#conversation.

where: main bar at east india house when: the solstice ball

Edgar was having a jolly time with his mates, Gus had disappeared and suddenly Sersh was off somewhere too and he found himself alone at the main bar for a moment. Looking to his right, he spotted a familiar face that caused him to blush. After about a minute or two arguing with himself if he should say hello he smoothly slid down the bar till he was standing next tot James Potter. “uh – hey.” Is what he could manage. The two of them had been pretty drunk when they had kissed at the Yule Ball and whilst it wasn’t the worst kiss in the world it definitely was an awkward one and a conversation with James afterwards explaining that that’s simply not how he felt about Edgar was just as odd. Edgar just wanted to make things right, friendly again between them without this awkward feeling chasing them for the rest of their lives. “You here with the lads?”

The kneeling kills me but the orange snatching brought me back to life xD. Wenzhou’s face after shaotian takes his orange omg

THE ORANGE OMFG. am i the only one who legit thought he was about to hand feed him because i DID. 

i mean, based on their previous interactions it’s not even a stretch.

and lol yu wenzhou refusing to look away from his empty hand after huang shaotian takes the orange. i die every time. like “excuse u” and if he stares at the empty space long enough, he can get huang shaotian to realize what he just did (it of course doesn’t work. that kind of subtlety is lost on him) and then the little smile because even in the midst of being intimidating and playing huang shaotian like a finely tuned instrument, yu wenzhou can’t hide how fond he is. 

the man’s teeth dig into his bottom lip as he regards the plain door before him. it should not be this challenging — it is just a date, after all, is it not? a simple knock would do and, if the stars aligned, patroclus would be home and respond positively to his suggestion. the slight tremble is visible in his hand as he lifts it; and though his knuckles touch the door, he does not knock. momentarily, fear overtakes him. it is not just a date. when it comes to patroclus, nothing is ever just something. it has to always be wonderful and indescribably perfect. anything else is a failure — and that thought, in relation to patroclus, is something he cannot stomach.

achilles’ eyes flutter close as the nervous pit in his stomach grows. he inhales, although shakily, and his exhale is not much better — but a few rounds of that, he finds, do calm the worst of his nerves. the former hero opens his eyes ( he does not wish to look like a complete fool in front of his beloved ), knocking twice before he steps back. now all he can do is wait.

but if it isn’t the most nerve-wracking wait of his existence.

they lift their gaze the moment she enters the room — her normal effect on people. equally familiar and ordinary is the way their bodies seem to freeze and eyes fill with something akin to fear and discomfort. they do not want to be anywhere near her, and it is only their sense of duty which keeps them glued to their desks instead of making a run for it. perhaps she would find it amusing if she was here without a particular purpose. but today, she is here for a reason; and now she needs to find out more about said reason.

“mr  strathos’ office.” it is not a kind request ( she does not request; she decrees, she commands ), but it achieves the desired goal. one intern points wordlessly toward one of the doors a little further down the hallway. atropos turns her gaze away from the group of scared children, attention fully on the room ahead. her heels click against the floor as she strides forward, sound piercingly loud in the otherwise silent office floor.  

she is not a wasteful person; she does not spend any unnecessary time on getting to where she wants to be. atropos places her hand on the door handle, and with a swift moment, turns it so that the door unlocks and opens. the room which presents itself to her is entirely, utterly unsurprising — it is precisely what she expected from the humanized lord of the dead. she lets go of the door handle and makes her way to his office chair with decisive steps. she may intrude on what is his personal space, but nothing about atropos’ appearance, as she sits down, shows any signs of remorse ( because she isn’t ). 

now, all she can do is wait for the man himself to make an appearance. given the kind of person he is, it should not take long — and unsurprisingly, it does not. soon enough, her eyes are not on the still open door, but on the tall figure standing near it. 

“you are late, robert  strathos.”