#Determinants Class 12

[reeteshblog28]

Title: The Troubled Soul and Newborn Baby

Ramu, an old man on the outskirts of the village, spent his days in loneliness and sadness. His wife and children had passed away years ago. There was no happiness left in Ramu's life now. He remained immersed in his sorrows day and night, the people of the village started calling him a troubled soul. Read More

[masked-and-doomed]

Shut the fuck up for once. Maybe.

[archivegyu]

masterlist

unspoken, yet known

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

AUGUST 8 — SEUNGCHEOL’S BIRTHDAY

A soft sigh escaped your lips when you unlocked the apartment door. The click of it closing behind you was familiar and comforting. The scent of morning coffee still lingered faintly in the air, left from the to-go cup you prepped earlier���his, not yours. You slipped off your shoes, dropped your bag by the wall, and padded into the kitchen, hair slightly tousled from the afternoon sun and a long half-day at uni.

Your phone buzzed.

A video call.

Incoming call from Drunk Gyu 

You picked it up, leaning lazily against the counter. “Let me guess, you’re calling to interrogate me.”

Mingyu’s face popped into view, sweat-slicked hair pushed back with a towel around his neck. “We’re just checking in. Totally normal. Definitely not to say someone is pouting.”

Joshua leaned over from behind him, sitting on the floor of the practice room. “He waited until 12:03. You didn’t call. Or text. He thinks you forgot.”

You blinked, stunned. “Wait, he stayed up that late?”

“Correction,” Joshua said, raising a finger. “He was already up. He was with Woozi, in the studio. Jihoon was working on a new arrangement, and your sulking best friend sat there staring at his phone in the dark like he was waiting for a prophecy.”

Mingyu chuckled. “At 12:03, he sighed so loud we thought something broke. Said, ‘She must be tired…’ Then walked out like a rejected K-drama second lead.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, running a hand down your face.

“And,” Joshua added, “Cheol told us that he came home at, like, 3 AM. To quote him ‘I woke up three hours later annoyed’ then, found your note next to a packed breakfast and thought you were avoiding him.”

“I had class” you said defensively, though your voice softened. “Today’s a half day, I swear.”

“Then why does he think you’re gone till night?”

“Because I might have told him my schedule was full just to buy time for the surprise?”

Joshua gasped dramatically.

Mingyu leaned in closer. “So you’re cooking something up. I knew it.”

You smirked. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Your eyes flicked briefly toward the empty tote bag by the front door. You hadn’t even bought the ingredients yet. There was dinner to prepare, decorations to set up, and a cake to pick up. Your window was tight, but you were determined.

Joshua wagged a finger. “Well, better make it count. He’s been sulking all day. Even Minghao told him to go lie down somewhere.”

You laughed, already heading for the door again. “Then I’ll make it worth the wait.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The city was golden and bright, dusted with the warmth of a late summer afternoon. You strolled with Kkuma trotting happily beside you, her new pink bow bouncing with every step.

First stop: the bakery.

A quaint spot tucked into a side street, lined with ribboned boxes and pastries that sparkled under glass. You stepped inside, the bell above the door chiming.

“Back so soon?” the baker greeted with a knowing smile.

“It’s his birthday,” you said, crouching to pat Kkuma. “I need a cake that’s… not plain. Not white. Not boring. He pouted for an hour last year because I gave him a minimalist one.”

The baker laughed. “Sounds like he’s particular.”

“He’s sentimental,” you corrected. “And dramatic.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “So... something cute? Thoughtful?”

“With effort,” you added. “Like, it has to look like I lost sleep over it.”

“Got it. Leave it to me.”

You left the shop with a receipt and a promise to come back in two hours. Kkuma trotted beside you, her ears twitching.

Next was the gift shop. You wandered between shelves of candles and accessories before settling on a simple silver bracelet. Not flashy. Just… sincere. You had it engraved with the words:

“with you, always.”

You turned the small box in your hand, heart fluttering at the thought of his face when he’d open it.

On your way out, you spotted a set of pastel hairpins: lavender, peach, and daisy-patterned. You looked down at Kkuma.

She stared back with resigned eyes.

“I know,” you said. “You thought Cheol was the shopaholic in this house.”

She sighed (you swear she did), and followed you anyway.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

By early evening, the apartment had transformed.

The lights were dimmed. Soft fairy lights strung along the ceiling glowed in a warm hue. You lit a few candles, small ones, nothing too dramatic, just enough to give the room a flicker of intimacy. You cooked carefully, triple-checking the taste, adjusting the plating. Bulgogi, kimchi pancakes, soft egg rolls, seaweed soup.

You set the table, added a handwritten note under his plate that read:

“For the one who never lets me feel alone. Happy Birthday !!”

Kkuma sat by your feet, freshly brushed, with one of her new pins clipped into her fur.

You held the cake, tiny candles flickering, and stood by the entryway, the soft hum of music playing low in the background.

The door clicked open.

Seungcheol stepped in, shoulders slumped from exhaustion. He froze the moment he looked up.

You.

The lights.

The food.

Kkuma, who immediately barked and ran to him.

He picked her up with one arm, still staring.

You smiled, lifting the cake gently.

“Happy birthday, Cheol.”

His expression cracked, eyes glassy, smile shaky.

“I thought you forgot.”

“I never forget,” you said softly. “You just had to wait a little.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Dinner passed in a haze of warm lights and quiet laughter. The living room, usually scattered with Kkuma’s toys or forgotten laundry, had transformed into something soft and thoughtful: dim lights, a candlelit table, the faint scent of soy and sesame oil wafting through the air.

Seungcheol was glowing under it all. Not from the candles, not from the wine, but from something gentler. His eyes were crescent-shaped from smiling too much, and his shoulders had lost that weighted, practice-room tension.

“You really made all of this?” he asked again, looking at the food like it had just told him a secret.

“Mhm.” You fought the grin tugging at your mouth as you refilled his bowl. “Twice, if you keep asking.”

He scooped another helping of rice with exaggerated reverence. “I’m serious. This is…” He took a bite, chewed, and let out a dramatic groan. “Okay, no. This should be illegal. You could honestly take over the world with this marinade.”

You shook your head, laughing. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m being realistic. If you ever betray me, please do it after dinner.”

You tossed a napkin at him, and he dodged it with a smug smile, eyes twinkling under the golden light. Then came a quieter beat, one that didn’t need to announce itself. He lowered his chopsticks and looked at you with a kind of fondness that made the room feel smaller.

“I didn’t realize how much I missed this,” he said, voice softer now. “Coming home to you. Just… being here.”

You paused mid-reach for the pitcher of water, surprised. “You’ve only been gone a day.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling faintly. “Felt longer.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. So you looked at him a moment longer, then rose from your seat.

“I got you something.”

His gaze followed you as you crossed the room. You came back with a tiny wrapped box, not flashy, not extravagant—just you, wrapped in care. You placed it gently in front of him.

Seungcheol blinked. “You didn’t have to—”

“I know.”

He opened it slowly, carefully peeling away the tape like he was afraid to ruin whatever was inside. When the lid came off, he stared.

It was a silver bracelet. Simple. Clean. The kind he could wear every day.

His thumb grazed the small engraving on the inside.

“with you, always.”

He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he closed the box gently, like sealing in something delicate. Then he stood up from his seat, the chair legs scraping softly against the floor, and walked toward you.

When he wrapped his arms around your waist, it wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud.

It was quiet. Steady. Honest.

His head lowered, resting gently against your shoulder. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just let out a breath, like this was what he’d been waiting for all day without realizing it.

“I really love it,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

You placed a hand gently on the back of his head. “I’m glad.”

He stayed there a little longer, his grip loosening just a bit, but his thoughts only tightening.

If only you knew how much of me is already yours.

He didn’t say that part out loud.

Instead, he let the silence speak for him, and held on a little longer.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Later that night, the three of them— Seungcheol, her, and a half-asleep Kkuma— ended up in his room instead of the living room like they’d originally planned. The shift was unspoken, effortless. His room always felt warmer anyway, a little smaller, a little softer. Familiar.

The bedside lamp was dim, casting golden shadows across the room. Outside, the city moved quietly beneath them, but in here, everything had settled into something quieter. Safer.

She was curled up next to him under a shared blanket, legs tucked beneath her and sweater sleeves pulled past her wrists. Kkuma was nestled in her lap, already asleep, little breaths even and steady.

Seungcheol scrolled through the movie options with one hand, trying to ignore how close she was. How she smelled like vanilla and clean laundry. How his heart had been pacing with a quiet urgency ever since dinner ended and they sat down together like this was just another normal night.

It wasn’t.

He turned to her with a small, knowing grin. “Let’s watch Made of Honor.”

She groaned. “Why this one again?”

“It’s funny and chaotic!” he said with a shrug, like it didn’t mean more than that.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

His heart stalled for a beat, but his smile didn’t falter.

She threw a handful of popcorn at him, laughing. He caught one piece in his mouth and grinned like an idiot, like this, her laughter, this version of home. It was something he could hold onto. Something he wanted to.

Eventually, her laughter faded into a soft, comfortable quiet. She leaned into his side, her head barely brushing his shoulder, but it was enough to make him forget the movie had even started. His body went still. Not rigid, just focused. Aware of her warmth, her presence, the weight of how easy this felt.

The movie played on, but his attention kept drifting. He’d seen this film enough times to memorize the lines, but tonight, the only thing he could memorize was the slope of her cheek in the golden light and how her fingers absentmindedly stroked Kkuma’s fur.

There was a part of him, maybe the reckless part, that wanted to reach for her hand. Just to hold it. Just to know how it felt to be allowed that much.

But he didn’t.

He never did.

By the time they were halfway through the second movie—Love, Rosie—her head had gently slipped onto his shoulder. Her breathing slowed. Eyes closed. Sleep found her easily.

Seungcheol turned his head to say something about the scene. He had a joke on the tip of his tongue. But the moment he looked down at her, words disappeared.

She was asleep, soft and unguarded. Kkuma had shifted, curling closer into her chest.

And he just… looked.

There was no other way to put it, he looked at her the way someone does when they’re trying to hold a moment still. Trying to memorize every detail so they could carry it through time.

She didn’t know.

She didn’t know how many versions of this moment lived in his memory. How many times he’d chosen silence just to keep things the way they were. How many times he’d wanted to say something and instead, just like now, said nothing at all.

But he loved her.

He loved her the way you love someone you never want to lose.

Quietly.

I hope you always feel how much I love you, he thought, staring at the way her face softened in sleep. Even when I say nothing at all.

He reached for the remote and clicked the screen off. The room dimmed into stillness. He adjusted the blanket, pulling it gently over her shoulder, tucking it beneath her chin like she’d done for him once months ago, when he’d fallen asleep on the couch after a rough night at practice.

Then he lay back, careful not to jostle her or wake Kkuma, and settled beside them.

He let himself stay like that. Close, quiet, content.

And just before sleep started to pull him under, he turned his head, eyes still on her.

“Goodnight,” he whispered. A pause. A breath.

“I love you.”

Soft. Gentle.

A secret tucked into the dark.

One she’d never hear.

Not yet.

[jo-speaks]

CANN U PLZ WRITE QUINN AND HIS GF HAVING HOT TOB SEXXHWINDIS PLZLZLZ

HOT TUB ANTICS

overview: a relaxing night in the hot tub with quinn turns into something more. (+ the origin of this picture)

warnings: smut! MDNI (18+pls guys), dirty talk, thigh riding, unprotected sex, etc.

note: ooo the thoughts i had running though my head when i saw this picture and then this request came though i swear i almost blew up. also this is not proofread because it's 12:40 am and i have class tomorrow :)

wc: 2.5k

You were struggling to tie the laces of your bikini top when you heard a knock on your door.

“Y/N? The tub’s ready.” Quinn called out, his hand lingering on the knob as he waited for your response.

He heard your grumble before it was followed with, “Can you help me?”. Turning the knob, he walked in, trying his best to keep his composure as the loose top barely covered your breasts, the bottoms doing little to nothing to cover your ass. 

“Quinn?” You smirked, noticing his stare. 

“Huh? Sorry,” He replied sheepishly, making his way over to you. 

Four years of dating and he still got distracted when he saw you like this. He brought his hands up, his fingers finding the laces of your top, bringing them around your back. He did quick work of tying it together, a smirk appearing on his face as you brought your hands up to adjust the padding that covered your boobs. You had pulled one side forward a little too much, allowing Quinn to catch a quick peek at your nipple. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, leaning forward to rest his forehead on the top of your head. “You can’t do that, baby.”

“Do what?” You asked innocently. 

“You’re such a tease.” He laughed, “C’mon. The water’s gonna get cold."

You smiled and grabbed the towels you had waiting on the edge of the bed, taking Quinn’s hand as he guided you downstairs. Thankfully, it was pretty late at night so the house was quiet, everyone upstairs sleeping or passed out due to the drinking they had done throughout the course of the night. 

When Quinn slid open the glass door, the Michigan air flowing into the warm air of the house. A small breeze caught your abdomen, causing your arms to bring the towels up in front of you in an attempt to reserve your heat. Quinn laughed, taking the towels from you and putting a hand around your lower back to guide you outside. 

He set the towels down, taking both of your phones and putting them on top of the stack before dipping a foot in, the other following suit. When the water came up to the middle of his torso, he stuck his hand out, asking for yours so he could guide you in. The warm water felt amazing, so it didn’t take long for you to join him fully. 

Quinn took a set along the benches instilled in the tub, watching as you stood in the center, allowing the lower half of your body to acclimatize before taking a seat beside him. You let your head rest on his shoulder, the palm of his hand coming to rest on your thigh. 

“I missed this.” You sighed, your muscles relaxing as he turned the jets on the lowest level, the pressured water shooting against your backs. 

Quinn chuckled, hand shifting around your waist to mess with the bows of your bikini, “The hot tub? It does feel nice.”

“No. Well, yes, but I meant you.” You smiled, “Missed being this close to you.”

Quinn gave your thigh a squeeze, “Me too. M’sorry this summer is kinda all over the place.”

“It’s okay. I see you all year, anyway.” 

That was true. He had asked you to move in after two years of being together. Summers always gave you mixed feelings, though. Some days you’d get to be around him one hundred percent of the time, while others you’d only see him for some or not at all. You’d always appreciated his drive, and his determination to not only be better for himself but for his team. But summers were meant to be relaxing, an outlet for everything hockey. Loving him just meant adjusting to his passion, and that was no problem for you. 

Quinn reached over your shoulder, grabbing his phone, and handing it to you before letting his hand drop to your side, toying with the strings of your bikini yet again. “Play something.” You unlocked it, opening up Spotify and putting on the playlist you two had created together on shuffle. It was a slow, sensual song that had played the first time the two of you had sex and suddenly the close contact between the two of you felt too far. Your thighs rubbed together, hoping he wouldn’t notice. But it was Quinn. He noticed everything about you. 

He threw his head back with a soft laugh, lulling it back to the side to look at you with his green eyes, the blue lights of the tub making them seem brighter, “You okay over there, baby?”

You looked over at him, a desire lingering in your gaze. You brought a hand up to his cheek, cupping it softly as you shifted closer, pressing a kiss to his lips. He smiled against your mouth, both hands coming to the side of your waist, effortlessly bringing you onto his lap, your legs on either side of him. Your hands came up to his hair as the kiss quickly went from slow and passionate to rushed and desperate. You wanted to take your time, but something about the way he held you and the music in the background had you yearning for him.

Quinn pulled back, and before you could complain, he was trailing kisses down the column of your neck, marking your skin wherever he could. His lips landed on a particularly sensitive spot, a soft moan passing your lips as your hands gripped at his hair. You could feel his cock twitch against your core through his shorts, your hips grinding down to meet the movement. 

“Stop moving.” He groaned, “You’re gonna make me cum in my pants.”

Per his request, you stopped moving, not wanting this to come to an end before it even got started. Instead, you shifted your position so that instead of being straddled across both of his legs, you were only around one. You pressed down, rocking your hips forward. The friction of his muscle against your clit was enough to have your head feeling dizzy, your hands dropping from his hair to his shoulders. He knew you could get off like this, and he wasn’t about to stop you. 

“So desperate to get off already, hm? And I’ve barely even touched you.”

His deep voice had you speeding up already, moans slipping past your parted lips as Quinn’s hands gripped your waist impossibly tighter, most likely leaving bruises you would feel in the morning.

“Quinn…” You moaned, your forehead coming down to rest on his shoulder. 

He could feel the warmth of your breath meeting his skin that sat above the water, his hands now guiding your movements as he felt you slowing down. “Tell me how bad you need me right now, sweet girl. Wanna hear it from you.”

You were never one to feel embarrassed in the bedroom, but you felt exposed out in the hot tub. There weren’t any cameras and everyone was asleep inside, but something about not having the privacy of four walls had you second-guessing yourself. 

“C’mon. Don’t go all quiet on me now,” He encouraged, his thigh tensing in an attempt to give you more courage. “Tell me how desperately you need me to fuck you.”

His words alone made you moan louder than intended. You turned your head, your cheek now to his shoulder as you peered up at him through your lashes. He copied you, twisting his neck to meet your soft gaze. The desperation in your eyes almost caused him to cum in his pants right then and there. 

“Please, Q.” You whined, your eyes fluttering as you tried to keep them open. “Need to feel you inside of me.”

He smirked, “Yeah? Want me to fuck you?”

You nodded, your orgasm creeping up on you as you tried to answer him. He could feel it – the way your thighs tensed even more, your nails digging into his skin and your noises becoming louder as he moved your hips faster. 

“M’gonna cum, Quinn!” You cried, your movements stuttering against his thigh.

Quinn placed a kiss on your cheek, “Go for it, Y/N. Let go for me.”

The second the words left his mouth you felt the knot in your stomach snap. A stream of moans leaving your throat as Quinn guided your hips, his sweet praises making it feel all that much better. 

You brought your right hand up from his shoulder, your fingers curling around the curve of the side of his neck. Pressing yourself up, you connected your lips once again, this time the pressure feeling softer as your legs shook against his thigh.

“Did so good.” He cooed, kissing you once more before shifting you off his leg, his hands coming down to slide his shorts down to rest at his ankles. Once he adjusted himself to the bare feeling, he brought his hands over to you, undoing the bows he had been toying with all night as he slipped your bottoms off effortlessly.

He didn’t have to do a thing, your body naturally gravitating back towards him as you swung a leg around his waist yet again. 

Your eyes caught his, silently asking him for permission. He didn’t answer, simply resorting to guiding your hips down against him, his cock slipping into you inch by inch. Quinn let out a groan, the feeling of your warmth around him had his head reeling. 

The music had simply become background noise by now, the only thing that mattered to the two of you being how perfectly you felt against each other. 

“It’s like you were made for me, beautiful.” He praised once he was fully inside of you. 

You nodded, blinking your eyes open to look at him. “I’m yours, Quinn. Only yours.”

The words were too sweet for the moment, but he blushed them nonetheless. He slowly thrusted up, the movement feeling experimental, his next one being just as slow. The pace was enough for you both to feel good, but not enough for you to get off. Which is just what he wanted. Quinn wanted to take his time, appreciating your body and the way you felt while this close to him. 

He didn’t want it to end. 

You let him bask in his thoughts, your body shifting forward as you left little kisses across his chest. Not enough to leave marks, but enough to have his stomach tingle at the feeling of your soft lips. You knew how much he had started to like having his shirt off when in the sun, so you decided to leave him with a little soft mark on his chest that could easily be confused for a red patch he often got. 

Your lips moved upward, kissing softly at his neck before shifting up to nip at his ear. Something about the feeling had his thrusts falter slightly, his need to fill you up slowly becoming overwhelming. 

Quinn’s movements sped up, his length dragging just a tad bit faster into you, the water starting to splash the slightest bit as soft groans escaped his chest. “So fucking perfect.”

His words made you smile, your eyebrows furrowing at the increase in speed. “I love you so much, handsome.”

His hands rounded from your waist to your ass, each hand grabbing a handful as he pulled you up, maneuvering your body to meet his hips. 

The adjustment caused him to go deeper, the tip of his cock hitting that spot inside you that had you gasping his name. Your sounds became uncontrollable and the fact that they were flowing straight into Quinn’s ear didn’t help his composure at all. 

He knew he wouldn’t be holding out much longer, stomach tensing as you clenched tighter around him, but he was never one to cum before you, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. 

Quinn brought one hand back around, fitting it in between your bodies as his thumb began to circle your clit. You wailed, biting your lip to try and keep yourself under control as your orgasm built up again, the task becoming increasingly harder the faster he moved. 

“Need you to let go for me, baby.” He sighed, his cock drilling into you, “Please just cum for me again. Know you can do it.” 

His encouragement had your brain flooding out anything that wasn’t Quinn. All you could focus on were his panting breaths, and the way his eyes fluttered shut as his lips parted further. The sight alone had all your composure crumbling, a feeling of euphoria overtaking your body. 

Quinn felt your pussy clenching around him. The all-familiar feeling had his muscles tensing, his cock halting inside of you as he let himself go, his cum spurting thick ropes of white into you. 

The feeling of him leaking out of you was disguised by the jets of the hot tub, the pressure from them cleaning your exposed skin. You panted against his mouth, the feeling of his mustache tickling the tip of your nose.

Quinn blinked his eyes open as you backed up, your eyes drinking in the man in front of you. Your fingers traced his cheekbones before eventually finding their home in his hair.

He smiled at the sight of you, “You look so fucking perfect on top of me.”

You giggled, warmth rising to your face, “Don’t get used to it, that was exhausting.” 

“You barely did anything!” He laughed, eyes widening in fake disbelief. 

The laughter died down, both of you fully embracing the moment. You kissed him yet again, slower this time, basking in the way his – now swollen– lips felt against yours.

You reached to your side, this time grabbing your phone as you opened your camera app. Holding the phone out beside the two of you, you kissed the tip of his nose as your thumb hit the button to snap a picture. You didn’t look at it before kissing his lips, snapping yet another picture. 

“What are you doing?” Quinn asked, looking over at your phone as you seized the moment and kissed his cheek, getting another picture of him smiling at the feeling. 

“Documenting,” You smiled, “You look so good.”

He laughed as he brought the phone in front of his face, putting the .5 setting on and laughing as you caught the moment. “I wanna get one with just you in here, hang on.”

You pressed yourself up, allowing his cock to slip out of you, a sigh leaving both your lips. He pulled his shorts up as you tied your bikini bottoms back around your waist. You stood up, leaving the warmth of the water and circling around the hot tub to capture Quinn in all his beauty. 

After a few shots, Quinn picked up his phone trying to look busy.  “Okay, look at you modeling for me.” You teased, a smile creeping up on his face as you snapped yet another picture, before rejoining him in the water.

[fligniuz]

sex for homework

luigi mangione x reader

｡𖦹°‧ you ask your cute tutor to help you study for your math final.

word count: 5.5k • part of my study buddies series (read here!) • nsfw • read on ao3

warnings : f! reader; EXPLICIT; dumbification if U squint; praise; oral (m! receiving); pre calc lol

notes : crossposting my shit to tumblr and starting with arguably one of my greatest uses of free will in history. title frommm:

You have a bit of a dilemma.

Well, it would be more accurate to say that you had a dilemma, have had one for quite a while now—your current grievances are merely extensions of a constant, one raging, blood-thirsty, borderline psychopathic problem of a class. MTH121, Concepts & Applications, is the only remaining mathematics credit required for your degree, and, coincidentally, absolutely no one told you that that’s really just a fancy name for pre-calculus. Because the universe hates you.

Your final is tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow. If that wasn’t bad enough, your brain has utterly fucked you; months spent poring over formulas and right triangles amounts to nothing in the moment, every relevant fragment of knowledge completely foreign to your burnt out, sleep deprived, caffeine ridden psyche. So here you sit, “studying”, armed with just your textbook and Khan Academy tutorials.

Is it too late to switch majors? Yes, you decide, massaging your temples as you take another glance at your notes. A mass of numbers, variables, and scribbled matrices clogs the pages, complete with your near ineligible annotations, details added in the heat of a lecture. You never knew there could be so many different types of numbers. Solve for x. 5 + 2x to the 2nd power = 8x. Factor x3 - 3x to the 2nd power - 4x + 12. Find the vertex of the function f(x) = x to the 2nd power + 4x + 3. Determine the value of x if the sum of the following sequence converges to 5. How any of this is relevant to your future non-mathematics degree is beyond you.

What the hell is a vertex again? And what does it matter? You’d rather be sleeping, or drunk. Whatever.

You have one saving grace. Since your freshman year you’ve been employing a little cheat-sheet, your one-way ticket to having math explained to you in a language understood by plebeians like yourself: one Luigi Mangione, a friend of a friend of a friend, possibly the smartest guy you know (and you’re far from the only person to voice that opinion). Your self-appointed tutor—and unfortunately for you, probably the most appetizing of any of the frat guys you’ve met in college, to put it chastely. The actual knowledge is just a bonus, really, because unlike other tutors you’ve worked with Luigi seems to actually care; he wants you to walk away from him with a solid understanding of the material, rather than a temporary knowledge that gets your homework done but is absent from your memory by the time of your exams. And it’s hard to write off the fact that he’s easy on the eyes.

…Pretty damn hard, actually. Because—in all honesty—you’re really into Luigi. Another thing that’s hard to do is get your math homework done when you’re busy fucking yourself with your fingers, like you tend to do after your time with him, thinking about his cock, his hands, the way he would fill you, pin you down underneath him, smirk at you and tell you dirty things like that’s my girl, that’s my good fucking girl, that’s it, give it to me, show me how pretty you look when you come all over me like this…

Great. At this pace, you’ll never get anything done.

Your phone buzzes.

About an hour ago, you sent him a photo of your current predicament: your laptop and notebook open, and you sitting criss-crossed in front of it, an exaggerated pout on your lips. A few moments later, you sent another, this time of your middle finger pointed directly at your professor’s official portrait. Now, he responds:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : Smh

Who studies the night before their final?? Dummy

You smile, replying:

i do :(

help pls :((

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : You poor thing

And then:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : Come over. In like 15

We’ll work it out together

Score. He adds:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : And I better not hear any complaining when I make you actually do the math

Your crush feels elementary, like you’ve got the hots for the nerdy jock on the playground that’s miles out of your league and that every girl on planet Earth is fighting tooth and nail for. You respond:

no promises :P

You pray to your lucky stars that you can study as nonchalantly as humanly possible.

You told him you wouldn’t complain, and you’ve tried, you really have. But dividing radicals is fucking stupid and useless and the more you look at your paper the more these numbers and symbols really start to look all the same to you, just scribbles, meaningless scribbles of made-up concepts that have nothing to do with your career prospects whatsoever. Who gives a flying fuck about solving equations with these weird ass numbers that normal people don’t even use?

You must be thinking out loud, because Luigi laughs next to you on the couch. He is laughing at your frustration. What an emotionally supportive tutor. You groan and thread your fingers through your hair, massaging your temples.

Still smiling just slightly, he starts to gather up your things. “Alright, look, how about we take a break?” He glances over at you, still holding your head in your hands. “Yeah, let’s take a break for a minute.”

He gets up from the couch, disappears into the kitchen for just a moment. Comes back with a glass of orange juice. For you. You try not to think about how pathetic it is that the most romantic gesture a man has done for you in the past three years is bring you juice. Instead you watch him, sipping slowly—no pulp, he knows you so well—and peeking through your eyelashes as he scuttles around his dorm, just the two of you alone together, while he throws some laundry into a basket and absentmindedly closes doors of unoccupied rooms. You have never noticed how defined his calves are before, nor how his curls bounce just slightly when he walks fast or how his shorts sag on his hips just right, just enough for you to get a peek of his V-line and the waistband of his boxers when he raises his arms to stretch—

Nonchalant. Demure. Mindful. You are failing so hard at the one thing you’ve forbidden yourself from doing: staring at him until your eyes are practically burning holes in his clothes and he’s melting into the floor. Not entirely your fault. He should’ve known to dress modestly around you. Around anybody, for that matter.

Luigi comes to sit by you now. As you tuck your hair behind your ears you can feel his arm move to rest along the back of the couch, almost around you, but not quite.

“Hi,” you say, propping your head up on your arm.

He smiles at you. You can’t even look him in the eye. “Did you think more about your radicals?”

“Don’t remind me,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “No. I didn’t.”

“Well, what were you thinking about?”

You swallow the conspiratorial intuition that he has to be fucking with you. Maybe he sees it on your face. Can smell it on you. Something.

“I was trying to think of some things I’d rather be doing,” you offer. “Instead of math.”

Your heart feels three beats faster all of a sudden, and when did he get so close to you? Your thighs are touching, his knee brushing against yours. “And what did you come up with?” he asks.

Oh, fuck. He’s definitely fucking with you. Right? He has that goddamn smirk on his face, that one that makes your insides twist with a feeling reserved only for boys who look at you just like this, like you’re busted, like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about every second you’ve spent sitting next to him doing algebra. You want to kiss it right off of him.

“Nothing,” you lie, sitting up straight and trying to pretend like you really are interested in your studies. “Here, will you show me how to do it again?”

He calls your name. He doesn’t even have to ask for you to look at him; the tone of his voice and the tilt of his head makes his intentions entirely clear. When your eyes meet his he inches closer, and all you can manage to do is stare at his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands, stern and warm enough to boil.

If he truly knew what he was asking for he wouldn’t be asking at all, you think. Not unless he was prepared for whatever your fervent need has in store for him. Embarrassment feels bright red and prickly on your skin. “I shouldn’t say.”

”But I think you should,” he whispers.

Oh. Oh. All bets are off, now. This has officially progressed from studying to “studying”.

Luigi lets you lead, his hand settling on the small of your back as you come a little closer to kiss him, properly. You hear him giggle before your lips meet; the curve of his smile against you is unmistakable, casting sparks through your body and down your thighs. He tastes like spearmint. You learn quickly that he is a fantastic kisser, and his tongue finds yours with curious excitement when your breathing starts to pick up. Without question, he claims the expanse of you, drinking in your essence, licking, biting. Those irresistible curls demand attention, and so you thread your fingers through his hair, your hand sweeping from behind his ear to the nape of his neck. Luigi shivers under your touch, exhaling softly against you.

When the fingers of his left hand raise to grasp your leg, you stop kissing him only to swing your body over his lap so that you’re straddling him. Luigi breathes in deep then, like his nervous system collectively seizes at the feeling of you so close. To give him room to breathe you stop short of settling all your weight onto him. Lips meeting once more, his hands greet your hips; his touch is warm, and timid, like you’re made of sand, like you might collapse and dissolve into immeasurable particles between his fingers.

He groans into your mouth. Murmurs your name. “This isn’t very productive,” he quips.

“Intellectually, no,” you agree, nails brushing the back of his neck. He has goosebumps. A ghost of a smile dancing on your lips, you slowly lower yourself down onto his lap; there are two layers of clothes between your bare skin but he is impossibly warm against you. “But what about physically?”

Luigi smiles, and fuck, he is too fucking beautiful. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

And so you kiss him again and again and again, your heart doing backflips inside your chest when his big hands glide lower, and lower, thumb toying with the waistband of your skirt, and lower still, until he’s gripping your ass. You can’t help but nuzzle against the growing stiffness underneath you, poking between your thighs—and you definitely can’t help but love the way he grinds back, hips meeting yours with just as much enthusiasm. Fuck. About an hour ago you were working through polynomials and linear equations, and now the dreamiest guy you’ve ever met is hard for you, holding you in his lap. You might as well thank your professor.

When Luigi sucks at your bottom lip for a few euphoric moments, you make the most pathetic sound into his mouth, and he growls, his hands suddenly coming up to grasp your hips and hold them steady. “Was this your plan all along?” he rasps, his lips moving swiftly to the side of your face, your jaw, the junction between your neck and shoulder.

Sharp teeth graze skin and you whimper. “What do you mean?”

“What, now you’re playing coy?” Luigi finds the pulse point in your throat and bites, softly at first, then harder when your fingers curl into the hair at the back of his head. “You didn’t want to study. You called me because you wanted to get fucked, because you knew I’d want to touch you just like this, didn’t you?”

This boy is out of his mind. First he practically eye-fucks you while schooling you about imaginary numbers, and then he “scolds” you like he’s disappointed in your lack of interest in algebra, like he’s mad that you can’t resist him for being so damn gorgeous. That half-hearted meanness in his tone leaves butterflies in your stomach, in no way helped by the feeling of his tongue sliding over your collarbone.

“No,” you mutter. It’s not completely a lie. You really did need his help with the math, which he is really good at…but you can’t deny that you were really hoping you two would end up like this, with him kissing your neck all over until you’re speckled with purple and pink. You don’t even care about the obvious evidence of him on your skin—you want his entire dorm hall to know just how well-acquainted the two of you are by the time he’s done with you. The thought of everyone knowing you’re his makes you weak.

Luigi is kissing you again, slowly and deeply, one hand coming up to cup your breast through your shirt. His touch is too much and not enough simultaneously, your need overwhelming, and your hips are searching desperately for friction, rolling against him eagerly. So much for nonchalance.

He grasps your chin, firm but not at all painful, and flashes you that pretty smile, tutting, “I don’t believe you.”

Your mind is far too preoccupied with thoughts of his touch in other places to try to formulate a witty rebut. You opt instead to kiss him harder and sneak a hand between your bodies, tracing over his chest, down his carefully crafted abdomen, and then over the front of his shorts, groping his hard cock through polyester. Luigi groans into your mouth. He is big, almost intimidating, and imagining him inside of you has your body feeling hot all over.

As you palm the outline of his length through his trousers, his hands make their way underneath your sweater, the sudden warmth of him jolting through your torso. You look up at him through your lashes and he smirks.

“Do you want to sit on it?” he asks you, entirely stoic despite the weight of his words.

You kiss him, still squeezing his cock. “Can I put it in my mouth first?”

Fuck. You have him wrapped around your finger. How could he possibly say no when you ask so sweetly? Luigi is instantly pulling down his shorts for you, the rustle of fabric making your head spin. He’s left in just his boxers and a sweater that you quickly help him shrug off, too. Once you have him undressed, he takes a moment to survey you, your cheeks flushed, eyes lidded, hair tousled from his hands. You feel a surge of confidence now that you have his full attention and so you pull your top up and over your head, smiling when he reaches behind you to help you with your bra. He has it and your skirt off in just a few seconds, leaving your combined clothes to pile up next to the couch.

You shift so that you’re kneeling on the floor in front of him, wearing only your panties, watching him watching you. He is grinning, his cock standing proud, and you know you must be blushing by the way his teeth flash from under the curve of his lips. You feel gooey and hot in the pit of your stomach. Swallowing your shyness, you reach forward to take him in your hand. He’s already sticky at the tip, precum glistening on his slit, and so you begin to stroke him, starting at the head of his dick and spreading slick down his shaft. His cock is probably the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen, at the very least a runner-up for his face: tan and thick, his girth evenly distributed, and big enough to have you feeling your heartbeat between your legs. There is a prominent vein along the underside of him, ending at his frenulum. He pulses with each movement of your hand.

Once he’s as wet as you like, you come closer to tease him with your tongue, licking up the base, tracing his vein, passing over his slit. Luigi groans—“fuuuuuck, baby,”—and threads his fingers into your hair, tugging hard.

“Don’t be a fucking tease,” he rasps. “You asked for this. Show me what that mouth can do.”

Your lips are halfway wrapped around the head of him and when you moan at his words it vibrates through him, his abs flexing deliciously. You move further down, then, mouth closed around his length, applying light pressure on your way back up. He’s too big to take all of him at once and so your left hand grasps the length you can’t reach, pumping gently. You start a subtle, easy rhythm, evenly paced and obviously satisfying enough to have Luigi panting and swearing above you: your mouth starts at his tip, sucking gently, then gliding lower, until you can feel him in the back of your throat and you’re nearly gagging on him—and then you move upward again, cheeks hollowing around him, finally reaching the head of him once more. Rinse and repeat. It is organized. Formulaic. Your process leaves you practically drooling on his cock, spit collecting at the base where you are stroking him. Fuck. You haven’t pleased a guy like this in quite a while, and under any other circumstances you’d probably feel a bit insecure about your work; but it’s difficult to justify any doubts you might have, what with the noises coming from above you:

“Oh, fuck, yes, baby, yes, just like that, fuck yes,” Luigi moans, fingers knotted tightly in your hair. “Oh my god, your mouth…”

You slip your free hand into your panties, middle and ring finger rubbing your clit.

As your ministrations intensify, his reactions do, too. You can feel his thighs and hips tensing in an effort not to fuck into your throat. But you made a promise to yourself; you want to take the entirety of his length in your mouth before all of this is over, and so you move your left hand down to his balls, kneading him and carefully lowering your face until your nose is pressed into the curly hairs of his groin, his cock as deep as it can reach. And Luigi keens, head thrown back against the couch, one hand in your hair and the other gripping the armrest tight. You can feel him twitching in your throat.

There are a few blissful moments of you sucking him just like this, sinking him deep into your throat and pinching your lips around his tip, and you almost wish the two of you were recording because the sounds he makes are top tier jerk material for at least the next few months. He’d be a natural on camera. You want to commit every second of this to your memory.

When he goes quiet for a moment you open your eyes to look at him. You find him staring down at you, mouth agape. “Are you touching yourself?” he asks.

It’s difficult to answer with his dick in your mouth, so you settle for moaning around him again, eyes fluttering shut.

“Holy fuck,” he grunts, his voice sweeter than sugar.

You could sit here sucking him off for the rest of your life—you could die with his dick in your mouth—but you regrettably begin to feel your jaw aching, knowing full well that keeping this up will have you hurting. Not that you really mind. When you begin to sputter and tear up around him, he grabs both sides of your face and pulls your mouth off of his cock. You are crying, just a little, crocodile tears streaming down your cheeks, your throat raw.

Luigi looks down at you sweetly. “Oh, baby,” he coos, wiping your wet face dry with his thumbs. “That’s my perfect girl. So good to me. Come here.”

He welcomes you back onto his lap with open arms and a smile. He is warm, so warm and soft against you, you could fall asleep just like this. But he is kissing you now, so slowly that you feel dizzy, and so you ground yourself, fingers embracing his curls. His hands move to your hips, grasping the waistband of your panties, teasing you, rubbing the fabric against your heat. When he finally has them off his fingers are instantly examining you, collecting your slick, slipping through your folds.

“Let’s see about a little reward for you, hm?” he whispers, capturing your lips with his.

You kiss him eagerly and arch your back so that your thighs spread wide enough for his fingers to enter you with ease—not that it would be difficult without, considering that you’re so wet you can hear him touching you, even over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. Two long digits move inside of you, stretching you, massaging that spot that makes your knees buckle and your eyes cross, plus a few more that you never knew existed. His touch feels so good, just how you imagined, and you have to lean forward into the crook of his neck to keep yourself upright, your teeth sinking into a firm shoulder. Luigi makes a gruff sound, almost a chuckle, and his cock jumps at your whiny, choked noises when he adds a third finger into your pussy.

“So needy, aren’t you?” he teases. “Have you been thinking about this, gorgeous? About sucking my cock and taking my fingers like this?”

You nod, because of course you have. In that exact order. Who wouldn’t?

Luigi smiles at you, soft and adoring. You make a curious sound and his fingers depart from you, lingering at your entrance until you grind down into his lap. Your cunt brushes against him, raw, hungry, slathering his cock with your slick.

“I want you,” you whine, grabbing his face and kissing him again. “I want all of you.”

“Yeah, baby?” His hands are guiding your hips, moving you slowly against him. “Tell me about it.”

Well, you would, if your brain weren’t short-circuiting at the moment. His fault. You mumble into his ear, something about infinity, something about the way you hug your pillow at night and all the times you’ve fucked yourself stupid thinking about this very image of you and him together like this. But there are countless words for your endless feelings, words you would preach to him from high places if your body had the agency to; your attraction to him is primal, but neatly arranged, layered, wrapped up with variables galore and multiplying with each moment you spend in his presence. A mess, no doubt about it, but one you can control, a tangle to unravel, an equation to solve. Nothing less. You aren’t sure of how this ends but you know that you need him, bad, more than you knew was possible before.

You crash into him, mouths colliding, everything that you left unsaid spilling into your embrace. Words are hard. Kissing Luigi and grinding your warm, throbbing cunt against him takes much less brainpower.

He is speaking to you when you pull away: “Baby, just a second, wait right here, let me get something.” Gently you are pushed from his lap and he disappears into his room momentarily, leaving you waiting, alone, aching for him, until he rounds the corner again with a familiar foil packet, finding his way back to the couch and sweeping you on top of him once more.

“Hi. Sorry.” And now he is fully yours.

You whine and wiggle against him the second the condom is on.

“Shh,” Luigi whispers, “I got you, ‘s okay, gorgeous. Gonna take good care of you, yeah? Don’t you worry. Gonna give you just what you need, baby.”

The tip of his cock is pressing into you, then, slowly easing himself inside, and fuck, he fits just right, fills you up perfectly, has you seeing stars already. The sound you make when he bottoms out is a hop, skip, and a jump away from pornographic. Luigi purrs underneath you.

“Oh, I know, baby, I know.” His hand slides down to grip your ass, spreading you, and from this angle you can feel just how much he stretches you out. And then, as he begins to roll his hips: “My sweet girl, working so hard, can’t even think for yourself, can you, beautiful? That’s okay, baby. I can do all the thinking for you, you just sit back and let me work it out for you, yeah? Don’t think. Just let me please this pussy.”

It’s like he’s trying to kill you. Every single word he says into your ear shoots straight to your cunt, the mere sound of his voice so near you electrifying. He’s deep, and with your thighs spread wide like this you just have to take advantage of the perfect angle to rub your clit against him. You can’t help but squeal into the crook of his neck each time his hips ram up into you, thighs clapping against your ass; by the way his muscles tense you assume it must take much of his energy, and yet he pounds you like you weigh nothing in his lap, exerting himself like it’s a cakewalk so long as he can watch your face shrivel up with overwhelming delectation. You can tell that he loves it when you tug his hair or bite him, and so you do it every chance you get, just in case your hushed utterances in his ear fail to make your message clear enough:

“Luigi, fuckfuckfuck, oh my god, oh, fuck…”

As he paces himself Luigi wraps his strong arms around you, one caging your waist and the other pulling tight at your hair. Your neck is arched and exposed, leaving him free to smother his love all over you in sharp, uneven hickeys. You needed this, so, so bad, and you tell him exactly that, chanting thank you, thank you, thank you and holding him tight.

“Whatever you want,” he whispers. “You can have whatever you want with me. Anything.” His lips meet yours, fleeting, and then, with the slightest hint of a grin: “You earned this, baby.”

You groan directly into his ear. It’s straight from your dreams, you think, like you’ve been swept from your bed in the midst of the night and dropped right here, in the lap of the sweetest, smartest, most handsome boy you’ve ever so much as looked at, bouncing on his cock while he kisses you like you’ll float away if he lets go. The two of you work together to heighten each other’s inevitable undoing, like a function of sorts; Luigi pushes and you push back, meeting his hips every time, your clit brushing against him just right, and him breaching unknown depths of you, hands roaming, learning you inside and out.

“My sweet girl,” he grabs your face and rests his forehead against yours, driving into you with precision. “This is all yours, baby.”

Sweat starts to gather at his hairline and you can feel him shuddering in your arms. Kissing him, you press down on his toned chest, pinning him against the couch, and Luigi is practically singing for you, little grunts and babys and murmurs of your name traveling through your ears and echoing in your mind. You want this to last forever. His hips slow to a stop when you begin to move on your own; you raise yourself up, resting all your weight on your knees, with him sliding out of your cunt until just the tip is still inside—and then you drop down, letting him sink back into you quickly, slick and smooth, his cock so deep you can nearly feel it in your stomach.

Fuck. You love this. You love the way his hands grip your ass, your thighs, rubbing your back, moaning your name and kissing behind your ear. You love the way he looks at you. The pupils of those dark eyes are blown wide, watching you move, worshipping how your tits bounce, the gyration of your hips, the blush of arousal all over you, your bottom lip wedged between your teeth. The sounds of sex and the shameless way he takes in every feature of your body have you feeling hot and ready to burst. You moan his name, drawn out and raspy.

“Yes,” Luigi groans. “You’re so pretty on top of me.”

Even through the haze of your pleasure you smile at his praise. He is telling you everything, every single thought that passes by in his mind, as if there will be no proof of how good he fucked you once you leave his dorm, as if every word will dissipate into thin air and leave you waiting, unsatisfied, hanging on the edge: “You take it so well, baby, my sweet girl, so perfect, so perfect just for me.”

His big hands are all over you. One cups your breast, sucking your nipple into his mouth, with the other splayed over your hip. You start to feel dizzy, anxious for his attention, a little bit crazy. Close. Luigi must notice the way your eyes screw shut and your pussy squeezes him tight, because his hand moves down your chest, over your stomach, and then to your clit, circling his fingers with purpose. He wishes—almost—that you were beneath him, so that he could replace his hand with his mouth, trace down your body with his lips and bring you to your very edge with his tongue, over and over again, until you’re begging him to stop.

He settles instead for kissing you, hard, slowly, lingering. “You have no fucking idea how bad I’ve been wanting this, baby.”

You nod, moaning, “yes, yes, me too,” your noises pained and rough in your throat.

The way his cock slams into you with each movement of your hips is ruthless, bruising; he’s kissing you so sweetly and you can feel your climax churning in your abdomen, rippling through you. It knocks the air from your lungs. Sex with him hurts so good. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

“Gonna come,” you huff. There are fingernail-sized dents in his skin. “Gonna come for you.”

Luigi nods, whispers, “good girl, such a good girl,” and circles his fingers over your clit as fast as he can manage.

You tense around him at that. You can’t even count how many times you’ve come imagining those very words whispered in your ear by the very man that you’re riding right now.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Yeah? You like that? You like being a good girl for me?”

You nod wildly, and everything feels so real all of a sudden, like you’ve been floating mindlessly in space and you are crashing down into reality. His teeth dig into the sensitive skin of your neck and his hips start to pump again and by the time he’s meeting your thrusts you’ve had enough, thighs shaking, and he starts moaning into your ear so that you know he’s right there with you, and fuck, he’s really trying to kill you—

Your orgasm hits you like a truck. A 5’11, dark haired and brown eyed muscle truck that looks at you like you are the only good thing left in the world.

For a moment there is only your deep panting and his equally spent breaths as the both of you rest, his hand tracing gentle patterns on your back, yours combing through his sweat-soaked curls. The dorm is quiet, calm, almost with an air of innocence, completely unswayed by the heady aftermath of what the two of you just did right there on the couch. You lean back and look into his eyes, brooding and trained entirely on you. And he has that stupid grin on his face, the one that gives both of you away for good, the one that screams we’re not the only ones who know what we’ve been up to.

You want to kiss it right off of his beautiful, beautiful face. But right now you just sigh, lean into his shoulder, and let him hold you tight. Tonight you will walk back to your dorm, all the way on the other side of campus, where your roommates will be waiting for you, likely getting ready for bed. You will walk inside and they will watch you without a clue as to whose hands have been on you, whose name has been on your lips, whose cock has been buried to the hilt inside of you for the past hour. Your legs will be aching—you are sure of it.

Your roommates will ask you, “how’d it go?”, completely unaware of what your wobbly smile really means, how you really spent your time with your cute tutor.

And you will respond, “oh, great,” with a barely masked giggle. “I’m gonna ace my test tomorrow.”

[prokopetz]

Your long and arduous journey has led you to this, the final confrontation. You thought you knew what to expect, but just as you struck the final blow, your ultimate foe's eyes gleamed with unnatural light as they proclaimed…

THIS ISN'T EVEN MY FINAL FORM

A game for 4–6 players

Introduction

This Isn't Even My Final Form is a GMless tactical minigame for 4–6 players. You'll take on the roles of a party of heroic adventurers nearing the end of a world-spanning quest to defeat a great evil, the Final Boss. Unfortunately for them, each time they think they've won, the Final Boss assumes a new, even more horrifying form, and the struggle begins anew. Is there any end to this conflict? There's only one way to find out!

What You'll Need

This Isn't Even My Final Form requires a dozen six-sided dice, as well as a way of keeping track of a few important numbers – a shared text document or some scrap paper will suffice.

Update 2023-10-30: Print-and-play card decks are available here:

http://penguinking.com/this-isnt-even-my-final-form/

Character Creation

Choose two of the following actions to be your Party Member's Class Actions: Strike, Heal, Buff, Debuff. If you'd rather determine this randomly, roll on the following table.

1. Strike, Heal 2. Strike, Buff 3. Strike, Debuff 4. Heal, Buff 5. Heal, Debuff 6. Buff, Debuff

Give your Party Member's Class a name which suits your Class Actions. Also give your Party Member a name; it is traditional but not obligatory for your Party Member's name to have exactly five letters.

Playing the Game

Play is divided into a series of Phases. During each Phase, one player takes on the role of the Final Boss. That player's Party Member does not participate in this Phase; they're trapped, lost, incapacitated, or otherwise separated from the party or unable to act for the duration of the Phase. All other players take on the roles of their Party Members.

The Final Boss player's first order of business is to describe what the current Phase looks like. The Final Boss player can roll 1–3 times on the following table (re-rolling duplicates) to decide on a theme, or use it as inspiration for their own theme. To use this table, roll a six-sided die twice, treating the first roll as the "tens" place and the second roll as the "ones" place, yielding a number in the range from 11 to 66.

11. Beasts 12. Bells 13. Blood 14. Bones 15. Chains 16. Chaos 21. Cubes 22. Eyes 23. Fire 24. Flowers 25. Food 26. Games 31. Gears 32. Glass 33. Gold 34. Hands 35. Holes 36. Ice 41. Iron 42. Light 43. Mazes 44. Meat 45. Mirrors 46. Music 51. Orbs 52. Order 53. Plague 54. Shadow 55. Slime 56. Space 61. Spikes 62. Teeth 63. Time 64. Trees 65. Weapons 66. Wings

Once the Phase has been defined, set the party's Momentum to zero. Momentum is a value which will increase or decrease over the course of the Phase; it has a minimum value of zero, and no particular upper limit.

Play proceeds in a series of rounds, as follows.

The Final Boss Attacks

The Final Boss always goes first in each round. Roll one die:

1–3: The Final Boss chooses one of the following actions. 4–5: The Final Boss chooses two of the following actions. You may not target the same Party Member twice; however, you may use the same action on two different Party Members if you wish. 6: The Final Boss does nothing this round. On its turn next round, it does not roll and instead uses its Ultimate Attack.

Wound: Inflict the Critical Condition on a single Party Member. If the chosen Party Member already has the Critical Condition, it's replaced with the Down Condition and the party loses one Momentum.

Imprecate: Inflict the Cursed Condition on a single Party Member.

Envenom: Inflict the Poisoned Condition on a single Party Member.

Bewilder: Inflict the Confused Condition on a single Party Member.

Counter: If you're targeted by the Strike or Debuff actions this round, after resolving that action, perform the Wound action on the Party Member who targeted you. You may counter any number of actions in this way.

Dispel: Remove the Buffed and Protected Conditions from any number of Party Members.

Enrage: The Final Boss rolls two dice and takes the better result on its next action. The party may cancel this benefit with a successful Debuff action; doing so removes the extra die instead of forcing the Final Boss to roll twice and take the lower result.

Ultimate Attack: This action can only be chosen by rolling a 6 during the previous round. When the Final Boss uses this action, choose Cursed, Poisoned, or Confused: you may perform the Wound action AND inflict the chosen Condition upon any number of Party Members, in that order. (i.e., Wound each targeted Party Member, THEN Curse/Confuse/Poison any who remain standing.)

The Final Boss player describes the outcome of the chosen action(s) in as much or as little detail as they like; control then passes to the other players.

The Party Acts

After the Final Boss has attacked, each Party Member who doesn't have the Down condition chooses one of the following actions, in any order the players wish. After choosing any action other than Defend, the player rolls their dice pool, which is a handful of six-sided dice constructed as follows:

Start with a number of dice equal to the party's current Momentum (initially zero, though it will grow over the course of the Phase)

Add one die if you're performing one of your Party Member's Class Actions

Add one die if your Party Member currently has the Buffed Condition

Add one die if your Party Member currently has the Critical Condition

Roll all of the dice together, and find the highest result. Ties for the highest result have no special significance; for example, if you rolled four dice and got 1, 3, 5 and 5, your result is 5. If you'd ever end up with zero or fewer dice for any reason – either because your dice pool was empty to begin with, or because some effect obliged you to discard every die you rolled – you receive an automatic result of 1.

If an action requires you to target a specific Party Member or make other choices, you can wait and see the result of your roll before making those decisions.

Strike: You attack the Final Boss. Roll your dice pool:

1–3: Nothing happens – either the attack misses, or the Final Boss turns out to be immune to whatever you just did. 4–5: The attack strikes true. The party gains one Momentum. 6: Critical hit! The party gains two Momentum.

Special: If you roll triples or better (i.e., at least three of the same number) on a Strike action, the Final Boss' current Phase is defeated, and you move on to the next Phase. It doesn't matter what number comes up triples.

Heal: You attempt to restore the party's strength. Roll your dice pool:

1–3: You may remove the Critical Condition from a single Party Member. If no Party Member has the Critical Condition, nothing happens. 4–5: You may remove the Critical Condition from any number of party members OR you may remove the Down Condition from a single Party Member. 6: You may remove the Critical and Down Conditions from any number of party members.

Buff: You attempt to bolster a party member. Roll your dice pool:

1–3: You may grant the Buffed Condition to a single Party Member OR remove a Condition of your choice other than Critical or Down from a single Party Member. 4–5: You may grant the Buffed Condition to a single Party Member AND remove a Condition of your choice other than Critical or Down from that Party Member, if they have one. 6: You may grant the Buffed Condition OR remove a Condition of your choice other than Critical or Down to any number of Party Members. You may choose a different option for each targeted Party Member.

Debuff: You attempt to weaken the Final Boss. Roll your dice pool:

1-3: Nothing happens – it turns out the Final Boss was immune to that effect. 4–5: The Final Boss rolls two dice and takes the lower result on its next action. 6: The Final Boss rolls two dice and takes the lower result on its next action AND the party gains one Momentum.

Defend: You may grant the Protected condition to a Party Member of your choice. Do not roll.

Based on the outcome of your roll (if applicable), describe the outcome of your action in as much or as little detail as you wish.

Once each Party Member has acted, return to "The Final Boss Attacks" to begin the next round.

Ending the Phase

As noted above, rolling triples or better on a Strike action results in the immediate defeat of the current Phase. Alternatively, if all Party Members simultaneously have the Down Condition, the Final Boss player's Party Member suddenly breaks free or arrives on the scene and rescues everyone in a stunning deus ex machina; this also ends the Phase, but does not count as defeating it.

In either case, reset the party's momentum to zero, remove all Conditions, and move on to the next Phase. The role of the Final Boss passes to a different player, with preference given to those who haven't yet had a chance to be the Final Boss; the previous Final Boss player resumes playing their Party Member.

Continue until the party has defeated a number of Phases at least equal to the number of players, or until mutual agreement has been reached that all this has gone on quite long enough.

Conditions

Some actions can impose Conditions upon the individual Party Members. Conditions can be positive or negative, and last until specific conditions for their removal are met.

Buffed: Your strength has been boosted. When rolling your dice pool, you roll one extra die.

Confused: You've lost your wits. When the party acts, your action is determined by rolling a d6 – 1: Strike; 2: Heal; 3: Buff; 4: Debuff; 5: Defend; 6: do nothing this round AND remove this Condition. This Condition is also removed if you gain the Critical Condition while under its effects. You may choose targets normally if the rolled action requires them. Confused Party Members always act before their un-Confused peers; if there are multiple Confused Party Members, the Final Boss decides the order in which they act.

Critical: You are badly wounded. Desperation lends strength, and so this Condition adds one extra die to your dice pools; however, if you suffer the Critical Condition a second time, it becomes the Down Condition instead.

Cursed: You've been afflicted with misfortune. Discard your highest result after rolling your dice pool, but before applying your chosen action's effects. If there's a tie for the highest result, discard all of them; for example, if you roll four dice while Cursed and get 1, 3, 5 and 5, your result is 3. If the Condition causes you to discard your only set of triples of better on a Strike action, the Phase does not end.

Down: You are incapacitated by injury or foul enchantment. When the party acts, you may not choose an action; your action remains lost even if this Condition is removed before the end of the round. When you gain this Condition, remove all other Conditions, and the party loses one Momentum. (This is not in addition to the Momentum loss noted by effects which inflict this Condition – those are just reminders.) You may not gain other Conditions while this one persists.

Poisoned: You're afflicted by a poison, plague, or death-curse. If you have the Poisoned Condition after resolving your action for the round, you gain the Critical Condition. If you already have the Critical Condition, you instead gain the Down Condition, and the party loses one Momentum.

Protected: The next time you would gain any Condition other than Buffed, remove this Condition instead. You also remove this Condition if you take any action other than Defend on your turn.

[blackstarlineage]

25 Essential Principles for Black Conduct and Empowerment: A Garveyite Perspective

From a Garveyite perspective, Black people must uphold a code of conduct rooted in self-determination, unity, discipline, and economic independence to reclaim sovereignty and build a powerful Black world. Marcus Garvey emphasized that the liberation of Black people requires not just awareness but action, structure, and collective responsibility. Without a solid foundation of principles to guide conduct, Black people remain vulnerable to external control, disunity, and stagnation.

This analysis outlines 25 essential principles that Black people must adhere to for collective empowerment, ensuring that every aspect of life—from personal discipline to political strategy—aligns with Black self-reliance and Pan-African unity.

1. Prioritize Black Unity Over Petty Divisions

Black people must reject tribalism, nationality-based elitism, and class divisions that prevent global solidarity. Whether African, African American, Caribbean, or Afro-Latino, all Black people share a common struggle and destiny.

2. Be Loyal to Black Institutions, Not External Systems

Economic, educational, and political systems designed by non-Black entities often do not serve Black interests. Black people must build, support, and defend their own institutions to ensure self-governance.

3. Maintain Economic Discipline and Group Economics

Black people must spend, circulate, and invest money within their own communities rather than enriching non-Black businesses that do not support Black liberation. Wealth must serve the collective, not just the individual.

4. Reject Begging and Dependency

Garveyism teaches that self-reliance is the key to sovereignty. Seeking validation, reparations without self-building, or constant dependency on non-Black systems keeps Black people weak. We must create solutions, not wait for handouts.

5. Strengthen the Black Family Unit

A strong Black nation starts with strong families. Fatherhood, motherhood, and communal responsibility must be honoured. The intentional breakdown of the Black family is a tool of oppression, and reversing it is a revolutionary act.

6. Guard Black Cultural Identity Fiercely

Black culture must be protected from dilution, appropriation, and distortion. The global media industry manipulates Black culture for profit while degrading its revolutionary potential. Black people must reclaim their spiritual, artistic, and historical identities.

7. Reject Hyper-Consumerism and Materialism

Black empowerment is not measured by luxury brands, flashy lifestyles, or European standards of success. True power comes from ownership, land, and industry—not consumer status.

8. Develop Financial Literacy and Generational Wealth

Black people must prioritize financial education, investments, land ownership, and cooperative economics over short-term spending habits. Financial discipline determines power.

9. Master Self-Defense and Security

Black communities must be physically and strategically protected. Knowledge of self-defense, martial arts, and security strategies is essential to prevent exploitation, gentrification, and violence against Black people.

10. Respect and Elevate Black Women

Black women have always been at the forefront of liberation struggles. They must be honoured, protected, and empowered, while rejecting both misogyny and feminism that devalues traditional African family structures.

11. Reject White Validation and Seek Black Excellence

Seeking approval from white institutions, corporations, or governments weakens self-worth. Excellence must be defined on Black terms, not Western standards.

12. Eliminate Self-Hatred and Colourism

Black people must dismantle anti-Black programming, including colourism, texturism, and Eurocentric beauty standards. Loving Blackness is a revolutionary act.

13. Be Politically Aware but Not Emotionally Manipulated

Black people must engage in politics with strategic awareness, rather than blind emotional allegiance to parties that do not serve Black interests. Power is taken, not asked for.

14. Prioritize African Spirituality and Indigenous Practices

African spiritual systems have been demonized and replaced with religious systems that pacify Black resistance. Black people must reclaim ancestral knowledge and reject systems that promote blind obedience over empowerment.

15. Train Black Youth for Leadership and Legacy

Black children must be educated in liberation philosophy, economic empowerment, and self-discipline from an early age. The next generation must be trained, not just inspired.

16. Reject Degenerative Media and Narratives

Music, television, and films that promote self-destruction, hypersexuality, and violence against Black people must be rejected. Media that elevates, educates, and empowers Black minds must be supported.

17. Demand Accountability from Leaders

Black leaders—whether political, religious, or social—must be held to strict ethical and strategic standards. Personality cults and blind allegiance lead to betrayal and stagnation.

18. Build Pan-African Alliances Instead of Isolating Movements

No single Black community or nation can thrive alone. Black people worldwide must work together to secure land, resources, and industries.

19. Promote Self-Discipline and Mental Strength

A weak and undisciplined mind is easily controlled. Black people must master self-discipline in thought, habits, and actions to create a powerful global presence.

20. Reclaim the Warrior Spirit of Our Ancestors

African history is filled with warriors, revolutionaries, and empires that resisted colonization and slavery. Black people must embrace the warrior spirit rather than glorifying passivity.

21. Master Technology and Control the Digital Space

The future is digital, and Black people must own, develop, and master technology rather than being just consumers. Controlling media, cybersecurity, and AI is critical for sovereignty.

22. Protect and Defend Black Land and Resources

Black communities and nations must protect their land, agriculture, water sources, and raw materials from foreign control. Land ownership equals power.

23. Reject Integration as the Ultimate Goal

Integration into white society is not liberation. The goal must be nation-building, sovereignty, and Black self-governance, not assimilation.

24. Reject Criminality and Sabotage from Within

Internal destruction—whether through gang violence, betrayal, or corruption—keeps Black people weak. Code of conduct, integrity, and accountability must be upheld.

25. Make Black Consciousness and Excellence the New Standard

Mediocrity, victimhood, and aimless entertainment must be replaced with a culture of Black excellence, Pan-Africanism, and mastery of knowledge and power.

Conclusion: The Path to Black Sovereignty Is Discipline, Strategy, and Unity

From a Garveyite perspective, the liberation of Black people is not a dream but a responsibility. Without a strict code of conduct, discipline, and self-determination, Black people will remain vulnerable to exploitation, division, and external control.

Marcus Garvey built the largest Black organization in history because he understood that power comes from order, strategy, and a clear set of guiding principles. These 25 rules serve as a modern framework for achieving Black sovereignty, economic independence, and Pan-African unity.

The question is: Will we have the discipline to follow them?

[kaibutsushidousha]

What are your thoughts on orihime?

Ichigo's little group of friends exist to be basis of Bleach's arcs. The Soul Society arc is envisioned as Rukia's arc, which is a no-brainer because Rukia is a Shinigami. The Lost Agent is envisioned as Chad's arc, and even if it fails that role, the choice is understandable due to Chad being a Fullbringer. The Blood War is envisioned as Uryuu's arc, obvious again because Uryuu is a Quincy. But Orihime is a Fullbringer, so realizing what makes her fit at the center of the Arrancar arc requires a little more thought.

Well, I'd say the answer can be found about as early as possible. Orihime simply isn't like any other character in the good side. A whole lot of characters in Bleach have tragic pasts, but only Orihime is shown having a tragic present. The other Karakura people have comfortable houses with providing families. The Seireitei is a high class place directly contrasted with the poor Rukongai. The Visored and Xcution are united communities. Unclear about the Quincies in Silbern because we never the status quo there before the times of war.

Meanwhile, Orihime lives alone thanks to cutting ties with her parents at age 4 and losing her brother at age 12. She survives out of part-time jobs and financial support from distant relatives who determine how much money she gets based on her grades. The status quo of Bleach is pretty rough on her, and if I'm not forgetting anyone, her alone. She's doing what she can to survive under a constant threat of hunger, which is something Bleach otherwise only portrays as the lifestyle of a Hollow. I'll get back to this later.

The point here is that Orihime's life sucks. But that's not a thing that ever shows. Orihime in public is just a silly airhead constantly presented as the most cheerful person around. Her screentime in normal school situations is marked by her filtering her unpleasant reality with outlandish imagination. Her antics make her look really stupid, but we're shown that she isn't as she has 3rd best grades in their school. Intentional as her silliness is, she can't afford to be a bad student because that affects how much bread she gets to every month, as mentioned above.

And Bleach wastes no time explaining why she's like that. Still in volume 1, it's already established that Orihime spent her whole life being protected by others. First Sora, then Tatsuki, and now Ichigo. And because she grew up like this, her greatest wish is to not be a problem.

She let Sora bite her because life going on without him was being a problem to him and having to protect her was being a problem to Ichigo. She puts on a smile at school and keeps her conditions a secret to avoid being a problem to anyone who could care about her living situation. She let Ulquiorra take her because she didn't want to be a problem to anyone willing to fight Aizen for her sake. Her experience in Soul Society should have told her that this last one would backfire tremendously, but in her moment of weakness, she couldn't fight against her ingrained habit of avoiding being a burden.

Another key point of her early characterization is obviously her relationship with Ichigo. He was just a cool funny guy at first, until Sora's incident made him interesting, so she asked Tatsuki about him, and only really started caring after hearing about Masaki's death. This happens in a volume where she takes the cover and her opening poem is "If I were the rain [...] could I tie hearts together?". The rain is the symbol of Ichigo's grief, and Orihime falls for Ichigo by associating the lost of his mother with the loss of her brother. She connects best by relating to suffering, which shows later in the many, many, many times she's shown healing Arrancars after years practically living like a Hollow when in the world of the living.

This is kinda of a sudden change of topic, but things are sorta moving in chronological order here and the next big checkpoint is Orihime's first fight, so I'll conclude the talk about her position there and now talk about her powers.

Orihime gets Shun Shun Rikka, a Fullbring centered around rejection of events. Like Bleach abilities tend to do, this power goes incredibly well with Orihime's established characterization. Reality sucks for her but she keeps things by rejecting it through her filter of imagination. She can attack with this power, but it's best suited as a shield (preventing causing problems for others) or healing (making people forget their problems).

She then proceeds to not do much in Soul Society, then early into the Arrancar arc, she loses to Yammy and gets to negatively compare herself to Rukia, who did well in her first on-screen fight ever. Her feelings of uselessness pile up and compound into the 5 lives scenes, which as I already told you before, I consider the emotionally powerful dialogue Kubo has ever written. Not much to comment on it, the moment speaks for itself.

For Orihime, the bulk of the Arrancar arc is spent interacting with Ulquiorra. It's a really challenging experience for her because Ulquiorra has zero emotional depth. He was an ancient Hollow with no eyes, ears, nose, or mouth, being unable to perceive the outside world until Aizen broke his mask. Starrk, Barragan, and Grimmjow's backstories establish that Arrancars inherit experiences from their Hollow selves. Breaking their masks didn't change who they are. But Ulquiorra has no experiences because his Hollow life was spent entirely in the nothingness of himself.

Orihime has always been engaging with people through a smile-shaped web of lies, social conventions, and bravado, but Ulquiorra still haven't experienced humanity enough for that to work on him. He responds only to cold truths, so Orihime's typical conversation strategies are proven useless. It forces her to change her ways. She can only teach him about the heart by being honest and direct. Arrancars are about literal broken masks, but Orihime makes herself part of their story by having her metaphorical mask broken.

After that, we have the Lost Agent arc, which doesn't really take Orihime further (and doesn't really need to since Arrancar was her main focus arc) but does an amazing show of progress for post-Ulquiorra Orihime by introducing Riruka, a tsundere who hangs with Orihime a lot. While Riruka is as full of walls and bravado as Orihime originally was, this Orihime gets to be effortlessly vulnerable, recapping her horrible backstory to her new friend, being called creepy for her apparently fake smile, and clarifying that she actually can smile for real because she was already saved from her past.

The final arc doesn't do much with her aside from putting her in the final boss battle, so I guess I'll use this space to talk about how her progression in combat participation feels really well-paced. She goes from being squarely away from major action in Soul Society to not interfering with the fight but making a point to stay near the battle vs Grimmjow to start tactically throwing shields vs Ulquiorra to getting Ichigo actively ask for her help vs Ywhach.

Ok, that last is probably more about Ichigo himself having learned to ask for help 10 minutes ago after cringing at Uryuu's inability to rely on his friends and taking him as an antithesis model (pun intended).

But still, I love this kind of step-by-step character growth model, it reminds me of how Yugi and Atem's dynamic grew from Yugi unaware to Yugi aware to them starting to talk to them working together vs Pegasus to Yugi dueling alone to Yugi defeating Atem. Always great to see an author commit to a flowchart of development like that.

[mischievousmoony]

𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜'

⟢ james potter x black!reader (fem)

⟢ summary: after your parents cross the line, you and your older brother sirius find sanctuary at the potters' . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 2.6k

⟢ warnings: abusive parents, blood, cuts, head injury

⟢ part 1 ⟡ part 2 ⟡ part 3 ⟡ masterlist

note: i wrote this for fun and never expected to be posting it so i hope it's not bad... i actually never expected to be posting ever again but here i am ;) anyway i’d like to give this a part two (or more!) but i’m not sure what should happen next

An eerie silence overtook 12 Grimmauld Place on what had so far been an unremarkable summer night. 

Not even the usual sounds of activity fell upon your ears. No creaks from the old floorboards in the hallway outside your door. No scratches against your window from the oak branch that desperately needed trimming. 

No cracks from your father smacking one of your brothers for ‘disappointing’ him. No shrills from your mother fussing about whatever she decided would upset her that night. 

Nothing. 

It was complete, utter silence—a silence that would send a shiver down most people’s spine in a house like this. 

As ancient as it is, the walls had witnessed countless tragic displays from the Black ancestors who came before you. These walls are soaked in dark memories, and any visitor would attest that they seep negative energy, drowning those that stay too long. As a resident, you’ve grown used to the sinking feeling in your stomach that comes with being in this house of horrors.

Silent nights like this were something to be grateful for. You could lie in bed, close your eyes, and imagine you were anywhere else. Tonight, it was Hogwarts that you longed for. 

Perhaps you were in your dormitory, about to drift off after a long day of classes. 

Or perhaps you were in the library, studying in the quiet lull of busy students focusing on their work. Perhaps you were even there on a study date with a certain brunette Quidditch captain. Your brother would certainly have a conniption if he knew this particular boy invaded your daydreams. 

You almost drifted off to sleep as this fantasy played like a film on the back of your eyelids. Were those hushed voices you could hear? Had your imagination become so powerful that you could hear students whispering about their assignments? 

Certainly not. The voices were real and coming from somewhere in the house. Your brows furrowed and you strained to listen. Not to eavesdrop, but rather to determine where exactly these voices were coming from. 

You held your breath to listen more closely. Had the voices stopped? Just as you were settling back down to lose yourself in your imagination again, a long, blood-curdling scream jolted you upright from where you lay in bed. 

If you learned anything at the hands of your parents, it was how to discern what was happening just by the sound of your brothers’ screams. You could tell that the scream belonged to a very much in pain Sirius. But the intensity of it was nothing like you’ve heard before. You itched to run to his aid. 

"Don’t do anything."

A memory of Sirius’ voice echoed in your mind. 

"No matter what you hear, you stay in your room and you wait for one of us to come to you."

You always did what you were told, no matter how much you ached to check on your brothers in moments like these. After all, as your brothers claimed, it would only hurt them more if they had to watch what happened to them happen to you, especially if it was just because you wanted to see if they were okay. 

You were the youngest, technically only by two minutes when it came to Regulus, but still, both of your older brothers were fiercely protective over you.

Another spell of silence settled over Grimmauld Place after your brother’s scream. The only noise you could hear now was your heart beating out of your chest. 

That’s what you listened to for twenty long minutes. Your heart rate maintained its rapid pace, as it always did until you saw one of your brothers in the aftermath of the assault. 

Apart from your trembling hands, you sat completely still, waiting and waiting for one of them to come. The longer it took, the more fear built up in your stomach. 

Finally, the sound of booming footsteps landed on your ears as someone barreled up the staircase. Two steps at a time, heavy, and fast. This step pattern was easily distinguished as Sirius’, and you finally stood up from your bed, staring at your door impatiently. 

Sirius burst into your room like a bullet escaping the barrel of a gun. In one swift motion, your brother hauled your empty trunk out from under your bed and dropped it on top. 

He unlatched it and tossed it open, “We’re leaving. For good. Pack only the important stuff.”  

“What happened?” You reached for your brother's arm to force his attention toward you. He hadn’t looked you in the eye once since entering your room. 

His clothes were completely disheveled. As you scanned every thread that was out of place, you noticed that his body was twitching every now and then. His hands trembled, and there was blood on his fingertips. Looking up at his face, you saw the source of blood—a wound hidden behind his hair. He had smeared away what blood had trickled down his forehead with his hands. 

“You need to sit down.” You worried he could have a concussion. 

Sirius took you by the shoulders and thrust you in the direction of your wardrobe. “What I need to do is find out where our parents hide the bloody floo powder. Pack.” 

Sirius’ tone was authoritative and his grave expression made your mouth run dry. Before you could utter words of agreement, he was gone. 

With a wave of your wand, your school books and supplies packed themselves. Meanwhile, you tore through your wardrobe, grabbing the essentials. You moved on quickly to grab whatever else you couldn’t live without: photographs of you and your brothers, letters of love that were hidden behind mirrors, gifted trinkets that you’ve grown attached to, and an ancient bracelet adorned with emeralds. 

As you clicked your trunk shut, Sirius appeared once again with a crystal jar under his left arm, which also balanced his own trunk. His wand was held defensively in his other hand. 

“Let’s go,” Sirius said flatly.

You followed him closely down the stairs to the drawing room. 

Sirius placed the crystal jar on the mantle of the fireplace. You glanced back in the direction from which you came.

“And Regulus?” You asked, wondering where your twin brother was. He would be joining you, wouldn’t he?

Sirius had an unreadable look on his face as he paused to answer you. Before he could, the shrill voice of your mother interrupted, “What do you think you are doing!?”

Sirius grabbed you forcefully by the arms and shoved you into the fireplace. Your right elbow scraped across the brick like chalk as Sirius was acting too fast to be careful. 

“Don’t you dare!” your mother bellowed and began casting hexes straight at you and your brother, aiming to maim. Luckily, Sirius was quite skilled with protego after all these years. 

In between casting protection spells, Sirius shoved his hand into the crystal jar and collected a heap of floo powder. He thrust the soft, emerald powder into your palm. “Go to the Potters! I’ll be right behind you.”

As always, you did what your brother told you to. In a flash, you were stumbling into the cozy living room of the Potter's house in Godric’s Hollow. 

Your eyes and mouth were filled with soot, and you nearly tripped on the carpet as you stumbled blindly away from the fireplace. Instead of falling, you ran right into something solid. Calloused hands landed on your upper arms. You blinked soot from your eyes to meet the gaze of James Potter. 

“What’s happened?” His tone was laced with worry as he scanned your body for injuries. He gently picked up your right arm, inspecting the scuffed, bleeding skin. He winced as if the injury was his own. 

You didn't answer. Instead, you turned to watch the fireplace. Feelings of anxiety swirled in the pit of your stomach as you waited for your brother. You thanked Merlin when he arrived just a few moments later. 

He was coughing when he stepped in and fell to the ground almost immediately.

James regarded you briefly, holding his hands out to you as if to say “hold on” before leaving your side. He rushed to his best friend and yelled for his parents as he tried to determine the problem. Sirius’ skin began to swell and turn sickly shades of red. You recognized this as the effects of your mother’s stinging jinx. 

James’ parents rushed into the room with panic written across their faces. They were in their nightwear and had their wands at the ready to defend their boy from any trouble he might be in. As they took in the scene in front of them, they discarded their wands and quickly came to yours and your brother’s rescue. 

Fleamont Potter offered to take you to a guest room, insisting that you shouldn’t see your brother like this. You refused, wanting to stay with Sirius as Euphemia worked quickly to counteract the stinging jinx. Fleamont, like James, couldn’t hide the worry from his face as you settled in on the couch. 

Your eyes were trained on your brother, but you began to feel sick watching him in all that pain. You shifted your gaze to the empty fireplace and wondered if Regulus would be the next to come through. You tried to shut out your other brother’s groans and cries as you stared desperately into the fireplace. 

With a mix of Euphemia’s healing spells and the application of some herby poultice that was perviously prepared by Fleamont, Sirius’ swelling subsided and his groans turned into occasional whimpers. 

You were able to stomach looking at Sirius again, but your face still showed levels of worry and unease. 

Almost as soon as your eyes fluttered back to Sirius, James took notice of your worry. Confident in his mother's ability to tend to any other injuries Sirius may have, he to came you. 

He moved slowly, as if approaching a frightened cat. You didn’t notice him until he spoke.

“Y/N,” He called gently, his voice barely louder than a whisper, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You tore your gaze away from your older brother to look into the young Potters’ eyes.

“I don’t know why Regulus isn’t here,” you told James. You just wanted someone else to share this concern with. 

James chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Well… when Sirius is better, we’ll find out what he knows about that. Okay?”

Your lower lip trembled as you choked out, “I’m scared for him.”

James offered a sad smile, “I know. We’ll find out as soon as we can, alright? But all we can do for now is make sure you and Sirius are okay. Let me take care of you, yeah?” 

You let your gaze drift away from James and back to your brother once again. He seemed to be in good hands with Euphemia and now Fleamont. 

You nodded, giving James the okay. He had a gentle hold on your upper arm as he led you up off the couch. You followed him through his house until he guided you into the bathroom and sat you down on the lid of the toilet. 

James sifted through the bathroom cabinets until he pulled out a yellowing pouch, stained with age, and a washcloth which he saturated with warm water. 

James held out a hand toward you. “Can I take care of that elbow, m’dear.”

You placed your forearm in James’ palm while his other hand got to work on cleaning your cut skin. As gentle as James was being, you winced anyway. Seeming fearful of causing you more pain, James managed to be even gentler.

Once satisfied, James lost the washcloth and dipped his hand into the pouch that he recovered from the cabinet. The contents he pulled out look considerably fresher than the bag itself, thankfully. 

First, he took out bandages, followed by a clear jar that contained a sticky looking yellow jelly. He scooped up a generous amount on his pointer finger and applied it to your skin. 

As he worked, he kept stealing glances at you, building up the courage to ask what all the Potter’s were surely wondering that night. He decided to bite the bullet, “Do you think you can tell me what happened?”

You explained all that you knew, detailing the events from the moment you heard your brother’s scream to the moment you fell into James’ arms. 

“Don’t know what they did to make him scream like that.” You shuddered at the possibilities. 

James was applying a bandage to you now. “‘S okay. He’s doing better now. My parents probably have him all tucked in bed and fast asleep.” 

James endearingly tapped your nose, “Let’s do the same for you, yeah?”

“I wanna talk to Sirius,” you protested. 

“Like I said, my parents probably have him in bed by now. Come on, I promise we’ll get all your questions answered first thing in the morning.”

You sighed but agreed. James led you through his house once again: up the stairs, down the hall, and through the third door on the left. It was a small room with just a bed, a desk, and a wardrobe. 

“Just a moment,” James said and disappeared into the hall. Seconds later, he was back with a Gryffindor t-shirt and some sweats. “Here, you can wear these. I’ll bring your trunk up in the morning.” 

James dipped out of the room once again to give you privacy to change. As you removed your shirt, you noticed bloody fingerprints on the shoulder and sleeves where Sirius had held onto you. You threw the shirt into the bin under the desk. 

Once dressed in James’ loaner clothing, you sat on the bed. Light knocks peppered the door and you called for, presumably, James to come in. James entered with a glass of water in hand. 

“Thank you,” you murmured, taking a few sips from the glass before handing it back. He placed it on the desk for you. 

James then helped you settle into the flowery, purple sheets, “Comfy?” 

You nodded up at him. 

“I’m, uh, just across the hall, alright?” James turned to leave. He stopped by the light switch and looked back at you. 

He took notice of your expression, which brought a frown to his lips. Your eyebrows were drawn in as you stared straight ahead at the wall and the corners of your mouth were turned down slightly. You barely even blinked as James studied the far away look in your eyes. 

James wanted to be by your side. He wanted to kiss you and hug you and tell you everything would be alright. But something about kissing you while your brother, his best friend, lay injured and clueless down the hall made him feel guilty. 

James sighed and flicked off the light. The door was pushed into its frame, but James hadn’t left the room. Instead, he approached the bed and sat on the edge of it by your feet. You pushed yourself up on your elbows to look at him curiously. 

“Gonna keep you company till you fall asleep, that okay?” James whispered an explanation. 

You’re not sure if he could see your nod in the dark, but you were too tired to use your voice. 

You sank back into the pillow and allowed your eyes to shut. A light pressure could be felt on your calf. James had rested his hand there, over the blanket. He slowly dragged his hand up and down, and you let his stroke lull you to sleep. 

The last thing you heard before drifting off into a dream was a quiet whisper from James' lips, "'M gonna keep you safe here."

next part

[reeteshblog28]

Title: The Intelligence and Loyalty of a Pet Dog

Suresh and Bholu went for a walk every morning near the river which was near the village. One day, while they were walking along the river, Suresh slipped and fell into the river. Suresh did not know how to swim and started shouting for help. Bholu saw that Suresh was drowning and immediately jumped into the river.Read All

[leonstoenailunderhisbed]

I don’t think people understand how smart Leon actually is. That man had high marks from the police academy, hence why Chief Irons (in the orientation letter Leon has in RE2R) says that his grades are commendable and that R.P.D. are proud to have him on the force.

This got me thinking a lot because at first I thought being a police officer didn’t take much given that anyone today can be in the force.

But that wasn’t the case in 1998.

I did a little research because I thought it would be interesting to see just what Leon had to go through to become a police officer.

Back in the 90s, cellphones and modern technology didn’t exist such as DNA identification and body cams/car cams. This definitely made the job a bit harder than it is today because there was a need for more evidence to be collected and the overuse of your brain. Nowadays, technology is an important factor in the police force and almost everything is done by the computer now.

So let’s picture this: It’s the late 90s right before he got sent to Raccoon City. He’s in the academy and he has to go through training. Especially with weapons since most academies switched from revolvers to semi-auto guns (already something a bit modern for that time).

For those who’ve played the game, when you go into the Shooting Range room, you can clearly see just how old the room is compared to modern shooting ranges. Not only is the design of the target paper old, it’s also very simplistic compared to today’s (in 2024, most markings have numbers and more lines for accuracy than back in the day).

This meant that Leon had to train a good amount of time to perfect his aim. It also meant that he had to go through driving training—which was mostly Emergency Vehicle Operations Courses (EVOC: safe and defensive driving for cops in other words)

I’d like to think that his determination (when he told Ada that the reason he joined the force was for people like Emma and Gunshop owner) really helped him advance through his academic route of the training and I’d like to believe that he go high scores because of that.

The 90s were a pivotal time for new policies to be introduced in police academies. When Leon was a kid, presumably during the 80s, he probably saw just how different it was back then than it is now (in 1998) lots of “new” technology were introduced to him when he first started the training. And he probably had to adapt quickly to the technologies and new techniques.

Leon is quick on his feet, he grasps a lot of things and I’m tired of people making him out to be as some dumb blonde with muscles. He’s very smart and we see that throughout the games and films.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he was GT when he grew up.

EDIT: MB YALL😭 GT is a program for students K-12 where they’re put in advanced classes like AP or IB. It stands for Gifted and Talented (something like the Magnet Program in some schools in the US)

[puck-luck]

Can you do Jack Hughes clubs and 12

warnings: LOTS of over the clothes stuff, bj, dry humping, comparison of sexual desires to intrusive thoughts (because i could think of no other comparison and that's how it felt to come up with this idea: specifically reader... starts to fuck herself on jack's tip while his boxers are still on), praise, sub!frat!jack, result of a bet, ongoing unlabeled relationship core

wc: 1,146

The bet goes like this: “Whoever gets a better grade on the final gets to handcuff the loser to the bed and do whatever they want (within reason).”

A stakes were completely fair. You and Jack had studied together, you’d gone over every bit of homework together, you’d done almost every project together– except for the one that had made Jack all jealous and finally admit that he wanted to hook up exclusively. Since you had prepared for the exam together, everything was left up to fate. Whoever got the better grade truly deserved it.

You’d opened your computers together to check grades when one of your other friends in the class texted and said they were in. Jack had looked at his grade and grinned, feeling confident. Little did he know, you felt more confident. 

“90,” Jack said.

You smiled wide and leaned in close. “93.”

That’s how you got here. That’s how Jack ended up handcuffed on his own bed, clad only in his loose boxers, which do nothing to hide how hard you’ve rendered him. 

You’re leaving open-mouthed kisses on his clothed cock, determined to make the front of his boxers entirely wet before you free him and get his dick inside of you. You want to tease him, dangling his favorite things right in front of him– his favorite things being your mouth and your cunt. It’s just an additional shame that Jack’s hands are tied, so he can’t touch your tits.

You’re on stage one, licking his member and getting spit all over him. Jack’s moaning whenever you suck the skin of his shaft, the vibrations from your mouth traveling through his clothes and causing them to rub against his skin. 

You get Jack whining before you move onto stage two.

“So desperate, baby,” you tease as you unclasp your bra and free your tits. You hook your fingers in the band of your panties and push them down. “Does it turn you on? To be tied up like this? To be the boy that I fuck to get myself off?”

Jack’s eyes are dark, tracing your every move. 

You prompt him again. “Does it?”

He starts to nod. “Yeah,” he says. His eyes dart across your features and across the expanse of your, now naked, body. “So much. I want you so bad.”

A grin creeps across your face. “Good boy,” you praise lowly, crawling up Jack’s body and giving him a kiss before you sit back on his hard-on. Those two words have made their way into your everyday vernacular ever since Jack needed comforting that one day not too long ago– you never want him to forget how good he is. 

Once you make contact with his member, Jack pushes his hips up. He grinds his cock against you by accident, his tip brushing against your wet hole and making you jolt. 

“Behave,” you scold, placing your palm flat on his stomach and narrowing your eyes at him. “This is about what I want to do, Jack.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes. His bottom lip looks a little more red and a little plumper than usual. He must have been biting it while you drooled all over his length.

You grind down on his bulge, situating his cock so that it runs parallel with your slit. You’re able to make contact with every part of him, feeling the ridge of his tip under your clit and the vein of his shaft– it could just be the seam of his boxers– against your entrance. A shaky gasp leaves your mouth as you roll your hips, alternating between quick and slow passes. You’re teasing yourself, just like you’re teasing Jack, but you’re not ashamed about the whimpers and moans that are falling from your lips.

Jack, however, seems to be trying to keep his own noises under wraps. He doesn’t seem to want to reveal just how affected he is by your touch and your sounds. His fingers are wrapped around the chain of the handcuffs, knuckles turning white as he stares up at you. His cheeks have turned red and you know that he’s close to breaking– close to begging for more.

Which means that it’s time to move to phase three– you’ll remove his boxers and keep his cock in the same spot, parallel with your pussy, and continue to grind against his bare skin until he’s seconds from shooting off.

You rise up on your knees, hovering above Jack’s lap. You can’t help but tease him a little more: “Do you want to take these off, or should I do it for you?” You ask, blinking at Jack with doe eyes. Then, you laugh and tap your head. “Oh, gosh, I’m such a ditz. I totally forgot you’re all tied up. Sorry, J.”

Jack’s hips buck up again at the mention of his bondage– an involuntary response that you file away for later. Again, his tip brushes your entrance, and your lips part at the contact. You look down at his boxers, which are completely messy with your slick and spit. There’s also a pearly bead of precum leaking from Jack’s tip, soaking through the fabric.

You’re not sure where the idea comes from. It seems to appear out of nowhere, filling your mind like an intrusive thought. You swallow, throat tight, then lower yourself down to resume your grinding against his member.

“Or should I take them off at all,” you say, voice feeling far away. You know you’re talking quietly and carefully, not sure if what you’re thinking is– too far. You reach behind yourself and hold the base of Jack’s cock, causing it to stand away from his body. 

Jack’s eyes are flying between your eyes and your lips, breaths falling from his lips in uneven pants. The blues are turning a bit glassy, but they’re rapt on you. 

You start to trace his tip across your slit, teasing yourself. “I wonder what it would feel like if…” You trail off, your own eyes leaving Jack’s and finding his lips. You lean back against his tip, feeling it breach your hole slightly. The fabric is so wet that you barely feel a difference. “Does it feel different?” You ask, breath hitching. “Fuck, J, I want to– just the tip. Just to see what it feels like. Then I’ll–”

“Take the handcuffs off,” Jack chokes out. His eyes are wild. “Y/N, take ‘em off. I’m going to fucking come inside you through my fucking boxers and I am not doing that without getting my hands on you–”

You cut off his rambling by shoving your hand under the pillow to the right of his head and feeling around for the key. He’s– he’s actually going to let you try it– the least you can do is take off the handcuffs and let him touch you, too.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hogwarts Classes (Part 1)

@wisteria-lodge reminded me recently of my notes regarding Hogwarts classes schedule, so I decided to take a stab at it again. The reason I haven't made this post up until now is that I could not, for the life of me, make the schedule make sense. Like, I'd explain it a little later in this post, but for classes to run as they do in the books we have to assume that certain classrooms exist multiple times in the same spot and that all the teachers have time turners.

This post would have two main purposes:

Determine how students are divided into classes based on book evidence.

Determine the class load and homework load that Hogwarts students have (how many weekly classes do they have).

The final attempt at a schedule will come at part 2 if/when I ever make something coherent.

I also want to note that in my fic I will likely contradict some of the information I'm bringing up here since I have a fanon schedule for their classes that makes way more sense than the picture the books paint. So if you notice these discrepancies, that's on purpose.

All that being said, let's get into it:

Classes Division

Let's start with laying down some important baseline numbers:

Hogwarts has about 700 students.

So each year has about 100 students.

Each house per year has about 25 students.

There are 7 mandatory classes, all students of all houses take until O.W.Ls (Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, History, Astronomy)

And each student takes 2 or more electives until O.W.Ls (Care / Divination / Muggle Studies / Ancient Runes / Arithmancy -> 5 electives in all).

Flying class only for first years.

Grade distribution for OWLs goes something like this:

(this is relevant for later discussion of NEWT classes. This table was made for this post, but adjusted to fit my current estimate of the Hogwarts population)

Now, as we only have 12 professors (13 if we count Madam Hooch), I always operated under the assumption classes at Hogwarts are taught to at least 2 houses of students per year, which will give us classes of 50 students (25 *2 = 50). That being said, reading the books, this doesn't appear to be the case for all classes.

When Gryffindor has a class with Slytherin, I can always tell since Harry is going to mention Draco at some point, but when it comes to other houses it's harder to tell, but I collected everything I could find here.

Joint Classes (pre-O.W.Ls)

1. Flying - Gryffindor & Slytherin (I assume Hufflepuff & Ravenclaw have this class together)

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. (PS)

(Whether the 20 brooms refer to the unmanned brooms for 20 Gryffindors arriving or if JKR can't decide how large a year at Hogwarts is is anybody's guess. Someone needed to tell her there can't be 10 students in Harry's year in Gryffindor and hundreds of students in Hogwarts)

This line makes it clear it's only Gryffindor and Slytherins first years flying together.

2. Potions - Gryffindor & Slytherin (I assume Hufflepuff & Ravenclaw have this class together)

“Double Potions with the Slytherins,” said Ron.  (PS)

And it's clear potions continues in this way in later years:

Double Potions was always a horrible experience, but these days it was nothing short of torture. Being shut in a dungeon for an hour and a half with Snape and the Slytherins (GoF)

(I do want to note "double potions" is an hour and a half long, making a "regular potions" 45 minutes long)

As Harry refers to the joint classes like this:

Still, first-year Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins (PS)

It appears it really is all first-year Gryffindors and all first-years Slytherins sharing these classes. I assume all joint classes work this way.

3. Care of Magical Creatures - Gryffindor & Slytherin (I assume Hufflepuff & Ravenclaw have this class together)

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had taken over Buckbeak. He had bowed to Malfoy, who was now patting his beak, looking disdainful. (PoA)

And the one line mentioning Theo cause I have to 💖:

There were only two other people who seemed to be able to see them: a stringy Slytherin boy standing just behind Goyle was watching the horse eating with an expression of great distaste on his face, and Neville, whose eyes were following the swishing progress of the long black tail. (OotP)

4. Herbology - Gryffindor & Hufflepuff (I assume Slytherin & Ravenclaw have this class together)

Ernie Macmillan asked Harry quite politely to pass a bucket of leaping toadstools in Herbology one day (CoS)

And again later in the series:

Susan Bones, who had an uncle, aunt, and cousins who had all died at the hands of one of the ten, said miserably during Herbology that she now had a good idea what it felt like to be Harry. (OotP)

5. Astronomy - Gryffindor & Hufflepuff (I assume Slytherin & Ravenclaw have this class together)

“It’s very hard to Stun a giant, they’re like trolls, really tough... But poor Professor McGonagall... Four Stunners straight in the chest, and she’s not exactly young, is she?”

“Dreadful, dreadful,” said Ernie, shaking his head pompously. “Well, I’m off to bed... ’Night, all ...”

(OotP) - Astronomy Practical Exam

It's possible the classes are divided differently for the exam, but the fact you have both Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors there means there are enough telescopes for all of them. We also know the Slytherins aren't there as Harry would've mentioned Draco chuckling at McGonagall getting stunned or something. So I think it's a fair conclusion Gryffindor and Hufflepuff share Astronomy class.

Likely joint Classes (pre-O.W.Ls)

6. Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Muggle studies

Likely joining classes like Care (Gryffindor & Slytherin and Hufflepuff & Ravenclaw). The fact Hermione knows Theo when Ron and Harry don't suggests she shares a class with him, Ron and Harry don't:

He saw them with their heads together later that afternoon in the library, together with a weedy-looking boy Hermione whispered was called Theodore Nott. (OotP)

7. Divination

Divination classes only ever mention Gryffindor students in the class, my guess is that this elective, too, is joint with Slytherin, but that no Slytherins in Harry's year take Divination.

Solo or Unknown Classes (pre-O.W.Ls)

8. DADA - Solo

It seems Gryffindor studies Defence alone. In the two scenes where you'd most expect students from outside of Gryffindor to be mentioned if they are present, don't mention them:

In PoA, during the Boggart lesson, only Gryffindor students face the Boggart.

In OotP, during the first class with Umbridge, only Gryffindor students speak up. Ravenclaws & Hufflepuffs would've spoken up and if Malfoy was there, we would know.

9. Charms

Only Gryffindors are ever mentioned in this class, but since Charms lessons are almost never written out, it's possible they are shared with either Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff.

Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Harry’s partner was Seamus Finnigan (PS)

10. History of Magic - Solo

In CoS, in the class Hermione brings up the Chamber of Secrets, only Gryffindors ask questions:

“But, sir,” said Seamus Finnigan, “if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin’s true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?” “Nonsense, O’Flaherty,” said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. “If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven’t found the thing —” “But, Professor,” piped up Parvati Patil, “you’d probably have to use Dark Magic to open it —” “Just because a wizard doesn’t use Dark Magic doesn’t mean he can’t, Miss Pennyfeather,” snapped Professor Binns. “I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore —” “But maybe you’ve got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn’t —” began Dean Thomas, but Professor Binns had had enough. (CoS)

If other houses were there, they would've asked something. Like with Charms though, I consider it possible Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw are there and just not saying anything, though, unlikely.

11. Transfiguration - Solo

Harry overheard him telling Professor McGonagall so while the Gryffindors were lining up for Transfiguration. (CoS)

Only Gryffindors waiting outside the class. And again in PoA:

They had Transfiguration next. Harry, who had resolved to ask Professor McGonagall after the lesson whether he could go into Hogsmeade with the rest, joined the line outside the class trying to decide how he was going to argue his case. He was distracted, however, by a disturbance at the front of the line. Lavender Brown seemed to be crying. Parvati had her arm around her and was explaining something to Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were looking very serious. (PoA)

Sumamry

Most classes are likely paired for two houses.

Flying, Potions, and all electives are shared by Slytherin & Gryffindor and likely Ravenclaw & Hufflepuff.

Herbology and Astronony are shared by Hufflepuff & Gryffindor and likely Slytherin & Ravenclaw.

Charms might be shared as well. I assume Gryffindor shares it with Hufflepuff as it seems Harry knows Hufflepuffs better than Ravenclaws:

Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, and a Hufflepuff girl with a long plait down her back whose name Harry did not know [Susan]; three Ravenclaw boys he was pretty sure were called Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner, and Terry Boot (OotP)

Transfiguration, DADA, and History of Magic seem to be taught to each house separately in classes of 25.

Post-O.W.Ls, how classes are organized changes becouse fewer students are taking each class, allowing teachers to merge classes.

Joint Classes (post-O.W.Ls)

1. Potions - All Houses

When they arrived in the corridor they saw that there were only a dozen people progressing to N.E.W.T. level. Crabbe and Goyle had evidently failed to achieve the required O.W.L. grade, but four Slytherins had made it through, including Malfoy. Four Ravenclaws were there, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan, whom Harry liked despite his rather pompous manner. (HBP)

2. Herbology - Still shared Gryffindor & Hufflepuff and Slytherin & Ravenclaw

There had been a horrible incident the day before, when Hannah Abbott had been taken out of Herbology to be told her mother had been found dead. They had not seen Hannah since. (HBP)

Herbology is considered a "softer" subject, and not many fail, which could be why classes remained in their former sizes.

3. DADA - Gryffindor & Slytherin (I assume Hufflepuff & Ravenclaw have this class together)

The class is shared with Slytherin:

“An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six,” said Snape dismissively (over in the corner, Malfoy sniggered) (HBP)

And apparently no other house:

Although Snape did not know it, Harry had taught at least half the class (everyone who had been a member of the D.A.) how to perform a Shield Charm the previous year. None of them had ever cast the charm without speaking, however. […] Behind Snape, however, Ron, Dean, and Seamus grinned appreciatively (HBP)

Likely joint Classes (post-O.W.Ls)

4. All Electives (Divination, Care, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Muggle Studies)

I assume they are shared by all houses like Potions since many students likely drop them after O.W.Ls like Harry and Ron (and many of them like Divination didn't have many students to begin with).

5. History of Magic - Everyone

This is a subject I also assume N.E.W.T students share since most students likely drop it, so the class should be small enough.

6. Astronony

Couldn't find anything, but i assume it's joint by at least two houses (like pre 5th year).

Solo or Unknown Classes (post-O.W.Ls)

7. Transfiguration - Solo

“— and what is more,” said Professor McGonagall, with an air of awful finality, “Mr. Malfoy was not in Hogsmeade today.” Harry gaped at her, deflating. “How do you know, Professor?” “Because he was doing detention with me. He has now failed to complete his Transfiguration homework twice in a row. So, thank you for telling me your suspicions, Potter,” (HBP)

In the above quote it appears Harry didn't know Draco didn't submit his Transfiguration homework multiple times. Since HBP is the height of his Malfoy obsession, we can be assured from this that Slytherin isn't studying Transfiguration with Gryffindor.

Ron retaliated by doing a cruel but accurate impression of Hermione jumping up and down in her seat every time Professor McGonagall asked a question, which Lavender and Parvati found deeply amusing and which reduced Hermione to the verge of tears again. (HBP)

Again, only Gryffindors are mentioned to be in Transfiguration classes, though it's possible they are shared with Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, if unlikely.

I take this to mean Transfiguration is a very popular subject to take N.E.W.Ts in, that looks good on your resume, so most students stick with it.

8. Charms

Nothing is mentioned (that I could find), but as it's seen as a "soft" subject like herbology, I assume the class size is similar and it's two houses sharing these classes.

Sumamry

N.E.W.T classes are emptier, and therefore more subjects are shared by all houses.

Potions, History, and all electives are shared by all houses.

Herbology is still shared by Gryffindor & Hufflepuff and Slytherin & Ravenclaw. (Astronomy likley as well)

Charms is probably also shared by more than one house.

DADAs N.E.W.T classes are now shared by Gryffindor & Slytherin and Hufflepuff & Ravenclaw.

Transfiguration (likely the most popular N.E.W.T subject) is still a single house class.

Weekly Workload

As we mentioned, we have 7 mandatory subjects and 5 elective ones (flying doesn't count). Each subject has one professor, leaving us with 12 professors overall, one per subject. (and one of the worst student: teacher's ratios I've ever witnessed)

The news about his shouting match with Umbridge seemed to have traveled exceptionally fast even by Hogwarts standards. [...] The following day dawned just as leaden and rainy as the previous one. [...] Double Charms was succeeded by double Transfiguration

(OotP) - The day after the first lesson with Umbridge, a.k.a Tuesday.

It was another bad day for Harry; he was one of the worst in Transfiguration, not having practiced Vanishing Spells at all. He had to give up his lunch hour to complete the picture of the bowtruckle, and meanwhile, Professors McGonagall, Grubbly-Plank, and Sinistra gave them yet more homework

(OotP) - Transfiguration on a day without Charms sometime later in the week.

So, at least 3 Transfiguration classes in a week.

“History of Magic, double Potions, Divination, and double Defense Against the Dark Arts . . . Binns, Snape, Trelawney, and that Umbridge woman all in one day! [...] “Look what we’ve got today,” said Ron grumpily, shoving his schedule under Fred’s nose. “That’s the worst Monday I’ve ever seen.”

(OotP) - Double Potions on Monday

said Snape. “Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday.”

(OotP) - Another Potions class on Thursday

Meaning there are also at least 3 weekly Potions lessons.

And in PS:

Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology (PS)

Harry outright says there are 3 Herbology classes.

So, for the rest of the calculations I will use the assumption they have 3 weekly classes in each subject (except Flying, but I don't really count it anyways). I will be counting Astronomy, since I assume not all Astronomy classes are midnight observation classes:

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets (PS)

Harry mentions a study session of the night sky on Wednesday, and learn the names and movements separately, so I assume there is 1 midnight class and 2 regular lecture classes. (They repeatedly fill in star charts, a cold, dark, tall tower is great for stargazing, not so great for filling up charts).

For Students before O.W.Ls, we have 5 years of students, each with various class divisions:

Potions, Elective 1, Elective 2, Herbology, Charms, and Astronomy - shared by 2 houses -> 36 weekly classes per year.

Transfiguration, DADA, History - solo classes -> 36 weekly classes per year.

So, all students between years 1-5 (together) are taught 360 classes a week or 270 hours.

Then in years 6-7:

Potions, History, Elective 1, Elective 2 - shared by all houses -> 12 weekly classes per year.

Herbology, DADA, Charms, Astronomy - shared by two houses -> 24 weekly classes per year.

Transfiguration - solo class -> 24 weekly classes per year.

So that adds another 60 weekly class (45 hours) these poor professors need to teach.

We have 12 professors teaching (together) 420 classes a week (with McGonagall teaching more than any other teacher). Which, I don't think makes sense mathematically. Like, McGonagall would have to teach 84 classes a week (in the same classrooms) which means she teaches 16.8 classes every day even though school doesn't continue into the afternoon. Somehow. Not going into how all professors have time turners or clones of their classrooms. I don't want to touch that now.

Now, if each class only happens 3 times a week (it's already an unreasonable workload on the professors, and that's the minimal number according to the books), each student then (before year 6th when many drop subjects left and right) will have 27 weekly classes -> 5.4 daily classes they need to get to. (Or 20.25 hours a week, 4.05 hours a day).

As for how much homework they have to complete and how much of their week is taken up by schoolwork:

9 classes, let's say they get essays in 8 (Binns doesn't give homework and I'm counting for students who take electives that do give out homework).

A4 paper is 11.69 inches long and includes roughly 400 words (assuming average writing size). That means that a "2 feet" essay would be roughly 800 words. (most of their assignments are less than 2 feet and most often are "1 foot of parchment", but I'm going for a worst case scenario).

10-12 words per minute is the average writing speed for 1st years (5th-6th grade. Study used us from 1995).

Each 2-foot essay will take 1 hour and 20 minutes, lets round it up to 2 hours, to complete (approximately).

We'll give them another 2 hours for research.

4 * 8 = 32 weekly homework hours.

So Harry and Ron's complaints about the homework load on weeks where every teacher assigns a footlong essay actually make sense. That could really accumulate to be quite a lot of work.

In this worst-case scenario of homework above (that might need more research time, depending on assignment) they will spend 20 hours in classes + 32 hours on homework = 52 hours a week on schoolwork.

So, this is the end of part 1 of this, not sure when/if I'll get to part 2. It really depends on if I could rangle the information to be coherent, which is hard to do when it's clear JKR only had notes regarding the schedule of Harry's class alone and no one else for each book — meaning the moment we try to apply this information school-wide, issues start to emerge and professors need to basically constantly be in more than one place at once. (Why aren't there more professors? That could have been such an easy solution!)

[leriexoxo]

ESCAPE 3

PART THREE

"I'm living the dream, somebody heard my wish"

pairing: Chan x reader x Hyunjin

tags: Smut, 18+ MDNI, m/m/f, slow burn, man on man action, (read to find out the rest lol)

word count: 2.2k

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

prev | next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter three

Hyunjin was getting home at around 1pm. Afternoon seminar be damned, you were strategizing- class wasn’t going to get in the way.

You thought you could all get what you wanted, if you played your cards right.

At 12:50pm, you hopped up to sit at the kitchen counter, your legs dangling above the floor. The door to the apartment sat directly in front of you, across the living room, a straight shot to the place you and Chan would be waiting, staged for Felix when he made it home.

You were gambling today -– mostly on Hyunjin, on what you thought he might want in this situation; but you were betting on yourself as well, on your ability to pull this shit off. It was one of your wilder stunts, you thought, but really, what was there to lose?

Worst case, it would too awkward to hook up with Hyunjin anymore after this –- and you’d hate that; but it wasn’t like the two of you were actually dating. You had the foresight to know you’d be sad for a couple weeks, but then you’d get over it.

Chan, you were a little more worried about, but after going over the details of your plan, he’d squared his shoulders and looked at you with a glint of determination in his eye.

“I want to do it,” he’d said. “Fuck it, anyway. Yearning is shit. I should bite the bullet.”

“You’re sure?” you’d asked.

In response, he’d extended his hand, and you’d shaken on it, firmly, like business partners. Not the sexiest thing you’ve ever done with a future lover, but whatever, you supposed.

Now there was a thrill burning in the pit of your stomach, and you were excited. Best case; this would be wonderful, possibly one of the most pleasurable nights of your life –- the stakes were too tempting not to at least try.

“If you wanna stop, just tell me,” you said, beckoning Chan towards your seat on the counter. “We can end this anytime.”

“I’ll finish what I started,” he murmured. “But thank you. Are you ready?”

You smirked.

“Yeah,” you said, reaching out to tug at his shirt until he was standing braced between your legs, facing you, away from the front door.

For a split second, you hovered, inches away from each other, his tank top fisted in your grip, his hands hovering just above the bare skin of your shoulders.

“You know you can touch me,” you said, meaning to be playful, reassuring; but your voice came out husky. You shivered. Abashedly you realized that besides being excited, you were nervous, too.

Gently, so gently, Chan raised his hands to cup the space where your head met your neck. Your hair bunched around his grip, and you were incredibly conscious of his breathing, which is slow; even and regular.

It was 12:55pm.

You parted your lips, and Chan’s eyes flickered down momentarily. He ran his thumb down the line of your jaw, so focused, like he was trying to memorize something.

You could feel the pulse in your neck, could smell his clean aftershave. You felt intoxicated, slightly, as Chan exhaled and his breath ghosted across your face.

“Oh,” he said, his expression still sharp; concentrated. You raised your eyebrows, your eyes heavy-lidded. You realized with a gorgeous, sinking feeling how much you loved the feeling of Chan’s hands around your neck.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. “This’ll be fun.”

Then Chan dipped his head and pressed his lips to yours.

And he felt so good, he was gentle at first, letting you relax into the kiss. You pressed your hands against his chest and felt the tension ease out of your shoulders. He pulled away, then leaned back in to nip at your bottom lip, and you didn’t try to hold back the little gasp it pulled out of you. He reacted to that, huffing out a breath, tangling his hand more securely in the hair at the nape of your neck.

Tentatively, gently, you rolled your tongue against his mouth, and – God- that made him gasp, which you decided was a sound you adored, and then he started to tug at your hair. He hitched a finger through your belt loop, pulling you close; he ran his hand up your side; the skin of your arms pricking with goosebumps at his touch.

When he pulled your hair hard enough to break your kiss, to tilt your chin back and bare your neck, you moaned his name –you knew exactly what you were doing – and in response, he swore loudly, burying his face in your neck. You flushed with pleasure over how rough he became, like he was slipping out of his own control.

He started to bruise you with his mouth, sucking dark hickeys onto the skin of your collarbone, your shoulder. Sighing, you licked the side of his neck, nipping at his ear, gliding your tongue over the sensitive skin of his earlobe. He grabbed at the backs of your knees, greedy, pulling you forward until you were pressed even harder against him, braced back against the table, and then he rolled his hips against you. The pressure between your legs made you gasp, the entire lower half of your body throbbing with need.

“God,” you breathed in his ear. “You’re so fucking hard, feels so good”

The moan that pulled out of him when you ground back was exquisite.

You stored away the fact that he had a praise kink for later, almost missing the sound of the lock turning in the door. But Chan noticed -– you felt him stiffen, freeze in place, and you realized what’s happening.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and pressed your mouth to the shell of his ear.

“Don’t stop now,” you whispered. “Please.”

You pulled him back, and your eyes met – you winked- and then he was kissing you again, his hands running up your body and pulling your legs to wrap around his waist, his mouth on your neck, his back to the door.

It’s hot that he trusts me this much, you thought to yourself. You kept one hand in his hair, the other arm looped around his back. You had a perfect view of Hyunjin as he walked through the entrance, throwing down his keys, slinging off his backpack and looking up to see-

Wait, what the fuck is he looking at right now?

You trained your eyes on his expression immediately watching as his face twisted through a rapid set of emotions.

First, surprise.

Next, an indignant, brief anger –- you almost gave up, then, as his hands clenched into fists, afraid he’ll leap forward and rip the two of you apart.

But his face changed again, almost immediately, into a glassy shock of want. He was watching you both silently, and he looked confused, but he also looked –- well. He looked the way he looked when you were alone together, while you stripped off your clothes piece by piece as he watched from the bed.

He looked hungry. You felt a perfect lurch in the pit of your stomach.

You’d won the bet.

Slowly you reached your free arm out, locking eyes with Hyunjin in the process. His mouth opened, eyes narrowing, like he was about to ask you a question –okay, maybe a lot of questions – but you crooked a finger at him wordlessly.

Come here. You beckoned.

Fuck, it was delicious, how he obeyed, walking towards you both like he was in a trance. Chan still had his face buried in your neck, lost in the feeling of your hand tugging at his hair, of your legs wrapped around his waist; but he pulled away to look back at what was happening.

“Hyune,” he rasped. “I -–”

“Shh,” you said, and you and Hyunjin realized who was in charge of the situation at about the same time, as Chan snapped his mouth closed, going still and silent.

“Hyunjin,” you say, pushing Chan back, gently -he was panting– and hopping down from your seat on the counter. Hyunjin was close, a step towards him was all it took to close the distance between the two of you.

“I,” he started, then swallowed, licking his lips. “I should be kicking you out right now.”

You were much shorter than he was, and he used his height to glower down at you, trying to be menacing.

It wasn’t working at all.

“I don’t think you wanna, though,” you said, wrinkling your nose.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.

You had never seen him act this upset before, but you grabbed one of the strings on his hoodie and tugged, languid. You were not particularly worried, even though he was mad -– it was standard practice in the more intimate areas of your situationship for you to be what could only be described as a fucking brat. If he wanted things to really stop, there was a safe word he knew. But he hadn’t used it.

The worse you behaved before you fucked, you thought assuredly to yourself, the more Hyunjin liked it, and the harder he took it out on you later. None of this was outside that realm, not yet.

Besides, you knew what he wanted. It was all over his face, radiating off his body like heat.

“About to be fucking your roommate, what’s it look like?,” you said brattily. “Want in?”

Hyunjin flushed, his brown eyes glittering as they danced from your face to Chan’s.

“What– you. You mean- wait. Chan, you-”

Chan straightened, adjusting himself as best he could in his disheveled state.

“Invitation’s open if you’ll have me, Hyune,” he announced, and you cringed at the gracelessness of his backhanded proposition. Maybe he really was kind of a dork.

Hyunjin’s face went through its little cycle of emotions again, this time faster. It settled on a bemused, slightly hysterical look of acceptance.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

He turned around, took a few steps forward, then whirled back to face you both. You were silent, eyebrows raised. Waiting.

After a brief pause, Hyunjin took a breath, then clapped his hands together once.

“Okay,” he repeated. You kept your eyes trained on him, but wished you could steal a glance at Chan, who you were sure had a priceless expression on his face.

“I’ve received a lot of new information in the past minute, but I’m done processing it now,” said Hyunjin matter-of-factly. “This isn’t how I imagined my afternoon would look. Nor is this how I imagined we’d get to this particular point as a trio.”

“As a -–” Chan choked out. “As a trio? You’re saying you’ve thought about this before...”

“Well duh. Have you seen yourself?,” snapped Hyunjin, cutting him off. He pointed a finger at you accusingly. “You came up with this?”

You smirked and shrugged your shoulders. “Guilty,” you said.

“Huh,” Hyunjin huffed, rocking back on his heels. “Always thought I’d be the one to initiate.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and cocked your hip to the side.

“You were taking too long,” you said petulantly. “I have to do, like, everything myself. You don’t always have to be in control. In fact, I know sometimes you like it when –”

“I’m not complaining,” Hyunjin said.

“Almost sounded like you were,” you said. “Can I get a thank-you, even–”

“No,” he snapped, stepping forward. “I’m not gonna thank you for trying to fuck my roommate -–”

“You were thinking about fucking your roommate –-”

“Thank you,” Chan interrupted.

Both you and Hyunjin went abruptly silent and turned to face him.

“Jesus. Forgot you were there for a second, man,” Hyunjin said.

“Don’t be rude,” you said, but you were grinning. The worry you felt only minutes earlier had evaporated into a thrumming excitement, a thrill radiating from your solar plexus and out to the tips of your limbs. This was fun.

You reached out and grabbed Chan’s hand, lacing your fingers with his, still facing Hyunjin.

“C’mon,” you said. “Wanna take this elsewhere?”

Hyunjin stared. You reveled in the speechless expression of wonder dancing across his features.

“What?” you asked. “Sorry, want me to spell it out? Wanna go to your bedroom with me and Chan to f–”

“I didn’t really think you’d want to,” Hyunjin said in a timid voice. “Do this, I mean. With me.”

He looked over at Chan.

“You either,” he added.

You paused, taking in the fact that he was being sincere. You were surprised when it was Chan who spoke up first.

“I think… the three of us… it would be nice,” he said tamely. Then, as if realizing how small he sounded, he lifted his head, squaring his jaw.

“I-I want you both,” he said more firmly. “It’s excessive, I know. But I… I wanna be excessive, for once.”

You looked pointedly at Hyunjin.

“Yeah, and like duh; I’m a little bit of a slut,” you added cheekily. “So…”

Hyunjin broke into a pretty smile, it spread across his face like a sunbeam. His smile always made you soft, so you let him sweep you up in his arms, relaxing as he carried you effortlessly to his room, Chan trailing eagerly behind him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: we're getting to the good part guys. just a little disclaimer, this fic contains some hyunchan action, minors do not interact, and if you don't like it just skip juseyo!

And to the readers who actually enjoy my shenanigans, i love you! leave a like and REBLOG!!

[saintrosalyn]

MASTERLIST

A list of all my works and WIPs.

Most of the content I write is on the darker side, 18+ MDNI. If you have any questions (or just wanna chat) feel free to ask :)

Updated as of: 12/23/24

___

FICS

Jailbird (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader)

Ghost becomes pen pals with an inmate before deciding that he wants to adopt his little jailbird.

Bird Dog - Jailbird Part Two (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader)

Simon’s determined to retrieve his jailbird.

Three's a Crowd - Jailbird Part Three WIP (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader x John Price)

John decides that Simon needs help training his new pet.

Toy Soldier WIP (WIP title) (Soap x Reader)

Johnny becomes determined to take his favorite stripper home.

___

Thoughts and Ideas

John Price fumbled his ex-wife

Original thought for Jailbird fic

___

A little about me:

I'm in college and have a part-time job but have a tendency to want to do anything but what I actually should be doing (hence starting posting here when I was knee deep in finals lmao). I've taken creative writing all throughout high school and a few classes in college. I only just recently started writing fanfic as warm-ups and when I have writer's block for my original content so bare with me.

My current obsessions are COD, Arcane, The Last of Us, and Red Dead Redemption 2.

At the moment I only plan on writing for the 141 but that might change if inspiration strikes (or if I run out of Sevika fanfics and have to start making them myself)

Enjoy <3

[ynsvnte]

Mr. Yang, Is that you?: Masterlist

Synopsis: You were playing Roblox until you started having beef with one player that goes by the name “mryangslays193” determined to beat the player in the game. What happens if you go to class and find out it’s your crush Yang Jungwon who is the owner of the account ..?

Pairing: crush!jungwon x fem!reader

Featuring: Sunoo & Niki, Zb1 Gyuvin, kep1er youngeun, weeekly jaehee, IVE Liz.

Genre: classmates to friends to lovers, crack, fluff, angst, Roblox, smau, college au

Warnings: swearing, mean jokes, teasing, kms/kys jokes, individual warnings will be added.

Status: completed

Started: March 7 Ended: June 6

Taglist: Closed

Notes: hey… 😏 Roblox theme bc Roblox 4 life. Umm I just finished my last smau that took 3 MONTHSSSS (shouldn’t have) ummm I excited where this one goes and I hope it doesn’t take long like ttsd 🙄 written chapters like usual

Profiles: BADDIES 🤺 , SHEva love club, privs

Chapters:

Preview

1. Sleek the weak

2. AYO WHAT THE-

3. Mr Yang Yang better watch out

4. He wants MEEE

5. HE IS WHO!?!

6. Nah I’m out

7. Crack and Snap

8. Yandere era

9. Uh oh stinky

10. On my soul

11. So you’ll admit it?

12. RAHH (in smol)

13. Bro needs to be stopped

14. I.h.h.a

15. NEW HAIR NEW TEE NEW MAN!? — written and smau

16. won = sad

17. ALPHA!! 🤡💀

18. Please tell me.. — written

19. NO NOT YOU

20. EYES WIDE OPEN!!

21. Back up 🗣️🔥

22. Punch a guy

23. Roblox 2gether

24. nervy and nerdy — written

25. If it had been me-

26. PAUSE HUH-

27. Mr. Yang Yang approved

28. Bittersweat — written

29. Forever and 4vr

30. good 2 know 👍

End

© ynsvnte copyright 2024