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leviiattacks · 3 years

Note

CASHIER LEVI AND LIKE THE READER IS THE CUSTOMER AND IT’S LIKE THEY HAVE A CRUSH ON EACHTOHER

author note :: honestly not my best at all..... like at all..... this was actually pretty good but the entire draft got deleted and i just lost all my effort but i felt bad for starting it and not completing it for anon so you may take whatever i have managed to salvage. i hope u enjoy it :’( i am extremely sick rn and yeah writing is the only break i am currently getting from anything :-) SO AGAIN I’ M SORRY ANON..... i may write a 10k + word fic on this though so i can redeem myself bc this is just disappointing 😭

word count :: 3.3k

every single thursday you stop by ackermart. maybe it’s because the day is convenient for you or perhaps it’s because of a certain cashier that works the evenings...

HAHA it’s got nothing to do with a cashier why would it have anything to do with a cashier? :-)

today is like any other. you walk through the fresh produce aisle then proceed to make your way towards the bakery section picking up a loaf of bread

it’s stupid, you know it is but... you think you’ve worked up enough courage to speak to him today!!

and who is him you may ask?

levi at till number four. his tired eyes always happen to pierce into yours and his calloused thumbs brush past your skin when you hand him your rewards card

levi is what his bright red name tag says and although he doesn’t look like a levi you’d like to think your crush isn’t stealing someone’s identity so you believe that it’s his real name

anxiously fiddling with your basket you’re beginning to think this was a horrible idea

the girl ahead of you is flirting up a storm with him and although he’s not reciprocating it by any means you still feel deterred

levi bags the last of her groceries and looks up at her when she asks for a way to contact him. he doesn’t look mad... just bored?

“ma’am. this is an ackermart i don’t think it’s appropriate you ask me for my number. the customer service line is listed on our website.”

the woman raises a brow looking completely flabbergasted. okay, if everything before this wasn’t a warning THIS sure was

she stomps off when she realises levi isn’t kidding and you think you’d feel bad for her maybe if she was more respectful about it

“next customer.” levi calls over his shoulder and you shuffle forward pretending to be engrossed in your phone

“cash or card?” he asks plainly.

you hear the BEEP of your groceries being scanned and think on it for a while before replying with “cash”

you’re clearly pretty good at your pretend to be totally into your phone act because levi tries to get your attention but you don’t hear what he has to say till the third time he repeats himself

but even then you’re still unsure what it is he’s said????

looking down you see his hand is stuck out in front of you and now you’re even more confused

faltering for a second you look at his palm and then speak

“um, i guess your hand is nice? it’s pretty big compared to the rest of you actually.”

“i was asking for your cash?” he says and now you look at his palms in mortification

gasping you yANK your hand into your purse as you laugh awkwardly fishing around to find your money

“oh, OH i knew that. just kidding!! i mean- i meant that thing about your hand?? but i thought it was- i funny? yes the joke funny? i’m-”

he leans back into his spinning chair and sighs contently. “you’re not making much sense peaches.”

“pe- peaches??” you repeat. no way you’ve heard that correct

levi lazily points at the abundance of the aforementioned fruit in your grocery bags

“you must love em.”

“i, well yeah i do like peaches but i also like...” um??? what food would make you look sophisticated and professional?

OH YEAH

“FRENCH CUISINE :-)!!!!” you say rather proudly

“...cool. i guess.” levi hands you your grocery bag which is basically an invitation asking for you to get out

he doesn’t seem mad but he’s definitely going to look back at this encounter and laugh his ass off at how stupid you are

hanging your head down low in embarrassment you make your way out towards your car

there’s always next time!! maybe you can practice in the mirror yeah that does sound like it would help!!!

okay so.

it is officially next time.

actually you never got the opportunity to practice in front of the mirror because you chickened out of looking like an idiot even if it was in the privacy of your own home

but!!! you did try to practice some cool pick up lines because who doesn’t like a good pickup line or two??

the two mini milk cartons in your hand and the pack of doughnuts you have tucked under your arm aren’t too heavy so you aren’t too worried about having to wait in the line

for some reason the guy in front of you keeps turning around and glancing at you as if you don’t even exist

you are not casper the ghost

also casper is a little boy and you definitely aren’t a little boy

finally after a good five minutes the man ahead of you is having his stuff scanned but he’s STILL doing it. even levi notices and gives him an odd look which borders annoyance and anger.

“can i pay for your groceries? maybe walk you to your car?” the stranger asks suddenly

so that’s what this is, he’s simply taken an interest in you

my god this is new but it is uncomfortable and you’d rather say no

“oh, i actually walked here and no thanks i can pay for my own. enjoy the rest of your day!!” you hope your white lie is enough to fool the man but instead of agreeing as any other person would he looks majorly deceived

“i saw you in the parking lot.” ok this is getting a bit too uncomfortable for your liking

“c’mon i’m offering to buy your shit too?”

his voice is raising and you’re not sure what exactly you can do but thankfully for you the manager steps in and takes him away before any more threats can be made

the man had taken up so much of your attention you almost forgot levi was even there until you turned back around

“do you want a member of staff to accompany you to your car? it’s getting dark out.” levi’s comment helps ease your nerves and you try to laugh off what just happened

“i’m good :-)” you say shaking a little. you’re unsure if it’s the cold or the fact you still haven’t completely calmed down

“you sure peaches?”

“i haven’t bought any peaches this time.”

“you’re still peaches to me.” your cheeks flush at his confidence

wait, maybe this is your chance. you’re the last person in his line and they’re closing up for the day so...

“could you walk me to my car?”

and to your surprise even before you can take back what you’ve said levi agrees

it stays like that for a while.

every thursday levi walks you to your car by the end of his shift, all the while the two of you exchange a few words together

like last week you asked him what his favourite colour was (he said purple) you’ve learnt about his hobbies (he’s a decent cook), you’ve even found out about some of his own personal problems. he had mentioned suffering with insomnia in passing.

to be honest each and every time he walks you to your car he has to notice that you begin to park further and further away from the front entrance. but if he does notice he doesn’t say a word about it

“is that all you’re checking out?” you ask with a cheeky grin plastered across your face

looking down at your new dress your lopsided grin is far from fading away any time soon. you especially picked this one out after asking levi what his favourite colour was last week

god. this is so embarrassing but never actually have you had a crush this huge

levi who’s sat behind the counter shoots you a look which almost seems to be on the verge of uninterested. he isn’t entertaining this at all or this is just his typical bored face, you can’t really tell

BUT..... you still have a huge crush on him and you aren’t one to give up this easily

for the record you don’t harass him or anything, just the occasional hint is thrown around but he’s either really dense or doesn’t care

his expression does you no favours, you can’t tell what he’s thinking half the time

“you’re always buying energy drinks... might want to cut down on those they’re no good for you.”

warmth blooms in your chest. he’s just saying it to make small talk but the fact he even thinks to bring that up has your heart fluttering

“i- well- yeah i will!! just have a few overdue essays to get over with :-)” twiddling your thumbs together you think that makes your nerves too obvious so you begin to scratch at the back of your neck

if anything is a dead give away it’s your constant neck scratching, thankfully levi hasn’t picked up on it

“so you wore purple today?” his eyes linger on the thin straps of your dress and you feel the goosebumps rise up onto your skin immediately

“oh yeahhhh-”

“did i tell you yellow was my favourite colour last week?” he asks holding up a neon yellow pack of crisps and for the first time you see him smile

he looks so ?!|>\€|^ pretty ?!/)/&

wait?? yellow??

“didn’t you say purple?”

“no?” he crosses his arms playfully over his chest thinking for a bit

“maybe i did but no it’s really yellow.” he says as he hands you your bag

nodding your head you smile “yeahhhh sure it is.”

damn, now you’re going to have to find a yellow dress just to make him revert back to purple because who even likes yellow?? that’s a deal breaker right there??

update

it’s been two weeks!!

and a yellow dress has been found and secured B-)

it’s been a pretty rough day at work and you need to desperately collect a pack of green tea and get going

you don’t know when exactly being a secretary meant you had to babysit your boss’ children but that’s what the last week has entailed

being made to work overtime to this extent has had an effect on you and you’re ready to head home as soon as you swing by ackermart

not seeing levi for a week made you a little :-( because to be honest he’s the highlight of your thursday evening BUT!! you’ll be able to see him today at least

walking in through the entrance you’re met with connie smiling right at you, he holds the door open for you and smile back greeting him

“so you didn’t come last week...?”

it’s weird for him to ask that, after all you don’t really speak to anyone here apart from levi, you’re surprised you’re enough of a regular to be known by name

“oh i didn’t think anyone would notice? but yeah i had to work overtime you know what boss’ are like.” groaning you crouch down and look at the pot noodles on display

“i didn’t notice it. boss man did.”

“boss man?” you ask feeling out of loop

“levi.” connie answers as he hops into the backroom

????

isn’t he just a cashier??

“you still look confused.” connie remarks as he heads back out with a cardboard box full of pringle’s tubes

“levi’s the boss man, this is his store. he literally only ever mans the cash register on thursday evening because of you.”

at that you start laughing because it makes no sense at all to you

there’s no way connie is being serious

“good one.” you say as you stand up with a chicken flavored noodle in your hand

“i’m not kidding?”

turning around you give him a skeptical look

he sighs and shakes his head.

“listen. me and the part timers are tired of making bets on when he’ll give you his number and i bet that it would happen today so if you could confess to each other that would be perfect!!!”

“who said i like-”

“anyone with a brain can tell you both like each other.” he’s rolled his eyes so far into the back of his head you begin to take him a little more seriously now

“i... did i make it that obvious??” you’re directly facing him trying to get out as much information as you can

“yeah. very. at least levi wasn’t as bold.”

“i think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick he definitely doesn’t like me.”

connie gives you an “are you fucking with me?” look and you look away trying to distract yourself with the the canned goods lining the shelves

“he was worried sick when you didn’t come in for the entire week. he even asked me if he scared you away.”

“maybe i’m just his favourite customer?”

“favourite customer my ass he has a crush on YOU. confess.”

playing around with the ends of your sleeves connie sees he’s fighting a losing battle unless he gives you definitive solid proof

“please... i’ll get free barbecue if i win the bet and i’m kinda broke rn :-(” okay, you do want connie to eat well and be treated and maybe this is a good thing. if levi doesn’t like you then you can move on!!

“i’ll think about it.”

before connie can continue talking you make a beeline towards the tea aisle whilst throwing a “see you next time!” over your shoulder.

by the time you’ve gathered all of your groceries your basket is full to the brim. you’ve been lingering as much as you can out of fear but you think you’ve collected just enough courage to ask for his number

looking at the cash register levi is sat there and your shoulders slump. he’s probably going to say no and you’re going to look like a huge loser.

right as you’re about to take a step towards him levi finally spots you and gives you one look before standing up from his seat

“hi!” you wave at him

“...hey!” he smiles wide but he bites it back pretending it was never there in the first place

placing your basket in front of him he eyes what you’ve got

“hm... lots of peaches as per usual peaches.” the nickname that rolls of his tongue makes you tremble a little. will he call you that after you fuck everything up with this stupid confession?

his tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek when he gets to the heart shaped box of chocolates

“a gift for a friend? didn’t know you had those?” he teases as he scans the barcode

“gift for a crush!” you reply back enthusiastically as you dig through your wallet looking for your card

levi doesn’t respond for a few seconds and an awkward silence fills the air. you glance up to see him looking at you open mouthed in shock

“good luck.” he murmurs under his breath he’s not even returning your gaze at this point and is hurriedly scanning through your barcodes

“you okay?” you ask worrying about his mood

“yeah, yeah. great.” he’s quieter than usual.

the rest of your encounter is the same, levi silently bags your groceries and you can’t tell if this is a good or bad response.

just as he’s about to place the heart shaped box into your plastic bag you lunge forward holding his wrist to stop him

“no i don’t need those.”

he cocks his eyebrow upwards trying to analyse your expression and gain an understanding of your thoughts

“don’t tell me you’re chickening out. whoever it is will say yes.” he scoffs as he places the chocolates into the bag handing them over to you with a warm smile

there it is again. the fear returns and you swipe your tongue over your slightly dry lips.

no way.

is he telling you to confess to someone now? so he must not like you?

taking the bag away from him you scratch your neck out of habit and huff feeling frustrated

“he keeps giving me mixed signals.” you say hoping he catches your drift

“give him the chocolates and let him put two and two together. don’t even say anything.” his advice would be great if he weren’t the guy you were trying to confess to in real time

nodding you reach into the bag and bring the box back out before gently placing it in front of levi

“are you serious?” he asks and your face drops seeing the possible displeasure in his eyes

great, connie and the part timers just over analysed he doesn’t like you, obviously he doesn’t like you, why would he like you?

without looking back you hurry out, the embarrassment is eating you away now and the thought of ever returning to ackermart isn’t even feasible in your mind

at this point you may as well change your name, identity, dye your hair, have a few children and wear sunglasses the next time you come back so you look like a soccer mum and not the foolish y/n who thought they had a chance with their cute CASHIER???

god, you probably look like a creep

the sound of footsteps can be heard behind you and labored breaths follow before levi calls out for you

“please wait up.” he grumbles. slowing down your pace you let him catch up to you. he grabs at your wrist and sighs in relief

turning you see him savour the air

is this the part where he confesses he likes you too or—

“your receipt you forgot it.” he gasps as he opens your hand for you and places it into your palm

oh.

fingers clasping shut onto the paper you feel the humiliation seep into your pores

this.

is.

the.

worst.

moment.

of.

your.

life.

“open it.” he offer you a boyish smile and your nerves don’t let you find comfort in it

you grimace as you fold it open, you’re imagining he’s charged you an extra £100 for having unwanted feelings for him and if that’s the case you’ll die on the spot

but instead your eyes light up in joy. you’re pleasantly surprised

...

inside of the receipt is his phone number haphazardly sprawled across in black biro - you even double check by comparing it to the number for the customer service helpline

hello??

HELLO.?.!/)£ HIS NUMBER???

“if you just wanted to return the chocolate this is embarrassing.” he’s the one who’s now scratching at his neck and you find that he’s endearing this way

the streetlight from above illuminates him, the shadows cast over his face and his brows aren’t furrowed as they usually are

you open your mouth to reply but connie cuts you off unintentionally. he can be heard YELLING into his phone ecstatic that his plan has worked out

“I WIN!!! HA BBQ’S ON YOU JEAN!! MUST SUCK TO BE YOU.”

you and levi look at each other and laugh, reassuring the other of what has just happened.

well...

you guess this is the start of something new? maybe??

:-)

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twst-campos13 · 3 years

Note

UwU welcome to the twst writing fandom~ Aha finally a blog that can write for male! mc,I haven't seen them for a while nor there are a lot of~ Can i request hc with the first years with a male crush reader~? Hope that you'll get many followers! ahehe~I dunno what to say. Hope that you have a great day, UwU -🍵🌱✨

Hello there Tea Non! (can I call you that qq?) Sorry for the wait!! Jack’s part feels a bit too short and Sebek’s quite long,, ^^’’

Warnings: mild language! internalized homophobia (Epel’s part!) Tags: fluff, male!reader

➸ Ace is a little shit bastard, but he (along with Deuce) practically became best friends. You're one of the people he would tease to death and annoy with but also he would stand by your side no matter what.

➸ You banter a lot together. You'd fight, argue, and even tease each other which is considered "too mean" to other people.

➸ Though your arguing turns to flirting sometimes. You didn't even realize it, Ace didn't even realize it, but your friends did and they're placing bets if you two are actually into each other or not.

➸ How long did Ace figure out that this isn't just a normal bro-thing? Well, suddenly, seeing you scowl at him and swear at him is becoming more than amusing—it's becoming endearing. He likes the way you look at him or even gets hyped up in annoying you when you fire back with remarks.

➸ The fluttering feeling in his chest only grew when you two were play flirting. He grinned cheekily at you about maybe needing some company while doing library duty. You know what you said to him back?

➸ "Awe, Ace. Do you want to be alone with me that much?"

➸ His brain tried what just happened and why that he was so red right after that whole exchange. You two always flirted and bickered, right? Why does it feel kinda different now?? What??? Hnajgejegegaeg????

➸ Then you started to do intimately nice things to him—like that one time you had to tend to his hand after burning himself during potions class—then oh, oh. Fuck. Oh fuck. He has a crush on you. Does that surprise him? To have a crush on a guy? Not particularly, because this isn't the first time it happened.

➸ Before Ace met his ex-girlfriend, he already experienced what it's like to have a crush on a guy. He didn't understand why or why that feeling is the same feeling he has for a girl.

➸ His brother found out first then he came out to his mom. She did call it a phase but in a way that she was supportive of him questioning his sexuality. His mom assured him that she wouldn't love him less if he's bisexual.

➸ Ace just hopes this little crush of his doesn't develop. He doesn't want things to get awkward between the two of you! Just because he likes the way your cheeks reddens when he slings an arm around you and pinches your cheek, doesn't mean you can do the same to him...okay, maybe he'd like that a little bit

➸ Deuce is a smart student. He's loyal, reliable, and diligent. However, sometimes he just comes off as dense.

➸ He's comfortable with his sexuality. Whatever it is that is seen as too intimate for two bros to share is normal for him. After all, you're his best friend! Along with Ace and Grim. There's nothing weird about how he's treating you because he treats his friends the same way.

➸ Said friends watch his imaginary ears and tail wag when you praise him or compliment him. Okay, who's gonna tell him?

➸ It's like they were the ones who realize Deuce has a crush on you first than Deuce himself. They started placing bets on when he's going to realize it or if you'll be the one to find out and Deuce still hasn't realized what he's feeling is infatuation.

➸ It's rather cute, actually. Deuce is already cute but he became quite endearing when he smiles at you. How he's always making sure to see if you're comfortable, checking in on your wellbeing, and asking if you need help.

➸ He's a little protective of you, too. Granted he controls himself to not get into too many fights. He doesn't want you to get roped into the fights and get hurt. However, if some mob student even dares to mess with you when you aren't even doing anything, you got some backup. (Don't mess with the First Year Squad).

➸ Ace teases him about his little crush on you which leads to Deuce punching his arm all flustered. He's a little shit to Deuce about this too, always making kissy sounds when Deuce gets too cute around you.

➸ The funny thing is, Deuce doesn't even realize he's infatuated with you. Again, he thinks you just have a special place in his heart. You're his bro and he's willing to fight with you.

➸ He finally realized when he talked to his mom about you and she commented how glad she is that her son found someone he can be happy with. She reminded him to take his crush as a motivation in his studies, and Deuce nodded at her advice.

➸ Wait WHAT—

➸ Epel is by no means weak. This boy worked at a farm before he was in NRC. That pretty face doesn't mean a pretty heart (sometimes).

➸ Though the urge to pick him up out of nowhere is tempting. No one in the squad tried to do it to catch him off guard (Ace attempted to while Deuce stopped him, Sebek doesn't think it's necessary, and Jack only picked him up because they were working out together). Besides, he isn't some damsel to be hoisted out of nowhere! He doesn't like it...or so he thought when you picked him up by the torso to move him out of the way. Epel didn't see Grim running at full speed on the ground because his tail got bitten by a live crab. Your first instinct was to just grab and lift him—you didn't mean to startle him, really.

➸ Needless to say, Epel developed a new emotion. He doesn't know what to call it or if there's even a name for it. Is there a name for "brain shutting down for brief moments after being picked up with ease?"

➸ Does he like you? Does he actually have a crush on you?? He never had a crush on a guy before—he never had a crush on anyone. Does the fluttery feeling in his chest when you touch shoulders mean that he likes you?? ahufaeofaufea????!!

➸ He's just...lost. So lost about what he's feeling towards you. A lot of invasive and absurd thoughts flood his mind. Do you have a crush on him too? Will you like him? Would you find him weird? Who's gonna "wear the pants" in the relationship?? He doesn't want that! Liking a guy doesn't make him less manly, right? RIGHT??

➸ "Hey Epel are you—" | "I DON'T LIKE HIM." | "...dude I was just gonna ask if you're finished with your essay..."

➸ The squad (sans you) have to reassure Epel that his feelings for you are valid and that doesn't make him less manly than he already is (Jack and Deuce). Liking a guy is the same as liking anyone else (Sebek). Worrying about a certain role to play in a relationship between same-sexes is kinda homophobic (Ace).

➸ That assured him, atleast. He isn't familiar with liking a guy. Plus, with where he came from, it's definitely uncommon. However...there is one thing that Epel is familiar with.

➸ He definitely fantasized about meeting someone to grow old with. Someone who will love him back and share dreams with. No one knows about this of course—what are you talking about? He's not a sappy, romantic person. Not at all!!

➸ Jack would deny it 100%

➸ There is no way he has a crush on you! He can't do that to you—no way. He respects you enough to keep your relationship as just friends. If you're bros, you're bros.

➸ Yeah, that doesn't really work out well for him.

➸ It's easy to tell if Jack likes you or not because he's good at hiding his emotions through defensive remarks (plus his resting face is a scowl). The Kouhai Squad would look at his ears and tail wagging when you even smile at him or congratulate him for a job well done. He's like a puppy,,,

➸ Whenever the Squad would point this out he will deny it. There is no way in Twisted Wonderland that he has a crush on you! He doesn't! Those are...just instinctive bodily reactions!

➸ "You held hands, dude." | "So? That isn't weird." | "Your tail is wagging." | "NO IT ISN'T!!"

➸ It's not like he doesn't like you, he's just...embarrassed. It's like you know what makes him flustered and that makes his heart do a little tap dance. He (somehow) wants to do the same to you. Make you flustered, embarrassed, happy...it's only fair!

➸ He needs to get over this little crush of his...because you're starting to catch up on why he's acting weirdly. If he tells you how he feels about you, how would you take it? He doesn't want to ruin your relationship with each other...aghh why is this so hard?? Jack wishes working on his feelings is as easy as training in Magift...

➸ Admiration and pride are something Sebek is familiar with, but infatuation is new.

➸ Admiring someone and having a crush on them are two similar but different things. When your bond with him develops he...starts to get a little confused.

➸ Has those feelings always been there? Are they different? He wasn't being this weird back then! A simple bump on the shoulders shouldn't spark so much electricity inside him to cause him to tense up!

➸ Sebek was good to hide these new reactions towards you...somewhat. He has to atleast act like everything is normal so he can evaluate what kind of feelings he has towards you. Which works and kinda doesn't since when you do something a little intimate (like a shoulder pat, a cheeky smile, or even praise) he gets a little red. Red. Nevermind Deuce and Jack are asking if he's okay while Grim judges from afar.

➸ He still doesn't understand why he feels so weird around you so he decided to ask someone who has experience—an adult if you will! A humble, wise, elder fae that surely has some explanation for the weird fluttery feeling in his stomach.

➸ "You are infatuated—or to put it simply, you have a crush on the Prefect," Lilia explained to him. Sebek needed a few moments for that information to sink in. He has a crush on you. Okay, that's the mundane mystery solved. What is he gonna do with that information? Carry on with your friendship knowing things might get awkward around the both of you?

➸ Luckily, Lilia gave him three questions to answer personally so he may evaluate his feelings for you. In that way, Sebek knows what the next steps to take without rushing in blindly. You consider him as your friend and he returns that sentiment! He wishes to respect you as you respect him.

➸ Are you a distraction? Oh, definitely! Ever since he started to harbor feelings for you, his thoughts often lead up to you. When the young master is talking about you, he finds himself listening in, not just because Malleus is talking, but because he wonders about what kind of human is friends with his young master. This caused him to write a few words related to you in the essay he was supposed to be writing! When he and Silver are sparring, Silver has the audacity to throw your name into his comment which caught him off guard. In other words: you are despicably distracting!

➸ Are you a motivation? Well...yes. Sebek is proud to be a knight for the young master and he continues to strive in his position. He knows there is still much to learn as a knight and he is willing to develop his skills more to become better. Somehow, you acknowledge his diligence and even commend him for it. Yet you look after him, saying that he needs someone to fight for him. He laughs at that incredulous thought. Sebek prefers he do that to you along with his friends, instead. All of the squad are an odd bunch, including you. Sebek...wants to protect you as well. Somehow, knowing that you are safe urges him to make sure that you'll remain safe.

➸ Are you an inspiration? Sebek ponders on that question. Somehow it is related to the second, but he thinks carefully about it. He noticed how most of the poetry he makes is because of you—he needs an outlet for his feelings, don't take it weirdly—and although the theme varies, the subject of interest is you.

➸ Now that he answered all three of those questions...shall he proceed with courting you? No, that's too fast. Lilia told him to enjoy his youth and don't dive into relationships quickly.

➸ However! He shall confess to you to rid of the constricting feeling in his chest! Sebek wants to talk to you normally again without any hidden feelings!

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wagner-fell · 3 years

Text

“So then Catra writes on this note ‘hey Adora’ and Adora is like ‘grrrr’ and so they do this whole passive aggressive dance where you could have cut the sexual tension with a knife. Oh, and then-”

“I. Hate. History. Class.” Mari slammed their plastic lunch tray onto the table.

“Oh thank god,” said Kevin. Listening to Mari rant was much preferable to hearing about the Princess Prom episode from Astrid. Again.

Blessica hit Kevin and gave him a pointed look.

“I mean it’s bad enough I have to write essays about fucking colonizers. But now I have to sit next to this white-ass American boy? No thanks.”

“You know,” began Astrid, “if you wanted, I could kill this new guy for you with, oh I don’t know, werewolf po-”

“No!” they all shouted in unison. Astrid was mundane with the gift of the slight but she didn’t think of it like a gift. What was the point of being able to see this fantastical reality if she couldn’t be a part of it? What was the point of having three werewolves as your best friends if they refused to turn you into one?

Blessica tried to tell her that, as a downworlder, she would face a lot of discrimination. But what kinda excuse was that? Astrid was a Korean lesbian who, for most of the time, lived with her single mother. At least this branch of marginalization gave her freakin’ superpowers. The only superpower Astrid currently had at her disposal was not having to date men.

Astrid angrily took a bite of her cinnamon roll and Mari followed suit. Blessica tried to pat her arm but Astrid swatted her away.

“American?” Kevin asked. “I don’t remember any Americans. Is he new?”

Mari nodded through a mouthful of baked goods. She tucked her tie into her black-and-white uniform sweater vest so they didn’t stain it. Normally she wouldn’t have bothered but laundry had been a living nightmare lately. They promptly realized that her sweater vest was also going to get food on it. In removing it, their stomach flashed briefly. She stuffed it in her bag and set an alarm on her phone so they wouldn’t forget to put it back on before the lunch bell rang. Like that time Miss Yang made them jelly doughnuts and she got detention for a week. Mari really hated this school sometimes.

When she looked up to see half the surrounding area staring at them, they looked down at her collared shirt to see if she had gotten fresh cinnamon bun gooeyness on it already.

Astrid laughed. “It’s because you exposed your six-pack.” She moved her fork around in circles, making sure the ranch covered each piece of lettuce in her salad. Astrid loved ranch. She kept a gigantic bottle of it in her bag at all times. “You know, one time this guy asked me if you got them tattooed on. Cause girls can’t have abs and all that bull.”

“And what did you tell him?” asked Mari, amused.

“No.”

“Thank go-”

“I told him the truth. That the only tattoo you have is of Consul Lightwood’s face on your ass.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“The world deserves to know.”

“You're a hazard to society.”

“Awwwww. Mari! I love you too.”

Astrid smiled and shoved a mouthful of salad into her mouth as Mari rolled their eyes.

“Holy shit,” said Blessica, staring at something over Mari’s shoulder. “That is the second hottest man I have ever seen.”

Kevin glanced in the direction she was looking at then back to her. “What? Who?” he asked at the same time Mari drawled, “second hottest, who’s the first?” with a single eyebrow raised.

Blessica blushed as Kevin continued his search. “M-magnus Bane. Obviously.”

“Riiiiiiiight,” said Astrid, looking between her and Kevin.

Blessica blushed deeper. “Shut up.”

“Wow,” said Kevin. “That him?” He pointed and this time Mari turned around…to face Kit fucking Herondale.

Blessica, still red in the face, nodded.

“Wow indeed,” agreed Astrid.

“Aren’t you a lesbian?” questioned Blessica.

“Blessie, darling, I may rather suck on a cactus than suck on a dick but hotties can admire their fellow hotties. Gender is irrelevant in this scenario.”

Mari slammed their hands down onto the table. “Ladies! We are better than simping, even just hottie wise, over an American, white boy! We have standards! And Kevin! I know that” disgust dripped from her voice, “is your type, but resist!”

He rolled his eyes. “Jesus. You hook up with two blonde nephilim and suddenly it’s your type.”

“Yes,” said Astrid slowly, as if explaining something to a very dim child, “that’s how it works.”

Mari felt like they were missing something. Her three friends began discussing where they wanted to go tomorrow for Blessica’s birthday but they were stuck on Kevin’s statement. Something about it wasn’t quite right. It took her longer than she was proud of to figure it out.

“Wait, hold up, did you say nephilim? Kit is a Shadowhunter?!”

They all exchanged a look. “Uh, yeah. Didn’t you see the Mark on his hand?”

Mari turned back to him again. He was sitting by himself at a few tables, scrolling away. And on the hand holding his water bottle… was a voyance rune, clear as day. How did they miss that? “What is a Shadowhunter doing here anyway?”

Kevin shrugged. “Perhaps he’s here to check out London’s up-coming werewolf. I hear she’s a hazard to society.”

Astrid’s head shot up. “Really?!”

“No, sorry sweetie,” interjected Blessica. Astrid finished her cinnamon bun with an annoyed ‘hmph’.

They chatted more about Blessica’s upcoming sixteenth birthday before Kevin came up with the dumbest idea ever. Which was an extremely difficult title to earn amongst the 11th years at St. Lucy’s Academy.

“We should invite the Shadowhunter.”

Mari scoffed. “The whole pack’s gonna be there! Like hell they would let a Shadowhunter crash it.”

“Oh please. Once they lay their eyes on McDreamy, they’ll all forget about his angel blood.”

Astrid gasped. “Is that a Grey’s Anatomy reference? Are you finally watching it?” They all ignored her.

“I think it might be fun,” said Blessica. “And it’s my party so…” She stood up and walked over to Kit’s table, Kevin right behind her.

Astrid picked up her salad with one hand and her second cinnamon bun with the other. “Come in,” she said. “What’s the worst that can happen. You fall in love?”

“Haha,” said Mari, slinging her bag over their shoulder and joining the others.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ @adoravel-fenomeno @im-not-ruined-im-ruination@thechangeling @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @sofiatheskeleton @cncnbr @its-taff @ithurielkeepsgettingkidnapped @noah-herondale-lightwood @maxboythedog @arangiajoan @shelvesofgold @illusions-give-reasons-to-live @book-dragon-not-worm @the-blackdale @the-wckd-powers Lmk if you want to b adde/removed from the tag list!

#mari machado #mari Machado Sotomayor #blessica reyes #astrid yang #kevin chu #the merry hoes #kit rook #kit herondale #mari the werewolf

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lesetoilesfous · 3 years

Note

Bounty on their head for Anders (from bad things bingo)! Very predictable probably, sorry 😅

@hoochieblues

Thank you both so much! I went A Direction with this but I hope you like it!!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

@badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Pairing: Kanders

Characters: Anders, Karl

Tags: pre-DA2, derogatory reference to sex work, casual reference to sexual abuse, graphic reference to sex / implied sexual abuse

Rating: Mature

“How much did they put on him this time?”

Karl is trying and failing to write an essay. He has been trying and failing to write an essay all morning. It’s supposed to be an article he’s hoping to submit to the Aequitarians on the use and limitations of Force Magic. It’s supposed to be good. He thinks it could have been. Except that Anders made his most recent escape attempt 52 hours ago and Karl has not been able to sleep, eat or write since. The pair of templars making no effort to keep their voices lowered where they’re standing against the wall opposite his table aren’t helping.

“Three. Gold. Pieces.”

The first templar lets out a low whistle that echoes strangely against the metal of his helmet, and Karl imagines Anders laughing at that and trying to hide it, and his heart clenches in a terrible twist in his chest. He keeps moving his quill above his long since abandoned parchment, the ink on its tip drying black like old blood.

“Aren’t they worried that’ll start a bidding war? Men have been killed for less.”

Karl presses his teeth together until they squeak to stop himself from crushing the feathers of his quill. He’s ruined too many, and Owain won’t forgive him another broken pen. The second templar speaks again - Karl thinks it’s Istyn, but it’s always hard to tell under the steel masks of their helmets.

“At this point, Greagoir’s counting it. Getting that piece of shit caught between two sellswords fixes his problems for him. And saves us another blighted trek through the bleeding wilds.”

Karl shuts his eyes, and images Anders with a rusty blade protruding from his chest, brown eyes as wide and young as they had been the first time he’d met him, when he was 13 years old and hadn’t spoken to anyone for a year. He puts down his quill. There’s the soft sound of cloth padded footsteps elsewhere in the library, and the sound of Annelise coughing. She hasn’t taken well to Fereldan winters.

Feeling as if he’s being puppeted by blood magic, Karl gets numbly to his feet and picks up his books, moving them to the wrong shelf and making a mental note to apologise to Tiffany later as he moves closer to the templars.

Number one, who Karl is beginning to think is Kay, makes a soft grunt of sympathy and leans back against the wall, folding his arms with a clank of armour. “As if we’d get that lucky. He’ll probably make them all his bitches and show back up with a fucking harem.”

Karl’s hand freezes, sweating, around the cloth bound cover of the book in his hands. He stares at the bookshelf, and tries to hear the sound of his breathing over the rushing of blood in his ears. Istyn snorts, and Karl tries not to jump at how close and loud it sounds. He does glance back over his shoulder, but neither templar is looking at him. The templars at Kinloch had long since decided that Karl was rarely a threat, and they paid him an according lack of attention.

“You kidding? Three gold pieces. You could retire on that, if your standards are low enough. Not even Anders gives head that good.”

Kay laughs. “Would you do it? Take the three gold, or keep him as your own personal cockwarmer?”

Istyn hums, and Karl tries to ignore the heat prickling up the back of his neck and the rising tension of his magic. The book in his hands is crumpling under supernatural force, hidden by the shelf.

Eventually, Istyn speaks. “I’d keep him. Not him, specifically, but hell. Anyone with an arse that tight. It’s like a wife who can’t complain.”

Kay clicks his tongue. “See that’s the problem with nobility. You forget, three gold pieces will get you a hundred whores. And no chance of them turning into a fucking demon.”

Istyn roars with laughter, then, startling a new Dalish apprentice who’d been brought in a few weeks back. With a scrape of metal on stone like nails on chalkboard, the pair of them push away from the wall and walk further into the library.

Karl stands next to the bookshelf for a long time. The thin letterboxes of light at the top of the bricked up windows have gone dark and orange on the walls by the time Annelise gently touches his arm, her nose red with what was either hayfever or a cold.

“Karl. Are you alright?”

Karl blinks, and becomes suddenly aware of the numb pins and needles in his hands and feet. He lets go of the book on the shelf. There’s a thumbprint shaped indent in the cover. “I’m - I’m fine.”

The worried frown on Annelise’s brow doesn’t ease. Karl follows her gaze to the floor beneath his feet, where the tile of stone on which he’s standing is fractured in a hundred fissure lines as if it had been hit by a sledgehammer. Karl assembles his features into an appropriate expression of surprise.

“Oh. How strange. I'll make sure to tell someone about that.”

#dadwc #bad things happen bingo #dragon age 2 #kanders #anders #karl thekla #my fic #laniardraws #hoochieblues

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parvuls · 3 years

Text

fic: at certain times

word count: 12k

tags: year 2 canon-divergence, getting together, first kiss

summary: The Swallow's Samwell Awards issue of '15 crowns Jack and Bitty as Samwell's cutest couple. It is somewhat unfortunate, then, that they're not actually a couple at all.

read on ao3

The kitchen smells like something burnt, a smoky tang that clings to the walls and floors, stings inside Bitty’s nose. April should smell like hot cross buns and zucchini bread, he thinks wistfully, but it turns out that some Aprils poor ovens are pushed to their last legs prematurely, leaving his kitchen smelling like Ransom forgot his frozen pizza in the microwave again.

Dex has been tending to Betsy on her deathbed all month, spending most of his free hours at the Haus. Bitty called him again after class, while he was standing in Superberry with Jack, and promised to pay for his services with froyo. Said froyo -- which Jack insisted on paying for, bless him -- is still on the table, untouched, yogurt melting over the rim of the paper cup and dripping onto the wood. Dex has been kneeling in the same strip of sunlight on the floor since he arrived with his toolbox. Bitty isn’t sure what exactly he’s been doing, but he seems to be too busy waving a screwdriver in the air and ranting to remember his abandoned bribe.

“So we finally got over the fucking Samwell Republican sticker thing,” Dex says, his face red and his brow furrowed. He’s been disgruntled all day because of an email he’d received, which he claims Nursey will never let him live down. "And Bitty, I know this is Massachusetts, okay? But I haven’t even actually voted yet! Fucking Swallow. How can I be Best Republican?"

Bitty hunches over in his chair, palms clasped together on his knees like a prayer. He’s anxiously following the motions of Dex’s screwdriver with his eyes while listening with only half an ear, deeply confused by the conversation subject. “The Swallow does pieces on politics? I can’t even imagine what an article like that’d look like, honestly.”

Dex grumbles quietly, shoving a hand under his backwards snapback to scratch at his hair. “No, it’s like -- their Samwell Awards thing? I don’t know, I just got an email about it this morning. I guess it’s like that 50 Most Beautiful shit they do.”

Bitty’s never heard of it, but then again, Bitty carefully sidesteps most articles of The Swallow whenever he comes across them. Those guys write about their team an uncomfortable amount for a university with almost ten thousand students. As long as Holster or Ransom aren’t reading it aloud at team breakfast, Bitty’s not eager to find out what The Swallow has to say.

He asks, though, because Dex seems to be upset about this and his frogs need to be handled with care. “Like in high school yearbooks?” Heather Barron was his class’ Best Laugh back home, and she made everyone who signed her yearbook tell her a joke so she could laugh for them.

“I guess,” Dex says distractedly. He bends down low to reach something close to the floor. “This girl from my Intro to CompSci class got the same email about it -- she won Best Dressed. I mean, who even judges these things? That’s a matter of taste.”

Dex wipes a dusty hand across his forehead and Bitty momentarily forgets to care about The Swallow in favor of looking on worriedly. Betsy is unplugged from the wall with her back side facing the room, surrounded by loose cables and scattered bolts. She looks old and frail. Bitty kind of feels like he’s watching an open-heart surgery occurring right in front of him.

“Can you save her?” Bitty presses a hand over his heart, dreading the reply. Dex wrinkles his forehead even further and doesn’t meet Bitty’s eyes.

It is then that their ordinary afternoon is interrupted by three emphatic knocks on the front door of the Haus.

"Did someone just knock on our door?" Shitty yells from somewhere down the hall. Bitty assumes he’s still curled up on the couch of sins in a t-shirt and flimsy underwear, mourning his grandparents’ affirmative RSVP response to graduation.

His tone sounds downright shocked at the sound, but that’s probably reasonable. Bitty’s been living in the Haus for over nine months now and he’s never once heard anyone knock on that door. It’s always unlocked, anyway; it’s actually nothing short of a miracle that they’ve never been burglarized. Not that there’d be anything to steal, of course, other than Holster’s collector's edition Simpsons DVD box set, or maybe one of Jack’s used jerseys to be sold to the highest bidder on ebay.

"Well, whaddaya know,” Ransom appears in the hallway outside the kitchen doorframe, likely summoned downstairs by the abnormal noise. His eyebrows are high on his forehead as he stares down the hall at the door. “It didn't collapse. I told you it’s sturdier than it looks."

Neither of the boys makes a move to actually open the door. There’s a second set of knocks, this one slightly louder than the first, and Bitty huffs as he gets off his chair. He casts one last hopeful look over his shoulder. Maybe, he wishes silently, Betsy has performance issues and would be magically fixed once she’s not under his constant scrutiny. Or maybe Dex does, and would magically fix her. “Y’all, when someone knocks on a door, they generally expect you to open it for them.”

He shoulder-checks Ransom on the way to yanking the door open, and is presented with some guy Bitty’s never seen before standing on their front steps. He’s wearing an atrociously ugly plaid vest and an awfully wide smile, which only grows wider when he sees that it’s Bitty who’s opening the door.

“Eric Bittle!”

“Yes?” Bitty agrees, eyebrows drawing together. He’s usually pretty good with faces, but he doesn’t think he’s seen this guy in any of his classes. Maybe a hockey fan. Still -- Bitty’s mother brought him up right, and he’s resolved to stick to his manners even if he now lives in a frat house. Someone with malicious intentions, he rationalizes to himself, wouldn't knock before entering. “Hi. Wouldya like to come in? I’m afraid our oven’s down, so I don’t have much to offer in terms of baked goods --”

“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary!” The man dismisses quickly, his smile not waning any; it’s hard not to eye it suspiciously. Absently, Bitty can make out the sound of feet shuffling, which presumably means the boys are crowding together behind him to peer curiously at the stranger on their doorstep. “I’m from The Swallow, I’m here to deliver a message for you. And Jack Zimmermann, but I’m sure you can pass it on. Our annual Samwell Awards issue is coming out early next month, as you know --”

“Sure,” Bitty confirms politely, although he’s never heard of the thing until about two minutes ago. There’s no sense in getting the man down.

“-- and we wanted your response on the win. We do that for the real popular categories. If you want to draft a short statement, you can reply to the email we sent you two --”

“I’m sorry,” Bitty cuts him off, maintaining a carefully polite tone. He hasn’t checked his email since the previous night, too preoccupied with avoiding his American Publics essay and fretting over Betsy. Somewhere behind him there are more heavy footsteps coming down the stairs and one of the boys whispers excitedly, Bitty won a Samwell Award!, though he’s not sure which. “What win? Who’s you two?”

“Oh,” the Swallow guy blinks, obviously taken aback. His smile doesn’t completely disappear but thankfully thins a little bit, at last stretching over less than two thirds of his face. He looks marginally less maniacal like this, Bitty thinks uncharitably. “You and Jack Zimmermann?”

There’s another shuffle of feet. Bitty turns his head to catch Jack pushing Shitty aside, coming to stand a step behind Bitty’s right shoulder. Bitty hasn’t seen him since they got back from Superberry and Jack headed upstairs to study, chirping Bitty for not doing the same all the while. He’s taken his thin fleece jacket off since, and the soft V-neck he’s had underneath clings to his biceps, to the shape of his pecs. His hair is messy, the smell of his aftershave hasn’t faded yet, and his palm rests lightly between Bitty’s shoulder blades to keep his balance in the narrow, crammed doorway. Bitty’s stomach jumps at the sight of him and he can feel a reflexive smile tugging at his lips. It’s an uncontrollable reaction to Jack’s presence, no matter how many times Bitty’s seen him that day. Good gracious, but it’s plumb pathetic.

Jack is oblivious to Bitty’s eyes on him, too busy frowning at the Swallow guy from above Bitty’s head. “What is this about?”

The guy’s expression is clearly confused, despite the upturned mouth in his creasing face. His eyes survey the huddled group in front of him searchingly, as if waiting for them to catch up. When no one adds anything his smile drops entirely and he says: “You guys won Cutest Couple!”

Time seems to slow down while Bitty’s mind stomps on an emergency break and short-circuits completely. He knows things are happening in the backdrop, can hear someone behind him, probably Holster, choking really loudly on their spit, but none of it truly registers.

The Swallow guy is frowning now, looking completely baffled as to why they’re not enthused at the news. “Seriously, did you not get the email?”

“We. What?” is the only thing Bitty manages weakly. Whatever smile was on his face is thoroughly wiped off now. His heartbeat begins pounding in his ears, drowning out any further background noise under its heavy thrumming. From the brief glance he braves, Jack is not coping much better. His mouth is opening and closing silently.

"Yeah!” The guy recovers, apparently blind to the catastrophe he’s inadvertently causing. “I mean, I’ll be honest, some of the staff was like, ‘enough with the fucking hockey team’, and Khalil and Sara who did that awesome Halloween costume, they came really close -- but I was totally on your side. Anyway, the draft should be in your inboxes. We’d like to have your response in the next couple of days so we can start running it. The more romantic and gooey the better, of course. Thank you!"

He smiles and then skips down the stairs before Bitty’s brain fully catches up with what has just occurred on his front porch. He can barely grasp at tail ends of thoughts before they slip away from him, disappearing in a cloudy daze of absolute horror. His pulse is still racing and his fingers, wrapped around the door handle, are trembling.

Behind him, Ransom makes a slow wheezy sound and then descends into hysterical laughter. Bitty’s feeling rather hysterical himself, actually, but he’s not in the mood for laughing at all.

“Can’t believe it’s another year we didn’t win Best Party,” Holster mopes back in the kitchen, sprawled out spread-legged in a chair with his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s because of Alpha Sigma Phi and their fucking tropical Christmas party, I know it, Rans, I can feel it in my booze bones. Like, okay, they served drinks in real coconuts while bare-ass naked in twenty degrees, so what."

Ransom reaches out to give him a consolatory clap on the back. "We've always got next year, bro. Our names will appear on the holy Swallow pages, I promise."

“You’re right,” Holster sighs rather dramatically, sagging down a few extra inches in the chair. “We mustn’t despair. I’ve already bookmarked some ideas -- think we can keep live parrots in the Haus? Only for a few hours!”

“What I would like to know,” Shitty muses, stroking his mustache between two fingers while looking from Jack to Bitty’s flaming face and back again, “is who the fuck is their source. I mean, no offence, Bits, but if anybody is going to be Jackie’s fake-ass boytoy I call double fucking dibs and I’m willing to fight you on it.” He then considers it for a split second longer and says, “Or negotiate with food, honestly, I’m amendable.”

“Cooking is a touchy subject right now,” Dex mumbles from his perch by the counter, away from the cluster of boys that’s spread out at the table.

Dex looks like Bitty feels, actually: like he’s seriously regretting being present in this instance, and is looking for any excuse to make a quick escape. Or -- maybe only partially how Bitty feels, anyway. There’s another whole side of Bitty that’s feeling like there’s a vacuum in his chest, a ringing in his ears, a voice in his mind whispering, they know, they all know, Jack knows and he hates you for it.

Bitty has been studiously avoiding Jack’s face since they all withdrew from the door. He’s convinced that his feelings are written all over his face, pining daydreams altering his features and sappy midnight fantasies painting his cheeks bright red. He’s sure that one look in his eyes would give away every guilty thought he’s had since November, so he determinedly keeps his head down. Only, then Jack clears his throat and Bitty can’t help but spring his eyes up to look at him -- like a moth drawn to the flame that’d inevitably scorch it.

"Well, whatever is the misunderstanding, obviously they can't actually run that, Bittle. I mean, because. Hockey, and." His eyebrows do something complicated that Bitty cannot bring himself to study too closely.

The words hit like a two-hundred pound flour bag dropped on Bitty’s chest, weighing him down into the floor. Bitty tries to swallow, fails, tries again. His throat still grates like it’s made of raw sandpaper when he speaks.

"Right, no, of course," there’s this horrible sinking in his gut, a phantom sensation of freefalling that tastes like acid when it reaches the back of his tongue. "Of course, Jack. I know that. The last thing you need right now is --" he finally swallows past the lump in his throat, drops his eyes to watch his toes curl inside his shoes and dent the fabric upwards. “-- rumors about the gay kid on your team.”

Shitty says, “Bitty,” with a sharp edge in his tone, and when Bitty looks up Jack looks like he’s been struck.

"Hold on, Bittle, that's --"

“It’s okay, Jack!” Bitty makes a valiant effort to smile reassuringly. His chest is growing tighter and tighter, and he really can’t handle hearing Jack’s explanation right now. He feels like he’s shaking all over, like more and more words are being rattled out of his mouth without his permission. “I mean, it’s utterly ridiculous, but that’s The Swallow for you, I ‘spose. We’ll tell them it’s nonsense before anyone in the league catches wind of it. I’m sorry I even put your career at risk like that, honestly.”

“Bittle,” Jack says again, more firmly. He looks almost angry.

Holster’s stunned look is flickering between the two of them, and Bitty can feel the humiliation crawling up the back of his neck. He thinks that if he stays sitting in the kitchen any longer the boys might actually hear the splintering sounds his heart is making in his chest. Or he might start crying, whichever comes first.

“Don’t worry about it, really,” Bitty forces himself out of his chair, squeezes Jack’s elbow in passing for good measure, even though bringing his hands anywhere near Jack feels like torture. He doesn’t want Jack to feel guilty about this -- it’s not his fault. “It’s fine. I gotta go, I’m meeting Prof. Atley, but we’ll talk about it later, okay?”

He bolts out of the kitchen and rushes down the hall. The last thing he hears is Ransom saying, “Dude, I’m pretty sure his meeting with her was like, four hours ago,” before the Haus door slams shut behind him.

The worst part is, Bitty knows Jack is straight.

Jack dates 50 Most girls from the tennis team, he takes ladies in tall heels to Screw, he brings puck bunnies to his room during kegsters. Or -- that turned out, actually, to be not all that true after all -- but.

Jack is straight. Bitty knew this all along. Bitty knew this and still let his foolish, stubborn heart say, maybe. Bitty saw Jack laughing at his weak chirps, and looking at him sometimes when Bitty was turned away, and there was that party, with Parse, and Bitty’s blood was rushing in his ears and he tried so hard not to listen, but they almost looked like they -- and Bitty thought, maybe --

But Jack wasn’t. Of course not. And Bitty knows it’s so unfair and so unjustified that he’s allowing himself to be mad about Jack’s words. Because these boys accept Bitty for who he is, have never shied away from him, have always been comfortable with his presence in their lives and their house and their locker room, and that’s not something to be taken for granted. It’s not their fault that they’re straight and that’s easier, not their fault that Jack’s straight and Bitty can’t bring himself to let go. Besides, something like this, it could wreck Jack's career even if it were true, and it isn't, so of course Jack would want it gone. It's not personal, Bitty knows. He has no reason to be so hurt.

Except maybe it stings a little, how untrue it really is. Maybe it burns a little inside to know that other people see what he sees, what he wishes were true, and still know that he can never have that for real. And maybe it hurts, that Jack can so easily make the article go away and never deal with those rumors again, because it's simply not true about him, but it will always be true about Bitty. Maybe he’s tired of how he will always have to fight for his place while people like Jack Zimmermann can walk right in.

Maybe.

But none of it is Jack's fault. Because Jack is straight, and Bitty isn’t, and he’s gone and fallen in love with him anyway.

Breakfast with only Lardo and Jack is a quiet affair the next morning. Habit has them settled down at the team’s usual long table, but they take up significantly less space just the three of them. Bitty is surprised by the two empty seats remaining to each side of them despite the crowded dining hall, but considers that maybe the Samwell population knows whose seats are available and aren't willing to risk it.

Lardo is chewing her toast silently by Bitty's side, oversized hoodie draped over most of her face. Jack is sitting across from them, peeling the shells off a pile of hard-boiled eggs. His body is curved in a stiff line over his plate and his elbows are tucked in close to his sides. He keeps sneaking glances at Bitty every few minutes, looking torn; Bitty busies himself with spooning exactly three banana slices in every dip into his oatmeal bowl, keeps hurriedly shoving them into his mouth every time Jack looks like maybe he’s going to actually say something.

Bitty spent the majority of the previous night hiding out in a quiet corner of Norris library, binging episodes of The Great British Bake Off on his phone. When he ultimately found the courage to come back to the Haus, he power-walked straight into his room and didn’t venture out for anything more than brushing his teeth. The walls in the Haus are thin, however, and he could still hear Jack in his own room through the closed doors, speaking on the phone with his father in brisk French. They didn't exactly sound angry, but Bitty had unintentionally overheard enough of Jack’s phone conversations to recognize Jack’s business tone easily.

Jack’s lawyer had sent The Swallow a sternly phrased email first thing that morning -- for formality, Jack informed Bitty when the two of them left the Haus for breakfast with Lardo. His hands were tucked deep in his pockets and his eyes were hidden beneath the bill of his Habs cap. He kept his body angled away from Bitty, maintaining a careful six feet between them, and Bitty’s whole body ached like he’d spent the night playing consecutive shifts instead of tossing and turning in his bed. It was the only time they’ve acknowledged the Swallow article since the previous afternoon. Bitty changed the subject immediately after, and prattled meaninglessly the whole way to Commons.

The three of them separate after breakfast, Lardo heading for the studio and Jack and Bitty for their respective classes. Bitty spends most of his spare noon hours trying to do work in the kitchen, but he steals longing glimpses at Betsy more often than he does the reading for US Intellectual HIST or the darn American Publics essay he still hasn’t started.

This day needs an assist, he justifies when he eventually deserts his open notes on the table in favor of hunting down a clean towel. Polishing dishes is a more effective way to escape his blues. Maybe he’ll make some jam -- that doesn’t require a working oven, and it’d be a longer-term distraction from the mess he’s landed in.

Jack’s lawyer's actions in mind, the knock on the Haus door doesn’t really surprise Bitty. He can’t help the way his body tenses at the sound, though; the blood rushing through his body is too much like the terrible lightheadedness he experiences when checked.

Jack comes down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and grinds to a halt when he sees Bitty leaning against the wall at the entrance to the kitchen and staring at the door.

“It’s probably the Swallow rep,” Jack states the obvious, voice completely monotonous and face blank.

Bitty's gut lurches. He tries his very best, but he’s certain that his smile looks even more put-on than it was the day before.

“We should probably go get it, then,” he says. He keeps his hands wrapped in the dish towel as they move to open the door, to have something to do with them and to cover up the way they’re shaking.

The guy standing on the bottom of their stairs is the same one from yesterday. His loose printed shirt is somehow even uglier than the plaid vest, but this time no smile is taking up the majority of his face. In fact, he isn’t smiling at all; he kind of looks like he’s been sent to the gallows and couldn't beg out of his sentence.

“We've been informed that a mistake was made,” the guy says promptly, glancing between the two of them. Everything about his face and his body language appears cautious.

“Yes,” Jack confirms firmly. The guy blinks in sync with Bitty, both of them waiting to see if Jack has any intention to follow that statement with an explanation, but none seems imminent.

“We understand that it’s an honest mistake and we just want it scrapped," Bitty says instead, trying to keep his voice from betraying any emotion, even when his vocal cords are wound tight. "We can't be the cutest couple if we're not -- if we're not."

“You talked to your lawyer,” the guy says faintly. Bitty's not sure that he actually heard a word of what was said. He keeps eyeing Jack’s rigid posture and bulging muscles like he’s afraid that he’s going to be dragged into a fist fight right there on the lawn.

“It’s a legal matter,” Jack replies curtly, frowning.

“No one ever sent his lawyer after us,” the guy says, fainter still. “It’s just The Swallow, man.”

Jack's frown deepens. He’s wearing his hockey face, mouth pinched and eye narrowed, every angle of his face turning sharper. He looks serious, assertive, like he’s getting ready to step out on the ice for the puck drop. Bitty’s heart hurts so badly looking at him that he has to turn away. His eyes, mid-movement, catch on three faces eavesdropping from behind the living room’s doorway. He just barely suppresses a heavy sigh.

"-- you’d be spreading misinformation with unwelcome consequences,” Jack is talking, apparently, and Bitty tuned out most of it. “So you understand why we need you to retract that immediately and delete all further copies."

"Yes," the guy nods tentatively, eyes jerking in Bitty’s direction and then immediately back to Jack. "I'm -- sorry? We really thought you were --"

"Well we ain't," Bitty says, wringing the towel in his hands to hinder an uncommon urge to break something with them.

"Yes, I -- I understand," the guy seems as spooked by Bitty now, contemplating him and the towel as warily as he did Jack. "But we --"

"And I've got a date!" Bitty blurts, before he can hold his tongue from making his situation worse. Shitty whispers, the fuck, brah?, loud enough to carry all the way to the front door. "A date! With. Someone else, obviously, who is very much not Jack Zimmermann, so if you could -- make it go away -- good heavens this could be embarrassing for my date --"

"Of course,” the guy is nodding more vigorously now, head bouncing much like a dashboard bobblehead. He takes a cautious step back. “We're, uh, sorry. We’ll take care of it."

The guy retreats from the porch, glancing back every few steps as he hastens down the sidewalk.

Jack shuts the door behind them when they step back inside, and has to move closer to Bitty to allow the door to close. It brings his arm flush with Bitty’s back, solid and warm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Bitty’s breath catches. His look flits sideways to watch Jack’s face twist into something Bitty hasn’t seen since the playoffs last year. He really felt like Jack and him were getting steadily closer throughout the year, considers Jack one of his closest friends, but he doesn’t think he’s imagining the distance between them in the last twenty-four hours. It’s more painful than the verbal confirmation that Jack will never like him back was. It’s painful that Bitty’s been shoving his feelings so far down to avoid this very outcome, only to have it blow up in his face through no fault of his own.

"What's that now!” Holster’s booming voice snaps Bitty out of his brooding, and he jerks his eyes up to see that Ransom, Shitty and Holster have crawled out of their eavesdropping spot and are blocking the hallway. “You've got a what and didn't tell us!"

“It’s not a big deal, y’all,” Bitty mumbles, mortified at how much he’s really not lying at all. He slinks away from Jack’s touch, tries to at least be subtle about it. Jack's expression is shuttering further with every moment that passes and Bitty is feeling irrationally miserable about it.

“Is too, Bits!” Ransom claps him on the shoulder excitedly, shaking his entire frame. "You know you gotta tell us all about it, we get veto rights! Is he hot? What's his name? Is he going to be your shoulders for Spring C?"

Bitty’s lousy day has only been getting progressively worse, which he thinks validates the way he bristles and knocks Ransom's hand off his shoulder. "I am average height, Justin Oluransi!"

So it's not -- really a date.

Anthony from his Eating Practices Since the 19th Century course, who sits two seats away from Bitty and always forgets to bring a pen, caught up with him after class and offered to study together. Bitty’s doing alright in that course, but Anthony is smart and friendly and it’s a good incentive to actually get some work done before finals, so Bitty smiled and said yes. He didn’t think a few days later he’d be lying about it to his friends.

They meet outside Annie’s because Anthony preferred it to Founder’s, which Bitty didn’t mind. He was a little embarrassed about how the librarians might react to the sight of his face. They, unlike some others, don’t have a problem believing he’s a member of the Men’s Hockey Team, and the treatment earned by his teammates’ behavior extends to him.

Ransom wouldn’t let him leave the Haus until his outfit has been appraised, which means he’s maybe a little overdressed for a platonic study date -- but Anthony is in nice jeans and wearing neither a team logo shirt nor a marijuana crop top, so he’s already setting the bar higher than Bitty’s usual company.

"After you," Anthony beams, opening the door for Bitty. It’s awfully nice of him. Maybe Bitty should consider running cotillion classes for his boys before graduation.

It’s easier to revert to his sunny nature in the company of someone new. Anthony keeps up chatter about the last subjects they covered in class, relates to Bitty’s chronic procrastination tendencies, and even insists on paying for both of their drinks. Bitty tries to refuse, instantly dejected by the stark reminder of coffee runs with Jack, but Anthony argues that they’d probably refill several times and Bitty can get the next one. His winning smile is so convincing that Bitty can’t find it in himself to say no.

It happens again when Bitty begins leading them to a larger table in the middle of the café where they’ll have more room to spread out. Anthony points at a table by the windows instead, says, “There, it’ll be quieter,” and Bitty instinctively thinks, those are the windows Jack and I always sit by. He then thinks, good Lord, ERB, get a hold of yourself, and agrees. There’s not much point in attending a study date if he’ll be constantly thinking about Jack Zimmermann.

They spread out all their notes and laptops and books, settling on both sides of the small, round table. Anthony drinks his coffee extra hot and the steam fogs up his glasses, which causes Bitty to laugh and Anthony to grin sheepishly. It sets a good mood for their joint studying.

They work decently well together. Anthony's been more diligent with his schoolwork but Bitty is a faster reader than him, so they catch up with each other fairly quickly and proceed from there. Bitty finds it fun, partnering with someone who doesn’t consider violent food breaks an essential part of studying, and enjoys having somebody to complain about the professor with. The two of them are just starting on technological advances at the end of the century when Bitty’s shoulders fully loosen for the first time in three days and he thinks: this is going well, this is nice, maybe we can do this more often.

This is also the exact point he looks up to tell Anthony about Louis Pasteur and catches Holster and Ransom spying on him from outside Annie’s front window.

His knee-jerk response is uncontainable: he groans out loud. Anthony seems alarmed, twisting in his chair to look over his shoulder and detect what Bitty’s glaring at. Ransom, who clearly knows they’ve been caught, looks directly at Anthony with a deliberately threatening face, pointing two fingers at his eyes, then at Anthony, and back at his eyes.

Anthony makes a confused face into his mug and says, "Um."

"Gosh, I am so sorry," Bitty drops his face into his palms, trying to smother the waves of heat rushing to his cheeks. "It's my teammates -- they have no boundaries and they -- gracious, they think this is a date --"

Anthony swallows a mouthful of coffee too quickly before he sets his mug on the table. "Oh, uh. Do you… not think this is a date?"

Bitty lets his hands fall into his lap. His eyes dart to where Holster and Ransom are waving their thumbs up in the air as they mercifully walk away from the window and then back to Anthony, whose face is unmoving. "...What?"

The top of Anthony's cheeks pink, and he adjusts the glasses on his nose with a knuckle. "I... totally asked you meaning this to be a date."

"Oh," Bitty exhales numbly. Oh, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, he thinks, and then opens his mouth to say something to Anthony -- anything at all, because the poor boy is starting to squirm in his chair -- but all his words seem to get stubbornly stuck behind his teeth.

Because Anthony is perfectly nice. He’s mild-mannered, has a pleasant smile, and he's made Bitty laugh in class a few times when the professor wasn't looking. He's sitting across from Bitty with his hands twitching on top of the table, like Bitty's answer on the matter of their date is important to him. Like he would actually really like it to be one, so he found the courage to ask.

"Oh boy, I really didn't realize," Bitty confesses, finally, clutching his coffee tightly between his fingers. He's never thought he'd be this bad at this, but apparently he's just completely and entirely blind to anyone's affections as long as anyone isn't Jack Zimmermann. And now he made this difficult for both Anthony and himself.

"That's okay," Anthony says, clearing his throat. His lips quirk up in some intimation of a smile, which is, while still very pleasant to look at, much less genuine than his usual smile. "No, really, it's cool. My fault for not being clearer. We can -- I can go and order a refill for this coffee, and when I'm back we'll forget about it? We still have work left to do." He drags his legs out from beneath the table, turning sideways in his seat, before he risks another look at Bitty. "Unless you --? I mean, now that you -- realize -- would you want it to be…?"

The answer to that, Bitty thinks regretfully, is too complex for an acquaintance. Because how does one say, you're very nice and I imagine liking you could be very easy, but I've never dated in my life and right as I thought maybe I'd give it a try, I went and fell head over heels for a grumpy, kind-hearted, heterosexual Canadian?

One doesn't, Bitty reckons, but one also cannot keep waiting forever for something that will never, ever come. So he straightens his back and says, with his best Georgia smile, "Well, how about we carry on studyin’, and maybe we'll see how things go?"

It's a little more strained after that, but that's more Bitty's fault than anything. Anthony is still as perfectly polite as he was before, as focused on the reading. It's just that now every time Anthony smiles at him Bitty freezes, and then feels guilty for freezing, and gets mad at himself for not giving this a fighting chance, and by then he's not smiling back for so long that Anthony's smile shrinks, and Bitty feels even guiltier --

"Look," Anthony tells him after they packed everything back into their bags and walked companionably outside. "This hasn't been ideal, but I still had a good time. I'd like to maybe -- do it again?" Anthony smiles genuinely this time, and his smile is so pleasant, and he tilts his head the slightest bit closer to say, "As an official date this time?", and --

This is the second time Bitty freaks out about a very nice boy leaning in to possibly kiss him at Annie's, and it's exactly as mortifying as the first.

Bitty jumps back painfully obviously, as startled himself by his physical reaction as Anthony clearly is. He's blushing fiercely when he stammers, "Oh -- I -- I don't think it'll work out, I'm so -- I'm so sorry --" turns around, almost breaking into a run, and calls out, "I'll bake you a pie!"

The corners of Bitty’s eyes begin to burn, indicating the impending shameful tears. He’s terribly upset with himself for his reaction, but he’d be even more upset if he allowed himself to cry over it, so he makes the effort to blink furiously the entire way home.

The team gathers to eat dinner together that night. Bitty’s still a little vulnerable in the aftermath of his failed study date, but he does his best to hide it, pushing himself to be cheerful and revel in quality time with his boys. It’s easier when Ransom spends most of the walk to the dining hall engaging him in a conversation about wild alien conspiracies. It’s harder when Shitty and Holster join forces to cajole him into giving deets, and don’t take his, “Oh good Lord, there’s nothing to talk about!” as an acceptable answer. Telling them the truth is not an option -- they’re his best friends, but they would absolutely, no question about it, chirp him to death, and he’s really not in the right mood to take it good-naturedly.

Bitty’s surprised when it’s Jack who eventually tells them to knock it off, shoving Holster’s shoulder to force his way into sitting between him and Bitty at the table. Holster topples sideways into Nursey, and Jack seizes the vacated space and grants Bitty a miniature triumphant smile.

Jack’s dour mood had persisted through yesterday and during their walk over, but Bitty’s been watching him gradually thaw ever since they arrived at Commons; this smile is the first true, earnest one in days, and it melts Bitty on the inside. He’s immensely relieved that at least their friendship isn’t ruined, that the past few days have only been an unfortunate bump in an otherwise smooth road. Bitty tries to cling on to that, use it to move forward from the raincloud lingering over him since his afternoon with Anthony.

A baby-faced freshman approaches their table while Chowder is telling them about a text conversation with his sister. Bitty has his phone out before anyone else even reacts -- the nervous look in the kid’s face is enough warning, and he’s not disappointed; the kid zeroes in on Jack and asks for a signature on his Samwell jersey. There is absolute silence at the table while Jack surrenders to his inescapable fate and pulls out a pen. He then ducks his head and hangs on to that pen once the kid is out of earshot and the boys begin chirping him ruthlessly, yelling loudly enough to rattle the cutlery.

Bitty’s hiccupping laughter comes as a surprise to himself, but it’s the welcome sort. He directs his smile at his phone while he tweets -- true friends don't care that you're a professional hockey player; true friends ask you to sign their mashed potatoes during dinner -- and when he raises his head Jack is peeking at his screen and grinning at him.

“Not a professional player yet, eh? You can’t go lying to the Twitter.”

Jack is so obviously pleased with himself, white teeth gleaming in his mischievous grin. Bitty's heart soars and then swiftly sinks to the bottom of his stomach. He tries to hang on to the gratitude for what he has, but something in Jack’s voice triggers the memory of it stating, obviously they can't actually run that, and then, consecutively, the memory of Anthony's dumbfounded look when Bitty fled away from him.

Not even Jack's benign chirps or his concerned glances can restore Bitty's uplifted mood after that.

Can’t make it to Founder’s tonight. Sorry! :( :( Raincheck?

The reading room is quieter than the rest of the Haus at night. It's dark out, gray shingles lit only by the lamp inside Bitty's bedroom and the faint glow of the streetlights down the road. Bitty lets his legs dangle from the edge of the roof, cradling a can of Twisted Tea and watching his shoes swing twelve feet above the shadowy green of the lawn.

There's the sound of a creaky window sash sliding up behind him. “Hey, Bittle.”

Bitty turns around. Jack is sitting on the ledge of his windowsill, holding a folded blanket in his lap. It takes a few seconds to blink away the disorientation caused by rumination and beer. “Jack! What’re you doing?”

Jack shrugs. “You said you’re not coming with me to Founder’s, and then you didn’t answer your phone. I wanted to check in.” He holds out the blanket with a modest smile. “Here -- so you won't get cold. Spring is pretty rough on you Southerners, eh?”

Bitty snorts inelegantly at the chirp, but stretches his arm to accept the blanket. He twists back to watch the twinkling Christmas lights on the LAX frat house across the road. They never take those down, and never add any new ones during the holidays. It’s as good a reason as any to hate the lacrosse team.

Jack clears his throat, an obtrusive sound in the relative silence. “Can I -- do you want me to stay? I mean, I can leave if you need some quiet.”

Bitty looks at him from over his shoulder, chin digging into his collarbone. Jack’s face is gentler than Bitty’s seen it in a while, mellowed out by the orange tint of the streetlights, and it’s so unfair. Even when Bitty’s upset about Jack he wants Jack near him, wants to hear Jack’s opinion, wants his straightforward, pragmatic type of advice. He wonders what Jack’s face would look like if Bitty was brave enough to tell him the truth about what’s bothering him. A sardonic laugh almost escapes him at that visual.

“No, you can stay,” Bitty says instead, and then makes a herculean effort to brighten up. “As long as you promise not to prattle on, you chatterbox, you know I like silences.”

The chirp falls flat when Bitty’s cheery façade cracks. Jack swings both legs out the window and slides down to sit by Bitty while Bitty takes another swig out of the can. There’s a lot of space on the roof, two empty lawn chairs on Bitty’s end, but Jack sits right next to him. Bitty’s shoulder knocks into Jack’s bicep and Jack’s thick thigh brushes against his, but Jack doesn’t take any action to inch away.

Bitty collects his knees close to his chest, leans his chin on top of them and continues watching the span of street visible from their roof. Beneath their feet, some couple probably returning from the bars by the river stumble together on the sidewalk, the echo of their giggles drifting up to the reading room. Bitty can’t quite cover his grimace in time to hide it from Jack.

"You're upset," Jack jabs Bitty’s elbow with his own, brow furrowing.

"No!" Bitty objects quickly, hoping his voice is only a lick squeaky. He's not drunk by any means, but the Twisted Tea makes everything a bit fuzzy, softens the world at its fringes. "I'm not upset. It's -- finals are coming up in two weeks, and I've got this essay I haven’t started, and -- you know, Betsy hasn’t been well and what am I gonna do, if I can’t bake to distract myself before the tests --"

"Bittle," Jack cuts him off quietly. Bitty lifts his head off his knees just enough to enable a quick glance; Jack is looking at him, those intense eyes trained on Bitty’s face, making his cheeks flush self-consciously. Jack’s expression is his distinct blend of uncomfortable but determined. "You're upset. Are you -- is it -- your date was this afternoon…?"

Bitty’s blush deepens, and he lays his cheek down to avoid eye contact. "So?"

"So," Jack begins, clumsily, and then shifts his arm so it nudges Bitty’s, fingers curled loosely into his palm. "Did he -- I mean."

It takes Bitty a moment to decipher Jack’s faltering sentence, but -- "Gosh, no," Bitty denies with profound embarrassment once he follows Jack's train of thought. Jack, unable to shake off the role of captain, is assuming some boy hurt him. Bitty doesn’t know how to tell him that he couldn't even get through the date to get hurt how normal people do. "He was a gentleman. If anything, it was me who was on my worst behavior."

Jack doesn’t look convinced. He bumps the back of his curled fingers against Bitty’s thigh. "But you're upset."

Bitty loosens his grip on his knees, keeps the hand not holding the can busy by fiddling with the hem of Jack’s blanket. Jack is both the last and the only person he wants to talk to about this. Bitty’s original plan was to get tipsy enough to fall asleep without thinking his emotions through, and then spend the next day compartmentalizing it away -- but Jack’s presence brings everything to the forefront of his mind, plucks at the tangle in his chest until it unravels.

"Well, because --” he sighs, and the expansion of his lungs must fracture some dam, because the words begin spilling out in long strings of nonsense. “I just -- I came here from Georgia because I thought it’d be different, y’know? I couldn't fit in there, and I know -- you said yourself -- I know it’s not any different here, not really, not in hockey, but outside of hockey it’s Samwell, so at least I could be me, right? But apparently I can't even be that, because I can't manage a simple thing like a date with a cute boy," he stops to take a deep breath, buries his face in the nook between his knees. "And, goodness, I can't believe I'm -- none of this is on you, I'm sorry --"

"Bittle," Jack touches his knee, inches away from his cheek, causing Bitty to look up. Jack doesn’t move his fingers from Bitty’s bare leg after Bitty lifts his head. "Don’t be sorry. It's okay."

Bitty searches Jack’s face. He doesn’t know how to read it, what the tiny microexpressions currently mean, but Jack’s fingers are splayed in the valleys of his joints and there’s something grounding in it. He takes another big breath in an attempt to calm himself down.

"I guess," Bitty whispers, but the turmoil in his chest doesn’t settle, not after he started letting it all out. He can almost picture it surging in him, clawing its way up to his mouth. "But -- is it? Okay? I'm just." He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself, both for feeling so much and for being unable to articulate feelings with the proper words. "I feel like I can't just be me. Because who I am isn't good enough at home, and isn't good enough for hockey, and who I am likes boys but apparently I'm no good at liking them right, or -- the right ones --"

He restrains himself from saying anything incriminating, biting his lip hard enough to taste the metallic flavor of blood.

"You are good enough for hockey," Jack says, stilted. His hand tightens on Bitty’s knee and belatedly pulls away. "You're a strong player, and you did a great job this season. I know we lost, but you still did good. You'll be even better next year."

Bitty exhales sharply, rubs his eyes. He knows Jack; he knows he chose to latch onto hockey because that's something he’s capable of expressing. Telling Bitty he's a good player is something Jack can find words for. Bitty didn’t expect Jack to be the right person to talk through an identity crisis, but it’d be an easier evasion to accept if he wasn’t wrong.

"Jack, no offense, but that's a load of horseshit." Jack is clearly caught off guard, seems to be gearing himself up for retaliation, but Bitty talks right over him. "It is! It is, because I might do alright now -- here -- but if I wanted to go into real hockey, into the league, you think they'd be alright with who I am? You've heard what some guys’ve got to say on the ice, and this isn’t even professional hockey."

"You want to play professionally?" The familiar glint in Jack’s eyes indicates that he’s losing track of the grand scheme of the conversation.

"No! But that's not the point!" Bitty swallows, because it isn't, but getting to the point might as well be impossible with Jack. He can't exactly tell him that he's heartbroken and disappointed in himself and everything looks more bleak from this perspective. He's no better than Jack right now; they’re both afraid to dip their toes into the murky waters of everything Bitty said that isn’t about the game. "I couldn't if I wanted to because of who I am."

"You could," Jack says, looking away, his shoulders tight. The conviction in his voice gets Bitty's attention. Jack really isn’t the most emotive of guys, and it takes a lot to get his voice to change pitch. "The league isn't a very welcoming place, but it's hockey. The whole point is hockey. And if you're good at hockey, they'll just have to accept that -- at some point. It might be hard, but if hockey is what you want, then --" he looks up, catches Bitty's eyes. Jack’s are unfocused, like somehow he forgot Bitty was even there. "I mean -- you said it isn't, but if it was -- all I'm saying is --"

"Sure," Bitty brings the can up to his mouth for another swig, skeptical even in the face of Jack’s unanticipated speech. "I get it. You can play, and all."

"Yes,” Jack insists, turning his upper body towards Bitty. Their knees press together and Jack’s face is suddenly a lot closer than it was before. Bitty has to blink a few times until he can get his pulse under control. “You can. Because you are good enough, Bittle."

They stare at each other, time stretching between them, caught up in the unforeseen gravity of the situation. Bitty can’t really wrap his head around hearing Jack defending him with such vigor, but he knows there’s nothing he can say to argue. That’s Jack’s opinion. He’s never been guilty of handing out compliments he doesn’t believe in.

"Thanks, Jack." Bitty whispers. "'m sorry. It's been a rough day. Sometimes --” He sighs again, bows his head, and musters the last shreds of his courage to be at least a little honest. “I guess sometimes it can get lonely. And it sucked to realize that it's my own fault I'm alone in the first place."

Jack subdues gradually, his shoulders folding inward and the fire in his eyes dying out, leaving room for something much more empathetic than Bitty expected.

"I'm sorry, Bittle." He reaches out to grasp the ball of Bity’s shoulder in his large palm, squeezing it tightly. It’s a friendly gesture of comfort, one the boys in the team offer each other all the time, but Jack’s thumb is absently rubbing small circles on the base of Bitty’s neck and it spreads tingles through his skin.

“It’s alright,” Bitty moves away, smiling, but the words are like dust in his mouth and it isn’t really alright at all. They settle back into sitting side by side, and Bitty notices Jack's fixed eyes on the side of his face, but he doesn’t turn to look.

Friday evening finds Bitty scrambling to complete last-minute assignments before Spring C the next day. He shuts himself away in his room and turns off his phone, tries to make his eyes focus on long lines of text instead of on any creaking noises in the Haus that might provide a distraction. This tactic has failed him more often than not, but for once the Haus is completely empty and any creaking Bitty might hear could only be chalked up to Ransom’s ghosts. Lardo and Shitty are out buying booze for Spring C, Holster is with the frogs, Ransom is at his weekend study group, and Jack has been in Providence with his mother all day, looking at potential apartments, and will be returning later to have dinner with her and her former Department Chair.

Studying is easier when Bitty’s using it to avoid thinking about other things. Lately, since his oven has been acting up, it’s been easy using studying as a distraction from thinking about Jack -- about Jack moving to Providence, about Jack taking the first steps in his adult life away from Bitty and the team. It isn’t a better distraction than watching Say Yes To The Dress with Holster or listening to music with Lardo, but in the absence of all other options, it’s good enough to push Bitty to make his deadlines, even if it’s at the last minute.

Bitty’s laptop emits a sharp ping that alerts him to a new incoming email, and Bitty scrambles up from the floor, almost tripping over two piles of reading material on his way. His room is an absolute mess; papers covering the bedspread and the desk, textbooks spilling from inside his bag onto the floor, pens scattered haphazardly. He’s been reviewing for the HIST test while emailing back and forth with the TA for his American Publics course -- the last three lectures of which he honestly cannot remember, but is somehow expected to write two thousand words for anyway.

The new email in his inbox isn’t from his TA, however. It reads, RE: RE: Your Nomination in the 2015 Samwell Awards, and only contains one line of text, visible in the thread’s preview without Bitty clicking it open. Attached is a confirmation for the removal and termination of the aforementioned article.

Bitty pauses, his essay forgotten, and goes over the subject lines four more times.

Bitty hasn’t read the article. Bitty didn't want to read the article, had convinced himself that he was indifferent and was more interested in putting the whole ludicrous affair behind them. But now he’s incapable of dragging his cursor away from the email’s subject line. He can’t help but want to know what they have to say -- want to know why anyone would mirror his misguided feelings for a close friend.

It can lead to nothing but trouble. Bitty still opens the article file for the first time since the whole mess began on Monday, because he won't have the guts otherwise, but for some masochistic reason he just has to know.

The Samwell Swallow

Vol. 26, Issue 31 | May 2015 | Special Edition | The Samwell Awards

CUTEST COUPLE AWARD: ICE HOCKEY AS A LOVE LANGUAGE

Our most dedicated readers will know that the title of Samwell’s Cutest Couple is highly coveted. Perhaps only second to Dream Date or Biggest Gossip in prestige, this award is one of the greatest honors young Wellie lovebirds can strive for. This year, we’re proud to elect JACK ZIMMERMANN ‘15 and ERIC BITTLE ‘17. We know: enough with the fucking hockey bros. But hear us out.

These unlikely candidates were initially nominated by Zimmermann’s fellow photography class students with an exclusive scoop. Bittle was the subject of Zimmermann’s midterm project! (Awe.) Such a grand romantic gesture could not go overlooked, and we set out to investigate. Copies of Zimmermann’s photos are brought to you here, courtesy of the Department of Visual Art.

[Images: a collage containing a dozen semi-professional photographs, all depicting BITTLE. His character is consistently linked to themes of warmth and light, and is obviously portrayed with great affection.]

We were delighted by what we learned. Observant Wellies report that the two are often seen taking long romantic walks around campus, with Zimmermann’s lens sometimes pointed at the scenery, but more often at his boyfriend. Sources at Annie’s, the local café, tell The Swallow that, “Yeah, they’ve been like, coming here at least two or three times a week this year? There’s their table [points at a secluded window table in the corner]. The tall guy always pays -- what? No, they’re almost always alone. Except this one time that they were here with this other couple? I don’t know, man, I see lots of people on dates, but these guys kinda stand out. They’re always giggling with each other, it’s ridiculous. And loud.”

Our research yielded clear results: service staff at Samwell’s Jerry’s, Superberry and Stop&Shop have gone on record with similar statements; students who shared a class with the two disclose that their constant whispering and flirting have been impossible to ignore; even the janitor at Faber Memorial Rink reports that current team captain and fellow liney spend every weekend skating alone as they watch the sun rise, while no practice is scheduled! It’s official - Bittle and Zimmermann are, indeed, 2015’s Cutest Couple.

[Image: BITTLE and ZIMMERMANN at the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team’s #Epickegster this winter. The two are standing very close in the midst of what appears to be an intimate conversation, leaning towards each other under a bag of free condoms. Text under image reads: Our staffers report that the two then disappeared upstairs while the party was still in full swing. Get it, boys!]

Bitty spends a long, breathless moment staring at the screen with unseeing eyes.

It’s like an out of body experience. Bitty can’t feel the tips of his fingers, can’t feel his toes. He can’t lift his hand to ram the laptop lid shut so his eyes are still glued to the block of text, words blurring together into a solid sheet of gray. His mind keeps losing footing, coherent thoughts cutting off before they can run their course, parts of sentences jamming into one long sequence -- grand romantic gesture, long walks, whispering and flirting -- that plays over and over. Distantly, he’s aware that there are stray tears in the corner of his eyes, but he’s too disconnected from his limbs to do something about it.

People look, he thinks, brain stuttering over the realization, pushing itself out of its shock, people look and see -- people look at the two of us and what they see is --

A loud noise behind his back scares the living daylight out of him, enough to send him spinning on the chair. The door to his bedroom swings open, nearly banging against the wall with the strength of its motion. Behind it is Jack, standing in the doorway with his eyes blown wide and his face pale, looking like he's seen a ghost; panting for breath like he ran a marathon to get there.

Bitty nearly collapses out of his chair, stumbling over the papers on the floor to step closer, arms reaching out automatically. “Jack -- what --? Is everything alright? Aren’t you supposed to be with your mom --?”

“Bitty,” Jack breathes out, unsteady, and then tumbles further into the room. His hair is disheveled and his buttoned shirt is smeared with stains of sweat, and Bitty’s brain is still coming back online but he’s suddenly overcome with how handsome Jack still is, even like this.

And then Jack takes a lengthy step forward right into Bitty’s space, his body enveloping Bitty’s and his broad palms cupping Bitty’s burning cheeks, and tips Bitty’s mouth into his.

Bitty’s eyes remain wide open for one paralyzed split second, taking in the sight of Jack’s dark eyelashes and sculpted brow bone from extreme up close, and then Jack’s lips move and Bitty’s eyelids flutter closed, melting into the unfamiliar action.

Jack's mouth is as soft as Bitty imagined, as hot, velvety lips sliding against Bitty's and catching on the dip of his cupid’s bow. Bitty’s mind keeps up a remote chant of oh my god, Jack is kissing me, oh god, what is happening, before that too is silenced by the thrill of Jack’s mouth parting against his, deepening the kiss, and then everything goes blessedly silent.

An undetermined amount of time later, Jack’s phone begins buzzing insistently; Bitty can feel the vibrations from where his hip is aligned with Jack’s. Jack ignores it, separating their lips to angle his head in the other direction and suck Bitty’s bottom lip into his mouth, tongue wet and tentative. His phone buzzes again, though, and subsequently two times more, and then Jack finally sighs into Bitty’s mouth.

“That’s my mom,” he says quietly, breaking their mouths barely far enough apart to speak. His lower lip is shining with spit and Bitty feels faint, needs to sit down before he falls over, needs to step back before he sinks his teeth into it impulsively. “She’s waiting for me...”

“Oh,” Bitty says. His voice sounds like it’s coming from very far away. He has so many things he wants to say -- what the hell, and what does this mean, and but aren’t you, and stay, stay, don’t go -- yet the only sounds his mouth can apparently make are, “Uh. Okay.”

“We have this… dinner…” Jack continues, and his eyes are so blue and his lips are so red and his cheeks are so pink, and Bitty thinks that maybe this is a very vivid stress-induced hallucination, and also thinks that he wouldn’t mind hallucinating a little longer. “I gotta go, but I’ll -- I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” Bitty says again, even though he’s not sure it is. He’s pretty sure, actually, that once Jack exits the door of his bedroom this spell will break like at Cinderella’s midnight clock strike, and Jack will return from dinner with his mother still painfully perfect, and still painfully straight, and still so, so far out of Bitty’s reach.

Jack backs up towards the door, eyes lingering on Bitty as his hands drift down Bitty’s arms. “I’ll be back,” he repeats, although Bitty’s not any more convinced, and then he takes his hands away and fumbles blindly for the doorknob, slips out into the hallway from whence he came.

Bitty hears his breaths shallow into nothing more than gasps of air, and promptly crumples backwards onto his chair.

Bitty spends the entire time Jack is absent slowly going out of his mind.

Once the shock passes and the fogginess clouding his thoughts clears, all he can do is think: think about Jack kissing him, and the lovely shape of his mouth, and the bewitched look on his face; wonder how the hell it happened, and why, and what it even means. He conjures a dozen, a hundred versions of what transpired to bring Jack to his door, and even more of what would happen if he does indeed come back.

Bitty paces back and forth across his room, unable to focus or hold onto any one scenario for more than a few seconds. His heart beats so fast for so long that it develops into nausea; he continues pacing while clutching his stomach and praying that he won’t throw up, because he doesn’t think he’d survive that kind of embarrassing memory.

Shitty and Lardo come back at some point, stoned and bearing three bags of sour worms. They squint at his messy room but don't comment on the condition of his hair or his shaky limbs, kindly offer him some sour worms and the opportunity for contact-high in Shitty’s room. They back off and close the door as soon as they see the look on his face. Bitty runs his hand through his hair one more time when he tries to imagine what his face must look like to successfully scare them away.

A long while later there are footsteps in the hallway outside his door. Bitty braces himself to tell Holster or Ransom or, god, Chowder that he’s busy right now. He tries to remind himself that he loves them even when he's in a state, and sits down on the bed to tell them that he isn’t feeling well -- except then the door opens, and it’s Jack standing in the doorway.

Bitty’s heart jumps, somersaults, and plummets all in the space of one millisecond, as he stands up abruptly from the bed and stares, openmouthed.

Jack doesn’t look as rumpled as he did earlier. His collar is adjusted neatly and the tails of his shirt are tucked and smoothed into his pants, but his face is a rich shade of pink and he’s clenching and unclenching his fists by his side. He seems so awkward, standing there, that Bitty’s continuous state of panic morphs into a different chaotic mess of confusion and affection, all while Jack does nothing but stare at him.

“How was dinner?” Bitty squeaks out, eventually, when it’s clear that Jack’s not going to speak anytime soon.

Jack looks like Bitty has veered off script unexpectedly. His eyes widen and he clenches his fists and then releases them again, compulsively. “Eh -- good, good.” Bitty nods. There’s a long stretch of silence neither of them fills. Jack inhales and says, right when Bitty is sure that his heart is sincerely going to beat out of his darn chest, “I. Bittle. About earlier.”

The color in his face deepens further but Bitty can’t tell what that means, if he’s already regretting what he’s done or if he’s just tripping over his own emotions like Bitty is. “You should -- the door,” he stutters, because whether he’s going to be kissed again or be let down gently, he’d rather do it without an audience. Jack looks at him like he spoke in a cryptic foreign language, so Bitty forces out, blushing to the roots of his hair, “Come in and shut the door, Zimmermann.”

“Oh -- shit, ouais,” Jack jostles into action, stepping away from the threshold and kicking the door shut after him. It’s the first time Bitty has seen him move with anything other than practiced poise.

Bitty’s room isn’t very large, and with the door closed the atmosphere in it quickly shifts. There’s an inherent intimacy in the short gap between their bodies that heightens in a small, enclosed space, and Bitty can feel his body heat rise and spread to his palms and his face as a result of it.

It’s unsettling, and Bitty suspects that he could grow to crave it, but not as long as he has no idea what is going on. “Jack --”

Jack interrupts him, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Wait, Bittle, listen. I -- it’s really important that you know that you shouldn't feel obligated.”

There are maybe a hundred thousand things that could’ve come out of Jack’s mouth after Bittle, listen, and Bitty spent two and a half hours imagining a good deal of them. Telling Bitty that he shouldn’t feel obligated is so perplexing that Bitty’s too wrongfooted to protest, and Jack carries on speaking. “I know as team captain I have a certain amount of authority and I didn’t even -- think about that, before, which is really wrong --”

Bitty squints, slowly gaining a renewed grasp on this bizarre situation. The only thing he manages to think with clarity, through the storm brewing in his chest, is, You doofus, what on earth are you talking about. “Jack. The season is over."

"Right," Jack shoves his hands in his pockets, squares his shoulders. "But -- still. Technically we kept up with a.m. practices even after the playoffs, so."

Because you are an insane person, Bitty thinks to himself, coming to terms with the fact that the tone of his thoughts is on a scale ranging between neurotic and cloyingly smitten. He opens his mouth, not sure what’s going to come out of it, but Jack keeps talking without pause.

"Anyway, the NCAA allows intra-team dating but doesn't say anything about involvement with captains. I checked."

This bowls Bitty over, a new wave of warmth rushing to his cheeks. "You checked?"

There's a sheen of what can only be nervous sweat above Jack's upper lip that shines under the glaring ceiling light. “It’s only thirty pages.”

Bitty feels lightheaded again, as he allows himself to consider for the first time that evening, with some measure of possibility, that Jack Zimmermann in fact came into his room and kissed the right sense out of him with the intention to date him. It’s almost too much to consider, making him weak at the knees. He grabs the edge of his desk to be on the safe side.

“You -- I -- dear god, what is even happening? What brought this on?” Because they’ve been spending -- well, they’ve spent almost every waking moment together this semester, excluding this odd week since the damned Swallow article. Jack had plenty of opportunity to confess his feelings had he possessed any, and the best time certainly wasn’t while his mother was waiting for him downstairs to go to a formal dinner.

“Well, I,” Jack stammers, dropping his chin to his chest. His ears are bright red, dark enough to be seen from a few feet away, and Bitty is enchanted by it. “I didn’t know, but. I read the stupid thing in the car because I couldn’t -- my mom said -- I kept thinking about you in every kitchen that we looked at, and I…”

Bitty can feel his eyes widen, his organs flipping over inside him. "You… did?"

Jack lifts his head, and when the two of them finally make eye contact it zings through Bitty’s body. "Yes. I mean, I guess it’s hard not to. If you're not on ice, you're baking, Bittle. Or tweeting. Or baking and tweeting."

He winces as soon the words are out of his mouth, and Bitty can’t help it: he bursts out in laughter, high-pitched and giddy. This boy, Bitty marvels, and euphoria spreads like thick cotton candy in his chest, making it hard to speak; to breathe.

Jack’s face still looks vaguely horrified, like he’s regretting ever opening his mouth. "Crisse, sorry, it's not -- I wasn't trying to --" he blows out air, starting over. "It's fine that you do. I mean, more than fine. I thought about you in the kitchens because I like it. I like you."

His voice is unmistakably uncomfortable, and beads of sweat are glinting on his temples. Bitty’s so overwhelmed by hearing Jack speak candidly about his feelings that he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. "You like me? But you're -- I mean, I thought you --"

Jack’s eyebrows draw down and his mouth thins. He looks irritated, but Bitty knows it’s the shape his face takes when he’s distressed. "I know last year it didn't seem like -- but I thought this year you knew things changed --"

"-- were straight," Bitty exhales, chest heaving. God. This is real. "I thought… you were straight."

Jack squints, stopping himself in the middle of his sentence. He seems honestly, genuinely confused, the big lug. With a more functioning part of his mind Bitty recognizes that this is probably the most facial expressions he’s seen Jack make since meeting him.

"But I kissed you."

"Yeah," Bitty swallows, cheeks probably glowing bright red. Somehow it’s so much more jarring hearing the words out loud than it was to have Jack’s mouth on his. Like something that’s not supposed to be discussed out in the open. A secret lifted right out of Bitty's subconscious, manifested by sheer will. "Uh. Sure did. Thus my confusion."

"Your -- confusion…?" Jack trails off. His flushed face begins shifting by degrees, a smile spreading slowly but steadily and creating the smallest, sweetest crinkle at his eyes. He wipes his shiny brow with the back of one forearm and then crosses the distance between them in a few short strides, sweeping in to kiss Bitty.

It’s not any less mind-blowing the second time around. Jack's fingers slot under Bitty's jaw, titling his head up, his other palm sliding from Bitty’s neck to his shoulder and down his back in a tantalizing stroke. Bitty grows hot all over, bending his body into Jack's to press their chests together, his hands hesitatingly finding their way to Jack's hips. He hooks them over the sharp curves of Jack's hip bones, feels the strength in Jack’s obliques through his clothes.

Their mouths create a soft slick sound when they glide against one another, lips meeting and parting smoothly. Bitty gathers the confidence to attempt parting his own lips, applies the slightest pressure of tongue to Jack's bottom lip, and is rewarded by Jack's shudder and the tightening of his hand on the small of Bitty's back.

Jack pulls his face back slowly enough for Bitty to blink his eyelashes open and catch Jack licking his lips, exhaling shakily.

"I like you, Bitty," Jack leans their foreheads together. His eyes are staring right into Bitty’s, drooping and soft and so clearly fond that Bitty feels the tremor flow in his body all the way to his toes.

"Me too," Bitty whispers. His heart is still beating irregularly, vainly trying to catch up with the emotional upheaval of the last few minutes. “Jack --. I like you, too.”

Jack smiles at him, and it’s more honest, more tender than Bitty's ever seen it. It makes Bitty so happy that he wants to burst into giggles, wants to hide his beam in Jack's chest until butterflies stop fluttering in his ribcage.

Jack runs his fingers into Bitty's hair, gently brushes through it. He's bashful, both of them avoiding prolonged eye contact, and it's so absurd that they're shy after kissing like that, but Bitty can't help it. Jack tips his head to kiss Bitty's chin, his temple, makes Bitty actually giggle when he kisses his ear and then settles his lips in Bitty's hair, tugging him closer into the crooks of Jack's body.

"Hey, Jack?" Bitty says quietly, leaning his cheek on the curve of Jack's shoulder and wrapping his arms around Jack's waist, hands linking at the arch of his spine.

"Yeah?" Jack mumbles into Bitty's hair, mouth moving against the crown of his head.

Bitty presses his lips briefly to the closest patch of Jack's skin he can reach, which is the dip in his clavicle. It's barely a kiss, but his entire body shivers with the knowledge that he’s allowed. "Wanna be my date to Spring C tomorrow?"

Jack draws back far enough to be able to look down, tilting his chin into his neck and catching Bitty's eyes with his. His face is pink and his lips are swollen and Bitty's so unbelievably in love with him, but it's the furthest thing from pathetic now. It seems funny that it was ever something shameful at all.

"It'd be my pleasure," Jack smiles, and leans in for another kiss.

#omgcp #zimbits #zimbits fic #omgcheckplease #pavfics #ooof. finally done. i'm sure i'll edit again in the morning BUT

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forgotten-daydreamer · 3 years

Note

hey! i just wanted to ask if you find it uncomfortable when minors read your fanfics?

because i'm a minor (17) and i read them but i do not read the NSFW ones (it would be kind of weird and i don't really like reading nsfw anyways)

I absolutely don't mind, and I'll tell you why.

First of all, I'm only partially responsible for who reads what I write, but that's an important responsibility nonetheless.

I put the necessary tags, I always signal the indicated audience and all. But since I have no way of checking each and every reader's age, and since the only warning that pops up in fics indicated for a mature audience is "Hey, this work's meant for a mature audience. Want to proceed anyway, dude?" (it pops up for adult readers too, and can be deactivated iirc), there's nothing else I can humanly do besides tagging properly.

Second, I started reading smut when I was, what, 13? That's when I discovered BLCDs too, before age verification on YouTube and all. I've been reading smut (not often, just when I feel like it) since middle school. My former best friend and I loved that shit, honestly.

It made us feel "mature". We knew it wasn't meant for us, but we did it anyway and took full responsibility. Did we read things that made us an uncomfortable? Yes. Was it the writer's fault? No. Because we'd been warned and decided to ignore the warning. It was our- the readers'- fault entirely.

I also wrote my first nsfw fic when I was a minor. Still, I took responsibility.

If a minor came to me asking not to write some stuff, nsfw or not, I would tell them to stop reading my stuff at all, and go on with my day, as easy as that. No hard feelings, no nothing.

It's like watching a Tarantino movie and asking him to avoid scenes involving blood. Besides saying "This movie isn't meant for squeamish people", it's not like he can do much (one of my fav movies is "Kill Bill", movie that I watched at age 13 for the first time).

Writers, artists, singers, filmmakers (...) are not responsible for their audience's education.

It's not like I personally aim to educate anyone with my fics. I'm not a teacher, I'm a random pair of hands writing for fun and to cope. I write for me, first.

Maybe I know something about topics I care about (mental health mostly, in my fics, as I think you noticed), but my fics are not to be considered as academic sources.

I don't write to educate, mine aren't essays, they are fictional stories involving fictional characters on whom sometimes I project. But that's all.

My fics are full of curses and blood and violence and vomit and angst. I don't aim to educate people, I aim to de-stress the way I want.

AO3 is free, and I have no right (nor interest) to tell my readers that only a chunk of them is allowed to read my stories. The more people read my stuff, the happier I am. If a ten year-old wants to read my fics because they don't make them uncomfortable, they are more than welcome to do so as I have, again, no way/interest to verify their age. I tag, readers choose to read/avoid the fic.

Read whatever you like but take responsibility for it. We writers tag for that exact reason, so that readers can avoid topics that make them uncomfortable.

Sorry for this digression, anon, it wasn't against you!! I just seized the chance to explain something that's been on my mind for a long time, so thank you so much for this question!!

The short answer is: no.

Be gay, do crimes, read my fics and enjoy your life!!

#VERY USEFUL ASK. THANK YOU!!#my writing #ao3 #anon ask #ask

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echo-three-one · 3 years

Text

Good Day fellow CoD Fans

I will now write an essay regarding the story of a certain pistol, the M1911.

The M1911 is a handgun used mostly by every character in the game. It's your sidearm on most missions, and notable NPCs have used this in the game. But lets focus on one's M1911, one who has a certain moustache that either scared or impressed the shit out of our favorite F.N.G.

Captain Price's M1911. Yes the legendary gun that helped Soap kill Imran Zakhaev once and for all. Note that it was also the Pistol Captain Price used to kill Al-asad who hid in a safehouse somewhere in the mountains. That pistol had the most important bullets fired in Modern Warfare's history.

Now you would say, "Ray, I already know these. These were basic facts. I played the game. What's the point of explaining this?" Well the point is this exact gun also became the single thing that helped build one of our (or my) favorite characters in the game, no- of ALL TIME.

drumroll for Sgt./Capt. John "Soap" MacTavish.

After the events of Modern Warfare 1. We saw a massive time skip before Modern Warfare 2. He was already a Captain of his own Task Force. No context. But then again, he has a journal, a journal where he notes his thoughts, ideas, plans which he could never share to.

Take a look at the pages just after the mission : Game Over, where our dear Soap couldn't shake off the events occured on thay bridge, and the only thing that makes it all worthwile was popping Zakhaev's head, with a pistol pushed through him by his Captain. Yes it's the M1911.

After that he tried to recover, both physically and psychologically as the events really rattled his whole being. He lost a lot that day. And he swore to himself to get better. While recovering he writes the sentence:

"SO I CARRY PRICE'S PISTOL. FOCUS ON DISASSEMBLING IT, CLEANING IT, I OBSESS OVER EVERY SCRATCH"

This was the sentence that gave him the full drive. His character development phase began after this moment. And his first step to getting better was Moving On.

After the long recovery, thanks to Nikolai bringing booze and women to slow them all down, Soap took a break while awaiting for orders. And back in the fresh country of UK, he started ticking off the list on his moving on phase.

He visited Hereford and watched a horse race. It wasn't just an ordinary horse race, it was the same race Price watched when he was free, and noted that it was possible he was watching the same horses the Capt. used to. (isn't this dramatic. aren't you all sad yet?!) This was what really sent me to the thinking realm. I felt this. Soap was a simp for Price fanboy of sorts. Someone who was so impressed with his Captain that he idolized him. (isn't this us? ahahah we are soap 100%)

And this level of dedication is not simple. I am a Soap simp for years now and he still lives in my head rent free after all this time. Moments in my life I'll randomly bring him up and feel sad or feel good sometimes. This was what Soap felt during recovery. And the pistol was the only memento he had on him.

After the horse race, he tried Price's cigar, Villa Clara's, and dedicates a whole journal page just to say. "They're Smooth. Price has taste." and WOW it's beautiful.

After the recovery, he's now fit and ready for the 141. We can now see that this weapon will be his sidearm in Kazakhstan, Brazil and somewhere near Petropavlovsk, Russia.

Then at that fateful mission, Prisoner 627 was rescued.

"Price? I believe this belonged to you Sir." Soap returns the M1911, a happy moment for our fanboy. His Captain was alive and well.

At this moment the M1911 will be by Price's holster from Site Hotel Bravo up to the Prague where our favorite Scotsman would meet his fate.

"I'm sorry." Price places his pistol by him. The same pistol he gave to him to kill Zakhaev, the same pistol who's scratches were obsessed over by Soap, the same pistol which Price received when he was rescued. The pistol being handed to Soap was a symbol that he deserved that memento afterall. Price left it to him, he could've used it's bullets to fight, but he left it alongside Soap's dead body to symbolize that Price would never forget him, and Price was with him, beside where his body laid. A symbol of brotherhood that transcends that of blood relation.

tagging @samatedeansbroccoli

#Thank you for listening #tedtalk about a pistol?

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thephantomofthe-internet · 4 years

Text

Read Into Me Chapter Two: The Importance of Being Earnest

Steve Harrington x Reader

Catch up on the series HERE

Word Count: 2,030

Warnings: Swearing, death illusion

Author’s Note: This chapter is a bit shorter than I’d like, but I promise that the next one is longer! Also, some of the tags aren’t working for some users, so I’m so sorry if you aren’t getting notifications for this series! If you know how to fix this lemme know!

Tags: @divinity-deos @thecaptainsgingersnap @wolfish-willow @scoopsohboi @herre-gud-nej @clockworkballerina @maddie1504 @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary @banjino-in-the-whole @buckysarge @wildcvltre @stanleyyelnatsiii @t0rment0 @10blurredsmoke10 @unussuallchild10 @n3wtscaseofniffler5 @alwaysstressedout @peterparxour @linkispink1995 @asharpknife @a-big-ball-of-idk @used-avocado @mochminnie @sledgy14 @lilmissperfectlyimperfect

Steve was so very fucked. He’d been sat at his desk since he got home from school and could not think of a single fucking thing to write. He’d had his notebook open, his typewriter loaded with paper, pen uncapped and waiting to be used, and the most work he’d done was chew on its blue cap. He just couldn’t think.

Writing was not his thing. Reading was not his thing. School was not his thing. He had lines of trophies on his nearly empty shelf-swim meet, track and field, basketball, and baseball for one summer in fifth grade. He could understand how to play a sport. That was competitive, improvisational, and had a core outcome-you won, lost, or tied. The same three outcomes with a million ways to do it, a million variables to get in the way. Math and science were the same, he could swing Cs and Bs in those classes, but English was the opposite. There were too many opinions. Too many options. When he managed to read one of the assigned books for class and not merely the Cliff’s Notes, he found he had nothing to say about it. Everything the author said felt true, even when his teachers were telling him to look for specific things in the narrative. Sure, if someone told him that the conch shell in Lord of the Flies meant something, but if you asked him what he wouldn’t know. And he would believe you if you said that the conch shell didn’t mean anything. His essays were all crap.

He thought about calling Nancy. Nancy would know exactly how to help him, she always did. But Nancy was with Jonathan now and he wasn’t confident that they were still friends at all. If they were ever friends. He didn’t think that they were. They weren’t really friends before they dated. Still, his hand hovered over the egg shell white rotary phone on his desk, a gift from his eleventh birthday. He lifted the phone off its hook, dialling the number off by heart. It took three rings for someone to pick up.

“Eleven?” Mike Wheeler’s frantic voice came through the other end. Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes, the boy was far too attached to that girl, it was honestly concerning.

“Nah dude it’s Steve, your sister around?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“She’s out with Jonathan.” Mike’s voice dropped into one of boredom. “You know, her boyfriend?” he was such a little shit sometimes.

“Yeah, I know dipshit, you wanna tell her I called when she gets back?” Steve huffed back.

“If I remember.” With that, the call went dead. Steve groaned, rolling his eyes as he slammed the receiver back onto the hook. What a fucking waste of time. He’d never hear back now, that kid didn’t like him from the start and would do whatever he could to keep them from being friends.

What was to be done now? He didn’t have anything to say about his spring break! Mr. Lawrence was a bastard for even asking him to write about it. Nothing happened! His parents went to Miami Beach to rekindle their marriage for the hundredth time and left Steve at home alone. He tried to throw a party but almost got busted by the cops with a fake ID at the Pick n’ Save and Tommy’s brother wouldn’t give them any weed to supplement what would’ve been a pretty dry party. He cancelled the party after that and sat at home alone. Nothing much to tell about and definitely wouldn’t fill a page, even if he used the longest words he knew.

Steve stood from his desk, looking through his shelf till he found the heavy yellow pages he’d put on the bottom of his shelf to weigh the sucker down so it wouldn’t fall over as fast. He flipped it open, searching through the numbers till he found what he was looking for, lifting the receiver off its hook again.

Across the street, you were sprawled out on your rose printed bedspread, your head in your hands with Samantha sat on your desk chair, laughing at your pain. “You know it’s not that bad, right? You could’ve gotten stuck with someone way worse.” She said, mindlessly digging through the black jewellery box sat dusty in the corner of your desk. Your mother had sent it from Spain and had filled it with different things she found across Europe. You didn’t care much for the stuff yourself but you kept it on your desk to show that you used it, not that she was ever home to seemed to notice.

Your bedroom was clean and stark white. It used to be pink, to match the rest of your white iron rod and pink padded furniture. You didn’t like the pink that much, and you didn’t adore the white, but you could hide it behind the art you tacked to the wall. Every portrait, still life, and landscape painting you’d been proud of hung proudly in your home gallery. You’d done recreations of your favourite album covers, and splatter art with balloons, and a few charcoal drawings of your grandparents and your father. You’d painted clouds and stars on your ceiling when you were in middle school, and while they had a lot of room for improvement, you left them above your head as a comfort to you. Your father had helped you scrape the popcorn ceiling down flat and helped paint the ceiling sky blue. It was your last project together.

“Oh yeah totally…” you said through your hands, refusing to look at her, focusing instead on the yellow sun spots floating under your eyelids.

“I mean, you could’ve gotten stuck with Tracy Lords again, she’s in that class.” Samantha replied easily, pulling out a green sea glass bangle from the top drawer, running her fingers over the red velvet interior of the box. Tracy Lords was a menace to productivity, at least she was according to Samantha. They had issues, which meant that you did too by association, but she’d done nothing to you except glare and pop her gum at you.

“At least she does her work!” you sat up, letting your feet dangle over your bed. “I don’t think he’s ever done his work on time, he’s always late with stuff!”

“That’s not your problem; as long as you do your work then Lawrence won’t care.” She flashed the bangle in front of your face “You should wear this more it’s nice.”

You shrugged “You can have it if you want.” You didn’t really care about what your mother sent you, it didn’t change the fact that she didn’t care enough about you to be home for more than a month out of the year. Besides, where on earth were you supposed to wear any of it? Your mother loved to spend your father’s riches on random, useless crap and you hated the idea of showing off the money your father died for. It wasn’t anything to brag about.

“Nah, not my style, it won’t match any of my stuff.” She put the bracelet back, closing the box with a metallic thump. “But anyway, you’ll be fine. Steve’s completely harmless.” You weren’t exactly sure if you believed her.

The phone on your desk blared loudly. You begrudgingly jumped off the bed, pulling it off the hook. Your grandmother was still at the hair salon and if you didn’t answer, one of her little friends from the old folk’s home might think that she died again.

“Hello?” you asked, motioning for Samantha to move over a bit, closing your white curtains closed again, your eyes scanning the streets with a bored expression.

“Hey is this Y/N?” Steve asked cautiously. He couldn’t quite remember your voice but he had double checked your last name in the year book and the phone book.

“Yeah, who is this?” dread filled your stomach the second he spoke, you were hoping against hope that it wasn’t Steve. You could see him pacing his window from across the street.

“Hey it’s Steve from English?” Fucking hell. You wanted to slam the damn receiver onto its hook. But if you did that, Samantha would think that you were crazy and you didn’t want to seem like such a baby.

“Oh hey what’s up?” you asked cautiously. Samantha was pulling at your sleeve, mouthing ‘Who is it?’ at you. You pulled your arm away, pushing her chair away from you with your foot.

“Oh nothing much, I was just wondering how your paper’s going?” Steve didn’t really know why he called you, he wasn’t certain that you’d even help him if he asked. He hardly knew you, he couldn’t name two things about you. But you seemed smart, you could be of some help if he had the balls to ask for it.

“Oh um…it’s fine. How’s yours going?” your hand came to the back of your neck, rubbing it awkwardly. You wanted to run away, to utterly disappear into another dimension. You didn’t like strangers, especially the whole small talk part. You didn’t feel like you had anything interesting to say about yourself and you hated silence. Your mind just didn’t come up with questions to ask.

Steve’s face burned. He couldn’t admit that he was stupid now; he was hoping that he wasn’t the only idiot in the class. “Oh um it’s good! I’m almost done.” He said, mentally cursing himself for saying that he was anywhere near finished.

“Oh cool. Do-do you want to switch them off tomorrow?” Now you had no idea what this phone call was even about. In the back of your mind, you assumed that he just had a question about the essay, but now you had nothing to grab onto.

“Yeah sure, that works for me.” He said, looking to his empty paper. He was so totally screwed now. He couldn’t admit that he was an idiot to you, not when you already had everything so clearly understood. You spoke so confidently, it made him feel small and pointless.

“Okay…I’ll see you in class then.” You said. Steve bid an awkward goodbye and you both hung up unsure what the hell had just happened.

Samantha was on her feet, jumping on your mattress “Did Steve Harrington just call you?!?” she cried, following it was it a giddy scream. You hushed her, rolling your eyes.

“It’s nothing to freak out about, you weirdo!” you countered, turning to face her fully with a sullen expression. Your heart was still pounding hard in your chest, adrenalin pumping through your veins.

Samantha landed on her knees, looking up at you incredulously “What? He’s cool! That’s cool! Boys never call you!”

“Way to rub that one in.” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. Talking to people wasn’t your strong suit, and while for the most part you were okay with not having many friends, you lack of experience with relationships made you very insecure. “You crushed one of your spikes on my ceiling.”

Samantha reached up and touched each individual black spike with the tips of her finger, finding the dented one at the top of her head. “It’s true! God, I’ve got more guys calling me and I’m a lesbian.” She lowered her voice at the mention of her sexuality. You both knew that your grandparents wouldn’t be kind to her if they knew, their homophobia a mark of their small mindedness.

“Yeah, well, the guys at this school are all idiots.” You looked back to your paper, pulling your red pen out from behind your ear and crossing out a word on your essay.

“You didn’t think Jonathan Byers was an idiot.” Samantha replied. You cheeks flashed cherry red. It wasn’t fair of her to even mention him. He was a dickhead and Samantha knew it.

“Yeah, well now I know that he’s just as big of an idiot as everyone else is.” You muttered, pulling your desk chair over and taking a seat once again. You didn’t have the time for stupid boys, anyways. You had work to do.

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coindraws · 4 years

Text

bruh

Sorry for being so negative these last few weeks (if anyone reads my tags it shows…) but idk, this is my blog, so I do what I want. Anyway, this is just a very long vent post and I’ll put it under a cut anyway if anybody wants to read it.

Okay, so I moved to France almost exactly four weeks ago and ever since then it’s been nothing but problems. I chose this bachelor degree very well knowing that I’d move to another country and that’s also what I wanted! Which is great, I always wanted to spend some time of my university experience in a foreign country and especially in France if there was a possibility to do so.

Since I’m the very first German to join this programme, I’m kind of the guinea pig for everything but I knew that beforehand as well. I think I’m more of a guinea pig for the German side, though since for my university in Germany it’s their first time offering a programme like this. To quickly explain, you start in your home country and then move to the foreign country for a while until you return and then receive your diploma of two universities. Sounds neat and all if things actually worked but they don’t really as it turns out…

Anyway, I thought everything would’ve been cleared up - or at least most of the things - before my arrival but that wasn’t the case. I got zero information on how this whole system works here and it’s very different than in Germany + there’s the obvious language barrier that I have. That’s not surprising, most things get solved within the first two weeks or so but the person who’s supposed to be my contact person is known for not answering very fast and sorting things out and that’s basically what my first four weeks have been so far; trying to navigate everything in a foreign country, a foreign language and solving organizational things which for some reason are left to myself.

Basically, I get told that people are going to do it for me and talk to others to get things going but then they just don’t and I’m faced with not knowing what to do since I won’t receive any answers to my mails. (Also when somebody tells you that you’re able to visit them on a certain day of the week for 15 minutes it’s kind of saying a lot on how much time they have for you… Nevermind that I don’t even have time on that day but in their defense I forgot to mention that, since that conversation only lasted 5 minutes)

Getting registered at the uni here was enough of a hassle but it finally worked. Then when I thought I had my courses there’s still another problem left and since the system in France isn’t as flexible as in Germany that just creates more problems the more time goes on. So in summary, week one to three of September were spent trying to figure out my schedule + my registration and while I thought I’d finally be done with that, there’s still one thing missing and it’s currently my fourth week here.

I was prepared to face problems like the language barrier, a different university system, being on my own because I’m the only German here but I wasn’t prepared to deal with organizational stuff on my own because nobody’s really helping me. My biggest help so far have been my fellow students and my tutor but even those don’t really know how to properly help me most of the time and I’ve never heard back from my contact person about my schedule here. I understand that professors are busy and all but lending a helping hand when a new student arrives would be nice. Again, they mentioned that if I don’t hear back from them it’s usually a good sign and if I didn’t hear back until a certain day, it’d be fine but it was hard telling that to the people who handled my registration.

The problem that's left now is about an essay I have to write and I was told I should do it in the course from year three which isn’t possible anymore as I found out today. The prof can’t let me do this in his course because I’d be too much, which is understandable since he already had to reject others weeks ago and it’d be really rude to the other students if he accepted an essay from somebody who’s three weeks late. The prof who’s my contact person here told me two weeks ago that I should send him my schedule and he’d talk to his colleagues and sort things out because I couldn’t register in the first week of September before courses started since there were problems with my registration.

If I had had the information beforehand on how to do my schedule and had received my password earlier, this problem wouldn’t exist. But since nobody prepared me for that and told me, I’m now sitting here still trying to somehow solve this weeks after the semester here started and it sucks to be the one trying to do that when it isn’t really my task. Right when I thought that everything was solved, I’m faced with yet another problem and the stress just keeps going and hasn’t stopped ever since I moved here. And while I’d understand that there were so many problems with a new programme, I’m less understanding if there was a previous programme just like this one but with another different city in Germany. Same contact person here but it seems like they’re doing it for the very first time and that shouldn’t be the case at all. I’ve also learnt (and experienced for that matter) that other profs aren’t very fond of him and know what it’s like to try and sort things out but I’m not involved in that beef and yet I still kind of am without wanting to.

As I mentioned before, it only gets harder as time goes on and to be frank, I’m sick of it. I don’t know when I’ll reach the end of rope but I’m always telling myself if I absolutely can’t take it anymore I’ll return to Germany or just take a break for a year before I try again. I’m not sure if this is even a possibility but it’s driving me nuts and I don’t even think about enjoying my time here. It’s been nothing but a struggle and if I had to summarize September so far, it’s basically been a hardcore “try not to cry once a week challenge” which I’m failing miserably at this point. It’s so frustrating for me to sort all of this out while I can’t even use my native language and I’m not that familiar with the system here to begin with.

It got to the point that I can’t even have a normal conversation with a prof about organizational stuff without my voice cracking and me just wanting to start crying on the spot because I’m so frustrated and stressed. If anybody asks me on how things are, I really have to hold back as well. Sometimes I sit in the lectures and my thoughts drift off to all these unsolved problems and I have a hard time keeping my composure. Thankfully everybody here has to wear a mask at all times, so that at least can hide it somewhere but I wouldn’t be surprised if I just left a lecture because I was feeling like shit.

I’ve told my parents about my problems and today my Dad asked me if he should still order the book that I asked him to because even he was unsure if I’d continue this or not. And while I told him yes, that’s also just a testimony on how bad things are right now. It’s also cool that my contact person told me that everybody who organizes this programme is concerned about a person’s well-being and their mental health but I’m far from feeling well. I was prepared for a lot of things, as well as feeling somewhat lonely which I surprisingly don’t but I wasn’t prepared for all this organizational bullshit and not really having anybody here that can help me with it.

tl;dr I’m so tired and exhausted of everything and even if I still want to at least try and get this bachelor degree, I don’t know for how long I’ll continue trying if things aren’t solved soon.

#laber net #sorry this is really long and I don't expect anybody to read it anyway #one day I'll eventually return to art #uni

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imaginejamesandsirius · 4 years

Note

Soulmate au where Sirius has James's name on his wrist, James thinks he has no soulmate, until BAM! He finds it in some unusual place for a soulmark and there's Sirius Black's name.

Young Sirius Black had a name printed on his wrist, a thick cuff bracelet to cover it as all soulmarks were, and a belly full of hope: James Potter. His parents tried to tell him that soulmates didn't make them automatically allies, but he knew that was only because the name on his wrist was someone from a family they didn't like. Regulus didn't have to deal with any of that, and when they thought Sirius wasn't listening, they told their second son all about soulmates and how they'd always be there for him. So yeah, Sirius knew they were lying to him in the hopes that he'd manage believe them this time.

When James Potter introduced himself, with a large grin and thick rimmed glasses and messy hair standing out like they were too big for the rest of his body, Sirius smiled back and said his name, hoping for a reaction of some sort. He didn't get one.

They talked on the train ride to Hogwarts, and it became increasingly obvious that James didn't recognize him. It was a terrible feeling, realising that James didn't have his name. Sirius belonged to James, that much was clear. It was like a deep feeling seeped into his bones, this knowledge that he belonged to James. He wished that it went both ways, that James belonged to him too.

That would've been nice.

"D'you have a soulmate?" Sirius asked out of the blue one day.

"Nope," James admitted easily. He didn't seem very down about it, but Sirius definitely would've been in his place. Maybe that was because he knew who his soulmate was, though.

"Do you wish you had one?"

"Eh." James shrugged, frowning at a blot of ink that landed on his parchment. "I guess? It sounds nice, the way people talk about it, and my parents are soulmates, but it's hard to miss what you've never had. What about you?"

Sirius blinked. "I have a soulmate." It would be easier if he didn't maybe, but he also wouldn't give up James's name on his wrist.

"Really?" James asked, more surprised than he should've been considering how close they were-- Sirius ignored the fact that this was his first confirmation that James didn't have a soulmate so there was no reason for James to know anything about his.

"Yeah." He tried to inject enough casualness into his voice that James wouldn't pry further, and it worked.

It had been six and a half years since Sirius met James. And with every buggering year that passed, it became more and more bloody obvious that James didn't have Sirius's name for a reason. James readily admitted that he didn't have a soulmark, but that wasn't what did it; Sirius kept fucking up. Because Sirius wasn't a good person. If he had one main trait, it would be selfishness. He kept pulling James into pranks even though he was Head Boy-- and okay, it's not like James really fought him on it, but he also wasn't instigating anymore, which meant that if Sirius didn't suggest it, they didn't do anything-- he did that thing with Snape a couple years ago that had nearly killed Remus and James, and he kept sabotaging James and Lily's relationship. It's not like he put it in his mind to do it, but that's always what ended up happening. Which sucked. Because James was getting mad at him, and Lily was actually pretty cool which just made it worse (she seemed to think it was a sort of hazing that she had to endure to prove she could be part of the group, and that was the same way Sirius attempted to justify it to himself before Remus had flat out said, "Stop trying to break them up, James is still your best mate and that's not going to change because he's dating someone. Sirius could have stood for his subconscious taking it to heart but whatever).

Anyways, James didn't have his name because Sirius was a complete and absolute berk who didn't deserve being shackled to him for the rest of his life.

"Sorry," Sirius said as soon as he sat on the couch.

"Should I be worried?" Lily asked, her tone flat as she showed how clearly she wasn't worried.

Sirius snorted. "This is going to be the beginning of a great new friendship."

"Between you and...?"

"You."

Lily looked up from her book at that, blinking at him guilelessly.

Fuck she really didn't know. Sirius thought by this point everyone knew he was in love with James, even though neither Remus nor Peter had come out and admitted as much to his face. And if she didn't know that, did she have a reason for why he was being such an arse, or did she just think that's how he was? Either way, that behaviour was coming to an end. Sirius gave her a smirk that looked more like a pained grimace; he wasn't used to apologising even though he had plenty to apologise for. "I've been an arse and I'm sorry. Worried you were going to take James from me, y'know?"

"Not judging, but that's kinda stupid. I'm his girlfriend, you're his best mate. It's not like we're both dating him or summat."

That hurt more, but if she hadn't noticed before, she wasn't going to notice now. "Yeah I figured that out. Rather," he added with a dramatic eye roll, "Moony got so annoyed that he whacked me over the head with his History of Magic essay until I listened to him. I haven't been very nice to you. I'm surprised he hasn't killed me for it yet, to be honest."

"I didn't take it personally," she said with a shrug. "I'm not sure you like anyone other than James. And occasionally Peter and Remus," she tagged on thoughtfully. "Anywho, you will be forgiven shortly, just as soon as I believe it won't keep happening."

"Well here's hoping I don't reclaim being a dumbarse."

Lily chuckled. "Here's hoping."

James showed up on Sirius's doorstep, one hand stuck in his hair like he couldn't bear to be in a normal stance. There was a nervous energy about him, but it wasn't tragic like they'd lost somebody else in the war. "What's wrong?" Sirius asked when he came in, barely finishing the second word before James was blurting out an answer.

"Lily's pregnant."

Sirius's heart stopped. When it started again, it was painful where it beat in his chest, like his ribcage had shrunk at the same time his heart grew and now it was strangled but trying desperately to continue on like nothing had changed. "What?"

"So we're- y'know- getting married only she wants to have it soon, like before she starts to show at all, so I was thinking you could help."

"What?"

"To, y'know, throw the wedding together. I have no idea what goes into it, but you're my best man so you'd have to help anyways, right? And you always pick good flowers and shite, so it makes sense to apply it to weddings, y'know?" James was saying 'you know' a lot, like maybe if he said it enough, Sirius would stop being confused.

"Best man?" Sirius repeated dumbly. He'd never felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest before. He wouldn't recommend it.

"Lily's kind of freaking out, so Marlene and Mary and Dorcas are all at our place comforting her, and they sorta kicked me out, so like, I dunno, maybe they're planning it so you won't have to?"

Did James think the best friend of the groom was traditionally the one to plan the wedding? Or did he assume that Sirius was going to do it because he was used to Sirius taking care of things? "James," Sirius said, and James looked over at him like he was hearing him for the first time since showing up. "Pregnant?"

"Hmm? Yeah, apparently condoms aren't a hundred percent effective, who knew? And her birth control pills aren't very reliable, guess we had an unlucky night, you know? She's only two months in, so we've got a month to the wedding, if that helps."

Pregnant. And all James had to say about it was that they had an unlucky night? Sirius frowned. "James, do you want to marry her?"

"We're having a kid, we're going to be a family." He stated it like fact, and Sirius took a grounding breath and let it go. If he argued this and won, then what? Lily would have to raise a kid by herself, James would be miserable with guilt, and for every minute afterwards, Sirius would have to wonder if he did it for James's sake or his own.

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

Unfortunately, now that James was paying attention, he was really paying attention. He caught the strange note in his tone and asked, "What do you mean?"

Sirius shrugged, the lie coming out of his mouth before his brain thought of it. "Her soulmate."

"Shit. I didn't even think about that." James rubbed at his forehead, but he wasn't dissuaded from the whole idea, Sirius could tell that much just from looking at him. "We'll deal with it when she meets him, but right now there's a baby on the way and we have to think of the sprog first. Besides, she probably won't meet him for years, so we'll be out of the war and the baby will be older and- I mean, everything will be easier, then, you know?"

No. "Sure." Things weren't going to be easier in three years or twelve, but at least there wouldn't be a war on. Their issues would be smaller, but it wouldn't feel any better for James to be dealing with it.

Lily and James were both in hospital, and Sirius was taking care of Harry while the remaining Death Eaters were rounded up. It was pretty easy since he'd learned all his babysitting talents alongside James's self imposed parenting lessons while Lils was pregnant. Harry was easily entertained by Padfoot, but getting to sleep and waking up were the absolute worst. Harry knew Sirius, no question, but he always wanted Lily when he woke up, and he wanted one of his parents (sometimes both) when he was going down. Sirius wasn't getting much sleep, but it was more than he'd gotten while pulling shifts at the Auror's office in the day then running for the Order at night.

Harry's soulmark was barely starting to develop, on the bottom of his right foot. It was little more than a grey smudge at the moment, but by his second birthday, the name would be clear. Harry would learn first how to write his name, then how to write his soulmate's. That's how Regulus had learned, and Sirius knew he would've done the same had their parents not been so hellbent on him not attaching himself to James. As always, the thought made him snort in amusement; they'd never been able to control him, not from the moment he was five years old and decided their rules were stupid and outdated.

Sirius ruffled Harry's hair as he played with two stuffies, his hair already dark and thick on his head.

James was gingerly getting out of the shower when he saw his soulmark for the first time in his entire life. Lily was probably still on the couch, too weak to make it further on her own. He'd offered to help, but they'd separated while hiding from Voldemort in that small house, and things were still awkward between them. Knowing that they cared about each other but weren't in love was just... it made sense but he was never going to admit that to her.

While in hospital, they'd shaved his head so they could do some sort of surgery or potion soaking, he had no idea. One of the side effects was getting the chills at all times of the day, so he'd had a hat on the whole time. No one that talked to him had seen it, which was why he was frozen in shock when he saw dark writing on the side of his head in the mirror.

He shuffled closer, tilting his head and leaning in until he was nearly pressing his face against the cool surface. It was hard to read from this distance and with it backwards, but it was a name he knew as well as his own: Sirius Black.

Sirius? But-. It made sense-- it definitely did, the knowledge that Sirius was his soulmate clicked into place like it had always been there-- but why hadn't Sirius said anything? Sirius knew where his soulmark was, he knew who it was, and he hadn't said anything. James had thought he didn't have a soulmate, but with his name on his wrist, Sirius had proof that he did, so why didn't he tell him? Sure they'd been eleven at the time they met, but Sirius didn't know that James thought he was without a soulmate until they were fourteen; that was three years of being best mates, where Sirius could have told him and didn't.

He wanted to grab his wand and apparate over to his flat and demand answers, but even with all the healing potions and the two week long stay in hospital, he couldn't move very quickly. It took him far too long to towel dry, and even longer to get his fumbling limbs through the proper sleeves. He pulled the hat on automatically, paused, then pulled it further down. He wasn't ashamed, but he was still too damn cold all the time and if Sirius hadn't told him, he must have a reason.

James made his way out of the loo and over to the living room. Lily was sitting on the couch, but she'd changed. "How do you feel?"

"Like I nearly got cut in half," she said, because that was basically what had happened. How she survived it long enough for help to arrive was a mystery to everyone, including the healers. "You?"

"Like I'm walking through ice." Both for speed and the bloody temperature. "You okay if I go visit Sirius?"

Lily shifted, then grimaced and held a hand to her stomach. "Try calling him, I'm not sure travelling that far is a good idea."

They'd both been banned from floo travel and any apparation up to a certain range. Flying was, of course, out of the question. James sighed, knowing she was right. "Yeah." He turned and started hobbling towards his room. It took a while, but he made it, landing on the armchair with more force than he should've allowed himself. He tapped the mirror and waited for Sirius to answer. Harry should be in the middle of his nap, so hopefully there wouldn't be any way for Sirius to get out of talking to him.

"Hey, what's up?" Sirius asked, his smiling face replacing James's in the mirror.

"Who's your soulmate?" he blurted out, not wanting to deal with small talk when he could only think about this one topic.

Sirius blinked, smile fading quickly. "What?"

"Your soulmate, who is it?"

"It doesn't matter."

It doesn't matter. His soulmate was James, and he was saying that it didn't matter. To his face. Well. A little disconnected, but it was still to his face. "How can it not matter?"

Sirius shifted uncomfortably. "It just doesn't. Since when do you care? We've talked about it, like, twice and it was ages ago. Nothing's changed. At the end of the day, everything is just as it was when we first met, and nothing's every going to come of-"

"You're full of shite."

He blinked, taken aback. "I- what?"

"You heard me, you're full of shite. You have my name, that changes things."

Sirius's eyes went wide, and he broke the connection.

"Wait, don't-"

His face faded entirely from view, and all that was left was James scowling at himself.

"Bugger." This is why he'd wanted to speak in person. Disapparation was going to be better than trying to floo, so he stuck his head out his door and yelled, "Lily, I'm going to talk to Sirius!"

"Can't it wait?" she called, only she was smart and used a spell to amplify her voice instead of trying to shout.

"No!"

"Fine, but I won't visit you in hospital, I just got out!"

"That's fine!" Then he closed his door and turned on his heel, appearing in Sirius's living room with a pop. He turned in a circle looking for him, and he stumbled to a halt when he saw him in the kitchen, hands planted on the counter and looking half furious, half miserably sad.

"You know James," he said, voice low and hurt, "when I ended the conversation, it meant I didn't want to talk about it. It didn't mean 'come over and bother me when you should be home resting'. What are you doing here?"

"I think it's pretty obvious."

"You could've hurt yourself. Go back home."

"And risk hurting myself further? That's not a very good plan."

Sirius glared at him, but his expression still had that edge of being indescribably upset with him. James had no bloody idea why he looked like that, and that's why he was here.

"I'm not leaving until we talk about this."

Sirius swallowed thickly, and even from this distance, James could see his adam's apple bob with the motion. It looked like he was going to say something, so James waited. It took him another minute to figure out what he wanted to say, and his voice was hoarse as he asked, "How'd you find out?"

James blinked. Of all the things he'd expected to hear, that was not one of them. How the hell did Sirius think he knew? There was only one way for him to know, and Sirius wasn't stupid.

"I never told anyone," he continued, staring down at the empty counter with unseeing eyes, "and it's not like you've talked to my parents about it. Did you just- figure it out? I was obvious, right?" He gave a humorless laugh. "Too obvious. There's- there's no way you barely figured it out. You must've known for a while." He swallowed again. "Are you taking Harry?"

James blinked, tried to figure out what the hell he was talking about, then blinked again when nothing came to him. "I have no idea what you're talking about." He walked closer, then pulled the hat off. It felt weird to have his head so uncovered, but it was important for Sirius to see his soulmark. James turned so the mark would be facing Sirius and tapped his finger against it. "I thought I didn't have one."

Sirius blew out a harsh breath. "Yeah that's because you d-" he stopped abruptly. He must have looked up and seen what James was showing him. "What is that," he whispered.

"Soulmark." James glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, then put the hat back on to face him. "I never saw it, obviously. By the time it formed I had hair and I never had any reason to chop it all off." He rubbed at the spot on his head through his hat.

"So- what? You're here to tell me that we should hook up?" Sirius asked incredulously, tears brimming in his eyes. "Did you forget that you're married? You have a family, remember?"

"Lily and I split."

Sirius scoffed. "Right cause that's so much better. Being your soulmate rebound." He wiped harshly at his eyes. "No thanks."

"Months ago. We split before the attack," he added so it made more sense, "months ago."

"You don't want me James," he said, the admittance sounding too much like heartbreak. "You didn't want me before, and you don't want me now. Go back home. Nothing's changed."

"Home is where you are."

Sirius started shaking his head, and when he looked up again, he was angry. He was crying, but he was pissed off. "You're a fucking liar James. I've always needed you a hell of a lot more than you've needed me and everyone's always known that. You moved on. You got buggering married and had a kid, you bought a house, you- and look at me!" he yelled throwing his arms out to gesture to his flat. It was the same one his uncle had given him his last year of Hogwarts, and he'd never bothered to make it truly his. It had his shit in it, and that was it. He didn't redecorate, he hadn't hung up any art or bought a different couch from the one that had been in it since the beginning.

"There was a war, you didn't have time to-"

"I had time," Sirius cut in, expression twisting, "but I kept hoping you'd come back and tell me we should get a place. Getting everything I want, aren't I?"

James walked over and pulled him in a hug.

"What're you doing?" Sirius asked, pushing weakly against him.

"You were making me sad," James mumbled, holding him tighter. "You talk like I don't care about you, and you're a second choice to the family I wanted."

Sirius sniffled and didn't say anything.

"Like I didn't choose you first. Before we got married, Lily, she- she told me that she knew you were first to me. She didn't even care, can you believe that? It's been obvious all along that we weren't going to end up together. Hell, the only reason we got married was because she got pregnant."

"Yeah well. That's great for you." Sirius raised his arms to hug him back and turned his face into James's shoulder.

James sighed, knowing that he'd have to admit something he'd planned on keeping to himself for his entire life, if he wanted Sirius to believe that this wasn't some instant love soulmate bullshit. "I never told you how I felt-"

Sirius snorted, and James ignored that.

"-because I knew you had a soulmate. You told me what it meant to you, and I just- I didn't think I could handle that: having you only to lose you the moment you met them. I thought it was for the best."

"Liar," Sirius said, but it was less accusing than it had been before. "You- you never- it-."

"I love you," James whispered, and the words hung in the air as tangible as an owl.

Sirius shivered. "You can't be kidding, James. Not now, not about this."

"I'm not. I love you, and we don't have to jump into this, but I missed you so buggering much. Not getting to see you every day was torture, please let me stay. Actually," he amended a second later, "you should come home. Me and Lily have missed Harry, and I know you like our place better than this."

"I don't think Lily would be okay with me moving in," Sirius protested, but it was weak; he wanted to be convinced.

"Lily likes you better than me," James said. It was a little strange that that was true. "If I'm still living there, you can definitely live there."

Sirius said, "You're such a prick," but he relaxed against James.

#prongsfoot #marauders #fanfic #james potter #sirius black #lily evans #harry potter #brief james/lily #filled #getting together #soulmates #first war #post first war #james lives #siriuslystarbucks #awkward-ame

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mvalentine · 4 years

Text

Favourite Fanfiction Tropes

thanks for the tag @colossalpainintheass @beckaroo & @this-person-is-busy love you all 💘

Slow Burn or Love At First Sight: slow freaking burn baby. i really don’t like when couples fall in love at first sight cause honestly, i believe in lust at first sight not love at first sight lmao (just because the image you had of them in your head turned out to be right doesn’t mean it was LOVE at first sight) and also- slow! burn! the beginning sparks, the tension, the denial, the build up & finally BOOM! now kiss!

Fake Dating or Secret Dating: oooo i actually had to think long & hard about this one. as much as i love the angst potential about a couple having to hide their relationship for whatever reason, i somewhat like the idea of two unknowing fools going into something oh so casually until they suddenly realize - oh shit! oh no no no no what is happening! what are these feelings i’m feeling oh lord come & save me.

Enemies To Lovers or Best Friends to Lovers: enemies to lovers all day. as much as i love a good cutesy best friends to lovers tale the deliciousness of enemies to lovers is just too.damn.good. i could. literally sit here & write a whole damn essay about why enemies to lovers is so scrumptious but instead i’m gonna focus my energy on writing an enemies to lovers (more like enemies to f**k buddies but ok) fic you know the one ;) @beckaroo

There’s Only One Bed or Long Distance Correspondence: ‘i’ll take the couch.’ ‘oh no, its ok i’ll take the couch.’ ‘no, no, please i insist.’ ‘alright then only if you’re sure.’ & then somehow the two end up in the same goddamn bed the next morning. what’s not to love?

Hurt/Comfort or Amnesia: listen. anyone who knows me KNOWS i am the biggest, BIGGEST whore for hurt & comfort. that shit is like crack for me baby i am addicted & i ain’t even sorry about it.

Fantasy AU or Royalty AU: fantasy just because there’s SO much that can be explored, the possibilities are endless. the royalty au is kinda limited & tbh can get boring pretty quickly with the same repetitive tropes (king/queen falls in love with a local forbidden person, king & queen marry solely for political reasons etc etc).

Mutual Pining or Domestic Bliss: mutual! pining! two dumbasses being absolutely enamoured by one another but too scared to act on it lest the feelings aren’t reciprocated? then realising the feelings ARE reciprocated and omg omg this is really happening!!! again, what’s not to love?

Smut or Fluff: ok i actually do enjoy a good fluff piece but SMUT because i’m an absolute whore but also, why not smut with fluff?? because people saying ‘i love you’s during sex? that’s my jam baby lather it on some bread & LET’S GO.

Canon Compliant or Canon Divergence: i picked both because i kind of like a balance? i don’t want it to be fully removed from canon (although if it’s well written i’ll 1000% read it) but i also love when writers add on to, expand or chance certain things from canon. i mean that’s pretty much headcanons are made & i absolutely love headcanons.

Reincarnation or Major Character Death: oh my god it hurts so bad but... i live for the angst. the absolute pain. the hopeless despair. just delicious. but also, not a huge fan of the reincarnation trope lol once you’re dead stay dead sksksjjsks

One Shot or Multi-Chapter: i actually really like both, it truly depends on the writer & how they write it. i just picked one shot cause i suck at reading series, i always fall behind & then the chapters just keep on coming & i can sometimes get overwhelmed but that’s on me lmao.

Kid Fic or Pregnancy Fic: kid cause, i mean kids are cute sometimes i guess hdjsjs also i don’t know just not a huge fan of the pregnancy trope ALTHOUGH i do like the idea of a doting husband/wife running to the supermarket at 3am to provide for their pregnant partners cravings & the store owner already knows them cause they literally come in there every. single. day.

Arranged Marriage or Accidental Marriage: for some reason the idea of arranged marriage just weirds me out (although i know that there are tons of arranged marriages that have been successful i just personally like the idea) so i’m going with accidental marriage. but also!! fhshsjsj can you imagine a drunk ass couple waking up in vegas the next morning with a raging hangover & realising...wtf did we...did we...get married?!?!

High School Romances or Aged Up Romances: i’d rather read about older romances than read about the love lives of 15 year olds hahaha.

Time Travel or Isolated Together: the domesticity potential? perfect. the angst potential after being stuck with the same person for ages? also perfect.

Neighbours or Roommates: ‘...and they were roommates.’ enough said.

Sci-Fi or Magic AU: magic just cause magic is cool lmao i don’t know kghshs.

Angst or Crack: ANGST ANSGT ANGST. ok so my favourite is angst with a happy ending but oh my god give me a huge slice of angst over crack anyday.

Apocalyptic or Mundane: i picked both cause i want it to have some elements of the apocalyptic genre but don’t want it to be completely removed from reality. kind of like an intermingling of the two worlds i guess?!

Linear Storyline or Nonlinear Storyline: both cause again, it depends on the writer and the way they write it. non-linear is hard to write but i feel like if the writer is good, it can be really great because the back & forth with the flashbacks & the slowly connecting the dots & piecing the puzzle can be so so good.

Holiday Fic or Birthday Fic: ahhh i just love the idea of a partner planning a whole birthday surprise for their partner & tailoring it to their partner & it just shows how well they know them & its so so cute ugh i am a sucker for birthday fics!

Love Triangle or Miscommunication: love triangles HURT ( @agentrebecca i’m gonna play it some day but boy oh boy it’s gonna HURT like a bitch ugh) so i’m going with miscommunication plus i love love love the crash where the all the miscommunication & issues just come to a head and a massive fight happens and all hell breaks loose lmao.

tagging : @anotherbeingsworld @openheartthot @nateissewell @nazario-sayeed @cryinginthebackseat @starrystarrytrouble @utterlyinevitable @terrm9 & anyone else who wants to do it!

#writing

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greengay · 4 years

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Thank you for being one of the only blogs to talk about rpf 🧡 I like it a lot, but I feel like it’s become taboo to mention it? I don’t post about it because I’m worried people will think I’m weird

LOL JUST DOIN’ MY PART....

TBH!!! sooooo many people feel like you do LOL like, a lot of people enjoy it and know it’s harmless and SO MANY PEOPLE follow my nsfw gd blog (sorry for not answering the asks yet......executive dysfunction....)

1) i don’t care about followers or whatever, i am just here to scream into the void and if people tune in, cool

2) YA it’s become taboo moreso recently because I think fan culture has gotten.....younger? because of people being able to access the internet easier? like back in the day, you used to have to either have a computer or log onto the family computer IF you were allowed, so fandoms skewed older? like at least 15+....now 9 years old all have iphones and can access fan communities etc. which is....terrifying tbh.

BUT! with that, i think especially with l*rry and r*den and ph*n (disregarding if the relationships were real or not) younger people don’t understand boundaries as well and can’t really comprehend the fact that the people they’re reading fic about AREN’T the same people that they’re tweeting/commenting on ig posts of.......i mean they are, but i think it’s pretty much understood that in fic.....none of these things have actually happened. it’s just taking a daydream about a hot celeb and writing it out, or it’s using gerard way’s face + likeness + personality traits gleaned from on stage/interviews and creating a character based on that.

3) ALSO. celebs/musicians/etc. have gotten 1000x more accessible? AGAIN, with ryden.....back in the day it would stay on livejournal or tumblr and ryan and brendon (i know he’s cancelled or w/e but i think ryden is the best example) wouldn’t be exposed to it unless they actively sought it out (except for the crazy fans that would wait for them in airports LOL but that was v few and far between). but then. instagram and twitter became WAY more popular and suddenly fans could access the love of their life any time they wanted!!!! and why not use that access to confirm/get more “lore” about their favorite ship? /s which kinda related to point #2 bc it was mostly young people doing this.

now if you see frank iero MENTION gerard way the twitter replies will be FILLED with “frerard” 😬 and 1) if you do believe they had something (i believe they DID....not currently tho) it obviously wasn’t public, so why not respect their privacy lol. not to mention that it’s in the PAST and we don’t know if it was a painful split (frank was HEARTBROKEN after mcr broke up and would shit talk gerard in interviews lol so) its best to assume it was and NOT bring it up to hurt him more and 2) it affects their real life relationship at this point!

there’s a difference between knowing something is out there and being tagged in it/having it shoved in your face. for the most part, bands have never cared abt ships and actually would tease them a little cos they knew it would “sell” the band better and excite fans and show that they aren’t like......abt to go into a gay panic bc someone thought they were fucking their friend.

THIS IS ANOTHER ESSAY/RANT ENTIRELY, but i think band rpf is a safe and healthy way to explore sexuality + emotions if you are too scared/traumatized/whatever to go out and try everything you ever imagined. especially if you are afab and you want to have sex with men. it’s scary out there!

like. real men might be assholes and take advantage of me and could hurt me. but projecting onto billie and mike is completely safe, especially because i’m so far removed from it. there’s also like....this is fake deep, but whatever....the aspect of exploring Queerness in a safe way? like in fics that aren’t just smut. LIKE 12-17 year old me reading NOTHING but m/m fic with some f/f thrown in there and still thinking i was straight LOL. and it just being....completely normalized for me until i was comfortable enough to admit that i was bisexual to myself? IDK IF Y’ALL KNOW THE COMPARTMENTILIZATION PEOPLE THAT GROW UP IN VAGUELY CONSERVATIVE AREAS WITH NO REPRESENTATION GO THROUGH. i would LITERALLY stare at my friends (who were girls) lips and think about kissing them and just be like....HM! THAT WAS WEIRD! LET’S NEVER ADDRESS THAT INTERNALLY.

you can argue that there’s an aspect of fetishization, but i think the concept of celebrity & stan culture is fetishization in and of itself. like.

Fetishization refers to a process of imbuing an object or idea with power. A fetish object is often associated with sexual gratification, desire, and worship. Fetishization marks a cultural, psychological, and social technique of fetishizing things by making them appear larger than life, animate, or sexually desirable (→ Sexualization in the Media). It is argued that this process has profoundly influenced contemporary consumer culture (Fernbach 2002; Jhally 1987; Schroeder 2002). (x)

like if you even vaguely idolize a celeb/put a celeb on a pedestal or reblog a text post about them........that’s fetishization, babey! you don’t ACTUALLY know them!!!! they’re just.....some guy! billie joe is just.....some guy who’s really good at writing songs. he’s actually kinda ugly but we all find him attractive and go 😍 over his traditionally unattractive features cos he is talented and famous. if he was some dude at your gas station you would NOT be posting abt him on instagram.

but because i love and respect him i think he is beautiful 💖 and the only reason i can “love” someone i don’t know is celeb worship culture.

and the people who compare girls liking m/m fic to LESBIAN PORN. LOL. i think that’s so deeply insidious that, again, it’s another post. ACTUALLY i think i’ve already posted abt it waaaaay back.

omg i’m sorry this turned out so long...

#ray answers asks #adhd brain + avoiding finishing cleaning my room #cleaning is SO SO SO hard for me #so here we are #long post /

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 4 years

Text

I Need to Talk About “Problematic Faves” within TWDG [3/?]

Character design, being drawn towards characters we find visually attractive, and how big of a role in plays in our feelings towards them.

“He's a murderer but like.... a cute murderer, y’know?”

This goes hand in hand with the whole first impressions thing we’re talking about, but rather than talking about the character’s traits, dialogue, history, and overall character, we’re talking about physical appearance.

This is something I want to touch on even though I already know the answer to it. It’s just a food for thought sort of idea that I wanted to explore given how much we talk about our favorite characters appearances while discussing them with one another.

Let’s face it: We’re all a little shallow at some point in our lives.

“Don’t judge a book by it’s cover” is bullshit. I pick up that book in the first place because it’s pretty and has sprayed edges. The only reason I put it back it is because I can’t find an actual summary of the book because publishers think we want to read a bunch of “Best book of da year!” by Who The Fuck Cares written all over the place rather than an actual summary...

....What was my point?

Oh, right, character design.

When we’re first introduced to a character, we immediately make a judgement of them based off their looks.That’s not to say that our opinions remain the same based on our first impressions after only looking at them, but it’s something we do initially.

Game developers, artists, writers, and directors will usually strive to make their characters as visually appealing to us as possible because that’s what makes us go “ohhh they pretty *picks thing up.*”

There are issues that develop from this, such as unrealistic expectations of what true beauty is and how it actually affects the audience. After taking in so much of this content, I started to wonder if it had any affect on why we have “Problematic Faves” and if there IS something linked within the way we view them as physically attractive.

While I believe that appearance is an important factor in character development and is what draws us to them, it’s also a bit more complicated than that.

One of the many things I adore about the final season is it’s character design for all the students at Ericson. All of the Ericson kiddos have their own unique looks and manners of which they hold themselves.

Sure we’ve got Louis and Violet, who we all gush about all the time on how beautiful they are. How many times have we talked about Louis’ freckles or Violet’s eyes or just how gosh darn pretty we think they are while incorporating it into writing our fanfics or headcanons or creating out artworks of them?

But what’s great is that they aren’t all “conveniently attractive” or someone a shallow Hollywood director would look at one time and say “there’s our star!”

Willy is a fan favorite among many in our community. What I love about his design is his teeth. He’s a kid growing up in the apocalypse without proper dental care. His teeth are crooked, there are gaps between them, and he’s even missing some. If that same Hollywood director were to look at him, they’d either slap some extreme braces on him or cast him as a tree troll.

But not everyone has those perfectly straight pearly whites. Some of us have crooked teeth, or we’ve had painful braces to try and straighten them, or we’ve lost or broken a tooth at some point. You know how refreshing it is to see a character as likable as Willy show up with that smile of his while still being considered a fan favorite?

Speaking of refreshing, what about Ruby? Everyone loves Ruby. She’s not tall and thin, she’s short and thicker.

I remember seeing nasty posts questioning why someone like Aasim would have any interest in her because of the way she’s built, and that that pisses me off.

It’s so damn great to see someone like Ruby portrayed the way she is in this game. As someone who IS more on the shorter and heavier side, it’s hard to find a character like this who doesn’t suddenly become slim therefore “prettier” over the course of the story or who isn’t a terrible or whose weight and build is all their character is. The last movie I watched that featured a plus size main character was that god awful Sierra Burgess movie on Netflix and that character made me want to punch things.

All I can say is thank god for Ruby.

Speaking of which, how about Omar? He’s short and stocky, too, but y’know what? We made this dude a GOD. What does that tell you?

These are examples using more minor characters that fall into that non-”Problematic Fave” tier, but what about our characters that do?

I used to have a strong theory that some characters got more love and attention JUST because they’re more attractive to the audience, even if their character is boring, holds little to no plot relevance, or is an “evil” being beyond forgiveness.

It’s a theory that I believe still holds some truth, though I think that truth lies more with the younger fans, or those who aren’t quite as mature.

As someone who has worked around elementary school children, as well as 13-14 year olds, I think I can safely make the assumption that they tend to take things at face value a good chunk of the time.

Pretty person = Good!

Not pretty person = Bad!

That sort of deal.

So, the question I pose is:

Does a character’s level of attractiveness have an effect on our willingness to forgive some of their more problematic behaviors?

I’m sure most of you read that and said “Uh, is this a trick question? No?”

When you think about the kinds of stories that we’re always told about the beautiful princesses who are pure and good and the ugly stepmothers who are evil and bad, it’s not hard to see why the younger ones would see things as more black and white rather than a shade of gray.

If the pretty princess poisons her “evil” stepmother during their morning tea, how easily do we forgive her just because we’re told that she’s a pure, pretty princess? We know poisoning someone is bad, but... if the stepmother was ugly and evil, then the princess must have had a reason for doing this, right? So... it’s okay... right?

Is the princess justified in her actions, even if the stepmother wasn’t doing anything more than drinking her morning tea?

I look at that and say, “No,” whereas a much younger person might say, “Yeah. The stepmother was evil.”

Young children are fascinating to talk to, by the way. They’re sponges who absorb knowledge like you wouldn’t believe but somehow they still take everything at that face value and believe whatever the “good” person says in a story until you help them see the bigger picture. That’s why they tend to be more susceptible to falling for twists.

But once you explain to them the more complicated elements of the princess and the stepmother, they’re intelligent enough to grasp that the princess is wrong.

I believe once we grow older and open ourselves up to more complex stories full of gray characters, learning about them through experience, we start to see that beauty isn’t just in the eye in the beholder, but also that it doesn’t mean shit at the end of the day.

You can have the most beautiful person in the world be your main character, but if that beautiful person drowns a bag full of kittens, suddenly they aren’t so attractive, now are they?

One of a kid’s favorite example of a good-looking antagonist is Hans from Frozen.

While I think the whole “he was actually evil the whole time haha we fooled you” thing in that movie is garbage, I give it credit for being the first exposure of this concept to young kids, sending them down a path of looking at different characters they see in a new light.

We like characters who are attractive because, well, they’re attractive. But we’re also mature enough to know that their attractiveness isn’t solely based on their appearance. It’s merely the seed that only grows with development, personality, and an arc. It only makes up a small portion of why we like a character in the first place. We know that just because someone is good-looking, it doesn’t justify their actions.

But for those who are still growing out of those black and while fairy tales and just starting to expand their views of different characters while learning that looks can be deceiving, are they more likely to forgive a character or not fully understand that they’re in the wrong just because they’re visually pleasing?

Another example outside of TWDG that I can give you is Nathan Prescott from the game Life is Strange. I’ve mentioned this game several times before, and even wrote a whole segment on it in my Louis and Violet essay from a while back.

When I was a young lass, I picked up this game and really liked it. I wasn’t as into it as I am TWDG, but I liked it enough to play every episode as it came out and then check the tag to see what everyone thought.

While browsing this tag, I noticed that a lot of the fan base seemed young. Makes sense, it IS a game starring teens set in an academy setting and I was young, too.

But with that, one thing that always bothered me was how a number of young people talked about Nathan.

Nathan who, if you haven’t played the game, is one of the antagonists. They would gush about this kid, seeming to make up excuses for the appalling things he did and it felt very tied to his looks.

I’m sorry to any Life is Strange fans who might’ve been one of these young fans... but that really is the impression I got at the time.

Maybe I just didn’t get the hype about this dude who drugged girls so he could pose and take pictures of them because of his weirdly under-explained relationship with the surprise villain of the story, but he doesn’t seem like the type of guy to get all “Poor, precious, beautiful baby boi didn’t deserve this !” about.

Then again, if writing this has taught me anything, I might have missed something by not being involved with that fandom, but what I gathered was that he didn’t become the redeemable character they all thought he would be and they didn’t like that, so it becomes harder to try and justify the things he did because he didn’t end up being good in the end even though they all thought he would be. I guess.

But, gathering that a lot of them were so young and going off the content I predominately saw... I don’t know. It didn’t ever feel right. I had suspicions that lead to this theory. That’s what I’m saying.

This can apply to other fandoms, too, where a group of people will take a character/person they find attractive and gush about how pretty they are rather than anything else that makes them interesting. Not everyone, of course, but I get the feeling you all know what I mean and have come across something like it before. I’m just trying to explain it.

Or maybe it is just me and you have no idea what I’m talking about.

Either way.

Returning back to our “Problematic Faves,” lets ask this question about them in particular.

How much of David’s attractiveness plays into my love of him?

I mean, he’s not a bad looking dude. In fact, I dare say that the Garcia brothers are both very attractive guys. I give ‘em both a 10/10.

But does that actually aid in my actual feelings towards him at all?

What about the others we’ve talked about so far?

I don’t see many people talking about how pretty they think Kenny is... though his mustache IS majestic and that’s something we all agree on.

And Lilly’s okay. I guess.

Nate could be a good-looking dude if he’d just put his crazy eyes away.

I believe our best bet it in getting a more clear answer to this question would to be take a quick look back at Minerva.

Remember how I said Minerva was so hyped up based on a two second appearance in the ep3 trailer? Granted, we did have more than JUST her appearance to form this hype around.... but admit it, a huge part of the hype was how good she looked.

She looked awesome.

Hell, just seeing her had me excited to see what she would do in ep3, even though I had the feeling she wouldn’t be an ally.

I used to have a hard time wrapping my head around why so many people love her as much as they do, and I previously thought it was based a lot on her appearance.

Is it ignorant and shallow of me to think y’all loved her based solely on her looks?

Probably. Yes. Yes, it was.

Now that I’ve looked into this further, I see that there’s more to the love and interest surrounding her, but..... it’s kind of what my first thought was? In the beginning?

Either way, it’s still an interesting idea to consider when thinking about a character you love.

With that said, what if we apply this question to a character who is less of a “Problematic Fave” and more of my “God Tier Fave.”

You all know that Louis is my favorite character across ALL the games. My love for him is vibrant, but one of the many things I love about him IS his character design. He’s a visually appealing guy, and his personality, different traits, dialogue, flaws, and character arc only build onto the attractiveness of his character.

If Louis didn’t look like this, would I still love him?

Assuming that everything else about him is the same, then yeah.

What if the developers went with the concept art of him that looked like a odd Harry Styles knockoff? Would I still love him?

Again, I want to say that I would, assuming that everything else about him be the same. But going with that certain concept art does take away an important aspect of his character and his relationship to Clementine.

Many of you have told me how much you appreciate the fact that Clementine and Louis represent a sweet, healthy black couple. That’s important to all of us. If we went with the first concept art, then that’s something we’d lose. Would we still ship clouis? Probably, but again, that important element and representation is lost and that would affect our overall opinion of it, even if just a bit.

But, what if Louis looked exactly as he does now, but were to do something awful? Would I still love him?

Well, my first instinct is to say, “Yes.”

In ep3, Louis tells us that he purposely broke up his parents marriage because his father wouldn’t let him take singing lessons. He broke into his father’s credit cards and made it look like he had a mistress, then made sure his mother knew about it. He did this over the course of a year. Then, when the divorce was finalized, he threw his father’s words back in his face: “You get to be happy or you get to be rich. You can’t be both.”

Knowing this, I still love Louis.

What he did was awful, but the reason I don’t hate him or even like him any less is because of how he acted while telling us. You can feel the guilt and remorse in his voice, the shame that he was once a person who thought that was okay to do.

He did that a long time ago, he learned from this terrible mistake he made, went as far as to punish himself by taking on a irresponsible, piano-playing jokester persona who anyone rarely ever took seriously. Louis changed for the better and he’s still a likable, relatable, lovably character despite this.

But in order to dig a little deeper into this idea of attractiveness and just how far we’ll go to try and justify a character based solely on their looks, I then thought:

“Okay, then consider this: What if Louis and Minerva switched places with him doing all those things she did that made me dislike her? Would I still love him?”

And things got a little complicated.

Because my immediate first thought was “Yes.”

That shocked the hell out of me.

Why the fuck would I be okay with LOUIS acting the way Minerva did, but not MINERVA herself? That makes no sense.

Louis betraying us on the boat by knocking Clementine out and locking her in the cell isn’t suddenly okay because it’s LOUIS.

Louis showing up on the bridge to try and murder Tenn isn’t suddenly okay because it’s him and not MINERVA.

The reality is this: If Louis and Minerva traded places, I wouldn’t love Louis. I don’t care how attractive his character design is, I would feel the same way about him that I feel about Minerva. I love Louis for who he is within the context of the canon game, but if Louis traded places with Minerva, he wouldn’t be that Louis that I love.

The problem with asking myself this is I know Louis’ character and I want to think the best of him. I’m attached to him. I don’t want to imagine him doing anything that horrible because I know that would be an breaking of his character. His appearance has nothing to do with it.

But my first instinct was to side with him.

That’s when it all came together.

A character’s appearance is important in the first impression, but our perception of that character’s attractiveness is only elevated or lowered based on the important things: personality, backstory, relationships, flaws, fears, regrets, change, and complete character arc.

So how does this apply to my love for David?

Well, it eliminates any possibility that I only like David just because he’s pretty.

Perhaps I’m not so shallow after all.

Yeah, that’s the conclusion of this segment: something I already knew. But, I felt it was a concept that could spark some thought about what attractiveness really means while debunking any idiots who may grasp at straws with the insult of, “You only like [blank] and excuse their toxicity because you think they’re hot!”

... except the Life is Strange community might come after me for implying a nicer version of that towards one of the antagonists... but hopefully you understand the point I was attempting to make in bringing that up as an example.

I like David’s design, but him being an attractive dude isn’t why I like him. If anything, his looks being appealing to my eye is at the end of my long, complicated list of why I like him.

Conclusion:

Looks matter initially, and our perception of a character’s attractiveness is either elevated or lowered based on the more important qualities of their character, problematic or otherwise.

[continued in 4/?]

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