#Every book regardless of the number of pages is this

[chososdiscordkitten]

Fight Back!

Synopsis: Play Fighting w/ the jjk men :D

Includes: 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢, 𝐍𝐚𝐨𝐲𝐚, 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨, 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐚, 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢 Content: a sprinkle of nsfw, no sex- just foreplay, manhandling, rough housing,

Dedicated to; this ask.

MDNI

Kento Nanami

Late at night—well after he came home from work, a few hours after dinner—he laid beside you with a book in hand. 

This was always your least favorite part before bed- knowing Nanami could never focus on reading unless it was in complete silence. And silence always made your mind whirr with a million thoughts, but not wanting him to think there was something wrong; You laid next to him- scanning his expression that seemed lacking in interest. 

"How's your book?" you whispered- pulling his focus and flashing his eyes over to you. 

Nanami pulled one of the hands from the book and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Boring." he sighed- eyes strained from looking at the little words. 

Watching him lay his eyes back onto the pages with a soft exhale. You knew once Kento had started a book- regardless of how uninteresting he was in it, he would try and finish it. 

You were the playful one in the relationship, trying to create excitement. You reached for the book, pulling it from Nanami's hands and quickly looking at the little number on the bottom. 

Closing it and holding it to your chest. "You're probably the only man I know who would ignore a woman in his bed for a book." you teased, watching his brow furrow with a soft smile. 

"I'm not ignoring you, honey-" he scoffed with a soft smile, reaching for the book only for you to move away. 

You pursed your lips, closing your eyes and making a feigned thinking noise. "Dunno- feelin' pretty ignored." you hummed, feeling his hand reach for the book again and turning away. 

He rose to his knees and exhaled. "Alright, that's enough—" he smiled, his tone full of endearment. 

You let out a small giggle-sitting up, and moving across the bed. Pressing your back against the sheets and watching his hands reach for it again, only for you to move away. "You want it so bad, take it from me." you giggled.

Nanami scoffed with a smile, accepting your dare. Reaching a hand out again, watching you tip onto your side with the book in hand. "Sooo close, Ken—" his words cut short as he touched your calf. 

Nanami's strong hand yanked you towards him with a soft huff, looking down at you with pursed lips. "Hand it over." he demanded- trying to make his tone sound stern, only for it to come out mixed with a chuckle. 

You planted your thigh beside his bent knee, his hand lightly caressing your calf, slowly raising on your leg. The book pressed against your chest, teasingly tilting your head against the bed. "I told you- Take it." egging him on as you pulled your calf from his softened grasp.  

Watching his jaw clench as he hooked his hand beneath your slightly bent knee, reaching the other to the book only for you to raise it up with both hands. 

Softly landing on top of you with your legs spread. One thigh pinned to the bed by Kento's forearm, the other on the side of his hip. Nanami's face looks up to your hands, giving you full access to his neck. His hips pressed against the back of your thighs with every little reach he made. 

You only giggled- slightly bucking your hips up against him and pressing a kiss to his neck. "Some gentleman you are," you whispered. Releasing the book onto the bed and shoving it further on the bed with the tips of your fingers. 

"Pinning a lady to the bed?" with a smile, placing your hand onto his side and humming against him.

A little laugh left his lips as he relinquished the urge to continue that book. He looked back at you and nodded his head. "It's your fault." he mumbled, planting his forearm next to your head and lightly resting his hips against you. 

Looking into his eyes as he leaned down slightly, you met him halfway. "It's never my fault." you whispered, lips brushing against his with a smug smile.

He gave you his attention instead of his book. Leaving you more than pleased.

Naoya Zenin

You had noticed Naoya spending way too much time on his phone. Anytime you started talking, Naoya would pick up that stupid piece of metal and scroll mindlessly. 

And instead of asking him why, you snatched the phone and ran to your bedroom. Throwing yourself onto the bed and opening it as fast as you could. 

When he stepped in, he reached for the phone in your hands, only to be met with a little kick. 

And with every reach Naoya made, he was met with a swat from your foot. "Give it back-" he huffed- kneeling at the foot of the bed as you scrolled through the apps. 

"No way-" you grinned, "I wanna see what's more important than me." kicking off his hands and shifting away from his grasp. 

That was till his hand finally got a good grip on your ankle- widening your eyes as he flipped you over. Naoya wasted no time sitting on the back of your thighs and planting his hand over your wrist. 

You tried shifting from his grasp as you held his phone with a firm hand. 

With clenched teeth, he leaned over to your ear, squeezing your wrist- "Give it." he gruffed against your ear. 

"What are you hiding?!" you huffed with a smile against the sheets- wholly pinned down and still putting up a fight. 

He only muttered a strained 'Nothing.' 

With every little shift, Naoya's huffs of struggling to hold you down turned softer- his cock brushing up against your ass with every movement you shifted beneath him. 

His breathing was heavy in your ear as he pressed his groin into your ass, "Are you-" you grinned, knowing that all too well the feeling jab at the swell of your bottom. Easing the grip on your wrist- gaining enough strength to push him off. 

Landing on the bed on his back- his cheeks flushed and eyes bordering on forming spirals from how riled up he had gotten. Only for you to straddle his thighs and scroll on his phone again. Softly grinding down onto his erection as you scrolled on his phone. 

When his shaky hand tried to reach for yours- another grind met his hips, along with swatting his hand away.

By the time you had opened every app and every message he had- Naoya was a blushing mess beneath you. Whimpers spilled from his lips as you locked his phone, "There was nothing…?" you muttered- feeling his hands rest on your thighs. 

His hand trying to urge your hips to move- "I told you." he breathed through clenched teeth. 

Pulling your lips to the side and tossing his phone haphazardly, "I guess you did." you smiled, looking down at him and softly grinding down against him. 

Choso Kamo

You had been awake for a while. You had made breakfast and got dressed for the day, but Choso was still in bed. He was too comfy and far too sleepy to even think about getting up. 

From the second you got up, he had been asking you to come back to bed. It was tempting, sure. But the apartment needed some serious cleaning, and grocery shopping had to be done. 

So, as you walked back into the bedroom- eager to make the bed. "Get up." you demanded, reaching for the blankets and watching Choso clutch them even harder. 

"No." he muttered, turning over and ignoring your pulling hands. 

You sighed, tugging the sheets even harder. "C'mon get up—I needa make the bed," you muttered. You went to the side where he was lying and lightly pushed his arm, watching Choso's eyes open and look up at you. 

He opened his arms and made a space for you. "Lay with me," he muttered, watching you purse your lips and reach for the blanket again. 

"It's two p.m, Cho," tugging the blanket and feeling resistance. You were about to tug again, only for his hand to wrap around your wrist and pull. 

Leaving you bent over on the edge of the bed- half your body on top of his as you let out a small laugh. His arms wrapping around you and placing his face onto the crook of your neck. 

Trying to pull away from him- only to be met with a strong hand holding you still. Going as far as lifting your feet from the ground and pulling with your knees on the edge of the bed. 

Completely entrapped by his arms as he refused to let up. 

You tried shifting from his grip- only for his arms to hold you tighter. "Let me-" you tried saying, only to be met with a small nibble against your neck. A small giggle leaving your throat at the tickle. 

Choso carelessly turned over with you in his arms. He hummed softly against your skin as you eased onto the center of the bed, his arms surrounding you with a small exhale. 

Holding onto you tightly and feeling your legs adjust- Shifting in his grasp only for him to hold you tightly. "Lemme get up-" you scoffed, only to be met with a hum against your skin. 

"Can't hear you m'asleep." he muttered against you. The vibrations of his voice rumbling against your skin. 

Lightly placing your hand onto his side and sighing, "How am I supposed to clean if you keep pullin' me back to bed every 10 minutes?" you grinned- easing into his touch and closing your eyes. 

"Don't clean." he hummed, holding you tighter. 

You decided to stop fighting back, resting in his arms. Knowing if you pulled away, he would reel you back in for 'a few more minutes.'

Hiromi Higuruma

Hiromi had this horrible habit of laying on top of you. He was barely changed out of his work clothes and into his pj's. And here he comes- fully prepared to let all his body weight fall onto you. 

Laying on the bed, phone in hand and watching him walk in- shaking a towel on his hair and tossing it aside. You tossed your phone aside with a sigh, preparing for the full weight of the grown man before you to crush you. 

You closed your eyes in a fake grimace- hearing a small laugh from his lips as he eased onto the bed. 

Exhaling a dramatic sigh as he pressed his face onto your collarbone. Fully easing his full body weight onto you. 

You huffed a teasing 'oof' as he snaked his hands beneath your waist. Holding you as you rested your hands onto his shoulders. Using him as a table as you scrolled on your phone again. 

"I never asked- why do you do that?" you grinned, placing your hand on his damp hair and hearing him hum against your shoulder. 

He smiled against your skin, "Do what?" playing coy. 

Smiling teasingly, "Crush me." hearing him let out a small laugh.

"I mean, you're a grown man- knocks the air out of my lungs." you grinned. 

"The day you can successfully push me off is the day I'll stop." he challenged, feeling your hand against his scalp halt its movements and place your phone to the side. 

Mustering all your strength, you started shoving his limp shoulders. Earning a hearty laugh from his lips- if anything, he made his body even more limp as you scoffed. 

You attempted to shift to the side. More of an effort to escape from under him rather than pushing him off.

Hiromi felt your attempts- and instead of helping, he made fake snoring sounds against your skin. Little rumbles tickling your skin, making it even harder to focus. Slightly tightening his grip on your waist as you huffed with a small smile.

Somehow managing to shift down enough to be face to face with him- "Give up yet?" he muttered, looking at your face- still full of determination. 

"You're not making this any easier-" you grinned, shifting your hand down his side. Hooking your leg onto his side- planting your other hand on the bed and gathering all the strength you could. 

Inhaling a sharp breath as you turned yourself over, taking him with you. Leaving you on top and his hips straddled between your thighs. 

Breathing heavily and looking down at him- his cheeks blushed with wide eyes. Confused as to where he was or how he ended on his back. 

Though Hiromi was taller- he wasn't the heaviest to flip over.

You looked down at him as you straightened your back. "I win," you huffed, looking at the man who looked at you with furrowed eyebrows.

"Did you just- manhandle me?" he murmured, watching your proud expression nod 'yes.' 

Hiromi pursed his lips, placing his hands on your thighs and caressing them softly. "I think I liked it." 

Satoru Gojo

While playing a video game in your shared bedroom, you sat up with your knees bent to the side. Gojo sat beside you, watching your attempts to beat the stupid level.

Pursing his lips whenever you would make a move he wouldn't have- "No, you have to-" 

"Shut up-" you muttered, nibbling your lip in concentration as he sighed. 

"Ohmygod-" you winced, watching the little character on the TV die. Muttering a soft "Fuck." as Satoru raised himself onto his knees. 

"My turn." he huffed, reaching for the control only for you to pull away. 

Looking at him with furrowed eyebrows- "It's your turn when I finish this level." pulling the remote from his reach. 

"You've been on this level for 20 minutes!" he scoffed, reaching for the remote again and pulling it from his grasp. 

You scoffed, "It's not your turn yet!" watching as he leaned over you, reaching for the remote you kept pulling away. 

"Just give it- I'll win so fast-" a smug smile on his lips as your bent knees pinned onto the bed- turning your torso around as he placed a hand onto your bottom for balance. 

Every little reach he made- his ground brushing against your core, simulating a position Satoru frequently put you in. "Lemme try one more time-" you huffed pulling the remote away.

That, along with the little shifts his wakening cock made against you, caused Gojo to place his hand on your hip and turn your over on all fours. Well. On your knees, one hand holding up your torso, the other holding the remote from his reach.

"N-no it's my turn." his tone more whiney and desperate. You chalked it up to Satoru being a big baby regarding silly things like this.

A soft grunt left your lips as he leaned over you again, his bulge pressing into your ass and reaching for the remote. A whimper left his lips- feeling flushed and blaming it on the struggle for that remote. 

Your chest pressed against the pillow, the hand holding you up collapsed- reaching back to him and trying to swipe him away. "Get off-" you grunted- feeling his hand wrap around your wrist and pin it to the center of your back. 

Softly bucking his hips onto your ass, the hand reaching for the remote losing its determination and huffing a strained whimper. 

His eyebrows pinched and cheeks a rosy shade of pink. Your wrist tried shaking off his hand- but his grip was too strong. 

You hadn't even acknowledged the familiar bulge pressing against your core in the struggle. You turned your head slightly on the pillows. Peering back at Gojo and wondering why he had stopped reaching for it. 

Gojo's face inches away from yours as your reaching hand holding the remote rested on the edge of the bed. Becoming aware of the jabbing against your warming cunt- only for Satoru to close the small space left between your faces and desperately rut against your bottom. 

Too out of breath and heart racing to think of why- his hips trying to find relief as you grunted against him. 

Closing your eyes with furrowed brows, only for Gojo to reach his hand to yours- taking the remote from your light grasp and pulling away from you. 

Smiling with a triumphant look on his face and letting you go. Easing away from you and resting on the other side of the bed again.

Ignoring his erection and pressing play on the control. You only looked at him with furrowed eyebrows- confused by what had just unfolded. 

Toji Zenin

You stood in the kitchen with him, prepping to make some sandwiches, as your eyes caught his all-too-tight shirt. 

You had been spouting about how you could take him in a fight for the past few minutes. 

His hands in his pockets as he heard you- "I'm a lot stronger than I look y'know," you grinned, placing the pieces of bread onto two plates. Turning to face him with a smug look, "like-" laughing to yourself as you thought up a comparison. 

"Like Mike Tyson strong." you grinned- watching the corners of his lips curl up. A small laugh left his nose- amused at your comparison. 

You clenched your teeth, a low grunt leaving your lips as you punched the air- aiming for his ribs.

Toji watched amused, as you took on a fighting stance. "You'd have no chance against me." you laughed, your fist aiming up- as though you were going to uppercut him. 

Watching him refuse to flinch or fight back. Allowing you to pummel his aura with a smile.

Fighting the air around him with small huffs- making a 'boom' sound every time you threw a punch. 

"M'sure you could." he muttered, tone full of sarcasm and watching you keep throwing hits against the air. Taking a step back and kneeing a few inches away from his torso. 

Your hands determined- aiming various punches around him as he watched you.

Toji huffed a small laugh as you angled your fist to his jaw- slowing your fist and lightly tapping his jaw, clicking your tongue as your knuckles made contact. 

You smiled to yourself as you eased off your so-called 'fighting stance'. Picking up the pack of turkey slices next to him, you turned around with a scoff— "Now, I know you're scared to actually fight me," you smiled, opening the fridge and placing the small pack of deli meat back. 

Scoffing, "I know you'd limp away with your ego bruised, so it's okay." closing the fridge and turning around- pleased look on your face with your eyes closed. 

Blinking your eyes open and seeing Toji in front of you- taking a step forward, caging you between the refrigerator and his torso. "My ego bruised?" he smiled. 

Watching that smug look on your face refuse to falter, only balling your fist into a ball and aiming another false punch at him. 

But his quick hand caught your wrist- gulping softly as his grip tightened. "Fight back." he murmured with a smile, lightly tilting his head. 

Watching your eyebrows furrow with a smirk, trying to pull your wrist from his hand only for it to move mere centimeters. 

"C'mon." he whispered, "You can do better than that." low eyes looking back at you. Slowly coming closer to you with every word.

You furrowed your eyebrows, using your other hand for another punch, only for his other hand to catch it. Nodding his head 'no' and pulling your wrists together. Toji held them in one hand and looked at you expectantly.

You gulped lightly, watching his eyes dim. A smug smile left your lips and formed on his. Whispering, "Fight back,"with a grin, feeling your hands try to pull from his.

An idea pops into your mind. Softening your furrowed brows, lowering your eyelids, and leaning in. Pressing a light kiss onto his lips, his hand eases its grip on your wrists. 

Toji didn't hesitate to kiss you back as he slowly pushed the back of your head back onto the fridge's metal.

Eagerly pressing his tongue against your bottom lip your hands released from his, placing one onto his ribcage and the other slowly trailing down to his bulge.

Keeping a ghostlike touch against his bulge- Toji's keen tongue slipping into your mouth. Completely forgetting what point he was trying to prove.

Pulling away from him and looking at his expression- puffy lips and lightly blushed cheeks. "Fight back." you whispered, smug and amused at how easy it was to get him to let you go.

-

(a.n) Im exhausted, need a cigarette, and cock. gn.

[tarotbyopal]

Where will you meet your future spouse/partner?

Hi everyone! Welcome back to my blog and than you so much for being here!

🖤Piles: 1-2-3

🖤Close your eyes and take a deep breath. Calm your breath and remove all of the thoughts from your mind. When you try to focus on the reading at hand which number or image comes to mind? That is your pile

Paid readings

Pile 1

4 of pentacles in reverse, queen of cups, justice in reverse, 2 of wands, page of pentacles

This will happen for some of you after becoming unemployed or being unsuccessful at a job interview, for others it will happen after an unfair situation. Regardless you will like you have given this situation everything that you had and unfortunately it didn’t work out for you so you decide to move on. For some you will move away or you will move back home and this is where you will meet your person. Whilst travelling but moving forward in one way or another.

It is likely to happen during hotter months - spring or summer in a location connected to nature. You may even be reading a book out in the garden or listening to music in a secluded place when this person finally shows up in your life. I see you wearing either black or purple when you meet this person. Your energy feels very light and breezy, Everything may feel like it is exactly where it needs to be on this day and you may even pay more attention to everything around you than usual

Pile 2

The sun, page of pentacles, 6 of cups and 8 of cups in reverse

Pile 2 my dears, this person is going to be introduced to you via family ro close friends. I have no doubts about this! It is so obviously to me that you will meet this person through a set up that it keeps making me giggle! Especially because I actually..don’t feel like you will want to meet this person when you first what about them. They may not be your cup of tea or you may not feel ready/open to meet someone but you really won’t have a choice because someone is going to ambush you real fast! 

If before you wanted to run away not you want to stay more than every because this person is like to be a bit dreamy and meet your energy levels like no other. A lot will be at stake for you but you will decide to stay because this person just can’t stop making you feel happy and laugh! They make you laugh so much! The two of you may even work together to prank the person that ambushed you and this will be planned during your first date! You are complete jokers together and truly bring the best out of each other! I genuinely cannot stop giggling whilst doing this reading!

Pile 3

6 of wands, 6 of swords, 9 of cups and queen of wands

GUYS! What is with all of the victory cards all of the sudden? It seems like with you pile 3, you may have been single for a while or not ever truly been in the relationship that you have wanted to be in. I feel like your career is somehow related to your meeting with your person. It is likely that you have been trying to be in a job that you are proud of and have been struggling with this. You were not proud of yourself for a long time and this interfered with your love life more than you know. But now things have changed, haven’t they?

You are starting to feel more and more proud of yourself and your achievements and this will lead you right into the arms of your person. 

You may travel for this connection, and I feel like it will be a long trip as well! Your person is likely to live on the other side of the world and you will be planning to go there very soon.

[to-fly-with-clipped-wings]

Chapter 1.2 - Train Rides and Talking Hats

Chapter 1.2 - Train Rides and Talking Hats

Pairing: Harry Potter x Chosen One! Reader

‘“Oi,” you spoke, feeling your jaw clench at the blond boy’s demeanour. “I’d watch what I was saying if I was you, especially considering the crap that’s spewing outta your sewage-system of a mouth.” Draco Malfoy turned his sharpened gaze toward you. “And I’d be more careful if I was you. You don’t want to make enemies with the wrong people.” “Same goes for you.”’ OR: in which you hitch a ride on the Hogwarts Express and buckle up for one hell of a ride. → Set in a universe where you are the chosen one, and Harry Potter is your best friend who tries to help you navigate the woes of being the lone hero of the wizarding world. A swap au where you are the chosen one, your parents are dead but the marauders + Lily are not. Eventual Harry x Reader, slowburn, friends to lovers. Series Masterlist

.｡*ﾟ🗲.*.｡  　ﾟ*..🗲｡*ﾟ

Perhaps, if you had any less self-respect, having had a mental breakdown on the King’s Cross platform would have been your morning on the 1st of September.

The train leaves at eleven, Hagrid had told you. The Caddels had dropped you off at the station at half past ten before leaving to drop Odette off at her new school, Smeltings, they’d said. All you were really aware of was the nifty cane that came with the uniform, supposedly used to thwack fellow peers. An excellent training for later life.

Regardless of peculiar apparels or uniforms – you had now acquired a steadily rising fear that you would never be able to wear your own, if you couldn’t uncover where exactly platform nine and three-quarters was located at the station. 

There they were, right in front of you, platforms nine and ten – right there – but nowhere could you spot any semblance or notion of anything three-quarters related. The large plastic number nine leered tauntingly at you, swinging back and forth vaguely with the passing breeze.

You had pestered the guard manning the station. He hadn’t even heard of Hogwarts, and since you had no flying clue where or even what the school was, you couldn’t describe it to him. The guard stared at you incredulously, as though you were deliberately trying to be stupid (you didn’t miss how he eyed Hedwig, your owl, who chirped irritably back at him). It took every ounce of your remaining willpower to not snap or lunge at him and cause a scene in the middle of the station, especially when a congregation of people had formed a circle around you to observe the exchange curiously.

Apparently, according to a variety of people at the station, there wasn’t even a train that left at eleven o’clock. And, though it was obvious, platform nine and three-quarters completely did not exist. Like, at all. And to top the cherry on your fabulous sundae of anxiety and chagrin, according to the large clock situated on the arrivals board, you had a little under fifteen minutes to be seated on the train. 

You wished Hagrid had left you with more information, but when the man had dropped you back at your house and allowed you the time to blink, he had vanished. Urgent magical business, you mused dryly. Almost like the kerfuffle of being stranded on a station with not the foggiest idea of where to go. 

Were you missing something? Did you need to cast a spell? What if you missed the train? Oh, you knew you should have read the books before coming to the station. You swore at that moment to leave no page in your spell-books unturned (in hindsight, you knew you would drop this vow three days in).

Just as you were preparing to brandish your wand at the stray ticket box next to platform nine, trying your very best to formulate a spell that would divulge the presence of platform nine and three-quarters. 

In a perfectly timed turn of events, a group of people passed behind you, and you managed to glean a glimpse of their conversation.

“ – packed with Muggles, of course –

You heard your neck crack from how fast you wheeled around. Muggles. You had never been happier to hear a single word. The speaker was a stout woman, to an audience of about five red-headed children. Four boys and a girl, who from the conversation that ensued, you discovered was too young to attend Hogwarts just yet. 

You trained your eyes on them like a hawk, shadowing ‘Percy’, the oldest boy, as he dashed toward the brick wall of platform nine, pushing his trolley along with him. Wincing, you closed your eyes so you wouldn’t see him and all of his school supplies crash onto the floor. 

Miraculously, however, when you peeled your eyelids back open, the boy was gone. As were the twin brothers, Fred and George (or did their mother say George and Fred?). 

There was only one more boy left; a tall – though that entire family seemed to be on stilts – lanky, deeply freckled one. If you wanted to know where the sons were disappearing to, this was your final shot.

“Hey!” you called out, dragging your trolley behind you as you approached the remaining members of the red-headed family. Then, realising how the abruptness of a random girl yelling at someone may be perceived as abrash, you decided to dial back your advances. “Hi, sorry. Do you happen to know how to –” “How to get on to the platform?” she said kindly. “No worries at all, dear. Is this your first time at Hogwarts? Ron’s new, too.” 

She pointed at her last son. He had dirt on his nose. You nodded your head slightly toward him in greeting, but your mind was still hyper focused on how the clock was dwindling closer and closer to eleven. “Pleasure,” you smiled, desperation beginning to blemish your voice, evident as it began to inch one or two octaves higher. “So, er, I’m hoping that you do know how to get to the train?” “That’s right,” she said. “All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don’t stop and don’t be scared you’ll crash into it, that’s very important. Go on, go now before Ron.”

You ruffled the collar of your shirt, which was looking far too neat and sophisticated (and therefore, not nearly as charming as you preferred it to be). “Thanks, Miss.” 

You sucked in a deep breath before gathering your courage and sprinted toward the very solid, opaque looking barrier of platform nine and three-quarters. 

You were running — running like a lunatic, might you add, when you realised you were almost there — and then, quite suddenly, you weren’t. 

Rather, you now found yourself underneath a sign that read Hogwarts Express, 11 o’clock.

Permeating through a brick wall was yet another box to check from your list of magical experiences. Twice, actually, if you counted the entrance to Diagon Alley. Odd was it indeed, but it was your odd now, and you lest would allow anyone try and rob you of it. 

You stood in awe, head on a swivel as you examined the new environment. A mammoth of a train, one whose size could only be attributed to the slight of one’s magical hand, with smoke seeping out of its charcoal chimneys, stood tall against the crowded stage of the station. 

You turned around to see if the red-headed family had made it through as well, and sure enough, there they were. The woman was still looking at you, and when you waved at her, her face split into a soft smile as she returned the gesture. You swept your dishevelled hair to the side – it had tousled itself into a heaping mess sometime during your episode on the other side of the train station. 

You only registered the consequence of this action when the red-headed woman’s eyes widened, and as an abrupt muteness circulated throughout the platform, capitulating the vocal cords of what seemed to be every single man, woman and/or child present there at that very moment. 

Families that were once bidding their children goodbye, lovingly caressing cheeks or smoothing down fly-away hairs, or families who were once loading trunks onto compartments, were now reacting in an identical fashion of the same scene that had transpired at the leaky pub; normal chatter was extinguished, and murmurs crept around the platform like an amateur thief in a treasure trove.

“The lightning scar!”

“Is that – oh, my sweet Merlin, it is!” “Oh – where –?!”

“Move! Let me get a glimpse!”

“Look, over there!”

“(Y/n) (L/n)!”

You stiffened under everyone’s combined gazes, the hasty switch of focus to you catching you off guard. But, as quickly as the alarm had rippled into your body, it had dispersed out. 

A smirk split your face, and you nodded toward the woman closest to you (who promptly went pink and near-fainted) as a way to acknowledge that you acknowledged their sudden interest in you. You heard someone chuckle at the sight, and a few more flurries of whispers were burgeoned from other by-standers.

During the time it took for you to jostle your trolley into an empty carriage near the back of the train, the number of people actively tracking your every move had died down, though only by a fraction. From the corners of your eyes, you could still see the odd third-year trying to estimate how many laces you had on your shoes, no doubt so he could pester his parents into buying the same pair. (You kept to yourself that they had previously belonged to Odette, however, as you seriously doubted anyone wanted to know that (Y/n) (L/n), hero of the wizarding world, still wore hand-me-downs.)

Unfortunately, it seemed that although you possessed the power to terminate the reign of the darkest and most powerful wizards in history, you had apparently not attained the muscles required to heave your trunk up the stairs onto the Hogwarts Express. You stumbled back, cursing as you reeled from the pain that rocketed through your foot after you dropped your trunk on your toes.

“Want a hand?” 

You looked up. It was one of the red-headed twins, from that family you had met before.

“Yes,” you said almost immediately. “Er, please.”

“Oy, Fred! C’mere and help!”

The three of you managed to successfully store your trunk into the corner of your compartment. Before you could thank the twins for their help, though, one of the twins pointed at the spot on your forehead where the thin lightning-shaped scar donned your skin. 

“You’re (Y/n) (L/n),” he announced. Just like Olivander, this had not been a question, but rather a statement.

“Yes,” you straightened your posture, raising your head a little higher. “That’s right. I am.”

The two boys gawked at you, and you subtly swept your sweaty hair to expose the scar even further. To your slightest dismay, however, the familiar voice of the red-headed mother drifted through the carriage before you were able to elaborate further on your tale of the lightning-shaped battle scar.

“Fred? George? Are you there?” Both the twins groaned at their mother’s summoning. Sparing one last glance at you, they ambled toward her call. “Coming, Mum.” You waved the twins goodbye. Sitting down by the window, you ducked your head so you could listen to the family, who were still on the platform, whilst being half-hidden at the same time. Their mother had scourged out a handkerchief and was furiously scrubbing at Ron’s nose to rid the smudge of dirt that laid upon it.

You watched with amusement as Ron tried to lurch away before being caught in his mother’s iron-fisted clutches once again.

“Mum – geroff!”

One of the twins snickered, leaning close to Ron. “Aaaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?” 

“Shut up!” You saw the oldest of the red-headed siblings saunter towards his family, already draped in his robes. A shiny red and gold badge was pinned onto his chest, with the letter P engraved onto it.

“Can’t stay long, Mother,” he said stiffly. “I’m up front, the Prefects have got two compartments to themselves –”

“Oh, are you a Prefect, Percy?” One of the twins gasped, bringing his hands to his face in disbelief. “You should have said something, we had no idea.” “Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it, once –”

“Or twice –”

“A minute –”

“All summer –”

You huffed a laugh at the back and forth going between the family. Percy the Prefect’s face was starting to sport a lovely bright, irritable shade of red. 

“How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?” queried one of the twins.

“Because he’s a Prefect,” their mother smoothed Percy’s already-perfectly-smoothened hair fondly. “All right, dear, well have a good term – send me an owl when you get there.” 

She sent him off with a kiss. 

You sunk back into your seat. For some reason, the jovial atmosphere you’d felt upon discovering the magical platform had now become strangely dampened. 

Call it a moment of weakness, sure – but in that moment, you wished that you could have a mother. A mother who would dote on you like that or who would comfort you. 

But, as soon as that looming train of thoughts had festered, you vanquished them from your mind – the other kids could keep their affectionate mothers who waved them goodbye as they left, the same, in fact, would go for their superficial, gentle-natured fathers; you had your fame and that topped any shred of whatever they may have had, whatever you were missing!

As though the red-head family were suddenly attuned with your train of thought, you heard the voice of the youngest child, the girl, pipe up. “Oh! (Y/n) (L/n) On the train? Please can I go see her, Mum, please, please, please…”

“You’ve already seen her, Ginny, and the poor girl isn’t something you goggle at in a zoo. Is she really, Fred? How do you know?” “Asked her. Saw the scar. It’s really there – like lightning.”

“Poor dear.” 

Your fingers traced the pattern of the scar, not particularly liking the feeling of pity emanating from the family.

“No wonder she was alone. I wondered. She was ever enthusiastic, though, when she asked how to get on to the platform. I’d have thought she’d be scared, by herself…”

“Never mind that, do you think she remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?”

The red-headed mother swelled. “I forbid you to ask her that, Fred! No, don’t you dare. As though she needs reminding of –... ”

The disarrayed ruckus of another family hurriedly barrelling onto the platform, and ushering their boy onto the train, stripped your focus from the ginger group. 

Observing the mop of black hair, you realised pleasantly that it was the boy you had met at the Quidditch store that day in Diagon Alley. Closely behind him, a stressed looking woman with copper-coloured hair, followed him briskly onto the train. Your lips twitched as you noticed that she possessed the same brilliant green eyes as her son. 

The father, a carbon copy of his son, followed seconds after, carrying a tremendously large trunk onto the train. There was one more man – perhaps one of the uncles the boy had mentioned – who remained on the platform. You guessed that he was allowing the family their final moments together. He didn’t really look alike to the mother or father of Quidditch Boy’s family, so you presumed that he was probably an uncle by choice, not blood. He had sandy brown hair with substantially sized scars running down the entirety of his face and neck. There was a large, shaggy black dog beside him too, and you swore that it had winked when it saw you looking at the group.

A shrill burst of steam raged outwards from the chimney of the train. You guessed that this was a warning to families that the train was about to depart right now. True to your word, just as Quidditch Boy’s mother and father practically leapt off the train carriage they’d left their son in, the train doors slammed shut, and the vehicle began dutifully chugging forward. 

Left behind now, was the platform of nine and three-quarters.

Leaning back in your seat, you exhaled roughly. This was it, the moment that marked the beginning of your journey into Hogwarts. You had no clue where you were going, but you just knew it would be good. A grand moment, you were sure, but what you were also sure of was that the next few hours on the train (or possibly days or months, who knew?) would result in you being bored out of your mind. Stuck in an empty carriage by yourself with no one to talk to – tragic – maybe it would do you some good if you popped down into one of the other carriages and try to find some other first-years.

Coincidentally, the door of the compartment was opened by none other than Quidditch Boy himself. His hair was askew, glasses lopsided and cheeks clearly flushed from the rush of trying to scramble onto the Hogwarts Express before it departed. He did not have his trunk with him, which meant that his father was able to stash it onto the train it in time.

“Hey, again,” he flashed you a bashful smile. “Would it be alright if I could sit here?”

“Sure. No problem.” 

You observed him as he took the seat opposite you. He was already wearing robes of sorts, not the Hogwarts ones, judging from the lack of school emblem, but the sorts that you hypothesised would be the wizarding equivalent to a t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

“Er,” he started, causing you to look over at him. “It’s nice to see you. Again.” “Yeah.” you agreed with him, offering a lopsided smile. “Great. To meet you.” 

“Yep.”

The compartment fell into a highly awkward silence, one that you were not at all familiar with. Back with the Caddels, or even at your previous school, you had no problem whatsoever making friends with strangers. In fact, conversation came easily to you – you weren’t the most popular girl in the grade for no reason, after all. So the stuffiness invading the atmosphere was most definitely unwelcome, and honestly, unnatural.

Thankfully the awkward cloud hanging above you and Quidditch Boy dissipated abruptly when the compartment door slid open again, revealing the tall, freckled, ginger boy. The other first-year you’d spoken to: Ron.

His eyes widened when he saw you sitting in front of him. “Uh – sorry, anyone else sitting here? Everywhere else is full.”

Quidditch Boy shook his head and Ron took the seat beside them, so they were both facing you. Ron’s gaze hadn’t settled and he kept on glancing toward you and then toward the window whenever he made eye contact with you. It was amusing, his discomfort, from how often he did it.

“Hey, Ron.” The red-headed twins popped into the compartment suddenly. “Listen, we’re going back down the middle of the train – Lee Jordan’s got a giant tarantula down there.”

“Right,” said the youngest sibling.

So we’re not going to question the spider. Seems good.

“(Y/n),” the other twin, the one who hadn’t been talking to Ron, turned to you. “And other Kid,” referring to Quidditch Boy, “did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. Anyways, see you later, then.” The three of you said bye in unison as the twins left.

As soon as they were gone, Ron blurted out, “Can we see the scar?” You blinked at him, and he went pink. Though, you complied either way (as you had no qualms to showing off the lightning-shaped bolt). Pulling your hair back, the scar on your forehead was revealed to Quidditch Boy and Ron.

“Wow,” breathed out Quidditch Boy. “It really does look like lightning.”

Ron was equally stunned. “So that’s where You-Know-Who – ?”

“Yes.” You grinned brightly at their awed expressions. They stared at you a couple seconds longer before Ron diverted his attention quickly back to the greenery flitting through the window.

“So, is your whole family magic then?” you asked Ron out of curiosity. 

You already knew that Quidditch Boy’s father was a pure-blood and his mother was a muggle-born, whatever that meant; you weren’t going to be the one to say you had no idea what those were.

“Quidditch Boy?” puzzled Quidditch Boy, eyebrows furrowing. 

Ah, had you said that outloud? Whoops.

You laughed, bringing a hand to your nape. “Sorry, I don’t know your name, so I’ve just, kinda, resorted to calling you Quidditch Boy in my mind.”

“Oh, well, I’m, uh, Harry. Harry Potter.” said the boy, smiling at you once more. 

You slouched further into your seat. “Nice to meet ya then, Harry Potter.”

Ron interjected into the conversation, for which you were grateful. The ginger boy seemed to hold the power of evaporating awkwardness with a snap of his freckled fingers. “Pure-blooded means that everyone on his father’s side is magic. I’m the same – everyone in my family is a wizard, well maybe except for my mum’s second cousin who’s an accountant, but we don’t really talk about him.”

“I get it,” you said, cupping your chin with your hand. “I’ve got no clue what I am. But I know that my father had no magic.”

“A muggle,” Ron nodded appreciatively. “Well, basically everyone knows that your mother was a pure-blood, though. That makes you a half-blood like him, since you’re a mix I guess.” He pointed at Harry. You were slightly startled that he knew more about your family and lineage than you did yourself. Maybe you should get used to people knowing more about you than you did yourself.

“A muggle-born’s a witch or wizard who was born from muggle parents,” continued Ron.

You tilted your head to the side. “Where does their magic come from, if they’ve got no magical blood or whatever?”

Ron looked partially affronted. “Who knows, – magic isn’t exactly something that comes in a nice little package that gets delivered to you when the time is right! All I know is that if you’ve got magic, then you’ve got it. That’s all there is to it, really.” He waved his hands about in the air for further emphasis. This was probably a topic Ron was passionate about, as you noticed his ears flushing red under the combined blank stares of you and Harry. You ponderedthat if Ron were to ever wear something salmon-coloured, it would definitely wash him out. You wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between his face and his left knee.

You tried to recover from the painful silence. “Thanks, that clears it up. You two must know loads of magic then.” 

“Not nearly enough as my mum wants me to,” said Harry.

“Hear, hear,” mumbled Ron.

“Huh. Guess that’s one good thing that comes out of being an orphan. No pushy mother for me!” You chuckled at the uncomfortable looks on the boys’ faces. 

“I heard you went to live with Muggles,” said Ron, scratching the back of his neck. “What’re they like?” “Alright,” you shrugged. “Not outstandingly nice or anything, but they do their job. Would be cooler to have wizarding brothers like you though.”

“Not if you’ve got five of them.” answered Ron gloomily. “I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I’ve got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left – Bill was Head Boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy’s a Prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they’re really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it’s no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I’ve got Bill’s old robes and Charlie’s old wand. I wanted an owl, but they couldn't aff – I mean, they got Percy one instead for becoming a Prefect.”

Ron’s ears went pink again. Your brain, it seemed, was temporarily delayed and was not able to formulate a response to that.

“I’m sure you’ll do better than all your brothers combined,” said Harry. 

Ron smiled gratefully at him. 

As the train rolled onward and your surroundings grew greener, you, quite helpfully, took Hedwig’s cage and placed her on the centre of the table, announcing that the first one to get nipped whilst feeding her treats would be declared the ultimate ‘Loser Lord and/or Lordess.’ Hedwig loved you, so obviously she went ham whenever the two boys got close to her in order to secure your victory.

The three of you fell into an easy conversation after that, and you barely even realised how much time had passed until a smiling, old-looking woman popped her head into the compartment and said “anything off the trolley, dears?”

With that lovely gesture, you had leapt out of your seat and essentially pounced onto the food she was offering. Your pockets were lined with wizard money now, an infinite stash really, and so there was nothing stopping you from buying multiples of everything she had. As such, you, Harry and Ron had to literally struggle and drag back the food you’d hoarded, before dumping it on the table.

“Hungry, are you?” said Ron, raising his eyebrows at the pile of snacks that was nearly as tall as him.

“Starving,” you grinned back.

You, Harry and Ron tore into the pasties and cakes, the mountain rapidly diminishing by the second. There was one incident with a chocolate frog creeping into Hedwig’s cage before getting mauled by her talons. The card that supposedly came with the treat, had also been destroyed, so Harry had given his to you. One with a moving picture of Albus Dumbledore, who had waved politely at your stunned expression.

Once you’d moved onto Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavour Beans, you found a lot of enjoyment when Ron had the misfortune of coming across a bean that tasted like dirty socks. Though, your amusement at Ron’s plight had been adjourned with the appearance of a round-faced boy.

“Sorry,” he said, “but have you seen a toad at all?”

“No, sorry.”

You were taken aback when the boy promptly burst into tears. “I’ve lost him! He keeps getting away from me!” “He’ll turn up,” said Harry.

“Yes,” said the boy, turning away dejectedly. “Well, if you see him…”

“Don’t know why he’s so bothered,” remarked Ron once the boy had left. “If I’d brought a toad I’d lose it as quick as I could.”

You deadpanned at him. “You haven’t even got any pets to lose, Ron. I’m betting that if you ever got one, you’d have even worse attachment issues than Toad-Boy.” “Mind you,” said Harry, talking around his mouthful of Cauldron Cake. “That’s saying a lot.”

“What’ve you got then?” asked Ron, turning his head to glare at Harry. “You seem awfully high and mighty for someone who probably doesn’t even have anything at all.”

“I’ve got a dog,” defended Harry. “Snuffles.” You stifled a giggle. “Snuffles? No way you named your dog that!” “I didn’t pick the name!”

“A dog’s not as good as an owl anyways,” you teased.

“I’d beg to differ – my dog totally is,” Harry grumbled, crossing his arms. “Plus you don’t even need to have an owl – the school’s got its own aviary shock-full of ‘em that you can send letters with.”

“One day, I’m gonna get an owl.” Ron sighed dreamily. “Just for myself, I wouldn’t have to share with Fred or George or Percy or Ginny.”

“Who’s Ginny?”

Before Ron could express the identity of this ‘Ginny’, the compartment door was opened by a bushy-haired girl whose face was wrinkled up irritably. Toad-Boy also made a reappearance.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.” 

“We’ve already told him we haven’t seen it,” said Ron, but the girl wasn’t listening. Rather, she had been staring at you. 

“You’re (Y/n) (L/n).” she declared matter-of-factly. “I saw you at the station. I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”

Ron gaped at her and Harry blinked a few times repeatedly.

“Be surprised if I wasn’t,” you said, winking cheekily. You also had no idea what she was talking about though.

She studied you appraisingly before asking Ron and Harry “and who are you?”

“Ron Weasley.”

“Harry Potter.”

“Pleasure. Well, I’m Hermione Granger. I was ever so pleased when I got my letter to Hogwarts, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard – I’ve learnt all of our set books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough.”

All three pairs of eyebrows furrowed in synchronisation. You, personally, had only caught about one-third of what she had been saying since she’d been basically rapping out her words. 

Herminkoni (was that what she said her name was?) began talking again. “Do either of you know what house you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds the best by far, I hear Dumbledore himself was one, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad. Anyay, we’d better go and look for Neville’s toad. You three had better change, you know, I expect we’ll be there soon.”

Herpes Motion thus turned around and left, taking Toad-Boy with her.

“Well,” you announced cheerfully. “She was nice.” “Sure,” muttered Ron, reaching for a Treacle Tart. 

“She was right about one thing though,” said Harry, grinning and brushing his hair out of his face. “Gryffindor, by far, is definitely the best house.”

“Who’s Gryffindor?” you squinted your eyes at him. Ron attempted an exasperated face-palm with his left hand (he was still holding the tart in his right). Harry laughed at this, before proceeding to explain the four houses to you.

Gryffindor had been the house Ron’s and Harry’s families had gotten into. The house of the brave, it was known for. Ravenclaw, the house for smart people (you had a feeling you would not be getting into that); Hufflepuff was the house for the loyal and well-meaning. And finally, there was Slytherin. Both Ron and Harry detested the green-and-silver clad house, for it had been the house to pump out the most dark witches and wizards.

“Ah,” you said. “So naturally, we should hate that house, since that was the one Voldemort was – ” “Woah,” interrupted Ron, looking impressed. “You just said his name.” “Why wouldn’t I? It’s just a name. Anyways, I’m guessing that you both want Gryffindor then?”

“Of course!” Ron puffed out his chest. 

“Hey,” Harry began, rubbing your chin. “Have you — ”

Unfortunately, whatever Harry had wanted to ask had been interrupted by the compartment door sliding open again. 

This time, it was a group of three – the ringleader being a sallow-faced, gauntly blonde boy. The other two were giant-sized, goliath looking boys who looked like his bodyguards. And, of course, they were all fixated on you. (But then again, why wouldn’t they be?)

“Is it true?” he said. “They’re saying all down the train that (Y/n) (L/N)’s in this compartment. So, it’s you, is it?”

“That’s right,” you smiled at him.

His lips twitched into a small smirk. He waved his hand carelessly at the two body-doubles next to him. “This is Crabbe and that’s Goyle. And my name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”

Ron choked on his treacle tart, but you suspected that may have been him trying to disguise a sneer. Draco Malfoy narrowed his eyes on Ron.

“Think my name’s funny, do you?” he sneered, causing your hackles to raise immediately. “No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.” 

Ron’s face went pink again and he sunk into his seat. 

Draco Malfoy raised an eyebrow at Harry, but before he could say something about his family, you cut him off.

“Oi,” you spoke, feeling your jaw clench at the blond boy’s demeanour. “I’d watch what I was saying if I was you, especially considering the crap that’s spewing outta your sewage-system of a mouth.”

Draco Malfoy turned his sharpened gaze toward you. “And I’d be more careful if I was you. You don’t want to make enemies with the wrong people.”

“Same goes for you.” 

You stared down Draco Malfoy. Harry was glancing back and forth between the two of you, and he looked ready to stand up if this altercation escalated.

“You don’t get to come in here and poke fun at us,” you muttered slowly. “Especially, if you want to be on good terms with me.”

His cheeks tinged a faint pink. “Not like I would want to be friends with the likes of you.” He placed the emphasis on ‘you’ the same way you did for ‘me’.

You, Harry and Ron all stood up. 

“I think it’d be best if you left.” you gritted out, disliking the boy less and less by every twitch of his rat-like face.

Unfortunately for you, Malfoy’s rattish face had broken out into a sneer. “You’ll regret making enemies out of me, (L/n). I promise you that much.”

He furiously spun around and out of the carriage, but not before he could shoot you a final scathing look. Crabbe and Goyle chased after him, robes billowing out from behind them.

“What a buffoon,” you huffed angrily.

“Agreed,” said Harry, still glaring at the door.

“I’ve heard of his family before,” said Ron darkly. “They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn’t believe it. He says Malfoy’s father didn’t need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side.” “‘Specially if they thought it was the winning side,” added Harry.

The door opened before you could open your mouth. There was Hermit Yeti, yet again, standing at the entrance.

“What has been going on? Why did I just see three boys bolting out of this compartment?” She looked you up and down. “You haven’t been fighting, have you? You’ll be in trouble before we even get there!”

“They were the ones starting it – not us!” defended Ron, scowling at her.

“All right – I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors,” she said sniffly. “And you’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know that?”

“Thank you,” you interjected, glaring at her on behalf of Ron. “Could you leave now?”

And finally, Herm-onion left.

If you had to guess, it had been only an hour after that when the train had pulled to a stop. You had slipped on your robes, ensuring that they still had your signature wind-swept appearance about them. Ron and Harry were also wearing their school robes now too. The three of you stuffed your pockets with the remaining sweets before you left the train.

Hopping out of the train and onto the station, you were delighted to be met with the familiar, wild face of Hagrid, the giant-man. 

“Firs’-years! Firs-years over here! All right there, (Y/n)?” He beamed at you from under his scraggly beard.

You waved enthusiastically at him. 

The first-years, it looked like, had their own means of reaching the school, which involved travelling in groups of four in a little boat across a lake. You, Harry, Ron and the bushy-haired girl (to your displeasure) took a boat close to the front.

Whilst you did not dislike the girl, you weren’t fond of her tendency to huff or be bossy, especially when she did it toward Ron (which you found she did often). Harry hadn’t done anything to get into her wrong books, and nor vice versa, so they were probably on the most amicable terms between your little trio.

The boats glided in unison across the great body of water, before coming to a stop at the front of the school’s castle. You could hardly hear Toad-Boy’s reunion with his toad (“Trevor”) amongst the excited buzzing in your ears.

The gaggle of first-years came to a stop at the entrance of Hogwarts, a ginormous wooden castle door. Hagrid raised his fist and rapped three times on it. 

The door opened immediately. There was a stern, grey-haired witch standing behind it. She was sifting through the crowd intensely, and her gaze did not linger on your scar like how most peoples’ did.

“The firs’-years, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.” The door was opened further and you streamed into the Entrance Hall. The entire school was huge, you realised, and was very elaborately decorated – like something you would read in a book. Flaming torches illuminated the corridor. The first-years were pulled into a little room, next to a place where you could hear the rest of the school talking.

It was then you noticed that Ron appeared quite pale under his freckles and that Harry was fiddling with his fingers. In fact, every first-year seemed to be exhibiting some sort of nervous tick, apart from Malfoy, who was rolling his eyes for some reason. 

You drew your eyebrows together in confusion. Should you have been scared too? It wasn’t like they were going to force you to fight each other or anything right? At least, that’s what you hoped. Although, you definitely knew that if they made you fight, you’d win.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and speed free time in your house common room.

She continued giving a debrief of the houses, but as it was something you had already heard from Harry and Ron, it wasn’t anything new. You fidgeted restlessly, wanting to get onto the Sorting already.

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.” Her eyes lingered on your messy hair and ruffled collar, as one lapel stuck upwards. 

Once she left, you turned to Harry and Ron. “What do they do to get us into these houses? Is it like a test? Based on how you answer, that’s where you get in? Like, ‘what is the square root of sixteen?’”

“That’s probably only good for finding Ravenclaws and non-Ravenclaws though,” said Ron, taking you seriously. “My brothers said it was a test too, though. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking.”

Harry was looking more unsettled by the minute. 

“Hey,” you said, patting his shoulder, mistaking his expression as anxiousness. “Don’t be nervous. I’m sure Ron’s brothers are just messing with us.” “Me too,” confirmed Ron.

“But,” Harry’s green eyes met yours. “A test? I didn’t know we had to do a test. In front of the whole school? I can barely do two spells, how will they sort me with that? I— I didn’t think — I mean, my dad said— I thought it had something to do with a ha –”

“Listen,” you began, patting his shoulder. “That’s already two more spells than I know, and probably most of the first-years too. That Malfoy kid included.” 

You narrowed your eyes at the said blonde boy, before returning them to Harry. “Don’t worry, alright? Test or not, I’m sure we'll all do great. Probably.” 

Beside you, Ron nodded in agreement (although it looked like his skin was also beginning to reach a sickly pale green colour).

“You’re right,” said Harry, and you were pleased to see that he was a fraction less scared than he was a moment ago. Although he did still look a tad bit confused.

Anyways, moving onto more pressing matters. You didn’t bother with ‘smartening yourself up.’ You were already pretty smart enough, in your opinion. Having bested the darkest wizard of the age at a meagre one year of age didn’t come to just anyone, you know?

After a whole debacle with some ghosts or something flying in to greet you before the ceremony, Professor McGonagall entered the room once more. You all trudged in a single-file line into the Great Hall.

You gaped openly at the Great Hall, which looked even bigger than the Entrance. Four long tables were lain across the room, with golden plates and goblets sitting on each. The students were segregated by houses, indicated by the colour of their robes and ties. There were also several candles floating in the air, which was pretty sweet too. Oh, and the roof looked like the sky as well. 

Professor McGongagall placed a three-legged stool in front of school, and then she placed a rusty-looking hat on top of it. You deadpanned when it broke into song, and even more when everyone burst into applause once it finished.

“So, we’ve just got to try on the hat!” Ron whisper-yelled to you and Harry. “I’ll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll!” Harry gave him an unsure smile, and said “I tried telling you it was just a weird hat. You threw me off with the test talk.”

Professor McGonagall approached the stool, unravelling a long roll of parchment paper. “When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she said. “Abbott, Hannah!”

Hannah stumbled from the crowd of first-years and toward the professor. She placed the hat on her head and after a moment of silence, the hat shouted out “HUFFLEPUFF!”

The table on the right, with the yellow-and-black clad students, the house of Hufflepuff, cheered and hollered as Hannah went to join them.

‘Bones, Susan’ went up next and she too went to Hufflepuff. ‘Boot, Terry’ went to Ravenclaw, and ‘Brown Lavender’ became the first new Gryffindor. The cheering from the red table was definitely the loudest, especially when right after ‘Bulstrode Millicent’ was sorted in Slytherin and all she got was only a polite and semi-subdued applause from her new house.

A few more people went, and then, so did ‘Granger, Hermione’ (so that was her name) who sat on the stool for a precariously long period of time before being sent to Gryffindor. Ron groaned. Toad-Boy (Longbottom, Neville!) got Gryffindor too, but somehow, he was on the stool for even longer than Hermione.

You were raising your hand to scratch at the itch in your ear when your name was called. 

As you stepped forward, the students in the Hall started to whisper loudly, just as they had done at the station.

“(L/n), did she say?” “The (Y/n) (L/n)?” Those comments did not help the rising ego blooming inside of you. You swaggered over the stool and sat down. Your fingers delicately gripped the brim of the hat. The fabric felt ragged and old underneath your fingertips. You brought the Sorting Hat down toward your –

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat had barely scraped the fly-away hairs on your head when it shrieked out. 

The Great Hall was silent for a few, stunned moments, taken aback by your instantaneous sorting. You stared back at them with wide eyes, darting downwards to look at Harry and Ron. They were wide-eyed too, before the dam of silence was broken, and they beamed gigantic smiles at you, alongside the entirety of the Gryffindor table erupting into cheers – louder cheers than for any of the people before you. 

You felt a warm glow in your chest. You looked around the table, and saw many friendly faces. Percy the Prefect had dived over the table (almost) to shake your hand vigorously and you could hear the Weasley twins jeering “we got (L/n)! We got (L/n)!” Even the resident Gryffindor ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, was congratulating you for your placement by patting your arm, which felt oddly like you were being doused in a bucket of cold water.

At the High Table, Hagrid was grinning and gave you the thumbs up of approval. Dumbledore, as you recognised him from the chocolate frog card, was up there too with a faint twinkle in his eye.

The only notable people left up, really, were Harry and Ron. 

Harry had been called first.

The Sorting Hat was sat upon his head for what seemed to be the better portion of an eternity. For the first time since your arrival, you felt a jolt of fear. What if you and your friends would be separated into different houses? You didn’t to be stuck in a full with only Neville and Hermione, everyday. What would happen if you woke up to find Neville’s slimy toad on your pillowcase or —

You felt a surge of joy and relief, as after a minute or two, the hat declared “GRYFFINDOR!” and the Great Hall erupted in cheers for Harry. You clapped your hands and smiled widely, looking for him among the sea of red and gold.

He took a seat beside you and you high-fived him.

“Nice to see you here, Potter, Harry,” you said, changing your voice to mimic McGonagall’s.

“Nice to see you too, the (Y/n) (L/n),” he snickered, mocking the way the students had reacted when they’d heard your name.

You grinned at him.

Ron joined you rather quickly, even though he was one of the last people to get sorted. You were delighted at this, as it meant you could still be with them for the rest of your Hogwarts years, if what Professor McGonagall had said about your house being akin to family, was true.

Dumbledore rose to his feet, “Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!” He sat down, and as he did, food magically appeared in front of you.

“Is he – a bit mad?” Harry asked you uncertainly.

“Probably,” you said, shrugging, reaching for the roast potatoes.

You scarfed down your food, listening to the conservation around you. You cheered when the dessert had come, causing the people around you to chuckle, quietly – except for Ron, who had gotten to the apple pie before you could.

You wrestled Ron for a slice of said pie, and were happily munching on it when you glanced back up to the High Table. Hagrid was drinking from his goblet, and Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore were in a deep discussion with each other. Another Professor, in a purple turban, was fiddling nervously with his cutlery, tapping his fork against the edge of the table. He was speaking with a professor with greasy black hair, a hooked nose and sallow skin.

The teacher, as though he could sense your presence, glanced straight past the Turban-Professor and bore his black eyes into yours – a sharp, hot pain seared within your scar, and you let out a hiss of pain.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked you, foreheading furrowing in concern.

“N-nothing.” The pain had left as quickly as it had come. How strange. You got the feeling that the hooked-nose teacher did not like you very much.

“Who's that teacher, the greasy-haired one?” you pointed at him, not discretely.

Harry stifled a laugh. “That’s Snape. No one likes him, they say he wants to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, but every year he gets stuck as the Potions one instead. My dad doesn’t like him at all – actually, my entire family doesn’t really either.”

“Why’s that?” you questioned.

“Not sure,” said Harry, but he scratched his cheek nervously. “They won’t tell me.”

Deciding not to press him further, you continued to watch Snape a little longer. He never looked at you again, though, after that.

Once the desserts had all faded away, Dumbledore had announced his final speech and conducted a very tragic school school orchestra. He wiped his eyes, from pain or sadness or you guessed maybe even both, when they had finished. “Ah, music. A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

Powering your legs through the sheer force of the food you’d guzzled down, you followed Percy up to the Gryffindor Tower. With horror, you realised that you’d have to climb an average of seven staircases everyday, simply just to get to your bed. 

Anyways, the entrance to the Gryffindor headquarters was through a painting of a Fat Lady and she flipped open when you told her the password, Caput Draconis. You scrambled through the portrait hole and into the Gryffindor common room. 

You lazily trudged up the stairs, and without even bothering to notice that your trunk had been transported up to your dorm room, you face-planted onto your bed and fell into a heavy sleep.

Perhaps you had eaten a bit too much, because that night, you had a very strange dream. 

You were staring into a mirror, desperately trying to tug off a purple turban from your head. When did you get a turban? How did you get a turban? The fabric of the turban grew tighter, making you feel a sharp pain in your skull as the turban squeezed your head like a vice. You wondered how you got into this mess in the first place.

Furiously pulling, pulling, at the turban finally caused it to unravel and expose your hair. With a start, as you glanced back to the mirror, you discerned that your face had, horrifyingly enough, taken on the face of Snape. His own black, empty eyes stared back at you. 

You scrambled back, leaping away from his cockroach-like eyes, only to find that, for some reason, there was a bottomless abyss behind you. You fell down, down, down into a pit. Closing your eyes as your head thrummed painfully, you braced yourself for the impact. 

A bright flash of green light, and a high, cruel laugh jerked you awake. 

Oddly enough, however, when you’d gone back to sleep, you hadn’t remembered the dream at all. You did question, however, the next morning why when you closed your eyes, all you saw was a luminous, green light in the shape of a lightning-bolt scar.

.｡*ﾟ🗲.*.｡  　ﾟ*..🗲｡*ﾟ

→ Author's Note: Hello my lovelies, welcome to ch 1.2 yippee!! Sorry that its super long but we’re pretty already halfway through the ch 1 portion of the series XD — I’m guessing now that it's gonna reach about 1.4 or 1.5 but I could also be widely incorrect :P Anyways that’s all so catch ya next time :))) thank you

Time for this chapters analysis ~ You will have probs noticed one of the most canon-divergent parts of this series so far is that instead of the same dilemma Harry faced when he was getting sorted (Slytherin vs Gryffindor), as soon as the hat touched the little hairs upon your head, you were sorted into Gryffindor. During this chapter, and a little of the last one (but mostly this one), I've kinda been subtly trying to hint that the Reader is really quite arrogant and brazen. Rather than Harry as the chosen one, where he longs for a quiet and normal life, Reader dives headfirst into her role. She shamelessly self-promotes her lightning-scar and doesn’t try to hide it – she knows she’s special and she feeds into that!!  She’s kinda like James Potter in that regard >.< and therefore I want her to kind of be epitome of a Gryffindor (courageous and arrogant) and maybe, maybe not, a parallel to Draco Malfoy (who also got sorted into Slytherin ASAP, and is ambitious and arrogant) hehe → that’s also why Reader and Malfoy get more aggressive even more quickly than Harry did in canon… Anyways!!! This is the briefest hint at what I have in store for this series, and we’ll see how Reader’s arrogance courageousness deviates Harry Potter from canon.  Tbh I’m planning to make the reader Percy Jackson-coded (with the sass and reckless bravery and loyalty and what not) and maybe just the slightest bit Gojo-coded hehe,  I know that it's not that clear rn lol but I’ll work my way into it hopefully… Anyways, thanks again! :D Series Masterlist

Taglist (thanks for asking!): @kaverichauhan

[boin-de-bindery]

All Shook Up / É tutto cosí semplice by ke_vl

My first têtê-bêche binding! First and foremost, thank you ke_vl for trusting me with your AikuSen fics and agreeing to let me bind them 🧡 please check out All Shook Up and É tutto cosí semplice, two stories which catch me in the feels every re-read.

For this project I had to work out how to format both fics into signatures so that the latter one would sit upside down. I was fortunately able to wrangle one fic into 96 pages, while the other ran to 80. Since both are divisible by sixteen, this allowed for the fics to be formatted into self-contained 4-sheet signatures. Hey presto! So rather than navigate inverting PDFs, I printed the two fics separately, then sewed the latter set of signatures on upside down. It was a lot easier than expected, thanks to the numbers working out so neatly.

This is also my first paper cover bind, with recycled 150gsm cotton paper from Søstrene Grene. Adhesive backed vinyl for the cover graphics and text, bound together using kettle stitch. I'm not sure of what brand the endpapers are, but they're 110gsm and pretty sturdy. The endpapers and headbands reference Aiku's heterochromia, while the cover paper is peachy like Sendou lmao. rip blond Sendou

In terms of typesetting, I've found a formula that works for me and my printer... mostly. The margins are a little wide still, even after a round with the chisel. I've pretty much given up on that as a method of page trimming—it scuffs and tears the edges too badly.

Some further WIP pictures/commentary under the cut, since I actually took some for once!

Sewn textblock, then with added headbands/mull. The kettle stitch took me ages for some reason... considering going back to French link stitch for the next project, I think it's quicker.

The headbands are a little scrunched up but I'm happy with them. Green and purple is a pleasing combo.

Completed casing and textblock, then the weeded adhesive vinyl—supervised by Chigiri 👑

I always tell myself my Cricut can handle cursive and thin fonts as long as they're big enough... it really can't 🥲 Had to redesign and reprint the author name / spine titling for É tutto cosí semplice since my original design was too bitty. Weeding was hell regardless. HTV is so much easier to wrangle, but I have loads of the adhesive stuff to use up before I let myself buy more HTV.

I had a concern that the cover paper design was too busy for the vinyl to stand out on. In the end, the purple looks fine, but I think the reverse cover would look better if I'd used a darker green.

The last issue with the book is how jank the spine looks when the cover is laid flat. I think I glued the purple side of the text block too close to the edge of the coverboard, making the other side bunch? That or yet again, I made the spine stiffener too wide. It's not super noticeable when the book is closed. Hoping to improve on this in future binds!

My favourite detail is inspired by a têtê-bêche novel I owned in childhood (Sisters... No Way! by Siobhán Parkinson) It's written from two perspectives, and when you'd finished reading one, my copy had a note telling you to flip over and read the other side. I did the same thing here, accompanied by panels of the two boys nabbed from the manga.

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #43 – Witch King by Martha Wells

Last Hugo (novel) nomination of the year! And I actually read them all before worldcon for once. (Maybe I should actually buy a supporter ticket and vote next year.) Unlike most of the other nominees, I walked into this one with pretty firm pre-existing expectations – I am an absolutely massive fan of Wells’ Murderbot books and so have a generally quite high opinion of her, but I have heard rather mixed things about the book from friends who’ve read it before me (some very positive, others quite harsh). Unfortunately, I mostly have to side with the negative appraisals here.

Well, ‘negative’. The book was fine. If it had been a hugo nominee last year it probably would have been in my top three (happily, in 2024 the competition is much, much tougher). So most of this review is going to come across as very hostile, but to be clear I read the thing in four days or so, it was never offensively bad or anything. It’s just its flaws are most of what seems interesting to talk about as I sit down and think about it.

The book follows Kai, a demon prince left stranded wearing a human body after the passage between the mortal and demon worlds is sealed off. The story begins with him being woken after being imprisoned in an ancient tomb for nearly a year, and jumps between the present day (where he is escaping imprisonment and investigating what happened and etc) and about a generation previously, where he is a key part of the beginning of the rebellion which overthrew the Hierarch's empire and created the world which now seems threatened.

My biggest issue with the story, I think, is that it felt unfinished. Both in the sense that it could have used a sharp editing pass on cutting some fat, and that it only felt like the first third or so of a story. The past timeline is basically the first act (if not the prologue) of a traditional epic fantasy story, while the present day storyline ends in a complete anticlimax, and in any event turns out to be a sideshow to and cleanup of the real actually important plot that had all occurred offscreen before Kai was captured. In both cases there were many scenes where when reading them I was left wondering why this was what the book was spending precious, finite wordcount on.

The comparison I’d draw isn’t Wells’ murderbot books, or even really any traditionally published books at all – it’s serial fiction. When an author is publishing chapters week-to-week, you naturally end up with many scenes that exist because they were easy or fun to write, and the author needed to build themselves up a buffer while they figured out where the story was actually going. Which is frankly just a necessary fact of life in that medium, but far less understandable when you are trying to fit a complete, compelling narrative into 400 pages. I wouldn’t otherwise care about the sheer number of words dedicate to describing seemingly every supporting character’s outfits or the architecture of random hillforts, but as I saw the amount of book left shrink they did start to grate (I would have found the drawn-out-yet-tensionless action scenes annoying regardless).

Which is all very irksome, because there is a very compelling story there – the immortal companion to the heroic rebel, helping him overthrow a cruel empire and establish a new, peaceful and liberated order, only to grow increasingly disillusioned as he watches his friends son try to cement his grip on power and create a new empire in all but name. Pathos, intrigue, meaty character drama! It’s all there! And it just all happens off screen and entirely between the two stories, for some inexplicable reason.

So leaving aside plot, there’s the setting. The book goes out of its way to draw the readers attention to it, with epigraphs at the beginning of chapters lecturing on some bit of sociology or history, and lots of exposition within the main text. There’s a half dozen different cultures and ethnicities with their own naming conventions, political systems, and styles of dress. It’s clearly presented as something impressive – and it just all feels very surface level?

And okay, I am someone who reads an essay series on the economics of premodern wheat agriculture for fun, my expectations in this realm are atypical and probably unreasonable. But, like – this is ostensibly a setting without elves or dwarves or any non-human races besides demons. But the Hierarch’s empire only makes sense if they’re just literally orcs. Crossing an ocean to conquer a new continent seemingly just so you can massacre and depopulate it is not really normal human behaviour! It’s not like they were colonists settling the land, either – it’s explicitly mentioned that much of the continent is just a desolate waste. I kept waiting for some dark wizard ritual or eldritch scheme to explain the why here, but despite repeatedly teasing some secret about their homeland, this wasn’t something the narrative was actually interested in.

The nations of the Rising World Coalition aren’t really as load-bearing to the plot, but still – the idea that there was this whole state system of premodern principalities and republics that had no institutional memory of war kind of beggars belief, and I’m left slightly annoyed that there was a implication-laden conversation about witches being so profoundly weird that they had no renegades because ‘there was nothing to rebel against’ despite clearly having institutional lineages and elders, which was absolutely never followed up on. But all that is admittedly picking out quite tiny nits.

Of more significance is the fact that the societies and politics of the world feel like set dressing for the actions of the dozen or so people who are powerful and Important enough to actually matter, with everyone else helpless against their influence. This is the issue with having a book that wants to be about the importance of doing politics and forging alliances and convincing people of a better way forward, but which has no interest in actually showing what goes into any of that onscreen – so you end up with a prince whose just supernaturally charismatic and persuasive, and a demon who reveals that they already won at court intrigue five years before the story began.

Character interactions are a big part of the real meat of the story, and I leave them for last because I actually do have some nice things to say here. The jumping between past and present letting you see how the relationships begun back then developed and ended up panning out makes everyone’s dynamics very fun (even if doing that you probably could have been a bit less obvious about the foreshadowing in the past too. Bickering reluctant allies to lovers is a fine plot, but if you’ve already revealed they’re going to end up married you don’t need to signpost it so obviously in every single scene they have together in the past too).

By far the most compelling relationship to me was actually the one between the imperial agent who ends up tagging along and helping in the present (who was several decades from being born in the past timeline) and Kai. In large part because there was a real sense of ambiguity and tension there, and subtext that wasn’t instantly dragged up into the foreground.

Anyway, yeah, I probably went into this with expectations too high – but oh boy does it not live up to muderbot.

[actionmemeplay]

AMP-GUIDES: GETTING STARTED WITH RPing OCs IN THE RPC

Pointers for new or first-time OC players looking to get the ball rolling with writing original characters on Tumblr.

► First off: why make a post like this?

...Because original characters in the RPC (particularly ones who AREN'T fandom OCs, who instead belong to their own original universe) don't have the starting boost of having an existing fandom behind them. They don't set out already recognisable to other players, so it can sometimes be a little tougher to drum up engagement.

► Tip #1: Make your OC easy to know

Two things to keep in mind when trying to get an OC blog out there: 1: nobody knows your character except you. Ergo, 2: ...it's your number one objective to make your OC knowable and interesting to your hopefully-future-RP partners! People visiting your blog should have a way to quickly find out the basics of your character and what makes them tick. Keep in mind that having too much information can sometimes be as big of a roadblock to interaction as not having enough. Long bios documenting your OC's entire life-story can be useful to have around, but may be better to have in addition to a shorter and more succinct bio that neatly introduces the core concept of your muse. When you go hunting for a new book at the library or bookshop, do you dive into every book you pick up straight from page 1? Or do you check out the blurb first, to see if the plot even sounds interesting to you? Your muse doesn't need fancy powers or tragic backstory to be interesting, but regardless of if your OC is the plainest everyman or a secret superhero, you still have to let us see what makes it worth getting to know them. Make sure your pages contain the most basic of basics, such as name, gender (or just pronouns), age, and basic physical details, as well as where your muse comes from/what their world is like, a cursory introduction to their personality, and what they're up to at this point in their life. Establishing a setting and any goals can offer hooks for interactions with other muses. Other things that can be helpful are rundowns of their likes and dislikes, their positive/negative/neutral traits, and information on their strengths or weaknesses, or even the places you'd be most likely to find them.

► Tip #2: Consider visuals

Faceclaims, icons, and fancy graphics are NOT mandatory to finding your OC's niche and having a good time in the tumblr RPC...but they can be nice to have around, and some players feel they can connect easier to OCs when they have a visual aid to help visualise your character. Even if you don't plan on using icons, having just one good quality image for your OC's bio can go a long way. But again: it's optional, so don't sweat it too much.

► Tip #3: Shop around for fandoms with themes or settings similar to your OC's

Is your OC is from a fantasy background? Sci-fi? From a version of our own world? When you're getting started trying to find writing partners, you may find you're most likely to be successful reaching out to muses from canons that fit together well with what you're going for with your own OC. This doesn't mean you can't also shoot for cross-genre interactions, of course, but seeking out muses from fictional worlds similar to your own can be a good place to start.

► Tip #4: Showcase your OC in action

Even if you're not writing threads just yet, in-character posts, open starters or short drabbles can all be a good indicator for newcomers of how your character interacts with others and with the world. Remember: nobody knows your character yet, so something that gives others a hint of your character's vibe can be useful for sparking interest in them. Writing short headcanon posts can be used to the same effect, as they can be a helpful and fun way to both flesh our who your muse is as a person, and to introduce tidbits about your character that don't necessarily come up in a bio section...which can offer more interesting lore about your muse and help other players identify things your characters might either bond or bicker over.

► Tip #5: Don't forget about your fellow OCs

Don't be a stranger! If you know what a slog it can be to build traction for an OC blog then it makes sense to extend a little energy to your fellow OCs in the community. Take the time to check over other OC players' blogs, see if you might find their character interesting, or maybe even take a chance if you're on the fence...you can always unfollow later if you decide your play styles or your muses don't gel.

► Tip #6: Don't get discouraged

OCs can have a harder time in fandom heavy RPCs. It's just a natural expectation of not having the "brand recognition" and pre-existing affection that canon muses frequently do. Some OCs have an easier time taking off than others, but don't give up if yours comes up on a slow start. If you're passionate about your muse and are willing to be a little patient, you'll find your crowd! If you ARE struggling to find people to write with, maybe shop around different promo tags and fandoms, and audit your OC's pages again to make sure that there's enough to draw folks in and that you're selling what makes them unique and engaging. OCs can sometimes take a little more work than canon muses to get out there, but don't listen to anyone who tells you the RPC doesn't like OCs or that they can't be really successful out here. It's true that writing an OC often necessitates being the one to reach out first, but it's a rewarding experience, and you'll be surprised how many people will be enthusiastic to get to know your muse and will grow to love them in time.

[faulty-writes]

Hello, I wanted to know if there is a way to write a Monoma x reader shy oneshot that is in classe 1-C and that Monoma has a crush on she (she would be very shy with people from other classes)

[ Alright here we go. This was actually way longer, but I didn't want to make a super long one-shot. So that being the case, there will be a part two to this as soon as I finish writing it. But I hope you enjoy part one. ]

A sigh left your lips as you flipped to the next page of the Encyclopedia of Heroes, continuing to search for information for your project. Some may say that being a General Studies student is boring. Although Yuuei was known for its Hero Course, the school itself was elite.

Regardless of what department you were placed in, the education you received was top-notch. Of course, most would argue that the hero and support department students got off easy considering the academic projects they were assigned were few and far between.

The project you were assigned was to pick a concept within hero studies and present it to the class. The concept you chose was to compare characteristics between pro heroes and current student heroes. You were hoping to find out which traits truly make a hero shine.

Granted this required you to narrow your selection of heroes down. While you could interview the former number-one hero, considering he was a teacher at Yuuei, your shy nature worked against you. Outside of the General Studies Department, you hardly spoke to anyone.

Whether this was due to social anxiety or not was unknown. However, you had long since learned to accept your shyness even if it got in the way of completing simple tasks. Sighing, you closed the encyclopedia and rose from the table, placing your hand on your forehead.

You looked around the library. There were a few other students present, either sitting down at one of the provided computers or talking to one another. You glanced down at the table. In addition to the encyclopedia, there were several papers scattered across it, each filled with notes referring to your project.

“Maybe I should…take a break…” you muttered to yourself. You looked toward the exit, debating getting a snack from the vending machine. You latched onto your lip and curled your hands into the bottom of your shirt as your stomach twisted with familiar anxiety.

Then again, did you really want to leave? What if someone tried to talk to you at the vending machine and you froze up? You groaned and pressed your hands against your face. ‘Calm down,’ you tried taking a deep breath, blissfully unaware of the peeping eyes watching your every move.

Those eyes belonged to Neito Monoma. Yes, anyone, apart from those so-called “heroes” in Class A, would feel honored to be the target of his affection. In fact, he first saw you in this library months ago. You had your face buried in a book and he was standing nearby when another general studies student approached you.

Of course, he wanted to eavesdrop and get some juicy gossip. This was because it was always interesting to hear what was taking place in other departments. But when you lowered that book from your face, he felt his heart soar.

To hide such beauty was surely a crime. Of course, you weren’t as beautiful as him but a perfect fit, nonetheless. He decided right then and there, you would be his. He had carefully calculated his moves, waiting for the right moment to slip in.

This was because he had long since learned how shy you were around others. It was quite endearing, but he might be able to help you with that once you two got closer. After all, he was going to be a famous hero and needed a confident, competent partner by his side.

“You can…you can do this,” you hesitated to move, believing that several eyes were watching you. In reality, everyone was minding their own business. You slowly placed one foot in front of the other, and before you knew it, you scurried out of the library with your head down.

Neito chuckled as he watched you leave. “How amusing,” he said, looking at the table you were sitting at. “Hm,” he perched his lips and glanced over the cover of the encyclopedia, curiously opening, and flipping through the first few pages although he found it quite boring, and yet jealousy filled him.

He closed it with force and firmly pressed his palm against it. Why would you waste your precious time reading about other heroes when he was your one and only hero? Even if you didn’t know it yet, his perfection did not pass you by...did it?

He grumbled before noticing the piles of notes underneath the encyclopedia. “Oh, what did my shy darling write? Surely, she is more intelligent than those Class A students!” he declared, bluntly ignoring anyone who heard him as he moved the book and gently compiled your notes into a neat stack.

He scanned over the first page, jealous that you spent so much time analyzing other heroes instead of him. He huffed and read through the second note which was piled with thoughts on the various characteristics found in famous heroes and some scribbled thoughts regarding hero students' characteristics.

He frowned, going through the pile until he threw it back onto the table. “How dare she write such admiration for other heroes!” he hissed, clenching his fists together. He wanted to be the only one on your mind. He could prove to you that he was the only hero worth your time and-oh wait!

Yes! That was it, how brilliant of him! He would simply offer to be a part of your project. From what he could gather you were quite eager to learn about hero students, and what better one to analyze than him!? Yes, the temptation to join your project was overwhelming.

If you were truly dedicated to it, there was no reason you’d say no and so he waited for you to return. Your heart was beating fast as you jogged past the entrance of the library, and hunched over, pressing your hands against your knees.

One of them clenched the snack you got from the vending machine. Despite your anxiety continuing to escalate you accomplished your small goal and the reward was delicious onigiri. A bit plain in terms of a snack, but it suited you well and would be filling until you left for the day.

You took a deep breath and leaned back up as your heart thumped in your chest. You looked at the onigiri in your hand and smiled, unwrapping it as you walked back to your table. You took one satisfying bite, enjoying the salty taste dancing across your tongue.

However, this small moment of joy came to a staggering halt when you saw someone sitting at your table and stopped in your tracks. His hair was the first thing you noticed, as it looked silky and was the fairest blond color you had ever seen.

His eyes stood out next. They were piercing periwinkle and had a hungry or predatorial appearance. His skin looked fair and smooth, and his lips curled into a smirk that sent a violent tremble through your body. “Ah, Y/n,” he said, slowly standing from the chair.

“It’s quite a pleasure to be face to face with you, although I’m certain the pleasure is all yours for gazing at my glorious face. You know many girls speak of its beauty,” he said, chuckling as he pressed a hand to his cheek.

“H-huh?” Your jaw hung open and the partially chewed onigiri fell to the floor. “My, my, one shouldn’t make a mess although your pretty little mouth is likely more appetizing than that onigiri you’re holding,” he purred, rounding the table with hungry eyes still fixated on you.

Your first instinct was to back away, despite your cheeks turning red as if the sun itself had come down and burned you. How did he know your name? Had he been waiting for you to return, and if so why!? He continued walking forward until he was a foot away from you.

His smirk made you tremble and subconsciously hold your breath. “Although I have little interest in the matters of others. After all, if it doesn’t involve me, it’s of little importance. But I couldn’t help but notice the project you were working on,” he stated, gesturing to the table.

“You’re a rather messy one, that’s quite unfitting for a student of such beauty,” he said. Despite your reddened cheeks, you drew your bottom lip into your mouth and glanced away. How could he be so mean, and yet sound so sincere?

His smirk faded and his eyes glossed over as if he were under someone's spell when he noticed you weren’t looking at him. Well, this wouldn’t do. You cried out when he stepped forward, and grasped your chin, making you look at him.

Your eyes were wide and trembling with what he assumed was fear. But you couldn't be afraid of him, right? No, it was just your shy nature. ‘Why is he touching me!?’ You frantically thought, completely disregarding his compliment concerning your beauty.

Your lips trembled in an effort to speak, and yet only a pathetic squeak came out. He chuckled at the sound of it and leaned close. Your heart raced because you weren’t used to others being this physically close to you, especially someone whose name you didn't know.

Despite your rational mind telling you to turn your tail and run, your body wouldn’t listen. This boy, this fellow student, paralyzed you without trying. “Tell me, why are you wasting your time with such trivial heroes when the only one you need to focus your project on is right before you?”

A lump formed in your throat, and you swallowed heavily, your fear turning into confusion. ‘Wait…is he a hero student?’ You could barely recall if you had seen him passing through the hallway, then again you walked with your head down most of the time.

You also had very little interest in watching the Sports Festival, let alone participating in school festivals. “U-um…” you tried to speak again, and again the words failed to form. Neito tilted his head, his facial features enveloped with concern but as silence filled the air, he smirked.

“Ah, speechless in front of me. That’s quite understandable,” he commented, and you couldn’t help but tremble in disgust. Was this guy obsessed with himself? “I’ll make this easy for you then,” he said, finally removing his hand from your chin and smirking again as he saw the color of your cheeks.

So red and luscious. It looked wonderful on you. “I will be a part of your project,” he stated, knowing he was demanding instead of asking. Your eyes widened and you stepped back, wanting to ask him ‘what?’ but not having the courage to form the words. Your face said enough, and Neito chuckled.

“Yes, I know it’s quite a shock,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. “I'd be a worthwhile contribution, don't you think?” You almost suspected he was asking because he knew you were too shy to answer. Which in a sense was kind of cruel. Then again, even if you somehow responded you assumed he'd keep talking.

“I can even showcase the versatility of my Copy quirk, surely that would convince you that I, Neito Monoma, your Phantom Thief can emulate the abilities of various heroes plus more!” he declared, bluntly ignoring anyone who turned their head in his direction.

Your face was now dripping with sweat, and you weren't sure if that was from your shyness or the fact you were angry at the moment. He approached you, now wearing a smile that looked too sweet and sickening. “Hmm, what do you say?” he asked. “Don’t you agree I’d make a wonderful contribution to your project?”

You glanced away and latched onto your bottom lip which trembled. ‘Well…maybe this is my chance to study a hero student like I wanted, maybe the data I collect from him would be valuable. I could find out why he's so enthusiastic and determined.’

Although your stomach twisted at the thought of spending time with him, and the realization that at some point you'd need to ask him personal questions to determine why certain characteristics he displayed were stronger or weaker than pro heroes made your mouth go dry.

You grumbled before releasing your lip and looking at him. You didn’t say anything, just nodded, and Neito grinned like a madman. “Wonderful!” he said, throwing his hands in the air before brushing past you, purposely rubbing his shoulder against yours.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, same time, same place.” You tried to take a breath when he walked away, but he stopped short and walked up to you again. Your back was facing him, and you cried out when he grasped your hand that was still gripping onto the now squished onigiri.

Your jaw hung open when you turned your head. Soft squeaks came when he locked eyes with you and bit into your snack. You watched his pink tongue come out, collecting any pieces of leftover rice that stuck to his lips before he chewed and swallowed.

“Ta-ta,” he said, waving you goodbye as he walked away, and you could only stare in horror at the bite he had taken. Well…that was a waste of a good snack. The next day, you resented your agreement to allow Neito to be the focus of your project.

You hated knowing that you agreed only because you were a people pleaser and too shy or lacking the voice to express yourself. Then again, he seemed so persistent that even if you said no, he would continue to push until he got his way.

“Yes, I’m quite sure all you pathetic heroes in Class A are in despair that I have been selected to be part of Y/n’s project! Surely it will highlight the various reasons I remain above the heroes that make up your sorry excuse of a class,” he stated bluntly as he stood in the Class A doorway.

Tsuyu spoke first, “Wow, Monoma. That’s some interesting news.” Katsuki clenched his jaw. “Tch, why the hell do we care about something so damn meaningless!?” he shouted, shoving Neito out of the way who chuckled in response.

“Hm, that’s about the answer I’d expect from a delinquent like you,” he replied with a smirk. “Of course, that’s to be expected from one who couldn’t even pass the provisional licensing exam.” Katsuki’s body stiffened, but before he could say anything Eijirou spoke up.

“Jeez, cool it, man! What’s your problem!?” Neito narrowed his eyes. He had a history with the red-headed fool. Seemed they’d always be on opposite ends. “I don’t believe a thing is wrong with me,” he stated before turning his back on Eijirou and the rest of Class A.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m due to meet Y/n at the library.” Eijirou curled his lips, watching Neito walk away in slight disgust before turning to Tsuyu. “Isn’t Y/n someone in general studies?” he asked, and she shrugged.

“Ribbit, I think so. But they don’t talk much to anyone outside of their class,” she replied and Eijirou's eyebrows knit together. If that were the case, how could Neito have convinced you to be part of whatever project you were working on?

Your anxiety was high as you waited for him to appear. Your feet bounced against the carpeted floor below you, and breathing exercises weren’t your friend at the moment. You curled your hands on the table and your eyes focused on the single notebook on it.

You were hoping you wouldn’t have too much to talk about because Neito already showed a variety of characteristics that contrasted pro heroes. Either way, you needed to document as much information as possible if you wanted your project to thrive.

You closed your eyes, taking another much-needed breath before nervously tapping the tip of your pencil against the notebook, but this didn’t ease the knots in your stomach. ‘Why did it have to be him though?’ At times like this, you wondered if fate was being cruel or challenging you to overcome the obstacle of your shy nature.

You tried to redirect your thoughts and opened your notebook, although your hand was trembling. You decided to write an introduction regarding your project and the subject you’d be studying, Neito Monoma. “Hm,” you paused and tapped the pencil against your lips. What did he say his quirk was?

You thought for a moment before scribbling down ‘Copy?’ With any luck you’d find out more about his quirk as this progressed. However, if you were being honest, you wanted this to end as soon as possible. You sighed and laid the pencil onto the notebook.

You stared blankly at the lined pages until approaching footsteps made you raise your head. Your throat tightened when you saw the smirk on Neito’s face and those eyes held that same intimidating gaze as before.

“Hello dear Y/n,” he said, pressing one hand against his chest. Your breathing turned heavy, your face dusted over red, and his greeting was met with silence. “Oh, still shy I see,” he said, brushing a hand through his hair.

“How adorably you,” he commented, causing your already abnormal heart rate to skyrocket. “Mm…” You clasped your hands together in your lap and leaned forward, your mind urging you to return his greeting. However, as the seconds passed, awkwardness consumed you.

The weight of his stare didn’t help, but you felt relief when he took a seat. What could you say to him? How could you get through this project?! He smiled and took a moment to admire how devilishly delicious you looked with those reddened cheeks before glancing down and noticing your open notebook.

“Oh, and what do we have here?” he asked, reaching over to grab it. You gasped and leaned across the table to get your notebook back. In response, Neito leaned back and held the notebook away from you. A hungry glance flashed in his eyes when you looked at him.

You trembled and immediately scrambled back only to collide with your chair, causing it to fall to the floor along with you. You could feel the stares on you and a few people approached, making your already reddened face deepen.

You could only stare at the carpet trying to fight back the awkwardness while simultaneously wishing the floor would swallow you whole. “Hey there!” a cheerful voice said, breaking through the silence and darkness that clouded your mind at that moment.

You lifted your head to see a tall and muscular boy, who you quickly assumed was a third-year student. He had blue eyes and a round button-like nose. His blond hair was spiked up in the front and looked short around the back.

He smiled and extended his hand to you. “Need a hand? Heh, get it? Hand!?” he exclaimed excitedly, making your eyebrows knit. “Excuse me!” Neito snapped, standing between you and the third-year student. “How dare you attempt to lay a hand on Y/n,” he growled, curling his hands into fists by his sides.

Your eyes widened, amazed that he didn't care about the attention turned on him. Then again, given his personality, he probably thrived on it. “Huh?” He blinked. “Oh hey, you’re one of those first-year students, Monoma, right?”

“Nice to meet you, I'm Mirio Togata!” he said, now extending the hand he had held out to you to Neito instead. However, he only received the boy’s angry glare in return and watched as he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close. You trembled at his touch, but he seemed to ignore this at the moment.

Mirio blinked, taking in the image of the two of you. “Oh, heh sorry did I interrupt something?” he asked, scratching the side of his head. Your heart was racing so fast you weren’t sure if you were nervous or having a heart attack.

Neito holding you so close was new and though you wanted to push him away, your shy nature prevented you from acting. Neito narrowed his eyes and turned his head, ignoring Mirio. You flinched when his hair brushed against your head, and he locked his eyes with yours.

You could feel his hot breath against your face when he spoke. “Oh, my dear, Y/n are you alright? Don’t pay any mind to the upperclassmen who rudely interrupted our study session,” he said, using his other hand to wave Mirio away.

“Hm?” Mirio tilted his head in response before chuckling. “Heh, well okay!” he smiled. “Have a good session!” he said walking away. Neito snarled and removed his arm from around you only when he was sure that Mirio had actually left.

“Now that the interruption is over, perhaps we can do something else,” he said, reaching down to grab your hands, which once again caused your face to grow red. You wanted to ask, ‘Like what?’ but like before, your words were frozen in your throat, and you glanced away as he helped you stand up.

“Notes are quite dull and boring,” he said, moving closer to the table to grab your notebook. “It would be far more interesting to watch me in action. After all, I did promise I’d let you see my quirk, did I not?” he said. You cried out when he tossed your notebook at you which you barely caught.

He smirked, “Wouldn’t it be a privilege to watch one as beautiful as I? You can still take notes if you wish,” he said before approaching. You squeaked when he grasped your chin, guiding your head up to look at him. “As long as you keep those pretty eyes on me.”

He was tempted to lean over and kiss your reddened cheeks but decided against it for now. “Do hurry and gather your things,” he said, turning away from you. “Huh?” You glanced between him and the table with your arms pressed against your chest.

However, when Neito tapped his foot against the floor, you rushed to pick your backpack up. You shoved the notebook inside and threw the strap over your shoulder. You followed him out of the library with your hands curled into the bottom of your shirt and your eyes focused on the floor. You felt pathetic following him like a lost puppy.

You lifted your head only to focus it back on the floor when you passed another student in the hallway. You latched onto your bottom lip again wondering why you agreed to this. You cried out when you stumbled into Neito, who you hadn’t realized had stopped walking.

Your eyes widened when you realized you were now pressed against his back. You looked up, groaning when Neito looked at you from over his shoulder. Once again that rush of heat coursed through your cheeks and you immediately backed away, folded your hands in front of you, and bowed.

You would say sorry, but you could only imagine the ridicule that would get you. He chuckled, “Oh dear, Y/n I do enjoy you bowing although if you bowed at my feet that would be more satisfying.” You knit your eyebrows.

Yeah…there was definitely something wrong with Neito. You slowly leaned back up, feeling the heat cool and your cheeks return to normal. “Um…” you frowned and looked around, noticing that you were now standing in front of the Class-1A door. What were you doing in the hero department?

Neito noticed the confused look on your face and chuckled again. “I will be right back,” he stated, walking up to the door before knocking. You drew your bottom lip into your mouth, slightly concerned when you heard a grouchy and raspy voice respond, “Come in.”

Neito turned to look at you again before entering the room. You were slightly nervous and wondered what he could be doing but tried not to lose yourself in anxiety. You closed your eyes as you leaned against the row of lockers and took a deep breath.

You ran through the different scenarios that could happen when Neito finally showed you his quirk. You had never seen any of the hero students' training sessions and it was impossible to tell if they had mastered their quirks or were still rough around the edges.

Although Neito seemed confident enough that even if he was still training his quirk, he’d find some excuse to act as though it were superior to everyone else. You took a deep breath and sighed as you placed one foot against one of the lockers behind you.

In a way, you envied him. If you had a fraction of his self-confidence, maybe you wouldn’t be so awkward. Then again, Neito seemed to like you for some odd reason. Or at least that's what you could gather from his flirtation and insistence on being a part of your project.

What did he see in you? Obviously, something you couldn’t. You looked up when the door opened, and Neito proudly stepped out with a large grin across his face. Your eyes widened, and your stomach twisted into knots just thinking about the various reasons why that smile was on his face.

“Ah, dear Y/n, I’m quite happy to see that you are still here. I would say sorry for making you wait but you’ll soon find out that the wait was worth it,” he declared, once again showing his confidence as well as stubborn nature. You frowned, glancing away from him.

You folded your hands against your chest and felt your lips tremble before parting them. “Wh-” The question faded along with your courage and Neito’s eyes widened, surprised that you had even attempted to talk to him.

He stepped closer, making your heart race. Out of instinct, you tried to step back only to remember you were leaning against the lockers. He placed his hands behind his back, smiling at you like a happy predator eager to bite into its prey.

“How adorable, are you trying to ask why?” he questioned before patting you on the head, making you squeak involuntarily, and your cheeks turn rosy. “Um…” you swallowed hard, looking away from him although that didn’t tame your embarrassment.

With some regret you nodded, making Neito’s grin heighten. He extended the hand he had just used to pat your head out in front of you. “Take my hand,” he said, “and I’ll show you the answer.” Your heart pounded so hard it echoed in your ears. Why was he of all people offering you his hand?

“Mm…” you latched onto your bottom lip and laid your hand in his. Possessively, he curled his fingers around your hand and that was concerning. So was the way he pulled you down the hallway and toward Ground Gamma.

This was an unfamiliar experience for you given that general studies students weren’t permitted on training grounds reserved for hero or support department students. You tried pulling your hand away from Neito's, afraid of standing where you were not permitted to.

Unfortunately, his grip was like iron, and it was highly unlikely that you’d break free. The sound of your footsteps echoed through Ground Gamma. You looked down, realizing that the floor was made of metal and that the rest of the area was open.

Why did the hero students train here? You hadn’t realized you were still holding Neito’s hand when he stopped in the middle of the training ground until he tightened his grip which caused you to snap back to reality.

“Yes, I know it’s quite memorizing here, isn't it?” he replied, once again smiling at you. “Oh u-um…” you tried to speak but nodded your head like before. “Oh, I’m so glad you agree!” he declared, letting go of your hand before spinning around.

The sound of his laughter bounced off the walls, creating an eerie effect that made you tremble. But it ended just as quickly as it started, and he turned to look at you. “Now, I promised you a demonstration of my quirk. But I’d like you to use yours on me first.”

Your eyes widened at his request. “W-what?” you replied before clasping your hands over your mouth, realizing that was the first actual word you had spoken around him. His expression dropped and instead, a look of curiosity enveloped his face, followed by a smirk.

“My, am I breaking through that shell of yours already?” he said, pressing a triumphant hand against his chest. “Well, what more could one expect from someone as amazing as I?” he said. Seriously, where did all his confidence come from?

“Now then, I requested that you use your quirk on me, and don’t worry about any consequences. Mr. Aizawa has granted us both permission to be here,” he said, before spreading his arms out. “Don’t hold back,” he instructed.

While you weren’t sure how truthful he was being, you were reminded that your project depended on this interaction. You frowned, hesitant to go through with it but Neito would more than likely keep persisting until you were driven nuts.

Although you already knew you'd hold back, when you tried to use your quirk, you couldn’t. “Huh?” Your eyes widened and you looked at your hands, startled that something was wrong with your body. However, you lifted your head when you heard Neito laugh.

You trembled when you saw that his eyes were now glowing yellow, and his hair was floating upward as if gravity itself had broken. “See!?” he said with a smirk as he pointed at himself. “This is my quirk, isn’t it marvelous!?” he declared.

“Erasure is quite amazing and all I had to do was touch Mr. Aizawa to copy his quirk,” he explained and took pride in your mesmerized look. It was rather adorable to see those eyes widen as you took him in, and those adorable lips fall open.

“I’m flattered you’re so amazed,” he stated before his hair fell flat against his head again. “Heh…” you glanced down, trying to fight the blush dusting your cheeks a perfect rosy red. You should really be writing all this down, you swallowed and hesitantly slipped your bag off your shoulders.

Unzipping it, you took your notebook out. You lowered yourself onto the cool metal floor and scribbled down a few notes. Of course, Neito didn’t like that you weren’t paying attention to him and crossed his arms in a huff. “Y/n,” he said but got no response from you and leaned over, waving his hand in front of your face.

“Are you listening to me? While I’m happy to see that you are writing about my marvelous quirk, I do require your attention,” he stated, making you pause and look at him. “Finally,” he commented, crossing his arms, and looking displeased.

“Um…” you opened your mouth to speak but shake your head, too embarrassed to ask him personal questions yet. But this was your project and you needed to ask him about his quirk. Just one little thing! It wouldn’t kill you, would it!?

“Y-your…q…q-quirk…” you managed to say and watched his eyes light up as if hearing your voice was the sweetest melody and he was so proud that you spoke up! “L…l-limitations?” Your heart beat so fast and your face felt on fire.

He blinked in response, and the silence between you was suffocating. Your hands clenched around your notebook. Had you said the wrong thing? Damn it. You looked down as if staring at the floor would be beneficial but looked back up when Neito knelt in front of you.

“Oh, dear, Y/n. Do you truly believe my quirk has limitations?” he asked once again making your stomach twist. “I…e-every quirk…” Your words trailed off, fading into the air causing him to frown. “I suppose every hero has their weaknesses,” he said with a grumble.

“I’m afraid that I’m limited to holding four quirks at once and can only use them for a limited amount of time,” he'd go into detail but didn’t feel like it was the time and hated talking about his weaknesses. It reminded him of the reason why he wanted to become a hero in the first place.

To prove them wrong. To prove he could be someone and while he loved the idea of fame and fortune, in this moment, all he cared about was having your attention. He seemed to have chipped away at your hard shell, even if only slightly today.

Perhaps he shouldn’t push his luck further. “Well do have fun writing down what you experienced here today. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow,” he said, walking past you. “Hm!?” you turned on the floor, watching him walk away in a panic.

Should you stay where you were? What if you couldn’t find your way back? You latched onto your lip, wanting to tell him to stop but not having the courage to. You jolted up and ran toward him, not entirely thinking about what consequences it would bring.

He paused and turned around when he heard your frantic steps and for a moment, grew concerned when he saw you running to him. He involuntarily shouted when you tripped over something, which almost seemed impossible given the structure of Ground Gamma.

But perhaps you tripped over your own feet in your frantic hurry. Either way, the feeling of your body colliding with his was blissful and though he tried his hardest to stop you from both falling, he found this to be impossible. Instead, he wrapped his arms around you out of instinct and took the brunt of the impact when you fell to the floor.

You felt his body tremble underneath yours and opened your eyes to realize that you cradled against his chest which caused your face to turn red. You placed your hands against his chest and pushed yourself up, feeling him grunt in reply.

“S-sorry!” you squeaked out before looking for your notebook which was lying on the ground a little way from where you and Neito were. You looked back, seeing him open his eyes only to find that you were now sitting on top of him.

Silence filled the space between you. He raised one hand out to you only to flinch when a raspy, tired voice filled the air. “Alright, Ground Gamma is closed,” Shota announced as irritated as ever before he lifted his head and stopped suddenly.

He blinked, concerned about why Neito was lying on the floor and you on top of him, but judging by those two sets of wide eyes looking back at him, he might have walked in on something that happened at the wrong time and in the wrong place.

“Mr. Aizawa!” Neito said immediately sitting up and causing you to fall back again. This caused him to grab onto your wrist to prevent you from hitting the floor. You grasped his hand and steadied yourself. Your cheeks burned and you felt slightly faint.

‘Damn it! Why do I get into these situations!?’ You frantically got up, deciding that saying nothing and running away was a better option than explaining yourself. “Y/n?” Neito asked, his voice quiet as he watched you grab your notebook before running past Shota.

Yeah, you said earlier that you were worried you wouldn’t be able to find your way back, but maybe getting lost wouldn’t be so terrible. You clenched your notebook against your chest as you ran. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess.

However, you could always write down everything you learned about Neito later today and maybe even write down some questions you wanted to ask him. There had to be more limitations to his quirk, and there had to be a reason why he wanted to become a hero.

It wasn’t because he was stuck up or thought he was better than everyone else even though he portrayed himself that way. But when you tripped, the way he wrapped his arms around you to keep you safe said something about him. He had a genuine care for keeping others safe.

Maybe he'd even take the brunt of any injury if it meant others remained unharmed. But isn’t that what heroes are supposed to do!? If that were true then why did that moment, that single moment change your perspective on Neito? Was he truly an arrogant man or was there more to him than meets the eye?

[ Second Part ]

[olderthannetfic]

I've had a few commenters on my fics be surprised that I do plot outlines, make a timeline of events, and make Word docs going over everything that's canon for the character that's relevant to the story (particularly useful for comics' canons where there's multiple continuities and you need to get the details of a specific version straight). Personally, I have a lot of issues with remembering things later on while writing, so this combats my ADHD. I don't think most people would find my level of planning enjoyable. But surely most people do some planning? It just makes things easier to go, "okay, here's my beginning, my middle, and my end" as a plan than to sit there going, "I hope I come up with an ending eventually". Or at least, it's easier for me. Is that a universal experience, a neurodivergent one, or a "your mileage may vary regardless of neurodivergence/lack thereof"?

--

*cackling*

Guys...

"Planner" vs. "Pantser" is like the most basic division of writing styles ever and is covered constantly on every writing blog and in every writing how-to book and...

From what I have seen, your average prolific writer of genre fiction who also writes articles on craft tends to be a planner, though not always at the extreme end of that spectrum, but there are plenty of famous authors who are extreme pantsers. I remember some Isabelle Allende quote about "Write one good page a day and at the end of a year, you have a book".

I don't think it's as simple as writers of plot-forward genres vs. genres about the human condition, but in terms of people producing writing advice, it does often break down that way. (Also, it's a lot easier to write how-to guides for plotters than pantsers in some ways, so that probably skews the numbers.)

The big difference between fic writers and pros who are pantsers, from what I can tell, is that the pros 1. have a lot more experience with needing to finish big projects by a deadline and successfully doing so and 2. don't usually post serially, so revision of the full work is possible after they've written the first draft and discovered what the story is about.

(There are pros who do post serially to great success, but my impression is that many of them are planners.)

[chaoticbard]

Alaara sat with her back against a strong oak tree nestled next to her spot in camp, her head bent low over her journal as she stared at it. How many days had it been since she'd been infected by an illithid tadpole? How many days had it been since finding her companions? Surely the number she had ticked onto the cover page was wrong. A few weeks' time didn't seem long enough for many reasons, but it was truth regardless. She'd been meticulous in logging each and every night she survived. Alaara huffed and flipped the journal open to a set of blank pages. She needed to focus her mind on anything else but the ever-growing list of things that needed doing. She needed to take notes, she needed to write. She needed to compose.

If anything was her sanctuary, writing was it. Music, stories, it didn't matter which. Tonight, music felt appropriate. Melancholic notes flitted here and there in her mind and she threw them onto hastily-drawn bars as they came to her. But what she really needed were lyrics to put the stray notes to. A bard's song without lyrics held power aplenty, but one with them felt significantly more so, at least to her. A song with lyrics could be emotionally charged twice over, instrument and voice melding as partners, both yearning to get a message out to anyone willing to listen.

Something or someone would need to trigger the beginning of that melding. What that something was had yet to reveal itself, and so it was that Alaara looked up from her journal and watched and waited for it. As she did so, she jotted little notes here and there about her companions. Such tidbits could be returned to at a later date and woven into the fabric of her creations.

She first caught sight of Lae'zel arm wrestling with Karlach, her expression grim. Into her notebook went a little note about that. She then took notes about Wyll, who was telling a tale about his heroics as the Blade of Frontiers. Shadowheart, Astarion, and Halsin were all paying attention, but even from where she sat, Alaara could tell Astarion was smirking to himself, biting his tongue to keep from saying too many sassy remarks and halting the story's progress. Shadowheart's smile, Halsin's rapt attention, and Astarion's cheekiness were all documented. And Gale of Waterdeep. What was he doing during all of this? He was-

Alaara looked around. Where was Gale? His tent seemed vacant, he wasn't standing over the cook pot, and he certainly wasn't with the rest of the party. Maybe he was off doing secret wizard stuff in another dimension? Was that a thing wizards really did? Tavern patrons were hardly paragons of information when it came to, well, anything but food and drink, but their mutterings about wizards were all she had to go on. That, and the scant few fact books she'd come across in the realms. Volo had written a rather colorful account of wizards, but he was well known to over-embellish and change facts to better suit his narrative. Such had only been staunchly affirmed when she'd met him in the grove writing blatant falsehoods about a bear of all creatures.

She looked back down at her journal. If only Gale was around, she could spend the rest of the evening picking his brain. He could tell her all about himself and other wizards. What he told her would be truths too, not just tall tales and outright lies. He could tell her about lots of other things too if he wasn't being a braggart. Given his collection of tomes he refused to travel without, she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

As she sat and thought so very hard to herself, she left a sea of black dots on her journal's pages without actively realizing it. So engrossed was she that she didn't realize she was no longer alone...

@galefcrce

[squishysoftmonsters]

🌺Hot For Teacher🌺

Read Next [Only a Dream Class]

Imagine you the nerdiest student of a high esteemed college. The said geek and loner with glasses that warranted hi and goodbye. It was difficult being a trans student also. But,the professor of your class took delight in you regardless. He'd stop and chat,and even offer to take you to lunch.

Happy someone noticed you,you longed to get to know your professor better. Even the sound of his name made you swoon when he introduced himself to you in a personal way. His name was Beleth Alexandersson. You frequented the library and he took note of it,tracing your fingers as you turned the pages to the biggest of calculus books. He made it an opportunity to get a touch when you dropped something..as it was pretty normal for your teacher to lend a hand,but he didn't hover over you too much as it would become noticeable,obvious and weird.

Rumors circled that the calculus professor was a forest dryad. His alluring scent and unique features would make every gender student fall madly in love with him. Of course in a simple word,perfect. It was off-putting that a male dryad would have the name Beleth,a name associated with demonic creatures..not faeries!

Smooth with his words and actions it was hard to turn away. Hard to not offer yourself up to such a figure of sheer majesty.

You : [blushes] Professor!

Adjusting his glasses while grading multiple papers,he stopped,and gazed upwards at the sound of his college given title. You felt yourself flush as his pale eyes met yours. Hot for Teacher was literal,as you fell hard for the professor.

Beleth : [soft chuckle] Here before all the others. Wanted to catch me by myself? [chortles] I'm joking with you,easy.

The sound of his voice made your heart race and your knees weak. Unknowingly you ached there as he spoke. His presence was heavenly and there was no denying that. It worsened further as he approached. Pinching his tongue in his teeth,Beleth gently put a hand to your chin, and looked deeply into your eyes. Being touched or kissed by a man taller than you was every teenage girl's wet dream.

Beleth : Have a seat..Let me give you reassurance..We're both well in the same age range. There's no big difference..so no need to be scared of me.

That wasn't true..the dryad was thousands of years old,in the form of a heart throb for a likeable late teens professor. He was comfortable in his skin and blended well with society as a human. He was highly versed about the ways of humans,culture and customs,also their quest to attain mass knowledge.

He returned to his desk,resting his glasses on the mountain of graded papers to toy with his paper airplane. You giggled at the childish sounds he made with the airplane he had folded up and created out of the puzzle section of the morning paper.

You couldn't focus on your studies,eyeing Beleth every time he looked away,or glossed over what he had planned to lecture and teach. His curved ears perked,hearing your nervous gulps even though you were so far away and high up in the auditorium. Such lovely shaped ears were well hidden by his hair.

Suddenly the groaning and screaming of students began pooling into the auditorium. A smile seemed to form on his face,as he put down his newspaper airplane and put his glasses on.

Beleth : [soft smile]If you want to survive in a tech driven world..I hate to break it to you, You will eventually need this stuff later on. I admit,there's always a subject you're gonna hate. But let's be real here. You're not going to seriously scroll through your phone during an important lecture or an interview for the job you're trying to score,and hold the whole thing up to find the said answers required to look good or fit the bill. Wouldn't you want to present yourself as a self reliant and knowledgeable individual?Pretty sure I'm right,judging by your faces.

These atrocities no one cares about..angles mixed with numbers and letters..They look silly and useless,right? Trust me,you will need them in some situation. ALL of the stuff you learn will play some role in shaping and defining your future. Nothing you gain in life is wasted.

Every decision will matter. Even though you don't care,it's always best to have it up here. Hearing my lips flap for an hour or two each day will come handy..Believe me.

Beleth gestured at his head.

A lot of the girls were whispering and giggling at how handsome their professor was,and he heard it,pinning his ears back,to reduce sounds. Groans,moans,questionable hmms and angry verbiage from the other students followed suit. If you're a forest creature with fantasy ears,you're going to hear everything! Beleth did pick up on some very offensive words towards you..but kept focus..and would bring it up after class.

The said lecture continued for a good,long while,you melting in a fantasy with your beloved professor more than paying attention you snapped to reality looking like a fool,as the chairs quickly emptied,leaving you by yourself. Everyone hollered as they grabbed up their graded papers,bidding their farewells and onto the next class. You came down the stairs to receive your graded paper,usual was an A without a problem.

Beleth : [clears throat] It's appropriate to pay attention. But I'll pardon you this time.

You : [nervously] I was..[weak laugh]

You looked away nervously,but he gently turned your head back towards his line of sight,lifting your chin with his finger,ever so tenderly. Those beautiful pale eyes cleaved into your soul once they met with yours.

Beleth : Aside your blatant fantasizing about me...What went on up there with those girls to the right of you? Not the squealing ones on your left.

You : They always pick on me religiously,but I don't care..

He started to speak in a low tone.

Beleth : If it involves what you are,not to flirt with you..but you are quite the looker to me..no one should question that.[normal tone]Aside this,You said you were paying attention..

You : [nods excitedly] I was..honest.

He raised a brow and crossed his arms.

Beleth : Let's see if your claim holds weight...Give me a small speech of what I lectured about..Keep it at a few words.

Your mouth was gaped,eyes darting back and forth,thinking as to what he lectured about,and you remained wordless. He gently closed your mouth.

Beleth : My thoughts exactly.

He took off his glasses and placed them on the desk.

You : You're not angry at me are you,Beleth?

You cupped your hands over your mouth and your eyes glittered. Heartbeat rising, becoming a bundle of nerves,calling the professor out of his title,You swore you were done. A soft smirk crossed his lips,as to the way you said his first name. It was always Professor Alexandersson or simply the cutest and most affectionate "Teach". No one had such a privilege to call him by his first name,only his wife and other relatives.

You : [tearfully gasping] I didn't mean to..[stammering] I'm so very sorry Professor Alexandersson...[gulping hard] I...

Beleth : [softly] Shhhh....

His finger so soft upon your lips as tears streamed down your face. You never meant to call the dearest teacher by his name. He was hardly upset,because he did introduce himself to you on a personal level earlier on. His eyes locked onto yours.

Beleth : Just be careful next time...

In regards of mockery towards you such as "Teacher's Pet"..He gave you advice..As no student has that right,but you who he favored. You nodded with a sniffle as he dabbed away your tears with a tissue.

This stemmed from a RP with a close friend and I. A human falling for a dryad was common,but it did make cute for a pairing and a romance. The naughties will come soon!

The RP was dubbed Hot For Teacher. I think I'm gonna run with this 🍎

[gavisuntiedboot]

Gavi in love with an author or astrophysicist?

A/N: Welcome back to another installment of boot on the bus!! Because of the F1 kick I’ve been on, it took everything in me not to change this to an engineer :,) so we went with author

~~

“Thank you so much for joining us! We at Blaugrana Publishing are delighted to welcome y/n, author of the NYT best-selling series “Instinctual”, to unveil her newest work.”

A loud, thunderous applause filled the hall, as 200 people cheered while you waved back, placing your hands on your chest to express the immense gratitude you felt for everyone that had supported your book.

You had started your debut novel “Instinctual” when you were in college, eager to turn all of your experiences into inspiration for a doomed love between a headstrong physics girl and and an idiotic business boy, who didn’t realize what he had until she had slipped between his fingers. Your publisher has taken a huge risk on you, but had backed you regardless to support ‘budding local talent’. The booktokers instantly fell in love with toxic, spicy romance that you weaved in your pages, which gave the publishers enough confidence for you to continue writing your series.

You had decided that your protagonists next love interest was going to be a footballer, prompting you to start researching footballers, watching interviews, and just learning their general mannerisms. Your publishing group had gotten you a media pass to La Masía, allowing your to interview players and watch games to get a full character study. You had every intention of making this footballer an ass - someone who would use your protagonist when convenient and abandon her for the “love of the game” when the time came.

Sitting in the stands of a La Masía match against the Sevilla football academy, you were hurriedly scribbling notes into the pages of your journal, taking in the sights, sounds, and interview responses from the players to get a full picture. You registered when someone had sat down next to you, but made no motion to look up or acknowledge their presence. About 15 minutes into the game, the person beside you tapped your shoulder. Looking up at him, your eyes met his honey ones, bright in the afternoon sun. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t place where you had seen him before.

“Sorry, if you’re going to spend the game doing homework, do you mind switching with my friend sitting behind you? We want to watch the match.”

The question had thrown you off guard. You looked the teenage boy up and down, unimpressed by his laid back demeanor. He and his friend beside him had spent the entire game muttering in hushed, angry tones. You didn’t see why they needed to add a third commentator.

“Sorry, but I’m taking notes of the game for my book. If your friend wanted my seat, he should have bought this ticket.”

“We never buy tickets for La Masía games.” He responded, sounding genuinely surprised by your suggestion. His friend beside him nodded.

“Then how did you three get in? Did you hop the fence?”

“No, we used to train here.And even if we didn’t- they always let the first team players in for free. ” The boy responded, eyes flicking between you and the game on the field.

Your eyes widened - you had struck gold. Actual first team, professional footballers to help you with your book. The excitement flooded your brain, and you spoke faster than you could think.

“Could I get your number?”

The three boys all turned to you, the one beside you confused, the other two holding back giggles.

“Usually don’t give my number to fans. Sorry.”

“I literally have no idea who you are.”

This statement made the two observers burst out laughing, unable to contain their mirth at what had just transpired between you two. The boys introduced themselves as Gavi, Ansu, and Alenjandro. Gavi begrudgingly accepted handing over his number, taunts from his friends heard for the remainder of the match about how was “still unknown” and living in someone named Pedri’s shadow.

Over the next several weeks, you messaged Gavi almost daily while writing, asking him about football, his personal life, the team dynamics - everything.

“Do fans give you their numbers often?” You asked, phone held up to your ear with your shoulder as you typed vigorously.

“Yeah, more often than not. Sometimes they’ll throw it into Pedri’s car as we drive home. Actually, there was this one time I was doing a signing at the team store and this girl slipped me her number. I didn’t want to embarrass her so I just took it and held onto it. There’s a video everywhere of it happening. Apparently I have amazing rizz?”

You laughed into the phone, taking a break from typing just to imagine Gavi, awkwardly accepting a paper slip, being turned into the master of getting girls. It had become a routine for you to call Gavi in the evenings, usually to ask about the character. But at some point it just morphed into calls about your days, your lives, your frustrations. It went on like this for two months. One evening, as you sat jotting down title ideas, you asked Gavi:

“Can I ask you something kinda personal?”

A pause.

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Where would you take a girl out on a date?”

There was silence on the other side of the line for so long you had to make sure the call didn’t drop. After this long pause, he cleared his throat and said, “Well, how much do I like her?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well like if it’s a girl I found on instagram and I just think she’s pretty, then she’s meeting me at whatever club I’m going to with the boys. But if I’ve known her for a while and I like her, then it’s different. There’s this one kind of whole in the wall place near the stadium, it’s just- actually wait. What are you doing tonight?”

“Huh?”

“What’re you doing tonight? If you’re free, I can just show you rather than try and describe.”

You froze momentarily. You had noticed the dynamic shifting between you and Gavi, but that was just phone banter- nothing serious, nothing real. What he was proposing (a date) would shift the paradigm of the two of you more than you were ready for. But still, something within you was intrigued. Gavi was handsome - no questioning that - and there was something about him that drew you in, like a warm fire on a cold day.

“I’m… not doing anything. I’d love to go see it.”

“Perfect. I’ll text you the address and we can meet there at 8?”

Yes you had initially wanted to make your footballer dark and sinister like all the men you’ve known in your life. But sitting across that table, looking at Gavi, listening to him speak about his love, his passion, the future he wanted - you couldn’t do it. This man was softened butter on the inside, shy and courteous, like the boys in 50s movies. He walked you back to your place like a true gentleman, holding your hand at your door, and professing, confidently with some slight stuttering, that he thought you were beautiful, and wanted to be more than just your friend.

That was the night that changed your writing (and life) forever, for the better. Your second book, “Enticement”, was even better than the first, this time awarding you critical acclaim for your ability to “provide humanity to a callous character, creating compelling and layered people”. Your final book in the trilogy, “Enraptured”, won you a YA book of the year award, as it told a compelling love story where two young lovers could break down each others walls and love them at their cores. Your protagonist and her footballer lover were praised for how “real, honest, raw, and romantic” their relationship was. That was all thanks to Gavi. He taught you so many new forms of love and ways to express it - like someone seeing color for the first time. He showed you how to weather storms together, build each other up, and ground one another when everything seemed to crumble.

“Before we get onto talking about your upcoming work, we have a few questions from the audience.”

You answered questions about your thought process and your world building, encouraging all the young writers in the room to give it their best shot. The last question arrived, and a young girl in round glasses approached the microphone.

“Hi I’m Valeria. First of all I really love your book. I just wanted to ask about the final couple, Maria and Xavier. A lot of your book seems so realistic, except for the way Xavier acts. He’s almost too perfect, like he’s not like any man I’ve ever seen in real life before. So I just wanted to ask: do you know any men in real life that are like Xavier?”

The crowd erupted in cheers at the question, and you laughed to yourself. You looked off to the side of the stage, where Gavi stood leaning against the wall. He smiled widely, winking at you.

“You know, I used to think men like that didn’t exist either. But then I found him, doing something I’ve never done in my life - watching a football game. So don’t lose hope that your Xavier is out there. He might be climbing a mountain or buried under booms in a library or by the side of the road with a busted car. You might find him in the oddest of places, but he’s out there. And when you find him, he’s going to turn your world upside down, and bring you joy you didn’t know was possible. Because mine has.”

~~~

I always wanna say more but that’s the end of the bus ride and the end of the Drabble. Almost iftar time!!

[jasper-pagan-witch]

2024 Grimoire Challenge Review - January Week 1

Well, I had to wait until Wednesday to get out of the house and get a binder and some paper for my challenge grimoire this year, so I basically speedran all of the December prep and the first week of January, because I will never learn and never improve on this habit of mine.

Keeping in line with other grimoires I've used in the past (such as the Epsilon Ledger and the Delta Book of Tarot Spreads), this red binder has been named the Eta Binder. I wrote down my proper name (let's go, trans mages!), tacked @2024-grimoire-challenge onto it to remind myself that that's what we're doing, and gave it a date of working. Since I started on Wednesday, that's 1/3/2024 (because I'm an American) to an unknown end date.

I had to scramble to come up with a list of 52 plants and stones to work on. I just went through the list of herbs and teas offered by my local ("local" being half an hour away) spice shop and capped it off with some Missouri flowers. For the stones, I just flipped through Judy Hall's Crystal Bible (somehow both a really good and really bad reference book) back and forth a bunch of times until I had a list of crystals I hadn't already done dives about.

As for my magical study ideas, I mostly just threw shit down that I've been interested in or have just gotten interested in. I gave each deity I worship their own bulletpoint and also split up the specific areas of pop culture magic I'm digging more into. I made sure there was a blend of comfortable old stuff, brand new stuff that I'm not sure of, and things that are generally outside of my purview.

Through the power of "work had too many 3-ring binder dividers", I have split my binder into seven sections - 1 is Plants, 2 is Stones, 3 is Work-Related Notes, 4 is Spells Designed (if I complete any, they'll be moved into my spell binder that also houses all of my correspondence lists), 5 if Journal, 6 is currently blank, and 7 is Empty Pages.

Then I finally got started on the actual projects. For the plant and crystal prompts this week, I used an integer generator online to choose two numbers randomly and received caraway (aka Carum carvi) and muscovite (aka KAl2(AlSi3O10)(F,OH)2), so I used my normal research process for the two. It was actually pretty fun, if you ignore the fact that my hand hurt so much because it ended up being 4 pages (well, 2 pages but front and back) EACH of information drawn from books and digital sources that I was all but copying word for word.

As for the Work-Related Notes, that's where I've saved things like my Definitions page, Spellwriting 101 (in my practice), and a page about my Common Tools.

I will admit that I skipped the year outline, mostly because the passing of the year means near nothing in my craft. I don't celebrate any particular "magical holidays", I don't work by the moon cycle, I'm definitely not Wiccan and thus don't celebrate the Wheel of the Year, seasons just mean whether or not I have to wear a coat, and I don't care about matching particular workings to days of the week. I'm starting to think I'm just a deeply boring person, upon reflection.

Then we get to the Work Spaces / Altars page, and oh boy! I don't actually do...workings at my altars, so they're probably better described as shrines. I have my Primary Work Space (my wooden desk, the metal microwave stand I've stolen from somewhere, and the tiny red bookshelf under the microwave stand) that is an absolute MESS at every given point that holds whatever the fuck I'm working on, regardless of what project it is. I have a Thoughtform & Spirit Shelf (which is actually a partial shelf) in my big red bookshelf that holds the anchors for my thoughtforms but also my PokeFamiliar. I have five altars around my room that are currently holding seven deities, a candle for an eighth deity, the Lokifam, three spirits, the Unknown Benefactor, the symbol of an animal spirit I want to reach out to at some point this year, and Jasper's Casper (an adorable little ghost that my coworker and her daughter crocheted for me to celebrate the first anniversary of me working at the library).

Shit's a bit cramped in here!

And today, I'm writing about my Personal Practices that have made it into my craft. I'm actually working on this now, but I paused to write up this summary. It's pretty neat to think about all the stuff I've done that I still do.

Results: My hand hurts and my head is throbbing, but c'est la vie. This is a really fun challenge, and I hope it goes all the way through 2024, unlike when I tried to do the 2023 challenge and the host of that one vanished into the aether.

[vikings-til-valhalla]

One of my best friends felt stupid for being a slow reader. Having been there multiple times myself, and battling those types of thoughts on a daily basis for my whole life as well, I decided to write this to her:

You're not alone in that... In school, my teachers would all constantly say, "You should be able to read one page per minute!" Or something like that, it may have been 1 page per 30 seconds for all I remember. But it took me, regardless of the size, regardless of the number of words, minimum 2 minutes per page, sometimes even more. Taking any test that was timed and required me to read, I was panicked knowing I'd never finish the text in time to answer the questions. And that was often the case. I felt like a failure, stupid, and it was reflected in test scores. I'd get the answers right! But I didn't have the time to finish them all, and that's where I got penalized. However, when I took an untimed test for literacy comprehension, I was told I had a college reading level while in middle school. I didn't believe them. I was literally failing English classes left and right. Then, for college, there was another untimed test for the same thing. I scored so high that they literally did not have classes that could challenge me, and just threw me into the hardest English course they had even though I was determined to not need it. I aced those courses for 2 years straight with A+ in both, because rather than focusing on how fast someone can read and answer questions, it focused on how well you understood the texts as a whole. My one professor gave me 105% because she was so impressed. So all that to basically say, regardless of how slow you read, no matter how many times you have to reread the text to understand it fully, as long as you understand it that's what matters, and shows how intelligent you are. Schools pressure you to be fast at everything because in the working world, time and money are one in the same. You have to cut corners and make the top dollar or else corporations see you as a failure. And what is traditional schooling in America but a pipeline to the working capitalism world??

I've met dyslexic people who published bestselling books. I've heard of authors who failed all of K-12 schooling and published well known books by the dozen. And I myself am a very slow reader who struggled all through school, failed most every class for being slow enough that I couldn't finish any tests, but I've been given untimed tests and proved to be highly intelligent in every subject, several languages, countless forms of comprehension, and I published 2 books by the age of 23.

But I am VERY slow at all of that. It takes me hours at a time to solve a small math problem. It takes me weeks to read a children's book. I usually have to hear something twice or more to understand it, unless I have subtitles to read so I can back up what my mind processes hearing, with something visual.

It doesn't matter how slow or fast you are. Intelligence is intelligence regardless. Capitalism just makes it seem like speed is the end all be all of everything, because if you're slow, you're not doing it right/well enough, and you're not making enough profit for anyone to value you.

What's important to remember is to value yourself and what you've accomplished, no matter how long you took to do it, how many tries it took to succeed, or who approves of the things you achieved besides yourself. Your best is good enough, you are good enough, and your worth is not determined by production quotas of any sort in any capacity. Worth is inherent, and also built upon at your own pace by accomplishing things within your personal scope.

[seiberries]

hihi! I have an idea!! karaoke date with reo?

hehehe get the title? i hope this is satisfactory!!

ka(reo)ke : mikage reo short fic

mikage reo x gn!reader / listen to: kirari - fujii kaze

warnings: none! except maybe reo’s spending habits!

it was his idea, surprisingly. though mikage reo could probably rent out a whole clubhouse for you two to sing in, he wanted to experience the little moments in life with you. the idea of a room with colorful lights and a TV set came into mind.

a minute or so ago, reo took your hand to drag you towards your date spot. he had been looking forward to it all day, a bright smile appearing on his face as he walked. it was a surprise too, so you let yourself get carried away by his excitement.

you knew you’d enjoy it no matter what, anyway- it was reo, after all. he has yet to disappoint with any of his date ideas.

he halted after a few more steps of walking, going behind you to cover your eyes. surrounded by darkness, or more-so his hands, he guided you forward. you giggled at his antics, he did this every time. it was pretty cute of him. the boy resembled a puppy, always anticipating your reactions; you can imagine his purple tail wagging.

“ta-da! here we are.” he lifted his hands, revealing a small black building with a large glass door, posters littered along the outer walls. you realized where you were after a sign caught your attention.

“karaoke house.” you read, before rushing to hug who had brought you here in the first place. so he remembered? see, a week ago, you had mentioned wanting to try this activity out after seeing it featured in a drama you enjoyed. you were talking to yourself then, so you never would’ve guessed that he had taken note of it. always paying attention to you, it was one of the many things you loved about him.

you expressed your thanks, taking his hand this time, and walking into the place. as soon as you entered, the lady at the front desk was already personally bringing you to your assigned room, no words were exchanged except for her overenthusiastic greeting. your boyfriend’s influence knew no bounds, he must’ve reserved a spot previously to make sure everything went right.

you take a brisk trip using an elevator to the third floor, the hostess leading you to a red door labeled “VIP”. she bows her head and leaves, thanking you both for choosing their branch in a polite tone.

reo opens the door for you, a gentleman as always. he lets you go into the room first, closing the door himself afterwards. 

he really prepared for this.

the tv was already turned on, your favorite snacks neatly placed on the glass table in front of it. the disco ball hanging from the ceiling spun with different colors, all reflecting onto the room.

your jaw was gonna hurt soon from how widely you were smiling. reo saw your expression, and swore to himself that he’d do all he could to make sure you’d smile like that everyday that you’re with him, which hopefully meant forever. he’d take you here anytime you wanted-  he’d take you anywhere, anytime, if it meant forever.

you two sit down, picking up the song book positioned beside the food. you quickly notice how all of the songs on your favorite playlist are conveniently located on the first page, looking at your partner knowingly as he scratches the back of his neck.

“ah... you caught me. yes, i had to spend extra. but, it wasn’t much at all! just enjoy, okay?” he explains, leaning in to lay a peck on your forehead. you never need him to spend on you but, he does regardless. it was a mikage love language. it makes you roll your eyes, albeit jokingly, your smile still accompanying the action. 

“let’s sing, shall we~?” he stands up to take the two microphones near the television screen, handing one to you. you then choose a song, reading the corresponding numbers, as the boy presses on them using the keypad provided.

you started the late afternoon with taylor swift, love story, a song you both knew by heart. it was an extremely familiar tune- to you, since it was your favorite, and to reo, precisely because it was your favorite. well, he does likes her music too, but that’s besides the point.

you were jumping around already, just stopping to take a bite of the snacks that were prepared by the facility. singing loudly, your boyfriend gladly providing you with back-up vocals. the sound of clapping is heard after you finish your “performance”.

the following song was his favorite, kirari by fujii kaze, you knew it by word too. you cheer him on as he sings almost passionately, recording a short video of it on your phone. god, your boyfriend really is good at everything; he even sings well. perhaps he was an idol in his past life? the song suits him. 

he points at you as he sings the following lyrics.

“where have you been, i’ve been looking for you take me there, take me there. giving up everything, and going with you to anywhere, to everywhere”

oh, he’s dedicating this to you. 

your face feels hot, hands moving to cover your cheeks. the grin you sported was too big to hide though, reaching ear to ear. the song finishes, and reo approaches you.

“it looks like you enjoyed, hm?” he teases.

“be quiet.” you pout, turning away. 

the afternoon passes as song after song plays- some from your playlists, some from his, some classics, and some popular and new.

both of your voices were slightly hoarse by the time you’d finished, the fun you had being more than enough to compensate. voices and food gone, you just cuddled close to reo, a sweet silence filling the once noisy room. you pair were somewhat worn out, so you needed this before departing the building for the day.

“thanks, love.” you voiced out, scattering kisses on the violet-head’s face. he was more than happy to receive them, giving you a love-struck gaze as he watched you start to slip into sleep. you had all the time in the world, the person he spoke with on the phone gave him the whole day to use their services. he’d wake you up later.

mikage reo would devote his life to making you smile. you’d never know how much, but spending more money than he needed to for this date was very necessary!

little moments with you were priceless, so of course he’d give everything for them.

[insertpoetryhere]

Dadbastian Week: Setting Sun

"Poetry you're a week late" I know, I had midterms this week and i was cooked alive. But I'm better now and I have this thing to make up for the fact that I skipped an entire day. My official (a week overdue) sendoff to Dadbastain Week 2023!

A huge thank you to @dadbastianweek2023 for organizing such a cool event and for all the participants who might be some of the most talented creators I've ever seen! Also thank you to everyone who helped my indecisive ass pick a name for the dog.

My Baby, My Baby

Escape had been impossible. 

Sebastian did not often make a habit of avoiding his young master, but he had to do what had to be done to maintain some semblance of peace. Then again, one of his (former) favorite things had always been his stubborn determination.

And all it took was cornering him in the foyer and ordering him to sit down to render him completely helpless. Now it was just him, Ciel, and the 14 page hand-written essay entitled “why we should get a dog”.

The essay was, as the title implied, an itemized list of every reason he could think for why the manor needed a dog.

Number one: A dog would offer an added layer of protection.

Number four: Dogs were very good for hunting.

Number fifteen: Ciel could not leave his dirty dishes in his study anymore since chocolate would make the dog sick.

Number twenty-eight: A dog would gladly eat anything that fell on the floor.

Number fifty-one: Ciel would allegedly never ever ever ask Sebastian for his assistance on a major purchase ever again.

Sebastian had scoffed at that one, realizing how serious Ciel must be to acknowledge his own lack of control over his pocket money so openly. Usually Sebastian’s status as the keeper of Ciel’s check book was something that the two of them did not discuss. After all, his young master was not a fan of acknowledging his own age and there was a little bit more dignity in pretending that Sebastian was put in charge of the Phantomhive finances by choice.

Regardless of pride, Ciel was still a child. And as a child, he needed Sebastian to sign off any and all money.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate your… dedication.” Sebastian had to cut Ciel off once they reached the part that the young earl had written entirely in broken German as a way to prove that his dedication to his studies would remain unchanged. “But could you not just order me to sign off on this?”

The idea of having a dog in the house made him want to gag, but Ciel’s German was simply where he had to draw the line. 

Ciel looked up from his paper, eyeing Sebastian as if he had said something unequivocally stupid. “Of course not, you would just buy the dog and then get rid of it immediately afterwards. Or you would make sure the dog is of poor health so that it wouldn’t last long anyways.” His gaze was steely and serious, a stark juxtaposition to the very childish conversation at hand. “I need you completely and fully on board.”

Sebastian sighed, cursing his consistency and communication skills for making his movements so predictable. “Then may we continue this discussion as I do the housework? I fear I can’t stay seated through- how many more are there?”

“Ninety-four.” Ciel didn’t even look back down at his paper. Which was somewhat terrifying.

“... Walk and talk.” He stood up from the chair(he did not understand why humans felt the need to sit for so long).

Ciel perked up (“Like a dog” is how Sebastian’s brain finished that sentence, which made him frown) and followed behind him as he carried on with his day.

Number sixty-six: Ciel would never complain again.

Laughable.

Number seventy-five: Ciel would never bother Sebastian again.

Again, hilarious.

Number eighty-three: A portion written and performed entirely in broken latin to further show his commitment, which was somehow worse than the German portion had been.

That one was… long.

Number ninety: Please.

Ok, now this was getting to Sebastian. 

Number ninety-

“Okay, stop!” Sebastian couldn’t take it. He couldn’t handle the… pleading and the voice and the any of it. Especially not now as he juggled pots and pans in the kitchen, trying to make sense of the mess Mey Rin had left behind in the wake of “preparing lunch” while Ciel ate said lunch in the kitchen with him, speaking even louder so that he might be heard over the sound of metal clinking together.

Ciel looked up, hopeful. As if he had been planning to induce a headache the entire time. “So you are in agreement?”

Sebastian bit his lip. This was psychological warfare and he was losing, goddamnit. His eyes settled on the box of eggs, still left out on the counter despite the fact that lunch had not needed eggs for its preparation at all. He smiled coyly before picking one up and handing it to the young master.

Ciel took it, confused. “What’s this for?”

“That,” Sebastian said pointedly. “Is to show me you understand the responsibility of looking after something too stupid to look after itself.”

It was meant to be a jab at him, but Ciel didn’t react. Instead, he held the egg gentler, staring at it as if it was made of gold. “How long do I have?”

“Until sundown.” Sebastian turned his attention back to the chores, relishing in how much quieter the kitchen had gotten.

“And if I give this egg back to you unharmed, you will approve the purchase of a dog without complaint?” He raised an eyebrow, like he was trying to unpack the ways in which this could blow up in his face.

“Mhm.” Sebastian was only half listening as he put the rest of the eggs away and began scrubbing the dishes.

Ciel stared at the egg suspiciously now. “And this isn’t a trick? I have your word that you-”

“Would you like me to change my mind?” Sebastian interrupted, the seriousness in his voice enough to make the boy shake his head and run off to provide a life for his practice pet. Sebastian sighed, eyeing a clock on the wall. He had bought himself at least six hours, plenty of time for Ciel to either break the egg or lose interest in the activity entirely.

While the idea of either cleaning the remnants of a broken egg or tracking down a rotten one weeks later did not appeal to him in the slightest, anything was better than having to deal with a dog.

In short, he had won.

---

He had expected Ciel to get bored after an hour or so. Either that or break the egg and give up on the whole ordeal. So naturally when the bell in the basement tripped, alerting Sebastian that he was needed in the study, he had thought peace was on the horizon.

What he did not expect was to see the young master seated at his desk, the egg sitting on a plush velveteen pillow. 

The egg had its own space on the desk, not too close to the edge and not too far from Ciel in case of an emergency. Ciel himself stared Sebastian down, his list of what appeared to be dog names completely abandoned the moment the door opened.

“Do you need something, my lord?” Sebastian asked after an abnormally long bout of silence.

“No.” He said shortly, still staring at Sebastian intently.

The demon blinked. “... You rang?”

“I did not ring.” Ciel said, still staring. “You must be hearing things.”

“... I see.” Sebastian wondered if behavior like this would warrant regular appointments with a shrink. His boy was staring at him and had an egg on a pillow. Even he found this disturbing and pondered on exactly what kind of monster he had created.

Ciel cleared his throat as the silence persisted. “The egg is well.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed as he understood what this was; An official declaration of war. “I see that.”

Ciel continued to stare. “It has a pillow.”

“I am aware.” Sebastian’s cold glare turned to the egg as he pondered ways to turn the tides in his favor. Clearly he had underestimated Ciel’s resolve. Maybe during tea, he could-

“I order you not to touch the egg in any capacity.” He had to be able to read minds. He had to somehow be in Sebastian’s head.

That little bastard.

Sebastian pursed his lips together in a tight, displeased line. “As you wish, my lord.”

Ciel nodded, his gaze a perfect mirror image of the cruel glare Sebastian had become so well known for. “You are dismissed.”

---

It had been Sebastian’s idea for Bard to offer to take Ciel hunting. Partially incentivized by an advance on the cook’s Christmas bonus.

“I’ll take ’im out without the bribe,” Bard laughed, a cigarette tucked between his teeth. “Jus’ not sure why you don’t want to come along.”

Because that was part of the appeal. A hunting trip with Bard (the significantly more fun chaperone) where Ciel was allowed to use the good guns that they kept in the cellar (which he was normally not allowed access to). A level of reckless, irresponsible fun that no teenage boy could refuse.

Evident by the way that he nearly jumped out of his seat, banding his knee against his desk (it did not knock the egg from its perch, sadly) before regaining his composure.

“I suppose, if it will pass the time.” He said passively, trying to rub his injured knee without anyone noticing.

It wasn’t until he looked back down at his desk that the boy seemed to realize why the offer had been made in the first place; The egg could not be left unattended.

He looked up at Sebastian in malice, who only smiled sweetly back. His master was not stupid. Surely he would see this hunting trip as a once in a lifetime offer and wisely abandon this silly egg game for more entertaining pursuits. Triumph at last.

All three men in the room stood in a triangle, each staring at the egg as it sat innocently on its pillow; Ciel in contemplation, Sebastian in cruel victory, and Bard in… confusion. Which made sense, seeing as no one had let him in on the egg deal.

A light bulb may as well have popped up above Ciel’s head as he grabbed the egg off of its pillow. “I shall return shortly.”

The boy bolted out of the room, leaving Sebastian standing there with a displeased glare.

“... Was that an egg?” Bard asked, but received no response from Sebastian as the demon butler glared at the door, waiting for his master’s return. “Why does he have an egg?”

Ciel returned only a few minutes later, a small bag used for carrying dice tied onto one of his belt loops with a secureness that only could have been achieved by Finny. So the boys were in cahoots… lovely.

“Ready when you are.” He announced with a triumphant grin.

Sebastian grumbled. Foiled once more.

---

“Dogs cannot sit at the table` At this point in the day, Sebastian was getting petty. But the hunting trip had not even broken the damned thing, and the only other option he could think of was having Mey Rin shoot the god forsaken thing off of its pillow (something she was disturbingly excited to try). So yes, he was taking some of those frustrations out on Ciel and the egg.

Ciel looked up from his dinner, which he had not yet gotten the chance to take a bite out of. “That wasn’t part of the deal!” He argued.

Sebastian shrugged. “It would prove your dedication.”

He was either going to put the egg on the ground and accidentally step on it, forget it, or finally give up. He had to. Sebastian had no other ideas for how to get rid of this thing (unless he took Mey Rin up on her offer, that is). His migraine worsened as he imagined the sound of barking joining in with the other annoyances of his day to day life.

He needed Ciel to either fuck up or give up.

Ciel glared, taking the egg (still on that stupid pillow) in his hand. Sebastian swore he heard angels singing as Ciel did so, assuming that his plan had worked. But then Ciel picked up his plate as well, and Sebastian watched in annoyance as he took both items over to the wall and sat down.

His stubbornness knew no bounds.

“I will not fetch anything from the table for you if you are going to behave this way.” Sebastian said, standing firmly by the table as Ciel settled himself comfortably on the floor.

Ciel placed the egg on the ground and his plate in his lap, taking a bite. “I don’t require anything anyways.”

Sebastian eyed the full glass of water still sitting on the table. “Hm.”

Ciel took a big, defiant bite of gravy-less chicken.

---

It was official.

This had possibly been the biggest mistake of his career.

The sun had just dipped down the horizon when he heard the distinct sounds of footsteps running down the stairs. Fitting for Ciel to catch him in the kitchen once again, like the boy was returning to the scene of the crime where he had brutally murdered Sebastian’s pride only hours before.

And in he came, like a bat out of hell, holding his intact egg up in triumph. He had won the war.

His face was bright as the sun, something that Sebastian found no pleasure in as he grappled with his fate.

“... I feel that this test needs another day.” He tried in vain.

Ciel shook his head. “You gave your word. No going back now.”

Sebastian groaned, hiding his face behind his hand as he sunk down into one of the kitchen chairs. He sighed, gesturing across the little table to the chair right across from him. He listened as Ciel shuffled over, taking a seat and setting the egg down on the table with a soft plunk. The kitchen table of negotiation.

“... I have conditions.” Sebastian said plainly, taking his face out of hiding now that he was sure he didn’t look on the verge of tears. 

Ciel nodded eagerly and receptively, a much more enthusiastic audience than he usually is. 

“The dog will not share the same name as me.” He said sternly, despite it being a ridiculous request.

“The name is already picked out, so there will be no trouble there.” Ciel said, leaning forward excitedly.

Sebastian sighed, still in disbelief that he was agreeing to this at all. “You said you wanted a hunting dog, so you will get a hunting dog. We will go to a proper breeder and collect one that is already housebroken. No puppies, am I understood?”

Ciel did not look disappointed in the slightest. He nodded just as eagerly as before. “Anything else?”

God this receptiveness was disturbing.

“It will not go on any furniture that you would accept guests.” Sebastian said sternly. “I will not have people leaving the manor covered in dog hair.”

“Understood.” Ciel agreed, watching him intently. Sebastian narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what else Ciel wanted.

“... Those are my only demands.”

But he still stared at him, almost like he was losing confidence. It took Sebastian a while to realize that he was waiting for the explicit confirmation, something to set this plan in stone. He sighed. “We will leave in the morning.”

That smile was back, just as bright as the sun.

---

They left first thing in the morning, with Ciel already up and laying out clothing on his own by the time Sebastian opened the door. So he was capable of such behavior. What a miracle.

Sebastian had taken some comfort when they arrived at the breeder’s, who trotted out his most well behaved dogs that he had deemed “fit for an earl” (Sebastian was happy to have an ally in this situation. God knows Bard hadn’t been any help).

But of course, the one that caught Ciel’s eye was a wild-tempered greyhound who nearly topped him over trying to lick his face.The boy had laughed, only half-way trying to push the dog off of him while the other scratched behind the beast’s ear encouragingly.

The breeder, who had initially apologized profusely for the dog’s behavior, laughed at the sight and said “I suppose the Earl is just a boy.”

A traitorous leech if Sebastian had ever met one-

So of course the wretched creature came home with them.

On top of being nearly uncontrollable, the cursed little thing was ugly as could be. Long in every sense of the word and fairly pathetic looking. The only silver lining that could be found in this was that the beast had the decency to ignore Sebastian entirely, lavishing all his ghastly affection on Ciel instead.

This affection did seem to delight Ciel though, who Sebastian had never seen smile as much as he did that day.

So maybe the dog wasn’t so bad.

“He cannot be on the bed!” Sebastian protested, attempting to wave the creature off of the comforter and pulling his hand away when the damned thing snapped its jaws at his sleeve as if Sebastian’s arm was the rope toy that Ciel had wasted his whole afternoon throwing across the garden.

Ciel’s head popped through the top of his nightdress and his attention went right back to the dog (as if it hadn’t been there all day). “I don’t take guests in my bedroom, so he can be on the bed.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, watching in disgust as the thing dragged its ham bone from dinner on the bed right next to it. Ciel climbed in, petting the dog behind his left ear and delighting in the way it threw its head back affectionately, trying to reach the boy’s face in order to lick it. “Good boy, Detective!”

“Call him by his proper name,” Sebastian scolded, lifting the boy up by the armpits and tossing him onto the sheets so he could pull the comforter up to his chin. The dog bounded up after him, letting out a bark that made Sebastian flinch back in disgust with his hands up. “He will never respond to it if you keep calling him ‘Detective’.”

The dog also didn’t deserve such a title. The lights were not all on upstairs.

“Alright then,” Ciel scratched the top of the damned creature’s head as he settled down on top of the comforter, as close to the boy as he could manage. “Good boy, Sherlock.”

Sherlock Holmes was the dog’s full, legal name. Which made Sebastian roll his eyes. “Don’t praise him for such behavior, he wished to take my hand as a souvenir.”

“He would never harm a fly,” Ciel cooed unbecomingly, snuggling closer to the animal. “Would you, boy?”

The dog groaned, both his and his little master’s energy seeming to have left their bodies like a lightning flash leaves a stormcloud. Sebastian moved about the room, picking up the clothing that had gotten scattered around the floor by Sherlock himself, who seemed to think everything but eating and sleeping was a game. In a sense, he supposed that meant he fit his master perfectly.

He could feel Ciel doze off, falling into a deep sleep at an alarming speed. His soft snores filled the room, making Sebastain smile fondly.

“You pulled the wool over my eyes once again, Young Lord.” He whispered, depositing the clothes into a small hamper for washing while the rest of the house slept. “Equal parts clever and cruel.”

Even he couldn’t shake the pride, watching the boy smile in his sleep after his victory. In a way, cruelty was their way of being kind. Not the excessive kind, but the kind that forced their days into a chess game of sorts. And when Ciel was able to pull the rug from underneath Sebastian, it made him feel… significant.

Which was a ridiculous thought to have. He was already plenty significant.

But seeing himself reflected back, growing sharper and harsher, and somehow better than him by the day… It was almost a purpose on its own.

That pride melted away to annoyance when the boy turned in his sleep, his eyepatch still on. Honestly, it was like Sebastian had to do everything.

He set the laundry down, walking over to the bed and reaching his hand towards Ciel’s sleeping form.

That was when a set of sharp teeth snapped down on his hand, forcing him to jump back. He propped his hand away, blood undoubtedly dripping onto the carpet as Sherlock let go of him with a vicious snarl. Sebastian immediately removed his glove, attempting to use it to reduce the mess as he swore under his breath.

He looked back up at the dog, who stood over his boy protectively as he growled lowly at Sebastian. His teeth were bared, still showing evidence of the attack he had given as a warning. 

Sebastian went to scold the damned beast when his eyes fell on the contract seal, painted red and exposed now that the glove was removed. It made his voice drop into his stomach with a heavy kind of thud. He supposed in a way, he had been very wrong  about Sherlock. He was just smart enough to protect his little master.

And he knew a threat when he saw one.

“Good boy, Detective.” Sebastian said sadly as the dog laid across Ciel’s torso, not once taking his eyes off of Sebastian. “Good boy.”

[quibbs126]

So I’ve been wanting to draw out Ceres’ beta designs for a bit now, and today I finally did that

Admittedly I probably should have drawn more than just top half sketches, but whatever

They come from this page I have saved from the art book

She has a couple others, but the picture I had on my iPad was just these five, so that’s what I did. I do like the other ones though

And now because I want to, I’m just going to talk about my thoughts on each design. It’s also why I numbered them, since they’re all Ceres, so I can’t really refer to them by other names

So let's start with 1. On the drawing side, I admit I think she ended up having a case of "being the first one drawn". You know, she's got that weirdness to her look. But anyways, back to her design in general. I really like her hair, I think it's cool looking and it's got a unique color pallet. But her outfit is literally just one of beta Velvet's outfits, so if that had been her final outfit, it would not have been that subtle who she's connected to. Even if Velvet had her final outfit, it still looks incredibly similar to hers

I do find it interesting that she's the only one to have the yellow Demon eyes, while all the rest have her normal pink. I imagine they changed it to pink to be more creative, but it is the only one different. Generally, I assume that with these concepts, they had bases of the characters already made that they put the outfits and hair on. Cherry/Plum and then Reno also have the same unchanging skin and eye colors and unchanging horns (Velvet is also the same but her eyes get to change colors). I get why they did that, but it does personally leave me wanting to see Ceres concepts where she had different horn shapes or skin tones, or even eye colors. But we don't see it, and I was trying to stay faithful to the original concepts, so oh well

Moving on to 2, I don't think her outfit's half bad, but it's still pretty Velvet-like. And her hair straight up just looks like Velvet's but with different bangs, and orange highlights instead of her pink. And personally, I just think that's kind of boring in all honesty

Now on to 3 (I don't have a tangent to go on this time). I quite like her design honestly, and when I was looking at the art before drawing, she gave me this vibe I really liked, but I don't know if I really translated into my drawing. I don't really know how to describe it other than her feeling slightly younger? But anyways yeah, I think her design's pretty neat. It's still somewhat Velvet, but it's getting unique to the point that wouldn't really be your first guess. I also originally was wondering why her hair had pink/red, since Menos doesn't have any but his other kid does, but then I realized her hair colors are Menos' blue but in Velvet's purple's shade, and then her pink comes from Velvet's pink, but with the Demon vibrancy and brightness, and I just think that's neat

Moving on to 4, something that strikes me as interesting is her hair color. It's wildly different from the others I've seen, being dark red/brown and then with gold streaks. Though honestly, I couldn't tell you where she gets it from, since her parents have pretty much only cool colors, outside of Velvet's pink, which isn't that much of a warm color. Though we do see that beta Velvets had brown, or at least warmer hair color pallets, so maybe that's where she gets it from? I don't know but I find it interesting. I also do think her design's pretty cool, and is quite unique looking. My main gripe with it is how the top bit is shortened so much. For whatever reason, in basically every other Ceres outfit design other than her final, she has to be showing off her midriff, and I really don't see why. Is it just because Velvet does it? But regardless, I feel like this is the design where it's at its most unnecessary. Like just have it extend to her waist, it'd make more sense that way. But yeah, she's interesting

And then we come to 5. I think her outfit's pretty neat, I like her pant sash thing she's got going on, and I think her shirt fits with it (though I again don't know if it needs to be a crop top). I think it's one of my favorites, and it's probably the least Velvet-esque. I also find it interesting how her hair seems the most human here, not having much spikiness at all, as well as being generally less saturated. I feel like by proxy, it has her looking the most like a mix between Demon and Human. Though admittedly, with it just being out and flat, it may not be the best to animate, especially since almost all of Ceres' scenes are in 3D. Maybe if it were in a braid or something? And also I'm a little irked that the colors are just her normal ones but more desaturated, but oh well. By that point they were likely still figuring out her color scheme, so I'm looking at it from the wrong way

Also this is random, but I want to point this out, 4 and 5 aren't wearing boots, but rather shoes. I only point this out because every main character wears boots in this game, with the exception of Menos, but you can barely tell given his pants are the exact same color

Also as I'm typing all this out I realize, Ceres was very clearly designed to be Velvet's kid, but her dad basically doesn't factor in at all in these designs outside of the hair colors and spikiness. Menos is basically just the Demon genes donor. Poor guy

Anyways yeah, that's my thoughts on these beta designs. Honestly, I want to try and take parts from each (or make up parts) to try and make an alternate Ceres design I like

But also then I realize, what would be the point of that? She already has an official, final design, and it's not like this is going to change that or how I draw canon her. Why am I even judging the beta designs in the first place? They're just concept art, and things that for whatever reason, didn't end up being incorporated into her final design. And the game came out 9 years ago, what's the point of rating old designs from an obscure game made likely over a decade ago?

I don't really know, but I also feel like furthering this line of thinking would lead me to questioning why I'm so invested in concept art and designs in the first place, since similar questions still apply

I mean sure, people can use concept art to make something new out of things, like how the CRK fandom basically made Rich Cheese into a character despite her officially just being a scrapped concept, or how people have basically made a new Wish story out of the stuff from the concepts, but here I feel like there's literally no point

I don't know, but I should probably stop now

Take these drawings I suppose, while I try not to think about questioning my life's priorities