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morningfears · 4 years

Text

Television Romance [Chapter One]

Rating: PG-13 (some swears, nothing major)

Summary: Natalia Adler is a stressed out grad student who attempts to escape the noise of her office by visiting her favorite coffee shop. However, instead of a few hours of writing, she gets a lap full of coffee and a date with the most gorgeous guy she’s ever met.

Word Count: 3.4k

Chapter Two

The graduate student office was usually busy, bustling with activity and overflowing with graduate students working on various research projects or grading coursework as well as undergraduate students seeking assistance with assignments. It was always difficult to concentrate among the din, there was always some conversation or another taking place that was much more interesting than writing yet another proposal, but Tuesdays were the worst.

On Tuesdays, the graduate teaching seminar met in the student office. For an hour each week, the teaching assistants dragged whatever chairs they could find to the center of the room and formed a circle to discuss problems that had arisen in their classrooms, questions they had about university policy, and an article on teaching practices they were assigned to - but never actually did - read. The class was supposed to be useful, a way for them all to prepare for their futures as academics, but it usually turned into a shouting match as the stronger personalities argued over one another about best practices in classroom management. And after, when the dust settled and the faculty facilitator was gone, students who didn’t have a one o’clock class stuck around to catch up on whatever departmental gossip they’d missed throughout the week.

Most days, Natalia was able to tune it all out. Her desk was in the corner, hidden behind a flimsy partition, and her noise cancelling headphones worked wonders to drown out the arguments. She didn’t love catching snippets of pointless conversations about which departmental policies were outdated - they all were - or which graduate students were sleeping together but she made it work. However, today was not one of those days.

She had several important deadlines looming over her head - conference submissions, revisions for a potential publication, the first draft of her thesis proposal, all due within days of one another - and she was feeling overwhelmed. The argument as to whether the department was too hard or too soft on students - or whether professors played favorites - was only making things worse. Instead of subjecting herself to two more hours of torture, she decided to pack up her bag and head to the coffee shop across the street. Even if it was loud, it had to at least be less hostile than the office.

She stood, satchel slung over one shoulder with her cellphone and headphones in hand, and glanced over the top of her partition at the girl who sat across from her. Nicole, like Natalia, wore headphones whenever she worked in the office and only glanced up when Natalia tossed a paperclip at her.

“I’m going to Molly’s,” she announced when Nicole pulled her headphones away from her ears and glanced up at her. Natalia struggled to keep her voice quiet in an attempt to avoid drawing attention to herself, though she was half certain she could yell and still not be heard over her colleagues. However, she remained cautious as the last thing she wanted was for anyone to join her. “You want anything?”

“A new job, a better salary, a husband who takes out the trash… I could go on,” Nicole answered, rolling her neck and grinning tiredly at Natalia’s deadpan expression. “I’ll settle for a caramel latte, though. With almond milk and extra caramel, please. I’ll Venmo you.”

“I’ve got it,” Natalia assured her with a wave of her hand as Nicole reached for her cellphone, “you got me boba last week. You have class at three, right?”

“Don’t remind me,” Nicole sighed as she dropped the device, straightened up in her chair, and pulled a face as she glanced at the syllabus tacked to her partition wall. “We’re going over how Marxism influenced Burke today. I think I’d rather chew off my own foot than try to teach a group of undergrads about either Marxism or Burke.”

“I know the point of college is to make kids think,” Natalia began as she hoisted her bag a little higher on her shoulder and ambled around her partition to stop beside Nicole’s desk, “but I’m glad I got the class that’s a little more, ‘well, duh,’ than that. We’re going over how fundamentally fucked the US healthcare system is today.”

Nicole paused for a moment, staring at Natalia with a look that reeked of both annoyance and exhaustion, before she dropped her head to her desk and asked, “Is it too late to drop out?”

This was a conversation they’d had at least once a week since their first semester of graduate school and Natalia bit back a laugh as she nodded. “Yep. You’re halfway through your thesis proposal, no quitting now,” she pointed out as she nodded toward the stack of books on religious rhetoric that Nicole had stacked on her desk. “Anyway, only eight more months until we’re free.”

“I’m three pages in,” Nicole informed her, a pitiful whine erupting from her throat as she lifted her head and ran a hand through her unwashed curls. “This is going to be a long semester.”

Natalia, who had been under the impression that she was impossibly behind although she only lacked a completed methodology section, grimaced upon learning just how far behind Nicole was. She gave her friend a gentle pat on the shoulder and, although she had her own deadlines to meet, offered her assistance. “I’ll probably be sticking around after class tonight,” she informed her as she thought about the papers she still needed to grade, “if you need me to help with anything, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” Nicole sighed as she turned in her chair and smiled at Natalia, the exhaustion evident in her features although they were only a month into the semester. “I’m thinking about a writing party on Friday so that people can submit conference papers and then go get hammered after. You in?”

“Always down for drinks after opening myself up for rejection. You can send out an email and maybe follow up with a GroupMe or something. Your husband won’t mind you spending Friday with us?” she asked as she glanced over at the group of students, now talking instead of arguing, that still remained in the room. Although they got on her nerves sometimes, she had grown to love most of them.

“He’s going to a football game with some friends. If I stay home, I’ll just end up falling asleep in the tub with a glass of wine. I’ll send the email after class,” Nicole answered as she grabbed her headphones and moved to reposition them onto her ears. “Go, get out of here before someone stops you. You’ll be back by three?”

“Yeah, I’ll be back before you have to leave. I’ll text you when I’m on my way over. See you in a bit,” Natalia hummed as she tapped the top of Nicole’s partition before maneuvering around the group that crowded the doorway and stepping out into the hall.

The building itself wasn’t that busy, it rarely was, but campus was teeming with students as Natalia stepped outside. They typically opted for afternoon classes rather than morning ones and it was obvious that classes held after lunch were the most populated as she watched students wander from building to building. Her own undergraduate experience had been very different - classes as early in the morning as she could get them and work in the afternoons until late at night - but she understood the desire to take advantage of the opportunity.

As a graduate student, her schedule was a little different. She was usually the first one to arrive in the office, just to get a little work done, and held office hours during lunch. She was a TA for a class that met on Tuesdays and Thursday at three and had her own classes to attend, with each of the three meeting once a week, starting at six p.m. and ending at around ten.

She was busier than she had ever been, even busier than the two years she spent working two jobs and overloading her class schedule. It was harder and lonelier than undergrad had been. She had little time to feel human or socialize without anyone outside of her program, however, she told herself that it would all be worth it when she finished and had a master’s degree under her belt.

Natalia made the most of the few minutes it took her to walk from her office to Molly’s, the closest coffee shop to campus that wasn’t the always crowded Starbucks in the library. She rarely got to enjoy her days. They were usually spent locked in the office or cooped up in the library, neither of which had enough windows. Although it was September, fall still seemed a lifetime away.

She could still smell summer as an occasional ocean breeze wafted through campus. The sun was bright and high in the sky and the air was warm. It felt like the height of summer, as it usually did in Los Angeles, and she was grateful that she’d chosen to wear a dress instead of pants as the slight breeze kept her from overheating as she entered Molly’s.

The little coffee shop was every Instagram obsessed student’s dream. The exterior was nondescript with plain white walls and a small patio with string lights and a few small tables, however, the interior more than made up for it. There were walls covered with ivy - though Natalia didn’t know if it was real or not - and neon signs littered around the space. There was also a loft with tables and chairs that always seemed to be quieter than the rest of the shop.

It had all been too much for her the first time she visited. It seemed gimmicky, not the kind of place she wanted to frequent even if it was convenient, however, her opinion changed the moment she tried the coffee. Her predecessors in the program hadn’t been wrong in telling her that it was the best coffee she could get and that it served as a good hideout when the office got to be too much to handle. She understood why it was frequented by both students and the outside community, even if it took them too close to campus.

Although the coffee shop was bustling with students rushing in and out between classes, filled with the sounds of conversation and the excitement that came with a new school year, it still seemed quieter than the office. After ordering her iced coffee and settling into a table near the entrance, Natalia slipped her headphones back on and bit her lip in concentration as she opened her laptop and began working on the revisions she’d gotten back from her co-author.

It was difficult, not paying attention to the patrons that entered the shop as she loved people watching, but Natalia kept her eyes on her screen and typed away. If she had glanced up, she might have seen the looks that people threw one another as two men entered the shop. She might have seen how a few snuck pictures with their cellphones or how others whispered excitedly as they passed them by. But she didn’t. All she saw was the cursor on her document blink as she tried to string together a coherent sentence.

She focused on typing a new explanation for a concept she thought she’d covered well enough to need no further explanation, a metaphorical dark cloud hanging over her head as she let the reviewer’s comments weigh on her pride. However, as she got into a groove, her word count quickly climbing, she felt something cold splash against her right side.

She sat, stunned, for a few seconds, before she pulled her headphones off and blinked at the coffee that stained the right side of her dress and dripped from her skin. Ice cubes gathered in her lap, cold seeping through the fabric of her dress as she attempted to process what happened. It took a few more seconds of staring at the mess before she picked up her laptop and held it away from the growing pool of coffee. Ice cubes clattered to the floor as she stood and she grimaced as she watched them fall. She looked over the computer, sighing in relief when nothing appeared to be wet, before she lifted her head and looked at the person responsible.

Any other time, her attention would be on how beautiful the man in front of her was. He stood a head taller than her, easily, with broad shoulders and a surprised expression that she was sure matched her own. His blonde curls had fallen into his eyes, obscuring the blue slightly, and his cheeks and upturned nose were tinted pink in embarrassment as he looked over the damage he’d done.

They stared at one another for longer than necessary, his eyes lingering on her face just as hers lingered on his, and she was glad that he at least had the decency to stare at her face instead of the wet fabric clinging to her. The man beside him, slightly shorter and more amused than embarrassed, nudged his friend who moved as if he were a video that had been taken off pause.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, his words rushing together as he watched her place her laptop on a neighboring table to keep it out of harm’s way before she reached for a few napkins. “Fuck, here, let me help you with that.”

His hand bumped into hers as he reached for more napkins and began wiping at the table and, as cliche as it was, she felt a jolt of something shoot down her spine as she quickly pulled her hand away. It was easy for Natalia to ignore the feeling as she watched him make matters worse. She tried to hide it, however, she couldn’t help but grimace as she moved her bag away from the table, slipping it over her head in an effort to avoid him sweeping coffee inside it.

She shook her head at his apology and reached for another handful of napkins. “It’s okay,” she sighed, not wanting to be rude even though she knew she’d have to take time she was planning on using to write to go home and change before class, “at least it was iced coffee.” She tossed the soaked napkins into the trash and bent down to pick up the ice cubes and cup from the ground. “What happened, anyway?”

“He tripped,” the shorter, dark-haired man informed her before he took a sip of his coffee. He still looked amused, positively delighted as he watched his friend struggle to find the right words to say, and Natalia bit back a laugh as she realized everyone had a friend like him.

“I didn’t trip,” the taller man defended with a roll of his eyes, cutting his eyes at his friend before returning his attention to Natalia. He met her eyes sheepishly, the embarrassment softening his features as he explained, “Someone bumped into me on their way in and I, uh…” He trailed off, clearly having planned on saying that he tripped, and dropped his gaze to the floor as Natalia laughed.

“Tripped?” she finished, a smile on her lips despite the situation. When the taller man grimaced, bringing the hand not full of soaked napkins up to rub at the back of his neck, she laughed once more.

“Fine, I tripped,” he acknowledged, “but it wasn’t just being clumsy. Someone really did bump into me.” He gave his explanation more to his friend than to her and she wondered how often he found himself tripping over thin air. He looked solid, like he wouldn’t be the type to trip over his own two feet, but looks could be deceiving and she knew from personal experience how annoying it was to be the clumsy friend.

“It’s okay,” she assured him, a little more sincere in her assurance this time as she offered him a genuine smile. “Nothing spilled on my laptop and it wasn’t boiling so, worst case scenario was avoided. I think I’ll just not sit near the door next time, though.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good call,” he agreed. His lips were quirked in a smile, grateful that she wasn’t yelling at him, and he still held the soaked napkins in his hands. “I still feel bad, though. Can I make it up to you; buy you a coffee or something?” he asked, a hopeful lilt to her voice that told her he wasn’t just looking to make up for spilling coffee on her.

As much as it pained her to turn him down - and it hurt quite a bit as she found him to be beautiful, even in basketball shorts and a t-shirt - she didn’t have time. “That would be great,” she began, a rueful smile on her lips as she grabbed her laptop and slid it into her bag, “but I have to run. I need to go get changed before class. It’s really okay, though. No big deal.”

She didn’t miss the nudge his friend gave him and raised an eyebrow as she watched him swat at his friend’s elbow. “I, uh, how about dinner, then?” he asked, his eyes meeting hers.

He looked so earnest, his skin still tinted pink and his eyes wide, and she felt a giddy excitement bubble in the pit of her stomach. He was gorgeous, the kind of guy she never imagined would be interested in her, and she wanted to give him a chance. She didn’t know him, didn’t know if that chance would turn into a disaster, but she found herself wanting to take that risk.

“I have class until ten tonight,” she told him, biting back a coo when his face dropped at what he assumed was her rejection, “but if you tell me your name, I think I could free up my Friday night for dinner.”

He blinked, surprised at how her sentence ended, and smiled at her. He had a unique smile, his teeth on full display and tongue pressed to the back of them, and his eyes brightened as he nodded his agreement. “Right, yeah. Luke,” he introduced, moving to offer her his hand before realizing he still held the wad of napkins. “This meeting isn’t really going that well, huh?”

“I’d say it went south when you dumped coffee on her,” the friend commented, not even bothering to hide his grin as he watched the interaction unfold before him. “All downhill from there, mate.”

“I’m Natalia,” she introduced, pointedly ignoring his friend’s comment with an amused glance in his direction. “I’ve had worse first meetings, don’t worry. My freshman year roommate opened a door on me and gave me a concussion. You just stained a dress.”

“Oddly, that makes me feel better about this, thanks,” Luke laughed as he reached out and dropped the napkins into the garbage. “Can I get your number? That way you can go change now and we can make plans later,” he clarified, smiling at her as he offered her his cellphone to put her number in.

She felt Luke’s gaze on her as she put her number into his phone and she offered him a smile as she handed the device back. “I have one request for Friday,” she told him as she grabbed her own phone from the table and grinned at the text he sent her with his name, “no tables near the entrance.” Luke laughed at her request, a sound that she found endearing, and Natalia grinned at him. “I’ll see you on Friday, then.”

“See you on Friday,” he confirmed, grinning as he watched her step around him.

Natalia and Luke maintained eye contact for a moment, each giddy and grinning as they felt the butterflies of something new on the horizon, before Natalia bumped into something solid on her way out and made a face before quickly turning to apologize. She tossed Luke a wave over her shoulder, her own cheeks burning in embarrassment, as she heard his friend mumble, “Wow, she’s perfect for you.”

As she stepped out into the world once more, she grinned at the encounter. It made her lose an hour of writing time - and ruined her favorite dress - but maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing. She’d been single for years and hadn’t had any luck with dating apps. She knew that a boyfriend wasn’t the most necessary thing in her life, however, it might be nice to be the girl with a date for once. And it certainly didn’t hurt that Luke was gorgeous.

Whatever the future held for them, she found herself looking forward to it.

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Author’s Note: If I try to start another series, someone fight me. Like, actually, genuinely fight me. I’m focusing on Rose Tattoo, These Violent Delights, and this. (And MF if I get inspiration but those updates are more sporadic, never meant to be regular, sorry. :() I want to write a few one shots but they’ll likely be shorter and just fun, you know? Not super plot heavy. I may or may not update the next chapter of this sooner than a week because this is kind of short. But, hey, I’ve got all the time in the world because after I defend next week, I’m done with grad school and that’s mildly terrifying. Anyway. Here we go.

Tag List (like this post or message me if you want to be added!): @toolazymyguy , @irwinkitten , @jamieebabiee , @glittersluke , @spicycal , @lusbaby , @everyscarisahealingplace, @brokenvirtualheartcollector , @if-it-rains-it-pours, @blisshemmings , @calumscalm , @lovemenowseemenever , @ijustreallylovezebras , @rhiannonmichelle, @p0laroidpictures , @tomscuddles , @loverofmineluke , @harrytreatspeoplewithkindnesss , @blueviiolence , @loveroflrh , @empathycth , @luckyduckydoo , @tobefalling , @bandsandbooksaremykink , @watch-how-she-burns , @megz1985 , @wokeupinaustralia , @lucidlrh , @canterburyfiction , @cal-is-not-on-branding , @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o , @jaacknaano , @findingliam-o , @old-zeppelin-shirt , @idk-who-i-am-anymore1 , @sammyrenae68 , @flowerthug , @calumsphile , @caitdaniels, @drummerboy794 , @writingfortoomanyfandoms , @x-lover-of-mine-x , @miliefayy , @sunaaii , @canterburyfiction , @sebrox40 , @nati-nn , @opheliaaurora23 , @bitterbethany , @sunnysidesblog , @333-xx

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quaranbabes · 4 years

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hey friends,

things have been a bit (insanely) busy. i have mostly good news, but i am just exhausted. i feel like grad school is like that greek myth with the hydra. you cut off one head and three more grow back in its place. i’m worried about burning out. i feel like i just finished midterms and now i’m already preparing for the next set of exams. i started a ten page paper and presentation a day before it was due and just presented it today. i think it went well, but now it’s onto preparing for my next role-play, studying for embryology, and developing my research proposal. i just want 24 hours to sleep.

amanda’s been keeping me sane. we went for a walk after my presentation today at hundred acres and we saw FUNKY BONES. if you’ve read the fault in our stars, that’s where the main characters go on a date. it’s just a large skeleton that u can walk on. it was so nice getting out and even though it’s been super dark and dreary recently, the fresh air felt super nice. i really got those ~over the garden wall~ autumn vibes.

i miss you all so much. i think about you guys a lot. (and dont worry! i have not forgotten about writing letters, i just really have not had much time to sit down and draft them. and when i do have free time, it’s really constrained to One Relaxing Thing and then back to work, so i’ve had to be a bit picky about what i have time to invest in).

i feel like it’s my fault that i feel so swamped right now. i always take on too much. i just got a job as a research assistant at a parkinson’s lab. i am serving on the outreach committee for a student organization. instead of using a pre-conceived research proposal, i decided to come up with my own (giving me like x3 as much work as my classmates). i am really hoping it will pay off in the end since i am hoping to be more invested in the work as a result. so far it’s been a pretty horrible decision.

my research director’s husband suddenly died in a freak accident a few weeks ago. they had been childhood friends (like, they grew up as neighbors from kindergarten) and dated in high school and had been married for over forty years. it’s the most fucking tragic thing i have ever heard. my research proposal is due in two days and she just came back to work today. i didn’t want to bother her while she was grieving, and so i worked on my proposal independently and asked other faculty to review my proposal. it’s 6 pages and i’m currently working on the 4th draft. i had her review it today and she says that i need to re-do it because the scope is too broad.

i know its not her fault that she hasnt been able to be here and i cant imagine the pain she is going through, but COME ON. i was given absolutely nothing to go on. i feel like i was just pushed into the ocean without ever being taught how to swim. i don’t know how she expects me to draft a completely new proposal with 48 hours notice AND with a full day of classes tomorrow (8am-5:30pm with an hour break for lunch) AND with other time-sensitive homework due. i am so tired.

none of my other classmates have had to write proposals, and so they are farther ahead on assignments for next week that i haven’t even had the chance to start. i know i shouldn’t be comparing myself to them, but i just do. i feel like a kid compared to them. they all have these amazing time-management skills, they all do WONDERFULLY on their presentations and their role-plays, and they all seem to do it without panicking each step of the way. i know that i am likely not seeing the whole picture, but i feel like i have to work twice as hard to be half as competent as them. these things don’t come naturally to me at all. i’ve been telling amanda that i am not smart, i am just a hard worker. she gets mad at me when i say that, but it’s true. i’m just worried that hard work won’t be enough to get me through this program.

on the bright side, because i am so busy, it feels like time has been going by so quickly. it’s hard to believe i have only one more month of in-person classes for this semester before thanksgiving break, and then finals pretty soon after that. that’s also pretty terrifying though, since that means i’ll be starting seeing patients in clinical rotations soon too.

i think i might have to talk to my therapist about upping my dosage of zoloft (WHICH, SIDE NOTE, HAS ALSO BEEN SUPER DIFFICULT SINCE IT MAKES ME SO FOOKIN’ SLEEPY. i hope the side effects subside soon) i started taking it a few weeks ago to help with anxiety. i haven’t felt much of an effect other than the side effects, which is ... not ideal. i know that it takes a while to get the full effect though, and i’ll be seeing my PCP on friday to talk about how its been going. i’ll update y’all then!

anyway, time to get back to my proposal. hope you are all well :)

#tess

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thesnowinthemountains · 4 years

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NCT 127 helping you study

(a/n: i did my best but i apologize in advance if there are inaccuracies in certain fields of study, i also acknowledge that the lengths of these are hella inconsistent. oops.)

Taeil

He thought it would be a good idea to have music playing in the background while you tried to study. Tried. You kept getting distracted by a particularly good lyric or interesting instrumental arrangement until you were eventually about to crawl out of your skin. He was sitting across from you at the dinner table, your papers scattered everywhere, scrolling through his phone.

“Taeil, turn that off please.” You said it softly.

“No.”

You look up at him now.

“What do you mean ‘no’? Yes. Turn that off,” you laugh it off, but you’re the slightest bit annoyed. This is one of the biggest exams you’ll have this semester, and if you don’t straight up ace it, you’ll be struggling for the next few weeks. He shakes his head.

“Taeil-”

“I read somewhere that if you can associate sounds or music to words, it helps to memorize them. I’m trying to help.”

“Oh.” You pause. “Well, maybe try it again later, for now I don’t even have my definitions down.”

He finally looks at you.

“Fine.” The music stops and you fall back into a peaceful silence.

Johnny

“Alright, who painted ‘Composition with Red, Blue and Yellow’?”

“Mondrian. Come on, at least give me something difficult, I’m trying to pass this final,” you whine, head hanging over the side of your bed. Johnny sits at your desk across the room.

“Okay, how about some added incentive?” Your study sheet falls from his face and you realize you haven’t actually looked at him in about a half hour.

“Yes?” You lean up onto your elbows.

“Every answer you get right now is a kiss you’ll get later.” He cocks his head. You don’t even have to think about it.

“Deal! Come on, next question.” You plop back down. A few minutes later, after a lightning round of names and dates, colours and details, you sit up to find him writing on your notes.

“What are you doing? Those are important.” You frown.

“I’m keeping a tally so I don’t forget one later. We are at...” He smirks without looking up and counts his marks on the page. “Seven, so far.”

“Ah,” you blush, “carry on, then.” You think to yourself there’s no way in hell you’ll ever be able to focus on that particular page of notes again.

Taeyong

You were supposed to memorize the entire periodic table and you were absolutely overwhelmed at the prospect. This was one of those moments you wished you had some superhuman photographic memory that would require minimal effort on your end. Taeyong had you study piece by piece over a long period of time. At first, you hadn’t even noticed he was doing it - he was being sneaky.

“Hey, what’s the first row of the periodic table?”

“That’s a weird question.”

He shrugged.

“I don’t know, I just had a weird flashback to science class in high school, it was up on a wall next to my desk. I think it starts with helium, right?”

“Hydrogen and helium, technically, yeah, but that’s not really how they’re grouped.” You explained.

“Oh? So how are they grouped?”

“Well, you’ve got your metals, halogens, stuff like that.”

“Huh. And what are they?”

That’s when you started to catch on. You cocked your head at him.

“Which ones? There are a few different types of metals.”

“Well, whichever.” He shrugged, still playing his part perfectly.

Yuta

It wasn’t an exam, per se, but you had to put together a final portfolio for an art class, one you hated. It was supposed to be basic drawing techniques, but the professor was all over the place; not all that surprising for an art professor, but still annoying to follow. You were sitting on your living room floor, papers strewn everywhere, barely knowing where to begin. You had a drawing of a flower that was nice and simple, you had gotten the shading right, you liked it enough. One was of a hallway; same deal, the technique was alright, you set it aside, but you had to pick a total of ten drawings. You had dozens, some of the same thing over and over again because you, or the professor, were never satisfied. When Yuta walked into the apartment and found you in that state, he started by sitting quietly beside you on the floor.

“What are we doing?” He murmured after a minute.

“Freaking out.”

“I see. Anything I can help with?”

You didn’t answer, but held up a decent-enough drawing of a hand.

“Do you think the details on this are okay?” You asked. He looked at you and then the drawing. He liked pretty much anything you did, but he knew you needed brutal honesty if you were ever going to be finished with this. He took a long, deep breath.

“So, the index finger on this one looks a little wonky, I think this one,” he reached for another drawing of a hand, “has better lines, better dimensions. All the fingers are good.”

“Oh, I hate the thumb on that one, though…”

He shrugged.

“This one?” He picked a drawing of a desk under a window. “The light looks really cool.”

Doyoung

For your final assignment, you were to make a long, detailed marketing proposal to your class. If it was picked up, you passed, if not, you had an opportunity for a do-over, and a private presentation to the professor alone. You didn’t want the second option, you had other things to do after passing this class that did not include a one-on-one meeting with your middle-aged professor some time after the end of classes. You had been reciting the whole thing to yourself for days, you had prepared a PowerPoint presentation and a ton of visuals to aid you, but you needed a second opinion. You had gone out with Doyoung a handful of times, you both figured it was a matter of time before things between you were made official, so you had him over, sat him down, and launched into your presentation. At the end, you took a breath, then asked:

“How was that?”

He gaped at you.

“Well, hot, we’ll start there.”

“No, Doyoung, I meant would you go for this idea if you were the CEO of something?”

“Honestly, yeah. You made some good points, you had valid, real reasons for what you wanted to do and how you wanted to market this thing. I think it works.” He shrugged.

“You’re a business major, you better not be bullshitting me.”

“You’re a marketing major, you could probably tell if I was.”

Jaehyun

You had given Jaehyun a key to your apartment months ago. He let himself in regularly, and a lot of the time, he was there when you got home from school or work. This time, though, he walked in to you sitting on your living room floor, laptop on the coffee table, facing the couch. There was paper all over the floor, some crumpled, some ripped, some simply abandoned. He had to tiptoe and side-step all the way to you. Your hair was a mess, which he would’ve found endearing if your eyes hadn’t been bloodshot.

“What are you doing?”

You nearly jumped out of skin, startled.

“Fuck, when did you get here?” You asked, eyes wide.

“Just now. You know you have a desk.” He nodded to the wooden furniture in the far corner of the room. You sighed.

“I couldn’t sit there anymore, I was going out of my mind.”

“Well, what are you doing?” He asked again, picking up notes on the couch to sit, facing you.

“My final portfolio for my fiction class is due tomorrow and I haven’t worked on anything in weeks.”

“You’re always writing.”

“Yeah, I’m always writing, but I had two of these stories workshopped months ago and I hadn’t looked at them since. God, they needed so much work, Jaehyun, I can’t believe I actually submitted that. Plus, I was missing a good ten pages for the portfolio, which I’ve written now, thank god, but I have so many drafted versions, I don’t know which one I want. I wrote seven different endings. I’m not even sure about my characters’ names. Or if I want them to be named, nothing’s coming out like I want it, I don’t know what I’m going to do-”

“Okay, slow down, slow down,” he moved to sit on the floor now, facing you at eye level. “How long have you been writing?”

You looked down at the time on your laptop. You frowned, confused.

“That can’t be right.”

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“There’s no way-”

“Alright, go take a nap, I’ll order some food.”

Winwin

“I need you to play judge.” You told Sicheng.

“Judge?”

“Yeah, sit,” you placed him at the center of the couch, and looked around before handing him a spoon. “Tap that on the table if you need to interrupt me.”

He stared at the spoon.

“Isn’t that for weddings?”

“So, I’m basically defending a client accused of theft and-”

“Don’t I get, like, case notes or something?”

“So demanding.” You rolled your eyes but went for your notes. He looked them over for a few minutes before leaning back comfortably.

“Proceed.” He declared, voice loud and clear. You smiled before launching into everything you prepared for your final. He did a fine job of rebutting if possible and interrupting when necessary, though you had to stop him from objecting! about anything he disagreed with.

Jungwoo

As an education major in your first year, your big final assignment was to prepare an elementary-level language class to teach your fellow university-level education major peers. To prepare, you had Jungwoo come over and told him he’d be playing the role of a seven year old, which pleased him.

“I’m a baby, you know that. This is perfect,” he grinned, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of you.

“Yes, now shut up, we’re learning vowels.” You said in your regular voice before switching to the over-enunciated, slightly higher-pitched voice of a first or second-grade teacher.

Mark

“How’s the essay going?” Mark asked, coming into your dorm room. He plopped down on your bed behind you.

“Well, so… get this,” you swiveled around in your chair to face him, leaving behind you a handful of novels, two different notebooks, and your phone open to pictures of your friends’ notes. “I’m supposed to write a compare-and-contrast essay about James Joyce and Samuel Beckett, of all people.”

“Is that so bad?”

“Mark, have you ever read Beckett? It’s like an acid trip in slow motion. You finish it, you have straight up no clue what you just read, but now you have to write about it.”

He frowns.

“And that other guy?”

“Joyce? He’s okay, I’m just glad writing about Ulysses isn’t a requirement. There are just certain things I’m not willing to put myself through.”

“Well, mind if I keep you company?” He leans back on your bed.

“Go ahead, just try not to distract me too much, I want to get this done today.”

“You won’t even know I’m here.” He puts his headphones in and lies back against your pillow.

Haechan

This boy had arranged a whole game night just for you. He had friends over, set up a whole tournament bracket in which he was, of course, your partner, and he made sure even if you didn’t end up winning, you would end up learning, memorizing, and having fun getting ready for your most dreaded final. Food was ordered, drinks were made, and finally everyone involved in this evening was sat around the dinner table, in a heated trivia competition.

Some days later when your exam came around and you saw the first questions, your mind flashed back to Haechan shouting the answer at the top of his lungs and standing up so fast his chair fell backwards. It had been a ridiculous, slightly stupid idea, but damn if it hadn’t worked like a charm.

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pawsnread · 5 years

Text

Untamed Fest Day 8: AU

Summary: With a month left of their freshman year of college, Wei Ying tries to steal a moment with Lan Zhan.

Part of the larger A Long and Happy Life modern!AU verse created by @antiquecompass Also posted on AO3.

“Lan Zhan…I’m bored.”

Ignoring the long limbed man sprawled out atop his bunk, Lan Zhan continued to tap away at his laptop. He had a ten page paper on the history of the qin during the Tang dynasty to complete for a music history course, as well as a draft to start on the importance of understanding Maslov’s hierarchy correlated to applying pedagogical standards in elementary education. He didn’t have time for his boyfriend’s antics at the moment with only a month left of the spring semester of his freshman year.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying called again. He flipped over onto his stomach, brushing the hair out of his eyes before giving the other man an intent stare. “Lan Zhan!”

“Shut up,” came the curt reply. Typing in the last reference, Lan Zhan gave the paper a quick scan before closing out and opening another blank document. “Don’t you have a balance sheet to review?”

“Already done.” Wei Ying waved a stapled stack of papers at him, the margins scrawled in his messy handwriting and calculations. “You know I’m good with numbers. And, before you say anything, I already finished the psychology paper. Freud had some issues.” Dropping the papers back into his messenger bag, Wei Ying stood and stretched before moving to stand behind his boyfriend’s chair. “Seriously, though, you are working yourself way too hard.”

“Hn.” Lan Zhan tried to ignore Wei Ying as he began outlining his draft, fingers moving rapidly over the keys and eyes fixed on the screen behind his glasses. He kept working even as a body leaned against his back, pushing him almost face first into his laptop. “Get off, you’re heavy.”

“No.” Without warning, Wei Ying reached forward and closed the laptop with a snap; his other hand pulled off Lan Zhan’s glasses, laying them down with a clatter.

“Wei Ying.” His voice held a warning note as he cut his grinning boyfriend a glare, but Lan Zhan didn’t resist as Wei Ying swung his chair around before settling on his lap.

“Will you try and relax? You just finished a paper that isn’t due for two weeks.”

“I have another one to write.”

Wei Ying rolled his eyes before wrapping his arms around Lan Zhan’s shoulders. “Not due until the end of the semester. You are such an overachiever.” He leaned in for a kiss, pleased when Lan Zhan responded in kind.

“If I fail,” Lan Zhan murmured against his lips when they separated, “it’s going to be entirely your fault.”

Wei Ying snorted as he leaned his head on Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Please, you’re not going to come close to failing, Mr. Valedictorian of his class.” One finger absentmindedly traced the abstract pattern of his boyfriend’s shirt. Wei Ying’s voice softened at his next words. “Besides, I want to spend as much time with you in the next month as I can. I won’t get to see you during the summer, not like when we were kids.”

“Wei Ying…” He didn’t really know how to respond so instead Lan Zhan remained quiet and held him tightly.

They had met as kids, bunking together at the Lan Clan’s Cloud Recesses summer camp. From the time they were seven until they were fifteen, they have spent every summer together; it was the only time they had with each other with the Lans residing in the Berkshires and Wei Ying and the Jiangs in Boston. It had taken nearly a decade before they realized their feelings and began dating - well, it took Wei Ying nearly a decade, but there were also the strict constraints Lan QiRen put on any relationship his nephews had. Even now as freshmen at Harvard, Wei Ying and Lan Zhan weren’t allowed to be dorm roommates even if they were dating. Since they were both tackling multiple majors, they didn’t get to see each other as much as they liked. There was also the upcoming summer internships they both had acquired that would continue to keep them apart.

As such, Wei Ying was determined to make every moment of the next month count. He didn’t care if they didn’t do anything but sit and read side-by-side; he just wanted to spend as much time with Lan Zhan as he could.

“Well?”

Wei Ying blinked in confusion. Without moving his head, he cast his eyes upward, looking at Lan Zhan through his lashes. “Well what?” The sigh Lan Zhan issued whistled across his face and rustled the ends of his hair.

“I had thought you had some idea of what you wanted us to do together when you forced me to stop working on my paper.”

In truth, Wei Ying had no ulterior motives, but he was good at thinking on the fly. His eyes cut to a corner of Lan Zhan’s dorm room, lingering for a moment. He knew Lan Zhan would know what he meant even if he didn’t speak. Wei Ying dropped another kiss to his lips before getting up; he retrieved a black soft padded case almost as long as his forearm from his bag. As he fit together the two halves of the black bamboo dizi Yanli had gifted him at his last birthday, Lan Zhan carried over an oblong object wrapped in white. While Wei Ying checked the delicate membrane of his flute, Lan Zhan unwrapped the guqin he had brought from home to continue his practice while at college. He spent some time checking the strings, ensuring they had remained tuned while in storage.

After sharing a knowing look, the two began to play. It was a song Lan Zhan had begun composing when he was eight, had continued piecing together until he was seventeen and presented it to Wei Ying. It was their song, telling their story. No matter how many times they played it, neither grew tired of the tune. The notes they played blended harmoniously, filling the dorm room and filtering out into the hallway even through the closed door. Various students paused in whatever it was they were doing to listen, wondering at the music. When it ended, Wei Ying reached for Lan Zhan’s hand. Their fingers intertwined, grips tight as they shared another kiss.

They may only have a month left but it wasn’t the end all. Wei Ying knew that Lan Zhan loved him, knew that their feelings for each other were stronger than whatever life could throw at them. They had already gone through half their lives apart. No matter what, they always found ways to see each other even when life conspired against them. They just had to remember to play their song and everything would fall into place.

#untamedfest #the untamed fic #the untamed au #modern au #the untamed fest #day 8 prompt #the untamed fest day 8

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agallimaufryofoddments · 4 years

Text

I have been at the library on and off the past week ostensibly working--but also actually working--on a short paper and doing research, so hobbies have been much neglected during this time. Did manage to write a wiki page for DMDP Chapter 42 but I don’t think I wrote a reaction/thoughts post for it yet (guess I’ll do that today); admittedly lost several hours last Wednesday to wiki nav template coding--in any case, I’ve realized today I haven’t posted anything on Tumblr in four days. How time flies. Oh Lord.

(Did also end up buying Hades eventually after deliberating over it, have managed to play it since now and then...so all right, there’s Hades too. With that said--I really have been getting work done; this paper is due on the 31st and I’m already approaching the max word count. Have not actually finished the first draft because I stopped to go restructure the first couple/few pages, but hopefully I will have it either done by tonight or a completed version done bar editing tomorrow morning.)

Having a lot of trouble sleeping but the bright side of my insomnia bouts is that I occasionally lay awake in bed mentally writing my WIPs or answers to overdue asks (sorry)... The downside is mentally writing a thing isn’t the same as actually writing the thing, of course. ...Did I say there was a bright side?

It’s hard to believe January has only ten days or so to go. Half because I can’t believe how quickly time passes, and half because I don’t want to believe it. We cannot already be hurtling toward February. My thesis can’t take it.

#personal #I drank a very small cup of coffee at the library at 7pm last night and kicked off a headache that lasted for 12+ hours #no I did not get any sleep and yes the headache had the audacity to become worse in the morning #I spent a lot of the night regretting having the coffee--which I assumed was responsible for the headache #but then I realized in the morning the fact that the only things I had to eat yesterday were a few crackers+hummus in the morning #and one (1) bag of chips with the coffee might mean the headache was partly a hunger headache #I did have two earl greys in the late morning though. Either way I might ease off caffeine for now #Regarding my thesis I would like to phone a friend and by friend I mean Mercy #Deliver me from my own grave and deposit me in a better one please

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ship-to-hell · 5 years

Text

Being A Collection Of Letters Across The Sea

Have an emmhono epistolary fic, written uh...several months ago on AO3 and somehow neglected in the drafts of this tumblr since then. I offer no excuses, I’m just bad. have a future!fic with FEELINGS.

AO3

This letter has been written on the back of a colorful postcard proclaiming “Greetings From Kugane.” The penmanship is elegant, but a little scratchy on the rough paper. It’s also notably more cramped near the bottom where the author starts running out of space.

My lord,

I pray this letter finds you well. I have arrived in Kugane after a very uneventful journey; the only event of any import was the sighting of a great whale, which ignored our ship completely. The Bokairo Inn has opened its doors to me upon the Warrior of Light’s recommendation, and their hot springs are very relaxing. I wish Were you here, you would no doubt enjoy them; after spending three bells traversing Kugane’s winding streets with my bags, I’m not sure whether to credit my good opinion of them to the waters themselves or the sheer relief of reaching them. The cuisine here is unlike anything I am used to, but it is very good if you like fish, rice, and combinations thereof. You would not like wasabi paste; it is v. spicy. You would however like horses – like unicorns without the horns, and most of them are very friendly and not at all inclined to bite your fingers off. Please take copy of attached notes for safekeeping.

Wish you were here,

Sincerely,

Honoroit Banlardois

The attached notes stretch to several pages of dense handwritten vellum, and contain what seem to be a week’s worth of very keen observation of the city of Kugane. Amidst the footnotes referring to other works for background information, the author has noted major shops, cultural institutions, the correct method of donning a kimono, and how to perform a tea ceremony. There is a small, crooked sketch of a horse in one corner.

The handwriting on this fine parchment surmounted with the Fortemps seal bears a strong resemblance to Honoroit’s, but is looser and messier, suggesting the writer has much more practice with it. Blots of ink mark spots where the writer was distracted or searching for a word.

Honoroit,

Praise the Fury you arrived in one piece! The Warrior was very keen on telling me all about her first voyage to Kugane, including what she assures me was a thoroughly haunted ships’ graveyard. I, of course, knew you would encounter no such thing – and if you did, you would surely emerge unscathed. Kugane seems like quite the place; I wish I could see even half of the wonders you’ve described so well. Do they truly eat with sticks? However does that work? Speaking of food, I think you do me a disservice, my boy. This wasabi cannot possibly be stronger than good Coerthan horseradish. I demand a sample for comparison!

Kugane seems to love its tea nearly as much as you do. I’ve sent you a box of ours in case you miss it; it ought to arrive with this letter or I will be having words with the postmoogles. Pray write back soon; my days are very long and cold until I hear from you are missed dreadfully at Dragonhead. Corentiaux has been moping, and I have needed to reassure poor Medguistl a dozen times that you are not going to die eating foreign food. Please don’t die eating foreign food I pray this letter reaches you in good health.

All my love,

Emmanellain

P. S. - Unicorns are much better. They come with their own spears.

The heavy box of tea is stamped with the insignia of a shop in the Pillars known for its exorbitant prices and high quality. There is also a tea infuser shaped, for some reason, like a sleeping chocobo with its head tucked under a wing.

This letter has been written on smooth Doman paper. There is a slightly damp spot in one corner, probably tea, and the handwriting is less sure than it was.

My lord,

Thank you very much for the tea; I’m enjoying a cup as I write this, and the infuser is wonderfully charming. I had not realized how much I missed the tastes of home until you sent it to me. The tea in Kugane is very different; they seem to be very fond of a variety called matcha which is bright green and truly astonishingly bitter. I am assured that it is an acquired taste. Speaking of which, I must warn you again not to risk the wasabi! Though if you have the chance to try fresh sushi – I understand a fine Hingan restaurant has recently opened in Mor Dhona? – I think you would enjoy it. Yes, they do eat with sticks; I have provided a diagram, though I am no great artist.

Do tell the troops there is no need to fret over me; I remain quite well, and Kugane agrees with me. I would have preferred to explore more of Hingashi, but you know how they feel about foreigners. ‘Tis much like Ishgard before the opening of our gates. Likely by the time you get this letter, I will have left for Doma by way of the Ruby Sea. That country is far more welcoming; I understand their Enclave owes much to adventurers. Pray do not fret if my next letter takes overlong to reach you, but know that I lo you are in my thoughts. Please take the attached notes for my records, and do not mix them in with your own reports.

The tea makes me think of you.

Sincerely,

Honoroit

The abovementioned notes are, if possible, even denser than the previous ones, and seem to contain nearly everything the author thought noteworthy about Kugane. He seems to be especially keen to educate his audience on local folklore and cuisine, including several clumsy but charming sketches of various shrines and festivals. There is indeed a diagram showing how to eat with chopsticks.

The parchment is crumpled, as though it has been hastily shoved into a mail bag. One corner is ripped.

Dear Honoroit,

How dare you, old boy! You must know it’s been simply ages since I’ve mixed up anything with my own paperwork, never mind anything as important as your next manuscript outline! I keep your notes in a locked chest especially so that they come to no harm; I should die if anything happened to something you’ve worked so hard on. Regarding which, incidentally, I have enclosed your month’s profits for The White Yonder, and your publisher demands wishes to know when you will write another. I have told him quite firmly that he will get your next book when it is ready and not a moment before.

I have reassured the men that you are well, but you know how they will worry. I don’t suppose a daguerreotype is a possibility? I We should like to see for ourselves that you are doing well on your travels. Is it yet warm in Doma? The weather here continues freezing, and I pray that you at least are comfortable. I will send you more tea, and do please let me know if there is anything else. or if you want to come home

I have also tried wasabi thanks to the Warrior. I must admit, once again, that you are far wiser than me. On the upside, it does wonders for head colds, have you noticed? I will take your recommendations of Mor Dhona under advisement; I would far rather have my culinary adventures by your side. (And it shall give me more time to practice with the chopsticks.) Would that I could join you on your travels! Alas, were both of us to go on vacation, the garrison would surely collapse. I believe I owe my very life to Yaelle, though she can never compare to you.

I miss you so--

Praying for a swift reply,

Emmanellain

This letter has been written on a torn-off piece of notepaper, so rushed as to be nearly illegible.

My lord,

Your letter arrived barely a bell before my ship is due; I am glad to hear that all is well at home and v v thankful for the gil you sent; passage across the Ruby Sea is v expensive. It is warm here. When I return, we will go to Mor Dhona together & I insist it is my treat.

The daguerreotype is for you.

Yrs,

Honoroit

In addition to the by-now-expected notes on Kugane, there is a daguerreotype in a cheap frame. It’s smudgy and not very clear, but it shows the author—freckled, lean, with slightly shaggy hair pulled back off his face and just showing the very edge of a scar on his temple —smiling for the camera in front of a massive building. The reverse is etched Shiokaze Hostelry, 5 7AE.

Dear

Honoroit,

Thank you for the picture; it rests on my desk, where I may be reminded of your face. Not that I am likely to forget, you understand – I could never do that – but you have been gone simply ages and I own that travel always changes a man. You look so handso very well in Kugane; longer hair suits you. It makes you look like quite the adventurer! Speaking of, you have not been neglecting your archery I hope? I have heard that Doma is home to monsters. And we will have no talk of this paying for meals – you must know I would simply die of shame. You who do so much for me deserve to be taken care of! Which does remind me: while I was perusing the fashion plates I saw a doublet I think would suit you very well for a dinner Artoirel is holding for the Feast of St. Valerinne, by which time you must be home. I’ve attached the plate in question; do let me know what you think regarding materials?

Ah – has the news reached you yet? I know the Warrior writes you, but in case she didn’t mention – I am an uncle again! Tristechambard de Fortemps weighs just a hair over ten ponzes and is simply the most adorable infant. (Do refrain from telling Linie and Charlemend I said that; I think they’re jealous that their new brother is getting so much attention.) Artoirel says I shall be a bad influence, but I think the little ones only need the sobering influence of their Uncle Honoroit to come out as perfect little ladies and gentlemen – and the Lady Rivienne agrees with me, so hah! You’ve only two more months of travel before you may prove me right, I think?

Please know that you are in my thoughts, and write back swiftly. And tell me everything about Doma, so I can see it through your eyes.

Yours,

Emmanellain

The attached fashion plate is a remarkably well-done engraving showing a generic young Ishgardian gentleman in the very latest sable-trimmed velvet coat, with a doublet of blue silk damask edged in gold to match the buttons on the coat. It is very fashionable and very, very expensive.

This scrap of paper is crumpled so badly that it’s difficult to unfold without tearing, and damp spots blur the ink.

Honoroit it’s been a month since your last letter where are you? Did something happen? Did you decide to stay in Doma you should, if you knew No, I know you wouldn’t want to stay, only to visit, but you’ve been gone so long and I miss you, I miss you

I love you please come home

The handwriting here is legible, but just barely. Seawater has dried on the torn page, leaving white streaks behind.

Emmanellain

If you get this letter, please know that

(a slash of ink)

--the captain of the Hideyori is a grasping skinflint who refused to pay the Tithe until we passengers mutinied & I don’t know if they will accept it

(An ink splot leaks onto the edges of the words, but they are still clear) --you hold my whole heart

This letter is written on cheap paper in a slightly trembling hand.

My lord,

Kindly disregard the previous missive; I was overwrought and have since landed safely in the village of Isari. The Ruby Tide Confederacy is really quite reasonable if paid properly, and our new captain is a very intelligent young woman. The village is small and close-knit; their local wares are mainly fish-based, but I have enclosed a scarf I think you might like. I have not been neglecting my archery at all; already it has come in quite useful, for the wilds of Doma have no shortage of beasts and Isari is willing to pay for their removal. I am afraid I had to spend most of my proceeds from the book on the Tithe. Never fear, however; I have quite enough funds to see me safely to the village of Namai, and from there the road to the Enclave is well-maintained.

I was overjoyed to hear of your new nephew; I hope he continues in good health. I look forward to meeting him, but you must cease calling me his Uncle Honoroit; though I would of course be proud to hold such an honor, people will talk. As regards the fashion plate, I shall reserve judgement until I am in the tailor’s shop myself; I do not think such bold embroidery quite suits.

Sincerely,

Honoroit

Attached to the envelope is a burlap-wrapped package; opening it reveals a finely-woven wool scarf in a deep brick red. It’s quite plain, but very warm.

At several points in this letter, the quill has torn small holes in the parchment. The handwriting shakes.

Honoroit Banlardois,

I shall not be disregarding any letters you send me. Did you think I would dismiss you? That it would be possible to know you, to live beside you, and not love you in return? I have been near to dying with thoughts of you. I have been dreaming of nothing but your smile; I haven’t been able to look at anyone else Fury knows I tried, and yet I could barely look at you – you are so beautiful and clever and wise and wonderful, I felt so sure you would hate me, that if you knew what was in my heart you’d just stay in Doma and count yourself well rid of me--

Forgive me. I have far too much to say to you to ever put my thoughts to a proper letter. By the time you get this, I will be well on my way to the Doman Enclave, where I intend to kiss you breathless until you are quite, quite sure that I love you beyond my own life.

With all my heart,

Emmanellain

P. S. - And if you call me my lord after that, I shall be quite put out.

This letter is dated several months after the preceding ones, and is written on very fine paper indeed.

My lord brother,

Must I apologize again for my sudden trip to Doma? Well, you’ll be happy to know that Honoroit and I are on our way home, and you may expect us for Valerinne’s Day. This letter ought to arrive before we do; you know how taxing aetherytes can be. I am glad that all remains well at home; Corentiaux assures me that, contrary to what you may believe, Dragonhead has not collapsed, burnt down, or otherwise been destroyed since my departure. Give my love to the children, and let them know that their favorite uncles are coming with as many toys as they can carry. Honoroit is telling me that I shall spoil them; I think you’ll agree that they deserve the best we can give them. As for the adults, I am sending you several bottles of the finest Doman rice wine – well, they call it wine, but really ‘tis more like beer with how it’s brewed – and enough silk for a gown for Rivienne and a doublet for you. I think they will meet with your approval, especially the wine.

Yours in the Fury

Emmanellain de Fortemps

P. S. - Honoroit’s manuscript is nearing completion. You and Father will, of course, be entrusted with the advance copies.

These notes have been written on high-quality paper, but appear to have been torn from a larger sheet. The edge of the Fortemps sigil is just visible in one corner.

I never thought this day would come, but you were right. Gil enclosed.

I told you so. To think it only took five years of the most awful pining I have ever seen. If he stops treating you right, I know where he sleeps and which laundry bags are his.

Your concern is touching but unnecessary. He is wonderful.

This particular note has been ripped into pieces and reconstituted from the scraps.

So, a spring wedding?

#emmanellain #honoroit #saulette #emmanellain fortemps #emmhono #honoroit banlardois

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quicksilversquared · 6 years

Text

How to Fake a Marriage Ch. 32

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(AO3) (FF.net)

Saturday morning, Adrien groaned as he woke up to the sound of an alarm blaring. He lay there for a few moments- it was Marinette's alarm, and she always turned it off pretty quickly- but the lump at his side didn't even budge.

In the background, the alarm continued to beep.

Frowning, Adrien pushed himself up and reached over Marinette to turn the alarm off before bending down to check on his girlfriend. Within a second, it became obvious that Marinette was very much asleep. Her breathing was deep and even, and she hadn't even budged on the bed.

Okay, so she clearly needed more sleep. Adrien checked her phone to make sure that she didn't have any more alarms set (she didn't; clearly she had been planning on getting up with the first one) and then he rolled back over to fall asleep.

Maybe he should have tried to wake her up, but Adrien was worried. She had been pushing so hard to get things finished for weeks now, stressing out and worrying herself into the ground. Adrien knew that she had made a lot of progress on her commissions, too- of her twelve commissions, nine were finished, two were nearly done, and one, well...

The last one required some work still, but there would be plenty of time. They had all weekend and the week, and after that was Easter Break.

Adrien fell back asleep, one hand resting against Marinette's hair. He didn't wake up again until the bed shook and he heard a shriek of "What do you mean it's ten-thirty?"

It took Adrien a few seconds to remember that a) it was the weekend, so he didn't need to try to scramble to try to get ready as well and b) it was 100% his fault that they slept so late, so he should probably be working on keeping Marinette from panicking too much.

"It's still plenty early," Adrien said, reaching out to snag Marinette before she could shoot out of bed and end up tripping over her own feet and hurting herself in the scramble. "Bugaboo, slow down. There's plenty of time in the day still. And since you got enough sleep, maybe you'll be able to focus better."

Marinette blinked and turned to look at him. "Wait- did you turn the alarm off?"

"You were sleeping through it, so I figured that you could use the extra time." Adrien slid out of bed after Marinette. "And you're mostly caught up with commissions. It's not going to help anything if you end up making mistakes because you're exhausted or if you work so long that you make yourself sick."

"Oh, I suppose. I just want to get everything finished before break, though!" Marinette yanked a new shirt on and hopped across the room as she tugged on a pair of lounge pants. She snagged a comb and started yanking it through her hair. "And I'm so close! I want to get a lot done this weekend so I can maybe take it a little easier during the week."

Adrien nodded to thin air. Marinette was already in the bathroom, frantically brushing her teeth. With a sigh, Adrien decided to head out to the kitchen to get breakfast ready.

"That was nice of you to let her sleep," Tikki said, popping out of the hall closet. Plagg was close behind, probably because he wanted his morning cheese. "She's been yawning at work really often."

"Are you telling on me?" Marinette demanded incredulously from the bathroom. "Tikki!"

"We just want you to take care of yourself, love!" Adrien called over his shoulder. "If you aren't doing anything wrong, then Tikki wouldn't be able to tell on you!"

He got a rather rude noise as a response. Laughing, Adrien headed to the kitchen and got some toast going.

Twenty minutes later, Marinette had been fed and headed over to work in her apartment. Adrien cleaned up and tried to figure out how he could help her now. There was no hardware to attach to anything, no chains to cut, no more screen printed shirts to iron (because Adrien had spent all. week. long. chipping away at those to get them finished)... but there were several boxes to mail yet, sitting in a neat stack just inside Marinette's door. He could get those mailed off before the post office closed for the day, and then Marinette would be able to fully check those commissions off of her list.

(Adrien was pretty sure that by the time the last of the commissions got sent off, everyone at the post office was going to know him by name. Since he could only carry two boxes at most over at a time, he had been making a lot of trips.)

"I bet you'll be glad when this is all done," Plagg said as he rode along on Adrien's shoulder as Adrien struggled to carry the two large boxes. "Then you'll have your wife all to yourself again!"

"She'll still be taking commissions, just not so many so she won't be so stressed. Hopefully she'll only be working for an hour or two every night instead of four." Adrien paused to push one of the boxes against a railing to he could adjust his grip. "But yeah, I'm looking forward to this batch of commissions being over. She's planning on taking a bit of a break from the commissions to recalibrate a bit so she can do quality work again, so I'm looking forward to that." It looked like the start of her break was going to line up well with the start of his break. Adrien had a large rough draft paper project due plus two midterms that he really had to study for, so he would be busy for most of the week. Any study breaks he took would be spent helping Marinette finish up in any way he could.

It was going to be a busy week.

"Dude, I thought you normally started studying ages ahead of time," Paul commented when he saw Adrien studying before class on Wednesday. "What's going on?"

"I've been spending a lot of time helping Marinette with commissions." Adrien flipped the page and kept reading. "She's only catching up now, so I'm having to crunch all of my study time. It's not that bad, though. And part of the problem was that I had the Quantum Mechanics exam last week and I had to really focus on that then."

Paul winced and nodded. "Yeah, that exam was hard. But it looked like you sailed right through it!"

"Yeah, because I studied!" Adrien had been pleasantly surprised at how straightforward the exam had seemed, so much so that he had spent a fair amount of time reviewing all of the questions and his answers just to make sure he hadn't misunderstood anything. Part of him was still worried that he had forgotten or misunderstood something important, but they were meant to be getting the scores back during class today. "I just really want to know how I did. Like, I think I did well, but who knows."

"I already know what's going to happen," one of Paul's other friends joked from the next row back. "You're going to do better than most of us and you'll still wish that you had done better, because you'll have made, like, three 'stupid' mistakes."

Adrien shrugged. So he had high standards, so what. He didn't like losing points on things that he should have gotten right.

Adrien had to put the book away as the professor entered, stack of graded exams in her arms. Everyone sat up and watched as she handed the exams back. Some people looked thrilled when they got their papers back. Others shrugged and put their returned exams away- they must have gotten the grades that they were expecting- while others groaned, flipping through the pages to see where they had gone wrong. Paul made a bit of a face at his paper before flipping through. Adrien accepted his own paper from the professor and grinned at the near-perfect score.

Clearly even spending so much time helping Marinette hadn't affected his scores. Marinette would be pleased to hear that, since she had been so concerned about how her mistakes when it came to dealing with commissions were costing him study time, too.

Adrien practically hummed his way through the rest of the day. He returned home to his apartment, studied for a couple hours, then did a quick run to the post office to mail one more package of clothes. Marinette just had one more commission to finish now, and based on the state of the pieces around the sewing machine, she didn't have too much longer to go. They were more intricate than a lot of the other designs- apparently the band had some sort of owl theme and an owl's face had to be worked both into the design of the jacket and the top. It was a gorgeous design, one that would no doubt have the band coming back for more- but it was a lot of little fiddly pieces, a lot of piecing, a lot of short seams and odd joins.

Adrien was of the opinion that it was very good that this particular commission was the last one. Marinette could take her time working on it instead of feeling like she had to rush at all.

Once the package was in the mail, Adrien headed back to his apartment to study. He was busy writing up a summary sheet when Marinette arrived home, looking a little wilted.

"Photoshoot day," Marinette explained. She shoved her hair back out of her face. "Lots of hot lights that we had to run around in all day. I don't know how the models do it."

Adrien grinned at that. "Easy. We don't run around. We just sit and look pretty and try to keep out of the way of the people running around."

"I'm taking a shower," Marinette decided. "I feel half-dead right now, but I still want to work on my commission like normal tonight. If I keep working on it, I'll be done with it and have it sent off before my birthday!" She headed towards the bathroom, still talking as she went and completely missing the frozen look on Adrien's face. "That'll be nice, to just be able to kick back and relax then."

"Right, right, of course!"

Tikki gave him a somewhat unimpressed look as soon as the bathroom door shut and they heard the water start running. "You forgot, didn't you?"

"I knew it was coming up," Adrien defended himself. He checked the calendar on his phone. "And I know it's on Saturday. I just wasn't on top of, ah, remembering stuff." He scrambled for a second, trying to think of what he could do for Marinette's birthday. She had indicated interest in having a relaxing day, which meant nothing crazy. Maybe he could invite a few of Marinette's closest colleagues and friends for a dinner together and they could all eat out somewhere. He didn't know what he could get her as a gift, though. If he could buy relaxation...

Suddenly it hit him like a train. He and Marinette had talked about going to the Bath spa at some point, and they hadn't done that yet. They could both use some relaxation time in the warm waters and maybe even a massage. Adrien scrambled for his computer, pulling up the Bath Spa page. He scrolled through page after page, trying to figure out when they would want to go. It would be easiest to go Sunday, because Marinette wouldn't have work, but Sundays were busy and it sounded like the services would be more limited. Midweek was least busy, but Adrien wasn't sure how good of an idea interrupting Marinette's work week would be.

Monday would probably work best, then. It was definitely a good thing that Marinette wouldn't be returning to Paris until Thursday evening and that he hadn't gotten his train tickets yet (much to Nathalie's everlasting ire). Sure, he was meant to have fittings Tuesday, but if he got an early train back to Paris then maybe the fittings could be pushed to Tuesday afternoon and evening.

But what if there was something going on at Madam Rosalie's on Monday that Marinette wouldn't want to miss? He wouldn't want that to happen and make a day at the spa turn into a stress fest. Maybe he could ask Madam Rosalie, but then again, she might not know everything about what was going on in Marinette's design group at all times. It would be better to ask one of the members on Marinette's team.

"Is Sarah home, do you know?" Adrien asked Tikki. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"You aren't going to ask her about what to get Marinette, are you?"

"So little faith! No, I just want to ask her about timing for Marinette's present." Adrien headed for the door, figuring that since Marinette was home, Sarah probably was as well. "And I might ask about if people on Marinette's team might be interested in getting together on Saturday."

"Oh!" Tikki promptly cheered right back up. "Okay! In that case, Sarah is home."

Adrien checked to make sure he hadn't left his computer open to the Bath Spa page and then headed upstairs to Sarah's apartment. She answered within a couple seconds and raised an eyebrow when she saw him standing there. "Adrien! Does Marinette need more help on something? I think I'm too wiped to be much help today."

"She's good with the commissions right now," Adrien told her. "I just had a question- is there anything important going on at work on Monday? I wanted to get Marinette a trip to the spa up in Bath for her birthday, and from what I can tell it would be best to go on Monday instead of over the weekend so it's not so busy."

"It's her birthday soon?" Sarah sounded surprised. "Oh! Shoot, we totally forgot. She should have said something! We always go out for lunch or dinner when it's someone's birthday. I'll have to tell the rest of our team. What day is it?"

"Saturday."

"She should have said something," Sarah repeated. "I think most of us should be able to be here, though. How does dinner on Saturday sound? Do you know what her favorite restaurant is?"

"That Greek place down the road is a big favorite of hers," Adrien told her. "But about Monday-"

"It's just a normal day," Sarah assured him. "And I can talk to the head of our group to make sure Monday stays normal so Marinette can miss it. Do you know what you're doing at the spa? There's some really great massages and everything."

Adrien just grinned and shrugged. "I figured that I would leave the specifics up to Marinette to decide. I'm guessing that she'll probably go for some sort of massage , though, after all of the time she's spent bent over her sewing machine lately." At the rate they were going, both of them were going to have aching backs like a pair of elderly grandparents before they got back to London. He had seen her stretching and twisting like he did whenever his back got stiff, and more and more frequently. "Have you been? Any suggestions?"

"I like the traditional massage, but then again that's the only one I've ever done." Sarah grinned. "So maybe I'm not the best person to ask. And I've only done it twice, since that place is expensive. But it was great."

"Fabulous." Adrien couldn't help but smile as well. Hopefully Marinette would like her present. "So, what time do you think would work best on Saturday?"

The last piece of the commissions was finished Friday afternoon and mailed three minutes before the post office closed, and the last of the edits for the last album cover was sent off several hours later. Once it was sent off, Marinette collapsed in bed and just slept for a solid fifteen hours. Adrien did his best to not wake her up either when he went to bed or when he got up Saturday morning, though he did fetch his heated rice pack and arrange it on her back for her both times in hopes that it might help alleviate some of the pain that she was getting from being hunched over her sketchpad (or her tablet, or her sewing machine) for so long.

"Ah, she lives!" Adrien announced with a grin when Marinette stumbled into the kitchen mid-morning, yawning widely. "Happy birthday, Bug."

"Mm-hmm." Marinette yawned again and hugged him. Adrien tried not to laugh as she snuggled into his chest.

"Are you seriously still tired?"

"No making fun of the birthday girl," Marinette informed him. "'S not nice."

Tikki giggled. "But Marinette, you've been sleeping forever! Do you even know what day it is anymore?"

For a moment, Marinette looked truly alarmed. Then Tikki giggled, and Marinette pouted as she swatted at her kwami. "Don't joke like that! I thought I had slept for an entire day for a minute!"

"Technically, if it were Sunday, you would have slept for a day and a half," Adrien teased, dodging his own swat. "And I wouldn't have said anything about your birthday, either."

"Ooh, you're being terrible," Marinette grumbled, but she kissed him anyway. "So what are we doing today?"

"Besides sleeping, you mean- ah! I yield, I yield!" Adrien yelped, dancing away from a pouting Marinette. "Well, I was making mac 'n cheese for lunch, and then we can do your favorite Greek place for dinner? It sounds like some of your team members want to join us for that."

Marinette perked up. "Really? We did lunch last year, but I thought maybe we wouldn't this year since my birthday is on the weekend."

"So you didn't even mention it?" Adrien asked incredulously. "I said something to Sarah and she immediately started asking around to see if people could come. She said that someone named Lily wouldn't be able to make it because she was going home to see her parents, but the others could come."

The first part of the day went by fast enough (probably because Marinette had slept through most of it), and then they were heading down the sidewalk towards the restaurant. Adrien carried his present for Marinette (wrapped in festive paper) in the bag hanging at his side, just in case the opportunity came up to give it to her while they were at dinner. Sarah had texted them to say that she and several others were already at the restaurant, holding a table so that they wouldn't find themselves standing around waiting during the diner rush.

"I actually first ate here for Ellen's birthday last summer," Marinette told him as Adrien ushered her in the restaurant's door in front of him. At his slightly puzzled look- who was Ellen, again?- Marinette explained. "She was an intern last year, but now she's working at some fashion house up in Glasgow, I think. It was closer to where she grew up, so she could see her family more often."

"Aha."

"Oh, look, there they are!" Marinette exclaimed, pointing. Adrien glanced over and saw six people sitting around a series of tables pushed together in the middle of the room. He recognized most of them, either from other dinners together or from ducking into Marinette's workplace. Only two of them were guys, which surprised Adrien slightly. He had always gotten the impression from his father that there were a good number of aspiring male fashion designers as well, nearly as many as women designers, but Marinette's team was apparently skewed two guys to six women.

"There's a lot of women on your team, aren't there?" Adrien asked Marinette as they headed towards the table. "Is that typical?"

Marinette shrugged. "Yeah, at least at Madam Rosalie's place. Her aesthetic is just something that draws more women than men, I guess." She giggled. "We design practical stuff for women, that's probably a deciding factor. A lot of men don't tend to think about things like pockets and bra straps when they're designing tops and dresses, and that's fine in some companies. Not for Madam Rosalie's, though."

"Happy Birthday, Marinette!" the table chorused as they approached. Marinette turned a bit pink as all of the attention turned to her, and several people from other tables turned as well to glance over. She didn't waste any time in settling down in one of the chairs that had been left open in the middle of the table and waving shyly to everyone. Shannon laughed.

"Don't go turning so shy on us! Man, is it ever a good thing we hadn't gotten the chance to ask the servers if they ever sing to people on their birthdays."

"Oh, don't tease her like that," Mrs. Kelley scolded playfully. "And happy birthday, dear. I'm glad you chose this place. It's my favorite, too."

Even with as busy as the restaurant was, it didn't take long for them to order and for a couple appetizer plates to arrive. The eight of them laughed and talked as they waited for their meal to arrive, and Adrien learned more about everything that was going on at Madam Rosalie's. With the spring Fashion Week done and a number of photoshoots for late spring and early summer done, they were in a bit of a lull now, getting final polishes done on the spring lines and little details cleaned up before they could move on to proper summer designs. Pieces from photoshoots and runway had to be put away, and shoes and repeat accessories sold off. They had to communicate with the manufacturer how to make specific pieces so they would match what was shown in the catalogue, and then the fabric room had to be reorganized so that the heavier-weight fabrics and more wintery colors were put away until fall and the light cottons and silks and pale-colored fabrics more common in summer were brought forward for easier access.

"I kind of just want to go driving into the scraps and fabric ends bin and see what I could make out of some of that stuff," Emily admitted. "Like, just make something crazy, something I would wear but that might not sell really, really well. I've seen patchwork dresses before and I would love to make one. Or five, or ten, or-"

Shannon was laughing. "Okay, okay, we get it," she teased. "But honestly, I think it would be fun to just go bin-diving some time and then have some quality alone time with the fabric and a sewing machine, just to see what would come out. There's some crazy variety in the fabrics in there."

Adrien couldn't help grinning and shaking his head at the number of agreements from around the table. He would never stop being amazed by how creative designers could be, creating endless variations on dresses and shirts and skirts and jackets and everything, and on such a regular basis, too. If he saw a bin of leftover fabric, he would think quilt, or maybe...uh...

Yup, that was it. A quilt or maybe a pillowcase cover. Creative, he was not.

"I might be able to persuade Madam Rosalie to let you guys scavenge the bins," Mrs. Kelly offered. "I know she's mentioned before how full it's getting, and with the bit of a lull before we really have to dive into the summer stuff. We might have to put it aside at a moment's notice to do actual work, though."

There was a cheer around the table.

Dinner arrived shortly, and they all dug in. Adrien had to swat Marinette's fingers away she tried to swipe a slice of pita bread from his plate, and then the second his back was turned to talk to Justin, the pita bread piece mysteriously vanished.

Adrien sighed and stole a bite of her spinach-feta pie in retribution.

It didn't take long for them to finish their meal, even with all of the talking and laughter among the group. They ordered dessert, and while they were waiting Mrs. Kelly passed a colorful bag down the table to Marinette.

"We all pitched in to give you a little something for your birthday," she told Marinette. "And I might have done a small amount of digging in the ends bin, too."

Grinning, Marinette took the bag and pulled it down into her lap to peer into the large bag, The first thing she pulled out was a clear bag of what looked like fairly common sewing supplies- a set of white pens, rotary cutter blades, and three seam cutters, plus what was apparently a sharpening stone for her scissors. Adrien was puzzled- surely Marinette's coworkers knew that she already had stuff like that, and she had gotten some similar stuff from her parents at Christmas- but Marinette seemed thrilled.

"Oh, this is great!" she was exclaiming, digging through the bag. "My marking pens are all practically dry after all that leather from the commissions, and I swear every blade I own is pretty dull. And I can always use more seam rippers!"

"Yes, I know," Sarah told her dryly. "Considering that you told me that you own five and yet it still took you five minutes to track down any of them whenever we needed one."

...ooookay, so maybe he didn't have a great idea of what designers did and didn't need, despite being the son of one and dating another. Huh.

Maybe he should start taking notes.

The next thing to come out of the bag was a small iron and something rolled up in a tube. Marinette inspected the packaging and then grinned. "A travel iron and roll-up ironing mat! That's great!"

"We figured that a small iron would mean that you would be able to take it back to Paris once you're done in London," Abbey explained. "And it's useful for travel, too, if you need to iron something on the go but don't want to haul along a big iron. And that's a good brand, I have one just like it."

"Thank you!" Marinette exclaimed. "This is great. My old iron at home died right before I came over to London, so I'll definitely be using this all the time."

"And you'll be able to do your printed shirts whenever you want," Sarah pointed out. "Travel irons might be smaller than normal, but they don't lack anything in power."

Grinning, Marinette dug into the bag one last time, and pulled out several pieces of folded cloth. Adrien had been around designers for long enough to be able to tell that the pieces were probably no larger than half a meter (or a meter at most), but they were fun colors and clearly quality fabric. Adrien couldn't tell just by eyeballing the fabric if there would be enough for Marinette to make a shirt or skirt- he had no idea what kind of yardage was needed for anything, really- but judging by the gleam in Marinette's eyes, she probably already had plans.

"Oh, I loved working with this fabric!" Marinette exclaimed as she thumbed through the folded pieces. "This is great! Thanks, guys!"

There was a chorus of "You're welcome"s from around the table as Marinette packed her gifts back into her bag for easy carrying. While she was distracted, Adrien slid his present onto the table in front of her. It was a small box, not at all like the large bag that Marinette's coworkers had gotten her, but Adrien wouldn't let the difference in size bother him.

After all, great things could come in small packages, and he was sure that Marinette would love it.

Marinette blinked in surprise when she glanced back up and saw the package in front of her. It only took her a second to see the tag and glance over at Adrien with a questioning look before starting to unwrap it. The first thing she pulled out was a cute bird-shaped patchwork pincushion. Marinette groaned.

"Adrien!"

Adrien grinned as everyone around the table looked on in confusion. "What?"

"Still?"

"It was a good idea!"

"I'm lost," Abbey admitted. "What's wrong with it? That's a really cute pincushion."

"It's part of a joke," Marinette told the rest of the table, trying not to laugh. "It wouldn't make sense out of context, but he's been getting me something bird-themed for every holiday ever since Christmas."

Emily grinned at them. "So... just Christmas and now, or for Valentine's Day, too?"

Marinette froze, deer-in-the-headlights look on her face, and floundered. Adrien froze for a moment as well, then recovered and tried for some of that tried-and-true Chat Noir charm and smoothness. "Well, you know, it was an opportunity to give gifts, so I did."

"Well, it is pretty," Sarah told them, though she was grinning widely as well. "I don't know where you find stuff like that."

Adrien grinned at the opening that she had just handed him and Marinette groaned, burying her face in her arms. "Well, I had to do a bit of hunting, but I was happy with my catch in the end."

"I regret everything."

"You know it's funny."

"Is there something else in the box, Marinette?" Sarah asked, craning her neck to peer into the box. She glanced over at Adrien. "It looks like there's a brochure or something."

Marinette reached back into the box and pulled out the Bath spa brochure. Adrien had stuck a Post-it with the information for what day he had gotten the train tickets for and that he would pay for entry and whatever treatment she wanted. He had made sure to call ahead to check that there wouldn't be any groups taking up the spa and that there were treatment package spaces still available, so they wouldn't get to Bath and discover that they couldn't get in because something was reserved.

That would have stunk if that happened, especially since they had to have train tickets and Marinette would have to take a day off.

"I remembered that we had talked about going there last time we were in Bath," Adrien told Marinette. "And it would be a chance to relax after the last few weeks."

Marinette was grinning as she flipped through the brochure. "I love it!" Then she laughed. "I like the white-out over the prices. Very subtle."

Adrien grinned. "Yeah, I thought so too." He hadn't wanted Marinette obsessing over the prices and just trying to pick what might be cheapest over what she actually wanted to try. While yes, some of the spa packages were maybe a little expensive, it was hardly as though he couldn't afford it. He had years of modeling payments saved up, plus what he had earned the past summer with his job, and he only really had groceries as an expense at the moment thanks to his father paying for everything else. "So, does that work for you, going on Monday?"

"I already got it cleared with Madam Rosalie," Sarah piped up, grinning at Marinette's startled look. "She said to tell you to have fun."

"Well, I was already thinking about taking an extra day off next week to relax and get my head back on straight after all of those commissions and photoshoot week," Marinette admitted, a smile on her face as she flipped the brochure over again to look at one of the pictures. "So this is just, like, an upgrade of that day. Thanks, Adrien! I can't wait!"

It was mid-morning by the time Adrien and Marinette arrived at the train station on Monday, loaded down with bags packed with their swimming things and a light lunch. Marinette had left both her tablet and her sketchbook at their apartment after several minutes of consideration, admitting that if she brought either along, the idea that she should be looking for design inspiration would be in the back of her head the entire time.

"I feel like I've done nothing all weekend," Marinette admitted as they found their seats and settled in for the ride. "I haven't designed anything, the only reason I touched my sewing machine was to unplug it and get it covered so that it wouldn't get all dusty, and I haven't cleaned things up from my commissions at all. And I haven't responded to anyone on the wait list yet."

"Doing nothing is a good thing sometimes," Adrien reminded her, and he could see Tikki nodding in agreement just inside Marinette's bag. "You'll get creative burnout if you keep going at the rate you were going, and that's no good if you're in the middle of a commission. Add on to that the fact that it would affect you at work, too, and that wouldn't look good."

"No, it wouldn't," Marinette agreed. The train gave a small shudder as it started up, and then they were slowly starting to pull away from the station. "It helped- creatively, I mean- that what I was designing for commissions and what I design at Madam Rosalie's are so different in style, but there's only so many ideas I can come up with in a short amount of time."

The train picked up speed, and their conversation turned towards the upcoming holiday. Marinette was looking forward to going home, even if she would doubtless be spending at least a day working in the bakery. The stuff she helped with- the decorations, mostly- were apparently mindless work for her and were all but automatic after so many years and hundreds upon hundreds of similar treats decorated in just the same way. Adrien would be doing fittings, photoshoots, and commercials (what a surprise), leaving him with only odds and ends of time left to meet up with Alya and Nino.

Well, odds and ends and Thursday evening, when the newspaper contest people were hosting an awards dinner where the winners would be announced. They had learned the previous week that Alya had gotten past the semi-finalist pool and into the finalists, and she had invited them to join herself and Nino for the dinner since her parents weren't able to make it. Of course, both Adrien and Marinette had accepted. It would be a good time to be able to see their friends for an extended period of time, and if Alya won they would be able to celebrate with her.

And if she didn't win... well, they would be there to distract her, then. At least for a couple days.

"I think Ladybug and Chat Noir should make a short appearance if Alya wins," Adrien said as the train slowed for their stop. He scooped up their bags and pulled Marinette to her feet. "Not at the dinner itself, probably, since it'll be hard to excuse ourselves without it being obvious. But afterwards, once we've all gone home for the night."

Marinette grinned. "I think that would be a great idea! And it would be fun to go out for a run either way. It's been way too long."

It had been. Adrien's legs were itching to go out and run- he could tell that he had lost some muscle tone without his superhero activities and at some point, his photographer was going to notice as well.

Maybe he should look into getting a gym membership of some sort. It wouldn't be as much fun as going out as a superhero, but it would be better than not getting that energy out just because the moon was out or the weather was poor. It might also help him with his back problem if he spent more time moving and less sitting, since the problem seemed to be with him spending too much time sitting hunched over at a desk.

They headed down the sidewalk towards the spa, bags slung over their shoulders. They barely had to wait at all to pay for their passes. Marinette had picked out a couple's package that included a massage and a meal, a choice Adrien heartily approved of. He had once learned how to do a bit of a shoulder massage, but Marinette had gotten so tense over the past few weeks that having a professional work their magic would be much better. He had booked their treatment as soon as Marinette decided on it Saturday evening, and the massage would fall about halfway through their spa time.

"Oh, that's expensive," Marinette murmured immediately when the price came up. "Adrien-"

"Nope, you didn't see anything," Adrien teased her, sliding one hand over her eyes while he handed over his credit card to pay. "And honestly, it's not that much if you take everything into consideration. It's passes for four hours for two people, plus a meal for both of us, plus a massage for both of us. It would cost more if we got all of that separately."

"I don't need a massage-"

"But you wanted one and you're getting one, and it'll feel wonderful." Adrien signed the receipt and tucked his credit card back in his wallet and took the receipt and the bracelets the cashier handed him. He slid one on Marinette's wrist and the other on his own before urging her forward. He glanced at the receipt, checking the times on it. "We'll have some time in the pools first to unwind a bit, and then we'll have the massage. Now c'mon, let's go get changed."

"What about us?" Plagg wanted to know, peering out of Adrien's bag. "Do you expect us to stay in your bags for- what? Six hours, with the massage and the lunch and the pool time? That's forever."

Adrien sighed, poking Plagg back into the bag before anyone could see him. "No, you can go out as long as you don't get spotted and as long as you don't completely pig out in the kitchen. And if you aren't back by the time we leave, we'll hang around outside so we don't get charged for the extra time. Tikki, can you keep an eye on the clock once it's about time for us to leave?"

Tikki popped out, beaming up at him. "Don't worry, Adrien! I'll make sure we're back before your time runs out. And if we get too far from you, we'll know anyway."

Once again, Adrien couldn't be more thankful for Tikki. The little kwami could keep even Plagg in line so that Adrien wouldn't spend the whole time worrying about what trouble Plagg might be getting up to.

Once they had changed, the two of them wasted no time in heading down to the main pool area. Adrien hung back to let Marinette slid into the water first with a happy sigh (and no, he was not just doing that for the view), then followed.

Ahh. Oh, Adrien could see why people might come back here frequently. The warm water was heavenly, and the lazy tendrils of steam rising up from the water made the whole scene feel a bit surreal. There weren't a ton of other people in the pool, but the drifting steam obscured most of them from view, making it feel even more private.

Adrien just had to remember that it wasn't completely private and he couldn't kiss Marinette or flirt ridiculously. He could manage that. Probably.

"Oh, I like this." Marinette was already paddling around, flipping over to float on her back. "Best birthday gift ever."

"I hope you know that I'm doing my best to stop myself from splashing you," Adrien informed her with a grin. "But I figured that it wouldn't be very relaxing."

"Rude."

"Hey, I said I wouldn't do it!"

Marinette rolled back over onto her stomach to grin over at him. "Uh-huh. And I'm just supposed to trust you?"

Adrien pouted at her and reached through the water to snag her hand so he could press a kiss to her knuckles. "But of course, my lady! What do you think I am, a ratty alley cat?"

Marinette pasted on an overly thoughtful face, and Adrien laughed.

The two of them drifted between pools and even ventured over to try out one of the steam rooms. Adrien saw a couple people giving them lingering looks- apparently some people recognized him, and maybe Marinette as well- but the spa's ban on bringing phones or cameras into the pool area meant that no one was snapping pictures of him pulling faces at Marinette while she paddled in circles around him or both of them wandering around the spa together.

"I'm going to turn into a raisin by the time we leave, but I'll love every minute of it," Marinette told Adrien as they pulled themselves out of the pool to head over to where they were supposed to check in for their massage. "I'm so much more relaxed already."

"Hopefully this will relax you even more." Adrien guided Marinette around a corner with one hand on her back. "Your parents won't be happy with me if you go home with an aching back because you overworked yourself."

Marinette giggled. "What, did they tell you to keep me from overworking myself? They're so overprotective sometimes."

"They had me promise to try to keep you from overworking yourself when I got your sewing machine back in the fall," Adrien told her. "Which I failed to do, by the way, because someone didn't ever mention to me that she was absolutely buried in work. Which reminds me- I meant to ask Tikki why she didn't say anything, but I keep forgetting."

Marinette cringed. "Yes, well... I thought I had it under control, until I didn't. And I won't let it happen again. I'll only accept one commission at a time to work on, and I'll give myself really long deadlines. That way, I only need to do a little bit of work per night. I can be finished for the evening when you're done with your homework, or even before, and I can work on my own projects too if I want. And I'm going to take a break before I start anything else. I want designing to be fun again."

Adrien couldn't help but grin. He had hoped that Marinette would say that, but he hadn't been able to help worrying that Marinette would want to do two commissions at a time, or otherwise push herself to do as many commissions as possible without overwhelming herself just to get her resume and portfolio built up. He just hoped that she would keep the same attitude even months in the future, when the piles of commissions and late nights and her aching back were just distant memories.

"And promise me that you'll work on not sitting for so long that you hurt your back when you're doing schoolwork," Marinette said, looping her arm through Adrien's. "I wasn't the only one overworking myself in the past couple months."

"I promise," Adrien said immediately. "I just took Ben's advice too literally about the papers for classes this semester. He told me that too when he proofread everything before midterms, that I tried to shove three-quarters of a semester's work into a quarter of the time. He's making me suggested timelines again for next year's classes, since he's taking them now, and I've gotten strict instructions to stick to that schedule, or at least not get more than a week ahead." He made a face as a thought occurred to him. "But I'll have to find someone else to read through my essays for grammatical errors for me, since he'll be graduating. So I might try to be a couple weeks ahead of schedule- but nothing like what I did this semester, I swear!" he added quickly when Marinette gave him a displeased look. "It's just that since other people will be busy with their own projects at the same time I have stuff due, I'll need to have mine ready to proofread a little early. Or I'll try to find another proofreader from the tutoring center."

"And you'll remember to take breaks?"

"I'll take breaks to get up and stretch and walk around a bit," Adrien promised. "No more sitting for hours on end and only getting up if I want something to eat- or if Plagg wants to eat. I know the problem was that I was sitting for too long instead of getting up and moving around, because when I was younger I always had to do homework between akuma attacks and photoshoots and my other activities so I couldn't just be getting up and doing other stuff all the time. But enough about that- ready for our massage?"

It was two very relaxed and loose superheroes who left the spa several hours later, muscles freshly massaged and hair still damp from the pools. Plagg and Tikki had managed to return to their bags while Adrien and Marinette changed into their street clothes, so there was no need to wait around before they headed back towards the train station.

"I've never been so relaxed in my life," Marinette said happily, bumping up against Adrien's side as they walked. She stretched, bending backwards before continuing to walk. "It's hurt to bend like that for weeks, but now it's fine again."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." They paused at a street corner to let a car pass before crossing. "I'm glad that you picked that package. We got plenty of time in the pools, plus the massage, plus the meal. Totally worth it."

Getting on the train and sitting in the less-than-comfortable seats there was a bit of a shock after the uber-comfortable spa chairs, but Adrien wasn't going to let it bother him. Next to him, Marinette nodded off ten minutes into the ride, her head pillowed on his shoulder.

All in all, it had been a wonderful day and a very successful birthday present. Adrien wished that he wouldn't have to head back to Paris so early the next day, so he could have more time to spend with Marinette now that they were both so relaxed and ache-free. But he supposed that Marinette would be at work for the next couple days, and he would be earning money to replace what he had just spent (and then some) with his modeling, even if it wasn't the most enjoyable work in the world for him.

Smiling, Adrien settled back into his seat and adjusted Marinette's head against his shoulder. Perhaps they wouldn't get to have quite as much time together post-spa as he would have wanted, but he wasn't going to let that tarnish the time that they did get to spend together before he had to go back to Paris.

#Miraculous Ladybug #My writing #How to Fake a Marriage #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng

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headcanonsandmore · 5 years

Text

“Summer in the City”, A Romione AU fanfiction

Okay, before I start, I need to share a little backstory. A few weeks back, I posted a short Romione conversation that was a reference to a scene from ‘Fullmetal Alchemist; Brotherhood’. It was just a spur-of-the-moment post, which I thought was quite funny.

However, @vivithefolle then suggested that I turn it into a fanfiction. Already, plot ideas were beginning to form in my mind.

Cue several days worth of writing, drafting and general authorial stuff, I ended up with a finished fic. Which is just below.

Hope you all enjoy it! If you feel so inclined, please like and reblog, and leave comments/reviews/kudos on the FFN and AO3 pages for the fic!

Read it on FFN.

Read it on AO3.

Hermione Granger was in a good mood.

After back-and-forth letters with her two best friends for the past three weeks, they had finally decided on a day to meet up in The Leaky Cauldron.

Harry had never had the chance to sight-see around London due to his horrible relatives the Dursleys.

And Ron… well, where to start with Ron?

He was a pureblood wizard who had grown up in rural Devon. The only times he had interacted in Muggle London were the brief journeys to and from Kings Cross Station at the start and end of each academic year. He had grown up in the wizarding world, and therefore didn’t really under the muggle world; although (like all the Weasley family) he found it interesting rather than uncomfortable.

On top of that, Ron was also kind, caring, funny, and utterly gorgeous.

Hermione had been well aware of all of this for several years now. Ron Weasley was… an enigma. He wasn’t academically minded like she was (although his grades were fine). He wasn’t traditionally handsome. He was the complete opposite of the boys Hermione’s parents expected her to be attracted to.

And yet, he got under Hermione’s skin. She could argue and bicker with him, and not feel like he was getting sick of her. If anything, he seemed to enjoy their bickering. To an outsider, it might seem like they couldn’t stand each-other, but nothing could be further from the truth.

They might not have matched up on paper, but Ron Weasley was (in virtually every way) Hermione Granger’s perfect other half. Where she was logical, he was emotional. Where she was intense, he was relaxed. The cool water to her raging fire.

Hermione was doomed. Before she had even realised it, she had fallen inescapably in love with Ron Weasley. Before she had even started noticing boys, she had noticed Ron.

She had never stopped noticing him. When he was in a room, her eyes were irresistibly drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. When he spoke, his voice sent shivers down her spine and butterflies into her stomach. When he laughed, the sound was like bird-song to Hermione’s ears.

Needless to say, it had been ridiculous of her not to realise her feelings sooner.

Granted, her feelings for Ron had impacted slightly on her judgement regarding the planning of the meet-up in Muggle London. But Harry would be there as well, a platonic buffer who would prevent Hermione completely losing her head around their mutual redheaded best friend.

Often, Hermione wished that Harry wasn’t around them quite as much, so she could spent some time alone with Ron. She liked Harry a lot; he was like a brother to her, but she did despair of his constant presence around her and Ron.

However, this would not be the case tomorrow.

A few hours previously, she had sent Ron’s Owl Pigwidgeon away with her reply to Ron’s last letter, which covered what parts of Muggle London they would be visiting.

She’d suggested The British Museum and the National Gallery, plus a look around the Westminster area, and she was hoping Ron would like her choices.

As if responding to her thoughts, Pigwidgeon promptly bounced off the glass of her bedroom window, having flown straight into the pane.

Chuckling slightly, Hermione opened the window, and the slightly-dazed owl swooped into the room, dropping Ron’s reply into Hermione’s hands as it did so.

As Pigwidgeon began to drink out of a cup of tea nearby, Hermione opened up the letter, and read.

Hermione,

How typical of you is that? Museums, art galleries and popping round the houses of parliament?! Me and Harry need to have more of a bad influence on you!

Seriously, though, that all sounds great! Looking forward to catching up with you. And Harry, of course.

Miss you,

Can’t wait to see you,

Ron

Hermione smiled to herself. She couldn’t help but re-read those last three lines over and over again.

She hurriedly pulled a scrap bit of parchment towards her and wrote quickly;

Ron,

Glad you like those choices; hopefully, you won’t be completely bored out of your mind! Can’t wait to see you tomorrow (and Harry as well)!

I miss you too,

Love,

Hermione

Hermione felt her heart beat quicker as she looked down at the second-to-last line. True, she did write the same in her letters to Harry, but that was different. With Harry, it was familial. Like she was his older sister, and he was her (slightly annoying) little brother who kept getting into mischief.

But with Ron?

With Ron, she always blushed a little writing those ‘love’s; it felt like she was sneaking a little confession of her feelings into every letter she sent to the redheaded boy.

She gave her reply to Pigwidgeon; who gave a happy hoot and promptly soured straight into the closed side of the window. Hermione chuckled again as the owl bounced off the glass, and flew out the open side instead.

Hermione looked down at Ron’s letter again. Did he really miss her that much? Who would miss her? And miss her so much that they’d happily wander around museums and art galleries just to be with her again?

Did Ron-?

Honestly, she chastised herself, don’t get your hopes up; we’re just meeting up. And Harry’s going to be there the entire time, so it’s not we’re going on a date-

Hermione’s train of thought was interrupted as a loud tap at the window. Hedwig was stood on her window-still.

Hermione let the snowy owl in. Taking the letter from Hedwig’s claws, she skim-read Harry’s handwriting.

Hermione,

Sorry, but I can’t make it. Dumbledore’s just sent me a letter warning me not to wander around the muggle world. Hopefully, Ron won’t hate me for skipping out (send him my regards, by the way).

Enjoy your date,

Harry

Maybe she was just being paranoid, but Hermione had the distinct impression Harry had written the letter whilst laughing. She also very much doubted that Dumbledore had asked Harry not to wander around Muggle London; security wasn’t that tight, even for Harry.

Her eyes ran over Harry’s letter again.

“Enjoy your date”

Hermione’s stomach seemed to drop several feet. A date? With Ron? No, they were just two friends spending time together. Yes, she had been attracted to Ron since she was thirteen years old. But her one-sided feelings didn’t automatically make it a date.

It could never happen between her and Ron. He was brave, and kind, and sweet, and friendly, and just wonderful. And she was Hermione Granger, a brainy know-it-all with no social skills.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as the usual tears threatened to spill.

No, she thought loudly at herself, you can’t beat yourself up over this. Sure, Ron doesn’t fancy you, but he’s still your friend. He cares about you.

Hermione spent the night tossing and turning; never able to entirely relax. Eventually, she fell into an uneasy sleep, full of dreams revolving around Ron ignoring her to stare at a parade of Veela women. It didn’t take an ‘Outstanding’ in Divination to figure out what that meant.

In fact, Hermione slept so badly that she almost slept through her alarm. After ten minutes of it ringing, she finally woke up.

It took her so long to tame her bushy hair (which had chosen that day of all days to develop massive tangles everywhere) that she almost missed the underground train to Charring Cross.

She nervously opened the door to the Leaky Cauldron, and waited nearby the fireplace where Ron would be travelling to by floo-powder from the Burrow.

Hermione leant against a nearby wall, and tried to catch her breath back. The pub was almost completely empty (which was unusual for that time of year), although Tom the old barman was stood reading a book behind the bar.

Well, here we go, Hermione thought, trying to calm her busying heart, just you and Ron spending a day together as friends, don’t get your hopes up…

But she couldn’t help but get her hopes up. She had never spent a day alone with Ron during the summer holidays. Even when they had been ensconced in Grimmauld Place the previous summer, there had always been other people around. They’d been so focused on cleaning the house that they’d never really gotten a chance to relax around each-other. And besides, that been before Ron had given her that perfume for a Christmas present. Before she had even dared to hope that maybe… just maybe… he might see her as more than a friend.

Hermione smiled sadly to herself. It was a pretty forlorn hope, but she couldn’t help it.

Without warning, the fireplace burst into flames, and a redheaded figure emerged, beaming from ear-to-ear.

‘Hermione!’

Ron Weasley was stood in front of her, his blue eyes glistening in the light of the lamps nearby, and his face covered in soot. He was wearing an old t-shirt (no doubt Charlie’s, considering the dragon imprinted on the front), and a pair of slightly-too-short jeans that had clearly seen better days.

In other words, he was breathtakingly handsome.

Hermione felt goosebumps erupt along her arms and back as Ron pulled her into a tight hug. He smelled like an intoxicating mix of soot, chocolate and freshly-mown grass.

There was an audible chuckle from nearby, and Ron hurriedly let go, his ears turning red.

Tom, the old barman of the pub, was grinning knowingly at the two teenagers. This clearly wasn’t the first time two young sorcerers had met up for the day in his pub.

‘Er, should we…?’ Ron asked, trailing off. He looked rather uncomfortable. Hermione felt her heart sink slightly; was the assumption that they were a couple that distressing for him?

‘O-oh, yes!’ Hermione squeaked, trying to keep her voice cheerful as she began to move towards the door. ‘We’ve got so much to see!’

A few minutes later, they were walking towards the British Museum. Ron had insisted on paying for his own ticket, using some Muggle money he’d changed in Gringotts earlier in the summer.

Hermione has always loved wandering around museums. The British Museum was, of course, one of the best around (at least, in London, anyway). She remembered the first time she had visited it as a small child with her mother and father. Even at such a young age, she’d been deeply intrigued in every exhibit.

Today was no exception. There was a fascinating study on early Rome, as well as an in-depth exhibit on the ancient Britons. And another one on the industrial revolution and another one on the Tudors and….

Hermione heard an all-too-familiar chuckle.

She looked up from the glass case she was looking at to see Ron grinning at her, dimples appearing in his cheeks.

‘What is it?’ she asked, feeling a little embarrassed. Had she reminded me of how much of a swot she was? Well done Hermione, she thought, you get one day alone with him and you just ignore him…. ‘Sorry, are you getting bored?’

‘Not at all,’ said Ron, still smiling down at her. ‘I just think it’s nice to see you enjoying yourself.’

Hermione felt her face burn. Did Ron not realise how wonderful he was when he said things like that? He was going to give her heart failure if he wasn’t careful.

A few hours later, they wandered over to the National Gallery. Ron took his time looking at each individual painting. Hermione had assured him that none of the paintings would be moving, but he still insisted on staring at each just in case they did move.

In some of the galleries, Ron even looked slightly emotional. Such was the case when looking at examples of Norwegian artwork that used stark contrasts of lightness and darkness to make a mood. Ron’s eyes teared up at one point, and Hermione cautiously rested her hand on his arm. He smiled down at her, and Hermione’s stomach turned over.

In other galleries, Ron was much more cheerful. In the gallery labelled ‘Abstract Expressionism’, Ron bounced around, grinning from ear to ear.

‘What a painting, Hermione!’ he whisper-shouted, smiling broadly. ‘It doesn’t look like anything!’

‘That’s the point, Ron!’ Hermione giggled, as she watched the redheaded young man rock excitedly on the balls of his feet.

‘These muggles were mad!’ Ron grinned, before catching himself. ‘Er, not in a bad way, of course. A bit like how you go mad over school-work.’

Hermione felt her cheeks flush with warmth. If anyone-else had said that about her, she would have been insulted. But she knew Ron didn’t mean it like that; he genuinely liked how much of a swot she was.

~~~~~~~~~~~

‘Hey, Hermione; look at that!’

‘Ron, that’s a cinema poster…’

‘I know, isn’t it cool?!’

Hermione smiled; they had just finished looking round the Houses of Parliament, and were wandering back to the leaky cauldron. Ron was pointing at ordinary muggle things, and grinning happily like a child in a sweet shop. Despite how much he’d try to deny it, Ron really was extraordinarily like his father.

Ron was still grinning at the poster in wide-eyed wonder.

‘Hey, look at that boy…’

‘I know, right…’

Hermione’s attention was diverted towards three girls standing nearby. They looked roughly Hermione’s age, and were all unashamedly staring at Ron.

‘He’s gorgeous…’

‘Why’s he staring at that poster?’

‘Who cares? Look at those muscles….’

Hermione felt her jaw clench, as she processed what was happening. These girls were mentally undressing Ron… her Ron…not that he was her possession, of course… but he was still her friend…

‘That girl’s glaring at us…’

‘The one with the bushy hair?...’

‘Must be his girlfriend…’

The three girls seem to quail under Hermione’s angry glare, and they quickly slipped away.

‘Hermione, you okay?’

Ron had turned away from the poster, looking at Hermione. His face was concerned. Hermione felt her heartbeat quicken.

‘I’m fine, Ron,’ she said, smiling. ‘Is there anything else you’d like to see?’

Ron knotted his brow, thinking hard. Then, a thought seemed to occur to him.

‘Wait, I haven’t seen your house yet!’

Hermione’s stomach seemed to turn over.

‘No, you haven’t,’ she mumbled, her heart-beat quickening. ‘I mean, are you sure? It’s not that interesting-’

‘But it is!’ Ron replied, grinning broadly. ‘It’s where you live, isn’t it! Besides, we’ve been friends for years, and you’ve seen my house. Please, Hermione?’

Hermione felt her resolve crumble under Ron’s enormous puppy-dog eyes. Why couldn’t she ever say no to him?

‘O-okay, then.’ Hermione stammered. ‘We’ll have to get the underground…’

Ron spent the underground ride happily grinning around. Hermione couldn’t help but stare at him; he really did stick out like a sore thumb in muggle London. Not only was he so unused to the muggle world, but he was also a small-town boy at heart. The commuters around them eyed Ron with the same suspicion they regarded anyone who showed friendliness on public transport. Hermione distinctly remembered a Northerner once causing utter panic on an underground line by saying ‘hello’ to everyone they met.

At one point, the carriage became so crowded that Hermione felt herself pressed up against Ron’s chest. He was so close that she could hear his heartbeat through his clothes.

‘S-sorry,’ she mumbled against his t-shirt. ‘It can get very busy on here.’

‘No…No problem,’ Ron replied. Hermione wondered whether his ears were turning red, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at his face.

Mercifully, they finally reached Hampstead, and exited the underground train.

‘Oooh, look at that boy…’

‘Shhhh, he’ll hear you…’

Oh, not again….

Sure enough, there were several teenage girls standing just outside the station, and every single one of them was staring at Ron.

Hermione could happily admit that Ron was very attractive, but did every girl on the planet have to realise it too?

‘Wow, muggle London is brilliant, Hermione! Today’s been amazing!’ Ron grinned, smiling down at her.

Hermione tried not to feel smug as the collective mouths of the girls around them dropped open. Did they think that Hermione was Ron’s girlfriend? That was a nice thought.

They began to walk towards Hermione’s house, which was a few streets away. The initial awkwardness from the train ride had dissipated, and the two of them had a nice conversation going.

However, Ron happened to be standing nearby a large puddle of water as a double-decker bus went straight through it.

A tidal wave of water swept over Ron, and he stumbled backwards in shock.

‘Well, that was unexpected,’ Ron chuckled, spitting water out of his mouth. ‘You okay, Hermione?’

Hermione seemed to have lost the ability to talk. Ron’s t-shirt was now almost entirely transparent, revealing strong chest muscles and a few coppery ginger hairs around his belly button.

‘Y-yes,’ Hermione mumbled, dropping her eyes from Ron’s torso. ‘Er, I think so. Not sure about you, though.’

‘Oh, this?’ Ron asked, ringing out the excess water from his shirt and revealing his lower stomach (Hermione’s eyes couldn’t help burning the image into her mind). ‘I’ll be fine. It’s summer, after all.’

Hermione let out a mental groan. Did he really not realise what he was doing to her?

A few minutes later, they had reached Hermione’s home.

‘Wow!’ Ron exclaimed, his eyes widening. ‘It’s enormous!’

Hermione felt her face burn. Her parents were reasonably wealthy (they were both dentists, after all), but she had didn’t think they were that rich. The house wasn’t really anything to comment on; in fact, compared to many others in the neighbourhood, it was actually quite cosy. Hermione’s parents weren’t especially extravagant; they were quiet people who desired a quiet life.

Trying not to let Ron realise how embarrassed she was, Hermione led him up the garden path. Both of her parents’ cars were away, as they were both at work.

‘Hello, Hermione!’

Hermione let out a small squeak. Mrs Parkins, her parents’ neighbour, was cleaning her car just across the wall. She had put down her bucket of soapy water, and had wondered over, waving.

Warily, Hermione raised her hand in greeting.

‘Hello, Mrs Parkins…’

‘Oooh, who’s your companion?’ the elderly lady asked, motioning towards Ron, who was standing off to the side, looking slightly self-conscious.

‘Oh, this is Ron…’ Hermione mumbled; trying not to dwell on the fact that Ron’s t-shirt was still transparent. ‘He’s….er… someone from my boarding school…’

‘Boarding school? What do you- Oh…’ Ron said, cottoning on after he noticed the look on Hermione’s face. ‘Er, yes… we’ve known each-other a long time.’

Mrs Parkins raised her eyebrows as her gaze hovered over Ron’s soaked appearance.

‘I see,’ she said, giving Hermione a knowing look that made her cheeks burn again. ‘Well, it was nice to meet you, Ron. It’s not very often Hermione brings young men home-’

‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Parkins!’ Hermione exclaimed, hurrying Ron through the front door before her neighbour said anything-else embarrassing. ‘Good to see you!’

Hermione quickly closed the door behind her, and let out a sigh.

‘So…’ Ron giggled, taking off his trainers. ‘“It’s not very often Hermione brings young men home”, eh?’

‘Oh, shut up!’ Hermione groaned, her cheeks burning. ‘Will you just go and get changed, please?’

‘Get changed?’

‘Yes! You’re soaked through! You’ll catch your death if you don’t take your clothes off!’

Ron’s eyes widened. Hermione clapped her hand to her mouth. Had she really just said that?

‘Oh, you mean…. for a shower?’ Ron offered, after a long pause. ‘Is that okay? I wouldn’t want to, you know, impose…’

‘It’s… it’s fine, honestly.’

‘Okay…’

‘It’s the second door on the right.’

‘Thanks.’

Ron flashed a brief smile, and then climbed up the stairs.

Hermione let out an internal groan. This day was just making things more complicated…

~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione sat down on her bed, and tried to maintain her cool. This wasn’t easy as she could hear the boy she fancied stripping his clothes off in the next room. With every wet slap that the clothes made as they dropped onto the tiles, Hermione’s stomach gave a guilty squirm.

Do not think about Ron naked, she told herself sternly; do not think about your best friend naked…

The water turned on in the bathroom, and Hermione heard Ron clamber into the shower. She could hear the water splashing.

Hermione felt her breathing intensify, and she hurriedly shook her head, trying to get all images of a very-wet-and-very-naked Ron out of her mind.

Hermione’s bedroom door burst open, but it wasn’t Ron.

‘Hello, dear!’ Hermione’s mother exclaimed, her mouth stretched into a wide grin. ‘The neighbours said you’ve brought a handsome redheaded boy back to your room!’

Hermione felt her face burn with embarrassment, and she promptly fell off her bed onto the floor.

‘It’s Ron, mum!’ Hermione spluttered, picking herself up off the floor. ‘He’s my best friend!’

‘Oh…’ Mrs Granger said in surprise, raising a hand to her mouth, her eyes twinkling. ‘I see. So, you’ve seduced your best friend-’

‘THAT’S NOT WHAT I SAID AT ALL, MUM; WERE YOU EVEN LISTENING-?’

‘Er… Hermione, you wouldn’t happen to have anything I could change into, would you…’

Ron appeared in the doorway, and Hermione’s heart seemed to fail. He was wearing nothing but a small towel tied around his waist. He was drying his glistening red hair with another towel. Hermione’s eyes became glued to his torso, which had a few teasing spots of water still clinging on, not just to the skin but to the delectable coppery hairs around his belly button and trailing down towards…

Oh dear…

Hermione felt her face burning again as she tore her eyes away from Ron. Thankfully, he’d been too surprised by her mother to notice Hermione’s moment of unashamed ogling. She couldn’t risk losing control like that again. It was too dangerous.

‘Oh hello, Ron!’ Mrs Granger grinned, managing to contain her laughter at her daughters’ flustered reaction. ‘I didn’t realise you were here!’

‘H-hello, Mrs Granger,’ Ron said, looking a little embarrassed to be seen wearing so little in front of his friends’ mother. ‘Sorry to impose… my clothes got soaked earlier…’

‘It’s fine. I’m sure Hermione’s not bothered.’

‘MUM!’

Hermione’s face burned again. Was it her imagination, or were Ron’s ears turning pink?

Mrs Granger chuckled.

‘Don’t worry, dear. I won’t be here for long; I was just popping back for some paperwork. I’ll see you this evening!’

Mrs Granger shut Hermione’s bedroom door behind her.

A few seconds later, they heard the front door slam from the floor below. Ron and Hermione were, once again, alone.

‘Er…’ Ron mumbled, looking very awkward in his small towel. ‘So… those clothes…’

‘Oh, yes!’ Hermione exclaimed. ‘Bare with me a moment!’

Stepping back inside her room, she grabbed an old pair of jogging bottoms (large enough to fit Ron) and a baggy t-shirt.

‘Thanks!’ Ron said, as Hermione shoved them into his arms. ‘Wait, are these yours-’

‘Just put them on!’

‘Er, what-?’

‘In the bathroom, obviously!’

‘Geez, you don’t have to yell…’ Ron chuckled, walking out of the room. ‘I wasn’t gonna strip in front of you…’

Hermione waited until Ron was out of sight before screwing her face up in her hands. She could barely contain the scream that was threatening to explode from her mouth.

Did Ron honestly think that she wanted him to…to…

Hermione’s stomach gave a guilty lurch. She’d never admit, but that was exactly what she wanted. But she wasn’t going to tell him that.

Ron re-entered the room. Hermione couldn’t help but notice the way the t-shirt clung to his muscles, and how the jogging bottoms seemed rather tight on him. She wasn’t complaining though.

‘Hermione?’

‘Er, sorry, Ron, what is it?’

‘You’re… staring at me.’

Hermione’s stomach turned over again.

‘S-sorry,’ she mumbled, her face burning as she unsuccessfully attempted to tear her eyes away from his face.

‘No, it’s okay,’ Ron said, his cheeks dimpling as he smiled. ‘I’m not gonna complain if a girl looks at me.’

‘Like those girls earlier, you mean?’

‘What?’

Hermione groaned. She wished she’d kept her big mouth shut. Why did she have to get jealous now of all times?

‘There were girls staring at me?’ Ron asked, surprised. ‘Why? Did I have something stuck in my hair?’

‘No!’ Hermione shouted. Why was he still the only person who didn’t realise how amazing he was? ‘They were staring because you’re gorgeous, and beautiful, and jaw-droppingly attractive!’

There was a deafening pause. Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth in a futile attempt to somehow make the words go back in. But it was too late; her words had tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

Ron’s eyes had grown wide, and his mouth had fallen open.

Hermione dropped her vision to her knees. She couldn’t look at Ron, petrified of seeing the rejection she expected on every inch of his face.

‘You… you think I’m attractive?’

Ron’s voice didn’t sound disgusted, or uncomfortable. If anything, he sounded… hopeful? Were Hermione’s ears playing tricks on her?

‘Y-yes. And…well, those girls certainly did.’ Hermione mumbled, wishing he’d just reject her and get it over with. The waiting was killing her.

‘Really? I…I didn’t notice them, to be honest.’

Hermione’s eyes flicked up to Ron’s. He was looking at her, smiling earnestly and yet shyly. As if he was choosing his words carefully. Why did he need to be careful? Wasn’t he rejecting her?

‘Why?’

Ron’s ears turned red, and he began absentmindedly playing with a loose strand on Hermione’s duvet.

‘I… I was too busy looking at you, Hermione.’

He said this all very quickly, as if he couldn’t contain his words any longer.

Hermione felt her face burn again, and her eyes grew wide.

Could this be…? Did Ron…?

No, it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. There was no way that Ron Weasley- kind, caring, funny, gorgeous, wonderful Ron Weasley- could ever fall for a plain bossy know-it-all like her.

Ron’s eyes seemed to sparkle as they met Hermione’s. He began to lean forward towards her slowly, as if giving her time to move away from him if she felt uncomfortable.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Hermione felt her body being pulled irresistibly towards Ron. They were so close that she could feel Ron’s heartbeat through the light t-shirt he was wearing.

As one, the two young people slipped back onto Hermione’s duvet, so that Ron was leaning over Hermione, his face barely an inch from hers. Hermione was distinctly aware of Ron’s thigh pressing against her leg, and how his gorgeous blue eyes seemed to catch the sunshine emanating through the window.

Hermione’s brain seemed to disengage. Ron’s lips were now a hairs breath from her own, and she could feel his breath- husky and warm- against her skin.

As if from another universe, the sound of a door opening reached Hermione’s ears.

‘Oh, so you weren’t seducing him, dear?’

‘MUM!’

Hermione’s mum left the room and closed the door, laughing cheerily as she walked down the stairs and slammed the front door. Blushing furiously, Hermione covered her face in her hands and groaned.

Ron giggled and tucked a strand of Hermione’s bushy hair behind her ear.

‘Don’t worry; my mum would have probably yelled at me if she caught us like this in my room.’

Hermione smiled, giggling.

‘Is that a promise, Ron Weasley?’

Ron grinned down at her, a mischievous look appearing in his eye.

‘Oh, definitely, Hermione!’

Hermione Granger smiled up into the face of the boy she loved, as their lips finally met for the first time.

Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you liked it!

#romione #romione fanfiction #romione fanfic #alternative universe #harry potter alternative universe #romione au #ron and hermione #ron x hermione #hermione and ron #hermione x ron #ronmione #fanfiction #fullmetal alchemist #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fma #fma reference #fmab #fmab reference

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softnow · 5 years

Text

I have a rough draft of a paper due tomorrow for peer review. We got this assignment two weeks ago, and I totally dropped the ball. I have half a sentence. It's supposed to be ten pages. This semester—this whole year, really, since April—has been so, so hard for reasons I don't understand. I just feel foggy and out of it and exhausted all of the time no matter what. I think I spent the entire summer in a fugue state, basically. And these past few months haven't been much better. I'm not doing well.

So I'm calling in sick to work tomorrow and taking sick days in class, too. It's not a total lie. My mental health is at the stage of bad equivalent to the flu at this point. But this is exceptionally hard for me because I never miss things. Ever. I've taken one mental health day in my entire college career, and before that, I hadn't missed a day of school since the seventh grade.

I'm relentlessly hard on myself and also horribly fatalistic (my thinking is often if I skip a class, then I'll fail, then I'll not graduate, then I'll live in a box, etc etc). I'm not good at taking time off, especially now, when I feel like all I've done is take time off. I've done absolutely nothing of value this weekend when I should have been writing this paper, and that makes me feel even more guilty about taking tomorrow, but...I can't do it. I'm at the end of my rope.

So for now...I'm going to watch an episode of TXF to make myself feel a little better, then I'm going to go to bed and work my ass off at home tomorrow to try and get myself closer to being back on track. Just keep reminding myself that it's not the end of the world.

#i had a giant sobbing meltdown earlier in front of my roommate #who has maybe seen me cry five times in four years #i never cry #it has to get really really bad #well #it's really bad #i'm just so exhausted #like mentally exhausted #and it doesn't matter if i get three hours of sleep or nine hours of sleep #i have no energy or motivation #i'm max stressed about this peer review #because i don't know if missing it will hurt my grade #but i literally have nothing to take to class so #i can't #i just canmt #can't #sorry for the negativity tonight #personal

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autoirishlitdiscourses · 3 years

Text

Discourse of Saturday, 24 July 2021

Questions and answers from the second, and what positions do you see these ideas represented in the comparison is worthwhile to make any changes, it may just be that you would prepare for your grade is calculated as follows: If you are capable of this. Extra half percent, you're right on the clock and think carefully about at a coffee shop, I think that your grade.

You move over some important thematic issues to say here to be exchanged for it if you have received a boost of a letter grade is. Have a good job of contextualizing the novel drives home the unsettling conclusion that broadens and shows that you've got a good job of tracing some important points, though, and what they wanted to make abstract cognitive assessments without being so understanding. Give us a touch, too, that it would be a bit short. Again, please let me know if you show up and talking about why these are different kinds of people the characters are, and how you see them instantiated in the play, it will be, and there, really perceptive readings of all of your discussion in my box in the paper to say to i says in this direction would be for you for a more analytically incisive paper. I'm sorry to take so long to get back to some extent as you possibly can, OK? All in all. What kinds of people wrote on his paper, just over 87% in the class and is taking an opportunity for students in front of the alternatives—I can find out about it from being a good discussion for the week. You to, but afraid to shove more reading at you unless your medical condition mandates additional section absences, then a single college lecture?

/Missing section during the first three paragraph exactly of the B-81. These leaves you with feedback on your new topic if you have any other questions! Do you need to know what the boss says in the Ulysses lectures which, given Ulysses, Stephen mentions to Buck Mulligan that he will be distributed in lecture yesterday: The email addresses on the final exam. That's all that you could do a strong delivery overall. Good luck on the morning! If you're viewing this with a pen in your printed paper, and we can discuss your grade, divided as follows: If your percentage grade for the main characters is constructed by identifying them the main characters in order to be docking you points for section this quarter, which, given the sophistication that your ideas to each other in achieving that goal. Unfortunately, I don't know what's convenient. Keep an eye on a technicality. Got big then. For the sake of having them fresh in their junior year, but writing a novel about family troubles and perhaps by doing background reading on aspects of the people who wind up not promoting discussion in my box when you've done a number of excellent observations in your delivery; perfect textual accuracy; impassioned sense of the Irish as postcolonial subjects; probably others. I know what's going on by and make annotations as you can connect larger-scale themes to specific passages in question. Academic dishonesty in the 6 p. The Search for the edition of Opened Ground. Here are the only one freedom for' th' workin man: control; tomorrow night! Totally up to a specific point that you're essentially doing a genuinely excellent job! I've gestured toward, though not comprehensively—cleaning these up is a bit in the morning!

That's OK.

I'll see you next week! Your writing is very generous Chu—You have some very perceptive readings of several course texts this may not get in without waiting at 3:30 to discuss and haven't had enough coffee today. Each of you effectively boosted the other's grade while you are at getting the group. If you pick up absolutely every point. So, if you want me to. If it's all right with you that there aren't other very productive, because that's a pretty safe guess, that particular selection and delivered it accurately, and don't have an excellent delivery. Again, please let me know if you can't get to specifics. One is that the overall understanding of the section during Thanksgiving also counts for purposes of your discussion could have more to offer them to avoid responding directly to every comment, and you really have done some strong work on an assignment for next week if you get the other students in your delivery does not conform to the skin on her mind simply because it verges on nonsense in places, and will not wind up being quite receptive to discussion in relation to this? I think that a number of points ostensibly on the unnumbered page right after the meeting you'd have to declare immediately; you're now a month and a bit more I could tell you that your occasional assertions that you were comfortable using silence to motivate other people would probably be the sign of maturity, and one option from section 1 and one option from section that night, and this will hopefully help to define each of your grade later in your discussion of the play's rhythm in the text, and you're absolutely welcome to adapt it, make selections from other sources, though it was more lecture and section times and locations for my sections but don't care which, given Ulysses, but that's basically what it means to be one, but certainly not beyond you, we can meet at a coffee shop?

If this is absolutely nothing wrong with only picking, say, genuine misreadings. Ultimately, I think, but did not, let it motivate other people think about the relationship between your source texts, one productive move, too, so I abandoned my discussion of as close to ten minutes if you'd like. Let me know how many people wanted to be interpreting this broadly and not using it. I will not only contributes to your overall grade for the student's ideas.

Again, please leave the room, were engaged and participatory, as well. Again, I'm dying for it somewhat later by coming back and from section that you are one of the Artist As a Young Man, which is a lot of ways, and you've done a number of fingers at the last line. But moving up into the phrase Irish Rebellion: The question What is the only or best way to add a class without a big paperwork headache.

I'll see you next quarter. Incidentally, several students have ever worked with. How this construction of this offer to anyone else, which would have to know when you're up in, so I thought I was wondering whether we'll be having section during the early 20th centuries, though, #3, what produces his unusual narration? See Wikipedia's article Curragh p.

I'll see you next week 13 November On poems by Seamus Heaney, Requiem for the quarter by as much as possible. Take care of your argument as sophisticated as it could be. To be more fair to Yeats, The Stolen Child 5 p. You are absolutely capable of doing their recitations may wind up giving answers to these small-scale, but you added to the section they describe. It just needs to be fully successful. Hi! However, you basically need to make selections from it, mentally or out loud, when the Irish nation is portrayed as a useful skill, too, depending on time. You were clearly a bit before I go to the class, with your little bridie to be less able to avoid the outside world, on the other TAs for the purpose of helping to advance your central argument.

Going slightly later would take you into the abstract, all potentially productive ways that multiple texts, and your writing is lucid and enjoyable. Something I should be on the one he read would be ideal for me if this or in the third paragraph of the room, but I think that it had been set to music. Needing to study harder, but the more helpful my feedback will be spent on reviewing for the quarter when we talked earlier today, and what you'll drop if you have attended for attendance and participation; if you can't go over, and this is a really good reason for this particular assignment, and have not yet worked out for you at the top eight or so announcement to your other questions, OK?

Similar things could be squeezed in most ways, and some broader course concerns. Thanks for letting me know when and where it is that if someone else steals your thunder thematically, you should know the details of the three F's, but both were genuinely minor errors, and you structure your presentation. Absolutely. The Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem performing The Butcher Boy, and modeling this for everyone is also quite short and contains some very, very general prompt, and you've done a good understanding of a small number of things would have been avoiding presenting conclusions in favor of asking questions that motivated good discussion point as might your others. I do not use GauchoSpace to calculate grades, discussed in the topic has been quite a good start here, and you incorporate the required texts in section. Ultimately, what are the similarities and differences, exactly, by the romance meta-critically about your own presuppositions in more depth. However, if you'd like. I realize that these people who see the world will know in advance of the whole class really was close to convenient and painless as possible, and ask people to engage in a college class, and converted the interior monologue into intelligible and articulate and the Dubliners-Finnegan's Wake mentioned in/Ulysses/is not a full recitation schedule in both my sections at that point, because: Thanksgiving is optional in the novel and brought up some important material provided an interpretive pathway into what Yeats wants to this, though it was due to my office after getting a why you can't get it graded as soon as you know that you've made matters in the first few paragraphs and think about how you can frame your argument from lecture on/Godot/has not always an easy task, as always, we can meet you last night looking back over a draft of a stretch. As I said in the future. One would be crucial to making your paper must be completed based on your way into the selection in the same grade. I'm just trying to suggest ways that you do a good idea in a number of recitations, that there should be on that without also pulling in the term. Have a good job of tracing developments in Irish literature, due to the aspects of your education, some of the work that you know you've got a general idea that will occasionally have reminders, announcements, and you have any of these terms explicitly in connections between the various settings in The Butcher Boy song on p. It is not productive about Fluther's point of causing interpretive difficulty for the class up very effectively to larger concerns.

So I'd like you.

I currently have a word with him? She knew from the concrete into the story if you'd like. There will be on that component of your life, you may contact UCSB's Title IX Compliance Office, the impossibility of meaningfully taking a heavy task: Judge Woolsey's decision that/the first place in the first people to talk about is some material that you were a lot of important themes in the early part of broad cultural changes in Irish literature, using established academic practices, which requires you to develop, so I wanted to discuss 2 before 1, because I'm not mad at any stage of the course at this stage of conceptualizing and writing a paper, but his personal experience it can do to be more comfortable with the disclaimer that much of the poem's rhythm and showed this in any reasonable person could disagree with you and the way that pays off more. The code that I've given it another way, especially of Yeats poem to memorize because of its lack of authorial framing in the best person to do both, that you are hopefully already memorizing. Let me know whether that's a pretty amazing group of students in the lead a discussion of What We Lost Paul Muldoon, Quoof McCabe Butcher Boy song 6 p. I'm looking forward to you. Please feel free to come talk to me. All of which parts of The Family Guy called Saving Private Brian, which is a smart decision. —I think that your paper this means, essentially, is to engage in discussion, but some students may not yet done the reading of the things I'm less than thrilled about with this by dropping into lecture mode if people aren't prepared, it's easier for me to say, Leopold Bloom or Francie Brady, his relationship with each other in regard to this offer to anyone else is doing so productively might be productive. Again, I'm sorry to take smaller cognitive leaps immediately, you don't have an excellent job with it. Thanks for your recitation, too. The Plough and the discussion, because I realized that your argument in a way that it looks like you're writing more of an A-range, I think that there are certainly welcome to cut peat, or didn't when you give a quiz. Let me know if you want to write your paper, you may leave your luggage during section, which is vitally important to the characteristics that you are a couple of ways. Reminder: section is actually doing and what will be given away on a big difference in how you're using the add code for that section; c their research paper was not his highest priority this quarter. I'm getting back to you. I felt occasionally that the person who was buried that morning in terrace she was in your final paper? Here is the only major topic that I may not be tolerated. One thing that I left them in section. Maybe the student engaging in an earlier discussion of Calypso, with Stephen's rather strained relationship with their wedding rings on, and you played a very thorough apparatus for reading the play itself; you also managed time well, actually, because poteen was illegal in Ireland at the end of the facts of Yeats's poem, delivered it in a printed copy in my office with the same part of the salient features of the word love to mean, and you had a good job of discussion. Good choice; I like, since I'm going to give you some feedback about what constitutes evidence, and I'll remove my copy of your material effectively and in a negative value judgment: that sexual desire that wraps in a way of taking the F word. Just a quick search. You picked a longer paper. Do you need to be posted to the group's silence in response to a secret resignation. Grade: A-—You've got a lot of ways that you detect. Of course, as documented in writing already: please remember that its structure was articulated more explicitly about what bird symbolism in general, I think that there are any changes made I will be held tomorrow SH 2635, and you picked to the section website. Still, I'm happy to do in leading a discussion of the room. We will be on campus tomorrow afternoon but have held off on writing back to eGrades when the Irish nationalism, and died after. The use of props and costuming was nice to meet, OK? You've got some really perceptive set of texts. It turns out that I can reschedule for Dec. In exchange, I think, are the song performances themselves, but do so as quickly as possible; if you fall back on it not perhaps rather the case, that it will help to ground your analysis. In particular, for instance, if you'd like. If it's all right with this number of things well, but they can take to be expressed in a way into a complex task and trace a clear cubist depiction of a historical text it just so happens that I really hope that the best night to do at the beginning, though not the case and I quite liked it. Think about what your grade is 62. It's been a clue, and this is reflected here, and listens to a copy of the larger structure of the right page on your own writing and thinking skills here, and I think that, going into the midterm was graded correctly. You picked a longer-than-required selection and recovered well and that everything is going to say that I show you as a whole.

You really do have a handout with thoughtful questions and comments that you yourself have done some very very hastily is generally not only done a lot of ways, you've done a lot of ways, and probably see parallels to Francie's narration, but it's up to 1. Sent me this long to get to all your material gracefully and in terms of the novel's plot and thematic development. I think you've got an interesting contemporary poet, and prejudicial or hate speech will not wind up satisfying any breadth requirements; but these are impressive moves. On interpretations that the paper just barely push you down to structural issues with your little darlin' bridie to be helpful during paper-grading rubric composed entirely of Samuel Beckett: The study of 'Ulysses' is, I think that your section self-esteem. You picked a very good questions and comments by dropping into lecture mode if people aren't prepared, it's easier for me to say and got the lowest score of all but the most important of which parts of your total grade for the course to pull you up out of the play's rhythm in the email but don't yet see a different text on a set of additional purposes, as one day late is slightly larger than the other side, I think that your basic idea is good for your thoughts might be Akira Lippit's recent Atomic Light: Shadow Optics. Must have been even more effectively saying exactly what is difficult selection to memorize because of this audio or video recording of your questions? Goes With Fergus, Song of the section Happy Thanksgiving!

Don't want to try harder on future writing. I absolutely understand that it's impossible to pass the class, then responded to your overall grade for the temptation offered to people by commodities and the English Language; Giorgio Agamben's Homo Sacer. Ultimately, you did a really strong job with a lot of similarities to yours, and what exactly is at any time without hurting their grade at the end of the Discussion Section Guidelines handout, which would have helped to have practiced a bit more would have most needed in order to receive a passing grade for the bus on your paper is not quite a nice touch, and you accomplished a lot of silences and retractions in your introduction and conclusion feel a bit nervous, but I felt like you know, and perhaps others as lenses into. A-range papers: These papers address the text you'll be stuck with it? I'm giving them some points for not doing so by 10 p. Hi! Hi! You've got some good ideas, and the section website: good reading of those works, we can meet at a bare minimum length if the maximum possible number of things going on as soon as possible, but I think the fairest grade to a copy for my records, and seemed to be on campus today, but it is ultimately up to you.

I hope you're feeling better soon.

It never compares, at the high end of the following characters in order to be, if you need to have particular specific takes on gender. So you can go on Tuesday, 3, and quite enjoyed reading it. If we're getting in Nausicaa and The Cook, the Christian symbolism of motherhood, those who haven't yet decided what order I'll call people in, and I quite liked it. The value quoted is the midterm during this optional session than will be Patrick Kavanagh's On Raglan Road 6 p.

697, p. More broadly, what is Mary likely to see your intelligence and critical acumen is taken to mean what it means this is a move Joyce was making in writing already: please take a look at the final exam, send me an email saying that you consult, including class, and so I did better. The Plough and the standard conventions of formal writing including appropriate grammar, punctuation problems, or. Another way to motivate discussion, depending on where you want to recite, OK? What he did on section one.

That's fine however, two things. As you probably still have plenty of time, so it hasn't hurt your grade, but will get back to you. Thanks for working so hard this quarter so far a very good job digging in to me. That is, after all are quite open-ended that people have prepared as your thesis statement will allow it to me, but I have a perceptive argument that your central argument? All of these are impressive moves. I just think that your texts; it sounds, because I necessarily agree with you that your recitation, please bring your luggage in my box when you've done a very strong because it prevents me from carrying annoyance at a performance of O'Casey's The Plough and the professor's reading of a particular orthodoxy of belief or that themes are reflected in course; explains basis for course grade. But you did a good presence in front of a novel by an Irishman. Thanks for being a nuanced critic of your elements work together in a single paper. Overall, you made changed the last day to drop by the rhythm-and micro-level English course should be motivated by nervousness, and got a lot in this regard I promise that I'm not in terms of which is entirely plausible if you have previously requested that I didn't think of anything to talk about is some material that you score at the final! I mean, here is to to think not about how you're feeling better! Whatever's best for your listeners. Also, before falling asleep, while sitting in my 6pm section for instance, you know that you've chosen, and what this paper, you're welcome to send a new document. It's perfectly OK to look closely for evidence. Ideally, you might think about what your overall discussion goals and points in the play, or in the morning! This is not a good set of arguments about a particular idea is going to be productive to look at what actually matters. I'm looking forward to your presentation out longer, I really did a number of excellent observations in your thesis statement into its final form until the end of the Flies, and that she's not telling the truth is very promising … and then making sure that you're dealing with it. This are comparatively small errors, etc. One percent/for leading an insightful, focused discussion about the offer, that proofreading and editing a bit more. Have a good one, which was true, in addition to reciting in section will have to choose something else, but will be recited by one line because I necessarily think that her suicide occurs when Francie runs away, which is not a bad move, which are quite perceptive. Either 1:00. Section issues? Hello, I think that there is a strong preference and I'll have to follow up a structure about masculine and feminine lines of inheritance that is also a complex and insightful analyses of a country Begins as attachment to our understanding of the paper. I posted to the larger-scale issues and weaves them gracefully without losing the momentum of your paper most needs at this point would be to have is a thinking process that will be in order to minimize disruption to other students, too, and setting a positive influence on your grade by Friday and I'll be around campus earlier if you're leaving town.

Aside from the rest of the group to read. Remember that your analytical exploration of Digging and other visual aids that will help you to providing an introduction to things that could have been is in range for the course to pull your grade more. Here's a breakdown on your paper. That audio clip is certainly OK. One of the quarter to get to all of which is to find ways to make real contributions in section tonight.

I think that the probability that she's not telling the truth is very lucid and very engaging, in The Walking Dead, which is an attempt to look at it with other students in the meantime or have any questions about how to draw out a number of presentations. What is the full text of Irish identity that has to be avoiding picking too many good ideas.

#Irish literature #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains

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whalefairyfandom12 · 6 years

Text

for him.

Summary: In which Dan paints smiles and studies English at a dead end. His muse takes the from of Phil Lester, a film student at his university, but paint doesn’t last forever and not everyone is who we make them out to be.

A/N: I had said awhile back that I wasn’t going to continue this story for a couple of different reasons, but I’ve been wanting to get back into writing and I thought it would be a nice reintroduction. Given that this is over two years late I’m not even sure if anyone still cares haha, but I hope you enjoy it regardless!

tw; depression, alcohol, suicidal thoughts

Masterpost

Part Two

The paper sits on top of his laptop, crumpled and severely tea stained. The impending due date is written across the top in black sharpie: June 11. For the most part creative writing is the only class that doesn’t make him want to rip his hair out, but he’s not convinced that his teacher isn’t a sadist.

Purple writing stains the back of his hand, the biro ink smudging and dripping onto the paper below him.

we live in the broken fragments of a dying universe.

His phone releases a chiming sound, the vibrations making a rattling noise against the surface of his desk. Dan grabs it, desperate for anything to take his mind off of the depressing reality that he might very well fail his course. He wonders what he’d do with the rest of his life if something related to english doesn’t work out. Nothing maybe.

The text is from Phil, perhaps unsurprisingly. they say only boring people are bored. with that reasoning i must be duller than 50 shades.

A smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite himself, Dan dials Phil and waits. “E.L. James couldn’t make it so I’m the replacement.”

“Thank god. I’d rather talk to you any day.”

“Is my voice your favorite sound?” Dan asks sarcastically.

“Yes.”

The smile grows. “In that case it’s worth nothing that your voice is my favorite sound too.”

“Lucky that,” Phil says, and Dan can hear the accompanying eye roll. “What a coincidence.”

“Are you finished with your homework?” he asks. There’s a pen sitting beside his computer and he flicks it with his thumb and forefinger. It hits the wall and rolls back towards him, and he repeats the action.

“The pressing assignments,” Phil says. “You?”

“Sort of, kind of, not really?”

“Is the creativity block still pretty bad?”

“It’s still there,” Dan says, making a face. “By this point I’ve learned to cope but I wouldn’t call it fantastic.”

“What genre do you like to write?”

“I gravitate towards realistic fiction but it doesn’t really matter.”

“Hmm,” Phil’s voice trails off into contemplative silence. “I told you that I would help you cure your creativity block. I promise I haven’t forgotten, it’s just a work in progress.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dan says. “It’d be nice to have the block gone but I don’t want it to become your issue.”

“Who said anything about worrying?” Phil asks. “Who do you think I am, Philip Lester?”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re absolutely freaking hilarious?” Dan asks dryly.

“Hey!” Chris’s shout comes from the living room and he yanks the phone away from his ear, cupping a hand over the microphone. “Cheese or pepperoni?”

“Why not both?” Dan asks, raising his voice. “We both know you can eat at least one of those without any help.”

“I’m glad you agree!”

He repositions the phone. Phil’s saying something, but he can’t quite make out the words. “Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you had to go.”

“I should, yeah. Did I relieve your boredom?”

“I think it’s safe to say that you did, but now I want pizza, too,” Phil says. “Good luck with your story.”

“Thanks,” Dan says. “I’ll see you then.” He pushes the end call button, shoving his phone in his pocket and turning off the light.

Chris looks up from his laptop, scowling at the screen. “Have I mentioned before that this thing is utter shit?”

“Once or twice,” Dan says.

Chris releases a long breath from between his teeth, eyeing him intently.“Phil?” He nods. “I’m not saying anything but--”

“Yes you are,” Dan interrupts, subjecting the boy to a glare. “How long did they say on the pizza?”

“Ten, fifteen minutes tops,” Chris says. “I’m just saying, if you’re planning on making a move you should do it soon.”

Dan stares at him incredulously. He doesn’t see any point in arguing further, and he retreats to his room; making sure Chris can hear the slam of the door behind him. Even if he was interested in Phil, hypothetically speaking, for those feelings to be reciprocated is about as likely as finishing top of his maths class. There’s no way in hell a notion like that could ever be more than a fleeting fantasy, and he’s never been one for daydreams.

...

Dan’s seat in Creative Writing is located diagonally by the only window in the classroom. The door is located a short distance away, accessible in ten seconds, maybe less if he’s charged with adrenaline. He has the best seat in the room; if a need for escape presents itself he can make a run for the door or shatter the glass and jump out the window. The drop to the ground isn’t high enough to kill him. He thinks.

His professor’s giving some lecture about characterization but he stopped listening a while ago. He hopes she doesn’t ask what his story concept is any time in the next millennium, because he doesn’t have one. Despite Phil’s bravado about curing his creativity block the page is as empty as it was a month ago. Christmas break starts in two weeks, and he’s hoping to have the skeleton of his story finished by the end of break.

He contemplates if the other thirty two students have completed the assignment yet. He thinks that’s unlikely, but he also doubts any of them are quite as far behind as he is. The sparse moments he has to write he’s either too tired to do much more than log onto his computer, or he lacks the inspiration to produce anything with a glimmer of potential.

Dan scribbles in the margins of the newest handout, previous doodles already littering most of the available white space. He can write nonsensical drivel until every inch of his skin is stained, but finding the right words and phrases long enough for a novel is an impossibility.

the invisible boy loved the dark so much the shadows rose to swallow him whole. he wondered, if people were fireflies would the world be a brighter place?

Dan chances a glance at the clock; twenty minutes until his next class. It seems like he’s always counting down to something, the end of class, the end of the day, the days before break, the years before graduation. Sometimes he doesn’t think the countdown is ever going to come to an end. If life’s composed of moments than each moment lasts the number of seconds it takes to end. Everything is composed of numbers, and though they’re cool and aloof and safe there’s a security to them that he’s too afraid venture out of.

He wonders how long it’ll take before he begins counting down the seconds to his death. Sometimes he think he thinks he’s already started.

For the end of November the weather is warm enough to allow spending lunch and the time between classes outside, something that Dan wholeheartedly prefers to eating in the cafeteria. Conversations flow more freely, and he can stretch out on the grass and watch the clouds.

PJ and Phil’s digital storytelling class is the first that’s released, and by the time Dan reaches their usual spot most of the time Chris’s already there. Phil’s sitting with his back against the tree and knees tucked to his chest, PJ and Chris sprawled on the ground in front of him. A sketchbook is perched on his legs, pen uncapped and ink flowing onto the white canvas.

“Is Louise free yet?” PJ asks.

“Five minutes,” Dan says, checking his watch and sitting beside Phil. Louise’s French class runs later than anyone else’s, but her next class starts a good half an hour later than his does so he supposes it evens out.

Sometimes he wishes he saw her more often. The points of their lives that intersect are sporadic; planets brushing and occasionally colliding but never for long. “How was digital storytelling?” he asks.

“Fine,” PJ says. “Nothing new really, we’re supposed to be drafting a storyboard for a short film. How was English?”

“Long,” Dan says, pulling a face. “At least break starts soon. That’s something I guess.”

“PJ and I have an Important Announcement,” Chris says, waving a hand in the air with what he assumes is meant to be an impressive gesture.

“We do?”

“Yes,” Chris says, pushing himself up on his elbows and giving PJ a meaningful look.

“Right,” PJ says, eyes widening in understanding. “We do.”

“For those of us who aren’t telepathic would you care to clarify?” Dan asks.

“Hush,” Chris says, raising an admonitory eyebrow. “Patience grasshopper.”

Dan shakes his head, turning his attention to Phil. The sunlight is filtered through the branches and leaves of the tree overhead, casting parts of his profile in shadow. He thinks that Phil’s the kind of person that deserves to have stories written about him and paintings created in his likeness, yet he doubts there’s an artist alive who could begin to do him justice.

“It’s a capybara,” Phil says, catching Dan’s eye and tilting the drawing. “A work in progress.”

“I like it,” Dan says, tracing a careful finger over the drying ink. “Are they your favorite animal?”

“They’re in the running.” Phil’s eyes slide past Peter, landing on the rapidly approaching figure of Louise. “Hey.”

“Hello.” Her backpack is tossed on the ground with a dull thumping noise, and she lays on the ground, closing her eyes.

“Now that everyone’s here I want to make the Important announcement,” Chris says, staggering to his feet.

“What’re you on about?” Louise asks, her words punctured by a yawn. “I’m too tired for anything that requires more response than a grunt.”

“PJ and I are dating,” Chris says proudly. Silence meets his words, and a quick glance at everyone confirms that the other two are just as unimpressed as Dan is.

“Wow, what a surprise,” he says sarcastically. “I never would’ve suspected.”

Chris looks distinctly wounded. “Thanks mate. Good to have your support as always.”

“You two have wanted to bang each other for ages,” he snorts. “If you wanted to deliver a shocker this wasn’t it.”

“Congratulations,” Phil says, offering a thumbs up.

“Thank you Phil,” Chris says pointedly. He sits down again, crossing his arms wearing an expression akin to a pout.

“Cheer up,” PJ says, bumping his shoulder. “At least they didn’t throw rotten tomatoes.”

“That’s tomorrow,” Dan says. He stifles a yawn, checking his phone. He had time to take a nap, but he doesn’t think Chris would agree with the idea.

“Are you lot going home for break?” PJ asks.

“I am,” Phil says. There’s no enthusiasm to his words and Dan frowns, giving him a sideways glance.

“Does that mean you’ll need some entertainment over the holidays?” he asks.

Phil smiles. “I think some entertainment would be nice.”

“I’ll also be at home doing nothing,” Dan says. “I have a feeling the entertainment hotline might decide to give you a call.”

He decides that Phil has the nicest eyes he’s seen, a shade of blue that Van Gogh could only dream of. He’s heard people talk about drowning in eyes before, but Phil’s are more like the sky and Dan thinks he wouldn’t mind letting the anchors snap and float away.

...

Dan’s favorite bookstore, Ink and Quill, is only a five minute away from the school. Whenever Things become too much it’s his first place of refuge. There's a sofa nestled in front of a fireplace by which a bookshelf is crammed, and it's there he sits and contemplates the meaningless of existence.

Tuesdays are always his least favorite days. There’s an expectation that Mondays will be bad, and Wednesdays are hump days; if you can survive the first two days you can survive the last few. Thursdays are so close to Fridays and Fridays are the day before the weekend that they’re bearable, but Tuesday serves no purpose other than lengthening the week and adding another day to the work week.

It’s on one such Tuesday afternoon that Dan finds himself laying on the sofa with his eyes closed. Spots dance across the back of his eyelids, a pale imitation of his own northern lights. He holds the lights closer, as if by squeezing his eyes shut he can make them illuminate his mind.

“Hey.”

He opens his eyes, the warmth of Phil’s voice casting it’s own luminescence over the dim lightning from the fire. There’s a skylight directly overhead, and if he tilts his head at the right angle he can see the sky. The torrential downpour outside successfully blocks the sun, projecting a gloomy and melancholy air over everything else. All there is is a mass of gray, and he thinks that if oblivion was to be summed up in a color this would be it.

“Hi,” he says, leaning against one of the armrests and crossing his legs. Phil sits on the opposite end of the sofa, mimicking his posture. Their legs are pressed together, thighs touching and calves brushing. There’s a distinct warmth to it and for once Dan doesn’t mind the contact. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“I think I’ve seen you around before,” Phil says, a smile ghosting his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“Well enough.” Dan shrugs, trying to play the action off as nonchalant. “What about you?”

Phil raises an eyebrow, as if to call him out on the complete falsity of his response. “Fine,” he answers, the challenge in his voice palpable.

Dan can’t remember the last time someone paid enough attention to notice the difference between sincerity and empty words. It’s nice--but that still doesn’t mean he’s going to sob into Phil’s shoulder and unload the weight of his problems. “What are you doing here?”

He’s afraid the question comes off as brusque, but Phil doesn’t show any outward signs of offense. “I was submitting my application,” the boy says.

“For what?”

“Exchange program and mentorship,” Phil says, eyes lighting up. “In California.”

Something ugly has begun to take root. “When would it be?”

“The next three years. I’d finish my degree there.”

“A transfer essentially?” Dan asks. He’s not sure why it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room, but it does and he can’t breathe.

“You could look at it that way,” Phil acknowledges. “I doubt they’ll accept me, but I figured there was nothing to lose in trying.”

“I hope they accept you,” Dan says, even though no, he really hopes they don’t. He’s aware he’s being incredibly selfish and that there’s no logic to his thinking, but he can’t force himself past the idea of university without Phil.

“Thanks Dan. You’ll be the first person I’ll tell once I hear something.” Phil gives him an expectant look. “What brings you here?”

“I like it here,” Dan says. “I usually come here on Tuesdays and think about Things.”

“Things?”

“How nothing matters in the end.” He means his words to come off as sarcastic, but he doesn't think he's successful.

“What do you mean?”

Dan shrinks into the sofa. “I was just kidding,” he says. “Never mind.”

“Well, if you do want to talk about the end of the world I’m always here.”

Dan tries not to read into that last part too deeply. Phil is still looking at him a little too closely, and he changes the subject. “When are you going home?”

“Tonight. When are you?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Dan says. He pushes up his sleeve, glancing at his watch. “I should go and pack. I hope your trip goes well.”

“Thanks, you too,” Phil says. “Should I keep an ear out for the hotline?”

“I think you should,” Dan smiles. He shrugs his coat on, rising to his feet. “I’ll see you next year.”

Phil nods. “Happy Christmas and New Year,” he says. There’s a brief hesitation before he pulls Dan into a hug, letting go almost immediately. Dan thinks he can make out the ghost of a blush on the boy’s face as he opens the door.

The hug was nicer than he remembers hugs being, and he can’t remember the last time he was disappointed for physical contact to end. Hugs, he comes to the conclusion, should be given more often.

...

His aunt’s house is always too much of something. Too much noise, too much smalltalk, too much of the same questions and answers over and over again until he finds the quietest corner that he can and retreats. Everyone from his grandparents to cousins to family friends crowd the already cramped space of the living room, spilling out into the dining room and even upstairs.

It’s impossible to not feel claustrophobic. He’s found that if he spends enough time buried in other people that the walls feel like they’re closing in. There’s no escape from the endless conversation and observation, and in a way it reminds him of school. Always under a microscope, where each and every movement and word is subject to dissection and offense.

After answering yet another question about uni good, fine, yes, no, Dan slips down to the basement in the hopes that he might find it at least relatively empty. Because the universe hates him, two of his cousins are battling to the death with light sabers and knocking over every piece of furniture in the process. He lets the door slam behind him, leaving before he can be blamed for any of the destruction.

The upstairs is too loud and too chaotic for any semblance of solitude, and after giving the downstairs a final check he votes for going outside. He’s heard there’s something called grass. From the first floor there are two ways outside--a sliding glass door that leads to the porch and the front door connected to the kitchen.

The porch door is the least mobbed, and he begins to make his way over. A poke to the back of his neck and a demand to join a card game puts a temporary halt to his escape, and he makes up a lie about needing to get a drink of water before making a run for it. Dan’s not sure if it’s a failure of memory or something else, but he doesn’t remember family reunions ever being quite this bad. The door slides open easily enough, and he steps outside.

The sky is clear for the most part, and a slight chill sends a puff of condensation into the air every time he exhales. His decision to not bring a coat is one that he’s now regretting, but it’s not worth going back inside to grab it. The wooden slats of the porch are damp and cold to the touch, and he steps off and settles in the grass. The walls aren’t enough to mute the noise, although they make it relatively bearable.

He closes his eyes, attempting to return his breathing to a somewhat regular pace. A quiet buzzing interrupts his train of thought, and he cracks open an eyelid. He fumbles for his phone, clumsily swiping without bothering to check the caller I.D. “Hello?”

“Hey.”

The smile that crosses Dan’s face at Phil’s greeting feels ridiculous, and he’s glad the dark and solitude conceal the expression from analyzation. “Enjoying your festivities?”

“Not particularly. You?”

“No. Merry Christmas.” There’s no enthusiasm in Phil’s statement, and there’s even less in Dan’s reply.

“You too. How’s break been?”

“I’m actually looking forward to starting school again which I think says a lot.”

“Is it really that bad?” Dan asks.

“I might be slightly dramatic,” Phil says. “Family gatherings were never really my favorite thing, but it could always be worse. How’re you?”

“About the same as you. At least on campus there’s somewhere to hide that’s not outside.”

“After we get back you should come over,” Phil says, the statement slightly distorted over the sudden influx of noise. “I still have to give you your present.

“Sure, sounds like a plan.” Dan agrees. He neglects to mention that Phil’s gift is still in the development stages.

“What's your favorite color?”

“Blue,” Dan says. “Like the sky. You?”

“Purple. Like an aubergine.” The static of a loud crash cuts through Phil’s next phrase.

“What did you say?”

“I have to go, sorry,” Phil says. “My little sister almost set the table cloth on fire. I’ll talk to you later.” The lines dies before Dan can say anything in response, and he stares at his phone until the screen goes black. He would never admit it, but out of all of the presents he’s gotten so far hearing Phil’s voice is undoubtedly the best one yet.

...

The worst part of packing all of his family in one house is the inevitable lack of sleep. Dan’s out like a light the moment his head hits the pillow, and it feels like mere seconds have passed before his eyelids are pried open. Literally.

“Play with me!” Kat, his younger cousin, is jumping on the bed. Her fingers are millimeters away from Dan’s eyes, their attack momentarily paused.

Dan groans, batting away her hands. He rubs his eyes, blinking a few times to ensure that nothing's broken. “What time is it?”

Kat shrugs, blonde hair forming a mane around her face. “Time for you to wake up!”

“I am awake.” Dan buries his face back in his pillow. “And now I'm asleep.”

He can hear Kat’s pout, sense her arms crossing and bottom lip beginning to jut out. “Why are grown ups so boring?”

Dan sighs, rolling over to face his cousin. “Why don't you go wake up your parents?” Normally he’d feel guilty about pawning Kat off on her parents at some some ungodly hour in the morning, but he's too tired to feel anything but exhaustion.

“Because.” Kat begins to jump on the bed, her words falling into time with her movements. “Because because because because because--”

“If you leave me alone I promise I’ll play with you in a few hours,” Dan coaxes. “I’ll even give you an extra cookie at lunch today.”

Kat mulls his offer, head tilting to one side. “Okay,” she agrees, sliding off the bed. She totters towards the exit, the door slamming shut behind her. Dan lets the silence envelop him, nestling into the quiet and letting it fill his head overflowing.

He stumbles downstairs a few hours later, showered, dressed, and hungry. His mum is at the stove, a growing plate of pancakes sitting on the counter beside her. She hums a greeting, shooting him a warning glance.

“Touch those pancakes and you won’t be getting any,” she says threateningly, waving the spatula at him. In a competition for the best puppy dog eyes Dan would be a long ways away from the winner, but they’d always worked on his mum.

“I won’t tell Kat,” he wheedles.

His mum sighs, gesturing for him to open his mouth. She casts a furtive glance around the room, tossing one into the waiting trap. “You’d better not.”

“Thanks mum,” Dan says brightly. He puts a hand over his mouth to hide his chewing. Whatever else could be said about his mum, there was no denying that she knew how to cook. He had never been a fan of family reunions, but he supposes they’re not all bad.

...

The bus had arrived back on campus at three forty one in the morning. He’d exchanged a sleepy greeting with Chris who’d arrived the day prior before dumping his bags on the ground. He sat down at his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper, beginning to brainstorm ideas for Phil’s present.

The current beginnings of said present sits on top of his desk, unfinished and a complete disaster even four hours later. Dan stares at it for a moment, hoping that today will be the day that his telepathic abilities kick in and the gift will magically finish itself. Disappointingly, though admittedly unsurprisingly, the paper remains in shards and the cardboard in mangled sections. A quick knock breaks his concentration, and before he can say anything in response the door opens.

“Why bother knocking if you’re going to come in anyway?” Dan asks, swiveling in his chair. Chris stands in the doorway, holding a plate of cookies and balancing a glass of milk in the other hand.

He shoots a vaguely horrified look at Dan’s project. “The hell is that supposed to be?” The question reflects confusion and slight disgust, which Dan thinks is probably the appropriate reaction.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he says grimly. “It was supposed to be a book, now I honestly have no idea.” In theory his idea wasn’t completely terrible. Originally he’d wanted to write something, but he’s resorted to binding a book for Phil to write his thoughts down in and giving him a fountain pen. He’ll be the first to admit it’s not the most creative idea out there, but it’s always harder to come up with a gift for someone you care about.

“Is that for Phil?” Chris asks. He enters the room and sits on the edge of Dan’s bed, setting the plate and glass on his desk. “Christmas present?”

“Yeah. What are you getting PJ?”

“Camera lens,” Chris says. “He won’t shut up about it--contrary to common belief I can take a hint.” A quiet smile steals the bite from his words, and Dan would tease him about it if he had the energy.

“Are those for me?” he asks, jerking his chin towards the cookies.

“No,” Chris says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “I brought food all the way to your room because I thought it would be a nice centerpiece.”

Dan grabs a cookie off the top, the chocolate burning his tongue and bursting in his mouth. He lets his eyes flutter shut, the slight bitterness of the chocolate cut by the sugar in the dough. The contrast is perfect, and he doesn’t think he’s ever tasted anything so delicious. “When you asked me about moving in together I want you to know I only said yes for the food.”

“What’s your idea?” Chris asks.

“I wanted to bind a book for him to write his ideas in,” Dan says. “It’s kind of a mess right now.” He reaches for his duffel bag, unzipping one of the pouches and rooting around for a moment before emerging triumphantly with a wrapped parcel. “This is yours.”

Chris shakes it experimentally. “Is it explosives? I bet it is.”

“It’s not explosives,” Dan says. “I pay rent too.”

Chris tears off the wrapping paper, face lighting up. “You’re kidding me.”

“Merry Christmas.” Dan’s almost knocked over by the enthusiasm behind the boy’s hug. He can’t help but think it’s not nearly as nice as Phil’s. “Everyone was really uncreative this year and we all saved up. Trust me, it’s a completely selfish gift. I’m tired of hearing you complain about your old laptop all of the time.”

“Thank you. Your gift’s coming,” Chris says, straightening. “Shipping hates me.” He points to Phil’s present. “I think you should try hot gluing the fabric to the cover instead,” he suggests. “It’ll hold better.”

“That’s actually a good idea,” Dan says.

“I’m full of them,” Chris moves towards the door, waggling his eyebrows. “It’s why you love me.”

“I’ll have to ask PJ’s opinion on that one.”

“Only if you let me ask Phil’s.” He ducks the glue stick Dan throws in his general direction, his laughter following him down the hall.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #for him.#phan au #fh #fanfiction

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vankoya · 7 years

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Work In Progress Tag.

I was tagged by my sweetest @dailydoseofdia so thank you very much, my honey! Now, I am going to explicitly expose all of my WIPs, some of which are not known about or displayed on my story schedule as I have no hecking clue in the slightest as to when I will finish writing all of them. Rest in peace, me. (I really went on a spree with the previews.)

I am going to tag: @tayegi / @versigny / @inktae / @trbld-writer!

The Devil Skates On Thin Ice | Twoshot, Part Two

→ Rivalry & Sports AU • Min Yoongi & Reader

Status: First priority. 6K words currently written. Twenty-five percent complete.

Preview: The number ’31’ is salient in large, bold white lettering at the centre of the hockey jersey. Though it is most certainly not as prominent as the ‘MIN’ that stands out inches above it, the three letters setting off screeching alarm bells within your mind that have you bolting upright on the mattress in a state of suffocating panic, cracking your elbow against the sill of the window in the process.

“Shit!” You yelp, cringing from the sharp pain that shoots up your arm, cradling it to your chest as you keel over your knees and dramatically collapse back onto the bed like the world just could not help but dig your hell hole of a situation all the deeper.

You are in Yoongi’s room. Of all the fucking people it could have been, it had to be him.

Amidst the anguish, a succession of thumping footsteps steadily becomes apparent as they grow louder, nearer, almost as though they are jogging. Then, the door is histrionically thrown open and a wide-eyed, flustered Yoongi comes into view within the frame, panting a little like he had ran from the other side of the apartment at the voicing of your distress. Honestly, you surprise yourself by holding back the lurching urge to hurl up the contents of last night at the sheer sight of him.

An Oath For Sinners | Series, Part Three

→ Vampire & Escort AU • Min Yoongi & Reader

Status: 10K words currently written. Fifty percent complete.

Preview: There are two and a half hours remaining until she is supposed to be knocking at his front door, and Yoongi is still holed up in his office, signing a stack of papers inked with paragraphs of information that he is barely processing due to the simple fact that he has caved to the torment of hardly restrained lechery. For all he knows, he could be signing his life over to the devil since the sole thought that he cannot tear his disgracefully crude attention from is what divine facial expression she is going to pull the moment his dick slides into her dripping cunt.

At that, his mind blanks completely, eyes glazing over and muddling the page before him into a blur of white smeared with black, the nib of the pen drooling an expanding spot of ink on the paper where he distractedly presses it. Shit. Yoongi’s lips part to create an airless sound, his imagination ravaging his sanity as he pieces together the image of her underneath him in completely nude glory, her warm, mundane skin glittering with a sheen of perspiration, wide eyes crazed with ferocious desire, the pupils blown like dark moons, always watching him. She looks excited, afraid, utterly ravishing.

The Heart’s Variable | Oneshot

→ Hacker AU • Kim Taehyung & Reader

Status: 2K words currently written. Ten percent complete.

Preview: Roommates tend to walk in on a lot of shit that they would much rather have scrubbed from their field of vision by a wire sponge, but such visual torment is an unspoken given when it comes to share-housing. Most especially when one of the aforementioned roommates is the one and only Kim Taehyung. So when Park Jimin, a law student of baby soft features that no courtroom can ever take seriously because he somewhat appears like an irritated child when he is trying to defend his case, knocks on Taehyung’s bedroom door at ten in the morning and is given the sole response of dead silence, he, without thinking, twists the handle and thrusts it open with a determination to give the guy the grandest, loudest wake-up call possible.

At least, that was Jimin’s plan until his gaze fell upon Taehyung slouched facedown over his keyboard, surrounding monitors dulled to sleep just as he is. Except, unlike him, the computer does not have its soft dick nestled on unadulterated display in its lap like a lifeless, pink sea cucumber, sweatpants uselessly shoved halfway down the defined curve of its ass.

A Ticket To The Sun | Series, Part Three

→ Dystopia AU • Min Yoongi & Reader

Status: 5.5K words currently written. Twenty percent complete.

Preview: The countdown is in full swing. Seventeen days until doom reaches his doorstep, until the truth will be revealed and Yoongi will be framed as a goddamn coward for never telling her from the very start. He deserves to die like that, at least, with shame stuffed in his pockets, with a knife of regret slicing through his back. Horrible, truly such a gruesome excuse of a human being, he is.

I could tell her right now, he blankly considers, but knows he never would. It is close to two in the morning, and she is swaying gently, making an order at the diner counter with a blurred smile, eyes glazed. I could tell her right now and make pancakes taste like my death, make vanilla cling like my blood to the back of her throat. I could do it, I could do it.

She, with wobbly grace, turns on her heel to face him. Her drooping gaze lands on the divot between his collarbones that kisses the collar of his navy shirt before it lazily trails up, up, up to meet his own eyes, a grin lighting up on her lips as if caught redhanded staring where she should not. The breathtaking culprit to their exceptional crime.

Yoongi could never do it.

Paroxysm of Repulsion | Oneshot

→ Single Dad / Teacher AU • Jeon Jeongguk & Kim Taehyung

Status: Still drafting and plotting. 1.7K words currently written.

Preview: The guy of long honey limbs and deftly mussed hair wears an expression fit for murder, which would have been entirely convincing if he was not wearing the most repulsive sweater to ever have the misfortune of existing on this very earth. Traffic cone orange and fluorescent violet striped, like Halloween just threw up on his chest and this is the mouldy aftermath a week later. Jeongguk decides the guy deserved such an insult for wearing an atrocity to mankind.

“Uh,” he cannot even form a coherent sentence, it is that disgusting.

“Uh?” The Serial Killer In The Ugliest Sweater To Exist offers brusquely, face unchanging. “That’s all you have to say? Uh?”

Jeongguk gulps. “Uh–“

“Is that the only word in your vocabulary?”

“Well–“

“Amazing! He knows more than one word!” He throws his hands enthusiastically in the air, slatted eyes still fresh with intent to kill. Before Jeongguk can stammer out another vocalisation of unintelligence forced by sheer repugnance, the guy accusingly jabs a finger at him. “Kids need to learn manners at an early stage in life if they want to grow up to be good adults. Get on that fuckin’ shit, man.”

Fight Blood With Blood | ATM Drabble

→ Witch Hunter AU • Jeon Jeongguk & Reader

Status: 3.8K words currently written. Eighty-five percent complete.

Preview: Jeongguk wants to ask more, wishes to pick apart her bones and search the marrow for the answers, more truths, to learn of the genuine honesty about herself and who she is. But whatever he wishes to say becomes lodged in his mouth when he watches her bring the blade to her palm and cut a clean slice through the flesh, crimson that looks like liquid black beneath the moonless sky instantly bubbling to the surface and spilling into the clear patch of dirt that the very same knife carved out.

The witch stays quiet and calm, dropping the now tarnished blade to the snow and dipping her fingertips into the sticky, red mess accumulating in her other palm. They come away dripping, soaked in the colour of her very own coat, and Jeongguk observes with his lips parted, shoulders rigid while she draws nonsensical script into the frozen surface of the dirt she has cleared. Witch language, looking twisted and evil, like it is going to reach out and bite him if he dares to look away.

Gateway to Gehenna | Oneshot

→ Witch / Demon AU • Kim Taehyung & Reader

Status: Still drafting and plotting. 2K words currently written. Ten percent complete.

Preview: For the first twenty years, the door is avoided at all costs.

Nestled between the library and the living quarters, it is alike any other door within the cottage. A thick slab of mahogany lacquered in rich syrup that still holds its woodsy scent beyond decades since its construction, a brass handle which glints in the afternoon sunlight that manages to trickle down the hallway, much less worn or touched than any other knob. It finds its differences in the dense carvings that are inscribed on the surface, a variation of symbols and words as old as time itself, not even belonging to history, for the language has surpassed such limitations.

They start at the centre of the door and bloom in an enormous wooden rose, the petals fanning out to the very edges where the inscriptions become smaller, near frantic, as though the incantations were bordering incomplete yet the space was quick to be eaten up; desperation embedding urgency into the grain. Because if there was not enough room to finish, all efforts would have been entirely fruitless. The plan would be torn to shreds, the earth would be brought to ruin.

You see, it is not the door itself that is necessarily the problem. It merely keeps it contained. Instead, it is what is held within that should be feared.

Rather he who should not be released.

There’s A Rainbow (Always, After The Rain) | Oneshot

→ Soulmate AU • Jeon Jeongguk & Kim Taehyung

Status: 1.3K words currently written. Fifteen percent complete.

Preview: The barista, as if realising what he has just done, clamps a palm over his mouth, eyes still remaining to roundly stare at Jeongguk like he has just stripped naked in the middle of the cafe. On the other hand, Jeongguk is about ready to turn on his heel and flee, or fold his body like origami until he can fit into the linoleum cracks beneath his feet. Instead, by sheer force of will and his ferocious desire to have a double shot long mac after The Worst Day of His Existence, Jeongguk stands statuesque until the barista seems to get his shit together and drops his hand away from his face.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” the barista, who’s name tag reads Jimin babbles, baby cheeks flaring with muted fuchsia. “I-I didn’t mean to react that way, I swear! It’s just that– Holy shit, how long– When did it change like that?” The colour of his face ripens. “Oh– Or maybe, did you do that yourself–“

“Does it look like I would have done this–“ Jeongguk aggressively points at the rainbow monstrosity sprouting from his roots, biting down on his urge to scream the words, rather than hiss them under his breath– “To myself? Why the fuck?”

Lips of Divinity | Oneshot

→ Daitengu AU • Min Yoongi & Jeon Jeongguk

Status: Still drafting and plotting. 780 words currently written.

Preview: there is purpose behind this trek, not just a measly, careless adventure into the unknown of a forest deemed dangerous by the town at its feet. jeongguk absently wonders, if he were to trip over an unforeseen rock or jutted stick, whether the fall would have him tumbling down to the very base, crashing him back upon square one that he last stood upon just before midday.

but the boy should not think so soon, his eyesight is getting worse with every stretch that night begins to make across the daylight, almost as if it wishes to put his theory to the test.

he whistles a tune unheard of, one that bounds through the trees, echoing on and on. to set the pace of his tread, to fend off the eerie quiet that otherwise lulls the mountain. the birds are no longer near to pick it up, to carry on the sound in their own chirp, flourish it into something entirely different that belongs to them, and them only; started by a boy who never listens.

#tagvory

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von-ranke-blog · 7 years

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Ooh boy was today a roller coaster of emotions and feelings.

I headed out to NIH to do research thinking that it wouldn’t take long only to find out there was probably four or five times the sources that I thought there were. They’ve got great scanners there and were actually installing two more while I was there so that wasn’t a problem. The problem was that if you request things from 11-12 they show up at 12:45 and if you request them from 12-1 they show up at 1:45 and so on. So I did other research online during that time.

Then I found out about all the research and started scanning. I didn’t realize how long it had taken me so far and suddenly realized it was 3. I have to leave my house at around 4:15 to get to campus on time and I was minimum 20 minutes away from my car seeing as I’d taken the Metro. So I hurried through and gave up on the last book. I pulled my USB out, plugged it into my computer, and opened up one of the documents I’d spent the last two and a half hours scanning.

Empty. Blank. PDF. Files.

Cue the panic. Librarian had no idea what was going on, I was forcibly holding back tears, and only found out at exactly 4 that Microsoft 10 hates Adobe and works fine in Microsoft Edge. So crisis averted but not the adrenaline and panic. Booked it back to the Metro, almost made it onto the train...And then promptly remembered they alternate track after 4PM so I had to wait another ten minutes for a train to my station. I emailed my professor while I was waiting to let him know I was going to be late, which he was ultimately okay with.

Then on the train ride back I realized I’d only eaten 2 Pop Tarts at 11 and was going to need to get food before I got on my way to campus. Drove to campus, was about 20 minutes late, all was fine.

And I got an extension on the paper because everybody’s asked for one! So yay to that because I do not feel ready to turn the draft of a 25 page paper in a week from today. (Also means the other paper that was due in two weeks is going to be rescheduled as well.)

Very, very anxious feeling afternoon that resulted in having more time to look at the mountain of primary sources I now have. Which is good because everything I have for another class is ridiculous and I’m behind on things because of revisions and I don’t like the professor and she doesn’t like me and...I need to do that.

#gradblr #studyblr

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blogparadiseisland · 6 years

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Nature Elon Musk Had a Deal From the S.E.C. It Unraveled in a Morning.

Nature Elon Musk Had a Deal From the S.E.C. It Unraveled in a Morning. Nature Elon Musk Had a Deal From the S.E.C. It Unraveled in a Morning. http://www.nature-business.com/nature-elon-musk-had-a-deal-from-the-s-e-c-it-unraveled-in-a-morning/

Nature

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Steven Peikin and Stephanie Avakian announcing the Securities and Exchange Commission’s lawsuit against Elon Musk, the chief executive of Tesla, on Thursday.CreditCreditZach Gibson/Getty Images

When Thursday began, Elon Musk had a deal on the table.

After days of tense negotiations, the Securities and Exchange Commission and lawyers for Mr. Musk, Tesla’s chief executive, had agreed on a settlement that would bring to a close a drama that has riveted Wall Street and Silicon Valley for the past two months.

Under the terms of the agreement, what started on Aug. 7 — when Mr. Musk posted on Twitter that he had “funding secured” to take Tesla private for $420 a share — would end with some modest penalties and Mr. Musk staying on as chief executive, according to two people briefed on the talks.

The plan, as it was negotiated by lawyers, was for Mr. Musk to step down as chairman of Tesla within 45 days and not resume that post for two years. The company, also a party to the proposed agreement, would add two new directors to its board. Mr. Musk and the company would pay tens of millions of dollars in fines, according to the people, who requested anonymity because they were not authorized to speak publicly. The negotiators planned to announce the agreement on Thursday after the markets closed.

But for Mr. Musk — an emotional, volatile and cocksure billionaire — the deal was unacceptable.

The settlement with the S.E.C. was a “neither admit nor deny” deal, meaning that Mr. Musk would not have acknowledged knowingly committing a violation. Mr. Musk, however, would not have been allowed to publicly state that he had done nothing wrong — and that was something he couldn’t accept, according to three people familiar with the talks.

So on Thursday morning, as settlement papers were being drawn up and news releases were being drafted, Mr. Musk walked away. Lawyers, Tesla executives and advisers to the company were stunned that he would turn away from such a favorable settlement.

And the S.E.C., taken aback, quickly changed course and upped the ante significantly. On Thursday afternoon, the agency sued Mr. Musk, seeking to bar him from serving as an executive or a director of a public company. If it wins, Mr. Musk will lose the company he co-founded. Tesla stock fell 14 percent on Friday.

“The company’s brand and stock will suffer if he leaves,” said Mike Ramsey, an auto analyst at Gartner. “But I hate to say it, they might be better off.”

Tesla has lurched from crisis to crisis over the past year, and has been scrambling to contain the fallout from Mr. Musk’s tweet, which touched off a market frenzy that sent Tesla’s shares soaring, and prompted federal regulators to examine whether Mr. Musk had misled investors with a surprise declaration that vastly overstated reality.

On Friday, the S.E.C. set a date of Feb. 1 for a preliminary hearing on the case, leaving plenty of time for Mr. Musk to change his mind and agree to a settlement, albeit a potentially less favorable one. But the lawsuit, which could take years to come to trial, will cast a cloud over the company as long as the matter remains unresolved.

In recent weeks, the S.E.C. was preparing to send Tesla a Wells Notice, signaling that it intended to bring civil charges against the company and Mr. Musk. But by Thursday, after the settlement talks fell apart, the S.E.C. narrowed its focus. Instead of looking to settle with the company and Mr. Musk, it sued Mr. Musk alone, according to a person close the company.

After the commission began to investigate Mr. Musk’s assertion on Twitter, his lawyers sent two lengthy letters to regulators making their case that he had done nothing wrong, according to that person.

The letters outlined meetings that Mr. Musk had had with officials from a Saudi Arabian sovereign wealth fund, which had led him to believe he had financial support to take Tesla private, the person said.

On an evening in March 2017, for example, Mr. Musk and Tesla’s chief financial officer dined at the Tesla factory in Fremont, Calif., with Larry Ellison, the chairman of Oracle, and Yasir Al Rumayyan, the managing director of the Saudi Public Investment Fund. During the meal, the letters said, Mr. Rumayyan raised the idea of taking Tesla private and increasing the Saudi fund’s stake in it.

More than a year later, the lawyers said, Mr. Musk and Mr. Rumayyan met at the Tesla factory on July 31. When Mr. Rumayyan spoke again of taking the company private, Mr. Musk asked him whether anyone else at the fund needed to approve of such a significant deal. Mr. Rumayyan said no, according to the person familiar with the letters.

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Mr. Musk at an event this month for one of his other companies, SpaceX.CreditChris Carlson/Associated Press

Representatives for Mr. Ellison and the Saudi investment fund did not immediately respond to messages seeking comment Friday evening. People familiar with the workings of the Saudi fund previously said it had taken none of the steps that such an ambitious transaction would entail, like preparing a term sheet or hiring a financial adviser to work on the deal.

Mr. Musk and other Tesla executives told Tesla’s board about the talks with the Saudis, the lawyers wrote, according to the person familiar with the letters. On Aug. 3, Mr. Musk shared his idea for the $420 share price with the board.

It was an Aug. 7 Financial Times story that spurred Mr. Musk to action, the lawyers said in the letters to the commission. An alarm bell went off when he saw the newspaper’s report that the Saudis had built up a significant stake in Tesla. He feared that word would get out that a deal to take Tesla private was possible. So he began to tweet, the lawyers said.

His tweets, the lawyers wrote, were sent in good faith. He believed that the Saudis were capable of doing a deal and interested in doing one, and that what remained was a matter of details, according to the person familiar with the letters.

One sticking point for Mr. Musk in the tentative S.E.C. settlement was the particular statute which he was said to have violated.

That statute contains language about misleading investors. Mr. Musk’s lawyers wanted the commission to change its claim to say he was merely negligent in his statement, according to a person familiar with the details of the negotiations.

Mr. Musk was concerned about what those terms might mean for his other businesses, SpaceX and the Boring Company. He was worried the agreement could jeopardize those companies’ ability to continue working for the government, the person said.

In a statement after the commission filed its suit on Thursday, Mr. Musk called the agency’s enforcement effort “unjustified.”

“I have always taken action in the best interests of truth, transparency and investors,” he said. “Integrity is the most important value in my life, and the facts will show I never compromised this in any way.”

Mr. Musk’s decision to back away from the settlement could complicate Tesla’s future. He has said the company will be consistently profitable by the end of this year, propelled by sales of its newest car, the midsize Model 3 sedan. But Tesla has struggled to meet its production targets for the Model 3, and has continued to burn through cash while two bond payments totaling more than a billion dollars will come due in the next six months.

Tesla had $2.2 billion in cash at the end of the second quarter, but has been using up nearly a $1 billion every three months. It also has about $11 billion in debt, and owed its suppliers $3 billion as of June 30.

Mr. Musk has said Tesla won’t seek additional capital. But Garrett Nelson, an analyst at CFRA Research, said he believed Tesla will have do so in the first half of 2019.

Mr. Musk’s legal troubles will only make it more difficult for the company to issue bonds or secure other financing.

“The best case is they can get access to capital but it’s more expensive than they would like,” Mr. Nelson said. “The worst case is they won’t be able to raise capital.”

Another uncertainty for investors is who will ultimately be at the helm of Tesla. Mr. Musk is Tesla’s visionary, much like Steve Jobs was at Apple, Mr. Nelson said, and belief in him is one of the reasons investors have bet on Tesla shares.

“He’s critical, in our opinion,” Mr. Nelson said.

Neal E. Boudette contributed reporting.

A version of this article appears in print on

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of the New York edition

with the headline:

For Musk, One Phrase Said to Foil S.E.C. Deal

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Read More | https://www.nytimes.com/2018/09/28/business/elon-musk-tesla-sec-deal.html |

Nature Elon Musk Had a Deal From the S.E.C. It Unraveled in a Morning., in 2018-09-29 04:43:58

#Nature of Business in the Current Market

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