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macabr3-barbi3 · 3 months ago

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I AM VERY NORMAL ABOUT THIS STORY

“He considered how happy his mother would be to meet you. To take you from her would be as cruel as heaven taking you from him” Hazel this broke me 😭

A Doe in Fall (Part 9)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵

Part 9 - Shiny Things

Ephi moves in, and Ruth reads you like an open book.

「Warnings/Promises: HumanAlastor x Fem! BurlesqueReader, Reference to domestic abuse of non-reader character, fucks, crows, swans, emotions be emotioning, so many birds, I don’t think reader is Aromantic I think she’s just stubborn, Cliff diving is just a joke do not follow people off cliffs, everyone is kicking reader’s ass in some way, my apologies to parts of Texas but not Texas as a whole」

Long time no see ! My head wasn’t in the right space for this story, and my head was also literally not doing well. But! Reading glasses helped since I’m writing on my phone like 7 inches from my face. the goal is Wednesday updates~ there’s about four parts already written so we’ve got a month of runway 👌🏼 Wednesday mornings are ‘God, That’s Good’ by @macabr3-barbi3 and nights are ADIF!

🎶 last time on A Doe In Fall 🎶 : you came home from your first week staying officially at Alastor’s to find your estranged sister waiting on your stoop.

this isn’t sexy but just like minors come on, MDNI? This blog is a sex shop

It’s not that you hated your sister, it’s that you resented her. You could love someone and not like them an ounce… but unfortunately when she left so did your familial love. Which meant all that held you together now was distrust and an obligation to a dead woman.

“So things didn’t pan out up north?” You waved her into your apartment, agitation apparent in even the gesture of your arm.

“It’s peachy! Just need to lay low a bit.” She said it with a chipper voice while looking around your apartment like she paid for it. “Wow you weren’t lying about the no money, huh? Talk about a shoebox.”

Charming.

“Well, Ephi, you’re welcome to leave.” While you didn’t understand the name it wasn’t your business to question what someone asked to be called. Especially considering your own dual identity. You may have disliked the woman but human decency still hung to the bones of the relationship you called your sisterhood.

An obnoxious chuckle, “Nah it’ll do! Just the one single bed?”

“Why would I have more than one bed?”

A deep sigh from her, “Still last to be picked by the fellas, sis?” Her hand passed over your dresses hanging in the open closet, “The ugly duckling was always your favorite story.”

The fine hairs rose on the back of your neck, a cat’s hackles moving as the anger bristled through your body. You opened your mouth to shout all the ways you were not the ugly one in the room, hand already in the air to direct her attention to the dried, hanging flowers covering the far wall. How many people threw flowers at her feet? How many proposals were shouted to her? Wedding rings slipped off fingers and into pockets for her?

The air in your lungs went flat as a small fire of embarrassment rose in your gut.

How could she so quickly reduce you to a little girl again? Taking the bait for a fight you couldn’t win, because she wasn’t listening to anything but her own voice. Biting the inside of your cheek, your hand fell back to your side.

“You can take it. I’ll just be by for clothes now and then. Been staying with a friend closer to work.” Flipping through your mind you tried to catalog your valuables. What did you absolutely need to not turn up missing?

Ephi sat on the bed and crossed her legs in her best imitation of a lady. “Staying with Mister Fancy Pants?” A smile that reminded you of your childhood. A smile that said, “I won’t tell mom!” Right before turning and running to your mother’s ear.

“No.”

A giggle two octaves above her usual tone, “Sure, okay! No skin off my back.”

You took your time to gather the items you had forgotten first, then the items you didn’t want her to have. Unsure how exactly to tell Alastor why a week into sharing his home officially you were already redecorating, you left that for your future self to figure out. The first item was obvious.

An angel statue your mother kept on her nightstand. You wrapped it in some newspaper, trying not to look in her direction.

Your sister chased dick like most people chased liberty. Something she shared with your mother. Which was her right, but it rubbed you the wrong way how she would always forget everyone else in her life when she had a man to call her own. A fair weather friend, at that.

“How’s Howard?” The dick that took her away so many years ago.

She abandoned the lady act and rummaged through your cabinets, “Who’s that?”

Right.

A gold coin on a necklace. You slipped it inside a sock.

“So, then, who is the man of the hour?”

Ephi began opening the dresser drawers, poking here and there. “Whaddya mean! I am an independent woman.”

You weren’t sure that had ever been true. While your mother had drilled it into your skull to never place yourself in the need of a man, she always seemed to throw her heart (and house keys and purse strings…) at the feet of any man willing to love her.

“Love” her.

There was no love in any of that. A common problem of confusing love with any and all intense emotions affected your mother and many others.

Slashed furniture is not adoration. Breaking windows is not a love language. Bruises are not affection.

Your hands ran down the bag’s shapeless sides. Without thinking, you smiled. Adoration. Love languages. Affection. You had them and the knowledge of their secrets all to yourself.

Secrets you didn’t need slipping out. Secrets your sister couldn’t hold to save her life, or yours for that matter. You hurried around the room grabbing knick-knacks and photos and jewelry. Alastor would be at work soon, you wondered if you should call to warn him. This time not about a hot headed flatfoot but a nosey sibling.

You’d tell him later. No reason to talk to Brenda again. Quickly your leather bag got full and heavy. What was supposed to be a casual foray into sharing a home already turning into a full on move.

Everything you needed and a few things no one ever would, because damn would Ephi pawn them the very second she needed something, were safely zipped away. Any plans to relax at home before work were abandoned and you just marched to the door.

A random memory flashed behind your eyes, washing Alastor’s hair in the tub until the water ran clear. Why now? The only memory shared in your apartment. And it was an awful one. But, it had Alastor. That gave it value.

“Hey, if any men come by looking for me you just don’t answer, okay?” You forced your face to relax, to show the sincerity you worked so hard to keep to yourself, “Please, Ephi.”

Her smile widened past unnaturally white teeth, no money for a room but clearly cash for peroxide tooth gel, “Ooh, why? Little sister make some enemies?”

Why couldn’t she just fucking agree?

“My job sometimes attracts crazies. I don’t tell them where I live but occasionally they figure it out. They’ve gotten violent before so…just don’t answer the buzzer. They’ll say they’re damn near anyone to get you to let them up.” You stopped the nervous twisting of your bag’s handle, “Boyfriend, boss, detective. They've tried it all.”

“Aww, sis. Look at you.” She leaned her full figure against the open door frame, arm raised up like a pin up. Ephi was always effortlessly enchanting when her mouth was closed. “Stalkers? Mama would be so proud. Finally learning how to catch a man’s attention.”

The tears that stung your eyes were inspired partly by anger and partly by pain. They came so suddenly you could only laugh in response.

“Lovely to see your new name hasn’t changed you, Ephi. I’ll be back occasionally. Don’t steal anything, no strangers over. Spare key is in the bowl by the door.”

“Oh hey!”

You turned back.

“I do need some cash. Until I find work.”

The numbness blanketed you with a chill.

“I’ve got like, three bucks. Is that fine?”

Why did you ask that? You knew she could very well say it wasn’t fine and you’d be obligated to offer to get more. Atleast, that’s what you’d have done when you were younger. How easily you both slipped into old roles. Or perhaps she never grew out of hers.

She mulled it over, “Yeah that’ll be fine.” Her hand came out and waited for the bills.

An open palm waiting for your money.

You pulled the folded bills from your wallet and set them in her hand without touching her skin.

“Thanks sis!” She turned and closed the door before you could reply.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The other dancers shot you a look when your bag jingled and clanked as it hit the floor, you wincing as you remembered the ceramic figurine.

“You…. going somewhere, hun? The detective got you on something?”

A quick shake of your head. You hadn’t considered the optics. Luckily it was early enough the room wasn’t very busy. A few select missing women would have pried for more information. Your hands fidgeted, unsure what to do. On the way in you saw some newer talent getting their feet on stage, maybe watch them? Too early for make up.

A loving voice from Ruth, always a savior, “Cigarette?”

You melted at the offer. Alastor wasn’t a fan of the smell so you were slyly cutting back.

She popped a sun bleached folding chair open and set it in between you both as a footrest. So many broken and ruined chairs littered the sides of the dingy roof, you were shocked she found a good one on her first try.

“Alright, tell me what happened with that detective. Do I need to go rough up a city employee?” Ruth leaned back and settled into her chair with a creak and a whine of the wood.

You needed a second, eyes flitting around as she handed her cigarette for you to take a drag. What could you say? What did she already know? You’d not spoken about it since she helped shoo him away but the appearance of half your belongings haphazardly stuffed into a bag clearly had her alarms going off.

“So remember the guy who came by for me? Tall handsome one.”

She nodded enthusiastically, “Yes! Of course. Don’t forget a name like his. Or face.” She whistled like a crude man trying to get a woman’s attention in the most annoying way.

“The detective thinks he did something to Tommy. That he was jealous. Which is ridiculous-,” you felt a nervous energy slip down your arms.

An abrupt laugh, “That string bean couldn’t open a heavy window. He didn’t do shit to Tommy. What a stupid thing to say.”

Did she notice how much you’d been holding your breath? A deep sigh as you let it go. “Exactly! He doesn’t even know about what happened that night with that guy and Tommy’s arrangement; it’s too mortifying. Anyway, the detective has been hounding me about it. I don’t wanna cause trouble.” You ashed the cigarette and held it out for her, “Stuff is still new with him and me, so I didn’t tell the detective his details or work anything. Why would I? So he can harass him too?” The words all tumbled out so quickly. A faucet turned too far to the left.

“Fair.” A few passes back and forth in what you hoped was a comfortable silence and not an indication she was piecing together things you needed to remain unlinked. Finally, “Didn’t realize you two were still seeing each other. Longest one you’ve kept for awhile now.”

Looking up, you marveled at the view of the open sky. Not a cloud in sight. A smile crept across your face, the heat of the sun warming you from the inside out. The slightest chill to the air warning you of Fall. “Yeah.”

She asked what made him so special and you didn’t know where to start. “The obvious,” you began. “He’s so-,”

“Clever.” “Handsome.”

You’d spoken at the same time, her attempt at soothsaying failing miserably.

“Clever, Ruth. He’s very clever. Handsome men are a dime a dozen. But he’s sharp as a tack.” She rolled her eyes and waved her hand around for you to go on. You let your mind toss out the shiniest examples. “He’s so skilled. He knows how to hunt and take apart animals. He can fish. Cooks like a dream. He knows how to clean clothes well and how to use a washing board.”

“Useful.” She mused. That isn’t what you meant. You weren’t trying to list off his features like a new appliance. It was just— impressive. He was well rounded.

“And he’s terribly kind. He’s always,” how to say it delicately, “going out of his way to help others solve their problems.” That seemed accurate and vague enough. You chuckled to yourself, remembering him at the kitchen table, “His face lights up so bright when he’s talking about his hobbies. Like, I can see his soul glittering behind his eyes and suddenly I’m just as interested in whatever he’s talking about as he is.” You let your eyes close around the mental image of his surprised face every time you complimented him. But they shot open when she began giggling, “What?”

“You’re in looooove,” her foot kicked yours, “I know that look. Head over heels already. Talking about him like he made the fucking stars.”

Wide eyed and stunned, was it written on your face so plainly? “Oh don’t say that. It makes me so uncomfortable. We’re just enjoying each other's company.” When she moved to give you the cigarette again you didn’t take it. “All I was saying was—,” fuck, what were you saying? That he was special? “He’s a very nice person to spend my limited time with. It’s a finite resource and all.”

With a shrug she took another puff, “What’s to be uncomfortable about? Falling in love is a wonderful thing, hun.”

Was it? Honestly, had she ever considered how much damage came with loving someone? It was putting your heart outside your body. Letting someone else carry it around and just praying they didn’t hurt you, or get hurt, or go off and die and take your heart with them. Why would anyone willingly do such a silly thing?

“Cheesy. And kind of creepy. Falling? How do I get back up if things go south?”

You’d successfully avoided emotional attachment to nearly every lover you’d taken. The way women seemed to get struck down dumb by any old John or Jane just wasn’t appealing. Love was for fools. The weak. The dependent.

Or, so you had whispered to yourself as you pretended to not be home when suitors came knocking, as you avoided ringing phones, as you apologized and slid out of restaurant seats after awkward dinners.

“If you fall hard enough, you don’t get back up.” She said it like it was a good thing. “You’ll love them forever, even if you hate em.”

That was the problem, too. How could she not hear that as she said it? All loss of control of your own heart and emotions was simply bad. People do irrational things for love.

You shivered, “That sounds absolutely horrid, Ruth.”

“Aah,” she dismissed you with a raspberry blown between her lips, “For the right man, you’ll find yourself enjoying the trip down!”

“Nah, I’m not fan of heights. No dick is worth that.”

“Is that all men are to you? Sex?” She guffawed, taken aback by your comment. Which was odd, given it was Ruth.

But, Yes.

Well. No . But — he wasn't a man. He was something different. The exception to the rule. Alastor was different.

Or, fine.

Yes, he was a man.

No, you didn’t see them as just sex. It was easier to say people were just pleasure and not stop to think about life any other way. Things got complicated when you added another person. Life became sloppy and uncontainable. If you stopped and considered the lives behind the people you used to lead on and let go before things got too difficult, you’d just wound yourself. It was easier to stop at sex.

When you could. Which you could, before. When sex was a token you traded back and forth with someone. But Alastor didn’t accept that currency. You couldn’t hand him your body and get brief but lovely companionship back. Your value had to lie elsewhere, the things you set before him and the wonders he had to offer were much richer in their worth than what you’d ever had before.

Sometimes it felt like you slid him a penny and he handed you a quarter. You found yourself scrounging up the petty coins of your worth and trying to save them up for him. Practicing your makeup, learning how he liked his coffee, remembering all of the things he said he hated and loved. Attempting to stop smoking. Every act was another shiny offering for him.

A crow scrounging the park grounds for glittering trash. Not very swan-like, you thought.

“You really don’t think you’re falling for him?” Ruth put out the cigarette in the coffee can beside her. As you turned to argue with her you saw her face full of amusement and incredulousness. It was rhetorical.

The argument withered and you could only pout, everyone that day seeming to catch your tongue, “I don’t wanna think about it. I’ll get scared and run away. He’ll figure out how little I have to give eventually. If anything more is gonna happen, it’ll happen. I’ll just… let it. Why ruin it with… saying childish things.”

“You’re naive but that’s okay. Enjoy the honeymoon stage while you can.”

Your eyes rolled, “What if he doesn’t feel the same? Why embarrass myself.” When you sighed the weight of just how heavy and true that sentiment was resonated in your stomach. Telling him you were falling in love? Alastor was a killer. His passion was singular. What good was a dame to him? No, worse than worthless. A liability. A witness. A weak point in the walls he so carefully crafted. If he knew you were in love with him he’d just end things sooner than they would have naturally.

“Dontcha wanna know if he’s a waste of that precious time, then?”

You cackled, choking on your spit. Alastor? He was the most worthwhile thing you’d ever encountered. Time with him suddenly had …. Value. That fucking word again. But time with him, it was slow enough to be deep and rich, but so fleeting you already felt a mourning mood for how much closer you were to the end.

You could only shake your head, “Wait, Ruth, didn’t you get divorced?”

“Shhh that doesn’t count!” She rose and stretched her long arms up to the sun and then out to the horizon, “Plus that’s how I know what I’m talking about! After the honeymoon phase? You’ll be arguing about laundry and wishing you were strangers again. Fighting about children and lawncare.”

As your finger nervously came to your mouth, teeth cutting into the nail, you considered how if Alastor complained about laundry and you could argue back with the comfort of knowing neither would simply leave, that’d be….nice. The safety of being honest without the fear of the other person giving up on you. Was that love?

And did that matter at all?

You’d thought earlier you knew the answers but now, when someone else said it, you got scared of those words.

Ruth must have put a spell on you. As you and a bevy of others danced in line on stage, arms over shoulders and legs kicking high enough to show cheek and jiggle the soft skin of your thighs and stomach, you felt butterflies in your gut. Alastor would be picking you up in a matter of hours.

A few men sent you drinks, which you repaid with a wink and a kiss blown across the bar before downing the liquor. It was the usual routine. You hadn’t felt nerves to see Alastor quite like that since sheepishly picking out “comfortable” shoes.

Alastor’s eyes widened when he took the bag from you, not noticing your attempts to avoid making eye contact. He let out a chuckle, his best attempt at stifling the joking question, “Already moving in?”

He realized quickly enough that wasn’t a good joke. Not when he finally looked up and saw your stare was distant.

“Everything okay, dear?” He walked to open your door for you, and you nodded a thank you and an affirmative.

Should you rip off the band aid? Should you just say it and see what happens?

When you turned to look at him and blurt out a confession, you were stopped by the profile of his face. What a gentle face. A lovely jaw. Even his bones were better than other people’s. What were you doing in this man’s car? What little pieces of glittering trash were you about to toss at him on a random Friday night?

No, in the books you read, confessions were always grande affairs. Fireworks and dinner parties and passionate kisses in rain storms.

You’d have to put a little effort into this. His brows rose as he clocked your staring. Eyes on the road, smirk pulled to the right, his hand came to rest on your thigh.

He deserved something much better than whatever you had to offer. Something unlike yourself entirely.

The drive home, and yes you let yourself linger on the word instead of shoo it away, you watched a deer jump across the dirt road just past the bridge.

“The bucks chase the does. It’s part of their mating ritual. I guess it’s not unlike the ‘playing hard to get’ some women like. The longer the chase, the prouder the buck to snag his prize.”

You laughed, “Women don’t like it, I don’t think. Well, some do I am sure but… If we don’t do that then people think we’re easy. We need plausible deniability. If people learn we put out we can claim we didn’t really want to and save some face.”

Alastor grimaced, “Gross.”

Unseen, you nodded and turned to watch the buck leap after its doe.

“Kind of funny, you chased me down, didn’t you?” Alastor’s comment pulled you back to him.

“Oh yes. That makes you my doe.” Your arm came to rest against the car door, the trees slowly rolling by in the darkness. “Reminds me of the small freckles across your shoulders.”

“My mighty buck!” He fawned, in jest, pretending to collapse into your lap. You shoved him back up and behind the wheel proper. “Well given the chance, I’d chase you for miles.” His hand flexed on your leg.

“To Texas?” You asked. Your usual end point.

“Further.”

“How far?”

“There is no limit. I’d … run right off a cliff, head first, if you were waiting at the bottom.” He took his hand back, needing both to hold the wheel. What he said hit him harder than he had intended. Was it too much? A tad too dramatic? A nervous clearing of his throat, followed by an awkward laugh to put more space between him and the confession.

The idea of you making Alastor chase you was ridiculous. You enjoyed the games you played with others, but you were never meant to be caught. If you wanted that, you’d just…give yourself. As you had done with him. Only him. The first and last person you ever wanted to give yourself over to in any sense. “And if I just… lied down and let you catch me? Would that make me a poorly earned prize?”

“Nope! That’d make me a lucky duck. And make you quite smart, if I do say so myself.” A wink. “Why run from such a catch like me?”

You landed a smack on his arm, light and playful.

A truly comfortable silence settled in, just the sound of the car trembling over the rough road. The newest model Ford was still as loud as the last, but luckily you were far from others.

The words had lingered like smoke, and you felt the need to address them.

“Don’t actually do that though. If I run off a cliff or something stupid, don’t you dare follow me.”

Alastor just laughed, wasn’t that what you were doing for him already? Diving into hell for some inexplicable reason after Alastor. He wasn’t expressing some lack of self preservation, he was merely letting you know he’d reciprocate the fall. You hadn’t made him run after you, but instead seemed to just….rest your neck between his canines. And trust.

If you were to go to heaven, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. It was too late to redeem his soul now. How far was heaven from hell, anyways? If the devil survived the plummet perhaps he could scale the walls of his enclosure and breach the gates.

Though, as he thought about the idea of heaven, he considered how happy his mother would be to meet you. To take you from her would be as cruel as heaven taking you from him.

Maybe he could make a plea. To just be able to see you from below.

But if the knowledge you were happy and safe was all he had, he’d be a richer man in hell than he’d ever been on earth. It’d be enough.

He’d just need to broadcast his radio waves a little further for your listening pleasure.

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @fizzled-phoenix , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl @smoky000

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

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@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #human alastor x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #we're crying in the club rn #if things get sad I will riot #softly

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geezerwench · 2 years ago

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[Hamilton Fandom] The HIV+ high school AU/cannibal mermaid Hamilton fanfiction incident self.HobbyDrama

submitted 3 years ago by iwasonceafangirl Best of 2019-20

I know I said I was going to do a writeup about YA Twitter drama next, but then I remembered that this is a thing that happened and I just had to post it here. I swear to god, I am not making any of this up.

This is one of those incidents that’s difficult to summarize because I honestly don’t even know where to begin. There’s so much to talk about that it’s almost overwhelming—sockpuppeting, medical fraud, false identities, and god-knows-what else all played a part in making this drama one of the biggest scandals in Tumblr history (or, at least, the biggest scandal that doesn’t involve illegally mailing body parts to people via the United States Postal Service. Don’t even ask.) Now, you may be thinking that the title probably makes more sense in context, but I can assure you that it absolutely does not. It’s just as insane as it sounds at first glance. To make it abundantly clear how nuts this whole debacle was, I should probably start by detailing Hamilton and its obsessive fandom.

Hamilton is a Broadway musical that came out a few years ago, and unless you live under a rock, you’ve probably heard someone at least mention it in passing. It’s one of the most successful shows in recent history, and it’s beloved by tumblr.com for a variety of reasons. The main, though not sole, reason is that it’s actually really good (and I say this as someone who isn’t a crazy theatre kid.) It focuses on the life of Alexander Hamilton from his arrival in the Thirteen Colonies to his death during a duel with Aaron Burr, and it’s all done surprisingly well for a musical that attempts to tell a story about the American Revolutionary War via rap battles. It’s one of the few shows in the world that can get away with including stage directions like “ELIZA BEATBOXES MATERNALLY” and still be taken completely seriously by both fans and critics.

Reason number two why Tumblr loves Hamilton is the same reason Tumblr loves the MCU and Superwholock and all the other franchises it obsesses over. There are lots of male characters and thus lots of potential slash ships (ships meaning relationships.) If you’re wondering why on Earth anyone would want to ship the Founding Fathers with one another… well, join the club. I have no idea. But some fans really liked the idea of Alexander Hamilton and [insert literally any other character] hooking up, so Hamilton the musical spawned an abundance of fan fiction and fan art featuring the signatories of the US Constitution. Keep in mind, though, that by Tumblr standards, this is not that weird. A little unusual, sure, and certainly less common than traditional fictional character shipping, but nobody’s really going to start a riot because people want John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton to have sex. This is Tumblr we’re talking about. Remember how I mentioned people mailing human body parts to one another? In comparison to those incidents, shipping the Founding Fathers is not that strange, so the rabid Hamilton fans were mostly ignored by the rest of the site. And this allowed their community to grow quite large. Nobody wanted to be the one to poke at the hornet’s nest that was the rapidly developing hive of Hamilton-obsessed fans, so they all just kind of let It be. And, in the complete absence of outside scrutiny, that community grew and grew and grew. By 2015, the amount of people who dedicated countless hours to writing Hamilton fic was far greater than anyone could have imagined.

One of the many Hamilton fics floating around on Tumblr was a piece entitled “To Scale the Blue Sky,” which was an alternate universe fanfic set in a high school. Again, taking the Founding Fathers and putting them in an American high school in the 1980s a la Clone High may sound bizarre, but that’s such a common fan fiction trope that people didn’t even question it. There are probably more high school AUs on Tumblr than there are stars in the sky at this point. The unique thing about “To Scale the Blue Sky,” though, was that it addressed an important issue affecting the LGBT community in the ‘80s: HIV and AIDS. This is a story in which Alexander Hamilton, the guy who appears on the $10 bill, gets HIV while in high school. And, ordinarily, this type of writing would have rung at least a few alarm bells; after all, fan fiction is generally not the best way to address the AIDS epidemic and the deaths resulting from its mismanagement. But “To Scale The Blue Sky” was cut some slack, partially because of who its authors were.

The main author of “To Scale The Blue Sky” was Israa, a nonbinary Chinese-Pakistani victim of sex trafficking. The other, mostly uncredited author was Israa’s wife Raj, a Catholic-Somali lesbian of color. Both were HIV+, and they ran a popular blog about how the disease impacted their lives, which was entitled hivliving. They used hivliving as a platform for activism, but also a way to share their personal experiences with various forms of trauma and discuss how being HIV+ has impacted them. They also occasionally used it to promote their fanfiction.

Unfortunately, just as hivliving was reaching the height of its popularity, Raj and/or Israa suffered some terrible, debilitating medical issue that left them in need of expensive medical treatment right away. A cash.me link was posted, and thousands of followers who credited the couple for educating them about HIV and helping them through their own diagnoses jumped at the chance to donate. And everything went exactly as planned, up until fellow Tumblr user digoxin-purpurpea noticed something was up with the cash.me.

Digoxin-purpurpea was another Hamilton fan, and she also went by the names digitalis, candiru, and cardiotoxin (this is less suspicious than it sounds; most Tumblr fanfic writers use different usernames for different fan fiction sites.) Under the blog name Cardiotoxin, digoxin-purpurpea messaged Israa and Raj shortly after the cash.me was posted, saying that she had a difficult time believing they were truly living in India, because the cash.me indicated they were within the United States. One thing led to another, and long story short, the mod of hivliving wound up making a huge confession: she didn’t live in India, and she didn’t have HIV. Israa and Raj don’t exist. The real person behind the blog, and behind “To Scale The Blue Sky,” was an American college student, Alix. That may not be her real name, but I’ll refer to her as such for the purpose of this post.

This, predictably, caused an uproar. Alix later tried to backtrack by saying that Israa and Raj were digital personas based on real people, but it later came out that not even that was true. Their lives and backstories were entirely made up just so Alix had an excuse to write HIV+ High School AU fan fiction about Alexander Hamilton without being judged too harshly for it. By pretending to be a woman with HIV+, she could deflect any questions about whether writing this type of thing is really okay by claiming that it was a coping mechanism to deal with her own disease. She also made up the additional sympathetic pieces of Israa and Raj’s tragic backstories because they made people more likely to feel bad for the couple and support them financially. Finally, their Somalian, Chinese, and Pakistani heritage allowed Alix, a white girl, to be put on lists of POC writers that she never would have been able to get onto had she not lied about her identity. Basically, Alix made up two entire people and started a HIV support blog exclusively to promote “To Scale the Blue Sky” and works like it.

Naturally, when it came out to everyone that Alix was a liar and Israa and Raj weren’t real people, a lot of fans were very upset, especially those who had donated to their bullshit cash.me. They demanded their money back, and Alix agreed to refund them, but that never actually happened. Meanwhile, other people started digging up dirt on Digoxin-purpurpea, as some people were concerned that she’d also been making things up in order to get rid of hivliving and boost her own popularity. What they found was, arguably, even stranger than a plot to reduce her competition by scrubbing hivliving from the internet—Digoxin-purpurpea was a relatively well-known author of real-person supernatural fanfiction. No, not Supernatural TV show fanfiction—I mean stories about ghosts, mermaids, and other mythical creatures, having sex with each other and real people.

At around the time Alix started asking for donations while posing as Israa and Raj, Digoxin-purpurpea was being criticized for various bizarre works she’d written, among them things like ghost!Hamilton erotica and at least one work in which Lin-Manuel Miranda, who plays Hamilton, is a cannibalistic mermaid. People quickly realized that Digoxin-purpurpea wasn’t dragging Alix for purely selfless reasons. Alix and her friends had made fun of Digoxin-purpurpea for her weird and “problematic” stories, so Digoxin-purpurpea exacted revenge by exposing Alix.

After this revelation, both Digoxin-purpurpea and Alix deleted the majority of their work, which was unsurprising, considering how much the rest of Tumblr was making fun of them. Hivliving shut down, which was to be expected, seeing as the people who ran the blog were actually one person who didn’t actually have HIV. And, finally, Tumblr learned a valuable lesson about donating to gofundmes and cash.mes without doing adequate research first. People continue to ask for money for various causes online, but Tumblr users are a lot more skeptical now, because you never know when that baby with cancer or that woman with cerebral palsy are actually just crazy Hamilton fans using medical conditions as an excuse to write stories about the Founding Fathers having unprotected sex in a high school.

#best of Reddit #Hamilton fandom #hobby drama #fanfiction drama #fandom drama #drama #a learning experience

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atlaswav · 9 months ago

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FIRESIDE ✦

INFO: atla jet x gn! reader drabble, 1.4k words...... (bad writing i'm not proud💀) SYNOPSIS: you're the damsel in distress that falls for your saving grace. or: delusion WARNINGS: tiny bit of blood AUTHOR'S NOTE: not proof read (it wasn't supposed to be this long), I wrote this post without making it a proper fic to make up for the lack of jet fanfictions anywhere please take my contribution 😞 listen to fireside by the arctic monkeys 👍

You're a travelling merchant dealing in handmade weapons. Your craft is passed down in your family, and you recently left your hometown on your own for the first time to travel to Ba Sing Se to make a living there.

The day you two first met, you'd been on your horse all day, dragging behind you a creaky stand containing your life’s worth of materials and weapons (rattling with each step – it was beginning to grate on your nerves) with no signs of the glaring sun easing on your weary limbs. So when the forest suddenly falls far too silent for your liking, you don’t even notice in your heat stricken malady.

It’s only when a group of bandits abruptly seizes the reins of your horse, sawing loose your saddle straps when you realise you’re under attack. But by then, they’re already beginning to rifle through your belongings as you fall unceremoniously onto the hard dirt path, wincing as a bandit grabs you by the shoulders, pulling you up.

You reach for the sword at your belt – the one that you crafted yourself under the guidance of your father once he’d deemed you skilled enough – but you didn’t even need to draw it before a bird call sounded amidst the cacophonous riot.

Emerging from the thick treeline, a band of – kids? Jumped out, wielding perilously sharp and comically large weapons for their ages and sizes. The bandits scoffed at their appearance, brandishing their vicious looking blades at the children who charged at them.

Then the vice-like grip on your shoulders eased, and a hand appeared in the peripherals of your vision.

As you took the hand being offered – calloused and rough, yet warm – your saviour gave you a cursory glance, checking you for injury. When he finally met your gaze, you both froze in place.

Warm eyes, tanned skin, dark, unruly hair that loosely framed his face. In his other hand he held two long, hooked swords that gleamed in the harsh light.

Jet couldn’t tell whether you were simply shocked or there was something wrong – either way, there was a fight surging around you, and there was no time for greetings and formalities.

(if you looked for any longer, you’d have seen the slight blush dusting his cheeks)

“Behind,” You had no time to process his meaning before he stepped in front of you, meeting the serrated blade of the bandit with his own weapons in a deafening clash of steel. You quickly drew your sword and slashed at the arm of another bandit whose club soared a high arc above Jet’s head, eliciting a howl of pain as they dropped the club onto the ground and scrambled for the trees.

You two seemed to make a pretty good pair.

After the dust had settled, he offered you his flask of water, chest heaving, hair clinging to his forehead with perspiration, with a grin playing across his face.

“Thank you.” You take it, drinking your fill before capping the container. “But who are you?”

“We’re the freedom fighters.” His companions wave at you as they attempt to salvage the wreckage of your goods (which you supposed you should’ve also been doing, but you’d had a long day).

“And you?”

“They call me Jet.” he smiles, a glint in his eyes. “But you can call me whatever you want.”

I hate myself for writing that line but I can’t think of another thing for him to say

Anyway time skip a little, he showed you to the freedom fighter’s hideout, and you decide to pay them back for saving you by giving their weapons a little maintenance

They offer you further kindness by inviting you to stay for dinner, to which you accept – what choice did you have after the bandits spoiled most of your food on the ground?

You sharpen some swords, polish some daggers, and share a meal with the ragtag freedom fighters around the fire, laughing along with crude jokes shared about clumsy bandits.

Then Jet comes up to you with his hooked swords hanging loosely from his grip – offering them to you for maintenance – and your curiosity gets the better of you.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” You observe the craftsmanship of his swords, testing their balance, running your finger along the blade’s hooked ends.

“Pretty neat, huh? They’re Tiger Blades. Traditional weapon.”

“Where’d you get them?”

“Stole it from a firebending soldier.”

You raised your eyebrows skeptically. “You fight off firebending soldiers regularly?”

A grin. “When the job calls for it.”

“That’s not… dangerous?”

“You’ve seen me fight, haven’t you?”

In the firelight, his eyes are alight with molten gold.

“So your job isn’t just saving random people from bandits?”

He laughs, and the sound fills the air between you with warmth.

“I wouldn’t say you’re a random person,” you look up, but his gaze is cast into the fire, unreadable.

When he doesn’t say anything further, you sustain the silence, only rummaging through your bags to find another stone to sharpen his blade with before the thought occurs to you.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ah, I’d rather not try to sharpen this blade. I don’t know how.” you attempt to hand it back, but he stops you.

“I can show you,” he leaves the unspoken question hanging in the air, watching you with a certain hopefulness in his eyes.

You nod wordlessly, and you hand him the stone, watching him tie his hair up. His brows furrow as he angles the blade, quickly running the stone along its edge. But you can’t focus on the blade – not really – as the firelight illuminates his features, basking them in a soft glow.

“It’s not that hard – well it won’t be, for someone as experienced as you.”

You’re grateful for the dim light, or he would’ve seen the blush highlighting your cheeks.

“You just guide the stone along the edge as usual,” he absently says under his breath, “and use more force here.”

You nod blankly as he turns back to you, handing you the blade and the stone.

“There you go.”

You move to grab the handle of the blade, but your finger catches on its edge, drawing blood.

“Shit,” you lick the blood off your finger, wincing slightly as it rapidly flows out.

“Sorry, I –”

“No, it’s not your fault. I wasn’t careful.” you shake your hand, grimacing at the throbbing pain.

“Smellerbee, could you fetch the bandages?”

“What? Why me?”

“Just – do it. Please.”

Smellerbee grumbles something under his breath as he leaves.

You nurse your injured finger as it pulsates, face drawn in pain.

“You have a little something –”

“Huh?” your gaze flickers between him and your finger, unsure of what he means.

“Here,” his fingers graze your chin as he wipes off blood from your face – from the initial injury, when you tried to lick up the blood from your wound.

Your face heats up as his touch lingers, skimming across your chin to your cheek.

He’s utterly captivated, it seems.

“Am I interrupting something?”

He snatches his hand away with a look of guilt, and you turn away. “Ah. Smellerbee.”

“...I’ll leave the bandages here.”

“Thanks.”

“.........Don’t mention it.”

He bandages your finger with deft movements. Neither of you speak a word, but nothing needs to be said. The tension between you is electric, and any onlooker can tell with a mere glance (especially after Smellerbee went and groaned about the two of you to Pipsqueak and Longshot).

After he bandages your finger, he gets up from his place at the fire.

“You’re staying the night, right?”

You nod.

“Smellerbee will show you to your tent.” your disappointment must be visible on your face, because he huffs a laugh. “I’m sorry I can’t. I have duties to attend to. But you’ll be here for breakfast, right?”

You nod. He seemed to have that speechless effect on you.

“Right then, uh, goodnight.” he smiles, appearing to hesitate for a moment before walking off.

“You guys are gross.” Smellerbee mutters from beside you.

“What?”

“Gross. Look at what you do to him. And don’t you give me that clueless look or I swear.”

Neither of you could sleep that night.

(but when you woke up there was a bright basket of fresh berries arranged with little flowers throughout it at the door of your tent. You can only wonder who sent it, and why there was a note reading “sorry about your finger, please let me make it up to you.”)

written by @atlaswav, published 3rd of March 2024

#atla #avatar the last airbender #atla live action #avatar the last airbender live action #jet atla #atla jet #jet x reader #jet drabble #it wasn't supposed to be this long #sebastian amoruso #sebastian amoruso is so MMHMETJAFK #jet #☁️. drabbles

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blac-ivy · 6 months ago

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Credit @reyenii on tiktok

Where y'all at?

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ijustwant2write · 3 years ago

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Them Cheating On You

Trying something different, I got this request below and thought I would do small blurbs on each.

Masterlist

Requested by anonymous:

‘Alrighty I got three requests to ask of you!

Harry Villers angst

Tommy Shelby angst

Bjorn Ironside angst

Basically I wonder what would happen with a cheating kind of thing. Would the reader get back with them or would they say “uh bu-bye bye”’

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Cheating, arguing, shouting, mention of sex and death

(A/N: I DO NOT CONDONE CHEATING!!! IT’S THE ONE OF THE LOWEST THINGS A PERSON CAN DO!)

Harry Villiers

(GIF credit to @judediangelo)

I was a fucking idiot. Why did I think he would change? Why did I think our relationship would be different? He was like that snake in the Garden of Eden, if you wanted to be really metaphorical. Slithering his way towards you, and you know it was wrong to even pay attention to him but you couldn’t help it; he tempted you to do things, he charmed you to think that you were missing out on so much, and the only way to really start living life was to be with him.

I could feel eyes on me as I walked through the halls at uni, wishing I could storm through the crowds without attracting any attention. This was humiliating, it was mortifying! I had ignored friends, ignored the rumours about him, ignored the red flags that were practically slapping me in the face. I had always said I would never fall for someone like Harry Villiers, I wouldn’t be one of those girls that fell into these kind of traps. So why was I here? Because I couldn’t resist those gorgeous eyes...no those betraying eyes!

I knocked hard on his door repeatedly until he opened it, leaning against the door frame. He looked me up and down with a smirk, shirt on but not buttoned up, hair slightly messy. Normally I would push him back inside and immediately jump on him, but not today.

“I didn’t know you were coming over today my darling.” he said, reaching up to hold my chin between his fingers, but I slapped it away.

“Don’t.” I disappointingly whispered out wishing I wasn’t crying and could snap at him.

“What’s wrong?” his face showed concern though I could tell he was pretending.

“You are the most horrible person I’ve ever met.” I sobbed. I didn’t care that we were going to argue in the hallway with a few people passing by.

“And why’s that?” he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Stop acting stupid! You cheated on me! We’ve been together four months Harry, and that doesn’t include the month we started dating. We had established we were in a relationship, you told me that it was us now. If you wanted to leave, you had your chance, you could have told me. Instead you stab me in the back and make me look like a fucking twat in front of the entire university!”

“Who’s told you this then?”

“Everyone Harry!”

“(Y/N), you knew I was a bachelor, girls will always want me whether I’m with someone or not.”

My mouth and eyes opened wide.“How could you say something so disgusting?!”

“You’re a smart girl (Y/N). You should have seen this coming.”

Harry went to close the door, and I even surprised myself when I stopped him, let alone him. He looked panicked as I barged in, slamming the door behind me. I glared at him, not caring about the tears gushing out of my eyes just then; my voice was going to be strong, I was going to make my point.

“You know what Harry? I’m not going to waste my time lecturing you about how wrong you are, how you are the biggest piece of shit in the world. Because you’ve already heard it a thousand times over, and clearly you’ve never listened. So I’ll leave you with this. Soon enough, girls are going to catch on that you are the easy one, not them. You’re the one who offers himself to anything with a vagina. And they’ll leave you behind in the dust, no one will ever want to even look at you because of how ugly your personality is. Don’t ever talk to me again, don’t ever contact me again, don’t even think about me again. Fuck you Harry Villiers!”

Before he had a chance to say anything back, I dashed out of the door, slamming it once again. I leaned against it for a few seconds, catching my breath. I couldn’t give a fuck about my tears anymore, it wasn’t as if no one knew what was going on. Quickly pushing myself away from his room, I headed back to my own, needing time to lie down. Yes, I was still heart broken, I felt betrayed, but there was slight relief now that I had got some anger out of my system. It was going to take time to heal, but looking back, I was extremely lucky to get that bastard out of my life before it was too late.

Thomas Shelby

(GIF credit to @thesoldiersminute)

“Miss Shelby, Mr Shelby has requested not to be disturbed-”

“I don’t care.” I snapped at the poor maid, knowing I would regret that later.“Now you may make sure no one disturbs us.”

I carelessly threw my hat, coat and handbag onto the sofa as I passed by it, hearing her scramble for it. Tommy was in his office as usual, and I burst in, waiting for the maid to shut it behind me. My eyes were staring down Tommy was was stood over his desk, cigarette just lit, he couldn’t look more bothered if he tried.

“So you slept with her?” I just came out with it.

“(Y/N)-”

“Don’t start with the lies Tom. I heard Polly talking about it, and she wasn’t afraid to tell me the truth.”

He sighed.“Fine. I did. Does that make you happy?”

“Oh yes, now that everything is cleared up I’m overjoyed Thomas!” I threw my hands up in the air, letting them flop back down at my sides.“Of course it fucking doesn’t.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Why did you do it?”

“I had to.”

“You had to?”

“It was...part of a business move.”

“So cheating on your wife, sleeping with another woman was all to do with business? That’s an awful excuse, even for you.”

“Why can’t you just accept my answer?”

“Because it’s bullshit Tom!” I approached the desk, fists clenched.“It’s not as if you have a clean record with this kind of thing.”

“If I didn’t do it, she wouldn’t agree to this deal, and this deal included the safety of my family, the safety of you!”

“Oh, really? So you couldn’t just put a bullet in her?”

“You know that’s not how this works.”

“That’s how it usually goes down.”

“It’s hard to explain-”

“I’m sure it is. But this won’t be. I’m leaving Tom, I can’t be with a man who thinks sleeping with other women is good for business.”

“For fucks sake,” he harshly put out his cigarette, rounding the table and standing in front of me,“why can’t you trust me?”

I raised my voice.“Because you fucking cheated on me!”

“Fine. Then what are you going to do when you leave? What money will you have? Where will you go?”

“Are you..are you-”

“Threatening? Blackmailing? No, I’m just telling you the truth about this matter.”

“Just because I wouldn’t be living in a lavish house or have your money at my dispense, doesn’t mean-”

“You won’t have anything.”

“Stop interrupting!”

“You’ll soon see that I had to do this. That woman is more powerful that anyone we’ve come up against before, she’s more ruthless, merciless. I knew she would come after you first, and kill you in the most torturous way possible.”

“You’re saying all of this like I should be thanking you. Tom,” a wave over emotions came over me, anger quickly being replaced by sadness, “do you know how much you’ve broken my heart?”

He ducked his head down, wiping a hand over his face. Nothing was said as he turned away from me, leaning against the desk with both hands. I just couldn’t take his excuse, it wasn’t justifiable.

“You will not leave.” he stated.

“What? So not only are you lying to me, you’re now giving me orders.”

“What are you going to do, eh?” he spun around, a now more manic look in his eye,“I’m not letting you leave over this. We’ve been through too much together, we’ve gone through much worse than this. If you leave, you’ll die out there, no one will take you in because you used to be married to me.”

I hated that he was right. I had come from nothing and would die with nothing if I had never met Tommy. It was embarrassing to admit I had never fended for myself. Sure I could defend myself, but how long would I actually last if I was tossed out into the real world? He had a hold on me, and I used to never notice, because that hold was called marriage.

“Is that it? Is that the only reason I should stay?”

“I can’t lose you.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. Before I could walk away, I said one last thing,“I didn’t think it would be that hard for you to tell me you love me.”

Bjorn Ironside

(GIF credit to @hvitserkk)

“(Y/N)!” Bjorn’s voice roared into the hall.

Luckily I was alone, though I wouldn’t have minded some people spectating what was about to happen. Leaning back in my chair, I casually sipped on the mead I had graciously poured out for myself, smirking behind it. Bjorn marched in, headed straight towards me with a fury in his eyes as if I were his enemy in battle.

“(Y/N)! How dare you disgrace me!”

I finished my drink, taking my time before answering.“Oh, like how you disgraced me?”

“What?”

“Do not lie to me Bjorn. I know you slept with Bodil.”

“And who told you that?”

“Bodil.”

“No one has seen her since the raid.”

“I know. And no one will see her again.”

“What did you do?”

“No, Bjorn, what did you do? Hm?”

“I do not understand why you have got so upset over this? Men do it all the time, men have urges.”

“And women do not? Don’t you recall the nights I too pined for you to warm my bed? The nights where I demanded you ensure I finish too-”

“This is different!” he shouted.

“No it isn’t!” I screamed back, standing up and smashing my cup on the floor.“You humiliated me, so I do the same to you.”

“You slept with a man who is know for hating me, who is known for trying to ruin my reputation.”

“Consider it ruined. I will not roll over and let you fuck whoever you please. You are mine and I am yours. There are either rules for both or rules for none.”

“Why are you being difficult? You really can be infuriating sometimes.”

“You are one to speak. Bjorn Ironside, the most difficult lover of them all.”

“There, you said it yourself, we are lovers. We are not married.”

“No, we aren’t. So why are you so angry that I too laid with another?”

He groaned.“It is not the same!”

I laughed.“I suppose not. Some women do turn a blind eye, but you knew I would do no such thing. You knew from the start how headstrong I was, how, I guess, possessive I am of my things. Bjorn, you said you wanted to marry me. Should that have not been an indication of a future together?”

“I will not have you try to confuse me.”

“Yes, it’s quite easy to do that.”

“Shut up!”

“No, you shut up! I am not a fool, I am not some thrall you can use whenever you want. I am a warrior, a woman who knows her worth. And you certainly are not worthy enough for me.”

“Then you forget who I am. You forget who my father is-”

“I don’t forget, I am not stupid. And you’re just like him, in the worst ways possible.”

I spat at his feet, turning up my nose as I walked out.

“Now what?”

“Now I leave you and find a man that is worthy of me.”

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myfatbottomedgirls · 3 years ago

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Florence mornings

I’ve been thinking of writing fan fiction for years so I’ve decided to do a little blurb of Douglas Booth x y/n (genderless). This is my first piece so be kind! Just fluff!

You awake with the light streaming in through the sheer, white curtains. Stretching your limbs and looking to your left to him warmed your heart. His dark brown hair, falling slightly over one eye; his full lips slightly pursed in his slumber; smooth cheekbones and lines from every smiled he cracked when you told him one of your ridiculous, sleep-deprived ideas or silly dad jokes.

You stood up and found one of his shirts on the floor, buttoning just a few for decency and creeped your way into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. The two of you were in Florence for a romantic summer away. Douglas was taking a sabbatical from filming for the next year so you’d both moved out to sunny Italy for a few months. The flat you were renting was quaint, an open plan kitchen and living room, warm chestnut wood covering every surface, plants, books and older trinkets you had picked up throughout your relationship was in every nook and cranny of this beautiful flat.

As the coffee started you looked down on the rug you were standing on, a beautiful floral design on a cream woven base. You’d remembered when the pair of you bought it; it was a beautiful Saturday morning when you and Doug had decided to go on a walk through Camden Lock and get a warm drink and some breakfast, looking around the stalls and small music shops as you did so. When suddenly, it was like the sky had broken in two and the torrential rain started. Seeking shelter, the pair of you ran into the nearest shop, a small handmade rug store. Giggling at what had just been, you begin to look around, with Doug holding the small of your back as you ran your hands over the different materials, until you stumbled upon this very one. It reminded you of the one you had in your grandma’s kitchen when you were small.

Hearing the pot begin to whistle, you snap out of your happy flashback and are drawn back into reality and take the pot off the stove. Taking two small mugs out of the cabinet, you feel two hands wrap themselves around your middle and a sleepy head rest on your shoulder. You stop what you’re doing to turn your head slightly, receiving a kiss on the cheek. Giggling at Douglas’s sleepy, loved-up antics, you squeeze his hands and turn in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” you say.

“Mmm, hello,” he replies giving you a lopsided smile with his eyes still closed.

Turning back around, you ask, “Coffee?”

“Always, thank you darling.”

“Open the balcony doors will you, love, need some more light in here now that you’re awake.”

Begrudgingly as he wished to stay with you in his arms forever, Doug does as asked, opening the doors and allowing the light to fall into the small flat, illuminating your soft features in the morning. He can’t stop staring as you perfect both of your coffees to exactly the way you both love it, grab the packet of cigarettes on the side and walk over to him, setting the coffees down on the small metal table you keep out there.

“What?” You ask softly as you begin to sit down and light your cigarette.

As you exhale Douglas looks at you with all the love a lover could ever hold in their heart for someone. He brushes your hair slightly out of your eyes, kisses your forehead and lightly shakes his head with a soft smile that seems permanently planted his face.

“Nothing, darling, thank you for the coffee.” He moves the other chair to sit adjacent from his lover and puts one hand on their leg as he lights his own cigarette.

Music from down the street can be heard flowing throughout the small town they’ve decided to reside in for the next few months. Content and happy, the lovers are in peace, paradise.

#Douglas Booth #douglas booth x reader #The Riot Club #riot club fanfic #nikki sixx fanfiction #douglas booth fluff #fanfic #fluff #riot club

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xtrashmammalstefx · 4 years ago

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My Work thus far, all nice and clean!

Borhap Boys:

I Think...- Joe Mazzello

My Joy Was Complete- Joe Mazzello & Gwilym Lee

As Is Done- Ben Hardy

Who Do You Love- Ben Hardy

The Drunken Shenanigans of the Borhap Boys- Ben Hardy

Douglas Booth:

Stupid Kissing Thief

Ocean Eyes

Baby Mine

Machine Gun Kelly:

At My Best

Nikki Sixx (The Dirt)

Asshole

My Dr. Feelgood

The Queen Repertoire Series

***Queen***

Keep Yourself Alive- Brian May

Doing Alright- Joe Mazzello

Great King Rat- Roger Taylor

My Fairy King- Freddie Mercury

Liar!- Joe! John Deacon

The Night Comes Down-Brian May

Modern Times Rock and Roll- Ben! Roger Taylor

Son And Daughter- John Deacon

Jesus- Deacury

Mad The Swine- Ben! Roger Taylor

***Queen II***

Father To Son- Brian May

White Queen (As It Began)- Freddie Mercury

Some Day One Day- Gwilym Lee

The Loser In The End- Joe Mazzello

Ogre Battle- Joe! John Deacon

The Fairy Feller's Master Stroke- Joe Mazzello

Nevermore- Joe Mazzello

March of the Black Queen- BORHAP BOYS

***A Day At The Races***

Long Away- Brian May

The Riot Club:

To Love Thy Enemy- Harry

You're Drunk- Harry

Was He Better?- Harry & Dimitri

Zak Bagans:

Where My Demon's Hide

Stubborn Asshole

How To Piss Off an Old-Fashioned Ghost

NOTE: I will be updating this list from now so please ignore the hot mess that is my original list. Enjoy my fellow trash mammals! 😊

#fanfiction #smut #fluff #imagine #x reader #borhap #the dirt #queen #the riot club #machine gun kelly #zak bagans

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yamagache · 2 years ago

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Thank you @jkl-fff for the tag. It’s been so long since I’ve done one of these.

Last Song: Riot by Hollywood Undead. Found this song within a YouTube playlist called: “Warming my Hands on Bridges I’ve Burnt (Villain playlist)” this song immediately slammed me to the wall and I said thank you. The chorus absolutely slaps and I’ve been obsessed. I’ve really been enjoying clicking on randomly curated playlist with amusing titles. My music tastes have really flourished because of it.

Currently Reading: Eragon! Loved the movie. Had the first book for years. Wasn’t until my brother in law got me the remaining three books and told me he too owned the set, that we both decided to start a sort of book club for two. Been reading in sections of seven chapters. It’s been very enjoyable and has got me back into reading. (If you don’t count fanfiction lol)

Three Ships: Parapines. Still the OTP… and… um…. I guess Huntlow. They’re pretty much cannon at this point but I find them absolutely adorable. And as an absolute Crack Ship I ship Dark Frost, do not be confused with Black Ice which is Jack Frost and Pitch Black. I Do Not ship them. No Dark Frost is Jack Frost with Dark Heart from the Care Bears 2 movie. 😅 I find their dynamic very fun.

Last Film: Puss in Boots The last wish. What an incredibly beautiful film, great and honest story about the fear of death and being grateful for what you have. The animation pops off so much I wonder if the animators had the time to just have fun? Because some of these scenes?! Shit looked like anime but like studio bones anime!! And the wolf… 😳🥵🫠 Am I simping for the anthro carnation of Death?… maybe.

Craving: TO MAKE ALL THE BREAD! 🥯 🍞 🥖 I’ve been on a bread making kick and I have no plans of stopping. Bitch nothing cures the dark abyss in the deepest crevas of your soul like fresh homemade hot bread slathered in butter. And it’s so easy.

Tagging: @drawloverlala @etcseacow @gravityfallsrockz @markingatlightspeed

(I remade it bc it bc the last one was getting very long lol)

rules: tag some people you want to know better/catch up with, i got tagged by @theverywest

last song: the flying dutchman/pos

currently reading: i just finished rereading secret garden!

three ships: uh whatevers going on with scott and the person hes trying to revive in wcsmp rn lmao, team rancher ;-; and probably flower husbands

last film: annie, but the 1999 version (the best one. no i do not take feedback. ty)

craving: uhhhh less schoolwork cries

tags/nf :D @hoax-the-ghost @meadflo @fire-to-embers @bidet-and-legolas @scribbling-dragon @robotwhoisntamerican @luminous-faerie @whoreslut-supreme @the-olipeligo @a-chilly-pepper

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riotboysrequests · 8 years ago

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Writing request please!! Dimtri and Guy meeting at at Eton over dinner. (Maybe add the other boys if you want :) ) P. S. Love the fic so far !

I’m sorry this request has taken so long in the making! I adore these two so much, they’re my favourite characters in the entire thing! [I’m also sorry for the slightly sad turn this took at the end. Sheesh.] Enjoy! —-“Darling. It really isn’t that bad.”

Gillian Bellingfield looked back over her shoulder at her son as the car picked up speed on the motorway. It seemed that the more she looked at her youngest the more painful it felt for both of them. Guy was sitting in the back of the car with his knees hugged to his chest. At his Mother’s words, he lifted his head. Wide eyed and red cheeked, the thirteen-year-old didn’t reply. He just rested his chin back on his knees again. Gill sighed, turning back in her seat to look at the open road again. “You’ll enjoy yourself. Your Father did, didn’t you Nathan?”

Nathan Bellingfield shifted in his seat again, looking at his son in the rear mirror as he drove. “One of the best times in my life. Guy. Look at me.”

The boy lifted his head again, managing a little sniff as he rubbed at his eyes. Nathan sighed. “The friends you’ll make here will last for a very long time. These boys are the best, and you get to be one of them. I promise you, Eton will be the most amazing experience you could ever dream of.”

“Then why can’t I stay at home? Just walk there every day? Why did I have to leave my old school? Why doesn’t this school start when you’re 11 like all the other schools?” All the questions in the world, and Guy was sure he would never get a straight answer out of either of his parents. “… Why do I have to stay there?”

Nathan exchanged a look with his wife. In the end, it always boiled down to this. It had with their older children and now was no different. He cleared his throat. “Guy, boarding at the school builds character. Your elder brother manages. And your sister when she went to Roedean. Put your feet down off the seat, please.”

Slowly, Guy lowered his knees, simply resting his forehead against the window instead. “I’m not Robert though, am I? Robert’s better at everything and he’s got loads of friends there—“

“And so will you, darling.” Gill reached her arm back to take rest on her son’s knee. “Come on, poppet. Big school, now isn’t it? You’ll get to learn with all the other boys and,” She squeezed his knee gently. “This is the best ticket to Oxford if you keep going with your History.”

And there it was again. Oxford. Guy closed his eyes, nodding his head simply because he knew that his Mother would drop the subject if he did so. His elder sister had told him time and time again how amazing Oxford was, and his brother, starting his final year at Eton now, had already received an offer from the University. Guy wasn’t even sure if he wanted to go. It just seemed like something his family simply had to do. His Mother and Father had met in their first year there, for goodness sake.

“Is it just the boarding that’s scaring you?” His Mother asked, her eyes still filled with concern. Guy nodded once. A lie. Seemingly one that his Father saw right through. He raised a brow, making eye contact with him again in the rear mirror.

“Honestly?”“It is!”“Guy.”

The boy leant back in his seat again, slightly embarrassed. “What if…What if no-one talks to me?

Gillian was fairly certain she felt her heart break at his words. She turned properly in her seat. “Darling. Guy, don’t say things like that. Of course you’ll make friends. Why would you think that?”

The boy offered a one-shouldered shrug. “I just didn’t have many at Primary that’s all.”

“Darling, it’ll be very different. This isn’t Year 7 at a co-ed. This is Eton poppet. And Robert will be there. He’ll make sure you’re settling in properly.”

Guy simply raised a brow at his Mother’s words. The sheer thought of Robert doing anything remotely considerate to him was nearly laughable. But if that was what his Mother wanted to believe then he would let her.

An hour later, he was standing in the large main hall.

An hour later, he was holding his Mother tighter than he ever thought he had held her before.

He had his face pressed in to her dress, trying to remember her smell as he felt the tears prickle in his eyes. It was then that Gillian realised that this was in fact her youngest child, and that she was sending him away when in reality he was still a little boy.

“Mummy,” It was a small whimper as she wrapped her arms around him again. “I don’t want to. I really really don’t want to.”

She kissed his head once. And then again when the realisation sank in once more. “Just try. And if you still feel the same after a week we’ll talk to the headmaster, alright? But you can’t not try. You’re my Little Guy remember?” She whispered, smoothing back his hair as he looked up at her, scratching at the black uniform he was wearing. It took him a few moments, but after a while he managed the smallest of nods.

Gillian held her son to her once again, sighing. “We have to go now, sweetheart. I’ll phone you tonight. But you never know, you might want to talk to me. You might have made so many friends you’ll be too busy having fun.”

Once again, Guy highly doubted his Mother’s words. But judging by the sad way she was looking at him they were about to leave. He felt his Father run a hand through his hair and smile down at him.

“You’ll be fine, son. I promise.” And with a brief hug from his parents, they walked back to the car. Leaving Guy Bellingfield standing on his own. There was a moment where an older boy took his suitcase from him and informed him that it would be taken to his House dorm, but other than that, he was left completely and utterly alone. As always.

More and more parents were taking their leave, some were crying, some were as emotionless as their own brainwashed bourgeoisie sons. He could already see boys talking to one another in little groups, already making friends. The friends his Father told him he would have for the rest of his life. But as always, Guy found himself quite alone. He was ushered over to one of the groups by a school master.

“What’s your name?”

“Bellingfield.” He knew that this would be the start of seven years of being referred to by his last name by both peers and teachers alike, seeing as the same was done to every other boy at the school. The man was sitting so rigidly it almost appeared he had a pole up his back. He had a pair of spectacles balanced on his nose and spoke with the same level of entitled sophistication that Guy had always known. He scanned up and down a list of names, finally finding what he was looking for.

“Guy Bellingfield?”“Yes sir.” Guy shifted awkwardly, already feeling numerous eyes on him.“You’re in Durnford house. Green and purple colours. You’re dining table is the furthest on the left. Go and get yourself seated.”Guy stared across the grand hall owlishly. He was fairly certain that someone in the sky had it in for him. Out of all the tables, why was it that his had to be the one on the other side of the room. The teacher lifted his head again when he noticed that Guy hadn’t moved.“On your way, boy.”

“Oh, sorry!” Guy stumbled forward, pulling his jacket a little closer around him as he walked across the hall.

The Durnford table was set out in age order as far as he could see. The eldest boys were sitting on one end, tall, well-adjusted and already funnelling in to Oxford and Cambridge alike. And then there was his end of the table, which appeared to be a gabble of giggling boys who were full of all the excitement of the ‘first day’. Such excitement that Guy was sure he was supposed to have, but didn’t.

It was only when one of the boys turned and looked at him that he noticed he had been standing at the side of the table oddly for the past minute. He was a smiling boy, with one of the most symmetrical faces that Guy had ever seen. Right down to the boyish freckles, perfectly even on each side.

“Are you quite alright?” He asked.“Y-Yes. Sorry. Is this the Durnford table?” He mumbled, rubbing at the itchy collar once again. The boy nodded, more or less tugging him down in to a seat. Confidence seemed to ebb out of this boys very pores. He extended a hand to Guy to shake.

“Villiers. Harry Villiers. Jolly good to meet you.”

Guy stared at the other thirteen year old’s outstretched hand, hurriedly shaking it when he realised he hadn’t done so quicker. “Guy. Guy Bellingfield.”Harry nodded. “That’s a weird name.”

Guy leant back in his seat. “I-I know. Most of the kids at my old school just called me Freak.” He was half expecting the jeering agreement as usual, but was instead met with a hearty laugh from Harry. “Oh that’s brilliant. Ed. Toby. Come and meet Guy. He’s bloody hilarious.”

Guy blinked, looking from Harry to the two boys on the other end of the table he was talking to. Hilarious. He wasn’t sure anyone had ever called him something like that before. Guy poured himself a drink, sitting back in his chair again. After a moment, he looked to the boy sitting opposite him. A dark boy who seemed more occupied with staring out of the window than the actual dinner taking place.

Maybe his Mother was right after all. Maybe he really would make life long friends here. He had already seemed to have made a good impression with his house mates. He glanced back over at Harry, who simply grinned back at him good naturedly..

“Hullo.” Guy mumbled, looking back at the boy opposite him. “I’m Guy. Guy Bellingfield.”

“I heard.” The boy replied quietly, finally pulling his gaze from the window. Guy swallowed, offering a hand to shake as Harry had done before. Perhaps not everyone was as charmingly confident as Harry Villiers was. [This was a fact he would know to be true in their University years. Especially when it came to women.]

“What’s your name?”The smaller boy seemed to hesitate for a few seconds before he finally shook hands.“Dimitri.”“Dimitri what?”“You wouldn’t be able to say it.” He said simply, resting his chin back on his hand as he looked out of the window. Guy shifted in his seat, fiddling with one of the forks. “I could give it a go. I’m rather good at saying complicated things.”Dimitri simply looked unimpressed, his dark fringe falling over his eyes. “Mitropoulos. Dimitri Mitropoulos.”

Guy tilted his head. “Blimey. That is a mouthful isn’t it. It sounds Greek.” Where was this chattiness coming from? Guy didn’t really know. But for some reason the boy in front of him just seemed easy for him to talk to.

“I am Greek.” Came the simple response as he looked back at Guy, the window forgotten. Guy leant forward in interest. “You are? Oh that sounds amazing. What’s it like over there?” His Mother had often told him to stop bombarding people with questions. But like most times, Guy had completely ignored her.

Dimitri’s unimpressed look was still there, but it was slowly fading with time.

“It’s—“ The boy took a second to look around the hall they were in. “It’s a lot less green. It’s a lot different to England, actually.”“I can imagine. Are you Mum and Dad flying back today then?”Dimitri shook his head, sipping at his drink. “No. My Mother and Father are at home. I was sent here on my own.”

Guy stared for a second. “You were…” He stopped, frowning steadily. “All on your own?”

“Father said it builds character.”

Guy closed his eyes. It was only a few hours ago that his Father had said the same thing to him about living away from home at a young age. “Do you miss them?”

Dimitri seemed to think for a moment, a look crossing in his eyes that Guy knew all too well. The feeling of trying to force oneself not to well up. “Sort of.” The boy rubbed at his face angrily, trying to remove any sense of emotion. Guy leant forward again, trying his best to look as friendly as possible. “I miss mine too. I…I don’t think it’s a bad thing. I think it’s a normal thing. Especially seeing as your family are in a completely different country. You’ll be able to write to them, surely. And your friends.”

Dimitri gave a slightly bitter laugh, though it faded to a slightly softer expression when he saw the confused look on Guy’s face. “I didn’t…I didn’t really have any friends when I was at home.”

A tiny smile crossed over Guy’s lips then, and he nodded his head in understanding. “Neither did I.”

“You didn’t?”

“Not a single one. They all thought I was weird.”

“Well you are a bit funny looking.” Dimitri reasoned. For once, the expression Guy saw was one of humour, and not the judgemental ones he was so used to. He found a laugh bubbling at his lips as he shoved at Dimitri’s arm playfully.

“Sod off. No I don’t.”

“You do! And I think you’re my bloody roommate too. So I’m going to be stuck with you for the next seven years.” Dimitri simply shoved him back, in the playfighting nature that the two of them would grow so used to as they grew together.

“You’re really lucky then. You get to share a room with someone as awesome as me.” Guy shot back, simply laughing when Harry nearly spilt his glass over when he was gesturing in conversation with Ed.

“As if, Bellend.”

Guy blinked, looking up in shock. “What?”

Dimitri just grinned. “Bellend. I’ve decided that’s going to be your nickname. Bellingfield. Bellend. Pretty cool if you ask me.”

“You’re going to call me Bellend forever now aren’t you?”

“Most likely.”

As Guy settled back on his chair and continued to talk to Dimitri, Harry and the others, he didn’t know that his Father had in fact been right all along. These were the friends that he would have for the rest of his life. That much was true. But it was Dimitri Mitropoulos who would be his best friend through all those years.

It would be Dimitri who simply fell over laughing at him whenever he messed up in Rugby. Dimitri who would roll his eyes and kick him in the leg whenever he tried too hard at being funny.

Dimitri would be the one who simply lay awake in the bunk above him as they talked for hours on end about pointless things, all the while whilst shoving sweets in to their mouths.

Guy had gone to his best friend—the more accurate description would be ‘sprinted’ when they 18 years old on results day and he had been accepted in to Oxford. And poor Dimitri was the one who suffered from an attack hug that knocked them both to the ground when he told him he had done the same.

And, in the long run, Dimitri Mitropoulos would be standing next to him when the police came bursting through the door. It would be Dimitri who Guy was standing near as they stared at the barely breathing man on the floor. Dimitri had been the one that had barked something at one of the policemen when one of them had been a little too rough with Guy.

In the end, it had always been Dimitri who was there for Guy. And Guy would always be there in return. Because Dimitri Mitropoulos was the first proper friend Guy Bellingfield ever made.Even if they did have the occasional disagreement.

*“Mate. How long have we been friends?”“Since the first day of school, and you think I couldn’t be President because I’m Greek?”

#riotboysrequests #The Riot Club #riot club imagines #riot club movie #riot club fanfiction #Dimitri Mitropoulos #Guy Bellingfield #Dimitri Riot Request #Guy Riot Request #Ben Schnetzer #Matthew Beard #anon request

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backtothestart02 · 6 years ago

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Human Error - Chapter 1

Tagging @champagneholland, my standalone fan for this fic (thank you for your enthusiasm always! lol).

*Many thanks to @valeriemperez for beta’ing.

Chapter 1 -

He thought it would be easier than it was to see her again. As the years passed, he’d been able to dwell on Oxford without immediately associating it with the horrendous riot club. Becoming consumed by his studies and his future had turned out to be the right solution. This past holiday, unlike the one two years prior, he’d engaged in conversation with nearly everyone at the annual Richards Christmas party. He talked about Oxford, his studies, the career path he had all planned out. He’d gotten better too at maintaining neutral conversations with his parents’ prized bride for him, Stephanie Bellington. He was so good at conducting them that, in so many words, he’d gotten the message across that he was never going to choose her himself.

As a whole, Miles Richards felt the past two years had done him good. He’d separated himself completely from those who had – intentionally or not – almost ruined him. He was making his family proud and behaving appropriately. He was putting that first semester behind him and never looking back.

Yet there she was, her snug fitting jeans, cute fuzzy boots and plaid jacket set to shades of toned down purple and gray. Her hair now cut into a little bob that a sliver of a headband fit neatly into. Her smile almost reached her eyes as one of the girls beside her made a joke in the conversation and it sent a stab of pain to his insides, making his stomach flip over. She was still as gorgeous as ever, still impossible to look away from, and still the reminder of everything awful he’d ever done.

Miles forced himself to look away and headed into the building for his first class in the last semester of his Oxford career.

But not seeing her right in front of him solved nothing. He heard her words in his head as if they had happened yesterday.

“You were there. You had a choice, Miles. You chose to do nothing.”

He tried to clear his head of those words, of that painful memory, but only worse, more painful memories came to take its place. That night at the restaurant. That poor, innocent man being beaten to almost the point of death. The fear and panic that had him shaking and unaware of what would happen first, throwing up or passing out. Fate wasn’t merciful to him that night, because neither happened. The closest thing he’d done to something good was making the police suspect all of them because he hadn’t told the lie that he’d been ordered to, that the restaurant manager had simply fallen.

Physically he didn’t contribute to the man’s wounds, and not verbally or emotionally either. Nothing in him had wanted that man to be tortured and mutilated the way he was. But restraining himself from even voicing that opinion hurt him. Who knew how much less that man might have endured if he’d spoken up? Maybe Lauren’s declaration towards him wouldn’t have been quite so severe, because then he would have been pleading only for her, not for her assistance. A thousand things could have gone down differently if he had had enough courage to act on the horror he felt watching the boys he’d thought were his friends torturing an innocent man.

None of this had been easy to get past. It still haunted him to this day. But when he saw Lauren again, it hit him head on.

It wasn’t as if he set out to see her – just the opposite. She’d more or less threatened to ruin him if he so much as stepped an inch in her direction. From day one he’d wanted nothing more than to win her back, to apologize and somehow make amends for the unspeakable trauma he’d put her through. It didn’t matter that he never meant to. It didn’t matter that he’d been a fool and an ass with every word that had come jumbled out of his mouth that night. It didn’t matter that he was as scarred by his inability to save her from his so-called friends as she was by the attack she’d been under.

None of it mattered, because in the end his feelings were insignificant. They were driven by pure selfishness – the desire to be accepted, the expectation of a stainless reputation, the need to have her in his life. The fact that, even though he’d known just how royally he screwed up, he still assumed she’d forgive him – that he had that right. He was entitled to her forgiveness.

He wasn’t.

If he could do any of it over, he’d undo everything and do it this time the right way. He wouldn’t assume he was the moral compass in a group of seemingly harmless pranksters. Because actions spoke louder than words, even the act of doing nothing.

Ripping himself from the past he knew he’d never fully escape from, he refocused on the large domed hallway he was walking down and started to scan the doorways for the appropriate classroom number. Having been there as long as he had, it was still easy to not know where you were going. Oxford was huge, bigger than any establishment he’d visited, surprisingly. Miles knew who was in what dorm and where events were held, or large public areas that were often frequented – the courtyards, library, cafeteria… He knew where those were. But individual classrooms were often just a little bit fuzzy.

A few more doors down though and he thought he was nearing the correct room. Until he heard a familiar sound, identical to the one he’d heard before he stepped into the building. He stopped, and hesitantly looked in the direction of the feminine accent. It had ceased. He didn’t catch her eye, but he knew who it was. He quickly looked down at the sheet of paper in his hand that listed his class schedule for the final semester. Then he looked back up where the number was etched on top of the doorway. He looked back and forth between both paper and stone numbers but there was no denying it. Just as there was no denying the petite brunette figure that quickly stepped inside the room before he could think to move his feet in the same direction.

A chill raced down his spine and he felt unbelievably warm. Sweat formed in droplets on his forehead and the tie around his neck suddenly felt unbearably tight.

By some miracle, he snapped out of his heightened senses and forced himself to start walking, right into the room Lauren had just entered.

For the first time since their first semester at Oxford they would be sharing a class. They would be in closer proximity than they’d ever been since they’d gone their separate ways.

Miles didn’t have the slightest idea of what to expect. He only knew he was doomed and he saw no way of undoing that curse.

…

“Miles Richards,” the man, declaring himself Professor Irons, evenly called out. Another name down his roster of students.

Miles raised his hand, but it was futile. His new professor had his eyes glued to his list.

“Miles Richards,” he called out again.

Miles restrained himself from a sigh or a groan or a grumble, or any form of complaint really.

“Here,” he said.

Professor Irons made no vocal response. Just a swift check with his pen and he was on to the next student.

“Lauren Small,” he continued, and Miles froze.

He’d known it would happen. They were in the same class and her last name directly followed his alphabetically. But he’d heard only muffled chatter from her at a distance with her friends. Nothing clear or concise, nothing close by.

Her “present,” studious as ever, sent a jolt right through him. He felt light-headed, buzzed, and absolutely terrified.

Would she look back at him? Would she pretend he didn’t exist? Would she drop out of the class? Would she expect him to? Would he be able to pass this class at all with all of this weighing on him every moment it was in session?

“Good.” Professor Irons looked up and smiled at her, which made Miles frown, since every student before he’d neglected to so much as respond to.

He assured himself that it might be just that Lauren’s name was last on the list. Instead Professor Irons continued on till he’d reached a Charles Ziekler, ten names later.

There was no doubt in his mind that if it was between him and Lauren dropping out of class, it would be him.

“Well, students,” the professor resumed. “Welcome to Psychology 406 – or otherwise known as the class you must pass in order to graduate. I am the only one who teaches it, and this is the only time slot it is available.”

Miles felt his whole body overheat again as his heart plunged into his stomach and bile rose up his throat.

“You may be asking yourself,” he began, slowly walking across the long expanse of the front of the classroom. “There are thousands of final year students here. All of them can’t possibly fit in this one room.” He stopped moving and talking, pausing reflectively before somehow making eye contact with everyone sitting before him.

“You would be correct in your assumptions. However…” He started to walk again, turning when he got to the window and going back the way he’d come. “This class is not only available in the finale semester. It is available any semester you choose to take it. No doubt you all saw it as a requirement and figured you’d leave it till the last possible moment, thinking it would not matter or amount to much.”

He was almost to the wall by the door when he stopped again. This time he smiled almost maliciously when he addressed the crowd.

“In that, my fellow students, you would be wrong.”

He returned to the podium and flipped through some books, both for reading and writing respectively. He sighed and smiled contentedly when he reached the page he was seeking, and when he looked up at them all with that bright smile accompanied by a cool exterior, Miles once again sensed the oncoming disaster.

“This class will test your knowledge,” he began again. “But it will also test your skills, your ability to research and present. You’ve done those things in other classes, but in this one you will also have to prove your ability to work with others – even those with whom you don’t associate well.” Miles swallowed hard. “I will choose a partner for each of you that you cannot refuse. And by that I do not mean your heart will be overflowing for love for this person. I’m hoping it will be the contrary. No, your inability to refuse is based solely on the fact that my decision is final and your only way out of it is dropping the class and staying on an extra semester so you can take my class again, at least for you seniors.” He looked down at his books on the podium again, flipping through pages, appearing almost bored. “I would not advise the latter, but it is of course up to you.”

Miles sank farther into his seat. He glanced up to where Lauren sat three seats back and four rows over and told him he should feel comforted by the fact that she was fidgeting a little. But it didn’t. It only made him more on edge, because who knew what she would decide to do now?

The professor’s voice faded as if it were being spoken from a distance. In Miles head, every word was effectively blocked except for an occasional one or two that his subconscious must’ve somehow known would be important.

A full string of words stood out and made everything worse. Made both his and Lauren’s hands clench around their desk. Miles thought his heart stopped beating for a moment. He wondered if she’d had the same sensation.

“Miles Richards and Lauren Small. You will be the first set of partners. For every project for the duration of the semester, you will be put together and expected to do extraordinarily well. I will be the judge of that, of course.”

“Mister—Professor Irons, I really don’t think—” Lauren tried to interject, but it was a lost cause and Miles guessed she probably knew it.

“Miss Small, I believe I made it clear before that I was choosing the partners and there would be no refusals, else you take my class in a future semester.”

She slumped back into her chair, having been as straight and tall as her small frame could manage only a moment earlier.

“Yep, Professor,” she murmured.

The kindly look Professor Irons had bestowed on her when she’d first responded during role call had turned into one of annoyance and disappointment. He continued on with his list though, and no more objections were made.

At the end of the class period, an excruciating hour and a half later, Miles wanted nothing more than to race out of that class and never see it again until it was absolutely necessary. But Lauren was before him before he could even get out of his desk.

“Miles,” she said, addressing him in the most professional capacity he was sure she could muster.

He kept his mouth shut but focused entirely on her, reminding himself not to drown too much in her eyes or feel too much joy just from the sound of his name on her lips or tempt himself with the memory of what her hair felt like slipping through his fingers, soft as silk.

“I have not forgotten what I told you.” She looked away and it tore at him, as if she was disgusted just to be near him. “And I…I appreciate that you have respected my wishes.” She looked back at him, her eyes somewhat softened and yet still with shadows colder than ice. He wished he could tell what she was thinking.

“Even if it was done for completely selfish reasons.”

She was holding back a scoff. That much he could tell. She was holding back a lecture and a slap too. He saw her jittery fingers form fists at her sides. He felt pang of guilt and also fear on many levels.

“That being said,” she forged on. “It is obvious that neither of us can get out of the predicament we are now in. While I would very much like to force you to drop the class, regardless of what that would mean for your reputation or your family’s opinion of you, since certainly you could afford the tuition…” She held back another scoff.

He deserved a scoff though. He wished he could tell her she could scoff at him without making her angrier than she clearly was.

“We are just going to have to put aside our differences for the sake of this one class. You cannot be mute in this situation because then I will carry the majority of the burden of every project I take on, and I certainly do not deserve that. I’ve worked hard to get where I’m at, and I refuse to let this be the reason my grade in what is obviously the most important class of my university experience might be lowered. You should speak,” she insisted. “We will get through this in one piece if we follow the one guideline I know will ensure it.”

He just stared at her waiting, still too unnerved to speak.

“When we speak, it will be only about whatever projects we must cover together in this class. If there need to be excessive conversations so that something is done well, fine, but any other topic that comes up from your doing will be the end of our little truce. It certainly will not affect me if your sins come to light.”

His lips parted, but she had turned to leave before he could even straighten in his seat, not another word addressed in his direction. He watched her leave and was torn between aching need, fierce admiration and absolute terror.

“Mister Richards.”

His head swerved quickly in the direction of his professor’s voice.

“There’s another class in here in five minutes.”

He said no more but his stern gaze spoke volumes. Miles muttered something indistinct under his breath, gathered up his things and went out into the hall. He looked both ways, but Lauren was no longer there. She had to have disappeared into the masses of students now passing him in the halls.

He made no effort to find her, only followed the most open path until he reached the outdoors. Feeling on the brink of a panic attack, he walked quickly to the building across the courtyard and went inside. He found the stairs leading to the roof and went all the way.

His place of release, or relaxation, of clearing his head. The only place he could escape whatever worries plagued his mind or dragged down his soul.

The rooftop he’d shared with Lauren in the late afternoon of move-in day their first semester, swapping stories and backgrounds and barely stifling the obvious attraction between them – she more successful than he.

It should have been a haunted place for him, somewhere he never wanted to go again. Because they hadn’t just spent that one afternoon there, but several. They’d had moments here that burned brighter every time he returned. He should’ve wanted to erase those memories, forget they ever existed.

But he couldn’t. Those times were etched forever within him; the only warmth in the sea of bitter cold that infused the last three years of his life.

*Also posted on AO3 and FFnet.

#the riot club #theriotclubedit #miles x lauren #backtothestart02 fanfiction #human error #chapter 1

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