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certified-dumbass02 · 3 years

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Gold Rush (pt.1)

A college AU.

Yelena is a playgirl….but really she’s just a huge flirt who’s been too chicken to really do anything for the last year because she’s secretly just as in love with you as you are with her.

Inspired by the always excellent @peachbear88 and Taylor Swift’s gold rush. Split into two parts because I thought it was getting too long.

~*~

Yelena Belova will be the death of you.

To be fair, she’s the death of pretty much everyone she crosses paths with on campus. Her prowess has, unsurprisingly, earned her several flattering - to her, since she laughs and preens at them - nicknames: Russian Assassin, Femme Fatale…Black Widow.

With her devastatingly gorgeous good looks, frustratingly charming personality, and annoyingly enduring popularity as one of the star athletes at the university, Yelena is never short of admirers.

What’s worse is she’s fully aware of her affect on others; men, women, everything in between - they all flock to her in a crowded room, clamoring to hear the Russian lilt she inherited from her immigrant parents glide silkily over a sarcastic quip or flirtatious comment.

Being around her is like being underwater, or being sucked into a black hole; reality just doesn’t seem quite the way that it normally does. People seem to lose their sense around her, trip over themselves just to try and impress her for the night, or grab her attention.

It is for this reason that you steadily avoid Yelena.

The idea of being enamored with someone to the point of foolishness has always left a bad taste in your mouth, and eliciting that behavior just happens to be one of Yelena’s specialties.

You want no part of it.

As appealing as she is, and you can’t deny that she is, you’ve never seen yourself entering what would surely be an ill-fated endeavor with someone that everyone wants. The stubborn part of you that has always gone against the grain, that prides itself on individuality and refuses to jump on any bandwagon, will not permit you to step into the Widow’s web as most others do.

Unfortunately, despite your vow to steer clear of her, you always find yourself in her orbit. It’s not your fault, really, and it’s not a problem - at least not at first. It begins with a forced partnership, a group project for a class you share, and when she isn’t being an obnoxious, terrible flirt determined to get a rise out of you, you get along really well.

She’s intelligent, observant, and she makes you laugh - internally, of course. You won’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that you actually enjoy her presence rather than just tolerate it; your other group members stroke her ego enough. When the project is over, you’re overcome with the startling realization that you might miss bantering with her. You let out a sigh of relief to be done with it, because you already know that further exposure to Yelena Belova will be the death of you.

Naturally, you are further exposed to Yelena Belova.

You two have always run in similar social circles, connected loosely by mutual friends and choice of hangout spot, but previously you’d managed to duck her prowling green gaze, at least as long as it would take her to find her toy for the evening. After you’d been placed on her radar, however, it becomes impossible to hide.

Any room you’re in, no matter how crowded, she finds you.

Time and time again, she seeks you out, her mob of admirers following. You find it amusing how ironic the situation is: they clamor for her attention, and are ignored while she clamors for your attention and you ignore her or coolly brush her off.

You know you have no business humoring her because the second you give in, you’ll just be the latest in a long line of people that she’s loved and left. You refuse to be taken for a ride.

(If you privately admit to yourself as you watch the sway of her hips and the flex of strong arms over the swell of her chest that it would be one hell of a ride, that’s nobody’s business but yours.)

The problems arise when she ceases flirting mercilessly and instead shifts into something resembling an actual human being, wiggling her way into conversations and debates with you that last throughout the night. She still flirts, of course, but you’re accustomed to it now. She grows on you and grows on you, and the moment she begins to be your friend you groan knowing you cannot stop the inevitable.

Yelena Belova will be the death of you.

~*~

It’s been almost a year of being friends with Yelena, and you are miserably, ridiculously in love with her.

If there’s one thing you’ve learned after countless conversations, shared drinks and laughs, it’s that she’s annoyingly easy to fall in love with and annoyingly difficult to fall out of love with.

Your stupid heart beats faster whenever you see her stupid gleaming eyes and her stupid glossy blonde hair that always, always falls perfectly into place around her stupid pretty face; you feel like one of Pavlov’s dogs whenever you hear that raspy Russian drawl roll over your ears and you absolutely cannot stand it.

It’s stupid- she’s Yelena, and everyone still wants her. You’re stupid because you thought you could avoid joining that statistic, and it frustrates you to no end; it’s bad enough to develop feelings for Yelena, known playgirl, but it’s even worse when you develop feelings for Yelena, your best friend.

In an effort to get over her, you let your other best friend set you up on a date with one of their friends, hoping that it can turn you into something resembling your old self, because then you can get back to acting normally around Yelena instead of…whatever this is.

You meet up with your date at your favorite bar. It’s familiarity brings you comfort because you’ve always been awful at dates, and even if you don’t know this girl, you still feel nervous.

She introduces herself as Kate as you two settle into one of the more isolated tables in the corner of the bar, and you’re grateful she seems to make conversation much less anxiously and awkwardly than you do.

Kate is pretty and seems really nice; she’s bold when she flirts with you, which catches you off guard because you’re used to how Yelena flirts. You can’t really bring yourself to flirt back, because somehow it feels like a betrayal, but Kate is patient and takes it in stride. You find yourself not resenting your best friend’s pick as much as you thought you would, and an hour and two drinks pass by rather painlessly.

Kate gets up to go to the bathroom as you thumb the wet ring around your third drink, and consider the pros and cons of replying to the text Yelena sent you hours ago.

It is truly unfortunate that just as you sit your phone down without answering, determined to leave it alone, she walks into the bar.

Yes, you know this for sure: Yelena Belova will be the death of you.

~*~

You will be the death of Yelena Belova. She knows this.

You do not.

You are everything that enchants her and frustrates her; from the moment she’s partnered with you, she can’t stop thinking about you.

Yelena is both a complicated and a simple girl.

(“I’m an onion. I have layers,” she tells you one night early in your tentative friendship, and startles because it’s the first time you’ve ever laughed aloud at something she’s said; she decides immediately it’s her favorite sound and endeavors to elicit it any chance she gets.)

Yelena is both a complicated and a simple girl, but she knows when she wants something and she always pursues what she wants.

(“It sucks!” She laments one day to her sister. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as Y/N, and I can’t even do anything about it!”

Natasha glances unimpressed at her sister dramatically plopped onto the couch beside her. “You could always, I don’t know, ask Y/N out.”

Yelena grabs a pillow and shoved her face into it with a groan. “I’ve tried that, don’t you think I’ve tried that! Every time I flirt, I’m brushed off. I’m not taken seriously!”

“Well you do look like a clown, of course it’s hard to take you seriously.”

Natasha easily dodges the pillow flung at her head as Yelena scowls at her. “Not helping, Natasha.”

“Okay, okay,” Natasha holds her hands up in surrender. “What if you tried a different approach? Maybe ease up on the flirting and try acting like a friend first.”

“But I want to be more than friends,” Yelena pouts childishly, and Natasha blinks.

“I feel like I’ve just slipped into an alternate universe. Yelena Belova wants to enter a committed relationship,” Natasha deadpans and dodges another pillow aimed at her head.)

Yes, Yelena wants you and has wanted you for a very, very long time, but she’s got no clue how to tell you she loves you without you thinking she’s joking or misunderstanding her entirely.

(“Y/N, I looooove you,” she drawls one night, drunk as you ease her into the back of your car. You don’t know it, but it’s the first night she’s turned down a convenient partner because she just couldn’t get you off her mind. Afterwords, she wasn’t sure if she got so trashed in mourning or celebration and called you because you’re the only thing solid in her vodka haze.

You answered, assumed she’d needed a DD - which she did - and rushed to take her home.

She falls in love with you even more with how quickly you come to get her, how dependable you are even in the middle of the night.

So she tells you she loves you, over and over again, and you furrow your brow at her in your rear view mirror in confusion.

Then, you giggle because she starts singing loudly.

She pouts at your laugh, and you wonder what is going on in that pretty little head, completely unaware that the only thought running through it is you.

Yelena babbles more at you, love pouring from her lips over and over because she’s desperate for you to understand that you’re the most beautiful thing she’s seen as the moonlight glances off your cheekbones in your car and she’s never met someone who calls her on her shit and you make her laugh and-

“Alright, comrade. Let’s turn you on your side. There’s a trashcan right here, and a couple of water bottles and ibuprofen right there,” you say gently as you guide her into her apartment and into her bead. She clutches at you as you slide her shoes off, tries to tell you again, but you just shake your head with a smile.

She goes quiet, stunned by the sight of it.

You pat her on the head, pull the covers over her, and turn out the light. She makes a sound of protest as you say goodnight, but stirs no further, and you leave silently back to your apartment.

Yelena wakes up with a dry mouth, a headache, and a text from you that says:

Are you alive, comrade?

She furrows her brow because you’ve never called her that before and dials your number as she guzzles down her pills and water.

As it rings she remembers telling you everything, but can’t recall your response; it makes her heart beat more rapidly than when she runs.

“Good morning, comrade!” You chirp smugly, practically hearing her wince.

“Morning. What’s with the comrade, comrade?” Yelena asks, her hope tentatively rising because you don’t sound like someone totally disgusted with her for confessing her feelings.

You laugh, and she automatically smiles in response.

“Well, you were very chatty last night.”

Her hope blooms further in her chest, because finally, finally you understand she’s serious about you.

“But you were absolutely committed to your mother tongue. I don’t think you said one word in English the whole ride back to your place, besides my name.”

It is only then that she is overcome with the crushing realization that she spent the entire night professing her love to you in Russian, which you do not speak.

Yelena feels like the wind has been knocked out of her, but she forces a choked laugh out anyways as you go on. She’s thankful you do, because she’s not sure that after all the words she’d said last night uselessly that she has any words left in her.

“You know, you kept saying something, it sounded kind of like this,” you mimic the phrase, stumbling a little over the pronunciation but it’s almost perfect. It is perfect to her.

Those green eyes you adore so much well up in tears to hear you say “I love you” to her, especially to hear it in Russian. But it’s so, so cruel because you have no idea what you’re saying, no idea what she meant when she said it to you first.

She laughs again hopelessly, quickly changes the subject and lets you rant on and on about what you have to do that day.

When you get off the phone, she sighs and falls back into bed, playing the way you said I love you over and over in her head.)

Yelena loves you, and she knows you’ll be the death of her.

She becomes especially aware of this recently, when you start acting odd. You’re distancing yourself a bit because you’re in love with her so much it hurts, but she doesn’t know that and she’s bothered like never before.

So she finds herself at her favorite bar, which is also your favorite bar, to ease her nerves. She’s both surprised and thrilled to see you sitting in the corner table there, if a little confused. Still, she’s pulled to you like a magnet, like she’s been for the past year, and she approaches you with a grin.

Pt.2:

#yelena belova #yelena x reader #yelena belova x reader #yelena x you #Taylor Swift inspires gay thoughts #we love dumbasses who can’t communicate #black widow #natasha romanoff

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matthewbeilschmidts · 3 years

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It’s been a long while since I’ve posted but I’m so glad that I am :’)

This is for Day 1: of @prucanweek - Ordinary

Apologies for spelling errors, it’s a little short but I hope you enjoy 😭💞

Matthew doesn’t mind that he’s living an ordinary life. Really.

He grows up near the coast, two parents, a fraternal twin brother, and their gangly hairless cat, Tony (picked curtesy of Alfred). Their parents take them everywhere they can during their childhood, the beach, museums, sports game. They focus on their interests, figuring out what the two like and dislike, as they encourage them both to be themselves and do what they love no matter what. Alfred debates between whether he likes wrestling or football more, while Matthew settles into hockey. In between family get togethers, community festivals, and endless sports training, they somehow have time for homework. (The two share answers a lot.)

He and Alfred each have their own rooms when they enter their teen years, a space to decorate and fill with their own mementos and awards. The sports continue, but later their parents find themselves a little bit busier than before. They do though, give them as much time as they can during the school year, never wanting them to go without someone by their side.

Matthew fades into the background a little bit as they get older, while Alfred puts himself front and center. Matthew watches once with a hand over his eyes as Alfred auditions for the school musical, and surprisingly he read and sings the lines well. “It’s always the rowdy ones!” their theater teachers says after he’s finished performing, a mix of anticipation from planning on putting Alfred on stage and dread at the thought of having to manage him.

Matthew silently supports him, after all he has his own things to do.

He’s the co-caption of the hockey team, the coach giving him the position to give him a little more of a voice, and his teammates verbally agree, considering on the ice Matthew has a lot more to show than he does in person. He accepts, albeit hesitantly.

By the time graduation comes by, Matthew can barely believe how the time has passed. His team even wins a championship under his watch. Some of his fellow classmates look so ready to go out and experience the world, and it’s scary to him because weren’t they all going at the same pace?

His parents talk him through picking his college of choice, and he decides to go. He needs to do what everyone does and experience the world.

And if he decides he wants to come home, that’s okay because at least he tries.

He’s in his first art class during his third year at university. The time has been going well, he’s got pretty decent grades and has managed to join a few clubs. But he’s not done yet. Extra curriculars, can’t finish without them. He prioritizes his general education first, and even slips himself into a few major classes early on, but humanities is on record now and has to be completed no matter what one’s studying.

He can get through one semester, he hopes.

Next to him, a student is snickering and the professor doesn’t look amused.

“Gilbert.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“If you’re done, I can introduce myself now.”

The professor goes in with complete, in-depth introductory slides with her name and credentials, and a briefing of all they will overcome this semester.

He’s never been an artist, at least not one that picks up a pencil and creates a realistic masterpiece with nothing but that and a pad of paper. Maybe some poetry contests in high school, if that counts. The written word has its own impact, its own set of colors to breathe out for the world to see.

There’s another snicker, interrupting his internal monologue.

He doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know the student, and it’s not his place to control others. But, if it starts to hinder the class, maybe he’ll tell him something. He’s paying to be there, too.

The man catches him staring.

“Yes?” he asks Matthew without being spoken to in the first place.

“Oh,” Matthew flushes at being caught, not that he was trying to hide it anyway. “Well, she didn’t say anything funny?”

The guys waves a hand, making a “psssh” noise as he does.

“I’m just laughing because of how formal this all is. She won’t be this dignified later in the semester that’s for sure. She’ll be ripping her hair out.”

Matthew glances back, he doesn’t want to say anyone looks mean but, he would believe it if she was.

“You look scared,” the guy laughs, which is rude because isn’t he the one that just put the thought in Matthew’s mind? “She’s not too mean just a sticker to the rules. Will get real pissy if something doesn’t go right.”

“And you still set her off knowing that?”

The man laughs again, but this time around he’s actually trying to contain it behind the thin art easel. He’s not very hidden.

“She’s my cousin’s wife.”

Ah, that makes sense then? Messing with family is normal, but also he shouldn’t be bothering her at work.

“It’s no wonder you seemed casual.”

“She taught both of the lower division figure drawing classes, too. This is my third semester in her class. She’s the only one teaching this specific class I didn’t have too much of a choice.”

“Art major?”

“Yep! And you?”

“Psychology major. I have to get in some cultural classes.”

“Ever taken art?”

“Actually no, not even in high school. I got through that stuff by working backstage in the theater department.”

“Well not to worry my friend, because you picked the best one.”

“Is it easy to pass?”

“Nope. Well, maybe if she likes your work,” Matthew deflates at the blunt response, “but don’t worry because I’m here to be your guide.”

Matthew perks up, but it takes him a moment. This guy’s gonna help him?

“Are you any good?”

“Am I good?” He looks perplexed Matthew would even ask. Matthew has to cover his own amusement. “I may not look it but charcoal and I go way back. I’ll show you my work later as proof.”

“Deal.”

“Gilbert, since you’re adamant on talking, you can be the first to introduce yourself.”

Even if his name wasn’t said, Matthew feels just as guilty. Caught, for talking on the first day of all things.

“Gilbert Beilshcmidt. Fourth year. I’m an art major and my favorite breakfast food is pancakes.”

Matthew looks surprised that he was paying attention, even to the last addition of their introduction. Matthew’s not sure he would have known considering he was distracted.

And so their friendship starts.

Gilbert sits next to him again. And again.

Where ever Matthew sits in the art room, Gilbert follows not too long after.

Some days they take the sitting desks, some they stand and lean against the stools.

And despite not even talking much, Gilbert treats him like a friend.

“Do you have any plans this afternoon?”

“Nope, this was my last class.”

“Do you want to get some coffee and work on our sketch books.”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Matthew finds himself meeting Gilbert in his downtime. Every Thursday after drawing for three hours becomes the day they meet. At first, all they do is draw, little more.

Gilbert is animated in all moments, but he has short spurts where he focuses exceptionally on his work. Matthew is no art critic, but he thinks Gilbert expresses himself quite well on paper. Graphite, charcoal, and pastels, all the utensils glide easily without a single stroke missing its mark.

Watercolor though, could use some work, which actually happens to be Matthew’s favorite. Even if the intention is to guide the colors with a brush, it’s okay for them to take a life of their own spreading across the thick paper.

They share snacks, art supplies, and their time.

Gilbert proves himself very useful as he promised. Matthew though never planning to be the next Van Gogh, has to pass this class. And it would be nice to pass it with flying colors, but some concepts are harder to grasp than others.

It’s obvious to tell he’s a beginner, while Gilbert excels. Matthew finds out he only now needs the intro class since it’s the first semester it became a requirement.

Gilbert helps him find the shapes he’s comfortable with, explains the processing for hatching and how it relates to shading. And while he’s no expert, he sees a subtle improvement over the next few weeks that makes some pride swell within himself.

“Do you want to come with me and my friends to this cool bar for dinner on Friday?” Gilbert asks about a month into the semester.

It’s the first time Gilbert and him will have spent time off campus.

“Yeah, I’d love to.”

Gilbert’s friends are just as animated as he, it’s almost hard to keep up. Overwhelming as they are, they’re extremely welcoming. Matthew eases into the atmosphere, joining in when he can but mostly pleased to be out and doing something different.

He’s made friends during his time, but like him they’re a little more reserved and pick quieter places on the town.

It’s fun. And he wants to go out again.

Matthew invites Gilbert and his friends to watch his next hockey game.

After their shock in finding out he plays such a violent sport, they’re all agreeing and planning to find the best seats in the arena.

“Are you serious. Are you hiding muscles under that red sweater?”

Gilbert pokes at him, it tickles when he gets closer to his biceps, but he knows he’s only teasing.

“You think I’m playing but I’m serious! You should have been there, well you were there. On the stands, I mean. We all screamed after you sent that player flying against the wall.”

Gilbert recreates the motions, but only slams himself into the wall and whines after he bounces back. He then plays it off like it doesn’t hurt. Gilbert’s not a very good actor.

People tell him it’s so much different watching him on the ice, but it’s still him. He’s always wondered how much different, he feels like himself. He just knows he goes into the zone when he’s in his gear. He just wants to win. And he will.

“It’s like night day,” Gilbert continues. “You were ready to kill a man down there.”

“You’re not the first to say that. I guess maybe, I could be a little more out there in real life, huh?”

Gilbert stops walking.

“Nope.”

“Nope?”

“You’re perfectly fine the way you are. I like the way you are, so don’t go change. I don’t want to be at risk of dying during art class.”

And as silly as it sounds, he’s pleased. He likes Gilbert a whole lot, too. Just the way he is.

“Do you want to have dinner with me?” Matthew takes the initiative.

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, just you and me. I want to take you out.”

“Like you did to that guy on the court,” Gilbert laughs nervously.

“On a date. Gilbert, would you like go out with me?”

He says yes.

Later that evening when he’s heading home, Gilbert starts running through the courtyard cheering that “I have a date with the cutest guy I’ve ever met!”

Matthew’s window is open, he’s face is bright red and he slams head first into his pillow. He needs to plan the best first date ever.

Three months into dating, he’s finally heading home again for a school break. He wants to take Gilbert with him, who is waiting for the next major holiday to go back home. But isn’t it too soon? They haven’t been dating that long, after all.

But Gilbert surprises him, and jokingly says he wants to go with him because he’ll miss him too much while he’s gone. And then, Matthew asks if he seriously wants to go.

“I do.”

So they ride the 3 hours train down to Matthew’s childhood home. He’s a little bit nervous, because he’s had dates to school dances, and brought friends over, but this is entirely different. This is someone he wants to take a serious step with, even if the time hasn’t been that long. They’ll never get anywhere if they don’t, so they’ll both take the leap and pray it works out.

“Mom, dad, Alfred, this is Gilbert.”

It’s the most timid Matthew’s ever seen him.

“Nice to meet ya, I’m Matthew’s boyfriend.”

After he shakes all their hands, he takes his hand back to link pinkies with Matthew.

There’s not an once of regret in his mind as the long weekend passes.

Gilbert graduates the next year, and the year after it’s his turn. They’re going to move in with each other. Gilbert really has no irresistible urge to go back to his home town, satisfied with just visiting a few times a year. And Matthew thinks he would like to go back closer, just to figure out his next move. So, they go together.

It’s only a one bedroom, but is more than enough space for them both. Gilbert finds work as a docent while Matthew works for a second degree in education.

He still plays hockey for a local league, Gilbert becoming their number one fan. They find their own rhythm, a pace that works for them both, where they can settle down or speed up when they agree with each other. Dewey mornings, warm summers, chilly evenings they spend them altogether.

They decide move up North closer to Gilbert’s hometown. Matthew’s more nervous meeting his grandparents than he was introducing Gilbert to his own family, but Gilbert assures him again and again they’re just a stuffy old family who actually really care about each other a lot more than they let off.

Gilbert’s grandfather towers over him, despite being a hair above 6 feet. He’s silent, eyes boring into Matthew as he introduces himself. And to end all of Matthew’s worries, the elder man pulls Matthew into a hug and tells him he’s glad him and Gilbert are home. Gilbert, just as perplexed as he, stares, but he melts into a pleased laugh.

Yeah, this is his and Gilbert’s home now.

They stay, for a long while, contemplate moving a few times, but they’re satisfied for now.

Gilbert and him always make time for each other, continue their own respective interests with complete support of the other. They’re never afraid to complain, because they always work through it rather then let it simmer.

Gilbert’s vivacious spirit keep them going, and Matthew’s heart keeps them grounded.

His life at first seem a little bit ordinary, but how can he complain when the pieces of the puzzle fit themselves in and stayed locked in tight.

#hetalia #prucan #prucanweek #APH Prussia #APH Canada #.txt post #I forgot all my writing tags #will fix later HAHA

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rocorambles · 4 years

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Fool

Pairing: Sakusa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Yandere, Rape/Non-con, Manipulation, Degradation

Summary: Your body might be the most spotless and pristine it’s ever been, but you’ve never felt more disgusting, more filthy in your entire life.

Requested by Anon

Sakusa quietly walks besides Komori and you while the two of you giddily chatter about one thing or another. He honestly could care less about his cousin and his new friend. He has more important things to worry about. Volleyball, nationals, school, staying healthy and clean. Who cares about a random girl his cousin started talking to? But then you slowly become a permanent fixture in their group. The three of you walk to and from high school together every day. You all study together, exchanging notes and information. You simultaneously bite into store bought onigiris after school.

At first he talks to you out of sheer politeness, accepting the fact that he might as well make a bit of small talk considering how he’s going to see you every day at this rate. But as time goes on he finds himself actively joining in the conversations, seeking you out at lunch time, and hanging out with you on the weekends. He finds himself looking for your face in between class breaks, nagging you to wear your face mask, and thinking of you even when you aren’t with him. But he doesn’t dwell on it. Volleyball is still the top priority in his life and the three of you graduate from high school as close friends, but nothing more than that.

It’s hard to keep in close contact during college since the three of you are in different universities. Texts are exchanged once in a while. Sometimes he’ll open his phone and see Komori and you littering the group chat with stupid memes and mindless nonsense. On his birthday he’ll get a phone call from both of you, but that’s the extent of it. Well, that’s the extent of it for him. A sickening feeling coils in his stomach when he opens social media and sees a photo of Komori and you at brunch on a random weekend and he wonders if he might be coming down with something. But the dark feeling lurks and festers in him as he sees more photos of just the two of you out and about shopping together, eating together, partying together.

Sakusa knows that Komori and you have always been closer than him and you. It’s Komori who’s always been your first choice when you need help with something. It’s Komori who’s the first person you run to when you want to share a funny post you saw. So he shouldn’t be surprised to know that the two of you hang out frequently without him, but that doesn’t stop the green eyed monster from growing bigger and bigger inside of him. It keeps on expanding within him as college continues until all he can think about is you.

As soon as he wakes up, he turns on his phone and scrolls through your social media feeds. Whenever he has a second of spare time, he finds himself flipping through photos of you. Right before he goes to sleep, he goes through old text messages you’ve sent. He has to stop himself from throwing his phone against the wall in anger whenever Komori’s face beams up at him, far too close to your own smiling face and with an arm slung far too familiarly over your shoulders. The three of you see each other in person a few times a year during college breaks, but it’s not enough and having Komori there only fuels the urgency within him.

He hasn’t seen you in a while. Now that you’re all working, it’s hard to find the time to get together. You’re only free on weekends, but that’s usually when Komori and he are traveling for volleyball games. But that doesn’t mean you’re not on his mind. Quite the opposite in fact. Absence makes the heart grow fonder after all. Sakusa hates jacking himself off. There’s something so primitive and disgusting about the whole thing and he grimaces at the sticky feeling of his pre-cum, but he can’t even keep count of the amount of times he’s waited for Bokuto’s, Atsumu’s, and Hinata’s breaths to even out in their shared hotel rooms before opening up his phone and looking at his favorite saved photos of you while stroking himself off. He recoils in disgust when warm liquid spills across his hand, but when he imagines how pretty you’d look licking it clean for him, it’s suddenly not all that bad.

It’s one of his very few free weekends and he makes his way to his seat in the audience before settling down and watching Komori and his team warm up before their match. He internally groans when he feels the presence of someone sitting next to him and immediately starts trying to shrink in on himself in order to minimize any contact with the other person. “Sakusa?” His head turns so fast his mask almost flies off when he hears the familiar voice. He can feel his chest tighten when he sees you so close to him and his body instinctively leans closer to you, drawn to the woman he’s been fantasizing about for years. The two of you catch up, but he’s hardly paying attention to the actual words as he watches your lips move, as he watches your hands wave in the air, as he watches your eyes sparkle. He can feel his fingers twitch, desperate to see how soft and warm you’d be in his hold, desperate to touch someone in a way he’s never felt before. He usually abhors the idea of physically touching anyone or anything, but when it’s you, there’s nothing he wants more.

He snaps back to attention when you loudly cheer for Komori and anxiety springs up within him when he realizes they’re almost done with the second set. No, no, no. This wasn’t enough time. He needs more of you. His thoughts spiral as he thinks about how to keep you with him a little longer, but then it clicks when he sees the adoration in your eyes as you attentively watch Komori racing across the court. His eyes darken when he sees the way you look at his cousin and he knows exactly how to get his way.

“Hey, Komori is going to come over to my place tonight. You’re more than welcome to just hang out with me after the game ends until then. It’ll be nice for all three of us to hang out again. It’s been a while.”

His jaw clenches at the way a blush of red tints your cheeks when he mentions Komori’s name, but he digs his nails into his thighs as he waits for your response. He knows he has you. Hook. Line. Sinker. And sure enough, you beam at him and excitedly agree. It’s nice to have you alone to himself and if he dreams enough, it almost feels like the two of you are on a date as he walks with you to his place, pleasantly conversing all the way. He can’t help but think you fit perfectly in his apartment. It just looks so right to have you in his home and he hides his smile with the cup of tea in his hands. But time passes far too quickly and he can see the way your leg begins to twitch when you ask him exactly when Komori will be arriving. His grip tightens and he forcefully takes a deep breath before he accidentally breaks his mug and gives you a tight smile, assuring you he’d be here soon. It’s time to finally set his final plan in motion.

He gets up to refill your cup, but just as his hands draw near you, he drops the entire pot on you, covering your entire shirt and lap with the liquid. He makes a show of panicking as he attempts to wipe you down (relishing in the feeling of your body beneath his hands as he rubs much harder, much longer than he needs to) and he almost smirks at how naive you are as you assure him it’s completely fine. Mistakes happen. He practically shoves you into the bathroom with a fresh towel and some of his clothes as he urges you to get clean and dry before leaving and closing the door behind him. But he doesn’t move an inch after that. He waits right outside the door and he can feel himself getting aroused as he hears the rustling of clothes and you shuffling around. He imagines how you look, completely stripped down and vulnerable. Thank God it’s not going to be just an imagination anymore.

He waits until he hears the shower begin to run, until he hears you clambering inside, until he hears you sweetly humming to yourself and then he moves faster than he’s ever moved before as he rips the door open and barges in, slamming the door behind him and locking it with a resounding click. You shriek when you see him and you yell at him to get out, but it’s no use and he has you on your knees, your head submerged under the water still cascading down from the showerhead. Your eyes clench shut in an effort to keep the water out as you take panicked gasps of breath through your mouth. It’s so hard to breathe when water is pouring on your face. It’s so hard to think when you’re caught off guard in a situation you’ve never even had nightmares about. You frantically claw at Sakusa’s arm that has a tight hold of your hair, but you instantly stop, instead aiming for the hard object that’s being shoved into your mouth. It’s disgusting and yet vaguely familiar. Kind of similar to when you accidentally get shampoo water in your mouth...Realization dawns on you and you try to spit out the bar of soap lodged in your mouth, but Sakusa’s grip is relentless as he shoves it in and out of your mouth, making sure to scrub it against every inch of your orifice that he can reach. You almost sob in relief when he finally removes it from your mouth, but that turns into pain when he jerks your head back until the shower water is pouring into your mouth and when it’s full, he slaps a hand over your lips and orders you to gurgle before finally shoving your head back down where you gag and heave as you spit the soapy suds out.

Mouth finally empty, you plead for him to stop, to explain why he’s doing this, but you cringe when he coldly looks down at you and says he’s not done cleaning you yet. You try to shove past him to get out of the enclosed space, get out of his home, but really, what chance do you think you have against a professional athlete, against one of the best volleyball players in the country? It’s embarrassing how easy it is for Sakusa to force you on all fours and you brokenly cry as he lathers his hands with the bar that had just assaulted your mouth before pumping his fingers in and out of your tight pussy, using the flexibility of his wrists to twist and turn, touching places you’ve never been able to reach yourself. Sakusa’s not even trying to provide you with any pleasure, intent on just making sure you’re completely clean before he uses you, but he’s so thorough and persistent with his movements that you can’t help the way your juices begin to leak as his fingers rub against every crevice.

He pulls his digits out in disgust as he sees the sticky coat you’ve left on them. “You’re such a fucking whore. Do you get turned on just from being cleaned? Do you like being filled that much? Don’t worry. I’m more than happy to give you what you want.” You shake your head in denial as your tears mingle with the water still streaming down on you, but you moan as Sakusa shoves his cock into your dripping cunt. He grips your hips so tightly his hands turn white and you rapidly pant as both of you adjust to being connected so intimately. But there’s only so much patience Sakusa has after lusting after you for years and he starts a punishing pace, pulling all the way out before fully slamming back into you with every thrust. Internally you beg him to stop, beg him for mercy, but the only things that spill from your lips is moan after moan as he fills you so well and you’re almost grateful for the fact that water is still coming down, the sound of drops hitting the shower floor blocking out some of the lewd humiliating sounds echoing in the small room. You feel something hot, something alive crawling from deep within you. It doesn’t feel like a normal orgasm. It seems bigger, more daunting and you clench your teeth and fists, trying to not let it out, but it’s no use and you scream as you erupt. Sakusa scowls when he sees the flood of liquids that pour out of you. What a fucking mess. And yet, you somehow feel even better like this. Sopping wet, quivering walls milking his cock. And that’s all it takes for him to release deep inside of you, letting your pretty hole hold his mess. He glowers down at the disgusting mix of transparent and white liquid that trickles out from you and that sticks to his length when he finally pulls out.

“Open your mouth.” You obediently follow his order. What use is it to fight now? Now that he’s already used you? He has you suck and lick his softening shaft until every remnant of fluid is gone and you gratefully pull off of him and collapse on the floor, glad that it’s all over. You glare at him, angry tears in your eyes as you spit out scathing insult after insult at him. “How the fuck could you do this to a friend? One of your closest friends? Someone you’ve known for years?” He rolls his eyes as you continue with your pointless rants, but he perks up at your next line.

“Wait until Komori gets here and I tell him exactly what you did.”

You falter when Sakusa begins laughing and you stumble back as he suddenly lurches towards you, but there’s nowhere for you to run and you squeal when he grabs the detachable shower head and holds it right above your pussy, still oversensitive and raw.

“Oh, Komori’s not coming. He doesn’t have time for dirty sluts like you. But maybe after I clean you up again, he’ll think about sparing you a minute.”

You howl as Sakusa once again reaches for the bar of soap and begins harshly rubbing it all over and inside your reddening flesh and you don’t know if it’s fueled by pain, pleasure, anger, or betrayal, but you keep on howling as your rose-tinted dreams of a friendly libero are ripped to shreds by the black haired monster above you. You howl until your voice can’t make any more sounds and then you just lie there under the now cooling water still spraying down on both of you as Sakusa continues. Your body might be the most spotless and pristine it’s ever been (it certainly feels like it is with how rigorously Sakusa scrubs you), but you’ve never felt more disgusting, more filthy in your entire life as he releases load after load inside of you, letting you feel, letting you know how foolish you are for ever thinking you had a chance with his cousin, for ever thinking he’d let you be with anyone other than him. And as the night drags on and on, you can’t help but begin to agree with him. What a fool you are.

#haikyuu yandere #yandere haikyuu #sakusa x reader #sakusa #haikyuu smut #haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu writing #tw: noncon #tw: rape

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hutchhitched · 3 years

Text

Walk Back

Written by: @hutchhitched

Prompt 143: The girl of my dreams asked me if I needed a ride home from campus so I obviously let her drive me home then walked back to campus a couple of hours later to get my car. [submitted by anonymous]

Ratings/Warnings: G

A/N: I’m continuing to post the nine @everlarkficexchange prompts I took and then sat on throughout the early months of the pandemic. This is the sixth of the nine. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays. Only three more to go!

Peeta Mellark knows he’s got it good compared to a lot of people. He really does, but that doesn’t stop him from wallowing in pity every once in a while. He’s in college, the first in his family, on a hefty scholarship; his grades are good; he has a lot of friends and a good work study job that actually does give him some time to study. Those are all good things. They really are, and he doesn’t dispute it, but…

He’s also had a rough home life with a mom who’s never satisfied with anything he does and a father who loves him but can’t stand up to his wife long enough to protect his three sons from her emotional abuse. He’s a first-generation college student who’s excelling in courses for his major but isn’t doing so great in all his other general education courses. He has to work a lot more than he should for someone with his course load. Worst of all, though, he’s madly in love with a woman who likely doesn’t know his name. Well, that’s probably not true, but still. She’s certainly not crazy about him the way he is mad for her.

There’s just no way Katniss Everdeen, fellow Panem University student and the smartest girl in his biology lab, would ever give him the time of day. Not when she already has a boyfriend, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Rugged, who’s about to graduate with a promising career. That’s unlike Peeta, an art major. He’ll never amount to anything, or so his mother likes to remind him every time he’s stupid enough to visit his family.

Besides, Katniss is beautiful and sassy and shy and so many other wonderful things. She has no idea the effect she has on him or any other male within a mile radius, including their biology professor who’s proclaimed her the most brilliant student he’s had in his twenty-two years of teaching. Peeta spends the better part of their class together watching her from across the room, which is probably why his lab partner hates him and his grade in that class absolutely sucks.

So, while Peeta knows he’s got some things going for him, it’s not surprising that he finds himself a little down in the dumps occasionally—especially on days when his crush shows up at his workplace. It’s even worse when his co-worker knows about his hopeless infatuation and has no shame. Johanna Mason may be his least favorite person on days like that. Today happens to be one of those days. He’s cursing his life when Jo comes up behind him and leans down to whisper in his ear.

“Oooooooooh ooooooh. Katniss is pretty, isn’t she? Look at her over there. So serious. What do you think she’s getting ready to check out, and is there any way to make it sexual when gets over here?”

“Shut up, Jo,” Peeta hisses as his cheeks flush, and he curls into himself, trying to hide behind the circulation desk so Katniss won’t see him.

The last thing he wants is for the girl he’s been crushing on for months to hear his co-worker tease him about his hopeless attraction. The problem is that he told Johanna in a fit of self-loathing, and she coached him through it, built him up so his ego was a little higher than the floor and prepared him some for what to say to a girl when he likes her. While it was very kind of Jo to offer, Peeta isn’t that hopeless. He’d had a number of girlfriends in high school, but none of them compare to Katniss Everdeen. She is a goddess.

“What time’s your shift done today, hot buns?”

“Don’t call me that! What is wrong with you?” he hisses. “Why are you so terrible?”

“Terrible? I’m trying to get you laid, buddy. It’s certainly never going to happen if I leave you to your own devices, although I’m sure you’re taking care of yourself plenty. You’re a guy, after all.”

Peeta’s face floods with heat, and he wants to slide onto the floor and hide behind the counter. She’s not wrong—he is a healthy, twenty-one-year-old man who hasn’t dated in a while—but Peeta doesn’t want his co-worker to know that. She’ll probably tell the whole world if he confirms what she suspects. Or say something to Katniss, which would be horrifying.

“Why do you want to know?” he asks, suspicious.

“Knowledge is power, my friend. Knowledge is power.”

Still not convinced, he welcomes a patron and scans the student ID he’s handed. “Exactly ten minutes,” he mutters as he types in the bar codes of the pile of library books in front of him before sliding them across the counter. It’s almost midterm, so everyone’s trying to finish projects and bibliographies for research papers before they leave for spring break. The library’s been slammed for days.

“She’s on her way over here,” Johanna nudges him.

He whips his head up, and his eyes widen as he realizes Jo’s right. Katniss pages through a book as she strides toward the circulation desk. Johanna turns to busy herself with a pile of returned books, and he squeezes his legs together under the desk. If he can just stop his hands from shaking, things will be great.

“Hi, Peeta,” she says with a guarded smile as she hands him her student ID. “How’s it going?”

“K-katniss! Hi!” His voice squeaks, and he cringes internally. He sounds like an idiot. “It’s good. I’m good. How are you?”

“Fine. I’m fine.” She hands him her student ID, and he glances down at the book she set on the counter.

“History of Sculpture? That’s…”

She laughs wryly and nods. “Yeah, I know. I’m not sure how I managed to get myself into it, but I signed up for an art appreciation class. I have zero artistic ability, so it’s painful.”

“Oh,” he says. “That’s…yeah.”

Johanna snorts behind him, and he tosses her a warning look. He should have known better. The woman doesn’t have a tactful bone in her body. Instead, she comes to stand behind Peeta and surveys Katniss.

“You know, Peeta here is an art major,” Jo announces with her hand on his shoulder. “I bet he could help you with your art appreciation class. He’s great at that kind of stuff.”

“Are you really?” Katniss asks, her eyes widening in pleased surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

“I am,” he confirms. “I’m more of a painter than anything else, but I know quite a bit about all the different media. It’s kind of in the curriculum for my major.”

She looks impressed, but she shakes her head as she picks up her book and tucks her ID into her pocket. “I couldn’t ask you to help, but that’s cool. I thought you were a biology major like me.”

Johanna smacks him on the back, and he glares at her before wiping his expression clean and flashing a closed mouth grin at Katniss. When nobody says anything, Katniss turns to go.

“Nonsense!” Jo cries. “Peeta’d be happy to help. I’m sure there’s something you could do for him to repay his generosity.”

He swears under his breath and elbows Jo in the gut.

“Oh, I don’t think there’s anything I have that Peeta wants—”

“A ride home?” Jo interrupts. “Peeta’s car’s in the shop. He asked me for a ride, but his shift is over now, and I’ve got another two hours before I can leave. Poor guy. He’d really appreciate the lift.”

Relief colors her face, and she nods. “I’d be happy to do that. My car’s on the street. I snagged one of those metered ones that are always full. Must be my lucky day.”

“Oh, I’d say it certainly is,” Jo says, a wide self-satisfied smile plastered on her face. She practically shoves him out of his chair and adds, “Peeta, why don’t you go clock out. I’ll finish this up for you.”

“I can—”

“No, you can’t. You’re too close to hours. Besides, you wouldn’t want to keep Katniss waiting, now would you?”

“You really are the devil, aren’t you?” he hisses as he grabs his stuff. “My car’s in the parking garage, not the shop. What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting you some time alone with the girl of your dreams,” she explains with a withering look. “Now, let her give you a ride home so you can schmooze her.”

Still disgruntled, he shuffles to the door and meets Katniss on the steps. She shifts uncomfortably, tugging on her braid and hunching her shoulders. He wonders if she’s trying to hide or if she’s cold in the chill of the early spring day.

“I really appreciate this,” he says.

She nods and leads him to her car. “No problem. It’s the least I can do.”

“You don’t have to do anything at all.”

She’s silent as she starts her car. Hesitating, she glances over at him and asks, “Does that mean you don’t want to tutor me? I understand if you don’t. It’s asking a lot for someone you barely know, especially since I can’t really afford to pay you.”

“Except in rides.”

“Well, yeah. I can do that.” She smiles at him tremulously and shifts the car into gear. Glancing over her shoulder, she signals and pulls out of the parking spot and onto the street.

“You could help me in bio,” he blurts and his cheeks heat.

“Really?”

He cringes and shrugs. “Yeah. I can’t seem to get the hang of it. I think I’m one of those people that understands it in theory but not in practicality. I’m doing fine in the lecture, but lab is really confusing.” He doesn’t add that most of that is her fault, but not really, because he can’t stop mooning over her.

“I can do that.”

He glances at the pleased curve of her lips and wonders how he can make it happen again. The joy of seeing her happy sinks into his bones and gives him life. It’s ridiculous, but it’s true. He has no reason to think he should except common human decency matched with his overwhelming crush. He feels like a middle school boy who’s just figured out that girls and boys have different parts.

Katniss stops at the intersection and glances over at him. Bashful, she admits, “I don’t know where I’m going.”

Peeta’s eyebrows furrow and he motions out the windshield. “South?”

“No,” she answers with a nervous laugh. “I mean, I don’t know where you live.”

He’s an idiot. Of course she doesn’t know where he lives. “Sorry! Sorry. Turn left here. I wasn’t thinking.”

“If you want…”

“If I want?” he prods.

“Well, maybe, if you don’t mind, that is.” She clears her throat and then words burst from her in a torrent. “I know a coffee shop that no one else really goes to. It’s quiet and the coffee’s good. They know me there, and I have a table they kind of save just for me. If you wanted to go over some of this sculpture stuff today, that’d be a good place.”

“Oh. Okay,” he answers, fighting to keep his face clear of the glee he feels. Katniss Everdeen just asked him to go out with her. Well, she asked him to go somewhere with her, but that was more than he’d dreamed would happen any time he imagined actually speaking to her. Not only is he going to sit at the same table with her in a public place, but he’s at her mercy with transportation. She’s got him captive, and he approves.

“Maybe I can take a look over your lab notes with you, too. You know, if you want.”

Oh, he wants. That’s never been in question. He absolutely wants when it comes to Katniss Everdeen.

“That’d be great. Really great.”

The place itself is an independent coffee shop in an older area of town called The Seam. The properties tend to be more run-down than those closer to campus, but the café is cozy and humble and has great choices in both coffee and tea. He chooses a black peppermint he’s loved since his father made it for him when he was sick. His father had also snuck cookies to Peeta despite the disapproval of his mom. He adds sugar before taking a sip that transports him back to childhood. He breathes in as he swallows and blows out a heavy sigh.

Amused, Katniss asks, “That good?”

Nodding, he inhales the aroma and smiles softly. “Yeah. It’s that good. Thanks for bringing me here.”

Pleased, Katniss drops her head and shuffles in her bag for the book on sculpture and her class notes. They work together for over an hour before reviewing information from their biology lab. He finds she’s a good tutor, knowledgeable and skilled at breaking down the concepts into sizable chunks that seemed overwhelming previously. When he compliments her on it, she waves him off but returns the sentiment.

“I already feel like I appreciate art more.”

“Glad I could help.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, though,” she teases. “I’ll still need you after break’s over, but I think I can pass the final now, anyway.”

He shivers at her claiming she’ll need him. It’s closer to genuine interest than anything he’s ever gotten from her, and it gives him a small thrill of hope.

Reluctantly, she packs up her bag and sighs. “I really need to get home, but this was fun.”

“Yeah, I should be getting back, too. Got a lot to do before bed.”

They’re quiet as they slide into the car. Contemplative, Peeta almost forgets to provide instructions so Katniss knows where to take him. As he guides her through unfamiliar streets that turn into those he sees every day, he sends silent thanks to Johanna for her brashness and refusal to let things go. He only hopes he doesn’t have a ticket on his car when he retrieves it—hopefully before it’s towed.

“This is it,” he says with a wave at his front door. None of his roommates are home, which means he’s stuck until they return. He doesn’t want to say goodbye, but she’s antsy, unsure what to do with her hands or where to look. “Thanks again for the ride. Come find me at the library after break, and we’ll do a repeat of tonight.”

“Sounds great,” she says warmly. “Hope you get your car back soon.”

“Yeah, me too,” he grumbles.

He watches her leave, lifting his hand in farewell until her car turns the corner and heads back the way she came. Fishing his cell out of his pocket, he sends his roommates a group text asking when they’ll be home and if one of them can give him a ride back to campus. As each of them gives a reason for their absence, he realizes he’s on his own. He does stow his bag inside and grab a drink before heading back outside. Squaring his shoulders, he shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and begins the walk back.

It takes an hour, and he does have a parking ticket. Still, Peeta has no regrets. The afternoon with Katniss was the best of the year with the promise of more to come. She’s worth the inconvenience.

#everlarkficexchange #springtime edition 2020 #prompt 143 #everlark #everlark fanfiction #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #walk back

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adenei · 3 years

Text

Ch. 3 - How to Win a Witch in 10 Days

Thursday - Pt. 3

Just when she thinks her life can’t get any stranger, James Potter walks back into it. How was she just sitting at the bar, scouting out potential men to dupe, when a blast from the past shows up at her side and asks her to dinner? Of all the nights and all the bars, they run into each other tonight.

Lily’s completely shaken on the inside but forces herself to remain calm, cool and collected. James Potter is the one that got away. The one who fancied her at Hogwarts, had asked her on countless dates—which she turned down—and by the time Lily finally realized she had feelings for him, he’d moved on. It hurt more than she expected it to, so when he walked up to her just minutes ago, Lily wasn’t sure how to react.

She intends to say no when he asks her to dinner, but something stops her. It takes a lot to admit to herself that she’s missed him over the past few years. After all, they were friends before he started dating Bridgette, and they had to work together as Head Boy and Head Girl. The lack of James’s presence left a gaping hole in her post-Hogwarts life that she never expected, and it’s only now that he’s here with her that she realizes just how badly she misses him.

“C’mon, Evans, it’s just dinner. Catching up can’t hurt, can it? I’ve missed you.”

Missed me? Seriously? Does he even realize that he was the one who changed everything? Years of incessant invitations to go on dates, and he finally wears her down only to yank the rug from underneath her by choosing someone else.

Part of her wants to slap him for being such an arsehole, but not if he doesn’t know he played with her heart three years ago. Not to mention that a physical altercation would certainly ruin her chances of picking up another guy. The more sensible thing is to tell him it was nice seeing him, but she’s meeting someone else, but what happens if he stays and realizes that it’s a lie? No, that wouldn’t do, either. Then, an idea pops into her mind. It’s certifiably insane, but if she plays her cards right, it could be the perfect opportunity for revenge.

There’s something so devilishly captivating about James Potter, and Lily decides she does want to get dinner with him. In fact, her mind is set on spending the next ten days with him. This could be Lily’s chance to prove to herself—and James—that they were never meant to be.

She glances up at him to see that he’s waiting for an answer, although he’s not pushy. He knows better than to press for a response. It’s funny how easy a single moment can bring her right back to the Great Hall or the Gryffindor common room. Her traitorous heart begins to beat in her chest as she tries to avoid the piercing hazel eyes that are begging her to let him in.

Well, you know what, Potter? Maybe I will let you in. I’ll let you in long enough to play with your heart like you played with mine, and we’ll see how you like it.

The plan continues to build in her mind, and then some. Luring James Potter into a relationship only to drive him away seems easy enough. After the debacle in school, Lily knows they’re better off apart, and maybe she’ll even gain the closure she didn’t think she needed. Plus, she supposed a snog or two in the process wouldn’t hurt anything if it came to that.

Lily visualizes the checklist sitting on her desk at work and mentally adjusts some of her ideas to make the game she’s playing more believable. Once all is said and done, James will realize it was a mistake to ever have approached her tonight, and Lily can have a bit of fun toying with James in the process. So, the hardened look she forced herself to give earlier now softens, and Lily even chances a smile. She sets her almost empty glass on the bar and glances around to see if she can find Alice and Marlene. They’re mingling on the other side of the room.

Well, they know I’m out to snag a man, so if they see I’m gone, they’ll know why. Lily shrugs as she turns back to James.

“Well, Potter, how can I resist when you put it like that? Lead the way.”

He holds out his arm, and Lily takes it. A smirk plays at her lips as she looks back in the direction of her friends one more time. She catches Alice’s eye and gives her a wink before turning back toward the door.

Let the games begin.

“I have to say, I’m impressed,” Lily admits as she tucks into her basket of fish and chips.

James has taken her into muggle London to grab a bite to eat, and Lily’s quite shocked by his choice. It’s a small hole in the wall shop that serves the greasiest food, but it’s delicious. The walls are laden with modern art murals and the wooden tables are covered in carved names. It’s a place Lily is sure University students go for a late-night snack or on their way home from a pub crawl. Aside from Lily and James’s semi-formal attire, they fit in well with the crowd.

“Why? Am I still as irresistible as I was at Hogwarts?” James still possesses the same air of confidence as Lily rolls her eyes.

Still as cocky as ever, it seems.

“No, I meant that I’m impressed that you know your way around muggle London.”

“Sirius and I discovered this place on one of our nights out a while back. I come here at least once a week.”

Lily smiles at the mention of another old friend. “How are Sirius and Remus anyway?’

“Brilliant! We were all living together until recently. Finally decided it was time to get our own places.”

“The Marauders have finally split?” Lily feigns shock.

“Nah, not entirely. We still work together.”

“Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”

James laughs. “We work for Alastor’s Ads. I work mostly with clients from magical games and food, but I’m looking to branch out a bit more.”

“Fascinating. I always did think you could talk your way out of a paper bag,” Lily recalls.

“Come again?” James’s eyebrows crease and one side of his face scrunches in confusion.

“It’s a muggle saying.”

“Ah. What are you up to these days?”

“I write for Witch Weekly,” Lily keeps her explanation short. If he doesn’t know, then there’s no harm in keeping the How To column from him completely.

“Lily Evans, Head Girl, so much promise to do some good in the world, writes for Witch Weekly?” James says.

“It was a job. Now that I’ve got my foot in the door with a company and I’m gaining some credibility, I’ll be able to branch out and actually write what I want to write soon.”

“Soon? How long might that be?”

How does James always see right through her? It’s been three years, but he’s still as frustrating as ever.

“As long as it takes to find an opening in a position I want. I’m not looking to make a lateral move just to keep writing pieces I’m not passionate about.”

“And what are you passionate about?”

Lily fights the urge to answer him right away. She needs to keep the mystery there if she’s going to succeed in her endeavors.

“I could ask you the same question. Do you really want to be selling pitches to restaurateurs or quidditch teams for the rest of your career?”

“That’s a fair question.”

“And your answer is?”

“It depends. I’m working on branching out to different companies right now. I’ve submitted a proposal for Zabini’s Jewels and am hopeful I’ll get the pitch. Should know within the next week or so.”

“Interesting,” Lily responds.

“So, are you going to answer my question now?”

Of course, James doesn’t forget that she dodged his question, but that doesn’t stop her from feigning forgetfulness.

“What question?”

“What you’re passionate about,” James smirks at her, indicating he sees right through this act.

Lily sighs and figures she should answer him. “I want to write articles that can truly make a difference in someone’s life. I’m over the superficial bullshit.”

James leans back in his chair and smiles at Lily.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing. It’s just been nice spending time with you again.”

She returns his smile. “You know, as much as I might regret saying this later, you’re right. I got so wrapped up in finding a job and navigating life in the magical world that I wasn’t very good about keeping in touch with my friends.”

“I suppose I can forgive you for that.”

“Ah, I can die happy now, knowing you’ve forgiven me,” Lily winks at him.

“I aim to please,” James finishes their banter as they gather their things and get up from the table to head for the door.

They walk in silence for a while, and Lily basks in the enjoyment of James's company again. She wonders what he’s thinking about and whether their night should continue or if she should wait until tomorrow. Their feet lead them down a deserted alleyway in preparation to apparate out of muggle view. James pauses behind a dumpster and Lily follows suit.

“Do you want to come over?” James blurts, taking Lily by surprise.

Internally, she’s screaming yes, but it’s late on a Thursday and she still has to work tomorrow. She bites her bottom lip as James ruffles his hair with his hand.

“I’d like that, but I’m not sure if it's a good idea with work tomorrow.”

James lets out a gruff laugh. “Right, yeah, sorry—I just thought—”

“I had a good time tonight,” Lily reassures him. “Enough that I’d like to see you again if you’re interested?” She knows it’s ballsy to make the first move like that, but time is of the essence.

James’s eyes widen at her boldness. “Really?”

“I know, shocking, right?” she keeps her voice light and airy, while adrenaline is shooting through her body.

“Well, I’ve got tickets to the quidditch playoffs tomorrow—Arrows versus Magpies at seven. Perks of signing Appleby as a client,” James shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Just as friends, you know? I don’t want you to think it’s anything—”

“I’d love to!” Lily cuts him off.

She’s surprised that he’s backpedaling so much. He was never like that in Hogwarts. Then again, he probably figured he’d have a million more chances to wear her down. If he only knew….

“Really? Brilliant!” James’s tone sounds pleased, and Lily can sense a hint of relief in his voice. “There’s a Portkey leaving from the Leaky at six if you want to meet me there?”

“Sounds great.”

They both stand there awkwardly. Lily’s wondering if maybe she should have accepted his invitation to join him at his flat. She doesn’t want to kiss him on the first night, but after his invitation to the quidditch playoffs as friends, she knows she needs to do something to show him she’s interested in something more than that.

“So, I guess I’ll see you to—”

Lily realizes she’s out of time, and needs to do something so James is aware of her intentions. This is an act, and she has to play the clingy woman that moves before the time is right. Before she can talk herself out of it, Lily’s lunging toward James, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his with purpose. Her eyes close, so she doesn’t have to be disappointed if his reaction is anything less than eager.

She always imagined that the first kiss she’d share with James Potter would be soft and slow and sweet, with him instigating, and this is anything but. Thankfully it’s not forced, but it is awkward as she feels James freeze at the contact.

Shit. Maybe he really is over me. I must have read the signs wrong.

Lily pulls away and turns her head to the side in an attempt to avoid his gaze as mortification begins to set in. She’s about to berate herself more for making a terrible decision and losing a whole day for her article when she sees a flash of black hair out of the corner of her eye as he leans in to regain the previous closeness.

His lips are on hers again, and his hands are splayed against her back. Lily’s hands find their way back to their previous position as the kiss takes her breath away.

James Potter is kissing her back, and it’s everything Lily’s dreamt about since her seventh year of Hogwarts. His breath is hot against her as his tongue grazes her lip before tentatively slipping into her mouth. She parts her lips enough to invite him in as her tongue meets his. Lily presses herself against his body as James groans in response.

Suddenly, it’s as if a switch flips in Lily’s mind, and she remembers why she kissed him in the first place. Reluctantly, she pulls away. James looks just as awestruck as Lily feels, his chest heaving up and down much like her own. Lily forces the thoughts of being back in his arms from her mind despite how much she misses the contact. Once she’s gained enough composure, she chances a glance toward James. He looks as windswept as she feels.

“So, I’ll, er, see you tomorrow?” James’s tone is more cautious than she remembers from their time at Hogwarts.

He looks completely thrown off balance. Good, Lily thinks, knowing she needs to keep him on his toes.

She shoots him a coy smile. “Absolutely. As more than friends, I hope?”

It can’t hurt to solidify her intentions.

“Y-yeah,” James stutters.

Lily doesn’t think she’s ever seen him rendered speechless before and feels rather smug that she can accomplish the feat.

“Brilliant. See you tomorrow,” she winks at him before focusing on her flat and apparating away.

#jily fic #jily fanfiction #jily au #james x lily #inspired by how to lose a guy in 10 days #james potter #lily evans

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dickspeightjrs · 4 years

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Confessions of a Roommate in Love (college au / 3.1k words / roommates)

ao3 link

During college you’ll do anything to earn a bit of extra cash between classes.

Ash does computer shit for people (Dean has learned not to ask about how legal it all his work is). Jo works in her mom, Ellen’s, bar. Benny hustles pool in said bar (while avoiding Ellen’s wrath).

But Dean and Castiel do something a little different.

They enter trials and experiments posted around their university’s psychology and science departments. The psychology department, especially, knows them pretty well by now. It’s got to the point where they’ll just go straight to Dean and Castiel and ask if they’re interested.

So that has what led Dean to racing into their apartment one Tuesday afternoon in their final year with a look of sheer childish glee on his face.

Castiel is laying back on the sofa working on something but looks up from his laptop at the slam of the door and squints at Dean’s expression. He can never quite trust that Dean’s gleeful looks won’t end in tears eventually. But whatever Dean usually suggests Castiel will go along with because that’s what best friends do.

“They’re doing another research project in the Psych department. Charlie emailed me the details.” Dean explains.

Castiel’s interest is clearly piqued and he closes his laptop, moving to sit properly on the sofa to give Dean room to sit down next to him.

“She said there’s a few stages to it. We’ve got to enter some video submission thing first to see if we’re the right fit and then they’ll invite us in for the real thing. Pretty much like the rest of them.” Dean shrugs, taking the offered seat next to Castiel.

He pulls up the email on his phone and scrolls straight to the specific information for potential participants. They’ve done so many of these things that he tends to scroll right past most of the generic information.

Castiel’s interested gaze stays on him.

“Ah, here it is.” Dean quickly scans the text before reading it out. “So it’s a study about roommates and looks like we have to just answer a few questions about each other. Easy.” Dean grins.

“What kind of questions do we have to answer?” Castiel asks.

“Just basic ones about living together - who’s the messiest,” Dean snorts, “that’s you.”

Castiel makes an offended noise and plucks Dean’s phone out of his hand. “I think you’ll find that’s you actually. I don’t think your socks have ever made it to the laundry basket.”

Dean watches as Castiel scrolls through the rest of the questions. He lets out the occasional chuckle at some of the questions - even the tiniest of laughs lights up his face.

Eventually, Castiel hands Dean back his phone. “They’re definitely easy questions. I’ll just pack my study stuff away and we can get started on the video. It’ll be better to submit it as soon as possible.” Castiel rises to his feet and collects his laptop in his arms. He’s about to walk down the hall to his bedroom when he turns back to face Dean. “I’m glad this one is about roommates. Given the amount of times we’ve had to pretend to be a couple for these things,” he chuckles and goes to his room, not waiting for a response from Dean.

Dean’s glad Castiel has left and can’t see his face fall from a fake smile.

Castiel is right. There have been a few times when they’ve participated in research studies and posed as a couple. But what Castiel doesn’t know is that there was no faking on Dean’s part.

Truthfully, Dean is hopelessly and completely in love with Castiel.

It’s so unbelievably cliche that Dean can’t quite believe it’s actually true. But it is.

Ever since they first met, there has been something about Castiel that seems to complete Dean in ways that he never knew he needed.

Despite successfully pretending to be a couple, Dean has never told Castiel how he feels. Risking their friendship is too much. The chance that he could ruin everything between them is too big.

So he stays quiet. Living in the hope that it will blow over one day and he’ll find someone who will love him back the way he wants to be loved.

“Dean, are you listening?”

Dean blinks back to reality and sees Castiel standing in front of him. “What?”

“I asked if you wanted to use your phone or mine?” Castiel looks at him quizzically. “Unless you’re not feeling up to it right now? We can do it later.”

God bless Castiel for being concerned for Dean all the time.

“Nah, man.” Dean clears his throat and mentally shakes himself. “I’ll have the questions on my phone, so I guess we could use your phone to film it.”

Castiel nods, though he still looks a little skeptical that Dean is actually okay. “I’ll go and get my tripod for my phone.”

Dean smiles and waits for Castiel to be gone from the room before he takes a deep breath and casts any thoughts of his true feelings away. It’s not Castiel’s fault Dean feels this way, and Dean isn’t going to take it out on the guy by acting weird.

Castiel returns and effortlessly sets up the camera to record.

Having done submission videos like this before, Dean doesn’t feel self conscious about the feeling of having a camera on him anymore.

Instead, he looks over the email again.

Castiel drops himself down on the couch next to Dean and naturally lets their knees touch. Dean keeps his eyes focused on the phone in his hand.

“So it says we have to answer these questions as quick as we can. Don’t think too much about the answers.” Dean explains.

Castiel nods in understanding.

“Right, let’s get started.” Dean says. “First question: Who makes the most noise?”

“Dean.”

“Yeah it is me.” Dean has to admit. “It’s the music. Gotta start the day with listening to some classic rock.”

Castiel snorts. “Yes but you don’t only start the day with classic rock. You end with it too. And you play it when you study. And shower. And when you’re sad.”

Dean blushes a little at the thought of Castiel knowing when Dean is sad and when he listens to music to cope with it.

He clears his throat. “Okay, next question.”

* * *

It’s another couple of days before an email pings itself into Dean’s inbox telling him that he and Castiel are through to the next stage of the study.

Dean hasn’t thought about his feelings for Castiel since they filmed the video and he’s very happy to keep it that way.

He’s sat in the living room watching the new episode of Dr Sexy when Castiel comes through the door after his last class of the day. He looks tired and completely adorable.

“Hey, man. Got an email today, we’re through to the next stage. You free tomorrow afternoon?”

Castiel doesn’t reply straight away. Instead he trudges over to the couch and flops down next to Dean. The dude must really be as tired as he looks because he sighs and rests his weary head on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean resists the urge to rest his head on Castiel’s in return. “You okay there, Cas?” He asks, looking down at Castiel’s head of dark hair.

“I’ve had a long day. That last final nearly killed me. I swear to god.” Castiel groans.

As much as Dean loves Castiel, the dude can be a real drama queen when he wants to be.

“Come on, man, you’ve aced all your finals and you know it. You’re the smartest guy I know.”

Castiel abruptly lifts his head from Dean’s shoulder and looks his friend in the eyes. “Thank you, Dean,” he says, sincerity shining in his eyes. His eyes seem to flicker down to Dean’s momentarily but Dean is sure it must just have been the lights or something.

Dean swallows and coughs before he does something stupid. “Anyway, you free tomorrow then?”

Castiel clears his throat too and shifts away from Dean’s personal space a little. “Yes, I am free all day. I was just planning to sleep now that finals are over. But it’ll be nice to see what happens with Charlie’s research project.”

Dean nods. “Awesome, I’ll text Charlie and tell her we’re free.”

Text sent, Dean returns his attention to Dr Sexy, who is making out with yet another intern on screen. What Dean wouldn’t give to be one of those interns.

He almost forgets that Castiel hasn’t actually left the living room until he feels a soft weight fall onto his shoulder again. He looks to see that Castiel has fallen asleep on the couch next to him. Now Castiel’s head has slipped down and rested itself against Dean’s arm.

Any normal roommate would wake Castiel up and tell him to go to his room and get some sleep. But Dean just can’t bring himself to disturb Castiel’s peaceful slumber. Finals must have really knocked it out of him.

And if Dean gets a little joy out of having Castiel this close to him, well that’s no one else’s business but his own.

* * *

“Okay I just need you guys to sign a few documents before we get started.” Charlie explains. “I know you’ve seen most of these before with the other studies but there’s a couple new ones in there so make sure you look at them carefully. Dean.” She raises an eyebrow at him.

Dean looks up from where he’d been scanning the papers Charlie handed them when they walked into the classroom. His face is a picture of perfect innocence and offence of being accused of such things.

“Don’t pull that face, Dean. Charlie is right, you can be rather lackadaisical with important documentation.” Castiel says, his eyes never leaving the papers he’s reading.

Trust Castiel to know exactly how Dean would react without even looking at him. And lackadaisical? Who even says that? God, Castiel is such a fucking dork.

Papers thoroughly read and signed, Charlie takes Dean and Castiel into a smaller room with two stools next to each other in the middle. A pretty simple set up compared to some of the things they’ve been part of.

“Take a seat. It doesn’t matter which seat you take, just make sure you’re both facing me.” Charlie instructs.

Both boys do as asked.

“Okay, from now on neither of you can talk to the other. You can only talk to me. Understand?”

Dean and Castiel give identical nods.

“Good. This is the first stage. There is another one after and we will give you more information about that once this one is finished.” Charlie continues. “Much like your video submission, for this round you will be answering questions based on living together.”

Dean tries to concentrate on what Charlie is saying but the stools really are close together and Castiel’s knee is knocking against his own. The small spot of warmth from the other man both relaxes and makes Dean anxious at the same time. But Dean daren’t move his leg away. Castiel would wonder why he’d moved away and probably get a little pouty frown on his face. The same as he did the night before when Dean had finally got up from the couch because he needed the bathroom.

“And remember, the main rule of these questions is: what happens in this room stays in the room. Got it?”

Dean swallows and nods. He’d missed a bit of what Charlie had said but he’d probably figure it out.

“Awesome. Let’s begin.” Charlie smiles. “First question: what do you like most about living together?”

Dean knows what he’d like to answer but he’ll never confess. Instead, he goes for a more playful answer. “I like that Castiel gets free donuts from his job at the coffee shop.”

From the corner of his eye he can see Castiel roll his eyes. “I like that Dean has a brother that I can have much more intellectually stimulating conversations with,” Castiel replies with a smug face.

Dean would argue but he’s not allowed to speak directly to Castiel. (And to be honest, his brother may only be eighteen but he is freakishly clever.)

Charlie smirks and shakes her head as she writes down their answers.

“Next: What do you hate most about living together?”

This time Castiel gets his answer in first. “I hate that Dean leaves dirty socks around the apartment.”

Now Dean rolls his eyes. Castiel is always nagging Dean about his socks. They didn’t need to come all the way down here for Castiel to get that off his chest.

“I hate that you always put the empty milk carton back in the fridge. It’s gross dude.”

Castiel levels Dean with a look that says ‘you do that too and you know it’.

Dean just shrugs.

After another few questions, the first round is over and Charlie allows them to have a break. Only they’re still not allowed to talk to each other so they go into the first room and sit at either ends.

Dean is tempted to text Castiel from across the room but he knows Charlie would be hugely pissed if she found out he broke the rules.

Soon enough, they’re called back into the question room.

When they enter they’re met with the same two stools but this time there’s a solid white screen between them.

As they take their seats again, Castiel disappears behind the partition and Dean suddenly realises why it’s probably there. It’s probably an attempt to be more honest with each other because they won’t see the other’s immediate reaction.

“Okay,” Charlie begins again, “it’s the same rules as before. I’ll ask you some questions again. And remember: what happens in this room, stays in this room.”

Dean takes a deep breath. He hates being reminded of that. As if Charlie knows he’s not telling the full truth. Which, of course, he isn’t. But they don’t know that.

“First question: what has been the worst thing about living together?”

Dean internally rolls his eyes, how can he think of another bullshit jokey answer?

His thoughts are stopped by Castiel softly clearing his throat on the other side of the wall. Dean can do nothing but look at Charlie sitting opposite them. She seems to be sending Castiel a kind smile.

“The worst thing,” Castiel begins, “was that you were hurting so much when your mom died and I couldn’t do anything to help take the pain away.” The end of the sentence comes out in almost a whisper.

Dean is overwhelmed. He feels like he’s been punched in the gut. He doesn’t often talk about his mother’s death, not even with Castiel. That was one of the lowest moments of his life. But Castiel had been his rock. Cleaning up after him when he was in depressed moods, dragging him out of bars and shoving him in the shower to sober up. God, Dean would have flunked out of college by now if Castiel hadn’t saved him.

“You did just by being there, man.” Dean whispers, tears coming to his eyes. He takes a small breath and sits in the silence for a few moments. “Dammit, you promise that whatever happens in here, stays in here?” He asks Charlie.

“Well, from my point of view, yes. I will not discuss the details of your answers outside the parameters of the study, and your names will be anonymised when your data is used in the final report. However, it’s up to you two if it carries on with you outside these four walls.

Dean takes a shaky breath, letting Charlie’s answer wash over him for a moment.

“I would never judge you or be angry at you for anything, Dean.” Castiel’s kind voice rumbles through the partition.

And if that ain’t Castiel summed up perfectly, Dean thinks. Castiel is the most thoughtful and selfless person Dean has ever met. And Dean loves him.

Dean feels like he might just burst if he doesn’t finally put his feelings into physical words.

Castiel would forgive Dean of anything. It’s that thought that pushes Dean to take a final, calming deep breath and jump.

“Fuck it, you wanna know the worst thing about living with Cas?” Dean asks, rhetorically. “It’s that every day I look at him and see everything I could ever want but can never have.” Dean finally confesses. And once the floodgates are open, he finds that he just can’t stop. “It terrifies me that one day he’ll leave for someone better.”

Dean thinks he can hear a soft noise coming from Castiel’s side but he’s not done.

“And the thing I really hate the most having Cas as a roommate? It’s that my fucking heart breaks a little more every time he walks through the door because I know one day it’ll be the last.”

Dean can’t bring himself to look at Charlie so he looks down at his hands, nervously playing with them in his lap.

No sound comes from Castiel’s side and Dean closes his eyes in defeat and sheer regret. He’s ruined everything for sure. He should have known Castiel wouldn’t feel the same. He should have just kept it to himself.

As if to prove Dean right, he hears footsteps in the quiet room. Footsteps that he’d recognise anywhere.

Great, Castiel has left which means Charlie’s research is probably ruined too.

Fuck, shit. Can’t Dean get anything fucking right?

Only, when he listens more carefully, he notices the footsteps aren’t retreating. In fact, they sound like they’re coming closer and closer to Dean.

Dean finally opens his eyes and lifts his head to see Castiel standing in front of him. The overhead light is positioned perfectly behind his head and creates a ring of pure light around him.

Castiel silently lifts a hand to Dean’s chin, cupping it ever so slightly. Dean can’t help but fall for Castiel all over again, just looking into his eyes.

“I know Charlie didn’t ask it yet but would you like to know what I love most about living with you, Dean?”

Dean nods, eyes never leaving Castiel’s.

“It’s that I fall in love with you more and more every day, and I’m completely helpless to stop it.”

Dean can’t believe what he’s hearing and assumes this must all be a dream.

Dream or not, he’s not taking any chances and letting Castiel slip away.

Dean pushes himself up from his seat to meet Castiel’s lips and bring him into a kiss.

This definitely isn’t a dream, Dean thinks, he’s never felt something so intense in his life.

They finally part once Charlie awkwardly clears her throat, reminding them that she’s still there.

They still don’t turn their attention to her though. Instead, Castiel rests his head against Dean’s and whispers between them “This definitely isn’t staying in this room.”

A/N: I quite liked writing this, I hope you enjoyed reading it!

Please REBLOG if you liked it.

If you enjoy my works and would like to be added to my tags list, let me know!

TAGS: @eccentriccas @starrynightdeancas @credentiast @imbiowaresbitch @starclaire @cockleslovesdestiel @bend-me-shape-me @destielfactory @dea-stiel @wendeano @wingsandimpalas @aggressivedean @flowersforcas @chill-legilimens @pancakesofthelord @caslikescoffeeandfreckles @assbuttboyfriends @breathingdestiel @simplymisha

@thekingslover @aelysianmuse @2musiclover2 @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you @50shadesofsubtext @destielle @carryoncastiel @winchester-novak @angelwithashotguun @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @chaoticdean @jensenacklesruinedmylife @huckleberryhusbands @good-things-do-happen-dean @irlydontknoanymore @little-greek5 @joana-the-banana @findingfantazja1627 @fevercas

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#destiel #destiel fic #dean winchester #castiel #destielfanficnet #myfic #fluff #angst #first kiss #au #collegeau #3k #friends to lovers #student!dean #student!cas #minor:charlie

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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years

Text

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 3.1}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student (however no underage romance), blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.9k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

To be honest, Robin had been quite glad once her second year at Hogwarts had come to an end. After the workshop, things had been odd for the remaining month of the school year, as almost everyone knew of Robin's duel with Professor Morgan, however almost nobody knew that it was her who had won in the end. Thus, it's needless to say that Robin had fallen victim to even more mocking comments, doubtful glances and evading behaviors. Morgan may have lost the fight, but he surely had succeeded in his overall mission to get revenge on Robin for his own embarrassment, even if not entirely in the way he had planned to. All Robin could really hope was that people would forget over summer, like they usually tended to forget mostly everything that had happened the previous school year. Education included.

Summer, once more, was the essence of dreadful with a subtle touch of heat induced madness. While England surely wasn't the hottest place during the summer months, it already sufficed to almost drive Robin insane and make her daydream about her lovely cold dungeons back at Hogwarts. In an attempt to do something not completely useless, she spent most of the summer in the local university's library, or taking day trips by herself to other cities or even the coast. Her parents, unsurprisingly, were more than happy to supply Robin with however much money she needed for these solo-activities of hers, as long as she promised to be back before dinner and not to take things from strangers.

Sure, it was perfectly normal to let your 13-year-old travel the country by herself… but Robin only would've cut into her own flesh if she'd mentioned any of those thoughts. They probably were just glad that she kept herself busy in the first place and thus didn't force them to find ways to entertain her, leave alone take vacation from work.

During one of those day trips, in the middle of summer and long before school would resume, Robin visited Diagon Alley to browse the stores for interesting books and other things she could make use of. While her book hunt resulted in the spending of her leftover Christmas money (which she had received only upon her return home for the summer, seeing as she hadn't been home for Christmas itself and her parents were strictly against sending money in the 'post'), Robin also tried one of the candies that were for sale in some of the stores. It tasted quite horrible, but led to the idea to bring some proper candy to Hogwarts for the next term, not only the weird magical stuff they sold on the train. They recently had made Twirl chocolate into twin bars, and Robin still felt excited about it. So that idea was born, and a month and a half later also executed when Robin packed about a third of her trunk with clothes, then almost two thirds of it with books and other necessities, and the remaining space with Twirl bars. Maybe if she showed them to the house elves in the kitchens, they might be able to find something similar for her in the future.

… … …

Term started the very same way it had the last two years as well, with lots of assignments and a therefore overcrowded library.

To her great relief Robin had been right, people had mostly forgotten about last year's incidents, but that still didn't make her feel any less uncomfortable being around the other students. Every time she turned around, she felt like eyes were quickly averted; every time she left a room, she was sure to hear her name whispered in quiet words of judgement; every time she answered a question in class, she knew that at least one person rolled their eyes. At last she believed she'd simply gone mad, or paranoid, while the truth more than likely was that she simply had gotten so used to being alone over the summer that being around so many people at once now, literally all the time, just came equal to a constant internal petrification.

Somehow, Robin had expected it to simply sort itself out eventually. But every night she sat in the Slytherin common room, in the most desolate corner possible, and first years were running all over the place on one end and upperclassmen snogging off in some corners elsewhere, she felt just impossibly close to bursting. Her skin would start crawling uncomfortably, she wouldn't be able to focus on anything but the loud voices of people laughing and talking, and her heart would start beating faster and faster until she felt so hot even in the dungeons at night that she could feel cold sweat running down her back in return. The first week that had passed like this, Robin had blamed it on not being used to being around people anymore and thus simply forced herself to re-accustom herself to it. The second week, when nothing had changed, she had gone straight to her bedroom, even though it had been near impossible to study or read there either, even with fewer people she despised around her.

It was only in the third week that she finally had enough of the existential dread that would haunt her once it got closer to the evenings, and thus she decided that if her mind refused to readapt, she would have to adapt her behavior in return. That is why on a Tuesday night, after dinner, Robin took all of her necessary books and assignments and sat down in one of the darkest corners of the most desolate hallways to do her work. She didn't want to be questioned why she was sitting here on the dirty ground to do her work, nor about why she was doing it now instead of when the library opened back up in the morning… she simply didn't feel like answering any of the questions that surely would be thrown at her if she was found. But here, in a desolate hallway, her heart at least beat at a normal pace and she could focus without being distracted every two seconds. It was calm, and quiet, and not filled with idiots, and Robin couldn't think of another (open) room in the castle that fulfilled these three basic requirements at the moment. So she sat there and scribbled away in her notebooks, using a mere lumos as a light source for her work. Once she was done, at roughly around midnight, she retrieved her spread out supplies and, as quietly as she could, made her way back to her dorm. That had really been the first productive night of the term.

While Robin was aware of the fact that she still had that staying-out-past-curfew permission from Snape, she actually wasn't all too sure that it still counted for this year as well, seeing as a new term usually meant a clean start in almost all regards. And she simply didn't want to risk anything, especially not getting robbed of her newly found workspace. For the rest of the week, Robin went into that hallway to study every single evening, and didn't once meet anyone who would question her about it.

Only on the Sunday night that marked the end of the third week, she decided to try staying in the common room once more, seeing as all she planned to do was reading in her newest borrowed book. And she couldn't hide away in the hallway to do her work forever after all, it was only meant to be a short-term solution to her focus issue. Surely she could just work on not being so easily annoyed by everyone and everything, or get her neutrality game on again to make the anxious feeling go away. But seriously, why on earth was the stupid common room so freaking small if literally all students of the entire Slytherin house were expected to hang around here every single night after dinner?!

Robin kept her eyes on the page, a deep frown creasing her forehead as she was still determined to focus. Some first year bumped against her arm and Robin dropped her book as a result of that, which lead her to angrily glare at the child while she picked the book back up. She had to read the same sentence again. Someone was eating an apple somewhere close by… the sound was annoying. She read the sentence again. A fit of laughter. She had to read the sentence again. Was it getting warmer in here? Robin couldn't even hear her own thoughts. Everyone seemed so happy… why couldn't she feel happy like that? Her chest felt tight at the drowned thought, and a desperate wish to shout at everyone in the room at the top of her lungs stirred somewhere within her mind.

She flipped the book shut, probably too loudly going by the looks she was getting from a few nearby people now, and walked out of the room so determinedly that only the pace rendered it a walk instead of a run. She didn't slow down once she'd left the common room behind. She didn't slow down either as she crossed the dark dungeon hallways and jogged up the spiral staircase. She didn't care if anyone saw her. She just had to get out.

At last, in the safety of the nightly courtyard, she slowed down to a stop and closed her eyes. Well, what a dramatic overreaction that had been… she had surely made a fool out of herself. People would think her even more weird and crazy now. But… she also shuddered at the mere thought of going back and pretending like she had merely gone to the bathroom for a moment. It was only half past nine, and that meant she would have to wait a whole lot longer until the common room would clear up even a little. Great.

Her heart was still beating a little too hard for comfort, and thus she slowly walked around the courtyard, into the arcades, down some hallways, up some hallways, and before she knew, she was back in her study spot of the previous week. Well, why change a working system, right?

With a sigh she sat down, crossed her legs and leaned against the wall as she opened her book once more. This was way better… and yet she had the feeling that this had gone far too well for far too long. Someone had to find her here, eventually, and somehow she knew that this moment would be today. And yet, somehow, she didn't care. Couldn't care, rather, as there literally wasn't any other place she could hide right now that didn't drive her nuts entirely. And it turned out she was very much right, unfortunately, only very much wrong about who would find her.

"Miss Mitchell. I'm not at all surprised." Professor Morgan was the unfortunate intruder to Robin's little calm space. "Get up."

Robin didn't complain, didn't even fight his command, but simply rose to her feet and followed him as he walked ahead and motioned for her to follow. However, as uncharacteristic as it seemed, he made no efforts to talk, or put on a facade, or even get her into any kind of trouble. He simply led her down into the dungeons, through the darkness and only stopped once he stood in front of a room Robin had never been in before. Yet she very well knew what lay behind the closed door, and thus it surprised her even more that Morgan had led her here. He knocked, and a few seconds later the door flew open to reveal a rather annoyed looking Professor Snape.

"What?!" He snapped at Morgan rather indignantly, and only after a few heartbeats he seemed to see that Robin was standing behind the defense against the dark arts professor. His expression went through a hailstorm of barely-even-there emotions for but a second, then it hardened ineffably. "What did he do?" He asked with an inquiring look at Robin, while completely ignoring the other man in between them.

"Nothing." Robin replied almost calmly, giving Morgan a quick look just in time to see him rolling his eyes.

"I found your student lurking around the hallways." Morgan said then, rising his eyebrows at Snape in the kind of condescending manner that seemed to be a bad imitation of the other man's speciality.

"And?" Snape still seemed utterly unimpressed, and Robin almost would've snorted had she not bitten the insides of her cheeks.

"Well, since it seems to have escaped your notice, it's two hours past curfew!" Morgan snapped right back.

"And it appears to have escaped your notice that Miss Mitchell has been excepted from that rule for over a year now. So if you kindly could refrain from making such a fuss…" Snape muttered, then looked at Robin once more and motioned for her to get into the room, which she complied to immediately, a second before the door was thrown shut behind her, right into Morgan's face. While Snape moved right past her and basically ignored her presence from then on, Robin took a moment to study her surroundings.

The room actually was a lot smaller than she had imagined it to be. 'The Potion Master's private laboratory' somehow sounded like more than merely a small space less than the size of her dorm room. Still, it had shelves on all four walls –which were stacked entirely with even more odd ingredients–, a fireplace, then two longish tables in the middle of the room and a lonely stool. Well, and a stack of books that didn't really look like they belonged here though. That was it.

"What, exactly, was your business in the hallways at this time?" Snape inquired then, and Robin's eyes moved from the preserved and bottled animal parts to her professor.

"I thought you said I had your permission to be out of bed at this time…" Robin frowned in irritation, but also a little fascination as she watched him move around the limited space. Granted, there was more than enough room for her to stand at double an appropriate distance, but she still felt like she was invading his space.

"Yes, and if you would like to keep it, you better start telling me what you were doing that made it possible for Morgan to find you." He kept working as he spoke, and Robin had no choice but to keep watching him as she replied.

"I was reading your book." She started, holding up the black tome in her hand for a moment for him to see. "I did nothing wrong, only sat in an empty hallway in the darkness and read. Quietly."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Not particularly."

"I insist."

"Alright…" She sighed and resisted the to urge to roll her eyes. He really never settled for anything less than the entire truth, and she would grant him that. But only the parts she understood herself. "I have been working in that one dark corner in the first floor east corridor for the past week. After… the library and studyhalls were closed."

"Why not do your work during the day like everyone else?"

"I have enough work to last me the entire day."

"And why is that?"

"Why are you asking so many questions, sir?"

"Answer. The. Question."

"I just… find more work once I'm done with the simple stuff. It's not like I've got anything else to do." Robin shrugged. "I read your books and do my assignments. Then I take notes and study for tests. And then I read more books."

"And why would you prefer to study at night?"

"It's easier to think at night. Calmer… easier to focus. I can work way better."

"How… curious."

"You think? Every time I happen to run into you after curfew, you happen to be working, too." Robin mused and averted her eyes at last to inspect the ingredients once more. Oh, how she'd love to walk around and have a closer look… she'd read about so many of them. But she stayed at the door, respectfully waiting to be told what to do next, while not quite so respectfully watching him work once again.

It was curious, really, that it had never appeared to her before how good he actually was at his work. Not the teaching, not really, but potion making. Sure, he was the potions professor and supposed to know something about his trait if he taught it to others, but if one only looked at Morgan, it was clear that being a professor for a subject didn't necessarily promise proficiency as a requirement for the job. Still, Robin had definitely expected Snape to be quite extraordinary at this, judging by his comments in class, his books, his knowledge… but she had never actually seen him making a potion before. Watching him working now, Robin felt reminded of watching an intricate dance, or listening to a piece of music. It really was curious, how she simply couldn't look away.

"You say Professor Morgan brought you to me without any further incidents?" Snape asked after a moment, seemingly ignoring Robin's previous comment, but she hadn't exactly expected anything else after such a long moment of silence.

"Yes… he barely said a word, actually."

"Good. Do you still possess the permit I gave to you last term?"

"Yup." She held up her locket in return, as if that would prove anything, and only upon his frown did she realize that her gesture likely didn't mean anything to him. That… was embarrassing. She quickly dropped her hand to her side again and stared at the empty table a bit further into the room. "I mean… yes, I still have it."

"In that case, I would ask you to make use of it the next time you venture around the castle at night. Preferably before another colleague of mine comes knocking on my door and distracts me from my work."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

"Tell me, do you intend to continue studying in the hallways at night?" Now that question was most certainly more born from curiosity than forged by disapproval.

"Uhm, I… actually, I don't. I mean, I didn't really… intend to study there in the first place, but… it just ended up happening. I… no, I won't study in the hallway again." She said before she really could think it through. Where else would she go? Staying in the common room seemed like an odd lot of trouble to go through just to once again not disappoint Snape. But as always, she would still try for exactly that sake.

"Then I believe we are done here." He sounded almost calm, content even, which was unusual but not at all unwelcome. "You are free to go."

Maybe it was yet again the time of night that made Robin stupid, or the fact that she at last felt calm again after the strange anxiety she had experienced in the common room, but the words left her mouth before she could swallow them down again. "May I… stay, for another moment?" In an instant Snape looked up from his cauldron and right at Robin, with the most surprised expression Robin had ever seen on him. Before he could scold her for her indignant request, she quickly added, "I mean… I have read so much about some of these ingredients you keep in here and… and the plants and animals, and… I have never gotten the chance to see any of them for real. I'm just… curious. May I stay? Please?"

"Don't touch anything." He said before he thought, or at least that's what it looked like to Robin, for he seemed just as surprised at his own words as she was herself. After a second of sending a mutually shocked look at each other, he turned back to his work at hand and Robin moved to inspect the shelves on the walls. Her face felt way too hot… luckily he couldn't see it currently.

Really, this place was even better than his office. While he stored some potions and books there, and some of the more common ingredients that may need quick replacement in class, this private lab was on an entirely different scale of fascinating. Thus Robin really took her time looking around, indeed not touching anything like she had been asked to, and tried to remember as much of it as she could. She didn't know how much time passed like that, in silence, and she also didn't particularly care. The entire laboratory in its perfectly neat overcrowdedness and with its one small, moonflooded window was absolutely serene. Calm like the softest cushion to a sore mind.

Only once Robin reached the last of the shelves, her inspection was momentarily interrupted. "Since you are still here and distracting me, you might as well hand me the valerian."

A small smile played on Robin's lips in an instant. "I thought I wasn't to touch anything."

"Do not sass me, Miss Mitchell." He warned, but it sounded too shallow to actually be serious. "Valerian. Now."

"Springs or root?" Robin inquired as she scanned the rows and rows of bottles until her eyes fell onto both of the mentioned parts.

"I am in the process of making a sleeping draught…"

"Springs it is, then." Robin breathed more to herself than to him even before he had actually answered her question, and carefully, very carefully even, she moved the large jar out of its place, then turned around and took the few steps towards his workspace. Snape looked almost impressed (for his standards at least) as she placed the jar next to the cauldron on the table, and then took a respectful step backwards again to give him his space.

"I believe we did not cover this particular potion in class." He said then, as he moved on with the recipe and added the needed valerian springs.

"It was in the textbook." Robin replied with an almost humored smile. "You didn't expect me to read all of your books and not study my own textbook first, did you, professor?"

He rolled his eyes and merely glared at Robin for a moment, upon which she only had to grin more. However a moment later he finally replied. "If you are so well versed in basic potions, I am certain you can tell me what I have to do next to finish this particular one?"

Robin thought for a moment, just to make sure she really knew what she was going to say. "Nothing. The draught should be done, actually."

There it was again, that not-smirk. "Precisely. Put the jar back when you return to the shelf."

"Of course, sir." Robin was still smiling, and a small spark of giddy excitement ran through her as she returned the valerian to its rightful place. This was nothing, really… just the most minor act of assisting him in finishing a potion. Something a spell could've done. And yet, to Robin, it was everything. She had been helpful for once, and he had actually allowed her to help! The night had just taken a drastic turn from panic and dread to calm and joy.

While Professor Snape went on to bottle the finished potion, Robin studied the remainder of the shelf in silence again. Half of the stuff that was stored here seemed as foreign to her as it could, making her wonder what it was and what its use might be… but she also didn't want to bother him any more by asking. It already had been a small miracle that she'd been allowed to stay for a little while longer, and by now the common room surely must've cleared up almost entirely. However once Robin was done with her curious inspection of even the last bottle and the last jar, she still remained standing in the corner of the room and almost involuntarily went back to watching the potions professor finishing up his work.

"Are you done with your tour of my laboratory?" He asked without looking up from the surely not all too difficult task of counting the labels on the table. Considering it was quite a lot of them though, the task seemed quite annoying.

"Yes… and thank you, for letting me 'tour' your lab. I've really enjoyed the look around, but yeah… I'm done."

"Then why are you still here?" His question didn't sound like the reproach or complaint Robin was used to, which was what made her frown ever so slightly as she replied.

"Well, you haven't asked me to leave yet…"

"Let me rephrase that: Why would you choose to dwell here, while you are free to leave? Certainly there are less dreadful… places to be." His question, or rather the way he asked it, obviously sincerely incredulous of her behavior, put a sudden and heavy veil on Robin's happiness that made her just a little too sad for her heart to bear in good conscience. Was it so hard to believe for him that people wouldn't dread his company? Or at least would choose to stay for the sake of an amazing laboratory like this?

"I'm in good company." She finally decided to say, in an easy tone, but with a hint of worry making itself known in her mind just a few seconds later. This was Snape she was talking to! The very professor who made an effort to pretend that kindness repelled him like a disease! But he still deserved kindness… maybe more than anyone else. Perhaps he would be less put off by the statement if she wrapped it in a veil of humor! "You know… To be surrounded by at least five hundred different species, even if in parts, surely isn't a company I would want to miss."

He rolled his eyes at that, as an asset to an almost perfect mask of indifference that was merely spoilt by another badly hidden not-smirk. "Don't be ridiculous. There are well over five thousand different species in this room."

Robin's jaw dropped, but then she couldn't stop the wide grin on her face that stemmed from both the excitement at the diversity of species and the relief that he hadn't gotten all defensive at her comment. "Really?! Wow, that's… incredible. Now I truly feel privileged to be here."

"Being stared at by the cut off heads of dead creatures surely does not seem to bother you all that much. How… peculiar."

"Well, I'm stared at every day by living creatures with very much the same absence of understanding, but who are of far less use to anyone. I'd say I'm used to far worse than any of this…" Robin pointed to one particularly outlandish example in a jar to her right, feeling a little bit proud of her reply as well as a little too smug for her own good. However she also wondered if Snape was really surprised by the fact that she didn't mind the laboratory, or rather by the fact that she didn't seem to mind his company.

"In that case I'm certain you would have no objection to labeling these bottles for me. From what I know, your handwriting should be more legible to the staff in the hospital wing than what they are used to." He said as he stepped away from the bottles himself and instead went to look over one of the books on the other table.

"I think your handwriting is legible… mostly." Robin commented nonchalantly with a small shrug, but quickly shut her mouth once Snape rose a warning eyebrow at her. Right… they weren't on that level of conversing. Not usually, at least.

Instead of dwelling on it for longer than necessary, she moved to the now free table and picked up the one label he had already written. It contained the name of the potion, the date, and the number 1/245. Well… this would take a while.

"You should sit down. If… you really should want to do this." He spoke up just as Robin picked up the quill in slight awe at its neat ornamentation.

"Uh, yes. Thank you. I do want to… yes." She replied a little awkwardly as she moved to sit down on the only stool in the room. Honestly, she'd do pretty much anything to be allowed to stay in this calm lab for now, and even more to actually help Snape for once. Even if it was by writing two hundred and forty five bloody labels. Well, forty four, actually.

With a silent sigh, Robin looked over her shoulder once more to watch him writing something on a piece of parchment with an almost content expression. Maybe she wasn't the only one who was enjoying her presence here, after all… Well, at least he seemed to tolerate her. With a content smile she turned back towards her own table, and began to work as well.

______________________________

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curtashiism · 4 years

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Curtis’s personality headcanons

Curtis is that kind of quiet person who is quiet not out of shyness, but because he simply prefers to observe, ironically for a Communications Officer. It's not that he doesn't like people; he just prefers watching and listening over contributing to conversation.

People tend to ignore him for this reason, thinking that he's not engaged. In truth, he's listening to every word, and the instant he feels his input is needed, he won't hesitate to give it.

This quiet demeanor leads him to have a very small but close circle of friends.

At the Galaxy Garrison, this tendency to be overlooked is beneficial because it means his superior officers tend to, without realizing they're doing so, give him far more freedom than he would get if he were in their faces. This suits him well because, again, ironic for a Communications Officer, he does his best work either alone or in a room quiet enough that he can pretend he is alone. When people do witness him at work, he feels pressured, though he doesn't let that affect his quality of work.

What Curtis may lack in number of friends, he more than makes up for in quality. Once he's decided he trusts a person, they're his friend pretty much forever, barring some kind of awful betrayal. He's willing to talk out almost any conflict (since, again, Communications Officer.)

He'll stay by a friend's side through thick and thin; for this reason, his friends tend to be fiercely protective of him. Sometimes to his annoyance, such as when they all gathered to give Shiro, of all people, a shovel talk once they got engaged.

In terms of family: He was close to his, but lost most or all of them in the invasion (I keep changing my mind based on how dark or not-dark I want his backstory.) He very much desires to have children one day.

And in terms of romance, Curtis isn't a “romantic type” per se, but he definitely isn't not romantic. He's somewhere in between. However, he is absolutely awful at flirting. Due to some issues with self-doubt (which I'll explain below) he tends to assume that anything he thinks of as possible flirting must be a misinterpretation on his part. He worries he's being arrogant (despite being quite humble in actuality). So he gains a reputation as being oblivious to love, while Curtis himself thinks no one is actually interested in him. This creates a feedback loop on his self-confidence (Again, more below on that particular hangup.)

His greatest strengths are his kindness, ability to work well in a crisis, and his willingness to step up and do what needs to be done, even when he doesn't want to do it. He never asks anything of those under his command that he wouldn't do himself. He's a great leader, perhaps not as good as Shiro, but definitely someone Garrison crew are thrilled to be assigned to.

Despite being quiet in most situations, Curtis can always be counted on to speak up against any blatantly unfair situations. And he will do anything in his power to help someone who truly needs it, even if that is to his own detriment. A true caretaker, but not to the point of smothering; protective without being patronizing.

Now, what are his flaws? His fatal flaw is the lack of self-confidence that arises in certain situations. He isn't like this across the board; he knows, for example, that he is one of the best Communications Officers that the Garrison has. But the reason that's the case is that he has constant reassurance; his position on the bridge of the Atlas, and others' reliance on him, proves it. In terms of more nebulous parts of his life- such as his romantic prospects- where he doesn't have that reassurance, he worries. He worries that he is unattractive (because, due to his constant misreading of those situations, he thinks no one has shown interest in him). He worries at times about whether he is actually "good"; he worries being kind isn't enough to make him "good".

And he has a tendency to judge himself against others, especially when he and Shiro start dating. "What does he see in me?" is a question he asks himself often. He doesn't see what could make him stand out against a Paladin or some other extraordinary person. In fact, he is incredibly intimidated by all of the Paladins save Shiro at first. Yes, even Hunk. How could he not be scared to talk to these literal heroes, these defenders of the universe?

Thankfully, in this case, Curtis's reputation of reticence helps him. Since he's known for not talking much, others are quick to assure the Paladins that it's not personal. They assume he's somewhat like Keith, and give him the space he needs. This lets him eventually see that these guys are all just people like everyone else. That doesn't stop him from being respectful, deferent to them, though. And if he ever goes on a mission with them, he will absolutely view himself as more expendable than them, and will plan all risk-taking activities accordingly.

Another flaw Curtis has is a fear of major change. He is flexible in many ways, but the thought of things like moving or making a career change terrify him. He will do them, if he's convinced it's worth it (I.E. having children with Shiro) but he will agonize over the decision.

Sometimes Curtis can be accidentally impolite or insensitive. He knows that his own preference for privacy is much greater than the average person's, and sometimes forgets where on the "scale" most people fall. He apologizes immediately when corrected, though.

Lastly, Curtis dwells way too much on past mistakes, whether they're in his professional or personal life. When this is pointed out to him, he argues that understanding his mistakes will prevent him from repeating them. Others will then promptly point out that Curtis isn't actually doing that, he's straight-up beating himself up over it to the point of being illogical. He will always be the first to blame himself for things going wrong, even things that couldn't possibly have been his fault.

This can be attributed partially to his lack of self-confidence. Another part of it is that subconsciously, he wants to shield others from the blame if something goes wrong, even if that comes at his own expense. That trait can mostly be traced back to his days as a cadet, where his quiet nature was mistaken for weakness, and therefore a lot of other cadets tried to implicate him in their misbehaviors. When he spoke up in his defense, it tended to make the others' punishments more severe. And this then made them angry at him, so he sort of learned to internalize blame for things before others actually got around to blaming him, as a way to get through the situation. And he never was really able to unlearn that. This nearly ends up getting him in serious trouble on more than one occasion, and even when he is exonerated he still gets reprimanded for "lying to protect others" and such. He always says he'll work on fixing that trait; he never does.

And that’s it for my first Curtis personality headcanon post! Hope you guys enjoy!

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #voltron meta #vld meta #curtis voltron #voltron curtis #vld curtis #curtis vld #curtis personality

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

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i wanna know what love is - 13

Pairing: rockstar! sebastian stan x writer!reader

Warnings: jealousy

A/N: hello guys, i’ve been receiving so many messages from you guys telling me how much you love this series and i couldn’t be happier you enjoy it, so i decided to double post today. hope you enjoy xx 💕💕

Last Chapter // Next Chapter

Y/N didn’t want to believe Mary, it didn’t feel right. It just didn’t feel right to her that he would’ve done such thing. Sure Sebastian was a wild one and if Mary had told her that he had been kicked out of the band because he threw himself from a window into a pool, she would’ve believed more than an overdose scenario. She had never seen him even doing any drugs in the time she’d been with him. Sure he drank like the pirate but it didn’t look very different from what her mates used to do back at university. No, it didn’t feel right.

- You alright, honey? - she put a hand on her shoulder, lightly shaking it to bring her out of her mind. Y/N turned to face the redhead which had a tense worried expression on her face. - C’mon, me, Fred, and the new photographer are going out for a very long, very expensive dinner. Why don’t you come with us?

- Oh, I don’t wanna bother. - she gave her a shy smile but Mary was having none of it. She got up and stormed to her wardrobe, opening it and looking through her clothing. After a while, she stopped and turned to the side with a confused look on her face. - What now?

- You have no dinning dresses. - the redhead was almost in horror. She had come from a high class family herself where changing for dinner was still a very alive practice. Y/N, however, was either at the office having grilled cheese for dinner or in her pjs eating pasta for dinner. There was no high class to the whole experience unless she had a work meeting. - You’ll have to take one of mine.

- I can take the black dress you got me. - Y/N walked over to her, grabbing the hanger with the Burberry dress. Mary nodded no and placed the hanger back before taking her hand and walking to her bedroom were Fred was watching Mad Men. She’d rather be watching Mad Men with Fred than discovering what to wear.

- Y/N is coming with us to dinner. - Mary said, mindlessly walking to her wardrobe and pulling some hangers with what looked like very expensive dresses. Fred nodded and returned to watching Mad Men with Y/N who had sat by the edge of the bed.

The red headed placed the hangers by the door and started to look at the dresses before she went to grab Y/N, ignoring her moans about watching TV and putting her in front of the mirror. She placed a burgundy dress in front of her and furrowed her brows, cocking her head to the side.

- Maybe if we curl the hair? - she said, taking the dress from her. - I grew up with only brothers so they never let me do their hair or pick their outfits.

- I’d run, Y/N. - Fred mouthed before being hit in the face by a pillow thrown by Mary who gave him a sly smirk. - But hey, first night Mary isn’t looking at cases while dinning.

Y/N would never admit it to herself but Mary was the picture perfect woman she wanted to be. Not only was she beautiful, always polished and rich, she was also a smart Yale graduate lawyer. With that said, she didn’t really mind her doing her makeup and hair for the night. She got dressed in the burgundy dress from before and took a good look at the mirror. It felt nice to look this beautiful after today, with her hair done, eyeliner so sharp it looked like it had been done using a knife and lips matching the dress colour. The only bad thing were the heels she could barely hold herself into.

She was now sat on her bedroom, waiting for Fred and Mary while watching some reruns of B99 in her TV when she heard a knock. Finally, she was starving. She grabbed her purse, put her phone and debit card in it just in case, and walked to the door, opening it to see Sebastian instead of the couple. He himself was also not expecting to be greeted with the sight he was greeted with.

- Where are you going dressed like that? - he asked, shamelessly scanning her from head to toe.

- I’m going to dinner with Mary and Fred. The Eiffel Tower Restaurant. - she replied, exiting the room and closing the door behind them. - How are you doing?

- I’m okay, thank you. Just wanted to come check on you to see if you needed anything for your article.

- Actually, when I return, if you could, I’d like to ask you some questions. - she said, kind smile on her lips as Mary and Fred exited their room, motioning for her to come with them. - I’ll see you in a few hours.

She joined the couple in the taxi who took them to the restaurant. Everything looked so pristine, so beautiful and symmetrical. She almost felt bad the tab was on the bad, but yet again Fred had said the dinner was almost a meeting with the new photographer. Speaking of which, they reached their table where a man that looked straight out of the 50s with beautifully slick blonde hair and perfectly tailored black velvet suit. Fred extended his hand to him, presenting him his wife.

- And this is Y/N Wiley, she’s from Rolling Stone. - Mary added, removing Y/N from her gaze of the beauty around her. - She’ll be dinning with us tonight.

- Pleasure to meet you, Leo Crawford. - he shook her hand, receiving a smile in exchange as they all sat down. - If it doesn’t sound to rude Miss, but you look far too young to be a Rolling Stone writer.

- I’m an intern. - she replied. - I wish to be a writer someday but so far I’m just an intern.

- Sebastian hired her. - Fred added. - We were very excited to get another tour article but Y/N quickly became part of the family.

- I see. - he opened his briefcase, taking some photographs out. - I brought some of my old work to make sure I’m the artistic view you’re looking for.

- Is that Scorpion? - Y/N pointed at one of the pictures. - You photographed Scorpion?

- One of my first jobs. - he scotched closer to her. - Just between us Ms. Wiley, I was quite the nervous one during it.

- I can imagine it.

The dinner lasted for a good three hours until they all decided to go back to the hotel and have drinks at their personal bar. Y/N was relieved to take off her shoes as they sat by the bar.

- You’re far too stunning to be behind the scenes. I would love to photograph you something, Ms. Wiley. - he spoke putting his glass back on. Once she was about to reply, Sebastian and Melody walked into the room. Sebastian’s eyes immediately shot to the man who was speaking to Y/N, and how close he was too her. - I’m serious, whenever you need some photos taken.

- You’re a laugh, Leo. - she laughed, hand in front of her mouth as she noticed Sebastian’s gaze burn on her. - Oh Leo, this is Sebastian Stan, he’s the front man of the band.

- Pleasure, I’ve heard many things about you from Ms. Wiley. - he extended his arm to him, but he ignored it, grabbing a glass and some scotch. - I’d love to photograph the whole band together for the last time.

- I’m sure of it. - Sebastian rolled his eyes taking a seat by Melody. - Wiley, if you still want the interview, I’d suggest you get ready for it.

- Oh, sorry. - Y/N apologised, getting up from her seat and smoothing her dress down. She turned to face Leo, an apologetic smile on her face. - It was so nice to meet you, Mr. Crawford.

- Here’s my card. - he handed her a white and black card. - If you ever need anything, please give me a call Ms. Wiley.

- Thank you.

She turned once more to face Sebastian pointing towards her bedroom with her head as she took off, her shoes held by her fingers. He followed behind like a scolded child as they entered her bedroom, once they entered her bedroom, she crossed her arms, considering throwing her shoes at him.

- You were unnecessarily rude to Mr. Crawford.

- You were throwing yourself all over him, it’s not a good shade on you, sweetheart.

- I wasn’t and even if I was, it would be none of your business. - she placed her shoes by her closet before returning to the bed, turning on her laptop so she could record their small interview.

- Trust me, you don’t wanna date someone in the business. - Sebastian rolled his eyes at her, sitting on top of her bed.

- You’d know. - she snarled at him, getting up and reaching behind her back so she could reach the dress’ zipper. Sebastian was about to argue back at her but stopped once he saw her reach for her zipper and huff in disappointment when she couldn’t possibly pull it all down. She came to the conclusion of either leaving the room and ask someone or ask Sebastian. Since her feet hurt, Sebastian it was. - Can you zip me down?

- Don’t you wanna go ask Mr. Crawford?

- Do you want to stop being to childish? - she turned on her back, pushing her hair to the side. Sebastian got up, his hands shaking as he pushed her zipper down. He expected her to go into the bathroom to take her dress off, but to his surprise, she shook the dress off her, remaining on her lingerie as she went to grab a robe. He was supposed to be mad at her but here he was ogling her once again, something his girlfriend could never learn of. - Alright, let’s get this over and done with.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan one shot #sebastian stan AU #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine

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falselyprofound · 3 years

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So... 2020, huh?

Saying it was rough is an understatement. But also, it’s December 31st, there’s three hours left in the year, and I am far too tired to find the words that carry the proper amount of weight to describe... whatever all that was.

That said, I’m going to try my hardest not to write it off. It was a difficult year, but as with any NYE, taking a step back to think about the things I did accomplish helps keep me sane. Makes me think I’m still moving forward.

So, without further ado...

The World is Weird got nominated for an AGS award! I stayed up until about five am watching the awards ceremony, timezones and Australian wifi be damned. Good times, good times.

Made myself a website! It’s still a little bare-bones but it shows off some of my art and game projects.

Made an OC ask blog! Given how this year went, I very much did not have the mental headspace for writing out any of the comics I’ve been planning. But it is genuinely so nice to have a place to post small tidbits here and there. (Big thanks to everyone who’s sent in asks! I have a few more answers in the works, but feel free to send in more stuff if u feel so inclined)

Finished storyboarding the first act of Buy-r-Die. While that doesn’t sound all that impressive, the game’s had several drastic presentation overhauls this year. I’ve finally settled on something I like - sort of a mix between visual novel and motion comic - and personally I think it adds a lot to the more action-y scenes! I can’t show too much off just yet, but I’m really excited with how things are progressing. In the meantime, the dev log is up on the AGS forums.

Illustrated, wrote, and programmed like half a visual novel for Art Fight. I’ve been chipping away at it in my own time since the fight ended, and while I’ve still got quite a bit of work to do on Spice’s side I’d say it’s coming along p well. Most of the post-fight adjustments aren’t up on GameJolt yet, but you can play the original prototype and read the devlog over here.

Speaking of Art Fight, I earned 1443.62 points this year! That’s about triple the amount of art I did over the past few fights combined. Not bad, considering I had to take two weeks off for an elective.

I also drew some much-needed reference sheets for (most of) my main OCs. One day I’ll update Clarissa’s art. One day.

Played a lot of D&D. Like... a lot. Not all of it turned out to be good, and sadly a lot of games died out due to COVID and/or uni scheduling. But Mel finally escaped her vacation from hell, Sloane finally made it to the town of Barovia, Maya avoided starting an international incident, and I finally managed to drop some Lavinia lore that i’ve been sitting on for four years. Delicious drama.

Finally had a chance to run Monster of the Week! My first attempt was... not all that great, mostly because I was trying to write a scenario from scratch without really understanding the rules. But I’ve now moved on to Damn Dirty Apes, and am having an absolute blast.

Small town superhero OC RPs. You wouldn’t know it from reading this blog but I got, like, really into those this year. Think I wrote something around 40 A4-pages worth of fic for one server, and that’s not counting the actual threads I did with other people. Now I just need to channel that kind of productivity into my solo work...

Lots of digital painting work this year, mostly for personal projects. I like to think my grasp of colour and lighting is getting better, though I still have a long way to go. Regardless, here’s some of it.

Kept on top of my university work, with a distinction average. Barring unforseen bullshit, I should be done with my Masters’ Degree within the next six months!

Did not keep on top of MMB, unfortunately. There was just... too much to do, with too little personal energy to do it with. That said, I’ve started sketching out ideas for a relatively light mini-game. Fingers crossed that’ll surface relatively early into 2021.

It is a little frustrating to see that this is yet another year of half-finished projects, but I’m trying not to be too hard on myself. The mental strain of lockdown, juggling several bouts of drama at once, and uni study all at once is... a lot. And while I’m upset I never completed anything -- jesus christ, it’s a miracle I managed to even start things when my brain was already this full.

Felt like I spent most of this year fighting metaphorical fires... and I don’t know if that’s going to stop any time soon. But anyway.

All that aside, I feel as though my game development workflow is really improving. My code isn’t industry standard, but it’s significantly cleaner, easier, and faster to work with than ever. I’ve gotten some slight animation practice under my belt. And I’ve also dealt with the terrifying world of optimization.

(My games have option menus now! Incredible!)

What’s more, I’m getting better at achieving personal goals without any external pressures or hard deadlines -- which is comforting, as the latest spike in COVID cases has got me worried that I might not be able to get an offline job any time soon. I might need to look into Patreon, advertising my commissions more, or otherwise monetizing smaller projects of mine... we’ll see.

For now, I’m going to go play Animal Crossing and eat chocolate.

‘Cause there’s no fireworks out tonight and I have nowhere to be.

#pointless post #nye 2020 blogging

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peachyteabuck · 4 years

Text

treason against kingly youth, pt i of ii

summary: somehow, you survived the 2020 election. now, all you have to do is get a know-nothing white man into the senate. should be easy enough.

pairing: chris evans x reader

words: 3223

trigger warnings: rpf, white dudes doin White Dude Things

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

For a moment, just a moment, you allow yourself to breathe, really breathe. One, big breath in that clears the stress from your muscles, drops your shoulders, lets your whole body sag against the decade-old chair that you’re surprised hasn’t crumbled under the weight of your ever-tense body and its corresponding sins.

It’s a mere six feet away that everyone else you’ve worked with for the past three years with – the people you went through sleepless nights, long road trips, greasy food from mom and pop diners with the middle of assfuck nowhere, registering voters and writing up another plan for every fucking thing wrong with America (low teacher pay? Check. Electoral college ruining democracy? Check. Criminalization of homosexuality? Check. Private school sucking the life out of public schools? The monopoly artificially inflating prices on glasses up to 400%? The disparity between the number of men’s and women’s bathrooms in federal buildings? Check, check, check) – each and every person celebrates with wine and whiskey and any other alcoholic beverages they can get their underpaid hands on. It’s not even the cheap stuff, no, this is top shelf liquor. This is D-Day, “we’ve got an hour before the nuclear missile hits” liquor.

There are two times people go this all-out on their spirits – the end of the world, and the end of an election (though, to some, they’re the same thing).

But not you. Never pitiful little you. Pitiful little campaign manager you doesn’t rest, doesn’t get to stop pulling rabbits out of hats and money from single moms and votes out of college students.

There’s three TVs in front of your desk, each playing a different news station and each anchor drowning the others out. It’s a cacophony of white noise, and not because

The only voice, the only singular voice that has cemented itself into this far, previously blissfully unattended corner of your brain. You can hear her, feel her own on your shoulder – you can see her leaning against her old desk nestled in her home back in Massachusetts.

“I want you to be my chief of staff. You ran my campaign better than I could have asked for, and I would be incredibly lucky and blessed to have you run my White House.”

Your own voice rings next, always shakier than the time previous.

“I can’t do that,” your sigh gets deeper each time, too. “You know I can’t.”

Somehow, her voice always gets more confident. It’s one of those things about her, about the way she carries herself. If she’s faking that confidence you’d never know. “I know, but I’ll always tell you that there’s a place for you at the White House as long as I have something to say about it.”

In the sea of blue and red and white confetti and streamers and all the other shit people use to celebrate when their party wins an election, the thick, bleached white of your laptop screen stares back at you more menacingly than any Republican – winning or losing - you’ve ever met.

You’d like to think you are the kind professional that is never caught off guard, the kind of woman who can expect anything. But as the email that’s derailed your plan for the next four years stares back at you, the all-caps subject line feels more like the headlights of an 18-wheeler to a deer in the middle of a highway than an excellent career opportunity.

Still, with malt liquor in hand, you allow yourself a moment to breathe. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll make all of this just a little bit easier.

A little less than five hundred miles away, Christopher Robert Evans is the drunkest he’s ever been, surrounded by the same men he’s known since his freshman year of high school, yelling nonsensically as one of his current senators becomes the president-elect of the most power country on Earth.

The only coherent thing to leave the man’s mouth the entire night is oh so wonderfully caught on a friend’s iPhone and will – quite likely – be posted to some social media site by the next morning.

The video (which you will eventually be seeing at your first meeting with the Boston native) shows him in a Harvard sweatshirt (a university he did not attend), deep blue skinny jeans, and a Patriots hat balanced just enough to show his (possibly) thinning hairline. There, between his two best friends, he screams in his played-up Boston accent at the top of his lungs:

“I’M GOING TO BE A SENATOR, BITCHES!”

But you, back in D.C., are blissfully unaware of the long road ahead of you. So, you enjoy your malt liquor, and your small bit of quiet on election night – a sign of the muted calm before the political shitstorm ahead of you.

You end up not replying to said email the next morning (see: seven hours later after falling asleep in your chair for about five hours and then browsing angry GOP Twitter accounts while cackling into a cup of the blackest coffee you’ve ever tasted for the other two), confirming you’d be willing to work for Christopher Robert Evans’ campaign to run for the current president-elect’s soon-to-be open senate seat.

Or, at least confirming you’d speak to the Evans family to talk about running the campaign of the whitest man under the age of forty you’ve ever seen. Whether or not you ended up attempting to control what is likely another dumpster-fire campaign in a series of dumpster-fire campaigns. Harris is the one that comes to mind, but drawing any parallels between that woman and this man feels borderline offensive.

Plus, her senate run was successful. And she held elected office before that.

Why did you agree to do this again?

Right, you need money. So much money. All of the money. At least enough money that you can be bought from straight under the White House, which just so happens to be the amount the Evans estate offered you in exchange for your services.

Maybe that’s why you’ve found yourself in a conference room in an expensive office building, looking up at Chris Evans as his face turns red and your heart rate picks up.

“I’m Massachusetts’s best choice!” he screams, slamming his hands onto the table – a rich brown you sort of wish you could afford to have in your own home back at the capital. Your estate sale table, even with the coat of white paint you gave it after buying it, still can’t hold a candle to the beautiful grooves and smooth top.

But this isn’t time to yearn for better interior design prospects. Now is the time to put this moderate democrat man-child in his upper-middle-class place.

“Chris, you’re the best choice for an internship for the fucking EPA,” you nearly hiss. “You’re in the intern in Vice who watched Dick Cheney make deals with those fucking oil businessmen. You’re the shiny faced bastard who watched the world burn while listening to a Walkman. Do you understand me?”

His teeth are barred like he’s about to bite at your face; luckily that man comes with an electric collar and you’ve got the controller.

“Your biggest qualification is you got a five on the AP Gov exam. You have a single living family member who has held elected office in the last five years, and he was in the House of Representatives. The House! He wasn’t even in the chamber you’re gunning to be a part of. You were an econ major with a minor in, what? Poli sci? At a mid-tier university because your family doesn’t have Kushner money to bribe your acceptance letter out of a better one. Your main job after college was working as an accountant for old fraternity because they get audited so often the IRS had to release a public statement saying they were changing their processes for such matter on college campuses. You’re so moderate you’re in the aisle playing legislative mad-libs while everyone fawns over your B+ facial hair and C- chest tattoo. You’re a cute puppy at a for-profit rescue, you’re eye candy on a political television show.

“You’re the type of person who didn’t think that Gillibrand was done for before the second debate. That’s the problem with you. I mean there are lots of problems with you, but that’s the one I’m most annoyed with right now. It’s not that you can’t understand patterns or see what’s going on around you. It’s that you were never forced to. When you walk outside in the dark, I bet you don’t look behind you, you don’t clutch your keys like claws to protect yourself. You know how much pepper spray costs? Do you know what a noisemaker does? No, you’ve never had to. You’ve never had to shield yourself from danger because the rest of the world did that for you.”

It’s then that you realize you’re both standing, your finger jabbed into the Windsor knot of his tie. Still, you don’t stop.

“You are the shell of an actual politician; you represent a safe option for right-adjacent Democrats and moderate Republicans who hate the president’s coalition and women. Especially women of color. You’re the perfect option because you stand for nothing of substance, you do nothing on your own. You’re a cover for old racist white men and moderate white women who need something to attatch their lack of political knowledge to during dinner conversations. Either you shape up, or I’m leaving this campaign and watching your inevitable fall from my office in the White House. I will drink a martini in the West Wing the day you lose, I will release a glowing endorsement of the first liberal who so much as whispers about taking your ass down. Do you understand me?”

The longest few seconds of your life pass with bated breath as you two stand there, chests rising and falling in a synced rhythm with your jaws set. It’s a stand off, neither of you willing to look away from the other’s eyes.

“Do you understand me, Evans?” you bite, getting angrier at each passing Chris says nothing. It’s not the self-reflective kind of silence, it’s the generic peanut butter when you’re too broke to afford the real stuff. It’s pasta before a marathon. It’s ads the radio station plays when they’re out of loops of the latest rape-adjacent pop hit.

It’s a filler. And it’s a bad one.

“¿Te comprende?” You’re almost yelling now, screaming in his face louder than you’ve ever screamed before. “¿Me necesitas para decirlo de nuevo?”

Another heavy pause. Chris’ voice is rough as he speaks, like ten grit sandpaper. “Yeah, I get it. I fucking get it.”

And with that, he grabs his side bag and stomps out of the conference room, grumbling something about high school Spanish and Despacito. You ignore his tantrum – unlike his father, who moves to run after him. You shoot daggers into the silver-haired ca, and he sits back down.

You push the too-sweet aftertaste of canned fruit to the back of your mouth. The thick resume paper slides out of your laptop-case-slash-important papers-folder with ease, the heavy five-hundred word essay on why you hate your job detailed in 12-font Times New Roman, pristine black letters nearly shining in the low light.

“That’s my letter of resignation,” you say, looking your boss dead in the eyes. With his jaw set the way it is, you expect to hear his teeth cracking before you could leave the boardroom.

“You know we can’t accept this,” his father says with a tone that’s much too close to a laugh. A nervous laugh, but one that makes you feel like he’s treating you as if you were a joke nonetheless. “You’re our only hope for this race.”

The second sheet of paper - or, rather, the small stack with a staple in the top right corner perfectly perpendicular to the nearest corner - hits the table next. “Then, these are my demands. Let me know by midnight tonight if you can meet them or not so I know whether or not to accept a job somewhere else.”

With that, you pick up your coat and leave.

The driver, a single mom in her mid-forties who is helping put her only son through college, laughs when you enter the backseat of her vehicle. It’s not condescending, not something you feel offended by. Rather, shame paints your face.

“Did Mr. Evans-Junior snap?” She asks as she pulls away. Her tone is knowing, too knowing. How long has she worked for the Evans anyway?

You sigh, then scream into your hands. The woman in front of you doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move a muscle as she waits for your reply. “He’s an idiot.”

The woman laughs. “That’s not what I asked, and I know you know that.”

You’re tempted to scream again, only a little louder. You don’t. “He snapped. I snapped,” you sigh again as you watch out the window. It’s late, too late for traffic to be like this. Fuck Boston. “Now I want to go home and take off my bra and wash off my make up and ger super drunk and shave all my hair off and quit my job and become a sheep herder in Iceland.”

The woman doesn’t disagree, doesn’t negate. She gives you the wonderful gift of silence until she drops you off, waving you goodbye.

“You have a good night,” she calls.

“I’ll do my best,” you shout back.

You’re alone in your apartment, dressed in the most comfortable (and expensive) pair of pajamas you own with red wine and some playlist titled an artsy version of “my life is very sad and my world is falling apart so I bought a $200 bottle of alcohol and hope I cry off my name-brand make up before I have to reemerge into the eyes of polite society,” when you get the text you’ve been dreading. It’s Chris, with his perfect capitalization and punctation and lack of emoji use. You’ve seen the way he texts the rest of the team, his family, his friends. He only pulls that shit with you.

Fuck, you think as you open the message. That kid’s really gotta loosen up. Isn’t weed legal in Massachusetts? He’s a Democrat, there’s no excuse.

He’s asking if he can come over, because of course he is. You’re just lucky the message is something closer to “I feel bad and wish to speak about it with you in person” instead of the crass “u up” you expected. Still, when the three dots at the bottom of the screen appear once again, you assume it’s going to be a picture of his junk that loads.

“Please,” is all the text says.

You acquiesce, sending him something akin to a “Fine but if you step out of line again your ass is going to be explaining why you fucked up to the cold-as-fuck pavement outside.”

You hear the knock at your door thirty minutes later (you often forget how shitty Boston traffic is), opening it to reveal the saddest white boy you’ve ever seen in your short life.

His chestnut hair is disheveled enough to indicate he’d had half of a sleepless night. This is the most casual you’ve seen him – basketball shorts with another Godforsaken Harvard hoodie with Nike sneakers – bags under his eyes completing the “sad frat boy who probably just flunked a chem exam” kind of look.

“Can I come inside?” he asks.

You sigh, trying to figure out how your life came to this. A jerk of your chin allows him entry into your small apartment, every surface littered with physical copies of presentations and a map of Massachusetts covered in stickers and sticky notes and scribbles of poll numbers from past campaigns. To Chris’ untrained eye it all looks like the homestead of a serial killer, but to anyone else on his campaign it’s his ticket to the senate. Politics is a game, a game with very public winners and losers and those who fall between; anyone who doesn’t study all of those outcomes is destined to find themselves either a) in a vacation home in the hills of Vermont drunk as hell, or b) running for president.

(You’ve considered how likely both of those possibilities are, and part of you fears he’ll do both).

There’s a heavy, awkward silence that falls over the room as you both sit down, facing each other.

“So,” you ask awkwardly. “Do you want, uh, a beer…or something?”

Chris shakes his head. “No, I’m, uh, I’m alright. Thanks.”

You sigh a little, relieved. “Good, because all I have is very expensive red wine and judging by our past interactions it is not worth having it spilled all over my white carpet.”

For a moment it’s obvious he doesn’t realize that you’re kidding, but after a few seconds of a facial expression that’s a perfect blend of concerned, rejected, and confused – he lets a little smile get past his façade.

“Yeah, uh,” he laughs. “That sounds like a bitch to clean up.”

What follows is a few minutes of incredibly awkward silence as he looks around your house once more and you take the opportunity to look at him.

It’s weird to see him in this state – it’s weird to see him as something human.

Still, you want to snap at him when he breaks the quiet.

“I want to do better,” he says, voice small. He avoids meeting your eyes, wrings his hands while he looks at the floor. “I thought about what you said and I,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. I want to do better…for you.”

You sigh, placing your red wine on the side table next to you before clasping your hands together. “Look, if you’re winning this election for me-“

“I’m not,” Chris says way too defensively. You let it slide for your own sanity.

“If you’re doing this for me, you’re going to be disappointed. Mostly because what your father wants and what I want are two very different things,” Chris opens his mouth to speak again but you hold you hand up to silence him. “Listen, I have a few rules with my clients. The first one is don’t lie to me. We can talk around this all day outside the boundaries of this home, but if you can look me in the eye on my couch while I drink my wine and tell me you’re doing this for a love of the people or whatever, I’m going to need you to leave.”

Chris gives you a single silent nod.

“But, if you want to win this shitshow…” you drink the rest of the glass in a single gulp. “Then, yeah. Let’s fucking do this.”

Chris lights up.

“But, I have some rules.”

He nods silently, allowing you to continue.

You count off on your fingers. “Don’t lie to me. When I ask a question, answer it. If I don’t ask a question, answer it anyway. I want to know everything, got it?”

Chris nods.

“The only time I don’t want you to speak is when I tell you to shut the fuck up. You got that, too?”

Chris nods again.

“Good, then I have a sneaking suspicion this will work out just fine.”

#chris evans x reader #lukis writes stuff #senator evans #chris evans smut #chris evans imagine

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tiesandtea · 4 years

Text

From School Bus To Tour Bus

Smash Hits, 31 July – 13 August 1996. Photo originally posted by @fuckyeahneilcodling-blog (x).

Ever imagined what it would be like to just leave school and become an international pop star? To travel the world in five-star style and score hit after hit with one of the most celebrated band of the 90s? Well, that's what happened to Suede's Richard Oakes and Neil Codling. One day, they were students; the next, top international celebs...

What would you be doing now if you weren't in Suede? Richard: I dread to think. Neil: I've got a degree to fall back on. I wouldn't advise people to leave in the middle of their exams. Richard: I would advise it, obviously.

Top Coakes banter. Also their only joint magazine interview to date as far as I know, aside from the one that was filmed for Disc 2 of Mike Christie’s documentary. Full interview under the cut. Transcript source.

It happened like this. In 1993, Brett, Bernard, Mat and Simon shot to fame as a four-piece. Then they lost guitarist Bernard Butler (who would go on to have hits with singer David McAlmont) in an acrimonious split in 1994, having finished their second album. The three remaining members advertised in newspapers for a new guitarist and plucked unknown 17 year-old Richard Oakes straight out of school as a replacement. Then, at the end of 1995, they added keyboardist/ singer Neil Codling (21, and also a student) to the line-up.

Here, Richard and Neil explain their incredible rise to fame...

How did you both end up in Suede? Richard: I auditioned after seeing an ad in the paper and joined just after Bernard left. We were days away from a UK tour, and within 30 seconds of me joining, it was in the newspapers. Neil: I signed up last November. Basically, I knew them through Simon, who's my cousin. They wanted a keyboard player who could sing.

What were you doing before that? Richard: I was in the middle of my A-Levels and dropped out. Neil: You rock'n'roll rebel! Erm, I was leaving university and about to make tea for a television company that makes documentaries about Tutankhamen and African squirrels... that kind of nonsense.

How did your parents and friends react? Richard: Great, it was such a golden opportunity. I'd have been stupid to turn it down and they knew that. Neil: My parents still don't know. They think I'm playing piano in a bar on a ferry that goes backwards to Oostende!

Is being a group what you've always wanted? Richard: Yeah. All any of us ever wanted was to have a career in music. Neil: I quite fancied being a government-sponsored layabout!

How hard has it been adjusting to the life of a pop star? Richard: It took a while to take used to things like interviews. Neil: Yeah, this is my first ever interview - I'm sweating!

Were you Suede fans when you joined? Richard: They weren't my favourites, but I really liked them. I saw them live in 1993 - it was my first ever gig. A year later, I was in the group. Weird! Neil: I change like the wind - I like different things each week.

Have you got used to being stars yet? Richard: No, it's very new. Neil: I've only done three gigs - the first was a fan club gig in front of 800 people, the last one was 40.000!

Have you been able to write songs for the band? Richard: Well, the writing's shared on the new album. Neil: It's good - we're all in this album, hammer and tongs. I play the hammer and Richard plays the tongs!

How's the cash as band juniors? Neil: It's OK. You get to come back from abroad with loads of foreign change in your pocket. Richard: My wallet was stolen last week. Neil: You left it on the tour bus! Richard: No, it was stolen. It wasn't my fault. There were at least a couple of five peseta pieces in there.

Is there anything about being in a band that you don't like? Neil: Of course there is, but you put up with them because they get you the important bits, like being admired by thousand of screaming girls! Richard: The things that annoy you are things you can't complain about, like getting up early.

Do you like being recognised? Richard: Yeah, in London people tend to stare and wonder 'Is that him?' Whereas Neil can't go on the tube anymore, people just bite bits out of him. It really annoys me when people complain me about that, though. Neil: Unless it's like a stalker with a machete.

What's been your strangest experience? Richard: I woke up and found a dead rat in my bed one morning. Neil: That was awful! Richard: Yeah, and I didn't even know its name. I said, 'Go home, I don't love you!' A one-night stand with a dirty rat...

#richard oakes #neil codling #suede #smash hits #smash hits july august 1996 #coming up era #coming up month #original Codtent #mine*

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ahs-source · 4 years

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Happy Friday! Thank you to those who submitted these fantastic works for this week’s Fanfiction Friday. Let’s celebrate these wonderful works, please check them out and share them if you liked them to spread the love!

Apocalypse Won. (WIP) by tenebrisaeternam (AO3) / @noxaeternum (Tumblr) Relationships: Michael Langdon x Cordelia Goode | Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Apocalypse, semi slow burn?, almost like a Hades and Persephone au but not quite?, there will be smut, Eventual Smut, there's some science in this that may not be accurate, don't hate me for that | Last Updated 2020-02-22 (5/? Chapters) | 14008 words | Canon Divergent

In the showdown at Outpost Three, Michael is victorious and takes the only witch left alive back to the Sanctuary with him.

I’ll Come Back For You (Completed) by drowning_ophelia (AO3) Relationships: Michael Langdon x Reader | Tags: Reader-Insert, Antichrist, Original Fiction, Michael deserved better | Completed (5/5 Chapters) | 15075 words | Canon Divergent

Not even your wildest imagination, your impossible dreamscapes, could have prepared you for finding your savior in the man who was none other but the spawn of Satan. Michael Langdon

is there no way out of the mind? (WIP) by burnthevvitch (AO3) / @burn-thevvitch (Tumblr) Relationships: Michael Langdon x Mallory | Tags: Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Stalking, Obsessive Behavior, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Sexual Content, Mild Gore, Attempted Murder, Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, Dubious Consent, Past Abuse, Violence, Killing, Psychological Trauma, Character Death, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Movie and TV References, Bad Ending, Bittersweet Ending, sort of??, last but not least, A little bit of projection, Slow Burn, Sorry Not Sorry | Last Updated 2020-03-02 (5/? Chapters) | 12902 words | AU / Modern Day

The only thing Michael will ever have is his own isolation⎯ the one thing that will never leave him. Until the day, he saw her.

Fix You Series (Completed / Part of Series) by Lobo_Steele (AO3) / @crossdressingpirate (Tumblr) Relationships: Michael Langdon x Mallory | Tags: Michael Langdon/Mallory, Michael Langdon, Mallory (American Horror Story), Bad BDSM Etiquette, Light Dom/sub, Subdrop, Aftercare, Ambiguous Slash, Hand Jobs, Come Eating, Frottage, Non-Canon Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Angst, Alternate Universe - Time Travel | Completed (7 works) | 16125 words | AU / Post Canon Divergent / Time Travel

“You have bruises.” Mallory looks at Michael in confusion. The shape is familiar. “Are those fingers? Michael, did someone choke you?”

He shrugs. “They’re not that bad.”

Mallory notes his evasion. She wonders what he might have done to deserve them. She loses a few minutes admiring the dark smudges.

How hard did they squeeze to coax such a shade from his tanned skin? Did it hurt?

Did he like it?

Keep the Nightlight On (Completed) by jotunblood (AO3) / @cryptid-coalition (Tumblr) Relationships: Michael Langdon x Mr. Gallant | Tags: Nightmares, Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Canon-Typical Violence, Ghosts, Knives, Blood Kink, Kissing, Sleep Deprivation, Psychological Horror | Completed (1/1 Chapters) | 12768 words | Canon Divergent

Outpost 3 was haunted, both by what’d died there and what wouldn’t.

Obsidian & Angelite (Completed) by zeciex (AO3) Relationships: Michael Langdon x Reader, Michael Langdon x Original Female Character | Tags: Character Study, Magic, Evil Power Couple, Power Dynamics, Dark Character | Completed (18/18 Chapters) | 95895 words | AU / Canon Divergent

Oya has spent centuries bound to one single plot of land when one day a stranger with a voice of velvet and presence that can only be described as dark and outmost interesting, comes with an offer she can't refuse and suddenly her entire world changes, both for better and worse.

But what does Langdon need of her? And how can she use him to get what she want? Maybe they're bound by something bigger than fate.

Sunspots (Completed / Part of Series) by ellebelle9 (AO3) Relationships: Michael Langdon x Mallory | Tags: Alternate Universe, Michael trains with the coven AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, might get smutty???, slight animal horror, michael langdon is an actual feline who leaves terrible gifts, dumb soft teenagers in love, kinda slow burn, Canon-Typical Violence, oops it got smutty, millory, major character death followed by major character resurrection, this will have a happy ending if it kills me, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, big hades & persephone vibes, Everything Hurts and I'm Dying, side foxxay, everything was beautiful and nothing hurt | Completed / Part of Series (Part 1 of the Sunspots AU series - 29/29 Chapters) | 55433 words | Canon Divergent

The tall, blonde boy stepped forward and held out a hand for her to shake. He had a cordial smile and eyes that were shockingly blue.

“Michael Langdon,” he offered politely. Something deep in Mallory’s chest fluttered and screamed to back away.

She did not want to touch him, she felt as if the earth might end if she did.

(Alternate Universe where the warlocks agree to send Michael to Robichaux to train under Cordelia. Michael meets Mallory and is set on a different path.)

Take me Home; (through fields of Deceivers) (Completed / Part of Series) by ASOUEfan (AO3) Relationships: Wilhemina Venable x Reader, Wilhemina Venable x Original Female Character | Tags: Dom!Venable, sub!Reader, Back Pain, pain control, Psychological Trauma, Angst and Feels, Grief/Mourning, Eventual Happy Ending, Situational Humiliation, Light BDSM, Heavy Angst, So much angst, Vaginal Fingering, Orgasm Denial, Stripping, Abuse of Authority, Non-Consensual Touching, Sort Of, Langdon coerces her lets be honest, Kneeling, a little bit of choking, A lot more choking, Non-Graphic Violence, Shooting Guns, Angst with a Happy Ending, With A Twist | Completed / Part of Series (Part 3 of the A Saga of Solace and Sacrifice series - 12/12 Chapters) | 51576 words | Canon Divergent

Sequel to Say it Again. (This is the same reader as Say it Again. So dubbed Doctor!Reader.)

6 Months after the events of Say it Again, the Reader has managed to ease Wilhemina Venable from her pain medication, but in doing so takes the mantle of not only managing Miss Venables physical pain, but her psychological grief. For in discovering Miss Venables loss she can make sense of her behaviour and hopefully, help her through it.

But the arrival of Michael Langdon at Outpost 3 does nothing except worsen the situation; taking away Miss Venable's position as head of the Outpost, humiliating her during her Co-operating, and dropping a terrible lie that will lead Wilhemina down a dark path of revenge.

If he is lying, at all...

when I wake up (let me breathe) (Completed) by catbrains (AO3) / @gallabstract (Tumblr) Relationships: Michael Langdon x Duncan Shepherd | Tags: Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, Self-Esteem Issues, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Dom/sub, Sub Duncan, Dom Michael, Violence, Asphyxiation, takes place after house of cards 6x5, duncan has a lot of issues, michael is perhaps not the best, this timeline doesn’t really make any sense at all I know | Completed (1/1 Chapters) | 7087 words | AU / Canon Divergent

After learning the truth about his own identity, Duncan Shepherd flees to a bar to drown his sorrows and pick up a pretty face. He certainly finds one in Michael Langdon, but he finds a lot more, too.

would you like to stay like this forever? (Completed) by SophieGraceJ (AO3) Relationships: Michael Langdon x Mallory | Tags: millory, midsommar au sort of, just the aspects of harga and the fiddler, and of course the may queen, and the dance, Death and the Maiden, because i'm obsessed with that trope, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Culture, May Day celebration, Swedish culture, Hårgalåten, zadison, foxxay - Freeform | Completed (1/1 Chapters) | 2230 words | AU / Midsommar Inspired

The witches celebrate the Swedish holiday of May day, partaking in the May Queen dance as a lesson on darkness and light and the harmony of them both. Mallory meets a man she knows as the fiddler in the Harga folktale, and the evil they were warned about. She realizes she is more susceptible to temptation than she thought.

Thank you to those who sent in these works! Please continue sending submissions to ahs-source.tumblr.com/submit or through the Tumblr mobile app to continue celebrating the writers in the community!

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caffeinated-yearning · 4 years

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Oh perhaps I got a wee bit carried away. Here’s some follow-up to the one that byte posted a bit ago, following Oliver’s side of things since he’s the Me One. Featuring a little of Byte and a little of the byte-verse Doctor Octavius. Tagging @werewolfpine because it’s a continuation of his fit and features a little of his S/I at the end (and also because I did do a little reformatting since the doc oop)

Word Count: ~2.2 k Warnings: violence, angsty narrative tone, probably difficult to read because it’s very stream of consciousness

- but he swung a metal bar at Byte’s head- “Ollie! Why are you doing this? Please, talk to me!”-

Doc Ock’s tentacles, in constant motion, seemed to slow behind him at this new information. Rippled and writhed with the horror of it. “...Nate?”

Oliver glared at this person that wore the costume of New York’s beloved vigilante; glowered at this person that wore Nathan’s face in the New York night; felt downright malevolent at having guessed this twist a hundred times prior and every time having filed it away as ludicrous because there was simply no way that fate would have woven Oliver into Nathan’s foe. He was furious, because he should have known it even if it had all seemed just a little too poetic for the universe to do. He didn’t want it to be possible, which was exactly why he had discredited each piece of evidence and chosen to believe the thin and frail excuses he’d been handed.

“Listen,” Spider-Byte raised his hands to his chest- pressing them to his heart only leaves an opening, “I can explain. I… I know what you’re thinking.” Writhing, agony-stricken, claws and tentacles that lashed with unspent energy away from him. “Or, I guess I don’t, I never do, but… Just-.”

A hideous rattling crunching ripping and tearing as Doc Ock pulled scaffold apart. Bitter and bitter and bitterer still. “Nathan..?” And how dare the vigilante be wearing the face of his best friend and how dare he tell Oliver that he was in the wrong and how dare he be right when Oliver had always had to be the right one before?!

How the HELL DARE HE?

“wAIT! Just-just listen to me!” And Nathan ran at Doc Ock; if Ock had his glasses still, perhaps he would see the desperation in that so-human face. A metal bar swung at Nathan’s head- get him away, get us away, get me away,- and Nathan caught it and and Nathan has had this sort of strength for who knows how long at this point. “Ollie! Why are you doing this? Please, talk to me!”

Oliver hated that perhaps worst of all; that Nate was Nathan was Spider-Byte, that he wanted to talk, that he called him by that stupid diminutive nick-name that Oliver loved because Ollie was a softer version of himself, a version that he didn’t let himself be, because he’d been taught for so long that softness was weakness. That Oliver was going to be better than most, and so he didn’t have time to be soft. Hated that Nathan had kept being Oliver’s friend despite every effort of Doc Ock to destroy Spider-Byte. He hated every blasted domino in the whole tower of his life that now came crashing down around him, and every little bread-crumb that now made perfect sense.

Oliver swiped at his eyes to clear the salt and water/dropped the metal beam still clasped in Byte’s arms/lashed out to knock Nathan off his feet in the span of three seconds. Turned tail and ran, down the streets, searching for the start of where his internal map made sense and where he could start to make his way back to his dungeon-like domain.

And tomorrow, Byte-who-is-Nathan will still be in class like he has been every other time that someone was causing a problem and the Spider had to step in, and Nathan has known who I am for months, and he still tries to save me.

“I think I’ve made a grave mistake.”

Doctor Octavius looked up after a moment’s pause. “Well, do you care to elaborate?”

“I… I think I’ve lost one of my dwindling few friends.”

“Well, that does sound grave.” Uncle Otto pushed his computer aside, turning to his student and nephew with one part easygoing authority figure and two parts sincerity. “From what little I’ve heard from you, you really don’t have many friends to spare, even at the best of times.”

“No.” He grit his teeth, held his breath, pressed his nails into his palms with the faint hope that they might break the skin and let him focus on something else. They didn’t, of course, because he had too strong an instinct against pain. Seconds that always seemed to pass too quickly while he struggled to say anything; “I just found out… That one of the people I considered a friend… Probably hasn’t thought of me as anything more than an enemy.” He shook his head; that wasn’t quite right. Nathan wasn’t… He wasn’t like that. “Or maybe I just… Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I made an enemy of my friend. I really am insufferable.”

“Have you spoken to this friend about this yet?”

“Not… As such.” He tried to forget that Oliver/Doc Ock/both of them/all of him had reacted so violently when the Spider had taken off its mask and revealed that the enemy of Doc Ock was the closest friend of Oliver, that both halves were the same thing, that in a world of horrible coincidences this was the worst of them all.

“Listen,” Nathan raised his hands to his chest, “I can explain. I…I know what you’re thinking. Or, I guess I don’t, I never do, but…Just–”

Tried to forget that he had tried to blot it out that he had tried to get rid of it that he had tried to make it go away.

Shook like a leaf in a tempest against the emotions that he had been crushing away for years and years that burst forth at the memory- but [Oliver/Doc Ock/he/they/all] swung a metal bar at [Spider-Byte/Nathan/his sworn enemy/his closest friend]’s head- “Ollie! Why are you doing this? Please, talk to me!”-

Otto nodded, eyes closed behind his tinted glasses. “Perhaps you ought to start with that, then.” He stopped, then added; “or rather, perhaps you should give it a little more time to settle before you do that. You don’t seem to have recovered altogether from the shock.”

Oliver gave a subtle tilt of his head. A half-nod that was all he could muster with his voice threatening to crack like glass in his throat and his body barely responding to any input from the central processor/brain. His mouth struck against incoherent shapes of half-words and syllables and desperate prayers to gods he did not believe in, and was entirely silent.

“Pull that chair over and set your backpack down. There’s no reason for you to stay standing this whole time. You don’t look like you’re in any state to leave, in any event.” It was only by a very slim recollection of sensibilities that Oliver remembered not to let his backpack fall from his shoulders with a heavy thud that even textbooks would not explain. To take it off, set it down. To turn to the chair and pull it over and set it up right and sit in it and make sure the desk was clear and set his glasses aside and then to set about the difficult task of crying in front of someone that was his superior, according to the law of school, according to the law of familial structure. Ugly, a little voice that sounded like a spider or a seraph whispered in the dark of his murky mind. How ugly it is, to cry. You are… weak and ugly, to cry. And it was, in part, calculated, like all things are- this to make him cry harder so that everything would be done with as soon as possible. It was, in part, that he didn’t have any more control over the voice that seemed to be him and not-him than he had over the actions of the people of New York, who thought that he was purely evil, who thought the world of his friend who he thought the world of and had tried to harm. “Wh-what if my-- s-sins are a-already too-o much to bear-?” he asked, in as low a voice as he could, despite the tears and the snot that were going to demand his jacket be washed tonight to prevent anyone seeing that and extrapolating anything with respect to the possibility of Oliver the iron-hearted having cried. “What if I- a-am conde-emned before I ever s-speak?”

“Then the worst case scenario is that you’ve lost a friend. And think how many more people there are; you’ll find other friends. They won’t be the same, but sometimes it can’t be helped. Sometimes you just have to accept that it’ll hurt for a long time, and that there was nothing you could do to change what already happened.” Otto put a hand on Oliver’s shoulder, despite the flinch that he felt even in the midst of that much of what was certainly a humiliating experience already. “But then, that’s the worst case scenario. The best case; want to guess what that will be?”

“I want to be-e a miserable herm-mit who lives in a grotto and n-ever sees the sun.”

“Then I’ll just tell you, since you’re being a miserable little hermit right now. The best case scenario is that it was all a misunderstanding-.”

“Due to circumstance-es that I won’t g-o into, that’s not a po-osibility.”

“-Or else it will be worked out, like a couple of adults and friends ought to do. After the dust has settled, and you can talk about it without fits of hysterics.” The weight of Otto’s palm, the heat of it, the fact that Otto didn’t try to move or change the sensation at all, so that Oliver could focus on that, keep his attention on that; pull himself out of the bog by that little lifeline that had been extended. “The best case scenario is that everything goes back to normal, or as close as it can get, and your friendship doesn’t change.”

“You’re going to tell me that the most probable thing is… Something in between.”

“That your friendship is significantly changed, and that you’ll have to both work on fixing it, or else let it fall apart.”

“Mm.” Oliver rolled his head to one side, his whole face salt-stained and puffy with the awful fact of having cried so much in so short a time. “Are you sure I can’t just change my name and live in a cave?”

“You could, but I’d hate to see my nephew go.” Otto lifted his hand, pulled it back toward himself. “So what did happen between you and Nathan?”

Oliver flinched.

“Really, you two sit side-by-side every day and you expect me to not notice when you choose to sit on the opposite side of the classroom?” Doctor Octavius tsk-ed twice. “You ought to realize that I do have eyes by now, even if I happen to wear these glasses often.”

| One text message from Ollie Ollie Oxen Free |

Nathan looked at the phone blankly. A week and a half of this... of avoiding each other in every conceivable way. He had just gotten to his apartment not ten minutes ago. A week and a half of seeing, occasionally, that bubble (Ollie is typing…) and watching it vanish without anything to show for it. A week and a half of Nathan being that bubble (Nathan is typing…) with nothing to show for it, until the time between Oliver’s little attempts at speaking became days apart, and Nathan’s also slowed, and he assumed that was the end of it.

And now there was an entire text message (!) from Oliver.

What the hell did he want?

‘Have you heard of the man who spent his whole life mining through a mountain range to make sure medical care would be accessible for his village? The trip around the mountains to get a doctor from the next town over took too long and as a result his wife died. In his grief, he cut a path through, so that no one else would have to die due to the length of the path that he had had to travel. I can’t remember his name, but I think that was pretty noble of him. How strange it must be, to have death be the motive for such a drastic change in the physical world? He literally moved mountains.’

Nathan read, and re-read, and tried to figure out just what the fuck this was supposed to mean, because he was tired after a long day of classes, and he still had homework, and there was a constant threat that someone, somewhere, would decide that breaking half the city was a fine way to spend a Wednesday afternoon.

But what the fuck was that supposed to mean? Obviously it meant something, because Oliver always hid his stupid feelings under layers of allegory and associative story-telling instead of being open and honest (or perhaps that was him being as open and honest as he knew how, and if that was the case he needed to learn that sometimes saying what you mean is better than metaphors).

‘I hadn’t heard of that.’ Nathan really tried to say something more, but found that no words came. Well. At least this was almost a dialogue.

‘Do you think Doc Ock will show up in the near future? He’s been quiet for a while I think.’

And if Nathan had never heard a warning before he’d still have understood that this was one.

Spider-Byte stepped out of the window, swinging through the city without a clue as to where he had to go, but knowing he had to go somewhere soon.

#spiderbyte #byteverse #Friend Tag: Byte #[[ Human they Say | Oliver Hoshino ]]#no idea how to tag this #caffeinated writing

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