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ozymandias | w.s.
Pairing: college student au!Wilbur Soot x reader; no Y/N, gender-neutral (no pronouns mentioned)
Synopsis: In class, your eyes spot a handsome stranger. Distracted, you try to pay attention attention to Professor Technoblade and his teaching assistant Nihachu, but you can’t seem to focus on anything but that student.
Warnings: some cursing, cameos from Technoblade and Niki, oc friend called Jamie, failed attempted British slang terms from an American author
Word Count: 3.0k
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Professor Technoblade begins the second lecture of the year for European Literature with an unwavering smile. His eyes wander across the room. Internally, he begins a psychoanalysis of his students. It’s only natural, really, since the young professor also teaches Intro to Psychology. At least that’s what he tells himself.
“Damn,” he mutters under his breath. Technoblade turns to his teaching assistant Nihachu, who goes by Niki, and says, “I was wrong. Remember my hypothesis about half of the students leaving by the second lesson? Only around a quarter of the original class left.”
Niki, who stands closer to the students sitting in the rows of the small auditorium, makes sure to keep her voice low as she replies, “You have too little faith. Besides, around half a dozen students are already watching you, waiting for class to start.”
When she scans through the students in the center of the seating area, she adds, “Look at the people in the middle row. They’re all staring at that one student with the beige tote bag.”
Technoblade stares at how the student in question waves their arms in the air to exaggerate whatever they are discussing. It's quite an animated gesture, but it gives him a little more information about their personality. Since not many college students take European Literature at the level he teaches, the classes are often small. And so, Technoblade finds himself making meaningful academic connections with his students every term; he’ll get to know his students’ individual behaviors long before exam season.
“They’re having quite the heated conversation,” the professor says, all the while observing how a student clad in a beanie has been staring non-stop at the one making overt hand gestures.
Suddenly, Niki corrects her previous hypothesis. Squinting her eyes at the students before them, she says, “You know what? I take back when I said that it's everyone in the middle row, because I think that the only person listening to the one making hand gestures is the other student sitting right next to them. You know, the one with the pink headband.”
“You’re right about that, but I think you’ve missed something,” Technoblade says, thinking back to his previous observations of the boy staring at the expressive student with the tote bag. “Look at that guy sitting in the row directly beneath them.”
“The beanie-clad student?”
Technoblade nods. “I wonder if the one making hand gestures knows that the one in the beanie is listening.”
It's a rhetorical question, so Niki doesn’t answer him. Instead, the teaching assistant glances at the large analog clock that hangs on the wall just to the left of the blackboard. It’s fifteen past two o’clock in the afternoon. Technoblade’s gaze follows Niki’s.
Niki asks, “Well then, should we start now or wait in the hopes that more people will walk through those doors?”
She points to the doors, located a yard or two away from their spot of conversation by Technoblade’s desk.
“Thanks for keeping me in check,” Technoblade says with a laugh. “The school would put me under if they discovered that I people-watch more than I teach these college students,” he pauses, then renders the next phrase sarcastic as he inflates his voice, “the profound literature of Europe.”
And so, before you can finish your harsh opinions regarding the five-page essay your Greek Mythology professor assigned the day before, Niki clears her throat. It’s a rather loud action, too, and so it has an immediate impact of piercing the noise of the room.
You whisper to your friend from high school, Jamie, that you’ll fill her in later as Technoblade stands up from his desk. As the professor walks over to the large blackboard at the front of the room, you shove your phone into your beige tote bag and glance down at the professor and teaching assistant standing a few meters away from you.
“Good afternoon.”
You and the students before him echo the introduction in a monotone manner.
He continues, “Last class was for introductions and the syllabus. From now on, we’ll delve into actual content. Today, it’ll be ‘Ozymandias,’ a poem which I’m sure you all are quite familiar with.”
The students in the rows above him groan. Your ears pick up on how a particularly deep voice is amongst the voices, but you decide to shove those thoughts away. Instead, you try to focus on analyzing the personality of Technoblade to see how you should behave in his class.
Unsurprised at the reaction, the professor says with a shrug, “Well, your responses sure aren’t unique, I hear this every year. I guess you know of the poem from high school?”
Most of the people in the room nod. Just as you attempt to nod as well, your attention is suddenly caught by a student sitting in the row below you, a mere three seats away. The angle that you’re sitting at is perfect to take in their side profile and attire.
They’re wearing a burgundy beanie and a pair of thin-framed, round glasses sits on their nose. And what a pretty nose it is, sloped at a straight angle that disappears under their mask. Oh, and their hair, wavy with a fringe that half-falls out of the front of the beanie, so long that it nearly covers their eyes. Their clothing matches an aesthetic that your brain can only label as academia, one that screams of all kinds of brown trench coats and beige button-ups.
You close your eyes to avoid getting caught staring in the rare chance that they look up in your direction. You inhale rather sharply, muttering under your breath, “Christ, they’re fit.”
Before you can get infatuated, you rip your gaze away from whoever they are and drop your right elbow onto your lap, leaning over to press your cheek against your right hand so that your hand effectively blocks your view of the pretty stranger. Of course, you can still see them if you turn your head a few centimeters to the right, but you choose to ignore that by focusing on the lecture for once.
Technoblade is in the middle of a sentence when you redirect your attention to him, but you can gather that he’s recited the poem from how it is plastered over the wall that the projector to the left of his desk faces.
“Now, from the nods I’ve received earlier, I can gather that most of you already know about what ‘Ozymandias’ means in terms of the words in the poem. But it’s probably to a very superficial extent, but that’s fine since that’s going to change after today. You see, ‘Ozymandias’ is a poem that describes the Egyptian pharaoh Ramesses II. Why, then, are the poems dubbed ‘Ozymandias’ and not ‘Ramesses II?’ Well, the name Ozymandias is Greek for Ramesses II, that’s why.”
Niki walks over to the computer that Technoblade is using to project “Ozymandias” and scrolls up. She highlights the name “Percy Bysshe Shelley” and then the year 1818, both facts displayed under the title.
Once Niki’s finished, Technoblade adds, “In order to dissect a poem’s meaning, you cannot solely look at the words. Context, specifically historical context, is what you should all be focusing on. European Literature is a class involving studies of written works throughout history, and those works have been written by authors who drew upon the history known to them at the time of their writing and emulated opinions regarding those events in their writing, which we examine today.”
In your overflowing binder which you still haven’t cleaned out since last semester, you flip to a random page and write “Ozymandias” on the header. You draw a bullet point with the words “historical context” and nothing else.
You look at your paper with the slightest of smiles, amused by your lack of care. You send a silent thanks to your guidance counselor, whether it was an intentional move or not, for creating a schedule with many courses that reflect the timetable of your college friend, Jamie, who sits in the chair to your left.
When Jamie looks up, you say, “Look at my half-assed attempt at notes.”
She shrugs and says, “It’s better than no notes.”
“Touché,” you say, staring at her lack of material. “Well, at least we’re here at all. I mean, if I’m paying nearly 30 grand for a college education, I might as well not skip.”
You and Jamie are startled out of your short side conversation when the horrendous sound of chalk scratching against the blackboard begins to ring throughout the classroom. Technoblade, whose handwriting is notably just as bad as the sound of the chalk, has written: Diodorus Siculus.
With the name written down, the professor continues his lecture. He says, “I’ve written the spelling of Diodorus Siculus out for future reference. Who was he? A historian. An ancient Greek one who reported in his Bibliotheca historica that at the base of a statue of Ramesses II, there was an inscription. The engraved words stated: ‘King of Kings Ozymandias am I. If any want to know how great I am and where I lie, let him outdo me in my work.’”
Niki taps on the professor’s shoulder and begins to whisper something in his ear. You take the interruption in Technoblade’s lecture as a reminder to continue taking notes.
As you jot down a few bullet points about Diodorus Siculus from Technoblade, your eyes can’t help but wander. It’s as if they have a mind of their own, honestly. But on second thought, you think that even if you did have firm control of your eyes, you would choose to ogle at the cute stranger anyway.
Your center of attention, the pretty student, shifts out of the corner of your eye. Subsequently, your hand momentarily stops writing to stare at a particularly interesting piece of their wavy brown hair. It juts out of the beanie and obscures their vision. Although they move to shove the hair out of their eyes and back into the beanie, it falls back down again until they give up and let their hair win the battle.
“Good grief,” you sigh. The sound is accompanied by a much stronger swear as you mull over your actions for a few more seconds.
Jamie furrows her brows and tilts her head.
In response to her visible confusion, you say, “I’ve spent a good two minutes just staring at that hair.”
You nod toward the student who has caught your affection attention. Jamie squints, then lets out a sigh as she shakes her head.
Following the slightest of an exasperated smile, Jamie says, “Okay?”
“You have nothing else to add?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“Mate, it’s good hair, but they look like every other white boy.”
You can’t deny it.
From Jamie’s tone of voice, you could tell that she is aware of your fascination with the handsome student. Unlike you, your crush seems to be paying proper attention to Technoblade. You follow their gaze back to Technoblade’s collared dress shirt and freshly pressed navy trousers. Although you’re not opposed to his professional attire, you can’t help but decide that the beanie-clad student below you is dressed far better. Unfortunately, Technoblade does not wait for you to finish your silent comparison of his clothing to the pretty stranger.
The professor continues his speech, saying, “Shelley, the aforementioned author of ‘Ozymandias,’ was inspired by Siculus. Oh, and before I forget, I mentioned before that there were two Ozymandias poems. It’s true, since Shelley and his friend Horace Smith indulged in a writing competition together where they both described Ozymandias. Anyway, side note aside, Shelley was trying to convey a particular theme through his words. What was it, then?”
Technoblade pauses in his verbal explanations and picks up the chalk again, much to his students’ collective exaggerated despair. You copy what he’s written on the blackboard onto your notes without a verbal complaint this time, writing, “theme: all power is temporary, regardless of a ruler’s extensive ego or control.”
The professor drops the chalk down and returns to his initial spot by his laptop. He scrolls down to the bottom half of the poem and reads some lines aloud. “My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains.”
Technoblade gazes into the crowd of students before him, and asks, “Can someone take a shot at explaining the juxtaposition here?”
When no one offers to do so after 11 excruciatingly long seconds, you pity the professor and raise your hand. Technoblade’s sour expression turns grateful and he nods for you to state your opinion.
You say, “Well, Shelley paints Ramesses II out to be prideful. After all, Ramesses calls himself a ‘king of kings’ in the inscription described on the pedestal of the visage, and yet, the previous theme is reflected in that there is ‘nothing beside’ the visage to ‘despair’ as Ramesses claimed. So, the juxtaposition is that Ramesses brags about being great, yet his legacy gave way to nothing that has withstood the test of time. Additionally, the statue is described to be ‘half sunk’ and ‘shattered,’ and therefore ruined and forgotten, which is another set of contrasting qualities.”
Silence stretches across the classroom, and then slow applause comes from Niki.
“Great interpretation,” Technoblade says, with nothing else to add.
“For lack of a better word, I think he got startled at my talented analysis,” you whisper to Jamie.
“Talented, my foot,” she responds, and the two of you attempt to hold back your laughter with poorly-disguised coughs.
Suddenly, the deep voice from earlier says, “If I may add?”
Your brows furrow, as you have no idea who just spoke.
Technoblade replies, “Of course.”
“While the poem focuses on Ramesses II or Ozymandias, there lies a greater implication that it is all rulers who will undergo the same fate, including political authorities and monarchies. Like King George III, for example, who had a reputation for tyrannical behavior. I mean, it was around the end of George’s reign that this poem was written.”
The speaker trails off, glancing at Technoblade for approval to continue.
“Holy shit, the pretty stranger is the deep voice from earlier!” You swear under your breath, tracing the voice back to the beanie-clad student that you’ve been attempting to avoid looking at. You’ve been failing, of course, and this newfound discovery of their objectively nice voice stirs your impression of them further.
When Technoblade nods for them to continue, they say, “At the time, George really could have been considered the most powerful man alive, with the 13 colonies spread across North America and other smatterings of colonies across the western hemisphere. Of course, his name was smeared by the ultimate success of the American Revolution by Americans who did not ‘despair’ in the face of his ‘works,’ thus rendering George’s legacy as nothing but a sign of failure.”
As if right on cue, smoke detectors begin to ring just as the pretty stranger’s response ends. There is nothing you wish more to do than get to know the well-dressed student who you’ve been obsessing over throughout the lesson.
“Damn, must be that culinary class again.” Technoblade bites his tongue to avoid saying any stronger swears. “And with that, I’m taking that as a sign that our lesson is over. Nothing’s due for next class. Office hours are open today at 4, but don’t come unless you bring me a cup of earl grey. No sugar or milk or cream, just black. If the building burns down, there will be no office hours. Au revoir.”
With that, students around you stand up, lugging their bags over their shoulders for lunch. The attractive student is among them, and as you realize how tall they are, you fall even more for them.
“Blimey,” you say, unable to hold yourself back as you turn toward Jamie. If you could inconspicuously fan yourself right now, you would. “The super low voice is the handsome stranger? And the handsome stranger is smart as hell? Intelligence has never looked this,” you pause, then settle for the word “delicious.”
“You’re so fuckin’ weird, you know that?” Jamie says with her back turned to you. She’s sorting the items in the chair to the left of her, where her jacket and other objects lay. After shrugging her jacket onto her shoulders, she grabs her backpack and faces you as she stands up.
“Oh, but you love me, Jamie. You’re my person, my best friend. Your only friend, really.” You do not pause to let her refute your claims and instead shove your notebook and laptop into your shoulder-destroying tote bag. “Besides, I’m hungry. Food is on my mind. Lunch in the city?”
“Lunch in the city,” she affirms with a nod, then with the slightest of smirks.
Your brows furrow at her expression, wondering why Jamie has such a dastardly smile plastered over her face.
Suddenly, someone taps your shoulder, and you turn around. Your eyes meet chocolate brown ones.
“Wilbur Soot, he/him.”
Your eyes widen at the pretty beanie-clad student, shocked by his forward behavior. Internally, you question why the cute stranger before you would want to talk to you. It would have taken you several classes in order for you to muster the courage to ask when an assignment was due.
Spluttering due to your juvenile crush, all you can say after sharing your name and pronouns, is, “I thought you left.”
With a grin, he says, “Couldn’t leave you without your deep-voiced, intelligent, handsome stranger now, could I?”
When he steps forward, you can see his light brown eyes glitter, highlighted by the weak glow from the dull lights in the classroom. A gorgeous smattering of freckles lies across his cheeks like the stars in the night sky. His cheeks are reddening by the second and his lips are turning up at the corners. If a smile could melt you, it would be this one.
Wilbur Soot is even prettier up close.
“I know, love,” he says, with a cheeky smirk that causes your heart to spasm. “Go on a date with me?”
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Next on the semi-related Wilbur Soot series: Perennial Pages
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