#i want to give him a podium and a PowerPoint presentation to fill up with random shit he knows and watch him go crazy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

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Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 15

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 15 - Stage

Since it wasn't time for the audience to enter the venue yet, the auditorium, which could accommodate two thousand people, was only sparsely occupied, and the person in charge of the event was still shouting out instructions about the final arrangement of the rostrum. After entering from the staff passage, Lin Yan pulled A-Yan and found their seat in the middle of the fourth row. Indeed, as Weiwei said, he had a good view of the stage, only sitting behind the pink-labelled school officials and special guests.

Unexpectedly, there was already a boy sitting next to Lin Yan's seat. "I'm sorry, can we squeeze by." Lin Yan said. When the boy looked up, it turned out to be the guy playing on the PSP he saw in the front hall. He had a long face, like a grasshopper, with acne covering the young appearance. After having his game was interrupted, his mouth pinched into an impatient expression and leaned back slightly to give the little Daoist priest and Lin Yan room to pass.

He probably also came in through the back door. I saw him queuing at the door just now, Lin Yan thought. To make A-Yan feel more comfortable, he left the left seat closest to the PSP guy open for Xiao Yu, sat in the middle, and opened the event pamphlet to start reading. The booklet was well-made and had some weight in his hand. Lin Yan could get a general idea of the event by skimming through the pages. This lecture focused on the identification of cultural relics from the Chenghua period of the Ming Dynasty. The colour pages were printed with images of porcelain, jade, calligraphy, and paintings. After the portion of interactive activities, there was no more detail on the event. Lin Yan handed the book to the empty seat on his left and asked softly, "Do you recognize anything?"

The PSP guy sitting next to him turned his head and looked at Lin Yan puzzledly. Lin Yan was a little embarrassed, took the pamphlet back, and said nonchalantly, "I wasn't talking to you."

PSP guy gave him an irritated glance.

The rostrum had been set up, and the audience filed in through the side doors on the sides of the auditorium, and noise flooded into the lecture hall. Xiao Yu didn't seem to like crowded places. He tore Lin Yan's hand from the pamphlet and gripped it in his hand. Lin Yan was a little flustered. From the perspective of others, his left hand was hanging stiffly in the air. He tried to twist his hand away a few times but to no avail. He compromised and rested their hands on the armrest.

After the audience was seated, Professor Chen, with his file folder aura, walked out onstage. His black suit and red striped tie made him look very refined. The professor sat down at the podium, cleared his throat after fiddling with the microphone and notebook, and then the host appeared on the stage. The auditorium darkened, leaving only the background Powerpoint and the spotlight on the host.

"The lecture has officially started. Today we are honoured to invite an expert in cultural relic identification. Professor Chen, an identification researcher from the Palace Museum, will give you a lecture on the appreciation and collection of antiques from the Chenghua period. . ." the host read.

The auditorium was dark, the audience was very polite, and even though the lecture hall was filled with 2,000 people, it was completely silent. Lin Yan turned his head to the left and almost jumped up in fright. There was a person sitting in the empty seat. He looked out of place among the crowd of well-dressed students. His long hair blocked most of his face, which was partially visible from Lin Yan's point of view. With a straightened nose and pale skin, his thin lips were pressed together tightly, staring at the podium intently. In the blue light and shadows from the stage, the large bloodstains on his clothes were particularly strange. Lin Yan's hands unconsciously shook. Xiao Yu turned his head to look at him. A pair of fierce black pupils appeared behind his black hair, and his hand squeezed harder as if he thought Lin Yan was going to run away.

He wasn't sure if the ghost's image was frozen from the time of his death. Lin Yan tried to calm his heartbeat. While wondering if he could change his clothes, he thought it would be a good idea if he could freshen up and change so as not to scare him to death by showing up in the middle of the night. Lin Yan touched Ah Yan, nodded his head in Xiao Yu's direction, and whispered, "Can you see him?"

A-Yan suspiciously shook his head.

Lin Yan heaved a sigh of relief. He really didn't want to be compared to the unlucky actor in "Coming Soon" sitting next to a ghost in the movie theatre.

"In the first part of the lecture, we asked Professor Chen to explain the basic knowledge and rules of antique identification with a few pieces of his own collection as examples. The second part is for interaction. We will invite ten students to come to the stage for a small activity. Whoever wins the activity can ask Professor Chen to engrave a seal as a souvenir. . ."

There was a commotion in the audience. Lin Yan was a little puzzled. He turned his head and asked A-Yan what was so strange about it. "This--this teacher's seal cutting, books, and calligraphy are very famous, and it's not cheap to get him to engrave something," A-Yan said softly.

The host closed the script and continued: ". . . and you can ask any questions you have after the event. Professor Chen will be happy to answer your various questions about the field, career orientation or professional-related questions."

Lin Yan frowned. This sounded tempting. It would take longer to ask Xiao Yu about things. Maybe he had to play psychological warfare. . . Lin Yan thought.

After the applause, the host left the stage, the spotlight went out, and only the Powerpoint on the backdrop was left on, dowsing the entire venue with blue shining light. Professor File Folder took a sip of water and said a few simple opening remarks before beginning his lecture. The first photo released was a small blue and white crane with an elaborate pattern on it. It was an ordinary shape, but the colour was elegant and sophisticated, the material texture was fine and the enamel was thick. It was in line with the solemn and simple characteristics of the Chenghua period.

"During the Ming Dynasty's Chenghua period, porcelain pieces were minimalistic and light, and it was typically tooth-white or blood-red when seen in the light. It was a milky-cream finish, lustrous and clean. The piece's glaze was also very precise, very skilled application and accentuating the colour. In terms of colour, the decorative lines are slender, and the double-line outline filling method is used to make the filling colour appear lighter. It's worth mentioning that in this period, the Doucai technique was an innovation with its exquisite and delicate application of colour. . ."

When Professor File Folder moved on, a girl wearing a light green phoenix skirt flashed into view backstage. In the vermilion lacquer tray in his hand were a pair of bamboo-leaf bowls. They were decorated with a sky-blue background covered in green bamboo leaves. Lin Yan thought it was a little disdainful. These things were available on the market; the pair would only cost 50,000 yuan, which was much cheaper than the pieces the professor was presenting.

After finishing the discussion on the porcelain, the powerpoint slide changed to a daffodil hairpin by the famous engraver Lu Zigang. Even though it was only a picture, it was clear to see that the carving was exquisite, the details so fine they were as thin as a hair. Professor File Folder began to explain the appreciation of jade illustrated faintly in the photo, and the girl from backstage came out with one. She held the white jade seed high up in her hand. The white jade was crystal clear in the light of the small spotlight, and its carving is also finely detailed. The girl turned the tray to reveal the skin on its back. Lin Yan frowned when she saw it.

"Can anyone evaluate this carving?" File Folder asked melancholically.

No one answered, and the audience stayed silent. Lin Yan murmured, "It's a duplicate." He thought that his voice was low enough, but the auditorium was too quiet, so his voice reached the podium with ease.

The professor's eyes lit up and he called out to him, "Go on."

Lin Yan's face flushed red. He hesitated for a while, stood up reluctantly, and motioned to it: "There is no doubt that the quality of jade is a good seed material, but in the process of refining it, in order to ensure it would sell at a good price, the merchant re-skinned the jade. A layer of fake autumn pear skin does not affect the price, nor does it make it a fake, it just looks awkward."

File Folder nodded approvingly. When Lin Yan sat down, his heart was still thumping. He didn't like speaking in public. Even if this were a normal lecture, there were still 2000 people in the room. If he said something wrong, it will be embarrassing so Lin Yan was anxious.

"Your--Your vision is really good." The little Daoist said softly: "I doubt I'm the only one who thinks so."

The low and soft voice made Lin Yan's heart relax. Just as he was going to brush off the compliment, a hand clamped over his shoulder, and Lin Yan fell directly on Xiao Yu's lap with a hard tug. An icy breath brushed over him. A chilled hand pinched his chin, thumb lightly stroked his cheeks, long hair hanging down and tickling his neck. Lin Yan tried to push off Xiao Yu's knees to prop himself up, but Xiao Yu refused, and the two of them sat in a stalemate in the dark.

Lin Yan forgot that he was the only one who could see Xiao Yu. This scene must be extremely weird in the eyes of others. The boy who had just answered the professor's question practically fell into the empty seat next to him, looking like he could not get up no matter how hard he tried. . .

"What's wrong with you?" The PSP man rolled his eyes at Lin Yan and shifted away in disgust.

Lin Yan struggled to sit upright. He apologized to the PSP guy embarrassingly and continued to listen to the lecture focusing on the back of the seat in front of him. Only he knew what was actually happening. A ghost, a person who no one can see, was holding his waist unscrupulously, slowly kissing up his neck. The tip of his cold nose brushed the side of his face, around his ears, and let out a low breath: "Hah. . ."

Lin Yan developed a layer of goosebumps, his arm stiffly supported on the back of the chair, his expression closed off. He licked his earlobe, a wet, soft and waxy feeling. His whole body shook, and the tip of his tongue licked around the mouth of his ear. Licking around, even poking his tongue in occasionally, the extremely ambiguous voice seemed to be infinitely louder in his ear. Lin Yan reached under his bangs to prop up his forehead with his hand and covered his eyes. He didn't have the dignity left to face anyone; he could only grit his teeth and try to control his breathing.

He couldn't hear what Professor File Folder was saying and suddenly his vision was blocked. Xiao Yu leaned in front of him, with his hands on the armrests on both sides of Lin Yan. His tongue licked back and forth on his lips. Itching, his heart twitched. He was angry, anxious and uncomfortable. Lin Yan desperately tried to recite the values of Marxism as a distraction; capitalism is characterized by squeezing surplus value. . . surplus value. . . squeeze out socialist surplus value. . . the doctrine will squeeze out surplus value. . . everything is all messed up. . . This was the worst possible time to be teased by the ghost, so what should he do. . . Lin Yan's eyes filled with tears. He looked at Xiao Yu pleadingly, pinching his arm gently and shaking his head.

The hand that had almost reached the top of his thigh finally retracted. Xiao Yu leaned over and kissed Lin Yan's lips before he sat back on the seat.

Thank god it's over, Lin Yan thought sullenly.

"Next we move on to the second portion of the lecture. Ten students will be invited to the stage to participate in a mini-game of antique identification. We have prepared ten collections for you to authenticate. The person with the most correct answers can specify to Professor Chen what they want specially engraved." The host had changed to a girl in a red jacket skirt, she spoke sweetly into the microphone.

Lin Yan was still in a state of adrenaline surge and hadn't recovered.

"The student who spoke just now, Professor Chen invites you to come up."

There was silence in the auditorium. Lin Yan raised his head and looked at the host blankly, wondering why he didn't continue? A-Yan pushed Lin Yan and whispered, "They--They're calling you."

Lin Yan stood up hesitantly, pointed to himself, and asked the girl in the red jacket skirt, "Me?"

There was a burst of laughter in the audience. The host was afraid of being rude. She held the mic and joked: "This classmate must have been asleep."

The temperature of Lin Yan's face that had finally cooled off soared again. He was terrible at playing games in public. A single mistake would make him nervous. Lin Yan cautiously pushed off the back of the chair and headed up. He couldn't help but looked back and give Xiao Yu a fierce look. The ghost calmly followed him through the rows of people blocking the way. He walked with a unique posture. Even though he was barefoot and covered with bloodstains, he doesn't look decrepit. He stood tall with his back straight, unlike the current students around him with slumped shoulders thanks to their education system.

Lin Yan walked onto the stage, shifting his posture to avoid having to turn and face the crowd.

The purple curtain behind the podium opened, exposing the wide space behind. Under the warm stage lights, there were ten antique square tables lined up with grand tutor chairs, and an elegant mahogany brocade box was placed on a raised platform in front of them. The other nine people had already stood at the tables to the right, and the closest person Lin Yan was the PSP guy.

The host raised his hand to signal Lin Yan to join them: "In order to be more in line with today's discussion, these ten students will go backstage to change into some costumes. Professor Chen and the audience are invited to take a break while they get changed and return soon."

Lin Yan glanced out into the audience and saw that the stage lights were blinding. The three rows of school officials and guests near the front of the stage were sitting in plain sight. Beyond that was a crowd of people that he couldn't make out because of the lights. This was only one floor. Lin Yan's legs felt like noodles when he looked up, and the crowd on the second floor remaining silent. Four large cameras with small red lights were facing him. Lin Yan felt that his whole body was covered in crawling ants. His chest was being crushed by a large stone, and his lungs were being squished until they couldn't get any air into them.

If he could, he wanted to escape and drive away immediately. After taking a few deep breaths, Lin Yan clenched his fists and followed the team backstage behind the curtain.

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost #yaoi novel #chinese bl #chinese novel #english translation #danmei #yaoi

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samingtonwilson · 4 years

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Apartment 8C - Chapter 3

Getting Back in the Game

SERIES MASTERLIST // PREVIOUS PART

Summary: college au. you and bucky are the closest of friends, the most functional of roommates, and… exes. but just because it didn’t work out romantically doesn’t mean he has to move out! it’s not like he’s so deeply in love that he can barely breathe. totally not in love. at all. not even a little. maybe.

Pairing: bucky x reader

Warnings: language, lil bit angsty

A/N: this isn’t the best thing i’ve ever written by a long shot but i promised i’d upload it soon and i’m sorry it’s been so long since the last chapter.

He stumbles over his own feet. The toe of his sneaker smashes into the first stair. He very nearly drops the floral thermos he's filled with coffee.

All because of the smile you offer him as he walks through the door. Warm in the chilly lecture hall, bright but surrounded by dusty seats with fraying upholstery.

You pay no attention to what Wanda says— a nod every few seconds, a smile when words sound vaguely positive. She gesticulates animatedly, the water in her glass bottle resembles a cyclone held between electric green nails, and you laugh when she does.

Your eyes follow Bucky as he climbs the steps, so he walks slowly. Carefully. With attempted grace. He thinks he might hear the slither of a snail as it overtakes him.

Grinning at his almost calculated approach, you nod to his hand once Wanda finishes her story. “S’a nice thermos you’ve got there.”

“Very pretty,” Wanda, taking a peach slice from the Ziploc bag you hold, agrees. As she gives Bucky a thorough once-over, she presses a finger to her lips in supposed thought. “Extremely contradictory aesthetic, though.”

You hum. You lean back when he stands beside you in the aisle, your own gaze tracing the length of him. There’s humor and exhaustion in your eyes, a joke and hours of lost sleep in a light pink tint. “I don’t know. I like the Greaser look with a touch of innocent Sandra Dee.”

The roll of his eyes is long-suffering. “I couldn’t get on the subway with any of my mugs. I made that mistake once and won’t make it again.”

Wanda looks between the two of you as you laugh and Bucky scowls, her dark brows furrowed. “What? Did you spill or something?”

Still laughing despite a soft wince, you take hold of Bucky’s hand when he pinches your side in retaliation. You struggle as he tries to break from your grasp. “We were on the Q train and some guy threw his cigarette butt—” you’re cut off by your loud squeak when Bucky manages to slip his hand out of yours and pinches your side again. He then takes your bag of peaches for himself. “Bucky!”

He takes a slice out in a pointed fashion, his bite purposefully obnoxious. Mouth full, he continues for you. “He threw his cigarette butt into my coffee.”

Giggling at the way Bucky holds the bag above his head when you attempt to reach for it, Wanda asks, “Like on purpose?”

You jump twice only for Bucky to swing the bag to the left then the right, just out of reach. He smiles at the effort deepening your frown, the warmth of your frustration welcome against the blasting air conditioning.

You pout and cross your arms over your chest after one last attempt.

He groans preemptively.

He knows that look. He hates that look.

“You could’ve just asked for the peaches. I would’ve given them to you,” you— your voice breaking and lilting in sadness as you look at him through your eyelashes— say. You try not to smile at Wanda’s exasperated laughter and Bucky’s arm slowly lowering, and instead continue pouting. “I guess it’s okay.”

Bucky blinks. He looks to Wanda, his eyes wide, then back at you. With the knowledge of a two-year friendship and four month romantic relationship, he knows you’re fucking with him. But it’s the look— pouty glossed lips, gazing through mascaraed lashes, eyes puppy-wide. It tightens and tears something in his chest. Every single goddamn time.

He fights the urge to take you in his arms and immediately thrusts the plastic bag in your direction. His voice is almost a whimper as he says, “Please just take it. Never look at me like that again.”

“He’s so easy, isn’t he?” you ask Wanda, grinning as you take a bite of a slice and pat Bucky’s cheek with your free hand. You ignore his frown. “Also, yes, the Q train guy did it on purpose. He said, ‘Got a little something for you, pretty boy’ and threw it in. Then he winked at me and Bucky almost decked him right there at Canal Street station.”

Though he’s still focused on quelling what his ego has deemed sympathy heartache, Bucky nods in confirmation. “Yeah, he fucked up my coffee then tried to hit on my girlfriend right in front of me.”

“You were a protective boyfriend so I’m surprised he made it out alive,” Wanda comments as she checks her phone and your attention drifts when the door opens so more students from the upcoming lecture can slowly trickle in.

Wanda shrugs when she looks up to see Bucky’s slightly confused expression. “Not overly. Nicely. Concerned for her safety, always looking out for her, having her back.”

“She’s right,” you add absentmindedly as you look at the analog clock bolted to the wall behind her. “When does your lecture start?”

“Two or three minutes,” he replies after glancing at the clock himself. “See you at home?”

“Actually,” your voice trails, teeth worrying at your bottom lip, in thought. “I’m gonna stay.”

“For my econ lecture?”

“I want to talk to you and Wanda’s going to the library, right?” When Wanda nods, you continue, “I also don’t want to deal with the subway alone at rush hour.”

With a wave to Wanda, you turn back to Bucky and wag your eyebrows playfully. “Show me where you sit.”

In the three weeks that he has been attending economics lecture, it has never been Bucky’s favorite class. The subject matter is dense and dull, half of the students are over-eager freshmen, and the professor assigns far too much reading for a class he’s taking as a G.E..

But, as you fall into a chair toward the center of the hall beside his aisle seat, it’s brighter. Today, he doesn’t mind the group of girls that giggle about sorority gossip and the water polo jock whining about his GPA requirement.

He snorts when you pull your laptop from your bag and set it on the collapsable desk. “You gonna take notes?”

“I need to look the part. Can’t let the professor think I’m just here to talk to you.”

“I’m not being evicted, am I?”

“Not quite yet.” You open the bookmark folder in your browser labeled CLOTHES FOR FALL. “Forget the words as soon as they leave my mouth, okay? I just miss you. We’re never at the apartment at the same time.”

He smiles. “Wow, you? Admitting that you miss me? Am I dying?”

“Didn’t I tell you to forget the words?” despite your tone, your lips are struggling against a smile. “But, no, you aren’t dying. I might be, though. Explains why I’d admit something like that.”

As the professor— a short man with thinning brown hair and a matching sweater— steps behind his podium, you look over the room. You’re visibly dissatisfied with what you see. “Is everyone here, like, twelve years old?”

“It’s mostly underclassmen.”

“See? This is what happens when you don’t listen to your beautiful roommate slash ex-girlfriend when she tells you to finish your G.E.’s over the summer.”

“I was too busy with you this summer.”

“Yeah? Am I that much of a handful?”

“Sweetheart, you’d be surprised how much more I get done these days.”

Your laughter inspires a bit of his own, the two of you pulling your feet toward yourselves as one of Bucky’s classmates— the only other upperclassman who he usually sits beside— attempts to pass through. He sends you a smile as he takes the seat at your other side.

He leans in when the professor begins lecturing, PowerPoint presentation projected over the canvas screen, but not so close that you feel uncomfortable— just enough to whisper audibly. “You took my seat.”

“Don’t make me say ‘I don’t see your name on it’ like some bad 90’s bully.”

A bright smile wrinkles otherwise incredibly smooth mahogany skin. He holds his hand out for you to take. “T’Challa. You just add this class?”

You tell him your name and cock an eyebrow, giving his large hand a single shake. “Do you know everyone who’s been in this class from the start?”

“No, but I think I’d remember you.”

Bucky holds his breath when you pause and the tip of his pen slips to carve a stray mark into his notebook when you laugh. He narrows his eyes at the screen as you whisper-yell, “You didn’t just say that! Oh, that’s so bad. I thought you’d be better than that.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” T’Challa grins. He has yet to type any notes onto his Word document while Bucky has copied every word on each slide verbatim. Both have retained absolutely no information. “It’ll grow on you.”

“Doubt it. But I appreciate the confidence.”

He leans over again, elbows on your shared armrest to look at your laptop screen. He sighs playfully. “Are you shopping? Come on now. You gotta pay attention.”

“What about you, huh?” You shove T’Challa back onto his side, laughing hard enough to earn a glare from the bespeckled freshman seated in front of you— Bucky offers the kid a shrug. “Get outta here. You’re actually enrolled in this class.”

“What, you’re not? Who chooses to sit in on an econ class?”

You giggle and Bucky misspells “achievement.” “I wanted to spend time with someone.”

“But we just met.”

“Jesus, you’re terrible. You must be a student athlete.”

A dark eyebrow lifts. “How’d you guess that?”

“Well, for one, I’m incredibly intuitive.” You, without turning to face him, pinch Bucky’s arm when he snorts. “Secondly, all student athletes are full of themselves. And, third, you’re wearing your soccer team hoodie.”

T’Challa looks down at his deep purple sweatshirt and laughs. “Not sure if I should be offended or embarrassed.”

“I’d be both if I were in your place.”

Bucky wants to drown out the giggles and whispers to his left, the rumbles of T’Challa’s deep voice and the soft lilt of yours. But the professor is too monotone and the material is too dry.

And it isn’t like he’s jealous. He truly isn’t.

It’s a different emotion entirely. A confusing one. One which, while outlined in an altruistic happiness at the sight of your any joy, feels achingly close to heartbreak all over again.

—

The glow from dim overhead bulbs and icicle string lights bounces off the bottle cap rendition of Starry Night and illuminates tin ceiling tiles, the reflected flecks cast against the dark brick walls and slowly filling walnut hued wood tables like glitter. One wall is covered entirely with napkin self-portraits and landscapes, still life and crayon impressionist renditions of Raju behind the bar.

You’re sure it’ll take some sifting to reach the last drawing you took your time to add to the cluttered gallery and you’re sure Bucky is thankful for that fact. He hadn’t enjoyed your interpretation of his flushed drunken features done entirely in the firetruck red lipstick you’d found at the bottom of your bag.

But that hadn’t stopped you from smearing a bit of the gaudy color onto your lips and pressing a kiss to the drawing and the subject himself, giggling when he’d mumbled something about telling his girlfriend that you’d just attempted to defile him.

You pass the wall without an attempt at excavation and follow the sound of Sam’s voice pitched lower than usual. He emparts what seems like instructions and encouragement, his head downturned as he stands beside a seated Bucky. Steve sits on Bucky’s other side but stops listening and periodically nodding as you grow closer.

“Why does it look like the three of you are scheming?”

Sam’s head snaps up. His brown eyes are wide. Caught in the headlights of your curious smile and cocked eyebrow.

He allows silence to pass through for an awkward beat, punctuated by the release of a breath he’d been holding, his eyes on you again after he’d glanced at Bucky and Steve helplessly. “Fuck, I’m not sure what to say here.”

“You can tell her,” Bucky says with a roll of his eyes, more storm grey than blue in the limited lighting. He smiles at you in greeting as you take the stool beside Steve’s. “We agreed we wouldn’t mind.”

You nod instantly. “Yeah, we did.”

Steve snorts into his beer bottle as he takes a long sip. “You don’t even know what he’s referring to.”

“Well, whatever it is, if Bucky says we agreed we wouldn’t mind then we agreed we wouldn’t mind.” A bottle matching Steve’s is placed before you. You nod your thanks to Raju as he pops the cap with a soft metallic clink. “Besides, I can put two and two together. At the bar. Giving Bucky what looks like an inspirational speech. He’s wearing his ‘look at me’ jeans.”

“I’ll ask,” Sam says when Steve casts him a bemused look. He looks at you then, lips curved a barely contained smile even as he peers at Bucky. “His ‘look at me’ jeans?”

“The jeans that make his ass look like a ripe peach.” Your giggles, in response to the incredulous looks you receive, is laced through the cracking of a peanut shell between your fingertips. You toss the unshelled peanut into your mouth and snort. “Don’t look at me like that just for appreciating a nice ass. Not when I was told someone wanted to bounce a quarter off mine.”

A tense pause before Steve smacks a fist against Bucky’s shoulder. His outraged expression doesn’t falter even as Bucky winces. All the while Sam roars in laughter. “What the hell, man? You told her?”

“I tell her everything,” is Bucky’s mumbled reply. He drains what’s left of his beer. “You said that freshman year and I told her a month ago. The statute of limitations had run out.”

Steve scoffs, shakes his head. Thoroughly unimpressed with the two of you as you exchange chuckles and small smiles. “Whatever, jerk. See if I keep your secrets next time.”

“Who you gonna tell?” Sam asks as he smashes an empty shell under his quarter-empty bottle of beer. “Your left hand when you’re pretending it’s someone else?”

The tips of Steve’s ears turn red almost immediately, the sip he’d just taken a choking hazard. He narrows icy blue eyes at a smirking Sam and a laughing Bucky, excusing you from the bulk of his frustration even as you hide your laughter miserably. “Dead to me, both of you.”

A snort from Bucky. “Okay, drama queen.”

Steve turns to you. More annoyed than scandalized now. “I see why you dumped him.”

“Didn’t dump him.” You set your elbow on the bar, ignoring the way your sweater sticks to the counter, and rest your chin on your palm. “You know, I never thought I’d see the day when Bucky needs help getting laid.”

“I’m reformed,” Bucky mumbles, fingernails picking at the paper label on his bottle as he smiles to himself. “Not really lookin’ to just get laid.”

“Yeah? What are you looking to do?”

He shrugs. “Maybe go on a date or something. Meet someone nice I can actually talk to.”

You pause, peanut shell halfway cracked under the heel of your palm. You feel your playful smile grow a bit tight. “That’s new. What brought that on?”

“Well, you did.”

You crush the shell so the crumbled pieces litter the wooden counter. Using your fingernail, you split a peanut into equal halves, then jagged quarters. You resist the urge to scoff at the reflection in your bottle and lift an eyebrow at Bucky when you look up again. “What’d I do?”

He shrugs. His smile is small. “I liked what we had. It wasn’t what I’m used to. I liked being able to have a conversation and a closeness in addition to… everything else.”

Sam looks between the two of you and you’re afraid he might read too much into the way your lips have fallen into a frown, the way the grip on your drink has tightened. Instead, he asks as he takes a sip, “In addition to the sex?”

“Obviously in addition to the sex,” Bucky says as he fixes Sam with a plain expression, eyes narrowed. “I was trying to keep this conversation ‘safe for work.’”

“Yeah, that went out the window when Sam made the masturbation joke,” Steve notes. He asks Raju for another drink and chubby fingers place a matching bottle before him. “I think the change is nice. No more of this nonsense hook-up culture today’s generation is so overtaken by.”

Your brow furrows. “Uh, Gramps?” You only wait until Steve meets your gaze to continue. He’s already scowling. “You’re a part of today’s generation.”

“Steve is one of those people,” Sam begins. “You know, the ‘I’m not like other girls’ kinda people.”

Bucky nods. “He’s just waiting to grow into his personality.”

You hum in agreement next. “Until it’s socially acceptable to be the way he is.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve holds his hands up. “No one informed me today was going to be devoted to roasting me.”

There’s laughter and the insults none of you really mean ensue even as Natasha walks in, the bar now slightly fuller, nearly an hour later. She joins in seamlessly, picking up on the latest thing about Steve you’ve all targeted with just a minute of silent observation. She picks up on something else, though— something she doesn’t bring up until the two of you have retired to a corner booth away from the new crowd of patrons screaming drink orders at a never-flustered, ever-calm Raju.

She stares first. Green eyes set in a contemplative glare, lips in a neutral line. Her fingers lay casually over the rim of her tall, narrow glass. You pay her no mind, however. Your gaze is fixed on Bucky as he walks toward a small group of girls you think you might have seen on campus. “This is killing you.”

“What, drinking?” you ask without so much as a glance in her direction. You’d switched out beer for something a bit stronger but have yet to take a sip of it, a rum and coke watered down now by melting ice. You tear your eyes from Bucky, with noticeable hesitation and dissatisfaction, when a short brunette with springy curls giggles at what he’s just said to her. “You’re drinking, too.”

The glare becomes disbelieving. She watches as your stare returns to Bucky and you absentmindedly stir your straw through your drink. “We both know I’m not talking about drinking.”

A questioning hum. You avert your eyes when the brunette and Bucky begin to laugh again.

“How are you doing with Bucky?”

“Like, as roommates? Fine. He could check the mail every so often.”

Natasha sighs your name. There’s an undercurrent of frustration cutting through her tone. “Are we going to spend this night acting oblivious?”

“Oblivious to what?” you laugh in a bit of surprise. You withhold a shudder of disgust as you take a sip of your drink.

She rolls her eyes, enunciating her words carefully as she asks, “How are you doing with Bucky flirting with that sorority girl over there?”

You follow her nod and only let your eyes linger on them for a second. The straw bends in between your fingers and you shrug. “I’m doing okay with it.”

“You’re okay with him flirting with her right in front of you?”

“Yes, Nat.”

She watches as you twist the straw, but nods. “Okay.”

Snorting with an eye roll of your own, you shake your head. “You couldn’t sound less convinced if you tried.”

“Because I’m not convinced.” She sits back against the booth. “It has to bother you a little that Barnes is trying to get laid fifty feet away from you.”

“Didn’t you hear? He isn’t trying to get laid. He wants someone he can talk to, and date, and have closeness with.”

“Wow. Looks like someone’s maturing,” her voice remains utterly unimpressed.

There’s a silent beat as you look at them again. Bucky’s smile seems to reflect and brighten every light in the bar, slate blue eyes meeting yours for just a moment. “I think I’m happy for him.”

“You think you’re happy for him?”

It’s quiet again as you sit back as well. Teeth worrying at your bottom lip, you nod. “I kind of owe it to him, don’t I? To let him flirt with people in front of me and tell me how he’s looking for a relationship rather than just sex.”

“Why would you owe that to him?”

“You know that guy from the soccer team I’ve been talking to?” You wait until she nods to continue. “He asked for my number when Bucky was, like, ten feet away.”

“Yikes. But you didn’t actively seek him out.”

“No, I didn’t. But even if T’Challa hadn’t asked for my number, I’d still owe him. I mean, I was the shittiest girlfriend you can imagine,” you tell her with a sad smile. “I did everything wrong.”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly. “You didn’t… You didn’t che—”

“No! God, no. I didn’t cheat on him. I could never even entertain the idea,” you say quickly, hands held up in innocence. “I just— I was detached, and aloof, and I didn’t value him at all. I made jokes about us dating but platonically, I would leave his room in the middle of the night to go back to mine. I thought kissing him each time I left the apartment was too mushy and telling him how much I fucking adored him would make me too sappy.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a little sappy.”

Your nose wrinkles. “I know. But he’s my best friend. I can’t lose my best friend because I’m too emotionally constipated to be in a functional romantic relationship and too selfish to end it all before someone gets too hurt.”

She sets her hand on yours when your voice breaks and offers you a playful smile when you look at her. “And here I thought I was your best friend.”

Wet laughter, and your head lolls back against the booth cushion. “Best friend is not a person. It’s a tier.” You hear his laughter over the commotion of the bar and sigh. “I’m over it and I’m happy for him. He should be happy. Even if it’s with fucking Connie from freshman year sociology.”

Natasha’s hand comes down on the table and rattles her glass and yours, smiling to herself when you jump. “That’s how I know her! Fuckin’ Connie with the stink eye.”

“She’s been into him since then, you know?” You laugh when Natasha offers you an incredulous expression. “Yeah, she got hammered at one of Sam’s parties and told me. I lived in fear of her wrath after Bucky and I got together.”

“She’d destroy you. The smaller ones go for the eyes and you’re all talk.”

“Oh, I’m fully aware of that.”

CHAPTER 4: THE FIRST, FIRST DATE

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #a8c

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yukheii · 5 years

Text

— butterfly.

+ pairings :: yoongi + reader

+ genre and warnings :: college au, best friends au, potentially friends to lovers i say potentially bc the..... to lovers part doesn’t happen in this drabble but..... yoongi Really Cares

+ notes :: inspired by my own haunting experiences with night class these past two semesters and my need for want for more college moongi :((

The whole appeal of torturing yourself through three hours of night class is that you get to knock everything out in one session. No multiple sections during the week—just one and done.

It’s not as bad as it sounds. Your professor is brilliant, actually entertaining, and does her best to keep the class engaged—she’s funny in that awkward, geek, professor kind of way. And she gives you short, five to ten minute breaks at every hour mark to make sure everyone doesn’t completely lose their minds.

Not to mention, you have Jimin in this class too, so at least you’re not suffering alone.

Going to this class is certainly a commitment, but in the past few weeks, you’ve learned to actually enjoy it. So long as you come to class on time, prepared, and with—

“Fuck,” you curse, watching Jimin pull out one of his many, tiny boxed juices. The ones meant for children that he and Taehyung claim are packed with more nutrients.

“What?” he asks, expression more shocked than concerned as he sets the juice in the right corner of his table.

“I forgot to bring snacks,” you pout.

Come on time, be prepared, and bring snacks. Those were the only three rules of night class, and you’d completely forgotten about the last one.

“Sounds like a you problem,” the blond grins, taunting his chocolate bar in front of you.

You reach and grab a piece, stuffing part of it into your mouth to spite him, but regretting your choices as soon as the chocolate melts on your tongue.

“What the fuck—is this mint chocolate?”

“Yes it is,” Jimin huffs, snatching the remaining stolen bit out of your fingers and popping it into his mouth, “And it is delicious.”

“You’re a demon.”

“A demon with snacks for the next three hours.”

The comment makes you groan again. Class didn’t officially start for another eleven minutes. You could try and run to the student center to grab some last minute snacks, but the line was probably enormous at this point, filled with other students like you who’d forgot to pack their own food for late classes. You’d never make it back on time—and that was the first rule of night class.

“Do you think Yoongi will bring me coffee?” you whine, trying to steal one of Jimin’s non mint-chocolate bars, but he holds his bag at a distance, uttering something about getting your own.

“Probably,” Jimin shrugs, humming to himself before rephrasing with a knowing smirk, “Actually, definitely. If he’s still here.”

You pout again, opening messages on your laptop to send him a text just as your professor begins to set up the presentation for the night at the podium.

[sent 6:49 PM] you — moongi are u still on campus

[received 6:51 PM] moongi — yeah — why what’s up

[sent 6:51 PM] you — uwu — wanna bring me an iced coffee before class — i have my 7-10 today and i forgot snacks :—(

[received 6:52 PM] moongi — i told you to stop sending me smileys with ugly noses — should you even be drinking coffee this late ur never gonna go to sleep

You scoff, and Jimin takes it as invitation to take a peep at your screen; that same smirk playing on his lips as he reads your conversation.

[sent 6:52 PM] you — oh that’s RICH coming from YOU

[received 6:52 PM] moongi — ur being awfully mean to someone who u want to spend $6 on a single drink for u

Jimin has the audacity to laugh. It earns him a pinch on the arm.

[sent 6:53 PM] you — i’m sorry love u moongi — venti iced chai tea latte — light ice

[received 6:53 PM] moongi — offended u think i don’t know ur starbucks order by know

[sent 6:53 PM] you — uwu

[received 6:53 PM] moongi — but ur getting a grande i’m not made of money

[sent 6:53 PM] you — un-uwu

“I don’t blame him,” Jimin chuckles, scrunching the wrapper from his finished bar between his fingers.

You flick him away, earning a screech from Jimin, and a few heads turned in your direction. More students begin filling into the room as the clock gears closer to eight, and you and Jimin spend the time opening the powerpoint for tonight’s lectures on your computers.

It’s eight o’clock on the dot when your laptop pings with another message from Yoongi—and a groan from Jimin, who breeches your personal bubble for the third time in ten minutes to press the mute button on your keyboard.

[received 8:00 PM] moongi — where are u sitting

[sent 8:00 PM] you — front row to the right

Jimin’s waving hand catches your attention first, then Yoongi’s. His only acknowledgment of the younger’s over the top waving is an eye roll, before he makes his way over to your seats, two Starbucks cups and a plastic bag in his hands.

“Aw, Yoongi, you brought me one too!” Jimin chirps, making grabby hands at the other drink as Yoongi hands you the first.

He pulls it out of arm’s reach, brining the green straw to his own lips with a scoff, “As if.”

“Thanks, Yoon,” you smile, watching Jimin pout back into his seat. He offers you a small nod and a smile as he continues to his on his drink. He extends his left hand this time, placing the plastic bag in your lap, silently.

Inside, there are a few granola bars, a bagel, cream cheese, some kind of sandwich, Pocky, a mini-sized Nutella cup, and a bottle of water. When you look back up at Yoongi he simply shrugs, biting the straw between his teeth while a light pink dusts over his cheeks.

“You said you forgot your snacks,” he mentions, “I figured you’d harass Jimin the whole lecture if you didn’t have your own, you know.”

“Oh, he got you Pocky! Let me have—” Jimin all but screams, prompting you to swat him away. The commotion grabs the attention of your professor, standing a few feet away at the podium.

She looks like she’s about to tell you to settle down or start the presentation, but then her gaze shifts slightly to Yoongi, and to your surprise, both their faces light up.

“Dr. Choi,” Yoongi greets with a smile and a handshake.

“Yoongi,” she smiles back, “Good to see you again. What are you doing here—I think I’d remember you being in this class.”

“I’m not, actually, my friends are,” Yoongi chuckles, body shifting in your direction while his arm gestures to you and Jimin, “I just came by with snacks.”

The two of them fall into easy conversation, and you have to sit back in awe. You’d listened to Yoongi rave about his Philosophy professor all of last semester, but you hadn’t imagined that your current Psychology professor was the same Dr. Choi.

She was the one that had convinced Yoongi to take more Philosophy and Logic courses, and ultimately guided him towards his Pre-Law declaration.

You get lost in your thoughts watching them interact—it’s obvious Dr. Choi was and still is very much investing in Yoongi’s wellbeing, and that he has immense respect and gratitude for her. It makes you happy, to know that he has someone who cares about his academic success the way she does.

You don’t notice the smile that settles onto your face, but Jimin does. Just like he notices the way Yoongi speaks to Dr. Choi about you. Just like he notices that the drink on the corner of your desk is, in fact, a venti, and not a grande. Just like he notices that the granola bars in the bag are not only your favorite flavor, but from your favorite brand, too. Just like he notices everything else.

It’s almost six minutes past eight before Dr. Choi realizes, apologizing to Yoongi for cutting their conversation short, and finishing her preparations for the class that will shortly begin.

Yoongi takes small footsteps back towards you, “You didn’t tell me Dr. Choi taught this class.”

“Didn’t know it was the same prof,” you shrug, “You think I’ll get brownie points now that she knows I know her favorite student?”

“You don’t need them,” Yoongi cracks a smile at the comment, “Anyway, I better go before she starts. Call me when you’re done, I’ll drive you guys home.”

“Oh, you don’t have to, Jimin and I usually—”

“Doll,” Yoongi cuts your words short, “Just call me when you’re finished.”

“Why are you turning down a free ride, you wench,” Jimin comments.

You throw daggers in his direction, before accepting Yoongi’s offer. Your tone is reluctant, but your smile gives you away. Yoongi hums.

“And eat the bagel before the Pocky.”

“You’re annoying.”

“I’m a saint,” Yoongi grins before pressing his cold cup to the side of your cheek, relishing in the way you squeal and pull away from him, “Call me.”

He begins walking away just as Dr. Choi starts to grab everyone’s attention. You scrunch your nose, wiping the condensation on your cheek away with the sleeve of your sweater, before opening your notes for the evening.

“You’re really dense, aren’t you?” Jimin asks, the look on his face almost incredulous as you dip a piece of the bagel into cream cheese.

“Dense about what?” you ask back, cheeks stuffed with food.

Jimin shakes head, turning back to his laptop with a frown.

“Hopeless,” he mumbles, “The both of you.”

#bts fake texts #bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts smut #bts college au #yoongi reactions #yoongi scenarios #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #jungkook smut #taehyung smut #namjoon smut #jimin smut #bts x reader #bts x you

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ponticle · 7 years

Text

Day 8: Seminar, Day 4, Afternoon [9-Day Anderstair Challenge]

[masterpost - a linked order for this entire series is available on the main story summary page]

[read it on ao3]

Chapter Summary: Alistair and Anders recover from the revelations of their morning and Alistair gives his lecture. Anders can't decide if the group text is helping or hurting. Rated T/M: nothing racy, but the whole tone is still sort of adulty. :)

We spend the rest of the morning curled against each other in bed, whispering about anatomy and physiology—it's innocuous and it helps get my head back into a safe place.

Eventually, though, we have to go to a session. If I don’t do enough of these, I’m going to be in trouble when I get back to school. Alistair lets me choose which one. We slide into seats in the back of ‘Concussion impact on the cervical spine in adolescents.’ It’s interesting objectively, but not something either of us really encounters.

Alistair takes out his notebook and writes to me:

Alistair: Be honest; have I been damaging you all week?

I squint. I understand what he means, but it couldn’t be further from accurate.

Anders: No. I have been so happy, actually.

Alistair doesn’t look convinced. He pulls the notebook back in front of him and writes something longer. It’s at an angle where I can’t read it as he’s writing.

When he passes it back, I grab it too obviously. The teacher probably knows we’re not paying attention—I feel like a jerk.

Alistair: Andy… I just want to make sure you’re okay. And the more I think about this, the more terrible I feel. You’re so important to me… and I just… if there’s anything you need, I want you to tell me. Okay?

It’s a strange thing for him to say. I have a list of demands at the ready, but I will never tell him those. They go something like: ‘get divorced,’ ‘move back in with me,’ ‘help me study for exams—preferably naked,’ and, ‘marry me?’

Yeah. I can’t say any of that.

Anders: Thank you for saying that. But I’m okay—I promise. Let’s just try to enjoy the time we have left together, okay?

I watch him read that last part. His eyes track from left to right. When he reaches the end of the sentence, he squints like he doesn’t understand what I mean. Then he looks up at me with the strangest expression on his face—something between misery and outrage. I have no idea what it means.

The presenter starts to pick people at random from the audience to answer questions and we look up, the notebook forgotten and questions hanging in the air between us.

At the end of the class, we have lunch together, but Alistair doesn’t each much. He’s just pushing food around on his plate, I notice.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He shrugs, “I know I should be freaking out about my presentation, but… I can’t think about anything but you, to be honest.”

My cheeks feel warm.

“You’re going to do great, I think,” I offer.

He smiles, “I’m going to try… maybe I’ll do better without being so focused on it, actually… I sometimes get inside my head when I have to give grand rounds presentations and fumble the words—talk too fast…”

“I can’t wait to see you up there…” I smile.

He laughs, “Don’t get too excited—it’s a pretty boring lecture.”

I reach across to grab a fry off his plate. I don’t even ask; it feels so natural. “I’m sure that isn’t true.”

“Okay, you caught me,” he smirks, “I happen to think it’s super interesting and informative… but as you said this morning, I’m a huge nerd…”

An hour later, Alistair looks so nervous behind the podium. It doesn’t help that we’re all looming over him—stadium-style lecture halls must feel so imposing from that angle.

I find a seat three rows from the front and smile down at him. Other people file in. We still have seven or eight minutes until the whole thing is supposed to start.

A woman with long dark down hair sits down next to me. The seating is very close. I feel like we're in the same bubble of air.

“Hi,” she smiles and pushes a piece of hair out of her face. “I'm Alice.”

“Hello,” I shake her hand and smile. I'm not used to people being so friendly.

“Have you seen him speak before?” she gestures with her eyes toward Alistair and blushes slightly.

I can't suppress a smile, “Not in this setting.”

She looks at me quizzically. “Are you one of his students?”

“No… just a friend,” I mumble. Friend seems highly insufficient, but he has a wife, and this stranger might know it. With my luck, she's Icis’ cousin or childhood friend.

“Lucky you,” she laughs.

While I mull that over, she opens her notebook and organizes her lecture notes.

“So where do you practice?” I ask.

“Nowhere yet,” she smiles. “I'm a resident at Columbia. Dr. Theirin is one of our attendings, but he's not mine—I just see him at grand rounds for presentations. His research is amazing.”

I realize I'm beaming. His successes feel like my successes, even though I have no claim to him.

“What about you? Where is your practice?”

“I'm still in school, actually,” I blush. “At BU.”

“Oh. That’s where he went, right?”

I nod. I’m slightly scared by how much she knows about him.

“Well, it's great that you're getting a chance to see him so early in your career—he's amazing.” Her pupils dilate when she looks at him. It's ridiculous. I know the feeling of an intellectual crush, but this seems extreme.

Suddenly, the lights dim. I realize the whole lecture hall has filled while we were talking.

“All right, everyone” says Alistair. “Thank you for being here. We are going to be tackling lumbar spine instability today, which is one of the most common things you'll see in practice.”

Alice winks. “Isn't he charming?”

I guess he is. The most charming person I've ever known, actually. The only person to ever make me feel like this—the only one I've ever been in love with.

I smile and nod, then let my eyes drop back to my papers. He's provided all of us with a PowerPoint printout. He's so accommodating.

“Anders?” calls Alistair. He clears his throat, “Anders?”

I laugh and blush. I didn't hear him in the midst of all this mental chatter. “Yes, Doctor?”

He smiles, “Can I have you come up here?”

Alice prods me encouragingly.

I don't have a choice, really. When a professor asks you to come up for demonstration, you do it. I manage to traverse seven strangely-deep stairs and stand next to him awkwardly.

“Fantastic,” he says. It's loud enough to be for the crowd, but he only looks at me. “I picked Anders to help me here today because I know he has excellent core stability…” the crowd laughs politely.

“What are you doing?” I mouth.

He smiles.

“Okay, Anders, let me have you demonstrate some things…”

Two hours later, the lecture is over. I’m actually sort of exhausted from all the planks and dead-bugs and stability testing he made me do on top of the six-ish miles we ran earlier.

Alistair is approached by a variety of students and doctors—each one with unique questions. I'm amazed by his thoughtfulness and candor in answering. He's my hero. Dorian comes up to heckle him, but eventually tells him he did a great job. Dorian also makes some sort of snide comment about my ‘fitness’ that I try to ignore.

My deskmate, Alice, also has a variety of things to say to him. I try to wait it out, but I don’t see the end in sight.

Eventually, I head for the exit, but he puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey?” he smiles. “Can I buy you dinner?”

How could I say no?

“Yeah, okay,” I laugh, “where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere—you pick,” he whispers.

I'm blushing, but I can't reject him. I want to soak up as much of this as possible.

“Okay… I have to attend one more lecture to fulfill my requirements today, though—can I meet you in your room later?” I ask.

He nods and hands me a key to his room. “Just don't take too long.”

Anders: hey guys… what’s up?

Hawke: holy shit, Andy… where have you been?

I’ve been avoiding the group text because I don’t want to deal with anything judgmental. But at this point, I’ve had it. I need a reality check.

Anders: I’ve been fucking Alistair all week.

No one says anything for a while.

Anders: and we've been going to lectures together… and eating meals together… and hanging out with his friends together… and sleeping in bed together…

Hawke: Oh god, Andy…

Anders: I know…

Merrill: well, have you had ‘the talk’?

Anders: No. I’m too scared.

Merrill: what are you scared of?

Anders: Listen… I already know what he’s going to say… his wedding was in August—I know that… I remember when Renee got the invitation last year.

Fenris: if you know then why are you still doing this? Furthermore, why is he?

Fenris is right, of course. It’s a really shitty thing to do to Icis, but I’m selfish when it comes to him.

Fenris: I mean... Is this really the kind of person he is?

Anders: No! I mean... I don’t know… anything, really.

I remember thinking that he’d never be the type to cheat before… but we saw how that worked out… I don’t like the feeling of being on the other side of it—it makes my skin crawl.

Anders: I just want him so much… not just for right now—I want him forever.

Hawke: Andy, I’m getting a little concerned about you…

I wish he hadn’t said that exact thing. Once, in college, I got a little obsessed with something… it almost ended really badly. Hawke was the one to pull be back from the brink. He said ‘concerned’ like that then too. In this scenario, I know he’d think nothing of flying the whole gang out here to stage an intervention. I have to reassure him that I’m still sane—even if I’m not sure that’s true.

Anders: I’m okay, Garrett. I’m just going to go to the next lecture and try to cool off. Thanks, though.

Hawke: Okay… well, we’ll see you back in Boston tomorrow.

Oh god. Tomorrow? I’m not ready.

#anderstair #anders x alistair #thank you for reading #one day left #alistair #anders #modern au #dragon age modern au #day 8

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