#university coursework outline

[impulsivebrainrot]

"Maybe in another universe, Dad"

I rarely continue WIPs, so here ya go ;w;

Haven't forgotten about my fic :'3 Heck, I keep noting down more ideas almost every day XD It's just that coursework isn't decreasing much, though thankfully we have a few more weeks before the sem finishes. And I'm still finalizing edits to my outline, so there's that ig ;w; Anyway, just gonna attach this here again lol... (Artwork isn't canon to the fic btw :'>)

For those new to my account and are interested in platinum bones content + Archivists lore, you can find the link to the fic here! ^^ I also upload art for it and other random TOH drawings.

💀Forbidden Friendship (49653 words) by impulsivebrainrot_26⭐ Chapters: 11/? Fandom: The Owl House (Cartoon)

🔖FIC SUMMARY:

It's been a little over a year since Belos's defeat. The Collector returns to the Boiling Isles after some time of exploring the stars. Unfortunately, he's not the only one coming home.

King and The Collector must now delve deeper into the history between their kins and unravel secrets that could help them stand a chance against this new threat. In a race against time, relationships are challenged along with the formation of an unexpected alliance.

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

TEXTBOOK CITATIONS ON IMMORAL SEX | S. GETOU ft. F. TOJI

✮ tags ; porn no plot, afab + fem!reader (good girl, little girl once sarcastically by toji, pretty), mild degradation (dirty girl, a bitch in heat), professor!getou + security guard!toji, dubcon, imbalanced power dynamics, age gaps(10+ years), mild coercion / blackmail, spit play, wet ‘n messy sex, face-fucking, oral (f +m!recieving), spanking, restraints, dirty talk, creampie / unprotected sex, 18+

✮ wc ; 10.6k

✮ synopsis ; You’re willing to do anything to pass your intro course. Whatever it takes. No cost is too high.

✮ a /n ; a comm for the beloved @fushironi !!! thank you for commissioning me and letting me post your work. if anyone is interested in a commission i will be reopening them at some point this month hopefully

A SIDE NOTE: THIS IS VERY CONSENSUAL!! but the relationship is inherently unethical so the dubcon tag is there. and this is. just smut. no plot no brain. just porn.

You're failing ethics. 

You're failing ethics and failing it badly. 

You refuse to take all of the blame for your failures. Some of it is your fault, but most of it is the fault of your good-for-nothing academic advisor. You're not sure what they get paid for, since it seems like there's an elaborate prank going on between staff and you're the only one not in on the joke. In what universe is it possible, plausible - that an individual could get paid for doing everything but their job? 

Apparently this one. But whatever. 

In your last semester of university, on the edge of graduating and totally on the right track - you're informed that you're not going to be able to graduate in the expected time frame because you are missing a single course. You learn this information about two days before registrations close, which means all the meaningful classes contributing to your major are booked and busy. Everything is full, and everything that isn't doesn't contribute to your degree. As in, even if you took it - it wouldn't give you what you need to graduate. 

After a full-blown mental break, a long night crying yourself to sleep in your dorm, and an egregious amount of begging - you managed to snag yourself a class. It wasn't ideal by any stretch of the imagination, and it did put quite the strain on your schedule. Straight out of your 8am lab - you had to speed walk to the other end of campus and make sure you made it to lecture. The lecture time itself was an hour and twenty minutes, attendance mandatory, twice a week - which meant you had to delay lunch again till afterwards and learn on empty fumes till 1 pm. 

Still, better than not graduating at all. 

You'd hoped (expected?) that the course itself would be about average in coursework. For one, it's an intro class. Intro to Ethics or PHIL-2467, with Professor Getou Suguru. Secondly, the actual listed coursework seems simple enough. Discussion boards, reading analysis, and a few papers made up for most of the grade. The expectations were outlined as clearly as they could be. 

You didn't really know anything about Professor Getou at the time, only that his ratemyprofessor described him as somewhat strict but mostly good. 

In any case, you'd consider yourself lucky. And in an effort not to freak out about your circumstances, you'd practically chanted to yourself each night the same mantra. Everything was going to be fine. You've taken nearly 120 hours of coursework, and a little extra time won't kill you. At the start of the semester, you fully believed it too. Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and utterly naive.

How could a single course torment you like this? You hadn't the faintest clue. At first, it struck you as odd that the course felt as difficult to grasp as it did. The readings were complex and extremely long but always said a lot of nothing. Much of your grade was dependent not only on assigned work but participation and discussion. The paper criteria was only simple on the surface, but proved to be too lengthy to comprehend and too difficult to fulfill. 

Long story short, the class was kicking your ass. And the ass-kicking slowly progressed into a failure so bad it was laughable. You're in your final year, and that means taking a lot of difficult and specified courses in relation to your major. You were at the point where your classmates were starting to thin out, and you were seeing the same group of people you had as a freshman. As far as prioritizing goes, a 3-credit hour course that isn't technically meaningful to you falls to the very bottom of your priorities. You're more concerned with things like job-hunting and finishing your capstone and all the stuff related to your actual career. 

So you've been half-assing all the papers and exams, falling asleep in class, and lowkey straight up ignoring the weekly discussion boards. 

However, above everything else, the worst part of your class is your professor. Professor Getou Suguru. PhD in Comparative Ethics with a Masters in Cognitive Science. 

You didn't really have a chance to speak with any of your friends about Professor Getou, despite it being in your best interest - because you only knew you had the class two days before it started. You'd come to learn only two things about him after attending. First, he's a complete hardass when it comes to grading any assignments, and second most of his merit comes from the fact he is ridiculously good-looking. 

He can't be any older than his late thirties or early forties, which means he's young. Young enough to be attractive but old enough for most of your peers to thirst for him in unhealthy ways. He's at least a decade and a half older than you, and by god does he make it clear. 

What they don't tell you about college is that there's nothing that can make or break a class more than your professor. Everyone is always too worried about everything else, about getting their schedule right - that they often overlook this basic tenet of college life even though it's so crucial. The worst part is that while various websites rating your professors are helpful, you won't truthfully know how you feel about a professor until you've met them in a classroom. You've had professors with lower ratings be absolute angels, and professors with higher ones being some of the most useless in your entire academic career. 

You were hoping that Professor Suguru would be what you expected. That his astounding 4.5/5 would be a meaningful assessment of his character, that he would be tolerable and polite and understanding and that your semester would be smooth sailing because of it. 

But of course, of course - that couldn't be further from the truth.

You don't know at what point exactly your relationship to Professor Suguru became as sour as it is right now. There's no real pivotal movement where mild intolerance became full-blown and outright distaste. But part of it, you know, stems from the fact your beloved professor is a snake. 

You have no idea how no one else notices it. It genuinely feels like you're the only one who catches the subtleties of his behavior. There's just something about him that's a little…off. The irony isn't lost on you. He's an ethics professor, but something about him makes alarm bells go off in your head. A walking red flag, though a handsome one. He's off in a subtle way, but more than that - he's very openly smug to every single one of his students. It's just that no one else seems to really care. The air of pretension that surrounds him in his every movement is suffocating. Maybe that's part of the charm, if the way girls flock to him after class is anything to go by. 

Even so, you just know there's something deliberate about his casual cruelties. He always seems to pick out the quiet kids, and from the beginning of your semester to now - he always, always manages to single you out of the crowd of students. In every class, in every discussion, in every chance he has to make you out to be a troublemaker he will. 

Yes, you don't really have any idea how it started. But you've been keeping a long record of every single act of personal terror that damned man has been inflicting on you since the start of the course, and you're not unconvinced that your shit grade is in part because he wants to see you grovel in front of him. 

The first time it happened - you figure it was a coincidence. He had called you out in class after you missed a discussion board. You hadn't done the reading, and it wasn't obviously humiliating but it singled you out all the same. When you fumbled coming up with an answer, he gave you a smug smile that so quickly morphed into a fake sincere one, you wondered if you were imagining things. 

The second time was when you came in late after a walk of shame, and Professor Suguru greeted you by the door by asking if those were the same clothes you wore yesterday. After being completely mortified by it, the once dark gaze immediately rescinded to his usual fake-calm self. It was suspicious, but not the concrete evidence you needed. 

And the third time was after your first project of the semester. Your grade was lower than you deserved, and you knew it - so you went to his office hours to bitch and moan to get it bumped up. But he wouldn't budge, saying that he thought his assessment was accurate. Made a smug face as he told you he just didn't think you thought your points out through. Unfair critiques shielded by flowery words and polite gestures. It was that moment that cemented the dislike, though it wasn't the start.

The beginning of the end, so to speak.

Ever since then, you've harbored nothing but dislike for him. You can see past his pretty face and you don't see anything good. You've had unpleasant professors before, but none have ever targeted you so specifically. None of your previous professors, even at the worst, seemed to hold such an unbelievable personal grudge. 

You're all alone, fighting an invisible battle. 

The worst of it though, is that you simply couldn't be bothered to give a shit about it for most of the semester. You had way too much going on, so you just had to put up with the inexplicable dread of attending that class until you had to deal with it again eventually. 

And after months and months of avoiding the issue head-on, you're at a point where you can no longer do so. Your grade is officially below a C after bombing your last quiz, and there's only 5 weeks left until your semester is over and you're barred from graduation. 

And you have no fucking idea what you should do about the situation. 

__

There's a subtle pit of dread in your stomach as you enter your first philosophy lecture of the week. 

For the first time since the start of the semester, Professor Getou doesn't antagonize you as soon as you enter the door. In a strange way, this makes you kind of uncomfortable. He gives you his usual fake smile, but the fact he's gone out of his way to leave you alone makes you feel like he's planning something. 

You brush your paranoia aside as you take a seat in the back of your class. You don't have any friends in this lecture, at least not ones you do more than greet. You sit closer to the back of the lecture hall, tucked into a corner and up a few steps.

The charms on the end of your book bag zippers click together as you take your seat. You open your laptop - pulling up the lecture slides to pretend to study while opening 2048 to play while Professor Getou goes on about his business. You're hoping he's going to go easy on you today, and that his lack of interference is a sign of mercy. 

More people start to trickle in and the classroom is the usual amount of packed it is by this point in the semester. The last day to drop passed last week, so the number of students has decreased despite it being spring semester. 

Your professor starts his lecture as soon as the clock hits 11:30am. You look up from your computer, watching him as he sets up his slide deck and waits for all the conversation to settle before he begins talking.

He catches your eyes briefly before he continues, but he holds it for long enough that you know it's intentional. You frown at him, and it almost looks like he laughs - but you can't be sure your mind isn't tricking you into thinking that. 

"Good morning everybody," His voice is smooth and pleasant - hair tied up neatly. He's wearing his usual attire. Black slacks, and a loose-fitting white shirt with some kind of canvas shoe. "How's everybody hanging in there? Good? Bad?" 

He takes a look around the room, gauging peoples replies before chuckling. 

"Not in good shape huh? Stick it out, a few more weeks and you'll be out of here. Today, we're going to continue on into section five of our coursework - the shortest of all of our other sections," He grabs something that clicks the slide into the next one, a few images next to a wall of text "We have a lot to cover in the last few weeks, but I want to start with a refresh of what concepts we've been learning for the last few weeks." 

The swiftness in the way his eyes land on you is comical in its predictability. You give him an uncomfortable half-smile as he calls your name and brings the class's attention your way. A few looks of pity don't go unnoticed. You stiffen, straighten your back as he says your name slowly before asking. 

"Do you think you can tell me, what are the four core structures that define modern Japanese philosophical thinking?" 

There's real, uncomfortable weight to his gaze that makes you choke. You pull back slightly. 

"Uhm, well - there's Shintoism, Confucianism, Buddhism and western ideology. Primarily German idealism."

He gives you a smug look, the same one you always see before it fades off to an uncannily brilliant smile. Not a sincere one, because when is it ever - but there all the same. 

"Someone's been studying hard huh? But you are correct. We've spent the majority of this class going over the first three. How Shinto tradition, Confucianism, and Buddhism were experienced in Japan - isolated from Anglo-Saxon influence for the first few centuries of its establishment. We've also studied the vague historical timeline of these influences, mostly focusing on modern philosophy. We've covered Edo period philosophy as a precursor for what we know and understand now." 

You can say a lot about Professor Getou, but more than anything - he has a certain way of commanding the room's attention that never lets you get completely comfortable. He has an air of charisma you've never seen in your life and being in close proximity to it makes you feel like you're being swept in by waves larger than life. 

You fidget almost anxiously as you wait for him to continue his lesson.

"Our last few weeks are going to cover the culmination of your previous lessons, and what dictates both national morality and the hierarchy of modern Japanese social mores - Bushido. The way of the Samurai." 

Professor Getou continues with this slide deck as he outlines Bushido conceptually. From its existence as a moral code in late 12th century Japan, to the many misconceptions about the strictness in which it was adhered. He starts the lessons like he starts many others, explaining misconception and myth before touching the surface of the subject at hand. 

It's in his nature to advocate for the whole truth. From the start of your classes to now, Professor Getou always places the same emphasis. If only that truth is unable to be understood without opposition. It's like his whole being is constructed by it, opposition that is always radical and jaw-dropping. You've known this about him since he voiced his open critique for certain ideas about social welfare and about the emphasis of national morality. 

You can't be certain what he really believes - only that he'll voice his views as critically as possible, if only to stir the room. 

"Bushido is the heart and soul of modern and postmodern Japanese ethics, but it remains critically undefined despite its usage and citation functionally. Other philosophical schools of thought have strict definitions - Bushido is evolutionary in nature. Inazo Nitobe is primarily credited with the modern and popular interpretation of Bushido, but has received criticism for its obvious influence from Western ideas, and its comparison to chivalry."

Professor Getou sits back on the edge of his desk with a look on his face. 

"The tendency of Japanese philosophy to lean into metaphysics does not align with the many values of infrastructure and military present in the culture now, but I'm not going to critique the philosophy for you," He skips to the next slide, your last project of the semester on the wall "For the sake of brevity, I'm going to have you write a paper on one of the eight outlined ideals in Nitobe's work, and I want you to reflect on that ideal in your paper." 

A collective whispering erupts in the class as people stress about the assignment of their final few weeks. Not unexpected given the circumstances. Professor Getou doesn't flinch as he waits for the room to settle down.

"This will be your final project in this classroom, and will count as your final grade. On one hand, doing a good job on it means you have nothing to worry about for the last few weeks. On the other it's make or break," He locks eyes with you again as he says this, startling you as his smile grows coy and inauspicious "So if you're in need of a good grade to pass you, I'd recommend coming to see me during office hours or during one-on-one time so I can get you the grade you need. We'll discuss more at the end of class, but we've gotta get through more lectures so you can get an idea of what you can pick."

He gives you one another look, another pointed and obviously direct look, before he proceeds on with his lecture. It gives you a bad feeling in your stomach, and maybe you're being too self-centered thinking he's focusing too much on you.

But you can't help it, swallowing down your uncertainty as you continue on with the lesson. 

You need to pass this class. 

___ 

You meet up with Nobara after the fact. 

She's a good sounding board for your problems as usual. Where you're always looking for the most civil solutions, she's good at giving it to you straight on what you should do. She's no bullshit and you like that about her. Whenever you need a kick in the ass or an ounce of courage, she's the person for the job.

 So after meeting up for lunch, ranting again about Professor Getou (for the hundredth—no, thousandth time), and whining about his weird behavior, you're expecting some semi-sound, if not mean advice on what you should do. 

"Have you thought about just fucking him?" She says instead, her voice full of sincere boredom. It comes out so casually, like she's relaying the news cycle to you - and you can't help but be utterly shocked listening to it. "Not that it was my first suggestion, but I mean…it's getting ridiculous." 

"Hello? Where the hell did that come from? What do you mean just fucking him?" 

She gives you a sideways glance of disdain as if you were the one saying something unreasonable. She leans forward into her hand mirror, gluing on her eyelashes for her afternoon date with Maki. She scoffs when she realizes your shock is genuine. 

"Are you serious? Does this not read as an elaborate scheme for this total jackass to fuck you?" 

You're flabbergasted. Surely she's not being serious with you. 

"Nobara." 

"Haah? Tch. Don't make that face. It's a gross abuse of his power but well, he's not ugly. If he were any younger of a professor, would you like… not assume that was the end game?" 

"Nobara, he's a professor of ethics. His whole career is ethics." 

"Yeah. Like. The perfect cover for wanting to screw his wide-eyed, desperate students. He's a hot, young professor. Not my type but you get me. Don't you think it's a little naive to assume his personal vendetta against you is shit, I don't know… totally lacking that motive? Think with your brain, not your tender little heart for a minute, okay?" 

"It's not that!" 

"Really? Just like your relationship with Mr. Fushiguro is totally platonic?" 

"I said it was one-sided, not platonic." 

"You're my whole heart and soul, you know that right? I didn't freak on you when you said you had a crush on Megumi's deadbeat dad. You're my salvation from the idiots we call guy friends. So I'm saying this with love, and not as the complete bitch you know me as - you're being dumb." 

"Nobara, are you seriously saying you think this whole thing is about him wanting to," You can barely even get the words out. You're not that much of a prude but god. "Wanting to have… sex with me?" 

"Yeah. What else would it even be? I think an awful man is interested in screwing you - a hot, capable twenty-something. Are you stupid? Is that like, sooo impossible for you to consider?"

"Well it's not the first place I would think to go, that's for sure." 

"And that's your whole problem. Don't get me wrong, again, totally gross. Is it like.. a total abuse of his authority? Yeah. But that doesn't have anything to do with you personally. If I'm right, and you fuck him - you get a good lay and to graduate. And you need both."

"Nobara!"

"Don't be mad, I love you, okay? But I'm thinking about your future and your prospects. There's nothing wrong with it on a technical level."

"That is so untrue and you know it—"

"Look. I don't like it. I think it's a weak move and kind of corny and gross. But you've been planning your big graduation for years. And it's not a bad opportunity, and you're not a complete idiot. You said before that he's never inappropriate with the other girls right? You might even be the only one. As far as I'm concerned, there's no reason for you to not get laid and pass." 

"Oh, so the student-teacher thing isn't reason enough?" 

"Not if you wanna graduate it's not." 

The two of you remain at a stand-still as his words trap you into a corner. How the hell do you even deal with this information? And how on Earth is she so sure of herself anyways? You think you're pretty good with signs, at least about things like this.

But it doesn't feel like flirting. He's never flirted with any of the students in class, despite how much they seem to fawn over him. Could this weird, psychological dance you've been doing for the last twelve weeks be some sort of unspoken foreplay ritual? 

The more you think about it, the less it seems implausible to you. There's a wave after that, some cross between impending doom and shameful arousal blooming up inside of you as everything hits you all at the same time. 

When you return to reality after being trapped in your thoughts, Nobara gives you a mindful (almost pitiful) smile and shakes her head. You frown at her in reply, squeezing the bridge of your nose. 

"If it were like literally anyone else, I'd totally tell them it's a bad idea. But it's not like you're going on to date him, and you're what - 24? because of your gap year so you're not a preteen like some of the freshmen in your class. I just don't see any reason not to go for it." 

You tamp down the small voice in the back of your head, encouraging you to do - and instead ask her a follow-up question. 

"...Do you think I should attend his office hours tomorrow, yes or no? I have to email him by tonight to get the one on one." 

"Yeah. Yes. And shave before you go." 

__

You decide, for the sake of your sanity and everyone else's - to ignore Nobara's odd implications about what Professor Getou wants from you and to attend his office hours.

(That's a partial lie, you figure - given the fact you did shave, and shower before attending. You're wearing something kind of nice underneath. But you still don't think he wants to fuck you. It's more of a safety precaution than anything else.)

 You made the game plan last night that you would go, present your idea, and then beg him to be kind to you during the grading process. You even developed a list of things to sob and cry about it to generate something of a sob story if everything went awry. You've forsaken your pride. The only thing that you need to get out of this meeting is a passing grade. 

And that is, of course, by any means necessary. 

Fearing for your life, the state of your mood improves as you approach the building hosting Professor Getou's office. Of all of the people you interact with semi-regularly on campus (all of which you are quite fond of), Nobara wasn't lying about your affection for campus security guard - Toji Fushiguro.

He's an older man. Older than you by double digits, and from what you can tell - older than even your professor. You've been fond of him ever since he brought you back to your dorm after a horrible break-up with your ex as a sophomore. He's got a rough edge, and there's plenty of unverified rumors of his past. You know that he has something of a criminal record too. 

But for all of those rumors, and for all the things you hear about him - he's been one of the highlights of your campus experience. You've had a one-sided school-girl crush on him ever since that night, because you were sober enough to catch his body and how it feels. He was strong. Not in an average way. He made it so effortless when he was carrying you home in his arms - and it's not the first time you've seen him lug around things at least over 300 pounds like they were nothing. 

But attractiveness aside, he is uncharacteristically good at cheering you up. He's funny and witty, all while maintaining a cool facade. He's endearing in his own way too, and you're a little head over heels for him though you'd never push yourself to make the first move. 

Still, when he sees you come towards the building - he greets you with a wide smile. The scar over his busted lip - split open and welcoming as you run up to him for a hug. He's normally patrolling around campus, so it feels lucky to catch him where you least expect. 

He wraps you up with a single arm, your feet temporarily lifting from the ground before you get put back down again. 

"Mr. Fushiguro, what are you doing here?"

"I got moved over here since there's been some rumor about someone stealing from the labs upstairs. So I'm on lock up duty for this building 'till it gets fixed up and solved," He says, voice as smooth as ice "What about you sweetheart? It's gonna get dark out soon." 

"Ah, I have office hours with Professor Getou today. I need to consult with him about a paper." 

"That right? Just gonna be you in there, then?" 

"Yep. I'm gonna go in there and beg him for a good grade on our next assignment. So for the sake of my sanity, please wish me luck?" 

Mr. Fushiguro tilts his head to one side, grinning. 

"Wouldn't that mean you graduate sooner instead of later? Can't wish ya luck on that." He says, making you flush and letting the feeling linger before continuing "Just kiddin'. A pretty face like yours should do you just fine. Knock 'em dead." 

"I feel a lot better about it with your encouragement." You say honestly. Mr. Fushiguro gives you a laugh.

"Treat me to something if my luck makes any difference. And hurry in. Last thing you'd wanna do is be late." 

You nod, wide-eyed and dazed by how charismatic he is before you rush into the building. It's silent, given how late in the school day it is. Most people have already gone home, with the exception of the other poor souls likely chasing down their professors for the same reasons as you. 

You feel an overwhelming sensation of dread as you encroach upon Professors Getou's office. There's no one else in the close vicinity, only a few closed classrooms and students who are passing by the small corner where his door resides - most of which are making their way to leave. 

You decide to take a deep breath, calming your shaken nerves before knocking politely once on his door and entering the room. 

Professor Getou's office looks like how you'd expect it to look. It's clean, and sleek - and lacking almost completely of items of personal effect with the exception of his desk. It's the first time you've ever been inside of the room before, but it smells distinctly of him. He has that same scent surrounding him, like flicks of nicotine and a hint of bergamot. Sweet with the taste of metallic bitterness, like blood and sugar.

You feel the back of your throat bob as you see your Professor sitting at his desk. It's lacking his usual gracefulness. His shirt is unbuttoned down by three entire buttons, and his slacks seem looser. Most notable is his hair - classically long, now in a loose bun with pieces falling all on his shoulders and rolling down his neck. 

You think of what Nobara said to you earlier in the day alone, a strange and overwhelming sensation of lust and embarrassment making it difficult for you to open your voice and talk.

It's Professor Getou who greets you first. He looks up from whatever he was reading and looks at you from where you stand awkwardly at his door. His smile widens, though it's just by a little. 

"Ah, I was wondering when you'd be here. Looks like you're right on time." He says first, sitting up in his chair but not bothering to gather himself in any way otherwise "Come on in and sit. I assume you're here to talk about your grade."

 You sit across from him hesitantly, hands folded in your lap as you put your bag down on the floor. 

He studies you quietly. There's a long stretch of silence, where neither of you do anything but sit in each other's company.

He breaks the silence first.

"So, while I have a guess," He says, elbows on his desk "Do you want to talk to me about what you're here for?" 

You've practiced the dialogue in your head so many times now. What to do and how to say what you need too, but the words seem to fizzle out completely when it's time to really say them. Leaving nothing but uncertainty, you open your mouth only to close it once again. 

"Uhm," Your voice strains trying to make the words out into a coherent sentence. "I came to talk about my paper. And my grade, like you mentioned in class."

"So you decided to heed my advice? Good girl, that was a smart choice," You try not to be taken aback by the pet name - unsure if it's as inappropriate as you think it is "Do you know what virtue you want to cover?" 

"I thought I would pick uhm, righteousness - and then pull from some of the Western ethics we learned about. Making uh, connections between deontological ethics and duty and how it relates to the defined idea of righteousness," You explain nervously, an uncomfortable laugh bubbling out of your throat "How practicing duty and righteousness relate to each other."

 "Hmm. Sounds like you've had time to think about it a little, then."

"I uhm, haven't finished the reading but I did take a look over my section to see if I could make it work." 

"I think you have something to work with. You'll need to straighten out the thesis of your paper into something more tangible. I know that's an ironic ask. But I think it's a good idea," He gives you a brief glance, studies you with eyes. Snake-like. Something coils inside of you, tickles and brushes against your skin and makes the hairs on the back of your neck raise "It seems like you have something more to tell me, though." 

Do you? Is there anything more there? The answer lies indifferently on a scale from obviously to no. nothing at all and it haunts you that he's able to pick it out. 

"It's just well. Uhm. You know, I don't have the best grade in this class so I was more prepared to go down with my grade. You approved quicker than I thought you would." 

"Your grade is pretty abysmal. Did you come in here planning to beg?" 

You refrain from an instant yes, even though it's what you feel. Something about the way he says it makes your stomach clench. Your heart quickens. Your tongue feels too heavy in your mouth as you laugh uncomfortably. 

"Something like that? Uhm, or at least try to hash things out between us. I know our relationship over the c-course of the semester has been kind of sour so I…"

He cuts you off.

"Has it?" 

Your brain stutters to halt.

"Uhm. Yes?"

It's unpredictable, utterly and completely - the way he reflects on your words like you've said something incomprehensible. You aren't sure if that's sincere. You can't be sure if any of the words out of his mouth are. But he doesn't seem like he's lying. Your mind flashes to Nobara, and you find yourself speaking before you can stop it. It comes out like a flood.

 "I j-just always assumed you singled me out in class because you didn't like me? I don't mean to be accusatory, though."

"I'm afraid you've got the wrong idea," He says, shaking his head "I don't harbor any negative feelings for you at all."

"Oh," You say, eyes falling down to your lap again "Right, then." 

"You must be desperate for that passing grade, hm? If you're meeting with a professor you think hates you." 

You glance at him. 

"Well, yes. I want—need to pass this class. I've already planned my graduation for this semester." 

"And you'd be willing to do anything for that, is what you're implying?" 

"Yes," You say, with a sudden rush of unwavering confidence "Anything." 

"Let me ask you another question, then." He lets his elbows rest on the edge of his table, a familiar coy smile "Do you think there's any other reason for why I've been paying special attention to you, aside from me disliking you? You're a smart girl, so I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out." 

The weight of his words don't go unnoticed. The air feels heavy as it hangs between you. He couldn't be implying it so directly could he? Your mind drifts back to Nobara's warning to you, and your breath hitches. Your eyes widen as you glance up for the first time and give him a look of mild distress. 

And he smiles. His grin widens as soon as it dawns on you.

"Seems like you've reached an important conclusion," He says, casually - as he sits up in his chair and leans back. Stretched like nothing could get in his way "Why don't you share with the class?" 

"You," Your voice is a nervous tremor. You must be crazy. You must be completely out of your mind "...To sleep with me?" 

"See? I told you, you're a smart girl." 

The question is a burning one. One you've been wanting to ask since you started thinking about it last night. 

"B-but…why? And why me? A-and," 

"You have a tendency for being combative. You know that? An air of defiance. I can tell you're a little older than your peers. A little wiser, and a little more knowing of when to ask for help," Getou outlines, staring you down "And seeing you with that sense of desperation was exciting for me. I'm a man of simple tastes. At my age, I know what I want." 

"And I like when tough, combative, clever women turn into babbling, desperate, needy girls. I'm quite fond of it, actually." 

He's detrimentally serious. Your stomach flips. 

"Do you want to pass this class?" He asks you, an air of confidence surrounding him. You close your eyes, unsure if you can call it coercion when you're feeling so terribly willing about it. 

"Yes. I need to pass." 

"Then come up here," He gestures, widens his legs and leans back in his chair "And sit." 

Your body is burning. You don't know if you're even really in the situation, or if you've daydreamed it into something impossible. Something phantom moves you. Stands you to your feet shakily before walking in short strides. Professor Getou looks at you from where you stand over him. 

His hand brushes your outer thigh, patting it. 

"Sit." 

So you sit. You spread yourself and straddle your professor - and the reality dawns on you the minute you touch what you're doing. You haven't gotten laid in a bit, and he's nothing like anyone you've ever slept with. You feel out of your element. You get the impression he's a man, a grown one. There's a confidence in him that looms and looms and looms, overshadowing any of your doubt.

He's sexier up close. There's the faintest trace of smile lines on his expression as you look down at him. He guides your arms to loop around your neck, and holds your hips with his hands. 

Then you feel it, almost instantly - something hard and bulging pressing against the seam of your pants and against your crotch. He's already half-hard and he hasn't even kissed you. He grins at you lazily, like a cat with cream. 

"I'll pass you as soon as I put it in," His hands are so big - long, slender fingers gripping your ass "And give you extra credit when you cum for me. How's that sound?" 

You feel dirty. It's all happening so fast. Almost vulgar, but it's impossible to feel cheap. To believe in the wrongness of it when Professor Getou is so undeniably sexy. Wrong, on so many levels, to do this for the sake of your grade. Or just in general. Yet you want it, yearn for it, find the culmination of all your annoyances melting as he graces you himself. 

"I wanna pass," You say, uncharacteristically nervous about everything. You add the next part a little quieter "...I want it." 

"What do you want, exactly?" 

"Want you to fuck me." You admit, against your better judgment "Please?" 

"Gonna make a real pretty mess out of you," He says, voice smooth and serene. You look down at him. His knuckles brush against your jaw, on your cheek before his thumb holds on your lower mouth. His fingers push past the edge of your lips, sliding against your tongue and gently running along your teeth. He gags you on it, so slightly - enough to startle you but not enough to hurt. You feel spit pour from your lips. 

Thick messy strings of drool drip down the sides of your mouth. You want to back away in shame. But there's an air of intention behind the gesture. It's deliberate, the action - the mess and how it runs down your neck. Before you know it, he's kissing you in that same state. 

Professor Getou kisses like he's done it before.

His hands grip on your ass as he kisses hot and heavy. Self-assured, he sucks and bites at your mouth - sticking his tongue in and mixing his saliva with yours in a way that feels downright dirty. Yet it makes you throb, white-hot flames licking at the back of your thighs. The sparks of arousal crawl up your skin. 

Your nerves tighten as Professor Getou cups your face with one palm, kissing you with fervor. You melt into him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. 

"Been thinking about what you would look like bent over my desk all semester," He says as he pulls away, looking on with admiration at your messy complexion "You wanna go on ahead and show me?"

Another wave of embarrassment washes over you, but you find yourself standing to your feet. Sliding your sweats off down your legs - your lower half is left bare with the exception of your feet. You lay or stomach on his desk, the cold wood sending chills up your whole body and your stomach and tits lay flat and squishy against the hard material. You stand, shoulder width apart, and present yourself in front of him. 

"That's what I like to see," His voice is rich and deep as he speaks. You can feel him inch towards you, pulling you apart with his palms before his hand comes down on your ass in one hard motion. The noise echoes against the walls of the room "See, I knew you could listen well when you had to." 

You don't say anything in reply, pressing your cheek against the desk. 

"W-what do I call you?" You ask, your voice trembling. You feel his fingers against the seam of your panties. He snaps the cotton waistband against your skin before humming thoughtfully, a light tap to your ass. 

"Getou is fine. Suguru is too. Sir if that makes you more comfortable."

 Getou makes a show of fondling you, though you can't see it - you can feel the way his eyes nearly swallow your naked lower half. How his fingers touch and prod all of your sensitive places, with some kind of keen observation. Everything Getou says is like that, keen and particular.

"Such a pretty pussy on you. Would've been such a waste if you didn't come to me."

You don't bother to ask what he means by that. Behind you, there's a noise. Of a chair rolling back, and the dull thud of knees hitting the ground. Before you know what's happening, there's a face dangerously close to your clothed pussy. The minute you try to squirm, there's a tight grip keeping you in place. He takes a deep breath. Without any real hesitance, you feel his tongue lick across the clothed material. 

In one fell swoop, he pulls your panties to one side and kisses your clit without any more real introduction. You're gripping the edge of the table you're bent over as you feel his tongue slide against the wet folds of your pussy, making your voice cry out involuntarily. Normally people would urge you to be quiet, but you got the feeling he didn't care if anyone heard you crying out for him. You get a second wave of intuition telling you he might even like it. 

A sensation of bliss washes over you as he sucks hungrily at your cunt. It feels good enough to be holy. There's such immense expertise in it that you can't help but succumb to it completely. The warm, heavy muscle gliding over sticky folds.

You're so lost in the pleasure, your mind completely blocks out the intrusion. The sense that would detect another person in the room disappears completely. You only know because of Getou, the way he stops and scoffs. It forces you to blink your eyes open. He speaks before you get the chance. 

"What are you doing here?" 

You recognize the voice instantly, and your heart drops through your stomach. 

"Thought I heard a ghost howling," Mr. Fushiguro says, his voice is rougher and deeper and older "Turn out it was just a little girl wanderin' into the woods." 

"If you can see I'm busy, why're you still here?"

You can't help but feel the second wave of overwhelming shock as you sit there, naked and unafraid. Still, they stand like nothing is wrong. Chat like they know each other somehow, but you have no idea in which way. All you can focus on is the bubbling, nauseating shame. 

"Oh god." You voice, but both others ignore. Mr.Fushiguro speaks first.

"This one is off-limits, Suguru. What kinda professor goes around fuckin' their innocent little students?"

"Just the one, Mr. Fushiguro. And I'd like to get back to business."

"Ah, no way I'm letting you off the hook. I could report this y'know? Make headlines. Ethics professor coerces student into sexual activity. It'd be big. 

Your heart drops. 

"Fuck off, would you? Does she look coerced?" 

A beat of silence. "Nah. Not with the way she's twitchin'. But it's not fun if I just let you go. How about you tap me in and I'll keep your little secret hm? She's gotta cute crush on me already."

Your heart flounces around in your chest, a muffled noise of shock escaping your lips as you squirm to move but are held, still, so firmly in place. Your expression and feelings all go through 5 stages of grief before settling at dumbfounded. They don't especially ask for your input, but you hear Professor Getou behind you.

"Fine, if it'll get you to shut up. And I'm fucking her first."

Strange. Nothing about today makes any sense. You don't miss the almost childish sense of competition in Getou's voice that changes your view of him in an instant. Humanizes him in the strangest and most unrecognizable ways. It lacks his usual virtue.

Mr. Fushiguro walks up in front of you, imposing. He's grinning, a well-worn smile on his face that you know. He helps you up, and you keep yourself upright on your arms as he grabs your chin with his palms. You look up at him wide-eyed, unsure of what to do.

"Dirty fucking girl aren't ya?" He says, though he almost sounds like he's impressed with himself 

"You into older men or is it a coincidence you're screwing 'im for your grade?"

You're speechless, and you moan a little pathetically as Getou doesn't stop eating you out. This only seems to make Mr. Fushiguro even more excited. You look up at him through wet lashes, unsure of what to do.

"Don't mind either way, just curious. Guess I'm a little sad 'cause I thought your little heart eyes around me made me special," He tells you this looking down at you, eyes locked. You can tell he's just teasing you, and it makes you twitch "But I guess that's not true, is it?"

"You're different. I uhm. Well it's true at least."

"Yeah? You're just letting both of us fuck you 'cause you're like a bitch 'n heat?"

You flush. He gives you a smile and a well-meaning laugh that makes your body feel warm with heat.

"Mind if we're a little rough on you, sweetheart?"

You shake your head.

"Good. Stick your tongue out and open your mouth for me then."

You listen, oblige the instructions almost obediently. Your face is still covered with spit from before. You watch idly, intently - as Mr. Fushiguro pulls his cock out from his black pants. The loose material covers him well, but as soon as they're down past his thighs - the outline of his cock borders on intrusive. Your eyes widen, fluttering and unfocused because it's hard to think about anything while feeling such intense pleasure.

But Mr. Fushiguro is captivating as he pulls himself out for you. His cock is thick and heavy, protruding but too much that it can't stand up on its own. Weighed down by gravity, you stare at it wide-eyed. It's the size of your forearm, so thick you can't possibly imagine what it feels like.

Your heart stammers. 

"It won't fit in my mouth." You say, gasping for air as if you're already suffocating on it "You're—you're so huge."

He laughs with an edge of snark. You blink at him in complete seriousness, taken aback. He lets the tip of his cock tap the plushness of your cheek before pressing against your lips. You stare at him, almost afraid.

"Of course it'll fit," He says in confidence "Just gotta make sure you're relaxed. So relax, sweetheart, and open your mouth for me." 

Hesitantly, you open your mouth wide. You feel the corners of your lips stretch around the intrusive, thick head of Mr. Fushiguro's cock. The taste of sweat and skin is invasive and heavy, violating your senses. Just the tip and it barely fits in your mouth. You try and concentrate, sticking your tongue out and curling it around the underneath of his cock, focusing on sucking just the tip. He groans above you, a hand on the back of your head. He doesn't force you down, but you can tell by the twitch in his fingers that he wants to.

"Look at you," He says, his voice coarse with restraint and desire "You're drooling on my cock while you're professors busy eatin' your pussy. Thought you were an innocent girl, but now I don't know what to believe."

He says this as he eases more into your mouth, slowly letting you adjust. He rocks his hips back and forth until you relax. You open yourself up, trying to focus on blowing him.

But a hand comes down on your ass, hard and heavy - making you yelp. The noise is muffled but audible. A short squeal, you can't turn your head to look 

"Don't you think you two are getting too comfortable upfront without me? I'm the one who decides your grades."

"Maybe you're not doing good enough for her to care."

You can feel a strange sense of competition between them, but you're too occupied to ask about it. How do they know each other, and for what reason do they seem so automatically hostile? It bothers you, but you can't think about it too hard.

"That's not true. Her pussy is soaking fucking wet." He punctuates his words with a harsh smack against your cunt, the force rippling through your as you bend forward and choke "Almost as messy as her face."

He's quick, again, to latch himself to your clit. He flicks it with his tongue, licking it mercilessly as your brain starts to fog up with desire. Like he's trying to prove a point, you moan around Mr. Fushiguro's cock as your pleasure starts to thrum up again. The back of your legs tense, trembling as a knot begins to uncoil in your lower stomach. The cock in your mouth moves too, using the distracted moans to ease himself even deeper into the wet, arm cavern of your mouth. 

Your head feels heavy, body weak as the both of them use you to their contents. Your stomach starts to stir as a familiar feeling of euphoria claws at you. 

You cum for the first time like that, your body pressed against a wood desk - restrained and under careful watch of two men. Your whole body explodes - white, hot nerves fraying off and ricocheting off your ribs inside of you. Your insides shake as the wave of an orgasm washes over your entire body. You gasp, clenching down hard and gasping as tremors of orgasm pulse and push through your whole body. Something in you ignites as you grip the edge of the desk for your life, trying to keep yourself upright as Getou pushes you through the orgasm. 

You've barely recovered when Mr. Fushiguros pulls out of your mouth, pressing his spit-soaked cock against your face and cheeks with a smile. You let it slide against your tongue, eyes fluttering open as your face gets covered in precum and saliva. 

"You look so fucking filthy right now, you know that? But it looks good on you. I'm dying to fuck you." 

"Mr. Fushiguro," You groan. He clicks his teeth. 

"Toji's just fine sweetheart." 

You whimper helplessly as you ride out your high. Behind you, your professor pulls away. You peek behind you to see him, flush as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Toji looks down at your frazzled expression with a grin, teeth showing as he cups your jaw a second time and slides his cock back in one go. This time, he pushes his cock in the base - keeping your throat around him with a hand on the back of your head. 

"Just focus on me for now, baby. Focus on sucking me off, yeah? Just like that, easy easy. He's gonna open you up. Stretch you nice and make your pussy all sloppy. That's what you want right?" 

Getou leans over you, the weight of his body looming as you feel slender fingers slide through your sticky folds. His middle and index brush against your abused clit, rubbing a few circles into it before pulling away. He grabs your arms and positions them behind your back, gripping them in one hand to keep you restrained. You squirm against the gesture, unable to get any leeway as he holds you down. Then you feel his fingers move, middle finger catching on your wet hole as it trembles and sticks. He opens you up like this without any warning. 

His middle finger goes first - delicately intrusive as your pussy widens to accommodate him. They're so much bigger than yours. Just one feels like two of your own. You push back out of instinct but Getou doesn't let you move. He buries himself, pushing in and out until he's able to fuck your pussy all the way down to the knuckle. Once there's no longer any resistance, he pulls back and makes room for another. The sensation is duller, lets you clear your head and think even as Toji rubs his cock on your face and fucks your mouth in short ruts. 

Not enough to make you choke, but enough to smear something hot and nasty all over you. 

Professor Getou repeats the process with his pointer, pushing and stretching and opening until you can't fight it anymore. With two fingers, he scissors them trying to make your insides soft enough for him to take you. 

"You're stretching out for me like it's nothing. You must be turned on, hm? Like getting all your holes used like this? Getting your face-fucked by a man old enough to be your father?" 

Toji laughs harshly, smacking your face lightly, enough it doesn't hurt but enough to make you feel it. 

"She loves it. She's clenching down on you tight ain't she?" 

"Sure is. All this for a grade. Maybe I should've bullied you about it a little more first. Since you're so eager." 

"Gonna give her extra credit for this?"

"I should deduct points for the fact you're even near here."

He laughs good-naturedly at this point, and you're still having trouble making sense of their relationship. You manage to speak for the first time in forever, voice barely there as you go to question them. You're not expecting any solid answers. 

"How do you two know each other?" You ask, before Toji starts fucking your mouth again 

"Goes a long way back. And we're still on bad terms, so congrats on bringing us together, sweetheart. Kind of an expected reunion really." 

"He's been working here since Professor Gojo and I were students here and we knew him from before. A long story. Don't worry your pretty little head about it." 

The burning question is quick to fade out of your mind as you feel your professor's clothed bulge rest against your cunt. You moan, a clipped needy sound as you nearly beg him to fuck you. Toji bends over you this time, reaching back to spread your pussy open by grabbing your ass. You can feel the grip of his hands, strong and assured. 

"She's gettin' impatient. Give it to her." 

"Don't need your help with that." Getou spits, irritation sounding in his words. 

"Consider it an apology." 

The air of tension is there temporarily, before Getou pulls his cock from the confines of his boxers. You can't see it, eyes squeezed tight as you work your mouth and tongue Toji's length. You can feel it though. He makes a show of rubbing his cock against your puffy, sore cunt. You get a feel for its shape as he pushes it between your thighs and lets it cling in between your lips. Professor Getou's cock is longer and more narrow, but it curves upright. It's hard, throbbing between your legs. Whining helplessly you wiggle your ass again. You feel increasingly restless about needing something inside of you. You're still bound though, completely and utterly unable to move. Toji's hand comes down heavy on your ass as you do, clicking his teeth in faux irritation. 

"Don't fucking move unless you want my handmark on your ass forever," He says, his voice cool and forgiving "Impatient." 

Getou must feel something inside of him merciful enough to keep you waiting. Even with all the stretching and prep, the minute you feel the head of your cock push through - something inside of you snaps. It's still so big, still too much, still reaches a part of you so deep you didn't know it was there. The position itself - still being on your stomach, makes it reach so much farther than other positions. The raw, skin-to-skin contact leaves your tummy fluttering, skin prickling with heat. Your top is pushed up enough to expose your lower back and your skin is pulsing. You feel like your whole body is on fire, suspended between men so much older than that want nothing more than to fuck you.

Every time you try to wiggle away from the sensations, Toji's hand comes down heavy on your backside. It doesn't matter how minuscule the movement. If he gets the idea that you're going to try and pull away, he spanks you hard enough that the room echoes with the sound. Your skin tingles, phantom sensation left before as you're held open and made to take your professor's cock - obedient and wanting. 

Inch by miserable inch, it takes forever to take him down to the base. Your toes curl, eyes shut and mouth sloppily trying to keep up with the cock in your mouth and just barely succeeding. 

He groans behind you, shuddering 

"That's incredible," He praises, and it feels so good to hear him saying something so overtly kind you don't know if you want to laugh or cry "Your pussy is fucking incredible. Shit."

"You hear that? You gotta. Pussy's twitchin' like crazy. Ass is too, how cute." 

"Feels sho good," You slur, brain clear of any and all rational thought as a string of saliva drips down your chin "Please fuck me, please,"

"You heard her teach."

Toji lets go of you and returns back to where you are. He pulls his cock away from you, instead holding you up and cupping your mouth open. He kisses you, after everything - with all of his pre-spend in your mouth before spitting into it harshly and kissing it again.

"Such a pretty face you're makin' right now." He says, something of a warm and unprecedented affection to it "So excited to get your pussy filled up."

He leans you on him, lets you wrap around his midriff, and squeeze tight while he pets the back of your hair in a strange streak of affection. You don't know what to make of anything. All you can feel is the long cock pounding into you without any mercy. Razor-sharp thrusts, nudging against your swollen g-spot and pounding into your cunt with immeasurable force. A man so much older than you is fucking you, pounding your pretty little pussy, and turning you into a complete mess. He's meant to be a mentor to you, but he has his cock imprinting itself inside of you over and over and over.

Your stomach feels hot again, but some other feeling takes you over as Toji cradles you - watching you just as intently. He talks you through with confidence you can't entirely understand.

"Yeah, that's it. Tighten up for him, just like that. Feels good doesn't it? I know baby, I know."

You whine out in Toji's arms as he talks you through it. Behind you, you feel Getou's grip hold you tight as he pistons you. The sound of his thighs smacking against your ass is noisy, almost as noisy as your pussy. Slick wet, sounding each time he thrusts.

"I'm not gonna last like this, shit." He pumps into you a few more types before his hips stutter to a halt. He cums with his cock buried deep inside of you, filling you all the way to the brim. You feel his white, hot seed fill your belly, cock twitching as he unloads and makes your legs shake.

A sense of emptiness overwhelms you as Getou pulls out, landing a hit on your ass as he shakes. He kisses your spine. 

The two of them switch places without communicating with each other about it. Getou pulls out, and away - coming back in front of you and picking you up in his arms as Toji positions himself behind you. He spreads your cunt out with his fingers, examining the seed left over with a light laugh. 

"Gonna fuck into your sloppy little cunt, give you another load where you need it and make you cum." Toji says, not hesitating at all. You feel your breathing start to quicken as he takes the same positions as before. 

Toji doesn't neglect touching you as his arm curls around your waist, calloused fingertips brushing against your clit before his cock pushes into you. Your pussy takes him much easier, but even so - Toji is just so thick, you can't help but feel him all over again. This time, Getou has you in his arms, holding and guiding you. Your hands are curled around his bicep and lower spine as you're held up. 

Toji's thrusts are slower, but just as rhythmic - focused on bringing you to another orgasm. It's duller this time, the sensation more focused and spread. Toji is so big you feel it in your hips, your entire lower half tingling as he pumps his cock in and out of you. He gives you all of his attention, staving off his own orgasm as Getou encourages you with his own words. 

"Gonna cum again, pretty? Take another man's cum in you right after me? You want to, right? Take it all in, every drop. You've earned it."

You feel your insides tighten again, for a second time - in a miraculous span. Every muscle in your body tenses and contracts as both sensations work in tandem to bring you closer to your edge. 

Your nerves fire off a second time as you push yourself to the limit. Toji fucks you through another orgasm with ease, thrusting with each tremor until you've ridden out your high. His own orgasm and chase come not long after that fact. 

As soon as you've gone totally limp underneath him, he sheaths himself as deep as he can. Bent over you, he cums hard and deep, filling you to the brim a second time.

There's a brief moment of silence as Toji rides out his high, where all three of you sit in silence.

You find yourself limp as you lay there, Toji pulling out and Getou slowly letting you down before you look up with a tired expression. 

"...So, did I pass?"

Your professor laughs harder than you've ever seen him laugh.

"With flying colors."

[riovidalupdates]

LAST GIRL STANDING - ii.

previous part

pairings: wanda maximoff x fem!reader, agatha harkness x fem!reader, rio vidal x fem!reader

summary: you’ve come to learn that you can love more than one person—because you love them in different ways. the problem: they love you in one way. so, who are you in love with and who gets hurt?

warnings: minor cursing.

a/n: apologies for taking so long for an update. my job is about 10+ hours for four days and on my off days i'm working on set designs so i'm usually sleeping when i get the chance. please go back and reread the first part of this series as i had revised and edited parts of it while adding more to it. I will be adding a taglist soon, if you wish to for me to add you, let me know! with that, enjoy!

You headed to the library, your mind still racing with the remnants of your conversation with Wanda from last night. You had a few hours before your film history class started, and you needed time to clear your head before facing Agatha, the insanely attractive TA, who had unknowingly occupied a corner of your heart for the past semester. You didn’t really know Agatha well enough (or at all) to say much about her, aside from the occasional conversation about coursework. Yet, you had spent countless hours thinking about her, imagining what it would be like to know her beyond the confines of the classroom.

There was a familiarity to her presence that was both reassuring and nerve-wracking. The few times you’d spoken outside of lectures never seemed to work in your favor. You were unable to get more than two words out before something catastrophic occurred like spilling coffee on yourself, stepping in a pile of dog shit, and maybe tripping over a tree branch into a pit of mud(you are not god's favorite).

You'd scurry away before Agatha could do anything. In fact, you'd just barely hear a quiet but polite, "Goodbye?" You only glance over your shoulder when you were far enough away, seeing the outline of her body still in the same place but with her stare directly at you.

Getting lost in your thoughts, you don’t notice the presence of another leaning over the table and whispering, “Careful, y/n. If you think any harder, you might accidentally unlock the secrets of the universe.”

You blink, glancing up and see Wanda. “Or I might just discover where all my missing socks go. That’s probably a more realistic goal.”

The redhead giggles, pulling out the chair next to you and sits. “Hey, I’d argue that’s an even bigger mystery. You’d probably get a Nobel Prize for solving that one.”

“I fear that will only end with me having more mismatched socks and even more questions. And maybe a headache.”

Wanda smiles, tilting her head to the side as she always does when you humor her. You can’t help the warmth of blush creep up on your cheeks and ears. It was a habit when you had that type of attention from her. It was never necessarily a bad thing. More so, weird because you don’t completely understand it. You do, yet you don’t at least.

You continue to watch the way she falls into a fit of giggles as she scrunches up her nose and leans forward, causing her hair to cascade over her shoulders. There was always elegance surrounding Wanda. Wherever her presence was, it followed.

You are never one to deny how objectively gorgeous the shorter girl is, but there’s more to her than just physical features. More to Wanda than what you and everyone else around her knew, though, her soul radiates an amplified aspect of exactly how natural her beauty is. What you may not know, may be the one thing that fuels it all.

“So, what’s got you in a deep thought?” You hear her ask.

“The fact that we as humans grow limbs. We start off as an egg and then we grow. We grow arms, legs, fat, eyeballs, bones. Everything. We do that. We start as nothing and then boom! We have these…” you frail your arms around in front and Wanda has to cover her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

“How about we go get some snacks before you head to class? I hear thinking causes hunger and existential crisis.”

You smile, nodding your head. “I think you need to start reading again. All those romcoms are getting to you.”

And so what if you’re are going through a form of crisis? Wanda is here. It may not be as easy as flipping a switch, but her presence is enough for you to feel 2% of sanity.

-

Today is no different. You stayed after class, lingering just long enough to ask Agatha a question about the upcoming exam, hoping it might lead to a longer conversation.

“Do you have any suggestions for additional reading?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

Agatha looked up from the papers she was grading, her expression thoughtful. “There’s a great essay on sexuality and gender within horror films if you’re interested in some extra insight. I can send you the link if you’d like.”

“That would be great,” you replied, and for a moment, your eyes met in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

But then, just like that, she turned back to grading, and the moment was gone. It was always like this—brief glimpses of something deeper, but never enough to grasp. You couldn’t tell if you were reading too much into it, or if there really was a chance that Agatha saw you as more than just another student.

It really shouldn’t be much of a shock to you. The two of you are nothing more than just a student and a teacher assistant. You aren’t friends. She has no need to delve into her personal life with you.

While Agatha has checked out from the conversation, you hadn’t. There’s more that you want to say. Though, the longer you stand frozen in place, the longer the moment has passed. It would be weird to say anything else now.

“Have a good day,” you bid. While leaving the classroom, you  tried to shake off the disappointment that seemed to linger, refusing to be ignored. It had been easier when you could write off your feelings for Agatha as a simple crush, a harmless admiration for someone who probably didn’t know you existed beyond the realm of academia.

You weren't sure what you wanted from her, exactly. A part of you longed for more than the polite interactions, yet another part feared what would happen if that boundary was ever crossed. The uncertainty gnawed at you, and you found yourself second-guessing if you should do anything.

“If you would hold for a minute, L/N!”

“No.”

You’re halfway out the building when he steps in your line of vision. You grip onto the strap of your bag, clutching it close. Must he always act like you two are buds?

Vision chuckles, stopping in front of you and a bit too close than usual. Then again, he’s never been good with boundaries or personal space. He’s like a parasite. Constantly attaching himself to someone and sucking the life out of them if it benefits him, he happens to have a talent of hiding it well enough for it not to be noticed.

While you have negative emotions towards the man, you don’t entirely resent him in ways you wish you did. So what if he does forget about the dinner plans that you spend hours on for him to impress Wanda? Or gets too annoyed for how much time she spends with you (ya know the person who walked in diapers with her)? Or when Wanda mentions that she doesn’t need riches, she only needs sincerity and he gifts her a new car?

Okay, maybe he’s got one too many poor attributes to his character, however, there are aspects that make him not inherently the douchebag you desperately want him to be.

Like—“You are rather a chirpy one, aren’t you?”

You stare at him with no amusement written on your face. “My interests lies anywhere but you.”

He shares the ‘boy next door’ charm of a smile, shoving his hand in his pocket, and kicks the toe of your shoe. “I am here to request a favor,” he starts, “I have upset Wanda by overstepping her boundaries. Before speaking your mind, I have apologized to her this morning—“

“—what is your favor?” You asked annoyed.

“I wish to give Wanda a formal apology. Do you recall when she and I were to attend that music festival a couple years back and then we were unable to for unforeseen circumstances?”

You nodded your head, motioning him to continue on.

“Well, I remember you had mentioned that you knew one of the bands performing because you have a friend apart of it. I just-Wanda was and still is a massive fan. You know our 3 year anniversary is coming up-“

“—you can’t buy tickets?” You snickered.

You could tell he was getting slightly irritated by your interruptions. Good. He should for disrupting your semi-peaceful state of mind.

“Forget it. You’re such a nuisance.” He huffs, walking off and all you can do is give him a wave.

You knew what he was going to ask and you weren’t sure if you would have said yes to it or not..

[chandelier-s-notebook]

Hey, so I started writing a Landoscar 5+1 which...didn't even spiral outwardly that badly, but I hate it. I hate it enough that I never want to look at it again, and I think that if I put it down, I will never pick it back up. And both desperately want to put it down, and don't believe in continually ramming your head into the wall if something isn't working. So, into the fic graveyard it goes.

But! Instead of tossing it in the trash, never to be seen again, I am posting it here to Tumblr. Maybe someone can enjoy it.

It's supposed to be Landoscar, but it takes Lando 1800 of those prose words to show up. What's happening in that first 1.8k? Charles adopting Oscar. Alex and George are also here. Max exists, and Lando is a biter.

The whole 5+1 part is outlined, it's five different things Lando calls Oscar in a College!AU and one time Oscar gives him a nickname back. The bones are all there, but...

*ahem*

I present to you: 2.3k of pose and 1.1k of outline.

Have an experience.

[INSERT TITLE HERE]

Oscar Piastri is a regular engineering major university shut in by the time Winter semester rolls around in his first year of university.

He has one friend—Logan, his roommate, who he’d met all the way back in middle school—two different incompetent lab groups, a class with four midterms and a final, 18 hours of lecture a week, a never ending stream of assignments, a healthy addition to Monster Energy™, and three humanities he has to take if he wants to graduate at all.

Oscar is taking a 300-level Principles of Marketing—he figures it will be useful enough—when he meets Charles Leclerc.

And that's when his life starts to change.

— — —

Charles is a business major, and Charles happens to be sitting next to Oscar when Professor Vettel—”But please call me Sebastain, or even Seb,”—asks them to introduce themselves to the person sitting next to them.

“Oscar Piastri. I’m in engineering, mechanical, first year.”

“Ah. So you are here for the credit, then? I am Charles Leclerc, second year.”

The name pings some level of familiarity deep in the back of his brain, but it’s not enough of a connection for him to follow it down any sort of rabbit hole. “Pretty much, but I have to keep my GPA up to keep my scholarship, so I’m not planning on being completely useless.”

“Good,” Charles smiles. “Because this introduction thing is how Seb likes to assign groups of the term.”

Oscar feels like a bucket of water has been dumped on his head. “What?”

“I know. It is weird, but all of the professors here are. I hope we work well together. When I was in Intro to Marketing, I was stuck with George. George is nice, but he is very intense about the wrong things sometimes. We did not work well together.”

“This class is going to be, like, last on my list of priorities,” Oscar feels the need to tell him.

But Charles just smiles again. “I figured, since you said you are an engineer. That is okay. At least I know what I am in for from the start. We will meet once a week, yes? So we have a dedicated time to work on this class, and you can ignore it the rest of the time?”

Oscar starts to protest, but a clap sounds from the front of the room. “Well. I hope you like the person sitting next to you,” Professor Vettel, Sebastian, Seb says. “Because this is who you will be working with for the rest of the semester! I’ll give you five minutes to exchange contact information, and then we’ll get started!”

Charles winks at him; he’s bad at it. “See?”

Oscar forks over his number, and pencils in a weekly Wednesday evening library session with Charles Leclerc.

— — —

Wednesday evening quickly becomes Oscar’s favourite time of the week.

For two hours he can shut off his brain, ignore all of his coursework, and just hangout with Charles Leclerc. At least it feels like they’re just hanging out, because what’s actually happening is Charles is explaining to Oscar what the fuck he’s doing for their joint assignments that Oscar feels a little bit bad about putting his name on.

“It’s okay,” Charles assures him. “Seb’s husband is one of the engineering profs. He knows which people in his class are eng students, and how much they’ve got on their plates.”

“Which one?”

“Not telling.”

“Rude!”

“Besides, you’re doing quality control.”

“I don’t know what quality I am controlling, is the issue.”

“That is okay.”

“Is it? I’m going to fail the final at this rate.”

“No you aren’t.”

Oscar flops down onto the table. “Yes I am.”

“Because it is a term project.”

He looks up. “I’m not letting you do an entire term project on your own.”

“Of course you are not. We need to build a product website. I cannot code, and I know that coding is a requirement to graduate, so I will make the design document, and you will code.”

“Okay,” he says, small. “I don’t want to drag your grade down because I don’t know what’s going on in this course.”

“You won’t. I won’t let you,” Charles tells him. “You understand the lectures, non?”

“Yeah. And I’m acing the theory quizzes.”

Charles grins. “See? You are doing very well.”

Oscar smiles. “Okay, but what goes in a design document?”

— — —

“Charles, I know I have to be the one to do the presentation, but I can’t. I’m going to sound so stupid standing up there reading off these cards.”

“You are not going to sound stupid. That is why we are practicing.”

“You’re biased. You need to tell me I’m going well so I stay calm.”

“Are you not calm?” Charles asks, tilting his head.

“I am not calm.”

“This is you not calm?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. I cannot tell. Which is good, because then no one will be able to see if you start to panic. The audience is like a snark.”

“Not helpful!”

“Right.” Charles taps his chin with this index finger. “I know! I will get George.”

“George?”

“Yes!” The upperclassman pulls out his phone. “If you can present to George, you can present to anybody.”

“I thought you didn’t like George?”

“I don’t like working with George. He is judgy.”

“And you want me to present in front of him?”

“Oui. He will stay quiet until you are done.”

“I hate this.”

“You told me you would.”

George is apparently George Russell, the man Oscar’s Solid Mechanics TA, Max Verstappen, loves to draw into pointless arguments. He brings his friend Alexander “Alex” Albon—wildlife biology major. They are both very good at quietly listening to him fumble, while keeping their expressions carefully blank.

At least George is. Alex is smiling at him in a way he knows is supposed to be comforting, but all it’s doing is making him more aware of tightness in his chest.

“And that’s that.” Oscar claps his hands together, and immediately regrets it.

Charles applauds and cheers like he’s just won a race or something.

Alex claps as well.

George turns to Charles. “You’ve adopted an engineer.”

“Maybe,” Charles grins. “You can barely tell.”

“It’s obvious.”

“No it’s not,” Charles turns to assure Oscar. “Barely. If you weren’t you, you couldn’t tell.”

“I mean it’s not really far, because I’ve seen him in Max’s office.”

Charles looks absolutely betrayed when his gaze whips towards him. “Why are you in Max’s office?”

“For help?”

Charles narrows his eyes.

“He’s my TA; solid mech.”

“Who do you like more?”

“Huh?”

“Me and Max. Who do you like more?”

Oscar’s eyes dart to Alex’s for a little help. There’s not much he can do, but he does manage to convey that this answer is apparently very important.

Oscar has never considered Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen against each other. They aren’t exactly in the same category of people in his mind.

“You?”

“More confidence.”

“You.”

“Good. Keep it that way.” Charles sits back in his seat. “Do it again. Do you have a suit? You will wear a suit to this presentation.”

Oscar is only a little scared.

“Does Max like Oscar?” Charles asks George while they all go about packing their bags at the end of the session.

“I’d say so. You know how he pretends to be professional with the underclassmen, but when it’s just Oscar in the room he’s right back to his usual state of no decorum.”

Charles hums. “Do you do anything on Fridays, Oscar? Friday evenings?”

“Cry? All of my assignments are due Friday.”

“So you stay up all night doing them?”

“No, that's Thursday. I fix everything Friday morning, so that I’ve got time to cry in the evening before I start next week’s assignments on Saturday.”

Alex snorts. “Nice.”

“You are coming for drinks,” Charlest tells him. “Crying with friends is better than crying alone. I will come pick you up. Give me your address.” He holds out his phone in front of Oscar’s nose.

Oscar’s eyes dart back to Alex’s. The man looks just as befuddled as he feels, but honestly: Oscar would like more than one friend.

“Will I have to pay?” he asks.

“Non. If I tell you you have to pay you will come up with excuses to not come. I will pay. You have a class that ends at five thirty, non?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect. Then I will be there at six thirty. That will give you an hour to get home, and do whatever introvert things you need to do before we go out.”

At Oscar’s expression Alex tells him, “We also always meet up at seven.”

Which is good, because Oscar was about to tell Charles that they shouldn’t change their whole schedule for him.

— — —

Oscar’s shirt is only halfway on when there’s a knock at his door.

“In a minute!”

“I’ve got it!” Logan calls.

The door opens.

“Who are you?” he demands.

“You are not Oscar.”

“No. I’m not. Who are you?”

“Charles!” Oscar gasps, running out of his room. “Logan, this is Charles. He’s my Marketing partner. Charles, this is Logan, he’s my roommate.”

“You never mentioned a roommate.”

“Never came up,” he says, bending down to tie his shoelaces.

“I told you about my roommates!” Charles cries.

“You complained about your roommate to me,” he corrects.

Logan laughs. “Dude, you’re supposed to share horror stories when that happens.”

Oscar furrows his brows. “But I don’t have horror stories.”

“Oscar.”

“Yes?”

“Your roommate answered the door eating cereal out of a frying pan.”

Oscar turns to look.

Logan shrugs.

“Have you heard of bowls?” Charles shrieks.

“American,” he grins.

Oscar huffs. “He’s joking,” he assures Charles while grabbing his coat. “We’ve run out of bowls. Logan was supposed to do the dishes tonight.”

The man in question clicks his tongue, and shoots Charles with a finger gun. “Are you going out?”

“Yeah. I’ll be back…when will I be back?”

“Two?”

“I’m not making it to two. I’ll be back at ten.”

“Text me. I’m staying in.”

“Cool.” Oscar throws him a thumbs up. “Shall we? Who’s going to be there, by the way?”

“George, Alex, Pierre, Esteban, Yuki, Liam, Lando, and Max is not coming.”

“Pierre is your roommate?”

“Oui.”

When Oscar gets to the pub, he is immediately reminded why he’s bad at making friends.

While everybody else introduced themselves with their first names only, Oscar had said: “Oscar Piastri.”

Full name, full confidence.

Which was his only saving grace: the confidence. His face didn’t even scrunch up in displeasure.

“Nice to meet you Oscar Piastri!” Lando says.

“Just Oscar is fine.”

“But your name is Oscar Piastri.”

“Oh my god Lando,” Alex laughs. “Ignore him. He bites, but he’s harmless.”

“I thought the saying goes ‘he doesn’t bite,’ right?”

“Yeah,” George shrugs. “But Lando does bite. Literally. He’s a bit feral, but he’s good the first hour.”

Charles pats Oscar’s shoulder. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“You’re all making me sound like a dog. I’m not a pet!”

“I think it’d be nice to be a pet dog. No solid mech homework.”

“Is that what we’re crying about tonight?” Alex asks.

“Yep.”

Lando’s eyes light up. “You schedule your crying?”

“I’m in mech eng.”

“Oh Oscar Piastri, I’m so sorry.”

George groans. “Just call him Oscar.”

“No.”

Oscar laughs. He doesn’t really mind. It’s very clear that he’s just teasing. Besides, Oscar likes the way Lando says his full name: Oscar Piastri. It rolls off his tongue like it’s a single entity.

— — —

The presentation goes well, all things considered, and Oscar even manages to actually answer some of the audience questions without looking at Charles in panic first.

It’s a miracle.

“Good job!” Charles says, clapping his shoulder as they go back to their seats. “That was great. I’m so proud of you.”

Oscar blushes. “Stop. I feel like you’re about to give me a gold star or something.”

“I could. Do you want one?” Charles asks, way too earnestly for Oscar’s taste. “I carry some around with me. We give them to Lando when he does a good job.”

“First you tell me he bites, then you tell me you give him treats, are you sure he’s not the friend group’s dog or something.”

Charles grins. “Don’t let his whining confuse you, he likes it. He has a little sticker booklet, so if you are going to give him one you have to give it to him, because you put it on him it won’t be sticky anymore and it will be difficult to keep in the booklet.”

“Oh my god.”

“Would you like one?”

“I don’t have a booklet.”

“That is okay. You can put it on your laptop. They are die cut vinyl; very good quality.”

“Wow. Yeah I’ll have one.”

Oscar’s laptop is now the proud wearer of a smiling cartoon golden star sticker.

It’s silly, but he loves it.

— — —

At six thirty sharp every Friday, Charles Leclerc is at his door ready to drag him off to the pub with his friends who are all slowly, but surely, also being Oscar’s friends.

He jumps when all he gets is a loud “OSCAR!” before Lando is barrelling into his side, almost sending him sprawling just outside of the peb entrance.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Oscar is not not bracing for a bite.

Not because he wants Lando to bite him, but because he likes to think they’re friends, and apparently Lando bites his friends.

Or maybe they just told that to Oscar to scare him, and take the mick out of Lando in a single blow.

“Ah! Lando!” Alex cries. “You pest. Give me warning! You can’t just bite people.”

“I gave you a whole four seconds after arriving,” Lando pouts. “That’s plenty of warning. Not my fault you ignored it.”

“Say something,” Alex pleads, rubbing his shoulder. “You’ve gotten better at biting lightly, thank you.”

Lando brightens. “You’re welcome!” He turns to George. “George, I’m going to bite you.”

“Oh I don’t like that,” Alex says. “That’s so ominous. Nevermind. Don’t say anything. But like, tap me or something.”

Lando whacks George’s shoulder, and then with a “hwam” he clamps his teeth around the other man’s shoulder.

Oscar isn’t sure if he should be watching with horror or fascination.

Oscar jumps about twelve feet in the air when he hears a loud “OSCAR” shouted across the quad

Lando.

The biter.

Who didn’t bite anybody last time they were out

But they’ve known each other for longer than an hour, so he’s a little bit worried

Because Charles doesn’t tend to lie to him.

Lando throws himself into Oscar’s side

“Where are you going?”

“Physics Building.”

“Ugh. Why?”

“Solid Mech. Need to talk to my TA.”

“Terrible. I think. Max likes Solid Mech, but Max is a freak.”

“Verstappen?”

“Yep! Do you know him?”

“He’s my TA.”

“For Solid Mech?”

“Yup.”

“Of course he is. He was probably grading your assignments, that’s why he didn’t come out last night.”

Oscar pales. “You’re friends with my TA?”

“Yup! He’s a freak, but he’s cool.”

“If he’s a freak, what are you? I’m waiting for you to bite me.”

Lando pauses. “Do you want me to bite you, Oscar?”

“I was told you bite your friends.”

“Are we friends?”

“I dunno. Don’t have many of those.”

“Well we’ve got to fix that.”

Suddenly Lando is being scruffed.

“Lando. Why are you about to bite my favourite student?”

“We’re friends now. Charles brought him to the pub.”

“Ah.”

“Stop giving Oscar so many assignments. Cause then he’ll be less stressed, and you’ll be able to hangout more!”

“Not how that works. If I let you go, are you going to bite him?”

“He literally asked for it.”

“I did.”

Max sighs. “I see why Charles took you in. Were you having trouble with the assignment?”

“The indeterminate structures are doing my head in again.”

“The what?”

Max hauls Lando into his office. “Come in, you. You’re going to be Oscar’s rubber duck.”

“What?” he squawks. “Oscar! Max just called me dumb!”

Oscar feels warm.

He has a friend.

— — —

Lando loosens up a bit more and stops pronouncing the r in his name. It shouldn’t affect him as much as it does, but it practically kills Oscar.

Lando is an arts major, graphic design and photography

He sits with Oscar while he works on his assignments

Well, Lando is usually drawing or editing pictures

To Oscar it feels like not working, but Lando assures him that he is actually working

“Oscah. I’m bored.”

“I’m busy.”

“I knoooooooow. Can I take pictures of you?”

“What?”

“Pictures? With my camera? I need to practice my human portraits stuff. Framing and shit. And how to deal with natural lighting. The lighting in here is shit, mate.”

Oscar glances at him.

“I’ll be taking candid shots. Like you in your natural habitat. So I won’t even be talking. I’ll shut up!”

“Why is that a selling point?”

“Because you’re trying to work? I can be considerate.”

Oscar smiles. “Go for it. Might be a bit awkward though.”

“I’ve got you Oscah. I’ll make you look cool even without dynamic lighting.”

“I hate dynamics.”

— — —

Osc is not made for the pub despite being an engineer

“We are we are we are we are We are the engineers We can we can we can we can We can demolish forty beers So come so come so come so come So come along with us For we don't give a damn for any damn man who don't give a damn for us”

Oscar has been drinking water for the past three pubs on this crawl

He runs into Max at some point

Max, who decides that it’s time to save him, and Oscar is being dragged into a booth with Charles and his friends.

“Do you think those guys are going to notice you are gone?”

“Maybe? Probably. I’ve been Logan’s introvert all night. He’ll go looking for me before everybody leaves.”

Charles gets him another water.

Oscar starts asking questions about the torsion unit.

Max laughs, and they are doing office hours again.

“There you are! Man, I thought I’d lost you for good. You good, man?”

“Yeah! There is Charles.” He points.

Logan grins and shakes his hand. “Hey. Oscar’s roommate.”

“The messy one who eats cereal out of the frying pan?”

Logan laughs, everybody laughs. “Yeah. That’s me. We’re headed off to the next pub…”

Lando wraps his arms around Oscar’s torso and clings. “Nope. Osc is ours now. We’re keeping him. You have fun on your crawl.”

“Osc?” Lando jolts back. His face is suddenly stricken with a worried expression. “Is that okay? Can I call you that?”

“Of course it’s okay,” Logan tells him when Oscar starts floundering. “Use protection!” he calls over his shoulder. “I’m staying at Liam’s!”

— — —

Lando comes over and finds out that Logan calls Oscar Osc and has for years.

He gets very pouty

“Just give him your own nickname,” Logan says in between bites of cereal.

“Do you not own bowls?”

“There are two left. Figured you would want one? And Oscar has some dignity left, so frying pan for me.”

“Osco, your roommate hurts me.”

“Osco?”

“I’ve decided on it.”

“Okay.”

“But seriously, what is wrong with your roommate?”

“American.”

“Bro.”

“He just called you bro.” Lando claps. “I’ve never heard someone do that in real life.”

Oscar sighs.

— — —

Charles: Who is your favourite?

Oscar *panicking*: Lando

Charles *waves him away*: Obviously. Between me and Max. Who is your favourite?

Oscar *deer in headlines*: Lando

Lando: *cackles*

Max: Remember, I grade your assignments. Actually, I am grading your midterm right now.

Oscar: How am I doing?

Max: Who is your favourite?

Oscar: *pales*

Charles: I do your assignments. I will not put your name on it.

George: That’s not going to work. Seb knows you well enough to know that Oscar hasn’t done any work all semester, and that you’re being petty.

Charles: And when Seb calls me for a meeting I will tell him how Oscar has been terrible to me, and does not deserve to coast off my work.

Oscar *panicking*: I need this class.

Charles *mouthing*: I’m joking.

Max: I’ll tell Mark that Oscar chose me over you, and he’ll tell Seb. Who’s Seb going to believe? You? Or a story that sounds exactly like something you would do?”

Charles: *pouts*

Oscar: Lando.

Lando: Say George. It’ll piss them both off.

Oscar: Alex.

George: Oi!

Alex: Don’t bring me into this!

Charles: It’s me, right?

Oscar: Yes?

Charles: With confidence.

Oscar: Yes.

Oscar is not a nickname guy.

But Lando clearly is

Charles drags Oscar to movie night in his dorm.

Lando gets up to stretch mid-action scene

“Anybody want anything? I’m gonna refill the popcorn.”

A chorus of nos from everybody in the room, but then Oscar finishes his drink.

“Hey, Lan, actually could you get me a Monster?”

Lando freezes.

He practically trips as he runs.

He throws himself on the couch

And bite

“Ow!”

“We warned you!”

“I let my guard down. It’s been weeks.”

[slut4calum]

Hasanabi: Teacher's Assistant

Halfway through junior year, and the finish line was starting to shimmer in the distance. Just push through this final year, the mountain of exams, the stress-fueled ramen nights, and then it would be freedom. Freedom from textbooks, freedom from professors' drone-like lectures, freedom from the constant pressure to prove yourself. But for now, there was only the present, the slightly stale air of lecture hall B-12, and the prospect of three more hours grappling with the intricacies of 17th-century French literature.

My first class, European Romanticism, was familiar territory. Professor Dubois, with his tweed jacket and perpetually surprised eyebrows, was practically an old friend after two semesters of dissecting Byron's angst and Wordsworth's musings on daffodils. The next two classes, however, were uncharted waters: Medieval Art History, where I desperately hoped the professor wouldn't quiz us on the difference between Romanesque and Gothic arches, and Advanced Genetics, where the potential for complex Punnett squares already had my head spinning.

By the time I stumbled into my fourth class, PSC 419: The Political Effects of Globalization, I was ready for a nap. But the exhaustion evaporated the moment I saw Dr. Kemp. He was tiny, a sprite of a man with twinkling eyes and a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. As he outlined the syllabus, his voice was a warm rumble, like well-aged whiskey swirling in a glass. And then, the door creaked open, and my heart did a triple flip.

"Ah, Mr. Piker," Dr. Kemp welcomed, "Nice of you to join us. Class, this is your TA, Hasan. Hasan is working on his PhD in political science here, Hasan, what are your office hours this semester?"

The man who walked in was…well, breathtaking. Dark hair tousled by invisible hands, eyes that held the glint of mischief and intelligence, and a smile that could charm the sunrise. He cleared his throat.

"Uh, yeah, pretty packed schedule this semester, so just email me if you need to meet up, and we'll find a time."

That was it? No booming baritone introductions, no grand plans for interactive seminars? Just a mumbled email address and an evasion of office hours? Disappointment flickered across my face, quickly masked by a cough. Dr. Kemp chuckled.

"First day and already zoning out, Ms. Y/N? We have a lot to cover this semester, globalization is a tangled web, isn't it?"

He launched into a whirlwind explanation of the coursework, detailing everything from intricate trade agreements to the rise of populist movements. I tried to focus, tried to decipher the complexities of cultural homogenization and international power struggles, but Hasan kept drifting into my vision. His hand resting on the lectern, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the playful glint in his eyes as he met Dr. Kemp's gaze. My mind was a chaotic dance floor, Professor Kemp's words mere background music to the silent symphony of possibilities playing out in my head.

The rest of the class passed in a blur. Charts of global trade flows morphed into Hasan's sculpted jawline, intricate political maps became sketches of his smile. Finally, the class ended, the sweet release from academia and its alluring distractions. As everyone shuffled out, I lingered, hoping for a chance encounter, a stolen glance, anything to break the spell before it consumed me whole. But Hasan was already gone, swallowed by the labyrinthine corridors of the university, leaving behind only the faint echo of his name and the intoxicating image of him leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes holding mine for a single, lingering moment.

My legs finally stumbled out of lecture hall B-12, the weight of the day settling on my shoulders like a damp backpack. My notebooks bulged with scribbled notes and half-formed insights, remnants of the academic marathon I'd just run. Exhaustion tugged at my eyelids, urging them shut, but the phantom heat of Hasan's gaze still pulsed beneath my skin. Could his name become a mantra tonight, a whispered incantation against the inevitable sleep that beckoned? Would I dream of power dynamics and trade imbalances, or would his face, framed by that dark, tousled hair, be the only image etched in my subconscious mind?

Dinner in the cafeteria was a blur of lukewarm pasta and whispered gossip about the new TA. My roommates peppered me with questions, but my answers were mumbled monosyllables, my attention already caught in the web of possibilities Hasan had woven around me. Even the rhythmic thrum of the washing machine sounded like a heartbeat, my chest pounding a primal rhythm against my ribs.

Finally, curled up in my bed, surrounded by the familiar chaos of textbooks and half-eaten candy wrappers, I felt a strange mix of exhilaration and trepidation. Junior year might be about finishing lines, but with Hasan lurking on the horizon, the only finish line I could see was the one blurring the edges of my consciousness, pulling me toward a dream where textbooks and exams dissolved into the intoxicating haze of his smile. One thing was certain – this semester, at least, was going to be anything but smooth sailing.

The Tuesday morning sun peeked through my blinds, but the usual jolt of caffeine-fueled urgency was missing. Today, with only CJ 290: Criminal Theories on my schedule, the pressure valve hissed a sigh of relief. Professor Evans, a woman with a penchant for dissecting motives and questioning morals, was never one for early morning torture sessions. I lingered in bed, savoring the luxury of stolen minutes, my mind a tangled mess of globalization, trade agreements, and, more persistently, Hasan's captivating eyes.

My day unfolded in a leisurely waltz, devoid of the usual academic frenzied pace. I drifted through a bookstore, getting lost in the labyrinth of dusty spines and the promise of new worlds, then indulged in a leisurely lunch in the park, watching squirrels chase each other across the sun-dappled grass. But even the chirping birds and rustling leaves couldn't drown out the persistent hum of his name in my head. He was a phantom presence, whispering possibilities around every corner, making the mundane seem vibrant with anticipation.

As dusk began to paint the sky in hues of orange and purple, I found myself drawn to the familiar warmth of the campus dining hall. My heart did a somersault when my gaze landed on a familiar figure seated at a corner table. It was Hasan, his head bent over a book, his brows furrowed in concentration. My breath hitched, and I instinctively ducked behind a towering stack of trays, my heart pounding a frantic tattoo against my ribs. Should I approach him? Strike up a conversation about trade agreements or political philosophers? But the words caught in my throat, choked by the sudden shyness that bloomed in my chest. I watched him from the shadows, a voyeur to his book-filled world, content with simply stealing glances of his coffee-sipping lips and the way the light played on his dark hair.

He was gone by the time I gathered the courage to emerge from my self-imposed exile. The dining hall was bustling, the hum of conversation washing away the quiet intimacy of my stolen observation

. I left with a pang of disappointment, the taste of his unspoken presence lingering on my tongue, a sweet-sour mystery I couldn't quite decipher. As I lay in my bed, I couldn't help but think of him. His tall, muscular body, piercing brown eyes, and the way his voice commanded attention in the lecture hall. I had been his student for the past semester and every time I saw him, I couldn't help but feel a surge of desire.

I know it's wrong. He's my TA, someone in a position of authority. But the more I tried to suppress my thoughts, the more they consumed me. I finally gave in to my fantasies. I closed my eyes and imagined him in my bed, his hands roaming my body, his lips on mine. I could feel the heat between my thighs as I thought of him undressing me, his touch igniting every nerve in my body. I ran my hands over my breasts, imagining his lips on them, sucking and flicking my nipples. My breathing became more rapid as I thought of him trailing kisses down my stomach, until he reached the place I craved him the most. I could practically feel his tongue teasing me, his fingers exploring every inch of me. My own fingers moved faster as I imagined him entering me, making me moan his name.

As I reached my peak, I couldn't help but scream out his name. I collapsed back onto my bed, panting and flushed. But my mind couldn't stop there. I needed more, I needed him. I imagined him holding me close, whispering dirty words in my ear as he continued to pleasure me. I wanted him to be rough, to dominate me. And in my mind, he did just that. That night, as I drifted off to sleep, the shadows behind my eyelids danced with the image of his smile, a silent promise of encounters to come, of a semester forever teetering between textbooks and stolen glances, between academic pursuits and the intoxicating allure of a TA with a name that was becoming my own personal forbidden fruit.

The Wednesday morning sun rose, casting a golden hue over the campus as I made my way to my first class of the day, EN 370: European Romanticism. Professor Dubois, with his tweed jacket and perpetually surprised eyebrows, greeted us with his usual enthusiasm, diving into the depths of Shelley and Keats with fervor. But my mind wandered, drifting back to Hasan and the tantalizing possibilities he represented. HY 346: Medieval Art History followed, the lecture hall echoing with the professor's passionate discourse on the intricacies of cathedral architecture. Yet, as I scribbled notes on flying buttresses and pointed arches, my thoughts strayed once more to the enigmatic figure of Hasan, his presence a magnetic pull that defied the boundaries of the classroom. BIO 243: Advanced Genetics brought with it the complexities of Punnett squares and genetic inheritance, but even as I grappled with alleles and phenotypes, Hasan's image lingered in the recesses of my mind, a persistent whisper of distraction amidst the academic clamor.

Finally, the moment I had been waiting for arrived as I stepped into PSC 419: The Political Effects of Globalization. Dr. Kemp's warm rumble filled the room, a soothing undertone that hinted at the depth of knowledge and experience lying just beneath the surface. "Good morning, everyone," he began, his voice carrying the weight of years spent navigating the intricate web of global politics. "Today marks the beginning of a journey into the heart of one of the most pressing issues of our time: globalization."

As he spoke, each word seemed to carry with it a sense of urgency, a call to action in the face of a rapidly changing world. "Globalization," he continued, "has reshaped the political landscape in ways we are only beginning to comprehend. From the rise of transnational corporations to the erosion of national sovereignty, its effects are far-reaching and profound." His words hung in the air, a silent invitation to delve deeper into the complexities of this modern-day phenomenon.

But even as Dr. Kemp expounded on the intricacies of trade agreements and cultural exchange, my attention was inexorably drawn to Hasan. His presence at the front of the room was like a magnet, pulling my gaze away from the professor's lecture and into a world of tantalizing possibilities. I found myself captivated by the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his lips curved into a half-smile as he listened to Dr. Kemp's words. I couldn't stop staring at Mr. Piker, wondering if he knew what I had done the night before. I tried to focus on the lecture, but my mind kept drifting back to the thoughts from the previous night.

"Hasan," Dr. Kemp's voice broke through my reverie, bringing me back to the present moment. "Would you care to share your thoughts on the role of globalization in shaping political ideologies?" Hasan's eyes met mine for a fleeting moment, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken connection that crackled between us. "Uh, yes, of course," he replied, his voice steady despite the hint of surprise that flickered across his features. "Globalization has undoubtedly had a profound impact on political ideologies," he began, his gaze sweeping across the room. "It has facilitated the spread of ideas and information on an unprecedented scale, challenging traditional notions of sovereignty and identity." His words were measured, his tone confident as he delved into the complexities of the topic at hand. And yet, despite his obvious expertise, there was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes, a fleeting glimpse of the man behind the TA facade.

As Hasan spoke, I found myself hanging on his every word, caught in the magnetic pull of his presence. His voice was like a siren's song, drawing me deeper into the labyrinth of his thoughts and ideas. I couldn't tear my gaze away, couldn't shake the feeling that we were connected in some inexplicable way, bound together by the invisible threads of fate.

The rest of the class passed in a blur, the minutes slipping by unnoticed as Hasan and Dr. Kemp dissected the nuances of globalization and its political ramifications. I scribbled notes furiously, my mind racing to keep pace with the torrent of information flooding the room. But amidst the chaos of academia, one thing remained constant: Hasan's presence, a beacon of light in the murky depths of my subconscious.

As the class ended, I felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment wash over me. Relief that I could finally escape the confines of the lecture hall, but disappointment that I would have to wait until next week to see Hasan again. I lingered for a moment, watching as he gathered his belongings and made his way to the front of the room. Our eyes met briefly, a silent exchange that spoke volumes without a single word being uttered. And then, just like that, he was gone, leaving me to navigate the swirling currents of my thoughts alone.

As I made my way back to my dorm, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted, that a door had been opened to a world of possibilities I had never dared to explore. Hasan had awakened something within me, a hunger for knowledge and connection that transcended the boundaries of the classroom. And as I lay in bed that night, the echo of his voice still ringing in my ears, I knew that this semester would be unlike any other, a journey into the unknown with Hasan as my guide.

Two weeks passed in a whirlwind of lectures, study sessions, and stolen glances. Despite my best efforts to focus on my studies, Hasan's enigmatic presence continued to linger in the back of my mind, a constant distraction amidst the academic chaos. But as the days flew by, the impending exam in PSC 419 loomed larger and larger on the horizon, a stark reminder of the need to buckle down and prepare.

The next time the class met, the atmosphere crackled with nervous energy. Dr. Kemp's warm rumble filled the room as he handed out the exam papers, his eyes flickering with a mixture of anticipation and gravity. "Alright, class, you’ll have 50 minutes to complete this exam," he announced, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "You may begin."

As the minutes ticked by, the rustle of papers and the scratch of pencils on paper filled the air, each stroke a testament to weeks of diligent preparation and late-night cramming sessions. I kept getting distracted by Hasan sitting at the front of the room, his gaze flicking across the rows of students, no doubt looking for any signs of cheating. Every time our eyes met, I felt a blush creep up my cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and excitement swirling in my chest.

Despite my nerves, I managed to focus on the exam, my mind racing to recall the intricacies of globalization and its political effects. But as I flipped through the pages, answering each question to the best of my ability, doubt crept in. Had I studied enough? Had I missed any crucial details? The uncertainty gnawed at me, a constant companion as the seconds ticked by.

As I gathered my belongings and made my way out of the lecture hall, a sense of unease settled in the pit of my stomach. The weight of Hasan's gaze lingered on me, a silent reminder of the unspoken tension that simmered between us.

Friday came, and I anxiously awaited the exam results, a knot of apprehension tightening in my stomach. When Dr. Kemp finally handed back the papers, my heart sank as I saw the red mark glaring back at me. Hasan had failed me. Confusion and frustration swirled in my mind as I scanned through my answers, unable to comprehend where I had gone wrong.

Desperate for answers, I sought out a classmate to compare notes. To my disbelief, our answers aligned perfectly. Each question meticulously answered, every concept grasped with precision. With newfound resolve, I confronted Hasan, armed with evidence of my innocence.

Summoning every ounce of courage, I made my way to Hasan's office hours, determined to confront him about the unjust grade. As I entered his office, the air seemed charged with tension, the weight of our unspoken conflict hanging heavy between us. Hasan's eyes met mine, but there was no warmth in his gaze, only a guarded wariness that sent a chill down my spine.

I launched into my argument, laying out the evidence of my innocence with a conviction born of righteous indignation. But instead of engaging in a rational discourse, Hasan's demeanor grew increasingly defensive, his rebuttals growing more vehement with each passing moment. It was as if he were grasping at straws, desperate to deflect blame and avoid accountability for his actions.

As the minutes ticked by, it became painfully clear that Hasan had no intention of acknowledging his mistake, let alone rectifying it. His refusal to even entertain the possibility of an error left me feeling helpless and betrayed, a pawn in his reckless game of academic manipulation.

But then, as I prepared to leave, Hasan's tone shifted, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent shivers down my spine. "There might be another way to resolve this," he said, his eyes locking with mine in a knowing gaze. My heart raced as I realized the implication of his words, the sudden surge of desire mingling with the lingering anger and frustration.

In that moment, I saw an opportunity to turn the tables, to reclaim control over the situation and emerge victorious. The thought of using my newfound leverage to secure a better grade both thrilled and terrified me, the line between right and wrong blurring in the heat of the moment.

With a tentative nod, I accepted Hasan's proposition, a rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins as I realized the power I held in my hands. As we drew closer, the air crackling with anticipation, I knew that this was a gamble I was willing to take, consequences be damned. For in that fleeting moment of forbidden desire, I saw not only a chance to right a wrong but also a glimpse of the intoxicating allure of surrendering to temptation.

With a sense of both trepidation and excitement, I agreed to Hasan's proposition, feeling a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins. As we drew closer, the air between us crackled with anticipation, the tension palpable as we stood on the precipice of a decision that would alter the course of our academic and personal lives.

Hasan's gaze bore into mine, dark and intense, as if searching for any hint of hesitation or doubt. But all I could feel was a fierce determination, a resolve to seize control of the situation and emerge victorious, no matter the cost. The lines between right and wrong blurred in the heat of the moment, overshadowed by the intoxicating allure of forbidden desire.

Without a word, Hasan closed the distance between us, his touch sending shivers down my spine as he brushed his fingers against my cheek. In that moment, the world fell away, leaving only the two of us locked in a silent dance of longing and anticipation.

His lips met mine in a searing kiss, igniting a firestorm of passion that threatened to consume us both. With each touch, each caress, the boundaries that had once separated us melted away, leaving only the raw intensity of our desire.

As our bodies entwined, the air around us crackled with electricity, charged with the urgency of our shared longing. Hasan's hands roamed my body with a hunger that matched my own, igniting a wildfire of sensation that blazed through every nerve ending.

In that moment, all thoughts of exams and grades faded into obscurity, replaced by the primal need to surrender to the irresistible pull of desire. As Hasan's lips trailed down my neck, his touch setting my skin ablaze, I knew that there was no turning back.

With each passing moment, the intensity grew, building like a tidal wave ready to crash over us both. And when it finally hit, the sheer force of our passion left us breathless, tangled together in a web of tangled limbs and whispered promises.

Hasan's fingers found their way between my legs, trailing along the wetness that had welled up there. A gasp escaped my lips as his thumb circled around my clit, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through every nerve ending.

"You like that?" he growled in a low murmur against my ear.

I nodded eagerly, unable to form any coherent words as desire consumed every fiber of my being. The intensity grew with each passing second, building like a pressure cooker ready to explode.

Hasan's fingers explored my depths with a skill and finesse that left me breathless. The way he teased and pushed against my gates of pleasure, driving me to the edge of madness, was exquisite. My body clenched around his fingers, begging for release, but he held back just enough to keep me teetering on the precipice.

"Just like that," he taunted, a smirk playing on his lips. "You want me to fuck you so badly, don't you?"

I moaned in response, unable to form coherent words as desire coursed through my veins. The urgency within me grew with each passing moment, demanding satisfaction. But Hasan knew exactly how to wield power over me, to keep me desperate for him.

"No," he replied with a mocking tone. "You're not going to come yet." A flicker of frustration crossed my face as I struggled against his firm grip. He chuckled at my futile attempts to break free from his hold.

"Don't worry," he continued, his voice dripping with seduction. "I'll make you scream my name when I give you what you crave." His touch intensified, fingers pressing deeper inside me as if testing the strength of my walls.

The anticipation was unbearable, my body trembling with a mixture of impatience and ecstasy. "Fuck," I moaned, frustration coursing through my veins like wildfire.

Hasan smirked, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. "Not just yet," he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he slowly pulled his fingers out of me. My breath hitched in disappointment as I felt the ache deepen between my legs. "You're going to have to beg for it properly."

My hesitation mingled with defiance as I locked eyes with Hasan. He knew exactly how to push all of my buttons - the power he held over me was intoxicatingly dangerous. But even amidst the haze of desire, there was a flicker of reluctance deep within me.

"Please," I whispered hoarsely, barely able to form the words amidst the overwhelming need coursing through every inch of my body. Hasan chuckled darkly at my plea before pressing his lips against mine in a searing kiss.

With a swift movement, he lifted me up effortlessly and threw me over his desk. Sharp and dirty furniture scraped against my skin as I landed with a thud. The air crackled with anticipation as Hasan positioned himself at the entrance of my wetness.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked, his voice dripping with seduction. My heart raced in response, a mix of excitement and apprehension coursing through me like electricity.

I nodded eagerly, unable to form coherent words amidst the whirlwind of emotions threatening to consume me. The uncertainty mingled with desire as Hasan pressed against the entrance of my core.

"Fuck," he growled lowly, gripping my hips tightly. "You want it rough, don't you? You want me to fuck you hard and fast?"

My breath hitched in response as I nodded frantically, unable to resist the magnetic pull that drew me towards him. He began to thrust into me with a force that made the desk move forward with each thrust.

"You like that, huh?" Hasan taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You like how I'm taking you so fucking hard?"

My mind was consumed by a mix of pleasure and frustration, but I couldn't deny the raw hunger between us. With each powerful thrust, my walls clenched around him tightly, desperately begging for more.

Hasan's eyes locked onto mine as he picked up the pace, his grip on my hips growing tighter with each passing second. The air in the room was thick with anticipation, filled with moans and curses that echoed off the walls.

I could feel myself teetering on the edge once again, desperate to surrender to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through my veins. But Hasan knew exactly what he was doing to me - he chased my sweet spot relentlessly, and I could feel myself edging closer and closer to the brink once again.

And then it happened. The intensity intensified until I exploded in ecstasy, crying out Hasan's name as waves of pleasure crashed over me like a tidal wave.

Hasan's thrusts grew more intense, his grip on my hips tightening as he fucked me harder and faster. The friction between us was unbearably intense, sending shockwaves of pleasure cascading through every inch of my body.

My mind spiraled with a mix of guilt and desire, torn between the forbidden desires that consumed me and the rational thoughts screaming for moderation.

"Fuck," I moaned, unable to contain myself. "You're so fucking good at this."

Hasan's eyes smoldered with dark amusement as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against mine in a hungry kiss. "That's right," he whispered huskily. "You love being fucked. You love how I use you for my pleasure. God youre such a whore, letting your TA do this to you, all for a good grade. You're my little slut, aren't you?"

He growled, his voice low and husky. I moaned and came again, my pussy clenching around his cock.

"Yes! Yes! I'm your little slut!" I cried out as he pounded into me hard and fast.

I moaned and writhed beneath him, my body responding to his dominance. "Yes! Yes! Fuck me harder!" I cried out as he pounded into me with a force that made the desk creak and squeak.

The door to the office was locked, but it didn't matter. The sound of our bodies slapping together was loud enough to be heard outside. Hasan's hands gripped my hips, pulling me back onto his cock with each thrust. I could feel his balls slapping against my clit, sending waves of pleasure through me.

"Fuck, Hasan," I moaned. "You feel so good inside me." Hasan grunted in response, his eyes locked on mine as he continued to pound into me. His grip on my hips tightened, and I could feel him starting to lose control.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he groaned. "Where do you want it?" I bit my lip, considering. "Inside me," I finally said. "I want to feel you fill me up." Hasan grunted again, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he neared his climax.

He thrust one last time, burying himself deep inside me as he came. I could feel his hot cum filling me up, and the sensation sent me over the edge as well.

I came hard, my pussy clenching around his cock as he continued to thrust into me. I was panting and shaking as he slowly pulled out of me. He sat back on his heels, looking down at me with a satisfied smile. "That was amazing," he said, stroking my hair gently.

I smiled back at him, feeling a sense of satisfaction and contentment. "Thank you," I said, my voice still shaky from the intensity of the orgasm. He leaned down and kissed me gently on the forehead. "You're welcome," he said, his voice low and husky with desire. “I think someone earned themselves a 105%,” he winked at me as we left the building.

[lilypadding]

you're a cowboy like me

summary: Mel Medarda visits a bar in Piltover to quietly celebrate her twentieth birthday and new Councilorship. But homesickness has been catching up to her, and it knocks her completely off balance at the exact point that a stranger does too.

⋆˙⟡ written for melvik week day 1: pre-canon

4k words | crossposted on AO3 | divider

Piltover’s stickiest bar isn’t sticky enough.

The soles of her boots are grimy, sure, the misplaced self-promo posters are tattered, sure, and the music is upbeat enough to feel like it’s laughing at her earlier hour-long crying session.

But the strobe lights aren’t strong enough to lose sight in the dark, the bass isn’t loud enough to tremble a shot glass, and Mel Medarda’s mind is far too heavy to forget her own last name.

It’s certainly not her wisest decision to sneak out to a bar without telling Elora. And taking three shots in the last half hour didn’t exactly wisen that up.

Mel reasons this: It is her twentieth birthday. She has been feigning warm smiles with cold intent and pulling at unevenly taut strings. All that exhausting work has finally earned her a spot on the Council, the highest possible position of power in the region. Finally a success in her mother’s eyes. She has earned the right to a single night with no agenda. No responsibilities. No thinking.

Perhaps if she were back home, she’d have earned social friends her age to share the accomplishment of her Councilorship with. Her brother might host the event. Give a sloppily wholesome speech about how tall she’s grown.

That’s not her reality, though. Instead she is here, standing in a grimy not-grimy bar surrounded by a crowd of Piltover natives. Normally, this crowd makes Mel feel out of place. Now, standing with this crowd as they complain about coursework over the house special, Mel… feels out of place.

The regulars at The First Sip are stressed undergraduates avoiding their deadlines. As it is, the bar is the furthest point west of the University district, two miles out from the main campus. It’s a smallish brick building squeezed between a tattoo parlor and a convenience shop. And because it’s on the cusp of a lower-house district, enforcers are not paid to hover there. This is far from being her territory—it’s the opposite of where anyone would assume the newly appointed Councilwoman would be spending a Friday night. Which, she will admit, was the point.

The bar hosts themed events every week, and a ‘Masquerade Bar’ was tonight’s. In strategic terms, it is a perfect opportunity for a high profile like her to hide in plain sight for the sake of a few drinks. She enveloped herself under a dark cloak and behind a blood red Colombina face mask. Her eyeliner is downturned, her lipstick is void-black, and the usual gold under her eyes has been obscured. In a crowd of drunk college students, she’s practically invisible. Especially tonight. Everybody is outlined by the covers over their gowns and suits—ranging from short capes to full length mantles, all of them concealing their face with a flattering mask.

Despite her unsteady feet, Mel finds the floor with the tips of her shoes and slides out of the bar seat. Conversations and voices overlap around her as she walks towards a wall near the back. 

The boisterous, slurred laughter of one girl crowds right into her space. The girl bounces off Mel’s shoulder and stumbles into another guy, apologizing with a giddy grin even though the stereo music is growing louder than her voice. Mel squeezes herself through a throng on the edge of the open floor, her eyes roving over everybody. She’s in a sea of people the same age as her. All with a drink in their hand, chattering or dancing clumsily. They’re with friends, with friends of friends, meeting and flirting and having the young type of fun that she has been inexplicably craving for weeks. And she could make herself join them. She could purposely bump into someone, compliment their eyes, get too close and pretend to be free. Sell them yet another version of Mel Medarda that she’s had to master to stay afloat. But the fantasy would end in a few hours, or after getting tired of acting, and she’d have to sneak out through the bathroom before they got any ideas, and then stumble back to the Councilor building. Lose sleep in her private quarters. Question why she’s here at all. Curse to her ceiling. To her mother. 

The sight of all these close friends is starting to annoy her. But no matter where she looks, her eyes catch onto held hands, on bodies leaning, on eye contact. Before she knows it, she’s wondering what it’s like to share such comfortable touches at a bar, those pats on shoulders, those arms intertwined. An ache swells behind her eyes when she remembers the warmth of Kino’s body when he pulled her into bear hugs, or the ant-sized instances of her mother’s affection. Like she was hard to touch. As if she were out of reach. Homesickness doesn’t haunt her in the way she thought it would. It picks her up at her most vulnerable. It swings when it is most likely to win. 

Mel takes a deep breath. Ignores the tension building in the bridge of her nose, the tears threatening to form for the second time that day. The taste of the alcohol still on her tongue instills a craving for a fourth shot but she is smarter than that. The last thing she needs is to black out at a University bar, blocks away from the Council building. She clutches the edges of her dark hooded cloak and pulls it tighter over her black halter dress. 

The point of coming here was to unwind. Relax. But her plan, for once, was not detailed enough. Drinking is one way to loosen her limbs but she’s without company. Elora’s not here to gossip with, or to joke with, or to pull onto the dance floor. 

How is she supposed to relax with nobody here to distract her? With only her mind to keep her company?

She squints and scans the room again, standing right beside a filled up booth. Everywhere she turns, the same sights remain. What is there to gain from being here? There’s no benefit. 

Benefit? She sounds like her mother, she’s not supposed to be working tonight yet the only thing she can do is calculate a supposed benefit, and it's the kind of thing a Medarda is supposed to do, and she can’t run from—

Mel scrunches up her nose, looks across the bottles lining the back of the bar. She’s midway through mentally savoring the taste of each brand when the flutter of deep blue in her periphery draws her eyes to the corner of the room. A figure opens the door to the back exit and slips out. Their blue cloak flies out behind them before the door slams back shut.

Mel stares at the exit. The crowd of people remains uninterrupted, chattering and swaying and smiling at each other as the bassline of dance music hums along the walls. The warm air wasn’t always so stuffy, but it’s starting to feel that way. 

Mel acts before thinking. With a straight back, she walks right up to the same exit.

The moment she’s outside, gushes of frozen air ripple through her cloak and dress. A faraway cricket chirps, and her eyes take a second to adjust to the dark night. She sees the cloud of her exhale as the door shuts behind her. The endless string of voices ceases as soon as it clicks. She can hear herself breathing for once. When she’d first arrived at the bar a few hours ago, trickles of drizzling rain had landed on her sporadically. But today’s storm has since passed, the only remaining evidence are the damp pebbles under her, the puddles over on the pavement, and the scent still lingering in the air. 

It’s a narrow alleyway. Two wide strides, and she would be against the opposite building. The bricks on either wall match in their color and grime, dewy still from the weather. 

Mel swallows another bout of frozen air, feels her own nostrils go numb, and walks further into the alley.

Gravel crumbles under the heavy heels of her boots. There’s a streetlight at the end of the passage, standing on the furthest edge of the sidewalk. Across the street, a restaurant’s lights are still on, a few couples dining in the outdoor seating, too far away to possibly notice her. 

There’s nowhere else to go but… home.

Mel ignores the inconsolable prickle of heartache and starts walking, her footsteps harsh on the ground and arm grazing the bricks of the bar. It’s when she’s about to round the corner that a body fills her vision, something hits her chest, and her foot gets caught. Gravity claims—shoves her backwards before she can fix it and she can’t stop her own yelp when sharp pain slams right into her front, palms and cheek.

A man’s voice cuts in from right beneath her, something between a hiss and groan, and Mel gasps. She anchors her palms against the gravel and grunts to push herself up.

“Oh,” Her mouth falls open. The guy pinned beneath her has his head turned to the side, but she recognizes the identical shape of her face mask over his eyes, and more notably, the shade of blue of his cloak.

“Ugh,” He stirs as a response, his eyes barely beginning to squeeze and blink. His head doesn’t move, and neither do his arms, bent at the elbows and palms facing her.

“Oh my,” She adjusts her hands over both his shoulders to allow more space between them. She tilts her hips to one side, her thigh pushing his leg in by an inch.

He gasps—then wails—and it’s loud, the kind of sound she’d expect in a horror movie and never in the middle of her night. Mel startles and leans away. His leg tilts into her and he squeezes his eyes shut. 

“No, no, no, don’t move!” He pleads, harshly exhales through a scrunched up face, and Mel registers the distinction of his plosives, the accent so different from any she’s heard recently.

“Not moving,” She rushes out.

The guy pants, wincing with pained whines for exhales. He starts to turn his head. His gaze finds hers, and Mel stares right back. The paleness of his skin stands out against the black mask, complexion cool-toned under the moonlight. Loose strands of chestnut brown hair follow the sharp line of his jaw.

Irritation hardens his stare, though it seems to go right through her.

“Move…” He starts, “Your leg away. Please.”

“Y-Yes!” Her response is automatic, flooded with worry. She looks down. With some hesitance, she pushes her closest leg away from him. His eyebrows knit together as he keeps his leg in position. The sound of his breathing quivers. 

Mel watches as his face scrunches up again, a braced wince right before his leg unbends at the knee and lands flat under her. His chest rises and falls frantically, the exhales prominent in the cold air, and Mel finds herself feeling terrible and guilty and— Wait.

“Did- Did I just break your leg?” 

“No, it came like that.”

She smells the house special on him. The cocktail that most of the students inside were drinking. Her eyes go over his body, the rise and fall of his chest. And despite his confirmation, the guilt is still there, eating more of her skin the more she looks at his furrowed brows. He seems to notice her hesitance and fixes a glare. 

“I’m fine. You can get up.”

“I really am so sorry—”

“It’s fine,” He looks to the side, adjusts so he’s leaning back on his elbows, prompts her to lean away. She swallows the discomfort. She wants to say something else, anything, but she can smell the anger stewing in him and reasons that prodding will make this worse. 

Mel looks down between them, ensures she won’t bump into his legs again, and prepares to get up. That’s when she hears his voice, the quietest comment under his breath: “Pilties never look where they walk.”

Her limbs lock. She straightens enough to look at the body beneath her.

“What?”

The man under her shifts his leg further in. A curse slips past his lips and she moves her leg away on her own. It doesn’t stop her interrogation.

“I’m sorry, I thought I heard you say something.”

“I said nothing,” He scowls, pressing a palm to the gravely pavement to pivot his body out from under her. His bottom half is still caged in by her knees, and it doesn’t seem to cooperate with his efforts.

A flourish of irritation courses through her. And maybe the shots have finally skewed her judgement, because she doesn’t stop to think before acting. Her hands fly out. 

Her fingers wrap around the pulse points of both his wrists, keeping his hands pinned to the ground. He turns to glare at her.

“I’m not…” She tries and feels her own lip quivering despite the anger. His eyebrows draw together.

It creeps into her. Not what? A Piltie?

What stops the label from applying to her? She’s breathing Piltovian air, eating Piltovian food, speaking Piltovian politeness into any Council member that crosses her path. Just now she was headed ‘home’ to the Council building, to a private and personalized room with bookshelves she likes and pillows she chose.

Her homeland is only in the glimpses she catches in the mirror where her mother stares back. Always the same disapproving expression. But where does Piltover end inside of her? Where does Noxus begin?

“I…”

Who has she been fooling? Strangers who assume she’s from Piltover? Herself when she thinks she’s not?

No. No, nononono. The floor beneath her skews and her breathing is growing ridged along the edges, cut up and splintering one second at a time.

The man beneath her stares at her with bewildered eyes. All of his annoyance has disappeared. His eyes dart to her mouth, her jaw, the grip on his wrists.

“I’m not from here,” She manages, shaky and harsh and all too rushed to prove a point. But the pressure on her chest doesn’t go away. She struggles through another breath. A cold rush washes over her joints. She doesn’t want to be here. In an alleyway, hunched over a stranger, swearing she’s not like these people. Hating and missing her mom all the same. This is pathetic. 

She doesn’t process the sound of her rushed breathing until she’s panting, drying out her throat and lifting her trembling hands, barely catching the blur of her Noxian ring. Her heart is hammering so loud she can hear a thumpthumpthump in her ears and her airflow must be constricting because no inhale feels good enough. 

Mel tilts away from the body beneath her and towards the wall beside them, her hands to her face. A constricting position, because it puts her between the wall and this stranger, her head over this man’s shoulder. 

She presses her palm to her eyes and her lungs shrivel up. Everything’s closing in on her, her body’s too small, there’s not enough room—

“No,” She gets out, her frame catching ripples of anxiety. “I can’t breathe.”

“Oh.” Is that fear in his voice? “Okay—”

She can’t breathe. Her nails drag down her cheeks as she gasps for air, proper air, the type of air allergic to her now, and how is it that she can feel that her bloodstream wants out of her? 

“Um.” Something on her arm. “Ah— What do you smell?”

“Ah,” With shaking hands she pinches the skin of her face and inhalesexhales, inhales exhales, inhales… exhales, “W-What?”

“What do you smell?” His voice is louder this time, “Right now?”

She shuts her eyes, breathes in, feels the cold air widening her chest before depleting. She takes another, processing the question.

“Wet?”

“Wet?”

“Like it just rained.” Which it did. Her lungs fill with it. The salty tang of wet stone.

“O-Okay. What about taste? What do—What do you taste?”

Mel’s lips tremble before she closes her mouth. Swallows against sandpaper.

“My- My drinks.”

“Great. Yeah. And you hear…?”

She opens her eyes. Her vision went blurry, but it refocuses after a beat. Crickets are still chirping at a distance, and the people dining across the street are a faint buzz in the air.

“People talking,” Her own heartbeat falls into the background. “Bugs…”

Her eyes fall to his face. He’s staring up at her, observing her with an unreadable expression. The amber of his eyes catch under the streetlight, and she zeroes in on the narrow shape of his cheekbones under the mask.

“What do you see?”

This time, she catches the moment he licks his lips after asking, the nervous flicker of his eyelashes.

“... You?”

He parts his lips and closes them again.

“What do you feel?”

He adjusts his hand, and Mel processes the sensation, the lightest weight against her shoulder, as if scared to even be there.

“Because, personally,” He continues, with the smallest hint of a tense smile, “I feel quite a unique burning sensation running through my leg.”

Mel’s eyes widen by a fraction with a hurried gasp.

“It’s okay,” He manages, grimacing and half twisting his hips while Mel rushes into getting up, stepping aside and standing beside him.

He tries pushing against the pavement for leverage but keeps flinching through the slower attempts. 

Mel bends at the waist and extends her arms toward him. 

His eyes land on her again. He sighs, jaw clenching before stiffly offering up his hands.

Mel moves forward, wraps her hands around his thin upper arms. With her help, the guy sits up, and then with some imbalance, fully stands. Mel releases him and re-regards this unfortunate stranger who got forced through her emotional break and still somehow has not rushed to walk away.

“I’m sorry,” She says without a plan for explanation. He wipes his elbows and shakes his cloak.

“...For what?”

Now that they’re standing, she has a much clearer view of him. Especially with his hood now slipped off. He’s about the same height as her, and the longest layers of his shoulder-length brown hair reach his collarbones. She looks down his thin frame and notices the Academy uniform under the cloak.

“For…” She says, “Having such a… reaction. On you.”

“Eh. Not the worst thing people have done to me.” 

She wants to ask what he means. It doesn’t seem like the time. 

“I’m sorry,” His eyes go to the floor. “For my comment.”

Mel’s shoulders tense but she shakes her head politely. “We can forget it.”

The look in his eyes suggests otherwise. She certainly would not forget it, but it’s better to remain amicable and walk away. In fact, she should wrap this up. But then his eyes completely freeze on hers. His eyebrows start to rise. 

Something has dawned, a connection to her face has been made, and Mel can only brace herself for the sting of recognition when he cautiously starts:

“Are you…”

She can deny it. She can deny this. 

“From Zaun?”

Oh. Her shoulders gently fall and the relief that fills her draws a laugh out of her.

But he’s not smiling. He’s waiting for a response, eyes focused, and she swallows her remaining smile.

“No. I’m not.”

“Ah,” He tilts his head. Studies her. Nearly inches closer.

“I’m from…” Lying would be easier. As simple as putting on another face.

“I’m from Noxus.”

Some recognition flashes in the guy’s eyes. He nods once. She refuses to elaborate. Feels her eyes burn but swallows that too. He seems to notice it and it’s infuriating.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” She tries a smile and gives up.

He makes a small pout with his mouth. “I tend to wheeze when I am fine, too.”

She sighs through a small, defeated smile. It barely counts as a huff of laughter.

“That’s a bit pushy.”

“You are the one who started hyperventilating. I’m doing the polite thing, checking up.”

Mel locks eyes with the gravel beside her boots. She clenches her teeth together and wonders why this guy has to sound so sincere. On any other day, the stars would never align in this specific arrangement designed to shout her vulnerability. She wouldn’t feel so tempted to spill her guts to a masked face outside a one-time bar. 

Her eyes find his again.

“It’s trivial,” She says with the intended light weight of small talk. Yet her voice trembles.

He stares at her all the same. She’s used this same silence tactic in other conversations to sway it her way. And she hates how much it’s working on her now. 

“I’m feeling very homesick,” It spills out of her before she can help it, “It’s such a triviality. And, objectively, a stupid thing to feel.”

Mel looks at her hands and fiddles with her ring. She sees this symbol in her daydreams and in her nightmares. It’s the type of star that would blink at her over an ocean because it does. She tastes the distance in the salty air and the faded horizon. And she’s standing here, complaining to a stranger for… for…

On the verge of opening her mouth for an excuse, the guy’s voice cuts in.

“Sometimes I miss a specific bar that I used to frequent back home. In Zaun. This one is a little similar to it. Not exactly, of course, but the decorations remind me of it. I started to come here every so often. Even though the people are nothing like back there, and the drinks taste nothing like what I am used to.” 

He eyes the wall of the bar. 

Then turns his head, looks at her again: 

“Objectively, it is a stupid thing to do. I will never find home in topside. But humans have a tendency of chasing ghosts.”

Mel blinks, feels the growing pressure behind her eyes and the twitching of her nostrils. She shoves it deep down into some cavern that can never see light.

“Yeah,” But her reply is automatic, "We do.”

The hum of the street is still quiet against the blue shadows around them. The wind has calmed since she first stepped out—it’s like time has gone still for this exact moment, like there’s no such thing as the passage of it. It takes a few beats of them standing there in the alley looking at each other, of Mel studying the few identifiable factors about him for his voice to cut in. 

“And now that I have bothered you enough,” Is what he says, “I will wish you a good night.”

His hand emerges from his cloak and pushes off the wall nearest to them. He stumbles into a footstep going sideways, gaze focusing on something low on the ground. Mel follows his eyes and sees it now. A cane, presumably fallen from earlier, half submerged in the gravel. 

She walks up to it, kneels and grabs it, then straightens.

He’s still only about two feet away from her, expression on the side of sour.

“I could have gotten that myself.”

She raises an eyebrow and extends it to him. “I’m doing the polite thing, helping you.”

He blinks. Looks away from her before the corner of his lips turns up. She fights the urge to smile back as he takes the cane from her and positions it properly beside him.

“Thank you,” He steps towards her, much easier with the help of the aid. When his shoulder nearly meets her opposite one, he turns his head toward her.

“Get home safe. Try not to feel so homesick.”

She wants to reply but he’s already walking right up to the bar’s back exit. He doesn’t look back when he opens the door and slips back inside, cloak flowing in after him just like he’d left a few minutes ago. The door clicks shut and Mel stares at it, at the wet brick wall, at the dark alley she’s standing in. 

She never learned his name. She never even said hers. Yet the entire walk home, she can’t remember the last time she felt that honest.

[carinelian]

me, 2023: *starting wip* who the fuck needs so much buildup, exposition and filler chapters man like yeah worldbuilding is cool BUT this is supposedly a crime-fighting mystery thriller GET IN WITH THE PROGRAM MAN

me, 2024: *coming back to said wip like a prodigal son* I LOVE THE FILLERS I LOVE THEM GOING ON FOOD TRIPS AND BUYING COFFEES AND ATTENDING CLASSES AND DOING COURSEWORK THE FICTIONAL UNIVERSITY IS THRIVING THE CAST IS GROWING ILY

the backstory i outlined, filled with heartbreak and conflict and so much fuckening: hahaha enjoy ur fluff motherfucker i am always looming behind you ONE OF THESE DAYS YOU WILL TRIGGER THE PLOT POINT YOU CANT ESCAPE ME FOREVER

[explainlearning]

College Study Groups: Tips for Finding Your Perfect Match

College can be an exhilarating yet challenging experience. Juggling demanding coursework, social commitments, and newfound independence can leave you feeling overwhelmed. But fear not! One powerful tool to navigate the academic landscape and boost your learning is the humble study group.

However, not all study groups are created equal. A well-functioning group can be a game-changer, providing support, fostering collaboration, and enhancing your understanding of the material. But a poorly formed or unfocused group can end up wasting your time and hindering your academic success.

So, how do you find that perfect match – the college study group that helps you excel? This guide equips you with the knowledge and strategies to discover a group that complements your learning style and academic goals.

Understanding Your Needs:

Before embarking on your search, take a step back and consider your individual needs and preferences. Here are some questions to guide you:

Preferred Learning Style: Do you learn best visually, through hands-on activities, or by listening to explanations? Knowing your style helps you seek out a group that utilizes compatible learning techniques.

Course or Subject Focus: Are you looking for a group dedicated to a specific challenging course, or are you open to a broader support system covering multiple subjects?

Time Commitment and Availability: How much time can you realistically dedicate to study group sessions? Consider your schedule and identify times that work for you.

Desired Group Size: Do you prefer a small, intimate setting for focused discussion, or a larger group with diverse perspectives?

Finding Your Tribe: Strategies for Discovering the Best Study Group

Once you have a clearer picture of your needs, explore various avenues to find your ideal study group:

Classmates and Friends: Connect with classmates in your courses and inquire if they’re interested in forming a study group.

University Resources: Many universities offer student support services that facilitate study group formation. Check with your academic advisor, student success center, or department bulletin boards.

Online Platforms: Utilize online platforms like Facebook groups or dedicated study group matching services to connect with students in similar academic situations.

Subject-Specific Clubs or Organizations: Joining subject-specific clubs or organizations can put you in touch with students passionate about the same field, fostering potential study group connections.

Evaluating a Potential Study Group:

Once you have a few groups in sight, assess if they are a good fit before diving in. Here are some key aspects to consider:

Academic Focus and Goals: Ensure the group’s focus aligns with your academic needs, whether it’s a specific course or broader support across multiple subjects.

Learning Styles and Work Ethic: Does the group utilize learning styles that complement yours? Observe their study habits and ensure everyone shares a dedicated and focused approach.

Personality and Communication Styles: Creating a positive and supportive environment is vital. Do you feel comfortable communicating your needs and learning effectively within the group dynamic?

Building a Successful College Study Group:

After finding your perfect match, set the stage for a successful college study group experience:

Define Your Objectives: Establish clear goals for each study session, outlining topics to cover, key concepts to master, or specific questions to address.

Set Ground Rules: Discuss and agree on ground rules for communication, punctuality, focus, and technology usage during study sessions.

Embrace Different Roles: Rotate roles like discussion leader, note-taker, or timekeeper. This fosters engagement, shared responsibility, and a variety of learning perspectives.

Utilizing Technology to Enhance Your Study Group:

Technology can be a powerful asset for your college study group:

Online Collaboration Tools: Platforms like Explain Learning offer online whiteboards, shared documents, and chat functionalities, facilitating real-time collaboration even in online study groups.

Educational Resources: Explore online resources like Explain Learning, which offers video explanations, practice problems, and interactive learning materials that can complement your in-person sessions.

Communication Tools: Utilize communication tools like group chats or project management apps to stay connected outside of study sessions, share resources, and keep everyone on track.

Conclusion: Finding the Synergy for Success

Finding the best college study group can be transformative. By understanding your learning style and academic needs, actively seeking compatible peers, and establishing ground rules and communication strategies, you can create a dynamic and supportive environment. Utilize online resources and technology to enhance your study sessions and experience the power of collaborative learning. Remember, a well-functioning study group can be the key to unlocking academic success, boosting your confidence, and making your college journey more rewarding.

Explain Learning: Your Partner in Effective College Study Groups

Explain Learning offers a wealth ofresources to empower your college study group and maximize its effectiveness:

Comprehensive Video Explanations: Our platform features in-depth video explanations for a wide range of college-level subjects. These visually engaging resources can be used before or during study sessions to clarify concepts, enhance understanding, and provide a springboard for group discussions.

Interactive Practice Problems: Reinforce learning through a vast library of interactive practice problems aligned with various college curricula. Working through these problems together as a group allows you to identify areas requiring additional focus, test your comprehension, and solidify knowledge retention.

Flashcards and Learning Games: Gamified learning can make studying more engaging, especially for a group setting. Utilize Explain Learning’s flashcard creator and interactive learning games to transform rote memorization into an enjoyable and collaborative experience.

Shared Whiteboards and Notes: Our online whiteboards facilitate real-time collaboration, allowing your group to brainstorm ideas, visually represent complex concepts, and capture key takeaways during study sessions.

Remember, a successful college study group is about more than just academic achievement. It’s about fostering friendships, building a supportive community, and creating a positive learning environment. Explain Learning empowers your group to collaborate effectively, maximize your study sessions, and achieve academic excellence while enjoying the journey together.

Ready to take your college study group to the next level? Sign up for Explain Learning today and unlock a world of resources designed to help you succeed!

In Conclusion:

Finding the best study group can make a world of difference in your college experience. By implementing the tips outlined in this guide, you can discover a group that complements your learning style, supports your academic goals, and fosters collaboration and success. Remember, Explain Learning is here to empower your study group with the tools and resources needed to unlock your full academic potential.

Content Source https://explainlearning.com/blog/college-study-groups-tips-finding-perfect-match/

[careerclinicstudyabroad]

A Comprehensive Guide to Writing a Statement of Purpose (SOP) for a Canadian Student Visa

Introduction

When it comes to pursuing higher education in Canada, one of the essential documents you'll need is a Statement of Purpose (SOP). An SOP plays a pivotal role in your visa application process as it provides the Canadian authorities with insights into your academic and personal background, intentions, and aspirations. Crafting a well-structured and compelling SOP can significantly improve your chances of securing a Canadian student visa. In this guide, we will walk you through the step-by-step process of writing an effective SOP with tips and examples to help you succeed.

Understanding the Purpose of an SOP

What is an SOP?

A Statement of Purpose, commonly known as an SOP, is a written document that outlines your academic journey, career goals, and reasons for wanting to study in Canada. It serves as a crucial component of your visa application, allowing the authorities to assess your eligibility for a Canadian student visa.

Why is an SOP Important?

An SOP is your opportunity to communicate with the Canadian immigration authorities and convince them of your genuine intentions. It showcases your clarity of thought, commitment to your education, and your potential contributions to the Canadian academic community.

Crafting an Effective SOP

Choosing the Right Format

When writing your SOP, it's essential to follow a structured format. Begin with a captivating introduction, followed by a well-organized body, and conclude with a powerful ending. Use a formal tone throughout the document.

Introduction - Setting the Tone

Your introduction should be engaging and concise. Start with a hook that captures the reader's attention and briefly introduce yourself. Mention the program you intend to pursue in Canada and explain why you are interested in it.

Your Academic Journey - Highlighting Your Achievements

In this section, delve into your academic background. Discuss your qualifications, achievements, and any relevant coursework or projects. Emphasize how your past experiences have prepared you for the program you're applying for.

Your Career Goals - Articulating Your Ambitions

Outline your career aspirations and how the chosen Canadian program aligns with your goals. Be specific and show how this program will be a stepping stone towards your desired career path.

Why Canada? - Demonstrating Your Research

Share your research about Canada and the specific university or college you wish to attend. Mention the reasons why Canada is your preferred study destination and how it offers a conducive environment for your academic growth.

Personal Growth - Reflecting on Personal Development

Discuss how studying in Canada will contribute to your personal growth. Highlight any cultural adaptability, independence, or leadership skills you've gained from past experiences.

Conclusion - Summarizing Your Intentions

In your conclusion, reiterate your enthusiasm for studying in Canada and your commitment to complying with Canadian laws and regulations. End on a positive note, expressing gratitude for the opportunity.

SOP Writing Tips

1. Be Genuine: Authenticity is key. Write from the heart, and don't exaggerate or fabricate information.

2. Keep it Concise: Stick to the word limit provided by the university or immigration authorities. Avoid unnecessary details.

3. Proofread Thoroughly: Check for grammatical errors and ensure your SOP is error-free.

4. Seek Feedback: Get input from peers, professors, or professionals to enhance the quality of your SOP.

5. Customize for Each Application: Tailor your SOP for each university or program you apply to. Avoid using a generic template.

Conclusion

Writing a compelling Statement of Purpose (SOP) for your Canadian student visa application can significantly impact your chances of success. It's your opportunity to showcase your genuine intentions, academic background, and career goals. Follow the guidelines and tips provided in this guide to create an impressive SOP that increases your chances of studying in Canada.

FAQs (Frequently Asked Questions)

1. How long should my SOP be?

Your SOP should typically be around 500 to 1,000 words, but it's essential to adhere to the specific word limit provided by the university or immigration authorities.

2. Can I use the same SOP for multiple universities in Canada?

While you can use a base template, it's advisable to customize your SOP for each university and program to demonstrate your genuine interest.

3. What should I avoid in my SOP?

Avoid exaggeration, plagiarism, and providing false information. Be honest and authentic in your writing.

4. Is it necessary to hire a professional to write my SOP?

While you can seek guidance and feedback from professionals, your SOP should reflect your thoughts, experiences, and aspirations, making it a personal document.

5. How can I make my SOP stand out?

Highlight unique experiences, achievements, and your genuine passion for the program and university you're applying to. Personalize your SOP to make it memorable.

In conclusion, your SOP for a Canadian student visa is not just a piece of paperwork; it's your opportunity to make a compelling case for why you deserve to study in Canada. Take your time, craft a well-thought-out SOP, and increase your chances of embarking on an exciting educational journey in Canada.

[dollfaceksj]

bestie, I'm in my final year of university, so if you need any advice, I'm always a dm away. Anyways, here's what I learnt in my 4 years in university (this can go for everyone too:

- Do not feel bad if you fail one assignment, or if you think that it'll kill your GPA - it literally just depends on the scaled weighings for that assessment piece. There are also ways you can resubmit or reassess. You're in univeristy to learn, and that comes with failure, not sucess.

- Talking of GPA, I'm not sure how it works in other countries, but here, in Australia - your GPA doesn't go on your graduate certificate - so even if you just scraped by - p's get degrees. (Passes). Don't live by this though, aim high! The only way people are going to find out your GPA here is if you tell them.

- You don't always need to do every reading or watch every lecture - rest assured. I think like out of my four years (this is my last year), I did only half of this, but I still know what to do, when to do it, etc. Majority of your learnings come from class time, and assessment pieces, etc. Readings aren't compulsory (unless otherwise advised.) Majority of them are there to support you not to teach you, that's what your tutors, lecturers, professors, etc., are there for.

- Group assignments will SUCK. I mean it here. They're so bullshit with the grades and this (I'm a big advocate for individual markings in group pieces). The amount of times I'd have to haul ass on the assignment cause some sick shit head decided to go partying instead of study as bullshit. I'd personally do this thing where I would snitch on you if you don't pull your load of the coursework in a group assignment. I'm not a dog, guys, promise, I am nice. Just - respect goes both ways, and it would be obvious that some group members are there for a joyride, to ride off your academics - it's not cool!

- You're not really there to make friends. But if you find some great people, with great personalities along the way - go for it! I met one of my best friends in my first year of university and we've been friends since!

- Your mental/physical health matters most. Fuck your assignments and your classes if you're having a bad day. I guarantee you won't fail for missing a week - sure you'll be behind and that can be stressful - but YOU matter most. Not your assignments. At the end of the day, you can always fill in for an assignment extension - look after yourself FIRST! Good teachers will understand this and emphatise well. Mental health matters!

- Don't leave your assignments to the last minute - or do it's up to you. Last year I partially lived by the good old saying, "if it's not the DUE date, it's not the DO date." This really stressed me the fuck out, but thats procrastination for you (and partically cause I have ADHD lmfao)

- Enjoy your time. Easier said than done. It's really not easy - university/college. What they don't say at open days is the level of mental breakdowns you will have on ONE assignment, because the marking feedback is BRIEF or the teachers didn't explain it properly. Best thing you can do, look to the course outlines in your selected courses - they are LIFESAVERSSSS. I cannot emphasise this enough. They explain better than some of the professors I have had, trust me, they're godsends.

That's about it from me. but if you really want more - DM me, love you clo! I'm super happy foor you! I can't wait to hear more about it!

thank you for the tips bestie 🫡🫡🫡 i’ll think about you

[gabicna]

Change Your Nursing Career: Top Online CNA to LPN Programs Explained

transform Your Nursing Career: Top online CNA to LPN ⁣Programs Explained

Are you ���a Certified Nursing Assistant ⁢(CNA) looking to advance your nursing career?‌ Transitioning‌ from a CNA ‍to a Licensed Practical Nurse (LPN) can⁤ open doors to a more rewarding profession,both personally and financially. With the rise of online nursing programs, taking the next step in your career has never been easier.in this article,we’ll delve‌ into the top online CNA to⁢ LPN programs,their benefits,and practical tips for making the most of your ⁢educational journey.

Understanding the CNA to LPN Transition

Before diving into the programs available, it’s crucial to understand the differences between ‍a CNA and an LPN. A CNA provides basic patient care under the supervision of registered nurses⁢ and physicians, whereas LPNs have a broader scope of practice, including administering medications, monitoring patient⁣ health, and more complex‍ nursing responsibilities.

Why Transition from CNA to LPN?

Increased Salary: LPNs typically earn a higher salary than CNAs. According to the U.S. bureau of Labour Statistics, the median annual wage for ⁣LPNs ⁢was about $48,000, compared to⁢ $30,000 for CNAs.

Expanded Career‌ Opportunities: Becoming an LPN opens doors to more job‌ opportunities across various healthcare settings, including hospitals, nursing homes, and clinics.

Professional Growth: The transition allows CNAs to expand‍ their clinical knowledge and skills, leading to more responsibilities and fulfillment in the nursing field.

Top Online CNA to LPN Programs

Here are some of the top online programs that facilitate the transition from CNA to ‌LPN:

Program Name

Institution

Duration

Accreditation

Practical Nursing Certificate

Southern New Hampshire University

1 year

ACEN

LPN Diploma

Herzing University

12-14 months

ACEN

Online LPN Program

Northwest Technical‌ College

1⁣ year

NLNAC

Diploma in ‍Practical Nursing

Gateway ⁤Community College

1 year

ACEN

Benefits of Online CNA⁤ to LPN Programs

Flexible Scheduling: Online programs allow you to study at your own pace, making it easier to balance work and education.

Access to Resources: Many⁣ online programs offer ‍a wealth of online resources,including lectures,forums,and study materials.

Network Opportunities: Online programs often provide platforms for connecting with fellow students and professionals in the nursing field.

Practical Tips for Success

Transitioning from CNA to LPN comes⁣ with its challenges. Here⁤ are some practical tips to help you succeed:

Stay Organized: Create a study schedule that outlines your coursework, assignments, and exam dates.

Utilize Online Resources: ‍Take⁣ advantage of digital libraries, forums, and tutoring services offered by your ​program.

Network with Peers: Engage with fellow students and instructors through online forums or social media platforms to receive support‌ and share knowledge.

Practice Clinical Skills: Seek⁢ out hands-on training opportunities to reinforce the theoretical knowledge gained from your online courses.

Real-Life Experiences:⁢ Success Stories

Case Study 1: Jane ⁣doe

Jane, a CNA with three years of experience, enrolled in an online LPN program at Herzing University. Balancing work along with her studies, ⁤she utilized the institution’s resources and connected with classmates virtually.⁤ Within a year, she graduated and⁢ secured an LPN position at a‌ local hospital, significantly increasing her salary and job ‍satisfaction.

Case Study 2: ⁢John Smith

John transitioned from a CNA to an LPN through Southern New Hampshire University’s program. He appreciated ⁣the flexible schedule, allowing him to complete courses‌ at home while continuing to work. now ⁢an LPN,John notes ‍that the program equipped him not only with nursing skills but also with confidence to excel in patient care.

Conclusion: Embrace the Change

Transitioning from a CNA to an LPN is a notable ‌step toward advancing your nursing career. With numerous online programs available, you can find one that suits your lifestyle and professional goals. Embrace this prospect to enhance your skills, expand your career prospects, and make a ‌profound impact on patient care.Start your journey today and transform your ​nursing career for the⁤ better!

https://cnatrainingprogram.net/change-your-nursing-career-top-online-cna-to-lpn-programs-explained/

[mellowruinscollective]

Amity University Online MBA Program Review

Thinking about an online MBA program? The Amity University Online MBA Program Review outlines the many highlights of this prestigious program. With the latest coursework available and and a supportive learning environment, Amity University has all of the keys to your new career in the business world. 

For more visit this site

https://www.umeacademy.com/latest-articles/amity-university-online-mba-program-review/

Contact Us: +91 9625266808

Name :- umeacademy.com

Email Id :- umeacademyindia@gmail.com

Address :- Delhi NCR, Gurugram, Greater Noida, India

[cnacertificationprogram]

Open Your Future: Essential CNA Job Training for a Rewarding Healthcare Career

Unlock Your Future: Essential CNA Job Training for a Rewarding Healthcare Career

Are ⁤you interested in a rewarding‍ career in the​ healthcare field? Becoming a Certified nursing Assistant (CNA)⁢ coudl be your gateway to ​a fulfilling profession that⁤ makes a significant impact on the lives of patients. ‌In this article, we’ll⁣ explore the essential‌ CNA job ⁣training you need to embark‍ on this rewarding ‍career, including benefits, practical tips, and ⁢enlightening ⁣firsthand experiences.

What is⁤ a CNA?

A Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA) plays a vital role in the healthcare system, providing essential support​ to patients and ⁤healthcare⁣ staff.‍ In hospitals, nursing homes, and other healthcare settings, CNAs assist with daily ​activities, monitor ⁣patient status, and‌ provide compassionate care.They are often the first point of contact for patients, making their role ‌crucial in⁤ delivering quality care.

Benefits of Becoming a CNA

Swift Entry into the Workforce: CNA training programs typically last between 4 to​ 12 weeks.

High Demand ⁣for CNAs: With an aging population, there is a strong demand for qualified individuals in this field.

Flexible Work Schedules: Many healthcare facilities offer flexible hours, making it easier to balance work and personal⁣ life.

Chance for Advancement: Starting as a CNA ​can lead to⁣ further education and roles such ‍as LPN or RN.

Essential CNA Job Training Requirements

Before you can‍ begin your ⁢career as ⁢a CNA, you need ​to complete a ​training program and pass a certification exam. Here’s a brief overview of the essential steps involved in⁤ CNA job training:

1.research Training⁢ Programs

Look for‌ accredited ‌CNA‍ programs ‍in your area. Many universities, community colleges, and vocational schools ‌offer ⁢courses that meet state requirements.Ensure that the program includes:

Classroom instruction

hands-on clinical training

Readiness for the certification exam

2. complete Required Coursework

During ​your CNA training, you will ⁣cover essential ‌topics, ‍including:

Basic nursing skills

Patient⁢ care and safety

Communication skills

Understanding of medical terminology

3. Gain hands-On Experience

Practical experience is essential⁣ for becoming a successful CNA. During your training, you will participate in clinical ⁢rotations where you’ll ⁤work directly with patients under ‍the ‌supervision of licensed⁣ professionals.

4. Prepare for the Certification Exam

After ⁤completing ⁢your training program,you must pass the state certification exam to become​ a‌ CNA. This typically includes:

A written test

A skills presentation

Career Opportunities for CNAs

After obtaining your CNA certification, various career paths are available. The following ‍table outlines common workplace settings and potential roles for CNAs:

Workplace Setting

Potential Roles

Nursing Homes

Resident Care Aide

Hospitals

Patient Care Technician

Home Health Care

Personal Care Assistant

Rehabilitation Centers

Rehab Aide

real-World ⁤Experiences:⁢ CNAs Share Their Stories

Hearing firsthand experiences from CNAs provides⁤ insight into the rewarding nature of​ this career. ​Here are two quotes from certified⁢ nursing assistants:

“Being a ⁣CNA ‍is⁤ challenging⁢ but incredibly fulfilling. I love ​connecting with my patients and seeing them ⁢improve day by day!”

– Sarah, CNA

“The training prepared me well, but it’s the relationships with​ patients that truly make this job special.”

-‌ James, CNA

Practical Tips for⁢ Success as a CNA

To excel in your career as a CNA, consider ‌the following tips:

Develop Strong Communication Skills: ⁤Effective communication with both ‍patients and healthcare teams is ⁤vital.

Stay Organized: Managing time and patient records efficiently can ​enhance patient care.

be Compassionate: ​Empathy ‌and kindness can considerably affect the patient experience.

Keep Learning: Continuing education ⁢will help you stay updated on best ⁣practices ‍in patient care.

Conclusion

Becoming ⁢a Certified Nursing Assistant opens the door to a rewarding healthcare career filled⁢ with opportunities⁢ for personal and professional growth. By completing⁤ essential CNA job training, gaining firsthand experience, and embracing the challenges⁢ and ⁤rewards of the profession, you⁢ can significantly impact the lives⁤ of those you ​serve. Whether you’re⁢ a new graduate or‍ considering a career ⁢change, ‍the path to becoming a CNA is a fulfilling journey that can lead to a successful future in healthcare.

https://cnacertificationprogram.net/open-your-future-essential-cna-job-training-for-a-rewarding-healthcare-career/

[honorarydoctorate]

How to Pursue a PhD in Chemistry: A Complete Guide 

Pursuing a PhD in Chemistry is a major academic and professional milestone. Whether your goal is to contribute to cutting-edge research, enter academia, or advance in the pharmaceutical or chemical industries, a doctorate equips you with the skills and credibility to thrive. Here's a complete guide to help you understand the process from start to finish.

Understand What a PhD in Chemistry Entails

A PhD in Chemistry is a research-focused degree that typically takes 4–6 years to complete. It involves advanced coursework, comprehensive exams, and a major original research project culminating in a dissertation. Specializations can include:

Organic Chemistry

Inorganic Chemistry

Physical Chemistry

Analytical Chemistry

Biochemistry

Materials Science

Theoretical/Computational Chemistry

You will work under the guidance of a supervisor, contributing new knowledge to your field and publishing in peer-reviewed journals.

2. Meet the Basic Eligibility Criteria

Most PhD programs require:

A Master’s degree (M.Sc.) in Chemistry or a closely related field

Strong academic performance (typically a GPA of 3.0/4.0 or equivalent)

Letters of recommendation

Statement of purpose (SOP) outlining research interests

Research experience (preferred, but not always required)

Some universities may accept exceptional candidates with just a Bachelor’s degree, especially in the U.S.

3. Choose Your Area of Research Interest

Before applying, identify the area of chemistry you're most passionate about. This helps you:

Narrow down suitable programs

Find potential supervisors whose research aligns with your interests

Write a compelling SOP tailored to specific departments

Review recent papers, attend webinars, or speak with current PhD students to gain clarity.

4. Prepare for Entrance Exams

Depending on your location and target universities, you may need to take standardized tests:

GRE (Graduate Record Examination) – Required by some U.S. universities

TOEFL/IELTS – For non-native English speakers applying to international programs

CSIR-NET/GATE – Required for admission or funding in India

Check individual university requirements carefully.

5. Apply to the Right Universities

Shortlist institutions based on:

Research output

Faculty expertise

Funding opportunities

Lab facilities

Industry connections

Applications generally include academic transcripts, test scores, SOP, resume/CV, and letters of recommendation. Most deadlines fall between November and February for Fall admission.

6. Secure Funding

PhD programs often offer financial support through:

Teaching assistantships (TA)

Research assistantships (RA)

Fellowships or scholarships

Make sure to apply for external funding as well (e.g., UGC-NET JRF in India, NSF fellowships in the U.S., or DAAD in Germany).

7. Interview and Acceptance

Some programs may conduct interviews to assess your fit with the department and potential advisor. Be prepared to discuss:

Your academic background

Research interests

Long-term goals

Why you chose their program

Once accepted, you'll receive an offer letter outlining funding, expectations, and start date.

8. Begin the Program

Your PhD journey typically involves:

Coursework (1–2 years): Advanced classes in chemistry and research methods

Comprehensive exams: To assess your readiness for research

Research proposal: Defining the scope and methodology of your dissertation

Lab work: Intensive experiments, data collection, and analysis

Dissertation writing: Documenting your findings in a scholarly format

Defense: Presenting and defending your research before a committee

9. Career Opportunities After a PhD in Chemistry

With a PhD, you can pursue:

Academia (Postdoctoral research, Professorship)

R&D in pharmaceuticals, biotechnology, and materials science

Chemical manufacturing and process industries

Government or defense research labs

Scientific writing, patent law, or consulting

Final Tips:

Stay curious and resilient – research is a marathon, not a sprint.

Network with peers, attend conferences, and seek mentorship.

Keep publishing and updating your skills (e.g., in data analysis or AI in chemistry).

A PhD in Chemistry is demanding but deeply rewarding. With the right preparation and mindset, you can carve out a meaningful and impactful career.

[aimlayblogs]

Why Pursue MBA in Entrepreneurship in 2025? Course, Eligibility & Scope

In 2025, the landscape of business is driven by innovation, disruption, and digital transformation. Entrepreneurship is no longer just about starting a business—it's about solving real-world problems, driving change, and creating value. An MBA in Entrepreneurship equips students with the strategic, financial, and operational skills to build and scale ventures successfully. Whether you aspire to launch your own startup, join a high-growth company, or lead innovation within an established enterprise, this degree can be a game-changer.

MBA in Entrepreneurship: Course Details

An MBA in Entrepreneurship is a two-year postgraduate program designed to develop entrepreneurial thinking, business acumen, leadership skills, and innovation-driven approaches. The MBA courses blends core MBA subjects like finance, marketing, and operations with entrepreneurship-specific modules such as:

New Venture Creation

Startup Financing

Business Model Innovation

Design Thinking

Entrepreneurial Strategy

Scaling Startups

Social Entrepreneurship

The program is ideal for aspiring entrepreneurs, intrapreneurs, business consultants, and future business leaders.

MBA in Entrepreneurship: Eligibility Criteria

Eligibility requirements may vary by institute, but general criteria include:

Educational Qualification: A bachelor's degree (in any discipline) from a recognized university with a minimum of 50% aggregate marks (45% for reserved categories).

Work Experience (Preferred but not mandatory): 1-3 years of work experience is preferred by some top-tier B-schools.

Entrance Exams: Candidates must qualify in national or university-level entrance exams like CAT, XAT, MAT, GMAT, or CMAT.

MBA in Entrepreneurship: Admission Process 2025

The admission process for the 2025 academic session typically follows these steps:

Entrance Exam Score: Candidates must appear for and clear the required entrance exam.

Application Submission: Apply to preferred B-schools by filling out their application forms online.

Shortlisting: Based on entrance exam scores, academic background, and work experience.

Group Discussion/Personal Interview: Shortlisted candidates are called for GD, PI, or Written Ability Test (WAT).

Final Selection: Admission is offered based on overall performance and institute-specific criteria.

Some institutes may offer direct admission based on academic merit and profile evaluation.

MBA in Entrepreneurship: Entrance Exams

Here are some common entrance exams accepted by top B-schools offering MBA in Entrepreneurship:

CAT (Common Admission Test) – For IIMs and many top B-schools in India.

XAT (Xavier Aptitude Test) – Conducted by XLRI.

MAT (Management Aptitude Test) – Conducted by AIMA, accepted by 600+ B-schools.

CMAT (Common Management Admission Test) – Conducted by NTA.

GMAT (Graduate Management Admission Test) – Preferred for international MBA programs and some elite Indian B-schools.

It is advisable to check the specific entrance requirements of each institution.

MBA in Entrepreneurship: MBA Syllabus

The MBA in Entrepreneurship syllabus combines foundational business knowledge with innovation and venture-focused coursework. Here's a typical outline:

Year 1 (Core MBA Subjects)

Financial Accounting

Marketing Management

Organizational Behavior

Managerial Economics

Business Communication

Operations Management

Human Resource Management

Quantitative Techniques

Year 2 (Specialization and Electives)

Innovation Management

Entrepreneurial Finance

Startup Strategy

Business Plan Development

Legal Aspects of Business

E-commerce & Digital Business

Fundraising & Venture Capital

MBA in Entrepreneurship: Subjects

The specialization includes subjects tailored for entrepreneurial success. Key subjects include:

Entrepreneurial Development

Feasibility Study and Business Planning

Startup Law and Regulatory Framework

Risk Management for Entrepreneurs

Technology and Innovation

Leadership and Team Building

Intellectual Property Rights

Global Entrepreneurship Trends

These subjects help candidates develop the mindset and tools necessary to launch and grow businesses.

Online MBA Entrepreneurship

For working professionals or those unable to attend full-time programs, online MBA options are becoming increasingly popular. Several reputed institutions and ed-tech platforms now offer Online MBAs in Entrepreneurship, which are:

Flexible and self-paced

Cost-effective

Designed for real-world application

Supported by mentorship, project-based learning, and networking opportunities

Popular platforms and universities offering Online MBA in Entrepreneurship include:

Amity University Online

NMIMS Global Access

Coursera (in partnership with global universities)

UpGrad (in collaboration with O.P. Jindal Global University)

These programs allow you to gain entrepreneurial expertise while continuing your current job or business.

MBA in Entrepreneurship: Career Scope and Job Profiles

An MBA in Entrepreneurship opens doors to a wide variety of career paths. Graduates can either:

Start Their Own Business:

Launch a startup or venture in tech, e-commerce, social impact, or traditional sectors.

Access to incubators, seed funding, and startup ecosystems.

Join Existing Startups or Corporates:

Innovation Manager

Business Development Manager

Product Manager

Strategy Consultant

Venture Analyst

Work with VC Firms or Incubators:

Assist in evaluating startup pitches, managing portfolios, and mentoring founders.

Family Business Leadership:

Take over or modernize an existing family business with strategic planning and innovation.

Freelancing/Consulting:

Help startups with business plans, funding strategy, and go-to-market plans.

Top Recruiters:

Google, Amazon, Flipkart, Deloitte, EY, Accenture, BCG, and Indian startups like BYJU’S, Zomato, Ola, Paytm, and others.

Conclusion

Pursuing an MBA in Entrepreneurship in 2025 is a strategic decision for those passionate about building ventures, solving real-world challenges, and leading innovation. With a blend of theoretical knowledge and practical exposure, this program offers immense flexibility and scope in both self-employment and corporate roles. Whether you're a budding entrepreneur or an ambitious professional seeking leadership opportunities, an MBA in Entrepreneurship can provide the launchpad for your goals in a rapidly evolving business world.

[laurencna]

Open Your Future: Essential Guide to CNA Training in Connecticut

Unlock Your ⁣Future: ⁣Essential Guide⁢ to CNA Training in Connecticut

Are you considering a rewarding ‌career in healthcare? Becoming a Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA)‌ in Connecticut may be your launching⁤ pad into a fulfilling profession. This essential guide⁢ on CNA training ⁣in connecticut outlines everything you need to know,‌ from program details to practical tips and human experiences. Let’s unlock your future together!

What is a CNA?

A Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA) provides essential care to patients in various healthcare settings. Their responsibilities include assisting ​patients with daily activities, ⁤monitoring vital signs, and​ providing ⁣emotional ‌support.In Connecticut, CNAs play a crucial role in ⁣the healthcare system by ensuring patients receive the best possible care.

Why Choose CNA Training in Connecticut?

CNA⁤ training in Connecticut offers several benefits that make it an attractive option ​for prospective healthcare workers:

High Demand: the healthcare industry is continually growing, leading to a strong demand for CNAs.

Short Training Duration: Most CNA programs can be completed within a few ⁣weeks to a few months.

Gateway to Further Education: CNA training can serve as a stepping stone for more advanced healthcare roles.

Job Security: With an aging population,job security in this field is promising.

CNA Training Programs in Connecticut

Overview⁤ of CNA programs

CNA programs in Connecticut are​ offered in various formats, including community colleges, vocational schools, and⁣ online platforms. Typically, these programs ⁢combine⁢ classroom ​learning with hands-on ‌clinical experience to ensure comprehensive⁢ training. Here’s‍ what you ‍can expect from a typical​ CNA program:

Coursework on anatomy, physiology, and patient care.

Hands-on training in‌ a clinical setting.

Preparation for the state⁢ competency exam.

Accredited CNA Training Providers in Connecticut

When choosing a⁣ CNA⁣ training program,it’s crucial to ⁤select an accredited institution. Here are some reputable CNA ⁢training providers in Connecticut:

Institution

Location

program Length

Cost

Gateway Community College

New Haven

8 weeks

$1,200

Hartford Hospital

Hartford

6 weeks

$800

Quinnipiac University

Hamden

10 weeks

$1,500

how to Become a CNA in Connecticut

The process to become a ⁤CNA in Connecticut involves several key steps:

Complete a​ CNA Training Program: Enroll in one of the accredited CNA training programs available.

Pass ‌the‌ Competency Exam: After training, ⁤you must pass the Connecticut Nurse‌ Aide Competency Examination.

Apply for Certification: Once you ​pass the exam, submit your request to​ the Connecticut Department of Public ‌Health (DPH).

Maintain Your Certification: Renew your CNA certification every ‌two years‍ and complete any required⁣ continuing education.

First-Hand Experience: Life as a CNA

To give you an insight into what it’s like to work as a⁤ CNA‍ in Connecticut, we spoke to Jane​ Smith, ‌a recent CNA graduate.

‌ ⁢ ⁢ “I decided to become a CNA because I wanted to make a difference in people’s‌ lives.‌ My training was intense but incredibly rewarding. I learned⁤ not just the‌ technical skills ‍but also compassion and patience. Every day is different, and I love knowing that I am helping ⁣someone in need.” – Jane⁤ Smith, CNA

benefits of Being a CNA

Working‍ as a CNA comes with numerous benefits that attract many individuals to this career path:

Impactful Work: You have the opportunity to make a tangible ⁢difference in patients’ lives.

Flexible Scheduling: Many facilities offer various shifts,⁢ allowing for work-life balance.

Opportunities for advancement: Experience as a⁢ CNA can ⁢lead to further career ⁣options like LPN or RN.

Practical Tips for Success as a CNA

Are ‍you ready to thrive ​in your CNA career? here⁢ are some practical tips:

Stay Organized: Keep track⁢ of your tasks and manage your time‌ effectively.

Communicate Clearly:⁤ good interaction ⁢with patients and healthcare teams is essential.

Continual Learning: stay updated ​with new healthcare practices‌ and technologies.

Conclusion

Unlocking ⁢your future‌ as a Certified Nursing Assistant in Connecticut is within reach! With the right training, a positive ⁢attitude, and a dedication to patient care, you can embark on a fulfilling career in healthcare. Explore the various CNA training programs available, take⁣ that first step, and start a journey that⁢ can lead ‍to numerous opportunities in the ​healthcare field.Remember, your journey begins with the decision to help those in ​need—become ⁢a CNA and make a difference today!

https://trainingcna.org/open-your-future-essential-guide-to-cna-training-in-connecticut/