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leiawritesstories · 3 years ago

Text

Speak To My Heart

Rowaelin Month, Day 15: A bad day

Word count: 3422

Warnings: language, bit of depression, fighting. In short, there is angst in this fic. Hope the ending makes up for the rest.

Linguistics and foreign languages are two of my personal passions, so please bear with the bits of language talk that I couldn’t resist including. Brief word of clarification: a lot of expressions we use in English either translate into something extremely rude or don’t make sense in other languages. Translation companies have been trying for quite some time to make sure they don’t accidentally send a client a translated instruction manual that reads “fuck your mother” instead of “for questions, contact your local energy department.” All right I’ll get off my soapbox. :)

The phrases in foreign languages, marked with *, are translated into English at the end. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rowan’s day had been shit. The second he walked through the door, he’d been bombarded with an endless slew of crash reports, malfunctioning equipment, faulty passwords, and best of all, having to rewrite half the security firewalls because one of the rash young idiots in his department couldn’t be bothered to check his work for errors before sending it to management. And management thought it was the department boss’s job to fix all of his employees’ fuckups.

He hated IT.

Even more so since being promoted to department chair.

All he wanted to do was the fun stuff--program design and development, fixing the flaws in his own designs, and of course making those who tried to break into his company’s systems regret their pitiful existence. But Cadre Tech’s bitch of a CEO refused to let the best software engineer on her staff actually do his job.

Most days, he could cope with the pile of useless shit she directed to his desk. Most days. Today was not one of those days. Probably because on top of all the meaningless tasks he’d had to field, he was also forced to sit through one of Maeve’s bullshit “department head strategy sessions,” where every department chair had to pretend they gave a single shit about any word coming from their CEO’s garishly red, pinched mouth.

As if she knew anything her staff actually did.

Thanks to the compulsory meeting, Rowan was stuck in his office at nearly ten o’clock, painstakingly combing through the final draft of the update to CT’s translation program. This program had shot the company to fame and fortune, or at least insane stock value. “A Google Translate that actually translates,” their marketing department called it, and by the gods, that stupid slogan worked. And made sense. Rowan knew the program was just as good as it claimed to be.

He’d put in the hours, alongside a team of linguists, software engineers, designers, and people fluent in at least one other language. Frequent were the sessions where the project whiteboard turned into a jumble of words in twenty or more languages, Spanish alongside Arabic next to a column of simplified Japanese characters spilling over into a row of Cyrillic lettering. Rowan himself spoke German and some Spanish, but even he was lost amid the cacophony of eighteen different people switching from language to language, trying to figure out how idiomatic expressions translated from one language to another and what words should never, ever be placed together.

It took the team well over a year of bickering, or as they called it, friendly linguistic disagreements, to make it from loosely mapped concept to functioning program. By the time it hit the market three years ago, the software had been so well promoted that companies all over the world snapped up their chance to finally communicate properly with the client they’d offended years ago with a bad translation.

At launch, of course, Maeve stood in front of a sea of shouting reporters brandishing microphones, smiling her serpentine smile, and proceeded to thank the creative team for all their “contributions” before taking all the credit herself.

Said creative team went to the bar that had become their usual gathering spot that night to get drunk and shit-talk their horrible boss, not necessarily in that order.

His favorite memory of that night was hearing the chief linguist, an outside contract with multiple advanced degrees who spoke eight separate languages besides English fluently, refer to Maeve as “quella puttana rugosa che non riusciva a convincere un cazzo a venire a dieci metri da lei se si vestiva da figa.*” The Italian speakers on the team were crying with laughter, and so was everyone else, once she translated it.

And then she downed another shot of vodka and hissed something that sounded like “sukya bliyad, no puedo mich betrinken con esta ordures.**” When everyone blinked in confusion, she sighed and relayed the sentiment in English.

Nobody had laughed as hard as Rowan. Aelin Galathynius just had that effect on him.

She brightened his darkest days.

But she couldn’t ease the strain of today.

And it was all his fault.

Aelin glanced up at the clock on her wall and cursed in three different languages when she saw that it was nearly eleven. Without meaning to, she’d spent all afternoon and evening writing lesson notes on idiomatic expressions. She really couldn’t help herself once she got into the topic; it was her pet project.

And the subject of one of her dissertations. Yes, she had multiple.

She’d worked her ass off for years to get through college, then through graduate and doctoral work while teaching at universities to offset costs, then earned a full-time teaching position at one of the top-ranked universities in the world. She got to teach linguistics, her lifetime love, and give guest lectures at other universities and at conferences, teaching people all over the world about the complexities and interrelatedness of language. Hell, she spoke ten; she’d be qualified to speak on linguistic relationships by virtue of that alone.

Gods, she was the chief linguist behind the most successful translation software ever produced. Even if the bitch who owned the rights to said software had literally threatened to sue over ownership rights if any of the people who’d poured their figurative blood and sweat and literal tears into building the program tried to claim a small piece of the credit each of them so richly deserved.

That software and her role in its creation--even though Maeve Ond had claimed the public credit, the creative team spoke at interviews and made news features for their work in Cadre Tech’s massive success--had solidified her credentials as a professor of linguistics, had boosted her into her lecturer spot.

Last year, her university granted her tenure.

She should have been overjoyed, and she was, but not as much as earning tenure deserved.

Because there was nobody to share her joy.

Three years ago, in the wake of CT’s overnight jump to worldwide fame, Aelin fled a love she did not and never would deserve.

She told herself she would never look back. But she did. Almost every day, she looked back at the life she’d shared with Rowan and tried to convince herself that she did the right thing.

Try as she might, she could never silence the whisper that echoed always in her mind.

“You broke both of your hearts”

Someday, she told herself, someday she would be back in Doranelle. Someday, she would have a chance to apologize. Someday, maybe she could fix the Rowan-shaped chasm that gaped wide in her heart.

Yet here she was, sitting in a very nicely appointed hotel room in the university district of Doranelle, typing furiously away as if burying herself in notes and prep for tomorrow’s lecture could make the urge to contact Rowan disappear.

Three years earlier. Doranelle.

“Knock, knock.”

Rowan’s head jerked up from where it had most definitely not been slumped on his desk. “Wha--Oh. Hi, Aelin.”

“You’re falling asleep, buzzard, let’s go home.” He heard laughter in her soft voice.

“As if you won’t just get home and start cross-checking every single one of the phrases on your ‘potential problem’ list.”

She chuckled, walking over to him. “Fine. We’re both perfectionist work whores. Doesn’t mean we don’t need sleep.”

“I know you too well to believe you’re actually going to sleep.”

“All right, you win. Come home now, I’ll make some food, and you can put me to bed.” She winked saucily at him, leaving very little doubt what putting her to bed would entail, and he was up out of his chair in seconds.

“Hand over your computer, Fireheart,” he grinned as they walked into the small house they shared on the outskirts of the city.

“What?”

“Your computer, love. I’m leaving both of our work bags on the shelf by the front door so we can actually catch some rest tonight.” He pressed a finger to her mouth to silence her protests. “Uh-uh, Ae, we have interviews tomorrow and I won’t let the genius behind this program’s flawless word-to-word be anything but well-rested.”

She sighed, but he saw the love in her eyes. “Here, then, my dear brilliant software engineer. Leave your notebook, too, because I know if it’s anywhere near you, you’ll be up at three in the morning scribbling blocks of gibberish and picking apart your faultless code until you go insane.”

Both of their work satisfactorily put aside, Aelin made good on her promise to cook Rowan dinner.

And then he made very good on his promise to put her to bed.

The next morning, they were both awake with the sunrise, content to lay curled in each other’s arms as the morning light spread across their room.

Rowan drifted back into sleep, waking for good when he caught a whiff of coffee from the kitchen’s direction.

“Morning, you sleepy buzzard,” Aelin grinned, sipping from her mug.

Rowan dropped a kiss on her head as he reached for his mug. He took a long drink, sighing as the milky, sweetened caffeine hit his mouth.

“I will never understand how you drink your coffee black, Fireheart.”

“Not all of us need to sweeten the hell out of coffee to drink it, Ro. Maybe if you can’t handle the real thing, you should go back to your pretty little cups of crappy cafe tea.”

“Mention my pretty little teacups again, Ae…”

She giggled. “You be quiet and drink your coffee-flavored milk, my love. We both know you’re impossibly grumpy until you have caffeine in your veins.”

He grumbled something unintelligible as he drank his coffee.

They were nearly late to work that morning, even having planned an extra half hour to arrive, thanks to Aelin wearing what Rowan dubbed her “sexy professor suit.” She fixed the pins in her French twist in the car, making herself once again a portrait of professionalism, and slipped Rowan’s hand from her leg.

“Two hands on the wheel, Whitethorn.”

He pouted. “But I’m a safe driver and I want to hold your hand.”

“My hands are over here, love, not down by my skirt.”

When he pulled into his spot, Aelin closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath.

“You good, Fireheart?”

Gods, she loved hearing him call her that. “Yeah. I just…needed a moment to settle myself. To tell myself the cameras aren’t here to tear apart what I say.”

Rowan wrapped his hands around hers. “Dr. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the bland reporters are here to stand in awe of your expertise. Not a single word you say will come across as anything but brilliant and beautifully said.”

She squeezed his hands, her usual confidence returning. “I love you, buzzard.”

“I love you too, Fireheart. Let’s go talk about our amazing achievement.”

The day sped by in a blur of reporters, interviewers, teleprompters, practiced speeches, lights, cameras, and crew. When the last bleached-blonde anchor of the last interview of the day cut her crew’s cameras, Aelin flopped against her second-in-linguistic-command, Dr. Nehemia Ytger, the expert on ethnic African languages.

“If I never see a news crew again, it’ll be too soon,” she sighed. “I’m beat.”

Nehemia snickered. “But we’re done talking about how proud we are that Maeve and her marvelous company have done such a grand service to the world.”

Aelin snorted softly. “Right. And now we servicepeople want to go home and take off our heels.”

“Amen to that.”

As the team filed out of the studio, Rowan made his way over to Aelin. “Holding up?”

“Not anymore,” she said, leaning casually into his side. “My heels are killing me, there’s a hairpin stabbing into my scalp, and I really, really need to pee.”

Rowan laughed, deep and husky. “Let’s get you home, then.”

“I’m stopping in the bathroom first.”

Just before she left the ladies’ room, Aelin heard voices in the break area. Familiar voices--Rowan’s, Maeve’s, and the snippy, borderline whiny tones of Remelle Frelau, who worked in the marketing department and had a hell of a boner for Rowan.

“--looking at revenue over--” Maeve’s voice cut out, but from the gasps of the other two, the revenue was through the roof.

“And it’s all thanks to this genius here,” drawled Remelle, who if Aelin had her guess was probably clinging onto Rowan like a platinum-blonde leech.

“Ms. Frelau, this was the product of a team. No single person could possibly have made it happen alone.”

“Oh, call me Remelle, or even better Remy. And you’re the team leader, so you practically did create it by yourself.”

Aelin snickered to herself. Vapid bitch had no idea what she was saying.

“That’s not how teams work, Ms. Frelau. We wouldn’t be here without Dr. Galathynius and Dr. Ytger’s language expertise, not to mention the creative genius of the engineers, graphic designers, linguists, and programmers.”

“Ms. Frelau, though her judgment is clearly biased, has a point, Mr. Whitethorn,” Mave said. “You demonstrated remarkable collaborative leadership qualities throughout this project, and I fully expect that you will continue to do so.” Maeve’s heels clicked away. Rowan’s voice followed her.

“Thank you, Ms. Ond, but I have to credit Dr. Galathynius--”

“Will you stop kissing that woman’s ass?” snorted Remelle. “Gods, she’s not worth your time or your praise; all she does is translate words into different languages and you idiots drool over that like it means anything.”

Aelin jerked like she’d been slapped. She knew Remelle was a self-centered, shallow, spiteful bitch, but she hadn’t known she would do this.

“--did more for this project than you and your useless whiteboard of catchphrases,” growled Rowan.

“I don’t care what she ‘did for the project,’ Rowan, she’s never going to be good enough for you.”

“Thank you for caring about my welfare, Frelau, now please kindly fuck off.”

Aelin chose that moment to saunter out of the bathroom and head straight for Rowan, her face showing no hint of having heard that conversation. She did note with satisfaction Remelle’s vain attempt to march out of the room with some semblance of dignity. Too bad her heel caught on the seam of the hallway carpet and the break room’s tile flooring and she had to grab the doorframe to keep from collapsing.

“You’re awfully quiet, Aelin.”

“Just thinking. Processing, really. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Rowan nodded. “I bet.”

“And hearing fucking Remelle rip into me for being useless…didn’t make it better.”

“Shit, you heard that?”

“Yeah. I heard that.” Her voice was hollow.

Rowan pulled into their driveway and shut off the engine. Reaching across the console, he cupped Aelin’s face in his hands. “Aelin. You are brilliant. You are terrifyingly smart. You are a force of nature. Nothing, nothing you will ever do is useless. Don’t let that jealous bitch make you think you are less than the perfect woman.”

She smiled tentatively at him. “She…she told me before that last interview that I could never be enough for you. Because you--because of Lyria.”

Rowan raked a hand through his hair. “Ae, can we talk about this inside?”

That night, he told her about his former fiancé, Lyria. He told her about their whirlwind romance, their youthful dreams. He told her about the horrific crash that stole away Lyria’s life. A drunk trucker, a narrow pass in the mountains. He showed her the box in which he kept all the memories of that life. He cried. Aelin cried. He curled against her, let her comfort him.

“Sometimes, I wish she was still here. She’d understand everything. She always did.”

Aelin had no response. She let Rowan fall asleep, his weight shifting off her and into his bed, and looked through the box. Everything she saw served as another reminder that this was the first woman he loved, the woman who understood everything.

She was worthy of him.

But was Aelin?

The more she looked at Rowan and Lyria’s happiness, the more the answer solidified.

No.

When Rowan woke up the next morning, Lyria’s box sat on Aelin’s side of the bed, a side that had not held Aelin.

He glanced out the window.

Her car was gone.

He got up and frantically paced through the house.

Everything she’d brought into his home was gone.

As was she.

Present day.

Rowan opened his front door mechanically, pulled off his shoes, dropped his work backpack on its shelf, and was halfway to his bedroom before he realized he’d just opened his front door. His front door that was always locked.

Someone was in his house.

Someone who either had a duplicate key or insanely good lockpicking skills.

Exactly one person owned a duplicate key to his house.

Aelin.

That’s impossible, she lives in Orynth, she can’t be here, he told the traitorous part of his brain that leapt with joy at seeing Aelin’s face again.

He turned around and made his way through the kitchen--nobody there--to the living room. He flicked on a lamp, casting a soft light around the room.

And nearly had a heart attack.

Aelin Galathynius sat on his couch.

For a moment, he just gawked at her. She looked so…different. Older. Gone was the infectious smile that had captured his heart. Dark shadows smeared under her eyes, testament both to the long hours she devoted to her work and to recent sleepless nights. She was twisting a ring on her right hand, a familiar sign of her nerves. From his angle, Rowan could see a hint of dark script on her wrist. A tattoo. The Aelin he knew didn’t have tattoos.

“I’m not a ghost.” Her voice, weary and hollow, broke the tense silence.

Rowan crossed the room, propped an arm on the fireplace. “Why?”

“Why am I here? Why did I leave? Why did I cut you out of my life?”

“Everything.” He couldn’t keep the waver from his voice, but his eyes burned into hers.

She took a steadying breath. “I’m here to apologize, first of all. I’m here to face what I ruined and to try and start mending it. I’m here to come to terms with everything I broke when I left three years ago.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, it certainly wasn’t that.

“I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m sorry I left like that. I was…I was scared.”

“You can’t just run away from your fears, Aelin!” He couldn’t keep the frustration from his tone. “You can’t just abandon someone when you have a bad day!”

“I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have left! I know I can’t run from my fears; I’ve spent the last three years trying and fucking failing to do that! But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Saying something about it would have been a good first step.”

“I’m bad at emotions, Rowan. I tried. It wasn’t enough.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse.”

Aelin flicked a tear from her face. “I know.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I should never have left. I let some stupid comment root into my head and make me doubt myself. I made myself believe I would never be good enough for you. I left you. I loved you, and I still left you. I still love you, even though I’ve tried to suppress it. I can never make up for that. I…I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve regretted that horrible decision all these years. I want you to be happy, Rowan, I--”

“How am I supposed to be happy without a source?” He’d dropped onto the couch, close enough to touch her but still keeping his distance.

“What?”

“You didn’t just take yourself away, Aelin. You were my happiness. I’ve spent three fucking years trying to make myself believe I’m better without you in my life, and I can’t.”

She was unabashedly crying by that point. “What do you want me to do? How can I make up for abandoning you?”

“Stay.”

Her gaze locked onto his, both of their eyes pooling with tears.

“Stay with me, Fireheart.”

“But--”

“I never stopped loving you either.”

A choked sob ripped out of Aelin. Rowan couldn’t hold himself in check any longer; he reached out and tugged her gently into his arms. To his shock, she didn’t resist, burying her face into his chest as sobs shook her shoulders. When she calmed, he tilted her chin up.

“Will you stay, Aelin?”

“Yes. Even though I will never deserve your forgiveness, yes.”

Translations:

* = “that pinched old whore who couldn’t convince a dick to come within ten metres of her if she dressed up provocatively” (Italian)

** = loosely translated as “Fucking hell, I can’t get drunk off this garbage.” (in order, Russian (badly phonetically spelled out because Rowan POV), Spanish, German, Spanish again, French) (the Russian doesn’t directly translate, so it could mean several different variations of expletive)

Might there be a second part? Perhaps......

#my writing #rowaelin month #aaaaaangst

60 notes · View notes

kiribakuficrecs · 4 years ago

Note

hello!!! im going on a very long trip at the end of april and I'm looking for some very long fics to download to keep me entertained! i dont care what they're about as long as there's no major character death or mentions of non-con. ur blog is a godsend ilysm and you do such a good job thank you so much 🙏

hi there!! i definitely have a lot of good lengthy fics i can recommend to you!

quote love unquote by newamsterdam

Sero nods. “It’s the chance of a lifetime, really,” he says. “We want you to date Bakugou, for the sake of his reputation with the press. Some public appearances, a few ‘candid’ photos. For at least a couple of months.”

“Bakugou sent you to ask me to date him?” Kirishima asks, baffled.

“Of course not. We, his people, are asking you to date him. He’s going to have to get on board, if he wants his career to survive. And in the bargain, Riot will get all sorts of publicity, because their lyricist will be dating one of the industry’s hottest stars. A win for everyone.”

When Kirishima Eijirou's band hits the big time, he's not prepared for his newfound fame. He's even less prepared to meet the actor he's been crushing on for years, or to start dating him as a publicity stunt. The closer Kirishima gets to Bakugou Katsuki, the more he realizes he's in over his head. But it's hard to stop, once his heart is in it.

acceptance and denial by poteto

It all goes okay when Kirishima decides to come out to his friends and it all goes wrong when decides that Bakugou is the best fake boyfriend material.

cause the darks not taking prisoners tonight by imatrisarahtops

��Are those soba noodles?” Kirishima asked.

Again Bakugou’s only reply was a grunt. He offered no further explanation—not that Kirishima honestly expected one—as though making soba noodles from scratch at half past four in the morning wasn’t at all a bizarre occurrence and made complete and total sense. For a fleeting moment, Kirishima even wondered if maybe he was the odd one here. Besides, he’d already decided it was generally not in his best interest to question these types of things with Bakugou, especially when it was something essentially harmless.

When Kirishima has a nightmare and is unable to fall back asleep, he accepts defeat and decides to study in the common area of the dorms. What he doesn't expect to find is Bakugou, also very much awake, and Kirishima can't help but think that maybe they're both having the same problems with sleeping. If he's worried, it's just because they're friends. (Right?)

the weight of your hand by kamin

That night, to the citizens, the explosions were a jolt of fear at every blast, but to the heroes and the students of UA, they were punches and swings, fierce fighting and loud strength. The explosions were the pulse of the battle, and the power of a boy that would never back down.

One after another, explosions set a chorus through the shuddering city.

And then, suddenly—the explosions stopped.

(In which Bakugou’s kidnapping goes a little differently, and just a few seconds could change so much.)

so take my hand (your life will be brighter) by multiclassmaps

When a stranger shows up at the ice rink during Bakugou's usually private training sessions, Bakugou expects to hate him. He doesn't expect to develop feelings that become increasingly difficult to deny, or for them to help each other sort through their emotional baggage. - Bakugou really didn't like Kirishima's smile. There was something about it that made his stomach hurt, something about it that made it difficult to focus. He definitely hadn't thought about that smile on his way to the ice rink that day. He definitely hadn't.

distance makes the heart grow fonder (false) by dragontrappedinhumanskin

When Bakugo and Kirishima get hit by a quirk that forces them to literally stick together or face the less then desirable consequences, how the fuck is Bakugo supposed to keep his crush hidden?! Well, turns out he never needed to.

-- “Well, this fucking sucks, how are we supposed to train?!” "Really closely?"

perihelion by tauontauoff

Bakugou was a comet, blazing out of reach. Kirishima knew he was stupidly lucky that his furious trajectory went by close enough that his fingertips got to graze the cowl of fire. It was enough.

During Christmas Class 1A and 1B spend a laid-back week learning about extreme environment hero work in the Alps. Kirishima was used to keeping part of his feelings for Bakugou hidden, and had every intention of keeping it that way, but things don't always go according to plan.

fight me by mr_todoroki

Bright red, spiky hair. Annoyingly bright smile. Clothes that radiate ‘look at me’ vibes. Neon yellow tank top with black shorts. And those were definitely crocs on his fucking feet.

Yeah, Katsuki hated this guy.

Bakugou gets a new roommate.

quietly by chezka

“We’ve been taking the same way to and from school for weeks,” Kirishima grinned, and then when Bakugou frowned at him he put on an affected pout, tilted his head so that he was looking at him through his thick, long lashes, “you never noticed? Am I that easy to miss?”

He could barely finish the sentence before a laugh escaped his lips, and Bakugou rolled his eyes, hit him with a shoulder a little more violently than necessary.

“You stick out like a sore thumb, broom-head,” he grumbled, promptly ignoring Kirishima's whining about his hairstyle when it started coming, “I didn’t notice ‘cause I didn’t care.”

“And now you do?”

everyone knows that cats are independent by purplepersnickety

Eijirou enjoys his job, working the graveyard shift at a 24/7 coffee shop. His daemon Riot is always there to keep him company, and he likes meeting the early-morning patrons and giving them the best possible kick-start to their day. It's been his routine for about a year now.

Then one day, a grouchy guy with a daemon in the form of a lion walks into the shop in the dead of night, and Eijirou decides to strike up a conversation with him.

punks not dead by wrunic

“So you want to use me to piss off your mom?” Kirishima summarized, raising one pierced eyebrow at Katsuki.

“Look, if you want to be all fucking judgy about it, I take cash,” Katsuki said, dropping his hand palm up on the table.

“Hey now,” Kirishima said, raising his hands in surrender, “I didn’t say I wasn’t doing it. I’m always down for a little chaos.” He flashed a grin, showing off his ridiculous shark teeth.

“Good,” Katsuki said. “We start tomorrow."

sent, delivered, read, loved by kiribakuhappiness

Kirishima E. [6.49pm]: ur okay for such an angry dude bakugou! :)

Bakugou K. [7.12pm]: FUCK YOU!

Kirishima E. [7.14pm]: haha! :D ttyl!

Bakugou K. [7.48pm]: FUCKING WHAT DO THOSE DUMB LETTERS MEAN???

Bakugou K. [7.52pm]: I JUST LOOKED IT UP DONT FUCKING TALK TO ME LATER!

Bakugou K. [7.52pm]: STOP TXTING ME!!!

- OR -

Bakugou's and Kirishima's relationship develops from classmates to friends to more, as told through their text conversations.

flicker by mr_todoroki

He was starting to feel depressed. Life was so uninteresting. It was so mundane and forgettable. He had no one to hang out with besides Kota, his family didn’t even live in the city.

He grew his hair out as some sort of rebellion, some sort of stand to make his life the slightest bit more interesting. But he could already feel himself giving in to the pressure of cutting it. He needed to work to live. Without a job, he’d truly have nothing.

Kirishima never applied to UA, therefore never became a hero.

let’s get down to business by kjelfalconer

Katsuki Bakugou, one of the brightest rising stars on wall street, is in need of a new personal assistant. Again. Could Eijirou Kirishima finally be the one to last more than two months?

Katsuki's long suffering HR department sure hope so.

something about us by bigstupidjellyfish

nothing like being in highschool and having no idea how to deal with emotions

fireproof by inkbender

Four years after a classmate nobody seems to remember is kidnapped by the League of Villains, Kirishima drags an amnesiac hobo he found washed up on the beach into his apartment, attempts to teach him how to adult (with varying degrees of success), and discovers along the way that the line between heroism and villainy is quite fine indeed. Plot-divergent after episode 45, the Forest Training Camp arc.

blood riot by magicallee (alternatively)

Kirishima from a universe with no quirks is mind-swapped with an alternate universe version of himself where there are superpowers.

And in that universe he’s a super villain.

And Bakugou is the superhero who caught Evil-Kirishima and put him in prison.

blindside by drowclericpelor

“You’re the first guy friend I’ve had that I can just like, be friends with. You’re either the most unthirstiest boy ever...” Camie shrugged and made another wobbly illusion appear between her hands. It looked like a sparkly rainbow with the word ‘friendship’ beneath it, accompanied by what Bakugou assumed was supposed to be a twinkling sound effect, but it had a tinny quality to it and sounded far away. “...or I just ain’t got the kinda straw you like to ssssip.”

Carefully, Bakugou considered the strange turn this conversation had taken.

He had never been asked, point blank, if he was gay before. And he honestly had never thought about how he would respond. Lying about himself didn’t sit right with him. But he’d always wanted to wait until he was the number one hero - when he stood above everyone else - before coming out. Though he’d had times when he’d thought about doing it before then and had almost gone through with it once. But being the number one hero came first. It wouldn’t matter what people would say about it then as long as he’d risen to the top.

Bakugou knew his lack of a response would give Camie all the answers she needed.

flour power by wingsonghalo

“I’m telling you now, Shitty Hair,” the blonde growled, “I am not gonna play house with you. We will cart this stupid flour around for a week like the assignment says. But some of our idiot classmates are naming the thing and setting up ‘playdates’ and dressing it and I am not doing anything that stupid. Got it?”

Kirishima and Bakugou are paired up to take care of a flour sack for a week. It would be so simple, except nothing with Bakugou is ever simple. Also Kirishima might be kinda sorta completely head over heels for him.

sunchaser by chonideno

that feeling when you suddenly want to jump off a cliff for no reason but instead of a cliff it’s your best friend and instead of jumping it’s growing feelings out of nowhere

or how Bakugou has to try really hard not to throw everything to the wind, and Kirishima doesn't help

i also have a tag specifically for fics that reach somewhere between 30k-70k words long if you wanted to check that out as well! i hope you enjoy the fics here and that i was able to help, ily enjoy your trip!!! :D

#kiribaku fic rec #kiribaku #answered

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lovelyirony · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! “If I fail, I’ll fall apart/Maybe it is all a test/because I feel like I’m the worst / so I always act like I’m the best” -Oh No! This is one of my favorite lyrics ever, and I'd really like to see what you bring out of it :) You're amazing, ily! 💞

what if maria had more of an effect on tony’s upbringing than most? howard’s still a dick but make it funny

Tony has known he was probably not the best human on earth ever since he was five and his dad made a bigger deal out of a dead man’s birthday than his own.

At age five, you don’t really know a lot about the world yet. There were about two things that Tony didn’t know that he wishes he did know:

1.) The word “fuck.” It would have helped with a lot of his situations.

2.) The concept of jealousy. He probably could have gone to a child therapist or some shit, he’s not sure if those even existed back then, or if his parents would have even let him go.

(After all, he’s supposed to be their perfect little boy, just the right amount of precocious and the other amount being something like genius or respectability.)

It is actually his mother who takes the reins on his life. Howard has effect, he has huge effects.

Maria is a socialite who absolutely refuses to let her son succumb to Howard’s devil-may-care attitude that he’s so infamous for. Her son is going to be well-mannered, respectable, and know exactly how to treat a lady of high social standing.

This involves training at a young age. Six would be a fine age.

It’s not Howard who sends him to boarding schools, it’s Maria. She ensures that he goes to the finest schools available, most abroad in Europe. She trains him out of the American accent, into something a bit more refined.

He spends summers learning different languages and different skills. He learns how to fence by the time he’s ten, and becomes quite proficient at it.

She quizzes him on established families, up-and-coming families, and never keeps him far from her sight.

Anthony Stark is not going to be a wild-child, she decides.

Anthony isn’t, for the most part. Sure, he usually stays up past what is acceptable for the night to work on some mechanic stuff and uses the word “damn” a bit too much for his mother’s liking, but that’s the reason make-up and apologies were invented.

He follows rules and is known to smile like his mother and enjoy listening to quartets play out in the open air during the summer months. He travels to Europe and participates in various activities and is the talk of many socialites who eagerly await his arrival.

He’s a portrait, holding still for all’s approval, and he’s not quite sure how to move.

That’s troublesome, he thinks.

The problem is this: Anthony Stark doesn’t have any interests outside what is required. He loves working on inventions, and they are necessary for the company to survive, but his father hates any robotic invention he pushes for, and mother thinks that if he tells people he’s rather fond of AC/DC then he’s a plague to society and will be shunned.

(He doesn’t say it to her face but they haven’t shunned Sunset yet, and she’s a whole world of problems, so rock music is the least of their problems.)

There is one thing that he pushes for: university in the United States. He’s been traveling to Europe since he was a child, and he honestly needs to do something for himself.

Maria is not pleased.

“So after I sacrifice so much for you, this is how you repay me?” she asks him over dinner.

He places his fork to the correct side.

“Yes. This is how I am repaying you. By getting a perfectly respectable college degree from a critically-acclaimed university that anyone would be lucky to attend. Not to mention it might reflect badly on Stark Industries if I don’t go to an American college. Do I not trust American institutions to run an American business?”

“You shouldn’t.”

Anthony laughs.

“Mother, they cannot teach me anything that Europe can’t. Let me go to college in the United States. Please.”

“No.”

It takes Howard to convince her, and a.) Howard doesn’t even like Anthony that much, and b.) he also doesn’t like his wife that much.

“He’s going to a damned college here, Maria. We don’t need him to go to any more of that fancy bullshit you call school over there.”

“Fancy bullshit, Howard?! Bullshit?! You mean what has gotten him this far in life and will make him a better man of social standing than you?”

“My god, is social standing all that matters to you? What are your little friends going to do, choke on their silver spoons when they find out that your son is going to an American college?”

Jarvis also convinces her.

“It will be easier to monitor his progress from a shorter distance,” he advises. “And you can visit frequently.”

Anthony gives him a very dirty look. Apparently, he wasn’t supposed to mention that.

Oops.

But, Anthony gets his way. He’s going to MIT, and he has a roommate.

(Okay, so mother doesn’t know that. But he supposes she will if she ever visits. Or maybe not considering if Tony can successfully convince his roommate to “disappear” for at least a day.)

Rhodey does not give a singular shit about high society anything or anyone. Anthony Stark is a name he registers, but doesn’t recognize.

“Anthony’s a mouthful,” he says a week into their cohabitation. “You have a nickname or something?”

“Ah...no? I mean, not yet,” Anthony says.

“How do you feel about Tony?”

“I...I suppose that that is alright.”

“Are you from Europe?”

“No, from New York.”

“Well holy shit, you sure as fuck don’t sound like it.”

Anthony--well, Tony now--learns quite a bit about American schooling and what he’s actually supposed to be doing to pass off as normal.

Rhodey (yeah he got a nickname that ended in ‘y’ too, Tony said he wouldn’t be the only one) takes him to the thrift store and tells him to pick out some clothes.

“...there’s a shirt that’s advertising a restaurant from Montana.”

“And? Does it look hilarious?”

“Is that the point of this?”

“Fashion is supposed to make you like what you’re wearing or like yourself. I swear if you say that those boring black suits make you feel better about yourself, I will be dragging you to any therapist that will take us for at least five dollars.”

“Five dollars?”

“Maybe less if I can negotiate.”

“Hey!”

Tony learns how to have fun. He loves it.

Rhodey makes him go to record stores and find the bargain bin, and they play the warped records and laugh as voices go up and down in pitch. Tony blasts Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden until the RA begs him to go to bed and Rhodey throws all of his pillows off of his bed.

In return, Tony teaches Rhodey how to read other’s facial expressions, dress for any occasion and be the best-looking there, as well as avoiding any sort of conflict by bringing up past embarrassments.

“Are you serious about the color of my shoe affecting my social standing?” Rhodey asks, trying to shove his foot into a shoe that was a brown color that Tony had described as a “golden mahogany.”

“Yes, I’m dead serious.”

“No fucking wonder everyone says eat the rich all of you are so fucking pretentious. It’s brown, Tony.”

“Tell that to any high society woman over fifty.”

“I will.”

As it turns out, he ends up doing it much sooner than anticipated.

Tony’s parents come to visit.

They call him Anthony. Which is gross. Rhodey hasn’t used the name “Anthony” in about six months.

“I wasn’t aware that you were his roommate,” his mother says.

“Well, here I am,” Rhodey says. “Name’s also on the information they sent out to the parents about the living situations.”

Tony tenses as his parents brush off the obvious comment on how little they actually know about his situation and move right into the room.

Maria stops at the huge poster of a rock band.

“I assume that this is...James’?”

“No,” he says timidly. “It’s...it’s mine. Their use of movement on the guitar strings-”

“Take it down,” Maria demands. “It’s unsightly.”

“Oh give the kid a break,” Howard says tiredly. “For once he’s not listening to you talk about the merits of paisley prints.”

“I’m training our son for a more successful life than yours,” Maria hisses. “Of course, you’d have to stay away from your friend Jack to understand that.”

“Rhodey, leave,” Tony says. “Trust me, it gets messier from here.”

He does think about it. How easy it would be to walk out and check in with a couple of his other friends and talk about how crazy Tony’s parents are. How he could check back in near dinner time and then Tony could tell him all about how terribly it went.

But Tony already looks terrible, and he’s doing that weird thing with his hands where he wrings them and then remembers he’s not supposed to wring them and makes it worse.

“No,” Rhodey says. “I am staying until the bitter end. Who knows? Maybe I can give your mom a heart attack when I ask her the difference between kelly and forest green.”

Tony grins.

“You can leave any time, it’s about to get...interesting.”

Tony’s family is quite dysfunctional. They can put on a good front in public, for what it’s worth.

Howard is impressed that Rhodey’s planning on going into the Air Force and then talks about Captain America for a lot of the dinner. Rhodey is very uncomfortable and then asks about business and Maria rolls her eyes and orders another glass of wine.

After Howard finishes up talking about some contract and making vague threats against businesses that Rhodey thinks might actually be in trouble, it’s Maria’s turn.

“So, Rhodey, where is your family from?”

“We live in the Boston area,” Rhodey answers.

“And what do your parents do?”

“Dad works as a consultant for a local construction company, and my mom works as a high school history teacher. They both like their jobs.”

“Hm,” Maria remarks, and it’s so light and casual and yet so cutting. Tony can see how Rhodey squirms, and he can’t just let it stand.

It’s one thing for Maria to cut her own son down until he’s nothing. Still fucked up, but Tony can handle it. He’s been handling it for years.

“Rhodey, how did your mom come to want to know she liked teaching?” Tony asks. “That sounds like it could be really hard to figure out.”

“Oh, well it all started when she was in high school and wanted to change how one of her teachers treated students. It was a really inspiring moment for her.”

“That sounds really cool,” Tony says. “What does she like most about her job?”

“Probably the kids,” Rhodey says.

The conversation carries on about Rhodey’s family until their dinner arrives and his mother manages to cut in with more questions.

“So, what else does your mother do?”

“She volunteers at the local food kitchen and helps some of the younger kids at the after-school program,” Rhodey answers. “She also makes a mean Thanksgiving turkey.”

“Would you look at that,” Tony says. “Mrs. Rhodes sounds like a fine cook, I wish I could say the same for you, mother.”

“Oh?”

Howard actually laughs at that as he signs for the bill.

“The kid is right, Maria. At some points I think your kitchen is only used for decoration.”

“Oh, and you know how to cook, Mr. Stark?” Maria asks, raising her eyebrows. “I’d love to see you make anything other than coffee.”

“I’ll make toast.”

Rhodey laughs, and so does Tony.

“Ready to go?” Tony asks, and part of it is a way to get away from an isolated conversation, and part of it is to make his parents leave for their hotel room sooner.

“Tony, I want to have a talk with you before we retire for the night,” Maria says, and Tony tenses up.

Rhodey can’t protect him from that, and he squeezes Tony’s hand as they walk behind his parents.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispers.

“Maybe,” Tony says. “Maybe.”

Rhodey goes into their building, and Howard waits in the car. He nods to Tony on his way out.

“You’ve...changed,” mother says.

“Well, that’s how humanity goes,” Tony says dryly, looking anywhere but her eyes.

“Rock music? These snappish remarks towards your own mother? I don’t know if this college was such a good idea.”

“It is,” Tony says. “I just...learned new things and incorporated it into my life. Nothing the matter with that.”

“Nothing wrong with that?” Maria reiterates, surprised look on her face. “Rock music is for other people, you know things that others don’t know! You can perform violin and piano, you don’t have to listen to the personal manifestation of a headache!”

“And if I like that headache?!” Tony asks. “If I like something that’s outside of what you approve, why so angry about it? Is it because you finally can’t control every single aspect about my identity? Is it because I’m not like your perfect little toy that you can make walk and talk how you like?”

“You know it’s not that.”

“Isn’t it?” Tony asks. “Because you want me to change every single interest that I’ve found I like by myself. I bet you want me to listen to Bach for fun.”

“I do not want you to change from who you are,” Maria says. “You have eaten at the finest restaurants in the world and now you brag about making something called ramen in a microwave. A microwave?!”

“A surprising amount of families in America have them,” Tony says. “And I’m a college student! I’m supposed to eat crappy food and then laugh about it in twenty years!”

Maria turns red, and her lips screw up into a tight line.

“I don’t think you should be here,” Maria says. “You’re forgetting your place. Your roommate is...”

“My roommate is what,” Tony starts, glaring at her. “My roommate is what, mother? You want to honestly finish that sentence?”

“He’s not good enough!” she yells at him. “You are a Stark!”

Tony stares at her for a moment. And then another moment.

“Leave,” he says. “Get the hell out of here.”

“You don’t tell me-”

“I do,” Tony says, using his full height to his advantage. “You can tell me how many times I’ve fucked up as many times as you want, but you never talk about James that way ever again.”

He twists on his heel, forcefully opening the door to the dormitory and not once looking back.

Rhodey finds Tony back in his room when he gets back from getting ready for the night, and Tony is clutching a pillow and laying face down on the bed.

“You know, you’ll have to turn over eventually to get some fresh air.”

“Leave me to die, Rhodey. Oh my god.”

“That bad?”

“That bad. She’s probably going to try and put me in a prestigious college or some shit.”

“Oof. Wanna fake your death and run away?”

“Please.”

“Well, too bad. I have a test next week, and you need to do your poetry notes.”

“But poetry sucks.”

“It only sucks because you don’t like modern poetry, suck it up and pull it out of your ass or something.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Maria is trying very hard to get her son away from MIT and towards a fancy school in Europe. She doesn’t even care where, just away from his roommate and his classic rock posters and the dormitory. Anthony needs an environment where he can focus on networking, meeting more people.

Howard says no.

He can’t even bother to remember her son’s birthday, and he says “no.”

“We need Anthony to go to an American school, and nothing is better besides maybe Cal Tech, and he’ll have to finish another year of college and Hammer Industries can use that as a sign of an unsteady heir.”

“Well then get rid of his roommate.”

“I’m not doing that, you’re asking for a PR death sentence.”

“He’s a bad influence.”

“No he’s not,” Howard says tiredly. “The kid is finally standing up for himself, and you hate that.”

“I don’t hate that he can be his own person.”

“You just wish he were his own person under your specifications,” Howard drawls. “He’s staying at MIT, that’s final.”

“Hmph.”

Howard rolls his eyes.

“Go back to planning whatever charity gala you’re hosting this week, honey. I’m sure things will be fine.”

Maria doesn’t speak against her husband, just fumes and decides she’s going to try to get Jarvis’ opinion.

Edwin is also a flat no.

“He will not forgive you if you do this,” he says, pouring her tea and adding in one sugar cube. “He loves his school, he talks about it all the time.”

“And what, he calls you?”

Edwin Jarvis realizes he shouldn’t have mentioned this.

“At times, madam. At times. Will that be all?”

“...that will be all.”

Jarvis does bring up a good point. Besides her, of course, he knows Anthony best, even if he does keep calling him Tony. Anthony will grow out of that nickname soon enough.

She has hope for her boy. He will most likely grow out of this silly little phase in life and finally appreciate her lessons.

Tony Stark doesn’t.

Well, he learns her lessons. Can appreciate some of them and how much he hates that he uses them.

But he learns a far more important lesson from Rhodey, and it shapes everything:

“You’re your own person, and you’re far better as your own person,” Rhodey says. “I wanted to kick the shit out of you when we first lived together.”

“You did?”

“Of course I did!” Rhodey explains, gesturing with his coffee mug and getting yet another stain on the pillow. (Laundry again. Ugh.) “You talked like you were from a movie from the forties, it sucked.”

“Oh, you mean the transatlantic accent?”

“It’s pretentious, just ditch it. You’re interesting enough to listen to on your own. I listen to you talk about how much you hate Picasso sculpture, don’t I?”

“You do,” Tony admits.

“So then be yourself. Use what your mom taught you sometimes, but otherwise don’t.”

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure, I’m a fucking genius.”

Tony snorts.

“Okay, Mr. ‘I Forgot to Run the Dishes Again.’”

“I already said I was sorry!”

Tony takes Rhodey’s advice into account when he walks into any board room. He wears the worst possible shoes with every single suit, usually uses all sorts of cultural references that fly over the old board members’ heads.

He does things his way. It’s unconventional, it’s unpredictable, and it earns him a reputation.

He’s in an interview in a suit and patterned tie (patterned with tiny robots), and the woman is smiling in a plastic way on the other side.

“Now, a lot of people are saying you’re taking the business world by storm with your unconventional methods and personality. What helped you formulate this, your father?”

“Oh god no,” Tony says, laughing. “He’d probably curse me to hell and back for even wearing this tie. My mother would drag me back down to hell again for this.”

“Then who helped you with this?”

“Rhodey, who else?” Tony asks. “He always gives the best advice, even if I’ll deny that about fifteen minutes later. He really is the reason that I’m who I am today.”

“Seems like a great guy.”

“He is. He always is,” Tony says with a grin. “Except, of course, when he doesn’t fold his laundry, that bastard.”

The interviewer laughs and moves on, but Tony smiles to himself.

He doesn’t have to be the best, he just has to be Rhodey’s. That’s all that matters.

#lovelyirony writes #maria stark #howard stark #tony stark #rhodey #ironhusbands #kind of #i'm hinting at it and i didn't outright rlly say shit but y'all know me so you should know this #anyways tony DOES develop his own personality and rhodey hates him for like three months

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itsadamcole · 4 years ago

Text

graduation day pt. 3

fem!reader x finn balor

It’s Christmas now, and Finn and reader have been able to keep their relationship on the down low for four months. That is until the faculty have a Christmas party, where no one’s secrets are safe ... “i really wanna kiss you right now”

word count: 5.3k+

warnings: a former teacher/former student relationship, drinking / being drunk, jealousy, angst, smut, a little bit of public teasing, fluff

— someone wanted a part 3 and this popped up into my head so this is for whoever wanted the part 3. y’all will finally find out where finn teaches in this part .... but part 4? —

masterlist || part 1 | part 2 | part 4 | part 5 || request an imagine here

~ 18+ content below - read at your own risk ~

“Baby,” Finn whines. “Come on. It’ll be so fun. Everyone is gonna be there. Plus, you’re part of the faculty now because ya are Ver’s assistant.”

He stands in front of you in a suit with red and green Christmas themed tie and sneakers. You love Finn, but the tie he’s wearing is ugly.

You look up at Finn and say, “I don’t think I even have anything to wear, Finn. It’s so last minute. You’re literally on your way to the party.”

Your boyfriend pouts and gives you puppy dog eyes. “Please, Y/N. Pretty please. I’ll never ask ya for something again.”

You giggle and say, “We can’t even be together at the party so why should I go? It wouldn’t be much fun for me because I have maybe two teacher friends, one of which you hate because you think he flirts with me.”

Finn says, “I don’t hate him. He just better learn how to stop flirting with my girl.”

You laugh and say, “I need like forty five minutes to get ready because you caught me off guard.” You’re in your Christmas pajamas. A red cami tank top with Santa’s face on it with red and black plaid pants. Those are your pajamas.

Finn gets happy and excited that you said you were going. You walk back into your bedroom and let Finn into your apartment. You walk to your closet to find something to wear.

You call from your room, “So, is this like a formal event or can I wear a short dress?”

Finn says, “A short dress should be fine. It’s not really formal, I just didn’t know what else to wear so I put on a suit.”

You laugh as you raid your closet.

It takes a good ten minutes before you find a dress that would be acceptable for a last-minute Christmas party.

The dress is a dark red, two piece number. The top of the dress is sparkly with a halter top. The fabric on the back is completely sheer except for the line of the zipper, which runs from the collar down to the bottom of the top. The skirt is a little poofy and ends about halfway down your thighs. The waistband of the skirt is sparkly like the top. A bit of your stomach peeks out between the top and the skirt. You wear a pair of dark red heels to match the dress.

You curl your Y/H/C colored hair and do a red and silver smokey eye look for makeup. You add a little foundation, highlight, and dark red lipstick to complete the makeup look. You put in silver earrings and a silver bracelet that Finn got you for your birthday last month.

You leave your room, walking down the hallway. Finn hears you enter the living room and he smiles when he sees you. “Wow,” he says.

Your face turns a little red and you ask, “Like it?” You do a little spin and the skirt flares out a little bit.

Finn walks over to you and says, “I love it. Ya look stunning, my love.”

You look up at Finn and ask, “So what’s the plan? We can’t walk into the party together.”

He says, “I’ve thought about that. I’m going to park in my usual parking spot. Ya will get out first and I’ll be about five minutes behind ya.”

You giggle and say, “Hm. Smart. Except everyone knows your car.”

“Exactly,” he says. “So we’re taking yours. I’ll drive.”

You blink and say, “That’s also smart.”

Finn laughs and says, “I didn’t become a professor overnight. I went though college and training in Ireland and in the United States.”

You say, “You’ve never explained to me how you became a teacher. Is it different in Ireland than it is here in the States?”

He says, “Not really. I needed my Bachelor’s degree, which I got after four years. Then I had to get a basic teaching credential, which I got after 120 hours of training. I taught in Ireland for three years, until I was 25 before I decided to come over to the States to get my Master’s degree in education, then I was offered a job here once I completed my Florida teaching certificate so I stayed and have been teaching in the States for ten years this year.”

You look up at Finn as he talks. He seems so excited when he talks about going to school in Ireland before coming to the United States to teach. It makes you so happy that he gets excited to talk about his journey from Ireland to the United States.

You wait until he’s done talking before saying, “That’s amazing. It’s crazy how long you’ve been teaching for.”

Finn smiles and says, “Yeah, it is. So, shall we head to the party?”

You nod and collect your things, and by ‘things’ you really mean your clutch, your keys, and your phone.

You and Finn leave your apartment building and the cool breeze hits you.

It’s a warm night tonight in Orlando, Florida. You and Finn will make the short drive to Full Sail University, where Finn teaches and you assist.

Finn drives your car and you play on your phone as he drives. You scroll through Twitter and Instagram.

Your phone begins to ring and you see it’s your mom. Your eyes widen and say, “Crap, I never told my mom I was coming home this Christmas.” You had a flight today but didn’t make it in time, which is why Finn showed up and asked you to come to the party.

Finn glances over at your phone to see your mom calling and he says, “What’re ya gonna say to her?”

“Well I can’t tell her the truth,” you say, answering the phone. “Hey, Mom.”

Your mom says, “Hi, honey. Where are you? You should be home by now.”

You say, “Um, yeah. I missed my flight this morning so I won’t be making it home for Christmas this year.”

“I can book you another flight if you’d like,” your mother says. “It wouldn’t be an issues.”

You internally start to panic and say, “No, it’s okay. I’ll FaceTime you, dad, and Y/S/N on Christmas morning to see everyone open presents and everything.”

Your mom says, “I’ll send yours down to you so you’ll have them before Christmas. They’ll probably be in a big box so be prepared.”

You laugh and say, “Alright, Mom. I’ll talk to you later. I’m on my way to a little get together at the school.”

“Have fun,” your mom says. “Stay safe. I love you.”

You say, “I love you too, Mom.”

She hangs up and you sigh. “Not a complete lie,” Finn says, pulling into his parking spot. You laugh.

He parks the car and he looks over at you. “You’ll be coming in a few minutes?” you ask, looking over at Finn.

Finn nods and says, “I’ll be there in about five minutes.”

You nod and say, “I’ll see you in a few minutes.” He smiles and nods before you get out of the car. You walk through the parking lot to the gym area.

In your four years as a student, you’ve heard all about the faculty Christmas parties. You’ve heard all the stories of drama that have happened at these parties. You’re hoping that nothing happens this year but you’re not holding your breath.

In the past four months, you and Finn have begun a ‘friendship’ by having lunch in the cafeteria or his office. You’ve tried to stay away from him as much as you can but it’s hard when he’s one classroom over from you.

Veronica, the teacher you’ve been assisting, has kept a close eye on you since day one. She’s very suspicious of something more than just a friendship between you and Finn because of what happened day one in Finn’s office.

You walk into the gym. Faculty members are all scattered throughout and the gym is decorated with Christmas decor. There are tables are covered with red and green covered with a Christmas themed figure in the middle. Lights and garland hang throughout the rafters. Christmas music is blaring in the large room. There’s a small dance floor section. You see a minibar in the corner. So there is alcohol, which makes you happy. You’re 23 so you can drink legally.

You ask for a Coke and vodka at the minibar before you walk around, trying to find anyone you know.

That’s when one of your professor friends comes up to you. Mr. Seth Rollins. History professor.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, drunkenly wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I thought you were going home for the break.”

You laugh at how drunk he already is before you say, “I was, but then I missed my flight this morning. Someone convinced me to come tonight so here I am.”

Seth smiles and says, “Well, I’m glad you’re here. Come dance with me, Y/N. Have some fun."

You look up at Seth and say, "Alright. One dance."

The two of you walk to the little dance floor area. You sway to the beat of the music with your drink in your hand. Seth makes small talk with you as the two of you dance to Santa Claus Is Coming To Town by the Jackson 5.

A few minutes pass by and you decide to start looking around for Finn. Seth notices that you're distracted and he asks, "You looking for someone? Maybe a boyfriend you invited?" Your eyes shoot to Seth when he says the word 'boyfriend'. "So it is a boyfriend. Do I know him?"

You immediately jump into defense mode and say, "No, it's not a boyfriend. I'm just looking around. I haven't met half these people."

Seth says, "Don't think I haven't seen how close you and Finn Balor are. Always in the cafeteria having lunch. It's a little weird considering that you're his former student."

You stop moving and you look at Seth. You say, "I graduated in May. It's been over seven months. I had you as my history professor in my first year. That's a little weird too."

He opens his mouth to talk and he says, "I won't deny that but you're so much closer to Finn than you are to me. Plus, Finn looks at me weird when I'm around you."

Finn does think that Seth has a thing for you. You look the same way at Veronica when she's around Finn. You two get so jealous sometimes, you won't deny that fact.

"Finn looks at everyone weird," you say. "I don't know if you've noticed that."

As your eyes scan the room, you find Finn. He's standing with Veronica and one of the other English professors, Mr. Kevin Owens. You sigh. Seth looks back to see Finn talking with Veronica and Kevin before looking back at you.

Seth says, "You're either jealous or upset that he's talking to Veronica. I heard what happened when she walked into his office on the first day. You told her off and she's been upset over that for the past four months."

You say, "I'm not surprised. She's been harassing him for a while from what I understand. He's been rejecting her."

He laughs and says, "She's been after him since she got hired. The English Department head loves her. Finn's been saying no to her for years but she won't lay off him. Everyone was shocked when you of all people said something to her."

"How many people know that I said something?" you ask, looking up at Seth.

Seth says, "A lot of people do. I think some people from all departments know what happened. It's not exactly a secret, Y/N."

You facepalm and say, "Great."

After a second, Seth says, "Oh, shit."

You look up at Seth. "What?" you ask. "What's happening?"

"Veronica is all over Finn," he says. "Kevin left and it's just the two of them. He's pushing her away from him."

You turn and look at Finn. Veronica is all over him. Kevin is walking away from them. Anger rises inside of you.

Seth says, "For someone who isn't your boyfriend, you're sure acting like he is. You look so mad, Y/N."

You look at Seth and say, "Excuse me for a second, Seth." You walk toward Finn. Your boyfriend looks over at you and says something to Veronica. She looks over at you and rolls her eyes.

Finn looks at you and says, "Y/N, nice to see ya."

"You too, Finn," you say, looking at him. "You looked like you could use some help." You look over at Veronica, glaring at her. "No offense."

She forces a smile and says, "Full offense taken."

Seth walks up beside you and asks, "Everything okay over here?"

You look at Seth then look at Finn. Veronica says, "Everything's fine. Just making polite conversation. Nothing to be worried about."

Finn is staring at Seth. In Finn's defense, Seth is standing a little too close to you for comfort.

Seth snaps his fingers and says, "Oh, Veronica, I wanted to talk to you about something so can I borrow you for a second?"

She nods and walks off with Seth. When they're out of sight, Finn takes your wrist and walks with you outside the gym. "Finn," you gasp as you walk after him. "I'm in heels. Slow down."

The two of you walk around the building and Finn looks down at you. "Why is Seth hanging around you?" he asks.

"He walked up to me," you say. "I was getting my drink and he asked me to dance. I could ask you the same question. Why is Veronica hanging around you?"

Finn says, "She walked up to me as soon as I walked into the room. It's like she was staring down the door and waiting for me to walk in. Why? Is someone jealous?" He raises his eyebrows at you.

You say, "Every chance she gets, she's all over you. I'll tell her off again, I swear to God, Finn. I will. I'll throw her across the damn room if I have to."

He laughs and says, "Stay around me tonight. I want to make sure ya don't throw her across the room."

You pout and say, "I'm not complaining about being around you but I still want to throw her across the room."

Finn leans down and pecks your lips before he says, "Relax, Y/N. Ya won't want to throw her across the room in a few minutes."

Confused, you tilt your head at Finn and ask, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That's for me to know and for ya to find out," Finn says. "Come on. Let's head back inside before it looks suspicious that I dragged ya out here."

You nod and head back into the gym with Finn. You walk with Finn to one of the tables. He pulls out a seat for you and you sit down, scooting closer to the table with Finn's help. He sits beside you and says, "Feeling better?"

You nod again and say, "Much."

Right at that moment, Seth and Veronica walk over. Seth sits on the other side of you and Veronica sits on the other side of Finn. You sigh softly and take a large gulp of your drink.

"Everything okay?" Seth asks, seeing you take the large sip of your drink.

You say, "Everything's just peachy."

After you say that, you feel Finn's hand on your knee under the table. The red table cover hides his hand on your knee.

Finn asks, "So what did the two of you need to talk about?"

Seth replies by saying, "I was going to come by and talk about the history behind the book she's going to be assigning her class to read in a few weeks."

"What book would that be?" you ask, looking at Veronica.

She says, "The Diary of Anne Frank. We analyze that book like no tomorrow. Usually, I have one of the history professors come in and talk about the historical context behind the Holocaust and everything. Seth knew this so he asked if he could be this year's speaker."

You look at Seth and say, "Oh, really? Well, I look forward to seeing you come to class in the future."

Finn's hand slide up your thigh under it's right under your skirt. You take another sip of your drink to wash away the nerves. Finn's never touched you when you're at the school, except for the three times you've had sex in his office since graduation day last May.

Seth says, "I do as well."

You finish your drink and look at the ice in the cup. You say, "I'm going to go get another drink. I'll be right back."

You start to get up and Finn's hand slides off your thigh.

"I'll come with ya," Finn suddenly says. "I've been needing a drink myself." He stands up and walks with you to the minibar.

You ask, "What do you think you're doing, Finn? You can just put your hand on my knee like that."

Finn stands beside you at the minibar as you order another Coke and vodka. He leans down and says in your ear, "I did and I will again."

You're handed your refilled drink and look over at Finn. "You're being very touchy-feely tonight and it better stop unless you want the relationship coming out into the open."

He says, "I'm a little drunk and a little jealous that Seth can just openly flirt with ya."

"Now you know how I feel," you say, sipping your drink. "We both get a little jealous, don't we?"

Finn secretly leaves a few soft kisses to your jawline as he says, "I'll lead to some really hot, jealous sex tonight."

You giggle and say, "If you're that lucky. You won't be lucky if you keep kissing my jaw when our co-workers are around."

He smirks and says, "Touche, my love."

After the little conversation that left your core aching for Finn, you head back to the table. Clearing your throat, you sit back down.

You cross your legs under the table in case Finn gets any ideas. His hand goes back to its spot on your thigh when he's settled next to you.

You, Finn, Seth, and Veronica make small conversation.

Veronica asks, "So, Seth, have you been seeing anyone recently? Or have your eye on someone?"

Seth looks directly at you and says, "I have my eye on someone. I don't think she feels the same though."

Finn grips your thigh a bit after he slides it up a bit. You gasp and cough to cover it up. You take a sip of your drink.

"What about you, Y/N? Dating anyone or talking to anyone?" Veronica asks, eyes staring into your soul.

You say, "I'm dating someone but it's none of your business who it is."

Seth nudges me with his elbow and says, "Tell us about him. What's he like? Does he go to school here?"

You look over at Seth and say, "He's not from around here. He's from Europe. France, actually. He's home visiting his family for the holidays."

Veronica says, “Oh, wow. What’s his name?”

Quickly, a name pops into your head. “Francis Blanchet,” you say. Finn’s initials. F.B.

Finn snickers under his breath. Seth asks, “What’s so funny, Finn?”

“Nothing,” he says, pulling his phone out quickly. “Just got a funny text. That’s all.”

Veronica says, “Well, I have my eyes on someone.”

You shoot a glare as Veronica and say, “We’re all aware that you stalk Finn because you’re in love with him.”

Finn and Seth both stare at me as Veronica says, “You’re acting like you’re in love with him or something.”

I am, you think to yourself but you say out loud, “I have a boyfriend in France and Finn never told us if he was dating anyone.”

All three of you look at Finn. He looks at you and says, “I am.”

“There we go,” you say, glaring at Veronica. “Stop chasing a man who’s taken.”

Finn gets up and says, “Alright. I’m diffusing the situation before it gets too out of hand so, Y/N.” You look up at him. “Come dance with me.”

You get up and take Finn’s offered hand that he held out to you after he asked you to dance. Veronica’s jaw drops and asks, “What about me?”

“You sound like a five-year-old and you’re, what, 35?” you ask. “Grow up”

Finn walks away with you, hand in hand.

Snow in California by Ariana Grande is playing. There are a lot of pairs on the dance floor so you walk to the other side, out of sight of Seth and Veronica.

Finn takes you in his arms and you wrap your arms around his waist, both of you swaying to the music.

He’s looking down at you and you look up at him. Finn’s face is close to yours and he says, “Ya are jealous.”

You smile and say, “Maybe a little. She’s claiming you like you’re hers.”

“I’m yours, my love,” Finn says to you. “All yours. I may not show it a lot when we’re here at school but I do love ya. A lot.”

You stare up into Finn’s eyes and you say, “I really wanna kiss you right now.”

Finn’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip and he says, “I really wanna do more than just kiss ya right now. Our little conversation earlier made me a little too excited.”

You bite your lip lightly and say, “Let’s head out soon and we can go to whoever’s place is closer and you can do more than just kiss me all night long.”

He nods and says, “Ya leave in a half hour and I’ll follow behind ya after about ten minutes.”

You nod and pull yourself closer to Finn, staring up at him.

Someone clears their throat and taps you on the shoulder. You turn and see Seth Rollins. “Can I get a dance?” he asks innocently.

You look up at Finn and he has a jealous look in his eyes but he says: “Sure. Find me after, Y/N.”

He hands you over to Seth and walks off. You look up at Seth and he says, “I’m surprised that he said yes. I thought he was gonna kill me right then and there.”

You say, “He’s a little possessive of me. I mean, look around the room. I’m the youngest person in here. He just wants to make sure I’m safe.”

Seth says, “I do too, but if you were my girlfriend then I wouldn’t leave your side.”

You stare up at Seth and say, “For the last time, Finn and I aren’t-”

“Cut the bull,” he says, cutting you off. You close your mouth. “When Ver said that you were acting like you were in love with him, you muttered ‘I am’. I heard you. The way you look at him, I wish you’d look at me that way.”

Seth looks behind you and you glance behind you. Veronica is trying to kiss Finn and you look at Seth. You say, “I can’t do anything without it looking suspicious.”

Seth says, “I’ll handle it.”

He turns to walk away before you take his wrist, saying, “No. I’ll handle it. I don’t care anymore.”

You walk over to Veronica and Finn. You look at Finn and say to Veronica, “What would Finn’s girlfriend think if she found you were moving in on Finn. She's not here but imagine if she walked through that door and saw you trying to kiss her man."

Veronica looks at you before she asks, "What would your boyfriend think if you were defending Finn like you were the one dating him?"

Finn looks over at you and says, "Because she is the one dating me."

You, Seth, and Veronica all look at Finn. Finn smiles and says, "She's Finn's girlfriend." You smile when he refers to himself in the third person. "And I am head over heels for her."

He walks over to you and you stare up at him. Seth smiles behind you as Veronica says, "This is highly inappropriate. She's your former student."

"Keyword," Finn says, not looking away from me. "Former. She graduated in May, she's not my student anymore. She's just my co-worker and my girlfriend."

You giggle and say, "I am."

Finn rests his hands on my cheeks and says, "Ya said how much ya wanted to kiss me earlier. What's stopping ya now?"

You smile and say, "Nothing." Your hands fly to the back of Finn's neck and you pull him down to you. His lips crash to yours and start to move against yours. Seth claps behind you and Finn smiles against your lips.

Veronica says, "Whatever." She walks off.

Seth says, "Okay, okay. Let's not suck off each other's faces in front of everyone."

Finn pulls back and smiles down at you. You look at Seth and say, "Thanks for like not freaking out."

Seth smiles and says, “You guys are cute. I kind of suspected something day one and was waiting for the day that you guys made it public. It was also why I never made a move on Y/N even though I liked her.”

You laugh a bit and Finn says, “I think I’m starting to like ya a little more.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Seth says. “Go home and take care of that.” He motions to Finn’s hand on my butt. “I know how you two are just dying to leave so go ahead.”

Finn doesn’t waste any time in grabbing my clutch and my hand before running out the door. You laugh as you try to keep up with Finn.

***

Finn’s place is the closest to the school. He lives in a three floor Victorian house. You guess with a professors salary he can afford this on his own. You’ve been here a few times before but he likes to come to your apartment.

He parks your car in his driveway and gets out. You get out and walk into his house. Once the front door is closed, Finn’s lips connect to yours and your hands fly to his hair. You smile into the kiss and kick off your heels by the door. Finn sheds his jacket.

The two of you stumble toward the stairs. Finn’s tie comes off and you start to unbutton his shirt as you walk up the stairs.

Once up the stairs, Finn shrugs his shirt off and unzips the top of your dress. You throw the piece of clothing onto the hallway floor and Finn picks you up by your thighs.

The kiss has gotten more intense when you and Finn slip your tongues into each other’s mouths. He pins you against the hallway wall.

“Finn,” you giggle against his lips. “Your room is right upstairs.”

He says, “I can’t wait that long.”

Finn pulls off your skirt and you reach down to unbutton his jeans. He walks upstairs to the third floor and into his bedroom.

You’re dropped on the bed and he pulls off his dress pants. He kicks off his shoes before leaning down and hovering over you.

His lips are on your breasts, kissing and sucking one while his hand groping the other. You moan softly and run your fingers through Finn’s hair as he pays attention to your breasts.

You lift your hips up so your clothed core rubs against Finn’s bulge. He lets out a soft groan so you do it again. And again. Until he pins your hips to the bed.

“Relax, my love,” he says, pulling down your soaked red lace panties. “We’re gonna get there.”

You bite your lip and look up at Finn, saying, “I need you inside of me right now, Finn. Please.” Desperation is laced in your voice.

The room is dark but you know that Finn’s looking at your now fully naked body as he throws your panties to the floor. He gets himself out of his boxers and hovers back over you.

Finn pulls you close to him and kisses you. Your lips move feverishly against his as his top runs through your wet folds. You moan into the kiss.

He pushes himself into you, making you moan louder.

You love when you have sex at Finn’s house instead of your apartment because you can be as loud as you want. Your neighbors can hear you when you’re with Finn in your apartment. There’s no one around in Finn’s house.

Finn moves slowly, letting you adjust to him inside of you. You gasp and moan as he pulls back from the kiss. His lips attach to your neck and he starts thrusting harder and faster into you.

“God, Finn,” you moan, throwing your head back. “Fuck, right here.” He moves deeper into you and he grazes your g-spot with his top.

You moan loudly and your back arches off the bed. Your hands are on Finn’s back, digging your nails into his flesh.

Finn’s now kissing your jaw, panting a bit by your ear.

He mumbles, “I love you, Y/N. I love you so much.”

Finn thrusts faster and you moan, “I love you too, Finn. So much.”

The room is filled with your moans and the sound of skin slapping as Finn thrusts into you.

It takes a little bit before both of you reach your highs at the same time. You release around Finn and he releases into you. You scream Finn’s name as you climax.

Finn helps you ride out your high and kisses you messily. Both of you are breathing heavily as you come down from your highs.

He gets off of you and he says, “Come with me.” He puts on his boxers. You grab one of his shirts and put your panties on. Your legs are a little weak but you follow Finn. His hand is in yours. He pulled the blankets off the bed and he walks downstairs with you and the blankets.

“Where are we going?” you ask, walking into the living room.

Finn gets the fireplace started and you smile. He lays out the blankets in front of it and he lays down. “Come cuddle,” he says.

You giggle and lay down beside him. He wraps his arms around you and you throw your arm lazily across his waist. Your head rests on his chest and you intertwine your legs with his.

The two of you lay in front of the warm fireplace for an hour before a clock goes off.

It’s midnight. It’s Christmas Day.

Finn smiles and looks down at you. “I know we promised not to get each other anything,” he says. “But I have something for you.”

You watch as Finn gets up and grabs a little present from under his tree. The present is big enough to fit in your hand. He sits next to you and holds it out to you.

“Finn,” you say, sitting up and crossing your legs. “You didn’t have to get me anything.” You take the gift from him.

He smiles and says, “I know. Just open it.”

You smile and start to open the gift. Inside the gift wrap is a dark red velvet box. You look up at Finn and he’s smiling. Slowly, you open the box.

Inside the box is a ring with an oval diamond. You look up at Finn again and ask, “What’s this?”

Finn smiles and says, “A ring.”

“Why?” you ask as he takes the ring out of the box.

He holds it out to you and moves so he’s on one knee. Your eyes widen. “The past few months have been some of the best of my life. I love you, Y/N. More than you think. I didn’t know that when ya walked into my classroom a year ago that we’d be here. When ya came to me on graduation day and told me how ya felt, I knew that I wanted ya in my life forever. So, I’m asking ya for forever.”

You stare at the ring in Finn’s hand as he talks.

“Marry me, Y/N.”

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bluepluto03 · 4 years ago

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I’m working on an atla yt au and I wanna ramble about it

- so jsyk it takes place in like a modern/atla fusion world, so they have modern tech as well as bending and atla animals

- note that when I say fusion I don’t mean modern America w/ benders. I mean I literally spent 4 hrs developing/world building what I thought the avatar universe would be like a thousand yrs post cannon, including cities, really basic politics, an education system, a job/degree/aprenticeship system that is very different from our own job market, bending certification, a back story for the dragons, a fifth air temple bc the genocide never happened, and some other stuff as well.

- (all of that for a youtube au. *sigh*. can anyone explain why I’m like this?)

- anyway the Gaang all have like 1 joint account that they’ll post to as well as their own main accounts. (They also have another joint account where they get someone to make like compilations of funny stuff from their vids and they donate all the revenue that acct makes)

- technically the only ppl officially apart of the Gaang/able to post on the joint channel are Aang, Sokka, Katara, Toph, suki, zuko* and yue. (Though yue posts there very rarely) but a lot of their friends are also YouTube’s and they like constantly collab w/ them to the point of them basically being honorary members

- * zuko doesn’t make a channel for a while,,, he just keeps appearing in his friends videos until ppl start demanding that he makes his own channel

- at first he’s like,,,,, nah bc he Legally is supposed to stay out of the public eye. (Bc of Scar Related Reasons) but eventually he’s like “actually fuck it” and does anyway

- so he just does a lot of random stuff bc he’s just,,,,, himself he has no freaking clue how to social media. Tho he does a lot of showing off his firebending and sword play stuff. As well as introducing everyone to the literal seven turtle ducks he owns

- aang shows off air bending plus has tutorials on animal care and gives advice. Also slot of vids about having good mental health, and random video game stuff

- Katara only really does video game stuff w/ others but she mainly does like water bending stuff, informational videos about healing (both bending based and traditional medicine based), and life advice bc she cares about everyone!!

- Sokka does a lot of video game stuff as well as lots of different weapon stuff! Tho obviously he specializes in the boomerang and sword. Zuko was on his channel a lot b4 making his own and ppl wondered if they were together since Sokka was very openly bi. (They were and ofc everyone freaked)

(Although on that note pls remember shipping real ppl is gross ty have a nice day)

- Toph!! Obvi earthbending but also Literally Teaching Metalbending since she u know invented it?? Also she has a podcast and has a lot of random asf vids on her channel

- suki!!!! She does a lot of makeup stuff, both traditional Kyoshi warrior makeup and those really out there types of makeup where ppl turn their faces into canvases. As well as obviously showing off her incredible skills

- yue does a lot of informational vids especially about the history of the water tribes and spirits! Also a short series of her doing suki’s nails bc for some reason suki is really bad at them?? Dispite being super precise with makeup???

(Spoiler alert suki just wants an excuse to hold her wife’s hand. Yes suki and yue are married don’t @ me)

- the main channel is mostly for them goofing around. They don’t have to put cross overs there (and they don’t put all of em there) but the main channel is just filled with them hanging out and being dumbasses. Also suki doing Sokka and aang’s makeup while yue does zuko’s nails.

- iroh gets featured in a couple of advice giving videos and somehow ends up with a Twitter that he just uses to give wholesome advice to anyone who needs it!

- Sokka and aang have a series doing a “buzzfeed unsolved” type thing w/ spirits. Except. U know. spirits are real. so poor aang is dragged along as Sokka cusses out random spirits apologizing after every word Sokka says.

- mai, ty lee, and azula have a channel called “the killer trio”. Mostly to show off ty lee’s acrobatics, mai’s knives/knife skills, and occasionally azula and her fire bending

- (azula is nice bc she left w/ zuko and Ursa when they were 11/13, then got A lot of Therapy. Now she’s on good terms w/ her fam, including her step dad and step sister)

- anyway bc her and zuko legally u know. Have to stay out of the public she very rarely goes on camera. When she does it’s usually wide shots sparring w/ one of her gf’s or her face is blurred. Her identity becomes a huge mystery and she’s just referred to as “the blue fire bender” bc that’s all anyone really knows about them

- she’s way more parinoid than zuko bc she’s actually a lot more scared of their dad and is trying to protect her brother even if he won’t protect himself

- ofc zuko eventually drops the truth of the whole thing (azula is like bitch wtf??? do u want Ozai to send a hitman after u???) but after all the legal stuff azula just. Casually posts a pic of mai and ty lee both kissing her on the cheek and the internet explodes

- (they knew mai and ty lee were dating but holy shit they’re dating the blue fire bender??? And she lives with them??? And she’s zuko’s sister??!?!)

- teo and his dad have an inventing channel and ofc Sokka shows up pretty regularly

- Haru has a very small channel mostly for fun tho he’s gotten his butt kicked in some of toph’s vids

- ppl like the bolder do not have channels they’re the equivalent of like actual famous wrestlers. Toph has invited them over to fight and has beaten all of them

- zuko has a video titled “I swear to Agni I can explain”. He posted it after about 3 months of not posting. The video features druk’s introduction.

#atla youtube au #atla #zuko #aang #toph #katara #sokka #suki #yue #iroh #azula #mai #ty lee #atla au #my post #my wiritng #my wips

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1kook · 5 years ago

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baecation

Jeon Jeongguk x (F) Reader

summary⥗“Lose the top, or lose the right to present yourself in any low back gown for the next three months.” He truly knew the way to your heart. tags⥗richboy!jk, -3 knowledge of how vacations work, domestic love!!!, outdoor sex, unprotected sex, fingering, jk’s white ass cheeks mention wc⥗5.9k u ever randomly get inspired for the first time in 2 months and write a whole fic in one night anyway enjoy

There were many perks to dating the heir of your city’s top conglomerate, the endless showering of gifts being one of them, but your favorite thing about your boyfriend wasn’t his overflowing pockets or his secure future, but the lovesick look in his eyes when you told him how much you loved him.

Jeongguk was an enigma.

He was born to be the stereotypical rich boy that authors of teen fiction could only dream of, his looks suitable for magazine covers and his brains destined for top-notch universities. His bloodline was carefully crafted by generations before him, every marriage carefully planned and executed with the ultimate goal to preserve their place in society as apex predators. In fact, Jeongguk’s entire life had been one big script his family had carefully pushed him along, from the fencing classes he took to the hiring of the nation’s best nannies to care for him, all subtle enough for him to not complain but demanding enough that he knew what was going on.

The only thing they hadn’t planned in Jeongguk’s life was him meeting you.

They had never planned for him to meet some middle-class girl, who was definitely not an heiress to any particular company or celebrity of any level, just some random girl he had accidentally bumped into leaving a charity event at the local community park. They hadn’t planned for his long, gangly arms to knock your phone out of your hand, or send it tumbling into the lake as you both watched on in horror. It was only after the quiet plop of water registered in both your ears that you had whirled on him, half of you in shock and the other in fury.

Jeongguk was, as previously stated, handed everything on a silver platter. His parents hardly bothered with teaching him how to do things. He barely understood how to work a washing machine, because all of that was done for him by other people. At the moment, he didn’t have to bother with taking an entrance exam to the best university this side of the country because he knew his parents would pay for the entire thing out of pocket. He especially didn’t ever have to worry about what to do when random girls scolded him in public sight, because frankly, it would never happen.

Yet here he was, completely startled as you told him to watch where he was going, and to learn how to apologize to people when you’ve done something wrong. He’d never had someone of a lower status than him treat him so aggressively before, and when you pause to catch your breath all he can stumble out is that he’ll replace your phone, he’ll even buy you the best model, what was your number so his people could reach out to you again?

The last sentence has you groaning in frustration, as you pointed furiously towards the lake, because how on earth was he supposed to contact you when your phone was 20 feet below surface level?!

After another fifteen minutes of you continuing your verbal rampage against him, the entirety of it which he’d spent fending off his security guard and his assistant (both who’d been appalled that he’d willingly let this peasant swear and curse at him) as he stared at you in awe.

When you finally calmed down and he’d offered to take you to the Starbucks across the street to figure out the details of your phone replacement, he’s surprised to find out your normal disposition is nothing like the one you’d first shown him. In fact, you’re rather sheepish and embarrassed at the coffee shop, albeit still a little upset with him for trashing your phone.

After you’ve finished nailing out the little details of your phone replacement, which included you hesitantly giving him your address, he leaves right away. He’s sad to leave so soon, having become completely enthralled with your entire being in the thirty minutes he’s come to know you, that he finds himself hopelessly staring out of the backseat of the Benz as he travels back to his upscale apartment in the heart of the city. He hopes you don’t forget him so soon.

To say you’re surprised to see a package on your doorstep the next morning is an understatement. You remember every online purchase you make, and if memory serves you right, you hadn’t made one in the past month to warrant its arrival today. After glancing down both ends of your hall, you tug the mystery package inside.

In hindsight you probably should have been more cautious of the entire situation, but part of you was extremely curious to see what brought this surprise on. After tugging the tape off and shuffling through the packing peanuts you’re met with a sleek box for the hottest and most expensive phone right now, a pink bow carefully tied around to secure a note.

One of our guard’s fished around the lake for the phone I misplaced and managed to retrieve the memory card. I hope you won’t mind the new contact I added.

Best,

Jeon Jeongguk

And thus was the start of your love story.

You’re wondering if Jeongguk’s sudden idea was truly a spur of the moment epiphany or another ploy for him to get out of going to the ball his father had planned at the end of this month. You’ve come to learn in the last two years that despite his perfect boy aura, he was quite the impulsive shithead. Eitherway, you know he would have invited you to wherever he was going, and if he hadn’t, his mother would have shipped you a gown from her favorite designer and asked you to drag him there.

As it stands, it’s not a fancy ball you’re preparing for this time around, but a luxurious spring break in the Bahamas, away from school and family and anything to ruin your mood for the next week. You’d just finished your midterms when he bursts into your dorm room, demanding you pack your bags, baby, we’re going to the beach! Evidently, it was not the local beach you were going to. No, the ‘beach’ Jeongguk had referred to was one he conveniently forgot to mention was an entire plane ride away. It wasn’t until he returned later that same day to usher you off to the airport that he realizes how sorely under packed you are.

So now here you were, frantically cramming a week’s worth of cute, summer-y clothes into the only suitcase you own, running back and forth from your closet to the suitcase to the desk where you kept all your beauty products and shower essentials, while your boyfriend ate one of your granola bars on your bed.

“You better not get any crumbs on the bed, you know I hate finding them later,” you scold, not even bothering to look at him as you stuff all your makeup into a small bag.

Jeongguk snorts. “You won’t even be sleeping here for a week, babe,” he says, voice calm and relaxed in the way only someone who’s already done packing can be. The only consolation to your current state was that Jeongguk had booked his family’s private jet, so you really couldn’t be late to a flight only the two of you would be on.

You turn around with a hand on your hip, giving him the same unimpressed look you always do when he’s being unreasonable. “I’m sure the mice you’re attracting will keep it warm for me.” He rolls his eyes, finishing off his snack and then making a big show of patting down your creaky mattress to rid it of any granola crumbs.

He’s settled back into the bed when he speaks again. “Take the orange crop top you bought from Forever 21 last month, it makes your boobs looks amazing.”

You tuck your socks and undergarments against the suitcase’s inner pocket. “Oh right, ‘cause that’s a priority right now.” You don’t wanna tell him it’s already folded against your other clothes because you, too, think it makes your boobs look amazing.

You hear the rustling of the bed sheets once more, before you see his long legs come to a rest around you, arms wrapping around your waist to watch you ruffle through the clothing you already have. “Not my fault my girl’s got a nice set on her.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you beg, reaching over to your pile of haphazardly thrown shorts and skirts to fold some more into your luggage. You’re careful of not moving far enough away that his arms would dislodge from their embrace. “We could have been halfway to the Bahamas right now if someone bothered to plan things ahead of time and not last minute as a means to get out of a charity ball.”

Jeongguk groans, letting his head fall forward to rest against your back, his soft breath leaving your back warm through your t-shirt. “Can’t a guy just steal his girlfriend away to the Bahamas for a week to avoid the overwhelming stress of life, and maybe choke on some exotic shrimp while she chokes on his di—”

“Get off of me, you pervert!”

The second you step foot on the archipelago that is the gem of the resort world, it’s about seven thousand degrees hotter than it was back home, and the sweat on the back of your neck can attest to that. The jet ride here had been pretty fun, it being your first experience flying private, but also flying in general. Jeongguk had kept you entertained both on the take off and landing, lips kissing down every inch of your neck with a promise for more later.

Well, it was later now, and the need to be sated was still present, something you’re not quite sure your boyfriend was aware of. Jeongguk was like that. Forgetful as fuck. The only reason he ever got anything done was because he had that assistant of his practically glued to his hip at every moment of the day, breathing down his neck every task he needed to complete. If it was up to Jeongguk, and Jeongguk alone, things would get done at a very slow pace.

But you were nothing like your boyfriend, and you suppose it’s why you two go together so well. While he put things to the side, you needed everything to be done right away and fast. Which is why you find yourself pulling him away from the scuba diving kiosk in an effort to check into your high-end cottage away from all the tourist hub.

“Babeee,” he whines, almost forgetting his luggage for the nth time, not used to actually having to haul his things by himself. “We could have seen the reef! You know, where all the fish are at? Where Nemo lives.”

“Uh huh, that’s nice,” you say, finding the driver Jeongguk’s assistant (bless his uptight, perfectionist ass) had booked for your arrival. “But we need to check in first and make sure our rental is all good.”

He seems miffed about the fact people actually have to do that, and had it not been his status as a trust-fund baby funding this entire trip, you would have liked to sock him right in the nose. But he’s your boyfriend and you’re used to his somewhat clueless ways by now, so you let it go.

You don’t know what you expected his assistant to rent out for you guys, but it certainly wasn’t the swanky beach house your driver pulls up to. It’s carefully secluded from the other houses around it, a high hedge-turned-fence surrounding the private yard. It hides a decent sized pool, a few lawn-chairs, and a hot tub from the public beach down below. The house itself is marvelous, complete with multiple bedrooms, two baths, and the most luxurious kitchen you’ve ever seen in a beach house.

“Oh,” you say upon stepping out of the car, mouth agape as you take in the sight of your accommodation for the next few days.

A pair of hands snake around your waist before carefully coming to rest above your navel. Jeongguk presses a gentle kiss to your temple, murmuring, “all for you, princess.” The waves crashing against the beach below are miniscule compared to the sudden blossoming of warmth in your chest.

“Shut up,” you shyly whine, turning around to envelope him in your arms. Your need for him and his body fades at the breathtaking sight behind you, and you find yourself forgetting about it completely as you venture around the house.

It’s the same day when you decide to go out into the yard and tan for a bit. Jeongguk had went in for a nap, a little tired from keeping you entertained on the long flight, because he’d stayed awake even when you fell asleep just in case you woke up scared. You don’t try to discourage him, watching him snuggle into the king mattress as you shuffle around for your bikini.

You’re absentmindedly applying another layer of sunscreen to your face, sunglasses pushed onto the top of your head. You’re completely enveloped by thoughts of your boyfriend, of how he could have easily ran off to the Bahamas alone (he went to Moscow last November on a trip to ‘find himself’), but he’d elected to whisk you off with him.

You tuck your AirPods—another gift from him—into your ears before finally settling into the comfort of a lounge chair, the sun’s rays beating down on you full force. It feels wonderful being away from everything you know with the comfort of returning. You’d always dreamt of visiting such places as a teenager, the presence of a lover or not, but now you truly got to live out those fantasies with Jeongguk.

He was a dream.

It’s about thirty minutes into your session when you register the sound of the sliding door, and you crack one eye open to see your refreshed boyfriend wandering into the backyard in a pair of swimming trunks and a goofy look on his face. “Oh, pardon me, I didn’t know such women came to the public pool,” he smirks.

You roll your eyes, not that he sees through the shades protecting you. “Don’t you dare try to roleplay with me, weirdo.”

He cackles, before somersaulting into the pool, and you find yourself squealing at the splash he makes. He disappears for a second under the water, but then pops back up at the ledge closest to you. “Come on, don’t be a pussy. Play along and maybe we’ll go to the spa tomorrow morning,” he offers.

“Fine.” You decide to join him, but not because the spa.

Jeongguk laughs at your petulant tone of voice, before sprawling out to float across the surface of the pool. “Great, so here’s what I was thinking. Me, the rich middle-aged husband coming here strictly for business. And you, the shy darling relaxing by the pool with her girlfriends who are all pushing her to go talk to me.”

“Sounds perfect, except for the part where I’m actually the sly minx coming here to scam a rich college boy out of his money, luring him into the most pleasurable sex he’s ever had, before ghosting him for all eternity and leaving him forever waiting for someone like me to come into his life again,” you propose.

Jeongguk blinks. “Wow, that sounded so realistic. You’re either really good at this, or… I should be worried,” he playfully accuses, before throwing over a gesture that says im watching you. You laugh.

“Just keep swimming, rich boy.”

He does as you tell him, playing in the water as you tune back into the music drifting into your ears. You’re about done tanning the front side of your body, and flip over to make sure your backside catches the rays as well. You set your sunglasses off to the side, and when you look back for them they’re adorning Jeongguk’s silly face as he doggy paddles around the donut floaty he found.

“Untie your top, dumby. Unless you want those ugly tan lines,” Jeongguk calls out in that brash tone of his. You flip him the bird, before sitting up in a very Ariel-esque pose to glance around your private yard.

As if sensing your hesitation, Jeongguk paddles over to your side, leveling you with an unimpressed look. “These bushes are as tall as a door, and there’s no one around for the next half mile, babe. Lose the top, or lose the right to present yourself in any low back gown for the next three months.”

He truly knew the way to your heart.

You untie the knots at your back and your neck, carefully laying back down to get that perfect tan Jeongguk was talking about. Admittedly, you do feel a bit better knowing you won’t return home with noticeable tan lines, and that much is enough to have your topless self blissfully relaxing.

Your soundtrack is the playlist you had collected on the plane ride, occasionally joined by the splashing Jeongguk makes as he moves around the pool, and before you know it, your timer is ringing to let you know it’s time to flip over again. This time, you’re less hesitant about shedding your top, breasts bare to the sky as you throw the top over your eyes (guess where your sunglasses still where).

You hear a wolf whistle from the other side of the yard, and catch sight of Jeongguk sitting at the edge of the pool. His skin is glistening from the water, the sun enveloping him in its warmth. He’d been outside for a shorter time than you but somehow he’d accumulated a darker color faster. The sun loved him like no other. He’s pushing himself to his feet when he catches your gaze, mischievous smirk twisting his features as he rounds the pool.

“Didn’t know this was a nude beach,” he says, and you curse your body for the way it reacts to the sight of his messy hair and tone abdomen. Your nipples harden embarrassingly and you can’t even hide them.

“Tired already?” You muse instead, hoping he doesn’t comment on the state of your breasts. “Tired after a plane ride, tired after swimming. Didn’t know I was dating an old man.”

“Har har,” he says in a monotone voice, and you can’t help the curl of a smile at beating him at his own playful ways. He stops in front of you, and your expression is knocked clean off when the water droplets clinging to his body fall onto your warm skin.

“Jeongguk!” You whine, pushing him away with your foot in a valiant effort to save yourself from the cold water. If anything, your actions end up bringing your demise as he catches your ankle in his hand.

“Ah ah, princess,” he tuts, bending your leg upward only to place his knee where it once was. He ducks down to tower over you, your continuous squealing only bringing an evil smile to his face. “What did we say about tan lines?”

You push him away, groaning in defeat as his hair drips even more water onto your skin. “I took the top off, what now?”

He glances down, and for a moment, you’re confused as to what he sees that you don’t. You're only met with the sight of your yellow bikini bottom preserving the last of your dignity.

You scoff. “You’re kidding.”

Much to your chagrin, he’s not.

“You’re on one of the nicest islands in the world, staying in a private home with fences tall enough to stop Bigfoot from looking in, and you’re gonna tan with your bikini bottoms on? You’re ridiculous.”

You shove his shoulder, before resigning yourself to getting soaked by him as he shuffles around to squish you under his weight. “You’re ridiculous for thinking I’d be outside without any clothes on!”

He snorts against your shoulder, long arms moving around until he has one somewhat curled beneath you. “Nah. You are.”

“Don’t start with me, Jeon.”

He shifts again to look you in the eye. “Come on, ___. You’re really gonna get tan lines when you could avoid them?”

You roll yours eyes. “You couldn’t get me to go outside completely naked for a million bucks, baby.” The beginning of a grin curls around his lips. “Don’t even think about it.”

This brings a laugh out of him, before he’s laying back down to kiss your neck. “You’re silly.” All you can really hope for now is that him laying on top of you won’t give you an even worse tan line.

Just when you think he’s given up on his quest to have you completely naked outside, you feel the slightest tug on the tie holding your bikini in place, slapping your hand down on his as if he were a pesky fly. “Fine!” He huffs, rolling off you to jump back into the water. “I hope everyone sees your uneven tan.”

“No one would see a tan line on my coochie, Jeon,” you remind him, flinching when he decides to cannonball into the water right beside you, sprinkling you in another round of water pellets.

He emerges from the clear water a moment later, paddling to the ledge beside you to flick more water your way. “I will,” he retorts. “When I got you bent over tomorrow morning.”

You don’t hesitate to fling your bikini top his way, the yellow fabric smacking him across the face. “In that case, you should take those shorts off, because I certainly don’t wanna have to look at your pasty thighs.”

“You love my milky thighs,” he hums, traversing the length of the pool for his donut floaty again.

“Milky?”

Your tiny quarrel ends there, Jeongguk soon becoming too immersed in competing against himself in a breath-holding contest to bother you any longer. He’s adorable like this, cheeks puffed out like Mrs. Puff every time his head pops out of the water, that you almost forget to flip over when your timer rings again.

It’s in the midst of your repositioning that you dare take a peak beneath your bottoms. Much to your disdain, there is a growing disparity between the skin beneath your swimsuit and the skin around it. Nothing too bad, but if you were to lay out as long as you planned, it’d become embarrassingly noticeable. Your breasts had been saved from any differences thanks to Jeongguk’s early warning, and you begin wondering if shedding your bottoms would inflate his already huge ego.

No matter, you discreetly unknot the ties securing your bottoms, hoping he won’t notice from across the yard as you carefully slip them off.

You make quick work of laying on your stomach again, your ass finally catching some rays after being covered for so long. You won’t lie, there’s an unexpected wave of comfort that comes with being bare outside, your entire body wonderfully enveloped by the sun’s beaming rays. You snuggle into the lounge chair’s cushions as you nearly reach nirvana.

Your blissful state is ruined not even ten minutes later when the sound of Jeongguk’s heavy splashing comes closer and closer. It’s not until you hear the splat of his wet feet against the pavement that you realize you’re in trouble.

There’s a playful smack against your ass, and you yelp in surprise. “Jeon!” You whine, instantly sitting up on your forearms to narrow your eyes at him. He’s flashing you that playful grin of his as he plops down beside you, not even having to ask you to move over because you do so subconsciously

“Knew you’d give in eventually,” he sighs, leaning back on his palms as he tries to catch his breath. You decide to give up on your dreams of having a peaceful tanning session, turning around to face your glistening boyfriend.

“What do you want for lunch?” You ask instead, running a hand through the hair at the nape of your neck, rolling your shoulders around to get some movement back into them. He shrugs, slithering his way up the cushions to squish himself beside you. It’s a tight fit, but he makes it easier by throwing your leg over his middle.

“Probably some good food in the little village a mile from here. Could probably walk there too.” You hum in agreement, snuggling into his side. You’ve long since gotten over the coldness of his skin, cheek pressed against his chest. He’s got a hand on your lower back, partially to hold you close but also to stop you from rolling off the chair.

Right as your snoozing off, so wonderfully warm beneath the sun and comfortable in your birthday suit, you feel a pair of fingers brush against the backside of your thigh, and then ghost over your exposed pussy.

“You’re despicable,” you murmur, tweaking his nipple between your fingers. Jeongguk snickers, shifting you around so you’re mostly on top of him now, your awakened core pressed against his thigh.

“C’mon, princess,” he goads, running a pair of moist fingers along your thigh again, trying to carefully coax you into doing what he wants. Most things, you now realize, tend to go Jeongguk’s way regardless of other factors. “No one’ll hear us out here.”

“But what if someone does,” you point out, always the voice of reason when it comes to Jeongguk’s ideas. “We could get in trouble, Guk. I don’t know…”

“In trouble for what?” Is his smart rebuttal, shuffling beneath you so you can finally feel the swollen cock hiding beneath his swimming trunks. “Enjoying ourselves in our own home? Oh, the terror.” Upon seeing the uncertainty that still clings to your features, he drops the somewhat cocky attitude to press a kiss to your nose. “It’s all good, princess,” he soothes, ducking down to caress the side of your face with his cherried lips. “If anything, I’ll just bribe our way out of any trouble.”

“Ugh,” you groan, melting into him as you finally give in. “I hate when you say that.”

Jeongguk snuffles a laugh against your jaw, maneuvering the two of you around until you’re laid flat against the cushion with him hovering over you. “When I say what?” He teases. “That my wallet is as fat as my cock?”

You roll your eyes, untying the knot he’d done at the front of his shorts. “Get that fat cock of yours out before I change my mind.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he complies, setting one foot on the floor to push his shorts down, until you’re met with the sight of his stark thighs. You cackle, and his arrogant smirk is wiped off as he glances down at his two-toned legs.

“What happened to getting the perfect tan?” You sneer, tapping a finger against his muscled thighs. “Don’t tell me your ass is this white, too.”

He huffs in annoyance, before reclaiming his spot between your legs again, tugging you down until your cores are pressed together. “Shut up.” You do as he says, words catching in your throat at the feeling of his engorged cock brushing against your wet folds.

His slips a hand down to languidly toy with your folds, his fingers slightly pruny from all the time he spent in the water. It feels a little weird, but any complaints you may have had are wiped away when he nudges your bud with the tip of his pointer finger. You gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders at the sudden stimulation against your core. “Ohh,” you sigh, eyes rolling backwards.

“Feel good?” He checks, eyes trained on your expressions, lips unconsciously puckering to kiss you, even with your writhing beneath him. You let out a high-pitched mewl, much to your embarrassment, cheeks flushed warm from the sun and his ministrations. You nod belatedly.

He lets his wandering hands carry on, carefully travelling across the entirety of your folds. He knows your body like no other, so familiar with the dips and curves, that it’s impossible for him to not immediately locate your g-spot upon plunging his fingers inside you. “G-Guk!” you cry out, hands falling to grip at his biceps.

He presses a kiss to your throat. “That’s it, baby, lemme hear you,” he murmurs, and subtly presses his cock to the inside of your thigh. “Looked so delicious out here,” he sighs, and it’s as if he’s talking to himself. “Wanted to fuck your pretty little pussy from the second I stepped outside.”

Your back arches beneath him at a particular scissor of his fingers, another whine caught in your throat. “Want you so bad,” you whimper, reaching a hand up to tangle in his dark locks. You use the leverage to pull his lips towards yours, meeting in a frantic crash that has you whining against him even more.

His tongue slips past your lips, subduing yours when you try the same on him, and you almost choke on the excess saliva pooling in your mouth. Right before you can, he pulls back in favor of trapping your lower lip between his teeth. Your eyes flutter open, and you meet his own dark gaze.

“Ready?” He huffs, pulling his fingers out from within you. They’re shiny with your slick, almost as wet as they’d been when he was swimming earlier. You nod, dazed from all the pleasure he was giving you, that you can’t do more but spread your legs for him. He leans back on his knees, lining himself up with your hole.

You’d long since eliminated condoms from your relationship with Jeongguk, your trust in each other overwhelmingly so. Besides, you were still on the pill, and Plan B existed, so you never really worried about slipping up and accidentally getting yourself pregnant. Although there were times when he’d go overboard, stuffing you with his cum until you feel bloated, you’d never gotten pregnant before, so you wouldn’t begin to worry now.

Just the idea of feeling him in his entirety has you salivating, needy hands reaching out to grasp any part of him you can reach. Jeongguk snickers at your desperate ways, knotting his fingers with yours before pressing them to the cushion beneath you, the other gripping onto your thigh to keep your legs spread.

The second his tip pushes through the initial tightness, your mouth drops open, indecipherable noises escaping you. “J-Jeon,” you cry, chest heaving at the sudden intrusion.

“Relax for me, princess,” he huffs, just as out of it as you. Your body feels like it’s ascended, Jeongguk’s cock slowly pushing in further with each breath you take. It doesn’t take much longer for him to completely bottom out, the warm skin of his thighs pressing against you.

You’re like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing as your body slowly assimilates to the feeling of being so absolutely full. It’s not until Jeongguk subtly shifts his weight onto his other leg that you give him the green light to start fucking you.

You moan, the first few thrusts hitting against every sweet spot inside you. “God, you’re so fucking big,” you heave, clenching around him just to feel the drag of his cock against your walls.

Jeongguk chuckles through his own pants, the fingers entwined with yours becoming impossibly tighter. “You’re too good for me,” he sighs, hauling your thigh further up his forearm until its resting in the crease of his elbow. The positioning allows his strokes to go deeper. You cry out, squirming beneath him with each thrust he gives.

“Oh fuck,” you cry wantonly when he plunges deeper into you, the water that decorated his skin long having been replaced by the sweat clinging to him. Your eyes flutter shut and you’re left only listening to the sounds of you, Jeongguk, and the ocean waves beneath you. “I love you,” you whimper.

Jeongguk grunts, ducking down to kiss you again, his hips not once slowing down. “Love you too, princess,” he murmurs. “Fuck, I don’t deserve you,” he groans, puncuating his statement with a brutal thrust of his cock into you. “Gonna buy you that pretty Valentino bag when we get back, I promise,” he adds, picking up his pace.

You whine, “You don’t have to, Jeon, I—”

He cuts you off, “and that silver Audi you liked at the car show last winter,” he rambles on, seemingly clueless to your protest. “A-And maybe that Louis Vuttion coat that brings out the color in your eyes—”

“I saw the same one at H&M,” you interrupt, swiveling your hips upwards to meet his thrusts. He chokes out a laugh.

“Shut up and just let me spoil you,” he groans, and then seemingly forgets what else he was planning on buying you as he focuses his complete attention on helping you reach your orgasm.

With his focus solely on that, you find the burning feeling in your lower abdomen grow tenfold, voice becoming more annoying with each moan and whine you give. “That’s it, baby,” he encourages, his thrusts sending tingles up and down your spine. He peppers kisses down your chest, each touch leaving your skin scorching.

Time seems to slow when the coil in your stomach finally snaps, an embarrassingly loud moan leaving your lips as your body spasms beneath him. “Oh, Jeongguk,” you sigh, falling limp on the lounge chair as he continues chasing his high.

He pulls out soon enough, giving his cock a few tugs before he’s spurting his come across your lower abdomen, leaning back to admire his masterpiece. He’s panting afterwards, and the backyard feels eerily quiet as you both just gaze at each other with goofy smiles on your faces.

The romantic aura is ruined when he feels the need to say, “hey, maybe now my ass won’t be so white.”

“Fuck, you look sexy,” he murmurs when the instructor finally turns around, leaving Jeongguk to gawk at your body in the tight wetsuit provided. “Gonna fuck you so good tonight.”

“Shut up,” you blush, trying to stop your eyes from violating your boyfriend’s disgustingly gorgeous body in the matching wetsuit he wears. “We’ll get kicked out of the group, Guk.”

He rolls his eyes. “I could have rented the whole place out for us, but someone thought scuba diving with the other corny tourists would be fun.”

You flick his forehead. “You don’t have to buy out every building we go to,” you remind him, memories of this morning’s completely empty breakfast bar flickering to attention. “Besides, I wouldn’t have let you fuck me tonight anyway.”

He scoffs at your claim. “Please, you would have begged me, ___.”

You hit him with the wide end of your swimming fin, then have to apologize to the instructor for your horseplay, much to Jeongguk’s amusement. You narrow your eyes at him, following the rest of the group out onto the boardwalk leading to the boat. “Find me a Nemo, and we’ll do it in the beach cabana.”

Jeongguk’s lips twists into the most devious smirk you’ve ever seen, and he smacks your ass as he runs ahead of you. You yelp, just as he turns to face you just as he nears the group. “Has anyone seen my son?”

#the last line is a nemo reference #kpopwonderlandtag #thekpopnetwork #jeon jeongguk #jungkook smut #jjk smut #mine

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phykios · 4 years ago

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honesty and promise me, part 3 [read on ao3] [co-written with @darkmagyk]

Several more weeks and hookups later, Annabeth thinks she should probably come clean. Some people might bury it deep, and for sure, Annabeth’s considered it, but, well. It is kind of embarrassing that she didn’t know Percy’s name at first. Stuff like that doesn’t usually bother her--she’s had nameless one night stands in the past, and despite Thalia’s ribbing, she knows that Thalia doesn’t really care either. It’s just that, you know, he’s Thalia’s family, and they’ve seen each other a few more times, and they are planning to continue to see each other a few more times in the future. Or more than a few times.

Anyway, she kind of feels like she owes it to him. Like he deserves this small nugget of truth, payment for all the times he’s fucked her blind. It’s nagging at her, and she hates feeling like she owes anyone anything.

Piper certainly seemed to think so, when Annabeth had told her over their monthly brunch date.

“It’s just common courtesy at this point,” she said. “Like, what if you guys end up married and then sell your story to Hollywood, they cast my dad as the male lead, and it comes out in interviews that you didn’t know his name for like a month? He’s gonna get the wrong idea.”

Annabeth wasn’t sure which part was more ridiculous: the movie, Piper’s dad being involved, or them being married.

Anyway, sharing some of her avocado fries, Piper had reminded her that being mean wasn't very punk rock, shutting her up effectively.

She’s out on site in the Lower East Side, taking measurements for plots of land, writing down sun angles and measuring the wind velocity between the brick buildings, when she gets a text from him.

I’m on a break and I’m starving 😩 Want to grab something to eat?

It’s 2pm on a Thursday and he wants to grab something to eat. If Annabeth didn’t know any better, she’d say that that sounds like a real, honest-to-goodness, bona fide date. (Meeting up at and subsequently leaving bars together does not count as a date, she’s pretty sure. Neither do the booty calls.) He’s been getting a little free with his texts, that boy, sending her selfies and memes and questions about her day, and now this? An invitation to their first, actual date? She should block him on principle, just for the sheer audacity.

sure, wya

520 8th, text me when you get here 😁

That’s another thing: Percy loves his emojis. If this is going to continue, they’re going to need to have a serious talk about that.

She doesn’t need to text him when she gets there; he’s already outside, leaning on the stone edifice of the building like a particularly jacked rent boy in his tight t-shirt and broody look, cigarette between his fingers. The sweatpants sort of ruin the image, though. He looks particularly comfortable in a way that warms Annabeth right from the inside out. “You know, when Nico said you smoked, I honestly didn’t believe it.” she says, not even bothering to say hi.

He looks up from his phone and smiles, the sun behind his teeth. “Hey!”

“Hey, yourself.” She doesn’t even hesitate--she plucks the cigarette out of his hand, taking a drag off it herself. “You been smoking for a long time?”

“Who do you think taught Thalia how?” He raises an eyebrow, bemused. “Is that a problem?”

It is, but it’s not like she can tell him that without losing some of her credibility. “Wouldn’t smoking fuck with your cardio?”

Percy shrugs, conceding. “A little. I used to be a lot worse, but I just can’t quite kick the habit. It’s mostly a stress thing, anyway.”

“Rough practice?” she asks, putting just enough effort into her lip wobble to make it abundantly clear that she’s making fun of him. “Were the other boys being mean to you because of your tights?”

He grins at her, saucy. “Annabeth Chase, do you really think that NYCB rehearses here? In the Garment District?” But he laughs before she can stammer out an answer (and thank God, she’s lived here three years and can barely keep the boroughs straight, let alone the neighborhoods). “I just wrapped up teaching a class. I don’t have to be at rehearsal until 5, I was thinking we could hang out? Bryant Park?”

A first date at the New York Public Library. She almost hates to admit it, but Percy Jackson might be kind of her dream man. “I believe I was promised food,” she sniffs, but she does hold out her hand, and when he takes it, lacing his fingers through hers, she’s sure that he can feel her heart beating, palm to palm.

Twenty minutes later they’re settled on a bench in the corner of the green, Annabeth halfway into a ham sandwich and Percy juggling a salad and an iced coffee. He’s been regaling her with tales from the more exciting side of ballet, a side she hadn’t even imagined could actually exist. “So by the time I land in Paris,” he says, taking a sip of coffee, “the guy’s foot has swollen up to, like, twice its original size, and when I finally managed to find some wifi to check my phone, there’s, like, eight missed calls from my mom and my agent, and an email from her that just says ‘READ THIS,’ in all caps, and of course the article is in French, which I didn’t really speak at the time, and I was so stressed that my ADHD made it so I couldn’t even read the Google translation, and I had to ask someone to translate it for me.”

“Oh my god,” she says, struggling to keep it in.

“And that’s how I found out that I’d been moved up to first cast in Le Corsaire, from the poor barista at a coffee shop in Charles de Gaule!” He laughs.

“That’s insane,” Annabeth says. “And the show was the next day?”

“It was that night! I had to haul ass to the opera house and get warmed up, because I was going on in about four hours. You should have seen the looks on everyone’s faces when I stumbled in, I’m sure that they all wanted to kill me.” Percy chuckles, taking a bite of leafy greens. “Now I wasn’t just the twenty-year-old upstart American, I was the twenty-year-old upstart American who skipped town when I wasn’t supposed to.”

“How did it go?”

“Killed it, of course,” he says, deservedly smug.

Despite her best efforts, she’s absolutely entranced; he’s a great storyteller. “I bet you break that story out at parties all the time, don’t you.”

He laughs. “Whatever gets the donors to open their checkbooks, right?”

“I can’t believe you lived in Paris. I’ve always wanted to see it.” She’d had a few chances to when she was in college, the semester she’d studied abroad in Rome, but she just never got around to it. Just another item on her long, long list of regrets, placed somewhere between the sketchy burrito from last week and not telling her mom to fuck off earlier when she’d had the chance. “If I were you, I’d never leave.”

Percy shrugs. “It was amazing, I won’t lie. But towards the end I just really, really missed it here. All my family is in NYC, you know? My mom, step-dad, and my sister live here, and Thalia and Nico and Hazel, too. I tried to come back and visit whenever I could, but being away from them was really hard.” There’s something soft and inviting in his expression when he says, “I’m really happy to be back home.”

“What are they like?” Annabeth asks. “Your family. Your non-mob family, I mean.”

He rolls his eyes, but he grins another one of those blinding grins, too. “My mom is the most amazing person you will ever meet. Not only did she support my dance habit, she did it as a single working mother who had to raise an angry, ADHD asshole of a son who didn’t always appreciate her. I don’t even want to know how many hours she had to work or how many scholarships and grants she had to track down in order to pay for me to go to SAB, but somehow she made it work, and managed to write her novel at the same time. She married my step-dad the summer I turned sixteen, and my baby sister was born the next year.”

Even Annabeth, cynical and black-hearted as she is, has to smile back. The love he has for his mom is so palpable, so tangible, she can practically see him glowing. “And the…” What had Thalia called them? “The ‘Cousin Consortium’?”

At that, Percy laughs, full-bellied, unrestrained. “The name was Nico’s idea. I didn’t really have many close friends when I was a kid, apart from my buddy Grover--he had to wear this really gnarly leg brace and I liked to dance, so you can imagine how much we got picked on--but we were all really close growing up, since our dads were all assholes. They may have left us emotionally scarred, but at least we had each other’s backs the whole time.”

This is a very Percy thing, she’s starting to realize: he can not and will not hold back on his feelings. He simply refuses to. Where most guys might try to hide or downplay their affection for their friends, Percy’s is written all over his face. Maybe it’s a byproduct of doing ballet, but he’s so unashamed of his love for his friends and his family and his art, that maybe Annabeth kind of wishes she could be included in that love too, if it always feels this warm and joyful.

“I think it’s amazing that you guys are so close. I only had the one cousin when I was growing up, and we didn’t really talk all that much,” Annabeth says, almost without her permission. Something about him, it’s just so easy to talk to him. He makes it safe to open up.

“The med school guy, right?”

Annabeth nods. “Magnus. Fifth generation Harvard student. We’re all very proud.”

Ugh. Even she has to wince at the false cheer in her voice. Percy gives her a half-smile, sympathetic and soft. “Harvard not really for you, then?” he asks, picking up the threads of a long and complicated story, and one that she absolutely does not want to get into right now. Or ever, if she can help it.

“More like I wasn’t really for Harvard.” Which wasn’t entirely untrue. She had been good enough for the university in Cambridge, Mass--good enough for two degrees and graduation with honors--but she had never been good enough for her mother’s capital-H Harvard. Never good enough for her mother at all, really.

Percy takes her hand. His fingers are cold from his iced coffee. “Hey. It’s their loss,” he says, with a sincerity and an intensity that makes her blush.

Every part of her wants to pull away. His thumb is rubbing against the joint of her finger, soothing and sweet, and she thinks she may break out in hives from it. “Damn right it is,” she mumbles.

He is so nice. So nice and hot and sweet. Objectively, what she’s about to do is a terrible idea, and might torpedo a really good thing that they have, but if she doesn’t come clean now her own guilt is going to drive her insane.

“Okay, I have a confession to make.” Percy raises his eyebrows, slurping the last dregs of his drink. “When we met… and then when we hooked up the first time… I may have… thoughtyouwereJason.”

He blinks. “Pardon?” he asks, mumbled around the straw.

Annabeth buries her head in her hands. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

“You… thought I was Jason?”

“Well,” she sputters, glaring at him through her fingers, “you were being all bro-y with Thalia!”

He is valiantly trying to hold in a smile. “You know, I distinctly remember telling you my name that morning.”

“I was really hungover,” she whines, “and you were shirtless and making breakfast so I wasn’t really… paying attention.”

“For a whole week?”

This is so embarrassing, why couldn’t she just keep her stupid mouth shut? “Yeah.” She slumps her shoulders, stuffing her hands into her jacket pocket. “Sorry.”

She’s not entirely sure what she expected: at best a couple of weird looks and a tentative promise to meet up later that would end up not working out, at worst she thinks he’ll just get up and leave her here at Bryant Park. Either way, they’d be doomed to months of awkward interactions, until eventually they wouldn’t be able to be around each other, and Thalia would have to pick a side--and Annabeth’s seen what Thalia does to people who cross her family. She’s seen Thalia beat a dude to pulp for calling Nico the f-slur. Picking Percy over Annabeth? That’s nothing.

So when he starts laughing, Annabeth is completely at a loss. Slowly, at first, then all at once, he’s laughing so hard his shoulders are shaking, and he has to put down his salad so it doesn’t topple over onto the grass. His head is tilted back in joy, the grey, late afternoon light adamant that Annabeth can see all of his features clearly, from his screwed up eyes to his bright, white teeth to the single dimple in his cheek.

Of course, even his laughter is hot. Asshole.

“You thought I was Jason!” He shrieks.

Annabeth crosses her arms, scowling.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I really don’t mean to laugh,” he giggles. Annabeth can feel her own giggle rising in response, and she ruthlessly quashes it. “I can definitely say I’ve never heard that one before. You do know Jason is blond, right?”

“As a matter of fact, I did not. Besides, you and Thalia look exactly alike.”

He scoffs. “No we don’t.”

“Uh, yeah you do. You, Thalia, and Nico are all basically clones of each other.”

“Okay, Captain Glasses, whatever you say.” He rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat behind it.

“I’m sorry,” Annabeth feels like she has to say again.

He cocks his head. “For what? For thinking I was Jason? He’s a pretty cool guy.”

“No, for,” she blushes again. All this blood rushing to her head can’t be good for her. “For sleeping with you when I still thought you were Jason.”

Percy scoots closer to her, throwing her a grin and slinging his arm over her shoulders. Without even realizing that she’s doing it, she settles in beside him like she’s been doing it her whole life, slotted up against his torso, tucking her booted feet beneath her legs. “I am choosing to take that as a compliment,” he says, smirking. “You couldn’t resist my charms, even when you thought I was a brogrammer.”

Annabeth can’t help herself. She kisses him, wiping that smug grin right off his face, and when she finally retreats, after what feels like hours, he looks so dazed she could probably keep calling him by any name she wanted and he wouldn’t even realize it.

After their lunch, they meander for hours, headed in a vaguely southerly direction, holding hands the whole time, a steady, uninterrupted flow that took them all the way from Midtown to Greenwich Village. He tells her about his first day at ballet school; she tells him about her favorite monuments. “There are two architectural environments in America,” she says, ranting, speaking with enough force that she might forget the feeling of his hand in hers, “endless dead suburbia, or cities where every single building is either a concrete or a glass block--and not even Brutalist concrete, just shitty, poorly designed, paint-by-numbers concrete. It is an absolute travesty of modern government that they don’t fund any public works projects anymore.”

“That’s why all the gardens and stuff?” he asks.

“Nowadays everything is built by the lowest bidder. At least I get to add some beauty back into the city.”

“I know what you mean,” Percy says. “Paris is practically overflowing with public works, you almost forget about it sometimes.”

She sighs. “You’re so fucking lucky. Paris is so beautiful and everything in New York is just hideous.”

“Aw, come on,” he says. “Not everything. What about the Empire State Building, or Central Park?”

“Well, obviously, those,” she says, just a teensy bit flustered, but she’s not about to give up the argument without a fight. “I just mean like, normal, every day buildings: offices and apartments and stuff. It’s all so samey and boring.”

He looks to her right, pointing at the building they are passing. “What about this one?”

She turns.

If she had known they were headed this way, she never would have taken them past here.

“It’s… okay, I guess,” she mumbles, staring up at the arched windows, pedimented doors, and Rococo details of Miss Minerva’s Private Pre-College Prep School. A shudder goes down her spine, like someone walking over her grave. “There are better Beaux-Arts buildings.”

Sensing her discomfort, he picks up the pace, and changes the subject.

Finally, he stops outside a nondescript building, turning to face her. “This is me,” he says, a little bit mournfully, squeezing her hand. “Are you okay to get home safely?”

This man is ridiculous; it’s not even dark out. “I think I can manage a few blocks,” she says, lightly swatting him. “Isn’t it kind of early for you, though? It’s only four o’clock.”

He flushes faintly, one hand coming up to rub at his neck. “Uh, well, I always give myself a little extra time--you know, time blindness and everything.”

“You baked in extra time in case I wanted you to walk me home, didn’t you?” She mock-gasps, secretly delighted. “Scandal!”

“Guilty,” he grins. “You’ve been to mine so many times, I was curious.”

She just barely stops herself from laughing out loud at the very idea of Percy coming to her apartment--as if. Thalia hasn’t even been to her apartment. Nobody knows where she lives, none of her neighbors know who she is, and this is entirely by design. “Cut me some slack; a girl’s gotta have some mystery. Can’t make it too easy for you, can I?”

“I have a feeling you’ll never make things easy for me,” he says, white teeth gleaming.

“You better believe it,” she smiles back. “Now that I’ve foiled your plans, are you going to be too bored?”

“Oh, I’ll think of something,” he shrugs. “I’m very resourceful when it comes to boredom.”

Inspiration strikes, and she grasps his hand, pulling him down the alleyway. She almost hates to admit it, but she has something of a Pavlovian response when it comes to hanging out with Percy. Annabeth has come to expect some really excellent sex whenever the two of them meet up, and maybe spending all afternoon with him has made her a little bit horny.

She presses him up against the brick wall, hidden from the street by the long afternoon shadows, and kisses him. His hands flounder for a second, before coming up to rest on her shoulders, this thumbs tapping against the base of her neck, fingers fluttering on her jacket. It’s an intimate touch, kind of chaste and very respectful, and he holds her with precision and grace. He wouldn’t do anything she wouldn’t want to. This is a date with no expectation of sex on his part. But Annabeth does not want grace right now, spooked by the ghost of her old school. She does not want precision. She just wants him. She just wants to keep him on his toes, keep him interested, blow his mind a little.

She just wants to blow him, to be honest.

He squeaks into her mouth as her hands fly to his belt, deft fingers practically ripping it off of him in an increasingly familiar motion. “H-hey,” he says, squeezing her shoulders, “this is--”

“Do you not want me to?” she asks, one hand playing at the top line of his underwear.

“No--I mean, are you sure? I’m-I’m okay with this, I just want to--”

“I know.” She kisses his cheek, then drops to her knees. “But we’ve got some time to kill, don’t we.”

Afterwards, when she’s finished with him, Annabeth wipes her mouth, and he whimpers.

“Ho… holy shit,” he pants, flushed and trembling.

She tucks him back into his boxers, doing up his fly. “There we go. That was better than being bored, right?”

He nods wordlessly, swallowing, shaking. His eyes are glassy and glazed, stupid like he’s just shot out his brain through his dick.

In the short time they’ve been together (though, honestly, this might be the longest relationship she’s ever been in before… and they haven’t even broached the “dating” conversation yet) Annabeth has been on the receiving end of several different Percy looks. His face will light up with joy when he first lays his eyes on her, so happy to see her (though she can’t really fathom why), glinting like the sun on the water. His eyes will narrow, glaring, even as he furiously tamps down on his growing smile when they start arguing over something stupid, like Annabeth’s affinity for olives. He’ll grin at her, knife sharp and slanted, licking his lips and looming over her after she comes down from yet another orgasm via his mouth or his hands.

Percy looks at her now like someone took a bat to his head, and instead of seeing stars, he sees little miniature Annabeths flying around.

He pulls her to him and kisses her, entirely too sweet for what she’s just done to him, but that is also a very Percy thing. And when she leaves him with a final kiss on his cheek and squeeze of his ass, she can feel that look burning a hole through her jacket, following her down the alley and around the corner, and she finds that she doesn’t mind the weight of it at all.

#my fic #percabeth #pjo #the rivalry ends here #ballet au #darkmagyk #woot!!!!

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aal-archaeology · 5 years ago

Text

Ph.D. Applications for Anthropology/ Humanities/ Social Sciences (with examples from a success story)

Doing a Ph.D. is a really scary thought. Especially in humanities and social sciences. Especially in today’s job market.

Here I’m going to speak a little about my approach to Ph.D. applications, why I chose to do what I did, and how I put it all together including examples.

1. The Doubt

After coming out of my Master's degree, I already had a year of research set up, so I didn’t have to think about jobs like all of my friends I had made during that degree. I watched many of them struggle to find a job offer. Some were successful in attaining a job in Cultural Resource Management, a couple got smaller jobs in local museums, but for the most part it induced a lot of stress to have come out of a Master’s degree with no prospects.

How I imagined my future at that time: I knew I didn’t want to work in a museum, I knew I didn’t like Cultural Resource Management, I knew that after all this hard work I didn’t want to end up underpaid somewhere doing data entry.

A Ph.D. has always been something that I wanted. Ever since entering the Anthropology discipline, I imagined myself working towards becoming a Professor.

Here’s what I was told when I started to consider a Ph.D. Program:

“Don’t do it” (said by someone who already had her Ph.D.)

“I wish I had gone into something with more money, even after my Ph.D. its been difficult to find stable work”

“If you’re doing a Ph.D. in social sciences, ONLY go if you are fully funded, otherwise it is not worth the financial debt”

“Most people don’t get in their first try, that's why people apply to 10+ schools”

Coming up with a plan: After hearing this, I came up with a couple different options. Plan A: Apply to Ph.D. programs, if I get into one my first try and it's fully funded then I’ll do it. Plan B: Find a job in Environmental consulting, I could put my GIS experience to use, make some money, and then try again for a Ph.D. later down the road if I wanted. Plan C: Move to Japan and live out my weeb dreams (I’m part Japanese and have a lot of family there so this wasn’t as crazy as it sounds).

I was genuinely okay with any of these options. They all involve things that I enjoy, none of them are bad options, none of them would feel like “failure” if I ended up not getting into a program. I think this step is very important because it forces you to figure out what you care about, and allows you to be open to change if plan A doesn’t work out.

2. Choosing a Program to Apply to

I knew that I didn’t just want to apply anywhere. Getting a job outside of a PhD is already hard enough, and I wanted the school that I chose to reflect the work that I would put into it. As much as we want to think that name brands don’t matter when it comes to education, it sure as heck does help when it comes to opportunity and being selected amongst 100′s to 1000′s of applicants. Therefore, why not shoot for the stars? What’s the harm in trying. For this reason, I decided to only apply to schools that:

Had a prestigious name

Had a program that supported what I wanted to study and allowed for cross-disciplinary research (Digital Archaeology focused on SE Asia)

Had an advisor that had done research paralleled to mine (whether that included SE Asia or just Digital Archaeology in general).

I started research into programs with the Ivies and went down from there, also cross-comparing programs that had been ranked as best schools for studying Anthropology.

At the time of researching, the programs that stood out the most to me were:

Stanford (ideal because it was close-ish to home, fully funds their Phd students for 5 years, has opportunity for additional funding, had professor working with digital archaeology in Asia)

Harvard (had professor working in Digital Archaeology though it wasn’t in my preferred region, also has good funding, and its Harvard)

U Chicago (traditionally one of the top schools for Anthropology, however I had heard that a lot of this is because of “legacy” professors, and not much has come out of the department in recent years. Did not have someone specifically in my region of focus)

ASU (Also considered one of the top Anthropology schools, but funding is often fought for between students)

UC Berkeley (Had professors studying Asia, but it is a public school and also has limited guaranteed funding)

I sent e-mails to advisors that I thought I could support my research (this was probably around May, when applications are due Sep-Dec).

Hello Professor______,

My name is _______ and I am interested in applying to ________’s Doctoral program in Archaeology beginning in the fall of 2020. I would like to inquire whether you are accepting graduate students for this period, as my research interests align well with your research. I received my B.A. in __________ from _________ in 2017 and am currently _______. [Enter what you’re doing now, and any relevant experience that shows what you’re interested in researching]. [Enter something about their research, and why you’re interested in working with them/why you think you would work well with them]. I am eager to continue along this path and I feel as though your experience with _______could provide an interesting opportunity for future research. I would also be interested in working with [enter any other faculty that have similar interests, this shows that you’ve done some research into the program and the school in general] For your convenience, I have attached my CV here. If you have the time, I would appreciate the opportunity to speak with you further about the program and future research.

Best,

Full name

I also researched the financial aid provided to incoming Ph.D. students. After doing this, the only schools that sounded good to me were Stanford and Harvard.

Yeah, I know, only applying to Stanford and Harvard was a “big risk,” but this is how I thought about it:

I don’t want to commit to a Phd program for 5+ years if it's not fully funded, doesn’t have a big name, and isn’t going to guarantee opportunity after graduating.

I wanted an environment where I knew I could be happy under immense amounts of pressure (California by family, Boston by friends).

If I didn’t get in, I had back up options that honestly sounded really fun to me, so I was okay with pursuing those instead.

I didn’t want a Ph.D. just to have a Ph.D., I wanted a degree that would set me apart from others so that I could give myself the best chance for success afterward. I wanted one that, if pursued, could lead me to become a professor.

So I applied to 2 Schools.

I got scolded for this by many people... but whatever...I got in, so ha. Why spend money and time on an application for a school that you don’t really want to go to? :P

3. Applying to a Program

What an application looks like:

1. At least 3 recommendation letters:

Mine were:

Undergraduate Anthropology Advisor who has been helping me throughout the years with grant applications, etc. She knows me well, can speak well to my accomplishments. She is also a very well decorated anthropologist.

Undergraduate Professor of Geography who can speak to my GIS coursework. I’ve been updating him with my whereabouts and successes since graduating, so we have kept in touch regularly since taking his course.

My Master's dissertation advisor (he stressed me out submitting his letter 3 hours before the deadline >:| )

It’s good to have your recommendation letters come from people within the academic world. These people can write on your ability to achieve your research goals, your drive, etc. It’s okay to have maybe one letter from a workplace environment, however, it’s best to get as much street cred as you can from these letters, and this comes from Professors that know what they’re doing.

2. Curriculum Vitae (C.V.): This is important because it shows everything you’ve accomplished up to this point. This is how mine was set up:

Full Name, Current Position, Email, Phone Number

Education: University Name, City, Degree in ____

Publications: In Edited Volumes, Journal Articles, Manuscripts in Preparation

Conference and Workshop Participation: Papers, Presentations

Grants, Awards, and Fellowships:

Research Experience: Project Roles, Fieldwork

Teaching Experience

Additional Employment History

Leadership and Extracurriculars

Skills/Languages

A C.V. is a list of EVERYTHING you’ve done in your career, unlike a resume which is tailored to the specific job that you’re applying to. If you’d like a specific example, send me a DM.

3. Personal Statement: This is where you tell them why you want to be there and what makes you qualified. Why should they consider you?

Personal Statement Example

1st paragraph, introduce the program and your research interests: I am applying to _____ for admission to the Ph.D. program in Anthropology with a focus in Archaeology. My research interests are to explore [the consequences of ..... on the environment and human responses to environmental change] in [region of the world], and how these actions of the past can be visualized through the use of remote sensing and GIS applications to archaeology.

2nd paragraph, why you’re interested in what you’re doing: I learned the value of digital applications in archaeology through my undergraduate and master’s degree. [Digital archaeology] is appealing to me because [.........]. I first became interested in [example of why you’re interested in the topic/what inspires you]. After witnessing this, I began to seek out opportunities to partake in similar research.

3rd and 4th paragraph, what makes you qualified to pursue this degree?: I have many research experiences that qualify my pursuit of a Ph.D. dedicated to using digital methods in Anthropological research. [Talk about your undergrad experience, do some name-dropping of professors you’ve worked with], [why did these experiences inspire you to take the next step?], [how are you where you are now because of them?]

5th paragraph, what are you doing now?

6th paragraph, why this school in particular?: This is where you name drop the professor you are interested in working with, talk about how their research aligns well with yours by mentioning specific things that they’ve done such as theoretical approaches. What are you interested in doing that would fit well within this program? Are there any facilities on campus that you are particularly eager to work with? Show that you’ve done your research.

7th paragraph, what do you plan to do after you get your Ph.D. from this institution?: With goals of continuing archaeological research in ________ and expanding off the networks that I have established in _______, ________’s doctoral program in Anthropology is the ideal match to further my career as a Digital/Landscape Archaeologist. The Ph.D. in Anthropology at _______ allows for _________[reasons why you like the program]. Ultimately, my postgraduate goals are to remain in academia by continuing research and gaining a university faculty position. My foundation in archaeology gained in my undergraduate, graduate, and ______experiences have equipped me with a unique set of abilities to offer to ______’s Anthropology graduate program, and I look forward to the opportunity to exchange ideas with faculty and students alike.

Have your resume and statement looked over by as many eyes as you possibly can. It took me a good 6-10 revisions before settling on something that I liked.

4. Let the professors that you’ve been in contact with know

This puts you at the front of their minds when application review comes around. They’ll be like “oh yeah, this person messaged me about this.” I hadn’t spoken to the professors that I reached out to since those first few exchanges back in May, so sending this message was very valuable to remind them of my existence.

This email can be as simple as: Hi Professor ____, I hope you have been well since we last spoke. I am writing to inform you that I have submitted my application to _______. Since our last chat I’ve been [whatever you’re up to now that's relevant]. I look forward to hearing from _____ soon. Best, Me.

5. Productive Waiting

Yay, you’ve submitted! That was hard, but you made it through. Time to start diving into those other plans you’ve been thinking about. What will you do if you get into your top school? What will you do if you don’t get into your top, but you do get into your 2nd or 3rd choice? What if you don't get into any of them?

Remember that none of these options are bad, and in this world, you have to be open to change and welcome it. A Ph.D. is a really long commitment, and it doesn’t have to happen right away.

If you get in, accept only if:

It has the research you’re looking for

It has an advisor that’s supportive of what you’re doing

It’s transparent about what it offers its students

The current students are happy with the culture of the program and quality of life

The location is something you're comfortable with (for me having family nearby was a very important factor)

The money you are offered is enough to live the lifestyle you need to maintain good mental health

There is an opportunity for networking and expansion of your research outside of the university

As always, feel free to reach out with any questions at @aal.archaeology on Instagram or DM here! I’m happy to share my documents with you.

Happy writing!

-Lyss

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bensk · 4 years ago

Text

Be curious. Be humble. Be useful.

I was invited to give the annual Taub Lecture for graduating Public Policy students at the University of Chicago, my alma mater and the department from which I graduated. This is what I came up with.

---

I am incredibly grateful and honored to be here tonight. The Public Policy program literally changed my life.

My name is Ben Samuels-Kalow, my pronouns are he/him/his. I’m a 2012 Public Policy graduate, and I will permit myself one “back in my day” comment: When I was a student here, the “Taub Lecture” were actual lectures given by Professor Taub in our Implementation class. I’ve spent the last nine years teaching in the South Bronx. For the past two years, I have served as Head of School at Creo College Prep, a public charter school that opened in 2019.

I was asked tonight to tell you a bit about my journey, and the work that I do. My objection to doing this is that there is basically nothing less interesting than listening to a white man tell you how he got somewhere, so I'll keep it brief. I grew up in New York City and went to a public high school that turned out Justice Elena Kagan, Chris Hayes, Lin-Manuel Miranda, among many others…none of whom were available tonight.

We, on this Zoom, all have one thing in common — we have been very, very close to graduating from the University of Chicago. I have never sat quite where you sit. I didn’t graduate into a pandemic. But the truth is that everyone graduates into a crisis. The periods of relative ease, the so-called “ends of history”, even the end of this pandemic, are really matters of forced perspective. This crisis isn’t over. Periods of relative peace and stability paper over chasms of structural inequality.

You went to college with the people who will write the books and go on the talk shows and coin the phrases to describe our times. You could write that book. You could go into consulting and spend six weeks at a time helping a company figure out how to maximize profits from their Trademark Chasm Expanding Products.

You could also run into the chasm.

What is the chasm?

It is the distance between potential and opportunity. It is a University on the South Side of Chicago with a student body that is 10% Black and 15% Latinx, with a faculty that is 65% white.

It is eight Black students being admitted to a top high school in New York City...in a class of 749.

What is the chasm?

The chasm is that in our neighborhood in The Bronx, where I’m standing right now, 1 in 4 students can read a book on their grade level, and only 1 in 10 will ever sit in a college class.

It is maternal mortality and COVID survival rates. The chasm is generational wealth and payday loans.

It is systemic racism and misogyny.

It is the case for activism and reparations.

In my job, the chasm is the distance between the creativity, brilliance, and wit that my students possess, and the opportunities the schools in our neighborhood provide.

In the zip code in which I grew up in New York City, the median income is $122,169. In the zip code where I have spent every day working since I graduated from UChicago, the median income is $30,349. The school where I went to 7th grade and this school where next year we will have our first 7th grade are only a 15 minute drive apart.

In my first quarter at UChicago, I joined the Neighborhood Schools Program, and immediately fell in love with working in schools. I joined NSP because a friend told me how interesting she found the work. I’d done some tutoring in high school, and had taught karate since I was 15. I applied, was accepted, and worked at Hyde Park Academy on 62nd and Stony Island in a variety of capacities from 2008 to 2012.

At the time, Hyde Park Academy had one of very few International Baccalaureate programs on the South Side, and every spring, parents would line up out the door of the school to try to get their rising 9th grader in. I worked with an incredible mentor teacher and successive classes of high school seniors whose wit, creativity, and skill would've been at home in the seminars and dorm discussions we all have participated in three blocks north of their high school.

In my work at Hyde Park Academy, I learned the first lesson of three lessons that have shaped my career as a teacher. Be curious. I had been told in Orientation that there were “borders” to the UChicago experience, lines we should not cross. I am forever grateful to the people who told me to ignore that BS. Our entire department is a testimony to ignoring that BS. We ask questions like, why did parents line up for hours to get into what was considered a “failing” high school? Why had no one asked my kids to write poetry before? Why are they more creative and better at writing than most of the kids I went to high school with, but there is only one IB class and families have to literally compete to get in? I learned as much from my job three blocks south of the University as I did in my classes at the University...which is to say, I was learning a LOT, but I had a lot more to learn.

I knew I wanted to be a teacher from my first quarter here. I did my research. The Boston Teacher Residency was the top program in the country, so I applied there. I was a 21 year old white man interested in education, so...I applied to Teach for America. In the early 2010’s, I looked like the default avatar on a Teach for America profile. It was my backup option. I was all in on Boston, and was sure, with four years working in urban schools, a stint at the Urban Education Institute, and, at the time, seven years of karate teaching under my belt, I was a shoe in.

I was rejected from both programs. Which brings me to my second lesson. Be humble. We are destined for and entitled to nothing. There is an aphorism I learned from one of my favorite podcasts, Another Round: "carry yourself with the confidence of a mediocre white man." If you are a mediocre white man, like me, do as much as you can not to be. If you look like me, you live life on the "lowest difficulty setting." This means I need to question my gifts, contextualize my successes, and actively work against systems of oppression that perpetuate inequity.

Over the last two years, I have interviewed over 300 people to work at this school. There are a series of questions that I ask folks with backgrounds like myself:

Have you ever lived in a neighborhood that was majority people of color?

Have you ever worked on a team that was majority people of color?

Have you ever worked for a boss/supervisor/leader who was a person of color?

The vast majority of white folks, myself at 21 included, could not answer “yes” to these three questions. This is disappointing, but I've also lived and worked in two of the most segregated cities on this continent, so it is not surprising. By the time I sat where you’re sitting now, I had learned a lot about education policy and sociology. I'd taken every class that Chad offered at the time. I'd worked at UEI, I'd worked in a South Side high school for four years, and I still thought I was entitled to something. Unlearning doesn't usually happen in a moment, and I certainly didn't realize it at the time, but these rejections were the best thing that has happened to me in my growth as a human.

I moved back home to New York, was accepted to my last-choice teaching program, and started teaching at MS 223: The Laboratory School of Finance & Technology. I ended up teaching there for 5 years. I had incredible mentors, met some of my best friends, started a Computer Science program that’s used as a model at hundreds of schools across New York City…and most importantly, while making copies for Summer School in July of 2015, I met my wife.

All this to say — if you aren’t 100% convinced that what you’re doing next year is Your Thing, keep an open mind…and make frequent stops in the copy room.

I learned that teaching was My Thing. I didn't want to do ed policy research. I got to set education policy, conduct case studies, key informant interviews, run statistical analysis…with 12 year olds. This was the thing I couldn’t stop talking about, reading about, learning about. I really and truly did not care about the “UChicago voices” of my parents and my friends who kept asking what I was going to do next. My answer: teach.

If you look like me, and you teach Computer Science, there are opportunities that come flying your way. I was offered jobs with more prestige, jobs with more pay, jobs far away from the South Bronx. I was offered jobs I would have loved. But I’d learned a third lesson: be useful. If you have a degree from this place, people will always ask you what the next promotion or job is. They will ask "what's next for you" and they will mean it with respect and admiration.

Here’s the thing: teaching was what’s next. “But don’t you want to work in policy?” Teaching is a political act. It is hands-on activism, it is community organizing, it is high-tech optimistic problem-solving and low-tech relationship building. It is the reason we have the privilege of choosing a career, and it is a career worth choosing.

I had internalized what I like to call the Dumbledore Principle: “I had learned that I was not to be trusted with power.” This meant unlearning the very UChicago idea that if you were smart and if you think and talk like we are trained to think and talk at this place, you should be in charge. The best things in my life have come from unlearning that. Learning from mentors to never speak the way I was praised for in a seminar. Learning from veteran teachers how to be a warm demander who was my authentic best self...and more importantly brought out the authentic best self in my students. Being useful isn't the same thing as being in charge…and that is ok.

I believe this deeply. Which is why, when I was offered the opportunity to design and open a school, my first thought was absolutely the hell no. I said to my wife: “I’m a teacher. Dumbledore Principle — we’re supposed to teach, make our classrooms safe and wonderful for our kids.”

I also knew that teaching kids to code wasn’t worth a damn if they couldn’t read and write with conviction, so I started looking for schools that did both — treated kids like brilliant creatives who should learn to create the future AND met them where they were with rigorous coursework that closed opportunity gaps. In our neighborhood, there were schools that did the latter, that got incredible results for kids. Then there was my school, where kids learned eight programming languages before they graduated, but at which only 40% of our kids could read.

We were lauded for this, by the way. 40% was twice the average in our district. We were praised for the Computer Science — the mayor of New York and the CEO of Microsoft visited and met with my students. It felt great. I wasn’t convinced it was useful.

Kids in the neighborhood where I grew up didn’t have to choose between a school that was interesting and a school that equipped them with the knowledge and skills to pursue their own interests in college and beyond. Why did our students have to choose? I delivered this stressed-out existential monologue to my wife that boiled down to this: every kid deserves a school where they were always safe, and never bored. We weren’t working at a school like that. I was being offered a chance to design one. But…Dumbledore principle.

My wife took it all in, looked at me, and said: “You idiot. Dumbledore RAN a school.”

Friends, you deserve a partner like this.

The road to opening Creo College Prep, and the last two years of leading our school as we opened, closed, opened online, finished our first year, moved buildings, opened online again, opened in-person (kind of) and now head into our third year, has reinforced my lessons from teaching — be curious, be humble, be useful. These lessons are about both learning and unlearning. A white guy doing Teach for America at 21 is a stereotype. A white guy starting a charter school is a stereotype with significant capital, wading into complicated political and pedagogical waters. The lessons I learn opening a school and the unlearning I must do to be worthy of the work are not destinations, they are journeys.

Be curious

I didn’t just open a school. Schools are communities, they are institutions, and they are bureaucracies. If you work very, very hard, and with the right people, they become engines that turn coffee and human potential into joy and intellectual thriving capable of altering the trajectory of a child’s life.

First you have to find the right people. I joined a school design fellowship, spent a year visiting 50 high-performing schools across the country, recruited a founding board of smart, committed people who hold me accountable, and spent time in my community learning from families what they wanted in a school. There is studying public policy, and then there is attending Community Board meetings and Community Education Council Meetings, and standing outside of the Parkchester Macy's handing out flyers and getting petition signatures at Christmastime next to the mall Santa.

I observed in schools while writing my BA, and as a teacher, but it was in this fellowship that I learned to “thin slice,” a term we borrowed from psychology that refers to observing a small interaction and finding patterns about the emotions and values of people. In a school, it means observing small but crucial moments — how does arrival work, how are students called on, how do they ask for help in a classroom, how do they enter and leave spaces, how do they move through the hallways, where and how do teachers get their work done — and gleaning what a school values, and how that translates into impact for kids. Here’s how I look at schools:

Does every adult have an unwavering belief that students can, must, and will learn at the highest level?

Do they have realistic and urgent plans for getting every kid there? Are these beliefs and plans clear and held by kids?

Are all teachers strategic, valorizing planning and intellectual nerdery over control or power?

Is the curriculum worthy of the kids?

Can kids explain why the school does things they way they do? Can staff? Can the leader?

If I'm in the middle of teaching and I need a pen or a marker, what do I do? Is that clear?

What’s the attendance rate? How do we follow up on kids who aren’t here?

How organized and thoughtful are the physical and digital spaces?

Are kids seen by their teachers? Are their names pronounced correctly? Do their teachers look like them? Do they make them laugh, think, and revise their answers?

Would I want to work here? Would I send my own kids here?

Be humble

I learned that there are really two distinct organizations that we call “school.” One is an accumulation of talent (student and staff) that happens to be in the same place at the same time, operating on largely the same schedule.

These were the schools I attended. These are schools you got to go to if you got lucky and you were born in a zip code with high income and high opportunity. These are schools where you had teachers who were intellectually curious, and classmates whose learning deficits could be papered over by social capital…and sometimes, straight up capital.

“Accumulation of talent” also describes the schools I worked at. These were schools where if you got lucky and you were extraordinary in your intelligence, determination, support network, and teachers who’d decided to believe in you, you became one of the stories we told. “She got into Cornell.” “That whole English class got into four year colleges.”

Most schools in this country, it turns out, are run like this. I knew all about local control and the limits of federal standards on education and the battles over teacher evaluations and so much other helpful and important context I learned in my PBPL classes. But when thin-slicing a kindergarten classroom in Nashville on my first school visit of the Fellowship, I saw a whole other possibility of what “school” can be.

School can be a special place organized towards a single purpose. One team, one mission. Where the work kids do in one class directly connects to the next, and builds on the prior year. Where kids are treated like the important people they are and the important people they will be, where students and staff hold each other to a high bar, where there is rigor and joy. A place where staff train together so that instead of separate classrooms telling separate stories about how to achieve, there is one coherent language that gives kids the thing they crave and deserve above all else: consistency.

We get up every morning to build a school like that. It’s why my team starts staff training a month before the first day of school. It’s why we practice teaching our lessons so that we don’t waste a moment of our kids’ time. It’s why everyone at our school has a coach, including me, so we can be a better teacher tomorrow than we were today. It’s why we plan engaging, culturally responsive, relevant lessons. It’s how we keep a simple, crucial promise to every family: at this school, you will always be safe, and you will never be bored.

Be useful

Statistically speaking, it is not out of the realm of possibility that several of you will one day be in a position to make big sweeping policy changes. You will have the power to not only write position papers, but to Make Big Plans. I will be rooting for you, but I hope that you won’t pursue Big Plans for the sake of Big Plans.

The architect who designed the Midway reportedly said "make no little plans; they have no magic to stir men's blood." I had that quoted to me in several lectures at this school, and you know what?

It’s bullshit.

I am asking you not to care about scale. Good policy isn’t about scale, it’s about implementation, and implementation requires the right people on the ground. Implementation can scale. The right people cannot. We can Make Big Plans, but every 6th grade math class still needs an excellent math teacher. That's a job worth doing. I could dream about starting 20 schools, but every school needs a leader. That’s a job worth doing. Places like UChicago teach us to ask "what's next" for our own advancement, to do this now so we can get to that later. I learned to ask "what's next" to be as useful as possible to as many kids as I have in front of me.

I hold these two thoughts in my mind:

The educational realities of the South Bronx have a lot more to do with where highways were built in our neighborhood than with No Child Left Behind or charter schools, and require comprehensive policy change that address not only educational inequity, but environmental justice, and systemic racism.

The most useful policy changes I can make right now are to finalize the schedule for our staff work days that start on June 21, get feedback on next year’s calendar from families, and finish hiring the teachers our kids deserve.

I will follow the policy debates of #1 with great interest, but I know where I can be useful, and I’ll wake up tomorrow excited to make another draft of the calendar. I hope you get to work on making your Small Plans, and I will leave you with the secret — or at least the way that worked for me:

Find yourself people who are smarter than you and who disagree with you. Find problems you cannot shut up or stop thinking about. Do what you can’t shut up about with intellect and kindness. Use the privilege and opportunity that we have because we went to this school to make sure that opportunity for others does not require privilege. Run into the chasm.

Be curious, be humble, be useful.

Thank you.

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reversemoon255 · 4 years ago

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Gundam Build Divers Re:Rise

So, if you’ve been here a while, you’ll know I’m a big fan of the Build Series. I even like Try, which has actually offended people. No joke. And Re:Rise is no exception, having the best story and characters in the lineup, not to mention some of the more innovative Gunpla. It’s pretty obvious it’s the most beloved of the Build Series by the general public as well as hard-core Gundam fans, and I feel that’s because it leaned more heavily into the Gundam side of things than the Build side, for both its ups and downs.

The Good: The story is very strong, and is able to get away with things that hampered GBF slightly and GBD a lot. It presents it mystical elements forefront and prominently.

In almost every collectibles based series, there is almost always some form of mystical element (a trend made prominent by Yu-Gi-Oh!), and both GBF and GBD lean into this to different degrees. (Actually, one of the reasons I like GBFT is because it’s the only series like this I’ve ever seen that doesn’t have a mystical element.) GBF’s was pretty subtle, being presented early on and only really being used as a motivator for the Chairman and a sad goodbye. GBD leans into it a little harder with Sarah being the main focus of the entire final arc.

GBDR is able to get around this by having the entire focus of the show be about the mystical element, so there’s no conflict between the grounded story and the abnormal additions. Also, it was just, like, really good? And I think part of that is the naivety of the characters. I was able to pick up almost immediately that everything was real, but I read a lot of the YouTube comments after each episode, and a lot of people were convinced it was just a story mission at first, with more and more people catching on as the series progressed. (For me what sealed the deal was Maiya being able to describe Kazami’s character. A supposed NPC being able to nail the personality of a player.) Since they thought it was a game, the stakes seemed low even though we as the audience knew otherwise. And when everything came to light, not only did the stakes immediately skyrocket, but they did so believably. And wanting to help people is always a good motivation.

The animation was very good. It dove at a few points, as is not uncommon, but the overall quality stayed high. There was almost no stock footage apart from the Core Changes. And the number of cameos throughout this season, especially in the last three episodes, were staggering, but were just balanced enough to not overshadow the main cast.

Except for Kyoya’s Cardass Finisher. Like, ok, reference, but it was, like, three minutes long.

All the characters were very good, and I feel part of that was both establishing a detailed past for everyone to help with their motivation and character growth as people, rather than fighters, and not having the main character be the newbie. Reiji, Sekai, and Riku were all new players and had to have plenty of things explained to them, whereas here all of BUILD DiVERS were either experienced fighters or builders, and Freddie, the non-combatant would only require an occasional explanation while he, in turn, explained his world to the players (a very important give-and-take). I also liked how they didn’t need to spell out every detail of Par and Kazami’s pasts. Par never has to explain how he became disabled to the rest of the team, and Kazami never vocalizes about the death of his dad. Sometimes that’s the better way to handle things.

And finally, the Gunpla are FANTASTIC! Look, I know I complain, but there’s a reason I’ve bought 12 Core Gundams, and will probably buy more. Each design in this series is so lovingly crafted. There’s a good balance of series, motif, and gimmick. And Re:Rising Gundam is such a cherry on all of it. Like, I pointed out all those oddities in my Wodom Pod review, but never did I even consider it was part of a combination. And it so encapsulates the themes of coming together this series oozes. I love it.

The Bad: But, of course, nothing is perfect. While I do enjoy the story, what sets the Build Series apart from other Gundams is its levity and light-heartedness, and that’s something that was lacking from this season. It’s not absent. The Space-Crossing Festival, for instance, was a great example of this, but those moments were few and far between. I think Jed dying was the moment I realized I’d have to look at this as a Gundam series and not a Build one. Being afraid for the show’s characters isn’t something I’ve had to worry about with Build. Even when Sarah’s life was on the line at the end of GBD, I knew everything was going to turn out alright. Here, though? Up until the training mission I was worried someone was going to sacrifice themselves. And it’s good that didn’t happen, but that one moment put me on edge for the entire rest of the series.

And it’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it’s something I expect from 00 or Thunderbolt. Not Build.

Already mentioned the animation had its dips. I think I watched the entire show in 720p. Would have preferred 1080. Moving on.

While I don’t have any real issues with the main cast of characters, I do have a few issues with Eve. I’m not the biggest fan of how she retcons a lot of the events of the first season, having this apparent noble sacrifice that completely doesn’t affect the story of GBD at all. And while I don’t mind May being constructed from some of Eve’s data, I wish it was built up at least a bit? I can think of some moments in retrospect where I can suss out that maybe that’s what they were going for, but it still felt very sudden. That could have been handled better.

And while I love this season’s Gunpla, there are simultaneously a lot and not a lot compared to other seasons. Like there’s a lot of releases, but a ton of them are remolds. Twelve Cores, remember? Almost every suit got a remold. The Justice Knight and Infinite Justice, all the Eldoran and non-Eldoran counterpart units, the Valkylander and Ex are the same mold, and all the Core Armors. That’s probably because they used a lot of suits that are more original and are just homages rather than straight remolds, like the Build Strike or 00 Diver, but it’s definitely noticeable.

Where do we go from here: We have an official announcement of a Divers Battlogue, just like with Fighters, and we may get OVAs like the previous seasons did, too, eventually, but I’m talking about beyond that.

After Fighters Battlogue ended, Fighters did, too. We moved on to Build Divers, and from what I can tell it’s been successful, especially this season. My worry is that with the announcement of a Battlogue, we’re also announcing the end of Divers.

Now, I don’t think Build is going away, because it has its own fanbase, and it’s just good from a marketing perspective. Take some old kits, make a few new parts for them, and resell them. What I’m worried is we’re heading to a new subtitle and a new continuity, which would be our FIFTH (Builders, Fighters, Divers, and GBGW). It made sense to end Fighters because they created a seven year time skip to explain how we got to the point of using original Gunpla, they didn’t go over well, and from a writing perspective it put them in a corner. Divers was a good reboot, returning to modified kits, and giving us a protagonist who actually pilots a Gunpla he built himself (three season in). Divers also has a very large mythos at this point, with AIs, and multiple confirmed species of aliens. If you jumped ahead just one more year, you could write a great story where it’s just exploring this inter-species cultural hub that is GBN. That’s what I’d like to see, anyway. If you skipped ahead just a little farther, you could have Asha, Towana, or Hulun return as our Yuma or Par for that season to connect it to the past one. There’s a lot of potential still there. Like, even the ending suggests they might have some more ideas for Eldora yet (whether that will be tackled in a new season, the Battlogue, or an OVA, I don’t know).

You could also return to Build Fighters. Make it take place in that seven-year gap, which would allow you to have Gunpla more on the level of what we saw in GBD (more advanced than GBF, but not at original yet). Or show us the pro circuit at the same time as GBFT and how insane that’s become. (What we see in GBFT is just the Japan’s U-19, and they apparently can’t hold a candle to actual pro players. Can you imagine what Worlds would be like O_O)

There’s just so many new stories they could tell with what already exists. I don’t want them to reboot the series again needlessly.

Also, we’re running out of headliner Gundams. The only obvious choices I don’t think we’ve touched yet are Barbatos, Unicorn, Victory, and Zeta.

As for my hopes for the Battlogue, I’d like to see Maiya and Kazami go on a date, because that would be adorable. I’d like to see Freddie pilot his first Gunpla, because that would be adorable. And I’d like to see the gang teach the village kids how to build Gunpla, because that would be adorable. What can I say? This series got kinda dark; I’d like some cute to balance it out.

Overall, this series was great. Favorite of the Build Series, even if it is a little more Gundam than Build. There’s a lot of potential still left in this universe, so I hope they’ll continue to explore it, rather than reboot the series again.

#Gundam #Gunpla #Gundam Build Divers #Gundam Build Divers Re:Rise #Review

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senaar-ika · 5 years ago

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Masterpiece (Charlie Barber)

And for my first fic I present you: getting nasty in an art museum with our classy dom Charlie! I’ve been thinking about this since I first saw Marriage Story since it’s set in NYC and that’s also the home of some wonderful museums with private corners -wink wink- Of course seeing as it’s my degree, I can’t help but use this idea to also teach you sexy reader a little bit about art history too so apologies if the set up is a bit long. This is actually the first time I’ve written a full length smutty fic, so I really hope you enjoy!

Warnings: it’s smut, it’s a little kinky, it’s in public, it’s fingering, some elegant filthy whispering, Charlie is a dom, sub reader

“I’d like to conclude our tour with this piece here.” You step backwards and gesture toward the statue in the corner next to you, in true tour guide fashion. “We call this one a seated muse, mainly because it’s a partially nude woman.” A few soft chuckles from your group. “Although we don’t know who exactly crafted her, we do know where exactly she came from. Like many of the other statues we’ve seen today, this is a Roman copy of an ancient Greek sculpture. We think that this muse was part of a larger group of statues depicting a mythical musical contest.”

You gave this speech at least ten times a week, but you never got tired of it. The statues in this gallery had become like old friends to you as you spent your days telling their stories to eager listeners. Some days you even found yourself just sitting and admiring them, content to be among the spirits of a long ago world.

“The muses were considered the epitome of natural beauty and the craftsmen that carved these statues took great pains to capture that beauty.” You pause, letting that hang in the room. “Now I’m afraid that’s all I have for you today, but I’ll be in the gallery for a bit longer so feel free to come and ask me any questions that might arise. Of course I can’t guarantee I’ll have an answer, since our lovely muses are so often shrouded in mystery, but hey, I’d love to have a chat. Thank you!” You smile to yourself, pleased to have completed yet another tour, as the group gives you a short round of applause.

When no one steps forward with questions, you turn fully to the statue as the group disperses, taking a few moments to enjoy her. You’re so caught up in the muse in fact, that the soft voice in your ear startles you.

“Do you always speak so dramatically or is that just for the tourists?” Charlie bites back a laugh as your face dissolves from surprise to feigned annoyance.

“Do you always have to sneak up on me when I’m at work?” You retort, rolling your eyes as he places a soft kiss on your cheek. “Wait, were you on the whole tour?”

This time Charlie can’t stop his laugh as he shakes his head. “Just the last few statues.” He loves how absorbed you could become in your work. And he loves watching you guide wide eyed tourists around the hall of sculptures as you pour your knowledge out to them.

You nod and turn back to the muse, tilting to your head as you examine her. “What do you think of her?”

Charlie steps in closer behind you, practically enveloping you against his tall form. He wraps his arms around your middle and leans his head down onto your left shoulder.

“She reminds me of you.” He says quietly. His breath is warm in your ear and the rumble of his soft baritone makes you weak in the knees.

“Really? We look nothing alike!” You try to turn around so you can get Charlie’s damned voice out of your ear, but he tightens his grip on you, sliding his hands down so that one rests on each of your hip bones.

“You’re not twins, no, but you called her the epitome of natural beauty.” You inadvertently lick your lips as Charlie presses a long slow kiss to the side of your neck. “If that’s not you, then I don’t know what is, babygirl.”

You inhale sharply to keep from moaning at one of your favorite pet names he has for you. This is so unprofessional, you’re technically on the clock right now. But that had never stopped Charlie before. As you cast your eyes around the gallery, praying silently that none of your coworkers are nearby, you lean fully into Charlie’s body. He’s strong and solid behind you, and you can already feel his quickly hardening length against your ass. You feel wetness start to pool between your legs.

“They used to worship statues like this right?” Charlie asks at a normal volume, straightening up but still keeping you close to him. For a moment, all you can do is nod because he has brought his hands up to trace lightly along your shoulders and the feeling gives you shivers.

“Sure, many ancient humans used to view sculptures as vessels for the divine.” Speaking about art tends to come naturally to you, but right now you feel your heart pounding in two places. Charlie’s hands are still dancing along your shoulders, gracing over your collarbones. Two can play at this game. You shift subtly.

Charlie hums slightly at the feel of your ass rubbing against him. His hands trail down from your shoulders along your curves, landing back at your hips. His voice is deadly in your ear, “I’d like to worship your body like a statue.”

You fight back another moan at his words, trying to concentrate on the art in front of you instead of how near to your pelvis his hands are drifting. If anyone were to look closely at you two for more than a second they’d be able to see. You thank whatever fates exist in the universe that you’d chosen today to wear a wrap skirt. Charlie’s hand slips easily through the layered fabric and he rests it on your sex. You pull your blazer around you to further obscure the absolute obscenity you know is about to occur.

“I wish I could take you right here. In front of this statue. You belong here. You’re a work of art.” Charlie breathes into your ear, his whole palm covering your mound in a possessive sort of way. “Touch every inch of your beautiful body while you look at hers. You’re my little masterpiece.”

A sigh escapes your lips and you try to rub against him to create a little friction. To ease your need just a tiny bit. Damn his way with words.

“Oh, you’d like that?” He teases, “Yeah, beautiful little whore would love for me to touch her right where anybody could see. Well it’s your lucky day, babygirl.”

And that’s as much warning as you get. In one swift move, Charlie slides your panties to the side and slips a single finger between your folds. You cough in an attempt to stifle the pathetic little mewl that you let out.

“You’re so wet already, beautiful.” Charlie coos, slowly beginning to pump his finger in and out of you.

“You have that effect on me.” You gasp as Charlie crooks his finger and stops moving. “Sir.” You add, hoping that’s what he was waiting for.

It is. He hums in acknowledgement and eases another finger into you. God his hands are so big, just two fingers feels like he’s stretching you. His other hand is delicately trailing the curves of your body, from your hips to your shoulders and back again. You lean as close as you can to his form and slowly reach an arm behind you toward his slacks. His hand moves from your shoulder to your wrist in an instant.

“Oh no, no, no, beautiful,” He whispers, guiding your arm back to your side. His fingers still pushing in and out of your wetness. “I just want you like this.” He lowers his voice even more to make sure only you hear, “I just want to worship your pretty little cunt like the work of art that it is.”

That’s it. You melt fully into his touch, feeling your knees start to shake. A quiet “Fuck, Charlie.” slips from your throat as you try to keep yourself upright. The muse is blurring in and out of focus.

“That’s right, beautiful,” Charlie’s thumb grazes your clit and you bite your lip, your eyes rolling back into your head. “Ah-ah, keep those eyes open, beautiful, we wouldn’t want anyone to get suspicious. Just keep looking at this gorgeous statue.” Somehow you manage to pry your eyelids apart and bring the sculpture back into your field of vision. “That’s a good girl.”

Charlie’s fingers are pumping into you even faster now, and his thumb is lavishing your clit with attention. You can’t believe you’re doing this. You could be fired. You both could probably be arrested. The thought fills you with a dangerous little thrill and you feel yourself smile. Only Charlie could do this to you.

“Enjoying this, beautiful?” He nips at your earlobe. “I certainly am.”

“Yes, sir, I love your fingers in me.” You murmur almost lazily. “Thank -fuck- thank you, sir.”

Charlie lets himself smile, since you can’t see his face. You’re sex-drunk over him and he loves it. You can’t even talk about your art while he’s doing this to you. Now that’s an accomplishment. Having you wrapped around his finger, literally. “You’re very welcome, beautiful.”

You feel yourself clench at his words. You’re getting close, and he knows it. His fingers are plunging deep into you while his thumb vigorously strokes your swollen nub.

“Ch-Charlie?” Your breathing is coming at faster intervals and you hope you can get your words out.

“Yes, beautiful?” He’s supporting most of your body weight now with you leaning back into him.

“Fuck I’m gonna - can I - fuck - please.” Between trying to keep quiet and focusing your gaze straight ahead, you can’t quite form the sentence that he usually requires of you. Charlie’s hot breath tickles your ear as he chuckles slightly.

“Cum, beautiful,” he purrs, “cum for me now.”

And you do. You practically explode on his fingers. You clamp a hand over your mouth as you lean your full weight into his hulking form. He shushes you gently, swaying both your bodies a bit to disguise the fact that you’re spasming through your orgasm. To someone standing behind, the two of you might simply be romantically slow dancing. You pant behind your hand, attempting to catch your breath. Your vision is spotty as Charlie eases his fingers out of you and shifts your panties back in place. In an incredibly smooth motion, he wipes his hand on the inside of your skirt as he brings it out. Then there’s a kiss on your cheek, a soft “Come home quick tonight, beautiful.” And he’s striding across the sculpture hall away from you. As if nothing happened.

---

It’s only when you’re sipping your afternoon coffee in the break room that it hits you. Shit. Shit shit shit shit.

You forgot to thank him before he left.

#charlie barber x reader #charlie barber x you #charlie barber/reader #charlie barber/you #charlie barber smut #charlie barber fanfic #e's writing #legit very nervous about posting this i hope someone reads it

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