Disclaimer: I am not at all familiar with the US college student union system so this is literally the UK’s (and specifically Imperial’s) just plonked on top of Yale College Council it may or may not be accurate I have absolutely no clue.
SELINA MEYER OR SHE MAY NOT. 19/04/1978.
Everyone’s favourite Yale College Council Presidential Candidate Selina Meyer took a beating from bandgeek opponent Kent Davison today when at a hustings meeting turned dirty. Math major Davison accused Meyer of stealing policies from mutual rival Robert Furlong.
When questioned, Meyer did not seem to recognise the policies in question. Her best friend blamed the pot. It is not clear if the friend was referring to a storage solution or the popular recreational drug.“We can do this! This university is a great university, but there is no upper bound on greatness! We are in the spring of our lives, and here is our
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Ahhh I don't know how this happened but this ship has kind of consumed me? No bona-fide spoilers, though is this set post series, in the grand scheme of things
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This is how Karl feels his world end, in the corner of a gents in a pub on the coast of Kent with a French blondes face too close to his and her hand sliding with practised ease. He thinks of his easy existence before her, and wishes it were back until she twists just so, always precise and if not measured then at least exact.
He falls apart now, half in relief and half in grief and she holds him in both; one hand against his cheek and the others nails dug into his shoulder and dragging across his chest. “Remember to breathe,” she says, breathless and matter-of-fact.
“You’re funny,” comes his ragged response.
“But you don’t laugh?”
He laughs now, low and deep, “I’m concentrating.”
The barman eyes him sideways when he returns their glasses, a dodgy uncle’s wink.
“A colleague of mine,” Karl says.
“Aye.” The barman agrees, “She must be looking forward to her pay review.”
Oh my goddddddd I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. I don't think I realized how wholly desperate I was for fic for this show until I read this? They both had the GREATEST chemistry and you captured that perfectly here! I'm so impressed by not only how spot on you had Elise's voice in this, with lines like these in particular -
“Alright.” She nods, “OK.” And then she adds, her eyes shooting wide, “As a friend.”
He guffaws, “No, I was thinking we could go as enemies.”
“You are joking.” She says, and again there’s a pause before she adds - “It wasn’t funny.”
She’s smiling, though.
AND
“You have a wife, I don’t like sleeping besides people. We are the perfect match.”
- but also how well you wrote Karl! Everything about him here rang so true to me, be it the repressed grief, the drinking, the half-hearted attempt to take the higher road and not hook up with her - all so, so good! I can't thank you enough for writing this and finally sating my epic thirst where these two are concerned!
I'm probably going to go off book for the Black Donnellys, like way off book, but I'm writing this in my head. I blame Ben Foster and you. I also blame you.
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Disclaimer: I am not at all familiar with the US college student union system so this is literally the UK’s (and specifically Imperial’s) just plonked on top of Yale College Council it may or may not be accurate I have absolutely no clue.
SELINA MEYER OR SHE MAY NOT. 19/04/1978.
Everyone’s favourite Yale College Council Presidential Candidate Selina Meyer took a beating from bandgeek
opponent Kent Davison today when at a hustings meeting turned dirty. Math major Davison accused Meyer of
stealing policies from mutual rival Robert Furlong.
When questioned, Meyer did not seem to recognise the policies in question. Her best friend blamed the pot. It is
not clear if the friend was referring to a storage solution or the popular recreational drug.“We can do this! This university is a great university, but there is no upper bound on greatness! We are in the spring of our lives, and here is our ( ... )
Reply
( ... )
Reply
Reply
This is how Karl feels his world end, in the corner of a gents in a pub on the coast of Kent with a French blondes face too close to his and her hand sliding with practised ease. He thinks of his easy existence before her, and wishes it were back until she twists just so, always precise and if not measured then at least exact.
He falls apart now, half in relief and half in grief and she holds him in both; one hand against his cheek and the others nails dug into his shoulder and dragging across his chest. “Remember to breathe,” she says, breathless and matter-of-fact.
“You’re funny,” comes his ragged response.
“But you don’t laugh?”
He laughs now, low and deep, “I’m concentrating.”
The barman eyes him sideways when he returns their glasses, a dodgy uncle’s wink.
“A colleague of mine,” Karl says.
“Aye.” The barman agrees, “She must be looking forward to her pay review.”
END.
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“Alright.” She nods, “OK.” And then she adds, her eyes shooting wide, “As a friend.”
He guffaws, “No, I was thinking we could go as enemies.”
“You are joking.” She says, and again there’s a pause before she adds - “It wasn’t funny.”
She’s smiling, though.
AND
“You have a wife, I don’t like sleeping besides people. We are the perfect match.”
- but also how well you wrote Karl! Everything about him here rang so true to me, be it the repressed grief, the drinking, the half-hearted attempt to take the higher road and not hook up with her - all so, so good! I can't thank you enough for writing this and finally sating my epic thirst where these two are concerned!
Reply
( ... )
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