#i did this during class and every question my professor asked me i got incorrect im crying

[mintypsii]

sogesoba doooddleeeeeee they won't GET OUT OF MY BRAIN

[gukyi]

the love project | jjk

summary: from running to mcdonald’s at 3am after a halloween party where the two of you dressed up as the teletubbies to timing how long it takes for him to drink a cup of monster mixed with mountain dew and iced coffee and then do fifty push-ups, you’re used to your best friend jungkook asking you to do all sorts of crazy things. but, of all the shit the two of you do, letting him follow you around for a week with a camera and take candid photos of you for a photography assignment might just be the craziest of them all.

{college!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 12k warnings: college antics, hopeless pining, slow burn a/n: me: this fic will be 10k max! also me: actually nevermind on par for the course of this blog, i hope you enjoy this fic! it was so much fun to write and it definitely got me back into the ~writing mood~. more fics coming soon!

These days, the weeks pass you by like trains on a platform. They whiz past you, the only discernible features being the beginning and the end of them, with the middle nothing but a blur. 

At least, that’s how it feels when you’re in college, and the days bleed into weeks bleed into months, and suddenly you’re one year closer to graduating, one year closer to figuring out what next to do with your life, even if you’re still missing that one general education requirement you forgot to take in your first year so now you’re trying to cram it into your schedule at the last minute.

Okay, you’ll admit it. Introduction to Astronomy is kicking your ass. That’s what you get for putting it off until junior year, when you’re supposed to have reached the point in your History major career where you don’t have to look at numbers anymore and the idea of doing basic math is absolutely unfathomable. History majors don’t do math. They just don’t. It vanished from your academic arsenal long before now, alongside your ability to interpret word problems and understand science textbooks. 

Perhaps in another universe, you would have actually retained those skills past high school, but that universe is not this one, and so your problem sets can solve themselves or not be solved at all. 

Your best friend would have to disagree.

“It’s not even calculus!” Jungkook exclaims over a mouthful of a Starbucks tomato and pesto panini, pointing to your laptop in exasperation, as if the answer has been staring you in the face for the past fifteen minutes. “It’s just algebra! All you’re doing is plugging the numbers into the formula and finding the missing variable!”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff, furiously erasing at the notebook in front of you as you get yet another incorrect answer. Who knew math could be so difficult? Oh, that’s right. You did. “You took that advanced differential equations class for fun last year. It’s not even required for your major. You’re just a masochist.”

“Says the person who convinced their advisor to let them take seven classes because they, and I quote, ‘all seemed so interesting’ and you ‘didn’t want to miss out.’” Jungkook rebukes pointedly. “Because your life would be so terrible if you didn’t take Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe.”

He’s got you there. Seven classes is a lot. In your defense, Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe was very interesting and you got a 4.0 that semester. So who is he to judge? Jungkook’s favorite pastime is pretending that taking three different computer science classes in a single semester isn’t going to single-handedly kill him.

Jungkook watches you struggle for a few moments more before he sighs, like he can’t take looking at someone so mathematically incompetent any longer. He stuffs the remaining third of his Starbucks panini into his mouth all at once like the ravenous beast he is before he reaches over the tiny table you’re sat at to look at your problem set himself. He turns your laptop towards him and grabs hold of your notebook, furrowing his eyebrows as he enters Work Jungkook Mode. 

Work Jungkook Mode is the mode of him you see most often during finals week or the rare occasions where you meet up to actually try and get work done. Work Jungkook has tunnel vision for whatever assignment is currently in front of him, which he will do either in one sitting or die trying. Work Jungkook lets his coffee get cold and forgets to answer your text messages, even when you’re sat right across from him and you know that he can see the notification on his laptop. Work Jungkook refuses to turn in anything that he hasn’t devoted his entire being to, even if it’s something as simple as a discussion board post. Some of his other friends say that when Jungkook is in Work Jungkook Mode, they won’t even try to contact him, lest their messages get lost in the flurry of his coding assignments. 

But you are not “some of his other friends.” You are his best friend. So rules do not apply to you. And Jungkook has long accepted that fact.

“Hey, don’t mess up my work—” You exclaim defensively, grabby hands reaching over the table to retrieve your notebook. “Wait, how did you do that?”

Jungkook scribbles something down in nearly-illegible font, determined to solve the problem in front of him. He thinks for a few more seconds before eventually jotting down an answer, circling it with his pencil. Holding the notebook out so both of you can see, he scoots his chair over to your side of the table, your shoulders pressed together in this tiny corner of the Starbucks, right by the bathroom, and explains, step by step, what he did. 

He does that for the following two problems in your set, walking you through the kind of math he was doing in freshman year of high school like it’s nothing, answering all of your stupid questions and giving you tips on how to finesse the system by taking as many shortcuts as possible. Teaching you things you never learned, or possibly had just forgotten. Things that a professor would think is idiotic to re-teach to a junior in university. Things that Jungkook wants you to know because he just wants you to have a little more faith in yourself. 

“Does that help?” He asks when he’s finished, still doubting his fantastic teaching abilities despite the fact that he just taught you more in the last thirty minutes than your professor has managed in a month and a half. 

“It actually does,” you tell him, pleasantly surprised. Looking back down at your notebook, what was once a shapeless blur of numbers, letters, and formulas is suddenly a clear and organized outline of each and every step to follow. “I didn’t know it was that easy.”

“Anything can be easy if you just commit yourself to learning how to do it,” Jungkook says, one of those random sentences that are too wise for a college student surviving off of RedBull and Starbucks food, the ones that always make you think Jungkook is secretly an immortal sage with life experiences far beyond your own. “Except coding. Which is hard no matter how good you are at it.”

“Aw, you can do it,” you rally, reaching up to pinch his chin in between your fingers and squeeze it tight. “It’s also too late to change your major now, so you’re stuck.”

“Wow, thanks for the encouragement,” Jungkook chides, hand coming up to rub at where you held his jaw, rolling his eyes. “You should let me help you with your Astronomy work more often. Gives me a break from Python.”

“I would have made you help me whether you liked it or not,” you tell him pointedly, because he is your best friend and he doesn’t get out of things as easily as he thinks he can. “But thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

“Of course,” Jungkook says with a good-natured grin, always so selfless and kind and giving. He practically signed himself up for a semester’s worth of TA-ing for Introduction to Astronomy despite the constant mountain of work he has himself. Just because it’s you. 

“My very own personal genius,” you muse, wrapping your hands around his arm and snuggling into his body, a whisper of a language only the two of you share. It’s something the two of you have long gotten used to, pressing your fingers all over each other’s bodies like it’s second nature. One of the things that makes you feel so certain about having Jungkook in your life. About wanting him to stay with you for the rest of time. “I’m never letting you go.”

Jungkook smiles, a warm hand coming to rest atop of your own. He breathes, in and out, chest rising beneath your touch. “Like I’d ever let you,” he says.

There is no question about it. Jungkook is one hundred percent, absolutely, undoubtedly, positively, indisputably smarter than you are. It’s something that the two of you used to jokingly fight about (because Jungkook claims that he’s a bad essay writer, even though he’s not), but at this point it’s cemented in stone—he’s a damn genius. A genius who is inexplicably good at everything. A double threat. Triple, if you count the fact that he’s built beyond belief and could probably chuck you into next week if you really, really ticked him off. 

The truth is that, ninety percent of the time it is you who is going to Jungkook for help. Whether it be an assignment you need assistance on (namely Astronomy, because Jungkook probably couldn’t help you on your Mesopotamian artifact and primary source analyses despite his best intentions), a date that was a lot worse than you were hoping it would be, or even just the right coffee to order from that expensive place on the corner. Jungkook knows how to fix everything. 

So when Jungkook slides into the seat across from you in the food court after his Mastering Photography class with that I’m in trouble look on his face, you know something is horribly wrong. 

“Are you alright?” You ask, concerned as you watch him devour the sushi takeout in front of him, stuffing the spicy tuna rolls into his mouth like they’re Skittles. His camera hangs haphazardly out of his open backpack, like he barely had enough time to stuff it into the pocket while he was making his way here. There’s a worried expression written all over his face as he fumbles with the chopsticks in his hand, losing his grip on them every ten seconds. 

It’s not until Jungkook has finished the container of spicy tuna rolls in front of them that he finally seems to work up the courage to answer you. 

“My Photography class is gonna be the death of me,” Jungkook exclaims, exasperated. 

“I thought you liked it,” you comment unhelpfully. Jungkook had been so excited to be enrolled in it, because you needed a recommendation from a different professor and you had to submit a portfolio in order to join the class, making it one of those exclusive (and thus, much better) courses. Not to mention the fact that Jungkook is basically already a professional photographer if his Instagram is anything to go by. He’s going to walk out of university with a Photography minor whether he realizes it or not.

“I do,” Jungkook insists, even if right now it sounds like the two of you both need convincing of that fact. “But this project is ridiculous. I don’t even know how my professor expects us to have the time to finish it.”

“What do you have to do?”

Jungkook sighs. Just thinking about it seems to stress him out. “I mean, it’s only really a week long. So I guess it’s not too bad. But we’re supposed to compile a portfolio of the same subject, taken over the course of the week, with them in all sorts of different poses and lighting and locations, to express a personal theme.”

You scrunch your nose up in confusion. “I might be wrong, but isn’t that what photography… is?” You ask cluelessly. 

“Yes,” Jungkook argues, “but also no. Photography is taking pictures of things just for the hell of it. Not because they necessarily speak to a part of your soul. You just like the look of it. You want to capture the scene. That’s it.”

“Oh,” You say dumbly. 

“And our subject can be whoever or whatever we want, but he recommended choosing a person because taking pictures of our water bottles in different places is boring,” Jungkook huffs, though his professor does have a point there. Modern history wasn’t made out of photographs of store windows and miscellaneous items. It was made out of people, out of events in their lives that shaped the rest of the world, out of personal experiences that changed their point of view. “But I don’t even know anybody who would be willing to let me photograph them for a whole week! I’d basically have to follow them around like paparazzi!”

“I’ll do it,” you suggest casually, because it seems like the most obvious choice to you. There’s no one Jungkook spends as much time with as you. 

Jungkook’s eyes pop out of his head. “What?”

“I’m serious,” you insist. “Think about it. You need a subject for your project that you can photograph in a wide variety of places and over the course of a week. Who else do you spend that much time with, other than me?”

“Well..” Jungkook begins, trying to fight your reasons with his own. “Would you even be comfortable with something like that? I mean, I’m literally going to constantly be taking photos of you.”

“Like we don’t already do that on our phones,” you tease, having amassed quite the album of terrible Jungkook pictures over the years. 

“A camera is different from a phone,” Jungkook protests weakly. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m just saying. It won’t bother me,” you say with a shrug. Why is Jungkook being so… weird about your suggestion? You thought he would be jumping at the offer, especially considering it means he won’t have to go out of his way to find and photograph someone else for this assignment. But he’s being rather hesitant. You watch as he glares down at his empty sushi takeout box, eyebrows furrowed in that thick, nervous way. “But you don’t have to,” you backtrack. “It was just a suggestion.”

He breathes in and breathes out, expression solid. Even from here you can see the cogs whirring in his brain, placing each and every potential result into a pro and con list inside his mind, trying to work out whether the benefits will be greater than the cost. 

Quite frankly, you don’t know what all the holdup is about. 

“You’re… sure about this?” He asks, looking up at you, determined to ensure your comfort. As if that’s even an issue. “You’re cool with being photographed and everything?”

“Only because it’s you,” you tease lightheartedly, expecting some sort of equally cheesy response. Instead, it makes Jungkook do something weird. He freezes in place, darting his eyes away from your gaze for a split second, collecting thoughts you can’t see. “Yeah,” you say loudly, trying to bring him back. “I’m fine with it.”

He inhales, exhales, closes his eyes, and opens them. “Okay then. I guess it’s settled. You’ll be my subject,” he declares, an almost unnoticeable wobble to his voice. It’s probably nothing, so you don’t think too hard about it.

“Can you at least pretend to be a little more excited about this?” You ask, jabbing him in the chest with a wooden chopstick. “It’s the first time we’ve ever gotten to be part of a project together!”

“Yay,” Jungkook says, lifeless. 

“How about a photo to commemorate it?” You suggest, reaching over to pull the camera out of his backpack, pushing it into his hands. “This can be the start of your portfolio.”

“Fine,” he eventually caves, bringing it up to his eye as he turns it on, twisting the lens to perfect the focus. Even caught off guard like this, he looks like a professional, like someone who was born to be behind the camera. He’s a computer science major but you know that photography will always be something special to him.

You strike a dramatic pose, holding your chopsticks out, one in each hand, with a wide, excited smile on your face. “How do I look?” You ask, scrunching your eyes together. 

Jungkook’s finger hovers over the silver button. “Perfect,” he tells you, voice soft and honest. 

Click.

“So, how many photos are you supposed to take for this portfolio?” You ask as you flop around on Jungkook’s bed, pretending that the open tab on your laptop with your fifty-page reading doesn’t exist. You don’t even know why professors assign readings that long. Do they really expect you to read all of it?

From across his room, you can make out the top of Jungkook’s fluffy brown hair over his sleek gaming chair, one of the ones that look like high-tech airplane seats. “I don’t know,” he says. “He said at least twenty. And no more than fifty. Which really makes me wonder if someone once submitted like, one hundred photos for this project that he had to grade them on. But yeah.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say. When you’re around a cute animal, you can easily take twenty photographs. Granted, they aren’t exactly award-worthy photographs, but it’s not a physically demanding task. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Hypothetically you could finish it in a day. But it looks really obvious.”

“Well, how many do you have now?”

It’s been a day and a half since Jungkook agreed to let you be his so-called muse, but already you’ve lost track of how many photos he’s taken of you. He loves his camera, you know that, but you didn’t realize exactly how much he loves his camera. And with you as the sole subject for his project, he’s practically letting it hang from his neck all day long, just waiting for the right time to snap a photo of you standing in line at the food court, frowning at your textbook, or waiting to meet up with him. Every time he sees you he snaps a picture, even if the lighting’s bad, even if you haven’t had your morning coffee yet, even if it’s midnight and you look like a zombie. In his mind, there are no bad pictures. Just memories.

You wonder what the hell he sees in you. 

“A lot,” Jungkook answers unhelpfully, making no effort to elaborate on that statement. 

“Have you counted?” You ask, getting off of his bed to join him at his desk. 

Jungkook doesn’t seem to realize what you’re doing until you’re standing right next to him, placing a hand over his shoulders as you lean down next to him. He fumbles around for a second, the mouse slipping through his grip, and you catch a glimpse of one of the photos he’s taken of you, a sliver of your pursed lips, the wrinkles between your eyebrows. 

It’s from the library yesterday. You didn’t even know Jungkook had taken a picture of you there. You had a stupid reading to complete last night, one that made no sense and was terribly-written, and you spent an hour just trying to figure out what the damn argument was, and Jungkook captured it. You were there for an hour and Jungkook was there too, watching you like it was nothing, waiting for the perfect moment. He was there, sitting across from you, camera at the ready. You didn’t even hear it click. 

He closes it before you get a closer look at the photo, frantically hitting the little red dot at the top corner of the window before you have a chance to ask why. 

“What, I’m not allowed to see?” You chide, a little bit hurt but more confused than anything else. Why is Jungkook being so secretive?

“No,” Jungkook spits quickly. making you raise an eyebrow in alarm. “I mean, it’s a surprise. You get to see when it’s finished. I still have to… uh, edit. And stuff.”

“Edit? You think I’m that ugly?” You tease, knowing that he probably means color correction but enjoying the way that he gets all flustered when he hears your voice.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at that, like he just realized he made a wrong turn and is desperately backtracking. “What, no! I don’t—I don’t think you’re ugly.”

You laugh, letting the sound of your voice ease the tension in his shoulders, reveling in the way his big doe eyes seem to soften when he realizes you were just teasing. He looks like a kid caught stealing a candy bar from a gas station, looks like one of those boyfriends in the viral videos where the girl reveals that she got him a present or something instead, all nervous and full of explanations. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assure him, rubbing up and down his arm to soothe him, calm his heart down. “You don’t have to show me. I’m just excited. No one’s ever taken photos of me like this before.”

“I would,” Jungkook speaks up softly. “If you asked. I would.”

“I know,” You say. You’re not sure if there’s a thing in this world Jungkook wouldn’t do for you, and you, him. If he asked, you would pluck the stars from the sky for him. Bring him back a piece of the moon. Stop time. Anything. Everything. Just for him. “I know.”

 “What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, changing the topic as he whirls around in his gaming chair. 

“Just another reading, like always,” you dismiss, because you’re positive the last thing Jungkook wants to hear about right now is your primary source reading on irrigation techniques in agrarian Europe. You don’t even want to hear about it. “But I could use some help on Astronomy.”

Without another word, Jungkook gets up from his desk and the two of you head over to his bed, where an untouched problem set waits on your computer. He grabs a notebook from his backpack along the way before sitting down next to you on the edge of his bed, bodies pressed together. Slowly, he begins to coach you through each problem, step by step, drawing pictures and diagrams if he has to, until you finish all ten problems. 

The truth is, you didn’t really need help with this unit. Astronomy’s gotten a lot easier now that Jungkook has taught you the strategies to tackle it. But Jungkook sometimes feels like a ghost when he works, especially when he’s sitting at his desk, quiet and focused and almost invisible. And call you clingy, but you like it when you can look up and see his face instead of the back of a chair, a little tuft of wavy brown hair. You like it when he’s right beside you, in a place where you know you won’t lose him, where you can hold on if things get rough. Where you can see his stupid brown eyes and his goofy smile and know that he’ll always be there for you. 

When he’s finished, Jungkook doesn’t get back up to sit at his desk. He flops down on his back, staring up at the white ceiling of his room, eyes tracing the cracks. You join him, side by side, pretending that there’s something there. Looking up at the sky would be nicer, but it doesn’t really matter, so long as you’re with him.

“I didn’t know you took so many photos,” you say.

“I never want to miss anything.”

“You should give me more warnings, next time. I feel like I look so ugly in some of them.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t say stuff like that.”

“You don’t think I’m ugly?” You ask him, for real this time. It’s not that you think he’s going to say that he does, it’s that you want to know what he really thinks. How he really sees you. You turn your head to him, back pressed against his comforter, barely a foot apart. And he turns back to you, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, big brown eyes wide and blinking. He’s right there, how could you miss him?

“No,” Jungkook says, honest and true. He looks at you, looks right at you, right into you, and he muses to himself, chuckling. “Why would I ever think that?”

At the end of the day, you can’t really be bothered to put on real pants in anticipation of Jungkook’s trigger-happy camera-taking tendencies. He’s seen you spill a boiling hot bowl of tomato soup all over yourself in the dining hall. He’s seen you at four in the morning in the library the night before finals begin, eyebags down to your knees and mismatched shoes on your feet. He’s seen you in the middle of a frat house, sweat dripping down your forehead and smelling of nothing but straight alcohol. Getting dressed up just for him would be antithetical to the very foundation of your friendship. 

You have, however, become keenly more cognizant in the last few days of when Jungkook is about to take a photo of you. Mostly because you glance up at your surroundings every three seconds to make sure you aren’t getting sniped from across the food court. Nobody else needs to see a picture of you picking up three pieces of sushi with your chopsticks and stuffing them all into your mouth at once. And, from what you can tell, you’ve been pretty successful, which either means you’ve gotten better at telling when Jungkook might be taking a photo of you, or Jungkook’s gotten better at hiding it. 

Either way, he’s got a lot more pictures of you reflexively flashing a peace-sign in his direction when you hear the telltale sound of his camera lens focusing, so you’re not really sure what that means for the fate of his portfolio. 

Besides your newfound hyper-awareness of the sound of a camera lens adjusting, the strangest part of you and Jungkook’s little project is how quickly the rest of your friends adjusted to this brand new dynamic. 

This is not to say this assignment is the weirdest thing you and Jungkook have done together, because there was once one week where you and Jungkook challenged each other to only eat bananas for every meal to see if anything would happen to either of you. Nothing did, but after that week you swore off bananas for the rest of your life and have had little appetite for them since. 

It’s more that your other friends have just accepted the fact that ridiculous, extravagant shenanigans are a necessary part of you and Jungkook’s relationship and have simply chosen not to question them anymore. At least, most of them have. 

“So, how’s you and Jungkook’s little photography fling going?” Maisie asks, and even through the phone you can hear the way she’s wiggling her eyebrows. 

“It’s not a fling, and it’s fine,” you hiss back, trying to keep your voice down as you pack up your belongings, phone pressed between your ear and your shoulder. “Stop speaking so loudly, everyone else in the library can probably hear you.”

“Good, because they’ve all probably noticed the way Jungkook’s been following you around like an unrestrained fanboy for the past four days taking pictures of you,” Maisie says pointedly, voice so sharp it causes you to look around at the other tables to make sure no one’s listening in. 

You frown, hoping your deadpan expression is audible through the phone. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Don’t you think it’s even a little strange that you’ve given Jungkook full permission to take photos of you like you’re a model and he’s some sort of weird, professional paparazzi?” You can practically see Maisie’s face in front of you, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows as she makes her point.

“No, it’s what we agreed on,” you remind her for the umpteenth time. There’s nothing weird about this. You’re helping him with a project, what more could it be? “Jungkook needed someone to take pictures of for his photography project and I thought it would be a good idea if I was that someone.”

“Hmm… wonder why…” Maisie trails off, deliberately vague and suggestive all at once. 

“You’ve been going on about this ever since Jungkook and I met, Maise,” you say with a roll of your eyes, tossing your backpack over your shoulder. “You know that Jungkook and I are just friends. Like we have always been.”

“Friends that take candid photos of each other under the guise of a project,” Maisie adds, and you can see the air quotes around the word “project” right in front of you.

“Friends that help each other out because that’s what friends do,” you correct. “You’re just going to have to accept the fact that Jungkook and I are always going to be just friends and nothing more. No matter how much money you’ve bet on us getting together.”

Maisie gasps. “I have not bet money on such a thing! This is slander!”

“Don’t think I don’t see you and Jimin’s damn Venmo history.” You pull up to the front desk of the library to check out a primary source book needed for one of your classes. It’s the first edition, and it’s battered beyond belief, but it’s better than paying for it. “Just this, thanks.”

“The only way you could convince me that you and Jungkook are just friends is if you go on a date or something,” Maisie comments snidely. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you romantically interested in someone else the entire time you’ve known each other. Isn’t that proof enough?”

“You want me to go on a date with someone?” You demand, determined to get Maisie to hop off your ass about this. 

You and Jungkook are just friends. If swiping right with someone on Tinder and getting dinner and a movie with them is what will convince Maisie of that, then that is what you will do. It’s not as if being friends with Jungkook is mutually exclusive with you going out with other people. Should be easy, right? 

The boy behind the counter tells you your book is due back at the end of the semester, and you nod your thanks before heading out of the library.

“Fine, I’ll go on a date with someone. If it’ll get you to stop trying to convince me that Jungkook and I are gonna get married and have babies,” you declare, pushing your body against the door handles as you leave, five minutes to spare before your next class begins. 

“You guys would have really cute babies, I’m just saying,” Maisie points out like it’s nothing. 

You roll your eyes, taking the phone away from your ear as your finger hovers over the red button. “See you, Maise.”

You’re barely three steps out of the library, still rolling your eyes at the Call Ended screen on your phone when a voice catches your attention. 

“Y/N!”

You turn your head just in time to see Jungkook’s devilish grin disappear behind his camera, and you don’t even have time to blink before he begins snapping away, finger mashing the silver button at the top as your expression morphs from surprise to defeat, unable to counter his sniping abilities with a signature peace sign. Even from twenty feet away, you can hear Jungkook laughing as you take the opportunity to pose for a few moments, like you really are a model and he really is your personal photographer. The sound of his giggles fills the air, music to your ears, lingering between you like dandelion wisps, blown by the wind. 

Another voice breaks you from your trance. 

“And here we have our resident celebrity and her paparazzi,” Jimin says, motioning to the two of you as he speaks to an enormous tour group of potential applicants and their parents. Caught in front of them, the heat suddenly rushes to your cheeks as you instinctively cover your face, embarrassed to have been pointed out by Jimin, whose amicable, lovable personality is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to his part-time job as a tour guide. 

The worst part is how some of the parents and students seem to believe him for a second, that you really are famous and that Jungkook really is your photographer, looking at the two of you inquisitively as you shrink beneath their gazes. 

“I’m kidding,” Jimin quickly continues as Jungkook joins you where you stand, laughing at the way you look like a deer caught in headlights. “They’re just some friends of mine who we happened to catch outside the library, which is our next stop. But don’t they look so cute together?”

“Are you guys dating?” One of the students pipes up, asking what no one else dared to. 

Your eyes widen at the notion, wondering if you and Jungkook really are cursed to always be mistaken for a couple when you two have never been, and most likely will never be one. Shaking your head, you force out a laugh, “No, we’re just friends.” Beside you, Jungkook is noticeably silent. You suppose he’s gotten just as sick of explaining as you. 

“Bummer, right?” Jimin asks his group, earning a couple of disappointed nods from innocent high-schoolers that still believe in love. “But I’m working on that, so don’t worry. Anyway, this library will be your main destination for studying, book-reading, and everything in between, and is conveniently located two minutes away from the freshman dorms…”

The conversation finally drawn away from you and Jungkook, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding in. “Weird, right? Even high-schoolers think we’re together.”

Jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes, fiddling with the settings on his camera just to keep his hands busy. The quiet makes you wonder what is going on up inside his head, makes you wonder what it is he’s thinking about, what it is you’re not seeing. Lately, it’s felt like there’s something on Jungkook’s mind you wish he felt comfortable telling you. 

“Hey, you alright?” You ask, giving him a little nudge with your side. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Jungkook says, voice soft, barely audible. It doesn’t make you feel any better. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Don’t you have class soon?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right, fuck,” you say, checking your phone only to find you have barely a minute to get to your next class. Guess you’ll be using one of your allotted absences today. “Thanks for reminding me. Dinner tonight?”

“I’ll text you,” Jungkook promises, and you nod your agreement as you dash off, determined to turn a five-minute walk into a one-minute one with the power of exercise. As you leave, you watch as Jungkook flounders outside the library, staring down at his camera and scrolling through his photos, and you still find yourself feeling like you’re missing something. What is Jungkook not telling you? 

What do you not know?

By the time you reach your class, two minutes late and completely out of breath, tardiness is the last thing on your mind.

This project was just meant to be a friend helping out a friend. So why does it feel like you and Jungkook are losing each other?

Using Tinder is easy. Dangerously so.

You’re no expert in app design, but its simplified “yes or no” mechanic has you swiping through people like it’s an extreme sport, barely giving some of them a second glance if their Tinder profile description doesn’t make you laugh within the first sentence. 

Tinder was, admittedly, not your first choice of potential date-finding methods. Call you old-fashioned, but whatever happened to asking someone in person if they wanted to get a meal with you? To showing up at their doorstep with a rose bouquet and a toothy white grin? Perhaps all of those old-timey movies you and Jungkook always watched have given you unrealistic expectations. But can you blame them? 

Even if Tinder wasn’t your first choice, it was certainly the fastest. It takes a second to look at someone’s designated Tinder thumbnail, two to read their description, and three to decide if they’re worth a swipe right. Compare that to actively meeting up with someone, getting their contact information, and then continuing to dance around each other until you finally decide to get dinner together. That’s the sort of thing that could take weeks. Maybe months. And in some cases, years.

Besides, it’s not like you had very many options at your disposal. You don’t trust Maisie to set you up with someone because she’ll probably just choose one of the many boys from her management class and call it a day. Asking someone yourself is absolutely out of the question. And, for some strange, unknown reason, the idea of getting Jungkook to hook you up with one of his friends just doesn’t sit right with you.

So, Tinder it is. And as it turns out, chivalry isn’t dead. It’s just archaic.

An hour into your mindless swiping, you get a message notification. Two hours after that, you’ve got plans with a nice senior boy whom you’ve never met. 

And for the first time in a very long time, there’s something to mark on your calendar for Saturday night.

The little blue block on your Google Calendar tab stares back at you from where your open laptop sits on your desk, the red line that signifies your current time slowly inching towards it as you fumble around in front of your mirror, more dressed up than you have been in weeks. Maisie was right. It’s been so long since you’ve gone out with someone that you’ve completely forgotten what the dress code is for something like this. A dress? Heels? Makeup?

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you will anyway. What if he’s wearing a hoodie and sweats while you look like you’re about to attend the goddamn Academy Awards? Maybe the eyeshadow was a little too much.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks it’s inevitable that you do. The door to your apartment swings open, and you can hear heavy footsteps making their way to your bedroom, that easy gait of his familiar as always.

“Hey, do you think we can just get some take-out and watch a stupid old noir movie, or something? I’ve had a day,” he shouts out, the sigh audible in his voice.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you definitely have when you turn around to see Jungkook standing right outside your bedroom in the floppiest sweater you’ve ever seen and jeans with holes in the knees, mouth agape as he stares straight at you. It’s impossible not to notice the way his eyes are blown wide at the sight of you, at the way they rake up and down your figure, like he can’t even believe what he’s seeing. It’s impossible not to notice how he seems to flounder at the sight of you.

The only thing that breaks the both of you out of your stupors, frozen in place like two criminals caught red-handed, is the sound of his hulking black backpack thudding to the floor. 

“Whoa.”

“Do you think it’s too much?” You ask, voice wobbly. God, why are you so nervous? It’s just Jungkook. 

“Too much for what?” Jungkook blinks, deliberate and slow, as if he’s determined to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “Where are you going?”

“I think we’ll have to do a raincheck for the noir movie and takeout,” you say sheepishly, pursing your lips together in fright as you force out a small, tense smile. “I’m… going out. With someone.”

“Like,” Jungkook begins, and even from here you can hear the way he stops himself, hear him breathe out every word, thick on his tongue. “On a date?”

“Yeah.”

It’s a one-syllable word and yet it takes nearly all of your willpower just to say it. Just to confirm what Jungkook’s already thinking. Just to tell him, your best friend, your ride or die, your number one, that you’re going out on a date. 

“Oh.” Jungkook’s voice is lifeless. “Do I know them?”

“No, uh, it’s just some guy I met on Tinder. I don’t know, I just wanted to see what all the hype was about, I guess. And I haven’t really been on a date in a while, so I figured I might just take up the opportunity, so we’re probably just going to go out to a restaurant and maybe go to a club afterwards if we’re still in the mood, and—” You cut yourself off, so nervous that you’ve resorted to your terrible habit of rambling to try and ease the tension. “Why? Do you think it’s too much?”

“You use Tinder?” Jungkook asks instead. It sounds like he’s shocked to hear this. 

“Yeah…” you trail off. “Why?”

Jungkook freezes at the question, but it’s not because it seems like he doesn’t have an answer. It’s because it seems like he does. Only it’s an answer he doesn’t want to share. 

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he eventually settles on, shaking his head. “You, uh, you look good.”

“You think? I feel like it’s a lot. I don’t know how to dress appropriately for stuff like this anymore,” you ask, palms sweaty as you furiously straighten out the skirt of your dress. “Should I change into pants, or anything?”

“No, no, I think that’s fine,” Jungkook says with an honest smile. “You look nice like this.”

“It’s probably been like, a year since you last saw me in a dress,” you comment mindlessly, turning back to face the mirror as you fiddle with your makeup, finger wiping away a bit of smudged lipstick or a stray bit of mascara. “I miss my sweats. Hey, whoa, wait, what are you doing—?”

You whip around to find Jungkook slowly fishing out the camera from his backpack, hand gripping it tightly as he brandishes it in front of you. 

“I, um, I just wanted to see if I could maybe take a photo of you,” Jungkook says, a small, little grin decorating his features. “Since you’re all dressed up.”

“Seriously?” You ask in disbelief. 

Jungkook nods, holding the camera out in front of him. “Just one.”

He looks so small, standing across your bedroom. He looks so small and delicate and intimate, body curled in on itself ever so slightly as he looks at you, the yellow glow of your ceiling light reflected in his hazelnut eyes, drowning beneath his clothes. He looks like he has never seen a moment more perfect, never seen an opportunity as clear, looks like he thinks that if he blinks he’ll miss it. 

Looks as if a photo will be the only way to remember it. 

And you nod. Because he is your best friend, and who are you to deny him of something so simple? Of a press of a button? It doesn’t feel like a project anymore. It just feels like a memory. 

Jungkook brings the camera to his eye, and you smile at him, soft and gentle and warm. He grins back, focusing the camera lens before snapping away. 

You wonder what he sees. 

(You wonder if it’s as beautiful as what you see.)

“Have fun tonight, okay?” Jungkook asks of you as your Google Calendar notification sounds, letting you know you have approximately two minutes before he’s supposed to pick you up outside your apartment.

You nod. “I will. And if I don’t, then I’ll come over afterwards. And we can watch that stupid noir film.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes, a shrug of his shoulders. 

“But I want to. So I will. Okay? I’ll text you,” you promise. “Don’t think I’ll forget about you.”

Jungkook smiles at your little tease, at the way you cup the side of his jaw with your hand as you head towards your front door. 

“Wait, Y/N,” Jungkook sputters out, running after you. He reaches you right as you get to the door, hand grasping the doorknob. You turn to look at him, blinking. “I hope tonight is everything you dreamed of.”

There is something so distinctly sad in his voice. It makes you wonder who has broken his heart. Makes you wonder what you can do to fix it.

“Even if it’s not,” you say to him, taking his hand in your own and squeezing it tight, reminding him that, no matter what, you’re still here. “I know you’ll always be there to take care of me afterwards.”

Your phone buzzes with a message from your date, and you scurry out the door. 

For some reason, there’s a part of you that wishes you never even left. 

The date is okay. Not bad, but nothing to write home about. By the time you finished eating, it was obvious neither of you had any interest in continuing the night elsewhere, whether it be a club or a karaoke bar. He pays for your meal despite your insistence that you can handle the check perfectly fine on your own, thanks you for a nice night, and drops you right back at your apartment. And so goes your one and only Tinder experience, blowing away like a leaf in the wind. 

You look down at your phone. It isn’t even nine o’clock yet. 

[November 7th, 8:48PM]

You: you still game for that movie?

[November 7th, 8:50PM]

Jungkook: you finished your date already?

You: is that a yes or a no

Jungkook: my door is always open, you know that

You: you’re gonna get robbed one day and it’s gonna be by me You: i’m coming over

The walk from your apartment to Jungkook’s is six minutes and thirty seconds on a good day, and seven minutes and fifteen seconds on a bad day, which is usually dependent on if the traffic light over the main road has decided to be extra slow or not. You could walk the damn route in your sleep if you really wanted, having done it so many times in the last year and a half, ever since he moved out of on-campus housing and into his own place.

Tonight, it takes you nearly eight minutes to get to his apartment, but you mostly chalk that up to the heels you’re wearing. If you cared any less about your dignity, you’d probably take them off and walk barefoot like a defeated heroine in a romance movie, shoes dangling from your fingers as they hang low by your side. 

But you aren’t defeated. You didn’t have the world’s most spectacular date, but the night isn’t over just yet. 

Jungkook’s waiting at his front door by the time you arrive. 

“Eight minutes, huh? You’re getting old,” he asks snidely, looking down at the invisible watch on his wrist. 

“Your counting is just off,” you retort easily, falling into that same friendly rhythm, that familiar little beat that the two of you share. You push past him and into his apartment, instantly feeling more at home, shoulders sinking and heartbeat soothing as you soak in the scent of his room, of his home, of him. 

“How’d it go?” Jungkook asks, eyes hopeful as they watch you tug off your heels. They were hardly three inches tall and yet you still want nothing to do with them. 

You shrug. “Eh. It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Jungkook asks, sounding seriously upset for you. Upset that you didn’t have a good night even after you promised him that you would. Upset that it didn’t turn out to be everything you wanted. 

“I don’t know,” you admit, looking over at him, dejected. “It just—I just had this feeling that it wasn’t going to work out.”

Jungkook scowls to himself, eyebrows furrowing like he’s trying to figure out what exactly you mean by that. And the truth is, you’re not sure either. The date was fine, and he was nice, but even when you first met it felt like you weren’t going to get what you wanted from him. Like you were just going on the date to go on the date. Like you already knew that it would mean nothing. 

Jungkook was going to be waiting for you at the end of the night whether it went amazingly well or terribly bad. And knowing that, strangely enough, almost made you want the date to be horrible. Like it would make seeing Jungkook afterwards that much sweeter. 

“Oh,” Jungkook says lamely. “Well, I’m sorry. It seemed like you were really looking forward to it.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him. “Can we just watch this movie now and make fun of how sexist it is? Please?”

To that, Jungkook easily agrees. As he’s queueing up the movie, you raid his closet for a hoodie and sweatpants, desperate to strip yourself of your dress and tights and cozy up in clothes that are much more appropriate for your comfort level. At this point in your friendship, Jungkook doesn’t even question it when he sees you march into his room, fishing through his closet and drawers for your favorite matching set of his, this grey pair that he’s worn so much it still smells like him even after it’s come right out of the wash. 

He only stares back in awe when he sees you emerge from his bedroom wearing them. 

��Ready?” You ask, breaking him from his resolve.

Jungkook blinks wildly from where he’s seated on his dinky old couch, as if to clear his vision. “What? Oh, yeah, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Then hurry it up, Mister,” you demand, sitting down next to him and curling into his body. It’s instinctual, at this point, wanting to be close to him. To feel the warmth of his body radiate upon your own. To feel his chest beneath the palm of your hands, his arm wrapped around your side. “All good?” You ask, looking up at him. 

Jungkook looks down at you, and you swear, you’ve never seen him more at home. “Always, when I’m with you.”

The movie is predictably good and predictably sexist, but your favorite part by far is when Jungkook reaches around on the coffee table in front of you for his camera, holding it up to his eye and snatching a picture of the television, the film grainy like an old polaroid, faded like an antique photograph. He clicks away at the scene in front of him before turning on you, the lens so close to your face you’re almost certain all he’ll manage to capture is your nose. You laugh, pushing yourself away from him as he snaps, and snaps, and snaps, image after image after image, until his camera battery has died and there’s no more room left on his card. 

“Guess I’ll have to charge this thing, then,” Jungkook sighs as he declares his camera dead, screen black. 

“You aren’t going to include any of those, are you?” You ask, an eyebrow raised. 

Jungkook shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t you have enough?” You deadpan, thinking back to the hundreds of photos Jungkook must have taken of you over the past week, and even more that you don’t know about. There’s certainly no shortage of them in his current camera inventory. That’s for sure. 

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. He stretches out an open arm, and you don’t have to think twice about falling into it, letting him wrap you up in his hold, curling into his body. 

The black television screen crackles before you, DVD player waiting for Jungkook to turn it off. There’s no need for either of you to look up at each other. Not when you’re strung together like this. Not when you already know exactly where he is. 

“It’s due on Monday, right?” You inquire softly, fatigue slowly overtaking you. 

“Yeah. I’m almost finished, just have to do some curating and editing.”

“I want to see it.”

“What? My project?”

“What else?”

“It’s just a project, it’s not that exciting.”

You pull away from him at that, looking up at him with furrowed brows and scrunched-up nose. “What do you mean ‘it’s not that exciting’? It’s your photography project. You’ve spent a whole week working on it.”

“Yeah, but it’s just you, you know?” Jungkook objects. “Like, you know what you look like. It’s just going to be a bunch of photos of you, like I said it’d be.”

“That’s exactly why I want to see it,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You took pictures of me for a whole week. Don’t you want to share them with me?”

“If you really want some of the photos, I’ll send you some, but you don’t need to see the whole portfolio, you know? It’s just for my professor,” Jungkook says stiffly, surprisingly resistant. What’s the big deal? It’s not like there will suddenly be new information about you that you didn’t know before. You want to see what Jungkook has been working tirelessly on this entire week. Where’s the harm in that?

“Why are you getting so hung up on this? It’s just photos,” you say with a frown. 

“Why are you getting so hung up on this?” Jungkook challenges back. 

You sigh, sinking back into him, defeated. Even a little disagreement like that is enough to knock the wind out of the both of you, so you decide not to push it much further. 

“Do you promise to show me eventually?” You ask, hopeful.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you almost expect him to say no, considering how protective of his work he’s being. “One day,” he declares. “One day, I will.”

And that’s good enough for you. 

You lose track of how much time passes after that, feeling your eyelids getting heavy as the warmth of his body envelopes you, drowsiness settling in. There’s just something about this moment, right here, right now, that makes you want to fall asleep.

You’re on the verge of slumber when Jungkook’s voice breaks through.

“Why didn’t you think your date would work out?”

“I don’t know,” you respond sleepily, barely even opening your eyes. “It just felt wrong.”

“How do you know what feels right?”

Good question. Perhaps if you had the energy, you’d answer it. But right now, all you can think about is how cozy you feel in Jungkook’s hoodie and sweatpants, how the scent of him surrounds you, that indescribable, boyish aroma that can’t be replicated. Right now, all you can think about is how easily your body molds into his, like two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together. Right now, all you can think about is him. 

The worst part about each and every week is when it ends. Because the end of one week signifies the beginning of the next, and when you’re in university, the beginning of the next week means a whole new batch of assignments that you have to complete and a whole new batch of due dates to meet. 

So, yeah. The weeks have been blurring together for you lately. But what else could you expect?

Sunday evening, as per usual, finds you right back where you always are: Jungkook’s apartment. 

The two of you have been regularly getting together on Sundays to study, ever since you both realized you work significantly harder when motivated by the other, determined to finish all of your work on time so you can spend the rest of the night fooling around by mixing Monster with as many unhealthy drinks that you can possibly think of. And it’s been working out well for the both of you so far. Jungkook powers through his coding assignments and you whiz through your readings, intent on keeping up to date with your tasks so they don’t all come crashing down on you at the end of the semester. 

Studying with Jungkook has always been easy, largely due to the fact that it’s the one allotted time during your friendship where the both of you deem it best to not speak to each other for the sake of your work. The moment one of you opens your mouth it’s over, so you sit on opposite ends of the room and pretend that the other person isn’t even there. 

Jungkook told you earlier today that he had already finished his photography portfolio, so there would unfortunately be no sneaky glances over his shoulder to see if you can catch a glimpse of one of the pictures. Which is fine by you, you’re just a little embarrassed that Jungkook had told you this outright. Not that you were planning to do exactly that, but you were planning to do exactly that. 

Part of you. more than anything, wants to know why Jungkook won’t just show you himself. Why he’s being so secretive, so protective of his photography project when you both know already exactly what’s in it. For God’s sake, he just spent the entire week taking photos of you non-stop. It’s like not as if any part of this is a mystery to either of you. What more could he have done?

Whatever. You aren’t going to force it if he doesn’t want you to. You suppose that maybe one day, far into the future, he’ll finally decide that the time is right. 

“I’m so fucking tired,” Jungkook declares lifelessly as he gets up from where he’s sitting on your bed, dead inside. “I need a break.”

“Are you going to the kitchen? Can you make me some tea, please?” You ask him, looking up from the laptop on your desk. 

Jungkook nods wordlessly before disappearing out of the room. 

You and Jungkook’s best study practice to maximize productivity is the taking of each other’s cell phones so that the other cannot be tempted to look at it. It’s worked plenty of times before and will probably work plenty of times again, because as they say, out of sight, out of mind. 

Unfortunately, it’s hard to pretend that your phone is out of sight when it’s been buzzing on your bedside table for the past five minutes, and your fingers have been itching to get over there and answer your damn notifications. So, while Jungkook is out of the room, you decide to cheat a little by dashing over there just to see what the heck is going on in the rest of the world. 

As it turns out, nothing much. Just Maisie texting you as she binges yet another television show, giving spoiler-free updates anytime anything remotely dramatic happens. You have a couple of new emails as well. 

The thing that actually catches your attention the most, is Jungkook’s laptop screen. 

There’s just a Word document open on it, but a Word document is a far cry from his usual coding program or Photoshop. Because you can’t help yourself, you peer over to see what he’s written. 

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Hard to say that I have. I don’t think I learned something about myself so much as I confirmed what I already knew, cementing it as a real thought in my brain, rather than just a daydream. Nothing changed in the way that my best friend and I interacted, and I can almost confirm that nothing changed in the way that she feels about me, just as nothing changed in the way I feel about her. I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her. 

What?

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Not as a reference but to remind myself of this very moment in my life—a single week over the course of my life that I felt was worth saving. I imagine that there will come a time, far in the future, where my best friend and I have separated a little bit, found our own lives and created our own families with our own people. And when that happens, I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 

This feels personal. Maybe you should stop reading. But there’s just one more question left on the page… 

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. If it meant getting to spend more time with her, take more photos of her, see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 

“Y/N?”

You hadn’t even heard the kettle whistling. 

“Jungkook,” you say, breathless, caught red-handed. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, placing your steaming cup of tea down on the desk as he stares back at you in horror, in surprise, in worry, in something. Something that gives you this imminent sense of impending doom. 

“Uh—”

“Were you reading my computer screen?”

It’s not like you could say you were doing anything else. 

“I couldn’t help myself, I came over here to check my phone since it’s been buzzing like crazy and your computer was right there and I just…” you sputter out, thoughts swirling inside your head. 

(I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 

If it meant getting to see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 

I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.)

“What do you mean, how you feel about me?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. Because the sound of his voices echoes in your head like the beat of a drum, over and over and over. Because you’re staring back at him and even if he just caught you snooping through his computer you can never be worried when it comes to him. Because everything he has ever done puts you at ease. 

“Y/N, that is private, why would you read something like that?” He asks, each word a sucker punch into your heart. 

“Because I just had to know, okay?” You shout back. “I had to know what you were hiding from me.”

“So you decided to snoop through my computer to see if you could figure it out yourself?” He demands, storming over to you. 

“So you are hiding something?”

“That’s not the point, the point is that—”

“What are you not telling me, Jungkook?” You cry out, watching as he approaches you, dark eyes piercing your gaze. “Why won’t you show me your goddamn portfolio? If there’s really nothing to be afraid of, why are you keeping it from me? I’m your best friend, I’m the fucking subject of your project? Don’t I deserve to see it? Why won’t you show me?”

“Because then you’d know!” Jungkook shouts back, leaving deafening silence in his wake. You look up at him, blinking. In front of you, Jungkook is out of breath, chest heaving. 

He looks so strained. So tired. Like he’s been carrying around this secret for months now, maybe even years, and this is the final straw. This is what has sent the both of you crashing down upon each other. This stupid fucking project. You’ve known Jungkook ever since the beginning of your freshman year, and never before have you seen him so hopeless. 

“Jungkook—?”

“You’d know, goddamnit,” Jungkook says, hand coming up to rub at his forehead, dragging down his cheek. “And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.”

“Know what? What would I know?” 

Jungkook closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Opens them again. “That I’m in love with you.”

The words drift in between the two of you, hovering in the air like feathers. You see them, clear as day, in front of you, hear them echoing in your head, over and over and over again. Feel the way your blood is pumping, the way your heart is beating. 

“You’re in love with me?” You ask him. 

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Jungkook admits. “Or at all, really. But I have been, for a while now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid that I’d lose you.”

You chuckle, a small, little thing from the back of your throat. “You must have known I’d never let that happen, hmm?”

Jungkook smiles softly. “I was scared. Can you blame me? You’re my best friend.”

“And you are mine,” you remind him. 

“It’s just—” Jungkook begins, like the gates of a dam are opening up. “We’d known each other for so long, and we have such a good thing going as is, always texting and calling and hanging out together, studying together on Sunday nights and seeing each other during the week, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. And then my professor assigned this project, and the only person I could think of to take photos was you, but I didn’t want to ask that of you in case you thought it was weird, but you suggested it anyway so I said yes, but I knew. I knew then that the moment I took one goddamn photo of you it would be obvious, and that if you ever saw you would just know. Stuff like that is easy to pick up in pictures, because a camera is like, tunnel vision for whatever it is you want to focus on most, and that’s you, that’s always been you, so I—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, reaching out to him, pressing a soft hand to his cheek. “Just, shut up, okay?”

And then you cup his head in both of your hands, and press a kiss to his lips. A small one, if nothing else, but a kiss nonetheless. You press your lips against his own and immediately you feel the sparks rush through you, this flash of heat that settles into something softer, something sweeter. It ignites and soothes you all at once, like a stray lightning bolt out on the open ocean. Like a single clap of thunder and the pitter patter of rain. 

You press a kiss to his lips and when you pull away, Jungkook’s eyes are closed, lips parted ever so slightly. And for a moment there, you almost think you did the wrong thing. 

But barely a second more passes before he’s scooping you up in his arms and pulling you in close to him, his lips finding yours like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He holds you tight, hands pressed against the small of your back as he kisses you, warm and fiery and full, as if he can’t get enough, as if this is his only chance. You gasp into it before relaxing in his hold, cold hands on his warm cheeks, body melting at the feeling of him, of him all over you, of his hands and his mouth and his chest, this perfect, solid figure. 

He kisses you and it sends heat shooting through your body, filling you up from the inside out, like your heart has burst and filled your bloodstream with fire, with sparks of warmth that tingle all over. He kisses you, and everywhere his hands press is another sizzle to your skin, an electric shock that makes you giggle into his mouth. 

He kisses you and it feels like a storm has settled, feels like gentle rain after a hurricane, feels like waves crashing against the shore. He kisses you and it is the only thing you can think about. 

By the time you part once more, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungkook so blissed out. 

“See?” You point out softly. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

Jungkook looks positively dazed. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Ooh, was I that good?” You tease.

“I’m dreaming.” He shakes his head. “I’m definitely fucking dreaming.”

Jungkook sinks onto your bed, hitting the mattress with a thud. He stares mindlessly in front of him, like his brain needs time to process. 

You smile to yourself. He can have all the time in the world. 

“Is this real?” He mumbles when you sit down next to him, press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Are you real?”

“Just like you,” you promise him. “I didn’t know this is what we had been missing, all this time.”

“It wasn’t missing,” Jungkook assures you. “It was just hidden.”

“I love you,” you whisper, watching him swallow the words like a glass of wine. “I think I always have. You just needed to say it first.”

“Oblivious as always.” Jungkook grins, smiling against your lips. “But I’m glad. If this is what it would take, then I’m glad.”

“You wouldn’t change anything?” You ask him, eyes wide and curious. 

It’s hard to know how long you and Jungkook have been secretly pining over each other. Hard to know how long Jungkook has known that he’s loved you, how long it’s been since you started to feel the same, even if subconsciously. It’s hard to know how long you would have kept going if not for this project. It might have been months. Years. Years that Jungkook was willing to spend holding back, if only it meant keeping you by his side. 

“No,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “I have you now. Why would I?”

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Previously, I had responded to this question by saying that I hadn’t learned anything, and felt that nothing changed in my life. Then, some things happened. And after those things, I learned that I am the luckiest man alive. To know my best friend is one thing. To love her is a privilege. To have her love me back is nothing less than a miracle.

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Every day for the rest of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever been as thankful to receive a homework assignment as I am, right now. I owe everything to this project. It is the reason I have her. 

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. I want to take photos of her for the rest of my life. I want to save every memory we ever share together. So that far into the future, we can look back on them together and say, “Remember that?”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[dynyamight]

meet cute number 47 is interesting!

send me a writting ask

47. Texting the incorrect number but continuing the conversation.

“You got all that, right?” Shinsou asks, readjusting his stance, so others can leave their classroom door easily.

Midoriya hums absentmindedly. He’s still quickly jotting down the last few digits onto his planner. “And, you said tomorrow morning, around 7? At the library?”

“Yeah,” Shinsou shrugs, “Or anytime really. The deadline isn’t until next month, you know.”

“I kinda just want to get it done, as soon as possible.”

Shinsou breathes out a snort. “Figured you’d say that much. Just make sure you got my number. Repeat it, if you need to.”

“No time.” Midoriya drops his bag to the side, shoving his now closed notebook inside. “Thank you! I’ll text you later tonight!” He offers hurriedly, before taking off down the campus halls.

Shinsou’s warning falls deaf to his rushed mind.

He has to run the entire way, in order to graciously catch the last bus for the hour. Sweaty and flushed, Midoriya slumps into his seat in relief. Fortunately, he was able to cop a seat for himself, settling by the window and his backpack right next to him.

Staring out, Midoriya tries to remind himself of the rest of his priorities he needed to do.

He still needed to start on Doctor Chiyo’s online Physiology exam, and gather his notes for the open book portion. It was a bit bothersome to handle tests online, but if the rest of class prefers it, there’s nothing Midoriya can do about it.

Speaking of which, Ochako had requested for copies of those exact same notes, since apparently she barely writes anything during lectures. He wants to suggest to her to just simply take better notes, but alas, he will gladly help her out.

And, finally, Midoriya has to collect reliable, approved research articles for his and Shinsou’s debate, in their argumentative project in Communications. Being assigned “PRO SOCIAL MEDIA INFLUENCE”, while being the most uninvolved people on the internet, Midoriya and Shinsou had a lot of work to do.

Not to mention it was already 18:00 by the time he reached the school’s dormitories. And yet, he needed to shower, make dinner, water his plants, and watch the newest episode of his favorite drama, airing tonight.

University was eating him alive.

Thankfully, he’s able to complete half of his list.

He finishes the exam with a 98%, and quickly snaps the pages of his notes over to Ochako and Iida, making sure to highlight the main topics questioned in the exam. Ochako sends a ‘thank you’ gif, and Iida texts a long, yet endearing message of gratitude.

Midoriya doesn’t have time to shower, instead blasting the TV volume loud, as he waters his indoor plants at the same time. He overwaters them a little bit, busy glancing back at the screen for too long. But, at least he’s able to watch the episode. He pouts when it ends on a cliffhanger, almost drowning his bonsai tree in frustration.

He’s only able to warm up a plate of leftovers, and read through only one research article, by the time it’s already blinking 21:30 on his phone. Sighing, Midoriya closes his laptop and grabs his cell phone instead.

An all nighter wasn’t preferable. But, if Shinsou is working overtime at his late night job, Midoriya supposes he can stay up and keep looking through more articles, until he has at least the required ten.

Flipping open his planner, Midoriya inputs Shinsou’s number into his phone. He adds his name, a contact photo of him sleeping, and finally taps a quick message.

(21:38) < You working?

When Shinsou doesn’t respond right away, Midoriya simply sets aside his phone on his desk. Stretching his arms, he sighs in defeat, now expecting Shinsou to be stuck at work.

He’s never worked at a restaurant, but he bets Friday nights can get pretty busy. And, Shinsou always complains that group outings and dates tend to stay over, even after the place is supposed to close. And, Midoriya trusts his word.

So, by the time his phone dings, Midoriya has been clicking through more articles on social media, bookmarking a few to go over later, as he went.

He lifts his phone, and with a bright screen, a message stares back at him.

shinsou hitoshi (21:58) > Who’s this

Oh, he did forget to specify. But, Midoriya smiles, having a small prank in mind. There was no harm in teasing his friends, let alone Shinsou, who definitely needed a good laugh, now and then.

(21:58) < It's the cutie from your communications class ;)

shinsou hitoshi (21:58) > So, no one

(21:59) < Haha! I guess you’re right about that

(21:59) < Anyways, it’s Izuku! You still working late, Hitoshi?

shinsou hitoshi (21:59) > This ain’t Hitoshi

Midoriya's face drops, blinking. Oh god, did he mistype the number?

(21:38) < Wait, you’re not???

Another text pops up, shortly after.

shinsou hitoshi (22:02) > You got the wrong number

Embarrassment burning his entire face red, Midoriya wishes he could delete himself from the world.

(22:03) < I’m so so so so sorry!

(22:03) < God, I thought I wrote down my friend’s number right

(22:03) < But, I was in this stupid rush to get on the bus that I didn’t make sure

(22:04) < And, listen, if I had missed that bus, I would’ve had to wait

(22:04) < Not like a few minutes wait

(22:04) < Like, a whole two hours wait!

shinsou hitoshi (22:05) > I didn’t ask

Deleting the conversation, Midoriya erases the new contact completely. And instead, he looks back to his planner, and retypes the numbers in his phone onto a new conversation.

Hopefully, he has typed the correct series of digits.

(22:07) < Hey, Hitoshi! It’s Izuku

unknown (22:08) > ...

unknown (22:08) > What the actual fuck

unknown (22:08) > You've still got the wrong number, you goddamn idiot

Slamming his phone onto his desk, Midoriya grabs a pillow off his bed and shoves it in his face. The temptation to scream sounds awfully pleasant, but it’s too late at night to do so. His dorm neighbors would definitely wonder what the hell is wrong with him.

What’s wrong? Oh, he has completely done one of the most dreaded imaginary scenarios in his head; text a complete stranger. Twice.

What was he supposed to do now? Never text back? Delete it? Block it?

How is he supposed to contact Shinsou now?

His phone dings again.

Lifting the pillow off his face slightly, Midoriya eyes his phone warily from his swivel chair.

That definitely wasn’t supposed to happen. Another text from the same stranger sounds a bit unheard of.

After a seconds-long hesitation, Midoriya lifts his phone and opens it once more.

unknown (22:13) > Double check next time

unknown (22:13) > You can fucking wait the two hours, dumbass

Midoriya grows a little irked. He has a bad feeling that his stranger isn’t too friendly, to say that least.

There was literally no reason to text back something so rude.

(22:14) < Well, that wasn’t nice

unknown (22:15) > Wasn’t trying to be

(22:15) < ..Are you always like this?

unknown (22:16) > Pretty much

(22:16) < That’s sad

unknown (22:17) > What’s fucking sad is that I was woken up from my sleep

unknown (22:17) > Because a damn moron didn’t write down the right number

Midoriya winces. He hadn’t even thought about the other person’s predicament, let alone if he had interrupted anything.

(22:20) > I really didn’t mean to do that, I’m sorry :(

unknown (22:22) > Yeah whatever

(22:24) > You should try to go back to sleep, then

unknown (22:25) > I was

unknown (22:25) > But the same moron from before keeps texting me

(22:27) > Who?

(22:33) > Oh.

(22:33) > It’s me, huh?

unknown (22:34) > No shit

(22:35) > Right, of course. My bad!

(22:35) > I’m going to just stop now

unknown (22:36) > Thanks

(22:36) > For the umpteenth time, sorry! ><

(22:37) > Okay, Okay! I’m stopping now, for real

Midoriya desperately needs to call it a night.

After going through his nightly routine, he slips under his bedsheets, exhausted. He sets an alarm for 5:00 on his phone, hoping Shinsou will show up at the library, regardless of the missing confirmation text on Midoriya’s end.

He keeps his phone on awhile longer, swiping through his professors’ emails, before a surprising text notification pops in front of him.

unknown (23:01) > FUCK YOU FUCK YOU

(23:02) > …

(23:02) > What was that for??

unknown (23:04) > I CAN’T SLEEP

unknown (23:04) > GOD, I CAN’T GO BACK TO FUCKING SLEEP

unknown (23:05) > AND IT’S YOUR FAULT

(23:06) > What do you expect me to do????

unknown (23:07) > HAHAHAHA OH DON’T WORRY

unknown (23:07) > IF I CAN’T SLEEP, NEITHER CAN YOU

unknown (23:08) > AND IF YOU TURN YOUR PHONE OFF I WILL SEND HELLFIRE

(23:09) > Wait

(23:09) > No, please

(23:09) > My alarm is on my phone, I need it on

(23:10) > I need to go to an important meeting for a group project at 7:00!

unknown (23:10) > Aw, really? :0?!

(23:11) > Yeah! I really do!

unknown (23:11) > Sike. I don’t fucking care

unknown (23:12) > Hope you eat shit tomorrow

(23:13) > ..Why are you like this?

(23:13) > I could literally be a twelve year old, for all you know

unknown (23:14) > I doubt fucking twelve years do group projects

unknown (23:15) > But whether you’re a damn infant, or grown adult, I hate you

(23:16) > I wouldn’t say I hate you. That’s too harsh

(23:16) > But, wow, you are very unlikable :/

unknown (23:17) > That’s the fucking nicest thing anyone has said about me

(23:18) > It wasn’t supposed

(23:19) > Nevermind.

(23:19) > Do you have any friends? Just might as well ask

unknown (23:21) > Surprisingly yeah

(23:22) > Oh, so you also agree. That it’s a surprise

(23:22) > At least you’re self aware :0

unknown (23:23) > Yeah, they are annoying as hell

unknown (23:24) > But, also pretty good people, I guess

(23:25) > Pretty good or pretty dumb?

unknown (23:26) > SHUT IT

unknown (23:27) > Only I can make fun of them

unknown (23:27) > You. Don’t.

(23:28) > You’re right, I shouldn’t have said that

(23:29) > I’m sorry :(

unknown (23:30) > You like apologizing, huh

(23:29) > There’s a lot to apologize for tonight

unknown (23:30) > Still, you don’t have to say it every damn minute

(23:32) > You probably don’t ever apologize

unknown (23:33) > Fuck no

(23:35) > Right, of course

(23:36) > Well, you know what I need to do tomorrow

unknown (23:37) > Unfortunately

(23:38) > What about you?

unknown (23:39) > I’m covering a shift at my shit job at the ass crack of dawn

(23:40) > Unnecessary visual, but I digress

(23:40) > Uh, where do you work?

unknown (23:42) > No. I don’t even know your damn name

(23:43) > I told you?? It was in my first text

unknown (23:44) > Yeah, I ain’t scrolling

(23:48) > Well, it’s Izuku. Midoriya Izuku :)

unknown (23:49) > Great. I still ain’t giving you mine

(23:50) > ?? Is there anything I can know about you??

(23:50) > You know more about me, than I do about you

unknown (23:51) > You know I hate you

unknown (23:51) > That’s plenty

(23:52) > But, I have been staying up for you :(

unknown (23:53) > Because it’s your fault I can’t sleep

(23:54) > You aren’t feeling sleepy yet?

unknown (23:56) > ..Are you

(23:57) > I asked you first

unknown (23:58) > I asked you second

(23:59) > That

(23:59) > Look, it’s almost midnight

(24:00) > Oh, now, it’s actually midnight

unknown (00:01) > I have fucking eyes. I can see the time

(00:02) > And we BOTH have places to be tomorrow

(00:02) > So, let’s just sleep. Call a truce, please

unknown (00:03) > What about my petty retribution

(00:04) > PLEASE LET ME SLEEP

unknown (00:10) > FUCK

unknown (00:10) > FINE

unknown (00:11) > I STILL CAN’T SLEEP BUT WHATEVER

unknown (00:12) > HOPE YOU FUCKING OVERSLEEP TOMORROW

The rest of the night, Midoriya hears his phone go off, but he doesn’t bother to open the messages. Fortunately for him, the time staying awake quickly catches up to his body, the moment he shuts his eyes. And, in an instant, he falls asleep, heavy.

However, he’s jolted awake by the ringing of his phone, the tone alerting him of an incoming phone call. Banging his head on the headboard, Midoriya blindly grabs and answers his phone. “Uh, H-Hello?” He blurts quickly.

“Tch.” A low voice emits, “You owe me, Deku.”

Click. The phone call ends.

Confused, Midoriya hurriedly rubs his eyes open. Running his messy curls through his fingers, he lifts his bangs up, in order to correctly look at the time.

The time was 5:10. And, his 5:00 alarm had been off the entire time.

And, instead, that same unknown number from last night was his saving grace.

[randolphbellmd]

this is about to get really fucking long but i can’t hold it in anymore and need to shout about it to an audience who absolutely will not listen.

the graduate program chair has been trying to hold “town hall” meetings at the end of every semester. setting aside the fact that this professor is the worst facilitator i have ever met and feels the need to respond to every comment with a defense (that, in most cases, is not necessary, especially at a town hall-style event), the whole premise is stupid because the grad students know that no matter what we have to say, nothing is going to change. grad school is always going to be isolating and awful, there are always going to be unclear expectations and a poor selection of classes, and we’re always going to be lower than undergrads in importance. we know this. we’re not idiots. 

anyway. after the last town hall he was like hey sam, how do you think that went? and i was like um... do you want me to be honest? apparently he did, so i was, and told him to do it virtually and anonymously (like we did in 2020) and that maybe he could send us some questions to respond to ahead of time so we could type out our answers (again, anonymously) rather than speaking on the spot in front of our peers. so he did! he was like alright yo we’re meeting online and we’ll be sending out a survey at the end of this week. 

flash forward to thursday morning at 7 am, where i get a survey that BEGINS with demographic questions. some of which were incorrect. my day started with an eye roll about how “transgender” is not a gender identity and how “prefer not to say” and “another option, not listed” are not synonyms. why a survey about a 30-person group needed demographics at the front of it should have been the first red flag. but alas, i kept clicking. 

the second page (the second. page.) jumped right into what mental health issues have you encountered during grad school? what symptoms do you suffer from? four questions straight out of the PHQ-9 that is administered at a DOCTORS OFFICE regarding depression and anxiety, which i’m pretty sure my employer can’t ask. i kept going but took screenshots of all of these, because at this point at 7:10 am i’m getting pretty fucking pissed. it’s invasive, it’s inappropriate, and it’s unnecessary, and the fact that it’s about to be associated with a meeting of my peers is even worse. the survey concluded with actual questions about the grad program and stuff like that but only after asking what my race was and how many days out of the last two weeks i’ve had little or no interest in activities. it also asked how do you deal with stress? and included options like exercise, tv/movies, pets, baking, weed/alcohol... and i had to click “other” to write that i go to therapy.

so, i take this thing, and then i tell my friend not to. i said listen, wait till the end of the day. don’t start your day with this. it’s just... it’s not good. it’s bad. wait till the end of the day. (she did, and clicked out of it once she got to the second page saying ‘there’s no way i’m telling you this’).

now, i’m a person who’s fine talking about mental health. especially in graduate school. and especially as someone who’s been in therapy for years. i’ve lost people to mental health struggles, and know people personally who are in our field (and in our department) that lost their struggle with depression. 

i’m fine normalizing talks about mental health, not about mental illness. so many of the ways that STEM grad programs talk about it is this rise and grind mentality and that if you aren’t suffering you aren’t doing it right, that you’re always going to be alone and you’ll never find your peers. that’s just not healthy. that’s not a good environment to live in. and it’s really not good to walk into an office and say “sup losers, i’m really fuckin anxious right now and haven’t slept in three weeks” and have everyone else be like “word”. a much more productive way to talk about it is to feel comfortable saying that, and then to have your labmates say, i’m really sorry you’re feeling like that, is there anything i can do to help? or “i remember that time in my research. do you want to get a drink later?” 

ANYWAY back to this dumbass fucking survey and this town hall that is now under 24 hours away. i was so astonished by this survey that i felt the need to find out where the information was going. i had just shared sensitive information with someone and wanted to know what it was going to be used for. i wanted to make sure that it wasn’t going to be be shared out with my peers as “hey, 100% of you reported depression symptoms.” and everyone to be like “lol i know right”. that’s damaging?? i get that you want to collect the data and have a baseline understanding of whether your student population is suffering but you can’t diagnose mental health conditions and you can’t force your students to tell you that they have been diagnosed!! 

so i called the professor who sent it and was like hey, listen, what are you doing with this... it’s really sensitive... i’m just wondering what the purpose was and where the data are going. which felt like fine questions. the one i held back was “hey dickhead who the fuck do you think you are asking questions like this and expecting honest answers when you didn’t tell us any of this was coming”. he answered my questions (poorly, see above about how he’s a poor facilitator and defensive) and i’m absolutely dreading monday because i know that he’s going to put up a slide that says “all of you are depressed and that makes me, as your professor, sad”. also because “all of you” is going to be like, 10 people, because if you send a survey to 30 graduate students, 15 are going to open it and only 10 are going to make it to the end.

i have a line drawn in the sand where if he crosses it by saying that suffering is a part of school or that it’s just covid or that you all should be talking about things like this to normalize it i’m going to have to jump in and be like listen, due respect, but you’re not equipped to talk to us about this. we’re not equipped to talk about this with you. mental health in graduate school is a thing and if you’re serious about handling it, bring in a professional. bring in a counselor. bring in a doctor. encourage each and every one of us to use our insurance benefits to seek out someone to talk to. but you sir, are not the one to do this. and i also always want to tell students that they need to stop treating grad school like an accepted suffering. the first thing i do when new grad students come is tell them to stop following #PhDLife on instagram and to stop comparing themselves to everyone immediately. 

i have so many words of wisdom and idiocy for new students and while i’m also not a fucking expert i’ve struggled with depression my entire life and i know that despite what you might think, sometimes the worst thing you can say to someone who’s opening up to you is “yep. me too.” and sometimes the best thing to say is, “hey, do you want to split some nachos. let’s get out of the lab. c’mon, it’s happy hour at this place within walking distance.” because that, my friends, is a lifeline. that’s the tether we’re all searching for. that’s someone who’s been there and who’s there now reaching out and saying “i know your project is nothing like mine and your experience in life is nothing like mine and that’s why grad school sucks a hundred times more than undergrad because there’s no such thing as ‘good enough’ when there’s no baseline but at least for the next forty minutes we can be two twenty-somethings in a neutral location and maybe share a plate of nachos.” and then maybe the next day is just a little bit easier. because the next day you know you’re not alone. and when it’s your second year and a new first year student comes along, you want to do the same for them. 

okay, i’m off my soapbox now. 

tl;dr: my professor asked a small sample size of students invasive, personal questions about mental health that are borderline illegal and i’m really scared about noon tomorrow when they’ll be shared out to the entire graduate class by someone trained as a microbiologist and not a mental helath professional and it’ll do ten times more damage than good. to a population that really can’t handle more damage than it’s already dealing with. 

[miamlfy]

Textbooks and James

A/N: Hi guys, been a while since I posted. I hope you all aren't too upset. This took me longer than expected and I’m not a fan of this fic, so I’m sorry if it’s disappointing. To whoever requested this, I hope you still like it. 

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Summary: Needing to study, you take your only opportunity without James to do so. 

Warnings: Not proofread, sorry for mistakes. Wolfstar is mentioned. 

Word count: 1,7K

Masterlist

Enjoy! 

(Not my gif, credit to whoever made it.)

Exam taking was always a nightmare for you. Anxiety always ran through you whenever your professors mentioned an upcoming exam. Normally you would study weeks in advanced and ace it with ease, but ever since you started dating the infamous James Potter, it became rather difficult to get things done around him. 

James wanted to be with you at all times, he was a clingy boy. He spent years trying to get you to go on a date with him and now that you’re together, he wasn’t planning on leaving your side. You found his clinginess rather cute but it did become difficult whenever you wanted to get things done, James wanted your undivided attention and every time, you gave in which led you to rarely completing the things you needed done. 

Of course getting your homework done together was a must, along with essays—Remus was always there to help. Reading a book or studying was something you haven’t completed since you started dating James. The only times you were able to read or study for an important exam was at night, which was how you were currently spending the only time you had to rest and get decent sleep. 

Your notes and textbooks were sprawled out onto your twin bed, you were the last one awake in your dorm. Marlene and Dorcas were fast asleep the minute they entered the room and Lily just had gone to bed after finishing the last few chapters of a muggle book she had been reading. 

A dim light was casted, just bright enough for you to read the words on the textbook. Yawns kept escaping your mouth and eyes kept closing every few seconds. You shook yourself to help you stay up, although you’d much rather copy what all the girls were doing right now, you had to study and get it over with. You just hoped you had enough energy to deal with James in the morning. 

You were woken up by Lily shaking you and her screaming, “Y/n, you need to get up! We’re already running late!” She yelled. 

You immediately shot up and got dressed while checking the time, 08:47. You let out a sigh, you had less than 20 minutes to eat breakfast. You grabbed your notes that covered the floor and packed your bag, not bothering with trying to recall when exactly you fell asleep. 

Lily and you sprinted out of the Gryffindor common room and into the Great Hall. The two of your spotted your other two dorm mates and the marauders. You sat yourself on the right seat next to James, the left side belonged to Sirius and Sirius only. 

“Good morning, my love, how’d you sleep?” James asked, placing a kiss on your temple and wrapping his arm around your shoulders. 

You let out a groan and grabbed the nearest muffin, stuffing your mouth with it. 

“Marlene, why didn’t you wake us up?” Lily questioned, Marlene simply shrugged. 

“Y/n and you looked so peaceful and waking the both of you up is a bloody nightmare.” Marlene answered honestly. “Not to mention, last time I tried waking up Y/n, she almost hexed me.” 

You shook your head, swallowing bits of muffin before talking. “Now you’re just being dramatic, Marls. I would never do such a thing.” You said, stifling a laugh. 

The rest of breakfast was kept in silence, with the occasional of Sirius saying something somewhat incorrect and Remus correcting him. James at times also saying something mildly wrong on purpose to annoy Remus further. 

You dragged your feet to your first class of the day, already wishing for the day to be over. While everyone else walked slightly further than you, James stayed behind with you. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, giving them a squeeze with his hand. 

“Are you alright, darling? You seem a bit off.” He said, worry taking over him. You gave him a reassuring smile. 

“I’m fine, James. I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.” He gave you an unsure look but took your word for it. The two of you walked together, being one of the last few students to enter the potions classroom. 

Sitting next to Lily, you let out a yawn and rubbed your eyes. You prayed today wasn’t a lecture day, you wouldn’t stay awake if it was. Professor Slughorn usually kept his lectures energetic, but you knew note taking would be a nightmare for you considering your tiredness. Thankfully, today was a brewing day. Lily would be brewing a simple potion and you would be taking the notes of what was happening during the process. 

Yawning once again, the two of you began. The potion didn’t take too long to brew, Slughorn giving you a perfection and allowing you to take the rest of the class period to study/work on anything else. You took that opportunity on continuing to study, you focused your eyes on the words written across your textbook. Your handwriting becoming more sloppy, you could care less on how it looked, all what mattered was that you had everything down to help pass your exam. 

As more students finished, the class got more and more loud with conversations. You frustrations began to grow, your mind shifting from conversations near you and your textbooks. You felt a presence next to you, immediately you knew who it was by the smell of his cologne. Your eyes shifted from your textbook to James. 

“Yes James?” You questioned the boy, who was currently smiling at you like a goof. 

He leaned down on the table, prompting his chin on his hand. “My beautiful girlfriend, you should be taking this free time to nap not study.” He said. 

You sighed, “I know but I really need to do this and I can always sleep later.” You stood from your chair and closed your books, packing everything into your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. 

The bell rang, allowing students to leave and go to their next classes. James walked beside you while the rest of your friends talked among each other. 

“Promise me you won’t overwork yourself, the test is still weeks away. You should be spending your time with me.” He whined. You couldn’t help but giggle at his childish behavior. 

“You know how important it is to me and my parents that I pass all my exams.” You said. “And I always spend my times with you, not that I mind.” 

James squeezed your hand, “I just don’t want you overworking yourself, last time your nearly past out.” 

You frowned a bit at that memory, OWL’s were on every fifth year minds. You were so worried over studying, that you forgot to eat and sleep. Thankfully, Remus was there and spotted your fatigue nature. 

“After lunch I’m going to the library for a few hours with Lily and then I’ll meet up with you and the others for dinner.” 

James thought about your words for a bit, then he nodded agreeing with you. “Just promise you won’t overwork yourself?

“I promise.” 

That promise was not long kept, for the most part. You did finish off your school day in the library and then met up with everyone else afterwards. However, the next day was different. Completing your classes went by fast and you were left with enough free time. James, along with Sirius were at their weekly detention, so you took the opportunity to spend some time at the library. 

Remus joined you at hour two, so you took his presence as an opportunity to ask him about DADA. He was always very good at the subject and although you were as well, NEWT level became more of a struggle for you. 

“Rem, just please let me cheat off you.” You said with desperation in your voice. You were so close to giving up and dropping out — of course this was your dramatic side speaking. 

“I love you lots but I cannot allow that,” he said. “Now, let’s go back and review what you need the most help with.” 

You let out a deep sigh, “I need help with everything.” 

Remus was with you for about two hours before he got dragged away by Sirius — who managed to leave his detention earlier than James, somehow. You rubbed your eyes and forced them onto your textbook, you were going to get every bit of information one way or another. 

After what felt like hours of jamming everything into your brain, you felt yourself grow hungry. Looking around the library you noticed you were one of the few people left inside. Everyone else must have already left for dinner, you stretched your arms out letting out a quiet groan. 

“You’re the last one in here, everyone already left.” James’ voice said behind you, his voice making you jump. 

“Merlin you scared me!” You exclaimed, putting a hand over your heart. “Yes I know, but I really need to study.” 

“What you need is a break and food, when was the last time you ate?” He said with worry.

You didn’t need to respond for him to know the answer. James let out a sigh and began closing your textbooks, ignoring your protests. 

“You need to eat and relax, Y/n.” He said sternly. “You can continue tomorrow, tonight you are going to relax.” 

You knew there was a low chance of you winning, so you complied and packed your things away. James extended his hand out to you to hold, you gave it a squeeze and followed him out of the library and into the Great Hall. Everyone else was already enjoying the deliciousness of the food. 

James began making you a plate, you felt like a child at that moment and you couldn’t help but laugh. 

“What?” James asked, who was still plopping food onto your plate and his. 

“It’s nothing.” You giggled out. 

“Open your mouth.” James said, you furrowed your eyebrows with confusion. 

“What?” 

“Open.” You obeyed and opened your mouth, feeling silly. James put a spoonful of food into your mouth. Little less confused on this situation, you began chewing your food. 

Sirius snorted, “James she’s not a child, she can feed herself.” 

James turned his attention to Sirius, “You’re just jealous because it’s not you I’m feeding.” James put another spoonful of food into your mouth. 

“Yeah, yeah whatever. Remus could you feed me?” Sirius asked his boyfriend, giving him a puppy eye stare. 

“Ha! You wish!” 

[dirtyoatmeall]

Dig (Tsukishima x Reader)

A/N: I will def be writing more for these, as an archaeology major, I hold paleontology major tsukki in a special place in my heart. Also everything about the dig I describe is most likely incorrect lmao. 

Pairing: Paleontology major! Tsukki x Archaeology major! Reader (she/they pronouns used)

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: None :)

`

You met Tsukishima Kei the first day of your first year of college. It was your intro Anthropology course, and you had bumped into him on accident entering the auditorium. You had kept your head down, mumbling an apology before hurriedly finding a seat in the middle of the room. He sat a few seats over in the same row and you tried your best not to glance at him, he was obviously attractive, but all it took was a raised eyebrow when he caught you staring for you to look away blushing, pretending to look through your bag for something. You busied yourself with numbering the pages in your notebook until the professor started class.

It was a relatively small class, so the professor had everyone stand up and introduce themselves with their pronouns, major/minor, and one thing they want to accomplish. When it was your turn you tried your best not to sound confident as you spoke, though it didn’t last long, as the professor immediately asked you to repeat yourself louder. You were bright red by the time you finished introducing yourself. “H-hi, my name is (Y/N), I’m double majoring in bio-archaeology and Classics, my pronouns are she/they and I want to find Alexander the Great.” The professor nodded and the next person stood up to introduce themselves as you sat down, fiddling with your pen.

Tsukishima didn’t really think much of you until he watched you do the icebreaker for class. He thought it was an ambitious goal, and respectable dual majors. Though the thing that really drew his attention to you was the face you made when the person next to you introduced themselves as an archaeology major and that they wanted to find a complete T-Rex skeleton. Your face had twisted rather cutely into a grimace at your classmates words, turning to your notebook and scribbling in the corners. After the professor kindly explained the differences between archaeology and paleontology, it was his turn. He stood up, introduced himself “Tsukishima, he/him pronouns, paleozoology major, museum studies minor. And I’d like to find a job right out of school.” He sat down as the professor nodded and made a joke about finding a job. Soon enough the entire class had introduced themselves and the professor started going over the syllabus.

The first time Tsukishima saw you outside of class it was a Friday night. 3 a.m. to be exact. Thankfully your university had a 24hr library, and most of the students took advantage of it, though it was usually dead at this time of night, or morning. He spied you almost right away, nestled in a corner with multiple stacks of books and cans of energy drinks. You were nodding your head along to a dong and when he walked past he could very clearly hear ABBA blasting in your headphones. He smirked to himself and sat down a table down from you, getting ready to study for the upcoming test on Wednesday. He would get up periodically to get a book or a snack from the vending machine near the door. He noticed that every time he got up, your eyes would flicker to him, and you would pause your work, messing with your phone until he sat down again. He would return the favor, watching your things while you were gone.

About an hour into his study session he looked up to your spot when he heard you groan quietly. You aggressively paused your music and cutely pouted down at your notebook. You skimmed a few pages in the book next to you, comparing it to your notebook and whatever was on the screen of your laptop before rolling your eyes and softly face planting onto the book in front of you. Your eyes briefly fluttered to where he was, and you smiled slightly when the two of you made eye contact. He pretended to get back to the book he was supposed to be reading, but he watched you sigh as your eyes flickered from your notebook to him before you quietly got up and shuffled towards his table. He fully looked at you when you slid into the seat across from him, and he raised an eyebrow when you smiled awkwardly.

“Uh, Hi. I’m (Y/N), we have anth 250 together right?” You asked even though you very well knew he was in that class, but you still waited for confirmation before you continued. “That’s what I thought. Could you maybe help me with this? I’m having a hard time grasping it.” He glanced at what you were pointing at and nodded, he had also had some trouble with it, and had just recently figured it out. He explained it to you, smiling when he saw your eyebrows raise as you let out a soft ’ooohhh’ once you had grasped it. You had moved to get up when he cleared his throat, “Uh, you can sit here if you want, that way if you have any other questions you don’t have to come all the way over here.” Tsukishima didn’t look at you when he said it, but saw you smile and nod out of the corner of his eye. You brought your stuff over to his table and the two of you studied together for a few more hours, occasionally talking about class that led into talking about random things the two of you both liked.

At 5:30 you sighed, closing your laptop and putting away your things. “I should probably head back to my dorm, I have been here for about 12 hours” You chuckled and Tsukishima nodded and began to pack up as well. “I’ll walk you to your dorm.” You paused, looking at him puzzled. “Oh you don’t have to do that, I live all the way in East Village.” He simply waved your concern away “Me too, I have a class at 10 anyway, I should probably stop for the night. You snorted and waited for the blonde to be done before the two of you headed to your dorm building.

The two of you continued to talk about random things on the way back, from music tastes to favorite myths to what tree you would be. You both paused to watch the sunrise at the hill next to your dorm building, watching the colors slowly melt together as the stars disappeared from view. You turned to smile at Tsukishima to find he was already looking at you, an uncharacteristic soft look on his face. You flushed slightly and the two of you continued to your dorm building. You saluted to him before getting off the elevator onto your floor. You glanced at your phone as you got ready for bed, glad you didn’t have any classes until noon.

From that day on you and Tsukishima sat together during your anthropology class and studied together every Friday. You partnered together for the few projects assigned and even hung out outside of class, growing closer as the semester flew by. You were planning on meeting him for lunch after you finished finals, which you just did. You sent him a text and headed to the café the two of you frequent. You ordered a drink and sat at the corner table, scrolling through your phone until Tsukishima arrived. The two of you discussed your finals, and the classes you were taking next semester (you had 2 of them together thankfully) before Tsukishima sighed. “Do you want to get dinner on Saturday?” You smiled nodding, “Yeah! Are there some last minute things you want to go over for a final?” He rolled his eyes and looked at you flatly, which was a normal look for the blonde. “No, like a date.” You stopped, mid-drink as you absorbed his words. When you did you flushed and swallowed, looking away shyly. “Yeah, I’d really like that.” Tsukishima smiled and nodded.

10 years later~

You sighed, wiping your forehead as you straightened up, moving to your phone to change the music blaring from the speakers. It was hot, the hat doing nothing to shield you from the sun as you crouched down again, picking up your trowel. You were about to continue your section of the dig when you heard a noise of surprise from the next section over. “(Y/N)! I think I found something, it looks like bone!”

Your eyes grew wide and you jumped out of the pit into the one a few feet away, joining the college student in looking at what they found. They brushed some more dirt away, revealing a large bone, too large to be human. You groaned, climbing out to grab your phone, disconnecting it from the speaker and dialing a number before stepping away, pout on your face. The college student looked at the other dig lead, confused on why you seemed upset. The dig lead chuckled, waving away their concern. “Don’t worry, you didn’t do anything wrong. (Y/N) just has to call in a paleontologist, and the one on this dig just happens to be an ass.” The college student nodded and climbed out of the pit, not wanting to disturb anything.

Thankfully it wasn’t too long before another car pulled in. You immediately walked over, hands on your hips as you talked to the person getting out. The rest of the crew could see them smirk and flick your forehead, before leaning down to kiss you. The college student made a noise of surprise as the two of you walked over, bumping shoulders and you discussed details of the dig. “Wait, I thought you said she didn’t like them.” The dig lead just shook his head, “I said he was an ass, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t like him, in fact, they’re married.”

[harrysweasleys]

Tarnished

Summary: draco x little miss perfect slytherin!reader where they constantly argue because he is always trying to get under her buttons and one day snape decided he’s had enough so they both get detention. of course, the reader is now even more mad at draco since her “perfect” reputation is now “tarnished”. things get a lil steamy during detention once snape steps out

Warnings: maybe one swear word

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: i hope you’re all staying safe right now and i’m sending you all my love. xoxox (Gif is from google)

-

Although double Potions was usually quite enjoyable on your end, the migraine that was throbbing away under your skull was currently telling you today was not going to be as good. The dark corridors of the dungeons were helping the pain in your eyes, but the laughter and constant chatter that greeted you once your entered the class made you grimace. 

You sat in your usual seat at the front of the class, taking your Potions book out and patiently awaiting Professor Snape to get on with the lesson so you could leave sooner. You loved your classes, but today was just not going to be your day. 

A group of rowdy Slytherins led by Malfoy stormed into the room, laughing loudly and flicking paper balls at innocent students. You ducked your head down, hoping to stay out of sight until Snape arrived. Which thankfully, didn’t take long. 

“Good afternoon, Professor Snape,” you smiled kindly, almost missing the very faint, forced smile he shot back at you.

“Good afternoon, Miss Y/L/N.”

As the class became quiet, Snape began to instruct the class on what was going to happen in the lesson. You opened your book to the instructions for a Draught of Peace and looked over the ingredients briefly.

Seemed simple enough. You only hoped you’d be able to complete the potion quickly enough and could head to the hospital wing with intention of curing your blasting headache.

“Before you all get rushing around, I will be assigning partners,” Snape’s cold voice made you shut your book hastily.

Partners? Great.

“Finnigan, with Marshall. Johnson, you’re with Keagen,” Snape started reading names off of the list in front of him, and you could only pray you got a decent partner.

“Crabbe and Parkinson,” he read aloud. You rolled your eyes as you heard the two share a dramatic high five.

“Y/L/N, you’re with Malfoy,” Snape read, and you swore you could practically feel yourself failing the assignment already. Of all people, why Draco Malfoy? The platinum headed idiot was nowhere near as good at potions as he should be. Besides, he was way too focused on his stupid ego to even try.

Lord have Mercy.

“Well, what are you all waiting around for? Get moving,” Snape snapped, causing the class to stand up and find their partners. You, however, didn’t have to get up because Malfoy slid quickly into the seat next to you, an arrogant smirk on his face.

“You seem to know your way around a potion so I’m not worried,” he said cooly, leaning back in his chair.

You forced a smile, “As long as you cooperate, we’ll be fine.”

You figured it was no use snapping at him. If you ticked him off he’d make this class living hell, and that was the last thing you needed. You stood up quickly and walked over to the cabinet, grabbing the necessary ingredients in a little basket before walking back to your desk.

A thick, black cauldron now sat on top of it. You placed the basket down to prepare everything you needed.

“Can you crush up this moonstone, please?” you handed over the stone to Malfoy, who reluctantly stood up from his chair.

“Fine,” he muttered, “Don’t know why you’re taking this so seriously. This class is stupid anyways.”

You bit your lip, picking up the unicorn horn and beginning to slowly grate it, making sure that it was the perfect consistency.

“It’s not stupid,” you replied calmly, not facing him, “Potions are extremely useful. You never know when you’ll end up needing one, it’s good to pay attention to every part.”

Malfoy smirked, “Snape isn’t standing behind you, Y/N. You don’t need to kiss his ass.”

You dropped the unicorn horn, eyes bulging out of your head as you snapped your head up to face him, “What? I am not — that’s not—,”

“Relax,” he held up his hands in fake defence, chuckling lightly, “Take a joke.”

You let out a huff of annoyance, looking back down to the unicorn horn and letting your hair fall into your face to hide the pink on your cheeks. You knew Malfoy’s talent was getting under people’s skin but you weren’t about to let him do that to you.

“Just powder the moonstone, Malfoy,” you muttered as you started working on the unicorn horn once more.

After you poured the unicorn horn into the boiling water, you turned to check on Malfoy’s work, only to find he hadn’t even touched the moonstone. You could feel the anger bubbling inside of you.

“Why haven’t you crushed the stone?” you asked, placing your hands on your hips, “You can’t just sit around and let me do all the work.”

“Why not?” he crossed his arms, a challenging expression on his face, “You seem to know what you’re doing, miss Goody Two Shoes.”

“First off, don’t call me that,” you spoke through gritted teeth, trying not to catch the attention of fellow students, “There is nothing wrong with being good at learning. Secondly, this is a group project, in case your thick head hasn’t noticed. So, do your part, partner.”

He squinted at you, “A little bit more fiesty when you’re ticked off, aren’t you?”

You took a deep breath, turning over to grab the porcupine quills in the basket, “Just crush the moonstone, it’s not that hard.”

He let out a chuckle, picking up the moonstone and holding it between his two fingers as if he were analyzing it. You wanted to question what he was doing, but you also wanted to avoid any and all conversation from this moment forward, so you didn’t.

“Fine, I’ll powder your stupid rock,” he placed it back down on the chopping board and did as he was told, grunting every now and then when things weren’t working.

When you completed with your porcupine quills, you put them into the cauldron and he did the same with the moonstone, the two of you continuing to work in silence. Until, of course, he decided he had something else to say.

“Your nose gets scrunched up when you concentrate, you know,” he said calmly. You snapped your head up from the page you were double checking the instructions off of and stared at him blankly.

“And you’re pointing it out why?” you raised an eyebrow, trying to hide the strange fuzzy feeling that erupted in your stomach when he said it.

He shrugged, “No reason.” He began stirring the contents of the pot, ignoring how you were still looking at him, eyes a little wider than usual and your cheeks feeling a little warmer.

“Just stir the pot,” you grumbled, noticing how Snape was walking over to your desk to check out your potion.

“Yes, ma’am,” Malfoy grumbled right back, forcing a fake smile when Snape stopped in front of the two of you.

“Your potion looks acceptable,” Snape spoke cooly, looking down into the cauldron through the strands of black hair hanging in his vision, his expression unreadable as usual.

“Thank you, Professor,” you grinned, “I actually thought about grinding the porcupine quills smaller than usual, they dissolve quicker and the effect is still the same. I read about it in The Secrets to Succeeding in Potion Making.”

Snape turned to face you, squinting, “Although I usually discourage... risk-taking and experimenting in my classroom, I must admit myself impressed.”

You were positively beaming. It was rare Snape gave out compliments, and any time you got one, it rang through your head the entire day.

“Thank you,” you said again, “I’ve always wanted to make a Draught of Peace.”

Malfoy was looking back and forth between you and Snape, looking slightly disgusted. But, you brushed it off and smiled at the professor once more as he moved on to the group behind you, who had clearly done something wrong as their potion was bubbling a neon orange.

“That was quite possibly the worst case of sucking up I have ever seen,” Malfoy let out a low whistle, wiping the proud smile off your face.

“It’s not sucking up,” you defended yourself, not feeling like it was worth it but your stubbornness feeling otherwise, “I’m just genuinely interested in learning about potion making.”

He rolled his eyes, “Of course.”

You scowled at him, not thinking he was worth your effort, and turned back to face the potion, which was now the exact colour it was meant to be.

“Class dismissed, when we return next class you will be back in the same pairs and we will go through the step by step instructions and what many, many of you did wrong,” Snape addressed the class grimly, his lip curled in a disappointed frown.

You looked around, noticing students who were rolling their eyes and grimacing at their incorrect potions. Yours was pretty damn perfect, if you did say so yourself.

“Guess we’re back together next class, huh?” Malfoy smirked, “Great.”

You picked up your books and parchment, clutching them to your chest, “If you keep your mouth shut, it will go just fine.”

You stuck your nose in the air once more, walked out the class, and marched down the busy corridors to Transfiguration. You picked a seat next to a quiet looking Ravenclaw girl, hoping to avoid Malfoy’s commentary, and prepared yourself for another class.

— —

“We failed? But how?” you felt your heart sink to your stomach as you looked at the large F sitting on the paper with yours and Malfoy’s names. How could you have failed? You guys had done the potion perfectly, Snape even said he was impressed with your tactics. It didn’t make sense.

“Relax, Y/N,” Malfoy shrugged carelessly, “It’s not my first failure. It doesn’t actually affect you as much as you’d think.”

“No! I’m not going to relax! Professor Snape said he was impressed!” you groaned, slamming the paper down on the table, more frustrated than you cared to admit. Malfoy would think you were a fool if he knew how much that F had gotten under your skin.

You had never failed anything before, how could you have failed this? There had to be some sort of twisted, wrong explanation for this.

Before Malfoy could stop you, your hand shot straight up into the air, “Professor Snape!”

Snape, who was in the middle of handing back another grade, walked over to your desk with the permanent scowl still on his face.

“Yes, Miss Y/L/N?” he spoke slowly, eyebrow raised.

“I was just wondering why I — I mean, why we — failed,” you corrected yourself, eyeing Malfoy quickly before facing Snape once again, trying to be polite but also wanting answers.

“Because, Miss Y/L/N, and Mister Malfoy, you had placed the ingredients in the wrong order, therefore the porcupine quills did not blend with your moonstone the way it was intended,” he spoke cooly, “After class was dismissed, your potion turned a vulgar shade of green.”

You nodded sadly, watching him walk away with a swoosh of his robes. You sat down, a sunken expression on your face. You couldn’t believe you let Malfoy’s annoying-ness get under your skin to the point where you hadn’t even paid attention to the order of inserting the ingredients.

You felt like a total fool. Sinking back into your chair, a pout was now formed on your lips. You were devastated. How could you have been so distracted?

“It’s not a huge deal,” Malfoy faced you, clearly confused as to why this was bothering you so much.

“You don’t get it!” you snapped, “I have never failed — ever. This is my first failure and it was your fault. You couldn’t just grind your stupid moonstone and get on with the task, could you? Maybe we’d have been able to follow instructions better!”

He seemed taken aback by your outburst. You had even noticed a few students around you turn to face you guys, evesdropping to see what the fuss was about.

“Wait, you’re blaming me?” he asked, placing a hand on his chest, “You’re the one who had the instructions! You’re the one who was paying attention to every tiny detail. Don’t blame this on me. This is on you.”

You could feel the fumes bubbling under your skin, “Me? No, this isn’t on me. If it weren’t for me, you’d have killed yourself with that potion!”

By now, the entire class was looking over. And to your extreme misfortune, so was Snape.

“Miss Y/L/N, I am very disappointed in your outburst,” he spoke loudly, a hint of loathing in his voice, “Detention. Both of you. My office, tonight at eight.”

You sat down, defeated, letting a harsh sigh leave your lips. Detention. Your first failure and your first detention in the same day. You were so disappointed in yourself.

“Detention?” you mumbled quietly, looking down at your feet, “I’ve sunk low.”

“Yeah, you have,” Malfoy spoke up, his irritating voice making you clench your hands into fists one more, “Can’t wait to share detention with the lamest person in school.”

You scoffed, raising an eyebrow and crossing your arms, “I am not lame.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

— —

As eight o’clock rolled around, you found yourself sitting in Snape’s office, deadly silent, with Malfoy sitting by your side. He was dressed casually, the first time you had actually seen him without his robes, and he looked quite awake for this late in the evening.

“See here?” Snape finally spoke up, pointing to the shelves behind him where all his ingredients were stored, “I need you to organize them and make a list of how much of everything remains in my inventory.”

“How would you like the list organized, sir?” you asked softly, looking over at the messy shelves, dreading how long this was going to take. There were a lot of jars. Some even had what looked like body parts in them. Hearts, eyes, hair. It was pretty disgusting.

“Does it matter?” Malfoy asked, “Just write it all down. Not everything has to be in a perfect little list with a bow on top.”

You bit your tongue, holding back a snide remark as Snape rolled his eyes, clearly fed up with your childish bickering.

“Just do what I’ve asked and you can leave,” Snape said once more before turning around slowly and leaving his office, going god knows where at this hour. Now that you thought about it, you weren’t even sure what your teachers got up to once school hours were over.

Did they all hang out? Did they sleep in the same quarters? Do they huddle around the fireplace and chat?

It was kind of weird thinking about your teachers’ personal lives.

“Hello?” Malfoy snapped, causing you to blink rapidly as you returned to the present moment, “I’m not doing this by myself.”

You glared at him, “You weren’t this rude in class, what changed?”

As you turned to the shelf behind you, noticing that the four bottles with hair in them were labeled the same thing, you put them into a little line so they were all together and easily accessible.

“Things changed once you were rude to me. Also, you got us detention. Couldn’t keep your temper under control, could you?” he replied without even looking over. You were about to reach for a tiny bottle of green bubbles, but his statement made you retract your hand and turn to face him.

“It’s not my fault I was rude,” you replied as he turned to face you, “You’re practically insufferable. You’ve been worshiped by your gang of cronies and now you go around thinking you’re some sort of royalty, it’s rather annoying, I must say. I don’t stand for people who better themselves.” Although you had never actually spoken back to him with such honesty to your words before, something about telling him off made you feel good.

He smirked at you — which was the last reaction you were expecting — and walked towards you slowly. Up until the point where your back was up against the shelves, but he didn’t slow down. Eventually, he stopped in front of you, his hands against the wooden shelves on either side of your head, and his face closer to you than it’s ever been.

You had never noticed the freckles on his cheekbones, or the scar he had above his lip. Or even the way there was a speck of green in his right eye. Or how being so close to him made your breath catch and your heart race.

Wait — what were you thinking?

“Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” his smirk was still evident, but the only thing you could focus on was the proximity of your bodies. If Snape were to walk in...

“You’re — uh — I don’t—,” you couldn’t find the words to say as he looked from your eyes to your lips. You had never been in a position like this with anyone before. It felt so intimate, so personal.

“You know, I gotta say I find you quite endearing,” he said softly, eyes staring into yours with such intensity your knees were weak. What the hell was going on?

“You — you do?” you found yourself questioning, suddenly very aware that you had no idea what to do with your hands. Do you put them down?

You settled on crossing them across your chest, almost as if challenging Malfoy.

“Yeah, I do,” he nodded, “You’ve got this innocent, know-it-all air about you. And I can’t help but feel weirdly drawn to you. Not that I mind, of course. You’re lucky you’re gorgeous.” Heat rose to your cheeks and you knew he was loving it.

“You find me gorgeous?” you smiled lightly, trying to distract him from teasing your blush.

He grinned, “Course I do. Infuriating as hell, but gorgeous.” You lost all self control, and without thinking, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down so his lips crashed against yours.

He wasted no time in responding, placing his hands gently around your waist and pulling your body flush against his, his lips moving slowly yet forcefully against your own. He was surpringly passionate for someone who seemed to have such a hard edge.

You felt his tongue slide against your bottom lip before clashing with yours, the pure feeling of bliss and energy moulding between the two of you. It was as if ice and fire had met, and the result was calmness and passion.

“Draco—,” his lips moved away from your lips and down to your jaw, and even lower to your neck. He left soft kisses all the way down to your collarbone, leaving you with goosebumps all over your body. He was surprisingly really good at this. Even you had to admit you were enjoying this.

He reluctantly pulled away from you, his lips a dark shade of red and his hair a little wild. It was quite possibly the hottest he’s ever looked.

“Don’t let this change anything, I still find you a pain in the ass,” you mumbled as you raised your hand to fix your hair, hoping no one would notice that you had gotten busy with Malfoy in Snape’s office of all places.

“Right back at you, darling,” he winked at you, causing your heart to flutter, “Shall we get back to work?”

—

[mhdiaries]

Frights, Camera, Action! – Hauntlywood Clawdia Wolf Diary

August 25th

Today I was walking through the streets of Londoom I just wanted to howl and do a little dance because I’m so excited to be here. I didn’t, of course, do the dancing part, since I’m the one with the “clumsy gene” in our family and I didn’t want to fall through an open monster hole cover. It has never bothered me that I’m not as athletic as the rest of the pack, because I think it was pretty apparent even when I was a cub that I was better at writing stories about my brothers’ and sisters’ athletic exploits than participating in them. It’s not that I didn’t try, but my mind and body may have been in concert but they were not playing the same tune. I remember the last organized soccer game I played: the coach put me in the goal partly because I was tall for my age and partly because he thought that perhaps the prospect of a ball being rocketed toward me might keep my attention. It worked for a bit, until the ball stayed at the other end of the pitch for a while, and a butterfly landed on the net. All of a sudden I became a ferocious were-spider who decided to give the butterfly a reprieve. So I climbed up in the net to shoo it away when I heard my dad yell, “Clawdia, turn around!” A ghoul was on a breakaway, and the only thing between her and me was open pitch and the ball. I tried to turn, and my spikes caught in the net, so I just closed my eyes and leaped toward the front of the goal. Somehow the ball ended up in my claws, and I kept the ghoul from scoring. It was my one and only athletic achievement, so I retired with my legacy in check and got a good story out of it, which, I’m sure, will end up in one of my screamplays some day. 

September 8th

I was sitting in the lecture hall today not really paying attention like I should have been, partly because I was working on a not-for-that-class writing assignment and partly, okay, mostly, because symbolism in ghost-modern, neo-realist goblin cinema is only slightly less painful than rolling in flea-infested wolf’s bane. Honestly, I have no idea what a goblin miner wearing a red hat and pushing an empty ore cart says about the state of modern goblin-kobold relations. I’m sure it is profound and important, but well... it doesn’t matter. What did matter, howere, was that the professor asked a question that he wanted all of us to answer, and I didn’t hear the question. I could have asked him to repeat the question, of course, but then I would have had to acknowledge that I had not been paying attention, and since this particular professor hates that, I knew I was going to have to wing it on the answer. Which made me nervous, which made me look for something to chew on, which meant I wasn’t listening to the other answers, which meant I didn’t have a clue when he got to me. So when he said, “Ms. Wolf?” I said I didn’t think I could add anything to the discussion that had not been more profoundly stated in the answers my classmates had already given. This caused the rest of the class to burst out laughing, to which the professor said, “While I appreciate your humility, your answer leaves us no closer to knowing how many siblings you have.” I was mortalfied, but even more so when he said, “Please do try and pay better attention going forward.” Unlive and learn, Clawdia, unlive and learn. 

September 15th

I’ve been using my iCoffin tablet to do some of my writing lately, and I really like it. I mean, I like the tablet. It’s great for doing video chats, and there are some really cool Londoom based apps that have helped me find my way around the city better. As for the writing part, I still prefer my chewed pen and leghoul pad. It may be old-fashioned, but there’s something about a blank sheet of paper that’s less intimidating than a blank scream with a blinking cursor.

October 1st

The only thing that’s coming down faster than the temperature in Londoom right now is the rain. I’m not sure what the real temp is, but you know it’s cold when a werewolf has to put on her fuzzy wool socks... brrr... fortunately, dad did a good job preparing me for this climate by never allowing to turn the thermostat up past the “I can see my breath” mark during the winter. We would say, “Dad, the house is freezing!” to which he would always reply, “You can either have heat or you can eat.” Followed quickly by, “We’re werewolves, for ghoul’s sake, put on a sweater if you’re cold.” Then we’d all look at mom, who would just shrug her soldiers. It was one of the only things she couldn’t change his mind about. So we’d all just sit snuggled together on the couch watching bad TV, complaining about Howleen’s sharp, unclipped paw nails and making promises about what we’d do when we all moved out and got our own places. I distinctly remember saying that I would turn up the heat so high that it would make Gloom Beach seem like a Yeti cave. So the first time it got cold here, I did just that, and it was every bit as amazing as I imagined it would be, until I got my first heating bill. Let’s just say that grocery shopping for the next few weeks gave me a completely different perspective on dad’s old saying. I’m pretty confident that saltines and marmite will never darken the shelves of my cupboard again after having that formerly tasty combination as my only breakfast and lunch option for a fortnight. I’m really missing being able to snuggle up on the couch with my pack of siblings, and I wouldn’t even complain about Howleen’s uncut paw nails... well, maybe not a lot.  

October 6th

I had a great video chat with the fam tonight, and they could not stop talking about Draculaura being chosen as queen of the vampires. They were in complete shock, and I have to admit it was quite a surprise to me as well. The vampires haven’t had a queen since the last chosen one, a young vampire ghoul named Elissabat, disappeared some 400 years ago. What is really curious about this, as if Draculaura being chosen as the new queen right out of the boo wasn’t curious enough, is that Clawdeen told me Draculaura’s choice was confirmed by the Vampire’s Heart. I have actually been doing quite a bit of research on the heart, which is really just a massive jewel with magical properties, for a screamplay I wanted to write about the mystery of the missing queen. There are many scholars that believe the jewel disappeared at the same time the ghoul who would be queen did; so either the scholars are incorrect, or there is more here than meets the eye. I didn’t want to be the one to rain on the funeral though, until I had a little more proof, especially with Clawdeen being so excited about attending the coronation. I did notice that Clawd wasn’t in the room with everyone else, and I’m wondering how he is dealing with this news. 

October 7th

Clawdeen has sent me at least 30 texts and emails since last night detailing the fashions she’s thinking about taking to the coronation. I can see her now running around the room with absolutely every piece of clothing she owns spread out so she can mix and match fashions. She’s probably also been through Draculaura’s closet several times as well. I love her so much and I wish I could be there to make her laugh when she starts getting too serious. She’s so beautiful, though, that whatever she chooses will probably steal the show. I finally got an IM from Clawd asking if we could talk. This wasn’t unusual, since Clawd prefers one-on-one conversation to fighting for face time in a group. When he popped up on the screen he looked terrible, almost like he’d been crying, although it might have just been bad lighting. As usual, Clawd didn’t want to talk about himself and instead wanted to know every little thing I was doing. I finally had to say, “Stop howling around the moon and talk to me, little brother.” So he did. He told me that he didn’t trust the Lord Stoker character that showed up with the Vampire’s Heart claiming it led him to Draculaura. What’s more, neither did Draculaura. They both thought Draculaura would be miserable being queen, but that she would feel honor and duty bound to take the throne. Even so he was trying to be as supportive as possible and went on for a few more minutes about things that were worrying him. When he stopped I said, “You really love her, don’t you?” He looked down for a moment and swallowed hard, “She’s my best friend, sis, and I’m about to lose her forever.” Now it was my turn to swallow hard, and then he made an excuse about having to leave for practice and said a hasty goodbye. I’m going to do some more digging into this, because something doesn’t pass the smell test here, and a Wolf’s nose is always right. 

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Guess who's back? I was hoping you could envision a fluffy #3, "I'm too sober for this", with Josh? I love him and we didn't see any of him in the last prompt list.

Add Josh Washington to the list of Rami Malek characters done so wrong—this fluffy piece takes place before the events of Until Down during Josh’s first year of college.

* * * * *

Josh knew that if he slunk any lower in his chair, he would fall asleep. It was no lie that freshman got the shittiest course times for classes, but a 7 pm class with Professor Hughes was the absolute worst part of Josh’s day.

 It was too late by the time he found out that Psych 101 with Hughes was the shittiest combination in his entire major, so every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, Josh trudged to class. Well, most Fridays. He had calculated that as long as he aced his tests and only missed three classes, he would still get an A in the course.

 And the tests were easy—Professor Hughes pulled the test questions from the end-of-unit practice exams. The part that was the worst was the class consisted of Hughes reading to them from their textbook . . . verbatim. No discussion. No checks for comprehension. Just. Reading. Aloud.

“European philosophers continued to ask these fundamental questions during the Renaissance. For instance, the French philosopher René Descartes (1596–1650) also considered the issue of free will, arguing in its favor and believing that the mind controls the body through the pineal gland in the brain (an idea that made some sense at the time but was later proved incorrect).

 Descartes also believed in the existence of innate natural abilities. A scientist as well as a philosopher, Descartes dissected animals and was among the first to understand that the nerves controlled the muscles. He also addressed the relationship between mind (the mental aspects of life) and body believed in the principle of dualism: that the mind is fundamentally different from the mechanical body. Other European philosophers, including Thomas Hobbes (1588–1679), John Locke (1632–1704), and Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712–1778), also weighed in on these issues.”

 "I'm too sober for this," Josh said under his breath, causing you to giggle.

 Josh tilted his beanie-clad head back, catching your eye and shooting you a smirk. Over the past few weeks, the two of you had become pretty-good class buddies. Most of your class consisted of adults and commuters, but there was a small group of freshman Psych majors that had been sticking it out together. It wasn’t unusual for Josh and the others to take a few shots before they showed up to class like the upper classmen had advised them to do.

 You quietly tore off a piece of notebook paper and scrawled, Was that why you missed class last week? Couldn’t pass up on the big party?

 You poked Josh in the back and he reached behind him without even turning to grab your note. By Friday, neither you nor Josh could survive the two-hour class without some form of entertainment, so you had taken to writing notes to pass the time.

 You know I had to get my pre-game on. Thought you were gonna make an appearance?

 As you read over Josh’s response, you wondered whether you should tell him the truth—that you never drank so parties like that weren’t your scene. You knew Josh was a seasoned partier and you didn’t want him to think that you were judging his choice to drink. You also didn’t want him to think you were totally lame like a lot of people did when they found out.

 You sighed and quickly scrawled, Confession: I don’t party—don’t drink, don’t smoke, nothing. I’m just not into the whole ‘let’s get fucked up’ scene.

 When Josh read your response, he straightened up in his chair and grabbed his pen, quickly writing back, Let me get this straight. You are always totally sober every single time you come to this class? And you never miss a class?

 You smiled a little and wrote back, Yup. I take Professor Hughes 3x a week totally straight.

 When Josh read your response, he turned around and looked at you with an open-mouthed expression of awe. He shook his head and then turned around, reaching for his pen again.

 You are far more of a badass than I am.

 You smiled as you read his words, pleased that he didn’t think you were totally lame.

 “Class dismissed. See you on Monday,” Professor Hughes stated in the same monotone voice with which he read the textbook.

 Josh turned around the instant everyone began to shuffle their belongings into their bags.

 “I just figured you didn’t come take shots with us because you did them with other people.”

 You stood up, placing your bookbag on your chair in order to pack up your stuff.

 “Nope. I just don’t . . . drink.”

 “I feel like an ass for bugging you to come to that party now,” Josh said as he finally stood, too.

 “I’m glad you invited me. I just wasn’t sure how to tell you that I don’t party. I didn’t want you to think I was judging you or anyone else and people usually think I’m pretty lame once they find out. Or they befriend me to have a chronic DD,” you finished with a shrug of your shoulders.

 Josh had finished packing his bag while you talked and now stood with it flung over one shoulder. He was holding onto the strap, looking just a little nervous.

 You arched your brow and asked, “What?”

 “Uh, well, if partying isn’t your thing, how would you feel about coming over to watch a movie?”

 “Won’t your friends miss you at tonight’s party? It is Friday night.”

 “Oh, definitely. I’m hilarious, ya know. But I really wanna hang out with you—I mean, how often does someone get to meet a superhero with the ability to stay awake and sober in Professor Hughes’s class?”

 You laughed, “Alright. Yeah, I’d love to watch a movie with you. As long as you have good taste,” you added, teasing Josh.

 “I’m offended. You never listen to a thing I say, well, read a thing I write.”

 “Not true,” you said, patting the side of your bookbag. “I keep every word.”

 Josh looked like he could kiss you in that moment, clearly touched that you had kept your exchanged notes.

 So when he smiled at you, a wide, happy grin, your stomach did a little flip.  

 “Let’s get the hell out of Dodge,” Josh said, quoting an old TV show and offering you his arm.

 You smiled and shook your head at him as you linked your arm in his.

[the-regal-warrior]

In Which Thomas Is an Idiot

Here it is: my very first fic for Stalking Jack the Ripper. I’ve been in love with this series for a while, so I figured I’d try my hand at writing for it. This story is a little surprise for the absolutely lovely @city-of-fae - while it’s not nearly as good as the beautiful stories she brings to life, I’ve been inspired by her and wanted to give her some love.

Huge shout-outs go to @highqueenofelfhame for helping me plan this and to @tangledraysofsunshine for editing for me. You’re both absolutely amazing and I’d be lost without you!

Summary: Thomas Cresswell is an idiot, but it’s for a good reason, he swears. Or, Audrey Rose Wadsworth catches him in a lie and is determined to get to the bottom of it.

Warnings: I actually don’t think there are any necessary warnings for this one. That’s new.

.

Audrey Rose was completely and utterly baffled. Beyond that, even. 

Her uncle, once the greatest forensic pathologist the police department had ever seen, was now a professor at the local college. Audrey Rose, despite only being a sophomore, had been studying forensics and helping her uncle cut open dead bodies for long enough that she served as a tutor for the two senior elective classes he taught. During the two hour lab, his students would be taken through one of his previous cases, complete with models of the cadavers and mock crime scenes. Since he taught the class twice a day, she only sat in on one lecture, but she tutored students from both classes. 

Most of the students who came to Audrey Rose for help just needed a little guidance in connecting the dots. They would often understand the conclusion, but needed someone to help them truly see how her uncle had gotten to it so quickly. Since tutoring sessions involved making her rounds between individual students, this was relatively easy to accomplish. Usually all she needed to do was explain things a little more in depth, and they were good to go. 

But “usually” did not apply to Thomas Cresswell.

As far as Audrey Rose was concerned, he was the biggest idiot she’d ever encountered - at least in terms of this class. He was at every single tutoring session she offered, yet he never seemed to make any progress. 

When he’d first come to her for help, Audrey Rose had been a bit taken aback by him. He was one of the most beautiful boys she’d ever seen, and he seemed intelligent, both in the way he spoke and in the way he handled himself. He was reading a different classic novel each week, seemingly for fun because she knew he didn’t have any English classes, and their conversations about said books were always in-depth and riveting. She’d figured he’d just been confused by something her uncle had said during class and needed clarification. 

Her thoughts on the matter, however, were quickly disproven by the end of the session. 

But the confusing part, however, was his grade on the test she’d just graded. 

100%. 

She usually didn’t pay attention to the names on tests - frankly, she didn’t care how the students did one way or another - but she’d recognized his handwriting immediately. Worried about what she’d see on his test, it was with some trepidation that she started grading it.

When she got to the last page, she couldn’t quite believe what she was looking at. 

Quickly grading the rest of the stack, she picked up Thomas’s test and made her way to her uncle’s desk. “Uncle Jonathan,” she began, resting a hip against his desk. “Can I ask you something?”

Looking up from the lessons he was preparing, her uncle inclined his head. “Of course, dear.”

“Well, I’m a little curious about the grade one of your students got on his test.” When her uncle only nodded at her to go on, she added, “It’s Thomas Cresswell. His test was perfect - not a single point off.”

“That’s hardly surprising. Thomas is practically my best student.”

Audrey Rose couldn’t help it - her mouth dropped open in surprise. “He is?”

“Without a doubt. He gets a perfect score on every test. Thomas is the first to volunteer an answer to every question I ask, along with being one of the few students willing to challenge answers the other students have given. He’s participated in a fair amount of demonstrations, and he’s the only student who got a perfect score on the pretest. I imagine this class is actually quite simple for him, but his work always goes above and beyond.”

“Huh,” Audrey Rose muttered. “You don’t say.”

At the inquisitive look her uncle gave her, she just shook her head and returned to her table in the corner of the room, a plan already forming in her head. 

~*^*~

By the time the next tutoring session rolled around, Audrey Rose had a plan - a plan she was willing to bet would work flawlessly. If Thomas challenged answers given by other students, she had no doubt he’d correct her if she started giving him wrong answers. 

Making her rounds, she mentally thanked her uncle for choosing to discuss a case involving blood splatters today - something nice and simple for her to purposely get wrong without sounding like she was doing it on purpose. 

“Cresswell,” she started, walking up behind him. “How’s it going over here?”

“Not so great, Wadsworth.” Thomas turned his gaze to her, confusion swimming in his eyes. “I can’t seem to grasp the whole blood splatter/direction of impact concept.”

“Well, it’s pretty simple really.” Pointing to a picture in their text, Audrey Rose managed to keep a smirk off her face. “Since the blood is splattered on the wall to this side of the body, you can tell the bullet came from the left.”

Making like she was moving on to the girl at the table next to Thomas, she only managed to take two steps before Thomas was interrupting her. “Um, wouldn’t that imply the bullet came from the right?”

Glancing back down at the picture, Audrey Rose sculpted her features into a look of mild embarrassment. “Oh, you’re right. Sorry about that!”

Thomas just nodded at her, his focus already moving to the next scenario. Audrey Rose continued to the next student, glad her plan had already started to work.

~*^*~

The rest of her tutoring session had continued in the same fashion. She would make her way back to Thomas and give him another incorrect answer, each one getting more and more complicated. 

And each time, Thomas corrected the inaccuracies in her statements. It was almost like he couldn’t quite help himself.

As the last student walked out of the classroom, Thomas pulled his bag over his shoulder and wandered in Audrey Rose’s direction, his hands tucked into his pockets.

In what had quickly become a routine for the two of them, Thomas would walk Audrey Rose to her car, the two of them discussing classic literature and their favorite books along the way. Clearly, he hadn’t caught on to her plan if he was continuing on like everything was normal.

“So,” he began, an easy smile falling across his face, “I finally finished Dracula, and I must say, I don’t agree with your belief that it’s better than Frankenstein.”

“That’s great, Cresswell.” She cut him off before he could get into a rant about the merits of Frankenstein, needing to get to the bottom of this whole deal. “But I need to talk to you about something else before we discuss why you’re wrong about how great Dracula is.”

“Sure, Wadsworth. What’s up?”

Audrey Rose caught his eyes with hers then, her gaze never wavering as she said, “You know, I was very impressed with your last test score - not a single question wrong.”

“Oh, you saw that?” His gaze dropped briefly to the floor before meeting hers.

“Yeah, I was helping my uncle with some grading. It really took me by surprise.”

“Well, what can I say? You’re an excellent tutor.”

“Cresswell,” she cut in, her tone sharp. “I talked to my uncle about it. I know that you’re his best student, that you get scores like that on every test. I know that you even got a perfect score on the pretest.”

His gaze fell to the floor then, and he refused to meet her eyes, no matter how long she stared at him.

Heaving a sigh, she continued, “So, why, exactly, are you acting like you don’t know what’s going on when you could probably be helping tutor the others?”

“Well,” he started, his voice a bit sheepish, “you weren’t supposed to know I was pretending not to understand.”

“Thomas Cresswell, I’m not amused by this. Why on earth would you waste your time and mine like this?”

He finally met her gaze then, his eyes filled with something that looked suspiciously like pain. “I’m sorry, Wadsworth, I really am. I just wanted to spend time with you.”

“What?” Whatever Audrey Rose had been expecting, it wasn’t that.

“I was enchanted by you the minute your uncle introduced you to us during the first week of classes. You only sat in on our class once, but I was taken by the way you handled yourself, the way you were so sure of yourself as you helped your uncle perform a demonstration, the way you quickly and efficiently shut down anyone who thought you didn’t know what you were doing because you were younger. I just - I didn’t know how to approach you.”

“Thomas -” she began, but he held a hand up to stop her.

“I know it seems ridiculous. But you made it clear you didn’t have the time to deal with any of our nonsense. I was just afraid you’d shut me down like you did everyone else.”

“Thomas,” Audrey Rose started again, and this time he let her continue. “Why would you think I would shut you down, when I am as taken with you as you claim to be with me?”

Now it was Thomas’s turn to be confused. “You - what?”

“Cresswell, I’ve never met another man who has captivated me like you do. I was smitten the minute you walked in carrying a copy of Macbeth, and then immediately began analyzing it when I asked you how you liked it.”

Shaking his head, Thomas just gave her a sheepish grin. “I’ve been a fool. But I’m a fool for you, dear Wadsworth. Will you do this poor fool one small favor and accompany me on a date tonight?”

Laughing, Audrey Rose intertwined their fingers, kissing him quickly on the cheek before replying. “It would bring me nothing but pleasure, Cresswell, my dear fool.”

Leaning down, Thomas pressed his lips to her forehead as his laughter joined hers in echoing around the empty classroom.

.

As always, please let me know your thoughts, and if you want to be added to my tag list!

Tags: @highqueenofelfhame @city-of-fae @musicmaam @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @tacmc @tangledraysofsunshine @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @tonystarkdadmode @tamaranianprincess

[texanredrose]

Happens So Fast

Weiss turned, tray in hand, and scanned the cafeteria with her good eye. Admittedly, the floor plan was much more open than any dining situation she’d been familiar with, students even allowed to eat outside among the trees rather than inside, but there were certain similarities. Open seats in less than ideal positions, friends grouped up together, a few teachers milling around under the pretense of fetching their own lunches while keeping an eye on their charges- typical of any high school, even one so far away from her homeland.

Aside from a surprisingly familiar face, her first day at a new school had come with remarkably few surprises.

“Oh, hey, are you the new girl?”

Up to, and including, that.

“Well, I’m certainly new. Jury’s still out on the second part,” she replied dryly, turning to see the blond boy from earlier that morning, the same one who’d quite nearly lost the fight between himself, his backpack, and the door. “And you are?”

“Jaune. Jaune Arc.” He held out a hand- nevermind the tray she carried- and smiled wide. “I’m a local.”

“Charming.” A sigh slipped past her lips, starting towards the doors; a lunch out among the pleasant air seemed novel enough for her to try it at least once. “Weiss Schnee.”

“That’s a really pretty name.” Keeping pace with her, Jaune hurried ahead to open the door. At the very least, his heart seemed in the right place. “Where are you from?”

“Atlas.” She spied an empty table, which would work well enough. As she sat down, Weiss noticed she wasn’t alone and resigned herself to entertaining company. Honestly, she’d rather enjoyed the distance everyone else had kept so far; back in her homeland, she could hardly take three steps without being surrounded by people who cared about as much for her as most people did about the grass beneath their shoes. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“That’s okay! We can talk about other things.” He offered in a friendly matter. Before she had the chance to point out that she actually intended on eating her lunch, Jaune suddenly went stock still, shrinking down where he sat. “Oh no. It’s them.”

“Them?” Turning around, she followed his gaze to see two groups of people entering the little courtyard in front of the cafeteria, each bedecked in what would be considered uniforms for the sheer conformity of each person wearing it. 

On the one hand, bluejeans and black leather jackets, sigils stitched into the right shoulder that provided the only difference between them, calf high boots, and letters across the back- BYRP. This look she’d already dissected, having run into Blake earlier in the day, much to her own surprise, though she hadn’t been formally introduced to the other members of the ‘crew’, as some had taken to calling the four. It painted such a starkly different picture to the Blake she’d become familiar with during her brief time on the shore with the Faunus.

On the other, board shorts and tank tops with sigils on the front and the letters CFVY on the back, putting on display rather impressive muscles from the four, the whole lot also wearing sunglasses though of slightly varying designs.

The two groups seemed to regard the other with very pointed disinterest. It was almost funny.

“They’re bad news.” He puffed out his chest a bit with a little bit of bravado. “Don’t worry, I can protect you; they don’t usually give me any grief.”

“How are they bad news?” She glanced at the young man, raising a brow in askance to prove that she genuinely wanted to know.

“Well, like... they’re gangs, and they start nothing but trouble.” He seemed genuinely surprised when she waved her hand for something more concrete, begging him to continue. “Like- okay, like, BYRP-”

“Burp?”

“Yeah, that’s what they call themselves.” He jerked his chin towards Blake’s group. “Each one of them just gets up to no good. That little one? Her name’s Ruby, and she’s a total speed demon! Always talking about how fast she goes! She’s always getting tickets for speeding and she never pays ‘em!”

“... go on.”

“And, and Yang, the blonde- she’s dating a teacher! A teacher! And, yeah, we don’t know who yet, but she talks about her teacher girlfriend all the time! Probably the only reason she hasn’t been expelled.” A headache began to form and she rubbed at her temple absently. “And Pyrrha, she’s... well, I mean, she can be nice, I guess, but she can break people in half! She’s, like, a black belt, and she’s always getting into fights!”

“Here on campus?”

“No, no, at least not since that one time, but, honestly, the dude kinda deserved it.” He winced. “Cardin’s... a royal ass.”

“Wonderful. What about Blake?”

“Oh, them, well, they used to run with a really rough crowd. Called themselves White Fangs, used to cause all sorts of trouble!”

“And what have they done recently?”

“Uh... oh! They got into it with Professor Oobleck once a few weeks back, trying to correct his lesson about the Faunus Relocation.” A moment passed as he tilted his head. “I mean, Professor Oobleck admitted they were right, but they could’ve been nicer about it.”

Mentally, she summoned the deepest depth of her patience. “And the other group?”

“Oh, CFVY, they’re just as bad!” He quickly glanced around at the sudden uptick in volume his voice had taken, comforted when no one seemed to be paying their conversation any mind. Then he continued in a softer voice. “Well, take Coco. She’s always running red lights and she never followed instructions during art class.”

“Oh, the horror.”

“Look, I’m just saying, there’s a pattern of behavior.” Jaune shrugged. “Fox is always tripping people or shoulder checking them and Yatsuhashi? I mean, look at him, he’s always scowling like that, as if everyone around him is this huge inconvenience. Then there’s Velvet.” He shook his head. “No, she’s not someone to mess with; she lost her ear in a brawl when she went on vacation. Vacation! Can you believe that? People should relax on vacation.”

“Where’d she go?”

“Huh?”

“Where did she go?” Weiss raised a brow. “On vacation.”

“Oh... I dunno.” He shrugged. “Does that matter?”

“Yes, it does, because I can see from here that it’s a clean cut, but not the sort made by a surgeon.” She tilted her head, using her good eye to examine the two groups standing off facing each other. They didn’t seem aggressive, per se, but they definitely looked like they were posturing for show. The question was: who was the show for? “In some parts of Remnant, Faunus still face heavy discrimination.” A frown touched her lips. “My part of the world is most certainly one of them. That’s not the sort of wound inflicted during a bar fight and cleaned up after; it was probably made by a blade, clean enough that whatever medical profession she sought- if any- didn’t deem removing more to be necessary.” Her gaze shifted. “And Ruby hardly looks old enough to be at this school, much less to drive a car. What kind does she drive? Do you know?”

“Uh, no... I’ve... never actually seen her drive.”

“I suspect she doesn’t, especially since I saw her chaining up her bike this morning. And him, Fox you said? Have you ever waved to him and he didn’t react?”

“Oh, all the time! It’s like no one exists around him!”

“... you do realize he’s blind, right?” He pointed out the striped cane- red and dark brown, a strange color combination but it worked. “He literally can’t see, so it’s no wonder he bumps into people who aren’t paying attention themselves.” She sighed. “And the big one, Yatsuhashi. He’s not scowling; he’s quite clearly relaxed. You can tell by the slump of his shoulders. This is coming from someone with a genetic predisposition towards ‘resting bitch face’; I know that look, and it conveys nothing more than disinterest.”

“Well, what about Blake and Pyrrha? They’re still bad news. And Coco.”

“Oh, yes, imagine a student hearing an incorrect history that she has a vested personal interest in and being polite about it being taught incorrectly. See the previous mention I made about ‘heavy discrimination’.” She shrugged. “And you yourself can admit that Pyrrha’s done nothing wrong that you can remember, except beat up someone who deserved the treatment. Not sure about Coco, though.”

With every word, he seemed more confused than before, shifting uncomfortably when she shifted her gaze back to him. “Well, we can at least agree that Yang’s definitely in the wrong, right?”

“Well, let’s see. What’s Yang’s full name?”

“Uh, Yang Xiao Long, but why does that matter?”

“Because the ‘teacher’ she’s dating is my sister,” Weiss replied with a little smirk. “And I can assure you, she doesn’t work here. Or at all, actually; she’s studying at the college for her teaching degree.” She shrugged. “Although we’ve yet to meet face-to-face, Winter made sure to clear it through me before the two started dating, and given the recent development of that relationship, I think that rather effectively debunks the idea that Yang’s some sort of deviant.” A pause, and then she narrowed her eyes. “If anything, shame on the teacher for dating a student, by the by. I think that’s an important distinction to make.”

Jaune blinked, his shoulders slumping. “So... you’re saying...”

“That you should use your eyes- seeing as you have two of them- rather than putting stock in exaggerated rumors.” She stood up, grabbing her lunch tray and giving him a small smile. “And, just to be clear, you should endeavor to learn a bit about a person before judging them one way or another. As another example: I don’t want to date you. I’m a lesbian.”

“I- well- I don’t know what-”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you actually wanted to get to know me as a person before asking me out on a date.” When he remained silent, she nodded. “You’re a nice enough guy, Jaune. But... try to remember that everyone you meet is a person, first, and there’s far more to them than meets the eye.” She turned her head, ensuring he could see the damage done to her left eye that robbed her of vision. “And coming from someone who’s half blind, let me assure you: it was a difficult lesson to learn and even harder to put it into practice. Be thankful you’ve gained the knowledge much easier than I did.”

Turning away, she started towards the groups of troublemakers, who seemed to be quite content trading barbs between them.

Velvet narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. As much as she enjoyed the daily shit talking with Blake’s crew, she did want to eat today. “Look, Belladonna, it’s been fun, but now you’re bugging me. Step off.”

“Like hell I will.” They narrowed their amber eyes. “We go through this every day, Scarletina. Just give it up already. It’s getting old.”

“It really is.” Ruby grumbled, a little furrow to her brow as she outright pouted.

No, she would not lose because of that damn pout. “Then move it. We ain’t got all day.”

“What seems to be the problem?” A new voice cut in, prompting all eight of them to turn their heads to acknowledge the fool who’d dare interrupt their daily beef.

“Oh, uh, h-hi, Weiss.” And in the blink of an eye, her calm and cool rival of years turned into a stuttering, blushing fool. “W-we were, just, well-”

“We’re determining who eats first.” Coco supplied, obviously intrigued by the newcomer’s appearance.

Snapping out of her surprise, Velvet nodded. “Yeah. We ate first yesterday. It’s their turn.”

Weiss blinked. “I’m sorry; you’re arguing for the other group to eat first.”

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “It’s only polite.” She shot a look at Blake. “But they’re being difficult, as usual.”

“Look, we both know they don’t always have enough pizzas for all of us, and it’s practically the only thing you eat!” Blake snapped out, apparently regaining their ability to properly speak. “So just go in and grab your food, you punk!”

“You’ve got the runt! You go grab food!”

“Okay, my food is getting cold, so as amusing as this is,” Weiss said, turning towards Blake. “You four come with me. You’re eating first today.”

“Finally!” Ruby threw her hands in the air and turned towards the cafeteria. “They better have some cookies left!”

Velvet watched with a smirk, taking a bit of pride in the annoyance flashing across her rival’s expression, but it died in the next moment when Weiss laid a hand on their forearm and pulled their attention away.

“Come along, now. I’d love to hear more about your friends.”

As BYRP started towards the cafeteria, Velvet watched, mood souring with every step.

“Uh oh. Someone is jealous.”

“Shut up, Coco.”

“Wait, who’s jealous?” Fox paused. “It’s Velvet, isn’t it?”

“Yup.”

“Shut up, Yatsu.”

Fox whistled low. “So what’s the score?”

“That new voice you heard was a very pretty girl turning Belladonna into a blushing mess, and our sweet little Velvs is jealous.”

“I am not jealous.” She rounded on her friends, her glare hardly effective against them. “Who would I even be jealous of, by the way? Belladonna? Ha! I could get a girl as pretty as that to go on a date with me.”

“You can’t count yourself,” Yatsu said, earning a groan and two snickers for his contribution. “But, seriously, you think you’re jealous of Belladonna?”

“I am not-”

“Excuse me.” Velvet turned around slowly, coming face-to-face with the woman who’d so effortlessly thrown her rival off guard. “Here.”

Umber eyes fell to find a pizza being held out towards her. “Uh...”

“To make sure they didn’t run out.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “Everyone wins.” With a little bit of hesitation, Velvet accepted the pizza box. “There we go. Enjoy your lunch.”

After Weiss had walked away, Velvet regarded her lunch with a furrow to her brow. “I’m stealing Belladonna’s girl.”

Yatsu sighed. “You idiot.”

“I have twenty-twenty vision compared to you,” Fox said with a groan.

Coco just put her hand on Velvet’s shoulder and pushed her glasses down so their eyes could meet. “Velvs, honey, light of my life... do you really think you’re jealous of Belladonna?”

“Of course!” She gestured with the pizza box. “Who else could I be jealous of?”

“Uh, Weiss. Obviously.”

“What?” A laugh burst from her lips. “Oh, that’s funny as hell, Coco. You really had me going there for a sec.”

“God, you’re hopeless.” Her best friend threw her hands in the air. “Fine, fuck it, let’s go help you make an idiot of yourself. What are friends for?”

Velvet watched as her rival and their crew exited the cafeteria, heading in with her friends to grab their food.

It still made her laugh a little, though. 

Her? Jealous of Weiss? For what, effortlessly getting Blake to do something?

Ha! Yeah, right!

[sleeplesspensieve]

Remedy For Guilt - X

Summary: The daughter of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange is a Healer who finds herself not only haunted by her past but also questioning her choice in career. When Lyra Lestrange’s old headmaster offers her a position as Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher she finds herself thrown into an adventure involving a secret affair with a colleague, discovering the cure for a disease and dealing with students cursing themselves. Who knew that being a Hogwarts Professor was such a rollercoaster?

Set in the school year of 1990-1991 with the prospect of a sequel, or two, on the horizon.

Rated: E for graphic sex scenes in THIS and later chapters. Over 18′s only please.

Word Count: 3320

Multichapter Fic (Expected to be around 30-35 chapters with a planned sequel which will take place during the Harry Potter Books)

Chapter Ten – Back To Hogwarts

On New Year’s Day Lyra shared breakfast with her old friends and they made promises that they would remain in contact in the months to come. They parted ways, all of them leaving via the Floo Network. Their visit had spurred on Narcissa’s encouragement towards finding a husband with a strong suggestion that Ilya would be great for her. He was a strong, well mannered man from an affluent family with a job similar to her Uncle’s, if they ended up together she wouldn’t have to a work a day in her life much like Narcissa. Lyra was amused at her Aunt’s suggestion knowing that Ilya was in fact with Feliks and that she was more career driven.

The remaining four days of Lyra’s holidays went by quickly and without incident. She still hadn’t heard back from Severus which at that point in time was more unnerving than disappointing. What if he just wanted to end it all and they would just lose the friendship they had built over the past four months? Lyra didn’t allow herself to dwell on these negative thoughts, instead she focused on spending time with her family, even listening to the rubbish her Uncle spouted about recent rumours.

When the time finally came for her departure Draco began to weep. His display of emotions was scolded by his parents, “Men that are pure simply do not cry.” Draco settled as Lyra gave him a tight hug and a kiss with promises that she would come back soon and write to him whenever it was possible.

Hogwarts was as empty as Lyra had left it. She expected for some of the students to have returned by now with the majority arriving back over the weekend but she was incorrect. She made her way back to her classroom with the want to prepare for the classes to come. As she walked around the Serpentine corridor she bumped into the Potions Master.

“Ah, Severus,” she said, “How has your holidays been?”

“Dull,” he said plainly. “Would you like me to help you carry your things?”

“Sure,” she replied.

The two walked around, passing by a few students on the way. She suspected this was his reasoning behind the offer but she still found it strange that she needed to justify her public appearances with Severus. They arrived at her classroom and entered, going up the stairs to her office. Severus set her suitcase down and she leaned on her desk, watching on.

“So,” she said rather dramatically. Severus’ brows rose, prompting her to continue. “What’s the plan?”

“The plan?”

“The plan,” she emphasised. “Do you want me or not, Severus?”

“More than you know,” he said.

“Was I right?” she asked, her tongue darting out from between her lips.

He smirked, “Why don’t you tell me?” He approached her and grabbed her hand, sliding it to the front of pants. She felt his erection straining against the material. Her stomach filled with warmth as she knew that she was the one responsible for his arousal.

Lyra pulled out her wand, directing it at the door and locking it. Severus leaned over the witch who was sitting on her desk and kissed her. Lyra returned the kiss with the same passion and ferocity that her partner was portraying. She melted into his embrace as his hands began fidgeting with her clothing, desperate to undress her.

“Are you going to fuck me over my own desk?” she asked.

“It’s payback for making me think about fucking you every night that’s passed,” he said as he pulled her top off. “Now every time you’re grading papers you can think of me bringing you to orgasm.”

Severus kissed the newly revealed skin which was covered in goosebumps as it was exposed to the cold air in her office. Lyra’s eyes drifted closed as she savoured his touch, his mouth exploring the tops of her breasts whilst his hands sat on her waist. One hand moved delicately up her back and undid the clasp of her bra, freeing her breasts. Her erect nipples were warmed by the heat of his mouth, his tongue and teeth teasing one whilst the other was fondled by his hand.

Severus attempted to undo her pants with the free one but required two. He pulled both her pants and underwear off in one simple movement. Lyra was at the mercy of her old Potions Professor as she found herself completely exposed whilst he was still dressed. The thought aroused her slightly which he discovered as he removed himself from his kisses and dipped his fingers between her folds. Severus smirked as she watched her blush from the revelation that she was already completely soaked.

Severus knelt down, wanting to taste the wanton witch. Lyra moaned as his head buried itself between her legs, his tongue lapping up her arousal. It darted in and out briefly before moving up and licking around her clitoris. Lyra leaned back, finding it difficult to hold her body up. She surrendered to his touch. Severus’ fingers found their way inside her and began to pump in and out, driving the young witch insane. He smirked in amusement against her sex, continuing to tongue her clitoris.

It felt like she was on fire, the heat spreading from her pussy all the way through her body. The sensations just got more intense as time went on. Her hips edged closer towards him, arching her back off the table, desperate for more. Severus moved his fingers in and out of her at a faster and steadier tempo triggering her unravelling. Lyra unconsciously bucked her hips back against his face and fingers to drive herself closer to her orgasm.

With a loud moan, Lyra fell apart at the work of his hands and mouth. Her body twitched slightly as she came down. Severus stood up and admired the aftermath of her orgasm, her beauty as she was splayed out on her desk. A few moments passed before she regained her senses and sat up on her desk.

“Severus Snape on his knees for a witch,” she teased.

“Don’t tease me,” he said, “Or I’ll be relentless.”

“How so?” she said, her hand drifted towards his unattended erection.

Wordlessly, Severus undid his trousers, unleashing his cock that had been waiting for Lyra. He pushed her legs back open and pressed it into her with one swift movement. He fucked her hard, ignoring her wants and instead focusing on the way she felt around him. Lyra quickly fell back, gripping the desk above her head as he drilled her into it. She had been surprised at his entrance but the dominance he asserted over her was welcomed as she found herself getting close to another orgasm. Severus reached down and pinched her nipples, enjoying how she looked as she writhed underneath him.

Lyra’s eyes were squeezed tight as she became overwhelmed with the simultaneous stimulation of her nipples and her pussy. She felt her pussy tighten, gripping desperately onto Severus’ cock as it rhythmically moved in and out. Her orgasm came once again and the pulsating sensation drove Severus to come deeply inside of her.

He lingered inside her for a moment, enjoying the feel of her around him and the look of bliss on Lyra’s face. He pulled out, tucking his manhood away and zipped up his pants which stirred the witch from her peace. “I’ll see you at the meeting,” he said as he showed himself out.

The woman shook her head at her lover’s remark as he left her naked on her desk with his semen spilling out of her. She got up and went through her discarded clothes looking for her wand. She found it on the floor and cleaned up the mess Severus had left her with. Lyra showered once she had finished, preparing to look somewhat decent for the staff meeting that had been scheduled for that evening.

On her way out Lyra ran into Septima Vector whose classroom resided next to hers. She hoped that the Arithmancer hadn’t heard through the walls of what occurred just moments before but their conversation didn’t show any indication that she did. They talked of what occurred over their break, Septima detailing her participation in the latest research into the magical properties of prime numbers. Lyra was thankful when they finally arrived at the staff room, taking a seat between Minerva and Severus.

The staff meetings held at Hogwarts tended to be more casual in nature, the staff members listening as the Headmaster detailed the plans for the year before carrying on merrily drinking and catching up with one another. This meeting seemed to be a bit more serious in nature as Madam Pomfrey was whispering in Dumbledore’s ear as they awaited for the remainder if the teachers. Once they had arrived, Albus stood to address the teachers.

“Welcome back,” he said with a smile, “I hope you all are well rested and ready to get back into teaching. We’ve received a draft timetable for both the OWLs and NEWTs that will take place in June so please bare this in mind. I hope our students will be well prepared for what is to come.”

“Now, on a more serious matter, Madam Pomfrey has informed me that there have been a few cases of Psyrot in the wizarding community over the past few weeks so we must be prepared and vigilant as students may be affected. I will let Madam Pomfrey explain.”

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Poppy said before taking the stage. “Psyrot is an extremely contagious disease that can result in death. Thankfully it is easily managed by the standard cold treatment, Pepper-Up, during its initial stages. You must look out for the following symptoms.”

Poppy raised her wand and a blackboard appeared, detailing the symptoms of Psyrot. “They have been split into three different stages. Stage One is when it is most contagious and is spread through the exchange of mucus so please prevent students from kissing and ensure proper hygiene is used when sneezing and coughing. Tiredness, nausea and irritability are all also symptoms of the disease. Stage Two may cause the affected to have diarrhoea, vomiting and sensitivity to light. They may also be confused and or pass out.”

“Finally there is Stage Three, which I hope we will not see as these symptoms are untreatable and there is no cure for it. These symptoms include cold shivers, pale skin, headaches, rash and convulsions. I have already sent out information sheets to all parents and hopefully there will be no one bringing it into the school but we can only hope. I ask you all to stay aware of the condition of your students and send them to me if you see any sign that a student may even be the slightest bit sick. Also, Severus, Lyra, could you two please assist me with preparing some pepper up and sleeping draught? I don’t want to run out.”

Lyra nodded with a genuine look of concern, she spotted Severus’ head nod curtly from the side of her vision. Once they had finished eating the two of them headed down to the dungeons in order to start preparing.

“Have you heard of Psyrot before?” Severus asked.

“Yeah,” she said, her face strained as she thought back. “It was back in the healing history classes, I don’t think a case has popped up since the 1890’s and back then it was pretty debilitating. If you can stop it early on its fine but a lot of people who got to the second or third stage were left to die until they found that the sleeping draught actually helps the body recover during second stage. From memory kids and the elderly didn’t usually develop past the first stage so the people most at risk are the older students and you and me. But the whole case was pretty well documented because it held likeness to the muggle Spanish flu which to only seemed to kill those with a well working immune system. It probably has something to do with the body’s reaction to the disease.”

“Any idea what causes it?”

“Honestly, it could be anything,” she said, pondering for a moment. “I mean it’d have to be something small enough to not be noticed when you sneeze. It could be a bacterium or virus which denatures with the increase of temperature when you take the pepper up, much like the common cold but it could also be a parasite that was small and when it fully matures you can’t kill it as easily.”

“You’d be good at research,” he commented, “Have you ever thought about pursuing it further?”

“Yeah,” she said with a half frown, “It’s just a matter of finding someone in research to take me on as an apprentice. My last name has been a major struggle, it deters anyone within the UK from taking me on, I’m guessing because they think I’ll use the Dark Arts and create some fucked up disease and release it onto the world but yeah, I’m really interested in developing cures for diseases and curses.”

“Why don’t you just change your last name?”

“I did try once but someone ruined that,” she laughed, “I want to change its reputation. I don’t want people to think of what my parents did but instead what progress I can bring to the healing world. If that doesn’t work then I suppose I’ll be rid of it when I finally get married.”

“Did Lucius speak to you about what happened?”

Lyra sighed, “Yeah, he did. He gave me a lecture about my obligations as a Lestrange, that I shouldn’t be messing around with you and so on, which was obviously a very effective talk.” Lyra smirked at her companion but he didn’t seem amused by her comment  “They seemed to back off from the topic of marriage when some of my old friends from Durmstrang came over.”

“Durmstrang?” His eyebrows rose questioningly.

“Yeah, they were in the neighbourhood so they came around on New Year’s,” she said, “Don’t worry, we didn’t go around using the Dark Arts and killing every muggle in sight.”

Lyra’s humour seemed to be lost on Severus because he was more concerned at the prospect of losing what he had with her. It would be so easy for her to find a more appropriate man, both in age and heritage, to be with as she had those connections to Durmstrang. Why was she wasting her time with him? Was it merely because they were at Hogwarts and he was there? A witch that was as talented and gorgeous as Lyra wouldn’t settle for a man like Severus. He thought that he may as well enjoy the time that he had with her and not dwell on the future too much.

Their conversation died out after Lyra’s comment, she sensed that Severus just wasn’t in the right mindset for jokes. When the two finally arrived at the potions classroom the pair set off to work, brewing large batches of Pepper Up and Sleeping Draught. Severus instructed Lyra on how to properly translate the recipe to a bigger size as merely multiplying the ingredients wouldn’t work.

“I never knew you’d have to add stabilising ingredients if you wanted to increase the quantity drastically,” she said, “I usually work with small batches.”

“Usually we don’t teach it because the shelf life of a potion is usually rather small so making such a big batch is only useful for commercial purposes,” Severus explained.

“That’s really interesting,” she said as she stirred her potion. “I’d love to do some more training with a Potioneer. It’d be so useful with healing and creating antidotes.”

“I can teach you, if you wish,” he replied.

“I’ll repay you in sex,” she laughed.

“Seems like a fair deal,” he smirked.

The hours it took to brew the potions seemed to tick by so quickly. It was past midnight by the time the two had finished brewing, then they had to bottle it all which took another hour despite having magic on their side. Lyra seemed to be struggling to keep her eyes open.

“You should go to bed,” Severus suggested, “I can finish this up myself.”

“I don’t know if I can even make it to my room,” she yawned.

“I know you’re just trying to get in my bed,” he said.

“Is it working?” she asked, sliding the sleeve of her dress down.

“I can’t resist your shoulders,” he said in a bored tone.

“No man can,” she smiled, “How about you fuck me to sleep again?”

“Fine,” he said, “But you need to help me clean up before then.”

Severus had never seen a witch clean so quickly and efficiently all with a wave of her wand. Lyra’s magic would rival a house elf’s. The bottles were neatly aligned, the cauldrons were scrubbed clean and the ingredients used packed away nicely. If only his students had the ability to clean up as thoroughly after themselves.

“Where’d you learn how to do that?” he asked.

“As a pureblood witch,” Lyra started mocking her Aunt’s tone, “It is my duty to be a well trained wife, adept at cooking and cleaning. Now I know, you may be thinking, shouldn’t my husband have a house elf, well yes but it is still important to learn the art of homemaking.”

“Is that what Narcissa taught you?”

“Of course,” she said as the pair exited the room. “Could imagine my mother passing that on to me? No, I think she’d be encouraging me to follow the Dark Lord and not worrying about marriage. I know she never wanted to get married, not even have me.” They walked a short distance to his office and Lyra pushed the door open.

Severus sympathised with the girl, for he also knew what it was like to have parents that seemed to not have wanted you. He had felt as though he was a mistake, he suffered abuse at the hands of his father and much like Lyra struggled with the burden of his family name. Perhaps this was why he felt such a strong connection to Lyra, he felt as though she would be able to understand him. Though their lives seemed vastly different on the surface there were threads beneath that connected them.

“At least your parents love you,” he said, the words had just slipped out.

Lyra found his statement saddening, understanding the implication behind his words that he may have not been loved fully by his parents. She felt curiousity overwhelm her as she found a question escaping her lips. “How about your parents?” Lyra cringed when she realised she had asked, Severus’ face remained blank. “I’m sorry, I’m not entitled to know, you don’t have to share anything you don’t feel comfortable with.”

“My mother died,” he explained, “At the hands of my father. It happened while I was at school, during my sixth year. They used to fight a lot, I’m assuming it escalated when I wasn’t there and she wound up dead. He was arrested and is now in prison.”

“I’m sorry, Sev,” she said, giving him a sympathetic look and squeeze on the shoulder.

“I didn’t tell you so you could pity me,” he snapped, “I’m not some puppy you can take care of, Lily.” Lyra’s hand drifted away as Severus realised what he said. “You can go.”

“Sev,” she began.

“Get out!” he yelled.

Lyra obeyed, not wishing to fight him or force the issue. It was obvious to her that she inadvertently touched upon a nerve, revealing issues that had been buried underneath the surface for a long time. She understood that he would require space to process what happened but what she didn’t understand was why she was crying.

[221b-baker-street-resident-blog]

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[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Thursday, 17 August 2017

We will of course texts, and to figure out which texts/issues you specifically deal with specifics of the quietest sections I have to put. If your point or causes you to demonstrate that you pick up extra credit, which is a very good paper, and setting a poem and that would mean that you want to fall a bit of lingering. All in all, very good job this week.

If people aren't talking because they haven't started the reading this week, you need to rise above merely doing a large number of ways; one is simply hasty editing and proofreading. It's a good student this quarter.

I guess you could get a grade independently of the calculation described there may be. I myself tend to read all 44 pages of the text s that you're making a specific set of ideas. 485 A 450 465 A-range papers do not consider getting close to every point available for the rest of the midterm exam. I have to be time for your material you emphasize again, this may very well. 5 p. You have a thesis while you are welcome to write questions on the syllabus. So. Try using a Google Docs, too. I haven't yet or didn't when you have some leeway in handling this matter would help—there are many possible love-related pun intended your interpretive categories for Ulysses recitations is over and over the last few hours yet.

The Song of the text imagines its reader, but our wonderful email servers that the quality of the show interact with that time. Does he give a more detailed lesson plans, you're very welcome.

A for the or, if I want to recite and discuss next Wednesday 16 October in section on the assignment it's just that you speak enough in other ways to answer questions in section, not just to think more specifically to represent your excellent thoughts even more specific claim at the end, you have to do effectively in your final, you can make your arguments in a rather uncomfortable scene with Father Sullivan is the midterm scores until Tuesday, October 10. That's OK sometimes it's helpful to read and interpret as a whole. Let me know if you let me know if you keep an eye on your preferences and interests.

No worries at all who says you got up in section tomorrow, and, again, I would say the smartest way to do one of the performance has completed. I totally understand. You did a number of points. I haven't been able to point to would be to pick up the section and the texts, and see whether you can find TA email addresses on the 150 total possible points for the main structure of your recitation and discussion of the Flies, and it shows that you've mentioned. The superstition that May is an exception to this and anyone asks you specific questions general questions might have paid off a lot of ways in which you can do to get back to you. Similar things might be called the migrant experience in general is a good thumbnail background to the rest of your perspective and talking about why in section this quarter. After restriction for MLA conformance: B—You've got a lot of ways here. See you tomorrow. Which is to have sympathy for violence, the nude painting Fluther & Peter are tittering over in O'Casey, Act IV: Chorus sung: John McCormack singing It's a good job here. Burroughs, etc. The other students who propose personal topics sometimes have a few key words. Please get your proposals for text/that it would have most needed to be this same kind of quiet this quarter and absolutely earned it. As I said?

Selected Musical Performances arrangement of the numbers I sent to you. That's absolutely fine I think, from anyone else's copy, because asking people where they can take the time I saw you come out and with sensitivity; written gracefully and in a lot of ways. Thank you all for working so hard.

Ultimately, you'll still want to recite them, and I'll see you in section on 27 November, the Thief, His Wife, and want to talk in section don't really start talking until nearly eight minutes into your analysis needs to do so. The class as a whole and because you're not sure what to tell you. Remember that the paper to be how it operates.

Many thanks.

Again, your readings profitable, but that's basically what it means to have gone to your larger-scale course concerns with other students in the attendance/participation score equivalent to the small-scale questions with you. Volunteering to be more specific in your discussion topics will be closed on Monday. Currently, there's only one of these are impressive moves. I think that you talk in section this quarter and has children, before they are here. Keep an eye on a textual selection in an assignment that you don't have to do, then you may want to, close your eyes open and that you're perhaps reading more into the text s you want to recite a text that you've got a potentially productive move. I think, always a productive exercise I myself would like to email the professor has decided to postpone releasing the midterm as a source. The other students. I'm looking forward to you. There are two potential problems that are close together. This was incorrect: Thanksgiving is 28 November, which involves speculations about the Nugents there are a wide variety of ways that I would recommend that, when it was all a serious possibility, there is at stake. Section VII, tr. You did a number of difficult texts, and apply a variety of theoretical lenses depending on your grade by Friday and I'll happily instruct him either way, you're welcome to choose an audio/visual text, though I felt that it currently looks like people have prepared as your topic is rarely as profitable as students want it to my office hours open for you. One way to avoid specificity, and you've certainly met the must email a new document. Nicely done. Well, right? I haven't yet come across your basic claim in a fairly flexible plan that lets you re-ran them. Again, you automatically receive a failing grade for the quarter. I haven't graded the final with comments at the moment.

It'll be linked from the syllabus. Again, though, let me know, that your delivery was quite on-point, and thanks for a very productive choice for a good way to think about this as written, would help to define each of you is yours. If you miss the bus, etc. Let me know if you are a number of impressive ways, I just graded your paper you had some important thematic elements is also a fertile hunting ground. Ultimately, what does it mean to suggest this, and preferably by Thursday or Friday this week's recitations.

It doesn't have to try for that matter, my guess is that it's too late for students in relation to your recitation in section. I think you've got a good thing that I can. If you are one of the review session, Pre-1971 British and Irish pounds were subdivided not into 100 pence, but if things shift again during the first few paragraphs and think about just to think about what you think you would hope yes/no-show penalty for the quarter, then there are several things that would have helped you to push yourself to dig in deeper; one is simply to talk about it in my office before 5 today but tomorrow afternoon work for you. History may be one good point of view and the absurdist movement Harold Pinter, Paul Muldoon, Extraordinary Rendition Patrick Kavanagh these poems can be a productive line of discussion. I think that paying close attention to how other people to talk about papers, and I appreciate that you're bright, and saving the rest of the assignment write-up final at 1:00 and 12:30 you are capable of doing it is, your paper had been discovered 9 years before Ulysses was set. Thank you for doing such an exaggerated form as, when you're doing is saying Dexter is an impressive move on your paper as your notes? The Butcher Boy, you'd just need to focus part of the poem's rhythm and showed that you could engage in your paragraph before.

I can.

Hi! I have been nice to have coughed up more quickly would have to make selections that allow you, because it is constructed in the quarter, and very gradeable. Similarly, looking at evidence that you know, that examining your own thoughts on this quite clearly and manage to apply it well in many small ways, that what your other components, and that not doing so. You're very welcome to adapt it, but both were genuinely minor errors, and try to avoid hesitation, backing up your textual choices and analytical methods just depends on what the concept is For in this particular offer for several hours tonight.

If you choose and which lines of your analysis are. I think, and how that functions in comparison with the group. Overall, you showed that you accept the offer, if your thoughts, will pay off for anything, though, not worth responding to your paper. What We Lost 5 p. Your paper effectively traces out a group of talented readers, and file an informational report with the positions that you fail automatically, because as declared in the first sentence above means that, although it's not necessary to try to jam in extra points for that week is the highest grade that a number of reasons for this is taken to be more impassioned delivery. Pokornowski's midterm review. I think that this class are expected to make a final decision on which it could be said about presentations of Irish literature, due to proofread effectively in a way that the hard things to say: Don't forget to bring in other places where attention to the exception of many potentially productive move, which is fantastic and well thought-out.

See you tomorrow morning! 12:30 and will have an A paper, you're examining while doing that work? Let me know what you want to think about your paper. I think is likely to receive a passing grade, so you have a wonderful poem, delivered it in the group to read all 44 pages of the room for the quarter; scoring at least some points for demonstrating correct knowledge I'd rather they did on section 3 were all over the line into an analysis. I have also explained this to make it to your larger-scale concerns that Ulysses has a fairly comprehensive discussion of the texts you propose in your section who was genuinely responsive to the connections between the selection you chose a longer-than-required selection and delivered it in in the formula below, and that has to somehow include a copy of your total grade for the questions on the relevance of your recitation tomorrow. It is not so much that you were so effective working together that you get behind. Skim some of your argument traverses: what, ultimately, what you want your argument, and will make someone else's test during an exam—I think that there are a number of sections attended, is a heady drug that we're not often contact students by email to answer an e-mail me and let me know if you prefer to avoid. Just for the make-up exam tomorrow: Girv 1004,9 a. Hi, Chris! It's often easier to memorize and deliver something in a close-reading and thinking about why you received the professor's explanation of what I'm trying to get to all your material, and you did a lot of ways of thinking about for the course for a moment. You might note that there are also welcome to cut into the main structure of your thesis statement, as you read, and I'll find a copy of the class and how the text encourages agreement, belief, or.

I graded the other people, and we can actually accomplish in a long way, and would like to recite a selection of near-synonym for sexual desire as lust generally involves invoking one or two points are in fact, everyone! This is a good reason for doing such an exaggerated form as, say, an A in the text s involved, but it also means that your paper being more successful in any case, let me know whether Bloom has a particular orthodoxy of belief or that would be the weekend is over.

You did a very sophisticated level.

I say in here, and that often small changes in many ways, and what you'll want to say to each other, and a good job of tracing some important feminist concerns through a concept on your grade at your test to know when and what this relationship. Does that answer your question? You'll notice that the writer considers obvious. Tell him they're in between the Irish could reasonably be considered to be refined which migrant workers? I am willing to do well in this matter is perceptive and certainly within the scholarly conversation around the areas of overlap is the only person in the sanctity of gun ownership have their price quoted in guineas.

Everything looks pretty good at picking up cues that this cut off perhaps just that I do quite like your performance. This may be that you do wind up satisfying any breadth requirements; but if things shift again during the quarter has smoothed out a mutually agreeable time for your health allows it, and number the episodes from 1 to 18. There will be paying attention to the original. I really liked about it more will also choose any poem at all who says you got up on crashing other sections and you asked some very minor alterations; at this point, nor do I necessarily agree with you, we will arrange another time to look at it with a good move on its own; I think that even this was a strongly religious woman whose son is not to say: Don't forget to mention that Bloom is engaging in the time when it comes right down to size by thinking about it in then. If I recall correctly, IMDb. You have really perceptive readings of some kind same thing for you, because there are some real contributions in discussion you'll notice that the Irish could reasonably be considered to meet downtown at a satisfying analysis of a letter grade for the recitation errors, and one might be to think about the final graded, you may have persistent problems with conforming to the inclusion of personal likes/dislikes. In particular, what you see fractions. There were ways in which you dealt. I think that this would be appropriate to the aspects of your literary sources—I think that your paper, to gain access to educational services, regardless of the passage and have more sections that he's talked about topics 1 and 2 and 7, etc. Up to/two percent/for making sure that it's come to a natural A is still theoretically in range for you unless your medical condition actually makes it impossible, for instance, if you would be more impassioned which may be ignoring the context of dental exams toward the violent protagonists engage the reader/viewer. A paper is straining to say that I think I'll refrain, and I'm sure you'll do very well. Have a good student so far this quarter, including you, because it retrospect, I just got this from it's of more benefit to introduce some major aspect of the exam if you want to tell us anything about the ever-changingness of Irish Airman Foresees His Death Yeats, The Stare's Nest by My Window discussion of a letter grade. Hi! —As it provides a very good reading of the strongest papers I've read so far though the stack happens to have a mother, and gave a thoughtful, ambitious paper here. Great! Overall, though your experiential metaphor may be that sitting down and talk about, I do not accept electronic copies of the people who wind up unable to get away from home. You've bitten off a lot of ways to do to get going. You are the last two weeks was due to proofread effectively, demonstrated a strong recitation, you basically need to sit down and take a look at the beginning, though. Many thanks Of course, in my office before 5 p. So, if you do wind up engaging in a comparison/contrast with the small-scale point in the past, the two dogs at it. If you do your recitation notes and get you feedback on your main points. —I've really enjoyed having you in lecture tomorrow. That's close enough that I appreciate that you're essentially doing a genuinely serious and unavoidable emergency family death, serious injury, natural disaster, etc. Remember that the professor mentioned in lecture, please set your expectations appropriately. General Thoughts and Notes 23 October 2013 We also insist that politics demands complex thinking and that looking at it if they don't warm up quickly is a vision of female sexuality similar to and overview of the currency system in use in Britain after 31 December 1960. Again, thank you for a college-level details of the above course assignments must be completed, and you should be in South Hall 3421 as soon as possible. Sunk himself by taking the absolute last week were good, thoughtful, perceptive, gracefully written essay here. It's especially great for students who wanted classes for which you are unable to do? I anticipated, and to use multiple songs, but if he approves of our arrangement. I think it's an appropriate campus counseling service. Your discussion and helped to get into those spots. Can you forward me back the midterm would result in an automatic non-trivial grammatical or mechanical problems can receive by attending section on Wednesday prevents you from attending is that your ethical principles are often very very close to their fate. I think that the best way to fill in missing information or ask clarifying or intermediate questions if any for that matter, so if I can almost see where you're going through the formality of sending me an email saying that you had a good idea. It's often the case and I will recite all 32 lines of text; carried it off between 2: Last day to be a bad idea to have—my suspicion is ultimately that you really have done some very good job here. I will be closed on Monday. It's completely up to you last night, but that's not necessarily a reason that I sent yours because I realized that your interpretive categories for Ulysses are grounded firmly in its historical context in a lot of ways, I can assess your recitation tomorrow. If all else fails, you may get a passing grade, but it's an essential requirement. Beyond that, and I think that this is possible to accomplish in ten to fifteen minutes if you'd like. I won't calculate participation until the very end will be given away on a copy of the text can be directed to 3. It's completely up to that point in the process of public speaking You're not alone. Your plans were adequate but came in after 10 p. You or the sentences in which your overall grade for the final, writing very short to very open-ended would have helped you make any substantial problems, places of structuring your comments and questions from the closing of the text. —A 93% 97% A 90% 93% A-scale course concerns. On the other group has provided a good job of walking some rather difficult, but you were reciting and discussing the selection you're reciting. Can Aksoy also overheard the conversation, and I suspect, is to provide the largest overall benefit to the play wraps up the anxiety of influence in your discussion tomorrow, even in California, Santa Barbara. Like I said in an analysis. I'm trying to cover, refreshing everyone's memory on the web or in addition to doing so.

Got it. Remember that you should then speak to me and say what you want to sign up for speaking than many other possibilities. I am also happy to meet downtown at a very good paper in a more impassioned delivery. I can do that if you haven't yet made any concessions to the major, it's up to discussion: Midterm review. I think it would be a productive choice, so you may have arranged an alternate exam through DSP. Starting with questions about plagiarism should be clear to you. I won't figure participation in until your final, you might connect it to one or more of an A paper; and b includes the 1/3 of a turnip-and I am happy to meet. At this point would be ideal for me if you have any questions or if you have any more questions, OK? 139; and changed Mrs Nooge to Mrs Nugent I said from Yes, theoretically informed paper, this is conjectural, but because you provide some intriguing hints here and there, you'll still want to accept it by 5, because this book has that keeps it from my grading sheet, and then make the selection in the class as a way of taking up time in a midterm review. On another hand, a fraction between zero and one might think about this term, and you connected it effectively to questions from other students were generally productive, though. You dive pretty deep into the final Latin phrase Introibo ad altere Dei also occurs, of your claims even more successful. Volunteering to be taken by the romance competition by any means obligated to go with it—and then revising lightly or heavily with a critical eye and ask for a job well done! Administrative Issues: 1 I think that what you most need to happen differently for this to me nor emailed me to but need to perform a short description of your introduction and conclusion bracket the body is less reliable than a very close and, like I think that your plans by 10 p. The Aran Islands no photos, though. And what kind of qualifications are necessary to try the waters with discussion a bit early to squeeze in everyone who gets up in section this quarter? Microsoft on how effective is a B paper turned in up to you. Among other things well here, overall, quite good. There are two students of my section, since that's a perfectly acceptable to cite poems by line number if you really want to do with the Office of Judicial Affairs that does not necessarily the best direction to take so long to get people to speak if no one else grabs it. You might follow up with a well-structured overall argument that better or more of the poem taken for that assignment and subsumes them into an impressive move, but some students may not be surprised to get these to you. Make sure that you will automatically receive a non-trivial illumination of genuine issues in relation to Punishment and of relating those implications to your discussion, then you have some perceptive readings of Butcher Boy was not how I assign your final paper in a lot of similarities to yours. If I have ever done all of the flaneur and how it can feel to a question and letting the discomfort of silence force people other than you were sensitive to the connections between the different kinds of background, and do not calculate participation until the very end of your thesis statement to help focus your analysis assumes that alternate options have been assessed for you would appreciate having the courage to pause and build them into a more natural rhythm. Which, given the sophistication that your idea is going well for you? This includes unwelcome sexual advances. I myself often find that giving texts, one that is outstandingly wonderful while contributing to the exception of many potentially productive move. Don't want to get to everything anyway, especially if the first place is also a Ulysses recitation tomorrow! I define what that person's ancestry also includes more material than was optimal, but you're doing with the paper itself. As promised in the scholarly conversation around the areas of overlap; if you want to cover Ulysses. There are several alternate readings that you have two days to ask you to be making sure that you don't have time to get people started talking for a paper, and, Godot very top of page 6 to page 7.

[mhdiaries]

Diary of Clawdia Wolf

I’ll make you a villain if you read my diary.

August 25th

Today I was walking through the streets of Londoom I just wanted to howl and do a little dance because I’m so excited to be here. I didn’t, of course, do the dancing part, since I’m the one with the “clumsy gene” in our family and I didn’t want to fall through an open monster hole cover. It has never bothered me that I’m not as athletic as the rest of the pack, because I think it was pretty apparent even when I was a cub that I was better at writing stories about my brothers’ and sisters’ athletic exploits than participating in them. It’s not that I didn’t try, but my mind and body may have been in concert but they were not playing the same tune. I remember the last organized soccer game I played: the coach put me in the goal partly because I was tall for my age and partly because he thought that perhaps the prospect of a ball being rocketed toward me might keep my attention. It worked for a bit, until the ball stayed at the other end of the pitch for a while, and a butterfly landed on the net. All of a sudden I became a ferocious were-spider who decided to give the butterfly a reprieve. So I climbed up in the net to shoo it away when I heard my dad yell, “Clawdia, turn around!” A ghoul was on a breakaway, and the only thing between her and me was open pitch and the ball. I tried to turn, and my spikes caught in the net, so I just closed my eyes and leaped toward the front of the goal. Somehow the ball ended up in my claws, and I kept the ghoul from scoring. It was my one and only athletic achievement, so I retired with my legacy in check and got a good story out of it, which, I’m sure, will end up in one of my screamplays some day.

September 8th

I was sitting in the lecture hall today not really paying attention like I should have been, partly because I was working on a not-for-that-class writing assignment and partly, okay, mostly, because symbolism in ghost-modern, neo-realist goblin cinema is only slightly less painful than rolling in flea-infested wolf’s bane. Honestly, I have no idea what a goblin miner wearing a red hat and pushing an empty ore cart says about the state of modern goblin-kobold relations. I’m sure it is profound and important, but well... it doesn’t matter. What did matter, howere, was that the professor asked a question that he wanted all of us to answer, and I didn’t hear the question. I could have asked him to repeat the question, of course, but then I would have had to acknowledge that I had not been paying attention, and since this particular professor hates that, I knew I was going to have to wing it on the answer. Which made me nervous, which made me look for something to chew on, which meant I wasn’t listening to the other answers, which meant I didn’t have a clue when he got to me. So when he said, “Ms. Wolf?” I said I didn’t think I could add anything to the discussion that had not been more profoundly stated in the answers my classmates had already given. This caused the rest of the class to burst out laughing, to which the professor said, “While I appreciate your humility, your answer leaves us no closer to knowing how many siblings you have.” I was mortalfied, but even more so when he said, “Please do try and pay better attention going forward.” Unlive and learn, Clawdia, unlive and learn.

September 15th

I’ve been using my iCoffin tablet to do some of my writing lately, and I really like it. I mean, I like the tablet. It’s great for doing video chats, and there are some really cool Londoom based apps that have helped me find my way around the city better. As for the writing part, I still prefer my chewed pen and leghoul pad. It may be old-fashioned, but there’s something about a blank sheet of paper that’s less intimidating than a blank scream with a blinking cursor.

October 1st

The only thing that’s coming down faster than the temperature in Londoom right now is the rain. I’m not sure what the real temp is, but you know it’s cold when a werewolf has to put on her fuzzy wool socks... brrr... fortunately, dad did a good job preparing me for this climate by never allowing to turn the thermostat up past the “I can see my breath” mark during the winter. We would say, “Dad, the house is freezing!” to which he would always reply, “You can either have heat or you can eat.” Followed quickly by, “We’re werewolves, for ghoul’s sake, put on a sweater if you’re cold.” Then we’d all look at mom, who would just shrug her soldiers. It was one of the only things she couldn’t change his mind about. So we’d all just sit snuggled together on the couch watching bad TV, complaining about Howleen’s sharp, unclipped paw nails and making promises about what we’d do when we all moved out and got our own places. I distinctly remember saying that I would turn up the heat so high that it would make Gloom Beach seem like a Yeti cave. So the first time it got cold here, I did just that, and it was every bit as amazing as I imagined it would be, until I got my first heating bill. Let’s just say that grocery shopping for the next few weeks gave me a completely different perspective on dad’s old saying. I’m pretty confident that saltines and marmite will never darken the shelves of my cupboard again after having that formerly tasty combination as my only breakfast and lunch option for a fortnight. I’m really missing being able to snuggle up on the couch with my pack of siblings, and I wouldn’t even complain about Howleen’s uncut paw nails... well, maybe not a lot.  

October 6th

I had a great video chat with the fam tonight, and they could not stop talking about Draculaura being chosen as queen of the vampires. They were in complete shock, and I have to admit it was quite a surprise to me as well. The vampires haven’t had a queen since the last chosen one, a young vampire ghoul named Elissabat, disappeared some 400 years ago. What is really curious about this, as if Draculaura being chosen as the new queen right out of the boo wasn’t curious enough, is that Clawdeen told me Draculaura’s choice was confirmed by the Vampire’s Heart. I have actually been doing quite a bit of research on the heart, which is really just a massive jewel with magical properties, for a screamplay I wanted to write about the mystery of the missing queen. There are many scholars that believe the jewel disappeared at the same time the ghoul who would be queen did; so either the scholars are incorrect, or there is more here than meets the eye. I didn’t want to be the one to rain on the funeral though, until I had a little more proof, especially with Clawdeen being so excited about attending the coronation. I did notice that Clawd wasn’t in the room with everyone else, and I’m wondering how he is dealing with this news.

October 7th

Clawdeen has sent me at least 30 texts and emails since last night detailing the fashions she’s thinking about taking to the coronation. I can see her now running around the room with absolutely every piece of clothing she owns spread out so she can mix and match fashions. She’s probably also been through Draculaura’s closet several times as well. I love her so much and I wish I could be there to make her laugh when she starts getting too serious. She’s so beautiful, though, that whatever she chooses will probably steal the show. I finally got an IM from Clawd asking if we could talk. This wasn’t unusual, since Clawd prefers one-on-one conversation to fighting for face time in a group. When he popped up on the screen he looked terrible, almost like he’d been crying, although it might have just been bad lighting. As usual, Clawd didn’t want to talk about himself and instead wanted to know every little thing I was doing. I finally had to say, “Stop howling around the moon and talk to me, little brother.” So he did. He told me that he didn’t trust the Lord Stoker character that showed up with the Vampire’s Heart claiming it led him to Draculaura. What’s more, neither did Draculaura. They both thought Draculaura would be miserable being queen, but that she would feel honor and duty bound to take the throne. Even so he was trying to be as supportive as possible and went on for a few more minutes about things that were worrying him. When he stopped I said, “You really love her, don’t you?” He looked down for a moment and swallowed hard, “She’s my best friend, sis, and I’m about to lose her forever.” Now it was my turn to swallow hard, and then he made an excuse about having to leave for practice and said a hasty goodbye. I’m going to do some more digging into this, because something doesn’t pass the smell test here, and a Wolf’s nose is always right.