#and work on the essays i'm actually supposed to write for school

[just-december-things]

The like, five people who frequent this blog will know that throughout this book series, I have been struggling with this central theme of "Westeen Civilization"

This is because Western Civilization is an ill defined concept, with plenty of debate about who is in it, where it started, when it started, what connects it, and so on. Along with the fact that the book implies that Wedtern Civilization is the countries influenced by Ancient Greece, even though much of Greece's influnce spread eastward.

I think I've figured it out, for this book at least. It's about perception. It's about how Western countries view themselves

The gods survive in countries that consider themselves Western, because those countries view themselves as the heirs to Ancient Greece and Rome.

Take the Renaissance, for example. The entire idea was around a Re-birth of ancient Greek and Roman ideas and art. Yes, the Islamic world was influnced hugely by Greece and Rome as well, but they weren't claiming to be the new ancient Greece. Italy was, though, and Italy became the center of art and trade in Europe. Or, to put it more bluntly, the center of civilization in the West. This is where the idea of "Western Civilization" really emerges, and where it gets tied to the idea of inheriting ancient Greece and Rome.

Then later, we have the Holy Roman Empire, once again claiming to be the "new Rome". And of course Constantinople is claiming the same. But, this is where that earlier tie to the idea of Western Civilization comes in. Constantinople believes itself to be the heir of Rome, of course, but not to be Western. Those two ideas have already been tied.

Jumping forward to the Victorian Era, this repeats. Plenty of countries as drawing cultural inspiration from classical ideas, plenty of countries are naming their rulers some variation of "Ceasar". But it is England that believes itself both to be and heir to Rome, and the center of the West.

What of America, then? While the US doesn't as directly consider itself an heir to Rome or Greece, the idea is still present. The Capitol Building is designed after Greek temples for a reason. And at this point, the ideas of inheriting Rome and Greece, and being the center of the West are thoroughly tied, even if they have no real reason to be, even if neither is clearly defined. They are believed, and the Gods follow belief.

That's my analysis, at least.

[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel Miller x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 1 : Your Name

Series Summary: You've nursed a broken heart for two years. ‘Love’ felt like a foreign term, but maybe it wasn’t so far out of reach. Chap. 1 Summary: When you catch the eye of your students' dad at a school dance, he starts showing up everywhere. Rating: 18+ MDNI (for the future smut) Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: pre-outbreak AU, age gap (joel is 36 reader is 27), no smut (yet), sexual tension, flirting, pining, mentions of alcohol, language, angst, reader's last name is 'Smith' for no other purpose than the fact she is a teacher A/N: This will definitely be a slow-burn fic, so please hang tight!! Tropes include: second chance at love, strangers to lovers, secret relationship, etc. I'm actually so excited about this one, so I hope you guys stick around to see where it goes :')

Masterlist

PROLOGUE

You never thought you’d be the girl sitting at the steps of an abandoned altar with your wedding dress covered in mud from the rain.

 Just minutes before you were supposed to take your first steps down the aisle, your fiancé fled. You watched the blur of his suit in the distance as he ran through the rain and left your family and friends in shock. Motionless at the back of the rows of chairs, you dropped your bouquet and stood in heartbreaking silence as the cords of the violins faded into the air. Your parents and siblings swarmed around you, trying to break the paralysis that kept your eyes locked on the vacant spot under the archway and steps of what would have been the place you said your vows. You still had them in your hand; the words scribbled neatly on a folded paper torn from your journal. You’d never get the chance to say those words aloud; he never would have deserved them, anyway. 

The ring sat heavily on your finger now as you watched it glisten under the pelting rain. Your dress clung to your body in layers of silk and lace, a taunting reminder of who you had become for a man unworthy of your love and devotion. 

Five years together, all stripped away in a matter of minutes. 

You’d never love again. 

“Everyone’s gotta do it,” Maria sighed as she stood at the student drop-off with you.

By ‘it,’ she meant chaperoning the father-daughter dance later in the week, which you seriously wanted no part of. You had been through enough school dances in your three years working at the middle school, and you were tired of watching pre-teens grinding on each other to god-awful music. You had better things to do with your Friday nights, like sitting on the couch with a pint of ice cream and a horror movie playing in the background—you’d sworn off rom-coms long ago.

“Yeah, I know,” you grumbled, waving another line of kids across the road. 

You watched as they trudged across the crosswalk with their backpacks slung over their shoulders, eyes bright and broad at the realization school was over for the day. If only they were that chipper in class, maybe you’d have an easier time teaching them how to write three-point essays. 

Maria chirped goodbye to each one as they passed, her cheeks pinched with a fake smile only you could recognize. You knew she loved the kids but loved the final school bell even more. You, on the other hand, hated it. The end of school was just another reminder that you’d go back to an empty home and an empty life. 

Two years had passed since Bennett ran from your wedding ceremony—two years without closure or an answer. By the time you had pieced yourself together and returned home from the would-have-been ceremony, his things were gone, and the house filled with the ghost of his presence. Your in-laws went radio silent, avoiding all calls and emails from you until they eventually moved out of state and changed numbers. The hours leading up to the ceremony would forever be a mystery as to why he left, and you would spend the rest of your life fighting for an answer as to why you weren’t good enough to love. 

Dragging you from your thoughts, Maria bumped you with her hip, giving you a concerned look. You shook away the memories and returned her stare with a fake smile you had mastered over the last two years. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had genuinely smiled or laughed without feeling the force of a facade washing over you. Concealing the pain of it all made it easier; maybe if you believed you were okay, you’d start feeling okay. But you never did. Not even the countless hours of therapy had helped reconcile the person you once were. Bennett had left and taken every vulnerable part of you with him, leaving nothing but a raw and broken shell in his wake. 

“You’re doing it again,” Maria scolded. 

“Doing what?” You asked, already aware of the answer.

“Wallowing. You really should get back out there again.”

You focused on the next grouping of kids setting out to cross the street, your hand instinctively coming up to hold the passing cars at a standstill. You plastered on a fake smile as they waved goodbye to you, and you glanced back at Maria once they finally stepped foot on the next sidewalk.

“I’m not interested,” you stated. “I’m fine on my own.”

Her eyebrow lifted as if challenging your blasé response. Your answer always remained the same, yet Maria relentlessly attempted to change your mind.

“You’ve got to at least try. What if there’s already someone out there just waiting for you?”

“Maria, I promise no one is waiting for me.”

“I wish you’d just give it a shot. You deserve to be happy.”

You had heard that phrase often over the last couple of years; a pitying tone always accompanied the words. People loved to soothe you with words that held no weight or purpose. You learned to nod along to their sympathies and turn a deaf ear to their suggestions of what you deserved. 

The final round of kids made their way toward the line of parents waiting in their cars, and you followed Maria back to your classrooms to clean up before leaving for the day. Her words stuck with you on the quiet drive home; the radio wasn’t enough to drown out that taunting voice in your head reminding you that you’d never be enough. 

Your single-story house was nestled into an older neighborhood of Austin, only a handful of miles from the middle school. You’d argue that the house was the best thing to come out of the failed engagement; its personality stood firm against the other houses with a vibrant shade of blue painted over its wooden panels and wrap-around porch. You spent the last few months sprucing up the front yard, planting rose bushes and trees to liven up the house. It hadn’t fixed all your problems but pacified them temporarily as you dirtied your hands in the soil. 

It became second nature to shut your garage immediately after putting your car in park. You didn’t want the typical neighborly interactions or shallow conversations. You were content with living between closed doors and drawn curtains. The less of an interaction with the world, the better. 

Dropping your purse and work bag on the kitchen counter, you sunk onto a barstool, staring blankly at the fridge and knowing all too well there was hardly anything inside it. You’d settle for another frozen meal and glass of wine, a typical meal these days to satisfy a hunger you no longer had. Despite the colorful kitchen cabinets, the mustard yellow couch in the living room, and the obscure wallpaper…your life was dull. How could one person suck out all the energy from another human being? How could pain last this long? 

You stabbed a fork into the TV dinner meal before you and wondered if you’d ever feel happy again. 

**

You managed to survive another week of teaching, only to now be standing in the shadows of the school gymnasium, nursing an overly sweet fruit punch. The PTA had done a decent job of turning the space into a somewhat realistic dance floor: string lights hung corner to corner of the ceiling, a DJ booth in the center of the basketball court, and colorful balloons circled the air. You spotted a few of your students dancing with their fathers, their eyes squeezed shut from their too-wide smiles and bubbling laughter. A foreign ache in your chest reminded you how you would have had a father-daughter dance at your wedding. Your father even took it upon himself to brush up on dance lessons to sway you across the floor to some overly emotional song. As corny as it was, you had been looking forward to that moment throughout your engagement. 

“Look who got all dolled up!” Maria hollered as she strolled over, fruit punch in hand.

“I would hardly call this dolled up,” you said, tugging at the hem of your dress.

You only had a handful of dresses in your closet, this particular one being a flowy black cocktail dress with a halter top and ruffled skirt. It was barely passing the school dress code, so you decided to pair it with a low kitten heel to try and deter the admin’s scrutiny. You did, however, spend a little more time than usual on your makeup and hair, hoping if you looked pretty, then maybe you’d feel it, too.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Maria sighed.

“You look great,” you said, sidestepping her lecture.

Maria had chosen a plum floor-length maxi dress decorated with embroidered blue flowers. Her curly hair was pinned in a bun, and several sparkly barrettes were clipped to the side. Her makeup was no different from usual: a rosy red lip and simple mascara with a hint of blush on her cheeks. 

“Really, Maria. You do.”

“Well, thank you,” she blushed, looking back toward the room full of bodies dancing.

Your eyes followed hers, settling on the duos as they swayed to a slow song. Every father was dressed up in some sort of button-up or the occasional suit except for one—the same one who happened to be twirling around your student, Sarah Miller. You nudged Maria, pointing secretly at them with a questioning glance.

“Is that her dad?” You asked.

He wore a basic cotton T-shirt, jeans, and dirty work boots. There was barely any thought behind his appearance as if he had rolled up to the school right after a long shift at work, forgoing any effort or care. Some part of you hated him for it. The least he could do was get dressed up for a silly school dance, especially when Sarah wore a lavender tulle dress that complimented her olive skin tone. 

“Yup,” Maria elongated the word. “That’s Joel Miller.”

“Sure looks like he doesn’t care to be here,” you grumbled.

Maria barked a laugh, looking at you through narrowed eyes.

“As opposed to you?” She questioned. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you bitching about this dance all week long?”

“Well, at least I put some effort into my looks tonight,” you defended.

You glanced back at Sarah, seeing her father twirl her one last time. You caught a glimpse of his face for the first time in the flow of his movements. Messy dark curls framed his head, curling in every which way as if he’d run his hand through them a million times. Even from a distance, you could see the patchy beard and short mustache covering the lower half of his face, alongside the several creases around his eyes as he smiled.  And his eyes… They looked like big brown saucers under the lights, reflecting a genuine softness as he watched his daughter dance. 

And then they snapped up to meet your gaze through the crowd as if you had silently called out to him. Everything slowed around you for a moment as he studied you from afar, his eyes drifting down your body and back up with a hint of a smile teasing his lips. A rush of heat crawled up your neck, and you broke the eye contact between you. Maria cleared her throat beside you, tearing you away from the man holding your sincere interest. 

“What was that?” Maria chirped. 

You shook your head, glancing between her curious face and the dancefloor. Joel had since moved on, steering Sarah toward the refreshment table. He never once looked back at you, which left you unexplainably disappointed. For a moment in time, someone looked at you and saw you. 

“I–I don’t know,” you stuttered. “Probably nothing.”

“It looked like something.”

You turned to face Maria, a scowl twisting up your lips entirely. You were tired of her pushing nonexistent things on you, and that’s what this was— nonexistent. Whatever moment between you and Joel had gone as quickly as it came. You were done with the night and standing among so many cheerful people. You couldn’t stand it any longer. 

“I think I’m going to take off,” you announced, placing your half-drunk fruit punch on the table behind you. 

Maria was defeated, knowing you'd still leave no matter what she said. Stalking out of the gymnasium, you grabbed your purse from the teacher's booth and booked it to your car with your heels in your hands. You carefully walked along the sidewalk toward your car, catching a conversation drifting through the wind between the other vehicles. 

“...Dad, you promised we’d watch movies tomorrow!”

“I know, sweetheart, but Uncle Tommy needs help on the job sight.”

You hid between two cars, listening to their voices bounce back and forth. It wasn’t until you peeked out to see the two figures that you realized it was Sarah and her father, Joel. For fucks sake. You tiptoed around the car's bumper beside you, attempting to make a getaway before either of them saw you. You must have done a terrible job because Sarah called your name as you edged closer to your car.

“Miss Smith!”

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself. 

With your purse in one hand and heels in the other, you turned toward them with your rehearsed fake smile. Sarah was standing beside her dad—Joel—a small smile shining up at you. You knew her usual upbeat personality in class, always laughing and joking with other kids. She was an A+ student, too, and her work showcased her smartness. But in her father's shadow, a distinct sadness clouded her eyes. 

“Hello, Sarah! How did you like the dance?” You asked. 

“It was really fun,” she grinned, forcing her smile wider. You saw through it. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Joel cleared his throat, extending a large hand toward you. You blinked at his open palm, afraid of making that same startling eye contact as you had in the gymnasium. Shuffling your purse into your other hand, you took his into yours, focusing on the warmth of his grip crawling up your skin. His fingers dwarfed your own, tightening around your hand until you were forced to look up finally. 

“S’nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Smith,” he said, his thick Southern accent shining through.

“Miss Smith,” you corrected. It was hard to hide the bitterness in the statement. 

“Miss Smith,” he echoed. “I’m Joel, Sarah’s dad.”

His eyes still hadn’t left yours, their piercing stare making you shiver despite the September humidity. You pulled your hand away, overly aware of how his fingers lingered a moment too long. Shifting your weight from one leg to another, you were starting to feel the asphalt dig into the soles of your feet. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Miller,” you replied.

“Joel,” he insisted.

You nodded politely, giving him another faltering smile. Hauling your purse over your shoulder, you said a soft goodbye to them and bolted to your car. In the confines of the driver's seat, you rested your head against the wheel, inhaling deeply as you steadied the nerves inside your body. Why did such a simple interaction light up your body with emotions you had spent so long suppressing? And why did Joel’s smile haunt you even when your eyes were shut?

Forcing your keys into the ignition, you tore out of the school parking lot and back to the confines of your tiny blue home. 

The weekends were usually filled with nothing more than grading papers and lesson planning. The coffee beside you on the kitchen counter had gone cold hours ago as the morning sunlight faded into the afternoon. Through tired eyes, you glanced up at the oven clock: 2 pm. You needed a break from reading through piles of essays, and your fridge desperately required replenishing. Grabbing your keys off the counter, you forfeited any plans of changing out of your sweat set and headed to the supermarket.

The packed parking lot and crowded store were daunting reminders of why you typically decided to leave your fridge vacant. But as you pushed your shopping cart down each aisle, you had no choice but to comply with your basic human needs and stock up on miscellaneous food you would want throughout the week. Rounding down the next aisle, your eyes caught on a tall figure standing in front of the bakery section, his face scrutinizing every cake in the display case. Shit. 

You tried—and failed—to maneuver your way into the next aisle, somehow crashing into an older woman’s cart, forcing her carton of eggs to fall and smash onto the linoleum floor.

“Dammit,” you hissed, crouching down to try and help them clean up the shattered eggshells.

“S’alright, sweetheart,” she assured. “I’ll just holler for a worker to come clean it up.”

“No, I—I can help,” you stammered, fingers still running over the broken yolks spreading across the floor.

“Miss Smith?” You heard a deep voice above you.

Your head snapped up to see Joel standing above you; his forehead creased with concern. The woman you had crashed into was already down the next aisle looking for a store employee, leaving you alone with a mess you had caused. Joel crouched beside you, his hands folding over yours to slow your frantic cleaning.

“It’s alright, I got it!” You snapped, pulling your hands back.

“Just tryna’ help,” he said. “That’s all.”

“It’s my fault. I can fix it.” 

You had said those words to yourself many times before, and never once did they prove true. 

“Someone will come and clean this up; you ain’t gotta do all that,” Joel said softly. “C’mon.”

He offered a hand, which you took reluctantly, leaving you both standing awkwardly in front of the mess. You shifted your gaze downward, too afraid to meet those deep brown eyes that had plagued you the night before. 

“Hey,” Joel said in a soft tone. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled.

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

You huffed a sigh, gripping the handles of your cart to start moving. Today was going downhill rapidly, and you only wanted to go home and hole yourself away…like you always did.

“I, uh, was tryna’ pick out a birthday cake,” he rambled. “S’my birthday tomorrow, and Sarah wants to make sure I have a cake, ya’know? Any ideas on what she might like? I’m not sure if y’all ever have parties at school with sweets and all that.”

Your eyes snapped to his, a scowl forming on your face. Sarah’s dad was asking you what she liked? He was proving to be worse and worse by the second. But you were her teacher and needed to hold your tongue.

“I’m sure she’ll enjoy anything,” you said, a tight smile forming. “Happy birthday, Mr. Miller.”

His eyebrows furrowed together, clearly seeing through the mask you put on. It was infuriating how easily he had wove his way through your bloodstream, even in just twenty-four hours. 

“Joel,” he insisted. “You don’t need to do all that formal stuff.”

“I kind of do,” you laughed. “You’re my students’ father; that’s how I’m supposed to address you.”

“S’all I’m sayin’ is that you’re free to call me Joel. No harm in it.”

There was a lot of harm in it. 

You didn’t know what else to say, so you dipped your head to say goodbye and pushed your cart past him. You weren’t being the kindest nor the most respectful person, but your anger was at a low simmer. Any longer around him, and you might explode. You weren’t used to someone getting under your skin like he was. And the worst part was that he wasn’t even trying. You couldn’t understand why you reacted so strongly. 

“Miss Smith!” Joel called, catching up as you moved down the next aisle.

You inhaled and stopped walking, mustering another fake smile to appease him. He gripped the side of your cart with a large hand, a simple gesture to keep you firmly in place. Clearly, he decided when the conversation was over.

“Yes, Mr. Miller?”

“Did I do somethin’ to upset you? ‘Cause I swear, I didn’t mean anything inappropriate by what I said back there. 

“No, no, you’re fine,” you lied. “Just having a bad day, that's all.” That wasn’t a lie.

Joel ran a hand over his neck, studying you quietly for a moment. Something about the atmosphere around him was intoxicating and so fucking dangerous. 

“Well, I’m sorry ‘bout that. Guess I was just tryna’ make small talk, and clearly, I ain’t doin’ a good job.”

“It’s fine—no need for apologies. I hope the cake and birthday celebration go well. I’m sure Sarah will tell me all about it on Monday.”

His eyes shifted over you again, lingering on your lips, set in a firm smile. You tried your best to hide the shiver that ran up your back as he drank you in. 

“Y’probably think I’m a terrible dad, huh?” He sighed.

“What?” You blinked away the thoughts swarming your head.

“I mean, I know you probably heard us arguin’ last night, and I’m out here asking her teacher what her favorite kind of cake is. You ain’t gotta be polite about it. I know I’m not doin’ the best job,” he confessed.

“Mr. Miller, I don’t think that at all. I just think maybe asking your wife would be more helpful than asking me.”

That garnered a laugh from him, a genuine and sincere laugh.

“Never had a wife to begin with. Sarah’s mom left us when she was only a year old,” he explained. “Been doin’ it all on my own.”

“Oh.” Dammit, you really were a bitch. 

“Trust me, I get it. I could do a better job, bein’ a dad and all that. I’m tryin’.”

“I think you’re doing just fine,” you said. “I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

He brushed it off, replacing the sad look cresting his eyes with a lopsided grin. You wanted to hate it, but your body reacted traitorously. You felt the softness in his gaze crawl over you, slowly replacing the anger coursing through your veins with something else…something you hadn’t felt in a long time. No one had looked at you that way since—well, since Bennett. Even if Joel was only being friendly, you were drawn to the charm he exuded. Dangerous, you reminded yourself.

“Anyway,” he continued. “I won’t hold ya’ up any longer. I hope your day gets better, Miss Smith.”

“Thank you,” you replied. “And Happy birthday, again.”

Joel’s eyes settled on your lips again as you talked, and you felt your cheeks warm under his gaze. His eyes flicked back up to yours, a flash of something behind them, and you were ready to bolt. He muttered a thank you and left you standing in a vacant aisle, your hands still covered in egg yolks and your mind reeling.

It was hard to maintain your good mood once Monday rolled around. Seeing Sarah sitting in class was an unwelcome reminder of your interaction with Joel on Saturday, and you had to refrain from overstepping boundaries and asking about his birthday. She didn’t need to know you cared, even though you struggled not to care. You wondered what kind of cake he decided on, how old he turned if he blushed when she sang Happy Birthday. Every thought burned a hole in your head that you tried to patch up and forget. 

The final bell rang for the day, and the kids began to pack up in a rush. You straightened out the papers lining your desk, avoiding eye contact with Sarah as she slung her backpack over her shoulders and lined up to leave. Grabbing your whistle and bottle of water, you followed them toward the front gates, taking your usual place alongside Maria—who was overly chipper for a Monday.

“Soooo,” she prodded. “How was your weekend?”

“Uneventful,” you lied, walking with her to the crosswalk. 

“You really need to go out and have fun! You’re young, and you need to enjoy your 20s!” She exasperated. 

“Maria, I’m 27,” you groaned. “My 20s are practically over.”

She folded her arms over her chest, leveling you with a heavy glare. Maria was in her late 40’s and clearly exuded a motherly-type attitude. You shifted your focus to the kids crossing the road, watching as they reunited with their parents. 

“We go out on Wednesdays for Happy Hour! Join us this week,” she suggested.

“I don’t know,” you sighed.

“Come on!” Maria pressed. “If you hate it, I’ll never ask you to go out with us again.”

There was no point in arguing with her, so you relented and agreed to one night out. A few drinks and hours of mindless conversation could be good for you. It would be better than sitting in front of the TV with a bland meal and another glass of wine.

You managed to evade all thoughts of Joel somehow the next two days, putting all your time and energy into prepping your students for their first test of the year. Lesson planning and preparation took up your free period and late evenings, leaving you little room to think about those brown eyes and disarming smile. It was Wednesday evening, and you were knee-deep in your closet, trying to find an outfit for Happy Hour. You had changed at least five times, discarding every top and skirt onto your bedroom floor. Eventually, you gave up, settling on tight jeans, a flowy red blouse, and black flats. You left your hair in wavy curls over your shoulders and simple makeup to balance everything out. 

The group took their Happy Hour rituals to a local dive bar on the outskirts of town, a row of motorcycles and trucks lining the entrance. You felt a bit out of place walking into a smoke-hazed bar, with the patron's wandering eyes crawling over you, but you quickly picked out the huddle of teachers in the corner laughing over a round of beers. They welcomed you with bright smiles and hellos, offering to buy your first drink. After about an hour and a few drinks, you felt warm and far more relaxed. Conversations about quarterly goals and admin meetings flowed over the table, each teacher complaining about something. You chimed in when necessary, keeping quiet when you had nothing to contribute. You were on your fourth beer when the girls around you started whispering low about a group of men entering the bar. You stole a peek over your shoulder, eyes settling on the last person you wanted to see. 

Joel Miller.

He had on his usual simple work attire, the fabric of his cotton shirt stretched out over his broad chest. His neck was tanned, most likely from working outdoors, and his hair was just as unruly as you remembered. The man beside him, shorter but with similar features, clapped Joel on the back and steered him towards the bar. You lowered your head, taking a longer gulp of your drink to try and steady your nerves. Of all fucking places, he had to be here. 

“He’s just so handsome, isn’t he?” Maria nudged you, tossing back a look towards Joel.

You shrugged, feigning disinterest. Joel was handsome, but no one needed to know how you felt. Because what you felt was very, very confusing. 

“He’s my students’ father, Maria.”

She rolled her eyes, swirling the contents of her drinks before taking a sip. 

“Okay, and? There’s nothing inappropriate about dating a student’s parent.”

“Yes, there is,” you snapped. “And I’m not even considering dating him.”

“But you think he’s attractive,” she stated.

You didn’t want to respond to that, knowing the warmth in your cheeks was already enough of a giveaway. If you shrunk far enough into yourself, you might go unrecognized the rest of the night.

Maria thankfully dropped the subject, returning to the conversation around the table. After another hour, the ladies started to trickle out of the bar and home for the night. You, on the other hand, still had to wait a bit longer until the alcohol phased out of your body. Which meant you were sitting alone in the same space as Joel. You could feel his eyes on your back the longer you sat there, and to your detriment, decided to steal a glance over your shoulder. Joel’s eyes raked over your body, returning your stare with a soft, welcoming smile. Shit.

You watched as he slipped off the barstool, waltzing towards you with a beer clasped in his large hand. You tried so hard not to notice his thick fingers wrapped around the bottle, and you most definitely tried not to think of what his fingers would feel like inside—

“Miss Smith,” he greeted, silencing your awful thoughts.

“Mr. Miller,” you said.

“Are all these formalities necessary in a bar?” he teased. 

“A couple of drinks won’t change my mind.”

Joel slid into the seat beside you without an invitation, his arm brushing against yours as he settled into the stool. It was instinct to flinch away, afraid of the reaction his touch would cause to your body. 

“What will change your mind?” he pressed, keeping a steady gaze on you.

“Nothing,” you shrugged, deciding to change the subject. “How was your birthday?”

Joel ran a hand through his hair, that stupid lopsided grin forming on his lips. 

“Can’t say I love gettin’ old, but celebratin’ was sure nice.”

“And how old are you, Mr. Miller?”

“Ripe age of thirty-six, Miss Smith,” he grinned. 

“What cake did you choose?” you asked, watching him take a long sip of his beer. 

“Vanilla. Everyone’s gotta love vanilla, right?” 

Was he… flirting with you? 

You’d blame your following response on the beers coursing through your bloodstream, but truthfully, you just wanted to play along, even only for a moment. 

“Hmm, I don’t know. I don’t always love vanilla, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s eyes darkened, falling to your lips as you took another drink. It was bold and stupid of you to say that, but at this point, you didn’t care. 

“What other flavors do you like?” 

He leaned forward in his chair, his thigh pressing against yours. The heat of his body and the smell of smoke on his clothes was a dangerous combination for your self-restraint.  

“I have a few guilty pleasure flavors,” you smirked.

Joel’s hand damn near crushed the bottle when you said those words, his entire body tensing beside you. You couldn’t care at that moment about how you spoke; the drinks started speaking for themselves. You hadn’t dared to flirt with a man since Bennett left, too afraid of what falling in love again might do to you. But, for some reason, flirting with Joel felt so simple. He was older than you, and maybe that piqued your interest, knowing he was far more mature than anyone else you had considered. 

“Indulge me, Miss Smith,” he whispered. 

“I think I’ll leave it a mystery,” you whispered in return. “I’ve already said too much as it is.”

“I reckon you ain’t said enough,” he countered. 

Heat flared through your neck and face as he leaned in closer, his face only inches from yours. This had gone too far. You had broken any rules you had previously set in place, and now you were dancing on a fragile line between professionalism and indecency. 

Glancing at the clock above the bar, you watched as the hands ticked closer to midnight. Just like in the fairytales, your time was up. Back to reality. 

“It’s getting late,” you started. “I should get home.”

Joel’s demeanor shifted, and his grin faltered as he watched you rise from the barstool. He brushed his hand over your arm, barring you from walking away. 

“Not real sure if you should be drivin’ home yet, Miss Smith. Y’had a few drinks tonight,” Joel protested.

“How do you know? Were you watching me?”

“Gotta make sure my daughter's teacher is safe. Who else’s gonna make sure she gets straight A’s?” 

He was trying to make light of the situation, but you knew better. You knew he had been watching you since he had arrived; his attention had never been on his group of friends. 

“I assure you, I’m fine,” you argued. “You go enjoy your night with your friends, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s brows furrowed as he considered you. His hand still lingered on your arm, thick fingers flexing against your skin. You glanced between his hand and his eyes, trying to make sense of his intentions. This was far past a coincidental run-in; this was a strange desire out of reach. 

“Can I drive you home at least?” He asked. 

“I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“Can I at least drive behind you to make sure you make it alright?” He offered.

You looked back toward the bar, seeing the man he walked in with staring at you with an apparent scowl.

“I don’t think that’s fair to your friend,” you said.

Joel peered around you and huffed loudly. 

“That’s my brother, Tommy. S’all good, he’s probably ready to hit the road, too.”

“He doesn’t look too happy.”

“He’s fine,” Joel grumbled.

Tommy noticed you both staring at him and decided to join the mix. He walked up with a grin despite the scowl he had just worn and extended his hand to you.

“I’m Tommy. Joel’s brother.”

“Hi, I’m Sarah’s teacher.” You gave him a quick shake and tried to sidestep to leave.

“Wait!” Joel called out.

“I’m okay, Mr. Miller,” you tossed over your shoulder. “Be safe tonight.”

You made a beeline for the door, hoping to escape him before he reeled you back in. You let yourself float in his atmosphere for too long, testing the waters you knew were off-limits. There was still an alcohol-induced haze lingering in your head, but the sooner you could leave, the better. Tomorrow would come with a headache and a post-drunken clarity to put you back on the right track. You needed to steer clear of Joel before you slipped up and allowed another man inside the walls you built. 

You attempted to retrieve your keys from your purse, only to fumble them out of your hands and onto the dirt ground of the parking lot. 

“Fuck,” you groaned.

As you bent to pick them up, footsteps crunching on the ground grew closer. You already knew who it was.

“Miss Smith,” Joel’s voice sounded pained. 

“I’m fine!” you shouted, whipping your head around to find him nearly toe-to-toe with you. 

The moonlight above you illuminated his brown eyes, which darkened the longer he looked down at you. You shrunk away, letting your body hit the driver's side of your door while Joel stepped closer. 

“Please. You shouldn’t be drivin’ right now. Lettin’ you leave like this wouldn’t be right of me.”

Your only focus was on his lips as he talked. The plushness of his lips enticed you, leaving you imagining how soft they’d feel pressed against yours. Your control was slipping, and the alcohol was pulsing faster in your veins. 

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” You wondered aloud. 

Joel looked at you like he knew the layers of the question. He knew what battle you were fighting inside and saw the fear plastered on your face.

“No,” he whispered softly.

Your eyes bounced between his eyes and his lips, trying to grasp the moment's weight. You needed to be firm and say no; your future self would thank you for it. Gripping your keys, you exhaled and turned towards your car door. 

“Have a good night, Mr. Miller,” you tossed over your shoulder. 

The warmth of his body pressed against your back, the smell of smoke and liquor wrapping around you and enveloping you in a cocoon of temptation. Joel’s hands reached around to grab your keys from your shaking hand, dangling them between you and the car. 

“M’taking you home, Miss Smith. Ain’t gonna argue anymore,” he said as his mouth fell to the shell of your ear. 

“I’m—.”

“Don’t,” he interjected. “Go to my truck.”

He had the exact tone you did when you reprimanded your students, but the deep rasp of his accent made it all the more inviting. You didn’t want to listen to his demands, but you were getting nowhere successfully. Joel sidestepped to free you of the cage he had you in, watching you intently as you sulked to his truck. It wasn’t hard to know which one it was; only a few cars were left, and the truck exuded the same masculinity as the owner. 

“What about my car?” You protested, folding your arms across your body as you leaned against the truck. 

“I’ll give Tommy the keys,” he said. “He’ll drive it behind us.”

You were about to ramble another slew of protests when Joel yanked the passenger side door open and tilted his head toward the interior. 

“Get in.”

His tone left little room for arguing, so you did as he said without another word. Despite the anger radiating off his body, Joel shut the door softly before heading back into the bar. 

You fidgeted with the seatbelt, the press of it against your chest not strong enough to stabilize the rhythm of your heartbeat. You were in his truck, meaning you’d be alone with him for the next several minutes. It was enough to force a roll of nausea through your stomach. Leaning your head against the window, you watched him reemerge from the bar with Tommy in tow. There was a clear expression of annoyance etched on Tommy’s face, all at the cost of your own stubbornness. 

Joel tossed him the keys to your car before rounding the truck's hood and climbing into the driver’s seat. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, so you kept your eyes on the road as it blurred past with each passing mile. 

“Where do you live?” he asked, passing through another vacant green light. 

You rambled off your address, still keeping your gaze steady on the streetlights as they passed by your window. He didn’t attempt to make small talk after that, and the silence settled onto you like a heavy blanket. Your control of consciousness was slipping the longer you sat beside him, but you willed yourself awake. The streets started to become familiar, and you shifted in your seat. Taking a risk, you looked at Joel, finding him white-knuckling the wheel with his jaw clenched. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I—I don’t go out and drink normally. I should have just stayed home tonight.”

“S’okay,” he said, glancing at you. “Just don’t get why you’re so stubborn about askin’ for help. First at the supermarket and now at the bar. I don’t get it.”

A rush of tears stung your eyes, and you quickly looked away, trying to blink them back before he noticed. Joel’s hand fell onto your thigh, sending a jolt of shock through your body. You wanted to shy away from it, but there was no use in fighting at this point; you were already failing miserably. 

“Hey,” he prodded. “Shit, I’m sorry. Don’t cry, alright?”

You swiped away the tears running from your eyes, schooling your emotions back into a state of numbness. Your little blue house came into view, and you pointed a tired finger toward it to guide him in the right direction. 

“This is me,” you sniffled. 

“Big ol’ house, Miss Smith. Y’live here alone?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled. “Thanks for the ride, Mr. Miller.”

“I really wish you’d stop callin’ me that,” he sighed, parking his car at your home's fence.

“It’s all formalities.”

“Yeah, I know. I just think after tonight, we’re far past all them formalities and shit.”

Your hand lingered on the door handle as you took one last look at him. Joel’s eyes looked over you with a softness you didn’t deserve. You deserve to be happy. Maria’s words rang out in your head the longer you stared at him. ‘Happy’ was a foreign word to you now, out of reach and out of your control.

“Can I just know one thing?” He asked. 

You nodded, your fingers wrapped around the door handle.

“What’s your name?”

Blame the alcohol…blame your vulnerability…but you told him.

[oatsmeall]

You and I?

Socially awkward!Jk! X f!reader | college AU

Warnings: Socially awkward jk, very awkward jk, suggestive themes, possible smut.

(人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+(人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+(人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+(人*´∀｀)

For as long as you've been coming to this course you've always seen this quiet guy, he always come in 5 minutes exactly before class starts, he brings the same black metal water bottle with one singular sticker, and he's always quiet but always raises his hand to answer questions. You didn't really pay much attention to him untill today specifically though, of course you noticed his usual quirks but today? Man, it's like he became a new man. You never thought the awkward nerdy guy would pull up to class late with new piercings. On his eyebrow and his lip. You were stunned to say the least, he's... Hot? This totally normal thing called being 'tardy' suddenly seamed like a sense of rebellion, especially for this guy, Jeon Jungkook. Wow, such a bad boy.

Throughout the week he'd show up less covered, usually he'd wear sweater vests with a neatly tucked shirt and black or brown slacks or occasionally jeans. Now he's been wearing oversized shirts and baggy sweats and jeans. And not to mention his entirely detailed sleeve on his arm, which has very much been in the works for quite the while you bet. Where was the cute nerdy boy you knew? This was a whole new man. Even the girls that never bat an eye started noticing. You weren't going to lie and say you weren't a little jealous. I mean come on? These girls were ignoring him just 2 weeks ago, now they're fawning over him and his new look.....

"STUDENT SETTLE DOWN PLEASE. today we'll be writing an essay about what we've learned this month. Please be sure to turn the essay in by Friday night." The professor was making y'all write an essay. This is so boring, you were just thinking about that comfortable bed of yours.

While digging in your backpack for your laptop and some paper, you couldn't find any sort of writing utensils. This was so annoying, how is it that Suddenly when you ACTUALLY need a pen or pencil you couldn't find one. Jesus Christ, what a unlucky way to start on homework.

"pssst, hey.. hey, ppsssst" you were trying to whisper call on Jungkook, he was not budging. "Jeon, hey" you were not getting anywhere. Suddenly he side eye looked at you. Okay?...

"what do you want, were supposed to get busy." He said monotoned, he really is still nerdy sounding.

"well I won't get anywhere near busy if you'd just hear me out for a bit. Do you have a pen or pencil I can borrow, please?" You're regretting asking. He's probably gonna decline and say 'you should've brought your own".

"hmm.. I do, but you have to give it back, I always keep 4 pencils exactly." Close to the response you thought.. kinda.

"ugh okay, thanks" ou! Fancy mechanical pencil! And it had a cool retractable eraser!

This essay was gonna kill you. come to think of it what did you even learn this month?....

You and Jungkook had became friends, this past month you slowly would talk to him or try to talk big conversations, you really found him interesting. He was like a new subject you were trying to learn about. You've learned he's quite....odd? He didn't get your jokes sometimes, he was unaware of social cues at times, and he was too straight up. You thought he didn't like you, he was so blunt. on a random day when you guys went to the library he commented on how messy your notes were, how your hair was messy and looked unprofessional for school, and even on how wearing Birkenstocks with socks was strange. He was nitpicking random things, things you wouldn't even pay attention to. This gave you a feeling of self awareness, you felt like he didn't like you, he was making you realize a lot of things you hadn't.

"Jungkook, I really like you but you've got to stop nitpicking things I don't even notice, I'm sure you can keep it to yourself? You don't hear me saying how the way you styled your hair today looks off from yesterday, or how you're wearing two different shades of black and I don't like that."

"why wouldn't you like it? I like it." He said confused and somewhat agitated.

You gave him a knowing look of "do you see now?"

He sat silently before asking

"do you really not like my two different shades of black?" There was a pause before you started giggling. He looked so confused, you couldn't help but giggle.

"alright. Wanna come by my dorm tonight? Study a little and maybe order takeout and watch a movie? Shrek perhaps?" You tried changing the conversation hoping he'd forget the little conflict.

This would be the first time you invite him to your dorm, you were too shy to ask, he was also shy though, more than you probably. You didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

"uhm..sure.. just send me you dorm number." He seemed shy just asking that, you were excited though. He was such a cute and smart guy, he was very helpful when studying. He taught you new things too, the other day he taught you about why pigeons don't know how to build nests.

Around 6:30 he texted you saying he's on his way to your dorm. You were SO nervous for no reason, you tried to tidy up around your room, and by tidy you mean deep cleaned. You've never seen such a clean room, you loved it though.

*Knock, knock, knock*

"Comiingggg" you walked to your door and opened it to Jungkook. In a black tee shirt and grey sweat pants.. you felt your hear beat faster. He looked so.. FINE.

"Hello Y/n, I didn't know what kind of drink you liked so I bought Gatorade, orange juice, and water. I hope you like.. these." He looked so genuine, you appreciate him for trying.

"oh wow! I like all. I wouldn't have minded your pick. Thanks though, come in. Make yourself comfortable." He came in and sat himself on your bed, he was looking around curiously. He was looking attentively, like he was gather information.

"sorry if you might not like the scent in my room, Im trying this mango air freshener out-"

"I like it. It's okay. So where are your notes and stuff, we can get started right now if you'd like, that way we can have more time to hangout..if you want."

This genuinely surprised you? He wanted to spend time with you? Your heart had a sudden rush.

"oh? O-okay, yeah. Uhm let me get my laptop." You hurriedly grabbed your bag, you bent down you're oblivious but your ass caught Jungkook's attention by accident. He stared.. he felt his blood rush down his pants.

"okay I've got my laptop!" You walked to your bed and plopped next to him.

His face was red. Visibly red actually.

"you okay?"

"y-yeah.." he looked away from you in embarrassment. Immediately onto his notes.

After a long hour and a half, you guys were done, you decided to order for delivery instead, Jungkook didn't want to go out anymore, you were tidying around your room, who new studying was messy.

"can't wait for that pasta, I'm hungry. Also hot, this hoodie is too warm" Jungkook look slightly, seeing you take your hoodie off made HIM hot.. his body tensed up. Your black halter top made your boobs look so good, he caught a glimpse of them before you turned to him.

"freeeee!" you said in a giggle.

He was respectful, of course.. but he still IS a man.... with male... tendencies.

"can I use your restroom, please? I need to wash my hands"

"why the restroom? I've got a small sink by the dresser." You pointed to the hidden sink.

"I have to use the restroom too." He said straight faced. He was trying to get away from you as fast as possible or else his print would be visible VERY quickly, maybe he shouldn't have worn grey sweats. Maybe two different shades of black wasn't bad after all like you said.

"okay, yea. It's that door right there." You're not sure why but you have a feeling you made Jungkook uncomfortable, what could you have possibly done.

*knock, knock, knock*

"ouuu pasta must be here. JUNGKOOK! PASTAS' HERE!" you got out of your bed and quickly answered the door. You're excited.

After some very awkward moments of eating and small talk you put on Shrek the movie, you guys were on your bed now. But you felt a sudden rush, you've been avoiding thinking about him but he's so fine. He's hot in this little ensemble he put together, the grey sweats made his print noticable. Your mouth felt dry all of the sudden. You felt and decided to lay down and drape your legs on his thighs. You felt his body tense up. This made you feel butterflies. It's almost like you had an ad advantage.

"uhm.. Y/n.. I- " you cut him off and looked up at him directly into his eyes. Oh those siren eyes of yours.. they're killing him. His eyes began to widen when he realized that you're now turned around facing his lap. More so his crotch.

"Kook.." you start innocently. "Have you ever been... Touched?" You said softly and quietly. You scared him. He can't comprehend how you'd gone from fun from "fun and nice, sweet and understandable" to "horny seduction demon" he's also never had physical Intimacy, only cute kisses and hugs. This was odd, he liked how he felt though. You gave him butterflies.

"N-no" you looked at him straight in his eyes again. This time you say up slightly and palmed his dick through his sweats. He let out an lewd quiet moan. Your pussy was pulsating from excitement.

"mm poor boy. Do you like when I touch you like this?" You say quietly. You began stroking the outline of his dick, then you pulled his sweats down following after, his boxers. His hard Dick sprung up. You were in awe at the largeness before your eyes. You didn't know what you expected.. but surely not this monster. The sayings are true. It's always the quiet and shy ones.

"auh.. fuck" he whispered lewdly. What a turn on.

"mhm? You like that kookie?"

Precum began to slowly ooze from out the tip. Red and sore from the friction being created from your hands. You started pacing faster, stokes becoming gradually faster.

"augh, f-fuck. I don't wanna c-"

You sunk you whole mouth on his cock. Filling your mouth with only half of his cock. You started deep thoating, harder and faster, the lewd noises becoming louder and messier. Chocking on his dick you took him like a champ.

"I'm not done with you babe." You say with saliva and cum dripping from your mouth. You're Cock drunk.

"Y-you're not?!" He seemed genuinely shocked.

You got up and sat on his lap, legs sitting on either side of his thighs. Your booty shorts rode more up your thighs.

You began to ride him. Fully clothed, you began riding, Jungkook instinctively grabbed your ass and pressed you down to create harder friction.

"mm- F-fuck. Oh my, Jungkook augh- you moaned loudly, your pussy was so wet and it was throbbing. Suddenly. Jungkook's switched. He became the lewd one. You never expected to hear something like this come out of his mouth..

"Yeah? You like that you fucking slut? You like seducing quite guys?" He said through his teeth in a hiss. Gripping your ass. Your so turned on at his sudden switch.

"mhm baby" you mewed.

"take the shorts off. Now" yes sir. Anything for Me. Jeon.

You got up off him and you did a little strip tease. It was better that what Jungkook visioned.

You slowly hopped back on him and you grabbed his cock and slowly sat on him. Man was he stretching you out. Nice and good.

"augh fuck Kook. You're so big" you said in a gasp. He just looked at you with a smirk. Man you loved every minute of this.

"that's right baby take me like a fucking champ" you sat on him completely but suddenly.. when you began riding, his speed increased, he began slamming into you.

"fuck, fuck, fuck, augh babe, you're hitting the spot" your moans were something straight out of a porn video.

"yeah? You like that? Look at me when I fuck you Y/n look at me." He said grabbing your face. Who is this man?! This isn't shy little Jungkook with the cute boba eyes?! This was Jeon Jungkook. The fucking man.

After what felt forever, you and Jungkook did some after care. He went and fetched you an after pill at the nearest pharmacy. Yes at 1 am.

You were beat. Inside and out. Literally. You felt numb, could hardly walk. Your pussy was sore. You can't count how many times he made you cum and squirt but he really overstimulated you. You're so ready for a part 2 of this.

The next day you went to class and sat with Jungkook. Suddenly he became shy again?! Two faced much?

Guys... Let me know if you want a part 2 lol, this is my first time writing a fanfic lol🥹

[celandeline]

Okay this is my first time asking for a one shot so I hope this makes sense. Okay how about Farleigh and reader aren’t close friends but they are close like behind closed door (if you know what I mean) and like reader is sensitive. So one day Farleigh makes a joke about her without noticing she is there and like hurts her feelings. Like does that make sense obviously you can ignore this if you want. But you if you could write about the part where he is apologizing to her (smut will be great honestly), but you do whatever you want.

sorry this took so long - i promise i'm working through all the lovely asks you guys sent me, it's just taking a minute (school and shit, you know)

anyways!

I'm Sorry (In Not So Many Words)

Farleigh Start is a lot of things. At first glance, a stuck up bitch, but that’s only the first of many layers. He’s wicked smart when it comes to literary analysis, can write an argumentative essay like nobody’s business, and breezes through books faster than anybody else you know. He’s funny in a bitchy kind of way that’s distinctly American and not to everyone's taste, but definitely to yours. He’s fashionable to a fault - a bit of a diva, truly - but on more than one occasion has held your hair back so you can vomit vodka into the toilet. He always has enough weed or coke or acid tabs to share and always has extra room in his dorm for you to crash if you’re too high to get home. He’s mean and nice at the same time, and to most people, it’s confusing. But not to you. 

To anyone else, you’re friends. Barely friends, even, connected only by the fact that Felix and Annabel are kind-of-sort-of a thing. You would have never have even met him if Annabel hadn’t dragged you into Felix’s circle, but you’re glad that you did. It’s fun, finding excuses to get each other alone, patting concealer over hickeys you’re not ‘supposed’ to have. And he’s nicer behind closed doors, when he’s not putting on a show for his cousin. You might even go as far as to say that he’s sweet, when it's the two of you alone. Of course, you’d never tell anyone - not that anyone would believe you, either. 

So when you overhear Felix ask Farleigh if he’d ever consider going out with you to double date with him and Annabel and he laughs, an icicle shoots through your heart. It’s condescending, his laugh; it’s you’re kidding and I would never and you can’t be serious all at the same time, and it shoots through you like a bullet. 

You don’t show up to Kings Arms even though Annabel texts you that that’s where everyone is, instead holing up in your room, the sound of Farleigh’s laughter banging around in your head. You don’t know what the truth is. Has he just been leading you on this whole time? Pretending to like you for… what? It can’t be sex, he can get that with other people, it can’t be drugs, he always supplies them, it can’t be money either… but the way he laughed, like it was so ludicrous that he would ever consider going on an actual date - a double date, even, which is really only half a date - with you. And to think that you liked him. Even just as a friend. Maybe you were wrong to think that his bitchiness was a front - maybe that’s just who he is. Maybe you were wrong to think that he was anything else. Maybe-

A gentle knock at your dorm door interrupts your spiraling, and you get up from your bed, padding across the room to look out the peephole, and find a familiar puff of curls. You’re opening the door before you can really think about if you want to see him right now, just out of habit. 

Farleigh smiles at you, and breezes into your room like nothing’s wrong. “Did I leave my grinder in here?”

“I don’t know.” You say, closing the door and retreating back to your bed, watching him sort through the things on your desk, looking for the little blue grinder he keeps with the rest of his weed supplies. He sorts through your things like they’re his - and if you’re being honest, some of them are. Over the course of the semester, the line between what’s yours and what’s his has blurred significantly. 

He turns around at the sound of your voice, peering down at you. “What’s wrong with you?” It’s teasing and sympathetic at the same time. 

“Nothing.” You shrug. “I’m just not feeling well.”

He squints, moving from the desk to sit down on the bed next to you. “Uh huh.”

You’re really not in the mood for him right now. “Fuck off.” Why should you give him the time of day when he was so rude behind your back? You don’t really want to tell him off to his face - he’s quick as a whip in an argument, you’ve seen it firsthand - but you really, really, don’t want to see him right now. 

He laughs, sharp and surprised. “Wow.” He says. “What?”

You roll your eyes. “What, what?” You mock him. You know you’re being childish, but you don’t really care - it was childish of him to laugh. 

He rolls his eyes back at you. “What’s your problem?” He asks. “You were perfectly fine earlier, did I say something?”

“Obviously.” You say.

He waits for you to keep going, but you don’t. “You’re not going to tell me?”

“I heard you and Felix.” You snap. “Is the idea of actually going on a date with me in public, with other people, that fucking funny?”

His face shifts into something you don’t recognize. “I-”

“If you don’t want to do this anymore, you should just say so.” You keep going. “I thought that we were actually, I don’t know, friends, at least. Call me crazy but I felt like I actually knew you, and actually liked you.” You laugh. “I just-” You pause. “Nevermind. I guess I was stupid for thinking that it went both ways. I guess I shouldn’t have, I mean, I was watching you do this same shit to other people, I don’t know why I thought I would be different-”

“I wasn’t laughing at the idea of going out with you, I was laughing because there’s no way in hell I would ever go on a double date with Felix and Annabel. They’re fucking insufferable as is.” He interrupts you, placing a hand on your cheek and turning your face so that you’re looking at him. “Did you really think I was laughing at you?”

“I wouldn’t have been so pissed off if I didn’t think you were.” You say, not quite sure whether to believe him or not. “But-”

“I’ll take you out.” He says it casually, thumbing over your cheekbone. “Just us. We can go get dinner at that new place by the pubs. If you want.”

All of the anger and doubt that had been piling up on your chest is suddenly lifted. “That sounds great.”

“Cool.” He says, grinning, his hand still caressing the side of your face. His fingers trail down the side of your neck and then he’s cradling your head, pulling you closer to press his lips to yours - softly, gently. It’s an ‘I’m sorry’ in fewer words, but you know him well enough to read it as an apology. 

You kiss him back, pouring your sorry back into him. You shouldn’t have been so quick to assume that he was laughing at you, you should have had more faith in the fact that companionship is a two way street - he seeks you out as much as you do him. It’s mutual, and in the heat of the moment, you had forgotten that. Sweeping your tongue into his mouth, you smile against his lips when he sighs into the kiss. 

He pulls away so that his lips are just brushing yours. “Let me make it up to you?”

“You don’t have to.” You say, leaning back as he gently pushes you down on the mattress. “It was really my fault, I misunderstood-” 

He noses down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake as your back hits the mattress. His curls tickle your skin as he works down your collarbone, rucking up your shirt so that he can kiss down your stomach, looking up at you through his lashes as he does. Butterflies swirl in your stomach as he kisses over the skin. “Farleigh-”

“What?” It’s teasing and playful as he sits back on his heels to thumb at the waistband of your pants. He drops his voice slightly. “Can I?”

You nod, and he dips his fingers below your waistband, gently pulling your pants down to your ankles. You kick them off the rest of the way as he leans back down over you, holding your eyes with his as he noses between your thighs. You suck in a breath as his tongue makes contact with your skin, and a bolt of pleasure shoots through you. Your tip your head back against the mattress as he starts to work his mouth over you. He knows how to use his tongue - there’s a reason there’s a rumor about him sucking teachers off - and he puts it to work right away, diving in like he’s hungry for it. 

“Oh fuck-” You wind your fingers into his curls, tugging at the root. He moans into your skin, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling. It’s good - it’s always good with him. That’s another thing about Farleigh - you can always trust him to actually get you off. Unlike most of the other guys you’ve been with.

But you feel a little guilty that he thinks he has to make it up to you, when you were the one who didn’t bother to ask him what he meant. If anything, you should be sucking him off. Tugging more insistently at his hair, you pull him up to latch your lips together in a kiss, licking yourself off his skin. He pants against your lips. “Why’d you stop me?”

“I want you to fuck me.” You say. That way it’s even, that way, you’re both getting to enjoy yourselves. 

“Fuck. Okay.” He shucks his trousers and boxers down in one motion, kicking them down the bed. He’s already hard - but he usually is, after burying his head between your thighs - and you don’t hesitate to reach out and stroke him a few times, watching his face change into that almost pained look he gets when you fuck him.

You line him up, brushing his skin against yours, and watch as his eyelids drop to half mast as he pushes in. The stretch just borders on the edge of too much, but the groan he lets out distracts you from the sting. He always sounds so pretty when you’re like this, tangled up in the sheets of your too-small dorm room bed. You wind a hand into his hair and pull him down into the crook of your neck so that you can nip at his earlobe as he starts that slow, delicious grind you’ve come to associate with him. 

He sinks his teeth into the skin of your neck, gently biting over a hickey that he left only a couple days before, refreshing the mark as he muffles a groan. You trail your lips down the shell of his ear until you find his neck again, doing the same. His hips stutter into yours as you suck at the tender skin of his neck, and you smile. Even though he’s on top, he’s still putty in your hands - or mouth, really.

“Farleigh.” You whisper against the mark you just left.

“Mm, what?” He nips at your collarbone.

“Switch with me.” You say. “Let me on top.”

He laughs, a breathy thing that borders on a whine. “I’m supposed to be making it up to you-”

“Which is why you should let me on top.” You say. 

“I thought you wanted me to fuck you-”

“Please?”

His hips stutter against yours again, and that's how you know you’ve got him. He pulls you tight to his chest, wrapping his arms around you, and rolls across the mattress until he’s flat on his back and you’re straddling him without ever pulling out. Sitting up, you take in the sight of him, pupils blown wide, lips still slick with spit, a blooming mark peeking out from behind his ear, and plant your hands on his chest for leverage as you start to bounce. 

He grins, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth to muffle the moan that forces its way out of his chest as you work yourself up and down his cock, his hands finding their place on your hips, fingers digging into your skin. You purposefully scratch your fingernails down his chest to watch him squirm, and he uses his grip on your hips to fuck up into you, to watch you falter. It’s a fun game that you play, who can make the other keen and whine more, made even more fun by the fact that more often than not, you win. 

“Fuck, fuck-” Farleigh rasps, his grip tightening as he takes over your bouncing for you. You let him move you at his own pace, able to tell just by the way he whines that he’s close. He throws his head back and you watch his stomach tighten as he lets out a long groan. His whole body tenses, and then stills. You wait for his eyes to flutter open before you start bouncing again. 

He gasps, a high pitched laugh leaving his lips. “Shit-”

“I’m almost there.” You say, watching his face as the coil tightens in your gut. 

“Take your time.” He says, panting. “I’m good.”

He always says that, but you know it’s only a matter of time before it’s too much and he starts to grit his teeth. You know what it’s like - you’ve been on the other end before, already came but Farleigh’s still fucking, the drag growing more overstimulating the longer it goes on. So you bounce faster, focusing on the way he looks underneath you, debauched and panting, eyes half lidded as he watches you go up and down, sweat gathering in the hollow of his neck. God, he’s so beautiful. 

“Ah-” 

You shake apart on top of him, and he catches you as you slump down onto his chest, arms wrapping around your middle. You nose into the crook of his neck with a sigh, contentment washing over you. “‘M sorry.”

“For what?”

“Being stupid. Thinking you were laughing at me. Sulking about it.” You say, pressing a kiss to the warmth of his skin. 

“‘M sorry for making you think I was laughing at you.” He says. 

You sigh. “We’re good?”

“We’re good.” He says. You can hear the smile in his voice.

[redphlox]

Now that the bnha manga is coming to an end, I'm wondering if the story itself will be revealed to be the actual book/comic Spinner mentioned wanting to write in chapter 427. After all, the main narrator of the story is future!Deku, with Spinner specifically narrating the My Villain Academ arc in chapters 220 - 240.

This all leads me to theorize that Spinner and Deku meet up numerous times after the epilogue to work together on this project and talk. Deku's knowledge of events that he wasn't around for or involved in (for example, Shouto vs. Dabi during the last war, Mr. Compress's discussion with Geten in jail, etc), suggests he may have also interviewed other individuals to capture the full picture of all sides and tell the story completely.

So, basically, bnha might be a comic book created by both Deku and Spinner much like The Outsiders novel was revealed in the end to be Ponyboy's school essay processing his grief about what happened with Johnny and Dallas.

Bnha might be a story pieced together by a hero and a villain coming together to humanize the league of villains instead of actually being about societal change. This book/comic is supposed to spark change - or something. I'm not saying this is great writing or fixes any of the issues in the story... it's just a set-up I'm noticing.

[thatfrenchacademic]

OK so about this "34, unmarried and childless" article about Taylor Swift. Let me tell you about Scam Academia.

TL;DR: some mediocre dude had a half baked opinio nabout Taylor Swift that everyone hated, but like Mother Nature I let nothing go to waste.

Here is the take you have not heard yet, about this opinion: this guy is actually a good case study on how to develop your academic literacy, aka how to recognize a true academic from a scammer who presents themselves as an academic, but is just a crook. In a world of pseudoscience and pretend experts that have enough resources to organize their flat earth conference, let me walk you through the world of Scam Academic, where for a few thousand dollars, you too can claim to be a researcher with a doctorate! Follow me down a rabbit hole that I hate with my whole heart!

Preamble: I have zero skin in the TS game. I don't get the hype, the lore, the obsession with those 2000s bracelet or dissecting every single line or every single song.

But then. Some guy had to write an op-ed stating Taylor Swift was not a good role model for girls ("in the US and beyond"), and it is a terrible take on so many level, but here is the thing. Whiny conservative think-pieces about highly successful women who should get back to the kitchen and think of the children are nothing new. But this one is different.

This one is fucking terribly written. It's just an abysmally written blog post. Genuinely one of the worst thing I have ever read, and I read hundreds of undergrad essays every year for a living. It contradicts its own arguments in every paragraph. It over-explains concepts like it's a high school essay and he's trying to meet the word count. It says "this is a valid question worth asking" but does not actually explain why it is worth asking. It is so, so, so bad.

Conservative writers are usually more the "high brow, drowning you in grandstanding" kind of writers. They are, usually, good technical writers - it's the one thing that helps make their talking point sound legit and palatable. So an abysmally bad conservative writer? Ok, I am intrigued.

The author is one John Mac Ghlionn. I look up the guy on Google and...

Oh.

Oh no, John.

Spewing conservative bullshit at women AND a researcher? You're in my turf now, John. You could have continued to cover UFC Pillow Fight Championships, or alien technology and other riveting subjects, but you had try to connect two brain cells to argue a thing, and slap "researcher" on top of it. Now I'm offended, as a researcher.

1. I am sorry, researcher WHERE?

Ok so if one is a "researcher", it means one conduct "research". and contrary to what backyard conspiracy theorists think, "researcher" is an actual job. It is an actual professional occupation. You get an actual contract, and you are paid actual money. By an actual employer: public (University), private (Think tank, private company), or a mix of both (at Unviersity, but on a privately funded project, for example).

So where does our John Mc Ghlionn work?

Well. Nowhere, as far as I can tell.

John does not list any affiliation. Usually, when they write, academics will state their exact position (Researcher, Doctoral Researcher, Associate Professor, Chief Engineer, Head of Department, Research Director...) and where they work. For example:

That's what it is supposed to look like.

But John? Nope, no affiliation anywhere, on anything he ever published. That's a pretty massive read flag. Research takes ressources: at the very least, time and access to database and documentation, even in social sciences in humanities. You may not need a lab, but you sure as hell need money and full access to JStore at least.

So I thought he was just one of these "I google therefore I research" kind of dude. But then, out of nowhere:

I am sorry. He has a WHAT.

2. I am sorry, a Doctorate from WHERE?

So. One thing to claim to be a researcher when you are just a professional yapper. Another to claim a DIPLOMA.

And not any diploma. A doctorate.

Let's pause. "Doctorate" is actually a really broad umbrella term of all doctoral-level degrees. The most famous (and most prestigious, for better and worse) is the PhD, but a PhD is technically just one of many Research Doctorate of, theoretically, the same level (cue this helpful reddit post). A second category of doctorates are the Applied Doctorates, and while there is Discourse on where they sit vis-a-vis PhD, the easiest is to consider that they are not research-oriented. They are hands-on, practice-oriented degrees. For example: you can practice medicine with an MD. You don't need a PhD. You can still call yourself a doctor, though.

Alright, so which of these does our friend Johnnie has? Or is currently enrolled in? And in which University?

You will notice that John does not go by "John Mac Ghlionn PhD" or even "Dr John Mac Ghlionn", when you just KNOW he is the sort of person that would but that shit everywhere. And no shade here, because I, for one, do put that shit everywhere. Maybe he is just currently enrolled in a program and has not graduated. Fair.

Since John does not list affiliation, I had to switch from academic to internet sleuth, and dig out this article:

But we learn that in 2021, John was a "PhD Scholar" in "Parkmore Institute". "PhD Scholar" is not a title I am sued to, but it's also not raising any red flag: ongoing PhD researchers can be "PhD students", "PhD fellows", "PhD researchers"... It varies from country to country and from institution to institution, so why not "PhD Scholar".

Let's check out the Parkmore Institute.

Ok, they are not a traditional university, but they appear to be more of a postgraduate institution: offering only higher level degrees, not undergrad courses. Once again, not necessarily a red flag. They are usually very heavily research focused, and embrace the "research" side of academia more than the "teaching" side. In Germany, the Max Planck Institutes are research-only institutions who deliver PhDs. They conduct cutting edge research, in part because their researchers rarely have to spend time teaching.

But that is NOT the Parkmore Institute. First of all, let's see what programs they offer:

None of them are legit.

And I mean, none of them are recognize as even Applied/Professional Doctorate by the National Science Foundation (US based). And while a PhD in Human sexuality would be perfectly valid, but I'm going to on a limb and say I have some serious doubts about "Bodymind Healing" as an academic field.

These are not legit academic degrees.

What they are, is an excellent money-making opportunity for anyone working at the Parkmore institute. Students will pay, at the very least:

And 60% of this goes to their " faculty mentor". The Parkmore institute provides no research fund, no desk or office space (they are entirely digital), no access to any resources or library, not even a Zoom account. There is also no mention of any timeline: how long a PhD take to complete? Who knows. 6 months ? A year ? 5 years? What are the requirements to graduate ? Who knows ! And I would need to pay $200 to get in touch with them, so I sure as fuck won't know any time soon!

But let's get back to our friend John. Remember that he stated, in that 2021 publication, he was a "PhD Scholar" at Parkmore ? Well that's a shame because Parkmore does not deliver PhDs. Ain't that a bitch.

ALSO. Parkmore helpfully has page with all their Doctoral Recipients! And guess who is NOT HERE ! That's right, our Johnnie !

How can this be ? Well, three possibilities:

John is still not done with a PhD. After 4 years ? In a crank university where I am pretty sure I can submit the first draft of a litt review and graduate ? Nah

John never completed the thing. Boo, that would mean that John is lying, when he says he has a doctorate. Bad, bad.

John did graduate, and obtained his doctorate in [scrolls back to check] psychosocial studies, and then was not put on the website or was withdrawn some time before today, as Parkmore institute ended their affiliation with him, as per this bit in their application form

A shame, really. If John had been affiliated with the Parkmore Institute, it would give a shred of legitimacy to anything he writes to anyone just skimming.

Now, I would love to get in touch with the Parkmore Institute and ask to see John's doctoral work, which they DO have, since the application for also has this very interesting section:

(definitely very legit, very normal).

But I am not sure how I would even phrase that request without transparently going

"hey, would love to see what bullshit research is being done over there, since one of your graduate decided to go all Handmaid's tale for the last 2 years".

If anyone feels like sending that email, I am begging you to keep me in the loop.

3. Back up, back up, what's up with that article?

Remember the article where he was listed as a "PhD Fellow"?

Well, about that... No. Welcome to the world of predatory publishing, one more cog in the Bullshit Academic ecosystem.

First: not at article. It's a "commentary". Could be worth something ia good journal, but still would not be a piece of research. But that is the least of its sins.

Its sins are being published in a journal called "Sociology and Criminology-Open Access", by a publisher called "Longdom". Longdom publishing has a bunch of journals on a lot o different fields, with the particularly of being predatory; they will publish absolutely anything you send them, as long as you pay their Article Processing Charges:

There are entire lists of Predatory journals on the web, you can find on here and another here , Longdom Publishing is in both.

This is how John can publish this last minute, Redbull-and-weed-induced essay in an actual journal, with an abstract that, I kid you not, finishes with "Please find the paper attached." He slapped together a shitty essay about people in India are poorer and therefore more likely to exhibit psychopathic traits and therefore engage in corruption, purely base on vibes. It does not even deserve be given any consideration, not even to be debunked. There is nothing to be debunked. This would be a failing grade for a 1st year intro class.

CONCLUSION

On the surface, John Mac Ghlionn is the poster boy of failed edgelords who really wish they were Jordan Peterson, but unfortunately are just Doug, the guy for 10th grade who failed the Literature class and decided it was because litterature was too woke today anyway.

Beneath the surface, John is a case study in Scam Academia, and the proof that no matter how bad actual academia is, Scam Academia can always get worse.

A quick checklist to go through whenever someone claims be a researcher, an academic, a fellow, a doctor, a PhD or anything of the sort:

What is their affiliation? Is this a legitimate organization?

Do they have a PhD? Another doctorate degree? From where?

Have they published ? Where is it published?

[thecrystalquill]

A/N: Welcome to Chapter Thirteen! Thank you for waiting; I wanted to do it before Christmas, but you know how busy December is. Also find me on AO3: The_Crystal_Quill !

Also I'm so glad to finally give Rahim some appreciation <3

Please don't forget to leave a like!!!

Masterlist Series Masterlist Introduction Your First Year Letter

Chapter Thirteen ~ One Step Closer

Dear (Y/N),

It’s about time that you wrote me a letter that I didn’t have to share, and I don’t appreciate you keeping secrets from me, but I do enjoy having secrets to keep. I won’t tell anyone; I highly doubt they would be of any help anyway.

First of all, stop looking in the damned library, the answers to your Message aren’t in a book. I suggest you figure out where to go. This Spirit, whoever they are, obviously has something for you to find. They must have been to Hogwarts, or there would have been no point in Contacting you now. It must be there.

I would like to be involved in this, obviously you’re getting nowhere on your own, the only obstacle in my way is the fact that Hogwarts is so far. you should stay at Hogwarts to do some investigating. I will help.

I’ll start to set the seed in Mother and Father’s heads about what it would be like to see your school, I know there is a village near Hogwarts, find out the name for me. Then you can write home and tell them that you want to spend the holidays at Hogwarts – I’ll convince them to travel to see you there, it should be easy to get them to believe it was their idea.

In the mean time, you just look for some clues. I’m sure you can find something to do until I get there.

~ Wednesday

Emotionless, mildly condescending, and straight to the point, just like her sister. It was clear to (Y/N) that Wednesday was rather excited about this enigma; it had only taken a couple of days for her to reply, and she’d obviously put a plan together rather quickly in her eager state.

She really must be bored without (Y/N) there. It was a nice thought, in a way.

(Y/N) didn’t really want to spend the winter holidays at Hogwarts; she’d actually been rather looking forward to sleeping in her own bed and decorating the family tree, standing for another annual portrait and bickering while Lurch painted their every expression, and not to mention the flaming Christmas Pudding that only Grandmama knew how to make. But it seemed that some things were more important – (Y/N) was starting to despise this Spirit for interrupting her life; she was supposed to have a very normal year of magic and studying.

There were no practical lessons so close to the holidays, and most of her classes consisted of reviewing the work they had completed during their first term before it came to an end. For the last thirty-six minutes, she had been writing an essay about Rowena Ravenclaw and her life before and after the creation of Hogwarts, while Professor Binns lectured about how next term they would be looking into the other schools of magic around the world. It was a shame, (Y/N) thought, that Binns had a talent for making a subject so interesting sound so incredibly boring. It seemed the most exciting thing to ever happen to him was his death, and even then his retelling of the event was as dull and lifeless as the corpse which he left behind.

“…Now, Beaubatons, the French academy, that is – you may read it and think it is pronounced ‘beau’ as in ‘beautiful’, but is actually pronounced ‘boar’ like the wild pig, now that I think on it, it’s much like Hogwarts being named from the mole of a hog – anyhow, Beaubatons is in the Pyrenees, and takes students predominantly from, France and Spain, so I suppose they must also have language classes there too. Actually, quite a lot of them seem to speak a few languages, very talented students, they are, so I suppose they must offer language classes. So anyway, as I was saying, Beaubatons school is cloaked under a spell, much like the one that hides the Hogwarts grounds from muggles, but where here they simply get dazed and confused and return themselves away from the area, them being in the Pyrenees means a lot of muggles tend to get themselves lost off the edge of rocks and cliffs and the like, and as unfortunate as that is, it means that the whole area is highly advised against, as far as the muggles are concerned, so in the end it turns out to be not so bad. Sure, there’s a few injuries and the odd death every now and then, but it does a fine job at keeping the muggles away. So, as I was saying…” Sweet Hades take my soul to the depths of Styx already, (Y/N) thought. If he carried on any longer she may just pull her ears off, and her peers seemed to suffer similarly. Listening to Binns’ unique way of speaking was somehow the verbal equivalent of watching paint dry; his tone was slow and monotonous as if he were bored of it himself, and he drawled through each sentence like a snail, droning on and on, digression after digression, to the point where it’s hard to even hear what exactly he’s talking about over the constant sound. And don’t even get started on what it was like to get trapped in a conversation with him – there was no escaping the relentless torture of word after word for what felt like hours, and there was no helping his victims chained in place by the requirement to be polite to your elders.

Sharing her desk was Saoirse, of course, but (Y/N) had noticed she’d fallen asleep some time ago – Binns had quite the power for doing that. Now would be the perfect time for some earphones, yet another con to muggle technology not working at Hogwarts; she’d once wanted to ask why that was, but she dreaded how long the answer would take.

‘Rowena Ravenclaw then decided that her house would be one for students who valued wisdom and knowledge above all else, and created an environment which would nurture their minds and mould her students into some of the brightest witches and wizards at Hogwarts.’ (Y/N) wrote, hoping to finish her essay before the class ended so she wouldn’t have it for homework. Only ten minutes left until the bell would sound and release them from their torture.

When there was only four minutes left, (Y/N) nudged Saoirse with her elbow, waking her almost immediately; they had learned that it was best to leave as soon as the bell rang, rather than risk being caught up in a conversation with the professor, it was a mad-dash to leave.

As she rolled up her essay and put her quill away, (Y/N) thought about what she was going to write in her letter home. Wednesday must have already set the seed of seeing Hogwarts, as she’d put it, so now she needed to request that she stay. Only, she was finding it a little tricky to think up a reason for the strange request; in almost every letter (Y/N) had mentioned how she couldn’t wait to return home, what could possibly make her want to stay?

She needed a lie, and a good one at that.

When the bell finally dismissed them, the girls grabbed their bags and cloaks and exited the classroom. As December had rolled around, the snow was starting to fall each night, leaving a light layer on the grounds, and the hallways were becoming even more chilled than before. It was the perfect amount of cold for (Y/N); her breath fogged slightly in front of her, and she could wear comfortable layers, and feel like she was taking a lovely trip through the morgue.

The hallways gradually warmed up as they got closer to the Great Hall, their ever-burning fires seemed to heat the whole room, and the toasty warmth was trapped between the walls. Magic, probably, stopped the heat from escaping through the brickwork.

At the Slytherin table, (Y/N) sat and thought of what to write in her letter while Saoirse started a conversation about her latest obsession: vampires. “Wait, you really didn’t know they were real?” (Y/N) asked as she fiddled with the golden goblet in front of her. She sometimes forgot that Saoirse was raised by very ordinary muggles.

“I thought they were just a myth, like an old folk-tale, y’know?” Answered Saoirse with a wave of her arm, she gestured often when she spoke, (Y/N) noticed. “Like Dracula.”

“Dracula was real too.” She replied, amused at the way Saoirse dropped her hands on the table and gawked.

“What?” She said, moving her hair out of her face to pay proper attention to her friend. “Explain, now.”

Rolling her eyes, (Y/N) succumbed to the distraction. “Count Dracula was from Romania, he came to Whitby by ferry, and he lived and died there. The story got a bit exaggerated through time, but he was very real. In fact, you can learn all about him in my town.” She was ready to leave it there as she saw her other roommates enter the room and look for them, but she thought one last piece of information would be worth sharing. “Local legend says he’s buried in an unmarked grave somewhere in the town, but he’s actually buried in the Addams Cemetery next to my Great-Great-Uncle Wolfgang Addams.”

“WHAT?”

Dear Mother and Father,

I have so been looking forward to returning home for the holidays, as you know. But there has been an unfortunate incident involving a friend of mine and a carnivorous plant in one of the herbology greenhouses. She is having to spend the holidays in the hospital wing and can’t go home. I know you have been excited for me to be back home, but I may have already agreed to stay here so my friend wouldn’t be alone. Is that alright? I feel terrible about it all, but I’ve heard Christmas at Hogwarts is something to be awed. Perhaps you could send my gifts here? Or we can save them for the next holidays? It’s such a shame you can’t come here.

I have been practising my sword skills in the Forbidden Forest, luckily the cold weather means that few people are outside to see me. Sadly, I haven’t seen any terrible creatures in the forest, no ghouls or monsters, but there’s still time.

My lessons have been going well; my potions are near perfect, herbology has been coming naturally to me, and I only fell off of my broom once. Though, Transformation is proving to be more difficult than I anticipated.

The Hogwarts Express leaves from Hogsmeade Station early on Saturday morning next week, and I’ve agreed to accompany Saoirse as she boards. I look forward to hearing back from you.

~ (Y/N)

It wasn’t a perfect lie, but it would do. (Y/N) was attaching the letter to Mortis’ long leg as he finished up the steak and kidney pie she brought him, hoping he wouldn’t get too cold during his long flight. She’d already sent a note to Wednesday, informing her of the name of the nearest town and any updates on her mystery. With luck, she could easily convince them to stay in Hogsmeade – it would be a shame to not see them all for the winter – perhaps (Y/N) could sneak Wednesday into school.

“Go on then, Mortis.” She said to the great bird, giving his strong back a pat. “Fly back home as quickly as you can, I’ll see you soon.” (Y/N) took a step back, and watched as the vulture gave her a farewell nod and spread out his massive wings, diving from the tall tower and catching the wind to take him south. She watched until the giant creature turned into a brown-ish blur and disappeared into the white horizon, hoping it didn’t snow on his journey.

The trail back to the castle was long and peaceful; dark fir and pine tree tops were dusted in white and the snow on the ground had set a foot deep already, crunching beneath her shiny black boots with each step. For a while, that was the only sound she heard, until she neared the castle grounds and saw that there were students dotted around – some were settled around the courtyard some were walking through the fields to the iced-over lake, and two identical red-heads were throwing snowballs either at their friends or at unfortunate bystanders.

(Y/N) tugged on her leather gloves and tightened the emerald scarf around her neck, feeling a chill breeze redirect her way. She was pondering returning to the library to once more search for a useful book in the Divination section; she had all but given up on that idea, there was no way she could search through so many on her own, but she’d hate to admit that Wednesday was right.

She was just ascending the salted stone steps that lead into the castle, when she felt a soft pat on her head, and cold water melting into her hair and run down her neck. (Y/N) froze, and the whole courtyard seemed to freeze with her. A curse was muttered from behind her, and she turned to face the culprit. Maybe a dozen people were in the open area, all staring wide-eyed between the black-clad Addams heir and the group of damp third-year boys at the centre of it all. Three of the boys took a step back, pointing at their red-head friends accusingly, who watched warily for her reaction. (Y/N) said nothing, waiting for them to go first.

They straightened themselves out, faces pale from the cold and shock, noses red, gloves wet, both covered in snow. They looked to each other briefly, seemingly deciding what to do. “It was him!” The one of the left exclaimed, pointing to his brother.

The second twin gasped and put his hands up in surrender, shooting his brother a horrified expression of betrayal. “It was an accident, I swear!” He defended, giving her what he hoped was a sincerely apologetic look, crossing his heart with his forefinger. “I was aiming for Lee!”

A boy on the right threw his hands up, mirroring the look of innocence his accuser displayed. “Don’t drag me into this, you’re just a crappy shot.”

“Oi!”

“Well you’re the one who hit her!”

It was clear a petty argument was about to break out, so (Y/N) turned to face them fully from the third step and crossed her arms, successfully regaining their focus. They expected her to yell, to scream, to throw insults and curses. But she didn’t – she already had their attention; she didn’t have to cause a scene to get what she wanted.

All eyes were on them as the boys looked between themselves and her nervously; the longer she stood silent, the more anxious they became, wondering what she might do. Nothing in her face or body language gave away any indication of what she was thinking. Lee elbowed the twin nearest to him, seeming to snap him into some sort of action. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t do it on purpose, I promise.” The guilty red-head said, pulling his knitted hat over his ears as he gave her another genuine expression.

There was a pause of complete silence, all lesser-noises absorbed by the blanketed snow, as everyone watched. Then, with only a single, small nod, (Y/N) turned and continued on her way, leaving them to their business.

Sometimes (Y/N) forgot about the reputation she’d somehow accumulated since her arrival, after all, she did very little to build it. Somehow, in simply being herself, people had made her (and her family) to be some sort of fantastical being of dark and mysterious origin. Saoirse often made her feel so normal, that she often forgot that, in the eyes of everyone else, she wasn’t. So it wasn’t too drastic of her to assume something as simple as a rogue snowball may have been thrown on purpose, she thought. But an apology was all she needed, and the boy was polite enough to give a sincere one. So perhaps not everyone outside of her inner circle was all that bad, even if they thought some truth was behind the rumours about her.

It was half-past eleven on a Saturday morning, exactly one week before the Winter holidays, which meant that the library would be full of people finishing up assignments and catching up on reading. As she entered the quiet hall, she was unsurprised to see most people wearing Ravenclaw jumpers. Making her way towards the back, (Y/N) passed a table piled high with books; curiously, she peered around a stack to see Hermione in a discussion with her two Gryffindor friends. “This is taking forever, I don’t know where else to look.”

“I know I’ve read his name somewhere.” Harry said, flicking through a copy of Great Wizards Of The Twentieth Century, before Ron nudged him in the arm and nodded to their observer. “Oh, um… hi…” He said, drawing back slightly, as if unsure of what to say. It was then that (Y/N) noticed how Harry didn’t seem to ever say her name – perhaps, (Y/N) considered, he simply hadn’t decided on if he should call her by her first name or her last.

“That’s quite a lot of books,” (Y/N) commented, busying herself with undoing her coat.

“Yeah well, we’ve been doing quite a lot of reading.” Said Ron with a slight edge of defence. (Y/N) couldn’t understand why, it seemed to her a silly thing to defend.

Normally, (Y/N) would have resigned the attempt at conversation. But given that these were Hermione’s friends, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to show a little effort – she thought it was very grown-up of her. “Anything interesting?”

The answers from each of them varied, but Hermione simply huffed at them and turned to her. “(Y/N), do you know anything about Nicolas Flamel?” She asked, ignoring Ron’s noise of protest.

(Y/N) hummed as she removed her scarf and hung it on her arm. “Can’t say I’ve heard of him. Why?”

“No reason.” Said Ron, closing his book and moving it aside, interrupting Hermione before she shared too much.

Hermione only sent him a glare and ignored his frown of disapproval. “We’ve looked everywhere but we just can’t seem to find anything on him. The only place we haven’t checked is the Restricted Section.”

“The Restricted Section?” (Y/N) repeated, wondering why a library would hide books rather than share them. “What’s in there?”

“Mostly books on restricted topics, advanced dark magic and the likes.” The intelligent girl explained, turning to look to the back of the library. “Unfortunately, you can’t go in without a consent form, and that’s never going to happen.”

“Well, can’t you just ask the librarian? Surely she’ll know something about this Flamel.” (Y/N) offered, though she was clearly intrigued.

Harry shook his head. “No way, she’ll tell on us for sure.” He said, but the moment he did his eyes widened and Ron made another frustrated groan.

(Y/N) raised a brow and felt her curiosity grow. “So it’s a secret, this Flamel stuff?” She guessed, and it seemed she hit the nail right on the head.

“Look, you can’t tell anyone.” Ron stressed, moving the stack of books from between them so she could see all of him properly. “It’s very important that no one finds out about any of it.”

(Y/N) nodded, she wasn’t one for spreading secrets. “Of course.” Seeing then that she had nothing more to offer, and not long before lunch, (Y/N) stepped away from the table to take her leave. “I’ll let you to it then, I’ll see you here in the week, Hermione.” She said, then gave a nod to the group and made her way to the Divination section.

She thought that went relatively well; at least this time they actually talked with her.

With her coat and scarf placed safely on a desk chair, (Y/N) chose a shelf to scour, and began her ascent up the ladders to have a look at the M’s. Perhaps today was a good day to go through Meteoromancy: Secrets in Storms. She did love the sweet lull of thunder.

The Great Hall was decorated beyond (Y/N)’s expectations; snow dusted trees standing twenty feet tall at the front of the room, snowflakes falling from the ceiling only to fade away halfway down, colourful ribbons and garlands hung on the walls, and everything smelt of cinnamon and pine.

It was all very light and bright and colourful… it only made her miss the smooth blacks and blood reds of their tree at home.

At the Slytherin table, (Y/N) sat picking at a bowl of fruit as everyone discussed the holidays; Saoirse was looking forward to returning to her home most of all, telling Millicent all about her dog and how much she’d missed him. (Y/N) wished she was going back to Whitby – the beachside town was so charming in the winter; there were rarely any tourists, the wind was icy cold from the sea breeze, and the famed abbey looked so beautifully haunted covered in snow and salt-ice. The Addams Manor would be decorated with silky blacks, silvers, reds, white, and plum; the tree decorated with skulls and spiderwebs, piles of gifts wrapped in black paper; and the games they would play would bring a smile even to Wednesday’s face (especially when they played autopsy).

There were exclamations of excitement and dozens of owls came flying down from the highest windows carrying letters and packages to their owners, dropping them in their laps. Saoirse, Millicent, and Bridgit tore open their letters eagerly, as (Y/N) waited for Mortis to deliver a letter from her parents.

“I’ll just be a minute,” said Bridgit after a gulp of pumpkin juice, standing with a letter in hand, “this one’s addressed to me and my brother, I need to catch him before he goes to class.” She explained with a huff, turning to find him at the Gryffindor table.

Saoirse leaned across the table to stab her fork into an untouched sausage on Bridgit’s plate, then put her own letter safely in her bag. “What about yours?” She asked Millicent. “That from your parents?”

Millicent nodded, fiddling with the page in her hand. “Yeah, just how they’re looking forward to me going back and all that. Not very long, though.”

A moment later there was a scuffle of wings from the high window as a few owls rushed out of the way, making room for Mortis to fold his enormous wings to fit through, then reopen them again to glide down. He had the usual black envelope in his talons, dropping it for his young mistress to open, and bending his head low for a pat. “Good morning, Mortis.” She greeted him as she dragged an unused knife under the fold of the envelope to reveal the off-white paper inside. “Go get something to eat.” She said, watching him waddle over to a plate of bacon; his walk might have been cute, if it weren’t for the sharp talons that tapped the table with each heavy footfall that showed his weight. With all of the long-distance flights and buffet of foods, he really was getting bigger by the month.

(Y/N) unfolded the pages to read her mother’s swirling black handwriting.

Dear (Y/N),

We understand your desire to stay at Hogwarts with your friend. If you had something to do with the injury, it shows good character that you would agree to make up for it, & for that we are very proud of you. Pugsley would very much like to know more about the injury and how it came about, & if there were any limbs lost or infected wounds. Well, you will be able to tell him yourself. After we received your letter, Wednesday subtly pointed out how Hogsmeade is a popular visit this time of year, & how it isn’t too far from your school – she will deny it to her dying breath, but I believe she misses you more than she’ll admit. But nonetheless, we agree. We have made reservations at the Hog’s Head, & will be arriving on Sunday 22nd and staying until January 5th. As for you, you may stay with us or at Hogwarts with your friend, we can make arrangements for whatever you decide. I’ve included a note for the deputy headmistress in the envelope, if you would please give it to her.

We are all so looking forward to seeing you, Darling. It has been far too long already.

Missing you,

Mother

X

(Y/N) let out a small sigh; Wednesday might not have been as subtle as she’d said, but her intentions worked out anyway – and her family believed the lie she’d crafted, so all was well.

She folded the letter back into the envelope and took out the page written for McGonnagal, curious to be sure that she hadn’t written anything about the lie, but was relieved to read only about last-minute plans to Hogsmeade. (Y/N) would be glad to deliver it at the end of her Transfiguration class.

A tap on the arm brought (Y/N) back up from the page, seeing Saoirse collect her bag and grab a biscuit. “C’mon, we’ve got Potions.” She said, and (Y/N) noticed she had Millicent’s letter in hand.

“Why do you have that?” She asked as they made their way out of the Hall.

“She left it on the table, I’ll give it to her in class.”

The Dungeons were icy at this time of year, which was no surprise really – actually, what was a surprise was that they let students live down there in the damp and the cold. Their breaths fogged up in the air as they descended the steps and turned down the classroom’s corridor, seeing most students already at their desks, still wearing their robes and gloves. Saoirse gave a quick indication towards Millicent, nodding to (Y/N) as she returned the letter.

Snape entered the classroom with a swish of a cloak, glaring at those left standing around. “Be seated.” He demanded with upturned lips, watching as everyone shuffled to the nearest table. Truly, that man shouldn’t be working with children.

(Y/N) saw a spare seat in the centre-left of the room, where Rahim was sitting alone, and decided to occupy it (seeing as Saoirse had panicked and immediately sat with Millicent). She gave him a nod in greeting, receiving a shy smile in return as she unloaded her textbook, notes, and parchment onto her side of the desk.

“Today we will review the Forgetfulness Potion.” Snape drawled, and if it weren’t for the fact that so many of them were scared of him, many students would be lulled back to sleep by his monotonous voice. “This includes ingredients, directions, effects, cures, and history. Find the page in your textbooks, and I want an essay of at least two feet before the end of class, or you will be finishing an extra foot for homework.” There were a few groans from the back of the room, which he ignored completely. “You’ll do well to pay attention – you will be tested on it at the start of your next term, and it will be included in your final exam at the end of the year, along with the many other potions and ingredients that we cover.”

For a long while, there was near-silence in the room, only the scratching of quills and the low mumbles and whispers of discussions. And as (Y/N) was writing about the effects of the potion (which she was already having a hard time remembering), she felt a cramp in her hand and decided to take a short break.

Rahim was writing quickly, copying a list from his textbook rather efficiently, until he noticed the bored look on his friend’s face as she studied a satisfying lower-case ‘b’ on his paper. “Um… you alright?”

Nodding, (Y/N) continued to rub her hand as she glanced in the direction of their professor, seeing he was busy marking papers with vague disappointment. “Yes, just… in need of a break.” She answered truthfully.

Rahim nodded and straightened himself out, hiding a yawn behind his hand. “Yeah, me too. But at least there’s not long before the holidays.”

(Y/N) hummed, deciding against mentioning how she was staying back. “Yeah, you can finally spend some time away from the library.” She teased, as if she wasn’t in there far more than him.

Humming a laugh, the boy gave her another shy smile, half-hidden by his dark hair. He seemed to be considering something, opening and then closing his mouth hesitantly.

(Y/N) realised that she couldn’t recall ever having a conversation with Rahim alone; they were always accompanied by Saoirse or Hermione. Perhaps that was why he was hesitating – or maybe it just made him all the more shy. “What is it?”

Rahim scrunched his brows slightly, before opting to say what was on his mind. “Well, uh… I was just wonderin’… about them books you’re always reading from the library…” He finally said, fidgeting with his quill and smudging his fingers with the first ink-stains of the day. “They’re just a bit… um… odd… I guess.”

She could tell he was trying very hard not to offend her, which she found very endearing, and was pleased that he was putting such effort into his phrasing. She thought perhaps that he could be trusted with the vague truth; after all, he didn’t have anyone to tell secrets too, other than Saoirse maybe. But (Y/N) was too tired to think up clever lies – it was a skill she’d have to work on. “I received a Message from a spirit, and I’m trying to figure out what to do.” She strategically answered.

To her surprise, Rahim didn’t seem all too shocked by this. Given his quiet nature, she’d expected a bit more of… a reaction. But instead, he seemed to be thinking over her answer seriously. “Spirit? Like a ghost?”

She waved a hand in a ‘sort of’ gesture. “Kind of… but a more dead ghost than a… living... ghost?” She cringed — not so elegantly put.

Rahim thought nothing of the peculiar answer, going along with it in understanding. “Well… where’ve you been lookin’?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Well, just about everything really. Auramancy, Occulomancy, Tarot, runes… so far I haven’t found anything helpful.”

“And Necromancy wasn’t any help?”

She stopped. For the first time in a while, her brain seemed to stutter and freeze. Necromancy.

Necromancy.

Oh how the hell did she not think of Necromancy?

“Oh… I am such an idiot.” She muttered, massaging her forehead in frustration. It was so obvious now, she seriously questioned where her head had been all this time. “Rahim, it’s extremely rare that I’ll ever say this again, but I owe you one.” (Y/N) said, earning another shy smile from the boy.

She had one last shelf to check in the library.

Thank you for reading! Pleeeease like/comment/reblog to support!

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[hymnserendipity]

Osamu miya's big hands

College, timeskip. Tw: spanking. Dirty talk i guess. Fem reader.

Osamu Miya is not only an excellent volleyball player, he is also the head of the student committee. You're the only person he actually has problems with. You are uncontrollable, always arguing, sleeping in class, making graffiti in the bathrooms and always...always looking at him with a mischievous smile even though he scolds you and puts you in detention every week, whether by making you wear the old and hideous uniform or by writing essays upon essay about your behaviors. During lunch he noticed how you were starting an argument that would soon turn into a fight in the cafeteria and by tugging you he dragged you into the school counselors' office, empty at that hour. You start to scratch the door frame with a pen, drawing a little heart.

Osamu's gaze darkened as he observed you scratching the door. His irritation was growing.

"Stop that. You're damaging school property." He took a step closer, his voice stern.

"So what? It's just an heart, don't you like it?" You reply, looking at him with a smirk.

Osamu's glare intensified as he looked at the carving you made.

"A heart? Really? Vandalism is a serious offense. Do you want to get expelled?"

Osamu's tone was firm and stern, making it clear that he was not amused by your actions.

"Ur so boring." You said as you stop. Osamu couldn't help but roll his eyes at your remark.

"Boring, huh? I prioritize maintaining order and discipline in this school." He leaned against a wall, looking at you with a mixture of irritation and curiosity. "Why can't you just follow the rules like everyone else?"

"'Cause it's boring."

Osamu's expression darkened even more at you words. He didn't appreciate your dismissive attitude towards his responsibilities and the work he put into maintaining order.

"It's about respecting the rules and creating a disciplined environment for all students Being carefree and...he said with a hint of irritation. "You've been causing way to many troubles."

"So?" You reply, approaching him.

"So?" Osamu repeated, his irritation growing further. "Do you realize how serious this is? Not only do you constantly break rules, you're also resorting to violence."

He stood straighter, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fighting is strictly prohibited in this school. You could get expelled for that." "What are you going to do, make me write another essay? We both know its usefull. Try a different punishment, maybe it will work."

Osamu's eyes widened slightly, surprised by her forwardness. It took all his self-control to maintair his serious expression."Punish you, huh?" he muttered, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You think you're being clever, dont you?"

He stepped closer, closing the distance between you. His gaze was intense as he looked down at you. "And what kind of punishment do you suppose I should give you, hm?"

You can't hold your amusement, you tried to tease him for so long.

"What about...spanking?" You smirk, gladly feeling the tension between you two.

Osamu's eyes widened even further at you suggestion, caught off guard by your boldness. He tried to suppress a smirk but failed.

"Spanking?" he repeated, his voice a mixture of amusement and surprise. "You think a simple spanking is enough to correct your attitude?"

"Well, at least it amuse me."

Osamu's breath hitched slightly at your words and the proximity between them. He tried to keep his composure, but the smirk on his face widened.

"You're quite bold, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice a low growl. "But I'm not one to be taken lightly."

He reached out and gently grabbed your chin, lifting your face up to meet his gaze. "You think a spanking will be sufficient punishment? You underestimate me, baby."

"Maybe."

Osamu's smirk grew wider at your response, his grip on your chin tightening a bit. "Challenge accepted." he whispered back. You didn't realize yet.

He stepped closer, pressing your against a wall, pinning your wrists above your head. His body was mere inches from yours, and the smirk on his face grew even wider.

"You're playing with fire, baby" he murmured, his breath hot against your neck. "Are you sure you can handle it?"

Then the final tease, you look at him and whisper: "Please... Sir"

Osamu chuckled softly at your submission. He loved the way you addressed him as "sir".

"Please what, baby?" he whispered, his voice low and seductive. "What do you want from me?"

"You could spank me." You laugh, didn't expect him to take you seriously.

He leaned forward, his lips hovering just above your ear. "You're a cheeky little thing, aren't you? You want me to spank you, don't you? You want me to take control, don't you?"

"Yes please... I Will beheave"

Osamu smirked, his grip on your wrists tightening slightly. He leaned in even closer, his body pressing against yours, pinning against the wall.

"That's what I want to hear, princess," he murmured. "You'll behave and let me take control, won't you?"

He ran his free hand slowly up your side, stopping just below the chest. His lips moved to nibble on your earlobe.

"Good girl..." Osamu couldn't help but revel in his power over you. He loved how easily you submitted to him, responding to his touch just like a puppet on a string.

He released you wrists, letting his arms fall to your sides, but kept his body pressed, trapping you against the wall. His hand continued its exploration, moving up to lift you chin, forcing to meet his gaze.

"You're so eager for discipline, aren't you, princess?" he smirked, his voice low and seductive. "You want me to put you in your place, don't you?"

"Yes... sir" you smirked, you dreamed for that moment for so long. Osamu's smirk widened into a cocky grin as he heard your complete submission. He loved how easily you gave yourself over to his will.

"That's right," he murmured, his hand moving to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face. "You want me to be in control, princess. You want me to be the one to make the decisions for you."

He leaned in, his lips hovering just above your neck. "And I'm more than happy to oblige," he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. "Oh, princess, I'm going to make you count every single one of them."

He took a step back, giving himself enough space to move, grabbed your waist and spun you around, pressing your body front against the wall. His hand trailed down to your thighs, gently caressing the skin.

"Are you ready, princess?" he murmured in your ear.

"Hmmm" you mumbled back, already wet. Osamu's hand lingered on your skin for a moment before it moved, delivering a firm smack to your backside.

"Ah~" you chuckle. That was quite painful, more than you expected.

"Count." he commanded, his voice firm and authoritative.

"One."

Osamu smirked at your obedience. "Good girl. Keep counting."

He brought his hand down again, delivering another smack, a bit harder this time. "C'mon, princess. Count." "T-two" you were already struggling, could feel your ass gettin red. Osamu chuckled softly at your response, his hand moving to rub soothing circles on your backside where he had spanked. "That's two. You're doing well, princess. Keep counting."

He raised his hand again, delivering another firm smack, this time a tad harder than the previous ones. You gasp. "Go on. Count for me."

"Three" Osamu's smirk grew wider at your obedience. His fingers gently traced over the area he had spanked, admiring the rosy tinge your skin had taken. "Very good, princess. You're listening so well. Now, let's keep counting."

You're loosing it, your teasing were too much maybe... But even if it was painfull, you liked it.

Another firm smack landed on your backside, harder than the previous ones. "Come on. Counting, princess." "F-four" Osamu chuckled softly as he heard you struggling count between moans. "Almost there, princess. You're doing very well."

He delivered another strong smack to your backside, his hand rubbing the area gently afterward. You almost screamed.

"Six! Ah~"

"Just a few more. You can do it, princess. Keep counting for me." Osamu's smirk turned into a proud smile. "That's right, princess. You're taking it so well. You're doing amazing."

He gave your backside a gentle but firm smack, harder than the previous. "Keep counting, princess. Only a few more to go." Osamu's hand lingered on your skin for a moment. "Se-ven"

"Good girl. You're almost there," he murmured, his voice lower and more seductive. "You're doing so well, princess. Just a few more."

He pulled back his hand again, delivering another smack that echoed through the room. "Count, princess. Only one more to go." Osamu's expression softened a bit as he saw the tears running down your face. "Eight" He gently touched your chin, and tilting your face up to look at him. "You're doing so well, princess. Just one more and we're done."

He rubbed your backside gently, soothing the area where he had spanked you. "You can do it, princess. Just one more. Count it out, like a good girl." "I...i... can't."

Osamu's smirk widened again as he heard you. He was impressed by how well you were taking your punishment. "That's enough then. You did an excellent job, princess. You've been very obedient."

He brushed his fingers gently your her spanked backside, admiring the redness that had formed. He was extremely pleased by her obedience and submission.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. "You'll be a good girl for me, won't you princess? You'll obey my every command and behave yourself from now on."

"Yes..." Osamu's smirk turned into a satisfied smile. Your submissive response pleased him greatly...

"That's what I like to hear," he murmured in your ear, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "You'll be a good girl for me, and keep your bratty attitude in check, won't you princess?"

"Yes." Osamu gently wiped away your tears, his touch surprisingly gentle. He looked into your eyes with a mix of dominant authority and a hint of tenderness.

"No more tears, princess," he whispered, his voice lower now. "You took your punishment well. You're a good girl. And good girls don't cry, do they?"

[theladyofshalott1989]

Writer Interview Game

Thank you so much for tagging me @infernalrusalka! This was a lot of fun to reflect upon and type out. :)

No pressure tagging: @morelikeravenbore @ravenwind-75 @myokk @moongurl95 and honestly anyone else who wants to join in. I love reading about other writers' processes <3

When did you start writing?

Fanfic? When I was a young teen (roughly age 13/14). I wrote Star Wars (Anakin/Padme) fanfics on FanFiction.net.

Writing in general? When I was around 5. I used to "write books" (that is: take construction paper, bind it, and create little stories with pictures when I was bored at home, alone). Only child syndrome; am I right, or am I right? Haha.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I enjoy reading angst, but I don't (typically) write it. I also read a lot of published nonfiction for fun, but I hated writing essays in school. I was more of a creative writing gal.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

You know, I've never actually thought about this, probably because I like to write for myself. I think it would be odd to be compared to another writer, even a famous one. I also read oodles, so it's difficult for me to choose an author I'd want to emulate. I suppose if I were forced at gunpoint to choose, I'd say John Steinbeck. He had a way with words; he turned phrases beautifully and his books have really stuck with me over the years, especially East of Eden.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

My office, which my husband recently renovated for me. It's Hogwarts: Legacy themed, naturally. My husband is the best; he loves to encourage my "Sebastian and Damien delulu," my words, but he would definitely agree and approve. XD

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Hmm, good question. I don't know if I have one actually, unless setting a writing schedule counts? I write every morning, rain or shine, for one hour before work. If I'm in the middle of writing a long-fic, I also write during my lunch break. I don't typically take days off either. So...I dunno? I do like to write while drinking coffee. Maybe that helps. Yes, let's say that.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

I tend to prefer writing morally gray characters that eventually have a redemption arc. Not sure what that says about me, but I don't mind it. Haha.

What is your reason for writing?

It's a type of therapy for me. It's the only time of the day that I get to myself. I work full-time and I'm a mom, and as thankful as I am for that, I have my own desires and passions outside of those two things that I don't want to lose. Writing is my way of keeping that part of myself alive.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

I love all types of comments, but I will worship the ground you walk upon if you're the kind of person who does reaction comments with quotes included. I try to comment this way too on other writers' fics to encourage more of this style of commenting because it's the best!

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

If someone reads anything I've written and comes away with the sense of joy that I felt while writing it, I'd be absolutely thrilled.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I have a few that I'm proud of. Dialogue, particularly banter. Push-pull dynamics in relationships, especially in established ones. Morally gray characters. Foreshadowing and twists. I'll even it out by saying I'm not as confident in my description-writing abilities, which is partially my fault. I tend to skim descriptions in published books because they more often than not bore the hell out of me. LMAO. So...that's my bad. Interestingly, I really enjoy reading descriptions in fanfics, possibly because they tend to be more unique. Descriptions in published books are often very cookie-cutter and I feel like I've read them a million times before. Oh well.

How do you feel about your own writing?

Some days I love it, other days I think my writing is the worst, but I'm finding that's pretty normal when it comes to creators. We are very critical of our own work. I try to be kind to myself on days when I'm in a negative headspace because I know the feeling will pass. <3

[sl-vega]

✧y/n and company✧

✧(y/n)✧-drama major. your mom signed you up for acting lessons when you were a kid, and it turned out you were really good at it. you've consistently landed leading roles throughout middle school and high school. quotes broadway a lot

✧fischl✧-english major, drama enthusiast and one of your roommates. the two of you met during orientation, and you really hit it off. she has a pet raven named oz, who she includes in many of her works. she's also a cosplayer and makes those super intricate and robust outfits. you've been forced to be her personal photographer for her mini photo-shoots

"just a few more takes-oh and make sure to get one with me and oz"

"fischl, you said "a few more takes" 2 hours ago"

✧nilou✧-dancing major and your other roommate. you met her when your mother brought you to a ballet recital when you were younger. since then you've been super close. when the two of you were in middle school, you made her teach you broadway choreography.

"y/n i really need to go home-"

"you aren't taking a step out of this house until you teach me candy store's choreo"

✧venti✧-music composition major, performs gigs at bars in exchange for free wine. he's the type of student who can write really good essays when he's completely blacked out. he can (allegedly) name any wine just by tasting it

"dandelion wine, 1968"

"it's actully osmathus-"

"that was my second guess"

✧lyney✧-drama major with a minor in psychology. does magician gigs every now and then uses his psychology skills to gaslight his audience. he and his sister lynette formed a magic duo when they were younger, and they've won loads of talent shows throughout elementary school and high school.

"y/n, are you 100% sure that this isn't your card?"

"oh my archons-yes lyney i'm sure-"

✧lynette✧-chemistry major and lyney's twin sister. she helps out with behind-the-scenes work for your university's productions. she's lyney's magic assistant and joins him on his magician gigs. she doesn't talk much but she's a great listener.

"nice weather we're having"

"...i suppose"

additional notes:

-teyvat university (ik so creative)

-everyone is in their sophmore (second) year (19-20 years old)

-venti lives in an apartment off campus alone

-lyney and lynette live in the dorms together, and they have a cat named rosseland

✧Going off Script✧

Synopsis:

Xingqiu's next major project requires him to write a romantic short story, the only problem is that he has zero romantic experience. meanwhile, you just found out that your boyfriend cheated on you, and you need to show him that you're 100% over him, the only problem is that there's no way you can get an actual boyfriend that quickly. clearly, the solution to both of your issues is to fake date each other. all you need to do is stick to the script

spoiler alert: you go off script and end up falling for him

masterlist

(OPEN) taglist: @freyao7

[sibillascribbles08]

Okay ramble that will probably not get anywhere but I will put it here anyway because I saw yet another post about people struggling to get any writing done. And someone in the comments made a good point. You write/draw so much more as a kid because you're less practiced and ergo less worried about the imperfections that may arise from just gunning it.

And this is true! And this is why I want to tell you if you are struggling to write much, learn to write like a kid again.

You know how with a lot of art you see processes and it always starts with really shitty thumbnails that have silly faces or just blobs of color? Then you have an actual sketch (during which the artist likely moves a lot of shit around on a digital canvas) and then possibly the inking phase or just painting which is more blobs that slowly get sharper and sharper the more the images is rendered.

Yeah uh, do that with writing. Going under the cut because long

Writing as a process is something that is unique to an individual, just like there's 800 ways to slap paint on a canvas. If you look at guide books for writing and none of it is sticking it's not cause you're a failure that technique is just not gelling for you.

And as such I can only speak from MY experience with it but like, here's how I generally stay on top of projects

A) Sketch phase! It's outline time baby! "Ughh but outlines suck" listen I know school made the outline phase of an essay the worst fucking thing ever but hear me out on this. Sure some people CAN write by the seat of their pants but in terms of long projects this does not work out for me. I'm inevitably gonna hit a point where idk where to go from there and it's so hard to map all that out in long form

Listen, outlines are not there to be formal. They're not even there to be fancy. This is time to get down the bare bones and if you have to make it only a paragraph long and then extend that paragraph into multiple then DO it.

Like hell, NONE of my outlines are formatted the same! Some are a paragraph per chapter. Others are just endless bullet points that I split up later. I'm sure in one book due to all the plotlines I'm just going to have a storyline for each character laid out in columns so I can draw lines between them. Whatever works.

And again, do not have to be formal, like here is a legit line in one of my outlines

As for the ruined building… Hypno will cover the damages……….. Right? : )

Go crazy.

B) Now that you have your baselines start working on the actual story. Do you like writing shit out of order? Do it, because with an outline you still have your baselines to reference for any important details you don't wanna forget "Remember [character] is supposed to get a scar in chapter five!" Or write shit in order, and every time you hit a lull consult those baselines to say "oh yeah that's where this chapter was going"

And hey, keep writing it like a kid if that's what it takes to get this crap down. Hit a fight scene you don't wanna write? Slap down some brackets. [Insert a fight scene here where [character] gets his head smashed in so he ends up with this concussion later like a dumbass]. Boom, done, worry about it later.

Worried the dialogue isn't flowing well? Slap open another document or grab some paper and write it out in a play format to keep it moving. Add in all the beats, expressions, and details after.

Not sure if this detail you're putting in is historically accurate? Leave an easy to search symbol in the doc so you can go back to it to research later.

Write the sappy shit. Write with poor grammar (but still like, comprehensible you know what I mean). Slip in adverbs to swap out with strong verbs later. Use a run on sentence.

"But it's gonna sound bad" Who cares who tf cares that's what editing is for ! You go back and refine that shit and clean up sentences and add in all the extra research and pull out the repetitive words.

You gotta quit treating writing like you're supposed to just swing your brush on the canvas and suddenly you have some beautiful scenery. There's layers. There's blobs that turn into refined shapes. There's blending and shading. There's fine lines and thick lines. And sometimes there's mistakes that you have to wait until it dries to go back over it again.

It is a process! Let yourself have FUN with the process.

Okay rant over.

[albywritesfiction]

I just wanted to say, because of the latests asks about the pining of the ROs for MC, that I'm very grateful for your decision to make both Ædric and Cyfrin have pre-existing feelings for the MC.

It may seem like such a dumb thing to thank someone for, but so many IF authors seem to have that mindset that they must make everything so that the story doesn't seem to "revolve around the MC" in-universe, meaning few characters will be interested in the MC in any way from start, and more often than not they will have romances with each other / random people if the player doesn't romance them (something I always hate! - I mean, that last part). It's obviously very valid and makes sense and it's a matter of each author's preferences, but as a player it's dishearthening to see very few games cater to MY preferences in that aspect. The fact yours does is a breath of fresh air to me! So yeah, thank you for that!

Also, I'm re-asking something I had asked before because maybe the ask was eaten or you answered on a day I was very busy and I somehow missed it and couldn't find it afterward - if it's as such, could you redirect me to the other ask? I would love to know if - especially on the capital route - we can decide our MC is still in-love with Ædan despite everything? Like, I know he's not a RO since it's not reciprocal anymore! My angle is basically a MC who wouldn't be able to let go desptie the hurt, or something like that. Would be very tragic of course. I'm not planning on going that way anyway, it's mere curiosity. Oh and if you saw the ask but decided not to answer for spoiler reasons or something else, then sorry for resending! I know tumblr eats asks sometimes and that the search function, if needed to be used, is more often than not pretty evil, so I prefer to veer on the side of caution and distrust towards tumblr, and just ask again!

Hi again Konoï and Noir!

Sorry again about how long it took me to answer your last ask 😭 When I got this one I was like, 😨 I'm sorryyyyy it's queued up for tomorrow though you'll see it soon I really need to write and come up with words faster 😭

I'm also really sorry to everyone else who has sent in asks that I haven't answered yet 😭 I'm not used to having to answer more than like 3 essay question exams that are like, "How does osmosis work? Explain in 3 - 5 sentences" and this was way back in high school 😅 Now the only papers I write are research papers and laboratory reports about centrifugation, adsorption, and other similar topics 😭

So yeah, I'm really sorry again for taking such a long time to answer, but I am doing my best to answer all the great asks I've received!

Now, onto your actual ask!

I'll admit, I wasn't expecting to be thanked for the decision I made about Ædric and Cyfrin having pre-existing feelings for MC, but I'm really glad that you like it 😄 Honestly, I just went with what I thought would make sense for our two sweethearts, and it wasn't always planned that both of them would have feelings for MC 😅

Cyfrin was always meant to have been in love with MC since they were kids, but Ædric and MC's relationship was supposed to be that of friendly acquaintances (with Ædric simply admiring MC and nothing more), then he was going to fall for them throughout the first part of the story and then eventually realize his feelings somewhere in the middle. But then I eventually realized that, because I had already previously decided that he and MC had been taking almost all their lessons together, his feelings of admiration would have grown much earlier after spending so much time with MC 😅

So yeah, I'm glad that you liked what I've decided for Ædric and Cyfrin and I hope you enjoy ATE when I release Chapter 1!

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

Get to know me game!

I was tagged by @tododeku-or-bust! Thank you 💖. I will no obligation tag @omgkalyppso @cheshirepirouette @ahasiw-okitowin @razrogue & anyone who would like to join!

1. Are you named after anyone?

I have a couple names. My birthname I believe I was named after someone on my mother's side of the family, but I'm not certain. As for my actual names, if it counts, Salamatullah is a theophoric name, so it bears the name of God (Allah) :)

2. When was the last time you cried?

The other day, I was certain everyone I loved was dead and that I was about to die (I was not, no one had died. give it up for psychosis)

3. Do you have kids?

No, but I've been mistaken for being a parent since I was like 16 lmao

4. What sports do you play/have you played?

Before my health was Bad(tm), I played a lot of sports in my youth. My favorite was figure skating, though I also played hockey, basketball, volleyball, baseball, archery, etc. through various community programs. I also was a founding member of my high schools cheerleading team, before the transphobia caused me to leave it. And I did horseback riding through a special olympics kinda program.

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Sometimes. Not as often as people I know.

6. What is the first thing you notice about people?

Very little. Genuinely can't think of a specific, I'm very bad with faces and people in general 😂. I think I usually notice piercings or tattoos, maybe just because I have piercings and tattoos so I like seeing other people with em.

7. What's your eye color?

Brown!

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Man... I love both.

9. Any talents?

Talent always feels like a strong word. I suppose art is something I'm talented at. And since I've started beading people have said I'm talented with that. I'd like to think I retain some programming talent and technical writing talent from university.

10. Where were you born?

United States, in Minnesota specifically

11. What are your hobbies?

I do a lot of crafts: knitting, embroidery, sewing, beading. Like mentioned I draw, I also write. I like to read. I play video games. I like writing analysis essays about media.

12. Do you have any pets?

Yes! My old man. He's a little guy and gonna be 14. He's my beloved elderly puppy.

13. How tall are you?

5'9.5 I believe. I get measured pretty regularly since I'm always at the doctor.

14. Favorite subject in school?

In high school, math was my favorite because it was the only one I was good at. In university, linguistics was my favorite but that was quite soured by the fact that academia and linguists in general tend to be horrifically racist and classist and colonialist and I experienced countless of microaggressions every day. (be wary of any yt linguist, self-identified or otherwise)

15. Dream job?

Might seem weird but I would like to be a custodian, but only if we're talking dream where I can also dream up a custodial job that accommodates my disabilities, doesn't treat me as subhuman, and pays enough to life comfortably. I like cleaning, I like doing repetitive tasks, I like that its work that doesn't require me to talk with many people, I can just put on music and chill. It's a perfect autism job. But I don't think I could take the way (white) people treated me when I was cleaning for them.

[hopefull-mindset]

Hi I'm the anon who sent the "rambling" ask about Nagito from like 2 weeks ago. I forgot to check for a response lol.

I wanted to elaborate on what I said about Nagito's backstory bc it was vague and I have Thoughts.

I actually don't think his casual attitude towards his past makes it harder to take seriously (if anything I think that adds to the tragedy of it). I was mostly just referring to the specific things that happen. One of my gripes about DR is that I feel like some characters have unnecessarily dark/tragic backstorys. Either bc I feel like they don't really need a dark past at all (eg Akane), or it's excessive to the point of being ridiculous.

I know Nagito's backstory is supposed to unbelievable to show how extreme his luck is, and that DR as a whole isn't exactly grounded in reality, but I feel like it would hit harder if it was just a little more believable.

Like, maybe his parents die in a car crash instead of a plane crash (or just make it a normal plane crash without the convoluted "the plane gets hijacked but then the hijackers get hit by a meteor but that also kills his parents"). The cancer is fine, but the dementia is overkill. Then there's the kidnapping thing which like. I find it hard to believe that the killer would just let him go after not getting what they wanted. It'd make more sense for him to have escaped on his own. Or we could just get rid of that entirely. If you want to drive home the fact that he has no family, just have him end up in some shitty orphanage or something.

Which brings me to my next point. It's implied that Nagito just lived alone after his parents died. But I find it hard to believe that an elementary school-aged kid could live by himself and have full control over his own finances. It'd make more sense if he ended up in some kind of foster care (or maybe just on the streets). I also think him being an orphan who doesn't get adopted/gets bounced around between foster homes would be fitting with his perceived worthlessness and desire to be loved, perhaps even more so than him being totally isolated.

Ok I think I covered everything (as far as canon events go at least). Sorry this turned into an essay lol.

Oh hello anon! Thank you for clarifying, I was a little perplexed as to how I should’ve responded to your ask. I don’t have much to really say about the events themselves, but I’ll try to add my two cents.

I do agree that it makes it sadder how casual he talks about it, I think I was more talking in behalf of the people that didn’t rethink his words when he claimed he was lying because of how unserious it felt with the music playing behind it. It’s so normal for him to experience these things that his layer back attitude is very unnerving for the normal person, which is utterly tragic.

I do see what you mean about not need every character to have some tragic messed up backstory, especially when it has no actual impact in the story itself. It’s good to expand a character through side content, but it gets too much. I think it works in favor for the sdr2 cast considering it shows that all of them have the potential to turn to despair due to their past experiences, and how Hope’s Peak doesn’t actually care for the students themselves and their own feelings towards their talents, but canon kicks itself in the crotch by never expanding more with these backstories in the actual storyline and how dr3 was handled ughh.

When it come to Komaeda’s backstory however, I do think it works for him when it comes to the absurdist writing because his entire existence is drenched in the absurdism danganronpa is known for. It would probably hit harder if Komaeda was more realistic and I understand that, but ultimately that’s not what Komaeda is. He is purposefully hard to relate to and hard to believe, only with real effort you can find yourself in him, and he even rejects that effort itself. Komaeda cannot survive in a series that isn’t Danganronpa because he is Danganronpa, a clunky mess that somehow works in its accidental genius.

I sound absurd myself, but when it comes to Komaeda you can only rely on your own suspense of disbelief to sympathize with him. Sorry for being a bummer to your roll because your criticisms are not at all wrong, I just personally don’t find it to be a problem myself.

About the killer and orphan thing, I think I could try to give some insight on them? Here’s one thing you forgot: he’s canonically implied to be a rich kid. Even if he isn’t thrown into situations like being on the streets or the foster care system, he still had other family members to be dropped onto, his status would still give him privileges like a nanny to watch over him, etc.

The killer, while I did find strange that he decided not to kill the rich kid after all, he definitely did target him because he was from a wealthy family. So what could that mean? Well obviously we could go for the heartbreaking answer of nobody in the extended family wanted to help him because of his problematic luck or annoyance of his existence, we could go for another that none of them were alive to actually get anything out of him since it took place in middle school, and he did say that his luck took direct action against him right before he was eventually taken into Hope’s Peak academy because of his lack of family left. It depends on when during middle school this happened.

So I guess there wasn’t any real consequence to leaving this lonely wealthy child on his own since there’s nothing nobody could actually do to lead back to them or would care enough to do anything. Upsetting I know, the unfortunate irony of being thrown away like trash for Komaeda is… well anyway I think the point of this event was to drive in Komaeda’s feeling of being unwanted, even by the worst of the worst of society, at least that’s what I think of it.

The only thing I question is how Komaeda himself personally describes his good fortune after what happened to his parents. What would a kid in elementary really need immense wealth and freedom for??? I find myself perplexed by his choice of words because it implies a lot. I know we could go the route of “his parents were terrible” when it comes to the freedom part, but I think there’s a better answer to this.

This is an example of Komaeda justifying what happened to fit a narrative he’s formed because of, most likely, what society/the people around him has fed him and what he’s chosen to believe. I’ve already mentioned this before, but his mentality reflects specific societal beliefs to an exaggerated point because his life is exaggerated. Where any of these came from to make Komaeda think this: who freaking knows.

Sorry if this isn’t exactly what you were expecting, and I wish I could add more. I hope this was satisfying enough.

[sharpfamily]

The Essay Escapade

There are no lengths at which a good brother won’t go in order to help his sister in need.

*** Just popping in to let you all know that I have a brief description of each of the Sharp children at the very end of this, just in case you want to know a little bit about them. Also at this point in time, Aesop is retired from teaching and runs a successful potions shop with his wife in the hamlet where they both live. ***

Massive, massive MASSIVE shout out to @aesopsharpmybeloved for letting me play in your sandbox and making me believe I could write something that people would actually enjoy reading. This is a companion piece to her series A New Chance at Life and if you haven’t read it what are you even doing here!

- Tea-withjamandbread

It was late, far too late to still be awake, however Theodore Sharp was unable to fall asleep. It made sense, really. As the middle of the semester approached, so did exams and essay deadlines. The fifth year Slytherin had a lot on his mind.

Call it intuition, call it a special “twin bond” like their mother often described it, but something told Theodore he didn’t really need sleep at the moment, not while Natty needed him. So he grabbed his wand and got dressed as quietly as he could before leaving his dorm room headed towards the common room. He wasn’t at all surprised to find his twin sister sitting at the table closest to the fireplace, it was her favorite spot after all. He was surprised, however, to find her surrounded by books, furiously writing on what seemed to be quite the long piece of parchment, tears forming in her eyes.

“Hey there Nat”

The girl barely slowed down her writing. “Theo. It’s late. You should be asleep.”

"Could say the same about you" Theodore placed a hand on his sister's, forcing her to stop what she was doing for a moment. “What’s that you’re working on?” The boy was genuinely confused. Judging by the furious pace at which his sister was writing, he could only deduce she was in the middle of writing an entire essay. While it wasn’t unusual for him to wait until the very last minute to finish his work, Natty was always far more organized than this and seemed to always have her work finished days before it was due for being turned in.

“My DADA essay.” Theo was no Auror (yet) but he distinctly remembered his sister mentioning she had finished writing it last week. “Why are you re-writing your DADA essay? I’m sure the one you already wrote was good enough to”

“I lost it!”

“What?”

“I’m such an idiot Theo!”

“Stop that. I’m supposed to be the dramatic one between the two of us, not you. How did you lose it?”

“I was looking through everything for tomorrow’s classes and I couldn’t find it anywhere. What I DID find though is this.” She pulls out a letter addressed to her parents, back home. “I must have accidentally sent Mum and Dad my essay instead of…” She burst into tears. “So I have to re-write the whole thing now because there’s no way for me to get it back in time to turn it in first thing tomorrow!”

"Maybe if you write to them, they could send it here in time for first class?"

"Even if I DID write to them right now they wouldn't have time to send it… It's due first thing tomorrow morning and you know Mum and Dad, they're not exactly… morning people"

An idea formed in Theodore's brain. It was madness to be certain, he'd be breaking about half a dozen school rules, not to mention it could prove dangerous. "I'll go fetch it then"

Natty looked at her twin like he had grown a second head.

"You're mad"

"I'm assure you I’m not"

"You're going to fly miles away from school and then what? Break into the parents' house?"

"Not exactly. I’m going to use the floo and run the rest of the way! It’ll be good exercise! Plus does it really count as breaking in if you have the key?"

"You're going to get caught"

"Dad's a heavy sleeper"

"Dad used to be an Auror!"

"Yeah I think I've heard him mention that once or twice"

"So you KNOW he'll wake up to the sound of someone in the house when he's not expecting company. Besides, Mum's a light sleeper!"

"And she'll be SO happy to see me IF I get caught, which I don't intend on having happen!”

Natalie looked at the essay she was currently attempting to re-write. It was a mess. Barely legible and when she tried to make sense of the paragraph she had just finished, she knew she couldn't turn this in tomorrow and hope for a good grade. Professor Sallow did have a soft spot for her and her siblings, but that would only help her so much.

"Do it."

"Brilliant! I'll be back in less than an hour!"

Theodore quickly hugged his sister then started walking towards the common room door.

"Wait!" Natalie rushed towards him. "Bring this to them please" She handed her brother the letter she had meant to send her parents earlier that same day.

"Sure thing!"

"Thank you."

"Anything for you, sis!"

With one last hug to his slightly less nervous sister, Theodore was on his way.

—-—————

Theodore slowed down his sprint as he approached his childhood home. The sight before him was everything he was hoping for. The chimney had the faintest trace of smoke, indicating that the fires warming the home were mere embers at the moment, and all the windows appeared dark, indicating the occupants of the house were fast asleep. He took a quick peek to the back of the house, where the window leading to his father’s cellar was located. He knew sometimes his father brewed late into the night, however tonight did not appear to be one of those nights.

It occurred to him at that moment that it really wouldn’t be the end of the world if his parents knew he’d visited. He could probably knock on the door and politely ask if he could have Natty’s essay, deliver his letter, get mildly scolded for being away from school after curfew, perhaps he’d be lucky enough to get his hand on some of his mother’s baked goods before going on his merry way. However, if he was being honest with himself, he wanted to know if he could be successful at avoiding detection. Plus, he had promised his sister he wouldn’t get caught and Theodore Ashley Sharp was a man of his word, or at least, he tried his very best to be.

Theodore knows he needs to be as quiet as can be. He didn't want to get caught after all. He cast a disillusionment charm over himself for good measure, although he really didn't think it was needed. This was his childhood home and he knew it like the back of his hand. He knew exactly which floorboards creaked when stepped on and created a mental map of his shortest path from the front door to the drawer where he knew his parents kept their correspondence.

He quietly unlocked the door and stepped inside. The faintest ruffling of feathers to his left caught his attention. Diana. The owl had been a part of their family since before they were even a family from the stories he had been told as a child, and had been retired from messenger duty some number of years ago. Theodore had anticipated the necessity of keeping her quiet and quietly but decisively, reached into his left pocket and grabbed a handful of treats. He extended his arm towards her, hoping his bribe would buy him precious minutes as he continued on with his mission.

He must admit he felt a little ridiculous, hopping from plank to plank, avoiding the ones he knew to be noisy. He wouldn't at all be surprised to learn that these particular planks were left in their squeaky state in order to make it impossible for his siblings and himself to move about the house at night without alerting their parents.

Theodore made his way from the foyer, past the staircase, through the family room, and into the kitchen, moving to stand in front of the exact drawer he knew his parents kept their mail, successfully avoiding each and every problem plank. "The student surpasses the potions master" he thought to himself. He opened the drawer and pulled out a stack of papers, looking for his sister's essay. However, no matter how hard he looked, all he was met with was correspondence regarding his parents' potions shop. Orders, ingredient lists, accounting papers, more orders, more accounting… no essay. He put the papers back in the drawer and gently closed it. He took a few seconds to breathe, feeling his face redden and his pulse quicken. Natty was counting on him. He had promised her he'd get that essay back for her. He wasn't always the perfect brother, but he prided himself on never going back on his word, on never making a promise he didn't intend to keep. He racked his brain as to where his parents would have put the essay when his thoughts were suddenly interrupted.

"Lumos"

A bright light came from behind Theodore and the boy froze, hoping his disillusionment charm was strong enough to withstand the scrutiny of the ex-Auror who had just cast the wand-lighting charm. He had no idea his father had woken, didn’t hear him coming down the stairs at all. He supposed he still had much to learn in terms of how to move about completely undetected. He hadn’t been caught yet, though, and he had some elements working in his favor. Perhaps his father was too sleepy to notice him, although he doubted that. He knew the man probably wasn't wearing his glasses and so maybe, just maybe he still stood a chance in completing his mission undetected.

However the bright light coming from his father's wand had caused the faintest shadow of his form to appear on the wall in front of him. Despite his very best efforts, the boy had been caught.

"Your disillusionment charm has improved, Theodore, but it's still not good enough to fool me."

Theodore promptly dropped the charm and turned to face his father, who lowered his wand and used it to reignite the fire in the hearth to provide a warm light and additional warmth to the room. He wore his dressing gown and Theodore could only imagine he was wearing his nightshirt underneath. His face showed a mixture of tiredness, confusion, slight annoyance and he thought he also detected a hint of amusement.

“How did you know it was me?”

“Maggie’s in America, Eleazar’s never been one for sneaking around and Natty’s disillusionment charm is frankly better than yours. The house is warded to alert us of any other intruders, so that leaves only one suspect, you."

“What gave me away?"

His father deflected

"I'm sure there must be an excellent explanation to your late night, actually, by now, early morning visit. One that also explains why you're currently rifling through your mother's and my private correspondence."

"Actually there IS an explanation"

"I'd love to hear it, sooner rather than later, please."

"I'm here because Nat"

"THEODORE!"

Theo promptly finds himself wrapped in his mother's tight embrace. "What are you doing here? Sneaking out of school in the dead of night, what's gotten into you?"

"From what I gather from the stories you told us Mum, I get this from you"

She loosened her embrace but still kept her hands on her son's shoulders. "Oh hush now, at least I had the good sense to never get caught by your father!"

"That's not entirely accurate darling…" Aesop reached for his wife and pulled her against him, breaking the link between her and their intruder and wrapping his arms around her waist, kissing the back of her head. "I distinctly remember catching you a handful of times sneaking about the castle" She melted into her husband's embrace. "Only because I wanted you to catch me, Ace"

"If you both don't mind I'm here for Natty's DADA essay. She accidentally sent it to you instead of this and it's due first thing tomorrow" Theodore handed his parents his sister’s letter to them. “I told her I'd come and correct her mistake, deliver her letter and retrieve it. If you could just tell me where it is, I will go fetch it, be on my merry way and let you both carry on with whatever it is I don’t want to think about you doing when we’re not home.”

Aesop chuckled as (F/N) spoke.

“I’m guessing she didn’t get our note then?”

“She didn’t say anything about a note, she was too busy trying to re-write her essay from memory!”

“Oh Nat, poor thing…”

(F/N) looked at her son

“We got her essay, and we read it. It was really, really good and obviously finished so we sent it directly to Professor Sallow after dinner, along with a note to Natty letting her know not to worry about it. I’m guessing the poor owl must have forgotten about the second delivery.”

“Or delivered it to Eleazar, wouldn’t be the first time our mail got all messed up”

“Blasted, unreliable school owls.”

“We really need to get another owl Ace, with Maggie in America now and the shop doing as well as it is, Babbity could use some help.”

“Agreed.” Aesop addressed his son

“In any case, her essay is where it needs to be and if Professor Sallow hasn’t received it, have him owl me, and I’ll make sure Nat gets the O she deserves.”

Theodore looked at his parents. Tonight had turned out to be a failed mission for him. He got caught AND he didn’t retrieve his sister’s essay. He was happy though. Happy to be home, happy to be with his parents for just a little while.

"Are you hungry, dear?"

"Nah, I'm good. Ate one too many servings of mutton stew for dinner"

His eyes fell on a plate of his mother's scones.

“On second thought I'm starving Mum, they BARELY feed us at the school, you know"

(F/N) chuckled as she summoned a plate and some scones. Theodore scarfed down the first in two bites, and reached for a second one, as his mother busied herself, packing the rest of the pastries in a cloth bag for her son to bring back to Hogwarts.

“Don’t forget to share." she reminds him, as she hands him the bag.

“I should probably get going… I told Natty I’d be back within the hour and I’m cutting it close”

"Just a moment, I have something for you to bring to your sister."

His father turned and unlocked a cabinet that held a variety of potions

"Ooh, contraband!"

Aesop let out a chuckle as he handed a vial to his son.

"Wideye. She'll need it tomorrow. If I know Natty, she still won't sleep a wink tonight"

"Don't I get one too?"

"Do you want to be an Auror someday?"

"You know I do"

"Then in addition to perfecting your disillusionment charm you also need to master the art of the power nap. Learn how to function for long hours with little to no sleep."

"You're joking"

"I'm not. But there will be plenty of time for that. In the meantime here's one for you too, as well this."

His father hands him a third vial. Theodore doesn't need to read the label to know what it contains. Invisibility potion.

"This one's pretty strong, should buy you about a minute. Use it wisely."

“Anything for Eleazar while we’re at it?”

“I’m sure Eleazar already brews his own contraband.”

Theodore chuckled. Eleazar did have a natural knack for potions and always had a true passion for the subject, the art came as naturally to him as walking it seemed at times. Even Aesop couldn’t say as much about himself, having gone from quite the average student to graduating with the best potions marks in his class thanks to hard work and a drive to reach the top of his field.

“Anything else before the Sharp Delivery Service heads back to his common room?”

“No, that’ll be all” his mother says, as she pulls him into another bone crushing hug. “You’re a great son, and an amazing brother. We’re so proud of you. I love you, Theodore.”

“I love you too, Mum”

He looked up at his father, while still tightly hugging his mother.

"You never told me what gave me away. I know my disillusionment isn't quite up to snuff yet but that's not what woke you up though"

"The front door. It has a very distinct squeak when it opens. Imperceptible from the outside but can be heard from our bedroom. I could fix it, but I choose not to. That's what gave you away tonight. I must say though, I was impressed at how you managed to avoid all the bad floorboards. Well done."

"Thanks Dad. I love you."

"I love you too, son."

Aesop joined in the hug for a moment, then gently took his wife’s hands into his own, releasing their son from her tight embrace.

“Be safe on your way back”

Both parents stayed in the doorway, arms around each other, watching as their youngest son sprinted towards the closest floo flame.

————————

Theodore didn’t waste his invisibility potion sneaking back into the castle. He was smarter than that. He knew the prefects and professors were fast asleep at that time, and his disillusionment charm, while still needing some work, was still good enough to shield him from the portraits and the ghosts roaming the castle. He didn’t hear Peeves in the vicinity, so the walk back to the Slytherin common room was easy and uneventful.

He was greeted by the sight of his sister, who had abandoned her attempted re-write, and appeared immersed in the book she was reading. A quick glance at the cover revealed that she was reading one of her favorite novels. To think that his sister would trust him so completely as to abandon her contingency plan in favor of re-visiting one of her favorite stories made his heart swell. This evening hadn’t gone according to plan, but he hoped that he’d at least be able to calm down her anxieties and maybe, just maybe, she would get a couple hours of sleep tonight.

Natty looked up from her book and took in the sight of her brother, scones and potions in hand.

"Theo? Are you OK?"

"Brilliant, actually" he says as he took a bite out of a scone

"Did someone cast the confundus charm on you?"

"I don't... think so. Why do you ask?" he took another bite

"I see scones, I see potions, do you know what I DON'T see?"

"Oh, yeah... that"

Natty put her head in her hands

"Theodore!"

He put his hand on her shoulder

"Relax Nat. They already turned it in for you."

Natty looked up at her brother, who had the biggest smile on his face.

"They... what?"

"They noticed you had sent them your essay by accident, proof-read it and owl'd it directly to Professor Sallow. Probably sounded something like this

Theodore stepped back and put on his best impression of their mother.

"Oh Ace! Our darling daughter must have sent us her essay by accident! Poor thing must be so nervous right now but I really don't understand why, this essay is incredible! I couldn't have written it better myself!"

Then Dad probably went "I can tell no shortcuts were taken when writing this paper, well done Natty, this deserves an O and nothing less!"

"I shall send it to my good friend Sebastian at Hogwarts right away! However I absolutely won't also ask about how the children are doing because that would be inappropriate"

"Wonderful idea darling. Once you're done I know something inappropriate you and I could"

"STOP IT THEO! Please. Before I need to cast scourgify on my brain!"

Theodore put an end to his re-enactment, looked at his sister, and handed her a pastry. "Scone?"

Natty took the pastry from her brother wordlessly. He could be quite ridiculous at times, but always knew just how to cheer her up. She couldn't have conjured a better twin if she tried. As Theodore sat on the sofa next to her, she was able to sense that, beneath his playful charade, something was bothering him.

"How long did it take for Dad to catch you?"

Theodore sighed.

"He was onto me the moment I opened the front door. Let me get all the way to the kitchen though, before revealing himself, I think he took pity on me."

"Wow, that's actually pretty impressive"

"Yeah… it is. I don’t know how he does it to be honest."

“He’s been doing it for years Theo, for longer than we’ve been alive. It used to be his job, and it’ll be your job one day, too. I know you’ll be a great Auror one day. So you got caught by Dad. At least you got to say hi to him and Mum, that must have been nice.”

Theodore placed his arm around his sister, pulling her towards him.

“It was. Wish you could have been there, I know you miss them, too.”

“Winter holidays will be here before we know it.” Natty’s voice started to betray the fact that she was fighting sleep. “Hey, you were able to sneak in and out of school undetected, that counts for something doesn't it?"

"I guess it does. I'll outsmart Dad next time." Theodore says, wistfully.

Natty yawned as she curled onto the sofa, resting her head on her brother’s lap. "Good luck with that."

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Theodore didn’t get an answer to his question, Natty had fallen fast asleep. He summoned a blanket from the chair across them and draped it around his sleeping sister. He was glad to have been able to be there for her, to be a good brother to her in her moment of need, to calm her anxieties to the point that her mind was able to so quickly surrender to sleep. Happy with himself, he propped his feet up on the coffee table in front of him, leaned his head back against the plush upholstery, and fell asleep as well.

—————————

A/N a brief description of the Sharp children at the time of this fanfiction

Magdala Dinah "Maggie" Sharp

Slytherin

Recently graduated, named after her grandmother and her father's closest friend. Fiercely intelligent, confident, but also quite humble. Te ringleader of the 4 Sharp children. Has had a lifelong passion for beasts, moved to America to study beasts native to the continent

Eleazar Sebastian Sharp

Ravenclaw

7th year, head boy, named after his mother's mentor as well as one of her closest friends. Quiet and a little shy, very kind and compassionate Demonstrated a knack for potion making practically before he showed signs of magic, and the only Sharp child to have yet to receive detention.

Theodore Ashley Sharp

Slytherin

5th year, named after his grandfather as well as his father's late partner. Has wanted to be an Auror for as long as he can remember, will do anything for his family and particularly his twin sister. He knows he's got charm and charisma and he's not afraid to use them to get out of trouble. Still didn't save him from landing himself in detention on his first week of school!

(F/N) Natalie "Natty" Sharp

Slytherin

5th year, named after her mother as well as one of her mother's closest friend. Prefers to go by her middle name because being named after the "Hero of Hogwarts" combined with her own exceptionally strong magic made it difficult for her to carve her own identity. A master negotiator with a quick wit, she can spot a lie from a mile away., Can usually keep her brother in check, and is organized enough for the two of them.

[kxhbee]

I JUST READ YOUR ROWAN FIC AND I'M LITERALLY IN LOVE! I just binge read all three parts in one go lmao. I'm so excited for part 4! But don't work yourself up tho, take your sweet time. I just wanted to appreciate how good your fics are!

OMG THANK YOU YOU’RE SO SWEET!! 🫶🫶

Here’s the long awaited part 4!! I’m so sorry it took so long, I’ve started a new school and I’ve been settling in!!

Love From You

Part Four

~ Rowan Laslow x Reader

~ Friends to lovers

~ Fluff, light angst

~ 1,378 words

~ Not proof read!

Key:

~ Y/N: YOUR NAME

~ Y/L/N: YOUR LAST NAME

~ A/N: AUTHOR’S NOTE

Befriending Rowan Laslow was something you had always wanted to do. Of course, you were always preparing yourself for your friend’s reactions, but mostly Enid’s.

So now that you can actually start a conversation with Rowan instead of saying “never mind” and walking off before he sees you, Enid’s teasing has changed. In other words, you’ve grown more confident, and so has she.

“I bet he would be loud in bed.”

“Enid.” You laugh awkwardly, shocked at the sudden comment. You were sitting in complete silence, finishing your history essay on the origin of trolls, while Enid was scrolling through Instagram, having finished her essay a week before because she surprisingly has better time management than you. “You can’t say that.”

“Why? Everyone knows that nerdy men are louder in bed.” Her eyes widen like she’s just come to a sudden realisation. “AND HE HAS ASTHMA!”

You look around the library nervously. Rowan usually comes in here to hang out, and you mostly look forward to it. Except right now you’re praying he decides to do something else instead.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just getting you prepared, my good sire.” She pats you on the back. “Everyone’s noticed you two get closer.”

“We’re friends.” You must’ve said this about a hundred times since the day you befriended Rowan. It’s getting kind of tiring, because Enid knows as well as you that you want to make it more than that.

”Whatever you say. You know, he’s definitely a bottom. That’s something to add to your night scenarios.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Yet you continue to hang out with me.”

”What about Wednesday then, huh?”

Enid stops laughing and looks down awkwardly, fighting the pink off from her cheeks. “What about her?”

“Oh come on, E. I’m not blind. We’re not blind.”

“We?”

“Yes! Everyone! Just kiss her already, jesus.”

“I will when you kiss Rowan.” She says, elbowing you lightly.

You roll your eyes playfully, pulling your phone out when you hear a ding.

“Um no, finish your essay.” Enid really is staying true to her word about making you finish today.

“I will, I will. Just let me respond to Yoko first.”

After responding to a TikTok that Yoko sent to you, you exit out of the chat. Before you close the app, however, you notice a change in Rowan’s profile picture. You tap on his profile to see the picture better, and see that instead of the automatic icon that Instagram sets, it’s a photo of him smiling happily at the camera, someone’s arm around him holding the peace sign. Your heart warms with recognition at the photo you took with him.

“What’s made you so happy?” Enid looks over your shoulder at his profile.

“Nothing.” You turn your phone off and put it back into your pocket.

“‘We’re just friends.’” She says, putting on yet another impression of you and nudging your side again.

“Shhh. I have an essay to write.” You say, picking up your pen again.

“That’s convenient for you, isn’t it.”

———————————————————————

Rowan Laslow never ended up answering Xavier Thorpe’s question. He knows that refusing to answer won’t help him form a friendship with the boy, but how was he supposed to describe what happened? How is he meant to put into words the warm feeling he gets in his chest whenever he sees Y/N, and how the feeling grows and completely takes over his body whenever their face lights up with a smile? How is he meant to tell his roommate how confused he gets after he catches himself grinning at photos or messages from them? How does he confide in someone that he’s spoken to on only a few occasions, despite him being his roommate?

Rowan can tell that Xavier got frustrated at his lack of response. He simply gaped at Xavier, unable to describe what was on his mind. He stuttered a few false starts, not sure how to start the sentence, and then settled on “it was nothing” and grabbed his pyjamas from his bed, locking himself in the bathroom.

He assumed it was because he didn’t know how to react after making his first friend in years- he didn’t remember how having friends felt. After all, he was always cautious of his peers. He knew what they they saying he could hear them- with their whispering and muttering of words like “freak”, “outcast”, “weirdo” or something similar. What he never understood was why. Why are they calling him a freak when this is a school for freaks. Why are they calling him an outcast when they’re all outcasts?

It never made any sense to him, which is why he never let it get to him. Why should he be upset over something that simply doesn’t make sense? Despite this view on the bullies, he obviously let it get to him. Why else would he have a breakdown in the arms of someone he just met? Although its been a while, he’s pretty sure thats not how friends are made.

Yet it somehow worked. Rowan and Y/N had surprisingly become inseparable. Y/N, who, since they’re best friends with Enid, is by default, popular, and Rowan, the outcast. It’s an odd pair, and Rowan is always worried that Y/N is going to receive shit for befriending him. But if they have they haven’t let him know.

The door to the dorm opens and Xavier comes in, joined by Ajax Petropolus. The two boys stop laughing when they see Rowan sitting at his desk, staring at them. He turns his head back to his books and picks his pen up. Not the time.

“Listen, Rowan…” Ajax starts talking, taking a step towards Rowan. “I’m sorry about you being kicked out of the Nightshades. I really-“

Rowan didn’t hear the rest of what Ajax had to say. Instead, he put his headphones on, gathered his books, and left the dorm, remembering why he usually studies in the library.

The Nightshades’ voting system is a democracy with anonymous voting, so Rowan will never truely know if Ajax or Xavier voted him out or not. But people in the Nightshades voted him out and that’s all that matters to him. The one place where he felt as if he belonged. He was following in his mother’s footsteps in that stupid club. The one remaining tie he had to his mother’s legacy was severed by a bunch of cliché high school students who think they rule the place and didn’t want someone in the club just because he’s a little different.

It’s safe to say that Rowan Laslow doesn’t like any of the Nightshade members anymore.

__________________________________________

“Enid, shut up.”

“Why? Worried your boyfriend might hear?”

“I’m worried anyone is gonna hear. Normal people don’t make these kinds of jokes.”

“Normal? You don’t think I’m normal? It’s because I’m a lesbian isn’t it?”

“Kill yourself.” You say jokingly, nudging Enid’s side.

“Wow. I never thought you’d be homophobic. You’re cancelled on Twitter now.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

You zip your bag up and swing it onto your back, hanging off of your right shoulder. You finished your essay about an hour ago, so you and Enid spent the last hour sitting in silence while scrolling TikTok.

“Phones gonna die.” You say, putting it on low power mode. “It’s on 5 percent.”

“You would have more battery if you did your essay straight away instead of procrastinating on your phone.” Enid giggles like she’s the funniest person ever.

You pull the library door open and hold it open for Enid.

“Ladies first.” You say, gesturing her out.

“Rowan is trans?” Enid asks.

“Would it kill you to not bring him up in every breath? It’s getting old.” You look back up at her, but she’s staring through the doorway. You follow her gaze and your eyes land on Rowan Laslow, who’s standing in the doorway holding a pile of books awkwardly.

“Oh. Hey.”

“Hey.”