#n a lot of people on here cross the line into weirdly bitter about it in a way that’s so confusing to me

[theywontletmebeprincipal]

how do people who hate every single popular thing just because it’s popular live like that. like genuinely. it must be so miserable n exhausting

[djarins-cyare]

WIP Wednesday!

✨Featuring: a taste of smut and a poll✨

Tagged by @beskarandblasters today (thanks Kel!) and @burntheedges literally like 4 weeks ago but I’ve been working 80-hour weeks and am really behind with interactions (so thanks Kate and sorry this is late!) 💙

They’re slightly different templates, so I’ll use the one with more detail and a poll because that’s always fun…

STEP ONE: post snippets of the fics you’re working on (can be a summary if there’s no snippet) STEP TWO: put them in a poll and let people vote on which one you should work on

There’s some NSFW content, so under the cut if you please…

As usual, I’ve given you far more than is strictly necessary, but you can’t shut me up, so here you go…

1. From To See A Thousand Things (guns n’ angst – the winner of my last WIP poll):

“What was that word you just said? Did you call me something rude?” “Kaan’goran. It means ‘weaponsmith’ in Mando’a. I don’t know your name and that’s what you are.” Oh. He says it matter-of-factly, but you’re strangely disappointed somehow. Maybe it’s time you introduced yourself to the man you’ve been anonymously fucking for over a year. This is a night of firsts, after all. “Well, you can call me—” “Don’t,” he insists, surprising you. Your face instantly falls, wondering why the hell that’s the arbitrary line he’s drawing in the sand tonight. But he sees your dejection and sighs, offering an explanation. “In my culture, names aren’t used flippantly. They’re titles, and they’re used as such: a full name to denote one’s clan when necessary, but otherwise rarely spoken. Those individuals who have a job of high standing are referred to by their professional titles – jobs that provide for the whole tribe rather than just their individual clan. To a Mandalorian, a weaponsmith is a noble profession. You forge the implements we defend ourselves with.” Okay, that’s… weirdly sweet. Oh… no. Oh hell no. Fuck off warm fuzzy feeling that’s rising in your belly. This will not do! You furrow your brow, confused and slightly annoyed about… well, basically everything, from his intentions to your emotions. Time to clarify. “You’re... complimenting me?” “I’m… respecting you,” he counters carefully. You can’t help the small snort of amusement that makes its way unbidden through your nose at that. This is definitely a night of firsts.

2. From an unnamed lengthy oneshot (starts a little angsty but builds to fluff and a helmet reveal):

“Din?” you try. His helmet jerks slightly at his name, but he doesn’t look. You deserve more, so you demand more. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.” He shifts uncomfortably and shakes his helmet a little. Was that a response? A refusal to talk? Try being more direct. “Hey. That’s not fair. You don’t get to touch me like that and then pull away without saying why.” “That’s the problem,” he responds, voice like steel. “I know it’s not fair. I shouldn’t have touched you like that.” There’s something bitter in his tone, and it poisons the air between you. But you still don’t understand, and the ache in your chest festers higher. “I wasn’t complaining,” you try. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you to do that?” For some reason, your hesitancy about crossing this line with him has vanished. You think he erased it when he groped your ass just now. “Yes, I know,” he snaps loudly, suddenly sounding angrier than you’ve ever heard him. “Do you know why it can’t happen?” You shake your head, too surprised at his sudden fierceness to respond verbally. Actually, you have some idea (a lot of ideas), but you’d rather hear his explanation. But you don’t get an explanation. You get a dismissal. “Then you don’t know me very well at all.” And with those acidic, modulated words, he turns his back on you and marches into the canyon.

3. From Final Sanctuary (interestingly, this was the second-lowest rated in my last WIP poll, so I’m giving you a whole little smutty section to see if that’s still the case):

He takes several bites before he remembers she wants his opinion, and he swallows and resets the helmet, glancing up at her. She’s watching him, chewing slowly with what he can only describe as a smug smile on her lips. “Good, huh?” she prompts, punctuating her question with another bite. He’s about to respond when her bite causes a bit of the white dip to ooze out of the bread and smear across the corner of her mouth. Dank farrik, his brain instantly leaps into motion and flashes a full and detailed sexual fantasy before his eyes in a matter of milliseconds. …his hard cock between her warm lips, pressing deeper into her mouth as she moans and sucks his length… She clearly feels the rogue smear of dip, but with both hands clutching the bread, she utilises her tongue to recapture it, a wanton pink delight darting out of the corner of her mouth and Din swells in his pants. …she licks and flutters around his cockhead, massaging the sensitive spot underneath and undulating it along the bottom as she sinks lower again… But the viscous white liquid has dripped farther than her tongue can reach, leaving a smear a little way down from the corner of her mouth, and he intently focuses on it. …the perfect confluence of pressure and suction brings him right to the edge of ecstasy, and he orgasms hard, filling her mouth with so much cum that it leaks and spills down her chin… Before he’s even aware he’s doing it, Din is reaching for her. He sees his hand extend across the crate between them, but he can’t stop it. She’s hunched low to reach the food, and the crate is small, so he doesn’t have to learn far, and although her eyes widen in surprise, she doesn’t flinch or pull away. His thumb only hesitates for a second before wiping up the dip, but it hovers there for longer afterwards, coated in white and unsure how to proceed. …she swallows his cum, and he wipes up what spilled out, pressing his thumb into her mouth so she doesn’t miss a drop, and her tongue eagerly licks it up… Just as he makes the rational decision to withdraw his hand, she turns her head, aligning her lips with his thumb, and a rush shoots through him… but he’s already in motion, retreating back to his side of the crate. It’s too late. Would she have done it? Licked his thumb? Dank farrik, he’s so hard over the possibility. Thankfully, he’s pretty sure that between his loose pants and the cross-legged position he’s in, nothing’s on display, plus he’s sitting close to the crate anyhow. Neither of them has spoken yet, although he’s not sure if his voice works right now. Still, he has to answer her question about the meal, so he rasps out the only word that comes to mind. “Delicious.”

I have several others, but these are the fullest, although they’re incomplete and unedited.

Feel free to send me an ask or leave a comment if you want to discuss these any further!

A few NP tags: @ceapa-mica @penvisions @papurgaatika @for-a-longlongtime @draculasfavoritewife @whxtedreams @alltheotps

I'll just get comfy and wait for the poll results...

[maggotmouth]

         hello, its nora again ( she/her, gmt ) n this is the ethereal but spoiled alma olive putnam (she goes by all 3 names cos she’s pretentious as fuck).  ive never used anya taylor joy as her fc before but anya has a smile that looks like she knows something u dont and thats completely alma’s vibe so we’re gonna try it out. she was raised in a farmhouse in vermont, big horse girl energy. very hungry for everything life has to offer. wakes up and smells the success in her blood. luvs the smell of libraries and listening to french music from a tinny record player in knee socks. here is pinterest. bio is below the cut, like this post to be bombarded with plotting messages but i might forget or get shy tho so pls message me x

application template.

ANYA TAYLOR - JOY   ,   CIS-FEMALE   ,   SHE/HER         →         according   to   the   school   records   ,   ALMA OLIVE PUTNAM   has   been   attending   sacred   heart   for   the   past   three   years   .   i   last   saw   them   hanging   around  the  sacred   heart   cathedral   ;   i   think   they   were   studying   the   stations   of   the   cross   with   a   smile   like   a   well - kept   secret.   at   twenty   -   one   years   old   ,   alma   has   been   studying   classics   and   get   this   ,   i   heard   that   she   has   made   a   fortune   on   the   black   market   by   forging   renaissance   art   to   sell   to   collectors   —   figure   it’s   true   ?   everyone   around   here   always   associates   them   with    neck   scarves   tied   around   your   throat   the   way   they   do   in   french   new   wave   films , running   barefoot   through   the   woods   drunk   on  red  wine   and  untapped   power , a  smile  like  a   locked   door   that   speaks   only  in   riddles  .   in   the   time   since   these   strange   happenings   ,   they   have   have   encountered   any   unexplained   occurrences   .         (   written   by   nora   ,   24   ,   she/her   ,   gmt   )

aesthetics.

a red beret nestled on top of bright platimum locks, neck scarves tied around your throat the way they do it in french new wave films, running barefoot through the woods in feckless hedonism, china dolls with porcelain faces lined against the walls of your room, the mona lisa smile, knee-socks tugged over the hockey grazes on your knees, a forged botticelli drying on your easel, ophelia floating in the middle of a lake.

proceed w caution, tw for death, drugs, alcohol, violence

the short form. (still long af tbh)

— studying classics cos she thinks it makes her sound smart, but actually hates fuckin latin and just loves learning about feckless hedonism and the festivals of bacchus and writing about how all women in myth are literally forgotten. was expelled from princeton in her first year so her parents basically paid her way into sacred heart and the board really liked her in her interview. i think the governors kind of expect to see her in the supreme court one day or st

—  born in vermont in a big old farmhouse. her great-great-grandfather moved to america as an immigrant and worked on a plantation, made his way up cos he could speak a lot of languages and therefore win more people over. for the last two generations, putnam men have owned the farm and do little of the dirty work. big in the meat industry.

— both her parents had large personalities, so alma’s never really been shy around adults, even as a kid she’d speak to them in a forthright, confident manner, and because she was always surrounded by adults, she’s always seemed a bit wise beyond her years.

— very much a consolidation of every character in the secret history. has a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs. obsessed with w.h. auden and the beat poets. — ”aestheticism is the only thing worth pursuing and even that is pointless” — is majoring in classical civilisation. can read ancient greek and latin. also speaks french.

— studies hard and plays hard. she gets top marks but it’s because academia is literally her life, she loves the smell of libraries, the ancient smoke of learning, of feeling like old wine in a new bottle reincarnated from the bones of some old, dead witchy woman who invented a cure for cowpox or somethin.

— isn’t a foward-planner, however. alma prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manner so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenaline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night.

— pretentious motherfucker. loves poetry, especially the romantics, loves morbid ones too, edgar allen poe, sylvia plath, allen ginsberg, she just loves them all. can’t get enough. her favourite films are like…. wanky artfilm independent european cinema. especially french new wave. “what do you think of goddard’s work??” while snorting a line off someone’s sink at 5am on a school night, but you can bet she’ll make it to that 9am class. — very intelligent and beautiful and knows both of those facts. plays devil’s advocate. humanitarian, vegan. — judgemental but takes great care not to appear so. petty and vindictive

— obsessively devours mystery and thriller novels. she herself is a gillian flynn book waiting to happen. — tries to be an enigma. wants to be mysterious and unreadable because that’s what books have taught her makes women desirable and interesting and cool. very amy dunne in the way she expertly reinvents herself to suit her audience, when she wants to impress

—  an incredibly talented dancer. she was accepted to juliard to study ballet, but after an injury to her foot she had to refuse her place, something that she’s incredibly bitter about. she went to princeton instead to study classics for a semester, before being expelled. 

— alma comes from a family of high-end art dealers. while her parents paid her way into the school, that was mostly due to previous expulsions, not low intelligence. she’s incredibly intelligent but will only put in effort when she deems the cause worthy. she’s frustrating to teach, because she requires evidence, truth, in order to accept something as worthwhile. she plays devil’s advocate, but academically she’s brilliant. 

—  she can recognise any renaissance artist just by their brush strokes. her aunt and uncle deal antiques and art, and from an internship with them after her expulsion from princeton, she learned how to market and sell art, how to recognise originals in contrast to fakes. from this, alma began to produce counterfeit art and sell it off as the original work to the contacts she had made in her internship. it’s disloyal, but it’s powerful.

— act like the flower but be the serpent under it. is a user. manipulative. leads people on. will throw another student under the bus to demonstrate her own intelligence and integrity — heavily involved in the theatre society. loves attention. — has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive, runs track, played lacrosse at school, now is a cheerleader probably. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning.

— her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee-high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk. — relates to ophelia from hamlet and sibyl vane in dorian gray. weirdly obsessed with women who commit suicide. loves jackson pollock paintings and abstract art. – likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramophone because “the sound quality is better” kfdsjj.

plots.

here are some generic wanted plots but by all means message me so we can flesh them out more if any strike ur interest:

study buddies !! someone who is equally unprepared and so spends all night in the library with alma before a big deadline, maybe they even met in the library

if they’re from new england or vermont, then cousins . second cousins / extended family / family friends –  probably spat volavons on your character once as children, omg childhood friends !

honestly someone who is fully in love with her or crushing on her that she can just break would be sweet :/ or on the other hand someone she unexpectedly gets feelings for and actually wants to guage her own  eyeballs out bc of it

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sporting or academic rivalries !

hockey / cheer friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

fellow academics who like meeting up to discuss latin and greek ! gimme a secret society bonding by their love of ancient learning

i reckon she’s in a lot of societies, definitely the film club, maybe works as a projectionist at the uni cinema if they have one so give me ppl affiliated with that, give me fellow wanky pretentious art-lovers and poets and historians who will go to museums and galleries with her and listen to the velvet underground on vinyl

people she gets mortally fucked off her tits with at parties

people who think she is throwing her academic potential away by caving to hedonistic impulse

a secret society !!! honestly i would die for a slug club esque thing in which the children of notable families are invited to dinners or alma’s also an art forger, so maybe like a club of students set up to basically forge paintings and documents from the university special collections

people she has drunkenly made out with, hooked up with, or regularly sleeps with casually, maybe even a friend w benefits she is repressing feelings for, i love angst,

people she used to date or unrequitedly likes, but to them it’s just a physical thing, give me all the thirsty angst plots, and maybe some softness too, i need some religion in this girls life, she is a roman catholic after all

full biography.

alma olive putnam.

intro.

        the girl is a knife. razor-sharp, double-edged, the bright shine of a two-faced, lovely thing. silver like the secrets you magpie thief from other heads. you’re a scavenger of knowledge, of tidbits, of gossip to lock away for later use and late-night re-inspection. a mind is like a clock if you get to learn the pieces. bit by bit, you dismantle the inner workings of the brains that tick around you – how easy it is to change it’s path, how words and their meanings can make a person laugh or cry in an instant. to have the power to control that is to be a god. it’s the power trip you crave wielding pom-poms in your hands; a possessive need for control that a younger you, small and weak, never had as a child. small lips, smaller smile, a doll clutched in your too-hungry fingers, hard enough to shatter the bones of a real infant. you cut your hair with your mother’s kitchen scissors before the autumn falls, rendering you out of season, unfit for the cold weather that beats against the nape of your neck, where a stick-and-poke marks the star you were born under ; the bull. “mama, when will i be a queen?” as soon as they find a crown small enough not to slip from your head.

biography.

        if you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. hands red, stained by pomegranate seeds, the empty pulp of its shell splattered on your thighs you find yourself wondering – what would it be like to want? in the beginning, you never knew hunger. twins, born under the same star, you first, him second – a nuclear family. never a sister to compete with, you were always the cherry pie of your parents’ hearts. white-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful baby of mine. the townhouse in vermont and the summer house in lyon, you wanted for nought, showered with attention, saddled with gifts - hardly a wonder you came to rely on such affection as a confirmation of your own worth.

        at eight years old you first met death, blood on a gingham-print dress, a smear of it over your cheekbone and the pulp of a mangled animal at your feet murdered by the hands of a stable boy. “alma, my precious baby, you get away from that filth,” your mama would cry from the upstairs balcony – cigar in one hand and a bloody mary in the other – though whether the filth she referred to was the dead pig or the boy with a kernel of corn in his mouth, you never did find out.

        your family earned their keeps in farming, great-grandfather wolfgang hildegarde a german immigrant, great-grandmother maura lisbon a prairie girl. they fell hopelessly in love between troughs and pig-shit, working for three dollars a day at a farm their descendants would later own, trade deals with the indians, vacations to calcutta, your father todd putnam in the kind of sheepskin coat his father’s father could only dream of owning. he worked hard so that you’d never have to. your mama once asked – you heard it through the window, rounding cartwheels across the picket-fenced lawn – could he not find a respectable career rather than selling shrink-wrapped pork for a dime a dozen? that blood money had no business raising a child. you look far back enough, edie, your father had said in his low, strong voice that could bring a civil war to silence, and i think you’ll find that all money is blood money.

        language was never fickle on your tongue, french dinner time talk by the time you were out of your hush puppy shoes, your mama fixing the au pair a smile as she fixed herself another martini. you learned the clarinet at four and how to dance with the grace of a swansong at six, ethereal under a spotlight, an audience captive in the palm of your hand. by eight you knew that you’d always been destined to be loved. loved so hard they would want to taste you, bite into the soft plump of your cheek and eat you alive. that was how magnetic you wanted to feel. but mother hamsters eat their own young when penned in together too long, and soon you became too wild, too restless, another package on your father’s delivery invoice, box-shipped out to english boarding school.

        fitting in had never been something you had to concern yourself with. you were always the shiny new toy the other girls wanted to play with, bright like a dropped coin from a magpie’s beak. wherever you went, you seemed to leave a trail of awe, pig-tailed harriet’s adoring you, imitating you, teachers forgiving your class-time chatter for the sake of your wild heart and the restless spirit you possessed. tell us what it’s like in the states, alma. they’d coo, enamoured by your hollywood drawl. does your father own a gun? you hardly knew. barely even knew the colour of his hair, for the scarce amount of times he’d stoop to kiss your cheek, though you’d tell silver-tongued tales if it’d guaranteed you an audience. when you learned how to smile at the right times, and that flattery would get you everywhere, it soon became apparent that charm would pave the yellow brick road to success even when your lack of drive couldn’t.

        the road you followed – gum-snapping, roller-blading, friendship bands all up your arm – eventually led you to sacred heart. bright-eyed and gingham skirted, you’d always known you were more. there was a hunger in you to be something extraordinary, a want so adamant to be imagined and desired that it was almost savage. in leather-bound volumes and a circle of stones, you were helen of troy, the girl for whom they’d launch a thousand ships. but there’s so much rage within you, collecting like sawdust in cavernous parts. hockey helped. there was something grounding about the feeling of a stick clasped in your hands. sweat. stiff knuckles. feet pounding the earth. the smash of wood against flesh in the scram of a game, passed off as mere enthusiasm. “slipped, sorry.” hockey is the one thing you had that was yours alone – a feral instinct that motivates you to play; something primitive within you that sparks an energy like no other. on the pitch, you feel alive. you feel like a god.

[justowrite]

Chances and Opportunities(1)

length: 3000 words

summary: 

Baz and Simon could run away, leap across the ocean and still find a way to share a room(even if they don’t do it on purpose). Because how lucky had they been until now? Had leave everything behind but each other(and Penny).

From the outside though, they caught Cath attention because they just...remind her to someone.

triggers/warning: only swearing, for now,

a/n: me? posting after months of creative death by college? more likely than you think.

that summary though...idk i am not sure i love it. but that’s all I got for now.  i’ve had the idea of this crossover for so long...and it’s been a while so i thought it was a good opportunity. anyway, i hope this is fine, and you enjoy the story! Slow start but it’s just the start.

A03

2d part-->

***

“Cath, sweetheart you can’t stalk people.” Cath turned to Levi, he was laughing softly with a shine over his eyes, sitting next to her under the tree.

She wondered if she had the same shine in her eyes if she looked at him the same way he did at her. It took her at least two months to recognize that. She thought that in Levi’s sight everyone was special, in the way he smiled and the way he talked to everyone. It was weird, now she could see that maybe not. Maybe because Wren kept telling her over and over again during the 6 months they’ve been dating.

“Who are they?” Levi finally asked, reaching for Cath’s shoulder.

“I don’t know.” He stared at her confused. “I mean, they are freshman. Reagan and I have seen them in the dining hall.”

“So?” He run his hands through his hair and lay back on to the tree(Levy always look like he was laying on something, even if he wasn’t). “You do that a lot.”

“It just that they called my attention,” Cath didn’t really know what she was trying to describe or say. “It’s not important.” She turned her attention to the smiling boy. “How is your day going?”

And that���s all it took for Levi to smile even bigger, she didn’t quite understand yet how that was possible, it was always a surprise when it did. He started talking about something new and exciting he saw in class. So Cath listened, like she always did because from his mouth it did seem exciting.

***

Simon took a deep breath. He had to have the worse luck in the fucking world. He literally flew over the ocean and he had to deal with this shit again. What had he done in his past life to deserve this?

This had to be the epidemy of his bad luck after been left in an orphanage -or maybe that was the start and his whole life was just an extension of that.

Baz turned around, but Simon followed him inside the building.

He thought about living with Penny, and that would’ve been fine. She hadn’t moved in with Micah right away, she wanted to give herself time. Maybe they could’ve have looked for a place between both of their colleges, adapt to use public transportation. Maybe not ideal but fine, he would’ve been with Penny.

Baz…he was less than fine.

“Would you be so kind as to leave me alone, Snow?” Baz snickered, “It’s already enough punishment to have to sleep in the same room with you…again…” He sounded as tired as Simon felt.

They weren’t walking next to each other -because that would break an imaginary rule. Simon was walking behind him, just far enough to not cross that imaginary line in their head, but close enough to hear each other.  “I would if only I didn’t have to go the same place as you.”

“Again.” They announced in perfect unison. They stared each other almost deadly.

Thank goodness they didn’t have classes together. Baz was studying Economy and Simon was only taking general curses, even if Baz had to take them as well he was sure as hell that even for the universes that would’ve been excessive.

***

His first class was English.

Professor Piper was welcoming and funny. “This semester is going to be a learning experience for all us,” She clapped loudly and smiled excited, “You see kids, this is my first year giving this course.” She walked around the room, making eye contact even with the students in the back. Simon wasn’t an exception, he was in the middle. “I’m excited to see all the potential in this class. And maybe just maybe,” She stop walking and smile almost maliciously, “I might see some of you if that’s the path you wish to take, the next semester in my other class.”

But Simon was no longer listening. He was looking at the window by then. Wondering and pondering on the differences between Watford, of London and here. There were trees where there wasn’t before, paths where there weren’t before, people that weren’t before.

Full places, things and people he didn’t know.

Boom.

A hand landed loudly on his table. Making Simon jump in surprise

He looked up to find curious eyes, Simon jumped. “What’s your name sweetie?”

“Simon.” He gulped nervously even when she didn’t sound angry.

“Simon.” She smiled, and stated his name loud and clear, like she was memorizing it, “I am particularly excited to see what worlds you create.”

Her smile was weirdly intimidating like you don’t want let her down. “Why?”

“If you can entertain yourself with what’s on your head, it must be an interesting place.” And with that, she started talking to the class again.

This time Simon tried to focus on her.

***

Simon threw himself onto the bed. It had been only a week, it didn’t quite feel right to call his just yet.

“Why don’t you ask for a change?” He looked at the bed on the other side of the room.

“I don’t know how Penny,” He thought that maybe she would know.

He sighed, and looked around, away from the computer resting on the edge of his bed.  Baz had already put things into their place; Simon had done it a day before Baz came. Their room back at Watford was similar, smaller in size but it’s not like Simon a lot in the first place and Baz was organized enough to fit everything in place. It almost felt like their room back home. Almost.

He returned his attention to Penny. He looked at her sigh, he couldn’t read her expression in the bad quality of the phone but he assumed it was tired. Everyone was tired. “Maybe in administration? Maybe there you can do something about this.”

He didn’t. He thought maybe Baz would do it. He knew Baz hated the situation as much as he did. But Baz didn’t either.

So nothing changed. They worked around the other schedule to be in the room. Fight because Baz would complain about the window and Simon would complain about the damn light at night. Baz would mock him. Simon’s face would feel hot and his face was red, his fist and teeth would clench. Baz would smirk, looking taller and better.

Maybe it didn’t matter that they were across the ocean. Because at the end of the day, he would return to his room and Baz would be there with a sharp tong and smart eyes.

***

BAZ

Baz had taken all the classes you are supposed to take on the first semester (even though most upper years recommended freshmen against that), his schedule was almost full. If he wasn’t in classes he would be studying in the library or the room if Snow had classes. Baz was taking general curses to courses related to his major, which meant lot’s of reading, lots of numbers.

This particular Thursday, he was on his way back from planning a project for his Statistics class. He had gone to Lincoln to do so since his partner lived there and she insisted on it. Baz suspected she didn’t know for which team he played. He was tired and annoyed when he laid eyes on the Starbucks on the way. He was already inside by the time it was a complete thought.

He didn’t usually like this type of places, used to the tea on the dining hall back at Watford but he wasn’t at Watford. He wasn’t in London anymore. He deserved this.

He was still deciding on what to drink when he reached the cashier. “Good afternoon, what can I do for you?” He turned to the guy talking to him. He was smiling too brightly for his bitter-tired-self. “First week?” Baz just nod in slight confusion, “Do you like sweet things?” Baz nodded again, and he finally tried to open his mouth to order but the guy talked first, “Perfect then, I know what to give you.” He declared, smiling even wider. He took out a cup and a sharpie, “Your name?”

“Baz,” Baz didn’t know what was happening; maybe another day in which he wasn’t on the border of fatigue he would have said something but today wasn’t that day. The guy turned around and started preparing his drink. “You aren’t from here right?”

“No, England actually.” The guy looked over his shoulder for a second.

“Yeah…could’ve guessed that one…” What does that mean? “Do you like here?”

Baz thought for a second, “Yeah, it’s a lot freer.” The guy finally turned around with a finished drink in his hand.

“College does that,” He said with a sincerity in his tone, “2 dollars, 50”

“Yeah, I guess it does.” Baz half smiled as he paid.

“Enjoy it!” The guy gave him his drink, but Baz wasn’t sure if he was talking about the drink or the advice.

“Thanks.” He simply said.

***

There was a boy in his room.

The wrong boy.

“Who are you?” He looked down at the boy sitting on his desk.

The boy turned up, he had big honey brown eyes, long black eyelashes batting in confusion. “You must be Simon’s roommate.” The boy said after a second.

“Yes.” Baz hadn’t moved from the door, “Who are you?”

“I’m in Simon’s Calculus class.” The boy stood and smiled at Baz, white bright smile against his dark skin(everyone is too happy when you are not). Baz hadn’t thought that Snow would bring his partners to their room.

For fuck’s sake, he had gone to Lincoln to not work in their room.

“Derek, nice to meet you!” Baz just stared at Derek extended hand, Derek followed and realized his mistake. “Oh, yeah…your hands are…yeah…” He noticed the slight color in Derek’s cheeks, but he recovered quickly. “Simon is going be back soon, he just took a pause from explaining to go the bathroom.”

And he left a complete stranger in their room? “Fine.”

Baz was planning to take a nap before, but he wasn’t feeling that tired and now that he remembered he had some reading to do for his History class. Baz walked to his desk(where Derek was so comfortably sitting before), and left the book he had in his hand, took his laptop and the history book.

“Simon told me you are a freshman too, you are in Economics?” Baz didn’t answer, he took a sip of whatever sugary concoction the guy at Starbucks gave him, “I have a friend there too, what a coincidence don’t you think?”

“Fascinating.” With everything at hand, Baz flew out of the room. When he was closing the room again, he stumbled into someone, almost spilling his coffee. “Careful Snow.” He spat, already knowing who it was.

“You were the one that walked into me.” Snow frowned at him.

“I was coming out from our room.” Baz frowned back, “Which by the way you left with a complete stranger inside.”

“I do know him.”

“Oh really?” Baz push his chest out, “What’s his last name?” He dared. Simon opened his mouth to talk but nothing came out. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

***

SIMON.

“Everything okay?” Derek asked as soon as Simon came through the door. Simon didn’t mention the fact that Derek now sat on his desk, not Baz’s

“Yeah, my roommate is just a prick.” Simon declared, walking to the chair next to him in Baz’s desk. He could deal later with consequences, now he was just imagining how angry it would make Baz.

Derek rested his elbow on the desk, and his chin over his palm, “Don’t you have been roommates for like 6 years or something crazy like that?”

“Yeah…” Simon sat abruptly on the chair, Derek's eyes on him, and sighed. “This is the seventh year of him being a prick.” That made Derek laughed, so Simon laughed too. Because it was just that kind of laugh.

“Wow…”

“I know.” He said as the laughter died.

 ***

CATH

“Do you want to be my teaching assistant?” Professor Piper smiled wide and excited.

Cath didn’t expect it.  She opend her mouth to answer, nothing but ahhs and mmms came out.

Professor Piper softened her smile, something that Cath could manage better, but only barely. “I don’t expect you to say yes right away Cath.”

“Okay,” she answered out of habit(the habit of not being to say no to middle age women)

“But I do want you to think about it during the semester.” She lay back on the chair, “I know you struggled last time with my class but you decided to enroll on my advance curse so you must want to write.”

Cath awkwardly smiled. Cath wasn’t completely sure why she did it.  Maybe it was like birth for moms. Her brain released some hormone so she forgot how awful it was the first time. Was that fact even true? Oxytocin? Ceroticin? Serotonin? How was it called?

“I am telling you, you know, because you need an excellent grade in my class to have that opportunity.” She knew that. Nick had told her about it so many months ago(freshman months are different, Levi would remind her). “It’s a great opportunity.”

“I know.”

“I want you to succeed Cath,” She wished Professor Piper encouragement voice didn’t make her feel as if Cath couldn’t let her down.

“I know.”

***

SIMON

Professor Piper run into the room, leaving her stuff on the desk quickly, “I’m sorry guys, I got entertain talking to a student.” She smiled apologetically. “Well let’s not lose any more of your precious time.” She declared walking up to the front of the class, “I hope all of you are not nervous about last time report.” Only a couple of people didn’t hum in agreement. Simon wasn’t one of them. It had been a simple report about a short story, it was interesting enough Simon didn’t have that much trouble reading it.

It was curious. Simon always had a hard time getting things done during high school. It was so weird. He had spent all summer preparing to avoid exactly that. He had seen all the organization videos, all the ADHD tips videos, and articles and adjusted his doses of meds with his doctor before leaving (they agreed on talking by Skype every month for a checkup). It was overwhelming but it seemed to be paying off. Maybe it was because only a week and a half had passed but it seemed to be working all together or maybe because there wasn’t another option. Penny wasn’t there to help him anymore.  

Whichever was the case he was kind of proud of the report, and it sure helpped than when Professor Piper gave him the paper she was smiling hopeful. Finally, he turned to his paper and there it was a red big A+ and a happy face.

Simon had never gotten a happy face before.

Neither, a teacher congratulating him at the end of class.

***

“That’s great Simon!” He felt like a kid telling his mom that he got a good grade a class…which he kind of was doing.

He scratched the back of his neck, looking down the wood of the desk, instead of Penny’s face, “Thanks Pen.”

“And how are the rest of your classes going?” She asked with a soft smile.

“Good, I think…” Simon looked away from the computer for a moment before coming back to Penny’s eyes. “I mean better than before.”

“Not that it’s a hard standard to surpass” Baz interrupted as he closed the door behind him.

“Thank you for that incredible contribution Baz,” Simon stated, rolling his eyes.

“Your welcome” He makes a slight bow, and stops for a moment as he walks behind Simon, “Bunce.” He waves to the computer, almost robotically. No real input or effort. Before finishing his trip to his bed, and throw himself face forwards to it.

“Basilton.” Penny waves back in the same manner, “Talk to you later then?”

Simons nods at her and gives her a fond smile, “Say hi to Micah for me”

“Yeah, same,” Baz says loudly from his bed, muffled by the fact that his face it’s still on the pillow.

“Love you Simon.” She says in between a laugh.

“Love you too Penn.” Simon smiled softly at her.

“I love you too guys,” Baz said sarcastically before Simon manages to end the call.

Simon turned to chair to him, and leans forward. Baz looked tired. “You seem in need of love”

BAZ

“And you are going to give it to me Snow?” Baz never even dreamed Snow would ever say that to him(yeah it dripped sarcasm but it did come out of his mouth either way), neither that he would’ve reacted the way he did.

“You wished.” Baz finally lifted his head from the pillow and turned to see Simon walking to his closet. He could see the slight pink rising on Simon’s cheek.

Baz’s heart skipped a beat, and his lungs held into the air without letting it go, “I don’t know Snow, that sounded like a proposal to me,” He was trying to keep up the tone, control the situation. Or at the very least himself.

Simon was walking out the door already, he stopped. He looked over his shoulder and gave a smug smile before talking. “I think you’ve been alone too long Baz.” And maybe he was too tired, delusional even because Simon Snow just winked at him.

[calmcal]

finding normal

normal series { 001 out of ??? }

masterlist

Summary: being sucked into the world of strange creatures and the upside down leaves y/n in search for a little normalcy in her strange life. weirdly enough it comes in the form of the resident bad guy billy hargrove.

Paring: billy hargrove X insert reader { female }

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: swearing, underage drinking that’s it i think

Author Note: another series from ya girl, uh, never updates. but okay, billy hargrove is an asshole, no doubt, he is so problematic but you just can’t help loving his beautiful face. I will portray billy as an asshole, but i’m gonna try and give him some character development considering he didn’t get much in season 2.

you would never forget the first time you had ever met billy hargrove.

“tell me why we decided this would be a good idea?” you asked in an irritated voice as you tried to pull the hem of your deep maroon velvet dress to cover more of your slightly exposed thighs.

your best friend rolled her eyes as she spared a look at you, her eyes averting to the road again. “it’s a party y/n so leave your stick at home and have fun” she said with a roll of her eyes.

you scoffed with a roll of your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. it wasn’t like you didn’t like going to the occasional party, it was the only eventful things that seemed to happen in the boring town of Hawkins, that was until the disappearance of will byers and the appearance of a strange girl with a shaved head who uncovered the upside down.

you wanted to share these facts with the girl in the drives seat, but you were sworn to secrecy to nancy wheeler and her brother mike, but it wasn’t like she would believe you, who would?

instead you ignored her jab and let your eyes wander to the passing houses, trying to see some normalcy to them, but the more you looked the stranger you felt.

“how much longer?” you asked in a quite tone, interrupting the sudden silence.

she didn’t answer, only rolled her eyes as she turned another corner. in the distance you could see a line of cars covering the suburban street, the sound of party music filling your ears as you neared tina’s house.

the pit of your stomach felt empty as your best friend parked the car and tore her keys out of the ignition. “stop being so weird about this y/n, we used to go to parties all the time” your best friend pointed out with an annoyed expression.

she didn’t leave you any time to respond, before she pushed open the door and exited the car, slamming it behind her. you took a deep breath, she was right, tonight you were going to be normal and pretend that there isn’t an unknown threat from the upside down lurking around.

you exhaled a deep breath and exited the car, your best friend smiling widely at you, happy you decided to join her.

“lets go get sheet faced” you said in a playful manner as you pulled out the bright orange paper, the invitation to the party.

“finally” she clapped happily as she tugged forcefully on your arm, pulling you towards tina’s house.

the house was littered with teenagers, red cups of who knows what in their hands as they chatted happily and danced to the pounding music that emitted from the house. when you entered the house, flashing the orange paper to tina in recognition, the music thumped through your ears. there were people in every corner, there wasn’t a spare inch of space, it was packed. you nodded to a few people, sending them warm smiles as you pushed through the crowd.

“y/n!” you heard an excited voice call out your name.

before you could even turn to find the person, two arms wrapped tightly around your neck and you were pulled into a tight embrace. you shifted your head to see a head of curly brunette locks, and you knew it was none other than nancy wheeler.

“hey nanc” you said with a wide smile, you didn’t know the wheeler girl was going to be here tonight, it seemed to make the idea of tonight being normal a lot easier.

“look steve it’s y/n she’s here!” nancy continued to talk a mile an hour to herself, a fumbling steve trying to reach his girlfriend.

you could clearly tell that nancy had one to many drinks tonight, and it was going straight to her head, but you could help the laughed that escaped your lips as you watched nancy drag steve in your direction, a wide smile on her own features.

“see see look!” nancy practically shouted at the pair of you, beaming with delight.

“yeah, hey y/n” steve said with a bemused smile.

“steve harrington at a party, what a shock” you teased nudging the boy softly in the stomach.

steve laughed in response. last year you had both been very different, always at parties, drunk out of your minds, dancing to the loud music and just being normal. this year, you could barely standing being in this room, surrounded by people who you didn’t really like.

“I could say the same thing to you y/l/n” steve poked back with a raised brow, his eyes hidden behind a pair of thick rimmed black sunglasses.

you snicked in response, nodding your head, things had changed so much.

“i’m gonna get another drink!” nancy shouted again, pointing a finger at steve and yourself before stumbling in the direction of a large glass punch bowl, filled to the brim with red liquid.

you winced at the sight, god knows what was in the mixture.

“that’s my cue” steve laughed loudly.

“maybe no more punch for nancy” you suggested with a smile.

“nice slogan” steve laughed as he followed his girlfriend closely.

you smiled at this. a simple action that showed steve harrington had been changed by sweet girl next door nancy wheeler, and it was for the better.

“since when are you buddy buddy with nancy wheeler and steve harrington?” the sound of your best friends voice echoed through your ears, making you jump, you had almost forgotten she was there.

“it just happened” you said carelessly, shrugging your shoulders.

you made your way into the kitchen in search for a drink, stearing clear of the punch bowl.

“what do you mean ‘it just happened’ become friends with the it group of hawkins doesn't just happen y/n spill the deats” she spoke animatedly.

“look y/b/f we just became friends last year, same club or something you know?” she said in more of a questioning tone, hoping to shift away from the question.

“since when are they in a club, let alone you?” she asked in an accusing manner.

you ignored her and chose a plane can of beer, it was better than the punch, she thought to herself.

“don’t ignore me y/n” y/b/f pushed on, but you simple shrugged her off and wandered further into the house, leaving her fuming in the kitchen.

you could hear shouting coming from outside. you wanted to roll your eyes when you saw why. they were counting another keg stand, from inside you couldn’t hear the numbers clearly over the loud music, but you could tell he had been there for a while. tommy h looking hyped as he counted.

then the boy doing the keg tapped out and the boys dropped him. then you saw his face.

well I mean your eyes first glanced at his exposed chest, the glistening tanned skin exposed in his red unbuttoned shirt. the outline of his muscles looked mouth watering in the light. a leather jacket draped over his shoulders. his jeans hugging at his waist in the right ways, that thought alone made her heart race.

then your gaze slowly shifted to his face. his skin was sun kissed and looked smooth to the touch, his features were hard, his eyes beaming with aggression and satisfaction that he had beat the keg stand record. his lips were red and coated with remnants of beer, a stream slipping down his chin. then he raised a cigarette to his lips, taking a lock drag before cheering, smoke emitting from his lips. the dirty blonde colour of his hair contrasted against his skin fit him so well, the curly strands framing his face in just the right way, as it tumbled down his to his shoulders in the style of a mullet.

you felt your face heating up the longer you stared at his sharp jawline, but you could help it, he was nothing compared to the boys in hawkins.

your fingers gripped tightly on the can in your hands as your feet moved on their own accord, trying to get a better look at the new boy.

you were standing outside now, the soft breeze blowing the skirt of your velvet dress around your thighs making you shiver, goosebumps raising on your skin.

you leaning against the railing as you snapped open the can and pressed the cool metal to your lips, the amber liquid pouring into your mouth, the bitter taste staining your lips as you winced.

“god this shit is gross” you whispered to yourself as you looked down at the can, distaste written on your features.

the excited buzz around you seemed to die down as someone else stepped up to do the keg stand.

“hey y/l/n willing to give us a show!” a voice called out.

you looked to see tommy h giving you a smirk that made a shudder run down your spine, that boy was a nasty piece of work that you which you’d never met.

“keg stands aren’t really my thing tommy” you said in disgust, more so at the mere sight of the freckled boy.

tommy snorted loudly. “come on y/n we’d all love the show” he pushed on, his eye raking over your scarcely clad skin.

you rolled your eyes in annoyance “you’re a pig tommy” you replied crossly.

tommy just shrugged his shoulders and moved onto the next person, but not before giving you a once over, the action made you want to run.

the simple conversation seemed to drag the attention of the new boy, his eyes were glazing over as he stared at you, eyes raking over your entire body.

before you could even try and cover more of your skin, he was taking large strides in your direction, his tongue coming out to lick at his lips. eyes hungry as he stared at you.

and there he stood before you, in all his muscled glory. he smelt of cheap beer and nicotine.

“well what do we have here?” he asked simple as he leaned against the same railing you were, eyes taking you in.

no words seemed to come out of your mouth as you stared up at him. his charming smile was inviting, yet his eyes screaming lustful thoughts.

his finger reached up to run a calloused finger across your shoulder, his skin felt hot against you. the dress limiting the warmth it gave, exposing most of your body, and it seemed to invite his and others uninvited gazes in places you didn’t want them.

“y/n” you answered as you shrugged his touch away as his eyes shifted from your face to your slight cleavage, maybe he wasn’t so different to the boys in hawkins, just another sleez bag.

billy let out a deep chuckle as he took a step closer to you, every inch of him in your eyesight, and you couldn’t say that you didn’t like it

“feisty” was his only response as his head tilted.

you backed up slightly, as you smiled at him. billy reached up to tuck your hair behind your each, his fingers softly caressing the skin of your cheek, you wanted to melt into the touch. and you might have if you didn’t hear someone frantically shouting your name.

you tore yourself away from billy as steve walked outside, his eyes searching frantically for you, he looked angry.

“steve” you breathed out.

billy looked angry at steve for interrupting the moment he had created, he was so close to having you like putty in his large hands, but this steve kid had wreaked it.

“y/n, nancy and i she just, i don’t even, she said it was all bullshit” his words were rushed, his eyes were moving everywhere, never looking at your face.

you gave billy a fleeting glance as she stared at the harrington boy with pure hatred.

“what?” you asked confused.

steve did’t answer, only motioning you to follow him. you began to follow him, wordlessly, worried for your friend. billy stopped you by grasping your wrist tightly in his hand.

“maybe at another party” you suggested, a light smile on your lips.

billy looked annoyed at the answer but it seemed to satisfy him enough.

“another party, the same dress” billy smirked widely as his winked at you.