#Well it actually solved none of my problems

[inkskinned]

i have chronic pain. i am neurodivergent. i understand - deeply - the allure of a "quick fix" like AI. i also just grew up in a different time. we have been warned about this.

15 entire years ago i heard about this. in my forensics class in high school, we watched a documentary about how AI-based "crime solving" software was inevitably biased against people of color.

my teacher stressed that AI is like a book: when someone writes it, some part of the author will remain within the result. the internet existed but not as loudly at that point - we didn't know that AI would be able to teach itself off already-biased Reddit threads. i googled it: yes, this bias is still happening. yes, it's just as bad if not worse.

i can't actually stop you. if you wanna use ChatGPT to slide through your classes, that's on you. it's your money and it's your time. you will spend none of it thinking, you will learn nothing, and, in college, you will piss away hundreds of thousands of dollars. you will stand at the podium having done nothing, accomplished nothing. a cold and bitter pyrrhic victory.

i'm not even sure students actually read the essays or summaries or emails they have ChatGPT pump out. i think it just flows over them and they use the first answer they get. my brother teaches engineering - he recently got fifty-three copies of almost-the-exact-same lab reports. no one had even changed the wording.

and yes: AI itself (as a concept and practice) isn't always evil. there's AI that can help detect cancer, for example. and yet: when i ask my students if they'd be okay with a doctor that learned from AI, many of them balk. it is one thing if they don't read their engineering textbook or if they don't write the critical-thinking essay. it's another when it starts to affect them. they know it's wrong for AI to broad-spectrum deny insurance claims, but they swear their use of AI is different.

there's a strange desire to sort of divorce real-world AI malpractice over "personal use". for example, is it moral to use AI to write your cover letters? cover letters are essentially only templates, and besides: AI is going to be reading your job app, so isn't it kind of fair?

i recently found out that people use AI as a romantic or sexual partner. it seems like teenagers particularly enjoy this connection, and this is one of those "sticky" moments as a teacher. honestly - you can roast me for this - but if it was an actually-safe AI, i think teenagers exploring their sexuality with a fake partner is amazing. it prevents them from making permanent mistakes, it can teach them about their bodies and their desires, and it can help their confidence. but the problem is that it's not safe. there isn't a well-educated, sensitive AI specifically to help teens explore their hormones. it's just internet-fed cycle. who knows what they're learning. who knows what misinformation they're getting.

the most common pushback i get involves therapy. none of us have access to the therapist of our dreams - it's expensive, elusive, and involves an annoying amount of insurance claims. someone once asked me: are you going to be mad when AI saves someone's life?

therapists are not just trained on the book, they're trained on patient management and helping you see things you don't see yourself. part of it will involve discomfort. i don't know that AI is ever going to be able to analyze the words you feed it and answer with a mind towards the "whole person" writing those words. but also - if it keeps/kept you alive, i'm not a purist. i've done terrible things to myself when i was at rock bottom. in an emergency, we kind of forgive the seatbelt for leaving bruises. it's just that chat shouldn't be your only form of self-care and recovery.

and i worry that the influence chat has is expanding. more and more i see people use chat for the smallest, most easily-navigated situations. and i can't like, make you worry about that in your own life. i often think about how easy it was for social media to take over all my time - how i can't have a tiktok because i spend hours on it. i don't want that to happen with chat. i want to enjoy thinking. i want to enjoy writing. i want to be here. i've already really been struggling to put the phone down. this feels like another way to get you to pick the phone up.

the other day, i was frustrated by a book i was reading. it's far in the series and is about a character i resent. i googled if i had to read it, or if it was one of those "in between" books that don't actually affect the plot (you know, one of those ".5" books). someone said something that really stuck with me - theoretically you're reading this series for enjoyment, so while you don't actually have to read it, one would assume you want to read it.

i am watching a generation of people learn they don't have to read the thing in their hand. and it is kind of a strange sort of doom that comes over me: i read because it's genuinely fun. i learn because even though it's hard, it feels good. i try because it makes me happy to try. and i'm watching a generation of people all lay down and say: but i don't want to try.

[romerona]

The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

Another cute interaction between Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

Warnings: None

You glanced at the clock again, sighing like it had personally offended you. Your fingers tugged at the edge of your sleeve, mostly for dramatic flair at this point. The hands hadn’t moved much since the last time you looked—which was approximately forty-seven seconds ago, but who’s counting?

Not that you were nervous. No, no. Nervous is for people who don’t have an emergency backup plan involving a pigeon wearing a tiny tie and a PowerPoint presentation about apples.

You were just… mildly concerned.

Okay, maybe “low-key spiraling” was a more accurate term.

He said he’d come. Offered, even. You hadn’t begged, bribed, or emotionally blackmailed him (which you were fully capable of, for the record). He’d volunteered. That was important. Crucial, even.

It had all started with your now-iconic meltdown earlier in the week—Career Day Eve, if you will—when the zookeeper cancelled via email and emoji. An elephant emoji, to be exact and you, of course, had reacted in a calm, measured way.

By ranting to your handsome neighbour while pacing your living room in mismatched socks and clutching a mug of tea that had gone cold hours ago.

“I told them they were gonna see someone who works with LIONS, Carmy. Actual, roar-in-your-face, majestic-ass lions.” You groaned, flopping onto the couch like your spirit had physically left your body. “Ugh, I knew it. You can never trust someone with an exotic job and a man bun. That’s, like, a statistically proven red flag.”

From his seat at the far end of the couch, Carmy raised an eyebrow, expression maddeningly calm as he absently played with one of your throw pillows—the one you embroidered with little sunflowers during your short-lived cottage-core phase. He didn’t say anything. He just let you spiral.

You shot up, posture suddenly straight, eyes wild with new inspiration. “It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s all fine. I’ll just… bring in Gus. Yeah. Kids love Gus. Boom. Problem solved.”

Carmy blinked. “You’re not seriously—”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” you interrupted one hand over your heart. “I’ll dress him up. Tiny tie, maybe a little badge. ‘Hello, my name is Gus. I’m a bird with a superiority complex and a cracker addiction.’ They’ll eat it up.”

That was when he said it, without looking up, like he was offering to pass the salt instead of volunteering for chaos. “I could come.”

You paused mid-rant, mouth half-open. “Come where? The pity party? Too late, I already RSVP’d with tears and dramatic flopping.”

“Career Day,” he said, glancing over at you finally. “I could do it. Talk to the kids. If you want.”

You blinked. Then blinked again, slower this time, like your brain needed an extra second to process the words.

“Carmy. Be serious. You run a whole kitchen. You work, like, twenty hours a day and sleep in four-minute intervals. I’m not about to let you donate one of your free mornings to a classroom of sugar-high fourth graders who will, at some point, absolutely ask if you ever had a rat under your hat."

He shrugged, unfazed. “I don’t mind.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut in before you could unleash another dramatic protest.

“If it helps you,” he said, his tone easy but sincere, “I can handle being asked about Ratatouille.”

You gawked at him. “You're serious?”

He nodded, resting his arm along the back of the couch like this was a totally normal Tuesday. “Sure.”

“Carmy,” you said slowly, voice pitched somewhere between disbelief and exasperated fondness. “You do understand this is unpaid, right? Like, full-on volunteer mode. Zero dollars. No tips. Just you, a room of small humans, and probably a glitter explosion.”

He looked at you, completely unbothered. “Still don’t mind.”

You knew Carmy well enough by now to understand there were layers—deep, complicated, messy layers—hiding beneath that simple, “I could come.” Because yeah, sure, Carmy loved to cook, but he didn’t glamorize it. Not even a little. The passion was real, but so was the damage. Even though he hadn’t laid it all out for you—hadn’t sat you down and unpacked every scar—you could see it. You felt it.

You’d seen it.

In the way, his shoulders tensed at the mention of certain names, in the haunted, faraway look he got when he talked about past kitchens, the way his eyes darkened when work crept too far into the personal, the way silence filled in for stories he couldn’t bring himself to tell. The job had nearly eaten him alive more than once. You could tell. It had taken from him—family, sleep, health, peace. Years of his life he was still fighting to claw back, one broken, beautiful piece at a time.

So the idea of standing in front of a room full of wide-eyed, hopeful fourth graders and telling them, “Follow your passion!” like that passion hadn’t nearly swallowed him whole?

Yeah. That wasn’t a small ask.

And yet—he’d offered. Unprompted. Just a soft, casual, “I could come.”

For you.

And god, wasn’t that the part that ruined you a little?

Still, you'd waited a full twenty-four hours before giving him the green light. For his sake. For yours. For that part of you—the newer, softer, protective part—that had started to believe in shielding him from things, even when he didn’t ask to be shielded.

Because Carmy Berzatto may have survived a thousand kitchens, but that didn’t mean he needed to walk into this one unless he truly, truly wanted to.

And the crazy thing was? He did.

Now here you were, pacing between tiny desks like a caffeinated motivational speaker who didn’t have a Plan B involving a pigeon. You were totally calm. Totally fine. Totally not spiralling internally while your brain whispered charming thoughts like, 'he’s not coming', and 'Congrats, you’re about to host a cooking segment with no chef, no plan, and possibly a breakdown'.

“Miss!” one of your students called out, yanking you out of your mental spiral like a life preserver made of glitter glue. “When’s the chef getting here?”

You spun on your heel, smile locked in place like the unbothered queen you absolutely were not.

“Soon!” you beamed, while glancing at the cameras. “He’s probably just fighting with a soufflé or locked in a passionate debate with a garlic clove. You know—chef stuff.”

They laughed. You did too, though yours was the manic sort that said everything’s on fire, but at least we’re warm.

You had told them a real chef was coming. A famous one, even. But you’d kept that part tucked away. Just in case. You didn’t want them disappointed if he didn’t show.

You didn’t want to be disappointed if he didn’t show.

Because while you were currently dazzling these kids with your best “unbothered teacher queen” routine, inside? Yeah, your soul had filed an early resignation.

You glanced at the clock again.

Cool cool cool.

It was fine. Everything was fine. You were totally not about to fake a PowerPoint on “Why apples are the real MVP of fruits” while sobbing internally.

You gave your class a cheerful clap of your hands, channeling the kind of positivity that could sell overpriced candles on Etsy. “Alright! While we wait, why don’t we write down what questions we might want to ask our guest, hmm? Think big. Think bold. Think ‘What’s your favorite sauce?’ but, like, deeper.”

"Writting?" A collective groan rose from the class, dramatic and loud, as if you’d just asked them to handwrite the Constitution.

You raised your eyebrows, completely unfazed. “Yes, writing. The horror. Grab your pencils, Hemingways.”

And just as a few reluctant pens started to scratch against paper, the door swung open—abrupt, theatrical.

You were just about to exhale a tiny breath of relief when the classroom door swung open—and not in the chef arrives like a movie moment with the wind blowing his coat kind of way.

Nope.

It was Ava.

Your best friend. Your favorite menace. And the one person on Earth with zero chill.

Ava stepped in like she owned the place—which, to be fair, she kind of did, at least spiritually with phone in hand, eyes scanning the room like she was about to announce lottery numbers.

You blinked at her. “Principal Coleman?”

She ignored you completely and addressed your students with dramatic flair. “Excuse me, tiny scholars. I have a very important update.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Ava.”

She turned to you, positively glowing with mischief. “Your hansome chef is here.”

You blinked. “My—what?”

“Girl,” she said, one eyebrow raised. “The one you told me about. With the tattoed arms and the trauma. He’s here. And I gotta say, you undersold it.”

The class erupted into giggles. You blinked harder.

You blinked, stunned, brain buffering like a broken Wi-Fi signal. “Ava, this is a classroom. A learning environment.”

“I learned something,” she said with a wink. “I learned you have a taste for emotionally complex kitchen men with cheekbones so sharp they could dice an onion.”

“Can you just send him in, please?” you asked, voice sweet but strained, like you were one Ava comment away from evaporating into glitter.

Ava raised her brows like okay, ma’am, then dramatically pivoted on one heel, mumbling something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Don’t say I never brought you anything good.”

The door closed behind her with a dramatic little click, and you turned back to your students, who were all openly staring at you like you were the lead in a very juicy reality show.

“Miss,” one of them stage-whispered, eyes wide with scandal, “are you dating the chef?”

You blinked. “Excuse me—what? No. Absolutely not. We are just… two humans who happen to know each other and occasionally share oxygen in the same room.”

And with a dramatic little head shake and the world's weakest scoff, you muttered, “Kids and their imaginations.”

A second student raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “But Miss… your face is doing the same thing it did when that one dad brought you cupcakes for Valentine’s Day.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Blinked. Then pointed at the worksheet pile like it held the answers to life itself.

“Okay—first of all, pencils up, Cupid Patrol. Second, that wasn’t a dad, it was the very kind district representative who happened to believe in seasonal baked goods and workplace appreciation.”

The kids oooh’d like you’d just admitted to a full-blown scandal.

“And for the record,” you muttered, loud enough for the mic to catch, "Nothing happened. It was one cupcake. Vanilla. Calm down.”

The camera lingered.

You blinked. “Cut somewhere else.”

You were still glaring at the camera crew when the door creaked open again—this time quieter, less dramatic, almost hesitant.

You turned, mid-eye-roll, fully expecting Ava to have come back for one final round of public humiliation.

But it wasn’t Ava.

It was him.

Carmy stepped into the room, somehow looking both like a Michelin-starred chef and a man who was deeply unsure if he’d accidentally walked into a daycare. His white tee was freshly pressed, chef’s coat folded neatly over his arm, hair was slightly messy like he’d fought with it in the car, lost, and decided to just let fate take the wheel, carrying a large bag.

He stood there for a second, blinking at the sea of tiny faces—and you.

“Uh… hi,” Carmy said, voice low and hesitant.

Your brain, which had been barely clinging to function, promptly short-circuited.

“Hi,” you echoed, way too breathy for someone in charge of young minds, smiling like a fourth grader yourself.

“Miss! Is that him?” one student asked, already halfway out of their chair like they were witnessing a celebrity walk-in.

You blinked back into Teacher Modetm with the grace of someone internally screaming. “Yes. Yes, that’s him. Everyone—uh—remain seated.”

You gestured toward Carmy. “This is Chef Carmy, our very special guest for Career Day!”

The kids leaned forward like a chorus of curious meerkats, eyes wide, pencils ready.

“Can we all say, ‘Hi, Chef Carmy’?” you asked.

“Hiiii, Chef Carmyyyyy!” the room chorused in chaos, overlapping voices.

Carmy raised a hand in a small wave, his lips pulling into a sheepish smile. “Hey. Uh… thanks for having me.”

Then—of course—he glanced over at the camera crew like he just now realized they existed, eyes slightly wide before blinking quickly back to you. He stepped closer, leaning in just a bit, voice soft—just for you.

“Sorry I’m late,” he murmured. “Traffic was… hell.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “You’re fine. You made it. That’s what matters.”

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, still looking at you like you’d somehow made this less terrifying just by standing there.

And then, because this day was determined to destroy you emotionally, one of your students blurted out, “Miss, your face is doing the thing again!”

You didn’t even flinch as you turned to the children. “Okay! We are officially in session. Chef Carmy is here, so I hope you have your questions ready—and no, none of them can be about Ratatouille, or I will confiscate your recess.”

A hand shot up immediately. “Is it true chefs yell a lot?”

Carmy blinked, caught between answering and short-circuiting.

You sighed dramatically, shooting him a look. “And here we go.”

To his credit, Carmy recovered quickly. “Uh… yeah,” he said honestly, scratching the back of his neck. “Sometimes. But mostly just when things are on fire or… slicing off a thumb.”

A collective gasp filled the room.

“Wait, did you really cut your thumb off?” one kid asked, absolutely horrified and delighted.

Carmy hesitated. “No, but… close enough.”

“Cool,” the kid breathed.

You gave Carmy a look like sir, but he just gave you a little shrug back that said I’m trying here.

Still, you beamed. Progress. He was finding his rhythm.

And then, the spaghetti.

You’d cleared a small table for him earlier, just in case he brought something. But you had not expected him to go full cooking show.

With sleeves rolled, Carmy walked the kids through how to make fresh spaghetti from scratch.

“Alright, so—flour,” he said, pouring it out onto the surface. “Then you make a little well, like this.”

“Ooooh,” the kids chorused, some of them leaning forward like they were witnessing magic.

You stood off to the side, arms crossed, trying very hard to look composed and not like you were watching a rom-com scene play out in real time. Because Carmy? Flour dust on his hands, explaining things so gently, so patiently, even when the questions made zero sense? It was unfairly attractive.

“So the eggs go in the middle, and you start mixing with a fork—”

“What if you used a spoon?”

“Would it still work if it was peanut butter instead of eggs?”

“Could you make the dough into, like… animal shapes?”

“Do you have beef with Gordon Ramsay?”

Carmy was trying his best. “Okay, uh—no spoons, no peanut butter, yes to animal shapes, and… no comment on Gordon Ramsay.”

He cracked eggs into flour, mixed dough by hand, and passed around little pinches so the kids could feel it for themselves. He used terms like “emulsify” and “al dente,” then immediately explained them in fourth-grade-speak. He asked for volunteers to help him roll the dough out with a tiny pin you’d borrowed from the kithcen. He let one kid sprinkle flour on the surface with a flair that could only be described as “chef-in-training chaos.” Another student tried to twirl the noodles like he was doing a magic trick.

He was awkward, yes—but also patient, funny in that deadpan way that made the kids hang onto every word.

Somewhere around the rolling-out portion of the lesson, the door creaked open again—and in walked the kitchen staff from the cafeteria. Hairnets. Aprons. Pens and little spiral notebooks in hand.

“We heard there was a Michelin star in the building,” Shanae announced from the doorway, arms crossed over her cafeteria apron, clearly enjoying the scene unfolding. “We just wanted to, you know… take a peek.”

“If you need to boil it, Chef Carmy, you can use my pot,” Devin offered, already scribbling something in a little notepad like he was about to text his group chat immediately.

"Thank you, Chef," Carmy nodded at him with a polite smile, a little bashful now, and returned to cutting his dough.

As if that wasn’t enough, Mr. Johnson sauntered in not five minutes later, leaned against the back wall like he was in a speakeasy, and said, “You know, back in ‘92 I made lasagna so good the mayor cried. Just sayin’.”

He then turned and disappeared down the hall like a wizard of chaos, muttering something about gluten conspiracies.

You didn’t even blink. “Thank you, Mr. Johnson.”

Then, Melissa strolls in, coffee in hand and eyebrows already at maximum scepticism.

She paused in the doorway, scanning the flour-dusted counter, the students gathered around like Carmy was performing miracles, and Carmy himself—elbows deep in pasta dough.

She sipped her coffee as she stared at the pasta. “Wait, so… what’s your last name?”

Carmy glanced up, blinking like he’d been pulled out of a trance. He looked at Melissa, then at you, like he was checking to see if this was a trick question. “Uh… Berzatto.”

Melissa squinted. A beat passed.

“Huh,” she said, in a tone that somehow contained five different layers of meaning: vague suspicion, mild approval, distant familiarity, one raised red flag, and a complete personality assessment. “Makes sense.”

And just like that, she turned and walked off, heels clicking, coffee still steaming, not another word spoken.

Carmy blinked after her, then looked at you, deadpan. “Was that a threat?”

You shrugged. “Honestly? It’s better not to ask.”

“Right,” Carmy mumbled, brushing a bit of flour from his fingers before continuing like he hadn’t just been hit with a drive-by personality analysis from a woman with mob energy and perfect eyeliner.

He rolled back into the lesson with ease, walking the kids through shaping the dough into spaghetti strands.

“You want it thin, but not too thin,” he was saying, hands moving with a kind of gentle confidence that made even flour seem like it was cooperating out of respect. “If you can see through it, you’ve gone too far. Unless you’re making ravioli. But that’s… a whole different story.”

Meanwhile, you?

You couldn’t take your eyes off him.

Every time he explained something—how the gluten develops, why olive oil matters, the difference between done and perfect—you leaned in without realizing. Just a little. Drawn in, like the words were for you and only you.

And the worst part?

Sometimes he looked at you while he talked. Just little glances. Barely-there flickers. But each one lit you up like someone had turned on all the fairy lights inside your chest.

Your heart fluttered. Your cheeks hurt from smiling. Your brain? Fully composing a sonnet titled To the Man Making Spaghetti in My Classroom.

You were so, so doomed and just when your face was halfway to full heart-eyes emoji status, you remembered—

The cameras.

You blinked, snapped your head toward them, and straightened up like you hadn’t just been silently daydreaming about holding Carmy’s tattooed hand while wandering through a farmer’s market in the fall or about his hands elsewhere...

One cameraman raised an eyebrow.

You cleared your throat. Smiled. Gave a stiff little nod like everything is normal and fine and I am a professional adult woman.

The rest passed too quickly for your liking.

One second, he was explaining how flour and eggs became pasta, and the next he was handing off the fresh noodles to Devin who looked so starstruck you half-expected him to ask for an autograph, but instead, he just took the dough reverently, muttering, “I got you, Chef,”

While Devin handled the boiling, Carmy fielded more questions, bouncing between wide-eyed children and genuinely curious adults.

One kid asked if he ever cried over burnt toast.

“Only once,” Carmy replied. “It was a really good piece of bread.”

Another asked if he’d ever cooked for a king.

“Not officially,” he said, glancing at you with a quick smirk that made your heart do a cartwheel. “But I’ve cooked for people who matter.”

The kitchen staff and at least one substitute from down the hall— all threw out questions about risotto techniques, braising, and how he gets his red sauce just right.

He pulled out a small pan he’d brought, explaining how to build a sauce from scratch—olive oil, garlic, a little tomato, basil. Simple, but the room smelled like heaven. The adults were wide-eyed. The kids were openly drooling. You might’ve been, too.

He offered tiny sample spoons as he stirred, like it was the most natural thing in the world to casually do a cooking demo in a public school classroom. And when Devin returned with the perfectly cooked pasta—because of course it was perfect—Carmy tossed it with the sauce and started plating like it was no big deal.

Little paper bowls. Plastic forks. A sprinkle of cheese. And just like that, he was handing out servings of handmade pasta to a group of nine-year-olds and the adults like they were at some five-star tasting event.

You got a plate, too and the second you took a bite, you nearly sat down.

It was so good—like warm, rich, made-with-love kind of good. Like maybe he put his entire soul into the sauce and also possibly his feelings for you kind of good. You blinked up at him, genuinely speechless for the first time all day.

He raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

You nodded, slow. “I hate you a little bit.”

He chuckled. “I’ll take that.”

And yeah, you were so, so gone.

The kids were still buzzing as they lined up to leave, chattering about pasta like it was the greatest invention since slime. A few waved wildly at Carmy on their way out, and others whispered to each other like they’d just met a celebrity—which, honestly, they kind of had to and Carmy gave them a small, slightly awkward wave back.

“Miss,” one whispered as they passed you, eyes wide with hope, “can Chef Carmy come back next week?”

You smiled, warm and fond. “We’ll see.”

When the last of them filed out and the door finally clicked shut, the room fell into a warm, quiet hum—sunlight filtering through the windows, flour still dusted on the counter, the lingering scent of garlic and tomato hanging in the air like some kind of cozy spell.

You turned, and there he was.

Carmy stood at the table he’d used, wiping it down with a damp towel, sleeves still rolled to his forearms, curls a little wild after an hour of navigating the adorable storm that was your classroom. He looked… calm. Settled.

“Hey,” you said, a little sing-songy as you stopped beside him. “Chef of the Year. You did it.”

He glanced up, met your eyes with a crooked smile. “Hey.”

“I just wanted to say thank you,” you said, lowering your voice just a bit. “Like, really—you didn’t just show up, you… you were brilliant, Carmy.”

He let out a breath that was half-laugh, half something more complicated. “I was wingin’ it the whole time.”

“Well,” you said with a smile, “you wing things very charmingly.”

His eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than strictly necessary. “You made it easier.”

The words landed between you like something delicate and important. You swallowed, heart doing that tight, fluttery thing again—the one that always showed up whenever he looked at you like that.

You tried to recover, tossing the moment a wink and a grin just to keep yourself grounded. “So does that mean you’re open to a regular Thursday guest chef gig?”

He smirked, low and lopsided. Shook his head like he couldn’t believe you—but not in a bad way. “I don’t know if I’m built for the fourth grade attention span.”

“They were obsessed with you,” you said matter-of-factly, crossing your arms and stepping just a little closer.

“They were obsessed with the pasta.”

You tilted your head, eyes twinkling. “It wouldn’t be hard for it to be both.”

That made him pause. Just long enough for the tension to hum again, low and warm.

That made him pause. Just long enough for the tension to hum again, low and warm.

He looked at you like he was trying to read between your words. Like he wasn’t quite sure if you meant it the way it sounded—but hoping you did.

A beat passed. You held his gaze, smile softening just slightly. Just enough.

And then he looked down—at your shoes, the floor, literally anything else that wasn’t your face—and cleared his throat. “I should… probably get going.”

“Right. Yeah.” You brushed past him to grab a tray, your shoulder just barely bumping his as you passed. “See you around, Carmy Next Door.”

If he froze for half a second—well, that was between him and the classroom air that had suddenly grown suspiciously warmer.

You kept your back to him, pretending to busy yourself with stacking paper plates while absolutely listening for every move behind you.

A minute later, he was at the door, bag slung over one shoulder, hand on the knob.

“Yeah, see you around,” he said, almost too casually.

You turned toward him, giving him a smile that was part “Thank you, again.”

He nodded but didn’t move. Just stood there and after a pause he cleared his throat, glanced down, then back up at you—like he was in the middle of a conversation with himself and currently losing.

“Hey—” he started, then stopped, his jaw clenching just slightly. “Would it be weird if I…”

You raised your brows, trying not to let the hope leak into your smile. “If you what?”

He shifted his weight, ran a hand through his curls. “If I asked you to dinner.”

You tilted your head, giving him your best faux-casual sass. “Like a date?”

“Yeah. Like a date.” He gave the tiniest nod, just enough

You didn’t even hesitate. “Took you long enough.”

His mouth curved into the softest smile you’d seen from him all day—like it caught him off guard like it made something inside him loosen.

“So that’s a yes?” he asked, voice quiet.

“It’s a yes,” you said, and damn, you didn’t even try to hide your smile this time.

He opened the door, then turned back one last time. “I’ll text you.”

“You better,” you said. “You owe me pasta without a classroom audience.”

He laughed under his breath, then stepped out, the door clicking softly behind him.

You stood there for a moment, alone in the quiet hum of the classroom, heart fluttering like you were seventeen and just got asked to prom. Which, honestly… wasn’t that far off.

You let out a breath, tried to pull yourself together, and failed—because your face still hurt from smiling and your brain was very much replaying every single second in high-definition slow motion.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted it, the cameras.

Still rolling.

“Told you it was a matter of time,” you said, voice smug and giddy. Then you added, dead serious: “Also—if you zoomed in on me blushing again, we’re fighting.”

Cut to black.

A/N: Helloooooo. How is everyone!?? Okay first I want to apolagize that it took me so long to publish this part, lots going on rn, second, I thank you all for the support, for those likes, commentsss and shares ❤️ Like its crazyyyy.

Be safe out there 🫶 Tell me if you would like to get tagged.

Tags:

@hiitsmebbygrl16 @urthem00n @svzwriting29 @tyferbebe @akornsworld @khxna @ruthyalva96 @beingalive1 @darkestbeforethedawn16 @turtle-cant-communicate spideybv28 veryberryjelly @daisy-the-quake leilanixx softpia cosmix-stxrs the-disaster-in-waiting memoriesat30 emerald-jade1 sabrina-carpenter-stan-account ateliefloresdaprimavera theflowerswillbloom blairfox04 nicksolemnlyswears stardream14 notme22sblog mattm1964 maddeningmentalmess isla-finke-blog literature-nerd-blossom starberryhorse hipsternerd9 landpiranha-blog miarabanana everywherenothere just-soft-things1 blue-4-raven rockyeatrock this--is--music lettucel0ver chayceschultz silas-aeiou alexxavicry

[emiko-matsui]

What I love about Dimension 20: Time Quangle is that it's advertised as a canon non-canon series of live shows where they don't have a set campaign but play with all their settings and characters, but the world building within these shows established that it does in fact take place in Dimension 20: Fantasy High. Hear me out.

The first time the Dimension 20 audience is introduced to the concept of a time quangle isn't when the cast announces their Time Quangle Tour, but rather in the beginning of Fantasy High's third season. In Junior Year Arthur Aguefort is absent on a trip with his daughter through history and leaves the school in the hands of Arcturus Grix and Jace Stardiamond. It is established that Aguefort has concurrently gotten himself involved in a so-called time quangle on this journey which is the reason why some canonical events in Spyre's timeline has been displaced (with Junior Year and The Seven supposedly taking place at the same time but entailing contradicting events). In every stop of the canon non-canon Time Quangle Tour it is Arthur Aguefort (and at times his daughter Ayda Aguefort, whom we know he's travelling with) that is the guiding force that helps the characters unquangle their universes, which lines up perfectly with the established canon of Fantasy High.

At first Aguefort believes that he accidentally created the quangle by travelling through time, but in the last stop of the Time Quangle Tour we see that Aguefort has begun to doubt this, because if the quangle was simply an unmotivated force he would've been able to sort it out much quicker, but now he realises that the quangle is actively evading him. In this last stop we find out that the one who created the time quangle was Chungledown Bim after failing his quest on hunting down Fabian. The person at the centre of the time quangle, that Aguefort is fighting with throughout Junior Year's run, is Chungledown Bim. Now this does also line up with Fantasy High canon. In Fantasy High's second season Fabian encounters Chungledown Bim for the first time who swears vengeance upon him and vows that he will stop at nothing to hunt him down. We see Chungledown Bim follow through on this vow at the end of the second season when he chases Fabian into the forest of The Nightmare King and during other liveshows in Spyre (AKA boys night). Mysteriously enough however, in Junior Year Chungledown Bim doesn't make a single appearance, something that I, personally, found very strange on my first time watching it, since we know he is enacting his vow to hunt down Fabian. With the revelation in Dimension 20: Time Quangle that it is Chungledown Bim that Aguefort fights throughout the quangle and throughout Junior Year, and the revelation that the quangle was created in the first place to bring Fabian into a place where he could not physically escape from Chungledown Bim, the entire thing slots perfectly into Fantasy High canon and even solves the problem of Chungledown Bim's missing presence in the third season.

In every intro of the Time Quangle Tour Brennan introduced the following story as "canon non-canon", which meant that the following events were somehow canon despite none of the events actually being canon. As well, Brennan refers to all these stories as "divergent timelines and universes." This solves the final piece ever-so neatly in the fact that with the final piece of lore we know that the non-canon part is the characters and settings, which are from divergent timelines, and not the ones shown on Dimension 20's various seasons. However, the canon part is still there. This is still all happening in at least one canon. Fantasy High. A lot of non-canon events from non-canon timelines are happening, but the quangle is still, and always was, canon in Fantasy High. Before the tour even started. This is the time quangle. It aligns with the canon of Fantasy High and even explains the canon of Fantasy High. Chungledown Bim is dead. He died hunting down Fabian, and Fabian doesn't even know about it.

Now, I'm not gonna claim the Time Quangle Tour was all planned as a Fantasy High tie-in by Brennan, that would be ludicrous of me. But... planned or simply inadvertently, Dimension 20: Time Quangle is a new Fantasy High season.

[getaapologist]

I Keep Falling, Maybe Half the Time

A/N: Well, here we are. We know next to nothing, this was gleaned from conversations with @prettycalla and a fun scenario that developed. This is a companion piece to the fic @prettycalla might be working on........ I've used the 8-20 seconds of Johnny from trailers, etc to come up with this version of him. I cannot pretend to know what he's going to be like in the movie, but I just hope you can appreciate this version of him. This'll be my Johnny, probably regardless, even after the movie comes out. Thank you for reading. It means a lot. If you feel like chatting with me about him, by all means, please do! Maybe more to come? We'll have to see.

Pairing: Johnny Storm x reader

Warnings: none? Slight fluff? It's still early days here. But as usual, blog is 18+ in general, so.

“You alright, Johnny?”

There was nothing but care and concern in your voice, but it still made him bristle up in defense of his sour mood. It had nothing to do with you, and yet everything to do with you. Not that he’d confess that.

“I’m fine, I just want to get to work.”

He was not fine.

And over what? The flowers? Those dumb flowers that he wanted nothing to do with? That were for his sister? They said ‘Storm,’ what was he supposed to think?

Of course that brief moment of embarrassment wasn’t still currently haunting him, hours later. Because that would be…

Crazy.

Maybe he was a little crazy. It’s not the end of the world. At least he was high-functioning. It had been a couple days since he last set himself on fire, maybe he was due a flight to blow off steam. Maybe then this wouldn’t bother him so much.

You offered him a small, if uncertain smile, and nodded, unfurling the schematics the two of you had been working on the day before. Some plans for a new spacesuit. Something more hardy. Something better suited to their new selves.

Johnny got stuck for a moment, stuck watching you, as if this wasn’t a daily phenomenon. As if he hadn’t noticed you before. Even if this happened yesterday, and the day before that, and each day since you were assigned this role.

No. Work. Distraction from a distraction.

The plans. Schematics. Drawn up just yesterday, but it was like any information about them had melted and poured out of his ears.

He tapped his lower lip with the pen, mind racing, desperate to catch hold of some relevant knowledge to save him from this spiral.

Because it wasn’t the flowers, was it? It was more, something he was too afraid to say out loud–

“Have you thought about materials?” 

You interrupted his jumbled thoughts, saving him, as usual. Even if you didn’t know it.

“Materials. Right.” He scanned the schematic, his mind completely blank. A rare occurrence, but not one to celebrate. For as he tried to drum up compounds and fabrics, other thoughts filtered back in instead. 

Nothing scares him. He’s seen enough in his work. But you? 

Absolutely terrifying.

“Uh, this line here, we should use that hose, the black one, it’s… three-quarters.” He ducked down and scrawled in a tiny measurement beside the line in question.

“It’s five-eighths, actually,” you mumbled, worried the loose cannon was about to explode.

And explode, he did.

The pen clattered across the table and flew onto the floor, his hands spreading wide, threatening to scrunch up the plans laid out before you. Or set them on fire.

And when he looked up at you, you knew you were in for it. You steeled yourself for a rant about different hoses, or materials, or some other inane event that had clearly soured his day.

But nothing could have prepared you for the words that left his lips.

“Do you know no one’s ever bought me flowers? Ever?”

He looked at you like you held all the answers in the world. Like this was both your fault, and a problem he wished for you to solve, all at once.

“And, I know it’s more of a gift for a girl, but times are changing. Girls are asking guys out, surely that means it wouldn’t be weird for a guy to receive flowers–”

“Johnny?” you finally interrupted.

He looked up, pausing his rant. 

“Are you asking me to buy you flowers?”

“What? No, of course not, that’s not what I…,” he trailed off, turning his back to you, arms crossed over his chest. 

He couldn’t lie to himself and pretend like his heart hadn’t sped up minutely at the sight of the card sitting there waiting for him. It felt like a cruel joke, the way his hopes were so quickly tossed out, and having to own up to it to his own sister?

He wanted to leave. Itched to let loose and fly out of here.

But you. You were a problem he didn’t have an answer to. And maybe he never would.

“Just… don’t worry about it, okay? I need to… I have stuff I need to do.”

Before you could think of something to say that wouldn’t upset him more, he was out of the room, the door whirring shut gently.

As you knelt down to pick up the pen he’d thrown, you knew you’d have to make a stop on the way home.

The next morning, Johnny wandered into the kitchen, already making a beeline for the cabinet. He pulled out the box of bran flakes and dropped it on the counter. 

Breakfast of champions. Even if it tasted like cardboard.

“That’s not breakfast,” Ben chided, nursing a pan of soft-scrambled eggs. “Take some of these.”

“I’m fine, Ben,” Johnny sighed, but he couldn’t deny a small part of him appreciated Ben looking out for him. 

His eyes caught sight of the bright red petals, the arrangement sitting right where yesterday’s had. 

Taunting. Gloating on behalf of Sue, surely.

The small spark of hope in his chest was ground up and shoved down as quickly as he could manage, a brief flash of the embarrassment from yesterday enough to tamp it down.

“Delivery for you,” Ben gestured with his chin to the flowers. 

He scoffed, crossing the kitchen to get the milk out of the fridge.

“They’re not for–”

“They’re for me,” Sue interrupted, earning an eye roll from her brother that she graciously chose to ignore.

Again? Once wasn’t enough? When would it stop? When their whole kitchen island was covered in the small flower arrangements? Who was this mysterious suitor after his sister?

“You hoping it’ll spontaneously combust?” 

Johnny turned back around, sour at the sound of his sister’s amused voice. He poured out a slightly unreasonable amount of cereal before adding just a bit more, setting the open box on the counter.

Nothing like bland bran to start the day.

“Come on, I’m only teasing.” 

Johnny could hear the smile in her voice, listened intently as the small envelope was opened, the card pulled out.

He could imagine the soft smile on her face. He couldn’t fault her for being so happy. He just…

He burned with envy.

The silence hung heavy, the only audible sound being the sliding of paper on paper as the card was placed back into the envelope.

He set the milk down and turned, risking a glance over his shoulder. The card was tucked neatly back in among the flowers.

Sue looked up at her brother for a moment, the look communicating everything. There was a flash of curiosity there too, but Johnny brushed it aside, abandoning his breakfast to walk cautiously around the island.

The flowers were big, layered densely with soft petals. They were vividly red. All he knew was that they weren’t roses. 

Sue offered him a small smile before walking away. She was always the more graceful loser.

Finally, Johnny’s eyes fell to the card. 

Storm.

But that handwriting was impossible to mistake as anyone else’s. 

His spirit dampened. You’d bought him pity flowers.

That’s what this was, right? His insane rant the day before had spurred you into action. As if the mere gifting of flowers was what he was after, and not… 

The intention behind them.

It was silly to ask that of you, and yet…

He really, really wanted it.

Because the city’s admiration of him paled in comparison to what it felt like to earn a laugh from you. And for a long time he resisted what that meant.

Johnny plucked the card from the arrangement and flipped it over, fingers sliding under the envelope flap, gripping the small card and tugging it free. He wanted to see what made Sue look at him like he was keeping secrets. Because he wasn’t, not that he knew of. 

Was he stalling? Yes. He knew he was, and yet he couldn’t bring his eyes to scan the handwriting he’d seen scrawled into margins on his reports, penciled into drafts of schematics and written a bit larger on bright orange sticky notes pasted to his workstation in your absence. That he absolutely, definitely did not have a drawer full of.

Read the card, already.

Johnny let his eyes lower and scan over the small square of cardstock, the blue pen vivid against the cream colored paper. 

I’m very happy to be your first, Johnny.

His fingers traced over your initials and he couldn’t get rid of the fluttery feeling in his stomach. He clutched his newest prized possession to his chest and darted off to his room.

“Who are they from?” Ben called out. When Johnny emerged from his room, now flower-less but tucking a dress shirt into his pants, Ben raised his eyebrows. He gestured to the sad, soggy bowl of bran flakes. “What about your breakfast?”

“Don’t want it!” Johnny answered, stepping into the elevator.

Johnny felt fired up, like he was going to burst into flames at any second, but that would be bad. He had no clue what he would say to you when he saw you. Nothing felt right. He might be good with numbers, but he was absolutely terrible with words.

As the door slid open, there you were, already hard at work. You were leaned over a worktable, fiddling with some circular steel fittings, wearing that yellow sweater he liked. 

Be cool.

As if he could be cool.

“Hey, I got some samples of different fabrics from R&D downstairs.”

Your smile was warm, small, comfortable. It sent his heart fluttering, like it always did.

Johnny couldn’t care less about the space suit right now. He had other things on his mind. He moved without a second thought. Normally overthinking everything, in this he was free.

“Johnny?”

His hands were almost hot on your skin as he pulled you in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. It was simple, quite chaste, but it blew through silent barriers that had been maintained all this time.

He felt the tension under his hands, his worry immediately flaring up as his hands fell to your shoulders, down to bracket your upper arms. Craning his neck as if trying to inspect some damage he’d done.

Idiot. Fools rush in? Is that how it goes?

“So… you got the flowers?”

He looked up, his gaze catching on the corners of your lips as they rose.

What a smile.

His cold, stifling worry was replaced by nervous warmth, sparking up with each heartbeat.

“I got the flowers.”

[hamilton-here]

𝒜𝒸𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 𝒫𝓉.1

Authors Note: Hey everyone! This is my very first post on Tumblr. I’m still figuring out how everything works on here, so apologies if the formatting’s a bit off. If you have any feedback, let me know. Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoy! P.S I honestly hate this...Lots of love xx

Summary: Reader gets added into the f1 group-chat by mistake

Warning: none

MASTERLIST

Pt1, Pt2, Pt3, Pt4, Pt5, Pt6, Pt7, Pt8, Pt9

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ

You never meant to end up in that group chat.

One minute you were scrolling through your messages and the next, a swarm of notifications flooded in. GIFs, memes and inside jokes that made no sense from a group chat named GridBanterGC 🏁. Apparently, someone named MadMax had meant to add someone else. You were the wrong number. The usernames presented were even more confusing; HoneyBadger, SmoothOperator, Pastry and a lot more.

[MadMax has added unknown user to GridBanterGC🏁]

MadMax: don’t worry guys I finally added Alex

Norrified: Are you sure? Because that is not Alex’s number man

SmootherOperator: that isn’t even close to Alex’s number HAHAHA

Pastry: Who did you even add?

User: um…hello?

Hulk: what have you done Max?

Baguetteboi: Uh...hi there. What’s your name?

User: Why would I tell randoms my name? Do you guys even have brain cells?

MrSaturday: Fair. As a matter of fact we do have brain cells! Well, some of us.

But before you could press leave chat, a message caught your attention.

Hammertime: Do I even bother asking what happened? Ignore them newbie, feel free to leave or stay. I promise we don’t bite.

You smiled as you read his message, feeling a warm connection despite not knowing who Hammertime actually was.

MadMax: Sorry guys I didn’t mean to add them. Bloody fat thumbs…

HoneyBadger: How do you even stuff up that bad?

User: You’re telling me you dragged me into this stupid group-chat with idiotic names accidentally?

Pastry: Exactly.

User: You can easily just block me, problem solved. Honestly what are you guys, 14 year olds who don’t think?

Hulk: we just got roasted…by a random in like 5 seconds

Hammertime: Leave the newbie alone. Anyway, don’t mind them. You’ll get used to the chaos. If you need a break, hit me up or I can tell these wildlings to stop harassing you.

You felt a small flutter in your chest at the message, wondering what kind of person he was behind the screen.

You didn’t know much about Hammertime just his kindness and the way he made you feel welcome. But there was something about him that was starting to intrigue you more than the others.

The conversation shifted to random memes and more lighthearted jokes, but you kept finding yourself glancing at Hammetime’s name whenever he spoke, the soft mystery he exuded pulling you in.

You set your phone down with a soft sigh, wondering how long it would take to figure out who those people are behind the screen.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡

The next day, the group chat was its usual chaotic self. You sometimes commenting throughout. But this time, there was something different.

You didn’t just see the jokes and memes, you saw Hammertime’s messages first. He was calm, cool, collected and somehow in the mess of it all, you found yourself looking forward to his next message.

But what really caught you off guard was a message from Hammertime that afternoon.

Hammertime: Funny how someone can show up by accident and still end up being the best part of the day unlike the rest of you

You blinked at the message, unsure how to respond. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, but for once you didn’t know what to say.

You typed back and erased your reply twice before finally settling on;

User: Is that your way of saying you’re glad I’m here?

Seconds passed. Then a minute. Your phone buzzed again.

Hammertime: Maybe. Don’t let it go to your head though.

SmootherOperator: stop flirting you two, that’s my job

You laughed quietly, pulling your knees to your chest as you sat curled up on your couch. There was something different about him or whoever he was. Polite, thoughtful, with this quiet sort of charm that didn’t try too hard.

You didn’t even know his real name, but somehow that didn’t seem to matter. You smiled to yourself, heart fluttering just a bit. You didn’t know who Hammertime really was…but maybe you didn’t need to. Not yet.

For now, the mystery was enough.

[ink-stainedkiss]

This isn't necessarily a request (unless you like the idea😍) but i am WEAK for saiki kusuo being happy and laughing, as ooc as it sounds IDC HES MY BABY AND HES HUMAN THEREOFRE I CONCLUDE THIS BOY CAN HAVE HIS DAILY DOSE OF GIGGLES.

Like, i read the fic you made on saiki finding readers thoughts funny, and i BAJDJSJAJDBS I SQUEALED.

Just imagining him breaking character, or AUDIBLY laughing, is so so sweet bro im not even joking. He'd only ever be comfortable doing it infront of his mom probably, or his close friends. EVEN SO.

Just needed to get it off my chest. 🙂 if you ever make more fics with happy/giggly saiki i might actually marry you. 🙂🙂🙂

This one goes specifically to you queen😍 and No. I’m going to marry you🫵😼

Missing You

Synopsis: Saiki starts to feel a bit weird when you are out and he realizes he misses you. Now to find a way to get you home faster…

Merry Christmas for those who celebrate! I hope you all had a great time because I sure did. Sorry my activity has been a little slow these past days have been busier than expected, so this one’s going to be a bit short. Also thank you all for the likes on my later posts! It feels so amazing to see you guys enjoying my other works. Anyways, please enjoy this tooth-rotting fluff of our beloved Saiki💕

“You on the phone”

“Saiki on the phone”

*Saiki is wearing his telepathy blocking ring in this, so he's speaking normally*

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.2k

Everyone knew that Saiki was not a dependent person. He was the furthest thing from it. He loved his alone time- actually scratch that. He craved alone time. It was just his luck that he was always surrounded by people that caused him so much mental pain. To Saiki’s surprise, he had found someone he tolerated. Well it was more than that, but you guys were just friends, so he couldn’t say anything. He realized you were the only one that didn’t put Saiki through a problem which he had to solve. There were no long adventures when you talked to him in the halls. No using his powers to fix something you had done. He was able to act perfectly normal around you. Which is why he grew such an affection toward you. He grew so comfortable that he told you about his abilities and like he expected you took it well.

Today was one of his favorite days. Where he was able to hang around your home without a care in the world. Whatever his friends were up to outside of your house was not Saiki’s business, nor did he care about it. He had developed a routine when you text him to come over. He would arrive at your house, wear his germanium ring and let his worries wash away. It was the closest thing he could get to being a normal teenager and he was damn sure going to use his time wisely. Whenever Saiki stayed at your home, you would ask to do something, nothing crazy. Something simple like baking a batch of cookies, watching a movie on the couch, or if you were very bored, you would ask to do Saiki’s hair, which he never denied. Because, well, it was you. How could he say no?

Today was a bit different. You had mentioned you needed to run some errands and you promised you would back around noon. Saiki was fine with this since it meant he would have the house to himself. You trusted him greatly so you didn’t mind if he stuck around while you were out. When you left he gave a small nod and then the house was silent. Today was very different because something felt off. He had been reading a book on your shelf out of interest, but for the past five minutes, he had been rereading the same sentence over and over. Something was tugging in his head, but he wasn’t sure what was wrong.

Today was different because he felt so off without you in the same room as him. He checked the clock, realizing I had only been an hour and a half since you left. You wouldn’t be back until later, so Saiki had to find something to distract himself. Today was different because tried to cure his “boredom” with his powers. He turned on your kitchen sink, watching blankly as he made shapes and animals out of the liquid. When that didn’t stop the tugging, he moved onto your room. He felt slightly better resting on your bed and he played it off as being tired, but no. When he kept checking the clock to see if it was any closer to noon, he came to the horrifying conclusion that he missed you.

It was such a foreign feeling. Saiki? Wanting someone to be around him? Well that’s what happens when you sneak your way into his heart. The psychic couldn’t stand it anymore and grabbed his phone, clicking on your contact and placing the device to his ear. The small buzzing reached his ear and he felt a small fragment of relief when you answered after the second ring.

“Hey Saiki, what’s up?”

He sighed, a bit humiliated he felt this way.

“Nothing.”

“Then did you need something?”

“When are you going to be home?”

He said home like he lived here with you, but if you minded, you didn’t make it obvious.

“I should be there in maybe three hours.”

That did not help.

“Can you get here sooner?”

“Why? Is something wrong?”

“Yes.”

Might as well since there isn’t anything else getting you here faster. Saiki thought.

A small gasp sounded through the speaker, “I thought you said nothing was happening?”

“Just get here fast.”

And with that he hung up the phone.

—

You raced to your house, hoping you wouldn’t find it in ashes or hit by a tornado. Maybe you were being dramatic, but why would Saiki call you and tell you to come home quickly? It was shocking that you didn’t get pulled over at the pace you were driving home. When you pulled onto your street, you were thankful to not see any smoke, but that didn’t make you slow down. You slammed to a stop in your driveway, panic flooding your veins. You unlocked your door at lightning speed and the second it was open, you called out,”I’m here! What happened?!”

You shut the door behind you, scanning for some sort of danger, but you find your house was still intact. You were so confused. You were expecting some sort of freak accident with Saiki’s powers, but everything was in place.

“Nothing wrong.”

You whipped around, finding Saiki had teleported behind you. You blinked in confusion,”What are you talking about? You told me to get here quick and I-“ “I lied.” Your arms dropped at your side in defeat,”Then why am I here right now?” He gave you an emotionless stare,”Because I wanted you to be.”

Still in shock, you looked around, finding a scattered book on your couch. It was odd because Saiki is always the one to be neat. You turned to the boy, noticing how he was hardly making eye contact with you and he clearly wanted to say more. You recalled his words over the phone, then it all clicked.

“Saiki,” your words were barely above a whisper,”Did you miss me?”

The things that happened next were a blur. In the blink of an eye two arms were wrapping around you and you could feel Saiki’s head in the crook of your neck. He didn’t respond to your question, but this was enough to answer it. Honestly, you were a bit nervous. Was this really the same Saiki? The one who barely let people stand close to him, was holding onto you like a lifeline. You felt a long sigh escape his lips and instinctively you reached one hand up to rest in his pink hair and the other embracing him over his shoulder.

“I didn’t know how else to get you here.” He confessed gently, making your heart melt,”You could have just asked, Kusuo.” He tucked himself more into your neck, almost hiding his face from you,”But you were busy.” You rolled your eyes, “It was just getting groceries, I would have dropped everything if I knew you wanted me here.”

Saiki didn’t know how to respond, instead he used his teleportation to take you both to your room. You let out a grunt as you back hit your mattress, but your attention changed to the boy resting on you. He looked so at peace and you couldn’t believe this was still the same person. (It’s not like you were complaining.) As you softly played with his pink hair, a small idea popped into your head. Maybe I should go out more often if this is what I get to come home too…

[atlasthegreatest]

More Than Pretend / Daniela Avanzini x Gender Neutral! Reader

Daniela needs a last-minute Valentine’s date to prove to her nosy friends that she's totally over her ex. She ropes Y/n—her long-time friend, to pretend to be her date, expecting a night full of playful banter— until real sparks fly, leaving her wondering why she didn't see it sooner.

Word count: 1755

Warnings: Best friends to lovers. Fluff.

Daniela had exactly four hours to secure a Valentine’s date.

It wasn’t like she cared about Valentine’s Day. She didn’t. But after weeks of her friends poking and prodding about whether she was actually over her ex, she was done. She needed a solution—fast.

This is why she was now standing outside Y/n’s apartment, an expectant (and slightly desperate) look on her face.

“You want me to be your date?” The tall person asked, arms crossed as they leaned against their doorway.

“Yes. Obviously,” Daniela huffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Look, I know it’s last minute, but it’s just for show. We’ll go to dinner, maybe hold hands, you tell everyone I’m thriving without my ex, and boom—problem solved.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “And what do I get out of this?”

Daniela blinked. “…The honor of being my incredibly attractive date?”

Y/n stared at her unamusingly.

The Latina sighed. “Fine. Dinner’s on me. And dessert.”

“Sold,” Y/n said, grabbing their coat.

————————

The restaurant was dimly lit, filled with couples who were either madly in love or pretending they weren’t on the verge of an argument. Daniela, dressed in a sleek red dress that should have been illegal, sat across from Y/n, sipping her wine as she surveyed the room.

“Okay, act natural,” she murmured.

“You do realize we’ve been friends for years, right?” Y/n teased. “I think I can handle pretending to like you.”

Daniela smirked. “You’d be surprised how many people fold under pressure.”

Y/n leaned in, resting their chin on their hand. “Oh? And what about you? Can you handle pretending to like me?”

For the first time, Daniela faltered. She opened her mouth—then closed it, suddenly hyper-aware of how close Y/n was. She had expected playful banter, light teasing, and a dramatic display of “look-how-over-my-ex-I-am” energy.

She hadn’t expected her heart to trip over itself when they looked at her like that.

The conversation flowed easily, just like it always had. But the way Daniela’s fingers brushed Y/n’s when they reached for their glass? The way she listened when they talked about their latest project? The way her laugh sounded softer, more real?

None of that felt fake.

—-———————

As they walked out of the restaurant, the night air crisp against their skin, Daniela let out a deep breath. “Well, that was painless.”

“Yeah,” Y/n said, shoving their hands into their pockets. “Almost… fun.”

Daniela scoffed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” But she was smiling.

Y/n turned to face her. “So? Did we convince them?”

Daniela hesitated. Her friends had bought the act completely. But that wasn’t what was on her mind anymore.

What was on her mind was the way she didn’t want to let go of Y/n’s hand. The way her stomach flipped every time they looked at her.

What was on her mind was them.

“I think we convinced me,” she muttered.

Y/n frowned. “What?”

Daniela groaned, rubbing her temple. “Ugh, nothing—just—shut up.” And before she could overthink it, she grabbed Y/n’s face and kissed them.

Y/n barely had time to react before she pulled back, cheeks flushed. “…Crap,” she whispered.

Daniela was in trouble.

Real, undeniable, heart-racing, stomach-flipping trouble.

Because when Y/n kissed her back—when they smiled against her lips like this had been inevitable—something inside her clicked. And there was no pretending anymore.

She pulled back, just enough to look at Y/n. Their grin was impossibly smug, but their eyes were warm. Playful. Knowing.

“So,” Y/n murmured, still close enough that she could feel the warmth of their breath, “does this mean I get a second date?”

Daniela scoffed, stepping back and crossing her arms like that kiss hadn’t just rewired her entire brain. “You act like you’re the one who did me a favor tonight.”

“Oh, I did,” Y/n teased. “I helped you get over your ex and I looked good while doing it.”

She rolled her eyes, but the heat creeping up her neck betrayed her. “Shut up.”

Y/n laughed, tucking their hands into their pockets as they started walking. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

Daniela hesitated for half a second before falling into step beside them. The streetlights flickered overhead, casting long shadows on the pavement, but the air between them felt lighter now.

“So,” Y/n started, nudging her shoulder, “when did you figure it out?”

“Figure what out?”

“That you like me,” they said easily.

Daniela nearly tripped over the sidewalk. “Excuse me?”

Y/n gave her a knowing look. “I saw the way you looked at me at dinner, Dani. That wasn’t ‘fake date’ behavior. That was ‘I’m just now realizing I have feelings for my best friend’ behavior.”

Her face burned. “First of all, rude. Second of all—” She huffed, shoving her hands in her coat pockets. “…Maybe dinner next week isn’t the worst idea,”

Y/n smirked. “So you do like me.”

Daniela groaned. “I swear, if you say one more word—”

“Relax,” Y/n said, bumping her arm. “We’ve got plenty of time to talk about it over dinner. Real dinner. Not ‘fake date’ dinner.”

The Latina woman bit back a smile. “Fine. But if my friends start getting nosy again, I’m blaming you.”

“Gladly,” they said.

And as they walked side by side down the quiet street, Daniela realized something.

Maybe her friends’ teasing had led to something good after all.

——————-

Daniela had been on dates before. Real ones, fake ones, ones that blurred the line between the two. But nothing had ever made her this nervous.

It was ridiculous. Y/n was her best friend—her safe place. And yet, now that she knew the feelings were mutual, she couldn’t shake the butterflies that had taken up permanent residence in her stomach.

This is why she was currently pacing her apartment, phone in hand, trying to psych herself up to text them.

“What time are we meeting tomorrow?”

She hovered over the send button for longer than she cared to admit before finally pressing it.

Seconds later, their response came in.

“You tell me. But fair warning—I’m showing up looking like the best date you’ve ever had.”

Daniela snorted, rolling her eyes. Typical.

“Oh, please. You couldn’t outshine me if you tried.”

“We’ll see about that. See you at 7?”

“7 it is. Don’t be late.”

As soon as she sent it, she flopped onto her couch, exhaling sharply. This was fine. Normal. She could do this.

——————-

The restaurant was a little different this time—less about proving a point, and more about just being there with Y/n. Daniela had been so caught up in appearances before that she hadn’t let herself feel anything. Now, she didn’t have that excuse.

And the way Y/n looked at her across the table? Like they’d been waiting for this longer than she had? Yeah. That was dangerous.

“So,” Y/n said, swirling their drink. “How does it feel? Going on a date with someone who likes you back?”

Daniela rolled her eyes. “I always go on dates with people who like me back.”

“Yeah, but you like me back this time,” they pointed out.

Daniela’s face warmed, but she refused to give Y/n the satisfaction of seeing her flustered. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Y/n grinned. “Too late.”

And just like that, all the nerves disappeared. Because this was them. The person who had always been by her side—who had seen her at her best and worst and still stuck around.

Maybe it had taken her too long to see it. But sitting here, watching them smirk at her like she was their favorite thing in the world, Daniela knew one thing for certain.

This?

This wasn’t pretend anymore.

Bonus Chapter:

The night wasn’t supposed to end like this.

After dinner, Daniela had planned to go home, overanalyze every second of the date with her girls, and probably scream into her pillow for a good five minutes. What she hadn’t planned for was ending up on Y/n’s couch, wrapped in a blanket, sharing a pint of ice cream at midnight.

“You know,” Y/n said, spoon in hand, “for someone who insisted this wasn’t a real date last week, you sure looked like you were having fun tonight.”

Daniela shot them a glare, though it held no real heat. “I was having fun. But that doesn’t mean I need to give you the satisfaction of admitting it.”

Y/n chuckled, shaking their head. “Classic Dani.”

The Latina woman rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, she leaned back against the couch, letting her head rest against Y/n’s shoulder. She told herself it was just because she was comfortable—not because she wanted to be close to them.

The silence stretched, warm and unhurried, until Y/n spoke again.

“Be honest. When did you realize you liked me?”

Daniela stiffened. “Who says I do?”

Y/n nudged her side. “Dani.”

Daniela sighed, twirling the spoon between her fingers. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe it was when you showed up to dinner looking like that. Maybe it was when you wouldn’t stop teasing me, and instead of wanting to strangle you, I just—” She groaned. “I don’t know. I liked it.”

Y/n was quiet for a moment, and Daniela forced herself to keep talking. “Or maybe it was before that. Maybe it was every time you were there for me when I didn’t even have to ask. Maybe it was the way you always made me laugh, even when I was mad at you. Maybe it was when I realized I never actually wanted to go on a fake date with anyone else.”

Silence.

Then, softly—

“You should’ve said something sooner.”

Daniela swallowed hard. “Would it have changed anything?”

Y/n turned, gently tilting the girl's chin up so she had no choice but to meet their gaze.

“Yeah,” they murmured. “Because I would’ve kissed you a long time ago.”

Daniela’s breath caught as Y/n’s lips brushed against hers—soft, unhurried, and real. She melted into it, gripping Y/n’s hoodie like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

When Y/n finally pulled away, they grinned. “Took you long enough, Avanzini.”

Daniela groaned, burying her face in Y/n’s shoulder. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

She didn’t answer. But the way her fingers curled around theirs, lacing them together?

That was the answer.

[cobaltperun]

Move the Mountain - Get off my Back

Hermione Granger x Female Reader

Story Summary: From what you heard going to Hogwarts wasn't supposed to be anything out of the ordinary. Homework, grumpy teachers, easy-going teachers, followed by a slice of teenage drama in later years when emotions start getting messy. Whoever thought that's how your years at Hogwarts would go forgot one crucial point. Two words, actually one name. Harry Potter.

Chapter summary: You had a simple plan, get to school, study enough to do well, graduate, help your great-grandmother in her shop. Things never go as planned, and now you have a professor keen on drilling all the potions into your head.

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Word count: 9.1k

- I think it's time you better face the fact get off of my back-

Forged by Thunder wasn't exactly the kind of place one would expect on the edges of the Diagon Alley. It stood on the edges of the light, closest to the darkness of the Knockturn Alley, perfectly placed as an unofficial border between two sides. Products and the services the shop offered teetered on the edges, often at least flirting with the dark side, and on select occasions diving deep into it.

And with such practices came scorn of the righteous and ridicule of the nefarious. Belonging to neither side left them with no protection, and yet, despite tragedies, they persisted. At least the old woman, the last carrying the Wolzard family name, did. It was a sad fate, truly, that a pure-blood family as old as Wolzard was vanishing.

It hardly mattered though. Lucius Malfoy wasn’t here to dwell on the tragedy of one family, he was here to do business. Ignoring the ‘closed’ sign hanging from the doors, he commanded his house-elf to push the heavy doors open. The nerve of the old hag; if she wanted heavy doors she shouldn’t have enchanted them with protection from magic, and he wasn’t about to put an effort into opening the doors.

The house-elf, Dobby, obediently stood by the doors, for once behaving like he should. The moment Lucius stepped inside the air became thick with magic flowing from the artefacts kept under tight locks and plenty of seals, the hag’s specialty. From weapons to rare ingredients, to rare books, powerful potions, and dangerous items, it was all here, and none of it was cheap. And if these items couldn’t solve a problem, and one didn’t want to turn to the less legal options, there was always the owner of the shop. Valeria Wolzard, a witch well over a century old, hardened by wars and battles.

And despite all the magic flowing in the room the air suddenly became so heavy he ever so slightly hunched because of the pressure. “Money made you illiterate, Malfoy?” her harsh voice boomed throughout the room as she stood on the floor above him. It felt like the air was crackling with energy, and cold sweat washed over him. “The shop is closed,” the old hag wasn’t informing him, she was ordering him to leave and he nearly crumbled under the pressure and left with his dignity and pride shattered. Not that many would ridicule him for leaving when ordered by Valeria Wolzard. He dared to look at her. Valeria Wolzard, even as old as she was, was still a visage of power. Tall, though age did take its toll on her posture, a glimmer of metal shone just below her silky olive-green robes, her prosthetic leg, replacing flesh decades ago. And then there was her face, wrinkled from age, and scarred from battles, but the ones that stood out the most were two scars across her left eye, going diagonally from her forehead close to her upper lip.

Lucius swallowed, reminding himself why he was here. "Perhaps you could hear me out, it's a good deal for you," he tried to tempt her with money, forgetting who he was talking to. The glare alone made him involuntarily take a step back.

“I came down here to deal with an intruder, I’ll give you one last chance to leave before I actually do it,” she openly threatened, and while he did need her products there were other ways to get them, and he wasn’t about to risk his well-being.

“Right, I apologize,” he felt sick to his stomach for having to bow his head to the woman, but power, especially in the hands of those not afraid to use it, had to be respected, no matter who wielded it.

~X~

You yawned, woken up by your great-grandmother throwing a bit of a fit. Probably someone making a ridiculous request at the shop. Well, it had nothing to do with you, so, you turned to your side, trying to fall asleep again, but before you could return to the land of the dreams a light weight landed on your pillow and you groaned, covering your head with the blanket, only for the persistent owl to climb up onto your shoulder and peck you through the blanket.

“Go away Bird Sixth of the Fourth,” how was that name less of a mouthful than ‘Bird Forty-sixth’? Besides, someone really needed to make Valeria put some effort into naming her owls. She just liked messing with people, nothing could convince you otherwise. Especially when the eagle owl hooted. “Fine, fine, I’m getting up,” you sat up in your bed against your will and just slumped back into the bed, consequences be damned.

Surprisingly, there were no consequences, and when you went downstairs after another hour of sleep you saw Valeria in the kitchen, which wasn’t the usual occurrence. “Morning,” you greeted her and peeked from behind her. Pancakes? You grinned a bit, she was actually going to miss you, she just wasn’t vocal about it.

“Say it properly, brat,” she scolded you.

“Good morning,” you groaned and went to the table, still not quite awake. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the shop?”

“We’re closed,” she simply informed you as she put the pancakes on the plate and drizzled homemade syrup and a bit of powdered sugar over them. As usual she wasn’t using magic, saying tasks like these helped her stay mobile in old age.

It took a moment for your brain to process the information it was given. Forged by Thunder was never closed, not even when you first came here two years ago. “Aww, you do care,” you grinned like a fool as Valeria glared at you.

“Take the plate and go pack!” she barked at you, trying to act tough, and sure, she was tough, but there was a bit of softness buried deep under all that toughness.

You saluted jokingly and swiftly grabbed the plate, already taking a bite of one of the pancakes. “Yes, Ma’am!” you exclaimed and ran upstairs.

“It’s ‘grandma’ not Ma’am, you brat!” she shouted after you and you laughed. You were going to miss her.

Especially since you were going to Hogwarts, and that was where Dumbledore was. The thought of being at the same place as the man whose word allowed the people who hurt your family to avoid punishment made you wish Valeria would send you to some other school, anywhere else in the world, but she wouldn’t risk it. And, as she put it, if you intended to take over the shop one day you needed the connections Hogwarts offered.

~X~

The next day you genuinely wished you were already at Hogwarts, not because you were excited about Hogwarts itself. You just wanted to avoid taking the train there. You had a bit of a motion sickness which wasn’t too bad on the brooms, but trains and cars were the worst. Headache, feeling like you were going to throw up, occasionally throwing up, you just wanted to find an empty compartment, or at least one that wasn’t completely full, curl up and sleep.

“Try not to look outside,” Valeria reminded you and you were happily going to take her advice. She was walking by your side, getting attention from the witched and wizards even if they were here to say goodbye to their children. It made you a bit uncomfortable and all of a sudden you felt the weight of your family ties to her. The shadow the great witch was casting was so large you doubted you could ever be capable of reaching that level. Even with all the effort she was putting into preparing you. You were never too young to learn how to defend yourself, or at your age escape from danger.

“Will you write?” somehow you haven’t talked about that, sure, she’s given you an owl, appropriately names Bird Seventh of the Fourth despite your protests, but you haven’t specified anything about letters.

“When I have time,” well, that meant not as often as you may like, but it was a promise of a handful of letters reaching you during the school year.

“Right, how generous,” you said sarcastically.

“The sass is appreciated,” and in a rare display of affection Valeria ruffled your hair and then nudged you toward the train. “Go on, off to school,” she ordered before you could protest, and you turned around seeing a hint of a soft smile on her face. Yeah, she’d miss you, probably even more than you’d miss her.

~X~

In the end you did find an empty compartment and quickly got comfortable, intending to try and sleep through the train ride. The doors of your compartment suddenly opened and you saw a girl, you guessed she was about fifteen years old, lean in a bit. She was already wearing her robes, her light brown hair was long, nearly reaching her waist and her eyes were a striking emerald-green.

"Hey, you looked lonely," she said, smiling at you.

You remained silent, mostly due to the surprise, the last thing you expected was for someone to come in here like that. And you were a bit disappointed that you didn’t get to fall asleep before the train left the station.

The girl raised an eyebrow at the lack of reaction. "That wasn't a great way to open a conversation, huh?" she said sheepishly and rubbed the back of her head. "I'm Gemma Farley, nice to meet you," even as she acknowledged how abrupt her entrance was she still just strolled in and offered you her hand.

You blinked a few times before finally accepting the handshake. "Y/N L/N, nice to meet you too, Gemma," Valeria was your maternal great-grandmother, so you didn’t share the last name, which, you hoped, would give you a bit of anonymity at school.

She smiled, apparently satisfied with your answer, and sat down on the seat in front of you. "And yet you came with Valeria Wolzard,” right, most people did see you with her.

And the anonymity you hoped for flew out the window like a crazy witch on a misbehaving broom.

You nodded. "She’s my great-grandmother," you replied, with a hint of a smile on your face that was strikingly similar to Valeria’s. "And I wasn't lonely."

Gemma smirked. "Please forgive me for assuming, I didn't see all these people around you," she was definitely being sarcastic.

You stared at her, not quite used to being on the receiving end of sarcastic remarks, eventually you huffed and looked outside just as the train began moving. Which was a mistake as you felt like your stomach twisted and you quickly turned your attention to Gemma. "And what about you? You're on your own as well.”

Gemma leaned back into her seat, she looked relaxed, completely unbothered by being on her own. "I don't really feel like listening about O.W.L. before the year even starts. Besides, since I’m a prefect it's not a bad idea to check up on new kids," she explained. "Also, everyone is going crazy about Potter being here and I wanted a bit of a break from that."

"Not a big fan?" you asked curiously. You didn’t have much of an opinion on Potter, positive or otherwise. You didn’t know him.

Gemma shook her head. "It's not that, I just don't feel like the boy needs to be suffocated by all that attention. And you?"

"Don't really care,” you shrugged, though you guessed you did feel sorry for him for losing his parents before he even got a chance to know them.

Gemma nodded "What house would you like to get sorted into? Slytherin like Valeria?" she changed the subject.

Well, your entire family on your mother’s side was sorted into Slytherin, so it made sense. “I guess,” you’d be glad, but it wasn’t like your heart would break if you weren’t in Slytherin. Besides, you weren’t smart enough for Ravenclaw, kind enough for Hufflepuff, and you definitely weren’t reckless enough for Gryffindor, so that left only Slytherin.

The girl smiled at that. "Well, future housemate, I look forward to our next year."

The two kept talking, much to her horror you lacked any interest in Quidditch, you were about as informed about it as muggle-borns, only without curiosity to learn about it. They were constantly flying on the brooms and that was enough to turn you away from it, and anything related to flying really. "Brooms are for cleaning and anything without wings should just stay on the ground," you said it with such conviction Gemma couldn't really find the will to argue, regardless of how ridiculous your statement was to her.

As the train slowly came to a stop you looked to the side, realizing time passed in a blur while you were with Gemma. Even your motion sickness wasn’t that bad! "Thanks, talking with you was fun," you admitted, though you found it difficult to look her in the eyes after you said that.

Gemma laughed as she noticed how embarrassed you were and patted you on the head. "Don't mention it, I had fun too."

~X~

As he and the rest of the first-years anxiously waited for their sorting to take place Draco Malfoy searched for a familiar face. He couldn't see you, but he knew you were there, he stopped observing the crowd and turned his attention to the walls and there you were, just leaning against the wall. You always were a bit of a loner; it ran in your blood from what his father had told him when he advised him to try and at least be civil with you if he couldn’t form a proper friendship. He strolled over to you, confident in himself, with Crabbe and Goyle right behind him.

"There you are," he crossed his arms as he reached you. Despite knowing you weren’t big on socializing, he expected you to seek him out, after all, Valeria sometimes worked for his father, but perhaps you simply weren’t as gifted for recognizing valuable friendships as he was.

You tilted your head to the side as if you were confused by Draco's approach. "Draco," you acknowledged with a nod. "Lackey #1, Lackey #2," neither Draco nor Crabbe and Goyle knew which of the two was #1, it did annoy the two nonetheless.

Draco, however, wasn't concerned about that. "Where were you?"

Your confusion seemed to grow with each passing second. "Away from you; I don't think I could take riding a train and being with you at the same time."

That did annoy Draco, not to mention how the two of you talking was getting the attention of some of the other students. "Y/N," he bit his tongue before he could bring up Valeria.

The warning in his voice did get your attention and you glared at him, silently warning him to back off.  "Look, we'll likely end up in the same house, so how about a deal? You leave me alone and I leave you alone?"

Preferably this conversation would have ended a bit differently, but he wasn’t stupid. You were too stubborn for your own good. "Sure."

As he said that, Professor McGonagall came back. "Now, form a line and follow me," she said and the students did as they were told.

~X~

You were, much like you predicted, sorted into Slytherin, and damn near instantly as well. Gemma grinned at you, welcoming you into the house as you took a seat at the Slytherin table and waited for the sorting to end.

When sorting was over Albus Dumbledore stood up and beamed at the students with his arms open wide. "Welcome," he began warmly, so warmly one would be shocked to know he helped cover up a crime. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" he sat down and everyone clapped and cheered for whatever reason.

You raised an eyebrow at that and glanced at Gemma; she just shrugged, as if to tell you you’d eventually get used to it. ‘Definitely not what I expected,' this was different from the man you saw once, back then he was cruel, acting based on what was more useful to him, and here he was acting almost like he was just a kind and powerful old man. Then you noticed the food that appeared out of nowhere, courtesy of house-elves if you had to guess.

Your stomach growled at the sight of the food, reminding you of how hungry you were. And you were famished since you haven’t eaten anything on the train and barely had anything for breakfast to avoid throwing up. So, you dug in, and it actually tasted good! As the dinner came to a close Dumbledore stood up again. "Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well," Dumbledore's eyes briefly focused on the Gryffindor table, and you figured he likely had someone in mind when he said that.

After that brief pause, he continued. "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year; the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Of course, that man could so casually talk about death. Your eyes narrowed just a bit as you watched the old man. You forced yourself to relax, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, even though you could have sworn Dumbledore looked you in the eyes just for a split second.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" Dumbledore's sudden exclamation made your eyes widen. Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words. "Everyone pick your favorite tune and off we go!" the man said and the entire hall began singing quite loudly.

Your eyebrow twitched at that, especially when you saw the words you were meant to sing. "Not a chance," you wouldn't be caught dead singing, anything, especially not a song that started with: "Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, teach us something please, whether-"

It was embarrassing. Plain and simple too silly.

No, no way. None of that. You were not going to sing. And judging by either reluctance or downright refusal to sing you saw in some of the students you figured you'd love it in Slytherin.

~X~

Waking up without the usual magical pressure Valeria and items in the shop exuded felt strangely disturbing. You remembered how long it took you to get used to Forged by Thunder, and now you were actually missing that feeling. Not that there wasn’t something different about Hogwarts as well, the air felt charged with magical energy, but in a different way and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Either way you figured you should take a stroll through the castle to get more familiar with it.

You would simply pick a path and walk without actual destination in mind, and if you ended up someplace interesting then that would be great, if not, better luck next time.

Honestly, you were mesmerized by the castle, somehow it just felt warm and welcoming. When you first saw it you thought it would feel empty and cold, mostly due to how big it was, but it turned out you were wrong. Actual cold aside, which seemed to be permanent for at least the dungeons, it just felt right, soothing even.

"Oooh! Looky what we have here!" you heard a voice and assumed it was one of the ghosts or portraits since you didn’t see anyone right away, but then you saw him, looking exactly like your parents described him while they were telling you about Hogwarts. Peeves, the Poltergeist.

You barely evaded chalk pelted at your head. "What? You thought the color would suit me?" you complained; not fond of being attacked for no reason. Though, you guessed no one was fond of that. Peeves cackled and pulled the rug from underneath your feet, forcing you to jump a few steps to avoid falling.

Peeves pelted another chalk at you and you murmured a ‘thank you’ to Valeria for drilling all the exercises into your routine as you jumped up and grabbed the stairs railing above you. The poltergeist cackled and grabbed a bucket filled with water just as you were pulling yourself up and over the railing with great effort. "Wouldn't want to get soaked, now, would you?" flying had a lot of advantages, as you figured the moment you saw Peeves above you ready to pour the water right on top of you.

You just barely lunged forward over the stairs and up to the next floor, it wasn't far, barely four feet away from where you previously stood, but it ensured only a few drops actually reached you. Smirking, you began running up the next staircase, shifting your weight from left to right to avoid the chalk ricocheting all around you. A bunch of papers obscured your vision as you ran through them up the last staircase only to barely avoid an armor that was promptly placed in your path. "Good one Peeves, nearly got me!" what you didn't count on was professor McGonagall appearing around the corner, you yelped, desperately moving aside and crashed through the doors into a broom closet instead of her.

"Miss L/N, what do you think you're doing?" she sounded like she was just about to take your points, but then she notices Peeves. "Peeves! How many times do I need to warn you not to put students in danger?!" oh, she was really pissed and you weren’t so keen on staying there.

As you tried to silently walk away, hoping she’d be distracted by the poltergeist, the older witch turned around. "Miss L/N," she sternly said your last name and you flinched and stopped. You did make a mess in the broom closet.

"Sorry about the mess, professor?" you asked, not sure what else to say.

She understood what you were worried about and with a wave of her wand the closet was cleaned up. "Did you get hurt?" she asked, she still sounded strict, but you could tell she wasn't angry. She was actually worried. Well, you did crash into the closet.

“Oh, no, I’m fine. Had worse,” you shrugged it off.

Professor McGonagall seemed amused by that. “Valeria?” she assumed, meaning she was probably more than aware of your great-grandmother’s methods.

“Tough love,” you grinned a bit, though, if dodging Peeves proved anything it was that her methods were effective. “Counting on spells to keep you safe all the time is asking to be hurt, or so she says,”

She nodded, clearly familiar with the phrase. "Good, go to madam Pomfrey if you feel any pain," she told you, and seeing as you seemed to be fine she moved on to wherever she was going before you nearly collided into her.

You ran your fingers through your hair, relieved that went about as smoothly as it could, and she even got Peeves to stop. There was still a good chance Peeves would come back so you really needed to get out of there.

As you continued your exploration of the school you saw something fairly amazing when you stumbled upon the library. A stack of books shakily levitating out of it.

You tilted your head and curiously approached the books, only to realize the books weren't levitating. A girl with incredibly bushy hair that was peeking from behind cover of books was trying to take what looked like a tower of books that obscured her vision out of the library.

"Let me help you with that," you offered and ran over to her. There was no way she'd be able to get to her common room with all those books without an accident.

"I'm fine," her voice was bossy and stubborn, but it also sounded strained, she was definitely struggling.

"Don't be so stubborn," you pleaded, definitely not wanting to watch her get buried under a pile of books, but she wasn’t budging, she even took a step to the side to send a clear message. "What do you need all these books for, anyway?" you were genuinely curious; as far as you knew the library was available at almost any time. And you also hoped continuing the conversation would give the girl a chance to at least consider letting you help.

The girl sighed, as if annoyed by her situation. "I wanted to read tonight and wasn't sure what to pick first," she explained and sure, you understood being indecisive but this was taking it too far.

“And you couldn’t narrow it down to, I don’t know, fifteen books instead of,” you did a quick count. “Thirty-seven?” if the girl could see you, you were sure she’d be glaring at you.

“This was narrowed down,” she was amazing, frightening, but amazing. The girl took a few trembling steps forward, then a few more, and then came to the stairs. Shockingly, she did climb up a few steps and you wordlessly followed after her, it was only a matter of steps by this point, because as stubborn as she was there was only one way this could end, and you wouldn’t feel right if you just let it happen.

The stairs chose that moment to shift which nearly caused her to fall. You reached forward, steading the books from the side with one hand while helping her hold them up with the other, though a couple of books still fell from the top of the book tower. “That went better than I expected,” you said sheepishly, "You okay?" you asked.

You still didn’t get to see her face, but the prolonged silence implied she nodded before realizing you couldn’t see her. "Yeah, thanks."

You smiled, picking up the few books that fell and taking about a dozen from her pile, and now you could finally see more than her hair, though half of her face still remained behind the books. You still recognized her as one of the girls from your year. “I'm Y/N, nice to meet you."

"I'm Hermione," she smiled back shyly. "You really don't have to help me; I don't want to bother anyone."

"Don't worry about it, I was just walking around aimlessly anyways," you assured her as you once again began climbing up the stairs. It was much easier for her now that she could actually see what was in front of you, but it also meant it was now more difficult for you, since you were carrying books. Well, you figured it was worth it.

It was a pleasant walk, though the two of you mostly remained silent, the classes didn't start yet so neither of you could come up with something to talk about. And a couple of surprised stares didn't help either, after all, you weren't just from different houses, you were from houses that hated one another.

~X~

As eager as Hermione was to learn it felt like she would hit her limit if she didn't get back to bed soon. She spent the past three days mostly reading and barely got enough sleep, she was that excited; but now that she needed to focus on the Astronomy class she felt the sleep deprivation catching up to her.

It was only natural, really, she was still a child and she needed her sleep. Yet everything about Hogwarts, about her being a witch, felt so surreal, she needed to take it all in as quickly as possible.

She wasn't the only sleepy student though, in fact, most of her classmates looked like they would rather be in bed. She persisted through the lesson, doing her best to answer any questions Professor Sinistra had.

As the class came to an end she packed her things and began walking down the stairs, since her chat with you she hadn't really talked with anyone yet. If anyone talked to her it was to ask about something from class, and even that only happened twice so far. It looked like she’d have the same issue here as in her old school. No one wanted a bookworm like her as a friend. But she still hoped that finally being in a place she belonged in, surrounded by people just like her, would change that.

"Hey, good job answering that question about Jupiter," she was a bit startled when she heard a voice coming from behind her and paused as you caught up to her.

She instantly recognized you and was honestly happy to see you again. Gryffindor and Slythein didn’t really share classes until tonight, and you’d share Potions as well, so, there weren’t many chances to talk. “Hi, Y/N," she smiled.

"You look like you're about to fall asleep," you noticed with a small hint of a teasing grin on your face.

"I've been reading," Hermione huffed, a tiny bit defensive even if she could see you meant no harm.

You raised your hands in surrender. "Sorry, I shouldn’t have teased you. If it wasn't this chilly most of us would probably fall asleep right here," you told her, and Hermione couldn't help but agree. "How were the books you took from the library? Anything particularly interesting?"

Hermione halted for a moment, not really expecting the questions. "I read most of them,” the incredulous look on your face was actually kinda funny, and she just shrugged, as if asking you what did you expect. “It's amazing really, everything about magic. Hogwarts, A History, is the one you should start with, it's my favorite so far."

You didn’t look nearly as excited by the title of the book as she was. You even looked a bit bored with it. "History really isn't my thing; I don't think I'll enjoy it half as much as you did."

Yet, it didn't bother her, at the moment she was just glad she actually talked with someone. "Say, would you like to go to the library with me?" yet as she asked that she felt unsure, this was only your second time talking and you were in Slytherin so she-

"Sure, I'd like that,"

-expected you to refuse. "Right, I guessed you-" and then it dawned on her that you accepted. "You would?"

You just grinned at her. "Of course. I don't see why I wouldn't want to," it was that easy. And it would remain like that over the next couple of years, always easy to find solutions, even if it sometimes took a bit of time.

If Hermione knew how the later years at Hogwarts would go, she would have stocked up on some of this ease instead of using it all up while it mattered significantly less.

~X~

The first week was slowly but surely coming to an end and it wrapped up with Potions, a class taught by the Head of the Slytherin house, Severus Snape. And to say that it was an eventful class would be an understatement. It was more than that, it was a mess, with Snape’s dislike, or even hatred for Potter being more than apparent, and another one of Gryffindor students messing up his potion. All in all, things happened.

And unfortunately for you, as the class came to a close and Snape inspected your potion he looked at you, long and hard and frankly worrying you that you messed something up.

“Name,” he demanded after way too much time had passed.

“Y/N L/N!” you exclaimed, surprised by the sudden question.

“Additional potions, I want to see you here every Tuesday and Friday,” he ordered, leaving you flabbergasted.

But before you could respond Snape had already moved on to another student.

And you were left there, not even sure if those additional classes were because you were so awful at it he had no other choice, which was kinda ridiculous since your potion did not explode and make a mess.

Or, just as unlikely, Snape saw some potential in you and wanted to push you to get better immediately. Which was actually worse than the first option!

~X~

It was the worse option, and you found yourself staring at the potion ingredients you were meant to mix. “Do I have any choice in the matter?” surely you could say no to extra classes, right? That would make his life a lot easier as well!

“No,” yet Snape crushed those hoped like you were going to crush the ingredients for the potion.

You dropped your forehead onto the table. “Get off my back,” you muttered to yourself.

“What was that?” Snape must have heard you and you, as alarmed as you were, got up, yelling ‘Nothing, Sir’ like your life depended on it.

Maybe it did, he did seem to immediately decide he would make Potter’s time in the potions class as miserable as he possibly could.

So, figuring it would be better to pick up and get good at the skills Snape was offering, you began coming to the extra potions classes twice a week.

~X~

It was during one of the nights after extra Potions that you found yourself in the common room looking at the instructions on how to transfigure a match into a needle for what felt like a hundredth time as if this time something would just click.

"Hey, Y/N, what's up?" Gemma sat down on the sofa next to you and looked over your shoulder at the book you were reading.

"My blood pressure," you complained as you motioned at the match McGonagall gave you.

Gemma reached out for her wand and effortlessly transfigured the match "Just concentrate, make sure you envision it, feel it change shape. You need focus, didn't Professor McGonagall teach you that?"

You glared at the feather as it came down back to the table like it owed you money. "She did. I'm just having trouble imagining a match changing into a needle. If I can envision it, I can do it, or at least that's what I think."

"Try this then. Imagine a match on one side and a needle on the other side. Close your eyes,” you followed her instructions, figuring you might as well take advice from a fifth-year student. “That's right, now merge them and leave only a needle, now give it a try," Gemma explained.

You nodded and took a deep breath; you closed your eye, imagined what she just told you, and touched the match with the tip of your wand forcing the match to change shape. When you opened your eyes the match was different, it was a bit dark and definitely not as sharp as it was meant to be, but you figured it would pass for a sort of a wooden needle.

Yeah. You needed to work on that. A lot. But, at least you weren’t still looking at a match.

“Eh,” Gemma clearly wasn’t all that impressed, but some progress was made. “Could use more work, but it’ll do for tonight. Go on now, go to sleep,” she patted you on the head, which was an annoying habit she got into.

“Fine, fine,” you groaned, getting up to avoid her hand and went downstairs to the dorm rooms followed by Gemma’s laughter.

~X~

The gist of the flying lessons? You sucked at them, and Draco was being Draco, which ended up giving Harry Potter a place on the Gryffindor quidditch team. And now that was all you could hear in the common room as several students, especially Draco, laughed about how desperate Gryffindor must be to accept a first-year onto a team. Though some, again, Draco, complained that Potter was getting special treatment.

You? You didn’t care one bit. You had extra Potions and you were really tempted to openly tell Snape to get off your back when he increased the number of lessons from twice a week to three times a week.

~X~

About two weeks later, on Halloween, you were on your way to the herbology class, which you were mildly interested in because of the potions. So, while you weren’t that enthusiastic about it, you knew it was necessary. As you were making your way to the class you saw Hermione running down the hall, which immediately made you stop. Hermione rarely ran, especially looking that distraught and. "Hermione!" you called after her and surprisingly she stopped. When you caught up to her you realized she was wiping her face. Was she crying? "What's going on? Why are you running?"

Hermione took a deep breath and turned around, she was definitely crying just now and she was clutching on her beloved book like it was her lifeline. "Can I ask you something?" she whispered, her voice cracking, she sounded like she has had enough, like she was at her limit.

You nodded, not really sure what else to do. “Of course you can.”

“Are we friends?” the question caught you off guard entirely, so much so that you weren’t entirely sure how to answer.

Friends? Were they? She wasn't a stranger, that much was certain, and you guessed that after several days spent together in the library, she wasn't just an acquaintance anymore. Still, a friend was too personal. Too much and too quick for you right now. "Friends? Uh… sort of, we're not friends, friends, but we're more than not friends," you had no idea what you just said, it didn’t make sense and was entirely caused by being around an antisocial woman for the past two years and not quite learning how to deal with these types of questions. "I guess we're getting there?" you offered.

Apparently, that wasn't the answer Hermione wanted or was hoping for because a tear slid down her cheek quickly followed by another. "You can't stand me either, can you? That's why we're just hanging out in the library, right?" she didn't wait for a response, instead she ran off in tears.

You could only look at her as she ran off, flabbergasted by what she just said. Was there even another option for hanging out? It was getting colder outside and just aimlessly walking around the castle felt pointless to you, even if you did do it on your first morning here. The two of you couldn't go to each other's common rooms, you wouldn't be welcomed in Gryffindor and she wouldn't be welcomed in Slytherin. Grand Hall was an option but that was just too crowded and not- "Oh, come on, why am I analyzing it now of all times?" you threw your hands up in the air, exasperated by your own thought and ran after her. "What was that about? Can't stand her? Hermione, wait!" you turned around the corner, but she was nowhere to be found. As you helplessly tried to figure out where she went, a single realization hit you. "I made a terrible mistake," you berated yourself and slumped against the wall.

Needless to say, the rest of your day was horrible, you kept trying to locate Hermione and the divided attention made you lose focus on the classes you had for the rest of the day. Not even the feast interested you as Hermione wasn't there and you didn’t have the chance to fix your mistake. You had no idea where to look for her, you had no idea who to talk to. So, you pretty much glared at the steak in front of you.

"You look awfully distracted," and absolutely the last person you wanted to talk to, chose that moment to speak up.

"Read the air, I don't want to talk right now," you warned and somehow Draco got the message.

Mere moments later Quirrell came sprinting into the hall with a clear picture of terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped. "Troll, in the dungeons, thought you… ought to know," he then proceeded to faint.

An uproar followed his announcement, and it took some firecrackers from Dumbledore himself to bring silence into the hall. "Prefects, lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

You blankly stared at the man. “Slytherin dormitories are in the dungeons… thought you should know,” you dryly pointed out to no one in particular.

~X~

It was the day of Harry's first quidditch match and Hermione was more than a little excited about it. For the first time she had true friends, someone to hang out with that didn't think she was weird.

No, not the first time, she had one friend before. Or at least she thought you were her friend until you pretty much said you weren't. She should have guessed something like that would happen, after all you weren’t even a part of her house. She knew about the rivalry between your houses; it just looked strange now that she thought about it. Thinking about you was making her huff as she found the book she was looking for - 'History of Wizarding World: A short guide'. Hermione took it and made her way to her regular table in the corner of the library. As she made her way there, she saw you sitting there, slightly hunched forward as you were reading something. 'Just walk by her, she's focused on the book,' it was likely a book on potions so the chances of you actually paying attention to your surroundings were minimal.

It was all going according to plan, you didn't seem to notice her and she was happy to just be on her way. The book you were reading was much bigger than the regular potion book you so obviously cherished and she slowed down, unable to suppress her curiosity. The moment she recognized the book she froze on spot.

'History really isn't my thing, I don't think I'll enjoy it half as much as you did.' That was what you said. Yet here you was reading 'Hogwarts, A History'. "Y/N?" mentally, she kicked herself for not calling you by your last name instead.

You didn't turn around. "Hm? I'm reading, be quick," why was she even surprised by how frustratingly uncaring you were. And then you straightened your back so quickly she nearly dropped her book. "Hermione?!" you turned around and blinked a few times, ignoring the glares from the students around you. "Uh… hey," what, no regular remarks on this or that? That was a new one.

"Mind if I sit next to you?" she didn't know what got into her, maybe she just wanted to have a friend back. Even if you didn't think you were friends.

"Never," you paused for a moment and slapped your forehead. "I mean I don't mind, you can sit wherever you'd like," you scratched the back of your head sheepishly as you avoided looking her in the eyes.

Hermione sat down not entirely used to the idea of you being even remotely nervous. "I remember you said history wasn't your thing," she reminded you.

You frowned a bit at that. "It isn't. But since I'm not going to hear what's so great about it from you, I figured I might as well read it."

Hermione's jaw dropped slightly. Thinking back you did try to talk to her, on more than one occasion, ever since Halloween. She didn't want to hear it, not now, not when what you said hurt more than what Ron said, more than any teasing, at least she didn't consider those that teased and insulted her to be her friends.

"I was a jerk, I'm sorry for what I said," you apologized, you didn't offer any excuses, you just apologized with as much sincerity as you could muster.

Mostly on impulse, Hermione wrapped her arms around your neck, hugging you tightly. She felt relief flooding her and it felt like this day couldn’t get any better.

You slowly wrapped one arm around her shoulders. "I didn't think hanging out only in the library would bother you. To be honest, I have no idea where else we could hang out, I don't know if you'd be cold outside," you muttered, explaining your reasoning.

She didn't consider that as a possibility, that you simply didn't think too much about it. From what she learnt about you it did make sense that you’d figure out the more practical solution and just stick with it. "So, I guess we could take a walk one of these days?" she suggested as she pulled away from you.

You nodded enthusiastically. "Whenever you want, wherever you want to go," you paused for a moment and she could see a bit of hesitation in your eyes. "You've got to tell me what made you cry that day. I mean aside from me," still, as hesitant as you were, you were also curious, that much was obvious from the tone of your voice. For a moment she thought that she had your absolute attention, and it was a nice feeling, if she was being honest.

Hermione wasn't entirely sure she should tell you what really happened. though If things went her way all three of her friends could hang out with her at the same time and you would all get along. She didn't want you to get the wrong idea and misjudge Ron. Still, she figured being honest was the best option. "We had Charms that day and after the class ended Ron said I was a nightmare, that no one can stand me."

Much to Hermione's horror, you stood up abruptly, looking ready to go and fight Ron.

"I think it's about time I have a chat with some other Gryffindors," the moment you said that Hermione grabbed your hand and pulled you back down.

She looked you in the eyes, pleading silently to just calm down. "Wait, please. Ron was just frustrated after class and he and Harry saved me from a troll. They're both my friends now, Y/N, they're my best friends and I don't want you to fight with them."

"Are you sure? Because I can punch really hard," she was sure you was exaggerating, they were kids, they couldn't possibly punch, as you had put it, really hard.

"No, no, that's – just barbaric. Especially for no reason," luckily, you didn’t bring it up again and she could relax. Though she made a mental note not to put you in the same room as Harry and Ron anytime soon.

~X~

As the day went on you were sure nothing could ruin your mood. And of course, as if you were tempting fate, Draco, with a surprisingly angry look on his face, took a seat right next to you in the Slytherin common room. You’ve done it now, you were too happy, too pleased with yourself and now you had to deal with Malfoy throwing a tantrum.

"You weren't at the match," it was a statement and you could tell it was merely a prologue of a long speech.

"I don't care about quidditch," you tried your best to end it before it even had a chance to begin, but all your efforts were futile. This was Draco Malfoy you were trying to stop from ranting after all.

"Well, you should! Anyway, can you imagine what Potter did? He ended up with a snitch in his mouth and it counted. I feel so cheated right now," Draco complained, droning on and on about how it wasn't fair. How Slytherin was winning and all that.

The best solution would be to just get up and leave. Unfortunately, it would only antagonize the boy next to you, and while you didn't really care it would still make your life easier if you and Draco were on relatively neutral terms. So, you sat there and half-listened half-stared at the water above you. It was relaxing, seeing the lake from below.

"Preposterous! That's what it was! He damn near swallowed the snitch!" both you and Draco turned around to see Gemma complaining about what happened at the match. Her friends, a couple of other fifth-year students rolled their eyes at her.

"We're going to study, join us when you cool off," one of them told her and the group separated from her.

"Sure, sure," it was obvious Gemma was searching for something to do or someone that shared her passion for quidditch.

"Hey, Farley! Over here!" Draco actually called her to come over.

"Tell me you've seen that ridiculous match, I mean come on!" she dragged out the last few words and rolled her eyes at the memory of Potter catching the snitch.

"Seriously what was that all about?! Potter just keeps getting rewarded for breaking the rules," Draco eagerly joined her in their mutual complaining about a quidditch match.

"You're supposed to catch it. Catch it, not bite it," Gemma made sure that whoever somehow didn't get the word of it knew exactly what Potter did to obtain the snitch.

"Isn't there a phrase catching the flies or whatever?" you asked pretty much out of nowhere.

Gemma raised an eyebrow at that. "Uh, yeah, no idea why that would be relevant though."

You smirked, a tiny bit too eager to mess with her. "Well since in that case, you do catch them with your mouth I guess Potter didn't do anything wrong," you just had to do it.

Gemma swatted your shoulder and Draco glared at you, which only ended up amusing you. It was a nice payment for having to half-listen to Draco for what felt like eternity. "I'll hit you with a book if you say that again."

The smirk never vanished from your face, it even grew larger. "Such an inspiring role model. Perfect prefect, no doubt about it."

Gemma rolled her eyes again and went back to complaining about the match with Draco. It caught you by surprise, but they hit it off fairly well, really well actually. Though, you guessed people could bond over mutual annoyance.

~X~

And so, the year continued. Thankfully, without much additional excitement on your part. You and Hermione saw each other every now and then, usually once a week, either studying together or just relaxing. She even helped you out with Transfiguration and you desperately needed that. It did make you realize how much you sucked at socializing because what you had with Hermione was closest to an actual friendship.

With your own housemates? Aside from Gemma? You were civil at best. Other houses? Didn’t even bother trying to get close to them. You were really acing this whole school life thing.

Either way, the time for exams came and went, and while you weren’t all that interested in most of them you did excel in Potions and… that was about it actually. Everything else you ended up being about average. Granted, you probably would have put more effort into Defense against the Dark Arts if it wasn’t for… well Quirrell’s teaching.

A week passed and the end-of-year feast was upon them. When you walked in you saw the Great Hall decked out in the Slytherin colors, green and silver, your house had won the house cup, the seventh year in a row as well. Or at least that's what it seemed like.

Dumbledore arrived and the silence enveloped the room as the students looked at their Headmaster.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. And you pretty much chose to ignore his speech until the Gryffindors began cheering and you looked around to see your fellow Slytherins seething.

“There goes the house cup,” you guessed, maybe a tiny bit more annoyed than you expected you’d be.

"Second, to Miss Hermione Granger, for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points," yeah, it was over. He was handing the cup over to his former house.

"Third, to Mr. Harry Potter," Dumbledore caused the room to go deadly quiet as if this would end in any other way. Gryffindor was winning. "For pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."

The score was now only five points apart. "Wait for it," you muttered knowing Dumbledore had a way to hand Gryffindor the victory, he was just building anticipation or whatever.

Dumbledore raised his hand. "There are all kinds of courage," Dumbledore was smiling. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I, therefore, award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."

You let out a sigh, Draco who was, for whatever reason, sitting next to you, looked absolutely horrified, the victory slipped out of their fingers, but what annoyed you more was that he was preaching about standing up to friends, when he covered up crimes of his own friends or whatever they were to him.

"Which means," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause. Even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating the downfall of Slytherin. "We need a little change of decoration," he clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet, and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished, and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place.

"Well, whatever," you leaned against the table. For the first time, it was truly clear to you how much the Slytherin house was on one side while the other three were on the other one. The entire school was celebrating their downfall. Oh, and Dumbledore just gave you another reason to dislike him.

A/N: So... Taglist?

[copinghex]

3:00 a.m in Birmingham | T.S

Summary: Tommy's wife has trouble sleeping and resorts to a method he disapproves of. As usual, he tries to solve this issue in his own ways.

A/N: I stopped frequently reposting old works because I thought "oh, I'm gonna work on new stuff now," and then I didn't. Anyway, this is one of my favorites

Tommy sighed in relief as he found her car parked in front of their old house at Watery Lane. He's been looking for her for hours and although her whereabouts weren't exactly mysterious, Tommy couldn't stop his hands from trembling with the possibility of her being gone.

The house was dark as usual, even if they had enough money for it, none of the Shelby's saw the point of paying for electricity for a house they barely went to, the only electric light came from the betting shop, since the business place was closed for the day, the house only counted with the light from streets that shined through the windows.

Thomas walked from each to each room looking for his wife until he finally got to their old shared bedroom. She was sitting on the bed staring at the wall, arms resting on her knees while her hands played with a bottle of something he couldn't identify.

"I thought you didn't like this bedroom," Tommy drawled, holding himself from scolding her, she might not be physically injured, but he knew she wouldn't run away if she was alright.

"I don't, it's too small,"

"Yeah, I don't like it either," Tommy agreed and sat by her side, "so we shouldn't be here,"

She peeked at him by the side of her eye and brought her hands near her chest, trying to hide the label of the bottle, "I needed a place to relax,"

"Oh, why didn't you try a spa?"

"Because in case you haven't noticed, it's three in the morning, we must be the only people awake in Birmingham," she humorlessly chuckled, "well, perhaps with exception of the night shift workers,"

"Right, but why here in all the places?"

"...It was our home for many years, I thought the feeling of familiarity would help me relax, help me sleep,"

Tommy arched his eyebrows at his wife's answer, she had problems sleeping for some time since the business started to grow and brought some consequences, but for the last few years he could swear she's been sleeping well, she's been even able to convince him to try to rest.

"You should see a doctor," he spoke softly with a bit of humour, usually, she was the one suggesting that.

"Nah, all doctors are children of rich people who don't actually care about people," she bitterly spat, it was an honest belief of her, however, there was another reason why she refused to see a doctor.

It was because she already did, during the busy weeks Tommy was barely home, she managed to sneak a doctor into the house and the diagnosis wasn't pleasant, stress was keeping her from a well-deserved night of sleep and the recommendation was to absent herself from any stressful situation. Well, being married to Thomas Shelby was very stressful.

She thought of taking a break, perhaps going on holiday with the children, every time Tommy got home though, he seemed to need her more, business related papers, loneliness, a stress relief, she filled all the gaps Tommy turned a blind eye through the day, because he was always sure she'd effortlessly fill them for him.

He needed her, he told her that many times, mostly not verbally, but the way his tired eyes bored into hers when he got home from work, the way his hands pulled her close to him and how he seemed lost when she didn't greet him at the door left no doubts, together with whiskey, opium and cigarettes, she kept the broken pieces of him tightly tied.

Hell, she knew the best she could do for herself was to leave him, Tommy was unstoppable, he had no limitations or limits, he'd never rest and he lived something near fine with it. She was different, she didn't mind doing paperwork or looking after the broken man she called husband, but she needed assurance things wouldn't fall apart at any moment, she needed to sleep knowing her empire wasn't built on unstable land and that was something Tommy couldn't offer.

Trying to solve this impasse, she bought sleeping pills, the strongest she could find. They worked well for the first two years, eventually she became immune to the effect, increasing the dose wasn't an option anymore either, it'd probably make her overdose instead of sleep.

Now, she was sitting near the cause of her insomnia in the old bedroom they shared, refusing to confess the true reason for her sleepless nights.

"What 's that?" Tommy suddenly asked, eyeing the bottle in her hands.

"Nothing,"

"Show me," he offered his hand for her to give him the flask.

"No,"

"What is it? A secret? Show me," he tried to take it from her hand and she pushed him away, "what the fuck are you hiding?"

"It's none of your business, did you come here only to bother me?" she complained.

"Worrying about you it's bothering now, eh? Give me that fucking thing," he forcefully took the bottle from her.

She pressed her lips together as Tommy read the label, "Did the doctor give them to you?"

"No,"

"Who did?"

"I bought them,"

"With whose prescription?"

"Nobody's, Tommy! I just take them to sleep,"

"These are fucking strong, did you take all of them?"

"Yeah,"

"How long have you been taking these things?" he frowned, insisting when she didn't answer, "Hm?"

"Two years,"

"Two fucking years? Does a doctor know about it?"

"What right do you have to scold me, Tom? Do you think I can't smell opium on you?"

"It's not the fucking same, these can be dangerous,"

"Oh, and yours are not?"

"For fuck's sake," he sighed and stood up, adopting a scolding posture, "why didn't you see a doctor?"

"I don't like doctors, Tommy,"

"Neither do I, but I'd see one if you asked, I know what I'm doing, it's what I always did, you got these pills out of nowhere and hid them from me,"

"I never hid them from you, if you got to bed a bit earlier you'd have seen me taking them!"

"Argh, sorry for not keeping an eye on you, you know I have so much free time," he said ironically, "why don't you go around saying how much of a bad husband I am?!"

"Well, I wouldn't be lying, would I?" she snapped, "I went to a doctor, Tommy! Do you wanna know what he told me?! To stay away from stressful things, but guess what? You stress me out, being by your side is stressful!"

Tommy gulped, assimilating the words his wife just told him, he was not by any means surprised by them, he knew it was all true, but he never expected her to throw them on his face like this.

"...you're with me by choice, if you're not happy, leave," his tone of voice was calm, but there was a dangerous challenge in it. After so long together, she doubted Tommy would accept a divorce, it was certain that when she died, the name Shelby would in her grave.

Besides, leaving Tommy was not her true wish, except for the lack of sleep, her life was comfortable, her child went to the best school, she wore the best clothes, drove the fastest cars and drank the best wine. Also, her love for Tommy was undeniable.

"I don't want to leave you," she mumbled, watching Tommy's tense expression change to relief, "but I need to sleep, I need to be alright so I can help you to be alright,"

"I don't want you to be with me for pity," he sat back down.

"It's not pity, I wouldn't be here if it was," she hesitated for a second before confessing, "I love you,"

He weakly smiled, still looking shaken by her previous harsh statement, Tommy always thought of himself as a not good enough husband, now she just crossed all the lines and defined him as a bad one.

"Tommy," she whispered, "nothing in this world would make me leave you, you won't get rid of me so easily,"

"Nothing?"

"Nothing, not even my sleep craving body,"

Tommy nodded, humorlessly chuckling, he stood up and took the car's keys from his pocket, "Let's go then,"

"I came with my own car,"

"I'll tell the driver to bring it home tomorrow, c'mon,"

As Tommy made the way to his car, she followed after him. It took a few minutes until they got on the road.

Tommy drove slowly, at this hour there was no one in the streets but them. The darkness of the night would have consumed the scenario if it wasn't for the car's headlights.

Despite the engine's noise, she relaxed, the car smelled of cigarettes and Tommy's cologne, it was a familiar scent and she felt safe sitting beside her husband. However, the unknown road Tommy was taking strokes an alert light in her head.

"This is not the way home," she warned.

"I know, I've thought of going somewhere else first," Tommy answered, secretly with no idea of where he was driving to, he only knew it wasn't home.

"Where?"

"You'll see when you get there,"

"I can't keep secrets from you but you can keep secrets from me?"

"It's not a secret, it's a surprise,"

"Tsk, I don't believe you set up a surprise at three in the morning,"

"Better believe,"

As the world got silent, she rested her head on his shoulder, allowing her eyes to close and her arms to wrap around his.

"You know, only this time I'll let you put your feet on the seat," Tommy spoke softly.

"Oh, such a gentleman," she took her heels off, "where are we going, Tom?" she peeked the road through her heavy eyelids.

"Right now I'm trying to find a rotary on the way home,"

"Where the fuck are we going anyway?"

"Just wait and see,"

"Go on, Tommy, quit the mystery,"

"Be patient, love."

She sighed in frustration and made herself even more comfortable in the car seat. The shakes caused by the bumpy road worked almost like motherly lulling.

Tommy's plan went exactly like he expected, his wife fell into deep slumber, this time without the need of any pills.

[linddzz]

I am slamming that validation button like a rodent wanting more sugar water so here's more mostly rough draft Jayvik.

A continuation of the nicknames fic. More science dorks being dorks, this time greatly featuring some seriously questionable boundaries between totally normal lab colleagues, and much more briefly featuring Viktor being so horny it makes him stupid. Also appearing is Jayce Talis, ADHD King and allusions to Viktor's past slut era. Both fics are a sort of preview chapter in the bigger thing @amahhi and I are working on!

Thank you to @avelera for planting the idea of platonically dubious scritches in my head, and for being a constant sounding board!

Rating: PG

Pair: Jayvik pre-relationship

----

It continues to be surprising, how not surprising everything is when it comes to Jayce.

A week into the partnership, and that initial bright thrill of something new has not dulled in the slightest. Nor has the perfectly ordinary, easy comfort that he feels with Jayce. The un-remarkability of this calm is what makes it remarkable. With Jayce, there is none of the discomfort of dealing with another person. None of the abrasive tension that arises when Viktor must face other people as distinct personalities which he must contend with, instead of the larger concepts of People. People as an idea have problems that he can solve, whose suffering he can reduce without any needs for interaction causing issues.

But Jayce functions outside of these issues Viktor often finds himself in. Jayce slots into a space Viktor hardly knew existed, like there had always been this jagged edge to him that, to his great surprise, was actually part of a puzzle that Jayce had the other half to.

Past experience would have him expecting that, with time, the shine would wear off. The glow would dim. He would learn all the little faults and human contradictions of Jayce and would grow to feel that jagged tension return. Spending hours upon hours each and every day for a solid week with him have revealed Jayce’s little foibles, yet not one has grown into a frustration. In actuality, Viktor has had nothing but further data points to add weight to his newly forming thoughts of destiny and its relation to himself and Jayce. For each little fault and lacking Jayce has, Viktor can help. He can, perhaps, be the puzzle piece that returns the favor to fit neatly into Jayce's life.

For example, Jayce can grow blind to his surroundings, his mind too caught in their work. Viktor had assumed that the apartment was in the state he first found it in due to an explosive force of arcane power. He still thinks that, but he has learned that this great force was not the struck gem amplifying and reflecting the kinetic force aimed at it to exponential levels, but Jayce himself. He often forgets his keys, or his mugs, or his pencils behind an ear, his goggles on his head, his tools, everything but his journal really.

It was the third time that he left his keys in the lab (on top of twice that he came in groaning that he had locked himself out of his temporary housing), that Viktor realized what the pattern was, and that he could provide a solution.

Jayce had more important things to focus his mind on, so it was both useless and counterproductive to adjust Jayce’s behavior or habits so he could track the little necessities of life. Fortunately, Viktor is well practiced on keeping track of what he needs to. It’s a skill that was refined when he first used it to avoid detection in the Academy, and then even further developed as Professor Heimerdinger’s assistant. When Jayce left his keys behind again, the answer was simple and obvious. They were already missing from Jayce’s person, so Viktor simply took them to the sort of establishment in the lanes that would never ask any questions, but would always make a perfect copy of any keys brought to them.

Jayce’s keys were neatly returned to him, and Viktor took no small delight in waiting for the next time Jayce smacked his forehead as they left for the day, realizing that he had once again locked himself out of his rooms, to reveal his backups. There was a brief moment, where Jayce stared at the keys hanging from Viktor’s finger, when he worried in a flash that this was not something a friend or colleague should do, that he had overstepped in some way. Then Jayce snorted with his grin, called Viktor brilliant if a little terrifying, but mostly brilliant, and everything was perfect.

The key was only for Jayce’s temporary rooms in the Academy housing, but Viktor could make another set once the apartment repairs were complete, even if it seems wasteful to have Jayce eventually move out of the building that Viktor lives in.

Jayce is also wonderful at taking notes for his work, but less skilled at going back to reorganize or refine those notes. His notes are exemplary, even with the little flair of him signing every single page, but it leads to problems.

These problems are their current struggle in the cramped space of their semi-lab at some odd hour of the night. Viktor stands and contemplates the board crowded with copies of Jayce’s notes, additional observations both have about that first successful arcane spell, and Viktor’s little chalked notes next to clusters of paper denoting what sections of an article each goes to. Behind him, Jayce is not exactly pacing, which would require repeating of one path, but he is in a constant state of muttering movement with occasional bursts of frustration over paperwork.

Because they can make a fully stable arcane frame that affects the gravity within the dean’s office, but that means nothing to the academy if it is not properly written and submitted for review. They are on their fourth draft of the paper, and the initial excitement over being published has dwindled with every draft that has been returned with Heimerdinger’s cheerful blue ink slashed across the pages. One of Jayce’s faults, Viktor is finding, is that he does not take such things gracefully. It takes the second set of revisions for Viktor to realize that pride is not the primary hurt that Jayce feels, but the thread of anxiety Viktor had seen woven through Jayce’s journal. The need to prove himself, and the fear of impending failure at every turn.

“How else do they want me to explain it?” Jayce groans, and Viktor does not need to turn around to know that the perfectly clean cut hair is likely sticking out in every direction.

“I was hoping the Professor would not have edited “crank it” so quickly out of the methodology.” Viktor muses. That was his greatest disappointment. “I am deeply curious on how he expects us to find half of the citations he has requested for this entirely new scientific field.”

“And when the Academy insists there aren’t more tomes on mage lore!” Jayce snarls.

“We will have to expand outside of the Academy in the future.” Viktor agrees, turning a little to once again look over the taped up pages of their latest draft and what blue marks are where. “However, I think a more concrete description of the runic array you conducted into the stabilizer may be our ticket past many of the other issues he has found.”

Instead of grumblings or more huffed complaints, a heavy weight thumps onto Viktor’s shoulder. He pauses, realizing immediately that it is Jayce’s head that has slumped against him, and Jayce’s impressive body heat against his back indicating that there is, at most, a few inches of space between them.

“I don’t know how.” Jayce groans, but it’s less petulant and quieter, almost fearful. “I don’t know how to describe what I did.”

“Hm.” Is all Viktor can say in that exact moment. He is, briefly, distracted by Jayce’s hair brushing against his jaw with the strong scent of some sort of…of fancy wood. It is not an unpleasant scent.

“Sorry.” Jayce mutters. “Sorry, I know you’re not touchy I just- gimme a second I gotta think.”

“That’s perfectly alright.” Viktor assures him. It is alright. Jayce is correct that Viktor is not nearly as tactile as Jayce is, but he is at this point well acquainted with Jayce’s propensity towards touch. His own lack of aversion or any other strong reaction to it was one of the earliest surprises in their partnership. “Take your time gathering your thoughts. This is a far less dire circumstance than that first stabilization was.”

“You told me there was no pressure then.” Jayce mumbles, already sounding a little less miserable.

“That is because I was lying.” Viktor hums, delighted at the snort he gets, and the way he can feel Jayce’s movement from the small laugh.

“Seriously V, I just remembered that night, remembered what the mage looked like and what all the magic looked like and I…did the same thing. But it wasn’t the same thing, because no one got teleported. I don’t even know if what I did was a spell.” Viktor thinks he can feel the resonance of Jayce’s voice through his core, spreading in waves from the point where Jayce’s forehead presses down at the top edge of his shoulder.

The distraction is not a true distraction however, because Viktor catches something in what Jayce is muttering. “You can remember how he moved, what the runes he summoned looked like?”

“I remember everything about that night.”

“Yes but-” There is something here. He has already seen Jayce's remarkable skill at memorizing things that Jayce deems worth memorizing. If Jayce says he can remember it, Viktor does not doubt it. “The order of them, could you remember that?”

The head on Viktor’s shoulder shifts as Jayce rolls it slightly to one side, but he doesn’t move it in the other to shake his head. It’s a contemplative movement. “Maybe…I think so. Let me...ok this is going to sound so weird but can I just uh, hang out here for a second? It helps me think.”

“By all means.” There’s something particularly marvelous about becoming a stabilizing agent for Jayce’s mind, he would be a fool not to agree to the opportunity. As Jayce calibrates himself, Viktor once again considers their paper, the problems it has given them. Jayce had moved the dial of the stabilizing framework like a conductor, with precision. Heimerdinger wants written out theories and explanations and citations, but what if they could instead find a formula. What if the precision of Jayce’s input could be broken down into components and quantified…

His free hand moves with habitual lack of awareness to where it would usually begin fiddling with his own hair, and it takes a few moments for him to notice the slight change in both texture and location of the hair he is rolling between his fingertips. Even then, he only notices because Jayce’s head becomes an even heavier weight on his shoulder.

“Ah, apologies.” He says, stopping the movement, thinking this might be a thing to feel awkward about. “Force of habit, it helps me think.”

“No, s’fine.” Jayce says, voice thicker in a way that is dangerous for Viktor’s higher thought processes. “It’s nice, actually. I don’t mind.”

After a second, Viktor continues. This time he notes the finer texture of Jayce’s hair. It’s very soft, sleek almost, with traces of the gel he uses to style it making sections of stiffness that crunch away under Viktor’s fingers.

“You smell nice.” Jayce mumbles.

A response to that requires some consideration. Viktor…considers.

There was a time, not all that long ago, where he would have leapt on someone with Jayce’s build telling him he smelled good while standing a scant inch away from Viktor. He would have assumed that the intent was for him to leap. Viktor is more discriminating than he used to be about sexual escapades, mostly because he began finding the nights spent on dalliances not worth the distractions, but even he can admit that if Jayce had put a head on his shoulder and told him he smelled good a week ago, Viktor would know exactly how to respond. It would have involved leaning back against that broad heat, turning lightly twirling fingers into a fist in Jayce’s hair, then gleefully seeing where things went from that point.

But now…

Jayce fits in like a missing puzzle piece. Whatever Jayce is, it is not one of Viktor’s brief encounters. Viktor would want to tell Jayce he didn’t need to get his apartment repaired, when Viktor lives much closer to the lab and things would be much more efficient if they lived together. Viktor can be wildly in love with this man in every definition of love that exists, but romantic or sexual entanglements (and if there is one, Viktor very much wants the other as well) often end. In Viktor’s personal experience, they ended before morning, and that was only considering the sexual entanglement. Heightened intimacy was desperately tempting, but it risked a greater end to the entire partnership. Even if nothing ever started, a proposition alone could forever poison what there already is.

Jayce is tactile in a very casual way. He flirts with everything that smiles at him for more than three seconds, and there has been nowhere near enough data for Viktor to calculate the risk of losing that side of the puzzle, or how much of a reward he would gain from taking that risk.

“Thank you.” He says eventually, slow and still considering. Then, because that feels incomplete and awkward, he adds, “I use soap.

Jayce snorts again, the head on Viktor’s shoulder shaking as Jayce’s body shakes with quiet laughter. Viktor knows he is shaking with it, because every other hitch up of Jayce’s shoulders causes a tiny sway forward, which bumps Jayce’s chest against Viktor’s back. Each of these millisecond bits of contact makes Viktor once again run through the considerations of risk versus reward in relation to getting his hands on that chest. Under the shirt. He would need both hands. There is an awful lot of chest, after all. Maybe both hands and his mouth. Definitely all three. It really is so much chest.

He takes the fantastic effort to rein his mind away from Jayce’s prodigious chest, even more effort to pull it further from contemplating the amount of shoulder matching that chest and what the rest of the torso probably looks like. There should be a response in kind to Jayce’s. A friendly compliment to return a compliment.

“Your hair is very soft.” He decides, as that seems safe as well as relevant to Jayce's compliment. Jayce’s silent laughter turns into some small hitched sounds that near a squeak, which means that Viktor’s thoughts are successfully pulled away from the sexual distractions, but only into the romantic sort.

“Thank you.” Jayce says with a dreadful mimic of Viktor’s accent, which only strengthens Viktor’s resolve to not take any uninformed risks that could lead to him losing this, “I use a leave-in conditioner.”

Viktor’s hand drops from Jayce’s hair, and he turns his head as much as he can to shoot a baffled look at the top of Jayce’s head.

“Why the fuck would you leave in a hair conditioner?” He asks, affronted. “Conditioner already feels dreadful. It’s heavy and slimy, absolutely horrendous.”

Jayce shoots up (which is a shame) so that he can lean around and give Viktor a look of equal outrage. “What does- Viktor it’s a different thing from- do you not use conditioner!?”

“Of course not. It feels terrible, I already said that.” Jayce makes a pained sound, and Viktor waves him off. “Enough of that nonsense. It is a waste of time. I have an idea.”

Jayce moves up next to him, facing Viktor with an intent eagerness. “What is it?”

“You are going to describe to me exactly what you remember. Each rune, each movement, as much as you can.” Another thought occurs to him, and Viktor snatches his cane from where it’s leaning on the board so he can turn to the inert stabilizing frame sitting on a table. “And I want you to dial in the stabilizer as you did in Heimerdinge’s lab as you do so. I will record everything. I believe there may be something we can measure, some sort of constant in the timing and the runes used, a way to-”

“We can make it an equation.” Jayce interrupts, breathless and awed, knowing what Viktor is thinking without Viktor needing to explain any of it. He so deeply wishes Heimerdinger had let them keep “crank it” in the paper. “Something concrete.”

“Precisely. The runes are instructions, a code. Perhaps the clockwise and counter-clockwise cycles of them are additional instructions. We can use your stable field as a baseline to begin working on a formula.”

“We can give them a solid theorum.” Jayce is already rushing to the stabilizing frame, even recreating the hunched over pose he had that wondrous night. “Okay, tell me when you’re ready.”

Any thoughts on conditioner or smells are gone. In the future, it will be as common as breathing for them to be drawn together when they need help thinking. Jayce’s head will always find Viktor’s shoulder, and Viktor will learn that playing with Jayce’s hair further settles his restless mind and channels his thoughts towards solutions. Whatever else there is, the most important goal to further all other goals of Viktor’s life is to keep the partnership. In the partnership there is the work, the thrill. The endless infinitesimal ways they fit together, two pieces destined to find the other. In the moment, Viktor takes up his notes and marvels again on the nature of fate, of probability, and of magic.

[ohnovikky]

pink ribbon girl

○ summary: Y/N is a retired womanizer. kim thinks she's full on activity.

warning: none.

note: just something i thought about. i love kimmy and seems like nobody writes for her, but i'm not sure what to think of it as it's my first time writing. also english is NOT my first language.

-

you smile at her. kim little. the most important person in the world. to you, at least. she doesn't smile back. of course, she doesn't. after all this time, the best you've got was a nod. but now, she actually scoffs.

"hey ribbons" kyra calls for you, moving clooser "you just got viral again"

"what do you mean?"

"someone posted a video of you on tiktok... of you and alex..."

"what?"

"popp" she says, pronouncing the last "p" strongly. oh oh

well, part of the reason kim never smiles back comes from that. you reputation. one that came with you when you moved clubs. at the time, you didn’t mind, because quite frankly, it was true. you enjoyed sex. you liked to have fun and didn’t mind going out with different women. the only problem was when said women had girlfriends. or when those women were from the football community. all in the past, but you certainly minded it now.

"we're friends" you say, firmly.

"of course"

"it's true!"

but you know no one'll believe you. not people on tiktok. not kyra and oh gosh, not kim. it didn't help alex popp is wolfsburg captain, just like her. people have a rumor about that too: that you like them specially when they have something beyond orgasms to offer you.

it's much later, when you're on the locker room, that you hear whispers "it's just like leah said the other night" great, now they're having reunions to talk about you "a pillow princess of many pillows" "she must be rentless, at least it isn't our kimmy who'll be sore" "katie, stop it now" you hear kim's clipped voice.

"kim, can i talk to you?"

silence.

kim's at the corner, folding her clothes. she seems tired. without looking at you, she sighs.

slowly but surely nosy, everyone goes away to give you a little privacy.

"i know you saw that video of alex and i and i know it looks bad..."

"i'm sure it looks exactly what it is expected to look"

"two friends having dinner?"

she finally looks at you, completely serious "what do you take me for? i didn't asked anything from you nor i want to. but if you think you can fool me, i'll have you know-"

"that you're thirteen years older than me? the you wasn't born yesterday?"

"in fact, yes"

"how can i prove it to you? tell me and i'll do if it means we can hang out-"

"i'll spare you from the sacrifice"

"kim, please" you plead, almost defeated. it's been more than a year, and you've tried everything, even buying coffee and flowers for her every morning until you found out she would give them to the nearest person. you tried charm her with your football skills, arriving early at the training center and being proactive. you would write her notes (even with you think that's kind ridiculous) and put on her things. and most importantly, you stopped even glacing at other girls.

she just looks at you, as if trying to solve a difficult math problem. finally, she nods to herself.

"very well" she says calmly "if you go celibate for at least a moth or two, i'll go out with you"

oh my god oh my god oh my god

"that's... sure! of course! actually, i'm already-"

"yeah yeah, i'm sure" she's already leaving, dismissive, and you know she doesn't believe not even a little bit in you. but you'll prove it to her.

even if it's the last thing you do.

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

"Eat the ri- Wait a minute"

Recently, a short video came out of Pokimane saying we need to "Eat the rich" in so many words, and this is actually supre funny to me.

The biggest advocates of "Eating the Rich" are at the end of the day, themselves rich. Pokimane has an estimated net worth of 6 Mil. If I had to take an honest to goodness guess, it's probably higher than that. However I need you too look at something:

8.3% of the population of the US makes between 150k-199k yearly. And before the Pokimane simps come in and scream about how, "she said only the giga rich", you are correct. Because her friend in the video called her out saying, "What do you mean the rich. You are the rich". Yeah. These are people that pretend to care about you because it helps pad their wallets. That's the long and short of it.

What's funnier is the fact that Hassan (Expensive cars/Mansion) Piker, came to her defense. When will the people who support these creators learn that none of these people support the values they claim to? I'd ask if it would take them pissing in your face and telling you they've been playing you this whole time; Though some of you degenerates that follow these people would enjoy that. My point is at the end of the day, they DO NOT care. They aren't socialists. Or Maybe they are the best example of Socialists. Scam artists who lie about being for the "Working class" while pretending that streaming is the hardest job in the world. Then complaining that people exist that are richer than they are.

Which is only made funnier by the fact that if they WERE the ultra wealthy they'd still be advocating for this crap while flying around on private jets preaching it. Same as the fuckers who preach climate alarmism. "Oh well there are still people richer than me. I meant them" all the while doing fuck all to actually help people. Aside from MAYBE donating to dubious charities. Who when looked into seem like they don't do much in the wake of helping.

Sure most at least help a little, but can't profit off a solved issue. Can't be invited to fancy Gala's where rich/influential people dote on you for making them look better. This however, is not a rant about that. This is me saying, look at the people you literally simp for are getting richer off of you. And contrary to the message they preach, they will never redistribute their own wealth. They will only get more rich, and make it out like "Only the giga rich are the problem". I'm sorry Ma'am. The phrase isn't, "Eat the Giga Rich". It's "Eat the Rich". And the people screaming the loudest about it will continue to enrich themselves while moving the goalpost of what is, "The Rich™".

Get your heads out of your asses for once in your lives. Stop simping for scam artists.

[thecheshirerat]

On TAZ-

Wow that sounds like I’m about to summarize some sort of discourse but I promise I’m not. I guess I’ll say that I really like this show and I will keep listening even if my worst fears come to pass, so keep that in mind!

For reference, I started listening near the end of Amnesty.

I’ve noticed, with the past few arcs- really since Ethersea- the narratives have just… not been fulfilling their promises, so to speak. They’ve been placing a lot of guns that don’t go off. What I mean by that is, the characters are great. Excellent, really. Lady Godwin? HELL YES. Emerich Dreadway? Fuck yeah! And so on! And the settings and premises have been epic- the goofiness and also horrifying nature of Engrave, the mad and thrilling world of Steeplechase- these things are COOL AS FUCK.

and then the actual narratives keep flopping?

And honestly, I notice it most in the endings, because you can really tell when an ending doesn’t land. You feel the sense of disappointment. But with vs. Dracula, for example, I could kinda see leading up to it that the ending couldn’t really BE anything special, because they lowkey didn’t set themselves up for it.

They spent the campaign fucking around in Engrave, finding clues and solving problems and not really experiencing any particularly meaningful character arcs or growth or, idk, forming relationships? So there wasn’t much to pay off, I’m not gonna lie!

Of course it doesn’t feel quite as dissatisfying when you’re in the thick of it, because they’re funny and the stuff is cool and- oh hey! Lady Godwin’s been turned into a werehorse against her will?? that’s got some real potential for a LOT of allegories and exploration of some fun character development! And then it’s kinda played as a joke. And then they do that again and again.

And they actually said that that was a move they made intentionally, in the TTAZZ. I’m not quoting them perfectly here, this is from memory, but I do remember them mentioning that they wanted lighthearted comedy without the burden of real life story stuff. And I get that, honestly, but… it’s not the choice I would’ve made. I do think you can keep a lighthearted tone while also, idk, forming relationships and wholesomely engaging with some amount of emotion. And sometimes going way too deep is funny as a tone shift!

But I digress. One thing that’s also popped out to me is the almost complete lack of any kind of romantic storyline or even references. This becomes obvious if you’re in a fandom because everyone is always dying to ship SOMEONE, and you can tell when people are really getting desperate. I don’t blame them for not wanting to roleplay romance with their family, and I do think stories lacking romance are COOL and SHOULD BE ENCOURAGED!

However if you can’t find ANYBODY to ship together… that may mean you just don’t have character bonds. The growing popularity of the PC polycule is interesting to me; I wonder if it’s partially because

a) none of the pcs have significant relationships outside of their party and

b) even within the party, there doesn’t seem to be much chemistry between any given pair of characters…? I hope I’m making my point well here- the PCs all seem equally close and have more or less the same relationship to all of their compatriots with little distinction, meaning, essentially, no shipping fodder that doesn’t involve just all of ‘em.

Either way, it makes me wonder if I can blame the “Graduation has too many NPCs!” critique. They really stopped giving the parties tag-along main NPCs after graduation, with the exception of maybe.. Urchin? Kodira? Shlabethany? Poppy? and even they get relatively little “screen” time. Steeplechase has great NPCs, I love them to death, but none of the PCs seem to ever have one on one conversations with NPCs or each other that do not explicitly focus on the plot. And I think that’s part of why the characters feel so underdeveloped despite having spent a lot of time with them- because in this character-driven genre, we get very little insight into their feelings or motivations or even their rudimentary backstories.

I started watching Fantasy High recently and it made me realize a couple things about TAZ.

1) Recently, TAZ has sooo few core NPCs, and it’s weird that the characters aren’t doing more one-on-one purely character based scenes. And that makes it really tough to develop them.

2) TAZ is- and I should have realized this before- one of many good dnd podcasts. They’re probably looking for a niche they can master.

And it sounds like they’re trying to get back to that old “Here there be Gerblins!” energy. They’ve referenced it so many times in recent TTAZZes- they wanted to be job-focused, allowing story stuff to happen organically, so they tried a more open world vibe with Ethersea. They wanted to be less afraid to kill stuff, so they tried playing criminals (and were still afraid to kill stuff). They wanted to be silly and light on character, as they tackled with taz vs dracula. Now they’re trying to bring in the silly cartoon vibe with Abnimals. I think they’re trying to make that family-friendly, funny and goofy show their niche. Something other actual plays can’t be better at them at.

And honestly it kinda makes me sad, that they keep trying to go back to Balance while ignoring everything they learned during it. Because I loved Dust. Because I loved Amnesty. Because I loved Ethersea. I loved these past arcs! But they keep doing their brilliant characters dirty for some reason!!! And i don’t know why!!!!

You know that meme about people who ask questions in movies and then the person responds “Have you ever been to a movie before? You watch them and the information is revealed.” There have been so many times in TAZ recently where information has Not been revealed and if they keep doing it the audience will stop bothering to suspend their disbelief, because the trust just isn’t there.

What is Montrose’s deal? What on earth was Carmine Denton’s whole thing? Tell me more about Zoox’s feelings, about Devo’s past, about Amber’s future. Show me how Lady Godwin feels about the body horror that is her life- like, seriously! WHY DID WE HAVE TO COMPLETELY DISMISS THE OPPORTUNITY TO DISCUSS GENERATIONAL TRAUMA IN MUTT’S LIFE FOR A JOKE??

Do you remember in Steeplechase where the boys were getting medical attention or something- i don’t remember, but they were all in one room and only talking about The Plot. And Poppy literally banged on the door (speaking for both Justin and me, tbh) and was like “does anyone want to share any feeeeelings??” and they were like NOPE! and they moved on!!

like. cmon. you can’t just put a character like montrose out there and then leave them severely underdeveloped to the point that what would be interesting in proper context, with audience insight, becomes confusing and chaotic.

I just wish they would take their stories as seriously as we do.

It feels to me like they don’t believe in themselves, and it makes me sad. Maybe they didn’t get the response they wanted from Ethersea and so they’ve been trying to pivot, hoping to recapture whatever it was that earned them a loyal audience.

Again, I love them. They’re so funny and I’ll keep listening until the day they stop making this show, and when it happens I’ll cry.

But i KNOW they have more in them. Remember the “we’ll grow gills” monologue from Justin in the Prologues? Remember Travis’s SOLID acting with Devo? Or his awesome choice to give Lyndon/Beef a clearly delineated work/irl identity? His excellent narration and prose? Remember when Montrose described being lonely?! Remember all those moments where Shit Got Real and you cared??? The nanofather said some dope shit! dracula and victor and sweater dracula had such a wild dynamic! Clint’s acting in Dust 2- I can’t remember the characters name right now- was ASTOUNDING, I genuinely didn’t know he had that in him and it blew me away!

I’m not referencing Balance on purpose, both because the fandom is way to hung up on it and because I want to prove that you don’t even have to look at Balance, or even Post-Balance arcs, to see this kind of good cool stuff!

GAAAAAAAGHHHH!!! I want them to have fun. But also. We’re starving out here.

[prettycottonmouthlamia]

Some time should be spent as we talk about Path of Life of the parallels between Horatia and Gladiia, as well as Aegir and the rest of Terra. I don't believe this is a particularly inspired point of commentary for me to actually discuss, because the game itself juxtaposes them against each other, but I think it's worth talking about and providing my own commentary.

Horatia raised Gladiia by herself despite being told repeatedly she would not be a fit mother to do so. This isn't some triumph either: Horatia raised Gladiia very poorly. Her status, work, and disposition caused her to neglect Gladiia, causing deep emotional scarring, even if Gladiia tries her best to not show it to anyone. She doesn't see Gladiia's rebellions are proof of her lack of ability either. Since Gladiia became a Hunter and put her life on the line for Aegir, Horatia sees herself as ultimately having done the right thing.

This is, essentially, mirrors how Aegir feels about the rest of Terra. Aegir can easily step into the role of worldwide mediator, Heratia feels, despite the best objections of Kal'tsit. They can solve everyone's problems, because they've experienced them all as a nation. A little diplomacy here, a little Collapsal extermination there, Aegir can solve it all. In a way that the land nations themselves couldn't do. You can even still see this in their final message. They'll be the ones leading the new alliance against everything. Over and over again, it is repeated that pride and arrogance are the flaws of the Aegir. To put it a little more aptly, just like the Greek and Roman folklore of our time, their fatal flaw is their hubris. They dramatically underestimated the Seaborn, their capacities against them, and their infiltration by the Church of the Deep. They rejected the idea of getting help from others. Horatia felt she could raise her own daughter just fine. Aegir feel they can effortlessly lead the land nations into the coming threats. They are but mere babes in the eyes of Aegir.

This, ultimately, is contrasted against Kal'tsit. While Aegir have the records of their past struggles, none of them are old enough to remember them directly. They can learn from history, but it is merely that: history. Kal'tsit, on other hand, has the direct experience with the peoples she talking about. She knows about the Ursus, the Bolivarians, and the Sami more than the Aegir possibly could. Kal'tsit, herself, has been humbled time and time again. Made painfully aware of her limitations and the consequences of exceeding past her grasp. What it means to have knowledge and still fall short. Kal'tsit is the voice of reason to the haughty, prideful Aegir, warning them of their obvious mistake.

Is it no real surprise then that Horatia remarks that the only person she's ever seen Gladiia put her full trust is Kal'tsit? Calm, collected, ever careful Kal'tsit? Who never assumes she can plan for every contingency, who understands her own limits? Who, ultimately, puts the life of Gladiia above the potential benefits of the mission? Compared to her mother, who seemingly very quickly declared her own daughter dead? Who deliberately obscured the actual plans?

Kal'tsit, is ultimately, not her mother. She reminds Gladiia of her mother, but Gladiia puts her full trust in her, unlike Horatia.

[totallylezzingout]

Hiiiii! Could you please write for Van Palmer x reader? Reader is jealous of Van and Taissa, so she makes Van jealous with Nat, but Van gets angry and drags reader away and they fight. Van reassures reader that she doesn’t want anyone but her. Thank youuu

Only You ꨄ

Pairing: Van Palmer x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, ?cheating?, smut

A/N: this was gonna be a lot more detailed but tumblr does not autosave and it rid me of the first entire chunk of this fic. wanted to cry. still do. also i did not know if smut was wanted but i do know there is a severe lack of van smut in the community so i made my contribution - hope this was okay!!

The laughing i could handle. The whispering i could handle. The inside jokes i could handle withstand. The touching? oh, the touching made my blood boil, but Van is a friendly person, so I handled withstood it.

Thats until that one morning. Van did not come back to our hut the night prior, she stayed out, with, from word of mouth, none other than Taissa Turner.

Tai knows, hell, everybody on the team knows me and Van are together, well, in relations? We dont really have a label for it yet, but she is mine, and i am hers, its as simple as that. However, Tai is pushing her luck, I know that look in her eye, she got it in middle school, whenever she saw her old crush Danielle, from 4th period spanish.

The issue is, Van isnt doing anything to stop it. She must know, she must. I mean, she must have realised Ive become more reluctant to talk to her? or be physical with her? Or maybe thats the worst part, maybe she realised and doesnt care? God. Fuck.

I decide to do something productive & pick some berries, eat or be eaten, am I right? I walk over to the outskirts of the further wilderness, just behind a few huts, to pick some berries. Im stood sifting through bush leaves, with a rag in one hand and Mistys book on the floor, which shows you which berries are safe to eat.. lets hope its accurate. Its actually a good day for berries, Ive got 19 placed in my rag so far.. enough to maybe make berry juice? berry tea perhaps? Out of nowhere, I hear feet slapping against the floor, and water splashing onto the hot, dry earth. I turn around

“Nat?”

Natalie was bolting towards me, holding a now half empty bucket of laundry water

“I ran-” huff “from the lake-“ huff “had to-“ huff “tell you-“ Natalie barely chokes out, placing the bucket down and putting her hands on her knees, trying to resync her rythym of breathing

“Natalie, breathe, okay? Tell me what?” I grow increasingly concerned

“I saw Van and Tai down there..” She murmered

my eyes urge her to go on, a certain feeling of dread brewing deep inside my stomach

“They were at- no, in the lake, together, and they were laughing, splashing, it looked pretty touchy-feely.. and then I saw” sigh “I saw Tai taking off Vans shirt” Natalie confessed, looking down

Fuck me.

I am not one to be petty, I like words, words solve problems, but in this case? we are past words, we are not even on the same wavelength of using words now. so yes, I am absolutely about to start, and finish, a wilderness lesbian-off.

Me and Natalie have been close best friends for a long time, probably about 8 years now. She was actually the first person i told about me and Van - theres never been any romantic feelings between Nat and me, which will make this plan im stirring up very easy.

I take Nat into her hut, and introduce the plan. Me and her; sleepovers, wearing eachothers clothes, braiding eachothers hair, etc etc.

I love Van, and she is still my partner, but I need her to understand how I feel.

So that night it begins. The team are all sat around the fire, Nat on my left and Van on my right, and Tai on Vans right, of course. Natalie starts with a simple arm around the shoulder, a whisper about nothing, maybe a longing stare. Van shifts a little, she seems to notice, but doesnt really seem as bothered as I thought.

That night I sleep in Natalies hut, we walk out together, theres some “ooooohs” from Mari and Gen, i just roll my eyes, and as I bend down to pour some water for me and Natalie, Nat slaps my ass playfully, but if you were to see the look on Vans face from the doorway of her (our) hut, youd think Natalie fucked me right there infront of her.

Okay, so, it worked! This is good, right? I do begin to have some second thoughts, I mean Van looked really angry.. woah woah woah, I am the angry one here; she started it all! Getting all touchy feeling with Taissa and letting her undress her?? This is perfectly justified.. i think.

I spend most of the day in Natalies hut, doing mostly nothing, moreso just giggling about how ridiculous this - essentially - dyke war, is, then reminding ourselves that it is definitely probably absolutely justified.

Unbeknownst to us, Van was sat on a log about 4 feet away from Nats hut, hearing all the giggling, and she couldnt take it anymore, she is beyond pissed, and is determined to do something to set it straight.

Im playing with some sticks when Van barges in, takes my wrist and pulls me up, fast and swift but still making sure not to cause me any harm, completely ignoring Natalie, and leads me outside, and into the further wilderness, not stopping

“Van where the fuck are we going?”

“Van can you just stop for a second??”

“Van seriously”

i plead, and shortly after, we reach a large tree and she presses my back against it

“what the fuck was that?” she mutters

“what was what?” I enquire with sickly innocence

“You know what, Natalie practically groped you infront of everyone, nobody but me should touch you like that. Not to mention last night around the fire, oh and then how you slept in her fucking hut?” Van snapped

“Oh but its okay when Taissa does it to you?” I fire back - her expression falters

“what the fuck are you even talking about” she exhales

“Nat saw it, Tai undressing you at the lake? Oh but me? Ive seen it for weeks, Palmer. She has the hots for you, and apparently everybody but you can see it. You stayed out all night with her once, left me alone in our hut? do you remember that? can you even imagine how I felt? I thought you chose her.” I blurt out

Suddenly, Vans face which was once in a state of anger, is now sorrowful, and somewhat small

“I wouldnt- Id never do that to you intentionally-” Van tries to plead her case, I turn away from her

“I seriously didnt think Taissa would be into me like that.. I barely know her- and she only took off my shirt because it got soaked, but I shouldnt have let her, and i shouldve checked in with you” Van went on

I refuse eye contact

“please, sweetheart, i promise you, i dont want anyone else, especially not Taissa or any of the other girls here - I want you, and only you” She pleaded, reaching for my hand, I let her

“show me” I lock eyes with her, she clearly wasnt expecting it as her expression faltered slightly

“what?”

“show me that you only want me” I whispered below my breath, sultry, with a slight hint of anger, waiting to be reassured.

Van steps forward quickly and pins my wrists above my head against the tree, with her other hand she grabs my hip and kisses me intensely. Its rougher than usual, like shes trying to prove a point. It gets faster, and I get needier, moaning into her mouth, my mouth opening just enough for her to slip her tounge in, deepening the kiss. She shoves her thigh between my legs, and presses it up between my thighs, just where I need that type of friction. My hips rock involuntarily onto her thigh, grinding down on her, whining & panting

“please, fuck, Van“ I moan into the kiss

She takes that as a hint to slide her hand down the front of my shorts, teasing in circles over my clit with only a thin layer of cotton seperating the skin on skin contact i desperately need. My hips buck up into her hand, and I can feel her smirk into the kiss, that damn smirk.

She pushes my underwear to the side, and slides a finger up and down my already soaked folds, circling my clit

“Youre all mine” Van half moans out, as she dips two fingers into my entrance

I moan out carelessly, its not like anybody will hear us, she dragged me out far enough into the wilderness..

She pumps her fingers into me at a moderate speed, adding a third and picking up the pace when I beg for more, she kisses down my neck and whispers in my ear in a low, raspy manner

“i only want you.”

hearing her whisper and her fingers now going at an ungodly pace brings me to the edge fast with a gutteral moan; letting go all over her fingers, gasping for air, with my head now collapsed on her shoulder

“only you, babe, i promise” she kisses my head.

[cc--2224]

Asking For Help

Pairing: Platonic Tech & F!Reader

Summary: You decide to stay in bed to deal with the pain you're experiencing. The Batch notices and sends Tech to check on you.

Warnings: Reader kind of described as AFAB as fic deals with period pain. But other than that, pure fluff! It can 100% be platonic.

Word Count: 918

Notes: Does the Bad Batch understand anatomy? Probably. Was it more fun to make them panic? Absolutely. I mostly wrote this for me as I took the day off work for this exact reason 😂 no real proofreading.

Taglist: None, let me know if you'd like to be added!

Masterlist

The Marauder's cockpit seemed weirdly empty without you, and everyone noticed your absence. You hadn't been with Clone Force 99 for very long, but when you spend all your time with the same people for four months, they start to worry when you're not being as social as you normally would.

"Where is she?" Hunter finally asked, looking at the empty seat you normally occupied.

Wrecker shrugged, "I tried calling her this morning for breakfast but she didn't leave her room."

"Is it not obvious?" Tech asked, eyes not leaving his datapad. "She exhibits this behaviour roughly around the same time each month."

He thought he was giving everyone the answer, but their confused faces told him that he wasn't.

"She is mostly likely menstruating."

"In Common, Tech." Wrecker said.

Crosshair rolled his eyes, "She's on her period. It's not the end of the world."

Eyes turned back to Tech for an explanation, and he sighed.

"Do none of you pay attention to the anatomy manuals? People who are biologically female go through this process nearly every month. Their body prepares itself for an egg to be fertilized, but when it is not, it begins to shed the excess in the form of blood and uterine lining. Typically resulting in side effects such as; mood swings, pelvic cramps, lower back pain, and headaches to name a few."

Wrecker looked shocked, "And they do this every month? That sounds painful."

Tech shrugged, "I couldn't say, from my understanding, each person reacts differently."

"Shouldn't we check on her? Make sure she's okay?" Hunter asked.

"She does it every month with or without us, I don't see how now is any different." Crosshair pointed out.

"Yeah but, we're her friends, we should help if we can."

Wrecker looked back to Tech, "You know the most about it, you go see if she's okay."

Expectant looks all pointed in Tech's direction and he shook his head. "Fine, I suppose I could inquire after her."

Truthfully, Tech was also concerned for you, even though he had a vague understanding of what was going on. He found your presence soothing, and the Marauder seemed more cheerful with you around. And it was his nature to want to solve any problems that arose, so he wanted the chance to do that now.

He got up from his seat and walked toward the refresher to look for a hot compress and some painkillers so that he might actually be of assistance before cautiously walking toward your room.

He knocked quietly.

"...Yeah?" You croaked from inside the room.

"It's Tech, may I come in?"

You didn't answer immediately but then after a few seconds you spoke, "Door's unlocked."

He pressed the button to open the door before stepping in and letting it close behind him. He frowned slightly when he was you curled up on your bunk with your arms around your stomach.

"I take it I was correct then, you are menstruating."

"Yeah." You replied a little too harshly. "Did you need something?"

"It appears your absence went quite noticed this morning and the others are worried about you."

"So they sent you to check on me?"

He adjusted his goggles, "Well, even though I had suspected what the issue was, I suppose I was also worried."

You didn't say anything, but you moved slowly, creating room for him to sit down on your bunk, he sat on the edge.

"I have brought you a compress and painkillers, if you are interested. I have heard they help to alleviate any cramping and pain associated with it." He handed both to you.

You smiled at his gesture and took the painkillers first. "Thank you," you swallowed two of them down with water from the canteen beside your bunk, then you took the heat compress and hugged it to your stomach.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" He asked, looking down at you.

You looked at him then looked at your pillow and shook your head.

"Very well, I will check up on you later then." He announced before standing up and walking toward the door.

"Wait.." You called out. He turned to look at you. "Can you stay.. with me?"

His expression went from surprised to a gentle smile, and he nodded. "Of course."

He walked back over to your bunk and returned to his seat on the edge.

"Can we- er... Can you hold me?" You asked, so quietly that he thought he might have misheard you.

"You'd like me to hold you?" He repeated.

His need for clarification caused blood to rise to your face in embarrassment.

"If-if that's okay, actually, nevermind I-"

But before you could finish your rambling, Tech crawled into the bunk next to you, holding you so your back was firm against his chest.

You sighed into him and closed your eyes as he began drawing idle shapes on the skin of your shoulder.

"Thank you, Tech." You repeated.

"You are welcome, but your gratitude is unwarranted. We are your friends, we want to help you. Anytime you need us, you do not need to be afraid to ask for help, no matter what ails you.”

You smiled once more. With the heat both from the compress and Tech pressed against you and the painkillers beginning to kick in, you felt yourself finally begin to drift off to sleep. Despite his protests, you were truly grateful to have friends who cared about you, no matter what was going on.