on? Where’d you go? Who’d you see? What’d you eat?”

“I’ve really just been hanging out at the house since getting here. Caught a nap, which was nice. Soto sent me a transmission detailing updates on a few patients.”

He wasn’t hostile at all. Hopefully it meant he was done being weird. “I also got a nap. Which, agreed, is definitely nice. Especially after being kept in a room with Zag for six hours and trying to keep my head from exploding.”

“Six hours? With Zag? Are they trying to get you convicted of murder?”

You shared a laugh, scooting along the stone floor and peering up to the ceiling. It was tiled with mosaics, the fire’s vibrant colors reflecting off of it and shifting along the intricate designs. The view of the city was wider from this position, distant lights shimmering in windows that peered into whatever parties were undoubtedly happening.

“She isn’t that bad. It’s just her voice. And I barely have a handle on anything other than the fact that I have my first shift tomorrow, and then two days after that is the initial hearing. And I don’t even want to think about that to begin with, so…”

“Well,” he sighed your name, “I’ll be there. Bright and early, just like you. Wearing my second-best attire, saving the very best for the official trial, of course.”

“Jeez, that’s another thing, right? They fly us out here, put me up in some military-grade villa, but they give me nothing to wear, are aware that my residence just exploded on Starkiller, and then still say I can’t wear my uniform. I just find that a bit unfair. But that’s what I think, which we both know has not mattered since the very beginning of all this. I don’t even know why I expected anything different. I’ll just have to request transport to the shops or something. And then make credits appear out of thin air to pay for it.”

With notably increased enthusiasm Mason said, “Actually, I, uh, I was going through the house earlier and there’s actually a lot left over from my family’s recent trip. You’re free to come over and take some stuff back to your embassy if you want.”

“Alright, first – not my embassy, and if we’re calling it anything, I vote palace. Seriously—” you stared at a trellis that overflowed with wild blooms of every shade of red, the dead, fallen petals mocking you in the familiar way they pooled beneath. “—this place is too beautiful for any of the old businessmen who stay here. It’s actually ridiculous.”

“So it’s not homey, after all?”

A bellowing laugh came from the center of your chest, echoing up to the domed roof and into the growing dark. “No. No. Not homey. Not quaint. None of that. Just giant and spectacular.”

“Well, whatever it is, do you want to come over and grab some clothes?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah. That’s a lot better than spending credits I don’t have. Although maybe I’m worrying for nothing? Don’t they forgive your debt when you die, anyway?”

Mason did not laugh, did not even speak, and your amusement fell into alarm. An edge menaced along each pointed word when he spoke; “Maybe they’ll forgive your debt, but I won’t forgive you for dying.” He grunted in rejection. “You’re not dying, so I don’t know why we’re discussing this.”

Silence swallowed you both, and for a moment you could hear him trembling, hear the shakiness of his breath. A sharp exhale startled your hand from your ear. And then it was quiet again. He cleared his throat, and you noticed how thick it had become. Was he crying?

“Mason, you need to tell me what’s going on. And don’t say-,”

“Nothing is going on. It’s fine. We’re fine.”

“Funny, because when you say that, when you tell me we’re fine when I didn’t ask, it makes me think the exact opposite.”

He sighed, but at this point there was a good chance it was more exasperation or fuming than anything else. “I’m not having this conversation when I can’t see you.”

“Well, I’ll just turn my transmission on and we can-,”

“No.” Clipped, barked. Final.

It concaved your chest. Mason had never spoken to you like this. Your teeth scraped at your bottom lip. “Should I be worried?”

He paused. “No,” as it gritted through his teeth, your name was contoured with wisps of ire. An ounce less of restraint and whatever he was holding back would crack this hardened, taut façade.

The worst came to mind. All you could manage was a terrified whisper, “Are you revoking your seat to testify? Is that what this is about? Am I about – fuck – am I about to- I can’t lose you. I can’t-,”

“I told you. I told you I will be there.” Frosted fury swept through his following pause. His flat tone was laced with quiet hurt when he next said, “Do you really think I could do that to you? Leave you in the dust like that?”

“No. I guess not.”

“You guess not,” he thought aloud, a long drag of breath crackling into your ear. “I’m glad that you’re settled in, and… good luck during your shift tomorrow. You don’t need it, I know, but nonetheless.”

He was dismissing you. You hated it. “I’m not hanging up until I know we’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” he said simply, too fast. Mason cleared his throat. “Request transport for the morning after your shift. You can shop around the closets and after, we can order lunch and… and we can talk. About things. Everything.”

It was apparent he would not give anything more away, but you knew from his flat tone that whatever it was, was detrimental to him. Or you. Or both.

“Yeah. I’ll put in the request after shift tomorrow.”

Another long, aching silence. You listened to his breath, trying and failing at ignoring the knives in it. The line remained silent, the hanging static a backdrop to the hidden, harmless creatures humming in the night.

“I love you, Mason,” you prompted, teeth catching your trembling lips, time choking you with every halved second that trudged along.

It killed you, every inhale adding to the weight in your chest, every empty, wordless moment he spent cutting into you with a silent blade.

Another second and you turned back to the heightening tide of the bay, the clear night sky dying it a deep navy. Even as you tried to focus on the waves that foamed along the distant shore, there was no sound louder than Mason’s nonresponse.

“Goodnight,” Mason said, small, far enough away that it splintered through your heart like ice wedged through rock.

“Good-,” the line went dead, the static dying, a night-kissed wave crashing in your periphery, “-night.”

The iridescent veils of hearth rippled before you now, turning away from the seemingly infinite expanse of water. Even so, you shivered, and you were sure it had nothing to do with the weather. Tucking your commlink into your waist pocket, loosing a long-kept breath, you stood from the stone and clasped your blanket over your shoulders. With a final glance, chin to your shoulder, you appreciated the beauty of your first night here.

Whatever awaited you tomorrow, the next day, and in the weeks to come? It would remain. For now, just this one moment alone, you could pretend that everything was okay. Just for a moment.

A soft touch brushed your shoulder, but when you turned to meet whoever it belonged to, you found there was no one around. But a light caught your eye, one that had not been there before. Maybe that interruption to the dark captured your attention, but not at all was it what kept your gaze above the gardens.

Through the clear night, a breeze danced through the flora, glittering scarlet petals into the shadows. Above those dwindling rubies, leaning over the balcony’s curve, was Kylo Ren. Behind him, the golden light of his quarters caressed his back, small fragments draping over the sharp, toned muscles of his shoulders. He was staring down to you, his gaze laving along your figure, eyes those of a predator aware their prey was no match for them. The ever-heightening moon was all that lit his front, but it was enough. No, so much more than enough. Entrancing. Captivating. Beguiling.

Light cascaded along the taut strength of Kylo’s abdomen, his broad, thick chest emanating with the smooth white of the dusk’s sun. Once more, like it always did, the scar skating through his features kept your attention. From a distance it was less intrusive, but its presence sank your heart like the sun had wandered into the sea.

A whip of night air pushed his hair back to tease his ears, his head slightly cocking to the side when you found his eyes again. There was no color to them, none that you could see so far away, but you felt their heat slink along your lips, then your neck, over your chest, and lower still. When they claimed yours once more, they were sculpted with steadfast steel, strong and slithering, ordering your compliance to the smoking promises beyond.

Without noticing, that chill from earlier had left you, and you gathered the blanket so it hung from your forearm. Kylo held you with his eyes, the fire’s warmth falling away when you stepped off the platform and wandered, in leisure, down the steps and into the plush lawn. A dew was readying to form on the grass beneath your bare feet, the coolness welcome under his blazing attention. One step, two, another, and a final; small, shuffling, like you were hypnotized – truthfully, you could have been, but there was none but your own intent in the steps that carried you closer to him.

Only when he straightened to his full height, standing away from the balcony’s edge, did you halt your advance. He paused there, watching you, so gracefully still you were unsure of his breathing. From his new position you could no longer see his hands, but – you could feel them. A pressure along your cheek, your heart stammering at how its span so completely matched his own, and then around your throat, dizzying when it teased your carotids. Breath shivered from your slack mouth, catching when that – his – ghosted touch skimmed down your sternum and pushed into your rib cage.

Kylo made no sound, but when the night’s quiet scattered around your faint, gasped moan – feeling the whispered hands smooth over your hips, around the front of your thighs – you saw his jaw flutter, darkness and moonlight tangling when he gave you one final glance. The phantom touch left, a feline smirk flickered along his lips, and when his brows descended and veiled those deep, deep eyes, Kylo turned and sauntered out of sight.

But you understood his message, the silent one that only his body spoke, and you knew that his leaving was not goodnight, but an invitation. One you fully intended on accepting.

The trees swayed above you, the beds of perfectly spaced flowers blowing with the gentle breeze and combining with the sea behind to fill your head with the salty, fresh aroma of a Canto Bight night. Each step you took along the patterned grass shimmered anticipation through your veins, heady, wanton thoughts brimming in your mind.

The cold stone that marked the ground level’s patio shocked through you, wet crimson petals that had pooled below the trellis now clinging to the soles of your feet. You did not have time, or at least were desperate to not waste any, to pluck them off, allowing them to travel with you as you led them up the curved staircase. As you climbed the steps, you stole a fleeting glimpse of the bay; from this height the city’s nightlife sheened along the shore, a few private ships zooming above the skyline and carrying their passengers to events unknown to you.

Events that you could not have cared less about, not when you arrived to the second-level balcony, not when you saw the swaying curtain beyond Kylo Ren’s open, waiting door. No, those events meant nil, exceedingly so when you found the beginnings of a trail leading into his room, the first crumb that of pooled, discarded athletic pants.

Instant, overwhelming chills clamored about your skull, the blanket draped over your arm joining the black bottoms when your limbs went wobbly. Through the wind-swept gossamer you spied the second addition – one long, impossibly large, black sock – and when you came closer, the cool of night waning as you met the threshold, your heart thrummed louder at the nearing shaft of light that fled the refresher’s entrance.

Heated tiles warmed your first steps into Kylo’s room, the coquettish curtain kissing the tip of your nose before the door at your back locked shut in near silence. You brushed past the veil of fabric and took in your surroundings, quite different from what they were earlier. The golden rays of morning had since been overridden by soft panes of night, only the moon reflecting onto the light tile, not a single star to join it. The bed’s canopy remained shut, its thin sheets cascading around the bed so there was ample space to walk within its soft confines. And from that canopy, from the circular track above, bloomed delicate, mild light; it melted midway down the canopy, fading to nothing before it breeched the polished ivory below.

Another step and you noticed the trail of scarlet, dew-drop-covered petals you were leaving in your wake. On the step up from the bed’s level lay a second sock, so you padded to it, and tuned into the sound of heavy, rushing water that became louder as you delved further into the dimly lit room. This level was dark save for the glow of the open refresher; you followed that light like a lost vessel in space, hands trembling as you passed through the sitting area with soundless strides. Finally, as you’d calculated at the earlier bareness of his chest, you found the piece of clothing that signaled your final destination lying at your feet.

Atop the refresher’s threshold lay a pair of black boxer-briefs – unfolded, just as they’d appear fresh off the heated, muscled body from which they’d come. A smile played at your lips, remembering how the pair he’d so generously provided you the morning after you’d first slept next to him had hugged your hips with subtle compression. Those, unfortunately, were undoubtedly obliterated with everything else that had exploded with Starkiller.

Kylo Ren was nowhere within view, but running water tucked behind a corner to your left, and when steam swirled around an inlet that bordered a sleek, unbroken wall of ash-grey tile, your lungs lit with need, with want, your thoughts only focused on the body and man that waited for you just beyond view, just out of reach. Suddenly you became aware of how overdressed you were, so you turned to your right and found a mirror that ruled its own wall and plucked open the top button of your uniform.

The fogged silver expanse provided a blurred, softened outline of your near-bare body, scalding goosebumps scraping up your neck at the thought of Kylo’s slicked, dripping body. Hands hooked behind your back, you loosed your bra and smoothed the straps down the sides of your arms. And then all that covered you were the lack-luster panties the Finalizer had provided all those months ago, but they soon joined the small pile at your feet, leaving you naked and anticipatory and adamant.

Plopping your watch onto your clothes, you squared your shoulders, fixed your posture, and approached the heat of the hidden shower. Its warm embrace evoked such a calm through you, first loosening your shoulders, then steadying your breath.

Beyond the smoke hued barrier was a chamber of luxury, the water cascading from above like it came from an invisible storm cloud; its volume suggested a harsh pressure, but, stepping beneath the jets that seemed to span the entire stall, your skin was graced with the pleasant fall of a spring shower. Looking up, blinking through the misted warmth, you found the navy night sky peering down at you through the clear glass ceiling.

All light but that of the moon left the stall, and when your attention shifted down, you saw him through the sheets of water that kept you apart. The air was thick with fog and mist and night, but he remained the most devastatingly gorgeous person you’d ever seen, ever known. You needed him to be closer, you needed to be closer to him. No matter if you’d been with him those few nights ago, and though you’d spoken just hours ago, there was a tautness that tightened as your steps brought you to him.

Arms at his sides, stance strong and confident, Kylo Ren was a stride away from you, and you stopped. Inky black hair dripped down his neck, and his mouth was set in a flat, unreadable line, but all you could think of was how it felt you were seeing him for the first time all over again. He was different now, body scarred and worn from the passing of time. You did not stare at the red and black that had only been there for such a short time now. You appreciated it.

Kylo observed you, and a measure after your gaze followed the ebony ribbon rested in his countenance, you lifted a hand to it. He tensed and you caught his eyes, giving him a small nod before the very tip of your fourth finger kissed the start of his scar. You watched him, vaguely aware of your hand slipping along the marked path through his brow and down his cheek. Breath pushed from him in eased waves, his eyes danced between yours, and when you reached the line of his jaw and tapped your finger to the raised, pinking skin there, you closed your eyes and leaned up on your toes so you could press an aching kiss to it.

That tenseness that’d clanged into him at your touch was instantly gone, the heated streams above not a match to the stifling relief that fogged from his nares. So near to him, a second hand pushing through wetted, onyx locks, you remembered how he’d stared up at you on the Command Shuttle, how unreadable his expression was when his new scars had still been fresh wounds.

Your touch found the tail end of his healing flesh, and you swallowed down a thick, betraying sob. “Why did you believe me?” you whispered, not looking up to him. “When I told you I hated you and I wanted to quit. When I said,” you winced, “when I called you a bastard and said I wished I could forget you. Why didn’t you fight it longer?”

Kylo was quiet for a moment, body still but not reluctant to the steady meandering of your fingers. Something haunted him when he said, “Irredeemable bastard, if you’ve forgotten.”

“No,” your throat bobbed, “I haven’t. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day. Any, any part of it.” Looking up at him, you smoothed your hand over the scar settled into his shoulder. “After that morning, after everything, why did you believe me?”

“You were saying goodbye,” he murmured, like he’d mulled over that day time and time again and never considered the possibility. “Before Takodana. You knew. He’d gotten to you by then.” A note of betrayal sharpened his tongue, a snarl lighting when he referred to Snoke.

The hand that wasn’t tracing circles along his scarred muscles now toyed with his ear, the tip of your index finger molding to the curved pinnae. “Kylo,” just a breath, nearly drowned by the water ricocheting at your feet, “answer me. Please.”

Smooth, low, he began, “Because who could-,” he swallowed, considering you before starting over, “Because I’ve never known anyone who didn’t hate me. And I’ve always been a bastard. So when you said those things, after that morning, after you’d ran through Starkiller to tell me and kept saying them…”

Memories fluttered behind his eyes, and as their burning brown centered glittered against the navy night, you lifted your hand so you could hold his face, hold it like a parent would caress their child’s tear-sodden cheek. Kylo blinked back to you and you comforted the purpled skin beneath his eye.

He did not want to voice the answers you sought, but you watched as, piece by piece, you dented one of those walls he’d erected in that time-stained interrogation room. Perhaps it was a hopeful thought, but you swore you felt him ease into your hand.

“I stopped fighting because only a fool counters the truth of his life.” Kylo’s throat bobbed, his deep, shadowed gaze swallowing you whole. He caught your hand and led it flat along his broad chest, and then to the panes of his abdomen, placing it over the bruised, raised flesh of the scar you’d yet to explore. “I believed you because there was no reason to doubt you.”

The showering heat from above shielded that which was blurring your vision. He believed you because he believed those things of himself. After seeing him wear so many masks, physical or phantom, you saw it in his eyes that he still thought those things and had for his entire life.

And then it made sense, and the realization dragged jagged, thorn-wrapped talons through your heart. You whispered through the water, wondering if you were speaking only for yourself when you said, “That’s why you didn’t look inside my head. You didn’t think it would show you anything different. You didn’t think I could ever feel differently.”

You ran your thumb along the uneven ridge of the scar forming over his side and tucked your other arm around his waist. With the force that kept moons anchored to their planets, you pulled him in and nestled into the notch of his breastbone.

Through your teeth, “You are not a bastard. Or irredeemable,” your fingers dipped to the center of the healing tissue, “I’ve learned that we make the choices we think are best, and if that’s true, if I believe it? What do either of us have to be redeemed for?”

Kylo said your name, clear as the night that loomed overhead, and a patient finger tipped your chin up. “Nothing. Because there is no redemption for those who do not want it.”

Intensity hardened his face, and once more you felt that sense of equality between him and you. Long fingers smoothed into your drenched hair, and you found a prompt in his brow. Sighing, lungs stuttering, you asked, “What, then, if not redemption?”

The hand that he’d set over yours shifted to your hip, thick fingers prodding at your flesh. Kylo’s touch left your chin and the pad of his thumb rolled over the faint scar that cut into your hairline, a twinge of pain lighting at the memory of its origin; it had healed days ago, but you would never forget the sound of it cracking open when Robbie knocked your skull against the durasteel door.

Kylo stopped musing when he heard you wince, his eyes meeting yours in a stark, unwavering gaze. He smoothed over the blight a final time and proceeded to skate his fingers along your jaw, his thumb coming to rest over your bottom lip. Similar to this morning, yet colder and with a quiet fury breathing beyond his eyes, he looked at you with solidarity.

Calm, sure, adamant, Kylo said, “Retribution.”

A moment to process was spent in his gaze, studying how unbreakable it was, swimming in the shadowed hazel that poured into you. Kylo’s eyes flicked to your lips, and before he could look away, you leaned up so you could reach his own. The swirled hair at his nape slithered through your fingers when you swept you hand from his abdomen and up his torso. Massive, enveloping hands trailed praise along your body until they were mirrored under your breasts.

Exploring his skin, your fingers took residence over the small of his back, digging red trails along the slick surface. You moaned into Kylo’s mouth when a capable hand claimed your supple chest and kneaded into you. He growled in response, a predatory sound that rippled through your nerves and tightened deep, deep in your belly. The pliant pads of his thumbs circled your nipples, the very tips of his nails flicking upward before he added his forefingers and pinched the sensitive peaks to his will.

Kylo mouthed the hinge of your jaw, the bridge of his nose slipping along the bone until you surrendered your neck to him. He hummed against your artery, sucking away the beaded moisture that’d collected for the past few minutes – or had it been hours? Time evaded you further when the schemes of his tongue at your throat delved deeper, revealed themselves further when he laved at your clavicle, shifting between kissing and biting and marking as he made his way to your breastbone.

His muscled back flexed as your fingers routed to his front, dipping low until you found the haze of soft, wet hair that grew from his pelvis. Kylo continued his endeavors and pulled you in by the curve of your back so he could bare your chest to him and run his nose under the base of your breast. His need for your body was evident in the way he bent you to his will, cradling your back so he could have you, but also permitting a sense of safety in the relentless strength that flowed from his forearms through to your marrow.

Near limp in his hold, you tread your fingers down his pelvis and savored the feel of that patch of hair, feeling his pulse beat beneath it, reveling how water collected and fled in such a slow, teasing manner. His chest was to yours, so you felt, rather than heard, the pleasure vibrate from him, deepening when you grazed the very foundations of his hardening shaft. He breathed into your skin, mouthing at your breast and sucking painful paths as he went. The heat of his mouth melded around your nipple, and he bit, and even when you winced and writhed with satisfied hurt, Kylo kept on; not until you were sure he’d drawn blood did his teeth – their unique ridges now throbbing into your breast – leave you, replaced by the salve of his plush, scorching lips. The body of his tongue was structured with adamant, laving over your pebbled peak until poems of pleasure groaned from the depths of your chest.

He leaned you back up and shifted his attention to the remaining half of your body, but you needed him just as much, and you wanted to litter his body with the same pleasure he’d given yours. So, snaking your hands to his jaw, you kissed the hinge opposite to his scar and pecked harder and longer, sucking at his skin like the blood that bruised would grant you eternal life. Falling to your knees in a steady, unrushed descent, you kissed every inch of his abdomen, every bump and ripple of skin that was present around the mending injury. With eyes peering up, hands cherishing the fronts of his thighs, you tongued the scarred tissue and watched him shutter with ecstasy, eyes half-lolling, mouth slackening for a second before he swallowed down whatever satisfaction would have left him.

You teethed at the soft, raised skin, watching him, content when a guiding hand pet down your slick hair. Shifting to his middle, you hummed from one hip bone to the next, feeling the tickle of hair that fled from his naval and dispersed in an even, thick layer of black atop his pubis. Hunger ravaged your throat and you nuzzled into the soft bed of obsidian hair. A kiss to it, then a nip, and then the tip of your nose swirled around the dark patch, his cock twitching at the side of your face.

Anchoring your eyes to his yet again, you dragged the flat of your tongue through the maintained, drenched hair and pushed both your hands along his inner thighs. The muscles beneath your touch sang, streamed just as fluidly as the droplets that were trickling down your spine. Pulling away from him, you faced his cock and observed how it bobbed with your eyes on it, watched it strain for friction when your hands teased both sides of his base, sifting through the dark curls beneath.

The moonlight painted his shaft with subtle, breathtaking contours – a shadow cast under the spongey ridge of his head, light glinting off the misted moisture that’d caught on his flushed shaft. Each prominent vein cast a winding whisper of darkness just a measure from the next. It hypnotized you, the way they overlapped and crossed at points, bulging out from his cock and shifting with each throbbing pulse of blood that clamored through him.

Curious fingers flitted along the heavy, hot column of flesh, tapping it and listening to the thickening breath from the man watching you through ravenous eyes. A smirk curved your mouth, and you peppered a light, whispered kiss to his slit, pushing his cockhead just so it met your teeth, and leading your lips away so the teasing burned through him. You pulled a hand away from his leg and sat back on your calves, taking a breast into it and kneading as he had before, plucking your nipple through each space between your fingers.

“A teasing little whore tonight,” he purred, voice thick.

You hummed, pleased you were getting to him. “I’m your little nurse, remember?” The tip of your tongue teased circles into his frenulum. “And you are my master. Isn’t that right? Master Ren?” Fuck, the title even got to you, cunt fluttering with the hope to be overflowing with him.

“Good girl, teasing whore, nasty slut? Little nurse? You have so many names now.”

“And all of them belong to you.”

You teased his tip and finally laved a flat tongue on the underside of his shaft, flicking it side to side and gripping into his structured, rippling thighs. Something animal, completely primal, roared in his throat, and sooner than you knew, Kylo Ren had joined you on your knees, the weight of his cock slicking down your middle and slapping up to your slit when inertia bounced through it.

A masterful tongue slipped into your mouth and licked your hard pallet, next dropping down and pushing against the side of your own tongue. A muffled moan – one that you were unsure was his or yours or both – clouded through the shower’s downfall. But then a throat-thick huff, aggressive and impatient, gnarled through the air and you were spun on your knees so your back was flush with his chest.

“Yes,” he rumbled, “they do all belong to me.” A possessive hand pushed you into him with might, taking residence in the valley of your breasts. “Your names, your body. Everything.” His hips canted, and the tip of his cock knocked against your clit, fire billowing in your belly, quicker and deeper now.

“Everything,” you echoed, finding his free hand and guiding it so it lay over the permanence etched into your thigh. “I’m- everything. It’s yours. I am yours.”

Unrelenting digits bruised more marks around the one he’d made prior, and when you felt his cock fall in line with your entrance, you thrust into him as he did the same, and you took all of him, at once, in one, fluid, aching motion. An unabashed cry echoed euphoria throughout the moonlit stall. Before you could fully recover from the first thrust, his hand – the free hand that didn’t remain under your own, clutched to your thigh – dipped into your folds and that blooming fire from earlier mushroomed at the graze of his thick digits against the buzzing nerves.

Thrust after thrust after thrust, fucking into you and filling you to the brim and then some each time, knocking the air from your lungs and burgeoning those sweet spots within with each paced, violent pass. All of that pressure combined with the winding circles and strokes he racked your clit with, you felt the breath of climax rise first in your chest, and then upward into your throat.

Kylo was panting by your ear, sucking the skin behind, clutching you to him so it became uncertain where his body ended and yours began. You hooked your arm above your head and clutched at his drenched tresses, flailing for a better grip and settling on clasping your hand onto the back of his neck.

“I feel you,” he groaned.

“Feel me,” you huffed.

“I know you.”

“know me.”

“You’re mine,” your name was laden with yearning claim, lilting from his tongue so it caressed your mind, body, and soul all in one fell swoop.

“Yours,” you heaved, “all, yours.”

You came. Simple. Body swimming in the schemes his fingers and cock and tongue and voice forced into you until it became too much. A few thrusts more and his pace faltered, cum spurting against your walls and dripping out of you as more and more left him. Full lips pressed fleeting, lulling praise into your nape, your shoulder, until he angled your head to his and branded his lips to yours.

Spent, emotionally and physically, you fell into him and enjoyed the image of his legs framing your own. But then your eyes lolled shut and you simply breathed, settling into this moment as best you could, and tried to memorize the tide of his chest slicking against your back.

Barely aware in the vague, misty stall, you only realized that Kylo had begun cleaning you when he guided you back to your feet to rinse you free of soap. Even then you just leaned into his chest and let the jets spray silken streams down your skin. And then you were wrapped in a heated towel and cradled in his arms, leaving the steamy refresher and coming into the gentle atmosphere within the golden gossamer canopy.

With less than a word, maybe a breath, the light from above waned to nothingness, and the room was black save for the glinting eyes that studied your own. The towel discarded to the floor, you now lay beneath the thick comforter and linen sheets of Kylo Ren’s bed. Both naked, you huddled together in the center of the expansive mattress, legs wrapped together in an impossible knot, each breathing in the other’s warmth.

Ease trickled into your muscles, and you shifted so your forehead could rest in the heat of his chest.

“What changed? From the other night?” you yawned. “What convinced you? About Snoke.”

He was tired, too, you knew, the hand tucking you into him tracing lazy, distracting circles into your back to keep him from sleep. “Perspective, really. Seeing things clearly for the first time in… Seeing things clearly.”

For now, fatigue caressing you, that was an answer you could accept. He’d given you more of his mind tonight than ever before, and you did not care to mar that fact with a half-wit interrogation. Perhaps you would listen to him this time, given how little you potentially had left, and do as he’d said this morning.

Trust me first.

It was sound advice, and not worth questioning on the eve of your first shift on Canto Bight. So you nuzzled into him and giggled when the tip of your nose nudged that black healing ribbon over his collar bone.

“I like your scars,” you hummed.

You could not be certain, sleep plunging you into its riptide, but just before it pulled you under, you swore you heard the fatigued rumble of Kylo Ren’s voice whisper, “I like yours too.”

#keeping your promise #st kyp #kylo ren #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren smut #angst #fluff #ao3 #wattpad

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doubleattitude · 4 years ago

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Radix Dance Convention, Provo, UT: RESULTS

High Scores by Age:

Rookie Solo

1st: Stella Brinkerhoff-’Fly’

2nd: Audrina Mossembekker-’Once Upon Another Time’

3rd: Melina Blitz-’The Poet Creature’

4th: Soleil Lynch-’Titanium’

5th: Ellie Duke-’Birthday Boss’

6th: Brecca Garcia-’Day-O’

7th: Quinn Hatch-’I Don’t Know You Yet’

7th: June Circuit-’Move’

7th: Addalyn Daley-’Smallest Light’

8th: Haddie Kendrick-’Call On Me’

Mini Solo

1st: Lyric Okrusch-’Bonjour’

2nd: Tiara Sherman-’And The Things That Remain’

2nd: Karyna Majeroni-’Pistolette’

3rd: Esprit Frank-’Grains’

4th: Addison Price-’We Will Not Give In’

5th: Tessa Ohran-’Knock 1-2-3′

6th: Anistyn Larsen-’Desire’

6th: Tessa Johnson-’You’ll Never Know’

7th: Monroe Miner-’Dreamer’

8th: Shirlee Schwemin-’Do Your Thing’

8th: Sophia Baca-’Time Keeper’

9th: Ella King-’Like A River’

9th: Brenna Cummins-’Look What You Made Me Do’

10th: Grace Williams-’I Found’

10th: Londyn Long-’Somebody’

10th: Ivie Buckland-’To Build A Home’

10th: Harper Jones-’Wild Horses’

Junior Solo

1st: Crystal Huang-’Moonlight Sonata’

2nd: Mya Tuaileva-’Can’t Unhear’

2nd: Victoria Johnson-’Genius’

2nd: Alexis Mayer-’Vivid’

3rd: Kamri Peterson-’Crawl When You Can’t Walk’

3rd: Stella Condie-’Instruction’

3rd: Halle Hunt-’Uh Huh’

4th: Maely Weaver-’Staggered In A Configuration’

5th: Blakely Bell-’Shifted’

6th: Mia Olson-’Marionette Mischief’

6th: Taytum Ruckle-’Ultraviolet’

7th: Bryden Wagner-’Feat by Feet’

7th: Lena Hirsch-’Forsaken’

7th: Charlotte Webster-’The Light’

8th: Aida Nielsen-’Heart of Glass’

8th: Taryn Miner-’Make You Feel My Love’

9th: Carson Borst-’Goodbye’

9th: Anna Hendershot-’Human’

9th: Stella Paxton-’Punching In A Dream’

10th: Mackenzie Mueller-’Particles’

10th: Ava Magalei-’Red Dust’

10th: Marlee Hatch-’Where’s The Catch’

Teen Solo

1st: Izzy Howard-’Labryinth’

1st: Kiarra Waidelich-’My Mind’

2nd: Oana Barber-’Tenderness’

3rd: Rachel Loiselle-’Brass Tracks’

3rd: Mia Ibach-’Koladi Ola’

3rd: Sabine Nehls-’Shout’

3rd: Jaylynn Lindley-’Wisdom Cries’

4th: Sami Sonder-’Fever’

4th: Cydney Heard-’I’m Going In’

4th: Cami Massicotte-’Uncertainty’

5th: Zoe Ridge-’A Thousand Eyes’

5th: Ireland Jones-’Plans We Made’

5th: London Ludwig-’Work’

6th: Addison Middleton-’Error’

7th: Riley Hackbarth-’Mixed Tape’

7th: Isabella Lynch-’Residue’

8th: Ivie Lewis-’Fragment’

8th: Jordynn Christianson-’Sideshow’

8th: Carson Willey-’Talisman’

9th: Addison Ihler-’Boyfriend’

9th: Ashley Larson-’Cry For Home’

9th: Addison Taylor-’Darkest Hour’

9th: Emersyn Dickson-’Hunger For the Pine’

10th: Devree Rowley-’I’m Not Perfect’

10th: Olivia Pinon-’Les Mots Bleus’

10th: Sofia Andrus-’Numb’

10th: Tanley McCurdy-’Self’

Senior Solo

1st: Carter Williams-’20 Years’

1st: Brooklin Hunsaker-’Godspeed’

1st: Taylor Tebbs-’Inertia’

2nd: Vanessa Valenzuela-’Poem About Death’

3rd: Kadynce Ross-’Findings’

3rd: Kelsey Tippetts-’Never Grow Old’

4th: Jenna Beckstrom-’You Are The Reason’

5th: Emily Marsh-’Destination’

6th: Mya LeFevre-’I’m There Too’

6th: Maddie Thanos-’This Feeling’

7th: Kim Vu-’Second Choice’

8th: Christina Laude-’Black Ships’

8th: Brighten Bills-’Falling’

8th: Ally Smith-’In Memory of You’

8th: Delaney Vaughan-’Porcelain’

9th: Galilee Nelson-’Everything I Wanted’

9th: Gracie Gregory-’Gooey’

9th: Remy Wright-’Moments Passed’

9th: Chloe Baddley-’Volcanic’

10th: Teigyn Holt-’L J’

10th: Lilia McArthur-’Something’

Mini Duo/Trio

1st: Center Stage Performing Arts Studio-’Blue Skies’

2nd: Las Vegas Danceworks-’Maniac’

3rd: The Winner School-’So Long Dearie’

Junior Duo/Trio

1st: Center Stage Performing Arts Studio-’Size’

2nd: The Winner School-’Energia’

2nd: The Winner School-’Million Dollar Secret’

3rd: Alliance Academy of Dance-’Bones’

3rd: Empower Dance-’Daughter’s’

3rd: To The Pointe Dance Centre-’Fallen’

3rd: Studio C-’Praise You’

3rd: The Pointe Academy-’The Dance’

3rd: Center Stage Performing Arts Studio-’Turning In’

Teen Duo/Trio

1st: The Rock Center for Dance-’Last Light’

1st: The Rock Center for Dance-’Make Me High’

2nd: Empower Dance-’All My Friends’

3rd: Alliance Academy of Dance-’You Mean the World to Me’

Senior Duo/Trio

1st: Studio C-’The Raid’

2nd: Las Vegas Danceworkz-’No Ordinary’

3rd: Empower Dance-’Lose Somebody’

3rd: The Pointe Academy-’Two by Two’

Rookie Group

1st: Echo School of Dance-’It’s My Party’

2nd: Echo School of Dance-’Tonight Belongs To You’

Mini Group

1st: Echo School of Dance-’Don’t Hustle Me’

1st: Devotion Dance Academy-’Show Off’

1st: The Pointe Academy-’Smile’

2nd: Studio C-’Ease on Down’

3rd: The Winner School-’Dance Bug’

3rd: Studio C-’I’m In Love With A Monster’

3rd: The Winner School-’Stand By Me’

Junior Group

1st: The Winner School-’Icon’

2nd: The Winner School-’Searching Together’

3rd: The Winner School-’At My Best’

Teen Group

1st: The Winner School-’Free Hand’

2nd: The Rock Center for Dance-’Shadow Work’

3rd: Empower Dance-’Don’t Take The Money’

3rd: Empower Dance-’Lying Down’

Senior Group

1st: Echo School of Dance-’No Choir’

2nd: Alliance Academy of Dance-’Breathe’

3rd: Studio C-’Cello Ascends’

Rookie Line

1st: The Rock Center for Dance-’Innana’

2nd: The Rock Center for Dance-’Suite Tea’

Mini Line

1st: The Rock Center for Dance-’6 Out of Six’

2nd: The Rock Center for Dance-’Salient’

3rd: The Rock Center for Dance-’The Invitation’

Junior Line

1st: The Rock Center for Dance-’All Good People’

2nd: Creative Arts Academy-’Hey’

3rd: Creative Arts Academy-’Mr. Pitiful’

Teen Line

1st: The Rock Center for Dance-’Hey!’

2nd: The Rock Center for Dance-’Dark Winter’

3rd: The Rock Center for Dance-’Beautiful Truth’

3rd: The Rock Center for Dance-’Cadance’

Senior Line

1st: Echo School of Dance-’I Lost A Friend’

2nd: Alliance Academy of Dance-’End of Love’

3rd: Alliance Academy of Dance-’Build It Up’

Mini Extended Line

1st: The Rock Center for Dance-’Settle Down’

2nd: The Rock Center for Dance-’Jump!....Jump!’

Junior Extended Line

1st: Studio C-’Missy’

2nd: Heart n Soul Dance-’End As We Know It’

3rd: Heart n Soul Dance-’Swingin’

Teen Extended Line

1st: The Rock Center for Dance-’Movimento’

2nd: Alliance Academy of Dance-’Vogue’

3rd: The Pointe Academy-’Miss Otis’

Senior Extended Line

1st: Alliance Academy of Dance-’Come My Way’

Mini Production

1st: The Rock Center for Dance-’Mambo Baby’

High Scores by Performance Division:

Rookie Jazz

Echo School of Dance-’Tonight Belongs To You’

Rookie Ballet

The Rock Center for Dance-’Suite Tea’

Rookie Hip-Hop

Echo School of Dance-’It’s My Party’

Rookie Contemporary

The Rock Center for Dance-’Inanna’

Mini Jazz

Devotion Dance Academy-’Show Off’

Echo School of Dance-’Don’t Hustle Me’

Mini Ballet

The Rock Center for Dance-’The Invitation’

Mini Lyrical

The Winner School-’Stand By Me’

Mini Hip-Hop

The Rock Center for Dance-’Jump!....Jump!’

Mini Ballroom

The Rock Center for Dance-’Mambo Baby’

Mini Specialty

The Rock Center for Dance-’Settle Down’

Mini Contemporary

The Rock Center for Dance-’6 Out of Six’

Mini Musical Theatre

Studio C-’Ease on Down’

Junior Jazz

The Winner School-’Icon’

Junior Ballet

Studio C-’Penny Lane’

Junior Hip-Hop

Creative Arts Academy-’Watch The Throne’

Junior Contemporary

The Rock Center for Dance-’All Good People’

Junior Lyrical

The Winner School-’At My Best’

Junior Musical Theatre

Empower Dance-’I Won’t Say’

Junior Ballroom

Creative Arts Academy-’Mambo Italiano’

Junior Specialty

Heart n Soul Dance-’End As We Know It’

Teen Jazz

The Rock Center for Dance-’Shadow Work’

Teen Ballet

The Rock Center for Dance-’Dark Winter’

Teen Hip-Hop

Empower Dance-’Dior Mix’

Teen Contemporary

The Rock Center for Dance-’Hey!’

Teen Lyrical

The Winner School-’Moving On’

Teen Ballroom

The Rock Center for Dance-’Movimento’

Teen Specialty

The Rock Center for Dance-’Cadance’

Senior Jazz

Alliance Academy of Dance-’Come My Way’

Senior Ballet

Studio C-’Cello Ascends’

Senior Hip-Hop

Elevated Dance Project-’Are You That Somebody’

Senior Contemporary

Echo School of Dance-’No Choir’

Senior Lyrical

Elevated Dance Project-’Humbled By Breaking Down’

Senior Specialty

Elevated Dance Project-’Familial Division’

Best of Radix:

Rookie

Echo School of Dance-’It’s My Party’

The Rock Center for Dance-’Innana’

Mini

Studio C-’Ease on Down’

Devotion Dance Academy-’Show Off’

Echo School of Dance-’Don’t Hustle Me’

The Pointe Academy-’Smile’

The Rock Center for Dance-’6 Out of Six’

Junior

Empower Dance-’EveryHeart’

Alliance Academy of Dance-’Money’

Creative Arts Academy-’Hey’

The Winner School-’Icon’

The Rock Center for Dance-’All Good People’

Studio C-’Dangerous’

Teen

Studio C-’Station’

Echo School of Dance-’Fantastic Wreck’

The Winner School-’Free Hand’

The Rock Center for Dance-’Hey!’

Alliance Academy of Dance-’Vogue’

Empower Dance-’Don’t Take The Money’

Senior

Alliance Academy of Dance-’Come My Way’

Studio C-’Cello Ascends’

Echo School of Dance-’No Choir’

Elevated Dance Project-’Familial Division’

Studio Standout:

The Winner School-’Free Hand’

The Rock Center for Dance-’Hey!’

The Pointe Academy-’Miss Otis’

Studio C-’Station’

Las Vegas Danceworkz-’Derailed’

Heart n Soul Dance-’Gladiator’

Empower Dance-’Don’t Take The Money’

Echo School of Dance-’No Choir’

Alliance Academy of Dance-’Come My Way’

#radix #2021 #provo #utah

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songbird-musing · 5 years ago

Text

Virtuoso: Chapter Two - Recitative

Enjolras is Saint-Michel Academy's brightest young composer. He runs the orchestra, the Musician's Rights board, chairs the scholarship program, teaches free classical music to children, and is in the middle of his dissertation. He has never been anything less than a prodigy, until his teacher forces him to write a pop song.

Enter the effortlessly cool Grantaire, with his smudged eyeliner and lovely guitar-playing fingers. He really digs Enjolras' "vibe," whatever that means.

Enjolras tries to tackle his pop-song-nightmare, and enlists the help of Grantaire.

Chapter One

Recitative

The world exploded around Enjolras as he awoke. Combeferre was in the kitchen, coffees in hand grinning widely beside the ‘Morning Gong.’

“Why do I let you keep that godforsaken gong?” Enjolras complained, the imprint of computer keys ridged in his cheeks. He had fallen asleep at the kitchen counter with the machine a stand-in, whirring pillow.

“Morning, sunshine!” Combeferre said brightly, and Enjolras cursed himself for ending up with morning people for roommates. “Any sign of Courf?”

“Negative,” Enjolras yawned, “I think he went to an after-party last night, he could literally be anywhere. He might not even be in Paris.”

“He’s probably not even still in France,” Combeferre laughed, placing a mug beside Enjolras. “I will never understand how he can still party like a first year... When did you get back?”

“About one,” Enjolras stretched out and brought his computer to life, tapping impatiently on the mouse pad, “I was working on the pop nightmare until about five, though.”

“Ah, I had almost forgotten about your pop dilemma... How my day has been brightened!” Combeferre beamed, coiling himself around his mug. “I’m heading off soon, so if you’re ready in twenty minutes we can walk together...”

“Yeah, yeah,” Enjolras said, still not fully awoken. He yawned widely, noticing that it was already ten past eight and hurried to shower away the scents of the previous night.

It was an overcast day, grey skies neatly connecting to the grey Parisian pavement. Combeferre and Enjolras walked side by side, an impressive array of instruments strapped to them.

“Okay, but how about...” Combeferre interjected, swerving the topic of their heated morning debate, “How about you could either write an utterly commercial pop song that goes immensely successful, and your name is forever linked, so, like, everyone in the world will be like ‘Oh Enjolras? That guy who wrote that pop song?’” he put on a silly voice, crossing his eyes underneath his glasses, “Or you write a crazily successful classical piece that changes the world of classical music forever but nobody ever knows who wrote it and it goes down as a musical mystery forever. Which would you rather have?”

“Can I not just tell everyone I wrote it?” Enjolras asked, scrolling through his phone and nearly colliding with a lamppost.

“Uh... No,” Combeferre confirmed, “You tragically die and nobody knows who you were.”

“Wait... am I dead in both situations?”

“No.” Combeferre pondered, “Actually, scratch that, you’re not dead, you just can’t tell anyone you wrote it.”

“Well obviously the classical one,” Enjolras said flatly.

“Authenticity over fame... I could have guessed,” Combeferre said, not bothering to conceal a yawn. They were just going through the motions. Often they filled the space of morning silence with pointless conversations to wake their brains. “Okay so the situation is the same but with the pop one you also do loads of classical as well, but when all of your millions of fans come to your concert they just want to hear your top hit.”

“I’ll take that, then. An audience of millions is better than none, besides I’m sure I could change their mind.”

“You can’t.”

“Oh,” Enjolras stretched out his neck and they fell into silence. Enjolras’ mind drifted to the pop song he had been working on. The piece sounded spiky – filled with diminished and augmented chords – in short, it sounded nothing like a pop song.

Pop music, to Enjolras, was foreign – but not cross-the-border-to-Germany foreign, it was more of a outside-of-our-known-galaxy foreign. He had hurried past shop fronts that blared warbling voices and fuzzy synths, as if the sound was shameful. His parents raised him on a strict diet of music composed before the 1900’s. Even his more rebellious high school friends viewed pop music warily – that was private schooling for you. Now, at Paris’ highest esteemed classical university – pop was an insult.

“I hate pop music,” Enjolras grumbled, heaving an almighty sigh. “It’s inane.”

“That’s the point,” Combeferre poked.

They bid their farewells at the gates of Saint-Michel’s and headed to their separate classes.

Enjolras weaved through the crowds, dodging instrument cases, almost receiving a trumpet to the forehead. He stopped. The throng of people behind him huffed and split around him, as he hopped back down the stairs and turned to the smoker’s area. In his first year he had held an enormous campaign to turn the area into a community garden.

“Instrumentalists should never smoke,” he had argued to the board, “It’s counterproductive to breath support. If you’re training the next generation of musicians – they shouldn’t be given the resources to destroy their lungs.”

His fury had been met with blank stares, and Enjolras had avoided the area out of principle. In the morning glow, the pavestones glistened, the ivy was burnished gold. It still looked like the perfect place for a community garden. Enjolras had to force himself to stop mentally planting sunflowers.

Tucked in the corner, Enjolras found whom he was searching for... he also found Courfeyrac.

Grantaire and Courfeyrac were sat on the wall, chatting too animatedly for nine in the morning. Grantaire, dressed in dark green, blended into the ivy, looked as though he had been stolen from the middle of a woodland nymph painting. He turned, catching Enjolras’ eye, and beamed – Enjolras wondered what Grantaire saw as he stood there.

“Enj!” Courf said, reaching out a hand.

“Please don’t touch me, you’ve been wearing the same clothes for three days.” Enjolras commented, a grin playing on his face, “Courf, our flat is literally ten minutes away, just grab some spare clothes!”

“No, you’re right, it is so gross. I am definitely coming back tonight, though. I just couldn’t give up on the chance to go to an after-party... Especially not a Patron-Minette one, those guys are absolutely mental. Montparnasse tried to get off with me, but I think I offended him when I said he reminded me of Arthur.”

“Why? The young Arthur was a dreamboat,” Enjolras said.

There was a very long pause.

“What?” Courfeyrac spluttered.

“Arthur Rubinstein was really hot in his youth,” Enjolras eyed Courf with suspicion.

“On what planet was I talking about Arthur Rubinstein? What is he? A pianist?”

“Yeah...” Enjolras squinted, “Which Arthur are you talking about?”

“The aardvark thing.”

Enjolras looked blank and Grantaire started to sing the theme tune. Enjolras could only blink in response.

“I’m so confused,” Enjolras said, “Montparnasse looks nothing like an aardvark.”

“Yeah... I coulda been hallucinating pretty badly,” Courf said and hopped to his feet, “Are you coming, Enj? Fantine won’t like it if you’re late...” he tried to put on an intimidating voice, but by third year lateness seemed wholly inconsequential to everyone, even the professors.

“I’ll be there in a second; I just wanted to have a quick chat with Grantaire about the pop thing.”

Courfeyrac cackled in response. “Good luck,” he kissed both Enjolras and Grantaire on the cheek, and wandered inside the building, scuffing his cigarette out beneath his shoe.

Grantaire squinted against the sun. “How’d you enjoy Patron-Minette?”

“I liked them a lot more than I thought I would,” Enjolras said without thinking, he turned red. “I didn’t mean that I... It’s just, pop isn’t really my thing.”

“Éponine doesn’t like the word pop. It’s psychedelic, contemplative, indie, punky folk, darling.”

“Well, then I guess I am a fan of psychedelic, contemplative, indie, whatever else it is,” Enjolras said lightly, a smile creeping onto his lips. “Sorry to ambush you, and feel free to say no...”

“I love a good ambush, sometimes,” Grantaire laughed, “What’s wrong?”

Enjolras sighed. “Well, Prouvaire said you were doing this pop project, and my teacher is forcing me to write a pop song, and I have absolutely no idea what to do, and it’s all a bit of a disaster, and I was wondering if you wanted to collaborate?” Enjolras blurted, taking an embarrassingly large gasp for breath at the end of his ramble.

“Yeah, sure, sounds cool.” Grantaire scribbled a number on the back of a receipt and held it out, “Here’s my number, text me when’s best for you... Or you could Facebook me, I’m sure there aren’t many ‘Grantaires’ on there, it won’t be too hard to find me.”

“Oh, brilliant! Thank you!” Grantaire seemed like he would have needed more convincing than that. Enjolras pocketed the receipt.

“Do you have a setup at your flat?”

“Um,” Enjolras faltered, “I have a couple of leads and a microphone... And about three-quarters of an orchestra.”

“Huh,” Grantaire shielded his eyes from the sun to look at Enjolras, “Not really helpful for pop... you can come to mine, I have everything there for the Patron-Minette recording and stuff. I’ll text you my address when you text me.” He tilted his head and laughed wolfishly, “I can’t imagine you at the flat... It will be interesting.” He grinned, “Let me know,” and sauntered away before Enjolras could say another word.

Performance class called for Enjolras to sit at the front. His arms cradled around the cool wooden curves of his cello. He bowed his head, pulled his bow taut, and felt his fingers fall into a familiar position, strings indenting his callused fingers. The whole classroom inhaled together, and Enjolras felt electric. His eyes fell shut, and instinct tugged at his muscles, creating the smooth, elegant dance around the instrument. The song was a duet between his body and the cellos. It was as intimate and in tune as a lovers waltz. Moments like this, lost in lines of manuscript and drowning in notes, that time ceased to exist. Enjolras felt like he did not exhale until the piece resolved, its final cadence dousing the room. The sweet, warm oasis of music cascaded as the class applauded.

Enjolras breathed raggedly against the neck of his cello, daring a smile at his classmates.

Fantine stood, roses in her cheeks. “Simply delightful!” she beamed, “Will you perform the piece at the concert next Friday? I know you’re incredibly busy, but we’re missing a cello solo...”

Enjolras pencilled it into his diary, trying to ignore the vaguely frustrated glances from the rest of the class.

Courfeyrac’s flute solo went down well, and he flushed with pride. Enjolras grinned at him genuinely, wondering how he had managed to compose such a lovely piece when he hadn’t even had time to return home.

“I feel like you need an accompanist,” Fantine said brightly, “It’s very sweet, but I think it needs a bit more depth... Do you know Combeferre?”

Enjolras and Courfeyrac shared a grin.

“You could say that, Fantine...”

“Ask him to accompany you. He’s very good at that.” She clapped her hands together without waiting for an answer, “Marius, what do you have for us today?”

~*~

Once Enjolras had sent the text to Grantaire, his fingers couldn’t stay still. They traced over the table in triplet rhythms, danced over invisible keys, tensed as the pulse of music within him swelled.

A message returned in minutes and Enjolras dragged his eyes from Courfeyrac’s antics to read it.

I finish at 4 today, could do something after that if you’re free –R x

He sent back an affirmative and planned to meet the almost-stranger outside the school gates later that afternoon.

Combeferre was astutely trying not to laugh, cheeks molten with joy, as Jehan and Courf tested their ranges.

“My whistle pitch is literally the best. I’m probably the best in the school,” Courf said, emitting a high-pitched scream. “Maybe the world.”

“That is so not whistle pitch,” Jehan said, snorting loudly.

“Yeah it is,” Courfeyrac shrieked again and the table of four collapsed into all encompassing laughter. Through delight-tinted eyes, Enjolras remembered again how much he adored his friends.

~*~

“Hey,” Grantaire said, stamping out a cigarette under his boot heel. He noticed Enjolras’ lingering gaze on the smouldering stub and said, “Nasty habit, I know. Especially when you’re a singer,” he lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“You sing?” Enjolras said, carefully arranging his face into a passive, non-judgemental mask. To Courfeyrac and Jehan he often lamented the early loss of their vocal ability and breath control that promised to swoop in with every cigarette and joint they smoked.

“I do,” Grantaire said with a grin, “I also play guitar, bass, keyboard, a little bit of drums and whatever else I can get my hands on.”

“Sounds...” Enjolras floundered, “Pretty pop-based.” He grimaced. Compliments had never been a strong point of his.

“That’s why I’m the man for your job, right?” He smiled, looking like he had been rendered on a canvas, all wilderness and Dionysian thrill. “What do you play? Harp?”

“Why does everyone say that?” Enjolras enquired.

“Am I wrong?” Grantaire directed them down the stairs to the Metro station.

“No.”

“You’re such a harpist... everything about you screams it. How many times have you been forced to wear angel wings, a halo and a toga at weddings?”

Enjolras shuddered. “Way too many times,” he said with a hiccup of a laugh.

“That’s what I want at my wedding.” Grantaire said, hopping down the escalators carelessly, “Apollo the harpist, golden everything, even gold suits, the priest dressed as a cherub...” He dashed onto the train and held the beeping door open for Enjolras.

“Really?”

“No,” Grantaire grinned, “Couldn’t imagine anything worse... Sorry!” He careened into Enjolras as the train started and apologised again, pointing out the short route to his place on the map.

“I do not know what it will be like in here, so beware, in advance,” Grantaire said ominously, turning the key in his lock and giving Enjolras a warning stare. “Hello?” he called, cracking open the door by an inch. Silence poured around them. “They must be out. Welcome to Chez Patron-Minette.”

“You live with the band?”

“I’m supposed to just live with Ép and Montparnasse, but yes, I basically live with them all,” he paused and flicked the lights on, looking around disdainfully, “The other three unofficially moved in without really consulting me.”

“How awful!”

“Nah, it’s fine. I have the biggest room, anyway.” Grantaire smiled, a sheen of politeness glazing his eyes, “Drink?”

“Um, I’ll have water, please,” Enjolras said, trailing one hand on the kitchen counter.

Grantaire looked up from the fridge, a spark of mischief playing in his eyes. “We’re living the rock star life tonight,” he said, “Cheers to that!”

Enjolras wasn’t sure if he was being made fun of.

“Sorry it’s a mess, I didn’t realise this was happening, of course.” Grantaire chucked a few items of clothing around and surreptitiously shoved an armful of cans into his bin. “Afterparty...” he said as a way of explanation. “So...my friend...” he grinned into his cup of water, “I am fully at your service, what can I do for you?” he did a silly bow, dark hair bouncing around his shoulders.

“Valjean is making me write a pop song and I have no idea what to do,”

“Harps don’t usually translate well to pop, no.”

“I can play other instruments, as well,” he was quick to confirm, as if Grantaire would care in the slightest about his pedigree of musicianship, “But only classically.”

“Have you made a start with anything?” Grantaire asked, flexing his fingers around the neck of his guitar.

“I...” Enjolras grimaced, “I have... But... it’s not... well, listen for yourself.”

He plucked his phone from his pocket, searching for the audio file. It took two chords for Grantaire’s forehead to crease. It took just three more before his lips pursed, a laugh ill-hidden behind them.

“I know!” Enjolras protested, hastily muting the piece. “It’s terrible!”

“It isn’t terrible...” Grantaire rubbed the bridge of his nose and coughed, “It’s just not pop... like, at all...” A laugh bubbled out from his hand. “Sorry! It’s a lovely piece... but did you modulate twice in one bar?”

Enjolras looked sheepish. “Sort of.”

Grantaire laughed, throwing a palm to his forehead. “Oh, bless you. This is going to be harder than I thought. Let’s start again, and let’s start simple,” Grantaire said, his words not what Enjolras wanted to hear. “So we’ll do a four chord song, okay?”

Enjolras paled.

Enjolras hunched over the keyboard, fingers splayed on smaller keys than he was used to, Grantaire nimbly tuned up his guitar, strumming once when he was finished and letting the discord rattle around them.

Inner pianist screaming, Enjolras stilled and offered, “Does it have to be four chords? I mean we could add some embellishments, a modulation here and there, and still have it be pop, right?”

“Nope, pop thrives on simplicity...”

“But there are exceptions...”

“Yes, and they are known for being exceptions. You wanted straight up pop, so we’re using four chords,” Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

“But...”

“I could make us do a three chord song, if you wanted?” Grantaire laughed as Enjolras drooped, “Come on, Enjolras, let me lead you to the wild side.”

The pair looped four chords over and over, Grantaire humming a melody over the top. Enjolras’ eyes glazed over.

“What do you want to sing about?” Grantaire asked.

“I don’t sing,” Enjolras snapped out of his stupor, much closer to Grantaire than he thought he had been.

“Well what do you want me to sing about, then?” Grantaire slid his palm against his guitar and pulled open a scruffy notebook.

Enjolras pondered, still playing the chords in auto-pilot, the simplest thing he had played since he was five. “The disparity of classical music,” he said, turning to Grantaire with fire in his eyes.

“Woah,” Grantaire said, recoiling a little, “Not really a great subject for a pop song.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and pushed back from the keyboard, “That’s why this whole assignment is a waste of time. You can’t talk about what you want to talk about, unless all you want to talk about is sex and alcohol.”

“Two very delightful subject matters,” Grantaire responded, mischievous glint in his eyes. When he noticed Enjolras’ stony expression he backtracked. “No, it’s not just like that... Well, okay, for the most part it is, but you can write about whatever you want, really.” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, “Okay, a pop song about the disparity of classical music, let’s... give it a go.”

Enjolras glanced at him carefully, still unsure whether Grantaire was mocking him. The dark haired boy gave a genuine smile, almost bashful as he ducked down to watch his finger position on the guitar. Enjolras blinked. He watched Grantaire astutely, taking in the curve of his neck and the curve of his nose, the ink-spill of eyelashes across his cheeks and the length and dexterity of his slender fingers.

They played together for a while, Grantaire improvising melodies and lyrics over the top of the basic chords. Enjolras nodded seriously and scribbled down notation in his trusty manuscript paper pad. “So for the chorus we can use the same four chords but just mix the order up,” Grantaire said, strumming once across the neck of the guitar.

Enjolras sighed and spectacularly collapsed onto the keyboard, a dissonant crash echoing throughout the room.

“You alright, Enjolras?”

Enjolras merely groaned.

With a gentle clunk, Grantaire placed his guitar down and wheeled over to Enjolras on his chair.

“Enjolras,” he sung, drawing his knees to his chin. “Is it all getting too much?” Enjolras rolled his head and sent another chord ringing.

“I don’t mean to sound dramatic,” Enjolras said dramatically, “But I would literally rather be shot twenty-seven times than write a pop song.”

“Ah. Not a great state of mind to be in.” He wheeled away and spun slowly in the centre of his room, staring at the ceiling. “It’s not exactly what you had in mind, but instead of getting shot, we could get shots.” He laughed, the sound lovely and carefree and curling around Enjolras’ edges like smoke.

“I never drink alcohol when I’m composing,” Enjolras said, drawing to his full height and stretching out his limbs.

“Mozart did.”

“What?” Enjolras said after a beat.

“I’m just kidding, I have no idea what Wolfgang’s drinking habits were. I know mine, though, and there’s a lovely happy medium of being just the tiniest bit wasted and creating amazing stuff.”

“Does it still sound good the morning after?”

“Ahh!” Grantaire said in a stage-yell, “I didn’t want to hear the voice of reason tonight.” Enjolras’ lips broke into a smile, the phenomenon looking like sunshine on his face. “Okay so both getting shot and getting shots are out of the question, then. I guess we’ll just have to carry on composing.” He put a hand on Enjolras’ arm, his face edging a little closer than expected. “It gets better, I promise.”

“Stop,” Enjolras said with a groan, “I’m getting war flashbacks to bullying in high school.”

Grantaire paused. Where he had made to move back to his guitar, he turned to face Enjolras again, perplexity playing over his features.

“Bullying? You?” he gaped, “I’m aghast! Kids can find fault in Apollo reincarnate. No wonder my high school days were doomed.”

“I came out at like the age of seven, I was a pretty easy target.”

Enjolras noticed Grantaire’s eyes shift over him.

“Seven, wow! It took me ten years longer to get the courage,” Grantaire shrugged, “People were still idiots about it.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said, realising that he had automatically assumed ultimate straightness after hearing Grantaire’s rumoured popularity with women. The silence permeated for seconds too long and he added, “Right! Pop music!”

~*~

Enjolras kind of hated to admit it, but the song was actually going pretty well and not sounding as horrific as he had imagined it would. Sure, its harmony was brain-clawingly annoying, and the lyrics eye-rollingly inane, but it wasn’t that bad.

“Honey, I’m home!” came a loud voice from outside Grantaire’s door. “Have you seen Claque? He has stolen my tobacco, piece of - ” Éponine barged through, “Oh,” she said, catching sight of Enjolras and backing out. “Oh!” she said again and re-entered. “It’s you! Enjolras, darling! Sorry I just saw the blonde hair and thought R was trying to impress a girl with his beautiful guitar fingering.”

“That joke wasn’t funny the first time you made it,” Grantaire said, barely looking up from his guitar. He executed a perfect, intricate riff.

“Nah, it’s like a fine wine. It gets even better each time.”

“Not how wine works,” Grantaire deadpanned. “And besides, you laugh, but girls love it! They think ‘ooh wow, look how long and quick his beautiful fingers are...’ and imagine them tangled in their hair as I take on the role of their ravishing lover.”

“Well... Is it working Enjolras?” Éponine asked.

Enjolras froze a little bit. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind, but... he turned his gaze to Grantaire’s fingers.

“Don’t tease, Ép,” Grantaire said, a mischief oozing from his every pore.

“I just don’t feel as special now that I know it’s not just me you’ve seduced with your fingers,” Enjolras said, pushing his lower lip out.

Éponine cackled and sloped further into the room, socks padding across the hardboard flooring. “What are you boys up to this fine evening?”

“Writing pop,” Grantaire said with a flicker of his eyebrows.

Éponine’s face suddenly contorted and she looked at Enjolras in disbelief. “Huh, didn’t expect that from you, babe.”

“I’m writing his first pop song with him,” Grantaire interjected, “Popping his pop cherry, it could be said.”

“It could be said,” Éponine laughed, “But it shouldn’t be.” She looked at Enjolras with a grimace, “I’m sorry you have to work with this loser.”

“Ugh, get out,” Grantaire said quickly, humour dancing in his eyes, “Can you not see we’re in the middle of a very serious and important task.”

“Yes,” Enjolras said, echoing Grantaire’s levity, “He’s still in the middle of trying to seduce me with his fingers... It’s very important and serious.”

Both Éponine and Grantaire laughed raucously. Enjolras glowed with warmth.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Éponine stood and made to leave, she leant into Enjolras conspiratorially and mock-whispered, “Montparnasse’s hands are much nicer.”

“Lies!” Grantaire scoffed, “Begone you deceitful scoundrel!” He shot a look at Enjolras, “She really is lying, Montparnasse’s flowery fingers have nothing on mine.”

“Don’t let him hear you call them that. It’s floral, darling, not flowery. Much more trendy.” Éponine traced Grantaire’s epic eye roll and added, “Okay, okay, I’m going. See you later!”

Grantaire’s head bowed as he laughed to himself, features shadowed by his dark hair falling forwards. “I love her,” he said, fingers sprawling effortlessly over a complex guitar melody.

Enjolras tore his eyes from Grantaire’s hands, licking his suddenly very dry lips. “We could perform this live in class, if you’d like...” Enjolras said. Grantaire looked at him, eyes calculating.

“Would you want me in your class?”

“What do you mean?” A surprised giggle fell from Enjolras’ lips.

“I mean you’re a classical god and I’m sure all the teachers are in love with you. I am a mere mortal second year who’s honestly just a bit mediocre.”

“Mediocre? Are you kidding, Grantaire?”

What followed was a shift of energy that was hard to describe. The look that the two young men shared suddenly became heavier, the silence felt louder and Grantaire, usually the master of words, couldn’t form a sentence.

“Ha,” he said loudly, a hint of blush creeping across his cheekbones. “That’s how my parents liked to describe me,” he joked, stretching out languidly and dragging a hand through his hair. “Should we break? Do you want a snack or a drink or something?” Grantaire stood and threw his head back to elongate his muscles, only the way his eyes flickered shut and his lips slid apart made it look almost obscene.

“Do you have coffee?” Enjolras asked, trying to look anywhere else in the room.

“We have cheap granules, if that’s cool with you.” Grantaire laughed raucously, “It’s okay, darling, I can see from the terror in your eyes that cheap granules are not cool with you. Tea?”

“Do you have soya milk?”

“Oh you sweet boy,” Grantaire couldn’t stop laughing, “I don’t even know if I have regular milk that’s in-date. I think we have a box of green tea somewhere... Are you a green tea kinda guy?”

“Absolutely,” Enjolras said, “The extent of me being a green tea kinda guy is actually quite concerning.”

“Well I’m afraid I’m quite a bad influence, I can only feed your addiction. One green tea coming up!”

While Grantaire was out of the room, Enjolras properly looked around, eyes drifting across the debris that was scattered. A grubby looking mug held an array of drumsticks and paintbrushes, loose guitar strings were coiled in a messy pile, a precarious stack of records balanced an old gramophone. Pictures were tacked to the wall, stopping abruptly where Grantaire’s arms couldn’t reach.

Enjolras’ eyes caught a series of photographs of Grantaire and Jehan. In one picture they were meditating, the others doing intricate looking yoga poses: if joy could be captured, these pictures were evidence of it. Wide, lazy smiles and dopey shared glances were rife throughout the set.

“Here we are!” Grantaire said, carefully cupping a steaming mug. “One green tea! I’m going to go out for a smoke, want to join?”

Enjolras, took the hot tea in his hands. Grantaire cracked open the door, throwing a backwards glance at him. Enjolras felt suddenly very warm, and reckoned the cool air would do him good, second-hand smoke lung damage be damned. “Sure,” he said. Grantaire beamed, and Enjolras wondered how a word as simple as ‘sure’ could illicit such a response. He liked it. “Sure,” he repeated, and followed Grantaire into the cold.

A/N: Hollaaa chapter 2! Like I said in chapter 1, I’m transferring this from my ao3, which is almost finished here if you want to read further! Hope ya enjoy! These classical nerds fill my heart with joy! Please let me know all your thoughts!! <3

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whatbigotspost · 10 months ago

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Yup while these places are everywhere, an industry in Utah in specific is at the heart of it all. The doc I was watching this week well covered the stronggggg connections between these programs and Mormonism.

Here’s the most recent doc I’m talking about if anyone wanted to learn more.

And another I watched not long ago

I think I’ve seen at least 2 other similar series over the years made by survivors who are digging into their memories, files, and pasts to understand, uncover, and process what happened to them. I’m frustrated at the moment bc when I try to find them in searching to link here too, The Program is so popular right now is making that unsuccessful 🤬

Anyway, the levels of disturbing crap here is overwhelming.

Damn a lot of gen X and millennial teens sure were Guinea pigs in the horrific experiment* of all the “scared straight” and “behavioral corrections programs” and “military schools” and “therapeutic boarding schools” and “pray out the gay camps” and other fucking abusive “give us your troubled teens and we’ll fix em up” bullshit that was extremely popular in the 90s and 00s.

They’re telling all the stories now and have been for years and the depths of the horrors are mind boggling. They’re making all the docs and writing all the books and pulling back the lids on all the seedy underbellies and throwing the terror into the light so we can all stare at all the traumas that occurred and in some places are still occurring.

*btw we can say beyond all doubt none of this shit “worked” to help ANYONE of course. Except the abusers who got to get rich off of abuse. So many of the survivors will be the first to say they’re deeply fucked up by it and many haven’t survived the experience. Messed up beyond words.

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smileperfection · 3 years ago

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Orthodontic Specialists in Brooklyn

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Dr. Halabi is a member of the Omicron Kappa Upsilon National Dental Honor Society. He lectures at local dental study clubs about the latest technologies in orthodontics and regularly contributes to the Journal of the American Academy of Cosmetic Orthodontics.

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Orthodontic Forced Eruption – Implant Site Development – Brooklyn Gregory Hotel – Bay Ridge 11/01/2013

Invisalign and The Hygienist’s Role in Orthodontic Treatment Planning – Halabi Orthodontics 08/22/1014

Managing the Congenitally Missing Lateral Incisor: An Interdisciplinary Approach – Brooklyn Gregory Hotel – Bay Ridge 10/31/2014

Invisalign Case Selection – Denville Study Club – Denville, NJ 02/24/2015

Orthodontic Restorative Possibilities – Halabi Orthodontics 11/28/2015

How Orthodontics Can Help the Periodontal Patient – Denville, Study Club – Danville, NJ 07/14/2016

Invisalign and Accelerated Orthodontics – Halabi Orthodontics – 10/29/2016

Brooklyn Dental Study Club – Case Collaborators: Esthetics and Vertical Tooth Positions – Orthodontic Possibilities – Halabi Orthodontics 11/12/2018

Brooklyn Dental Study Club – Case Collaborators: Emergence Profile Partnership – Digital Design for Optimal Outcomes – Aim Dental Laboratory 12/10/2018

Brooklyn Dental Study Club – Case Collaborators: Case of the Month Discussion – Halabi Orthodontics 03/11/2019

The Hygienist and the Orthodontic Patient Part I – Halabi Orthodontics 05/13/2019

The Hygienist and the Orthodontic Patient Part II – Halabi Orthodontics 06/03/2019

You can visit and contact them for treatment info click here. 575 Kings Highway,

Brooklyn, NY 11223.

#Orthodontic Specialists

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ash5monster01 · 8 months ago

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Goes On Bonus Chapter

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x OC!FemReader

Warnings: 18+, depression, mentions of suicide, heavy topics, slow burn romance, fluff, gender themes/stereotypes.

word count: 3.8k

Epilogue ←

Masterlist

Ridge Academy, NY

6/3/61

“Congratulations to the class of 1961” the crowd roars as the Dean, who once Charlie hated for making him take track, announces. Graduation caps fly in the air around them as the hot sun beats down on the crowd. Not so long ago Charlie had dreaded being in this very school but now he couldn’t believe it was over. He was finally free and he never thought he would be sad about it like this.

“Yawp!” he hears from the crowd and he looks down the stage and into the crowd to see the Dead Poets standing and cheering just like they once did for Neil a lifetime ago. He can’t help the teary laugh that comes to his face as he spots all the prideful looks on each of his friends. When he was first booted from Welton he assumed he would slowly lose touch. How wrong he was, the boys all making the trip just to be here for him. He suddenly regretted not being allowed to attend theirs a week prior. They should’ve never asked for Nolan’s permission.

His own parents couldn’t even make it to this. Some last minute business in New York City his Dad had to attend to and his mother tagged along due to not trusting him. Thing was, Charlie didn’t really mind. The only people he needed were here and suddenly his heart ached for Neil. He could just see him now, cheering louder than anyone as he got his diploma because he was always his biggest fan. He always knew he could do it.

“We did it!” Evelyn’s beautiful voice suddenly filled his ears, barreling into his arms as the students were released from the stage to be congratulated by their families. Charlie laughed and hugged her tightly back, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

“It’s about time” he told her and she laughed, squeezing him tight as he spun her around and then set her down. They kept their arms wrapped around each other as they descended the stage, off in search of the people they love.

They first stumble upon Evelyn’s parents and her little brother Eli. He had met them a few times before, leaving campus with Evelyn on holidays his parents didn’t care for him to attend. He admired how loving a family they were and that point was proven true as Mr. Evans pulled Evelyn in a hug and Mrs. Evans pulled him in. The minute they let them go Mr. Evans was quick to give Charlie a firm handshake that he was happy to return. Charlie always assumed all adult men were bitter and angry towards the world but Mr. Evans was not and that gave him hope.

“Congrats you two” Mrs. Evans beams, hands coming to wrap around Eli’s shoulders.

“Thank you, for everything” Charlie smiled back at them both, arm wrapping around Evelyn’s waist. If it wasn’t for them he would’ve never gotten accepted into Columbia. What a rush it was getting to tell his father he had been accepted into an Ivy League even with expulsion on his record. Him and Evelyn were to leave in the Fall.

“Of course son, we were glad to help” Mr. Evans nods at him and he smiles before reaching to ruffle little Eli’s hair.

“You’re next kiddo” he tells him but the boy just rolls his eyes, not one for school which Charlie found amusing. He figured being a scholar was second nature from years of being conformed into it at Welton, but if he had gone to public school he would’ve been a lot like Eli. Probably a tradesman instead of businessman.

“Yeah right” the twelve year old boy groans and Charlie laughs, remembering when he was that age, just hitting puberty and waiting to conquer the world. He hoped it didn’t crush Eli like it did him.

"Don't let us keep you guys, go celebrate with your friends and we will see you later" Mrs. Evans intervenes. Charlie and Evelyn are quick to smile and bid them goodbye as they head for the parking lot to leave with all the other visiting families. Charlie unable to keep himself away any longer interlocks his hand with Evelyn’s and starts navigating the crowd in search of the boys. They spot him as soon as he see's them and they're quick to hoot and holler all over again.

"Charlie!" is called by multiple of them, rushing over with oepn arms and collecting him a group hug. The action breaks Evelyn's grasp as he's sucked into the pile of boys who are clearly overjoyed to be here. Evelyn just smiles, having only interacted with them over the phone before. It's Knox who lifts his head from the hug to see her shyly waiting, laughing at the love shared between the boys.

“Well don’t just stand there Ev, get in here” he calls out, waving a hand to join and all the boys hear his words, tugging her into the hug with them. She laughs loudly, pressed against Charlie as the boys hold them tight.

“I can’t believe you actually did it” Meeks says as they break apart, clapping a hand against his shoulder. “Especially without me to help you with Latin”

“Well, read it and weep boys” Charlie says holding up the diploma in his hands, rolled tightly within his grasp.

“What’s it say-” Todd says as he snatches it out of his hands. “Charlie or Nuwanda”

“Oh please. It obviously says Charles” Charlie says snatching it right back and the boys laugh again.

“Thank you for coming though. I really hate that I missed yours” Charlie tells him and the boys instantly start shaking their heads.

“Don’t worry about it, you wouldn’t have liked it anyway” Pitts says and Charlie looks amongst the group to see that it was more than just some simple graduation.

“What happened?” he curiously asks and the boys look amongst each other as if debating they should even tell him. It’s not long until they clearly decide telling the truth would be better and Evelyn finds herself curling her hand into his own.

“They did some big memorial thing for Neil. Saved a chair for him and everything, even had a diploma made up. Mr. And Mrs. Perry walked the stage to accept it” Todd tells him, voice low and eyes cast at the ground. Charlie realizes it’s only moments like these when Todd turns back into that shy boy they once all knew.

“Oh” is all Charlie can say, trying to picture traditional Welton and how they had handled all of it. The last time he was ever in that ceremony room was when Neil had died. He couldn’t imagine sitting in it now and doing a remembrance of him.

“Yeah, the whole thing was bullshit. Nolan kept making speeches about how Welton has taken the proper steps to ensure we never face such tragedy again and that only the best from here on out are allowed to teach there” Knox tells him and Charlie curses under his breath, shaking his head and looking up to the bright blue sky.

“I’ll never forgive them for placing the blame on the Captain. I saw his father that night, looked him in the eye. If Keating didn’t stop me-“ Charlie cuts himself short, shaking his head and the looking to Evelyn with a soft smile.

“I don’t want to talk about it, but boys, officially meet Evelyn” Charlie says, nudging her forward with a proud smile on his face. Evelyn smiles at each of them, not needing much introduction due to how many pictures she’s seen and phone calls she’s shared over the last year.

“Hi fellas” she grins at them as she offers a wave. Knox is the first to approach her, arm wrapping around her shoulder.

“So we finally get to meet the girl who got Charlie to settle down in the flesh” he says, guiding her to the other three boys. Charlie allows it, already amused at the concept of his girlfriend and best friends.

“It really is an honor” Meeks jokes as he reaches out and shakes her hand. Evelyn laughs, greeting each of them properly.

“It’s an honor meeting all of you. I mean Pitts you’re so much taller than I expected and Todd, so much sweeter than Charlie ever let on. Meeks, you look as smart as you are and Knox, definitely a romantic” she says and the boys laugh at how well she knows them just from Charlie and the things he’s told her while he was here. Yet before they can question her more and find out the juicy details of their relationship, they’re interrupted by the yelling of two boys.

“Charlie” Marty and Nate yell as they squash the boy between them. Charlie groans, trying to shove them off as they love up on him in a teasing way. Violet and Laurie are not far behind, walking up behind them in much slower strides.

“Dead Poets, meet the Ridge Rejects. Marty, Nate, Violet, and Laurie” Evelyn introduces as Knox’s arm falls from her shoulder. It’s no surprise how Todd, Meeks, and Pitts all instantly gape at her blonde friend, star struck in the way most boys were. The difference for them was they didn’t get to see girls nearly as much.

“Nice to meet you” Violet says as the boys finally free Charlie from their grasp and he straightens out his dress shirt and gown on his form.

“Guys this is Knox, Todd, Steven, and Gerard” Evelyn introduces and the two groups swap pleasantries due to the introduction. Charlie feels his heart soar as the two groups seem to intermingle well. After he had realized pushing them away was the wrong thing to do, he found he had some really good friends here at Ridge. Best friends even and to see his two worlds collide was better than anything he could’ve imagined.

“Can you guys believe it, little Charlie actually graduated” Marty teases, arm wrapped around the brunette boys shoulders as he uses his free hand to pinch his cheek. Charlie is quick to shove him off, the poets laughing at the interaction with his new friend.

“Marty, I recall me being the one to help you with your homework. Not the other way around” Charlie says and Marty laughs, shaking his head as if he had forgotten, even though he just graduated a few moments ago.

“Actually I helped both of you with homework, but fine, don’t get me any credit” Nate says and everyone laughs, falling into a comfortable rhythm like they had been puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together all along.

“Any of you guys hungry, cause I’m starved” Evelyn says once the laughter quiets down and agreements come from nearly everyone in the group. Charlie just smiles and wraps his arms around her.

“Let’s go out to dinner, all of us” he suggests, leaning to press a kiss to the crown of her head. Evelyn nods in an agreement and the group complies easily too.

“Sounds fun, I can tell you guys all about the time Charlie got chased by a goose on campus” Knox says as he approaches both Evelyn and Charlie. Evelyn laughs as Knox breaks them apart, wrapping his arms around both their shoulders as he starts to guide them towards the parking lot.

“What did he do to the goose?” Laurie asks, the intermingled groups following along after the three and Charlie groans at the memory.

“I don’t want to talk about it” he mutters and Knox grins, squishing him into his side.

“Little Charlie here thought he could catch one. He was sorta right” Knox says as Charlie drops his head with a shake, knowing now he could no longer hide his most embarrassing moments from the group.

“How so?” Violet curiously asks and Knox turns to look over his shoulder, wide smile on his face.

“The goose caught him”

The conjoined group ended up having a great time sharing dinner together. Trading stories and preparatory school experiences, enjoying each other’s company, so much they agreed to spend the rest of the night together. Which is how the group finds themselves at the old campfire in the woods behind Ridge, one last hurrah and flask shared between them all. Charlie enjoys being curled up beside Evelyn, remembering the first night they ever came out here and he had finally accepted loving her. Accepted that he was bound to let her in.

“So someone, please, explain this Dead Poets Society to us. Charlie never shuts up about it and we do not understand” Marty announces, cigarette glowing between his finger tips, reflecting in his eyes.

“It’s kind of hard to explain, you just have to experience it” Meeks says, ears tinted red from the effects the shared whiskey had already had on him.

“Let’s do it, can’t we have a meeting right now?” Laurie curiously asked, hands brushing the blonde curls out of her face. Meeks suddenly turns redder beside her, his crush showing.

“Let’s do it boys, I haven’t attended a meeting in forever” Charlie says, having not been to one since the night Neil died. He knew the boys tried to still have some but never as often and never at the cave. Nolan had made it nearly impossible to sneak off of campus after everything went down. “Who’s gonna lead it?-”

Todd standing cuts Charlie short, not realizing that he had taken Neil’s spot. The new head of the Dead Poets and it strikes Charlie silent, the hand that was rubbing Evelyn’s back freezing in place. “We usually start our meetings with an opening poem. Boys?”

“I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life. To put to rout all that was not life, and not, when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived” the boys all repeated perfectly in sync, even Charlie who hadn’t forgotten the words once since he left. Evelyn found herself pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck as he said it.

“Cult-ish, but okay?” Nate said with a clap, causing each of the boys to laugh as Todd fiddled with his fingers in front of the fire.

“Anyone want to go first?” he curiously asked and much to everyone’s surprise Charlie was loosening his grip and standing up from where he sat on the log.

“I have something” he announces and the group claps in support as Todd sits back down and Charlie takes his place. They all watch curiously as he wrings out his hands and stretches his neck, mentally recalling the words that once spilled out of him a long time ago and never got to be shared.

“The final bow,

The crowd goes wild.

I remember your smile,

You were only just a child.

A single part of me,

I’d never thought I’d lose.

The pride in my chest,

Burnt out like a fuse.

One last look and I swear,

I will always miss you” the group is silent, feeling the boys words sink in, in a hundred different ways. For the Welton boys, they recalled a time they were all there for. As for the Ridge group, they learned more of just how deep a cut this had made. Only knowing of the tale through passing stories. Yet absolutely none of them knew what to say.

“Suddenly he rhymes now folks” Todd is the first to break the silence with a snort, head shaking and his blonde hair falling in his eyes. Charlie looked at him slightly bewildered before cracking a smile as well. Todd was the last person he expected to say anything, let alone something sarcastic.

“Well Todd, you see I took this class in high school that taught me all about poetry” Charlie answers, sarcasm dripping from his tongue and as the group realizes he’s not mad they start to smile at the scene in front of them.

“I know, which is why I figured your poetry might be a bit more than simple rhyming. It was good nonetheless” Todd offers with the shrug of his shoulders and Charlie snorts before rushing over to the boy, tackling him off the back of the log as he play fought him. The group laughs, watching the two boys roll around.

“Hey settle down” Evelyn called out as she stood. “I want a turn”

At this, both the boys calmed down, breathless laughs falling from their panting lips, hair tousled out of its desired places. Charlie helped Todd up as Evelyn took the stage, the blazing fire making her hazel eyes glimmer in the night sky.

“I don’t necessarily have a poem but I would like to say how happy I am to be here with you all. To my Ridge Rejects, it’s crazy to think that after today I won’t get to see you all as much, that we’ll never come back here and share a dorm again. That thought breaks my heart. I love you all so much and I wouldn’t have these last few years any other way” she started, eyes watering as she thought of just how heartbreaking it was to no longer have these days. They were all off to different colleges and pretty soon she’ll only speak with them through letters and distanced phone calls.

“And to the Dead Poets. I love that I have gotten to know you through Charlie who loves you more than anything. You are all beautiful souls who survived something tragic and I’m so happy you can all be there for each other through the good and bad times. Of all the men I could’ve fell for, I’m the luckiest for falling for Charlie, because I never would have met all of you” she finished, the tears falling softly down her cheeks. She offered a bittersweet smile, hands brushing them away before walking to Charlie who happily accepted her into his arms.

“You’re not too bad yourself Ev” Knox grinned at her, holding up the flask in his hand before taking a sip and passing it to Pitts.

“I try” she says and that earns her a kiss from Charlie to the side of her head, Todd smiling at the sight of them. Loving how happy his once wild and reckless friend had become.

“I wish tonight could last forever” Nate shared, knowing that two years ago he never would’ve pictured himself here. Yet now that he was, he was glad this was how things ended up. He’d go to Columbia with Charlie and Evelyn in the fall. Meet new people for the first time in years and just maybe fall in love. Something he could see himself doing now and wear a smile while imagining it. He had loved Evelyn for so long and had gotten so used to how safe it was hiding his feelings from her, a security of knowing the other person would never fall out of love. This time he was ready to be loved and take the risk.

"It will, at least in memories" Todd responded and everyone let out content sighs, letting the very words sink in and settle in the air around them. Nothing could last for ever, that much is true. Like goes on and you make the best of it that you can. Charlie had forgotten that when Neil died, but now, surruounded by people he loved, he knew he'd never stop going on again. He'd enjoy every second he could. No matter what happened.

Finally he accepted he was surrounded by people who loved him, just as Neil once did.

When the fire died out, the group accepted that the night had officially come to an end. So they made the trek back to the school, no longer concerned about getting caught because tommorrow morning they would leave and never come back again. Charlie left the Dead Poets in his room with Nate, happy to offer up his space to spend his last night here with Evelyn, Violet doing the same in Marty's room. It felt right to all be together in this school one last time. So Charlie trailed behind Evelyn, hand interlaced with her own as she guided him to the uncomfortable twin bed they'd only have to share one last time.

"Why am I suddenly sad about my bed, this thing isnt even comfy" Evelyn grumbled as they stepped into the room and she shed her jacket. Charlie chuckled, toeing off his shoes before throwing his jacket and unbuttoning his pants.

"Maybe it's not the bed, just me in it" he offered, eyebrows wiggling as he stripped to his boxers and belly flopped into the bed. Evelyn laughed, doing the same as she searched for a spare shirt of Charlie's to sleep in. Charlie shamelessy watched her as she stripped to nothing but her panties and then shrugged his shirt over her head. As soon as she was done he was welcoming her with open arms as she curled into the bed beside him.

“I suppose you’re right, kinda sad I have to go the whole summer without this” she muttered, hand slowly lacing through his own. The both of them watching their fingers tangle to together, Charlie’s heart beat lightly thrumming against her ear.

“It’ll be over before you know it, and then we can sleep in each other’s dorms. Probably won’t even have to sneak around either” Charlie muttered, titling his head to rest against your own.

“Just promise me one thing” she says after a beat, savoring the moment entirely. How he smelled faintly of pine and campfire smoke, and how warm his skin was against her own.

“Anything my love” he mutters into her hair and she smiles, pulling their intertwined hands to her mouth and placing a soft kiss against his knuckles. Tucking their shared hands gently against her chest she tipped her head up to look at him.

“That you’ll love me like this forever, that college or growing old won’t change a thing?” she whispered and Charlie smiled, brown eyes wide and adoring.

“I promise, but it won’t always be like this. I’ll love you more and growing old and getting married will only make it better” he assures her and Evelyn smiles, pushing up to press her lips against his own. It’s barely a kiss, just their two wide and loving smiles connected by the invisible string that had always been there.

For Charlie had never thought he would be able to love again and Evelyn thought she’d never be able to love, and in the end, they proved each other wrong.

Taglist: @octaviasdread @eden-punk @linmichea1 @pursuedbyamemoryy @mynameisjxlia

a/n: just because these characters deserved a touch more of magic <3

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