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ahaha i guess matty as a hockey player would require a SIGNIFICANT suspension of disbelief 🥲
mb a football (the european kind) au... oh i wish i could write 😭
I'm going to be honest it's not even his size that requires the suspension of disbelief lol Like there are some smaller NHL players that are still successful - there is a particular American born former Blackhawks player that comes to mind and is about the same height as Matty even though he was a lot bulkier HOWEVER the issue is in the fact that Matty, IRL and Fictional, is NOT the most coordinated human being like I truly cannot imagine him surviving on a pair of skates he would hurt himself lol ... meanwhile I think George is too chill / wouldn't want to check anyone...
Ross would be a fantastic hockey player AU candidate though he's already got a sick flow.
I know nothing about European football despite watching ALL the Ted Lasso and also playing briefly as a child.... so I don't think I'm the best candidate for it either... HOWEVER you should give it a shot! I bet you are better are writing than you think you are and if you ever want to bounce idea or have someone beta read anything let me know I would love to assist - I have FULL faith in your creative writing abilities! You got this!
Thank you so much for reading and the continued support and sending this ask! I hope you are having a WONDERFUL weekend!
❤️Ally
#allylikethecat#ask ally#anon ask#keep it kind#fanfiction#matty fic#gatty#sports au#probably not a hockey au lol#lol maybe i'll write an american football one#fictional!Matty can be the kicker lol#im not going to do that lol again i feel like they're too british#but i am going to start a campaign for you to write your football au anon#i am here to assist in any way i can but i think you'd be fantastic at it!#omfg end of the second period and its still 0-0#someone needs to score and put me out of my misery
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So Bad
For @academialynx , who made a donation to her local food bank in return for a fic! This is a college AU, moderately prof/student (though the theme is that they DON’T break the rules) boatloads of yearning, and janky building maintenance that leads to getting locked in a closet. She asked me to consider the Brandon Colbein song So Bad. Which I did. :)
Thank you, Dear! Here we go!
Rated T
On AO3
On FF
On Tumblr! (keep reading!)
Another champagne cork popped and a delighted cheer spread through the room. Glasses, plastic cups, and hastily drained coffee mugs were refreshed and the party carried on. Theirs was not a large music department, so to have attracted a fresh, exciting, multi-talented composition and collaborative piano specialist with a few international awards, one ‘early career’ grant and another from the National Endowment for the Arts meant their modest program was about to gain a little fresh clout at interdepartmental tenured faculty meetings.
“Congratulations again, Erik!” Dr. Nadir Khan hauled Erik into a vigorous handshake and pumped for a full three seconds.
Erik winced. He’d be hamfisting the keys tomorrow if they kept this up. “Thank you, Dean Khan. It’s an honor to join as a full professor.”
“I am Nadir to you, and don’t forget it.” Nadir refilled Erik’s plastic cup and tapped his department coffee mug against it, sloshing their champagne into frothy heads. “It’s hard to believe it’s been five years, Erik! You cost me a bet, I’ll have you know. I didn’t think you’d stay after you had to teach that semester of History of Rock and Roll for non-majors.”
The lantern-jawed oboe professor laughed. “Or the infamous Intro to Music Theory.”
“No, no,” disagreed Umbaldo Piangi, the portly voice teacher. “When I went on sabbatical to Teatro La Fenice and you gave him The Chamber Music Outreach Project and graduate tutoring. No warning!” Even the big man’s clucking tongue was musical. “But, Piangi is back, no? I will cut back my performance hours and take back all the lessons and weekends and let Dr. Erik Devereaux return to his writing!”
“Actually,” Erik said, and the room stilled. “The only part I disliked was the public part. I never minded the private instruction. If you would like to split the load, I’m happy to keep the instructional portion while you handle the tours, performances, and...outreach?” He suppressed the grimace well enough.
Piangi, Italian down to his fine shoes, let out a whoop and grabbed Erik in a hug so tight it pressed his ribcage and nearly dislodged his delicate porcelain mask from it’s fine wire and leather fittings.
“Ah, my partner now! I will call donors and show off the little tweeting songbirds with my lovely Carlotta while you teach them not to call for worms! A toast!” Piangi held up his plastic cup once again.
Erik accepted a toast that crackled the edge of his plastic cup and hoped for something new and shiny to distract them. Or for the lights to suddenly flicker and fail as they were prone to do, along with randomly closing doors in the terribly laid out office and work spaces. The college had access to talent pipelines that the underfunded and neglected department had not been able to tap. Their aggressive recruitment of him was a last ditch effort for change before the tiny group was relegated to a four piece for the university reagent’s cocktail brunch and a marching band for the far-better funded football team.
“To Dr. Devereaux!”
With a conspiratorial grin, Erik drained his cup and winked at Piangi. “To the songbirds.”
…
Tenure in hand, Erik started his campaign. Once he ditched the worst teaching credits to lecturers and adjuncts, he could focus on recruiting. Specifically, to score a few respected but not-yet-headliner talents. Emerging performers without a good gig had few options and the status and modest stipend to be a ‘visiting artist’ might be more attractive than the floating gulag of a cruise ship.
A few excellent but relatively unknown performers could teach and perform, receive some finishing, and get quickly farmed out into the world. The reputation-building move would be pricey, but no one gets paid dividends before investing.
His development grant would cover three such artists. He got more than fifty applications. Erik rubbed his eyes under the mask. It was a good thing he never had plans-- it would be a long weekend.
…
The old music labs building had settled over the years and gained what the senior faculty referred to as ‘personality’. Erik took this to mean ‘genially hazardous’. No amount of facility requests or complaints brought the doors and keys division to do maintenance.
He was a quick learner though, and only got locked in his workroom twice before catching the door with his foot became second nature. He even set a flaking brick, plucked from a neglected flower bed outside, in the corner by the door and kicked it against the frame as a doorstop. Every time he came to his workroom, a narrow converted closet with a work bench and packed with shelves of manuscripts, music, errant repair kits and recording equipment, he would hit the outside light switch, unlock the door, step in, catch the door, then kick the brick.
Switch, step, catch, kick. His shoes were gaining new wear marks.
After kicking the brick into place, Erik opened his laptop and went over the last files. He’d asked the department admins to strip out the audio files to just the audition pieces and remove identifying details from the fifty applications. If he was going to invite talent, their first hurdle would be their musicianship. Once he’d culled the herd to ten, he’d submitted his picks to the dean to select the three finalists. Now they needed invitations. Two vocalists and a classical guitarist made the cut and he spent the next few hours getting more acquainted with their files and ignoring the pings of his filling inbox.
At least it was just his inbox. No one came to the music labs and his closet if they could help it.
If he was honest, no one came to meet him in person if they could help it.
…
Most performers were beautiful. Entire websites and product lines were devoted to skincare for singers, makeup tutorials, look books and wardrobe consulting. Erik’s particular variety of deformity would stand out in any circumstances, but in an entire department stuffed with the striking, stunning, and unconventionally glorious, he bordered on eyesore. Even Piangi could command a room with his generous, rosy smiles and booming laugh.
The mask was the best combination of memorable and functional he could muster. Yes, surgery was an option but who signed up for years of unnecessary pain and the risk of infection? He had better things to do.
Like meet with his new visiting artists.
The classical guitarist had supple wrists and forearms like Popeye. His rolled cuffs drew the eye to the action while his cleverly knotted scarf kept you looking at his face, framed by artfully mussed hair.
“We’re looking forward to your first concerts and hope you’ll consider collaborations with local programs.”
The baritone had a one in a million voice. How he hadn’t been snapped up for opera yet was a mystery but Erik supposed it was his poor presence. When you had the goods, you still had to sell them, and the young man’s love of neon, bad hair, and questionable repertoire (pin the tail on a Hal Leonard page) needed polish. His work was shockingly precise and sounded like he had a cathedral in his mouth.
“Our faculty and staff are a rich resource for young performers and are always eager to assist. We often work in parallel with the communications department and local professionals to prepare our artists for the culture and community as well as the stage.”
The soprano was the risk. The recording had been largely boilerplate and her prior experience thin. The reason she got in was a one-point-two second pause in her audition tape. It was the silence that told Erik she had chops.
Imagine, a soprano unafraid of silence. It had been late in the weekend when he selected her and had not yet been able to examine the head shot.
“I… um...”
“Yes, Dr. Devereaux?”
“Welcome, Miss Daaé.”
…
The visiting artists would survey classes, provide demonstrations and guest lectures, and appear at university events, auditions, and generally get the word out that the department was shifting to a growth phase. That was the official description. Unofficially, there would be a mountain of effort to make each emerging artist a shot on goal for the department. Recording deals, major and paid appearances, and successful auditions all counted toward the tally.
Guitar was not Erik’s forte, and as much as he could contribute to the baritone’s look and polish, Erik had cultivated a far more… refined profile than the young man aspired to. Erik maintained collars sharp enough to cut bread and a spotless sheen on his porcelain mask. Right now, Dean Khan aspired to cut the young man’s mullet tail off.
“Excellent, Miss Daaé, right on time.” Erik slid the fall board up and they prepared to work. She understood how to modulate her tone, how to select the emotional pitch to match the song, to contrast with it for effect. She explored her range and willingly failed to find her borders. It all made for an excellent student.
It was the quiet that made her breathtaking. The anticipation of her. Tenths of seconds that tightened the chest and made a quiver run through the blood. Not often, only when it mattered, and only when it would matter enough to do so.
When he could stand it no more, he asked her about it.
“I’m sorry, I can try to stop.”
“I didn’t ask you to stop, I asked when you started doing it.”
She considered him, her ribbons of curling hair twisting as she shifted. “When my father was sick. I could feel the need for silences because he couldn’t talk anymore. It just felt… right.”
Erik nodded. “Again.”
…
She’d been a late bloomer. A ghost on the scene and at least five years older than the rest of the sopranos at her stage. It also meant she hadn’t spent her entire high school and college career belting Broadway in the recital rooms, building nodes on her vocal chords.
They finished late one night and he walked her to her car. “So what did you do for practice?”
She pinked under the parking lot lights. “I, um… waited tables at an Italian restaurant. You know, where your server might sing opera when they bring you breadsticks?”
Erik nodded. “Parmesan and Puccini?”
Bless her, she giggled. “Bellinis and Bellini. A few really knew when they were hearing but most just wanted to hear Nessun Dorma because they heard it on Youtube. I managed to get a few singing jobs out of it but I mostly just waited tables.” They stopped at her car but she hadn’t reached for her keys yet. “I was a bartender and the second understudy for a Gilbert and Sullivan society when I saw your announcement.”
“Their loss,” Erik said. He left off the second half.
“Thanks.” Christine hesitated. “I didn’t expect to be accepted, so… thanks.”
Something changed in the breeze. Something cool and soft in the night air mixed with the gold light pouring down from the lights. It highlighted the curls that spiralled out of control around her neck as she tilted her head just so.
It was just a moment, a funny thump that ricocheted in his chest at her upturned face, her soft smile. Maybe her eyes flicked down, maybe her sharp inhale had a little catch in it. Maybe it was the way her lip twitched, but a red flag suddenly waved in Erik’s head and he stepped back carefully. He had a powerful fear of heat and burns.
“Yes, of course. The, uh, department was very happy to offer the opportunity.”
She blinked. “Of course. Well, thanks for the great session and walking me to my car. Have a nice evening, Erik.”
Christine drove away and Erik stood in the parking lot for some minutes after her taillights had faded. He imagined it. Surely, he’d taken a friendly conversation the wrong way. She wasn’t his student, strictly speaking, but he had influence over her career, which would be just as bad.
Besides, he had completely misread the whole thing. Surely. Women didn’t look up at him like that-- like he would kiss them. After a walk after dark, telling him about themselves, and looking at him like that.
No one looked at him like... that.
Oh no.
…
She wasn’t strictly his student. He was her mentor. Even a brief thought made it obvious and completely inappropriate. Did she think it would improve her opportunities?
Erik swallowed. No, if that was the game she wouldn’t have backed off. Surely he’d misread the situation.
…
They brewed tea together. She remembered his favorite oolong.
…
He saw a cascade of curling hair on his way to the post office and his heart leapt.
It wasn’t her. The disappointment was too confusing to examine.
…
His mouth went dry when her sweater slipped from her shoulder. Then he knocked the music from the stand.
She smiled and helped him pick up the sheets.
There were freckles on her shoulder.
...
Five months into the visiting artist tour and Piangi had the concert hall packed for their first performances. Franco the guitarist, who preferred just the one name, would play a twenty minute set, followed by the baritone Burton Armstrong, as baritoney a name as Erik had ever heard, then Christine, and finally Franco would play again with accompaniment.
Erik was content to stay in a tiny box seat far to the side as Piangi introduced each performer. Franco had gained the stage he deserved, and Burton had been convinced to get a proper haircut and suit, and sang a particularly impressive Russian ballad set.
Christine was introduced and settled onto the stage. She was radiant in dark blue, and decorated her baroque set with agility. From his perch, Erik could as easily imagine her distributing bellinis as gracing an opera stage. It was not an insult. After her short set, she nodded and was joined by Burton. A duet?
She looked up and found him, up in his perch. She nodded, and the two launched into a series of excerpts from Semele, Handel’s somewhat neglected tale of a torrid affair between a mortal woman and the god, Jupiter.
Their gazes met as she sang.
O Jove! In pity teach me which to choose,
Incline me to comply, or help me to refuse!
The baritone thundered.
Too well I read her meaning,
But must not understand her.
If Erik’s ears heard the rest of the concert, he could not recall it later.
…
Dean Khan adjourned the faculty meeting. “Oh Erik, if you have a moment?”
They waited until the room was cleared and Nadir closed the door, then casually looked over the remaining pastries. “Excellent concert last month. The work with Burton is certainly paying off.”
Erik leaned against the table. “His socks were bright green, but we felt it was a workable compromise.”
“Franco is excellent in front of the crowd. Has he met the flamenco dancers yet?”
“I put in a call. I think he’s going to their weekly meeting next Thursday.”
“Marvelous. Let me know how that goes when you hear, won’t you?”
“Of course.” Erik felt his chest tighten the longer Nadir perused the snacks and chose to tear off the bandage himself. “Anything else?”
“There is, in fact,” Nadir did not look up from the muffins. “Christine’s performance was exceptional. Truly filled with passion.”
Erik tried to take a sip of coffee but his cup was empty. He faked it. “She’s a wonderful artist.”
“Yes. I couldn’t help but notice--” Nadir paused over the croissants, then passed them over to examine the cookies. “You two seem to have a unique and strong mentor-trainee relationship.”
“Thank you.” It had not been a question. There was nothing here… yet. “We work well together.”
“I’m glad to hear that. The program you’ve created is admirable for it’s transparency and integrity.”
“I agree. Thank you for noticing.”
Nadir looked up with a slight nod, then selected a macadamia cookie. “I’m sure the remaining six months will fly by, Erik.”
He had no idea how to respond.
...
Six months. There were six months left in the visiting artist term. There were more sessions, a mini tour, and a series of small concerts meant to showcase the new talent the department had ‘produced’.
Six months of lies, pretending he was misunderstanding something. Pretending he didn’t notice the way she was at his side and on his mind. Then she would leave him to the dull, overworked life he’d made for himself in the hopes of making a name for himself while simultaneously avoiding attention. More lies, but easier to swallow.
Her voice came from the hallway. “Erik? I’m heating up some water, would you like tea?”
“Is it the one you brought?”
A light laugh. Sparkling. “Of course.”
He dropped his work and grabbed his cup. “Be right there.”
…
A very successful fundraiser was wrapping up on the top floor of the performing arts center. It had a view over the campus, the nice side, and the glow of downtown caught the streaking rain on the tall glass walls.
The donors had been generous, delighted with the new features of the program and the willingness to be accessible. Erik stayed to the side, avoiding the center of the room where Piangi and his wife Carlotta took up residence. Nadir circulated the room, nudging him out from time to time for a refill and to participate. When forced to do so, Erik sloshed some middling red wine into his glass and let himself slip into Christine’s gravity for a few minutes before drifting away again.
He could feel her gaze.
The cocktail party was to end at eleven-thirty, and by then nearly all the guests had left. The last ones were rushed out and Piangi hurried to the bar.
“Open season!”
A quick crush to the bar and every open bottle was ‘liberated’ to the long-suffering exhibits. Christine topped off her glass and passed the bottle to a fellow soprano, hardly twenty years old, and the two laughed and kicked off their heels. Piangi and Burton laughed over an earlier flub and the cello player, finally able to pack his instrument and relax, demanded and received a full glass.
Erik tipped back a hearty, warm swallow and emerged from the hinterlands.
“Oh, hi Dr. Devereaux! Did you just get here?” teased Carlotta. “Your legend only grows the more you hide.”
“All part of my devious plan,” he conceded. Christine’s giggle mingled with the laughs of her peers. “If you’ll excuse me. Piangi, brilliant as always.”
“Same to you, Erik! We plan many parties now, no?”
Easing his way towards the mirth, Erik relaxed. There were plenty of others around, and this was just the after party to a long dog and pony show. Listen to the pretty songbirds and throw money at the program, invitation only. They all deserved drinks after three hours of that.
Christine was plucking a pin from her hair. She shook the curls loose. “Hi Erik! God, I’m so glad to see you.”
“Oh?”
She held up a bottle. “Yeah, you need a refill.”
It had been a long night. These events could be tricky to navigate. Sometimes there was politics, other times business rivals. More often, donors expected special privilege and access in exchange for their checks, as if the last hundred years of progress meant nothing. The way a few of them had looked at Erik, maybe it didn’t.
He let her pour some white wine over the dregs of his red. Improvised rosé. “Everything go okay?”
“Good enough. I think I have some auditions, and some stuff nearby might open up for me.”
“That’s great. Who with?”
A nice chorus. A solid baroque group. Both could springboard to bigger things. A few bigger things were here.
“What’s bigger?” She asked, her eyes dark and soft.
He had not meant to speak, and now he rushed his words. “Things! Choirs, operas. There’s a few small opera troupes and there’s churches that need choral directors that know how to work with organ and piano.”
She sniggered. “Organs.” The other soprano dissolved into giggles.
Erik pulled out his phone. Clearly neither was driving tonight. He absently tallied up his glasses and admitted he wasn’t either.
“Do you play the organ, Erik?”
“Yes.”
Christine stepped closer and, on pure instinct, Erik put his arm around her as she turned her head to speak.
“Can I watch?”
His collar was tight. He pulled up the app and ordered a car.
They ran through the rain, more than sprinkled, less than soaked. Plenty wet to shiver from the chill of the driver’s exuberant air conditioning, though. Between giggles and poorly composed directions, they dropped off the other soprano who wobbled successfully to her door before their driver sped away. Christine did not shift away to the other seat, but leaned into him, tucking herself against his side.
The driver glanced in the rear view mirror, then looked away.
She was cool and smooth. Her loosened curls had tightened from the wet and tickled his neck and brushed against his mask.
Her hand on his thigh. Erik said nothing. If he was silent there was a kind of deniability, or denial at least, of what was happening. If he could deny that her fingernails caught on the inner seam of his trousers, then she could deny that his hand was firmly planted at her waist, holding her close.
And if she could deny that, then she could also deny that her nose bumped his chin, her ragged breath loud in his ears. And they could both deny that their lips grazed, a not-kiss somehow more intimate than if their lips moved and pulled at each other. Like her singing, it was the pause that made your breath catch and your insides tug.
“What number?”
Dashboards lights reflected in her eyes. “That one,” she said, and cautiously settled. The driver pulled forward and Christine unbuckled.
“Good night, Erik. See you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Christine.”
The driver glanced in the rearview. Erik looked down. “Sorry.”
The driver shrugged.
One more month.
…
He was hiding. He’d been hiding for weeks; stopped looking for her, stopped even wondering where she was or if she was alone. There was no way to be near her without the pretense of a piano that wouldn’t leave him shaking. No way to think about her without wanting.
He was Erik, a composer, a conductor, performer, designer of auditory spaces and translator of music. He was a collaborative pianist and vocal specialist. He’d given everything to music and the service of it, the delivery of it. He didn’t need this. He’d never had this.
No one ever offered. So he’d found fulfillment elsewhere, until now.
Erik hunched over his work, safely tucked into his corner of the music labs building. Between grading, senior thesis submissions, revisions to his own publications, and a request for a letter of recommendation, he could be plenty busy late into the night with no need for anyone to--
“Hello? Erik?”
Erik snatched at his mask and settled it. He’d been found. Time to lie, except he can’t lie to her.
“Can I help you with something, Christine?” He gathered a stack and stood. She met him by his door.
“Well, yeah,” she paused, blocking his path momentarily before stepping aside. “I need your signature on my visiting artist release. And another on my endorsement for my new job.”
Erik hefted his armload to the work closet. “I’m sure they look forward to meeting you. Come on.” He unlocked the door and held it open, then followed behind her, hitting the light switch with his elbow before catching the door on his foot, then he kicked the brick into place. He had to hold the stack to keep it from spilling across the work table.
She handed him the forms. Erik moved to a span of clean tabletop and started scanning the release form. Government agency boilerplate to satisfy the grant was mixed with flowery language so no one would suspect they were anything but artists. Yesterday Franco had brought Burton’s form-- yep, this was Christine’s. So on and so forth.
Erik had just finished scratching out his signature when he heard a familiar scrape.
“Why on earth do you keep a-”
Click.
“--brick?”
Erik pressed the heel of his hand into his chin.
“Are we… locked in?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” A faint rumble vibrated in the walls. “I don’t suppose that was just… construction?”
Erik let out a mirthless laugh. “There were storms brewing earlier. Besides, does this building look like they work on it?”
“Not really.”
Another rumble, louder, and the light fixture jittered.
Christine finally took a deep breath. “Have you been avoiding me?”
“No! Yes. I don’t know.” He touched his hairline, recapped a pen. “We crossed a line. I had to get back behind it and I couldn’t if we…” His hands skated across the table top nervously.
“Is this about being my mentor?”
Erik barked an ugly, bitter laugh. “What else? God, you just, out of nowhere, with your smiles, and the way you look at me, and sing to me, and the Semele…” Erik’s skin grew tight as he recalled the cocktail party. He turned, face growing hot beneath the porcelain and his throat tightening. He was a ruin.
“--and the touching and wanting and you’re… you’re just going to leave! I’m a fucking idiot!”
On cue, an extended, throaty roar of thunder rattled the stone and brick until the bare bulb above could suffer no more. With a loud pop, the narrow room went dark. They both scuffled in the dark until they had hold of something sturdy.
“Erik?”
He was embarrassed. He was frustrated. “What.”
“You need to sign the other form.”
“Want to get away that bad? Fine.” He reached for a desk lamp and tried to turn it on. He flipped the switch furiously. The power was out.
“Here,” Christine held up her phone and lit the screen. Her screensaver was… them? Beside a piano together?
Erik snatched a pen from the table and slashed his name. “There. Just search for facilities or call the university police. They can unlock the door.”
“Erik, did you even look at it?”
“Why bother.”
She snorted at him. “God, you’re so blind.”
“The lights were out.”
“Fine, you want to be a jerk, be one, but at least look at where I’m taking a job before you decide to walk.”
She lit up her phone once more and he glared at the page like it was staring at his mask. He tracked the offer and terms until he reached the party names and…
“You took a job at… a middle school? Here?” He looked up into the dim light. “You’re not leaving?”
“Meet the new grade six to eight choir director. Go Scotties. And now you have no direct influence over my career.”
Her screensaver dimmed, and before it went dark, Erik could make out a flash of their faces, turned to each other. He wondered if Nadir had seen this moment, because they looked as passionate as lovers despite being feet apart.
The room went black again, and he could hear her moving.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“That much has been apparent. What do you know?”
She was close. Close enough to feel the way she shifted the air. “I know way too much about motif design, lyric phrasing--”
Closer. “Go on.” Her hips were near his.
“Harmonic theory, vocals”
“Can attest.” Her fingertips were at his jawline, tracing his mask. “I thought it would be cold.”
“It’s been on my face all day. Early Romantic era competition and,” his voice scraped over gravel, “that I want you. So bad.”
Her kiss was her reply. Erik’s hands flew around her as she pivoted to the table with him, dragging his mask upwards. He gasped as cool air brushed his face, followed by light, curious fingertips and her hot mouth. Erik knocked over the stack of papers and files with a satisfying splatter.
“Is that light over there?” she asked, dragging her lips from his. “Around that cabinet door?”
“What?” he panted. “I thought that was a panel.”
She pushed him off gently, peering up at the wall. “Right there, see?”
Sure enough, there was a thin line of light. It was a hidden door with a magnetic latch.
“They can’t keep the regular door from locking you in but they put a trick door at the back?” Erik complained as he climbed through awkwardly. Very awkwardly. Her lips were red and swollen.
“Let me grab my things and we can get out of here.”
Erik checked his watch. “First, we’re turning in your forms.”
“It’s almost five!”
“We’ll make it if we run.”
Panting, they caught the dean just as he was packing up to leave.
“Erik, Christine? Are you alright? That was some storm we--”
Erik shoved the forms at him. “Yep. Terrible storm. Here.”
“Indeed, Erik. Why, your hair is a mess and I’ve never seen your shirt untucked.”
“Big wind. Yep. Almost hit by lightning. Here, time stamp?”
“Miss Daaé, you may want to adjust…”
“For God’s sake just take the stupid form so we can go!” Christine shouted.
Nadir laughed and scanned the forms. “I don’t want to see you until Monday, Erik. You better be late.”
He didn’t make it in until Wednesday.
...
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Author Spotlight : Syntheticpoetry Day 3
Author : @syntheticpoetry
How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?
Until it feels right. I don't have a set number. I'll just keep revisiting it and seeing if I am satisfied or if it needs tweaking. I'm trying to expand now and invite beta readers in to overlook things for me because there are definitely things I always miss on my own.
If you were to revise one of your older fics from start to finish, which would it be and why?
There is one that I never finished, but I hope to revisit and rewrite one day called Caught In The Lie. I would LOVE to revamp what I have and then expand on it. It's about Blaine being transgender (ftm) and the evolution of his relationship with Kurt (friendship to unexpected romance).
What do you look for in a beta?
Someone who will be completely honest in their critiques and unafraid to ask questions about things they don't understand.
If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?
Lately I've been binge reading All the Other Ghosts and feeling really compelled to delve into writing for the superhero AU. I have yet to read the sequel, so undetermined if I would want to write something after the fact or a prequel, but that's the fic I feel pretty strongly towards right now.
Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?
I definitely take liberties with canon. I love little canon easter eggs (who doesn't, right?!) but I feel like I lean towards canon divergence.
Talk about a review that made your day.
I took a long break from writing after Cory Monteith died. I wasn't even a huge Finn fan, but I just remember how shocking and difficult it was to return to the fandom after it had happened. I got a review on And the World Spins Madly on that said even though the story was unfinished, they found it completely worth reading and that even though they were new to the Glee fandom I became one of their favourite authors. The ended it by saying "Just wanted you to know that the stories you created a long time ago are still bringing new joy." I honestly cried when I read it. It had been so, so long since I had written anything and seeing that honestly first planted the idea in my head to return to the Glee fandom and finish what I had started. Without it, I'm not sure I would have found my way back the way that I did, so shoutout to Klaineydaze for your review on FF.net and reigniting that spark of creativity in my life again.
Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?
I've honestly been pretty lucky to not have received any rude reviews. All of my reviews have been pretty positive and the only criticism I have really received has been pretty constructive.
What advice do you have for people just starting to write?
Write for yourself. Write because it makes you happy. Don't focus on the kudos, or the favourites, or the reviews— those are just bonuses. Share it with people you love and trust and be proud that you have decided to create anything at all, because most people who criticize and complain don't even take that step. And don't ever let anyone make you feel like you should stop. Write as long as you are inspired to write, and don't feel obligated to do so when you are not. Have FUN.
Which fic do you most like to discuss with other people? Why?
Probably Go Your Own Way or Little Numbers. Predictable response, I know, but these two fics had SUCH an impact on my life and the fact that Zavocado went on to publish his own series based off of GYOW honestly just gives me so much hope and inspiration of doing the same one day.
What's one aspect of writing fic that gets you really excited?
Writing is a verbal playground. I love getting to toy around with headcanons and seeing other people's reactions to that. I love the meta analysis aspect of fanfiction and the conversations it creates between fans. Writing, reading, and sharing fic just makes me feel so connected to others in a way that people who are not in the fandom may not be able to comprehend.
***
Check out Syntheticpoetry’s fics:
The Ghosts That We Knew - Blaine Anderson is no stranger to hospitals and has been volunteering on the pediatric unit of Lima General Hospital for years when Kurt Hummel comes along. After Blaine is attacked at his school's Sadie Hawkins Dance, he has his best friend Kurt to help him deal with the aftermath. And when Kurt becomes the target of the McKinley football team's bullying campaign, he can count on Blaine to have his back.AU where Blaine transfers to McKinley instead of Dalton. Set during season 1.A story of two best friends finding courage to face their bullies and discovering love along the way.
Kintsugi - Kurt and Blaine have a mature heart to heart involving Blaine's insecurities. Tested reaction fic where I just really gratuitously expanded on the dialogue and included the missing smut scene that very obviously must have occurred off camera.
Hips Don’t Lie - Blaine has a hard time getting dressed for school during Kurt's first day in New York. Or that time Kurt makes Blaine dance to Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie.
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request: “lmfaaaooo, so i love your porco and reiner angst fics so do you have anything else for them?”
reiner braun x fem! reader, porco galliard x fem! reader, au.
fandom: attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin
You looked over to Porco who was once again arguing with Reiner. You glanced at Marcel, silently begging him to stop him but he sighed knowing he wouldn’t be able too. You looked over to Pieck who held up her hands in defeat.
Porco had asked you out a few months ago and for a while, you were okay with the arguing with the two with each other as it was normal for them. After a while, it kept growing more and more annoying. Marcel, Pieck, and whoever else had known the two for a while mentioned to you that it was normal but it didn’t really seem that way.
“Porco, we really need to head out.” You said annoyed. “Reiner, I’m sorry. Porco, lets go, this argument is getting annoying and frankly, I’m starting to get over this.”
Porco being heated off the argument with Reiner turned to you like you said something heinous, “This isn’t about you and when I say we’re leaving, we’re leaving but I’m not ready to yet.”
You laughed out of defense as Marcel stood up, “Porco, relax.”
“Galliard, you can talk to everyone else like this but I am not the one.” You responded as you pushed Marcel out of the way. “Now lets go home before this unfolds in front of everyone.”
Porco stood his ground as you looked at Pieck for approval of the situation, “Fine, stay but don’t come knocking on my door like you usually do.”
“Hmph, had I known any better, you probably took Reiners side.” Porco muttered as your eyes widened. Pieck noticed and immediately tried to reason with you.
“You know what, I am! I am 100% on Reiners side. He does nothing day in and day out and you’re constantly bashing him for no reason. Oh, he cried at training? Hey, realize that not everyone has one emotion besides anger unlike you. Some men are actually in tune with their emotions. He needed help? He actually asks for assistance unlike you who comes banging on my door at three in the morning pissed off. Keep this, I don’t need this anyone.”
You threw the necklace he gave you a few months ago and made sure that it landed on his face. Marcel and Pieck sighed as Reiner had a surprised expression.
You weren’t going to cry. The two of you had been in a relationship for a while but the ‘I love you’ never came. You didn’t know if you had loved him but after all of this, you were kind of glad that you never said it. Porco needed to work on himself before he could even think of getting back with you or anyone else for that matter.
//
Since you and Porco had broken up, you hardly hung out with them anymore. Pieck and you would hang out on your own and since Marcel was Porco’s brother, he knew he had to stick by his side. He knew you had every right to do what you did and you weren’t mad at him for it. Anyone would do that if it was their sibling.
Even though you had been single for a while, you were starting to get closer with Reiner. The two of you had almost every class together and considering the dislike for Porco, you grew closer to the blond.
“Hey!” Reiner said as he jogged up to you. “I know this is gonna be out of your element but I was wondering, would you like to run for homecoming with me? I know we have a great chance of winning since not many senior girls aren’t running this year.”
You laughed, “Braun, I doubt I’d win. I’m not really homecoming queen material. I’m not popular, I don’t play sports, I write for the freaking newspaper and yearbook. I’m in the arts section of the high school for crying out loud. I doubt anyone would even dare to vote for me. Why don’t you run with Historia?”
“Because she isn’t running since Ymir isn’t running. If I run with Historia, Ymir will have my neck. Pieck refuses and I don’t really know anyone else. Please! Do it! Bertholdt even promised to help with the campaign!” Reinner begged. “Today is the last day for sign ups!”
You sighed, “Fine but under one condition, I get to pick the colors for the dress and tux.”
“That’s fine, done! Let’s go!” Reiner grabbed your wrist as he dragged you to the front office.
//
Within the following days, you, Reiner, and Bertholdt started making signs for the race. Most of them were meme-y and others were straight to the point. Considering Reiner’s built and Bertholdt’s height, they were more than able to reach walls to put the posters on and even went out of their way to put signs on some ceilings of the hallway.
Since every couple had to make a video for the running, you and Reiner made a goofy video. He was dressed in his full football uniform as you dressed in a seemingly dorky way. It was the cliche ‘opposites attract’ move but you did see that some students found it funny.
Porco was not happy. Seeing you so close with Reiner made his gears turn. The pictures of the two of you were plastered all over Titan High School and every where he went, he couldn’t get away from them. He would occasionally see you with Reiner in the hall and gag a bit. He hated how Reiner took advantage of the situation but he really couldn’t do anything about it.
Marcel on multiple occasions had to calm his younger brother down and Marcel was ready to just tell Porco to get over it already. Porco was already pissed off at the fact that the homecoming winners were announced on the day before homecoming at the biggest game of the year. He knew if the two of you won, he was not going to be a happy camper.
//
The night of the homecoming game came and you were nervous. Reiner had officially asked you out a few days before the game and you immediately said yes. Now it was down to the two of you winning the race to make the entire campaign worth it.
You got ready at Reiner’s house as his mom was more than glad to help you get dressed up. You had met his parents long before the two of you got together so it wasn’t necessarily weird when she offered to help you.
You had picked out a simple royal purple gown and matched Reiner’s necktie. Annie and Bertholdt followed the purple scheme and went with the lavender colors as Reiner had pressured the poor boy to ask Annie out.
Porco being that he was on the football team with Reiner, he was going to be forced to watch you be lovey dovey with Reiner all night. The game finished as Titan High demolished Stationary Academy.
“We’d like to have the homecoming court in the middle of the field, please.” The court consisted of three couples. You and Reiner, a boy named Connie and his girlfriend Sasha, and lastly, Eren and his best friend Mikasa. They were pretty widely known as Eren was also on the football team and Connie competed in a few sports outside of football.
“We’re going to be announcing the homecoming princess and prince first. With the votes not too far off from the queen and king, we’d like to announce Titan High’s prince and princess as Connie Springer and Sasha Brouse!” Principal Erwin said.
They high fived each other as they put the sashes on Connie and Sasha. You gave Mikasa an encouraging smile as she was deathly embarrassed at the fact that Eren made her do this. Reiner and Eren having the superiority complex gave each other looks as Erwin looked at the two of you.
“This is a hard one. Our couple showed determination their entire campaign. They worked harder than any couple I had seen. Titan High’s newest Homecoming queen and king are... Reiner Braun and ( your name )!” Erwin screamed.
You looked over to Reiner as he picked you up excitedly and thrashed you around before setting you back down. You kissed him as you heard the aw’s from Connie, Eren, Mikasa, and Sasha. Vice principal Hanji put the sashes on the two of you as Erwin placed the crowns on your heads.
Both your parents as well as Reiner’s came on the field to congratulate you. You were able to see from the corner of your eye that Porco was not happy. He looked like he was ready to jump Reiner right there.
“We’re still going to dinner after this right?” Of course Connie and Reiner were thinking of food. “Yes we are. We should head out soon, we don’t want it be closed by the time we get there.”
It was Titan tradition for everyone on the homecoming court to get dinner as a sign of respect. The three of you decided to rendezvous at the nearest restaurant as they all wanted to call their parents to tell them the results.
Both you and Reiner walked out of the football stadium. Reiner’s hand clasped to your hip as he pinned you against his car. His chest pressed against yours as he kissed your neck made you want him to take you right there. Before anything could escalate, you heard someone clear their throat.
“Porco?” You said as you gave him a confused look. “What do you want? Marcel nor Pieck are with us if that’s what who you’re looking for.”
“You just waited for us to break up to get with Reiner? I should have seen that coming.” Porco confessed. “Excuse me? I broke up with you for a great reason and Reiner was there for me when you were acting like a complete jack ass.”
Porco laughed as Reiner finally had enough. Reiner being a lot bigger and physically more built, shoved Porco on the floor with ease. He jumped on him and punched him directly on the nose.
“Reiner, stop!” You screamed as you tried to get him off of him. “Bertholdt! Eren!” Luckily Reiner got off of him before anyone came to the scene.
“Listen here you good for nothing asshole. I’ll tolerate you being an asshole towards me but when it comes to her, I will not hesitate to kick your ass.” Reiner threatened with his foot on his chest. “Come near us again and the next time you do it, I am confident that I will leave you paralyzed.”
You looked at Reiner with a terrified look. Not at him exactly but because you knew his physical strength and he did have the physical ability to actually do that to him.
Porco didn’t say a word. He sent you a silent plea but all you did was turn around and get into Reiner’s car.
“Try it, you demon spawn. I dare you.” Was Reiner’s last words before leaving the beat up Porco on the floor and getting into his car.
-ALITA
#im a porco stan#i promise#he's a douce tho and he low key would act that way#attack on titan#attack on titan imagine#attack on titan x reader#shingeki no kyojin#shingeki no kyojin imagine#shingeki no kyojin x reader#reiner braun#reiner braun imagine#reiner braun x reader#porco galliard#porco galliard x reader#porco galliard imagine
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Stan Lee University (Part 3)
Prompt: What would the Avengers be like in college, more importantly, what would they be like if Y/N existed around them?
Word Count: 1912
Warnings: drama, language, betrayal
Notes: This is based on a HC from @carryonmyswansong. They helped brainstorm and write part of this series. In this AU, no one will have powers, everyone is a normal human. Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The rest of the week went pretty smooth. You were trying to make sure all of your schedules and things lined up. On Friday you had physics lab so you were with Tony, Bruce, and Stephen again.
Just as lab got started, you got the invitation out of your backpack and handed it to Stephen.
“Hey, wanted to give you this before I forgot. No pressure or anything. If you don’t want to meet up, that’s cool. But we do have free pizza and drinks so, if you don’t come for anything else…” you joked, laughing slightly.
You weren’t sure why you were trying so hard to get this guy to like you, you just really needed him to.
“Stop trying to recruit people, Y/N. It’s like you’re a cult leader,” Tony remarked, shuddering slightly as he help set up the experiment.
“I’m not a cult leader because I want people to join a fun club, how is that a cult?”
“Do you offer food and drink?” Bruce asked.
“Yes, I just said that but--”
“Do you insist they meet up every chance they get?” Tony inquired.
“Well, once a month is mandatory, but we try to go to as many events as we can--”
“Do you stand there and tell people why you’re better than everyone else and how everyone else won’t make it in life if they don’t join you?”
You glared at them before turning back to your lab. You mumbled, “Fuck you two.”
This made Bruce and Tony slightly snicker as Stephen looked at the invite.
“I'll join your cult. I wasn’t involved much at my old school, but I’d like to be here,” he explained, with a warm grin at you.
You smiled over at him. “Well thank you for joining our cult--I mean, club.” You shot a playful smile at Tony and Bruce who merely shook their heads.
------------------------
Around 6:30 you got a text from Natasha to the huge group chat you all shared. She wanted to see if anyone would be up for getting together for coffee at the cafe on campus. After a pretty stressful and busy week, you jumped at the chance.
Nat would be there, of course, and Clint. She and Clint had started dating senior year of highschool and had a pretty strong bond, never broke up once and very rarely ever fought. Wanda and her brother Pietro chimed in and said they would come. Surprisingly, T’Challa agreed as well. Bucky and Steve said they were on their way over. Sam would come as soon as his class was out, and the rest said they just wanted to catch up on some sleep before studying tomorrow.
For a split second, you wondered if you should do the same, but then you realized that you worked really hard all week, every night, and that you needed a break or you would burn out.
You grabbed your bag and dashed out of your dorm, over a few buildings to the cafe. Nat and Clint were already there, cozy in a corner.
“Hey!” you greeted as you came over. You threw your bag down, got your wallet out, and went to order your favorite coffee with a water on the side. As soon as you paid, you ducked back over to the table while Bucky and Steve came inside the cafe, spotting the three of you. They waved and walked over. As soon as everyone got settled in with their drinks, conversation slowly started.
“So how is everyone’s first week?” Wanda wondered as she sipped some tea.
“Awful. You wouldn’t believe--” Pietro started but she cut him off.
“I’ve already heard all of your complaining all week,” she said evenly. “I want to hear someone else’s.”
Wanda and Piet lived off campus, nearby in an apartment together.
Pietro rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair.
“I heard Tony is throwing a party tomorrow night, is anyone going to that?” Steve asked before reaching for his cup.
“Ugh, no. He always gets the drunkest,” Wanda said.
“Isn’t that what makes it fun?” Sam retorted.
“Yeah watching Stark get drunk off his ass is the highlight of all of his gigs,” Bucky said with a smirk and a slight laugh.
“You mean like how you almost stole a cop car the last time you got drunk?” Clint asked.
“I wasn’t going to steal it. I wanted to sit in it because-- you know what, nevermind.”
“Y/N, T’Challa?” Steve asked, pointing to you two.
“I have a lot to do. Don’t really have time for anything like that,” T’Challa said simply. Which made sense, seeing as he was political science major and constantly working on campaigns. Sometimes for his father, other times for his father’s friend. His dad is a Congressman.
“Yeah, me either. I need to get the pre-scripts club shit together. Plus do all my homework from this week,” you explained.
“Oh god, again with the huge life plan!” Bucky exclaimed, teasing as he threw up his hands.
“It wouldn’t hurt you to have a plan, Bucky,” you shot back with a coy smile.
“The only plan I need is how to pass that stupid mechanics class…. Stark said he’d help me but I don’t know…”
“Why don’t you just let him help you?” Nat asked, peering at her friend with one eyebrow cocked.
“Because he’s gonna be a cocky ass about it, and I don’t want that. I can do it on my own.”
“He says as he struggles,” Sam teased.
Bucky waded up a napkin and threw it at him.
“Yeah my art history class seems needlessly tedious,” Wanda informed.
“Oh, who do you have?” Steve asked, seeing as they were both art minors.
“Peterson?”
“Oh, he’s not too bad. Just pay attention to dates and the artist names, that’s pretty much all you need.”
“Thanks,” she said, shooting him a smile.
“Sports?” Natasha asked, prompting all the athletes to talk about their extracurriculars.
“Archery is about to start next week, and I’m fucking stoked,” Clint informed. “I get to train them this year because coach says I’m better than him. I am so ready to make the fresh meat work for it.”
Everyone laughed a little.
“Just go easy on them,” you slightly begged.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh no, they’re in for it. I’m going to build them into the best damn archers in North America.”
“Football practice has been good so far,” Steve stated simply, diverting everyone’s attention. “Mostly got everyone back from last year. We have about three new faces.”
“Oh, speaking of football,” you suddenly said, piping in.
“Hmm?” Steve inquired.
“Thor, do you know him well?”
“Thor? Yeah, he’s pretty good. Honestly I think he should be quarterback, not me, but he’s a pretty good fullback, for now. Why?”
“I met his brother, the theater major? Loki… he’s…”
“Loki?” Clint asked, perplexed. “You mean that weird kid with the black hair and looks like he needs to get out in the sun?”
You laughed slightly. “That’s the one. But he’s really cool, so far. He isn’t anything like Thor, from what I can tell.”
“Sometimes siblings are like that. One is amazing and one is just so-so,” Pietro piped up as he put his elbow on his sister’s shoulder, making her laugh before pushing him off.
“Thor talks about Loki, a little. It’s usually pretty good. What class do you have with him?” Steve wondered.
“Lit. He seems to know his stuff,” you noted.
“Oh no, I know that look,” Nat said with a side smile.
“What look?” you asked, frowning.
“That look you get when intelligence gets you hot.”
“What… what are you talking about?” you stuttered a little as you blushed.
Sam rolled his eyes as he chimed in, “Oh come on, Y/N. We all know you’re a sucker for a big... brain.”
“Really? Then why did she ever date Bucky?” T’Challa asked before a smirk crept onto his face.
His comment made everyone laugh except Bucky who simply said, “Hey!”
“I don’t like him like… that,” you said, realizing you were failing miserable and blushing so much you thought you’d melt the ice in the drinks on the table. “Well… not really…”
“Oooh… So it’s true. I didn’t peg you for a lit major sort of person,” Pietro commented, appraising you.
“I’m not,” you argued a little too fast.
“If we are talking about people we found interesting,” Wanda said, taking the attention off you, “I really like this guy in my history class. His name is Josh and he’s really sweet.”
“There’s a girl named Molly in one of my classes,” Sam added.
“Oh, yeah, I saw her, she’s a real doll,” Steve added, giving his approval.
“I plan on getting her number next week,” Sam informed, a proud smile on his face.
“Well good luck to you two,” you said raising your cup.
“Oh, come on, Y/N. If it’s not this Loki, then who is it?” Natasha pressed.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re being pretty evasive about feelings and crushes tonight. Makes someone wonder if maybe you do have a crush, but we just guessed the wrong guy.”
“I have seen you walk out of your physics class talking to someone, who is that guy?” Bucky inquired.
Your eyes flashed to him, a scolding in your gaze. He was fishing for information that he had no right to.
“He’s… his name is Stephen. He’s a pre-med student. He’s going to come to the club, that’s all I know,” you said innocently.
A small round of “ahs” went around the table.
“That’s it, that’s the guy,” Sam said definitively, earning a nod from just about everyone else.
“What the hell does that mean?” you asked, your voice defensive.
“Face it, Y/N,” Bucky interjected. “You like a certain type.”
“The successful type,” T’Challa said with a nod.
“Yeah, when you aren’t dating Bucky, you date pre-law, pre-pharm, or science majors. You just gravitate towards those type. And with him being pre-med, and you being pre-med…” Steve answered, the idea trailing off.
“You all really think I’m that shallow?” you asked, a bit of teasing shock in your tone.
A resounding “Yes” came in unison your way. With a huff you shook your head, rolled your eyes, and crossed your arms over your chest.
“Okay, so I have a type, does that make me a bad person?”
“No one said it made you a bad person,” Sam lightly corrected. “We just know you… and your type happen to be the success type.”
“And that’s a bad thing? Should I aim for a guy that his goals peak at landing a retail gig?”
“No… we’re just saying when it comes to guys, you don’t follow your heart,” Natasha softly said.
“Yeah, she follows their wallet,” Pietro noted with a snicker before Wanda smacked his arm, hard.
“All we’re saying is that you have a certain plan, and life, set in your mind and that’s what you go after,” Wanda stated gently.
After a moment, you nodded and talk began circling around shitty professors, as well as really good ones. People offered tips where they could for professor’s they’d already taken. The rest of the night was relatively smooth, but you couldn’t get over what your friends had said. Were they right? Did you really gravitate only towards the “serious” professionals? If so, why were you that shallow?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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#stan lee university#loki x reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#stephen strange x reader#steve rogers#t'challa#clint barton#wanda maximoff#pietro maximoff#natasha romanoff#sam wilson
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