#my professor was like ‘edit the actual essay part a bit but this is a very strong contender for an award’

[sharkieboi]

actually re: Neverafter but just re-read the rewrite I did of Little Red Riding Hood for my Fairy Tales class and i was a fucking genius for it

[saiilorstars]

Ch. 8: The Challenges

Fandom: Harry Potter (hogwarts year 1-7) Pairing: Draco x OFC

taglist: @ocappreciationtag​ @arrthurpendragon​ @anotherunreadblog​ @maaaaarveeeeel​ @stareyedplanet @foxesandmagic

Story Masterlist // Romina’s Masterlist

If you’d like to be a part of this OC’s work/edits, let me know!

Arden had come from her dormitory room with a pile of books in her arms, and a visible rolled up parchment and quill set on top of it. There weren't very many students left in the common room as curfew had just passed. Romina was one of the few students left, and as usual she was sitting on the ground with her back against the largest couch. She too was doing some work so it appeared.

"I can't believe I forgot to do Snape's essay!" Arden plopped down on the couch Romina leaned against.

"I can. I told you last week to get a move on it and you ignored me in favor of staring at some Hufflepuff boy," Romina said without a care in the world. She missed the glare Arden threw at her back.

"You were staring too!" Arden felt the need to remind.

"Yeah, while doing my own essay. It's called multitasking. You might want to try it."

Arden didn't find the joke amusing. She grumbled and began opening her books so she could get started. Her eyes flickered to the parchment Romina was staring at and immediately recognized someone else's homework. "Is that Finnigan's transfiguration homework?"

"Yeah. I offered to look it over considering he made another goblet explode in his face. Turns out rum is difficult to make."

"That's cheating!"

"No. It's just me proofreading it. I'm not giving him the right answers," Romina shrugged.

Arden gave a long look at Romina before speaking again. "Is this part of your little plan to get back on everyone's good side again?"

Romina looked up from the parchment and smiled. "First of all, it's not for 'everyone' because I know that's impossible. I'm only trying to win back the people I actually care about."

"Smart," Arden praised with her own smile.

"And reasonable. That's all that matters." Romina was taking it easy and simple in her new plan to get her friends back, no matter how small gestures she had to do.

"Well you could help me out with this homework," Arden scratched her head the more she stared at her Potions book. "I don't understand how professors think piling on homework when exams are just around the corner is a good idea."

"I think the idea was for us to start practicing and remembering," Romina casually pointed out the main idea but Arden still glared at her again.

"Well, yeah, but they could at least try to be a—" Arden stopped when the wall began to open up and both girls were a bit confused when Draco came hurrying in looking heavily angry. "You're not supposed to be outside," Arden was the first one to say, and paid the mistake.

"Shut it King or I'll curse you into next Tuesday!"

"Wanna explain why you wanna hurt my friend at this hour? You usually do that during the day time." Romina went back to the parchment. She was almost done anyways.

"Well if he was out after curfew, it probably means he got caught…" Arden suddenly widened her eyes, "...and you probably lost points for us! Not cool!"

"Put your wand down, idiot," Romina said without looking up. Based on Arden's assumptions and the nature that was Draco Malfoy, she suspected his wand was somewhere between his hand and halfway taking aim against Arden. Romina put her hands over the parchment and looked up to meet angry grey eyes. "So, being curious too, what's got you all angry at this hour?"

"I have detention when I shouldn't have!"

"You were outside after curfew, what did you think was going to happen?"

"That big oaf had a dragon's egg and somehow I get detention!?" Draco began to pace back and forth in the room.

"Do you mean Hagrid?" Romina tilted her head, but it was Arden who got the main point.

"He's got a dragon's egg!?" the brunette nearly fell off the couch. "Those are illegal here!"

"I know!" Draco finally conceded a point to her. "I discovered it, I told McGonagall and I have detention with Potter, Weasley and Granger? How ridiculous!"

"Why were you out there in the first place?" Romina raised an eyebrow. She had half an idea but would like to hear it directly from him instead.

Draco quit pacing and looked away for a brief moment. "I was…" he saw Romina smirking, probably knowing his real reasons, and decided he wouldn't give her that satisfaction. "I was trying to take some food, alright? A snack from the kitchens."

Romina looked back at Arden who was close to matching Romina's smirk. "But if you were heading for the kitchens...how did you end up by Hagrid's hut?" Arden inquired.

"I just did! Goodnight!" and with that, Draco stormed off.

Arden and Romina exchanged a 'serious' look before laughing together. "Did you actually buy any of that?" Arden asked afterwards.

Romina scoffed. "Please. He probably wanted to get Harry into trouble but McGonagall got all of them instead. Still sweet of him to try and pull one over us."

"What do you think about the egg though?" Arden leaned back on the couch and retook her potions book. Romina did the same with her own parchment.

"I'm more interested to know what Harry, Hermione and Ron were doing at Hagrid's after hours."

On that, Arden agreed.

~ 0 ~

Unfortunately, Romina didn't have many opportunities to ask Hermione about the dragon egg incident as she would like. Arden suddenly had made a good point about exams and homework. The spring semester was coming to a close and the first years had many important details to remember for their individual exams. Hermione Granger took her studying mighty serious and Romina wouldn't be stupid enough to get between her and a book.

In the meantime, Romina endeavored to gain people's respect again. Seamus Finnigan had asked her for Transfiguration tutoring to which Romina happily obliged. Opposite to that, Neville - who was surprisingly excelling in Herbology - had given Romina some tutoring himself. That then opened the way to conversations with some fellow Gryffindors who wanted to study potions together - including Hermione herself - and that soon opened up to Charms sessions. It was nothing big but it was definitely giving Romina a much more humane look, but overall a chance to prove to people that she was not her parents.

All in all, exams went just fine...Romina hoped. She wasn't so sure about the History of Magic but she was daring to believe she got at least an Acceptable. After exams, the students had to enjoy a week of break before they could see how they did. For some it was relaxation, for others it was anxiety packed.

Hermione had invited Romina to a relaxing afternoon by the lake. There, she was finally able to answer Romina's questions about the dragon's egg (which had been shipped off to Romania by Dumbledore) and the detention they were forced to serve along with Draco. It was quite a thing to learn that detention was served in the Forbidden Forest.

"Hardcore," Romina had herself a laugh.

"Scary, you mean," Hermione shivered. She went on to explain how they saw a dead unicorn that had signs of someone drinking its blood...to which Romina could not help herself to comment about vampires lurking in the Forest. Of course her jokes ended when Hermione spoke about Voldemort himself rumored to be in the Forest.

"Don't you joke about that," Romina warned deadly and walked ahead of Hermione. "I don't ever want to hear anything about that...that thing that doesn't even deserve to be known as a human."

Hermione understood the point and ceased any talking about that. "Over there by the tree in front," she instructed Romina.

Romina could already see Fred and George with their friend, Lee Jordan, picking at the lake's giant squid's tentacle. She laughed and hurried to meet them, assuming there was no one else there with them. "What are you—" she barely got the three words out when she nearly tripped over Ron's long legs stretched out on the ground.

"Ron!" Hermione quickly ran over and pulled Romina back.

"Sorry!" Ron had been caught off guard and pulled his legs up. "I didn't see her!"

One look with Harry made Romina shake her head and begin to leave. "This was a mistake."

"No, Romina!" Hermione gave a sharp look at Harry. "This is ridiculous!" she told both of them.

With a sigh, Harry got up to his feet and called for Romina. "Rom...stay…"

Romina turned sideways, pretty serious when she responded, "Say it like you mean it or don't say it at all."

It appeared like Harry just burst with all his thoughts concerning her. "That's just it, Rom, I don't know! I don't know anything about you anymore!"

Romina raised an eyebrow and turned back completely. "You don't know me anymore? You are kidding, right?" she walked straight up to him. "We've known each other since we were seven."

"I didn't mean it like that…" Harry ran his hands through his hair, looking lost as he tried to explain himself.

"Then how did you mean it?" demanded Romina.

"I just...everything you told me about yourself - about your past - was a lie. You told me your parents were in a car accident like mine."

"I couldn't tell you anything, please understand that! It's not that I didn't—"

"Was it really?" Harry took his moment to interject. He was now looking at her sharply, expecting a truthful answer.

"What?"

"Did you actually want to tell me about your parents, Rom? About what happened to them and what they did? Did you really want to?"

Romina looked down, a guilt-ridden expression taking over her face. That was the question, wasn't it? It was no stranger to her and Harry could see that too. "I didn't want to lie to you, Harry, but...I was scared. My parents...did a really bad thing," her eyes shined with tears when she looked back up, "They did a lot of bad things, actually, and the most horrible thing they helped do...was to my best friend's parents. No," she burst into tears, "I didn't want to tell you that! Who would want to?

Harry blinked and suddenly felt the rush of guilt latch onto him as well. Behind him, Ron had stood up and moved beside Hermione. Even Fred, George and Lee had left the squid's tentacles to see what was happening.

"But I'm sorry, Harry! I'm really sorry for what they did, okay? I would give anything to change that for you but I just can't and I'm sorry!"

"I-it's okay...it's...you don't have to say sorry, Rom," Harry hugged her and immediately Romina hugged back. "I can understand that now...I should have done it earlier, I'm sorry."

Romina sniffled and hugged him tighter. "I'm really sorry. What my parents helped do was horrible and I will never forgive them for that."

Harry could agree with that but decided it was best not to say it openly. Instead, he brought Romina back to the others.

"There we go," Hermione said all smiley when they finally gathered with the others. "See? Took you almost a year but it all worked out."

"Leave it alone, Hermione," Ron shushed her.

"Hey Rom, can I ask something, though?" Fred came to sit on the grass with them, soon followed by George and Lee. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to, though."

Romina nodded her head. "Of course you can."

"Why did your aunt and uncle decide to live in the muggle world instead? And...like normal muggles, I guess."

"Normal muggles?" repeated Hermione with a growing frown. "What do you mean by that?"

"Rumor has it that the Oswell vault in Gringotts is still fully loaded," George revealed, which in all fairness was news to Romina. "Our brother Bill works there," he added as a last source to validate their information.

"I didn't know that, actually," Romina said thoughtfully. "I suppose it belongs to my parents? Uncle Lyonel? Or...I don't know, maybe...other relatives?"

"Maybe cousins," Hermione pointed. Romina began to shake her head when the twins exclaimed 'yeah!'.

"My aunt and uncle have never mentioned anyone else being left alive in the family," she argued weakly.

"People survived the war," Lee finally spoke up. "Your family is out there. Many of those who were associated with You-Know-Who pleaded innocence under the imperius curse or testified against other Death Eaters."

"How do you think the Malfoys stand here today?" asked Ron with a big scoff.

"They were?" Romina gave him a wide-eyed look.

"Of course they were!" Fred pulled some grass off the ground distractedly. "They were one of the first families to testify against other Death Eaters."

"So my family could have done the same but my uncle probably cut ties off with them," Romina processed it rather quickly. "But then that would mean I have aunts and uncles...and even cousins."

"No offence but we're really good just with you," George innocently said and made Romina laugh.

"Yeah, you're our only Oswell!" his brother exclaimed.

Romina would've continued laughing had it not been for Harry continuously rubbing his forehead. "Harry, what's wrong?"

"My scar...it hurts…" the boy complained, and Romina noticed the exchange of looks between Ron and Hermione. "It's happened before, but never as often as this."

"Go the Madam Pomfrey," Lee suggested as he and the twins got up. "Don't want to get ill right before the term ends."

"C'mon lads, let's go see what Slytherins we can bother today," Fred said cheerfully.

Romina threw a look his way. "Leave my House alone."

"We'll make sure to leave that King girl you're always with," George promised. "Anyone else is a free game."

Romina let them go for the sake of Harry and his scar. By the looks on Ron's and Hermione's faces she could tell this was something more than just a scar problem.

"Alright, spill," she ordered the three once the twins and Lee had gone. "Why's the scar hurting? It never did that back at home."

"I think it's like a warning…" Harry tried to explain, "...like danger is coming."

"You ARE are kidding, right?" Romina was now staring flatly.

Ron seemed to be on the same page. "It's nothing. Just relax," he leaned back against the tree. "The Stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around."

"You guys have to at least tell me that you finally dumped the idea that Snape is not behind this, right?"

The silence between them made Romina groan and fall back. She covered her face.

"You can't see it because he's Head of your House," Ron said casually.

"I can't see it because it can't be true. He's not the guy and you're all idiots."

"If we were idiots don't you think we wouldn't have discovered all that we have?" Hermione snapped. She could not tolerate any jokes concerning her brains.

"You guys just need to focus on your results, alright?" Romina tucked her hair under her head and looked up at the sky.

Harry outright refused. He couldn't let go of the matter and now that his scar was hurting like crazy he knew there was something he should be doing. There was something, in the back of his head, niggling at him to get a move on. But to what?

"Harry, I know you," Romina continued, "So please just distract yourself, okay? Go, uh, I don't know, play Quidditch? Or—"

"Oh my God!" Harry had finally gotten it. "Hagrid! Why didn't I think of it before?"

"What, Harry?" Hermione recognized the alert face on her friend and scooted closer to hear.

"Don't you think it's a bit odd that what Hagrid wants more than anything is a dragon, and a stranger shows up and just happens to have one?"

"If it's a black market out there then no, it's not weird," Romina sat up, her straggly hair falling over her face for a second. "Hagrid probably let his desires be heard in public."

"No, it wasn't a coincidence," Harry began getting up, and instigated for Ron to do the same. "And I'm going to prove it."

"Prove it?" Romina repeated, now more confused. She got up because Hermione ushered her to do so.

"Yeah, right now, let's go!" Harry stormed off and had the rest follow closely behind.

"I don't get it, Harry!" Romina tailed beside him. "And I don't think I will!"

Harry ignored her rambles all the way up to Hagrid's hut. The man was playing a flute when the kids arrived and was directly asked about his dragon egg.

"Hagrid, who gave you the dragon egg? What did he look like?"

"Harry—" Romina whispered but the boy motioned her to stay quiet.

Hagrid had no problem answering as he didn't see the problem...yet. "I don't know. I never saw his face. He kept his hood up."

"The stranger, though, you and he must have talked," Harry kept making him go.

"Well, he wanted to know what sort of creatures I looked after. I told him. I said, 'After Fluffy, a dragon's gonna be no problem.'"

"And did he seem interested in Fluffy?"

"Well, of course he was interested in Fluffy! How often do you come across a three headed dog, even if you're in the trade? But I told him. I said, 'The trick with any beast is to know how to calm him. Take Fluffy, for example, just play him a bit of music and he falls straight to sleep.'"

Romina slapped her hand against her forehead.

Hagrid went wide-eyed the moment he said the words. "I shouldn't have told you that."

Romina lowered her hand from her face. "You really shouldn't have said that to anyone," she said just as Harry, Ron and Hermione rushed off towards the castle.

"Where you going?" Hagrid called after the three Gryffindors. "Wait!"

"I'll go," Romina assured him and scurried after her friends.

She followed the three back into the castle and did her best to sway them from their thoughts about telling Dumbledore. Of course, no one listened, and that's how she found herself outside McGonagall's classroom while the three went in to tell her everything. She was not going to make herself get detention. When they returned, dejectedly, she wasn't even surprised.

"You weren't believed?" she condescendingly inquired.

"Dumbledore's left for London," Hermione sadly said.

"Meaning that now the Philosopher's stone is at a perfect chance to be stolen," Ron just now made the connections. Romina rolled her eyes.

"That was no stranger Hagrid met in the village. It was Snape, which means he knows how to get past Fluffy," Harry directly looked at Romina.

The girl shook her head. "No, Harry!" she started moving away, but of course she was followed.

"Rom, you have to believe me!"

"Look, Harry, I acknowledge that the way Snape treats you is ghastly but to call him a thief? And to make him the culprit of all this is just beyond ridiculous."

"We wouldn't make it up if the facts weren't there!" Hermione exclaimed.

Romina groaned loudly. "What facts, Hermione!? It's—" but she had nearly bumped into the accused himself.

Snape looked at the four questionably, and Romina suddenly wished she hadn't followed Harry into the castle anymore. "Good afternoon," Snape went slowly. "Now, what would three young Gryffindors - and one Slytherin - such as yourselves be doing inside on a day like this?" he specifically eyed Romina and she assumed it was because she had not been seen with the three together since the beginning of the school year.

"We were just talking," Romina thought it wise to give a simple excuse. However, behind her Harry was glaring intensely at Snape, practically cancelling out her excuse.

"You want to be careful. People will think you're up to something," Snape acknowledged the look on him but didn't point it out. Instead, he simply walked around them and continued on his way.

"We have to go down that trapdoor tonight," Harry declared.

Romina whirled around, looking at him crazily. "You have to be joking."

"I am not! And if you want to see for yourself that Snape is the one after the stone I suggest you come with us."

Romina saw Hermione and Ron were on Harry's side no doubt, and because she was curious herself to see who the actual culprit is - because she refused to believe them - she would accept the challenge.

~ 0 ~

"We're all going to get expelled, I hope you know that," Romina made sure to warn at least five times as she, Harry, Ron and Hermione crept to the forbidden corridor late at night.

"Yes, we get it," Ron was the one to throw her an annoyed look, not that she cared nor saw it. She didn't dare move her head what with Harry's Invisibility Cloak barely covering them all as they moved along.

Unfortunately for them, they had come across the 'favorite' school ghost...Peeves. He was in the middle of loosening carpet in hopes of making people trip along their way. They tried being extra careful as they walked forwards.

"Who's there?" Peeves suddenly called. "Know you're there even if I can't see you. Are you a ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?"

No one answered.

"Should call Filch, I should, if something's a-creeping around unseen," Peeves said in a mighty taunting voice.

Romina nudged Harry, whispering ever so lightly. "Bloody...Baron…"

Harry instantly got the message and put on his best imitation of the Bloody Baron. "Peeves," his voice was hoarse, "The Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible."

The trick worked like a charm. Peeves respected no one but Dumbledore perhaps but no one like the Bloody Baron.

"So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, Sir. My mistake, my mistake - I didn't see you - of course I didn't, you're invisible - forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir."

The kids barely contained their laughter.

"I have business here, Peeves," Harry continued on with the joke. "Stay away from this place tonight."

"I will, sir, I most certainly will! Hope your business goes well, Baron, I'll not bother you."

The kids were able to take a breather when Peeves finally went off.

"Brilliant, Rom," Harry dared not to shout in case anyone still lurked by.

"Slytherin saving your behinds, remember that," Romina smirked and pretended like they hadn't groaned at her joke.

When they entered the room they realized that someone already had beaten them there. For starters, the door was a creak open, and the guard - Fluffy - was already asleep thanks to an enchanted harp playing.

"Snape's already been here. He's put a spell on the harp," Harry pulled the cloak off them and together they neared the three-headed dog.

"So that's the famous Fluffy?" Romina was shell-shocked at the size of the creature.

"Ugh, it's got horrible breath!" Ron covered his nose.

"We have to move its paw," Harry gestured to one of Fluffy's paws right over the trapdoor.

"I am not touching that paw," Romina stared while the other three began moving the paw.

"Didn't take you for the princess," Hermione smirked.

"Am not," Romina fell for the trap and began to help them. Between the four it was no hard job.

"I'll go first," Harry said after opening the trap door. "And don't follow until I give you a sign. If something bad happens, get yourselves out…" but he trailed off when something hit him, "...does it seem a bit...quiet?"

Hermione whipped her head in the direction of the harp. "The harp. It stopped playing!"

"Ewwww…." Ron shuddered when something cold hit his shoulder and he realized it was Fluffy's drool. "Yuck! Ugh!"

Fluffy immediately growled at the intruders and lunged, instead hitting the harp.

"Jump! Go!" Harry told the others.

They all fell through and hit something mushy - a cold, black mushy ground.

"Lucky this plant thing is here," Ron began to take a look at it but soon took back his words when the vines began to move towards them.

"Hey! I know this!" Romina exclaimed, unnaturally happy despite the vines wrapping around her.

"K, great, we don't need another Hermione!" Ron said as he struggled against the plants.

"Hey!" went both offended girls.

"Neville tutored me! Boy knows his stuff when it comes to Herbology!" Romina laughed at the luck they had. "This is Devil's Snare! You just have to relax and it won't kill you."

"Right, right," Hermione looked around her with a new light in her eyes. "We just have to relax."

"Romina!" Harry watched in horror while her friend simply smiled and was sucked right under.

"Just do what she did!" Hermione instructed and stopped moving altogether. She too was then brought down.

"Rom! Hermione!" Harry called. "Where are you!?"

"Harry Potter can you just freaking listen to me!?" Romina practically shouted from wherever she and Hermione had gone to. "Just relax already!"

Harry had no choice but to follow instructions. He took a breath and relaxed himself. Ron then had to watch him go down as well. "Harry!"

"See?" Romina went by to help Harry up. "Always listen to Romina. It just makes everything better."

Harry had time to laugh but Ron's piercing call for him ended it all too soon. Hermione shook her head. "He's just not relaxing is he?"

"Apparently not."

"Help! Help me!"

"Anymore Neville tips?" Harry asked hopefully to his best friend.

"Um…" Romina crinkled her nose. "There was something else...but I think that's when Trevor got lost, and…"

"Devil's Snare hates sunlight," Hermione reminded her, making Romina snap her fingers.

"Right, that!"

Hermione took out her wand and pointed it up. "Lumus Solem!" a shot of light flew from the tip of the wand and had the Devil's Snare recoil from Ron, letting him easily drop to the ground with them.

They wasted no more time and hurried down the corridor, expecting something worse to hit them in the darkness. The next room was brightly lit one full of...birds? There was one single door set right across them.

"I have never seen birds like those," Romina narrowed her eyes at said creatures.

"They're not birds," Harry came up beside her, intently staring above. "They're keys. I bet one of them fits the door."

"Harry, look," Hermione pointed at a broom suspended in the air. "What's that all about?"

Ron, in the meantime, had crept up to the wooden door waiting to be opened. "Alohomora!" he had tried using his wand on the door but it didn't work. "Well," he turned back to his friends, "it was worth a try."

"There must be a 1000 keys up there…" Romina discourgedly looked from one 'bird' to the next, "...Harry, how are we meant to find it?

"We're looking for a big old fashioned one," Ron stared at the door's keyhole. "Probably rusty like the handle."

Harry grabbed the broomstick and kicked off into the air without ever talking about who should be the one to do the task. Soon as he did, the bird-keys went right for him. He battled through them, following Ron's description and in no time spotted the right bird. Quidditch continued having its perks alright.

"Catch the key, Rom!" Harry called. He flew past and chucked the key directly at Romina who effortlessly caught it.

"Baseball," she smirked at Hermione who seemed mighty impressed.

"What's baseball?" asked poor Ron.

"Something I can teach you in the summer, now c'mon!" Romina went for the door and easily unlocked it. She, ROn and Hermione ran inside and Harry nearly toppled over the broom to get through. The bird-keys were following him and barely missed with the shut door.

Focusing on the new room they were now in, they found it to be a messy one. There were broken pieces around them, but nothing could be clearly made out yet.

"Where are we? A graveyard?" Harry couldn't tell what anything was and it was quite frustrating.

"This is no graveyard," Ron was beginning to understand and sighed. "It's a chessboard." He stepped onto a floor board of chess, and suddenly had flames of light brightening up the room. On the chess board were life size statues of players.

"And there's the door," Romina pointed across the board.

Now they tried getting past without playing and were forced back when the pawns threatened them with their swords.

"Now what do we do?" Hermione helplessly asked.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Ron wearily looked at one pawn to the next. "We've got to play our way across the room."

"Mm, and let me guess, we're—" Romina gestured to herself and them, "—the pawns, aren't we?"

Ron regretted to nod his head. "All right. Harry, you take the Bishop's square. Hermione, you'll be the Queen's side castle, Romina you be the Rook. As for me, I'll be a knight."

"What happens now?" Hermione was staring at the facless pawns around them.

Ron had clambered aboard the horse where he was meant to take place. "Well, white moves first, and then...we play. "

A white pawn from the other side, the opponent, moved forwards.

Hermione suddenly whipped her head at Ron with a frazzled expression. "Ron, you don't suppose this is going to be like...real wizard's chess, do you?"

"Dare I ask how real wizard's chess goes?" Romina shut her eyes.

Ron paid neither attention. "You there! D-5!" a black pawn moved diagonal to the white pawn that had moved first. The white pawn smashed its sword over the black and destroyed it. The kids jumped.

"Oh hell no!" Romina shouted.

"Didn't you ever play?" Ron threw a disbelieving look.

"No! Both my grandparents hate chess! Plus, I think it would make it a little obvious that we're wizards if our chess pieces killed each other!"

"Then there's something I can teach you over the summer!"

Romina was then forced to stay quiet and do as Ron said. It was not easy seeing pawns from both sides be crushed into nothing. The inkling fear of becoming said crushed pawns made Romina tremble despite knowing from Hermione that Ron was actually very good at wizard's chess. It didn't help that two times Ron had nearly let Hermione and Harry get crushed if he hadn't taken an extra minute to think about his moves.

"Wait a minute…" Harry had grasped some of Ron's moves and was now staring in horror at the game that was so close to a finish.

"You understand right, Harry. Once I make my move, the Queen will take me...then you'll be free to check the King," Ron said ever so casually that both Romina and Hermione had to take a second to really wonder if he'd said those words.

"You can't just sacrifice yourself!" Romina exclaimed.

Hermione nearly lost it. "There must be another way!"

Ron wasn't having it with either girl. His eyes flickered from one to the other, dead serious. "Do you want to stop Snape or not?"

Hermione crossed her arms.

"It's not Sape!" Romina practically shouted.

"Romina!" Ron snapped. "Look, Harry, it's you that has to go on. I know it. Not me, not Hermione, not Romina, just you" Harry hated himself but he knew Ron was right. Ron took a breath to himself then spoke the deadly words. "Knight...to H-3."

Ron's horse slid forwards and immediately had the Queen pawn turn his way. He gripped the steel reins of his horse pawn and took the blow when the Queen smashed his pawn to pieces.

"Ron!" Hermione cried but the ginger had fallen to the floor, hopefully just unconscious.

"What do you reckon's next?" Harry asked after making sure Ron truly was alright.

Romina began listing off her fingers. "Well, we've had Sprout's - the Devil's Snare culprit - and I supposed Flitwick put the charms on those bird-keys, and I'm going to guess McGonagall was the grand mastermind of this lovely chess game so that leaves whatever Quirrel leaves us and Snape."

WIth that knowledge, the three remaining students reached the next door of a no-doubt deadly task. As soon as they walked in, their noses were filled with a crude oder. There was a large troll lying on the ground, unconscious, with injuries resulting from a battle.

"I'm glad we didn't have to fight that one," Harry mumbled while he and the girls moved around it.

The next room held something completely calm and completely odor-free. The three relaxed somewhat to see seven bottles of different shapes set in a line on a table.

"So we get Snape's first," Hermione nodded and moved towards the table.

"What do we have to do?" asked Harry. The moment he asked, and they had moved, purple flames sprang from the doorway through which they had entered. A second later, black flames blocked the door they were meant to get through.

"Oh, he's smart," Romina praised, almost clapping for her head of House had Harry and Hermione not thrown her dirty looks. With a sigh, she picked up a rolled paper and read from it.

"Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you, which ever you would find,

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Two among our number hold only nettle wine,

Three of us are killers, waiting bidden in line.

Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,

To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four: First, however slyly the poison tries to hide,

You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;

Second, different are those who stand at either end, but if you would move onward, neither is your friend;

Third, as you see clearly, all are different size, neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;

Fourth, the second left and the second on the right, are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

"Wow, okay," Romina said with a beam, one that Harry noticed Hermione shared as well. "Totally good - this is why I like Snape." The beam fell off Hermione's face at those words. "I still refuse to believe your accusations," Romina promptly said then began to work on the bottles herself. "This isn't magic - it's logic - a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'd be stuck in here forever."

"But so will we, won't we?" Harry stared at the seven bottles.

"Answers are right here, Harry," Romina pointed at the paper in her hands. "Seven bottles: three are poison; two are wine; one will get us safely through the black fire, and one will get us back through the purple. Hermione?"

"On it," the brunette keenly listened to the words of the paper again.

"Red one should be the third," Romina would point while Hermione mumbled and rearranged the bottles, asking every now and then for Romina to repeat a part of the puzzle.

"And this one…?" Hermione pointed to the last of the bottles, still thinking on it for herself. "Fifth, right?"

"Definitely," nodded Romina who then slid the bottle into its appropriate spot.

"Alright Harry," Hermione held up the smallest of the bottles for him. "This one will get you through the black fire and to the Stone.

Harry eyed the bottle discouragingly. "But there's only enough for one of us…hardly one swallow."

Both Hermione and Romina had figured that out earlier and were glumly exchanging glances.

"Which one will get you back through the purple flames?" asked Harry after a moment.

"This one," Romina picked up a round bottle that happened to be in the last of the line.

"Okay well you two drink that."

"What!?" Romina barely had time to say when Harry quickly jumped back.

"No, listen, get back and get Ron. Grab brooms from the flying- key room, they'll get you out of the trapdoor and past Fluffy - go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, we need him. I might be able to hold Snape off for a while, but I'm no match for him, really."

"There are so many things wrong with that sentence that I won't even begin to get into it," Romina shook her head. "But we can't just leave you."

"She's right," Hermione nervously glanced at the door Harry would be crossing soon. "What if You-Know-Who's with him?"

"Well - I was lucky once, wasn't I?" Harry pointed to his scar for reference. "I might get lucky again."

"Oh, Harry," Romina covered her face. Hermione, on the other hand, was close to crying, and surprised Harry with a big hug.

"Harry - you're a great wizard, you know!"

Harry was actually very surprised to hear that one, even exchanging a startled glance with Romina who was smiling in amusement.

"I'm not as good as you," he replied and pulled away from Hermione.

"Me?" she scoffed. "Books! And cleverness. There are more important things - friendship and bravery and - oh Harry - be careful!"

Harry promised her he would be, as much as he could anyways. Romina then came over and gave him a tight hug, much more put together than Hermione. "You've always had a knack for getting into trouble...but I daresay the Dursleys prepared you for the worst."

Harry laughed with her. "Something good then."

"Please do be careful," Romina cautioned just like Hermione.

A minute later, she and Hermione took equal slugs of the bottle meant to get them back to Ron. Both girls shivered as an icy shard went down their throats.

"It's not poison!?" worried Harry for a minute.

"No, it's like ice," Hermione made a face once the effect passed.

"Quick, go, before it wears off," Harry shooed both girls off.

"Good luck," Hermione said.

"And take care," Romina had to warn him one more time. Harry Potter was impulsive, and in the face of the 'Dark Lord' who knew what he would do.

[deliriousdisquisitions]

13.10.2022. I’ve a tentative Outline or To-do list of what I need to get done in October just in time for scholarship deadlines by the end of November. 

Week 1: Editing/ polishing up my grad school Resume. While completing my MA I was just having too much fun with friends, classes, and traveling to engage in other extracurricular academic pursuits. Normally I would feel guilty about not filling up every bit of waking hour with some kind of work/extracurricular to add onto my resume, but I cut myself some slack just this one time. I had to make up for lost time though by signing up for a bunch of volunteer stuff and taking on other part-time work post MA. 

Week 2: Editing my writing samples for this week. I need to submit 2 writing samples as part of my PhD applications (though some universities only ask for 1 writing sample or you can directly send in your MA Dissertation). Since writing samples must be around 5000-7000 words, I’m editing out parts of my dissertation that I can send in as individual essays. This is probably the hardest part of applications (barring the Research Proposal which I don’t want to think about).

First off, I’ve no recollection of writing any of this. I feel like I got blackout drunk when I wrote it but it was most probably extreme sleep deprivation. Just looking at my dissertation makes me want to throw up, it's so embarrassing. I get the most violent urge to go back in time, smack past me in the face for procrastinating for so long and bullshitting my way through the latter half. I cannot believe my professor actually had to grade this. I’m currently editing out the worst parts pretending this was written by someone else so I can at least objectively evaluate it. If I make it through this without dying it will be a miracle. 

Week 3: RESEARCH PROPOSAL. The way I’m dreading this. It is not so much that I don’t know exactly what direction I want to go for future research. It’s mostly the uncertainty. And also the fact that I have to contact a potential supervisor and convince them that my research is worth something more than the paper it is written on. Should I have contacted the university professors earlier about this? Certainly. Did I put it off from the sheer fear of rejection and/or judgement?? Absolutely. It’s fine, it’s going to be fine, I’m slowly working on it. There is a method to my madness, I promise, even if it looks completely chaotic from the outside.

[procrastin-trainer]

Submitted it with 32 minutes to spare

I cannot believe I managed to submit my first final paper for my master's program after starting it in one day. The summary of my work:

Since Day 1 : took notes on the homework reading and class notes in one document and copy+pasted stuff that looked interesting to a separate document labeled "topics for final"

3 Weeks before due date: Picked a topic

2 Weeks before due date: met with professor for 25 minutes to discuss the assignment

1 Week leading up to due date: made a topic map, thought about what 3 external sources I could include, internal panic, binging BL shows, sleepless nights

Due Date:

6 am - 7: 15 am: having pulled an all-nighter and thus fueled with motivation only a night raccoon can have, started the essay. During the first 30 minutes, sorted through the first few units of the homework reading notes and placed them in a wonky outline. Scrolled through tumblr for another 45 minutes after that

7:15 am - 7:45 read the first few pages of Johann Hari's book Stolen Focus specifically chapter 11, which is on ADHD. While reading, I am formulating more thoughts on how to structure the essay and making changes to the outline

7:45 am : I read the actual essay assignment, realize it's a bit different from what I have planned (the actual assignment is easier)

7:45 am - 8:15 am: writing the first 6 out of 8 pages of the essay (most of which is personal reflections and yapping)

8:15 am - 11:30 am: Scrolling on my phone for an hour while lying in bed, then extreme nap that resets the whole hard drive that is my brain

11:30 - 1:30 pm: procrastination hath no competition like a girl who likes to yap while eating lunch with her mom

1:30 pm - 2:30pm: voice lesson

3:30pm - get back home

3:30 pm - 9 pm: dinner + more tumblr procrastination

9:pm - 10 pm: cleaning up the 6 pages of yapping with quotes and citations

10 pm - 10:30 pm: realize I can't do it anymore. ENLIST THE HELP OF THE TWIN SISTER!

10:30 - 11:30 twin sister edits while I write the next 2 pages (most important part of essay). Twin writes conclusion while I dictate.

Submitted it 30 minutes early whohooooooo

[keamyeon]

state of mind at 110723 0:20

getting anonymously acknowledged while staring into space during online classes for an essay i wrote weeks ago triggered my ego a bit. these days, i had been thinking that i had good potential of being a writer, despite my poor vocabulary skills. having billions of thoughts about my own life and being able to put them down into words gives me a sense of satisfaction, being well-aware that what i just said is self-explanatory and 'normal-human-being' understandable. i do not have sentiments over the course subject nor the professor at all, but i only liked the ideas of personal essays. it asks you questions that nobody actually asks but you'd love to talk about. you want me to know my ideal marriage and family? i'd gladly tell you. i could write a 100-page essay if you required me to (don't though, please). anyway, the moment made me dive into another essay i made talking about my vocational path story, and my november 7th self just finds my previous self's mind so genius.

so what should a girl do?

create a blog to post the essay alongside many others soon, where you have the full permission to be completely serious without feeling the need to insert humorous side comments to lighten the tone in case an irl reads it and thinks, "wow, this is so different from how she expresses herself in reality".

given my self-proclaimed smooth introduction to this blog, i will now be leaving the oh-so-relatable essay... because i wrote it myself.

Ever since I was a child, I was always fascinated seeing people older than me find their passion or calling in life. Whatever path they took, I found them cool and wondered how I would eventually find my own someday. I didn’t think much about it, brushed it off, and thought that it was my older self’s problem to worry about. As I got older, I was only living and enjoying life with what was given in front of me. During my early teenage years, I found it difficult to join school clubs because I really didn’t know what I wanted to do and ended up joining wherever my friends went – so at least I wasn’t alone. When it was time to choose a strand for senior high school, I chose to go for the strand that was aligned to the path that my late father took, initially wanting to honor him in that way. Then came the period where we had to apply to universities and colleges with our decided course. As I didn’t grow up wanting to become something or even be part of a certain school, I was confused and lost. While pondering over this, I thought about the path that I told myself I would take to honor my father – which was becoming a programmer. I hesitated to take it – I thought that I wouldn’t truly enjoy doing it. I looked at my friends in that same path and I saw that even though they would complain about the hard work, it was still something they stood by for and never gave up on – because of passion, perhaps. I felt different, and so I was made to look back at my past and question myself if there was something I really loved or was interested in – something that I thought I had potential in, with hopes of finding what would be worth taking. It was then when I remembered that during my childhood, I always loved playing with pictures, graphics, and videos. I enjoyed editing for fun – since I was just a little kid who stayed at home, always stuck with their family computer as a way of passing time. I really enjoyed doing that and explored multimedia arts. Realizing how interesting it was, I thought that maybe if this is what I took, it would be something worthwhile. As I am now writing an essay under this course as a student in this college, you may now predict what happened next. However, I chose to make that decision roughly three years ago. Being seventeen and twenty is totally different – especially when you get exposed to such talented, skilled, and hardworking art students. I knew from the start that I lacked the artistic skills – making this decision was all based on a phase that I had from my childhood, and never chose to pursue or develop during my high school years. Today, I will admit that I have doubts about this path I took. While this course is so much fun, and most of the time the hard work is worth it, given my progress and skills, I don’t know if this is something that would help me last long and sustain myself in the future. Nonetheless, there are things still clear to me. First of all, it is given that I have a trait of being indecisive, but as much as a human can do, I can only do so much. Secondly, I may not have a practical dream as people around me have, but I do have a dream of what type of life I want to live.

I dream to be one of the cool adults that my childhood self looked up to – independent, passionate, and hardworking. I want to enjoy whatever I decide to do from now on – whether I will focus on a path in multimedia arts, or even if I deviate from this. With much more importance, I just also want to choose the path where God directs me to be. Surely, that way will lead me in fulfilling the purpose ultimately designed for me and help me become what I wish and need to be.

[goodbye-yashiro]

Quick ADHD and study tips:

- Do the minimum. Don't do any more than the school expects you to do. Don't overwork yourself trying to become an expert on every topic ever, making every project a perfect masterpiece.

-> "I'll just do this quickly" method - Do the minimum. What's the least you can do for this topic, the easiest, most minimalist, "laziest" solution possible? Do it. It helps to get started. (exactly what I did here)

- Adjust your routine to a radio's broadcasting schedule (it's background music and "company", aka. chatter in the background)

- Pomodoro timers are too hard to reach from YouTube, here, an extension. (It plays white noise, and makes me miss the sound of rain in the breaks)

- Switch from Word to a notepad, a colored paper, google translator, a tumblr draft, etc., write your essay there.

- Water reminder.

- Too tired to design a PPT: SlidesGo Templates

- Too tired for grammar: Grammarly (or ProWritingAid)

- Too tired for words: Wordtune and Wordtune Read

- This grades essays, this estimates reading time

- This for grammar check, this is for synonyms, acronyms, and everything, this for idioms.

- Set BeLineReader to something colorful (space colors ✨)

- Write it in memes (see the first part of this post), use emojis, make memes, use meme language, edit it like a tumblr post with highlights, side notes, pictures, colors, etc.

- Tell it to someone. There was a history topic I very much disliked until I started to read it, and man, it was hilarious. The warlords made the worst decisions possible! Of course, I told my brother about it.

Look at it as a masterpiece or look at it as a ridiculously bad movie, it will get better. (This goes for literature, history, etc. - why not "make it" into a soap opera?)

- Do it while you wait for something. The water to boil, the baguettes to bake, someone to answer your message. And in the meantime, do something.

- For revisions: Loop a song. One topic-one song. Then you switch the song, next topic. It's even better if the songs are from completely different genres.

- Have a list of stuff you have to do. An optional list. If you can tick off one, you're good. Leave your accomplishments.

[Stuff like, 'write a poem', 'make cocoa', 'sing,' but also, 'eat breakfast normally' and 'write that English essay'.]

(-> Computer "gadgets" (idk what are they called in English) -> set tiny slideshows, and bamm, little reminders that are always visible! I made the text in Ipiccy, the to-do list in paint)

[ID: A partial screenshot of my tumblr, with the two widgets on it, displaying two small pictures, one is a color gradient text on a black background that reads "keep going", the other is a bit messy to-do list with check squares and simple text on a white background / end of ID]

How to remember anything?/learn stuff

Create (write a poem, make memes, try reading it out loud, but singing, act it out - the possibilities are endless!)

Bee dance ("write down" the letters of the word or numbers of the date walking around)

Make it touchable (form the numbers/letters from plasticine, sticks, gravel, ketchup, candy, shoes, or anything, really) -> Morse / ASL (knock, clap, or sign the numbers/letters)

Tell it in different styles, on different levels (to a kid, to your dog, to your plant. "Emotionally" as if you were telling some outrageous news, or as if it was the greatest thing in the world! It's ridiculous, it's nonsense! It's so stupid, it's brilliant! It's tragic, actually. Tell it professionally, as if you knew what you're talking about, like some sassy professor. Tell it as if it happened next door, as if you were some old folk telling it to the children (the good ol' times!), tell it like a bored weather forecaster, present it like in some tv ad!)

Learn it at places (literally, bring your book/little paper to a corner of the house, or out to the park. It's a bit like the mind palace method, "hmm, yes, 1945, the blue shower gel bottle, "amygdala" is in the fridge, and Thales' Theorem is right under the bed.")

The mind palace method, but place the data on a picture (take a picture, a stock photo, anything, and write dates/words at different places)

Speed run (set a timer, it can be Pomodoro, and do what you have to do on max speed. Yes, you got x minutes to sit at this one spot in the bathroom and memorize these words, drink tea, and take out the trash! The clock is ticking! It's adrenalin rush!)

Tie it up with the senses (pick a color/palette, a taste, a smell, a feel, a texture, a style, etc. for each topic you can recall later. Chew a specific tasted gum while studying, chew the same taste while writing the test. Spray a perfume, set your desktop/phone background to a picture that fits the mood, set the lights, surround yourself with a specific texture, create a mood.)

Make a cheat sheet (write it in a "compressed format," so only you can understand it, and it takes up the least place possible. Tiny drawings, reminders. The point is not to have the information but to have a safe reminder in your pocket, you can reach out to. You may not even need to use it.)

Have water and sleep (yup, a dehydrated brain can't think, and our brains process information while in REM sleep - a sleep cycle calculator)

Play card games, Activity (do you know the board game "Activity?" Or twenty questions? There are also a bunch of card games [mainly played with French cards] where you have to yell words and smash cards and each other's hands. Well, why not rewrite the game with the words/dates/phrases you need to memorize? Even better if you play it with people who study the same thing as you.)

So, that's it for now. I hope I helped some! :D

[honestlywtfisgoingon]

When You Weren’t Looking — pt. 2/?

PROFESSOR!OBI-WAN KENOBI x READER

PART 1

an au where you and you literature professor realize you both have things to learn about love, and yourselves, outside of class. (as we all know, this can only be done through a big scoop of angst and a smutty cherry on top)

summary: you and obi-wan have begun to enjoy simply spending time together in his office

warnings: language maybe, tb to filler sentences i actually used in my essay rough drafts

a/n: not my fav but it’s little bit of a set-up for the next chapter which is when things get real interesting hehe. also i didn’t edit a lot sry :/ but if the spacing is weird it’s bc of tumblr not me lol

words: 1,342 once again a lil short

It had been a couple of weeks since you’d begun to show up to Professor Kenobi’s office after every one of your classes with him. Your initial purpose for being there was just to file papers and organize things in his surprising very messy office. You had pegged your professor as someone who preferred for things to remain immaculate at all times, his beard always trimmed so neatly and his shirts always pressed to perfection. The more you thought about it though, the more it made sense.

It was a known fact, mainly due to his impromptu rants during class, that he loved what he taught. He breathed in knowledge and books, a true intellectual, and the articles scattered on every surface of his office were probably objects of comfort. The books, mugs drained of tea(many of which had horrendous puns), and various trinkets and collectibles such as labeled kyber crystals, all reflected his interests. He was familiar with his passions and it made his office safe and pleasant for him to be in.

While you still spent some of your time cleaning, most of your two hours with the professor ended up allowing you to rewrite your essay and finish assignments for other classes. He even let you grade some small homework assignments for him.

Anakin you’re out of a job

Professor Kenobi also felt that it was important to make sure you knew he was always there if you needed help. There was a sincerity to his offer that you appreciated. On occasion, he would even ask you for your opinion on something he had just read. The idea that he valued your opinions which could be considered amateur, flattered you immensely. These little here and their actions always spawned an engaging conversation—before he made you get back to work of course.

“fair enough,” you shrugged in response one time after he told you to start “dusting or…something” again. He let out a small breath of a laugh that made you feel warm.

Part of you felt like he always stopped the conversation when you had both begun to be truly invested in what the other was saying. That point usually came with neither of you finding the desire to break eye contact anymore. Sometimes you thought of his gaze for hours after you saw him, the gaze that you had committed to memory by now.

Your preferred spot in the office was a seat adjacent to his, a large oak desk in between you two. There was something about the way he leaned over that large oak desk though. He sat in a wooden swivel chair that presumably came with the table, to which he added a small back pillow. His glasses had slipped slightly down his nose, tie discarded in favor of unbuttoning the top of his collar. He looked exactly like the idea of a classic professor. You found something appealing about it. it didn’t project overt masculinity, and yet somehow it made him seem strong and whole, like he was made of the same polished oak. You couldn’t deny that noticing the maturity he wore was attractive.

Not to be a traitor to your generation, but the men your age weren’t men to you, not in a classic sense anyway. They were closer to your idea of boys, lacking the confidence and the thoughtfulness that showed in everything that your professor did.

You weren’t afraid to admit that it was a little bit hypocritical of you, seeing as how you weren’t exactly the most studious individual either. You didn’t think it was cocky to consider yourself smart, as did many of your teachers, but you were also pretty easily distracted and had to take a break from staring at your screen once you had begun to get too fidgety. Today you were pacing slowly around the room, the tips of your fingers reached out to glide along a surface or a book.

As long as I get my work done, which I always do

“I think you’ve done a few miles by now,” Professor Kenobi said. You could see the small upward tilt of his lips.

“I can't walk in here?” you asked playfully.

“Please, by all means, do what you like, but I can't help but ask, well, aren’t you tired of it by now?” He had turned to face you by now.

“busy thinking I guess,” your mind was in fact reeling at the moment.

“about?” he inquired.

“wouldn’t you like to know.” a teasing smirk on your face. You had grown bolder with each conversation you had with him. He had become more relaxed, easier to joke with. He had a dry and sarcastic humor. another thing you didn’t expect but found that it fit him.

“I would actually. I can never tell what you’re thinking, darling, but I’ve found it’s always something compelling,” That was a recent development. He had taken to calling you darling casually. You assumed it was just…British. They called each other “love” all the time in movies. He could call any woman darling, it was just an endearing term. Still, it made you feel special like you weren’t just another student, and you couldn’t deny that it always caused you to look at the floor in case the heat you felt was in fact a blush. But, that train of thought, of any…attraction, was a dead end you wanted to avoid, and yet you always failed to do so.

“Was that a compliment from the Professor Kenobi?” you pressed your hand to your chest in an exaggeratingly flattered expression.

“If you’d like it to be,” there was a tiny glint in his eye that you would’ve missed if you weren’t already studying how blue they were.

“Well then thank you, Professor,” you added a subtle tilt in your voice when you addressed him. you would never intentionally flirt with him, but it slipped out in such a way.

His cheeks had a fresh tinge of pink and he shifted slightly in his chair before clearing his throat.

“I do have another compliment for you though,”

“Oh I like this,” you laughed lightly.

“I’m already regretting this,” he jokingly rolled his eyes.

“Aww,” you responded in false disappointment.

“But y/n, in all earnest, you’ve made immense progress, and I’m very proud,” he smiled at you with such softness.

You smiled, filled with pride by the praise that had come from someone who you admired. That smile quickly dropped when you realized, how could he have read your essay? You had shown him some of it but that was at the very beginning when you had barely changed much.

“How could you know?”

“You do know I have access to your document since you already submitted it before don’t you?” Your eyes widened in horror as you thought about the very thing he started to mention.

“I do enjoy the filler sentences though,” he looked down at his laptop, presumably at your essay. He cleared his throat. “blah blah insert bullshit or quote later—“

“Oh my maker! That’s a total invasion of privacy!” You ran around to his side of the desk to look at what part of your essay he was on. You only realized few moments later that he had turned his head towards you as you leaned over his shoulder. His face was so close to yours, and his lashes so long that you swore they could brush up against your skin if you leaned in a bit further. Neither of you moved for a moment until… whatever that interaction was… was cut short by a buzz coming from his phone. He hesitated to turn away from you for a second before picking up his phone. saying hi to whoever was on the other end.

You noticed the clock behind him signaled that it was time for you to go. You gathered your things quietly and whispered a quick goodbye, to which he shot you a smile and a light wave. You returned the smile, and it stayed on your face as you walked out the door and all the way down the hall.

PART 3

[ghostedgwen]

don’t blame me | j.potter (part two)

note : thank you so much for the patience! I enjoyed my short writing break and so here is the second part to my most recent James Potter fic - I wanted to make this as long as the previous chapter but didn’t want to do so many time skips in one part so I’ll just find a way around that in the next part!

warning/s : more angst (?), arguments, fighting with James - sort of, a bit of fluff if you squint, also slightly edited (might have left soem errors still)

James finally finds out the reason why you seem to hate him all this time - his response was very unexpected and now leads you to having an odd friendship with him. words : 3.2k

                                                    . . .

You couldn't sleep that night. You kept seeing his annoying smirking face in your mind every time you closed your eyes and that voice of his kept echoing in your dorm room despite the silence.

"Wife."

Such a simple word shouldn't shake you that much - this was a mistake on your part. You shouldn't have provoked him, you knew better than to provoke a Marauder because they always take the hits and multiply it before attacking back.

You let your anger get the better of you and poked a sleeping bear.

That might be one of your biggest flaws; the inability to control the words that would escape past your lips once your hand begin developing their tremors and your mind become clouded by a red fog.

James Potter was the only person with access to this dainty little switch in your brain that renders you incapable of thinking straight, and he has no idea - he sees this as a little game he would purse because apparently, six years of chasing Evans isn't as exciting anymore.

.

The following morning, you dragged your exhausted and sleep-deprived body to the Ravenclaw table in the Great Hall. You drop to a spot on the seat and lazily served yourself toast, tuning out the chatter of the other students.

"_____, you look like you got attacked by a Hippogriff."

You turn to raise an eyebrow at a Ravenclaw a year above you - Rowle with his eyes narrowed, and you lazily shrugged, making your robes shift slightly over your shoulders.

"Maybe I did." Actually, that'd be better than what actually happened. You'd rather die than admit out loud that you lost sleep over James Potter.

"Okay." He dragged the vowel with his nose scrunched up and turned back to his breakfast.

You look down at your depressing toast and draws a long sigh out of you. You can't keep this up all day, you'll let this run its course for breakfast but you'll fic yourself before your classes and act accordingly until the day finished.

You already know a few ruthless Professors will be assigning essays the very first back to school, and you could really use that distraction from one handsome obstacle in Gryffindor robes and round glasses.

You were almost finished with your toast when you felt the weight of someone's arm around your shoulder, you closed your eyes and wished to all your ancestors that it's not who you think it is and they've answered your prayers -

Only this is not even any better.

"G'morning, ______."

You facepalm and try to shrug the arm off but it weighed your shoulders down and kept you in place. You can only groan from irritation, and you didn't have to turn to see the smirk on his face.

"What do you want, Black?"

"Got sent here to deliver a message, the boss wants to talk before lunch."

You scoff. "I knew I called you a guard dog but I didn't know you were also his butler."

"I'm many things, babe." You turn to glare at him and had to scoot away because his face was too close. "So, meet him by the lake."

"I don't have to do anything." You tell him, trying to stand your ground despite this whole affair being a 1 v 4 battle.

"That's true," he nods and sticks out his bottom lip before returning the signature smirk. "But you wouldn't want to wake up with feathers tomorrow now, would you?"

You suck in an exasperated breath through gritted teeth and that was enough of an answer for him, he pulled his arm off you and began walking away. You mutter curses under your breath as you watched him walk away and eventually meet-up with the other three at the Gryffindor table.

You spot James looking your way and you glared from where you sat while he remained grinning, obviously amused. He's ruined your summer, your first night back in Hogwarts and your morning so far.

You're not sure how much more of this you can take.

.

"I'm here now, so what is it?" You ask before even reaching the black lake, yelling over the sound of the calm waters and spotting James Potter's silhouette in the distance.

He waits for you to finish walking before he addressed you. "_____, lovely of you to come see me here."

"Quit vexing me, what do you want?" You cross your arms, shifting all your weight to one foot and addressing him with a harsh glare. He remained smiling at you for a few seconds before talking.

"I had a productive morning, I made a list and to be honest - it only has two things on it as of now," James began and you listened in silence, wondering where he's taking this. "I wrote down a list of the possible reasons you seem to hate my guts."

You side-eye the lake, growing uncomfortable, and gave in with a shrug when he just stared at you, waiting for a response. "Fine, what is it then?"

"One : I may or may not have gotten you involved in a prank - accidentally, and you've never forgiven me since," James lifted his finger in the air and you only blink in disbelief. "You won't be the first."

You remain quiet - not wanting to instigate him further with his stupid theories and he nods slowly with a pout when he realized you weren't going to confirm nor deny his words.

"And the second one : you have a thing for me - " James stated proudly. "Why else would you be mad at me for no reason? You're brokenhearted because I only have my eyes on lovely Evans."

You gave him a perplexed look, words completely escaping you, and he took that as a 'yes', backing away slowly and blinking in disbelief at himself for getting it right. Once you recovered from the shock, you shake your head.

"No - that's - " you exhale exasperatedly and stepped back. "Bloody hell, you are unbelievable."

He forced a small grin, noticing the displeasure on your face. "I've been told."

That did nothing to defuse the situation, you were practically fuming and if smoke could come out of your ears and nose - they would. "You actually think that I - " you can't even bring yourself to finish that sentence. You turned on your heel and began walking away. "Fuckin' hell."

James was quick to act, reaching for your  hand to stop you and you harshly turn to him, trying to retrieve your arm but his grip was strong and he had a question to ask.

"Was I wrong then?"

"Merlin, leave me alone!" You yell, tugging one last time to successfully slip past his hold, and rolled your tongue against your cheek in annoyance. "Are you really so full of yourself that you can't stand the thought of someone not liking you?"

"Not just someone," James said so quietly, you barely heard it. "You're my fiancée."

"And that's supposed to mean anything? You proposed 7 years ago and you don't even remember your oath," you laugh but there was no humor in it. "I get this is entertaining for you - Evans is not doing it for you any more so you're harassing me instead but I'm not interested in playing this game with you."

"Harassing? What - "

"Do me a favour and write to your parents - tell them there will be no wedding because I won't marry the likes of you."

.

.

"You may be going about this the wrong way, Prongs." Remus spoke, closing his book and putting it aside - no longer interested in the pages when his best friend's current dilemma was most interesting.

"How should I do it then?" James asked, groaning into his palms, and the three boys exchange looks - they've never seen him this aggravated until Evans got really mad during their fifth-year when Snape turned on her.

"Arrange a meeting - "

"Will she come? Prongs didn't make the first two meetings very pleasant." Peter crinkled his nose, throwing a flavoured bean in his mouth and nodding in delight at the taste of clean snow. "Never got this flavour before."

"Alright then," Remus shifts his position on the bed and turned to James fully. "Send her a letter, apologize for earlier and then sincerely ask her to meet - maybe swear that it will be the last time and you'll never bother her again?"

"But what if it doesn't go well and I can't bother her anymore?"

The room grew silent - Sirius was the first one to recover. "Why would that even bother you, mate?"

"Yeah, if she doesn't like you then best leave it alone, right?" Peter asked with a frown.

"I mean - " James struggled to form a proper sentence but managed to construct a perfect excuse on the spot, one of his many gifts. "I mean - we used to be friends before? Surely, that must mean something."

"Sure." Remus rolled his eyes.

"So go write your letter, mate." Sirius tapped his shoulder encouragingly and James was quick to grab his parchment and a quill.

.

.

.

You frown at the owl that landed on your lap. You were sat in the halls, overlooking the open field right next to you, while you're settled right on the open window. You grab the letter attached to it and thanked Merlin under your breath that you were snacking while reading.

Pinching a piece of your biscuits and throwing it over to the owl, who happily snacked and waited for you to open the letter. You purse your lips, having an inkling as to who this came from.

Opening the letter, you narrow your eyes slightly as you scan the words.

"Got a love letter, _____?" You look up abruptly, tearing your gaze away from the parchment and looking up to meet eyes with Oliver Klove. You've been waiting for him so you two can work on your collaboration in a 12-page Potions essay.

"Nope, the last thing this letter will give me is butterflies." You tell him with a roll of your eyes, tucking the parchment between your book. Using it as a bookmark and shutting it.

"So, we do work here or head to the library?"

You spotted four familiar figures behind him walking down the hall, you hurriedly grabbed your belongings and pet the owl then grabbed Oliver's hand - beginning to drag him down the hall with gritted teeth.

"Library it is, then." Oliver answered his own question, a hint of amusement in his voice from your unexpected action.

Once at the library - you two worked in silence. A few words were exchanged here and there but it was mostly the comforting silence and quiet scraping of quills against parchment. He was very easy to talk to and work with, so you were working smoothly alongside him.

You didn't even notice the time - you've been at it for hours and just now finished half of the essay. You lean back on your chair, stretching your back and groaning when you heard a few pops from your joints.

"That should do it for today," Oliver grinned, beginning to put away his belongings. "You seem tired, and we have a whole week ahead of us."

"Yeah - I'll try and do a bit more reading, but let's not work on this for a few more days." You let out an involuntary yawn. "I need at least 3 days of rest after that."

Oliver chuckled, nodding along your words and got up. "Thank you for working with me," he lowered his head slightly and you grin up at him. "I'll see you around, _____."

You watched him leave and opened your book again, hoping to get some more reading done before retreating to your dorm when you saw the parchment again. A reminder of the meeting you're supposed to attend.

You glance at the giant clock in the library and cursed under your breath, you're an hour late!

.

You arrived, panting and clutching your book bag so it wouldn't jump around as you ran down the halls. Entering the abandoned classroom and wiping the sweat off your forehead.

"You came." A voice greeted you and almost made you jump. You turn to find James Potter lazily sat on one of the dusty tables.

"Almost thought you wouldn't show."

You cleared your throat awkwardly,and walked further into the room. Setting your heavy bag down on the table. "I had an essay to write - I didn't realize the time."

"Ravenclaws," he smirked, and you frown at that - what type of commentary even is that? You don't stereotype Hufflepuffs to be good little angels, so what's with that comment about being a Ravenclaw? "So, you came."

"Yes - I was promised to be left alone after this." You shrug.

"Right," James potter shifted in his seat. "I meant it by the way - the apology, I really am sorry about earlier and how I acted."

"You're forgiven," you tell him with a tight-lipped smile but he still looked bothered. "Is that all?"

"I just really want to know why you don't like me."

You laugh at that. "Not everyone is supposed to like you, Jamie."

James paused. You called him a nickname he hasn't got in a while - in fact, only one person ever called him that and it was -

"It was you then?" James asked, the dots in his head connecting and they all point towards you. Standing here before him in a brighter light and he couldn't shake off the odd feeling settling in his chest.

"I was what?" You ask him, stitching your brows and wondering what he's on about this time.

"The one leaving me notes - " James' grin quickly morphed into a frown. "Why did you stop?"

James recalled his first years at Hogwarts. He forgot but - before, someone would leave him encouraging notes accompanied by random sweets whenever he had a terrible day, a nasty encounter with Slytherins, lost a Quidditch game or got rejected by Lily for the nth time.

But all of it abruptly stopped around their fourth-year. The notes stopped coming, and he eventually lost hope in seeing those cute scribbles again. He never did plan to unmask the person behind the notes, he liked the mystery, and he wasn't even sure what he'd do once he finds out.

Now here he is, 3 years later, remembering them and realizing it was you all along.

"I don't know," you shrug. "Maybe I started to finally realize that the friendship was very one-sided."

"What?" James furrowed his brows in confusion.

"You always did love being in the spotlight and I was fine with that - " you draw out a sharp breath in exasperation. "Just fucking sucked that you left me behind."

"And that's why you're mad?" James asked, taking a step forward, and you stepped back at the same time, not allowing him to close the distance. It was far too late for that. "Because I forgot about you and our engagement?"

You held back your laughter - there's no need for another one of your crazy person cackle amidst a breakdown. You instead scoffed in offence and raised a brow, a sarcastic smile playing on your lips. "This was never about the engagement. You were my best friend and you forgot, and left so I have the right to be mad!"

You suck in another exasperated breath. "You've been my friend since I was able to walk and I expected to adjust to Hogwarts with you alongside me. But what happened instead was you got yourself pretty Gryffindor friends and forgot I even existed."

"I'm sorry."

That was a quick response and one you did not expect - has James Potter ever apologized to anyone before? And so prompted, at that. You stare at him in shock, your lips parted slightly and he takes in your expression before talking again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know - I shouldn't have annoyed you all this time and," James paused, hanging his head low. "I'm sorry for abandoning our friendship."

You suddenly felt awkward under this setting, standing there and receiving an apology from James Potter who hung his head so low you almost feel bad -

"It's fine," you shrug. "It's been years so it's - whatever."

"How do I make it up to you then?"

"Excuse me?" You blink in disbelief.

"I abandoned you before, I won't do it again. Tell me how to make it better."

What does one even say in this very impossible scenario of your ex-childhood friend lowering his pride and seeking forgiveness when you never anticipated this happening even in your wildest dreams?

.

.

So you agreed — actually, there was no room for discussion when it came to James Potter who left you in shock, standing alone in the abandoned classroom, after announcing he will redeem himself.

He delivered an "I will make this better, I'll fix it" speech or something - you were too flabbergasted to process the moment fully - and then left.

Leaving you dumbfounded and frozen in shock. It took you a few minutes to recover and when you did, you had to hold on to a table to keep your balance.

Your knees felt weak and another set of involuntary laughter came out of you - just you and your manic cackling in an empty room. 

You sat down for a moment, replaying the previous events in your head and almost burst out laughing again from how much has happened in just a day.

First day back at Hogwarts during your last year did not disappoint at all - you’ll be sure to tell your future children about this stupid experience for many years to come.

Who knows? You might even let someone publish an article about it?

After letting your imagination run wild to cope with the hoops and hurdles you had to jump through the entire day, you gathered yourself and left the room - making it back to your dorms just in time to maybe take a quick shower before your rounds.

In the shower, you try and block our the memories you had of you and James when you were younger. Unlike him who obviously forgot, you remembered everything all too well.

No matter how badly you wished to move on from that chapter of you life - the pages stuck together and you felt as if you were still there, in that red dress standing while he knelt down and offered you a flower he stole from his mother’s garden.

You knew how he had an odd fascination with frogs and their beady eyes, listened to him talk about quidditch for hours despite not having any interest in the sports, always got scratches on your leg trying to keep up with him when playing and how your tiny little heart would race while his small fingers lightly graze your knee and apply ointment on the tiny scratches.

It’s not fair to be forgotten so easily when he was all you’ve ever known.

And until now he has no idea how you truly felt about him all those eyars ago - but surely you don’t have those anymore, it’s been years. You haven’t felt anything for him other than irritation and resentment since.

So there should be no need to worry over his claim to make it up to you, right?

Right. . .

to be continued. masterlist

[dawn-moths]

“Life is Like Tetris, My Time’s Precious”

CHAPTER 1

Tomura x Female Reader

part 1 * part 2 * part 3

word count: 12,400+

(A quirkless college AU where there’s been some sexual tension between you and a classmate you’ve had a crush on for quite some time. But despite your frequent interactions over the years due to your similar class schedules, you aren’t quite sure if Tomura Shigaraki is actually into you. When he finally invites you to hang out in his dorm while his roommate is away however, you have quite the experience and learn even more about the boy who you’ve been trying to get closer to for so long.)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ sexual content! minors dni! Tomura is actually kind of sweet to you in this but he’s also a sad boy, touch starved/virgin Shiggy, Touya/Dabi cameo ‘cause i couldn’t help myself lol, title taken from “Hoodie Up” by MISSIO. 

***

The brisk coolness of early fall swept through your college campus, forcing you to trade the shorts and crop tops of the fading summer for jeans and oversized sweaters, cute pleated skirts paired with college crewnecks and ankle boots. The leaves on the trees lining the main path were beginning to change too, the pale greens and bright yellows of last season merging into vibrant sunset oranges and sultry crimson and plum.

Though, despite the dwindling warmth of September that bled into the first few weeks of October, you were excited for the new season, even if it did mean you were closer to having to bundle up in as many layers as possible and trek to class in the snow. Because a new season meant a new semester, new classes, new chances. And you’d gotten lucky to end up in a computer science class with your favorite acquaintance.

As you practically skipped to the lab where rows of monitors were lined up with big, bright glowing screens, you couldn’t shake the giddiness that filled up your chest at seeing him again, the emotion like a blend of sweet honey and spicy cinnamon.

You’d had at least one class with Tomura Shigaraki since freshman year so, while the two of you weren’t quite friends, per se, you did know each other well enough to pick seats next to each other during lecture or for you to slide into a booth in the cafeteria if you saw him sitting alone, exchange some small talk here or there, little interactions like that.

He’d let you copy some of his notes a few times and you’d helped him edit some essays, never really gotten much further than school assignments or the occasional mutual complaining about a particularly hard professor. But even so, you held onto every interaction you’d ever had with him, the memories and conversations piling up over time. 

You hadn’t always had a crush on him. Nothing like love at first sight or anything like that.

In fact, the first time the pale boy with the disheveled hair and dark clothing made eye contact with you during your freshman intro class, you’d actually been quite intimidated.

But over time, once you’d actually talked to him (you’d been the first one to break the ice, of course), gotten to know him a little better, that harsh outer exterior decorated with scratch marks and scars had become softer in your vision, maybe even charming in his own awkward kind of way.

You’d learned that Shigaraki was actually pretty shy, just used his aloof aura to his advantage because he was afraid to get too close to anyone. He wasn’t mean or scary or any of those other things you’d speculated him to be upon first glance, though he could be pretty reactive when someone tried to overstep his boundaries.

Being touched in particular, especially by strangers, seemed to set him off like nothing else.

You’d only witnessed it once during these past three years, but that single incident had been enough to leave an impression.

And it hurt you a little bit, the thought that, even if he maybe did like you back, you might never be able to touch him, that he might never let you.

But you’d brushed fingertips before while exchanging class handouts. You’d bumped elbows next to each other in the computer lab.

Maybe, just maybe, there was some hope.

But time was running out.

Because this would potentially be your last year together. And when you realized that you might never see him again after graduation, a little crack began to splinter in your heart.

You found yourself overthinking every interaction, every conversation or greeting nod he directed towards you when you passed each other on campus, every crooked smile or sarcastic chuckle you could pull from him even when he tried so hard to keep his emotions contained.

It was like you were trying to make sure things were perfect, even if they were just meaningless encounters in his eyes, because once he was gone that would be it.

You’d only have the fleeting memories.

But you couldn’t get hung up on the fear, on the what if’s and why didn’t I say or do this sooner’s.

You had to make this next year— these next months— count for something.

So you continued to play this odd game of mental tetris with yourself, trying to rearrange the pieces so that everything would fall perfectly into place before the time ran out and it was game over.

“Hey,” you greeted Tomura with a smile as you approached the monitor next to the one he was already seated at.

He nodded his head at you once without looking your way and replied with a muttered, “Sup,” already pulling up the latest assignment that he would most likely be finished before the end of class.

That was ok though. Once he was done with his then you could have him help you with yours, if you caught him before he grabbed up his bag and scuttled out of the room to go wherever it was he sought refuge in between classes.

“God, you’re fast,” you breathed out in awe as his fingers flew over the keys, punching in code line after line on the screen. His hands had always looked pretty to you— long, lithe fingers and alabaster skin, free of the rust tint that was sometimes caked under his short fingernails today, though you could see a few fading reddened stripes peeking out from under the sleeves of his black hoodie on his wrists and neck.

“S’cause it’s easy…” Tomura replied with a quiet drone, vermillion gaze stuck lazily on the computer screen, darting back and forth in minuscule motions as he typed.

“For you, maybe,” you responded through a gentle chuckle, continuing to watch him work while you waited for your computer to boot up. “I’m not even halfway done.”

“Well that’s why I’m a video game design major and you’re not,” Tomura smirked, bloodshot eyes still glued to the screen.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever nerd,” you shot back playfully. If it were anyone else, you’d lean over and nudge them with your elbow, forcing them to look you in the eyes for a split second and notice your sly grin. But with Tomura, you played it safe and kept your distance.

“I’m almost done,” he then sighed, confirming your earlier assumption about his progress. “I’ll help you after.”

Your smile widened, though the moment of joy was short-lived as the professor walked in, flicked off the lights, and began the day’s lesson, only the brightness from the monitors illuminating the surrounding area. But even in the dim, cool light you tried to sneak glances at Tomura beside you, the silvery waves of his hair cast with soft hues of cyan and pearl.

It only took Tomura about ten more minutes before he was done with his assignment, but he kept to his promise to help you out, discreetly taking your mouse in his hand and sliding your keyboard closer to him before correcting a few mistakes you’d made along the way before straight up doing your work for you, not even trying to hide the fact that he knew you wouldn’t be able to finish on your own.

You didn’t complain though. Honestly, you only took this class because it was the last requirement you needed to graduate. Well, that and the fact that you knew he was taking it too.

You didn’t really pay attention while the professor spoke and directed the other lost students step by step over the big projector screen at the front of the room. You were too mesmerized, both by the lightning speed of Tomura’s fingers over the keys and the way his scarlet gaze was so focused on the task before him.

It was like second nature to him.

Computers— and just electronics in general— had always been something he could understand easily. The way they’re put together, the way they come apart. It was the most intimate relationship he had, the certainty in which his fingers tapped on the keys with one hand while the other rested on the mouse, cursor zipping back and forth across the screen.

You caught yourself staring at his hands again, noticing a short stint of silence when he took a break from all the typing to scratch at one of his wrists, the sound of his nails raking across his skin setting you a little on edge.

You wish he wouldn’t do that. All the scratching all the time.

If it wasn’t his neck or his wrists that were marked with streaks of red, sometimes so deep you could tell the tracks had definitely been bleeding recently, then you were sure that the discomfort must be written on other parts of his body as well, places you couldn’t see, but would like to, given the chance.

You wanted to reach over sometimes when you caught him doing it absentmindedly and clasp his hand in yours, give his fingers something else to find purchase in rather than his own flesh.

But again, you knew you couldn’t.

He’d surely reject you, maybe even get mad at you like he did to that one kid the time he placed a hand on his shoulder after class, entire body flinching away violently and slamming into the painted over cinder block of the hall, eyes gone wide and wild as his chest rose and fell with frantic hyperventilation before he told the guy off and stalked away in a rage.

You always wondered what had made him that way, why touch was so hard for him, but again, you didn’t ask. Because, whatever it was, you figured that he probably didn’t want to talk about it, especially with the likes of a classmate that he’d only ever really hung out with because he was forced to via matching class schedules.

And soon, your computer science class was over, the lights were flicked back on, momentarily blinding you as you squinted through the harsh brightness of the fluorescent bulbs running along the ceiling, and students began to file out.

You thanked Tomura for his help, offering to treat him to coffee sometime as payment for the favor, and then you expected him to just grab his stuff and leave like he usually did, maybe give a weary “See you” on his way out.

But that time he didn't.

Instead, he lingered in his seat a little longer, watching you as you slowly gathered your things. And then, just before you were about to be the one to give the obligatory farewell before you went on your way, he stopped you.

“Hey, uh…” he began, nervously scratching at the back of his neck, tangling his fingers into tufts of pale hair as his scarlet gaze flicked away from your own. “Do you, uh… Do you maybe wanna hang out sometime? Like, outside of class?”

You almost couldn’t believe it. Your ears rang a bit with all the blood that was rushing to your head, hoping it wasn’t showing too much on your face while your heart hammered in your chest and your cheeks burned.

“O-of course!” You finally replied with a nervous smile, breaking from your daze. “Is there a particular day or time or…?”

Tomura asked if you’re around this weekend, Friday evening specifically, as he would be done with his classes around three in the afternoon. “My roommate’s gonna be out for the weekend,” he added, then caught himself and corrected it by saying, “I mean, not that that matters, but I’m just saying— You could come over to my dorm, if you wanted…”

And then you knew your face was reddening, the mere thought, the idea of being alone with Tomura filling you to the brim with pure joy and nervous excitement. You tried to play it cool though, telling him you’d check your schedule and text him later to let him know even though you’d already decided any and all plans that you may have already had were going to be postponed because you might never get another chance like this.

“Cool…” Tomura replied with a nod as a nervous smile began to spread across his lips, tongue darting out to lick at them where they were chapped.

You said you’d see each other soon and then you headed out, Tomura still staying behind for a moment after you exited to collect his nerves, letting out an exhale of relief that you actually accepted his offer, though still felt stupid for making the comment about his roommate. Though, he was glad that the two of you would be alone. The last thing he needed was that guy stirring up trouble with the girl he’s had a crush on all these years.

And you, well, you beelined it for the nearest bathroom, locking yourself in the stall all the way at the end until you could get your big, goofy smile under control. Because you were happy. You were so, so happy. Because maybe, just maybe, he liked you back after all.

Maybe all the months and days and moments of stolen glances and fleeting smiles exchanged between the two of you had actually been amounting to something, however painfully slow.

And he’d looked so flustered at just asking you that simple question, at inviting you over.

It was adorable to you, his sheepishness at a task that was all too familiar to you. You had to fight hard to suppress a series of giggles that were trembling through your chest, face buried into the palms of your hands regardless of the fact that no one else could see you.

You took a few more deep breaths before you emerged from the stall, studying your face in the mirror to make sure that all the rosiness of your glee had disappeared for the time being, though you were sure once you were back in the safety of your dorm room and got to texting him the inevitable “hey, so I checked and I’m free on Friday” that the color would return to your cheeks.

And so, after you received Tomura’s reply of “Ok, how about you come over around five then” and you instantly replied with a “See you then!” you were left to lay back on your bed and clutch your phone close to your chest, your smile lingering for hours as you daydreamed about what Friday would behold, what opportunities it would present for the both of you.

And you felt like, somehow, someway, maybe you were getting a hang of arranging the pieces of this mental tetris game you’d been playing. Maybe, if you were lucky, you’d be able to look at the final image and see that it all lined up perfectly, in the end.

***

Friday had felt like forever away, especially since you and Tomura hadn’t had any other classes together that week after your Thursday one had gotten canceled and you’d been cooped up in your room or the library to finish as many assignments as you could so you would be free to enjoy the weekend without worry.

But now that it was here, you were starting to wish you’d had a little more time. Because it was four o’clock, just one hour before you were set to meet Tomura at his dorm— one of the senior apartments on the edge of campus— and your elation was quickly melting into a thick, sticky mire of dread and anxiety.

What if things were awkward? Or what if you overstepped somehow?

What if Tomura didn’t actually like you like that after all and you’d gotten all worked up for nothing? What if you made a fool of yourself and he never wanted to talk to you again?

What if you arranged all the pieces incorrectly and screwed up with just one wrong move?

Stop overthinking, you reminded yourself sternly through a long exhale. Everything’s going to be fine.

But what were you going to wear? What kind of look would Tomura like? I mean, he’d seen you on a weekly basis for just over three years now, give or take the months out of the summer and winter when you’d both returned home for break and hadn’t been around each other. Would it be too obvious that you were trying too hard if you showed up all decked out? Would that make him uncomfortable?

You didn’t even know what the two of you would be doing. If you were just going to be sitting around and chatting or playing video games or watching TV then you would probably want to be comfortable. Tomura didn’t seem like the type who went out much. Not unless he had to, of course. And for as much as a party-goer you’d been in your underclassmen years, you hadn’t run into him at a single event.

He usually dressed pretty casual— a black long sleeve or hoodie over a pair of jeans and the same red converse every single day— so did that mean you should match his level of nonchalance?

But you wanted to look cute, for him and for yourself, especially since a nice outfit always helped boost your self-confidence and calm your nerves.

You tried on a few different options before making a final decision of one of your pleated skirts— a white one— paired with a baby blue sweater, some delicate gold jewelry to accent the outfit and a pair of black combat boots.

It was nearing 4:45 by then, and you carefully surveyed yourself in the mirror to make sure you really were satisfied before grabbing your purse and heading out the door, knowing it took about twenty minutes to walk across campus to where Tomura’s apartment was, fifteen if you walked fast.

The evening air was chillier than the atmosphere that covered campus during the day, golden sunlight that spilled over the neatly manicured grounds in amber and honey shades now sinking behind the main student center building and soon disappearing below the horizon.

You held your skirt down as a gust of wind blew past you, sending a shiver through your body and causing you to pick up the pace a bit, the senior apartments coming into sight from down the hill.

You cut across the lawn and, only a few more strides from his front door, slowed your steps, taking in a few more deep breaths before convincing yourself that you were ok, that everything was going to be fine, and then knocked on the door, stepping back and wrapping your arms around yourself to further attempt to keep out the cold.

“Hey…” Tomura answered, looking down at you with a slightly mystified stare, vermillion eyes shining in the low light of the little sconce above the entrance.

“Hey,” you replied with a timid smile, approaching to walk through the door and feeling instant relief at escaping the autumn winds that seemed to be picking up by the second.

“Glad you could make it.” Tomura closed the door and then took the lead up towards the second floor of the apartments where his dorm was located. After a few steps upward he began explaining, some fading irritation laced into his tone, “So, my roommate’s still here. But he’s on his way out. If he says anything weird, just ignore him. He’s kind of an asshole, but…” But he didn’t finish that particular thought, punctuating it with a lazy shrug.

“Don’t worry,” you giggled, easing a little bit of Tomura’s concern. “I can handle it.”

Tomura muttered something about how he knew his roommate was going to do this— was going to be late in making his exit even though he’d assured Tomura he’d be out long before five— just to see exactly who his loner of a roommate was inviting over.

“Is it a girl?” the roommate had pressed after Tomura had informed him that he’d be having company on this particular day at this particular time. Tomura hadn’t indulged him, just sighed and said that it didn’t matter. “Well if you’re gonna fuck ‘er,” he’d gone on crudely and with a hint of sinister satisfaction in making Tomura uncomfortable, “just don’t do it on the couch. I don’t wanna have’ta sacrifice the best seat just ‘cause you got cum all over it.”

Tomura had scrunched his face in disgust and then told his roommate that any situation where that would even be remotely possible wasn’t going to happen, so he could stop worrying about it.

“I mean, shoot your shot, dude,” he’d teased Tomura. “Just don’t do it in a shared space.”

Tomura had ignored him after that, just retreated to his room and shut the door, getting lost in one of the many virtual worlds that he liked to use to forget reality and responsibility for a little while.

But now, as he was about to lead you into his apartment where you were most definitely going to come face to face with his cocky asshole of a roommate, he wished he’d just agreed to meet you somewhere until he was sure that guy was gone.

The moment you passed through the doorway, a set of sapphire eyes snapped over to scan you up and down, onyx hair sticking up in tousled spikes and a devious grin playing on his lips, two tattoo sleeves wrapped around his arms with all kinds of black inked designs and numerous piercings lining his ears.

“Uh…” Tomura began awkwardly as you stood between the two boys. “This is Touya, my roommate.” Tomura then informed Touya of your name with much reluctance.

“So it was a girl after all,” Touya said through a devilish smirk, taking a few lazy strides towards you where he could tower over you better, take in the sweet sight of your innocent little eyes staring up at him. Then, with a dangerous amount of audacity, Touya leaned down a little closer to you and said, as if it were a secret, though loud enough that Tomura could clearly hear, “If you get bored with this one, well, I guess you know where to find me now.”

“Alright, ok…” Tomura raised his voice and rolled his eyes, coming to stand beside you, as if in claim or protection, and scowled at his roommate. “Shouldn’t you be leaving, Touya? Would hate for you to get stuck in traffic.”

Tomura wanted to put an arm around you, to pull you closer to him to further accentuate the fact that you weren’t up for grabs as easily as Touya thought any girl on any given day was, but he didn’t. Couldn’t, was more like it. Because he was afraid to freak you out.

He was afraid to freak himself out too, and something as simple as a touch was such an easy trigger.

“Yeah, yeah, alright, I’m leavin’,” Touya replied with petty attitude as he slung his bag over his shoulder and pulled his car keys from the pocket of his ripped black jeans. “Just remember, Shigs…” he cooed condescendingly as he passed Tomura, reaching over to pat his shoulder twice and gaining a damn near evil glint in his eyes when Tomura tensed and sucked in a hiss of a breath at the unwanted contact. “Keep it PG in here.” Touya looked over his shoulder and winked at you, clicking his tongue twice and then heading out the door, letting it slam behind him.

And then it was just the two of you. Just you and Tomura— who was still tense long after Touya’s hand had left his shoulder— standing in the silent dorm and going through two very different waves of emotion at the guy who’d just made an unforgettable intro and exit in one fell swoop.

“Shit, you weren’t kidding…” you finally said, trying to lighten the mood with a smile, even if it was crooked and uncomfortable. “That guy really is an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, sorry ‘bout that…” Tomura glared towards the door, as if Touya were still out there and waiting up to listen to the reactions he’d stirred in you two. “I’ve tried to get a roommate change, but I haven’t been able to find anyone else…”

You could tell that Tomura was actually really bothered by Touya, especially the comment made towards you and the whole touching his shoulder thing, but you wanted him to know that it was ok. Or, at the very least, that you weren’t bothered by it, if that were actually a concern of his.

You opted to change the subject, maybe turn Tomura’s attention back to the task at hand rather than that anticipated altercation by asking him to show you around. Luckily, he took the bait, snapping out of his simmering fury and looking back at you with a softer stare, stuttering through an, “O-ok, yeah, sure…” before giving you the short tour of the apartment.

There was minimal decor, as was expected from two college boys. Just a couch in front of the TV and game consoles, a bean bag chair off to the side, a small kitchen area with a table and two chairs and dishes piled high in the sink (Tomura muttered something about how Touya was never cleaning up after himself). The bathroom looked clean, at least, though there were products strewn across the sink counters in disarray.

Tomura let you peek into Touya’s room, which was across from his, and you weren’t surprised to see Tarantino posters adorning the walls. There was also a big, blue lava lamp which hadn’t been unplugged casting the room in a soft cobalt light, school books scattered across the desk next to the bed which was barely made, covers just thrown over the mattress hastily and without care, and a leather jacket hanging over the back of the desk chair.

Next, however, was Tomura’s room. He’d clearly straightened up before you’d arrived, no doubt kept his space in controlled chaos the rest of the time. But it was nice that he’d cared enough to clean up before you came over.

His room was much more modest than Touya’s, which did surprise you a bit with how much time you’d figured he spent in it given his antisocial personality. Besides his main gaming PC, which contained three monitors, there were just some classic horror movie posters and dark indie comics piled on one of the shelves.

“So, yeah…” Tomura said at the end of the tour. “That’s pretty much it.”

“It’s nice,” you nodded. It was a vague compliment, if not a considerate lie, but you weren’t here for the interior design. You were here for Tomura. He could’ve lived in a cave and you still would’ve arrived to sit next to him in the damp and the dark.

“Yeah, so, uh…” he began again nervously, hand reaching for his neck before turning into a fist, stopping himself from retracing the already visible red marks. “I was thinking we could maybe order some food and just chill… Whatever you want, really.”

You told him food sounded nice and when he asked if you had any preferences you said that you weren’t picky. As the two of you reemerged out into the living area with the couch and bean bag chair, you took a seat on the latter and took note of his game consoles.

“Lemme guess…” you speculated with a mischievous narrowing of your eyes and upward quirk of one eyebrow. “PlayStation is yours and Xbox is your roommates?”

“Yeah,” Tomura replied through a tiny breath of amusement, picking up a controller and tossing it your way, flicking on the TV to the already in use PlayStation where a video streaming app had been left open. “Why don’t you pick us something to watch while I order us something to eat?”

Before you could form an answer, Tomura walked out of sight and into the little side kitchen to deal with the food. You were left sinking into the bean bag chair a little further, controller held in your hands as you stared blankly at your options.

Again, you were trying to rearrange the pieces to fall perfectly into place before your time ran out, wondering what Tomura might like, besides old monster movies like the posters on his walls clearly suggested. Surely rom-coms were at the complete opposite end of the spectrum for him, but to be honest you weren’t usually crazy about those types of things either. Maybe some kind of dark drama or mystery would suffice. Or maybe he liked fantasy.

But when you spotted your favorite movie tucked deep into his to watch list, you knew exactly what to choose.

“Hey, food’s all ordered,” Tomura informed you as he headed back into the living room, sorting something out on his phone real quick before powering it off and slipping it back into his pocket. “Did you find something for us to—”

“Have you seen this before?” you asked, your excitement cutting him off along with that cute smile adorning your face.

Tomura’s eyes flicked to the movie pulled up on the screen and then back to you. “Uh… No, actually. Not yet. Have you?”

“Uh, it’s only my favorite movie ever!” you exclaimed like it was obvious.

At this, Tomura found himself beginning to smile involuntarily again, the expression becoming strangled on his face as he tried to keep his emotions at bay like he was so used to doing.

“Well then, guess we know what we’re watching.” He took a seat on the couch and you suddenly found yourself regretting your choice of the bean bag. To fix this, however, you made the excuse of going off to use the bathroom before the movie started, taking a seat next to him— but not too close— on the couch once you returned.

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen this before,” you went on as the production credits began to roll, the intro music and sounds beginning to fade in. You wondered if Tomura was the type who liked to talk during movies or stay silent. Given his track record of not being known to be too chatty you figured your viewing experience would consist mostly of the dialogue and score of the film, though you wouldn’t be able to help but make comments during certain parts where you knew fun behind the scenes facts or bits of trivia.

Tomura didn’t seem to mind though. In fact, he actually liked your inserted pieces of commentary that were peppered throughout the movie in a hushed voice, as if you two were sitting in a theatre and not just on his dorm’s couch.

Pretty soon though, his phone dinged, letting him know the food had arrived, and he paused the image on the screen to retrieve your dinner, carrying in two bags of take out from his favorite local noodle place that he thought— hoped— you liked. Luckily, you actually recognized the logo on the bags, perking up and pointing out how you loved that place too.

You sauntered over to help him sort through and place everything on the table in front of the couch where you could eat and watch at the same time.

“No way…” you chuckled once you realized what he’d ordered. “I’m not even joking, this is actually my favorite thing from that place.”

Tomura’s scarlet eyes widened a bit, appearing to be caught off guard by you again until he averted his gaze and replied through a crooked smirk, “R-really? Well, guess we have the same favorite then.”

You smiled through your next bite and Tomura pressed play on the movie, the scene jumping back into motion while the two of you watched intently through the rest of your meal. However, once your bellies were full and the takeout containers lay empty on the table, you felt your eyelids starting to get heavy with an oncoming food coma.

Tomura noticed this, as he’d been sneaking glances at you here or there while you were distracted with your favorite film, and anxiously asked, “Are you tired?”

“Hm?” you perked up a bit and looked over at him. “Oh, no, I’m fine,” you tried to assure him, readjusting your position on the couch from a slumped position to sitting cross-legged and upright to keep your attention focused.

And, god, how Tomura wanted to be closer to you.

He wanted so badly to slide over and press his thigh against the bare skin of yours, to put his arm around you and let you lean in and rest your head against his chest. To run his fingers through your soft hair, to let his fingertips graze your tender skin.

He wanted you so badly but he didn’t even know where to start when he was so terrified of how he might react against his own will, of how you might view him as a freak with the way he struggled to accept the sensation of touch.

And you, well, you still weren’t entirely sure what Tomura’s intentions were in inviting you here.

Did he just want to be friends? Did he want to be more than that? Had you already screwed up somehow and now the game was doomed to be lost?

But maybe that was the problem both of you were facing right now.

You were thinking about this in binary terms, in a scenario where there were only two options.

To win or to lose.

To touch or to stay away.

To be friends or lovers.

Maybe you both just had to reinvent the code, reprogram the ending.

And to Tomura’s own surprise, he was the first to make his move, sliding just a little closer to you as he nervously cleared his throat, trying to swallow down all the fear and past traumas that had kept him away from you for so long when all he’d really wanted was to be by your side, to feel the weight of your body on his as he cradled you in his arms.

You flicked your gaze up to meet his, that sweet and innocent doe-eyed expression making him even more nervous as he was afraid that his body would start to act out against his own will and expose how he really felt about you before his words had the chance to explain.

“Is… Is this ok?” Tomura asked as he inched just a tiny bit closer, heartbeat hammering beneath his scarred chest while he nearly held his breath in anticipation for your approval.

But when you smiled and nodded with a cutesy little hum of mm-hmm he was able to breathe a little easier, letting out a sigh of relief as some of the rigidness his figure usually carried melted away.

That was step number one, he thought to himself. Now if only I could just…

Tomura took a chance and slowly raised the arm that was nearest to you to first rest on the back of the couch, his fingers close enough to brush against the baby blue fabric of your sweater if he wanted to reach out and touch it. Close enough to apply enough pressure to feel the shape of your shoulder in his palm, if he could find the courage.

With another careful inhale and exhale, a calming breath, Tomura initiated the first physical contact he’d had with another human being in he didn’t even know how long. His arm came to rest over your shoulders and when you willingly snuggled in closer to him, rested your head against his chest just like he’d fantasized about, he almost didn’t know what to do with himself.

He felt like he could black out any second now, the feeling of another human being so foreign, so frightening against his body that he was sure you could feel his entire being drumming to the beat of his frantic heart.

But if you were aware of Tomura’s nerves on any level, you didn’t let it show.

Instead, you were too occupied by the fact that yes, this was actually happening. Tomura was actually touching you, actually letting you lay your head against him and curl up to his side.

You imagined you really could fall asleep now, a certain kind of trustworthiness emanating from him that you usually didn’t feel from other guys.

Maybe it was because you’d known him for three years and he hadn’t tried to make a move on you. Maybe it was because, unlike the other frat boys or sports proteges who usually flirted with you or tried to make a move before they could even learn your name, it felt like Tomura actually cared for you.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” you asked him eventually, neither of you really paying attention to the movie anymore despite your stares being stuck to the screen.

“Uh…” Tomura began, recalling the memory easily though not wanting to let you onto the fact that he held it so preciously. “I think so. It was the first day of freshman intro, right?”

You nodded, and Tomura had to fight hard not to tense at the motion of your head against his chest. Getting used to the pressure of the contact was becoming easier, but the feeling of movement was still an entirely different thing for him.

“You were sitting in the back by the corner staring out the window,” you recounted, picturing the memory in your head like your own film of fondness.

You could still remember the way his silvery hair caught your attention through the crowd of eager new students, the way the sun casting through the glass panes painted half of his pale face with the warmth of late summer light.

He’d looked bothered by something as he gazed out at the campus landscape or, in the very least, deep in thought. You’d figured you ought to keep your distance from him, that you needed to make friends and he most definitely wasn’t going to give you the time of day.

But then something made the scarred-skinned and bloodshot-eyed boy turn his head to look at you, his bright crimson stare widening even more once he caught you staring back, quickly looking away to hide his embarrassment at being noticed, and by a girl as pretty as yourself at that.

“And I remember wondering…” you continued with an almost dreamlike lilt to your tone, “I remember wondering what exactly it was that you were thinking about before you looked over at me. You looked so deep in thought, like you didn’t even notice anyone else in the room.”

“I noticed you,” Tomura said, the words just sort of slipping out and making both of you tense for a moment. But when you looked up at him again he somehow found the courage to continue. “I mean, it’s just— You just caught my eye and…”

Tomura then let out an exaggerated sigh and removed his arm from around you momentarily to run his hands down his face, growing frustrated with his confined emotions and the lack of ways to express them.

But what he was really doing was talking around this.

He was avoiding what he actually wanted to say.

Because Tomura had known back then that he’d liked you and he definitely knew now that those feelings were even stronger.

And it was so hard to convey that to you without telling you everything, without opening years worth of old wounds, most of which he’d inflicted upon himself at this point, and risking scaring you away with all the odds and ends of his emotional baggage.

But he wanted to tell you.

Because he wanted you to understand.

He wanted you to understand that it wasn’t you— was never you— that had caused him to drag this game out for so long, getting stuck on this level of being nothing more than classmates or acquaintances.

Once Tomura realized that the only boss he had left to battle before advancing to the next stage was himself though, he gathered all the weapons in his arsenal and prepared for battle.

Because he was going to complete this game and he was determined to get a good ending.

“I’ve liked you for a really long time,” Tomura finally admitted, trying to keep his voice from breaking upon such a bold confession. But his bout of newfound confidence was short lived, the fear creeping up on him with its looming shadow, causing him to start stumbling over his words again as he choked out, “And I-I guess I just— Well, I mean I—”

“Tomura…” You sat up and turned your body to face him better, forcing him to look into your eyes while his mouth clamped shut and frowned slightly, scarlet gaze wide when he saw the sympathetic expression you were casting upon him.

Then, ever so carefully and with a featherlight touch, you reached up with both hands to gently cup his cheeks in your palms while you smiled at him with an unfamiliar sadness that he wasn’t used to seeing on your usually cheery face. He only flinched a little upon the initial contact but soon found that he liked the feeling of your soft skin against his, your little hands warm from being balled up in your sleeves and causing him to lean into the touch and close his vibrant eyes with calming comfort.

Because with you, Tomura realized he felt safe.

With you, Tomura felt loved.

“I’ve liked you for a really long time too,” you told him, and his eyes snapped back open like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, just staring at you in a daze for a few more moments until you added through a slightly nervous giggle, “Too bad you didn’t invite me over sooner.”

At this, Tomura couldn’t help but crack a crooked smirk, his expression softening a bit and then morphing into something a little sadder.

Because you were right.

Why hadn’t he invited you over sooner?

Well, the obvious answer was that he was always so terrified of getting close to someone and then messing it all up, of having any relationship he got lucky enough to form crumble to dust in his hands the moment he was able to finally feel like he was getting a grasp on it.

But ever since the beginning, you’d been different.

Unlike everyone else Tomura had come across during these past three years, you’d never expected anything of him other than for him to be exactly who he was, even if that was just a quiet, awkward loner. And, sure, he’d done you favors before, helped you with assignments you struggled on (especially ones involving computers) but you’d never tried to cozy up to him just so he’d let you cheat off him.

And you’d always returned the favor somehow, whether it was by bringing him a coffee during an early morning class you shared or offering to help edit his essays.

And the fact that he was just realizing this now, when the time felt like it was almost out…

Well, the notion brought him both a strange kind of relief and a little panic in knowing that yes, these next few months carried more weight than merely being a series of four weeks beholding different names.

“I… I’ve never really…” Tomura tried to explain, seeming to grow rigid again as you pulled your hands away to fidget in your lap while you continued to stare up at him with those adorably innocent eyes of yours. He let out a small sigh through his nose, again growing frustrated with his lack of direct communication.

It was like there was a gate inside his throat that would close every single time the words tried to slip through. It didn’t matter how many gaps in the perimeter they found, they’d be shut out every time until they were dragged back to the cell of his mind and locked away.

Stop being such a coward, he scolded himself mentally. Just fucking say it.

“Are you ok?” you asked him, pure concern falling over your features now.

Tomura’s gaze snapped back to meet yours as he quickly tried to salvage this moment, “Yeah, sorry, I’m fine. It’s just…” He paused, hoping— praying— that his words could finally escape from the prison he’d kept them in for so long. Maybe he’d forget to lock the gate. Maybe, as their warden, his back would be turned when the searchlight fell upon them. Then they’d be free. He’d be free.

“Can I admit something really embarrassing to you?” he asked, trying to suppress a nervous smile.

You giggled again, the sound giving Tomura more of that feeling again, the one he was afraid of most of all. The one that he had to be careful not to let you see. You said, “Sure. Of course.”

Tomura took in one long, shaky breath, exhaling in the same way until he felt like he’d finally found the right order to arrange his words in their newfound freedom.

And then he told you everything.

He told you about his childhood and his trauma and his trust issues.

He told you how, not only had he never been with anyone, but didn’t even know how to be with someone. He told you how hard it was for him to watch others be happy as couples together, that this idea of singularity was the only one he’d ever felt comfortable with but was still curious as to what it might feel like to experience what he knew hundreds— thousands— of other people did on the daily.

“I thought it was just touch that was stopping me this whole time…” Tomura confessed, unable to look at you. Still though, when you’d placed your hand on his knee in an attempt to console him, he hadn’t flinched away. “But I think it’s maybe something more than that. And I’m just afraid that…” He flicked his vermillion gaze back up to meet yours for just a moment until averting it again, and now it was your turn to think about how cute he was, how innocent he seemed right now, how vulnerable. “I’m afraid that maybe no one’s ever gonna love me and no matter how hard I try I might never…”

You feared he might try to distance himself from you, mentally or physically, so you reached up to cup his cheek in your hand again since he seemed like he liked that last time, this time sliding your hand further around the back of his head to gently tangle in his fluffy hair, which was a lot softer than you’d expected it to be, twisting his loose curls around your fingers while you spoke quietly, as if to a sleeping child, and assured him, “I’ve known people who don’t deserve love. But, Tomura…” Your eyes were locked and this time neither of you dared to look away, both equally transfixed, mesmerized by the way the colors in each other’s irises caught the changing light of the movie still playing in the background. “You’re not one of them.”

Tomura wanted to cry and, for a moment, he was afraid tears might really be welling in his eyes. Because he’d gone his whole life being told or convinced by others or himself that there were so many things that he didn’t deserve. So many things that he could never have. But you’d just broken all those bad memories, shattered them like millions of tiny pieces of glass, reduced them to a state so small that they blew away like sand in the wind.

Because, for once, he believed what he was hearing.

Tomura believed that he deserved love.

“I know that things may seem scary sometimes,” you continued, readjusting your position to lean in a little closer to him. “We all have things about ourselves that we’re afraid others might think are weird or wrong if we show them. But I think you’d have to be kidding yourself to be convinced that everything about you is perfect. Even people who seem like that on the outside, who are super confident or cocky or whatever front they’re putting on. They have insecurities too.”

Tomura let out a strangled sort of chuckle, his chest shuddering with the sound as the back of his throat tightened, those tears threatening to break through the gate like his confession just had. “I just don’t wanna lose you…” he whispered as his forehead came down to rest against yours, the touch so gentle that you almost didn’t feel it until pressing into him a little harder, giving him a second to adjust to the contact.

“You’re not gonna lose me…” you whispered back, combing through his hair with both hands now and causing a few hitched breaths to escape through Tomura’s clenched teeth. “And I want you to know that, when you’re ready, I’m willing to help you try, if you still want to…”

Tomura was sure his heart stopped for a beat then.

Because yes, he really, really wanted to.

And he wanted it to be with you.

God, he wanted it to be with you.

It was a scenario he’d only seen in his dreams, in a place where he could touch you and be touched without really feeling it, though if he could handle it he could only imagine what it would feel like. What you would feel like.

“Is this ok?” you asked as your careful little hands drifted down to clasp around the back of his neck. When he nodded his head you gently stroked your thumb along his skin, tracing the raised line of a scar you could feel while trying to meet his timid gaze again as his own shaking hands lightly gripped your waist.

You slowly positioned yourself to straddle his lap, watching as his adam’s apple bobbed with a particularly thick gulp at seeing you like this. Feeling you like this, your legs spread over his lap as the weight of your thighs rested against the tops of his own.

“How ‘bout this…?” you whispered, your face reddening a bit as your own heartbeat picked up speed.

“Y-yeah…” Tomura replied shyly, his hesitant fingers digging into your hips a little more, so close to where the hem of your sweater and the waistband of your skirt could part to expose your soft skin. “Is… Is this ok?”

You let out a soft giggle then, which made Tomura blush, nervous that maybe he’d overstepped somehow, but when you drifted a little closer, wrapping your body around him in a tender, loving embrace, he felt a little more at ease, actually returning the gesture once he’d gotten used to it.

The two of you sat like that for a little while, the weight of your body pressed against his so warm, so welcoming to him despite his inexperience. And he allowed himself to gain a little more confidence, his hands traveling down your back and towards your hips again until they drifted even further and made contact with the bare skin of your thighs, which were still comfortably spread open on his lap.

He could feel that sensation within him building again, anxiety accompanying it the more he realized he could basically feel the outline of your sex against his own through the material of his jeans.

Would you think it rude of him if he got hard under you right now?

Well, he couldn’t exactly control that, but he didn’t have the first clue about what girls were really into, what they might consider gross or what might freak them out.

But then again, you wouldn’t have straddled his lap like this if you didn’t want to feel something…

“Can I…” Tomura began cautiously, his tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips as he nervously concluded the question of, “Can I kiss you?” And god, the sight of your sweet, innocent little smile that he imagined was reserved just for him was killing him, sending sparks shooting through his blood with white hot electricity.

“Course you can, silly,” you assured him through another adorable giggle.

And Tomura, who’d only ever fantasized about kissing you, knew that he didn’t have time to be a coward right now. He leaned in closer as your eyes closed, your lashes looking even longer than he’d noticed them to be before when he saw them lay flat against your cheeks.

So pretty, he thought as his own eyes fluttered closed and he felt his rough lips brush against your sweet, soft ones, hesitating only a moment before completing the gesture. She’s beautiful…

You tried to help guide him by the time both your mouths were open and your tongues met, taking in the taste of each other as several satisfied hums escaped from both your throats.

For Tomura’s first kiss, he wasn’t all that bad. You’d chuckled when he’d apologized for his teeth tapping against yours, but you told him not to worry about it, further directing him and allowing him to keep trying until he got it just right.

He was a fast learner. You had to hand it to him for that.

“A-Are you sure you’re still ok?” Tomura asked you during a break in your kiss. “I mean…”

“I’m ok,” you nodded, voice a sultry whisper. “As long as you are…?”

Tomura nodded as well, and when you slightly shifted your position on top of him, he felt a certain breed of dread turn cold in his veins.

Because he was completely hard now and both of you knew it.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, I just—” he began to frantically apologize, instantly self conscious and unsure of what to do while you were still on top of him.

But you cut him off with an unbothered, “Tomura. Don’t worry, it’s fine,” before you actually pressed down harder on his growing erection, pulling a sudden and completely involuntary gasp from the boy underneath you at the pleasure and the surprise.

“Fuck…” His breath shuddered in his chest as he took in the sensation of you rolling your hips to grind against him, your panties getting wetter with every repetition of the motion, rubbing yourself in just the right spot and causing a melodic moan to sound out from your throat.

His grip on your hips tightened, eventually hard enough to make you wince, but you didn’t mind. You liked a little bit of pain if you trusted the person enough. And you trusted Tomura. You trusted him more than any of the other boys you’d let fuck you before. Because to them, you’d just been a body, just some place tight and pretty for them to stick it and get off with oftentimes zero regard for your own pleasure.

And those other guys, they’d talked about how many girls they’d had and how often they had them only to finish within five minutes or less once they were inside you.

So, for a virgin, Tomura wasn’t doing half bad.

In fact, he was already doing better than the other fuck boys that composed your body count. And you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself a little bit at the thought of all your exes seeing you walking around campus hand in hand with Tomura Shigaraki and looking happier and more satisfied than you’d ever looked with them. Because it would eat them alive, the thought that, for all the time and effort they claimed they put into their basic appearances or how much they could bench press at the gym, that none of that had ever mattered.

Not to you, at least.

“T-Tomura…” you whined as you pressed against him particularly hard, your own tightly coiled arousal twisting further inside of your core. And your mewling nearly had Tomura’s vermillion eyes rolling back in his head, such beautiful sounds coming from a gorgeous girl that he still couldn’t believe was on top of him right now.

“What…?” he exhaled, trying to focus on you a little more as his vision shifted in and out of a blurry haze of pleasure.

And when you whimpered out the most helpless, pathetic little, “Touch me…”

Well, Tomura almost lost his goddamn mind.

The more his hands explored your body, the more he was getting comfortable with the feeling of your skin against his. In fact, he actually really enjoyed touching you. It was more so you touching him that still put him a little on edge, though he was going to work hard to try and keep himself together when that time came.

His short nails grazed up under your skirt as he continued to kiss you, going a little deeper each time and feeling relief when you returned his level of passion. By the time his hands found their way up under your shirt though, he gave pause. However, instead of asking if you were ok again, he just looked at you and waited for you to nod, which you did, and then he gently pushed under your bra to cup your breasts in his palms, this skin even softer and more tender than where he’d touched you before.

“Here…” you muttered as you began to pull your sweater over your head, Tomura attempting to assist you where he could until your bare torso was exposed to him.

He couldn’t help but stare at the delicate lace of your bra, the way your chest rose and fell with each breath you took. When you said his name again he was pulled from his trance and picked up where he’d left off. You went to reach behind you to undo your bra but when you unsuccessfully fumbled with the clasps for a second, Tomura actually took initiative and unhooked it in one try to both of your surprises.

You both stared at each other for another long beat and then you shrugged your bra off entirely, discarding it to the floor and placing a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself as he began to knead your supple flesh in his hands, noticing how you reacted with another whine when he pinched your already perked nipples.

And he was pretty good at taking your auditory and bodily cues when it came to discovering places that you liked to be touched, your neck and ribs being two of your favorites so far that he’d been able to find.

Eventually, Tomura had ended up on top of you, finding himself once again not entirely sure where to go from here now that you were laying underneath him and looking up at him with those big doe-eyes of yours.

“D-do you want me to stop?” he asked you, praying that you wouldn’t nod your cute little head this time.

“Why would I want you to stop?” you responded, partially dumbfounded.

But that was all Tomura needed to continue, leaning down to kiss you again as one of his hands slipped under your skirt and brushed against the damp lace of your panties. You twitched at the gentle, ghosting touch but were desperate for him to keep going.

He was desperate too, though was trying to keep his need for you under control lest he become too over eager and scare you away.

But still, he couldn’t help but have a little laugh to himself inside the private confines of his mind.

Because Touya could go fuck himself.

Tomura would have sex with you on the couch out of spite for the comments his roommate had made earlier.

And if Touya gave Tomura shit for it once he got back, Tomura would just have to tell him tough luck.

And the fantasized altercation just felt all that much sweeter when Touya would inevitably realize that you’d given yourself to Tomura willingly, not falling for the rehearsed, backhanded pickup lines or sly smirks that the inky haired bastard thought he could use to lure in any girl he set his sapphire sights on.

So Tomura thought he ought to try and pull as many of those pretty little whines and moans from your throat as he could so he’d have more to replay and savor in his memory later or just whenever Touya tried to remind him what a pathetic virgin he was— well, used to be, after all was said and done tonight— and to help keep him company during his loneliest of evenings when you weren’t around to curl up by his side in person.

Tomura slipped his fingers under the side of your panties, slowly gliding them along your soaked slit and reveling in the way your back arched when his ministrations fell upon your most sensitive spot.

He started massaging slow circles onto your clit until you breathed out, “Faster,” and he instantly obliged.

In return for him being such a good listener, you rewarded him with those cute little sounds he liked so much, the frequency of your breathy moans and whimpers picking up along with the speed of his fingers.

When he finally dipped his digits inside of your tight, fluttering hole, he felt himself getting painfully hard, his cock aching as he got his first taste of what your walls would feel like when they clenched around him.

He let out a stifled groan and then a short, strangled yelp when you reached down to palm his erection that was pushing out from his jeans, waiting for a moment to make sure he was alright to proceed before your little fingers fumbled with the button and zipper.

“L-let me help you…” you offered, now reaching under the waistband of his boxers and wrapping a fist gently around his twitching cock, causing his entire body to tense and shudder as you slowly stroked him, motions getting faster and more intense until—

“S-stop! Stop…” Tomura gripped your wrist and stilled you, eyes wide and wild as he tried to catch his breath.

“I-I’m sorry…” you meekly apologized, feeling tears threaten to well as you were afraid he’d reject you now. “I-I didn’t mean—”

Tomura dropped his head to rest in the crook of your neck, feeling his breath on your skin, the trembling of his body on top of yours.

“It’s not… I don’t…” he mumbled, trying to calm himself down.

Because what he really wanted wasn’t for you to stop.

What he really wanted was to be inside you when he came.

What he really wanted was to go all the way. Or at least, as deep as he could without hurting you.

“What is it…?” you whispered as your fingers gently tangled in the fluffy, silvery tufts at the back of his neck again, trying to keep him close to you and assure him that everything was still ok.

After another second of attempting to regain his composure, Tomura lifted his head and met your worried gaze, silently pleading with you to continue to be patient with him, promising to get this right if you just gave him a little extra time with those bright crimson eyes.

“Can I take this off of you?” he asked, lightly tugging at your skirt. You nodded and then helped him slip it down from your hips, kicking it off to join your other clothes on the floor and left in nothing but your lace panties now.

And, god, Tomura had never seen anyone more beautiful in his entire life.

Even among the perfectly crafted and expertly coded virtual women displayed throughout the copious amount of video games he’d played during his lifetime, none of them could compare to you.

Because he could actually touch you.

And you could touch him back.

And Tomura was starting to crave the sensation he’d once feared so much, so long as it involved you in some capacity.

“What about you?” you inquired, lightly gripping at his pullover hoodie. “Are you gonna…?”

And for as much as Tomura had been excited to see what your body really looked like underneath all those cute outfits you always put together, you were equally as curious to see what lay behind the shield of his black long sleeves and jeans.

You wondered if his pale skin would be marked with more of those scratches he usually showed up with during a particularly stressful exam week, or maybe slashed with scars similar to the ones that peeked out from his collar and shirt sleeves.

You didn’t care what imperfections his body had sustained. You just wanted to see them, to know them, and to remind him that sometimes the most beautiful things in life are those that aren’t perfect.

So after a moment of hesitation and mental debating on whether he should show you the parts of him that even he didn’t like to see, Tomura pulled his hoodie over his head and tossed it over the back of the couch, revealing himself to you through the dimness of the living room where the movie screen cast an array of pale light over his skin as the scenes changed, the film nearing its end.

And, similar to what you’d predicted, Tomura did have countless scratches and scars and even a few freckles marking his otherwise flawless body.

But you liked him like that.

Because, unlike any of the previous guys you’d slept with or dated, Tomura was who he was. He wasn’t trying to be anyone else. And you’d been waiting a lifetime to come across someone like him the same as he’d been waiting to come across someone like you.

A chill ran through the both of you and you let out a small chuckle, suddenly unable to take things too seriously but loving that you could laugh about it in front of him. And when he asked you what was funny, a crooked grin quirking up on one corner of his chapped lips with the question, you simply replied, “Nothing. You’re just cute,” which made his face blush so red that his skin nearly matched his eyes.

“S-stop it…” he grumbled as he averted his gaze from you. “That’s not true.”

You clasped your fingers around the back of his neck and gently pulled him down a little closer, forcing his eyes to snap back to meet yours as he continued to blush and said, “It is true. Not my fault if you don’t believe it.”

Now both of you were giggling a little bit, even if Tomura’s laughter was more from nerves than actual amusement.

After you kissed him again and you both tried to find where you’d left off before his hoodie had found a new home on the floor, Tomura began to shift his position over you so that his head could lower between your thighs, both of you working together to remove the thin piece of lace that was left covering you until you were wearing nothing at all.

And if his fingers had been too skilled for a virgin, then his tongue was damn near masterful.

Maybe all those lonely nights spent slumped over in the dark watching porn on his phone had finally amounted to something, had finally paid off, because as he lapped along your glistening arousal and teased at your clit and hole with the tip of his long, slippery tongue, you had the strongest reaction to his touch that you’d experienced yet.

“T-Tomura!” you yelped when the teasing became too much. He stopped then and looked up at you with concern from where his head was still slightly lowered, tongue swiping along his lips to collect the lingering taste of you.

You reached out for him, beckoning him closer, to reassume his place overtop of you and he took the cue.

But now what?

Did you really want him to…?

“Take these off too…” you instructed, tugging on his already unzipped jeans. He quickly mumbled out a, “Oh right, yeah, ok,” as he hopped up off of you to shed his remaining clothes.

And you saw that, like his chest, his legs were also adorned with an array of scars, though not as many as his upper half. You wanted to ask him what happened, how he’d come to be like this, but that was a conversation that would have to wait. Because you were starting to feel bad when you once again noticed how hard he was.

Tomura had been focused on pleasuring you for several reasons— some being his want to impress you and also because he found it easier to touch you than to let himself be touched— but now you wanted to return the favor a little bit. At least, as much as he would let you.

You offered to perform the same treatment on him that he’d just done on you, but he actually politely denied it, knowing there was no way he would last much longer, especially if he even so much as envisioned your cute lips all puffy and swollen as they wrapped around his twitching cock.

So he just reassumed his position overtop of you and asked you one more time if you were ok, if you really wanted to do this, with him, and you pulled him down for another kiss, this one a little rougher than he was expecting, telling him once it broke that you appreciated his concern but you wanted him inside of you already, a sly little smirk playing on your lips as you knew such a confession would make him blush.

So, despite Tomura’s reddening face and shaky hands, he trusted your lead and began to stretch you, scissoring his fingers inside of you like you’d instructed him until you told him you were ready. He lined his aching cock up with your pretty little hole and almost came on the spot the moment the tip was inside, feeling your walls pulsing and clenching so relentlessly around him that for a moment he was afraid he’d lost control.

But he was able to hold on, his body nearly convulsing as every muscle of his being tensed and his breathing hitched.

Because, god, you felt even better than he ever could’ve imagined.

Once he was fully inserted, he waited a second for you to adjust, and then began thrusting, slowly at first, but soon enough he couldn’t help himself. He had you moaning and whining out his name every time he pounded into you, hips snapping against your inner thighs as he sunk even deeper.

It was total ecstasy, this feeling that he’d denied himself for so long. 

But it would’ve never been the same without you.

Never the same…

“S-slow down, Tomura…!” you pleaded through a whimper.

But he knew you were right, as much as he wanted to continue with the vicious pace.

Because if he didn’t slow down a little bit then it would be over soon.

And he wanted to draw this out as long as he could withstand, just in case maybe this would be the first and last time you’d want to do this with him.

But you were getting close, once he found a pace that was good for the both of you, and Tomura couldn’t take his gaze off you once your eyes finally rolled back and your neck craned, spine arching as your body trembled and you gushed all over his cock, walls constricting tighter than ever and causing him to sputter out a shaky, “Fuck…” as he filled you to the brim with his hot, sticky cum.

And then you both huddled together in a harmony of heavy breathing and shivering limbs, feeling the warmth emanating off each other’s skin. You reached around the back of his head to lightly tangle your little fingers into his soft, fluffy hair once again and he kissed the side of your neck, causing a cute little hum of satisfaction to vibrate in your throat when he sucked a gentle love bite into your flesh.

“Not bad…” you giggled after the haze of lust had cleared a little from your mind, Tomura continuing to take in your embrace, the scent of your skin and hair as he nuzzled his face closer into the crook of your neck. “You sure this was the first time you’ve done this?”

Tomura couldn’t help but scoff, his cheeks turning slightly pink again as a crooked smirk curved up on his lips.

“Shut up…” he chuckled, lifting his head to look you in the eyes, now gently weaving his careful hands into your hair like you’d done to him so many times.

After the two of you caught your breath, you jumped into the shower together, Tomura unable to keep his hands off you now that he knew he didn’t have anything to be afraid of, kissing a constellation of lilac and navy across your neck as he nipped at your skin, his hands trailing over every part of your body until he was sure he’d memorized every inch, every curve.

And he was addicted to you now, hooked on this feeling, this sense of safety and love that he’d never felt with anyone else before. He didn’t want to let you go. Didn’t want anyone else to be able to put their hands on you like this. And you, well, you definitely wanted this time to be the first of many. You figured, with a little guidance, he’d only get better over time, if he’d been that good on his first try.

That night, after you’d both gotten clean and changed into more comfortable clothes, you borrowing one of Tomura’s hoodies to sleep in, you curled up under the thin covers of the narrow dorm bed and cuddled together through the night, Tomura’s hands inevitably snaking up under the hoodie to softly stroke down your back or lay at rest over the dip of your waist.

And the entire time that he was trying to fall asleep, the only regret about tonight Tomura could find was that he’d waited this long. Waited this long to tell you how he’d really felt about you for all these years, waited to find enough courage to touch you and allow you to touch him in return, waited to kiss you, to taste you, to sink deep into you while you whimpered out his name like it was the only word you knew.

Because all of the pieces had finally arranged into precise placement for the tetris game that the two of you had been playing, the end screen nothing short of perfection as you fell asleep in each other’s arms.

***

(Hello! Hope you enjoyed if you made it all the way to the end lol

I usually tend to write long but damn I really overindulged myself with this one haha

Honestly I’ve been wanting to write a Tomura fic for a really long time and had come up with a list of ideas but this just so happened to be the first one I decided to tackle. So in other words, expect more to come in the future.

Anyway, just wanted to say thanks again for reading! I feel like there’s probably other things I could do with this particular college AU Tomura so maybe more related one-shots will pop up over time.

Ok, bye for now~)

[chucktaylorupset]

I'm late but do u have any other unhinged (or hinged, I'm desperate) essay writing methods you've heard of? Please and thank you

Based on the word desperate I am going to act while assuming the worst.  So if there is indeed a deadline stalking you like a predator animal through the bush while you are an innocent three legged and zero word count gazelle, you will be as quickly and well armed as you can to meet the challenge. 

This is the quick version, the meandering funny version can come later, either I'll reblog this or put it in a new post.

Here is what you do.  Get a speech to text app or failing that a voice memo.  You can default to whatever is preinstalled in your phone, especially if you have very little time. 

Start a new file.  Say words in order into the microphone about what you plan to write about.  Summarize your general intro and thesis, explain your body paragraphs, bullshit like you have a conclusion.  If you do not have body paragraphs and this is a research essay, summarize each of your sources in turn.  Then try to say how at least two relate to each other, but ideally you do this for as many sub groupings as possible.  When you are done, make sure to save.

If you have a voice memo, you will need to play back and transcribe this.  When you're done, you should have a bunch of raw words. 

Ideally you do as many steps as you have time for, but if it's real bad and you are out of time, you can turn this in right now.  You should probably follow this up as soon as possible with an email to the teacher/professor.  This can be scary, so I will give you a form.

Dear [PROF NAME. REMEMBER TO CHANGE THIS TO THE ACTUAL NAME]. 

I hope this message finds you well.  Regrettably, I do not have a final draft for [ASSIGNMENT REMEMBER TO CHANGE THIS PART TOO].  I'm sorry this is last minute and I know your late policy is [YOU KNOW THE DRILL] but I was wondering if there was anyway to get an extension.  I know that this is not my best effort, and if at all possible I want to do better.

Thank you for your time,

[YOUR NAME].

If looking up the late policy stresses you out, delete that section of the sentence.  Make sure the email has sent.

You then should get yourself a glass of your preferred beverage and maybe a snack and then go to sleep or nap, depending on your deadline time.  School is stressful.  Writing deadlines are stressful.  You are expending a lot of energy working very hard and being very brave and this should be rewarded.

These next steps can be taken immediately, if you have enough time, or after an answer on the potential extension, if you did not.

It is editing time.  Take those bunch of raw word vomit and pretty it up a bit. If speech to text then you need to fix all the words that the program transcribed wrong.  Sometimes there's the rare app that will leave you with both the audio and the transcript and you can reference the former to fix the latter.  Make sure to check for homophones, machines are still learning the difference between "write" and "right."  In the machines defense, writing is very difficult.

Put in evidence and quotations that are much harder to verbalize on the fly.  Maybe in your summarization you have already marked where this evidence should go.  Reword sentences to make them appropriate to written format instead of voice. Feel free to expand your ideas.

You now have a bunch of words that you can turn in.  Congratulations!  Do that, check to make sure you have a receipt of your submittal as I have fucked myself that way many a time.  Revisit the step of hydrate/refuel/hibernate.  Rejoice.

Remind yourself that you have done some very hard important work.  Hopefully this method has made that easier.  If it has not, I hope it at least has not made it worse, especially if you are already stumped.  From reading your ask, I'm not certain that's the situation at all but I'm playing it safe.

Do not feel bad if this method did not work.  I myself benefit from it by being a very particular person.

Mileage varies.  This method gave me a 1,200 rough draft after speaking into a microphone for eight minutes and forty-one seconds.  Which made me very, very angry, particularly at my mother, but that is a story for another day.

[jess-p-edits]

HEY HAPPY STS

-your question about my influences is making me write an essay 🤣 but it also made me curious about YOU 👀. I would also like to give a reverse uno card and entice an essay out if you 👀 -

So :3 what are your influences and inspirations? Is it games like Bloodborne? Other games in the same setting as hour of magic? Maybe other shows and media you got story / plot / character inspo from? I wanna know about all of them 😭.

And yes, an essay is expected 👀😂❤️

@bloodlessheirbyjacques (: ✨

"And yes, an essay is expected 👀😂❤️" AHAHAHAHAH If you're sure!!!

Jess-P-Edits

Professor @bloodlessheirbyjacques

Storyteller Saturday

Influence Ask

June 18, 2022

One of the most rewarding aspects of being a writer is to not only create new ideas and characters from the raw firmament--to be challenged and pushed through the act of pure creation--but to also pay reverent homage to the various media that have shaped our own imagination and preferences for storytelling. In my debut novel, The Hour of Magic, several key influences have been subtly integrated into the characters, setting, and plot.

Lmao the rest of the answer will be pretty casual. I did debate adding a works cited page though, but I figured the MLA heading was enough of a goof.

So I looooooove Bloodborne and all of the other Fromsoftware Games. It was actually after playing Elden Ring that I realized that immortal, larger-than-life figures could be very fun to include in a setting and as a means of being able to expand on the world's history in a way that's not just exposition. It's not my most subtle reference, but Malenia inspired the queen of Correlaine; she even has a prosthesis. You've probably noticed that I have a lot of lighthearted humor in a lot of my character interactions, so it was a fun challenge to have certain characters just feel more...weighty, if that makes sense. How would this super tall, immortal queen who lived over a 100 years ago feel different from the rest of the cast? She's still very kind and wise, but something always feels slightly unnerving about her.

I also freaking adored Arcane!!! I was already writing Hour when it came out, but Piltover and the Piltover council gave me huge New Nobelia vibes. I think my biggest area of weakness in writing is writing compelling villains (the villain/s of Hour is a massive spoiler) and I would trade years of my life to be able to write a villain as compelling as Silco!!

I play DnD and listened to a lot of DnD podcasts when I used to live an hour away from my work, and one of my favorite things about Dnd is the general banter and relationship-building between the player characters. Especially when they start on their journey up to Correlaine, the Blend, and New Nobelia, I hope Krieve, Godric, Jaisse, Salma, and Fahad give off "fun DnD party" vibes.

And if all of this didn't make me seem like a huge enough nerd, then I'll also share that I love anime. One of my favorite thing about a lot of shonen anime is there would also be some cool, legendary side group, that weren't usually the main characters, but just this hyper-competent group of people that were more part of the world than the main plot. That group archetype inspired the wardens. Their roles and titles, like "Shield Warden", "Forge Warden", "Brawl Warden" etc., and their role as just being legendarily capable side characters is 100% anime inspired. (Oh, and a little bit from the Trails video game series (Trails in the Sky, Trails of Cold Steel, etc.) So many of the cool side characters in that game have cool nicknames and legends attached to them, so a little bit of that series's influence ended up in Hour as well.)

Last but not least (in many ways the biggest influence) are books!! I love writing that has at least a little bit of humor in it, but ideally a moderate amount of humor. I find humor makes characters and situations (especially in fantasy) very grounded and relatable. Characters can go from “characters” to “person” with a well timed joke (or a reaction to one). Sometimes things that have a super serious tone 100% of the time can get a little tiring if my intention is to read something purely for pleasure. I love ANYTHING by Terry Pratchett. He threads the needle so perfectly of writing absolutely hysterical lines, while also having really deep messages, elaborate world-building, and thiree-dimensional characters. After the prologue, I actually made sure that the first joke in the story comes fairly early on just to immediately ground the characters a little more and to show the writing isn’t as reverent as the prologue would imply. This is a complex fantasy world, but don’t worry, it’s accessible and won’t demand you take it super seriously at all times. I also go to books for escapism, so I like it when things can be serious at times, but also lighthearted. (And then when scenes DO have to be somber, they hit way harder. 🥲) 

I love capable female characters, such as Serene in Elantris by Brandon Sanderson, Sophie Hatter from Howl’s Moving Castle, and Miriam from Spinning Silver. I loved how compelling the political intrigue was in The Mirror Visitor (along with the suuuuuuuuuper slow burn romance that was almost too slow, even for me). 

I don’t want to demand too much of anyone’s time, so I’ll cut myself off there! Thank you for the ask and the high expectations for an answer lmao!!! <3 <3 <3 

[renegadewangs]

Van Zieks - the Examination, part 12

Warnings: SPOILERS for The Great Ace Attorney: Chronicles. Additional warning for racist sentiments uttered by fictional characters (and screencaps to show these sentiments).

Disclaimer: (see Part 1 for the more detailed disclaimer.) - These posts are not meant to be taken as fact. Everything I’m outlining stems from my own views and experiences. If you believe that I’ve missed or misinterpreted something, please let me know so I can edit the post accordingly. -The purpose of these posts is an analysis, nothing more. Please do not come into these posts expecting me to either defend Barok van Zieks from haters, nor expecting me to encourage the hatred. - I’m using the Western release of The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles for these posts, but may refer to the original Japanese dialogue of Dai Gyakuten Saiban if needed to compare what’s said. This also means I’m using the localized names and localized romanization of the names to stay consistent. -It doesn’t matter one bit to me whether you like Barok van Zieks or dislike him. However, I will ask that everyone who comments refrains from attacking real, actual people.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Let's bring this thing home! It's time for the conclusion of the essay series!

Conclusion With a stupidly long essay series behind us, it's time to look at what we've learned! Let's go back to Part 1 and review what we needed from Van Zieks's character development for a fully rounded redemption arc, shall we?

1) Present an antagonistic (possibly immoral) force who personifies Ryunosuke’s biggest personal obstacle/weakness, in this case racial prejudice. 2) Humanizing traits begin to show. OPTIONAL: A backstory to justify any immorality he has. 3) Over time, Barok has his realization and sees the error of his ways. 4) Barok atones for his immorality, not simply through apology but by taking decisive steps. 5) The cast around him acknowledges his efforts and forgives him.

And looking at the main game (plus additional dialogue), we have...

1) Antagonistic force:

Etc. etc. I have many of these. We can all agree that as an antagonistic force, he does his job quite well. CEO of Racism and White Privilege in the flesh. It works, since we as the audience get very frustrated and want to see him defeated.

2) Humanization:

Giving him an old friend to be a defendant was a brilliant move, really. Albert's reflection on the friendship and the person Van Zieks used to be really helped flesh him out and make him appear more like a human being with, y'know, emotions and weaknesses. The little snippets of dialogue in his office really help too. Presenting evidence can also lead to fun tidbits. All in all, considering how gruff and distant Van Zieks is, they really did their very best to humanize him. The writers were given very little to work with but they exploited every opportunity to come their way.

OPTIONAL backstory:

Again, I don't think we needed a tragic backstory to have a well-rounded, redeemable character. Still, it ties in very expertly to the game's plot and the motivations of quite a few other characters. The story of Klint van Zieks and his death isn't necessarily Barok van Zieks's backstory, it's the center of an intricate web which also holds Kazuma, Stronghart, Gregson, Jigoku, (S)Holmes, Mikotoba, Sithe, Drebber- I could go on. A LOT. So because of how very integrated it is into the main narrative's recurring themes and characters, I'll give it props for being relevant and well thought out. The bigger question is: Does it justify his immorality? Not entirely. I think the game could have gotten more out of this if they'd involved the other two exchange students in this tale just a bit more. They could have given more attention to how Jigoku's aggressive behavior in the trial impacted Van Zieks, and explained whether he might've suspected Mikotoba of sabotaging (S)Holmes's investigation. If the narrative had done that, all three Japanese people to come to London would have been ‘the bad guy’ in Van Zieks's eyes and it would have given more credence to his racial generalization. They could have also given more attention to how the people around him reacted to Genshin being the Professor, because I'm sure Stronghart and Gregson stoked the fire in terms of xenophobia. As it stands, there isn't really enough there to justify hatred of an entire race as opposed to just one person.

3) Realization/Redemption

We see him already start to realize the error of his ways around the end of 1-5, which is technically only about halfway into the full narrative. Unfortunately, thanks to 2-2 being played afterwards (but chronologically set before 1-5), any progress made in 1-5 can become invalidated in the player's eyes. Growth works best when it's done linear. Don't get me wrong, flashbacking to earlier times when a character is still more morally tainted can work well, but it needs to be executed properly. Barok's behavior in 2-2 is downright insulting towards the audience itself and therefore, it causes emotional friction when relaying the narrative endgoal of redemption. It also makes it extra jarring when we hit 2-3, and suddenly Van Zieks is meant to be relying on the protagonist's desire to expose the truth. How on earth can we as the audience trust that Van Zieks believes in Ryu's abilities when we just came fresh out of a case where this man actively sabotages Ryu's efforts?

Still, the line of redemption continues from 2-3 into 2-4 well enough. He admits that he was wrong- that his hatred was illogical and that he needs to change. This is the very definition of redemption. I need to stress once more this is not to be confused with atonement, which comes next.

4) Atonement

Here it is. It's not enough to simply acknowledge mistakes; one needs to work hard to fix them. Since Van Zieks is the defendant for two whole episodes, equaling roughly 20% of the full narrative and 67% of the time following his first true realization (chronologically), there isn't much that he can actively do to atone. Because remember, not only do these actions need to fit the situation he's currently in, they need to fit his personality. These two limitations ensure the atonement mostly takes the form of dialogue. Of apologies.

One might want to point out that he never apologizes specifically for his racism, but there's a reason for that. If you pay close attention, you'll notice that there isn't a single character who ever uses a word like “racism”, “xenophobia” or even “racial prejudice” in this game. It's for the same reason you'll never see an Ace Attorney character utter words like “alcoholism”, “drug abuse” or “depression”. These things may be implied very strongly, to the point where you'll know for certain a character is suffering from it, but it's never given these exact labels. It has to do with the tone of the game. In Great Ace Attorney's dialogue, Barok van Zieks is only ever described as holding “a deep hatred for Japanese”, which is then the only thing he could apologize for. And he does, so long as you aren't looking for a literal phrasing of “I apologize for my deep hatred of your people”.

Regardless, he can't take more active, decisive action until he's freed from prison and two scenes with Van Zieks later, the game has ended. He still manages to take two actions, though! The first is to publicize the truth of the Professor, taking the blame of the mass murders off Genshin's shoulders (and losing his own privilege in the process). The second is to take Kazuma under his wing as his disciple. I'm not certain there's anything else the narrative could have had him do. What is decisively missing, however, is the following:

5) Acknowledgment

The above aren't good examples of cast acknowledgment that Van Zieks is taking part in a redemption arc, rather, they're the best I could find. Characters are acknowledging that he's changing- that he's being kinder to them and they can get along with him now, but they're not acknowledging that he caused hurt in the first place. This, in my opinion, is the Great Ace Attorney's biggest narrative flaw. I've talked before about how Ryu's reaction to Van Zieks's racism is 'indirect communication', a typically Japanese manner of dealing with negativity. I've also talked about how Ryu is not in a position to speak up, as he's a literal minority who is there to represent his country in an official capacity and can’t afford to make enemies. However, characters like Susato and Kazuma are far more outspoken in their opinions, as is Soseki. The only one who ever calls Van Zieks out on his racism is the British judge, and even that is done very meekly. When an old crusty white guy is the one who condemns white privilege in a cast full of minorities, you've got a problem. The Japanese cast's refusal to acknowledge that Van Zieks's words were harmful is like Team Avatar telling Zuko that sure, he can join since he's a good guy now, but never once acknowledging that he burned down villages or betrayed everyone's trust in Ba Sing Se. There's something very vital missing, see? If indeed the cast had called Van Zieks out more actively on his harmful ways and how necessary it was for him to change, he in turn could have taken more atonement steps in response.

So, for the conclusion: Does Barok van Zieks tick all the necessary boxes for a complete redemption arc? Yes. In a very technical sense, all the requirements are there. But does that mean it's a successful arc? Not necessarily. The game has a few slip-ups, a few things not executed as well as they could have been. For that reason, whether the audience is satisfied with the arc is entirely up to them. Taking into consideration that they had to cram a whole lot of story into just two games- the second game in particular, I can acknowledge they did their very best with the limitations that were there.

And there we have it! That’s all I could think to say on the matter. I hope everyone who read this till the very end enjoyed it, maybe even learned a thing or two. I’m always open to questions, input and constructive criticism!

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Awaken

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Hwang Hyunjin (some mentions of Y/N x Seo Changbin)

Word Count: 7.5K

Warnings: Explicit smut and language, use of vibrators, Hyunjin is kinda obsessed in this one

Genre: College AU; Professor AU

Summary: When Y/N transferred into a prestigious all-girls university, she never expected to be on the receiving end of a very handsome professor’s near-constant attention.

It had been a difficult decision - transferring from my previous school into one of the most Elite universities in the world. I understand that it might seem contradictory, but there were several uncertainties that impeded my ability to make a decision. The first being an existential dread surrounding the idea of leaving behind my best friends, including my off-and-on again boyfriend, Changbin. The second reason involved my new university’s strict mandate that it would only accept female applicants.

Yes, the school only admitted women, and as someone who maintained a diligent sex life with previous boyfriends, I was not excited by the prospect of being forced into celibacy.

But the pressure from my parents and close academic advisors eventually forced my hand, and I found myself dragging most of my belongings out of my dorm room with a few friends helping me along. “What the hell is in this suitcase, Y/N?” Jisung asked, grunting with the effort of dragging my bag along the sidewalk.

“Probably just clothes,” I said, shrugging because I was trying to remain perfectly nonchalant about my transfer, even though I was having a total meltdown on the inside.

“I think that’s all of it,” Changbin said, and he was giving me that same somber look that I was starting to hate - the one that told me he wasn’t very happy about my transfer. “You know,” he continued, bracing himself against the side of my car. “If you ever need me, I’m only a phone call away.”

“Quit trying to get your dick wet, Changbin, and grab something!” Chan snapped. “Or, are those arms just for show?”

Changbin rolled his eyes, but he leaned down to grab my laundry basket before bringing it to the trunk. “Are you gonna miss us, Y/N?” Jisung asked. 

“Not as much as you’ll miss me,” I said. “Who else will edit your essays, Han?”

Jisung frowned as if he was actually thinking deeply about my question. “Maybe I could just email them-”

“Jisung,” Chan interrupted, knocking against his shoulder with an affectionate smile. “There’s still one more box inside.”

“I’m on it!” Jisung shouted, and I grinned at the sight of the younger boy pumping his arms as he jogged back up the staircase.

“He doesn’t really get the severity of the situation,” Chan said, leaning next to me to against my car.

“It’s okay,” I said, looking down at my shoes. “I’ll miss all of you.”

“Y/N,” Chan said, “I thought we weren’t gonna cry until after you left.”

I sniffled around the rising urge to do exactly that before tossing my arms around his neck for a long embrace. “You’ll come see me, right?”

“Of course,” Chan agreed, pulling back to meet my gaze. “Ya! Don’t cry over this, Y/N. It’s supposed to be your big opportunity.”

“Yeah,” I murmured, but it didn’t really feel like it anymore, and when my eyes connected with Changbin’s, I couldn’t help but feel a terrible weight pressing down on my chest.

Maybe this was the worst idea ever, but I was already enrolled for the upcoming academic semester. I would do my best, of course, but I desperately hoped that my parents might reconsider another transfer. Because these were my friends  (and my sometimes boyfriend), and I belonged with them.

“Don’t think too much about it,” Chan instructed me firmly. “Call us if you ever want to hangout.”

“I will,” I promised him, and he brushed a friendly kiss across my forehead. It was the ultimate sign that I had truly signed my life away on the enrollment papers for the school in the next town. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad once I made new friends, but at this moment, everything hurt and I was doing my best to hold myself together as I drove away with my old life waving goodbye from the rear-view mirror.

Upon the start of the Spring semester, I was officially moved into my new dorm room which I was sharing with an very enthusiastic young woman named Claire. Her optimism was unmatched, and she had spent most of the day dragging me around campus while pointing out anything that seemed remotely interesting. “You’ll love it here, Y/N!” she promised, and I feigned a smile mostly for her benefit.

“It seems nice,” I told her later on after we returned to our shared dorm room.

“Oh, yeah, the teachers are great!” she said. “What’s your schedule like?”

I shrugged with vacant dismissal, reaching into my bag to hand her the folded piece of paper I had received earlier that week. “You got in Mr. Hwang’s class!” Claire abruptly squealed. “You lucky bitch!”

“What’s the big deal?” I grumbled, snatching my schedule back out of her hands.

“The big deal!” Claire shrieked like I had just committed an unforgivable crime. “He’s only the hottest teacher on campus!”

I rolled my eyes because I should’ve anticipated something superficial. But I was beginning to understand that most of these poor girls were thirsty for anything remotely attractive, and I had even witnessed one girl lusting over a much-older professor just because he still had all of his hair. It was everything I feared about an all-girls institution, and I was beginning to experience the same mania as the rest of them.

But my thoughts usually went to Changbin, and there was no way I would ever fantasize about one of my teachers. “How old is he?” I asked.

“He’s only 27!” Claire giggled. “I’m not kidding, Y/N, it looks like he was literally sculpted by the gods!”

“That’s original,” I muttered. “Well, I hope he’s good at poetry.”

“Oh, he’s the best,” Claire assured me, but I didn’t think I could take her word for it because she was certainly biased when it concerned his looks. “He’s been published all around the world!”

“He must be decent,” I said because the school’s academic reputation wouldn’t allow anything less than acceptable.

“My friend had a class with him last semester,” Claire continued, and I regretted not changing the topic earlier. “Apparently, she could hardly concentrate on the lesson because she couldn’t stop staring at his ass.”

“Your friend sounds dedicated.”

“There’s also a rumor going around campus that he only got his position because he seduced our admissions advisor!”

I snorted at the idea. “I doubt I’ll be that interested in him.”

“Whatever you say, Y/N,” Claire sing-songed. “You’ll change your mind when you see him.”

“I highly doubt it,” I muttered, and I glanced over at the side table where my phone was waiting. “I’ll be back,” I said, and I left the dorm room and found myself in an isolated study room which I ensured was locked before dialing Changbin’s number.

Then, I settled down against the couch and closed my eyes, shoving my hand underneath the waistband of my sleeping shorts to gently graze my fingers against my clitoris. 

Graciously, Changbin picked up after the fourth ring: “Y/N?” he said. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Changbin chuckled, and the static from the phone made it sound far more guttural. I bit my lower lip as I dipped one finger inside my tight heat. “How’s your new roommate?” he asked. “Chan told me that she was unbearable.”

“She’s chatty,” I said, taking a deep breath before asking him: “Changbin, I miss you.”

He was silent from the other end, and I could only pray that Changbin had read the situation correctly, especially when I offered a quiet moan into the receiver. “Are you touching yourself, Y/N?” he asked, and I nodded even though he couldn’t see me.

“I wish you were here,” I told him, and I smiled at the familiar sound of Changbin’s zipper as he tugged his pants down those thick thighs that I loved. 

“I’m here, babe,” he said, and there was a slight desperation to his tone. “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” I said, hissing around a stuttered exhale when I grazed a sensitive spot. “I’m thinking about your cock, Changbin.”

He moaned from the other end, and the slick sound of Changbin lubing up his erection was particularly raunchy. “I want you here with me, Y/N,” Changbin said, and I could easily imagine him jerking off his cock from behind my eyelids. “I’d have you on your hands and knees, fingering that little pussy of yours.”

I gasped at his words, arching my back against the couch as I shoved my fingers even further inside. Changbin had an uncanny gift for dirty talk that I attributed in large part to his irresistible baritone voice. “Tell me more,” I begged him.

“Are you wet?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Changbin growled. “I could just slide right in.”

“Oh, fuck,” I cursed, and I imagined everything as he continued to describe it to me - moving my fingers even faster at the phantom sensation of his cock filling me up so well like he always did whenever we had sex together. “I want to come so bad for you.”

“Then do it,” Changbin said, grunting from his end as he undoubtedly brought himself to completion.

And I eventually came with a loud moan - shameless despite the thin walls of the surrounding dorms. But I was on cloud nine, savoring the necessary heat of my well-deserved orgasm. “Call me tomorrow,” Changbin said after a while, and I had almost forgotten that we were still talking.

“Yeah,” I panted around a sigh. “I will.”

The bell-tower struck noon when I entered Hwang Hyunjin’s poetry class for the very first time. I had already anticipated a large class, but I was still surprised by the sheer number of students who were crowding the front rows of the classroom. I rolled my eyes because I was forced to sit at the back, and it certainly did no favors for my poor vision.

Regardless, I was also frustrated because there was a small part of myself which remained curious about this mysterious teacher. I could tell that all the other students were practically gushing with excitement, but I schooled my expression and slumped down in my seat as I pulled out a fresh notebook. What the hell were they expecting? A striptease in the middle of our lecture?

However, the most frustrating part of all was the grand entrance of the elusive teacher who had enraptured most of the population. And I couldn’t be any less impressed with him as I rolled my eyes over his tall, lean form. Yeah, he was pretty to look at, but he certainly wasn’t my type. I sighed as my mind instantly reminded me of an image of Changbin; specifically, a sweaty Changbin who had just finished up in the gym - wearing nothing around his waist except for a towel.

“Good morning, everyone,” Mr Hwang finally spoke, and there was a deeper aspect to his voice that I wasn’t expecting. “My name is Mr. Hwang, and this is our poetry 278 lecture.”

There was a collective sigh over his words, and I held back my laughter at the pathetic way everyone was swooning over him. “Let’s start with introductions,” Mr. Hwang suggested, and I groaned because I loathed ice-breakers. “When I call your name, you can give me your year and intended major.”

God, was this Elementary school?

Nevertheless, I waited for my turn, listening as the other students went above and beyond the call of duty to provide Mr. Hwang with as much unnecessary additional information as they could. “I study political science,” one girl said. “I was the leader of my high school’s debate club, and I won an award at the state convention.”

“Impressive,” Mr. Hwang said, and I briefly entertained the idea of the girl fainting on the spot. “Y/N?”

I glanced up to meet Mr. Hwang’s gaze. “Third year,” I replied. “I just transferred, and I’m studying English.”

“Oh, really?” Mr. Hwang inquired. “Do you have any interest in writing an honor’s thesis?”

I blinked twice at the question because he hadn’t bothered to push anyone else for something more. “I’d like to in the future,” I told him, and I squirmed around uncomfortably in my chair when his gaze lingered for several beats too long.

Thankfully, he quietly moved on, and I was able to relax in my seat once again. The lecture proceeded from there, and I sighed when I realized that we would be talking about Emily Dickinson who I had already studied numerous times in my other classes. But I guess that left me the rare opportunity to doodle nonsensical images on my notebook while thinking about my friends, wondering what Jisung, Chan, and Changbin might be doing at that moment.

In another universe, we could be sharing this class together, and I felt a pang of homesickness for my previous school as I listened to Mr. Hwang’s voice at the back of my head. But after another hour, our class concluded and I breathed a sigh of relief as I packed up my belongings. I wasn’t able to finish my picture of Munchlax, but maybe I could work out the details later on. In the meantime, I hoisted my bag over my shoulder as I tried to fight my way around the crowd of students who were all waiting around Mr. Hwang’s desk.

And I was almost at the exit when his voice suddenly stopped me. “Y/N,” Hyunjin said, and I paused mid-step because I wasn’t expecting to hear him call my name. “Can you stay behind for a moment?”

“Sure,” I said, even as I bristled at the thought of having to wait for those other girls to leave first.

They all insisted that they had so many questions to ask Mr. Hwang, and I was left to stew in the corner while crossing my arms over my chest. I had another class in half an hour, and I couldn’t afford to stand around all day while I waited at the behest of a teacher who had somehow won the affections of every student in this stupid school simply by being the prettiest in the room.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mr. Hwang said with a bright smile to the last girl who scampered out of the room with a breathless giggle.

Finally, it was just me and Mr. Hwang, and I hesitantly walked over to his desk. “You needed to see me?”

“Yes,” Mr. Hwang said as he looked up at me from his grade-book. “Is there something wrong with the way I teach?” Mr. Hwang asked, and I was surprised to see him pouting at me with his lower lip sticking out.

“Uh, I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Hwang,” I said, adjusting the strap of my bag.

“Well, it didn’t seem like you were too invested in my lecture,” Hyunjin explained.

Oh, great, he caught me daydreaming about Changbin. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” I said, searching for an excuse. “I’ve been having a hard time adjusting.”

“Ah, that’s right!” Mr. Hwang nodded. “You transferred here for the new semester.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, and I chanced a step back towards the doorway. “I’ll do better in the future.”

“Well, hold on for just a minute, Y/N,” Mr. Hwang said. “I’m here to help my students when they’re struggling.”

“It’s not really a struggle,” I said, but I held my tongue when he pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled something at the top.

“Here,” he said, holding out the paper for me to take. “It’s my personal phone number,” Mr. Hwang added with a wink. 

Personal number? “Oh, thank you, sir,” I offered in return because I wasn’t sure what the appropriate response might be in that situation.

“Call me anytime,” Mr. Hwang insisted, and I couldn’t help but notice the mischievous gleam in his gaze like we were playing some kind of game and I was the one who was losing. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”

One Week Later

Despite my new school’s formidable reputation, I was doing exceedingly well in all of my classes. Most of my instructors were greatly impressed, and a few English teachers had already brought up the prospect of mentoring me for the honor’s thesis. Yet, there was one class that I couldn’t quite get a handle on, and I was shocked to see another giant C- written across the top of my latest essay. 

I swallowed hard when Mr. Hwang returned to the front of the room to conclude his lecture. What the hell was I doing wrong? I had even sent this paper to a former TA at my previous school who offered to look at it before I submitted the damn thing.

But instead of feeling disappointed about my failure, I sensed a rising anger directed at the man standing in front of the room. Everyone else around me celebrated their A’s while I was left with a nasty letter grade that would hardly reflect well on my GPA. What could the rest of my classmates be doing differently?

“That’s it for today!” Mr. Hwang announced. “We’ll pick up on this again next time!”

I frowned as I stuffed the essay at the bottom of my bag. It still wasn’t too late to switch out of this stupid class, and then I could finally re-orient my focus. “Y/N!” Mr. Hwang called out when I passed by his desk. “Can I have a moment of your time, dear?”

Dear?! “Sure,” I grumbled, once again waiting for the masses of Mr. Hwang’s admirers to leave the room before I confronted my teacher.

“Well,” Mr. Hwang began with an exaggerated sigh. “What will we do about these poor grades of yours?”

I bristled at the comment because it sounded strangely hostile - perhaps even threatening. “Don’t worry, sir,” I said. “I’m transferring out your class. You don’t have to concern yourself with me.”

I turned my back on Mr. Hwang as I started for the exit. “Don’t be silly, Y/N,” Mr. Hwang said. “I’ve spoken to your other teachers, and they tell me that this a requirement for your major. And I’m the only person who teaches the subject.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I hissed under my breath, but I did my best to retain a neutral expression as I returned to his desk. “What’s the problem, sir?” I asked. “I had the last essay peer-checked by a former instructor.”

“Our grading standards are much higher, Y/N,” Mr. Hwang informed me haughtily. “I think the real issue is your attitude.”

“My attitude?” I repeated - completely dumbfounded by the accusation.

“You don’t really show any engagement with the material,” Mr. Hwang elaborated. “You always come to class, but I can tell that your attention is elsewhere. And you don’t even bother to come to my office hours to talk about the topics we cover.”

“I didn’t realize, sir,” I said, and I was shocked that he considered me disinterested in my studies.

“It’s okay to ask for help, Y/N,” Mr. Hwang explained. “You’re the only student who never stays behind to talk to me.”

Because I have better things to compliment your face! “I have another lecture after this one,” I offered as a response.

“Then it seems to me like I should make an effort to meet you outside of designated hours,” Mr. Hwang said. “I have an apartment off-campus. Maybe you can come over this weekend?”

For a moment, I was completely stunned by his proposal. “I don’t think that’s appropriate, Mr. Hwang,” I said, taking a step back away from him.

“Why not?” Mr. Hwang asked. “It’ll just be me and you.”

“Uh, I don’t know...”

“Oh, Y/N, I have to insist,” Mr. Hwang said, and I watched him open his grade-book. “You won’t even muster a C in this class if you keep going at this rate.”

It seemed preposterous that I could make straight A’s in every other class but still fail this one at the same time. “I’ll think about it,” I said while doing my best to ignore his pleased smile.

It was late that night when my phone lit up with an incoming notification. I groaned in response because I wasn’t expecting anything from the boys, but then again, maybe Changbin needed fresh jerk-off material, and I could always send him a picture of my tits. But I was surprised to realize that I was wrong on all accounts, and my heart started beating faster when I read the message:

From Unknown:

Y/N, it’s Hyunjin from your poetry class.

Hyunjin? Oh, right, that was Mr. Hwang’s first name.

To Unknown:

Me: How did you get this number?

From Unknown:

H: The student profiles.

“It’s still an invasion of my privacy,” I grumbled.

H: We can be very casual with one another outside of class. Wouldn’t you agree?

I narrowed my eyes at the informal suggestion. 

To Unknown:

Me: If that’s okay with you, sir.

I waited for several moments, but it seemed like Mr. Hwang was finally done texting me. I shrugged at the unusual conversation, but before I could place my phone back on my nightstand, it vibrated with another incoming message. This one had a picture attached....

“Holy shit!” I gasped, dropping my phone onto the bed as my heart started to thud violently inside my chest.

From Unknown:

H: Do you like it, princess?

“Is he crazy?” I decried, and my hands were trembling when I brought my phone screen closer. Because the attachment contained a very obscene picture of a dick, and I didn’t need more than two guesses to assume that it was Mr. Hwang’s. 

My fingers were shaking as I stared at the image - zooming in closer to observe the delicate bead of precum glistening at the tip. There was also a hand wrapped around the base, and even though I didn’t have much experience with sex, I could still acknowledge that it was a very nice cock. But did I really just get a dick pic from my poetry teacher?

To Unknown:

Me: I’m not sure what you expect me to say.

I sent the message before attempting to fan my flushed skin - feeling overheated because this was not what I had been expecting when Mr. Hwang sent me the first message.

From Unknown:

H: It’s alright, princess. I’m not much for talking either. Why don’t you come over this weekend so you can show me your reaction instead?

Oh, god, I was definitely teetering on the precipice of very dangerous ground. I’m talking the same kind of inappropriate that could get him fired and me expelled. What the hell was he even thinking? Was Mr. Hwang trying to hit on me?!!

I shook my head because it was suddenly very difficult to concentrate, but I was also feeling the vestiges of panic creeping around the edges of my vision. My hands could barely hold the screen long enough for me to type out a quick response:

To Unknown:

Me: Maybe some other time.

The next morning, I was still shaken from my unexpected text conversation with Mr. Hwang. For most of the night, I simply stared at the ceiling while my phone continued to vibrate with incoming messages. Eventually, I was forced to mute his number, and I still couldn’t fall asleep.

I was barely functional the next morning, but I was also strangely horny, which is why I didn’t hesitate to encourage Changbin when he sent me a message asking if he could come visit. I waited and chose a time when my roommate would be gone - sighing in relief when I heard him knocking on the door. I threw it open quickly, and he was clearly caught off-guard by my eagerness. “I’m so glad to see you,” I said, and I didn’t hesitate to lock my lips with his, kissing Changbin with all the nervous energy that I had tried to keep to myself all weekend. 

“Wow,” Changbin managed when we both pulled apart for air. “The no dick policy at this shithole has fucked you up.”

“Yeah? I need you to fuck me, Changbin,” I said, and he must’ve saw something in my eyes that changed his mind. 

He pushed us both into my room, turning around to lock the door before reaching down for the hem of his t-shirt. “Bend over for me, baby,” he said, and his voice was husky as I took off my clothes and braced myself against the desk.

“I really need this,” I told him from over my shoulder - shameless as I explored every inch of his toned form.

“I got you, baby,” Changbin said, and he moved behind me to spread my legs, taking a few moments to finger me with his long digits, stretching out my opening while stimulating my clitoris with his thumb. “You definitely need to be fucked,” Changbin remarked. “Your pussy is so tight.”

“Please,” I whispered, and Changbin was quick to replace his fingers with the same cock that I often drooled over when I masturbated late at night. He set an urgent pace from the start, grabbing my hips between his hands to hold me in place as he filled me with his cock over and over again. “Changbin,” I whined, burying my face in my forearms and trying to ignore the pain in my stomach from where he knocked me into the wood on every thrust. 

It wasn’t equivocal to one of our more passionate rounds of lovemaking, but it was everything that I needed. Enough to wipe all consideration of Hwang Hyunjin clear out of my head as I enjoyed the delightful friction of Changbin’s cock rolling against the constricting walls of my cunt. “It feels so good,” I whispered, and I closed my eyes in pleasure.

“Tell me when you’re close,” Changbin said. “I wouldn’t want your roommate to come back.”

However, the inherent risk of being caught by my roommate was also a factor in my rapid ascent to orgasm. “Coming!” I shouted while feeling myself unravel around his cock as he rammed himself inside. 

Thereafter, I settled on top of my bed while Changbin tied off his condom and tossed it into the trash. I smiled when he crawled in next to me, reaching for his jeans hanging from the edge and pulling out a package of cigarettes. “Open the window,” I instructed him. “I can’t have you polluting my room.”

Changbin chuckled, but obeyed nonetheless. He also drug the ashtray on the windowsill closer before lighting the cigarette and bringing it to his swollen lips for a long inhale. “I really missed you, Y/N,” Changbin said, taking another drag from his cigarette before placing it in the ash tray next to the open window. 

“I missed you too,” I told him, closing my eyes for a moment as I relaxed against the pillows - savoring the warmth of Changbin from next to me.

“I had a nice time with you,” Changbin added. “Maybe we could...try dating again?”

I froze at the words I had been dreading to hear. You see, Changbin and I had been dating off-and-on for many years at this point, and we both knew that we didn’t work well as a couple. Yet, that never stopped him from encouraging us to try again, and as much as I loved the sex, I couldn’t tolerate the complicated feelings involved.

“I don’t think so, Changbin,” I said, wincing when I heard him sigh. “You know that never ends well for us.”

“Yeah,” Changbin agreed, although it hurt my heart to see him look so sad. “I can’t help it, Y/N.”

“We can still keep doing this,” I said, reaching over to place a tender kiss on his bicep. 

“Maybe,” Changbin agreed, but something in his tone told me that this might be the last time I ever enjoyed Changbin’s company in bed.

“Could I at least show you around campus?” I asked him. “I’ll even treat you to lunch?”

Thankfully, Changbin managed a smile at my offer. 

By the time Changbin had left campus, I was feeling strangely alone when I settled at a cafe in the student union to work on some homework. I couldn’t help but feel like I had disappointed Changbin, and I prayed to anyone who was listening that we might still be friends. Because we had been close well before the sexting and late-night phone conversations that always ended up with an orgasm or two.

Changbin was the epitome of the type of guy I usually lusted after: strong, handsome, and intimidating. But we always argued too much whenever we tried the whole couple thing, and that was enough to ruin any preconceived notions I held about a relationship with the object of my most intimate fantasies. “You always manage to ruin everything, Y/N,” I muttered to myself, and it was suddenly way too difficult to focus on homework.

But I was still distracted enough that I almost failed to recognize the man who had just walked into the cafe...until he was standing right next to my table. “I always enjoy seeing my students outside of our lectures,” Mr. Hwang said with a smirk. “Do you mind if I join you?”

It took me a while to respond to his simple inquiry because my mind instantly returned to the picture of his cock that still sat in my messages. “Sure,” I eventually mustered, willing my stomach to settle down while ignoring the harsh smell of his cologne. 

“Is that my assignment you’re working on?” Mr. Hwang inquired as he took another sip of his coffee.

Is he just going to pretend like everything is okay? “Yeah,” I said, sliding my laptop screen closer. “For the author essay.”

“Do you mind if I take a look?” Mr. Hwang asked, and I shivered at the dark look in his gaze.

“I guess so,” I said, and I passed off my computer screen, observing the way he read over the words before sighing.

“You just don’t seem to understand, Y/N,” Mr. Hwang said, and I could feel myself almost snapping.

“What don’t I understand, Mr. Hwang?” I asked with barely constrained frustration.

“Oh, please call me Hyunjin,” he replied. “Mr. Hwang makes me sound so old.”

“Fine,” I huffed. “But the essay?”

“It lacks passion,” Mr. Hwang explained. “Your writing is decent, but it’s very by the books, you know? I’m looking for my students to play around with their words and have fun! We read enough academia as it stands.”

“Passion?” I repeated. “And how do you suggest that I learn passion?”

Mr. Hwang smiled, and I felt like I had just walked right into a trap. “You’re a very young and attractive woman, Y/N,” he said. “Have you ever been in a relationship before?”

“Several,” I said, keeping my responses short and vague on purpose. Because i couldn’t figure out where he was going with this strange conversation.

“Several?” Mr. Hwang repeated. “Well, that’s a shame then.”

“What do you mean?”

“The sex must be very boring,” Mr. Hwang said. “If you’re still writing this way.”

I didn’t even bother trying to stop my mouth from falling open. “I really don’t think it’s any of your business!”

“I have to make it my business when your grades are this atrocious,” Mr. Hwang insisted, and his eyes rolled over my form. “I find myself quite attracted to you, Y/N. Perhaps I can help solve this little dilemma of yours.”

Fuck it! I thought to myself as I leaned in closer - ready to risk it all because I wouldn’t tolerate his attitude for another moment! “To tell you the truth, Mr. Hwang,” I said, feeling triumphant when his eyes flashed in annoyance at my blatant dismissal of his earlier request. “You’re just not my type.”

“And what is your type?” Mr. Hwang snapped. “Certainly not that little jock you were walking around with on campus?”

“Changbin?” I said without really thinking, but then I found myself wondering how he even knew about that in the first place. “How did you know?”

“I saw the two of you,” Mr. Hwang said like it wasn’t a big deal. “I couldn’t help but notice, Y/N, and that poor boy was following you around like a lost puppy.”

“This is crossing a line,” I said, slamming my laptop closed. “I can see anyone I want.” 

“You’re not interested in doing better?” Mr. Hwang asked. “Trust me, Y/N. I was there once, and most college boys like him are only interested in sticking their dicks into something warm. I think you need someone mature who isn’t only interested in their own satisfaction.”

“Changbin’s sweet to me,” I insisted, and Mr. Hwang scoffed.

“I bet he is, especially if you’re always willing to spread your legs for him.”

“Like you could do any better!” 

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?”

I fell back into my seat as I slowly processed his words. “Sir, I-”

“You can’t possibly know if I’m your type, Y/N,” Mr. Hwang continued. “I think I deserve a fair chance to prove you wrong.”

I could scarcely believe how casual he was acting - like this wasn’t completely against thousands of school rules. It was entirely scandalous, and there were so many inherent risks if we were to ever get caught....but, yet, somewhere deep down inside of me, I felt the familiar heat of arousal.

“You’re thinking about it.” Mr. Hwang smiled. “Come over this Friday, Y/N, and I’ll show you what a real man looks like.”

I had never been this nervous before in my entire life, wiping my sweaty palms against my jeans as I walked up to Hyunjin’s apartment. There was a far more rational part of myself that was screaming at me to run in the opposite direction, but the incessant desire to knock on the door far outweighed the consequences. And my breath hitched in my throat when I saw him standing in the doorway dressed to the nines in tight skinny jeans and a white, button-up shirt while I looked like I had just woken up,

“There you are,” Hyunjin said with a sultry tone, and he reached for my hand to pull me inside. “Sit down for a moment,” he encouraged me, smirking at the look on my face as I took in his lavishly decorated apartment. Still, I managed to obey him as I sat down on the leather futon in the center of the room.

“Your apartment is nice,” I commented, and I held my breath when Hyunjin sat down next to me - stretching out his long legs while he studied me with an impenetrable gaze.

“I have a few rules tonight, Y/N,” he said, and I forced myself to nod. “Are you aware of the color-light system?”

“Color-light system?” I repeated.

“How adorable,” Hyunjin said with a mocking tone. “You’ve made it seem like you know your way around a cock, but you’re clearly more innocent than I assumed.”

My eyes widened at his filthy language. “Sir?”

“That’s a good start,” Hyunjin said. “You will refer to me as sir tonight, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, and Hyunjin smiled at my easy compliance.

“As for the color system,” Hyunjin said. “I want to make sure that you’re comfortable, Y/N. Green means that you can handle whatever we’re doing, yellow means that I need to slow down, and red implies that we’ll stop completely. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Hyunjin purred. “Would you feel more at ease in the bedroom?”

I offered him a timid nod, and Hyunjin held out his hand which I accepted - hoping that he wouldn’t notice the evidence of my nerves. But I was half-way expecting something truly horrible, which meant that I was also genuinely surprised to discover a normal bedroom - sparsely furnished with a king-sized bed with a beautiful silk comforter. “Why don’t you take your clothes off for me, princess?” Hyunjin asked, and I shivered at the familiar pet name. “Lay down on the bed, and I’ll grab a few things before we start.”

I waited until Hyunjin turned his back to me before undressing and leaving my clothes in a neat pile on a nearby chair. Then, I hesitantly lowered my body onto the mattress while resisting the urge to cover myself. Especially when Hyunjin returned with a bundle of interesting items, placing them aside while he looked me over from head to toe. “Oh, princess,” he said. “What a beautiful body.”

I could feel myself flushing at his words and Hyunjin laughed. “Where’s that feisty attitude from before, princess? Or was it all for show?”

“Mr. Hwang-”

“Sir,” he quickly corrected me, and I stiffened when he presented a bright red blindfold. “We’ll put this on first,” Hyunjin said, and he ordered me to sit up long enough for him to secure the tie in the back - taking away my sight and leaving me anxious for his next move. “This will make everything feel so much better,” he said, and I jumped when his fingers started to trail down the smooth skin of my stomach. “Oh, you must be very sensitive,” Hyunjin remarked, and I didn't quite know what to do with my hands when he parted the delicate folds of my pussy. “Y/N, are you already wet?” he asked, and I tried to hold back a moan when he inserted one finger, moving it around before leaving me feeling empty once again. 

“Let’s try this,” Hyunjin said, and I gasped when I heard the familiar sounds of a vibrator. “You’ve probably used this plenty of times,” Hyunjin continued. “When you had to finish yourself off after those little boys tried to please you.”

He started with my nipples - moving in small circles around the hardened peaks. It wasn’t anything overwhelming, and I enjoyed the pleasant sensation. However, the soothing action didn’t last for long, and I gripped the silken sheets between my fingers, spreading my legs wider on instinct when Hyunjin trailed the vibrations down to my sensitive pussy lips. “Oh, shit,” I said, nearly exploding when the vibrator made contact with my clitoris. Especially when he increased the power - turning the damn thing up to its highest setting as he held it there in the same spot.

I was gone before it had even started, convulsing around nothing as I came hard against the sheets. And I fully expected him to stop since he had gotten his way, but Hyunjin only surprised me when he continued to move the vibrator against my throbbing clit, refusing to relinquish the stimulating vibrations as everything started to burn with the threat of yet another orgasm slowly building.

“Fuck, you’re leaking everywhere,” Hyunjin said, but there was only awe in his tone, and I could practically feel the weight of his gaze. “Such a good girl,” Hyunjin added, and he started moving the vibrator in faster circles while he refused to take it away from my poor, aching sex.

I moaned around my second orgasm - coming hard again, but there was also an undeniable sensitivity that had me trying to escape the cursed vibrator, but Hyunjin only used a firm grip on my hips to hold me in place.

“Please stop!” I cried.

“Color,” Hyunjin growled, and he continued to press down even harder.

“Y-yellow,” I stuttered, and the vibrations slowed down to a more acceptable level as Hyunjin circled the head around my clit.

“I want one more from you, Y/N,” he said. “Then, I think you might be ready for my cock.”

I almost fell apart at his words, and I found myself unable to deny that everything was so good with him. There was also a strange and foreign part of me that desperately wanted to please him, and I started rolling my hips in time with his circles, chasing another high as I nearly screamed from the intensity. “Look at you,” Hyunjin sneered when he turned off the vibrator, and I could feel the bed dip beneath his weight. He snatched away my blindfold, and I blinked rapidly at the returning light before focusing on the obscene image of Hyunjin jerking himself off in front of me. “You have to be honest with me, princess,” he growled. “Is my cock better than his?”

“S-sir?” I questioned, having trouble focusing because of the thick haze surrounding my frazzled brain. 

“That little prick you were with,” Hyunjin said. “Is his cock better than mine?”

I was smart enough to know the right answer, and I shook my head from side to side. “Your cock is better, sir,” I said, and Hyunjin brightened with a grin. 

“It’s big, isn’t it?” Hyunjin asked, and he was shuffling over me with a sardonic grin. “Why don’t you touch it?”

I swallowed hard, but quickly acquiesced, wrapping my hand around his impressive girth before allowing myself to give him several strokes - making sure to give some attention to the head. “Oh,” Hyunjin moaned, looking down at me with sultry eyes. “That feels good, princess, but would you rather have my cock somewhere else?”

I whimpered at his words. “Yes, sir.”

“Tell me where,” Hyunjin demanded. “I want to know exactly what you want me to do, princess.”

“I want your cock in my pussy,” I said. “I need you to fuck me, sir.”

“Shit,” Hyunjin snarled, and he moved my legs apart to expose my cunt. “How can I possibly say no when you asked me so nicely?”

But I was a complete mess at this point - debauched and overcome with pleasure. Yet, when I felt the tip of Hyunjin’s cock penetrate my weeping sex, I could already feel myself growing excited all over again. He wasn’t gentle either - spearing me with one harsh plunge of his erection against the resisting walls of my pussy. 

“Oh, fuck,” Hyunjin said. “Are you sure you’re not a virgin, princess?”

There were tears in my eyes when I reached out for his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he started moving himself around inside of me. Pulling back to leave just the tip of his cock at my entrance, before thrusting forward with unrelenting strength. In spite of his skinnier stature, Hyunjin wasn’t to be underestimated. He knew exactly how to use his hips, and he continued to breach my constricting cunt with everything that he had. 

“You’re taking me so well, princess,” he said, forcing my legs even further apart, and finding a better angle to attack the delicate g-spot that rapidly sent me hurtling for my fourth orgasm of the night.

I was completely spent, barely holding on to consciousness while Hyunjin finally came with a hoarse cry of my name - dragging his cock in and out of my pussy as he milked himself for every last bit of cum. Then, he pulled himself out with a far more gentle touch, leaning down for the first time that night to connect our lips in a surprisingly warm kiss.

“Is that what you were expecting, Y/N?” he asked with a playful smile. “Am I still not your type?”

I shook my head because words were the last thing on my mind. But Hyunjin simply chuckled at my speechless state, and I watched him move around the room completely naked as he cleaned up the mess we had made. Meanwhile, I held up my hands to make sure that my vision had returned to normal.

Eventually, Hyunjin settled back down behind me, and I was somewhat surprised that he hadn’t kicked me out of his apartment. Even more so when he started to run his fingers down my waist. “I think you finally learned passion, Y/N,” he said, and I couldn’t help but agree with him.

“Can I start writing acceptable essays?” I asked him with a more confident tone.

“Of course,” he agreed. “But Y/N,” Hyunjin added, and I groaned when he cupped the heat between my legs. “You better call me Hyunjin from now on.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, grinning when I heard him growl in warning.

“You’re asking for it, aren’t you?”

I gave him a coy smile in return, watching as he rolled over top of me to spread my thighs again.

The next day in class, I smiled when I saw an A+ written at the top of my latest essay assignment. One that I had stayed up late to complete while sitting at Hyunjin’s desk with his cock buried inside my wet heat. Apparently, my first lesson was complete, but I couldn’t help but think that there was still a lot more left to learn.

“Everyone did well,” Hyunjin said as he paced at the front of the room. “I’ll see you all again soon.”

The dismissal was met with the beginnings of several conversations throughout the lecture room, and I simply organized my things before tossing my bag over my shoulder. Yet, on the way out the door, I couldn’t help but smile when I heard Hyunjin’s voice from behind me. “Y/N?” Hyunjin called out, and I could already feel the arousal gathering between my legs. “Why don’t you stay after class?”

[j-pankratz]

The Slumber that Creeps to Me

Geraskefer. 7208 Words. Rated T.  Jaskier pulls an extreme all-nighter (read: 60+ hours) to finish a paper he procrastinated on, and finds at the end of it that sleep does not come as easily as he’d hoped. Tags for: Sleep Deprivation, Self Destruction/Lack of Self Care, Hallucinations, Nightmares, Overstimulation, Hurt/Comfort, Whumping the Bard, very loving partners, and a happy ending. <3 AO3 link in the reblog!

As with most disasters spurned by his own cockiness, Jaskier felt as thought that all in all, the situation could have been worse.

The idea to have Geralt and Yennefer spend the spring holiday break at Oxenfurt was, in his defense, ingenious. His students weren’t around, the weather was gorgeous, they all had varying degrees of business in the city, and they could fuck each other senseless at any hour of the day. In a bed. A nice one, provided he was a legitimate professor, now. Well, visiting. Well, it was complicated. But they were his rooms, and that’s what mattered.

When Jaskier gotten the prestigious offer to write the season’s main article for the Continent’s most respected Bardic Journal, he’d just sort of figured he’d… fit it in, somewhere. He had seventeen months, which was plenty enough for him. Then he’d just work with the editors, and have a centerfold piece. It was an honor. He was excited about it! He’d meant to get to it sooner, but decided the summer before that he’d devote the winter to it. But… he’d… he’d been distracted. It wasn’t often the entire family gathered at Kaer Morhen. So, he thought, he’d do it later.

But the first few weeks after winter were, of course, spent with Geralt. And the week after that, a trip to the coast, where he’d played a festival and met up with Ciri, who was becoming an amateur critic herself. And then by pure, absolute happenstance, after 3 more weeks of travel he happened to end up at an inn that he definitely hadn’t heard Yennefer was staying at. So that more time gone. And then he’d arrived in Oxenfurt, and he’d really meant to get to work on it, but there was so much to prepare for! He wanted things to be right for them.

And then Yennefer and Geralt had actually arrived, and the idea of anything possibly being more important than their presence flew his mind.

And now, here he was. If he wanted to get it in on time (unfortunately, that wasn’t a suggestion in this case, more of an actual, terrifying requirement,) he’d need to submit it in… gods above, less than three days. 60 hours, if he was doing the math.

There was no word limit, nor a minimum. But, ever the maximalist, he knew it was going to be… long, if he was going to do it right. They’d edit it down, but it was the focal point of the journal, they’d been leading up to it for ages now. Ahh. Well. There was only one thing for it, he supposed.

“I’m working through the night on my paper!” He’d announced that morning, sitting straight up in bed, jostling his sleepy lovers. “No one bother me! I will be at the dining table until further notice!” He swung himself out of bed and made for the door.

“Pants,” his lovers chorused together.

“Right!” he'd said, and marched back into the room.

He’d pulled all-nighters in his youth. In fact, he couldn’t count the times he’d worked through the night, deposited a composition or essay on his professor’s desk with some polite conversation and maybe a wink, and then promptly fallen asleep during the lecture itself. Just a 15-minute power nap, really! Then he’d be back up and at it again, working through another night just to sleep through the weekend. He’d done it before, he could do it again.

Well, it’d been 25 years ago, but that didn’t change much, did it? He still felt spry, agile, hearty— hell, he’d spent the better part of the last twenty odd years chasing after a Witcher, and later an additional princess and mage— surely he should be in better health now!

This was completely accomplishable. Admittedly, he could have written this sooner… but he hadn’t, and here he was.

Geralt and Yennefer both set out early on different errands, leaving the bard to some peace and quiet. Relatively.

He spread his work and references out before him. 7 books, 4 pamphlets, his favorite quills, a hundred fresh pieces of parchments, his lute at his knee. “Alright,” he said aloud to his empty Oxenfurt apartment, “Just sit down and write the damn thing. Sitting part, definitely done. Writing next. Just… write.”

He stared at the page.

“No! No, no, do not be impossible about this. Just start the thing.”

The page stared back.

“Ah, blast,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. This was fine. Just… do the awful, disgusting part of beginning, and then he’d be off. The sooner he started, the sooner he’d finish, after all! He took a breath, and put his pen to paper.

xx

Yennefer returned a few hours later, a book and small parcel in hand. Jaskier looked up to see her sweep through the room, a commanding presence, though she didn’t acknowledge him yet. A few waves of her hands and a pot of tea was put on to boil, her hair was put in a bun, and three mugs were floating down from a shelf.

“Lovely to see you too,” he smiled as Yennefer poked through the tea collection. He could practically hear her fond eye roll. She neatly plucked two from one box and looked back at him in question. “Ah… peppermint, if we’ve got it?” and she turned back to the cupboard grab it.

“Any progress?” She finally asked.

“A bit, actually!” Jaskier said cheerfully. It didn’t look like much, but he’d done half a page with almost no errors, and he’d made plenty of notes in the margins of the books he’d need later. It was better than he’d hoped it’d be going by this point, at least. He was kicking academia’s ass. Or, he would be.

The kettle whistled and Yennefer poured the tea, bobbing all three of the tea bags up and down as they steeped. He watched her lean against the counter, casual, relaxed, gorgeous, before realizing she was staring back at him. “Um! Yes, no, definitely good. Got a lot of… those words, you know, they are definitely here. Looking very sexy. The words! The writing is looking… very sexy, very curvy… letters. Sensuous words, you know.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sensuous words.”

“Yeah, yes. Like… contemporaneous… and… iguana.”

“Iguana.” She let out a little huff of a laugh and something in Jaskier’s chest tightened and loosened in quick succession. And in a moment she was there, sliding him a large mug with the carving of a rather playful looking bear on one side, batting at a butterfly.

“Oh! My favorite. Thank you, thank you.”

“Mmm,” she said before waving a hand to cool down their tea a bit. She took a seat opposite him, scanning an eye over the table. “Think you’ll be done by tonight?”

Jaskier laughed. “Darling, I’ll be lucky to be done by tomorrow morning.”

“You’re planning to stay up all night, bard?”

“Unfortunately.” He took a sip. “Should be done by tomorrow afternoon, if I keep steady at it.”

“After tea, of course.”

“Of course.”

Yennefer stretched out a bit, kicking her feet onto Jaskier’s lap and rolling her neck. They sat there a moment, sipping, pausing, drinking in each other. There was something nice about taking a moment of stillness with someone just as frenetic as he was, someone who was usually just as itching for something to do, even if she went about it differently. The grace of choosing stillness, he thought, was not something to ignore.

Yennefer reached the end of her mug and tapped its ceramic walls lightly.

“What’s next for you?”

“I have to refresh my potion stock, so I’ll be at the market for supplies. You sure you don’t want to take a break and join?”

Rat’s ass. He fucking loved the Oxenfurt markets. “I’m afraid I can’t. Academia calls.”

“Who does it call for, exactly? What’s that I hear…” She cocked her head and listened intently. “Who is it calling for… is that… V… Val… Valdo?” Jaskier hefted her feet off of his lap in protest, and she laughed. He plucked his quill from its stopper, and went back to hovering over his paper. Introduction mostly accomplished, now he had to really lead in to his point, give some proper context. He flipped through a book beside him.

Yennefer rose smoothly from the table and went to move her mug to the sink. “When Geralt gets in, tell him I need toadflax and bluebells from him? Might as well put him to use.”

Jaskier flipped through the pages, thumbing through for a note he’d sworn he’d made ages ago, when he belatedly tried to register his mage’s words. He could have his fun, too.

“Blue…Yennefer, you want me to tell Geralt that you need blue balls from him?”

“Bells! Bells, you absolute child!” she said. “Honestly. Blue balls? Really, Jaskier?” He was giggling. “I don’t need to ask to give either of you blue balls.”

“Exactly, Yennefer, you provide that service for us anyway, free of charge!” A balled-up napkin hit him in the head and he laughed joyfully.

“I can’t stand you. I’m leaving, you’ll never see me again.”

Jaskier looked up through his grin and met her twinkling, happy eyes. “Tonight then?”

“Tonight,” she agreed, and left with a quick ruffle of his hair.

xx

“Still working?” Geralt said as greeting later in the afternoon. The desk was neater than Jaskier expected it to be this far in, only a few books open, dog eared and marked in colored ink. He’d written a page and a half since Yennefer left, and it was good, it was, but he’d need to go back and make edits later. His long empty mug of tea sat far across him.

“Mm,” he agreed, continuing to write. “Ah, Yennefer came through earlier,” giving a gesture to the waiting mug of tea on the counter. Geralt made his way over to the mug, and gave it a small igni to warm it. He smiled fondly down at the drink—what a terribly lovely sight he was. Warm here, and safe. Couldn’t it be like this always? The three of them here, comfortable and happy? No, he supposed, but gods how he wanted it.

“She’s at the market now,” Jaskier continued, “wanted me to ask you about...” He lifted his pen and squinted. “Ah, toadflax and bluebells.” He looked up at Geralt, smiling. “Blue balls,” they said together, sporting matching shit-eating grins, Geralt’s albeit much smaller. “I made the same joke myself,” Jaskier added.

Geralt snorted. “How’d she take that?”

“Oh, as well as you’d hope. We’ll never see her again, of course.” He turned back to his work, reading over the last paragraph. He could feel Geralt approach to stand behind him, and while he’d normally shoo his witcher off, he was too deep in concentration to bother.

How long was too long to linger on the progression of oral storytelling to bardship? It’s not like he could ignore it, (Geralt’s hand came to grip his shoulder, a thumb rubbing against it tenderly) as it was a crucial tenant of the argument— but there was plenty to be said for assuming the literacy and foreknowledge of the reader. (He leaned in to get a closer look at Jaskier’s page, the soft warmth of the tea in his other hand bouncing off his chest) But this was to be in a journal often referenced by first years, and he knew how much he would have loved a paper that had everything all in one—

“How’s it going?” Geralt asked softly in his ear.

Jaskier waved a hand over the mess before him. “You know. It’s fine, I’m just not sure at what point I’m lingering on points to excess.”

“Mm,” Geralt hummed understandingly. “Tell the story. Trust your gut.” He gave Jaskier a nuzzle and light kiss against his cheek before taking up the empty mug off the table and walking off further into the apartment.

“I always do!” Jaskier called back. Mm, if only this were as simple as telling a story. Well…Oh—if he spent this paragraph referencing the progression it would end up taking up more room, be a run of the mill lead-in, but if he wrote the actual history as a short story itself, now there was an idea, he could make his point and give the context. Oh, fuck, brilliant—

“Back soon,” Geralt was saying as the front door slipped shut, but the bard was too lost in his work to do more than give a small nod of his head.

The sun was falling, making a graceful bow into the horizon. Warm light spread out over the streets of Oxenfurt like the last pushes of tide, ebbing, and flowing, and sinking back into night.

“Ah, fuck,” Jaskier muttered, crossing out a spelling error with a snarl.

His shoulders ached, and his lower back was going to be the death of him. He was on page 7. All he could see was the work ahead of him, winding off ad infinitum. If he didn’t pick up the pace, he might have to go 60 hours straight—he shivered. Not ideal. He took a breath, stood up and stretched a bit, his muscles groaning in thanks. A quick bathroom break later and he was sliding back into his chair, still warm, his papers grinning up at him, sardonic.

He’d take a meal break at 10 pages, he told himself.

He stood to stretch and his head swam. Well. Plenty of reason to stay seated, he supposed.

Geralt and Yennefer returned at 12 and a half pages. He turned his head in greeting, and when he looked back he got the first real look at the table in hours—it was a disaster, crumbled pieces of parchment, empty quills, and little notes strewn everywhere. Some books propped open, the pile of parchment looking more like a mountain slope, an empty glass from when he’d chugged water hours ago.

His loves were clearly a few drinks deep as they came through the door, and completely unmarred by the woes of academia. Bastards, honestly.

“Hi, hello, hope you had a good evening, I—”

“Come to bed,” Yennefer said, suddenly right behind him. Two small but firm hands came to his shoulders, rubbing deeply.

“Ah! Oh, fuck—oh, yes, darling, right there—”

Geralt came to his other side, tipping his head up for a kiss, which he moaned into. His witcher’s tongue was soft, pleading, tempting him—his mage’s hands pushing almost painfully against his aching muscles. He wanted to cry, it was so good. It was so different than the last… however many hours it had been that he had been sitting here. Geralt pulled away, and Yennefer’s hands came to rest as well.

“So?” Geralt asked, his voice deep and velvety. “Bed?”

“I…” gods, who had he become? “I can’t. I want to, I just—”

Yennefer placed a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s fine,” she said, and he knew it was, but he hated denying them something they all wanted. “Have you eaten?”

Jaskier frowned. “Fuck. Not really.”

Geralt sighed and went to the pantry. “You’re getting a sandwich,” he grumbled.

“Ooo, Geralt, dear heart, would you heat it up? Use some of your,” he wiggled his fingers “your witchery magic?”

Geralt turned and glared. “You’re getting a sandwich.”

“He’s so mean to me,” Jaskier muttered to Yennefer, “I can’t believe he’s so mean to me.”

His mage snorted a laugh into his hair. “You’re really staying up all night, then?” She waved a hand and the curtains around the room swept shut, and his lantern began to burn steadily.

“Looks like it,” he sighed. Geralt retuned a moment later, plated warm sandwich and glass of water in hand.

“Fuck. Thank you.” He took it and took a bite, suddenly ravenous. He looked up at both of them, staring down in fond amusement. “Fank—” he swallowed his mouthful of sandwich. “Thank you both, truly. I’ll be up a bit. If you need something, call, yes?”

They rolled their eyes. “He tells us to call if we need anything,” Yennefer muttered. “Don’t get into any trouble,” she said, and with a peck on the cheek from both of them, they disappeared into the bedroom.

He looked back at his work.

Okay. 12 ½ pages in. He could do this.

x

At 15 pages, he felt ravenous again, and made a second sandwich. Not as good as Geralt’s. Geralt’s sandwiches weren’t even that good, but they were made by Geralt, which added a certain kick, a novelty he adored.

He drank another glass of water and shook his head. Back to work.

At 17 pages, sometimes the world swam before him. He gripped the edge of the table. Fuck.

He was so tired. 23 pages. He kept writing.

It was terrible. The whole paper was a mess. Nothing made sense and people were going to laugh at him. 25 pages.

He heard a sound. Was that Geralt rising for the bathroom? Was it an intruder? Light crept in through the window. 27 pages.

There was a ringing in his ear. His writing was getting increasingly larger. 27 ½ pages.

Geralt gave him a soft nuzzle to the top of his head before padding through to the kitchen. Jaskier’s heart ached. His bones ached. Writing was hard but right then it felt impossible. 27 ¾ pages.

Geralt lingered, and Jaskier felt his nose twitch. He tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for him to leave. He couldn’t have any distractions right now. He shut his eyes tight until he heard the bedroom door close once more.

Yennefer entered hours later, sweeping the curtains over with a flick of her hand. Bright light flooded the room, painting the desk in all its full, disgustingly messy glory. “Well—”

“Could you ask next time?!” Jaskier snapped. “Some of us need consistency to concentrate!”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow, and they stared at each other. Some part of him wanted to slap himself but the rest was just so irritated. Who’d she think she was, anyway?

After a moment, the mage turned and left with a flick of her hand to sweep the curtains shut again.

“Headed out,” Geralt said at 30 pages. “Contract.”

“Good,” Jaskier muttered. “I mean. Good that you’re—fuck. Whatever.”

Geralt stared. “You need rest. It’s been more than 24 hours.”

“I need to fucking finish.”

“Yen said—”

“I’m sure she did,” Jaskier muttered, driving his heels into his eyes. Gods, his eyes burned. Silence hung.

“She portaled out this morning.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Great. Love that. I’m a fucking disaster, thank you for the reminder, Geralt.” He waved toward the door. “Don’t you have a contract?”

He turned back to his papers, shifting around to look for page 11, and didn’t think about how long it took before Geralt left the apartment.

His hand was shaking but he was at 34 pages. He still had so much to say. Fuck. But he was in it now.

He scarfed down some soup that was mostly broth at some point, and he’d under-salted it, but it was something. His eyes kept going blurry; traitorous things.

The bear on his mug was plotting his downfall.

38 pages and Jaskier felt like the gods themselves had gifted him with the knowledge he now bestowed onto meager commoners. He was a genius.

At 43 pages, he had stopped to lay out the entire essay on the ground, so he could see it all. The words sometimes swam before him, and he had trouble remembering what he was meant to say next. Once, he looked up, confused as to where he was. And then, at 44 pages, the guilt of snapping at his dearest loves, the weight of this behemoth paper he wasn’t even sure he could finish, and his own self-doubt crept in and seized him up, leaving him breathless and in tears for… awhile. Everything hurt. He had to keep going.

At 48 pages, he saw a griffon fly through his window, and he named it Kalvin. He turned whatever color Jaskier wanted him to turn, which was very considerate of him. Kalvin was his only friend now, and with a little convincing, might become his editor, too.

At 55 pages his chest seized, and it was hard to breathe for a moment. He closed his eyes but—no, no, couldn’t do that. If he fell asleep now, he’d never finish in time. He tried to relax, got some water, leaned against the counter. Everything was a mess.

He sat back on the floor, his work around him. Keep going.

“I don’t think there’s anything about anything that I have to be doing right now. Kalvin, you’ve… you’ve got to understand, this could be my finest work! It’s good. It’s pretty good here in… in this part, here. In that other part it’s just okay, but that’s why you come in with your big claws and you’re gonna. Rip up the bad parts. Don’t rip up the good parts. Right? Yeah. Do you think they’ve forgotten about me by now?”

He looked down. 57 pages. Took a long blink.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “That’s fair.

He had to write two extra pages so that he could skirt around referencing Valdo Marx’s work as anything other than a contradictory point. Maybe it would have been fun to use his own writing against him but he didn’t want to give the satisfaction of being referenced positively in a centerfold piece.

He lost the essay.

“Fuck—oh, gods, where did—”

He turned around, looked down. Oh, there it was.

“Thank fuck.”

The curtains were still closed and the charmed lantern was still burning, but Jaskier knew it was night by the time he reached 63 pages and Geralt came in.

Jaskier looked up from his spot kneeling on the floor. Geralt looked fine. He was a little dirty. There were some gushy bits. Probably blood. He was tired. Or just mad. Maybe he hated Jaskier.

“You’re still—?!” Geralt asked, looking at Jaskier like he’d just said a griffon named Kalvin had flown in the window earlier and now they were friends.

“I met a griffon,” Jaskier heard himself say. Geralt stared. “We’re friends now.”

“…You need to fucking sleep.”

“No.” Jaskier went back to the margin he’d devoted to drawing circles in. “Sorry ‘bout earlier.”

Geralt sighed. He might have talked but Jaskier didn’t hear, just kept writing.

“How often has that been happening?” he heard Geralt ask.

“What happening?”

“Where you fall asleep for a moment.”

“I haven’t! Fallen asleep.”

“Fuck,” Geralt said. He looked very nice, except for the goop all over him. Well. Even that wasn’t so bad, when the underneath bits were Geralt. His Geralt. Looked so warm, so strong, so able to carry him.

“Later,” Jaskier replied, and went back to his words. The familiar pop of a portal sounded in the bedroom. Their eyes lingered on the direction it came from, but Yennefer didn’t open the door. They looked at each other, and then back at the door which remained very much shut. “She’s mad.”

“Yep.”

“At me.”

“Yep.”

There was a pause. “Are you covered in blood?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Oh.”

“Not mine.”

“That,” he said pointing to the Witcher, “is good.”

“Mmm.”

“Sticky though.”

“Definitely sticky.”

Yennefer came out of the doorway, and Jaskier blinked. When he opened his eyes again she was much closer than she’d been and was in the middle of talking. Magic, he assumed.

“—yourself very lucky, bard.”

“Yeahh,” he said. “Sorry. ‘Bout… Sorry.”

She huffed and crossed her arms. There was a look in her face. Eyes? And her mouth. It was hard to name. Words were hard, when they weren’t the words he desperately needed to write.

“—for a while,” Geralt was saying. “Jaskier. How close are you to finishing.”

“Soon!” Jaskier said. “Soon! Soon. Due… 1pm tomorrow. What time is it?”

“10pm.”

“Fuck. Psshhh. I can… I can do it.” He looked up at Yennefer. “Sorry. Really. I… I’m just tired,” he admitted. “Shouldn’t have snapped. Not fair to you.”

Yennefer stood there, arms folded, emanating some emotion Jaskier had lost the concept of around page 41. Geralt walked further into the apartment, into the bedroom. Oh right. Blood armor. Ick.

He went back to writing and tried to ignore the desire to cry again, and then suddenly Yennefer’s shoes were in his line of vision.

“Let me read it,” she said.

“Oh.”

They stared at one another. She had such a pretty face. He might have been smiling. She rolled her eyes and then came to sit next to him. She quickly found the first page and began.

Halfway through it, he spilled ink on the bottom half of page 64, and wept. Yennefer gave him an attempt at a comforting pat on the back.

Yennefer had read the pages and risen; “It’s good. You need edits, but it’s somehow decent. Good. Whatever. A little… loose, toward the end, though,” made herself a cup of tea, and entered the bedroom.

Either a few moments, or 20 minutes later, Geralt emerged.

“What are you at now?”

“69 pages.”

“Nice,” Geralt said.

“Ha. Yeahhh,” Jaskier agreed.

“That’s not what I—” Geralt sighed the sigh that meant his face was going all pinch-y. “Close to the end?”

“Mmm. What is the end, really?” Geralt made a different pinch-y face. “Soon.”

“Come to bed tonight, Jaskier.”

“I’ll try,” he said. He blinked, and Geralt was gone.

There are a lot of words in an essay that are very hard to spell.

Jaskier ate the rest of a loaf of bread.

For a while, he swore he walked the streets of Oxenfurt while still warm in his professorial housing.

Kalvin’s accent changed three times and at one point he was on fire.

85 pages.

Geralt woke first, as always; There he was! That was his love. So much of his heart.

With shaking hands, Jaskier had brought himself up to sit in his chair, and sat staring down at his work. He looked up at Geralt with a lopsided grin. “I did it,” he said weakly.

“Need help putting it together?”

The tears fell so quickly he didn’t realize it was happening. “Really?”

Geralt sighed softly and knelt down, organizing the papers.

Yennefer emerged a bit later—There she was! His love, a chunk of him was hers entirely. He smiled. “Look!”

“Mmm. And now you can sleep.”

“NO!” Jaskier cried and leapt to his feet, “No, no, now… now is presenting time. To… the editors. Not Kalvin. But I turn it in… and then sleep,”

He had a sudden burst of energy, and tried to step over Geralt and the papers, but fell into the table instead, before the Witcher steadied him from below.

“Ohhhh, thank you dear. It’s time for… presentation! Mm.” He leaned into Yennefer’s warmth at his side, though she did not wrap her arms around him as he’d hoped. “Help me pick out an outfit.”

He blinked. Yennefer was in front of him now, looking at him with a frown, her hands around his waist. Geralt’s hand was against his forehead. “No! Stop that! I’m fine. I’m fine! See me! Fine. It’s action time. Let’s go!” and he marched off to the bedroom.

The floor was suddenly very close to his face.

“Did I—”

“You fell on your face.”

“Have I—”

“You’ve asked three times now, yes.”

There should have been fanfare when he turned it in, but there was only the grateful smile of Edmond, the young new assistant, a firm handshake, and a promise he’d hear back from them very soon, for a quick summarization of their initial thoughts. Or, he’d used all those words, Jaskier forgot which order they’d come in.

The three returned to the apartment, and everything happened very slowly and so quickly he found it hard to keep track. There was definitely a bath drawn for him—gods, it had been days, hadn’t it— oh, fuck, he was gross, wasn’t he—a full meal, and a celebratory drink. He’d made a few good jokes, and all he could see were Geralt and Yennefer, smiling at him. An empty glass. A bar of soap. A long quill. A messy table. A pile of books and an empty mug. They deposited him on the bed for sleep, and left together.

Jaskier lay there, waiting for sleep to take him.

It did not.

He was so tired he could cry. He did, a few times. He couldn’t think straight. All of it, everything, hurt. His body ached. He tried to soothe himself down alone, rocking himself in the hopes it would work. But nothing.

What if he could never sleep again? What if he would always be awake, forever? What if this was how he died?! Oh gods, he didn’t want to die! He still had edits to approve!

Eventually, he could feel himself getting closer. He adjusted himself, lay on his back and took deep, measured breaths, kept his eyes closed but relaxed. Okay. Okay. Sleep.

He was falling, so violently and so fast that when he jolted awake, he forgot he’d been lying on a bed in the first place.

Fuck.

He tried again. It happened sometimes, it was fine. He’d be fine.

He tried breathing deeply once more, trying to let the distant scents of Yennefer and Geralt now embedded in his pillows overtake him.

A fear so powerful it gripped his heart and twisted, whispered to him, ‘this is what dying is, you’re going to die’ and he once again jolted awake. He threw his head back against the pillow and winced; even that hurt.

Fuck. Fuck.

He kept trying. Over, and over, he’d get so close to sleep and then right at the precipice, something would yank him out of it.

Once, he saw Yennefer falling off a cliff. Another time, he saw Geralt stabbed through the chest. At some point, he saw Ciri screaming, and his hands flew out to pull her close, only to find nothing there. Sometimes it was himself falling, and sometimes it was the world below him falling instead.

He’d really done it this time. Stayed awake so long, sleep had abandoned him entirely.

It felt like twelve years before Yennefer and Geralt returned, slipping into the room quietly. He sat up in bed, startling them both.

“Please,” he said quietly, “I can’t. I don’t know why I can’t I just—I can’t. My body won’t let me, I want to but I can’t—”

“How the hell—” Yennefer started, walking over to him with a palm out to check for a curse, maybe? It didn’t matter. He wrapped her hand in his and clutched it to himself, desperate for her. She was so warm. So alive.

“Fuck,” Geralt sighed, “It’s been nearly 70 hours already, Jaskier.”

“Let me just put him down with magic,” Yennefer started, but Geralt put a hand up.

“We can’t. It’s a temporary fix. if he can’t fall asleep on his own without magic, it’ll get harder and harder for him. We need to get him to fall asleep without it.” They looked down at him. What a disgrace he must look like, how pathetic he was. He turned his face away in abject shame. He couldn’t even fall asleep right.

While he looked away, Yennefer tore her hand from his as she and Geralt discarded their clothes into heaps beside the bed, crawled beneath the covers on either side of Jaskier. They hated him. They must. How could they not?

“It’s fine, you don’t—fuck, sorry—”

Geralt shrugged. “Don’t be. I know how bad it gets. It’s different for a Witcher, but no sleep is the whole reason we met Yennefer.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jaskier said softly.

“As I recall, the solution then was to have vigorous sex on the floor.” Yennefer ran a finger along Jaskier’s chest. “Sound appealing?”

“I—yes, Yennefer, it sounds appealing.” He fidgeted, tried to focus on the feeling of Yennefer’s delicate touch. He was oversensitive enough that it felt like fire, but nothing… stirred, and each word he spoke felt like he was pulling honey from his tongue. “I don’t… much as I’d like, I’m not sure I’d be... up for it right now.” Yennefer’s head fell against the pillow and she flattened her hand, ran the palm up his chest to rest above his heart. Pressed a kiss there.

He closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply, but they were looking at him, he could feel every inch of their gazes and it was all too much. He whined in agony. “I can’t do this. Fuck. I can’t, just put me out. We try it again tomorrow, I—”

“Jaskier. You can. Tell us what you need and we can help you,” Yennefer said, sweet but firm. And that was her, wasn’t it?

He couldn’t think. Wanted to. Wanted so much. Wanted to be asleep.

Jaskier curled up on his side, exhausted of being exhausted, when he felt Geralt slide up closer behind him. “Can I hold you?” he murmured into the bard’s shoulder. Jaskier nodded, and felt Geralt’s arm come around him and under his own arm, felt it slide up his chest and cross it protectively.

“Feel good?” Jaskier nodded, and then cracked his eyes open, met Yennefer’s, concern palpable.

He lifted one arm just slightly. “C’mere?” And she did, curled into his arms and around him, tucked her head under his, kissed the top of Geralt’s fingers. He held her close, and was held by the two in turn. Breathing, somehow, felt easier between them.

“Breathe, bard,” Yennefer urged him softly. Geralt buried his nose in Jaskier’s hair, took in a deep breath, and Jaskier tried to follow.

They breathed softly, all together, slow and safe. Soon, he was drifting into sweet oblivion.

‘You,’ Fear said, wrapped around his sternum, ‘will crumble, the moment you let go of wakefulness.’ It gripped him, and tugged him back to reality.

He jolted again. “Fuck, dammit, cock wringing—”

Yennefer pulled back to look at him worriedly. “Is that what’s been keeping you up?” she asked.

“It’s, I don’t know, something just pulls me back, I try to fight it but…”

“Mmm,” Geralt agreed. “Sleep starts. Happens sometimes.”

“The hell are sleep starts?”

“They’re… when you’re too on edge to sleep, or just haven’t in too long, brains… fizzle. Keep you awake. It’s a survival instinct—it makes you think you’ve got to stay awake to stay alive. Feels like falling? Or… a shock. Sometimes other things. Hallucinations.” Geralt pressed a kiss to the back of his head. “It’s scary. It’s meant to be. Your body thinks it’s fighting for its life.”

“I am never letting you doom yourself like this ever again,” Yennefer said, and while it was probably meant to come out angry, she just sounded worried.

Geralt hummed and agreement. “Try again, we’ve got you. We’re not letting go.” Jaskier took a breath. They had him. They had him.

Yennefer lifted a hand to Jaskier’s temple. “May I?” And he let her in, easier than breathing. She gave him Ciri laughing, wind chimes on the breeze, the soft roar of the coast. Geralt hugged him tight, ran his other hand through Jaskier’s hair, tried to keep the bard’s breathing aligned. Now, what had he ever done to earn these two?

Soon, sleep came to him again, and he could feel Yennefer ready to soothe anything that came for him in his mind, Geralt ready to defend against anything that dared hurt his resting body. The darkness crept in, and he felt peace.

Geralt was reaching for him, falling, bleeding, screaming.

“FUCK!”

“Shh,” the real Geralt hushed him. “We’ve got you.”

“Fuck, there’s got to be something else,” Yennefer groaned. “What’ve you tried so far?”

“I have tried… to fall asleep.”

Yennefer and Geralt both huffed small laughs. “No. Positions—”

“Only the good ones.”

“Meditating?” Geralt asked.

“Darling, I haven’t had a thought in my head in hours. This is meditation.”

“Drugs?” Yennefer asked.

“I will try the drugs!” Jaskier said with a drowsy cheerfulness, as Geralt replied “No drugs. No.”

“Ugh,” Jaskier groaned, and shifted to lie on his stomach. Oh. This was… better. He nestled into the pillows, and a soft contented sigh drifted from him.

“That feel better?” Geralt asked as he ran a hand up and down Jaskier’s back. “Mmm,” Jaskier replied. Yennefer’s hand joined Geralt over his chest. Oh, they were going to make him cry.

And then it was too much, too much feeling, like his brain couldn’t handle all the sensation, and he felt Yennefer come to pause, and a moment later, Geralt’s hand as well. ‘That better?’ Yennefer asked in his mind. Jaskier gave her the memory of his favorite hug with her, warm and happy as her legs wrapped around his waist, and his favorite with Geralt, crushing and firm and full of too many emotions to speak aloud.

“Could…” he said softly, “Just. Talk? Not to me. Just… to each other. Just wanna hear you.” He could almost hear their smiles, and felt as they settled in on the pillows beside him, arms and hands intertwining on his back. Yennefer’s head on his shoulder, the gentle planes of Geralt’s chest on his other side. “If you need us, Yennefer and I are here. We’ve got you. You’re safe.”

He nodded into the mattress, cool and soft below him.

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

“G’night Yennefer.”

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

"G’night, Geralt.”

He started to fade into oblivion, but stopped himself before he got too far. Not fear, not anxiety, a conscious stopping. Somewhere above him, Geralt was telling Yennefer about the contract from… sometime in the past few days, and Yennefer was telling her own story about some town gossip with a woman and her hens, which, it might have been a metaphor, but he’d basically forgotten what those were by now. He breathed deeply, felt their words flow through him, and when he felt brave enough, he let go, trusting they would catch him.

He could have sworn he heard wind chimes, somewhere.

x

The small amount of light filtering in through the curtains was golden when he awoke. His head both ached and felt light as a feather, his muscles screamed and cried but half of it was in relief. He gave a small stretch and yawned. “G’morning,” an amused Geralt said to him, lounging in a chair he’d brought beside the bed, reading a book. His legs were propped up on the bed beside the bard’s and Jaskier stretched to bump their toes together.

“What time…?”

“You slept 13 hours.”

“Fuck.”

“You probably need more.”

“Yeahhhh.”

“Feel alright?”

“Like a real human being,” he said. “Hungry, though.”

“Mmm.”

Yennefer slipped in the door, but, noticing Jaskier was awake, rose a hand. “May I?” she asked, voice dripping in sarcasm, gesturing to the curtains.

“You may,” Jaskier offered, covering his face with his hands. “Ohhhh, gods, how bad was I?”

“Genuinely awful,” Yennefer said, as Geralt was saying, “There’s been worse.”

“Normally I’d withhold this,” the mage said, withdrawing a small envelope from her pocket. “But, under the circumstances…” she cleared her throat.

“To one Julian Alfred Pankratz. We were extremely pleased to receive your manuscript yesterday afternoon. Our editors are will have their notes to you by the weekend, but we wanted to reach out and extend our most sincere compliments on your work. It is—oh, a flood of adjectives, I’m skipping these. Etcetera, etcetera, sucking your dick, etcetera alright, here—and meticulous in construction. We can tell,” Yennefer said, dragging out the final sentence, “you made good use of your year of writing time to complete the work.” Jaskier and Geralt by this point were holding back true howls of laughter.

“And won’t you believe it, there’s more. Ahem; we have a number of suggestions and questions already, but encourage you to get your well-deserved rest as we prepare our feedback. We are grateful to work with you, and thank you again for your stunning entry. There’s a postscript,” Yennefer added. “As a quick and personal note, we cannot have helped but notice the nature of your penmanship; we mean no offence, but would encourage you to see a doctor of the eye to fit you with some spectacles.”

“My—my penman…? What’d—” and Yennefer, who had clearly been waiting for this moment, brought out a rather crumpled piece of parchment with an ink stain at the bottom—ah, yes, the original page 64— and showed it to him. His eyes were… gods, they were aching, but he was clear minded enough now to see that each line had become at least twice it’s normal size. The lines were far from straight, dipping and bending toward the edge of the paper, the letters changed directions at random points, and a fair amount of the words were smudged so completely they were hard to make out.”

Jaskier stared in horror.

“They. Is that. Is that what it looked like? Really?”

“It’s worse than most of the ones that made it in,” Geralt said, carefully.

“Most?!”

“You drew pictures on one of them,” Yennefer said.

“Oh my god. They…they must…”

“Adore it, clearly,” Yennefer said, setting aside the paper. “It wasn’t worth the strain, and you’ve definitely firmly embarrassed yourself, but they’re either embarrassing themselves by fawning praise on you,” she said, sliding onto the bed, “Or you’re actually just… very knowledgeable and talented, even when addled by sleep deprivation.”

There was a pause, Jaskier soaking this in; it hadn’t been worth it, exactly, but it wasn’t all bad. In fact, it was quite good, and Yennefer was complimenting him outright, so, very good.

“Or both,” Geralt added.

“Definitely both,” Yennefer agreed.

Jaskier groaned. “You can’t be mean to me. You’re in my house and I am extremely tired, which means that you, by law, must kiss me and tell me nice things about myself.”

Geralt laughed, light and free, and Yennefer slunk slower down into the bed. “You get no kisses,” she said, “You get sleep and rest.” She grabbed a pillow from under her head and plopped it delicately onto Jaskier’s face.

“Boo,” Jaskier said, muffled beneath the thing. He closed his eyes. Geralt muttered something, and Yennefer gave a snort of laughter, and then there was silence.

“Are you two kissing up there?!”

More silence.

“UGH,” he groaned, and sunk into his soft, sweet mattress. Oh, beautiful mattress. How he adored it, how he adored his two loves on top of it. He listened to their kissing, soft, and sweet, and knew he’d join them soon. But it was so warm down here. Even as one of them removed the pillow, he could only bring himself to open his eyes for a moment, to see them both leaning to kiss his face gently, before returning to each other. He took a long, deep breath, and listened to them swirl around him, until all he could feel was their love and the sweet caress of his pillow.

[haikyuuvbc]

Do You Comma Here Often? Chapter 15: AKAASHI

Chapter 14     Series Masterlist      Chapter 16

Taglist at the bottom!

A/N: This is where I will begin to reblog all of the chapters so far: I’m visiting a friend so my time will be consumed. I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy! If you ever need to talk about anything, my inbox is open.

     For a cafe located in a business district, you were surprised to see it fairly busy at almost midnight. But then again, everything about this week had been surprising. Normally, Kageyama and Iwaizumi take turns bringing you coffee and food in between exams. Unless they had unexpected free time, they don’t interrupt you during your study sessions leading up to an exam. Starting last Thursday through your final essay that you turned in yesterday, someone brought you snacks and a coffee, whether it was Hinata, Tsukishima, Bokuto, or even Akaashi, you were shocked to see new people supplying you with things to help study. Akaashi even stuck around a little bit and helped you with the Beowulf analysis you were stuck on (it doesn’t help that you hate the book anyway). What was supposed to be a short ten minute lesson to refresh you on the role of Grendel’s mother turned into a two hour talk about the different translations of Beowulf available (“Did you hear about J.R.R. Tolkien’s translation?” “I hate this poem, but I would read that out of respect for Tolkien!”)

     On top of your acquaintances friends stopping by and bringing you goodies, this set of midterms were harder on you than normal. What you thought would be easy topics on your essays actually ended up with you staring at your computer for hours before you could even consider how to break them down. Tests that typically took you an hour tops to take, took you the entire allotted time and even then, you were rushing to finish. And don’t even start on how more than one of your professors came up to you and asked if you were okay, because you looked more tired than normal. Maybe it was the stress of working an actual career on top of being a student that made you like this. And maybe, just maybe, the weirdness of this week made you say “sure!” when Akaashi invited you to the cafe for food as you waited for your midterm grades. Hajime would remind you that midnight snacks aren’t the best, but every once in a while won’t hurt you that badly.

     You opt for a decaf white chocolate mocha and a chocolate croissant, and Akaashi, of course, goes for a fully caffeinated coffee and a panini of some kind. He talked a bit about the chapter of Zomb’ish he was finishing edits on, and you felt validated when you learned that your prediction is coming true for the series. It was easy to lose track of time talking to Akaashi because of how much in common the two of you had. The one thing that was not surprising for you this week was that he had a knowledgeable grasp on the classics that you’ve had to read, that he was happy to talk about the poems that you’ve picked apart or the influence that classics have had on today’s world. He actively listened to you talking about your essay on the influence manga has had on today’s society, adding a few statements here and there, but for the most part, he let you speak. As the observer of your group, which you assume is also true for Akaashi, normally people talk to you and you listen. It was nice to participate in a conversation that was 50/50 for the most part.

     The entire evening was nice. Midnight had come and gone before you realized that you had never checked your grades. Honestly, you probably would have forgotten completely had Akaashi not checked his watch in a very obvious manner. It was a bit nerve-wracking when you logged into the browser on your phone. You had mentioned to Akaashi that you were concerned that you hadn’t done as well simply because of how off you had felt all week. Rather than trying to fill you with false confidence, his reaction was simply to say,   

     “You’ve never had a full time job within your field while attending school. It’s not strange that you feel off this week.” His statement was different than how any of your friends would have responded. It made you relax, truthfully. Any of your friends would have tried to reassure you, whereas Akaashi just validated your feelings. It was… nice.

     “Congratulations, Y/N,” Akaashi tells you after you show him your phone. The screen has all 90’s or higher for your exams and essays, and you breathe a sigh of relief and genuinely smile. Yeah. This is nice.

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Snolidays/Snapemas Day 3+4

Gift Shopping & Ornaments & Smile & Snow // pre-PS/the years between. Minerva and Severus friendship aka Minerva McGonagall’s personal mission to make Severus love Christmas part 3 aka min and sev’s shopping adventures: diagon alley edition ft. emotional disaster sev 

“Don’t forget, final essays are due next week!” Severus reminded his classroom of sixth year students as they cleaned up their work tables. “You’ve had three weeks to write them and I expect them all to be turned in.” He attempted to glare at the class, but no one paid him any mind.

Students exited his classroom in small groups of two and three, huddled together and laughing over meaningless jokes and plans for the afternoon. 

“Hold up, this classroom is still a mess! You’re NEWT students, for Merlin’s sake, you should know better than to leave things like this!” He tried to call them back, but he was speaking to an empty classroom.

He sighed. 

Being a professor at twenty-five was a fucking joke when no one took him seriously enough to respect him as an authority figure. It happened primarily with the older students, but even some of the other professors treated him as if he were still a student. Minerva seemed to be the only one who really saw him as a colleague and even she had her moments. 

What was he supposed to do? Practice making scary faces in the mirror until he perfected the disappointed eyebrow raise and scowl? Assign more detentions? He’d thought dressing the part would make him look more authoritative, but now he wondered if he simply looked like a child playing dress-up when he walked around in the stupid teaching robes Narcissa Malfoy had helped him purchase.

Another sigh, but this one was shaky. 

He surveyed the room and got to work, shutting drawers and cabinet doors. He double-checked the supply closet before locking it and levitated the abandoned cauldrons to the wash basin with the others, where they would wait for whichever unfortunate student had managed to get a detention from him that day. Idly, he wondered if he should ask Argus to monitor the night’s detention or if they would return in time.

He shook his head; he was running late. 

Locking his classroom, he hurried into his office and shrugged out of his ridiculous teaching robes. They were nice and he loved the black stitch detailing, but he felt out of place when he wore them. He felt like, well, like a swot. He had other robes as well, namely faded grey work robes that he wore when he brewed potions for the infirmary, but they didn’t make him feel powerful or deserving of respect. These did, at least, so pretentious purple teaching robes it was. 

He hung them up and took in the small room that had become his safe haven between classes over the years. It was a bit off a mess, but aside from his personal quarters, this was the only other place in the castle that really belonged to him. It was his space, from the still-steaming teacup of darjeeling - courtesy of a modified warming charm - waiting on his desk to the old copies of The Potioneer’s Journal stacked on the floor. There were four different books on his desk, two splayed out, hidden underneath a pile of assignments that still needed to be graded and about two dozen more scattered throughout the stone room. 

He considered tidying up a little before he left, maybe watering his rather sad looking peppermint plant and organizing the scrolls of parchment.  The mantle and bookshelf looked as if it needed a good dusting as well. This office was an extension of himself, was it not? 

Minerva was waiting for him, he reminded himself.

But what if a student came calling, hoping for assistance? For Merlin’s sake, he was the head of Slytherin (and how the bloody hell that happened, he still had no idea), he couldn’t just leave and traipse around the wizarding world as if he had no other responsibilities! What if something happened to one of his snakes and they needed him? He had a job! What part of in loco parentis was he not - 

He was stalling.

He was absolutely stalling. 

(And it had nothing with his position and everything to do with going to Diagon Alley). 

He forced himself to take a deep breath. His Slytherins would be fine and even if something happened, they still wouldn’t come to him for help because he still looked like a seventh year - and a socially uncomfortable, paranoia-fueled mess of one, at that. Merlin give him strength if the day ever came where he actually needed to take charge. 

At least he hadn’t stuttered anymore after his very first class. That had been a right disaster and he hated that the second years who got to experience that moment would still be attending Hogwarts for another bloody year. 

It took a few more deep breaths before he could convince himself to leave. He glanced down, decided that the black trousers and black jumper he’d pulled on from the pile of clothing that resided on his bedroom floor were clean enough for public wear, and grabbed his scarf. It was hand knitted and pale blue and alright a little wonky, but one of his snakes had given it to him and maybe he was a little sentimental over the physical proof that some of them liked him. 

He summoned his winter cloak (and he had to rummage around his desk for the silver cloak pin he might have used to stab through a particularly abysmal homework assignment) and the dragonhide satchel he knew some of the students found him hilarious for carrying around, but what was he supposed to use? His robe pockets? Then it would be obvious he was casting unsanctioned extension charms on his things. 

Definitely running late now, he headed upstairs and ran into Minerva on the stairs, who’d clearly been en route to retrieve him. 

“Well, it’s about time.” she huffed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was dark out already.” The words didn’t match her tone - gentle, and maybe a little concerned - and it turned his anxiety brittle. He didn’t need to be coddled. 

“I was talking to a student.” he lied smoothly, adjusting his cloak so it felt more secure - made him feel more secure - and opened the front door. 

“How was your class?”she asked mildly, as they stepped over the remnants of dirty, half-melted snow and made their way to the wrought iron gate. 

He scowled and stared up at the sky, noting how overcast it was. “Frustrating.” he admitted, because Minerva was the only person he would ever admit that to. “It’s hard to believe they’re sixth years, for all they pay attention and listen to me.” 

“They’re probably just excited for the coming break.” 

“The first years are excited for the break and they behave far better than my NEWT students.” Severus’ scowl deepened. “I hate their class.”

“Just their class?” Minerva asked, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow. 

He took a moment to contemplate that. “No, but theirs especially.” he decided. “The fourth years and under take me seriously, but the others - I’ve got seventh year Slytherins who will go to you before they come to me!”

“So the ones who’ve only known you to be their professor?”

Severus stopped. “You have a point.”

“Look at it this way,” Minerva smirked, “just three more years and they’ll all take you seriously. Besides, you are young. I’m sure you still have a little more growing to do, dear.”

“Don’t make me hex you.”

“You’ll lose.” Minerva replied simply. 

They apparated directly into Diagon Alley once they cleared the wards, appearing in the courtyard between Gringotts and The Leaky Cauldron. Daylight was beginning to dim, the late afternoon sky fading languidly into the cool tones of winter’s night, and the shopping district was quiet. 

There were only a handful of wizards walking about, making their way between the brightly colored shops and market stalls. The Alley had prepared for the holidays as well, with their decorated storefronts and the oversized Christmas tree standing tall in the center of the plaza, adorned with hundreds of ornaments and a dizzying amount of silver tinsel. There was no snow on this side of the United Kingdom though, and against the bare, wet cobblestone streets, Diagon Alley didn’t look like rows of icing-coated gingerbread houses. 

“Let’s get this over with, then.”

Minerva was watching him carefully and he offered a smile that felt more like a grimace. He didn’t hate shopping for others, but that rebellious part of him was - once again - determined to complain and make a scene. He hated that part of him, felt like he was pushing away the only person who made an effort to see him as a person and not, well, everything else he was. Traumatized child, former student, former Death Eater, child professor, take your bloody pick. 

He tried for genuine excitement, for her sake.

Their first stop was a nearby coffee stall and once again, they purchased paper cups of hot coffee with peppermint and chocolate sauce. His mood brightened when he noticed these came with whipped cream and chocolate curls. They spent nearly an hour browsing through the nearby shops and market stalls before he finally relaxed enough to stop looking over his shoulder - there was no one around but very few harried shoppers and the occasional bellringer.

They were inside of Wiseacre’s, fiddling with the selection of crystal balls and reading their futures, when Severus laughed - genuinely laughed - for the first time since they had arrived in London. 

Minerva cracked a grin at that before she schooled her face into something more severe. “Don’t laugh!” she admonished, rubbing her hands over the glass sphere. “I’m only telling you what it said: you will get everything you’ve ever wanted, through your looks and charm.”

“I’m sure you will.”

She huffed and tried a different one. “A new voyage will fill your life with untold memories.”

“Now that one sounds like a fortune cookie.”

“You try then.”

Severus shrugged and took the proffered ball. He ran his hands over the joke of a crystal ball and watched as it filled with smoke, turning warm and tingly beneath his fingertips. Tiny print appeared in a golden, curling font: “Your shoes will make you very happy today.”

He looked up and made eye contact with Minerva, exhaling the barest hint of another laugh as he thought of the puddles of slush they had walked through to leave Hogwarts and the impervious charm casted on his boots. He supposed it wasn’t too far off. 

Another crystal ball caught his eye and he reached for it. It was clearly another counterfeit, but the stand it rested on seemed genuine enough - heavy and silver-plated. Three crescent moons gather to keep the crystal ball in place, the empty spaces between them interlaced with deep blue sapphires and hand carved runes. 

He studied the runes for a moment, fairly certain they were a protection spell. “I think I’ll get this.” he announced, holding up the stand. He took the faux ball in his other hand, getting distracted when it filled with smoke and offered him another fortune: an unexpected acquaintance will resurface. 

“For Sybill?” Minerva asked, half-paying attention as she thumbed through a collection of star charts. She looked up when she didn’t receive an answer. “Severus?”

Severus was scowling down at the fortune (although it felt more like a warning) and set it down amongst the others. He didn’t put merit in fortune-telling, let alone crystal balls that sold for less than six galleons and were meant for children. “For Sybill.” he nodded, walking away from the merchandise. He absolutely wasn’t thinking about boots and his paranoia of running into old friends that increased tenfold whenever he left the castle’s wards and how fortune-telling was the only reason he’d made rank within the Death Eaters in the first place. 

The stand ended up costing him three galleons, which was more than he’d hope to spend on all of his gifts, but there’s a guilt that gnawed at him whenever he thought about Sybill Trewlaney and his time as a Death Eater at the same time; namely, how a conversation he’d had with the Dark Lord had nearly gotten her killed and it was enough to override his desire to shop frugally. 

Minerva purchased a pendant for Aurora: frail lines of silver connected to tiny stars, making up constellations that changed with the position of the planets. It was beautiful and he wished he had seen it first, but he also knew Aurora liked reading romantic murder mysteries and he could think of a few titles she’d likely enjoy.

Not that he read romantic murder mysteries.

At all. 

They left the wizarding equipment shop and continued with their browsing. The outdoor stalls were being illuminated by floating orbs now and warming charms had been cast over the next huddle of tables they approached. 

Severus was studying a display of cloak pins when Minerva called his name. 

He glanced over at her and found her holding up a box full of  ornaments - red, green, and silver baubles with gold flakes that changed color - and a tiny, but determined-looking pewter witch mounted on a broomstick that was meant to fly around the tree. 

“We’re getting these.” 

“We are?” Severus asked, moving closer to rifle through the table she had grabbed them from. He grinned as he found a box of potion phials, brightly painted and stoppered to keep the glitter water inside from spilling out. “This is entirely inaccurate.” he sniffed, but he was still smiling like an idiot because of course he was nerdy enough to find potion bottle ornaments delightful. “Amortentia is definitely not pink and if someone ever hands you a Sleeping Draught that sparkles, they need to be arrested for attempted murder.”

Minerva laughed and they paid for the three boxes of ornaments and two white-fur trimmed stockings because Min had insisted they were a decorating requirement, but that they would need to purchase two because hers matched Elphinstone’s and she wasn’t quite ready to hang it up when she knew they were meant to be a pair. 

The mood dampened a little after that admission and Severus found himself floundering. He didn’t know if he was meant to comfort her or how to even do it, so he grabbed the cloak pin he had been watching, a little bronze frog that leapt from its post and perched on your shoulder - absolutely useless as a fastener, but perfect for a distraction and invoking a smile - and claimed it was the ideal gift for Albus. 

“It even looks like a chocolate frog.” he finished, handing the vendor fifteen sickles in exchange for the now-boxed-up pin. “He’s going to love it.”

Minerva’s faint smile was soft. “He will.” 

They parted ways for the first time when they reached the bookshop. Minerva had something she wanted to get at Twilfit and Tattings and Severus waved her off, eager to finally enter Flourish and Blotts. 

“Be good.” 

He scowled at ordinance and mockingly saluted her as he headed inside. The bookstore was warm and softly lit, smelled of fresh parchment and chamomile tea. The shelves reached all the way up to the ceiling, wall-to-wall displays only broken by the burning fireplace and the collection of squishy, comfy-looking chairs gathered in front of it. 

The shopkeeper waved at him as she organized a stack of new releases next to the shelf where the school textbooks were kept. There’s a beverage cart near the fireplace, holding a teapot and an assortment of mismatched mugs. He helped himself to a spot of chamomile and started to wander around, using his wand to summon books that seemed interesting enough to add to the growing pile floating behind him. 

In the end, he decided on six books - two for Aurora, one for Argus, and three for himself. 

The newly purchased stack fit easily inside his satchel, barely taking up any room beside the crystal ball stand, the stuffed kneazle - plush toy, not taxidermy - he had found at the Magical Menagerie for Hagrid, and all the other knick-knacks he had decided on. Not to mention everything else that already resided in there.

It wasn’t technically illegal. 

Besides, it wasn’t his fault that undetectable extension charms were so advanced that not many wizards were able to do it properly. Furthermore, both Albus and Minerva were aware of it, and if anyone were to get in trouble here, his money was on the headmaster. He was confident in his spell-casting abilities and the worst that could happen was accidentally falling in and unable to find his way out - which wasn’t even that bad, considering he always carried around a medley of potions and snacks and even a blanket because he was that paranoid of being left out in the cold with no one to turn to.

He blinked.

Alright, maybe his abandonment issues were starting to make themselves known, but in his defense, Minerva had been gone for a good forty minutes now. 

The point was, casting the charm was heavily frowned upon by the Ministry, but it wasn’t going to get him arrested either. He had worse things on his resume to choose from - and thank Merlin the Ministry of Magic never found out about the...unsavory potions he had been experimenting with around the time of his trial a few years back. 

“Severus?”

He stiffened, flashes of smoke filled spheres and curling script flashing in his mind as he heard a voice that did not belong to Minerva. Tension coiled in his shoulders and he carefully secured the buckle on his satchel before he turned around and greeted the man who had decided to approach him. 

“Severus Snape.” the man grinned wolfishly, blue eyes twinkling with delight. “As I live and breathe.”

“Corban Yaxley.” Severus greeted, taking in the other’s appearance. His hair had grown out since the last time he’d seen him and his honey-colored locks were pulled back in a low ponytail, accentuating his squared jaw and arched eyebrows. “What a pleasure to run into you.”

“Quite.” Yaxley grinned, the edges sharp.  “How is Hogwarts? I heard you were made Head of House for Slytherin.” He took a step closer and leaned forward, his voice dropping as if they were conspiring next to the biographies. “An excellent opportunity to shape the minds of the future, don’t you think?”

Severus kept his face blank. “As well as one could expect,” he answered airily, as if he weren’t gripping his wand beneath the folds of his cloak tight enough to turn his knuckles white, “considering how brainless they all seem to be.” 

Yaxley chuckled and leaned back, his posture appearing relaxed and friendly now, but Severus knew better than to trust a former Death Eater who had avoided going to Azkaban simply because he was that good of a liar. 

“I don’t get paid enough to deal with their unruliness.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve picked up a trick or two to deal with that.” Yaxley winked and then raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, Severus?” He stepped closer again. “You used to be so impressive.”

“All of that is irrelevant now.”

“Shame.”

The man was still smiling though and his eyes glinted with something that looked an awful lot like triumph when Severus broke and took a step backwards. He composed himself, but the fingers on his visible hand still clenched around the empty teacup he’d all but forgotten about. “How are things faring at the Ministry?” he deflected, proud when his words didn’t falter. 

“Excellent, ever since I got this promotion.” Yaxley smirked. “Karkaroff might have turned traitor - and I can’t say I blame him, for all he’s accomplished: headmaster of Durmstrang, I hear - dropping names left and right in an attempt to hightail it out of Azkaban, but he really did me a solid by getting Rookwood sacked.” 

“Glad to hear of it.” 

Yaxley stepped closer again and murmured, “Glad to hear he didn’t take you down with him, though. I heard he named you, but I was in America on Ministry business during the Death Eater trials.” Severus could feel the man’s breath on his face and it caused his facade to falter as an awful feeling crept down his spine. “I’ve missed seeing you around, Sev. You’re not hiding out in that fancy castle of yours, are you?”

Severus shook his head, unable to speak.

“Good.” Yaxley’s smile turned saccharine as he put a hand on Severus’ shoulder. 

The small bell over the door chimed as it opened, letting in a gust of cold air as someone entered, and it broke the spell. Corban Yaxley dropped his hand and headed for the door. “Don’t be a stranger, yeah?” 

Minerva was standing in front of him now, her eyes narrowed as she studied him carefully. “Alright?” she asked, and this time, Severus jumped - and for a split second, he wondered the psychology behind his body staying absolutely still some of the times he was surprised versus the times when he flinched - and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. He couldn’t find the words to answer her, his mind heavily focused on the unpleasant weight he still felt on his arm, as if Yaxley were still touching him. 

“Let’s get a bite to eat.” Min led him outside and he followed as if on autopilot. “We won’t make it back to Hogwarts in time for dinner.” 

He didn’t know the time, didn’t know if she was telling the truth or not, but he also didn’t feel like returning to the bustle of students just yet, so he let her guide him through the white dusted streets of Diagon Alley. Snow had begun to fall, but he barely paid it any mind. He was still reeling, lost in his head as Minerva walked them through The Leaky Cauldron and right into muggle London. 

He flinched when she put a hand on his arm, still thinking of Yaxley’s unwelcome touch, and her lips thinned as he choked out an apology. She shook her head and gestured to his cloak before transforming her own into a cream-colored coat. He understood then and raised his wand - still gripped tightly between very numb fingers - and fumbled his way through the spell, changing his wizarding apparel into a winter coat. 

“Did you find something for everyone?” Minerva asked gently, as she led them down the street. 

He tried to think of everything he bought, frowning when he realized he’d forgotten the one person whose gift mattered the most: hers. “Just about.” he mumbled, hating the way his voice betrayed his weakness. It was no wonder his students didn’t listen; he was pathetic. How he’d ever been able to lie to the Dark Lord and not get killed was beyond him. Perhaps Yaxley had a point: he used to be so impressive. 

They entered the first open establishment they saw, a hole-in-the-wall pub with yellow paint and wooden paneling that had once seen better days, but the imperfections were overshadowed by the dozens of framed photographs that dated the place back to the fifties. The lights were hazy, casting an ambient glow onto the green vinyl seats, and soft music - jazzy Christmas songs, from the sound of it- was playing over the speakers, a strange contrast to the clinking of glasses and stifled laughter coming from the patrons at the bar. 

Minerva requested a corner booth and took the side that kept her back to the door, wordlessly yet pointedly, and Severus exhaled with a relief he didn’t wish to admit to. They were offered a laminated menu, but Min ordered the special for them without enquiring anything about it - and Severus was beginning to see a pattern there - and two pints of the house ale, and he wasn’t sure whether he was grateful or embarrassed for her help. 

“I believe I found the perfect gift for Albus.” Minerva started talking, once they were alone again, and reached into a bright pink shopping bag from Gambol and Japes, pulling out a six inch slab of what looked like granite. 

He stared at the object for a solid minute before he gave in and reached for it, taking the smooth square of white-speckled stone and examining it. It had no divots, no fault lines, no imperfections of any kind and he idly wondered if this was a very simplistic paperweight or an attempt to distract him from his impending anxiety attack. “I don’t get it.” he finally conceded. 

“It’s a puzzle box.” Minerva took it back and turned it over a few times. “Only the most advanced spellcaster could ever dream of solving it.” 

That piqued his attention and he reached for it again. “Hold on, I want to try.” He glanced around the pub before tucking his wand into the sleeve of his jumper and began casting a number of spells, starting with the most basic he could think of - it came from the joke shop, right? There was humor to be found in unexpected simplicity - and even casting a few that he definitely hadn’t learned at Hogwarts. 

He gave up, frustrated. 

Minerva, on the other hand, was grinning. “This will keep him entertained, don’t you think?” she asked, putting it away. 

“It’s going to keep me up for the rest of my life.” Severus replied. 

Their food arrived then, burgers on pretzel buns with grilled mushrooms and swiss cheese, and Severus was quick to reach for the chips. Whether it was her intention or not, the distraction had worked and now he worried that she would ask about his run-in with Corban Yaxley. Given the look on her face, it felt inevitable, so with a stifled sigh, Severus cast a whispered muffliato and a muggle repelling charm over them. 

“Just say it, then.” he mumbled.

“Say what?”

He glared at her. “I ruined our outing with my overreaction, there at the end. I can tell you’re thinking it, so don’t bother lying to me.”

Minerva blinked and reached for her ale. “Actually, I was wondering if it would be in poor taste to gift Hagrid with a cookbook.”

“What?”

“Surely you’ve tried his rock cakes?” Min asked, biting into a chip. “I just feel he could benefit from a proper recipe. I’m sure he would be an excellent baker, if he just measured the flour correctly.”

He took the out for what it was. “You’d need to find a big enough copy of The Joy of Baking.”

They were nearly done with their meal, their glasses long empty - downsides to the repelling charm, he supposed - when Minerva asked quietly, “Are you alright?”

He nodded. 

“Had fun?”

Again, he nodded, because he did have a good time. His chance encounter at the end hadn’t even gone badly - he always worried what would happen if he ran into an ex-Death Eater in public, worried he would choose his words wrong and give himself away. The Dark Lord might be gone, but his cover needed to remain intact, Merlin forbid, the worst ever happened. He just wished he had kept it together better. 

He had to learn to keep it together better.

Minerva didn’t pry any further. He cancelled the spells while she talked about Filius’ plan to form a carolling group separate from the Frog Choir and then glared at her when she mentioned it was open to the staff as well, because he could tell where that conversation was going. They were interrupted by their server - small mercies - with their bill, and Severus rifled through his satchel for the muggle money he always carried. 

They were standing just outside the door, shrugging back into their coats, when his attention was caught by a colorful flyer for a christmas lights festival. 

“We should go.” he told Minerva and bit back a smirk at her surprise that he was suggesting an activity for them to do, instead of her. 

“Really?”

“I recall you mentioning it was something you did with Elphinstone.” Severus kept his voice casual, shrugging the weight of what he was offering away. “I think we should go. This weekend.”

Minerva was still staring at the flyer, but when she finally replied, her voice was warm. “This weekend, then.”

-- a/n: maybe i got carried away again?? where’s the actual plot?? there isn’t one baby!! just 4.7k of general chaos