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erodasfishtacos · 3 years

Text

Three Minutes

Prompt: Harry slips up and it’s only right his wife serves him a little punishment.

Word Count: 3.2 k +

Warnings: Language, Sexual Content (sexting, dirty talk, public, subby!h)

AN: I’m excited to share this!! I’m pretty sure I’m going to do a part 2. Let me know if you’d like to see this! I’m dedicating this to @harrywritingsbyme because she’s an amazing writer and you need to read everything of hers! Requests open ☺️

Reblog if you can!

Harry was dreading his interview with Howard Stern. The guy was an obnoxious prick who had no filter and liked to put people on the spot - it’s what he’s doing right now.

You were off to the side, watching the interview next to Jeff. It was matter of time before Howard brought you up to pick and prod at your husband.

“So Harry, you’re married, yes?” Howard asks, typical sunglasses on and curly permed hair donned. His mouth a little to close to the microphone.

“Yeah, I am,” Harry smiles tightly, hands rubbing on this upper thighs. He spares a quick glance over to you.

“She’s here, right?” Howard looks over at you and winks, “Fucking gorgeous babe, huh?”

You roll your eyes at the interviewers remark and Harry’s isn’t pleased but nicely responds, “She’s amazing, way out of my league.”

Howard laughs, “Now I have to ask you, does she tour with you?”

Harry replies, “Yeah. For the most part, sometimes she’ll go off to visit family or friends for a bit.”

The interview smirks, “Does she get worried you’re going to fuck other people while she’s not there? I mean you have girls falling at your feet. It must be hard to avoid temptation.”

You blink owlishly, attempting to contain the offended scoff bubbling in your throat. Jeff snickers and you send him a elbow.

Your husbands face can’t hide his annoyance at the question, “Are you asking me if it’s hard not to cheat on my wife?”

“I mean you could have a line up of girls after every show willing to blow you. I couldn’t be satisfied going home to the same thing every night.”

The band is looking back and forth at each other - clearly uncomfortable. Mitch’s face completely blank - of course.

“Well, I mean - I think that kind of stuff like...people going crazy over you was exciting when I was a bit younger. But no, I mean I’m very much in love and also consider myself a monogamous person.”

“Man, I mean - some of the songs you write about her? Watermelon Sugar, that’s clearly about eating her out,” Howard laughs, the tune playing softly in the background.

Jeff nearly chokes on the water he’s drinking and you pat him hard on the back - as payback for making Harry do this interview.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had pussy so good I’d write about it,” the interview jokes crudely. The women interviewer tittering in the background at his antics.

Harry fumbles, “Uh-uhm, it’s not uh- necessarily about anything or any act like...in particular. Just about having a good time with the person you love.”

The female interviewer who stays mostly quite chirps in to break the tension, “Is it hard to be long-distance when she’s not on the road with you?”

“Not at all. Most of the time she’s with me but we’re lucky we have technology that helps us not feel so far away from each other.”

Howard smiles, “How do you not go crazy being without sex for long amounts of time?”

It’s odd how obsessed this guy is with sex. As well as painting Harry as some sex-crazed rockstar who can’t go a day without.

Harry then goes on to put his entire, big ass foot in his mouth. “Y‘know that’s uh-that’s what good about FaceTime and Snapchat.”

The interviewer grins like a predator at Harry’s admission. You’re face is bright fucking pink. You’re gonna murder him.

“Well you heard it here first, folks. The key to how Harry Styles - one of the greatest artist of his time- keeps a happy relationship with his wife while he’s on the road. Dick pics and FaceTime sex.”

Harry glances over at you, his face apologetic as he already knows he in trouble.

You’re not that embarrassed - it not like it’s a weird thing to do but you didn’t want him talking about it with a trashy talk show host.

The interview is almost over which is good because Harry’s about to lose his temper after he’s asked about his step-father’s passing and the stalker who was harassing you two.

During the interview however, you get a wonderful fucking idea as easy payback for Harry’s little slip up.

After Harry’s tossed his headset and microphone pack off with a little too much force to be unnoticeable - he’s sliding up beside you.

“Baby love,” He murmurs sheepishly into your cheek, nuzzling there for a moment, and breathing in the scent of your shampoo.

“You did good, H,” You reply softly, landing a soft kiss to his lips before pulling back to brush his hair off his forehead.

“Y’not mad?” Harry asks warily, knowing he got nervous and gave a little too much information.

“No baby, not mad at all,” Your voice steady and believable. It was true - you weren’t mad, just a little annoyed.

He seems confused. He knows you like the back of his hand and usually, you get peeved when he says something in interviews you’d rather the word not know.

Like the one time he let it slip you had an affinity for hooking up in hotel pools after dark. Prat.

Harry multiple appearances that day and it ends in a dinner at a fancy restaurant in Beverly Hills with big wigs.

You were invited but declined, despite Harry’s pouting and whines for you to go. You were the only thing that made these work obligations go faster.

However, you had other plans and a little bit of revenge to play on your unsuspecting husband.

All in good fun - of course.

Harry sits down with a group of people from his label. They’re all dressed in tight suits and rolex watches.

Harry on the other hand is in a flowy button-up only halfway done and a tight pair is skinny jeans. Jeff is dressed pretty casually too.

They were talking about tour dates and had just received their appetizers when he gets the text from you. Your name in his phone as baby love.

Harry nearly chokes on his water when he opens the message to reveal an image of you nearly naked in your shared bed. You skin tone standing out against the baby blue comforter.

You have one of his vintage tees on as well as some creme boyshort panties. The shirt is lifted though, rumpled up by your collarbones to reveal your breasts.

Harry wants to drool over the picture but doesn’t want to risk anyone else seeing his wife in any state of undress. So he quickly responds.

Baby, I’m at dinner.

You reply with another picture. A hand tucked down your underwear, cupping your heat. He can see the outline of your fingers underneath the thin fabric.

Already have something you could eat.

Harry can already feel himself twitch in his jeans. Cut it the fuck out now

Another. Fucking. Picture. Comes through.

This time you’re completely stripped, tits visible with soft pink peaks, and a hand strategically covering your cunt.

Make me, H.

It clicks what game you’re playing. You rarely sent anything risqué when you where together because you had each other physically.

Harry curses under his breathe, locking his phone and pushing back his chair a little too fast - excusing himself to the loo.

As soon as he clicks the lock on the single-person restroom, he’s pressing on your contact information and you pick up on the very first ring.

“You bloody brat, I’m out at dinner,” Harry hisses at you, giving himself a rough squeeze through his tighten trousers.

All he hears back is a breathy moan. He’d know that sound anywhere - you’re touching yourself.

“What the fuck are you playin’ at?” Your husband demands, but the clipped edge in his tone tells you how much it’s affecting him.

“Just a little payback, babe...for spilling our dirty secrets,” you hum innocently, deciding to send him another picture.

It’s a simple photo without context some might not even understand. It’s just your hand but your fingers glistening with your arousal.

Harry’s hand is about to crush is phone into bits as his eyes roam the picture. He was nearly panting, already able to imagine the taste and smell.

He takes a deep breath before he threatens you, “if you don’t pull your desperate little self together right now- I’m not going anywhere near that needy cunt and I’ll make you spend all night choking on me.”

Instead of the typical, sad whimpers he expects to hear - he receives a patronizing, high-pitched giggle.

“That’s not how it’s going to work tonight, H,” you inform him in a matter-of-fact manner before continuing, “we’re playing by my rules.”

Your husband laughs in disbelief, echoing against the bleak bathroom walls, “and what those rules, sweetheart?”

“You’re going to go sit through your nice little dinner, rockstar. And I’m going to send you pictures, maybe some videos to watch to keep you entertained. If you don’t open them within three minutes each time and reply - you’re not coming tonight. The couch will have a blanket and pillow ready for you.”

If he was in charge, he’d laugh and remind you that you two have three lovely guest rooms he could choose from. But he doesn’t want to push it.

“Fuck,” Harry spits, having to cram his hand into his jeans to adjust himself so he doesn’t look like a pervert when he goes back out.

But he was so fucking game.

He’d do anything you wanted from him - no matter if he could embarrass himself in front of business partners or fans. He was besotted, whipped, whatever you wanted to call him.

“Are you going to be good for me, baby?” You coo tauntingly, from the other end of the line. Basking in his little huffs of air and the agitated lift in his voice.

“Yeah, m’gonna be good,” he murmurs gruffly, his demeanor had changed now that he wasn’t in charge any longer - always willing to let you be dominant when you wanted to be.

It wasn’t often - but when you did, Harry would fall into a nice, fuzzy headspace of compliance and submission. He always wanted to please and this amplified all of his desires.

“Best husband I could ask for, you know?” You reward, knowing that the games are just getting started and you wanted to make this last.

“I love you s’much,” Harry automatically returns, with deep devotion and honesty. His voice as sweet as maple syrup.

“Are you hard, H?”

He grips himself, like he’d just remember, “m’really fucking hard for you.”

“Snap an picture for me, pull yourself together, and then go back to your table - don’t forget the rules.”

“Yes ba-“

Then you end the call while he’s talking.

Harry’s a little shaky as he swipes onto his camera. He grips the thick outline of his cock, rings glinting in the dull lights, and takes a picture.

He hopes it’s good enough and quickly sends it before splashes some cold water on his face and thinking of anything but his naked wife laying at home in their bed - wet and horny.

Jeff gives him a side-eye when he sits back down, casually throwing a napkin over his lap because he can’t help the semi that refuses to go down all together.

“You alright?” His manager asks him, the others still in the throws of tour venues and vendors discussions.

Harry nods, lying easily “the missus couldn’t find her phone charger - thought I nipped it.”

“You do love to steal those,” his friends agrees before cutting off one of them men to suggest three days at Madison Square Garden instead of two.

Harry’s clutching his phone like a lifeline, anticipating the indicative text vibrations that let him know you’ve sent something.

However, despite how many times he checks, fifteen minutes pass and still nothing has sent from you. He almost starts to worry if you’re okay.

But just like the sneaky little thing you are, you wanted to give him enough time to calm down and relax before rilining him up again.

When it finally alerts him, he’s unlocking his phone and opening the message thread as fast as possible.

The picture makes his jaw almost drop on the fucking carpeted floor. You’re in one the large closets in your home- the one that holds all of his Gucci suits in particular.

There is a massive floor to ceiling mirror in this room that you’re standing in front of. You’ve slid on one of his custom silk Gucci button-ups that has styles embroidered on the breast pocket without doing doing up any of the buttons.

He’s an absolutely goner for you in anything that makes you look like his property - the large engagement ring and wedding band on your left ring-finger satiates that feeling quite well.

It takes he a moment before he realizes what else you’re wearing. Your fucking collar. It sat tight around your neck, the expensive leather biting into your skin.

Your one hand was holding the phone and the other had a hand teasing at one of your hardened nipples through the silk fabric of the shirt.

He keeps his phone in his lap with a dim light setting so nobody can risk a chance at seeing such explicits pictures of what’s his.

You look so good with my name on you, baby. Please, want to see you in just the collar, take off the shirt.

Harry fumbles along with the conversation, that’s revolving all around him, “Yeah, I loved Argentina. Definitely want to got there again.”

Buzz.

How’d you already forget I’m in charge? Maybe I’ll just go to bed if you’re not going to follow instructions.

As punishment - if you can really call it that - in the next image you don’t have the collar on any longer and you’ve done up a few buttons on the silk shirt.

Harry feels panicked at the thought of you stopping. He was in a nice, soft headspace clinging onto anything you were willing to give him - desperate to make you happy.

I’m sorry, baby. I’ll be good for you. You’re so fucking sexy. I can basically taste you on my tongue.

“Harry?” Jeff draws him out of his haze. He’s looking at him expectantly, eyebrow quirked, and a martini in his hand.

“What did you say?” Harry asks, eyes itching to dart back down to the screen of his mobile.

“Would you want Kacey to open for you again in North America?” Jeff repeats with annoyance.

“Oh, uh-yeah, that’d be great,” he tells them without really think about it.

He should be paying attention to this pretty important meeting but he can’t when he gets another alert.

The video is back in the bedroom, your delicate fingers sliding down your torso with the button-up pooled around your ribs.

Your hand slowly, at a near crawl- traces down with the camera until the manicured tips of your fingers are at your mound.

Harry’s stomach is tensing in excitement as he watches your fingers dip into the part in your slick, swollen folds.

He has to bite back a groan when the video cuts off and he reads the text below the attachment.

Was this the pussy you enjoyed eating so much you won a Grammy writing about? Was Howard right in his interview?

If Harry was in charge, he would have delivered a few resounding smacks to your arse for how cocky you were being - despite it being the absolute truth.

Did he write and win a Grammy based on a song about how much he loved eating his wife out? Sure fucking did.

Baby love. Yeah, wrote it about you. Write all my songs about how much I love you and your body. Everything is yours.

Harry is so good when he’s subby - is the thing.

Harry was a sappy sod anyways, always ready to tell you how much he loved you and thousand of other sweet things. This just amplified all of his warm, fuzzy emotions.

Send me a picture of your left hand

He hesitates for a moment, still nodding along to the ebb and flow of the business talk but having no actual idea what they’re talking about.

Harry places his large, wide hand flat on the table in front of him. He knew why you wanted his left hand - you were just as possessive as him.

You want to see his long, slim fingers that feel so good inside of you. You want to see the glimmer of his wedding band as well as the tattoo of your name on the outer curve of his hand.

He doesn’t think to turn off his flash. It ends up going off in the dimly lit restaurant and blinding the table, reflecting off the silver flatware.

He looks like a complete knob - taking a picture of his hand but also something weird Harry may do anyways and upload to his Instagram.

The men blink a few times and look at him with a confused expression. Jeff jabs him roughly in the side.

“Uh, snapchat streak,” he mumbles, tucking his phone back into his lap and sending it.

You were cutting it close, babe. 2 minutes, I don’t like waiting. But fuck, who’s name is that on your hand, who’s that ring for?

You, you baby. All of its for you, promise. I belong to you, only you for the rest of my life.

The response is quick.

But...you have girls falling at your feet, lining up to blow you.

A direct quote for the interview today. Brat - she knew how he hated when people assumed or talked like he had no self control or morals.

Only want your mouth, your cunt, your tits. So bloody gone for you, baby. Please send me another video.

He really shouldn’t be egging you on.

Your being greedy but you’ve been following the rules so I’ll allow it.

The video does not disappoint. You’re hand is nestled down between your thighs, pinching at your puffy, stimulated bud. Just the amount of pain you like. It’s a short clip but it has him wriggling in his seat.

He watches it again but before he can finish it - Jeff is snatching his phone out of his shaky hands and tucking it into his own pants pocket.

The manager’s obviously sick of the lack of focus and honestly, how disrespectful Harry’s being which is something he usual never is.

“Pay attention,” he whispers with a sharp, irritated tone before clapping Harry on the back to play off the scolding to the group.

Harry feels a knot form in his stomach as his phone sits stagnant in his friends pocket. His wife sitting, impatiently waiting for his response that she’s not going to get.

He watches his vintage wristwatch as fifteen minutes pass, he hears a few buzzes from his phone that go unattended.

Harry’s not fuzzy anymore - well not in a good way. He has anxiety bubbling in his tummy and his semi had finally disappeared from nerves of disappointing you.

He decides to engage in the conversation to keep his mind off of what is waiting for him at home. He craved to look at those images and videos again. To have it in real life.

It had been three hours since he responded. The people at the table insisting on dessert and alcoholic coffees despite Harry saying he was exhausted from a long day of promo.

At the end of dinner, Harry would love to lie and say he’s recovered from his shakiness but he hadn’t.

After shaking the hands of the record label men, he walks to his car with Jeff. He gets a nice talking to before his phone is being placed back into his hand and he’s sliding into his obnoxious vintage Ferrari.

He takes a deep breathe before he unlocks his phone. The buzzes he heard where not all from you. A few from Twitter, his mum, Niall. There was only one from you.

Game Over. You lose.

—

Thank you for reading💕🥺

#harry styles #harry styles fic rec #harry styles masterlist #harry styles writing #harrystylesfanfic #fanpic harry #fic rec #husband harry styles #Harry styles shut #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles prompt

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jayvoir · 3 years

Text

tease — bang chan

word count: 2k words

warnings: smut, dom!chan, sub!reader, reader has an arm kink, reader is bratty as hell, lots of teasing, daddy kink, thigh riding, degradation, praising, orgasm denial, exhibitionism, car sex, filthy sex, choking

summary: teasing chan in public was one of your favorite things to do. especially when friends are present.

authors note: i’ve discovered that i thoroughly enjoy writing smut.

tagging: @jaykehoon @gukshome @lqsience

“y/n, baby are you ready,” you heard chan call out. you two were getting ready to go out to eat with a few of his band mates, jisung, changbin and hyunjin. you were super excited since you hadn’t seen them in a while, so you made sure to dress your best. you also knew chan would appreciate the outfit. he loved crop tops on you. you were wearing black ripped jeans, paired with a solid white crop top. you decided to go with a simple pair of white adidas, your hair down.

“yeah, i’m ready,” you called out in response. you hurried out of the bathroom, and went to find chan. he was waiting by the front door and you stopped in your tracks when you saw him. he was dressed in gray sweatpants and a black sleeveless muscle tank. his arms were exposed, his veins prominent. you couldn’t stop yourself from staring, not noticing that chan had seen.

“you okay babygirl,” he asked, a knowing smirk on his face. you immediately snapped out of it, looking up to meet his eyes. you simply nodded as he took your hand and led you out to the car. you climbed in, getting buckled as chan did the same. he started the car, and turned his body around, keeping himself in place by putting his hand on the back of your seat, so he could see as he backed out of the driveway. you gulped, trying to get the dirty thoughts out of your head. however, him placing one hand on your thigh as he drove was not helping.

he rubbed small circles on your thigh with his thumb the whole ride. usually it would be a comforting gesture, but for some reason, it was getting you even more riled up. he didn’t take his hand off until he parked and you both got out of the car. he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into him as you walked. this was also a normal occurrence, but you were shivering from the contact. if chan noticed, he didn’t comment on it, which part of you was thankful for. the other part of you wanted him to notice and take you right then and there.

chan led you inside, where the boys had already gotten a table. you and chan took your seats, which were right next to each other. ‘dangerous,’ you thought. you all greeted each other, catching up on how things have been. the waitress had come over and taken the orders, all the boring stuff. it was when she brought the drinks over. she placed all the drinks in front of everyone, a glass of water in front of chan. maybe it was the way his arm flexed when he picked up the glass. maybe it was the way he tilted his head back to drink, his adam’s apple becoming more prominent. all you knew is that you were beyond needy, and wanted to be taken care of. and that’s when the idea popped into your head.

chan hated when you teased him. especially in front of other people. however, you were the opposite. you loved getting him all riled up in public, knowing that when you two were alone once again, you would get what you wanted. you started small, placing your palm on his thigh. he simply glanced at you, not thinking anything of the action. and then you started moving your hand up and that’s when chan knew what you were up to. he grabbed your wrist and leaned over, whispering in your ear. “you better stop while you’re ahead, baby.” his words send shivers down to your spine, butterflies erupting inside of you.

you simply nodded and put your hand in your lap, acting as if you were finished. he muttered a quiet ‘good girl,’ doing his best to be sure the boys didn’t hear. a few moments later when the waitress arrived to take food orders, you placed your hand back on his thigh as you ordered. you slowly moved it higher as the boys ordered, and once it was chan’s turn, your hand was resting on his length. you gently palmed him through his sweatpants as he spoke, smirking to yourself when chan had to cough to cover up a moan. when the waitress had left, he shot you a look and you knew you were in trouble. but honestly you didn’t care. teasing chan was your favorite.

chan turned away from you at the sound of hyunjin’s voice, asking him how the new song was coming along. chan talked with the three members for a moment before you began your teasing again. except this time, instead of moving your hand up his thigh, you went straight to palming him through his sweats. he visibly tensed up, clenching one of his hands into a fist. you slipped your hand into his sweats and began stroking him under the table. he quickly gripped your wrist, trying to get you to stop, however it was already too late. he was ridiculously hard, to the point where it was almost painful. he stood up, praying to god that no one would notice. thankfully, it seemed the boys did not. only you did, and you had to stop yourself from drooling.

“excuse me, i’m gonna go to the restroom. i’ll be right back,” he said quickly, scurrying off to the bathroom. you smirked to yourself, knowing exactly what he went in there to do. until your phone went off and you almost dropped it on the floor after reading what the message said. it was a message from chan. it was a quite simple message, but you knew the meaning behind it. “meet me in the car, now. you’re in big trouble.” you could feel a rush of arousal get sent straight to your core, making you shiver slightly. you stood up and gave the boys an apologetic smile.

“i should go check on him. i’ll be back in a sec.” the boys nodded, seeming to buy your excuse. you smiled gratefully and hurried out to the car where you saw chan in the backseat waiting for you to arrive. you took a deep breath before approaching the car, opening the door, and climbing in. chan looked at you, his eyes dark, making you feel small. you shut the door and he quickly leaned up to press the lock button on the drivers side door. before you knew it, he had lifted you up, placing you on his lap. your legs were straddled on his waist, a leg on either side of his thighs. he rested his hands on your hips, studying the look on your face. all he saw was excitement.

“now where do you think you get off teasing me like that,” he asked, his voice almost venomous. you looked around, trying to come up with an answer, earning a smack to the ass from chan when you didn’t reply. “answer me princess. unless you want your punishment to be a lot worse.”

“i-i just wanted to... i just-” he cut you off, placing a finger on your lips.

“aw, pretty baby can’t even answer. you were so confident earlier, touching me like that in the middle of the restaurant. and now you can’t even speak, how cute is that?” his words sparked something inside of you, making you whine quietly. but of course, chan had seemed to hear it.

“now you’re whining? do you want something from daddy, princess?” he had a cocky smirk on his face the whole time, one of his hands slowly making its way to your heat. you gripped onto his shirt, subconsciously beginning to rock your hips into his. he bit his lip, trying to hold in a moan as he moved you over to his thigh so you could ride it. you rocked your hips back and forth on his thigh, digging your nails into his shoulder.

“that’s my good girl,” he smirked, his hands on your hips helping to guide your movements. he flexed his thigh muscles every once in a while, only doubling the pleasure, making you let out a high pitched moan. in no time, you felt the knot in your stomach begin to form, making you grip onto chan tighter. he obviously noticed, and just as the knot was about to snap, he lifted you off of his thigh. you whimpered and whined, desperately wanting the ache between your legs to be taken care of. but chan had other plans.

“you know the drill, princess. you break a rule, you don’t get to cum.” his voice was deep, the darkness in his eyes still present. “if you want to cum so bad, do it yourself,” he smirked, motioning to the bulge in his sweatpants. your eyes brightened at the suggestion, quickly taking off your jeans and moving your panties to the side. chan tugged his sweats and boxers down, his length hitting his stomach. you kicked your lips before crawling on his lap, lining yourself up with him.

you slowly sunk down onto him, making him hiss and grab a hold of your hips. once he was bottomed out, you slowly began bouncing up and down, holding onto his shoulders for support. you bit down onto your lip, hard enough to almost draw blood. you let out a few loud moans, speeding up your actions. chan threw his head back in pure bliss, exposing his neck. you took this opportunity to lean down and pepper his neck in kisses, leaving a few hickeys while you were at it. this made chan grip onto your hips tighter, sure to leave marks.

and as you began to feel the knot form and you started to speed up more, wanting to get to your release quicker, chan reached up and wrapped a hand around your throat. the coolness of the rings, the heat from his hands, and the light squeeze to the sides was enough to have you seeing stars. “i think you’re forgetting that you’re not the one in charge here. just because you’re on top does not mean that you get to call the shots.” his voice was venemous, mean. he flipped you over, your back against the seat. he hovered over you, lining himself up, and wasted no time in pushing himself in.

he quickly found a fast pace, pinning your hands above your head. not a moment later, he threw your leg over his shoulder, him going deeper. he had you basically screaming as he rolled his hips into yours, rubbing at your clit with his free hand. you felt yourself get close in no time, digging your nails into chan’s back. you wouldn’t be surprised if you drew blood. “chan i-i’m so c-close-”

“don’t you dare cum yet,” he demanded, voice shaky, signifying his release was close as well. he thrusted into you a few more times before pulling out, pumping himself and cumming onto your stomach. he started pulling his boxers and sweats back on, pulling up your panties and jeans for you. you looked at him, a pout present on your lips, making him chuckle. “princess, don’t get pouty. you break the rules, you don’t cum, simple as that.” you kept pouting but nodded nonetheless, fixing your hair to make yourself look somewhat presentable and not so fucked out. “if you’re good while we finish eating, i’ll let you cum when we get home, okay princess?” you nodded, a small smile now tugging at your lips. chan did the same, getting himself together again, and helped you out of the car, leading you back inside, to the table with the boys.

they all took one look at the both of you and busted out laughing. no matter your efforts to look normal, they could clearly see what had happened, making you blush out of embarrassment. “damn, y’all couldn’t even last throughout lunch without fucking,” jisung said with a laugh. changbin and hyunjin laughed with him, making chan chuckle softly as well.

“she broke a rule. she had to be taught a lesson.” his words were so nonchalant, making your cheeks flare up once more. this seemed to shut the boys up, making chan smirk as he began eating, acting as if nothing happened.

“i’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.”

#stray kids #stray kids smut #hoehousenet #hard hours #bang chan smut #chan smut #fanfic #smut #kpop smut #kpop #imagines #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids reactions

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labomi · 3 years

Text

play by the rules [1]

Nanami Kento is a well-known bodyguard who always adheres to his own set of principles when completing a job. But when his next assignment is protecting you, he suddenly finds himself second-guessing his morals and questions whether or not some rules are just meant to be broken.

pairing: nanami kento x f!reader

words: 2.7k

warnings: none for this chapter, please look at the series masterlist for general content warnings

notes: i’ve been meaning to write a multichap fic for nanami for so long and i finally got around to outlining most of the story and writing the first chapter yay! i’m a little unsure if the plot will actually be good or not lol but i’m hoping it’ll turn out okay! thanks for reading!

series masterlist

There’s a distinctive knock on your door that pulls you out of your thoughts as you lay on your bed with an unopened book in your lap. You had been meaning to read the story for the past three months after seeing rave reviews about it online, but for some reason, you couldn’t quite find the energy to start reading. Every morning, you pulled the book from your shelf with the full intention of getting past the first page. But every night, it was returned to the same spot on your shelf, remaining untouched.

With a quiet sigh, you force yourself to crawl out of bed, leaving behind the comfortable warmth of your blankets. You drag your feet as you walk over to the door, dreading the imminent conversation you’re about to have.

To be honest, you’d rather he just leave you alone to wallow in self-pity in the comfort of your own room. You knew he had good intentions, but you dreaded his frequent check-ins with you. If he had no good news to deliver, you didn’t want to see him. And there had been no good news for the past three months.

You have no expectations that today will be any different.

With a hesitant hand on the doorknob, you take a deep breath and try to suppress the bitterness you feel towards the person on the other side of the door. Once prepared, you open the door with a wide grin and a bright twinkle in your eyes.

“Hi Dad!” You greet him with a high-pitched, chipper voice.

Your father looks pleased to see your lively expression. “Good morning, princess. Do you mind if I come in?”

You manage to hide your surprise. Most of his visits consist of a quick hello just to confirm you’re alive in your room, but he heads off to go back to work. If he intends to enter your room, there must be something serious he wishes to discuss. You try to ignore the small glimmer of hope that flutters in your chest.

“Of course!” You waltz over to your bed and sit down, patting the space next to you. Your father sits on the plush bed beside you, twiddling his thumbs idly in his lap.

“I’m aware these past three months have been hard on you, princess,” he begins.

You dig your nails into the palm of your hands and bite your tongue to prevent yourself from spitting out a harsh retort.

Yeah, no kidding.

“They’ve been tough for me too.” He pats your leg comfortingly, giving you a sincere, apologetic look. “I hate seeing you stuck in your room all day, but you know I only do this because I love you and because I want to keep you safe.”

Your father’s words are genuinely heartfelt. There’s no doubt he cares for your well-being and bemoans the unfortunate situation, but you’re not in the mood to be swayed by his guilt.

After all, it’s because of him that you’ve been trapped inside for three long months.

“It’s okay, Dad. I don’t blame you.” You try your best to act like a caring daughter who wants to console her father and assuage his fears that you despise him for his actions. “I know it’s for my own good.”

Three months ago, your father fired your personal bodyguard.

This also meant that three months ago, your father shredded your only ticket to the outside world.

You can only venture outside the family’s property lines if a trained professional, tasked with keeping you safe from potential harm, accompanies you to pre-approved destinations.

Your father worries about your safety in public, because he often does business with local mafia groups in the area. He is not an influential or well-known member of the underground economy, but in this line of work, it isn’t unusual to piss off the wrong person in a deal gone bad. Family members are the most common targets, so you are a natural choice for disgruntled clients to take their frustrations out on.

On one hand, you believe it is unfair that you are forced to live a restricted life under the constant protection of a bodyguard because of your father. You have nothing to do with his business, yet you must suffer from the consequences of it.

On the other hand, there is no doubt that you reap the benefits from the success of your father’s career. You had never worked a day in your life and always received any material goods you asked for, so perhaps you do deserve to face at least a share of the consequences.

Your father is insistent that you must have your own personal bodyguard after an incident involving your mother that occurred when you were just a baby. There was an altercation when she had encountered one of your father’s enemies while doing some errands alone in the city.

It hadn’t ended well, to say the least.

So for three long months, you were stuck inside. To his credit, your father had immediately begun the search for a new bodyguard, but his vetting process was so rigorous that it was not a timely process. There had been some mishaps in the past with previous guardians, and your father had vowed to never let those mistakes happen again.

You know you should be grateful that your father cared about your safety enough to have a dedicated group of his team spend endless hours thoroughly investigating each and every potential candidate. You also know you shouldn’t complain about being trapped in a luxurious mansion, but you hate being at home.

You hate seeing your father’s workers around the premises.

You hate thinking about what sort of shady business deals are happening just a floor below you.

You want nothing to do with it. You don’t even want to think about it, which is why you prefer to spend as much time as possible away from home.

“I’m so glad you understand,” your father says with a relieved sigh. “But I have some good news this time.”

Your breath hitches in the back of your throat. The moment feels almost surreal. You had been waiting to hear those words for so long, you almost thought it would never happen.

“I approved your new bodyguard.”

This time, you didn’t have to fake your excitement.

“Really?” you gasp, looking at your father with wide eyes.

He nods at you.

Unable to contain your burst of elation, you throw your arms around your father with a squeal, giving him a fierce hug. “Thank you! Thank you!”

Your father lets out a hearty laugh, patting your back as he revels in seeing your utter joy. “He starts tomorrow, so you may leave the property again in the morning.”

In less than 24 hours, you are free to once again explore the city, visit popular shops, and stop by your favorite restaurants. You can barely contain your enthusiasm as your heartbeat drums in your chest from the rush of adrenaline after hearing such wonderful news. Pulling away from your father, you continue to beam at him, feeling an unusual wave of gratitude towards the man.

A loud beep disrupts the heartfelt moment.

Your father looks at his smartwatch with a tight frown. “I’m so sorry, princess, but I have to go to a meeting now.” He gets off the bed and gives you a small smile. “I’m glad I could finally give you some good news. I’ll hopefully see you for dinner tonight.”

Before your father can leave, you reel in your scattered thoughts after being almost too excited to think straight. “Dad, before you go, can I at least ask for this name?”

You cannot believe you almost forgot to ask such a crucial question.

“Nanami. Nanami Kento.”

You nod at him. “Thank you! Good luck at your meeting!”

Alone once again, you throw yourself a little celebration which consists of childishly dancing around the room blasting your favorite “good vibes” playlist. Afterward, you grab your laptop and plop onto your bed with a satisfied grin. You crack your knuckles.

It’s time to get to work.

In order to maximize your free time tomorrow, you need to have a rough idea about what you want to do and where you want to go. But before you start the task, you need to make one important phone call.

“Hey, Itadori.”

Itadori Yuuji is one of your father’s henchmen, but he’s a sweet boy who had nowhere else to go when his grandfather died. Luckily, he isn’t directly involved in the main operations of your father’s business. Known for his fast feet and powerful arms, he is mostly used as a source of manual labor to move heavy boxes that are brought in or shipped out of the various underground warehouses scattered throughout the property.

The two of you had become friends when you saw him trying to sneak food out of the main kitchen during the late hours of the night. Only your family and your father’s trusted confidants had permission to be in this part of the mansion.

Itadori immediately got on his knees and begged you not to tell anyone that he was stealing food, but you just laughed and showed him where the good snacks were located. Together, the two of you had a mini feast using the leftovers from the culinary staff. It was the first of many secret dinners to be held.

“Hey. What’s up?” he answers.

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Can you sneak into my father’s office and copy a file for me? It’s someone named Nanami Kento.”

There’s a groan. “Seriously? But you know how hard it is to sneak into his office,” he whines over the phone.

“I’m sorry, Itadori,” you apologize. You know you aren’t making his life any easier, but you need him to do this for you. “But I know you can do it. You’ve done it plenty of times before without a problem.”

Itadori sighs. He knows he can’t refuse you, not because he’s afraid that you’ll turn him in for punishment (or worse). No, Itadori genuinely likes you, and he’s grateful for your presence in his life for many reasons. Therefore, he does whatever he can to help you out whenever you ask.

“Alright. You got it.”

“Thanks, Itadori.”

Several hours later, a manila folder is slipped underneath your door. With a victorious grin, you grab the folder and set it on your desk. You shoot Itadori a quick text confirming that you got the delivery and thanking him once again for his help.

Quivering in anticipation, you open the folder and see a grainy, black and white copy of a man’s photo on top of the stack of papers. Even with the image’s poor quality, you can see the man’s sharp cheekbones and styled, light-colored hair. You think he looks rather handsome, but you’re not quite sure with the fuzziness of the copy.

Setting the photo aside, you read his file with an interested hum. Because of your father’s rigorous vetting process, the folder is stuffed full of numerous background reports. You vaguely wonder how Itadori slid such a large stack of papers under your door.

Nanami Kento, huh.

You flip over a page and continue reading.

What an interesting man.

“Did you finally accept a new job?” Gojo asks curiously, craning his neck to get a better look at the papers spread about on Nanami’s desk. He spots a photo of a woman among the various files that catches his attention. “Who’s that?”

Nanami rubs his face with an exasperated groan, wishing his coworker would mind his own business for once. He tries to hide the photo under other papers, but Gojo is too quick. The white-haired man easily snatches the photo off the desk before Nanami can touch it and waves it in front of him in a teasing manner.

“Nice try,” he grins, pulling back to observe the photo up close. “Oh, she’s pretty cute. I’m guessing she’s your new client?”

“No,” Nanami answers begrudgingly. He knows Gojo won’t return the photo or leave him alone unless he partakes in the conversation. “Technically her father is, but she’ll be the one under my protection.”

“Oh, so you did accept a new job then.” Gojo returns the photo with a satisfied grin now that his original question had been answered. “Surprised it took you this long to choose one. How long has it been since you finished your last assignment?”

“About three months. I wasn’t in a rush to start a new job.”

Nanami can afford to be picky about his assignments now. Over the years, he has built a strong reputation as a proficient bodyguard who always follows orders and always gets the job done. Now that he is well-known in the industry with a long list of satisfied clients, Nanami no longer has to scramble to accept any odd job. Plus, as part of Gojo’s renowned bodyguard service agency, he can rely on the secretaries to filter out any scams or seemingly impossible requests before they reach his desk.

Nanami is now constantly flooded with inquiries from influential celebrities, notorious mafia members, and other wealthy figures. These people are always willing to pay big bucks for an extra sense of security as they go about their lives, but Nanami is no longer interested in solely the money now that his multiple bank accounts are flush with cash. Instead, he wants to take it easy with a simple, straightforward assignment that won’t involve a lot of gunfire, blood, or death.

Being a bodyguard is a lucrative career, but it is also both physically and mentally taxing.

Simply put, Nanami is tired.

This is why he waited three long months to find his next job. With each additional request, he ignored how many zeros were listed as compensation and instead took his time to scrutinize the client, their family, and their motivations in seeking a bodyguard. He had a mental image of what he was looking for in his “perfect” job and much to his surprise, he stumbled upon a request that checked almost every box.

While Nanami was lost in his thoughts, Gojo had secretly snatched your file from the desk and had been skimming through it. He couldn’t resist learning more about this new client.

When Nanami returbs to his senses, he sees the missing file on his desk and glares at his white-haired coworker. Gojo just laughs in response.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just curious to see what kind of person would pique your interest after all this time, Mr. Picky.” He purses his lips. “Hmm, she’s not much younger than us. Surprised she’s still single too. Aren’t most women in these sorts of families forced to marry early to strengthen business ties? Oh, maybe her personality is so bad her father can’t marry her off to anyone!”

Nanami rips the file out of Gojo’s hands with a scowl. “None of that concerns me.”

“Aww, come on, Nanami,” the white-haired man pouts. “You’re going to be spending a lot of time with her. What is she’s a demon in disguise? Women are pretty scary, you know.”

Nanami figures Gojo skipped the part in the file where your father had described you as a “bright, bubbly young woman who loves to shop and eat”.

“I think I can handle it,” Nanami responds flatly. “After all, I can reasonably get along with everyone except you.”

Gojo clutches his chest dramatically, acting like he had just been shot. “Nanami, you’re so cruel to me!” He then drops his hands and places them on his hips with a devious grin. “Alright, I’ll leave you alone now. Good luck! And don’t fall in love!” He lowers his sunglasses and winks. Gojo can’t help but get in one last jab to irk his coworker.

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

Nanami is a serious professional, one who always plays by the rules. He adheres to a certain set of principles in order to remain successful in this line of work. Without them, situations can get messy, and he has all too often witnessed other bodyguards make the mistake of deviating from protocol and facing the consequences.

There are three fundamental rules that Nanami always follows without fail:

Never go above and beyond what a job asks you to do.

Once a job is finished, leave immediately.

Never get personally involved with a client.

And under no circumstances would he ever disregard any of these rules.

#nanami x reader #kento nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #mine #play by the rules

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brideylee · 4 years

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Chateau Quarantine

Sophia Coppola smokes a cigarette while she waits for an omelette she has no intention of eating. It’s a gloomy marine layered morning, you can barely see across Sunset. She’s been in lock down for three weeks and while she normally loves the moody, brooding decadence of the Chateau Marmont, its elite solitude is giving her a bit too much time to reflect. She thinks about the concept of crying as she watches a long torso-ed model skinny dip in the pool from the penthouse. There are no rules anymore, not that there were many in the first place. The hotel was shuttered to the public as of three weeks ago, and those who were already there could stay indefinitely. Sophia lives alone in the tower suite with the three bedrooms and the wrap around porch, known by some as “the Deniro”, but Robert himself couldn’t tell you why. Any legends or gossip about the Chateau were just bread crumbs to keep the public hungry and mystified. The real Chateau for the privileged few who used it, was an unceremonious respite for excessive loneliness, addiction, and often not great sex. The Chateau had a reputation: look but don’t fuck. Everyone’s genitals were rendered useless from anti-depressants.

She thought she would be filming by now. Her cast is stranded too, with little guidance other than “we’ll wait it out.” The film she wanted to make stars Hugh Grant and Ewan McGregor as two estranged brothers coming together for their father’s funeral. Iman was set to the play the mysterious woman who shows up at the funeral who they then realize was their father’s mistress. It was going to be a slow movie about the brothers coming to terms with their father’s death and equally so falling in love with the woman he hid from them. All this would be suggested through intimate long takes, and funny, stylish, improvised montages. Always subtle and romantic without the sap, this was the tight rope Sophia liked to balance on. At the end of the movie, both brothers are mildly changed, but not entirely. She has a sweet spot for the immovability of people’s psyches, particularly men.

Sophia watches impartially, as the naked model floats on her back in the calm pool. It is so cold and early to swim, is she on drugs or is everyone at this place even more numb than they think? She wondered if her film was too male, too disembodied from her personally to mean anything. Tapping into the male gaze, was an ability she was born with. Her father’s point of view was all she interacted with as a kid, and the underside of his specialties became her focus: the lost parts of men when they are too weak to hold up the heavy crown of their egos, who they were when they could let themselves feel outside of their work. But given the state of the world, and the molasses nature of time during lock down, Sophia started to question if what she always found to be her strength was just simply trauma. Was her whole profession a way to resolve some genetic creative stifling that took place in the shadow of her dad? Surely her body of work contains more than that. It’s not all a selfish attempt at repair. Is any art not selfish? "Maybe I should make a different movie, something that everyones gonna like for once.” She thinks to herself. Thank God, her goat cheese omelette has arrived.

Later on, the gothic lobby is empty besides the cast of her film and the elegant model behind the reception desk standing like a hollow sculpture, frightened by the chaos that lurks outside. Ewan McGregor, drunk off of five Marmont Mules, is showing Hugh Grant an app that maps the stars and constellations. Ewan has gone on and on about a camping trip he took around Scotland and how amazing the stars were, but when pressed for details about where exactly he was or what he saw or what year he did this, he can’t seem to remember anything at all.But that doesn’t dampen his excitement about the app. “See, that, there is Orion’s belt!” Ewan enthusiastically points out, his cute smirk displaying his bottom row of sweet corn kernel teeth. Ewan just recently learned about the stars. Until the age of 47, Ewan had been referring to them as “night freckles.” Many think this is why he didn’t have a fun time acting in Star Wars, space simply befuddled him. Hugh and Ewan are dressed exactly the same: navy blue beanie, black jeans, a tight blue thermal, and desert boots- the actor man uniform they give you after you play opposite Nicole Kidman or Renee Zellweger.

“That’s brilliant,” says Hugh Grant completely perplexed by the app and confused at Ewan’s rambling. Hugh sticks a handkerchief up his nostril with his pointer finger and wiggles it around somewhat violently. Iman clocks this with a blink of disgust, her silk, gold blouse glistens with god-like royalty in the amber glow. “Can you turn your face away? That’s how the virus is spreading.” Her voice is deep and she rarely uses it because it changes the direction of the wind and messes with the tides. “Aw, fuck me. That’s right, isn’t it?” Hugh Grant turns away and starting blowing his nose and coughing obnoxiously. Hugh is acting like a resentful brat because he knows he wont be able to have Iman. He decides he’s gonna pick a fight with Sandra Bullock via face time later to blow off steam. Iman is thinking she was right all along, she should never have agreed to this. She was already sick of the “beanie twins”.

Hugh had been rattling on about how the movie needed a sex scene or at least a sexy scene and went on to say that Sophia had some sort of block. Iman felt that both Ewan and Hugh, however innocently, were exploiting their acting roles to gain real life experience, and there was no way in hell, she was going to kiss either of them. Her kiss would make them immortal and Iman knew their souls needed more lifetimes to grow. Plus, she liked the script the way it was- underwritten and open for interpretation. Her character is symbolic of the side of their dad they didn’t get to meet- spiritual, graceful, embodied. It was a soulful choice not to show any nudity or sex, one that could lead Americans to try to use whats left of their iPhone stolen imaginations.

Meanwhile Michael Cain, who was supposed to play the dead father, is staring at the beautiful Victorian tapestry hanging behind her. “It’s like it’s right out of the Cloister’s.” Michael says under his breath. Michael is sweet, Iman thinks as she watches him stare at the tapestry with wonder, his mouth agape, and a lil warm milk spilling out of his left eye. Iman and him have known each other for years and he always reminded her of her husband: his fierce devotion to his craft, his rigorous intellectuality that does a bad job hiding an animalistic sexuality. Both men contained so much and no one can handle a man like that besides a mystical siren like Iman.

Hugh and Ewan’s chatter dies as their drinks empty. “If I were to be honest with myself…” Hugh begins. “Better later than never…” Michael Cain interrupts without cracking a smile, a dryness a la Maggie Smith. In fact, fuck, this was Maggie Smith. No one had realized. Hugh winks at Michael/ Maggie and continues. “ I don’t think were going to be filming any time soon, folks. I think we are being held hostage a bit by Miss Coppola.” Ewan stares off with a thinking face like no one has ever had a deeper thought before. “That is interesting to think about. There is some kind of bratty assumption that all this will fade away soon enough. And we’ll be back on set. But what if it’s not for another year or so?” Ewan is really getting worked up “What if we live here for the rest of our lives!!” His eyes are big and dazzling, it’s like he’s thinking of the most ideal outcome for the rest of his life.

Suddenly, Sophia joins them at the table. “There they are, my little hunchbacks!” This is what Sophia affectionately calls her actors, the origin is unknown. Sophia has a strange new confidence around her. Usually, when she walked into places, she would feel like a Nat Sherman cigarette, like only some select tall New Yorkers in the back would still appreciate her. “Hello, love! Someone slept well.” Maggie Smith as Michael Caine chirped. Even when Maggie-Michael said something sweet, it still felt like someone was aggressively tickling your ribcage.

“I have news.” Sophia sits down, and smiled large and toothy, a stark contrast to her usual chic, despondent stare, a look only afforded to artists born with trust funds. “We’re not making the movie.” Hugh taps the table. “Well, I believe I won that bet.” Ewan’s jaw drops, destroyed. “You mean we cant live here together forever?” He runs his hands through his hair, petrified. Iman is quiet, which can mean many different things and all things at once, she is eternally the glory of God, a forgotten pyramid at the bottom of the ocean that if unearthed would explode us into 5D ascension.

“We are making a better movie! A super hero movie!!” Sophia exclaims. Sophia gets up close in the faces of her cast, pitching them on her new idea. “It’ll be a real heroes journey- good guys versus evil! Fun CGI! Sexy starlets and fun on trend jokes!” She turns to Michael Maggie, her mouth inches away from their milky eye, and says- “And much much more!” Sophia climbs up on the table now. “The adults will love it, as well as the little ones!” She does an Irish jig and starts spinning around and then poses with her arms up as though at the end of a musical. It was not fun to watch. Iman cuts her off-“I don’t trust what is happening.This is not reality. This is delusion. A karmic spell.” The power of Iman’s words blows the power out of the Chateau, pipes burst, the fire alarm goes off, and Joel Madden of Good Charlotte in room 304 stops jerking off for a second. Sophia is still catching her breath from her presentation, her sweating, arms stretched to the ceiling. She gulps as her eyes meet Iman’s. “Why don’t you just write from my character’s point of view?” Iman says as softly as she can without causing chaos. Sophia freezes. Her whole body calcifies and turns to ice, then crumbles onto the table. Ewan and Hugh watch in absolute horror as Iman drops some of the ice into her water. She knows she shouldn’t have said yes to this project and looks on lovingly at Michael/ Maggie who has dozed off.

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quakerjoe · 4 years

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In the end, not even the Progressive Bernie Base showing up for Hillary in larger numbers than her own supporters did for Obama in 2008, could prevent the inevitable. A massively flawed candidate who failed to electrify the Democratic base and make the case to Rust Belt voters- why she is the better option than the Populist candidate spraying out anti-trade rhetoric.

Blame whatever you want. The blame rests squarely on all of us. But there is so many lessons to learn from the 2016 Primary and General Election. Populism and Progressive policy became the central topic. Healthcare is a right. The ultra-rich are KING in America, and they must be reigned in. Primary process should be more fair. Flowery platitudes aren’t enough to generate excitement for the poor to turn out, etc.

Literally ZERO of these lessons were learned. Even in the face of an ACTUAL Corona-virus pandemic, with over 30 million unemployed, more and more uninsured at the time of writing this- the Democratic party has done nearly nothing to fix the problems from 2016. Actually, in all my shock- they’ve made them worse. The Democratic party pulled every string it could. Bent over backwards to not only stop Bernie Sanders, but stifle Progressives and our policy agenda. All in an orchestration to crown their nominee just years after a 2016 lawsuit said the DNC can meddle how ever they like in their own “Democratic process”. All to push a man who did next to no campaigning in any states past South Carolina. A man who didn’t actually work for your vote, but instead- coasted on “Hope and Change” establishment nostalgia, for when times weren’t so chaotic.

So for pragmatism sake, let’s push all that aside for just one moment. We can debate all day about how “fair” Joe Biden’s path to the Democratic Nomination has been. But let’s view Biden on his own merits for his candidacy’s sake. What’s the incentive for Progressives to vote for Joe? Well- unless you’re sticking to the concept of the very first paragraph of this article, the answer is: There isn’t one.

If Hillary Clinton were a flawed candidate, Biden may just be the worst nominee in history. A long history of terrible behavior including coddling racists, racist behavior, repeated threats at slashing the safety net, warmongering for a devastating Iraq war that’s helped kill endless innocent civilians all based on a lie, the nomination of Justice Thomas and controversial treatment of Anita hill, the Obama administration’s failure to even pass a Public Option with a Super Majority government, while pushing a healthcare plan that was little more than barely a small step in the right direction.

Now- Biden stands as the presumptive Democratic Nominee, and with a sizable Progressive Bernie Base up for grabs, what has Joe Biden done to earn our vote?

Answer: Nothing. Well, at least nothing significant.

Three items come immediately to mind on what Joe Biden is doing to “reach left”.

1: Joe wants to lower the Medicare age to 60. By comparison, Hillary Clinton wanted to lower it to as low as 50.

2: Joe Biden wants to eliminate student debt for those making under $125K. By comparison, Bernie Sanders wanted to eliminate it universally.

3: Nebulously- Joe Biden and Bernie Sanders have created “working groups” on various policy issues focusing on education, criminal justice, climate change, immigration, the economy, and health care policy. As of yet, nothing has come of these “groups” on policy.

As the Primary was coming to a close, I as a Progressive- was completely open to Joe moving (not reaching) left on policy positions.

Overwhelmingly, if you ask Sanders supporters what they care about most, it’s Policy.

What will you do for the underprivileged working class people of America?

What will you do for my children and grand children facing a Climate Change future?

What will you do for your Mass Incarceration mess, ending the drug war, legalizing Marijuana, and freeing non-violent drug offenders?

What will you do for the upwards of 45K people who die each year because health care is not affordable?

The 67% of American bankruptcies being due to health care costs?

BUT. Sanders supporters also believe in principle. Consistency. History. Fighting for change. Decency. Human rights. We’re also majority young people (a group Joe Biden did not do well with). Perhaps these things could be talked out. But now there’s a bigger elephant in the room. One that establishment Democrats and Joe’s supporters are ignoring.

Joe Biden was credibly accused of rape.

Democrats spent months yelling about “Believing Women” during the Kavanaugh Confirmation hearings. Rightfully fighting for Christine Blasey Ford’s story to be heard- knowing it would be a fruitless task at the hands of a twisted Senate Republican majority. Now, establishment Democrats are making the media rounds with Biden campaign talking points with denials and every attempt to downplay Tara Reade as not a credible accuser, even as several corroborations of her story have surfaced, 1 of which was an archive video of who Tara Reade alleges is her mother discussing the issue with Larry King on CNN in 1993. Meanwhile, Joe Biden’s campaign has it’s surrogates and supporters on news networks shielding Biden. Nancy Pelosi downplays the accusations, Kirsten Gillibrand (who helped cancel Al Franken) is downplaying the accusations. Alyssa Milano, prominent #MeToo voice, who made a performative appearance at the Brett Kavanagh hearings, now wants to “change the rules” on the movement in favor of a sort of ‘Due Process’- a process that many perpetrators cancelled by #MeToo never got, in favor of protecting Joe Biden.

What this means to me is that Democrats think it’s perfectly fine to be selective on who and who doesn’t deserve to be heard and taken seriously, based on who’s on your team. As if it should be that easy to just shed your principles like Snake skin, hypocritically protecting one predator, while gunning for another that doesn’t fit with you politically.

In 2016, I was perfectly fine voting for the “lesser evil”. Now that the party has loudly stated that not only does my values, principles, and policy demands for the poor and sick of America, not matter- I should fall in line with a candidate that has helped endless innocent people die overseas with America’s imperial military reach, helped endless people die at home because they cant afford a doctor, said that he has “no empathy” for young people- the same young people that have to live and suffer under the conditions of Climate Change while he’s dead and gone, sexually assaulted and violated multiple women, said that nothing will fundamentally change for the same rich people who are now gaining BILLIONS under pandemic conditions while their workers get sicker, if they’re even employed at all.

Moderate establishment Democrats and voters tell me that Trump is the number one threat. That we need to “vote blue no matter who”. Just how “blue” is Joe biden? Just how dissimilar is Joe Biden and his supporters from Trump and his following? For all of the cries of the “angry Bernie Bros” online, I see countless accosting and abusive discourse examples from Biden supporters calling any dissenters “Russian Bots”, or “MAGA Hats”. Being told that I’m somehow a Trump voter by default, for not immediately supporting Biden. All this when all I’ve ever seen from “the Bernie Bros” is aggressively holding smear artists to facts and truth in a thick environment of misrepresentation of Bernie Sanders and his platform.

So- Why shouldn’t Progressives vote for Joe Biden?

This Democratic party doesn’t give a damn about you. Nor does it care about Progressive policy. The party and its supporters spend all this time, smearing Sanders and his base as “Not democrats”, angry “socialists who want free stuff”, “How are you gonna PAY for it?!” etc etc, all while claiming to support SOME form of our policy, and then dropping it the second it doesn’t feel politically advantageous. This party threw everything it could into stopping YOU. With tactics like voter suppression, using a silly app suspiciously funded and supported by shady actors in Iowa, taking WEEKS to give final results, running Super PACs against Bernie and our movement, fear-mongering about Bernie when he did win states, gas lighting the public on “elect-ability”, using a literal pandemic against Bernie to guilt him into dropping out while attempting to blame him for continued spread of COVID-19, while they sent voters to the polls and we didn’t.

And after zero policy concessions, zero good will, repeated demands we fall in line after more than a year of being slammed and disrespected, showing up for Hillary Clinton and then being blamed for her loss anyway, which is inevitable again if Joe loses? Are we just going to keep allowing that? Just how long do we have to hold our noses, voting for Moderate do-nothing lite Republicans who would sooner see you die, than provide you affordable and universal healthcare, because a Billionaire would stand to lose money. Even NOW, during a Pandemic this party has done next to NOTHING to secure the livelihoods of American citizens, as more and more die, get furloughed, and cant pay their bills. All while Trump and Republicans take credit for pitching more common sense plans (even though they want to send us all back to work/school to feed the machine).

This- is the “resistance” party? THIS is the best we can do? Performative rage against a fascist clown while propping up an accused rapist warmongering corporatist with cognitive decline and previous racist tendencies? THIS is what the party keeps telling us we better support or be shamed as somehow supporting the “bad guy”?

Listen, #NotMeUs- this will never stop. This party will NEVER stop using us as a prop for our ideas and passion, then throwing us under the bus when they think they no longer need us. They cannot continue to be allowed to drag us further to the right with guilt trips and shaming. They will NEVER take you seriously unto you take serious action. We’ve been preaching about “action” this whole campaign. Why should that “action” stop in the ballot box? Have some foresight for just a moment and envision how this plays out in future elections, unless you stand up and make them WORK for your vote.

I, for one will not vote for Joe Biden. But I wont shame you for your vote, no matter who it’s for. Why? Because the party did a terrible job at earning -your- vote. I’d maybe only criticize you if you don’t show up at all. There’s so many down-ballot candidate who need support. Even if you leave the President box unchecked, at least show up for the other races.

But consider: There are other options that have been stifled for way too long. Perhaps its time we give them a shot, no? Green Party is running Howie Hawkins and a platform that is much closer to our principles that Biden would ever try for. Justin Amash just jumped into the race if you’re a little more on the Libertarian side. Jesse Ventura is also discovering running on the Green ticket as well. Just imagine Jesse ‘The Body’ Ventura on the debate stage with Donald Trump? Popcorn for DAYS.

In order for us to be taken seriously, we must prove that we’re capable of holding the party accountable. Not voting for them is the ultimate accountability, and you get to keep your principles intact.

Now- to the ultimate argument you’d inevitably get: “You would be helping Donald Trump secure 4 more years”.

My response? You don’t have to bare the blame for that. You wont be at fault for Joe Biden losing any more than those who chose not to vote at all. It’s on the party to earn these votes. That’s how elections work. If you hate the candidate and don’t feel good about them as a person, why is it your responsibility to put them in office? To me- one of the most personal things a person has, is their vote. Not their dollars, or their Tweets. It’s checking a box for the person YOU chose to represent you. If that person doesn’t believe in hardly anything you personally believe in- why is it that they deserve your vote, again? How is it that they’re are somehow entitled to that vote? They don’t, and they aren’t. I’m looking at you too, Republicans.

In closing…

Progressives, I’m sorry to break it to you but- Medicare For All is not on the ballot. Taxing the rich is not on the ballot. Ending corruption and crooked politicians is not on the ballot.

But- ending a terrible two-party system IS on the ballot. Taking your personal vote back, IS on the ballot. In my opinion- the only wasted vote, is the one you were demanded in giving up to what you don’t believe in.

-LZ

https://medium.com/@legacyzero/why-sanders-supporters-should-not-vote-for-joe-biden-a9146bee189b

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warmau · 5 years

Note

could i request a royal dowoon au ? i love your work 😔🙏🏼

prince!dowoon + his new bodyguard!you

prince!dowoon doesnt expect to be ruling a country at his age

but when life gives you a crown,,,,,,,,,,just wing it i guess????

well not really,,,he’s lucky to have a super smart - but super snappy consultant named youngk who gives him all the information he needs in terms of well politics

and wonpil helps dowoon dress “proper” because ,,,,, prince um,,,,,no sweatpants in the royal ballroom

and even chef!sungjin and stable boy!jae are there to give him all his support

but still - dowoon is a mess - he just looks good in his all white regalia and whatnot

but he doesnt know what he’s doing,,,,,,,,,he just reads off the notecards youngk writes and hopes that the manner lessons wonpil read bout in a selfhelp book at least sorta come off convincing

and when you’re sort of a fake-it-till-you-make-it kind of prince,,,,,you dont pay much attention to those around you who want to steal the thrown from you

which, in dowoon’s case, is pretty common

in the last week there’s been three kidnapping attempts, twelve threatening letters, and even someone caught trying to sneak into the palace after dark

all of which has been making everyone panic with fear - except,,,well,,,,dowoon

who sort of lacks the understanding of the situation

because his people love him, why would anyone want to take the crown from him?

youngk, deadpan: because the crown is worth like one billion dollars

but ,,, seeing as dowoon is oblivious and probably cant use a sword on his own ,,,, jae pitches the idea to youngk that maybe he needs a ,,,, bodyguard

and he knows just the person

the person - turns out - is you

you show up to the palace on account of jae’s recommendation and youngk looks you up and down before turning to dowoon and going

“what do you think? do you want to see them use a sword? shall we have them battle one of your knights?”

dowoon just shakes his head

“can you do a handstand?”

he asks and you nod, ready to bend over when youngk stops you

“sorry, the prince is just joking.”

“no im not, i wanted to see a handstand.”

you look between the two

and wonder for a moment,,,,if youngk actually might hate his job

but you get hired - mostly because dowoon likes you from first glance

you’d always been a relatively fun person to be around, you know lots of little tricks and jokes

and dowoon finds you exciting and different from the four other people who’ve ever been close to him

youngk is suspicious of your,,,,qualifications to keep dowoon safe

but that all goes away when there’s an attempt to capture the prince and you land a knock out kick in the culprits face

dragging their unconscious body and tossing it at the feet of the thrown

youngk raises a pleased eyebrow while dowoon jumps out of his seat

nearly tripping on his cape

to grab your hands in his and go, with shining stars in his eyes

“can you show me how to kick like that?!?”

sure,,,,,you think the young prince is a bit silly but that just makes you want to protect him more

plus the pay is good (just like jae promised)

the only thing is,,,,sometimes,,,,the prince is a bit,,,,,,,,,,,much

he doesnt think twice about holding your hand in public, introducing you as if you’re his spouse and not his bodyguard

he praises you endlessly and invites you to sit at his side for dinners

youngk warns you not to get too close - a partner will be chosen for the prince from a royal family

and you snap back that you arent the one being flirty, he is ,,,,, but youngk assures you he’s just being nice

you think about it, and it does make you a little sad

i thought he really was starting to like me,,,,,but i guess he’s just a benevolent person,,,,,

the job gets progressively easier as dowoon becomes better at well - being a prince

people stop thinking he’s easy to attack - because he’s getting smarter but also they’re terrified of you

so now you just sort of follow him around just in case of the rare opportunity anyone tries something funny

but dowoon, when it’s mentioned that maybe they dont need you anymore, slams a hand down on his thrown

“you can’t take my favorite person away from me!”

the statement makes your heart almost leap out of your chest, but you keep a straight face

while youngk puts a hand to his forehead and mutters that he does not like where this is headed

and he’s right about where it’s headed

because one night as you’re walking back from the stables to go and stand guard outside of the prince’s bedroom

you’re surprised by dowoon

who sneaks up behind you, grabbing you by the waist and getting himself trapped in your headlock before he can even say a word

“o-oh my highness! im sorry!”

you let go and flush when you realize what you’ve done

but dowoon just laughs

“no, no! i love your headlocks!”

you look away, avoiding his eyes which you’ve grown way too fond of

“do you need me for something? is there an emergency?”

you ask, but dowoon just shakes his head, putting his hands back out and pulling you into a surprising hug

you panic, worried youngk will see or someone else

but when you tell dowoon to respectfully let go so there wont be trouble

he mutters against your neck that there isn’t any trouble

wonpil told him that if he liked someone - he needed to seize the moment - hug them and never let them go!

you redden even more

“am- am i the person you like?”

“of course! so im never letting you go, just like wonpil said!”

you giggle into the hug, returning it but also telling the prince that at some point he’d have to let you go - for safety reasons and also because it would be impossible to live like this

he sighs, pulling back only a little

his boyish features have turned handsome with time, and his face is illuminated by the light of the slightly glow of a new moon in the sky

“wonpil also said i should,,,,,,,,i should kiss the person i like,,,,but before i did i would have to ask them if that’s ok-”

you take his face in both your hands and grin

“of course it’s ok - but lets hide behind a bush or something”

“wonpil said i should do it in front of everyone so the world knows you’re mi-”

“we can do that later, right now we should do it behind a bush so youngk doesnt have a heart attack in case he walks by”

dowoon agrees and you guys share your first kiss ducked behind a berry bush

your hands on the prince’s face

his hands on your waist

youngk, witnessing the whole thing from a window in the palace: they’re so cute,,,,,,but what am i going to tell all those princesses i called about marriage meetings,,,,

wonpil about to suggest that maybe the princesses should instead just go out and hug the person they truly love

youngk: dont

more dowoon | more day6 | buy skye a kofi

#day6 scenarios #day6 imagines #day6 au #dowoon imagines #dowoon au #dowoon scenarios #member: dowoon #sfw #prince!au #dowoon #day6

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bazzledazzled · 6 years

Note

Have you seen that fanart of beauxbatons!Lance and Durmstrang!Keith? You could write about them meeting during the Triwizard Tournament... Maybe even attending the Yule Ball?

anon u have answered my prayers all i have been reading is harry potter fanfic I AM READY AND I LOVE THIS IDEA AND I CAN’T BELIEVE I HAVENT THOUGHT OF IT YET????? Anyways here we go this is gonna be great.

Also lance with glasses fite me

also i feel like i should have a warning about this but there’s langst which means basically boggart lance is telling lance that he’s terrible and ye (like the squip!)

This turned out way longer than expected so here’s a 10k word fic!

I am going to kill this boy, Keith thought to himself as his eyes narrowed at the Beauxbatons boy. The names had just been drawn for the Triwizard Tournament, and Keith was a whirlwind of emotions.

For one, there was the fact that of all the people from Durmstrang including his adopted brother, Shiro, he was the idiot chosen to compete. He was the one chosen to be put in the spotlight when he barely even wanted to be at the stupid Tournament, even as a spectator. And now everyone was giving him attention, including a painfully cute brown haired boy with glasses and the most dazzling smile that would make anyone swoon.

Except the brown haired boy wasn’t making Keith swoon at this very moment, because the brown haired boy decided to be annoying and actually talk to Keith, even though they were competing against each other.

“So….. you nervous?” The boy asks, casually seating himself beside Keith. They were supposed to attend a meeting after the drawing to discuss rules and stuff for this years tournament. The brown haired boy named something stupid that started with an “L” was from Beauxbatons, the Hogwarts girl named something that Keith couldn’t remember who was wearing a Slytherin tie, and Keith, representing his own school, Durmstrang.

“No,” Keith says, brushing the other boy off, ending his sentence with a definitive end to tell the boy to go away. The boy did not go away.

“I’m nervous. I mean, I guess I’m not super nervous because I’ve seen this happen before and I’m pretty sure I could handle the different challenges, but it’s exciting, isn’t it?” There’s an excited smile on his face, one that could’ve been contagious if Keith wasn’t so angry at him for interrupting his brooding session.

“I guess.”

“You guess? Wow you Durmstrangs are lame, am I right Ravenclaw?” The Ravenclaw girl seems caught off-guard as she looks up, eyes wide before nodding in agreement, definitely not knowing what he just said.

“Are not!” Keith says, not sure why he’s getting defensive. He himself has said that Durmstrang is lame, but it hurt coming from someone else’s mouth. Especially from a Beauxbaton who had horrible taste.

“Mmkay,” the boy says with a sly smile. Keith wanted to punch him.

“You Beauxbatons are to pretentious,” Keith says with an eyeroll. The boy raises an eyebrow. “And the Durmstrangs aren’t?” Keith looks at him with an “are you being serious?” expression.

“What! You were all flashy and stuff when you came in.”

“And you weren’t?!” Keith says, still confused as to where the boy was going with this.

“Yeah but we did it in a cool way.”

“So did we!”

“Nuh uh!”

“Yeah huh!” The Sytherin girl bangs her book on the table, causing both of the boys shut up.

“I am trying to read,” she says, exasperated. He wrinkles his nose.

“Since when do people read?”

“Since forever??” The brown haired boy rolls his eyes.

“That’s lame.”

“Beauxbatons is lame,” the girl shoots back. The boy looks offended.

“HAH! See?”

“You two are getting taken down.” The girl just rolls her eyes, turning back to her book. Keith tries to come up with a witty reply, but not before the headmasters of the three schools come in.

“Congradulations! You three are the champions for this years Triwizard Tournament! Lance Mcclain will be competing for the Beauxbatons,” –Lance gives a charming smile– “Katie Holt will be representing Hogwarts–” “It’s Pidge,” the Slytherin girl pitches in, not looking up from her book. “And from our very own Durmstrang, Keith Kogane!” There was the sound of crickets. The headmaster of Durmstrang takes a deep breath.

“Your first trial will be held next week, which should give you plenty of time to prepare.” The headmasters go on about rules and make sure they know that the games are dangerous and that they accept the conciquences, and basically reading over the terms and conditions everyone usually skips over to get to the good stuff. The Beauxbatons boy– Lance– couldn’t seem to sit still as he went from tapping his foot, to tapping his fingers, to fidgeting with his hair. It started to irritate Keith to the point where he wasn’t paying attention, just glaring at Lance.

“Any questions?” There were none.

“Great! We’ll see you next week for the tournament.” They leave the room, leaving the three of them to assume that they were dismissed. Pidge didn’t even skip a beat, definitely seeming to get some time to herself before she was pushed into various interviews with flashing cameras and annoying fans. Keith was about to do the same, but not before Lance grabbed his elbow. Keith turned in both surprise and annoyance. Lance was lucky he had such a pretty face, or else Keith might’ve broken his nose.

“May the best man win,” he said with a smirk, holding his hand out. Keith hesitated before shaking it.

“Good luck losing.” Keith walked out of the room, the tiniest of smiles on his lips.

The first challenge was… moderate. At least for Keith.

Lance on the other hand… struggled.

The task was simple. They were to walk into the arena where a boggart was waiting for them. The boggart would morph into their greatest fear and they would yell “ridiculous!” and it would be gone.

Except it didn’t end there. Because as soon as you got rid of one boggart, two more would take it’s place. And you would keep doing that again and again, until you were surrounded by hundreds of boggarts, all portraying your biggest fear, which is something that Lance never wanted to become public.

Lance stepped into the arena, heading for the closet, his head held high. He opened the door boggart walked out of that closet, taking the form of Lance, except it was some form of a twisted Lance, with glowing yellow eyes and fangs.

It wasn’t scary or frightening in the way a spider was. It wasn’t stupid like Pidge’s where the boggart turned into one of her teachers saying she was failing every class except lunch. But Lance knew, as soon as the creature opened its mouth, the monster was supposed to represent his insecurities.

You’re a coward. You don’t even belong here. Filthy mud-blood.

Lance gulped, the spell on the tip of his tongue. It wouldn’t come out.

Your parents would disown you if they knew who you really were. All your friends are faking it. They don’t care about you. No one does. You can’t even care about yourself.

Lance squeezes his eyes shut, hearing the words echo and bounce around inside his head. They were always there, at the back of his mind whenever he talked to a friend or he didn’t tell his family that he was actually a wizard instead of just going to some fancy private school he got a scholarship for. Or when he found himself daydreaming about a black haired boy, knowing that he was out of his league and the boy was probably straight anyways.

You’re selfish. Everyone hates you. The world would be better off without you.

Lance takes a deep breath. He can feel the tears welling inside him, and he knows everyone is watching. This is supposed to be a test of strength, a chance to prove that he isn’t some shitty wizard who everyone thought cheated the system to get into the Triwizard Tournament even though he didn’t. But standing there, facing the bogart, he started to wonder if the whole thing was a mistake.

“Ridiculous!” He cries, summoning all his energy, every single pent up emotion inside him as he looked the bogart in the eyes, telling himself one thing over and over. I am enough.

There was something different about the way his wand cast the spell than when he cast it before. For a moment he thought it was because he did something wrong and the spell was backfireing as a blue light started to glow from the wand. As it got brighter, to the point where it was blinding, Lance started to worry he might blow himself and the rest of the spectators up. Some Triwizard Tournament that would be. He could already see the headlines of the boy who ruined everything.

And then.. something amazing happened. It was almost as if he cast a patronus charm, which didn’t make sense. The light danced in the air with no distinct shape. It saw the bogart, darting for it and causing it to disappear. Like before when Pidge did it, two more took its place, but before Lance could even raise his wand to get rid of them, the light darted through them, and they were gone just like the first. There were gasps from the crowd and Lance gaped in amazement as the spell took out bogarts faster than his eye could catch. It only faded when the biggest one of all appeared, towering over Lance in all its glory. Lance gulped, facing it, trying to tap into the same energy from earlier.

As the bogart took form, Lance realized instead of being a large version of himself, similar to the ones before, it was shrinking, taking the form of a large mass of people, all of which he recognized. All of them were shouting insults as they surrounded him.

His family was there, his sisters and brothers and niece and nephew. His mom and dad too, both barely looking at him, telling him he was a disgrace to his family. He turned away, only to bump into his friends, shouting insults at him. Allura told him that he was a thorn in her side for years, and how she wanted to get rid of him, but he kept coming back. Hunk told him he never did everything right and that he would never be taken seriously as long as he had Lance for a friend. Tears pooled in Lance’s eyes as he turned away from them, wrapping his arms around himself.

There were teachers there too. The told him he was failing, said that he was barely even a wizard considering how bad he was at magic. They said he was probably more of a muggle and never had a spot in Beauxbatons to begin with. Classmates taunted him, calling him crude names, chanting “mud-blood” as they grinned viciously. Lance curled in on himself, not sure what to do.

“What’s taking him so long?” Pidge says inside the tent, fiddling with some muggle device. Keith leaned against the wall, practicing spells and ignoring her.

“You’re just mad because you failed.” Pidge shoots him a glare, but Keith doesn’t give her the satisfaction of even looking at her.

“I did better than he is if he’s taking this long.” Suddenly shouts Keith assumed to be the crowd at first, grew louder and more vicious. It startled the two champions and they shared a look.

“That doesn’t sound good….” They rush out of the tent, looking around, trying to figure out what is going around.

The arena was filled with people. All of them were shouting angrily, at a specific person who Keith could only guess was Lance. The crowd was completely quiet, some of them turning away from the scene, feeling bad for the boy at the center of the chaos. The judges were talking amongst themselves, not yet sure if they should call it. Keith takes a look at Pidge and Pidge looks at him before he darts into the arena. He hears Pidge call his name, but he doesn’t listen.

Inside the arena is madness. People were yelling and screaming and throwing things. They were trying to push their way through the crowd to get to the center, all of their words negative. None of the words were directed at him, but Keith could feel his self-esteem lowering, making him feel weak inside. He couldn’t imagine what it was like for Lance. He pulls out his wand, casting spells to get people out of his way. He needs to get to the center. From there, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. He doesn’t even know what Lance is facing since he was supposed to go last.

He makes it to the center and sees Lance. The poor Beauxbatons boy is on the ground, curled up into a ball as tears stream down his face. A boiling hot anger suddenly fills Keith, one that he’s experienced many times before. He didn’t care if they all signed up for this, nobody should be put through this much emotional trauma.

“Lance!” Keith calls as people try to shove him back. Lance doesn’t move.

“LANCE!” Keith calls again. Lance grits his teeth.

“LANCE!” Keith emerges from the crowd, looking down at Lance, who looks up at him, hatred shinning through his expression.

“I just met you how can you already hate me?” Keith frowns, bending down to Lance.

“C’mon. Your trial’s over.” Lance looks up at him, his chin wobbling. Keith immediately feels a sort of protectiveness for this boy. He was battling too many monsters, many of which Keith found himself battling as well.

“Shove off, Kogane.” Keith huffs, grabbing Lance’s arm roughly and pulling him up. Lance pulls away, his shoulders hunched.

Someone jumps out at them, their expression vicious as they spit out words, calling Lance things like “mud-blood” and other even worse variations. Without thinking, Keith throws himself in front of Lance as if he could protect Lance from the person’s hurtful words.

Then something interesting happens. The crowd merges together in one large form, the image flickering and stretching. Keith furrows his brow in confusion

It starts to take form, glimmering black hair styled like Keith’s and bright, glowing yellow eyes with purple irises. The creatures fingers elongated into talons coated in blood and even around it’s mouth Keith could see traces of it. There was a wicked grin on its face and its clothes were in tatters. Keith recognized it immediately. He recalled a Defense Against the Dark Arts class from years before when they first learned about Bogarts. He was faced with this same monster, his greatest fear.

He was scared he would turn into this monster.

He grabs his wand, ignoring the fears rooted deep in his stomach as he shouted “RIDICULOUS!”

The air was still. The bogart was gone. Behind him, Keith heard Lance sniffle. Everyone was looking at him with disbelief, including the Beauxbatons boy.

“Why would he do that!?” Lance says exasperatedly as he talks to his friend, Hunk. Hunk was from Hogwarts and an old friend of Lance’s. Their families were close and Hunk was surprised learn that Lance too was a wizard. They usually didn’t talk much over the school year considering they went to different schools, but they hung out almost all the time over the summer, telling school secrets about Hogwarts and Beauxbatons that they thought the other might find funny.

Hunk shrugs, obviously tired of this conversation. This is the third time Lance has talked about it since the competition. “Why don’t you ask him.” Lance gave him a repulsed look.

“I can’t ask mullet why he saved me.”

“Awww you have nicknames for each other.”

“No we don’t! We barely even know each other.”

“Just because you don’t know him doesn’t mean you don’t like him.”

“Wh-what?” Lance says, his cheeks reddening. Hunk laughs.

“Look Keith probably saved you because he felt bad for you. I would’ve done the same.” Lance crosses his arms and sticks out his lip.

“I didn’t need saving.” Hunk sighs, knowing that Lance was probably embarrassed that he wasn’t able to handle a simple bogart.

“Did you prepare for the next task.” Lance groans.

“No.”

“Do you know what it’s going to be.”

“I don’t know! They gave us a vague clue.”

“Clues are supposed to be vague.” Lance huffs, hitting his head on the table.

“What is it? Maybe I can help.”

“They said something about looking through the history of Triwizard Tournaments.” Hunk furrowed his brow.

“Why?” Lance shrugs.

“If I had to guess, they ran out of ideas and they’re stealing one from a previous one.”

“Did they say anything else?”

“They said it would jump out from history, that there was something about the tournament that was different than the others.” A lightbulb goes off in Hunk’s head.

“We should head to the library.”

Keith just wanted to have a quiet study session for the tests he had to take, was that too much to ask? It didn’t seem like much and, for the most part, people kept to themselves in the library because that’s what people do at libraries.

Lance Mcclain seems to have not gotten the hint.

“What are you doing here Kogane?” Lance says, looking at Keith with narrowed eyes. Keith looks up at him, a bored expression on his face.

“Some of us actually go to school her,” Keith says, turning back to his textbooks. Lance huffs, siting beside Keith.

“Do you want something or are you just here to make sure I fail potions?” Lance glares at him, getting more annoyed when he sees that Keith just ignores him. Lance puts his hand over Keith’s textbook, forcing him to look into the Beauxbaton boy’s blue eyes. He’s aware of how close they are and how cute Lance is… for a Beauxbaton. Too bad Lance hates him, Keith might have even dated him.

“What do you want, Mcclain?” Lance’s jaw is set. He looks like a boy on a mission.

“Why did you help me?” Keith bites his lip, trying to actually figure out why he did it. He shrugs.

“I felt bad for you,” he says, grabbing his textbook and scooting away from Lance. Lance grabs his arm.

“I didn’t need saving,” Lance says, pratically choking on emotion. Keith puts his books down, turning back to Lance, concern in his eyes. Lance’s face flushed with embarrassment as he let go of Keith’s arm.

“I just… I’m not stupid, alright?”

“I didn’t say that you were?” Keith furrows his brow in confusion.

“The cup picked me for a reason this isn’t some mistake.” Lance clenches his fists, barely even looking at Keith.

“Are you… okay?”

“No.” Lance slumps against him, crossing his arms. It catches Keith off-guard, considering he’s not the most affectionate person, but a look into Lance’s eyes tells Keith that he needs something to ground him.

“Um….” Keith doesn’t know what he should do. In his head he’s going into a gay panic.

“I’ll show them,” Lance says determinedly to himself. Keith doesn’t even know what he’s talking about. “I’m going to place first in the next challenge. I’m going to win.”

“Hey Lance!” A voice calls. There’s a chorus of “shhh”s directed at a boy in a yellow Hufflepuff tie, he apologizes, running towards Keith and Lance. Lance jumps away from Keith, perking up slightly. Hunk takes the seat next to Lance, making Keith even more annoyed. Really he just wanted to study, not have a party with his rival and said rival’s friend.

“What’s up?” The Hufflepuff flips through a book that seems to be full of old records. Keith can’t help but be slightly interested. He leans over Lance’s shoulder. Lance turns to him, a smirk on his face.

“You trying to cheat, mullet?” Keith turns bright red. He moves away from Lance.

“I wasn’t– I was just–” Lance looks thoughtful.

“Tell you what…” Both Keith and the Hufflepuff boy raise an eyebrow.

“I’ll help you in the next challenge.” Keith’s eyebrows seem to raise even more.

“Okay?”

“I mean, it’s the least I can do after… the incident that shall not be named.”

“Okay??” Lance nods, satisfied, and turns back to Hunk.

“Go on.”

“Do you remember Harry Potter’s Triwizard Tournament?”

The weeks leading up to the second trial were… interesting to say the least. Lance was dead set on repaying Keith after the first trial, which meant that he followed him. Everywhere.

Keith wanted to complain but… he began to enjoy Lance’s company. Because they were visiting, students from Beauxbatons and Hogwarts weren’t required to go to classes like the rest of the Durmstrang students, but they were highly encouraged to go to these classes and experience new “cultures.”

Lance claimed that he didn’t have a choice, but Keith knew that he secretly loved accompanying Keith to his classes, helping him figure out potions and listening to Keith laugh as Lance messed up a charm. But Lance was determined to do his hardest in everything, as if he had to prove something. Sometimes he failed, sometimes he embarrassed himself miserably, but he still kept trying, and Keith found it almost admirable.

Despite being sort of kind of friends now, they still held onto some rivalish qualities, probably because everyone kept fitting them into those roles. They were going head to head in the Triwizard Tournament still, and Keith and Lance weren’t shy to go into a not so friendly competition during Transfiguration, much to their teacher’s annoyance.

That’s probably why the media was always buzzing about them.

There were tons of articles, some of them ridiculously sappy about how it’s beautiful to see their friendship blossom even though they’re from different schools. There were debates about Keith saving Lance, some people even saying that Keith should be disqualified. Some say Lance should be disqualified because he accepted Keith’s help. Some people, deep on the internet, suggested that Keith and Lance’s friendship is something more. Maybe it always has.

Except Keith and Lance were too busy for the internet, between planning how to get through the second challenge, brewing potions to help them breathe underwater, and Lance pretty much tutoring Keith in potions, there was no room in between classes to casually surf the internet. Maybe if they saw these speculations, it would’ve drawn them apart with repulsion, feeling uncomfortable with this development. Or maybe it would’ve made them realize what they really wanted.

“Scared mullet?” Lance says with a smirk, looking over at Keith as they stood over by the Lake, getting ready for the competition. Keith scowled.

“Stop calling me that.” Lance sticks his face in front of Keith’s, a mischivious grin on his face. The slightest blush crosses Keith’s face.

“Why?”

“Because my name is Keith,” Keith says, crossing his arms. Lance’s playful energy was contagious and that’s probably what Keith liked the most about him.

“You’re the one who chose to have bad hair!” Lance says defensively. Keith gasps, touching his hair.

“You take that back!”

“Seriously who cuts their hair like that!” Lance says. Keith pouts.

“You’re jealous.” Lance rolls his eyes.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if you just…” Lance digs through his pockets, looking for something. He frowns.

“Hold on.” He runs over to someone Keith supposes must be a friend who’s standing a few feet away in Beauxbaton robes holding a flag with Lance’s face on it.

“Yo Allura you got a hairtie?” Lance calls. The girl– Allura– furrows her brow.

“Yeah why?”

“My buddy Keith needs it,” Lance says, pointing over at Keith. Keith’s face goes red as he buries his head in his hands, wondering why he still let Lance do these things to him.

Lance runs back over, hairtie in hand.

“Turn around,” he orders. Keith huffs, doing as told, his face still red. Lance runs Keith’s hair through his hands, untangling any knots. He gathers his hair, pulling it up and tying the elastic around it. He turns Keith around, smiling and brushing his bangs out of his eyes and behind his ears. Lance smiles.

“You have eyes,” Lance says dorkily. Keith starts to snort, erupting into giggles and leaning on Lance slightly, the purest of expressions on his face. The smallest of blushes passes across Lance’s face and a thought flitters through his head.

Oh god help me.

Pidge, Keith, and Lance stood side by side, looking over the lake, their stomachs filled with anxiety. They all knew that they would have to find something at the bottom of the lake, thanks to them all being friends with Hunk, who was having a hard time choosing one person to root for, but they had no idea what they were actually looking for. The books from the library full of records had certain words blacked out, giving the competitors a vague idea of what the actual challenge would be.

Then, there was a loud whistle, and the second trial began.

Pidge shoved some sort of plant in her mouth, jumping in without hesitation. Lance chugged a bottle of a blue liquid that looked like water, sputtering at the taste before jumping in. Keith, since him and Lance worked on the potion together, not only for Keith’s potions project but also for this competition, did the same.

Being submerged in water was an… odd feeling. For a long moment, Keith floated, the potion taking a little longer to take effect, unlike Lance who was already halfway to the bottom.

Then he felt something pull at his feet. He looked down, gasping in shock, fumbling for his wand to cast a stupefy on whatever it was.

But there was nothing there. It was the potion, starting to take effect. Keith remembered what Lance told him, how it not only allowed you to breath underwater, but it made your body mass heavier, allowing you to sink all the way to the bottom of the ocean at a rather quick pace. It was a complex spell, one that Keith had struggled with greatly, but he got an A on the assignment and it didn’t seem to have any after effects.

When Keith got to the bottom, he saw what the “treasure” was. There was three people floating in the water, tied there with seaweed. Mermaids flocked around them.

The first person looked a lot like Pidge. In fact, it was eerie how close they resembled each other. Keith knew for a fact that it had to have been Pidge’s brother or something.

The second person was a girl. She had hair cut to about her shoulders and glasses that sat askew on her face. Her features vaguely resembled Lance, which obviously could only mean that it was Lance’s sister. Keith recalled Lance talking about her and the rest of his siblings.

The third was someone Keith knew. He didn’t have to guess to know that this was his treasure.

He would recognize his brother anywhere.

His feet touched the ground and he ran to Shiro, his jaw set. It was an odd, running in water. What was weirder was, even though Keith could see the fish swimming around him, it didn’t feel like he was running anywhere underwater. It almost felt like he was on dry land.

The mermaids didn’t stop him as he passed them. Lance was already there, tearing at the seaweed for his sister. He turned to Keith, flashing one of his dorky smiles. Keith rolled his eyes, smiling slightly as he used his wand to to cut the rope. He grabs Shiro, turning back to Lance. Above them they saw Pidge, looking angry at the fact that they beat her here. Lance pulled out a second potion from his pocket, this one more sludgy and red. Keith did the same. They looked at each other before, emptying the bottle.

Pidge got to the bottom, letting her brother free. That’s when the potion started to take effect as Keith and Lance started to rise back to the surface. As they rose, Keith started to notice the effects of the other potion start to wear off. He found it more difficult to breathe and he saw Lance seem to have the same problem. But it didn’t matter. He could see the sun above him, feeling the warmth. Lance was a good deal ahead of him, but he didn’t think anything of it.

Until he realized he wasn’t moving at all. Lance kept going up and up and up, but he stayed right there. He started to gasp for air, trying franticly to swim back up to the surface. But it wasn’t working. He felt himself inhale water and his eyes widened with panic. He tried to call out for Lance, but Lance didn’t seem to hear. Pidge swam by him and he felt the truth sink in on him.

He messed up the potion. He was going to die down here.

Lance felt like he was on top of the world. After the first challenge, he was sure the goblet made a mistake. The first challenge was supposed to be the easiest, and he couldn’t even face a bogart.

But this? This was almost too easy. He always loved potions so as soon as he heard about the challenge he knew exactly what potion he needed to make. He didn’t need the weeks to prepare it. He could’ve done it that day and had it done by dinner. But he knew that Keith struggled with potions and decided to take things slow, taking his time to explain to Keith why things worked a certain way and how to be careful with the measurements. Still, Keith struggled. The poor boy always looked so defeated when the potion blew up in his face, saying that Lance should stop trying to help him it wasn’t going to work.

But Lance didn’t give up. He wasn’t going to give up.

He can see the surface, he’s almost close enough to touch the surface and feel the cool air. He grins, looking down to share a smile with Keith, who was no doubt behind him.

Except Keith wasn’t behind him. Lance started to panic, looking around wildly. He saw Pidge come up behind him, her brow drawn. But Keith wasn’t there.

Lance pulled out his wand, casting the spell to momentarily stop the effects of the potion, just for a little bit. The world stilled and he looked down for the black haired boy in a red coat. Far bellow he spotted him. He thought about how much time he had before the spell wore off and he would be forced to float back to the top. He could cast the spell again and again, but he could feel it already starting to wear him down. He took a deep breath, hoping beyond hope that those stupid swim lessons would be useful. He let go of Veronica, letting her float to the top. God she would be so angry when she woke up. Lance still has forgotten to mention the whole wizard thing to her.

He started to swim towards Keith, kicking his legs as hard as he could. He swam past Pidge, who looked at him with confusion, but didn’t stop. She was here to win, Lance knew this. He was too, but he couldn’t leave Keith down there. What if something bad happened.

After what felt like hours but only was probably twenty minutes, Lance reached Keith. He was franticly kicking his legs, but Lance could tell he was losing energy. He had a death grip on his “treasure” and tears seemed to be pooling at his eyes. He was blue and looked on the verge of passing Lance cursed, pulling his wand back out and swimming up to Keith, grabbing his hands. Bubbles escaped from Keith’s mouth as he looked at him with surprise. Lance takes a deep breath, trying to stay calm even through Keith’s panic. He had to, or else something terrible might happened.

He remembered the charm, saying it in his head and pointing the wand up between them. A bubble swelled up between them, spreading wider and wider until it encompassed both of their heads, the bubble full of fresh air. Keith gasped, drinking up the air, his skin turning back to its normal color.

“You good?” Lance says, touching Keith’s shoulder. Keith gulps and nods, not able to form words. Lance smiled warmly, releasing the hold of the previous spell, causing them to rise up. Thankfully, whatever was causing Keith to stay stationary seemed to disappear as Lance’s potion took over him.

They surface both of them gasping as they swim to shore. Lance sees Pidge wrapped in a towel, standing next to her brother and shivering. He also saw Veronica, standing next to them, looking bewildered, but also relieved to see Lance.

Lance helps Keith stand. Keith seems to be a little weak from almost drowning. Behind them, the guy that Keith was saving, called out.

“Keith!” He runs up to him, hugging him tight. Lance smiles, walking over to his sister. She proceeded to look at him, soaking wet in his blue swim trunks. And then, miraculously, she starts to laugh.

“What?” Lance says, blushing.

“All this time I knew you were hiding a secret from us and all along its because you were going to some elite school because your a nerd.” Lance stumbles over his words, but Veronica just smiles, enveloping him in a hug. Lance smiles, glad to see his sister.

He looks back at Keith, who’s staring at him, his expression a mix of awe and confusion. Lance just laughs.

After the tournament, the three champions are ushered into a room, still dripping wet for interviews. It was obvious that they were excited to get the latest scoop, considering everyone saw Veronica surface without Lance and Lance later surface with Keith and Shiro. Everyone knew that it would add to the tale of Keith Kogane and Lance Mcclain, Friends or Lovers?

Before they started prepping them for interviews, the three discussed the events of the tournament quietly amongst themselves.

“That task wasn’t that hard…” Pidge says, obviously taking pride in the fact that she came in first place. Lance pursed his lips, nodding in agreement but also looking at Keith out of the corner of his eye, who had his blanket wrapped around him tightly. Keith didn’t say a word, frowning.

“Congrats on getting first, Pidge?” Lance says with a warm smile.

“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Pidge finally bursts. Keith and Lance incline their heads towards her.

“Lance… I saw you ahead of me. You could’ve won this and got in first place instead of making us all tied. So why didn’t you win?” Lance bites his lip. Keith looks at him too, a curious expression on his face.

“Well I… I saw that Keith was struggling…” Keith looks away blushing. He swore he saw Pidge smirk.

“So you decided to sacrifice your win to save the damsel in distress?”

“Well… yeah.” Pidge just smiles, looking like she knows something.

“I see.” They call for Lance for his interview. He grins and walks into the room, obviously enjoying the attention. Pidge turns to Keith.

“You like him.” Keith turns bright red, mumbling incoherent nothings.

“That’s ridiculous,” he says finally. Pidge raises an eyebrow.

“He’s from Beauxbatons.” Pidge’s eyebrow arches further.

“We’re rivals.” Pidge bursts out laughing.

“WHAT!” Keith says defensively. She snorts.

“Some rivals you are.” Keith plays with the sleeves of his jacket.

“I mean I guess we’re friends, but we’re competing against each other. Plus, Lance couldn’t like me back.”

“So you admit you like him.” Keith squeaks, his face as red as a tomato.

“What? No I-I was– I meant– I–” Pidge puts her hand over his mouth. He gives her a panicked expression.

“Look. I know Lance.”

“You do?”

“Yes he’s Hunk’s friend god have you been paying attention?”

“Oh yes that answered all my questions. Thank you,” Keith says sarcastically. Pidge laughs.

“Oh I like you.”

“What’s your point, Pidge?”

“I know Lance. I also know that he flirts with literally any girl he sees comma but the ones he really likes he gets all flustered and does a weird thing with his hands.”

“ I don’t understand what this has to do with anythi–”

“When he likes someone he tries to spend every waking hour with them and will do anything for them.”

“So?”. Pidge huffs.

“So I’m saying that he’s the same with you!” Keith scoffs.

“No he’s not. He’s just being Lance.” Pidge groans.

“Wow you’re about as thick as he is.”

“HEY! Lance is really smart, I’ll have you know,” Keith says defensively, maybe a small part of his tone is dreamy. Pidge rubs her brow.

“I’m too ace for this.” Lance walks back out into the waiting room, a nervous smile on his face. Keith feels his heartbeat quicken and he scratches his neck in an attempt to hide his blush. He didn’t know if it worked as Lance walked up to him.

“How did it go?” Keith asks. Lance purses his lips, fidgeting with his hand a little. Pidge gives Keith a look.

“It went good! They asked some personal stuff about… nevermind.” Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Keith swore he saw Lance blush the slightest bit. But the moment was gone.

“Kogane!” The lady called. Keith takes a deep breath, walking into the room.

The room is just a normal classroom, set up for an interview. Two chairs sit across from each other, one occupied by a lady with curly hair and glasses. Keith gulped, sitting down across from her.

“Hello Mr. Kogane,” she says, smiling warmly.

“H-hi,” Keith says, pulling at the sleeves of his jacket.

“So. This challenge was a lot harder for you, wasn’t it.” Keith gulped and nodded.

“Yes.”

“Do you care to explain what happened?” Keith dug his nails into his palm.

“I don’t know. I made my potion wrong and I couldn’t get to the surface so Lance saved me.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Do you know why he did that? Rumor has it he would’ve won if he hadn’t gone back for you.” Keith curled and uncurled his fists.

“I don’t know. It was probably payback for the first challenge.” She hummed.

“That’s not how Lance tells it.”

“How does Lance tell it?” Keith growls. The reporter flips to a new piece of paper.

“Next question. How did you feel when you saw Lance come back for you.” Keith didn’t know what this had to do anything.

“I don’t know. I was happy that I could breathe.”

“In the metaphorical sense?” Keith raised an eyebrow.

“No? He spelled a bubble around us so we could breath.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Did you say anything to him in this… bubble?”

“I couldn’t breathe?” Keith doesn’t know where she’s going with this.

“Next question. How do you feel about Lance Mcclain? Do you think your relationship has evolved?”

“Well… yeah.” The lady leans forward slightly. Keith coughs, his cheeks reddening. “Well I mean–” Keith coughs. “We’re closer friends now and stuff. And he’s really smart and helps me with my potions…”

“Is she trying to make a move on him?” Lance says, face pressed up against the glass of the classroom door. Pidge groans, playing Zelda on a DS.

“She’s not, Lance. And if she was then that would be creepy and wrong.” Lance frowns.

“She’s too close.” Pidge huffs, stepping on the tips of her toes to look in with Lance. She rolls her eyes.

“They’re literally a meter away from each other.” Lance huffs.

“He’s blushing.” Pidge groans, slinking against the floor.

“Keith’s always blushing.”

“Yeah but…”

“Lance.”

“I mean….”

“Lance.”

“What if…”

“LANCE!” Lance turns to the Pidge. She pushes up her round glasses.

“Keith is fine he’s just nervous.” Lance sighs, sinking to the ground.

“I know I just….”

“What?” Pidge sits next to him. Lance frowns, seeming conflicted.

“I just know how shaken up I was after the first challenge and how answering their questions made it worse and… you didn’t see him down there, Pidge.” Pidge sighs.

“Keith will be fine. If he’s not I’m sure he’ll deck her.” Lance laughs a little.

“Yeah.” Lance looks down into his lap, his features soft.

“Hunk was right, you got it bad.”

“What?!” Lance says, jumping. “I swear if Hunk told you–” Pidge rolled her eyes.

“It’s obvious Lance. He didn’t need to tell me anything.” Lance threads his fingers through his hair, sighing.

“It is?”

“The only person that doesn’t seem to know is Keith.” Lance huffs, resting his chin on his hand.

“What should I do, Pidge?” Pidge coughs.

“Are you seriously asking me for relationship advice?” Lance glares.

“Just ask him to the Yule Ball or something. That’s coming up soon.” Lance chews his lip.

“Maybe….” The door behind them opens, causing both of them to yelp, scrambling up. Keith frowned at them.

“Why were you sitting by the door?”

“It was Lance’s idea,” Pidge says with a shrug, heading into the room, closing the door tightly behind her. Lance starts to fidget with his jacket and Keith scratches his neck.

“So….” Keith says, coughing. Lance bites the inside of his cheek.

“Want to go find something to eat?” Keith grins.

“Sure.”

“Who’s Keith talking to?” Lance says, leaning into Hunk, a frown on his face. Hunk follows his line of sight.

“Acxa. Why?” Lance raises an eyebrow.

“Who’s she?”

“A Gryffindor girl. She’s friends with Allura’s ex. But don’t worry, she’s cool.” Lance chews his lip, glimpsing back at them. He knew what flirting looked like.

“Do you think she’ll ask him to the Yule Ball?” Hunk shrugs, taking a bite of his food.

“Pidge has heard rumors about it. They might be true.” Lance looks back at them. Keith has a frustratingly cute expression on his face as his brows draw with confusion, tilting his head curiously. Sometimes Lance swore he was like a puppy mixed with a cat and it made Lance’s stomach flip. He sighs, resting his chin on his hand.

“Wow. Pidge was right.” Lance squeaks, jumping and turning away from Keith.

“Right about what?” Lance says nervously.

“That that Durmstrang boy is going to be the death of you.”

“N-no he’s not!”

“Lance you’re looking at him again.” Lance sighs dreamily.

“He’s so pretty.” Hunk rolls his eyes.

“Tell me again why you haven’t asked him to the Yule Ball yet?” Lance huffs.

“Because Hunk.” Hunk raises an eyebrow.

“”Because… I don’t know. It would be weird, wouldn’t it?”

“No?”

“But it’s Keith, Hunk.” Hunk just laughs, shaking his head. Above them they hear a chirping sound. Everyone in the room cranes their heads up at the noise as dozens of birds flood the room, all of them with letters tied around their ankles. They swooped down, landing at tables where students recognized a family owl and took the letter, reading it to themselves with smiles and frowns. Another round of owls came in, dropping in the daily newspapers. Lance picks one up, casually flipping to the article on the Triwizard Tournament.

There’s a picture of the three of them, all drenched from head to toe. Pidge was grinning wildly, her eyes dancing with excitement. Meanwhile, Keith was shivering, wrapping himself tighter in blankets. Lance was beside him, looking slightly concerned for his friend as he offered Keith his blanket. Lance skipped over the picture to the article.

“Yesterday the three Champions of this year’s Triwizard Tournament completed their second challenge. Katie “Pidge” Holt from the Slytherin house at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry came in first place, saving her brother, Matt from the bottom of the lake. Next to come up was a bewildered muggle by the name of Veronica who is our second champion’s sister. However, Lance could not be seen, causing anxiety to build up within the stands of the arena, wondering what could possibly have happened to the Beauxbatons boy. There was still no sign of the Durmstrang boy or his treasure.

“Just as the officiators began to organize a team to look for the two boys, they shot out of the water, arm and arm, both of them holding tightly onto Takashi Shirogane, Keith Kogane’s adopted brother. The audience cheered, rising up in the stands as Keith and Lance tied for second place, causing a three way tie between the three champions. They were all–” Hunk kept poking Lance’s shoulder and it was really starting to dampen his reading ability. He huffs, getting slightly annoyed, and turns to Hunk.

“What?!” Hunk chews his lip.

“Uh dude…” Hunk points to a picture later on in the article. It was of before the match where Lance was helping Keith with his hair. They were facing each other, both of them blushing, looking soulfully into each other’s eyes. Lance gulps as he reads the headline.

“Rivals… or Star-Crossed Lovers?” Lance looks over at Hunk, a nervous expression on his face. He quickly turns back to the article, pratically inhaling the words on the page with a frantic energy.

“One cannot deny that since the first trial in the tournament there has been a spark between the two boys of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. As some may recall, Keith Kogane came to Lance Mcclain’s aid when he couldn’t muster the courage to face his greatest fear. Since then, the two boys have been almost inseparable. Sources say that it was because Mcclain felt indebted to Kogane after he saved him and was bent on helping the Durmstrang in any way he could.

“But one cannot deny the energy these boys give off. Hidden deep within there is a passion that most anyone can see, and it has only been strengthened since the second trial. The two boys have become a popular… so to say… ship amongst fanatics of the Triwizard Tournament. And they no doubt are gobbling up this exclusive interview with Lance Mcclain:”

“Whatcha reading?” Keith says from over Lance’s shoulder, scaring Lance senseless. Without hesitation, Lance takes the article and shoves it in his glass of milk, looking up at Keith.

“Just enjoying my breakfast!” He says, laughing nervously. Keith squints at him, sitting down beside him. He reaches for the pitches of orange juice, his hand brushing Lance’s in the process. Lance goes bright red.

“Okay but seriously, what were you reading?” Keith says, staring at him from over his orange juice.

“Nothing.” Keith frowns. Lance can feel everyone looking at him now. They no doubt read the article, read about all the embarising ways Lance gushed about Keith during his interview in ways he didn’t mean to. If he could do anything to change that moment, he would in a heartbeat.

“What did Acxa talk to you about?” Hunk asks, bless him. Keith shrugs, stabbing his egg and frowning.

“She asked me to go to the Yule Ball with her.” Oh no oh no my life is over I failed bury me now–

“What did you say?” Hunk says, looking at Lance nervously. He could tell that Lance seemed on the verge of a breakdown. He made a mental note of the best escape route for his friend.

Keith continues to frown, stabbing his eggs, looking at Lance through his lashes.

“I said no,” Keith mumbles. Lance gasps, standing up.

“You what?” Keith seems to shrink in on himself a little, thrown off by Lance’s outbreak. Lance immediately feels horrible as he sits back down.

“Sorry, sorry I… what do you mean you said no?” He says in a much gentler voice, leaning slightly towards Keith. Keith shrugs, holding his gaze.

“I just… said no?”

“But she’s so your type!” Keith almost snorts. In fact he does… a little.

“I just…” Keith pushes his bangs out of his eyes, not meeting Lance’s gaze.

“I was just hoping someone else would ask me,” He says, a bright blush spreading across his cheeks. Lance gapes at him.

“Who is it?” he says, a little too quickly. Keith chews his lip.

“C’mon you can tell me.” Lance says, smiling and bumping his shoulder with Lance’s. Keith blushes, smiling a little.

“You’re going to have to wait, loverboy.” Lance’s heart pounds in his chest and in that moment, he wants to do nothing more than kiss Keith and tell him how he feels. But, the mullet boy’s heart is taken by another.

“You coming with me to Charms?” Keith says, gathering his stuff to get going. Lance smirks.

“How else can I beat you into a pulp with my fancy spellwork.” Keith laughs a snorty kind of laughter that makes Lance’s heart flutter.

It was a day before the Yule Ball and Lance still hasn’t asked Keith to go with him.

At this point Lance wasn’t sure why he was worried. Everyone Keith hung out with seemed to have a date, so it wasn’t like one of them could be Keith’s-mysterious-crush-that-he-was-hoping-would-ask-him. But Lance still couldn’t help but feel a lump in his throat every time he tried to ask Keith to go with him.

In the end, he said it the night before the actual dance and made a complete and entire fool of himself.

They were up in Keith’s dorm, lying next to each other on his bed with books propped open, their eyelids drooping.

“Why did your professor assign you a test on the day of the dance anyway?” Lance says with a yawn. Keith sighs, face planting into a textbook.

“Because my potions teacher enjoys watching me suffer.” Lance sighs, pulling the textbook away from Keith, who pulled his head up in surprise, turning to Lance. Only when Lance put away the textbooks did Lance realize their noses were almost touching.

“What are you doing?” Keith says, looking confused. Lance huffs.

“You’re way too tired for this and we have the Yule Ball tomorrow you need to get some sleep.” Keith groans, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. Lance does the same.

“Do you have a date to the ball yet?” he asks curiously. Lance feels his heart pound in his chest, wondering if this was the moment. He takes a deep breath, telling himself to chill out. He leans back, relaxed.

“No. All the girls are too shy to ask this guy,” he says cheesily, pointing finger guns at Keith. It was a lie, a bunch of girls asked him, but he said he had his heart set on someone else. And he did, if he would just work up the courage to ask the boy in front of him. He just needed to say those eight words. Will you go to the dance with me?

“What about you? That lucky lady ask you yet?” Keith frowns, playing with a loose string on the bed.

“No.” Lance tapped his fingers against his leg.

“Great. So neither of us have dates.”

“I guess…” Lance laughs.

“God that’s going to be so embarrassing.” Keith furrows his brow, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we’re the champions and we don’t have dates.” Keith doesn’t look at him as he continues to mess with the blanket.

“So?” Lance chews his bottom lip, his face heating. God, how is he supposed to say this? Its a good think Keith is distracted.

“So I mean… It will be kind of embarrassing… won’t it? Being the center of attention without a date?” Keith shrugs. Lance knows that Keith probably doesn’t care, but he needs an excuse, something to hide under if Keith lashes out at him.

“What are you saying, Lance?” Keith says, looking tired. Man, he should really go to sleep. Lance threads and unthreads his fingers together.

“Well you know… maybe we can both go together? Since we don’t have dates…” Keith was suddenly wide awake now. His eyes fly open as he turns to Lance, who’s trying to hide his blush. Did he just…. was he playing a trick on him? Keith drew his brows together. Lance started to panic.

“Is this some sort of joke?” Keith murmured, not looking into Lance’s eyes. Lance scrambled up, his heart pounding.

“Sorry I’m sorry Keith I….” he starts to grab his bags, running his fingers through his hair, getting that look in his eye. It was the same look he had in the arena when facing the bogart. Keith wanted to reach out but he was too frozen. His heart was pounding, Lance’s words ringing in his ears.

“I shouldn’t have…” Lance was rambling like he did when he was upset. It was funny how much they’ve gotten to know each other within the span of this competition and Keith wanted nothing more than to go to that dance with Lance Mcclain.

But by the time he finally opened his mouth to tell him yes, yes I want to go to the dance with you, Lance was rushing out the door, rubbing tears from his eyes. Keith stood up to chase after him, opening the door and running down the stairs into his common room. He emerged into the hall, but by that point, Lance was gone and all of Keith’s opportunities went down the drain.

“HaveyouseenLance?” Keith said the next morning to Hunk and Pidge, completely ignoring the other three girls sitting at the table. They seemed startled by his appearance, but Keith didn’t care. He didn’t sleep at all the night before and every time he laid down he tossed and turned. Eventually he snuck out to try and find Lance, but he ended up getting caught and sent back to his dorm.

“Wow Keith so polite of you to say hi to our friends Allura, Shay, and Romelle,” Pidge says sarcastically. Keith glares.

“Where’s Lance?” Hunk raises an eyebrow.

“He’s not with you?”

“Why would he be with me!” Keith runs his hands through his hair, sitting down.

“You guys were studying together last night where did he go after that?” Keith whimpers.

“I don’t know. He stormed off and–”

“Wait. He stormed off?” one of the girls, Allura, pitches in. Keith nods worriedly.

“Dude what did you do?” Pidge says. Keith buries his head in his arms.

“He asked me to the Yule Ball.” Everyone at the table gasps.

“Keith I swear if you said no–”

“I didn’t say anything but he started freaking out and I just…” Everyone is leaning close to him.

“Did you tell him?” Pidge asks. Keith shakes his head.

“I thought it was a joke! I didn’t think he would actually ask me!” Pidge shakes her head sadly.

“Do you ever read the Daily Prophet?” Romelle says. Keith looks up at her, an angry look on his face. Pidge shoves a paper in his face. He looks down at the article.

There’s a big picture of him and Lance, standing close together just before the second challenge. The headline read, “Rivals… or Star-Crossed Lovers?” Keith raised an eyebrow.

“What’s this?”

“Lance’s interview. You haven’t seen it?” Keith shakes his head, starting to read intently.

“R: So Mcclain, would you care to explain to us what happened in this round of competition?

L: Well, this part of the competition was always meant to help repay Kogane for helping me in… the first challenge. I felt bad and I wanted to help him as much as I could so we worked together to create our potions to help us. We started swimming up together, but I noticed that Keith was no longer next to me.

R: So you gave up a win to help him?

L: Yes.

R: Why?

L: I… well I don’t know. It only seemed fair considering he lost a significant amount of points for helping me.

R: You still could’ve swam for the surface and got him help. You didn’t have to be his knight in shinning armor. So why did you save him yourself?

L: I didn’t think of that….

R: No, you didn’t.

R: Would you have done it differently?

L: No. I would’ve risked everything to save him– I mean, I don’t want to see a fellow competitor get hurt. He would’ve drowned.

R: I see… and what are your opinions of Keith? You two have gotten extremely close during this competition.

L: We have. Keith has been amazing, the kind of friend I never knew I needed. He’s a bit temperamental, but once you get through his shell he has so many admirable traits and he’s so handsome….

R: Would you ever see Kogane as more than a friend?

L: Ye–NO! NO not at all that’s not what this is. We’re just friends, sometimes rivals. We would never– he would never– we don’t like each other in that way

R: Maybe he doesn’t, but how about you, Mcclain?

L: *no comment*”

“This isn’t real this had to have been forged. Lance would never say this.”

“He saw the article and tried to burn every copy of the Daily Prophet so you wouldn’t see it.” Keith frowns.

“Because it makes him look bad.” Pidge rolls her eyes.

“You need to go talk to Lance.”

“I don’t know where he is.” Pidge huffs.

“C’mon.”

Keith knocked tentatively on the door Pidge said was Lance’s. They had a little house set up with rooms for each of the students and Keith was sure he was going to get lost, but Pidge managed to find their way.

“Yes?” A voice called, cracking towards the end of the word. Keith felt his heart splinter. He was aware of some people around him whispering about his appearance saying things like “the Durmstrang boy” and “Lance” and “Klance.” He ignored them.

“It’s Keith,” Keith says. Keith hears sniffles from inside.

“Can I come in?” There’s no answer. Keith takes a deep breath, opening the door.

The room was actually really neat. So neat that it made Keith felt bad about the times he brought Lance into his dorm which was utter chaos. But everything seemed to have a place, down to the pencils on the desk.

“Wow your room is so neat…” Lance rubs his eyes. They’re red and puffy.

“I organize when I’m upset…” Keith walks over to Lance’s bed, sitting next to him. Lance pulls his knees to his chest. Keith bites his lip, trying to figure out what to say.

“You look tired,” Lance says, frowning. Keith yawns.

“Maybe I didn’t sleep.” Lance looks appalled.

“Keith! You need to take care of yourself! You have a test today that’s it your skipping first and second block.” Keith smiled a little.

“What about you, Lance?” he says softly. Lance seems a bit surprised.

“What about me?” Keith frowns.

“Look Lance about last night–” Lance presses a finger to Keith’s lips. Keith looks at him with surprise.

“Keith look. I shouldn’t have asked it just made things awkward I’m sorry.”

“Lance listen to me–”

“Keith you don’t need to apologize. I understand you don’t feel the same way.” Keith grabs Lance’s hands, twining his fingers through Lance’s, his face red.

“Look I… I’m glad you asked.” Lance searches Keith’s face, looking confused. Keith shies away from him, seeming super flustered,

“Keith what–” Keith looks up at him.

“I said no to Acxa because I was waiting for you to ask me.” Lance gapes at him.

“No.. Keith just… Please don’t do this to make me feel better that’s so much worse–”

“Lance I’m not–”

“Keith really its okay if you don’t like me–” Keith has never been good with words. He knew that there was no way to tell Lance the way he felt. So he fists his hands in Lance’s shirt, pulling him close. He hesitates for a moment, their lips centimeters apart. Then, Keith kisses him.

Lance pulls away, a surprised look on his face. Keith looks at him with those eyes, those purple eyes with unreadable emotions that Lance finally understands. He kisses Keith again, his heart pounding, not sure if this was real and not caring.

When they break they look at each other for a long moment… then burst out into giggles, laying down on the bed, Keith’s legs hanging off the end and Lance’s propped against the wall. Lance looks back at Keith and Keith looks back at Lance, both of them smiling.

“So…” Keith says, grinning dorkily. Lance loved that grin. “Wanna go to the Yule Ball with me?”

Allura helped Lance get ready for the dance because, well, he was a bi disaster.

“Do you think he’ll like it?” Lance says, frowning down at his suit. Allura rolls her eyes.

“You know blue looks good on you Lance. It matches your eyes.” Lance huffs.

“I know I just… I want to make a good impression. This is our first… I guess date?” Allura just smiles.

“That boy is over the moon for you. I’m sure you could wear a trash bag and he would think your the hottest guy in the room.”

“Do I look good, Lura?” Lance says for the last time with a sigh. She smiles.

“Yes Lance, you look great.”

“Shiro where’s my tieeeeee.” Keith groans, running his hands through his hair. His outfit was almost complete, he just needed find his freaking tie.

Shiro decided that it would be a good idea to help Keith get ready for the Yule Ball for unknown reasons. He kept going on and on about how him and his boyfriend, Adam, met at a school event similar to this one. He was such a romantic it made Keith gag, although he wasn’t any better. He kept stressing, trying to make everything perfect.

“Keith. You’re wearing your tie,” Shiro says with a bored expression. Keith looks down.

“Oh.”

“You okay?” Keith bites his lip.

“What if he decides he doesn’t like me?”

“He’s not going to do that Keith.”

“What if he backs out? What if I get stood up?”

“Keith calm down.”

“What if–” Shiro grabs his shoulders.

“Lance fell in love with you, he wants to go to this dance with you.” Keith huffs.

“Alright…” Shrio smiles.

“Just be yourself. He loves that.” Keith sighs and nods.

“Do I look okay?”

“You look perfect.

As instructed, Lance, Keith, and Pidge arrived early to go over the procedures for how they were to handle the Yule Ball. They arrived at their given time, much to to the headmasters surprise. He frowned when he saw them.

“No one got dates?” Lance coughs.

“Uh we’re together….” He takes Keith’s hand. The headmaster smiles a bit.

“My brother said he’ll dance with me.”

“Okay then. I trust you all know how this works?” Pidge nods, Keith and Lance shake their heads. He takes a deep breath.

“It is tradition that the Champions walk out once everyone has settled and do the first dance.” Keith stiffens.

“Something wrong?” Lance whispers, his brows drawn in concern.

“I can’t dance,” Keith says nervously. Lance laughs.

“No one can.” Keith pouts. They go over a few more things. People start to trickle in, mingling amongst themselves.

“You know… you look amazing tonight,” Lance says, playing with Keith’s ponytail as they wait for their cue. Keith blushes brightly.

“S-so do you!” he says defensively. Lance laughs.

“Thank you.” Keith wraps his arm around Lance, snuggling close to him. Lance felt his heart thud in his chest.

“I bet I can dance better than you,” Keith mumbles. Lance snorts.

“You’re on Kogane.”

Lance felt like he was flying. Everything about the night was perfect, and it didn’t matter that he was about to face the third trial soon. All that matters was he was sitting here, in the warm and inviting dorm of Keith Kogane, explaining what a cell phone was and how Keith needed to get one immediately. Keith seemed confused.

“Where do the messages go?” Lance laughs.

“They come to me, silly.” Keith gets that adorable, quizzical expression on his face.

“But how do they get there?”

“You’re questioning actual muggle technology proven with science but not the entirety of magic.” Keith shrugs.

“I’ve always lived around magic. I guess I never thought about it.” Lance sighs, leaning against Keith.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For just… being the most amazing person I ever met.” Keith turns to Lance, a flustered smile on his face.

“It’s only fair. You’re the most extraordinary person I ever met.” Lance blushes, burying his face in Keith’s shoulder.

“Keiiithhhhh who taught you how to flirt?” Keith laughs.

“If I recall, you did. When trying to help me get the guy I was holding out on to take me to the dance. Which was you.”

“I do recall that…”

“Remember that time I made you blush so hard you had to physically walk out of the room?”

“IN MY DEFENSE– I was not prepared for you to be that good.” Keith laughs softly.

“I just can’t believe you didn’t figure out that I liked you.” Lance huffs.

“To be fair, you didn’t figure it out either even when it was all in a nice interview tied with a bow.”

“You got me there.”

THE END

#klance #keith kogane #lance mcclain #voltron #vld #voltron legendary defender #keith x lance #lance x keith #laith #candy writes #klancemonth2018 #hogwarts au #klance hogwarts au

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archetype-online-blog · 5 years

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Blog: So it’s time to write a query letter …

You’ve just finished the perfect short story and want to submit it to your favorite journal or magazine. Or, you’ve finally put the finishing touches on that 80k-word novel and you need an agent to start pitching it to all the big publishers. But how do you approach these intimidating professionals* who have been reviewing masterpieces longer than you’ve been alive? Your best friend throughout this process is going to be a really strong query letter.

If you don’t know what a query letter is, don’t stress! It’s just a short note, almost like a cover letter, that pitches the idea of your story to an agent and asks if they’re interested in representing you. It gives you a chance to specify the title, length, and genre of your story, as well as provide a brief summary, so an agent can decide if your work matches their professional interests. A good one can get you moved to the “keep reading” pile — but a bad one can mean an immediate rejection. Like all first impressions, the way you represent yourself and your work is key.

Read on to see our comments and critiques of example letters, as well as advice on how to create and refine yours.

*The people we’re talking about — agents, editors, publishers, etc — shouldn’t be seen as intimidating. They only want what you do — to find amazing, creative works, and to make them available for everyone to appreciate. If it helps, think of them as giant book nerds like you and your friends.

MAGAZINES/JOURNALS

When submitting a short story to magazines or journals, you don’t really need the long summary and detailed description authors include for novels. Your submission is short enough that editors will be able to read the whole thing! Instead, just give them the basics and thank them for their time. A lot of times, journals will post exactly what information they’re looking for in their calls for submissions.

Here’s a sample:

Dear Editors,

I would like to submit my short story “Hills Like White Elephants” (1,400 words) for publication. I have never previously published a short story.

This is a simultaneous submission. Per your guidelines, if I don’t hear back within three months, I will assume my story does not align with the publication goals of Transition Magazine.

Thank you for your consideration.

Sincerely, Ernest Hemingway

This offers all the important information — title, word count, whether you’ve been previously published, and whether this is a simultaneous submission (in other words, if you’re submitting the piece to other journals at the same time). It takes the time to be polite, but it isn’t so long it’ll waste an editor’s valuable time.

The line about the guidelines is optional, though you should definitely follow all guidelines. You can also include any relevant personal information here. Make sure you check the requirements of the journal you choose to see what information they require.

ROUGH QUERY LETTER — MISTAKES TO LEARN FROM

Before we get to a really strong query letter, we though it would be fun to show you one that pretty much misses all the key requirements. See if you can figure out why the mistakes below are so tragic and ill-advised.

Now that you’ve survived that train wreck, here’s why these mistakes might be the last ones you make with that particular agent, and how to avoid them:

1. Agents get TONS of query letters every day, and they want to know you’ve already done your homework and checked whether they’re a good fit for you. So sending the same unpersonalized query letter to every agent listed on a website probably isn’t the best idea! If you didn’t take the time to look up their name and write a separate email, why would they waste time reading the names of your characters and worlds in addition to everyone else’s?

Instead, address the agent by name and always start a new email for each agent.

2. This doesn’t tell us anything particularly interesting about the writer or how their interests connect to the agent, so it’s kind of a waste of time to read. It would be better not to include this paragraph at all.

3. Make sure to mention the title and genre of your work near the top, so the agent knows what they’re about to read. Also, avoid boastful claims or bragging about how good your story is — let your writing speak for itself later on.

4. A lot of people say there’s no such thing as a new story, just new ways to tell it, but you still don’t want your summary to sound like twenty other books or every movie that came out in the 90s. Instead of relying on cliches like “new kid in town” or “chosen one” that we’ve all heard a million times before, focus on the parts of your story that are fresh and exciting!

5. Repeating “mysterious” and “mystery” in the same sentence starts to feel a little sloppy — make sure you read through your letter out loud before you send it off, to catch any embarrassing mistakes.

6. When you read this paragraph, the plot and conflict are really hard to follow. Make sure your summary gives the reader a clear picture of what happens in your story. You can test it out on your friends before you sent it for real — if they can keep track of what’s happening, you’re probably good to go!

7. Again, if a particular sentence doesn’t add very much, cut it — that way, it won’t take up an agent’s time and annoy them.

8. When reading real query letters, the funniest thing is always when people claim their work is “the next Harry Potter” or “following in the footsteps of J.R.R. Tolkien and George R.R. Martin.” By omitting a claim like this, you’re not saying your work isn’t amazing — but you’re also not setting yourself up for an unfair comparison between you and incredibly sophisticated, famous writers. Think about it — even J.K. Rowling probably wasn’t calling herself the next Roald Dahl or Madeleine L’Engle as she was querying The Sorcerer’s Stone. Statements like this are too bold, and give agents a weird feeling before they even start on the manuscript.

It can be helpful to include works you think are similar to yours if such information will concisely convey the mood or themes of your story to an agent. Try something like, “fans of Neil Gaiman will appreciate the whimsical atmosphere of my setting,” or “my protagonist will captivate people who love the inquisitive nature of Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot.” From these descriptions, I’m prepared to get a similar general feeling from your work. But I’m still expecting you to be a unique, individual author doing your own thing, with all your own artistic choices.

9. Promising your book will make a good movie is also too bold, and feels weird.

10. Be respectful and formal in greetings and closings.

GOOD QUERY LETTER

Strong query letters avoid the mistakes we listed above, and add some other really important information. Here’s one for reference:

1. This writer clearly did their research and found an agent they want a strong partnership with in the future.

2. If you have a really great anecdote, this can be a good way to connect with an agent. If you don’t have something strong and you’re just looking for any way to connect, however, it can be best to omit this section.

Good anecdotes: You’ve interacted with the agent before, either at an event or on social media, and they encouraged you to reach out (this is a REALLY good way to open — get out there and make connections if you can!). Another agent recommended you try querying this one. The agent is particularly interested in minorities or strong women, and that’s a main selling point of your work. This agent stated recently they’re looking for (YA fantasy, middle grade sci-fi, etc) and that’s what you’re going to provide now.

Not-so-good anecdotes: You have a similar taste in books. You think other books they’ve represented are amazing. You strongly suspect based on a few comments in interviews that the agent likes hopeful stories, and your story is hopeful. You just know you’d get along based on something they wrote on Twitter last week.

3. Always mention the name of your work near the beginning, so the writer knows what story they’re about to read and can easily remember it. You can put this in the subject line of your email, too.

You should mention the target age group and genre, too, both in the body and the subject line. Do you write middle grade? YA? New adult? Adult? Is your story fantasy? Sci-fi? Mystery? Dystopian?

4. The summary of your manuscript is arguably the most important part. You want to make it sound interesting and complex, so it stands out among all the other letters the agent will receive. Write it and rewrite it, then rewrite it again. Get feedback from everyone you can.

5. You should specify the word count, and you should also know that your length is right for this kind of story. Agents are going to run away from a middle grade novel that’s 120,000 words, or a high fantasy book with tons of world building and subplots that’s only 30k or 40k. Do some research as you’re writing to make sure you’re hitting the sweet spot, and if your story ends up being too long, consider splitting it into multiple books.

6. Advice varies on whether to mention sequel potential, but if you have a series started, feel free to say so.

7. On their websites, agents will probably tell you how they want work submitted. Are they looking for two separate attachments, a query letter and a manuscript? Do they want the first twenty pages of a manuscript, the first ten chapters, or the whole thing? Do they not want to open attachments at all, and request that you copy everything into the body of the email? MAKE SURE you follow these instructions, as writers that don’t will be rejected immediately.

8. Be respectful and formal in greetings and closings.

As with most of advice, none of these tips apply in all cases at all times. There are always exceptions to any rule, and since you know your work better than anyone, you should trust your judgement if you think something doesn’t apply! But in general, if you stick to this format, agents will be able to move past your query letter and evaluate your work based on its merit.

Want feedback on your query letter? Send it to us at [email protected]!

Like our blog? Find more posts at https://archetypeonline.org/blog/

#archetypeonline #query letters #the business of writing #blog post #querying #talking to agents #creative writing #young writers

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retro-pure-jdonica · 6 years

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Friend on Friend, at the End of the End

Chapter 2-------------------------

I wake up the next morning to bright sunlight spilling in through my half-closed blinds. I walk over to the window and assume by the busy streets and sun positioning that it was around eight or nine in the morning. Not having fully explored the house I was temporarily assigned to yesterday, I decide to wander around for a bit as I wait for the girls to arrive. Yesterday Heather Chandler mentioned that by today I would be sorted into my guild, so I assumed that meant that they would come get me. If they take too long and I get hungry, I could always find something to write a note on and leave it hanging on the front door if I go back down to Main street to get food.

As I mindlessly wander around the house, looking into small rooms and cabinets, I begin to realize how quickly I had been welcomed into the state. They just let me in; no screening, no waiting, no examination, no nothing. At all of the other states I had encountered, which were numerous by now, there had been some long process where I was kept in cramped living quarters before being allowed to roam. They also typically took my stuff to either search for other weapons or to take away from me for good. Many states just downright rejected me.

They see people like me, the majority of the population, as some form of threat. Since we hop from state to state, they see us as disloyal or barbaric, unable to form bonds. Although, hopping from state to state is what we had to do. Ever since the initial Exposure and the collapse of the US government, no state that I had encountered had stayed stable for more than two years. I guess Politeia really did want to expand and take in more citizens.

My train of thought was soon interrupted by the high pitched sound of a doorbell echoing throughout the large, almost empty house. I saunter from the kitchen towards the small, wooden door. Upon answering the ring, I am unsurprisingly greeted by the three girls I had met yesterday.

“Hello, Veronica, are you ready to pick your job?” Heather Chandler asks me, her familiar cheerful voice raising my spirits.

“Sure,” I reply with a soft smile, stepping out onto the porch and following the three down the street. Now that I wasn’t being bombarded with information like I was yesterday, I take the time to truly examine my surroundings.

At first glance, Politeia looked very similar to many other states I had lived in before, at least before riots when the states were collapsing. Most states were formed a respectable distance from the bomb sites of The Attempted Wipeout, since it would be pointless to try to completely rebuild a city when there were other cities that were still in tact, so only a few of the buildings had major structural defects. No house or building was perfect; many had shattered or missing windows, broken fences surrounding them, or some damage to the roofing, although most of it was cosmetic. Yesterday Heather told me that the damage was catastrophic, but that appeared to be somewhat of an over exaggeration, possibly to make it seem as if the state overall has high standards. As we began to transition from the neighborhoods to Main street, the attempt at complete restoration became much for prominent.

Making glass was still a struggle, so many of the holes where windows once were had metal bars lining in them to prevent thievery. Once we approached the Town Hall building, it was made very obvious that the Town Hall was the focus of the entire subdivision. The clean and smooth exterior walls decorated with landscape and flower paintings and the sturdy wooden doors created a welcoming demeanor, and the charts and documents mounted to the front of the building, informing the common citizens on upcoming events, suggested order and stability; all of these were qualities that other states thrived to possess.

“So, this is our town hall for the northwest subdivision B of Politeia.” Heather Chandler comments as we enter through the large, heavy doors. “If you will follow me, the Occupation Wing is just down this hallway.” She instructs, and I do as told, as the soft muffled sound of our worn out shoes dragging against the cold stone flooring follows us as we walk.

“As we mentioned yesterday, there are six different major guilds as of right now; manual labor, social activities, education, domestic, speciality, and government positions, but as Heather also mentioned you have to be elected into that guild.” Heather Duke reminds me as we enter a large room with intimidatingly high ceilings, filing cabinets and workers at desks lining the barren walls. “Do you have any ideas as to which one you may be interested in, or do you want us to walk you through them a little bit more?”

I take a moment to ponder my options. I almost immediately ruled out manual labor and speciality; I was never very strong nor was I very crafty in the way that would be of value to the state, such as textiles or cooking. Education seemed very intriguing, and I have had past experience in teaching in other states. In fact, at the state I had just left about a week ago, Canora, I was an assistant at a foster home. I wasn’t around long enough to see a single child be adopted, and many of them died or were left behind when the state fell. “Could you tell me a little bit more about the education guild?”

“I think we can let Mac handle that one.” Heather Duke smiles, and I assume that she’s referencing Heather McNamara.

“Yes, I’m Heather McNamara, by the way.” She speaks up for the first time today, beginning to lead me over to a certain area. Leaving the other two behind. “So, with us being the welcoming committee of our subdivision, and rather high up in ranking for the social activities guild to, we all oversee another guild. I oversee education, while Heather Chandler has the domestic guild, also she’s highest ranking in the entire social activities guild for our subdivision,” She adds on once we’re completely out of earshot. “And Heather Duke has speciality. We currently offer free schooling, the older teachers have told me that it’s pretty much like what the term public schooling referred to back before The Exposure, for children aged four to twelve. We mainly focus on history, reading, and some theories and practices of survival. Do you have any past experience with education?”

“Not particularly education, but I have worked in foster care before.” I inform her as we approach a large filing cabinet and bookshelf under a hanging sign that read “education”.

“That’s great, but, if you don’t mind me speaking up, may I make a suggestion?” Heater asks kindly, a well-known caution in her voice.

“Of course.”

“I know that I don’t know you too well, but based off of how you present yourself, and the fact that I’ve already taken on somewhat of a liking for you, may I suggest looking into the social activities guild? You have a kind face and a very welcoming demeanor, and we’ve actually been looking for a fourth member of our welcoming committee. So, people just starting in the social activities guild typically have to take a few days of training first, but if it’s alright with you I could go ask Heather Chandler if she thinks you would be fit for the committee, and if she does you could just shadow us today and be on the job by tomorrow.” Heather explains to me, an offer which I am quick to jump on. This is my first official day here and I’m already offered a job rather high up the food chain that typically requires training, which is an absurdly generous offer.

“That sounds wonderful.” I smile, a small laugh trailing through my words.

“Great. I’ll go talk to Heather, but we will have to sort out some paperwork and right a statement saying that you will have an immediate jump up without the prerequisites, but it shouldn’t take any more than an hour. Also, I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but after we dropped you off near your house yesterday the group discussed you a little bit and the other two seemed to really like you too, so your chance of acceptance is rather high.” She informs me, raising my hopes and getting me more excited by the second.

“Thank you so much for this, all of it.” I praise her once again, not even knowing how to respond to such a kind act.

“Of course, and while you’re waiting maybe you could have a walk around town, get to know the surroundings better.” Heather suggests and I nod along before leaving the town hall building whilst the others discuss my future. I take Heather’s suggestion to heart and decide to spend my time trailing around town, but staying close enough so that I’m easy to find once they decide if I’ll be accepted or not.

For being in such close proximity to a bomb drop spot during The Attempted Wipeout, Politeia sure was in good condition. Many windows of buildings were still in tact, you could see clear spots on buildings where they were patched up, and the streets themselves were kept clean. There were a multitude of trees sprouting up in empty grassy areas, but despite the chilly autumn wind there weren’t any dead leaves in the streets. At the cross section of Main street and Chrysanthemum, the street which the many neighborhoods fell on, there was a small park where a few children were at play, accompanied by their parents. There was only a single metal slide, but plenty of open land for exploration. As I begin to walk back down Chrysanthemum to examine the other neighborhoods, I notice a turn onto another street in the distance. It was too far of a walk to be back in time to hear the girls’ decision, but definitely on the table as a choice for future exploration.

As I reach about halfway down the road, it becomes very clear that the farther down you go, the better the houses get. The houses in my current neighborhood were all one story tall, and their original facades were dull, grey and brown bricks. Those were in great contrasts to the other neighborhoods, whose streets were lined with large two-story homes with extravagant front porches and smooth exteriors painted in light, fun colors. Some of the houses were decorated with white shutters or gingerbread trimmings.

After my short wander, I decide to turn back around to get closer to the Town Hall building. If they come out looking for me, I wish to be close enough to hear my name being called. Not any more than five minutes after sitting down on an old wooden bench on the porch of the town hall, Heather Chandler walks out of the large, wooden doors. “Congratulations, Veronica Sawyer, you are now the fourth addition to the welcoming committee of the northwest district of Politeia, subdivision B.” She smiles as she walks over to me.

“That’s amazing, thank you so much!” I express my gratitude, smiling widely.

“Of course. We’ll spend the rest of the day reviewing some of the state’s history and doing some shadowing, but by tomorrow you should be properly up and running on the job.” Heather explains to me, her crystal blue eyes making her energy all the more alluring.

“Well then, what are we waiting for?”

#heathers #heathers the musical #heathers au #heathers dystopia #dystopian au #heather chandler #heather duke #heather mcnamara #Veronica sawyer #Jason dean #jd #pure jdronica #pure jdonica

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junker-town · 5 years

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Couldn’t Be Me: Help, I work for an immoral company

Getty Images/iStockphoto

In this week’s advice column: What to do when your employer has lost its moral compass.

Welcome to Couldn’t Be Me, a weekly advice column where I solicit your personal dilemmas and help out as best as I can. Have something I can help you with? Find me @_Zeets.

Too often, one’s moral code clashes with that of the corporation you work for. In a world where profit dictates everything, companies are willing to partner with reprehensible organizations for the right price.

That conflict raises one of the more persistent questions of our time: What responsibility do individuals have in that conflict? To what extent should they risk their own security to stand up against and disassociate with an organization they feel is in the wrong? And how can they take action?

It can be a frustrating to work for a company that has decided that money comes before morality and justice. But there are ways to fight back. This week, we investigate that clash, as well as tackle the old questions of “breaking in” to sports journalism and how to cleanly end a relationship.

A.J:

Hi Zito!

How did you get your start in sports writing?

Any advice for someone trying to transition from something unrelated to sports journalism?

CBM:

I think this question is seeking a replicable path, and that’s difficult. Each person’s path is different, and mine in particular came down to chance more than anything. I went to school for Engineering, played professional soccer, and contributed to a few outlets in the young soccer blogosphere, back when Run of Play, Surreal Football, Twisted Blood, and The Offside were still active. After that, I was just on Twitter fucking around when someone from SB Nation DM’d me asking if I wanted to contribute to the site.

Which I turned down, because I was too cool to do nerdy shit. But they were persistent, and now here I am.

You can of course go through formal education and internships, which provide invaluable learning and connections, and open up certain doors that are much harder to get through as an outsider. Luck plays a big part in breaking into a world that tries to be exclusive, so you will have to be persistent in pitching editors of different outlets. Building an audience on social media is also a good way to showcase your work and grab people’s attention.

My advice beyond that is to remember that there’s no such thing as a proper writing path. As Mo Yan wrote in The Republic of Wine:

“Tolstoy was a military man, Gorki a baker and a dishwasher, Guo Moruo a medical student, and Wang Meng the Deputy Party Secretary of the Beijing branch of the Youth League in China’s new democracy. They all changed careers and became writers, didn’t they?”

The same rule applies to any writing as it does for sportswriting: you should have a sense of wonder about the world that you’re witnessing. Find the things that provoke excitement within you, whether they’re fun things or important moral conflicts, and try to transmit that excitement to the audience. Just show people why you love the things you love.

And please, try to be creative about it.

Tim:

I’ve been dating my partner for more than three years. I work in a pretty sensitive field where splitting up with your spouse would end your career (not guessing at this, it’s very clear), and she recently told me I might need to be ready to change jobs after we get married because she is afraid we might get divorced someday and that would cost me my job.

So ... should I break up with her now or wait until we get back from a vacation we’ve got planned next week?

CBM:

It seems that you’ve already made up your mind that you’re going to break up with her, and so for the sake of her own emotional health, it’s probably better to do so immediately than allow her to be blindsided by the news after a vacation. There’s also a chance that the situation might come up during the vacation which wouldn’t be good for either of you.

John:

Hey Zeets,

What’s an employee of MLS or one of their franchises to do if they disagree with company policy regarding the fan code of conduct and ban on the Iron Front flag?

More generally, what responsibility does an individual have to their corporations ethos when it doesn’t align with their own?

CBM:

There are actually a lot of good examples right now about what individuals can do when met with this conflict: Amazon, Google, and Microsoft workers walking out in protest of their companies’ role in climate change, Wayfair employees protesting their company selling furniture to detention centers, Google employees protesting the company’s bid for an immigration contract, Italian dock workers refusing to load a Saudi weapons vessel in protest of the assault on Yemen.

It comes down to collective action. If you think the company wants to be good, and isn’t just a bad place with a terrible ethos, then there are a number of ways to push back against whatever bad stance they’ve taken, all of which involve getting like-minded individuals together so you can have a bigger voice and more power.

Tech employees have used memos and general statements through email to bring up issues to their higher-ups and prompt conversations, and sometimes reach compromise. Protests are a tried and proven way to force companies to engage and resolve moral conflicts. Fans of certain teams, like the Timbers, have already started protests against their team’s ban on the Iron Front flag, and as expected, those protests have put the team in the awkward position of having to justify their silly position. I expect that the more the team refuses to abandon their stance, the bigger the protests will grow.

If you feel that your company is acting immorally, you have a right to speak up, either in private or in public, which always works better when done as a group. You can hold the company accountable for failing its own ideals, or the ideals that it should have. You also have the right to leave if you have the opportunity to do so.

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rosyredlipstick · 7 years

Note

Hi! Can you do the Relationship Tag thing with Solgrace (Will Solace/Jason Grace) + Family?

Wow, this is the first I’ve heard of this ship! Not to say I didn’t enjoy it - this was fun to write and get out of my solangelo comfort zone! Thanks for the ask, anon!

Family: Solgrace

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children? You can’t not look at Dad Friend (™) Jason Charleston Grace and not imagine a distant future where you’ve settled down with your white picket fence two floored house on mortgage with your 2.5 kids, adopted shelter dog, and fat lap cat. It’s just. It’s not just possible.

If so, how many children do your muses want/have? Will wants a big family, Jason’s kinda sorta terrified at the idea of being a parent (I mean….look at his parental figures. Not the best.) I’d see them having maybe three or four kids.

Who is the favorite parent? Jason is totally the parent that goes “No dinner is your punishment!!!” and sends the kid up to their room and then arrives at their door 10.2 minutes later with a full plate and fork. Will just shakes his head and takes away video games for a week or something.

Who is the authoritative parent? William is forced into the position by the sheer force of Jason’s astonishing ability to melt in the face of sad puppy eyes.

Who is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school? Jason. Will knows how important school is - and he’s a doctor for gods sake, he knows when they’re faking and when they’re actually sick. However, wolf boy never attended a day of public school and turned out great, wanna go for breakfast ice cream kids?

Who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around? Lololol what Will doesn’t know won’t hurt him. (except the youngest kid is Will’s total devoted angel, tells Will everything, stares up at Will with watery eyes as they confess that daddy took them out for ice cream after school and is that okay i know you dont want us to have sweets but daddy said it was okay and not to tell you but papa -)

Who turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children? Both of them when they can - but no matter what, the kid always has someone to support them. Sometimes it’s Jason with Will away at work, sometimes it’s Will with Jason busy with the other kids, sometimes it’s both, or sometimes it’s a crowd of too-excited aunts and uncles with face-paint and glittery signs. Yes, even for recitals. Their son still blushes in embarrassment at the thought of Aunt Piper enthusiastically jumping around in her seat when he came on stage for Swan Lake.

Who goes to parent teacher interviews? Both of them. Will is fiercely proud of his lil nuggets and Jason is the ruling PTA mom on duty.

Who changes the diapers? Will does. Jason gagged the first time and neither of them wanted to risk vomit on the infant. Jason pitches in other places - getting up first when the baby starts crying, etc.

Who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? Jason first, then they take turns.

Who spends the most time with the children? Jason’s a total trophy husband, mentors and volunteers on the side. With Will working double shifts at the hospital, Jason’s the main caretaker for the babies.

Who packs their lunch boxes? Listen, even with Will’s sometime double shifts and sleeping at odd hours - William Solace always manages to make his kids lunches. Sometimes it’s a few days in advance and they’re frozen when he knows he’s gonna be busy, sometimes they’re quickly made after a 2 am shift and stop at the drugstore for supplies. But he always does it, with personalized notes and their likes and dislikes taken in account.

Who gives their children ‘the talk’? Will does, very medically and without a trace of embarrassment. They’ve always been very honest with their kids about sex, and from their kids lack of shame on the topic, it shows.

Who cleans up after the kids? They both help out where they can, but mostly Jason. After a month of taking care of a two year old, he calls his sister and apologizes.

Who worries the most? Both of them. Jason is with them the most - has more time to freak out - but Will works in a place where a good amount of people in the building are experiencing the worst days of their lives. Parents worry.

Who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from? Uncle Leo. This also where they learn how to pick a lock, change their oil, and their first dirty joke.

#solgrace #will solace #jason grace #headcanons #my asks #anon #rosy answers

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khaleesi-in-the-north · 7 years

Text

In the crosshairs (14/?)

@lanasexuall

After hanging up with Tommen Baratheon, the first thing Margaery feels is guilt. And a slight headache from drinking the night before.

Because she doesn’t feel sorry or sad or upset in general by Joffrey’s death. She feels guilty for not feeling those things, though.

The boy likely told her more than he should have when he said Joffrey’s death was being investigated by police. Jaime and Cersei would want to keep that out of public attention for as long as possible.

Margaery can scarcely blame the boy. He sounded far younger than 18, scared and shaken. Almost innocent in a way his family could not replicate. Margaery could see why Cersei had him call rather than his secretary.

She sets down her phone and pours her coffee. She forgoes her usual amount of sugar with hopes that the bitterness will jolt her numbed senses and cure her headache.

A few minutes later, with half a cup of the most disgusting coffee she’s forced herself to drink, Margaery is back to work. She takes care of Lady, who jumps and yips with excitement as Margaery puts her leash on and takes her to the front yard. When she comes back, there’s a text from Renly saying Jorah wants all writers in the office ASAP.

Her shower is quick and she rushes to apply her make-up, done in twenty minutes rather than her typical hour long ritual to get ready.

Ready to head out the door, she stops at the closet. Alayne doesn’t know she’s heading to the office today. Before news of Joffrey’s death flipped her story into uncertainty, today was supposed to be a lazy “work from home” day. Two weeks ago, Margaery would have already been out the door without a thought as to what Alayne would say or think.

Now, she found herself going back to Alayne’s room. The door squeaks in a way it wouldn’t have had she not been trying to keep it quiet. Alayne lays sprawled on the bed, still in the same position Margaery had awoken to. Margaery kneels beside her and gently strokes her hair, stiff from having unwashed hair product in all night. Alayne turns her head toward Margaery in her sleep. Her nails lightly over Alayne’s cheek. Alayne flinches in response. “Good morning, sweetling,” she says softly.

Alayne groans. Her eyes blink open, dazed and unfocused until she finds Margaery’s smile. “Nnnn, what time is it?”

“Eight,” Margaery says.

Alayne groans again and turns her head to the face the ceiling, throwing an arm over her eyes. “T’s too early.”

Margaery chuckles, “You can go back to sleep. I just wanted to tell you that I’m going to the office.”

“But you’re s’posed to cuddle with me,” Alayne says. She rolls onto her side to properly face Margaery.

“Mormont called all reporters in. Joffrey died last night,” Margaery pauses for a moment, to allow the news to sink in for Alayne before continuing, “It’s going to be the biggest story on television and in all the papers, so I might be home late too.” She can imagine the list of people Jorah will want her to interview and the amount of editing he’ll want for the article she’s been crafting.

Alayne’s lack of reaction doesn’t surprise Margaery. Alayne made it well known that she loathed the Lannister heir. That hatred combined with the daze of waking up made things difficult to process. It had taken Margaery long enough to process the news herself.

“I have to go. Goodbye, darling,” Margaery says.

Alayne lays back down. “Bye Marge, stay safe, okay?”

“I always do,” calls Margaery over her shoulder as she walks out.

The office is buzzing as usual. Interns race back and forth, juggling coffee cups with notepads and cameras. Old lady Fossoway chatted away on the office phone that in a conversation that sounded far from work related. On days like these, Margaery was thankful that her office was upstairs away from the chaos.

She narrowly dodges Jorah’s frazzled graphics intern who rushes around a corner, shouting out an apology that sounds like it’s been repeated a dozen times today alone.

Renly, Jorah, Myranda, Doran, and Irri are already gathered in the conference room when Margaery arrives.

“Nice of you to join us,” snarks Myranda.

Margaery shrugs off the comment and takes a seat beside Renly. She doesn’t know what she’s ever done to Myranda, just that the girl has hated her every moment from the day Margaery accepted a staff position with the Courier. Her jealousy has gotten worse the longer she’s worked on her story about Cersei.

“Where’s Tarly?” Jorah barks.

As if those were the magic words, Sam tumbles through the doorway, red-faced and puffing. “Sorry, sorry. Little Sam was under the weather and Gilly was still at work and my mum got stuck in traffic-”

Jorah glares at him. “Enough Tarly. Sit.”

Sam grabs the nearest chair and sits, trying to shush his panting breaths.

Jorah stands at the front of the table. “As you all know, or should know, Joffrey Baratheon died early this morning. Personally, this news is not news. It’s tabloid fodder of a banking heir. However, thanks to some investigative work from one of our own,” he looks pointedly at Margaery before returning his attention to the rest of the table. Myranda rolls her eyes. “I believe his death warrants a major news story. Therefore I want three reporters covering the Lannisters.”

Margaery straightens up, ready to pitch an idea for how to get a response from Cersei. Tommen told her that she was welcome to attend Joffrey’s private funeral. Although she declined because of Jorah’s strict ethical code, she might be able to get a word or two from Cersei if Jorah cared enough to bend his rules.

“Tarly I want you checking the hospital and the police department. Speak with anyone who will talk. Rhoyce and Baratheon, you two are going follow the family. See what L&C is doing. Respect their privacy though. If they ask you to leave them alone, then back off. Martell, you will be pick up Tarly’s workload for the day. Speak with him about what he needs done. Tyrell, you’ll attend the mayor’s press conference on the preservation of Baelor’s Sept. You’re all dismissed.”

The other journalists file out of the room, but Margaery remains seated. Jorah gathers his work together. “Is there something you need Tyrell?”

“Why am I not working on Joffrey’s death?” asks Margaery.

“You don’t need every major news story, Tyrell. Other writers deserve their spotlight coverage too,”Jorah opens the door to leave.

Margaery follows close behind. “Yes, but this is my story. I’ve built a repertoire with the Lannisters. They know me. They’ll talk to me.”

Jorah walks into his office and shuts the door after Margaery follows him in. “First, they don’t know you. If they did, they’d know how your interviews have cost them thousands of dragons in profit, sent the Cleganes on the run, and imprisoned three associates. I’d like to keep it that way. You don’t need to be on every story concerning them. And you’re too invested in them.”

“I don’t feel sorry about Joffrey’s death,” Margaery says. “You know emotions won’t be an issue.”

“That’s enough reason to have Rhoyce cover the story,” Jorah says as he writes on a sheet of paper. “You’ve got a vendetta against the Lannisters. I understand, they’ve done terrible things. It works itself out in an investigative piece. I can’t run the risk in a straight news story.”

“I can put it aside. I’ve never had issues being fair.”

“What I said is final. Stannis’s press conference begins in an hour. Get down there,” Jorah says. “Wait.”

Margaery stops at the door and turns back.

“I’m edited you’re first article. It’s nice work. I’m not publishing it yet.” Before Margaery can argue, Jorah adds, “Not until this story blows over. It will look too convenient, like we’re taking advantage of the situation. It will see the front page soon though.”

Margaery nods curtly and leaves.

The typical reporter pool mills around the vicinity of fold out chairs in front of City Hall. Cameraman jostle each other to reach the best angles of the mayor. Although the pool is smaller than the typical crowd that usually attends Stannis’s press conferences. The renovation of Baelor’s Sept is secondary news today.

Margaery sits in the first row of reporter chairs, directly in front of the podium. There’s no way Stannis will be able to ignore her questions.

As she slides her purse under her chair, a voice clears their throat above her. Margaery looks up to meet an unhappy looking Melisandre glaring down at her. Shouldn’t the most controversial reporter in Westeros be writing about the most famous death in Westeros since Ned Stark’s family died?

Margaery smiles charmingly. “Hello Melisandre. Lovely day.”

“This is my seat. I always sit here during the mayor’s press conferences,” Melisandre says, unamused.

“Perhaps you should have them engrave your name on the chair,” Margaery clicks her pen and crosses her legs, a firm stance that she will not budge.

Melisandre sits down next to her. “Why are you here? Where’s that little Myranda?”

“Didn’t you see it in the flames?”

“Don’t jest Margaery. R’hllor will remember.”

The Red Watch published her first two articles written in King’s Landing. They both concerned minor new stories, but when Margaery the articles, The Red Watch was finding its foot hold. It wasn’t the tabloid rumor mill it turned into. Which made Melisandre’s presence even more baffling.

“Jorah assigned me to this conference? What about you? Shouldn’t you be twisting Chief Lannister’s arm to spill what he knows about Joffrey?” That’s what she would be doing now.

“Stannis does the Lord’s work. He has an announcement that my readers will want to know.”

It made sense now. Melisandre was here to fuel work for her opinion section “Through the Flames”. Apparently Stannis was R’hllor’s chosen vessel this week.

Personally, Margaery still followed the Seven. Although following the scandal outing the sex slavery ring the High Septon ran, she found it more and more difficult to trust the Septons and Septas of the faith.

Other reporters joined them as Stannis’s aids came out, followed by Stannis himself. The team of aids checks the sound before giving Stannis the thumbs up to walk to the podium. Margaery turns on her recorder. It will be easier to go back and take direct quotes from that later than to attempt to scribble every word he says.

“Good afternoon,” rumbles Stannis’s deep voice. His movements are stiff and awkward. “Thank you for coming today. I’ve prepared a statement in regards to the renovations of the Sept of Baelor. The back will be rebuilt, using the stone and mortar method that was used to construct the building 500 years ago to maintain the building’s historical integrity. There have been fireproof pillars added to update the building to fire code regulation. The roof is…”

Margaery could feel herself nodding off. It wasn’t all Stannis’s fault. Okay it was 70% his fault. He lacks the charm and charisma of Renly, his younger brother. Without a proper DNA test, Margaery wouldn’t be convinced that the two were even related.

The only thing keeping Margaery awake is the spectacle that goes on between Melisandre and Stannis as Stannis talks. Melisandre makes smoldering eyes toward Stannis, who tries to ignore her, except Margaery can tell by the way he quirks his lips unnaturally as Melisandre winks that something is definitely going on there.

“Questions?” Stannis asks, reminding Margaery that she had completely blown her purpose of being here.

Sitting in the front row is a regret. Especially when Stannis stares at her, daring her to raise her hand. No one else raises their hand, so his pressure tactic fails.

Finally, Melisandre raises her hand with a flourish. “Mayor Baratheon, followers of R’hllor have been petitioning for a place in which they may freely worship the Lord of Light. What have you done to address their concerns?”

“Thank you for the question,” Stannis says. He must not receive questions often at these events. “On the top of Visenya’s Hill, we will begin construction of a temple shortly.”

Margaery turns to Melisandre. The red witch smiles smugly at Stannis, partially in adoration and partially in self-pride. She knew what he would say. Yet, there had been no hint of news that construction of a temple would begin anywhere in the city. This wasn’t Margaery’s typical beat, so Myranda may have had an insight, but based on the shocked faces of those around her, Margaery was willing to bet this was a bombshell in the world of small city government.

“Until construction is finished, the High Septon of the Sept of Baelor has agreed to allow use of Stranger’s private alter for any such rituals the Lord of Light would require of his people.”

Stannis grimaces at the audience. Margaery could only imagine he was attempting a smile. From that point on, questions flowed easily. Despite coming unprepared, Margaery manages to conjure a few on the spot. Stannis’s abrupt and cold responses don’t come as easily. They sound intelligent and thought out, but rehearsed and as though he would rather be anywhere but here. Margaery has a specific place in mind for them as Melisandre continues her strange telepathic flirtation with the mayor.

“You knew,” says Margaery when Stannis’s aids shuffle him off stage.

“I knew what?” asks Melisandre innocently.

“You said he was making an important announcement and then he says they’re beginning an immediate construction of a temple for the Lord of Light. That’s not coincidence, darling.”

Melisandre barks a laugh. “I saw it in the flames, child.”

She gets up and walks in the direction that Stannis’s aids led him.

Margaery lets it go. Who her fellow reporter does in her free time is none of her business, and she’d like to keep it that way.

She goes to the nearest coffee shop with free wifi, where she has a quick phone interview with one of the Red Priests and with a Septa at the Sept of Baelor, then types up a draft highlighting the news about the new temple construction focusing on how the priests and septons plan on working together during the next few months.

Once Jorah sends her the thumbs up for the article, she’s free to go. For a moment, she considers pitching her idea for her next investigation piece to Jorah, then decides against it. She hasn’t even finished interviewing Cersei. She could hear Jorah droning on about the importance of wrapping up one story before moving on to the next.

Yet, how could she finish her story on Cersei now? Moving on to the next story was the smart move. Margaery would call Cersei’s office again in a few days to check on her. Meanwhile, she would begin searching for leads on the Stark girls.

On the drive home, she thinks about what Jorah said. Joffrey’s death should impact her more. She spent almost as much time with him in the last month as she did with Alayne. The boy was spoiled and disgusting, but she didn’t even feel the slightest sense of loss. Being able to compartmentalize work and real life has always been a point of pride. It never hindered her work in the past; it typically promoted her work.

As Margaery walks through the front door she notices a distinct lack of wolf-dog attacking her. She can hear Alayne’s voice drifting down the hall from the kitchen. Walking closer, the words become audible. “I wish I had seen her face when she heard. I want her to know how it feels to have everything ripped from you… Not yet. Speculation needs to die down before that… I’ve taken care of that. No one knows she was there… I made sure he took care of it, Petyr. I know what I’m doing… Yes I know what I’m doing with her too! I’m not a damn child anymore…”

Margaery stops outside the kitchen door to listen a little longer. “It’s done, that’s all I’m concerned about… I’ve got to go Petyr…Just because you don’t a love life doesn’t mean I should sacrifice mine,” she hears the teasing note in Alayne’s voice, more playful than she usually is with Baelish.

She takes that as her cue to enter the kitchen. Lady lays at Alayne’s feet, gnawing on a raw-hide. Her teeth crack against the bone. “I told you, I have to got Petyr. Bye.”

For a split second, Margaery thinks Alayne’s voice sounds slightly different a moment ago. Slightly more like Ygritte’s, and not with the hint of Riverland she hears now. She shakes off the ridiculous thought. They’ve been together for over a year and Alayne’s voice has always had a Riverland lilt to it. A long day at work is finally taking it’s toll.

“Hello my pretty little rose,” Alayne smiles dazzlingly. “What happened to a late night at the office?”

Margaery picks an apple out of the fruit basket on the island. “Not as busy as I thought it would be.” She takes a bite. “Why are you so happy.”

Alayne takes the apple from Margaery and takes a bite from it. “What’s not to be happy about?”

Pure joy emanates from Alayne. Margaery feels her mood brighten just looking her girlfriend’s smile. Still, something felt off about the conversation she overheard. If she was going to be forthright with Alayne, she expects the same in return.

She playfully snatches the apple back from Alayne. “Did I interrupt something important?” Not wanting Alayne to feel defensive, she keeps her tone light.

“You heard that?” Alayne asks, her voice level and not sounding overly innocent to compensate for a lie. Good. It relaxes Margaery.

“Mmm-hmm. Sounds like you’re playing dirty with your business endeavors,” she leans on the counter island and chomps another bit of apple, juicy and skinless so there’s no bitter aftertaste.

“Maybe a little,” Alayne winks. She comes closer and wraps arms around Margaery, towering over her. “I finished the deal with the cosmetic company. It will take some time to get it off the ground, but it’s mine.” She squeals like a little girl. Sometimes Margaery forgets that Alayne is younger than her, but moments like these remind her.

“That’s amazing,” smiles Margaery. She kisses Alayne’s cheek. She pulls away and moves to the fridge to get a drink.“You must have driven a hard sale with the old owner, to hate her so much.”

Alayne’s face darkens slightly. “Let’s just say she rubs me the wrong way.” The slight dip in mood quickly disappears. “Anyway, how was your day?”

“Odd,” admits Margaery. She chews more of the apple. She spits out a piece of skin that’s too big and unsavorable and watches Lady eat it off the floor. “A man I’ve spent the last four weeks getting to know in depth died last night and I feel nothing toward him.” She turns back to Alayne. “Shouldn’t I feel sad or sorry?”

Alayne looks at her sympathetically. Her eyes pour out the sympathy Margaery wishes she felt for Joffrey. “You shouldn’t feel obligated to feel anything for him. He was awful, Margaery. He told you the things he did to that Stark girl. And the way he looked at you, touched you,” Alayne’s voice becomes angrier and harder with every allusion to Joffrey. “That monster could have tried to do you what he did to those women from Winterfell.”

“What women?” Margaery asks. She drinks a sip from her glass of water. Joffrey had never mentioned any women from Winterfell besides the Stark women and a girl named Jeyne Poole.

“Did you not hear? Let me show you,” she takes Margaery to the living room, where Alayne’s laptop sits closed on the couch. She opens the screen to an already opened website, Winterfell News Network.

A video begins playing. Even though the sound is off, the bruises and busted lips of two women, prostitutes based on the article’s title, tells the story.

The graphic pictures don’t seem doctored as far as Margaery can tell, although Renly has a better eye for such things.

“The newscaster said the women would only speak with WNN,” Alayne says. Warning flags set off in Margaery’s head. WNN isn’t the most trustworthy of news outlets to begin with, considering a sketchy association with the Stark family. These women might be looking for a bit of cheap fame from a bitter news station. She has her questions, but she’s inclined to believe the women.

“Joffrey was an arse and a prick, but I that seems beyond his power.”

Alayne holds Margaery against her. “Why would they make it up? They put themselves at risk by speaking out against any Lannister. You proved as much with your interview with Sandor Clegane.” That was true. There was more to lose than gain for these women by throwing Joffrey’s name under the bus now.

Margaery lays her head on Alayne’s shoulder. Alayne closes her laptop. “If he did that to them, I don’t want to imagine what he could have done to you. I’d rather him dead than ever have another chance to hurt you.”

#in the crosshairs #sansaery

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