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loveissupernatural · 4 years ago

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To Love in a Foreign Land

Draco Malfoy x reader

Chapter One: The Letter

[ Read Part 2 here ]

The day had finally come.

It came in the flurry of an owl’s wings, in the nervous vibration of your sweaty palms.

A delicious breakfast had just been served by your mother that sunny summer morning in suburban America, your fourth term at Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry only recently finished. Loud, impatient tapping on the kitchen window glass made you choke on your coffee.

“Mom! Ch-check if it’s from H-Hogwarts!” you managed to cough, pointing frantically at the window. Your mother bolted out of her chair at the kitchen table so you can recover.

She squealed for you, letting the gorgeous but exhausted-looking owl into your kitchen as quickly as she could. It landed in front of you on the table, holding out its leg with what could only be described as relief. Your shaking hands untied the cream-colored envelope from the owl’s ankle, and as soon as you did, it fluttered to the large cage in the corner of the room. Your silver-grey owl, Cinna, hooted indignantly at the unexpected visitor that was gulping from her water bowl.

“Now, Cinna, be nice. He’s had a long journey,” your mother said, wagging her finger. Cinna would have rolled her eyes if she could.

“Mom,” you squeaked, “this is it, this has to be it. I’m finally gonna know.”

You’d decided halfway through your fourth year at Ilvermorny that you wanted to take part in the International Wizarding Student Exchange Program, or I.W.S.E.P. It was a decision that you didn’t make lightly – you’d discussed it at length with your teachers and with your mom. You loved Ilvermorny with all of your heart and soul, after all, it was your home. But you also knew that the world was much bigger, that there was so much in the wizarding world that you hadn’t seen and hadn’t experienced. As a newly 15 year-old, you felt somehow ready for things to change.

Of course, you didn’t want too much change, which is why Hogwarts was at the top of your list. Ilvermorny was modeled after it, and you didn’t have to worry about a language barrier. Hogwarts contained four houses, just like your school, and was a large castle in the middle of the mountains, just like yours. You were ready to experience new things and new people, in a new (but somewhat similar) place. You had roots there.

The Headmistress of Ilvermorny, Celestia Pukwould, had one final meeting with all prospective exchange students before the end of term. The day exams ended, you and a small group of upcoming fifth years were invited to her large study. She pressed the importance of upholding your school’s good reputation as you traveled, to be a shining example of what it was to learn magic from America’s impressive magical education system. Only one of your peers was requesting Hogwarts as their first choice too, a quiet girl that you hadn’t spoken to much over the years named Eleanor.

After the other potential exchange students left her office, Headmistress Pukwould requested for you and Eleanor to stay behind for a bit.

“Ladies, I have sent an owl to Professor Dumbledore himself expressing my full confidence in you two,” she had said, standing from her ornate high-back chair that sat in front of her fireplace. She twirled her wand between her long fingers absentmindedly, fixing you and Eleanor with a kind yet serious stare. “You two are some of the brightest witches in your class. I told him so. I have known Albus Dumbledore for many years, and he is by far one of the most talented wizards alive today. You would be very lucky to learn magic at his school.”

You and Eleanor nodded profusely, eyes wide. While Headmistress Pukwould was a kind woman, she was also not to be trifled with, and her word backing your acceptance at Hogwarts held much weight.

“Don’t disappoint me, ladies,” she said, the smile fading from her face. She tapped her wand on her nails once, sighed, then turned back to the fireplace. “Have a wonderful summer. Owls containing your acceptance or rejection should arrive to your homes within the next few weeks.” Her tone was final. You were dismissed.

You flashed back to your bright kitchen, took a deep breath and let it back out in a shaking sigh. Your fingers gently traced the refined emerald green writing. You flipped the envelope over and touched the blood-red wax seal, the crest of Hogwarts. Your hands paused.

“Mom, what if I don’t get in?” You’d spoken your greatest fear aloud.

She smiled at you, almost a little sadly, and came to rest a hand on your shoulder and a kiss on your head. “They’d be idiots not to accept you, Y/N.”

“What do you think Dad would say? If they said no?” you all but whispered, a familiar ache rising in the back of your throat. Your father had attended Hogwarts over two decades ago before he moved to America and met your No-Maj mother.

Your mother wrapped her arms around you from behind, pressing her cheek to yours and rocking you gently.

“He would think they’re idiots, too, honey,” she said, a grin in her voice. Your father loved his alma mater, so to imagine him saying anything negative about the school was enough to make you laugh. But you knew she was right, your father had been your biggest fan.

“I miss him,” you said quietly. Your thumb ran over the wax seal again.

“I know, baby. I do too,” she whispered, kissing your cheek. “But he’d be so proud of you, no matter what that letter says. Okay?”

You nodded. You’d lost your father two years ago, but the wound still felt fresh most days. You’d be lying if you said that going to Hogwarts wasn’t an attempt to feel him again, in some form or fashion.

“Here goes nothing,” you breathed, slipping your finger underneath the sturdy paper and ripping it away from the seal. Your heart pounded in your ears like a bass drum as you pulled out the parchment, catching a glimpse of the neat scroll in the same dark green ink. Your mother’s hands tightened on your shoulders.

Dear Miss Y/N Y/L/N,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

All students accepted to our institution through the I.W.S.E.P. (International Wizarding Student Exchange Program) will be required to travel via portkey on the evening of 29 July. Upon arrival to London, arrangements will be made for you to stay in the Leaky Cauldron before gathering your supplies on 30 July. A representative from the school will assist you in procuring the necessary books and equipment for term, beginning 1 September. You will be expected to arrive at King’s Cross Station, Platform 9 ¾, no later than 09:00 AM on 31 July. Bring all necessary luggage and equipment.

You will find an enclosed list of all required literature and materials for Year Five.

We will expect an owl containing your confirmation no later than 20 July. We are honored to invite you into our sacred halls of magical learning.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

You lowered the letter, disbelief coursing through your veins. It was real, truly real. You were now officially a Hogwarts student.

After at least a solid 20 minutes of dancing around the kitchen with your mother, you scribbled a quick confirmation and laid it by the feet of the tired Hogwarts owl.

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to leave for another few days,” you said, answering the owl’s accusatory glare. He hooted ruefully and tucked his head underneath his large wing, ignoring Cinna’s still wary stare.

Your mother excused herself from the kitchen shortly after, attempting and failing to hide the proud tears in her eyes. You hugged the Hogwarts letter to your chest, breathing in the scent of the still stiff parchment. Slowly, you walked out to the empty living room and paced to the fireplace mantle that contained family portraits of all shapes and sizes, some moving in their frames and others standing still.

With tears tickling the corner of your eyes, you picked up your favorite picture of you and your dad. You were six years old, missing a tooth and laughing hysterically, while your father conjured glowing butterflies that danced around your head. The glow of his happy smile outshined those butterflies any day, you thought. You gently stroked his smiling face.

“Well, it’s official, Dad,” you whispered, a single tear sliding down your cheek. “I’m going to Hogwarts.”

______________________________________

That summer passed more quickly than you would have ever expected. Your friends from Ilvermorny came to visit as often as possible, taking advantage of every moment they could grab with you before you left for an entire year. Many days were spent wandering nearby cities and towns, No-Maj and magical alike, with your school friends. You ate as many cliché American meals as you could and soaked up every drop of sunshine possible by the pool. You always looked better with a bit of a tan, and you doubted that you’d be getting much strong sun at Hogwarts.

“So, what House do you think you’ll be sorted into?” Eleanor asked you one afternoon. You’d invited her to stay a week with you and your mother in early July. You two would be the only Americans at Hogwarts in the upcoming year, and you both thought that building a friendship with one another would be nothing but beneficial. Being so far from home, you needed to have each other’s backs.

You were both sitting on the edge of the pool, drinking fresh lemonade and dangling your feet in the water. You took a long sip through your brightly colored straw.

“Good question,” you said, staring at the rippling blue water in thought. “I’ve heard rumors of what each house represents, but how true is it really? I mean, we know at Ilvermorny that more than one House can pick you, and that you can make the decision for yourself. Do you ever wonder if people pick the right one? Think it’s like that at Hogwarts?”

“I don’t know,” Eleanor said quietly. She seemed a little nervous at the thought. “What if we don’t get sorted at all? What if we’re too old?”

“I mean, surely that wouldn’t happen,” you tried to say confidently. “They wouldn’t subject us to public sorting if there was a chance of us getting rejected, right? Talk about embarrassing.”

“I’m sure you’ll get sorted,” she said with an admiring tone. “Everyone remembers what happened when you stepped up to the Knot on our first day.”

You remembered that day with a strange and heady combination of pride and trepidation. When you stepped up to the large Gordian Knot engraved into the shining marble floor of the circular sorting chamber, everything changed for you. For the first time in over a decade, all four large wooden carvings came to life, and the room went dead silent. You’d never felt so many eyes on you, boring into the back of your skull, wondering what made you so special and what House you would choose.

The gem set into the head of the Horned Serpent glowed, the Thunderbird beat its large wings, the Wampus roared and the Pukwudgie raised its arrow into the air. The carvings themselves seemed to stare a hole through you.

The four Ilvermorny Houses have been described as each representing a different part of the human being; Horned Serpent represents the mind and favors scholars; Wampus represents the body and favors warriors; Thunderbird represents the soul and favors adventurers; Pukwudgie represents the heart and favors healers.

You were overwhelmed in every sense of the word. At the small and awkward age of 11, you truly didn’t feel that well-rounded. You were certain that, somehow, these magical carvings had made a mistake.

“What made you choose Thunderbird, by the way?” Eleanor asked curiously, breaking you from your reverie.

“Honestly… I’m not totally sure,” you shrugged bashfully. Talking about this always made you uncomfortable. “Thunderbird is supposed to represent the soul, right? I guess I think that everything is rooted in the soul. We wouldn’t be human without them.”

Eleanor had been chosen by Horned Serpent, but nodded in agreement. “I guess that makes sense. I don’t know what I would have done if I were you.” She laughed a bit uneasily. “At least my choice was easy – I didn’t have one.”

In many ways, you found yourself wishing that only one carving had chosen you. Sure, it’s a bit less flattering, but much less stressful. The pressure of being that student, the once-in-a-decade student that was supposed to accomplish amazing things, was almost suffocating. As a child, you had a mountain of expectations piled on top of you from the moment those four carvings came to life. You couldn’t make a mistake.

In your second year, when your father died, so many of those expectations crushed you in a way that they never had before. His death weighed on you more than anything ever had, and the strength of his support was gone and left you breaking underneath the heavy cinderblocks of watchful eyes. Your grades suffered, and so did your relationships. You shut down.

Only when a year passed after your father’s death did you begin to find yourself again. With the help of your understanding teachers and a loving group of friends, you were able to establish a better academic standing within Ilvermorny. Not that anyone held your lapse against you – after all, you were a 12 year-old that had lost a parent. But you were still that kid, the one that all four Houses wanted, and you’d proven that you were far from perfect.

“What House do you want to be in at Hogwarts?” you asked Eleanor. She smiled, quiet in thought as she threw her brown hair into a messy ponytail.

“Really, I’d be happy with anything. But I’ve heard Ravenclaw is similar to Horned Serpent, academically focused and stuff.” She took a gulp of cold lemonade and wiped the sweat from her forehead. “What about you?”

“My dad was a Hufflepuff, so that would be nice I guess. I don’t know. Let’s just hope the Sorting Hat doesn’t explode,” you joked, setting aside your now empty glass. With that, you jumped into the chilly crystal water, letting it soothe your hot skin. Eleanor quickly followed.

You enjoyed the last inklings of summer vacation together before your new adventure began. You talked about missing friends and family, what Hogwarts would be like, whether or not you liked hot tea and what classes you would be taking. True to teen girl form, you were both excited to meet cute guys with foreign accents. And with a mix of thrill and nerves, you both realized that you two would be the foreign ones to them, and hoped that it would play in your favor.

“I wonder if British guys will think American girls are hot?” you asked her after the sun went down. You’d both climbed out of the pool at this point, your sun-kissed skin beginning to prune.

Eleanor laughed. “Geez, I hope so. Could you imagine getting a handsome British boyfriend? Talk about the adventure of a lifetime.”

You couldn’t deny that the thought of kissing a handsome boy with an attractive accent at the top of a castle turret excited you, but your mind always went back to connecting with the spirit of your father. Maybe you could feel closer to him there at Hogwarts, and would a boy distract you from getting that closure? You knew a boy would distract you from schoolwork, and you were determined to make such outstanding grades that Professor Dumbledore would have no choice but to write back to your Headmistress. After the academic crash and burn that was your second year, any and all glowing recommendations were not only welcome, but needed.

“It would be fun,” you giggled, wrapping yourself in your pool towel and squeezing the water out of your hair. “But wouldn’t it kinda suck when it’s all said and done? I mean, what if you got close to someone and then you have to leave to come back here?”

“I didn’t say we had to fall in love,” Eleanor shrugged. “I just want a hot piece of British ass.”

You busted out laughing. Eleanor always seemed so quiet at school, but once she got comfortable with you, she really came out of her shell.

“Come on, girls!” your mother called, sticking her head out of the back patio door. “Dinner is ready. I’ve got your salads on the table.”

You both trotted inside, whispering and giggling about the possibility of a grand foreign romance. After a pleasant dinner with your mother, you both went to bed, smelling of chlorine and sunlight.

Eleanor fell asleep before you did. You laid awake for a while, watching the shadows of swaying tree limbs dance across your ceiling. Your mind wandered back to the possibility of finding romance at Hogwarts. You doubted it would happen for you, especially since your priorities were elsewhere, but it wouldn’t be so bad to just dream about it, right?

You drifted into a deep sleep, flashes of colorful magic and the shadow of a boy dancing through your head.

[ Read Part 2 here ]

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cyberfairyblog · 3 years ago

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Caves of Qumran prologue

Jason, Whit, Connie, Eugene, Katrina, Regina, Calypso and Vanessa go to Qumran to rescue Jason's former colleagues. Jason x OC, Eugene x Katrina, rewrite of the cartoon. The dialogue is wonky I know ;_;

Deep within the caves of a tiny Middle Eastern Country, a pretty blonde haired woman wearing a red shirt and green shorts walked down the caves reading the runes with her torch. She looked around sensing something - or someone - in the same vicinity and contacted her partner.

"Stanley Stanley are you there?"

From not far away,a tall brunette man in a business suit answered back. "I read you Sarah I'm just trying to navigate - WHOAH-" He yelped as he fell into the shallow pool.

"Stanley I don't think we're alone," Sarah voiced her concern.

"Don't tell me you're developing a case of the creepy crawlers." He saw a bunch of cobwebs and proceeded to freak out. Blinded by fear he ran smack dab into the wall and fell.

"Stanley what's happening?"

Stanley got up and sputtered "nothing just taking a little breather," he replied hoping she didn't catch that embarrassing pickle.

The two partners went back and forth, Sarah arguing that they needed to stick together, Stanley countered back claiming her fears were unfounded.

"We shouldn't be wasting our time chasing after a shadow," Stanley said. The inappropriately dressed explorer was too busy talking up his own bravery that he stepped on a brick, that sunk into the ground very slightly but the effect was devastating.

Stanley was just getting up again when the walls disappeared from behind him. Alarmed he tried to see what was going on, but then he heard footsteps approaching him.

Stanley screamed.

By then Sarah was too far into the tunnel to hear her partner's distress. Even through the walkie-talkie he was pleading saying that she was completely right there was someone not in their group in the caves hunting them down. But she didn't listen. She arrived in a small room filled with crates and gasped at the labels some of them bore.

Dozens of ancient artifacts strewn all over, and a table upturned as if there had been a fight. Sarah saw an older woman laying on the floor.

"Professor?" The blonde gasped. The professor's eyes were closed and her body was still like ice.

"No you can't be dead!" The blonde woman shouted in fright, collapsing to her mentor's side to check her pulse. To her relief she was alive but her skin felt cold. They needed to get out of there. Taking out her walkie-talkie she contacted Stanley.

She got her answer when Stanley dropped right in front of her, tied up with rope. "My god what happened?!" Her suspicions were sadly confirmed as another person showed up but they were shrouded in complete darkness.

"No stop, let us go please!" Sarah begged but her desperate pleas echoed with not a single soul to care...

It had been a long slow day at J&J Antiques so it didn't surprise Vanessa in the least bit when she saw Jason asleep on the desk in his office. Smiling she took the time to remove the papers trapped under his face - he would hate having them ruined by a cascade of saliva - and sat them aside.

"Jason," she whispered in his ear. "I'm gonna go ahead and close up shop for you."

The ex-agent only muffled a response. Wow he must've really had a rough day, no doubt because of that woman, Vanessa mused internally. She spent the next several minutes stowing things away and turned on the neon closing sign. By then Jason had woken up and dragged himself into the main room. "Did I miss something?"

"No, just me doing your job," the novelist said with a tease.

Blue eyes glanced at his watch. "Wait it's past seven already? Crap!" Jason exclaimed with a frown.

"Don't worry there hadn't been a customer, you were pretty knocked out though," she replied now feeling concerned. "That's a sign you need a vacation."

Jason was surprised at how clean the main room was, and guilty he fell asleep on the job. That rarely happened even during his time at the NSA and that job required doing paperwork *shudder*. In gratitude he wrapped his strong arms around the plush woman, and they gazed into each other eyes. "What would I do without you Nessie?"

"Oh I don't know, missing, dead, forced to perform at some gangster's kid's birthday party," Vanessa said all that with a shrug. Jason chuckled before pecking her on the lips. They stayed that way for a while until the phone rang. Grumbling at the loss of intimacy Jason trudged over to answer it. Meanwhile Vanessa went to sanitize the counters. She could hear him perk up at the other person on the line.

"Professor Janet it's good to hear from you, how's the expedition?" They talked for a good while and then Jason mentioned something about moving. "We hope to get them by the end of this week! Nice talking to you Professor!"

"Who was that?"

"That my dear was Professor Janet, we used to worked together back when I was a missionary," he explained. "She's sending us gifts from her latest expedition!"

"Oh? That's neat!" Vanessa clapped her hands. "Our museum does need some new items!"

"And the best part is they're entirely free! No payment whatsoever!" In excitement he scooped her up again and kissed her. "Trust me our museum is going to flourish!"

So that was how, almost a week later, a moving van arrived outside the manor house and its drivers unloaded beautiful artifacts of times long passed. According to Jason they came from a tiny middle eastern nation called Qumran.

"Are you sure it's a good idea having those things here?" Calypso asked while watching their progress. "I don't want to have to deal with a curse!"

"Come on Callie you know there's no such things as curses," Regina nudged her on her arm.

The Greek woman crossed her arms. Something smelled fishy about the whole thing.

One of the drivers, who wanted to be cheeky, held a vase out for Dylan. "Here kid catch!" The driver sneered before throwing it. Dylan tried to catch it in time but the poor thing crashed into the ground in a bazillion pieces before he could reach it. Vanessa's face drained and she slowly approached the pile of shards. Before anyone could response the van drove away leaving the black woman to pick up some of the pieces. She was almost in tears.

"They looked like they didn't care," Vanessa grumbled. "I oughta call out to their bosses and give them a piece of my mind!"

"We'll get our justice soon," Jason patted her on the shoulder. "What kind of employee does that to rare artifacts?!"

His father hummed. It did seem odd a professor would hire such careless folks. But at least the other items were in tact.

Little did they realize there was a lot more beyond ancient history behind their new gifts. Something that could lead to an exciting adventure away from Odyssey!

So I'm rewriting the episode "The Caves of Qumran" with Jason and my OCs inserted because I'm in a self indulgent mood. Unlike the OG episode Dylan won't be in this - I like him an all but he wouldn't really fit. Besides I want to see how my OCs would act in an episode. I'm not copying dialogue word for word a lot of it is my own. Also the main couple is Jason x Vanessa (my oc, obviously) as well as Eugene x Katrina. Professor Janet is an OC and an important one in this story. This story has a strong message particularly parodying Hobby Lobby and its recent controversies so that'll be fun! Leave some comments and remember: don't forget to tip the servers!

#Caves of Qumran #adventures in odyssey #aio fanfic #odysseymysteryhour #canon x oc #jason whittaker

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spookysanta · 4 years ago

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The TA. - one. (c.e, h.c.)

Summary: she just wants to make a good impression. clearly, she’s made more of an impression on the two of them.

Pairings: Professor!Chris Evans x Black!Reader, student!Henry Cavill x Black!Reader

WARNINGS: swearing

updates will be sporadic because it’s a wip, but here’s part one! enjoy! :)

UNEDITED

****

To Whom it May Concern:

Good morning. My name is Dr. Christopher R. Evans and I’ll be your supervising professor for section D346-0 of Chemistry class for the Fall semester. I’m sending you this e-mail to introduce myself as well as get to know you a bit before classes start next week. Would you be willing to meet me in my office (Franklin Hall, 3210) this Wednesday at around 3 p.m.? I’d like to go over the syllabus as well as your requirements as my TA.

Please let me know if that time works well for you.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Warm regards,

Dr. Christopher R. Evans, D. Sc.

(310) 555-3984

***

Professor Evans:

Good morning! It’s nice to hear from you. I was in the process of getting your contact information to introduce myself. Thank you for taking me on as your TA, also—I appreciate that you’re giving me a chance. I’ll avail myself on Wednesday to meet with you at 3 p.m., I don’t want to change your schedule on my behalf. I can also provide you with my class schedule if you’d like so that you have my availability when you need to meet with me.

I’m excited to be working with you this semester!.

Best,

(Y/N) (Y/L/N)

***

“Hi, my name’s (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Is Dr. Evans around?” She entered the lecture hall, approaching the podium where another professor was packing up her things. “I’m his new TA.”

“Yes, his office is through that door. Go in, make a left, and it should be the first door on your right.” The professor instructed, “He should be in there.”

“Okay. Thank you, ma’am!” she hurried across the room and pushed through the door, following the professor’s instructions and finding his classroom much easier than she had initially. She knocked on the door to his office. “Dr. Evans?”

“Come in.”

She opened the door slowly. She found him at his desk, typing on a computer. He paused for a moment, looking up toward the doorway with a small smile.

“Hi. You must be (Y/N).” he stood and crossed the small room stalking over to her and offering his hand for her to shake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Great to meet you as well, Dr. Evans.” She shook his hand eagerly. This was her first professional job, and well…it’s helpful to have him as her boss.

Mainly to look at, but that’s beside the point.

“Oh, please. You can call me Chris.” He waved her off politely. “It’s just you and I here.”

She cleared her throat. “Okay.”

He made his way back to his seat behind the desk. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured to the chair that sat on the opposite side of the desk.

She sat down tightly with her hands flattened under her thighs—she’s a picker.

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head tightly. “Nothing.”

He noticed that her face read differently than her words were saying. She looked almost uncomfortable, unsettled. “Are you sure?”

“This is just my first TA job so I’m a bit nervous,” She was almost hesitant to tell him the truth. She rushed out, “hopefully that doesn’t compromise my position.”

“Not at all! In fact, I think this is one of the easier classes to TA for, but maybe I’m biased.” He chuckled. “So, with that said, let’s go over your requirements. Hopefully I can put your mind at ease, okay?”

“Okay.” She smiled politely, trying to make herself relax but failing because Dr. Evans—Chris—was quite different that was she thought he would be. He was tall, built, and had the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen.

She’d assumed that he would look like Ebenezer Scrooge from the way her friends said he ran his class. By their record, he was a strict guy—very unwavering with deadlines and course policies, sticks to his syllabus schedule, assigns a ton of work, and has an even stricter attendance policy.

But they also said he was nice, which was hard to come by with professors in this field. They could tell he was a good person deep down and liked what he taught but he was a hard ass.

And by her analyzation, that was true.

His desk was quite neat and polished; it smelled of air freshener in the room; there weren’t any papers scattered about—which she was thankful for, because she cannot work with people who were unorganized—and, most notably, there weren’t any kind of photos hanging up. It was hard for her to determine whether he was a bachelor, or a married father that just kept things private.

Not that it mattered…but she wanted to know.

“So,” he turned one of his monitors to face her so that she could see his screen. “here’s the syllabus. It seems like a lot, but I swear, it isn’t.” he chuckled.

She hummed in response, beginning to read the lengthy document in her head as he spoke.

“Basically, your job will be to help me grade quizzes, labs, exams, and other assignments. You’ll also be required to proctor exams; I have another TA, Henry—he’s a graduate student—that will come in on exam days and proctor with you.”

She thought for a moment. “So, if I may ask, what will you do?”

“Teach the class.”

“Well, I know that. I just meant…it seems like a lot for me to do, and I’ve heard about some professors on campus having their TAs run the class.”

“Oh! Definitely not. Look, you seem great, and I have a feeling we’d get on well, but there’s a specific way I want my material taught so that’s not something you’d have to worry about.” He reassured her, noticing her body begin to relax. “What I will say, is there is a lot of content in my class, but the major graded assignments are few and far between, if that makes you feel better.”

She cocked an eyebrow.

“The class is mostly lab-based. You’ll be grading lab prep work, mostly—then comes the occasional homework or quiz, and exams.”

“Oh, okay. That makes more sense.”

He nodded. “Good.”

He scrolled down further into the document, showing his class policies.

“Now, these, I can’t break on.” He sighed. “I’m sure you’ve heard that I’m a strict guy.”

“What?” she replied incredulously. “No!”

He wanted to laugh. He could tell she was analyzing him, and she had to have heard something about him before the two of them met. “Well, it’s because a lot of the precautions are for the safety of us and the students.”

She scanned a random sentence on the page that read:

Students are required to be fully clothed on lab days—no t-shirts, ripped clothing, or closed-toed shoes.

10 points will be deducted for wearing clothing that does not meet the above dress requirement. More than one violation on the lab dress requirement will result in a deduction from the LAB grade.

Yikes, she thought, he’s not joking around.

She found it understandable nonetheless—she imagines it would be difficult to have a completely safe lab in a stuffy room while it’s still hot outside.

And she’s heard that a lot of the laboratories on his side of campus don’t have air conditioning, which was quite unfortunate this time of year.

“The dress policy is the most heavily enforced one.” He shrugged. “I can’t be held liable for students’ recklessness during labs.”

“Has the dress code been an issue previously?” she asked.

“Not for me, but I know it’s been one for the department, so I’m just tryin’ to keep my name off the “injury list”.”

She nodded in understanding.

“I think that’s pretty much it as far as the basics are concerned. I’ll send you a copy of my syllabus and calendar for the semester, as well as your contract.” He turned the monitor to face him again, typing quickly on his keyboard. “Oh! And I should send you Henry’s information, too.”

“Who’s Henry again?”

“Henry is a graduate TA. I’ve had him in my classes for a couple of years, and he’s a great student. I think he worked in the library over the summer, so you may know him.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

“Well, he’s a great person to know, not just for my class, but for your upper-level math and science classes.” He gushed. Clearly, he really liked having this “Henry” as an assistant.

“Okay, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

“Great. And if you have any questions, shoot me an e-mail or a text and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“Alright.” She replied simply.

He stood, holding out his hand again. “I’m looking forward to working with you this semester, (Y/N).”

She took his hand, this time relishing in the softness of his skin and the firmness in his grip. “I am, too.”

Later that day, after she’d completed the last assignments for her summer math class, she checked her e-mail’s inbox and found two messages from Chris and another from Henry, the godsend of a grad student.

***

From: Dr. Christopher R. Evans, D. Sc.

Miss (Y/L/N)—

I hope this message finds you well.

Attached is my syllabus and class calendar, as well as your contract.

Please read through all of these. Sign the contract when you’re ready and e-mail it back to me at your earliest convenience.

Regards,

Chris

***

From: Dr. Christopher R. Evans, D. Sc

Miss (Y/L/N)—

I meant to send you Henry’s information as well:

Henry W. D. Cavill

Phone: 316-555-2015

E-mail: [email protected]

Please message him at your earliest convenience. Like I said, he’s a great person to know!

Regards,

Chris

She replied a quick “thank you” before continuing through her inbox.

***

From: Henry W. D. Cavill

Hi, (Y/N)! It’s nice to “meet” you, I’m Henry.

Chris has told me that you’re the new undergrad TA! That’s pretty impressive, honestly—you’re one of four undergraduate TAs in the entire Sciences department. Anyway, I just wanted to send you this e-mail to introduce myself and let you know that if you need anything, I’m always available. I worked in the school’s library over the summer so if you need me immediately, that’s usually where I spend my free time nowadays.

I’m excited to work with you this semester! Maybe we could grab coffee and get to know each other better before classes start next week? Let me know.

Hope to hear from you soon!

Best wishes,

Cav

“Cav?” she read aloud in disgust, “What the hell kind of a nickname is “Cav”?” She hoped that he didn’t expect her to call him that because that was stupid.

At any rate, she could tell that he was much more laid back than Chris, which she was bound to enjoy. As nice as Chris was, she could tell that he was a bit…uptight. Henry, on the other hand, seemed more laid back if she used “Cav” as a form of evidence.

She could tell that he was a bookworm, too, because no-one—no-one she knew, at least—stays in the library unless they had to, or just liked reading.

Clearly he was a different breed.

She opened a new message to send a quick reply to his.

To: Henry W.D. Cavill

Hi, Henry.

It’s nice to hear from you as well. I’ve heard nothing but good things about you!

I’m free tomorrow afternoon if you want to meet at The Bistro for coffee.

Let me know if that works for you.

Best,

(Y/N)

There. Sweet and simple.

Don’t be confused, either—she wanted this position. It would open some doors for her down the line, especially if she can get on Chris’ good side like Henry clearly has. She just hated formalities. The emails, the “talk to you soon! ”s, the “hope you’re well! ”s… it was too high-strung for her.

She is, though, determined to start everything on a good foot. So she’ll be polite, she’ll wish them well, whatever—she just wanted to ensure that her success as an undergrad student wouldn’t be hindered or jeopardized by her desire to be casual with who’s really her boss and co-worker.

The next day, she mustered up the courage to throw on clothes and meet Henry at The Bistro, a café in the main square of the campus. She decided to dress nice, not entirely sure who she was meeting and wanting to make a good impression. Because “Cav” seemed like a decent guy, but you never know.

Honestly, she wanted to cancel but she knew that wouldn’t look good.

She stepped through The Bistro’s doors, the cold air practically smacking her in the face. Normally she would despise the cold, especially on a day like this where it wasn’t too hot and not at all humid; but today, she was grateful for the cold air that enwrapped her frame that was dressed in a black blazer and matching slacks.

She sent a message to Henry letting her know that she was there and sat at a table by the window.

Then she waited.

Ten minutes, then twenty, then thirty.

After forty minutes passed, she gathered her tote, phone, and keys, and made her way to the front door.

Before she could get to the door, a figure bumped into her, her body colliding with his hard chest. “Oh, shit, sorry!” the mass of flesh exclaimed, “I’m running late for a meeting and I didn’t watch where I was going.”

Her eyes met his as she took a step back. He was tall. His long brown hair was brushed behind one ear, cheeks flushed and pale, brown eyes wide.

He was cute.

“Wait,” she replied, “are you Henry?”

“Yeah…so?”

“So?” she glared at him. “I’m (Y/N).”

His eyes widened even more, as if that were possible. “Oh! I’m so sorry I’m late. My car broke down and I ended up having to walk here.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But listen, if you’re still free, I’d love to still talk with you.”

She didn’t have anywhere to be, so why not? “Sure.”

He let out a breath. “Thank you.”

The two of them sat down at the table she picked, him slugging his shoulder bag off his body and onto the floor next to him. He folded his hands on the table and looked at her, watching as she fumbled through her bag for her planner and a pen.

“So,” he started, “it’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

“You, too.” She replied, her eyes not looking up.

“I’m usually the only TA in Chris’ class, so it’s really cool to have someone else around. I can’t tell you how frustrating it is to be the only one proctoring an exam in a class of three-hundred people.”

“Three-hundred people?”

“Yeah. Sometimes it’s less, but that’s the average. It’s full of freshmen, too.”

She finally found her planner and a pen in the depths of her bag. “Are freshmen bad?”

He shook his head, “Not really, they’re just…odd.” He shrugged. “Some of them want to learn, some don’t, and you can tell right away. The ones that want to learn don’t want help—it’s always the procrastinators, the slackers, the ones that don’t care that need you.”

“How is that odd?”

“It’s strange to me, honestly. I didn’t really care either way my freshman year. I wanted to learn but I didn’t care enough to actually try.”

“So what changed? Chris made you seem like you were some mythical being.”

He laughed. She’ll admit, she was lost in his smile for a second. The glint in his eyes and the crinkle in his nose made her smile. “A mythical being?” he repeated. “I’m far from mythical. I think he gushes about me because I take over his office hours for him most days.”

That made her laugh. “Well, he seems to be appreciative of having you around. Hopefully I can be helpful.”

“I’m sure you can be,” he waved her off, “he probably told you that his class wasn’t that bad, but he’s totally lying. My first year helping him was rough—too much shit to do, and not enough time for it to get done.”

That sounded more accurate compared to what Chris told her yesterday. “I figured.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s a great professor, and an awesome mentor to have—but sometimes he downplays stuff. He’ll say it’s “no big deal”, and it’ll be like Armageddon for us.”

She nodded slowly. “Any advice for getting on his good side?”

He chuckled. “If he likes you, you’ll know. And if he likes you, he’ll help you out. He’s not at all unreasonable, either; so just tell him what’s up when you have a problem, or if you’re overwhelmed, and he’ll do what he can to help.”

“That’s not what I heard.” She mumbled.

“Well, his students from last year will say he’s a dick, but—and you can’t tell anyone I told you this—” he leaned in closer, whispering, “he went through a nasty divorce last fall.”

So he isn’t married.

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah. He wasn’t in the best place, but I’ll admit he’s eased up quite a bit so you should be fine.”

“Okay, cool.”

“Anything else you want to know?”

She thought for a moment. “Not really, no.”

He smiled again, “Alright. Well it was great talking with you, and I’m sorry again for being late.”

She shrugged, “Shit happens.”

“You’re exactly right. The meter maids are probably having a field day giving me tickets.” He stood from the table, putting his bag over his shoulder that was covered in a dark green jacket, brushing his hair behind his ears and away from his face.

She stood shortly after he did. “Good luck with that.”

“Oh, trust me, it wouldn’t be anything new for me to have a ticket by now. I’ve gotten five since May.”

Her eyes widened this time. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. The parking on campus is shit, you get in where you can. Open parking spaces are scarce, especially by Franklin Hall…so sometimes I park on the street.”

Street parking is decal only. By the number of tickets he’d obtained, she deduced that he most likely had no decal. “Hence all the tickets.” She finalized.

“Yeah.”

“Criminal.” She shook her head jokingly.

“Guilty as charged.” He held out his wrists to her as if she was putting him in handcuffs. “See you around, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Then he turned and left, moving quickly down the pavement.

—

Tags (dm to be removed): @lady-x-red @justtwhst @lokisbitch27 @boundtomyfate @cyberdoshee @liquorlaughslove @heroine-of-color

#The Ta #henry cavill x black reader #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x black woman #henry cavill x black woman #the ta fic

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bunnyywritings · 4 years ago

Text

nice to meet you..?

bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 - 𝕟𝕖𝕩𝕥

[a/n: it’s finally here! Part one of ‘time to hit the books’ it’s a little nerve wrecking since I’m not very confident in writing these types of au’s BUT I’m excited to see how this turns out and I hope you all enjoy! Also, sorry it’s a bit short, I promise the next chapter will be more interesting since this is more of a introduction chapter -yours truly, bunnyy -`ღ´-]

“Alright everyone, remember to cram as much studying as possibly over the next couple of weeks. If you fail this exam, I will fail you and you will have to take summer remedial lessons.” Everyone cringed at the thought of spending the summer in a classroom. “With that being said, class is dismissed. Get outta here.”

Excited chatter filled the room as everyone was packing up their stuff. Relieved that the school day was finally over. You had started to walk out with Denki when you heard Aizawa call out to you.

“Can I have a word with you?” Surprised you nodded, Denki muttering a goodbye before walking out.

“What’s up Mr. Aizawa? Is uh...is everything okay?”

“Well yes and no.” His uninterested tone doing nothing to quell your nerves. “As you know, the OWL exams are coming up. And, well, to put it bluntly...” he seemed to be a bit conflicted on his wording. “Your grades are slightly above average so there’s no problem there but you scored very low on every practice exam that we’ve had so far and as your homeroom teacher, I’m concerned.”

An embarrassed blush made it’s way to your cheeks and the tips of your ears. “Y-yeah...” You scratched the back of your neck. “I tend to test really bad, so I am a bit worried.”

“As much as I trust you to study hard, I want you to have someone to help you improve your test scores. So I’m assigning you a tutor.”

“Oh...okay. That’s understandable.”

“You may not have met him yet, he’s in my morning class but he’s an honor student and he’s gotten the top score each practice exam.” Just then, the door forcefully swung open. An angry looking blonde kid swaggered through the door. His disheveled tie had the gryffindor crest on it. “(Y/n), this is Bakugo Katsuki, he’s going to help you study for the OWL exam.”

“Tch, so this is the extra they needs help?” He scoffed. “Listen up you hufflepuff dimwit, I’m only doing this so I don’t get docked grade points. Don’t think I’m doing this willingly.” His growl caught you off guard. He was definitely not your stereotypical gryffindor.

“Uhhm o-okay. That’s n-no problem hehe.” You laughed awkwardly, not really knowing how to respond to such bold distaste.

“I trust that the two of you will make up a schedule and keep to it.” You nodded while Bakugo just huffed in annoyance and shoved his fists into his trouser pockets. “Alright, you’re dismissed.” And with that, Bakugo high-tailed it out of the classroom.

The entire way to the dormitory, you were trying to decide whether working with this Bakugo character would work or not. Entering the common room, you were met with greetings from everyone that was lounging about.

“So what happened with Aizawa?” Denki asked as you dropped your bag on the ground and slumped onto the couch right next to Ochako.

“He’s requiring that I get tutored for the upcoming exam.” You groaned.

“Well, you have been doing pretty bad on the practice exam.” Ochako smiled sympathetically, patting your back softly.

“Who’s your tutor?” Sero asked, taking the seat beside Denki.

“Uhh Bakugo Katsumi? No...Sashimi? OH! Katsuki. Bakugo Katsuki.” You nodded thoughtfully. “He’s uh very interesting.”

“No kidding, that kid is kinda a jerk.” Ojiro scratched his cheek softly. “You know Midoriya, in our class?” You nodded, “That Bakugo kid constantly bullies him.”

You gasped. “No way, but Izuku is so sweet...” As conflicted as you were, you knew that there was probably more to this Bakugo kid than anger. But as you sat there, the others continued to voice their obvious disdain for the kid.

“Hey guys...maybe we shouldn’t be so mean about it. There has to be more to him than that, he’s probably s-super nice once you get to k-know him.” You stuttered in defense of your tutor. Whether you personally knew him well or not. You instantly realized that was the unpopular opinion.

“(Y/n)’s right, we shouldn’t be bad mouthing someone we don’t know.” Tsu agreed, which made everyone hesitantly drop the subject.

“So how about that potions class, huh?” That seemed to put everyone in the right mood as they laughed and reminisced on your earlier class when Professor Midnight mixed the wrong things in her couldron and made it explode.

The rest of the day had gone like that, you guys were just talking about whatever until it was time to head over to the grand hall for dinner where you all split off to your respective friend groups.

“Hello.” You sighed as you slipped into the seat, greeting Shoji and Tokoyami.

“Hello (y/n). Is something the matter, you seem worried.” Tokoyami tilted his head to the sided, Shoji nodding in agreement.

“Well, the upcoming OWLs are getting me a little stressed PLUS Aizawa gave me a tutor to help me out but-“ You were cut off by a loud commotion a few tables away.

“Get out of the way you damn nerd!”

“S-sorry Kachaan!”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!”

“But that’s him.” You face palmed, finishing your sentence.

“Bakugo is your tutor?” Shoji’s eyes widened.

“Well yeah but I don’t want to make any assumptions until I actually get to know him...you know?”

“You know, sometimes you hufflepuff’s are exactly what you’d expect.” Shoji chuckled teasingly, shaking his head. “You’re too kind for your own good.”

“Well, is that such a bad thing?” You tilted your head in thought.

Once dinner had started, the three of you had talked about how classes were going and maybe making plans to head down to hogsmeade during the weekend. Both Shoji and Tokoyami were Ravenclaw, and it showed. They were the most chivalrous and studious people you knew, but in terms of houses, not everyone was the stereotypical house expectation.

“Hey, (y/n)?” You turned to see Todoroki, he was one of the few Slytherin you knew.

“Oh hey Shoto.” You tried hard to suppress your blush. “Do you have the your notes for herbology? I would like to borrow them, if that’s alright. Your notes are usually very neat and comprehensive.” Your cheeks burned with the blush you were holding back.

“Of course! Thank you. C-can I give them to you after dinner?”

“That sounds quite alright, I’ll head to your common room later. Thank you (y/n).” Then, he left. Leaving you a blushing mess as your two friends poked fun at you. Bakugo had seen the interaction from the corner of his eye and growled, turning back to his food and continuing to eat. You were none the wiser.

You were giddy as you walked back to your house dorm and rushed to your room, Mina and Ochako jumping at the sudden intrusion. Both confused at the smile on your lips and the blush on your cheeks as you grabbed your bag and started to rummage through it.

“What’s got you all worked up?” Mina giggled.

“Oh n-nothing. Make sure your out before curfew or Professor Aizawa will kill you.” You giggled, despite the warning in your words and before they could question you further, you rushed out once more. The moment you stepped out, you were met with the sight of Shoto leaning against the wall near the entrance. He was in a simple black jumper with his house crest on it, and some grey sweatpants.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” You called out softly, causing his to stand up straight and approach you.

“No, that’s alright. He smiled softly. Bakugo had hid behind the corner once he had hear the two of you talking, teeth gritting at how stupid it was. He watched as you timidly handed the slytherin boy your notebook, and how your blush intesnsified when your fingers accidentally brushed against each other’s.

He got even more frustrated at how his chest constricted. Why was he so angry? He had seen you at the start of the year but had never talked to you, he had seen you interact with his friends before and he always found himself looking at you during breakfast or dinner time. He was always entranced by your smile, or the slight snort in your laugh when Shoji or Tokoyami said something comedic.

“I hope I can re-pay you. Maybe you’d like to join me to hogmeade on Saturday? I’ll treat you to some butterbeer for the trouble I’ve caused you.”

“It’s really no problem, I-“ You paused when he took a step forward, leaning down inches away from your face. “Please, I insist.”

You swallowed nervously, “O-okay sounds good. G-goodnight Shoto.”

“Good night (y/n), see you in class.” You bit your lip as you watched him walk away.

Not only did he despise Todoroki but he was his rival too, since both of them were the captains of their respective quidditch teams. So the fact that he was making you stutter and blush, he also had done something he previously never could’ve done...actually talk to you.

“Hey, idiot!” You jumped, the sudden loud voice shaking you from your daydream. “Our first study session is Friday night, after dinner. Got that?! We can study in your stupid common room since the extra’s in ours never shut up.”

“Oh uhm okay, sounds good. Thanks Bakugo!” Your smile caught him off guard.

“Whatever dunce-head, I’ll see you then.”

You watched as he stomped away.

“What’re you doing out of the dorms? Curfew is in 10 minutes.” Aizawa’s voice made you eyes widen.

“I-I was just gonna head in, g-good night!” You panicked and ran into the dorms.

“MINA!! Code red!”

“Crap! Bye Uraraka, (y/n)! See ya later!” She grabbed her things and rushed to the false bottom under your bed. There was a secret stairwell that led straight to the kitchens and passed the normal entrance. It was very useful to use as a way to grab some midnight snacks. You quickly got ready for bed, getting some homework done before settling under the silky bed covers and plush pillows. You had quidditch practice in the morning so you needed to get some rest. All that was on your mind though, was your outing with Todoroki and your Studying with Bakugo. You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t handsome but his attitude was a little off putting. Still, you didn’t want to pass any judgment until you actually got to know him.

That’s if he gives you the chance.

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ (open): @stargazerunlimited, @ohbois-biggay-bnha

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha hogwarts au #time to hit the books

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llendrinall · 4 years ago

Note

(1) Draco, Harry, Hermione & Ron (aged 23) all are working on a case. Harry & Ron are Aurors. Draco & Hermione are both Healers & Unspeakables. The case is something like a bunch of Death Eater wannabes trying to resurrect the dark lord. So while busting in on their ritual all 4 are transported to their younger bodies at different times. Draco (5), Ron (7), Hermione (9), Harry (11) (The day before Hagrid comes to fetches him.)

(2) Harry and Draco were married so they use a phrase to each other so the other knows that they're the other and then plan a meet in the Room of Requirements. After confirming that Ron and Hermione (Married) are who they are too they go to the meet too. While each playing the roles they had the first time around. They then work out a plan for the war (Since Draco hasn't found a way back they plan to change things).

(3) Draco needs to play the bully/death eater and work to save the lives of the war victims. While Harry, Ron and Hermione work out the horcrux ect. Befor and during the war they secretly work to make preperations and stuff to minimize the damage while also playing their parts as school rivals. And they manage to minimize the deaths and they manage to save a lot of familiar faces. Sirius, Remus, Tonks, George ect.

(4) So after Harry kills Voldemort (He had an argument with Draco cuz Draco was worried he wouldn't come back this time) they're in the grand hall and everyone just sees the golden trio going to Draco with smiles. Ron gives him a handshake, Hermione a Hug, and shockingly Harry kisses him infront of everyone (Draco's parents are like "WTF?") And says "Told you i wouldn't die." "Shut up you bloody git". (In my head its a long fic with a LOT of stuff added. I just wanna know how you'd write this)

Mmh, yes this would be a long plotty fic, so I won’t detail the structure, just some of the elements I would use to build it.

First, I would have them go back to exactly one month before they turn 11. There is a very nice symmetry there and we avoid having Draco too long in his child’s body. An adult Draco in a 5-year-old body would be terrifying. Lucius would just flee the country.

So they go back to 11 minus one month. Harry and Draco have 1-2 summer months to get settled and start figuring things out, Ron gets around 7 months to think about family dynamics and draft a plan to contact his friends. Hermione has a whole year plus change to rage, study and come up with a definite plan to Get Things Right.

There is a beautiful tense scene as they board the train, because Harry and Ron don’t know if their friend is their old self or their young self. They are both very cautious around each other until Harry notices the way Ron looks at Scabbers and he knows. It just takes a couple of loaded comments afterwards to recognize each other.

Hermione barges in their compartment in her usual way and they have to drop some very heavy hints to remind her they are not alone. They can’t spook Pettigrew. Draco comes by, stares at Harry in silence for a whole minute and then passes him a note saying he can’t find the diary and also he ordered Dobby to go serve Harry, he should be waiting in Hogwarts. It is unclear whether Draco knows this Harry is the old Harry because Draco is, and has always been, kind of odd. It took them a while to discover it, but Draco is just a bunch or random powerful ideas held together with anxiety and fire. Harry loves him so much.

They go to Hogwarts. You would think that in this timeline Harry would be the most belligerent/hostile of them, but it is actually Hermione. Hermione is a nightmare student. She has a list of one hundred and fifty names and she is going to save all of them (except maybe Dumbledore and Snape). She has no time nor attention to waste in silly classes telling her what she already knows. She only comes to class sporadically, aces all her tests and hands out beautiful neat homework that barely took ten minutes out of her day to complete. Teachers hate her (or heavily dislike her), but they can’t expel her. It’s beautiful. The twins develop a crush on her.

Harry waits patiently until Christmas so Dumbledore can gift him the Invisibility Cloak and then announces that he is not going back to the Dursleys. Dumbledore insists. Harry says softly “by Jove, I will not” and Dumbledore thinks about that exchange for a week. He forgets about it when ten days later there is an incident in Transfiguration class and McGonagall discovers that Ron’s pet rat Scabbers is actually Peter Pettigrew.

(They were going to wait until Quirrell tried to steal the philosopher’s. Hermione insisted they couldn’t deviate too much of the original timeline or they would lose their advantage of knowing what was going to happen. If something was going to change, it was better to attach it to some other important event.

But Harry pointed out that it would be much easier to keep Sirius alive if he had some extra months of freedom and he didn’t have to live as a fugitive and Ron was certain that they would be fine even if they changed everything. It wasn’t just their knowledge of the events to come, it was their knowledge, period, their experience.

Ron is a man now, and adult, and he is kind of freaked out at the shenanigans they did when they were merely children. What were they thinking? Was there no competent adult to point out that were kids? It shouldn’t be up to them to rescue Sirius or Buckbeak, what in the seven hells.)

Anyway, Sirius is freed and Dumbledore is forced to explain everything about prophecies and love magic and blood protection early, because Harry insists he is going to live with Sirius. Harry agrees to go back to the Dursleys for two weeks, but Sirius has to come with him and no, he will not come as a dog, that’s demeaning. He will spend his time at the Dursleys as a human, thank you very much.

Sirius is the first adult to realize that there is something not quite right about Harry. The others had noticed that Harry was… special. But Sirius is the first one to see through, although he doesn’t know what he is seeing exactly.

Lucius still uses the Diary against the Weasleys, but this time Ron picks it up. Their first week back in Hogwarts, they all go for a nice excursion down to the Basilisk lair. They bring the Diadem, too. Harry speaks to the Basilisk and both horcruxes are destroyed.

The rest of the year is spent plotting. Draco takes on the role of the bully and plays it up to hilarious heights. He picks on everyone, and that’s everyone, except Neville and Luna. Funnily, Cedric Diggory is a big fan of him and always answers to Draco’s banter.

Draco suggests having a Duel Club to Lockhart. There has been no student attacks, of course, but Lockhart loves the idea and Draco wants the opportunity to fight Harry and make ridiculously sexually charged comments. They have five very nice duelling sessions until the curse of the DADA post acts up and professor Lockhart is unavailable the rest of the year.

(Harry tutors everyone in his year so this time people will actually now how to cast a protego. Ginny comes to the classes too and is by far his best student).

That summer, Ron has a very long chat with Percy explaining everything. Ron is now eight years older than Percy and understand why his brother fell to the Ministry and rejected his family. The Weasleys had pushed him that way, hadn’t they? Ron also understands that suddenly being nice to Percy and giving him recognition won’t work. It’s too late. But telling Percy they come from another timeline in which Fred died gets Percy’s attention immediately. Percy spends a whole weekend freaking out in silence (nobody notices, of course, and boy is Ron appalled at his family dynamics). Come Monday, Percy emerges relatively calm, all things considered. He has given himself a haircut and is resolved to infiltrate the Ministry.

The locket is destroyed that summer. They let Sirius and Kreacher do it.

They were hoping to have all horcruxes down before Voldemort rose back, but Pettigrew escapes Azkaban and Voldemort comes back a year ahead of schedule. (Early 4th year).

Dumbledore locates the ring. Despite warnings from all of them (and Snape) he still puts the ring on and gets a curse for it. Hermione says if he is going to be like that, she will take him from her To-Save list.

Barely eight months after Voldemort comes back to power, the Ministry is full of his followers. For now, Voldemort is happy with acting from the shadows, but soon he will want more and the four of them want to avoid open war as much as possible.

Percy sends Ron Helga’s cup, broken. Ron asks how he did it in case they ever find themselves in a similar situation (new timeline and all), but Percy only says that he asked politely. That means there are only two (two? Or is it one?) horcruxes remaining. Draco decides to speed things up, before Voldemort stars his terror campaign. He tells his father than Dumbledore has a mysterious ring with an interesting crest and that’s enough to have Voldemort attack Hogwarts with all his might.

It may not seem like a good idea, but if you think about it it’s much better to have dark wizards try to take over a castle than over a cottage where a half-blood family lives. Plus, now they don’t have to sweep Britain looking for Nagini. They can see her perfectly well down in the grounds trying and failing to eat Hagrid.

The battle draws on and almost becomes a siege. The Ministry comes to help, only they help Voldemort’s side, what with being infiltrated and all.

It’s still preferable to the years of the war.

Sirius has been put under a careful and insistent treatment of “Sirius, no”, so he actually stops when he is told to, he doesn’t follow Pettigrew to a trap and he isn’t killed by Bellatrix. Well done, Sirius! Another advantage of Sirius surviving, beyond the fact that he survived, yay, is that he gets to save Snape when Voldemort decides he might not be a good double spy after all. Snape hates the idea of owing his life to Sirius. It is very entertaining.

Neville kills Bellatrix Lestrange. Luna kills Nagini (and feels bad for it, and cries, sweet Luna, may she always have a soft heart). Peter Pettigrew dies in a freak accident in which both the giant squid and the twins are involved. Cedric Diggory bullies seven Ministry wizards into switching sides.

Things are going good. There are many wounded, more than the last time, but no dead, not on their side.

Harry knows he will have to die, again. And it will have to be Voldemort. He can’t risk having anyone else cast the curse (would they even meant it?). They have changed so many things… They can’t be sure that all those changes won’t coalesce in this one instant in time. They can’t be sure that Harry will make it back.

But Harry still goes, because that’s what he has to do. He tries to make things as similar as possible, act the same way, say the same things. Maybe having Sirius and Moody and Tonks and Lupin alive and well and fighting won’t matter if Harry just follows the script on this.

But just in case it will matter, just in case Harry doesn’t come back this time, he throws some ad lib.

“Hey, Tom,” Harry says, holding his thumb between his index and middle finger. “I’ve got your nose.”

Well, at least he can be sure that Voldemort means it when he cast the curse.

The honour of killing Voldemort falls on Hagrid this time. It isn’t pretty.

And Harry comes back. Draco forgives him just for having said that line.

#asks #harry potter #timetravel #Anonymous #verse: deaged #textpost

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tiliamericana · 4 years ago

Text

Muay Thai: 1.07

Read From Start | Read Ahead | Home Site

Nairi stared at the window. The window stared back. The window very much wanted her to know that its name was “Joe”.

Linden swung back out of the doorway of the bar, looking between Nairi and the window, and she grinned. “Yeah, Joe’s just like this,” she said, grabbing Nairi’s wrist and tugging her towards the door. “Come on, you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

The inside of the bar was warmly lit, and while it wasn’t fancy it was definitely nicer than the dive Linden had set on fire last week. The lights hung low from the ceiling in eclectic, mismatched lamp shades, yellow and incandescent despite what felt like five million articles a week about the environment and fluorescent lighting. The booth seats were lined with shiny red vinyl, stacked along the wall opposite the long bar with its tall stools. The lights behind the bar were big, painted bulbs on a string, decorating two signs in clashing materials that read ‘JOE’ and ‘JOE’S KITCHEN’ in different fonts and stretching along the shelves that were cluttered with bottles that looked like they’d been arranged with more mind paid to how they looked than their cost or use. There was an old-fashioned popcorn machine sitting on the corner with a wire rack stacked high with paper cones, and a flowerpot on the back counter with ‘TIPS’ painted on it in colourful dots. A short and cheerful looking guy in a black shirt and thick rimmed glasses was drying a cocktail shaker with a rag, and he grinned at the two of them as they approached the bar.

Linden dropped Nairi’s wrist and slammed her hands down on the counter, gesturing towards the bartender. “Nairi, this is Joe! He runs a great bar.”

“Right,” said Nairi, nodding at him after a moment, hand raised very slightly to wave across the bar. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too!” said Joe, setting the shaker on the counter and draping the rag over his shoulder. “At last—Linden never shuts up about you. Can I grab you guys a drink?”

Linden what?

“Whatcha got on the non-alcoholic front?” asked Linden, totally unbothered by this assertion, grinning animatedly with glossy lips and blushed cheeks. She winked and elbowed Nairi lightly. “Nairi’s tee-total. Not big on the caffeine, either.”

“Just a coke is fine,” said Nairi to Joe with another awkward nod.

“Oh, I can do you an orange juice if caffeine’s a bug,” said Joe brightly, pulling a glass off the rack in front of him. “Gotta say, coke’s got too much for me on nights I’m not working, don’t like to drink it after the sun’s down, y’know? Or if you wanna go a bit fancy I can whip up a mocktail! Dash of grenadine, shot of mango, tiny umbrella, the works?”

“Orange juice is great, thanks,” said Nairi after a moment, hooking her hands into her back pockets to stop them from clasping in front of her chest.

“Coke’s got caffeine in it?” said Linden, leaning on the bar.

Joe nodded, bending at the waist and pulling a bottle of orange juice out of one of the clear fronted fridges behind him. “Yeah! I guess ‘cause it’s sweet most people don’t think of it. Can I grab ya something, Lindy? I got a new case of chocolate stout in on Tuesday, it’s pretty great.”

Linden laughed, kicking her toe back behind her to prop on the floor as she leaned in. “Oh, don’t tempt me—you know how I feel about stouts! Can I just have a vodka on a rock?”

Joe laughed and nodded as he finished pouring the orange juice, pulling out a squat glass and depositing the largest ice cube Nairi had ever seen into it. He poured a generous amount of vodka over the ice, then finished each drink with a splash of pink grenadine and a novelty straw. Linden’s had a heart shaped loop in it.

He pushed set them on the counter in front of them with a grin, and Nairi smiled back, handing over her card.

A warm hand found Nairi’s, Linden guiding them towards a booth at the back of the room. Nairi glanced at her, eyes flicking around the room for a bin where she could get rid of her novelty straw. “How do you feel about stouts?”

Linden’s mouth twitched. “No clue,” she admitted. “They’re like, the dark ones, right? Joe’s really big on his beers.”

“You’re not?” said Nairi, her mouth twitching a little.

Linden held up her vodka in a mock salute with a wink. “I’m more in favour of efficiency and having fun.”

“A woman after my own heart,” said Nairi.

Linden giggled, the lines around her eyes creasing as they drew to a halt by the backmost booth, occupied by two colourful hairstyles and a grouchy looking ginger in glasses. The first two Nairi recognised from Linden’s texts—the grad student friends with musical talent. The ginger was a mystery.

“Guys, this is Nairi!” said Linden to the table, prompting the three of them to turn their heads with a chorus of greetings, curious eyes lingering on Nairi. “Nairi, this is Mason,” soft faced man, teal hair flat ironed into a fringe over one eye, “Flo,” a young black woman, her cornrows and wayfarer style glasses in matching shades of bright pink, “and Agatha!” solving the mystery of the ginger.

“Welcome to the post-grad misery zone,” said Mason, toasting her with a pink and fizzy drink complete with a straw to match Linden’s. “Agatha’s just submitted her PhD thesis, we’re commiserating.”

“Oh, uh, congratulations?” said Nairi to Agatha.

“Thanks,” said Agatha tiredly, shoving her glasses up her nose.

“No!” said Flo, slapping the table with a wide grin. “We cannot congratulate you before your defence, it’s bad luck! We’ll jinx you!”

Mason laughed, a little too loudly, shaking his head as Linden slid into the seat next to Flo with a short cackle, patting the vinyl next to her with a grin at Nairi. “We’ll crack out the leg-breaking wishes on the day for you, Aggy,” she said, leaning into a hug from Flo.

Nairi perched awkwardly at the edge of the booth, setting her pink-tinged juice on the table. Agatha’s eyes kept flicking towards her as she and Mason talked about scheduling logistics and email exchanges with professors. Nairi tried not to let it bother her and took a sip of her drink, turning her head to tune into Linden and Flo where they’d gone rapid fire into chatting about… performances? She thought they’d been arguing about theatre curses, but they were well into local bands now, the conversation jumping so quickly she couldn’t keep track.

She turned the glass around in her hand, fingers twitching slightly, and then glanced up as she heard footsteps approaching. Edith caught her eye, slowing to a halt on her way past the table. “Oh, hello again,” she said, sounding faintly amused as her eyebrow twitched up and disrupted her usual frown. “I heard you two had an exciting week.”

“Not really. Kinda quiet,” said Nairi, taking another sip of her juice.

Edith gave a quiet scoff of a laugh, rapping her knuckles on the tabletop next to Nairi’s hand. “Really? That’s not quite what Nicholas has been saying.”

Nairi hummed, setting her glass down.

Edith collected a neat whiskey from a round-faced young woman who joined her from the bar. “This is Verity,” she said, nodding at her. “Verity, this is Nairi and the redhead is Linden, the one who knows people in town closer to your age.”

At a guess Verity was about ten years older than anyone else at the table. Edith didn’t appear to care about this fact. Nairi nodded at her with an awkward smile, her teeth toggling with a tag of skin on the inside of her cheek. “Nice to meet you. Excuse me, uh, I just—need the bathroom a second.”

“Have fun,” said Edith glibly as Nairi stood and edged past her.

Nairi ignored her as she strode to the back of the bar, trying not to pick up speed as she went.

Mercifully the bathroom was empty. It was a small, two stall affair, and while Joe’s sense of interior design had extended into the room in the questionable paint choices and a talking bass over the paper towel dispenser, it was also quiet. She hesitated, then wedged the door shut, leaning her back against it and covering her face with her hands.

What was she doing? It was only three people. Three of Linden’s friends, that was all. Edith and Verity made five, but that wasn’t a crowd. She’d been in crowded bars, filled with way more people, louder volumes, far, far more confusing conversations—

And when she escaped to the bathroom it was usually to snort something before she went back out and glared at everyone who tried to talk to her, filled in the cynical voice that sat in the back of her head.

Suddenly the bathroom was the last place she wanted to be. She glared at the floor and stood up properly, setting the cold tap on the tiny sink to full blast and shoving her hands under the stream. She slammed the soap dispenser aggressively and started scrubbing at her hands, wrinkling her nose at the strong, sickly scent. Water splashed up her sleeves as she took deep breaths through her nose, counting down from one hundred silently.

By the time she turned off the tap her hands were numb, the paper towel scraping her skin through what felt like a thick, protective coating all over her fingers. She closed her eyes and took another deep breath before exiting the bathroom.

When she came back out there’d been a switch in the conversational configurations and she paused, looking around to see if there was somewhere she’d… fit. It was worth it, to try, wasn’t it?

Mason and Flo were knocking elbows at the bar, looking at liquor bottles, while Verity and Edith had joined Agatha for a conversation that apparently required a lot of serious expressions and shredded napkins. Linden had swapped tables entirely, engaged deeply in a conversation with an older woman.

Nairi started to drift towards them, catching a snippet of what they were saying.

“—yeah, it definitely gets easier once you’re off the spiro, after,” Linden was saying as she rolled a beer bottle between her hands, previous glass empty on the table in front of her. “I go for injections these days, I’m like, totally useless at remembering to take a daily pill, though I did while I was in college.”

“I’ve been considering swapping,” said the woman, nodding at Linden. “My partner gets squeamish with needles, though—”

Nairi’s feet turned to head towards the bar without her actively thinking about it. She had no desire to discuss anything relating to needles or medication right now, no matter how benign.

“Oh, I knew if I left them alone they’d get into hormones!” said a cheerful voice from just beside her.

Nairi turned and was greeted by a short, androgynous looking blond with their hand outstretched. For lack of a better response, she shook it.

“I’m Avery,” they said, smiling widely. “Are you Nairi? Your friend, Linden, mentioned you before I left her alone with Cynth and let them derail straight into titty-skittle talk.”

Nairi latched onto one part of the sentence without meaning to. “Synth?”

Avery burst out laughing. “Sorry! Cynthia—my wife. I have to shorten every name, it’s my worst trait!”

“No-o! We all do it, you’ll fit right in!” cried out Flo, wrapping an arm around Avery’s shoulders and squeezing. “Nairi! Come sit with us! Avery uses they as a personal pronoun, isn’t that cool?”

“Um, very cool,” said Nairi, letting herself follow them up to the front of the bar where Mason and Joe were very seriously discussing what the essential components of a good Manhattan were.

Flo and Avery giggled, jostling up against each other and Nairi as they took the seats next to Mason. Joe grinned at them as they sat, Mason taking a dainty sip of his cocktail through a comically small straw. “Hey, hey! Anything I can get for you ladies and genderqueer? Another juice?” he said, winking at Nairi.

Flo gasped, slapping the top of the bar. “Mocktails! Joe, do you know any good mocktails?”

“Oh, no, it’s okay—” started Nairi, but Flo and Avery were nodding eagerly, and someone’s hand patted her shoulder.

“I love mocktails!” crowed Avery, nodding eagerly. “Cynth thinks they’re dumb—she’s a grain alcohol kinda lady—”

“I might know some mocktails,” said Joe loudly, and Mason, Avery and Flo cheered raggedly, Flo clapping over the counter.

Joe did make a good mocktail, or at least a tasty one. Tasty wasn’t always the same as ‘good’ when it came to regular cocktails, but she thought hers might be pineapple based and it was sweet, so Nairi thought it was good. The others were easy conversation too; they didn’t actively leave her out, but no one was leaning on her to talk, and when she did, at least one of them paid attention.

Still, when she heard her name called she was grateful for the excuse to walk away from the loud chatter.

“There you are,” said Linden cheerfully as she stopped at the table, the seating arrangement having cycled through again. She and Agatha were on one side of the booth, their cheeks reddened from the booze, or the warmth, or the conversation, Nairi couldn’t tell. Edith was sprawled across from them, taking up the whole bench seat and looking highly amused by whatever they were talking about. “Do you wanna go for a ride?” Linden asked guilelessly, looking up at Nairi as she took a drink from her beer.

“Yeah, sure,” said Nairi, shrugging at her. “Where were you thinking of heading out to?”

Edith snorted and Linden shrugged back. “Don’t know yet, still mulling it over. You left your drink at the bar,” she added. She was still smiling, but there was something cynical lurking in her eyebrows.

“Oh, thanks,” said Nairi, with the nagging feeling that she’d missed something.

There was a small kerfuffle as she turned to head back to the bar, rustling of cloth and Linden saying, “You see what I mean?” about something.

Her drink was where she’d left it, Flo and the others were being corralled back to the booths by Cynthia, and when she turned around, Agatha was standing there, looking a little flushed. “Hi,” she said, blinking at her.

“Hi,” said Agatha, and then, all at once: “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Yes,” said Nairi immediately, a rush of relief filling at her at the sudden escape route in front of her.

“Really?” said Agatha, smiling at her. “I, I meant—with me?”

Nairi smiled back at her. “Yeah.” Agatha was cute, in an angry kind of way, she thought, suddenly speculative. And god only knew it had been too long since she’d had any kind of intimacy like that, friendly or otherwise. Besides, if it went downhill she could probably take her. “Let me just say goodbye to Linden, she doesn’t like it when I vanish without warning her.”

“Oh, of course,” said Agatha, nodding, her cheeks reddening. “I’ll meet you outside?”

Nairi set her glass down in the ‘return zone’ Joe had marked out on the bar in neon washi tape (it had parking bays, he was really committed to the quirky bit) and walked back over to Linden’s booth, feeling like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “Hey, I’m heading home for the night,” she said casually, nudging Linden’s shoulder with her knuckles.

Linden’s eyes widened as she looked up, gaze darting past Nairi then back. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Nairi, nodding at her. “It was good to get out of the house. I’ll text you later?”

“Sure,” said Linden, tone clipped, nodding. Across the table Edith was visibly laughing into her hand. “Later.”

Nairi headed towards the exit and Agatha, and behind her she heard Edith’s laughter suddenly rise in volume over the chatter.

#series honey tree #book muay thai #serial fiction #lgbt fiction #107

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crying-gay-tears · 5 years ago

Text

Brighter Than The Sun

Chapter 2: The First Day

“G-Gon?” Killua’s mouth fell open in surprise. “What are you doing here? How did you find my room?” Gon looked so excited and he had no idea why.

“Killua!! I didn’t know this was your room! I just got home and wanted to meet my roommate!”

“Home? Wait, does that mean-” realization hit him suddenly. “Are you in 405A??”

“Yes! We’re roommates!”

Killua stood in stunned silence for a moment, unsure of how to feel. Of all the people on campus to have as his roommate, it turned out to be Gon, the bubbly and strange boy he had ironically just been thinking about.

“Can I see your room? I peeked in earlier when I arrived but it was empty.”

“Uh, sure” he stepped to the side, letting him into the room. “I haven’t really done anything in here yet. I got in right before orientation, so I didn’t have time to start unpacking. When I finally got back after the library I put some stuff away, but I’ve mostly just been hanging out.” Killua blushed, suddenly hyper aware of the chocolate robot wrappers on his desk, and his haphazardly arranged belongings. His suitcase was lying open on the floor beside his dresser, stacks of books were scattered across the desk and floor.

“I think it looks great already! I haven’t had the chance to unpack or decorate at all yet. Is this your favorite band?” He nodded to the crooked poster on the wall above the bed.

“One of my favorites, yeah. It’s the one playing right now.” He motioned to the bluetooth speaker sitting on the windowsill.

Gon walked over, sat on his bed, and began bobbing his head to the music.

“They’re really good! You’ve got nice taste in music.”

Killua chuckled, “This is only one song! I like a lot of different stuff, there’s a lot to listen to.”

“Well, you’ve got the whole school year to show me!”

His smile was warm and real and it shook Killua up quite a bit. No one had ever really shown interest in the things he enjoyed before, but here was someone he had just met, genuinely excited to be listening to underground rock with him.

They hung out while Killua finished unpacking his suitcase and getting settled. After that, Gon wandered back to his own room to start his unpacking and when he did Killua followed and this time Gon played the music. His taste was a little weird, and mostly pop, but Killua didn’t mind. He was enjoying the view as Gon danced around his room, tossing clothes into his dresser and arranging trinkets on his desk.When he went to the bathroom to unpack his toiletries, Killua stood over the desk, checking out all of the small momentos Gon felt were important enough to bring with him to college. Among them was a few seashells, a green ring, and a fishing hook in a small glass jar. A photo in a blue frame near the corner of the desk caught his eye, and he leaned in for a closer look. Gon, wearing a graduation cap and gown, was facing the camera, eyes squinted with a beaming smile on his face. One arm held his diploma in the air, while the other was wrapped around a teary eyed woman. Her head came up to his shoulder, and where her hazel eyes and orange hair bore no resemblance to him, her warm and genuine smile was a spitting image. She must be-

“That’s my Aunt Mito!” Gon chirped, eyes lighting up as he walked over to where Killua was standing. “She burst into tears right after this picture was taken. I know she was proud and happy for me, but I’m pretty sure she was really sad that day. Mostly worried about the future, I think.” His face fell a bit. “She knows I want to follow in my dad’s footsteps, and since he’s so busy and always overseas I think she’s worried I’ll just leave and never come back.”

“What does your dad do?”

“He’s an archaeologist.”

“Wow, that’s so cool!”

“Yeah, that’s why I want to see for myself! If his job is so amazing that it was worth missing out on my life and Mito-san’s life, then I want to know what it’s like!”

Killua felt kind of bad hearing that. He knew what it was like to have a dad ditch you for work, but at the same time, his parents were also very involved with his life. Suffocatingly so. They had appearances to uphold, afterall. His parents were far from perfect and even farther from pleasant, but he still couldn’t imagine one or both of them just leaving and not returning. Plus, what would Gon do if he finally got the job and it wasn’t as amazing as his dad made it seem? Killua knew from experience that hope usually just led to disappointment.

He pulled out the desk chair and swung his leg over it, nestling backwards in the seat, his arms folded across the top rail of the chair, and his chin resting on top of them. “So what’s your dad like?”

Gon sat on his bed across from Killua and was lost in thought for a moment. “Well, I’ve only really seen him a few times in my life. . His name is Ging. Ging Freecs. He’s pretty rough around the edges, but well respected. He’s famous in parts of the world for his finds and research. I don’t know much else, except a few stories Mito-san has told me from when they were kids on Whale Island together. She says I’m a lot like him though. ” He shrugged, “By her tone of voice, I can never tell if she means that as a good or bad thing.”

Killua surprised himself when he spoke, “Whether you're like Ging or not, and whether that’s good or bad doesn't really matter. You’re you. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty cool.”

They locked eyes and a huge smile broke out on Gon’s face.

“Thanks, Killua. I think you’re really cool too! I’m glad we’re roommates!”

Killua just grumbled a bit in response, his mouth set in an awkward smile. Gon could be so embarrassing sometimes.

They slipped into a comfortable silence after that, music still playing softly through the room as Gon continued organizing his stuff and Killua scrolled on his phone. After a while Gon let out a huge yawn and decided it was time to call it a night. They were both mostly unpacked, and even though classes didn’t start for two more days, he wanted to get up early to explore the campus some more. Yawning himself, Killua followed suit and once behind his closed door, stripped to his boxers and flopped onto the bed. Staring up at the ceiling, his mind began to drift.

It had been a hell of a day. Aside from his text letting them know he arrived safely, he hadn’t spoken to his parents at all. Where this wasn’t too different from the norm--they were usually too tied up with work and social ladder climbing to give him much attention--it was still nice to have space from them and his life back home. He’d been so excited for the freedom college was going to provide him. Freedom from the claustrophobic walls of the Zoldyck estate, from his siblings, and best of all, freedom from his parent’s cold judgement. He was finally able to live his life without them breathing down his neck and criticizing his every move. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with his life, but he was so happy to finally have the space to explore and figure it all out.

The only thing he was really worried about when he left for college was who his roommate would be, and he was pretty relieved to have Gon. They’d barely known each other a day, but he had the feeling that living with him was going to be a good time. He’d never met someone so… open and warm. His joy was almost contagious, it was a nice contrast and welcome change from his boarding school roommates and family. For the first time in a long time, he fell asleep excited for what the future would hold.

~~~~~~~~

The next two days were a blur of course catalogues and video games with his roommate, and before he knew it, Gon found himself on the way to his first college class, Biology 101. He was practically skipping down the brick walkway and, thanks to all of his previous exploring, he was able to find the classroom with no issue. He snagged a spot towards the front by a window, and as he sat, noticed a neatly bound packet lying face down on the desk. He was curious, but resisted the urge to flip it over, choosing instead to check out his surroundings. There were a few other students scattered at the tables around the room, and a short woman with green hair stood at the front. He watched as she neatly wrote in neat and swoopy cursive across the white board.

Dr. C. Yorkshire

Adjunct Professor

Biology 101

Fall Term

Class A

So she was the professor, Dr. Cheadle. She looked put together and kind, but he’d be lying if he said her calm demeanor was enough to soothe his nerves. School was never really his thing, he much preferred to be outside learning with his hands and on his feet, and his grades usually reflected the trouble he had with studying. His teachers in the past had always been nice enough, but he hated disappointing them with his test scores, and he wanted college to be different. He wanted to put his best foot forward with his new life and really prove himself. He was determined to give it his all.

A few more people shuffled in and filled the open desks, and when the wall clock marked the top of the hour, the professor faced the class and cleared her throat.

“Good morning everyone, and welcome to Biology 101. I’m Dr. Cheadle Yorkshire and I’ll be your professor. As you should know, this class is accompanied by a mandatory lab that will meet once a week. You’ll all be partnered off and expected to work together for the lab as well as in class activities.” Her eyes scanned the room, mouth set in a stern smile. “To kick things off, I’d like everyone to turn over the packet in front of you. This is a copy of your class syllabus, I took the liberty of binding them for you, as you’ll be referencing it throughout the entire semester. It contains all of the information you’ll need to be successful in this class, including classroom policies, expectations, assignments, required reading, my office hours, and more!”

Gon held the syllabus in his hand and was staring at it like it was made of gold. Everything he needed to do well in this class? It was like he’d been handed a treasure.

“Now, I’ll call out the lab pairings, and you can find your partner and arrange your seating accordingly, then we can begin our first activity!”

When Gon’s name was finally called along with his partner’s, he was giddy with anticipation and just as he stood to scan the crowd for his partner, a blue satchel dropped down on the table and a tall boy sunk down into the seat next to his. His blonde hair framed his face and hung just above his shoulders, his smile was tight but genuine as he held a hand out to Gon.

“I’m Kurapika, nice to meet you, partner.”

Gon shook it and chirped back “I’m Gon! Nice to meet you too!”

They sat in silence while Cheadle finished calling out the rest of the pairs. When everyone was settled, she addressed the class.

“Alright, now that everybody is paired off, we can begin today’s activity! In order to get to know your syllabus and your lab partner, I’ve created a scavenger hunt! Simply peruse your syllabus and use what you read to answer the questions on this handout!” She waved a stack of papers in the air and with a proud smile on her face, began handing them out. “You can begin as soon as you get your worksheet and you are dismissed whenever you finish!”

When their worksheets were placed in front of them, Kurapika turned in his chair to face Gon.

“Well, I suppose we better get started, eh? We can both read through the syllabus and then answer the questions together, does that sound good to you?”

“Sure!” Gon nodded in response and they got started. Gon was a little overwhelmed with the amount of information on the syllabus. It was pretty stressful seeing an entire semester of work listed out like that. He was excited for the lab though, all of those assignments seemed pretty hands on and a few of them were even supposed to be done outside. Maybe this class wouldn’t be so bad afterall. After a few minutes, they began answering the questions together. It wasn’t too tough to find the answers, and with two people it went by pretty quickly. Gon didn’t want the whole class to pass without getting to know his lab partner though, so he tried to strike up a conversation between questions.

“So, Kurapika, what’s your major? Are you a freshman here too?”

Kurapika didn’t look up from the worksheet when he answered. “I’m not a freshman, but I am new. I’m a sophomore and I transferred here this year.I’m double majoring in Psychology and Criminal Justice.” He glanced up and over at Gon. “What about you? Have you decided on a major yet?”

“I have! Well, kinda. I’m considering Anthropology or maybe Environmental Biology. Still trying to figure out which would be best, but I don’t think I could handle double majoring like you. Your majors sound really great! What do you want to do with your degree?”

“I want to become a detective, I’m still deciding between public and private.” He scribbled something on his paper. “The answer to number 12 is ‘Tuesdays and Thursdays from 3-5pm’ by the way. Three more and we’re finished.”

Gon was hastily writing in the answer when Kurapika asked,

“What do you want to do when you get your degree?”

“I want to become an archaeologist, like my dad! Or possibly a similar job within the field.” He perked up when he noticed that Kurapika had put down his worksheet and turned his focus to their conversation instead.

“So you're a transfer student, how do you like it here so far? Where did you transfer from, and what made you leave?”

“Woah Gon, you’ve almost got more questions than the assignment.” Kurapika chuckled but still pressed on. “So far it’s fine, but I’ve only been here for 3 days so we’ll see how it goes. I transferred here from Meteor City Community College, but I never really wanted to go there in the first place. This was my first choice school, but I wasn’t able to move here last year because of some family stuff. This year I was able to, so I did. And how are you liking it here? What made you choose YNU?”

“It’s my dad’s alma mater, so it was an easy choice. So far I’m really liking it! I was a little nervous before I got here, but everything has been pretty awesome. I’ve gotten to know and love the campus already, and I’ve got a great roommate too! Plus, my first class is going well! And that’s what I was the most nervous about.”

“It’s good that you like your roommate. That can cause a lot of trouble for some. It definitely did at my last school, so that’s actually what I was most worried about here.”

“I’m sorry you had trouble last year, but is your new roommate nice I hope?”

“Well, I actually lucked out and got a suite to myself. I requested one when I filled out the transfer paperwork, and told them about my last experience. I wasn't counting on it to work out in my favor too much, but it did.”

“I’m glad it did!”

“And I’m glad you’re feeling better about your classes now that you’ve got one under your belt.” He slid his worksheet over with a pale slender hand, the last three answers were written out neatly.

Gon quickly jotted them down and slid the paper back to Kurapika. “Thank you!”

“No problem, it was a team effort after all.” He smiled as he slung his satchel over his shoulder and stood up to turn in his paper, Gon grabbed his backpack and followed behind him.

After they handed her the worksheets, Dr. Yorkshire complimented their effort and teamwork, and dismissed them for the day. They were in the hallway and Kurapika was waving goodbye when Gon spoke again.

“Kurapika, do you wanna grab lunch sometime? I know we’re just lab partners, but you seem really cool and I’d like to be friends!”

Kurapika looked puzzled for a moment but his voice was soft and sincere when he spoke. “I’d like that, Gon.”

With that, they exchanged numbers and went their separate ways.

The rest of the day breezed by, and Gon was pretty much on cloud 9. He was excited about his classes, and even more excited about the people he met in each one. He had lunch scheduled with Kurapika for later on that week, and he decided to check out some of the clubs a few of his new friends suggested to him throughout the week as well. It was going to be a great year! He texted Killua and they decided to meet up for dinner in the cafeteria, so he headed that way after his last class.

When he arrived, he scanned the room until a crop of silver hair caught his eye at a small table by the dessert station in the far corner. He made his way over and plopped into the seat across from Killua, who was surrounded by plates of different desserts.

“Gon, the dessert bar is amazing. You’ve gotta try the chocolate cake, and there’s cookies too!”

“It looks great! I’m gonna go grab some, and maybe some regular food too!” He stuck his tongue out teasingly, Killua just rolled his eyes in response.

“Have you been here long?”

“Nah, I got here a few minutes before you. I just headed straight for the dessert.”

Gon laughed out loud. Dessert for dinner, Mito would’ve killed him. College really was a different world. “Do you want me to grab something else for you while I’m up?”

“Eh. I’m fine for now, might grab some pizza or something in a bit.”

Gon nodded and left to make his plate. When he returned, Killua was scrolling on his phone, fork in hand hanging lazily at his mouth.

His stomach growled and he quickly twirled a bite of spaghetti around his fork. The day was so eventful he hadn’t even realized he was hungry.

“So, how were your classes? Did you like your professors?” he asked, shoving the huge bite of pasta into his mouth.

Killua put his phone down and draped his arm over the back of his chair. “They all seem pretty boring, but I’m mostly getting gen ed classes out of the way for now, until I decide what I wanna major in, so that’s probably why. I don’t even remember any of the professors’ names, so that answers that question I guess,” He shoveled another bite of cake into his mouth, “What about you?”

“They all seemed nice enough, but I think I liked Professor Satotz in Anthropology the best. He seems interesting, so I’m excited to see how that class goes. Did you make any new friends?”

Killua quirked an eyebrow at him. “Uh, no. Did you?”

“I did! A few people, and I actually have plans to hang out with one of them! I’m gonna check out some clubs here too, I can definitely make some new friends there! And you’ve gotta come with me Killua! We can check them out together!” As he spoke he was practically buzzing with excitement.

“What clubs are you going to?” Killua asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Well, There’s a bunch of them to choose from, but the Great Outdoors Club, the GSA, and the Ultimate Frisbee Club were all recommended to me, so I’m gonna start with them I think.”

“GSA?”

“It stands for Gay Straight Alliance.”

Killua almost choked on his last bite of cake. “O-oh. Right. Why are you going to that one? Are you... gay?”

Gon’s face scrunched up a bit, his gaze suddenly intense.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that if you are!” Killua backpedaled. “Just asking!”

“Yeah, I’m just thinking about it. I guess I don't know? I was gonna check it out ‘cause I liked the idea of an alliance, and I wanted to go to show support I guess, but hey, maybe the club will help me figure it out!”

Killua’s cheeks were tinged pink. “You don’t know? Haven’t you ever gone on a date or to a school dance or something before?”

“Well, I’ve gone on dates with girls before, never with any boys though.” He rested his chin on his hand. “To be honest, I’m just not sure. I guess now I’m pretty excited to see what I learn from this club!” His eyes squinted up in a bright smile.

“You should come with me when I go! It’s for everyone to come together, so I don’t think it even matters if you’re gay or not anyways.”

“Yeah, maybe, we’ll see.” He awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck. “ I’m gonna go grab some food, be right back.” He stacked his dirty plates and quickly shuffled off.

Gon leaned back in his chair and rubbed his full belly. He looked around the cafeteria, already starting to recognize people from his classes amongst the crowds at tables and in line at food stations. His first day was really amazing and if this was what the year was going to be like, he was so ready for it.

~~~~~~~~

After wandering between the different food stations for a few minutes, Killua finally returned to the table with a plate of spaghetti and some soda. The food on campus was actually pretty good, so that was a plus. It was almost good enough to distract him from the nagging questions that the mention of the GSA brought up. Almost.

He really hadn’t thought too much about his own sexuality, or sexuality in general. He’d never even gone out with anyone before. Well, there was the one time he agreed to go to the winter formal with a girl he knew, but that night was a disaster and he only went because his brother had been giving him shit about his social life.

It’s not like he never found anyone attractive before. But now that he thought about it, most of the time when someone in a crowd caught his eye, they happened to be a boy. Like at orientation just a few days ago... But what did that say about his sexuality? How did anyone actually know if they were gay or straight or whatever? And what would you even do with that information once you managed to figure it out?

“Killua?”

“Eh?” The sound of Gon’s voice snapped him back to reality and when he looked up he was met with a pair of honey eyes burning into him.

“What?” He gulped. Had Gon been sitting this close to him the whole time?

“I asked if you were ready to go.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

They grabbed their bags and began the trek back to their dorm. The cool night air was a welcome relief from the blush that spread across his face and up his neck.

#killugon #gonkillu #killua #gon #killua zoldyck #gon freeccs #hunter x hunter #hxh #hunterxhunter #killugon fanfic

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peachyteabuck · 6 years ago

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sick of nothing (carol danvers x reader)

summary: Shitty, shitty bars can still have pretty, pretty bartenders.

Carol’s got a night off and you work as a bartender while you study to become a statistician. A one-night stand situation.

pairing: Carol Danvers x Reader

words: 2,592

trigger warnings: one-night stands, daddy kink, light choking, strap ons, angst if you really squint

notes: this was written for @shay-iamiam ‘s 800 follower writing challenge. my prompt was “i have a name, and it’s not sweetheart” and has been bolded within the fic !!

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

The walk is about three and a half blocks, the hood of her AIR FORCE hoodie pulled up the whole time as if to dare any pick pocket and low life in the city to test her self-defense abilities. Nobody she passes looks at her for more than half a second, just how she wants it.

In front of her destination is a neon sign that’s nearly dulled - as if too old to support its own brightness anymore. It’s almost hidden among the other, flashier billboards and car lights and God knows what else the civilians in this town use to be seen these days. Regardless, it catches Carol’s eye.

The stairs to the entrance are lit by a green similar to the color outside, the deep shade barely masking the multiple women making out against the wall. Carol makes eye contact with one of them who’s got two attached to each side of her neck. The unnamed woman smirks at Carol, who nods back.

When she gets to the bottom of the stairs, the heavy door she has to use all her might to push in order to get through the threshold. There aren’t a lot of people in the run-down bar, it’s much too early for the regulars to be partying. She counts maybe six people, max, along with the three exits.

Carol spots you across the bar. Across the dirty, grimy bar she flags you down and orders scotch. She doesn’t know exactly what it is, but it was what her papa drank when he was lonely, so it’s what she’ll drink now.

Your pour the dark liquid into a glass with fluid movements, and you push it down the bar to her with equal ease.

“Enjoy,” you tell her, and she nods once before downing it. She watches you intently, tracks your wide grin and fast hands.

You notice her staring but don’t say anything, too busy stuffing your bra with the single dollar bills and wiping down the wettened wood as each patron becomes drunk enough to leave. It’s near the end of your shift, when you’ve got ten minutes left and the next girl comes to pull back her hair and change into her own t-shirt printed with the bar’s logo, that you finally make contact.

“It’s kinda rude to stare,” you tell her without meeting her eyes.

“Oh, but you’re so nice to look at,” the woman, with her shockingly neat blank olive long-sleeved shirt. She’s got blonde hair pulled back tight into a bun at the top of her neck, posture that rivals that of a Renaissance-era French noble.

Military. You note. Most of them don’t bother with the bar you have the misfortune of working at, especially with it being as seedy as it is; filled with degenerates as it is. There are better places to drink, better places to pick up hookers, better places to forget the fact they joined was just to pay for college.

The woman speaks again when you lean against the bar – the first time your feet stopped moving since your shift started. “When are you done here, sweetheart?”

You smile, the shine in your eyes especially evident in the low light. “I have a name, and it’s not sweetheart,” you tell her with a voice playful and light.

“And what is this mysterious name of yours?” she downs the last of her drink as she waits for your reply.

There’s a hesitancy in your voice, an uncertainty that isn’t scared but most definitely is noticeable. “Why don’t you take me on a date and find out?” Another pause. “I’m done here in five. You can meet me out back if you want.”

Carol smiles wide and dope, and tips you a crisp twenty-dollar bill, which she places over the wet ring her empty glass left on the dark, stained wood. “See ya then, darling,” just as she tucks her stool back out of the path of travel for the other customers, she turns back around. “My name’s Carol, by the way.”

As you tap out and grab your bag from the back room, you can’t tell which weighs heavier on your conscience: the biggest tip you’ve ever received (in proportion to the tab) or the fact that you’re about to have sex with a stranger.

Said woman is right where you told you to be, leaning against the brick wall with her hands stuffed in her pockets. Silently, you nod, and she follows you on the route to your apartment. For awhile it’s silent, almost uncomfortably so.

About halfway through the walk, Carol’s the first one to speak. “What are you doing here? In this shitty town?” A pause. “You seem way too smart to be stuck here.”

You shrug your bag closer to you, as if it’ll protect her from whatever hypercritical commentary she’s about to give. “I’m studying to be a statistician, working on saving money so I can start working on my PhD soon.”

Carol laughs a little, and for a moment you prepare to recite the speech you gave your dad when you left home four years ago, your freshman year professor who told you that women can’t do math, it’ll interfere with their natural role as caregivers to the family, your sophomore year boyfriend who you broke up with not only because you figured out you only like women, but also because he was a piece of shit who told you that if a woman wasn’t a stay at home mom she wasn’t worth shit.

But Carol doesn’t mock you, doesn’t chuckle like it’s the strangest thing she’s ever heard.

Still, you’re concerned. “What’re you laughing about?”

“Just never expected anyone so smart would allow someone like me to take them home,” she tells you, honest and sincere. For a moment her cool façade breaks and your heart along with it, but after a few seconds she’s back with that killer smile.

Your conversation remains light the rest of the walk, at one point your fingers intertwining as the silence of the night settles upon you. The action is cute, innocent, directly contrasting what happened the second you reach the inside of your apartment.

Carol’s got you pushed against the inside of your bedroom door, and you can feel each groove and nick in the old wood as she pulls off the horrendous black shirt your boss requires you to wear. The day it was handed to you, you promised yourself you’d burn it the minute you didn’t have to work at that shithole anymore. But, as Carol kisses your collar bone and bites at each square inch of sensitive skin, you wonder how bad it could be if you managed to catch her while wearing it. On impulse your nose wrinkles, thinking about the putrid scent wafting from the fabric, the piss of a thousand racoons settling over the hottest woman you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Luckily, Carol doesn’t notice, because she’s too busy pulling it off of you and catching a glimpse of the tattoos that litter your body. Her lips stop, then, and she takes a moment to look – really look – at them. She traces the normal model – located on your ribs – lightly. “Is that the mathy shit you were talking about?”

You laugh, pulling her in for a kiss. “These are equations that can determine things you only dream of knowing. You know, in World War I-“ You’re cut off with a sharp bite to your breast opposite the ink and one of her hands snaking itself down your pants. “Oh fuck.”

Carol smiles into your skin before throwing you onto the bed, her hair barely moving as she tosses you as if you were pillow rather than a person. You hit the bed with a loud thump, and in the second you take to move your thick blankets that have gathered over you off of your body she’s removed her shirt and is working on unhooking her simple, sweat-stained bra.

Her movements are fevered, her eyes ablaze. It’s the kind of fire you’ve seen in the climax of cheesy animated movies, when the pretty, hopeless protagonist is cornered against some thick free as the big, bad wolf towers over her as spit falls from its jowls. With wide eyes, the careless woman watches and whimpers as what is likely her death-bringer rips the top of her bodice open with a simple swipe of its dirt-coated claws.

The only difference between you and her appears to be her terror, because as Carol crawls over you and sinks her teeth into your jugular all you can do is moan and grab at her back.

“You’re so cute,” she growls into your ear. “Maybe I should fuck you like I’ll break you…” An evil, hungry grin spreads across her face as you shake your head, your nails dragging angry red lines down her muscular back. “Or, maybe not.”

As she removes her thick, black pants, you notice she’s wearing a worn leather harness she claims she’s had since she first enlisted fit tight to her waist and thighs. The material is soft as your palms occasionally run over the buckles as you reach for her ass. “Please, Carol, please god,” you beg, gasping at she bites at your nipple. “Please just fuck me.”

Carol moves on down your stomach, leaving a trail of bruises in her wake. You can feel her lips spread into a smile into your skin, nipping at your heated flesh as she looks up at you. “Mm, kinda wanna have you ride me instead. You okay with that, baby girl?”

You’re breathless as you respond. “Yes.”

Somehow, in all of your breathless splendor, Carol finds a way you coax you – no, manhandle you so that you’re hovering just above the bright blue cock kept in place by the harness.

“I don’t think that’s military-issue,” you quip. The smirk on your face, though, subsides quickly when she aligns herself with your entrance and bottoms out in a single thrust. All you can do is moan, bracing yourself with one hand on the wall and one on her chest. It’s embarrassing, almost, how good it feels.

The ends of Carol’s mouth slowly spread upward as she watches you fall apart, watches your eyes roll to the back of your head, watches your jaw go slack.

“You like that?” she asks, voice thick with the arousal that comes with pleasing a partner. “You like it when I fuck your pussy this hard?”

All you can do is give her a small squeak and a nod, unable to form such a complicated thing as speech. Carol’s got one hand on your hip to keep you moving, to keep your hips grinding on her cock, while the other rests on your throat with her thumb moving just past your lips.

It doesn’t take any exchange of words for you to understand what she wants from you, and as you take the ridge between the two phalanges you flatten your tongue against the digit.

You soak the calloused skin with your spit, tracing every small detail with your tongue and basking in the glow of giving and receiving pleasure. Soon, though, Carol pulls her thumb away with a loud pop!

You pout, worrying you had done something wrong. But as you feel Carol circling your clit you forget all about your own insecurities.

“Oh fuck,” you whine, almost falling if it weren’t for Carol’s painful grip on your hip. “Oh my God!”

“You gonna come for me baby?” She hisses, voice husky and laced with godly confidence. “You gonna come on daddy’s cock?”

Her saying that word, that title, sends another flood of arousal to your center. “Yes, daddy, I love your cock,” you moan, desperate throw yourself into the pleasure you’re so close to reaching. “Please, please let me come! I wanna come on your thick dick, daddy!”

Carol doesn’t say anything at first, caught stroking her ego with a cocky smirk that somehow makes you even wetter.

“Fuck yeah, baby,” Carol nearly purrs. “Come for Daddy.”

She’s got one thumb rubbing at your clit, the other hand palming at your breast. Soon it’s too much, the tight, heated coil in your abdomen gives one last tightening before it unravels – pleasure flooding your blood. As the explosive pleasure begins to subside, Carol carefully flips you onto your back and pulls out of your hypersensitive pussy. As she pulls the toy out of you achingly slow you whimper from sensitivity and the empty feeling inside of you.

Carol moves off of the bed to pull the harness off of you, and in the absence of her body heat you shiver and whine for her to join you back in bed. She gives you a small, pitiful smile before leaning forward to a place a light kiss on your sweaty forehead. “Just give me a second, baby, you need some water.” You mmph, and point her in the direction of your shitty kitchenette.

When she comes back you’re on the precipice of sleep – eyes heavy as she props you up to drink from of the cold tap water. As you empty the glass, she places it onto your bedside table and wraps herself around you – puling the heavy, sex-thick blankets over the two of you. With the warmth of the fabric and her skin, sleep soon claims your consciousness.

It feels like a mere few seconds later when your pupils begin to move behind your eyelids, sparked by something deep in your foolhardy dreams telling you that you feel someone stirring in your room. When your eyes finally crack open, you can see the woman who fucked you into another consciousness last night pulling on her clothes in the dark.

When you click on the lamp, her movements stop like a cockroach freezes under a flashlight. A long, heavy silence ensues.

Carol’s the one to break it. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

More silence.

“I’m sorry,” she says – voice small.

The corners of your lips turn up in a similar manner. “It’s okay.”

Another beat passes before the both of you move. Carol continues to dress, and you move to write your landline number and, after a bit of hesitation, your name and address.

The silence continues as she makes her way around your room and collects her things – namely the harness, which she tucks back under her pants, just as before. As she turns around to pull her pants over the leather strap, you move behind her to tuck the old receipt into a back pocket.

When Carol notices your hands on her ass she freezes, but soon welcomes the embrace as you whisper in her ear. “Just…don’t be a stranger, alright?”

She intertwines your fingers and kisses where her skin meets yours. “I’ll try.”

You sigh as Carol steps out of your apartment complex into the pink-covered city. Dawn is just bringing itself upon the horizon, as if the sun is trying to bide you more time together. There are a few moments where your eyes meet, and she gives you a small, sad smile.

“Goodbye,” she says quietly.

You nod, once. Wrapping your robe tighter around you to keep the chills tighter to keep the chills at bay, you wonder why it would be so cool in the thick of summer. As you turn back inside to get ready for class, you try not to think about how it might not be the cold that make you shake.

#carol danvers x reader #carol danvers fanfic #carol danvers imagine #shayswriting challenge #lukis writes stuff #my shit doesnt even show up in tags why do i bother tagging it lol #carol danvers lemons #writing challenge entries

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vmstudies · 6 years ago

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30+ things i learned in my first semester of college

Okay, so as a college freshman in her second semester, I wanted to write all this down before I forget it all or it becomes irrelevant. College is a trippy af time, especially for freshmen, and I know high schoolers are all freaking out trying to find what’s true and what’s not. So here’s what I learned my first semester of college, and some stuff I’m still learning.

Warning: this post is long af.

disclaimer: I’m a nursing ROTC student so I’ve got like a million and one things on my plate at any given time, and I have a wake up call at 5:00am almost every day of the week, so if you have to/already do wake up early, this will be great for you.

1. Be patient. You’re going to have people around you doing all different things. You may not be going out, but your hall mates will. Learn to let go and let them be. Unless they’re screaming excessively in the hall at 3am. Then maybe say something.

2. Do all the extra credit you are offered. Most professors only have 3-4 exams and a final. At least 99% of mine so far have done that. Take what you can get and do everything to keep your grades up.

3. Time management is key. I personally suck at it, but I find ways. Unfortunately sometimes, for me, it means cutting sleep, which I would not recommend, especially if you’re waking up so early. But learn to manage your time the way that works for you.

4. Find a good pair of headphones. Some noise cancelling ones preferably. Those will become your best friends.

5. Coffee will be other your best friend. Even if you don’t drink it. I never had a single cup of coffee till first week of second semester. I drink a cup a day now.

6. Eat well. It doesn’t have to be a salad every meal, but find the healthiest options you can that you like. The Freshman 15 is real, and I gained it, but I’ve lost 10 pounds just by eating a portioned amount of each food group per day.

7. Exercise. This goes along with eating in preventing the Freshman 15, but it also helps with stress relief and focus among a million and one other health benefits.

8. Take chances. Nothing illegal and nothing that could jeopardize your health, grades, or future, but just remember that when a moment passes, you can never get it back.

9. You don’t have to be best friends, or even friends at all with your roommate. But make an effort to get along. My roommate and I learned very quickly that we were not going to be best friends like we thought, but we get along well enough, and that’s all that matters.

10. You’re probably not going to remain friends with all of your high school pals. Even the ones who go to school with you. I thought the group from my high school at my uni would be my best friends and now I only see them when my roommate brings them by.

11. Take a chance on everyone. You’d be surprised who could become the best friend you’ve ever had very quickly.

12. Colleges will want your living situations for next year very quickly. Don’t panic. Just get it done before rents go up.

13. Look for ways to contribute to your city. Volunteer at churches or food banks or homeless shelters or hospitals - wherever works best for you. You start to feel a part of a community when you give back to it.

14. Skipping class isn’t bad, but only when it’s done a few times. If you only show up for exams, you’re screwed, because there are things on the exam that won’t always be on the PowerPoints. TL;DR: show up to class.

15. Don’t drink after people. Mono runs rampant on college campuses, and it’s now airborne. Hand sanitizer is your third new best friend.

16. Exam season isn’t that scary. As long as you’re maintaining your grades in a class, the finals should be okay. Should be.

17. Assuming you aren’t a commuter, if you have the ability to go home every weekend, don’t. The weekends are a time for you to hang out with friends and have fun at college. If you’re spending it at home, it’s not even worth it.

18. That being said, if you have the ability to go home “often” and you’re happy and comfortable at home, visit every once in a while. It’s good for the soul.

19. Many professors are there to complete research requirements. That being said, it doesn’t matter to them whether they’re good professors or not so long as they get their work done. That being said, you will have some shitty professors. Just work hard and beat them by beating their class.

20. You will have some professors who are, to put it nicely, absolute dicks. Again: beat them by beating their class. Ace that shit then never sign up for a class with them again.

21. Find the study style that suits you best. Rewriting notes is absolutely useless for me. This semester, my study style has become taking notes in notebooks in my dorm, and just having the PowerPoint up to add notes to the slides as my profs speak. It works.

22. Have someone in every class you can text and ask questions or study with. Cooperate to graduate, kids.

23. This one is huge. You will get homesick. It’s almost a total guarantee. It may not be immediate, but it will hit and it will hit hard. Don’t worry. Nobody’s freshman year is what they say it is. Yeah, you’ll find your group, but chances are you’ll spend the first semester drifting and asking if you’re the one person in the entire world who isn’t enjoying things. You’re not. We’re all in the same boat. Just keep drifting. You’ll find your group eventually. Who knows - they may be closer than you think.

24. Sororities and frats may seem like all that, but - at my university at least - while they’re huge here, they’re also a major pain in the ass. Rush for sororities was literal hell, and one girl I was talking to the other day said she lost 12 pounds in just that one week. Know what you’re getting into.

25. If you’re single and remain that way, don’t worry. There’s nothing wrong with you there either. People move at their own pace. My best friend has, like, 5 guys wanting to date her right now, and I have absolutely no one (that I know of). Don’t worry. Just keep doing what you’re doing. The right one will come eventually.

26. Know what you’re worth.

27. Get to class at least 5 minutes early. I’m always running to my 8:30 and it sucks.

28. 8:30 classes aren’t that bad. As someone who is most definitely not a morning person, I have yet to complain. It’s nice to get up and get going for the day.

29. 6:00pm classes suck. Mine ends at 7:15 and then I still have to go get dinner, which is in the opposite direction from my dorm, get back to my hall, shower, eat aforementioned dinner, do schoolwork and study, etc. It’s a pain.

30. Find something small you can do that makes you happy. For me, it’s Korean. I started teaching myself Korean halfway through last semester and I like to think I’m doing pretty well for someone self-taught. I also have a stack of notecards that hits the 26oz mark on my Nalgene. It’s kind of insane.

31. BUDGETING IS SO FREAKING IMPORTANT. I cannot stress this enough. And so is saving. If you get a paycheck or an allowance of any kind, put some of it away in savings every time you get paid, and try not to touch that savings money.

32. Be open to everyone else’s likes/dislikes/thoughts/feelings/opinions. You don’t have to agree or like it, but respect it. You’ll meet people who have all different hobbies, opinions, religious/political views. As long as they’re not out there preaching that we should all just kill each other or whatever, idk, respect it. Respect Dems if you’re a Republican; respect Republicans if you’re a Democrat. Respect Muslims and Jews and Christians/Catholics and Hindus and Buddhists and anything else you can think of. Respect.

33. Keep your dorm neat. Make your bed every day. Clean room=clean mind. Clean mind=better studying.

34. Do your laundry every week, y’all. Shit gets nasty.

35. Only bring what you need. If you find after 2-3 weeks you haven’t used it, send it home. Dorms are tiny. You need all the space you can get.

36. If you’re religious, find your religious community. It will be a great reprieve a few times a week. I was never overtly Catholic, and I’m still not, but it’s nice to get away for an hour a week. Plus after 5pm mass Sundays they feed us home-cooked food, and it’s freaking good. Take advantage of that.

37. Find a place on campus that reminds you of why you’re there when you have doubts or you’re feeling homesick. For me, it’s the first place I ever saw when I stepped on campus: the main lawn. It’s super relaxing and it’s a great reminder that I’m there to kick ass, get a degree, get a commission, and become the person I’m supposed to be in the process. It can also mean the difference between contemplation and a total breakdown. TL;DR: find a place that eases your mind.

That’s all I can think of right now, but if you have more that I missed, feel free to add on! Again, this is all from my own personal experience, and if you find that you don’t agree with one, okay. One size does not fit all. But this is just what I recommend. Have fun in college and good luck! Remember: YOU GOT THIS THING!

#studyblr #studyspo #college #college prep #things i learned #tips for college #college tips #self care

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missweber · 5 years ago

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Lardo Week Day 2: accident

Here is my entry for day 2 of @lardo-week

Chapter 2 - happy accidents

(chapter 1 can be found here)

One of Larissa's very first studio assignments at Samwell didn't actually take place in the studio. To fulfill the assignment, they had to go to a sports practice and fill a number of sketchbook pages with gesture drawings of athletes in motion.

As an assignment, it was a darned good one that she normally would have enjoyed. The only problem was that Boston was in the middle of a heat wave and even teams that had practice at ass-o-clock in the morning would be sweating through their jocks and/or sports bras in five seconds flat.

In short, yuck.

(Also, Lardo had already learned the hard way that charcoal and copious amounts of sweat were not mixy things.)

She skimmed through the athletic calendar looking for something like 'competitive air-conditioned yoga' but figured in the end that ice hockey—emphasis on the ice—was her best bet.

If it hadn't been for her phone's battery conking out in the middle of the night and killing her alarm, she would have gone to the women's practice at o' dark early. As it was, she got to Faber after the men's team had already taken to the ice.

She got a few curious glances from the players, but their captain (she assumed it was the captain) barked at them to pay attention to the ice, not the stands. One of the coaches nodded at her sketchbook and asked, "Professor Davila's life drawing class?" without expecting an answer.

It wasn't until she actually started drawing that Larissa realized why she was the only member of her class who had taken advantage of the cool of the rink. Yes, she had heard of the hockey team's general loudness and obnoxiousness, but that wasn't the problem. The shouts and insults ('chirps,' she would later learn) were a comfortable part of the background along with the swish-swish-swish of the skates and the clatter of the sticks.

The problem was more fundamental than that, and brought with it an echo of her mother's protests of you need to focus on what's practical, sweetie. You need to set yourself up for a successful life.

Practical would mean staying at home and taking the T to school every day. Practical would mean constant, well-meaning, 'we just want the best for you' commentary on her choice of studies.

Well, fuck practical. And what did it mean to be successful, anyway?

A small, exhausted part of her said that successful people didn't have to work at one of the campus dining halls to make up for what her partial scholarship and college fund wouldn't cover.

And drawing hockey players wasn't the most practical way to succeed at this particular assignment.

Larissa was debating whether or not she should just give up and join the majority of her class at the soccer fields when someone scraped to a halt right in front of where she was sitting.

Whoever it was had better not ask her to 'draw him like one of your French girls,' or he would need a gastroenterologist to remove his hockey stick from his ass.

"What?" she snarled.

The player wasn't anyone Larissa had met before. She would have recognized that mustache for sure. His eyes were wide, and he held his stick in front of him in both hands like a talisman.

"Wow," mustache-guy said. "I was going to tell you to try to capture my left side, because that's the best angle if you want to do a portrait of me, but _damn _if that isn't the single scariest death glare I have seen in my life! Jack! C'mere! You gotta see this death glare!"

The captain skated over, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "Leave the nice artist alone, Shits." He turned to Larissa. "I apologize. In advance. For everything."

He grabbed mustache-guy by the back of the jersey and skated off with him in tow.

Mustache-guy flailed and squirmed, but not to the point of actual resistance. "Jaaaaaack! You need to stop and talk to the scary lady! That death glare! Put her on D, and we'll have Brown shaking in their skates!"

The captain (Jack?) mouthed a silent 'sorry!' at her before turning his attention back to practice.

She had just made up her mind to go draw soccer players for the rest of her assignment when the practice finally ended. She flipped through her sketches and was pleasantly surprised to find that she had nearly two-thirds of what was required.

She was less pleasantly surprised when mustache-guy scraped to a stop in front of her again.

"Um, I know this is really fucking forward of me, and you are totally free to say no—and wow, it's kind of fucked up that I even have to say that, isn't it?—but anyway..."

Oh, god. He was going to ask her out, wasn't he?

"I absolutely get it if you don't want to, completely one-hundred-percent get it, but could I see what you've been drawing?"

Lardo could only stare for a moment. "It's just gesture drawings," she blurted out even as she shoved the sketchbook at him.

"Gesture drawings?" He pulled off one of his gloves with his teeth so he could turn the pages. She could see how he looked at each little sketch in turn, not just skimming, but looking.

"Yeah. We're supposed to focus on capturing how the human form looks in motion."

The figures were roughly blocked out, with the occasional thick and swooping line showing the curve of a spine or sweep of a leg.

"These are really neat," he said after a while. "I mean, they're kind of scribbly in parts, but you can really see what's happening. Hell, I can even tell who some of these guys are!"

'Jack' was a tall, solid figure with classical proportions. "You can see how this this fucker just moves with power! Ah! Adonis made manifest on earth! And that's Johnson if I ever saw him," he said, pointing at a mess of foreshortening.

That was the goalie, captured as he dropped to block a puck, practically folding himself into something out of an Escher drawing in the process.

"Rans and Holster," he said, pointing at a tangle of overlapping forms that were still two separate people even though they occupied the same space.

He turned to look through the pictures again, which was more flattering than Larissa would ever admit to anyone, while most of the other players headed towards the locker room.

"Thanks," she said. "I'm glad to hear that they work. I was beginning to think that coming here was a mistake."

The betrayed look on his face would have been hilarious if it wasn't so heartbreaking. "Mistake? No! There are no mistakes! Only happy accidents!"

Larissa laughed. "Did you just quote Bob Ross at me?"

"Please don't tell me you're one of those snobby art students who–"

"Bob Ross is awesome the way Mr. Rogers is awesome," she said plainly. "I'm not into his actual paintings, but you gotta love the way he loves what he does."

"Amen," mustache-guy said, sounding more serious than she would have expected. He was looking at his captain—Jack—as he said it.

(It was only after Larissa became Lardo that she would understand even half of what was going on with that look and everything behind it.)

"So why were you worried coming here was a mistake? Please tell me that none of the guys were douchewaffles! I know we're loud, but it's like we're the lacrosse team!"

"Ha! No, Professor Davila warned us away from them. What threw me were the pads. They make it hard to see what's actually going on, anatomy-wise."

She almost regretted that the instant she said it, because she could imagine all of the lewd comments she had just set herself up for.

That didn't happen. All that happened was that Mustache-guy nodded solemnly and Captain Jack glanced over to make sure he didn't need to come over and apologize for something.

"I see. It must be like trying to draw the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man."

"Close enough." She didn't laugh, but she did let a hint of a smile show through the unimpressed look.

"By the way, you can call me Shitty. That's not my real name, but that's actually worse."

"Hey, Shits!" Jack called out. "Ask her if she's interested in the team manager job!"

"Team manager? Like managing your team? The hockey team?" she asked Shitty. Strangely, the name fit him, but not in a bad way.

Shitty nodded.

"I don't know how to skate!" she shouted at Jack.

Jack stared at her as if she had just sprouted two extra heads and a tail.

Shitty cackled.

Johnson, who had been hanging around doing not much of anything, muttered something about not being needed after all and left the rink.

Shitty wiped away teas of laughter. "Aw... I think you broke Jack's poor, Canadian brain. Anyhow, skating isn't needed for the job. Dealing with stinky hockey equipment, on the other hand, is."

She shrugged. "It can't be worse than what I smell like after working the deep-fryer all afternoon. What's the pay like?" she asked, because being practical did have its time and place.

The pay wasn't much, but it was better than what the dining hall offered.

"Well, I'd say this was a successful drawing session," she said as they exchanged fist-bumps.

"Yup. Here's to happy accidents!"

#omgcp #omgcheckplease #my fic #lardo duan

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let-it-raines · 6 years ago

Text

Indirect Deposit (1/3)

Summary: It’s the oldest story in the world, isn’t it? Falling in love with your neighbor. Killian’s sure that he’s seen hundreds of books and television shows starting off that way, and he’s always thought them all to be entirely unrealistic. That is until he started getting to know Emma Swan, who just so happens to live across the hall from him, and he has absolutely fallen for her in a way that he hasn’t fallen for anyone in a long time.

It’s the oldest story in the world...until it isn’t. Because it’s not just Emma he’s fallen in love with. It’s her unborn child too, and while everyone he knows thinks he’s crazy for falling in love with a pregnant woman, he knows that he’s not. Some things in life are worth taking the risk.

Some people are worth loving. And some things about life may surprise you.

A/N: This fic wouldn’t happen without @csmarchmadness and @wellhellotragic. When you guys get to the end of the chapter, some things may seem familiar, and that’s because this was her fic idea that she has graciously passed onto me to write. She’s very kindly given me lots of ideas that have been incorporated. I know I don’t have her magic touch, but I hope I do it justice! Seriously, thank you for letting me write this even when it made me want to pull my hair out! All of the credit goes to you, lovely!

Found on AO3: | Here |

Tag list: Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for the next few parts!

@nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian

The door shakes behind him as he enters his apartment, the pounding sound it makes when it locks into its frame reverberating in his ears while he throws his backpack down on the floor, not caring for its contents or the fact that it’s not his usual spot to keep his things. On any other day, he’d carefully take off his shoes, straightening them next to the door, and purposefully unstrap his bag from his back and place it on the bench seat that he keeps in the entryway of his apartment.

But today is not any other day.

It started as any other day, his alarm going off at six, early enough for him to go for his run and get back home in order to take a shower and get ready for work, arriving on campus a little after eight for his office hours. Very rarely does a student ever come talk to him during Monday morning office hours, which is partially the reason he timed them that way. It gives him time to grade exams, not being a fan of scantrons and their automatic grading when he’s an English professor who gives exams that mostly deal with essays, without distractions as well as helping to fulfill the Boston university-required demands of him having ten hours spent in his office per week.

As luck would have it, though, he had five students waiting for him the moment he walked up to his door, each and every one of them nearly jumping from their seats on the floor and thrusting their newly graded essays in his face claiming how unfair his grading was. But it’s not. He knows that it’s not. If anything, he’s overly kind with his assignments. He’s thirty-three, not that far removed from university himself, and he remembers how much he despised professors who failed students simply because they could. So, usually, he’d take a look at these papers and consider their protests, normally deciding to help the kids, but he knew for a fact that these five never showed up to class, never came to any of his extra lectures, so he said no, not today.

They were not pleased with him, but he didn’t care. He’s lenient, but you have to show up to class or prove that you can do the work on your own if you decide not to come.

That only soured his mood a bit, something he figured he’d forget about, but then his classes were all difficult that day, no one paying attention to a single word he said, no one engaging in discussions, and all of the passion he usually held for teaching seemed to fade away. But it was just a bad day, nothing that a glass of rum at home wouldn’t fix, and then his ex showed up outside of his classroom.

What. The. Hell.

He and Milah broke up seven months ago after he walked in on her, in their apartment, sleeping with another man. That’s a sight he’s never quite forgotten, as much as he’s tried, but it often plays in the back of his mind when he’s up late at night and can’t sleep. He told her to get out then, and that’s the same thing he told her earlier today when she decided to beg for his forgiveness, to ask to come back talking about how much she still loved him. How fucking dare she try to come back, to even think that he’d want to be with someone who broke his heart and betrayed his trust in such a way that he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to recover from it all. He had loved her, still loves her really, and he’s never quite understood where he went wrong, where they went wrong. They had a good, solid relationship…and it simply disappeared because of something Milah called one stupid mistake. Maybe he should have listened to her, maybe he should have thought about trying again, maybe it really was simply one moment of weakness, but he doesn’t think he’s ready to try to build up that trust again. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

So her face and the memories of her cheating on him replayed on his entire drive home, the only reprieve (or not) being flashes of memories of all of the good times too, and as he walked into his apartment, the place he has completely redone to his own tastes since they broke up, all he can do is see her face and the laughter lines he used to love so much. So no part of him cares if he keeps the place as neat as usual. No one is here but him anyways.

He doesn’t want anyone here but himself.

Huffing, he walks into his kitchen, bypassing the pitcher of water in his fridge and grabbing a bottle of beer. He feels like downing an entire bottle of rum, and not the cheap stuff, but he’s not twenty-one anymore. Hangovers are a bitch, and he’s still got to edit his lectures for the rest of the week, not content with the premade ones his mentor sent him when he took over British Literature at the beginning of the fall semester last month.

He’d really like that rum.

The liquid is refreshing as he tilts the bottle to his lips, letting the alcohol run down his throat, doing little more than giving him the smallest sense of control. But after he downs the one bottle, he tosses it into the bin and pours himself the glass of water he’d just turned his nose up on, grabbing an apple and making his way to his living room, promptly settling himself down onto his couch and turning on his TV, not caring what’s on as long as there’s some kind of noise besides his breathing and the cars driving by outside.

“God,” he groans, running his hand through his hair and squeezing his eyes closed in an attempt to shut everything out. “What the hell kind of day is this?”

Almost as if the world is out to get him, he hears a knock on his door. The absolute last thing he wants to be doing is talk to someone else, but then they knock again and he stands from the couch, adjusting his pants and shirt before making his way to the door, looking through the peephole and seeing his neighbor from across the hall standing outside of his door with her teeth tugging on her bottom lip and her hands behind her back.

Undoing the locks, he swings open the door, catching it to make sure it doesn’t slam into the wall, not wanting the knob to make a dent.

“Hello, Swan,” he greets, forcing a smile onto his face. He may be right pissed at life today, his mind running the paces of the entire spectrum of emotion, but she doesn’t deserve any of his ire.

They don’t talk often, nothing more than hellos and the occasional friendly small talk. He knows that she’s a lawyer, that her father was a police captain who was murdered in the line of duty on a case that he wasn’t even supposed to be out in the field for. He only knows that because it was all over the news, every local channel covering the story for weeks on end, Emma’s sullen face in the background of every shot. She was always alone, no one standing by her, and in her he always saw himself when he was twelve, standing alone at his mother’s funeral while Liam gave the eulogy. The dead parents club is a club you don’t want to be in, and every time he meets a new member, he wishes that he hadn’t.

But that was five years ago, and he didn’t know her then. He doesn’t truly know her too much now. She just moved into his building a little over a year ago. He figured someone with her kind of money could live in a nicer apartment, not that their places aren’t nice, but they’re not exactly peak Boston real estate. He can only really still afford the place on his own because of the money his mum had put away for him and the extra jobs he picks up.

“Can I use your bathroom?”

That takes him aback, the way she blurted the words out not at all what he was expecting, but before he even gets the chance to answer, she’s pushing past him, running down the hallway and swinging open his bedroom door and disappearing from sight.

This day could not possibly get any weirder.

Sighing, he closes his front door and quickly makes his way back toward his bedroom, not knowing what to expect. She’s nowhere to be seen until he hears the sound of dry heaving from the bathroom.

So this day could get weirder.

He should honestly write a book of his own documenting all of the unbelievable things that happen in his life. Forget writing about academia when he has a best seller about his ex-girlfriend showing up back in his life and making him want to vomit only to have his neighbor actually vomit in his bathroom.

Top of the best seller list. No doubt.

It might need a bit of padding, some more plot, maybe something more unexpected happening, but it’s got potential.

“Love.” He knocks on the door, not really sure why he’s asking for permission to enter a room in his own home, but nothing quite makes sense today. “Swan, are you okay?”

She doesn’t respond, and he can still hear the noise emanating from the other side of the door. Not really sure what to do, he turns the knob, pulling the door open to find Emma collapsed on the floor, her arms resting on the lid of the toilet. For some reason his first thought is that he’s relieved that he cleaned the bathroom Saturday morning.

“Shit, Swan,” he groans, walking toward her and squatting down next to her, tucking her hair behind her ears so that it doesn’t fall into her face or the vomit that he’s attempting not to smell. “Are you okay?”

“Obviously not,” she snarks, her voice shaky and not at all as solid as it usually is, at least from his limited experience of talking to her about sales at the grocery store down the street. “I need – ” she dry heaves into the toilet again, the sound causing his stomach to roll, but he tries to calm himself down by focusing on Emma, holding her hair back and rubbing his hand in soothing circles up and down her back. It’s been awhile since he’s had to soothe someone through something like this, and usually it’s a buddy who’s had too much to drink, but the mechanisms are always the same.

When she’s finished, she leans back against his bathtub, her face covered in a sheen of sweat and all of her color has been completely drained from skin. She looks miserable, and he has no idea what’s going on. So he flushes the toilet and washes his hands, scrubbing up and down his forearms until he feels clean enough. He’s not sure if he’ll ever feel clean enough, so he can’t imagine how Emma must feel. He grabs a washcloth and wets it with cold water, squeezing it out before squatting down in front of Emma and handing it to her.

“Thank you,” she sighs, taking the cloth and dabbing at her face, letting the cloth fall to the floor before she takes her hair, the strands seemingly never-ending, and pulls it up into a sloppy bun, brushing all of the loose strands back and off of her forehead. “I feel like I owe you a million explanations and apologies before I, you know, disappear out of mortification.”

“What? What about this situation could possibly be mortifying?”

She huffs, the smallest of smiles tugging at one side of her lips before she wipes her face down again. He smiles a bit at his own humor. He’d normally find that pathetic, but he thinks he can get a free pass today. “Every bit of it.” “Eh, I’ve seen worse. My ex-girlfriend showed up to my office today, and several of my students witnessed us getting into an argument. Talk about professional.”

He doesn’t know what convinced him to share that, why he thought that would be in any way equivalent to what’s currently happening right now, and the way Emma’s looking at him makes him realize that she thinks the same. There’s not exactly a guideline for how to handle this situation.

Maybe that will be what his book is about: How To Handle When Your Neighbor Vomits In Your Bathroom For Dummies.

“Okay, so bad example,” he sighs, reaching up and scratching behind his ear while his mind runs all over the place on what to say, what to do. “I’ll come up with something better if you tell me why you needed to come into my apartment to vomit.”

Emma scrunches up her face, all of her features distorting, and for a moment all he can think about is how adorable that motion is, how he’d kind of like for her to do it again.

“Well, I lost my key for one. And I’m also having just horrible morning sickness, which is a major lie considering it’s six o’clock in the evening. This sure as hell isn’t morning.”

Morning sickness.

Morning sickness…she’s pregnant. He didn’t even know she was seeing anyone, not that it’s any of his business. She’s his neighbor. That’s all. Sure, he’s always thought she was beautiful, her flowing blonde hair and green eyes calling to him as much as her smile or the way her ass looks in a skirt when he sees her on her way to work. So he has no reason for the way his stomach twists, the way he feels suddenly nauseous as well, the way it has nothing to do with the smell of vomit. He barely knows her.

“Congratulations,” he grits out, wishing he’d been able to express more genuine joy. It’s just a shock is all. And it’s not like there’s really another way to express joy over someone else having a child. He’s not about to tell her congratulations on having sex.

But it is a weird day, so he wouldn’t put himself past it.

“Thanks. I, um, I’m sorry for all of this. I just need to call the building manager and have him unlock my door, so as soon as my legs stop shaking, I’m going to go do that.” “You can stay here as long as you need. I really don’t mind.”

“Look, you’re being nice, which I really appreciate. I was about to vomit all over the carpet outside before I dared come knock on your door. And as great as this little chat has been, I really don’t want to impose on you anymore.” “Swan, I get that, but it could take awhile for Scarlet to get here. He works another job down at O’Leary’s during the evenings.”

“Of course he does.” “So call him, and we’ll hope that he’s not working tonight, but if he is, you can stay here. You can stay in my guest room if you want. It’s got its own bathroom.”

She looks like she could vomit again before her shoulders relax and she reaches up to push her hair back again, catching all of the loose strands and slicking them down. “Thanks.” Emma calls Scarlet, who turns out not to be working, so within an hour, he’s unlocking Emma’s door, griping and moaning about how she should give a friend her spare key instead of keeping it inside her apartment. He only knows this because Will basically screams when he speaks, his voice reaching all the way into Killian’s apartment. He can’t hear Emma’s response, though, but he imagines she pretty much tells Will to fuck off.

What a day.

-/-

“Mate, I’m not bloody doing it.” “It’s been months,” Robin says, taking a sip of his water before twisting on his barstool while Roland continues to color in his book, his curly hair flopping over his eyes. “You need to get back out there.”

“No offense, but you’re likely the last person to give me relationship advice.”

“Yeah, Papa.”

Killian chuckles, reaching out his hand to give Roland a high five, the kid smacking his hand as hard as he can. That’s his best bud, always backing him up even to his dad. “See, even your son knows.”

“That’s because my son is a nosy seven-year-old who agrees with everything his uncle says but not everything his own father says.”

Roland shrugs. “I like Uncle Killian.”

“What? And you don’t like me?”

“You make me eat green beans. Killian gave me a cookie last week.”

Robin sighs, shaking his head back and forth while he smiles. “If you ever have kids, I absolutely cannot wait to load them up with sugar and leave you to deal with the consequences.”

“Considering I don’t plan on dating for a very long time, I imagine that we won’t have this problem.”

“So you really won’t go out with Rebecca?”

He shakes his head before running his hand through his hair, wishing that the thought of dating didn’t make his stomach twist. “I just can’t, mate. I’m still…I can’t. And, honestly, I’m fine with how things are. I don’t need to be with someone.”

“If you say so. But Roland is going to get older, and suddenly single Uncle Killian isn’t going to seem quite as cool.” “Please,” he huffs, rolling his eyes, “I’m always going to be cool.”

He leaves Robin’s house a little after seven, letting him put Roland to bed in peace. Most of his Saturdays are spent at their house after they go to Roland’s football games, even if he cringes a bit at all of the kids calling it soccer. He might have been in America for over a decade, but there are some things he still hasn’t switched over in his vocabulary. Others slip off of his tongue like he’s been speaking that way for his entire life, but the football and soccer distinction is something that’ll likely always stay.

He’s tempted to pull over into several bars on his way home, knowing that he’s not got anything else to do tomorrow since he finished most of his work for the next week Friday afternoon (maybe he really does need a bit more of a social life), but he’d honestly rather go home and change into his joggers and catch up on some television. To some it might make him boring, but he likes doing things that make him happy.

After he parks in the garage a block over from his building, he makes his short walk home, ignoring all of the people passing by who are going out to dinner or going out with friends. He’s spent all day with his best mate and his son, and honestly, that’s how he likes things. He likes being comfortable.

If he had the money, he’d buy a boat and spend his days out on the water reading, letting the waves move below him while he gets lost in the words that others have written.

That would be the perfect Saturday.

When he enters his building, he makes a stop by the mailboxes, figuring he should go ahead and check while he’s down here, but then he sees long blonde hair and the red jacket that she’s always wearing. It’s only been a week since he last saw Emma, since she came into his apartment, and he’s almost sure that she’s been going out of her way to avoid him. He understands. It’s not exactly a situation that you want to have to talk about all of the time. If he were Emma, he’d probably want to just forget about it.

Though it’s not something one easily forgets.

He’s just about to turn around and walk away from the boxes, respecting her space, when she turns, several envelopes in her hand that she’s shuffling. He thinks that he has time to move out of the way, to stay unseen, but then she’s looking up and looking directly at him, her eyes going wide like she’s been shocked.

So, yeah, she was definitely avoiding him.

“Hello, love,” he waves, giving her a kind smile while he makes an attempt not to cringe. “How are you today?”

Her eyes slant, almost like she’s studying him, but then they widen again to reveal the green. “Are you asking because you care or are you asking because you’re scared I’m about to vomit all over your shoes?”

He chuckles under his breath, reaching up to scratch behind his ear while he clicks his tongue, not really sure what to say. He does rather like these shoes. “Can I say both?”

“You can, but I’m not sure that I’ll believe you.”

“Fair,” he sighs, sticking his hands in his pockets so that he can stop his fingers from fidgeting. “You get anything interesting?”

Bloody hell. Why is he even bothering to speak? Everything that comes out of his mouth seems like something a teenager who’s never spoken to a woman would say. Or worse, he sounds a bit like someone who’s just never spoken at all. And the way Emma’s eyebrows raise doesn’t exactly help him feel any less awkward than he does right now.

He’s asking her if she got anything in the mail for fuck’s sake.

“I don’t think you could handle all of the interesting things I get in the mail.”

“I can handle more than you think, darling,” he promises, tilting his head so that he can look Emma directly in the eye while he runs his tongue across his bottom lip.

There he goes. That’s more like him. “Right,” she says incredulously, looking up at him before back down at her mail. “So I’m just going to go. Have a good night.”

She begins to walk away, and he’s not sure what comes over him next. But, honestly, once the words start, he can’t make them stop. “What are you doing tonight?”

Emma stops in her tracks, her sneakers actually squeaking against the tile as she turns around. “I’m just going to watch some TV, catch up on some shows. Why?”

“Would you like to come over for a drink?”

She smiles at him then, something soft and subtle, but it’s a smile. “Pregnant, remember?”

Well fuck. How did he forget that? She’s pregnant. Of course he knew that. Of course he knew that she’s pregnant. And she has a boyfriend, so she probably has no interest in hanging out with someone she barely knows, not that her having a boyfriend means she can’t have other friends. That would be ridiculous. It’s just…he guesses Robin’s words about not being alone and watching all of those people go out with their friends outside, they must have impacted him in some way. He likes being alone, prefers it sometimes, but he wouldn’t absolutely hate to have someone watch TV with him.

Probably just not Emma Swan.

“Sorry, love,” he apologizes, having to work to keep his hands in his pockets so he doesn’t scratch his ear again. “I didn’t mean to impose. I’m not sure why I asked.”

He thinks she’s just going to walk away again, but she doesn’t. “Well, there are other drinks besides alcohol, you know? I happen to be a big fan of hot chocolate.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nods, taking a step closer to him and uncrossing her arms from her chest. “And I was thinking about watching Big Little Lies. So if you have hot chocolate and like Reese Witherspoon, I feel like I might agree to having a drink with you.” “Aye, I have hot chocolate, and how can one not love Reese Witherspoon? She’s America’s sweetheart.”

“Aren’t you British?”

He winks. “That’s beside the point.”

-/-

Emma knocks on his door a little after eight, and he lets her inside. The similar layouts of their apartments must make her feel at home as she simply walks into his living room and sits down, spreading out the blanket she brought with her over her legs. He’s never known someone to bring their own blanket with them, but it’s actually a good idea. Oftentimes he goes over to someone’s house and is either freezing or is stuck using a blanket with uncomfortable material.

When the hell did he become such an old man?

He joins her with the hot chocolate he was making before she came. He only had the instant packets, not the ingredients to make the good stuff, but he’s never had the need to use anything but the instant anyways. Honestly, he usually adds rum or whiskey to it, but he didn’t tonight. Solidarity and all.

Besides, he’s genuinely confused as to what the hell is happening, so being sober is probably a bright idea. Emma’s been in his apartment twice. Once to throw up, another to spend a Saturday night watching television. He feels like there should be some kind of in between or, really, a better beginning. But it is what it is, so he’s simply going to go with it.

Whatever it is, he doesn’t know.

“Thank you,” she says, smiling up at him before placing her mug on his side table and leaning forward so that she yanks his coffee table closer to her, propping her feet up on the wood. “I promise I’ll move it back before I leave. I just have to have something to prop my feet up on.”

“I’m the same way.”

“Yeah? It seemed a little far away for you to be able to do that.”

He waggles his eyebrows, leaning a bit closer to her. “I’m a tad bit taller than you, Swan, so my legs are longer. It’s part of my devilishly handsome appeal.”

“Well, you have to have something to support that large ego of yours.” “Touché. So tell me about this show we’re watching.”

“Wait,” she begins, taking a sip out of her mug, “you haven’t even heard of it?”

“Well, I have, but all I know is that it’s about a bunch of rich women and there’s something about Audrey Hepburn.”

“And murder.” “Spoilers, Swan,” he teases, feeling lighter than he has in awhile. It’s nice to have a friend (maybe) who doesn’t expect anything from him but to watch TV. There’s no prodding into his life, no encouraging him to go on dates. It’s all purely conversation for the sake of lounging around the apartment and watching television. “Alright then, let’s watch this show where Reese Witherspoon is a murderer. I simply don’t believe that to be true after all that time she spent becoming a lawyer.”

“I applaud your pop culture references, Jones. That’s a good quality in a man.”

“Well, you could also technically be legally blonde, so it works.” Emma groans, throwing her head back against the couch before twisting her neck to look at him with a soft smile. “That is so not the first time I’ve heard that joke. You’ve got to be more original if you’re going to make a joke about my job and my hair color.” He raises a brow, the corners of his lips ticking up until he feels as if his entire face is smiling. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just that you’re pretty much the definition of blonde ambition.” “Play the damn show, Killian.”

He’s surprisingly intrigued by the show, but mostly he’s surprised how open Emma is as she talks while they’re watching each episode. He doesn’t think she realizes all of the little things she’s revealing with her statements and with the moments that she laughs at, but he wouldn’t either. Hell, he’s probably doing the same thing. Mostly, though, as the hours pass and the episodes continue, he’s as wrapped up in the show as he is with Emma. It’s an entirely inappropriate feeling, this liking her, and he’s got to stuff it down. He will not be someone who cheats, he will not be someone who has feelings for someone who is in a relationship, but he will be friends with someone…just friends. That’s what’s appropriate, and that’s what he’ll do.

Besides, this is one night. It doesn’t mean anything. She’s likely just bored and saw an opportunity not to spend her night alone, which is funny to him because she’s always struck him as someone who likes to be alone. Then again, how much can he really know about someone from only short, superficial interactions?

Not much, but maybe Emma Swan isn’t as stand offish as he once believed.

Maybe Reese Witherspoon really does bring people together.

When it’s two in the morning, Emma lets out a big yawn, covering her mouth to hide it, and when she’s in the middle of saying something, another yawn catches her. She’s exhausted. Has he kept her up all this time? Don’t pregnant women need more sleep than normal people? They do. He’s almost entirely sure that they do.

“We can stop watching, love. You look like you need to go to bed.”

“No, no,” she protests, another yawn passing through her lips, “we have to keep going. We’re almost finished. I want to know what happens.”

“Swan, you’re practically falling asleep sitting up.”

“Jones, suck it up. We’re finishing the show tonight. It’s what Elle Woods would do.”

So he sucks it up and powers on, finishing watching the show and wondering about how the hell they could end it like that. It’s not a cliffhanger, but he needs more. As the credits roll, though, he doesn’t get up to turn the television off and go to bed. No, he stays exactly where he is because Emma Swan, his elusive neighbor, is fast asleep with her head on his lap, her blanket pulled up over her shoulders while she lets out small puffs of air onto his knee.

He can’t wake her. He just can’t, not when she obviously needed the sleep, so even though he’s deeply uncomfortable, he stays how he is and lets her sleep.

Eventually, he falls asleep too.

And when he wakes up, while he’s not surprised that she’s not longer there, he is disappointed.

-/-

After he woke up alone, he tried not to dwell on it too much, tried not to dwell on the fact that he felt like he’d had a really good first date only to have his date not having enjoyed herself. He knows how to woo and charm a woman, but he’s not for everyone. If he was, well, then he’d be crazy. Or he’d just go on the Bachelor. The men on that show seem to attract several women all at once.

Not that he’d do that or even want that. For all of his bravado and flirting, for all of the times that he’s come home with a woman without knowing more than her name, and sometimes not even that, he actually prefers relationships. He prefers the steadiness of them, the friendship, the way that he gets to truly know the likes and dislikes of his partner. So the Bachelor probably isn’t for him, but if he’s desperately bored enough, he might watch it.

Maybe it’ll make his pop culture knowledge soar. Emma seemed to like whenever he referenced anything, always giggling a bit before telling him something just as clever. No, she was normally more clever. And he really liked the way that she’d look like she was so proud of herself after every joke that she told. That was so endearing.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, resisting the urge to kick his foot against his bedframe from where he’s been folding his laundry. He is in deep after one night to an unavailable woman, and no part of that is okay with him.

Wasn’t he just convincing himself that they were friends? Or really good acquaintances? It was one night.

There’s a knock at his front door, more of a pounding really, and his heartrate increases while his cheeks flush. The only person to knock on his door in the past week has been Emma, and he’s irrationally getting his hopes up that it’s going to be her again. He shouldn’t even want to see her, not after she left this morning, not after he knows that he has feelings for her when she’s with someone else.

It’s a crush. It’s like when he was younger. It’s simply a crush, and it’ll go away.

After he finishes folding the t-shirt and places it in its correct pile, he walks out of his room and down the hall to his front door, unlocking the latches and swinging it open to reveal Emma standing there still in her clothes from yesterday holding two grocery bags. What in the world is she doing here?

“So, I woke up this morning and was thinking.”

“Please enlighten me as to what the brilliant Emma Swan was thinking.”

She rolls her eyes but steps inside his apartment, pushing through him and the way he had his arm propped up against the door until she’s completely inside and standing by the kitchen counters.

“Just let yourself in, Swan.”

“I just did,” she laughs, unpacking her bags while he closes his door and moves to stand opposite of her. “So anyways, I was thinking that we definitely need to finish the show.” He opens his mouth to say that he finished it, and she holds her finger in the air and places it on his lips. “Don’t say that you finished it without me. And I thought if we’re going to do that, I absolutely have to get you the good kind of hot chocolate. And snacks. We need snacks, so I woke up, went home and brushed my teeth and stuff, and then ran to the store.”

She’s been unpacking her bags, chocolate, whipped cream, milk, cinnamon, popcorn, and pop tarts all coming out, and for a moment he’s not sure if he’s speaking with a grown woman or with a child.

“Love, what the hell is all this stuff?”

“It’s the provisions, Jones. I’m going to make the hot chocolate the way my dad taught me to make it, which is pretty much the only way to make it, and then we’re going to stuff ourselves with my favorite food.”

“Pop Tarts?”

“Well, no. I like grilled cheese and onion rings, but the grease isn’t sitting well with me right now. And I know I’m supposed to eat healthy and all that, and I do, but I really want the damn Pop Tarts.”

He picks up the box, inspecting it while Emma goes through his cabinets. They look disgusting, but if it’s what she wants, he guesses that’s what they’ll have. “Then Pop Tarts you shall have, milady.”

“I know. I bought the things. Where do you keep your pans?”

-/-

September fades away into October in the blink of an eye, the leaves morphing into warm oranges and reds all the while the air in Boston dips and chill winds begin to blow through. It’s his favorite time of the year without question, though he does enjoy summer months and any opportunity he gets to go out and spend time by the harbor, possibly even on a boat, and even though he’s spent more hours locked away in his office grading midterms than he’d like, he’s happier than he has been in a long time.

Much happier than some of his students are going to be when they get back from fall break.

He tries to attribute it to the fact that he’s moving on from all of his heartbreak in the past, that he’s not waking up in the middle of the night and seeing flashes of Milah and the life they used to share, and he’s finding a new rhythm that he likes. That he loves really.

In the mornings, he wakes and goes for runs down by the river. Some days he listens to music, other days he lets his thoughts keep him company. Afterward, depending on when his lectures are, he either runs errands or heads to work, both of which give him the same amount of joy. Usually he’s much more fond of his students, but this semester he only truly likes the English comp class that he took up teaching for extra pay.

And he despises teaching English Composition.

But his class is full of bright-eyed freshman who for some reason actually show up to class and ask questions, a lot of them begging to write about something more interesting than your run of the mill essay topics when all he’s trying to teach them is proper grammar and punctuation.

As someone who doesn’t always use proper grammar and punctuation, it’s a bit of a difficult task.

After his lectures he usually goes to his office, talking to some of his coworkers and preparing lectures and grading assignments. It’s his normal day, really, but there’s a pep in his step that he hasn’t felt in a long time. And it definitely comes from the fact that every day a little after seven, he eats dinner with Emma.

Yeah, so that’s a new part of his routine. It used to be that he’d eat alone, going over to Rob’s once or twice a week to join them, but ever since he and Emma started their binge watching sessions and he saw how dreadfully she ate at home, they’ve been eating dinner together.

He’d gotten a little carried away from himself and googled examples of diets for pregnant women, knowing that it was none of his business and that Emma was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and her baby, but he also knew from their time together that she didn’t cook. At all. And she said the things she did occasionally cook were making her feel sick. So one night while making some stir fry for himself, he realized how easy it would be to add a little extra food and have enough for two people.

And maybe after the first few times he offered Emma food, claiming he had extra, he made a little more so she’d have leftovers to take to work for lunch.

So, yeah, he’s got a little pep in his step every day.

He’s making salmon for them tonight, and he needs to get home and get it prepared. He also needs to get some coffee before he gets home. Emma’s trying not to drink any caffeine, claiming she used to drink too much of it to begin with, so he’s been staying away from it when she’s around. He can’t stay away from it completely, so he definitely just drinks it and chucks all of the evidence before she can see it…or smell it. She usually smells it on his breath.

They’ve formed a strange friendship over the past six weeks.

And he knows that it’s a friendship, he does, even if he has feelings that are far from appropriate for her. For awhile, he felt infinitely guilty, like he was doing something wrong, but he and Emma aren’t dating. He’s not doing anything wrong. There’s no cheating involved, and he would never make a move on a woman who’s in a relationship.

It’s just not good form. Not for him. He’s sure there can sometimes be extenuating circumstances that can make it be reasonable, but he just…he can’t. Not after the way his heart was ripped out by having his relationship broken apart.

But from what he’s figured out, Emma’s not seeing anyone. If she is, she’d have to only see him during the day since she seems to spend every night with him, and that would be one of the strangest relationships he’s ever seen. He’s decided, though, that Emma must have been dating someone and when she told him she was pregnant, he bolted. The bloody asshole. He’s not even sure who the wanker is or what exactly happened, but when he thinks about it too much, all he wants to do is tear the man apart. She doesn’t talk about it, though, doesn’t allude to having gone through a breakup, and if she doesn’t want to talk about it, he won’t ask.

They work how they are, and he doesn’t plan on changing anything.

He hears the knob on his door jingle, the lock twisting, from his spot in the kitchen pouring the sauce over the salmon. He’d given Emma a key last week, and just two days ago, she’d come to his door with a reluctantly happy look on her face while she held up a key.

“I need you to keep my spare key for me.”

“What?”

“I need someone to keep my spare key for me, and I don’t have anyone who lives near here who can do it.”

“So you want me to do it?”

“Are you going to steal any of my stuff?”

“No, but I don’t think anyone would answer yes to that question.”

“This is a good point. So no stealing, but I wouldn’t hate it if you left me food.”

“I believe leaving things in someone’s apartment is the opposite of stealing.”

“Shut up, Jones.”

Emma comes into view a moment later, the door opening and quickly closing. She’s already changed out of her work attire and into the sweatpants and sweater she’s been fond of lately, but she hasn’t removed her makeup or pulled up her hair so it’s like she’s a mixture of professional and casual.

He’s rather fond of when she wears her hair down. It’s long and flowing, always a slight wave to it, and it’s soft to the touch. Plus, it smells bloody amazing. He doesn’t know what kind of shampoo she uses, but he hopes that she uses it for a long time to come.

(He may have to vacuum his apartment and shake out all of his throw pillows from all of the blonde hair everywhere.)

“Hey,” she greets, a timid smile on her face. She’s holding a brown paper bag, and he’s really not sure what’s in there, especially since she’s holding it rather closely and stays on the other side of his island with it.

He continues to pour the sauce over the salmon before turning around and sliding it into the oven. When he turns around, it’s to Emma still standing there with her bottom lip tugging between her teeth. “What’s up, love? Why do you look nervous?”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Your nerves are practically radiating over your entire body.” He takes a step closer to her, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s wrong, Swan?”

“Nothing.”

“Swan.”

“Okay, okay,” she concedes, raising her hands in the air, “so I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, but some of my coworkers brought me a cake today.” “Why is that a big deal? It seems sweet.”

“Because today is my thirtieth birthday.”

“Happy – ”

“No, no, no. Okay, so I haven’t really celebrated my birthday in a long time, and I don’t usually like it. But I figured we could eat this after dinner. It’s, like, a birthday cheesecake or something. And before you say anything, yes, I checked to make sure I could eat it. There’s no funky cheeses in or anything. I just thought it’d be nice.”

He smiles to himself, shaking his head a little bit before stepping toward her and brushing a brief kiss against her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin underneath his lips. “Happy birthday, darling. I’d love to eat your cheesecake.” “How did you manage to make that sound dirty?”

He pulls back and winks before moving his brows across his forehead in the way that he knows makes her laugh. Sure enough, she giggles, shaking her head back and forth as she takes the cheesecake and moves it into his fridge.

“So what are we eating?” “Salmon and a salad.”

“Really?” “Yep, gotta cancel out all of the cheesecake we’re obviously going to be eating over the next few days. It’s good, though, love. I promise. My brother makes it all the time when I visit him.”

“So you’re telling me that you fly to London just for your brother to make you salmon you can make yourself?”

“I mean, I do enjoy seeing my brother too.”

“That seems like it’s not reasonable at all. You guys should be eating, like, tea and crumpets or something.” He raises a brow. “Darling, is your entire knowledge of London based on television shows set centuries ago?”

“Maybe,” she begins, scrunching up her face in the way that he’s really come to like, that he’s always liked. “I’ve literally only ever lived in Boston. I grew up here, went to college here, work here. The furthest I’ve been away from here is Seattle, and I only went for a two-day work conference. I was in conference rooms the entire time.”

“We’ll just have to remedy that someday. I can suggest a lot of places if you and your little one ever want to holiday somewhere.” “Oh,” she gasps, her entire face lighting up. Ever since her morning sickness has waned, he swears that she’s been glowing in all of the stereotypical ways that sometimes pregnant women glow. It could just be her makeup, but he thinks she glows a bit. Maybe it’s just him. Maybe he’s simply become delusional. Her breasts are rounding out, though. He has noticed that no matter how much he tries to keep his eyes trained on hers. “I have a bump finally. Like, one that other people besides me and my jeans notice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, hold on.” She gets up from her stool and comes to stand in front of him, pressing her sweater against her stomach to reveal the smallest of round curves. He knows that she’s pregnant, has known for awhile, and even with all of the other signs and symptoms, it’s lovely to get to see this. It’s even lovelier that she feels comfortable sharing it with him. “See? I have a bump. I never thought I’d be one of those women who gets excited about stuff like this, but I’m excited, you know?”

“Not from experience, but yeah, I know.”

“Hush,” she laughs, letting her sweater go loose. “Maybe if you were less healthy and sat on your ass all of the time, you could have a little bump too.” “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The salmon is fantastic if he does say so himself, and even though he knew that he would enjoy it, he’s glad that Emma does, especially since it’s apparently her birthday. He’s never been one to celebrate much, but he at least celebrates a little. She seemed mostly averse to the idea, but he’s hoping that she’s having a good night.

He really does.

She deserves to have good days.

God, he’s a goner. It’s ridiculous.

They spend the evening eating and continuing to work their way through the American version of The Office. He’d never seen it, so Emma insisted. Like, really insisted. She’s seen it before, but she sits there and laughs the entire time like it’s the first time she’s watching it. It took some adjusting to get used to Michael, but now that he has, he really enjoys the show.

And the cheesecake is damn good.

“I mean, obviously Jim isn’t going to stay with Karen,” he tells Emma when they’re each two pieces of cheesecake in and it’s one in the morning.

“You don’t know that.” “It’s a TV show, and he’s been in love with Pam for years. They’re going to give them the happy ending. What’s the point of television if not to give people something to root for? To give them a happy ending because life doesn’t always work that way?”

Emma sighs next to him before she scoots closer to him, their thighs touching, and rests her head on his shoulder. He feels the shiver the runs down his spine, the gooseflesh that’s rising on his skin under his shirt, and it’s the most pleasant feeling he’s had in a long time.

“I like happy endings. I used to…my life has been hard,” she admits quietly, the words almost lost in the material of his shirt, “and I thought maybe that I could never have anything happy, never have anything good in my life without having it taken away from me, but then I got pregnant, you know. And while I don’t believe anyone should have a child in some desperate attempt to be happy, I know that this kid makes me happy. It’s something that’s mine, and even though it’s hard, I love having a family again. I love getting to love someone else again.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, how to respond to her quiet admission of all of the heartbreak she’s been through, so he wraps his arm around her shoulder and tugs her closer, pressing a quick kiss against her temple. “You’ll get your happy ending, Swan.”

-/-

Emma: I can’t make dinner tonight.

Killian: Why not?

Emma: I have a doctor’s appointment in an hour, and since it’s making me miss work, I have to stay late.

Killian: Are you okay?

Emma: It’s just my 16-week check up. Nothing to concern yourself with.

Emma: Don’t eat anything good without me.

Killian: I won’t.

“Killian?”

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you just go all starry-eyed and then look disappointed?”

“I did not,” he scoffs, stuffing his phone in his desk drawer and looking back to his computer where Liam’s got a smug look on his face. Haughty. He looks haughty. “I was just replying to some texts.”

“With your girlfriend?”

“Bloody hell. You know I don’t have a girlfriend, you wanker.”

“What about that woman who you spend your nights with? She seems like a girlfriend.”

“So how’s work?” he asks, rolling his eyes and changing the subject. “You get to captain any new ships lately?” “You know as well as I do that I sit in an office all day filling out paperwork and when they’re feeling the need to put on a show, I have to get all dressed up and wander out to inspect the ships.” He watches Liam slide on his glasses before licking his thumb to turn the page of whatever it is he’s reading. When did his brother become such a middle-aged man? Even more so than Killian and his blanket preferences. “I also know that you’re changing the subject.”

“How’s Loren?”

“Bloody brilliant as always. She’s at her mum’s tonight, but I’m sure she sends her love. So you seriously don’t want to talk about this woman? Emma, right? I think you let it slip once that that’s her name.”

He sighs, running his hand through his hair before tapping his finger against the stubble on his chin. “Aye, Emma. Her name is Emma.”

“And you say you’re not dating?”

“Correct.” “And yet you’ve had dinner with her every night for what? Two months now? Loren and I are married, and we don’t even eat dinner together that often.”

“We like to eat,” Killian laughs, reclining himself in his office chair since he knows that there’s no getting out of this one. “And it’s nice to have company that’s not Robin or Roland, as great as they are.”

“So what’s the problem then? You obviously like her, and don’t protest. Your cheeks are blushing, and every time you talk about her you scratch behind that damned ear. I’m assuming she likes you or else she wouldn’t spend all of this time together. Are you really just so stubborn so that you won’t date again?”

“I’m sorry I had my bloody heart ripped out of my chest, Li. That’s not something I can just get over like it didn’t happen. I was convinced I’d found the woman who I was going to spend the rest of my life with, and she didn’t feel the same way. I still don’t understand it. It hurt, it still hurts, and if I have scars from that, I can’t even begin to imagine the scars Emma must have from her boyfriend leaving her after she told him she was pregnant.”

He knows he’s messed up, that he’s shared too much, the moment the words leave his lips. He doesn’t even know if it’s true, doesn’t want to invade on the parts of Emma’s life that she doesn’t want to share, and he sure as hell shouldn’t have shared her private life with his brother.

“The woman you like is pregnant?”

“Yep,” he answers nonchalantly, looking away from the screen so that he doesn’t have to see the way Liam’s looking at him with slanted eyes and parted lips. “She’s sixteen weeks pregnant, and I think she’s going to find out if she’s having a girl or boy today, if my googling is any indication.”

“Killian,” Liam sighs, the disappointment in his voice obvious, “I love you and support you, but this isn’t one of your best decisions. Her life is obviously complicated, and you need something simple. Because I know you. You’ll fall hard and fast and get attached to both her and the baby only for the father to come back into the picture and you to get left in the dust.”

Liam’s words ring true, but he’s not about to let his brother terrify him away from one of the best friends he’s had in years. And he’s not about to leave Emma to be alone, pregnancy or no pregnancy. They are friends, and him wanting them to be more than that won’t change anything. If he has to, he’ll stay her friend and nothing more for the rest of his life. He simply likes to spend time with her and for her to be happy.

He likes when she’s happy.

She makes him happy.

“I appreciate your concern, but you don’t need to be. We’re simply friends, and her being pregnant doesn’t change who she is as a person.”

“Just think about what I’ve said.”

“I will.”

He won’t.

When he gets home several hours later, he takes the opportunity of having the night to himself to clean his apartment. He doesn’t need to deep clean it, but he definitely needs to straighten up and dust off the bookshelves. He probably needs to wash the sheets in the guest room too. It’s been awhile since they were touched, and everything in that room is beginning to feel a bit stale. But he really won’t go down to the basement to do laundry until Thursday when he’s also got some clothes he needs to wash.

So he focuses on the living room, taking all of the books off the bookshelf and dusting underneath them all the while candles burn to make everything smell less sterile. Or like lemons. Sterile and lemons. It’s like a hospital in here.

He’s sitting on the ground in his living room organizing some of his old binders from when he was getting his doctorate that he saves for God knows what reason when his front door swings open and Emma comes into view, her favorite oversized plaid blanket wrapped around her shoulders and dragging along the ground. He doesn’t look up, just sees her mismatched socks, and continues to restack the shelves.

“Killian?”

The sound of her voice, the way that it’s strained and watery, gets his attention, and he’s immediately up off the floor, not caring how much it hurts his knees after being on the ground for so long. He’s by her in an instant, and even though she’s looking at the ground, he can see the tear tracks on her cheeks and the way her eyes are read and puffy, all of her makeup removed. And he doubts she removed it with the wipes she uses.

“Emma?” he questions, placing his thumb on her chin and guiding her gaze up to his. “Love, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?”

She nods her head up and down before leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his middle. He can feel her bump in between them, and he wraps his arms around her shoulders and pulls her even closer, letting her bury her head in his shirt as he rubs his hand up and down her back. He’s got no clue what’s happening, not a one, and the only thing that comforts him is knowing that the baby is okay. He just hopes Emma is okay too.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” she sniffles, the words murmured into his t-shirt. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to c-cry, but I…I had a bad day.”

“Do you want to talk about it? Or do you want to ignore it?” “Talk about it, but I want ice cream first.” “I don’t have any ice cream.” “Yes, you do. I put it in your freezer last week.”

He chuckles into her hair before pulling back, swiping his thumbs underneath her eyes to wipe away her tears. They’re still watery and puffy, but he hopes that changes soon. He also cannot believe she snuck ice cream in here.

“Go get your secret ice cream, love, and I will put my listening ears on.”

“You’re such a dork.”

He settles down on his couch while Emma gets her ice cream, coming back with the small container and handing him a spoon. It’s banana split flavored, and while he doesn’t love that, if Emma wants him to eat some ice cream right now, he’ll eat some ice cream. Mostly though he just wants her to know everything is okay.

After she’s eaten half the carton, she finally puts the spoon down and the ice cream on the table. It’s going to melt, but he really shouldn’t be worrying about that right now.

“I’m having a girl,” she finally says, the corners of her lips ticking up into a small smile. “I saw her on the monitor today, and God, Killian, it was like…it was like magic.” “Yeah?” he asks, and he can feel the own smile on his face. That little girl is going to be so loved.

“Yeah.” She pulls her knees up to her stomach and wraps her blanket around her knees again. “I’m really excited, which I’m sure doesn’t make sense with the breakdown I just had.”

“It makes perfect sense, Swan.”

She rolls her eyes, wiping at her eyes again. “Okay, okay, so I’m going to tell you some stuff, and I really hope you’re not going to judge me for it.” “Never.” “That’s what you say now.”

“I promise I won’t judge, love. This, like whatever that blasted gym is called down the street, is a judgment free zone.”

She laughs a little bit, and he already feels a bit better that she feels better. He’s still absolutely terrified of what she has to say.

“My parents are dead,” she blurts out, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth, the surefire sign that she’s nervous. “My mom, I didn’t…I never even knew her. There are pictures I have, pictures from when I’m a few months old, and that’s really all I have. I actually, she didn’t die, not that I know. She left me and dad, and since I don’t like to think about that, I like to think that she’s just…dead.”

“I do the same thing with my dad,” he admits, and Emma’s head shoots up so fast that she must get whiplash. He’s guessing she wasn’t expecting that. “It hurts so much to feel unwanted that you rationalize and try to convince yourself that something else happened.”

“I’m sorry, Killian.”

“I’m sorry for you too. Bet you didn’t expect our parental history to be so similar.” “Not at all. I just…is your mom dead too? Because I’m sure you saw the news of when my dad was killed, and I – I’d hate for you to have been through what I went through.” “Cancer,” he shrugs, pushing down all of his emotions. He’s come to peace with his parents’ deaths...or abandonment, really. They still sting on occasion, but he’s come to peace with them. “She died of cancer. I think we make quite the pair, Swan. So is that why you’re upset? Your parents?”

“In a way,” she admits, curling into an even smaller ball, “but not really. I mean, I miss my dad every day, but that’s not why I told you not to make fun of me. I told you not to make fun of me because well, I…I got pregnant through a sperm donor.”

Well, there goes every single theory he’s had. Like, every single one. He was not expecting that at all, not in the slightest, and he’s not sure what to say. He’s not even sure if he’s supposed to say anything. It’s really not a big deal, but she obviously feels like it is. She wouldn’t be announcing it in this way if she didn’t think so.

“I just…I have been alone for a lot of my life when I really just wanted a family, but I seem to have crappy luck in that department. And the same with guys. God, one day I’ll have to tell you about all of my shitty boyfriends. But I don’t know, I didn’t want to have to wait for a guy to have my own family. I wanted to take it into my own hands, so I did.” “That’s brave of you, love.” “Then why does it make me feel weak? What am I doing to this little girl? She’s not going to have a dad, grandparents. She’s just going to have me, which is what I wanted, but what if she resents me for that one day? What if I screw her up because she doesn’t have anyone but me because I’m alone? That’s why I’m freaking out. I’m freaking out that I’ve been selfish and have already messed my daughter up.”

“You’re not going to, not beyond what’s normal. You’re already a great mum. I promise. And you’re not alone.” “But I am.”

“I know this might be forward, Emma, but I will always, always be by your side if you let me. You don’t have to be alone.” “You say that now, but what happens when I have the baby, when I’m tired and cranky and have this loud little girl that’s going to take up all of my time. You’re young, you’re kind, and I really don’t understand why you spend so much time with a sad pregnant lady.”

He shrugs. “I like you. I like being around you. And if you let me, I’ll like being around your little girl even when you’re both having meltdowns. You mean a lot to me, love. These past few months just cooking with you and getting to know you and arguing over the merits of British television versus American television – ”

“American is better.” “So you say. But these weeks have been incredible, and I really do consider you one of my closest friends.”

Emma opens her mouth to say something, but then her lips close and she’s leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his middle while she settles herself on his lap. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t respond, just kisses the crown of her head and holds onto her in the way she’s holding onto him.

-/-

Months begin to pass at a quicker rate than they have for his entire life. He’s not entirely convinced that hasn’t entered some kind of time warp because before he knows it, he’s finished with his semester at school and on Christmas break for two weeks. He spends his time between preparing for next semester, hanging out with Robin and Roland as they take Roland around to city to look at decorations, and working in Emma’s spare bedroom to set up the nursery for her daughter. It doesn’t take him long to finish painting and building the crib, but considering that’s all Emma’s bought besides a few outfits, there’s really nothing else to do.

Naturally this means that he drags her out shopping, finding every Christmas sale that he can as he goes down the list of things every newborn needs. He’s put far more research into this than he should have, and as prepared as Emma is with her job, she’s not so much that way in other parts of her life. She kind of just figures that things will work out, that she’ll make them work out, and with what he’s learned about her, she’s not wrong. It doesn’t make him feel better about everything, though, so he helps her go shopping and after weeks of prodding, he convinces her to allow her coworkers to throw her a shower.

It was like pulling teeth, but even Emma will open up to accepting free stuff.

She has off Christmas Eve, and while she apparently had a few offers from some of her friends from work, she’s spending it with him, going to Robin’s house so they can have dinner with he and Roland. It’s not the most festive of celebrations, but for people who don’t have a large friend group or family, having a seven-year-old running around on a sugar high talking about how Santa coming is about as good as you can get for Christmas Eve.

He’s watching Emma talk to Roland about the latest episode of Paw Patrol, showing as much enthusiasm as she does when they’re in a fierce debate over their own shows, and he can feel his smile stretching across his entire face.

“You’ve got it bad, mate.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, not even bothering to look at Robin while Emma quickly glances at him with a soft smile on her face and an elf headband perched on her hair, “I do.”

She falls asleep at his apartment that night, snuggling into his bed underneath all of his covers, and while he’s sure that Emma wouldn’t mind, would probably insist that it’s fine for him to stay in his own bed, he turns on his fan and kisses her forehead, whispering Happy Christmas before he settles down into his guest room, making sure to text Liam before he falls asleep.

January passes in a literal flurry of snow, the new semester starting with everyone having to brush their coats and hats off when they step inside. It’s beautiful yet annoying, and he won’t mind when it finally starts to get a bit warmer.

He decides that he loves Emma like the pathetic fool that he is one night when she comes knocking at his door around two in the morning and asks if he’ll go to the store and buy her bride’s cake ice cream. It’s not at the first store or any of the damn stores he goes to that night, and as frustrated as he is coming home with banana split ice cream since he knows that’s her favorite, he realizes that there’s not a single other person in the world who he’d spend over an hour in the middle of the night looking for ice cream for.

She really likes ice cream.

When he gets back to his apartment, she’s asleep on the couch with the comforter from his bedroom wrapped around her, and he doesn’t even care.

He doesn’t. He just wants her to be happy. They’ll eat the ice cream tomorrow.

“Killian,” she gasps one day when they’re sitting in her living room, the both of them on their laptops doing work.

“Yeah, love? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she promises, looking over at him with her entire face aglow. “You’ve got to feel what she’s doing in here though.” She moves her laptop and grabs his hand, placing it over her stomach where he can feel a definite pressure from where her baby must be doing high kicks. “Do you feel that?”

“How could I not?” he whispers, his voice leaving him with the disbelief that he can feel Emma’s daughter moving inside of her. Emma’s been feeling her for months, but he never has. “That’s incredible, darling.” “It’s insane. It’s like she’s practicing karate or something in there.”

“Exactly my thoughts,” he laughs, moving his hand around her stomach and feeling the movements follow. “Hello, little love. Are you practicing inside mummy? I’m sure that can’t be too comfortable for her, yeah?” He looks up at Emma with a smile that immediately fades when he sees the water that’s forming around her irises. “Swan, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she insists, even as she wipes her tears off of her cheeks. “Nothing is wrong. Hormones, you know?”

He doesn’t believe her, but he lets it slide, knowing not to push her right now. “Yeah, little love, I think you really are driving your mum crazy.”

At the end of February she gives him the invitation to her baby shower at work, insisting that he doesn’t have to come, especially since they’re giving it in the middle of the day. But he’s the one who insisted that she accept their invitation to host one, and he wants to always be there for her. So he cancels his classes for the day, citing a family emergency, and heads to her law office with a bag full of small things that no one bought off of the registry but that he knows that she needs.

Seriously, he knows far too much about pregnancy and the first year of a baby’s life.

“How can I help you, hon?” a receptionist named Anna asks him when he walks in.

“I’m just dropping by for Emma’s baby shower.”

Anna’s face lights up, and she immediately gets out of her chair. And comes to stand next to him. “Oh, you must be the daddy. It’s so nice to meet you. We love our Emma, but she is so reserved sometimes. I’m surprised she’s even letting us do this.” “Ah, yeah,” he awkwardly mumbles, reaching up to scratch behind his ear while he’s led to the breakroom. “I’m not – ”

“Killian?” Emma questions, interrupting him from correcting Anna. “What are you doing here?” “You didn’t think I was going to miss this, did you?” He nods to Anna before walking over to Emma and pressing a kiss against her cheek while her perfume invades his senses. She looks absolutely beautiful today, glowing in all of the clichéd ways. “I cancelled my classes for the day. Figured I’d mooch off some of the cake and help you take your gifts home.”

He sees the blush rise on her cheeks, and she just shakes her head back and forth, looking down at her shoes…which are slippers. She must have not bothered changing back into her heels. He doesn’t blame her. Not that he has worn heels. He just can’t see how they could possibly be comfortable.

“You’re ridiculous, but thank you. Ruby’s grandmother made the cake, so you’re in for a treat.”

Emma’s definitely the quietest of all of the people in the breakroom, but it’s nice to see her laughing and spending time with other people besides him and his friends. She may claim to not be the most social of people, but he can tell how comfortable she is laughing and joking around with her coworkers, opening up all kinds of outfits that make jokes about Emma being a lawyer as well as several things that he knows he’ll be unpacking in the nursery.

Emma wasn’t joking when she said he was in for a treat because as Emma wraps her arm around his waist while he carries her last round of presents, he realizes that this has been a surprisingly fun day.

Well, surprising isn’t the right word. He loves any time they get together.

As spring begins, all of the snow fading away and green grass and bright flowers blooming again, he thinks that time really is zooming forward at an alarming rate. At least for him. For Emma, she’s miserable in her last month of pregnancy. He can tell from the look on her face every day when she gets home from work and the way she doesn’t want to do anything, usually snapping at him when he suggests something. He’s completely and totally aware of how odd their friendship is, how he’s basically in a committed relationship without being in a relationship at all, and he really doesn’t care.

Liam thinks he’s crazy, Robin might too, and while he might be, again, he absolutely doesn’t care.

Two weeks before her due date he starts sleeping at Emma’s apartment. She can only get comfortable when he’s wrapping his body around hers, supporting her stomach with his arms while she tucks her freezing feet in between his calves. He’s not even really sure how they figured this out. Like most things with his relationship with Emma, it all just happened naturally.

Emma losing her key and having to vomit in his bathroom may very well be the best thing that ever happened to him.

At three in the morning on April sixth, Emma wakes him up and, through the grit of her teeth, tells him to grab the damn hospital bag because she’s having the baby. He’s never been more terrified of anything than he is hearing those words, and he’s not even the one giving birth. There’s more screaming, crying, cursing, and crushed hands than he expected, but fifteen hours after checking into the hospital, Emma has the tiniest, most precious baby girl in her arms.

Sawyer Reese Swan.

“Hi, my name is Sawyer, and my mummy is a lawyer.” “I am going to hurt Killian,” Emma whispers to Sawyer, running her finger over her face like she’s been doing for the past two hours. “He’s making fun of the name of my sweet baby, and if I wasn’t extremely hormonal and hurting like hell, he would get a nice slap across his face. Yeah, he would, baby.”

He leans down and presses his lips to the crown of Emma’s head, wiping her hair back. “You’re teaching your daughter to be violent from the very beginning.” “Yes, yes I am.” Her eyes move away from Sawyer to look up at him, the green bright even though they’re still red rimmed. “Thank you for being here today, and all of the time. You don’t…you don’t have to be here at all. You don’t have to be so good to me, to us, and I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you.” “Hey,” he soothes, settling down onto her mattress and placing his hand over her forearm while the other tugs at Sawyer’s hat, “there is never any need to repay me. Since the day you knocked on my door and threw up in my toilet, I have been absolutely thrilled to be your friend and to be by your side. I wouldn’t change any of this.” “Yeah?” “Absolutely.” He wants to tell her he loves her, but he can’t. Not like this. He’s wanted to for months. He is absolutely in love with her, but now is not the time. He’s not sure there will ever be the time, but now is definitely not it. But he’s absolutely besotted with she and Sawyer. “You are my absolute best friend. I would say that you’re my favorite person, but that’s this little girl.” He looks down at Sawyer’s small face, the way her lips twitch, before looking up at Emma, who has a tear falling from her eye that he has to wipe away. “You’re my best friend too. And she is pretty great, isn’t she?” “She’s perfect.”

-/-

“Wow, your daughter looks just like her daddy,” the nurse tells Emma when she’s coming in to check how Emma’s healing, and the more he looks at Sawyer, the more he agrees, which is impossible. He’s very much in love with Emma and would love to be a father figure for Sawyer if that’s what Emma allows him to be, but it’s physically impossible for him to be Sawyer’s dad. Emma went to a sperm bank, was artificially inseminated, and besides that, they’ve never even slept together. There’s no physical way for him to be her dad. Emma probably just has a type, dark hair and blue eyes, and that’s all.

But it nags at him for the next few hours as Emma sleeps and he cuddles with Sawyer, walking her back and forth in the room, admiring the petite features and relaxed face that she’s miraculously keeping, the crying at a minimum so far except when she struggled latching the first few times. It couldn’t…there’s no way. He’d donated sperm a few years ago, just the one time, and it had been a desperate attempt to pay for his rent when he was in between jobs right after getting his Masters. It’s not something he was proud of, not wanting to have a child out in the world he didn’t know about, not wanting to be like his father in any way, but Sawyer…she looks like him. He can see a bit of Emma, but he mostly sees himself.

Which is all crazy. Newborns all look the same.

Is he crazy? Is this just some kind of desperate attempt to be the father of his best friend’s baby? Because that sounds like something a lunatic would do.

He is not a lunatic.

Maybe he is a lunatic.

“Hey, little love,” he coos when Sawyer stirs in his arms, her small blue eyes opening up to him, “are you sleeping well? Like mummy? Yeah? You’re already doing so well. An overachiever, I tell you.” Her small arms reach up to him as much as she can, which isn’t saying much, and he gives her his finger, letting her tiny fingers grasp around his larger one.

“I want a picture of you two.”

Emma’s voice shocks him, making him turn to look at her in the bed. She looks exhausted, beautiful but exhausted. She did a lot today…or yesterday. It’s probably five the next morning now, but he’s honestly not sure. He hasn’t checked his phone or watch in awhile.

“Why, love?”

“Because moments like this need to be documented. Come here.”

He steps closer to her, sitting down on the side of her bed while she gets her phone of off the side table and begins taking pictures, just a few before she asks for him to hand Sawyer back to her.

“Emma, love,” he begins, reaching up and scratching behind his ear, “can I ask you something?”

“As long as I don’t have to get up out of this bed, you can ask me anything you want.”

“Where did you go…to have her?”

“Huh?” “What sperm bank did you go to?”

“Weird question but okay,” she hums, looking down at her daughter while she talks. “Um, I went to the New England Center.”

Is this…there’s no way. He’s crazy. He has to be crazy. Babies all look the same. How could anyone even tell who Sawyer looks like? He’s just tired and overwhelmed. That’s all. There’s no way that she would have chosen him. There was an entire book full of donors when he was there.

“Do you remember anything about your donor?”

“Yeah,” she cautiously sighs, eyeing him while helping Sawyer latch on to her breast, this time going easier than the first few times, “of course I do. I spent forever picking one out.”

“Describe him to me.”

“Killian, what’s this about?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course.” “Then tell me.”

“Um, okay,” she sighs, running her finger over Sawyer’s dark shock of hair peeking out beneath her hat, “he had black hair, blue eyes, and I think he was 6’1. I’m not sure though. The details are a little fuzzy right now. He went to college at Oxford, which I thought was super cool. He never had braces, his family didn’t have any hereditary diseases. His mom did have cancer, but it was because she was a smoker, not something he could have passed down. It didn’t say where he grew up or anything, but I figured that didn’t matter. I’m sure there was other stuff, but I felt like those were the highlights. Good genes, smart, healthy.”

His heart is practically beating out of his chest, threatening to break the skin, and he has to take several deep, calming breaths in an attempt to get himself back to normal. He’s not sure he’s ever going to feel normal ever again, especially as his stomach continues to drop only to rise again.

“Did you know his age?”

“I think he was twenty-five-ish when he donated.”

Holy shit.

He thinks that he’s Sawyer’s father.

#cs fic #cs ff #direct deposit #cs march madness #captain swan

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persephone-chen · 5 years ago

Text

HPHM Character Profile

Thanks for tagging me @changeling-fae !

**Warning: Extremely long post since I put a lot of effort into building Persephone and her life**

-General Information-

Name: Persephone Chen

Age: 17 (currently)

Gender: Female

Nickname(s):

•Pip/my adorable Mei Mei (Jacob)

•Cursed Siblings (other families gossiping)

•Mud-Blood (students who don’t like her)

Date of Birth: August 30th

Astrological/ Zodiac Sign: Virgo

Ethnicity: Chinese/ Siren

Nationality: Chinese

Species: Witch + Siren

Blood Type: O

Blood-Status: Half-Breed

Family:

Father- Qiao Chen

•Qiao name meaning is pretty/handsome in Chinese

•As a child he was a risk taker and a bit of an adrenaline junkie

•Questioning/breaking rules and authority if it didn’t make sense and he did it all without an ounce of guilt

•Pretty popular because of his looks but his troublemaking ways made it impossible for anyone to even think about confessing to him

•Older he matured and was known to do crazy and dangerous missions all the while keeping level headed and was a great leader

•He taught his children to follow what they believe in and took caution with any ministry

•He was the oldest and had a younger brother

•He is the reason Persephone and Jacob can see Thestrals

•How he died is still a mystery

•If he didn’t like someone you would know it (he’s very blunt and not very tactful about it)

•His contribution to the family Grimoire was making a spell that could allow a species to change into another one and phase between the two at Will with no drawbacks

•Has thick skin since there was a huge expectation on all members of the Chen family

•Fell in love with Leta at first glance and was the one to confess

•The scar on his face is a constant reminder of what his younger brother did

•Despite being the oldest since he was not the family head he was sent to America to spread the reach of the Chen family

•Didn’t make any friends outside his house

•Did successfully have the America Ministry under his thumb (aka blackmail on all members at all levels)

•Job: Auror to Curse Breaker after getting second wand (Dogwood is not a quiet wand so element of surprise is lost)

* Owl: Eurasian eagle owl

* Hippogriff (tamed for transportation)

* Patronus: Bear (Learned in last year of Ilvermorny

* House: Ilvermorny: Wampus

* Wand Core: Phoenix Feather

•1st wand:

Redwood wands possess the admirable ability to fall on their feet, to make the right choice, to snatch advantage from catastrophe.

•2nd wand:

Dogwood refuse to perform non-verbal spells +rather noisy. Quirky and mischievous; playful natures and insist upon partners who can provide them with scope for excitement and fun.

Mother- Leta Chen

* Leta is Joyful in Latin considering that was where her origin was

* As a full blood Siren she got separated from her family at a young age and washed up in Japan

* A Japanese Wizard couple who recently lost their daughter to disease adopted her and used magic so she could live on land (short term) and was their replacement daughter who enrolled in Mahoutokoro

* As a child she was pretty quiet and was seen as serious in school since she didn’t want to draw attention to herself

* Since she had the highest markings in class her absences from class were ignored (When the spell wore off and she became a Siren again)

* She was the best Quidditch player in the school and training thru those Tsunamis weren’t a problem because of her Siren blood

* After Graduating and trying to avoid anyone who would try to uncover the secret she went to America where she meet Qiao

* She was the reason Qiao made a spell for the Grimoire

* She always had a mistrust for the Ministry since she was a huge secret from them

* She is very elegant and even tempered. It takes a lot for her to snap

* Her children helped her thru the death of her husband

* Once Persephone and Jacob were adults she went back to the Ocean and became a Siren and never looked back

* Gave each of her child a pearl which is tradition among Sirens

* After her husband’s death she

* moved her family to Europe to keep them safe

* Became a True Seer since they are so rare and held in high regards and would be her ticket for protection

* Job: True Seer

* Owl: Striped owl

* Siren: warm water=exceptionally beautiful use singing voice

* Patronus: occamy

* House: Mahoutokoro, gold robe (highest robe color)

* Pet: Kelpie

* Wand Core: White River Monster Spine- produce spells of force and elegance

•1st wand:

Cedar carries the potential to be a frightening adversary, which often comes as a shock to those who have thoughtlessly challenged them.

•2nd wand:

Cherry is very rare wand wood that makes for a wand of strange power, most highly prized by the wizarding students of the school of Mahoutokoro in Japan, where those who own cherry wands have special prestige. possesses truly lethal power, whatever the core

Brother- Jacob Chen

•Everyone describes Jacob as bright, cheerful, and easy to get along with but that’s just a front

•Seems nice but if people try to get close he gets annoyed and treats them coldly

• make sure he only gets along with others on surface level or enough to charm them if the need to use them ever arise

•He likes messing with his friends and making them stressed and tends to do stupid things with them

•While he seems easy going once someone messes with Persephone he’ll make their life hell and they’ll have no proof to show authority

•Like the rest of his family his grades are amazing but he is a troublemaker

•He sweet talks the female Professors as a front/ attempting to get out of trouble (example: Professor McGonagall you look amazing today as well! Did you do something different with your hat?)

•He originally wanted to be a professional Quidditch Player but after being trapped in the vaults he changed is mind

•He has an affinity for metal so became a Metal charmer (Makes snitches and incorporates magic into metal items without them losing magic over time or when creator dies)

•Professional Quidditch players look up to and aspire to be as good of a player as him

•He’ll sometimes help/ train professional Quidditch players like Victor

•While he doesn’t play pranks as an adult he likes to make people have misconceptions of his job by the way he dresses and loves their reactions of fear and wary

•He’s not as rowdy as when he was younger but he will hold grudges.

•Unlike Rakepick he doesn’t manipulate people into doing what he wants

•He despises his Siren voice because of it and he never sings

•Also for the right price among his friends he’s a very skilled part time thief. (Still liked messing with people for fun and entertainment)

•Was the ace of the Slytherin Quidditch team

•While he is ashamed of his Siren Blood he wears the pearl his mother gave him on the braid in his hair

•When he doesn’t want to put on a facade he’d go hide/hang out in Hagrid’s Hut

•Unlike his sister his fashion sense is more modern Asian street ware

•Owl: Great Horned Owl (are mottled gray-brown, with reddish brown faces and a neat white patch on the throat)

•Half Siren (hides that fact by dying hair gray. As adult isn’t ashamed and use lighter gray dye since he likes that color)

•Patronus:Buzzard

•Fire Crab- Sushi (got as pet from Persephone)

Thunderbird tail feather cores Powerful + difficult to master, particularly prized by Transfigurers. Can sense danger and cast curses on their own.

•1st wand:

Pine independent, individual master who may be perceived as a loner, intriguing and perhaps mysterious. Able to detect, and perform best for, owners who are destined for long lives. most sensitive to non-verbal magic.

•2nd wand:

Hornbeam quickest to adapt to owner’s style and become personalized Others find difficult to even cast simplest of spells. take on owner’s code of honor and refuse to perform acts (good or bad) that doesn’t go with master principles

Bibby: (House Elf of the Chen Family)

* Speaks and referees to themself in third person

* Really likes the Chen family so always does whatever they can to be of assistance

* Loves cooking/ getting items for Persephone

* Cleaning/ polishing Jacob’s broom/ items

* Cleans the house for Leta

* Helps gather info/ spy for family

* While Bibby does a lot for the family they are actually pretty shy but can be very protective of the family

* Despite their shy nature they don’t mind breaking rules/ lying to others to help the Chen family

Chen Family History

•One of the most powerful and influential Wizarding family in China

•Always has blackmail on every Ministry they’re tied to... just in case

•Every member in family will always get a second wand at some time during their life either because they lost it, got it broken, stolen, or sacrificed it... there has never been an exception

•Because of the second wand tradition many call the Chen family cursed

•High expectations is expected from all members regardless of age, gender, or birth order but not required (The family is quite nice to each other)

•When a member picks a field they always excel in it

•They are not new in breaking rules/laws or following a morally gray lifestyle

•No one knows why but the Chen family has never had a ghost in their entire history

•While they can be traditional with arrange marriages they are very adaptable so they have gone thru many traditions which has help them maintain their high status

•Has a secret family Grimoire

•During birth each member is registered by the Grimoire by placing a drop of their blood on the gem on the cover

•Over the generations the Grimoire has become semi sentient

•Each generation adds something to the Grimoire that could chance the whole wizarding world... spells, curses, hexes, potions, plant, creatures, etc.

•If any generation is ever low on funds they can use a page of the Grimoire and share it to the Wizarding world to get their fortune back (granted whatever they share is a way weaker version with drawbacks or requirements)

•Any member can summon the Grimoire and multiply copies can be an existence

•The Grimoire will not allow itself to be used for evil and can revoke any Chen member from its use if attempted

* Many go thru a process of living among muggles for a short time to learn to blend in and learn things so they won’t become heavily reliant on magic

•It is said that if a member of the family produces a Dragon patronus it is a calamity for the family which is odd since dragons are well respected and prized in the family

•Qiao’s younger brother’s patronus is a dragon

•During his time or regime the calamity prophecy was true. There was a rebellion and many of the Chen family members were killed but their knowledge,secrets, and power did not dwindle

•The Chen family is very private and if a member does wrong the family will deal with them behind close doors

•If multiple children are born from the main family one will be chosen as the head and the other sent to a different part of the world to spread their influence

•It is not a dishonor or a punishment if you are not chosen as the head of the family

•If the Head dies and has no heir the remaining sibling will gain the title

•Hence Qiao became the Head

•Among Qiao’s children while each excel in their studies the head was bestow on Jacob Since Persephone has no interest in it

•To the world the Chen family is all but wiped out with the exception of the Qiao’s family...for now

•The remaining Chen family members are currently keeping a low profile and keeping their ear to the ground to find out what happened and how

•No one knows Leta is a Siren except Qiao, Jacob, Bibby, and Persephone

•Hence no one knows Jacob and Persephone is half-Siren

•Only a few friends of the children know

•While Jacob doesn’t seem serious he takes being the head of the Chen family so serious that he ended up resenting his Siren blood until he came to terms with it when he was an adult

Affiliation(s)/ Organization(s):

•Hogwarts (Slytherin)

•Frog Choir

•Hufflepuff tutor

•Magical Creature Reserve Volunteer

•Hospital Wing volunteer

•Head Girl/ Prefect

Occupation(s):

•Magical Creature/ Fantastic Beast disease researcher/ cure developer

Magical Characteristics

•Form of Boggart: Jacob dying a horrible death over and over again and blaming her

•Form of Patronus: Buffalo

•Form of Riddikulus: Jacob doing something reckless that ends up making her laugh because the absurdity of it

•What do they see in the mirror of Erised?: Being surrounded by creatures, her family (immediate and extended) prospering, and a life with her crush

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Wand(s):

•1st wand:

-Wood: Applewood

-Core: Vampire fang

-Length: 10 1/4 inches

-Flexibility: surprisingly swishy

Description: Applewood wand users have an unusual ability to converse with with other magical beings in their native tongue. Vampire Fang Core make wands exceptional potion stirring also good with Charms and divinations.

•2nd wand:

-Wood: Ebony

-Core:Siren hair

-Length: 11 3/4 inches

-Flexibility: surprisingly swishy

Description:Ebony wood Frequently non-conformist, highly individual or comfortable with the status of outsider. Siren hair are good with enchantment and binding.

Animagus: Crow

Amortentia:

•What She smells like to others: A storm by the ocean with a hint of smoke (from a campfire) and whatever lotion she used that day

•What She smell: Max Nightclaw ( @diddy00 I don’t know his scent so I just put his name lol)

Appearance

Height: 5’ 6”

Weight: 120 lbs

Complexion (skin tone/ conditions):

* pale skin

* shimmering when in water

* can get pretty dry so usually stays where it’s a bit damp or slathers on lotion/ body creme

Hair Color/ Style:

* white long wavy hair

* has the tips and root dyed blueish green

* usually kept up in a bun all through school with her wand

* Once grown had hair half down and half up in a ponytail

Eye Color:

•Gold

•Topaz glow whenever underwater

Hogwarts Information

Worst class(es):

* Flying: doesn’t like the way the broom feels when sitting on it and how demanding everyone is in Quidditch so she half assess the class

* Herbology: as a Siren she’s more connected with water than the land

Best class(es):

•Care Of Magical Creatures: Since she always had a great love for them of course she would put in the most effort into her favorite class

•Charms: She seems to have a knack for this class and finds these spells fun

Least favorite teacher(s):

* Rakepick: at first she liked her but as time passed she got on her nerves and then the end of 5th year happened...

Most favorite teacher(s):

* Flitwick: he gives good advice/ hears her out, also one of the few professors that didn’t judge her base on her family, brother, or rumors

Quidditch:

* Not a big fan of playing Quidditch but loves watching her brother play

* Fan of the professional team the Ballycastle Bats because of their cute mascot

* She makes an amazing Beater which is usually rare among witches

Favorite spell(s):

•transformation jinx :Tentaclifor

•Patronus

•Riddikulus

Trivia (random facts about them, future job, face claim, theme song, etc.):

* Home is on an island in the middle of the lake which is connected to a river that leads to sea

* Many water creatures lurk in the lake so they always warn guest not to get in... of course it’s fine for them

* The woods around their house leads to a mountain range which houses the Basilisk, in the deep caves, Jacob and Persephone Hatched by accident when they were children

* Because of an incident where Persephone ended up in a snake pit with a high fever she learned Parseltongue from the Basilisk they accidentally hatched

* Persephone is very good at speaking to creatures (mostly water creatures) in their natural tongue

* Her mother, brother and her are pretty dense when it comes to people flirting with them since they can’t tell if people are interested in them because of the Siren effect or actually interested in them

* The only 3 times Persephone has tried to drown someone using her voice was because they really irritated her... those people being Rita, Emily, and Umbridge

* Only became a Prefect because of their Bathroom

* Is admired/ idolized by all Hufflepuffs

* Favorite prank item is Fanged Frisbee

* Really good terms with Bloody Baron

* Has attempted to fight Whomping Willow

* Is a VIP member of Honeydukes

#hphm #harry potter hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mystery #persephone chen #jacob's sibling #slytherin #jacob chen

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