#MY TEACHER MOVED THE DEADLINE TO A DAY EARLIER

[bueris]

when you pushed the work until later and now it's later

[deantfwinchester]

Hands

Pairing: No-Outbreak!AU, Joel x Teacher!Reader as usual (let's just assume these No-Outbreak Joels are all the same couple tbh), established relationship

Summary: Friday nights are reserved for sweatpants and relaxation, of course. But when Joel's work week leaves his hands a bit worse for wear, the night may need to include a break for a little extra attention.

Warnings: extreme fluff once again. expect it at this point. i'm a one-trick pony, i fear.

A/N: finally got around to putting one of my many bulleted notes-app idea fics into paragraph form again! Will we get another one before the year's out? It's anyone's guess! -_-

——————

Friday nights are your favorites. No dinner to cook or rattling rolodex of tasks to come in the next twelve hours give you both a little room to breathe — to gently unwind from yourselves and into one another. It’s typically quiet, and when it isn’t, the volume is born of laughter from games or stories the three of you share.

Joel comes home from an exceptionally long week. You know he’s been on site every day—the whole team has—working longer and longer hours to wrap up the latest project before the client’s deadline. You’re pleased to hear his keys rattle in the door not long after five o’clock, and relieved because the air’s rapidly cooling earlier each night. Daylight Savings time is coming to an end, and today he barely beat the sunset getting home. 

You know the hour means little, however, and are less than astonished at the weary grin he bears on catching sight of you and Sarah on the couch when he walks in the room. She’s already got her purse on her shoulder, eager to head out when her friends arrive, and she’s excitedly recounting the events of the trailer for the movie they’ll be catching tonight. He stands idly in the doorway for a moment, just listening to the two of you chat. You make brief eye contact and smile back, assuring you know he’s there. Neither of you wants to interrupt her avid storytelling.  

“Well don’t you sound excited?” he says when she pauses to catch her breath. You both turn to greet him, and he moves more quickly toward you as you attempt to rise, gesturing to you to remain seated. He’ll come to you both.

He plants a kiss on top of Sarah’s head before leaning down to kiss you as he does each night. You place a hand on his chest and pause when he pulls back to get a good look at his face. You see the fatigue in his droopy-eyed smile, but can’t say anything to him. You already know it’s mirrored in your own expression.

The doorbell rings before either of you can speak again, and Sarah jumps up to head out the door. You wish her a good night, and he follows her to the door, checking for a familiar parent in the driver’s seat and seeing her off. You see him hand her some cash to go with his reminder to make good decisions, and he hugs her. You can’t help but giggle when she takes it with a wide smile.

He turns to you laughing when he sees she’s in the car, and shuts the door.

“What?” he asks, brow furrowed in confusion, but amused at the sound of your laughter.

“Smart girl. I gave her a 20 before you got home,” you grin back at him. He stills in understanding and rolls his eyes. 

“You couldn’t tell me that two minutes ago?” he asks you in mock exasperation.

“But it’s so much funnier this way!” you add, giggling again. You both know he’s wrapped completely around her finger, though she so innocently does not. It’s one of the first things you noticed about him. One of the first reasons you fell in love. 

He shakes his head fondly, and places a hand on his stomach, which begins to grumble softly at him. You raise your eyebrows and meet his gaze. “Any thoughts on dinner?” he asks, and you grin back at him in amusement.

“Handled. Pizza’s already on the way,” you respond and he feigns relief. 

“You’re brilliant.” he says, walking up and grabbing your hand on the back of the couch. You run your thumb in little circles on the back of his hand and give it a light squeeze.

“Duh. Now go get changed! It’s do-nothing time starting now,” you respond, patting the top of his hand in encouragement.

“You read my mind,” he says, leaning down for another quick peck before heading off into the bedroom to change out of his work clothes. Naturally, you’ve been in sweats for over an hour now, shedding your own outfit immediately, peeling the school day from your skin. The unspoken uniform for these Friday nights is extremely specific.

The pizza arrives before Joel can even return from the bedroom in a feat of incredible timing. You’re gathering plates and filling glasses with ice when he emerges ready for the night. He moves forward to help you grab the dinner, but you shoo him away to the couch. 

“Nope, I got this. You sit,” you say, lightly shoving his chest away. You leave no room for argument. He grumbles a bit and raises his hands, backing away to the living room. You follow behind him with the pizza and plates, and return once more for the drinks before settling next to him on the couch. He sits on one end, and you sit in the middle, leaving little room between you.

You lean forward, putting pizza on one plate you pass to Joel before grabbing your own, then settle back against the cushion, both sinking in so comfortably a nearly audible sigh fills the room. The comfort in this relief is palpable, and the decompressing can begin. You grab the remote and put on the series you’ve been binging together recently, more for background noise than anything else. 

A few slices and sitcom episodes deep, you’ve set your plates down on the coffee table. With your bellies comfortably full, you’ve somehow slumped deeper, though Joel into the couch and you into his side. His arm is draped over the back of the couch behind you, and you’re nearly laying on him, head propped against his shoulder. 

You hold his free hand in both of yours and absently play with his fingers for a second when you notice the aggressive wear this week has lent his hands. They’re a raw, angry red at the knuckles; his nails are cracked in some places and peeling in others. Moving your fingers gently down toward his wrist, you focus more directly on the state of his, catching sight of a few hangnails and stretched cuticles that can’t be comfortable. He looks down as you begin to worry them beneath the soft pads of your own fingers, and you meet his gaze, brows furrowed as you look between his face and hands. 

“Keep doing that, please,” he says with a sigh before closing his eyes, “I wait all day to feel your hands on mine. They’re so soft.” He lifts your hand to his lips before pressing a feather-light kiss to your knuckles. He loves the delicate, reverent way you play with his hands, like they’re small, fragile things in need of tender attention. You take his hand once again into both of yours and gently rub it between them, looking back up at him, concerned. 

“How do yours feel? They look like they’re hurting you,” you gnaw a bit at your bottom lip in thought, and he tries to assuage your worry.

“I’m alright, darlin’. Nothing worse than I’m used to,” he says. He knows from your deepening frown that you’re less than satisfied with this response.

You couldn’t care less if he’s used to it, he shouldn’t be. You know the protective callouses forged there don’t mean those hands are unfeeling in the slightest.

“Wait there. I’ll be right back,” you say, rising from his side and hastening to the bedroom. It’s his turn to frown now, both in confusion and at the sudden draft that’s appeared at his side.

You return not a minute later with a small tote around your wrist, and hands filled with half the manicure items you own. You sit down next to him and unpack, laying clippers, files, cuticle oil, and two different hand creams — a lotion he’s seen you use regularly, and a jar that must be a new addition — on the coffee table in front of you, along with the selected polishes and remover you had in the tote bag. You’ve been meaning to do your nails, anyway. 

Joel looks incredulously at you, unsure where this is going. Not that he’s a stranger to nail polish — he raised a little girl on his own long enough to have worn the rainbow on his fingers, but tonight? 

“Sorry, no color for you today, honey. Certainly not before these are healed,” you say. He’d chip half your handiwork away by Monday afternoon anyway the way he’s been working lately. Facing him, you cross your legs on the couch and smile, holding your hand out expectantly for his. He raises his eyebrows at you, but places his palm gently in your own. 

You grab the clippers and get to work on the hangnails first. Any peeling skin or cuticle right there at the nail you clip as gently as possible, making note of the reddened and slightly swollen areas at the base of his nail from which they protrude. Those will need careful attention at the end. He doesn’t squirm or react in any way, but you know they’re more sensitive than he’s letting on. 

Next, you clip back any breakages and unevenness in the nails themselves. You’d never find Joel Miller with dirty hands — he gets them clean as soon as he gets home, but all the scrubbing it takes to keep them that way takes its toll. A little trim at their length might help reduce the need for so much each day upon his return. 

After clipping, you grab his first hand again and rest it gently in the palm of your left while your right files steadily to even any rough edges left behind and prevent further injury. It won’t take much, but you’re sure to get them smooth so they won’t catch on anything or bother him later on. 

The cuticle oil is next. He looks at it questioningly, clearly a bit skeptical, only having seen it a few times when you or Sarah used it. He’s never ventured so far himself. While you brush it gently onto each of his nails, you explain its purpose. 

“This’ll just help your nails get a little stronger. It’ll get them hydrated a bit, keep ‘em  from peeling so much when your hands get dry. It’s kinda crazy how much better this stuff is for your nails than even water is. Water’ll make the peeling worse, actually. Weird, huh?”

He just nods along, listening to you, content to learn something new as always. Finger by finger, you massage the oil into his nail and nail bed. After the first round you go back through to massage again, both to make sure no oily feeling is left behind, and to prolong the rapidly concluding process. He could use the attention, anyway.

Finally, you pick up the jar he identified as a new addition: a canister of a hand repair cream labeled for “Healing of dry or cracked skin.”

“Never seen that one before,” he says, reading the label, “What d’ya need this for? Your hands are never dry! I think they’ve been soft every time I’ve held 'em since the day I met ya,” he smiles at you, and you bashfully brush off the compliment. 

“I don’t need it. I use the other one,” you say with finality, opening the jar and pulling the first of his hands into yours. You don’t grab a large dollop of the stuff. You don’t want him to feel a disconcerting weight, grease, or stickiness from this unfamiliar formula, so you get a little and begin. You add a bit more each time you reach a new spot on his knuckles, palms, wrists. 

You take your time, gently massaging into those roughened, tender hands far more than a simple healing salve. He understands why you have the jar now, looking at you knowingly, and you smile back. No words need be exchanged.

Once you’ve finished the last finger and the last stroke on his hands, you squeeze the one in your own, then pat it gently with your other, “There. Gotta feel better now, yeah?”

Joel stares at you like he just watched you reach up and place the moon in the sky, if for no reason other than to light his path. 

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Thank you sweetheart,” he says, squeezing your hand back and smiling reverently at you. You blush beneath his gaze and look away, unsure what to do with the admiration rolling off of him in waves. You lean back against the couch, file in hand as you start going at your own nails. 

“Good. Don’t let 'em go that long again, either. Where they start hurtin’ ya? Maybe we oughta make this a weekly thing. Manicure night? Been needing someone to do my right hand,” you grin, wiggling the corresponding fingers at him. He smiles back at you, then reaches over and pulls you toward his side, back to your original position laying against him, head resting once again on his shoulder.

“Sounds like a plan,” he says fondly into your hair, planting a kiss to your head in the process. You get comfortable once more, foregoing any plans to do your own nails tonight. You both know those “manicure nights” will be for him — and you’ve got Sarah to do your right hand already, when you do hers.

You grab the same free hand once again and admire your work, then lace your fingers between his own, and rest your twined hands on his leg. You’re satisfied knowing the hand behind you on the couch is comfortable now, healing from the week’s toils and melting into the comforting haze of the early autumn evening.

[niuniente]

Genuine question: how are you able to produce a coherent story while doing it on the fly? I've never been able to manage that. Do you have any tips? Is it a skill that can be learned and practiced?

I wish I knew! Working freely and improvising is really something which I have always done in creative works - school and education included, all to my teachers' horrors - and it just works for me. The more freedom, the better I work. I absolutely wither as a person, if I don't have freedom in my life.

I know my method doesn't work for everyone but here are a few tips if you want to try more freestyle way, or take creating easier. Of course, this doesn't really work in commercial work where you have employers, clients and deadlines but you can take some of these into such a world, too.

You don't need to know everything One of the core elements for freer creativity is to accept and live with the fact that you don't need to know everything. No, even if it's your OC. No, even if it's your world-building. No, even if it's your own idea you are working on/with. You only need a basic red line, a basic concept and then allow it to unfold naturally over time. The very same way as if you would move to a new place, start a new job, start studies in a new school, befriend new people. You do not know everything about any of these from the day one. You get involved more and more into them as the time flies by. You CAN approach your creative work like that, too. Have a new OC? Great, he/she/they/it is a new acquaintance! You don't usually know about acquaintances more than their name and looks in real life, so why should you know about this just met character of yours any more than that? Let them tell you who they are. Befriend with them (and realize some characters befriend with you easier than others). There's no hurry. "I don't know" is always a valid answer.

Don't immediately plan everything till its end This gives you freedom to allow the characters, story elements etc. to merge with each other peacefully and you can always revisit your earlier plans/thoughts and chance them. If you have already set into the stone your character's whole life with all possible quirks from birth to death, leaving nothing out - well, good luck with trying to fit that into your story. The characters tend to have their own agendas, wishes and quirks aside from your plans and wishes. The more you treat them as you would treat a living, breathing human being and take the journey as "I'm learning to know knew people", the better.

Don't assume. Explore. Allow. This goes together with the above tips but genuinely? Don't assume anything. The basic line works. "This is a story of a boy who befriends with an alien". That's it. That's all. You can start working with this idea. Details will follow later. Allow the stories come to you. There's no need to worry if it's worth of your time or attention. If you like it, if it comes to you as inspiration, go for it! See what comes out. Resting is very important to allow your mind to come up with ideas.

Get inspired! See how others do things and what they do! Get inspired! It is really great to see how others do things as everyone has an unique way of doing whatever they do. All sources are fine for inspiration! It doesn't mean that if you draw, only art can be your inspirational source. It can be books, nature, history, religion, societies, fashion, modern art, cave art, poem, food, stickers, countries, colors, shapes, crafting, mood boards, music. It can be your own experiences, wishes, dreams. It can be other people, their wishes, experiences, their looks and life experience. It can be an event in your life which made its mark on you. Damn, I've gotten inspiration from a random car register plate, too! The more you allow yourself to be inspired - and KILL THE CRINGE, IN THIS FUCKING HOUSE NOTHING IS CRINGE AND YOU DON'T HAVE TO BUY OTHERS' APPROVAL BY DENYING YOURSELF AND WHAT FUCKING INSPIRES YOU - the more freely you can create.

Respect your own inspiration Everything is already done. It's fine. Repeating trophies are what make creative people successful. Would you listen to your favorite band/artist if they changed their style completely? Do you moan that your favorite author or a comic artist did again similar stuff? Do we write hate letters to Stephen King or Neil Gaiman, that "Damn man, write something else! Again this same shit with tropes X, Y and O!" Whatever inspires you, inspires you. Whatever tropes you want to use, use them. No hesitation!

Not everything is for everyone You don't need to please everyone. Please the audience who is naturally pleased with what you do. Don't try to brake the code for success and analyze what you should do. Do whatever the hell you want.

Be Punk Genuinely, have a punk attitude towards arts and writing or whatever you do. Punk's original idea is that anyone can create. Literally anyone. The punk's fashion idea came from the 70's where bands did their own outfits and music - no matter what the quality - and their fans followed. Everything was supposed to be available for everyone; look, I'm a band artist, I painted this shirt's logo with red paint on my living room floor with a dollar brush - you can do it, too! Punk never asks if what I have created is good enough or am I good enough to do this. Fuck it! You want to play guitar, play it, however the hell you play it! You want to do crafts? Great, go for it! You want to try to make a cosplay outfit! Awesome, I wish you all the best! As long as you create, that matters. It never needs to be perfect or done the way that you're "supposed to" do it. A story driven comic without backgrounds? Ah, blasphemy! How about I do it anyway because who is stopping me, the Comic Police? Also, be kind to others who create, include those who are not at your level. Your inner punk rebel should always be giving hand and support to those who are starting (or who aren't or will be at your level, if you are super pro). Kiss the art elitism's ass and bite a good chunk out of it! In your household, art should be done with any equipment, with any method and you do not need polished art of the fanciest equipment (albeit some things do make creativity easier - if you can afford them, then by all means, you them).

It's not that deep - unless you wish it Your creations don't need to be deep, have any strong message, dive into current societal or political issues if you don't want to do that. Your story can be a story of a boy who befriends with an alien, and together they explore society's gender norms, but it can also be a story were the boy and the alien just play in the mud and eat ice-cream. Every story has its audience and you should be THE Audience number 1.

I hope these help! Most important thing is to find your own way to work, explore freely and allow yourself to be whatever you be and create whatever speaks to your heart's language.

[woneuntonzz]

hypothesis || smau — c.s, j.wy

➤ chapter 14-A (back to chapters)

highschool senior!san x highschool senior!reader x highschool senior!wooyoung

contains: humor, fluff, a pinch of angst, light cursing, suggestive jokes, highschool au, reader is named & afab

» Hear me out... you should've just told him the first three letters instead of showing it on your phone.

⛦ ᴊᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ!

more under the cut .ᐟ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

(ignore all time stamps!!)

\\

You have been waiting for San to arrive for about twenty minutes now, and it would take another swipe on your phone before you heard a car’s honk. 

choi san (girl dinner): i’m outside sab :))

Stepping out of the doorway, San would come out of his car, approaching you. In your hand you held a basket of grapefruits, which he would ask if he could take so he could carry it for you. You’d tell him to just take it since it was meant to be a gift. He leads you to the passenger seat, opening the door for you. You figured he’d probably do that with anyone, so you kept yourself from smiling like an idiot and just got yourself seated. 

Once San had settled himself on the driver’s seat he’d ask you, “Are we good to go?” 

“Yep.” you simply reply, looking straight ahead.

You were anxious, feeling a bit out of place. You didn’t have a reason to be there besides San inviting you. You never even knew about his sister before he talked to you about her. 

“Were you able to get enough sleep last night? you were in the call till three a-m. I fell asleep at twelve, and I woke up when you left the call.” you were in a zoom call with the two last night for the thesis. 

Your teacher had told you to change your topic since it overlapped with another from a different group. So with the night that followed, you were up all night with the two in a call, just searching for topics that concern the Humanities subject, and getting an outline draft started so all you’d have to do is cram everything on Sunday —your teacher had moved the deadline to Monday for your group. 

“Yeah, I feel pretty okay. I’ve had, like, three cups of coffee —and a half.” you sigh towards the end of your utterance. 

“And a half?” he questions, laughing a bit. 

A yawn suddenly escapes your mouth, but you’d shake it off, reminding your body that you’ve had more caffeine than water. “I drank half off my mom’s morning coffee earlier.” 

You felt his eyes glued on you, and you would see his stare from the corner of your eye. You look back at him instinctively, and you’d be met with a face of doubt.

“Are you sure you got some sleep?” you nod profusely at his words.

“Yes, I’m sure. I really am fine, don’t worry about me San.” but then another yawn was evoked from you. 

“You can take a nap on the way to the hospital, make yourself comfortable, if you want, I can fix the back for you so you could lay—”

“No, no need! I’m fine right here.” you give him a hearty smile, and he’d return it with a soft one. 

After the small talk, you were off to the hospital. He had informed you it was a bit further away from where you lived, but very close to his house. That was why you’d tell him a day prior to not bother picking you up, but he insisted anyway saying that he’s the one who wanted you there, so he should be the one to take you there. 

...

\\

You followed closely behind San, stepping into the Intensive Care Unit. There, you saw his sister lying with her eyes closed, barely any movement being caught by your eyes. 

“Hi Haneul, I brought a new friend with me today.” he says with a smile, as if his sister was smiling back at him. 

You glanced at San who had laid his eyes on you once he finished speaking. Now you’re quite unsure of what to say, you’ve never been in a situation such as this one before. Despite your worries, San’s hand rests on your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze to provide some assurance, he could tell you were a bit tense. 

“Her name is Sabrina. She’s really nice, and she has a cat too —he’s just as adorable as she is.” he’d be a little more quiet uttering the last few bits of his sentence, but you caught it.

You had no idea if you were successful with appearing indifferent with him calling you adorable —in real life and no longer just through messages, but San would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t see the pink tint on your cheeks. 

You hear a sudden buzz, and it came from the back pocket of San’s pants —his phone. You watched him look at its screen briefly before putting it back where he had drawn it from. “Is it okay if I leave you here with my sister for a sec? I’m just gonna go and fetch Wooyo in the lobby.” you give him a small smile, nodding before he could even finish speaking.

When San went off, you were given a chance to take a better look at San’s sister. She’s just as beautiful as he was. You could guess it just runs in the family. They share very similar features, but his sister possessed softer lines compared to him. 

“Hey sis, what’s up?” you jump a bit from where you stood, hearing the voice you gawked over one late night phone call ago, but now it sounded like how it usually does, making you sigh. “Oh, hi Sabrina.” Wooyoung turns to you and you’d see he was carrying quite a few paper bags with him. “This,” he hands you one, in your favorite color. “—is for you.”

You just wanted to take a peek inside, but he’d stop you. 

“Nah-ah, not until you show me the thing.” your eyes widened, visibly confused with what he was referring to. 

“What thing?” you ask back.

San just watched the two of you, shaking his head whilst he wore a subtle smile.

“The thing I told you I was gonna check today.” Wooyoung crosses his arms over his chest, his feet tapping on the tiled floor. “Does it ring any bells?”

Oh, it rings bells alright. You sigh heavily, closing your eyes and trying your best not to roll your eyes right at him. “You can check later, b. F. F.”

He then displays a cheeky smile. Instead of finding it annoying like you usually would —or should— you’d look down to the ground, fighting the smile that wanted to show itself on your lips. 

“And this one’s for Haneul. Everyone misses you right now…” you watched as Wooyoung continued to speak to Haneul, even at her unresponsive state. 

They were both updating her on the little happening in their lives, getting you involved in some of their stories —though they had to skip some— and urging you to tell Haneul a bit more about you. It was all sweet, and a little sad, still, all you could see was how endearing the two truly are. It was fascinating to see them like this, just talking with Haneul, throwing jokes from time to time, but it was all light-hearted fun. You didn’t expect to gain so much from a hospital visit for someone who you haven’t even talked to at all. 

Later that day, after visiting hours, your trio decided to eat out somewhere —and also ran into one of their other friends, Seonghwa. He was quite nice, but every so often, he and Wooyoung were just talking amongst themselves, especially when Wooyoung had the great idea of taking everyone to the nearby clothing store. He and Seonghwa would be “looking at some clothes” but judging on the way their mouths moved, you could tell the talk was about something else. 

All while that was happening, you stuck by San. He was picking out clothes for himself, asking for your opinion on his choices whenever he’d make one. Then as he looked over some more clothes, he’d initiate conversation. “So when would the playdate therapy be?”

You were a bit surprised by his question, thinking that the “playdate” he snuck into your messages was just a joke. “Oh, you were for real?”

“Of course I am.” he chuckled softly, the sound tickling your ears. “I want Byeol to have a best friend too. You know, like you and Wooyo.”

You chortled, almost breaking into a loud guffaw. “Sorry, I mean, yeah, we can make that happen. You know how to reach me, just text.” you end your sentence with a little tick sounding from your tongue and little finger guns pointing at him. 

He giggles, forcing you to stare on his back as he hides his grin, pretending to be preoccupied with the clothing rack. 

It was a long day of just that, and soon you were all headed home. Seonghwa went his separate way, shaking hands with you before he disappeared —he told you it was necessary. San had set himself up to take you and Wooyo home. There was a bit of bickering with who was gonna take the passenger seat, but in the end, the conflict was settled with San being completely done with the back and forths and demanding the both of you just be seated next to each other at the back. 

There, you sat in silence, paying not much mind to Wooyoung who sat next to you, —surprisingly— remaining quiet as well. San played music to fill the dead air, but it didn’t change much, and you would keep your eyes on the streets, just sightseeing as you propped your head up against the car window. You got bored with it, so you’d whip out your phone, scrolling around whatever app, like always. You were free of worries until you heard a quiet “psst!”.

You already know what you were in for. You bit the insides of your cheek, turning your head just a little and just enough for you to see Wooyoung’s smug face. 

“You have to show me.” you shake your head at him, and he’d furrow his eyebrows, tilting his head to side to question your refusal. 

“I swear I changed it. Cross my heart, hope to die” and now he was the one shaking his head. 

You’d imitate the eagerness on his face, knitting your brows as your lips formed a pout. You had expected for him to roast the living shit out of you and cook you into soup, but the look on your face would be replaced with utter confusion when he started laughing. When your eyes met, he’d only take you along with him, tittering away together. 

Your laughter was a little quieter —for San’s sake— but it was so worth a while that you didn’t even notice how close Wooyoung had moved next to you. “Okay then, if you don’t want to, can I at least see the first three letters?” he whispers, moving just a little closer so you could hear him. 

The way he asked made him sound so innocent that you chuckled, thinking about how silly it is for him to sound like that. “No!” you whisper back to him. 

His smile grew wider, and you’d be perplexed by this. Not until you realized that the tip of your nose was only an inch away from touching. 

“Okay, fine.” you utter out of sheer panic, distancing yourself from him and opening your contacts list on your phone. 

He was quite surprised with you just giving in even though he was only half joking the whole time with asking to see what you had him saved as in your contacts. You’d swiftly move your upper body to face him, preventing him from seeing your phone screen as you held it up to your face, he could only keep his eyes on the brand logo at the back of your phone. Once you’ve found a way to show him without fully revealing it —which was your other hand pressed firmly on the screen to hide the six other letters of the name you saved him as. 

“H-e… a?” he reads the three letters out loud. “Huh...”

Then the car ran into a bump, catching you off guard and causing your phone to drop on his lap. 

“Shit.” you mutter to yourself, snatching your phone away from him. 

“Cute.” to this very moment of you laying on your bed and going back through everything that happened on this day, you still couldn’t figure out what he was calling cute. Was it you? —no you’re not delusional. Or perhaps, maybe it was the fact that when you grabbed for your phone, he got to see the full nickname because you held it out with the screen right at his face for a little longer than just a few seconds. But you wouldn’t know, not until the next day that is. 

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⁀➴ @davinashifts333 @wrotebyrini @wooyoungyeo

[lillazyboithings]

What’s the art queue looking like at the moment??? Any sneakpeaks??)

Currently the art queue is organized from nearest deadline to farthest, i am excluding sneak peek pictures of projects i'm doing for the hatchetfield yearbook project.

Sticker designs for a valentines day event at my school that i'm selling these to (pride hearts, cat stickers, chibi people wearing our school uniform, phrase stickers, nearest deadline of "this week")

art requests that are currently pending (there's definitely a few of them stacked up since december 30 but im trying to eliminate them one by one, also who tf is the anon who requested overall shorts trevor with some specifics....pls....its for scientific research, i need to dissect your brain)

Artworks for the Hatchetfield High Yearbook Project run by my good friend, Birdie! (check it out once its released!! also shameless advertising)

npmd screenshot redraw (guys...i literally just started drawing that earlier in class while the biology teacher was gone for almost 2 hours, no deadline but tis a quick project)

npmd shimeji's (Richie draft, this is gonna take SOOOOO long, especially if you make 200+ frames for all characters in total, youch, also no deadline but longer to finish)

additional context: Shimeji's are desktop pets that move around your screen, when i'm done with all frames i'll be releasing the frames in either a google drive or somewhere else for you guys to access

[lisutarid-a]

[Gakuen K] Yatogami Kuroh Route Translation

I respect you

LIST OF CHAPTERS

[Translation under the cut]

Kuroh: Good morning, it's a pleasant morning.

Saya: Good morning, Kuro-kun. School has finally started.

Kuroh: Yeah. We have to switch our mind and get ready for the new semester.

Saya: As expected of Kuro-kun. You're acting straight right from the start of the new semester.

Kuroh: If I be lazy, who will discipline the Silver club.

Saya: Don't worry, I'll do my best when the time comes. Don't be too tense or you'll collapse.

Kuroh: I'd like to say that I'm not that fragile, but…

Kuroh: …I guess that's your kindness. I appreciate the advice.

Saya: Huh, Shiro-kun. You're already here.

Shiro: Uhm, good morning.

Saya: (He diligently writing something in his notebook…)

Saya: … Could it be.

Saya: Shiro-kun, you haven't done your homework for summer vacation?

Shiro: Correct. Amazing, how did you figure that out?

Saya: You opened a page that looked familiar. How much is left?

Shiro: Let's see…almost all of it?

Kuroh: You…What the hell were you doing during summer vacation?

Shiro: No. I knew I had to do it, but…

Shiro: I was carelessly putting it off and just having fun. Accidentally, accidentally.

Kuroh: Pathetic bastard…

Saya: The deadline is noon. You won't make it in time… will you?

Shiro: Oh, don't worry on that point. I've discussed it with the teacher earlier.

Shiro: They said I could hand it in by tomorrow morning.

Kuroh: Can you do that?

Shiro: Ahaha…If I work hard, I'll make it somehow. I'm sure.

Saya: …It's decided. I'll help you.

Shiro: To do my homework? Whoa, thank you!

Kuroh: What are you talking about? This is his assignment. He deserves it.

Saya: But it's a tough situation…And we're all comrades.

Kuroh: Comrades…

Saya: Even though I said I'd help him, I'm not going to solve questions for him.

Saya: I'll just help gather the necessary materials.

Saya: I thought it would be okay. What do you think?

Kuroh: I see. Yeah, then this guy won't be slacking off.

Shiro: W-wait~! I'm not going to slack off!

Saya: So you don't mind if I help? Great.

Saya: How about we do it in the library after school, since we'll probably be fooling around in the club room?

Shiro: Of course. I'm excited!

Kuroh: What's exiting about it? It doesn't mean that you're going to have fun. Be serious.

Shiro: That's true, but…I just thought it would be more motivating than doing homework alone.

Kuroh: …In that case, I'll join you.

Saya: Kuro-kun too?

Kuroh: Yeah. They say "Three heads are better than one," right? It would the best fighting force.

Shiro: The best fighting force…

Kuroh: What. Am I in the way?

Shiro: Un-uh, it's not like that. If Kuro's with us, then we're as strong as a hundred men. Well then, let's work hard, the three of us!

Saya: What about Neko-chan?

Shiro: Hmmm, you're right. I guess this time I'll let to do something else. Neko is not good at studying.

Shiro: I need to finish my summer homework quickly and enjoy my fall life~!

Kuroh: …If you had finished it during the summer vacation, this wouldn't have happened.

Shiro: Okaaay. I will be as careful as possible in the future.

Shiro: Hmmm…I wish I could give up soon.

Saya: You can't. It's been less than an hour.

Shiro: …Life is a continuous learning process. We learn from our parents, we learn from our friends, sometimes we learn from strangers.

Shiro: Right, the act of learning doesn't just happen at a desk.

Everything that exists in this world is a teaching tool and a teacher.

Saya: I don't know what you're talking about, Shiro-kun. I think you should move your hand more than your mouth, okay?

Shiro: …Okay. Now you're saying it too.

Shiro: When you first moved in, you was so frightened and nervous, like a first grader.

Saya: I guess that means I'm getting used to the Silver club too. Huh…isn't here a mistake?

Shiro: Eh, where-where?

Saya: Here. I think it's 3, not 2.

Shiro: Wah. really. Hahh…I'm feeling less motivated again. Let's call it a day, shall we?

Saya: No way. It's due tomorrow, isn't it?

Shiro: That's true, but…Oh, how about this? "A goat ate it".

Saya: There're no goats in this school.

Shiro: Well, then by a boar!

Saya: There're no boars either.

Shiro: You think so? They are.

Saya: Eh, really? …Don't get sidetracked, let's do the homework seriously.

Shiro: Ahaha, my plan failed. Okaay, I got it.

Saya: Enough, Shiro-kun, you're doing so well on your tests, why is you're so reluctant to study?

Saya: I think I understand a little how Kuro-kun feels now.

Kuroh: …Hm, yeah.

Saya: What's wrong? Were you just spacing out?

Kuroh: Ah…sorry. I was watching your conversation.

Shiro: Our conversation?

Kuroh: Yeah. I was impressed with how well you handled it.

Shiro: Thank you. I get embarrassed when I get complimented to my face.

Kuroh: It's not about you, Shiro. Don't trespass on my kindness and quickly finish your homework.

Shiro: Tsk. Okaaay, I got it.

Kuroh: Seriously. I'm utterly fed up with this guy.

Saya: Kuro-kun is kind enough not to give up and keep him company, isn't he?

Kuroh: No, you're the one being kind. You suggested this, you didn't give up on him and you're helping.

Kuroh: I guess it's in your nature. I respect that about you very much.

Saya: Kuro-kun…

Shiro: Em…

Shiro: Sorry to interrupt the mood, but…Kuro, did you find those documents I asked you for? Anatomy of a shark.

Kuroh: Ah, yeah…sorry. I forgot what I was doing.

Shiro: Ehh. Can you please, my homework is at stake!

Kuroh: Is that how you ask people to do something? Really…

[Prev chapter][Next chapter]

[myhoneststudyblr]

my masterpost | my studygram | ask me anything

[click images for high quality]

[transcript under the cut]

Other advice posts that may be of interest:

How To Study When You Really Don’t Want To

Active Revision Techniques

How To Do Uni Readings

How to Revise BIG Subjects

Non-Stop Studying

The Problem

You find a comfortable spot to study and refuse to move ever again. You don’t even think about taking a break—that would be a waste of time and your due date is super close so you can't afford to do that

The Solution

Whether you’re doing this because you think it’s efficient or because you left everything until the last minute, you’re not going to learn much. Our brains need rest time to process information. Planning ahead is the key here. Instead of focusing only on your deadlines, work backwards and figure out when you need to start working on a project. Take into account how long each part of the work will take you. You’ll feel less overwhelmed and more able to actually learn the material, as opposed to just cramming. If you’re really in a pinch (hey, it happens to everyone), try out the pomodoro method: 25 minutes on, 5 minutes off, with a longer break every 4 circuits. It holds off exhaustion and keeps you feeling refreshed over long periods of heavy work!

Over Highlighting

The Problem

You try to study by reading the textbook, but somehow end up highlighting everything and remembering nothing.

The Solution

Turns out, passively re-reading a textbook is pretty useless. Just because you’re holding a highlighter doesn’t mean you’re actually engaging with the material. Learn how to read actively by taking notes as you read, which will force you to decide what parts of the reading are worth remembering. Come up with practice questions or make flashcards. The more of the 5 senses you use in your studying, the more likely you are to remember the information. If your exam includes an essay portion, think about what kinds of themes your professor might ask about and make some possible outlines. Even if your practice questions don’t actually show up on the exam, you’ll be in the right headspace!

Multitasking 

The Problem

You are studying at the same time that you are watching the newest show on Netflix, texting a friend about what happened last Tuesday and cooking a three-course meal.

The Solution

People are actually really bad at multitasking. While we think we’re focusing on 2 things at once, we’re actually switching between 2 tasks very rapidly, meaning that our brains never have time to fully adjust to working on either one. Unfortunately, the only way around this one is to plan ahead (weird how that keeps cropping up). Make a study schedule ahead of time and figure out which days you’ll devote to which subjects. You’ll be able to process the material more efficiently than you would if your attention was split between tasks, and ultimately you’ll have more confidence in what you’ve learned.

Solo Studying 

The Problem

You only ever study in solitude and refuse to ask anyone else for help.

The Solution

Studying on your own is fine (sometimes even preferable), but having people you can bounce ideas off of can be insanely helpful (even over Zoom!). Convince a friend or family member to let you “teach” them the material—the gaps in your understanding will become more obvious when you try to explain a topic to an uninformed party. If you have no one available, you could even teach to a pet or toy. Most importantly, take advantage of your professors or teachers and contact them if you’re confused about something. You won’t regret it.

Studying Chronologically

The Problem

You sit down to revise for an exam and you look through all of the notes from your class in chronological order.

The Solution

In addition to being a very passive study strategy, it also puts you at risk of running out of time to review the material you learnt most recently, which is often emphasised more heavily on the final exam and can also be some of the most difficult concepts to master – especially for classes like math and languages that increase in difficulty throughout the semester. You will also probably be reviewing information you already know. Instead of studying in chronological order, try studying in priority order, spending the majority of your time on the information that will be most important for you to know for the test.

Memorising, Rather Than Understanding 

The Problem

You know that you need to know facts in an exam so you study by trying to memorise all of the facts from a class, rather than truly understanding the underlying concepts. 

The Solution

Memorising can work well in some classes, especially in earlier stages of school, but it often backfires in more advanced classes. If you’ve memorised a definition but don’t really understand what it means, then as soon as the information is presented in a slightly different format, or you’re asked to apply it to a new type of problem, you will have no idea how to proceed. Rather than memorising the information from your classes, use study strategies that encourage you to understand it. Explaining ideas out loud in your own words, or teaching them to someone else, are great examples of study strategies that promote understanding.

Not Practicing How You’ll Be Tested

The Problem

You have a study method that you use for all of your exams no matter the subject or the format of the exam. 

The Solution

It’s great to have a study method that supports your revision but often they can be limited to specific skills. For example, flashcards might be a great strategy for a test that is mostly multiple-choice and matching questions, but they might be less useful for essays. If you want to be prepared for your exams, you need to make sure that the way you are studying for your test is similar to how you will actually be tested on the material. The best way to do this is by doing practice questions. Numerous studies have shown that students who test themselves on the material they are learning remember the information better than students who do not take practice tests. Practice testing also helps you avoid “illusions of competence”: situations in which you think you know the information better than you do. 

Not Using Active Revision Techniques

The Problem

You study by re-reading over your notes or perhaps rewriting them. 

The Solution

Unfortunately, this approach to studying is not very effective, in large part because it is extremely passive. Students who use this approach will readily admit that they can read over a page of notes and not remember what they have just read! If you don’t remember it right after you’ve read it, how could you possibly hope to answer questions about it on the test? Choosing more active study strategies that require you to engage with the material will enable you to learn the material more effectively and efficiently. This includes: mindmaps, flashcards, past papers, study groups, and many more.

[palbabor-writes]

Practicum

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT/18+ only, unbalanced/unhealthy relationships, student/teacher sex, tw.dubcon, tw.sub/dom dynamics, brat taming, fingering, masturbation, a table is pretty roughed up in this, so pls hold a brief moment of silence for it    

Words: 12,857

“So, you just want me to read from the book?”

“Yes.”

“And...answer questions?”

“That’s what I said,” Shigaraki smirks, already reaching toward his bookshelf, tugging the heavy Intro to Biology text out and shifting it into his large hands.

You bite at your lip again and pass your gaze from his amused expression to the bland cover of the textbook, debating your next move, trying to walk yourself through all the ups and downs. It’s too simple; too easy. It’s not like him. He’s got something else in mind, why else would he fucking look like that? It’s not a bad look. No, it’s a look that makes your stomach flip and head spin.

“Stop being so suspicious,” Shigaraki scolds, drawing your wandering attention back to him. “I don’t bite, that is, unless you want me to.”

Notes: the title was selected because it’s got the word cum in it. ahhh, the things that crack me up. anyhow. 

this is part of the BNHA Degeneracy server’s 9 to 5 collaboration! i had a ton of fun participating in this and thank you guys for making this so freaking awesome! special shoutout & thanks to @albinoburrito​ & @kugutsuu​ for their beta edits! this was a departure from what i usually write about and i appreciate all of your notes and help!  

Practicum prac·ti·cum /ˈpraktəkəm/ noun a practical section of a course of study

It’s your senior year, they said. Live a little, they advised. Stop and take a breather, you’re practically home free! Take some easier classes. Focus on what’s in front of you, it’ll be over before you know it! On and on and on. 

Spring semester is almost here. You’ve applied for graduation, the cap and gown ordered, and you have a shiny class ring sitting on your pinky. It’s in the bag. Just breeze through four more classes and you’re out. Well, it would be an easy shot, if you hadn’t put off this one class. 

It always popped up, so it’s not like you could plead ignorance. Your advisor warned you, each quarterly meeting, that you needed to get it out of the way. Take it seriously, he cautioned, clacking out his notes, typing down that you’d failed to heed his sage advice, again. If you wait too long, you’re not going to get the professor that you want.

That was the other problem. You’re a procrastination superstar. If there was some kinda award for putting off assignments, you’d have won it ten times over. You liked the heart pounding race to the deadline, the sleepy boasts that you’d tackled the project within hours of its due date. 

It’s a stupid habit. Every semester you promise yourself that you’ll do better. You won’t wait, you’ll tackle things one assignment at a time and turn them before the hard cut off at 11:59 pm. Who the fuck did you think you were kidding? Certainly not your friends, or your advisor. He could read you like a book. Hell, he’d even sent warnings. 

‘Don’t forget about the deadline for senior registration!’

‘You don’t want to be on a waitlist. You especially don’t want to take one of the harder professors. These are freshman level classes, they’re designed to flunk undergrads. Don’t forget (Y/N), chew them up and spit them out tactics are employed.’ 

But you had. You’d set an alarm on your phone, then neglected to give it a title, so you’d only chuckled and smacked the chirping into silence that morning, snoozing the all important deadline away. 

Fuck. 

Most of the classes for biology are wait-listed. No, scratch that, all the classes for Intro to Genetic Biology are wait-listed. You opt into the waitlist for all of them, just in case, and a week later your phone alerts you that one has an open seat. Actually, it has several open seats, too many open seats to be natural. However, you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so for now, you’re enrolled in BIO 1208: Principles of Cell and Organismal Physiology - For Non-Science majors. 

Perfect.

Yeah, no. You’d looked up the professor, since the whole open seat thing was still giving you the heebie-jeebies, and your heart dropped. You’ve heard of him, most of the student body has. His classes are notoriously small. Not because the university limited them, or planned for smaller class sizes. No, his classes are tiny because he is infamous for failing students. 

Most, when they realize they’re scheduled for his bio classes, frantically drop, taking the withdrawal and praying for better luck next semester. Others, brave souls who think they can come out unscathed, attempt to grit their teeth and push through. But, by midterms, they’re war torn and haggard, shaking their heads and praying for a ‘C’, at best. Fewer still, pass.

This pedagogy isn’t a sign of good teaching; quite the opposite, in fact. You don’t want your student body failing. Yet, year after year, Professor Tomura Shigaraki keeps teaching the same Intro to Bio class. It boggles the mind, but you’ve never had to worry about it. Well, until now. 

When you’d received the notification that you’re enrolled in the B section and spied the name Shigaraki under the professor listing, you’d scarfed down your suddenly flavorless lunch and dashed up the steps to the student advising hall, praying there was some way you could wiggle your way out of this growing disaster.

“I’m pretty sure I told you to take it earlier and to take it in the fall when there are more freshman level classes available. I swear I said that to you. And, AND, I even sent you emails, several times if my sent inbox is to be believed, to NOT forget when senior registration ends.” 

Your advisor is peeved. You don’t blame him. He’s right, this is your fault, but there’s gotta be some kinda loophole. Something, fuck, anything, that can pull you from this mess. 

“I know, I know! I’m so sorry. You’re right. But, I mean, can’t I just hold off for another week? See if the waitlist clears?”

The man that you’ve known for four years, that’s seen you progress from freshman to senior, steeples his long fingers and purses his lips, likely debating on a tactful scolding, or a firm rebuttal. He takes a deep breath and you can’t help but sink into the soft cushioning of the chair, your nose wrinkled and brow furrowed, mentally preparing yourself for the worst.

“Do you know how many students we require to take BIO 1208?”

“No,” you gulp, nibbling on your lower lip nervously. 

“Over 7,000. Do you want to hear the statistics that would need to shake out in your favor for you to miraculously avoid taking this specific class? Nothing is going to open for you, it is this class, or no class.”

You sigh, and your advisor nods, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Well then, I suggest you brush up on your study skills. Find a classmate that you can compare notes with, join a study group, go to the student union and ask for a tutor. I would hate to see you back here for the summer semester. You’re scheduled to walk the stage this spring and you’ve worked hard for this, so don’t fuck it up, okay?”

You’ve attended this university for four years, but the first day of term always gives you the jitters. It doesn’t matter that you know your way around, or that you know ten professors by name, and bump into several friends on the way to your next building, you’re always buried in your phone, checking and double checking the next class’ room number. 

Despite all that caution, you’re lost.

In your defense, it’s your first time stepping foot in the Graduate & Research building and the whole concrete block is a fucking maze. There must be a basement because the numbers don’t match up with the floors and they seem to jumble further every time you round a corner. Like what the hell? How can this next room be GR 3.03.05 when this is clearly only the second floor and GR 2.03.11 was right down that other hallway?

Exasperated, you lean against the nearest wall and tug your phone out again. Shit. Class started ten minutes ago. 

Part of you wants to call it a day, end the search here and try again on Wednesday. Maybe take a few extra minutes to scout out the building next time and have some idea of where you’re going before the start of class. 

Ugh, why is this so stressful? 

It’s the first day of classes. Surely Professor Shigaraki won’t mind if you’re a few minutes late; besides, if you’re lost, others must be too. 

You tuck your phone back into your pocket and resume the hunt. Two hallway turns later, you find your mark.

Your hand pauses beside the heavy wood, and you take a steadying breath. Again, why are you so nervous? Just go in and take a seat, it’s easy, stop freaking out over nothing. 

The door groans open, hinges protesting the sharp push, and you stumble into a darkened room. The low glow of the projector doesn’t help your blurry vision. Ah, shit, it’s one of those older rooms, so it’s built like a bad movie theater. Oh well, better get to a seat before he spots you. 

Swiftly, you make your way toward the raised steps of the aisle and the second row of chairs, plopping into the first one you reach that’s empty. You’re too busy fiddling with the zipper of your backpack to notice that the speaker has stopped his rasping preamble, but as you pull your laptop out the ominous weight of that heavy silence hits you and you toss a hooded stare toward the front of the lecture hall. 

Immediately, your eyes land on the professor’s and you feel a low shiver shake up your spine. 

He’s watching you. 

The gleam of the overhead projector makes his red eyes flash, and he openly scowls at your gaping expression, his lips curling into a dark sneer.

“Well, thank you for joining us, Miss…?”

He’s waiting for your response and you squeak out your last name, mindlessly rubbing your moistening palms against your thin skirt. 

“Ah, Ms. (L/N). Now that you’ve graced the class with your belated presence, may I continue?”

“Uh,” you gasp out, your mouth dry, tongue sticking to your teeth, “I’m sorry. I got–”

“I didn’t ask for an explanation, or in your case, an excuse. Or are you now attempting to disrupt this class purposefully?”

“Wha– I-I’m–” your words stumble to a halt, voice failing under the intense glare that he’s giving you. “No,” you finish lamely, ducking your head, nails digging into your sweaty palms. 

“Thank you. Do me a favor, stay after class.” His voice is gravel, threatening and low. You don’t like the edge in his tone. It makes your skin prickle and your knees knock. He sounds like the kind of guy that you don’t want to run into in a dark alleyway, or a classroom, for that matter. Even so, it’s not your fault, and despite your feelings of unease, you can’t tamp down your need to protest his unreasonableness. 

“But, professor, I didn’t mean to–”

“If I need to repeat my insistence for silence, I’ll make things easier on both of us and fail you now.”

Stunned and fuming, you bite your tongue and lean back into your chair, crossing your arms and blinking back mounting tears of frustration. Great, just great. It’s the first fucking day of class and it looks like you’re already on his shit list. And for what? For being late on fucking syllabus day! What an ass. 

You look over at him as you defiantly finish setting up your computer, hoping each pull of a zipper or screen reboot will grate under his stuck up skin. He’s not inordinately tall, or old. In fact, he looks like he might only be in early 30s. He has long white hair that’s pulled back into a low ponytail and, from what you can make out in the dim lighting, some kinda skin condition on his forehead. That, or he’s prematurely wrinkled, and let’s be honest, if he’s gone through life with that big of a stick up his ass, he deserves each and every pull on that mottled skin of his. 

You linger in your seat when class is over, lips pulled into a thin line and legs crossed. Finally, when the last student has left the room, professor Shigaraki flips a switch beside his elevated podium, filling the lecture hall with a sharp, fluorescent light. He pauses by his raised computer system and clicks off the overhead projector, blanketing the massive room in an uncomfortable silence. 

“Since you missed the part of class where I go over the syllabus, I’ll give you a brief rundown. Under no circumstances will I tolerate tardiness. If you do it once more I’ll mark you absent and three absences knock you down a full letter grade.”

Glumly, you cross your arms and peer up at him, finally able to get a good look at his face. Your first observation was correct. His skin is sharper around his forehead, but his wavy white hair does a pretty decent job of covering up the imperfections. He has two scars: one nicks across his right eye and the other splits down his rough lips, parting the skin and granting him an even more foreboding appearance than his already gruff demeanor does. He’s dressed in a dark pair of jeans and he’s wearing a low slung v neck shirt. It’s a brilliant red and it brings out that otherworldly glint of his red eyes. Shit, you think bitterly, while he’s not conventionally handsome, he’s not exactly hard on the eyes either. 

You shake your head against these unproductive musings and curtly snap out a clipped, ok.

“What was that?” Shigaraki scoffs, tilting his head at your sullen figure. “Speak up.”

“I said,” you bristle, eyes narrowing and chin lifting, “Okay, I apologize for interrupting your lecture, it won’t happen again. But, in my defense, if I’m allowed to do that in this class, I’ve never been in this building before, and it’s not like–”

“You’re a senior, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Then you’ve had four years to figure out the layout of this university. The excuse of ‘being lost,’ isn’t an option for you. You know the buildings and you’re fully capable of turning up early to sort out the rooms.”

You let out a long sigh and look away, mumbling vague protests. This guy is ridiculous. You’re not a science major and it’s not your job to know the ins and outs of each building. How fucking stupid. Who does he think he–

“Speak up. I won’t ask you again.”

You bite your lip and look back at him but he’s moved in that distracted moment, silently stepping down from his raised platform and is now leaning over the first row of chairs, looming over you. You can’t help your sudden flinch as you sink further into your chair, away from him.

“If you’re gonna complain, Ms. (L/N), I’d much rather hear it. Don’t you think It’s rude for you to mutter under your breath about me? You don’t see me doing that to you.”

“Fine,” you blurt out, turning away from his insistent, and all too close, gaze. “I was saying that I’m not a science major. I get that I’m a senior, but you can’t seriously expect me to know every nook and cranny of this campus.”

“No, but I can ask for you to be a little more thoughtful. I put time and effort into my lessons and I won’t have you undermining them by bouncing in here with those legs and that flouncy little skirt.”

You’re about to counter his little haughty speech on politeness when you finally process that final comment he’d breathed out. Flabbergasted, you raise your head back to his, but he’s already moving away, snatching up his shoulder bag and waving you a curt goodbye as he presses open the squeaky door. “Next class is at 10 am sharp, so be on time Ms. (L/N).”

You’re still slumped in your seat when the door glides shut again, your eyes wide and jaw no doubt comically unhinged. 

Wait. Did…did he really just say that?

Obviously, for the next class, you’re early. You’re so early that you’re the first one in the lecture hall. You select a seat toward the back and fiddle with your computer, checking your messages, adjusting your brightness, replying to old emails, anything to keep your head down and attention occupied. 

The door opens and, despite your best efforts, your head flies up, expectant and tense, ready to meet those red eyes of his head on, to show him you’re here and he better… oh. It’s not him. It’s two chattering freshmen. One of them gives you a quick smile, but they both quickly take their seats, a few rows over, and continue their soft conversation, leaving you to fall back onto your earlier distraction tactics. You twiddle with your phone and shoot off a few texts, change your wallpaper, accidentally close an app you meant to leave open, and then the lecture hall door reopens.

He steps in slowly, completely ignoring you and the other scattered students, opting to sort out a few papers and set up his login on the school computer. The minutes tick by and you can’t seem to jerk your eyes away from him, suddenly fascinated by his languid movements. He looks more relaxed than he did on Monday, looser and fluid, completely in his element. True to his word, at ten am on the dot he begins class. 

Professor Shigaraki has an interesting voice. It’s low, calculated, bordering on a rasp. It’s one of those tones that makes you want to lean forward and listen up, even though he’s only discussing cellular biology. Which isn’t exactly the sexiest topic for that shockingly dulcet timbre of his. 

Wait. Sexy? 

Your pen falters against your notebook, and your eyes drift up to his frame. He’s switched the lights off again and the shine of the overhead projector is the only illumination in the hall. His white hair gleams in the dim lighting and his long hands animatedly illustrate his points, elegant fingers opening and closing, gesticulating about the intricate nature of the human genome. You’re so focused on watching his movements that your elbow partner has to push the slip of paper onto your collapsible desktop. You blink at the sheet, your pen nearly clattering from your hand, and you twist to peer at the unfamiliar student beside you. 

“It’s the attendance sheet and, um, I think you’re the last one,” they whisper, careful to lean away after they finish their explanation, not wanting to draw professor Shigaraki’s ire. You maneuver the paper under your pen and scribble down your name, biting your lip and silently berating yourself for your poor selection in seating. Great, now you’ll have to take the paper down to him after class. What if he talks with you again? Shit. 

At 11:25, class ends. You collect your things and plod down the steps, the attendance sheet clutched between your fingers. He’s just snapping the projector light off when you reach his podium. 

“I, uhh, have the attendance. You want me to just leave it here, or…”

“I’ll take it,” his hand is extended toward you and those red eyes are fixed on you now. It’s not the same disgruntled stare he’d given you on Monday. No, this look is a little more curious. Again, you’re taken aback by your reaction to him. He’s not even saying anything, just patiently waiting for you to deposit the sheet into his open palm, but there’s something about him that’s making your heart race. 

Maybe it’s those eyes of his. 

They are an unusual color and they have a strange intensity to them. Right as they narrow, the vermillion shining under the sharp lights; you press the paper to him and he pulls it from you, studying the names that are listed. 

You want to say something. Maybe toss him a quick, friendly, goodbye. Or apologize for the other day? Ugh. What can you even say? ‘Gosh, so glad I was on time today! All that fascinating information about the genetic code! So glad to be here!’ No, that sounds stupid and a little patronizing. Besides, why do you want to talk with him at all? He’s an ass, remember?

“Did you need something?”

His question snaps you out of your stupor and you numbly shake your head at him, already lowering your gaze, but his exhaled chuckle makes you pause, your fingers curling around your backpack straps.  

“I know I upset you the other day, but I appreciate you taking the effort to correct your mistake.” 

“Oh,” you breathe, your eyes finding their way back to his. “Yeah, well, like you said, I’m a senior. Gotta take responsibility for myself someday.”

“Ah,” he smirks, that long scar on his lip quirking upward. “Seems like you’ve got some determination after all. You might be more interesting than I gave you credit for.”

“God,” you scoff, popping out a hip and crossing your arms at the bemused leer on his face. “Just come right out and say you think I’m a bad student, why don’t you?”

“Don’t worry,” he amends, tucking the attendance sheet into his shoulder bag and snapping the clasps closed. “There’s plenty of time for you to end up right back at square one with me.”

He’s already halfway out the door by the time you right yourself from the shock of his last comment and you follow him, a string of low curses falling from your lips. 

The spring semester always flies by, and before you realize it, a full month has bled away. You’ve kept that same seat in Shigaraki’s class and at the end of each session you head down to his little platform, attendance sheet outstretched. Each day of class has a different ebb and flow. Sometimes he chats with you and it’s gotten easier to talk with him, both of your eyes holding and lingering, lips raised into calculating smiles. Sometimes it almost feels like he’s flirting with you. Other days he only spares you a curt nod, his white hair curtaining his expression from your curious gaze. You’re not bothered by these silences, not when you’ve got your secret weapon. 

The days that you like best, the ones that you plan, sorting through your closet until you’ve found the perfect choice, are the days when you wear one of your skirts. You’d even gone on some skirt shopping sprees as of late. On those days he doesn’t just make some sort of fleeting eye contact with you, no, on those days he stares. 

At first, you’d tested out your theory, staggering your outfits, careful to not screw up your suspicions with a hasty miscalculation, but as they say, the third time’s the charm. How did he expect you not to notice? He never bothers to hide those sharp ogles and recently you’ve made a point of dramatically gathering your things when you wear these cute little ensembles, bopping down the steps so his eyes have to work to follow the line of your hips and the long paths of your bare legs. One rainy afternoon you’d worn over the knee stockings, that came to an abrupt halt over the plush skin of your upper thigh, under your mini skirt and he’d practically leapt over the podium to grab the sheet from you, his eyes hooded and dark, almost wild.

“Test, on Friday,” he warns, eyes finally rising to meet your bemused expression. “Don’t stay out too late tonight.”

“What makes you say that?” you ask, brushing at a rogue fold in your skirt, luring him back to your legs. 

He scoffs at you, that jagged scar arching into a smirk. “Humph. You’re dressed up. Most of the students just wear the sweats, or pjs, and call it a day.” 

“I like to put a little effort in all that I do,” you retort, grinning up at his vermillion stare. 

“Yes, so I’ve noticed. You certainly look the part…and you’re keeping up with the workload of this course.”

“Ahhh,” you crow, clapping your hands excitedly. “Are you saying I might get an ‘A’ in this class? Be the first time someone’s done that in a while, from what I’ve heard around campus.”

Shigaraki sneers and tuts out an inaudible reply, leaning a little closer to you, making you inadvertently fall back a step. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Awe,” you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m doing ok on all the quizzes and the classwork.”

“So far,” he taunts, his pearlescent hair falling over his broad shoulder.

“Tch. Don’t be like that. I’ve been studying.”

“Sometimes it takes more than that.”

“Oh?” you smile, raising your chin. “What else should I be doing, professor?”

“We’ll know that after Friday, won’t we?”

God. 

You’d felt so confident when you’d turned in your test and that stupid, horrible, sexy little quirk of his lip scar that he sends you, when you’d handed him your papers, carries you on some strange, half aroused cloud all weekend. Maybe, just maybe, this class won’t be so bad after all.

The tests are handed back the following Friday, passed from row to row so everyone can fish out their papers and marked Scantrons. Yours, since you still occupy that final seat on the back row, is the last. Biting back a grin, you flip it over, so ready to see that A, that grade that you worked so fucking hard for, that… wait.

The gross flash of red across the top of your paper leaves you reeling, your breath catching against the back of your throat. It’s not a terrible grade, well, it wouldn’t be, but there are only three tests in this class, so it’s going to plummet you down to a B. One more fuck up will leave you with a C, or worse, an automatic failing grade. 

No. No, no, no, no. 

You can’t afford a bad grade, you honestly can’t even let yourself slip to a B. Your fucking cap and gown have just come in and with them that cord that you can wear around your neck at graduation. The one that marks you as honors cum laude. Fuck. You’re already pulling one B, in one of your other classes, because you’ve been focusing so much time and effort on this one. Another B will strip that cord from you, leaving you barren, with a less than ideal GPA. 

God fucking damn it.

You glare up at Shigaraki, who’s busy taking the rest of the class through a review of genetic mutations, but you can’t hear him anymore, too incensed, too overwhelmed to even care about what he’s saying. The test crumples under your fingertips, the paper shaking in your hands, and you seethe, your teeth biting your lower lip to pieces. 

It’s not fair. You’d paid attention. You’ve taken all the notes. Read all the chapters. Drilled and studied till your eyes had drooped, heavy with exhaustion. You’ve done it all right. Plus, he’d been so fucking flirty, so open with you. You’ve never chatted with a professor this way, never gone out of your way to wear clothes they like, that make them watch you, their eyes hungry pinpricks as you walk to them, mindful of the luscious sway of your hips. 

No. Fuck him. Fuck this class.

Before your elbow classmate can leave, you ask for them to hand in the attendance sheet. You barely hear their response, too busy slamming your laptop into your backpack. As you storm past the podium, you can feel his eyes on you. The distant sensation of his gaze makes your flesh prickle, but you ignore your involuntary reaction and shove your way out the door. 

“(Y/N), you can’t switch classes this late. It’s almost midterms. Besides, I don’t think anything has opened up and if you’re going to drop it, you’ve gotta get the signature of the professor,” your advisor tells you, blinking at your stony expression over his thick glasses. “I don’t get it. Why do you want to drop it? Your grades are alright and it’s just one test. You can always try–”

“Gimme the paperwork.”

Shigaraki’s office is on the top floor of the research building, tucked away down another winding and weaving hallway that once again requires your careful inspection to navigate. When you finally hit the right set of doors, you slowly make your way forward, counting the numbers up as you pass. His door is wide open, a yawning cavern that’s filled with the distant light of a lamp. You brush a hand down your skirt, smoothing away any wrinkles and steadying your nerves. 

You’d tossed on the skirt this morning, before you’d gotten the grade, and you hadn’t thought to go home and change, too consumed by that simmering rage bubbling within you. And now, like this fucking class, this skirt felt like a mistake, something stupid and vapid that you wished you had time to change out of. He’d told you he liked your attire, liked that you put effort into your outfits. At the time, you’d been so thrilled and excited that he’d complimented you, but now you wish you were confronting him in baggy jeans or lazy sweats, anything that would turn that avid gaze of his away from you. 

Lost in thought, you waver beside his open door, nibbling on your lips and tugging at your clothes. It’s now or never. No point in putting it off. What’s the worst that can happen? What can he do now? Or, a darker side of you whispers, what do you want him to do to you? What? That’s a stupid thought, you scold yourself, lifting a hand to the wall and rapping against the beige paint, announcing your presence. 

When the sound fades away, swallowed up by the empty and darkened hallway, you poke your head around the corner, searching for him. His head is tilted quizzically, and he blinks twice when he spots you, that all too familiar smirk lifting his lips. 

“Ah, Ms. (L/N), what can I do for you?”

His voice is softer than usual and your name sounds like honey, his tone resting on the syllables and consonants for a beat, almost as if he’s savoring their lift, their sound. You can’t help but swallow heavily at his appraisal. Suddenly this may be a terrible idea. 

Ugh. Get a grip (Y/N). 

“I-I need you to sign this withdrawal paperwork,” you finally reply, digging in your bag and tugging out the thin leaflet, holding it out to him. He’s silent after your demand, meditatively threading his fingers and peering up at you, his red eyes bright. 

“Step inside and shut the door behind you,” he instructs, his gaze never falling from yours. Despite the simplicity of his request, you can’t help but bristle at his imperious tone. Why does he always have to sound like that? Like he’s seconds away from taking control of the situation, or of you? He’s always one stupid step ahead, and no doubt he’s going to try and talk you down. Or, he’ll sign it and say that he always knew you were a screw up, someone who only did things halfway, who could never match up to his lofty expectations. Humph, the sooner you’re outta here and out of his class, the better. So, you obey, closing the door and petulantly flopping into the unsteady chair that sits in front of his low desk. 

He maintains that uneasy quiet, his red eyes whisking over your disgruntled face, waiting, watching. Unable to take this strange standoff, you push the university paperwork toward him, sliding it as close as you dare to his bent elbows. “I would like to withdraw from your class,” you repeat, lips setting into a thin line. 

“Why?” he asks, cocking his head so his loose white hair falls a little further down his rough brow. 

“Something came up.”

“Hmm, I can try to work with a new schedule, if it’s your job, or home life,” he counters, eyes narrowing as he sharpens his observations of your brittle expression. 

“It’s not that,” you smart, crossing your arms. Great, he’s going to make this difficult. 

“Then I suggest you tell me what’s on your mind,” Shigaraki replies, mirroring your movements and leaning back in his chair. 

“I don’t think this class is working out for me.”

He exhales a soft laugh at your lie, and you watch that tiny mole at the edge of his chin lift in his quiet mirth. “This is a freshman level course and you’re a senior. You’re in my class because it’s likely the last pre-rec that you need to take before you graduate.”

“Um, yeah. But–”

“And now, you’re wanting to drop it because of one poor grade.”

You grind your teeth and fix him with a stark glower. “I–”

“There will be two other tests. If you read your syllabus, you’d know this.”

“I read the syllabus. Your tests are worth a stupid amount of points and it only takes one of them to tank my grade.”

“Frankly, you did better than most of the class. You only need to work on practical application. I said that the written portion would be a major component of the exam. I also provided you with a review and a rubric. So I’m not sure–”

“Your grade drops me to a ‘B’, and that ‘B’ pulls me from the honors list. And… well… I thought that…”

“Oh? What did you think?” he presses, his voice suddenly dropping to that lower octave it had drifted into when he said your last name. 

“I thought I’d get a better grade,” you spit out, turning your head and biting at your lip again. 

“Why?” he counters simply. His obtuseness is making your blood boil.

“What do you mean, why?” It takes all of your will to not slip a ‘jackass’ into that question. 

“It’s not a hard thing to answer. I graded you fairly and according to my rubric. Why exactly do you feel you merit a different grade than the one you earned?”

You fall into a frustrated silence. You can hear your heart pounding against your ribs and you want to scream at him, to leap over his desk and shake him until his teeth fucking rattle. Your shoulders are rising and lowering disjointedly and his vermillion eyes are honed in on your face, shifting over your pinched expression with a distant interest. You can feel tears pricking at your eyes and you hastily rub a fist over them, brushing away any rogue drops of moisture.

“How can you ask me that? You think I didn’t notice you staring at my legs? Or that you always had something to say to me when I was wearing a skirt? What was I supposed to think, huh? I fucking thought shit like that was gonna help, ok? God, I’m so stupid. I can’t… fuck.” 

Shigaraki arches forward when you finish, a deep sigh leaching through his parted lips. His teeth snap together when you look up at him, your eyes gaining back some of that earlier defiance, and he gives you a quick grin, clearly pleased by your shift in attitude and pushes your paper aside, fixing you with a dark look. “Here’s a thought, since you feel you’re so different, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you a chance to make up the score.”

“I don’t care about the score anymore. I wanna drop your class,” you snap, but it’s a halfhearted barb. Something has changed in his demeanor. He’s dropped the concerned professor act and is leaning so close you can hear his steady intakes of air. He’s only a few inches away; if you want, you could touch him.

“I doubt you want to attend a class in the summer. Besides, they won’t let you walk if you haven’t finished your freshman level courses. And you can’t tell me you don’t want to graduate, to earn that cord that lets you into the honor cum laude. So stop pouting and hear me out. I think you’ll like what I have in mind.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever like anything about you,” your voice is sharper than you mean it to be, but the challenge makes Shigaraki smile. As it crosses his cracked lips, it pulls that scar up and it makes those eyes of his glow. He looks like the cat that’s got the cream and you’re not sure how to respond, so you cross your legs and wait for him to make the next move. 

“You sure about that? Well, I’ll have to change your tune then, won’t I? But that can wait, lemme tell you what my requirements are. I’ve got a copy of the textbook in here. I’ll have you review some of the major concepts, you’ll read the passages aloud so I’m sure you’re on the right track, you’ll hand the book back to me, and then I’ll verbally quiz you over the material. If you answer them correctly, I’ll bump you to an ‘A’ on your test.”

You have to actively work to keep your mouth closed. “So, you just want me to read from the book?”

“Yes.”

“And… answer questions?”

“That’s what I said,” Shigaraki smirks, already reaching toward his bookshelf, tugging the heavy Intro to Biology text out and shifting it into his large hands. 

You bite at your lip again and pass your gaze from his amused expression to the bland cover of the textbook, debating your next move, trying to walk yourself through all the ups and downs. It’s too simple; too easy. It’s not like him. He’s got something else in mind, why else would he fucking look like that? It’s not a bad look. No, it’s a look that makes your stomach flip and head spin. 

“Stop being so suspicious,” Shigaraki scolds, drawing your wandering attention back to him. “I don’t bite, that is, unless you want me to.”

Your eyes boggle and you have to clench your thighs tighter, your stomach churning, you feel light-headed and you can feel your core fluttering with your sudden arousal. “Wh-what did you just say?”

“Stop gaping at me like that, you’ll make me blush. Now come on.”

Your jaw snaps closed and you shake your head, trying to clear your mind from your whirling emotions. He takes this reaction as a surrender and stands, stepping toward a marred table that rests a little ways away from his desk. He licks his thumb pad and flips through a few pages before finally settling on an appealing section. Once he places it on the table, he twists back to you and crooks a finger your way. “Come here,” he orders, his voice deep and languid. Obediently, you rise on unsteady feet, hands tugging at the length of your skirt, careful to keep it pressed down as you walk toward him. 

He makes space for you to stand in front of the book and shifts back, one hand resting on the table, propping him close to your bent figure. You look up at him, but he only nods his head toward the table, a wicked smile curling the corners of his lips. Blink a few times but finally, the words clear and you can see the block of text that’s in front of you. It’s passages on DNA encodes and RNA proteins, hefty stuff, things that you had to make flash cards for. This isn’t going to be easy. If anything, he’s picked some of the harder concepts, the ones that take steady knowledge in the foundations. Flustered, you look back to him, but he’s moved. He’s leaning against the wide window beside the table, a dark mark against the glass.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, a laugh bubbling in his tone.

“There’s no way…” you stammer, shaking your head at him. 

“Want me to throw a curve in?”

“I should ask what kinda curve, but knowing you, it’s likely gonna be something terrible.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he rumbles, stepping away from the window and leaning close to your stiff form. “It just takes an open mind and some enthusiasm on your part.”

“Enthusiasm?” you question, trying your best to withstand his closeness. You can feel the heat radiating off of his broad shoulder and if you tilt a little nearer, you could graze against him, or feel his breath on your skin. 

“You’re right,” he amends, his forearm contacting your side. You startle at the touch, a gasp falling from your lips, but you don’t pull away and you can’t stop staring up at him, your eyes wide. “Obedience is a better word. From here on out, whatever I tell you to do, I expect you to obey it, although it’s not exactly, ah, school approved.”

“You want me to suck you off or something?” you sneer, hoping to stumble him off his guard, even if it’s only for an instant. Too bad he’s always one step ahead. 

“Don’t be vulgar. Think outside of the box, (Y/N). Do you think I’m going to go for something so short sighted when I could have you bending to my will? Obeying every little demand that I make? I’d much rather see if that skin of yours tastes as good as it looks, then simply have you on your knees. No, I want you to fucking scream for me while I stuff you full of my cock. But first, you need to put in some work. You should know that by now.”

Oxygen is suddenly very hard to come by and you can feel your mind hazing over as you stammer up at him, your mind flitting from word to word disjointedly. Shigaraki grants you a wolfish grin, and he dips his lips beside your ear, whispering over those tiny hairs that rest against your tender skin. “I’ll make this part easy. Nod and I’ll give you the first set of instructions.” 

What did he say? Nod? What happens when you nod? Fuck, why are you letting him do this? Is your grade really worth it? Are you that desperate that… that… 

Shigaraki is whispering other promises over you as you war with yourself, speaking his words gently, slowly, his breath hot as it fans over your neck. It’s like you’ve fallen under some kinda spell and before you realize it, your traitorous head is bobbing up and down, letting him know you want him to keep going.

“Perfect,” he sighs, his lips grazing over the shell of your ear, jerking a shiver from you. “Now, lean forward and put your hands against the table.” 

You do as he says, but he’s not satisfied with your positioning, his fingers wrapping around your wrists and yanking you forward, jutting your ass out and pressing your chest down, maneuvering you until your nose is right above the pages of the textbook. “There we go,” he rasps, pulling away so he can admire your splayed form. “Hmm, your legs are too close together. Spread them.” Knees trembling, you obey, gasping when he runs a palm against the curve of your thighs.

“You’ve got such nice legs (Y/N), so let’s put them on display, shall we?” His fingers search against the top of your skirt and they still when he reaches his prize: the zipper. When he pulls it down, you let out a sharp squeak of protestation but he silences you with a swift pinch to your side. 

“Now, now, don’t be like that. You nodded, remember? Besides, you could have left when I told you I’d give you a curve but you couldn’t help yourself could you? You want me to keep going and to do that, I need you to take this skirt off. No, don’t move. I’ll get rid of it for you. Why don’t you focus on the task at hand, hmm? Aren’t you supposed to be reading for me?”

You arch away from his fingers and he chuckles at your impudence, one large hand hooking under your chin and pulling you toward his face. His red eyes blaze as they find yours, the dark pupils threatening to swallow up that deep vermillion. “Let’s start with the second paragraph. If you do well, I might grant you a reprieve.” 

Jerking your face from his grip, you twist back to the text, trying, and failing, to ignore his inquisitive fingers, unable to resist sighing as he works one up your inner thigh. He pauses when no words fall from your lips and you grumble out a few low curses before acquiescing to his silent demand. 

“The flow of genetic information in cells from DNA to mRNA to protein is described by the Central Dogma, which states that genes specify the sequence of mRNAs, which specify the sequence of proteins. The decoding of one molecule… the… the… molecule… by spec-specific…”

He’s slipped your skirt down over the swell of your ass, but he’s taking his time, flexing out the front of the material and dipping his fingers over the bump of your lower stomach, kneading into the delicate flesh that’s stretched out for him. You can’t help the twitch of your spine and you involuntarily wiggle, palms slipping forward, dragging you further along the tabletop. Shigaraki chuckles above you, running his rough lips over the back of your neck.

“You’re so sensitive. I’ve barely touched you.” 

He circles his hands back to your skirt and edges it along, lowering it sharply on one side and then giving the same treatment to the other. You’re doing your best to keep up with your stammering readings, but it’s difficult when he keeps sighing and running his long nails across your newly bared skin. Finally, he works the skirt down and it thumps against your bare ankles; the fabric tickling your skin. 

Meanwhile, his other fingers skitter against the elastic band of your rapidly dampening panties. Once he hooks the lace under his hand, he yanks them along your legs, trailing them sinfully slowly, ensuring that they glide down the billow of your thighs. His teeth nip at your ear when you stumble to a halt in your recitation and your hands tense over the grains of wood beneath them, your nails pinching into your palms. “If you stop, I stop,” he warns, his head bumping against yours, his sharp nose pressing against your pulse.

“You’re not exactly making this easy,” you grumble, doing your best to ignore his renewed pets and strokes. 

“Stop complaining,” he smirks, leaning away from your head to peer at your newly exposed flesh. “You better pay attention to what you’re reading or you’re not going to pass the questions I’ll be asking you.”

“Yeah, yeah, ow!” you squawk, whipping your head around to glare up at him. He fucking pinched you again! This time, he’d slipped his hand between your spread legs and tweaked your inner thigh, painfully. 

“Read,” he repeats, running those guilty fingers upward, lingering beside the heat of your cunt, careful to not get too close. When you start on the next sentence, one of his hands tugs up the fabric of your shirt, snaking upward until he’s thumbing against the wire of your bra. Once again, you falter to a halt and exhale a wavering breath. 

Goddamn it. This review is no review. You’ll be lucky if you can even recall what a cell is if he keeps this up. You hear his ominous intake of air and quickly resume your recitation, mumbling something about RNA and mRNA differences. 

Wait. Didn’t you just…  

“Looks like you’re having trouble listening to me. I told you to read aloud, not to repeat the same passages over and over.”

“Hey, at least I’ll have a firm grasp on those. You should ask me something about that s-section… ah–”

The hand that was resting under the cup of your bra has made its way underneath the lightly padded material, and his thumb and index fingers have trapped your peaked nipple between them. As soon as your snarky comment left your mouth, he’d twisted the bud, squeezing it until it throbbed. 

“Pay attention,” he commands, shoving your bra upward, freeing the globes of your breasts and cupping both of his broad hands under them. Your abused nipple stings and the mixture of sharp pain and jarring arousal goes right through you, stoking that coil that pulsed within your core, and sending a tacky flush of your essence down your spread thighs.

The next few words are a struggle. The text keeps blurring and your breaths are coming in fast and heavy. Shigaraki is still feeling you up, keeping his lips close to your ears, rasping sharp commands to you and dealing out lightning fast rounds of pinches and squeezes each time you falter. 

“I–I can’t… I don’t even know what I’m reading anymore,” you bemoan, your hips pressing against the edge of the table, legs trembling as you attempt to keep them apart. He’s deliberately ignoring your throbbing clit and a desperate edge is creeping into your voice. 

“Are you always this whiny? Fine. I’ll give you a moment to read without any distractions.”

Thank God.

True to his word, he slips away from your back and you’re left shivering against his sudden absence. Despite your quaking, you’re determined to make the most of this chance and you quickly read out the paragraphs that are on the second page. As you ramble down to the last bit of text, you realize you can’t hear him anymore and when you finish the last sentence; you start to really wonder where he’s drifted off to. A tense silence follows your completion of the material and you arch up on the tips of your toes, jutting your ass out and stretching the stiffened muscles of your lower back. 

“Didn’t say you could stop reading, and judging from all of your complaints, I don’t think you got some of those earlier concepts, so I’d suggest doing a quick review,” he taunts, the sudden rasp of his voice startling a low gasp from your lips. 

He’s close; somewhere behind you and to the left from the sound of it. You try to twist around, your chest lifting from the table, and when he notices, his hands return, creating a rough pressure against your neck as he forces your body back down. His weight plasters you to the surface, scraping your partially exposed stomach and tender breasts over the nicked wood. Shigaraki is merciless in his swift correction, his breath puffing out angrily behind you. “Didn’t say you could move, either.”

Stunned, you freeze. Your arms are arched awkwardly, but he keeps his weight against you, flattening your breasts and forcing your back to arch into an awkward bend. Fuck, you think, how are you supposed to stay like this? Your legs are already aching and if he shifts away again, he’s likely going to expect you to maintain this absurd pose.  

“Yes,” he groans, his voice catching against the word, “Good girl. Now, stay just like that.”

Damn it.

“Go on, read the first part again,” he instructs. 

“The entire genetic content of a cell is known as its genome and the study of genomes is gen-genomics. In eukaryotic cells, but… but not in p-prokaryotes, DNA forms a complex with histone proteins… with histone proteins… sub-substance… of…”

His teeth have latched onto your neck, and he’s sucking bruises into your tender skin. He’s still pinning you to the table, but his hands are widening their explorations. He’s started dragging a fingernail across the puffy folds of your cunt, teasing against the dripping and swollen flesh, chuckling when you buck against his hold. 

“You always seem to lose it when you get to cellular modulations.”  

“I–I–It’s not… I can’t help that you keep…” you whimper, your fingers curling under your palms, head shaking back and forth. You can’t think. He’s not being fucking fair, and you can’t even string your goddamn words together. Shit. “Y-you’re not being fair,” you accuse, falling on the only thing that keeps running through your mind, your splayed feet shifting uncomfortably under you.

“Not fair? Not once did I say fairness would come into this arrangement,” he lifts himself off of your back and leans beside you, one arm planted beside your crooked elbow. His fingers trace over the curve of your ass, cupping at the thickest part of you and squeezing. 

“But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get a little satisfaction out of this arrangement. I bet you look good when you cum. And you’ve been working so hard to get my attention these last few months. So careful to do what I tell you. Looking at me with those big eyes of yours, all wide eyed every time I catch you looking at me. And don’t even get me started on your lips. You’re lucky I didn’t fucking bend you over after class, especially when you started wearing all of those cute little skirts for me. Ahhh, don’t moan like that, I won’t be able to help myself if you do. Let’s see how you’re doing, shall we?” 

Without warning, he slips his longest digit into your cunt, groaning loudly when he’s sucked into your welcoming heat. Your pussy, hungry for any kind of scrap, ripples around his intrusion, clamping and pulling, desperate for more. 

“Fuck,” he groans, his weight falling against your shoulder. “You’re soaking.” His elegant digit pushes deeper and you roll your hips under him, urging him closer, sighing when he sinks to the last knuckle. As he pulls his finger back, he adds another, swiftly v-ing the two before curving them together as they slip back out, dragging a steady line of pleasure from your quivering cunt. Shigaraki whispers another round of awed praise against your ear, his voice dark and breathless. 

A third digit is added on another trip out, and it creates a ragged sensation within you. It’s close to what you like, but he’s stretching you too far and it’s starting to hurt. He either needs to speed up, or give you a little more pressure. If you can hump your clit against the edge of the table, maybe it’ll give you the friction that you need. When you mindlessly buck your hips, your thighs threatening to lose that spread, he stops, holding his fingers inside you, laughing as you agitatedly try to shift him back into his earlier rhythm.

“So eager. I’d say you’re ready for my questions.”

“W-what?” you gasp, wholly focused on making him restart the push and pull of his fingers inside you. 

“I’ll start you off with something easy. What’s the cell membrane?”

“W-what? The cell… ah–” 

“Answer me. Now,” he grunts, leaning forward, re-steadying you as his fingers pull outward, dragging against your sensitive folds and schlicking through your arousal lewdly, loudly. You moan and your eyes roll back, completely ignoring his demand as you fall into the haze of pleasure that comes after his movements. 

His free hand travels up your neck and he tangles his fingers into the tendrils of your hair, yanking and jerking at the strands, demanding your attention.  

“I said, answer me.”

“Shigaraki–I–fuck. I can’t even… ugh… think right now!”

“Do you want the grade, or not?” he questions, his voice tense. “Answer correctly and I’ll give you what you want.” 

“I–I don’t think I can,” you whine, pressing your hips back as he thrusts his fingers forward again, curving them upward, searching for the spongy pad of nerves that rest against the front of your pelvis. 

“Oh? What happened to wanting that A? What about your graduation? You gonna let me fuck up your entire college career? I can do it, you know. I’ve done it to so many simpering freshmen. I fail kids left and right and you’re no different, (Y/N). 

The university lets me ahh–there it is! God, you’re so fucking wet. 

Where was I? The university can’t say no to me; they let me do what I want. I bring in too much money, too many tempting grants, and that’s all they really care about. So what’s it gonna be? Let me see that you can answer this basic crap and I’ll pass you. Or would you like for me to tie you down and force it outta you another way?”

He’s picked up the pace of his fingers as he rambles over you and a swift press against that newly discovered spot inside you has you falling to pieces in his hands, popping up onto your tiptoes and rutting yourself against the surface of the table. “O-ok, God, ok! Just–fucking repeat the goddamn question,” you pant, head slumping forward, forcing his fingers to tighten against your hair to hold you upright. 

“What is the cell membrane?” 

You wince your eyes closed, trying to rack your brain to focus on something other than the heavy pressure of the three fingers that are teasing their way across your dribbling pussy. He’s moving his presses with a lackadaisical, inconsistent rhythm now and it’s hard to fucking think. You can’t tell if his next thrust will be hard, or soft, or so rough that it’s bordering on that bittersweet line of pain. 

You shake your head, doing your best to ignore the mounting pressure that he’s building inside you and the ache of your neck and legs. Finally, after another sharp tap against that secret bunch of nerves at the front of your cunt, you latch onto a vague remembrance. 

“It… it’s a double layer of–of phospholipids that make a boundary between the cell and t-the surrounding… ugh… it controls the passage of materials.”

“Very good. Elaborate on the cellular wall.”

He’s unrelenting in his domineering treatment, twisting and frigging his fingers each time your breath hitches, and your arousal is leaking down your legs, making your skin stick and pull. It’s too much, you can’t! How can he even ask this? Words are falling from your lips incoherently, and all too soon you’re gasping out his name rather than reciting the answer. 

“Cellular–oh, fuck, Shi–Shigaraki–Please, keep–don’t stop! S-Shigaraki, God that… feels… ah–keep going!”

He ignores your request and pulls his fingers away, robbing you of that sweet pressure that he’s so carefully mounted within you. 

“I’ll count that one as incorrect. Your ‘A’ is swiftly becoming an ‘A’ minus, (Y/N)” he snarls, his teeth gritted, hands falling to the swell of your hips, wet fingers digging into your soft skin. 

“What? No! You didn’t give me enough… e-enough time! How can–can you expect me to answer that qui-quickly!”

“Let’s try another.” 

It hurts. That ache that he’s drawn out of you is starting to sting and throb and he’s being such a dick about it! You twist and grind under him, and he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“I don’t–” you protest weakly, your legs trembling and chest heaving under his weight.  

“Do you want this? Wouldn’t you like to pass this class? To graduate with honors?” he growls, leaning closer, his hands braced against you, his fingers no doubt leaving bruises on the supple crest of your hips. 

“You’re such an ass! Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then answer another question. What’s diffusion?”

“D-diffu-diffusion is the process by which molecules move from an a-area of… of… fuck- of high concentration, to low concentration. Shigaraki!”

“I should count that as another miss, but you got the major concept correct.” He removes his fingers from your waist and yanks your ass toward him, keeping your overeager hips away from the fleeting relief of the sturdy table. “Pop your legs together,” he commands, one hand wrapping around your arched throat, squeezing until you obey. His other hand drops to that thatch of curls that rest between your quivering thighs and he gathers up your gossamer strands, rubbing against your clit for one hazy instant, sending a flash of spots across your vision.

“Mmm, now that’s a pretty sight. Good girl, don’t move,” he reminds you and you want to scream at him. Right before you can spit some frustrated vitriol out, he’s releasing your neck, his hands dropping from your skin and letting you fall back to the uneven surface below. Just before your chin contacts the wood, his hand is back in your hair, tugging you upward, holding you a few inches above the table. The sharp pain makes your scalp tingle and you unconsciously rut against the tempting heat that’s now plastered to your ass. He’s hard. You can feel the stiff bulge of his cock straining against the front of his dark jeans, pressing into the cleft of your posterior. 

“T-that’ can’t be comfortable,” you pant, twisting your head so you can look up at him from the curve of your shoulder.

“Oh? You worried about my cock?” he asks, his red eyes flashing down at you challengingly. You don’t bother giving him a verbal response, opting instead to grind your ass up, catching against the jut of his length, earning yourself a low groan. His lips curl when you repeat the motion and you realize you love watching that smug face of his drift into a look of tense pleasure. It makes his scar on his lip flush and those red eyes of his fall to a lazy half mast. He spies your arched brow and pleased grin and pushes himself off of you, leaving you alone and open on the table.   

“Keep pushing your luck. I’m more than happy to drop you back to a B.”

“What?” you scoff, teeth clinking together as you clench your jaw. “I didn’t move!”

“No, but you’re trying to take control of this and we can’t have that can we?” Shigaraki sneers. “Now, how shall I punish you?”

“P-punish me?” you stammer, a chill racing down your spine. 

“Ah, I know. This’ll really piss you off,” he twists from your strained gaze and walks back toward his desk. What? What the fuck does he mean? You can’t see him from this angle, not with the way your legs are stretched and back is lowered, but it doesn’t stop you from trying, your chin lifting upwards as you do your best to keep him in focus. 

Ugh. It’s no use. He’s slipped past your field of vision. 

Hearing is likely your best bet, so you shift your forehead back to the table and listen, straining your ears to pick up any morsel. Something opens and closes and you catch the sound of the wheels of his chair as they shift, squeaking across the floor, and the groaning of the springs when his weight is applied to the cheap leather. 

Okay, so he’s in his chair. Is he just gonna look at you? That’s not… wait… 

There’s a faint clicking sound. 

It’s both familiar and unfamiliar to your ears, but once the teeth slide over the last pull, you realize. It’s a zipper. 

Oh fuck. Is he going to jerk himself off? With a gasp, your head whips back around. He’s still positioned himself away from you, and you can only just make out the sounds that are accompanying the undoubted rise and fall of his fist. All you can see is a tiny sliver of his body, but you catch sight of the coiling muscles on his neck and you notice that his head is dipped forward, pearl white hair settling across the cut of his collarbone. The one red eye that meets yours is blazing and hungry, it makes every hair on the back of your neck stand up.  

God, he’s staring at you, watching you, getting himself off as you’re half naked and bent over a desk in his office, fully subjugating yourself to his whims and fancies for the sake of your grade. 

Damn it, (Y/N). This should not be a fucking turn on. You should be disgusted, but the flush of slick that drips down your thigh says otherwise. 

He lets out a choked moan, picking up the pace of his hand, letting you hear the click and slip of his palm as it strokes up and down his cock. A shiver echoes up your spine and your hips seem to have a mind of their own, grinding your clenched thighs over the dip of the table, easing the clenching pulsations that your cunt is shuddering through you.

“Look at you, so desperate for my touch that you’re humping the fucking table. Such a dirty girl, and so disobedient. You’ve only answered a few of my questions correctly and yet your slutty little mouth and body keep pushing at me. Making me put you in your place. Let me ask you something, why should I go out of my way to fix your grade when you can’t even prove to me you understand the simplest concepts? 

Ah, here’s a thought. What if I told you I’ll wave the other requirements; no more readings, no more quizzes, but I won’t let you cum? What if I just get myself off? You’re putting on a such a good show for me! Why should I bother with seeing that you’re satisfied when that table seems to do the job for you? Sound good? Or would you like for me to come back over there and make you cum?”

“I–I don’t… I don’t want…” You can’t get the words out, your tongue feels leaden between your lips and you can’t think of anything but the steady itch that’s spreading from your clit. 

“Speak up,” Shigaraki demands, slowing his jerking fingers. The chair he’s sitting in groans as he leans forward, and his eyes wide as they take in the delicious sight that’s propped before him. “You don’t want to cum? Is that it? You’d like for me to get myself off and leave you there?”

“No!” you cry out, your fingers digging into the scuffed wood of the table. “I-I want you to make me cum.”

There’s a sharp clatter and you jump at the abrupt noise. It must be the chair you think, your heart pounding against your chest, waiting for Shigaraki’s next move. He only lets a few seconds drift by before he presses himself back to you. He leans his broad chest over your back, the front of his legs pushing against the back of yours. His exposed length is wedged firmly against the cleft of your ass and its tempting hardness makes you squirm under him, but he’s propelling you forward, pinning you against the rough wood, and you can only flail uselessly under his control. His lips skim over your neck and he bites into your skin, sucking and licking bruises as he inches closer to your pulse.  

You say his name pitifully, wantonly, and he lets out a shaky gasp. Something about your tone has shifted something within him and you can feel his cock swelling, dripping a rope of wet pre-cum down your shaking leg. 

He leans away, removing his sticky hardness from your ass. “Seems your priorities have shifted. You’re a little preoccupied right now, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice gravel scraping against your overwhelmed senses. You let out a weak moan and he snaps into action, his fingers pushing under your flattened stomach and tugging against the fabric that he finds. He yanks you upward, pulling your shirt up as he goes. His palms dip under your half lifted bra, and he cups at your breasts, massaging the rounded bulbs and plucking at your peaked nipples. Your head lolls back, and he sucks at your earlobe again, his breath warm and rasping as it passes by. 

“Hold still,” he commands. 

It’s not an easy position, this stretched upward arch that he’s forced you into, but it’s worth it when you feel his cock pushing between your tensed legs. He doesn’t thrust into you, opting to run his weeping tip against your slippery folds, pressing until his bulbous head is twitching against your pulsing clit. 

Goddamn it, you think as he stills, his lips smacking open-mouthed kisses over your shoulder, it’s not enough. You wiggle your hips back and forth and he abruptly exerts a firm pressure against your windpipe, leaving you sputtering and gasping. “What’s wrong? Not happy with this? Do you think you deserve something more? Do you think you’ve earned that?” He shoves you back against the surface of the table, his broad chest following the plane of your back, trapping you under his heavy form. 

You’d replied, you know you must have, but you can’t hear yourself anymore, your attention attuned to the warm length that’s pressed against your shuddering folds. You’d likely thrown in a please for good measure because Shigaraki rewards you with a quick peck to your shivering neck and his thumb, swirling it around your clit, creating a cresting ache that leaves you mumbling incoherently, a thin line of drool slipping from your parted lips. As he keeps that faint osculation up, your fingernails scrape over the wood of the table, your feet lifting you onto your toes, curving your back, and shoving your leaking pussy into his open palm. 

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” Shigaraki says, a breathy desperation lingering around the edges of his rasping voice. “But it’s just not enough, right?” 

You nod, licking up some of the excess saliva that’s built under your heavy tongue and crane your head back at him. His eyes are the first thing you see. They’re wild, ravenous and glinting with a roughness that makes you whisper out a soft whine. Fuck. It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re not supposed to want him this badly. Goddamn it. Now that he’s caught your gaze, he won’t let you look away, and he presses himself closer, his cock twitching and warm, the tip rubbing back and forth, keeping time with his circling thumb.

“You gonna fuck me, or not?” you finally ask, unsticking your lips and smirking up at his hardened face. 

“Tch. Don’t rush me,” he grumbles, removing his hand and teasing cock from your cunt, watching as your body convulses under him, your pussy quivering against the excess stimulation that he’s wrought over you. Your thighs burn, aching to break free from his control, to rub against that throb, that tingling that keeps shuddering outward.

“One more question,” he tells you, lifting his dripping thumb to his lips and sucking off the traces of your arousal. The sight of him licking his pink tongue over his gleaming knuckles almost makes you lose your balance, your arms shaking precariously under you. 

“A-another? Come on,” you pout, your eyes following the curve of his wicked lips, watching as his scar quirks upward, amused by your useless defiance. 

“Make you a deal, answer it correctly and I’ll give you my cock. Sound fair?”

“Ugh, whatever, just hurry up,” you snap, so impatient and turned on that you can hardly think. 

The tip of his cock presses against your sopping entrance, pushing forward just enough to part your dripping folds but stopping before he clears that first, tight ring of flesh. The promise of his dribbling tip makes you lose any semblance of self-control. You thrash under him, but he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“No! Don’t stop! Come on Sh-Shigaraki–Don’t be such a fucking–ah–” 

“Do you want this? Do you want my cock?” he growls, leaning over you, his fingers squeezing down, no doubt leaving bruises in the supple crest of your hips. 

“Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then you better answer. What are cytosines?”

“They… they’re n-nitrogenous base… fuck… base that pair… that pair with guanine during D-DNA replication… I–please, please, Shigaraki! Fuck me! I want your cock! Fuck me, fuck me!”

Thankfully, he either takes pity on you, or can’t control himself anymore, his hips surging forward, gliding his thick length into your cunt and snarling at the mind numbing heat that waits for him. He keeps driving upward until he bottoms out, sharp hipbones grinding against the plushness of your ass. 

He’s not gentle with you, no he’s animalistic and raw, his thrusts papping into you with a terrifying strength. You would have liked something slower, something that lets you enjoy each imperfection and dip that raced along his cock, but this, oh, this is an exception because this is perfect. It’s not what you want, but it is what you need. 

The heavy fullness that he’s stuffing you with leaves you breathless, but you somehow manage to gasp out a string of nonsensical praises each time he drives back into you, overwrought by his roughness. 

This coupling isn’t kind, isn’t right, and is not healthy, for either of you. No, not with the way he’s using your shivering body, distracted with slacking that euphoric thrum that’s making his cock pulse and swell inside you.

But fuck it feels good and you can’t help but tremble with delight. These intoxicating thrusts of his ram him up against something that’s buried deep inside you, and each time he hits it another star of bright pleasure races through you. The familiar coiling of release is steadily mounting with each rapid fire rut he gives you and if he could just, ah, there’s something that’s… no, fuck, it’s, it’s not going to work. It feels good, but it’s missing one vital ingredient, one thing that he’s neglected to pay attention to, to notice. 

Your clit needs to be tweaked and rolled, and right now it’s pulsing away against the table, beating a sad tattoo into the grainy wood. Oh well, you think, head fuzzy, lost in the euphoria of his powerful cants, grinding your ass into his hips as he digs into another teeth chattering thrust. He’ll likely finish soon, and you’ll probably need to get yourself off later. It’s not something new, and it’s not like he’s going to care enough to focus on that, on you. This whole thing has been about control, so there’s likely no room for your own pleasure.

“What’s wrong,” he gasps out, his fingers lifting from your hips to curl beside your turned head. 

“What? N-nothing–I–” you pant, eyes rolling back as he hits that spongy patch of nerves again. 

“Tch. Hold on,” he interrupts, his voice rasping and breathy. He pulls himself out of you with a grunt and yanks you upward, hauling you onto the tabletop and flipping you on your back, bending your stiffened legs and bracing your knees against his lean forearms. 

He holds you apart, spreading you open with his powerful hands. You can see him properly now, and the sight makes your breath catch against the back of your throat. Fuck, he looks good. 

His long white hair is draped across his bare shoulders and his eyes are blazing pits of hunger, devouring the sight of you with those red irises. His jaw is clenched, and he glares down at you from his imperious height, his nostrils flaring as he drags in a quick intake of air. To your shock, he gives you a little time to acclimate to this new position, opting to languidly step forward, letting his slippery cock head press and tease at the dip of your opening. But right when you think he’ll move again, he stops, his eyes roving over the lines of your face. 

His sudden stillness makes you peer quizzically up at him and you scoot closer, your feet lifting from the table. The movement snaps him out of his stupor and he grabs your ankles, roughly pinning you back down.

“Keep still,” he snarls through clenched teeth, that scar of his lifting. 

You nod mutely and he rewards your unquestioning obedience with another powerful thrust, sinking his swollen cock back into your waiting cunt. He lets out a sharp groan and grabs at your hips, jerking you forward, already drifting back into that all-consuming rhythm he’d started earlier. His ruts are a little slower from this angle but, in no time at all, that familiar ache pools in your core, stoking and building at an alarming rate. The driving force of his hips soon has you blinking back spots and distant stars, and this time he adds the all important pressure of his thumb, circling the finger pad over your clit and dragging a broken moan from your quivering lips. 

“So that’s what you needed. You close?” he grits out, his lips set in a curled scowl. He’s lost some of that early control, his hips stuttering as they connect with yours, his power lessening, cooling, as he looks for your release. 

“I–I think–oh fuck, do that again. Yes! Just–ah!”

He angles your hips upward and gives your clit another quick oscillation, pressing down until you’re gasping. “There you go. That felt good. You’re getting tighter,” he laughs, looming over you, shoving your heaving chest downward as he jerks your hips into him, forcing your body to do most of the motion, making your shoulder blades scrape across the uneven wood. “Cum for me. Fucking cum on my cock, (Y/N). Cum and I’ll give you your A, I’ll give you whatever the fuck you want.”

Your spine arches as you break around him, your cunt greedily pulling him deeper, slipping him past the barrier of your tender cervix and earning you a weak shout of praise from Shigaraki. Seconds later, he’s pulsing and twitching against your walls, the warm pooling of his cum filling you up and spilling down your spread thighs. 

His head drops to your shoulder and the rough skin of his forehead sticks to your sweat dampened flesh. For a long moment you’re both still, each of you struggling to catch your breath, luxuriating in the tingling sensation of release. 

“I fucking hate you, you know,” you gasp out, your arms circling his back, fingertips etching vague patterns over his neck and shoulders. 

“Ha,” he snorts, “I’ll have to remember that. Don’t worry (Y/N), I’ll pay you back for that little remark next time.”

“Oh? Next time?” you chuckle, moaning as he twists out of your hold and pulls his softening length out of you. 

“I’ll fail you on every assignment if you try to keep away,” he threatens, his eyes falling to the gaping mess that he’s left behind. You cross your legs, denying him the satisfaction of leering at your dripping pussy. 

“Fine. But next time, fuck me on something softer than a damn table.”

tags: @spicy-skull​, @xwildskullx​, @yixxes​, @ghstmthr​, @rekoii​, @diaouranask​, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love​, @libiraki​ <--- i’m coming for you. you’re gonna have to read for this, lady. so, uh, i’m officially noneconing you here. 

notes: you made it! this thing is a monster & i’m so sorry i can never stfu

[ptergwen]

through the lens

w/c: 2.3k

warnings: swearing and mentions of blood (all fluff tho!)

summary: yours and peter’s date night doesn’t go as planned, thanks to his “little” accident and mj’s photography project

a/n: it’s been a minute but i’m back! for now lol i promise i’ll be way more active when exam season is over <3 this was based off the lovely pic above taken by the even lovelier zendaya and i hope you enjoy these… let’s call it random workings of my mind

-

“hang on, can you come closer?” mj instructs you, you promptly stepping towards her. “is this good?” “great,” she affirms and squints behind the camera. “smile really big on the count of three, okay? one, two, three!” doing as she says, you give mj your cheesiest grin with your eyes squeezed shut and all. she snickers while snapping the moment on her polaroid.

mj asked you to be her subject for a photography project. you’re happy to do it, although it’s super last minute. like, barging-into-your-room-and-begging-you-for-help last minute. she was supposed to turn this in days ago. lucky for mj, her teacher was feeling generous and gave her an extension.

you have to work fast because of mj’s deadline and your plans with peter. he’s coming over for a movie marathon and cuddles right about now. well, he’s actually running a tad bit late. that’s typical peter for you.

“just a couple more, and then you’re free,” mj informs you while shaking out the polaroid. “this is honestly pretty fun, you know.” you glance at the photo she’s holding with an eyebrow quirked in surprise. she captures you well. “what made you choose me?” “no one else was free on a saturday,” she snorts and tosses the picture in a pile with the rest.

your mouth falls agape. “i’m not free! peter’s gonna be here in…” you check the time on your phone, much to your dismay. “he’s a few minutes late, but still. i have things to do, too.” a smirk sets on mj’s face as she gets ready for the next photograph. “relax, y/n/n. i was kidding. i’m sure spider-dweeb will be here sooner than you know it.” sighing lightheartedly, you take a seat on your bed.

“don’t call him that,” you shake your head. mj throws her own head back to the ceiling. “ugh, but that was a good one,” she insists, you only humming. “it’s better than penis parker, at least.” “nah, i like the alliteration,” you laugh out and earn a giggle from mj. “you’re lucky parker doesn’t have super hearing, or does he?” winking, you hit a pose for mj. you’re looking at her over your shoulder with smolder eyes.

“ask him yourself, after you get this shot.”

the two of you continue messing around with her polaroid until the film is almost gone, and peter has yet to arrive. you’re starting to worry. you aren’t sure where he could be.

he doesn’t patrol on weekends unless it’s an emergency, and he would’ve told you if there was one already. he’s never this late without sending a text, either. it’s almost an hour past when date night should’ve started. on the other occasions peter has gone off the grid, they didn’t end well.

“i’m freaking out, em. do you think he’s in some kind of trouble?” you ask mj, pacing around your bedroom. she offers a sympathetic shrug. “maybe he just ate some bad yogurt. remember last time?” being the dummy he is, peter once scarfed down an entire tub of vanilla yogurt before he realized it was expired. no one heard from him for days. he didn’t show up to school or answer any calls.

may ended up inviting you over and explaining he’d gotten a stomach bug, which you then tended to him for the rest of. the story was so amusing, and so peter.

“may doesn’t buy him dairy anymore. why do you think he always raids your freezer?” you bring your fingers up to rub your temples. “the kid can empty ice cream cartons in one bite,” she agrees, silently cringing. her curiosity piques at the fact. “is that also a power?” “who cares?” you nearly shout, your fingers curling into fists. “what i wanna know is if peter is fucking okay.”

on cue, there’s a knock at your apartment door. you and mj exchange looks of urgency, both rushing out of your room to answer.

mj follows you through the hall and stands by your side while you fumble with the lock. when your door pulls open, ned has his hand raised to knock again. “ned? what are you doing here?” you don’t give him the chance to speak. “have you heard from peter? he was supposed to be here a while ago, but he never showed.” rather than answering in words, ned takes a step aside.

the sight you’re met with makes you gasp. peter peeks out from behind him, cuts and bruises littering his flushed face. he gives you a lopsided smile.

“you have your answer,” mj murmurs to you and eyes ned curiously. he lets out a nervous chuckle. “here he is.” you push past ned and practically jump into peter’s arms, your hug bone-crushing. “peter, oh my god! are you okay?” wincing, peter hugs you back by your waist. his chin rests carefully on your head.

“hey… i’m alright, baby. still pretty sore, though,” he sucks his lower lip between his teeth. you take the hint to loosen your grip on him. “i was worried something bad might’ve happened to you. i… i guess i was right.” your tone softens, you threading a hand in his curls. they’re completely disheveled from whatever went down with him.

ned heads inside to catch up with mj, the two of them letting you have a moment alone.

“someone’s got a spidey sense of their own, huh?” peter tries to lighten the mood by joking. it doesn’t work, a frown still evident on your face as you try to untangle his once soft locks. “baby, everything’s fine. i just… had a little accident is all. no big deal,” he reassures you and moves in to peck your lips. you’re so shocked that you dodge the kiss.

“little? your whole face is black and blue, pete!” you tug on the white collar of his button up, peter letting out a shaky breath. your other hand comes to rest on his cheek, touch gentle. “how’d you get like this?” he licks across his lips shyly and sets his hands on your hips. “see, on the way over there were these bad guys who-“

“no there weren’t,” ned cuts in, scoffing at the beginning of his friend’s story. peter shoots him a warning look over your head. “yes there were, ned. you weren’t even there!” he catches mj glaring at him before he continues. “don’t listen to him. anyway, i had to fight them because…” when he trails off, you stroke your thumb across his cheek, avoiding any wounds in the way. raising both eyebrows, mj speaks up.

“because why? go on, parker. i’m intrigued,” she encourages him. everyone can tell peter is lying except you. the question really is, what’s he lying about? he gulps down his spit, pulling your body against his for comfort. “take your time, peter. we can wait,” you say only for him to hear. his love filled eyes meet yours, and he nods. ned huffs at the dramatics unfolding before him.

“dude, you’re making this way worse than it actually is. just tell her!” he demands, mj cocking her head to the side. peter’s gaze flits between the two of them. “tell me what?” you wonder softly and tilt his chin, willing him to look at you again. “i… i…” peter’s shoulders slump, his voice lowering in defeat. “there weren’t any bad guys.”

“of course there weren’t,” ned confirms. “no shit,” mj adds. exhaling, you wait for your boyfriend to further elaborate. “what really happened, then? be honest, pete.” peter lets go of you so he can come into your apartment properly, you shutting the door behind him. he scratches the back of his neck as he fills you in. “ok. um, me and ned were hanging out.”

ned is attempting to stifle a laugh for some reason, which mj elbows him for. you take one of peter’s hands. “yeah?” “we were at my place, and… you know those really slippery steps on the sixth floor?” peter pauses for someone to answer, playing with your fingers. “the ones flash almost wiped out on once?” mj questions in amusement. he lets a quiet chuckle out. “good times. yeah, those.”

his gaze averts to the ground, you listening on. “so, i was walking ned out on my way over. we were talking about spidey stuff-“ “as per usual,” mj mumbles to herself. ned raises his hands in defense. “—and i told ned i could always stick my landings. he didn’t believe me.” you playfully roll your eyes, seeing where this is going. “so… i, uh, decided to show him,” peter finishes off.

“i did a, um, backflip. tripped and fell down the flight of stairs,” he finally admits to you, putting his other hand on top of your intertwined ones. “clearly, i was wrong.” his bloody face is now red from humiliation. “you didn’t trip, dude. you freaking summersaulted!” ned corrects him and bursts into laughter he’s been holding back. “idiots, both of you,” mj simply remarks.

“that’s it? why didn’t you just say that?” you almost laugh yourself. groaning, peter rests his forehead against yours. “because it’s embarrassing! i wanted you to think i’m a tough guy or whatever.” placing both hands on his cheeks this time, you nuzzle your nose against his. “you don’t have to be a tough guy to impress me, babes. you’re kind, smart, funny. makes up for you being such a klutz.”

peter cracks a grin, easily capturing your lips in the kiss he didn’t get to before. it doesn’t last long because mj gags and ned whistles at you. you’re both giggling when you pull apart, peter kissing the tip of your nose for good measure.

“you really mean that?” he checks, tucking back a strand of hair from your face. “of course. i have a thing for himbos,” you tease and poke at his bare chest. his eyes widen. “how about i get you some ice and you find our first movie?” you’re already off to the kitchen, beaming at peter. “date night’s still on?” he happily plops down on your couch, mj showing ned her pictures from earlier.

“as soon as those two get out of here,” you call loudly enough so ned and mj hear you. “yeah, yeah. we’re leaving,” mj deadpans, shoving the photos back into her portfolio. peter glances over at it curiously. “what’s that for?” “photography project,” she says and gets an idea. “i have some film left. y/n took up most of it… you losers want the rest?”

while mj coerces her way to a higher grade, you put some popcorn in the microwave for your movie marathon.

“well, i could use a new lockscreen. i’m in!” ned quickly concedes. him and mj both give peter hopeful looks. “i’m not!” he protests, squishing one of your pillows against his chest. “with my face looking like… this? forget about it.” mj walks over to him and places her portfolio on the coffee table. “what? those gashes are gnarly… in a good way, i mean,” she promises.

“painful, too,” peter murmurs. “y/n, hurry up with that ice!” mj demands, grabbing the polaroid camera from its string around her neck. you wave her off. “what i’m saying is, they’ll look sick in my portfolio.” mj forces a smile, ned looking at her weirdly. “uh, what’s the theme of your project again?” “freestyle, baby,” mj casually replies.

peter comes up with a condition that could persuade him. “if you say please, i might consider it,” he concludes, mj perking up. “please be in my project. pretty please?” she instantly requests, ned pursing his lips from behind her. peter rubs his chin. “y/n, what do you think? should i?” you pipe in from the kitchen. “yeah, so she’ll leave my house.”

“you heard the lady. i’ll do it,” peter gives in. all but squealing, mj gestures for ned to sit. “this’ll only take a few minutes. you guys are really saving my ass.” ned gets comfortable next to peter on the couch, who wants to see how far mj will really go. “aw, we are? i believe that calls for a…” ned catches on. “it comes after please…” mj picks up her camera with gritted teeth. “thank you, morons. say cheese!”

that’s the only warning peter and ned get before they’re blinded with the flash. ned does a toothy grin as he leans into peter’s side. peter musters up the best smile he can, hair a mess and cuts burning pink on his face. satisfied, mj snatches the photograph as it pops out.

“pleasure doing business with you two,” she states, you joining the three of them in the living room. you set the popcorn on the table and give peter his ice pack. he presses it to his cheek, kissing the back of your hand. “send me that!” ned reminds mj, helping himself to your bowl of popcorn. she salutes him.

“there’s my star. what do you say, y/n? wanna take one more really quick?” mj suggests, already holding up her polaroid. you take the other cushion next to peter, your head on his shoulder. “can peter be in it with me? since he’s in the modeling mood tonight.” he wraps an arm tightly around you. “let’s do it, sweetness.”

eagerly jumping in front of you two, mj crouches down to get a better angle. “on the count of three. one, two, three!” the camera clicks, and you surprise peter by laying a smooch on one of his cheeks. he’s holding the ice against his other, genuinely smiling for this picture. ned coos at you, mj showing off her work when it dries.

“how adorable,” she says sarcastically but means it. peter nods at her in appreciation, his lips brushing the side of your head. “what can i say, you’re a pro,” you compliment mj. “come on, em!” ned cheers through a mouthful of popcorn.

tonight was an unexpected and exciting mess, even if your date night did get crashed.

[a-friendly-fangirl]

My thoughts on Sex Education, season 3.

⚠️⚠️⚠️SPOILERS⚠️⚠️⚠️

First of all, please try to remember that this is just my opinion. I'm nobody to judge whether the season was good or bad and I don't mean to hurt anyone.

With that being said, I'd like to begin by admitting that I liked these 8 episodes overall... but there were so many things that felt wrong to me.

I loved Jean's journey during her pregnancy and the way she tried to take care of everyone at the same time (although I kind of disliked Jakob for some things he said).

I loved Aimee and her desire to heal after the assault. The way she really wants to make her voice be heard was heartwarming and inspiring to me. Plus, her friendship with Maeve is one of the most beautiful I've ever watched (about this, I'll say something later on).

I loved Viv and her ambition that slowly became less important than her peers and their rights. She really wanted them to be happy in the end. I think that she didn't really understand how bad things with Hope were until the trip to France. And she redeemed herself in a great way.

I loved Lily and her journey towards acceptance of herself, even when others thought she was weird and silly. It was empowering seeing her so confident in the end.

I loved Adam's growth. It taught that even the most simple of passions can turn into something meaningful and that, no matter how bad you are, you can change.

Above all, I loved Maeve finally getting the chance to do something amazing for herself for once.

All of these things were wonderful, truly. But so many others I didn't like and I couldn't really understand as narrative choices.

Let me begin with the one I found the most annoying: Isaac's fake redemption arc. I know what you might say: "Of course you hate it! You ship Maeve and Otis!". Well, yes, I do. But it's not all about that. I might be exaggerating... but Isaac deleting Otis' message was beyond disrespectful to me. If you remember, at the beginning of the second season, Isaac was really mean to Maeve... but he had the opportunity to redeem himself. He had the chance to say he was sorry and to be a better person to her, even though he had been around for so little time. However, when it came to Otis to have the same opportunity, he decided that he wasn't worth it. Isaac, who didn't really know Otis, took away from him the chance to at least say that he was truly sorry for being such an ass to Maeve. But, what feels even worse to me is that he took away even Maeve's possibility to decide. We don't know how it would have gone, if Maeve had listen to what Otis had to say. Maybe she would have forgiven him. Maybe she would have still chosen Isaac, because Otis hurt her too much. Who knows what might have been? No one. And why? Because Isaac decided for everyone. And I don't care if he thought he was protecting Maeve or if he was angry. It. Was. Not. His. Choice. To. Make.

Also, I didn't really understand why Maeve wasn't as mad as I was with him. Sure, she stopped talking to him for a couple of days. But the moment she started to speak with him again, they hooked up. Too fast, too soon, in my opinion. He apologised? Sure. But so did Otis. And he didn't get to be so easily forgiven.

But let's move to the another point I have a lot to say about: Otis and Ruby. I really liked them together. I found them cute and funny. But still... Ruby struggled for real to accept Otis for who he is. And Otis acted the way she wanted to keep her close. For example, he shaved off his moustache for her. Now, most of the fandom hated that moustache... but again, Otis seemed to care a great deal for it. He kept repeating that he spent months growing it. But Ruby didn't like it. And he sacrificed something he was proud of for her. But okay, a lot of people would do something like that for their loved ones. But then he had to dress like her friends to fit in. To be fair, Ruby gave up that idea pretty soon... but she just reacted to Otis refusing to do it. If I had to make a comparison between her and another love interest (not Maeve, 'cause I'd be biased), I'd choose Ola, of course. She was putting pressure on him in other ways, but she never wanted him to be any different than who he was. Love, after all, means acceptance. And perhaps Ruby loved Otis for he saw the hardest part of her life, without judging her. I wish it could have been the same for him.

About this, I've noticed many people being disappointed in Otis not saying he loved her too, because it means that he was just using her. Well... no? I mean, he was the first one to admit that, if she was willing to give him more time, he might have learned to love her. Should he have made it clear to her earlier in the relationship? Sure! Can we condemn him for not feeling the same? Absolutely not! Feelings can't be forced. And I'm also sure that he thought he was done for good with Maeve. He suffocated the love he had for her so much that the clinic made him sick and that he admitted his feelings only when pressured by Maeve herself.

In conclusion, I think that Otis and Ruby might have had a wonderful friendship, if they were only given the chance. They have that kind of chemistry.

Talking about people who are better off as friends: in my opinion, that's all Maeve and Aimee will ever be. I honestly can't see anything romantic in them. The purity of their friendship means so much to me and it's, at least for me, so different from the "Friends who are more than friends" energy. We're so lucky to have such wonderful actresses to play these characters... and what I see in their gestures and glances tells me of a great friendship. They're so different from Emily and Sue in Dickinson (they're supposed to be just friends, but they're clearly not) or even Judy and Jen in Dead To Me (another pair of friends that can be ambiguous with each other).

Moving to another couple, whose development I didn't understand: Adam and Eric. I'm not a great fan of their relationship. I like them both as individuals. But the bully-victim dynamic they used to have wasn't the best one to start a relationship with. I could see the appeal though. So much that, I was truly happy for them, when they said their first I love you's. And every step Adam made in the right direction made me smile, since that it took him a long time to grow up. Eric seemed happy with him too. Until he went to Nigeria. I sincerely loved the whole trip... but something felt wrong in him founding what he truly wanted there, where he couldn't even tell his family he had a boyfriend. The scene in the taxi gave me chills. I felt the risk he was taking by going with a stranger to a gay club. A stranger that he kissed almost out of nowhere (whether it was the heat of the moment or Adam not replying to him, I'm not sure). It's the second time he cheats on his boyfriend. And I think Eric deserves far better as a character.

My question about this whole drama is: "How come Eric found out that he wanted to be free in Nigeria and not in England?". If it's true that going to the club made him realise he wanted to be among people like him, it makes the whole situation even more absurd. Because there are plenty of gay bars and clubs in England. Why not go to one of them? My theory is that they wanted to build a good romance with Adam, then build tension between them and in us and end the whole thing with their breakup (probably to make Adam fall in love with Rahim).

I swear I'm almost done. I want to discuss one last topic with you all.

Maeve going to America like that felt so rushed. It's probably another strategy to make us want to see more of the show. And it surely worked. But still, it has, at least for how they developed it, nothing to do with Maeve maturing. The idea itself was amazing. I loved her getting the opportunity of a lifetime. But she literally decides to go the evening before (which is not even realistic. In real life, you have a deadline until which you can pay to go wherever you want. If you don't, your place is given to someone else), after getting the money from her mother. Now, where does that money come from? She might as well have stolen it, since she didn't have it before. In my opinion, this part of the story could have gone differently with little effort and the same outcome. How? Well, since that basically everyone thought she deserved to go to America, why couldn't have her classmates and teachers organised a fundraiser? Even in secret, so that she couldn't get angry for their "charity". It would have been so much better and so wholesome to see everyone in that school give a little sum for her, even to thank her for the help they got from the clinic.

Anyway, I'm so sorry for talking so much, but this season didn't go as expected and I truly needed to vent :P.

Thank you for listening❤

[ghostfishys]

Are fishes really scared of the ghosts?

warning : Kokomi x Hu Tao in a high school AU, fluff so fluffy, enemies to lovers??, Hu tao is kind of mean here

     This is Kokomi’s first day of her new high school and she unfortunately, already got lost. “What the fuck.” Kokomi thought. The hallway is full of different types of people, and so many people. It’s overwhelming her. “Got lost in this place. Energy -2” she wrote down in her mind. She quickly takes a peek at her schedule in her phone. ‘Poetry class’, her least favorite class. Mostly because she hates creating poems. To be honest, she loves poems but there’s something… annoying about creating them that she can’t exactly point it out...

     “Hi.” Kokomi flinched hard. “Hehe sorry. Did I scare you?” A strange student dressed in a particular strange uniform commented. “My name is Hu Tao! You’re blocking my locker. Can you move a bit?” The strange girl or what she calls herself, ‘Hu Tao’ signals to her locker. Kokomi starts to panic and runs away. “Hey wait up! I haven’t got your name yet!” the strange girl yelled in an attempt to stop her.

     Kokomi stops in her track after losing Hu Tao. She sighed. First day and I’m probably already labeled as a strange kid. “That ghost girl...” she mumbled. The school bell rang and Kokomi has yet to find her first class, poetry. She looked up in defeat only to find the poetry class right in front of her. “So, all this time of finding… It was here all along?!” She mumbled to herself and stood up to enter the class. She may be a bit early but the class is already filled with so many people.

     “Ah, Kokomi. I’m glad you found your way here.” The teacher in front commented yet no one seems to pay their mind to her. “Quiet down class. We have a new student.” She declared loudly then later everyone is staring at her intently. Whispers spread across the room, so loud that you can hear it but so quiet that you can’t make any sense out of it. Kokomi looks around the room and noticed this particular girl. She was the girl earlier. Hu Tao, was it? She gasped quietly. “Why don’t you introduce yourself a bit?” the teacher commented. “Oh! Alright.” She inhaled sharply before announcing her name.

     “My name is Sangonomiya Kokomi or just call me Kokomi. I like fishes and astronomy. Uhm… Let’s all be friends!” Hu Tao stares right into her eyes the whole time, seems like she got distracted by something. Kokomi looks behind her to find out what the ghost girl is so intrigued about to find absolutely nothing but a blackboard. Kokomi looks back at her to find Hu Tao slightly smirking while making eye contact with her. “Alright, you can sit next to Hu Tao. The girl in red sweaters at the back.” ‘Shit. Why her.’

     Minutes passed by that felt like days or even years. No one has said anything yet. ‘Sat next to the ghost girl. Energy -3’ Kokomi wrote down in her book. “also got scared by her earlier. Energy -2” “Got lost in this new place. Energy -2” “Finally found the class but I walked passed it. Energy -0 but disappointment +100”

     “Your work for today will be to write a poem about the person next to you! The deadline is in 30 minutes and we will read them in front of the class later.” Kokomi’s nightmare came true. She looked at Hu Tao in defeat. “I wonder…” Hu Tao starts but cuts herself off. “What’s your name again?” she asked giggling. “Kokomi. It’s Kokomi.” Kokomi stated. “Hehehe” the ghost girl giggled quietly but loud enough that kokomi can hear her. ‘What is she planning to do now…”

     30 minutes passed by like 3 seconds. It was time to read our poems aloud. ‘I hope I’m not the first person to do it’ she thought but her thoughts were quickly interrupted by her teacher. “Kokomi, how about you go first?”

Fast as a mouse

And quiet as a ghost

‘My name is Hu Tao!’

Said the ghost in her red coat

     “That was amazing, Kokomi- Hey Hu Tao! Mind sharing everyone about what you’re laughing about?” “Ehhhh? You really just called me ‘The ghost girl’… but I don’t mind it actually, since fishes are scared of the dark and ghosts lives in the dark..” Hu Tao teased. Everyone laughed along with her, Kokomi’s face heats up out of embarrassment as she ran back to my seat. The fish gave her a sharp glare.  

     “Not all fishes are scared of the dark you know…” “you’re scared of me though. Is there a reason behind it?” ‘come to think of it I don’t have a good enough reason to be scared of her all along… Why am I so scared of her?’ Hu Tao scribbled something down on her paper. “Settle down everyone! Hu Tao why don’t you read your poems aloud.” “Sure” Hu Tao winks at her before walking up to the class.

When I first met you,

You blocked my heart

Oh, but who knew

That you would strike me apart

‘Ghost girl’

Is what the fish calls me

She glared as my heart swirls

No one else could be oblivious as she

      Everyone clapped and cheered loudly. Is she the popular girl? I wonder. Hu Tao stared directly at her but this time kokomi stares back and it became a staring contest as they wait for everyone to settle down. ‘That sounded like a love confession poem… weird.’ Kokomi rolled her eyes as Hu Tao came back to sit. Hu tao opened her mouth to speak while Kokomi quietly prayed and prepared for the worst. 

     “Hey. Sorry about making that weird joke earlier. I didn’t know that you’d be upset. I’ll make it up to you during today’s lunch, how about that?” Kokomi looks at her in shock. “I won’t take no as an answer though.” Hu Tao slightly smirks. “Sure, whatever you say… ghost girl” “Alrighty then fishy”

 Maybe fishes aren’t scared of the dark after all

[eunoiamaybe]

my “sort-of-complete” online classes and exams tips

This is a longer-than-usual post with tips for the 3 stages of online classes: focusing during an online class session, reviewing/studying for online classes, and preparing for online exams/ quizzes. So I decided to insert the “Read More” link to (a) not take up too much space on your dash, and (b) feel more confident in adding more tips as time goes on.

These are tips that I’ve compiled from my experience of taking online classes during my last 1.5 years at university. But having all of your courses moved online is so much more complicated. Since I’m currently doing an internship, I have tried my best to produce this post based on the comments of my friends IRL and on Tumblr (hence the “my”). However, I hope it can still be useful for you and many who were all abruptly put in this same situation.

So feel free to share your own tips and experience! I will probably go back to this once in a while to make some changes to it and add your tips. Good luck to everyone who is currently/ about to take online classes. You are almost there! 🍀 I believe in every single one of you!

~  Click away for them tips   ~

💻 DURING ONLINE CLASS SESSIONS:

- try to treat online classes the same as an in-person class, especially time-wise (set a specific time for each class and plan your own class schedule. even better, study for your classes at the same time they used to be held. this will create a sense of routine and trigger the brain's normal reactions to your usual class - which is to study)

- don’t be afraid to fix your plan/ schedule (aka don’t force yourself into one if it doesn’t work for you) (trials and errors, my friend. this applies to plans too. there’s no shame in not being able to keep up with the schedule you’ve made. if you’ve tried or if it hurts you mentally or physically, then that schedule is just not the one for you. everybody has their unique strengths and weaknesses. one’s perfect system might not suit another. finding a system that works for you takes time, patience, and courage. but it will be absolutely worth it)

- find a good spot with enough light and stable wifi (if you have multiple options, select the one that would make you most comfortable, most focused, and confident enough to take online tests/quizzes/exams at - create your “exam space” in advance to reduce the anxiety of tests and unfamiliarity)

- study at a desk, if possible (studying at a desk, with good posture, mimics the feeling of being in a classroom or the library. thus, it will create a sense of routine and help you focus better)  

- accommodate yourself (I’m all about making the best out of a bad situation, and this is one way to do it.  accommodate yourself, not just with comfort, but also with actual necessities that you cannot usually get in your usual classroom/library due to whatever reason. stress balls, stim toys, positivity cards, calming music/candles. comforting plushies. chewing gum. as long as it helps you focus better, it's on the table)

- get dressed (this will bring out that sense of structure and routine that you need. put on your normal outfits, uniforms and even perfume. trick your mind into being focused)

- minimize distractions (declutter your study space. put your phone out of reach. turn off notifications. close all other tabs on your browser. select non-distracting music/ sounds. don’t spam or pay attention to spams in your classes’ chatboxes. only bring along items that are absolutely vital to your focus)

- take notes, even if you can record your lessons and/or access the lessons later (it can either be digital notes or handwritten notes on paper - your call. this will force you to focus and prevent you from zoning out/ being distracted)

- be actively engaged in the lecture (if there are technical problems or if you have questions, chatbox away. this is also good practice for people with social anxiety too: the fact that you are in your home and behind the screen can make it easier for you to ask for help)

- if possible, put your teachers/profs on the big screen to create the illusion of being in a lecture (if your study spot has a TV/projector that can connect to your laptop and quality speakers, do it. it's more fun than you'd think. also super stimulating and kicks the boredom out of you too)

- if not, use headphones/ earphones (speakers can create a feeling of distance between the lecture and yourself. combined with unstable internet and/or monotonous voices of some instructors, this may result in your brain classifying your lecture as background noises and zone out. so use headphones or earphones with the appropriate volume for that optimal focus mode)

- give yourself breaks between classes (don't cram all your classes in one morning. but don't procrastinate either. time your breaks. look at something else besides a computer or phone screen while you’re on break too. maybe brew some tea/coffee for your next class or rearrange your notes from the previous one)

💻 REVIEWING FOR ONLINE CLASSES:

- make a schedule/ system - and be ready to change them (this is an elaboration of an earlier tip. your system doesn’t have to work perfectly right away. most of the time, you will have to make some kind of adjustments to it anyway. so take it easy. pay attention to how well you react/ adapt to the new schedule so that you can make necessary changes. and give yourself - especially your mind - some time to adapt to the schedule. don’t rush yourself or put too much pressure on being productive. remember to take care of your well-being too)

- it’s okay to give yourself some off-days (that’s the beauty of not having any physical or even abstract structure that forces you into an inescapable routine. Yes, I know this lack of structure sucks for a lot of us, especially for those who rely on external forces to keep themselves focused. But look on the bright side: now you don’t have to worry about missing classes or losing participation marks when you are unwell physically and mentally anymore)

- textbooks are your friends now (especially when your classes’ live-streams are just chaotic and hard to follow. or when the pre-recorded lectures aren’t loading properly and keeps lagging. practice speed reading. look for keywords and crucial information. take notes rather than highlighting everything. compare them to your lecture notes, your syllabus, or your friends’)

- take advantage of the online format’s availability + other resources (availability is here, baby! revisit lecture videos and podcasts as many times as you need to. check your email classes’ forums regularly for questions or announcements. re-listen to your lecture when you're cleaning or exercising. watch videos of Khan Academy or CrashCourse. look for online tutors. study at your own pace and in your own style. basically anything you wish you could do when your class was in-person)

- there’s no need to submit assignments early if it’s anxiety-inducing. but make a schedule/ tracking system/ set alarms to avoid forgetting to turn them in (take your time to double-check or edit your work - as long as the submission box is still open, of course. set aside about an hour or two before the deadline for submission to avoid any technical difficulties. and remember to start working on them early so that you don’t have to shorten that window of time and have more time for double-checking)

- don't be afraid to email the profs/teachers (if possible, compile your questions into a list. be as specific as you can about your concerns. put a subject for your email to reduces the chance of your email getting lost in your instructors' inbox.)

- reward yourself (don't stress yourself out by rewarding big accomplishments. reward small victories. reward baby steps. reward effort. you'll get things done eventually)

- take time to know your learning style (when are you most focused? do you like taking digital notes or do you prefer pen and paper? are you a visual or an auditory learner? do you like moving around while studying? what drinks or scents or sounds keep you going? you don't have to stick to your usual study methods or an online/paperless one now that you are studying in your own room)

- listen to your mind and body (it’s okay to feel a bit lost) (from my own experience, times that are without structure like nowadays is when most of us fall into this spiraling downfall of unhealthy sleep schedules, lethargy, and loss of purpose. so please take care of your mental and physical well-being during this very, very weird time. keep yourself active. re-ignite old interests/ hobbies. connect with people you love. give yourself some love)

- and more tips on productivity at home in my last post right here

💻 PREPARING FOR ONLINE EXAMS / QUIZZES:

- make a list of all the online exams and final assignment due dates (this will help you keep track of and stay on top of them due dates. from that list, trace backward to make a review or study plan to prepare for the tests and work on the assignments. if there are any time conflicts, especially for those who are now living in a different timezone from their schools or colleges, email the instructors to seek solutions or alternative options)

- again, find a good spot with good wifi, good lighting, and a desk (if possible, try to recreate your ideal exam environment as closely as you can while studying and reviewing for the exams. this can reduce the anxiety of tests and/or unfamiliarity)

- be prepared for technical difficulties (especially mentally, so that you don’t plan out a course of action to take if they ever arise. draft an email template. research in advance the contacts of people whom you can report to - IT personnel, your instructors, student office, etc.)

- bring everything you need to the exams - but no distractions (like mentioned earlier, if you need any special accommodations that are considered "unacceptable" in an in-person exam/quiz, now it's the time to bring them along - you’re in charge of your test space now, so make it as comfortable and accomodating as you want)

- plan your desk set-up prior to your exams (so many extra items. still so little desk space. therefore, plan ahead so your desk does not turn into a mess when you take your exams. plan where you want to put your notes, textbooks, calculators or scrap paper. think about how much use you’re gonna get out of each item and place them within or slightly-out-of reach accordingly. charge your laptop. sharpen your pencils. have your backup stationery handy. lay out everything you need onto your desk the night before your tests. this can create a feeling of preparedness and thus, reduce anxiety as well)

- make cheatsheets (the goals when making them are simple: (1) get you to rewrite your notes for that good memorization; (2) condense your information and find a connection between them for a thorough understanding of the materials; (3) reduce the time you use to flip through your notebooks or textbooks or google for information during the actual tests)

- time yourself with mock exams (if you are given mock exams to practice with, do them, with a timer. this will help you familiarize yourself with the stress of being timed, thus reducing your anxiety during the actual tests)

- get enough sleep and eat properly (even if the exams or quizzes are online, they are still, at their core, tests. and tests are always stressful and energy-consuming. so take care of both your physical and mental health, especially during the week leading up to your exams)

[thecuriouspianist]

Tips for practice consistency

Next time you sit down to practice, set a timer for 5 minutes and start a small project, such as..

Learning a blues scale (I'm a classical player learning jazz and it's intimidating as a whole, but 5 min of practicing a blues scale is fun)

Practicing a difficult passage

Sight reading new rep for school, work etc

Write a few phrases of your own music if you're an aspiring composer

Improvise on three chords and see if you can make up a little tune

When the timer goes off you have to STOP! No matter how much fun you're having or progress you're making! Then:

Write down somewhere (day planner, notebook) what you did and what the next step is, such as: "Chopin Cm etude: played LH all the way throughwith metronome at quarter note = 52"

Move on to another piece or project with another 5 minute timer.

For big projects, I allow 10 or 15 minutes.

The next day, sit down with your instrument and pick up the *same* first project. Doodle around with it for another 5 minute session with the timer. Same rule! STOP immediately when the timer goes off (ok sometimes I cheat and finish a phrase just to hear the cadence resolve) and make another quick journal note.

For professionals or those with huge amounts of rep to cover, here's how to stack up 5-min bursts for a larger project:

Have an AM practice session of 45-75 min (divided into a 5 min warmup and a few 10-15 min blocks; you can cover 2-5 separate projects)

Take a 10-25 min nap or meditation. NO LONGER. This is to allow your brain to move the info into longer-term storage and freshen your mind for the afternoon.

After lunch, have a 30-45 min session (3-5 projects.) I usually *don't* repeat any material from my AM session; I treat this as another "first" session after sleeping.

After dinner, run through everything you practiced already that day, but in a more "big-picture" way. (I don't set timers for this session.) Run all the way through repq if you only worked on sections earlier. If I'm tired mentally, I improvise for fun or play my favorite rep..or, if I'm on a deadline, whatever is coming up soonest. If I still have some mental energy I do a bit more detail work in addition to run throughs.

After a few days of practicing in 5/10/15 min bursts, not finishing the project will feel like a cliffhanger. You'll have continuity and purpose in your work. Imagine you're a sculptor and each day you carve out a bit more progress; each day's work is small on its own but before long you have a finished piece of artwork.

And why the 5-15 min limitation? We humans have short attention span. My favorite teacher once told me the first 15 min of any practice session are the most productive. So use that to your advantage!

What do you guys think? Anybody else out there use timers and journaling to stay on track? I want to hear your ideas ..xoR

[ image : steinway model o via the pianoshopbathuk ]

[unnuevosoltransformalarealidad]

It’s Ok

Summary: Chris has been gone on a work trip related for a while. Reader has a complicated week, when she finds out that Chris is coming back, she is not able to welcoming him the way she wants.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: Sickness, vomiting, fainted, fever, body issues (not to profound)

Word Count: 2,768

This was written for the Week 5 Weekly Challenge of @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho ​ @donutloverxo ​ @captain-a-rogerss ​

A/N: This was kind of proof-read so if there’s any mistake, please let me know, English is not my mother tongue, and I’m still learning. Enjoy the reading!

Monday

You had to get ready, but you were still in bed. It was one of those days you wanted to stay in bed and do nothing. You weren’t feeling ok; you assumed that it was because you missed him, your dearest boyfriend. Today marked the second week since he left for work. It was supposedly to take just a couple of day, but it didn’t go as planned because he hasn’t come back yet.

You felt alone, empty. Chris wasn’t there with you, neither Dodger; Chris insisted on took him in with his sister, so you didn’t have to worry about him. You took a deep breath and decided to get up and get ready for the day.

Once on the kitchen, you were having just a tea, not coffee today, you weren’t in the best mood and the caffeine didn’t help you. You were lost in thought about all you had to do for the day when your buzzing phone brought you back to reality.

Good morning doll. Counting the days to be back with you.

I wish you a beautiful day

Love you

Chris

Suddenly a smile appeared on your face, and felt love, just pure love. Chris knew how sad and difficult is for you to be alone for so long. You decided to text a quick response and then get ready for work.

 Hello beautiful boy. I can't wait to have you with me.

Have a beautiful week.

Love you more

Y/N

 The day at work started pretty good for your liking, but it ended up bad and it was just Monday. Someone did something wrong on important papers and your boss had to deal it with you. Being part of a group of assistants was difficult, you have to deal with the bad mood and yelling from the bosses and people who believed had a superior position than yours. You were really stressed, you needed a break to keep going but it was the beginning of the week and you still had the rest of the week ahead. You finished working around 4:30 pm and had to get ready for your classes. You’re on your third year of college with a major in Art History, your current job it doesn’t have any connection with what you’re studying but it helps the survival.

You have a few delayed papers, a few with close deadlines but still you have to prepare two final exams. The stress was starting to kick in.

Tuesday

 The same emptiness you felt yesterday today was there. You had barely slept; you stayed awake doing some papers and making flashcards to study. Last night after coming back from school, you started to cry, you were overwhelmed, and you needed Chris by your side. You had texted him but you put it aside afterwards because you didn’t want any distractions. You were starving; you didn’t have dinner yesterday, so you got up and went to have breakfast. You took the computer with you so you could update more papers. You had to checked the phone, probably some of the teachers had emailed you because you were late and the grades were coming down. You had a few texts from Chris, of course.

 Hi love! I’m sorry I didn’t answer back, I was busy.

How did your day go? I really miss you

Chris

 Babe, is everything alright? 

Pls answer me

Chris

I hope you rest well. I can’t wait to see you

Sweet Dreams, good night, I love you

Chris

You felt really bad because he wanted to talk to you, but you needed to update some of your essays. Your work was taking you more time than you had expected and because of that you were getting behind in the classes. You finished breakfast, got ready and went to work.

At lunch break, you decided to text Chris back and tell him what was going on. 

Hi honey! How are you? Sorry I didn’t answer I was catching up with homework

I hope your day it's better than mine :(

I really miss you. Can’t wait to see you

Love you

Y/N

So far the day was stressful, but manageable. You had tons of work, and probably you had to stay extra hours to finish some papers that had to be delivered the following day. After the break you started to work on those papers when you got a phone call.

-Hello –I say not seeing who was calling

-Hi love –Chris said –How are you?

-Lost in work, you? –I say

-Missing you –he says

-I miss you too –I say –Look honey, I really appreciate you calling, but I have to finish this, and I’m already late with it –I mention with a sad tone

-It’s okay doll. I wanted to check on you actually –he says –but I’ll call you later

-I’m good, don’t worry –I say

-Ok. I love you –He says upset

-Love you too. Bye –I say and hang up

If you thought that your day was going to get better after that call, you were wrong. A really strong headache hit you and made you feel dizzy, probably it was because the late night working. You decided to take an aspirin, ignore the pain and keep working.

You had to stay almost four hours after work, your headache never left and you had missed the classes of the day. You wanted to get home and get into bed and wake up on the weekend. You decided to send Chris a quick text because he had promised you to call.

Hi love! I know you wanted to talk, but I’m leaving work right now and I have to finish an essay for tomorrow and I’ll probably ignore my phone.

I’m really really sorry

Talk to you tomorrow. I promise

Love you

Y/N

 Once you got home, you took off your clothes, put some pjs and started the essays which were due date tomorrow and you haven’t started yet. It was going to be a long night with lots of coffee.

The pounding headache you had earlier got really worse, your eyes were watering making it really difficult to read and your body was really sore. It was the fifth cup of coffee when you got a text from your mom

Hello Y/N! I hope you remember our dinner tomorrow

It’s been a while since the last meeting.

I really miss you

Mom

As soon as you saw who texted you, you rolled your eyes. You’ve totally forgot the dinner with your mom, you were doing too many things but remember it wasn’t, but you couldn’t cancel it. It was the only time you were able to see her during the week.

 Hi mom! I’ll be there, don’t worry

I miss you too

Y/N

When you send it the message, you realized it that was almost 6 AM and you haven’t finished your essay yet. You stop doing it and went to take a shower and then start the new day.

Wednesday

After your late night work and your shower, you still felt tired and sore. You prepared your breakfast and went to finish your essay. Luckily you were able to finish it just in time to go to work. You send a quick text to your mom and Chris and started your day.

Your day at the office went pretty well. Some stressful moments, but besides that, everything was normal. You were feeling really bad, being all night awake wasn’t your best decision but it was worthy, your essay was perfect, as your teacher said, and you were proud. You needed to go home and crash your bed; unfortunately you had dinner with your mom. You felt feverish but you didn’t pay much attention, probably was the lack of sleeping.

Hello my love! How’s your dinner with your ma going?

The producers told me that probably I’ll be back home by the weekend. I can’t wait

I love you

Chris

Your face lighted up immediately. It was the middle of the week, and Chris was coming back home. Nothing could ruin your day.

Dinner with your mom went terrible. She’d complaint about everything you have been doing since you moved on your own. Everything got worse when she started to criticize your body and your diet; and when she compared you to your sister you snapped. You had to kick her out of your house before something bad happened. Chris promised you to call, but you weren’t in the mood, not after what happened with your mom, so you turned off your phone, drank a beer and then you went to sleep. You deserved it.

 Thursday

Your alarm started to sound pretty loud, you got up and had to run to your bathroom, it wasn’t the cleverest idea to drink a beer before bed. Once you emptied your stomach, you laid on the cold floor. Today you had to stay in, so you emailed your boss calling in a sick day. You went back to bed and you fell asleep immediately. You woke up a few hours later feeling a little bit better from your stomach. You went to the kitchen; you prepared something light to eat and went back to bed. It was the perfect opportunity to finish all your essays you hadn’t hand in yet.

Some hours later, you were emptying your stomach on the bathroom again; you probably had caught a bug during the week. You should tell Chris about it, he shouldn’t get sick. 

You remembered that you’d turned it off the night before, probably you had several messages and missed calls, but you didn’t care. You didn’t want to deal with anything. Indeed, you had several phone calls from your mom and a bunch of texts saying she was sorry and she never meant to tell you such things. Before calling her you texted to Chris quickly to give him an update on your day and your health as well

Hi love! That’s great news! Sorry I didn’t answer back sooner, I was busy…

I don’t think you should come directly from the airport, I think I caught a bug, cause I haven’t been feeling well for a few days.

I hope your day is going good.

I miss you

Y/N

And then you called your mom. She picked up after the first ring

-Y/N! Darling, are you ok? –she asks almost screaming

-Yeah, I forgot to turn on my phone –I say avoiding my health

-I’m sorry about last night, I shouldn’t have told you such horrible things –she says

-But still, you did it –I say –Look, I know you don’t like the way I’m living, but it’s MY life –I say

-I know sweetie, but I still feel bad about how everything ended –she told me.

“She was really excusing herself” you thought but your stomach had other plans

-I’m sorry mom –you say –I’ve got to go. We’ll talk later –I say and hung up

You run to your bathroom, lucky for you, you made it. You really needed Chris next to you. You heard your phone ringing, probably it was him calling you, but you didn’t have the energy to get up, you were really dizzy and you started to see black dots, and then everything went black. This wasn’t good.

You didn’t know how long you were passed out, but when you woke up, you felt terrible. You checked your temperature, the thermometer marked 100.4°; with all your energy you got up, and went back to bed to rest, you didn’t have enough energy to take anything or even cook something.

 Friday

You don’t know when exactly you woke up, you emailed to your job calling in sick again. You didn’t realize what time it was or how long you were asleep. The only thought in your mind was that you needed to clean the house, Chris was coming tomorrow and everything was a mess, even though you warned him about being sick you knew he was going to come either way. You had to take your temp again; you were shivering, probably because it went up. Certainly it did, it was 102.2°; you knew it was bad, so you dragged yourself from bed and decided to run a bath, which was going to help.

After your bath, you went to the kitchen and prepared just a tea, and grabbed two crackers, you didn’t want to push your stomach, you were still weak; and you went back to bed.

You had a few emails from school, from work and some texts from your mom and Chris. When you were about to texted Chris back he called you.

-Hello my love –he says with his calming voice

-Hi –you answer

-How are you feeling?

-Really bad –you say pouting

-I’m sorry doll. Do you want me to call someone to take care of you?

-Don’t worry hun, I’m better now. With some rest I’ll recover –you assure him

-I’m calling you because I’m about to head to the airport so, I’ll probably don’t answer my phone until tomorrow –you heard him smiling

-It’s ok love; I can’t wait to see you again –you say smiling as well

-Me too love. Me too. I’ve got to go –he says upset

-Safe travel, I love you –you say

-Love you too. Bye –he says and hung up

You were crying already, you didn’t know why, probably was the fever. You finished your tea; you put some cozy clothes and went to the kitchen to start cleaning everything.

You finished cleaning pretty late so you took another tea and some crackers for dinner. You weren’t in the mood for food and neither your stomach. Once you finished your tea, you went to your room to clean it, when a wave of nausea hit you and you had to run to the bathroom again. You lay on the cold floor; it was a beautiful sensation against your heated skin. With all your strength you grabbed the thermometer and took your temp again, because you were pretty hot. You were running a temp of 103.1°. You needed help, you tried to get up from the floor so you could go to grab your phone, but you fainted before getting up. 

Saturday

Chris arrived at dawn; he found the house clean although you told him you were sick. He noticed there was no dinner leftover, “have you been eating?” he thought to himself, he was worried

-I’m home baby –he calls but there’s no response

-Y/N? –he calls you a little louder

He thought that you might be sleeping, but his heart broke when he find you. He lifted you from the floor and put you in bed. He went to the kitchen, grabbing a bowl and pouring some cold water, grabbed a washcloth, a glass of juice and some ibuprofen and came back to the room.

When you woke up, you realized that you were on the bed, “did you make it to the bed?” you thought when you saw that Chris entering your room.

-Hey! You are awake –he says and you could barely smile

-When did you arrive? –you question

-Not long ago, I was worried –he admits -I found you on the floor –he sits next to you on the bed pulling the tray on the nightstand

-Oh –you say and you look your hands

-What is it love? -he asks caressing your cheek

-I think I fainted in the bathroom –you admit

Chris didn’t say anything; he went to the bathroom and picked up the thermometer. He came from the bathroom with a worried face

-Open –he commands

You did what he had told you and waited. He never stopped caressing your cheek. You were falling asleep when he woke you up

-Don’t fall asleep sweetie, I know you’re tired, but please, hang on –he sounded worried - Did you eat something? –he asked you but you just shake your head and the thermometer beeped

-104° .How high was the last time you checked it? -he asks you

-103.1° –you says

-We have to break this before it gets worse. How many times did you faint? –he was really worried

-Two times, I think. I don’t really know actually –you say disappointed

-When was the last time that you eat something solid? –he asks concerned

-On Wednesday, with my mom –I say –Probably that’s why I fainted the first time –I explained

-Don’t worry, doll. I’ll take care of you –he says caressing your face.

~Tag List (If you want to be part, let me know)

@iguessweallcrazyithinktho​

[frustratedpoetwrites]

Sins of the Fathers Update

This is a story set at the same time as Teddy Lupin starts Hogwarts, and the mystery of a muggleborn girl he meets on the train. 

I will be updating this story Monthly.

Chapter One: Hogwarts

Chapter Two: Portraits and Memories

Chapter three: Dear Mr. Potter

Chapter Three. Dear Mr. Potter

Harry sat at the kitchen table of his home surrounded by his family. Lily was sitting in her high chair happily working on some buttered toast, Albus was stirring his porridge in imitation of his father who was doing the same without paying much attention to it. His focus was on a field-report that had been hand-delivered to his home early this morning. James kept taking sideways glances at his mother then looking down sheepishly spooning enormous mouthfuls into himself. Ginny was sitting between her two boys, this morning's daily profit in front of her, a slight thinning of her mouth whenever she glanced at her oldest son, the only indication she was still mad at him. 

If anyone had seen this family only ten minutes earlier it would have been a completely different scene. Sparing a thought for his wife he glanced at the ceiling and spotted a rather stubborn blob of porridge still stuck there. He casually took out his wand from his inside pocket and vanished the offending blob. Ginny pretended not to notice although she had looked at him as he’d taken his wand out. He rolled up the scroll and placed it with the others in the bag at his feet, then tried to enjoy his porridge. He was stopped from eating more than a few mouthfuls by the post bell ringing. 

They had been forced to install a drop-off point for owls due to the volume of mail they received, although they had few neighbours, it was always best to be cautious. It was kind of like a letterbox for owls on their roof, along with a small roost for owls to take a rest if they needed it. He gathered up the stack of letters from the collection point in their shared office and brought them back into the kitchen. He put them on the table and started sorting them into his and hers. “Oh look, daddy,” James exclaimed pointing to one of the letters. “That one has a sticker with a face on it, but it’s not moving.” He looked curiously at his parents. Harry leaned over and picked it up. The letter had a Muggle stamp in the corner and was addressed simply to Mr. Harry Potter in a very neat script. His curiosity peaked, he opened this one first. Ginny tsked at him slightly for opening it without doing any safety checks first, but he knew that any jinxed letter would not get through the charms he had placed upon the owl shoot. When he finished reading it he handed it to her without speaking. 

Dear Mr. Harry Potter 

I hope you and your family are well. My name is Camilla Winters and I met your godson, Teddy on the train to Hogwarts. He was very kind to me and we are friends now, but I’m very worried about him as he keeps searching the castle for a portrait of his mother.

 I feel terrible as it’s my fault this happened, I gave him a message from a portrait of a woman with pink hair that looked like him. She told me she had promised not to distract him from his lessons and that’s why she is hiding now I think. I wish I hadn’t told him the message as he has been so sad and distracted ever since. Please don’t let him know it was me that told you, when I suggested asking a teacher where her portrait was he got a little angry with me and told me to drop it. 

I hope this gets to you. I’ve never used an owl before I added a stamp just in case. A fourth-year assured me all I needed was a name, but I didn’t tell her who I was sending it to. Teddy says you understand him because you lost your parents too. If you could let me know what I should do, I would be very grateful as I am worried the teachers are going to start noticing he’s not concentrating.

Camilla

“I thought it odd we hadn’t heard from him yet.” She mused, “just thought he was too busy having fun. This Camilla sounds like she has her head on right.” She looked at her husband knowing exactly what he was thinking about doing. “You can’t just go march up there and snap him out of it. Even if you could find an excuse to get into the school. You don’t even know what house he’s in love.” He turned to her as if to argue then thought better of it. 

“I wasn’t going to go to the school.” He lied, she gave him a disbelieving snort in response. “Ok maybe I thought about it but you're right it’s not the way to go.” He noticed two out of their three children were no longer interested in breakfast. Albus was sliding a finger through the dollops that had escaped his bowl, and James was screwing his eyes up tight like when Teddy changed his appearance, then looking at his reflection in his spoon. “I’ll speak to Neville, I would have thought he would already have this sorted. I spoke to him before term started thinking this might be a problem.”

“Neville can only do so much, especially if Teddy isn’t in his house. He has to let that teacher sort it out.” She lifted lily out of her high chair and placed her on the floor next to her building blocks. “I’m seeing Andromeda today. I'll ask if Teddy has mentioned this to her.” She cleared the table and cleaned it with a couple of swift flicks of her wand. Albus looked up slightly disappointed that his drawing material had vanished. “Mum’s coming to take the boys for the day, and Lily needs shoes now she’s walking.” She reminded him, he hadn’t forgotten, but she liked reminding him and he nodded and gave both the boys a kiss on the head and a murmur to behave as he walked back into their study, taking the pile of his letters with him. 

The room was spacious for a study, big enough to comfortably fit two desks and a studded leather sofa and still not feel cluttered. Apart from his desk, that always looked cluttered.

“Sirius.” He said to the portrait of his godfather that hung on the wall while placing Ginny’s post on her tidy desk. The image of Sirius used to make the picture had been taken the day of Harry’s parents wedding, before Azkaban had drained him of his vitality, handsome and often smiling with long black hair. He appeared to be at his ease, lounging in an armchair one leg hooked over the side, eyes half closed, but at the sound of his name he sat up straight and alert . “Can you go to Hogwarts and tell Professor Longbottom I would like to speak to him if he is free for lunch. I will most likely be at my work before you return. I will make sure I can speak to you there.” 

“My pleasure to help,” he said and walked to the edge of his frame and disappeared. The couple in the other picture just smiled serenely down at him while he rummaged around in his desk. Ginny walked in with Lily on her hip while he was still searching.

“That’s the boys at mums.” She glanced at the empty frame but said nothing about it. “Are you working from home today?” He shook his head, continuing to search. “If you organised, and took the files you no longer need back to work, you might have a better chance of finding things.” She said it in a very patient tone like she had said it many times before, she turned to their daughter who was trying to stuff her fist in her mouth. “Is daddy a messy boy!” She said in a silly voice smiling and making a face, Lily giggled, brown eyes sparkling. Harry made a noise at his wife but knew she was right, he needed to find time to clear out his desk. 

“If you are out as well today then I won’t be home for lunch. I will do my best to be home for dinner.” Finding what he was looking for he slipped it into his pocket, then came over and blew a few raspberries on his daughters neck and planted a few kisses on her cheek, she giggled even more slapping a hand against his cheek. He turned and gave his wife a kiss wrapping an arm around her briefly whispering “love you” into her neck, before grabbing his bag and walking to the door and apparating to work.

When Harry arrived at the atrium he kept his eyes forward deliberately not paying attention to anyone else who might try to catch his eye. He did it without even thinking about it anymore.

“Morning boss.” The young Auror who had been standing leaning against the memorial fountain looking completely at ease, joined in step with him as he made his way towards the lifts. The brisk pace did nothing to stop his swagger.

“Morning Caldwell.” He acknowledged his companion. Now that he was with company he started scanning the various wizards moving about the atrium. The busy morning rush had now passed and there were only a few stragglers like himself. Owen Caldwell might act like a bit of an arrogant sod but he was a very good guard dog, and a very good Auror, he had taken very well to the lesson that confidence breeds confidence. Harry was much less likely to be intercepted on his way into the office when he was seen talking to someone else. He used to take the time to speak to people when he came into work until he realised it was taking him longer and longer to actually get to his desk. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help, the problem was that people would want him to deal with every issue the ministry dealt with, regardless of who they were supposed to report to. He had never asked them to do it but one morning he started being met by someone from headquarters in the atrium, and all of a sudden he got to his desk before noon. “Has anyone at Bodmin made it in for the scheduled update yet?” The easy smile on Owens’s face faulted for a moment as he replied.

“Not yet boss no, and it’s getting pretty close to the deadline. Maybe we should send someone to check?” He meant himself, rumours were he was getting quite close to one of the agents currently out on mission. Harry knew how reckless people could become when they are trying to save those they love. He was a prime example of that, he shook his head.

“The reason why we have 24 hours to check in is because, as you very well know, you can’t always just pop back here and say hi.” There were a few people standing waiting when they got to the lifts so they ended the conversation. He recognised one as his brother in law Percy who looked to be deep in discussions with a witch he didn’t know. They nodded to each other in greeting but Percy didn’t stop to talk to him or slow down his conversation. Harry tried not to listen, knowing Percy it would be about something very important to him, and incredibly dull to anyone else. When they stepped into the lift Harry noticed there were already a handful of memos flying in lazy circles above his head. One of them dropped down and started to gently bump him on the side of the head. Taking the memo he put it in his pocket without reading. He knew who it would be from, no one else’s memos came to him directly.

The Auror office was the usual bustling place, memos zoomed about like they were supercharged a few Aurors stood chatting over the top of their cubicles. Nobody took much notice of him walking in. He would say there were still a lot more of his staff who were older than him, but his youth had never been a problem, there were far fewer now that were more experienced than him. The problem had been filling the spaces left by the devastation after the war, not everyone was suited to being an Auror, even those that thought they wanted it didn’t always after a few harsh reality checks. And Harry refused to let anyone qualify that wasn’t up to standard, even before he was made head of the department, standards had been improved when he was placed in charge of selection and training. Finally the Auror office was back to the strength it had been before Voldermort’s resurrection, still not at full strength in his eyes but the foundations were strong.

“Get everyone who’s working on the Bodmin case in the conference room in fifteen minutes. I have to take care of a few things first. I'll meet you there.” Owen wandered off then with a loud “you got it boss” Harry, his mind already back on Teddy didn’t respond. When Harry entered his office he was pleased nobody was waiting for him, he took the small picture frame he had been searching for in his desk at home and placed it on his desk, along with the memo he had nearly forgotten about. Sighing, he opened it.

Harry

Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you are avoiding me! I really need to speak to you about Kreacher. It's very important and I’m not going to take no or silence for an answer. If I have to I will bring it up out of work but neither of us want that as it’s a delicate matter. It’s nothing to worry about either.

Hermione 

He ran a hand through his hair and decided that although Hermione wasn’t a high priority he couldn’t keep putting her off, he had a rough idea what it was about. He was about to reply to her when Sirius’ face turned up in the frame. 

“Professor Longbottom says he will be at the three broomsticks for lunch today and he is going to bring Professor Mcallister along too.”

“Did he say why he’s bringing him?” Harry didn’t really know the charms Professor, he had only met him the handful of times he and Ginny had gone to the annual memorial service. Then he answered his own question “He is head of Teddy’s house isn’t he?” Harry shook his head and knew he wasn’t going to get anymore from the painting. He looked back down at the memo from Hermione and decided now would be as good a time as any to go see his boss.

Her office wasn’t that far away from his. Magical law enforcement was a big department and they pretty much had this entire floor. He knew the Bodmin meeting would be waiting for him soon, but he also hoped that it would give him an excuse to get away from Hermione if he needed one. 

She was standing outside her office when he arrived talking with her assistant. He was pleased he wouldn’t have to argue about making appointments with the assistant once again. That reminded Harry he needed to do something about finding a temp replacement for his own assistant, who had gone on maternity.

Hermione smiled at him when she saw him approach. “Well I’m glad my last memo finally did the trick, come and take a seat.”

“Will this take long? Only I have a mission briefing starting in about…”

“It’s alright this won't take long your department can manage without you for a moment. She lifted a scroll from a pigeon hole behind her and handed it to him.

“What’s this?” he asked, feeling the weight of it.

“Read it and see”

“I’d rather you gave me the abbreviated highlights,” he complained, opening it and sitting down, the scroll unfurled and rolled along the ground stopping only when it bumped against Hermione’s desk.

“It’s Kreacher’s will.” She explained sitting down herself with another stack of papers.

“He made a will?” Harry was surprised, Kreacher hadn’t had a great deal of possessions; those he did had been mainly forced on him by Harry and the kids giving him presents every christmas. He had received the letter about a month earlier telling him the ancient Elf had finally passed away peacefully. The truth was Harry had no idea how long Elves normally lived, he knew Dobby was still fit and well and living at Hogwarts, Harry made sure to send him socks every year. “Anything he left us can be sent to the house ill make arrangements from there,”

“It’s not as simple as that,” she went on quickly realising that he was about to leave. “Kreacher made some arrangements in his will for his Legacy care to be passed on.”

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes at her, “Meaning?”

“You are getting a new house elf.”

“What?”

“It will take some time. The elves themselves sort this kind of thing out. Kreacher was part of a quite expansive family line, but all are already with households as far as I’ve been informed.”

“I thought it was one of your missions to stop elf slavery, and them being treated like property.”

Hermione sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “It is something I am still working on, and things have improved greatly, but the elves themselves are very proud of their service and you can’t change their minds over centuries of traditions overnight. Elves are in a better position than they were, they have recognised rights to fair treatment, holidays and living conditions, they are allowed to report their family of any wrongdoing within it without punishment. A basic right to me but scandalous to nearly all the elves i have spoken to about this. But anyway I digress. Expect yourself to have an elf living in your home very soon.

“I’m not sure how Ginny is going to take that.”

“Better you tell her quick before one turns up”

“Anything else?” He rolled up the scroll as he stood up to go.

“No, I think that’s everything. I'll see you at dinner on Sunday?”

“Barring a catastrophe, we’ll be there.”

*

Very little had changed in hogsmeade over the years since Harry was at school. It had survived relatively uncathed from the devastation during the battle of Hogwarts. The small village was sunlight when Harry apparated at the small square with it’s equally discreet memorial stone. Harry paused a moment and refreshed the wreath of snow white Lilies that was laid against it.

It was not a long walk over to the three broomsticks but still Harry was greeted by a few people as he made his way along the cobbled street. None of them looked familiar to him so he didn’t stop, just nodded his head politely and moved on.

Harry spotted his old friend immediately as he entered the cosy pub. He was sitting at a table away from the bar with the enormous frame of Professor Mcallister. They both stood to greet him as he approached. Neville and Harry shoulder bumped as they shook hands and slapped each other on the back in a very well practiced way. When Harry offered his hand to the other man it was enveloped by two large and surprisingly powerful hands. “Nice to see you again professor.” Harry greeted.

“Bartemius, please call me Bartemius.” They all sat down and Madame Rosemerta came over to take their food order bringing Harry a butterbeer without having to be told, she squeezed his shoulder as she left. “So I take it you are here to talk about Ted Lupin?” Mcallister began without prompting. “I was hoping this would be sorted without you having to be told.”

“His friend wrote to me. Camilla?” Mcallister smiled as Harry fished the letter from his pocket. 

“Ah yes she’s a bright young witch. So sad about her own past, I had a feeling they would be drawn to each other, especially as they have been sorted into the same house. I do wish she had come to me, but now I see the reason why she hasn’t.” Neville took the letter once Mcallister had finished with it and scanned it quickly. “The portraits of Dora and Remus Lupin are in locations that Teddy doesn’t have access to. We were prepared to move Professor Lupin's portrait if he had been sorted into Gryffindor.” Mcallister added in a tone that said he thought it was highly doubtful. “All the portraits of those who died in the war hold very little of the true selves, although I think some of the students have been teaching them their history. I am surprised to read that the portrait felt strongly enough to send him a message.”

“The photograph used by the artist was the one taken with Teddy in her arms, the maternal bond must have been transferred through.” Harry explained, he had become quite knowledgeable on this subject over the years. Neville leaned back in his chair taking a long dink from his cup.

“The students teach them all sorts of things.” He said with a slight smirk, then continued more seriously “It’s always a disappointment to find out it’s not truly them. Professor Lupin’s picture knows loads about defensive spells and the correct way to deal with various dangerous creatures, but ask him about his wedding, or his friendships in school and the answers dry up.”

“Probably for the best he doesn’t know much about the marauders, from what I’ve heard of them they were quite a handful” Mcallister chuckled then seemed to realise whos company he was in, “No offence Harry.”

“None taken I assure you.” Harry knew all too well that disappointment. He had thought, like so many others did, that all portraits were as true a representation of their living selves as the old headmasters portraits were. It had only been when he had been fighting to get Severus Snape’s portrait hung as a rightful former headmaster, that he had found the truth, that it took years of the former headmasters teaching their hidden image everything they could, as Severus had only been headmaster a year he had not had the time to impart much of his knowledge. The more the artist drawing the picture knew of the model also helped. Harry squashed down his mild irritation at the memory.

“My godson is stubborn, and keeping him from these pictures is not going to make him any less determined.” He thought for a moment. “Could you move them to a place he does have access to, so he can speak with them privately?” He looked at their faces and they nodded. “I doubt it will take more than a couple of hours this weekend for him to realise that it’s not truly them, but if it does take him longer we can tell him he can only visit that room at the weekends, and keep it locked the rest of the time?” 

“That shouldn’t be too difficult to do. Dora's picture is currently in the staff room. Remus’ in the Gryffindor common room. Some students might comment on its removal but pictures wander all the time and we could just put a blank canvas. The last few years have had smaller intakes, this is the smallest group in my time at the school.”

“There will probably be an upswing next year,” Harry added with a smirk taking a swig of the beer he then asked. “So what have the students been teaching the pictures?”

[emilycollins00]

A3 actors! Art in bloom

Type: One shot

Pairing: Miyoshi Kazunari x Reader

Theme: Passion / Art / Clash

Contrary to what many people and even classmates of yours thought, being an art student was not something you should chose to do lightly.

Sure, it seemed enjoyable, cute even. But no one ever talked about how many hours you would spend with a single portrait, drafting about abstract concepts or trying to discern at two in the morning whether a sculpture should turn more sideways or look at the ground to create a deeper perspective. 

Art was wild.

But you loved it and, why not admit it, you took it pretty seriously. Maybe a tiny bit more than most people.

That’s why you had always liked how Kazunari Miyoshi, although being the loud person he was, frequently went on and on with you discussing ideas when there was some debate in class. That brain of his was something else. His works and usual approach when mixing modern and traditional Japanese culture fascinated you. It really did.

But that had been changing lately, and it angered you.

Up until this year you hadn't really cared about it. Everyone had their right to live however they wanted after all.

However, without being able to tell when it began, you started casually observing him. You watched him talk to your other classmates as soon as the lecture, frowned as he concentrated on the draft they had one hour and a half to finish or taking selfies and live videos of the works you all were demanded to do. You even discovered yourself staring and how the sun caressed his profile first hour in the morning.

He had a nice profile.

By that point, something inside you was getting frustrated. He participated in class and attended to the lectures, but at the same time…? you felt he was starting prioritising social media over art, or looking for people for one of his popular mixers, like so many of your other classmates, who had most likely entered this major without much thought, did.

You would understand if he would have a part-time job, but the thought of him being able to do so much more and deciding to stop midway left you speechless.

You wished for him to take more things seriously. 

“Miyoshi, were you able to clean all the supplies from last class?" you called him out between the break. Everyone in class traded places to carry the main boxes with brushes, paints and whatever main source they had to work with each week "Our teacher told me to take some clay from there. I'm planning to use them for my final project, but I can't seem to find the key in the secretary office”

The university student lifted his head from his mobile and tipped on his chin, trying to remember "Supplies from...? Oh man, THAT is why I had them in my working space!” He palped his jeans looking for it “My bad, I was totes in a hurry and just closed as soon as we were done!” 

You contained an exasperated groan “Why would you get the key unless it was to clean the practice room?” 

Kazunari laughed nervously under your intimidating glare “True, true! It's just that I was talking with some friends over the phone and they were in a hurry so…” he showed you the key taking it out of his pocket, maybe to show that at least he hadn’t lost it “Do you need them now? I could go clean for you” 

The vein you had tried so hard to maintain calm popped altogether. Not wanting to keep talking, you rapidly grabbed the key from his hand and headed to take the supplies. God grief how you hated that carefree attitude. 

                                         ……………………..…….

“No prob, dude! Next time just hit me up with a DM and I’ll come running to your uni here! In exchange, I’ll need your help to finish the flyers so…” 

Recognizing the flashy voice, you slowly looked behind, witnessing the blond with another person. Was he meeting with people to play around here too? 

You couldn’t believe it. You all had your final projects deadlines almost spitting in your faces! That’s why you had to come to this other university to ask for permission to use a kiln for your final, as you didn’t have lectures prepared today and your university didn’t have any. Didn’t look like it was Kazunari’s case. 

“Uh? No way, Y/N-pyon!” he waved at you with both hands, confirming it was you indeed, as he got closer “Looking fleek today too! What are you doing here in Yosei?” the person walking next to him whispered something “They’re a friend from my major Tsuzuroon, I told you about them, dude!” 

You mentally scoffed. Without returning his greet and turning on your heels, you headed for the teacher’s office.

 “You said friend but…” Tsuzuru squinted his eyes, watching you leave “…It doesn't look like they like you very much” 

“No worries! Nowadays they are always like that. But their works are so lit! Y/N-pyon is the ultimate remix of you, Ten-ten and Yukki!” 

“That’s… not a good thing, Miyoshi-san”

                            …………………………………………

“Y/N-pyon, about-”

“Miyoshi, sorry. I am on my way to Yosei University to finish my work and unlike your usual approach of work to play, I actually don’t have time to waste”

“Uh? My works are…”

“Are what? I’ve been seeing you doing half-assed things all over the semester. This last week you didn’t even come at the afternoon lectures” you were pretty sure this was just you venting at this point “You’re amazing Miyoshi, I honestly think that, so why? If… If you only put more of yourself into it, your art would be even more unbelievable!”

He went quiet, a rare sight.

“Art it’s not something you just do for laughs; I thought you were one of the few people here that felt the same and-” the phone in your bag started ringing. Head  teacher. Inhaling deeply, you answered it “Yes?”

“Y/N-san? I am so sorry. Could you come to Josey university?” 

Losing the eye contact you had been maintaining with the blond boy, your heart sank as you heard the words ‘kiln’ and ‘malfunction’. “…Please tell me my final project is ok” 

                                       ……………………………….

You stood in silence, looking at the mess when you heard a knock at the door.

“I know I shouldn’t have followed and am expecting you throw me out the door but…” you didn’t move an inch so Kazunari took that as a free pass.

Just as the teacher told you, the electricity in the small building had had an issue and there had been a combustion, meaning, the sculpture you had kept here while working for weeks was now cracked and in shreds. You sniffed, brushing away the tears that were trying to come out from your eyes. All your hard work. All the time spent, had been for nothing.

“The Kiln is burnt. I don’t have anything good to save” you felt emotionally exhausted “Damn, I should have used air dry clay since the beginning… or not tried to sculpt anything” your vision became blurry again “I don’t know why do I make everything more difficult that it is”

Kazunari contemplated the situation, studying the seemingly full cracked sculpture from afar.

“Teach probably told you she would wait for you to turn on the work, right?” He saw you vaguely nodding you head “You got this!” he put his hand on your shoulder, you barely glancing at him “Look, If you still wanna use this base I’ll go ask for some moisturize and clean water to mix. Then I will maintain the upper part as you work down there, not bad idea right?”

You stared at him, finally grasping that he had come all the way here and was now trying to help “Why are you here? I… was being a busybody telling you how to work in our major” you had realized you had crossed the line back then.

Kazunari laughed, shaking his head “You were not saying anything that was a lie though, I don't want to admit it, but it’s true I've been a mess for a while”

“I guess parties require a lot of work” you bite your tongue hard. He was being a decent person trying to help and you couldn’t stop for two seconds to pick on him? You wanted to punch yourself.

“Mmm? Ah, our theatre troupe is almost opening for performance and the next troupe is on practices so flyers and scripts are running at full gas”

You stopped looking at your sculpture. What did he just say about a theatre?

“…What?”

“You’ve never come, Y/N-pyon? Mankai company is the best theatre in Veludo way! You totes should come, I’ll even send you the tickets for our new performance!” before you knew it, he had already DM you what you imagined was all the background information.

The moment you unlocked it, you almost dropped the phone. The photos and drawings of the posters were amazing, and you just knew who it had done “You… never said you had a job”

Kazunari considered what you pointed out. Mankai had managed to recover from what they needed to pay but they still didn't have enough founds “I’ve never thought about our acts as a job thought”

Your mind was a mess. Being an actor and doing publicity didn’t count for him as he studied? No wonder he usually left early! Now you felt even worst. You had behaved like a… “Uh, are these original templates?” you browsed over the performances’ posters, each one more astonishing than the other “This is… wow and this one?” 

He blinked, noticing how the tone of your voice was now more soothing. You had somewhat calm down. He would high-key enjoy hearing you talk to him like that more often “Hey, enough about me. We have work to do”

You agreed, putting away your phone “You’re right but again I… I am sorry, Miyoshi. And thanks, for staying” 

“No prob, Y/N-pyon!” 

“Would you tell me what I could do so you stopped calling me that?” 

“Eeeeeeh why? I think it fits! It's super-duper cute, like you!” 

Thump!

No. You told yourself.

Coming back to your senses you told yourself the warm you felt in your cheeks was due to summer starting earlier. It definitely wasn’t because of Kazunari smile directed at you, helped you or how the sun reflected on his perfect profile as you both started working on your work. 

Art was wild… but it was also an evocative of feelings.

_________________________________________________________

This one has been a difficult one! I wanted Reader to kind of clash with his mindset

Hope you guys enjoy it. Have a wonderful day! 💕