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msklassickilla · 19 days ago

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Prada You 2 Chapter 6: Full Moon

Summary:

Three years have passed, but in city, the past never truly stays buried. The Prada Bois have grown stronger, their grip on the city unshaken. Old faces remain, new tensions rise, and the streets are more dangerous than ever.

Toya’s wedding should be a day of celebration, but for those who knew her, it’s something more—a gathering thick with whispers, with the weight of what was lost. Some wounds have scarred over, while others remain raw, unspoken.

Yet, the night brings a shift. A presence. A force that neither time nor distance could erase. The whispers start first, a low hum of disbelief that spreads like wildfire. Some things refuse to be forgotten. Some stories aren’t finished.

Because in this city, love, loyalty, and revenge all walk the same tightrope. And once the past steps forward, there’s no turning back.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Nyeya (Nye), Jacob Fatu x Kiyah, Sami Zayn x Natasha, Jimmy Uso x Nataya

Author’s Note: This story is set in a AU that takes place over summer in 2002. It has four original characters. If you come across this and haven’t read the first story, click here. Again, I appreciate y’all for all the love and support. I hope I’m able to create something that’s worthy as Prada You.

Warnings: Some foul/harsh language.

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story (if any). All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Chapter 6: Full Moon

June 8th 2002

The fan buzzed softly, sweeping across my face as I sat in a chair in Natasha’s kitchen. The air was thick with product and summertime heat, and from the patio door cracked open, I could hear the courtyard come alive. Kids laughed as they kicked around a half-flat ball, chasing each other between the shade of rustling trees and the broken water fountain by the benches. Someone’s mama called out a warning. A screen door slammed.

And inside, Toni Braxton was playing low from the stereo—"Just Be a Man About It”—wrapping the moment in something heavy.

Natasha parted my hair with that firm but gentle grip she always had, her fingers sure, methodical. But her mind was somewhere else. I could tell by the way she sighed between strokes, like something was pressing on her.

“He don’t get it, Nye. It’s like… I know who he is. I know what he does. But it’s different when you love somebody.”

I didn’t have to ask who he was.

She went on to tell me how her and Sami had been fighting again—how the tension hadn’t let up in weeks. She found out he and Solo had gotten into a shootout at a gas station on the west side. Said she only knew ‘cause he slipped up and answered his phone on speaker. Thought she wasn’t paying attention. She was.

She said she saw red. Said all she could picture was someone she didn’t know walking up behind him, gun in hand, and that being the end. Her voice cracked when she said it, but she didn’t let a tear fall.

I listened, quietly, letting her talk. I understood why she was angry—why she felt helpless. But I understood Sami too, and maybe that’s what made it harder. The streets don’t let go just ‘cause you fall in love. They pull harder. Sami didn’t ask to love Natasha. He just did. Same way he didn’t ask for war—but it was here, and The Hittas weren’t backing down.

I reached for the edge of the counter and sighed. “You can’t pick and choose which parts of him to love, Tasha. It’s all or nothing. But you can’t put yourself in danger tryin’ to hold him down either.”

She didn’t say nothing back, just nodded and pressed the hot comb through the swooped hair she’d just parted.

----

By 1 p.m., I had a fresh ponytail slicked and long down my back. It laid just right. Sharp part. No flyaways. Classy but fun. It would go perfect with what I planned to wear tonight.

Natasha looked pleased with herself. I tried to hand her a little stack of twenties, but she side-eyed me like I’d insulted her whole family.

“Girl, if you don’t get that out my face…”

I smiled sweetly, waited for her to turn around, then slid the money into her bra like I was tipping a dancer. Took off laughing before she could yank it out and throw it at me.

“Keep it!” I called out, already halfway down the sidewalk. “You know I’m gonna need you again soon.”

She stood in the doorway with a hand on her hip, shaking her head. But I saw the smile on her face before she turned back inside.

Once in my car, I sat with the air blasting, fingers tracing the edge of my ponytail. It was clean. The look of someone who had somewhere to be. And I did. But not somewhere I could talk about—not yet.

I wondered when, if ever, I’d tell them where I’d be spending most of my nights. Sugah’s wasn’t a secret I was ashamed of, but it wasn’t easy to say aloud either. Not when you’re the girl who left, and came back, and still trying to prove you’ve grown.

Aunt Darlene never asked. Just accepted the envelopes when I dropped them off, never looking inside. The men I dated up North never questioned it either, even when they saw the hours I kept, or the bruises from pole burns I didn’t bother to hide.

But here? Back home? It felt different.

As I turned onto our block and saw the brick house come into view, I told myself I’d keep quiet for now. Maybe a few more months. Maybe longer. If I could. There were some things a girl just had to carry herself. And I was used to carrying mine.

----

The smell of charcoal and seasoned meat drifted in from the backyard, weaving its way through the open windows like a lazy summer breeze. Reggie was on the grill, humming to himself, flipping ribs and chicken with a rhythm like he’d done it a thousand times.

Inside, the clinking of pots and pans echoed from the kitchen where Mama was going to town on the sides—macaroni, baked beans, and something that smelled like sweet potatoes.

They were expecting a few folks over later. Nothing too big. Just some old friends and family from around the way who still came around for Reggie’s cooking and Mama’s hospitality.

I didn’t have to be at Sugah’s until around nine. If you made it before ten, the house fee dropped to half, and every dancer knew that trick. I figured I’d eat, mingle, maybe catch a little of the spades table before sliding out.

Back in my room, I packed my stripper bag in silence. It was muscle memory at this point—two outfits, one blue, one black. A pair of black pleasers and the clear ones with the ankle strap. Hygiene kit. Lotion. Baby wipes. Perfume. Extra money bags folded into the side pocket. Hair ties. Spray deodorant. Small mirror. Gum. You learn what to carry overtime.

I zipped it closed and set it beside the closet. I wasn’t tired enough to nap, but I didn’t feel like being in the kitchen either being in the way.

So, I drifted toward the stack of boxes Mama had brought from the old house, the ones she’d saved when I left. Said, “You might want these one day,” and I guess that day had finally come.

The first box was a time capsule. I pulled back the flaps and was met with old teddy bears, worn journals, loose Polaroids and photo albums. A soft brown bear with a missing bow ended up in my lap. I ran my fingers across its fur, the stitched-on eyes still intact.

I flipped open the first album. We looked so young.

There was one of me and Kiyah on Twin Day in seventh grade, rocking matching denim jackets and high ponytails like we ran something. Another of the four of us—me, Nataya, Kiyah, and Natasha—sitting in the bleachers, all out of dress code. Nataya had a bag of Hot Fries in one hand, Kiyah had her leg kicked up like she was posing for Jet Magazine, and I was sitting in Natasha’s lap, planting a kiss on her cheek. We looked wild and loved, like girls who believed nothing could touch us.

I laughed at the next one. Me and Kiyah again—hair a complete mess, edges fighting for their lives. We’d gotten into a fight that morning in 10th grade—some girl said something slick, and we weren’t built for turning the other cheek. Principal Walters kicked us out before second period. We went downtown and chilled with the old heads like we were grown. That was us.

We were always in something. But the twins? They had to chill. Their mama didn’t play that shit.

My fingers slowed when I opened the next album. I already knew.

The first picture hit hard. One of me and Jey. He was posted up on the hood of his car, arms around my waist. I was in his lap, smiling so wide it hurt to look at. He had his gold chain that read Prada Boi hanging from his neck, a blunt behind his ear, and that look in his eye. Like he was at his happiest. Or maybe I was just hoping he was.

I ran my thumb over the photo without thinking. I was a baby trying to be a woman. I had stars in my eyes back then. Being Jey’s girl felt like being chosen by the universe—like I mattered. Like I had won something.

The tear landed quietly on the page. I didn’t even feel it leave my eye.

I pressed the album closed and tucked it deep into the back of my closet. Maybe one day I’d come back to it. Maybe not. Some memories deserve to be dusted over.

Without turning the lights off, I climbed into bed, head on the pillow. The buzz of conversation from outside filtered through the window. Reggie laughed. Mama shouted about too much salt. A car horn blared up the street.

I let it all fade.

Sleep came fast. The kind that creeps in when your heart’s too full and your hands can’t carry what you’re feeling. I didn’t fight it.

----

I woke up around five to the bass of Johnnie Taylor thumping through the walls and the smell of smoked meat still floating in the air. When I stepped into the living room, I saw Granny, Bernice, Reggie’s brother Mark, and his wife Nat sitting around a card table playing Spades.

Larry and his long-term girlfriend Pat were slow dancing in the middle of the living room, like they had no plans of letting go of each other or the beat.

The screen door was cracked just enough to let the warm breeze sneak in, and the occasional burst of laughter from the porch reminded me that a few more folks had probably shown up since I’d knocked out earlier.

Bernice slapped her cards down hard enough to rattle the table, making everyone jump.

“Ain’t no way y’all reneged,” Mark barked, half-laughing, half-annoyed.

“I wish y’all stop actin’ like we new to this shit,” Bernice puffed on her cigarette and leaned back with a smirk.

Granny didn’t miss a beat—cussin’ under her breath and waving a cigarette through the air like it was a conductor’s baton.

“Y’all asses just can’t play. Gone on with that bullshit, Mark. You and Nat gettin’ schooled today.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. It was the kind of loud, unfiltered joy that only came from being home with folks who knew all your business and still fed you anyway.

I eased into the kitchen where Mama was at the sink, humming to herself while scrubbing a casserole dish. I started fixing a plate, the warmth from the oven hitting my face as I opened it. Mac and cheese, green beans, BBQ chicken, and cornbread still wrapped in foil. I piled it up and leaned on the counter while we talked.

Mama watched me like she had something on her mind, but she didn’t ask—yet. I could feel the question coming though. It was in the way her eyes lingered, the slight pause before she turned off the faucet.

“So, what you got planned for tonight?” she finally asked, trying to keep it casual.

I shrugged.

“Just going out with Kiyah,” I said, the lie slipping out smooth like butter on hot toast. Not because I was scared—Lord knew I was grown—but because some things just didn’t need to be said right now. Not while I was still under her roof, not until I had my own again.

She nodded, saying nothing more. I kissed her cheek before I went to sit in the living room for a bit, soaking in the vibe. Spades turned into dominoes; laughter turned into light conversations. I lingered until just before eight.

I showered, letting the hot water work out the last of the tension, and stepped out with fresh skin and clear thoughts. My hair was still laid, edges slicked down, swoop untouched. I moisturized, kept my face clean of makeup for now, and threw on something simple—shorts and a hoodie, easy to slide out of later.

I zipped up my duffle, double-checked my heels, outfits, and makeup bag, and stepped back into the living room. The laughter hadn’t let up.

Granny was hollering now, claiming Larry was cheating when it was probably her and Bernice. I hugged her first, then Bernice, then made my rounds to the others, saving Mama for last.

As I said goodbye, I hugged Mama tight—extra tight. That had become our thing. A silent understanding. She whispered “I love you” in my ear, and I told her I’d be back.

I hoped I could always keep that promise.

----

When I pulled up to Sugah’s, the club looked nothing like it had yesterday. The lot was full, cars backed into spaces, headlights still hot. The bouncers stood by the velvet rope like sentinels, but they gave me the nod the second they saw me. Like they already knew I was coming. Like they’d been waiting.

Inside, the atmosphere hit me like perfume and possibility. Neon lights pulsed along the ceiling. Music thumped low and steady. Dancers were already working the floor, some giving lap dances, others posted up talking to regulars with eyes that sparkled even in the shadows.

I moved through it all like I belonged, slipping toward the back hallway that led to Sugah’s office. I knocked twice. He called me in like he’d been expecting it.

“Ah, my new babydoll has arrived,” Sugah said, flashing that signature grin. “I’m guessing you got that paperwork I need?”

I handed him my license. He looked it over with a smirk, passed it back, then leaned on the edge of his desk like he was about to share a secret.

“You up for the main stage tonight?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”

That smile of his deepened, and I could see he liked confidence. He motioned for me to follow, walking me through the dim halls until we reached the locker room. The music was louder here, the scent of shea butter, hairspray, and weed smoke blending into something familiar.

The room was electric, girls of every shade, shape, and vibe moving through the space like goddesses. Some were stretched out doing last-minute touch-ups, others were already dressed and talking strategy, lip liner in hand.

I found a stretch of space along the mirrored vanity and set my things down just as Sugah whistled.

“Ladies, this here is Miss Noir. She’ll be joining the team tonight. Y’all welcome her.”

I felt the eyes. That silent evaluation. Not judgment from what I could see, just curiosity. Some nodded. A few spoke. I nodded back, unfazed. I’d done this before.

Sugah lingered just long enough to say his usual motivational piece about hustle and grace, then left us to it.

Deb slid over, offering a kind smile. “You need anything, baby? We got wings, fries, whatever.”

I shook my head. “I’m good, thank you.”

I got to work, sliding into my ritual. Moisturizer first—peaches and cream, soft shimmer. Then lashes. Makeup layered just right. I didn’t talk much, but I didn’t have to. The energy in the room said enough. They didn’t come to play and neither did I.

In one of the back stalls, I slipped into my outfit, a blue two-piece mesh set that caught the light just right. My clear pleasers tapped against the floor as I stepped out, every inch of me looking intentional.

----

At my old club up North, I had a game plan. Always start at the bar. A drink could take the edge off, but more than that, it set the tone for the night, sometimes even caught me a big fish if the right man was watching. I figured Sugah’s would be no different.

The lights had dropped even lower than before, pulsing violet and electric blue across every surface as I weaved my way through the growing crowd. The bass rattled the floor beneath my heels, music thumping hard enough to sync with the beat of my heart.

Even dressed down earlier, I’d felt like Noir. Now? Now, I was her. All hips, honeyed legs, and confidence. I could feel eyes trailing behind me, sizing me up, whispering. The new girl always drew attention.

The bar sat toward the side of the club, backed by a mirrored wall that made the whole place feel twice as big. Liquor bottles lined the shelves like glowing gems, and behind them moved a bartender with skin like cinnamon sugar and cheekbones high.

“Vodka cranberry,” I said over the music, sliding onto a stool like I’d been there a thousand times.

She turned with a sly smile, nodding, then moved with practiced ease—pouring, mixing, shaking. Her hoops swung with every flick of her wrist, the silver catching the light like a disco ball in miniature.

“What’s ya name, cutie?” she asked as she slid the drink across the counter.

“Noir.”

She smiled wider. “That’s cute.”

“Thanks. You?” I smiled.

“Tommi,” she said, tapping her own chest with a long, square-shaped nail painted metallic blue. “If you need anything—anything at all—I got you.”

I raised my glass in a silent toast. “Right back at you. You’re gorgeous, by the way.”

Tommi’s smile turned knowing. “We gotta look out for each other.”

I liked her already.

I sipped slowly, scanning the club over the rim of my glass. The crowd had thickened, bodies in every booth and corner. The air smelled like cologne, sweat, perfume, and money. A familiar kind of chaos I had grown to love.

I spotted a few more dancers on the floor now, moving like they’d done this forever, some perched on laps, others swaying against pillars, with smiles soft and eyes honed in on the prize.

----

On the main stage, a full-figured dancer moved like she was made of water—graceful, fluid, hypnotic. She had slanted eyes that caught the light just right, a tiny waist that rolled like magic, and thighs that could crush a man’s soul. Her pole work was slick, effortless. I took a slow sip, nodding to myself. She was the real deal.

Before I could finish my drink, a voice crept up beside me.

“You look like trouble.”

I turned and looked into the face of a young man no older than me. Sharp fade, Cuban link glinting under the lights, a gold grill peeking out when he smiled. Pretty eyes, pretty mouth, pretty enough to get himself in trouble.

“And you look like someone who can’t afford it,” I shot back, playful but cool.

He laughed. “Try me. I’m Andrzej.”

The name rolled off his tongue so smooth and deliberate. I didn’t recognize him, but he had that energy—the type that told you he’d seen some things, maybe done more than he was willing to admit.

I tilted my head, pretending to think it over. “Well, Andrzej, you buying or just here to chat?”

He didn’t stutter. “Let’s talk somewhere quieter.”

I let him lead me to a booth tucked into the back corner, half-hidden in shadow. The leather seat was soft, still warm from the last customer. I slid in beside him, legs crossed, eyes alert.

At first, it was small talk—where you from, what’s your name, how long you been dancing? I gave him just enough to keep him intrigued. But before I could pivot the conversation into business, he reached into his pocket and laid a small stack of folded bills on the table like it was nothing.

My whole vibe shifted. That sound—the crisp slap of folded money against vinyl—it always did something to me.

He kept talking, and I kept listening. He wasn’t flashy with what he shared, but the context filled in the blanks. Twenty-two. Ran in the streets. Deep enough to know not to say too much. He watched the room with his back to the wall. Always facing the exits. Street etiquette.

He didn’t seem like trouble, not yet, but I clocked the Cartier watch along with the glasses, the pristine white Air Force 1s, and the heavy silence he carried between sentences. Boys like him moved fast and fell faster.

Every so often, while talking, he’d reach back into his pocket and pull out another stack, adding it to the pile on the table. I didn’t even have to dance, not yet anyway.

Some men came to escape. Some came to feel power. Andrzej? He came for conversation. Maybe he liked the sound of a woman listening without judgment, laughing at the right moments, not asking too many questions. I could give him that—for a price.

And in that moment, wrapped in shadows and neon light, I became exactly what he needed.

----

I was posted in that booth like I had all night to spare. Andrzej had made himself comfortable, and I wasn't mad at it. Between the thick stacks of cash, he kept slapping on the table and the way his voice rolled like smoke when he talked, I could’ve sat there a little longer. But that knock on the wall near our section said otherwise.

Deb’s head peeked around the corner, chin tilted, eyes on me. “Boss man wants you on stage.”

I gave a soft sigh, trying to mask the disappointment. I was just getting warm up here. Andrzej picked up on it too, leaning in like he didn’t plan on letting me get too far.

“You coming back after?” he asked, voice dipped in something suggestive.

“Only if you’re still here,” I said, standing to my full height, smirking over my shoulder as I walked off.

He lifted his glass to his lips like he was toasting that promise, and I made my way to the locker room with a little more sway in my hips than usual.

----

Backstage, I moved fast. I peeled off the blue two-piece, changed into my black see-through dress that glittered in the right light, the matching black bikini top and G-string hugging my curves just right. I gave myself a spritz of perfume, touched up my lip gloss, and stepped into my clear pleasers.

Deb passed by and gave me a nod. “You got this, mama.”

I just smiled and stepped into the hallway that led to the stage, letting Noir take over.

The opening beat of “Anywhere” by 112 filled the club, and my heart synced with it.

“Here we are all alone.. You and me.. Privacy.. And we can do anything.. Your fantasy.. I wanna make your dreams come true..”

My silhouette appeared in the low pink and purple lights, heels clicking against the stage floor like thunder wrapped in silk. I dragged my hands down my thighs, hips winding as I walked slow and smooth to the pole, feeling every eye in the room turn to me.

The pole welcomed me like an old friend. I wrapped myself around it, let the beat dictate my rhythm. I moved with grace, sensuality, and control. The crowd thickened by the men inching closer, a few women too. The dollars came slow at first, then steady, then hard.

A green rainstorm.

When I dropped into my signature crawl toward the edge of the stage, the bills only fell faster. My ponytail swung over my shoulder as I crept to the edge and locked eyes with Andrzej—front and center, just like I had hoped.

Then the song flipped to 112’s “Peaches and Cream.”

I rose to my feet and let the rhythm take me higher. I turned around and dropped it low, my hands finding his shoulders as I bent forward and rolled my hips. My skin brushed against his nose, my perfume kissing his senses. He didn’t blink. He just watched like I was something he’d never seen before and didn’t want to lose sight of.

I backed up into a slow roll across the stage, glancing over my shoulder and giving him the kind of look that said you’re lucky it’s me. The money flew like confetti—stacks now, not singles—and I soaked it all in.

By the time the song faded out, I was damp with effort and glitter. The bills clung to my legs and hips like they didn’t want to let go. I gave a wink, strutted off the stage, and disappeared into the back.

----

Sugah was waiting just outside the curtain, clapping and grinning like a proud uncle.

“Damn, girl. You got it,” he said. “You definitely got it. Keep that up, and you’ll be headlining every weekend.”

I giggled, catching my breath. He wasn’t the first to say it, but coming from him felt good. I always loved to make a good impression.

A couple of sweepers appeared with bags in hand, all filled with the fruit of my labor. I took them, still floating, and made my way back into the locker room.

Deb greeted me with a nod of approval, and a few of the other dancers threw me compliments, including the one I’d admired earlier. She came over, a bottle of lotion in her hand.

“You did that,” she said, smiling.

“Thanks. You too—your set earlier? Crazy. You’ve got some moves.” I grinned.

She waved her hand, smiling. “I’m Beauty.”

“Nice to meet you. Noir.” I replied.

We exchanged a few more words—found out she’d been at Sugah’s for two years, was 26, from a nearby city. There was an ease about her, a coolness. I liked her instantly.

We walked out together, both of us stepping back into the thick of the club. It was loud, buzzing, and bright in all the right ways. I spotted Andrzej back in our booth, and just like that, my night picked up where it left off.

He smiled as I slid into the seat next to him. Called the waitress over and asked what I was drinking. I stuck with what I knew—vodka cranberry—and as soon as the glass hit the table, we fell back into conversation like there’d been no break.

He looked good under the club lights. Low cut, fawn toned skin smooth, Ralph Lauren polo draped just right, diamonds dancing on his wrist. He had a way about him that made it feel easy to be around him.

But I wasn’t no fool. He was still in the streets—his whole aura said so. And I knew enough to not get caught up. But damn if he wasn’t nice to be around.

He kept me all to himself, dropping stacks on stacks to make sure no one else got my attention. I caught the side-eyes and the sighs from men who’d been waiting for their turn. Andrzej didn’t care. He’d paid for the time, and I gave it to him.

----

Around 3 a.m., he finally stood to leave. I slid my number across the table like I was sliding him something rare. And giving my number was rare.

“Let me know when you headed back this way. I’ll make sure I’m here.”

He tucked it into his jeans as I tucked the accumulated stacks into my money bag and kissed him on the cheek. “Be safe.”

He left, and I sat there for a minute, letting the moment stretch out like a warm hum in my chest. Regulars like that were gold. And I had plans to turn him into something valuable.

----

It was a little past 4 a.m. when I stepped out of the club and into the warm, sticky air of the early morning. Sugah’s was still pulsing behind me, the low rumble of bass trailing me to the car like a ghost. My duffle bag tugged at my shoulder, heavy with all my stuff and money made.

I hadn’t counted yet, but I knew it was at least thirteen hundred after tipping out. I’d made sure to bless everybody: sweepers, DJ, Deb, Tommi the bartender, even the waitress who kept my drinks coming.

On the first night, I was already staking my claim. But instead of heading straight home, I decided on something different.

I needed food. A little something to hold me over before I checked into the hotel down the way. No sense in waking up the whole house. Waffle House was always the move after a long shift, it was cheap and consistently good.

It was busy, of course. Parking lot full like there was a party happening. The after-club crowd was alive and buzzing, women still in heels wobbling beside men with glassy eyes and full wallets. I found a space off to the side, locked my doors, and pulled my hoodie up over my slicked-back ponytail. Glitter shimmered on my thighs, catching light from the buzzing yellow sign above.

Inside, the heat wrapped around me instantly. It smelled like butter, fried sausage, and cheap perfume. I slid into line behind a girl in lace-up boots and waited my turn.

When I reached the register, I gave my order without hesitation. “All-Star. Eggs scrambled with cheese. Bacon. Grits. No toast.”

I took the first seat that opened at the counter, settling in with a long yawn, my hands resting on my thighs, still sticky with glitter and heat. I was tired down to my bones.

My back was to the door, occupied with watching the cook I knew had cigarette ashes falling off of him onto the food as he moved around. All I caught was the ripple of energy across the room, the way everything shifted like wind bending grass.

And then that voice, his voice came.

“Damn! Packed as shit in here. We should’ve took our asses to Denny’s.”

Jey. Loud as always, like God handed him a megaphone at birth.

Then came Solo’s voice, gruff and smooth. “Uce, it smell like old people in that bitch.”

Laughter followed. Sami. Jimmy. Tama. What were the fucking odds?

I stayed still, eyes locked on my thighs beneath the counter, praying they wouldn’t notice me. But the universe had jokes. Because of course, right as I was leaning into invisibility, the cashier called out my name like it was center stage.

“Nye. Order for Nye.”

The laughter died down behind me. The air thinned. I could’ve ascended right then and there.

I slid off the stool like I’d aged ten years, my hand shaking just a little as I reached for the bag. I felt the eyes—five pairs, heavy and waiting. I didn’t dare look until I had to.

And when I did—there he was.

Jey stood with his hands in his pockets, grill tight, eyes locked on me like I was a mirage he didn’t trust. The kind of stare that made the world fall away. The kind that knew you.

Sami nodded first. “What’s up, Nye.”

Then Tama. Then Jimmy.

Solo was the only one who moved, stepping ahead and reaching for the door. He held it open with one hand and gave me a look I wasn’t ready for. Not with Jey standing right there. Not with that smirk and the glint in his eye like he was daring me to react.

“You get home safe, Nye,” he said, his voice deep and smooth like warm honey, full of something unspoken. “See you around.”

That part made me pause. Not because he said it, but because he said it like that, while Jey was standing right there. The eye contact. The tone. It was different.

I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. “Thanks.”

I stepped out into the night with my food in hand and my nerves doing somersaults. I could feel Solo’s stare trailing me like a hand pressed to my back. If I didn’t feel so off about it, I might’ve turned around.

But I didn’t.

Something was up with Solo. And I was starting to think it might not be what I hoped. Or worse… it might be exactly what I feared.

----

….at the Waffle House

The booth was tight, the air heavy with smoke and the smell of buttered grits and hot links. The five men sat silently at the table after the waitress took their orders, a strange stillness settling over them like steam on glass. Whatever rowdy energy they walked in with had been peeled away the moment she turned around at that counter.

Nyeya.

She wasn’t a ghost. She wasn’t even trying to be seen. But her presence had unwrapped something in all of them—and it clung to the edges of their conversation like static.

Jey sat at the end of the booth, jaw clenched, arms folded tight across his chest. He didn’t look at his brothers. He didn’t speak. His mind was too busy spinning in loops, stuck on the sight of her slipping out that door with her hoodie on without as much as a glance back at him.

What the hell was she doing out that late? And that little exchange between her and Solo? Yeah, that didn’t sit right either. Solo was rarely ever nice.

Across the booth, Jimmy leaned back with a slow grin pulling at his face. The kind of grin only a twin could deliver—wide, smug, and full of intention.

“Uce,” he said, dragging the word out with amusement. “Eat that food I’m paying for while it’s hot. Eat quick though. Tutor at home waitin’ on yo’ ass.”

Jey’s eyes snapped to him, sharp and warning, but Jimmy just laughed. So did Tama and Sami, their shoulders shaking as the waitress dropped off their second round of loaded plates. Solo didn’t laugh, but he didn’t look up either. He kept his head down, dragging waffle through syrup, pushing scrambled eggs onto his fork like he was starving.

Jey hated how transparent he must’ve looked. How his brothers could read his silence and pick it apart like a cheap suit.

He didn’t speak, but the thoughts kept coming.

She shouldn’t be out here like that. Ain’t nothing good out here after two a.m. And she know better. I made sure she knew better.

Tama was the next to speak casually, but his words pressed heavily into the air.

“I wonder what she was doin’ out this late though. Streets not safe for somethin’ like that to be out and about.”

No one answered right away, but every man at that table thought the same thing.

Solo was the first to cut through the silence.

“Shit,” he said around a mouthful of waffle, “she grown. She can do as she please.”

That made everyone pause.

Heads turned, some slow, some sharp. Jimmy glanced up over his fork. Sami raised a brow. Tama hummed like he heard something beneath the words. But it was Jey who stared the hardest, locking eyes with his younger brother from across the table.

It was a look that said don’t try me.

Solo returned it with a steady gaze, unfazed, before turning back to his plate.

Jimmy stepped in before the tension could brew, leaning into his calm voice like a buffer. “Ain’t none of our business anyway. She back, yeah. But she ain’t in it.”

Jey didn’t say a word. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

But deep down, he wanted it to be his business. Every piece of her. Every move. Every damn breath. He wondered what had her out this late. Who she was looking good for? And if he had the right to be mad about it.

Across from him, Solo dipped his toast into his yolk and didn’t say another word. But his thoughts were loud. Nyeya was something else. Something he couldn’t put into words yet. He wasn’t supposed to notice her like that. But now that he had, he wasn’t sure he could stop.

And maybe, just maybe... he didn’t care if he crossed that line.

----

Small AN: Andrzej is Dion Lennox from NXT. And um yea, y'all peep them Easter Eggs dropped?

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 7.. (click here)

Taglist: @theusotwinzcom @nbanenefrmdao @queeny23 @punksyeet @partypoison00 @justazzi @southernpree @tian-monique @levissslutt @emotionalhottiee @blkgirlsneedlove2 @fafomama @bigjuiciisushii

#black fanfic writer #black oc #original character #wwe au #jey uso #jey uso x oc #jey uso x black oc #00s #the bloodline #wwe fanfiction

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alovelywaytospendanevening · 6 days ago

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Butt (left) and Millet (right) in 1910

Francis Millet was born into a well-to-do family in Massachusetts in 1848. As a teen during the Civil War, he served as an assistant to his surgeon father. He studied art at Harvard, then worked as a reporter as he traveled the world. He won acclaim for his murals at an art school in Belgium and for his writing as a war correspondent in the Russo-Turkish War. He and the travel journalist Charles Warren Stoddard exchanged love letters after a romantic affair in Italy.

Archibald Butt was born in Augusta, Ga., in 1865. His father died when he was a teenager, and as the eldest child, he was soon supporting his siblings and became very close with his mother. She moved with him to Tennessee when he left for college, and again when he moved to Washington, D.C., where he worked as a reporter for several newspapers and made a name for himself on the social scene.

In 1908, he was recalled to Washington to serve as an aide to President Theodore Roosevelt. He was brilliant at the job, organizing the president’s schedule and state dinners and even going with Roosevelt on his frequent hunting, climbing and riding excursions. When Roosevelt’s successor, William Howard Taft, took office, Butt stayed on.

His social cachet extended outside his work. He lived with Millet in a Foggy Bottom mansion (now housing a George Washington University law clinic), where other bachelors occasionally rented rooms, and where Butt and Millet threw legendary parties.

It is not known how Millet and Butt met, but the two were sharing the mansion and playfully arguing over its decor by 1910, according to the historian Richard Davenport-Hines. Butt was a prolific letter writer — a fact particularly important to Roosevelt and Taft biographers — but he rarely wrote of his personal life and referred to Millet as “my artist friend who lives with me.”

The last months of Butt’s life were stressful. His old boss, Roosevelt, and his current boss, Taft, had a public falling out, leading Roosevelt to run for president to unseat his former vice president. Butt felt torn between the two men, both of whom he greatly respected, and he had grown thin and pale and appeared run-down, a friend recounted later to The Washington Post. Millet urged Butt to take a vacation with him and rest, and when Butt demurred, Millet convinced Taft to order his aide to deliver a letter to the pope in Rome. Butt and Millet left for Europe in March 1912, sharing a stateroom on the ship Berlin.

They had separate rooms on the return voyage aboard the Titanic. At a brief stop in Ireland, Millet sent a letter to a friend praising the luxurious ship and complaining of “a number of obnoxious, ostentatious American women.”

It was the last anyone would ever hear from them. The ship hit an iceberg and began to sink. One survivor saw Butt standing near John Jacob Astor. Rumors of Butt escorting women onto rescue boats were later proved false.

When Taft learned of the Titanic disaster, his first thought was of his aide; early coverage in The Post focused on Butt and another prominent Washingtonian: “NO NEWS OF MAJ. BUTT OR CLARENCE MOORE,” an April 17 headline read.

The Washington Times quoted a friend who said “the two men had a sympathy of mind which was most unusual.” The Post said they were the “closest of friends,” comparing them to ancient Greek figures Damon and Pythias, who were willing to die for one another. “The enduring partnership of Butt and Millet was an early case of 'Don’t ask, don’t tell,'” Davenport-Hines wrote, referring to the policy that once required gay members of the military to keep their sexuality secret.

Millet’s body was later found; Butt’s was not. At a memorial service for Butt, Taft was meant to speak but became so overcome with emotion that he couldn’t continue.

Within weeks of their deaths, plans were underway to honor them with a White House fountain. The official reason was to honor the two Titanic dead who had been part of the federal government — Millet had a mostly symbolic role as vice chair of the U.S. Commission on Fine Arts. The National Park Service page for it says the men were “widely believed to have been romantically involved with one another.”

Located on the southwest side of the White House near the E Street entrance, the fountain has a central pillar. On one side, facing south, is a male figure in bas-relief, with a helmet and shield, representing military valor (and presumably Butt). On the other side, facing north, is a beautiful woman with a paintbrush and palette, representing art (and presumably Millet).

A simple inscription reads: “In memory of Francis Davis Millet — 1846-1912 — and Archibald Willingham Butt — 1865-1912. This monument has been erected by their friends with the sanction of Congress.”

(Full article)

#francis millet #archibald butt #history #gay history #lgbt history #lgbtq history #gay #mlm #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqia #titanic #1910s

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hyohaehyuk · 1 month ago

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INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE || Stills & Behind the scenes from Season 2 Episode 2 “Do You Know What It Means to Be Loved by Death”

Part 1 | Part 2

1st/2nd photos

IWTVWriters: From a Průhonice Park reshoot! Reshoots are needed for various reasons, including poor sound quality, lack of focus or continuity.

3rd photo

IWTVWriters: Most of the park scenes, like the fountain scene where Louis and Armand first meet, were filmed in Petrin Park.

4th photo

IWTVWriters: The suburban mansion where the coven feasts is Zamek Slapy. Slapy Castle is a “former baroque and later classicist castle [that] was radically demolished by entrepreneur and banker Theodor Bondy and in the years 1928 – 1930 in the same place, built a grandiose castle in pseudo-baroque style. After 1945, [it was home to a] very secret training center - managed by Czech State Secret Police (State Security or StB) - for various foreign states’ secret services agents (mostly Arabic). After 1990, the castle rest[ed] empty and from time to time there are some outdoor movie scenes filmed.” The interior also serves as Roget’s offices in 202 and 206.

5th/7th photos

IWTVWriters: Louis might not have cared for the coven, but Jacob…

Video

IWTVWriters: Rehearsal, even for a scene with nothing but walking and talking, is important so the actors and crew can figure out the blocking and camera placement without wasting takes.

Jacob Anderson and Assad Zaman rehearsing a scene from S2 E2, while Sam Reid watches them.

#jam reiderson #jacob anderson #sam reid #assad zaman #interview with the vampire #iwtv #2x02 #season 2 behind the scenes #It seems that are updating the previous eps with more bts content and they already start ep 6 #so tomorrow i will start ep 5 and see what more they released from the other eps #Anyway Sam watching Jacob rehearse; likely place for him to be

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sungbeam · 2 years ago

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𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬

nonidol!lee hyunjae x f!reader

6.7k words (my hand slipped, sorry), fluff, angst, low-key e2l, ex friends 2 implied lovers?, low-key rich kid au, swearing, drinking and drunk talks/crying, a shitty situation, a bitchy ex gf, uhh very low-key hurt/comfort?, lots of mentions of pizza and soft drinks, THE PLOT IS SO RUSHED IM SORRY I CRAMMED.

a/n: requests now closed! whew,,, what a doozy 😭 im sorry if it feels rushed bc it low-key really was such a rushed and ambitious plot on my part. to the anon who requested it, ik it's not exactly what u asked for and im sorry ><

The pizzeria was like your second home. Maybe it was your home, but you weren't sure if calling a pizza place your home was the best word. It acted as your bubble away from academic responsibilities, family obligations, and anything else you wanted to forget. For the past three years of your college career, you made this place your comfort spot, while also picking up some spare change.

Your friend and co-worker Dae bumped her hip with yours as she passed by you with her hands full of empty plastic cups to refill. "Your group of banshees just walked in," she mused, slipping past you to the fountain drink machine on the bar counter.

Your head perked up and watched the front door on the other side of the room open to let a wave of your friends in. Dae liked to joke that your friend group consisted of a bunch of "banshees" from how loud they could be. You couldn't blame her at all; it was hilariously accurate. On a bad night, the group's volume could reach levels of a nightmare baby being birthed from the Devil's anus.

"Yn-ie!" Chanhee and Jacob waved to you as the group of five made their way through the tight spaces between tables.

"Hey, guys," you greeted them. "You're so lucky a group just left." You nodded toward the circular table in the back corner where your friends often made their home. It was big enough to seat seven—ten, if you squished—but it was almost always for you and your friends.

The pizzeria's owner and your boss, Mr. Moretti, usually didn't mind your friends occupying the space. You were pretty sure he was glad your friends were hiding themselves away in the back. (Not because of the merriment, just because of the noise. Some customers just wanted pizza and a quiet night, and you could respect that.)

"Waitress! Waitress!" Changmin screeched, waving one of his hands around like a lunatic.

You came up to the table with an unimpressed look on your face, and Kevin wrestled his neighbor back into this seat. "Okay, so Changmin doesn't get to eat tonight," you drawled and braced your hands on the backs of Sunwoo and Chanhee's chairs.

"I was just wondering how long it takes for someone to get service around here," Changmin jested. He feigned one of those pompous brushes of his hair, mocking one of the rich pricks who had come in here last month thinking that the RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE sign didn't apply to him. Changmin broke into a lopsided grin at your arched brows. "What? I think I'm funny."

Your eyes widened in a silent 'Can you believe this guy?'

"He's sugar high because someone let him get to the cupcakes," Kevin directed his flat gaze to his counterpart, Jacob.

Jacob's hands lifted in innocence. "What? No one was eating them, and he said he was hungry."

"Okay, drinks, folks!" You clapped to regain their attention. You did, after all, have other customers. "What're we feeling tonight?"

A chorus of drink orders flew up into the air—coke, iced water, Sprite, lemonade—and you nodded, stepping away to grab them those very beverages. Your friends had all been here enough times to know exactly what was on the menu, so while you stepped away briefly for their drinks, they could deliberate and get back to you as soon as you returned.

Like a well oiled machine, you delivered them their drinks, and Kevin doled out the lineup for tonight.

"You know, I was thinking of painting my nails black," Kevin said as he finished off the order. He held his hand out in front of him, inspecting the state of his bare nails.

Sunwoo straightened in his seat. "We should do it together, hyung!—I mean… you could probably paint my nails. I dunno if you should trust me with one of those thin ass brushes."

"You're right," Chanhee chimed in, "we shouldn't."

You snickered to yourself as you left your friends to their own devices and pinned their order sheet to one of the clips hanging in the kitchen window. There was a set of plates set out on the window sill, the bill reading for table three, and you picked it up to take over to them. Dae appeared next to you, tightening her ponytail, and grabbed the dishes for table four right beside it.

With both your hands full, you departed to deliver your respective orders.

As you set the dishes off food down onto table three, you heard the telltale swish of the door opening, and night air flooded into the room. On instinct, you straightened with a smile to greet them. "Hi! Welcome—" your voice died on your throat, and when his eyes locked with yours, you stuttered, "—in. For how many?"

Lee Hyunjae brushed a hand through his blond hair, his other arm wrapped around the shoulders of a girl who was unfortunately familiar to you. A couple of the guys with him, you recognized, too, but he was the one who had made you trip over your words.

One of them with jet black hair and kind, feline-like eyes, lifted four of his fingers in a wordless signal.

You nodded, lips set in a firm line, and gestured to the open four-seater at table eight.

You tucked your empty tray beneath your arm, mentally thanking anyone who was listening that his party was seated in Dae's section and not yours. Thank god for odd numbers.

Dae was swift to chirp out her usual cheeriness to the newcomers, and you scurried back over to the register to cash a table's check. As you did so, your eyes flitted up toward Hyunjae's table. He glanced over at you periodically, looking away whenever you were already looking at him.

What the hell was he doing here? You wanted to yell, scream. Out of all the places, out of all the nights, out of all the times… how long had it been since you last saw him, you wondered to yourself as you let the bitterness seep into your bones and meld with the marrow. It was a feeling you knew all too well.

You strode over to table seven to set their check down on the edge of the table. Everything in the pizzeria was so close together; it was near impossible not to catch the words being exchanged at table eight.

"—don't understand why you chose this dump, Hyunjae." That was the girl, the one who's face made you want to throw something at it. Her name was Kyla, and the last time you saw her in person, she had just become Hyunjae's girlfriend.

Sometimes you questioned how they even managed to stay together so long, but then again, people like them deserved each other.

"Eric just wanted pizza, babe," drawled the blond, his arm casually draped over the back of her chair.

The two others seated at the table consisted of the man with jet black hair, and another with a medium-toned brown hair peeking out of a gray hoodie. The latter said, "You guys'll love this place! Their breadsticks are literally the fluffiest things in the world."

A smile curled onto your face at that comment. Now that you thought about it, you'd seen him around before.

You slid over to table one and began stacking the dirty dishes left behind by customers who had gone. Table eight's conversation continued.

"Is it normal to be able to see grease in the air?" Kyla gagged, her nose wrinkling in disgust. She soaked in the close quarters of the restaurant with little appreciation.

The other third wheel at table eight, the one with black hair, lifted his eyebrows. "It's cozy in here, Kyla."

"Yeah, just give it a chance," Hyunjae chimed in.

You brushed past their table to grab table seven's check and hustle it back over to the register. You met Dae at the counter, her hands once again full with cups that needed filling.

A grunt left her lips. "Table eight," she began.

"Yeah," you agreed. "Sheesh."

Her head turned to you over her shoulder. "You know 'em?"

"Unfortunately." You pursed your lips. "It's been awhile," you amended. "I only know the couple at the table—enough to say, good luck, girl."

Dae made a face, but she pulled her shoulders back to solidify her posture. You always admired her work ethic and her customer service skills. As fellow waitresses during many a dinner rush hour, you both had to deal with your own handfuls of difficult people. At this point, it wasn't difficult to sniff them out from a mile away. There were some days you just wanted them to yell at you and get it over with.

Just as Dae left to go drop off drinks, your friends' order hit the window sill. You tucked the finished bill for table seven into your apron pocket and grabbed the trays to set on the table for your friends.

"You look like you're about to gnaw my fingers off, Jacob," you teased with a twinge of nervousness.

The man grinned at you, with teeth. "I'm hungry."

"Valid." You backed away from the table, and the carnage began.

You laughed, ducking your head, as you left your friends to their feast. You arrived at table seven and wished them a good night—

"Do you not have cherry coke? Isn't that, like, a universal fountain drink?"

You glanced over to see Dae's mouth twitch just slightly, but gave nothing else away. "No, we only have regular Coke and Diet Coke; I said that earlier, miss."

Kyla stared at her as if she'd just gotten her puppy revoked. "But they both taste like ass."

"You can have a fruit punch instead," Dae offered.

"But I don't want fruit punch."

You saw that the other two boys at the table fidgeted nervously. They were making eyes at Hyunjae, urging him to do something.

He seemed to lift his gaze to yours at that exact moment and you wondered what he saw in them. Something shifted in him, a silent acceptance of surrender.

The next thing you knew, he was leaning into the conversation. "Ky, you can just get a water or something and then we'll go get a drink after this. How does that sound?"

She threw a look over at him. "I really just want a cherry coke, Hyunjae. If I have to be forced to eat at this place, then the least you could do is get me a cherry coke."

Okay, that was enough.

"Is there a problem here?" You asked, sidling up beside Dae. You saw her loosen up out of the corner of your eye.

Kyla opened her mouth to retort something, but she halted abruptly. Her head cocked to the side, eyes narrowing, like she was trying to figure something out. You knew the moment she recognized you. A slow smile curled onto her mouth. "Oh my god… Yn Ln. Mommy and daddy kick you out or something? Why are you working at this dump?"

You were certain your eye started twitching.

Hyunjae grappled her shoulder. "Kyla."

"This is gold," she chirped. "Wow, I didn't think anything good could come of this dinner, but—" she sneered, "wow. You look awful."

"Takes one to know one," you said with venom dripping from your words. "We have a right to refuse service, ma'am, so if you don't quit badgering my friend and me, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

She didn't seem to catch your drift. "No. Get me. A cherry coke."

You suppressed every urge to fuck this girl up. To Dae, you murmured, "Can you cover my tables?"

"For sure, girl," she said, giving you a reassuring clasp on the shoulder. "Should I call Moretti?"

"No, I think we should be fine—"

"Wait until I tell everyone I know about how absolute ass this place is," Kyla ripped you back out into reality. She had her phone out now, and Eric, the guy in the hoodie, was reaching across the table to stop her.

You weren't allowed to touch her, you reminded yourself. You could do this with just words. No matter how much it killed you to not sucker punch her stupid, pearly whites in. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave," you told her through gritted teeth. "Either you buckle down with your regular Coca-Cola, or you get out."

"How about—no."

All breath dissipated from your lungs when you felt the carbonated liquid dumped in your face, the blocks of ice just missing your eyes. The entire establishment seemed to freeze with you.

You scoffed, slowly wiping the soda from your eyes and shaking out your arms. You couldn't seem to form coherent speech.

"What the fuck is going on here?" You recognized Kevin's hardened voice behind you, his hand squeezing your shoulder to tell you he was here.

As Kyla and Kevin dueled it out, you found Hyunjae's eyes again. To his credit, he seemed horrified and apologetic, his mouth parted in shock. But then again, he didn't have much credit anymore in your book.

Your hands fisted. You wanted to yell at him to get out. It had been a decent evening, a good evening, before he and his like came in and threw a drink in your face.

You didn't want to address the burning bitterness that coursed beneath all the annoyance and anger—out of everything, why didn't he say anything? Why didn't he try harder to help you? Why was he with her when he could be with y—nevermind. That didn't matter.

Even now, your back still ached from when he'd last left it stabbed.

"Are you okay, Yn-ie?"

You realized that Hyunjae and his party had gone now, and the shop patrons were slowly going back to whatever they had been doing before. Chanhee appeared before you with a couple napkins from the dispenser on the table, and Dae rushed over with a massive roll of paper towels. Your other friends had flocked over, too, to help clean up and also attend to customers while you pulled your shit together.

You gave a nod, finding your voice to tell them so. Your gaze casted briefly toward the front door where you knew he wouldn't ever be stepping back into.

You told yourself that was a good thing.

It was late when you finally pushed out of the back doors of the pizzeria building. Your car was parked out back with many of the other employee cars; it was just a lot more convenient and a lot less traffic. It had been a couple days since the fiasco with Kyla and Hyunjae, and you hadn't heard or seen him once since then.

That was a good thing. It was supposed to be a good thing. After all, why would he suddenly reappear in your life now? What purpose or what significance did that have?

You were going to try and forget about him again. Your life was plenty good without him, and yet…

"Yn."

Speak of the Devil. You swore under your breath as you nearly tripped over the curb. His voice was haunting, as was his presence, his whole silhouette. You'd once found a home with all those things—with him.

You and he stopped beside your car. "What are you doing here?" You asked him.

Hyunjae had his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. "I, uhm," he began, "I wanted to say sorry."

"Sorry?" You parroted. The word was sticky in your mouth and it clung to all the wrong crevices.

"Yeah, for the other night." He clasped the back of his neck. "I… I broke up with her, by the way."

Your eyes widened at his words. He broke up with Kyla? A part of you wanted to pump the sky and jump up and down—finally. Fucking finally! But there was another part of you, the rational one, who yanked you back to Earth and smacked you in the head to think about it. Three years of dating that girl, and just now he decided to break up with her? What was the tipping point? There was no way he didn't know she acted like a spoiled brat all the time.

What was so good about her anyway? You thought you had understood at the time—she had more money, more connections. Her parents were old money rich, not entrepreneurs like yours. It was stupid to think that was the reason, and you couldn't afford to go down that rabbit hole of methodology again.

"So?"

Your singular word seemed to slap him in the face. "So? I—" Frustration flickered across his face for a split second. Now he knew how you felt.

You couldn't wait for him to say anything; you had so much to say to him. "Listen Jaehyun," you said plainly. "I don't know what you want from me. You broke up with your girlfriend? Good for you. You're sorry for the other night? Okay. I don't know if you expect me to grovel and praise you for owning up for once—"

"Okay, what?" He cut in. "First of all, I don't expect you to grovel or praise me or whatever. Second, what do you mean 'owning up for once?'"

"I mean it exactly like I said it." You clenched the strap of your bag in your hand. Crazy how your car was literally right next to you, but you couldn't get into it. Your feet were glued to the street, and a part of you wanted to know how this ended. "The last time I saw you, Kyla laughed in my face, and you encouraged her. You dropped me like our years of friendship meant jack shit to you. I don't know what you're trying to pull, Jaehyun, and I don't wanna know."

Hyunjae leaned his head back, eyes closed for a second. "Yn, it's so much more complicated than that."

You stuck your tongue in your cheek. "That's such bullshit, and you know it. You don't get to come back and tell me this." There was a shakiness in your voice now, and you knew you had to get going or risk yelling. "That's just not fair."

"I know it's not fair."

"Good."

"Fine," he bit out. "I don't even know why I'm here."

Your hand found purchase on the driver's side door. Say something. Give me a reason to stay. "Maybe your sense of guilt has finally returned and your brain wanted to make amends."

He rolled his eyes, and it felt like a stab in your chest. "I'm going to leave now."

"Thank god." The words tasted sour in your mouth and you realized that he hadn't given you a reason to stay; in fact, it had been the exact opposite.

You both went your separate ways again. When you clambered into your car and watched him walk away through your rear view, it dawned on you that the entire conversation had been one massive circle. You wanted to hear him out—of course, you did.

You used to know him, after all. You used to know him so well. And perhaps that was why you hadn't just now.

"We need to talk."

A pair of hands slammed down on your desk and you nearly fell out of your chair. You tugged your earbuds out of your ear to give whoever this was a piece of your—

You frowned. "Oh. It's you."

Hyunjae frowned back at you. He was wearing a jean jacket today, hair styled presentably. He didn't have to look so good in this lighting, but you supposed even the sun liked to favor him. "Yes, it's me. Can you get up so we can—" He nodded out toward the library window beside you, "—talk?"

"So you want us to jump out the window?"

"You are so annoying."

Your smile was saccharine. "Not as annoying as you."

It had currently been around fifteen hours since he showed up at the back alley to confront you with that sorry apology. You'd woken up this morning less mad and more sad… smad. Sure, you were smad. It seemed that a night of sleep hadn't deterred your ex-best friend from talking to you, and you couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing.

"You don't even go to this school," you told him in a pathetic attempt to wave him away without actually waving him away.

"This is a public campus, Yn." He pulled out the seat across from you before you could protest. "I don't have to go to this school."

You scowled. The organ in your chest was beating awfully fast—you really hoped you weren't about to get in a screaming match with him here of all places. "What do you want, Hyunjae? You can't just show up everywhere I go unannounced."

"I don't do that."

"I'm starting to think you're obsessed with me, actually."

"Will you just—"

"Heya, Yn." Relief flooded through you at the sight of Changmin and Sunwoo walking up to your table. The former narrowed his eyes behind his dark-framed glasses. "Everything okay?"

You flipped your notebook closed and swiftly packed all of your items up. "Yeah, perfectly," you said. Hyunjae didn't follow as you stood up. "Bye, Hyunjae."

As you walked toward the library exit, Changmin and Sunwoo converged on either side of you. "What was that all about?" Sunwoo asked, his head peering behind you at the boy who was no doubt still sitting at the table. "Why is he here?"

You shook your head and pushed out onto the university grounds, propping the door open for your friends trailing behind. "Dude, I have no idea. He dropped by on my way out of work last night—"

"He what?"

"It wasn't even a productive conversation," you told them. You didn't know where you were going, but you turned around to face them as you walked backward along the path. Maybe you shouldn't have just left him there. "I don't even know how he knew I was at the library."

Changmin's mouth quirked downward. "Isn't this like… kind of creepy? What's with him anyway?"

"Yeah, Yn, how do you know him?" Sunwoo chimed in.

You sighed, face scrunching up as you thought about where to begin. Swiveling back to front, your friends clung onto you—both physically and to your words. "Our parents loathe each other, because they're business rivals, but Hyunjae and I went to the same schools when we were kids and we became friends."

It had been the two of you against the world—best petty friends. That first time his parents had driven him over to your house for a play date, the looks on both yours and his parents had been priceless. It'd been a wonder that they'd let you continue with the play date. From that point on, however, you both became friends for life, all despite the odds.

At least, that was how it had been.

Three years ago, just before both of you were going to begin your college careers, he had pretended that everything between the two of you was nothing more than dumpster fire. He ended up with Kyla, he became a jerk, and you'd spiraled. Had it been something you'd done? Had it been you? Did his parents open his eyes to your families' petty rivalry and get him to turn on you? That was what it had seemed like.

You'd survived, somehow. You had friends now—good friends, nice friends, un-petty friends. (But Hyunjae had been that person for you, too, once upon a time.)

You found yourself in your apartment at six in the evening the next day, staring at a half-drunk glass of wine and a crossword on your coffee table. You'd snatched up one of the newspapers in the lobby to busy yourself with in an attempt to take your mind off thrown cups of coke, bitchy ex girlfriends, and bitter ex friends.

It hadn't worked yet.

A knock on your front door drew your focus away, and you dragged yourself up from the couch to see who it was. Something panged in your chest at the face on the other side of the peephole.

You ripped the door open. "Do you want a restraining order?"

Hyunjae stood on the other side looking a little less put together than yesterday, but still more put together than you. "Yn, can we please just talk?"

"How do you even know where I live?" You asked him, not moving from the threshold, and thus, leaving him no room to come in.

"I literally helped you move in three years ago," he said, blinking. Oh. "Now, can I please come in?"

At least he was saying please, you reasoned with yourself. Begrudgingly, you let him in.

His shoulders seemed to deflate as he slipped inside, and he left his shoes on the show rack by the front door. Once you'd replaced all the locks, you swept past him to your kitchen area. "Want a drink?"

"Uhm, sure. Yeah, thanks."

You came back to the couch with another glass and poured him some of the red.

The two of you sat on the couch beside each other with a comfortable amount of space in the middle. He picked up his glass and chugged the entire thing, while you finished off your own glass and reached for the bottle. It felt so strange to be in his space again—or at least, for him to be in your space again. You didn't know if the jittery kick in your heart was from nervousness, excitement, or both.

What more did he have to say to you?

When you topped your glass off again, Hyunjae refilled his own.

"What do you want from me, Hyunjae?" You asked him for what felt like the hundredth time within the past week. You didn't have the heart to look at him now, the alcohol making your brain buzz and your chest heavy.

He nursed his glass, elbows braced on his knees. "I'm sorry," he said, clearing his throat when his voice came out rough. He fidgeted with the collar of his shirt. "You're probably so fucking tired of me, but I just… I knew I had to make things right."

You tugged your legs onto the couch and tucked them under you. "Why? Because you broke up with your girlfriend for throwing soda in my face?" For a moment, the thought amused you. Out of all the things to break up with Kyla for—out of all the things—it'd been over Coca-Cola.

Hyunjae swallowed down his wine. "No, that's not—that's not why I wanted to break up with her. I mean, part of it, of course. She'd disrespected you and your friend and the workplace."

His words and their sincerity drew your eyes to him on your left. His head hung, but you could see the glazed look in his eyes, dulling out those pretty, mahogany irises of his. He looked like your Hyunjae for once, not the one who had appeared in the doorway of the pizzeria with his arm around a girl who didn't appreciate him or anyone.

"And I'm sorry for that," he continued. "I'm sorry I didn't do more to prevent that from happening."

You stared down into the dark stillness of your wine glass. "Well, it wasn't exactly your fault," you said quietly.

You heard him huff, "Yeah, sure." He lifted the glass up to his lips again, and you did the same.

"The little altercation was recorded and posted online," Hyunjae suddenly said. "And when my parents saw, they pretty much backed out of the partnership between our company and Kyla's parents'. They didn't let me break up with her before because of the contract or whatever, but after that PR nightmare, they pretty much cut ties for me."

He took another swig, and you found yourself really looking at him this time.

"I was and have been an asshole to you, Yn," he said. "And it's no excuse, but it was… I was just trying to make it easier for both of us."

The wine was penetrating your defenses. Or maybe that was his story. But either way, the stinging in the corners of your eyes led to a watering of your vision, and everything was getting blurry. The lights, him, your whole view of the situation. His parents hadn't turned him, but shackled him instead.

"I thought," you began, lifting a hand up to wipe your eyes dry, "you hated me."

Hyunjae raised his head, shaking it, then hanging it again. He drank. "I couldn't hate you. I tried—I tried to make it easier to see you differently, but… Yn, you were my best friend." His voice broke at the end and he swallowed. "I thought about you so much these past few years, and it was so hard to get through it without you."

Your heart was sinking fast into your stomach and you could feel it hammer against your bones. You'd thought about him too much, as much as you loathed to admit. The man who you felt had simply thrown you away… how pathetic was it that you couldn't stop caring? But now, the lens was widening. Maybe your feelings weren't so unique.

Both you and Hyunjae moved at the same time, arms raising to drain your glasses of the last bits of wine.

You told yourself it was the wine that was making you want to cry, but when you and Hyunjae looked at each other, his eyes were lined with silver. He sniffled, setting his glass on the coffee table. "I'm sorry," he whispered, biting his lip when emotion made him screw his face up and turn away from you.

You put your glass next to his and clambered over the sofa to wrap your arms around him. He turned his face into your chest and sobbed, the sound coaxing a crest of emotion out of you, too, and you held him and rocked him through the oncoming waves.

It was the wine, you thought. God it was the wine. It had to be the wine.

But your best friend was here in your arms, where he belonged, you liked to think. He was home.

You curled your hand over the back of his head, your cheeks damp. "'m sorry they forced you into that relationship," you rasped. The bitterness was sweeping back in a different color. "I wish I knew."

He sniffled. "They threatened to do something to your parents' company. I couldn't—I couldn't let you and them get involved."

The confession stabbed through you. You had no idea what his parents had told him, and made him do, for the sake of business. You had no idea how unhappy he was, and god—you wished you'd known. Maybe things wouldn't have come to such hurt.

Hyunjae pulled himself away from you and wiped his eyes. "I think after all that shit, I'm a little fucked up."

The both of you shared a watery laugh, the space that had originally been left between you, nonexistent.

You cupped the sides of his face. "You made it though, and you've been so strong, Jae."

His bottom lip trembled. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"Yeah," you nodded. "Yeah, I forgive you." How could you not? And it was the wine—you swore it was the wine—that had you leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his hairline. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into you, his hand reaching up to cover your hand with his own.

"I like you a whole lot better than her," he murmured.

"I'd hope so," you mused, patting his cheek. "You deserve to have someone so much better than her."

He gulped, eyes searching your face. "You think so?"

"I know so."

Your heartbeat stuttered when he leaned forward slightly. You could smell the wine on his breath as it fanned over your skin. It felt as if the world slowed in that moment—the lights were dimmer, his eyelids low, lips shiny and plush.

And then he blinked, energy and alarm and… something else in his expression. He pulled out of your hold and his ears turned bright red. "I should go."

Your lips parted. "Wait—"

He practically leapt off the couch and banged his knee against the wall as he hobbled into his shoes. "Damn—I—" he opened the front door, pausing over the threshold. You didn't know why he was leaving; you wanted him to stay. Why, why, why was he leaving? "I, uhm, I've overstayed my welcome."

The door rattled as he closed it behind him, as if to tell you to not follow him out. You were left on the couch alone again, two empty glasses of wine, feeling stripped.

What the hell was that?

"And he just… left?"

You nodded, sweeping the apron around your waist over the hook in the back room of the pizzeria. It was late when yours and Dae's shift ended, as per usual. The shop was pretty much closed, leaving the two of you and two of the cooks who usually closed up the establishment when you both left.

For the entirety of your shift, you had been turning over yesterday's events over and over again. "I don't know what I did wrong, y'know? Maybe I crossed a boundary or something? I dunno."

Worry gnawed at your stomach as you recalled what happened to Dae. You both stepped out of the back of the building to head to your respective cars. It was dark out, as it usually was, with a few street lights along the road that you and Dae stuck to while walking.

As you approached your car, you noticed Hyunjae standing beside it with his hands tucked in his pockets and his head turned toward you. Rather than the sourness you'd felt for him at the beginning of the week, the feeling twisting in your chest was sweeter, but bitter still.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," Dae said to you softly with a gentle nudge of your arm. She walked ahead of you and passed by your car to get to hers, leaving you to confront the man plaguing your every thought for the past week.

You swallowed as you made your way over to the driver's side door where he was standing. "Hey."

Hyunjae gave a slight bob of his head. "Hey."

"Did I do something wrong yesterday?" You asked him, earnestly, searching his face for any hint as to why he had left so abruptly.

"No, it wasn't your fault—it definitely wasn't your fault," he told you. He sucked in a breath, carding a hand through his hair. "I had an epiphany of sorts."

"An epiphany?" You furrowed your brows.

His cheeks had flushed slightly, and he couldn't exactly meet your eyes. "I thought it was just the alcohol clouding my judgment, and in combination with all the emotions, and I just—" he shook his head. "It's probably not important, but…"

You bumped your elbow with his. "Jae, you're here. It probably is important."

A small smile curled up onto his face. "Y'know," he began, finally lifting his head to look you in the eyes, "she would have agreed with me and brushed me off."

You knew who the "she" he was talking about was. You frowned. "She was never good enough for you, Hyunjae."

"I know." He sighed. "I just wanna be enough for you though now."

Surprise lit across your face, and you could feel the butterflies in your stomach start to take flight. You couldn't think coherently with his words, and you were probably reading into it too much. The two of you had been away so long that you probably forgot how to read him; there was no doubt that something changed over the past three years, right?

When you failed to find a reply, he shifted slightly, his body facing straight toward you. "I've had a lot of time to think, and the whole time I was with her, I just kept comparing her to you." He stepped closer to you and his hand reached out to tentatively take your fingers with his. "She never measured up; maybe that made me even more bitter for ruining our friendship."

You met his eyes. There was that glimmer of the rich brown like what you'd seen last night. (Your Hyunjae was present and accounted for.) "What… what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I," he said, fully taking your hands with his, "would like to start over on a slightly different note. But if you don't feel the same, we can start wherever you're comfortable with."

It would be different, you realized. But it would be a good different, right?

You found your voice, curled your fingers around his in the space between you. "Okay."

His smile slowly widened, his eyes squinting into upturned crescent moons. "Okay?"

You nodded, returning the expression. "Let's start over on that different note."

The pizzeria was as alive as usual. It was warm, smelled like tomatoes and cheese and bread, and it was still your home away from home. You had just finished your break and were tying your apron back on when Dae bumped her hip against yours as she passed by with a tray of dirty dishes.

"Your banshees just got in," she said, before disappearing through the kitchen doors.

Your gaze went to the door where you found your five friends, and the additional three, who were filing in altogether. You made eye contact with one person in particular, his smile softening into something fond at the corners of his mouth. He lifted a hand in greeting, grabbing everyone else's attention as they said their hellos to you.

The eight of them made their way over to the round table in the back corner, piling into the chairs around it.

"Waitress! Waitress!" The hyena-like sound set off an alarm in your head and you came over to the table to give Changmin a stink eye. He grinned innocently. "Oh yay, it worked."

You gave him an unimpressed look. "You sound like a chihuahua."

"Joke's on you, I think chihuahuas are cute," he huffed, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest.

You braced your hand on the back of Hyunjae's chair, the other one gently patting the top of his head. He acknowledged your greeting, his hand reaching up to cover yours on the chair back. "What's to drink, y'all?"

A chorus of beverages rang out, and you mentally counted the few repeats and the singles. You promised to be right back, and left to go grab them. As you went, you could hear your boys start up a lively debate about the multipurpose properties of the lemon. You wondered if that was what they had been bickering about on the car ride over here, and you heard Eric say something about lemons for cleaning; Juyeon just said lemonade; and Changmin said for inflicting "more pain." (No, you didn't want to know.)

When you returned to their table to pass out your drinks, you went around, leaving Hyunjae for last. You set his cup of coke in front of him and he passed you a smile.

"You're not gonna dump that on me, are you?" You asked, eyes narrowing playfully.

He grinned. "As long as you don't dump me, we're good."

Sunwoo made a face from across the table. "Yuck, get a room!"

Chanhee smacked him upside the head. "At least they have someone to be yucky with."

"This feels familiar somehow," Kevin pondered aloud. "Like déjà vu."

Jacob shrugged. "Maybe in another universe. I dunno, it seems like something we would have said to Sunwoo at some point."

"Hey!—"

You were halfway through a laugh when Hyunjae caught your attention, twisted around in his chair to smile up at you. "What's up?" You asked him.

His eyes, you could never get sick of his eyes. They glistened in the lighting here. "Nothing," he said swiftly, "I'm just… happy to be here." With you.

You understood, and you caught his hand on the back of the chair and gave him a little squeeze. "I'm happy you're here, too." It seemed that some things were just meant to come full circle.

tbz m.list

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violettduchess · 9 months ago

Text

A/N: The first meeting between Clavis and my OC Marigold. You can learn more about her here.

I want their stories and relationship to have a lighter, more romantic comedy feeling than Silvio and my OC Leyla. Not that there won't be moments of angst/drama but in general, I want less thunder and lightning here and instead more soft rain and sunshine.

Thank you for reading!

WC: 2.4 k

“And that concludes our tour.”

Sariel Noir adjusts his glasses as he turns to face the young woman he’s just spent an hour with. Her wide eyes, a bright gray that reminds him of quicksilver, are still drinking in her surroundings with obvious pleasure and awe. A part of him is proud to see the effect the palace has on her, this place he pours so much of his time and energy into keeping orderly and safe. Marigold Jacobs can’t help herself. She’s visited the royal palace in Jade several times due to her father’s renown as an astronomer and Prince Keith’s deep interest in the field. It's impressive by any measure but now, in Rhodolite she finds herself confronted with the elegance that is the royal palace with its towering spires and delicate design, the breathtaking ornateness of its rooms and the richness of its very aura. Why, it takes one's breath away. She reaches up, adjusting her own round, gold-rimmed glasses and sighs contentedly.

“I really must thank you for such an informative tour, Minister Noir. And for taking the time personally to see to my room and board here.”

He smiles and it reminds her of the smooth play of a breeze over still waters. “It is my pleasure, Ms. Jacobs. We are very happy to accommodate academic endeavors and I know the king will be especially pleased that a literary historian such as yourself is choosing to dive into the works of one of our most famous writers.”

Marigold nods, feeling a warm sense of pride course through her. “I have heard he is fond of Victoria Hugo and her writing. I look forward to meeting King Chevalier when he returns.”

Sariel nods, then reaches into the jacket of his ebony coat, producing a scroll tied with a silk ribbon the color of violets at midnight. “Please take this and keep it with you when making your way through the palace. It is written permission for your use of the royal library as well as any study in which you may choose to do your work.”

“My thanks, Minister.” Marigold takes the scroll and gingerly tucks it into the woven bag hanging across her body. The bag is nearly the exact same russet color as her high-necked dress. The only splash of color she wears are the green and gold earrings her parents gifted her on her last birthday, small emerald studs that she values deeply. To her, they represent Jade with its lush greens and royal golds, a subtle way to honor her home country while abroad.

With a polite bow, Sariel takes his leave, reminding her to please let him know if she requires anything else. As she watches him go, elegant even when doing something as mundane as walking, Marigold feels fresh excitement fizzle through her body like champagne bubbles. She’s really here! In the royal palace! With complete access to all of its resources!

She thought her room, tucked away in the western wing of the palace, was already a marvel with its small balcony overlooking the stables, the rolling fields and in the distance, the shimmering lake. But now, she stands in the courtyard at the entrance to the famous royal gardens. How can she resist a quick stroll through them before supper?

Just a walk along the path, she tells herself, just a glance at the place so many poets have written about and artists have immortalized. The scent of roses is strong, perfuming the air with their dusky scent. Marigold takes it all in, pausing to admire a topiary in the shape of a fawn, a small fountain depicting a fairy pouring water over the head of a tiny frog. Her sensible brown boots kick up small whorls of dust as she walks the dirt path. If I remember the layout correctly there should be a gazebo around here somewhere. Maybe she can find it.

As she wanders, she notices how the hedges grow higher, past her shoulders, then past her head with its glossy, chestnut bun. They seem to be stretching up towards the sky itself, reaching their leaves up towards its robin-egg blue beauty.

So lost is she in admiring the sights that she does not notice how she has stepped off the dirt path and onto an area of green grass covered in odd patches of leaves and twigs. A particularly large hedge full of exquisite purple hibiscus has caught her eye and she walks towards it, eager to get a closer look.

Suddenly, the hibiscus is retreating, growing more and more distant as the ground beneath her feet gives. Her world tilts and for a moment, all she sees is pristine sky. And then she is falling, falling, falling, for what feels like an eternity but is actually only a few seconds.

“Ahhhh!”

OOF.

She hits the bottom of the ditch with an undignified thunk, sprawled out on her back, the wind temporarily knocked out of her. Gasping for the breath that keeps trying to elude her, Marigold needs several seconds to reconnect body with mind. Slowly, she pushes herself up into a sitting position. Her palms sink slightly into the dirt ground and tilting her head up, she sees she has fallen into a perfectly circular hole in the ground. With a shaking hand, she adjusts her glasses which had gone askew with the temporary loss of gravity and then with a loud groan, she stands. She rotates each foot and wrist, turns her neck from side to side. She’s sore and will likely have some impressive bruises but she does not seem to be seriously injured.

“Oh dearie me.”

She jerks her head up to see a face peering down at her over the edge of the ditch. A man with twilight hair and eyes the color of Goldenrod is looking down at her, white gloved fingers curled over the lip of the hole.

“Are you alright?”

She breathes out, relieved that someone arrived so quickly. “Yes, I think so.” She pats her woven bag, sending a quick prayer of thanks that she did not flatten it with her fall. Not only does it have Minister Noir’s letter, but the key to her room, her pencils and small notebook as well as her spare pair of glasses.

And now that someone is there and she knows she isn’t hurt, something else fills her: anger, white hot and blinding.

“Would you believe some idiot dug a hole here? In the middle of the royal gardens?”

The man’s smile is almost amused as he tilts his head, regarding her. “Shocking.”

A pink blush colors her pale cheeks as she shakes her head. Loose strands of dark hair escaped her bun in the fall and now flutter angrily around her face. “It is! It really is! Who would dare do such a thing? I mean honestly, it’s absolutely juvenile behavior. A ridiculous, childish prank. I could have been seriously injured! Imagine if someone much older or much younger had wandered around here and fallen!”

“Maybe they would have watched where they were going.” He lifts a shoulder, still grinning. “I mean, there was a big piles of leaves and sticks in the middle of the grass. That could have been a clue not to walk there.”

She narrows her eyes, gray as a winter’s storm. “I was admiring the flowers! And besides, it’s still a hazard!” Another thought occurs to her. “Oh! The princes are bound to be furious! Not to mention King Chevalier when he finds out that his gardens have been vandalized by some….some ruffian!”

“No! Not a ruffian!” There is amusement in his voice, so clear that it snaps her temporarily out of her rant.

“You could offer me a hand you know, instead of just kneeling there and mocking me.”

“I could.”

He doesn’t move. He's apparently having too much fun watching her.

Marigold scowls and stares at him. Those eyes. She has never thought of anyone as having eyes that actually sparkle. It always seemed a silly, romantic descriptor…but his truly do. A light dances within their golden depths. Even more annoyed by her own observation, she wipes at her nose, leaving a charming streak of dirt across its bridge, one that nearly covers her scattering of freckles.

“Well?” She thrusts her hand up towards him. He considers it just long enough to send another flood of angry red into her cheeks before he leans down, grasping her hand and forearm.

“Jump on three.”

Oh, his bright eyes are so vexing. And that smile.

“One…two….three. Now!”

She jumps and he pulls. He’s stronger than she anticipated and she might as well be part kangaroo because together they manage to get her out of the ditch in one, violent arc which ends with Marigold Jacobs landing directly on top of her extremely attractive but aggravating savior. He’s flat on his back and she’s sprawled across him like a toad that’s done a belly-flop into a mud puddle.

Again she is rendered breathless, not only by the sheer speed in which she was yanked out but by the sudden feel of the man’s long body underneath her, the closeness of his face with it’s charming beauty mark under the curve of his bottom lip, the shocking revelation of just how dazzling his eyes are. He is just as transfixed as he stares at her, his hands having moved to her waist of their own accord. Her face, though streaked with earth, is quietly lovely. A fact one may miss at first or even second glance, but close as she is now, he can see the elegant line of her jaw and cheek, the smoothness of her skin. Her lashes are dark and long. They nearly brush the lenses of her glasses and when he notices her freckles across the bridge of her nose, barely visible under the dirt, his heart skips a beat.

“Oh no, what have you done now?”

Another voice, deep and masculine, cuts through the moment and sends it scattering to the winds like a horde of startled butterflies. Marigold scrambles off of the man with aurelian eyes, hurriedly trying to smooth down her dress and push her hair out of her face. The man is slower to stand, grinning as he faces the annoyed scowl of the red-haired man in front of him.

“I didn’t do anything. She is the one who fell into a hole which wasn't meant for her.”

Marigold tears her eyes away from the handsome red-haired man in his lavender and white livery to gasp at her rescuer. “Wait a minute? YOU dug that hole?”

He holds out both hands and shrugs, mirth and mischief hanging on the corners of his grin.

Marigold draws herself up to full height and steps menacingly towards him. “So YOU’RE the vile ruffian who desecrated the royal gardens and then had the nerve to find it funny?” She is almost sputtering she’s so angry. “You….you pompous….ignorant, thick-headed, immature, rough-hewn churl! I’ll tell the princes what you’ve done! Let them deal with a lout like you!” She’s breathing heavily, one hand balled into a fist as she glares at him. If looks could kill, he’d have been murdered a dozen times over.

The red-haired man looks as if he doesn't know whether to burst out laughing or throw himself into the ditch. What he ends up with is a somewhat beleaguered expression, tinted with amusement.

“Ah……you should tell her.”

The man in the lavender jacket grins. “But I’m having such fun.”

Absolutely still on her anger high, Marigold spins to look at the red-haired man. “Tell me what?”

With a heavy sigh, he gestures towards the ruffian. “May I present Prince Clavis Lelouch, third Prince of Rhodolite. Or as I like to call him, the Idiot Prince.”

The….third….what….?

Slowly Marigold turns back and then, like an image slowly and horrifically coming into focus, she notices the rich material of his clothing, the silk of his tie, the golden rose-shaped tie pin, the pristine white of his pants, the fine leather of his belts and boots.

Oh…..no….

Wishing she were back in the ditch, Marigold drops into a curtsey, struggling to stay upright. He is a prince of Rhodolite. And she insulted him with all her furious heart. She’ll be sent back to Jade in disgrace, her research over before it has even begun. Her parents will be disappointed. Her professors will never trust her again. She’ll end up a laughing stock at the university all because she couldn’t hold her tongue.

Surprisingly gentle fingers touch her chin, asking without words for her to rise and lift her head. Clavis is standing in front of her, his touch lingering just a moment after she’s straightened up.

“You were absolutely in the right to be angry, Miss…..?”

“Jacobs,” she manages, though her mouth is dry, “Marigold Jacobs.”

“Miss Marigold Jacobs. I apologize that you were my accidental victim. This ditch was intended for one of my brothers and not you.” He lights up as a sudden idea occurs to him. “You must let me make up for it. I’ll have breakfast prepared for you!”

“Oh no,” Cyran mutters.

Clavis is nodding even as Marigold stammers in protest. “No, please your Highness, you don’t have to go through any trouble because of me.”

He waves his hand. “It’s not trouble, it’s fun!” He’s positively gleeful. “Tomorrow morning at 8 o’clock sharp!” He looks over his shoulder. “Cyran, please fill the ditch.” He pauses. “But only this one.”

Marigold’s eyes widen. There are others…??!

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Marigold Jacobs!” He is on his way out when he stops, glancing at the purple hibiscus that caused all this trouble. He reaches up, carefully plucking one and then with a twinkle in his eye, tosses it towards her. She catches it easily and he smiles, nodding as if satisfied. “Til breakfast!”

And then he is gone.

Marigold blinks, wondering if this is a fever dream or if this really just happened. The ache in her back and delicate flower in her hand tell her it really did.

She insulted a Prince of Rhodolite and it ended with her being invited to breakfast.

Not even her wildest fantasies could have dreamed this up.

She offers Cyran her thanks and is met with scowling and insults about Clavis that far exceed her own. As she walks slowly back in the direction of the palace, she glances down at the purple flower, wondering why she has the feeling that her time with Prince Clavis is far from over.

And why somehow, a quiet, whispered corner of her mind thinks that isn’t a terrible feeling at all.

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#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #clavis lelouch #ikepri clavis #ikemen clavis #ikepri oc #ikemen oc #marigold jacobs #clavis x marigold #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfic #violettwrites

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kurithedweeb · 9 months ago

Text

A scattering of DoS universe ideas:

Having quartz and glowstone available as building materials for things like statues and lamps and the Irene fountain has such sinister implications when you know they come from the Nether.

Phoenix Drop is regarded as a refuge for runaways and criminals which is how the people who live there end up as such a diverse and insanely loyal group. There's something about the understanding and acceptance you can find there despite your flaws and past that draws people in.

(inspired by @xyxofspades) Nana's real name is Shichi, she and her eleven siblings were named with numbers corresponding to the order of their birth and when she fled Tu'la and assumed the identity of Nana she picked a name related to the number seven as a reminder of home since she was the seventh child.

Zianna Ro'Meave is related to Ivy and Lily. I need some distance between Zane and Aaron for Juror Aaron reasons, so Lily is Ivy's cousin on one side of the family and Zianna is Ivy's cousin on the other side. They were very close when they were young and see each other as sisters, even calling each other sisters. In Tu'la, it's not uncommon for families to have full-blooded siblings who range in age from as little as 9 or 10 months apart to 25 years between the eldest and youngest, so some people do sometimes believe they're blood sisters. This is inspired by a post I saw a while back about Garroth knowing the Tu'lan language because Zianna was from Tu'la and taught the boys the language when they were young, which I adore but have no clue who wrote it. Jacob thinks of Zane as a cousin or uncle, which is why he trusted him enough to take the amulet.

There's a Nether portal under the central cathedral in O'khasis. Part of the High Priest's duties is maintaining both the portal and the wards around it that only allow entry to someone who's had the proper blessings performed on them. Zane negotiated with Shad to be brought back as a Shadow Knight in the event of his death before he set his great plan in motion as a failsafe. I'm thinking Shad probably tried to kill him and Zane unveiled himself with some flirty charismatic line about being the mortal face of Irene and only in the embrace of a lover (his own lovers, but really playing up the being Irene's vassal/vessel part) can he unveil himself and be seen as his true self.

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fashionteahouse · 6 months ago

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If you are still writing, can you do a story on Quil? Just something romantic or angst etc. from his perspective..idk just want to see some Quil- fluff or more your choice 😏😏

You are awesome! Thanks

yess omg ofc ! thank you so much xoxo hope you enjoy :)

eventually - quil x reader

The paper red hand made heart was almost wrinkled from the nervous grip of Quil's fingers. Looking over, wrinkling his nose, Jacob nudges Quil and speaks lowly, "She's definitely not going to like it if it's all sweaty."

Quil shoos him off. Usually, he would've came back with a smart remark, but the sight of you casually talking to a close friend of yours was making him. He just couldn't understand, he seen you around all of this time, even psyching himself up in the mirror. He practiced exactly what he was going to say to you as soon as he saw you.

The previous night, he had crafted a vibrant red heart until he thought it was as close as it could get to being perfect.

"You might as well pack it up. You've been standing there for a while. She's probably all freaked out now." Embry comments, shutting his locker.

"Would you both just shut up?" Quil finally says back, frustrated that he couldn't day dream in peace.

The bell did not save him. It alarmed him, reminding him of losing this moment of opportunity. He watched you wave goodbye to the friend you were talking to and you went on to class.

Quil used his low sharpened pencil to write the date down on the worksheet him and the class had to work on. He stared at the date, displaying the Valentine's day holiday. He raised his hand, the teacher called on him.

"May I use to the bathroom?" he asks politely.

The teacher writes him a pass and he clutches it in his hand and closes the classroom door as he makes his way to his locker. He didn't have to use the bathroom at all. An idea popped in his head. It was less intimidating this way, he didn't have to face rejection so fast this way either.

He read the bedazzled letters, still satisfied with what Valentines Day quote he wrote. It was clever. He thought you would think so too. He made sure nobody was lingering in the halls, making his way to your locker.

He didn't sign it. That's the one thing he didn't do. Sliding it into the vent of your locker, he swiftly makes his way back to class.

Walking through the halls with Jacob and Embry, they debated on what to do after school. Quil's eyes immediately land on you as you turn the lock that was hung on your locker.

"We have to walk past to hear her reaction." Quil tells his friends as they look at him quizzically. Not waiting for them, Quil leisurely walks to the water fountain that was still earshot of what came out of your mouth.

He discreetly glanced at you as you read the note in your head before a smile slowly stretches across your lips. You turn to your friend who wants to see, you both gasp. You mention your crush and how he might've noticed you finally. You both jump a bit and squeal as Quil didn't hear a hint of his name.

His shoulders didn't move from their slumped position, even at the pizza parlor that he picked to eat. Feeling pity for their friend, Embry and Jacob allowed him to pick where to go.

Sauce squeezing out of the pizza that Embry bit into, he shakes his head, moving his food to one cheek to chew.

"This one's on you dude. You should've signed it." he tells Quil.

"Imagine if I did. She would bawl it up right there." Quil says, not believing for a second that you would accept his signature.

"She's just a girl. No need to be scared." Jacob says as he folds his pizza before taking a bite.

"Right. The worst she can say is no thanks." Embry says and shrugs.

"That's the worst thing that could happen." Quil says, he barely took a bite of his own pizza. Just thinking and talking about you, brought on a flip flop feeling, feeling too excited to even eat.

Embry and Jacob both groan, almost dying for Quil to just make the first move.

Graduated caps were thrown into the air, heads with smiles tilted up at the blue sky. Quil did clap when you walked across the stage. You still didn't know the crush that he had on you, even existed.

Meeting Jacob and Embry, they shake their heads and laugh as they watch Quil walk towards them. "What?" Quil asks them.

"We graduated and everything and you still didn't make the first move." Jacob comments.

Embry holds out his phone. He was able to score a screenshot of a flyer for a graduation party that was happening. A party that you were going to attend. You were good friends with the party thrower.

Quil steps back from reading the screen and shakes his head.

"Come on, man. You're still pussyfooting around her?" Embry asks him in disbelief.

"No way." Quil says.

"How else are you going to talk to her. It's not like you're going to be seeing her everyday anymore." Jacob says, trying to reason with his friend. He wanted to go to the party more than wanting Quil to shoot his shot, but was still supportive of his desire.

Quil was antsy the entire way to the party. He didn't have much time to practice what he was going to say to you, running different sentences in his head to come up with. The beautiful blue in the sky was replaced with black skies.

Thumbing of the rhythm of the beat, blasted from the house that had people swimming in and out of it.

"Great. How will I find her now?" Quil says, catching wind of the sea of people.

"You'll find her." Jacob says and slaps a hand on Quil's shoulder before adding, "Eventually."

The three childhood friends make their way into the unfamiliar home. People that didn't even go to the school that you all went to, were also there.

Jacob and Embry try their hand at the girls who don't know them. Quil sighs to himself knowing it was up to him to make the move to see where you were. Time passed slowly, he found you, but you were always with someone.

Throwing the crushed, empty beer can in the trash, he made his way to find one of his friends. Not looking where he was going, he bumped into a figure that was smaller than him. He looks down to you holding your hands up with an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry." you both say at the same time but you chuckle after the fact. Quil just looks, not believing that you said coherent words toward him. Someone calls your name, leaving you to raise your eyebrows a bit at him before leaving to go to the person who wants you. He just stared in awe. He wanted to stay after all.

He did find Embry, what he was saying must've felt right to the girl's ear as she laughed and blushed. Embry catches Quil's eyes as he moves it to a room. Giving you a hint, telling you to go in there. He then returns his attention back to the girl who was now going into depth about something. Quil didn't know but he went in, feeling bored so far.

You were in there. Quil froze as he saw you hold a cup walking towards a sleeping figure with it's mouth open. Someone else had their camera ready as you look over to Quil.

"Close the door." you tell him excitedly but in a hushed voice. Quil quickly did what you asked him to do as he watched the cup that was filled with liquid was poured into the person who was asleep's open mouth. Snickering, the person captures the moment it's poured into their mouth, they wake up, spitting it out. You and the camera person's laughs get louder as the person who was asleep glares at the both of you.

"I'm going to kill the both of you." they say in a groggy tone.

"That's what you get for falling asleep at a party." the camera person says back.

"I'm drunk." they whine out.

"Come on, it was funny." you say while laughing. Your eyes meet Quil's, "You thought it was funny, right?" you ask him.

He nods and laughs nervously, "Yeah. I didn't know you were a prankster."

"I try." you say with a smile. Quil almost reached for sunglasses by how blinding it was.

Leaving out of the room, Quil said screw it. He came this far, he knew as soon, as you would step out of the room, you might get lost in the sea of people again.

He touched your arm, halting you as the room was only empty besides you two.

"Did you um.. Did you...um.. Like the h-heart that I put...in your locker?" He says, he then braced himself for the worst reaction to come.

"Oh my god, that was you?" you say, surprised at the question. You still had it in your bedroom. You crossed out your crush being the culprit. Finding out he was a total douche was a bit turn off.

Quil nods, not trusting his voice.

"That was.. So nice of you." you tell him sincerely.

"It was nothing. But, it meant something since it's you, you know?" Quil says.

You nod and a warm smile with a warm blush, spreads across your face. It was your turn to get nervous. You look down a bit as you wring with your fingers.

"I um.. Still have it." you confess to him. He pinched himself discreetly on the side of his leg to make sure that a morning alarm wouldn't wake him up from the dream he believed that he was having.

"You do?"

You nod as you give him a shy smile.

You laugh at the dance moves that he makes his body make. Letting your hair down, you try a shot at mustering up a goofy move to the beat. His laugh is deep from his stomach as you both have fun.

Having to meet the person who is supposed to give you a ride home, you says quick goodbye to him as you leave.

Quil was stuck. He didn't know when he would see you again. Accepting his defeat but proud of his courage, he boasts to Jacob and Embry about his experience.

He placed the money into the cash register after the person in front of him took his bags. His grandfather swept the floor of the store, keeping it crisp and clean. It seemed that's what borught the steady customers in.

Hearing the storefront bell, Quil looks up and his heart thumps one-hundred times faster. You make your way through the aisles, grabbing some microwaved popcorn and a drink.

Placing the items on the counter, you give him a smile that almost melted him on the spot.

"Hey." he speaks out softly.

"Hi..." you say, wanting him to fill in the blank.

"Quil." he answers as he keeps his hands occupied as he scans your few items.

"Hi, Quil." you say to him.

As you turned to head towards the door after telling him you don't need your receipt.

"Do you like movies?" he asked before your hand touched the door. You turn with a small smile, "Yeah, why?"

"Let's see one together." he suggests.

"Sure." you move back to the counter, pulling out your cellphone for him to dial his number. He enters it crazy fast and you make your way back home to heat up your popcorn.

"Would you sit down, you're making me dizzy." Jacob says. Quil paces back and forth in Jacob's garage, staring at his phone. The weekend was already here. Four days since he seen you at the store.

A buzz makes him stop his pacing.

"There's nothing I like at the theaters :( do you mind if we watch the movie at my place? I promise I have better selections"

His eyes grow big as he keeps rereading the digital message that you sent him.

"Yeah. I would love to!"

He types but he erases it, feeling it's too desperate of a response.

"Yeah sounds great."

His shaky hand knocked on your front door. He heard movement inside of the home. You swing the door open, revealing your comfortable lounge clothes. Moving out of the way, you allow him to step in as you close the door behind him.

You both agreed on a feel good film. Quil was frozen. You were sitting super close to him and he imagined you would be funny. Bantering back and forth, both ribs were tender from the constant laughing.

Turning the lamp on, you move to take the empty bowl of what used to be a full bowl of popcorn. You catch a glimpse of his face. A piece of popcorn is close to his mouth.

“You have something…hold on.” you tell him and brush it softly away and you get up to put the bowl in the sink.

He touched the spot that you touched. He was officially in la la land.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was getting late.” you tell him, the time seemed to move fast at that moment.

“It’s no problem. It’s summer. Are you down for another one?” he asks.

Being a night owl, you nod and sit back down. The dark ambiance made you both agree to a horror film with excited smiles on both faces.

One hand covered an eye as you leaned against Quil. You separated some of your fingers to look at the screen, but you still saw a jump scare causing you to leap a bit in your seat. Quil didn’t know how, but his arm was around you, and he relished the feeling.

“Okay. Progress.” Jacob comments when Quil bites into his sandwich after explaining his night.

“It’s about time.” Embry says and takes a swig of soda.

“I’m going to ask her out to dinner.” Quil says proudly with his arms crossed.

“A pizza parlor is not a good date spot.” Embry comes back with.

“I wasn’t going to take her there.” Quil says, but he couldn’t lie, the thought crossed his brain. Their pizza was just that good.

“It has to be something I don’t know..Classy.” Jacob says.

Quil paced his room. He was waiting for your response. He started to do unnecessary tasks around his room. Avoiding checking his phone, he kept himself busy. However, it didn’t stop him from checking the buzz of his phone.

“Yes. I could eat ;) ”

Quil’s father told him to keep it down, his whoops were loud.

“So um..What’s your favorite place to eat?” Quil asked on the line. A shaky finger answered your phone call.

“I don’t know..Let’s just go somewhere fun.” you say.

You linked your arm with Quil’s as he escorted you through the streets. Looking at the neon lights, the mouth watering smell of food made you halt him.

“We can eat here!” you say smiling. It was perfect in your eyes. Quil blew out a sigh of relief.

You placed a bright white napkin on the corner of his mouth as you chuckle, “Such a messy eater Quil.”

“Sorry. It’s so good.” Quil replies.

“We have to come back.” you say while nodding, agreeing as you take the food into your mouth.

“Come back…Together?” Quil asks in confirmation.

You playfully hit his arm while chuckling, “Of course silly. We means you and I right?”

“Right.” Quil says sheepishly. He promised to take time to thank the universe for being on his side.

Standing in front of your home, Quil holds out his arms as you step into them. Clutching him close, Quil affectionately rub your back. He secretly hoped that somehow you got stuck to him so he didn’t have to let go.

You do let go and step back and look at him. Quil looks at you. He wanted to do it before he a thought of, “I should’ve” could run through his mind.

He leans forward and plants a kiss on lips that he felt was soft. You open your eyes and smile at him before leaning up to him to plant him a kiss back on the lips.

“Will you call me?” you ask him.

He couldn’t speak. His head nodded at your question and you smile before closing the door in your home.

“I hope you didn’t slobber all over her.” Jacob says as he smashed the buttons of the controller.

“I did not. Shut up.” Quil throws back as he pressed the controller buttons harder.

Embry was out with his now girlfriend, the girl he met at the graduation party. Quil couldn’t wait to get to that point.

As soon as Quil got home, he dialed your number. Your voice was like music to his ears. It sounded amazing in person and he felt privileged to hear it through a cellular connection.

Before he knew it, you dropped a question on him.

“Can I come over this weekend? I don’t have work.” you tell him.

“Of course.” he tells you. Hanging up, he did a dance and didn’t care he looked crazy.

A knock on the door, he opened the door, seeing this beautiful person before him.

“Hey.” he greets.

You don’t say anything but give him a hug. He guides you in, “Do you want something to drink?”

You nod and accept the juice he offers. He opens the cabinets, showing off snacks. You both share a snack at the table as you both get to know each other better.

“You’re so funny.” you tell him starry eyed.

“You are too.” Quil tells you back, trying his best to keep his cool. In the inside, he was freaking out.

He leans forward and placed a kiss on the side of your mouth, you smile at this. You rub a hand over his as you gaze at him.

“What does your room look like?” you ask him. He takes your arm and guides you to his sanctuary. He was glad his parents weren’t home to embarrass him or halt his experience.

Sitting on the bed, Quil flipped through the new comic book that he purchased. The words coming out of his mouth was so adorable. He felt his heart skyrocket when you shared your knowledge of some of the characters in his book.

He sets the book down, and you grab his shoulders. He was frozen as your lips locked with him. Your tongue brushed his bottom lip and Quil opens his mouth slightly. He stops being frozen when he realizes that the person he has been dreaming of kissing was kissing him. Quil felt you take his hands and placed them on your chest. Quil’s heart skips a beat as you help move them while still deep in a kiss. He then felt you place them under the shirt, he felt your warm skin. A groan and moan escape from both lips as he lets his fingers explore the softness of your chest. Quil then felt the tightness of his pants being relieved. Stroking him gently, he had a hard time keeping his lips on yours as he made pleasant noises. He came too fast as he would like.

Quil started to feel embarrassed until he saw your smile and you told him, “There’s always next time.”

Quil didn’t tell them. He just let Jacob and Embry think that you came over and you two shared an innocent make out session. He also let them know an important fact.

“I asked her to be my girlfriend.” Quil says as he kicked a pebble that was on the sand.

Throwing the ball back to Quil, Embry says, “And what happened?”

Quil catches it and smiles, “She said we can see where it goes.”

“Don’t fuck it up Quil.” Embry says but he was happy for his friend.

“Like hell I will. My dreams are finally coming true.” Quil replies.

“Yeah. So, don’t weird her out.” Embry said and Quil throws the ball back at Embry with more force than necessary.

Later on that night, it was just Quil and you as you both walked the empty beach. The stars were bright and displayed against the dark sky. He held your hand tight as the warm wind blew in you two’s direction.

“Really?” you ask him. You couldn’t believe it.

“Yes, really.” Quil says. He just got finished explaining how he was standing in the hallway, waiting for the perfect moment to give you the heart he made you earlier that year.

“You should’ve just gave it to me.” you said while laughing. You were wondering why he was standing there that day.

“Not going to lie, I was scared.” Quil confessed. You turn and take both of his hands and give him a small but gentle peck, “You don’t have to be scared.”

Quil didn’t want anything else but this in the world. The star’s lights made you look beautiful. Quil couldn’t take his eyes away from the face that was he felt was godly. He promised to himself never make you cry or feel the terrible emotions of being mad, or hurt.

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