#and one of my professors appeared and started asking me questions about what kind of analysis we should do like it was an exam

[theonpilled]

x

[sossolei]

things I learned after shifting to Hogwarts ‧₊ ᵎᵎ⋅ ˚ △⃒⃘

SIDENOTE: hogwarts was not the first reality I shifted to ! this is a uni reality ! there is no war ! ask any questions you want !

.☘︎ ݁˖ BATHROOM. I’ve genuinely never seen anyone talk about this but ( at least in my reality ) there’s a bathroom on the Hogwarts Express and holy fuck??? On the outside it looks tiny asf but I went in there to change into my robes and it’s wayyy bigger than it looks on the outside. It works like the tents in Goblet of Fire basically. The toilets and everything look relatively new so I’m assuming they change it every couple years just to keep in good condition.

.☘︎ ݁˖ MUGGLES. Have you ever wondered exactly how the muggles don’t notice wizardry, or at least at the platform? In my personal experience, unless it’s magic very intentionally and obviously done in front of muggles, there will usually be a moment distraction where they don’t see the magic happening. In the sense of platform nine and three quarters, there’s usually a couple trains that arrive around the same time and blare the horn so everyone usually gets distracted by that. But a personal example of this happens when I was standing in front of the barrier getting ready to cross through the wall, a young child was watching me from afar and as soon as started walking forward, he tripped over the wheel of his mothers luggage and didn’t see me go through the wall.

.☘︎ ݁˖ THE GREAT HALL. The candles are never ending. They don’t drip. They don’t melt in any way. I just had to say that cause I legit stared at them for almost an hour trying to see if it would melt. You have to talk pretty loud to be heard at the front where Dumbledore usually gives his lil speeches, which means the students who sing have lungs for DAYSSSS it’s actually so impressive. The benches are uncomfortable, not unbearable but not recommended for sitting for a long time lol. There’s no menu or anything, the food rlly does just appear there but there’s always something for everybody. Some people even walk up and down the table looking for what they want.

.☘︎ ݁˖ OTHER SCHOOLS. I didn’t stay in this reality for very long but I was always asking questions ( sorry mcgonnagall ). Ilvermorny is currently trying to admit more Native American wizards into their school but Native American wizards (as far as I know) have their own kind of magic and legit do not want anything to do with Ilvermorny. Kind of similar issue in Australia and Aboriginals I’m pretty sure. There’s a lot of, like a fuck ton of wizarding schools in Africa. I know JK Rowling has like one wizarding school in Africa but geographically speaking, that never made sense to begin with and I wasn’t surprised when I found out there were different/smaller wizarding schools around Africa.

.☘︎ ݁˖ STUDENTS. I don’t know how many students are in Hogwarts but I do know that it’s never a surprise who comes to Hogwarts. The ministry genuinely keeps track of every single wizard who has children, and even hold records of wizards who have families without wizarding abilities, just in case someone pops out with it. Easiest way to think of it is that families like Ron’s are always kept track of as well as Hermione’s, so it’s never usually a surprise when someone turns up muggleborn cause they’re usually expecting it.

.☘︎ ݁˖ PROFESSORS. The professors are not as silly goofy as they are in the movies guy :( They’re not miserable or anything but they all just remind me of the standing emoji LMAOOO. But seriously, someone like Mcgonnagall is not as welcoming or “chill” as she is in the movies or towards Harry. But some definitely are more chill, especially the younger ones. Slughorn is my silly king but even he has his moments.

Since this is a uni, Snape isn’t as uh…violent (?) as he is in the movies. Neville is a grown ass man, Snape is def not his biggest fear but Neville in general has a strong urge to prove himself and it reflects in his relationship with Snape. Snape isn’t scary, he just demands lots of respect and has respect for people that have proven they are “worthy” of it, i.e., high marks, put together, confidence, strong willed, etc.

.☘︎ ݁˖ DIVINATION. Did you guys know that being a witch/wizard doesn’t automatically make you good at all forms of divination? I scripted Mattheo Riddle into this reality and me and him are soooo good at other forms of divination like tarot, coffee grounds, and even the the crystal ball, but Theodore Nott fucking sucksss at it. Hermione also didn’t do as well in the class as I know she could’ve done, but according to Treylawney, all forms of divination require open mindedness towards something you can’t understand. Someone like hermione, for example, wants to know everything all the time and doesn’t beat around the bush, so tarot isn’t her cup of tea because she doesn’t think it’s giving her exactly what she wants.

.☘︎ ݁˖ HOMEWORK. Homework can either be really fun or really time consuming. It’s just like regular homework where you recall everything you learned in class but homework isn’t very common the more you move up in classes, mainly because the magic you start to do becomes more hands on rather than memorizing. This doesn’t apply to Snape though. He loves homework.

.☘︎ ݁˖ UNIFORMS. THE ROBES ARE INSULATED. It’s very thick, good quality fabric and keeps you real warm during the winter but during the later hot months like September, it’s not uncommon to walk around with the robes open or in your hands, but you have to wear them in your body during class, no exceptions. They absorb stains??? This is one I wasn’t expecting but it’s a magical robe so…okay! I dropped cranberry juice on the sleeve and it just completely absorbed and it didn’t stink or anything. This doesn’t apply to the tie or anything else, those have to washed for sure.

.☘︎ ݁˖ REALITY. If you haven’t shifted yet, you’ll often hear people say “it’ll feel natural because you’ve already lived there your whole life” and while that is true, it’s also not because how am I supposed to be natural walking past Robert fucking Pattinson to get to Defense Against the Dark Arts???? In my mind, he’s always been Edward from Twilight and seeing him in the hogwarts robes just made me stop in my tracks and stare. Some things come natural and some things don’t but I embrace everything with open arms.

.☘︎ ݁˖ EXTRA. Draco is blonde as hell! Like Targaryen level blonde. I do think it’s natural tho cause Luna has the same platinum type of blonde going on. Harry’s scar is soooo much cooler in this reality, it’s thin but branches out on the side of his face and it’s much more noticeable than the one in the movie. Hermione has curly curly hair! I don’t know if she straightens it in the books but I know she does in the movie, in this reality she literally just got a better curl routine. She has a ton of products and really cares for her hair and she’s lowkey embarrassed cause it’s the one thing she considers “vain.”

There’s a “club” of sorts where a bunch of students get together and run around the castle at the crack ass of Dawn for exercise ( best believe they have NEVER seen the likes of me ). I was told there are wizards who are famous in muggle spaces, typically for music or art. The painting will warn people when the stairs are about to move lol. That whole house discrimination stuff doesn’t happen as often as it does in the movies/books, most people don’t actually care and Slytherins get along with Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs well—however, Gryffindor does have the tendency to poke fun and Slytherins respond with dry sarcasm so sometimes it’s not a perfect fit! House discrimination was bigger in our parents age but as the years have gone by, the current gen doesn’t care fr.

That’s all I can think of atm, thank you for reading and yes I will be doing this with other places I’ve shifted to!

[neil-gaiman]

Hello Neil, my name is Zalean. If you have a few minutes, I wanted to tell you a little story. Not really a question and I’m not sure how to use tumblr but I wanted to say thanks so much for coming to Florida a few months back and talking with Art Spiegelman. It was my first time ever figuring out how to buy tickets for something. I lived in, middle of nowhere, Vermont for most my life and had no idea what I was doing, I had never been to anything before, nothing had made me excited enough to do the 5 hour drive. And then you just appeared 20 minutes away from where I am living now.

See, I was just starting to get to know your books and work because I fell in love with Good Omens so deeply when I discovered it during season twos release. Funny thing is, I knew of you all along without even realizing it, Stardust has been my favorite book and movie since I was a kid because it was my dad’s favorite story. Finding out my two favorite things were actually connected, I started trying to get hands on as many of your books as I could. I hadn’t read in years before finding your books. It was eye opening.

The talk event at the Dr.Phillips Center was sold out by the time I knew about it, someone had asked me if I knew of the event when they saw my Good Omens keychains my mom had made me. I called the box office because there is no harm in asking. I explained how I’m an art student at UCF and desperately wanted to be inspired and learn from you both. The customer service people were amazing and ended up calling me back to get me a seat in the orchestra pit before they were released to the public. I drove alone, I walked there alone, I sat alone, and it was worth it. I was so thankful to get a seat and grateful to my professor who was a bit jealous he didn’t know about it but let me leave class early to go because of course the art professor would be understanding for any learning opportunities in the arts. And it was truly wonderful, it seemed real and that’s what I wanted. I didn’t want a show. I just wanted to hear, in some sense, that you were like everybody else. I brought a notebook and pen for any information or story’s that I thought made a difference to my little life. The other people around were wonderful, you inspire kind people.

Like I said, I had never been to anything like this and I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know you would have signed books and I only found out because the people next to me came in late. I asked them why they brought the books after it was over and the lights turned on. They did look at me like I had three heads for a moment until they realized I didn’t know there were books to buy, they looked kinda sorry for me but they were so nice. I had never really thought about the importance of someone’s scribble before this but it’s something that proves you were there. It says “Remember when this person made you happy? Remember when they changed your life? Remember when they gave you hope? Look at this and remember.” I hope to see David Tennant and Michael Sheen to get an autograph now that I understand the meaning behind it a bit more but honestly I just love diving into everyone’s projects, the wonder you all create. Oh what fun it is to live a life full of stories!

The people that were sitting next to me let me look at their signed books and hold them. I flipped through some of the big ones, handed them back and expressed my gratitude just to be in the theater. I showed them all my little quotes I wrote down, I never want to forget why I create things and you say so much about never stopping, always creating. Then the women handed me a different book, a smaller book, but when I tried to hand it back, a bit confused, she softly placed it back in my open hands and said “I want you to have it, we have plenty and I want you to love these stories just as much as we do. It’s just starting for you, I want you to remember who started it”. The book she handed me being“The Ocean at the End of the Lane”. The first book I decided to read by you and had just finished a week before. The women had no idea she given me a signed copy of the book that made me want to read again. Your books make the world better. For such a big theater and such a big stage, I just wanted to tell you my little point of view.

The story you told about wishing you enjoyed the past more than you did, I hope you get to enjoy it now, and I hope you want to. And thank you, to you and to Terry Pratchett for creating something special. I convinced my dad to watch Good Omens with me over December break, he loved it.

I forget sometimes that everything is someone's first time, and then I read something like this and feel like I need to remember that better. I'm glad the people beside you were kind.

[chaoticforever]

Remnants of Regret | Tony Stark x Son! Reader

Summary: All Y/n ever wanted was his father’s love. Was that too much to ask?

Y/n sat on the floor in his bedroom, legs crossed, focusing intently on the canvas propped up before him. With a charcoal stick in his hand, Y/n carefully sketched the outline of a cityscape, his e/c eyes narrowed in concentration. His room permeated with the soft scratching of charcoal on canvas, a melody in the air.

Once Y/n finished the final touches and scooted back to examine his piece. One simple word crossed his mind: beautiful.

Since childhood, Y/n has loved drawing, sketching, and painting. He started with simple subjects like trees, flowers, and stars, then progressed to more complex images like people's faces and vehicles. He loved it so much that he pursued an art degree in college, unable to imagine a life not surrounded by art of some kind.

Furthermore, art allowed him to express emotions that words couldn't convey by providing an escape from the chaos of everyday life. It was just him, his brush, and the many possibilities on a canvas.

However, Y/n sometimes wondered if choosing art as his passion was a good idea since his father, Tony Stark, did not seem to appreciate his artistic abilities. Instead, he shifted the appreciation that he should have for Y/n to someone else.

Peter Parker.

See, Y/n Stark is the type of guy who preferred music and painting to building suits and technology that Tony loved so much, which only seemed to widen the gap between father and son. Tony didn’t seem to have much time for his son but made sure to have lots of time for Peter, who shared Tony's love for technology.

Y/n couldn’t help but feel jealous as he watched his dad always dote on Peter, offering him opportunities and praise that Y/n craved. But he seemed to have little time or patience for his artistic son.

He placed his finished piece on his desk and started putting away his sketching utensils. Just then, he heard a knock on his open door and turned around to see that Steve was standing in the doorway. Y/n smiled when he saw Steve. Besides Tony, Steve was his favorite Avenger. He sometimes acted more of a parent than the one currently in his life and the guys both bonded over their love for drawing.

"Hey, Steve. How was the mission?"

"Tiring. Dealing with rogue mutants can certainly take a toll on me," Steve replied, his eyes suddenly drifting to Y/n's newly crafted sketch, "Nice drawing Y/n. Is this for your end-of-semester art project?"

Y/n nodded his head in confirmation. "Yes, my professor wanted the class to draw something that represents our unique perspective on the world."

"And what perspective is that?"

Y/n paused to think about that question. "I guess... It's my view of the world as an artist. The world is full of life and energy, but there's also darkness and shadows. It's a reminder that beauty and struggles coexist. Nothing can ever change that."

Steve nodded, tracing the bold lines and subtle shading. "That’s an interesting yet accurate perspective. I am proud of you. You’re going to do great things one day."

A small smile appeared on Y/n’s face. He may not have gotten his dad’s praise, but he was happy that someone praised his artistic abilities and told him that he was proud of him. It warmed his heart.

"Thank you. That means a lot to me."

"You’re welcome. By the way, we’re having a group dinner tonight. We’ll be having lasagna, so bring your appetite."

Y/n grinned. He loved the soldier's cooking, especially when it was a dinner meal. It was so much better than eating takeout. "Oh, I'll be there, and y'all better hope that it all doesn’t get eaten by me."

Steve laughed before pivoting on his heel and leaving. Y/n watched as the soldier's retreating figure disappeared down the hall before turning back to his sketch, contentment washing over him.

As Y/n admired his work, his thoughts drifted back to his father. He knew that Tony loved him in his own way, but their relationship had always been strained. Tony’s focus on technology and his busy lifestyle, along with mentoring Peter, left little room for the two to hang out or for Tony to understand Y/n's passion for art.

But now, Y/n was determined to fix their relationship. After all, he lost his mother over a decade ago, and his father was the only blood family that he had left. He didn’t want their relationship to continue to be strained, and if Tony could make room for Peter in his life, then he could make some room for his biological son.

With that thought in mind, the e/c-eyed male headed to the private elevator that would take him to Tony’s workshop. And as he rounded the corner, he bumped into Rhodey, whom Y/n often looked up to as well. They greeted each other with their signature handshake that was only made for them two before Rhodey took off, explaining that he had a meeting to attend with a council member, and Y/n continued his journey to the workshop.

When he arrived at Tony's workshop, he saw his father standing next to his work bench, typing on his phone. Behind Tony, there was his Iron Man suit, opened up. Y/n figured that he just stepped out of it.

"Hey, Dad." Y/n greeted politely, crossing the room to give Tony a one-armed hug.

Surprisingly, Y/n's father did reciprocate the hug but didn’t even bother to look up at his son when he greeted him. He just kept his brown eyes glued to the phone in his hand. "Y/n. How was your day?"

"It was good. Classes were pretty light today, and I mostly just worked on my end-of-the-semester project for art class." Y/n explained, hoping that Tony would ask him more follow-up questions, such as what piece Y/n decided to draw or if he could see the work for himself. However, all Tony gave was a curt nod, still typing on that phone of his. So, Y/n cleared his throat and switched topics: "Dad, do you want to hang out this Saturday? There’s this art showing at the museum, and—"

"An art showing?" Tony finally looked up from his phone, his eyes flicking briefly to his son’s face before returning to the screen. "Sorry, kid, but I have meetings this Saturday. Besides, I’d rather watch paint dry than look at old paintings. You know that I’m more of a technology and engineering kind of guy than an art one."

Y/n's shoulders drooped, and he tried to hide the disappointment he felt. "Yeah, I know. I just thought maybe you’d want to spend some time together. It’s been a minute since we did something like that."

Tony seemed oblivious to Y/n's reaction, continuing to tap away at his phone. "Well, we’ve been busy. You're busy with college, and I'm busy with SI and saving the world, two full-time jobs for me," he put his phone down on the desk, finally giving Y/n his full attention. "But you’re right, we haven’t hung out in a long time. How about we go see that new Outlast movie that’s coming out next weekend?"

Y/n nodded, a small smile coming onto his face. Even though it wasn’t what he wanted to do, he was just happy to have some father-son time with his dad. And more importantly, it was without Peter.

"That sounds good to me. I can’t wait."

Y/n turned around and prepared to leave the room, excitement fluttering in his chest, just as Tony got a phone call from Peter. Y/n stood there for a moment and listened to how Tony asked Peter when he would be coming over and that Tony cleared the rest of his schedule today to help Peter with his last semester project.

The h/c-haired son frowned, feeling the excitement he felt a couple seconds ago disappear and the raw disappointment return. So, Tony can clear his schedule for Peter and make time for him, but he can't make time for his biological son?

It was ridiculous.

But Y/n had to remind himself that it was okay. Peter could have that time with his father all he wanted to today because next weekend, the two Starks would be spending some time together.

Feeling satisfied, Y/n left the workshop and returned to his room. It turned out that he had two things to look forward to: lasagna and the movies next week.

He couldn’t wait.

XXXXX XXXXX

The days passed slowly, but finally, the long-awaited Saturday finally arrived. It was the day of the planned outing with Y/n and his father, a day Y/n had been looking forward to. He hoped this would be a turning point in their relationship, a chance to bridge the gap that seemed to widen between them every passing day.

Now, he was getting ready in his room, choosing a casual outfit of jeans and a T-shirt. He knew that, even though it was April, the weather was rather cool with it being sixty-five degrees outside. That made him add a blue jacket to his outfit.

After checking himself out in the mirror, he walked down the hall to the common area, where Tony had told him to meet. As he walked down the hall, he hoped that the horror movie they were going to see would be good. The trailer did look promising but they can also be deceitful.

Y/n rounded the corner and entered the common area, where the Avengers were watching a movie and enjoying a spread of pizzas, popcorn, nachos, and cheese fries. Thor was the only one who wasn’t here since he went to Asgard for a few days. He noticed they were watching the first "Back to the Future," a classic Steve had promised to watch at the next team movie night after Y/n discovered that he had never seen that movie series before.

Guess he finally listened, Y/n thought as he looked around the room and noticed something that he had failed to notice.

His dad was nowhere to be found.

"Hey, has anyone seen my dad?" Y/n asked, looking over the team of heroes.

"Yeah, he left. You just missed him too." Clint answered, his fingers reaching into the popcorn bowl that was in his lap and shoving some popcorn into his mouth.

Y/n frowned. What? "Left? Left where?"

"He said that he was taking Peter to the science fair." Steve munched on a pizza.

The college student's heart sank and his shoulders sagged, feeling disappointed. So, his father had forgotten about their plans. Again. And it was for Peter. Again.

"Oh," was all Y/n could manage to utter. He knew that he should be used to this, but it still stung every time it happened.

Natasha, sensing the disappointment in Y/n's timbre, glanced over at him. "You didn't know he was going out with Peter."

That was a statement, not a question. Natasha had always been perceptive.

"No, no, I did," Y/n backpedaled, forcing a grin. He didn't understand why he was protecting his father, but he just wanted this conversation to end. "I just forgot, but you telling me made me remember."

Y/n knew he was a terrible liar, and he didn't sound convincing. He knew they didn't believe him, considering Steve's frown, Bruce's concerned look, and the looks shared between Clint and Natasha.

Bruce grabbed the remote and paused the movie. "Look, why don't you join us, Y/n? You can finish the movie with us."

"Yeah, come on, Y/n!" Sam piped up. "We've got plenty of food, and we were just about to start a game of charades."

Y/n glanced at the team of superheroes. While he appreciated their invitation, he had been looking forward to spending time with his dad, so he shook his head but still kept the forced smile on his features. "Thank you guys, but I think I'll just head back to my room. Next time."

The h/c-haired male turned around and left the main area, frustration nagging at his insides. When he got to his room, he flopped down on his bed, back pressed against it as he stared up at the ceiling.

He didn’t understand.

Why did Tony continue to treat him as an afterthought? And what the hell was so damn special about Peter? Why did he always have to be the recipient of his father’s love? He couldn’t help but feel like he was always playing second fiddle to the guy who was two years younger than him. It was ridiculous to be jealous of someone younger than him, but Y/n couldn’t help himself. It hurt so much that his father favored Peter over him.

Y/n pulled out his phone, intending to call his dad when he got a notification from Instagram that his dad had posted a pic. He clicked on it and found himself staring at an image of his dad with Peter.

The caption read: Peter will take over my company someday. #prouddadmoment.

Proud dad moment...?

Peter wasn’t even his actual son and Y/n couldn’t stand the way his dad looked at Peter with such praise. What can I do to make him look at me like that one time?

And before Y/n knew it, his cheeks were pelted with water, and he just realized at that moment that he was crying. The tears fell to his cheeks before dropping onto the bed, but Y/n wiped his cheeks angrily since he shouldn’t allow this to make him sad. But it was so hard not to.

His e/c eyes drifted to the photo that was on his side table. He reached for it and picked it up. It was a photo of his mom. Y/n allowed his finger to run over his mom’s smiling face in the picture. It’s times like this when he wishes that she was still alive. At least then, he’d have a parent in his life who cared about him.

Suddenly, a knock came from his door.

"Come in," Y/n called out, setting down the photo back on his desk. He wished that it was his father knocking on the door, but he wasn't surprised when the door opened, and it wasn't him. It was Steve. "Hi, Steve. Did you like the movie?"

Steve nodded, taking a seat on the bed. "I did. It was a great eighties film. I can see why you love it so much." Steve then changed the conversation. "You okay?"

Y/n nodded. He knew he wasn't okay, but he didn't want to ruin Steve's evening with his problem. "I'm fine. Shouldn't you be playing charades with everyone else?"

The soldier disregarded the question and simply stared at Y/n for a moment, seemingly sensing that he wasn’t telling the truth. "Hey, why don't we grab some dessert? I know a great ice cream shop."

Y/n hesitated briefly. He didn't want to be a burden to Steve, but he also didn't want to spend his evening in his room.

"That sounds nice, thanks." Y/n smiled and followed the soldier out of the door.

Steve drove them to a small ice cream parlor that was tucked away in the city on his motorcycle, a vehicle that Y/n had never expected to get on willingly. Steve got the classic chocolate sundae, while Y/n got a vanilla sundae with chocolate syrup, sprinkles, and a cherry on top.

They then went to the park to watch the beautiful sunset and enjoy their sundae. The sun, a fiery orb of warmth and light, dipped beneath the horizon, painting the sky with two shades of orange and pink.

Y/n and Steve watched the breathtaking scene in comfortable silence. The park was lively with kids playing, the distance hum of cars, and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. Y/n's vanilla sundae sat untouched. His mind was elsewhere, consumed by the disappointment and hurt he felt over Tony's absence. Steve, on the other hand, enjoyed his chocolate sundae, taking slow, deliberate bites of it.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" The super soldier broke the silence, his eyes shifting over.

"Yup," Y/n murmured, his e/c eyes taking in the stunning view. "It's like a painting."

Steve smiled, nodding his head in agreement. He then spoke again, his voice deadly serious. "So, what's going on? You've seemed a little down lately."

Y/n let out a sigh, knowing there was no point in lying to Steve. "It's my dad. I just feel like he always puts Peter first. It's like I'm not even his real son sometimes."

The blonde's expression softened, and he placed a comforting hand on Y/n's shoulder. "I know it's tough, but try not to take it personally. Your dad has a unique relationship with Peter, but that doesn't diminish his love for you. You're his son."

He sighed again, "I know but it's hard not to feel overshadowed sometimes. Peter gets all the attention, and I'm just... here."

"Your dad may not always show it, but he's proud of you, Y/n," Steve assured him. "And I know that he loves you very much. Sometimes, parents just need a little reminder that their kids need them."

Y/n nodded, but he couldn't help feeling skeptical. After all, actions spoke louder than words, and Tony's actions indicated that he loved Peter more than him. Like Y/n would always come second to Peter.

But he didn't feel like dwelling on Tony's absence anymore. Instead, he turned his attention back to the sunset, watching as the last sliver of the sun disappeared behind the horizon. The sky grew darker, the colors of the sunset fading into the twilight. He didn't get the opportunity to spend the evening with his father as he planned, but at least he had spent it with someone who cared about him deeply.

And that made him smile.

XXXXX XXXXX

The next morning, Y/n found himself in the kitchen, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. The events of the previous day still weighed heavily on his mind, leaving a bitter taste that even the strongest brew couldn't mask. He wanted to confront his dad about his behavior, but at the same time, he didn't want to talk to him after what happened.

As he added a dash of sugar to his cup, the familiar clanking of Tony's footsteps drew closer. He saw his father enter the kitchen, but Y/n leaned against the counter, his back stiff and his gaze fixed on the windows. He deliberately avoided greeting his dad as he would usually do.

"Morning, Y/n," Tony greeted politely, but Y/n remained quiet, his back still turned. Feeling perplexed by the cold shoulder, Tony frowned. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Y/n replied, voice low and dismissive as he finished his coffee and placed the cup in the sink.

Y/n moved forward, attempting to leave the kitchen, but Tony stepped in front of him, unsatisfied with the response. "I'm your father. It's my job to be concerned."

Y/n's laughter rang out, harsh and bitter as if Tony had just told him a funny joke. "That is quite ironic coming from you."

The frown on Tony's features deepened. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Y/n's voice was quiet, "that lately, you've been anything but a father to me. But I can't say the same for Peter tho. You literally drop everything for him, but you can't even remember our plans."

Tony took a step forward, his tone rising defensively. "That's not true, Y/n. I do my best to be there for both of you. I juggle a lot, but I make time for you when I can."

Y/n's gaze didn't waver and he cocked his head to the side. "You make time for me? Then where were you last evening?"

"I took Peter to the science fair."

"Even though we had plans to go to the movies?" The younger man pointed out.

Tony's eyebrows furrowed as realization dawned, shame washing over his face. "I'm sorry, Y/n. I know we had plans, but Peter needed me. I couldn't leave him."

The two Starks were so busy arguing that neither of them noticed a stealthy figure that managed to infiltrate the compound, temporarily disable Friday, and had a knockout device in their hand. 

"Peter needed you?" Y/n shook his head, his voice thick with hurt. Why did he forget about me? "What about what I need? You're my dad, not his. I need you."

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You have me every day, Y/n. Don't you see that I am always here for you?"

"Are you, Dad?!" Y/n's voice rose to a shout. "When was the last time we spent quality time together, just the two of us? When was the last time you and I had a real conversation that wasn't about your work or Peter? When was the last time you asked about what's going on in my life? You probably don't even know that my birthday is in two days. I'll be turning twenty-three, by the way. You don't know that one of my art pieces was presented at the museum you found too boring to visit. And you don't know that I made the Dean's List in school for the third year in a row!" Y/n's voice dropped to a whisper, but the words still stung like acid. "Mom would never treat me the way you do."

Tony flinched as if struck, his eyes widening at the mention of Y/n's mother. The weight of his son's words hit him like a physical blow, and he opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the room began to fill with a thick fog.

Y/n noticed it too, confusion clouding his face. But as more of the mysterious substance was released into the air, he dropped to his knees, his vision blurring. Tony staggered and slumped against the kitchen counter, his eyes falling shut.

And then, everything went dark. The gas in the room caused both father and son to collapse, slumping to the floor hard.

Later, once Y/n regained consciousness, his head pounded as he tried to piece together what happened. The last thing he remembered was the argument with Tony in the kitchen, and then everything went dark. But now, he found himself in an unfamiliar room, dimly lit by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The walls were made of rough concrete, and the floor was cold and hard beneath him.

"Y/n? Can you hear me?" Tony's voice, filled with concern, reached him, and he turned to see his father hovering nearby.

"Dad?" Y/n's throat was dry and scratchy as he tried to sit up, but dizziness forced him to lay back down. It's overwhelming.

Tony helped Y/n into a seated position against the concrete wall. "Easy there."

Y/n looked around. "Where are we?" 

"I'm not sure," Tony admitted, his gaze scanning the room for any clues. "But it appears that we have been kidnapped." 

Y/n's heart pounded in his chest as the reality of their situation sank in. Oh crap. He couldn't believe that they were in this predicament, but he didn’t know why he was completely surprised. Since he was a Stark, people have always attempted to kidnap him since the day he was born, but this was the first time someone had successfully managed to kidnap him. 

And he couldn't shake the feeling that it was somehow his fault. If only he hadn't argued with his dad, they wouldn't have been distracted when their captor struck.

"I'm sorry, Y/n," Tony apologized, his eyes filled with remorse, and Y/n was slightly taken aback because he hadn’t been expecting that. "I should have been there for you more. I let my work and my relationship with Peter overshadow our bond. That was wrong of me to do that."

Y/n eyes drifted to his hands, clasped in his lap. "You know, it hurt every time you chose Peter over me," he admitted, his voice quiet. "I don't understand why you always favor him. Why is everything he does amazing, but when it comes to me, you're never satisfied? Was it something that I did wrong? Or didn't do? Because I can change if it means you'll love me."

Tony shook his head vigorously, moving closer to his son. "No, Y/n. I don't want you to change for anyone, especially not for me. I can admit that I haven't always handled things perfectly. Peter reminds me of myself at his age, and sometimes I get caught up in my own nostalgia. But that doesn't mean I love you any less, Y/n. You're my son. I'd do anything for you."

Y/n's heart swelled at his father's words. He forgave Tony the moment the words "I'm sorry" exited his lips. Y/n had never been one to hold grudges, and now that Tony had acknowledged his mistakes, he hoped that they could finally move forward and rebuild their relationship.

Y/n wrapped his arms around Tony, who reciprocated the gesture. "I just want to spend more time with you," he muttered. "You know, do all that father-son stuff."

"And we will," Tony promised, pulling away. "As soon as we get out of here, I'll clear my schedule for the next month. We can go to the Bahamas. The water is beautiful, and I know they have amazing art exhibits there. It can be my birthday present to you. It'll be just the two of us."

It was impossible for Y/n to refrain from allowing the corners of his mouth to curl upward into a smile. He experienced a sense of optimism for the first time in a long time. As he looked into his father's eyes, he was certain that he would fulfill his promise. Y/n couldn't help but feel like a ten-year-old on Christmas morning.

"I'd like that, but how are we going to get out of here?" That was the big question.

Tony smirked. "Leave that to my team."

He informed Y/n through sign language that he had a secret tracker implanted in his watch, which had been confiscated. The Avengers were aware of the tracker, so it wouldn't be long before they arrived.

And then, as if on cue, the door to the room they were in flew off its hinges by a man getting thrown through it. Then, Steve walked into the room, dressed in his Captain America outfit. Steve threw his shield at the cell the Starks were in, allowing the two men to finally escape.

"Tony, Y/n, are you guys okay?" Steve walked over to them and started looking for signs of harm or injuries of any kind, but was relieved that he didn’t find one. 

"Just peachy," Tony assured the blonde, grabbing his watch from a nearby table and taking Y/n's arm. They rushed out of the building, with Steve leading the way.

As the three made their way out, Y/n heard the sounds of gunfire, screaming, and growling echoing in the air. The Hulk was in full force, dismantling one of the kidnappers, while the other Avengers fought alongside him. Steve sprang back into action, and Tony transformed his watch into an Iron Man glove, joining the fighting. Even Spider-Man was there, taking out multiple opponents with ease.

But in the chaos, Y/n spotted a gunman aiming at Spider-Man from a distance. Acting without hesitation, he pushed Spider-Man out of the way, taking the bullet meant for him. The gunshot tore through Y/n's stomach, and he fell to the ground, eyes widening in shock and pain.

Tony had just fired a beam of light from his repulsor, sending the man flying into the nearby truck. But as he did, he heard the crack of a gunshot. He looked over to see where the shot had come from.

And his heart dropped to his stomach.

Y/n had been shot.

The bullet had pierced Y/n’s stomach, and blood was already soaking through his shirt, dripping onto the ground below.

"No, Y/n!" Tony screamed, running over as Steve hurled his shield at the shooter. Tony caught Y/n just as he began to fall, blood seeping through Tony's fingers as he peeled off his jacket and pressed it against the wound. Y/n trembled in his arms, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

"D-Dad."

"I know, I know, it's going to be okay," he whispered, his voice thick and his eyes shone with unshed tears. "You're going to be okay, I promise." His jaw clenched as he peered over at his teammates who had finally finished their fight and were rushing over. "Get us to a hospital, now!"

They didn't need to be told twice. Steve moved forward and quickly helped Tony carry Y/n to the Quinjet, with the other Avengers following closely behind them. Once inside, Natasha took her place in the pilot seat and Clint sat in the co-pilot seat next to her. Natasha quickly turned on the controls and maneuvered the jet into the air above, racing to the hospital.

The Quinjet soared through the sky, the city a blur below. Inside, the atmosphere was filled with worry. Everyone watched as Iron Man tried to help his injured son. Tony refused to let go of Y/n, his hands shaking as he tried to stop the bleeding, mind racing with fear and desperation. He had faced countless dangers as Iron Man, but nothing compared to the fear he felt at the thought of losing his son. 

Finally, the Quinjet landed on the rooftop helipad of Metro-General Hospital, and Steve and Bruce rushed out, carrying Y/n on a stretcher. Tony was right beside him, keeping his hands clasped in Y/n’s. 

"We need a doctor, now!" Tony shouted as they burst through the hospital doors.

Immediately, a group of two doctors and two nurses came over, taking over Y/n's care and wheeling him away. And Tony was beside them, still holding his hand.

"What happened?" One of them asked.

"Some idiot shot him," Tony explained. 

The medical team wheeled Y/n into the operating room fast. The female nurse commented how Y/n had a weak pulse rate as the group of medical specialists lifted him onto the bed. Tony held onto his hands, tears welling up in his eyes. 

The male doctor assessed the situation, noticing a smaller entry wound in Y/n’s upper right back and a larger exit wound in his abdomen. "Lungs failing," he said, his voice steady but grave. "Start an I.V. — two units of O, stat." The female nurse hurried off to fulfill the order. The female doctor asked for adrenalin, and the male nurse rushed to comply with the request.

Tony stood by his son's side, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched the doctor's work. He couldn't remember a time he prayed, but he found himself silently pleading with any higher power that might be listening to spare his son's life. "Hang in there, son," he whispered.

Y/n struggled to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t think I’ll make it."

The billionaire's heart broke a little more. "Don't you dare die on me." Tony's voice was borderline pleading, begging for his son not to leave him. He has to survive.

But as the doctors worked frantically to save Y/n's life, his condition continued to deteriorate, his grip on Tony's hand weakening. "Dad," Y/n whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'm so cold."

Hearing this, Tony couldn't hold back his tears, which fell onto his son's hand. "I-I-I can't feel my legs," he continued, making Tony feel an enormous sense of dread and despair. He wanted to leave, unable to continue witnessing his greatest fear unfolding before his eyes. However, Y/n gripped Tony's hand tightly. "D-Don't go." Their eyes met, and Y/n let out a gasp before managing to utter three words.

"I love you."

The heart monitor's steady beep began to slow, then faltered, finally falling silent as Y/n slipped into full arrest. Tony cried out, "Oh god." His hand clamped over his mouth as he watched his son flatlined.

"Full arrest. Paddles!" The male doctor shouted, and the female doctor brought over the paddle machine. Tony stepped back as he witnessed the scene unfold. The lady squirted gel on a paddle, and the male rubbed them together. "Clear!" He yelled and used the paddles on Y/n. 

But it didn't work.

"Recharge," he barked, and she obeyed. "Clear!" He used the paddles once again.

Still, Y/n’s heart did not respond and the heart monitor remained silent. His grip fully weakened in Tony’s hand, and his eyes remained unmoving. Sadly, it was officially. Y/n, son of the billionaire, was dead. The male doctor looked at Tony with a mix of sympathy and sadness.

"I’m so sorry," the male doctor voiced. 

And, just like that, Tony Stark broke. 

He leaned over Y/n, his body heavy with grief, tears streaming down his face as he clutched his son's lifeless hand. The pain in his chest was unbearable as if his own heart had stopped beating. He couldn't believe his only child was gone.

Now, he would never witness his son's college graduation, celebrate another birthday, see him walk down the aisle, or become a dad himself. Y/n was gone, and Tony would never see his son again.

And Tony felt like he had died too.

His sobs echoed through the hospital room, a sound so full of anger and pain that it seemed to pierce the very air. The doctors and nurses quietly left the room, deciding to let the genius grieve alone.

"Y/n," he choked out, his voice breaking on his son's name. "Please... come back. I can't… I can't live life without you here."

But he knew that his son wasn't coming back, no matter how much he'd beg for it. That thought was unimaginable, a nightmare from which he couldn't wake.

He had failed his son, failed to keep him safe, and now, Tony was forced to face a world without the h/c haired male in it. 

It was bad enough that the genius had been such a shitty dad to choose Peter over Y/n, but now he wouldn’t be able to show Y/n that he was fully committed to changing, to being the dad Y/n deserved.

That made his sobs grow louder.

The Avengers entered the room, their faces etched with sorrow. Each of them had faced countless battles, but nothing could have prepared them for the pain of watching one of their own lose a child.

Steve placed a hand on Tony's shoulder, a silent gesture of comfort for his friend. He knew that no words could ease the pain of such a loss, but he hoped that his presence would offer some solace. He took a moment to say a silent prayer for the man who was like a son to him.

Natasha's stoic expression cracked, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She had seen death countless times in her work, but this — this was different. This was one of their own, a part of their family.

Sam also couldn't hold back his tears. His vision blurred, and he wiped them away, not wanting to add to Tony's pain. But the pain was there, a dull ache in his chest that echoed the grief of his friend.

Clint had to look away, his jaw clenched. He had lost people before, but this was different. This was a young man, full of life, who left this cruel world too soon.

Bruce stood with his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes were downcast, but there was a hint of green in his eyes. He couldn't imagine the pain of losing a child, especially someone so wonderful. 

Peter was the most visibly shaken and he felt somewhat responsible. If he had been more aware of his surroundings and saw the hidden shooter, then Y/n wouldn't have taken the bullet for him.

Parents shouldn’t have to bury their child, but Tony was going to bury his.

Tony's fingers trembled as he closed Y/n's eyes. "I’m sorry, son," his voice was a broken whisper. "I love you so, so much."

For Y/n, the light had gone out. For Tony, the darkness has never felt so complete.

XXXXX XXXXX

[l223m0nade]

Bees (a stucky au snzfic)

ok

ok ok

so I saw this random thing on a tumblr post:

and it got its Stucky-idea hooks so deep in my brain. It just did. And the thing is my deepest inspo is honestly in the land of snz. (This fic kind of ends abruptly sorry but i want to do more and it'll probably end up on Ao3 w like a M or E rating 😳🫣 when and if that happens i'll link to it)

Stucky au, no powers, age gap, what I'm picturing in my head goes less with the words "silver fox Steve" and more with the words "dorky Dilf Steve" like 2012 Cap fashion with current Chris Evans face? in..a good way? and longhair early-20s burnout Bucky. I have some backstory headcanons that are just hinted at here, hopefully it's tantalizing rather than confusing.

anyway have 11.5k words of this and encourage me to write more bc i have fallen in love with these particular boyz. Some light existential angst but mainly idiots pining aka the sweetest sauce

~Fic~

Sam isn’t sure how much longer he can allow this to go on. His barback and the new semi-regular square dude are once again being all awkwardly flirty while pretending they’re not, like two sad lonely white...ducks, who never learned a mating dance and have zero game.

At least Square Dude has an excuse: he’s the most obvious newly-divorced newly-out family-type guy Sam’s ever seen. He’s clean-cut, with a ridiculously handsome square jaw, wearing well-made but unstylish button-down shirts and pants that make him look like he belongs in a Norman Rockwell painting. He started coming in about two months ago, quiet, friendly when ordering his one or two beers of the evening, and firmly shy when it comes to the inevitable overtures sent his way. It doesn’t take a genius to see that this is him dipping a first toe into the pool: coming to a relatively quiet gay bar, just to sit and watch men talk to each other and let the whole notion sink in.

By now most guys would’ve found someone to spread their wings with or gone elsewhere to find em, but Square Dude, whose name is Steve, seems content to talk to the guy who pours his beer about whatever DIY project Bucky is pulling questions out of his ass about.

The crush is painfully obvious, and suburban closeted Steve can’t be blamed for having no deal-sealing abilities, but Bucky has no such excuse. Sam has watched him pull stiff-backed business bros in five minutes flat when the mood struck him, with his big blue puppy eyes and his dark wicked smirk and long lean slouch. But with Steve all he appears capable of doing is asking him questions about crown molding as though those words mean anything to him while gazing at him like he’s beaming the words You could fix me directly into Steve’s skull. Steve, for his part, just doesn’t seem to be able to look anywhere other than Bucky.

As usual, anyone that tries to strike anything beyond a friendly conversation is kindly but firmly rebuffed. “He’s not ready for that yet,” Bucky had insisted with unnecessary defensiveness when Sam implied it was time for the new guy to move from spectating to participating in the relatively mellow flirting and hookup scene the bar played host to most evenings. “People go at their own pace.”

“The only pace he’s going at is towards you,” Sam smirked. Bucky glowered at his implication. “You gotta make it weird. He comes here to, like, practice. I’m part of that, in a chill, friendly way.” He shrugged and looked at the glass he was drying. “When he is ready, it’s not gonna be for me, it’s gonna be for someone actually in his league, like a...hot college professor, or something.” Sam had rolled his eyes and resolved to stop trying to help Bucky Barnes flail around in his mess of a love life anymore, for the hundredth or so time.

Tonight is busy enough that Sam can mostly be distracted from this bad sitcom, and not so busy that he has to yell at Barnes for being distracted. Still, there are a couple empties on tables in the Steve-less side of the bar, and after finishing the drinks for the people in front of him he turns, catching Bucky’s voice, in a tone of delight he uses when speaking with only one person, saying “Wait. Seriously? Bees?”

“Yeah!” Steve responds, equally puppyish. He’s tall and broad, sandy hair and beard just beginning to show a hint of salt-and-pepper. He looks like anyone’s fantasy fireman or lumberjack, at least in the context of a place like this. He also exudes genuine sweetness and vulnerability despite his intimidating muscled height.

Bucky Barnes, Sam’s barback and old friend, leans against the bar doing the helpless-goober-with-a-crush stare, a look on his face like Steve just announced he was a Nobel Prize winner. “No way. How do you keep bees? Just as, what, a casual hobby? That’s, like, a whole thing, you can’t be an expert in so many things!”

Bucky is all shaggy longish dark hair and stupid cheap graphic t-shirts, with a striking, animated face that is used mainly for sarcasm. He and Sam had been at the same high school a few blocks away, though Sam is older, and in the funny way of life they’ve wound up good friends. He’s working at Sam’s place because, in his words, he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing with his life. Bucky’s going through his own version of one of those fairly bleak lost periods of 20-something misery, but he’s smart and not a drunk and decent at what he does for Sam, and if he bangs a third of the customers he does it discreetly enough. Sam never knew dark-blond, broad-shouldered, bass-voice sad-eyed dudes pushing 40 were the kryptonite that made him unable to do anything including flirt, until Steve came in one day and Bucky sprayed himself with the keg he was tapping.

Steve chuckles— is this man blushing? “Oh no, I’m nowhere near an expert. But it’s pretty easy once they get established. Don’t need much from you. I’m not, uh, living at the place with the backyard where the hives are, right now….so….but they’ll be fine without me.”

Steve gets a little quiet and Bucky’s fangirl expression dims with distressed sympathy. It gets sad like this sometimes when talking to Steve. Recently divorced guys had this problem, where everything came back to the one topic. Steve’s not doing it pathologically, didn’t seem like, just genuinely realizing another change. Bucky looks stricken. He doesn’t always seem young, at newly 24, but sometimes it still shows.

Sam finally manages to catch his eye away from gazing at Steve to convey a quick head jerk of get-the-hell-over-there-and-do-the-job-I-pay-you-for, and Bucky peels himself away with an apologetic smile at Steve. Sam picks up the conversation with Steve as Bucky clears tables at top speed, hearing how he’s renting a place month-to-month not far away, not able to plan something more permanent just yet. He doesn’t say anything revealing, but it’s still easy to paint a picture of a small, empty apartment. Bucky’s not the only one with a soft spot for this guy, and Sam is warmed by the thought that his little bar offers him respite.

………………..

“That’s so sad,” moans Bucky a few days later. It’s just after opening on a weekday afternoon, and Bucky seemed quieter than usual so Sam is tantalizing him with what he learned talking to Steve the other day. “Did he say—you know he has kids?”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam answers. He’d been as offhand as a person could be about that sort of thing, but it wasn’t hard to see how he really felt. He was standing in the rubble of a sincere loving marriage to a woman with whom he had two 11-year old twins. Helped explain his rectitude when it came from moving from his spot at the bar, meeting someone other than the staff. Bucky’s eyes are pools of sympathetic anguish and Sam feels the need to say, “This kinda stuff happens to people, Buck,” earning an eye-roll for his patronizing efforts. “It’s good he’s coming here, learning about himself. I think you help a lot, for the record.”

Bucky starts and gives him a bewildered look. “What?”

This is aging him. Sam sighs, “He’s lonely. Maybe feels kinda lost right now.”

Bucky’s mouth gets a pained downward slant to it.

“He. Likes. You.”

At that, of course, Bucky gets uncomfortable, blushing and moving off to wipe tables somewhere away from Sam, rubbing his nose and clearing his throat like he’s been doing since he got there. He brightens when Steve comes in an hour later, and Sam rolls his eyes and leaves them to their game of mouse-and-mouse.

Steve is telling Bucky... how window insulation works. He thinks he asked, he hopes to god he did, at least. He’s been embarrassing himself for weeks, coming to this place almost every day. He’s kept it pretty well under wraps that although he liked the neighborhood simplicity, and talking to Sam, and got comfortable after the first few visits, the real reason he’s there more evenings than not is to see Bucky. With his bright grey-blue eyes and dark hair hanging past his chin, swinging against his cheekbones, with his smile and wicked sense of humor and his confounding ease in himself, the ease that gives Steve despair and hope for himself. With that mouth and that divot in his chin, and those last two thoughts are not allowed, because the need to put his thumb into that dot in his sculpted chin and kiss those ridiculously pink lips is urgent and unthinkable.

He doesn’t do that, he just sits and pines and chats awkwardly with him, and gets to know a few other regular guys and talks sports with Sam. He just likes talking to Bucky, it’s easy, easy like nothing has been in a long time, and he’s a creep, he’s a pathetic older guy using his experience to take advantage of a younger guy—

Only, he’s not actually experienced here, at all. And Bucky is so smart, he’s self-deprecating about it but it’s not like he and Steve aren’t generally on the same level beyond his inner glossary of home improvement terminology. He downplays the fact that he knows cars like an expert, insists the stuff Steve learned from keeping up an old house and the hobbies he picked up to stay sane is somehow far more impressive— Steve’s pretty sure he’s doing it on purpose, to make him feel less adrift and clueless. He has that way about him, of someone who looks after other people without realizing it.

Things were all dark there for a while, with the end of his marriage to Peggy. But he’s pretty sure he and Bucky are friends, and he feels bright when he sees him.

Tonight, though, Bucky seems just a little worn down. He’s wearing a waffle-knit shirt under his incomprehensible-thorny-calligraphy-t-shirt, as though he’s cold, and his eyes are tired. Steve waits for a reply to the last thing he said and looks to see Bucky with a dazed, spaced-out expression, before he shakes his head and rubs his nose, saying “Sorry, I thought I was gonna sneeze, what’d you say?”

Talking about the goddamn weather and window insulation was segueing into a real conversation, to Steve’s delight: “How my mom moved us out to Jersey so we could live somewhere better and I never forgave her.” Bucky gives a wide-eyed grimace of agreement and he can’t help the bright laugh that bursts out of him. “How about you, you grow up in the city?” He’d inadvertently spilled his guts about the divorce on like his third time in the bar, something that humiliated him to think of but Sam had simply said with an understanding face wasn’t too unusual, so Bucky knew the basics about Peggy and the twins, but Steve had felt clumsy asking Bucky about himself.

He rolled his eyes with his problematically attractive crooked grin and answered, “Aw man, I grew up practically around the block from this place. Went to high school at the big catholic cinderblock in the neighborhood. I was at school on the west coast for a couple years, but…” His eyes cast downward. “now I’m back.”

Steve remembers how bad it felt at that age, to not have accomplished enough fast enough. Saying that will make him sound like an old grey dad and even if that’s what he is he can still hold out a little hope of being something different here, so he just says, “Brooklyn’s a good hometown to come back to.”

That makes Bucky smile at him and look him in the eye, like he liked what Steve said, even like it made him feel better. Steve tamps his answering grin down to reasonable levels.

Bucky’s also been rubbing at his nose on and off this whole time, and he can see it give a little twitch right before he breathes out a “scuse-me” through hitching breaths, his eyes flickering closed. He pushes his nose firmly into his long-sleeved elbow. “hhh-hh-tdschuh!” He sneezes quietly and muffled. “Oh, snf, sorry,” he says, blinking and emerging from his elbow but not lowering it, the hazy ticklish look still on his face, breaths hitching. “Another—hhh—‘nother one?” He freezes, looking up at the overhead lights, nostrils flared, but after a second he deflates with a sigh. “Nope, nevermind. Snff.” Steve’s guts swoop. This crush is so unsustainable. He’s gonna fail to be cool and friendly and he’ll have to watch Bucky go all uncomfortable and pitying as he explains to Steve that he has six hot boyfriends who are not almost-forty almost-virgin losers who only know how to take up his time when he’s trying to work. According to his therapist these “harangues of negativity” are “unhelpful.” But Bucky looks tired and a little pale and like his nose is going to start turning pink and Steve is just trying to survive.

“Bless you,” Steve says softly in his gentle voice that’s so deep it takes Bucky by surprise and makes his stomach flutter every time he talks to him. He feels like he might be blushing.

“Thanks,” it comes out husky and he clears his throat hard, moving to the little sink to wash his hands.

“Allergies, or…?” Steve ventures, a little divot between his eyebrows of concern-more-like-pity.

“I dunno, something’s bothering my nose today,” he says lightly with a shrug. In truth Bucky has a good idea what’s making him sneeze. The fucking radiator that was supposed to heat his cheap shitty basement apartment had stopped working in the middle of the night, so he’d spent six hours until dawn shivering, and an itchy tickly feeling had been growing in the back of his nose and throat since around noon. It’s starting to evolve into a runny nose and an ever-present but elusive feeling of being about to sneeze, and he knows that means he’s coming down with a cold.

He sees some convenient glasses to clear and excuses himself with a smile so he can sniffle out of Steve’s earshot; he’s enough of a mess compared to Steve on his best day, he doesn’t need to show off his scraggly urchin runny nose aesthetic of tonight any more than he has to.

For the next hour, these light, tickly sneezes either sneak up on him or abandon him at the last minute, leaving his nose feeling like it’s going to start getting stuffy.

Steve watches Bucky do his job, sniffling, rubbing his nose, and sneezing furtively into his sleeve or collar; tucking the strands of hair that have come loose from his short ponytail behind his ears, and feels so helplessly tender for him that it can’t be normal or healthy even by desperate crush standards.

Bucky’s coming down with a cold. He seems to want to brush it off, but Steve can hear a slight change in the resonance of his voice that gives it away even if the tired pink starting to border his eyes and nostrils doesn’t. The place is getting crowded and he’s busy; Steve feels for him, as well as pathetically jealous of his attention as he banters with him in passing once in a while.

He glances up as Bucky heads in his direction with a short stack of empty glasses and sees his steps slow; he pauses, blinks up at the overhead light, eyes hazy, and then, wavering, starts to turn his face into his shoulder, before pausing again and then sighing and sniffing as the sneeze evaporates. He looks up and sees Steve watching him like a creep and laughs, “Damn, lost her,” and then as he continues behind the bar, “You havin’ fun watching me look stupid?”

“It’s agony actually,” he responds, gets a laugh, and feels the now-somewhat-familiar internal squeal of this is flirting! I’m flirting with a guy and I think he can tell! It’s painfully pathetic, but he can’t help but track the fact that Bucky knows plenty of the folks that come to Sam’s, that he’ll give anyone his attention if they ask for it, smiling and joking, but the only person he really goes out of his way to talk to, initiates teasing with, is him, Steve. It’s still nothing more than polite obligatory chatting, he’s sure— when you work at a bar this kinda thing is natural. Bucky is young and charismatic and gorgeous. His love life would probably give Steve enough combined envy and jealousy to cause heart failure, which would be perfectly appropriate because he is an old square divorcee. It makes him warm and bubbly enough that he seems to be Bucky’s favorite customer to pass the time with.

A guy down the bar gets his beer from Sam and sidles closer. “This seat taken?” he asks with a good-humored cocked eyebrow. This is why Steve actually started coming to this place: to meet people, to meet guys, in a way that, well, went somewhere. To call his own decades-old bluff. Not to moon over staff half his age who woulda been out of his league even if he was still in his twenties. He turns to the guy—his age or a few years older, attractively lithe with muscle, a hard but handsome face, and smiles.

Bucky gets busy for a stretch— Sam’s place is actually full tonight thanks to the playoff game. He enjoys the feeling of being a genuinely necessary part of the bar’s operation, when some nights it’s hard to believe he’s more than Sam’s charity case. Nights like this remind him that he has a real job, he’s decent at it even with a bum left arm; whether he’s living out his dreams or not he’s an adult with a job, a place to live, and people he cares about. Plus it distracts him from feeling sorry for himself for coming down sick.

His satisfied feelings fade when he looks over to the Steve end of the bar and sees Brock Rumlow talking to him. He scowls. Fucking Rumlow. He only ever comes on nights with games these days, but Bucky would be perfectly happy if he never came in at all.

It’s fine. Steve’s fine. He is a grown-up, significantly more of one than Bucky. Of all the people who have no need of his misplaced ineffectual chivalry, Steve has got to be last in line.

Maybe he finds more stuff to do in the general area of that end of the bar, and maybe he’s listening for Rumlow to say something dickish, or maybe he’s just a masochist and he wants to know firsthand if they hit it off. Sam is trying to point his “Don’t-be-Stupid” face at him like a flashlight beam but he resolutely ignores it while he replaces a couple bottles that legitimately needed it, ok, just because they’re in a convenient place doesn’t make that untrue.

“Yeah, I’m glad I found this place,” he catches Steve’s cheerful voice. A wave of bar noise obscures their next words, and then he makes out Rumlow,

“—actual sports on the TV. ‘Course,” the smile is audible in his voice, “the clubby places are good for at least one reason, y’know?” He quiets down to say it but not enough. Steve wouldn’t particularly like that, Bucky guesses, and then grinds his teeth as his brain helpfully supplies him with the memories of how easily Brock had charmed him, months ago. It wasn’t any kind of nightmare, but it was still probably his least favorite hookup to date: he’d been so happily focused on Bucky at first, then rough and selfish in bed, capped off by an unnecessarily clear implication that he wouldn’t be calling. Bucky knew the score with casual sex, but it had still given him enough whiplash to sting; it crossed his mind a few days later that it had been like Rumlow wanted him to feel like a dumb kid.

Steve has sputtered something about “not sure he’s looking for anything like that” while Bucky fumed about the past. He has to grab beers for a couple guys, and bending to get in the lowboy fridge makes his nose run suddenly, and flush with an insistent tickle. He manages, just barely, to squash the sneeze completely into a silent mmp! into his shoulder, andmakes a getaway to the bathroom. He blows his nose, but it won’t stop tickling, so then he stands there like an idiot, holding paper towels like they’re a book he’s reading, staring up into the lights and waiting to coax the sneeze out.

He can feel it coming but it still takes forever. At least the bathroom is empty. He wrinkles his nose exaggeratedly and sniffs and his breath finally starts to catch.

“hehh...heh...heh—heh-Uhh....huhh. Fuck.” There’s no way it’s not happening though, his goddamn nose tickles so bad— “hhHAh—EHSsschhooo!” It’s a ridiculous cartoony sneeze but at least it’s satisfying. He blows his nose again, then sighs. He’s definitely sick. Gonna be great sleeping in a freezing apartment. Turning into kind of a shitty night, he thinks with sarcastic pep.

When he leaves the restroom he can’t help glancing over to where Steve sits, and sees he’s now frowning at whatever Rumlow’s saying, looking politely uncomfortable on the way to annoyed. As he drifts back into earshot he hears, “….fun, but, if you’re looking for more than, um, casual, I dunno, kind of a dead end.” Then his pulse jumps as Rumlow looks right at him and finishes, “not dating material, trust me. Either way,” he leans in, “I think you can do better.”

Bucky closes the distance but puts himself behind the bar so he doesn’t immediately clock the asshole. His fists are clenched. Can he throw him out? If he doesn’t get away from Steve and shut up Bucky’s gonna end up fired and charged with assault, probably, but he doesn’t know if he can throw someone out on the grounds of being a jerk that he hates. Thank God, Sam’s caught on that something is up.

Rumlow doesn’t seem to have won Steve over, in any case. He’s turned cold and hard in a way that makes him look unfamiliar, and he says quietly but very clearly, “I think you’ve got the wrong idea.” He sounds like a straight Army Captain contemptuously shattering an underling’s heart immediately post-office-suckjob or something; in the morass of anger and panic it still registers with Bucky’s dick to his utter bewilderment. It definitely triggers some core memory for Rumlow, who turns the color of old milk before flushing and standing. He takes in the sight of Bucky glowering behind Steve and barks an ugly laugh. “It’s like that, huh?” he asks, shaking his head in mock pity. “Good luck with that rescue mission.”

Bucky feels like he did when Hank Ackerman pantsed him in 8th grade. Everything’s too bright and clear. He wants to cover his face and run into the back, but he’s rooted to the spot by the thought that that’s just what the dumb baby slut Rumlow’s been making him out to be would do.

“That’s it man,” Sam comes up beside him, smile on his face as though he’s just casually joining their conversation. “You’re done. Get outta here.”

Rumlow scoffs, takes a step towards the door, then turns with the beginning of a macho intimidation-lean in Sam’s direction. He’s hammered, Bucky hadn’t realized, and he can usually tell with people. He’s...kind of fucking scary. Had he gotten rougher around the edges, or had he been like this when Bucky went home with him? Jesus Christ.

Sam just returns his stare, all semblance of friendliness gone from his face. “Get out.”

Rumlow glares another second, but then he goes. There’s a reason Sam’s successful running a bar in the middle of the still-managing-to-be-seedy part of Brooklyn, as well as his finely tuned sensibilities to the unmet needs of Brooklyn’s grownup queer folks. He has the air, recognizable to serious troublemakers, of someone who will absolutely meet and raise any escalation. There were, in fact, a taser and a gun behind the bar, but Sam had never had to use them.

Steve stands up sharply, like he’s—what, gonna follow? Bucky opens his mouth to protest, but then—“Steve.” Sam’s got the side bar entry folded up and he’s intercepting his angry stride. “Please don’t.” He goes on, too quiet for Bucky to make out. Steve deflates and sits back down, taking a long drink of beer and then frowning at his knees.

Bucky consciously lets go of his tension as he sees Rumlow’s silhouette, walking outside, disappear from the last window on the right. He feels shaky, the way any kind of confrontation leaves him, and embarrassed as hell. He avoids Steve’s eyes for all he’s worth, scrubbing a hand under his nose and sniffing sharply.

Steve was just a customer. Bucky was just one of many people that Steve made polite conversation with in the course of a day. Feeling like this was just a consequence of getting that confused. Because he’s an idiot. He has to sniffle again. He also feels about ten times sicker than he did a few minutes ago, and successfully blinking away the brief prickle in his eyes just turns it into the need to sneeze.

Steve tries to breathe smoothly and calm down. This frat-boy rage is ridiculous, he still wants to go punch the hell out of that fucking creep. He must be drunker than he realizes, although deep down he knows it has more to do with the inarticulate surge of protectiveness he’d felt for Bucky since the guy had gestured to him with a jerk of his head as he crossed the room.

He hears a shuddering gasp and sees Bucky duck down to crouch behind the bar. His concern flares way up, but then he hears the three muffled sneezes, all in a rush, “hhhMPtchsh—hmptsschoo—hptsshhuh,”. He straightens back up, sniffing hard, more wetly than he sounded earlier. He’s rubbing his nose and glaring at the door, not looking at Steve.

“Bucky,” he says, frowning, determined to get this across, “what that asshole said about you—”

“Steve, snff, it’s fine, just drop it, okay, I’m asking you,” he meets Steve’s eyes with a downcast expression, before it flickers as his breath catches, and he sneezes again, half-pinched down into the collar of his shirt, “ihh-dtsschuh!”

His nostrils keep quivering and he lets out a shaky sigh of frustration before ducking around the corner out of sight with his hands tented over his nose and sneezing, “hiih-hih-HIDtschoo!...hih-HIH-TISchoo! ..heehh...heh—HEH—” the last one deserts him and leaves him sniffling. They’re still pretty quiet, but a lot heavier and spraying than the first sneezes Steve heard earlier. Bucky blows his nose and washes his hands thoroughly, and when he’s back behind the bar his nose is decidedly pink.

“Buck,” Steve says, and Bucky’s lips thin in exasperation— it’s not like him, compared to the guy Steve’s talked to the last few weeks. Whatever, he can’t help but say, “you do sound like you’re coming down with something, you should—”

“Steve, I’m fine,” says Bucky, in a soft tone that brooks no argument. Still tense, he turns to Steve with a crooked smile and says, “Really,” and it’s warm, if strained, between them again, and it seems like that’ll just have to satisfy Steve, and he says as much to Bucky who blushes and bites his lip for some reason.

Sam rescues Bucky by asking him to do inventory in back, letting him be sneeze and be dramatically in his feels without anyone around, especially Steve. The bar is slow enough now that he just shamelessly hides for the rest of the night. He’s constantly sniffling and sneezing and needing to blow his nose with the roll of rough brown paper towels back there, and even without that he’s too keyed up and pissed and miserable for human company, so it’s for the best.

He casts furtive recon glances to the bar where Steve sits, first craning his neck trying to spy Bucky, then brooding into his beer glass which makes Bucky feel like an asshole, then perking up at least a little shooting the shit with Sam, hopefully talking shit about Brock Dickface Rumlow. Then the misery wells up enough to get him to actually focus on work to avoid feeling it, and then it’s a few hours later and they’re closing up and he goes home to his little icebox and tires not to think about anything.

The next day, Sam chooses evil.

Steve and JB Barnes are both at least somewhat complex men, and it is always a bad idea to meddle in the affairs of others. But screw it, he’s had Bucky moaning in his ear for months now, and he was gonna have to recheck all his angry counting from last night, and these guys really seemed dumb enough to let the tension of mutual attraction strain between them until it just broke, some misunderstanding threw them both on the defensive or whatever, and they missed the chance at any of the fun part of connecting with each other.

So.

It isn’t a big surprise when Bucky calls him around 2, apologizing and pausing to make some gross “ihHgjshuhh!” noise, saying he was probably too sick with this cold to come in. What is a surprise, for poor Bucky, is Sam’s implacable response: “Duuude, I’m so sorry, but there’s some kinda convention in town and the place is packed, I need you here so bad, no matter what. You can take the next two days off, I’ll pay you.” He hears Bucky swallow back the what the hell and resignedly say ok. He feels diabolical. But hopefully it will be worth it. Steve usually comes in early on Thursdays, and he’d looked all hangdog-worried about Bucky the night before.

He’s been there twenty minutes already, chatting distractedly with Sam and staring at the TV screens but really looking all over the room like Bucky might be hiding somewhere. Bucky slouches in, ten minutes late, takes in the mostly empty room and gives Sam a betrayed glare.

“You really ndeeded mbe, huh,” he mutters as he puts his backpack away.

“You don’t even sound that bad,” Sam rejoins cheerfully, and Bucky’s mouth drops open with incredulity.

He moves some boxes around in back without issue. Then he tries to start prep by the bar. In a fifteen-minute period he has two sneezing fits that require him retreating to the bathroom to blow his nose endlessly and wash his hands. Sam decides that’s plenty sufficient. He and his customers are gonna pay a price in germ exposure for this stupid ass cupid skit he’s putting on.

“Steve, you believe this guy?” Bucky’s been avoiding Steve’s concerned hopeful looks since he got here. “He insisted on coming to work.” Bucky chokes in outrage, then coughs for real, while Steve moves a few seats closer. Sam turns; Bucky couldn’t look more betrayed if there was a knife with Sam’s name on it in his guts. Lord deliver him from dramatic white boys. “Did you take the bus here, Buck?” There was no other way for the guy to get to work, but he just replies flatly,

“Yeah.”

“You oughtta go home and rest.”

“Le me give you a ride, Buck,” Steve jumps in with the Air-Bud eagerness Sam had expected. They confirm it and bustle Barnes into a Civic while he’s sneezing too much to protest. Sam washes his hands metaphorically of the situation, and also very literally and thoroughly.

Steve’s car is a little old, and cold, and dusty. Bucky shivers as he buckles his seatbelt. He feels silently nervous and thrilled to be in Steve’s Car!!, but at the moment it’s hard to be anything but….sneezy…

“hhh-hh-hhmmPtchuh! S-s-sor-ry-hiihHIptchsh!” Holding them back when he feels like this just makes his nose more irritated and thus even sneezier. He stubbornly jams his fist under his nose to quell the tickle. He has some napkins from work, so a nose-blow is possible, but it doesn’t feel possible, not so close to Steve, who has it a million times more together than Bucky even on days when he isn’t falling apart on a cellular level.

“Bless you,” Steve says quietly. He looks at him reflexively, to see a small, sweet, sympathetic smile. “Ready?” Bucky gives a little nod and the car pulls out into the slushy road.

His nose is running onto his finger, it’s a crisis. This is why it’s always a terrible idea to leave the house when you’re really sick. “Ugh, I gotta blow mby ndose, I’mb sorry, I’mb so gross right ndow,” talking also makes his nose angry. Fucking Sam and his supervillain plan to humiliate him. What had he done to deserve this? He fumbles for the napkins with his less-dextrous left hand, the one he should have stuck under his nose, goddamnit, he’s gonna sneeze again…

“Psh, don’t worry about it,” scoffs Steve like the big huge dad he is, then with a sympathetic glance he turns the radio on, to the classic rock station, because of course, Bucky almost laughs even while racing to get tissues on his face before this giant wet sneeze overcomes him. The music is loud and it does help him feel less embarrassed.

“heh—HEH-KSSSHOOoo!” he gets the wad of napkins in front of him just in time. Blowing his nose after that demolishes them, but he feels a little closer to a human being.

“Bless you!” Steve chuckles. “Man you got a good bug, jeez!”

Why are he and Sam both so cheerful. “Thanks, I’mb glad you’re impressed,” he croaks.

“You have cold stuff at home?” Huh? When Bucky doesn’t answer he continues, “Tissues, tea, soup, medicine, you know?”

“Oh, umb, sorry, I’m tired,” Steve makes a sympathetic sound. “I usually just use toilet paper. I took the last of my Dayquil before work. I dunno if it even helped, all it feels like it did is mbake me jittery and sdeezy.”

“Why don’t we stop by a drugstore.” He sounded decisive.

“Oh, you don’t have to bother with that, really Steve—” he pauses to sniffle desperately. Technically he can afford a couple things, and he probably needs them. “Or—you could drop me off and I’ll get myself home from the store, that would totally be a big help—”

“Is the heat even on in your place?” Steve interrupts, shrewd-eyed. At Bucky’s wide-eyed sputtering response he continues, “I knew it. I used to be a broke Brooklyn kid, once upon a time. Only reason to come into work, am I right? Can’t believe landlords are still getting away with this shit.”

Bucky considers denial, then slumps. “S’why I’mb so much...hhh...worse...hh-huh-hudschuh! Snff-snff. Worse today. They said it’ll be fixed by tomorrow so...we’ll see, ha. I got a space heater and an electric kettle though, I can get in my blankets and drink tea and I’m fine.”

Steve is quiet, no response, and Bucky worries irrationally that he pissed him off. A few minutes of classic rock later, he pulls into the small parking lot attached to the drugstore, turns the car off, and turns to him, looking a little uncomfortable.

“Bucky I—” he breaks off and laughs to himself. “I know you have to be polite to customers, I don’t want to—” he makes eye contact, looking pained and rueful. “I’d like to think we’re friends. But I don’t want to put you on the spot or anything,”

“We’re friends,” Bucky interrupts gently. Steve’s face brightens like a sunrise and Bucky’s chest does a nice warm thing.

“Yeah? That’s...I’m real happy to hear it.” Steve says, sheepish but grinning. Then his eyes get the determined look that Bucky is starting to think means trouble. “Well the reason I asked is, as a friend, I really hate the idea of you trying to ride this out in an icebox apartment. I have heat. And a couch!” He hastens to add at whatever wide-eyed look Bucky’s giving him. “It’s just, I know it’s no fun being sick by yourself, and, well, honestly I wish I’d socked that asshole at the bar last night, and I really wish I’d clocked him as a jerk faster, and I’d feel a lot better if I could do something nice for you, and you really seem like you could do with some rest and medicine. Will you let me grab some stuff here and spend the night at my place—where there’s heat— and let me fuss over you?”

“Steve, that’s—that’s so nice, but I really can’t imb—snff—impose on you, and I gotta be so contagious right now…”

“I don’t care about that,” Steve says easily. “And I know you’re not gonna die on your own, but,” and, whoa, he’s deploying some kind of dignified mature version of puppy-dog eyes, it’s so sincere, and also so certain, that it starts to seem like the only sensible course of action is to let his gorgeous crush take him to his apartment while he’s the polar opposite of sexy, an unspeakable snot factory, and also possibly starting to run a fever.

….His apartment is gonna be so goddamn cold.

And lonely, incidentally.

And Steve is so nice. He’s literally, actually here, he seems to mean it that he wants to take care of Bucky’s sick bedraggled ass as some kind of friend-favor. There’s no way this is a come-on with him in this state, even if he can still muster enough energy to wish it was. No way Steve’s ever gonna want to fuck him after watching him snuffle through 200 tissues and mouth-breathe all evening, but he was nuts to think he ever would anyhow. He’s just that nice, and Bucky is that pathetic, and that might not feel great, but he wants to be Steve’s friend, he really does, and even through his own shyness he can see that the guy is pretty lonely.

“You, umb. You really don’t have to.” He says, watching Steve, who waits with obvious hopefulness. “But. Uh.” Steve raises his eyebrows and gives him a little smile, and Bucky finds himself returning it helplessly. “If you really don’t mbind. It could, potentially, be really ndice to take you up on that. You really don’t have to though!”

“I want to, though.” Jesus, he’s so sincere. Bucky feels some weird kind of protective way about the earnest honesty in his eyes.

“Well, then, okay. Thangk you, I really appreciate it.” He laughs, finally feeling how miserable it would have been to go back home and try to sleep in a cold blanket pile on his mattress on the floor. “Mby place sucks right now.”

“Alright then,” Steve beams. “Let’s get you a couple things and then get you cozy.”

Bucky’s nose is not okay with him using his face to talk instead of constantly blow it. It’s gotten completely blocked, and it’s tingling unpleasantly, and running so bad again he has to smush his knuckles under his nostrils. The tickle crests and his breath catches before he can do anything about it, but he clenches his jaw and forces it into a stifle. “hhh-huh-MMP!!” The problem with doing that is it just makes the tickle— “hh-mMP!” worse. “Ugh, sorry.” His hand is a dam against his nose at this point.

“Bless you!” They both step out of the car, but Steve hurries over to his side with a crinkle in his brow. “Why don’t you just stay here and I’ll grab a few things. Anything in particular, or just tissues and NyQuil?”

“Dyquil is just schndapps,” Bucky grumbles, then his brain catches up a little and he says “tissues,” fervently, and then it catches all the way up and he says “wait, ndo way are you buyig!”

Steve cocks an eyebrow like a handsome jerk. “You really wanna go in there?” With your current nose situation? He’s kind enough to not say.

He casts about for a moment—“Grab me a little pack and then I’ll go in!”

Steve gives him a skeptical look and says “Sure,” in a way that makes him think his orders won’t be followed, but he’s too busy squishing his nose more firmly and silently begging it not to make him sneeze again to keep arguing, or to protest when Steve opens the door for him and puts his car keys in his hand before dashing into the store with a promise to be quick.

He’s back not even ten minutes later, by which time holding his nose plugged and not letting his sneezes out has put Bucky in a state of perma-misery, stifling relentless sneezes every few seconds, unable to keep his eyes fully open. Steve tosses a box of tissues onto his lap before he gets all the way into the car because he is a saint.

“Guh,” Bucky says gratefully, pulls out a wad of about ten, and lets the miserable sneeze that had been building out into the nest of forgiving softness. “HehgSHOOmpff!!” And then blows his nose forever. Finally he feels like he can speak and have a face again; the little drugstore bag is now home to a dozen nasty used-tissue balls. “Well,” he says as he puts the last one in there, “wish I hadn’t had a witness for that.”

Steve just chuckles. “You’re fine,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing rumble. “I grabbed you a toothbrush, and I’ve got some stuff that can fit you for pjs.”

Bucky feels like he sneezed out the last of his strength. “You’re way too nice.” He sniffles and slumps against the window, looking at the familiar blur of orange streetlight. “I should be more worried you’re a serial killer.” Steve chuckles again, and he likes that, so he goes on, “Probly got a nice Jeffrey Dahmer setup at your place. Sorry if I don’t make a good steak.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Steve replies, sounding indignant. Then laughs for real, shaking his head, “I’m not gonna chop you up and eat you, I swear.”

“It’s fine. Just mbake mbe into soup,” sighs Bucky. That would be warm. He’ll just be a big hot pot of Bucky, and Steve will stir him and season him so carefully with his big strong hands. This is a weird train of thought. He might have a fever. But he can still hear Steve chuckling.

Steve pulls into his parking spot and the car shudders to stillness as he takes his key out of the ignition. Next to him, Bucky is asleep with his head mushed against the window. He’d conked out for the last five or so minutes of the drive. “Hey, Buck, we just got to my place,” he says softly, trying not to sound too bedroom-y. His eyes flutter open, the blue of them standing out, and Steve takes a steadying breath because Bucky is so good-looking it catches him off guard and overwhelms him sometimes.

His eyes are glassy-bright and there’s a flush high on his cheekbones, and as he shifts upright in his seat Steve reaches over and touches his forehead without thinking about it. It’s noticeably hot, but not burning. The twins’ childhood bouts with the flu gave him a sense of bad-fever heat. “Think you got a temperature,” he murmurs sympathetically. Bucky just blinks up at him, a little wide-eyed, and only then does he realize his big meaty hand is practically covering half his face. He feels himself flush to match Bucky, and for a second they just look at each other.

Until Bucky sniffs a miserable liquid sniffle and they both almost jump. “Sorry,” Steve mutters awkwardly, and Bucky’s saying the same thing at the same time. They both move to get out, “Just one flight of stairs up.”

“huh—tschumpf!” is Bucky’s answer, his nose buried in a new handful of tissues. “huhh, hUH—huh.” The second sneeze fizzles, leaving him blinking and frowning and wrinkling his nose snifflishly against the ticklish haze as he shuts the door. “Fuck. Sorry, scuse mbe.”

“Bless you.” It’s probably not normal to find someone so sick so adorable.

Steve leads him up and along the hall and then he’s unlocking the door, feeling giddy that he’s letting Bucky into his apartment, and then guilty for being excited, when the poor guy is just hesitantly accepting a much-needed favor. Bucky trails in behind him and then stands still while Steve sets the bag from the drugstore and started to turn to him, saying, “It’s not much, but—”

“ASHHOO!” Bucky’s sneeze interrupts and snaps him forward into his tissues, and then he just stays folded over for a second like it sapped the last of his energy. Then he straightens, rubbing his nose into the tissues and sighing. “Jesus, sorry,”

“Bless you! You don’t have to be sorry, you’ve just got a cold.” Steve has to hold himself still to keep from rubbing his back.

“You’re...hh-huh….? Snfff, ugh. Totally gonna catch this, I owe you way mbore apologies.”

“I won’t hold it against you,” he chuckles, toeing his shoes off. Bucky follows suit and he continues, “I stopped caring after raising toddlers, they’re little germ factories, you catch everything.” Why’d you bring up your old-dad status, Steve? “I’ll grab you some things to sleep in.”

An hour and one confrontation about Steve giving up his bed later, Bucky is ensconced on his couch like the king of cold-medicine commercials, surrounded by blankets and pillows and tissues and steaming cups and bowls. He feels a little more human, which is nice, but lets him access how incandescently awkward he feels at being rescued from his idiotic life like a snotty Cinderella. Steve has been flitting back and forth between the couch and kitchen, fussing over him to a truly excessive degree while exuding satisfaction and cheer, like some kind of calendar-model Santa with a caretaking kink. He was practically rubbing his hands together at the prospect of getting Bucky blankets and tea on his couch. Now he’s giving a rundown of his TV system standing next to the couch and it feels the tiniest bit manic and Bucky can feel himself getting a little too quiet but he can’t help it. After a minute Steve notices, and sets the remote down.

“I should stop babbling at you and leave you in peace,” he says with a bashful chuckle, turning to leave the room.

“No, I— you don’t—” Bucky doesn’t really have a response beyond ‘please chill out and hang out with me and let me picture cuddling with you,’ which will not be said aloud.

“You really don’t hafta feel like you need to entertain me, Bucky.”

“It’s not, I don’t,” he sighs and then sniffles. He doesn’t want to sit here and stare at the wall and stress about this, alone in this room in Steve’s goddamn apartment. He maybe should have thought about just how much he’d fallen for Steve before taking him up on this offer, because the concern and sweetness and fussing are starting to ratchet up his anxiety, because what if there was a chance it meant—

“Is anything the matter?” Steve crouches smoothly to be on his level and torment him with his eyes’ blueness. When all Bucky can do for a moment is flounder he looks more concerned, and a little downcast. “I really don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. If anything’s bothering you, you can just tell me.”

What the hell is an ordinary sinner supposed to do in the face of this much sincerity? Act like he thinks he’s a damn grownup, Bucky guesses, and girds his nervous loser loins.

“Why’re you—” he starts, frowning, then cuts himself off and tries again with a small, apologetic smile.

“It’s just...this is such an imposition, and you seem...kinda weirdly happy about it? I just don’t get why.”

One side of Steve’s mouth quirks up, making him look dry and self-deprecating and unfairly handsome. “You’re worried I’m gonna start talkin about Scientology, or put you in my basement dungeon?”

Bucky shrugs. “Kinda.” Just ‘cause he went home with strangers didn’t mean he had no sense.

Steve seems to cast about for an explanation, and he also starts to turn pink. “It’s—you’re just so—” and then he sighs and sits on the end of the couch, next to his blanketed feet, addressing his words to the wall in a rush. “Honestly, Bucky? I have a huge crush on you, and,” he laughs in embarrassment, decidedly blushing now, “I’m just real happy to have a chance to take care of you in whatever little way.” Now he does turn to look at him, pained. “I’m sorry, that must be so uncomfortable to hear. I promise you’re not my hostage! Please don’t make a break for it, it’s cold out and you’re so sick. I swear I’m not Cathy Bates in Misery.”

“Y—hihdsschuh!” The sneeze catches him by surprise, but he has wadded-up tissues in his hand already anyhow. He has to blow his nose, and he does it thoroughly to buy time. Steve stares stoically at the ceiling as though waiting for sentencing. Is this seriously Steve telling Bucky...he likes him?

“You…” he stops, sniffs. He needs a plan. He doesn’t have one. His mouth is gonna keep moving anyway, “You said, ‘you’re just so—‘, what were you gonna say?”

Steve looks confused for a second, and then just helpless. “Bucky, you’re just so sweet. I’m happy for a chance to do something for you because I owe you, you get that, right?”

“Owe me?” Bucky asks, nonplussed. Steve laughs with what seems like disbelief at his confusion.

“Yes, Buck! For the last few months! For taking pity on me that first night I came into Sam’s. You asked me a question about antifreeze.”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs. His world is rearranging itself. Steve remembered that?

“I feel—real self-conscious, I guess, coming into the “scene,” he gives it air-quotes and Bucky’s heart swells a little more, “by the route I have. Y’know, married dad who woke up one day and realized the stuff he repressed at sixteen might be the real him. Sam’s was the third place I tried to go into. I just felt so ridiculous, I still do— 39-year-old brand-new gay dude, it’s idiotic. I was practically gonna have a panic attack, I was definitely gonna leave and not try again and just...stop trying in general, maybe, to figure this new scary shit out. Except you were there, this—this smokin-hot guy, and you’re acting like you actually want to talk to me, and… so I stayed. And came back.” He looks Bucky in the eyes and it makes Bucky’s stomach clench. “I feel like you’ve been taking care of me this whole time, helping me ease into things, helping me not to feel bad about being completely uncool, asking me about stuff I actually know about instead of laughing at me because I’ve never heard of ‘poppers’,”

At that, Bucky has to give in to the giggle bubbling out of him, which inevitably leads to a short coughing fit. His first instinct is to keep laughing, rake Steve over the coals, but Steve is looking at him with a careful sort of expression, and it occurs to Bucky that just because he’s older and seems like he has it all together and has great posture doesn’t mean he’s immune to feeling vulnerable. And he looks like he’s feeling really fucking vulnerable right now. Acting like Bucky is worthy of this adorable schoolboy crush is absurd, but it’s not like it was so many eons ago that little baby Bucky Barnes was having his First Gay Bar experience, and he’d been scared as shit.

He already feels like he missed the boat on his life. Steve is starting over at 39. He’s so fucking brave. Bucky...somehow, unthinkably, Bucky is in a position where he could really hurt this guy.

“I’mb, umb. Snfff. Thing is, I’m a little surprised…” And Steve must think that’s the prelude to rejection because he pulls this sad little smile onto his face that’s the worst thing Bucky’s ever seen, and he has to make it go away, “It’s just, to hear you tell it I took pity on you and I’ve been talking to you to, like, guide you along and coach you because I’m some saint!” He smiles, starting to feel amused. “Steve— I just wanted some reason to talk to you, dude.”

Steve blinks at him. “What?”

He has to laugh, putting his forehead in his hand. “Sorry. I, just, I have not been operating under the assumption that I had a chance with you? And now it sounds like you’re telling me I do? While I sit on your couch filling your trash can with my disgusting tissue mountain?”

All he gets from the man is “...Huh?”

“You said ‘crush’,” he insists, and he’s not laughing, his heart is pounding actually. “What did you mean by that?” He’s gonna awkwardly say that he wants to fuck, and once that box is checked in his Gay Awakening, he’ll move on to actually date people actually in his league, and that’s maybe not gonna feel great, but, well…

Steve looks up from staring at his hands, makes eye contact, and he looks a little confused and a lot like he’s facing a firing squad. “I meant, I mean that…” he blows a breath out. “Jesus I have no idea what I’m doing. I mean that I’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask you out on a date, since pretty much the first night I met you.”

Bucky’s head does a record scratch and Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, “But I guess instead I kidnapped you when you were sick and blurted this out to you while you were trapped on my couch waiting to be left alone to sleep. I was never smooth but I swear I’ve done better than this.”

A giddy feeling is rising up in Bucky’s chest, making him forget completely about how tired and crappy he feels. “Well, I am smooth,” he says, “I’ve got game. At least, I did, until you showed up and turned me into a giggling bimbo. What the hell, Steve.”

“This is starting to seem like a romantic conversation but I can’t tell,” murmurs Steve with his face still uncertain but a little twinkle in his eye.

Bucky’s nose is gonna ruin this, he’s surprised it gave him that long a grace period. “Yeah, snfff, real romantic, I’mb gonna—hih—fuckin’ sndeeze—heh-heTShoo! Againd.”

Another sneeze teases out, and then he has to blow his nose for about ten years. “Bless you,” says Steve all quiet and bedroomy in his deep voice, and he’s definitely smiling, sparkle-eyes, leaning towards him the tiniest bit, but still looking like Bucky’s leaving him hanging a little, unsure, and he can’t help the wave of doubt he feels.

“Steve, you—” he stares at the blanket on his lap. “I’m a mess. You’ve accomplished shit, you have a real goddamn job, I—I’m just, ok, we’re both adults, but I feel like a screw-up kid compared to you.” He takes a deep breath and says what he doesn’t want to, “I’d be...pretty damn flattered if you wanted to hook up. I kinda can’t imagine you actually want to date me.”

He dares to look up and Steve looks more serious. He doesn’t say, “no shit.” He says, “I won’t argue if you say you don’t want anything, but I sure don’t agree with how you describe yourself. I don’t want to hook up—at least, not just that— I want to date you, get to know each other better, because I like you. I trust my judgement, when I think someone’s a good person.”

He says it so simply, and Bucky finds himself believing it despite himself, and a warm happy fire is kindling under his ribs. “Well, shit,” he murmurs, “it’s starting to seem like you’re asking me out.”

“It’s...starting to seem like you might be saying yes? If I am?” Steve looks agonized and Bucky’s doubts are no match for the giddiness fizzing up inside him, and he lets it show on his face with a grin, and whatever that looks like makes Steve kinda gulp and scootch up closer to him. Bucky makes a show of giving a slow, considering nod. Yes.

Steve has this soft, nervous little smile on his face, but his eyes hold something weighty, almost burning, as he moves even closer, and it’s just, it’s really, wow, Bucky has maybe never been taken seriously in quite this way by anyone before, it makes his knees feel watery and kindles something in his core. “I know you’re sick,” he rumbles, “but I feel like I gotta kiss you,” and how is it that the softer he speaks the deeper his voice sounds? He brushes his curled fingers over Bucky’s cheek because that’s how close they are now and this isn’t really Bucky’s life, is it? “What if I was to kiss you, right now?”

It’s hard to tell with the sexiness melting his brain but he realizes Steve is actually asking, because he’s a gentleman— a gentleman Bucky wants to be taken apart and turned inside out by. “Then you would be a guaranteed victim of my plague,” he breathes. “But I wouldn’t stop you, I’m not that selfless.”

“Sounds like a dare,” Steve murmurs, and tilts his head and presses their lips together.

It’s a short simple kiss but they each give a quiet gasp at the contact, and then stay there a moment. Steve’s beard isn’t huge but he feels it, like a firm underline to the shockingly warm plush pressure of his lips. He thankfully tragically remembers that congested people can’t make out and pulls away after just a brief press of lips, but not before giving a soft lick to Bucky’s, full of promised things to come.

They sit there a few inches apart and breathe. Bucky feels like a vibrating tuning fork. He just barely stops himself from shakily saying “wow,” like a highschool virgin, but when he sees Steve looking at him with lips still parted and a gobsmacked expression he changes his mind and lets it out anyway, “wow,” with a giddy grin.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, blinking like he got hit with a cartoon hammer, going from pink to red, and then he swoops in and kisses Bucky’s cheek, and then stands, going, “Excuse me, just gotta go...out of your sightline, and. Do something cool. And serious. No victory dances.”

…..the next morning…….

Steve could hear Bucky in the shower, sneezing three times, but not sounding—four times—nearly as heavy or exhausted as the night before. A few minutes and one loud noseblow later, he came out wrapped in a towel, mercilessly bare-chested, his nose bright red but his eyes clear and cheerful. Steve’s attention caught on his chest as his nipples tightened in the relative chill as Bucky said sheepishly, “forgot my clo-hothes—” his voice swooping to a breathy quaver on the last word, “hhh-hh-hehh—EHisSHOooh!” he turned as far away from Steve’s part of the room as possible and sneezed over his shoulder. “Snnfff. Excuse me, sorry.”

“Can I lend you some warmer stuff, just for now while we eat breakfast? There’s no way you’re not still sick,” Steve fussed, forcing himself to round the kitchen island slowly and casually instead of rushing over and wrapping him up in his arms and kissing his red nose that was twitching again. He quelled it with another sniff that sounded a lot less congested than the previous night.

“Ah, I’m ok. I felt really bad yesterday, but I slept so well,” he said with a warm grateful smile at Steve that went to his toes, “I don’t feel shitty and run-down anymore, just all, like, shnuffly.”

Steve chuckled helplessly and went over to rub his shoulder. “You’re adorable.”

“No way!” Bucky glowered, but then a few drops fell from his wet hair to his chest and neck, and he shivered into a sneeze so quick and light it sounded incomplete, “hih—tish!” followed by “ih-hihtchoo!” and he blinked, taken by surprise.

“That was... the cutest thing that ever happened,” Steve said truthfully.

“Shuddup— heh—edschoo!”

[zoeydripdoria]

Teacher's Pet ୨୧

*Kny college AU

18+ minors DNI !!

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢

As you turned around, your gaze immediately locked onto a man with long, blond hair, the strands framing his striking face with unruly perfection. His eyes were the most unique color you had ever seen - a vivid red with gold flecks dancing within them, almost like tiny embers trapped in ice. You couldn't help but feel mesmerized by his beauty, and for a moment, you couldn't find your voice. He smiled at your obvious awe, his lips curving into a playful smirk.

"I take it you're new here?" he asked, his voice smooth as silk. It was deep and resonant, with just the slightest hint of an accent that sent shivers down your spine.

You finally found your voice, "Y-yes, I am. My name's Y/N." You extended your hand in greeting, feeling self-conscious about your own appearance in comparison. You had always thought of yourself as plain-looking, with your hair and average features.

"Ah, a pleasure to meet you, Y/N," he said, taking your hand and giving it a firm shake. "I'm Professor Rengoku. I've only been here a few weeks, but I must say, it's been quite refreshing teaching such a lively and eager class. I hope we can work together to further your education." His smile widened, revealing a dimple in his left cheek that made your heart skip a beat.

"I-I would love to work with you, Professor Rengoku," you stammered, your cheeks flushing. You were grateful when he let go of your hand, or you might've been redder than a tomato by now. "Thank you for your help."

"Oh, don't mention it. Now, if you don't mind me asking, what class are you here for?" He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his broad chest, and tilted his head slightly to the side. The sunlight streaming through the window behind him cast his features in a warm, golden glow.

You hesitated for a moment, feeling self-conscious about admitting your lack of familiarity with the department. "Well, I'm actually not quite sure." You laughed nervously, hoping he wouldn't think you were completely clueless.

He grinned widely. "Ah, I see. Well, I teach World History I, World History II, and Eastern Cultures. Which one are you interested in?"

"Oh! Well, I'd love to take your World History II class. I think it sounds fascinating." You felt a thrill of excitement run through you at the thought of learning from someone so knowledgeable and charismatic.

"Wonderful!" He exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "I'm sure you'll love it. And if you ever need any help finding the room or navigating the campus, don't hesitate to ask. I'm always happy to help a new student." His warm smile made you feel welcome and at ease.

You smiled back, feeling grateful for his kindness. "Thank you so much, Professor Rengoku. I'm really looking forward to it."

"Excellent!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining with enthusiasm. "Oh, by the way, I have office hours every Thursday from two to four. Feel free to stop by if you ever have any questions or need some extra help." He paused, tilting his head to the side again. "Unless you'd rather not, of course. I wouldn't want to impose."

You considered his offer for a moment. On one hand, you were nervous about asking for help, but on the other, you didn't want to pass up the chance to learn from such an amazing professor. "No, no, I'd love to take advantage of that," you said, mustering up your courage. "Thank you, Professor Rengoku."

"Wonderful!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together again. "I'm sure we'll have some stimulating discussions." He paused, studying you for a moment. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I should be getting to my next class. It was lovely meeting you, Y/N. I look forward to seeing you in class soon." With a final smile, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there in awe of his presence.

As you continued to stand there, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation building within you. You couldn't wait to start your first day of class with Rengoku and dive into the world of World History II. The campus was bustling with activity, and you found yourself eagerly exploring your surroundings and meeting new people.

Finally, you located the classroom building where Mr.  Rengoku's World History II class was held. The room was spacious and well-lit, with comfortable chairs arranged in a semicircle around a large wooden table. At the head of the table was a podium, and behind it hung a beautiful tapestry depicting scenes from ancient civilizations. As you took your seat, you couldn't help but feel grateful for this new opportunity and excited to begin this journey with Mr. Rengoku by your side.

The rest of the class filed in, filling the room with a buzz of conversation. You recognized a few familiar faces from the orientation sessions, but most of the students seemed to be new to you. When the clock struck eight, the door swung open and Mr. Rengoku walked in, his presence immediately commanding everyone's attention. He smiled warmly at the class before taking his seat at the podium.

"Welcome, everyone, to my World History II class!" he boomed, his voice filling the room. "I hope you're all as excited as I am to begin our journey through the fascinating world of ancient civilizations. Before we start, though, I just want to remind you of a few important things. First, my office hours are every Thursday from two to four, and I encourage you to come by if you have any questions or need extra help. Secondly, please feel free to email me anytime if you have questions or concerns about the class. And lastly, always remember to put your name on your assignments!" He paused, looking around the room with a twinkle in his eye. "Now, with that out of the way, let's begin!"

He launched into a captivating lecture on the rise and fall of the Roman Empire, weaving together stories of brave emperors, cunning politicians, and tragic heroes. You found yourself hanging on his every word, taking notes frantically but not wanting to miss a single detail. As the class progressed, you noticed that Mr. Rengoku had a talent for making even the most complex historical concepts accessible and engaging. You couldn't help but feel grateful that you had chosen his class.

At the end of the hour, the bell rang, signaling the end of the first class period. As students began to file out of the room, you stayed behind, eager to speak with Mr. Rengoku. You approached him hesitantly, not wanting to seem overly eager or annoying. "Professor Rengoku," you began, "I just wanted to thank you again for being so welcoming and for making the class so interesting. I'm really looking forward to learning more from you."

He smiled warmly down at you. "Oh, Y/N, you're quite welcome. I'm just happy to share my passion for history with such an eager audience. If you ever have any questions or need help, don't hesitate to ask. And remember, my office hours are every Thursday from two to four." With a wink, he added, "I'll expect to see you there."

Your cheeks flushed at his comment, and you found yourself suddenly more self-conscious. "I-I will," you stammered, nodding quickly before hurrying out of the room. As you made your way to your next class, you couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness about your newfound connection with Mr. Rengoku. You hoped that you could maintain his interest and confidence in your abilities throughout the rest of the semester.

The rest of your day flew by in a blur of lectures and notes. You tried your best to focus on the material, but your mind kept drifting back to Mr  Rengoku and his class. You found yourself looking forward to Thursday afternoons, not just because of his office hours, but because you genuinely enjoyed spending time with him.

As the weeks passed, you began to feel more and more comfortable in his presence. You started contributing more in class discussions and felt confident enough to approach him with questions after lecture. He always took the time to engage with you and offer guidance, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for his support.

The more you learned from him, the more you realized just how passionate he was about his subject. His lectures were no longer just recitations of facts; they were vivid storytelling sessions that brought ancient civilizations to life. You began to understand why so many students flocked to his classes and why he had such a reputation as one of the best professors at the university.

One particularly cold afternoon, as you were leaving campus after a late-afternoon class, you noticed Mr. Rengoku standing outside of his office, wrapped in a thick scarf and shivering.

 "Professor!" you exclaimed, hurrying over to him. "Are you all right? You don't look so good."

He smiled warmly at you. 

"Oh, Y/N, thank you for your concern. I'm just feeling a bit under the weather today. But don't worry, I'll be fine. Why don't you get to your car and head home? You must be cold too."

You hesitated for a moment, but something inside you urged you to stay. "I-I could give you a ride home if you'd like," you offered timidly. "I'm not in a rush, and it's on my way."

His eyes lit up at your offer, and he smiled gratefully. "That would be very kind of you, Y/N. I would appreciate that very much." Together, you made your way to your car, and as you drove through the quiet streets of the campus, you found yourself chatting with him about your favorite historical novels and movies. It was a pleasant, easy conversation, and you felt a sense of closeness with him that you hadn't experienced with anyone else in a long time.

When you finally pulled up to his house, he insisted on paying you for the gas. You protested, but he wouldn't hear of it. "No, no," he said, handing you a crisp twenty-dollar bill. "You've done enough for me today. I hope you'll accept this as a small token of my gratitude."

You took the money, feeling both touched and a little embarrassed. "Thank you, Professor Rengoku," you said quietly. "It was really nothing."

He smiled gently at you. "Oh, Y/N, you're far too kind. But I do appreciate your kindness. I hope you know that I consider it a privilege to have you in my class. Now, go home and get some rest. You've earned it."

With one final smile, he closed the car door and waved goodbye. As you drove away, you couldn't help but feel a warm glow in your chest. It had been an unexpected turn of events, but you were glad that you had been there for him when he needed someone. And you couldn't help but hope that he felt the same way about you.

As the days went by, your relationship with Mr. Rengoku only grew stronger. You continued to excel in his class, and he continued to shower you with praise and encouragement. Sometimes, after class, he would invite you to join him for coffee or tea, and you would spend hours discussing history and your shared interests.

One afternoon, as you were leaving campus, you noticed a flyer on a bulletin board advertising a local museum's upcoming exhibit on ancient Egypt. Intrigued, you grabbed the flyer and tucked it into your bag, intending to ask Mr. Rengoku about it later. That night, you texted him, asking if he would like to go to the exhibit with you. He replied immediately, expressing his excitement and gratitude for the invitation.

The day of the exhibit arrived, and you met up with Mr. Rengoku outside the museum. He looked dashing in a dark suit and tie, and you couldn't help but feel a flutter in your stomach when you saw him. As you walked inside, you felt a sense of anticipation building inside you. The exhibit was spectacular, with detailed displays of artifacts and informative placards that brought ancient Egypt to life. You and Mr. Rengoku spent hours exploring the exhibit, engaging in deep discussions about the significance of each artifact and the culture that had created it.

Afterwards, you decided to grab lunch at a nearby cafe. As you ate, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment and peace. You realized that you had never felt this way with anyone else before, and you knew that this feeling was something special. "Y/N," Mr. Rengoku began, his voice soft and earnest, "I want to thank you for inviting me today. This exhibit was truly wonderful, and I'm so glad I got to share it with you."

You looked up at him, feeling a blush creep into your cheeks. "Thank you, Professor," you said softly. "I'm glad you enjoyed it too. It means a lot to me that we could share this experience together."

As you finished your lunch, you couldn't help but wonder where this newfound connection was leading. You knew that he was your professor, and that there were certain boundaries that needed to be respected, but you also couldn't deny the intense feelings you had for him. You found yourself fantasizing about what it would be like to be with him outside of the classroom, outside of the museum.

When the check came, you reached for your wallet, intending to pay for your own meal as you always did. But before you could even pull out your money, Mr. Rengoku had already grabbed his credit card and left a generous tip. "Y/N," he said gently, "please let me treat you today. You've done so much for me already. It's the least I can do."

His words made you feel warm inside. You knew that you had formed a special bond with him, but hearing him say it out loud made it all seem so real. You couldn't help but feel grateful for his kindness and his friendship. As you left the cafe, hand in hand, you knew that your life was about to change in ways you never could have imagined.

Over the next few weeks, your relationship with Mr. Rengoku deepened. You continued to excel in his class, and he continued to praise your work, but now there was an added layer of intimacy to your interactions. You found yourself spending more and more time together, exploring the city and sharing your favorite experiences. You talked about your hopes and dreams, your fears and insecurities, and it felt as though you could discuss anything with him. Despite the risks, you couldn't deny the happiness you felt when you were with Rengoku. 

As the weeks turned into months, you found yourself falling deeper in love with Mr. Rengoku. You continued to excel in his class, but now your focus shifted from just getting good grades to impressing him in every way possible. You started to wear your hair down more often, and you began to experiment with more daring outfits. You felt confident and beautiful when you were around him, and it showed.

One night, as you were walking home from a late-night study session at the museum, Mr. Rengoku took your hand in his and led you to a quiet bench overlooking the city. The moon was full, casting a warm glow over everything. He turned to face you, his eyes burning with desire. "Y/n," he whispered, "I can't keep these feelings inside any longer. I want to be with you, truly be with you. Will you let me?"

Your heart raced as you stared into his eyes. You knew that this was the moment you'd been waiting for, the moment you'd been dreaming of since the first day you met. You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his, feeling the warmth of his skin, the softness of his lips. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer, as if he could never let go.

Time seemed to stand still as you kissed, lost in the moment. You could feel the tension building between you, and with each passing second, it grew more and more intense. Finally, you broke apart, gasping for air. "Mr. Rengoku," you whispered, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. "I want this too."

He smiled at you, his eyes filled with love and desire. "Then it's yours," he said, before leaning in to kiss you again. His lips were soft and warm against yours, and you could feel the strength of his arms as they held you close. You moaned into his mouth, feeling a shiver run down your spine.

As you continued to kiss, he began to explore your body with his hands, tracing gentle circles around your nipples, teasing them until they hardened. You arched your back, pressing your chest against his, wanting more. He reached down, unbuttoning your blouse slowly, revealing your lace bra beneath. He ran his fingers along the delicate fabric, teasing your nipples until they were hard and erect.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as he continued to touch you, his hands moving lower, over your hips, to your skirt. With a gentle tug, he pulled it up, revealing your black lace underwear. You felt his breath against your thigh, and you shuddered with desire. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and intense, and you knew that he could see the need in your eyes.

He leaned in, kissing you again, as his fingers traced a path down to your center. You gasped, arching your back further, pressing your wetness against his fingers. He circled your clit, teasing it mercilessly, until you were moaning his name. Finally, he pushed two fingers inside you, filling you with his touch. You cried out, feeling overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through your body.

As he continued to thrust his fingers in and out of you, you wrapped your legs around his hips, urging him to go deeper. You could feel the heat building between you, the need growing stronger with every passing second. You knew that this was it, that you were finally with him, truly with him.

 "I want you."

He pulled back, looking down at you with eyes filled with desire. "Are you sure, my dear?" he asked, his voice hoarse with lust. "Because once I take you, I won't be able to stop."

You nodded, biting your lip, the words caught in your throat. "I want this," you managed to whisper. "I want you."

He smiled, his fingers finding your clit once more, rubbing it gently before pushing inside you.

 "Then take it," he growled, thrusting his hips forward. 

You cried out, feeling the weight of him as he filled you completely. He began to move, his rhythm steady and sure, driving you wild.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, arching your back as he took you harder and faster. The sensations were overwhelming, the pleasure coursing through you like a raging river. You felt your body trembling on the edge, the release building inside you.

" Ren-," you gasped, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart. "I'm close."

He groaned, his thrusts becoming more urgent. "Then come for me, my dear," he whispered, kissing you tenderly. And with those words, you felt yourself falling, plummeting over the edge, as your body was wracked by an intense, shuddering orgasm. Your muscles clenched tight around him, and he followed you over the edge, crying out your name as he spilled his release deep inside you. 

As your passion reached its peak, he arched his back, pressing you deeper into the wall, and you then felt the first wave of release wash over you, followed by another, and another. Your body convulsed in his grip, and you let out a hoarse cry into the night, as your essence spilled forth, mingling with his on the cool cobblestones below.

You collapsed against him, your heart still racing as you felt the aftershocks of pleasure wash over you. He held you close, kissing your neck, your cheek, your lips, as you both caught your breath. You were finally together, truly together, and it felt like everything you'd ever wanted.

He pulled away, looking down at you with a mix of tenderness and desire. "My dear, that was... beyond anything I could have imagined." His fingers traced lazy circles on your stomach, making you shiver. 

As the last tremors subsided, he leaned in, kissing you softly on the lips. "There's more where that came from," Mr. Rengoku whispered, his breath hot sending shivers down your spine. 

 "Come with me." And with that, he took your hand and led you deeper to his apartment complex, toward a world of pleasure and desire that you had only ever dreamed of.

The air inside was thick with anticipation as he guided you through the stairs and finally to his apartment. 

Finally, he led you into his dimly lit room, the walls adorned with beautiful wall art, and billowing curtains. In the center of his room stood a large, four-poster bed. So dimly lit, casting shadows that danced across the walls and ceiling.

"This is where we belong," he said, his voice a sultry purr. "This is where we can be free, and explore our desires without judgment." With that, Mr. Rengoku turned to face me, his eyes burning with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. He reached out, running his fingers through your hair, before trailing them down your chest, teasing at the buttons of your shirt.

Your heart raced as you watched him, helplessly drawn to his touch. You wanted nothing more than to feel his skin against yours once again, to lose yourself in the heat of the moment. As he undressed you, his hands gliding over your body with a familiarity that bordered on intimacy, you couldn't help but wonder how long this night would last, and if you'd ever be able to go back to the way things were before.

But for now, you were content to let yourself be swept away by his touch, his words, his presence. He climbed onto the bed, purring invitingly, and you followed, unable to resist the pull of his gaze. As you lay beside him, you felt a sense of peace wash over you, knowing that this was where you belonged, with him, in this world of passion and desire.

And as he kissed you again, his lips soft and demanding, you gave yourself over to the moment, surrendering to the rapture that only he could provide.

The bed shifted beneath you as he moved against you, your bodies intertwined like two dancers in a sensual waltz. His hands roamed freely, exploring every inch of your skin, leaving trails of heat in his wake. He nipped at your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine, and whispered words that made your heart race and your breath catch in your throat.

You could feel the tension building within you, the need for release growing more insistent with each passing moment. As he guided your hands to hid hips, urging you on, you pressed forward, eager to please him, to make him feel the same intense pleasure he had given to you.

The bed creaked beneath you, the blanket beneath you soft and inviting as he arched his back, pushing your hips up to meet yous. His breath came faster, shallower, as his fingers dug into your shoulders, urging you on.

With a growl of satisfaction, he threw his head back, his eyes closed tightly as he surrendered to the sensation. "Yes," he moaned, his voice rugged and raw. "That's it..."

You felt your own release building, threatening to overwhelm you. You couldn't help but arch into him, meeting his movements with equal fervor. "I-I'm close," you managed to say between gasps for air.

He opened his eyes, meeting yours, and in that moment, you knew he wanted you to stay with him. He wanted this night to go on forever. "Stay with me," he whispered, his voice soft and gentle, despite the urgency in his touch. "Don't let go."

You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the soft strands slip through your fingers like water. His skin was warm and smooth, and you could feel the muscles in his back tensing as he arched into your touch. He moaned, a deep, throaty sound that sent shivers down your spine.

And as he came apart beneath you, his body shuddering with pleasure, you felt your own release wash over you, hot and powerful. Your breathing slowed, becoming shallow and ragged as you clung to each other, your bodies still tangled together on the bed.

The silence that fell between you was deafening, but it was a silence that felt right, felt intimate. It was as if you had shared something sacred, something that bound you together now in a way that went beyond words or understanding.

Finally, he shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look up at me. His gaze was steady and intense, as if he were trying to imprint every detail of your face onto his memory. "Will you stay?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Will you stay with me?"

You lay there, your heart still racing, your body tingling with the afterglow of your lovemaking. His fingers traced gentle circles on your back, his touch soothing and comforting. 

The air in the room seemed to shimmer with a sense of peace, of contentment, and you couldn't help but wonder how you would ever be able to go back to the way things were before. Would you try to forget this night, this connection you'd shared? Or would you find a way to carry it with you, like a secret treasure, into the chaos of your everyday lives?

You knew that the answer to that question would depend on him, on you, and on the strange, inexplicable bond that seemed to exist between you. For now, all that mattered was this moment, the warmth of his skin against yours, and the feeling of being completely and utterly known and accepted, just as you were.

“Yes, I'll stay with you” you uttered.

As you drifted off to sleep, his soft breaths and the gentle rise and fall of his chest lulling you into a deep, dreamless slumber, you couldn't help but feel a sense of hope, of possibility. Perhaps, somehow, you would find a way to make this work, to make your lives together as beautiful and as meaningful as this one perfect night.

[thoughtsforsoob]

their s/o is a teacher! - nct dream

a/n: lmao ig im just gonna have to ignore that hate ive been getting! I'm gonna write for nct dream this time because for some reasons some MOA's are not being very kind towards my work. That is not an attack towards MOA because I am one of the biggest MOA's I know...it's jut not fair that some of the people I should be cool with are being so incredibly rude...over and over. anyways, that is all from me on that. please enjoy! as always, requests are open!

(I'm gonna add a cut off here so if you don't wanna read, you don't have to)

☆ mark lee ☆

he thinks it's so cute, especially if you teach little ones (kindergarten/1st grade)

he loves asking you about your classroom and how your work is going

he even helps you grade students assignments and he loves seeing what they say on their assignments

he also likes seeing their art work

he meets your students when you have a classroom part and he helps you set up

they immediately start to ask 100 questions, like kids do, ad he is totally okay with it.

he enthusiastically answers all their questions and they love him

they always ask for him every day after that

☆ huang renjun ☆

renjun thinks it's funny if you teach middle school

he is too good at listening to what happened during your day

he laughs at all the stories of students running around and causing chaos

he love's looking at the assignments you give them and tries to do them himself

he whines when he can't get something right and whines even more when you tell him you students got 100% on that question

☆ lee jeno ☆

he's one that thinks you teaching the older ones is cool

you're actually a college professor so he think's that's WAY cooler

he enjoys hearing you talk about the subject you teach and love's to hear you talk about your students and the assignments you gave them

when you offer to give him a your of the campus you work at, he is jumping at the chance

he even buys gear from the university you work at and wears it all the time (the letterman style jacket you got him is his favorite! he wear's it often and even wore it during a soundcheck of one of nct dream's concerts).

you bump into a few students and say hello, introducing jeno as your boyfriend

☆ na jaemin ☆

you teach kindergartners and he adores it

you helps you set up the different bulletin boards in your classroom and helps you organize/set up everything else

he loves to ask you about your lesson plans and you always ask him for ideas for activities and he helps you every time

he really want's to meet the little ones so after the year is done and they are graduating, he attends the event

they ask you, "teacher, who is that handsome man you were with? is that your boyfriend?"

they all giggle and go "ooooo!" and you tell them yes, that's him!

they run to meet him after the ceremony

☆ lee haechan ☆

he would probably find it interesting if you teach high schoolers

since the first time you told him about all your students, he always asks about them and want's you to update them about how they're doing

his favorite thing to do for your students is to send them stuff!

he gives you money so you can buy them snacks for your classroom (and other supplies! my teachers in high school always had sanitary pads, tampons, snacks, and other stuff in them in case students needed them)

he wants to help you make sure your students feel safe in their classroom

he also funds the senior pizza party at the end of the year and even makes an appearance!

☆ zhong chenle ☆

I believe Chenle is also good with little ones since he's always posting with his family (especially his, I believe, little nephew)

he love's helping you choose coloring pages for your students to do when they're done with their minute math sheets (the stress it causes is always rewarded with coloring time!)

he also likes to buy nice supplies for you students

you tell hi not to do it, because kids love to break things and lose them, but he doesn't listen

he love's going supply shopping (he get's all the brand names like Crayola :0)

he also helps grade assignments!

☆ park jisung ☆

you teach middle school and he loves it

he loves hearing the stories of your students acting out during class because it makes him giggle

just give him a glare and he will stop laughing at your misfortune

he helps you grade their papers

sighs every time he get's a that says 'idk'

it's all fun and games until get's those papers...then he wants to flip the kitchen table other and help you quit your job

because he knows how much they stress you out, he's always making sure you're distressing at home.

fetching you a warm cup of coffee/tea, making/buying dinner, giving you massages, helping you with other class stuff.

[undertheorangetree]

Under the God's Eye

Chapter One- The Deal

Summary- In order to have a peaceful holiday, Aemond asks his academic rival for a favour.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ This story is going to be NSFW. Female reader. No real knowledge of how law school works. Mentions of finals season.

Author’s Note- Making banners is very new to me but graphic design is my passion. I’ve had a couple people ask about tag lists and I’m willing to make one for this series so reply to this if you’d like to be on it :) Full chapter on AO3

Series masterlist

divider created by firefly-graphics

Despite appearances, she quite likes the train. It’s often overcrowded and either too hot or too cold, but she manages to find a seat more often than not. So long as she doesn’t forget her headphones, it can be almost relaxing to stare out the window and let her mind wander.

Today is the exception. With finals less than three days away, she thinks she would prefer to be anywhere but here on this sweltering train, packed to the brim with people just as sweaty and irritable as she is. But she had no choice but to pack her things and make her way down to campus today, with a roommate moving out and a new one moving in. She can’t afford to be distracted when she has two back to back finals and she would be damned if she failed them all because Alysanne had picked a bad time to move out.

The train lurches to a stop outside Blackwater station and she manages to push her way out of the car before the doors lock her back inside. It is not a far walk to the university library but she cannot help but think that it feels farther today, nerves wracking at her like they are. She nearly sighs in relief when she walks through the doors and finds a free table on the third floor, hidden behind some bookcases and overlooking the courtyard.

It isn’t long before she has three textbooks, two notebooks, and her laptop sprawled across the tabletop, scrolling through past cases she knows Professor Redwyne likes to cite. He is well known for his difficult exams- even for a law class- but she likes to think she has some kind of advantage over her classmates. She has had him before, though it was in undergrad, and thinks she has some idea of what he likes to test on. If she’s lucky, his exams won’t be too different from one another.

She isn’t sure how long she sits there for, comparing her notes with those in the text and lecture slides and reading court cases until her eyes feel as though they are about to bulge out of her skull, but it is long enough for her stomach to start to rumble. There’s a café across the courtyard and she considers getting up to stretch her legs and grab something to eat but the thought of losing her table ensures that she stays exactly where she is.

A coffee cup is placed in front of her while she’s contemplating, the chair opposite her screeching as it’s pulled back from the table. She pulls off her headphones, brows furrowed in confusion, only for her face to fall when she catches sight of Aemond Targaryen making himself comfortable across the table.

She sighs heavily. “What do you want, Targaryen?”

“Easy. The coffee is a peace offering.”

It isn’t that she hates Aemond, she just cannot stand him. They had been cursed to be in the same classes since the start of law school and she cannot remember a time where he didn’t have something to say. He treated class as if it were a competition and she was his greatest rival. He had a contrarian response for every question she answered and class discussions had turned into a ravenous debate between them more than once. If she was being completely honest, she thinks he’s a pompous, arrogant, know-it all with some weird vendetta against her. And perhaps she could forgive all that- this was law school and it was in near every student’s nature to be fiercely competitive- if not for the fact that he flaunted his familial wealth at near every opportunity. That combined with his insufferable personality had never done much to endear her to him.

Begrudgingly, she snatches the coffee and pulls it closer, reading the order label. How he knows her order, she has no idea, but she can admit he has always been uncomfortably observant. It wouldn’t take much effort to look over her shoulder in class and read her order when he was bored. If he ever got bored at all. She takes a hesitant sip before deeming it correct and setting it back down.

“What do you want?”

“A favour.”

Read the rest here

Taglist- @docmartinis @backyardfolklore

[yuyuswrld]

O Captain, My Captain

Series Intro

characters: various aot boys x reader

genre: SMAU with writing, romance, smut, angst

for my marco fans, there’s a little sneak peak at him at the end :)

notes: this series will be 18+ even though this introduction does not have any smut in it. please do not interact with me if you are under 18. all characters in this series are over the age 18.

You learned that Eren Yeager was a stone wall incredibly quickly. It was a shock to you, considering how popular he was despite being unable to converse with someone he didn’t know well. You’d have steered away from him forever if it had been up to you. However, knowing your luck, you had to see him every day after all your classes were over.

It was a slip of judgment to allow yourself to be recruited as the next manager of the volleyball team. Sure, you had watched a couple of games here and there for school spirit, not to mention copious amounts of alcohol at the after-parties. But when one of your professors approached you on your way out of class, describing a great way to amp up your resume and get all-expenses-paid vacations, becoming a sports team manager was the last thing you expected.

“It’s kind of funny, actually,” Connie starts to explain after you walk into the gym, noting the tasks you'll be in charge of before you commit to the offer. “Our old manager, Hanna, got pregnant with one of my homies. Now she’s off giving birth and whatnot, so we’ve been down a manager.”

“So what does a manager typically do?” You question, shifting the conversation slightly to get to the point. The more you look at the different stereotypical characters running across the courts and the loud smacks that echoed throughout the gym, the more your desire to take the opportunity dwindles. Sure, cute boys and another achievement on your resume are great or whatever, but you really try to avoid getting committed to sports – especially after crashing and burning last time. You shudder as a chill runs down your spine at the thought before Connie starts talking again.

“Oh, um. I won't lie, I honestly have no idea what she did, either.” You stare at Connie in silence, cocking an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Uh, is there someone who does?” You ask. It's getting difficult to ignore your doubts about your decision to come here.

“Yeah, I think so. Let me go grab ‘im.” Connie jogs further down the court, interrupting someone as they finish their current spike. But as your eyes focus in on who was walking closer, you knew you we’re going to have the displeasure of meeting Eren Yeager.

Connie runs over to drag his brown-haired teammate over, who takes his sweet time walking over after sparing you only a glance. He is good looking, sure – but you aren't fooled by appearances, and you've heard far too much about him to even remotely consider him attractive from listening to Petra gossiping about him. She had a big mouth and somehow knew everything about everyone, the good and the bad, but it came in handy when it came to staying in the loop at school. Eren had a nasty habit of cursing out any girl who made an advance on him, citing his career and how a ‘bitch’ would only get in the way of it.

You think back to the memory of Petra sipping her drink, watching Eren walk out of school and head towards his Hellcat in the parking lot. You two had been sitting at the school’s cafe as you enjoyed your “study” date, which had inevitably just turned into a gossip session.

“You see that guy? That’s Eren Yeager. He’s on our volleyball team and he’s a fucking psycho.” She'd rolled her eyes as she recounted the gossip she had gotten from her friend. “Apparently Mina – y’know the one from our bio class? They hooked up at a party and afterwards he accused her of trying to sabotage his volleyball career. He even called her a psycho. That’s not even the only time he’s done it apparently. I know he’s cute, but stay away unless you want to end up on a true crime podcast.”

You brace yourself for the upcoming conversation as he nears.

“You’re going to be the new manager?” Eren says in a monotone voice, as if being forced by his mother to make small talk with a distant aunt. The displeasure of being interrupted is written all over his face.

“No – well –” You start before Eren cuts you off without hesitation.

“Usually Hanna prepares the towels, fills the bottles with water, and mops the gym after practice. Coach Levi's pretty anal about the gym being clean, so pay attention to that. You’ll want to learn about formations and strategies, too; Hanna fucking sucked when it came to game sense. You’ll work with the sports director Erwin to set up practice matches and travel plans. There’s probably more, but that’s your job, not mine.” He jogs back over to do spiking drills without another word. Your jaw slackens, scoffing at the attitude. What a little shit. Connie shrugs at you in an I’m pretty sure that’s right way. You smile at him, politely dismissing yourself before trudging your way back to your professor’s office.

“Absolutely not,” you say, dramatically sighing to emphasize the sheer disappointment you feel from the experience. “I only talked to Connie and Eren, which was already too much. You’d have better luck with a dog trainer or circus clown to manage them.” Your shoulders drop, but you prepare to defend yourself as to why.

“Please,” Professor Hange begs, their eyes beading with desperation. “I was the one who introduced the previous manager to the guy that got her pregnant. On accident, of course, but they’re totally on my tail about getting a new manager to fill the spot!” They spin around haphazardly before collapsing on their standing desk in an unconvincing sadness. “I’ll even see if they’ll pay you as if you were working a normal student job.”

You internally cringe, but are now forced to consider the prospects. Chewing on your lip, you respond. You know if you look back on this moment at any point, you’d want to go back in time and slap yourself.

“If you can make it a paid position, I’ll do it.”

Unsurprisingly, Professor Hange got their way in the end.

next: part 1, reiner x reader

[feathersandfairytales]

Potent love. [S.S & O.G]

Warnings: A little angst, but fluffy + steamy ending. Not explicitly smut, more of a make-out session,but Dom!Ominis, Sub!reader and Switch!Sebastian.

Synopsis (suggested): Sebastian and Ominis x reader where the reader smells them both in the amortentia potion, and ends up avoiding them in fear of being rejected.

Word count: 3.4k

Poly!Sebastian x gn!reader x Ominis

A/N: Not proofread. A little more angst than I intended it to be, but it's still cute. I hope @danielle-marie (who requested this) enjoys it, as it's my first request hehe.

"Today." Professor Sharp started, his monotonous voice cutting through the chatter of students. "We will be brewing the amortentia potion. Can anybody tell me what such a potion is used for?" He asks quietly, limping out from behind his desk to stare the class down with an icy glare. You look away, Sharp's intimidating demeanour sending a chill right down to your bones. You knew he was a just and fair professor, kind in his own way, but it was hard not to be a little scared of him and his stern exterior- especially taking into account how many powerful wizards he'd taken down during his time as an auror. Just as you were about to open your mouth to answer his question, another voice spoke. "It's a love potion, sir. Used to cause the drinker to fall in love." You looked over to Ominis with a smile, glad to see him participating in a class you knew he didn't particularly enjoy.

"Correct, Mr. Gaunt. 10 points to Slytherin." Proffesor Sharp said with an impressed nod, before turning to the chalk board behind him and waving his wand. With the flick of his wrist, words began to appear upon the black surface- information about the amortentia potion and the necessary instructions to brew it. "However, amortentia does not precisely create love. Love is an emotion so complex it is impossible to manufacture or force. Amortentia merely causes an intense infatuation. It is banned upon Hogwarts grounds for a reason. The power of obsession is not to be trifled with, it can cause darkness in people that most wouldn't think possible- in fact, I dare say that it may be one of the most powerful concoctions known to the wizarding world."

You flipped open your potions text book, skimming through a few pages until you found the page on amortentia. It was complicated- and you weren't exactly the best at potions as it was. You were pulled out of your thoughts when you heard footsteps behind you, and it took a good ounce of effort not to whip your wand out then and there. After a year of being hunted by poachers and goblins alike, you had a hard time remembering that not everyone behind you was a threat. "(Y/N)?" You heard the familiar, low rumble of Sebastian's voice behind you. "I left my potions textbook in the common room...do you think I could work with you on this?" He asks with a sheepish, shy grin, a red blush growing on his freckled cheeks. You notice him swinging his hands by his sides, a nervous habit you knew he'd had after a year of being friends with him. You let out a small, light-hearted sigh, shaking your head with a smile. "Be more careful next time, okay? Sharp won't be too happy with you if you make a habit of losing your things." You speak, stepping to the side slightly to make more room for him at your potions table. Perhaps having Sebastian's help wouldn't be so bad- he was pretty good at potions, after all.

After a short run down from Professor Sharp on the instructions of brewing amortentia, you began to set out all the things you'd need. Ashwinder eggs, pearl dust, a fwooper feather and a few other things. "Okay. I think we're all ready!" Sebastian said, clapping his hands together with a smile as he looked down at your potions table. Ominis was working on the table beside you both- potions class was one of his least favourites, as it wasn't really possible for him to use his wand to navigate. So, he'd gained the habit of working closely to you and Sebastian, whom he trusted with his life, in case anything were to go wrong. He trusted the both of you to tell him if he was about to mess up- because in potions, a small mistake could be the difference between life and death. After all, potions was a precise art and it was difficult sometimes to be precise when you couldn't see.

You got to work filling your cauldron with a base of water from the black lake, stirring in a small amount of pearl dust- so far so good, it had already begun to take on the pearlescent sheen that was characteristic of amortentia. You heard Sebastian click his tongue from next to you, and saw him wave his wand. A fire roared to life under your cauldron, the flames licking up the sides softly. "Now now, (Y/N), how do you expect to brew a potion without the cauldron bubbling, hm? Perhaps your mind is elsewhere today?" He teased softly, unaware that he was quite right with his little joking assumption. You weren't really focused today, all that seemed to plague your mind was thoughts of your best friends. Sebastian and his effortless charm that made you flustered beyond words. Ominis and his subtle care and tenderness that made your heart race out of your chest. "Quiet, Sallow." You deflected quickly, shooting him a playful glare. He was about to say something in retaliation, only to stop short when he was stared down by Professor Sharp.

Sebastian cleared his throat awkwardly. "Okay- stir clockwise for 5 whole minutes.." he trailed off with a groan, but began to stir the potion with his wand nonetheless. While he did that, you got to work. Placing a graphorn horn into the mortar and pestle, you began to crush the tough material. It was a bit of a struggle, and you could only get it into small chunks, while it was supposed to be a fine powder. Sebastian was busy stiring the cauldron, so he wouldn't be much help right now. Just as you were about to give up hope and cast reducto to reduce the horn to powder yourself, another voice spoke up behind you. "You won't do much to that horn by just crushing it. You have to grind it." Ominis spoke kindly, coming up behind you and hovering his hands over yours. "May I?" He enquires softly, which made you smile. Ominis was always so considerate. You nod, and he places his hands over yours, guiding your hands to perform a grinding and pulverising motion. Your face flushed at the proximity, the feeling of his chest pressed against your back, his hands closing over yours and his fingers a hairs breadth away from interlocking with yours. You watched as he skilfully crushed the graphorn horn into a powder, wondering how he did it so well without being able to see what he was doing.

When he finished and stepped back, you felt your heart skip a beat- perhaps relief that he'd stepped away and allowed you to breathe again? Or maybe dissapointment that he was no longer so close to you. "T-thank you, Ominis." You speak quickly, trying to act like you're not freaking out internally. He returns to his table with a gentle nod, and you could swear you saw a flush across his pale cheeks. As you turn and place the mortar and pestle back on your table, you accidentally brush up against Sebastian. The action causes him to jolt in surprise, and knock the ashwinder egg off of the desk. You bend down to get it, but in one swift motion, Sebastian has one hand across your shoulder, holding you up, and the other cupping the egg. Just how good were his reflexes? "Careful. If this broke, we'd end up with a magical fire on our hands- and Professor Sharp really wouldn't like me then." He smirks, his face so close to yours that you could feel his warm breath. In that moment, you weren't sure if the heat that was pulsing through your entire body was because of Sebastian or the egg he was holding that radiated warmth.

You quickly shift out of Sebastian's grasp, placing the ashwinder egg back on the potions table, inside a small nest that you'd conjured to keep it from rolling away or falling again. If either Sebastian or Ominis speak again, you don't hear it, too busy dicing up a mandrake root for the potion. As you put the ground graphorn horn and mandrake into the cauldron, it begins to take shape. It is a faint purple, shiny spots dancing in the liquid, and a swirling, spiraling steam begins to emit from it. The faint scent of ancient magic lingers in the air, causing you to sigh happily. You'd never sniffed amortentia, but knew it always smelled of what your favourite scents were. Adding the last ingredient and casting a small charm on the cauldron, it burst up in a cloud of bright pink smoke. Large hearts were floating up above the potion, mingling in with the smoke and steam. "Well done. 10 points to your house, (L/N)." You heard Professor Sharp's approving tone behind you, bringing a proud smile to your lips.

Class was dismissed, and you packed up your things and slung your book bag over your shoulder, gazing over the classroom for your two best friends. Sebastian and Ominis were talking to eachother idly, walking off to their next classes. You jogged up to them, jovially placing an arm around both of their shoulders, practically inserting yourself between the both of them. "Ah, (Y/N), there you are. Look what I snagged." He says with a grin, shaking a small vial of bright pink liquid between his fingers. You gasp, playfully smacking him over the head. "Hey! I did most of the work making that, it's only fair you give it to me." You huff playfully, snatching it from his hand. Ominis only smiles and shakes his head, a deep chuckle coming from his throat. "I've never smelled it before- hang on, I wanna see what it's like." You say, twisting the small golden cork off of the bottle and bringing it up to your nose. You were immediately hit with a whiff of ancient magic, an acrid but still pleasing scent that almost seemed to crackle with electricity and sent jolts through your body. Laced amongst that, was a mossy and damp, but musky and pleasant hint. One that immediately had your eyes widen the size of saucers. It was the same smell that clung to Sebastian- it had since that night in the catacombs, and although it was initially unpleasant had now become one of your favourite, comforting smells. Also unmistakable, was the hit of smoky yet floral, expensive musk of Ominis' cologne. Some luxurious French brand you couldn't even pronounce. Surely this was a trick- you had to be smelling it because of your close proximity, not because you were secretly in love with them or something. "I have to go." You shoved the potion back to Sebastian, leaving the classroom in a rush without another word.

---------------

You'd spent the next couple of days avoiding Ominis and Sebastian wherever you possibly could. Hiding away in your dorm, not sitting at the Slytherin table during feasts like you usually would, making excuses whenever they asked to talk with you. You felt really bad and even a little lost without them, but it was better than what you'd convinced yourself the alternative was- them finding out about your feelings and being disgusted with you or ruining what you had. In classes, multiple teachers had asked if you were feeling okay, noticing that you weren't with your best friends as you usually were. You'd been paired with Ominis in astronomy, and skilfully avoided any questions he asked you by outright ignoring him. You saw how disheartened he looked, how his face dropped as he quickly gave up trying to talk with you.

Right now, you were sitting outside of your common room, revising your herbology homework in peace. The scratching of your quill against parchment, and the crackling of the hearth burning next to you lulling you into a sense of security and familiarity. You were humming a faint tune to yourself, only bought out of it as you spotted feet paused right in front of you. As you looked up, your eyes met a very pissed looking Sebastian and a hesitant Ominis, eyes fixed to the ground even though he couldn't see. "Alright, what's up?" Sebastian hissed, his arms crossed over his chest. "You've been avoiding us for 3 days straight, and you've hurt Ominis' feelings!" He growls out with such anger that it actually makes you shiver. Your face falls at this information, breath hitching in your throat. "What?" You choked out, looking over at Ominis with saddened eyes. You hadn't meant to hurt either of them, and it broke your heart to know that you had.

"Ominis, Sebastian, I-" you began, placing the parchment you were working on over the desk, and standing up slowly. Your nails were digging in so hard to your palms that you felt blood begin to bead from the indents. You hung your head, biting your lip as you thought of what to say. When you looked back up again, Ominis was gazing at you with his typical calm demeanour, and Sebastian was looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue. "I'm sorry." Was all you were able to choke out, trying to fight back tears that picked at your eyes. "I just...the other day, during potions. I smelled the both of you in the amortentia- and I guess I panicked. Suppose I didn't know what to do, because I'm so damn scared of being rejected and ruining what we have- and, it's not like I could have the both of you, anyway." You hadn't even realised that you'd been rambling or that there were tears streaming down your face until Ominis had his lips against yours, his hand cupping your cheek and wiping away your tears.

When he pulled away, you looked like a deer in headlights. Body stiff and a shocked, flustered look on your face. "(Y/N) (L/N), you absolute git!" Sebastian laughed loudly, pretty much running into you and hugging you so forcefully that you were pushed right up against the wall. "Shut up. Ominis and I have been smitten with you since fifth year, how have you not noticed?" You pushed him away, looking up at the taller with an incredulous expression. "Wait, you what?" Your voice was raised, but not angry. "It's quite true, I assure you. Sebastian and I look at you like a mooncalf looks at a full moon." He chuckles quietly, and you sigh in relief. You're so glad that you didn't cause any irreparable damage in your relationship with the two, although you still felt horrible for hurting Ominis' feelings.

"My turn." Sebastian spoke simply, pulling you into his chest and leaning down to kiss you. His kisses were more rough than Ominis', fiery and passionate but not aggressive- even as he held you, his grasp was gentle and tender, a nice contrast to his feverish kissing. When he pulled away, a string of saliva connected both of your lips, and your faces were both bright red. Ominis was off standing to the side, his face equally as warm- he wasn't really hiding the fact he was enjoying the prospect of his two friends kissing. You knew that Sebastian and Ominis had both liked eachother- they'd both confided in you at separate times, and you'd done what you could for them. It hadn't crossed your mind that they'd also liked you too.

"I say we go somewhere more private, yes?" Ominis rumbled into your ear, his voice more husky than usual. You felt his warm hand slip into yours, and Sebastian followed suit, his hand finding purchase on your other. Now, you were sandwiched between two pretty Slytherin boys, and you couldn't think straight. "I agree." Sebastian nodded with a smirk, beginning to walk. You let the two guide you, unsure of their plans- although you weren't complaining either way. You got a few odd looks from some students as they watched the three of you walk hand-in-hand, but most people wisely looked away. The three of you were notorious after last years events, and most people were too intimidated of you, Seb and ominis and thankfully steered clear. As you climbed up the stairs of the astronomy tower, you realised that the boys were taking you to the room of requirement.

"This is your idea of private?" You giggled, about to speak again when you were roughly shoved against the wall by a pair of strong hands. "As long as you're quiet, no one will be any the wiser." Ominis laughed, his hands running over your hips as Sebastian's lips collided with yours. The sounds of yours and Sebastian's lips gliding over eachother's were almost lewd and caused a heat to pool in the bottom of your stomach. You felt Ominis slip between you and the wall, caging you between himself and Sebastian. The taller pulled away from your lips, leaning his forehead against yours as Ominis' hands found their way to your ass. You felt him roughly grasp at your flesh, kissing his way down your neck as Sebastian kept his hands on either side of your head. The feelings were overwhelming your senses in the best of ways, a mix of a gasp and a moan ripping it's way from your throat.

Sebastian pulled away completely, as did Ominis- you were about to complain, until Ominis took control and shoved Sebastian against the wall just as the latter had done to you moments ago. It took them mere seconds to begin kissing eachother, Sebastian's hands intertwined in Ominis' usually slicked back hair. It was an insanely hot sight, Sebastian, who usually tried to act tough, coming undone under the hands of his best friend slash boyfriend. Your breaths were coming out laboured, heat blossoming all over your body. When the two pulled away from eachother, their lips were swollen and red from kissing, wet with eachothers saliva and their hair tussled messily. It was truly a gorgeous sight to behold, the boys you loved making out with eachother.

Sebastian looked at you, obviously breathless and red, and extremely shy. Ominis didn't even need to see to know that he'd made a flustered mess of both of you, a proud grin on his lips. You sat down on the cold floor, grateful that it cooled your flushed, sweaty skin. You slipped your robes off, rolling up your sleeves. It was only now, as your adrenaline began to subside, that you noticed the sting in your hands, and the blood thickly dripping down your palms. Oh, had you dug your nails in that deeply? Sebastian sat down next to you, clicking his tongue as he noticed the wounds- they weren't deep or serious, but they hurt a bit. "Tsk, how'd you manage that?" He asked softly, taking your hands into his and examining the wounds. He hummed, taking out a small vial of wiggenweld potion from his pocket- you and Ominis had convinced him to carry at least one with him at all times because of all the duels he got into.

Ominis sat on your other side, waving his wand and conjuring a pot of tea in front of you. You felt Sebastian's calloused fingers tracing over your hands, then a sting that made you jolt back into Ominis' lap. "Ouch, sorry-!" Sebastian winced, but you shook your head, grateful for the help as you watched the small wounds slowly heal up until your hands were as good as new. "No, it's okay. Thank you. Both of you." You whispered shyly, taking your hands back and fiddling with your fingers. The three of you sat in comfortable silence, the close proximity making you feel safe and cozy. The crackle of the hearth and the chatter of the beasts from your vivarium was enough to eventually lull your tired body to sleep. Unbeknownst to your now sleeping form, Sebastian and Ominis were smiling down at you, chattering quietly.

"Sebastian?" Ominis spoke quietly after a short while of silence. The other hummed in response.

"I think I really love them." There was silence, and Ominis could immediately tell that Sebastian was pouting deeply- it was almost scary, his ability to tell what was going on despite his lack of vision.

"Oh, don't be jealous, you prat. I love you, too." He softly shoved the other boy, but then leaned over your sleeping form to kiss Sebastian.

"I love you both, too."

[alovesongtheywrote]

pretty please write another chapter of nightmare academia!! /nf your writing is so good!!

♥ Summary: thank you!! here u go!! In this chapter of Nightmare Academia, Reid fixes your mistakes and you get all blushy about it.

♥ Warnings: a minor character deals with intrusive thoughts and self-worth issues. also, implications of gambling and mentions of sex

♥ A/N: yay, chapter complete! now if spencer could come and tell me that i'm better than my intrusive thoughts, that would be great <3

♥ Word Count: 1,970

Series Masterlist

♥♥♥

Spencer was having an okay sort of day.  Yes, it was a Monday, but despite all that, things had gone somewhat well.  His classes had passed by smoothly, his students had asked all the right questions, and the heat in the building had come back on.  The terrible cursed image you had set as his desktop screen seemed less cursed today, and none of his belongings had mysteriously disappeared, only to return later somewhere on your person.

Was it weird that he missed his belongings disappearing mysteriously, only to return later somewhere on your person?

Reid pondered that as he sat in his last class of the day.  His students were discussing a new concept amongst themselves in the last few minutes, so he definitely had the time- until he didn’t.  Before he could reach any epiphany, Spencer’s phone buzzed, vibrating so hard that it made the man jump.

In an instant, every eye in the room was on Spencer Reid, shocked and delighted that the notoriously technophobic professor’s phone was vibrating away during class.  Spencer felt like he was twelve again.  At least now, as a grown man and professor, he could dismiss the goddamned class.

He pretended he couldn’t feel their eyes on him as they filed out of the room- they weren’t judging him.  Sometimes phones go BZZZZZZZZT in the middle of class, life’s just like that sometimes.  No, his students were all starting with one specific thought on their minds.

“Whatever message that is, it’s 100% from Professor (L/N).”

And I mean.  They weren’t wrong.  A text from you shone out from Spencer’s phone, begging to be read.

(L/N) (The Nuisance): hey nerd, is there a paper on fight club in our office?

Before Spencer could respond, another little text bubble appeared on his screen.

(L/N) (The Nuisance): the book, not the movie

(L/N) (The Nuisance): actually, it’s kind of both?  Nvm, just lmk if you see it

Spencer sighed, picked up his bag, and headed off to your shared office.  He knew the paper you were talking about.  It was the odd man out amongst papers about the criminalization of sex workers and the morals (or lack thereof) behind the war on drugs.  In other words, it wasn’t something you or Reid would have assigned for a college class.  It belonged to one of your GED students- so, when Spencer saw the paper sitting on the desk the previous Friday, he figured he’d leave it.  You’d grab it, and you’d take it home, and that would be the end of it.

Now, Spencer was on a mission to get that paper back to you.  

He was also on a mission to figure out what the fuck you were talking about.

A short ways away, at the community center, your phone buzzed.  

Annoying Motherfucker: I know which paper you’re talking about.  Would you like me to bring it over?

You had just enough time to fire off a, “Yes, please, thank,” before you turned back to the student whose paper you had so rudely lost.

“Okay, the paper is in my office, my coworker is bringing it over now.”

The student in front of you- a tall young man, Adam- remained silent.  He only responded when you said his name.

“Tell ‘em to leave it.”

“What?  Why?”

“Because I think this is a sign.  The universe is telling me I’m not cut out for this.  I’m not-” he cut himself off, turning away from you in shame.

“Hey, hey, look at me.  You are cut out for this.  Your paper was fantastic, I just-”

“You’re telling me my paper was so fantastic that you forgot it at your day job?  That’s bullshit.  Just be honest with me, Doctor.  It wasn’t a good paper.”

“No- Adam, please, it was a fantastic paper.  I left it in my office, yes, but that’s all on me.  I’ll be honest, I might be a professor, but I’m kind of stupid-”

“If you’re kind of stupid, then what hope do I have?  What am I supposed to do?”

You let out a small, sad breath, “You have all the hope in the world.  You just have to keep trying.”

“Is that what you did?  You tried?”

“I tried, yes.  And I’ll be honest, I got lucky.  I got scholarships and awards, but I had to try for them.  You can do the same.  You have potential.  You have promise.  You can-”

“Don’t tell me I can do anything I set my mind to.  My parole officer told me that two days before my last arrest.  It’s bullshit.  It’s all bullshit.  And you don’t know-”

“You’re right,” you sighed, leaning back against your desk, “I don’t know.  I’ll never know your life, what it’s like to be you.  But I know that you can accomplish great things.  You’re smart, Adam.  You have a great mind, you just-”

“My great mind told me to drive through the front door today.”

You froze.  Adam continued.

“My great mind tells me to do awful, awful things.  I spend half of my time fighting off those thoughts.  What good am I, what can I accomplish if I have those bad fucking thoughts all the goddamned time?”

“Hey, hey,” you tried to soothe the man in front of you as he got louder and angrier- not at you, but at himself.

“And it’s not like I can say I know I won’t act on them.  I have acted on them.  That’s why I’m here, with you, in a community center getting my fucking GED.  That’s why I was in prison, that’s why I’ll never be good at anything but being what I am now.”

You were already frozen, but somehow, you managed to freeze again- not because of Adam’s words, but because you could see Spencer’s face in the doorway.

You stood up straighter, instantly on edge.  You weren’t sure how much of the conversation he had heard.  You didn’t know if he would find something incriminating in Adam’s intrusive thoughts.  You put yourself between the two.

“Hi, Reid.  Do you have the paper?”

“I do.  And I have to say, I’ve never seen Fight Club, but this is a fantastic analysis.  Whoever wrote it clearly has a mind for the literary arts- and for the art of film.”

Your eyes widened slightly- of course, you knew that it was a fantastic analysis.  You had complimented Adam on his work minutes before.  You just weren’t sure what Spencer was about to do.

“If I may,” he stepped to your side so he could speak to Adam directly, “I kind of know what it’s like- to have bad thoughts that you can’t control.”

“Are you shitting me?” Adam asked, though his question was quiet.  It was almost as if he was speaking to himself, asking who the fuck this spindly nerd was and why the fuck this spindly nerd was talking to him.

Honestly?  You had similar questions.

Disregarding both of you, Spencer continued.

“The important thing to acknowledge is that there are no such things as good or bad thoughts.  There are only good and bad actions.  I can’t tell you that what you’ve done doesn’t matter.  It does.  But what matters more is what you’re going to do about it- what matters more is trying to be better.  And this?  Getting your diploma?  That matters.  That’s good.”

Spencer handed the paper over to Adam, “Hey, once you get your GED, let me know, okay?  Dr. (L/N) will tell you where you can find me.  I know a few people who could use literary analysis like yours.”

Before Adam could respond, Spencer had turned and started for the door.  Before he left, he spared you a wave.  You were too shocked to wave back.  

Spencer left silence behind.  You and Adam stood in the thick of it for a few moments.  In those moments, a blush began to burn beneath the skin of your cheeks.  Your heart jumped in your chest, playing a beat that was a little too fast.  Surely, this meant nothing.

In those moments, Adam looked down at the paper in his hands.  He read the little comments you had left in green pen.

After a few minutes, he looked up.  He didn’t turn to face you just yet, but that didn’t stop you from seeing the grin lighting up his entire face.

“Shit, man.  You really did like my analysis, huh?”

“I told you.  I loved it.”

“Yeah, well,” Adam’s gaze returned to the pages in his hands.  He flipped through for a second before barking out a laugh, “You spelled ‘artful’ wrong.  You added an extra ‘L.’”

“Did I?” You asked, closing the space between you to peek at your own error, “Shit.  Well, like I said, I’m kinda stupid.  I’m pretty much a fraud.  That guy, though?  The skinny guy with the facts?  He worked to get to where he is.  He tried.  We just have to do the same thing, and hopefully, things will get better.”

“Maybe.  It’s, uh.  I guess I have no choice but to try, huh?”

“I guess not,” you shrugged and smiled at Adam before stepping back towards your desk.

Adam fell silent, looking between you and the empty doorway for a good minute before he spoke again, “So, that was your coworker?”

“Mhmm.  Yep, that’s the guy.”

“Dr. Reid, right?”

You raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, actually.  You’ve heard of him somewhere?”

“From Missy, actually… Fuck, I think I owe her a fifty now.  Shit.”

If you had been drinking something at that moment, you would’ve choked on it.

“Anyway, thanks Doc!  I’ll see ya next week!”

Adam trotted out the door, all grins, not noticing how strangled your, “See you next week!” sounded.

-

Later that night, in the confines of your cozy and un-haunted apartment, you sent a text.  Somewhere else, in his cozy and un-haunted apartment, Spencer’s phone buzzed.

(L/N) (The Nuisance): thank you, Spencer

(L/N) (The Nuisance): seriously.  i owe you one

Annoying Motherfucker: Don’t mention it.  I kind of understand where Adam was coming from, it wasn’t hard for me to say something nice.

You huffed.

(L/N) (The Nuisance): you have a hard time being nice to me!!

(L/N) (The Nuisance): usually

(L/N) (The Nuisance): today was an exception… but srsly, i owe you a favour

Annoying Motherfucker: And I am telling you, you are “srsly” fine.

You smiled down at your phone for a second before you turned off the screen and placed it down beside you.

And almost immediately, that fucker went BZZZZZZZZT.

Annoying Motherfucker: Actually, quick question- what does “nvm” mean?  Also, what does “lmk” mean?

You couldn’t hold back your laugh.

(L/N) (The Nuisance): you seriously don’t know???  you knew what srsly meant, are you telling me you don’t know lmk???

Annoying Motherfucker: …

Annoying Motherfucker: *Thanks.  You said “thank” earlier and it was bothering me.

(L/N) (The Nuisance): omg

Annoying Motherfucker: Hey!  I know that one!

You let out a wheeze.

(L/N) (The Nuisance): you’re fucking adorable

(L/N) (The Nuisance): ok pretty boy, let me explain internet acronyms 

Spencer wouldn’t tell you that he vaguely knew what “nvm” and “lmk” meant.  He’d worked with Penelope Garcia for several years, he had to know.  He just let you talk to him, texting away into the night.

Somewhere else in town, Adam handed Missy fifty dollars- and she promptly handed half of it to Frank.  Frank then split the money with the woman sitting next to him, and so on and so forth until it was well and truly established that everyone in the place 1) knew about the infamous professors and their rivalry, and 2) wanted those professors to stop fighting and fuck already.

♥ Tags: @icarusignite, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @maraudersforlife2005, @fictionalcomforts, @morgthemagpie, @iiheartbowie, @digitalhearts, @corpsebridenightamare, @ghostatrixx, @reiding-writing, @mywellspringoflife, @80katie, @ms-ks-world, @currentfications, @ilse235, @emagen, @foolishwaitersblog, @pleasantwitchgarden if you asked to be tagged and i forgot, pls let me know!! if you would like to be tagged and aren't, also let me know :D

[yuri-is-online]

Sometimes the Wallpaper is Just Yellow: A Heartslabyul Color Analysis

This research was inspired by this post by @mothman-files! I am so sorry for @ing you please let me know if you want me to remove it and I will do so ASAP. Thank you for sending my head into a tail spin, I've learned a lot of stuff.

After reading mothman's musings, you might be thinking to yourself like I did: "hey, there is something familiar about red, blue, yellow, and green color coding." And it is, as mothman correctly points out in the notes of their post it is an extremely common trope in anime. The reason was both exactly and not not at all what I expected after I resurfaced from this little detour I took from fic writing.

How well do you know the colors of your oni? Because that's more important than card suits for this particular trope, but to make it all make sense I am going to go through each of the Heartslabyul boys one by one saving Cater for last. With that being said, pack your bags and grab some beans we are going to learn some meditation techniques.

Setsubun and the Beaning of Life

No seriously. It all relates back to beans. As a refresher for those unaware, Setsubun is a Japanese festival celebrated at the start February, the day before spring starts on the Japanese Lunar calendar. It is typically part of Lunar New Year celebrations today, and if you know anything about it from anime you probably know that it's that holiday where the Japanese throw beans at demons to chase them away so they can start the new year without their evil influences. What kind of evil influences? Well according to Buddhist belief there are five main ones that are referred to as the five hindrances: sensory desire (i.e. greed), ill-will (i.e. anger), disquietude (i.e. anxiety), sloth (i.e. unable to make decisions), and doubt (i.e. self explanatory).

Now why is this all relevant? Well I saw it repeated again and again, on some articles about Setsuban that the oni who appear during the festival are COLOR CODED and fucking finally thanks to this beautiful, beautiful person called Matthew Meyer (the Yokai Guy) on Patreon of all places! I found out why. Because a professor of History named Yagi Tōru said so and I am inclined to believe as he is the president of the World Oni Study Society! Which is a thing! And he has written textbooks?!?! I get that this might be a tangent but it is important to me you understand I am not pulling this out of my ass, there is scholarship on this I am not lying to you. So what are those colors?

Red Oni (Greed) Blue Oni (Anger)

The only reason I even tried looking at this angle was because of these two. Everyone say thank you to Aduece. You might have heard "the Red Oni Who Cried" folktale in an anime or two (My Love Story is the first that comes to mind for me) and it is thought to have spawned a sort of character trope in anime. There's a hot headed red coded character and their intellectual blue bestie, or maybe they're twins (FFXIV and Tokyo Rev jump to mind), one of them jumps first and the other asks all sorts of questions, both now and later. When I first saw Aduece I thought they were a clever twist on that trope because they're both trying to fit those color molds but... aren't really making it.

Ace wants to portray himself as an easygoing guy who doesn't think too much about things, but we know that's not true. He is extremely smart, he just refuses to put in maximum effort unless forced. I don't think it's too much of a stretch to classify him as greedy either, but when you are sharing the stage with Azul it can be easy to forget that greed isn't always accompanied by a great work ethic. Ace cheats at cards, makes a deal for a study guide he doesn't need, and sucks up to his senpai's all to make things easier on himself. What he actually needs to do is work bitch and when he does that and only then will he realize his true potential.

Deuce, poor ex-delinquent Deuce. He does think about things before he does them and constantly lectures Ace for just doing whatever he wants without thinking, but he is far from naturally intelligent and prone to outbursts of anger. As soon as he looses his temper, he also looses his rational thought, but he accepts that about himself. That's what allows him to discover his unique magic, he knows he has his own sort of intelligence and is determined to work on what he does not.

Green Oni (Sloth)

I don't really think it is revolutionary to say Trey is a bit of a slacker when it comes to addressing interpersonal issues. He finds it easier to try and keep the peace or manage the fallout than directly address the problem at hand, and he is resistant to doing additional work not assigned by his housewarden. Or required by the school, just look at how "excited" he was to be a starsender. If he was any more unhinged he would have started throwing hands. Sloth as a sin isn't strictly just about being lazy. Apathy, a lack of reaction towards something like say, your friend's control freak tendencies that is clearly him acting out his own trauma can qualify as sloth.

I would like to add, though, that I don't really think it was Trey's responsibility to tell Riddle he was going overboard. That should have been Crowley's job, but that's another post. For now just take green as a sign of dodging emotions and let's go.

Yellow Oni (Disquietude)

As pointed out by mothman-files, Cater is supposed to be yellow, but he is more often portrayed with reds and oranges, pinks even, than yellow. Like them, I don't think it is a coincidence he is associated with orange when that's what happens when you mix red and yellow together. Cater is taking on what he perceives to be the identity of his dorm, and he is extremely dissatisfied, disquieted, and anxious because of that.

Something I think should be considered, NRC freshmen are sixteen years old. Cater is a third year, he's spent around two and a half years at NRC, two and a half years that were relatively stable compared to what he tells us about his previous schooling. I think that he has some genuine dissonance in him that is getting harder for him to ignore because he has played this role longer than the ones he has played previously. Cater the Heartslabyul student, the NRC mage, that is who he is now, and I wonder if he knows how he got to this point or if he feels like he just woke up in someone else's body someday and doesn't know if he likes it.

What's worse is I think he does like his friends, and he is suddenly confronted with how little they actually know about him, what could be more anxiety inducing than that.

Black Oni? (Press X to Doubt)

I don't think Riddle is meant to be the black oni, but I do think it's interesting that the color black is associated with doubt and loss of ones convictions when that is essentially both the cause and color of an overblot. Idia and S.T.Y.X. seem to be focused on emotion + extreme magic use to be what's causing the blot... but the more I roll chapter 7 and all the reading I did for this post around in my head it seems to me that overblots like the ones at NRC seem to be tied to a loss of identity and the shattering of one's perceived reality.

I would also like to mention that I have no idea if any of the cited folklore has anything to do with Yana Toboso's mindset when she created these characters. She seems to be someone who does a lot of research and thinks deeply about symbolism, but this color coding and its associated vices can be found in a lot of anime. She could have just picked up on it from that.

I hope you found this descent into madness informative, and if not at least entertaining. Thank you for your time, I am going to go eat a cookie.

Semi Unrelated Fun Facts:

A lot of this brainrot was inspired by Amnesia, as I stated in a post I already made, but I also was thinking about the song YELLOW by Yoh Kamiyama which I don't fully understand the meaning of, but think it is supposedly about being trapped in a false reality from some of the things I've read.

Back to Amnesia, the yellow diamond in that Visual Novel (I haven't watched the anime adaptation because they did my man Kieth dirty) is the yandere route. Which made me start to think about how often yellow is used as a color for characters with identity issues, like Sailor Venus from Sailor Moon and Amu from Sugo Chara! and led to... this mess

According to this thing I found while trying to look for the professor Yagi Tōru he has a son who is a male voice actor???? I don't have time to look this up someone else do it please.

Please check out the Yokai Guy. You can join his patreon for free, his art is lovely and he saved my sanity. I cannot read Japanese so I almost didn't bother saying anything about this because I knew I wouldn't be able to provide an academic source for it, and that's important to me as someone who has a love of history. Also he has a kick-starter up for an illustrated book of folklore, did I mention his art is lovely?

And lastly a lovely hello to @somany-fandoms-solittle-time who kindly asked to be tagged in this post (つ≧▽≦)つ I hope you liked it.

[cupidjyu]

my nerdy love

eric x reader (requested by anon! sorry i cannot reply to your message directly bc i feel like that would spoil the whole fic LOL but tysm for your kind words ^^)

genre: loser eric, college!au, eric is such a nervous wreck, he's also always angry, jealous eric, villain hyunjae (not really) notes: i love these kind of stories like they're so funny LOL i hope you guys enjoyed! i enjoy writing losers more than i do flirts... song rec!

word count: 2.5k

Act 1

in the back of a large lecture hall, sat two best friends, both born in the same year. they were not paying attention to the professor whatsoever.

sunwoo poked the other’s shoulder, “yo… are you good?”

the other boy, named eric, was currently fuming, looking off into the distance where you were now sitting. there was another man who had recently plopped down next to you. eric watched as he took your pencil, twirling it around as you whined at his teasing. eric then glared with heated jealousy as you leaned over the man to try to reach it.

sunwoo asked again, “are you-”

“no,” eric yelled, making some people turn their heads and frown. eric apologized silently as he lowered his voice. “no, i’m not good. that guy is just so-” he groaned. “annoying.”

“if you like y/n that much, just go up to them or else he’ll steal your sweetheart,” sunwoo casually replied.

“i can’t just-”

“yes you can,” sunwoo refuted. “you guys are literally working on a final project together. aren’t you comfortable with them already?”

eric did not reply, only looking at sunwoo sheepishly.

“don’t tell me,” sunwoo groaned. “were you a nervous wreck?”

eric recalled that time when you were assigned to be his partner. he kept stuttering over his words and even dropped coffee all over your bag which he had to spend his whole paycheck to pay for it. even though you insisted it was fine.

“look man,” eric tried to defend himself. “you have to see what y/n looks like up close. like an angel, i swear.”

“still,” the older glared. “try not to be a coward for once.”

eric sighed, looking back to where the man was now playing with your hair. and out of nowhere, he glanced back to where eric was sitting. he looked him right in the eye and much to his anger, the man winked. eric slammed his laptop closed and took his belongings, leaving the room.

-

now, you and eric were working at one of the popular study spots, trying to finish planning out the final page of the project. eric was so, so giddy to see you and get some alone time. he even dressed up (which sunwoo teased him for).

“wait so-” he started to ask a question. “what about if…?” he trailed off because you were now leaning into his side to look at his computer. he blushed, looking away.

“what were you saying?” you looked at him expectantly.

“uh-” he faltered. “i… um- i wanted to ask if-”

“y/n!”

you turned around at the familiar voice. eric glanced in that direction too and of course, it was him again. eric looked him over, his eyes narrowing. he was tall, possibly (definitely) taller than eric, which severely hurt his ego. he was also insanely handsome, which eric despised. the younger puffed his chest out to try to look stronger but it was of no use, as the boy dragged a chair over to sit next to you, his muscles showing even through his oversized shirt.

“what are you doing here?” you smiled. you smiled! eric’s heart plummeted, envy quickly taking over every inch of his heart. i could make you smile like that too.

“just stopped by,” the man grinned, with his horribly attractive smile. “i’m exhausted from that exam.” as he talked on and on, he looked at eric with an amused glint in his eye as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer. smoke was practically coming out of his ears at this point as you laughed, shoving the man away.

oh, eric was about to explode.

“ah!” you gestured to him. “this is eric, by the way.”

the man looked at eric knowingly, a sly smile appearing on his lips. “so that’s your name…”

“what?” eric asked, with a hostile voice.

“nothing, nothing,” the man was definitely amused as he got up. “i have to go, bye y/n! and don’t miss me too much!”

oh, how eric hated him.

-

later on, eric confronted that same man.

“hey,” eric gripped his shoulder, turning him around. “what’s your problem?”

the man feigned innocence, “what’d i do?”

“you know i like y/n, don’t you?” eric asked, his hand forming fists. “you know and you’re always hanging around. you even look at me while you’re being all touchy. don’t! don’t try to act slick… uh…” he paused, his mind going blank.

the other simply smirked, tilting his head, “you don’t even know my name don’t you?”

eric was about to reply but the man beat him to it.

“hyunjae,” he interrupted. and then he turned around, waving goodbye with a flick of his hand. as he walked, he glanced back at eric with a cunning smile. “and i have no idea what you’re talking about. have a nice day!”

eric loathed him.

Act 2

much to eric’s surprise though, hyunjae had disappeared for a while. were his prayers and wishes with shooting stars finally answered? would hyunjae finally vanish and stop disturbing his soon-to-be love story? it seemed like that for a while.

it was finally eric’s chance to get closer to you, with sunwoo’s constant urging. and so, he came up to you one day after the lecture.

“hey, y/n,” he gave you a nervous quirk of a smile. you looked up and smiled brightly. his heart stuttered almost immediately and so did his breath as he quickly tried to compose himself. he frantically played with the strings of his hoodie. sunwoo snickered in the background.

“hi, eric,” you softly greeted, tilting your head. eric felt like he could faint on the floor at that moment.

“do you-” he suddenly jabbed his finger at your textbook, making you jump. “want to study the next chapter to- together?”

your eyes widened and you felt excitement through your veins.

“oh!” you stood up, eagerly as you slung your bag over your shoulder. “sure!” you grinned. “let’s go to the library now then if you’re free.”

“really?” he looked at you hopefully. and then he trailed after you out of the room almost like a lost puppy.

sunwoo shook his head, “he’s got it so bad…”

-

eric wiped his sweaty palms on the fabric of his pants as he glanced at you. you looked incredibly focused while you read the chapter and took notes on it. 

eric on the other hand… he wasn’t doing quite well. he was so caught up in staring at your beauty. his eyes would constantly wander over your features, even wondering how your lips would feel against his. he quickly shook out of it.

you looked at him, puzzled. and then out of nowhere, eric felt your hand be pressed to his forehead. 

“are you feeling okay?” you looked worried. “you’ve been out of it for a while…”

his face was completely red now as he backed away. he thought that would be the end of it but much to his embarrassment, his chair had gotten caught on the carpet and he quite literally fell backward.

you yelped, immediately getting up to help him. eric was mortified as he considered just curling up into a ball in the middle of the library. nonetheless, he stood up with a pink face.

“are you hurt?” you asked, looking him over.

“no, no,” he laughed, painfully. “i’m fine.”

you looked at him skeptically. “maybe we need a break…” you pondered. you looped your arm around eric’s making him sputter. “i know, let’s go to the cafe near here?”

-

so it was a cafe date now. you were drinking your order as you stared at eric who could not seem to look you in the eye. his pupils darted everywhere, his eyes wide and round. he bit his lip nervously as he fidgeted with his bag.

“you’re like bolt,” you observed.

“huh?” he finally looked you in the eye. he wondered how beautiful someone could be just by sitting at a cafe seat near the window.

“bolt,” you repeated. “the puppy from the movie?”

eric practically choked. “you think i’m like a puppy?”

“yeah!” you laughed. he couldn’t help but smile back at your cute expression. “you always look so curious. it’s cute… like a puppy.” there was a beat of silence before you slapped your hand over your mouth, in disbelief that you had just called the arguably cute boy… cute. out loud.

he stared at you, mouth open as he gradually blushed more and more.

“thank you,” was all he could say, completely calm.

he went home and giggled about it to himself at 3 am that same day.

-

the study dates and cafe dates slowly branched out into other ways to hang out. but eric liked to call them dates. he’s delusional like that. one time, he took you to the movies where he attempted to do the “yawn and put his arm over their body subtly” thing. he failed miserably. apparently, he has bad aim.

“eric?” you looked at him confused as you munched on the popcorn.

he jolted, “h-huh?”

“you just poked my ear.”

“oh! did i? haha,” he fake laughed as he took his arm back. god, sunwoo was so going to bully him about this.

another time, he took you to the mall. you were browsing various bags when your eyes lingered on a specific one. he noticed and was about to buy it for you like the gentleman he was. except he forgot that he was a college student in debt.

“do you like this one?” he smiled sweetly. “i can buy it for you!”

“ah,” you shook your head sheepishly since you had already seen how much it cost. “y-you really don’t have to…”

eric was stubborn. “i insist!” he looked at the price tag attached to it. his eyes enlarged at the cost. it was so expensive. the number of zeroes in the number made him revolt as he hurriedly put the bag back on the shelf. “on second thought…” and he quickly walked away as he mentally slapped himself in the face.

you couldn’t help but giggle at him.

Act 3

hyunjae came back.

eric clearly remembered gasping when he witnessed hyunjae open the door to the lecture hall. he even looked at the poor young boy and winked cheekily. eric swore he saw red.

and of course, hyunjae would bound straight over to you, swinging an arm over your shoulder to pull you into a tight side hug.

“you good?” sunwoo nudged him.

eric could only glare, the paper in his hand now turning into a crumpled ball under his fist. 

“i literally hate him.”

unlike last time though, eric did not stray far anymore. instead, he clung to you. he refused to leave your side in fear that hyunjae would come and snatch you away from the only love of his life. as soon as class ended, he immediately was by your side. again, like a puppy.

“hi, eric!” you gave him a hug. he froze, looking down at the top of your head as he slowly wrapped his arms around your waist.

“oh,” he breathed out, surprised. “this… this is nice.”

“mhm,” you hummed. “i think so too.” you nuzzled closer.

(sunwoo wondered to himself, “aren’t they already dating at this point…”)

-

one day, the two of you were taking a peaceful walk, talking about how horrible your exams went and how badly eric craved instant ramen at that moment. that was when hyunjae suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

“y/n!” he ruffled your hair. eric grumbled, rolling his eyes. what a way to ruin his day. “did you do something to your hair?” hyunjae asked, smiling sweetly (obnoxiously, in eric’s opinion). “it looks nice.”

eric mumbled to himself, “i noticed first…”

when you confirmed hyunjae’s observation and finally shooed him away to his next class, you turned and noticed eric glaring daggers at hyunjae’s back.

you poked him. he looked at you, his eyes softening. “everything okay?” you asked.

he paused and gazed at you with an unreadable expression.

“are you aware that he’s been hitting on you all this time?”

you froze, your heart had stopped beating. “eric-”

“it’s seriously getting annoying,” he groaned. “every time we spend time together, he’s always there, ruining the moment. with his stupidly handsome face, his long legs, his perfect hair, his fit body, his-” eric paused. “whatever! you get the point. still, don’t you think that it’s a bit low of him? like does he not get the hint? shouldn’t he back off since i-”

and eric really should have stopped before he would blurt out something stupid. but eric was never good at stopping himself.

“since i like you.”

you stared for a while. he looked at you, his mouth shut closed as a blush began to creep up his neck at the realization that he had just confessed. and then you burst out laughing.

“i-” he stuttered. “i didn’t mean to confess i-”

you kept on laughing. eric continued to try to defend himself.

he scrambled for words, “it’s just that you are so my type. you’re so beautiful and kind and i can’t help but-”

and you leaned up, cupping his face in your hands, and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. he gasped, looking at you with wide eyes. and then they darkened, looking straight at your lips. he quickly wrapped a hand around your waist, making you yelp as he pulled you right against his body. his lips were back on yours, deepening the kiss with such tenderness that you couldn’t help but melt in his arms.

you pulled away after a while, trying to catch your breath.

“hyunjae is my older brother.”

…

and it’s like the whole world came crashing down on him.

“what?” he squawked.

“he’s my brother!” you laughed. “he disappeared earlier because he had to go and do a study for the major he’s in. eric…” you poked his cheek. “he’s just very affectionate. no need to be jealous. oh, and by the way,” you leaned up, whispering in his ear. “i like you too.”

eric practically almost fainted.

“you like me?” he exclaimed as if you hadn’t just initiated the first kiss. “and wait-” he gasped loudly. “was he doing all that on- on purpose? are you serious? he knew?” he put his face in the palm of his hands with mortification. “i hate that guy so much. and you- you like me?”

you giggled and pulled him into a kiss, interrupting his little crisis.

he quickly forgot about it when he felt your lips against his.

“oh, i could get used to this,” he mumbled, pulling you closer by the waist.

Extra Scene

“why’re you hiding behind a tree?” younghoon remarked, appearing behind hyunjae who seemed to be spying on two people… kissing and giggling.

“oh they’re so cute, those two little lovebirds,” hyunjae snickered. “all thanks to my plan.”

younghoon punched his shoulder, “stop standing there, you dork. you’re going to be late for your first date. enough of playing cupid for one day…”

“never.”

[howlingday]

Belladina Interviews

Oobleck: Right! Well then, why don't we start with a few questions for the parents?

Blake: (Thinking) Bartholomew Oobleck. Forty-seven years old. He has a doctorate in history as Beacon's history teacher and is housemaster of dormitory 7, Amber Hall. Regarded as intelligent, reliable, and open-minded. He's well-liked by his students, but is also known for speaking at a swift pace. The safest path to win his favor is with honest and straightforward answers.

Oobleck: I understand that this is your second wife. How did you meet your husband?

Blake: Straight to the point. It makes sense, since Beacon Academy is focused on family values.

Blake: My husband and I met by chance at the neighborhood tailor's shop. The same one where Beacon uniforms are made, in fact. It was the way he carried himself which first caught my eye. It was like he appeared out of nowhere. After the death of my first husband and being so busy caring for my daughter, I was hesitant to pursue a new relationship. But the more we talked, the more I realized I'd found a kindred spirit in him. I was touched by his kindness and how much he valued family. I knew he would be a wonderful father to my daughter.

Jaune: (Blushing)

Oobleck: I see. Same question, Mr. Belladina.

Jaune: Oh... Well... Blake is such a wonderful woman. And she's so good with children. She understood how difficult it was for me to be all by myself, and she welcomed me into her family.

Oobleck: Excellent to hear. Family is very important to us at Beacon.

Jacques: I see you're a man who must have low standards, Mr. Arc. Why else would you saddle yourself to a woman with a child? And a woman like her no less?

Goodwitch: Behave yourself, Master Schnee.

Blake: Jacques Schnee. Fourty-nine years old. A legacy hire, as his father-in-law was the headmaster, he is the business and economics professor and housemaster of dormitory two, Azure Hall. Greedy. Callous. His wife filed for divorce last month. His wife just won full custody of her children. In all of his previous interviews, his questions focused on directly disparaging the families of applicants. It's best to avoid provoking him.

Oobleck: On to the next question. May we ask why you have decided to apply for Beacon Academy?

Blake: For one reason, sir...

Blake: To get close enough to my target, Charlotte Malachite!.

Blake: The quality of the teaching staff at Beacon Academy is second to none. The instructors are cultured, knowledgeable, and talented. More importantly, I believe only the elite faculty of Beacon Academy can instill in our child the nobility and patriotism needed to stand amongst our country's elite.

Goodwitch: (Thinking) A most disciplined reply, Blake Belladina. I knew I saw something in you.

Glynda Goodwitch. ??? years old. Fitness Professor and housemistress of dormitory three, Lavender Hall. Personality: Elegant.

Oobleck: We would like to hear about Penny from the perspective of her parents. What would you consider to be her strengths and weaknesses?

Blake: Penny holds a deep and passionate curiosity. She is willing and eager to poke her nose into everything, sometimes to an extent that it could be considered as much of a strength as it is a weakness. And perhaps this is just a mother's bias, but I find her to be wise beyond her years.

Goodwitch: Wise? This girl here? Didn't she only earn thirty-one points on her entrance exam?

Penny: (Flinches)

Blake: In fact, she's so intuitive, I swear she can read my mind! Ha ha!

Penny: (Shivers)

Blake: But for a solid answer for weaknesses, I do wish she was less picky about her food.

Oobleck: Hm. And what do you see in her, Mr. Belladina, and how would you describe your parenting style towards her?

Jaune: Well, as we've already discussed, I am not her birth father. So I will admit that, at first, I may have spoiled her in my attempts to win her over. I had to learn how to be strict sometimes, for the sake of her future. I work hard to remember that.

Jaune: (Thinking) Just like we practiced.

Oobleck: Mrs. Belladina mentioned that your daughter can be picky. What sort of meals do you cook at home?

Jaune: M-Meals?! Oh, uh, I, uh... W-Well...

Blake: Actually, sir, I do most of the cooking. However, my husband is more than happy to help when I'm too busy.

Blake: Not that it's ever happened.

Jacques: You're kidding me. A husband who can't even cook? You need to work harder to be a better example for your daughter, sir!

Jaune: !!!

Blake: No one is perfect, sir. While my husband may not be the primary chef, he is incredibly neat and organized. The house is always spotless. And he is a most wonderful example for our daughter.

Jacques: That may be, but a man who can't even cook is hardly a good example for a child.

Blake: And who are you to-

Jaune: B-Blake, it's okay! He's right!

Blake: (Clenching her fist) He's right. Calm yourself, Nightshade. Why are you even upset? It's not like he's really your husband.

Jacques: (Thinking) Just a pair of lovebirds, eh? I could just puke. Well, I'll just keep pecking at those cracks and see what comes pouring out. If these smug plebians don't get rejected, then there is no justice in the world.

Penny: (Thinking) This man hates Mama and Papa! I need to do real good, or else...

Oobleck: Well, I think it's time we heard from your daughter.

Penny: Here we go...

Oobleck: Can you tell us who you are and where you live?

Penny: M-My name is Penny Pellapina. And I live in Vale... North. At 42 Space... Something. Mister sir!

Oobleck: And what do you like to do when you're not in school?

Blake: She knows this. These are all the questions we...

Penny: I like to watch at restaurants and eat the opera.

Blake: Huh?.

Oobleck: And what sorts of things do you want to accomplish while attending Beacon Academy?

Penny: Uh... Um...

Penny: What was the answer?.

Blake: Well, I know what I want to do while at Beacon Academy. Get close to Charlotte at a school event and expose the plans of the organization she leads. Then stop her before-

Penny: I want... to expose the secrets... of the boss... of the or-gun-eye-zay-shun.

Blake: WHAT DID SHE JUST SAY?!. The answer was to read all the books in the library!.

Penny: Oh, and library books.

Oobleck: "Boss of the organization"? Do you mean the headmaster?

Blake: Ah ha ha ha! Oh, excuse my daughter! She's very ambitious! She's so curious about the lives of the people who have achieved leadership positions.

Goodwitch: Hmmm... Seeking to learn from those at the top at such a young age... There is a degree of elegance to that.

Goodwitch: If that is true, then you mist know the name of our headmaster, young lady?

Penny: Um... It's, uh...

Blake: You know this! It's Headmaster Ozpin!.

Penny: Head pasture... All in. Mister sir.

Goodwitch: Eh... Close enough.

Goodwitch: And do you understand how hard one must work to succed as he has?

Penny: ...

Penny: Yeah! You gotta run through the jungle to get strong! And face life-or-death stuff over and over to get brave!

Blake: That was the training montage in yesterday's spy cartoon...

Goodwitch: Such incredible resolve! Perhaps I have underestimated this child.

Oobleck: Haha! Perhaps you needn't go that far. Now, I have questions for you about your parents. What does your mother do for a living?

Penny: She's a spy.

Blake: !

Penny: Spy... Spycial social work.

Oobleck: Are you alright, dear? You sound a bit congested. What about your father? What is he like?

Penny: He can be a little scary sometimes, but he's really nice!

Jaune: !

Oobleck: If you had to give your mother and father a score, what would it be?

Penny: 100 points! They're perfect and I love them. I want to be with them forever!

Jacques: Garbage like this is the last thing we need at Beacon.

Jacques: So, who do you like better? Your old daddy or your new daddy?

Oobleck: Master Schnee, that question isn't-

Jacques: Who cares? Are we who ask the questions not permitted to improvise and think outside the box?

Blake: May I request a different question?

Blake: I don't know how she ended up in that orphanage, but there's too good a chance her parents are...

Jacques: No. Answer the question or be scored accordingly.

Plip... Plip...

Penny: (Crying) D... D...

Blake: Penny...

Penny: (Sniffles, Wipes eyes) Daddy...

Jacques: Well, there you have it. She likes her real daddy more.

Jaune: (Comforting Penny) How dare you?!

Blake: Calm down, Jaune.

Jaune: But this is...

Blake: For the mission, we can endure this. We have to endure this.

Jacques: The dorms are full of children living away from their parents. This is no place for children who burst into tears over every little thing.

Blake: He can smear us all he likes. It doesn't matter. We're not a real family.

Jaune: "Every... little.. thing"? You think THAT is a "little thing"? (Fingers pop and crack)

Blake: Calm. Calm. Calm. It doesn't matter.

Jacques: What's your problem anyway, second husband? It's not my fault she doesn't love you.

Jacques: Ah, now that feels better. Hm?

Blake: (Swinging her leg for Jacques head) STAND DOWN, NIGHTSHADE!.

CRUNCH!

Jacques: (Stares at table split in perfect half)

Blake: (Removes her foot from the table, Reveals bug beneath) Forgive my behavior. There was a gnat buzzing around. (Turns) Thank you for your time.

Jacques: W-Where do you think you're going?! We're not finished!

Blake: If belittling the feelings of children is part of Beacon's educational philosophy, then I have clearly chosen the wrong school.

Jacques: HOW DARE YOU DISGRACE THE NAME OF BEACON ACADEMY!

Blake: Jaune. Penny. We're leaving now. (They walk ahead) Good day. (Slams door)

Jacques: YOU WILL NEVER SET FOOT IN BEACON ACADEMY AGAIN! DO YOU HEAR ME?!

Goodwitch: You went too far, Master Schnee.

Jacques: Oh? Are you questioning my methods, Goodwitch? I'd watch your attitude, if I were you. Big Nicholas may no longer be with us, but his name still holds a lot of weight around here. Send in the next family already!

Goodwitch: ...

???: (Memory) Those who beg and grovel at the feet of the powerful... They're such pitiful creatures, no?.

Goodwitch: ...She didn't disgrace the good name of Beacon Academy.

Jacques: Huh?

BAM!

Jacques: (Falls back, Unconscious)

Goodwitch: (Changes gloves) There. Handled with elegance. And with that, Mrs. Belladina, I think I can face you with the pride and dignity of a proper Beacon Academy educator.

[alpydk]

Red On You. (Rugan/Gale)

(Part 1)That's right. The ZhentWeave train is setting off once again. This time with zombies! Why? Because this is what I want! If you've not read the first part Tattered Souls, I suggest you do, because it's awesome.

Summary - It's been a year since Rugan and Gale hooked up and life has been pretty good for them. But just like with anything, the cracks have started to appear. Will an outbreak of the undead be enough to save the relationship of the unlikely pair?

The emerging sunrise over Waterdeep was a relaxing sight as Gale lifted his head from the large leather-bound book held in his hands. Shades of orange and pink danced on the midsummer horizon and the sea waves lapped idly against the docks as he sat on his balcony as he had so many times before, tracing his finger over ancient words and thinking of how his life had changed so drastically in the last two years. He’d jumped from Mystra to Mindflayers, from Tav to Professor, and yet the leapfrog jumping had not ended there. A year ago, he had met Rugan, their relationship one with a tumultuous start. It had begun with thievery in various locations, a desperate kiss on a classroom table, and had eventually resulted in the destruction of one of the largest warehouses on the southern docks.

Months later, the quiet snores could be heard from the bedroom. Gale sighed deeply, an interrupted night of sleep yet again causing him to retreat to the balcony to relax with reading and night sky stars. It wasn’t even being rudely awoken by the protective spell that he found irritating; it was the lying that came with it, the denial that alcohol had been involved despite the scent of liquor which clung to Rugan’s clothing. Something had changed in the last few weeks and Gale wished he could pinpoint what had happened for this sudden shift in behaviour. Had it been the introduction of Astarion to an ex-Zhent which had caused the problem, the two of them bonding over their lives of crime, or had it been the lengthy discussion about the future sparking a fear of commitment? Either way, things had changed and not for the better.

The morning would start as it had the previous four times, with hot kaeth and the Waterdeep Wazoo passed between them in silence over the shared kitchen table. Gale would wait for Rugan to wake up a little before the interrogation would start, passive questions at first, asking if it was a good night out or how Astarion was faring. Then would come an inconsistency in the tale which could be built on: Did you not just say you were visiting the South Ward? South? Sorry, I meant North. Today was no different for the pair.

Rugan sipped at his kaeth, exhaling in satisfaction as the bitter brew warmed his insides. “You don’t half make a good cuppa.”

“You can quit trying to butter me up,” Gale spoke curtly, barely looking up from the broadsheet grasped in his hands. It was almost noon, and he’d wanted to get into the markets before it had become too crowded.

“Ah, don’t tell me you’re still pissed about me coming in late last night.”

“Not pissed, merely agitated. I would have assumed after getting caught in the hold person spell a year ago, you would have learnt your lesson quite thoroughly.”

Rugan smirked over his mug. “Maybe I was just in the mood for a little nostalgia.” He heard the scoff and reached forward, lowering the newspaper. Deep brown eyes stared back at him, annoyed but with the kindness and love still buried in them too easily to ignore. “Or would rather play healer again?”

“There will be nothing of the sort.” It had been some time since Gale had lost his temper. He was almost tempted to reenact a previous engagement and throw a plate for the sake of enforcing his point, but he stuck with the needed lecture instead, putting the paper down and staring directly into Rugan’s pale blue eyes. “Four nights now you have skulked off with Astarion coming back reeking of the taverns, lying to me of your whereabouts with little regard for my input. And now you have the nerve to insinuate that I would be intimate with you after such behaviour? You’re lucky I still tolerate having you in my home.”

“Ah, don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit? Was just a few drinks.”

“Over-” He breathed deeply, composing himself, and reigned in the anger that clung to the tip of his tongue. “Look, I have errands to attend to. I’m in need of new alchemical components. I trust you can take care of yourself for a few hours.” He paused for a moment before letting a slither of frustration out. “Like an adult.”

Rugan rolled his eyes. “Sure, mate. Whatever.” His hand slid over the table, grabbing the paper and flicking to a random page. Body found at Azuth’s Mug! He skimmed the article, ignoring the movement going on around him, as robes were collected up and the door slammed. He knew his behaviour of late had been questionable, but if the truth was to get out, everything could be ruined.

With his chair reclined, he let the mug of kaeth before him grow cold. He was half tempted to run after Gale, maybe try a half-arsed apology just to tide them over for a few more days. After all, he only needed was one more late night and then things could return to normal between them: coffee shared, flirty remarks, that thing Gale would do with his tongue… Rugan found himself lost in thought at the idea, a smile creeping on his lips. Just one more night. 

---

Friol sat unimpressed at the bar of the tavern in the Castle Ward. The job was meant to be an easy one: transport some item from point A to point B, no stops, get paid. Done and done. The bodies upstairs were not part of the plan. Neither was the missing artefact. The plan, as far as she was concerned, had gone completely out of the window and now so had the payment.

Waterdeep in total had proven one disaster after another and now she knew well why no one else had wanted to take up the mantle of the Zhentarim leader there. It had started well with getting set up: mercenaries were easy to hire, wizards were so desperate for magical artefacts that they would make all sorts of shady deals to acquire them. Despite that, things had gone wrong. The interference of Rugan and Gale had caused major issues within the organisation. So many of the resources destroyed a year ago couldn’t be restored, and she’d ended up having to make her own deals, now finding herself in the pocket of her superiors back in Baldur’s Gate, a place no Zhent wanted to be. She stared directly at the bottles that taunted her from behind the bar, each one a target for her buried anger, and ran a hand through the knots of her dread locked grey hair.

“Like a fucking bloodbath up there,” spoke an approaching half-elf, her ebony hair hanging loosely over her back.

“Report, Darnys.”

She straightened up with the order. “Both Bris and Dillie are dead. Ripped apart by the looks of it. No sign of Tibs. As for the transport, it’s gone too. Window looked to have been smashed from the inside. I’m figuring Tibs has double crossed us, taken it and scarpered.”

“Tibs?”

“Yeah. You know, the Gnome with the annoying voice. You said he needed to give his testicles a pull if he ever planned on talking to you directly again.”

Friol smiled to herself at the memory. “Ah, the new recruit. Brown nosing little fuck. Well, you know what to do: track him down, show him what we do to traitors.”

“And the other two? They’re… well, it’s messy.”

She tapped her small fingers on the wood of the bar, the slick residue of old ale catching under her worn down nails. “Bring them back to the base. Use a shovel if you must.”

Darnys grimaced at the thought, the image she’d seen upstairs turning her stomach despite her years of experience with the mercenary organisation.

“And find me that artefact. We don’t get paid unless it gets delivered.”

“Consider it done.”

Hopping from the bar stool, Friol patted herself down, giving her knee a subtle rub in passing. Since the blast of the warehouse, it had given her grief, but showing weakness in front of a subordinate wasn’t an option. “You said, ripped apart. In what way?”

The blood and guts staining the walls, floor and ceiling, filled Darnys’ vision. She fought the rising bile in her throat, swallowing deeply. “I’d say like an animal or something.”

“Hm. Just curious how little Tibs could do such damage. Druid?”

The question was a thankful distraction. “No, though I believe he had some experience with dogs at one point.”

Something was stirring in the back of Friol’s mind, a piece of overheard or read information that had seemed insignificant at the time now trying to emerge. She couldn’t quite remember what it was and so, with all orders given, she began to leave the dim light of the tavern. “Two days, Darnys. You have two days to find me that artefact.”

---

The marketplace was as busy as Gale had expected, tourists haggling over worthless knickknacks as gifts for loved ones they’d barely thought about during their visits. He weaved past the hustle and bustle of the crowds, his eyes drawn to the small shop where he could collect his order before retreating to his tower. He’d wanted to do the outing earlier, wanted to enjoy a leisurely stroll, but the daily habit of kaeth and talk of the news was not one he wanted to break anytime soon. Today may have involved clenching his teeth for the entire morning in waiting for it, Rugan sleeping it away without a care in the world, but it was how things were now.  

“Well, did you hear? Apparently, it was proper brutal.” “Yeah, but people die all the time in taverns. Were probably just some bandits or something.” “My cousin says it was a wolf that did eat them.” “Your cousin thinks every murder is from a wolf. Anyway, what’re you buying?”

Gale ignored the gossip of the shopkeeper and customer as he collected his wares from the shelves, their words trailing off as he thought about how was going to deal with everything when he got back home. He was annoyed by the pettiness of the whole situation, at the lack of respect being given by Rugan, at Astarion, who should have known better by now than to come along and spoil everything. The intrusive whispers of self-doubt emerged in Gale’s mind for the first time in months, wondering if, for a moment, the problem with was how he’d doted and pampered his partner. Cooking, cleaning, gifts. Gale had done as he always did with his loved ones and spoilt them, worshipped them. Maybe the same was happening again, and he was being overbearing. His thoughts continued to spiral, questing his actions more and more, and he approached the counter slowly, not noticing the vendor eying his wares.

“Found everything you wanted.”

He was pulled from his thoughts quickly, needing a moment to gather himself. “Yes. Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.”

“Good, good. Witch hazel, eh? Looking to hide some bodies?” The shopkeeper chortled to himself at his own joke.

Gale appreciated the humour, forgetting his problems with the interaction. “Haha, I do hope not.”

“Well, you’d better be careful. Guards’ll be on the lookout for something like that, what with that murder that happened and all.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He left the store, considering the conversation at length. All the talk of this murder was making him uncomfortable, a niggling in his mind like that of the tadpole so long ago. Waterdeep wasn’t some quaint little hamlet; he wasn’t completely naïve, and he had seen and heard a fair share of the dangerous goings-on that happened in the region. Hells, he’d even been a part of one himself a year ago, but for one death in a tavern to be stirring up so much talk amongst the city folk, it had to be something more than just a drunken brawl. He walked back to the tower slowly, past the market stalls and city goers, past the houses and their happy families, past the temples and their ever-watchful gods, and hoped that maybe this was all just a little summer hysteria.

---

“My son, what brings you to us on this fine day?” The cleric of Ilmater welcomed the gnome into the temple, seeing how he carried his body as if in pain. She spoke softly, beckoning him to come closer. “It’s quite alright, we welcome those of all backgrounds.”

He wanted to speak, wanted to cry out for her help, but it was as if his mouth was not his own. He could taste the blood on his lips, the copper mixed with bile residing on his tongue. Stepping forward, Tibs reached up towards her. Pustules dotted the back of his pale hand, some oozing as the strain of his muscles caused them to burst.

By reflex she stepped back as the odour of decay hit her nostrils. Thinking over her training, she took a deep breath through her mouth, trying to hold it as she leant down to help him. She’d always been taught that nobody should be turned away in their moment of need and she wasn’t going to let this person down simply because of how they looked or an unpleasant smell. “Oh, you are quite sick. Come, come with me.” She took his hand in hers, noting how cold and clammy his skin felt under her touch, and led him further into the temple. “Don’t worry. Everything will be okay.”

[ladymonterosa]

The thin line between love and hate

Second part: "Jordan"

26 september 2022

The classroom was now empty, and the only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioning. I had just finished answering the endless questions from the new students, trying to appear patient and approachable. It felt like I had been in their shoes just yesterday, but in reality, a whole year had passed. Now, with the second year just beginning, my role as a technical assistant and my new ranking in the top 10, my life at God U was becoming increasingly intense.

My phone vibrated, interrupting my moment of quiet. A message from Professor Brink: "Jordan, please come to my office as soon as possible." I sighed, knowing I couldn't ignore such a request.

I made my way to his office as requested. Brink represents many things to me... a mentor, a guide, and one of the few who had believed in me from day one. He had seen something in me that others had yet to recognize. He had taken me under his wing, teaching me not only the complexities of the subject but also how to navigate the labyrinth of academia. I felt indebted to him, and perhaps for this reason, I was always willing to fulfill his requests, no matter how demanding.

I arrived at his office door and knocked lightly. Brink's voice responded from inside: "Come in, Jordan."

I opened the door and found myself facing him, welcoming me with a smile. "Jordan, please have a seat," he said, pointing to a chair across from his desk. I sat down, trying to mask my nervousness.

Brink started with the usual questions about the beginning of my second year. I told him about my classes and the projects I had in mind. He listened attentively, nodding occasionally.

Then he asked how the introductory course "Combatting Crime," which I had to cover in his place, had gone.

"How did the introductory lesson go, Jordan? It's always a challenging task to manage a room full of freshmen."

"It went pretty well, I think," I replied, trying to recall the highlights. "The freshmen were curious and full of questions. I tried to be as clear as possible, but it's always a challenge to keep everyone's attention. Some seemed a bit lost, but I think I provided them with a good overview of the program."

Brink nodded, his gaze attentive and evaluative. "I'm sure you did a great job. It's not easy to take my place, but you've proven to be up to the task. First impressions are crucial, and I know you were able to communicate the importance of our work."

I felt a slight sense of pride at his words. "Thank you, Professor. I tried to convey the passion and dedication necessary to tackle such a complex field."

"I'm sure you succeeded," Brink said with a smile. "Your experience and enthusiasm are evident."

Then something changed, and his gaze became more serious.

"Jordan," he began, "I didn't ask you to come to my office just to have a chat, but because I need your help. I need your involvement in a matter that requires trust and discretion. You are one of the people I trust most here, and I know you won't let me down."

My heart started to beat faster. "What is it about, Professor?"

"You need to keep an eye on someone for me," Brink continued. "It's about a first-year student. She's a very promising girl, and I'm certain she will do great things in the future... but she needs someone to guide and protect her. Moreover, the Council is very interested in her well-being since she is the only beloved granddaughter of one of Vought's major investors."

Beneath the surface of my obligatory acceptance, a tide of conflicting emotions simmered. The thought of having to babysit a girl who probably had never faced a real challenge in her life felt like an insult to my intelligence and abilities. I hadn't enrolled at God U for this kind of thing. I'm here to learn, to grow, to become the best in my field. But I couldn't show my reluctance to Brink. He had invested time and energy in my academic and personal development. How could I say no to someone who had believed in me so much?

"Of course, Professor," I replied, trying to maintain a neutral tone. "I'll do my best to ensure the girl feels comfortable and safe."

Brink smiled, apparently satisfied with my response. "I knew I could count on you, Jordan."

Before leaving his office, I realized there was still one important thing I needed to know. "Professor, one more thing. What's the girl's name?"

Brink nodded, as if he had anticipated the question. "Her name is Astrid Steenwijk."

*＊✿❀ ❀✿＊*

I left his office with a heavy heart, trying to accept the idea that this assignment would be just another way to demonstrate my loyalty and gratitude toward him.

I sat down at my desk and tried to focus on the documents in front of me. They were lab reports and statistical analyses I needed to review for an ongoing project. But despite my efforts, I couldn't get my mind off what Brink had just asked me to do. Every time I tried to read a line or analyze a piece of data, the name Astrid Steenwijk crept into my thoughts, disrupting my concentration.

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to calm my mind. But that name kept echoing in my head. Astrid Steenwijk.

Who are you? Why does your name sound so familiar to me? And, more importantly, why is everyone so concerned about your well-being? What makes you so valuable in their eyes?

Time passed, but nothing changed.

After a while, I realized it was useless to keep forcing myself. I had to confront this obsession somehow, or I would never be able to work.

With a sigh of resignation, I abandoned the documents in my hands and turned on my laptop. I needed to know more about this girl, to understand who she really was. Maybe getting to know her story better would help me overcome my reluctance and approach the task with more objectivity.

I put on my headphones and played some music to help me concentrate. Then, I opened the browser and started searching for information about the girl. I typed her name into the search engine and hit enter, waiting for the results to appear on the screen.

The first result that caught my attention was an article tracing the branches of the Steenwijk family tree. As I scrolled through the article, I discovered that my little freshman was the only daughter of Sansa Steenwijk, a wealthy heiress of European descent. Sansa had been one of the most prominent figures in high society, frequently appearing on the covers of fashion and gossip magazines. But her life had tragically ended just hours after Astrid's birth due to post-operative complications that left no hope. The news of Sansa's death had shocked Europe and the world, sparking countless speculations and theories.

The identity of Astrid's father, however, was shrouded in mystery. Despite much speculation, no one knew for sure who he was. Many had guessed he might be an equally influential figure, but no concrete evidence had ever emerged. This lack of information added to the aura of mystery surrounding the Steenwijk family.

I continued reading the article and learned that after Sansa's death, Astrid was entrusted to her closest relative, her uncle Alexander Steenwijk. Alexander, Sansa's younger brother, had never married and had no children of his own. The idea that a man of his stature had chosen to dedicate his entire existence to his niece deeply struck me. Alexander was described as a reserved and powerful figure, a man who had built an economic empire and who now, in addition to managing his business, had devoted himself entirely to raising and protecting Astrid.

I kept reading, finding another article that discussed Alexander's social and financial position. He wasn't just a magnate: he was one of the wealthiest and most influential men of the last century. His name was tied to large multinational companies, billion-dollar investments, and philanthropic donations that had changed the fate of many communities. His influence extended beyond the business world, touching politics and culture as well. It was clear that Alexander would leave nothing to chance when it came to protecting his niece's legacy and safety.

After gaining some understanding of the Steenwijk family, I decided to focus on Astrid herself. I opened other articles, including some from tabloid newspapers that turned out to be surprisingly informative. I discovered that Astrid was currently engaged to a certain Michael Miller. The name wasn't unfamiliar, but I didn't know much about him. I kept reading and learned that Michael was a promising tennis player, a talented athlete who had already won a few important tournaments and was ranked among the top 100 tennis players in the world.

The sources reported that the two had met during their first year of high school at one of Europe's most prestigious private schools. Michael also came from a wealthy family, though not as influential as the Steenwijks. The two had officially started dating at the age of 16, and their relationship had often been in the media spotlight, mainly due to the notoriety of both.

However, things seemed to have changed recently. According to the sources I was reading, a few months ago, Michael had cheated on Astrid with a model, and the scandal had made the rounds in the tabloids. This raised an eyebrow: cheating on a girl like Astrid Steenwijk wasn't just a mistake; it was a choice with potentially devastating consequences. Since then, no official statement had been made about a possible breakup, but there was a significant detail: no one had seen them together in public since.

The image of Astrid that began to form in my mind was very different from the one I had initially imagined. She wasn't just a spoiled girl who had always gotten what she wanted. She was a young woman who had lost her mother at birth, grown up under the strict protection of a powerful uncle, and now found herself dealing with a turbulent relationship with a boy who had betrayed her. Despite all the power and wealth, her life was far from free of difficulties and complications.

I turned off the laptop and removed the headphones, letting the silence envelop me as I reflected on everything I had discovered. The information I had gathered gave me a new perspective on Astrid, and in some way, I felt I better understood why Brink had entrusted me with this assignment.

I realized that, although I had initially been reluctant to accept this task, something had changed.

As I was lost in these thoughts, my phone vibrated on the table, breaking the silence. I looked at the screen and saw a message from Luke. "Hey, Jordan! Don't forget we're training together this afternoon. See you at 6 at the usual spot, okay?"

I smiled as I read the message. Luke had always been a pillar for me, a trusted friend I could vent to and discuss anything with, whether it was academic issues or personal problems. Training with him was an opportunity to unplug, to escape the stress of classes and the responsibilities I had as Brink's technical assistant.

I checked the time and realized there were only a couple of hours left until our meeting. I decided it was better to get ready and set aside everything I had discovered about Astrid for a while. I needed some time for myself, to recharge and approach the issue with a fresher mind.

I quickly replied to Luke's message: "I'll be there. I really need to blow off some steam today. See you later!"

After sending the message, I got up from my chair and stretched, feeling my tense muscles relax slightly. It was amazing how heavy it could be to sit for hours reading and analyzing information.

Then I got back to work, this time with a new perspective.

Time passed quickly, and it was time for me to get ready for the workout, grabbing my bag with everything I needed. I left my office and headed toward the campus gym.

1° part ; 2° part ; 3° part