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weemsgay · 1 year

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Topic of Study

Can someone tell me why I have two other fics planned besides this and Love Notes??? I'm obsessed.

Larissa Weems x PhDstudent!Reader

Summary: Arriving to Nevermore on fellowship is a normie PhD student writing their dissertation on Normie/Outcast rhetoric and relations. The best way to research is hands-on, so reader has decided to make Principal Larissa Weems their main object of study.

AO3 link

As you exit your Uber in the Jericho town square, you start to glance around for the Nevermore Academy driver expected to meet you. Hm, not here yet. The coordinator you were in contact with offered to have you collected at the train station in Burlington, but you preferred to use the time in the quiet solitude of the Uber to think and prepare instead. Your Uber driver didn’t seem to mind, and for that, you were going to leave a large, thankful tip.

Once out of the car, you were excited to stretch your legs and chug the rest of your water. You check your phone before heading to the trunk for your luggage. You’re not exactly sure who is meeting you now, because there is an automated email saying the usual Nevermore driver is out sick with stomach pox (whatever that is…).

Resolved to figure it out as you go, you pull your bag and suitcase from the trunk and wave a thank you to your Uber driver as they seem to scurry away quickly from Jericho. You begin to walk towards the fountain in the middle of the open space surrounded by shops and sidewalks. The town square looks quaint; you notice a flower shop, a convenience store, a hardware store, and a couple other small businesses throughout the square. However, what truly caught your eye was a café. Caffeine sounded so, so good. Traveling always exhausted you. Too much to think about and plan. It made your anxiety flare.

Heading towards the Weathervane Café and Bakery, you find yourself grateful to have a place to rest for a moment and wait for your now unknown Nevermore driver. The gloomy, overcast sky looked like it could open up and pour rain at any moment.

Shuffling your suitcase in the door to the café, you eye a back booth out of the way so that you don’t disturb anyone with your items. You’re not sure you would bother anyone since there aren’t many people here anyway—maybe the post-lunch lull is in full effect. You notice a black-haired, tattooed barista making an espresso for a customer. After looking around and deeming your belongings safe enough, you dash over to the counter to be next in line.

“What can I get you?” you hear coming from the black-haired woman behind the counter. In response, you ask, “May I please get a light roast vanilla latte for here?” You aren’t sure how long you’ll be waiting to depart for Nevermore. You might as well get comfortable. Before you could mutter “thank you,” the barista nods and takes your outstretched payment before turning around to complete your order.

You briefly walked back over to your claimed booth to take off your jacket and check your phone for any notifications. You didn’t expect the barista to bring you your drink. As far as you could tell, she was the only one working out front. Turning to you, she speaks almost teasing, “New, huh?”

Your eyes meet the luggage at your feet. “Yeah, I guess the suitcase does make it hard to blend in.” You notice the woman has a tousled bob and nose piercing; she stood looking at you, expecting you to continue. “I’m doing a fellowship year at Nevermore Academy to finish my dissertation.”

The barista eyes you suspiciously as if she is trying to make up her mind about something. You catch on and ask “What’s the look for?” Finally, she relents, “Okay, I don’t want to sound insensitive and ignorant, but are you an outcast?”

There it is. Honestly, you were waiting for this question. “No, I’m not. I’m actually researching outcast and normie relations. I figured the best way to dive into the issue was to live it and immerse myself in it as much as I can.” There are only a couple of all-outcast schools in the U.S. You applied to Cresthaven in Virginia and didn’t bother with the one out west. You heard it was in an underground bunker and immediately crossed it off your list. The most promising (and controversial due to recent events) was Nevermore.

To be frank, you were a little nervous for how your research would be perceived after following the news and disruptions here over the last year. Scary…but also kind of exciting having first-hand knowledge and experience relating to your work.

The barista seems to lower her guard. You learn her name is Imogen, and you two begin to share some of the funny TikTok’s you’ve seen about outcasts and normies. You’re giggling when the door opens and a bell chimes signaling a new customer.

The tallest and most attractive woman you’ve ever seen enters. You’re not sure how someone can seem so delicate and feminine yet powerful and in control at the same time. This is coming from someone quite well-versed in queer theory and the wonderful fluidity of gender and power. To have you stumped and frozen by this statuesque woman is quite a feat.

“Oh, there you are!” pronounces the woman cheerfully, as if she had been searching for you. Her voice was lilting, a touch of rasp, and delicious like honey.

You hesitate, trying to find out if your silence would encourage more of the beautiful sound. She then introduces herself as Larissa Weems, the principal of Nevermore. At the end of her detailing what happened with the original driver, you notice you’ve been staring at her throughout her entire introduction. Suddenly, your mouth goes dry and your cheeks flush. Imogen, the barista, chuckles and gives you a wink before backing away to let you flounder.

You begin to reason, “I apologize for not waiting outside where we had planned. I did not know who would meet me, and I wanted to explore a bit of Jericho before heading off.”

“Nonsense. In fact, let’s sit and have a cup together.” The taller woman visits the counter, and you overhear her order a hot chocolate. Jealousy showing, you didn’t even think to order such a cozy drink. You love hot chocolate.

Eventually she comes back over to you with her hot chocolate in hand, also deciding to forgo the to go cup. You attempt small talk, saying you adore hot chocolate and that you should have gotten it in the first place. The principal assures you that it is delicious and lives up to the hype. You vow to order one to go, jokingly. She, unexpectedly, offers you a sip.

Principal Weems had already been sipping the drink, and there were red lipstick stains on the mug. Throwing caution to the wind, you look her straight in the eyes and make a choice to bring your mouth to the same spot hers was. Her momentarily taken aback expression fades quickly into an unreadable façade.

“Mmmmm, you were not lying.” You let out, feeling the warmth travel down your throat. “Thank you for letting me try it.” The other woman looks down at where you had taken a sip and back to your lips. She sees that there is a bit of her red lipstick on your own lips now. She calmly removes the glove from her right hand, leans forward, and swipes her finger across your lips to collect the red residue.

With a smirk and feeling quite cheeky, you remark, “Talk about normie/outcast relations.” The woman looks out the window in an effort to conceal her own budding smirk and seems to be slightly flustered at the interaction. Or possibly the implication.

You’re unsure if she seems flustered due to the likelihood she’s almost always in control or if she has her own internalized barriers to outcasts/normies or sexuality. You file away this information, because, honestly, it was fun teasing her. To your surprise, though, she continues to drink her hot chocolate from the exact same place as before.

You two end up talking for another 45 minutes about your travels, your program, and the work you hope to complete at Nevermore. You ask about her job, the students, and what she does in her downtime on the campus. You also ask her if it’s possible to get some background information surrounding Jericho. In response, she offers to walk around with you if the weather permits.

Before you can fully gather your belongs and head towards the door, Imogen the barista catches you to give you her number and say goodbye. You begin to push your luggage towards the door when Principal Weems offers to carry it to the car for you. After some convincing, you yield to the obviously stronger woman. The taller woman takes your suitcase and bag as if it is the easiest thing in the world to lift, not even wrinkling her fashionable ensemble, and makes her way out of the Weathervane. The van parked across the street is a short trek, and you two place the luggage in the back and lock the car. Principal Weems looks at you expectantly to initiate a stroll in one direction or another.

Of course you are trying to understand as much history surrounding Jericho and Nevermore as you can. Knowing a bit more about the current and past state of normie/outcast relations can kick start your deeper research into local lore. You also can’t help but want to prolong the time you have with the tall and comforting older woman. At your current height, she is almost a foot taller than you, and you must pick up the pace a bit when beside her.

With the scenery change, you finally have the chance to examine the woman without the obstructing table and barista’s curious eyes. Principal Weems embodies femininity in a manner you could never accomplish. She is wearing heels and exquisite clothes; you don’t know anything about designer brands, but you’re sure they pale in comparison to her impeccably tailored clothes. Her hair is frozen in the most pristine updo that liken her to a Hitchcock heroine. You’re not sure a Hitchcock heroine’s figure would hold your eyes as long, though.

You are struck with the overwhelming urgency to know as much as you can about the woman. Does she have secrets? What is her skincare routine? What is the feeling she gets after finishing a good book? How much older than you is she? You’d like to know anything—any morsels of information you can obtain from her or about her.

The two of you continue walking and talking, and occasionally your fingers accidentally brush against each other as your arms swing side by side. The sun is starting to set, and the taller woman looks at her watch and curses under her breath that time has gone by so quickly. She implores that you two need to head to the academy.

Having made it back to the van, you two sit in comfortable silence for the 20 minute drive to Nevermore. Mentally, you make a note to discuss outcast powers and identities since she likely has a wealth of information at her fingers as the head of the school. You hope the older woman is content with you asking about her professional and personal life.

Once Principal Weems carries your luggage up the steps of the school, she informs you of your rooming accommodations. As a fellowship candidate, you will be staying in the faculty residential wing, rather than the student dormitories. You blurt out impulsively, “is that where you stay?” The woman lifts an eyebrow at the inquiry but answers honestly that her living quarters are downstairs attached to her office.

It being fairly late, you part ways with the captivating woman and begin to get settled in your room. You end up going to bed with a warm feeling in your stomach as you ruminate over the day’s activities and conversations. After a few minutes, you sleepily turn over and jokingly jot down a new title for your dissertation thesis.

“Examining Attraction Between Outcasts and Normies: A Case Study of Larissa Weems”

#topic of study #larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader #larissa weems #phd student #grad student #attraction #lust #eventual smut #age difference #fanfiction #ao3 #fanfic #wednesday

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queerfanfiction · 8 months

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masterlist

I created a masterlist of my works and linked it on my page (/masterlist). However, I thought I would post it as it's own post, too.

Wednesday (TV 2022):

Larissa Weems x Reader/OC

Love Notes You’re a music teacher at Nevermore that makes encouraging handwritten notes and mix CDs for Larissa anonymously. Will Principal Weems ever find out you are her secret admirer? Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 (currently writing)

Topic of Study Arriving to Nevermore on fellowship is a normie PhD student writing their dissertation on Normie/Outcast rhetoric and relations. The best way to research is hands-on, so reader has decided to make Principal Larissa Weems their main object of study. Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 (currently writing)

Mummy Issues (one shot) (request)

Guardian Angel (one shot) (request)

—

Game of Thrones (TV 2011)

Brienne of Tarth x Reader/OC

Angel in the (K)night (one shot)

—

The Sandman (TV 2022)

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader/OC

Possessed (one shot) (request)

Flying (one shot) (request)

All works above are also crossposted to AO3.

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pilvimarja · 2 years

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About to make myself a cup of tea and read a whole master thesis on the culture of anti-shipping in fandom spaces 🫖🧐👀

#anti shipping #pro shipping #fandom #discourse #I've wanted to read a proper study on the topic for a while now because the phenomenon is as fascinating as it is infuriating

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why-the-heck-not · 3 months

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today very much wasn’t as cozy as the pictures of it, but let’s pretend it was

#that’s just braindumping about different thesis topics so if u’re zooming in for some juicy life details; think again lmao #also idk if this is just me & my mortal enemy of tumblr mobile app but been fighting it for a bit bc trouble getting pics uploaded right so #if this looks weird in ur end; blame tumblr app lmao #studyblr #bookblr #booklr #aesthetic #books #study #reading #read #book #dark academia #winter aesthetic #january 2024 #2024

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radicalfemimist · 1 month

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I don’t think we as a society talk nearly enough about how intricately connected cats and women are. cats are associated with women so heavily, not just in English but in other languages as well. the stereotype of the ‘crazy cat lady’, the fact words to refer to cats are often also used to refer to female genitalia, ‘cat fight’, ‘catty’, etc.

Cats have suffered alongside women, too, which is not something I have seen brought up. Cats were targeted during the Witch Hunts as well, and suffered similar fates as the women they hunted. During this time, cats were nearly driven to extinction, and the mice and rat population go out of control— which is believed to have heavily contributed if not outright caused one of the most famous plagues.

To this day, I think we need to analyze if it’s truly a coincidence that cats are often portrayed as mean or uncaring because they do not behave the same way as dogs— “man’s best friend”— that their boundaries are violated for fun and then people criticize the cat for reacting, for self-defense. They will mutilate a cat so it cannot defend itself, and then abandon it when it is understandably upset, when it can no longer feel safe.

If you look at the statistics, more cats enter animal shelters than dogs, and tend to stay for longer. Personally, my local humane societies seem to have almost exclusively cats. In part, this is because cats are more effective at reproducing than dogs, and there are very little if any resources dedicated to to TNR. This is also because people will not spay/neuter their cats, and then will abandon the cat and/or just the kittens.

I do not think it is entirely coincidental that cats are so heavily associated with women, and they are villainized for not being dogs. That dogs are called “man’s best friend”, but somehow that does not mean cats are called “women’s best friend”— instead diamonds are, for whatever reason, despite women’s shared history with cats, and shared experience of being villainized for having boundaries. They are made the villain for being cats instead of dogs, they are called uncaring and “assholes” because the way they show love is not identical to the way a dog does.

I feel like there is no way it is entirely coincidental, the way cats are hated and the way they are so heavily associated with women, with females.

#mim’s ramblings #this is a topic I feel more confident speaking on as cats are something I ‘study’#granted there’s not exactly a college course dedicated to cats so not //professionally//#tw animal cruelty #I do try and speak vaguely about the animal cruelty as it is an upsetting topic

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bookwyrminspiration · 5 months

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if I asked very nicely would you all be willing to take a one minute anonymous survey for my linguistics class. if the answer is yes, please click here. thanks :)

(sharing for a better response size would also be very appreciated)

#linguistics #quil's unholy underworld #i have no clue how to tag this #it is quite literally 2 multiple choice questions #keeping it real simple #it's a required project in an intro class #we didn't even get to choose the topic #anyway #it's less important the results #it's intended to teach us the scientific method in practice #which I have done. like 5 times now in different classes it feels #i literally studied the demographic of the library by age an entire summer once #anyway. here's hoping this is worded and structured well enough to do what I need it to #take my survey boy #please

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anistarrose · 2 months

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I have this TAZ Balance modern AU in my head that I'll never write, but that's okay, because there's literally only two things that you need to know about it:

Kravitz and Barry both have graduate degrees

Barry and Kravitz are not using their graduate degrees even a little bit in their current career, which is running a really shitty, scam-adjacent ghost-busting business out of a garage together

#taz #taz balance #taz balance spoilers #kravitz taz #barry bluejeans #personally i think krav got a degree in something artsy that he knew he didn't have great job prospects in #and just studied for the love of the topic #whereas barry got a masters in an actually semi-employable STEM field #but got so burnt out within the first year of going for a phd that he dropped out not only of his phd program but the field altogether #it's purely up to reader interpretation though. hence not being included in the only two things you need to know

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acewitch-writes · 4 months

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I love Canon Remus and all of his flaws. Enough of this "Casanova of Gryffindor Tower" BS, Remus is the cowardly lion of Gryffindor tower. He values bravery because it is something that he lacks and yet still strives to be. He has an ingrained sense of shame and self-loathing and an inferiority complex that stems from society's contempt and marginalization towards Lycanthropy, a condition he was cursed with from a very young age. He wasn't a leader, he was a follower. A blind follower who believed to his core that he was unworthy of love and respect because of what he was.

Which opens the door to what I believe to be Remus' greatest flaw: His unwavering, unquestioning devotion to Albus Dumbledore.

I think Remus saw Dumbledore as the perfect encapsulation of Good. He was everything that Remus desperately wanted to be, everything that society was determined to believe a werewolf could never be. And maybe, if Remus could earn (and cling to) Dumbledore's favor and make him proud, he would prove to the world and himself that he is Good, too, in spite of his lifelong curse.

Remus felt that he owed Dumbledore a debt he could never hope to repay for allowing this chronically ill little boy into his school when no werewolf before him had ever been given such an opportunity. So many of Remus' choices in canon stem directly from this imagined debt that he had dedicated his life to paying. Hell, he didn't even hold a grudge against Snape for OUTING HIM to the entire wizarding world simply because Dumbledore trusted him.

Remus trusted Dumbledore wholeheartedly. And Dumbledore personally saw to Harry's placement with the Dursleys. Why should Remus have considered, for even a moment, that Harry wasn't safe? Certainly far safer than he would have been with a monster in close proximity, as Remus believed himself to be. In his mind, staying away from Harry was what was best for Harry. Until Dumbledore needed a favor, that is.

It's reductive to suggest that Remus failed Harry (and by extension, James) for putting his trust in Dumbledore to do right by Harry. James and Sirius trusted Dumbledore, too. They all did. Stripping away all of the nuance and blaming the abuse Harry suffered on Remus is simply unfair. NO ONE helped Harry, not even those who were fully equipped to do so, and Remus was the farthest thing from being equipped to take that on, what with being an impoverished werewolf living in a society that reviles his very existence. The only person who could have saved Harry from the abuse was the very man that placed him in that home, the very man that Remus revered with blind conviction.

#canon Remus is so complex and interesting #he's spineless and soft and consumed by self-loathing and fear #I think he was drawn to Sirius and James and Gryffindor House in general for the same reasons he was devoted to Dumbledore #He was quick to believe that Sirius was guilty because he had no confidence in himself to make his own judgement #He considered himself to be an inherent monster battling endlessly to supress his evil nature #and therefore placed all of his faith in those he believed to be Wholly Good #Reducing his character to “selfish manipulative coward” is a disservice #Also erasing these flaws in favor of the Fanon cocky asshole alpha male wattpad werewolf Remus is a massive disservice #remus lupin #marauders #character study #Canon Remus Defense Squad #i could rattle on and on about this topic for hours

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inoreuct · 6 months

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would you agree that we all need more Sanji getting nosebleeds over Zoro in this fandom?

YES *pelting down a hill waving the proposal for this in my hand like a madman* YESSSSSS

the first time sanji gets a nosebleed over zoro is his clue-in that oh. i’m not straight, am i. the swordsman’s doing a bench press (shirtless, as always) as sanji walks by (and sanji sneaks a look, as always, because who wouldn’t?) and when he glances over the plates he has to do a double take because what the fuck. zoro’s pressing more than twice his body weight. zoro’s repping more than twice his body weight. he’s just registered that maybe he’s stared for a bit too long when he feels something warm and wet on his upper lip, iron dripping over his mouth, and he books it for the galley.

he slams the door shut and presses his back against it before he slides to the ground and screams into his knees because what. the fuck. it’s not even that he’s getting hot and bothered over a guy; it’s just that the guy’s zoro. he’s not supposed to get nosebleeds over zoro.

but he does.

and it gets worse.

zoro walking around shirtless on deck? nosebleed. zoro re-tying the sails and just hanging on with his legs around the mast? nosebleed. zoro strutting out of the shower door, damp with steam and hair dripping wet and a towel around his waist? nosebleed. zoro tsking irritably and grabbing all of sanji’s food and packages from him to haul the whole lot over his shoulder? NOSEBLEED.

and not even that. he starts getting breathless around zoro and his chest hurts. he kicks zoro back while they’re sparring one day and the swordsman grins, feral and unrestrained and all challenge and teeth, and sanji’s heart spasms so hard that he actually wonders if he’s about to go into cardiac arrest. he’s barely twenty, he isn’t ready to die— much less because of some stupid marimo. chiselled abs and a nice set of biceps are only worth so much of sanji’s dignity. he twists and smashes the sole of his shoe right into zoro’s pretty face.

still, it gets so, so bad that he’s elected to just. avoid zoro completely. he’s sneaking around corners and running across open expanses ducked low like some kind of goofy thief and he knows it’s so fucking stupid but he doesn’t. he doesn’t know if zoro likes— no. he doesn’t even think about it. there’s no way, and if he gives himself false hope he’ll just break his own heart. he doesn’t know if zoro likes men, or anyone, much less him; nobody in their right mind would, not really. he's nice to have but not to keep and he's come to terms with it.

…until zoro corners him in the galley and demands to know what the fuck’s going on.

sanji stays facing away, slowly washing the dishes even as his heart pounds so hard it hurts. he is painfully aware of the way zoro’s seething like an over-boiled kettle in one of the chairs behind him, arms crossed over his stupidly broad chest and stock-still because he never, ever shakes his leg even though sanji knows he wants to.

his sponge squeaks across ceramic. the water’s warm against his fingertips, and his eyes flick up to meet his own reflection in the porthole window; he looks… well, he doesn’t know. scared, maybe. nervous. his mouth is thin, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, a shudder running its fingers down his spine even as his heartbeat thumps between his ribs and god, fuck, it aches. and he knows. he looks himself in the eyes and he knows that somewhere along the line nosebleeds had turned into falling in love and he was the stupid idiot who had just let it happen because he was too weak to pry zoro out of his thoughts.

his gaze flicks down sharply when he hears the sudden scrape of the chair, and zoro spits, “look, i can’t fix whatever i did wrong if you don’t tell me what it is.”

sanji’s heart throbs. “what?”

he can hear zoro’s scowl. “what, what? i obviously did something. you’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”

the cook almost laughs. he bites it down and swallows his words, salty-sweet at the back of his throat. guilt nips at him; zoro’s his rival and and his personal annoyance and a blockhead but he might also, maybe, just maybe, be sanji’s best friend. and sanji hasn’t been very fair to him lately.

he swallows again, clears his throat silently. “you didn’t do anything, marimo,” he murmurs to the plate in his hands, trying for airy and getting more somewhat vaguely strangled. he coughs. “just forget about it. sorry i’ve been weird.”

sanji will deal. he will, somehow; he’d been careless and careless is dangerous and for perhaps the first time in his life, he has too much to lose. he’ll squash his heart into a box and lock it down tight like he always has and it’ll hurt, but when does it ever not? he mentally declares the matter done and dusted as he shakes off the plate and gently sets it on the drying rack.

his lungs hitch as a callused hand cups his elbow.

zoro pulls him around. he’s too weak to resist. the edge of the sink digs into his hip as stormy grey eyes scan his face and zoro looks tense, his jaw set in the way it only is when he faces off with a particularly vexing foe.

“did i not look happy enough at dinner?" he asks, and it could be mockery but it isn't, not with that edge to his voice; not desperation, but damn near. like filter paper burning its way to ash. "was it my clothes on the floor? my boots on the bed? what?”

sanji can't stand it anymore. he looks away, tries to twist out of the invisible bonds zoro has him trapped in, but fingers looped around his wrist are all it takes to make him stay and fuck, fuck, he's so fucked.

"sanji, what did i do?” zoro breathes, brow furrowed, voice too near and too damn earnest, and sanji's throat bobs as he digs the heel of his palm into his eye.

this isn't how it's supposed to go. zoro isn't supposed to care. zoro isn't supposed to be standing here in the galley saying his name in that tone of voice. a hand carefully pulls his own away from his face, and zoro doesn't fucking let go, and sanji feels too much like he's been stripped down to the bone.

"i know," zoro continues, gruff like he doesn't know how to be anything else, "that i upset you. so would you please tell me what i did so i can fix it?" he bends lower still, ducking to try and catch sanji’s line of sight but sanji just can't look at him. "i'll fix it, i—"

"you can't fix this." the words are out and in the air before he can stop them, and a bittersweet smile curves his mouth. "there's nothing to fix, so you can't fix it. just let it go, alright?"

zoro wants to argue. sanji can tell. but the swordsman lets out a measured exhale after a long moment and pulls back, face carefully neutral. "at least tell me what's going on, cook."

sanji looks down at his feet. "...i can't."

"like hell you can't," zoro replies immediately, and it's such an abrupt reminder of their normal banter that it wrenches a rough noise from sanji's chest. "i was the one who held your hair back after you had, like, seven margaritas too many. don't think you could tell me anything worse than the experience of trying to stop you from falling into your own puke."

"oh, jesus fuck," sanji swears on instinct, then laughs. it's unfortunately hollow. "that was one time, asshole."

"one time too many," zoro hums, raising an eyebrow. "so you gonna tell me what's going on, or do i have to make it a captain's order?"

sanji grits his teeth.

"i will drag luffy in here, i don't care—"

"fucking—" he holds his breath, flipping around to white-knuckle the edge of the sink and letting it out slow. "fine. you ever loved someone, marimo?"

"sure." zoro shrugs easily, crossing his arms as he looks out the window. "kuina, but i think i learned to love her memory more than anything else. luffy, nami—" a near-unnoticeable flutter of thick lashes. "you."

sanji exhales through his nose as he rocks back on his heels. squeezes out air till it hurts. "you know that's not what i meant."

"what did you mean, then?"

he turns to look at where zoro has settled lazily against the counter, the moon turning his eyes to silver. "I mean the kind of love that makes your blood race. that makes you want more even when you know you'll never take more than you're allowed. the kind that makes your heart hurt so badly you feel empty without it."

the swordsman's face is unreadable as he tilts his head slowly. "i did say i love you."

it hits sanji like a bullet. he sucks in a sharp breath, and his throat burns as he turns away and tries to stop his shoulders from heaving up. "don't fuck with me, zoro. not about this."

it feels rather like a cruel cosmic joke. he's so near yet so far, just one step away with a gauzy curtain between but he can't touch it. he won't. he's got too many things on the line and yet he can't even name one of them.

"hey."

he squeezes his eyes shut against the burn of salt that shouldn't even be there, and look at that. little sanji's gone and broken his own heart again.

"hey," zoro tries again, more insistent, one hand hovering in the space between them and sanji feels the pull of it like a magnet.

he doesn't turn away as it cups his cheek. doesn't run as fingers slide through the short hairs at his nape, a thumb behind his jaw. his lashes are damp. it is everything he wants and everything he cannot have and he can't—

"look at me."

"i can't," he breathes, lungs rising fast and shallow. he's afraid to open his eyes. he's afraid of what he'll see.

"yes, you can." zoro shifts closer and another hand joins the first. it's big and rough and warm and he holds sanji's face like he's the moon herself. "look at me, curly."

he can't.

he does.

zoro's gaze is almost painful to meet straight-on with how intense it is. he seems to realise, face softening as he leans closer, closer, posture loose enough that it would be no problem for sanji to shove him away. "you love me," he breathes. "yes or no?"

sanji's heart stops. his tongue is clumsy in his mouth, his brain a mess of yesnoyesyesnoiwon'tican’tido—

"don't think." zoro's voice cuts through the haze as he shakes his head slowly; a sword through smoke, silver-bright, singing in the air and leaving silence. "don't think. you love me, yes or no."

the galley swims around sanji as his vision blurs. he feels his tears spill hot down his cheek, knows the way zoro aches to brush them away and yet stays still. he opens his mouth and it feels like stepping out of the only shelter he's ever known; he is an open fucking wound and he's raw and everything hurts, everything but zoro. zoro. zoro. "yes."

just one word, three simple letters, and still it feels like damnation; if he'd never said it he could deny it but now it's real. the swordsman relaxes, shoulders dropping enough that his forehead brushes sanji's, and sanji tracks the way his throat bobs. the way steel-grey eyes flicker over his face, molten in the light of the electric lamps and the moonlight spilling through the window, gilding zoro like something out of a dream. a fairytale sanji read as a child until the edges of the pages fitted familiar to his thumbs as his little hands reached for a happy ending that was never meant to be his.

he shakes, now, as zoro reaches up to run tentative fingers through straw-pale hair. "let me love you. yes or no."

"i—" the sound that twists from his mouth is cracked jagged down the middle, unpolished as a common pebble picked up off the damn street. "you don't—"

"yes or no."

"i'm not what you want," he gasps, his face wet.

"yes or no."

sanji wants to break apart. because zoro sounds like he's begging, and he cannot fathom anybody possibly wanting him that much. he wants to scream and cry and claw at the walls until his nails break. he wants to shatter into pieces all over the floor without having to worry about putting himself back together. he wants. he wants, and zoro's looking at him with the closest thing to reverence he's seen in his life, and even that isn't enough for him to believe it. "i'm not what you want."

he can barely look at zoro. he can barely look at himself. the shame is clawing a pit into his stomach, and he lets it, feels every inch of it, because what kind of person doesn't know how to be loved? his breath catches wetly as zoro cups his jaw in both hands, tilting his face up, and once again sanji is too weak to pull away.

"you are everything i want."

the words are so fierce, so sure, and sanji is cracking apart at the seams. the stitches pulled tight by his own hand are unravelling and he can't stop it—

"yes or no."

zoro's breath ghosts warm across his mouth, fingertips in his hair, just far away enough for sanji to see the way his eyes are blazing and yet he waits. his thumb on sanji's cheek is the gentlest thing sanji has ever known.

"you'll get tired of me," he tries weakly, one last time for good measure, and zoro just shakes his head. the resolve in his expression does not waver even once.

sanji breaks.

"yes." the word scrapes itself out of his throat seconds before arms are going around him, and he sobs. lets the swordsman bring them both to the kitchen floor as he curls up in zoro's lap, fingers clawing into his white shirt, numb with how hard he cries because nobody, nobody has ever stayed. not without him getting hurt in the process. he pushes them away when he gets scared and they let him and then it becomes his fault when it all blows up in his face, but zoro's not leaving, and it's so foreign to him that he's shaking so badly and he can't stop.

a warm, heavy palm smooths over his spine and he lets himself be shifted closer, settles sideways as zoro wraps an arm over his shins and rocks them until his breathing evens out. the embarrassment hits like a gut punch; he knows he looks like a mess, face blotchy and hair everywhere and eyes puffy as hell, but zoro cards his bangs out of his eyes and looks at him like he doesn't care, and sanji turns away.

he feels... fragile. like he's made of tinted glass and spun sugar, like he'll cave in at the slightest touch. there is something melting in his chest and it drips down over his ribs; pools fresh as a river in spring, offset by the grounding presence of zoro's hands on his skin. "don't say i didn't warn you," he mumbles, masking his very real fear behind a layer of watery bravado as he hides his face in zoro's shoulder, and of course, of course zoro sees right through him.

the swordsman's thumb traces the swirl of his eyebrow before zoro rests his chin on top of sanji's head. "i don’t listen. you know that."

you know me, is what goes unsaid, and sanji doesn't deign to reply. he buries his face into zoro's chest and breathes in the smell of steel and sword oil and— he sits up slightly, eyes narrowing. "you've been stealing my deodorant, yes or no." the way zoro stills momentarily is a dead giveaway, and he yelps when the swordsman flicks his forehead.

"would you rather i be stinky?" zoro scoffs, rolling his eyes gently as sanji settles back down with a huff.

"you still are stinky. if we're gonna be together i'm expecting you to shower at least once every two days—" zoro groans, and he powers through, raising his voice, "—and if you aren't fussy i'll let you shower with me."

the way zoro instantly stops complaining cracks a laugh out of him. it's weak and watered-down, but it's a start. zoro's hands slide back into his hair and he hums as he lets his eyes fall shut.

the moon's full tonight. their ship rocks gently, and sanji gets comfortable; zoro's warm and solid and happens to make a perfectly respectable pillow. the thought that he can have this now sends a thrill through him.

he's not a fool. he's not optimistic when it comes to this. when it comes to love.

but with zoro's thumb rubbing mindless circles against the side of his thigh and a kiss pressed to the top of his head, he's got a pretty good feeling about this time around.

#er. this dragged me down the hill and i let it #this got so off-topic anon i apologise #but to be fair even after they start dating sanij gets absolutely HORRIFIC nosebleeds #like hello?? that man is hot as hell?? and he's MY man??? good lordy #cue him leaning against the wall in a dramatic swoon and yelling for zoro to catch him #(zoro does not catch him. sanji falls on his ass.)#(he does get a forehead kiss before zoro walks away cackling though so. a win is a win!)#black leg sanji #zosan #one piece zosan #zoro x sanji #roronoa zoro #one piece zoro #one piece sanji #one piece #ino writes #ino's ask box #sanji's issues deserve a tag of their own #my habit of segueing from chill fun rambling to emotionally damaging content should be studied. jesus christ.

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rabbits-of-negative-euphoria · 7 months

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you know what i think. i think women are starved for meaningful art and that’s why they get into witchcraft/wicca/tarot/etc. I stay as far away as possible from that stuff now, but I have to recognize that it is visually attractive. it has a history. it has a metaphysical meaning that tells a story. where else in our culture can we find that? we may see some in certain movies and video games, but those are inherently escapist; the art contained within them is not something we live out in our day-to-day.

I also think there is art in nature and our technological age is so cut off from nature, whereas witchcraft/wicca is very nature-based. it is the same sort of reaction to modernism the romanticists had, but much more nefarious. that’s why pre-Raphaelite art looks Like That. and it’s why the witch aesthetic borrows so heavily from pre-Raphaelite art. this is why Christianity must reclaim the arts and a high view of nature. in this essay i will —

#- HK #i’ve been assigned by the girlies to put together a topical Bible study on spoopy things #like are ghosts real and why the answer is no #so expect a lot of this kind of content this month as I learn stuff #mobile #Christianity #x

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cupophrogs · 2 months

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Hey DD. How have you been. You’ve been quiet.

“Thankfully, most of the vending machines are intact and full, so we won’t be starving while Cherub’s leg heals. Thing has caught him trying to sneak out far too many times.”

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ludoka · 3 months

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I'm reading posts that talk about a rewrite of G3 to make it look like G1? Honestly... Why? Let the newcomers have fun with G3. Let children and adolescents feel identified with characters that adapt to new generations.

Instead: why don't they demand a continuation of G1? What do I care about the life of a teenager between 14 and 17 years old? GIVE ME EXISTENTIAL CRISIS OF YOUNG ADULTS BETWEEN 20 AND 30!!!!

Give me a Deuce who feels stuck because he doesn't know what to do with his life!!! Give me a Gil who is looking to move out of his parents' house because he can't stand them anymore!! GIVE ME FRANKIE GOING INTO CRISIS BECAUSE SHE KNOWS HOW TO BE AN ADULT!! IT COST HORRORS FOR HER TO BE A TEENAGER, BEING A FUNCTIONAL ADULT IS KILLING HER!!!

Show how Clawdeen strives to be a dressmaker! What the world of modeling is like!! IT'S NOT AS EASY AS IT LOOKED WHEN I WAS A TEENAGER! Show how Jackson and Holt try to balance their lives so that each one fulfills what they dream of! Show how you organize yourself so that Holt has rehearsals and goes to concerts!! While Jackson manages his college study schedule!! Show Cleo struggling to grow up. This girl was a princess from ancient Egypt and probably had a pre-written life. Now that is not possible. She is grateful but horrified in equal parts because she no longer knows how to continue. Damn, show Toralei trying to achieve a better future but with a background that complicates her life!! OH MY GOD!!! SHE WAS IN A JUVENILE PRISON!!! THAT FILE IS BITTING HIS BUTT IN THE WORST WAY!!

I want characters I can identify with too. But I am no longer a child or teenager, I am an adult. I want adult characters that I can empathize with, identify with, and want to hug because I know how hard it is to try to be a functional adult.

Please leave G3 alone and give me a big sequel to G1.

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queerfanfiction · 8 months

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Topic of Study (Ch. 4)

Thank you all for being so, so, so patient as I worked on updating this story. :)

Larissa Weems x PhDstudent!Reader

AO3 link

The previous week’s assault was still on your mind. You were kind of confused that queer or queer-allied punk people would be so narrow minded and aggressive towards outcasts. Surely they could empathize with people not understanding their identity or how narratives are used against marginalized groups.

Regardless, you could usually read people better than that. Then again, you didn’t really know the people Imogen brought with her. Hell, you barely knew Imogen if you could be honest with yourself. She had reached out via text a few times, but you couldn’t give it your full attention at the moment. Curse your high sex drive making you reckless when it came to who you sought company with.

Your mind wanders to Larissa and the last conversation you two had. She was certainly firm and more reserved. Her desire for you pushed down and masked. It’s one of the reasons you felt so compelled to see Imogen; you wanted your own desire quenched. The older woman was too magnetic.

You can’t help but anticipate your next interaction with the principal. Mrs. Cunningham had sent you an itinerary for the first week. Apparently there were a lot of speaking engagements scheduled for the first normie graduate student to study at the academy. After the chaos of the previous year, good publicity was a necessity. Because of this, much of your time was spent with Larissa. Local news interviews, a public guided tour of new accommodations, a town hall style briefing at the Weathervane, a ribbon cutting ceremony to symbolize a fresh start with the community. You could go on. On one hand, this meant time with the older woman—time you could use to clear the air and reset the energy between you two. On the other hand, the programming barely leaves a quiet moment for the two of you. You wonder if Larissa intended that to be the case to minimize awkwardness.

With the arrival of the new semester, Nevermore students were rapidly arriving, and the faculty were finalizing their lesson plans. The days since coming back from Burlington felt a bit isolated since you didn’t know anyone, and you were nursing a bruised ribcage from the comfort of your living quarters. Now that you’re feeling better, you hoped to get a few things done before students started overtaking the quiet study areas.

Still feeling low effort, you pull on a baggy brown knit sweater and brown high-rise slacks. You were thankful that the monochrome outfit seemed more high effort than it actually was. Wanting to feel comforted, you packed your bag with some books to research while sipping something soothing at the Weathervane.

You opted to walk and absorb the already changing air of Vermont in September. It was still humid out, but it was cool enough to enjoy the stroll. Almost in a trance from the light breeze and gentle woodland sounds, you started to wonder how Larissa would respond to your presence in the coming weeks.

Would she act distant and removed? Would she be stern with you? Would she mention your shared kiss and how heated and passionate it was? Would she acknowledge that you two would have gone much further without the interruption from the car horn?

In what seemed like no time at all, you arrived in Jericho.

Almost at the entrance to the café, you remembered the multiple unanswered texts from Imogen hanging over your head since the assault. Well, no time like the present to confront things you’ve been putting off from a lack of knowing how to proceed.

You step through the threshold to…not Imogen. Phew. The barista working barely looked up at the chime of the entrance jingle. Thankful to have more time to your thoughts, you pick an empty booth to spread out on.

You ordered your coffee and brought out a couple different texts from your bag. One was “Other” as Monster: Deconstructing Bias for Marginalized Outcasts. The other was Foundational Concepts in Shapeshifter Cultures—the book you reached for at the library with Larissa and failed to open until now. You decided to forgo your computer and opt for your notepad instead. You didn’t need more distractions, and you knew any access to recent Nevermore news articles would end up with your eyes on the tall silver-haired woman.

An empty mug, color-coded sticky notes, and a slew of highlighters and pens cover the table in front of you and your two open books. You’ve been told to go through one reference at a time, but it made sense in your brain to work on both at the same time. You felt like it was easier to see how the texts worked together and differently regarding the subjects. You pulled quotes and read for more context between outcast identities and their history. However, you were so disappointed in the shapeshifter cultures anthology. There were hardly any sections on universal shapeshifters; instead, there were a lot of details of metamorphoses in Greek mythology, lycanthropy, and even vampires. You were surprised the book even mentioned East Asian kitsunes since it focused so heavily on Greek, Roman, and Norse histories. According to this account, shapeshifting was often punitive in nature and had connections to mischievousness and deceit.

While reading, you furiously tagged quotes and wrote your own commentary on post-its to mark in the book. Some of your handwriting looked feral, and you hoped you could decipher it later. You were too focused to slow down and write neatly.

Annoyance and righteousness cut through you as you continued through the anthology on shapeshifting. You knew covering so many different histories was difficult, but so much of the positive or holy connotations regarding shapeshifters was missing. Needing to vent, you spam texted your best friend, Komeha’e.

Her own outcast experience was riddled with marginalization from mostly white, normie culture. She would always tell you stories about varying Native American shapeshifter cultures. Most were stories of protection or healing within Native communities. You can hear her cute, know-it-all voice now, “Shapeshifting not only provides benefits for individuals and their communities, but it also deepens the bond between human, nature, and wild animals—an important component of indigenous teachings, beliefs, and spirituality.” Neither of her parents were shapeshifters, so she learned a lot about her identity and its ties to her culture through her grandparents. Komeha’e loved to recount every morsel to you, and you cherished it right back. That’s how you knew the information perpetuated by even the reputable book in front of you was skewed.

You sipped your latte while fully engrossed in your text conversation. Because of this, you weren’t aware of Imogen’s entrance into the Weathervane. Well, that is until she was right in front of you waving a hand in front of your face.

“…h-hey.”

You internally scream that your chance of studying at the Weathervane in solitude is now ruined. “Imogen. Hi.”

The next 45 minutes are spent debriefing on what happened at the club in Burlington. Imogen promised you she didn’t know her friends would do that to you and wanted to make it up to you. You ended up letting her know you needed time to think things over. You’re not sure you can trust her if that is the company she grew up with and continues to keep. Whether you’re an outcast or not frankly had no influence on how you felt. Their behavior was abhorrent. Exhausted from the long and unexpected discussion, you make an excuse to pack up and walk back to Nevermore.

The following morning you met with Mrs. Cunningham to go over the questions Vermont News & Entertainment (VNE) sent over in preparation for your interview. You memorize down to the third question before you two are interrupted by none other than Principal Larissa Weems herself. Her abrupt presence makes your stomach drop and your heart race.

“Ah, Mrs. Cunningham. I assume you’re prepping our new graduate fellow?” Bright smiles get thrown to you both. God, that woman can make someone feel unstoppable. You flash a quick and innocent grin back. Before small talk can continue, Larissa proceeds, “The new academy newspaper, Marginalia, would like an official interview.” Her fingers motion to you and beckon you to follow her. You gather your things and thank Mrs. Cunningham for her time before walking toward Larissa and the door.

“After you.” A shiver shoots down your spine and you feel your mouth go dry when the older woman’s hand rests on your lower back to guide you through the doorframe and halls.

You can barely contain the urge to gaze upon Larissa in confusion and shock. Your mind had conjured up many different scenarios for what the dynamic between you two would be, but this was not one of them. After walking across the quad and through two wings of the academy that you haven’t explored yet, you and Larissa finally reach what you imagine is the room for the school newspaper.

Walking in with confidence, the principal begins, “Yoko, Enid, this is our newest addition to Nevermore.” Larissa turned towards you and finished, “This is Yoko Tanaka and Enid Sinclair. They volunteered to revive Nevermore’s very own student newspaper.”

A sweet and excited figure comes into your personal space, already mid-hug before you can make sense of what is happening. A singsong voice to match rings out, “Oh my gosh, this is so cool. I can’t wait to publish our first issue. It’s going to be so much better than my Nevermore gossip blog. And you’re our first interviewee!”

Over Enid’s shoulder you see a slightly taller figure with blackout glasses and impeccable dark lipstick. She steps forward and peels Enid away from you. The one who must be Yoko mutters, “Let’s get started.”

“I’ll be right over there.” Larissa mentions as she steps away with an amused look on her face. Larissa uses this time with you distracted to collect her thoughts and watch you interact with the two students. She knew her hand placement on your lower back walking here was reckless; the principal normally didn’t act without thinking. However, her hospitality and interest leaned too flirtatious when it came to you. That much was apparent from your very first meeting. Your success at Nevermore would mean redress for the events of the past year—proof that normies and outcasts could get along and even thrive. Tainting that endeavor for the academy and community in Jericho would be inexcusable in her eyes. So, then, Larissa asked herself, why does she continually risk everything to be close to you?

In the interview, Enid and Yoko take the approach of each asking a question back and forth. Kind of like a good cop bad cop thing. You think that anyone who reads it and knows them will be able to tell who asked which questions. For instance, Enid asks about normies from where you grew up to start off the interview. Yoko proceeds to ask why you chose to study at Nevermore specifically. Enid, as if she’s an old friend catching up, wants to know how you’re finding the town and school. She then proceeds to tell you to check out something called Hawte Kewture, but you have no idea what it is.

In between questions, of course your mind wanders to the silver-haired blonde seated nearby. Larissa was friendly—almost as if the last interaction you two had was not a chastening due to making out passionately in the academy’s van/shuttle. Her demeanor caught you off guard, but you’d rather have the opportunity to be close with her than not.

A strange echoing disrupts your thoughts. Uh oh, Yoko and Enid have been waiting for you to respond and are now asking if you’re okay.

“Sorry, I’m still in the process of transferring my ADHD medicine over. What’d you say?” You hoped to not have to explain yourself too much. Otherwise, you’re sure you’d blush a bright red.

Yoko repeats, seemingly unfazed, “Why study outcasts and normies when you’re not as affected by the issue? You know…since you’re a normie.”

“Oh, it’s kind of personal, but I-” A knock on the door interrupts before you can continue to answer. Larissa had sat forward in her chair in anticipation, interested in the answer. Disappointed in the intrusion, she makes a mental note to ask you later.

“Apologies, ladies. We are needed elsewhere. The interview will have to continue another day.” Larissa reassures the two girls in front of you. Well, mostly Enid who looks pitiful.

“Hey, I had a lot of fun. And now I know who to turn to when I have questions about Nevermore. That would really help me out. I’ll see you around, okay?” You try your hardest to sound like a supportive big sister. It seems to work, because Enid beams a toothy smile and nods excitedly. You begin to walk out and don’t catch Larissa’s affectionate gaze due to your efforts. She then leads you outside to the quad where news anchors and cameras are set up and waiting.

The next interview commences. You and Larissa sit together since you’ll both be answering questions about the new fellowship position and its legacy for Nevermore.

After the interview and a lot of social pleasantries, you can tell you’re dehydrated and hungry. You hadn’t eaten that morning, unfortunately. You went straight to Mrs. Cunningham’s briefing without breakfast. As if she could read your mind, Larissa offers for you two to eat in her office before any further engagements. How can you pass that up?

Once in her office, she disappears. You’re not sure where but you can assume it is the same place she went to get the scones and fig spread you two devoured before in the faculty lounge. When she returns, she gestures for you to sit while she gathers plates and drinks. Larissa takes a seat next to you and lets out a long sigh.

“You okay?”

Larissa pours herself a glass of red wine and turns toward you. “What happened the other night?”

Surprised she wanted to discuss what happened between you two, you confess, “Well, a lot of repressed sexual energy got released, and I couldn’t stop myself from finally kissing you, an-”

“No,” Larissa corrects. “What happened that left you stranded and needing to be picked up?” Larissa urges the warmth between her legs at the memory of how heated the two of you became to calm so that she can focus on understanding why it seemed like you were physically assaulted and abandoned.

You take a moment to configure your answer, making sure to not mention that you were desperate for release due to fantasizing about Larissa and texted Imogen to fulfill that need. “I invited Imogen out dancing, and she brought friends along. Her asshole friends thought I was an outcast and didn’t appreciate that possibility.”

“So they hurt you?” Her face was marked with concern and contempt. All you could do was nod. You didn’t particularly want to dwell on it. The older woman in front of you takes a long sip of wine. Apparently still making sense of the threat posed that night, Larissa queries, “Why did they think you were an outcast?”

You omitted why you sought out Imogen in the first place, so you’re not about to explain to Larissa that your mouth was essentially fused to Imogen’s neck while on the dance floor. You hoped this placated the woman beside you, “Uh, they picked me up from Nevermore and had just assumed I was a vampire.”

Sensing that she was not being given the entire truth, Larissa eyed you curiously. Her familiarity with outcasts meant she could understand each give-away for various species. Unfortunately, these precautions were to ensure safety when out around the town. Sirens were instructed to hide their amulets around their necks in their clothes. Gorgons were taught to wear baggier hats so that tight fabric didn’t show the outline of their snakes. Vampires were taught to drink their blood packs out of opaque tumblers and wear special contacts if they were light sensitive. Even sunglasses started to be questioned by townsfolk for those who wore Nevermore uniforms. Larissa never saw you wear sunglasses or carry around any travel mugs. The image of you against Imogen’s neck appeared in her mind and wouldn’t leave. She despised the thought, even though it was the most likely explanation.

At a loss of what to say next, the two of you passed time by eating sandwiches and breaking down the interviews thus far.

“Your answer to Yoko’s final question before being interrupted, what were you going to say?”

You chew and swallow the food in your mouth, making way for an adequate answer. You didn’t know how much to divulge to the woman in front of you. “My best friend, Kome. I’ve always been a bit justice-oriented—guess that comes with being queer and neurodivergent—but I am fiercely protective of outcasts and what they represent. Kome is the strongest person I know and has been through so much at the hands of normies. Hell, even from other outcasts that have internalized normie narratives.” Your eyes flare, as if you are remembering a specific incident.

Continuing while staring into the fireplace, you add, “When she confided in me about being an outcast, I was so sad that she worried how I would react. She deserves armies of support, and I can’t imagine a better person. Making the world just a little bit safer or more understanding regarding outcasts is the least I can do. As a normie, it’s so fucked that my voice is privileged above others’. Because of this, I will always defend those who are marginalized and uplift their voices instead. That’s why I’m a little wary of all the interviews this week. So far most of the questions focus on who I am, but this isn’t about me. It’s about the issues at hand.”

Larissa didn’t expect to be so moved by your response—the raw vulnerability that you had shared with her. Once again, you were proving to be a conundrum for the principal. Senseless attraction or lust was something that could be managed. The tug in her chest pleading to share secrets, small joys, trauma, and deep desires and goals? That was exactly what Larissa didn’t need to deal with.

No response was given by the older woman next to you, not for many moments. Glossy eyes find yours, and Larissa clears her throat to speak. “I had a brother, you know.”

Of course you didn’t know; Larissa was a pretty private person about family. Sensing she needed assistance to get the rest out, you nudge gently, “You did?”

“A twin brother. He-…” Tears bead against Larissa’s lower eyelids, threatening to spill over and ruin her impeccable foundation and blush. “He’s no longer with us. He passed when I was young.”

You nod slowly, almost gravely at her. Anything to let Larissa know you were here and that whatever she uttered in the space between you would be safe. Safe and tucked away again. Almost involuntarily your hand reaches out to caress hers. You tried to convey everything you were thinking through the simple touch. You didn’t dare speak and break the intimacy between you two in this moment.

A ragged, cathartic sigh resonates out from Larissa after awhile of sitting together, hands embraced. “I’ve only ever told one other person about him. A roommate from when I was a student at Nevermore.”

As if she was suddenly aware of her openness and how near your face was to hers while leaning over to hold her hand, Larissa breaks her hand away and rises to stand against the fireplace. The absence of her hand is replaced by cool air dancing across the skin of your palm.

“We don’t want to be late for the press release in Jericho!”

Without missing a beat, you retort playfully while also standing, “And I’ll be driving, Miss Two Glasses of Wine.”

It seems that getting to know Larissa would be challenging, but you understood the significance of today. You knew it wouldn’t be a race or a sprint. In fact, you were prepared for a marathon. If the best things take time, then so be it.

—

Tagging: @readingtheentrails, @justcallmelittleone, @enchantressb, @jeepingay, @gwendolinechristieiscute. Let me know if you want tagged or untagged. :)

#topic of study #chapter 4 #larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader #larissa weems #phd student #grad student #attraction #lust #eventual smut #age difference #fanfiction #ao3 #fanfic #wednesday

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