#except maybe drop out and give up on the thesis | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

greenerteacups · 1 month ago

Note

GT!!

Your writing inspires me every time I read it! I have long admired how you so skillfully drop deep insights into your writing in seemingly throw-away lines. You masterfully weave impactful themes into your narrative without disrupting flow for even a beat.

Personally, this is something I struggle with in my writing, and I'm really trying to improve. How did you learn to do this so well? Any tips for a new-ish writer?

Thanks for sharing your beautiful art with the world :) I wish I could scream at you in person about how much your writing has impacted me, but I hope you feel my respect and admiration across our screens! 🫶🏼🫶🏼

Thank you so much for the kind words! I offer you an answering scream into the void, out of mutual appreciation for the inspiration and kindness.

I think "writing themes" is tricky, because it depends on the kind of fiction you're trying to write. Some authors are deeply invested in telling a story that communicates a particular idea about how to live. (Contemporary critics tend to be dismissive of this mode because they see it as unrealistic; real experiences don't happen in order to communicate ideas or parables, etc.; and to that I would say who died and made you king of fiction, nobody said realism had to be the goal of all books ever, and the fact that the current literary climate happens to favor realism is an accident of taste and culture, not an objective standard of quality.) Those authors — I'm thinking of people like C.S. Lewis, G.K. Chesterton, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Harper Lee, George Orwell, Oscar Wilde, Paul Coelho, Anthony Burgess, most big-ticket science fiction novelists since Isaac Asimov and many fantasy novelists as well — have characters who act as representations of particular ideas. If you want to write that way, you might consider what you want one idea to "say" to one another in the moral thesis of your story: how do you think these concepts engage with each other? If you were going to visualize that by treating these concepts as people, what would they do to each other? What flaws would they have? How would they survive in different environments? What would be the "conclusion," i.e., which of them end up better-off? Is that a good thing? Why?

Alternatively, maybe you want a story that's more naturalistic and character-centric, and you don't want to necessarily give your reader a moral at the end of it. That's fine! In general, I've found that when most people talk about "themes," they use it as a sort of a catch-all term for "the author is thinking Deeply about Some Stuff," which doesn't necessarily mean that the text takes a position on any particular moral problem. It just means that the problems your characters have are rooted in choices they make, which allows the reader to see how certain ways of living may result in certain costs and benefits. The Great Gatsby isn't about capitalism and inequality per se, but watching Nick run around with these rich people, it's hard not to think about what capitalism and inequality are doing to each character in the story. Which kind of inevitably makes inequality and capitalism one of the themes of the book. It's not that the author put it there on purpose as an easter egg for you to find; it's just that if you want to discuss the book on a level deeper than a straight-up plot summary (asking the big why and how and what-if questions of analysis), you'll probably need to think about the ways that money and class are playing out in the story. It's woven into the structure of the story, right? These are concepts with force and energy in the novel, and they're moving pieces on the board. Conversely, some concepts don't play a role in the novel. For instance, nobody in the book is particularly religious. (Except, of course, the murderous idiot Wilson — and whoa, what does that seem to say about religion in the book?) So the redeeming power of Christ is clearly not a "theme" of Gatsby in the same way it very much is a theme of, say, Brideshead Revisited.

In that case, you might try dedicating a freewrite or two to what your concepts are. What's moving your pieces? Why you think your characters have the problems they do: what do you think causes them to fail? What in their pasts made them that way? In what situations would their faults become virtues? When they hurt other people, why does that happen? What institutions, systems, and social rules might have shaped their thought process? What do they believe, and does it help them or hurt them?

#then you get into literary theory and some people are like 'but what if every book actually could be understood with the same paradigms?'#'what if everything was freudian? what if everything was marxist?' it would be real boring. next #sometimes... books are about... different things.#anyway good luck with your writing!! if stuck the answer is always to write more and write different. hope this helps!#greenteacup asks

20 notes · View notes

konigsrose · 11 months ago

Text

Part 1 of a König x OC fanfic based on literally nothing except my desire to ride that absolute beast of a man.

——————————

Rose was having a bad day. She had been given a huge stack of first year essays to mark by her Doctoral supervisor, had given a lecture that seemed to either bore or confuse the entire class, she hadn’t eaten a single thing since a hasty bowl of cereal at 6am, and she was fairly sure she was going to either die from exhaustion and overwork, or simply drop out of her PhD programme before she got her Doctorate. She had thought this was a dream come true, to get her PhD here in Berlin, where she had access to all the European Literature she loved, but her dream felt like it might be turning into a nightmare as her money ran out, her job became more difficult, and her thesis seemed many years from completion. The U-Bahn home had been rammed with people, too, and some scumbag had taken the opportunity to press himself against her during the journey, breathing down her neck with breath that smelled of fish and alcohol, which had made her feel physically sick. The handle of the bag of essays and books was cutting painfully into her shoulder, but every time she switched shoulders the pain just moved from one side to the other. Rose tried to focus on walking to her building as fast as she could, looking forward to throwing the bag down, taking a long, hot shower, and maybe even eating something if she could find any food in her flat. She wanted to cry, but knew it wouldn’t help anything, so just frowned and stormed onwards.

When Rose arrived at her building, she noticed the giant army guy who lived on the same floor as her was waiting at the doors to the lift. He was in combat trousers and a tight black t-shirt, his dark buzzcut slightly grown out, and he towered over Rose. The first time she had seen him she’d thought him kind of terrifying; he was well over a foot taller than her, Rose being just 5”2, and he was so muscular and broad he looked like he could probably pick Rose up in one hand if he wanted to. He had piercing blue eyes, though he barely glanced at her every time she saw him, just standing ramrod straight, eyes straight ahead with his hands at his sides; maybe it was a soldier thing, she thought. Rose had shared the lift with him a few times, him getting on as she left, or occasionally going up or down together. He had never spoken, and although initially she had smiled when she saw him Rose soon learned that those very English polite smiles made her look out of place here. Not that people in Berlin weren’t friendly, they were, but smiling at strangers came off as a little odd. Now, Rose nodded instead, or sometimes offered a quiet, but polite “Guten Morgen” or “Guten Abend” and usually received a stiff nod in response.

Rose did not bother to greet the mountain of a man this evening, she was in too bad a mood to even bother with a nod. She shuffled the heavy bag from her left shoulder to her right as she waited for the lift to arrive. When it did, the giant man stepped back to allow her to get on first, and only then did she give him a nod and a “Danke.” Her German wasn’t great, but she could manage the basics without too much of an obvious British accent. They rode the lift in silence, both staring straight ahead at the doors. Rose tried not to fidget, but the strap of her tote bag was digging again, and she felt as if when she finally got undressed later she’d probably have welts from the weight of it. As the elevator doors opened and she stepped off, she was just switching the bag from one shoulder to the other, when there was a sudden ripping sound. With a slithering noise and several thuds, the stack of essays and books broke free from the torn bottom of Rose’s bag and hit the floor of the corridor. For a moment Rose stood entirely still, sighing, her eyes closed in resignation.

“This day can suck an entire bag full of dicks,” she muttered to herself, completely forgetting her neighbour beside her.

He laughed, a single, loud, bark of a laugh, and Rose’s eyes flicked open in horror at the realisation he had heard what she had said.

“Sorry, that was vulgar. I forgot you were there… and now I’m sort of hoping you don’t speak English and didn’t completely understand what I just said?” She was blushing, and knelt down to begin gathering the scattered essays and books.

“It was funny. A good expression, I’m glad my English is good so I understood it.” His English was good, though he had a strong accent. He knelt too, and picked up the heavy books, while Rose shuffled the essays back into a pile in her arms. “I did not expect such words from the smiling English girl with the books.” A small smile flickered across his mouth.

“It’s been… a bad day.” Rose stood, arms full of paper, and the big man followed suit, the stack of massive books looking small in his hands, held against his thick arms. “Thank you. You can just drop them on the pile in my arms, I’ll probably just throw them all on the floor when I get in anyway.”

“Nein. I will put them down in your apartment.” He nodded up the corridor, towards Rose’s door.

“Oh… Um… thank you.” Rose was blushing still, and felt it deepen a little when she realised her neighbour was stood quite close, towering over her. She could smell the scent of him, harsh tar soap and deodorant, and suddenly realised that he was attractive in a mildly scary, “giant who could destroy you” kind of way. She turned quickly, wishing the red of her cheeks would fade, and walked the few steps to her door. She shifted the pile of papers a little as she got to it, freeing one hand, and managed to wrestle her key from her pocket and open the door.

Rose threw her stack of papers on to the desk that stood just inside the doorway of her tiny studio flat, and turned to take the books from her neighbour’s arms. Again, he shook his head, and placed them down deliberately himself, in a much neater pile than hers. His eyes scanned the little room that was her home, taking in what little there was to see. There was an unmade double bed with pale pink bedding that took up most of the room. She had a single chair at the desk which looked like it also functioned as a dining table, judging by the empty cereal bowl that sat on it, and a small loveseat style sofa against the wall next to the desk. On the longest wall were vast stacks of books on a rough bookcase made of bricks and planks. There was no tv, no wardrobe, just a door that presumably led to a bathroom. The man was surprised; his apartment, just at the other end of the corridor was double the size of this one. Although he didn’t go in for luxury, he at least had better furniture than this.

“I’d offer you some tea or a beer to say thank you, but I’m afraid I have nothing in the cupboards just now. I’ll owe you one, on payday.” Rose grimaced sheepishly up at him, the blush returning to her cheeks.

“It is nothing.” He turned abruptly, and made to leave.

“Oh. Well, thank you, again… Um…” he glanced back at her, and saw her questioning gaze, seeking a name to call him.

“I am König.” His voice was deep and blunt, and for some reason the simplicity of it thrilled Rose. Of course, his name was King, look at him! She grinned, teasingly, before making a low curtsey.

“And I’m Rose, Seine Majestät.” His mouth twitched into another quick smile at that, before his face returned to its usual straight faced expression.

“I hope you have a better day, English Rose.” And with that, he left. Rose closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, breathing deeply. She was having a better day already.

#konig cod #konig call of duty #konig x oc

4 notes · View notes

we-are-inevitable · 2 years ago

Note

Your ask box is my kingdom, I am taking it over

But anyway I so badly want your thoughts on Jack and Davey in my college prof au please please please I know I haven't spoken about it on tumblr yet except from a little bit but I love your Javid so yeah

-has watched high school musical thank you very much

ok ok @roideny obvi this is your au but here are my Very Important thoughts bc i love them Very Much ugh. in love w them

David Jacobs-Kelly:

44 years old, born in ‘79

Undergrad: majored in English, minored in Creative Writing

Masters: Poetics and Theory AdvC- NYU

Doctorate: English and American Literature, thesis is over gender and sexuality in Shakespeare

he’s been Dr. Jacobs-Kelly for about seventeen years by the time the story takes place!

as a prof, he teaches a comp class, an honors comp (Critical Analysis and Writing), and some creative writing/poetry courses! he’s a very busy man.

he meets Race, Albert, and Finch because they’re students in his comp class!

when he’s not teaching, he’s really involved in the local queer scene. i feel like he’s a staple at drag brunches and pride celebrations; he’s not a huge club fan anymore but he still loves being Involved. growing up during the aids crisis is traumatizing at the least, and im sure he lost a few friends, so he stays up to date in the queer stuff to sort of honor them.

he marries jack in 2011 when gay marriage is legalized in new york!

he’s a huge shakespeare fan, as seen by his phd studies. he has a hamlet-inspired tattoo because he’s gay

tbh he probably has a cat named after shakespeare (they have two cats im calling it now. shakespeare and bryan, name courtesy of jack)

he and jack don’t have any kids, but he’s a loving fun uncle for Les and Sarah’s respective kids!

Jack Jacobs-Kelly:

45 years old, born in ‘78

Undergrad: Studio Art! but he dropped out after a semester <33

he just decided that college wasn’t for him. why pay money for something he doesn’t need?

he goes straight into a set design apprenticeship that medda helps him get! medda is his adoptive mom, so he’s been around queer spaces and theatre since he was around 15. he loves it, it’s his home

that being said he probably sells his own paintings and maybe does mural work on the side, he likes to keep busy and is invested in the art scene, and he meets davey when davey moves to New York for his masters! he’s the reason davey stays in NYC <33

he’s very eccentric, and very much doesn’t give a fuck. he’s a black queer man- the universe already nerfed him, so why worry about anything else? i can see him being the really go-with-the-flow husband to davey’s more tight-strung academic vibe. they really balance each other out

again, they don’t have kids, but i feel like this jack is very much For The Youths? i can see him volunteering a lot, working for organizations that help troubled kids get into the arts— i feel like it’s his passion project that makes him feel better when davey is busy at the university all day. in another life he’s a foster parent, but he and davey just don’t have the lifestyle to foster, so he focuses his energy elsewhere!

whenever davey “adopts” some freshmen he’s always on board. he really hits it off with Albert!

not as involved in the queer scene as davey, but his career is literally in musical theatre set design, so even if he’s not in the queer scene he’s In The Queer Scene

i don’t wanna talk about him losing medda but i can see him eventually inheriting the theater!

he loves his nieces and nephews! he’s a big family guy

Extra Thoughts:

jack and davey are a pair. they rarely go anywhere outside of work without each other, and they’re so, SO in love.

jack pretty regularly comes to see Davey while he’s at work; he’ll bring him lunch to office hours and pop in to watch him lecture from time to time.

davey attends the opening night of every show jack works on <33

their apartment is always a mess LMAO. davey has papers and books everywhere, there’s paint on the floor, brushes all over the place— it’s what happens when you cross a tired academic and an adhd creative. shit happens.

they actually stay pretty hip and on-trend? idk how it happens but jack is rlly good with youth culture and davey is on top of gay culture so like. yeah they work.

over summers and breaks, they travel a lot! not anything crazy expensive— they love international travel, but they’re also a big fan of road trips and rental cars!

they are my FAVORITES and i love them so much

#ugh el ily thank u for letting me contribute #jack kelly #davey jacobs #david jacobs #livesies #newsies musical #newsies #ask a jac !#elliot tag #prof davey au

20 notes · View notes

cash4bees · 5 months ago

Text

I watched To Your Eternity and so should you

Usually, when I consume a piece of media and enjoy it enough to widely recommend it, one of two things is true:

The work in question is already widely-praised, often to the point that there's nobody else to recommend it to. That's not to say I exclusively enjoy stuff because it's popular, just that with how polarized something's quality can end up, I really only have time to consume anime/TV shows/movies that come widely recommended.

It's something that is esoteric, and that I wouldn't really recommend to folks who don't have the same taste as me. This is true of the vast majority of video games, novels, and miscellaneous hobbies I have like tabletop games.

To Your Eternity (Fumetsu no Anata E) is maybe the biggest exception I've encountered in recent memory. (NOTE: This is longer than I would typically make a post, so be warned. The short version is that you should either read or watch it, but I found the voice/animation direction of the subbed anime added a ton to the experience. It's frequently very sad, but rarely 'traumatic'. It deals a LOT with death, but death is not a senseless thing. You'll cry, but it won't shock you)

By now, I don't recommend games or books unless I already know that the person I'm recommending it to is exactly like me and would enjoy something like Monster Hunter or Into the Breach. Those kinds of media are very headspace-specific, and stuff like a TV show is able to get you into its ideal headspace through its direction. This is why stuff like Prestige TV is so easy to recommend to people. With almost no effort on your part, it gets you into the right 'mode' for enjoyment. But, as stated above, I don't recommend TV/anime unless the person is very new to the space and haven't seen a top-5 series like Better Call Saul for live-action TV, or Mob Psycho 100 for anime, or unless the series is actively releasing, like with Dungeon Meshi recently.

I can, without hesitation, recommend season 1 of To Your Eternity to the same degree of confidence that I would recommend Hunter x Hunter or Dungeon Meshi. It is on 'the list', those recommendations that normally have enough buzz that they go without saying.

As to why I like it so much, I think it would be best summarized by saying that the series is straightforward and understandable in its philosophy and thesis, but delivers a kind of worldbuilding and characterization that feels comfortable, natural, and 'discovery-like'. It's able to set its own stakes pretty plainly, and continually innovates on those stakes without ever feeling like it has pulled something out of its ass, or changed the rules; it only ever feels like it's revealing a larger piece of the puzzle. It wastes absolutely nothing. No plot threads get dropped, and similarly no plot threads get given undue importance later on such that you couldn't have imagined them doing so. Plenty of series do this already, and just as well, but the thing I found so charming about TYE is that it surprises you, even when you can probably tell exactly what is about to happen. It doesn't shirk standard storytelling tropes in an attempt to defy your expectations, it just knows that your expectations are there for a reason, and is able to consistently invent new ways to meet those expectations. It does its job as a piece of fiction in an extremely mature, grown-up way. It doesn't underestimate the audience. If anything, I feel like the series LOVES its audience, and dedicates real effort into making the viewer feel connected to the intricacies of the setting. It doesn't need to explain itself, it just gives you the tools you need to understand it and TRUSTS YOU. It isn't obsessed with outsmarting the viewer, or providing them with a 'I gave you all the clues mr. policeman' thrill.

To explain it briefly: To Your Eternity possesses a setting that could work for any number of genre fiction staples: it could have become a shonen battle manga, it could have become a shocking trauma-drama, it could have become a sort-of isekai. It rejects core elements of each of those genres in the interest of telling a very human story. It isn't trying to be a deconstruction or iteration on something tried-and-true. It is using the techniques of innovation that those genres rely on, and making them a part of itself, becoming something entirely unique.

But the part of all this that really beggars belief on my end is that nobody else seems to have To Your Eternity on their 'list'. It came and went, for two seasons. It's still actively getting published as a manga and its 3rd animated season is on the way, but.... nobody's saying shit? It can't just be that it flew under the radar, it was one of the most popular animes of its season when it first released. According to MAL, it was one of the highest-ranked at the time, as well.

But from a long-term impact perspective, it kinda just got treated as a flavor-of-the-month seasonal release? Nobody really lists it as a favorite, even though me and my watchgroup pretty universally agree that it's favorite-material for all of us, and we tend to agree on things that achieve major success like CSM, MP100, Dungeon Meshi, etc.

If you haven't seen it, please do. If you have seen it, please tell me how you felt about it, and maybe bring me closer to understanding why me and my watchgroup fell so head-over-heels for this series when it seemed to make very little impact elsewhere...

0 notes

capriciouscaprine · 1 year ago

Text

little venty post about grown adults who don't have their act together despite being 10+ years my senior, feel free to read if you're nosey!

so, i'm an intern at a school as part of my final year of my math teaching masters, and i have one traditional class to attend and do work for as part of writing my graduate thesis, so there are two primary mentors i work under: my mentor teacher and my professor

first, my professor: despite quite likely being old enough for retirement, and having the teaching experience to match, she still regularly forgets to give us key pieces of information (ie requirements for assignments) until right before we need them or even after that particular assignment was already due, and classes are just us guessing at what she wants us to say in discussions, often with a significant lack of context when she asks questions so we genuinely aren't sure what piece of information she wants us to be responding to, and then scolds us for not reading her mind when we don't respond "correctly" (which, all of us in her class are adults in our final years of our masters degrees)

this week's frustration is her sending us an article "you should already have", except it's not actually on our classroom platform at all; she was thoroughly condescending for absolutely no reason when she is actually factually incorrect about whether she has already given us this article or not

second, my mentor teacher, the far more long running thorn in my side: he's early middle aged, over ten years of teaching experience, and as far as i can tell he's perhaps spent all of those years coasting on the work of others and doing the bare minimum

he's actually taught me a lot about being confident despite chaos and making a lesson plan in 15 minutes instead of agonizing over every detail, but this results in lessons that focus on rote memorization and 'tricks' to get answers to problems, and often, he's the chaos

our school is fortunately fairly relaxed about following the district's guidelines on when to teach which topics, so long as all material in the standards gets taught at some point; this year our district has rolled out new standards for our subject, which is mostly the same standards with only a few added/removed/moved around on the calendar; alrighty, that could be annoying, but an experienced teacher could just review what they did for the previous years and make adjustments from there, right?

nope. he's as unprepared as a first year teacher, constantly having to throw together a lesson, figure out what order he's teaching something in, and cross reference with the other teacher of this same subject on what that instructor will be doing in his classroom that day

this has come to head now because i had to teach for six full weeks, all on my own with my own lesson plans; i'm a planner, so of course i looked up the standards we'd be covering approximately at this time (all students at my university are doing their six weeks at approximately the same time per our degree requirements), reviewed those standards with BOTH instructors, and spent all of winter break (outside of work) planning how i would teach them with slides, examples, connections to other subjects, activities, etc

first of all, despite sending him both my initial and updated slides for all six weeks in advance, my mentor teacher drops on me that he's NOT planning on teaching a topic we SPECIFICALLY talked about students needing to know to be ready for my unit, and eventually he did end up teaching half of it, but in a way that effectively added material to my unit, because it was too close to me teaching for him to give a test on it

second of all, three weeks into this six weeks he's suddenly telling me that i should probably have split up these standards into at least two units, and maybe more; again, he had my slides far in advance and had plenty of time to give me suggestions, but when i brought this up he sort of shrugged his shoulders like a goofy frat boy (and i was in a fraternity in undergrad) and admits yeah, he probably should have looked those over and thought about this sooner; I actually can't change my lesson plans at this point because i'm also collecting data for a research project for that professor i already complained about, and i need different classes to do a certain number of assignments to have enough data, and i won't get that if i throw a test with review time into the middle of my six weeks

third, and quite frankly most embarrassing for him, he's slowly panicking because our students are now ahead of his teacher bestie, so when i'm done teaching he won't be able to just crib off of the other instructor for all his lesson plans and assignments; i've already made suggestions for what he could do to stall for time until the other instructor catches up, but seriously, you just sit at your desk ALL DAY, doodling and shopping for car accessories and occasionally entering grades data while i teach, and now your all nervous because you might have to actually plan some lessons on your own???????

which, our final units for the course are even longer than the unit we're on, and, just like most schools, we finish at the end of may, and i finish teaching in mid march, so you have at best two months to teach AND test TWO units that are together of the same length as this six week unit, and you're upset about being AHEAD?????????

like i said, i have actually learned a lot from having him as my mentor, but lots of things i've learned have come from taking notes on what NOT to do instead of learning from what he does do

to cap all this complaining off, some positivity: i'm excited to have my own classroom and be able to prepare thoroughly with no external responsibilities (classes, other job, etc) for both teaching the material itself and managing the environment to support good learning habits for my students; i look forward to having the time to research evidence-based teaching practices, implement changes without being undermined by someone doubting if they'll work, and work with my students to get their opinions on what i could do to best support them, right from day one of the school year

i know i won't be perfect by any means, and we may spend longer than i'd like learning in a cement cube, but eventually everything will come together and i'll be fully invested in a career i enjoy

#cc og

0 notes

kaimukiwahine · 1 year ago

Text

Day one: Post graduation reflection

After leaving the arena and staying for the lei ceremony for a little while, my folks drove me home. Got to beat that traffic, you know.

Once home, I got out of my gown and hood, my formals, all of it. Put on the sleepwear I wore this morning, crawled into bed and just cried.

No one except my parents were there. No other family. None of my friends nor my professors I have known for years showed up. Granted, one of my friends from the uni server and my professor chair did show but it was long after I left. My folks and I just gave up thinking anyone would come to see me.

The past few years, I kept questioning was this all worth it. The time, money, energy for a degree I originally didn't plan for. Was roped in because my previous professor told me he will take me in to do it and I wouldn't have to pay for it. So I did. And he lied.

I known him for several years prior as an undergrad. Worked and studied then when time came to graduate he offered. But when I come to him ready, he wasn't. My family paid for my education while he kept putting up a facade of being the kind professor. He got me a job but it just soured as I was put into being basically a maid, far from what I was originally intended to work as.

The same summer I was let go, he let me go. I spent those hot summer months working on a project I tried to stay enthusiastic about. Only to be told I was incapable, much like the employer who let me go just a month prior. Because of one miscommunication. Even went to so go as far as holding a surprise meeting where he basically shamed me in front of three other people i never met, that I should consider dropping out. Leave grad school, the very same he told me to do when I didn't want it. All of this, just a week prior to the start of my second year. I survived just one year under him.

Luckily, another professor took me in. For thesis, you arrange a committee: one chairperson and your members. One of my members gladly took me in after explaining things. He didn't make any lofty promises, just what he has in mind and if I was interested. I took it.

So I would spend the next six years with him. It could have been shorter but I was so scared and hurt, I treaded with so much caution. Things that should have been done in the first year, it took three. Granted, the pandemic happened but it was no excuse. I didn't push myself. I didn't want to put in the work for it to be for nothing. Just like my time in architecture..

But here I am, I finished. But it just feels hollow. I met people, made some friends in person and through online. But where are they? Those who says they will be here.. Did I do something wrong? The promises made, are they all like my previous professor? Pretty words to draw me in only to take away.

I guess I'm just not worth it. Not worthy of the degree. Not worthy of having people proudly stand by me. Maybe not even worth being here. I don't know. I tried erasing myself a number of time this past year. A lot less compared to last year, you can give me that at least. But each time, someone stopped me.

But now, I'm alone. Only with memories of those pretty words that just rings hollow. Maybe I don't deserve anything. No celebration, no fun family or friend get together into the night or plans for the future, no anything.

Just me, my thoughts, and nothing.

#sorry

0 notes

taiblogcomics · 1 year ago

Text

Discord and Harmony

Hey there, frozen empires. Let's finally finish up this story arc, eh? Like, do you remember when we reviewed issue 1? It was July 2022. Like, golly. Part of this is me only reviewing these when I have the physical issues in my hands (for this series, anyway), but still. It's about time, huh? Anyway, let's get into it~

Here's the cover:

This is definitely the right cover to wrap this story up with. Like, last issue, we put a bunch of the Mane 6 on the cover, but not one of them is actually in the story. In this one? Discord is very much in the story. And oh ye, if you haven't checked this out yourself already, here's your look at future!Discord in all his scraggly …well, not glory, but you get what I mean. And in spite of the unkemptness, this is such a nice cover. Look at the friendly look. And most of all, look at the symbolism. Notice the colours of those butterflies~?

So let's recap. Here in the G5 future, ponies have only just overcome their segregations and gotten magic back. Discord, who has outlived everypony else, is worried magic will drive ponies apart again. Therefore, he will destroy magic himself before it can do so. The perfect plan! To do this, he plans to melt the magic Unity Crystal in a steaming volcanic caldera. Our heroes--including Izzy, who's suffering from some flightless inadequacy, thus proving the whole thesis about magic dividing folks right--are always two steps behind and now stuck in a suspended cage. Let's see how they get out of this one!

Despite all their rage, they're still just ponies in their cage. And Sunny does rage a bit, trying to build enough momentum to shatter the floor. Hitch is very nervous about this idea, having plummeted to his doom once today already. Alas, Sunny's magic fizzles out again, and she gives in to despair for a bit. Maybe it'll be better to just wait for Discord to destroy magic, then come and let them out. After all, what has magic ever done for them up 'til now? Made them fight and got them stuck in a cage, that's what.

Except, as Izzy points out, it also brought them all together. The reason why magic feels divisive right now is that it's only been back for a short while. Everypony is still trying to figure things out how to live with this frankly life-altering change to the world. You can't just drop a new way of life into society and expect things to work out overnight. So naturally there's gonna be some conflicts while they learn a new way to live. And really, that's what unity is all about. And with that inspiration, Sunny knows how to solve a problem called Discord.

First, they still gotta get out of this cage, though. Since their powers are glitchy, they all gotta pitch in together. Hitch calls some bunnies over, and they chew through the literal cliff-hangers of the cage. This seems unwise, but everypony pitches their wings and horns in (other than "Dead Weight" Hitch), and they manage to slow the cage's descent to non-lethal levels. Slowed enough, they then manipulate the fall so it shatters the cage without really harming the ponies inside. Good thing that was the hard part, because what falls down must now climb back up.

Her flight having fizzled from slowing the cage, Zipp decides to climb the cliff by hoof if she has to. It's a bit too steep, however, and she falls back down. Luckily, the bunnies are there to catch her, which is the sort of whimsical phrase you can only say in a series about colourful talking horses. They carry her over to a hole in the ground, and disappear down it. Did Zipp just get Wonderlanded? Only one way to find out: get too close to the hole, wait for the cave floor to give out, and fall down it after your friend~

They've found the heart of the volcano, where Discord's ready to drop the Unity Crystal, all in the name of an Equestria where no one is better than anypony else. In the name of… Fluttershy. Sunny steps in, attempting to grab the crystal with her magic. Discord fights magic with magic, trapping Sunny in one of those "saw the lady in half" boxes. Zipp and Pipp rush in where angels fear to tread, but Discord just gets creepy extendo-arms and chases them with the intent to grab. Once snared, he deposits them on a rock in the middle of the lava. Good thing heat convection isn't a thing!

Speaking of Angel(s), the bunnies swarm all over Discord in Hitch's own remake of Night of the Lepus. Discord doesn't even bother with something flashy this time, he just snaps his fingers and teleports Hitch and the bnuuys onto another lava rock. He collects his crystal from his hench-possum, Reginald, and taunts Sunny than in a battle of magic, her fizzly failure could never best his. And that's when the trap springs: Sunny retorts that her magic was never meant to beat his. It's a much different magic at play here, and she shouts to Izzy to do it.

Izzy steps out and uses her magic to… move her smartphone right up into Discord's face. It's playing a video. The recording they made of that memory stone that recorded Fluttershy's final message to Discord, insisting that he let go of his anger and embrace the differences. Difference doesn't matter if nopony's the same. It's the differences that make us who we are--who would Rainbow Dash be if she couldn't fly? And all this takes place in a beautiful scene where Discord drops to his knees, tears in his eyes, cradling the phone while a ghostly image of Fluttershy comforts him.

Izzy tells him that Flutters would say the same thing if she were here now. Sure, there'll be difficulties. Mistakes happen, but that's part of life. Alone, their differences make them special, but together they can be truly wonderful. Discord considers, then hands the crystal over to Izzy. He puts Sunny back together and retrieves the others. They all promise they'll never stop working to make the Equestria Fluttershy wanted to see, one where everypony--and every draconequus--can live in harmony together.

There is no return trip. We simply return to our heroes back at the lighthouse, where Sunny reunites the Unity Crystals, reigniting everypony's magic. No more fizzles and brown-outs. Ponies all over Maretime Bay and beyond regain their magical abilities. Sunny hangs up a photo of her friends and Discord at the gates of Canterlot in a very special place: right above a photo of her dad, whispering to him that she finally made it to Canterlot.

Sunny then turns and apologises to Izzy for how she put her magic ahead of their friendship in her excitement, hoping to earn trust back someday. Izzy says she never lost it, and they hug. And the comic ends with a reworked version of the game it started with. All magic is allowed, but you must pass to every player on your team before the goal counts. Even Discord gets in on the fun. Zipp congratulates herself on coming up with it, and Pipp does a video signout to close us out~

Well! I think, after all that, it was a lovely way to end the story. There were some issues with the pacing, as we discussed in previous updates. But I think that beautiful shot of Fluttershy's memory comforting Discord more than made up for it, and gave us the ending we really wanted. And of course, they're right. It's our differences that make us beautiful, and when we work together, we become something even more beautiful.

Next issue, we already did for Halloween, remember? So we'll jump to issue 12 and get back on track~

#comics #reviews #My Little Pony #My Little Pony: A New Generation #Taiblog

1 note · View note

niobe-loreley · 3 years ago

Text

Heaven Is In A Shortcake {ii}

bon appetit!

(see author's notes far below)

disclaimer: pictures are NOT MINE, but the edited version of it is for the fic. still, credits to the rightful owners and to canva + weheartit

Six x F!Reader / Courtland Gentry x Fem!Reader

warnings: mild swear words- they appear occasionally. fluff. trust issues. slow burn. check word count. culture shock.

CHAPTER SELECTION is in the✨Masterlist✨ Chapter 1 - with summary check it out in the masterlist Chapter 2 - this is it [next chapter link is posted below for suspense & convenience hehe]

words: 3.9k (N/N) = nickname *Kiara = Claire *Kurt = Court *cover names / reader doesn't know (except you really do know #wreckthe4thwall)

⚜🍰⚜🍰⚜🍰⚜

Friday nights can always get chaotic.

One of the reasons may be.. because you're hanging out with your friends and you're all ready to do the stupidest shit any of you can think of.

Another reason is there's a possibility that your research group will be burning the midnight oil to finish the thesis manuscript.

Maybe you're at a family gathering or a birthday party.

Or maybe you're trying to do some homework to get a free weekend, but you end up procrastinating.

You place an arm over your eyes when sunbeams slip through the gaps of your blue velvet curtain. It's Thursday, your rest day— unless the botika downstairs needs an extra pair of hands.

Typically, you don't wake up early on your rest day, because your Wednesday shifts at the bar start at 18:00 and end at 3:00. You glance at the clock on your bedside drawer, 10:17 beams merrily at you, reminding you why you've been awake for several minutes now.

You dreamt of them again— the father-daughter duo. Specifically your first meeting with them and how it ended.

You've experienced crazy and wild Friday nights. You try to recall anything far more befuddling than what happened last Friday, but it continues to take the cake.

⚜🍰

"Here.. you eat it first."

"W-What?" you sputter, like a broken engine.

He chuckles. "Sorry, I should've explained first. It's tradition for the older recipient of a cake to offer the first bite to the baker."

Your jaw drops, but it soon recovers as your mouth decides to work without your consent. "Where in the fu— friggin' fracken face of this blue, green, and brown earth does that tradition hail from?" you demand bewilderedly, glancing at his daughter to see that she shares a similar confused look.

"Iceland," he says, nodding at the teenager across from him. "You remember, Kiara?"

"Oh.. oh, yeah!" she laughs in realization and looks at you, "It's a very silly yet profound tradition. Like a way of giving gratitude."

"This gesture is to thank you for your cake and your kind services tonight," he proclaims with a small smile, slightly lifting the fork towards you.

You're red from the neck up. Not because you're feeling extremely privileged at the father-daughter duo's attempt to share culture. But because you're trying not to explodingly decline the offer.

It's so bizarre!

You haven't heard, seen, nor read about this tradition before. Whether or not it's true, refusing to do it is crass. But if it's really not true, then you're dumb.

Maybe they're just pranking you.

But what if that's not the case?

You internally scream before you give a nod and bend down toward him. He carefully raises the fork, and you take it in your mouth. You look at him, the 12-inch proximity lets you study his icy blue eyes beneath the shadow of his cap, and you resist the urge to shudder from the intensity of his gaze boring into yours. You pull back, and he gently extracts the fork.

There's a smidge of icing on your lips, it feels cool, like an oasis amidst the burning desert that is your face. You lick your lips, scattering the cream throughout your tongue, and you swallow. He inspects your lips, blue eyes becoming fiercer—

"Th-Thank you for letting me share your tradition!" you blurt out, bowing to the man and his daughter, you straighten with a grin. "Enjoy the dessert now!"

You practically sprint away. Mindy and Muro are questioning you about what happened, while you chug down a glass full of water. You hush your co-workers, telling them that you'll elaborate once it's just the three of you.

The father-daughter duo enjoys the strawberry shortcake you made. This showers you with immense relief that you nearly forgot about the "tradition" incident.

They finish in about ten minutes, and when the man places the exact amount in the check, you step up to their booth as they prepare to depart.

"Hi! Just to commemorate your first-time here, would you like a picture?" you hold up an instax mini and a pen, "Or maybe sign on our customer wall?"

"We'll just sign," says the man.

His daughter, Kiara is the first to leave her mark. He then scribbles his signature below hers.

Kiara

Kurt

You open the door for them as they leave. "Come again!"

"We will!"

You meet the man's eyes for a few seconds, and you feel the blood swarm your face again.

⚜🍰

"Aaaahhhhh!" you scream into your pillow, legs flapping, body wiggling.

You stop your thrashing. It's been nearly a week and you're still pondering on whether the man was flirting with you or not. He looks 30-ish, right around your age, but it's hard to know with his cap on. You recall his attire: a navy blue jacket over a black shirt, dark cargo pants, and combat boots.

No ring on any of his fingers.

You slap yourself across the face, abruptly sitting up. "He has a daughter, you dumbass slut!" you yell at yourself, "I mean, sure— bonus. But, fuck!"

Whatever he was doing with that "tradition", let's say he was flirting. His daughter appears to be smarter than him. If she perceives and understands what he's doing, she approves because she was in on it.

But if he wasn't flirting with you… What else could he be trying to do with that "tradition"?

You frustratedly ruffle your head, laying back down with a huff, you force yourself to sleep.

"A-ha!" you exclaim, somewhat triumphant, and sit up. "He was checking if I poisoned the cake!"

You let the silence of your room judge you. And as the late morning traffic mingles with it, you shake your head, dismissing the bizarre thoughts, and you climb out of bed.

"Let's just conclude that he was flirting with you, okay (Y/N)? That's much more acceptable than the other crazy shits you're thinking.."

After making sure the pharmaceutical store below the apartment is not understaffed for today, you decide to go to the mall. You owe it to the owner for letting you take the vacant apartment without payment five years ago. Before you found work at the bar and at Flour Cake De Liz, you were working 24/7 in the botika. Nowadays, you only have the Sunday shift.

It takes you a full hour to bathe, prepare clothes, and dry your hair. You only put on some chapstick since you plan to commute, you don't want your make-up coming undone before you reach the mall. But you still packed a few of your make-up for emergency purposes.

You double-check your stuff before you lock the apartment. On the way out, you bid goodbye to the people at the botika.

"Ingat ka, (Y/N)!" they wave at you.

"Anong oras ka uuwi?" Mr. Nik, the owner of the residence and the store, hollers.

"Kahit anong oras gusto ko!" you reply with a cheeky grin.

But you did plan to be home by 20:00. You still have some leftover dapa that needs finishing tonight. And you have a full-day at the cafe tomorrow.

You hop on a jeepney that's half-full. Several older women eye you with distaste as your cropped shirt exposes portions of your waist and upper arms. You flash them a smile as you pay your fee, glancing at your wristwatch, it's already 12:01. You mull over that you can arrive at Harbor Point by 12:45, depending on the traffic.

⚜🍰⚜

The cool air of the mall gladly embraces you as you enter. A mall's air-conditioning certainly always feels like an affection from an old friend. Checking that your sling pouch is still intact and your things still accounted for, you venture around for food first.

It's a common understanding between the self and the body that both shall need energy to travel. And that energy is obtained from food— glorious food!

Since it's been a while, you decide to eat at KFC. You grin excitedly. Brace yourself, gravy station. You can already imagine the look on the staff when they see you hoarding the gravy.

You sigh in relief when there's several vacant tables at the restaurant. The lines are a bit long, you hope at least one table remains free. This is the only downside to going to the mall alone, no one gets to save you a table when eating.

"Here's your number. Please wait for your meal at your table!"

You grip the tray in both hands, and without spilling your Coke, you speed-walk across the restaurant and manage to secure a small table at a corner near the entrance. You grab the table number and Coke off the tray, which you place on the seat across you.

Knowing it may take more than 5 minutes for your order, you slip on your headphones and play some music. You start to examine the people in the restaurant, the staff, and then the people outside. You wonder if any of the people made plans for today or they just went to the mall on a whim, like you.

Your sole reason for going is because you can't handle your thoughts about the father-daughter duo. It's hard to read a book when that bizarre event keeps streaking in your mind.

And now, you're starting to think about it again.

Before you can slap yourself with your table number, a waiter arrives with your order. You thank him, unbeknownst of your loud voice because of your headphones. You then dump the mushroom soup on your rice, you leave for the gravy station, where you fill the soup bowl with gravy. You return to the table to pour the gravy on your rice, like you did with the soup, and you briskly walk back to the gravy station.

Once the bowl is filled with gravy, you sit at your table, nod contently at your meal, and wolf it all down. Everybody in the restaurant gawks at you, but you don’t care.

You rest for ten minutes after your meal. During that time, you cover your mouth while you clean your teeth with a toothpick. You decide to head to the bathroom first before going to Watson's, other than toiletries, you know there's some mint there.

Music still blares softly from your headphones, which you pull down to your shoulders after departing from KFC. You peer into the tote bag you brought from Watson's, inside it are your toiletries for the next month and a strawberry Tic Tac. You open it, popping three pills in your mouth, and you slow down your strides as you ponder on your next destination.

Suddenly, the hair on your nape rises. Like meerkats standing up and looking to one side in unison. You suppress a shudder and take a gander, scrutinizing everything and anyone as far as your eyes can see. Some of the people passing by only glance at you. No one around the stores is looking at you.

So why the hell do you feel like you're being watched?

And as though some higher being is toying with you, the next song that resonates out your headphones matches your situation.

♪Every breath you take And every move you make Every bond you break Every step you take I'll be watching you♪

You scoff, shaking your head, you decide to continue your gait. Your steps feel rigid, so you try to relax. No one's watching nor following you. You're not that pretty enough to be stalked— thank the heavens. Deeply breathing in and out, you nod at yourself, concluding that it may just be the CCTVs that you felt watching.

But the cold electricity zipping up your spine tells you otherwise.

You walk faster now, but acting as normal as possible. You head for the escalators, climbing down faster than the moving steps, you murmur apologies to the people you pass and continuously glance at your wristwatch like you're in a hurry. As soon as you get off, you step aside and look towards the top of the escalators. No one appears to be following you.

Even so, you stroll to an open hall, blending with the crowd while simultaneously tying your hair into a pair of low pigtails. You veer away, entering a stall-filled hallway, you pretend to be interested in cologne, even inquiring the saleslady about their products. Once the blood diminishes from your cheeks and your heart calms down, you walk away from the stall and dare a look around.

See? You're good, nervous fuck!

Why would anyone follow you? You're not a celebrity. Feelingera.

You shake your head, breathing out exasperatedly. You're about to head back to where you came (ran) from— the bookstore is that way— but you notice someone on the 2nd level moving away from the railings.

You could've sworn this person was looking at you.

⚜🍰⚜

Surprisingly, there's a lot of people at the NBS (National Bookstore). Summer just started, the next academic year is still two months away. When you were still in school, sometimes you like to shop for school supplies in the middle of the summer. You hated crowded sale days when you were young, but now you'd fight anyone who dares pick up the last bundle of 50%-off items you're about to grab.

You wander around the work supplies section, contemplating whether you need the tape holder more than new pens. You decide to put a pin on that dilemma and move to the fictional books section.

Aurora Rising— you pick up a thick book that has an interesting cover of a black, short-haired girl with a few white strands and a glowing right eye. You turn it over to read the synopsis, which you find amusing. You haven't read any sci-fi novels lately, this should be a good change of environment.

"(N/N)?"

You flinch, surprised at the sound of your nickname. Turning to the owner of the voice, your brows furrow shortly before you soon recognize who it was.

"Kiara!" you pause, "Right?"

The teenager chuckles. "Right!"

You didn't immediately know who she was because of the facemask she's wearing. And her hair is tied up into a high ponytail.

"This is.. unexpected yet pleasant. You here with your friends?"

"No, I'm with my dad."

You notice the melancholy in her eyes, even though she tries to hide it from her tone. "And I'm guessing he's the one who made you wear that facemask?" you raise a brow.

Kiara is astonished. "He did! He's a bit of a germaphobe when it concerns me," she chuckles. "Luckily, he's not overly worried enough to put me in a hazmat suit."

You amusedly snap your fingers. "I was just about to say that. He probably noticed the air pollution, it's real nasty here— especially in Manila."

She glances around. "So, how about you? Are you by yourself?" she questions curiously.

"Matter of fact, I am." you grin, "Thursdays are my rest days. But I didn't wanna lounge around, so voilà!"

"Spontaneous," Kiara nods approvingly.

"There are some cons, though.. like having anxiety as you order at a restaurant because no one is reserving a table."

"Yeah, that is a con."

You glimpse at the books in her basket. "Paper Towns? And TFIOS?"

She smiles. "Uh-huh! I wanted to read them first before watching them."

Shocked, your jaw drops. "You haven't watched them?"

"Well, I was only eight.. nine— when the movies came out."

"Damn, I feel so old."

Kiara stifles a laugh at your exasperation towards your lifespan. You can't help but smile as she seems relaxed with you. Usually, children cry whenever you're near.

"May I?" you gesture to her books

She lifts a shoulder, and you grab TFIOS from her basket. The book is still plastic-wrapped, it has the movie cover, which shoots a bullet through your heart. TFIOS is still one of the most beautiful yet painful novels.

"No offense, but I don't think your heart can take these." you croak with a dramatic sniffle.

She laughs. "That's why I plan to stop for a while when the story gets too painful. I've read the online reviews on both the movies and the books."

"You know.. I still have my copies for these. If you want, you could borrow them." you offer with a smile, "That way you can buy some comedic novels to compensate for the heartache that is John Green's stories."

She brightens. "Really?!"

"Why not?!" you reply, matching her fervor.

"You're terrific, (N/N)!"

"Of course, I am!— But I haven't cleaned my books for a while, so I can't really say I'm that terrific."

"I don't mind if the books aren't tidy."

"Unfortunately, I do."

"Kiara.."

You tense at his voice, and Kiara turns as her father enters the aisle you two are in. "Hey, Mr. Kurt." you casually say, ignoring the heat that threatens to bake your face.

He seems to be wearing a similar attire since last week. A white shirt beneath a grey jacket, dark pants, and combat boots. Plus, the usual cap on his head.

"(N/N)," he’s surprised. "What a coincidence to see you here. Must be fate."

"Or unlucky spontaneity." you joke.

"What?"

"Nothing!"

He turns to his daughter. "Have you picked out your books yet?"

"Yeah, but I'm gonna swap these for a different pair. (N/N) will let me borrow her copies," she grins.

He blinks, looking from you to his daughter. "That's very nice of her," he says.

Kiara nods. "Yup!" and suddenly sidles past you, "I'll just be a sec!"

"Oh, I'll help you find—"

"No, no," she cuts you off, "The two of you just stay there."

She disappears before you can think of a rebuttal. You exchange incredulous looks with Kurt, chuckling awkwardly, you scratch behind your ear. "She's still as enthusiastic as ever," you say, peering down at your Chucks.

"Yeah… Thank you, by the way. But you didn't have to," he shortly gives a sincere smile.

You feel sheepish. "Don't think of it as a favor. I just thought that.. if you two will be going to the cafe once in a while, Kiara can borrow my books instead of buying some." your eyes widen in realization, "Unless you two are just here for a vacation. In which case, I'm very possessive of my books."

He breathes out a laugh. "No, we're.. we're here indefinitely." he pauses to sigh, "I hope."

You purse your lips when you feel the curiosity bubbling in your throat. "Oh," you glance behind him and reach—

He catches your hand in a dangerous grip.

"S-Someone's just.."

He turns, sidestepping for a teenage guy to pass by and inspect the shelf behind you. "Sorry," he quickly lets you go. "Reflex."

"And a good grip." you laugh, shaking your hand to ease the pain.

He guiltily regards you, and you give a reassuring smile. "Let's stand over here," you step out of the aisle, noticing the scowl on his face. "Hey, if I had your reflexes, I would do the same to any stranger who invades my personal bubble."

He looks at you like you're both an alien and a calculus question. You try to match his mien when you feel the blush creeping up your cheeks. Despite the shadow from his cap, his blue eyes easily pierce through the thin blackness over his face. You're staring— mesmerized, it's rare to find someone with a different eye color in this country. Usually, it's just dark brown, brown, and light brown.

It's tempting to examine every detail of his eyes. The urge to step closer snaps you out of your stupor. "I like your eyes," you blurt out, taking a half-step back.

Your inner self slaps you with a baton— she prizes herself as a majorette.

"Thanks," he glances down, and you swear there's pink on his cheeks. But it isn't evident when he scrutinizes you from crown to toe, trying to decide on what to say without offense.

This makes you snort until you can't hold back the laugh. "You don't have to say anything back, you know."

Your remark seems to have put him out of his misery.

"Sorry," he awkwardly pockets his hands in his jacket. "It's common courtesy to say a compliment back."

"True, but we make our own rules." you wolfishly grin.

It’s infectious— your smile. Court doesn’t realize it until he spots his vague reflection on the glass, the restraints on the corners of his mouth have buckled.

He clears his throat, tightening his lips down, he takes a look around. Pretending to be looking for Claire as an excuse to tear his gaze away from you.

This is bad.

If you’re really an innocent civilian, you shouldn’t be a constant presence in their surreptitious life. With you interacting with them now already draws a target on your back and the people around you. Court isn’t fond of collateral damage, and he certainly dislikes the thought of Claire feeling guilty for someone’s death because of them.

But he wasn't lying when he told you that he hoped he and Claire would get to stay longer in one place.

Court quietly sighs and looks straight at you. It’s much easier to think that you’re a spy, paid to get all chummy with him and Claire before you stab them in the back. Although, the way you become easily embarrassed reckons otherwise. You’d flinch and blush, but maybe because of an innate competitiveness, you try to hold his gaze. Like you did last Friday.

It amuses him. And even though he’s ignoring it, one word keeps streaking through his mind— cute.

On the other hand, you try to maintain a steady eye contact while thinking— awkward.

“All done!” Claire appears out of the blue, holding up a paper bag.

“Nice!— Wait, you already paid for it?�� you look over to the cashier, there’s no line.

“I did!”

Court frowns. “Why didn’t you call me?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation.”

“We weren’t talking about anything serious,” you chime in, chuckling. “Guess I’ll see you two around, then.”

“Yeah, see you.” Court nods with a polite smile.

“Wait, (N/N)!” Claire grabs your wrist.

“Yes?!” you respond dramatically, but quickly apologizes for startling her.

“Do you wanna go around the mall with us?” Claire glances at Court, who’s infinitesimally shaking his head. “We’re not about to go home, right, Dad?”

You stammer. “I don’t wanna impose..”

“Great, let’s go!”

Huh?

⚜🍰⚜🍰⚜🍰⚜

A/N: Oh boy lol

Been thinking that maybe after chapter 5 (wow, that's a long way) there will be more lovey-dovey stuffs and Claire being aggressive with making you two into a couple The portal to another dimension Chapter 3 <-click

#the gray man #six #court gentry #courtland gentry #claire fitzroy #reader insert #the gray man x reader #six x reader #court x reader #ryan gosling #chris evans #ana de armas #netflix #russo brothers #the gray man fanfiction #trust issues #try hard father #teenage girl needs a mama figure

161 notes · View notes

benditlikepress · 4 years ago

Text

one good movie kiss

here for @sunforgrace 's thesis statement: give dean one good movie kiss and he WILL be alright

“Are you avoiding me?”

Dean’s hand stills in the air above his cup of coffee as the voice cuts through the kitchen.

Cas is standing in the middle of the room in an ill-fitting sweater and his hair is dishevelled as though he’s been tossing and turning. He looks so unremarkable, so human, it makes Dean’s breath catch in his throat at the reminder.

It’s been three days since Cas got back and it occurs to Dean when he speaks that it’s the first time they’ve been alone together. Awake, that is: Dean realised early on that difficult conversations couldn’t happen if you’re asleep. Thank god for Cas’ Empty-rescue hangover.

“No. I’m not avoiding you.”

“OK. Good. I was worried that after what happened things might be weird between us, but I suppose that’s unavoidable.” Cas pulls a face that’s a little self-deprecating.

I’m fighting the urge to run the hell away from you, Dean thinks. To stay the hell away from you before I do anything else to hurt you. Before you make a reckless decision to save me, again, or say something so brutal and true that my legs give out from under me and I’m left sitting alone on the floor wondering how the hell I’m supposed to do this on my own.

I’m fighting the urge to wrap you in my arms and never let go.

“I’m not avoiding you, Cas. I just.. I’m trying to figure out the stuff I have to say to you.”

“I understand. I know everything that’s happened recently is a lot to contend with.”

“Yeah, that’s an understatement.” Dean coughs and stands up, tapping his hands against his legs for something to do. Cas is looking at him expectantly and Dean knows he deserves answers but how is he supposed to do that? How do you even begin to explain to someone that their mere presence in the room has your breath hitching? “But it’s not.. you. It’s not you I’m avoiding. It’s just. Y’know. The stuff you said before you..” He doesn’t say it. He can’t. Cas blinks.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. That’s – god, that’s the last thing I want. I’m just.. trying to get my head around it.”

“I meant it.”

“I know you did. I know that. I just.. I believe you, and nobody’s ever really said that stuff to me and meant it before. So I don’t really know how to talk to you about it. But I.. so long as you know I appreciate it.” The words are too fast and Dean doesn’t know if that’s more or less embarrassing than the way he’s stumbling, pathetic half-words forcing their way out of his mouth.

“OK.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

And it’s that simple to him, apparently. He doesn’t ask Dean for anything else. It pisses Dean off, actually – he wants Cas to ask him. Maybe if he’s forced to confront it the words might come out a little easier.

“I mean, you know that I.” Dean stops again abruptly and jesus christ why is there a lump in his throat? “It means something. To me. It means a whole lot, actually. Maybe if it didn’t it’d be easier to talk about. There’s stuff that I wanna.. stuff I need for you to hear. That you deserve to hear, when I get my head out of my ass. Because I don’t feel like I deserve any of that crap you said to me, but you deserve to hear things back.”

It feels like a monumental admission but it’s clearly not the thing on Cas’ mind as he frowns.

“You think you don’t deserve that? You really believe that?”

“Honestly? I’ve never believed it. I don’t know why you give me the time of day half the time, man. And you don’t have to.. argue about it, or anything. I know you want to. It’s just how I see it.”

Cas thinks about that for a couple of seconds, eyes boring into Dean so deeply he half-wonders if he can’t still see his soul. He walks further into the room but doesn’t approach Dean – not really. Just takes a couple of steps between the distance.

“I won’t argue. Not now. But I hope I can make you understand that you deserve it. Happiness, peace.. love-” The word has Dean’s mind reeling, flashbacks and heat rushing “– I spent a long time believing I couldn’t accept them for myself. I thought too much had happened, or that I wasn’t built to be capable. You allowed me to think differently. I want you to do the same.” Cas looks down and taps his hand on the edge of the table as though he hasn’t got Dean’s heart in the palm of it. He looks up again and his expression is breath-takingly earnest. “Dean, the things I said barely touch the sides. I don’t know if I could ever put into words the impact you’ve had on me since we met. I just wanted you to understand. I needed you to understand how other people see you, even if you can’t see it for yourself.”

“Message received.” Dean responds like a fucking asshole but Cas smiles all the same, warm and knowing and in a way that fills Dean with the relief of being understood.

“I can give you space to think about things if that’s what you want. I know I’ve put you in a difficult position.”

“It’s not difficult. Probably not for anyone else except me.”

Dean smiles in derision and Cas returns it but it’s pity and sadness and love and Dean’s mouth closes. “It was difficult. I threw things at you that’d been on my mind for a long time and didn’t give you any time to process it.”

“I’ve had weeks. Weeks and weeks, and I still can’t.. I think until I saw you again I had no idea how to understand it. Looking you in the eye and thinking about it-” Dean closes his eyes and pushes away black ooze and secrets and everything else that threatens to flow over the things he wants to remember. Tears in Cas’ eyes and his smile so bright, brighter than Dean even thought him capable.

He’s looking at him now like he might break.

“I’m sorry, Cas. I know I’m not-”

“I know exactly what you are, Dean.” The words are clear and sincere and Dean wonders if there’s anyone else in the universe capable of arresting him so simply. “I’ll leave you to it.” Cas eventually nods at Dean’s breakfast and smiles, dipping his head as he starts to leave.

“We’ll talk. We will.”

“I know we will.” He smiles a little as he turns to walk away and suddenly Dean’s heart is in his mouth at the sight of the back of his head.

Say something. Say something.

“Cas.” Dean calls too quickly, too desperately, and when he turns to look at him with naked expectation all of the wind is knocked right back out of his sails. “I… fuck, Cas. I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

He smiles with complete and utter sincerity, and god he has to stop doing that. Stop accepting Dean’s bullshit as though it’s nothing. Shout, argue, anything.

He’s leaving. He’s still leaving, he’s turning away and suddenly Dean’s legs are propelling him through the kitchen of their own accord.

Dean grabs his arm and yanks him around, the force of it making Cas briefly stumble a little before he straightens his feet and looks at Dean with a wide-eyed confusion that makes Dean’s heart hammer in his chest.

Dean brings his hands up to cup Cas’ face around his ears on his neck and jaw, in a way he has before and convinced himself wasn’t ever possible when they weren’t battling life or death. Cas’ stubble is a little longer than usual and he strokes the line of it with his thumb, watching as Cas’ mouth falls open just a touch in the echoing silence.

Dean takes his time, registering every mini-movement of expression in Cas’ face as he understands what’s happening. His hand comes up to Dean’s wrist but doesn’t push it away, rather grips it for dear life as though he’s afraid it’s going to disappear. When Cas’ eyes travel down his face Dean takes it as invitation and closes the gap between them, pressing his lips lightly but surely against Cas’.

At first Cas’ are stunned frozen against his and Dean starts to panic that he’s made some kind of earth-shattering error in judgement before the hand on his wrist relaxes and he feels a pressure against his mouth. Cas’ lips are a little chapped, like always, and Dean feels his eyelashes flutter.

He opens his eyes reluctantly as he pulls away, not sure what he’s expecting to see (rejection? Lucifer? nothing at all?) and almost slams them shut again when he finds Cas peering at him with such utter arresting devotion he thinks his knees might buckle.

Dean’s hands drop to his sides of their own accord, suddenly absolutely terrified, but Cas doesn’t move away in return. In fact, he brings his hand to Dean’s cheek and Dean’s sure he must look like a fish opening and closing his mouth in stunned silence before suddenly Cas moves in to kiss him again, other hand coming up to grab his face and hold him in place as his lips are ferocious and impassioned against his own.

And this, this is more like it, Dean’s barely able to think as Cas’ mouth opens and his tongue plays along the line of Dean’s own lips, his heart hammering in his chest as he hears a noise in Cas’ throat as he allows him entrance.

Cas kisses like he’s never going to get another chance: like Dean has granted him a once-in-a-lifetime wish that’s going to get taken away at any moment. He’s hungry and sharp and warm and Dean feels breathless as he lowers his hands from his face to his neck and then to his hip, pulling Dean sharply against him as Dean’s own hands cup his jaw and try desperately to gain a semblance of control.

There’s stubble scratching his face and he tries fleetingly to explain away the flushing burn on his skin as a by-product of it, but then there’s a hand riding up his shirt onto on the bare skin at the small of his back and it’s on fire.

Where the hell did Cas learn to kiss like this? His head is spinning before he can ponder the question and fingers on his back are steady and grounding even as Cas’ tongue and lips and breath have him practically able to feel the earth spinning beneath him.

The kiss slows steadily and then all at once as Cas’ lips lighten against his, and he feels him exhale against his skin in a release that Dean himself is desperate for. He knows it’ll come, eventually: in every moment he allows himself to open like this, touch on his skin making him feel alive.

Cas pulls away and Dean feels a longing form deeply and harshly in his throat that barely stops him from yanking him straight back in again. He forces himself to open his eyes, wondering if Cas can see water pricking in the corners of them.

“Don’t give me space, Cas. I don’t want it.” He manages to say though his voice sounds foreign and weird to his own ears, like it’s formed by someone else. There’s that smile on Cas’ lips again and he feels a desperation to say something, anything, that’ll keep it frozen in time. “Just stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I know.” Cas’ own voice is quiet now and Dean’s fingers somehow find themselves reaching out towards Cas’ hand, pulling it a little.

“You wanna do something today?” He says, just for something to say. Anything to prolong the moment.

“OK.”

“Sweet.” Dean nods and tips his head away, running a hand through his hair to try to gain some composure as Cas smiles at him as though nothing’s happened.

Dean has to pinch himself to check that it has.

#supernatural #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfiction #my fanfiction

527 notes · View notes

starlighthan · 3 years ago

Text

PAUWI SA IYO

TRANSLATION: ON MY WAY HOME TO YOU

pairing: non-idol!minho and gender-neutral!reader

genre: fluff, established relationship, university au

warnings: none

word count: 1.3k words

synopsis: just minho taking you home late at night from a date through the use of a jeepney. basically how you two commute to your home in filipino style <3

note: did i just reveal where i’m from with this fic? yes. am i proud of making this fic bc i literally had lino brainrot a few days ago with this scene in mind? yes. i hope u guys enjoyed this! i am actually in love with this minho help me

you thanked the attendant who accompanied you all the way until you got out of the restaurant. closing the door, you see the slippery concrete just a few steps away in front of you.

“what a great night. that restaurant was just crazy and now it’s raining,” minho mutters to himself.

you absently pulled minho’s back and search for the folding umbrella in his backpack. “i’m sorry, the date tonight wasn’t as good as expected. i really thought that chinese restaurant would give us peace for a while. seemed like a lot of students hung out there too.”

both of you decided to go to that chinese restaurant because people usually don’t go there. the small shop’s a few streets away from your uni and it’s surrounded by nothing. in that long street, that restaurant was the only business open until midnight.

you give him a weak smile as you hold minho’s hand tightly, “sure, it was overwhelming. but it doesn't mean the date didn’t go well. i still enjoyed it with you.”

minho felt his cheeks heat up with the last thing you said. he still gets flustered easily because of you after all these years. your nice words never failed him to feel warm for a bit.

as comforting as it sounds despite the chaos in those four walls, you meant your words. the rowdy students may have ruined the ambiance, but it did not take away the fun you had chatting and feeding each other those amazing dumplings. being together was enough even if the two of you wanted a chill atmosphere in the first place.

“plus, i was expecting that anyway. it’s the weekend, which means a lot of students like us would go out and spend some time with their family, friends, or partners.”

the sidewalk is close to pitching black, you really just can’t see anything along the way except that small glow a streetlight was shining a few steps before you. minho was just smiling at you in the dark over the firm hold you have on his hand.

“i’ll take you somewhere nicer next time,” he softly tells you, rubbing the top of your hand with his thumb. minho glances at you and reassures you enough with the glimmer in his eyes filled with hope, “this time, nothing would get in our way of enjoying several hours of quality time.”

you smile at him, quickly dropping it with an expressionless face. “deal with your thesis presentation first,” minho’s smile drops, “then i’ll let you take us out for a date.”

he groans, “not that! the presentation’s still in three weeks! i could deal with that in 2 weeks.”

“says the person who complains all night every time he has to procrastinate a major project! i won’t let that happen again to you, lee,” you push him to the edge of the restaurant’s platform. you might have gone completely mental for that, you just thought of having some fun to take away his disappointment.

hearing his protests of you pushing him away from the restaurant’s awning just made you giggle. maybe there was this tempt inside you to have some fun with him under the rain. even if you wanted to, you didn’t go for it since it’s dangerous to simply be outside at night.

“what are you doing? why are you pushing me away from the shade? it’s raining!” a perplexed minho pushes against you, “i don’t want to get wet, hey!”

you let him go to raise your hand. he also drops his hands from you out of confusion, making you laugh. “what’s wrong with you today? you look so tired just a few moments ago and now you’re a weird laughing mess.”

“look behind you,” you tell him, still laughing over how confused he was about your actions. you were raising your hand to get the attention of the jeepney that was running on the road alone.

minho turns his back and the jeep surprises him with its blinding headlights, holding your waist as a habit from protecting you from almost every potential external threat. you pulled his hand a bit, implying to get into the vehicle right away to not get drenched.

“it’s just the two of us, then,” minho mumbles, finding his wallet in the backpack on his lap. you agree, moving yourself to the front to give the driver your pay. “i’m paying this time.”

minho glances at you and groans once again. he grumbles, “right when i pulled out my wallet from my bag, thanks.”

as you carefully move back next to him, you found minho holding onto the metal bars above you. you decided to do the same when you comfortably sat on your seat already.

there’s this exhilarating feeling from the wind coming from the wide windows in front and behind you. the jeep was scaringly speeding through the roads a little faster than usual. the cold breeze comforted you in a sense.

despite the darkness covering the buildings and streets, you didn’t mind your lack of awareness of where you’re going already.

maybe this time, you’re a little careless and carefree. you don’t know if fatigue’s kicking in or you don’t care about anything at the moment.

minho notices your drowsy eyes, head almost falling down to the front. with your hand on the metal bar only keeping you away from banging your head to the seats in front of you, minho quickly snakes his arm to your waist.

“i got you, i got you,” he whispers to you. he drops your barely hanging hand above you and leans your body back.

without understanding any of the gibberish that comes out of your mouth, he shushes you, gently pulling you closer to him. “loosen up yourself a bit, get some rest.”

you responded quickly, leaning your head to the window railing behind you.

still, minho’s arm is still around your waist. he brings up his other arm to lightly put your head on his shoulder. “that should do. please do take a nap, _____.”

you nod, some hairs falling in front of your face from the small movement.

minho is hesitating a little bit whether to make another move or not. he didn’t want to move that much so you would have some sleep during the long ride. your place is near the last stop of the jeepney’s route anyways. he wouldn’t like to see you stir up from your sleep just because he moved, the jeep itself is moving too fast after all.

even if he had a whole monologue of him not bothering your short quality sleep, he still decided to do something. slowly raising his hand once again, he softly moves the hair out of your face.

the dim lights of the jeepney inside somehow shine near your face, enough for minho to admire such beauty like you.

the loving eyes are there the whole time. he looks away every few minutes just to look at the windows and barely familiarizes himself with which stop are they in already.

you are sound asleep, and he’s relieved that you got some time off from all of the things you did today. he’s aware that your date wasn’t the only thing you attended to for the day.

unconsciously grinning, he mumbles, “i’ll just wake you up when we’re home. thank you for today.”

the final move minho takes is a sweet kiss on your head. then he’s off to leaning his head on top of yours, shutting his eyes to take in the absolute comfort he feels in this moment.

just a little while, you’ll be home. yet, isn’t home already with you?

116 notes · View notes

dirty-holy-things · 3 years ago

Text

three words, eight letters

Read on Ao3.

Pairing: Peter Parker x fem!reader, no Y/N

Rating: Mature, for alcohol references.

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: References to alcohol. That's pretty much it, it's all fluff.

Author's Notes: While I wrote this with TASM!Peter Parker in mind, it can easily be read with any of the three. No spoilers for NWH.

Summary: Ever since meeting Peter Parker during your first year of grad school, he had never once failed to brighten even the worst of your days. Through all of the late night study sessions, shared pizzas, post-exam drinks, and movie nights, he had become your best friend in the entire world - your best friend, that you just so happened to be quietly in love with.

As such, it wasn't unusual for him to swing by your apartment, often unannounced; and after a particularly hectic day, he was exactly the person you needed. You were no stranger to easy nights spent by his side, but maybe this would be the night when the truth would come out.

The snow was falling softly just outside your window, spotting against the brownstones and gathering on the freezing metal of your fire escape. Next to the window, the ancient radiator wheezed and sputtered as it fought desperately to warm your small one-bedroom. You had positioned your work desk as close to the radiator as possible, hoping that the bursts of heat emanating from it would help stave off the frostbite that always came nipping at your fingertips, when you spent another late night hunched over, working on your never-ending thesis project.

You rose from your desk for the first time in hours; you had belatedly realized it was nearly midnight, and you hadn’t eaten anything since you lost half of your lunch to a very aggressive pigeon. Wrapping your favorite, threadbare blanket around your shoulders, you moved to heat up another cup of tea and some leftovers; headphones still in, you didn’t notice the soft knocking against your window as you watched the numbers on the microwave count down.

You grabbed your tea and your dinner, turning on your heel, and as you spun to face your desk, you saw a familiar but unexpected face in your window.

You jumped slightly, squeaking in surprise and fear, as you saw the grinning face of Peter Parker staring back at you. You were halfway to a smile when you realized that, while jumping, you had managed to spill scalding-hot tea all over your hand — which burned, horribly, and then you promptly dropped both your tea and your dinner.

Pulling your headphones out — now that your hands were, apparently, free — you shouted Peter’s name. “Jesus, Peter, you scared the shit out of me!”

You unlocked the window and gestured for him to come inside, off the icy fire escape and into the relative warmth of your apartment. He had a guilty but boyish smile plastered on his face as he moved smoothly through the open window. “I’m so sorry, I tried to text you to see if it was okay if I swung by, but the messages weren’t going through, so I figured you were up late working and had turned your phone off — and I knew how late it was, and that you could probably use a break, but you probably wouldn’t take one —“

“It’s okay,” you laughed, smiling in exhaustion and exasperation. “Just give me a hand cleaning this up, yeah?”

His expressive brown eyes widened and eyebrows shot up as he observed the scale of the mess he had a hand in creating. “Oh, yeah, of course — god, I’m so sorry!” He grabbed the paper towels and began to help you clean, but the effort was short-lived as the two of you bumped heads while trying to pick up the shattered fragments of your plate.

You began to laugh, harder than the situation truly warranted, and you couldn’t do anything except sit down in defeat, resting your head against the cabinet door.

“Are you — are you alright?” Peter asked nervously, a concerned and questioning look on his face.

“Yeah,” you exhaled. “Today is just very clearly not my day.”

Peter threw the remainder of the paper towels and plate fragments into the trash, before coming to sit beside you. Legs crossed, he checked his watch and looked up at you with a bold and confident grin. “Well, lucky for you, it’s now 12:01AM, which means that day is now over.”

“Ever the optimist,” you smiled, moving a hand up to tousle his soft brown hair. Ever since you had met Peter in your first year of grad school, he had always had a sort of bright, goofy, radiant energy about him that you were inexorably drawn to; and now, three years later, he was your absolute best friend. There had been countless movie nights, late study sessions, embarrassing bar stories, and no matter what, there was always enough laughter to drown out any measure of sadness.

It had come as a surprise when he accidentally told you that he was Spiderman — the Spiderman — and you most definitely worried about him, but you trusted that he would always come back home in one piece. You had to — because while he was your best friend, you were also hopelessly in love with him.

You were fairly certain that he was still blind to this truth, but with every moment the two of you shared, you knew you were inching closer and closer to telling him. And as he sat here with you, in your messy kitchen, knees bumping against one another as he smiled at you like the sun, you felt the words coming up to the surface, you could taste the saccharine truth on your tongue.

You were interrupted, however, by his question.

“So, what was so horrible about yesterday?” He asked, emphasizing that the day had passed.

You rolled your eyes, the moment had passed, and you were brought back to the memories of your day from hell. “Well, Dr Patterson told me that I needed to rework all of my data for my thesis, he found some sort of error in the math. Then, a pigeon stole half my lunch — it was from that hotdog stand on the corner, so it’s not like he got anything fantastic, but still — and then I had to reload my metro card, which made me miss my train, and then I made a massive mess in my kitchen.”

“That all?” He asked calmly.

You huffed in a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “I think that was plenty for one day.”

“More than enough,” he agreed, eyebrows raising as he shrugged. “I probably would’ve called it quits after the pigeon.”

He always knew how to make you laugh — it was one of the many things you had come to love about him. Even in the worst of times, he was able to pull just a little bit of sunshine out of the storm clouds.

“Really? Spider-Man, taken down by a pigeon? Jeez, better not let that get out.”

“Right? Next thing I know, I’ll be fighting off an army of oversized pigeons dead-set on wiping out all of New York’s street vendors.”

“God, wouldn’t that be a sight to see,” you chuckled. “So, Parker, how about your day?”

“Eh,” he shrugged, leaning further into you. “Camera strap broke, which kinda sucked. Stopped a robbery in the East Village — the guy tried to fight me off with a knife, but things didn’t quite work out in his favor. All in all, not the worst day in the world.” You smiled softly, shifting to lay your head against his shoulder. “And, I got to swing by and see you, so that’s always a plus. Hadn’t intended on ruining your dinner though — I am sorry about that.”

“You can order me some Chinese food to make up for it,” you teased, bumping him with your elbow. “Willing to bet you haven’t eaten anything today either.”

“You know me too well,” he pouted.

“Same, Parker.”

You both sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the snowfall dampening the sounds of the city outside while the radiator coughed and rattled along as usual. His body felt warm against yours, despite the snow-spotted jacket he was wearing, and you sighed contentedly as his fingers played lazily with the blanket you were wrapped in. These were the sorts of moments you lived for — no rambling, no stress, no pressure to fill the silence; it felt homey and comfortable, and you were perfectly content to draw out the moment as long as possible.

The stillness and silence was shattered by the sound of Peter’s stomach grumbling loudly; the two of you burst out into laughter, only adding to the warm glow of the room. “Alright, Parker, I think that’s your cue to call in an order.”

He stood first, offering you a hand and pulling you upwards with surprising ease. You were still continually surprised by just how strong he was, but you weren’t opposed to using that strength to your advantage — when you had moved into your apartment, you didn’t need to hire movers to help with furniture. Why would you, when you had a superhero best friend?

You grabbed two beers from the fridge, popping them open as you moved to sit on your couch; sinking into the cushions, you felt yourself start to relax and unwind for the first time that day. You scrolled through Netflix, searching for a show, as Peter sat down next to you as he called in your usual order. This was not an unfamiliar arrangement; nor was you draping your legs over his lanky frame and flinging the blanket over Peter to cover the both of you.

Both beers were gone by the time the food arrived, and Peter tipped the delivery guy well as he had ventured through the growing snowdrifts to bring you dinner. The two of you ate in-between long discussions about the TV show you were watching, often butting heads as you argued over characters and plot lines. The food was growing cold, but neither cared much — you both agreed that it was almost even better once it was cold.

Peter grabbed two more beers and settled back into the couch with you; the food laid half-eaten on your coffee table, as you were now too invested in the show to be distracted by your stomach. You nursed your beer slowly, before shifting to rest your head in Peter’s lap; he played with your hair gently, his long fingers tangling and untangling the strands. This was not unusual either; the two of you had always been physically close, physically affectionate, but both had only ever dreamed of crossing those crudely-drawn lines.

The episode was reaching a fever-pitch, as the main character came face to face with certain death as their lover watched on; both of your eyes grew wide and you screamed in surprise as the main character shouted out the three words that had been buried in your chest — I love you.

“Oh, c’mon!” You shouted at the screen, hitting the pause button. “That’s stupid, so cheesy, waiting until they’re about to die to finally say that!”

“I think it’s romantic,” Peter responded haughtily.

You rolled onto your back, so you were staring up at Peter’s unusually-emotionless face. “C’mon, Pete, it’s just poor writing.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s what I would do.”

Your brows knit together in confusion as you tried to understand what he was saying — without jumping to any sort of conclusion. “What do you mean?”

From your closeness, you could feel his heart rate pick up speed; that, coupled with his masked emotions, you knew that there was something on his mind. “I dunno — I mean, if I was in a life or death situation that was going downhill fast, that’s what I would do.”

“Tell someone you love them?” You asked softly, your throat and chest constricting at the thought of Peter being faced with that sort of danger. You knew he found his way in and out of danger on a daily basis, but the thought of losing him was the one thought that you avoided at all costs.

Peter was quiet for a moment; he looked anywhere but directly at you. Nervously, you reached a hand up and placed it on his chin, tilting his head down to look at you. His brown hair flopped down around his face, as the warm light from the TV illuminated his brown eyes, making them look nearly caramel; you couldn’t help but grin up at him, completely entranced by the sight of him.

“I would tell you that I love you.” Peter exhaled, with a shaky and nervous breath. As the words left his mouth, you saw the anxiety and worry cloud his face, worried that he had just ruined something priceless and invaluable with his admission.

It was like everything froze, for a moment, as you took in his words and the weight of them. He loved you? Maybe he meant like a friend — but no, he wouldn’t look at me like that, or get so worked up, about saying that — wait — does he really love me?

The nervous look was shifting into a sad and regretful one as your silence extended, still unable to believe what you had heard. But as soon as you saw that glimmer of sadness creep into his gaze, you moved both hands to cradle his head, and pulled him into you for a kiss.

He seemed surprised at first, but as your lips move softly against his, it was as if the July sky had somehow come along to fill every inch of your small apartment. He kissed you back fiercely, passionately, and you could feel the grin that emanated from him as he pulled you closer into his body. His lips were soft, despite being chapped from nervous biting and the dry winter air, and everything was even more perfect than you had ever dared to dream of. It was perfect, it was easy, it was right — because you loved him too.

You were the first to break the kiss, and you smiled widely at him as you spoke aloud the words you had previously tried to bury. “I love you too, Peter Parker.”

“Say it again,” he laughed, as he leaned in to kiss you once more.

You attempted to speak as his lips pressed confidently against yours; “I love you,” sounded more like “Igh lub you.”

“Say it again,” he begged, crushing you against him in an ecstatic embrace.

“I love you, Peter Parker!” You laughed, as he kissed every inch of your face. “I love you!”

“I love you too,” he smiled, kissing the tip of your nose. “Didn’t even end up needing a near-death experience to tell you.”

“Still kinda cheesy, though,” you teased, kissing him again; you couldn’t help yourself.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. You love me.”

“Yeah, I do.”

#Peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!spiderman x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #andrew garfield #spiderman fanfiction #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!Peter x you #tasm peter parker

74 notes · View notes

damianosismyking · 4 years ago

Text

Roommate

READ IT ON AO3.

Damen and Laurent first met when Laurent was sixteen years old.

He arrived at Damen's apartment too late for it to be considered appropriate or polite on any day, but the fact it was Sunday made everything worse.

Damen had been announcing his vacant room for the best part of the past three months since Nikandros moved out to live with his girlfriend but the response he’s gotten so far was underwhelming, to say the least. It made sense to him: his apartment was too far away from the university for it to be comfortable or spark real interest among tired, overloaded, low-income students with huge debts and likely no car. He had thought, though, that it would spark some interest. It was a constant theme in the conversations he had with Nikandros these days – which always ended up with Nikandros telling him he should just learn how to live with himself anyway, and Damen telling him there was no way he’d do it.

Still, Damen was less than thrilled to be surprised after a long day of sitting in front of thousands of books and twice as many academic papers gathering the ‘solid foundation’ his thesis lacked – in Professor Haemon’s words – by an unsolicited visitor. Damen’s eyes burned, his head pounded, and he longed for nothing more than to open a beer and mindlessly watch the documentary about whales that was on. A call to his intercom had different plans.

It felt like his brain had melted down his ears for when the doorman informed him that his friend, Laurent, whom he never met, had come to talk to him about his rental room, Damen allowed said guy up without a thought to the risks it entailed until after the call was cut.

Damen was left to hope there wasn’t a gun involved and whoever the man was, Damen could take him on a hand-to-hand fight if it came to it.

A kid showed up. Pink across the face, the only uncovered part of him. A few strands of blond hair escaped his beany, moving along the puff of his breath. He strutted inside uninvited the second Damen saw to the door, with the highest nose Damen has ever seen and scorn that did not match his angelic features.

Lazily, the kid – Laurent, his name – said, “I saw you need a new roommate.”

“And you are?”

“Your new roommate.”

“I meant –” Laurent went ahead and took off his coat, as well as his beany, that he tossed over Damen’s diner table. His blond hair shoulder-length and seemingly soft directly under the light, framed his face in waves. It gave him an almost feminine quality, if not for the sharpness of his cheekbones and jaw. “I meant have we met before?”

“No. But we have now. I’m Laurent.” He held out his hand. Damen shook it. “And you are Damianos. I go to U.M., you go to U.M. You have a room to rent, I have interest in renting a room. See? We are practically best friends already.”

He sported a young prince demeanor with long, pale fingers laced in front of his body. It was fitting, like the thought of such person being raised in a castle surrounded by luxury and used to having his way his whole life simply made sense. As for his expression: there was none. Laurent’s eyes were a rich blue but carried no warmth in them, unyielding. His gaze never averted Damen’s. It felt like staring at a blank wall.

Damen crossed his arms over his chest, unsure what to do with his hands and everything that currently unfolded in front of him. The carelessness in Laurent’s composure, or maybe the sheer audacity of him, rubbed Damen the wrong way. Under the incisive glare, Damen resisted a shiver.

Damen said, “You notice it’s almost 11 P.M. on a Sunday, don’t you, best friend?”

Laurent leaned against the dining table as though it belonged to him. Would it be acceptable to bodily drag Laurent out of the apartment after being the one to give him the pass to come up in the first place? Laurent appeared painfully young too, so that might be aggravating.

“You put on your flyer you were open to visitation anytime,” Laurent retorted. It started to bother Damen how rarely he blinked. Blank wall.

“I also put on my flyer my contact info to prevent strangers from appearing unannounced at my doorstep,” Damen paused. “On a Sunday. At night.”

“And yet here I am. Your security is horrible by the way, you should probably complain about that to the apartment manager,” Laurent drawled. That alone disqualified him to the vacancy, let aside the fact he passed for a spoiled high schooler with no hint of courtesy.

“So? Aren’t you going to interview me? I make a terrific roommate. I know how to cook and keep a house clean; I stay out of everyone’s business and in change expect everyone out of mine. I’m the most pleasant company you can get around that campus, I guarantee.”

Laurent waited and as he did so, he grabbed one of the decorative glass balls from a bowl on the table and rolled it between his hands mindlessly. When Damen gave no response, he continued, “I’m a bit of a genius, so that might interest you in case you need help with schoolwork or anything else.”

Damen stared at him. It was impossible the kid wouldn’t take the hint. All he had to do was look around, at the scattered materials, Damen’s sleeping clothes, the beer sweating the couch’s fabric, the clock marking 11 p.m. Laurent made a show of standing spitefully where he wasn’t welcomed and it either didn’t bother him or he purposefully ignored it.

“I’m also a good fuck. In case that might interest you.”

It startled Damen out of his enraged disbelief. Not that he magically came up with something to say. “I’m – I – don’t… You’re missing the point.”

“And what is that?”

“I have no idea who the fuck you are, and honestly, you’re not causing a great impression so far.”

“That comes with time.” Laurent waved him off. He wandered around the living room, accessing the quality of his surroundings. Ran a hand over Damen’s TV stand, grabbed portraits to analyze from up close, shuffled through a stack of magazines, opened the window to take a look at the view, and finally settled on the couch where he bounced, testing. Grabbed the remote, shifted through channels. Damen let it unfold only partially out of astonishment – part of him also wondered how far Laurent would go.

“It’s your turn,” Laurent said eerily, like haunted wind coming through the window.

“My turn to what?”

“Introduce yourself, of course. How am I supposed to know you’re not a pervert?” he added, plainly. “Already have enough of those in my life.”

Damen was baffled. It took him a second to find his voice. “I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

Laurent turned to him, pale brows arched. “But you didn’t interview me yet.”

“I don’t intend to. Please leave. Now.” Damen marched to the door to hold it open.

“But –” Laurent stood. Damen could almost see the engines in his mind turning. “Look. I can offer you a blowjob to change your mind. Anything more than that only if you promise I can stay.”

“What are – I do not want to have sex with you,” Damen said, exasperated. Why was this happening to him? Was this what he got after working so hard?

“Why not?” Laurent spoke as if something was out of sorts. “Let me guess, you are straight. I promise you won’t note the difference, it’s like any girl’s mouth when it’s on your cock. I’m highly skilled.”

Damen opened the door wider and gestured. “Out.”

Laurent crossed his arms and made no motion to leave. Very deliberately he leaned against the armrest. “I don’t have a gag reflex, I can take you all the way in,” he spoke with an empty face, “and I swallow, don’t spit.” At the end, he smirked mildly.

Damen flinched. “I will call security.”

“No? Okay.” Laurent leaned on his hands, propping his shoulders up. “Money’s no issue. I can offer you two months of rent in advance.”

“I need you to get the hell out before I make you,” Damen spelled out.

“Fine. Three. But this is my final offer, you have to give me something to work with here.” For how playful Laurent’s words rang, he maintained his monotone. His face couldn’t be more uninterested, without the slightest semblant of shyness.

Damen didn’t respond. Again, he gestured the outside.

Laurent sighed, as if it was Damen tiring him, not the other way around. Perhaps the biggest absurd among all others. Damen might be virtually opposed to hitting kids, but Laurent just might be the exception.

Laurent did not pick up any of his belongings, as required. Rather, he walked to Damen confidently, if slightly bored. The sway of his hips seemed very deliberate as he tied his hair on a ponytail, eyes never dropping Damen’s. His eyes carried deeper richness to the blue of his irises from this close, but somehow were even colder. He stopped few inches away from Damen. If they were the same height, their noses would bump, but as Damen had at least one foot of advantage to him, Laurent’s breath tickled his collar bone.

And then suddenly, unexpectedly, Laurent dropped to his knees, reaching for the ties on Damen’s sweatpants.

“What the fuck.” Damen slapped Laurent’s hands away. Laurent swayed taken aback and retreated, confused. “Stand up,” Damen demanded, “Stand!” at the verge of yelling.

Damen’s stomach had sunk to his feet. Other than the cameras in the corridor, there were no witnesses to what happened. Laurent remained where he was, sitting back on his heels and giving Damen huge icy eyes, through obscenely long lashes as blond as his hair, blooming cheeks, and beautifully plump pink lips. “Please, get up and leave. I won’t ask again.”

Laurent felt the wall behind him to help himself up. “I want to stay.” His voice was no longer a drawl then. It had a hint of raw desperation that had not been there before.

Damen shook his head. “That’s too bad kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” he barked, words lacking the previous indifference. “Let me stay.”

“No.”

“Please.”

A beat passed. A long ‘hear-the-ticks-on-the-clock-slow-down’ kind of beat. Laurent’s stance remained mighty and unshakable, searching Damen’s face.

“How old are you?” Damen asked and again when Laurent refused to respond.

As Damen pressed further, he finally said, through gritted teeth, “Sixteen.” In spite of the aversion for the word, Laurent expression was challenging, daring Damen to say anything about it.

Damen did. “Sixteen. You can’t just get to a stranger’s house, impose on them, and expect to be welcomed,” he said, “that’s not how these things work. Kid.”

Laurent went paler a shade, previously rosy cheeks suddenly drawn out of color. His feet kicked the carpet, and his sole focus was on that. “Do you understand? You can’t walk into strangers’ houses, period. And if you wanted a real shot at getting the room you should have called me and scheduled a date to come and talk to me at a normal hour on a normal day like everyone else. And probably have your parents to call me too, considering. Now, please get out of my apartment.”

It took him a minute, but Laurent finally listened to reason and gathered his stuff. On his way out, though, as Damen already breathed relieved that this unnerving event was over (and began to formulate in mind the text he was going to send Nikandros), Laurent stopped again, white as a sheet, barely a foot away from the door Damen had been holding open for too long.

“Let me stay.”

Neither Laurent’s voice nor his posture were anything of what they had been. It was like watching him come undone. His shoulders tensed and his feet were dragging rather than pacing. “I have the money. You won’t even know I’m here. Please.” Damen shook his head sluggishly. Laurent looked out the door and then slowly cast his eyes back to Damen. “Tonight then. I can pay you for the stay and I’ll be gone in the morning before you know it.”

Damen’s resolve faltered, then cracked, then crumbled. It finally occurred to him, “Why did you come here?”

Laurent frowned. “Your flyer…”

“No.” Laurent knew what Damen really asked.

Laurent bit his bottom lip for a long time, then straightened up. “I have nowhere else to go.” His face, though he attempted to remain composed, betrayed him. His bottom lip trembled discreetly.

“You were kicked out?” No response. Damen ran a hand over his face. His grip on the door slacked. “Damn you. Don’t you have… friends? Any family you can run to? Come to a stranger’s apartment… do you have any idea what could happen to you? You’re sixteen.” Laurent stared at him, silent. For a moment, he seemed about to speak but words died on his lips. “How do I know you aren't here to rob me? Or jump me when I’m asleep? Are your cronies waiting for you sign downstairs?”

Laurent said nothing. He balled his fists and waited as if he knew that Damen already changed his mind. It was not like Damen could do anything else anyway. It’s not like he would be able to cast out a homeless kid. Even a kid like Laurent.

Damen scratched his head and slammed the door behind him, eyes closed with a long, heavy sigh. He cursed under his breath. “Just tonight,” Damen said, though he knew he was lying. “You will have to find someplace else tomorrow.”

“Right. Thank you,” Laurent said.

They stared at each other for a moment. Damen, awkward with arms crossed over his chest and Laurent twirling his beany in his hands. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Well then. The bathroom is at the end of the corridor, there are clean towels in the cabinet, and other stuff you might need.” Another awkward moment passed. “Let me show you to your room. The room. Not your room. Where you’ll stay tonight.”

Again, in a low voice, Laurent thanked him.

#My writing #Fic #damen of akielos #damen x laurent #Lamen #Laurent of Vere #Captive prince #Capri #fanfic #Modern AU #And they were roommates #mine #posting so i STOP editing this part

69 notes · View notes

savagetrickster · 4 years ago

Text

Stay with Me | BNHA

request: Hi! Can I request a scenario where Bakugou thought that reader was starting to lose interest, but in reality reader is just really busy and doesn’t realize she’s treating baku differently and Bakugou confronting her about it then it ends with some fluff fluff. 💖 p.s luv ur work

anime | character: bnha | bakugou katsuki x reader

word count: 1949

themes/warnings: soft!bakugou, insecure bakugou, college AU

a/n: sorry for not posting a fic in such a long time, I’ve been SO busy. so anyway, okay I kinda went little off-track and ended up writing the way it is shown below but i hope you’ll still enjoy reading this, though i have to say I’m not really fond of how it turned out. this fic has not been beta-ed so pardon me if you find any cringey error.

The city of Musutafu moved as sluggishly as possible for a city of its size and caliber. It was one of those days when the moon was mostly hidden behind the clouds.

Kirishima let his eyes roam the street outside. The inhabitants of the boulevard were constantly on the move despite being a Saturday; it was a startling contrast to the cafe they sat in where a comfortable nonchalance clung to every aspect of the little business.

The slow, sleepy music playing from the speakers.

The casual yet practiced movements of the baristas as they prepared the orders.

The lazy, idling manners in the way the customers brought their cups to their lips. Carrying every bit of thoughtlessness and indifference in their actions.

Well, almost everyone but them.

A perplexed frown pinched between Kirishima’s brows as he turned his gaze away from the window beside them.

Bakugou Katsuki had been sulking at the window ever since he plopped into the seat across him.

He had been sitting in brooding silence for what felt like fifteen minutes and the expression on his face hadn’t changed. If there were any at all, it was only that his scowl grew bigger.

“As much as I like hanging out with you, I have to say this is getting a little…weird.”

Kirishima briefly flitted to the counter to see curious eyes on them, “My colleagues are starting to think we’re dating.”

Tonight was the fourth time Bakugou had come to find him right as he was knocking off from his part-time job this week.

“Who gives a fuck about what they think?” Bakugou muttered gruffly, finally looking away from the outside.

Kirishima had known him ever since they met in middle school to know the scowl on Bakugou’s face was…well, his default expression.

Long enough for him to tell at one glance that the scowl he’d been seeing on Bakugou’s face was different. This one seemed to come right out from the depth of his fierce vermilion eyes — Bakugou was upset.

And it was about you.

No matter how hard Bakugou tried to hide how much he was a sucker for you, Kirishima could always tell.

Even though they had matured into college students, Bakugou was still the same stubborn guy who wasn’t the most comfortable displaying his affections openly.

Mere mentions of you would soften the scowl on his face, and the rough edge in his voice. It was easy for anyone else to miss the difference but it was obvious to Kirishima.

His grumpy complaints about how clingy and touchy you are were one of their common topics in their conversations. The annoyance scowling in his eyes when he did was always subtly soft and warm.

But something changed, as Bakugou had mentioned, in the recent two weeks.

Nights in his dormitory room were spent alone. He was so used to falling asleep and waking up, to the sight of you curling up right next to him.

The last time he saw you were from afar, watching you rushing off to somewhere.

Dates with you, even as simple as a meal in the cafeteria was scarce.

Your replies to his texts were late and sometimes curt. The usual ‘good morning’ and ‘goodnight’ from you, if you didn’t spend the night with him, were no longer…usual.

Sometimes his messages to you would be left hanging for days before you replied.

The tone when Bakugou was telling him about all these strange distances between them was nonchalant, but the scowl on his face told Kirishima a different story.

Kirishima tried to think of something to say, but all he could think of in the end was the same thing he’d been saying ever since Bakugou shared this with him.

“Stop worrying man, she’s probably just busy?”

Bakugou’s face carried a carefully blanked expression as he raised his eyes to meet Kirishima’s.

“…Or maybe she’s losing interest in me.”

His arm was tucked between his pillow and his head as his other held his phone to his face. Vermilion eyes stared blankly at the quiet chatroom he shared with you, particularly fixated on your last reply to him.

Two days ago.

The gloom hung over his gaze these days were like the dreary seasons of dull, gray monsoons.

The hopeful morning sun filtering into his room through the wooden window blinds above him was a startling contrast, and so was the lively laughter ringing out from the basketball court somewhere near the dormitory blocks.

Probably some idiots shoving snow at each others’ faces, Bakugou thought seethingly as he clicked his tongue in annoyance at a particular spike of volume in the ruckus downstairs.

It was Saturday and the morning was already—

His eyes flitted to the time written in the corner of his screen.

— halfway to noon.

A quiet sigh left him.

Like on Saturdays, he should be on the way to meet you for your usual brunch. Except things weren’t quite ‘usual’ anymore.

Bakugou released another sigh as he let his phone fall away from his face along with his raised arm, landing on the bed under him with a muffled ‘plop’.

His forehead ridged with a scowl. Just how did he fuck things up?

His memories sifted through the times he called you names and how you would still smile back at him like he was your whole world as if he didn’t just call you an idiot, a nerd, or a moron.

A bitter taste of guilt entered his mouth.

Maybe he shouldn’t have assumed that you knew he was feeling affectionate when he did?

Perhaps you’ve grown sick of him? And realized that you didn’t need a shitty boyfriend who called you insulting names or would shrug off your affections as if they were annoyances.

His jaw clenched to his gritted teeth as a frustrated hiss slipped from him.

Shit, maybe he did fuck up afterall. Fucked up big time.

And he was probably going to lose you. Everything that made you…you.

The way you smiled at him with a loving, bright glint in your eyes as if he was the one who put the stars in the sky.

The sweet kisses you love to plant on his lips and forehead.

How your hand would hold onto his — small but warm with your love.

Bakugou felt his throat swell with the presence of forming tears as his heart twinged in his chest.

The idea of losing all that spurred a rush of panic in him.

Bakugou shot off his bed, put on the nearest shirt and jeans he could grab, and hurried out of his room.

The first place Bakugou thought to look for you was your dormitory but his worst fear made him hesitate at your door, with a hand hovering over its handle.

In fact, he’d thought about doing this for the past two weeks but the wisps of doubts whispering nasty things wouldn’t let him.

His jaw clenched to his gritted teeth.

What if there was someone else—

Bakugou shoved the unfinished thought aside; it was unbearable to even think about that possibility.

His scowling gaze snapped to his hesitating hand and his lips instantly curled into a sneer to a spark of irritation within.

What was with him? He was starting to remind himself of Deku, hesitating outside doors with twiddling thumbs like a wimp.

He was Bakugou Katsuki and he should be announcing his arrival by bursting through one.

Man, you thought you could finally enjoy a good night’s sleep after countless of sleepless nights.

But no…nope.

The heater just had to break down at an ungodly hour when you were still trudging through the last thesis for your project and you could find no other alternative places to work on them.

Bakugou came across your mind but again, it was crazy late or more accurately, early to budge into your boyfriend’s room.

Like every other night, you’d been tirelessly working on it so you could finally submit the project you’d been assigned since two weeks ago.

It was the infamous final year project you’ve dreaded ever since you heard about it from your senior — dubbed as ‘the project from hell’.

And indeed, it was a project from hell. It seemed to suck out your very soul. The exhaustion weighing you down like lead ran bone deep, that even lifting your head off your pillow was such a struggle.

With a broken heater sitting uselessly in your room, you’d spent the whole night wrapped in your blanket, with the lingering winter chill prickling at your skin.

So you couldn’t help sighing at the sudden warmth enveloping your body after spending the night shivering away under your blanket at the mercy of the dropping temperature.

Your arms found their way around the heat source.

You didn’t see the tender curl of his lips when you sighed blissfully and nuzzled into his chest or the softening glint in the usual fierce edge held in his vermilion eyes.

It was like nestling inside a warm cocoon that…

— awareness seeping into your groggy senses pried your eyes open.

…breathed.

What or rather who greeted you lifted you right out of your morning grogginess and struck you with an overwhelming barrage of emotions.

“…Ka-Katsuki!” You missed him so much.

Along with how the shadows and sunlight filtering in from behind you fell across and highlighted his chiseled profile, there was something about the way his intense eyes looked down at you with his head leaning against an arm.

This sight gave your heart a fluttery squeeze.

You weren’t sure why Bakugou looked so strikingly handsome like this — maybe it was because you haven’t seen him for awhile?

“When did you come in here?” Words started pouring out of your mouth.

You’ve always wanted to vent and rant about the dumb project to Bakugou so there was too much you wanted to say,

“Oh my god, you’ve no idea how much busy I was these few weeks-” but the brooding look that hadn’t left Bakugou stopped you.”…Katsuki?”

You’d never seen Bakugou look this down before, and it didn’t sit right with you.

You hesitated but asked anyway.“…What’s wrong?”

The cloud that fell over his eyes told you that something was definitely wrong.

“…I’m sorry, (Name).”

You grew concerned as you tried to understand his unreadable demeanor. “What’s this about— ”

“Are you losing interest in me?”

Your next breath was caught in your throat at his strange question and the only thing you could do was blurt out a —“What?”

You watch him exhale carefully with a bewildered look.

Bakugou didn’t even care how he looked to you now.

“Look, I know I’m a huge fuck-up as a boyfriend and you probably think I don’t care about our relationship cause I act like I don’t.”

There was so much to say, so much guilt brimming inside him.

“But shit, I do care.”

He was desperate.

He didn’t want to lose you. He couldn’t. He loved you but he was an idiot for not showing that to you.

So he needed to let you know now.

His hand on your waist pulled you up to him and his eyes were pinned on yours.

Your mouth opened, then snapped close at the silent, blazing gleam in his gaze.

Your voice had fled at the way he stared at you.

Longing and heavy with remorse.

“Stay with me,” His lips brushed lightly across yours as his voice cracked with an aching need.” …please.”

He kissed you and the world fell away.

#bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou imagine #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugo imagine #bnha katsuki x reader

1K notes · View notes

astermacguffin · 4 years ago

Text

Sorry for churning out another self-indulgent AU that will take me forever to work on, but I'm obsessed with the concept of a destiel enemies-to-lovers logician AU. (Yes I already have a joenicky/kaysanova version of this and frankly I don't care lol)

LISTEN. I know it's more popular to put Dean in professions that get his hands involved (mechanic, baker, etc.) rather than very conceptual/academic professions BUT. Dean would absolutely love the elegant simplicity of formal logic.

Easy, guaranteed, and clear-cut answers that you get out of following simple rules? Dean would LOVE that after having such a difficult and complicated life.

I think Dean would specialize in the large family of modal logics, specifically deontic logic—the logic of obligations. Dean "miserable pile of familial obligations" would unfortunately enjoy this field. (No, he won't be an ethicist because he has fucked up ethics; moral philosophy won't fix him. Maybe some therapy and gay sex will.)

Castiel, on the other hand, is a logician/theologian/metaphysicist. He went to college for a religious studies degree but it turns out he likes the application of logic in God-talk more than the God-talk itself, so he switched specializations. He's one of the leading scholars in process theology, liberation theology, and the controversies surrounding S5 modal logics and the modal ontological argument.

So. Dean and Cas are both modal logicians with different specializations. Here's what happens:

They both have presentations for a logic conference the next day, so they go to a bar to unwind and maybe get laid.

They meet, have a one-night stand, and part ways.

Turns out they're both attending the same conference. They're not fully convinced with each other's ideas. Their playful bickering in the snacks table eventually devolves into a full-on fight. Someone has to physically restrain them.

Their rivalry eventually gets notorious in academic circles. They perform "academic fistfights" by constantly writing critical response papers to each other's works. There's wikipedia articles documenting their extensive history of flirt-fighting and the surprising amount of new literature written because of their public feud.

To be clear, they're not writing garbage work just to dunk on each other. They're genuinely contributing to the academic discourse. But if you look at their bibliography of works, the staggering amount of stuff they've written about or in response to the other is...alarming.

Absolutely no one discourages their fights because (1) it's entertaining and (2) it's producing a godawful amount of insightful literature. There's bets about when they're going to fuck it out (because no one knows about their one-night stand except maybe Sam, who finds this entire thing stupid but amusing).

One time, they get drunk in an afterparty. Cue some aggressive and very homoerotic banter. This eventually devolves into an elaborate game of gay chicken. Whoever gives up first must write an article where they support the thesis of the other.

They're both "you wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid" at each other. They constantly flirt and seduce one another, waiting for the other one to finally give in. They do this in conferences as well.

Fellow logicians almost prefer the shouting and near fist-fights over their very inappropriate flirty banter in public. No one dares ban them in events because (1) again, they're entertaining, and (2) they're big-name academics.

Since they're both fucking competitive, they constantly try to one-up each other. They ask each other to go out in dates and stuff. Eventually, they start to genuinely learn things about each other and go "huh. You're not so bad after all."

When they first collaborate and publish their joint work, everyone loses their mind. Are they friends now? Did they finally fuck? Both of them find the reactions very amusing.

Eventually, they start hanging out outside of their competitive dates and simply as friends. They still haven't kissed or fucked ever since. When they first both realize that they're falling in love, they're like: "Shit."

Unfortunately, they're in too deep. These bastards are too prideful to be the one to admit their feelings. Both Dean and Cas talk to their brothers about this. They're both told how stupid they are.

This all comes to a head when Cas finally gives in and fucks Dean. Cas is about to confess his feelings when Dean starts chuckling.

"What's so funny?" Cas asks. "Well, I mean. Guess I should expect that article soon, right?" Dean says in an attempt to hide his fears with playful banter. Cas squints at him. "What article?"

Dean stammers in response. "I–you know? The bet we made? The bet that started it all? That's... that's what this is all about, right?"

Cas' face shuts off, devoid of emotion. "Right. Yes. Why don't you leave now so I can start writing that, hmm?" The smile on his face is big, but Dean knows it's fake and wrong.

"Cas, wait—" "DEAN. Please. Leave my apartment." Reluctantly, Dean dresses up for his walk of shame, leaving the apartment.

The next morning, the article comes out. It's short and not written very well. Everyone is confused about the sudden drop in quality.

They stop writing response works to each other, which alerts the entire academic community. They also visibly avoid each other in conferences now. Their fellow academics take it back: they would prefer the insufferably horny flirting over this cold, silent treatment. Everyone feels the tension and it's not as lively anymore.

Cas is miserable because he thinks his feelings are unrequited. Dean feels miserable because Cas has since stopped replying to his texts and calls.

In his last-ditch attempt to get through Cas, Dean writes a celebratory primer, summarizing Cas' entire bibliography and important contributions to the field throughout his entire career. Interspersed in the writing are personal reflections on Cas' character as a thinker and a person, as well as little in-jokes meant only for Cas' eyes. It's the most sappy and gayass bibliographic summary ever written.

Cas, of course, reads this and understands the intent behind it. He finally calls Dean, they meet, they hash things out, admit their feelings, and finally kiss. Yada yada happy ending

Later on, when they finally publish their first joint work as a married couple, everyone loses their minds. Again.

#spn #destiel #destiel logican au #this was so much fun to write #destiel fic #aster writes

65 notes · View notes