#this was brought to you by my linguistics homework | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trensu · 10 months ago

Text

Eddie saw the ad. Chrissy had not wanted Eddie to see the ad. Chrissy saw the ad two days ago and knew that under no circumstances could Eddie see the ad.

"Chris. Chris. Chrissy. Chrissy-topher," Eddie said with the grin that Chrissy had been dreading. She kicked herself for not having thrown out the college newspaper sooner.

"No," she tried.

"Yes," Eddie countered.

"I can't!"

"You can!" Eddie insisted. "Chrissy, the stars have aligned. The fates have intervened. Destiny's knocking at your door. This is the perfect opportunity."

"I am not going," Chrissy said, already feeling her defenses crumbling in the face of Eddie's exuberance.

"Joy of my heart, sunshine for my soul, my darling lady love," Eddie crooned. "I will drag you there kicking and screaming if I have to. I will stuff you in a body bag and carry you there myself."

"As if you even could, you nerd!"

"Hey, I might have noodle arms but you're like a twig. Even I can lift a twig. Chrissy, you've been mooning over this girl since the start of the semester. This is your chance!"

"No! I'll just look like an idiot if I go," Chrissy said morosely. "She's barely noticed me even after I asked her questions in class. She probably hates me."

"She doesn't hate you," Eddie said, rolling his eyes the same as he had every other time Chrissy had brought it up. "It's scientifically impossible to hate you."

"She barely looks at me!"

"She was probably just nervous."

"She thinks I'm a ditz, too!"

"How could you possibly know that?

"I asked about our linguistics homework once--because you know, she can't ignore me if I'm asking about our class, right?--she laughed at me!

"Hang on, you told me she helped you out with that and was super nice about it."

"After she laughed at me! And why is she even in intro to linguistics anyway? She can already speak like five different languages."

"That's why you can't shut up about her, huh? 'Cuz she's so mean. 'Oooh, Eddie, Robin said the smartest thing in class today' or 'Eddie, Robin's started wearing ties and suspenders, she looks sooooo handsome' or 'when will she pin me down on the nearest surface and f--"

Chrissy yelped, face aflame, and slapped a hand over Eddie's mouth.

"I've never said that last thing!" Chrissy said, which was true.

Eddie licked the palm of her hand.

"Ew!"

"Maybe not out loud, but we know each other in uncomfortably intimate ways, Chris. I know you've thought about it."

...that was also true. But only when she was in bed! After dark! Alone!

Chrissy groaned and buried her face in her hands. She grimaced when her moist palm touched her cheek but she couldn't make herself uncover her face again. She screwed her eyes shut.

Eddie pried her hand off her face and held it gently in both of his. She peeked an eye open and Eddie's face was a picture of compassion and sympathy.

"I like her so much, it's scary," Chrissy whimpered.

"I know," Eddie said. "But I really think you have a shot. You're beautiful and sweet and you have the biggest heart. Besides, you've never spoken to her outside of class! Things will be different in a new setting. Trust me, I'm an experienced DM. I know these things."

"I doubt it," Chrissy giggled weakly. Eddie shrugged.

"But you'll regret it if you don't try, won't you?"

"Yeah," Chrissy said in defeat.

"Great! Make sure to wear your skimpiest skirt and your 'gonna get laid' lipstick. We're getting you a girlfriend."

There were so many women here. Butch women, femme women and everything in between. Chrissy was a small-town girl at heart and liked to dress pretty, but she was kind of regretting not taking Eddie's advice about wearing something that would 'display the goods.' Some of these women were smoking hot. There was no way Robin was even going to notice she was here.

She watched Robin talk animatedly with a group of suitors. Her best friend, who Chrissy recognized but couldn't remember his name, was at her side smiling widely and participating in the conversation as well. Chrissy wanted to go join them.

She used to be so popular in high school. People would come to her in droves to talk to her; it was never something she had to work at. She wasn't even sure what drew people to her back then, outside of the cheer uniform. She didn't know how to charm anyone, really. And there were so many more people in college than there were in her dinky hometown.

Eddie tried to push her to join that group, but Chrissy shook her head frantically.

"I'm not ready, I can't," she told him, more panicky than intended.

Eddie eyed her.

"You need some low stakes practice," Eddie declared, and started pulling her to other groups of women.

They were much easier to talk to, and after the first couple of times, she began to feel confident enough to approach others on her own. Eddie left her side at one point. The next time he reappeared he was showing off a slip of paper with a number on it.

"Who gave you that?" Chrissy laughed. Eddie pointed to a butch woman with thick arms, wearing a bi pride pin.

"She claims to have an impressive strap collection. I told her I'd have to see it to believe it," Eddie said with a saucy grin. "She said if I'm a good boy, she'd put me on my back and give me a live demonstration."

"Oh my god," Chrissy said between giggles. Eddie nudged her playfully, glancing around and taking in the upbeat atmosphere. His face broke into a mischievous smile.

"So now you have to get Robin's number. How could you live with yourself knowing I was a better lesbian than you at this lesbian mixer? Where's your queer pride?"

He reached out and gave her a twirl that had her stumbling back a few steps.

"Eddie, watch it!" Chrissy tried to say but she crashed into someone behind her.

There was a tangle of flailing limbs. She and the person Eddie all but threw her into ended up landing roughly on the ground. Both of them struggled to get up but moving simultaneously like that resulted in both of them sitting on the floor rather than back on their feet.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," the other person said when they caught their breath. "I'm a total klutz, ask anyone."

Chrissy squirmed to get off the person's lap. She couldn't bear look this person in the eye. She was going to die of embarrassment and her ghost was gonna come back to murder Eddie. Eddie, of course, had mysteriously disappeared. He was always good at running, the jerk.

"No," Chrissy said, face red. "My fault. I'm sor--"

"Chrissy?"

Chrissy looked up in surprise to see beautiful clear eyes. Robin's beautiful clear eyes. Her cheeks were dusted prettily in pink. Chrissy couldn't help but glance down at her soft-looking lips, and the handsome line of her jaw for just a second.

"Robin!" Chrissy said, her voice an octave higher than normal. She wanted the ground to swallow her up.

"But we're not in linguistics," Robin blurted. "I mean, obviously we're not, because you're here. Why are you here? I didn't know you'd be here. Not that you're not allowed! It's a free country."

As Robin spoke, Chrissy became aware of the hand on her thigh, just above the knee where her skirt had ridden up slightly. Robin's thumb rubbed back and forth on the fabric of the skirt while the rest of her fingers twitched restlessly against her bare skin.

"I saw the ad," Chrissy said, watching Robin curiously.

Robin's eyes flicked to her face before darting away every so often. She didn't seem to know that her hand was on Chrissy's thigh. Chrissy, on the other hand, was very aware and would later re-imagine the feeling of it but significantly higher up along her thigh in the privacy of her bedroom.

"Ha, yeah, the ad. That was my roommate. I said I wanted a study group, but he misunderstood and thought I wanted, like, a gay club or something, and he can be kind of a dummy sometimes with words so the ad didn't come out right at all--"

"People are having fun though," Chrissy said, now trying to stay very still so Robin wouldn't notice that they were both still sitting sprawled on the ground. If she did, she might push Chrissy off her lap and that was unacceptable.

"Yeah, he's great at parties but I still don't have a study group. Did you finish the linguistics study guide we got last class? I haven't. My spot in the library was taken and it's the only place I can concentrate. Do you study at the library? I don't think I've seen you there. I usually study late so if you came in the mornings, I wouldn't have seen you. I would've noticed if you were there while I was there. I always notice when you're around. But not in a stalker way! In a totally normal, un-creepy way."

Chrissy laughed suddenly as she realized something.

"Robin," Chrissy giggled. "Am I making you nervous?"

"N-no!" Robin blustered. "I mean, why would I be--why would you make me--that's ridiculous!"

Confidence bubbled up in Chrissy's chest the longer Robin rambled.

"Are you sure? Because you haven't let me answer any of your questions," Chrissy teased. Robin's pink cheeks darkened. "And you've had your hand under my skirt but you haven't done anything with it yet."

Robin's eyes widened.

"FUCK." She snatched up her hands and raised them in the air like she was being held at gunpoint. "Chrissy, I am so sorry. I didn't mean to."

Chrissy took that as her cue to carefully get to her feet and offered Robin a hand up. Robin took it, obviously embarrassed, and let go as soon as she was up. Robin jammed her hands into her pockets.

"I would've said something sooner if I minded," Chrissy said with a shy smile. If her hair hadn't been tied back, she would've pulled it over to cover her mouth. It was a terrible habit she'd picked up from Eddie, but it was surprisingly comforting to do.

"Oh," Robin said breathlessly with a thunderstruck expression. She said nothing else, and they stood there staring at each other for the longest minute of Chrissy's life. Her nerves started to jangle again.

"I haven't done that study guide yet," Chrissy said in a rush before she could chicken out. "If you need a study partner, maybe you could give me your number and we can schedule something? I'm not as good at it as you but I can try to help."

"No, you're, you're great! We can totally study together. Let me just--" Robin patted herself down looking for a pen.

"Here you go," Eddie said, reappearing from out of nowhere. He handed Robin a blue pen.

"Thanks," Robin muttered distractedly. She took Chrissy's hand and carefully wrote down her number on Chrissy's palm in tidy handwriting.

Chrissy was about to say something, anything, to continue the conversation, but someone called out for Robin. Robin looked towards where the voice came from and waved. She turned back to Chrissy.

"I better go see what he wants," Robin said quickly. She nervously tapped on the number she'd written on Chrissy's palm. "We sprung for an answering machine so you can call whenever and I'll call back right away, okay?"

"Sure," Chrissy said. "I'll call you soon."

"Great," Robin said, still looking a bit stunned. "Um, bye."

Robin all but ran away. Chrissy might've taken offense to that, except that Robin couldn't help but look back to wave at Chrissy like a dork, and tripped over her own feet. Fortunately, she was able to catch herself. Chrissy sighed dreamily as Robin disappeared.

She spun on her heel and jabbed Eddie in the chest with one manicured finger.

"You did that on purpose!"

Eddie made his eyes go wide and innocent. Eddie had never been innocent a day in his life, as far as Chrissy was concerned, so she wasn't falling for it.

"I would never!" Eddie exclaimed, placing an affronted hand over his heart. Chrissy caught a glimpse of blue ink on Eddie's forearm as he performed his dramatics. She snatched to to her.

"What's this? You got another girl's number??"

It was Eddie's turn to sigh dreamily.

"No, there's a guy here with fantastic hair. He gave me his number. Chrissy, he used to be on the basketball team. He's so fucking hot. I would be such a good boy for him," Eddie said breathily.

"You and your jock obsession."

"Says the girl who pulled a nerd."

"Smart girls are hot! Robin knows--"

"--like five different languages. Yeah, I heard," Eddie laughed as Chrissy shoved him. "Do you think she can talk dirty in all of them?"

"Oh, no."

"You didn't think of that, huh?"

"Oh, no."

"You're welcome."

"I hate you," Chrissy said. "C'mon, lets go home before she hears you."

"...so are you gonna need some alone time when we got home or can we watch a movie together?"

"Hate. Hate."

A month later, Chrissy returns from her first night over at Robin's, after her roommate had graciously made himself scarce. Eddie was lounging on their couch, eating cereal and watching cartoons. He catches her eye and smirks.

"Good night?" he asked.

"Uh-huh," Chrissy said blissfully.

"So?"

"Hm?"

"Dirty talk. How many languages?"

"All of them," Chrissy said smugly.

Steve tries to create an LGBT club at his college (so that Robin can meet more people and have queer friends) and ends up accidentally putting out a want ad for her

First meeting comes and every single attendant is a suitor for Robin

#i hope you like this op #your idea was absolutely fantastic and robin DESERVES a cute girlfriend #though i admit it got away from me a bit #buckingham #trensu tells stories

502 notes · View notes

she-toadmask · 3 years ago

Text

Pro tip: If you want to make something look English but also make it hard to understand for those who are not aware, use the IPA Phonetic Alphabet correctly!

Sure some words will look close to how they're spelled normally, but you can't tell me you would know what 'kanʃəs' is.

#brought to you by my linguistics homework and deciding to show that word to my dad #the word is conscious btw

0 notes

heavenunderthemoon · 4 years ago

Text

Dollface

Summary: After the death of her two brother, reader feels as though she must become the perfect child. She reaches her breaking point at a night at Rossi’s.

Warnings: mentions of suicide, depression, angst Your fingers grabbed at another stray hair, a desperate attempt to make an escape as you smoothed the rest into a nice, sleek ponytail. Grabbing it, you tucked it under the hair tie, breathing deeply through your nose as you stared back at the reflection.

You didn't like staring into the mirror. Staring into the mirror meant seeing your eyes, a rather odd statement when you really thought about it, but the reason you hated it all the same. You had to stare into those brown orbs, brown orbs you had inherited from your mother, and ones she had passed down not only to you, but to Ethan as well.

Ethan.

The name sent a shiver through your body.

He had passed just when you both had turned nine. He had been struggling for a while, ever since you could remember actually. For years, you had accompanied him on doctor appointments, consults after consults. Alex Blake was no quitter, and she had fought tooth and nail to find someone- anyone- to save her boy. In the end she hadn't succeeded. He had passed in his bed, only a couple feet away from you. Sometimes you could still hear her sobs, her wails of agony after she had found him, a mother losing her son, her baby. Sometimes it felt as though you had lost her that day too.

You forced the tips of your mouth to lean upward, the motion looking so foreign on your face that you couldn't help but stare. A smile. A true smile. When was the last time you had one of those? You recalled the time before Ethan started presenting symptoms, a time before his illness, before the unrelenting sadness that ran rampant throughout your house. Before your mother was driven insane, a linguist unable to name the one thing she hated so much, the one thing that took away one of her children. Before your father ran off, escaping to different countries under the guise of Doctors Without Borders. You knew why he really took that position, that he was so driven by his grief of losing Ethan that he ran off to find children he actually could save. And your mother? She didn't get much better. When she had lost Ethan she had lost a part of herself you weren't quite sure she would ever get back. A carefree, laid-back part of her, one that wouldn't run to the emergency room every time you had a cough. One that wouldn't demand an MRI every time you needed a physical checkup. One that didn't watch you so closely, close enough that you could feel her stare on you, whenever you played on the playground with the other children. Before the stares were less loving, more analytical, and every goodbye felt like your last.

Your lips dropped down, eyes remaining on yourself.

Nothing was wrong with you of course, but your mother could never be sure. Losing one child was enough, the fear of losing her second drove her over the edge.

And so, you played along.

You pretended you didn't want to play baseball with the kids in the neighborhood, taking a liking to books instead. You pretended you didn't want to go out, or play in the rain, or step in puddles, or touch frogs. Childhood was non-existent, and for you, that was just how it had to be, because you didn't want to drive her mother any madder than she already was.

Your hands dropped to your sides, smoothing the sides of your pants with your hands, a nervous tick, but comforting nonetheless.

An evening at Rossi's. The invitation alone was enough to make you want to scream.

As awful as it sounded, you hated when your mother was home. Since you had turned seventeen, you were trusted enough to stay home alone when your mother was out on cases, so long as you FaceTimed every night and the neighbors could check on you in the morning. And, with your father away you were left to your own devices. You relished in the feeling of being alone. You liked being able to emerge from your room without that heaviness dragging you down, the weight of your mother's morbid stare, the one that made you think that perhaps you were dying and you just didn't know it, enough to make you feel an onslaught of loneliness. When your mother was gone, you were able to watch tv with the volume all the way up, or order pizzas with extra cheese. You could let the dishes pile up and leave the laundry to fester.

And then when your mother came home it felt like everything in the air was sucked up all over again. Like all the walls were caving in, the world was ending, and once more you were dying.

"Y/N! Time to go!"

You glanced at yourself one more time. Clothes ironed perfectly, a crisp button down tucked into a pleated skirt, hair pinned and proper. A doll. A perfect little doll ready to be played with.

You turned off the bathroom light, grabbing your purse.

"Coming, Mother."

"My mom speaks very highly of you all, it's nice to finally meet you." You spoke with a sense of tranquility that the team wasn't quite expecting. Though, to be honest, they weren't precisely sure what to expect when they had caught wind that Alex was finally bringing her daughter to an event. Typically, you were too busy.

Studying for school, babysitting for children around the neighborhood, getting ahead in your classes, attending chess club, book club, anything and everything that had made their lips part, eyebrows furrowing because you were just a child but the way she spoke about you made you seem so...refined. Independent. Not a child.

Your peers had said the same things- behind your back, of course. You didn't have many friends. Being the perfect child didn't give you much time to make those, and you weren't good at it anyways. The teachers had always praised you, admiring you for your perfectionism. Your straight A's, good temperament, and ability to surpass the school's curriculum had you earning your teachers' result rather quickly but it had soon turned to sympathy. They had begun to notice how your posture was always straight, how your pens were always in alignment, how you never spoke unless answering an academic question.

Sometimes, they would watch you, just to see if you would suddenly sneeze and ruin that perfect mirage that you displayed to the world. But you never did, not really. You were a doll. You were picture perfect and they had previously found that quality a little endearing but now they just felt pity, because how many times had that doll felt like she wasn't enough in order to make it appear as so?

Met with enthusiasm, you smiled along as the night progressed, making light conversation with your mother's team. They were nice enough, and you tried not to let along how painful your smiles began to be. It wasn't long before you had excused yourself to a smaller room, bringing out the school work you had brought along to get out of the way.

it was an art project, your least favorite subject. Art, your teacher had stated, is an expression of emotion. There were no rules, no tips, no studying to help you along. Either you had it, or you didn't. You definitely did not.

The noise of the party chattered against your brain as your teeth began their assault against your lip, biting down hard as your eraser grated against the paper once more. With a frustrated grunt, you tried again, the circle coming out just as uneven as the last time.

Spencer must've noticed you out on the patio by yourself. He excused himself from the party, approaching you slowly.

"Hey."

You knew he was being nice. He was mingling and from what you mother had told you about him he didn't do it often so you were trying your very best to not snap at him, your agitation at an all time high due to the failure of your art project.

"Hello."

Your eyes were still on your paper, trying to salvage something- anything- from this artwork but it was futile. Every time you added something it made it worse and every time you removed something it looked empty and you were beginning to get frustrated. You hated art, you wanted to drop it, but it was a requirement. A stupid, useless class, in your opinion (though maybe it was biased due to your inability to do it). Your heart rate quickened at the thought of getting anything lower than an A on this piece. Your grade was already at a 92, that in itself was enough to make your head spin but what if you got a B on this work and it brought your overall grade down? What if you received your first ever B? What would your mother say then?

Spencer was watching you with curious eyes. He saw a bit of himself in you ever since you had arrived, though that isn't all a good thing. He saw an intelligent, capable girl who put far too much pressure on himself. A girl who carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. A girl who refused to ask for help.

And now, your breaths becoming ragged and eyes unfocused, he saw you, really saw you. Your eraser was grinding against there paper and in your anger it ripped it, your lips parting at the action. As bad as it had been this was even worse because now you sound have to start over.

Starting over meant setting you back at least three days in work and you were supposed to have this assignment done by tonight to get ahead for other classes tomorrow.

"Y/N? Y/N you need to breathe, take a break from you're homework, it's okay-"

You had forgotten that Spencer was there in all honesty, but now that he was speaking you whipped toward him.

The words seemed to cut through you like a knife and you shot an incredulous look at the man. "Okay? It's not okay! I can't take a break because I needed to get it done by tonight! I need to write a paper and get ahead in physics so that I can make time for babysitting, and attend lectures, and sit in on mom's classes and-"

Your hands were balled now, clenching into fists and Spencer was reaching for them.

"Look at me, take a breath-"

"This stupid art project, it didn't look good-"

"It looked fine-" Spencer tried, and he could tell that the two of you were attracting attention now because he could feel eyes flitting to the back door windows and he knew for certain that Alex would be here soon but none of it seemed to register for you because your eyes were far too panicked and cheeks too flushed.

"It can't be just fine, it needs to be perfect!" You broke. Your voice was louder than you had ever used with an adult and if you weren't so far gone in your breakdown you surely would've apologized. The eraser in your hand dropped, fists unclenching to cover your ears because your thoughts were too loud. They were always too loud. Constant planning, scheduling ahead. Worries about your parents, your reputation, your next step. It came crashing over you.

Later, you would realize you were sobbing but for now, you were left to wonder why your throat was so sore.

"Y/N, you need to breathe, okay? Breathe. It doesn't need to be perfect, you're okay-"

Alex was relieving Spencer, and he retreated back into the house with a reassuring nod from Alex. The team sent worried looks, but looked away to give the two of you privacy. You hardly even noticed the change.

"Hey." Alex was taking your hands from your ears, eyes wide. She had never seen you like this, never seen you so distraught and it scared her. It terrified her to see you in such a state because, clearly, you weren't okay and you hadn't been for a while and how did she miss this? It scared her because ever since she could remember you had been such an easy child. A child who didn't ask for help, a child who didn't cry, who didn’t yell, who didn't ask for things. And was that a result of her?

"Hey, look at me. Look at me." Her finger was going under your chin, forcing it upward, forcing your eyes on hers and she was accentuating her breaths, making you take them with her. "What's going on, hm? Whats' going on, talk to me."

Maybe it was the softness in her tone, or the woe in your eyes, or maybe it was just exhaustion from constantly trying to be...everything and anything your mother could ask for, but you chose to tell the truth.

"I have to be perfect." And it was quiet. You could hear the water fountain somewhere far to your left, something Rossi apparently had put in two years ago, but you couldn't see it over the hedges. Alex rose a brow, not understanding and so you continued. "I have to be perfect...for you."

And the Blake woman was gasping because how could her daughter even think that? How could she not see that her daughter was thinking that? "Honey, no-"

But you weren't letting her finish. "Yes, I do. I have to be the perfect child because you lost the other one. And I," You swallowed, sighing softly. "I can't be him for you."

"W-what?"

"Ever since he died I- he-...you were different. You and Dad both were, and I just wanted to make you happy so I tried to be good, I tried to be the best kid so that you wouldn't feel any sadder than you did."

"Oh, baby, you didn't have to do that-"

"Yes I did. When he died it was like every time you looked at me I was already dead I just didn't know it. I've been dead for years. I think I might've died with him."

And you were breathing steadily now. You chest wasn't as tight, your mind wasn't as foggy but now your eyes were filled with tears. You cried because you had wanted to say these words for so long, you had wanted your mother back for an eternity snd now she was listening, now you were going to surrender yourself to imperfection.

"I never meant to make you feel like that, please-"

The tears fell across your cheeks, splayed out like a beautiful painting, a masterpiece created by you, a girl who thought that she was a horrible artist. Perhaps you weren't as horrible as you thought.

"I wish it was me instead of him. Because I can't take it. I can't keep doing this-"

Alex was shaking her head, gripping your cheeks in her hands now, because the words you were saying made it sound like she might lose you, made it sound like you might just dissolve under her touch. And all she felt right now was dread. "Don't say that."

"The classes, the perfectionism, I'm...I'm just so tired."

"Baby, please. I'm, I'm so sorry." And that thought entered your mind once more, that perhaps you were a wonderful little artists because kneeling before you now was a tragically beautiful piece of art. A grieving mother, wet cheeks piling up by the minute, eyes filled with some kind of morose morbidity and that was something you had created.

"I'm a perfect little girl in a perfect little house. We all play pretend that Ethan didn't exist-"

"Y/N Y/M/N." Alex was trying, begging you to stop because it hurt. It pained her because Ethan died of something no one knew about but you? You were dying because of her.

"It's alright. I'm just so tired of all the pretending. I wish Ethan and I could swap places, because then he could be playing pretend and I can just...relax."

Where to go from here? The two of you sat on that patio under the watch of the stars, under the protection of the moonlight. What might happen when the sun touched your faces once more?

You doll wasn't so perfect anymore. Perhaps she would never be again.

TAGLIST: @bubblyabs @spencer-blake-supremacy

#Alex Blake #Alex Blake x reader #Alex Blake x daughter!reader #criminal minds x reader #Criminal Minds

175 notes · View notes

imagine-the-fanfics · 4 years ago

Text

Memorized Words

Characters: College AU! Aragorn x Fem!reader

Tags: @entishramblings

Warnings: smut

A/n: this might become a series. I’m unsure, but we’ll see. Might be a series of stand alones in the same setting. I’m not sure because I have wisps of ideas, but I don’t know that I have enough to make a full-blown series. Ya know?

You first met him a month ago.

You were a new freshman, fresh off a gap year with a full ride scholarship in your pocket. Adjusting to the large campus from your small town was daunting. You hadn’t exactly been popular in high school, but you were friends with almost everyone. No one had really loved you, but no one had really hated you, either. Still, making friends was difficult.

Trying to make friends with classmates went about as well as you’d hoped. None of the “friends” you’d made were interested in anything other than sharing notes and homework answers. When you saw the signs for something called “Org Smorg”, described as a smorgasbord of student organizations attempting to recruit new members. What was a better idea than joining clubs to make friends?

You were overwhelmed with the number of organizations there, but so many interested you. One was part of the people in charge of planning campus events, including the concerts. This semester some famous singer you’d heard about but never listened to was coming, as well as your favorite spoken word poet, Blythe Baird. You decided not to get involved with that one since you worried it would take up too much time. A production team club was planning to film a short film, so you gave them your information for when they had the details figured out. Alternate theatre and some other clubs ended up in your schedule.

It was a knight in armor that caught your eye. He was short, spoke with what you thought was a Scottish accent, talking about if the lemonade really was historically accurate since they hadn’t used the exact ingredients needed. Another man, tall and blonde assured him it didn’t really matter, and that it was close enough. He was wearing some sort of elaborately embroidered tunic and trousers, boots nearly to his knees. The third man, a scruffy man shook his head and smiled to himself.

The video that was being played caught your attention. You recognized the blonde man as he posed in what appeared to be holding a fencing helmet in one hand and a sword in the other. He was smiling next to a much older gentleman with a grand outfit, similar to what you saw kings wear in those period movies you liked to watch. You watched as the screen shifted to a fight of a short man, you assumed the man in armor since it looked like the same outfit, fighting with another person. It shifted to a video of something called The Pennsic War, according to the subtitle, with a date from last year added after. Two groups of people met on what you assumed was a battlefield. The screen shifted again—

“Greetings, fair lady,” the dark-haired man said with a slight bow and smile. “Interesting stuff, isn’t it?”

“Hey,” you greeted in return, giving an awkward wave in response. “It’s… Something. What am I looking at?”

The man explained every photograph, the blond man joining as well as the short man, his helmet removed and his red hair and beard exposed.

“That’s me,” the man said proudly, beaming at the screen. “That was a good fight.”

The trio spent the next two hours explaining the group they were representing. The Society of Creative Anachronism, or SCA for short, was essentially a medieval LARPing group.

“It’s like taking the best parts of everything that occurred during the 1600s and before to modern times, while leaving the bad parts – like the plague and misogyny – behind,” the man named Aragorn said with pride. “You said you liked period movies and Dungeons and Dragons, right? I think this group would be a good fit for you.” He gave you a flyer with different dates and meetings listed. “Legolas is going to be teaching fencing—”

“I can’t teach heavy fighting on campus,” Gimli complained. “You’ll have to come to an off-campus meeting to learn that.”

“Only if you’re comfortable; there’s no obligation to do anything,” Aragorn assured, his smile was charming and inviting, and you agreed to go to some meetings on campus to see if it was something you were interested in. “That’s great! Our next meeting is a potluck, but you don’t need to bring anything—Well, maybe a hungry stomach,” he joked. You laughed and he grinned.

The potluck was full of medieval food – sausages, bread, drinks, meat, soups – and some modern food, like Oreos and some crackers and cheese. The next meeting, Legolas started teaching you fencing, and Aragorn told stories, played a lute, and sang old songs. A complete surprise to you, Gimli worked on some illumination, fancy decoration on some scrolls that were for the baron of the area. He didn’t seem the type, but he enjoyed it.

You learned so much about them all during those meetings. Aragorn was a psychology major, minoring in plant biology. He was considering switching them as a major/minor combo, but he wasn’t sure. Legolas was a computer studies major, with linguistics as a secondary major. His minors included various languages. Gimli was an international student from Wales, majoring in history and minoring in art. He complained about people thinking he was Scottish frequently. These people were so surprising and endearing, and they quickly became your closest friends despite the age difference you brought to the table.

They learned about how you left your small town out of desperation to get away from your small town and your overbearing parents. Things had been hard, but you were granted a full ride scholarship that had been saved for the couple of years you had to take off of school. You were able to focus on your studies, which you were thankful for, but that you were still worried for your grades. Aragorn offered to study with you, since your schedules met up so perfectly and you agreed.

~~**~~

The four of you sat around a fire pit in Legolas’ parents’ backyard. Apparently, they were loaded. You couldn’t remember exactly what they did, something about being a politician or ambassador or something. He lived on campus during the week, but went home on the weekends, even though he only lived about 10 minutes from campus.

The house, if you could call it that, was massive. The backyard had a pool house, a full sized pool inside. It was the size of a two story house for a family, and you’d been told it had three bedrooms. There was a tennis and basketball court a short walk away from the fire pit. If there was any doubt about how loaded this family was, it was gone now.

Aragorn was playing his guitar, singing softly as Gimli drank beer. He tried to talk you into drinking, and you respectfully declined. Eventually, Legolas told Gimli to knock it off and Gimli stopped pestering you, though he grumbled.

“Do you play?” Aragorn asked.

“Like sports? Not really. I enjoy tennis and volleyball casually, though,” you replied.

He chuckled and shook his head. “I meant instruments.”

“Oh, not really. My brother tried to teach me guitar, but I never learned. I’ve been trying to learn how to play kalimba, but I’m not good at it.”

“What’s a kalimba?” Gimli asked.

“It’s a thumb piano that sounds like a music box.”

“That sounds lovely,” Legolas said with a smile.

“Maybe next time you can play it for us,” Aragorn suggested. “Do you sing?”

“I’m not good at it,” you admitted, looking at the fire.

“I disagree,” Legolas chimed in. “I heard you before I arrived at the last meeting.”

“I’ll judge it for myself,” Aragorn said, continuing to strum random notes on his guitar. “What do you want to sing? I know a lot of songs, old and new.”

You sighed, resigned to your fate. “Jenny of Oldstone?”

“From Game of Thrones?” Aragorn asked, starting to play it softly. You nodded. “I think I remember how to play it.”

“That sounds right,” Legolas said. Gimli leaned back in his chair.

Gimli frowned as he realized he was out of beer. He opened the cooler and cursed when he saw it was empty, and stood up. “I’ll be right back,” he announced, “don’t start without me.” He made his way back into the house with the cooler.

“How much can that man drink?” You asked, amazed.

“A lot,” Legolas and Aragorn said in unison. Aragorn chuckled and shook his head.

“I guess you have time to warm up, if you want.” Aragorn was still smiling as he looked at you.

“I’m not sure how,” you admitted shyly, looking into the fire.

“I’ll teach you.” and Aragorn did just that. The two

you sang tongue twisters and scales.

By the time Gimli was back, you and Aragorn had finished.

“Didn’t start without me, did ya?” Gimli asked.

“Nope!” You smiled at him. “Aragorn helped me warm up. Gimli hummed in approval and you looked to Aragorn. “Should we start?” You asked.

He nodded and started to play. He stumbled on a note, surprised by the quality of your voice. He quickly recovered, focusing on his attention on the movement of his fingers against the neck of the guitar. You were embarrassed, but you still sang without issue.

Gimli clapped as you finished. “Sing something else!”

“Leave her be,” Aragorn sighed before turning to you. “You sing beautifully. Why don’t you think so?”

“Just been told that a few times too many to think otherwise,” you said with a shrug, looking into the fire.

“Bastards,” Gimli stated simply. “Liars and bastards.”

You smiled, not saying anything.

“If she won’t sing then you should,” Gimli said to Aragorn.

“Alright, let me think.” Aragorn looked up at the stars, to you, and then into the fire. “Got it,” he said before tuning the guitar. “I just started learning this one, though.”

“Oh?” Legolas looked to you as if figuring out a puzzle.

“I memorized all the words for you, but if you only knew how much that’s just not like me.” You shivered, you’d heard Aragorn sing before, but this was different. “I wait up late every night just to hear your voice, but you don’t know that’s nothing like me.”

It reminded you of those nights when you would call him, unable to sleep. He’d tell you a story until you were about to crash. You’d say goodnight, wondering what he had stayed up until 1 am, but dismissed it as him working on his schoolwork.

Legolas watched you, sipping a beer he’d just gotten from Gimli. You felt like you were being judged, and mildly ganged up on. You had a feeling what was happening, but you were terrified of being wrong.

”I want to make sure everything is perfect for you. If you only knew that's not like me to follow through. Maybe even give up all these dead end dreams just to be with you, but you don't know that's nothing like me.” His voice was rough but tender, gentle yet soft. There was some kind of yearning, some kind of heartache, in his voice as he sang.

You wanted him to be singing about you, though you weren’t entirely sure why. It was strange. You’d had crushes in the past, but this felt different. You’d thought it was close friendship, but now you were realizing that wasn’t the case.

“Just when I thought all was lost,” Aragorn’s eyes were glued to you as he sang, “you came and made it all okay.”

You damn near swooned and he returned his gaze to the neck of his guitar. Legolas watched you carefully, sipping his beer. Gimli, oblivious, watched Aragorn, finishing his beer.

The song ended and Legolas looked to Aragorn and then to Gimli before back to Aragorn.

“Mind watching the fire? It looks like it’s about done, and I’m tired. Gimli and I are tired—“

“I’m not tired,” Gimli interrupted.

“Regardless, we’re going inside. I’ll let you have some of my expensive whiskey.”

“The $300 stuff?” Gimli’s eyes were sparkling.

“Sure, but let’s get inside quickly.”

“I’ll help clean up,” you said, standing.

“No, that’s alright. It can wait until morning.” Legolas stood up, and Gimli followed him into the mansion.

The only sounds were the crickets, cackling of the fire, and Aragorn’s guitar. Fifteen minutes of this and the fire was dying. You didn’t realize you were shivering until Aragorn spoke up.

“Are you okay? You’re shivering.”

“I guess I’m a bit cold,” you admitted.

“Come here then,” he suggested, patted next to him on the bench.

His guitar was placed on the stone floor and he shrugged off his leather jacket, draping it around you when you took the spot next to him. He put an arm around you, pulling you closer.

Aragorn smelled of leather and patchouli, trees and dirt and grass, and it was comforting. You scooted as close to him as you could, his warmth so nice.

Silence loomed, but it was as comfortable as it was terrifying. There was so much you wanted to say, but couldn’t muster the courage until the fire was out.

“We should go inside,” Aragorn muttered, petting your head as you leaned against his chest.

“Can I ask you a question first?” You looked up at him but realized you didn’t have a good view, so you leaned away from him.

“Sure, ask away.” Aragorn looked nervous and relaxed at the same time, though you had never seen that combination before.

“That song…” You couldn’t finish it.

“I like you, Y/n. I like you a lot, actually.” He looked into the fire, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “That first night you called because you couldn’t sleep, I was asleep and woke up to you calling me—“

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up,” you muttered, pulling his jacket around you tighter.

“No, it’s alright,” he assured. “I started staying awake later in case you called again. A few days of that and that song came on the radio and I realized that I had feelings for you, so I started to learn it.” He grabbed the poker and adjusted the embers, helping them go out. “And then I realized I’ve never learned a song for anyone except my ex, and now you.”

You didn’t know what to say, and he took your silence as an invitation to continue.

“I saw you at Org Smorg and wanted to you win you over and bring you into the SCA so I could keep seeing you. I was so excited when you showed up at the first meeting. When you said you were worried about your grades, I saw an opportunity and offered to form a study group. I’ve never studied with someone else before, but it was a chance to see you more.”

More silence.

“I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have told you this—“

You cut him off with a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Don’t apologize. I’ve got a dumb schoolgirl crush on you, too. Have for a while, just didn’t realize it until tonight.”

Aragorn just stared at you in shock, so you kissed him again, one hand snaking around his neck, the other still holding his jacket over your shoulders. He kissed you back, and it deepened, getting more needy and intense. There was an urgency in it that caught you off guard, and you were surprised when you realized you had initiated that step.

One hand wrapped around your back, the other played with the bottom hem of your tank top before rubbing down your body and resting on your exposed thigh. You shivered at the gentle touch.

“Still cold?” Aragorn murmured against your lips.

“Yeah. Mind if we go inside?” You asked.

“Sure.” You could tell Aragorn was disappointed, but the fact he wasn’t going to pressure you into anything tonight made your heart palpitate.

He stood up, offering a hand to help you up. You graciously accepted it, making your way into the mansion. Neither of you had let go of the others hand, so you held hands until you got to the door. He opened the door for you, and then followed you inside.

You kissed him again, one hand on his neck and the other on his chest. His jacket fell to the floor, but he didn’t seem to care. One hand held the back of your head, the other resting on your waist.

“Can you walk me to my room?” You asked, breathless from the kiss. “I don’t remember where it is.”

Aragorn blinked for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, sure. This place is huge and it’s easy to get lost.” His brow furrowed, and he looked confused.

Every so often, your lips would meet his. Both of you were guilty of initiating; both of you were guilty of wanting more. You had no idea where he was leading you. Simply put, the feeling of his lips against yours, the warmth of his body, his hands on your waist, the smell of him coaxing you into a feeling you hadn’t felt in so long, made it impossible to make a map of this place in your mind. The longing for more was unrelenting, making your heart race in your chest.

At some point, you found yourself against a wall, his knee between your legs and his lips to your neck. He used one hand to brace against the wall while the other ran from your waist to your hip to your thigh, sliding under your skirt as it traveled up your thigh again. Your breath hitched when his fingers grazed the little bit of fabric that rested on your hip.

“Is this alright?” He asked, lust dripping from his words. You looked into his eyes, seeing just how much he was holding back -- the opposite of what you wanted him to do in this moment.

“Yes.” It came out as a gasp. You hadn’t realized you were panting until his lips were on your neck again. As if it had a mind of its own, your head tilted to the side, exposing your neck to him.

His lips found their way to yours once more, the hand that had been caressing your body slowly running up your side, cupping your breast before continuing up your body until it finally came to rest on your neck. Your hips rocked against him, one hand on his lower back trying to pull him closer and the other hand on his shoulder, moving to the back of his neck.

“We should--” He was panting, trying to catch his breath and focus. “We should get you to your room.”

“Join me?” You asked, breathless still.

“I shouldn’t,” Aragorn took your hands in his and took a step back, bringing your hands to his lips. “You need to rest.”

“Please change your mind before we get there.” You looked at him, wanting nothing more than to drop to your knees and satisfy him that way if you could not have him the way you wanted him.

He smiled softly, tucking some of your hair behind your ear.

“I mean it, Aragorn,” you assured, pressing your hips to his again. “I want you, and I know you want me, too.” You moved your hands from his grip and rested them on his chest, pressing your lips to his neck.

Instinctively, he braced against the wall again, his leg between your thighs. Your hips had a mind of their own, and started to rock on his thigh, looking for any ounce of friction that could bring satisfaction.

“Are you a virgin?” He asked.

“What?” You couldn’t seem to focus.

“I don’t want this to be your first time. I want it to be special for you.”

“I’ve known a man before,” you sighed, biting your lip and closing your eyes. “Now I want to know you, too,” you breathed on to his neck, trying not to moan at the feeling of his thigh under you.

“Let’s get you to your room,” Aragorn was breathless, and the sound of it only made you want him more, need him more, “and decide from there.”

His lips crashed against yours once more, for the briefest moment, before he nuzzled into your neck. He took your hand, pulling you from the wall before dropping it. Quickly, he walked you to your room. As if it was ritual now, the two of you would end up against a wall, bodies pressed together, lips trying to devour each other.

By the time you made it to your room, there was no more restraint. The door slammed shut as you were pushed against it. You giggled at the sound, and Aragorn grinned, pressing a finger to his lips, eyes locked on yours.

“Shhh…” His forehead pressed against yours as he chuckled. He lifted you up, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around him. You were still giggling as he lowered you onto the bed, hovering over you. “How do you feel about oral?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only given it once.” It felt odd to admit it. No, you weren’t a virgin, but your experience with sex was limited. Your partner had been so vanilla the sex was almost boring, and you were already having more fun with Aragorn than you did with them.

“Only given it once?” Aragorn’s eyes sparkled with mischief, even though his eyes were darker with his lustful need. “Well then.”

The next thing you knew he was pushing your skirt up, bringing your hips to the edge of the bed, maneuvering your knees over his shoulders.

“Tell me if you want me to stop at any time, okay?” He wrapped his arms around the outside of your legs, his hands resting on your thighs.

Your breath hitched as he started to eat you out, stopping after a moment to push your panties to the side with one hand, the other still holding your leg in position. You felt him in places you didn’t know you could feel him in, and it felt divine.

You started to moan and you felt him chuckle against you. He lifted his head away, smiling at you for a moment before returning to what he was doing. You closed your eyes, one hand grabbing the comforter and the other covering your mouth. You’d never made sounds like these before, but you were too in the moment to think about it.

After what felt like not enough time, Aragorn sat back, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, grining.

“You like that, don’t you?” He was grinning like a mad man, but all you could do was nod and whine. “You want me to keep going?” he asked. You nodded again, moving your body in an attempt to coax him back to you. “Alright, alright.”

He was between your legs again, holding your panties to the side with one hand while his other slipped a finger inside you. You covered your mouth with both hands, your back arching at the new sensation. He chuckled against you, continuing to work, slowly adding fingers, until he could feel you approaching your orgasm. He picked up the pace, eager to make you cum hard, and cum hard you did. No matter how hard you’d tried to stay quiet, the moan you let loose was surely heard around the mansion.

His eyes closed, his fingers slowed, letting you ride out the waves they’d caused. His tongue continued for the same reason. He listened to your moans and pants like they were his new favorite song. Once it was all over, he carefully set your legs down from his shoulders and wiped his mouth off again.

“Are you alright?” He asked softly, kissing your knee.

“I--” It took a few moments for you to be able to think enough to speak. “Yes,” you said once you were finally able.

“I take it you enjoyed it, then?”

You looked at him, with his big, dumb, goofy grin that you’d seen so many times and looked back at the ceiling. “I did, but I--” You sighed, running your hands over your face to rub it. “I don’t want to stop there.”

“Why do we have to stop?” Aragorn asked, frowning.

“We don’t have condoms, and I’m not going to be able to blow you half as well as you ate me.”

“Well, you don’t have to do that on me, ever, unless you want to. Regardless of how ‘good’ you think you are, it doesn’t matter. All I care about is you being satisfied. If you’re not into something, you’re not into something.” You watched him as he talked. “As for condoms… There are some in the bedside table drawer.” You blinked, about to get upset when he continued. “They’re in all the rooms. Legolas host parties here sometimes while his parents are away. Things sometimes get.. Well. You know how it is at parties.”

You shook your head. You’d never been to the kind of party he was talking about.

“You don’t?” Aragorn seemed surprised. “I’ll have to take you to the next one, if you want to go, I mean. Like I said, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“No,” you said with a smile. “I’d like to do that. You know what else I’d like?”

“Hmm?” Aragorn hummed, kissing your thigh.

“For you to fuck me until I’m screaming your name.”

“Your wish is my command.”

Aragorn made quick work of getting you undressed, spending more time on pleasuring you than your last partner had. It made you feel cherished and adored and it made you embarrassed you weren’t doing the same for him. Aragorn was a giver, though, focused more on his partner’s pleasure than his own.

He trailed kisses up your belly, lifting your shirt as he went. By the time he reached your chest he was carefully pulling your shirt off. He kissed your chest, massaging your breasts before removing your bra and kissing those, too.

His mouth moved to your nipple and he suckled, kneading your other in his hand. His tongue flicked your nipple, and his other hand went from your breast down between your legs, sliding inside you once again. His pace was gentle, deliberate, until he curled his fingers and he moved faster. Increasing his pace until you were moaning. He moved to your other breast, curious if he could make you reach your orgasm with his mouth and hands once more.

Your hips started to move on their own, trying to quicken his pace, feel him deeper inside you. He obliged to the best of his abilities, only slowing down once he heard you moan and felt you pulsate around his fingers.

Aragorn pulled away from your breasts, watching you ride the waves of the pleasure he’d brought you. Once you were finished, he started to kiss your neck. Careful not to touch you with the fingers that had been inside you and were slick with your wetness. He got off the bed and you watched him, too spent to move at this point.

He grabbed a tissue from the table and wiped his fingers off, dropping the tissue onto the table for now, and grabbing a condom from the drawer and returning to the bed, kissing your neck as he undid his pants, pausing only to fully remove his clothing until he was as naked and exposed as you were.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Aragorn asked, returning to caress your face as he looked into your eyes.

“I do,” you murmured.

He kissed your neck more, pausing only to put the condom on and climb over you. Once again, he peppered kisses to your neck, slowly trailing and climbing up to your lips. The two of you kissed, comfortable and relaxed, but passionate still.

“Are you ready?” He growled against your lips, sending a shiver up your spine.

You nodded.

Aragorn positioned himself at your entrance, eyes locked on yours as he made his way inside. You gasped, an airy moan escaping you. A shiver crawled up his spine this time, and he gave you time to adjust.

You rested one hand on his back, the other on his shoulder. You dug your nails into his skin as he started to rock his hips, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder and neck — biting and suckling on the skin available.

The thrusts started slow, quickly picking up pace as you continued to adjust. He pulled away from your neck to look into your eyes. He was bracing himself with his hands on either side of you, but he shifted his weight to one so he could caress and hold your face, smiling at you as he continued to fuck you. You put a hand over his, struggling to stay quiet.

“You don’t have to stay quiet,” Aragorn assured softly. “I don’t care who hears, I want you to moan for me. I want you to—” He had to pause to groan himself. “You feel so good, Y/n.” Once he was refocused he continued what he was saying, “I want you to call my name. Let the whole world know who’s giving you pleasure tonight.”

Your hips were desperately trying to meet his, trying to force him deeper. He paused to pull out, grabbing your hips and dragging you to the edge of the bed again. He put your legs over his shoulders, aligned himself, and went back to work. You had tears in your eyes. It felt so good that you were already feeling a familiar coil in your belly.

“Aragorn,” you moaned, eyes closed. “You feel so good.”

“So do you,” he was panting, watching you as your face was smothered in pleasure. You couldn’t see it, but he was grinning, proud of himself for making you into this. “So perfect.”

“Aragorn, don’t stop,” you pleaded, hands gripping the sheets. “Go faster,” you whined, your hips bucking.

Aragorn obliged, he reached down, playing with your clit as he pounded into you. After a moment he’s topped and pulled out, and you looked at him in frustration.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he commanded, eyes dark.

You did as you were told, and he entered you again. His hands took your hips, and slammed yourself against him. He thrust and pulled you to him, groaning.

You were all but screaming his name as he pounded into you, hitting deeper than you thought he could. After what felt like not long enough, the coil in your belly snapped and your vision tunneled. You moaned his name, collapsing and your head rested on the bedding, riding the waves of pleasure that were hitting you.

You pulsating around him was enough to push him over the edge and he groaned your name, thrusting a couple more times before he bent over you, taking a moment to catch his breath. He pulled out, gently adjusting you so you weren’t on your knees anymore.

Aragorn was panting, watching you as you stared back at him, completely spent from your orgasms. He grinned, running a hand from his forehead and through his hair, pushing it back. After a moment he rolled onto his side, gently caressing your body. Your face, your side, your arms, your back — his caresses reached everywhere sighing reach.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asked gently, his caresses back to your face.

“Only the good kind of hurt,” you admitted with a soft smile.

“I guess I shouldn’t apologize, should I?”

“No, you shouldn’t.” You closed your eyes, sighing. “I’m so tired.”

“I know, but you should at least use the restroom. I’ll get your pajamas from your bag for you, alright?” He patted your butt and sat up, chuckling as your eyes followed him but your body didn’t move. “Come on, I know you’re tired, but I don’t want you to get an infection.”

You sighed, realizing he was right, and you rolled onto your back. He leaned over, kissing your stomach. It was comforting and tender, and you realized you never wanted to be with anyone else, sexually or romantically. You wanted to be with Aragorn, and you wanted to stay with him.

He helped you up, making sure you eased yourself into standing and walking. He helped you to the bathroom before returning to the room. Some time later, he returned, holding your clothing in his hands. You felt like you needed a shower, and debated on taking a shower. Ultimately, you decided you wouldn’t, so you took your clothes from him and dressed in the bathroom. Stepping out and gently kissing him before making your way to the bedroom.

You were a bit bowlegged, but you had no complaints about that. It was so delightfully worth it, and a reminder of the pure bliss Aragorn had given you moments before. You collapsed on your bed, not moving.

You knew instinctively that the hands that were rubbing your back belonged to Aragorn, and you closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling.

“You’re exhausted,” Aragorn observed quietly, moving some of your hair out of your face. “Let’s get you tucked into bed.” His voice was so soft and tender it made you want to cry.

He was being so gentle, and this was something you’d never experienced before. He pulled back the sheets as best he could before picking you up and gently putting you down so your head rested on the pillow. He kissed your forehead before pulling the rest of the sheets and blankets down and then pulling them over you.

He kissed your forehead again, muttered a “good night,” and started to move from the bed when you grabbed his arm. Aragorn looked back at you, surprised.

“Stay with me?” You asked softly, moments from sleep. “Please? Sleep next to me.”

Aragorn looked into your eyes, unsure what to do. After a moment he smiled gently.

“Sure, I’ll stay with you tonight.”

#Aragorn #Lord of the Rings #aragorn x reader

29 notes · View notes

deaddovecoterie · 4 years ago

Text

butterflies

marinette dupain cheng x adrien agreste || ladybug x chat noir

fandom: miraculous ladybug

rating: T (maybe R to be safe for next chp? ahaha jk jk,,, unless?,,,)

word count: 1.8k

genre: angst. just pure angst. maybe fluff if you squint real hard

warning(s): swearing, vaguely unedited, blood mention

a/n: heyyyy :DD im back on my writing bullshit with my favourite personnnn (guess who) @whoseblogsthis cause me and this talented mf co-wrote this :’) ky i just wanna know what it feels like to carry every ff we write together on your back because of my linguistic incompetence. anyway this is my first mlb fic so i hope yall like it i guess !!

——————————————————————————

——————————————————————————

“...Bystanders have not been hurt, although Paris’ superheroes have not made an appearance yet…”

There was unrest among the students of Francoise Dupont High School as Adrien listened to his friends talk quietly amongst one another. Thunder rumbled in the distance as heavy, chilling rain poured down from the skies. There was a gloomy eeriness that clung to the air, a quiet that made the high schoolers feel like they were just waiting for something to shatter the silence. Grey clouds were collecting, casting the city in shadow-like darkness.

Another Akuma attack had been reported yet again. The Parisian superheroes were more than glad to help out, but it was obvious they were tiring: their moves became sloppier, their conversations shorter, and their patience thinner.

Adrien listened to the chatter exchanged between Alya and Nino, while Marinette remained quiet. She looked tired, which really wasn’t that uncommon, but her fatigue seemed to spill into all of her activities. She had less “pep in her step,” as Alya had said, and her eyes weren’t nearly as bright as they used to be. Not that he meant to pay attention to such things, of course, but it was hard to not notice. Even Chloe, who couldn’t give a rat’s ass about anyone but herself, had laid off on the harassment. Adrien chalked up his attentiveness to Marinette as nothing more than being a good, concerned friend, but as of late that excuse was becoming harder to sell, even to himself.

It started about four months ago when they came back from summer break. Everyone had gone back to school and while Adrien was physically there, he was mentally absent. Kagami had just gone abroad for school again after they’d broken things off. He would have liked to say it was a mutual breakup, but she was the one who brought it up. Kagami was wise beyond her years so when she told him that his heart wasn’t in the relationship, he knew she was right. He expected his first heartbreak to be gut-wrenching, but it wasn’t. He felt sad, sure, but not in the way that leaves you paralyzed in bed for weeks on end. At the time, he wondered why that was, but the answer was obvious: Marinette.

When he got to school, it was almost as if she could see the gloomy cloud over his head. She was there for him when no one else seemed to notice, her stuttering and fumbling hardly present in their conversation. In the beginning, he felt almost guilty for confiding in her. It would’ve been ignorant of him to believe she didn’t have problems of her own (who didn’t?), but it was a fact known by many that Marinette Dupain-Chang was one to do whatever she could to help the people she cared for.

It was then that he noticed it: the butterflies. It was like a tsunami of anxiety, excitement, and shyness all rolled into one whenever she did anything: the way her hair moved in the breeze, her clear laugh that dared him to smile, but most of all, her kindness. Marinette was one of those people that you couldn’t hate. She was that person who helped others even when no one was looking. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help himself when he started falling for her every move.

She didn’t know, probably never would, but she had him whipped.

The blonde was snapped back into reality when his best friend nudged him: “You coming?” Nino’s brow arched in question.

He looked across the street, where his bodyguard was waiting for him, standing by the driver’s side door of the sleek black Audi. Though it’s been the same car since Adrien was like thirteen, it still looked brand new.

“I forgot my homework,” he said to Nino, calling out to his bodyguard to repeat the same thing. With a barely discernible nod of approval from the bodyguard, Adrien turned back toward the school doors.

Adrien grumbled as he jogged away from his friend group: “Well, Nadia, Paris’ superheroes happen to have vaguely normal lives too if you weren’t aware.”

Plagg floated up from Adrien’s pant pocket and did circles around his owner’s head. “You put too much faith in humans, they don’t think about that kinda stuff. To them, you and Ladybug are untouchable.”

“Yeah, well we’re not,” he mumbled frustratedly. He pressed his palms into his eyes tiredly and took a deep breath before dropping his arms back down to his sides.

“Plagg claws out,” he muttered.

Plagg liked to think he knew his miraculous holder quite well. Despite the kwami’s demeanour and seeming distaste toward anything non-cheese related, he did have feelings. Yes, he loved cheese, but he also loved Adrien. He had spent the last two years with Adrien, and he knew something was terribly wrong with his owner.

He’d ask later. The cat-like kwami entered the ring miraculous, and with that, Adrien Agreste was gone, replaced by Chat Noir.

The leather-clad hero headed toward the disaster zone, the rain not doing anything to help his vision. He landed on a rooftop near the Akuma attack and swiftly surveyed the scene. Upon not seeing Ladybug anywhere, Chat Noir sent a quick message to Ladybug, highlighting the damage, before swooping in to hold off the Akuma.

xXx

To put it simply, Marinette was struggling. It had been the fifth Akuma attack that week and after two years of being Ladybug, her excuses were becoming weaker and weaker as time went on. Adrien’s abrupt exit was odd, but she didn’t have time to think about it as she felt the ground shake slightly. It didn’t matter how exhausted she was, she couldn’t put off her duties any longer.

“I uhm, I forgot I had a question for Miss Bustier. I’m going to go see if she’s still around and I’ll uh just stay here until Ladybug and Chat Noir get everything taken care of!” she flashed her friends a thumbs up and with that, she ran back inside the school, toward the locker room. She opened her tiny purse in order for Tikki to emerge. “This is bullshit,” she muttered to herself.

Tikki gasped in shock. “Marinette!”

“Sorry,” she mumbled half-heartedly, “You wouldn’t happen to care if I maybe just happened to not show up and let Chat handle it?”

The glare that the small kwami sent her way told her otherwise. “Something about this one tells me that you’ll need all the help you can get,” she told her owner.

Her stomach twisted with anxiety, both confusion and shock washing over her face. Tikki had never talked about the dangers of an Akuma before, which alarmed Marinette. Shit.

“Tikki, spots on.”

Ladybug swung with all her might as her trusty yoyo grabbed onto buildings and chimneys, the sounds of destruction nearing. A black blur, undoubtedly Chat, streaked the cloudy, grey sky as an akumatized villain screeched out. Her eyes skimmed over the cobblestone streets in front of her, but nothing could prepare her for the screams of terror and bloodied civilians that scattered the scene below.

Her feet had only touched down on the ground for a second when she heard him.

“Nice of you to drop in,” Chat purred, startling her. “You’re late,” he added, his voice icier than expected.

“Cry about it,” Ladybug responded coldly.

“Meowch m’lady,” he said in mock hurt.

“Sorry,” she muttered to her partner as she took him in. His blonde silky hair was plastered to his head from the pouring rain, the droplets permeating the black leather. If the suit wasn’t skin-tight before, it certainly was now. She had to tear her eyes away from the sight of him, her sensibility screaming at her to focus while her eyes wanted nothing more than to drink in every inch of him.

Literally what the fuck, she said to herself. Now was no time to pine for her partner.

The Akuma that stood before her was physically underwhelming in stature, but her clothing made up for it. The girl in front of them held herself at around 5’3 and couldn’t be more than 18, but her wicked smirk sent a chill through her spine. The girl was clad in an array of green from forest, sage, to mossy shades, the dress that adorned her body looking like that straight from greek mythology. It was made up of grand silks, almost entrancing Ladybug and Chat with the way that the fabric moved like rippling water. It was ethereal, really, but the closer she looked at it the deadlier it became.

From around the waist and shoulders, long strips of silk floated behind her like the snakes on the head of Medusa. They almost seemed to bend to her will, the fabric defying gravity. Not only were pieces of the dress floating, but so was her long dark hair. In her hand was a staff made from tree trunk like material. Resting atop her head was an obsidian black crown with spikes the length of Ladybug’s hand.

After looking around at the already distraught state of the street, their evaluation was over: she was not going to be another walk in the park.

“Shit,” Chat breathed out. It was at that moment that the villain opened her mouth to address both the heroes and bystanders.

“Citizens of Paris, I am Gi Mágissa. I am not here to compromise with your heroes. Others in the past have failed to retrieve what Hawk Moth desires, but I will not: today will be the day that you remember as the fall of Ladybug and Chat Noir.” Her voice resonated as if it was echoing off the walls. She shifted her gaze to the left, her eyes locking with the two of them.

“Give me your miraculous and I may decide to spare you and your city,” she said in a dangerously low voice. Her voice was smooth, yet it cut right through the two partners like a freezing wind in the dead of winter. Under any other circumstances, her words would be humorous, cheesy even, but this was not like anything else they faced.

Chat laughed as his trademarked smirk appeared. “Funny, because I don’t remember agreeing to that,” he said in mock thoughtfulness, almost like he was trying to recall a memory.

“Chat,” Ladybug hissed, “I’m starting to get the feeling that you won’t be able to joke your way out of this one,”

“C’mon m’lady, live a little.”

“Yeah, well I might not be alive to do so if you keep being an idiot.” Ladybug could feel the frustration rising in her as Chat continued to appear so casual and relaxed. How could he not sense that this was so much worse than before?

Chat turned to her and she could finally see his eyes. Despite his outward appearance, she saw the nervousness in his gaze. There was almost a buzz in the air, a metallic smell that made them wrinkle their noses: blood, iron maybe.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

#haley writes #fanfiction #mlb #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fandom #adrein agreste #marinette dupain cheng #ladynoir #adrienette #adrien x marinette #ladybug x chat noir #chat noir #cat noir #mlb fanfic #mlb fanfiction #angst #fluff #fanfic #ky tag

30 notes · View notes

ukulelekatie · 4 years ago

Note

I don’t think you’ll remember but once you said you accidentally typed “independentiendemente” on your homework instead of “independientemente” and to this day every time I say “Independientemente” even if it’s a very serious matter my brain goes “independentiendemente” so thank you for that lol

okay that’s so wild because I just looked up the post because it sounded vaguely familiar and it happened exactly 3 years ago today :0 anyway I’m glad my late night linguistic brain fart has brought you joy after all these years!!

14 notes · View notes

spanishskulduggery · 5 years ago

Note

I know that there's different Spanish past tenses. Which past tense do I have to use in which situation? And do you know a website to learn and practice different tenses (also e.g. future)?

The short answer is that in most cases, either one makes sense but it depends on what you want to say.

Preterite is what I consider simple past. It’s for things that definitely happened, and specifically for things that have a clear end. It might have been a thing that went on for a long time, maybe years, but it’s over and it’s a completed action.

That’ll make sense when I explain the imperfect tense, but just keep in mind ��completed” action.

It’s best to use preterite when you’re talking about a specific moment in time, or something that happened and is over. These tend to be actions that interrupt narration (which is consequently almost always imperfect). They describe concrete and complete actions:

Hablé con ella. = I spoke with her.

No dormí bien. = I didn’t sleep well.

Me desperté a las siete. = I woke up at 7 o’clock.

Estuve aquí. = I was here (at that time).

Me puse enojado/a. = I got angry (at that moment).

Empezó a nevar. = It started to snow.

Me lavé las manos. = I washed my hands.

Jugué a cartas con mis amigos. = I played cards with my friends.

Estornudé de repente. = I sneezed suddenly.

Acabaron con la tarea. = They finished the task/homework.

Se casaron. = They got married.

Volví a casa. = I returned home.

Me llevaron al parque. = They brought me to the park.

Me disculpé. = I apologized.

Se desmayó. = He/She fainted.

Se murió. = He/She passed away.

Also preterite is what gets used for doing passive voice with ser and past participles in the past:

Fue escrito por un autor famoso. = It was written by a famous author.Fue escrita por un autor famoso. = It (f) was written by a famous author.

Fuimos rescatados. = We were rescued.Fuimos rescatadas. = We (f) were rescued.

Fueron educados en Europa. = They were educated in Europe.Fueron educadas en Europa. = They (f) were educated in Europe.

And then imperfect on the other hand is for incomplete actions happening in the past. The linguistic idea of “perfect” refers to “things that are completed”, so “imperfect” means “things not yet completed” or “things that might still be happening”.

These are frequently done with descriptions, weather, time, emotions, and other background setting the stage kind of sentences.

Imperfect is used for actions that were happening in the past that have no definite end, and for actions that people “used to do”:

Vivíamos juntos. = We lived together. / We used to live together.

Llovía = It was raining. / It used to rain.Estaba lloviendo. = It was raining.Solía llover. = It used to rain.

No hablaba mucho con ella antes. = I didn’t speak with her much before.

Estábamos felices. = We were happy.

Éramos amigos. = We were friends.

Nos conocíamos. = We used to know each other.

Lo pasaba fatal. = I [also possibly “he” or “she”] was having a rough time.

Mi amigo estaba enfermo. = My friend was sick.

No me hacía falta más. = I didn’t need more.

Creía ya haber aprendido la lección. = I thought I’d already learned the lesson.

No sabía dónde estaba mi libro. = I didn’t know where my book was.

Llevaban gafas. = They were wearing glasses.

La bufanda era roja. = The scarf was red.

Siempre soñaba con viajar a otro país. = I always dreamed of traveling to another country.

Ya era hora. = It was about time.

Sonreían. = They were smiling.

*Note: You can ONLY tell time in the imperfect tense; era la una, eran las dos, eran las tres and so forth.

**The idea of “used to” is also done with soler … In present tense it means “to normally do” or “to often do”; in imperfect it means “used to”. It can’t exist in preterite

***In general, había is way more common than hubo for pluperfect/past perfect. You only see hubo in very specific and dramatic cases.

There are also some particular verbs that change meaning depending on whether they’re preterite or imperfect but they are special cases.

In general, most verbs work in either preterite or imperfect so it’s a matter of how you want to be understood:

Me puse triste. = I got sad (at that moment). [preterite]Estaba triste. = I was sad. [imperfect]

Hizo calor. = It was hot out (on that specific day/at that time). [preterite]Hacía calor. = It was hot out (just in general). [imperfect]

Desayunaba. = I was eating breakfast.Desayuné. = I ate breakfast.

#Spanish #learning spanish #language #languages #espanol #español #preterito #imperfecto #the eternal struggle #la gramatica #preterite #imperfect

306 notes · View notes

swimmingnewsie · 5 years ago

Text

Of Coffee and Cookies (Chapter 8)

Ryder is not having a good day. At all.

Link to AO3

---

Ryder focused intently on the wood in front of him. Even after work hours, he couldn’t help but come out to the shed he and his dad had built so many years ago and work on things. There was something soothing about carving that managed to silence his brain in ways nothing else could.

It had started as a way to help him focus when he was a kid. He was always rambunctious as a child, far more than most of the other kids. Dad tried to run out his energy with sports, but there was no one sport that he could commit to for too long. Football was too rough. Basketball was too complicated. Soccer was the best contender, but even that only held him for one season.

One spring day, Dad brought him back out to the yard after a particularly rough day at school. He got detention again. He left his homework in the wrong folder again, and he couldn’t focus on what his teacher was saying, and everything was simultaneously too slow and too fast. He was expecting Dad to yell at him, same as the teacher did.

But instead of yelling, Dad handed him a pair of gloves and a hammer. Dad wanted to him to build something. He’d never done anything like that before, and he knew he couldn’t do it nearly as well as Dad did. But Dad didn’t care. They weren’t going inside until he built something. It felt impossible.

Dad worked with him in the yard for hours. He helped him draw out a small table- one just big enough for him and his sister to sit at all to themselves. He took him to the hardware store, helping Ryder pick out wood and materials. He helped Ryder painstakingling hit each and every nail, put each board in place. By the end of the day, Ryder was exhausted, but proud. A small wooden table sat in the bedroom he shared with Maren.

As Dad tucked him into bed that night, he would never forget his words. “Whenever it gets too much or too hard to focus, remember your table. You did that yourself with your hard work and focus. And sometimes I know it takes you a little longer, but I know you always get there. You don’t ever give up, even when it seems hopeless, understand?”

The small table sat in the shed, near his current work bench. The memory made him smile. Things were so much simpler then.

Ryder sighed, moving from one project to another. His stomach tightened, thoughts distracted. He was doing this all wrong. Why couldn’t he just feel the way Kristoff obviously did? Kristoff had been hurt enough already, and he couldn’t bear the thought of adding to it. But that article... It made everything he had ever felt make sense.

A bottle slamming on his table pulled him away.

“A bottle of whiskey as requested.”

Ryder smiled at his sister. It didn’t surprise him that she actually bought them a bottle after their conversation then night before. That’s just how Maren was.

“Relentless as always,” he teased, getting off his bench to grab some cups.

“It’s why you love me,” she said, settling on the other side of the table.

Ryder stood, pouring a generous amount into the homemade shot glasses. It certainly wasn’t the first time they had done this. “How’s Elsa?”

Maren sighed. “Still sick as a dog. She texted me this afternoon after she went to the doctor. Somehow she’s managed to outdo Anna with three infections- the flu, strep, and bronchitis.” She took the shot glass. “Thanks.”

Ryder sipped on his drink. “What are you doing messing around with me rather than making sure she’s actually resting?:

Maren shrugged. “She has her own sister to look after her for a bit. And if they need anything, Kristoff isn’t too far away.” He could feel his face fall at the mention of his boyfriend. He just hoped she hadn’t noticed. Her hand cupped his face. “And I think my big brother needs me more tonight.”

“Thank you.”

He sighed. His heart felt heavy, and it wasn’t from the alcohol. “I- I don’t think I love Kristoff.” There. Now it was out in the open. The thought that had nagged on his brain for weeks on end. Ryder looked up at his sister nervously.

Maren pursed her lips, looking back at her brother.”Okay. That’s not what I thought you were going to say,” she said with a look of concern. “What happened? Did you have a bad fight or something else? Do you have feelings for someone else?”

He nervously ran a hand in his hair. “The- the opposite problem actually. I don’t feel anything for anyone. Not in that way at least.”

Maren raised an eyebrow at her brother. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just when we kiss, I don’t feel anything. At first I thought it was just I wasn’t experienced and it had just been overhyped for me. But then it kept happening. You had always talked about what magic it felt like when you kissed Elsa or the guys at work talk about it when they get back from a good date, but I just- I just don’t feel it,” he rambled, feeling his heart rate speed up.

“And then I went looking online to see if this happened to anyone else and- and- and well one thing kept coming up. Well two things.” Ryder kept his head down. He didn’t want the tears brimming in his eyes to let loose, even it was just him and Maren.

Maren reached out and put a gentle hand over his. “And what was that, Ry?” she asked quietly.

“Aromanticism and asexuality.”

Tears flooded down his face as waves of emotion flowed through his body. He had never said it out loud before. He wasn’t sure how he felt. Maren squeezed his hand. “Does that feel right to you?” she asked with the gentlest of tones.

All Ryder could do was nod, tears falling too hard to speak. “Then that’s okay. I want you to know I love you more than anyone or anything and nothing is going to change that.” It was faintly reminiscent of the last time he had come out to her- only this time it wasn’t followed by Maren coming out herself.

Ryder wrapped his arms around his sister, clinging on to dear life. He was safe. He was okay. “What am I gonna tell, Kris?” he asked quietly.

“The truth,” she replied simply. “The longer you hold this in, the worse it’s going to be for both of you.”

Ryder sighed. He knew it was true, but there was still a problem in timing and linguistics. He finished his shot glass before speaking again. “I need more whiskey and Mario Kart if I’m gonna have to keep thinking about this.”

“Mario Kart: Don’t Drink and Drive?” Maren teased. “Oh absolutely. I’m gonna kick your ass, you lightweight!”

Ryder smiled. He was still nervous as all hell, but he had his sister by his side. He could do this.

He couldn’t do this. He absolutely could not do this.

Ryder was going to put a hole in the floor if he kept pacing, but he couldn’t help it. He was about to tell his boyfriend something he knew would hurt him and how could he do that to someone as nice and kind as Kristoff? Kristoff deserved so much better than a man who couldn’t love him the way he loved Ryder.

Kristoff wasn’t even here yet, and he could feel the tears building in his eyes. Nokk nudged his head against Ryder’s hand, clearly sensing his owner’s unease.

“I’m okay, buddy. Sorry,” he said with his voice shaking. He gave the golden retriever a comforting pet. “I’m just really nervous is all.”

“Why, Ryder?” he said in his Nokk voice, the same way Kristoff often spoke for Sven. The voice that made Kristoff smile so bright.

“Because I’m about to tell him something he doesn’t want to hear and I’m scared he’ll hate me forever.”

“What don’t I want to hear?”

Shit.

Ryder had been so distracted by his thoughts he didn’t hear the front door open. He sheepishly ran a hand through his hair, desperate for some attempt at composure. “Hi, Kris,” he eventually said.

Kristoff looked at him with sad concerned eyes. “I’m not going to hate you. Whatever it is, I couldn’t hate you, Ry,” he consoled. “I love you.”

There was that stupid word again. His breathing sped up and tears fell from his eyes. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this. Kristoff loved him, and he couldn’t and he couldn’t break his heart like everyone else had. Oh God, why-

“Ryder, it’s okay. It’s okay,” he said tenderly, wrapping his arms around the other man. “Whatever it is, we can take care of it. I promise. Please, just tell me.”

“I’m- I’m aromantic.”

It was out in the open. There was no going back now. Ryder braced himself, scared to look at the man before him.

“Oh.”

That was all he said. God why couldn’t have pretended and been happy for Kristoff? Why did he have to hurt him yet again?

“I- I need to go.”

“Kristoff, wait! Please!” But it was too late. Kristoff was already out the door.

Ryder fell to his knees and sobbed. Nokk laid beside his owner, trying to comfort but it was to no avail. There was no escaping this pain. He made his bed and now he had to lie in it.

This was all his fault.

#frozen #frozen fanfic #rydoff #nattura siblings #frohana #my fic #ooooooooh boy #this one hurt #And will take a bit to resolve

13 notes · View notes

icharchivist · 5 years ago

Text

The organization around this quarantine thing is such a disaster tbh.

About two weeks ago, two of our teachers were the ones who were especially worried.

There was the first case of covid19 in the nearby high school, and our uni, being a linguistic one in a region nearby the Italian border, has a lot of connection with centric pandemic regions in Italy, before they even shut down themselves.

Two of our teachers were concerned bc, as we just came home from holidays, a lot of people connected to the Italian branch came back to the uni as well, and nothing was really done about it.

One of my teacher was especially mad bc there was no soap in the bathrooms of the uni for a week at that time. She told us then that she will no longer note our presences for classes (mandatory esp for those with scholarships), and encouraged us if we were scared, knew we would be weak to the virus (asthma and such), or if we knew people who were, to not go to school anymore. Told us specifically to take pictures of the soapless bathroom so if the administration bothered us, we’d send them picture going “you’re endangering us”

I’m asthmatic. I have a lot of breathing problems in general, due to a nose malformation that makes it hard to breath and flow normally. and i have allergies. Hell my seasonal illness involves coughing, headaches, nothing flowing from the nose, and lung pains, feeling tired, all those stuff. I can’t even bring up how paranoid i am. Latest cycle of said sickness kicked in with a fever which worried my mom and I had to go see a doctor in urgence a couple of days ago. I’m fine. But i feel extremely paranoid. (and it’s not like France is getting us tested wth bloodtest or something - hospitals are overbooked with the pandemy so they only take in people with very urgent symptoms. Even if you get the virus unless you’re going very bad you’re encouraged to stay at home. There’s probably a lot of cases that we don’t know of because of that.)

But anyway school still didn’t stop back then, two weeks ago. We had two teachers who took the time to sit us down and discuss it with us. How the uni was not prepared to handle it. How they both thought the uni should have closed by now, that they’re discussing it, but they don’t want to yet.

For two weeks all we got as info was that everything was fine. Only need to clean your hands and cough in your arms. But we also had massive announcement just 5 days ago about how it was not even thought of to close schools. To close places with high work going. That we can’t let it stop us and all.

Last Wednesday, there were still clear announcement that there will be no stopping schools or work or anything. Last Friday, we were issued with a message announcing the massive closing of every schools and we were encouraged to stay at home.

Our uni, is, of course, not prepared for it. We got a few homeworks or class by mails with clear messages from our teachers telling us they’re not prepared and we will need to improvise - us students involved. Our exams, that were to happen in April, will be pushed back to May or June. For now.

On Saturday, they encouraged us to still go vote for the Mayor Elections on Sunday. Obviously, more than half of the population didn’t show up. But we were encouraged to do it still.

On Saturday, we were told to no longer go in groups in places. Something that is obvious of course, but a couple of days ago was not even issued. People stayed up late, disregarded the announcement. In the same breath we were told to not go out anywhere with many people, but to go out to do the election on Sunday still.

Mid Sunday, i get a mail from my uni residence saying that people living in those are encouraged to leave their room, whenever definitly or temporary to return to their family during the shut down of the schools.

I didn’t want to, considering my relationships with my family, but this was getting scary. We were still /encouraged/ but not obligated yet.

I had seen my mom on the Saturday for the doctor so we discussed the possibility, and while not obligated yet, i was a bit scared. I ended up askign my mom to come pick me up. I couldn’t move out *everything* obviously, but i took already 7 bags with me. My mom originally wanted to help me move out on Monday, but the announce scared me enough i wanted to get it done then immediatly.

Sunday evening, they announce they’re going to restrict moving around. Every shops would close. My mom works in administration soe she had to go work monday still.

Monday my mom’s employer basically tells her to take “holidays” so she doesn’t have to pay her, all while planning to pass all the mails and phonecalls to the agency to my mom’s phone. She’s sent home on Monday.

Monday evening we got the announcement from the gov that we were in complete lockdown. No longer allowed out without a permit. Only allowed to be out for reasons like grocery shopping, going to the pharmacy or doctor, or if you have jobs that are obligated for the good functionment of the country and crisis. (although they did issue you’re allowed to take your dog out but not for long)

We have to go on the gov’s website to ask for a permit. Like Italy i’ve heard.

We also have a curfew, no longer allowed out until a certain hour.

So now, today, Tuesday, the whole thing is in place. I’ve heard policemen in my street earlier today ask for people’s permit for being out.

And my uni residence just sent us a mail saying they no longer even tolerate people being inside the residence for the quarantine. We are obligated to move out ASAP, to a family member or such, or leave definitly. Today, while the gov has issued you can no longer be out without a permit you printed - while, also, we don’t have printers in our residences.

I feel glad i followed my gut feeling on Sunday to move out bc i have no idea how i could have asked help to move out today with those measures in place.

What i’m trying to get accross is how quickly those measures were taken in the past few days while it’s been a few weeks we’ve been many to worry enough to think dispositions should have been taken earlier. We’ve been thinking about it for weeks at the uni, but suddenly in less than 5 days we went from “we’re not changing a thing” to “quarantine yourself at your parents’s”.

Not to mention our President doing lots of lectures about how we’re At War, A Health War Sure, But At War And We Have To Consider It As Such. Obviously extremely reassuring to hear while you hear about the amount of death and sickness on TV.

Not like the sickness is any better either. I have a friend who’s a nurse in a part of France that is badly affected. Cases with young people starts to degenerate very quickly, even if they had no prior reasons for it to happen.

We discovered ibuprophen worsen the virus and it brought people who would have no prior situation into critical states to be taken care of.

/young people with no prior situations/, which i think is important to mention since so many people are brushing off the virus in a “it only affect the elderly or people with weak immune system”, as if this wasn’t reason enough to worry, as if we don’t all know multiple people like that around us, as if the 14days incubation period wasn’t terrifying, as if even if we get minor symptoms we don’t get to spread around a sickness that can be deadly for people with a weaker immune system. Well, if it’s so bad to understand the issue yet, i guess thus “young people with no prior situation get into critical situation” should be a wake up call. We don’t know that virus. It’s frightening.

People get recontaminated too. Which means we don’t get an immunity from healing. We can catch it again. Who knows how that may even go.

My friend, the nurse, says people keep stealing their equipment. They’re shortstaffed, short in materials, they can barely handle the crisis, not helped by the fact it’s been years that the gov keeps cutting health center’s ressources down. We’re not prepared for a pandemic that way.

Like... I read everyone talk about the panic buyer making it much more of a problem than it is. And while it’s true, it’s overshadowing that this is a Bad Situation, that we know nothing of that virus and it’s scary, and that the gov’s quarantine had been rushed into so much no one knows how to organize themselves around it.

For now it’s planned for 15 days. god knows how long it will take.

I, asthmatic currently sick with issues breathing, am stuck back with my mom who smokes all the time at home. Both quarantined. I feel lowkey cursed tbh. For years i tried to escape my family, dealing with all the issues that goes with it, and when i finally manage to do so, i get two lawsuits up my ass bc my dad is a douche and then my residence closes up bc of a massive sickness forcing me to go back to my mom’s.

I don’t know how to focus on my classes bc the organization is chaotic. I’m scared hearing the news. I have trouble breathing all day and while i know it’s nothing, i remain anxious. I don’t know how long i’m gonna stand my mom. Internet gets slower bc of the influx of people locked home to work.

i don’t care much for being quarantined itself, i can spend days in my home without problems. I don’t like being stuck with my mom and i just don’t like how we’ve been pushed into it in a complete lack of preparation for it.

I miss my home.

And it’s just France. Italy and Spain have been in those situations for a while too.

In a way that makes me even more angry that they didn’t take precaution before while the Italian gov had been warning us for weeks to be careful and take stuff into account before it’s too late. And we still waited, and we still rushed, and now we will blame everyone who is not understanding how thhe gov went from “it’s only a little flu don’t worry, keep going with your life just wash your hands” to “how irresponsable are you not to be in quarantine” in two days. You wonder then why people are panic buying, it’s not like the gov did any work to be crystal clear about the situation. You wonder people are being careless, a couple of days ago they were still told they had no reason to worry and to look down on those who panics.

EDIT: and lmao, i have been saying those stuff for weeks, for about two weeks i say it should have been taken into account, and my mom was pro-keeping-the-mayor-election-going (bc she wuld perhaps get a job out of it) and i told her then i thought it was a very bad idea to keep them going. My mom tried to convince me about how noooo, it was fiiine, we had to have those municipals anyway, “if people can go grocery shopping they can go vote” as our prime minister said, which i found horrifying (buying good is vital, electing a mayor can wait). And my mom kept insisting that it was important. And now, everyone says it was a bad idea to carry them on. Our own election house didn’t take any health precaution. Even my mom is saying “it was a bad idea.” Call me Cassandra bc i Keep Telling Them This Is Gonna Happen and no one ever listen to me and Too Bad. Ffs.

This is a mess of a situation. It’s making me extra anxious.

But well that’s how it is now I guess. Sighs.

#ichapersonal #that's super long btw if you open it #this situation is a mess it's. hhhhhhhhHH

5 notes · View notes

cmurray1322-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Journal 10/2

While reading What is Rhetorical about digital Rhetoric I came across the main argument that in our everyday lives we come across a new way on how it can evolve. My class and I can agree that digital rhetoric is extremely difficult and tricky to understand along with no one being able to fully understand the whole concept. According to authors digital rhetoric is used to inform and persuade on an everyday basis. But it is not that simple. This generation was brought up with using technology to submit essays, homework, projects and basically anything that needs to be graded. We can easily look up someone else's work and learn off of what they wrote from the past. But knowing and understanding the future is the hard part.

After reading and going over digital rhetoric, I can conclude that there will never be a specific answer on what digital rhetoric really is. On the other hand, you can tell that it is always being updated based on what is going on in the world.

I chose to use visual and linguistic as my representation because it was the easiest way to get my point across. This GIF represents the confusion I felt when I figured out that their is no real definition and true understanding of digital rhetoric since it is constantly changing.

#CompF19 #generation #rhetoric

4 notes · View notes

rewrite-the-wrongs · 5 years ago

Text

introductions / howdy, pardner

My first short story was about a fishboy and his human best friend. They battled a mutant piranha (whose name I think may have been Mutant Piranha, such was the monumental daring of my creative endeavor) and his army, who were out to destroy a mountain that held a whole planet together. The boys won singlehandedly, because scale was apparently a bit of a mystery to me.

This was the second grade. My teacher--who held me every day as I cried for weeks, confused and miserable and stranded in the throes of my parents’ divorce--understood before I did that I create to a ploddingly slow and steady drumbeat. A sentence is always so much more in my head than I’m able to let out, at first; I have to pore over it again and again, fleshing and flourishing (and often correcting) it, the same way I often have to reread paragraphs or pages or whole books to truly capture their meaning. In a word processor, this back-and-forth is as easily said as it is done; on double-wide ruled paper with dashed-line handwriting guides, the task is magnitudes more time-consuming, especially for somebody as messy as I am. So, while nearly everybody else played at recess on the sandlot and the jungle gym around us, a select few stragglers laid our reading folders on our laps and finished our stories.

My villain, that dastardly Mutant Piranha, found himself in prison at the story’s close. Awaiting trial, I guess; I never ventured that far ahead, seeing the big fishy bastard for a coward. “When no one was looking, he stabbed himself.” That’s the last line, stuck in my memory, not for its own sake, but for my poor teacher’s horrified face as she read my final draft there on the playground.

A mom volunteered to type up the class’ stories and get them printed and bound. For years afterward I reread that collection, always proud to have written the second-longest piece therein. I felt the weight of the pages, inhaled the tiny but acrid breeze that came from rapidly leafing through them. Knew it was a whole smattering of worlds inside, that one of those worlds was wholly mine, and I had the power to show it to people however I wished. Yes, I thought, I want this.

I’ve been introduced to writing many times over, by many people. Don’t get me wrong--I nightowled the first several chapters to many half-baked novel concepts all through my youth. But teachers have a way of showing a thing to you from new angles.

The first person to impact me as such was a high school teacher who was essentially given carte-blanche to construct a creative writing workshop in the English curriculum. The first semester was structured--you practiced poems, short fiction, humor and essay writing, drama, the gamut. Every semester after, the carte-blanche was passed on: A single assignment due a week, each a single draft of a poem or a minimum of two pages’ worth of prose. Forty-five minutes a day to work, and of course free time at home. By the time I graduated, I’d finagled my schedule such that I was spending two periods a day in the computer lab, and several hours after school every day working the literary arts magazine before I went home to get the rest of my homework out of the way and write some more..

My next big influence came in the form of a pair of writers who taught fiction at my university, a married couple. One had me print stories and literally, physically cut them up section-by-section as a method of reworking chronologies. Told me stories happened like engines or clocks or programs--pieces that meshed differently depending on how they were put together, rules that held each other in place. The other showed boundless confidence in me, listened happily to some older students who recommended I be brought on board for a national arts mag. They both encouraged me toward grad school, but toward the end of my junior year I began to stumble, and by senior year I was, to be frank, a drunken asshole. Time I could be bothered to set aside for writing began to dwindle. I limped through the editorship with the help of my extremely talented, utterly more-than-worthy successor--and come to think of it, I’ve never truly thanked her. Maybe I’ll send her that message, now that I’m feeling more myself.

On feeling more myself:

That drunken rage was brought on by a myriad list of factors, the primary ones being 1) I am the child of recovering alcoholics, and our inherited family trauma runs deep, 2) An assault that will likely be mentioned no further from hereon in, as I have reached a solid level of catharsis about it, 3) Some toxic-ass relationship issues, and 4) I was a massive egg and had no idea (or, really, I had some idea, just not the language or understanding or even the proper empathy to eloquently and effectively explore it).

I had a recent relapse with drinking, technically--a mimosa at Christmas breakfast at my partner’s parents’ home--but I’m not honestly sure I can call it a legitimate relapse. I’m not in any official self-help group, I’ve never engaged in the twelve steps or a professional rehabilitation. I had a very wonderful therapist for a few years but reached a point at which I could not pay her any longer and we parted ways--I miss her dearly, as she truly became my friend and confidante; she was the first person I came out to, and very well-equipped to handle it, lucky for me--but I’m still on behavioral medication. That tiny smidgen of alcohol pushed my antidepressants right out of my brain, and I became terribly anxious and angry and sad all at once, and briefly lashed out during a conversation with my partner behind closed doors. Not nearly the lashing out I’ve released in the now-distant past--more on that maybe-never, but who knows, as I am obviously a chronic over-sharer.

Frankly, I don’t deserve my partner. She endured my past abuses, told me to my face I had to be better, and found it in herself to wait for me to grow. She’s endlessly and tirelessly supportive of me. She sat with me to help me maintain the nerve to start this blog tonight. I came out to her as a trans woman just under a year ago, now, and I’m happier than ever, and we communicate better than ever. Our relationship is, bar-none, the healthiest and stablest and happiest I’ve ever been in.

So, naturally, I apologized fairly quickly at Christmas, and continuing where I’d left off at two and a half years, decided I’m still solid without booze.

If we’re all being honest, though (and I’m doing my best to be one hundred percent honest, here, though I will absolutely be censoring names because no shit), I still smoke way too much fuckin’ weed. High as balls, right now. 420 blaze it, all day erryday, bruh. That self-medicated ADHD life. I should be on Adderall and not antidepressants, probably, but it’s been a while since an appointment and psychiatrists are expensive, so I’m at where I’m at for now. Sativas help a lot. It helps with the dysphoria, too.

I don’t have a legal diagnosis for gender dysphoria, but tell that to my extreme urge to both be in and have a vagina. I’m making little changes--my hair, an outfit at a time, no longer policing how I walk or run or how much emphasis I put on S sounds. If I manage to come out to my parents sometime soon--and it feels like that moment is closer every day--maybe I’ll tell y’all my real, full chosen name. For right now, call me Easy.

Anyhow. My goals here are pretty simple:

1) Share words, both those by people I like/admire/sometimes know! and occasionally words I’ve made that I like. See the above screenshot from my notes app. Steal some words if you want, but if you manage to make money off some of mine, holler at ya gurl’s Venmo, yeah?

2) Discuss words, how they work, and how we create them, use them, engage with them, and ultimately make art of them. I am not a professional linguist, but I went to undergrad for creative writing, so, hey, I’ll have opinions and do my best to back them up with ideas from people smarter than I am.

3) Books! Read them, revisit them, quote them, talk about them, sometimes maybe even review them, if I’m feeling particularly bold. No writer can exist in a vacuum, and any writer who insists they don’t like to read is either a) dyslexic and prefers audiobooks or b) in serious need of switching to a communications major (no shade, but also definitely a little shade @corporate journalism).

5) I added this last, but I feel it’s less important than 4 and does not deserve bookend status, and I am verbose but incredibly lazy, so here I am, fucking with the system. Anyway: Art! Music! Video games! I fucking love them. I’ll talk about them, sometimes, too. Maybe I’ll finally do some of the ekphrastic work I’ve felt rattling around in my brain for a while now. Jade Cocoon 2′s Water Wormhole Forest, looking right the fuck at you.

6) Ah, shit, I did it again. Oh well. Last-but-not-last: This is obviously, in some ways, a diary, or a massive personal essay. I will sometimes discuss people, places, or experiences that have informed my work just the same as other people’s art has.

4) Be an unabashed and open Trans woman. TERFs, transphobes, ill-informed biological essentialists not permitted. Come at me and my girldick and prepare to be dunked on and subsequently shown the door via a swift and painful steel-toed kick in the ass. Everybody who doesn’t suck, if I screw up on any matter of socio-ethics or respect for diversity, please feel free to correct me.

Punk’s dead, but we’re a generation of motherfucking necromancers. Be gay, do crime, fight the patriarchy, and fart when you gotta. May the Great Old Ones select you to ascend to a higher plane and learn the terrible truths of existence.

Much love--

Easy

#writers #writing #creative writing #trans #trans woman #fuck TERFs #writing about writing #writer #my writing #diary

1 note · View note

mikoriin · 6 years ago

Text

Major In Love: Bonus chapter

okay so like i realized this scene doesnt fit in the fic but i rly like it so im going to share it here. maybe put this as a bonus chapter to major in love

Syaoran sat slumped over his desk, his nose buried in his textbook. He had an exam coming up in his Religious Studies class and he wanted to get the best grade he could. His eyes ran across the pages and through his notes, flipping through the color coordinated information in his binder. He had been studying for three hours now and his brain was frying, he had two exams already within the week, a presentation that he pulled multiple all-nighters to finish, three essays, and a quiz. He was exhausted. He leaned back in his chair, resting the back of his neck onto the rim of the seat. He looked up at the white ceiling of his dorm, darkness slowly flooding his eyes as he began to doze off. Suddenly he felt a light hand on his shoulder which startled him, his eyes darting open, blinking various times. "I brought you some coffee." Tsubasa spoke, two mugs in his right hand. Syaoran happily accepted the caffeine, taking a big sip of the piping hot drink. It burnt his tongue but it didn't hurt as bad as his head felt. He watched his brother go to the desk opposite of his and open his own textbook and notes. They both took various classes that gave out a lot of homework, though Tsubasa's major was different than his own. Tsubasa was a linguistics and sociology major, a little similar to Syaoran's own major but with its own differences in classes and teachings. Luckily, the twins were fairly intelligent and could figure out the classes easily, even if one or the other needed a bit of help on whatever they were working on. Syaoran was taken out of his trance by the familiar notification of snapchat. He grabbed his phone and lit up the screen, his phone background a repeating art piece of puppy paws with a green backdrop. He noticed he had two texts from Ryuo and a snap from Sakura. Syaoran's heart fluttered at the sight of her name on his phone screen. The two had exchanged numbers and snapchats at Yuzuriha's party before everyone left the next morning. Sakura stopped Syaoran and Tsubasa on their way out, saying she wanted to keep in touch with the both of them. Syaoran opened the snap, it was a selfie of Sakura sulking with her cheek squished against her hand and a caption "This essay has me Dead" with various emojis. Syaoran smiled at the photo, even though the picture wasnt necessarily flattery, Sakura still looked incredibly cute; she really was photogenic. He replied, taking a picture of his work desk piled with books and papers, putting a caption that read "I'm exhausted". He looked at his reply before sending, wondering if it sounded too uptight. His brows furrowed, contemplating on what he should do to make the message a little more friendly and inviting for further conversation. He decided to add the weary emoji, something simple but to also show the message wasn't strict or serious. With a shaky hand, he pressed the reply button then clicked off his screen and set his phone down. Just as he was about to get back to studying for this godforsaken exam, his phone lit up again. Syaoran blinked then grabbed his phone and saw it was another notification from Sakura. She replies fast, he thought. He opened the reply to his reply to see another selfie, this time she said she "wanted a Phat Cup of Coffee". Syaoran chuckled at her use of the word "phat", clearly incorrect but done so on purpose for the sake of humor. "Does your textbook have a typo too?" Syaoran heard Tsubasa's voice from across the room. "I just found, like, two." He laughed. He looked over to his brother, a blush on his cheek. "Ah, no, I'm Snapchatting Sakura." He said sheepishly. Tsubasa then turned his full attention to Syaoran, a knowing grin on his face. Syaoran blushed even deeper at his brother's sly smile, "I-It's not anything serious, we're just talking about coffee. I'm sure she sent you a snap as well." He said, almost blurting out his sentence. Tsubasa raised an eyebrow, checked his phone screen, then looked back to Syaoran. "Nope." He said in amusement. Syaoran's face went beet red, surely Sakura was talking to someone else as well, maybe she just assumed that if Syaoran got the snap then Tsubasa would see it too. Yeah, that had to be it. Syaoran was knocked out of his racing thoughts by another snapchat notification, this time from Tomoyo. Curiously, he opened it then felt his heart race by what he saw. It was Tomoyo, clearly sneaking a picture of Sakura hunched over in her pajamas focusing on the essay she had mentioned, the side of Tomoyo's face in the corner of her own photo, she was grinning. There was text, it said "Bring her some coffee" with a heart emoji. Syaoran immediately stood up, the legs of his chair scraping against the hardwood floors of the dorm. "I'll be right back." He sputtered out without looking his brother in the face, quickly shutting the door behind him. He went outside the boys' dorms, heading to the side of the building where some vending machines sat. He parked himself in front of the coffee machine, then stopped himself, Crap I didn't ask what kind of coffee she likes! He mentally slapped himself. His eyes darted around the vending machine, examining the various types of drinks it had to offer. He could get a mocha, cappuccino, black, caffe americano. What kind of coffee does she like!? His mind was swimming in distress, he quickly grabbed his phone out of his pocket and went to snap Tomoyo, she had to know Sakura's preferences. "Syaoran?" He heard a voice from beside him. Syaoran looked to his side and saw her, Sakura standing in her pj's in front of him. His face turned a pretty shade of red, "Hi." He said, standing up straight. "You came to get coffee too? I'm glad! We can talk to each other in person now." Sakura beamed, her smile lighting up the area surrounding her. Syaoran smiled gently, his nerves easing a bit at her relaxed nature. He put his phone back in his pocket, then pulled out his wallet, getting cash out for the machine. Sakura walked up beside him, which he noticed she was awfully close, scanning the machine for her desired drink. "I think I'll have...an Espresso." She said to herself, pressing the buttons on the machine to fit her order. Syaoran mentally noted her like of espresso, thinking he would have to remember that for the future. He stood silently, still unsure of what to do. He was supposed to bring the coffee to Sakura's dorm, which he was putting off thinking about until the time came, but now she was here buying one for herself. He already had coffee in his room, he didn't want that to go to waste but he also felt weird not buying anything. "Aw shoot!" Sakura cried from beside him. "Is everything alright?" Syaoran looked at her in concern. Sakura looked at him defeated, "Yeah I just forgot to bring my cash with me...I'm so forgetful when I'm tired. I'll have to use my card now." She sighed slowly. "Is that a bad thing?" He asked. "Well, not really. But I hate using my card unless its an emergency, but I already made that trip here." She laughed quietly, brushing a bit of hair behind her hears in nervousness. "I need coffee to survive this essay and I don't want to make another trip." Syaoran looked at her for a moment, then down at his wallet. "I'll pay for you." He said without hesitation. Sakura looked absolutely shocked by this, "No!! No, you really don't have to! I was a dummy and forgot my cash, I'll just use my card, it's okay!" She was so flustered at the idea of Syaoran paying for her coffee. "I want to." He said with the most genuine eyes. Sakura looked into his eyes, connecting jade with amber. Syaoran smiled at her, giving her a look so gentle she could feel her entire body grow soft. She blushed, "Okay. Thank you so much, Syaoran." She said shyly. Syaoran's heart skipped a beat when she said his name, sending chills up his spine. He nodded then put his money into the machine, watched it make her coffee, then handed it to her, their hands briefly touching at the trade. Syaoran's cheeks turned pink at the touch, her hands were so soft. "I'll pay you back tomorrow, okay?" Sakura said with her own red cheeks. "No, you don't have to. I wanted to pay for you." He replied, giving her that same gentle smile. Sakura blinked, then smiled back. "Thank you, Syaoran...Really." She rubbed her shoe on the concrete, looking down at her hot cup of coffee. "What are you gonna get?" She then asked. Syaoran looked at the machine then down at his wallet, he only had ten dollars left in cash and then his credit card. He wasn't against using it like Sakura was, but he did prefer to use cash when he had it on him. Realistically, he had enough for a coffee, but he wanted to use the money for lunch tomorrow before he went to work. The scale in his head weighed his options: save the money for lunch or have a coffee with Sakura right now in this very moment. Sakura seemed to easily outweigh the food. He put in the order for a regular coffee, paid, then took his beverage. The two sat against the wall by the vending machines sharing their coffee over conversation; "My brother used to always call me a monster, saying I stomped around the house too much. I always dreamed of growing taller than him and crushing him under my feet, but he's still taller than me and still calls me a monster!" Sakura told Syaoran, grumbling at the talk of her brother. Syaoran chuckled at her words, thinking her batner with her brother was cute. She looked to him, "Do you and Tsubasa have anything you quarrel over?" Her smile was genuine and curious. Syaoran hummed, "Not really. We have our differences though and he likes to tease me about things, but I don't mind. He's just a little more bold than I am." He said, watching the stars peak out from behind the clouds. "Though our brother, Kimihiro, can get a bit upset easily." "You have another brother?" Sakura asked, her expression full of surprise. Syaoran nodded, "He was adopted into the family when we were 7. It took him a bit to warm up to us, but we're all very close now." He smiled fondly. "How old is he?" Sakura asked curiously. "21, the same age as Tsubasa and I." "Where does he go to school?" "New York, he's studying psychology." "That's so cool! Do you guys talk often?" "Yeah, we FaceTime when we're all free, sometimes we all FaceTime our father who is a college professor in Washington." Sakura brought her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. She stared at Syaoran with a tender smile, "I really enjoy talking to you Syaoran." She said with a pink tint to her cheeks, "I hardly know anything about you, but I think you're kind and hard working. You take on so much and never complain and you're always helping out others. I admire you a lot." She rested her head on her knees, her smile radiating light all around her. Syaoran stared into her gentle green eyes with a blush, she was so honest and genuine. She made his chest feel like it was on fire and the butterflies in his stomach never stilled when he was around her. He looked away from her eyes, the blush still lingering on his brown skin and took a long sip of his coffee. Sakura sighed, "It's getting late and I have to finish this essay." She said, standing up from her spot on the ground, stretching in place. Syaoran stood up with her, brushing off any dirt that may have gotten on his pants. "Thank you again, Syaoran. I had a really good time." She smiled that same bright smile, "I'll see you in class tomorrow." She waved a goodbye, then turned to walk back to her dorm. Syaoran watched her go, feeling his heart pound in his chest. He had talked to her again, held a proper conversation with her, and it made his heart soar.

#tsubasa reservoir chronicle #tsubasa chronicle #trc #syaoran li #sakura kinomoto #tsubasa li #clamp #syaosaku #trc au #my writings #major in love

21 notes · View notes

seonghwa-things · 6 years ago

Text

Advice (Pt.2)

So this is the next part to Lost! This was also posted on archive for anyone who is interested!

Warnings:angst

Mark wasn’t used to being alone. Since Donghyuck and Jaemin had gotten together, Mark had been closed off.

After graduation, he had stripped his room bare, leaving only the essentials. Photos of him and his friends were thrown into a box - they didn’t talk anymore. His room was quite plain now, but it didn’t remind him of anyone.

Mark took a year long break, working two jobs to stay busy. He was a cashier at a clothing store called “Vanity”, and worked part-time with his father, who was a mechanic. He made sure he always had something to do so he didn’t have time to think - he didn’t want to be reminded of his loss.

During his break, he’d applied for a few universities. He’d not had the intentions of actually going, until one he was truly interested in got back to him with an acceptance letter. He started looking forward to going back to school, and having a change of schedule. He wanted to major in engineering - if he could keep his grades up.

To Mark’s misfortune, he had to stay on campus. He didn’t have the funds to get himself an apartment in the town, and he didn’t know anyone that he could split rent with. Mark was quickly assigned a roommate, the email he received telling him so. The guy was in his second year, and his name was Kim Jungwoo.

Jungwoo seemed nice enough. He’d taken the time to message Mark, introducing himself, and saying that he was “looking forward to meeting”.

Mark thought that they would get along well enough to not be awkward, but he couldn’t see them getting close. He didn’t think that anyone would reach the same level that Donghyuck did.

***

Mark arrived on campus alone. He refused to let his mother come, knowing that she would get emotional - he didn’t want to be embarrassed in front of his new roommate.

After collecting his keys, he brought his few boxes inside, and began to unpack. The room was small, but well lit. The afternoon sun shone brightly through their window, illuminating the room. It was furnished with two beds, that could be stacked into one bunk bed if they chose, two desks, and two dressers. Just enough for the both of them.

Jungwoo showed up an hour later. Mark heard the keys jingling in the door, and turned away from his dresser to open it for the older boy.

He was greeted by a stack of boxes. Jungwoo stumbled inside, letting them flop onto the bed with a sigh. He quickly perked up and turned around, facing Mark. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jungwoo.”

Mark took Jungwoo’s outstretched hand and shook it. Jungwoo smiled, turning away to start unpacking, beginning to question Mark about things, saying he wanted to get to know him better. Mark willingly answered the questions, and asked a few of his own. He found out that Jungwoo loved animals, was majoring in linguistics, and was a pretty alright singer. Their personalities were really quite similar. Mark thought that they would get along.

“Do you have any friends going here?” Jungwoo asked, as he continued folding his clothes and stuffing them into his dresser.

Mark swallowed, hating the reminder. “No, I don’t know anyone here.”

Jungwoo turned around, smiling cheekily. “Well consider me your first friend then.”

Mark laughed, but nodded, appreciating the gesture. He certainly could use someone to talk to at least, and who better than the person he would be sharing a room with every night? He worried that Jungwoo might get tired of him, but for now, he would take what he could get. He was just nervous about opening up to anyone.

“Wanna go to meal hall? I’m starving,” Jungwoo said, interrupting his thoughts.

Mark nodded, grabbed his keys, and followed Jungwoo out of the room. Maybe this year wouldn’t be as bad as he thought.

***

The first few weeks went by fast. Mark and Jungwoo’s schedules didn’t match up, but Jungwoo made the effort to speak to Mark nightly, asking about his day. Mark appreciated Jungwoo’s attentiveness - it made him feel like someone cared about him.

Mark was often willing to tell Jungwoo just about anything. He’d become someone that Mark liked to confide in. At least with present day issues. He didn’t like bringing up his past, and Jungwoo never pushed him too.

Mark thought that Jungwoo was pretty open with him too. Jungwoo was always talking about how much he hated his homework, or how he thought someone in his class was pretty.

Mark ended up trusting Jungwoo so much that he was the first person he properly came out to. And Jungwoo was supportive. Whenever Mark had doubts about anything, Jungwoo would listen to his worries, and give him the best advice he could. Mark needed someone like that.

One night, after the room had gone silent, Mark scrolled through his Instagram feed, liking celebrities photos, and some from old friends. He came across one from Donghyuck’s profile. “Can’t believe it’s been ten months with you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Mark frowned, scrolling past the photo without liking it, because he didn’t want to give Donghyuck the satisfaction of another like.

He’d wanted to forget about him, but every time he got close, something like this happened. Mark shut his phone off, and laid down in his bed, letting out a quiet sniffle. His quiet sniffles turned into muffled cries, and soon Jungwoo was peeking down from the top bunk (which they had made the first day there) and asking if he was alright.

Mark answered with a quiet yes, but knew that Jungwoo didn’t believe him. Mark soon saw Jungwoo’s feet on the ladder, and sat up, feeling bad for disturbing him. “I didn’t mean to wake you…” he mumbled.

“I wasn’t asleep yet. What’s up…?” Jungwoo asked, sitting on the edge of Mark’s bed.

Mark shrugged, not even sure where to begin. He didn’t know how to tell him that he still missed Donghyuck, and how much everything hurt without going through the entire story - he didn’t want to relive it.

“Take your time. I’m not gonna go away until I know that you’re alright.”

“Jungwoo…”

“I mean it Mark. You’re my friend and I care about you. I want to go to sleep knowing that you will also be sleeping well.”

Mark nodded, looking down at his hands. “Well, uhm…” he started, unsure of how to phrase his thoughts. He pulled up the photo of Donghyuck and Jaemin, scooting closer to Jungwoo to show him. “This one, on the right, was my best friend. He left me alone for this guy,” he continued, pointing at Jaemin. “He stopped talking to me after they got together.”

Jungwoo’s arm wrapped across Mark’s shoulders, pulling him into a hug. Mark sniffled, taking a breath before confiding in Jungwoo, telling him how he really felt about Donghyuck, and how he missed his chance. He appreciated how Jungwoo stayed, even with the close contact. He could feel Jungwoo’s hand, gently rubbing his shoulder, and it comforted him.

As he found himself calming down and getting tired, Jungwoo laid down with him, promising not to leave until he knew that Mark was in a deep sleep.

Jungwoo fell asleep first, and Mark woke with the boy still by his side.

*** Mark and Jungwoo’s interactions didn’t change in public. But behind the closed door of their room, late night talks became more common, and Jungwoo often fell asleep on the bottom bunk.

Mark didn’t mind. He enjoyed Jungwoo’s presence, whether they be talking, or sitting in silence and watching a movie. He found himself finishing his homework earlier, so he could have more time with Jungwoo. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he was starting to think that he might see Jungwoo as more than just a roommate, more than just a friend.

He found himself paying more attention to Jungwoo - from how he dressed to how softly he spoke. Mark thought that Jungwoo genuinely cared for him, in at least a friend way. He sometimes worried than when the school year ended Jungwoo would forget about him. But it was only November, and he pushed those thoughts away.

Jungwoo had introduced Mark to other people on campus. Mark could comfortably say he had at least five friends now, but he only saw Jungwoo as a close friend. Maybe even his best friend. He’d opened up faster than he had expected to, but he didn’t regret it. He was happier than he’d been in the last two years.

Mark would be lying if he said he didn’t miss Donghyuck anymore. The younger boy still appeared on his feed from time to time, and it still hurt seeing him with others, having seemingly forgotten about Mark. Mark had taken to social media himself, convincing Jungwoo and some of their other friends to take photos with him. He wanted to show that he could be happy too (and have his mother stop pestering him about making new friends).

***

Johnny, one of their friends, invited Mark and Jungwoo to a party. Mark wasn’t really a party person, but Jungwoo had begged him to go, so Mark agreed. He didn’t want to risk Jungwoo being upset with him.

Jungwoo helped Mark figure out what to wear - black skinnies with a band tee. Something simple, but Jungwoo told Mark he looked cute, so Mark was certain that he would do alright. Jungwoo had donned a grey button up shirt, with a tight pair of jeans. Mark thought he looked stunning.

Jungwoo led Mark to the dorm that was hosting the party, them each paying two dollars to get in. Mark hoped that Jungwoo would stay nearby. He didn’t think he’d stick around if not. Jungwoo grabbed his hand, leading him through the crowd, towards the drinks that someone had generously supplied.

Jungwoo grabbed himself one, before offering one to Mark. Mark accepted, knowing that he would be sipping on it all night - he wasn’t a big drinker, but one drink wouldn’t hurt. Jungwoo on the other hand, had already picked up another drink before Mark had even taken his first sip. Mark realized now that he would be babysitting most of the night. He wanted to make sure that Jungwoo would get home safe.

Jungwoo socialized, and Mark fell in step behind him, eventually giving up and falling into a chair, keeping his eyes on Jungwoo. He didn’t want to follow him everywhere, but he wanted to make sure he made it back to the dorm in one piece.

Jungwoo was currently talking to a third year. He was tall, with dark hair and sparkling eyes. Mark was jealous, but he knew it wasn’t up to him to interrupt unless Jungwoo looked uncomfortable. Mark didn’t like watching, so he turned his attention away to place his now half empty drink on the table behind him. When he turned back around, Jungwoo was gone. Mark frowned, standing to look for the boy, only to have a pair of arms slink around him.

“Dance with me…?” the voice slurred.

“Jungwoo, you’re drunk.”

“We can still dance…”

Mark sighed, turning around to face the older boy. He wasn’t much of a dancer, but he would do just about anything for Jungwoo. “One dance. And then we go home okay? You have classes tomorrow.”

Jungwoo nodded, taking Mark’s hand and pulling him into a more open area. Mark let Jungwoo lead, uncertain with his own actions. He was shocked when Jungwoo pulled him close, their bodies touching. Whenever he had gone to dances before, he would be with Donghyuck, and they never got this close. Something was definitely different about this.

A fast song was playing, but Jungwoo still rested his head on Mark’s shoulder. Mark didn’t know if he was supposed to interact in a certain way, but Jungwoo seemed content as they were. They swayed softly to the music, Jungwoo sometimes looking up and smiling at Mark, making his heart flutter.

Mark definitely liked Jungwoo.

The song (which ended up being six minutes long) finally ended, and Mark peeled Jungwoo off his shoulder, taking his hand. “We’re gonna head home now, okay?”

Jungwoo hummed in response, following Mark through the crowd and outside. The air was cold, and Jungwoo clung to Mark, shivering.

“We’ll be there in just a minute…” Mark mumbled as they walked through the courtyard.

“You looked really good tonight…”

Mark ignored his comment, not wanting to get his hopes up and believe him while he was intoxicated. He instead pulled his keys out of his pocket, hurrying the boy to their dorm and let them in. He helped Jungwoo up the stairs and to their dorm. As soon as the door was open, Jungwoo slipped past him and climbed into Mark’s bed.

Mark chuckled, slipping his shoes off, then sitting on the edge of the bed. He removed Jungwoo’s shoes and placed them in the corner of the room before pulling the blanket over his roommate, knowing that the boy was cold. He stood again, planning to go to the top bunk so that Jungwoo could have his space, but was quickly pulled back down. He looked over at the older boy, smiling as Jungwoo moved the blanket so it was covering the both of them.

“Get some rest...you have class tomorrow…” Mark mumbled.

Jungwoo nodded, pulling Mark into a tight hug. Mark returned the embrace. “I meant what I said you know. You looked really nice.”

Mark blushed, hiding his face in Jungwoo’s shoulder. “I don’t believe you…” he mumbled.

“Well you should.”

“Tell me again when you’re sober.”

“I will.”

Mark smiled, letting himself settle in beside Jungwoo. He hoped the older boy meant it.

***

Jungwoo didn’t seem to remember the events of that night. Mark didn’t want to show that he was disappointed, so he tried to pretend that nothing had happened.

When another party rolled around, Jungwoo yet again tried to convince Mark to go. But Mark insisted on staying home, saying that he had homework, and wasn’t feeling well. Jungwoo had frowned but said “I’ll be back in an hour or two”.

Mark nodded, pulling out his phone, hesitantly pulling up Donghyuck’s number. He wanted to confess to Jungwoo, but he didn’t know how to. And the only person he knew that had dealt with this before was Donghyuck.

“Can I ask you a question?” he texted, nervous for a response. He hadn’t spoken to Donghyuck in almost a year now.

He got a reply faster than he expected. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“How did you or Jaemin confess? I really like someone, and I don’t know how to tell them.” Mark was careful with his wording. He’d never properly come out to Donghyuck.

“Well, Jaemin told me while we were out for coffee one day but there’s no promising what will work for you. What’s she like?”

Mark looked at the text, hesitant about replying. “He’s my roommate… really quite kind, uhm, kind of quiet?”

“Oh shit man I had no idea, uh, maybe just bring it up casually while your doing homework or something? Take him off guard?”

“Maybe. I’m just nervous. I don’t want to make our living situation awkward.”

“Are you guys close? Like as friends?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Then I think you’ll be fine. If he sees you as at least a close friend, no matter the outcome he’ll make sure you feel comfortable around him still.”

“Thanks Donghyuck… sorry again about last year…”

“Don’t worry about it man. Let me know how it goes!”

“I will.” Mark sighed, putting his phone down. Did Donghyuck actually care how it went? Perhaps. Maybe he’d be able to reconcile their relationship. He missed having Donghyuck around, even just as a friend. Mark knew he was head over heels for Jungwoo, and that wouldn’t change if Donghyuck came back into his life.

He just had to figure out how to tell Jungwoo.

***

He decided to take Donghyuck’s advice. Mark was scared, afraid of Jungwoo’s reaction, but he knew he had to get it off his chest.

Christmas break was coming up, so if things went badly, they’d both have some time alone to figure out their feelings.

Mark was busy typing out his final term paper when Jungwoo walked into the room. “How’d the test go?” he asked, looking up.

Jungwoo looked frustrated, and just shook his head. Mark frowned, stood up and walked over, pulling Jungwoo into a hug. “I’m sure you did better than you think.” Mark pulled away from the hug, offering his roommate a smile before returning to his essay. He’d wait until Jungwoo started working to drop the bomb.

The elder boy slipped into his desk, opening his laptop and signing in. Mark tried his hardest to focus on his paper, wanting to let there be some silence before he spoke. But he found he couldn’t wait long.

“Jungwoo, can I tell you something?”

“Hmm?” Jungwoo paused, looking up from his computer.

Mark tensed, wishing that Jungwoo would’ve continued looking at his screen, but he knew that Jungwoo was too attentive for that. He let out a shaky breath, causing a look of worry to flash on Jungwoo’s face.

“It’s nothing bad, I just don’t know how to say it.” he mumbled. “I just, I think I really like you and I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now, ever since you told me I looked nice at the party, but I’ve never confessed to anyone before, or been with anyone before and-”

“Hey,” Jungwoo interrupted.

Mark’s gaze shot up to look Jungwoo in the eye. Was he going to be told he was stupid? That Jungwoo was totally not interested and that he was silly for thinking that he could be?

“I like you too.” Jungwoo said quietly, shyly turning back to his computer.

Mark smiled, a blush forming on his cheeks.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Now finish your homework so we can go to bed. I don’t have to worry as much about being clingy now.”

Mark let out a giggle, turning back to his screen, hurrying to spit out the rest of his essay. He’d have to thank Donghyuck for the advice.

But for tonight, he’d just appreciate Jungwoo. And the fact that he wasn’t alone anymore.

#jungwoo #donghyuck #haechan #mark #mark lee #lee donghyuck #kim jungwoo #na jaemin #jaemin #johnny #johnny seo #nct #nct 127 #nct u #nct dream #fic #fanfic #my writing #angst #fluff

2 notes · View notes

pontmercyingtil · 7 years ago

Photo

So, this Courfius week drabble turned into... a lot more. Rated PG, feels abound, enjoy!

Courfeyrac did not look up as Marius entered their apartment. He knew it was Marius, because his friend, and now roommate, was the only person who not only took off his shoes at the door, but also apologized.

Perhaps to the floor? Or to the shoes? Surely not to Courfeyrac himself, as he’d told the Linguistics major multiple times he didn’t give a damn if Marius wore shoes inside.

After all, his parents paid for the off-campus apartment, not him.

“All done apologizing to the thin air?” he teased, still looking at his phone.

“I just… sorry.” Marius mumbled, coming to sit on the other side of the couch, always seemingly trying to leave room for eight other people, which was ridiculous, because the Amis met at Combeferre’s house these days, as Joli had decided he was allergic to cats.

“Marius, you know, you can spread out on this couch. Oddly enough, our cat has decided she only likes sitting on it if you are already quite comfortably arranged, so don’t save space on her account.

Courfeyrac was perched on the arm of the old thing, which had once been a sort of mauve but now was rather grey with cat hair. Perhaps he should get a vacuum.

But then Joli would claim to have won the debate over the cleanliness of the apartment. No. better to leave it as is.

“Sorry,” Marius said again. He did not move.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Courfeyrac replied, his thumb swiping across the screen quickly. “No, no, definitely no, hmmm. No.” His commentary made Marius lean over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“I am sadly not doing anyone, hence my need for this app.” He slid the phone into his pocket, and laughed, because Marius’s face had turned a lovely shade of pink. “It’s called tinder, dearest roomie of mine.” “I’m your only roomie. Unless you count Madam Gris.”

“His name is Smaug.”

“You can’t name a kitten after a dragon, Courfeyrac.”

“Have you seen her fangs?” he replied. “She is vicious. I shall raise her to be my attack cat! She shall defend us from all who might wish to break into our fine abode and abscond with our property.”

“Your property,” Marius muttered, glumly.

Ah, damn. Just like that, Marius’s good humor vanished. In the weeks they’d lived together, Courfeyrac had tried multiple tactics to keep that goofy smile on the young man’s face, loved the way it light up his face and made his eyes sparkle.

But between heartbreak, homework, and complicated familial relationships, keeping a smile on Marius Pontmercy’s seemed a nearly impossible task. Luckily, Courfeyrac thrived on doing the impossible.

“Come now. Someone might want to steal that nice backpack of yours. You know, the one with your name appliqued on it.” he elbowed his friend, trying to get him to laugh. “I’ve heard the name Marius is very trendy now. Everyone would want to have an item that granted them that wonderful name.”

“Do you really think my name is wonderful?” Marius looked up at him with such hope in his eyes it practically glowed. It was as if he was a plant that someone had forgotten to water for weeks, and survived only on the tiniest bit of rainfall. Who had given this handsome young man so few compliments in his life?

“I think you’re wonderful,” Courfeyrac blurted out, and hastened to add “at being my roommate. You’re quite good at it. Most aren’t, I’ll have you know.”

“I can’t imagine why…” Marius said, but lightly, as he surveyed the disaster of an apartment. There were an assortment of abandoned coffee mugs on the table, wine bottles of dubious origin waiting for next week’s party in a row, a pile of dirty laundry Courfeyrac had meant to get to… yesterday.

It wasn’t that he meant to be messy, and in fact, he quite liked when his apartment was spotless. It was just… lately he’d been distracted. Unable to focus. He found himself staring aimlessly at the wall in class, or meandering down hallways he had no reason to go down, or worse yet, forgetting to go to the gym, and instead sitting home, watching Great British Bakeoff.

Courfeyrac, in short, was due for a romantic entanglement.

It was either that or run off to England to try and impress Mary Berry with his only functionally recipe: Rice Krispie Treats, but made with Lucky Charms, for extra marshmallow action.

No, surely, a rendezvous with an amorous person was a far better idea, and not just because he’d burned through the only mixing bowl they had when he’d tried to make pancakes for himself and Marius last sunday.

Which was why he’d skipped class to perch on the couch and swipe through candidates on Tinder. A task he should get back to.

A task he needed to get back to, instead of watching as Marius sang to the cat-with-the-disputed-name as he poured her a helping of kibble. The one thing more pathetic than him had been that bedraggled cat he’d brought home last week, tucked safe in his soaked-beyond-repair coat.

But the little scamp had blossomed into queen of the home, happy, healthy, and quite delighted to take up space anywhere she chose.

Maybe Marius could learn a thing or two from that cat.

The next day, Marius came back from class to find Courfeyrac sitting in one of his usual positions on the couch, legs up in the air, back against the place most people sat. He’d never quite figured out why the russet haired man preferred to sit in a thousand unusual ways, but he found it rather charming. But also, like so much about Courf, baffling.

And then, he sniffed the air.

“You cleaned!”

The apartment was now spotless. All coffee mugs had vanished, the carpet appeared a few shades lighter, and even Madame Gris, where she sat on the window, watching birds outside, looked rather cleaner. Though, seeing as she washed her paws more than either of her roommates washed the dishes, that was probably her doing.

“Ah, yes. I did.” Courfeyrac said. “Does it look nice? And smell nice? There’s this new lavender spray I found.”

“It does.” Marius said. “What’s the occasion?”

“I’ve got a date. Or rather, I have five dates, and I just have to make up my mind which fine person I shall bring back here.”

“Five dates? In a day?” Marius found himself staggering backward. “How?”

“It’s called tinder!” Courfeyrac neatly tumbled off the couch, and bounced over to Marius. “Check it out. You see people’s faces, and you swipe them right if you like them?”

“Swipe. Them?” Marius stared down at the screen. A rather familiar young man stared up at him, his chiseled jaw seemingly made out of marble. “Oh, I’m in French 201 with him.”

“Ah, no! That won’t do.” Courfeyrac quickly swiped his thumb to the left on the screen. “I banish thee, friend of Marius! I shall never match with you as surely, we shall kiss, and you shall pine for me forever, ruining your friendship with dear Marius.”

“I don’t think he’s the pining type…” Marius started, but he felt a smile pulling at his face. Courf’s antics always had a way of making him forget his courseload, his own lack of love, and well, everything that made him, according to Grantaire, a bit of an Eeyore. (when, really, it was rather hypocritical for that scruffy six-year-senior to be calling out anyone else’s lovelorn moping around.) “and um, we’re not friends, I mean, if you did want to kiss him…”

“Nonsense. I shall not impinge upon your friendship with the golden haired Hercules of Corinth College.”

Madame Gris bounded over to Marius, mewing, and he picked up the young kitten, scratching her under her chin just like she liked. “So, this Tinder. You can use it to… meet people?”

“Well, yes, meeting is sometimes an end game. Me? I find it fun! It’s like... “ Courfeyrac threw out his hands. “It’s like making a collection! Of people! Who are attracted to me, and I to them! What could be better?”

Marius thought perhaps a long walk on the beach under a moonlight sky with just one person might be a little better.

He also thought Courfeyrac might not appreciate it. “Well, good luck, um, finding your soulmate.”

“Soul mate? Pffft.” Courfeyrac leaned in to pet Madame Gris’s back. Unlike most cats, she seemed to thrive on the attention, and started to purr.

“You don’t believe in soul mates?”

“I don’t believe they’re found on Tinder, that’s for sure.” Courfeyrac replied. “Isn’t that right, Smaug?”

“Madame Gris.”

“Smaug.”

Courfeyrac looked directly at Marius, challenging him to a staring contest. And Marius stared back, finding those green eyes unexpectedly deep, with little flecks of gold in them that sparkled like summer sun. Courfeyrac’s smile grew. “You’ve blinked a bunch, my dear monk-like roommate.”

“I… have?” he wet his lips, finding them suddenly dry. “Um. Teach me to use Tinder?”

Anything to distract from how those eyes made him feel.

Courfeyrac was delighted to share with his roommate, who usually asked so little of him, even though Courfeyrac had much to spare. In fact, Marius’s own phone was Courfeyrac’s own. He’d claimed that he was due for an upgrade, and no longer needed it, but that wasn’t… exactly true.

But it only had cost seventy dollars to break his contract, and Marius didn’t need to know that. It was more important that his friend had a way of being reached that wasn’t the ancient flip phone he’d bought with the last of his work study pay check. Marius’s work as a tutor was dependent on just how many students needed translating help, which seemed to rise and fall with the proximity to midterms and finals.

Other than that, Marius had nothing.

Courfeyrac had noticed cards marked “return to sender,” that were certainly that oblong rectangle shape of the weirdly-specific gift cards that older folks used to mail checks in. But whoever sent the money, Marius did not like.

And not dislike in the way Courfeyrac felt terribly embarrassed by his own fathers, who decided to “embrace the old country” by adding some obscure participle back onto their name. Courf was quite sure that the participle was utterly made up, and therefore utterly embarrassing. As embarrassing as those “google your own family crest” things, or socks with sandals or Hawaiian print shirts worn unironically… or any other fashion his fathers sported.

Two dads meant twice as many pairs of Dad Jeans in the house.

Which was why he rebelled with carefully selected outfits. Tailored trousers, perfectly fitting jackets, crisp shirts, and soft sweaters in just the right shade of green. Even his workout clothes were ensembles, with tees carefully selected to match various pairs of tennis shoes.

Marius had, as far as he could tell, three shirts, one pair of black jeans, and one pair of blue. Not that he’d cataloged what his roommate wore, of course.

Not that he’d notice how sharp Marius looked in that white tee that clung to surprisingly well-sculpted shoulders, before he’d pull on an ancient green sweater that Courfeyrac had insisted he take to not freeze in the November air.

“Have you taken a selfie yet? You know you can add more. It’s not supposed to be a work of art” Courfeyrac leaned over Marius’s shoulder, feeling his roommate's stubble brush against his own smooth cheek. He cleared his throat, unexpectedly “I mean. Unless you want it to be. You could be a work of art, you know.”

“Why? Because this sweater is old enough to be in a museum?”

“Hah. Hah.” Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, but blushed, glad Marius hadn’t heard the compliment that slipped out. “Right. So you’ve got your selfies, you've got--- goodness, Pontmercy, did you have to write a textbook for your bio?”

“I wanted to share my political beliefs.”

“It begins “Live, Laugh, Love.”

“Those are very political things! The pursuit of happiness!”

“Yes, sure.” He tousled Mariu’s hair, feeling the soft inky curls glid over his fingers. It was more an excuse to play with his hair than anything else. “Now, all you have to do is this: swipe left on the people you don’t like, and right on the people you do.”

“Then what?”

Then, he’d met some new love of his life, some shiny new soulmate, and never shut up about her, probably. Courfeyrac used the generic people, but he’d never heard of Marius being interested in anyone other than Cosette, who dumped him for his friend Eponine

Maybe this was a terrible idea.

Oh, why did he never think before he did things?

“Um, well, you can’t message them unless they’ve already swiped right on you too.”

“Ah. So we have to mutually like each other before we can speak.”

“Yup. have fun!” Courfeyrac said, and even to his own ears, he sounded false cheerful. He sprang up from the couch, scooped up Smaug, and headed to the other side of the room, intent on studying so he didn’t have to watch the roommate-he-was-certainly-not-crushing-on pursue a new soulmate.

PART TWO COMING SOON!

#courfius #courfiusweek #amis fanfic #courfeyrac #courf #fanfic #my fanfic #Of Roommates Fanfic #oh gosh how did i end up writing multi part fics

22 notes · View notes