#almost majored in Poli sci

[neonphoenix]

Todd Rokita get disbarred. Now. Challenge

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: 𝙳𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚐ä𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 [7]

Pairing: Dark!Ransom x Reader, Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Summary: Your husband’s twin brother has always made you uncomfortable, and after two years of marriage, you finally find out why. 

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Basement-wife, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Breeding kink, Smut, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do not eat!

Word Count: 5,123

A/N: thank you all for your patience, and your excitement! we’re checking back in with reader this chapter, and unfortunately, she’s not doing too well. 😅 bottom divider by @firefly-graphics

On the eighteenth day, it rains. 

At least, you think it is the eighteenth day. 

 The rising and setting of the sun only denotes the time of day—there is no clock in this room, no way to mark the longer passage of hours, no calendar with boxes for you to tick off. So you cling to the approximation, it’s the only knowledge—incorrect or no—that you have. 

Water streams down the walls of your prison, obscuring the beach beyond. You stare listlessly at the droplets, following them with your eyes as they slide down the glass into the sand. Though you haven’t moved in hours, you’re still strangely exhausted. So you stay there, tucked against the wall where the glass meets concrete. You’d told Ransom and Lloyd to leave you alone and they had followed your request to the letter—you haven’t seen them since your destructive fit.

You’ve already cried yourself dry and hoarse wailing for help, for release, for your family, and though your distress at your current situation hasn’t lessened per-say, you feel a certain sort of numb acceptance. You’ve gone to sleep here and woken up in the ruined bed enough times to know now that this is true, that it is real—

That you have to accept it. 

What choice do you have? Raging had changed nothing, only isolating you further. You’ve taken to analyzing every moment in the silence, sifting back through to try and determine the point where it all went wrong. There’s no aha moment, though, no core memory that lights the path to recognition. You remember Lloyd and Ransom in your history classes, hotshot poli-sci majors destined for the big leagues. You knew of them, of course—everyone did. Legacy students with chips on their shoulders and grandaddy’s money in their bank accounts. 

Typical. 

You almost wish you could go back and tell yourself that you had been right, that your assessment that the Drysdale twins were selfish and self-centered—but it doesn’t matter now. Not with their baby in your belly and the minutes of your life rotting away in this box. 

You know what they’re waiting for, waiting for you to admit you want to see them, that you need them, and they’ll come and make everything better. You hate that you want to, if only just to have someone to scream at. You hug your knees. Your family will be home now, back to their lives in the States, having swallowed whatever lies you know the twins must have spun up for them—they certainly couldn’t tell the truth. 

She’s sick. Not feeling well. You see, we’ve been taking turns fucking her like our personal cocksleeve.

That would have gone over splendidly with your father. 

The hours tick slowly by until you realize you’re rocking, back and forth as you stare at blank space. Your resolve to say nothing, to ask for nothing, feels made now of rubber rather than stone. It’s been two weeks and then some since you’d spoken to anyone or had contact with your captors—your husband. 

Ransom had taken the ring when you’d thrown it at him, and you’re still not used to the feeling of not wearing it after two whole years. You run the fingers of your opposite hand over the blank space on your ring finger, over and over again, feeling the little divet where it sat.

The room is four hundred and seventy six steps around, you know because you have paced the width and breadth of it every single day since Ransom and Lloyd had left you here. You could do it with your eyes closed, even—you often do. Today isn’t any different, pacing the wall as you recite something—anything you can think of, usually—as many times as you can. Snippets of books you’ve read, scenes in movies, you replay them all, savoring each instance of remembrance as you feel the silence pressing in around the sound of your voice. That’s the worst part about all of this, you think to yourself as you round the far side of the room for lap number twenty five. They’re not even here for you to scream at them. 

They don’t even have to face your wrath, meager as it is. You’re not sure exactly when you’d begun to crave the sound of their voices, perhaps because you know they’re the only ones you have any hope of hearing. You want to cry and scream and wail at them, you want to tear at their faces with your jagged nails—but most of all, you just want them here while you do it. 

The quick pace you set around the room lasts until you can’t keep it up anymore. You collapse next to the door, resting a hand on your belly as your chest heaves. The sight that greets you as you stare listlessly out the window is a familiar one, the orange-red sun is pale behind the lingering cloud cover as it sinks beneath the dark, choppy waves. You have seen this eighteen times—and tomorrow, it will be nineteen. 

Perhaps it’s the realization you cannot even hear the sound of the water lapping against the sand, you can’t feel the breeze, feel the sun on your skin unfiltered through the eight inch glass. 

You can’t even go for a fucking walk.

It’s the knowledge of the agencies you’ve been denied, the freedoms you’ve been stripped of that drives you back to your feet as a frantic intensity grips you. You slam your fists against the door with a hoarse cry, beating against it until your hands ache and sting. 

“Please!” Your dry eyes ache for want of tears. “I don’t want to be in here by myself anymore!” You know you’re giving up ground, but you can’t help it. Weeks of complete isolation—of fucking nothing. You try to convince yourself it isn’t a loss, though, that you’re giving in for your own good, not theirs. That you’ll never have an avenue for escape if the door is locked, so you must make them open it. You repeat these reasons and more on a seemingly endless internal refrain as you beg and cry—so much so that you almost believe it when you hear the sound of hinges turning, of dress shoes on bare concrete. 

You stumble back from the door, anxiously waiting for the robotic sound of the pin pad on the other side. After six beeps—six, you’re sure of it, and you will remember; six—you hear the locks disengaging, the hiss of the hydraulic hinges. You almost don’t want to look as the door swings open, dragging your reluctant gaze up from the concrete step to stare at the twin in front of you. You hate that you’re glad to see him—you’re glad to see anyone, but your feeble  hope that it is your husband who will greet you on the other side of the doorway turns brittle in your chest as you drag your gaze up to his face. 

“Hello, Princess.” You swallow thickly at the sight of Lloyd. He’s letting his mustache grow back in now, the light dusting of hair above his lip, the thick chain at his throat, and the slick striped polo are all enough of a giveaway. He grins at you. Besides, you think venomously. What reason does he have to hide, now? Lloyd steps inside, and the door closes behind him with a soft rush of air. He clucks his tongue as he looks at the carnage around you, the destruction you’re no longer proud of—just exhausted with. 

“You really have made a mess of things.” It feels like he’s talking about more than the room. His expression is almost affectionate. Your chest tightens.“Let’s see what we can do to fix them.” Lloyd steps closer, and you mirror him with one step back, your body moving without your permission. “Baby, you asked for me to come,” he says, cocking his head. “Or would you like to be alone again?” Lloyd doesn’t say it like a threat, doesn’t weight the words with the implication you know he means. 

And yet the idea of being alone in this room—hell, alone in your head—for a single moment more feels like hands wrapping around your throat. The feeling spurs you to speak, swallowing the thick resentment lining your throat to make room for words. 

“No.” You say, looking down at your feet. “I—I don’t.” 

He smiles. “Good. I don’t either.” Lloyd takes an experimental step forward, and you stiffen—but remain still. The smile widens. “Why don’t you take a bath, Princess, and I’ll get someone to come in here and clean up a little? How’s that?” 

“Who?” You know this is bait and you take it anyway. Your options are either to engage with Lloyd—on his terms, always his fucking terms—or to have no engagement at all. “A-are there other people here?” The question lies unasked in the air between you. Will they help me? 

“Maybe if we get you cleaned up, and at least get a new mattress in here and some food in you, maybe I’ll tell you.” He’s not bothering to hide his enjoyment, and it turns your stomach. 

“I hate you.” It slips out before you can stop it, but instead of getting angry, Lloyd just laughs. 

“Oh Princess. I think that’s the best part about all of this,” he runs a hand through his hair before he steps closer. He reaches for you, and you flinch, but force yourself to remain still as he cups your chin. “You really, really don’t.” You’re not expecting him to kiss you, then, to slant his mouth across yours hungrily. You’re too shocked to fight it, standing there shocked as his worry at your lip and he sucks at your tongue until you’re panting, nipples pressing furiously through your nightgown—and then all at once it’s over. Lloyd drags his thumb across your lip. 

“Bathroom.” He points. “I’ll join you in a moment.” Lloyd straightens back up, watching you jerk back from him with a pleased smirk. “Oh, and Princess?” He waits until you turn to glare at him over your shoulder. “No peeking.” 

You practically flee from him, slamming the door behind you. You press yourself against it, your heart pounding. Pressing a hand to your tingling lips, you fumble at the handle with the other before your brows crease with confusion. To your dismay, there is no lock, only a handle. You’d thought yourself completely dry of tears, but to your surprise, more come, welling up as you slap a hand to your mouth so Lloyd doesn’t hear you sob. 

For some reason, you’d imagined your body would reject them, go stone cold at their touch now with how deeply your hatred seemed to burn—but as you reach between your legs with trembling fingers to check what you already know is true, you can’t help but hate yourself just as much. 

You’re not supposed to like it. 

The bathroom has been relatively untouched by your rage, nothing broken or out of place really beyond a few towels. Your cotton nightgown joins them on the floor as you turn on the tub’s faucet, and it drowns out the sound of moving furniture through the door. There’s an assortment of bath products lined up on the side, all ones you like. You resist the urge to knock them over or pour them all down the drain.

How long had they prepared this place for you? How long had it taken them to plot out each excruciating detail?

How long had they known they were going to?

The door handle clicks and jiggles, and you scramble for a towel as Lloyd enters. You know it’s ridiculous, your fear of being nude before him—he’s seen you naked dozens of times by now, he’d fucked you—but the muscle memory of it remains. He closes it behind him, glancing past you to the tub. 

“Oh, lovely.” He steps around you, his hands lingering familiarly on your waist before he reaches for the bottles. Lloyd grabs a few of them, glancing at the labels before making a noise low in his throat. “Ah, this one. You like Jasmine, don’t you Princess?” 

“How do you know that?” You glare at him accusatorially as he pours a hefty capful into the water. It begins to foam up almost immediately, the scent of jasmine and roses filling the air. Lloyd removes his rings and watch before dipping his hand into the water, mixing it. You glare hatefully at his back. “Did Ransom tell you?”

“Now why would Ransom have to tell me that?” He glances over his shoulder at you. 

“Be-because you don’t know me at all!” You stammer. “That’s why this is all so fucking insane!” It bubbles out of you before you can stop it, frustrated, enraged tears brimming in your eyes. “You don’t know the first fucking thing about me!”

“Is that what you tell yourself, Princess?” He asks, turning to face you. You’re suddenly very aware of how few options you have for space, the way Lloyd has placed himself between you and the door, using your own fear to herd you over to the far side of the bathroom, away from him—and from your escape. 

“That I don’t know a goddamn thing about you? That I’ve got no reason to feel about you the way I do?” He chuckles, shaking his head. “You know, people have a funny way of remembering the things they want to remember—come here, Princess, this is supposed to be relaxing,” he cuts himself off, beckoning you with one hand. “I’ve had plenty of time to consider my feelings. Trust me.” 

 You wait for Lloyd to show signs of impatience, for his lips to crease into thin, angry lines, for his eyes to go cold and hard—but it doesn’t happen. Slowly, you approach, your fist clenched so tight around the towel that your fingers ache. He licks his lips. 

“Can’t have a relaxing bath with that on.” He flicks at the hem of your towel with his fingers. “I promise, Princess, I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

He’s seen it before. He’s seen it before. Somehow, you still feel like a married woman showing yourself to a stranger when you release your white knuckled grip on the terrycloth, and it falls to the ground between you. You don’t want to see Lloyd’s face so you look at the large bathtub instead, watch the waterline slowly rise as as the seconds tick by. 

“Let me help you in.” Lloyd’s hand is warm on the small of your back as he gingerly assists you into the bath. You don’t want to enjoy it, the way you don’t want to enjoy anything he does for you. The tension, the fear—it’s all living in your muscles and in your marrow, and though you don’t want it to, the hot water feels good, damn him. The sound of Lloyd’s belt buckle reactivates your adrenaline, and water sloshes up over the sides of the tub as you sit up, scrambling back. 

Fresh fear rises in you as you watch him unclasp the gold chain from around his neck, placing it down next to his rings with a soft metallic click.

“Easy, Princess. Easy.” He steps in, arranging himself behind you as you practically curl into yourself to escape him. “I promised.” He doesn’t bother trying to hide his cock, swelling eagerly against his thigh. 

“Excuse me if I find those fucking meaningless,” you spit, flinching as Lloyd cups water over your shoulders. He settles himself in behind you, and you abhor the way your body seems to fit against his, like two puzzle pieces fitting together. You hate the way his half-hard cock sits perfectly against you, throbbing whenever you fidget. You’re shocked to find that there is part of you that enjoys it regardless, the closeness, the affection. After so long feeling only your own fingers on your skin, it feels strange and compelling to be so close to someone else. It’s electric to feel Lloyd against you, feels nearly as fitting and right as it had with Ransom—though you assure yourself that is only because they’re practically physically identical. 

Was it ever right with Ransom, though? You’re starting to feel like you’d never even known your husband at all. You knew bits, pieces of the whole, but now you’re seeing him as he is… maybe as he’s always been. Or was that just what he wanted me to feel? What they both wanted me to feel?

“Oh you wound me, Sweetheart,” he sighs, reaching for the soap and neatly folded washcloth on the side. “At least your parents think a little more highly of me.” You turn your head so fast your neck aches. 

“My parents? You’ve talked to my parents?”Lloyd says nothing, the corners of his mouth lifted into a small, knowing smile.  “Where do they think I am?” Lloyd says nothing, and merely begins to wash your back with the soapy cloth, his strokes firm, but gentle. The silence lengthens between you, broken only by the sound of water and breath. It ticks on until you feel the frenzied anxiety beneath your skin erupt out of your mouth. 

 “Answer me!”

“Princess, I think a much more interesting question is where you think you are.” He swipes it between your shoulder blades, brushing your curls out of the way to get at the back of your neck. When his lips brush the hell of your ear, it’s all you can do not to flinch. “Where do you think you are?” 

You’re tempted to answer snarkily, or better yet, to turn around and try your hand at hitting him as hard as you can—but something inside tells you that that will end worse than it had with Ransom. Instead, you force yourself to actually think. The days are long, tropical, hot. You can’t feel that heat, of course, not from inside your room, but the sand, the sea, the trees…

“You never moved me. We’re still on Mykonos.” 

Lloyd’s brows rise, but he smiles. “You’re so fucking smart, Princess. Anybody ever tell you that?” The praise feels wrong, sliding down your skin like oil. You don’t want to accept it—and because you cannot accept it, you attempt to ruin it. 

“Not smart enough to see you coming.” You retort, but the venom either doesn’t phase Lloyd, or he’s just that good at disguising his own offense, but he just continues to clean you up like it doesn’t bother him one bit. He’d been eager to get the trip started—more eager than anyone else. He’d been in a rush, you realize now, to get you here. To get to the good part, the part where he got to have you alone and defenseless. And worse, he got to have you with permission. Perhaps that’s why he’s so patient. He can afford to be, after all. 

“I loved you the minute we met. You know that?” He’s busy working shampoo through your hair, raking it through the tangled mess until it falls neatly, laden down by product. “You never thought I was serious back then.” Lloyd chuckles in that way that reminds you of Ransom. “Maybe I wasn’t. But I am now—we are. About making a life for you, for us.” His hand travels around to cup the barely-there swell of your belly. “For our family.” 

“Stop it!” You hiss, your teeth gritted. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to hear him spout words of devotion to you because they feel too good to hear—it feels good to hear anything at all after nearly two a half weeks of only your own sobs for company—

“Stop what?” You throw his hand off of you as you whirl to face him, water splashing out loudly onto the tile.

“Stop pretending like you’re doing this for me instead of to me.” You snarl. “You—”

“Are supporting your family.” He reminds you. “Nathalie gets to finish college debt free. Your father gets first pick of every single construction job in the city.”

“And I get to be a prisoner.” As Lloyd rinses the shampoo from your hair, you cannot help but wonder which was worse—the unknowing way you’d allowed the both of them to violate you, or sitting here in the aftermath, knowing you’d never had a chance anyway.

“Where’s Ransom?” 

“Sick of me already, Princess?” Lloyd asks, and you clench your teeth to keep from answering. “He’s a little busy at the moment. But I’m not gonna lie, I’m not disappointed he couldn’t make it,” Lloyd spreads the butter onto his baked potato with relish before his blue eyes flick up to yours. “I like having you all to myself, sometimes.” He hadn’t touched you in the bath, true to his word—but you can see the desire plainly on his face now, and it makes you squirm uncomfortably. 

“You’ve never had me all to yourself, Lloyd.” You remind him. “I—I married Ransom.”

His smile doesn’t disappear, doesn’t even lessen. If anything, it gets bigger. “Haven’t I?” He chews thoughtfully. Ransom had told you the-the sharing had begun a year ago, but… but what if that wasn’t the first time? 

What if that was only when they’d made a habit of it?

Your stomach lurches, and you swallow bile, suddenly less hungry than before. You don’t know if you want an answer to this question. Instead, you circle back. 

“You said if I let you do what you wanted, you’d tell me if there were other people here.” Lloyd’s eyes flick up to meet yours.

“Is that what I said?” He hums. “No good hotel runs without staff, Princess.” You scoff at his answer. “Of course there are a few dedicated employees.”

“And my parents?” 

“I believe I promised you one answer for good behavior, Princess.” Lloyd practically purrs the pet name at you. “Not two.” You’re tempted to argue—you want to, but you understand a warning when one is given. The way you skirt the edge of his patience makes you angry with yourself, but when you think again of the two and a half weeks of silence, the long days spent rambling to yourself so that you would hear something, anything—you cannot experience that again. So you sit prettily as he fusses over your hair and your skin, swallowing your self loathing. 

He helps you dry off with the fluffy, comfortable towels you’ve been refusing to use, taking great care to rub cocoa butter into the supple skin of your belly. And when you emerge back into the bedroom, only evidence of the most heinous of your acts of defiance remain: the cracked mirror above the dresser, many of the draws missing—you had smashed them to bits against the unyielding windows. Everything that wasn’t too heavy to lift had been subject to your rage, even the mattress. But now, it’s almost like it had never even happened. 

The bed is freshly made, floor swept clean of debris. And on the new table—made of dark, heavy wood—there is dinner. And it’s real fucking food this time, not just a bland chicken salad sandwich cobbled together on dry bread. Roast chicken, carrots and potatoes are steaming on the plates, a bowl of salad between them. Your stomach twists at the sight of it. Shrugging quickly into one of the many pairs of plain white tank-tops and shorts sitting on top of the dresser, and make a beeline for the food. 

Lloyd emerges from the bathroom moments later, his polo shirt laid over one arm, his briefs slung low on his damp hips. 

“Oh good, dinner.” 

You sit awkwardly across from him, attempting to split your attention between eating your food and watching Lloyd. 

“How long do you plan to keep me here?” 

“I’d be careful with the questions, Princess.” He says, fixing you with a warning look as he chews. “Some questions have answers you’re not gonna like.” Somehow, that tells you everything anyway, and you feel yourself shiver, but not with cold. His eyes are hard when you meet them. 

“That long, huh?” You ask, turning to stare at the dark, troubled sea through your window. It feels like you’re in a movie—a fucking horror movie. Lloyd sighs.

“Think of it like a vacation. No work, no responsibilities—”

“Lloyd, please.” You can’t look at him. The rage, the terror—they’re all boiling over inside of you, and if you look at him, if you see his fucking face, you know you’ll lose it. And if you do, you have a feeling that you won’t recognize yourself if you’re left alone for another two weeks. So instead, you stare out at the water, chewing up the words you want to say and swallowing them back down.

“This isn’t a villa, it’s a prison. I can’t—” you choke back bitter tears. “You won’t even let me outside.” 

“You’re getting yourself all worked up, and you’re not going to be able to keep down your dinner.” He places a hand over yours, and the shock of his touch makes you jump, reeling back. “When we can trust you, Princess, then we’ll talk about day trips.” Hope lights a tiny candle in your chest. 

“We will?” 

“We will.” He points at your food with his fork. “Now eat up.” You do, forcing yourself to eat every bite on your plate. When Lloyd bids you goodnight, he tucks a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head up until you’re forced to look at him. 

“Goodnight, Princess.” He kisses you again, disgustingly softly. 

—

You sleep fitfully after Lloyd leaves. Turning back and forth, kicking the cotton sheets off until they lay in a heap at the bottom of the bed. Sweat sticks your tank-top to your clammy skin, and as you wake for the nth time that night, the memory of what scant dreams you’re able to achieve brings heat to your cheeks.  

Hands on your skin—two sets of them—prying open your lips to rest on your tongue, sliding between your legs—

You wake in your new bed feeling testy and anxious, glowering at the sunlight glinting sharply off the water. Clean clothes lay folded on the dresser, a pitcher of water and cups now sat on a rolling tray by the table. It isn’t lost on you that as soon as you’d begged for them the quality of your care had vastly improved. You’re reluctant to admit that it’s a relief, not sleeping on the mattress you yourself had destroyed, avoiding the splinters of broken wood on the floor. 

But now there are none. 

The tile floor is swept clean, the new mattress bearing fresh sheets, the new furniture polished to gleaming. 

This is what you can have if you forgive us, the neatly folded clothes in the new dresser-drawers seem to say before you close them again with a sharp snap. This is what you can have if you give us forever. 

All you have to give is forever.

The room seems somehow larger now, since Lloyd’s visit, emptier—lonelier. You resolve not to ask them for anything again, ignoring the desperate, terrified  part of you that dreads a return to the silent nothing. They’re smart—there’s not even a book in here for you to entertain yourself with. Through them, that good things flow, you know that’s what they’re trying to teach you. The part that sickens you most is that it’s true—and has been for a long time. You cannot remember the last time you’d had to pay a bill or concern yourself with the cost of living. You don’t even know what Ransom pays in rent for the apartment—you don’t know that you ever even did. 

You get out of bed, pulling the sheets back up over the spot you’d vacated as you take stock. 

Normally, your chicken-salad sandwich would be on a clean plastic tray in front of the door, but today there is nothing. You are not a creature of habit by nature, shakeups in your routine typically do nothing more than irritate you. But for some reason, this makes you antsy, anxious. 

Had you upset Lloyd last night with your questions?

Why do you even care? 

As you contemplate what you’ve given away without knowing it, you hear the sound of the outer door opening. You don’t know what it looks like outside of your room, not really, but you’ve caught snatches of the concrete hallway and stairs just beyond the doorway. The sound of the pinpad echoes in the quiet room before the door opens. 

Ransom steps over the threshold, a tray held steady in his arms. 

“Good morning, Sweetheart.” Your eyes fill with tears as you stare at him, your lip trembling as you try to bite back on the overwhelming emotion that fills you at the sight of your husband. “I missed you so much.” 

to be continued…

next chapter

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part twenty-eight

summary: you were back in the capitol, and you would be damned if you didn't try your hardest to make it worthwhile.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.3k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: ahh hiii sorry i went ghost on yall i have been BOOKED and i am so sick and just,,, yeah. life is catching up to me omg

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

Coryo must have been running a few minutes late today, since he hasn't come to get you from your class yet. It was eating into your lunch, which you didn't mind, but still- it was outside of your very structured routine.

Looking down the now almost empty halls, books held against your chest as you wait for your boyfriend.

'Boyfriend'.

The term still felt weird, but you can't help the giddy feeling that manifests into a small smile on your face as butterflies flutter their way into your chest. Still, though, there was no sign of this boyfriend of yours.

"Y/N, hello." Your name pulls you out of the internal mantra, and you look up to its source; a boy who had just walked out of your class after staying back to speak to the professor. He had short hair, styled up the same way Coryo's was day to day now- but it wasn't nearly as blonde. This boy has kind eyes, and it relaxes you from the unexpected interaction.

"Hi there." You smile at the boy, trying to hide how furiously you're searching your head for his name. In classes of forty to fifty students, it was difficult for you to remember especially when you'd only heard their names once and never spoken to essentially all of them. "I'm so sorry," You say to the boy, smile shifting to apologetic. "You'll have to remind me of your name."

"Hilarius." He tells you, and seems to take it in stride.

"Yes! Oh, of course. My apologies." You laugh slightly, a force of habit pushing your hand out to shake his.

He grins as he takes it. "No worries." He adjusts his bag over his shoulder, looking past you and down the halls. "Are... are you waiting for someone?"

"Yes," You nod, and the confusion surrounding why you were just standing there clears from his features. "Coriolanus."

"Ah." Hilarius nods.

"Do you know him?" You ask, having that be your go-to for small talk with your new peers. So far, it's worked well. No one you've had the chance to speak to yet has said no.

"Yeah, yeah. I do." He rubs his jaw as he answers. "We've never been close, but we went to school together. He's in one of my classes now, actually."

"Really?" You smile. "Which one?"

"Poli sci."

"Oh, nice! That's his major. He knows an awful lot about it already- if there's any group projects he's definitely someone you would want working with you." You gush, adjusting your hold on your books.

"Yeah, he's pretty smart." Hilarius agrees.

"Have you decided on your major yet?" You ask. "Political science and English is a wide net to cast."

He shrugs. "Kind of, I don't know. My parents want me to go into business or politics, but I don't think that's what I want."

"The very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream." You hum. "I think you should pursue what you want. Not what they tell you you should."

He tilts his head at you, a confused smile on his face. "You do really speak that way, don't you?"

"Well, yes." You laugh.

"I'll be honest, I thought you were playing us all for fools to try and get people to like you."

"Oh, no. I am not smart enough for a ruse like that." You giggle, shaking your head.

"Sure you are." He laughs. "I mean clearly, you are."

"I promise that's not it at all." You assure him quickly.

"Yeah, yeah I know that." He gives you a calm smile. "Hey, do you... do you have time before your next class? I have a little bit if you want to grab lunch together."

"I do, but I usually eat with Coryo." You explain, but he was fifteen minutes late by now. Maybe if you just went to the courtyard he would meet you there. "But we always eat in the courtyard between the buildings, so if we go there I'm sure he'll know where to find us."

"Then lead the way." Your new friend nods to you and you smile, heading off down the hall in the direction of the exit.

Coryo rushes out of his lecture hall as soon as they're done. How the professor had so little care for holding them back an extra twenty minutes just to "wrap up" on a lecture concept was unbelievable to him. Other people had other classes, and he had to get to you.

When he makes it to your building and your class, he assumes your professor must have done the same thing when he doesn't see you in the hall. Peeking into the classroom, he doesn't have the time to be relieved since another class has already started and you are not sitting there listening. He takes a step back and looks around, thoroughly confused.

Where did she go?

He doesn't know if you're comfortable enough here to be wandering off on your own, but you must be. Or you were with someone. Likely Sejanus, if you were to go off with anyone, but as far as Coryo knew Sejanus was in a class across campus right now. Or he was at least supposed to be.

Immediately he picks up his pace stalking through the halls. After ten minutes, it's clear you were nowhere in the building. He even ran the risk of checking the women's bathrooms after his second lap, scared that maybe you were sick or hurt. But no, you were just gone.

Okay, Coriolanus- think realistically about this. Maybe she just went to wait at our usual lunch spot.

That had to be it, so cursing himself for wasting more time, he heads outside.

Sure enough, he was right. He just wishes he had thought of that sooner- especially when he had neglected the possibility that you had been kidnapped.

"I do love it here, I really do." You smile, trying to be convincing enough to your new friend. "Of course, there is always so much to learn! I'm just really grateful for the opportunity." You say, covering your mouth with your palm as you speak and chew at the same time.

"Come on, Y/N. You can be honest with me." Hilarius says, raising an eyebrow at you. "That sounded extremely scripted. There aren't peacekeepers holding a gun to your head, so... just be honest."

You laugh nervously, looking around. "Okay... I mean, it's fine. I'm comfortable, and I love Coryo and everything don't get me wrong!" You defend quickly, and he just nods. "But... I miss my family and my friends, the music, the food... just, it's really not the same."

"I can imagine." He nods sympathetically.

"Here," You offer him your container of fruit in an effort to soften the subject. "Take some, it's far too much for me."

"Thank you." He agrees politely, taking a raspberry from the mix and popping it into his mouth.

"Please, though, don't tell anyone. I did that whole interview convincing everyone that I was happier than ever here and I just don't want to start any trouble."

"You have my word." Hilarius nods, holding out his pinky to you which you accept with a smile.

"Can I tell you a secret?" He says quietly, and you nod while you grab another strawberry from the glass in your lap.

"You kind of owe me one, now." You tease.

He laughs, but his smile fades quickly. "I feel like... Everyone here loves the games, but I hate them." He admits, taking you by surprise. "I want you to know that I think it's absolutely cruel. I mean, little Wovey... She was just the sweetest and- and I feel so guilty about it all. I wish I got to choose whether or not I wanted to mentor."

You nod, swallowing back the rest of the fruit in your mouth. Suddenly, the sweetness makes you nauseous. "She was." You agree quietly, closing your eyes for a moment and preparing for yet another distressing conversation. "I am sorry I couldn't save her."

"Don't be." He corrects you quickly, a worried expression greeting you when you looked at him again. "That's not what I meant, there was nothing more you could have done. You were a friend to her, she really liked you. She had someone, that's the best either of us could offer."

You nod slightly, chewing instead into your lip and leaving your lunch abandoned. "I-I..." You take a shaky breath. "If I could go back, I would have protected her more. She should have won." You choke your way through the statement, eyes burning from holding back tears. Every time you have one of these conversations it feels like you think someone else should have won. Never you.

"Don't cry, please don't cry." He pleads, placing a hand on your shoulder and you freeze under his touch.

"Don't, please." You say quietly, gently shaking off his hand. You couldn't be touched right now, but how was he to know that? This wasn't his fault.

"I'm sorry." Hilarius says, eyes wide as he watches you. "I didn't think, I shouldn't have said anything but I-"

"What the hell did you say to her?!" Your boyfriend's voice is the next one that rings in your ears, you look up to your right to see him walking over quickly, and Hilarius shuffles to get up.

"Nothing! Nothing, I- I don't know." He defends quickly. "I didn't mean to upset her, honestly."

Then Coryo is crouching in front of you, waving a hand in front of your face. "Hey, you're okay." He says softly, offering you a worried smile. "I've got you, alright?"

You nod a little bit, moving your things away from yourself with trembling hands. "I know."

"Is she okay?" Hilarius asks and you nod again, trying to smile in his direction.

"No. Get out of here, Heavensbee. I'll clean up your mess." Coryo spits at him, and he apologizes again quickly before grabbing his bag and disappearing across the grass.

"Coryo, he didn't-"

"Don't worry about it, love." Coryo smiles at you, suddenly less angry than he was a moment ago. "Just take some deep breaths for me, can you do that?"

"I-I'm fine." You breathe out, chest rising and falling quickly.

"Yeah, you're doing great." Coryo smiles, looking around quickly before adjusting so he's kneeling just in front of you. "Tell me about your readings. Anything good today?" He asks, already knowing the answer.

"I'm glad I went back to class today." You say cheerily as you climb into the car, your boyfriend right on your heels.

"Yes, I am too." He says as you buckle up in the middle seat and he closes the door before getting comfortable next to you. "You're getting so much better."

You nod, looking out through the tinted windows as the car begins to move into traffic. You weren't sure if "better" was the correct term- it didn't sit right with you. You weren't sick, not that you thought, anyway, but maybe he was right. The mention of the other tributes' names would have had you on your knees a matter of months ago; you would have been down for the count for days. Still, though, it felt unsettling to hear it said like that.

If getting better meant not being as hurt by their deaths, maybe it's best if you never recover.

"Hey, are you hungry?" He asks after a moment, watching your eyes glaze over as you stare across him and out the window at all the other young people walking by. "I was thinking we could go try that ice cream place I was telling you about on the train."

You blink away the disassociation, smiling up at him instead. "Yes, that sounds lovely."

"What kind do you think you'll get?" You ask, leaning into Coryo's side as you approach the shop. It was late afternoon, so it was a little busy, but really not all that bad. Crowds bothered you less and less, these days.

"I'm not sure." He replies. "Probably like... vanilla."

"Vanilla?" You giggle. "That's so boring! You said they have every flavour imaginable, and you're settling for vanilla?"

"Okay, well, what do you suggest?" He chuckles, pulling the door open for you as you step through.

"I don't know, I just think you should consider all your options first." You shrug, eyes already landing on the handwritten chalkboard menu that spans the back wall. "Oh, wow..." You say under your breath, eyes going wide.

Coryo watches you with a smile on his face, gently brushing his hand over your back. "Okay, I know what I want." You speak quickly, and he laughs.

"What? There's no way you read all of it just now."

"No, course not." You shake your head, eyes still locked on the board as the sound of people chattering surrounds you. "Coryo, what's white chocolate?" You ask, gently tugging on his sleeve and pointing to where you see it.

"Uh, it's chocolate, but white." He answers, really unsure as well. "Tastes a little different than regular chocolate, but hardly."

"Okay, yes. I want that. With raspberries, it says." You nod in finality.

"Yes, ma'am." He agrees. "Wait right here, love." He says and you nod as he walks over to the counter, and you get to look at the colourful paint on the walls and all the buckets of ice cream behind the glass barrier.

"You're Y/N, right? The victor?" A girl's voice asks you and you turn to instead give them your full attention, nodding with a nervous smile.

"In the flesh." You smile, tilting your head slightly. She must be just a few years younger than you, maybe Len's age.

"Oh, wow! We thought so!" She grins, nodding back to a group of other kids, all of whom are donning the same red uniform you always saw Coryo in earlier in the year. "It's so nice to meet you! Oh my gosh, you're so pretty in person." She gushes. "Not that you weren't on screen, but just- wow, I mean, sorry. I'm just nervous."

"Oh, please, don't be." You smile at her, trying to be reassuring as you press a hand to your chest. "I get nervous meeting people all the time. What's your name, hun?"

"Lexus." She answers with an excited smile and flushed cheeks.

"Lexus! What a beautiful name." You say, partially to fill the silence. "It reminds me of my little brother, his name is Lennox. He's about your age, too."

"That's really cool!" She smiles. "How old are you? I mean, obviously under eighteen, but I'm just wondering because I have an older brother so it would be funny if I was the same age as your brother and my brother was the same age as you. If that makes sense, gosh, sorry- I'm rambling..."

"No, no, you're alright!" You laugh slightly, honestly relieved that she was able to do most of the talking. "And I am eighteen. My birthday was during the games, actually."

Her eyes widen. "Really? That's so lucky! That must have felt so special. What a gift!"

A gift?

You almost choke on the air, patting your hand on your chest as you swallow it down. "Well," You clear your throat, looking over to your boyfriend while he's collecting change from the girl working at the counter. "Only because Coriolanus brought me an amazing gift."

"What did he give you?" She asks, and you still haven't torn your eyes away from him as he walks over, silently pleading for his help.

"What did who give you?" He asks, eyeing her as he walks back up to rejoin you.

"I was just telling Lexus that you gave me an amazing birthday present." You explain.

"Oh, well, no. It was very lame, I'm afraid." He shrugs modestly.

"No, it wasn't!" You laugh, swatting his arm before looking over at her again. "He gave me my favourite book, and his cousin even made me a cake. We had a little celebration just before the games, didn't we?"

"Kind of." He chuckles.

"No, hush. It was perfect, I couldn't have asked for anything better."

"I could think of a few better ways to spend your birthday-"

"You guys are really cute." Lexus cuts in before he can finish, and your cheeks flush pink as your attention is drawn back to her. You don't notice how his face pales.

"Oh, no." You laugh. "He's just a little stubborn sometimes, I think my birthday was perfect, and my opinion on it is the only one that matters, no?" You look up at him, raising an eyebrow.

Coryo collects himself quickly, raising his hands defensively with a smile. "Of course, you're right."

"I know I am." You smile, lifting your nose in pride.

He turns as his name is called, seeing the same girl with your ice cream cones waiting. "Did- did you want a picture or something?" He asks Lexus and she nods, cheeks red.

"If that would be okay, Y/N." She looks to you.

"Oh, of course it is!" You smile, following her back over to the table. Her friends were watching silently the entire time, eyes wide in awe. "Hi..." You say, suddenly nervous as none of them greet you. Lexus must have been the chosen one for being able to speak to you, and she was sent over because the others were too shy.

"Here," Lexus says quickly, moving her bag from the seat at the table and fishing a camera out of it. "Take a seat, I'll sit over here." She slides into her friend's lap across from you, making them all laugh as she holds the camera out to Coryo. "Would you mind?" She asks him.

"Not at all." He says, taking it carefully and turning it over in his hands to find the right button.

"It's that button on the top." She points vaguely and he nods, getting the gist of it quickly. "It comes in handy to be in photography right now, apparently."

You laugh slightly and lean over the table slightly, tilting your head as you smile.

"Ready?" Coryo asks and you nod, hearing mumbles of agreement as you raise your hand from where it rests against the table, holding your pinky under your thumb and raising three fingers.

The flash almost blinds you, but you try not to blink.

"Lovely." Coryo says as he passes the camera back to Lexus and she stands up to take it.

"What does this mean?" Her friend asks, mimicking the salute you did for the photo.

"Oh, we do it back home." You explain. "It means peace and unity, or something along those lines depending on context." Getting up from the seat, you shrug a bit. "Force of habit, I suppose."

"Oh, cool! I didn't know that." She replies and you just nod, eyes following Coryo as he quickly rushes over to grab your ice cream. "Well, I should probably go before that melts, but it was so nice to meet you!"

"Yes, of course, thank you!" Lexus grins. "Maybe we'll see you around!"

"I hope so!" You smile. "Adieu, adieu, adieu! Remember me." You wave, turning to go after your boyfriend.

"What's that from?" He asks when you reach his side, knowing your shift in tone.

"Hamlet." You answer as he holds the ice cream cone out for you and you take it happily.

"Ah." He chuckles, giving the kids a nod as he follows you to the door.

"She said I am so lucky that my birthday was during the games." You say as the door shuts behind you, and you resist the urge to look back in through the window.

"Oh, wow." Coryo laughs, shaking his head. "Yeah, I mean, kids around here don't get it. I don't think they understand what's really happening."

"Clearly not." You focus on licking up the drips that have begun to stray down the side of the cone. "This is really good!" You say excitedly, back to your normal self as you look up to him walking next to you down the sidewalk.

"Yeah?" He smiles.

"Yes." You hum, taking the first real lick off the top. "What did you get?"

"Vanilla." He chuckles, already knowing how you will react.

"Vanilla? Oh, Coryo, you need to expand your horizons a bit." You tsk, teasingly shaking your head at him.

"Hey, it's not my fault it's good."

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl ,  @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs, @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie,  @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore , @strawberryflavouredkisses, @cascadingbliss

okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

[thursdaygxrls]

Infrunami

summary — peter’s memory is really good (no it’s not)

pairing — tasm!frat!peter parker x fem!reader

disclaimer — i don’t own tasm or peter. i’ve also been listening to infrunami on repeat for 4 days and had to do something about it.

warnings — mentions of drinking/alcohol, possible ooc, and this is (let’s all say it!) unedited

The frat house was just about as clean as it could be. It was rare for a house full of boys to be spotless, especially with weekly parties like the one going on right now. Surprisingly enough, this particular party had been relatively chill--no broken glass, no body shots. Maybe it was the pungent haze of weed in the air that floated from the mouths of those with sloppily rolled blunts and dying pens. Instead of a blunt, Peter's fingers were wrapped around a red solo cup.

"...and honestly, it's sort of weird because, y'know..."

There was a girl attached to his arm. He wasn't drunk enough to forget her name—well, he wouldn't have forgotten it if he even knew it in the first place. She seemed nice enough: a giggly blonde majoring in poli-sci...or was is psych? Honestly, her introduction was all sort of fuzzy. One minute, he was alone, the next, he was hearing about a research project that was 'sort of weird.'

"Hey, you mind if I go grab another drink?" Peter interrupted her rant, his voice low.

"Oh, yeah, sure," she nods in response, glossy lips stretched into a smile.

He gives her a closed-lipped grin of his own before picking himself off the wall and heading to the kitchen. He weaves his way through the house in an eerily graceful fashion. Upon reaching the kitchen, he looks down at his full cup.

Peter wasn't a dick. At least, he liked to think he wasn't a dick. He wouldn't just tell a girl to piss off if he wasn't interested; he'd make excuses and slip out as fast as possible. Maybe in the long run it was sort of a dick move, but he rarely ever saw those girls again (and if he did, he'd look the other way). There was the fact that he was bound to forget a few faces as well.

“No lady-friend tonight, Parker?” Zack—one of his frat brothers—chimed in his ear. He slipped past Peter and to the keg they’d set on ice in a plastic kiddie pool. Never once did he think he’d see a Sonic the Hedgehog themed kiddie pool next to the oven.

“It’s like, ten, give it a rest,” Peter shot back, sipping at his beer.

“I saw you talking to that blonde.” Zack smiled and made a gesture of approval as he filled his cup.

“Eh,” Peter shrugged.

“‘Eh?’” Zack’s eyes widened, “I’d say she’s at least three tiers up from ‘eh’ category.”

"Eh," Peter repeats, leaning his head back. It wasn't as if he had a girl wrapped around his arm at every party, but it also wouldn't be surprising to see it. Between his freshman and junior year of college, his body count had increased significantly. He had regular hookups—at least one every week and rarely ever with the same person more than once or twice. It was easier to just love 'em and leave 'em. At least, that's what he told himself every time he was ordering an Uber for the girl in his bed.

"Well, if you're gonna 'eh' her, mind if I give it a try?" Zack asked, taking a gulp of the beer, swiping the foam off his lip with his thumb.

"Be my guest," Peter waved him off casually.

"I'm gonna go full Zack-Attack," he grinned widely, shooting Peter a thumbs up.

"Never say that again," Peter called out, though, Zack had already turned his back to approach the blonde. And so it was just him and his beer. His beer and him. A cup and a hand, a drink and a tongue, a—damn, he was bored. Normally, he really liked these parties. He could get a decent buzz or high and usually end the night with someone going down on him. Tonight, though, was so dull. He felt (ironically) like a fly on the wall, watching the world around him through a vignette filter. The boredom was almost comforting. Nothing was happening, but then again, nothing was happening. He could bask in the fact that he had nothing and no one to do—

Thump.

Karma was real, and it was a total bitch. Right when Peter had decided that his night was going to be one of peaceful indifference, he watched an obviously inebriated boy stumble past him. He saw it all happen in slow motion: the way the his feet dragged into one another, one shoe catching the lace of the other. Before the realization that he was falling could hit, Peter grabbed the boy's shoulder and righted him. Unfortunately, the drink in the boy's hand hadn't been so lucky. It slipped from his hands and splashed out beyond him like amber rainfall. If Peter hadn't had much to drink, he probably could've caught it. But his senses were somewhat dulled, and the liquid was already pouring from the lip of the cup.

"Oh, shit."

Karma actually wasn't that bad, Peter thought, as his eyes flashed ahead of him. Instead of splashing onto the floor, the beer had landed on an innocent bystander. An extremely attractive innocent bystander.

Her face was crinkled up like a disappointed mother who just came home to see her kid shoving stuffed animals down the toilet. Though her jeans were nearly beer-free, her shirt was entirely soaked, Splash Mountain soaked. Her gaze first landed on the boy, then on Peter. Okay, so karma was actually really cool.

"I am so sorry!" The boy slurred, his eyes drawn open in horror.

"Yeah, I figured," she sighed. She didn't sound condescending—she just sounded like she was already over it. The ends of Peter's lips twitched, but he suppressed the smirk.

"I can't believe I spilled my drink on you!" The boy was much less over it than she was, "I'm so sorry! I—oh, man—"

"Hey, bud, I heard they're doing Jägerbombs out on the porch," Peter whispered to the boy. The guilt was gone from his face almost instantaneously, replaced with an almost childlike sense of wonder.

"I fucking love Jägerbombs!" He exclaimed, his empty solo cup forgotten as stumbled off and out of the kitchen.

"I've never seen someone move on so fast," Wet Shirt Girl spoke up, watching the boy nearly fall again.

"The power of Jägerbombs," Peter suggested. He slipped his windbreaker from his arms and held it out to her, offering a smile along with it.

"Here," he said, "It doesn't exactly fix the wet shirt, but it works for now."

"Thanks," she nodded, grabbing the jacket. She slid it on with an almost exhausted sigh before speaking again: "I’ll only smell horrible now."

Peter laughed at that. He watched her zip it up, he watched the way it strained against—

"I'm Peter." His eyes connected with hers again. A brief look of shock took over her face before it melted back into the same neutral expression she held before. He almost wondered if it was a brief stroke of imagination that made him see her widened eyes.

"I bet you are." Was her reply. Oh?

"That's usually the cue to introduce yourself," he said, a hint of a smile still on his lips.

"Usually is," she nodded. There was a brief moment of silence, an awkward pause at which they stood at a stalemate. Peter took her in again. She was cute. Really cute. Even if she had been weird about introductions, he couldn't help but admire her. So, he spoke up, his voice splitting through the silence but not the tension.

"Do you want to borrow a shirt?" He asked, "My room's right upstairs." When she didn't immediately reply, he quickly added: "I swear I'm not trying to pull anything, I just figured it would probably be pretty uncomfortable wearing a beer shirt."

She watched him for a moment, her eyebrows crinkling in a way that made Peter fight off another smile. He knew he'd won when she let out another sigh, the tired, over-it kind that he was already becoming familiar with it.

"Alright," she nodded. Peter chose not to hide his grin as he mimicked her nod. He led her away from the kitchen and towards the staircase, peering over his shoulder every once in a while to make sure she was still in his tow. Sure enough, every time he looked, she would be there, pulling the windbreaker—his windbreaker—around her.

His room wasn't messy, exactly. There were scattered papers and rogue socks, and of course his flannel sheets were crinkled at the foot of his bed, but it wasn't disgusting. Their entrance was nothing less than unceremonious.

"This is my room," he stated the obvious, gesturing around.

"I would've never guessed." She shook her head. He gave her another small smile before he crossed the room to his dresser. He searched his drawers for something baggy and stupid, something he wouldn't miss. After a few seconds, he landed on a gray shirt with a smiling pterodactyl on the front. Faded words words under the creature read 'You're Dino-Soaring!' Good enough.

“Hopefully this shirt isn’t too provocative,” he grinned as he handed it over.

“Hm, I’ll have to make it work,” she said, inspecting the shirt in an overdramatized sort of way. While she looked at the shirt, Peter went right back to looking at her. She’d be a welcoming sight to wake up to next morning. He wouldn’t even mind paying for her Uber—hell, he might even walk her out of the house, make sure she gets in—

“You got a bathroom I can use? To change?” Her voice interrupts his thoughts, and he shakes the clouds from his eyes.

“Yeah, of course,” he nodded. A few doors down and they make it to the bathroom. Peter goes first, checking for drunk bathtub dwellers, before slapping the doorframe.

“All yours,” he announced, leaning against the wall next to the door. She gives him a salute before entering and closing the door behind her. It only takes a minute or two before she’s emerging again, extending the discarded windbreaker to him.

“It’s a little sticky,” she warns as she hands the jacket back to him. Peter’s eyes wandered down to her shirt.

“Oh, look, you’re ‘Dino-Soaring!’” He chuckled, the low, throaty kind that says he’s holding back an actual laugh.

“I’m always Dino-Soaring.” Her laugh accompanies his. His lips curl up in another smile.

“Do you wanna get something to drink? I can promise this one won’t end up on you,” he suggested, holding that same grin.

“Alright.” Her nod makes his lips quirk up higher. In a reverse of moments prior, he leads her down the stairs and to the kitchen when the sticky remnants of the spill have dried to the floor.

“What’s your poison?” He asked as he tucked the windbreaker under his arm.

“Just Coke—I think I’m gonna tap out for tonight.” Her eyes travel over the sticky floor and the stained shirt in her hands.

“Two Cokes, coming up,” Peter nodded. Two red cans are procured from the fridge in an instant.

“Thanks,” she hummed as she took the drink from his hands, “And thanks for the shirt, too. It really would’ve sucked to have to wait until I’m home to change.”

“Don’t mention it.” He waved her off, cracking open the tab of the Coke.

“Living in a frat must be…sticky.” She can’t seem to peel her eyes off the spilled patch of beer.

“Sometimes,” Peter chuckled, “But it’s not all bad. I get to give out dinosaur shirts.”

“Oh, don’t tell me that I’m not the first girl to ever Dino-Soar around these parts,” she gasped in mock surprise.

“No, no, trust me, I’ve never seen someone Dino-Soar quite like you,” he grinned in reply. He liked her. She was a little awkward, but so was he. He liked her smile, her laugh. He’d probably like her name, too, if she would ever give it to him.

“You never told me what your name is.” His head cocked to the side in a questioning manner. Her expression twisted in a way that told him she knew that was coming.

“That’s right,” she hummed, “Never told you it. Before I do, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” he nodded approvingly.

“Do you not recognize me?” Her lips curled in a small smile, “Peter, we’ve had classes together since freshman year—and not just the lecture hall ones, like, the ones where there’s only twelve people in the room. It’s sort of a statistical marvel. I’m honestly less offended and way more impressed that you don’t know me.”

The words hit him like a semi-truck. Really? She’d been in his classes? She had to be joking—no, she wasn’t joking, the look on her face told him that much. He immediately searched through his memory for her face, combing through classes. Peter never took himself as someone with a bad memory, but he was starting to change his mind. She had to be lying—she wasn’t lying.

“You’re—”

“Where have you been? What the hell are you wearing?” He’s interrupted by another voice. Sliding onto the scene (and effectively ruining Peter’s chances of salvaging the situation into a hookup) is a girl with puffy red hair. Freckles dot her olive skin and scrunch with her as she brings her nose up.

“Long story,” Dino-Soaring Girl responds with a smile, the one she’d been giving to Peter only a moment ago.

“Okay, okay, we’ll come on,” the redhead grasped her arm gently, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Liv threw up after doing a Jägerbomb and we’re gonna head out. I don’t wanna leave without you.”

“The power of Jägerbombs,” Dino-Soaring Girl shook her head. Before she was dragged off, she turned to Peter for one last look.

“See you in class?” She suggested with a smile. He didn’t get to respond before she was gone, the redhead threading through the masses of people. Peter watched her go, unsure whether he should be confused or smiling. He chose the latter.

Peter Parker wasn’t dumb, but he was stupid. And, he was out of a dinosaur t-shirt.

[jerzwriter]

Kaycee reflects on how life turned out exactly as she imagined it and how it didn't when she and Ethan dropped their daughter off at college for the first time. When they leave, they know their journey will lead them back to Boston, but will it lead them home?

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan x Kaycee (Past) Rating: Teen Words: 3,800 (sorry!) Summary: Please see above. A/N: This really took on a life of its own! @tessa-liam asked for two prompts from this list, and I merged it in with an anonymous ask from the same list. The three prompts are highlighted below, and they made for an angsty story! I hope you enjoy it!

This is not part of my HC - but a one-off, one-shot.

Participating in @julychallenge Pink: Love, Black: Loss.

Kaycee raised a cup of hot chocolate to her lips and smiled. It didn’t matter that she was now in her forties; she’d always prefer its silky, sweet taste more than coffee, and she didn’t care who knew it.

Sitting in the passenger seat of Ethan's parked car, she closed her eyes to listen to the sound of a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves outside; the moment felt almost perfect. It was exactly the day she had envisioned when she imagined dropping Emma off for her first semester of college. But as quickly as the thought entered her mind, she heard Ethan’s voice and was reminded – it wasn’t exactly as she had planned.

She stepped out of the car as they walked down a tree-lined path toward the car, Ethan’s arm wrapped protectively around their daughter’s shoulder.

“Now remember, you do not go out alone at night, no matter what. Wait for your roommate, another friend, or call campus security.”

"Yes, Dad," Emma said rolling her eyes. "You seem to forget I grew up in Boston – I have street smarts, Dad.”

The young woman looked to her mother, desperate for a save, and Kaycee reached out to embrace Emma one last time.

“Ethan, I don’t want to leave her either, but it’s getting dark, and it’s a long ride back to Boston.”

Ethan smiled tenderly as he stared at his “little girl.”

“It’s funny. I always imagined it would be me dragging you away, not the other way around.”

“Well,” Kaycee smiled curtly, “life has a way of surprising us.”

It had already been three years. Three years since their assets were divided, custody was determined, and with the scribbling of two signatures on a lifeless document, a marriage of almost twenty years came to an end. They’d come a long way since that painful day. Being in each other’s presence no longer elicited queasiness. The sight of each other didn't lead to dampened eyes or a feeling of guilt that consumed them. Still, it wasn’t easy. But today, they did what they always did best – they showed up for their daughter.

It was a two-hour drive from Boston to Hanover, New Hampshire. Ethan had hoped she’d pick his alma mater, Brown, where she’d only be 52 minutes away. But Kaycee reminded him that Emma’s top pick was originally UCLA. All things considered, Dartmouth wasn’t that far. But when Emma asked if they could all drive her to campus together, that two-hour journey suddenly felt much longer.

They were all surprised at how pleasant the ride up had been. Emma was a ball of nervous energy and chattering non-stop. The joy of heading off to college was mixed with the fear of being away from both her parents for the first time was familiar to her parents, and they both offered reassurance. They marveled over how it felt like it wasn’t so long ago that they were off to college – beginning their adult lives – at the starting line of all their dreams. They hoped Emma would realize as many of hers as they had, but they hoped other dreams would have happier endings than theirs.  

“...and I’m thinking I might double major,” she said without taking a breath. “Because Poli Sci is what I want to do... that’s my passion... but if I want to get into a top-tier law school, I think double majoring in English would be beneficial.”

“Sweetheart,” Kaycee smiled from the backseat. “Why don’t you get through your first semester? Then you can make that call.”

Ethan shook his head with a gentle chuckle. “Can someone tell me how a child with two parents who are renowned in the medical field is hell-bent on becoming a lawyer?”

“Dad,” Emma exasperated. “You always told me to pursue whatever I wanted to...”

“And I meant it,” he interrupted. “But you have to admit, this was unexpected.”

They arrived on campus and unpacked Ethan’s Porche Cayenne – the SUV Kaycee insisted was his mid-life crisis, even though he had already passed that point when he bought it. They could have left as soon as all the boxes were in the dorm room, but they refused to leave until her new bedspread was in place, the matching curtains hung, and little fairy lights twinkled around the perimeter of the room.

With no excuses to stay left, Kaycee turned to her daughter, her voice cracking with emotion. “Well, I guess this is it.”

“Mom!” Emma scolded. “We said no crying.”

“I know. But my baby’s all grown up. I’m entitled to a tear or two.”

The mother and daughter were wrapped in a hug when Ethan returned to the room holding a cardboard tray with two cups of coffee and one hot chocolate – he was elated that his daughter had his refined tastes in hot beverages.

“What did I miss here?” He asked.

“Mom’s starting to get weepy,” Emma smirked.

Kaycee wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Just finishing our goodbyes,” she said. “I’ll go to the car to give you two some privacy.”

“You don’t have to leave...” Ethan started, but when he realized his ex-wife was about to burst into the tears she had promised Emma she’d hold back, he understood. “Fine,” he said, handing her his keys. “Why don't you wait in the car?”

Kaycee adjusted the passenger seat, admiring the soft leather. Ethan had always preferred to drive, and she’d spent a good portion of her life sitting beside him, but it was the first time she sat in this car, purchased right after their divorce. Remembering a life now lost was already difficult, but her mind rushed to places she had no desire to go.

Ethan had never been forthcoming about his relationships since their split. Of course, she had heard the rumors... some said he was dating the new Director of Nursing, others swore he and Harper had rekindled their old flame. But she never asked Ethan about them; it wasn’t her place. Their conversations revolved around Emma, and that’s how she kept it. Still, as she sat in a seat she once coveted, she couldn’t help but wonder if others now filled that space.

The sound of the driver’s door opening quickly ushered her back to reality, and she was grateful she could blame her tear-filled eyes on Emma.

Ethan turned to her with a tender smile that Kaycee hadn’t seen in some time. “She’s going to be OK," he reassured.

“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” she replied, dabbing her eyes. “It’s me that I’m worried about.”

Ethan had to chuckle. “I know that feeling quite well.”

An awkward silence fell between them. At another time, they would have hugged and offered each other assurances. He would have told her their new chapter was beginning, too. They could focus on the dreams they had planned together, but now, he just fumbled to find a classical music playlist as he started the drive.

“Thank you for agreeing to drive up together,” he finally spoke.

“Of course. Emma wanted both of us here. I’d never deny her that.”

“No, but if I’m being honest, I half expected you to tell me you were taking a Greyhound on the return trip home.”

A slow smile spread on her lips, and she confessed. “I did price them.”

“I bet you did,” he laughed.

The conversation turned to the other comfortable topic between them: Medicine. He lauded her recent article in the New England Journal of Medicine, and he told her when he planned to retire. Kaycee reminded him that Emma embracing law wasn’t too odd; after all, it had been her second career choice, too. He quickly reminded her that he remembered. He remembered more than she knew.

They drove for about an hour when a pinging sound began getting louder and louder. Kaycee tried not to chuckle when the expensive car came to a halt, knowing her trusty old Toyota would have never stranded them like this. Ethan looked under the hood, then returned to the car with a sigh.

“Tripple A will be here shortly,” he informed. “There’s a Porche dealer a few miles away, but of course, they’re closed until the morning.”

“Of course,” she half grinned.

Ethan turned to her with a smirk, and she couldn’t decide if it was one of annoyance or amusement, so she decided to believe it was a little of both.

“Are you enjoying this?” He said sarcastically.

“I always told you that simple was better when it came to cars. There’s no need for the expensive bells and whistles.”

“Yeah,” He chuckled sadly. “You told me a lot of things.”

“I’d tell you what Greyhound could get us back to Boston, but the last one left forty minutes ago... “

“Yep! I think we’re stranded here for the night, too. Not just my car.”

When the Tripple A driver arrived, Ethan and Kaycee hopped into the cab of his tow truck.

“There is a hotel nearby,” the man said. “I’m happy to bring you there. But there might not be any vacancy. A lot of local colleges are welcoming students this weekend, and a lot of parents who aren’t letting go stay nearby.”

“Yeah,” Kaycee barked out a laugh. “We’re familiar with that!"

“Oh, I see,” the man grinned. “You’re those parents. Well, as someone who has been through this, I can tell you it gets easier. Just think of it as the start of your second honeymoon.”

“Oh, no, we’re not...” Kaycee started but decided to skip it as they pulled up to a Comfort Inn. “You know, never mind.”

“This is the only place around here,” the driver informed. “If you can get a ride, there are more places about twenty miles down the road.”

Ethan looked at his watch. “The vacancy light is on, and it’s been a long day. This will do just fine.”

Kaycee ran to the restroom in the lobby while Ethan went to the front desk to secure rooms. When she stepped back out, she saw him grimace.

“Before I tell the desk clerk yes, are you sure you don't want to get an Uber to another hotel?”

Kaycee scrunched her nose. “An Uber in these parts? At this time of night? Unlikely. What’s the matter,” she chuckled. “Did you check the reviews and find out it’s not a five-star rating?”

“No, wiseass,” he smiled, enjoying the banter that used to be part of his daily life. “The problem is, they only have one room left.”

“Oh,” Kaycee said with a fallen face.  

“Exactly.”

“Well,” she laughed nervously. “We’ve round ourselves in this position before, haven’t we?”

Both their minds drifted to the conference in Miami during Kaycee’s intern year.

“Yes,” Ethan replied. “But that was a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.”

“Ethan,” Kaycee shrugged. “We’ve been in each other’s lives for decades. We have a child together. We can share a room for one night unless...”

Unless there is someone in your life who would prefer you didn’t, she thought as Ethan asked her to continue.

“Uhm, never mind. We’ll be fine for one night.”

The walk to their room was peppered with small talk in an attempt to break the tension. But they were both so tired that they really didn’t care. They’d fall asleep, wake up, and find a way home. Everything would be back to normal. That's what they thought until Ethan opened the door.

“There’s only one bed?” Kaycee gasped.

“The front desk said there were two queen-sized beds!” Ethan insisted.

“Well, by my calculations, there is only ONE.”

“Obviously, they were wrong.”

“Noooo!” Kaycee mocked to Ethan’s chagrin. He looked around the tiny room; the only other furniture was an uncomfortable looking chair and desk.

“I’ll sleep in the chair,” he declared.  

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Kaycee insisted. “Ethan, it’s not like we haven’t slept in the same bed before.”

“Yeah... that was the norm for us... until that... changed.”

They exchanged an uneasy look, and both understood the best thing to do was go to sleep quickly. After kicking off their shoes, they both lay perched on the edge of the mattress, facing away from the other. Though they weren’t touching each other at all, their presence was obvious, and as exhausted as they were, suddenly, neither could sleep.

“Kaycee, are you still awake?” Ethan whispered.

“Yes.”

“How is our little girl already in college?”

“I don’t know,” she said sadly. “The years just flew by. And it’s odd because some of those days and weeks felt like an eternity, but I turned around twice...” she audibly gulped. “... and they were gone.”

The room went silent; all Kaycee could hear was her ex-husband's breathing. “So many precious days,” he lamented. “I know I haven’t thanked you enough."

“Me?” a startled Kaycee replied.

“You’re the only one here,” he chuckled. "Emma is a remarkable young woman, and I’m not just saying that because she’s my daughter."

“I know she is,” Kaycee laughed, rolling on her side to face Ethan, who had already turned her way.

“Well, that’s in large part because of you, and I should thank you more often.”

“You’re just as responsible,” Kaycee insisted. “You’re an amazing father, Ethan. You always were.”

He fell silent, hoping the darkness of the room would prevent Kaycee from seeing the emotion in his eyes, though there was no way to conceal it in his voice. If I had been an amazing father, I wouldn’t have let our family end. If I had been an amazing father, I would have fought harder for us to work, he thought, but all that came out was a broken.

“Thank you. You know, when you walked into Edenbrook all those years ago, I had no idea how much my life was about to change,” he smiled as Kaycee shifted uncomfortably.

“Ethan... it’s probably best if we don’t talk about this. I think we should just....”

With that, the lights flicked on, and Ethan was sitting upright.

“Why not?” he asked. “Not making time to talk is where everything started to go wrong for us.”

“It was,” she concurred. “But the time to fix that passed a long time ago. The ink on our divorce papers is long dry, Ethan. This isn't how it works.”  

“It can work anyway we want it to,” he countered. “Kaycee, we may not be together anymore, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be a part of each other’s lives.”

“We’ll always be a part of each other’s lives. We have Emma.”

“I don’t mean because of Emma. I want you to be a part of my life because, with the exception of our daughter, you've been the single most important person in my life. For the past three years, I’ve felt like a stranger in my own soul without you. I miss hearing your voice. I miss your laugh. When I have exciting news, you're the only one I want to tell it to. I want you to be more than the person I arrange drop-offs with, and now that Emma is grown, we won’t even have that.”

“Are you telling me you want to be friends? She asked.

No. I don’t want to be friends. I want us to be so much more, and I wish I had the nerve to say it.

“Ethan,” she repeated after an extended silence. She saw the tears glistening in his eyes as he reached over and pushed a strand of hair away from her face.

“Friends.... or something,” he choked.

Kaycee’s head fell into her hands, partly because she was tired, partly because she was trying not to cry.  

“Ethan, where did it all go wrong?”

Their minds drifted back in time to the days of trying to manage two busy careers with the needs of their child, long days filled with demands, exhaustion, and the feeling that they could never get it right. Sometimes, they fought; sometimes, they held it all in. Sometimes they turned the guilt inward... they weren’t good enough, they were failing, they should be better at this... and sometimes, they projected it onto the other... "You never...", "You used to...", "I can't believe you..." In time, they learned being alone isn't the worst feeling in the world, being in a relationship, but feeling alone was, and when the loneliness became too much to bear, they decided it should end.

“Why did we let it go?" Kaycee sniffled. “There was no affair, no hatred, even our fights weren’t all that bad. Our marriage was like a boat, just drifting away as we watched, and neither of us thought enough to help it change its course.”

“We were focused on work,” Ethan sighed with regret. “Focused on Emma. Then we had elderly parents to care for... it took so much of our time that in the end, we forgot to focus on each other.”

“But we knew what we had was special. Why the hell didn’t we fight for it!”

“You wanted to,” Ethan whispered. “You wanted to. I... I blame myself.”

“Ethan, you weren’t the only one responsible for our marriage ending.”

“I’m the one who stormed out of counseling, telling the counselor that it was absolutely useless. I’m the one who began to withdraw. You begged me to try.”

Feelings they believed to be long buried began to rise to the surface again, and the pain was as raw as it had ever been.

“You withdrew... but I never asked you why you did. I let my imagination get the better of me and...”

“And?”

“Did you stop loving me?” She asked, tears now streaming down her cheeks.

“No!” Ethan gasped. “Oh, God no, I never once stopped loving you.”

“I allowed myself to believe that you did,” she said, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “I felt like an obligation... like if we didn't have a piece of paper decreeing that we had to be together, you'd be long gone. And I swore I’d never be in a marriage like that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“I thought I did,” Kaycee replied. “Maybe not with words, but with actions. I tried to give signs, but..."

“Kaycee, I never learned to read  your mind.”

“I know that... and that’s why I’m as responsible as you for letting our marriage die.”

“I wish I would have fought harder,” Ethan wept as Kaycee’s floodgates opened.

“Me too,” she shuddered. “Me too.”

Ethan instinctively reached for her hand, surprised when Kaycee fell into his arms. His arms encircled her and held her close. Both were overwhelmed by the warmth and familiarity, a feeling of comfort from a time long gone when they were each other’s port in a storm. When they were each other's home.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan cried. “I’m sorry I let it end.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Kaycee cried into his shirt. Ethan went to pull away, but she refused to let him go.

“Please... can you hold me just a little longer?"

“Of course,” he whispered, resting his head on hers as she nuzzled into his shoulder.

Comforted by his touch, Kaycee fell into a deep sleep and slept better than she had in a long time. But Ethan found no such relief; he remained awake all night, never letting her out of his arms until he got up in the early morning hours.

The sun was shining through the window, and Ethan was seated at the desk with an abysmal cup of coffee in hand when Kaycee woke up with a startle.

“Hey, are you OK?” he asked, as she groggily nodded. He moved to the edge of the bed and sat beside her. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing... you’re here,” she replied.

“Did you forget? The car broke down, we had to stay here, there was only one room...”

“No... no,” Kaycee stopped him. “I remember all that. I just had a bad dream. I dreamt that you left me during the night, and I woke up alone.”

“Well, you made sure I couldn’t do that, even if I had wanted to,” he smiled. “You basically slept on top of me all night.”

“I did!”

“You did," he smiled. "Did you at least sleep well?"

“Like a baby – and you?”

“I slept OK,” he fibbed, pointing to the paper cup on the desk. “That cup of swill parading as coffee should help wake me up a little more.”

“Yeah,” she laughed. “I think I’ll make myself a cup, too. If you have to suffer through it, I should, too.”

She flung her legs over the side of the bed, but Ethan grabbed her hand and pulled her back to the mattress.

“Kaycee, I have to tell you something before I lose my nerve.”

A line formed between her brows. “What... what is it?”

“I need to tell you what I should have said three years ago. That I’m sorry. I took us for granted and allowed life to come between us, which was so foolish because you... you were my life. I've felt like a stranger wandering in a strange land where he no longer belongs for the past three years. See, I love you, Kaycee. I never stopped, and the biggest regret of my life is that I let you go. So, I know the answer is probably no, maybe you'll think I’m crazy, and I could be... but is there a chance... any possibility that you and I could try again. If we can, I promise, I'll get it right this time."

He sat in nervous anticipation in every silent moment that followed. Kaycee’s eyes were wide, and her lip trembled, but he wasn’t sure why. It was taking too long. It was taking too long, and he braced himself for rejection... the rejection he now realized that he had feared so desperately that he found it easier to let her go. But it only took a moment for all that to change.

Kaycee threw her arms around his neck, holding him tight as she peppered him with kisses and pushed him back on the bed. Her lips found his, and they came together; their hearts raced as it deepened, their hands caressing the curves they still knew by heart. At long last, they were home.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he smiled breathlessly.

 “What gave it away?” she giggled, kissing him again. “But we have to take it slow. You’re the love of my life, and I want this to work more than anything, but we have to think of Emma. The divorce was hard on her, and we can’t let her know about this until we’re sure... 100% sure... that we’re forever.”

“I agree,” he smiled, his hands running through her hair. “You take all the time you need, but I know... if you’ll have me... this is forever. I don’t want to know a day without you again.”

“Can I have a week or two?" she grinned.

“As long as I can see you during every one of those days.”

After another lengthy kiss, Ethan reached for the hotel phone.

“What are you doing?” Kaycee asked.

“Calling the front desk.”

“Why?”

“Because check out is in a half hour, and we’re going to need this room longer.”

"Are we," she grinned. "I'm not on the schedule tomorrow; what about you?"

“Me?" Ethan beamed. "I’ll be calling out.”

"Good," Kaycee smiled, "Because we're going to need this room for another night."

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.

[shattersstar]

ok but we need to hear more about college dick now👀👀

hehe ask and u shall receive because ohhh myyy dick in college is such a messsssssss but like so pretty it’s almost unfair

—

i love the idea of dick and a bunch of his friends getting a house together with the intent of being Normal for the first time in a while, which means being absolute menaces as most 20 smth yr old guys are

very much known for being a party house bordering a frat but all the guys r so nice that it’s rlly hard to think of them like that. it’s a space where he can let go, feel like himself and with the encouragement of his friends, dick puts the brakes on like relationship hunting and just has fun..

he’s been in pretty committed relationships since he was old enough to be and has always struggled with casual dating let alone sleeping with people he barely know. but when dick learns there r ppl out there looking for the same thing and not everyone wants to b the next future ex mr/mrs. grayson it makes it a lil easier to be his charming self with no bounds <33

and then he mets you and it’s the usual routine, flirting you to his bedroom which is in the basement—of course—well alllllmost doing so until you vanish out of his grasp for reasons dick cannot discern (you weren’t here for him silly)

and while he’s not like one of those oh i wanted to hit and couldn’t so im gonna chase you types, dick does have to reconcile with the fact your friends with roy and spend a lot of time at the house now

which also means he learns how cool you r and how goofy he feels for just tryna sleep with you

and despite his friends vouching for him you really only see (and have heard the numerous rumours) dick as a rich playboy and that’s not for you. plus he’s def a business or poli sci major……….but with a psych minor bc it feels the most practical despite how boring dick finds most of his classes

though when he realizes your both in a psych elective together he’s all toothy grins and obnoxious air which isn’t helping his case but of course he’s a decent student and when you mentioned hating statistics—you were stuck with the worse prof outta the two—dick jumped at the chance to help

you were sooooooo skeptical and even though agreed you kept brushing him off until dick just started helping you when you were over to hang out. he drops a textbook in your lap while sitting in roy’s bed or starts reviewing your notes and adding examples while your hanging out on the living room floor building lego sets with everyone else.

and dick did that a lot—sure it was his house and roy was his best friend along with all of his other housemates but dick never hesitated to insert himself into whatever you were doing when you came over. and it shouldn’t surprised you but everyone being so..unbothered by it had you confused. like maybe that’s how dick is but it spoke bounds to their closeness and was the First time you actually saw a little more to dick than just some campus hottie douchebag who threw parties to get laid

and while you weren’t about to tell dick that, you did start coming over with the intent of working on stats together. it usually meant dick having to re-lecture whatever your prof barely managed to explain and helping you with the page long equations needed for assignments

and dick keeps it as platonic as possible, on a mission to prove he’s not the person you think he is and not only because he wanted to be with you—well yeah he does—but because dick cares what you think about him. he knows his friends care about you and value what you have to say and he wants you to know it’s the same for him

and maaaybe you see that too but dick needs to suffer a little more

—

bonus: you talk to dick abt ppl you’re interested in at some point (either genuinely or to mess with him) when he insists on always hanging out with you and roy. and while he gives advice with a smile, still trying to prove his capacity for mature, platonic relationships, dick screams into his pillow later that night when he goes over the convo again and again and agai—

bonus bonus: he’s probably on the school’s gymnastics team <3

[enviedear]

modern!kylo as your brothers' best friend—

now playing:

kylo's playlist | track 1 — track 2 — track 3 — track 4 — track 5 — track 6 — track 7 — track 8 — track 9 — track 10

0:01 ❍─────── 4:28

↻ ⊲ Ⅱ ⊳ ↺

he'd pull up in his raggedy r/t 69 charger to pick up your brother / his car speakers are almost blown but he's blaring his endless slipknot cds / all of his jackets are exclusively black in color but he insists that blue is his favorite color / a poli-sci major who worships machiavelli / the biggest jerk in town but somehow he's got your parents and brother fooled / never lets you play music in his car / sneaks into your room far too often because it's the only one with a window in his reach / calls you kid when you piss him off (that's constantly)

for my sweet saint (@crucifiedfaerie) baby <3

[defensivepocket]

I know that I am an extremely passive user but I need to scream into the void and hope someone that may care hears.

I am a senior at Sweet Briar College, a women's college in VA. You have may have heard of SBC and think “Didn't that place close?” And you are probably thinking of the right place.

The school almost closed in 2015 due to shity decisions by the board that runs the school, and was only saved by fast acting alums to raise 1.9 million in 10 days, and 21.5 million in 90.

A few days ago we got an email that informed us that starting with the class of 2029, Sweet Briar would now only be admitting cis women.

"An applicant is qualified for admission if she confirms that her sex assigned at birth is female and that she consistently lives and identifies as a woman.”

Currently, admittance for non binary students is taken on a case by case bases. We have a huge non binary population, to the point where we introduce ourselves with our name, year, major, and pronouns (My name is Suzie Sweetbriar I am a business sophomore with a poly sci minor, and my pronounce are she/they)

The argument that the board gives is that the will of the founder must be honored with the spirit of what she wanted when she wrote it. That will was written in 1901, it calls for a school for white young girls and women. Obviously, the “spirit” of the will is flexible.

This decision is certainly not what the students want, and not what most alums want either. I definitely would think twice applying to a school in rural VA that only wanted cis people.

SBC is only around for as long as it stands in the good graces of its alums and they just pissed off quite a few of it's future ones.

I have seen the argument of changing one single contraction

"An applicant is qualified for admission if she confirms that her sex assigned at birth is female OR that she consistently lives and identifies as a woman.”

Honestly, that would be enough to keep this school a women's college.

[frostyyyroyalmilktea]

Why Vesna’s “My sister’s crown” in no feminist anthem but a Trojan horse filled with pro-russian messaging

My thoughts as a Ukrainian with a poli-sci degree.

I was debating whether to write this post but as the discourse around this song grows, I want to give people from other countries some context on the messaging used in the song and why Ukrainians are grossed out by it.

While I was writing it this post grew a mind of its own and I even ended up adding pictures so I'll fold the post here in case you don't care and just want to scroll through quickly.

First of all, it’s worth mentioning that this song attracted so much attention from Ukrainians because they use UKRAINIAN LANGUAGE in the chorus. It’s an important detail seeing how one of the singers is russian. A lot of Ukrainians share the opinion that letting a russian woman sing in our language is a completely vile thing to do to our culture. I agree with it too. But the abuse of our culture doesn’t stop there.

See this shot? This is supposed to be Borsch, a traditional Ukrainian dish. It’s worth mentioning that russia tried to appropriate this dish and in 2022 we fought tooth and nail to have UNESCO protect it as part of Ukrainian heritage. But back to the shot. The letters around it are supposed to symbolize russian propaganda. Great start🙄

But it gets better, lads. They start “feeding the propaganda” to the girl that —judging by stylistic choices as well as matryoshka makeup—  is supposed to represent russian people.

Right, so they *checks notes* use Ukrainian cultural dish —that russians almost succeeded in stealing from us— to show… what exactly? “Poor russians🥺 uwu” getting brainwashed? Oh, then let me grab my handkerchief. This is so so sad I think I’m about to cry😶😶😶

I mean, just a thought but if they wanted to show how shitty russian government treats its people, they could’ve recreated the historically accurate moment when russian tzar Ivan the Terrible shoved his underling’s face into a boiling soup. What does Ukraine and our long-suffering dish has to do with all this bs???

Now let’s talk about that “Crown”, that is supposed to belong to the sister (aka Ukraine). To me, as a poli-sci major, this is so stupid I don’t even know whether to laugh or cry. From the words of the band themself, where they explain —quite poorly might I say— the meaning of their song, we learn that “Crown” symbolizes the sovereignty of the 13 Eastern-European countries. Sounds perfectly valid. Here's a few random countries that I can remember from the top of my head in no particular order that have crowns in their symbols:

Coat of arms of the Czech Republic, Coat of arms of Serbia, Flag of Poland and Flag of Croatia

I actually decided that I don't want to have russian flag and emblem in this post because I don't want to look at it every time I scroll through, but you can go google it if you want, they have not one but two crowns on their emblem actually.

So what am I leading up to with all this flag-talk, you might ask. Well, the kicker is that THIS ⬇️ is Ukrainian emblem:

Not a crown in sight as you can see. I guess as a nation that was constantly fighting against imperial colonisation we’re not very fond of those. Who could’ve guessed🤷‍♀️

But the aforementioned two points are pretty circumstantial and in the grand scheme of things are not particularly significant. I felt compelled to point them out first to give people from other countries a bit of insight into the music video's visual. You are free to disagree with me on those. The main problem that triggers the majority of Ukrainians is the use of the word "sister". Listen, I know you don’t want to read a lecture on the nuance of Slav politics and I don’t really want to write it, I know you know how to google. So here’s the gist:

One of the BIGGEST narratives that russia is pushing in its export propaganda (aside from their go-to claim that all ukrainians are nazis) is that Slavs are all a family. Talk about shitty relatives, eh? But basically, it’s a lingering thing from USSR where russia exploited a bunch of neighboring countries and called this shit a “Union” (while convincing the rest of the world that those countries entered that union willingly and not under threats —or as a result of— hostile invasions, but I digress). So the way russia frames it is that russia is this big brother that "takes care of other little siblings”. Even writing it down made me want to barf🤢🤢🤢. This narrative was specifically very actively weaponized against Ukraine before the 2022 invasion. Its goal is to infantilize Ukraine as if we're not a whole-ass independent country, but a little sibling that doesn't know how to wipe their own ass. And that we just need good ol’ russia to come and save us from our own stupidity. I hope I shed some light on why this word specifically triggers us so much and why I think that this song has 0 to do with solidarity and overall is complete populistic bs with a generous dash of russian propaganda.

I want to emphasize that I didn’t make this post to fight or argue with anyone  but to give people another perspective if you’re interested in it from my pov as a Ukrainian. If you have other takes on it, I’d love to read them in the comments. Just please be respectful or I won’t interact.

This is all I have to say for today. Love, love, peace, peace, my dudes.

[coffeencream]

REVIEW: Babel by RF Kuang

A quick disclaimer before we start- this book impacted me very heavily, and because of those strong emotions I think I have to include some spoilers in this review to process what I felt in the book’s heaviest moments. You’ve been warned!

Robin Swift was taken from his homeland to become a scholar. Thanks to his powerful and mysterious guardian Richard Lovell, an 18 year old Robin becomes one of four new undergraduate students at the Royal Translation Institute, aka Babel. He meets his cohort- dazzling Ramiz Mirza, fierce Victoire Desgraves, and posh Letty Price. From there, an unbelievable, years-spanning epic of magic, academia, love and betrayal.

I’ll start by saying that I absolutely loved the magic system in Babel, because it’s so simple- words are power, just like they are in the real world. I think this works beautifully to illustrate Kuang’s main arguments about colonialism in the book, because it literalizes the way that empire depends heavily on those they exploit, even while proclaiming their colonies less than. I really appreciated the care that was taken to explore multiple schools of thought regarding the best way to fight oppression. None were explicitly “wrong” because both theories- Victoire and Anthony’s nonviolence and Griffin and Robin’s violence- were more than justified in the context of the book. Obviously, this mirrors real life. As someone who talks politics in leftist circles, I hear both ideas come up. Do we disobey quietly, lobby our politicians, and wait for slow incremental change? Or do we fight, scream, burn, demand to be seen as human? There’s no right answer, but I think the fictional environment of Babel is a good outlet to explore these questions, and Kaung does it expertly.

Ok, now that my academic, poli-sci major baggage has been laid out, I’m gonna get a bit sappy. This book WRECKED me. I cried. So. Much. In the style of a Shakespearean tragedy, just about every single character that you fall in love with through the first three hundred pages of this book will be taken away from you. (Spoiler time!) I want to write about Ramy’s death specifically. Just as Robin and Letty fall in love with him at the first hello, so did I. Ramy was a character that simply shone so brightly that it reached far off the page. Kind, passionate, brilliant. OF COURSE two of the three people around him were madly in love. Letty’s betrayal (especially Shakespearean) and her goddamn revolver took Ramy from us, and in the midst of my reading I felt like the world was ending. Even worse, the most emotional moments come dozens of pages later. Robin and Ramy clearly loved each other. It was perhaps unrealistic to believe that they could have a happily ever after in 1840, but I thought at least they would get to be honest with each other about how they felt. Instead, Robin is left alone to grieve, to wonder how Letty, who “loved him almost as Robin loved him”, could take away the person who defined his world. Kuang invokes Ramy’s name almost like prayer. Robin turns to it in his time of most need. It hurts, like, reaaaallly hurts. I’ll think of them every time i see a sunset now.

Last thoughts. This book is nothing if not a five star read. It’s somehow a love story, a dark academia fantasy, a Newsies-style tale of the underdog, and more. It’s a found family that could never last. I can safely say that it’s one of the best things I’ve ever read, despite how much pain it caused me. There’s so much more I could’ve said, but I’ll leave it here.

READ THIS BOOK!!

[hauntedjpegcollection]

loneliest boy in the world

wc: 3214 au: college au ch: benny, maran

Benny had stopped enjoying parties a long time ago.

When he’d been a freshman, it was an every night sort of thing for him. Fell into a bit of a bad habit of drinking too much and barely surviving class the next morning—and school meant something to Benny. Wasn’t just a place to occupy for four years before fucking off to find some menial labor job. Which was generally expected of someone who looked like him. Class mattered, his grades mattered, staying in school mattered. The PhD mattered, getting a good job afterwards mattered.

So, he doesn’t do parties anymore, unless they’re thrown at his own apartment (still enjoys these, likes the attention more often than not) or he’s roped in because of transportation. Being the oldest of his room mates and the only one with a car that could seat more than two people, he found himself more often than not going wherever he was asked. Xavier’s big puppy eyes generally worked, if Lark’s didn’t.

It lands him at a party he doesn’t really want to be at and mostly sober—because he’s driving them all home.

“I just feel like I never see you outside class.”

He’s found a secluded hallway with Sujin, leaning against a wall, nursing a lukewarm beer in a red solo cup. The other man smiles up at him, a good five inches shorter. Benny likes the way he keeps his hair, short with bleached tips. He clearly spends more time on it than he’d want people to think, but it has the effect that all he did was scrub a hand through it and leave.

“Do y-you need to see me outside class?” Benny asks, lip’s curling into a smile that most wouldn’t consider friendly. Sujin blushes. Benny knew he would.

“Parties aren’t your thing.” Sujin fidgets with the ends of his sleeves and doesn’t look up this time.

“I like parties.” Lie. “I d-don’t like hockey players.” Truth. He gestures to the Hockey House around them; it’s sat on a long road down campus, right outside the lake that doesn’t actually freeze over fully enough for the players to play on. The house is nice enough considering so many men live there. The walls are practically moist with the number of bodies they have packed in to it for the night. They vibrate so harsh with the music it’s a surprise their framed pictures of past teams stay up on the walls.

“Did Xavier make you come out?”

Benny isn’t sure how to feel about the familiarity of the statement. He’s almost positive Xavier and Sujin have never really met, otherwise Sujin’s crush would be on Xavier instead of Benny. There’s a strange squirm in his stomach that maybe he’s talked too much and now someone knows more about him than they should; nobody should be aware that Xavier can make Benny do things with a simple, please?

But Sujin likes him. He must pay attention.

For now, anyway. He makes big eyes at him and asks about class and borrows his notes and tries texting him (Benny hardly ever actually has his phone on him to answer). And he’s sweet and attractive and they share a few things in common. Benny can imagine Sujin’s tongue piercing and how it would feel if they’d kiss. Can picture pushing up his black sweater and finding pale skin and both of them having a good time.

But it’s also an exhausting thing to picture once the daydreams end. Fitting someone into his life. Introducing them to his (much more attractive) friends. Being more reliable for communication—he’s dated before and it never ends well. People want things in relationships. Benny wants a cure for insomnia and a large cheese pizza.

Still. Sujin. He’s good—he’s nice.

“Xavier’s m-made plenty of people come out th-the closet.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Sujin replies, laughing, punching Benny softly in the side. “You suck, you know that?”

Flirting feels nice. Benny smiles into it, takes a sip from his cup, watches Sujin’s eyes flicker there and then away. The tops of his pale cheekbones turn pink. He really is cute.

They talk about class, about the annoying poli-sci major that raises their hand too often. They talk about a TV show that Benny hasn’t seen. Sujin explains the pilot in detail and creeps closer with every exaggerated gesture. Lots of explosions in this TV show, lots of hand movements to follow explanations of those explosions. They talk about Benny’s car, which he didn’t realize people took such notice of. They talk about Sujin’s summer vacation plans, if he’s going to go back home for a bit. The entire time, Benny wonders when he should make a move.

“Are you coming home with us?” A new voice pipes up at the end of the hallway, cutting over the music, over their conversation and Benny’s waffling decisions on if he should kiss Sujin or not. He glances over his shoulder, finds a tiny girl with giant glasses and an annoyed expression.

“Me?” Benny points to his chest, hand still holding the now empty red solo cup.

“Ew,” the girl replies, with a scrunched nose. “You’d need a thousand showers before I let you in my apartment.”

“Mina!”

“What?” She props hands on her hips. A lanyard with far too many keychains attached to it jangles in her hand. Benny stares down at her with a bored expression and she doesn’t even flinch. Instead, her dark eyes slide around him and to Sujin. “Like, are you staying here? Are you finding a ride home? What are you doing, because I’m leaving and I drove you here.”

It clicks into place then—Sujin’s older sister, a year ahead of him and attending the same college. They had an apartment together, rather than rooming on campus, even though they were from…Benny struggles to remember where Sujin is from. His face must go through an impressive look of concentration, because Mina appears disgusted and steps away from him.

“Uh.” Sujin looks up at him.

Unfortunately, there is something so deeply hopeful in his eyes that it makes Benny’s insides curl up. A feeling of near black out inducing panic thrums across his vision for a moment. There’s an announcer inside his head—loud, comical, and horrifying—screaming, decision time, you whore! The audience laughs to trivia show music. Benny realizes too late that he’s taken far too long to say anything, while Sujin’s blush drains and his eyebrows awkwardly tilt upward.

“C’mon,” Mina huffs, darting a hand out to scoop her brother closer. “You need better taste, you know that?”

“Mina, fuck you—Oh my God.” He flicks a look over his shoulder, a clear attempt at civility, though his smile is somewhat dimmed. “Bye, Benny.”

See? See? I’m shit at this. I’m the worst at it. The fucking worst.

And though it shouldn’t be able to get any worse than missing a chance to hook up with a cute boy from class—and one he actually liked—Benny can feel a hand at his back pocket. Someone thinking they’re being sneaky and light fingered, when they are most certainly not. He waits a moment, staring at Mina and Sujin as they trek through a packed room. Then he jerks around, snatching at a wrist—hand caught right as it’s about to free his car keys of his possession.

“What are you doing?” Benny asks Maran, tone flat.

“Huh?”

He’s clearly been drinking. Maran’s cheeks get flushed when he’s been to the keg one too many times, and it’s only gotten worse since Xavier has introduced him to those fruity little cocktails that Matilda makes. His dark brown eyes are shiny, the neck of his shirt yoked, revealing the silver line of a necklace. He has a small stain on the front of his jeans, where Benny can guess a shot of liquor was spit out. Maran smiles and it has a horrifying effect on Benny’s ability to stand.

Luckily, he doesn’t collapse. Instead, he slowly leans his shoulder against the wall and stares at Maran. He smiles wider, withdrawing his hand and slowly tucking it into his own front pocket. Maran’s shoulders raise, converse sneakered feet tucking in slightly. Who me? I’m just a guy, please don’t be mad I almost stole your car keys. It makes Benny’s stomach warm in a way it shouldn’t.

“Didn’t wanna interrupt you and—” Maran’s hand raises and flaps in the direction Sujin was towed off in. His expression briefly changes to something colder. Benny is stunned, because he didn’t realize that he and Sujin had an audience. How long had Maran been standing down the hallway, waiting to approach?

It shouldn’t, but that realization makes him smile. Slowly. And a little mean. A rude curl to his mouth, blue eyes narrowing.

“Wh-What would you be interrupting?” Benny asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Maran huffs a sound, scuffing his shoe across the floor. He slowly slides it until the once white rubber tip touches Benny’s beaten up combat boot. His eyes don’t lift and meet Benny’s. They hover somewhere underneath his chin, around his arms.

“Clearly nothing, huh?”

Oh, Benny thinks, stomach warming further. You little shit.

“You think so?” He lifts his boot and presses it down over Maran’s shoe, so it can stop it’s nudging against him. Benny leans in, so they’re closer. Maran smells a little like alcohol and this sweet, boyish scent. Like he’s been using the same body spray since he was a teenager and never let it go. He radiates body heat so desirable that it hurts to be near him like this. Benny can’t imagine what Maran’s skin feels like to the touch.

“Lad clearly likes you.” Maran is a little drunk, so his accent is even thicker. Maybe a little rougher.

“I’m a likeable guy.”

“I’m not disagreein’ there, you know. Clearly, I think you’re well likeable.” There’s a hum as he sucks his teeth, rolls his eyes to the side, lifts a hand and waves it slightly. Benny follows it like a hound dog finding a bird in the sky. “Just thought his flirting could use some work.”

“Maybe you c-can give him lessons.”

“I’m not flirting with anyone,” Maran says with an indignant tone, putting a hand to his chest. His eyes flash, pretty and challenging.

“I think every girl you come across w-would think otherwise.”

“You’d have to ask them after you got over your fear of talkin’ to girls.”

It’s so unexpected, Benny bursts out with a laugh. It’s high pitched and ends with a giggle as he slaps a hand over his mouth. Someone would think Maran won the fucking lottery the way his face lights up. He inches closer, angling himself to peer up at Benny.

“Got you, Ben. What’s it all when you nail someone in checkers?”

“Chess. It’s a ch-checkmate.”

“Checkmate.” Maran flicks a finger in the air. The triumph in his dark, drunken eyes makes Benny’s chest feel tight. He breathes in nice and slow in an attempt to get oxygen to his brain but all that does is make Maran’s eyes drop to his chest again. His cheeks go dark as he leans back and slumps against the wall. Benny has an overwhelming desire to put an arm between Maran and the hockey player’s nasty wallpaper.

“Why did you want to go sit in my car?” Benny pulls his keys from his back pocket, giving them a glance. Maran doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he goes quiet and somber, linking his hands in front of himself, pushing on his stomach. He glances down at the floor, where Benny’s booted foot is still resting on top of Maran’s converses.

“Just—Drank a bit much, hey?” His nose scrunches a bit, wrinkling as he smiles ruefully. “Well, found myself a bit alone in it all. Then I was wandering and found—and anyway…Guess I wanted to find a place to just fuck off and be lonely?”

“Poor baby.” Benny huffs a laugh, his arms feeling heavy and full of desire as they unwind. “Lonely baby.”

“What?”

Benny rolls his eyes. He reaches out, taking Maran by the wrist. He can feel the boys heart beat crashing against the thin skin, vein throbbing with the pulse. He is warm. He is so fucking warm.

The keys get placed in his palm. Benny slowly closes his fingers around them.

“I’ll be there in a minute.” Maran stares at him, blinking those awful, beautiful eyes.

—

The hockey house has a long, winding drive way that bleeds out onto the street. Cars line the entire way like a trail of ants. Benny had gotten a shit spot, because he’d arrived late—which was largely Lark’s fault. If he showed up to things early, it would look back for his casual attitude. Being on time was even worse. It was halfway through the party or nothing.

Benny finds his car underneath a street light, a cone of amber around it. Sometimes, the light flickers, in a strange little rhythm. On for a long moment, then stuttering in three quick successions and then on once more. Benny only knows because he’s been standing there for a long while, two water bottles in his hands. He contemplates smoking an entire cigarette before he gets into the car.

He can see Maran’s silhouette. The shape of him, in the dark. The light of his phone—or that adorable Game Boy—makes his face a light blue. It clashes with the sepia toned street light. Benny doesn’t want to think about what his heart is doing inside his chest. An hour earlier, he had been contemplating kissing Sujin. He’d thought, even briefly, about bringing him home. Back to his apartment.

Benny shakes himself all over like a dog and then swiftly shoves himself into the backseat of his car.

“Drink this.”

The water bottle gets shoved into Maran’s hand before he can disagree. With them both in the backseat, they arrange to fit better; for some reason it’s entirely natural. Maran scoots into a corner, back against the car door, one leg extended and the other dropped on the floor. Benny sits with one foot extended onto the console and the other tucked up, knee under his chin. They are tangled and close and the heat inside the car suddenly feels unbearable. He wishes he’d stopped to think about rolling the windows down before getting in.

Too late, he supposes. Not even the end of the world could pull him from this car.

Both of them are silent for a bit, sitting there and staring at each other. It isn’t nearly as uncomfortable as it should be and Benny figures maybe that’s because Maran is drunk. He shifts, his leg touching Benny. Without thinking, he closes his pale palm around Maran’s ankle.

“Do you like that guy?” Maran suddenly asks, taking a healthy sip from his water bottle. The condensation on it must bother, because he wipes his palms on his jeans.

“He’s nice.” Maran’s face looks dubious. Benny snorts, uncaps his own water, takes a healthy chug. It unseats his dry tongue, thankfully. He swishes the water and takes his time swallowing. “I’m n-not a good boyfriend. Done it once or twice, d-don’t really live up to the hype.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You th-think I’d be a good boyfriend?” Benny bats his eyelashes in an exaggerated way and fucking lives for the flush that goes from Maran’s cheeks down his throat. It’s a dangerous game to play, teasing at Benji’s straight friend like this. Sometimes he can’t help it; there’s something clearly wrong with him for being so masochistic about it. What ever comes from flirting with straight boys but headaches? Only Maran is so sweet about it—so authentic. As though he really feels it, sometimes. Like he means it, when he flirts back.

“Nice, being away from the noise,” Maran says, letting himself slump sideways against the car seat. His eyes flutter close. He tucks the cold water bottle up near his neck. His chest rises and falls heavily, making Benny look there. It’s like a Victorian peeking at an ankle the way Benny’s stomach muscles clench.

“You know you don’t ha-have to come out every time Xavier asks, right?”

“Right, but he gets excited. And I like it—just lately him and Benj keep disappearin’. Fucking off and all that. And I guess that’s alright, I don’t need to be hip to hip with Benji, alright? I’ve made some friends here. And I like making new ones. I can make friends easy.”

Benny doesn’t need to be convinced. Maran has a personality that sort of moths-to-flame’s people. He’s handsome. He has an accent and American’s love accents. Benny thinks about Sujin—about how he knew bits and pieces of Benny just piecing them together from odd here and there conversations. How terrifying it was to think that Benny might have to supply more. It’s lonely, but it’s safer.

“Jesus,” Benny lets his head bang backward against the car window. “I should be drunk for this.”

“Tell me if I’m bothering you,” Maran mumbles. His foot taps against Benny’s thigh until the hand around his ankle squeezes hard.

“Don’t be a brat.” He watches Maran’s eyes go shiny and wide. Dangerous. Flirting with straight guys was always dangerous and Benny couldn’t help it. This was a straight guy he was going to indulge in. Safer, right? He sighs out his nose, squeezing Maran’s ankle once more before rolling his head to the side, leaning on the car seat as well.

“I meant I should b-be drunk for twenty questions.”

“Twenty questions?”

“You ask first.”

There’s silence between them while Maran’s drunken brain catches up. Then he’s smiling eagerly, scooting forward. He hunches over, crossing his legs underneath him, hands patting on Benny’s calf. The little tap, tap, tap drives him near to insanity. There’s a tattoo of a dagger there; he thinks Maran would like it, would look at it and peer closely and compare it to something from one of his little fantasy games he’s played with Xavier.

“Favorite color?”

“Lame. Blue.”

“That’s so vain!” Maran howls, laughing. “Blue, like your eyes?”

“Dark blue,” Benny replies, grinning despite himself. Unable to stop himself, but Jesus who could look at Maran laughing like that and not smile? “Think Nomi’s hair.”

Maran clears his throat with a fist to his mouth, shoulders shrugging a few times.

“Well, I like blue fine. Nomi’s blue, or light blue. Sort of snowy like blue? Guess snow is white, yeah, but winter blue is good—ask me, now.”

Benny could think of a thousand things, but he doesn’t rush. He settles himself in the car, slouching. It shoves his leg up underneath Maran’s crossed ones. He doesn’t seem to mind at all. The hands that had tapped furiously at him stay there. They pluck gently at black denim. Nervous or excited or both. Benny could think of a thousand things and never be satisfied, but that’s fine. He points to the water bottle and Maran dutifully drinks.

And they play the twenty questions game for far more than twenty questions.

[devinescribe]

Hello everyone! I have some kind of important news!

Over the past four or five years I have enjoyed writing for all of you. All the wonderful people I have met and all the things I have accomplished!

As many of you know, I have some unfinished stories.

However, I am struggling to update because I am not as passionate about this account as I was.

I, will not be writing anymore. I understand if many of you decide to not support the account anymore.

I will be giving this account to my friend. She is a very talented author, younger than me, however. So I have a blurb she has written about herself, and I’m sure that you will enjoy her writing.

“Hi! Im not comfortable giving my name on the internet but my usernames on most things is Devine.Scribe! I’m 17 years old, I’m starting college in two weeks majoring in history and minoring in poli sci. I’m from Puerto Rico as well, and know Spanish! Like my friend, I am more than willing to write for ethnic or plus size reader, because I am BOTH OF THOSE 🙌

It has saddened me to see my friend lose interest in their writing, and seeing them struggle with their life irl, and struggle with not being able to have a more consistent uploading schedule.

I promise I will not A, delete any of their works without expressed permission, and B, make their account into something they wouldn’t have wanted. We have similar writing styles.

I have been tasked with, when I’m able to, finish writing their stories (such as 100 Promises, and My Sunshine) but also to create my own stories that I have loved to make. I also only write xreaders, but for different fandoms!

Here are some I will be writing for, and characters:

Percy Jackson (Show and Books, I’ve loved them since the beginning!)

Luke Castellan

Percy Jackson

Leo Valdez

To start! I can always add more!

My Hero Academia

Neito Monoma

Iida Tenya

Hitoshi Shinsou

(to start, of course I can add more if asked!)

Miss Peregrine’s Home(Movie, just started the books!)

Enoch

Jake

(Any of the other children would be platonic or family type of stories)

FNAF(Games, not movie, loved it but want this lol)

Micheal Afton

William Afton

Gregory(PLATONIC PLATONIC PLATONIC OR SIBLINGS ONLY)

Sun and Moon (not sure about this one yet but I’m willing to try 🫡 )

Hunger Games(TBOSAS)

Treech(my beloved)

Coriolanus

Sejanus

(Willing to write for more!)

Defendants RoR (slayed)

Morgie Le Fay

James Hook

Hades

(Willing to try and write for others and the other movies)

IHNMAIMS

Ted

Am

(I really love this short story and I hate Harlan Ellison horrible horrible man booo I hope he hates me for writing about his characters like this)

Demon Slayer

Giyuu

Zenitsu

Inosuke

Tanjiro

Obanai

(Willing to write for others!!)

I like lots of different things so you can always ask and I’ll tell you if I write for them or not!

Some rules are that I’m 17, so I would appreciate if people younger than 16 wouldn’t interact. I know I cannot handle what people do or who interacts with my content, but just like my friend, I also can get into dark content and writing it. Please use caution when reading my works, I will put warnings if necessary.

I won’t write smut!

Almost everything else is on the table!

Some other things I WONT write about

Incest

Explicit rape scenes(can mention trauma of it and passing comments about the trauma but not explicit depictions of it)

Pedophilia

That’s it for now, but if it changes I will add it!

I totally understand if you guys who liked my friends writing want to unfollow the page! As well as I know they are older, so I understand if some pages who don’t like people below 18 interacting or following decide to unfollow this page! I hope I can write and make people happy!”

Once again, thank you for all of your support through out these past four years. It has been so wonderful to get to know everyone. I won’t disappear completely, Devine can upload things I write that I send to them! But for now, as I move into a new chapter of my own book, I’ll be signing off. Thank you so much for everything my dearest readers,

Sery-Chan-13, logging off ❤️

[lunarsilkscreen]

"Climate is EVERYTHING" (by Jordan Peterson)

I keep getting pestered about JP, even though I'm not a big fan, or really have good input on what he says. But the argument that people have about his words he said on Joe Rogaine is an interesting one.

First off; WHO IS JORDAN PETERSON? All I know is that he's some scientist of some renown on the level of Bill Nye and Mike Neil DeGrasse Tyson. Except for some reason, he's like. The conservative edgelorde Science Guru opposed to the Liberals Nye and Grasses.

He's a PoliSci and psychology major. Which is odd to me, as you'd think being a PoliSci would lend itself to being a sociology major instead. (Don't quote me on that..Poli Sci IS sociology. That's the joke.)

What makes Jordan Peterson unique is a stark contrasting opinion that seems to ignore how laymen use words. You know, like a typical college educated liberal. (No, I'm not bored of that joke *yet*) in this day and age though, that he has laymen conservatives on his side seems to indicate that they too resonate with what he says.

Why do I say that?

When people typical talk about *Climate Change* or *The Environment* which is often understood as the effects of human caused pollution in the environment, and the effects of that on the warming and cooling of the atmosphere; Peterson instead shows confusion as to *how do they boil down *THE ENTIRE ENVIRONMENT DOWN TO A COUPLE OF VARIABLES!?*

I don't know if he's being obtuse, or if he's just so used to being in particular echo chambers that that *particular* distinction is necessary.

Probably has to do something with the air pollution, energy tax credits, dumping, simultaneously.

I cannot state enough, that I don't watch or care to watch Jordan Peterson's videos because of how his information is presented. He has a specific audience, that audience understands what he means and could definitely explain it better than I ever could.

But what seems silly to me, is that he completely throws out *common* understandings of these specific topics, and then just, refuses to explain why they should be thrown out, except that the way he understands those words is that they are *to broad in scope* for what he would prefer they should be used for.

And that is an adequate explanation if you're speaking at a technical level. Which he often does. But as a poli-sci major... He *knows* better than to speak at that level when he's not speaking specifically to a technical audience.

Which makes the hill he's picked a strange hill to die on. "Everybody in the world should instead adopt my understanding of language and how it relates to the world" instead of "as a poli-sci, I know you have to meet people where they are at."

There's an argument to be made about myself specifically and my word choice, I'm certain. Which is why I don't really care to call out everything he does. Just that, he knows what he's doing, and how words are used at both a laymen level AND at a technical level, but instead chooses to force laymen, who come to him to learn, to know better before asking to learn from him.

Kinda like a Sheldon (from BBT). He wants people to be able to talk on his level, but refuses to teach even when they come to him to learn. (Almost as if he already expects people to be as knowledgeable as he is.)

Which is actually another old "liberal" trope. That superior act, disdainful look at the "plebs" for not knowing the bare bones basics of political sociology and climatology right out of the gate in high school.

[livingingloworld]

June 17th, 2024

Today was super eventful, we started our day meeting in the dinner hall for breakfast before meeting up with our director for the most convincing campus tour i’ve ever been on I almost committed to Aberystwyth University after😹. The building I found the most fascinating was their International relations building (poly sci major DUHH), the gym which was in this big white tent, their pottery building which had a film room right above it, their zoology building which was filled with full size skeletons of horses, sheep’s, and alligators. My favorite part of the tour was the Teulu Family art center which was covered with art from the students who attended the University and designed by the children of Aberystwyth in order to encourage families to visit the art center which was very interesting to me. I love the fact that university prioritizes community involvement and takes their communities feedback in order to make their University more welcoming for those to want to visit. Once we wrapped up with the campus tour we headed downtown by bus where we got to see the shore even though the experience was very enjoyable as it was rainy and cold. Afterwards we met up with a Uni professor where we had an hour lecture learning about the history of Aberystwyth University old campus, the history of the town, and most importantly how Aberystwyth was established. After that exciting lecture we all dispersed for lunch in the town, my group and I went to this cafe where we had sandwiches and you won’t believe it…. COFFEE😁!! We met back up with our director and took the bus back up the hill the National Aberystwyth Library where we got an in depth analysis of the history of this library, we had an library appointed tour guy who took us upstairs where we had the opportunity to see cambers filled with archives of the history of wales. We learned that there is an extensive process that goes into the preservation of historical artifacts, learning that each camber has temperature regulation and each camber comes equipped with a CO2 system that fills the camber with CO2 which slows down the aging of books, papers and important documents. Once we finished our tour my group and I headed back to the dorms where we took a quick nap, refreshed up and headed back out where we met the rest of our group at the White horse pub where we had a delicious dinner while we watched Euro cup game and Jordan getting absolutely demolished in a game of pool. We stayed at this pub for a while before dispersing down to the shore where dipped our toes in the Irish Sea and tired skipping rocks in the ocean which wasn’t very successful. We ended up taking a cab back up the hill as it was en eventful day and we had a late night out, we finally made it back to the dorms around midnight.

[therealms-number1angirl]

Marianna clears her throat, grabbing the attention of both of her daughters, who are staring at their phones under the table. “It is so nice to have the whole family together again.”  Marianna makes sure to send a glare at Han. 

Han leans closer to Raisa, whispering in her ear, “Is it too soon to be excused?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Raisa sighs, pouring herself another generous glass of wine. “Trust me, alcohol is your best friend right now.” 

“So…” Marianna hesitates. “Han…” She looks at Gavan for guidance, and he gives her a nod. “Han, we don’t know anything about you. Please, tell us more about yourself.” 

Han swallows thickly. “Well, there isn’t much to say, ma’am.” The Wolfe matriarch continues to glare at him, letting him know that he wasn’t going to get out of this. “I’m 22, I grew up in Ragmarket, and I’m majoring in Poli-Sci at OU.” 

Those were the basics of Han Alister that most people knew. The rest of his past was sordid, even to those that he knew well. Raisa has known him for two years, was considered one of his closest friends, and even then, she still hadn’t met his family yet. 

Gavan leans forward. “You grew up in Ragmarket? How did you ever afford to go to Odensford University?” 

Raisa grits her teeth at the way Bayar had said that, and the way that several people around the table titter with amusement, and the way that Han’s cheeks start to pinken. She wonders how hard it would be to throw a fork across a table into someone’s eye… 

“Han is on the gymnastics team,” Raisa quickly says. “They’ve won the NCAAs the last two years in a row since Han joined the team, and they’re a shoe in to win this year too.” 

“So you’re there on a sports scholarship. Not on academic merit?” Micah asks in that snobbish way he usually says anything. 

It’s not polite to stab people, it’s not polite to stab people, it’s not—

“You’ve only been in college the last two years?” Nightwalker asks, haughtily. “I thought you said you were 22 already?” 

“Did you get held back, or something?” Micah asks. 

It was like the worst team up in the history of mankind. Both of Raisa’s ex-boyfriends against her husband. 

Raisa opens her mouth to defend him again, but Han places a hand on her knee to stop her. He holds his chin up and stares back at them. “I took a gap year,”

“Ooh!” Missy leans forward. “Did you go traveling? That’s what I did with my gap year.” 

“No, I waited tables.” Han deadpans. “I saved up for school.” 

Raisa glares at the other occupants of the table, letting them know how displeased she was with this turn of events. 

Mellony clears her throat. “So, how did the two of you meet?” 

“Yes, I’m quite certain Raisa has never mentioned you before.” Marianna tells him. 

Han takes a long sip of his drink. “I wonder why.” 

Raisa takes the conversation over for him. “Actually, we met two years ago, almost to the day.” 

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[double-j]

17 questions, 17 people

thank you for the tag @antiquitea

nickname: jess

sign: leo, and yes i do have the co-star app. (which today asked me "are you ignorning your sadness?" so that's great). anyway my friend who made me download the app would want me to specify that i am a leo sun, cancer moon, scorpio ascendant.

height: 5'5"

last thing i googled: how to rearrange photos on a tumblr post LOL

song stuck in head: "arabella" by arctic monkeys

number of followers: 217

amount of sleep: usually shoot for 7-8, sometimes 6. i used to be an intense sleeper, like 9-12 hours every night, it was not great. feel much more like a person now, haha

lucky number: 3

dream job: legit i do not wanna work, oops. changed my major 4 times in undergrad (econ, econ&math, computer engineering, film&tv), added a minor because i still wasn't sold on my major (poli sci), then panicked senior year and applied to law school. now i do in fact have two degrees staring at me and don't really want to do anything with either one, but couldn't tell you anything else that i'd rather do either. sometimes think i would maybe go back and do something with film&tv, like editing, but ya never know.

wearing: aerie leggings, savagexfenty ribbed tank, savagexfenty cropped hoodie, claw clip, white ankle socks seemingly from old navy. pretty much your everyday WFH fit for me, though lately i've been subbing the hoodie for a flannel.

movies/books that summarise you: omg hahaha just realizing i was thinking about this one and never changed it okay wow. give me some time and maybe i will think of something cause right now only the most tragic books and movies are coming to me and that’s just not accurate

favourite song: usual go to when asked for all time fave is "sweet child o' mine" by guns 'n roses. a mix of current and long-term faves, courtesy of my spotify wrapped hitting today: "atlantic city" by the band; "mardy bum" by arctic monkeys; "high infidelity" by taylor swift; "vanilla" by flipturn; "still the one" by shania twain; and "julia" by mt. joy.

favourite instrument: drums. have been harassing my husband to let me buy myself/buy me a drum kit.

aesthetic: just took a buzzfeed quiz that told me it's "dark academia" and also "4am at the airportcore." feel like that vaguely fits my personal style, because i typically dress like it's 4am at the airport, and on the rare occasion that i do go out i suppose it's vaguely dark academia? idk.

favorite author: ya girl reads almost exclusively romance novels, okay? so mostly whatever is recommended to me on the kindle app, recently read a ton from natasha knight. my sister is a diehard colleen hoover fan, which i have heard is vvv basic/lame (sorry if she's ur fave), and i've given her one opportunity to convince me. she has me reading november 9, and i cannot get past the first chapter right now.

random fun fact: i mean i feel like i just gave way too much info to every question above, lol, but my go to fun fact in college was always that i still have one of my baby teeth. still do now, as a 27 year old. no adult tooth was ever underneath. luckily it's a molar so not visible from the front, cause it is incredibly short.

no pressure tags: @theharddeck; @fandomxpreferences; @cherrycola27; @imjess-themess; @wildbornsiren; @roosterforme; @3tabbiesandalab; @thesewordsareallihavetogive; @justfandomwritings; @callsignvalley