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hillbillyoracle · 4 years ago

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Tarot as Representations

So one of the recommended uses I talk briefly about in my zine, tarot in the time of the apocalypse, is to use tarot cards as icons in a parred down travel altar set up. What I didn't get into too much is how to select these cards to use as representations. I wrote the zine originally with a more experienced practitioner in mind and thought that most folks would select a card based on intuition.

Which will totally work. But recently as I was using cards to set up a petition, I realized there was a lot more I could have said there. Some of it

Astrological Representations

So a lot of people know that Tarot has astrological associations. I knew about a lot of these but I've been learning about so many more recently. You can use these associations to create representations of your work with the planets for petitions, prayers, or other workings. If you have decks you don't need, you can us the card as a base to attach paper talesmins to and give them some rigidity while adding to the correspondences (good for if you need to tuck it in a car visor or a book). Really there are so many options for using tarot as representation for astrological concepts.

The classical planets and the 12 zodiac signs are the most agreed upon from what I can tell and they are as follows.

Classical Planets

Moon - the High Priestess

Sun - the Sun

Mercury - the Magician

Venus - the Empress

Mars - the Tower

Jupiter - the Wheel of Fortune

Saturn - the World

The Moon card is traditionally associated with the sign of Pisces but I've swapped these out a few times and not noticed a major difference. I have also substituted Judgement for Saturn when not working with them in an earthly or cthonic capacity and that's worked alright for me. I try to stick to the traditional associations when reading a spread but when picking a representation it seems like it's slightly less important.

Outer Planets

Uranus - the Fool

Neptune - the Hanged One

Pluto - Judgement

These are less agreed upon but what I've found most common. I use them when reading but I will swap them out when picking a representation. I think they work okay for the most part. But truthfully I don't work with the outer planets a whole lot and don't often need a representation of that.

Zodiac Signs

Aries - the Emperor

Taurus - the Hierophant

Gemini - the Lovers

Cancer - the Chariot

Leo - Strength

Virgo - the Hermit

Libra - Justice

Scorpio - Death

Sagittarius - Temperance

Capricorn - the Devil

Aquarius - the Star

Pisces - the Moon

Just as a note, the signs also correspond with parts of the body and can be used to represent requests or petitions in that way too. I have some times used the Emperor (the sign of the head) and the Moon (the feet) to represent that my request is for my whole body. It's too much to fit into this article but it's easy to find on Google and something to add into the language of what you can represent.

Representing Fixed Stars

It's become more popular to work with fixed stars of the Zodiac (Deneb Algredi, Algol, Regulus, etc) and one way I've been using to set up an altar to the ones I work with is to select the tarot card that corresponds to the decan that the fixed star is found in and par it with the Star card.

The decans and card associations are too many to list here but the principle is fairly straight forward. There are 4 elements of the zodiac (Fire, Earth, Air, Water) and they correspond with the four suits of the Tarot (Wands, Pentacles, Swords, Cups; respectively). The Aces embody the elements themselves. Without the Aces, each suit has 9 cards, that are then divided by the three modalities of the Zodiac (Cardinal, Fixed, and Mutable). Each of these modalities has three cards representing the three decans of each sign. Each decan covers 10 degrees of a sign and have associations themselves.

Cardinal signs are at the beginning of each season, so they are equated with the beginning of each suit (2,3,4). Fixed signs are in the middle of each season, so they are equated with the middle of each suit (5,6,7). Mutable signs are at the end of each season, so they are equated with the end of each suit (8,9,10). Using this you can figure out what decan belongs with which sign.

Say you want to represent Algol, who is at 26 degrees Taurus. Taurus is a Fixed (5,6,7) Earth (Pentacles) sign. 26 degrees is between 20-30 and so is in the last decan of Taurus. Meaning the card you'd select would be the 7 of Pentacles.

Sun, Moon, Rising

So on occasion, when I realize I probably won't be using a deck but I want to keep it around, I'll pull a few of the cards and use them as artwork. One way I've done that is by displaying my Sun, Chart Ruler, and Rising Sign using Tarot Cards. I don't have any presently to show as an example but I will get stiff paper, attach cards in a grid, and put it in a cheap frame. Now that I know the decans, I would also include the decans in addition to or replacing the sign cards. I use the World here for Rising Sign because it has felt right to me and at one point incorrectly learned Saturn as being associated with Judgement so I still use that when laying out cards for this kind of artwork.

For instance:

The Sun - The Chariot - 2 of Cups

The World - The Devil - 3 of Pentacles

Judgement - The Star - 3 of Swords

Hell of a combination, I know. The reason I've done Chart Ruler instead of Moon is purely because I have a total solar eclipse in my natal chart so they'd use the same sign and decan cards and this way I don't have to have a second deck.

I'm actually working on turning this layout into a spread/worksheet. More on that in another post though.

Deity Representations

I have used tarot cards as deity representation a lot in my practice, especially with travel altars as I mentioned. But it really could be extended to others as well. This is where there's more intuition and less structure to go off of so what I say here is by no means law. Artwork of the cards themselves will dictate quite a lot.

For the Greek and Roman deities associated with the planets, the choice is pretty easy; the Magician can be a representation of Mercury, the Empress for Aphrodite, etc. For Kemetic deities that were syncretized with Greek and Roman deities, you can also use those correspondences too. I have used the Magician card to stand in for both Hermes and Yinepu for instance.

For other deities, my recommendation is to stick with the court cards as your basis. These already are often read as actual people in a given situation and the artwork in a lot of decks will only include a single person - which is just helpful for me personally when using it as a representation in an altar set up.

However, where you want to call a deity in a specific role, combining a court card and a major arcana can be really powerful. When I use the cards in my work the Morrigan, I always use the Queen of Swords as my base. But if I want to call her in her role as prophetess, I might combine the Queen of Swords and the High Priestess. If I want to call her in her role as battle raven, I might combine the Queen of Swords and the Tower.

If you work with the Elements as entities or as guardian spirits, you can utilize the Aces for their representation as they are the embodiment of the purest qualities of each element. This also works in combination with a Court Card for deities you are calling in connection with their association with an element. Say if I wanted to represent Geb, I might use the King of Pentacles and the Ace of Pentacles.

Ancestor Representation

I have not done a lot of this personally though in the times I have tried it, it has worked pretty well. Court Cards not only refer to people but often have associated ages as well and in a pinch I've used the Court Card associated with the gender and age that someone passed away. I have not used this yet for someone who has passed away that was nonbinary but I would probably default to using the Knight or the Page as they're less gendered, even though they correspond with younger age groups. It's imperfect and I'll write more on this later as it evolves.

The age groups associated with the court cards (as I learned them) are:

Page: young, usually under 35

Knight: someone mid career, age 35 - 50

Queen and King: someone at their height or who has reached old age, 50+

I tend to pick the suit for what they were most known for; were they really emotionally oriented (Cups), did they work really hard (Pentacles), were they especially known for their intellect (Swords), or were they fiery and artistic (Wands)?

If you want to use the cards to honor your dead generally, you can always use a representation of a psychopomp who opens the way for you if that's a part of you practice. You can also just use the Death card, perhaps in combination with the Six of Cups. I am much more likely to do this than represent a specific ancestor but I have needed to on occasion and this is roughly what I used.

Spellwork Representations

This honestly could - and hopefully will - be it's own article or zine at some point but I did want to mention a little bit on using the cards for spellwork on the fly. The main ways I've used them so far is either to petition the spirits of the Major Arcana for assistance or use the pips to specify what I want to happen.

The former is pretty straight forward. I personally have found the Major Arcana to be spirits in of themselves, which makes sense to me coming from a Chaos magic background, and I have petitioned them with offerings like I would any other spirit. The Magician has seemed to be most open to this so far but others are helpful in their own ways.

The latter works the best if you've worked with the cards long enough to understand their concrete meanings. Often beginners will have these very general understandings, that are still accurate by all means, but hard to take action on. If you're at a point in your tarot practice where you can see for instance the 4 of Wands know it's connotations with marriage and contracts or the 9 of Swords associations with bringing on nightmares, then this method should work for you.

Sometimes I'll combine this with a deity representation and lay a pip before it as my petition and then give offerings and burn a candle or incense. Just using them as representations for what I want to happen alone hasn't worked well but using them in combination with something else has. Have someone walk over the 5 of Pentacles or 3 of Swords enough times and there will be consequences. Just as walking under the 6 of Wands or the 10 of Cups will bring blessings.

Conclusion

So I hope this was helpful to someone out there. It's been super helpful for me to just grab my deck and go in so many situations. I can grab it and then scrounge for offerings when I get some place and not feel like I'm without something core to what I need.

And I know there are so many variations on this. This is by no means the be all end all of how you can use them and I do hope to expand on some of them in later writing, but I do think this is a decent springboard to experiment with.

How do you use your tarot deck for representations?

#witchblr #tarot #tarot lesson #witch #tarotblr

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bubblefina · 4 years ago

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King of Hearts chapter 5

Masterlist

Summary: Reader and Tom meet during their years at Hogwarts, but as the years pass a rivalry grows between the two of them, which leads from soft beginnings to tragic endings.

“Wait, tonight? Are you mad? Meeting that late without having a class will get us in trouble either way, no way am I-”

“You’re such a goody two shoes Riddle. Fine, I'll meet you right outside the dungeons near the Slytherin common room at 11:50, I’ll escort you to the tower. Be there or I won't be happy.”

Pairings: Tom x f!reader

•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ ✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ ✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ ✩

Chapter 5- Blackmail

Around 11:40 at night, you left the dorm room to head to the Astronomy tower for the last class of the “day”. The Astronomy tower was located at the tallest tower at Hogwarts, and the classroom was at the very top, in a wide open space.

Other first years walked beside you on the stairs, the stairway was lit by a few lanterns around every corner, but that still made it a little hard to see.

The Astronomy Tower was spaced out, telescopes around every edge, one for each student. Small desks were placed next to each telescope to accompany it.

“No desks? We have to stand for the whole class period?” a girl you didn’t recognize was complaining to her friends, alerting the teacher.

“Studying stars will not require you to sit down. Welcome to class, in Astronomy you will study stars and the movements of plants. To get started, you will have to find your desk. Each desk has a name card on it, go find it and set your things down.”

The students scattered to find their seats, and one by one each seat was taken. Walking around flipping cards, you couldn’t find your name, luckily after a few more seats you were able to find your seat at the right edge of the tower.

After setting your things down, you heard someone walk behind you and sit down next to you.

“You again?” you ask.

“Stealing my words now? How low, l/n. When I said you should expand your vocabulary, I didn’t mean you should take mine.” Tom Riddle had sat in the seat to your right, tucking the note with his name on it into his robe.

“It’s nice to see you again.” Looking at him for a few seconds, waiting for his response felt like a one-sided staring contest, he never gave you a proper reply other than a hum.

Rolling your eyes, you turned to face the professor who was setting new instructions for the class.

“Let’s get started quickly. Open up your textbook on constellations and stars and go to page 4 and find the constellation, ‘Capricornus’. Find the constellation using your telescope and map out it’s position using the instructions in your textbook. If you need any help, refer to the people around you and as a last resort ask me.”

You looked at the surrounding people, a girl that was talking with her friend on your left, and on your right was Tom, who was already adjusting his telescope.

‘So I'm stuck in between a rock and a hard place,’ you thought, adjusting your telescope to get good luck at the night sky.

The rest of the class time was spent charting nearby stars and filling out small worksheets that the teacher had given out to the students that finished early.

After class ended, the students were led back to their classrooms, being watched closely by prefects so that none of them would loiter around the hallways.

●・○・●・○・●・●・○・●・○・●・

The months passed quickly as Autumn turned into early Winter. It was nearing Christmas, just a few weeks away.

Sitting down in the Great Hall, alone, you were flipping the pages of your Transfiguration textbook, rapidly writing down notes on the wrinkled parchment that you had laying on the table.

Professor Dumbledore had a Transfiguration test during your second period, and it was a written test rather than a physical test.

Was it partially your fault for not studying prior? Yes it is, but it couldn’t be helped that the professors took the holiday time to assign more assignments than they did before, especially professor Binns. His assignments for History of Magic were more boring than his class.

The surrounding students started to leave their seats, signaling that class was starting soon. You had Charms first, and then Transfiguration. It was only Thursday, one more day, and you can relax for the weekend.

After your accident on the first day, you took your time and tried to gain the professor's favor in Charms by excelling in your lessons, and it worked. You might not have had the same level of favor as Tom, but you were getting there.

Being better than those three Slytherin girls made you happy either way, their taunting of your talents made you study and work harder until you were one of the first ones to perfect a Charm in the class.

In the spirit of the snow that was piling on the castle floors outside, the professor had a lesson that resonated with the seasonal changes that were happening.

“An Ice jinx, very simple really. The jinx itself makes a block of ice, but, if you use the stronger version, you can conjure multiple ice structures of different sizes. For now, you will work on one ice block.”

The directions had been simple enough, the incantation was, “Parva Glaciem”, and the students were left to try and succeed with the Charm.

You had a knack for mastering charms, and managed to perfect the charm with ease, earning praise from the professor.

He asked you to go around and help any students that seemed like they were struggling, and your eye was focused on one person in particular.

“Can I be of any help?” you ask.

“Depends, does your help involve hitting me in the face with an ice cube somehow?”

“It was one time, Archer! I’m doing this out of the good of my heart.” You sat down in the empty seat next to him and pulled out your wand.

“You have a heart, y/n? I find that hard to believe.” His teasing comment made you dramatically gasp and clutch your chest as if you had been hurt.

Over the past few months, you and Archer had grown closer. Since your flying skills weren’t the best, he had helped you every Friday after classes near the quidditch pitch. During those ‘tutoring’ times, he had given you tips on how to control your broom, how to stay on your broom if anything happens, and maneuvering techniques.

Most of the time was spent teasing each other about random things. He would make fun of your shaking hands around the broom as you flew higher and higher, and you made fun of him for not paying attention to where he was going when the both of you were flying around, causing him to crash into trees often.

In return for helping you with flying, you gave him tutoring lessons on subjects he struggled with. The main one was Charms, which you were fortunately excellent at.

“You know, I’m still surprised that you aren’t good at Charms, you seem good at everything else.” You motioned your wand as he watched your hand movements closely.

“I think you have me confused with someone else, y/n. I’m nowhere near perfect, maybe you’re thinking of Riddle over there. I heard he’s top of every class.” You looked to where Archer was motioning. The Slytherin area, where Tom was sitting. He had been talking to two other boys, which was odd, you always thought he was antisocial.

Focusing your attention towards Archer, you smiled and continued to help him with the Ice Jinx.

Unfortunately, no matter what you had tried, Archer still couldn’t perform the jinx properly. The most he could do was have a few pieces of cold air wisp from his wand.

“Okay, let's try something different this time,” you grabbed his hand and helped him with the motion of the jinx, the both of you were sitting so close, and to your surprise his hands were really warm, which helped with the coldness of the classroom, “now try it again.” You let go of his hands and watched him do the movement and recite the incantation.

A small block of ice appeared on his desk and he whispered a victorious ‘yes’ as you went back to your seat.

“Don’t even start, Naomi.” you said as you sat down.

“I wasn’t thinking of anything.” She held her hands up in a defensive motion, but the look on her face gave her away.

“I saw you looking at us, don’t say anything about this to Melissa. She’ll grill me for hours about the power of love.”

You made Naomi swear on it. When Melissa had heard about your flying lessons with Archer, it took her hours before she could stop babbling about the potency of your supposed ‘relationship’ with him.

●・○・●・○・●・●・○・●・○・●・

Another week has passed since that Thursday. You were in your bed reviewing the test that had been given back to you from professor Dumbledore.

For a person that didn’t study fully, you still had managed to pass the test. Maybe not to the best of your abilities, but it was still a pass.

Professor Dumbledore had grown fond of your magical abilities. Even if you messed up during class, you were quick enough to not let anyone notice and try again. He admired your willingness to get better, and you quickly became one of his favorite students.

Melissa and Azalea were both fast asleep, but Naomi was still up. She had a book in her hand and was reading it intently with her wand acting as a light.

You got out of your bed and headed towards the door, Astronomy was waiting for you.

“Leaving for class?” Naomi asks.

“Yeah, I’ll be back when it ends. You should get some sleep too, it’s not good to stay awake for this long.” Naomi gave you a small smile.

“I’d love to, but that frog that Azalea got in Diagon Alley is more than likely going to keep me up until it kills me, or I kill it. Don’t tell her that, though.” She held her finger up to her lips and went back to reading her book.

She wasn’t wrong. The frog that was stuck in a cage on Azaleas night stand hadn’t stopped croaking since she bought it, it's been keeping you awake for days.

You had gotten to the Astronomy tower a bit earlier than usual, maybe your tired state made you move quicker? When you opened the tower door, you saw Riddle sitting down on a stool near his desk, scribbling something.

Yes, the teacher had stools sent to the class because too many students had complained about standing through the whole class, some even managed to fall asleep standing up. The late night classes were not everybody’s forte.

“Early as usual, aren't we, Riddle?” you ask him as you slump your way to your seat.

“It's surprising to see you here this early too, l/n,” he stopped writing on his parchment and turned to look you in the face, his usual blank face turned into a disgusted one as he examined you head to toe, “what happened to your...everywhere.”

He most likely noticed your dark circles and lack of care in taking care of your appearance. Taking in a deep breath, you gave out the best explanation you could, “Azalea got a pet frog and it won't stop crying at night, no one's getting any sleep.”

“Why don’t you just.” he waved his wand around in an unknown motion, when you finally caught onto what he was implying you gasped.

“I will not kill a frog, especially one that belongs to a friend.” he rolled his eyes at your response and went back to writing on his parchment.

Taking advantage of the quiet atmosphere, you laid your head upon the table and closed your eyes. Class wouldn’t start for another 10 minutes or so, that was all you needed.

It felt like not even ten seconds had passed before your shoulder was being shaken. Groaning, you turned your head around to see your professor standing with her hands on her hips.

“Miss l/n, my classroom will not be used as a place for sleep. Please catch up with the lesson, and no more snoozing off.” She left the area you were in and went around to the other students who had watched the scene unfold, telling them to start working too.

After your eyes have adjusted to the scenery, you tap Riddle's shoulder rather harshly, making his head whip towards you in irritation.

“What do you want?” He asks.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“It wasn’t my responsibility, serve you right for falling asleep in class.”

It was partially your fault for trusting in him enough to wake you up in the first place.

You took out your textbook from your bag and turned to the page about Jupiter's rotation around the sun.

The class had been mapping different planets for the past few weeks, and learning about their cycle around the orbit system.

You looked into your telescope to find Jupiter, but couldn't see it everywhere. All the other students had been writing things down on their parchment about the placement of the planet, but why can they manage to find it, but you can’t?

Adjusting your telescope a little more, you moved it around until you could see something in the supposed blank sky. After looking a little, you saw something red flash before your eyes as you maneuvered the telescope around.

Quickly turning back to it, you zoomed in on the object and as you looked at it more closely, your mouth gaped.

You once again went back to Riddle's shoulder and slapped it a few times, making him groan in annoyance.

“What could you possibly want now?” He asks irritatingly.

“I found a heart.” was the only reply you could give him.

“A heart? How sweet, maybe you can show it to someone who will believe you, or go back to sleep, maybe you’re still dreaming.” He turned back to his desk, but was interrupted once again when you pulled him over to yours.

“Just look inside, I promise you’ll see it too.”

Reluctantly, he took a hold of your telescope and peered inside. His reaction wasn’t as big as yours,, but you did see a shift in his expression.

“Well, it's not exactly a perfect heart, but it is shaped like one.” he took a step back and continued to stare at the sky.

“Do you know what it is?” you ask him.

“No, why would I?”

“I thought you knew everything.” you mock him sarcastically, which results in him mocking you right back. The both of you didn’t converse all that much afterwards, but you were entranced by what you had just found, and continued to look at it through your telescope until class ended.

You flipped through your textbook to find anything about it, but nothing popped up.

‘Maybe it’s in an advanced copy?’ you would probably be able to find something about it in the library.

●・○・●・○・●・●・○・●・○・●・

The next afternoon was spent in the library, rummaging through multiple books about stars and anything relating to Astronomy, but not being able to find anything.

There had been a stack of books on the table you were sitting at, and they kept getting bigger and bigger.

Reaching for one of the last books in your stack, you noticed the weird title it had.

“Wizard's guide to the dark stars?” you whispered to yourself.

As you skimmed through the pages, you landed on one that talked of a heart shaped nebula that resided in the eastern hemisphere of the sky.

It showed a picture of the nebula. It was similar to the one you had seen last night, although it seemed as if it was painted rather than an actual photo.

Below the photo gave a description of the nebula.

“There has been a phenomenon among young wizards where they have been seeing a heart shaped cluster among the stars at night. Said cluster, only being visible through a telescope, is said to look like a heart. There has been discord among many scholars in trying to explain what it could mean and where it came from. As time has passed, the explanation for the nebula has come to light. It is said that not everyone can view the nebula, only two people can see it at a set time, and only those two people can see it. It has been theorized that if those two people see the nebula together, they-”

The explanation was cut off. The bottom portion of the page was ripped off, and any other continuation was cut off as well. Closing the book, you thought to yourself. It sounded like a potential prophecy in the making, but there hadn’t been any reasonable evidence behind it, and if there were it was cut off.

The paragraph had said something about only two people being able to see it at a set time, you had to tell Tom what you had found.

Stepping out of the library and into the corridors, you walked along the hallways until you found Tom with a small group of Slytherins climbing the stairs to another floor.

“Riddle!” you yell, starting to run after him before he could disappear behind the wall.

He and the other boys looked your way, watching you run towards them in a hurry.

“Well well well, aren’t you a lost little Ravenclaw-”

“Shut it, Malfoy. I don’t have time for you today,” your voice was slightly haughty, making Malfoy's face contort, before he had the chance to say anything, you grabbed Tom’s wrist, “you’re coming with me.” And without a moment to spare, you dragged him to a separate hallway, far away from any students.

“This is considered kidnapping-” Tom barely got to finish his sentence before you suddenly stopped and faced him, your face a little too close to his for comfort.

“I found something.” you say, skimming through the pages of the book you had checked out of the library.

“Found what, and loosen your grip next time, you nearly tore off my wrist.” As Tom rubs his wrist, you push the page with the prophecy near his face.

“Remember that thing we saw last night? The heart. Turns out it’s a nebula, and it says something that sounds like a prophecy, but the rest got torn off. I was thinking, we have enough information to go around and find out what it really means-”

“Hold on. What do you mean, we? I don’t remember giving my permission to be dragged into this.”

“Funny story, since you and I saw the nebula together last night, we’re kind of in it together.”

Tom looked uninterested, which was understandable. He didn’t really have an opinion on what he had seen last night.

“What makes you think I’ll help you? So what if I saw that nebula with you, I didn’t say I’d join this scavenger hunt of yours.” He turned around and started to walk away from you, but he didn’t make it that far before you cut in.

“If you help me, I won't tell anyone that I've seen you in the restricted section of the library late at night.”

Tom paused right in his step, he looked as if he was hit with a freezing jinx. He turned his head to you, his eyes slightly wide.

“How do you…” he began.

“For the past few weeks, I've been falling asleep in the library because of my lack of rest. Sometimes when I wake up I can see someone trying to enter the restricted section, and when I got a closer look, it was you.” you tapped the tip of his nose in a mocking manner.

“Would be a shame if someone like headmaster Dippet heard of a student going in the restricted section.” You crossed your arms and looked around the hallway, a small smirk was curling on your lips as Tom watched you.

“You’re...blackmailing me…?” he took a step back from you, eyes still slightly wide.

You closed the gap again, “Is that a yes or a no?”

You saw his nose scrunch up in anger, taking a breath before he answered, “very well...I’ll help you.”

“Wonderful, we’ll meet at the tower tonight, at midnight.”

“Wait, tonight? Are you mad? Meeting that late without having a class will get us in trouble either way, no way am I-”

“You’re such a goody two shoes Riddle. Fine, I'll meet you right outside the dungeons near the Slytherin common room at 11:50, I’ll escort you to the tower. Be there or I won't be happy.”

You skipped away from him, leaving him dumbfounded and alone in the empty hallway.

#tom riddle #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle fanfiction #voldemort #daddy voldy #hogwarts #harry potter #original character #hocrux #King of Hearts

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muwur · 4 years ago

Note

If requests are open.. Suga x reader -3rd year student- where friends to pining where reader is a exchange student mid year -parent’s job- and reader is new to the school, can barely communicate Japanese and is too shy to meet new people.. reader is welcomed as a co-manager for vb club and all the other boys adopt her has their sister. She tutors them in their English lesson too.. also how would Suga help her open up from her shyness..

request: sugawara x fem! reader who is a shy exchange student!

another beginning.

✩ one-shot ✩ for sugawara bb

❧ fem reader

✎ 4.9k words

a/n: FINALLY GOT THIS BBY DONE, ty for being patient requester <3 i hope its ok, lmk if u would like smth different!

also curious but do yall listen to music when you write or read? i dnt always but when i DO i listen to some boppy music so i can shake mah ass (unles im depresso AHAHA) LMAO rec me some pls--

send me asks--

current listen: juicy by doja cat, gasolina by daddy yankee, 11 PM by maluma

A pencil dangled between two of your fingers, gently swinging back and forth as you tapped the eraser’s tip against your chin in thought. Looking over Hinata’s shoulder at the worksheet laying on the table, you extended your hand and made a neat scrawl on the page. “That’s good translating, Hinata! However,” you dragged your pencil across the surface, marking a line and arrow to point at a space near the beginning of his sentence, “keep in mind that although gerunds look like verbs, they act as nouns. So, this word should go here.”

Yachi, who was seated to your right, nodded in agreement. “I looked through his notes doodles, and it looked like they were going over gerunds in class!”

With narrowed eyes, Hinata scanned the page, muttering the sentence underneath his breath. Suddenly, his hazel eyes lit up in understanding and his lips morphed into a round “O.” “Ohhhh, that make a lot more sense! Thanks, (y/n), you’re a big help, especially in English! Also, look, guys!”

He rummaged through his cluttered backpack and fished out a slightly wrinkled sheet of paper with a red “14/50” marked on the top right corner. Holding it up proudly, he declared, “I got a better score than last time! By nine points!”

“That’s still an F,” Tsukishima pointed out, eyes glued to the pages of the book he was reading. Yamaguchi and Kageyama tried to stifle their snickers.

“Y-You’re not even looking!” Hinata defended. The ginger was met with a shrug. “I don’t need to see the score to know you failed.”

Before any fighting could break out, however, the door swung open, revealing the remaining third-years. Bags of snacks in their arms, the four of them stepped in. “We’re back! Your parent/guardian let us in, (y/n),” Sugawara announced, setting his bag down on the table. The rest followed suit and set the goodies down. Rummaging through one of the bags, Daichi pulled out a meat bun.

“Hinata, here’s your meat bun,” he said, handing the snack to the excited first-year, who had long-forgotten Tsukishima’s snide remark about his lack of intellectual aptitude. Kiyoko offered Kageyama his milk, the slight brush of their hands being enough to stir Noya and Tanaka into an envious craze. Asahi tried to settle them down, nervously reminding them that they needed to act respectful in your home, especially after your family had agreed to let you all study there. You stifled a giggle as Sugawara and Daichi joined in, scolding their underclassmen for their poor behavior and threatening them with a time-out.

With an exasperated sigh, Sugawara took a seat next to you on the mat. “Ah, I can’t help but worry about how Ennoshita’s going to handle both of them on his own.”

Giving a sidelong glance to the second-year, who was now forcing Noya and Tanaka to complete timed practice problems, your lips formed a small smile. “Looks like he does a pretty good job at it, though.”

Sugawara let out an amused huff. “Guess I’m worried over nothing. Oh, also,” he dug into the plastic bag in front of him, taking out your favorite snack and offering it to you. “Here you go.”

(can u tell from my stories yet that fav snacks aka actions are my love language--)

“Oh, thank you, Suga, I didn’t even ask for this…” you flashed him a grateful smile and took the package from his hands, suppressing the blush that threatened to overcome your cheeks as your fingertips brushed. He gave a sheepish smile and glanced to the side in response, giving the back of his neck an anxious rub.

“Ah, it’s the least I could do to thank you for letting us all come over to study. It’s really helpful. I appreciate it, (y/n).”

“It’s not much, really. I’m more than glad to help you all (read: Hinata, Kageyama, Tanaka, and Noya) out with English and offer my place. Having everyone together makes it easier. They need to pass these exams so you all get to play.”

Your offer to help the team with their studies may have seemed a simple gesture as both their friend and co-manager. On the inside, however, you really were more than happy to have everyone over for whatever reason. It left you with a feeling of awe. The last thing you would’ve expected 3 months ago was to be sitting in your new home in Japan, surrounded by a group of people who accepted you despite your poor Japanese and late appearance to Karasuno. Just 4 months ago, after you learned about your parent/guardian’s job transfer to Japan, you were left feeling an array of mixed feelings:

Anxiety – a whole new country? With a language you could barely even speak or understand? How was that going to work? Could you even make friends at school? God knows how long it took you to make the friends you have now.

Disappointment – you were looking forward to graduating high school with the friends you’ve made throughout the past few years. Having to say goodbye would be difficult, and you’d miss them.

Yet, you felt a sliver of hopefulness – new experiences were waiting for you. You had the opportunity to lead a new life in a foreign place. It filled you both with fear and exhilaration.

On the night before your first day at Karasuno, you could barely sleep after spending hours religiously practicing how to introduce yourself in Japanese. Having to introduce yourself to the class and speaking with your new classmates was inevitable, after all. And so the next day, you found yourself standing in front of the classroom, trying to suppress the nervous shudder that threatened to rack your body and ignore the prickles of sweat on your palms. Despite how much you mentally recited your introduction that morning, your current situation left your mind blank, unable to conjure any words. Fueled by the awkward silence, the numerous gazes focused on you, and the growing pit of anxiety in your stomach, what came out was a quiet, jumbled form of what you intended to say.

“Hello, (y/n) (l/n). I’m (insert your original country name here). I can’t Japanese, but I hope friends. Everyone, nice to meet,” you bowed, both in respect and so that you could hide your face, which was red from embarrassment. You knew you messed up, but you pretended otherwise, hoping that nobody would point out your mistake.

You straightened up after a few moments of silence, registering the confused looks of your new classmates and feeling another stab of shame. In response to your introduction, the teacher raised her eyebrows and blinked in confusion. Then her eyes warmed, and she offered you a smile as she spoke up. “Class, this is (l/n) (y/n). She recently moved here from (insert OG country here). She’s still learning Japanese; however, her English is perfect, so I’m sure you can all learn something from each other. Please make her feel welcome. Your seat is over there, (l/n).”

Shoulders sagging, you made your way to your desk, avoiding eye contact despite the pairs of eyes that followed you to your seat. Focusing on the lecture was a struggle. Not only could you barely understand anything the teacher was saying; worries about how the rest of the day would go also flooded your mind. This was only the morning; how could you navigate your way through the halls? Ask for directions? Would you meet people? Where would you eat lunch? How could you survive?

The remainder of the classes went by gruesomely slow. Too embarrassed from your slip this morning and too shy to meet new people despite wanting to make a friend, you successfully dodged conversation with any of your classmates. You were relieved that finally lunch came by, yet that presented another problem. You weren’t sure where to go, but you were sure that you were going to eat by yourself.

After a few minutes of walking around the hallways, you settled for eating lunch in the classroom. At least it meant you didn’t have to rush to class after the bell rang. Taking a seat, you pulled out your boxed lunch and set it out in front of you. Painfully aware of how alone you must have looked, you pretended to look really interested in your meal (am i the only one or--). You poked it, broke it into pieces, then brought each sliver to your mouth and chewed slowly. If only your family had switched your phone plans earlier, then you could at least spend time scrolling the internet or lament to your friends back home about how your day was going.

Still “engrossed” in your meal, you failed to notice a figure standing in front of your desk. Only after you saw a hand situate itself on the edge of your desk did you look up.

You met the chestnut eyes of a boy. He bore a warm smile that made a small crinkle in his eyes and beauty mark. Strands of grey hair draped naturally in front of his eyes and framed the sides of his face. Despite your unease, his soft features helped to calm your racing heart and mind. He seemed a friendly person; after all, he was able to approach you.

“Hey, you’re (l/n), right? I’m Sugawara Koushi, but you can call me Suga. I’m in your class,” he introduced in pretty darn good English.

‘Man, that means he heard me this morning…’ you thought miserably. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel some relief. Perhaps you hadn’t given others or yourself much of a chance before jumping to the conclusion that you were incapable of meeting new people.

Clearing your throat, you shyly extended a hand to him in greeting. “Yes, I’m (y/n) (l/n). Call me (y/n). It’s nice to meet you, Suga,” you replied hesitantly, finally using the correct words in Japanese that you had been practicing the previous night.

Shaking your hand, his eyes widened in pleasant surprise. “Your Japanese sounds pretty good! You just moved, so you’re still learning, right? How about I help you improve that while you help me with English?”

You were about to nod eagerly in appreciation when you both overheard some snickering across the room. Two boys and a girl sat together, whispering quite loudly and sneaking oh-so-inconspicuous glances over at your desk. Taking notice that they were caught staring, they presumed to loudly munch on their meals and talk about the weather.

Suga only shot them annoyed glare and shook his head before turning his attention back to you. “Sorry, those are my… Friends.” The strain in his voice after saying that last word made you question if they really were on friendly terms.

After that day, you found yourself spending every lunch period with Suga and his other third-year friends Daichi, Asahi, and Shimizu. You initially felt unsure of how to talk to them, but after Sugawara’s efforts to include you in his circle and some reassuring words about being yourself and not letting a small, temporary language barrier hold you back from making friends, you earned a bit of confidence. While you spoke a hybrid of English and Japanese with them, you eventually managed to pick up a lot of Japanese from talking everyday, and after these few months of constant exposure, you were able to hold decent conversations. Additionally, the extra help you sought from the teaching staff allowed you to be able to keep up in class, and your instructors were understanding enough to give you some leniency on your assignments during this adjustment period.

Hanging around your new friends often, it was only a matter of time before you were introduced to the rest of Karasuno’s boys’ volleyball team. It occurred one lunch period three weeks after you first arrived, when Asahi suggested that you join some club activities. You were discouraged, however, considering that it was already halfway through the year, you didn’t know enough Japanese yet to converse with just anyone, and you were a tad shy, which made joining clubs a bit difficult. At that moment, your new friends all made eye contact with each other, then looked at you.

“Why not join our volleyball club?” Suga asked. “Shimizu could always use the help. She’s our only student manager.”

Shimizu nodded in agreement, her blue gaze soft. “Your help would be really appreciated. There’s a lot to this job, so having someone to split the work with would be relieving. You can also help me look for someone to take my place when we graduate.”

Later that day you found yourself in the gym being blocked by Sugawara, who was protecting you from two crazed boys whose collars were held back by Daichi. A ginger-haired boy looked at you with curiosity, excitedly introducing himself as Hinata and pointing out the names of the other members on the court (“This is ‘Bakageyama’ and that guy’s ‘Four-eyed Jerk Face’—").

Upon their release (which was granted only after they promised to behave), Tanaka and Noya dashed over to you, tears in their eyes as they held your hands and expressed their gratitude for your presence. “Oh, (y/n), you kind soul, helping Shimizu with the managerial work. Better yet, now we have two cute girls to support us, this is amazing!”

And that’s how you found yourself sitting with your new friends in your living room and feeling grateful for their vibrant personalities, kindness, and acceptance. You couldn’t have asked for a better batch of friends to end your year with. Though, you were most grateful to Sugawara. If not for him, the last several months of your highschool experience may have gone by miserably, with nothing special to note and no new friends to celebrate with. His gentle, understanding nature had done nothing but support you and make you feel welcome. He helped introduce you to a new, comfortable life you had trouble imagining before your arrival to Japan. He dispelled your doubts and fears, instilling in you a newfound confidence in your abilities. It certainly helped that the team was just as supportive and patient with you.

You could recount the events of the past few months that brought warmth to your heart. These people were growing on you, making you feel like you could be yourself more each day. Daichi provided you a sense of security and leadership. Asahi was empathetic, quick to detect your feelings of uneasiness and asking you if you were okay. Shimizu made sure to make you feel welcome as a friend and fellow manager, even inviting you to a café over the weekend to brainstorm ideas on recruiting a replacement (who you both later discovered to be Yachi) and try out some desserts. Tanaka and Noya tried to teach you all the Japanese curse words they knew, initially lying to you about their meanings so they could see the rest of the team’s reactions when you would blurt things out in the middle of practice (Let’s just say that Daichi, Suga, Ennoshita, and Tsukki knew whose fault this was, and Asahi was real shook hearing a string of curse words from your mouth while you sat there, no ill intent emanating from you whatsoever). Ennoshita gave you a comforting, easygoing presence. Tsukki was… Tsukki (LOL). But he could carry on a conversation, often genuinely interested whenever you talked about the culture back in (other country). And you knew he was soft. Hinata was a burst of energy, and you found his bickering with Tsukishima and Kageyama silly and quite precious. You often stayed with Yachi to toss balls to Kageyama late at night, much to his appreciation. Yachi and Yamaguchi were some of the biggest sweethearts on the team, and all you could think about was needing to protect them.

There was definitely something different in your interactions with Sugawara, though. You found yourself closest to him out of everyone. It may have been because he was the first you talked to, or maybe it was because he was one of the most easygoing people you’ve ever met. That, and you found yourself wanting to get closer to him. You wanted to know more about him.

Sugawara chuckled in response. “I suppose you’re right. We wouldn’t have made it this far without everyone,” he said softly, a tinge of fondness showing in his brown eyes. He proceeded to take out his schoolwork and pen, resting his chin in his palm as he read the words across the page of his assignment. Occasionally, you glanced over at him, admiring the way his eyebrows knit together in concentration, and how his hair brushed his cheeks whenever his head shifted in its position. How the grey tips of lashes kissed his bottom eyelids with each flutter of his chocolate hues. You even took a mental note that his lips, currently pursed in thought, were rather smooth and full in appearance.

A rogue thought about how those lips would feel against your own flitted across your mind. It brought a small pang to your chest, and you had to mentally slap yourself back into reality. You noticed these new feelings were starting to become more prevalent the longer you hung around Sugawara. You consulted your friends back home about it, and in their excitement, they insisted you had a crush on this guy (and demanded photos). Heart palpitations, heat-flooded cheeks, covert glances, and a desire for closeness in all aspects possible? All symptoms of infatuation, your personal love doctors concluded. You recalled when these signs first appeared about a month ago, after he offered to walk you home when practice had gone late into the night. Initially you declined, not wanting him to go out of his way when it was already dark outside. However, after seeing the soft look in his eyes as he declared he wanted to ensure you got home safely and that he didn’t mind the walk, your heart couldn’t help but give in and agree.

It was a tranquil night, accompanied only by the sound of crickets chirping and a cool, whispy breeze. About 15 minutes after having left campus, you were both seated on an aged bench at a small park, snacking on recent convenience store purchases to satisfy your growling stomachs. A comfortable silence settled in the air. The nightly surroundings were illuminated by the gentle glow of several nearby lampposts and stars that burned lightyears away.

Your gaze followed the tracks of a small bug crawling across the sidewalk in front of your feet. It skittered soundlessly against the pavement, eventually disappearing in the security of a bush. A gentle sigh took hold of your attention, and your eyes flickered over to your friend, who was peering up at the star-dusted evening sky.

“Do you know what you’re doing after graduation?” he asked, a hint of wonder in his voice.

You shook your head. “No clue, to be honest. You?”

He pursed his lips and took a sidelong glance at you before focusing back upwards. “Well, I’ve always wanted to be a teacher…”

“Seems fitting. Your Japanese lessons have been really helpful,” you pointed out, smiling.

The tips of his lips curved upwards as well. “Really? I’m glad. You’ve improved a lot, too. You’re a quick learner.”

“Heh, well I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Another comfortable silence fell upon you two before he spoke again. “I was thinking about how to keep in touch with everyone after we left, and how it’s a shame we’re leaving so soon after you arrived. I would’ve liked to know you better, too, but there’s only a few months left...”

His genuine words left a rosy tinge on your cheeks. As you were thinking of a response, you looked down, noticing how close your hand lay next to his. Heartrate quickening, you stammered, “Y-Yeah, I wish we had more time, too.. T-To hang around each other, I mean. But graduation doesn’t have to mean goodbye, right?”

“That’s true... You always know just what to say, you know that, (y/n)?” he turned his gaze on you and held out an extended pinky. “Promise to talk to me after graduating, then?”

You rolled your eyes playfully and huffed in amusement. Taking your own pinky and intertwining it with his, you nodded. “So long as you keep your end of the promise, too.”

“Of course.”

Sugawara’s voice brought you out of your momentary flashback. “(Y/n)? Can I ask you a question?”

Blinking your previous thoughts away and calming the warmth on your cheeks, you responded, “What’s up?”

He slid his assignment closer to you, pointing at a section he was having trouble with. “Here. I’m not sure if I’m doing this correctly..”

You leaned in, scooching towards him and closing in on the gap between you. Focused on the homework, you failed to notice how the brush of your shoulders made Sugawara’s body stiffen slightly. With your proximity, your scent easily wafted to his nose, and he could observe the closer details of your appearance. The hair tucked behind your ear exposed your cheekbone, looking soft to the touch. Your determined hues scanned the page, and he could visualize your thinking through your small, occasional self-nods. You looked cute and comfortable in the casual hoodie you wore, bringing him a strange, mixed sense of bashfulness and ease. His mind wandered, trying to envision how you would look if you wore any of his jackets, but his thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of your sweet voice and scribbles against paper.

“It sounds great, Suga! I just made a note there on how you can fix it; otherwise, it should be okay,” you gave him a reassuring smile as you slid his work back to him. You, however, didn’t shift back to your original position and instead stayed seated mere inches from the boy. Not that he minded, but…

“O-Oh, alright, thanks!”

It made concentrating during the rest of the study session a little difficult.

Occasionally you did get up, helping mostly the first and second years with some of their English assignments. His eyes would secretly (but c’mon, everyone but Hinata and Kageyama could tell) follow your figure, admiring the way you looked as you interacted happily with the others and did whatever you could to assist them. Yet you always returned to the same spot, near Suga. Close enough that everyone else on the team took notice (if they haven’t already), relayed the information via mental telephone, and secretly agreed to depart a bit earlier than they had anticipated.

“Oh, you guys are leaving already?” you asked everyone as they were packing up their belongings.

They all nodded in response, offering up their reasons for leaving earlier than the original time you set, which ranged from, “My parents wanted me home for dinner” to “My sister’s wasted and locked out of the house, nobody’s home—” (u good der Saeko)

Standing at your doorway, you waved to your friends, sending them off with a “I’ll see you at school!” as they waved back and filed out of your home. Looking over to Suga, who was still standing beside you, you wondered, “Oh, you’re staying?”

“Oh, yeah! I was surprised to see everyone leave so soon, but I was planning to head home in another hour. B-But I can go now if you need me to..!” he answered a bit shakily, waving around his hands in small, bashful gestures.

You shook your head and you waved your hand dismissively. “It’s okay, you’re more than welcome to stay for however long you need to.”

Settled back in the common area, you both tried to resume your schoolwork, but to no avail. Groaning, you leaned back, using your arms to support you from behind. “I’m tired of workingggggg.”

He sighed in agreement, resting an elbow on the table and propping up his head in a closed fist. “Same. Do you want to do something else?”

“Hmm..” you pondered aloud. “Do you want to see my room?”

Shrugging and responding with a “why not?”, you both stood up, leaving the common area to go to your room. You opened the door and stepped inside, Suga closely trailing behind you.

“Welcome to my room. Make yourself cozy,” you insisted as you sat on your bed and pat the spot next to you. He took your offer, taking a seat beside you and looking around your bedroom in curiosity.

“Something about this place really seems like you, (y/n).”

You raised an eyebrow at his comment. “Is it the messy pile of clothes in that basket or the neat desk I cleaned up this morning?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I suppose you could say those are part of it. I just meant there’s a lot to you that you should feel comfortable sharing with others. People are complex and there’s so many sides to a person we discover along the way. I remember how timid you were in our first weeks of knowing each other, and now you’re getting along great with everyone and work hard to improve everyday. You were able to overcome a stressful repeat of entering highschool, but this time in another country, and adapted just fine! Your kindness and determination is admirable.”

Twiddling with your fingers, you felt a sheepish grin form on your face. “Aha, you’re too kind, Suga. You know I couldn’t have made these friends or adjust so well without your help. I was too worried about talking to anyone until you came up to me, so… Thank you.”

You risked a glance towards the boy, finding his chocolate gaze already set on you. If none of your interactions in the past month had set your heart ablaze, then certainly this moment would take the cake. Sugawara’s eyes flickered downwards briefly in a moment of hesitance, then locked again onto yours with a hint of an undetectable emotion lurking behind those irises. Neither of you could bring up any words to say. The only sounds present were the soft hums of your breathing and the low creak of your bed as you found yourselves shifting your weight in order to inch closer to one another.

His mind flooded with a cacophony of emotions, from crippling nervousness to an allure for risk-taking. He could barely come to terms with the current situation and what might happen. Maybe he was overthinking it. Surely being this close face-to-face with someone who you just happen to like doesn’t automatically mean they like you back and want to kiss you just as much. Perhaps you were just leaning in to rest your head on his shoulder; after all, you did seem tired from the events of today. Or, you were scooting close for a better look at his face so you could point out, “hey, you got a little something on your face.” Perhaps a crumb from the cracker he had earlier?

But when he took note of the way your eyes fluttered shut, eyelashes caressing the tops of your dusted cheeks, his doubts began to waver. Maybe this was the chance he’s been seeking out lately. Once Daichi deciphered Sugawara’s affections for you, eventually the whole team found out and began to silently root for him. Thankfully, despite their blatant attempts to help him out, you hadn’t noticed a thing. It made him wonder whether you were oblivious, or just didn’t like him, or both. However, in this moment, when it appeared as though maybe you returned his feelings, he felt he should—as Tanaka would say—shoot his shot.

A sudden knock on the door sent you both jumping 5 feet away from each other. Frazzled and wide-eyed, you choked out a weak, “H-Hello?” in response to the interruption. The door opened, revealing your parent/guardian, who peeked inside.

“Dinner’s ready. Would you like to stay and have it with us?” they were asking Suga.

Heart still racing from the fear that gripped it, he blinked in surprise. He piped out a polite no thank you, reasoning that he didn’t want to intrude.

“Nonsense, we’re happy to have you. Come soon.”

They closed the door and left, leaving you two in an awkward silence that was soon interrupted by the sound of your cough. “We should, uh, get going…”

Standing up, you reached for the door with Suga in tow. The tension in the air remained between the two of you throughout dinner. Nevertheless, Sugawara was able to leave a good impression on your family by being a good conversationalist, even earning a few laughs from your parent/guardian. It made your heart swell at how natural it was for him to be able to get along with others.

After dinner ended and he packed his things, you stepped outside with him to send him off, closing the door behind you. He was about to salute you with a “thanks for having me over” when you gave him a peck on the cheek so sudden that he didn’t have time to react before you were already making your way back into your house.

“Thanks for coming, Suga! I’ll see you at school! Let me know when you get home!” you exclaimed animatedly, shutting the door quickly to hide your embarrassment from your sudden actions. You leaned your back against it, instantly regretting what you did with tightly shut eyes. ‘Oh gawd how am I gonna face him at school tomorrow dhefjkg.’

But on the other side of the door, Suga stood dumbfounded, hovering a hand over the area your lips had touch. Though highly embarrassed, he felt a rush of elation pass over him like a humongous wave that never stopped crashing against the shores.

He was starting to really think it was a good idea to introduce himself to the cute new girl in class. Nice one, Suga.

#haikyuu x reader #sugawara koushi x reader #sugawara x reader #sugawara koushi #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader oneshots #hq reader insert #haikyuu reader insert #requests

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localsitesgo · 3 years ago

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themelancholicmedstudent · 4 years ago

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Dec. 21st, 2020

10 Days of Productivity Challenge Day 16/100

Good morning! The exam I’m the most worried about is tomorrow. Hopefully it goes well and my GPA doesn’t take another hit in this course. The exam is 60 questions and 60% of the course grade, which is just insane and so stressful to think about. Every 6 errors is a letter grade drop...T-T.

My coffee machine showed up today! I’ve had like 4 lattes since I set it up. It’s so amazing and I’m glad I ended up getting it. The only downside is I only have pre-ground Dunkin coffee which isn’t the best. I’m gonna do some research on coffee beans in the area and try to find something that’s more my taste.

My bookcase arrived today too! I’ve got about a shelf and a half of books. One of my goals for 2021 is to fill at least a whole bookshelf. Now that my bookcase is here I’ve realize I could probably fit a second one if I ever need to in the future, which is nice.

My goal for the day is to make my way through as much as I can of the 79 page course summary and the 70ish worksheet pages.

Here’s a quick rundown of my day.

Woke up at 7:50 AM

Set up coffee machine (also had to teach the family how to use it, so it’s not ruined)

Revised for 2 hours

Put together bookcase

Organized my books

Revised for an hour

Threw a load of laundry in the washing machine

Cleaned out the coffee machine

Revised for 3 1/2 hours (my head hurts...T-T)

#studyblr #100 days of productivity #100 days of productivity challenge #100daysofproductivity #studyspo #themelancholicmedstudentstudies

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stephissalty · 5 years ago

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the chances are getting lower

Pairing: Iwaoi

Rating: T

Warnings: Language

Words: 1700

Summary: "And although there’s the 80% - wait, maybe 70% - chance that Oikawa probably doesn’t like him back, Iwaizumi can’t stop himself from thinking how pretty he looks like this. He briefly wonders if you could consider this a date. He also thinks that the chance Oikawa doesn’t like him back might be closer to 60%."

AO3

the chances are getting lower

It’s summer when Iwaizumi has a life-shattering realization. Honestly, it really shouldn’t shock him that much. Maybe he’s just dense - that’s probably it.

He likes Oikawa.

He really likes Oikawa.

This realization doesn’t scare Iwaizumi as much as it had ought to, but he files it away as something to deal with later. Iwaizumi is about 80% sure his best friend doesn’t feel the same way, but when he’s being dragged through crowded festival grounds by said best friend isn’t the time to be debating the state of his world.

Oikawa has a tight grip on the sleeve of Iwaizumi’s hoodie and is in the process of tugging him along. He hasn’t said anything about their destination, but Iwaizumi knows better than to ask. So, without questioning, he follows his friend through crowds of people. They pass a row of games they’d played an hour or so ago (Iwaizumi had won a small alien plush for Oikawa and Oikawa won a cat plush for him), and then go through the line of food trucks, where the population density is highest.

Finally, they break out of the crowd. Oikawa turns around, his eyes shining as they reflect neon lights from all around them. “The fireworks are going to start in a few minutes, Iwa-chan!” And then he pulls Iwaizumi past further from the festival, to an open field. Several couples and friend groups had already settled in the grass.

They find a spot away from other people and sit in the grass. Iwaizumi stretches out his legs and leans his weight back on his palms. He briefly considers that, if his theory is correct, it’s like an invitation. It’s an invitation that Oikawa gladly takes. He rests his head on Iwaizumi’s thighs, laying perpendicular to him. Their eyes meet, and Oikawa’s eyes are bright as the expression on his face seems to ask is this okay?

It’s very okay.

And although there’s the 80% - wait, maybe 70% - chance that Oikawa probably doesn’t like him back, Iwaizumi can’t stop himself from thinking how pretty he looks like this. Pink and green lights from the festival behind them cast over his face, showing his light sprinkling of freckles on his cheeks. His hair, although beautiful, is subject to gravity, and thus has fallen away from his face and is spread across one of Iwaizumi’s thighs. God, he’s beautiful.

Not wanting to think about any consequences, Iwaizumi smiles and gently cards one of his hands through Oikawa’s hair. The other relaxes against him and closes his eyes, content.

They both startle when the first firework explodes in the sky.

Oikawa watches the show in amazement, but Iwaizumi watches Oikawa the whole time, just to see the joy on his face.

He briefly wonders if you could consider this a date.

He also thinks that the chance Oikawa doesn’t like him back might be closer to 60%.

Iwaizumi isn’t one to deny himself pleasures, as a general statement.

If he wants to eat, he’s going to eat. If he wants to watch a movie, he’s going to watch a movie. If he wants to look at a pretty boy, he’s going to look at a pretty boy.

The pretty boy looks back at him.

During practice, they’re playing a practice match, and somehow Iwaizumi ended up on a different team than Oikawa. Oikawa’s team is winning - but just by a little. They’ve been making eye contact the whole time, like you’d expect best friends to. But Iwaizumi rakes his eyes up and down his friend’s body, subtlety be damned, and he looks the same way he always looks when he’s playing volleyball - fucking incredible. Iwaizumi vaguely registers that Oikawa’s up to serve, but his head is far from the game as he watches Oikawa’s hands twirl the ball. Those hands. Iwaizumi’s knees feel weak when he realizes how long he’s been staring, but he’s too far gone now, it’s too late for him, he’s already passed the point of no return -

And then there’s a hard impact to his jaw, and he’s staggering backward, and suddenly he’s on the ground. There’s some dull pain - in his face, on the back of his head, on his ass - but he’s definitely felt worse.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa shouts as he ducks under the net and slides to a stop on his knees next to Iwaizumi. His eyes are filled with concern as he leans over Iwaizumi and cradles his jaw gently. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I -”

“Tooru, I’m fine,” he responds, voice hoarse. For a second he forgets their teammates are surrounding them, so he covers Oikawa’s hand with his own and smiles weakly. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Damn, that serve hurt.

“Oikawa, take him to the nurse to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion,” the coach yells.

Cliche? Trivago.

Oikawa’s arm around his waist and supporting a good portion of his weight, they make their way to the nurse’s office. “Iwa-chan, what happened? You’ve never just taken a serve to the face like that before.”

Iwaizumi stiffens. “I was distracted.” It’s not a lie.

“Be careful, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa orders, but his voice is soft with genuine concern.

“If I get knocked out, no one else will keep you in line. I’m not going anywhere.”

He misses the look that Oikawa gives him, full of adoration.

The percentage might be closer to 50%.

Oikawa is laying on Iwaizumi’s bed, calculus homework spread around him, and Iwaizumi’s eyes are glazing over from where he’s been staring at an essay at his desk for the last hour.

Iwaizumi picks up the stapled stack of papers - twelve pages long, double sided!!! - and pitches them across the room and groans in frustration. “I’m tired of this bullshit!”

“Aww, is Iwa-chan tired of literature analysis?” Oikawa teases, resting his head on his arms.

“Yes,” he growls and goes to pick up the now-wrinkled papers. “I understand math, but this literature bullshit is driving me up the fucking wall.”

Oikawa pouts. “You want to do my calculus homework for me? If I see another integral, my brain may melt, and the team can’t stand to lose me.”

Iwaizumi regards one of Oikawa’s worksheets. “This really isn’t that bad. My class covered this last month. It’s just u-substitution to make your life easier. U-sub is your friend.”

“Look, you can say that all you want, but that doesn’t make the words make any more sense,” Oikawa complains. “This squiggle shit -”

“Integral.”

“- squiggle shit is bad enough, but now they’re throwing in inverse trig? My brain wasn’t built for math, Iwa-chan! It was built for volleyball!”

“I’ll do your calculus if you’ll do my literature.”

“Fucking deal.”

After trading homework, they finished their respective assignments in about twenty minutes, after which, they both laid down on Iwaizumi’s bed, Oikawa’s head on Iwaizumi’s stomach.

“Thanks, Iwa-chan.”

“Thanks, Tooru.” He lightly runs his fingers through Oikawa’s soft hair as the other relaxes and purrs quietly under the touch. “Are you spending the night tonight?” It’s a Thursday night, but that’s never mattered to them.

“Sure, but I’m not moving,” Oikawa announces and grips onto Iwaizumi’s hand that’s laying by his side.

“...Alright.” Iwaizumi pauses his ministrations. “Do you want to watch a show before bed, though?”

“Ooh, can we watch that American cooking show?”

“Yeah, we can,” he laughs.

After a few minutes of shifting, they end up shoulder to shoulder with Iwaizumi’s laptop balancing on both of their legs. Oikawa drops his head onto Iwaizumi’s shoulder and grips his bicep. Then, he carefully entwines their fingers and squeezes gently.

Iwaizumi, heart pounding, looks down at his friend in surprise. He doesn’t know what to do from here, so he just goes along with it and sinks into Oikawa as he watches the terrible American show that Oikawa has taken a liking to.

He’s thinking that the percentage might not be 50%, but maybe closer to 30% when Oikawa pulls their conjoined hands up to his own mouth and kisses them.

Iwaizumi’s fairly certain that, in that moment, his heart stopped. “Tooru?” he whispers, not wanting to break the magical moment, but too scared to let it go unrecognized.

“Iwa-chan?”

20%.

“What are you doing?” The contestant on screen is crying over ruining his potatoes.

“Do you not know?”

10%.

“Know what?”

Oikawa lifts his head and focuses all of his attention on Iwaizumi. “I like you a lot. I think you probably feel the same, don’t you, Hajime?” Inhale. Exhale. “I really hope you do, anyways, or else this is going to get weird,” he laughs nervously.”

Iwaizumi smiles softly. “Of course I like you too. How could I not?”

“That’s exactly what I was figuring,” Oikawa says cheekily. “Can I kiss you?”

In lieu of a proper response, Iwaizumi brushes their lips together, gently at first and then more firmly. Oikawa responds immediately, kissing back with fervor and dragging a hand into Iwaizumi’s hair.

Iwaizumi pulls back suddenly. “I’ve been waiting to do that for a while.”

Oikawa reclaims his lips in a searing open-mouthed kiss that has his entire body writhing and wanting more, more, more. Iwaizumi moans quietly into his mouth and nips gently at Oikawa’s lower lip, drawing a beautiful, breathy moan out of the other.

The laptop on Iwaizumi’s lap is long forgotten as Oikawa climbs into his lap and presses their bodies closer together. Everything is so hot as they pant into each others’ mouths. Oikawa works his way down Iwaizumi’s neck, kissing firmly but careful not to leave any marks. Iwaizumi inhales sharply and presses his hips upward, seeking some friction.

“Fuck,” he swears as their hips collide. The indirect contact alone feels so, so good. He tugs on Oikawa’s hair mostly out of desperation, bringing him back up to his mouth. He connects them in another hot kiss as Oikawa grinds down.

And then, suddenly Oikawa disconnects their lips. “We should slow down just a bit, alright? I… I don’t want to be too hasty with you. You’re too important.”

“Of course,” Iwaizumi responds and kisses him chastely. “Anything for you.”

Oikawa grins and snuggles into Iwaizumi’s chest. “I like you a lot, Iwa-chan.”

“I’m pretty damn fond of you, too, Tooru.” He kisses his hair.

“Good. Don’t let me go.”

“Not a chance.”

0%.

#iwaoi #my writing #iwaizumi hajime #oikawa tooru #hq #hq fanfic #iwaoi fanfic #fluff #canon compliant #mutual pining #friends to lovers

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softeddiek · 5 years ago

Text

Jess @starkyards and I need more robin x nancy fic in our lives so i took it upon myself to contribute some. this is me dipping my toes into writing them lol, hopefully it isn’t too terrible

Five Times Robin Tried to Talk to Nancy (and the one time she did)

3.3k words | Rated T

ao3 link

Moving to Hawkins, Indiana has to be the least exciting event of Robin’s life, even at just nine years old. The town is boring, the school is small, and all of the kids in her class stare at her with that weird, wide-eyed fascination that’s afforded to new kids all over the country on their first day. Robin doesn’t like the attention and she certainly doesn’t like any of the small-town kids that had promptly decided she wasn’t worth knowing after one conversation. Her mother tells her that maybe she’ll make friends in other classes or through after-school activities, but she isn’t too sure she wants to know anybody in Hawkins.

That is, until the second day. Because on the second day, Nancy Wheeler shows up to class. From what Robin heard the two kids seated next to her saying, Nancy’s family vacation to Florida had wrapped up late, and her mom had let her take the first day off. Robin isn’t sure this Nancy Wheeler is as lucky as her fellow fourth graders think—what’s so great about Florida?

Before Robin gives into the prodding she’s sure her mother would have given her to just try making friends one last time, she decides to observe Nancy Wheeler in class. Just to see if she’s worth knowing.

And she finds that Nancy is, well, kind of cool. Sure, she has her hair in two perfect braids with bows and an outfit that looks straight out of a J. Crew catalog—a marked difference from Robin’s choppy bob and jeans with two little holes in the knees from when she’d fallen off her bike—but she also seems friendly enough. She answers the teacher’s questions but doesn’t seem like a teacher’s pet; she shared her goldfish with another kid in class that didn’t have anything for snack time; and best of all, Nancy seems to like everyone in class without having a best friend in class. Maybe that could be Robin.

So, when recess rolls around, Robin begins striding up to Nancy, who’s taken up residence on a swing. Just when she’s stepped onto the faded mulch covering the floor of the playground, a girl’s voice calls out behind her.

“Nancy!”

Nancy brings her swing to a stop, mouth widening into a grin, before she hops off and runs right past Robin.

Later, Robin would find out that the red-headed girl Nancy ran so enthusiastically over to was Barbara Holland. Nancy’s best friend.

Robin quickly decides Nancy probably isn’t looking for a second one.

ii.

Robin’s mom is late in picking her up from band practice. She’s taken to sitting on the curb, watching as everyone else gets picked up by their parents, shrugging off their offers for a ride home because her mom is coming, she’s probably just caught up at work, okay?

She decides to take out her Algebra II homework and work on it while she waits. Math isn’t Robin’s strong suit. She’d nearly had to retake Algebra I last summer but had just scraped by with a passing grade last minute. Her mom likes to lecture her about how she’s plenty smart so it must be because she doesn’t study enough. But to Robin, she’s just bad at math; just like the sky is blue, just like Rumours is still the best Fleetwood Mac album, and just like Hawkins is still stuck in the ‘50s.

She’s so caught up in trying to make sense of her homework (who decided that more letters needed to be added to math?) that she doesn’t realize someone else has joined her on the curb until a delicate little sneeze startles her. Looking over, she sees Nancy Wheeler sitting a few yards down from her, eyes focused on an open book in her hand. Robin blinks at her a few times, head snapping back to her homework sheet when Nancy must feel eyes on her and seek out Robin’s own.

Robin feels her pulse pick up erratically, her hands clammy as they grip onto the worksheet in between them, crinkling the pages a bit. Calm down, she tells herself. Nancy Wheeler is harmless, she’s not going to say anything to you.

To say middle school had been rough for Robin would be an understatement. From what her mom liked to say to console her, middle school was hard for everyone—what with puberty and all of those other awkward adolescent moments everyone was starting to go through. So, Robin had sucked it up when classmates had called her a nerd for spending time learning new languages, and geek for joining band, and dy—

But Nancy Wheeler doesn’t say those things. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen Nancy make fun of someone. She just sort of keeps to herself and does her schoolwork and hangs out with Barbara Holland. Or that’s what it looks like to Robin, at least. It’s not like she’s spending large amounts of time around Nancy Wheeler to really know.

Maybe it’s the thought of Nancy Wheeler finishing her test early and pulling out a book in their shared science class, or of Nancy, small, secretive smile on her face after receiving the award for perfect attendance at their sixth grade awards ceremony last year, or even the image of Nancy right now, sitting just down the curb from her, reading her book as she waits for her mom to pick her up (maybe it’s all of these thoughts) that has Robin turning to look at her again, lips parting to speak.

(Maybe to say hi or maybe to ask for help with her homework or maybe to ask her something like if she had heard that new song by Supertramp.)

But all that comes out is an embarrassing choked sound, Robin’s head too caught up in what to say and how to say it. And now Nancy is looking at her, eyes curious and questioning, delicate hands still holding open her book.

Robin clears her throat, determined to say something, anything. “Do you—” she gets out, only to stop at the sound of a car pulling up. Her mom.

In all of Robin’s twelve years of life she doesn’t think she’s ever felt so rooted to the spot. Does she finish her sentence (whatever it was going to be)? Does she forget about it and make a beeline for her mom’s car? She looks between the two, her mom’s red hatchback and Nancy’s furrowed brow.

The decision is made for her when her mom honks the horn, looking out the window at Robin with a questioning look. Robin jumps to her feet, worksheet still clutched tightly in her hand, grabs her bag off the ground, and takes quick strides over to the car before scrambling inside.

Blood is rushing in her ears, rendering them barely able to comprehend sound as her mom leans over and out the window, asking Nancy Wheeler if she needs a ride home.

Nancy must say no just as Robin had because soon they’re pulling out from the school and Nancy is becoming a smaller and smaller speck in the rearview mirror that Robin’s eyes keep traitorously glancing at.

“Friend from school?” her mom asks when they’re stopped at a light.

“No.”

iii.

The facts: Robin is fourteen and just one more semester away from high school and she likes girls. The first two are obvious facts, the third one hopefully less so.

Being gay in Hawkins, Indiana is decidedly not great, but Robin likes to think she’s done a good job at keeping it to herself. Sure, the occasional slur is still thrown after her in the hallways by fourteen-year-old douchebags who probably don’t know the difference between Neil Diamond and Neil Young. But those seem mostly provoked by the fact that she’s in band and has short hair and less so because they too had finally realized that she really wants to kiss girls.

She feels almost vindicated by her success when her mom asks if any boys from school have asked her to the Snow Ball.

Almost, because when she says no her mom insists that she go anyway just to have fun and she is not taking no for an answer.

So that’s how Robin Buckley, Hawkins, Indiana’s very own 14-year-old closeted lesbian, ended up here, in a middle school gym, sipping overly sugared punch as she listens to her fellow band kids talk about the upcoming Christmas concert.

The decorations around the gym are nice enough, in a Carrie-at-prom way, what with the balloons and glittering lights and all of that tinsel.

Much to her chagrin, after sipping discontentedly at her third cup of punch, her friends from band get her to dance. It’s a mess of limbs as they move along to the Electric Slide and other line dances and Robin’s a bit put-out to find that she’s actually having fun, so much so that she even agrees to dance with Keith to a slow song (and if she has to deal with his vastly misplaced crush on her all the way into their first semester of ninth grade, well, at least there’s one more person in Hawkins that believes she’s straight).

It’s nearing the end of the night and Robin’s mom is going to be picking her up soon, so she stops dancing, slips her shoes back on, and plops down at the table she and her friends had claimed for the night. Her breath is coming out in heavy puffs (band is a lot more athletic than one would think, but it’s not like she’s a star athlete, okay?) and her hair feels stringy with sweat but there’s a smile plastered on her face that seems like it will never leave.

She takes in the rest of the room; the teachers lurking in corners, repeatedly checking their watches; her bandmates still out on the floor; the balloons in the corner, already beginning to deflate. She guesses her mom making her go to this wasn’t so bad, but it’ll take a lot of prodding for her to actually admit that.

She looks around at the rest of the tables, watching her classmates as they too prepare to leave, when she spots Nancy Wheeler standing by a chair a few tables away. Robin hadn’t seen her all night—not that she’d been looking for her—but now that she has she can’t look away. She’s in a light blue dress with sequins along the straps that shimmer under the cheesy technicolor lights bouncing around the room. Her hair is curled, two barrettes on either side that match the shade of her dress, with stray strands clinging to her neck.

Robin’s throat feels dry all of a sudden. She looks around the table for her cup of punch, coming up short at all of the half empty ones littering the table. She looks back at Nancy, thirst forgotten as she watches the way her body sways halfheartedly to the music, serene smile on her face.

It hits her suddenly. Nancy Wheeler is cute. Really cute.

The heat must be getting to her or maybe there was something besides sugar in the punch because Robin is standing up suddenly, tripping over her own feet as she makes her way over to Nancy.

And suddenly, harsh light is hitting Robin, causing her to squint, right hand coming up to cover her now burning eyes.

The music is stopping, and people are filing out, back into the brisk night air, laughter on their lips and feet aching and Robin is just standing there, watching Nancy Wheeler’s retreating form.

Robin spends the rest of eight grade spurning Keith’s advances and getting tutored in math after school. She doesn’t have time to think about how cute Nancy Wheeler looked at the Snow Ball or how adorable she looks after returning from winter break, all bundled up in a plaid coat and matching scarf, beanie pulled over her head—so she doesn’t.

iv.

Fall of 1983 is turning out to be a tense time for Hawkins. First Jonathan Byers’ little brother went missing and now Barbara Holland. Barbara who was in Robin’s world geography class; who lent pencils out to people that asked and who raised her hand to answer questions like, “What led to the fall of the Byzantine Empire?”

Barbara Holland with her red hair and big glasses and quiet demeanor. Nancy Wheeler’s best friend Barbara Holland.

Robin figures Nancy is getting plenty of support from Steve Harrington. Mr. Popular and Miss. Priss were “that” couple now. Why would perfect Nancy Wheeler need support from anyone else—and from Robin no less? No, Nancy Wheeler is probably handling things just fine.

But when Robin is excused to use the restroom in her fourth period Spanish class and hears sobs coming from the only occupied stall, she isn’t so sure of that.

A quick glance under the stall door presents a pristine pair of white Keds that she knows belong to Nancy Wheeler (and if asked how she knows that Robin would remain tightlipped).

She debates saying something, but only for a second. Because what would she even say? “Hey, I know you’re trying to cry in the privacy of your bathroom stall over your missing and possibly dead best friend, but want to talk about it? With me, a girl you’ve never spoken a word to before?”

No, that would be dumb.

Instead, Robin makes sure her footsteps are extra heavy as she makes her way to her own stall, lock clanging noisily as she closes the door.

The sobs become muffled sniffles until she’s on her way out of the bathroom.

The summer of 1985 starts out something like this: Robin gets a job at Scoops Ahoy! because she needs the money and also a way to occupy herself. It then somehow turns into her befriending Steve Harrington and getting wrapped up in decoding a secret message by Russians and then she’s being drugged and then she’s puking and then spilling her guts to Steve Harrington and suddenly her secret is out.

Out and bouncing around the tile floor of the Starcourt Mall bathroom. And it doesn’t matter, not to Steve. Or at least, not in the way she thought it would (the way that’s full of disgusted looks and jagged words and telling more people). There’s a bruised ego, perhaps but he had joked around about Tammy Thompson with her and moved on like nothing had changed. (And if she purposely mentions Nancy Wheeler’s name with frustration rather than the weird reverence she’s felt inside of herself over the girl since the fourth grade then Steve doesn’t need to know that.)

But then all of that doesn’t seem to matter because the Russians are back and after her and Steve and Dustin and Erica and she’s scared shitless—but that’s nothing compared to when the monster shows up.

And somehow, somewhere in there she manages to introduce herself to Nancy Wheeler. The first words she’s ever said to the girl and they end up being a stuttering, nervous introduction. That would be her luck.

(The feeling she gets when she sees Nancy is shaken but alive and safe and strong also scares her shitless.)

The air is stifling hot, even inside the video store. The rattling noise coming from the oscillating fan behind the register is the only sound inside the otherwise empty store.

It’s a typical slow Monday afternoon at the end of summer and Robin’s working alone. Steve has the day off and Keith left about an hour ago to do some “store business” which basically meant screw around at the arcade on company time. Robin doesn’t mind all that much. She’s casually sprawled out on the counter reading and she’s getting paid for it. It’s a win-win.

But then the bell on the door rings.

She drops her book, propels herself off the counter and stands up, quickly fixing her t-shirt before turning around to spot who’s entered the store.

What she’s met with is a very nervous looking Nancy Wheeler.

“Hi,” Nancy says, unusually timid for a girl who Robin had seen fight a monster just a few weeks ago. “Robin, right?”

Robin just blinks at her, left hand trying to pinch her right arm as discreetly as possible.

Ouch. Okay, not a dream.

“Yep, that’s me. And you’re Nancy?” she asks, already feeling incredibly stupid at the façade she’s putting on. Of course she knows who Nancy is. But Nancy doesn’t need to know that.

“Yeah.” Nancy stares at her for a moment, teeth worrying her bottom lip before, “Is Steve around?”

Robin tries not to visibly deflate. “You’re looking for Steve?”

Nancy nods. “He works here, right?”

Robin nods brusquely in response. “Yeah. But he has today off.”

“Oh,” is all she says, hands picking nervously at themselves as she glances around the store, taking in the shelves of movies and cardboard cutouts that Robin and Steve had arranged.

“Did you want me to pass along a message?” she offers.

Nancy startles, as if she’d forgotten anyone else was even in the store with her. She shakes her head, curls bouncing with the motion. “No, no thanks.”

Robin nods, already steeling herself for the image of Nancy Wheeler walking out of the store. Only Nancy doesn’t.

Instead, she fixes Robin with a stare, her eyes squinting in thought. Robin’s pulse is thrumming, her hands slick with sweat and she’s suddenly transported back to the seventh grade, waiting for her mom after band practice, nervous under Nancy’s eyes.

“Are you okay Robin?”

Oh God, she thinks. This is it. This is the moment it all clicks for Nancy—the stares, the stuttering, Robin’s shifty eyes.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she manages to get out.

Nancy’s eyes soften. “I mean, I wasn’t, the first time. Especially because of Barb. It helps, having someone to talk to. But I’m sure you and Steve…talk a lot,” her voice raises at the end, almost in question.

And then it clicks for Robin. Nancy was asking how she was doing after that night.

“Oh. That. Yeah, I’m uh,” she pauses. “Steve’s been a big help. It’s mainly at night that I…,” she trails off, uncertain of whether she wants to admit to the nightmares. Waking up in a cold sweat, phantom pain lingering in her neck from remembering the needle as it had been pushed into her skin.

“That’s how it’s always been for me too. It’s great talking to Jonathan but since he moved it’s been pretty difficult. That’s why I came to talk to Steve. Because he’s been through it all too. Not for—not for other reasons,” she tacks on at the end, her words hurried.

“I didn’t think it was for other reasons,” Robin shrugs.

Nancy sends her a small smile in reply.

They both just stand there for what’s likely less than a minute but feels like ages to Robin, their eyes locked on each other.

Just as Nancy looks prepared to say something, likely a goodbye, Robin blurts out, “Movies help.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, for me at least. Steve and I must have tried watching a million different genres until we found a few things that helped distract us.”

Nancy hums. “Got any recommendations?”

“Yeah, I,” Robin falters, unable to believe what’s happening. “I do, um, here I’ll show you a few of my favorites.”

Nancy follows Robin over to the shelves, taking in the different films Robin points out, occasionally picking up a few to skim the back cover. Robin feels this mixture of excitement and nerves that she never wants to end, fueling her as they discuss each one.

And when Nancy is saying goodbye, a few movies now in her arms, and she asks to exchange numbers, “If you ever just want to talk,” Robin nearly combusts.

#ronance #ronancy #robin x nancy #nancy x robin #my fic

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sedehaven · 5 years ago

Text

Saving Ophelia Grace’s Toe

Y’all seem to like my stories about being a witch in the Bible Belt, so here’s another one. This is a coming of age story about a young witch (me), a bunch of adults of various degrees of uselessness, and Ophelia Grace’s rotten toe.

This is not a happy story.

Names changed when necessary.

CW: Body squick, graphic injury, incompetent nurse, malevolent nurse, poisoning, bureaucratic nightmares, dark DARK shit ahead

So, in spite of the crushing poverty that I grew up in, I was given the opportunity to attend a very prestigious boarding school for Juniors and Seniors in Klan Kountry, LA. It’s a public school, so it takes kids from all over the state.

My school was run by a dude named Brother Dave.

Brother Dave was so awful that one of our senior pranks (I DID NOT DO THIS) involved a password-protected screensaver on every communal computer in the school (including, I think, Brother Dave’s office computer) of a bouncing, 3-D image of this:

Dude was NOT well-loved. It is important to know that he and I did not get along. When I was still a prospective student, he told us that our mascot was the mighty Eagle, because Eagles Flock Together.

Y’all. Someone watched himself too much Mighty Ducks.

I replied, loud enough for the whole auditorium to hear, “That’s not true, sir. Eaglettes push their smaller and weaker siblings out of the nest as soon as they can.”

He looked to the staff for support, red-faced and embarrassed by this ninety-pound child who stole his thunder.

The biology teacher (who left for greener pastures after my first year--rumored to have been forced out for being too fabulously dykey for the new administration) looked at him and stated, in her very particular and crisp fashion, “Well, she’s right.”

Safe to say, he hated me from the start. So, if you read this and you wonder, “Why didn’t this silly kid just go to the grown-up?” That’s why. He was our grown-up.

Brother Dave started at the school the year before I did. He was brought in by a local Senator, because said local Senator Fucked Up Colossally.

Senator Fuckup was running against Mr. Sketchy Businessman. Mr. Sketchy Businessman was backed by the Ku Klux Klan (a big deal in parts of the world, folks. My school was in David Duke country.)

Senator Fuckup had a fancy name--well-respected all around the state. Like, several statues of one of his relations decorate the state capital. Big name.

Problem is, Senator Fuckup is half-Black.

In Klan Kountry.

Y’all.

So he’s already at a disadvantage. As it turns out, it takes a village to start a magnet school. Senator Fuckup was one of the founding board members, and promised all kinds of benefits if they put the school in HIS district.

Their other offer was in my own hometown, the Hub City, where several of our major state highways cross with two Interstates.A place with art and history and culture. A place with one of the largest outdoor music festivals in the state--a multicultural, international music festival! With art walks and museums and Mardi Gras parades! With a three-story library, a library for French language and culture, and the second-largest university in Louisiana!

Senator Fuckup PROMISED that the school wouldn’t want for anything if they went to Klan Kountry.

So they did.

It was no great secret that this school was Senator Fuckup’s baby. At the time that I attended, the school was number one in the nation. Something to be proud of.

Except.

Except that in order to keep various forms of funding, the school was required to take in more melanin-blessed individuals than the locals liked.

Enter Mr. Sketchy Businessman, who ran a series of TV and radio ads claiming that our STATE funded school was stealing money from the local school district.

That’s right. He claimed that our school took money away from the poor Whites of Klan Kountry and gave to the diverse and metropolitan school for the gifted.

Senator Fuckup tried to deflect and dismiss, BUT did NOT rebut those claims. He didn’t believe that the school’s funding was THAT MUCH of an issue.

Any reasonable person would understand that the school was funded from the State taxes. Right?

As it turns out, Klan Kountry is not filled with reasonable people.

Senator Fuckup is a member of a particular subgroup in Klan Kounrty--a not-insignificant population of Catholic Creoles. So, after he wins his election--barely--he realizes that Something Must Be Done to help the image of the school that everybody knew as HIS baby.

Enter his old friend, Brother Dave. Brother Dave, who nearly bankrupted his previous school. His brother-in-law was a contractor who got a few really juicy contracts through him.

Protip: Nepotism only works if the person being nepotized is competent.

Spoiler: Brother Dave’s brother-in-law built schools about as well as Brother Dave ran them.

Brother Dave’s old school is attached to an order of monks who build cheap and simple caskets for people who are into that kind of thing.

They bake bread for the poor. These are good people.

Y’all, these people made it KNOWN--statewide--that they had a casket ready for ol’ Dave if he ever stepped foot in their town again.

Still, Senator Fuckup decided that THIS was the man who would lead my school into a glorious future.

Brother Dave took an aggressive stance on admissions. He wanted kids who didn’t have a lot of drama, and kids who looked (WHITE) good on the recruiting materials. He pulled hard from the local Catholic (Segregation) Academies.

Y’all.

Our Black kids were nearly White-passing mixed-race kids, one kid who was ACTUALLY from Africa, a couple of kids from Catholic schools, and one dark-skinned Baptist girl who is bombshell model-gorgeous. (For those glossy brochures.)

So as many White Catholic kids as possible.

Y’all.

I’ve competed with private school fuckwits in academic contests my whole life, up to that point. If it was something that required preparation (science fair, for example), they wiped the floor with us.

Because daddy the petroleum engineer did the project for them.

If it was a you-know-it-or-you-don’t thing (quiz bowl, for example), they lost so brutally that I might have felt bad for them. You know, if they had souls. Which they did not.

So Brother Dave populated our school with what he thought were “good kids”. White, Catholic kids.

Spoiler: My class started with 250 students. We graduated less than half of that, even after he backfilled our class with new kids between junior and senior year. The class after mine was worse.

Why is that?

White Catholic kids at segregation academies in the late 90′s basically did busy-work worksheet stuff all day. They were not ready for 10 page papers and 5 page lab reports and 100+ pages of reading and 20-50 math problems and projects, projects, projects!

Also, if all you do is worksheets and sit-down-and-shut-up, there has to be a certain...chemical element...to cope.

So, yeah. Drugs. So much drugs. And booze.

Brother Dave also hired Nurse Bitchy Fuckface. She was actually his first hire.

Nurse Bitchy was a walking disaster.

I was sixteen when I first met her, and because she didn’t smell like street drugs (I KNOW WHAT THAT SHIT IS), I missed a lot of signs.

Looking back, I think that she might have been a Prozac-and-wine kind of person. But, as the only drugs that I was familiar with came from street pharmacists, I thought she was just evil.

Hateful to the queers, pagans, Goths, and all assorted weirdos.

You know, all the kids who could actually handle the schoolwork and the pressure. *eyeroll*

I’m allergic to Sudafed. Weird, huh?

A senior at my school told me to be careful with Nurse Bitchy. She has a sensitivity to acetaminophen (Tylenol) and couldn’t have it. Nurse Bitchy had given it to her a couple of times.

It was on my senior’s medical chart. If you’re keeping score, that’s felony attempted murder.

Nurse Bitchy gave me Sudafed seventeen times (that I remember) while I was at that school. She very nearly killed me doing it. Some times I knew, and some times I did not.

“But why did you take it, if you knew?”

Well, you innocent dove, if I refused to take the medicine that the Nurse gave me, then I got written up. Enough write-ups and I got kicked out.

My home school in the Hub City? Eh...as bad as Klan Kountry was, I didn’t have someone assaulting me daily. I didn’t have a gang of girls who got away with attempting to rape me with a broom handle. I didn’t have a very big kid who was given liberties with me (BY THE STAFF) because he was special ed.

Or, as my guidance counselor liked to say (after my father was murdered and I was flunking chemistry--not because of dad’s death, but because the chemistry teacher put all the girls and Black boys in the back of the class--which had NO air conditioning on hundred-degree days--after Brother Dave’s brother-in-law “fixed” it that summer), “Stephanie, you know that you’re the poorest student here. Do you really want to go back to THAT?”

No. I did not.

Under pain of going home to poverty, rape, assault, and maybe death, I took her poison. She watched me do it. And she smiled.

I only went to Nurse Bitchy when I was forced to. This happened far more often my Junior year. The teachers would send me because I was sick (I come from a smoker’s home, and I’m an asthmatic who is allergic to tobacco. My family never quit, so I’d end up with smoker’s pneumonia most times that I went home. Thanks for the lung scars, fam.)

Eventually, when I was a Senior, my computer science teacher realized that I was unresponsive with a fever in her class. She was new that year, and didn’t know any better. So she woke me up and sent me along. Nurse Bitchy gave me the usual and sent me back to class.

Very few humans retain the ability to projectile vomit after age seven. Did you know that?

Lucky me, I did. I still can.

I hurled all over my keyboard. I hurled and hurled. My classmates screamed and ran.

My computer science teacher, an ice-cold woman of Indian descent with a very posh English accent, unplugged the vomit-soaked, ruined keyboard. She took it and me to the nurse.

She slammed the keyboard down on her desk and screamed at her to NEVER send a sick child to her class again.

Nurse Bitchy was (shocking, I know) a racist. She feared the angry Indian lady.

My computer science teacher, I believe, spread the word about Nurse Bitchy’s ineffectiveness. Teachers stopped sending students to her.

That left a vacuum. Nobody was being forced to get medical help. But medical help was still needed.

Before going to school in Klan Kountry, I was a veterinary technician. I worked under-the-table from too young. Illegal-child-labor-too-young.

But, I knew my stuff. I had a stocked medicine cabinet and a dissection kit.

I started doing everything up to and including prison surgery in my dorm room.

I could handle most anything. Which was better than worrying that the nurse was going to poison one of my friends into the ground.

I didn’t ask for money or food or anything (food was a commodity at that school because our cafeteria was infested). I worked for the goodwill of my classmates, which is the shiniest coin in the realm.

I’d gotten into witchcraft earlier that year. People trusted the witch over the nurse. That’s where my school was.

I only had one case that I really couldn’t treat.

Y’all.

It was traditional in the girls’ dorms that unless you were asleep or studying, you kept your door open. Mine was open that night. I was writing Sailor Moon fanfiction, procrastinating on one project or another. I don’t remember, it was twenty-two years ago.

Ophelia Grace (not her real name) came to my door in Doc Martens, favoring a foot. Her roommate or a suitemate or maybe another theatre kid was holding her up as she hobbled into my room.

I hadn’t heard that she’d been hurt, but apparently she had been. She was feverish and weak. Her face was bright red. She was babbling.

“I’m sorry,” she said over and over again. She apologized for coming late. She apologized for coming at all. She was shaking.

I sat her and her friend on my roommate’s bed (we’d bunked them, and I had the top bunk). My roommate was out, in the art lab working on a particularly tricky painting. Probably for the best. He was squeamish (my ex-roommate is a transman, so I’m using his preferred pronouns.)

I grabbed a large bowl and a mug, filled both with water (salted the bowl of water), and went down the hall to the microwave.

The water in Klan Kountry was filthy. It smelled bad and tasted worse. Remember Mr. Sketchy Businessman? He wanted to relax EPA regulations for himself and his sketchy business friends.

They were actively dumping into the city reservoir. But Mr. Sketchy Businessman promised to KKKeep KKKlan KKKountry Lily, so he got 49% of the votes.

Racist douche.

I boiled the water in the microwave--first the mug, then the bowl. It was a walk I’d make several times that evening.

Ophelia had a fever, holding steady at “fucking HOT” by the estimate of her friend. My thermometer pegged it at 102. Not good.

I put a teabag and two whole cloves in the cup and let it steep while I took her temperature. I asked her what happened. I don’t remember the specifics of the injury, but I believe that something got dropped on her toe. I think it happened in the theatre.

Ophelia thought she could walk it off. I remember that.

She kept apologizing. I honeyed the tea and shoved it in her hands. The tea helped. She was shivering--hard--from the wracking chills of her fever.

I remember how her febrile shivers made the bunk beds shake.

I remember thinking that I was in over my head.

I remember grabbing my oldest towels, and closing my door.

I remember praying.

And then I took her boot off.

Y’all.

I’ve smelled rot. Some people think that all rot smells the same.

It does not.

Corpse stink has its own bouquet. Blood rot has a distinct stench. Necrotic yeast infections almost smell good--like yeast rolls and something meatier.

I’d smelled Ophelia’s particular rot before.

I was fourteen. A momma dog was brought in, heavily pregnant. She’d been delivering, and the third pup got stuck. There were 11 left. The stuck pup was dead, but we managed to save 4 behind him, plus the first 2, born healthy.

The uterus had begun to rot inside, and several of the pups had been dead for some time.

The spaying that happened after the pups were removed was green and black, with the consistency of pudding. We pulled as much out as we could, but the rest had to be rinsed out.

Thankfully, I’ve smelled that smell very few times after. It smells pungent and strong. Like garlic. Like a cream of garlic stew.

I thought I’d gotten a whiff of THAT smell when Ophelia walked in, and again when she sat down. Pulling her boot off was like the first deep cut into momma dog. Garlic and blood.

The smell of something rotting in someone still alive.

She had on two socks. I peeled off the first one. There was a stain at the toe. The second sock was worse. The smell hung around.

Our windows were screwed shut. I couldn’t do anything about the smell.

Ophelia cried into her tea. She was still apologizing.

The toe was purple and black. There was a lot of yellow pus under the nail, which was leaking out on either side. Red streaks ran up her instep, tracing her veins.

The toe was swollen and needed a lance.

I had no idea how she climbed the stairs to get to me. (I was on the third floor, and she lived below. We had no elevator.)

She started to get loud (peeling those socks off HURT), so I asked her a question. I asked about her history paper. The ten-page history paper was a rite-of-passage at the school, and I knew it was coming due for her. I told her to tell me about her topic and her sources.

She did.

Thank the Lord and Lady.

I got my dissection kit and rubbing alcohol. I made things as sterile as I could.

I told her that it would probably hurt, but that I would work quickly.

Her friend left after the first cut. She didn’t stay gone long, but I heard her vomit in our suite’s toilet.

Ophelia kept talking about her paper. I led her around on that topic, asking questions and asking for clarification. Asking about the books she’d read, and offering a few that I was familiar with on the subject.

This is why doctors and dentists know so many things about so many subjects. Talking keeps the patient calm.

Meanwhile, pus and blood dripped from the slits that I made in her flesh, onto a towel that bore the stains until I donated it to the animal shelter, years later.

I soaked her toe in the bowl of water. The salt burned, but she couldn’t scream.

There was an adult who was supposed to be watching us. If she was alerted to my low-tech medical unit, she would have stopped me and sent Ophelia to the murder nurse.

I filled another bowl, salted it, and microwaved it.

Ophelia’s friend rejoined us, and watched as I squeezed the rest of the pus out of her. Her toenail slipped off in the third bowl. The toenail was cracked. Ophelia kept it.

I wonder if she still has it?

Triple antibiotic ointment and a sterile dressing later, I told her to tell the nurse that she needed a doctor. Nurse Bitchy couldn’t keep us from a doctor if we asked for one. She said that she would.

I gave her a few oral anti-inflammatory pills and some Benadryl to get a good night’s sleep.

She left, with her boot in her hand and a soft smile on her lips. I cleaned my tools, my bowls, the floor where her foot was, and had to do a load of laundry because that one rag smelled so awful.

My roommate came back in time for headcount, and asked if I’d made ramen. Said it smelled pretty good in there.

It did. Rot can do that.

It was hard to sleep that night. I cried quietly until sleep took me.

Ophelia recovered. She became a witch some time later. In college, I think. We’re still friends, in a Facebook kind of way.

Brother Dave is still alive. After working for my school, he ended up helping the Church cover up three decades of sex abuse at a diocese school. Not sure what he’s up to, but probably nothing good. He’s a garbage human.

Nurse Bitchy just retired. She lasted twenty years at that school. God knows how.

Senator Fuckup died in a car crash and the school is being renamed after him. So are the new dorms that are being built.

Klan Kountry cleaned up their water after I left. That’s really good news.

The school continues. Apparently, it got better with Brother Dave’s leavetaking. I hope that’s true.

And me?

I’m still a witch. I’m still here.

And I can still smell that rotten toe on the edge of nightmares half-remembered.

~*~

I don’t want my diploma revoked or to be sued, so disclaimer time.

This is fiction. Any resemblance to people living or dead is coincidental.

#witchcraft #prose #proseriot #kitchen witch #healing #writing #amwriting #autobiography #true story

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