columbia room

1.5k words of Neil getting flustered daydreaming about Andrew. A little nsfw, and a lot silly. I ended up listening to more than just Charlie XCX’s Boys, but safe to say the rest of the music had the same theme.


Neil isn’t a one-track-mind kind of person, as much as Andrew might suggest otherwise – years on the run taught him to multitask, to prioritize but not overlook anything. Unlike Kevin, even when he’s focused on Exy he can still think about survival, about his friends, his classes, about Andrew.

Well – Could. Usually.

Neil was in class, in a class, in some…sort of class that he definitely can’t currently remember the name of, doodling absentmindedly in his notepad for who knows how long, when there’s a cough above him. His professor is stood above him, looking exasperated, and Neil notices that the rest of the students are pretty much gone; class must have finished without him realizing. The aforementioned professor nods down at his notes with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, at least you weren’t sleeping.” She says, and Neil follows her gaze and realizes that his notepad has maybe two lines of notes, the rest just covered in doodles. The little fox prints and Exy sticks are par for the course, but he flushes and not-so-subtly moves his arm to cover the page to hide the cigarettes and keys and half-drawn profiles that are a little more damning.

Neil mumbles a ‘sorry’ and bolts from the class as quickly as possible, but things only go downhill from there.

Listen. It’s been two weeks since he’s seen Andrew, which is thirteen days too long if he’s honest – Neil has had the luxury of Andrew being in kissing distance almost constantly for the last few years, and now he’s off playing professional Exy and Neil is distracted.

The last time they were together Andrew must have sensed Neil’s desperation and anxiety about their coming separation because he had been heavy and rough, had pressed in close enough that Neil could feel the weight of him all over, always so solid. Then Andrew had slipped his hands under Neil’s thighs and with a harried ‘yes’ mumbled between kisses, lifted Neil fully off the ground, pressing his back up against the door to their room in Columbia and tugging at his legs until they encircled Andrew’s waist.

Neil had gone very very still for a good fifteen seconds while his brain processed what was happening (before coming to the conclusion that he was definitely, absolutely, a hundred percent on board). Andrew had kept still while he did, allowing Neil that time only to press back in close to him, all dense muscle and warm skin, till Neil was pressed up tight against the door, barely able to move but for the unintentional roll of his hips when his body decided that yes, this was very good, more please.

“Yes?” Andrew had asked, one hand coming up to trace Neil’s mouth, still lax in his surprise.

“Yes,” Neil had finally managed to get out, and then, “Yes, Andrew, fuck, yes, yes—”, only to be cut off by Andrew replacing his hand with his mouth, catching Neil’s plush bottom lip, already swollen with kisses, between his teeth as his hand moved down to lightly rest against Neil’s neck.

Which was good, was great, but then Neil had the abrupt and somewhat life changing realization that Andrew was holding him up with one arm. Neil certainly wasn’t keeping himself up.

Neil had pulled back a little, panting, thinking briefly that the light flush across Andrew’s cheeks looked good on him but then, also: oh, and something like wow oh god his arms why haven’t we done this before. And maybe he said that out loud or thought it so hard that Andrew somehow picked up on it, because his expression had gone distinctly knowing and maybe a little smug.  

“You’re drooling.”

“I’m not,” Neil had argued, but his conviction only lasted long enough for him to swipe at his mouth and find Andrew wasn’t lying.

“Are you done? Or am I going to have to give you and my arms some alone time?”

Andrew wasn’t serious, but the sudden flash of images that occupied Neil’s thoughts had him half-tempted to say yes and see what happened. Instead, he’d spent one last moment admiring the stretch of Andrew’s shirt across the top of his biceps, the strain of his muscles as he held Neil in place, the veins and the light freckles and the pale tan lines on his forearms. The contrast between his own darker skin against Andrew’s, the way Neil could feel him flex, feel the shift of solid muscle against him – the implicit power behind it had sent a dizzy rush of warmth to his cheeks, and a low moan threatened in his chest.

Then he had turned fully back to Andrew, and found himself soundly distracted.

Until now. Where, for some reason, his brain couldn’t stop thinking about it. He felt itchy and warm and like he definitely shouldn’t be attempting to captain right now, when Robin and a couple of their freshman recruits were watching him worriedly as he fumbled his second easy shot at the goal in the last ten minutes. He could imagine the unimpressed look on Kevin’s face, the muttering about letting yourself be distracted is idiotic and out gay athletes struggle and I’m perfect so I never think about anything but the game blah blah blah. He could also imagine the face Andrew would make, and the balls he would send in the direction of Kevin’s shins, but then Neil was distracted thinking about the power behind Andrew’s throws and the way his sweat-slick shirt would cling to his body; emphasizing how his shoulder muscles bunched and smoothed out, the hint of skin between his sleeves and his armbands drawing Neil’s eyes like a sunflower to the sun.

Maybe the ‘moth to a flame’ metaphor would be more appropriate because Neil thought he might actually kill himself by walking into traffic or something equally stupid today, and Andrew would have to raise him from the dead just to tell him how idiotic he was. Although if Andrew was digging up his grave for necromantic purposes, that would mean they were at least in touching distance – which was more than could be said currently.


So. Practice went like that, and the rest of the day is more of the same, until Robin stops him from joining the rest of the team for an impromptu movie night and smiles like he’s a dog that’s too old and stupid to bother telling off for peeing on the carpet or humping someone’s leg. He tries not to grimace, facing the embarrassment that comes with her knowing him too well.

“Go and call Andrew. You’re a mess,” was all she had said, but it was enough that he would have flushed to his roots if he had the complexion for it. As it was, he’d just gone very warm and made as swift an exit as he could without outright running.

Listen.

It’s been two weeks and an entire day, which is fourteen too long, and Neil is done. He holes himself up in his bedroom with his back to the door, and bites the proverbial bullet. The phone rings twice before Andrew picks up.

“Neil,” Andrew says by way of answer, and Neil is suddenly thankful that he didn’t call Andrew in public, because his knees almost buckle under him just from hearing his voice.

“Neil?”

“I’m fine!”

“Well, that’s good,” Andrew says slowly, tone moving away from concerned and settling somewhere near to amused. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

“No,” Neil replies, suddenly feeling foolish for calling Andrew for no reason other than missing him. God, and it’s only been two weeks.

“How is your new team?” He asks finally, settling on something innocuous to avoid saying something like I can’t get your dumb biceps out of my head I think I might need you to set up a live stream of you on the bench press or I might die. Or any one of the hundred other stupid things he wants to say: I miss you, or I keep thinking about the last time I saw you or I don’t know how I’m going to be able to last a year like this.

“Fine,” Andrew tells him after a moment, “Kevin keeps bugging me to ask how your captaincy is going. I told him he could ask you himself when you get here tomorrow.” It’s a promise and a reminder all in one, but mostly it’s a relief – that Andrew knows him, that he’s only a short flight away, that he isn’t being forgotten. He lets out a slow breath that he feels like he’s been holding all day, his body relaxing the longer he’s on the phone with Andrew.

“I was thinking about the last time we were together,” he blurts after a little while, and curses himself immediately. But then he hears the sound of rustling on the other end of the phone, like Andrew is getting comfortable on a sofa, or his bed.

And then Andrew says, “Oh?” with something like curiosity, and Neil lets himself smile.

-
This now has a sequel :)

I have a lot of feelings about Andrew and Neil sleeping together. Like actual zzz sleep.

=============================

As non-descript as it was, Neil liked being in Andrew’s room in Columbia. The navy sheets were soft from many washings. The pillows were plump. And the comforter was worn-in. Neil stretched out on his side of the double bed. Light from the streetlights outside shone through the curtains as Andrew shut off the ceiling light and Neil turned on the bedside lamp.

Andrew checked the lock once more before crossing the room to the bed. He looked at Neil for a moment and stepped up onto the bed and over Neil for his spot against the wall. Neil watched him with a yawn. Andrew sat, obviously contemplating his next move.

“Take your shirt off,” Andrew said staring at Neil. Neil was in a t-shirt and boxers while Andrew wore a sweatshirt and sweatpants.

“Mmm,” Neil hummed, sitting up so he could pull his shirt over his head. He locked eyes with Andrew and Andrew nodded, so Neil lay back down.

He watched as Andrew tugged at the hem of his sleeve. Neil knew what he was thinking about. They’d discussed it earlier, but Neil was waiting for Andrew to make the first move.

They’d slept in the same bed often now, but Andrew had expressed he wanted to sleep closer to Neil. He wanted to try touching Neil while they slept. Neil had no problem with it.

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4

The highly requested room tour is here! This has been my little corner of the universe for the past year and probably the most lovely space I’ve ever lived in. It’s pretty tiny but I don’t share it with anyone which is a delightful perk that is much welcomed after living with three girls in one room all of last year! I’ll be leaving this room in the summer but I’ll be in the same building throughout the summer months before I move out for good in the fall as I’ll be taking my talents back to the freshman quad to become a first year RA! (pics will follow that move of course) hope you all enjoy 😁

View of the East Room of the White House in Washington, D.C., c. 1800′s.

Source: New York Public Library.

10 Things I Hate About You [b.b au] [1/10]

Master Post

Series Title: 10 Things I Hate About You (AU)
Fandom: MCU
Characters: Bucky Barnes x Stratford!reader, Clint Barton x Stratford!Natasha, Wanda Maximoff, Vision, Sharon Carter, mentions of Steve Rogers, mentions of Tony Stark
Warnings: Alternate Universe, mild swearing
Word Count: 1,797
Requested: No
Description: Y/N and Natasha Straford’s house rules say that Nat can’t date until Y/N has a boyfriend, so strings are pulled to set the dour damsel up for a romance. Soon Y/N crosses paths with handsome Bucky Barnes. Will Y/N let her guard down enough to fall for the effortlessly charming Bucky?

Disclaimer: not my gif

[Y/N] = your first name


Growing up in an upper-middle-class home in California was something that Y/N Stratford had always been thankful for. Being subjected to those assholes that people at her school called boys, however, was not something that she appreciated very much. None of the boys at Y/N’s high school were worth any of her time, in her opinion, and some of the girls there were pretty awful too. Y/N’s sister, on the other hand, totally disagreed. After their mother passed away, Y/N and Nat had started falling out more than ever, and they barely even spoke to one another anymore.

Natasha Statford was the incarnation of all the things that people at Stark High School wanted to be: pretty and popular. That was the extent of it. And not only was Nat shallow and a little bit of an airhead, but she was awful to her older sister, Y/N, and had taken advantage of their dad’s love for his daughters when their mother passed away. Nat wanted to do what everyone else her age did: date a cute boy with a high social rank at their school. Perhaps that was what made Nat the favoured Statford sister. Y/N was just as beautiful as Nat, and even more smart. But she had an antisocial, often abrasive attitude and wanted nothing to do with the losers at their school.

Nat’s best friend, Sharon Carter, was smart enough to befriend Nat in order to climb her way through the social system of their high school, not that Nat would ever realise, and had always had her eye on Steve Rogers; a self-absorbed high school senior and aspiring model. Steve’s affluent best friend Tony was the grandson of the man who founded the high school they all attended, and it only made the two of them even more unbearable. 

At least Y/N had one friend that was worth having: Wanda Maximoff. Wanda was considered to be even more odd than Y/N at Stark, and that was saying something. She wore dark clothing and loved Shakespeare more than anything. People gave her nicknames such as witch, but Wanda only ignored them. One more year of school and Wanda and Y/N would be gone from that hell hole anyway. 

In the morning, Nat and Y/N got to school separately. Nat rode the bus with Sharon in the mornings and Y/N took her old car that she had bought with the money she saved from all of her part-time jobs. Y/N – unlike Natasha – wanted to be responsible for herself and was sure that she would only use her inheritance for paying for college and nothing else. Natasha was already coaxing her father into buying her Prada backpacks and who knows what else. So once Y/N and Nat were out the door, it was almost like they didn’t even know each other.

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ihaveaboxelf  asked:

Hey, if you are still doing prompts, would you mind writing an "undress" for javid please? Also I just want to say I really love your blog and writing :)

Thank you so much! Hope you like the fic :)


The first time, it was before they’d even slept together. In fact, they weren’t even dating. Jack was staying over at the Jacobs’ house and as far as Esther and Mayer knew there was no problem with him staying in Davey’s room. As far as Davey knew there was no problem. So Jack merrily stripped off his clothes mid-conversation and didn’t even bat an eyelid.

Davey tried not to stare, really he did. But he was a sixteen-year-old boy and he didn’t understand his hormones and there was suddenly a shirtless, attractive person in his room. His breathing got a little shallower and he was very aware of his hands and how awkward he felt. There were alarm bells ringing in his head, telling him to turn around and stop looking but he was too busy staring to pay attention. Eventually Jack turned gave him a quizzical look, and he knew it was time to get out. Stammering some vague response to Jack’s questioning of his health, Davey bundled up his pajamas and fled to change in the bathroom.

As soon as the door had clicked shut behind him, he rested his weight back against it and groaned. This wasn’t good.

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Three Sorries and a Thank You

(or read on ao3.)

1.

He thought about Ronan when he applied for internships. In a shocking twist, Adam Parrish factored his return to Henrietta into his decisions. There were several options that began in July, giving him two months with Ronan before returning to his dorm room at Columbia. Two months, the idea of it made his pulse quicken. Two months of kissing a dreamer. Two months of sharp smiles and sunshine. In the back of his mind he thought that maybe he deserved a break.

“Hey Parrish, how are finals?” Ronan asked. It was getting late and Adam was still working at his desk when he called. Adam yawned.

“I’m alive,” he said sardonically. “How are you?”

“I’m sleeping more than you are. How much longer do you have?” It might have been Adam’s imagination but he sounded a little nervous.

“Two weeks. You miss me?” Adam said teasingly. Ronan usually laughed at quips like that but he didn’t this time.

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You Colour Me Blue  [Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens.]

Author: @galacticstylinson

Word Count: 6.5k

Ratings/Triggers: Mentions of Anxiety and Panic Attacks.

Summary: A college au in which John is an art student with soft jumpers and pencils in his hair and Alex is a history major with too much to say and a penchant for quiet shy boys, and somehow manages to make John feel like he belongs.

Also read here on AO3. 

***

John had never viewed one particular place as home. Not the family home back in Charleston where he had spent the majority of his childhood. Not his stuffy High School bedroom in the European boarding school his father had shipped him off to for his ‘rebellious’ teenage years. Not even his current dorm room at Columbia University, New York, although he supposed it was the place he had felt most at home in his life.

No, for John home was a feeling. The feeling that manifested itself in him when he drew, painted, created. Home was the feeling of getting lost in a world that was entirely his own, full of loud, bright pinks and purples. Pastel blues and greens, warm reds, oranges, yellows. Home was a world of color so vastly different from the landscape of greys his childhood blurred into in his mind. A world void of his father’s critiques and expectations. A world where John was free, and happy, and home.

Spending his days in the whirlwind of rainbow that was being an art student gave John all of these things – and was a world away from the drab dreary court rooms his father had in mind, which was merely a bonus. 

Squinting against the harsh July sunlight, John glanced up at the building ahead of him, comparing it to the miniature Low Library taking form in his sketchbook, its towering white columns and authoritative, imposing aura muted by his soft diluted watercolors. Luminescent sun spots danced across the page where he swirled his brush in the jar on the step beside him, the clear water becoming tainted with smoke-like spirals of pale grey. He was about to dip his brush into his palette once more when a shadow obscured the light from his page. 

“Woah. Dude – you’re good! Like actually fricken’ good!”

Upon looking up to the source of the compliment, John found himself facing a stranger. But maybe stranger wasn’t the right word. Because those wide, excitable eyes seemed a familiar shade of deep mahogany brown, a color that made John feel safe, that he trusted – that gave him the feeling of finding something he didn’t even know he’d been missing. Intelligent eyes as bright as his smile and as warm as the honeyed hue of his skin. Kind eyes that John could revel in forever. His gaze moved away from those eyes, to the heavy bags beneath them and the delicate crinkles around them caused by the wide, warm grin on the man’s face. One look at this boy had John awestruck, falling fast; falling hard, with no signs of slowing.

The stranger continued to talk. 

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App Advice: “Why Essays”

Hey guys! I thought I’d make some posts about college applications and admissions, because I was giving advice to a younger friend the other day and I realized that I’ve learned a lot about college apps in the past year or so.

I might post more about college applications later, especially if there are any topics my followers or appblr would like me to address, but this post is going to focus on writing your “why essays”.

A why essay is one type of application essay that you will almost certainly write a few of if you apply to private schools. These prompts ask you to write briefly about why you want to go to a particular colleges. Here are what the prompts might look like:

  • How do you imagine yourself living and learning at Bard?
  • What draws you to Swarthmore?
  • Please tell us what you find most appealing about Columbia and why.

Writing these can be a great way to think about what you want in a school, and for many colleges it’s an important part of the application. The tricky thing about these essays, though, is that there’s two different things you might want to get across, and which thing to focus on is something you have to figure out separately for each place you apply.

  • Thing #1: I really want to go to your school.
  • Thing #2: I’m awesome and I would be a great addition to your school.

In general, emphasize Thing #1 for schools you are overqualified for (safeties), and emphasize Thing #2 for schools that are extremely selective or that you are underqualified for (reaches).

Why? It is often in the best interests of your safety schools to reject you. Less selective colleges want to appear more selective, and having a low percentage of applicants accepted and a high percentage of accepted students attending (how many of the people who get in actually go there) reflects well on a school. So your safeties might be looking at you and saying, “Good SAT scores, lots of AP classes, an awesome essay… this kid is going to get in somewhere way better than here.” And they’ll reject you to improve their numbers. (I got into a school with a 6% acceptance rate and got rejected from a school with a 33% acceptance rate… #awkward)

That’s where why essays come in. If you’re applying to a college that’s not very selective or that you’re overqualified for, essays heavy on Thing #1 are a way to show them (whether it’s true or not) that they’re not just a safety to you, and that you are genuinely interested in attending, which will make them more likely to accept you. Things you might want to include:

  • Ways the school culture appeals to you
  • Ways the academic environment appeals to you – divisional requirements, no requirements, core, lots of study abroad, senior thesis, undergrad research, etc.
  • The location
  • Specific faculty members in the department(s) you’re interested in whose research and work sounds cool, and things you might like to study with them
  • Specific student organizations you might like to get involved with
  • If you visited, talk about that
  • If you have a family member who went there, talk about that

On the other hand, if you’re applying to an incredibly selective school, they know you want to go there. Everyone wants to go there. In an essay with a lot of Thing #2, everything you say about why the college would be a good fit for you should also circle back to yourself, your accomplishments, and your good qualities. You should spend less energy talking about why you like them (though you should do that stuff as well), and more energy talking about why they should like you. Many of the same topics as above apply, but you need to incorporate your own awesomeness into them.

To finish up, here are some examples from my own applications. I got accepted to both of these schools, by the way. Notice how in the first one the focus is on Bard and in the second the focus is on me.

Example of a “safety” why essay (from my application to Bard):

I’ve been interested in Bard since the 2014 Simon’s Rock Young Writers’ Workshop, where I lived on a campus with other teenage writers, writing and thinking critically in and out of class. My instructor, a wise middle-aged Irish playwright, not only taught us the intricacies of culture and storytelling but also — when I felt obligated to write longer pieces and short stories — gave me explicit permission to focus on the form I preferred.

I’m drawn to Bard for two reasons.

First, as I discovered by spending time with Simon’s Rock and BHSEC people, I love the school’s culture. I want a college where people go to learn, not to complete measurable achievements and move on. I want classmates with whom I can sing Tom Lehrer songs, make puns in Latin, and debate calculus questions at breakfast. Bard is unpretentious and committed to social justice; as an activist and transgender student, I think I’d thrive there. I’d love to attend the school whose prison debate team beat Harvard.

Secondly, I appreciate Bard’s balance between giving students room to explore their interests and encouraging them to be well-rounded. In high school I’ve had to take many courses I wouldn’t have chosen, many of which turned out to be awesome. I once wasn’t a big fan of science, but I love the mathematical worldview that physics has given me. I know Bard’s first-year seminars, Language and Thinking Program, Citizen Science, and divisional requirements will push me to explore subjects outside my comfort zone.

Example of a “reach” why essay (from my application to Columbia):

I love being around people with whom I can make puns in Latin, sing Tom Lehrer songs, and debate calculus questions at breakfast. I want to be in an environment where people are as passionate about learning as I am and are driven by the joy of their studies rather than solely by the promise of a measurable achievement. I think Columbia can provide me with that.

At my high school, I had completed the most difficult English and Latin classes available by the end of junior year, and I know that at a large research university like Columbia, I’ll have room to grow in my academic pursuits. For example, Medieval and Neo-Latin literature fascinate me, and unlike any other school I have looked into, Columbia has professors with research interests in hagiography, medieval literature, and Renaissance Humanist writing.

I also want to improve my writing and work with other young writers during college. I know that Columbia has a serious literary community, including a special Writers House, and I would love to experience New York, the home to some of the best theater in the country. My playwriting instructor at CSSSA held that the key to making good art is not only typing in your room but also getting out into the world, and that New York is the best world there is to get out into.

Finally, I’m drawn to the core. In high school I’ve had to take many courses I wouldn’t have chosen on my own, many of which turned out to be awesome. I once wasn’t a big fan of science, but I now love the mathematical worldview that physics has given me. I think Columbia’s core and divisional requirements will push me to explore subjects outside my comfort zone.