Disclaimer: I've never written an Oliver/Percy fic, and I'll be honest, I've never read one either. So, here goes nothing: ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And I don’t want the world to see me, ‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand. Where everything’s made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There is no greater pain than expectations. When you’re the captain and surrogate father to your Quidditch team, everyone has an expectation, and eventually, the expectations of others become your own. You would think that might make it easier, to believe that you want the same things for yourself as the rest of the world desires for you, but on the inside, it’s an emotional torrent. You find yourself pulled in two directions; to either follow your own heart, or to follow the echoes of the voices that ring through your head, masquerading as your own.
On the Quidditch pitch, Oliver could perform for the crowds easily enough. He loved the attention. He could pose for the girls, smile roguishly at their batting lashes and play the part of the Quidditch hero for whom every girl swooned. However, after the Snitch had been caught, the Quaffle set down, and the Bludgers firmly strapped into their holder, the illusion faded away, and it was once again possible to see the hazy line between his own dreams, and what everyone else seemed to have planned for him. Nobody else quite seemed able to understand, save one.
Percy toed a fine line, in the same way as Oliver. With excellent marks and a precocious demeanor, he had rapidly settled into a rut, needing to impress the world, to make the most of himself. Penelope fawned over his achievements of the past and gushed over the ones to come, but he had never been able to admit to her that it wasn’t exactly what he wanted. Worse yet, he hadn’t fully been able to admit to her that she wasn’t exactly what he wanted either. He cared for her, to be certain, but she was a girlfriend, a prefect, and someone he could swing elegantly on his arm for the sake of everyone else’s expectations.
He couldn’t tell her the truth, and probably never would, nor could Oliver have ever let his guard down, dropped his masculine edge, not where the world could see him. The boys had dreams, they had futures, they had images to uphold. To second-guess themselves would have ruined them. It’s a cruel world with no room for a rising star to flicker lest it be extinguished... but even a star needs fuel to survive.
Somehow recognizing this need in each other, the boys had been drawn together, seeking solace, understanding, and companionship where neither was forced to pretend.
no subject
Disclaimer: I've never written an Oliver/Percy fic, and I'll be honest, I've never read one either. So, here goes nothing:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And I don’t want the world to see me,
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand.
Where everything’s made to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There is no greater pain than expectations. When you’re the captain and surrogate father to your Quidditch team, everyone has an expectation, and eventually, the expectations of others become your own. You would think that might make it easier, to believe that you want the same things for yourself as the rest of the world desires for you, but on the inside, it’s an emotional torrent. You find yourself pulled in two directions; to either follow your own heart, or to follow the echoes of the voices that ring through your head, masquerading as your own.
On the Quidditch pitch, Oliver could perform for the crowds easily enough. He loved the attention. He could pose for the girls, smile roguishly at their batting lashes and play the part of the Quidditch hero for whom every girl swooned. However, after the Snitch had been caught, the Quaffle set down, and the Bludgers firmly strapped into their holder, the illusion faded away, and it was once again possible to see the hazy line between his own dreams, and what everyone else seemed to have planned for him. Nobody else quite seemed able to understand, save one.
Percy toed a fine line, in the same way as Oliver. With excellent marks and a precocious demeanor, he had rapidly settled into a rut, needing to impress the world, to make the most of himself. Penelope fawned over his achievements of the past and gushed over the ones to come, but he had never been able to admit to her that it wasn’t exactly what he wanted. Worse yet, he hadn’t fully been able to admit to her that she wasn’t exactly what he wanted either. He cared for her, to be certain, but she was a girlfriend, a prefect, and someone he could swing elegantly on his arm for the sake of everyone else’s expectations.
He couldn’t tell her the truth, and probably never would, nor could Oliver have ever let his guard down, dropped his masculine edge, not where the world could see him. The boys had dreams, they had futures, they had images to uphold. To second-guess themselves would have ruined them. It’s a cruel world with no room for a rising star to flicker lest it be extinguished... but even a star needs fuel to survive.
Somehow recognizing this need in each other, the boys had been drawn together, seeking solace, understanding, and companionship where neither was forced to pretend.
...