#i had graded assessments today

[patrickistruck]

not to disco elysium post the second time this week but. i hit them with my catifying beam

+ bonus kim doodles

[luvmila444]

SWEET RELIEF - C.S

…………………………………………….. ☆ ★ ………………………………………………

Chris sturniolo x fmreader

summary: Chris can’t help but get a bit worked up while on a tutoring study call with you, when you realise what he’s doing, you only pushing him further to the edge.

content warning: male masturbtion; dirty thoughts; praise kink

word count: 2.8k

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Chris was a little embarrassed with how fast he had picked up the phone call from you, not to mention the blush that had spread across his cheeks and his quickly paced heartbeat when he heard your sweet voice ring through the speakers. 

“Hey, Chris!” You smiled as you spread your small pile of assessments and study papers across your desk to get yourself prepared. This had been a regular thing on Wednesdays and Saturdays for the past two months. You guys would set up a phone call together as you would help him study as Chris was falling behind in class…a lot. You guys had to do it over the phone as both houses were always so busy due to Chris’s brothers and your family always occupying your living spaces, making it difficult to have privacy and quiet to help him focus and bring his grades up. Therefore, you resulted in two easy phone calls across the week, which Chris always enjoyed a little too much. 

Chris loved that you could never see him and what he was doing at the sound of your voice over the phone. The sweet ring of it through the speakers. The way you ramble so passionately about the work. Yeah… he definitely liked having the privacy of his room for these calls more then he’d like to admit. Although he can never help but imagine what you looked like, what you were doing. Fuck… he’s been on the call for no more than ten second and he’s already getting himself worked up. 

“Chris…?” He heard you voice agin. Fuck that voice. 

“Yeah... I’m here, hey y/n.” He couldn’t help the smile that rose onto his lips hearing hear giggle at his slow usual response. 

“Okay well glad you're here,” you say readying the paper you had recently got giving by your teacher, on to the top of the pill of books you had been working on, “why don’t you fine the paper that mr Hudson gave us today and we will work through that one today, yeah?” You say cutely but trying not to talk so fast so Chris could take in the information. 

“Yeah, yeah sure…” he buries his way through his overflowing piles of unfinished homework to find the paper that was given to him today by his teacher “why did he give us the paper today, anyway?” Chris huffs, flipping to the first page that you wanted to start working on. 

“I have no idea, it’s not like we don’t already get enough work given to us on Mondays and Fridays, but now on Wednesdays too? It’s getting a bit intense at this point!”

Chris hums in agreement, loving the way you get worked up about things. However, once you were done with your small rant, you let out a sign that was so quiet only the most observant person would notice it, lucky for you, Chris was that person. As you made the noise Chris felt a familiar warm feeling in his lower stomach, just imagining you making that noise in a very different scenario…

“Did you see jenny today?” You interrupted his quickly drifting dirty thought, referring to girl who passes every class, not using her smarts but her body instead, fucking her way to good grades. 

“No, why? What was she doing this time?” Chris asked slowly, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat and suppress his dirty thought of you. 

“Woah I’m surprised you didn’t see her! She was practically pushing her tits out of her very tiny top to try and get out of this paper…. practically had all the guys drooling,” you huffed. You’d always been quite jealous of Jennifer. She could literally get any guy she wanted and could always get out of these stupid papers. It was irritating to people like you who tried their very hardest in their schoolwork and seem to go zero appreciation for it, when all jenny does is gossip, do her obnoxiously babyish laugh and pop a tit, therefore having the whole classroom wrapped around her finger. It was pathetic.

“Nah, guess i don’t really care that much about her,” Chris was very aware of Jenny’s usual inappropriate behaviour, yet he couldn’t pull his eyes away from you all through that class. He was sat near the back of the class, so he had a good view of his surroundings and could easily see you sat a few rows in-front of him, at the perfect angle so her couple see you left side perfectly. Chris simply couldn’t understand how anyone could pay attention in that class knowing that you were in there, not jenny but you. 

Your short denim mini shirt that accentuated you ass and hips so perfectly and highlighting your legs. However, to keep yourself warmer and seem more modest, you through a knitted sweater over the top, making Chris’s eager to rip it off and see what you hid beneath the layers of warm wear. God, if there was nobody else in that classroom, he would not hesitate you lift you up on the desk and kiss up your legs to your perfect thighs and up your body. He would make sure to take perfect care of you, bring his lips underneath your sweater and bring his hand to you perfectly round and covered tits. 

Full, he could barely take it anymore. He could feel his harder member quickly growing underneath his get sweats, but he didn’t want to stop. No… he couldn’t stop himself.

“Huh, thats surprising, i could’ve sworn that the guys next to me literally had dribble on his chin, it was crazy.” You laughed. 

Fuck that laugh. Chris brought his hand up to his crotch and felt where he had grown harder just thinking of you. He began to palm himself, trying to relieve the growing soreness between his legs. 

"We should get started now." You unintentionally break his train of thought, as he gulps, silently cursing at himself. "Because I you barely understood what was going on it that class."

"Uh, yeah." Chris coughed, forcing himself to focus. "What did you want to start with?" 

You voice begins to drift into an explanation of what was said at the beginning of the class, only worded in a simpler way, yet Chris could barely take in any of this information. You speak so innocently, brows furrowed, as Chris furrows his own for an entirely different reason. 

He continues to palm his dick through his pants while your voice was sending small electric jolts through him. All the way down to his dick, which has begun to strain painfully against his pants beneath his hand. Christ, i can’t actually be doing this right now-he thinks to himself. He licked his lips, quickly responding to what you were saying with a hum and an "ah, that makes makes more sense." 

Chris doesn't mean to drown out your words. Because he's listening. But more so to the hilt of your voice, and how it would sound much breathier, as you gazed up at him. One of his fantasies had you on your knees, teasingly licking at his cock, as your devious eyes held his. He had orgasmed extremely quickly, multiple times, when he found this imagine in his head. 

“So thats basically the first part,” you continued to explain, unaware and completely oblivious to Chris’s hand rubbing at himself on the other end of the line.  

He won’t do more. He can’t, this is just so wrong of him Just…relieve a hint of tension. You continued to speak, and your words began to sound like something he wished he could grab, as his hand tightened on his bulge, his rubbing growing messy. His breathing had grown heavier, but he covered it up by saying ‘yes’s and ‘no’s, answering your questions. 

“Sorry, I’m rambling. Did you have any questions?” You ask, feeling as if Chris wasn’t getting everything he needed out of your words. He had to spare a glance at his incomplete work, scanning to see if he’d written down any problems, trying to remember if he had any. Because the only problem he could think of right now is how his over-the-clothes rubbing was doing little to satisfy his need. 

His cock was now rock hard, it was torturous. His mind began to glaze over with lustful thought of you “I—I don’t think so.” He mutters out, his fingers reaching into the waistband of his sweats and briefs, pulling his cock, which was now leaking with drops of pre-cum and the tip was a bright rosy, red, much like his cheeks.

He imagined the way you would touch him. Would you be gentle and slow, or would you edge him and make sure he’s extremely overstimulated as you milk him dry. Chris’s breathing stutters as he strokes himself. The little hums you make when you think have begun to make his hips thrust up into his palm. His other hand had tightened around the sheet, praying that you can’t hear him jerking off to you. Chris becomes lost in your tone as his cock twitches. 

“Chris?” You slowly ask, making his hips jolt at the utterance of his name from your lips, but he tries to keep his voice of some composure. 

“Yeah?” He had to press his lips together after a needy whimper nearly falling. 

“Are you…okay?” 

Your question makes him halt, much to his cock’s dismay. “W-what?”

“You sound… i don’t know, out of breath?” You say, behind the line trying to think of why.

“Really, you think?” He hums with a small smirk on his face enjoying the uncertainty in your tone and how innocent you mind must have been.  You nod to yourself, but then you catch the smallest of sounds fall straight from Chris’s lips. You had to be mistaken, as it had almost sounded like one full of pleasure that could have only been as a result of one thing... 

Your mouth opened in shock as you realise. He’s out of breath because he’s…

“Chris.” You say again, hearing a stuttering whimper from him before he tries to cover it up by asking ‘yes?’ again.  

“What are you doing?” 

Chris curses himself because you sound suspicious. “I’m studying obviously. Being tutored s-so well... by you.” He says, really forcing down his cock’s wanting to just ask you to keep talking so he could reach his orgasm, attempting to stop himself from stuttering his words, but he just couldn’t help it. 

“You’re sure you’re good?” You asked unconvinced, as a small smirk rose to your lips.

“No. No, I’m all good, i swear.” He says, really forcing his words to sound normal, as he had slowly begun to stroke himself again, his cock angry. 

“Ah huh, yeah…okay,” you knew what you were going to do, this was going to be fun. “Did i tell you how good you looked today?”

Chris’s eyes opened, looking at his phone slightly trying to keep a steady pace of his raging cock but if you were going down this road of compliments, he probably wouldn’t be able to take it much longer.

“Uh, n-no,” he stutters pathetically, somehow unaware of the game you were playing. 

“Well, you did, your hair…wow. I could just run my hands through it! How do you always get it looking so soft?” You paused momentarily, hearing Chris’s surprised whimper. “Sorry thats kind of a goofy thing to say…sorry.” You were basically just teasing him now, the basic matters of the studying gone.

“I- no i don’t think its goofy. a-at all…” his words are broken up by that heaving panting.

“God. really? You’re so sweet chris…wow,” You hum, making Chris’s hips thrust up into his hand, his legs having widened as you spoke. 

“R-really?” His eyelids began to feel heavy again, wanted nothing more but to see the darkness and use it as a canvas to paint his dirty images of you in his mind. 

“Yeah, i mean you’re the literal sweetest” you hum lightly, “you always make sure i havea seat in class, you listen to me when i speak and when i help you i study, you defend me in-front of your friends! You’re so sweet! Such a sweet, good boy for me” you were practically grinning at this point.

Chris could have sworn that your words could have sent him spiralling over the edge.“I a-am?” He asked, almost to clarify that this was real, that you were actually saying this to him.

“Well of course, and you’re always so busy as well, yet you always make time for me in your busy schedule. You must be stressed a lot of the time. I could always help you…relax sometime, relieve some of your…tension.” You had lowered your voice now in order to have a more seductive tone to your voice now.

Chris chokes on a whimper as he places his hand over his mouth, still thinking you don’t know. “My tension…?”

“I mean, yeah… i could alway give you a massage, rub you down, you know I’ve been told I am very good at giving…massages.” It was becoming blatantly obvious what you were doing now but Chris must’ve been blinded and in a lustful haze because he still seemed to be completely oblivious to what you were doing. Continuously pumping his dick eagerly and chasing his release.

The thought of you sat on top of him, rubbing all down him in order to relax him was definitely doing the opposite effect and only working him up more. Fuck. He had almost come from the thought of you taking care of him. the tone you had dropped to makes his hand quicken as his hips had begun to grind into his palm.

“You’d do that for me?” Chris whined, only imaging what else you would do for him almost sent him over the edge.

“Of course, i would baby, you would tell me where it feels good before i drag my hands down your body…” Chris let out a pathetic whimper at not only the simple thought but at the nickname as well. Baby? Baby??! Oh, my lord he was going absolutely feral at this point, “however, through your clothes it mind be hard to properly get that tension out.” 

Chris moans through his teeth, as his hips pathetically thrust at your words. “No clothes?” 

“No clothes.” You confirm. “Would that be, okay? I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable— “

“Yes.” His answer was immediate, cutting you short. He coughs. “That would be fine.” 

You grin. “Good. Because that way I could really relieve some tension. I’d have to straddle you of course.” You pause to hear chris’s heavy breathing and the faint sound of his hand gliding along his cock. “You may even have to flip around, because I’ve heard that the most tension can be by your collarbones and neck.” 

Chris nearly orgasmed at the thought of you straddling him, as your hands wandered his body. “As in straddling..my front?” 

“Yeah, is that okay?” 

“Uh huh.” He hums, his cock twitching with a soon need to release. 

“I could give you that massage the next time we study.” You say, making chris’s breathing quicken at the possible reality of all that. “I could come over to yours.” 

At this point he couldn’t care how desperate he sounded. “Yes. Please, come anytime.” 

“Or maybe you should cum?” You ask, your innuendo strong, as pleasure began to rock through chris’s body. 

“W—what?” 

“Come to my place, i know yours is always super hectic.” You play it off, listening to the wet sounds his cock was making as you could hear how close he was to his orgasm. 

“Fuck…yeah that sounds good, i-if you’re happy then s-so am i…” he was no biting his own lip so hard he could’ve sworn he was drawing some blood. He now had his back so far arched up off of his bed and was practically fucking up into his own hand. 

“See, again, you are alway thinking…of me,” oh he was definitely thinking of you, thats for sure, “you are such a good boy.” And that did it. His orgasm wracked through him as quiet whimpers and moans left his lips his hips grinding into nothing. Wishing the air was you. He watched as the white strings of cum coated and stained his dark shirt. 

“Fuck” he let out a relieved groan, now not even hiding the action that he had just did. 

“Maybe next time we study i should just jerk you off instead,”

Chris’s eyes widened at what you had said, before realising how blatantly obvious what he was doing was. You giggled once again hearing Chris’s heavy breathes, pleased to know that it was you who had pushed him over the edge. 

“Fuck, you can do whatever you want to me,” Chris let out with a deep breathe. 

Oh, you certainly would…

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A/n : thank you so much for reading, this is literally my 3rd time trying to post this because I keep making mistakes 😭😭I really hope you enjoy and if there are any more mistakes pls lmk

ily my angels 💞 (especially @gamermattsgf)

[pseudowho]

In Flagrante Delicto

Higuruma Hiromi will fight your help and guidance every step of the way...until one night, he catches himself needing you desperately.

An AU where Higuruma is forced into the employ of Jujutsu High after his role in The Culling Games.

Warnings: 18+, sex pollen!, angst, smut and fluff, Hiromi being willing to argue with anyone about anything, with a little bit of sex pollen needy Hiromi

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Higuruma Hiromi was undoubtedly the most difficult mission you had ever been given.

Tasked with walking Hiromi through 'the systems' of the Jujutsu world, you, a sorcerer who had been introduced to this world more conventionally, had absolutely nothing in your armory to counter the veritable force of nature that this man was.

You argued, constantly. He forced you to acknowledge the hideous insufficiencies and injustices in the system you worked for, at the most inconvenient of times.

Your patience was a finely tuned machine. You had perfected your ability to debate and discuss the ethics and morality of Jujutsu sorcerer activity, both legal and illegal, over a number of years.

But Higuruma Hiromi had driven you to drink. One evening, sat at home, deeper into a bottle of wine than you had anticipated, you received two messages in quick succession; one, from Yaga ("Mission with Higuruma tomorrow. Details to be sent over by Ijichi") and the other, from Higuruma ("I look forward to continuing our discussion tomorrow"), and you groaned, sinking the rest of your wine, and hoping it was enough to get you through the chaos of Higuruma's mind.

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"So," you started, approaching the subway with Higuruma, "lots of late-night civilian disappearances on this one line," you pointed to your map, "and two Second-Grade sorcerers have already disappeared in separate incidents. What does this tell you?"

Higuruma was silent, musing as he tapped his gavel lightly against his hip. Reaching his conclusion, he turned to you with a wry smile: "That your higher-ups knew, by the first Second-Grade's death, that a Second-Grade wasn't strong enough, but sent another Second-Grade anyway."

You sighed, deep and weary, "While that's probably true, we don't know they're dead--"

"Well they're not playing Scrabble, are they--"

"--and that's not the answer I'm looking for--"

"Well, I'm not here to be charitable, or unrealistic."

"Oh, are you here to be insufferable?"

Higuruma half-laughed, "Preferably. God forbid I should be sufferable--"

You swiped his gavel from his hand, and tapped him sharply on the forehead, "Higuruma. Please. I'm begging you," you clasped your hands for dramatic effect as he assessed you, a sardonic half-smile in his hooded eyes, "the quicker you play the game, the quicker you and I can go our separate ways and you can just go out and do this by yourself."

Higuruma's lip curled up in bitter distaste. He wiggled one finger into the knot of his tie, loosening it with an irritated twist of his neck. "I'll reiterate," he said, considered and flat, "that my joining the Jujutsu sorcerer's established hierarchy is a Hobson's Choice."

"If I want to go about making some positive changes to this cesspit," he spat, "I have to prove myself trustworthy in their eyes, and atone for my crimes by playing their game." Higuruma approached you, his chin tilted down as he looked through you, with sombre eyes.

"And the sad thing is," he said softly, now inches from you as you burned under his scrutiny, "you've been playing their game for so many years, you've convinced yourself that the rules are fair."

You swallowed, meeting his gaze; your agreement with him passed as an unspoken pact, but you were, as of yet, unable to betray your established part in this system with words. Higuruma nodded, slowly, understanding.

"So I'll inconvenience you as little as possible," he reassured, "and try to be a good boy today." You closed your eyes, breathing in through your nose, and out through your mouth, counting to ten. Opening your eyes, you caught up to Higuruma, who was already halfway down the empty subway steps.

"Please don't go ahead without me," you pressed, "I know you're not completely inexperienced, but fighting Curses is much more nuanced than fighting Curse-users."

"But they're brainless, right? By all means they're probably easier." You tilted your hand from side to side.

"They fight on instinct. We can be guilty of overthinking something that's primal for them. I'd never assume I can out-think evolution."

Higuruma hummed, satisfied with your answer. You were relieved to have averted another argument. Reaching the bottom of the steps together, your shadows were short in the low eerie glow of the empty subway system.

"So the victims got on a train, but never got off it," Higuruma confirmed with you.

"But it hasn't been the same train every time, so it seems to--"

"--pick a host. Right. And you've asked the station master to keep to the same train schedule tonight?"

"Mhm. No people around though."

"So, we could always just get on trains until we're attacked."

"That is completely reckless, and I won't--"

Higuruma breezed away down the corridor, his slim suited figure sloping away so lackadaisically that you felt annoyance bubble up in your throat.

"You don't have to come," he called back, relaxed and confident, "I've got this covered." You ran after him, grabbing his upper arm. He stopped, annoyed and impatient.

"Just...trust me," Higuruma urged, "try something new. You may be pleasantly surprised." He gripped your hand, firmly breaking your grip as he stared you down.

"How can I trust you? I barely know you."

"Then why are you worried about me?" He taunted, heated and scathing, "Not really what you lot do, is it? Worry about each other?"

"Well I worry about you," you snapped, "I worry about you every day and every night since they tasked me with taking care of you." You swallowed, embarrassed by your outburst. Higuruma hesitated briefly, looking...touched? He spun round, his back to you now, tapping his gavel in irritation against his thigh.

"That settles it then," he said, convicted and grabbing you by the hand, "you've got to come with me. It would be cruel not to let you worry. Come along."

You were pulled through the dim corridors of the subway system by Higuruma Hiromi, protesting the whole way.

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"-- so stupid, you could have died--"

"-- but I didn't, and I'm fine, so stop worr--"

You slapped the wounded shoulder you were currently patching up for Higuruma, and he made a noise of protest as you scolded him, "Stop telling me to stop worrying," you cried, pressing gauze to his cuts, "because I've worked in this shitty system for years, so I know that if we don't worry about each other, nobody else will worry about us, and you have no regard for your own wellbeing--"

Higuruma's head snapped up, smiling, "So you agree," he pressed, excited by the new development, "that the higher-ups have no intention to safeguard any of you--"

"--I never disagreed with you, Higuruma. You just...missed the point. As usual."

Higuruma turned, unable to look you in the eye as you continued dabbing the back of his shoulder. His eyes beseeched you to continue, dark and quizzical.

You continued, your voice tight and upset, "Whether or not we fight back against the higher-ups, makes no difference. Almost every sorcerer in this wreck would go where they were sent anyway, because at least we have a chance of defending ourselves against the monsters out here."

You sighed, taping bandages down, Higuruma's bleeding now settled, "So that's what I decided to do. I expend my energy protecting the non-sorcerers because they're the weakest link in the equation. They can't defend themselves. It's the right thing to do. I'll fight the big fight on my days off."

Higuruma was quiet, allowing himself to be chastised. He rolled the gavel between his hands. He suddenly felt so exposed, shirtless in front of you, feeling every touch of your soft hands as they assessed his ribs, and he gulped, unusually unable to find the words to say.

"Do you, uh...do you want to grab a drink? After we're done here," he offered weakly, eager to spend time with you outside of these roles you were forced to play.

"No," you emphasised as he rubbed his nose, "you'd probably tell me my drink order was wrong." Higuruma sunk his face into his hands, laughing.

"I'm not that bad--"

"You are dreadful. I love the...the passion you have, but I'm just...I'm tired. I'd rather go home." Higuruma nodded, thoroughly shot-down, respecting your refusal.

Sloping home that night, insisting he'd prefer to walk over being dropped home by Nitta, Higuruma considered he may have been fighting the wrong person for weeks now. Torn between 'playing the game' to get out from under your feet as soon as possible, and resisting becoming part of another broken, unjust system, Higuruma found himself erring unusually on the side which benefitted you over anyone else.

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In the midst of battle, you found yourself separated from Higuruma, cold dread seeping into your belly as you realised there was nobody else here to save him from himself. Distracted, you took a major hit, thrown by some sordid thrashing beast down an old brick staircase.

You had largely protected your body in swathes of your own Cursed-energy, but still had the breath forced out of your lungs as you had hit the wall below. The Curse, enormous and puce-coloured, roared down the stairs after you.

Trying to stand on a dice roll, your numbers came up short and you stumbled, heart lurching into your mouth.

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You and Higuruma had been assigned to clear out a growing populace of curses in an abandoned block of flats. Trying to talk to him, to plan tactics and methodology, Higuruma had seemed quietly indifferent towards you on the journey there. Refusing to engage with you on any serious level, he seemed almost bored of you, staring impassively out of the window throughout.

You tried not to be hurt, reminding yourself you were here to assess whether or not Higuruma was safe to act independently as a sorcerer. After his series of murders in the Culling Games and before, he was offered two choices: work for Jujutsu High, or refuse and face being hunted down and executed. But, he was an adult, and his safety was ultimately not your jurisdiction if he refused to take your advice.

And yet...the thought of his death by any means filled you with a sickly dread.

Because in reality, Higuruma represented the idealism, the ethical standards that working within a broken system had steadily stamped out of you. Your anger towards him was a projection of your own shame at having fallen into line when you wanted nothing more than to rebel, to protect the weak, including your own colleagues, despite the resistance.

Even worse, Higuruma saw this, and his disappointment in you only deepened your shame. You were meant to be 'helping him' to adapt to your world, and you felt sick to your stomach as you tried to contaminate this man. You felt sicker still as you felt yourself creep closer and closer to his way of thinking, wondering if you fit in this world anymore.

You couldn't tell him how deeply you admired him for being everything you had fallen so far from.

After efforts to interact had fallen flat, you sat beside each other in stony silence. Still, you felt, despite his feigned indifference, anger poured off him, not cold, but white hot.

"What have I...what have I done?" you asked, afraid of the answer.

Higuruma looked at you, eyes still glowing like little coals in his impassive face; "What have you done?" he retaliated. You sighed, a short breath out of your nose.

"...you're not ready to be sent out alone yet. You're reckless and you've got by on luck so far, but--"

"--so you saw fit to carry on this babysitting charade by telling the higher-ups that I'm a danger to myself and others around me." Higuruma scowled at you, not trying to conceal his fury anymore. You blushed, feeling the shame twist in your throat.

"...you...assume you're going to come out on top in every fight, so you don't assess the danger before you jump in, and it's just a matter of time before-- before you--" You reached out to take his hand, desperate to communicate your fear for him in a way he would understand. Higuruma moved to pull his hand away and you held on harder.

"I just...couldn't stand to see you die some pointless death," you urged, "I need-- we need men like you." Higuruma appeared unmoved, silently allowing you to squeeze his hand. Eventually, his long fingers slowly closed around yours.

"I don't think anyone's cared about me this much in years," he replied, as lightly as if he were talking about the weather.

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Brickwork and rubble clouded your vision as the floor rumbled beneath your feet, the Curse blown sideways, shunted by a comedically large gavel. You felt a taut-muscled arm loop around your waist, yanking you to stand-- "get up, come on-- NOW!" -- and you half-ran, half-staggered through a devastated corridor. Your heart sank as you spotted the staircases downward completely collapsed, leaving you both stranded on the fifth floor.

Higuruma appeared, dusty and spitting, wiping residue out of his eyes and slamming his hand to a button on the wall. In a wild flurry, the Curse turned the corner, screeching and hissing, and with a *ping* the lift doors opened. Not looking back at you, Higuruma shoved you into the open lift, slamming his hand on the button again for the doors to close.

"No-- Higuruma! Hiromi!" You skidded across the lift on grazed knees, wedging your arm between the doors with a yell as they closed around it. The lift didn't move down, and you heard Higuruma's incoherent shout of rage at you as you forced the doors open, reaching out for him and dragging him in by the back of his collar, and hammering the 'close doors' button repeatedly as the Curse, still dazed and staggered, made its headlong rush towards you.

As you fell into the lift with Higuruma, you felt a hand press behind your head, its fine bones crunching as it cushioned your head's strike against the wall. You sat, slumped, Higuruma's body over yours in a protective cage, as the doors slid closed, denting inwards as the Curse hit them with a metallic thud, and a roar.

Silence. Higuruma, silent and seething, reached behind him to press another button. The lift started a smooth descent downwards.

"I had it," he spat, lips curled upwards, nose wrinkled in animated fury, "and you stopped me-- for what? Why?"

You gulped, coughing brick dust out of your lungs as you croaked, "You were lunch. You were that close to being killed--"

"--do you really think I'm that inept--"

"--you're not inept, just inexperienced--"

"I'm not a fucking child!" Higuruma's voice rang, deep and final, around the lift. The lift pinged as you reached the bottom floor. You sighed again, pushing him away from you as you stood, moving towards the doors.

"We'll regroup and consider our plan of--" A wiry arm blocked your path, holding down the 'close doors' button.

"We are not finished," Higuruma pressed, enunciating every syllable with gritted teeth. You rested your hand on his forearm, gentle and weary.

"I am. I'm finished." Higuruma stared at you incredulously, hackles still raised. You continued, "I can't coddle you anymore. You're a smart man, you're happy you know what you're doing. So I'm finished. I won't keep fighting you for your own life, Hiromi."

Hiromi deflated slowly, unable to fight without an opponent. His lip still curled, he refused to move his arm from blocking the door, looking away from you as his fury simmered low.

"I'll clear you with the higher ups. Do what you want to finish up here. I'm done." Still, Hiromi didn't let you go, silent as your hand stayed tenderly on his forearm. A few heartbeats passed between you.

"The thing is, Hiromi...you've already lost the fight when you think the result is the most important thing. Being willing to put yourself forward to defend people, going through that fight for them...that's the really noble thing. Any idiot can win a fight. It takes guts to stand up and decide to fight in the first place."

Reaching past Hiromi to press the 'open doors' button, the lift flooded with daylight, muted by the external veil. Hiromi's arm dropped, beaten. As you moved to step past him, his fingers gently tangled in yours, your hands ghosting together between your bodies.

"Can I...can I buy you a drink? To thank you." You swallowed, throat thick with conflicting emotion. You hesitated, then nodded. Hiromi smiled down at you, something unreadably tender in his eyes.

He leaned slowly down, and pressed a soft-lipped kiss to your forehead; "thank you."

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You didn't get to go out for that drink. After giving the higher-ups your approval for Higuruma to be released, he was thrown headlong into mission after mission.

You sent him occasional texts, and he messaged back, usually dry witty commentaries on the jobs he'd been given. You found yourself missing him, feeling little golden bubbles of joy when your phone pinged, his name on the screen.

It had been a week since your disastrous argument in the lift. You still felt guilty for having abandoned him, still not feeling he was ready, but knowing he had to find his own footing at this point.

Late one evening, you dried your hair with a towel, padding around your apartment in just your underwear as you got ready for bed. You jumped and squeaked with alarm as someone hammered on your door. Grabbing an oversized t-shirt from a pile of laundry, you pulled it on over your head. Approaching the door, cautious, you were alarmed to feel--

"...Hiromi?"

Hiromi leaned against your doorframe, his head on his forearm, and he looked at you with feverish eyes, panting, apparently in pain. His dishevelled suit, and a blossoming bruise beneath his right eye placed him as a man fresh from a mission.

Without hesitation, you gripped Hiromi by the hand and pulled him into your apartment, closing and locking the door. Immediately your hands grasped his cheeks, looking deeply into his eyes, a look of such sweet concern on your face that he gulped, overwhelmed, desperate.

"What happened? Why are you here? You should get to Shoko--"

"I don't want Shoko," he spat, chest heaving as he turned away again, pressing his forehead to his fist against the door, "I want...I want you." You blushed, pleased he had come to you for help, but your medical knowledge was limited.

"What happened?" You asked again, hands cautiously ghosting over his abdomen, checking for injuries.

Hiromi groaned, low and slow, as he burned from the inside out. Your touch shot through him like a thousand arrows. His fingers seared his skin as he fumbled, trying to undo his own tie, and you took pity, reaching round him, your small hands cool against his neck as you removed his tie for him. You felt him tremble against you.

As his collar opened, you spotted a narrow, inch-long dart in his neck, like a cactus prickle. Curious, you plucked it out and dropped it onto the sideboard near the door. Is he poisoned? You questioned yourself in a panic, and you grasped him by the cheeks again, looking deeply into his eyes, terrified you'd watch the life ebb out of him, unable to do anything.

"What do you...what are you feeling?" You took him by the hand, guiding him to your sofa and forcing him to sit as you stood in front of him. His sloped eyes were narrow, taking in your barely-covered legs, the barely-concealed nubs of your nipples beneath the t-shirt fabric. Hiromi reached out with a shaking hand, grazing his fingers up your calf and your breath hitched.

"...Hiromi?" His hooded eyes flicked up to yours as his fingers stayed on your calf. Oh, you looked so uncertain, so concerned for him, and it was...delicious.

"It hurts," Hiromi croaked, "I need-- I-- I need--" His throat was tight, and you took him in, how desperate he looked, how needy, and the realisation clicked into place.

"You need...me?" Hiromi shuddered, recalling how he'd walked directly into an obvious trap while hunting down this godforsaken Curse, not taking in his surroundings, stubborn and certain in his ability to prevail--

"I'm sorry," he whimpered, cock throbbing, trapped against his thigh, his whole body burning from the inside out, "I was wrong."

"Oh, so you do know how to flirt," you teased and he huffed out a laugh, groaning again, in agony, and he begged, shameless, his head leant forward to press against your tummy as his hands crept up, eager to grasp your hips and pull you straight to his mouth.

"Please...please--" he whined, and you shivered feeling his hot breath on your belly through the fabric of your t-shirt, tangling your hands into his hair. Hiromi trembled, letting out a sandy growl against your clothes.

"Don't stop me, please," he urged, "I can't...I can't stop myself." He flipped your t-shirt up and you gasped, his strong hands sinking into the plush of your hips, holding you to his mouth, his tongue tasting you as he swiped open-mouthed kisses just above your underwear.

You felt sweet pleasure throb between your legs, all good sense thrown out of the window as you felt how deeply you had missed Hiromi, how ridiculously grateful you felt to be needed by him in this way, and you breathed to him, "You know I'd always help you."

Hiromi moaned his appreciation, his mouth now slipping down to the front of your underwear, and his tongue traced the shape of your pussy, groaning at the taste of you on the tip of his tongue. Your knees buckled, weak with the feeling of his mouth against you.

His lean arms hooked around the back of your knees, lifting them over his shoulders as he leaned you back against him. You cried out, when leaning forwards to grasp the back of the sofa, your clothed pussy pressed firmly against Hiromi's face.

You blushed as he breathed you in, his hips bucking instinctively upwards, aching to be inside you, cum heavy in his balls and desperate for release. His teeth grazed your pussy through your underwear, and he nuzzled into you, trying to part your folds with his nose through the fabric. Impatient, and feeling your hand sink into his hair again, he used two fingers to swipe your underwear aside, sinking his tongue instantly between your folds.

You whined so beautifully above him, and he undid his trousers, pulling his cock out of his trousers, gripping it tightly as he rubbed his nose and tongue urgently between your soft lips. Hiromi began to stroke himself furiously, squeezing hard at the tip, pre-cum dripping down his fist, shivering at the pleasure.

You allowed Hiromi to use you, your keening voice rising as he latched onto your clit, sinking two fingers into your pussy with no warning, thrusting them roughly into you. You bucked your hips against his face as he whimpered his approval. You blushed as you heard the frantic plaps of Hiromi pleasuring himself, your brain foggy with bliss.

Hiromi's fingers bullied into you, desperate to study you, imagining how deliciously his cock would stretch those plush walls. The constant pressure of his fingers against your cervix and his desperately nuzzling tongue and nose between your folds had you reeling, humping his face as you trembled and shook, Hiromi encouraging it as you approached your orgasm.

Your pleasure peaked, sharp and sweet, and Hiromi held you tightly to his face, still determined to taste you, drawing your orgasm out until you quivered, overstimulated, feeling your heart pulse between your legs. As Hiromi shook from his own orgasm, but not at all relieved and panting, cum dribbling down the front of his shirt, he dropped you into his lap.

You gripped the front of his shirt, his cum sticky against your belly. His hand tangled into your hair as he crushed his lips to yours with bruising force, forcing you to taste him. Nipping your bottom lip between his teeth, he whispered, begging again.

"Inside you...please, please..." You nodded again, and Hiromi threw your shirt off over your head, leaning back to drink you in; panting, trembling, straddling his lap, what the fuck was he playing at by fighting with you for so long--

Your hands worked nimbly at the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning and pressing it down his arms and you leaned forwards, almost as hungry as him as you took his nipple into your mouth. Hiromi hissed with delight, kicking off his trousers, shoes and socks and rocking your hips against him.

Hiromi grasped your hands, pressing one to his cheek, and one to his chest, forcing you to lean forwards as you shamelessly cast your eyes up and down his lean body, his muscles twitching with the electricity of your core on his aching cock. His teeth scraped against the thin skin on the inside of your wrist, your shivers like a sedative to him.

His eyes burned into yours, hot and pleading in the dark. His body was a furnace against yours, desperately craving a cure for the agony he was in. You lifted one leg off him, intending to stand to remove your underwear, but stopped as Hiromi all but sobbed against your wrist at the sudden loss of pressure on his cock, throbbing and sticky with cum against the neat, black hair on his belly. His fine-boned hands pressed you hard against him, before methodically tearing the sides of your underwear, flinging the scrap of fabric to the side.

When you grasped his aching cock, Hiromi was almost blinded by the anticipation, his hands flinging out sideways to grip the fabric of the sofa, and he panted, whimpering and pleading as you rubbed the angry red head of his cock between your folds, gathering wetness.

When you sank slowly down onto him, crying out as your walls fluttered around him like wet velvet, Hiromi came again with  a shout, faint with bliss and temporary relief, feeling his own seed drip out of you and onto his thighs. He growled in frustration when, after his cock had stopped twitching inside you, he felt the need to cum again build up within his belly, overwhelming him with an almost violent urge to pursue it.

"...Hiromi? Do you...is this...?" You rode him slowly as he twisted in pleasure and anguish beneath you. Reaching up to grasp your breasts like stress-balls, Hiromi shook his head desperately at you, feeling pathetic and helpless. He was corseted by his intense need to not hurt you. You leaned into him, whispering reassurance and soft nothings in his ear.

Hiromi couldn't take it anymore. Standing up, holding himself inside you and locking your ankles behind his hips, he flipped you over, crushing your thighs to your chest. Grasping the back of the sofa, Hiromi snapped his hips against yours with determined precision, his shoulders tight and mouth slack as with every thrust he felt the urge to push harder, deeper, to empty himself inside you again and again, until you were putty in his hands, until he had cleansed himself of this unscratchable itch.

You clawed for purchase on anything as you were pounded into the sofa, drunk on the sensation of being so full, your insides feeling thrillingly bruised, the tenderness building, slow and intense. Reaching up, you plaited your fingers in Hiromi's at the top of the sofa, and he leaned down, nipping and kissing your knuckles in grateful affection.

The air was filled with the wet slaps of your joint bodies, and Hiromi's constant soft whimpers as you came again, this orgasm burning through your body as you hiccuped, tears streaming into your hair.

"Please please please...please, please," Hiromi begged as his next orgasm surged ruinously through him, dropping him to his knees on the edge of the sofa. Hiromi felt his senses return to him with each pulse of cum that left his body, relieved...for now.

Weak, exhausted, Hiromi flopped onto you, wrapping your arms and legs around him in a full-body embrace, suddenly feeling so touch-starved. Hiromi almost wept his thanks into your hair, and you stroked his hair in soft circles with your nails, all reassurance and acceptance.

By the time you had made it to your bedroom and slipped, sticky and spent, between the soft covers, Hiromi's eyes had returned to you, hungry and burning, his fingers stroking through your folds, fascinated by the drips of his seed still leaking out of you. He had flipped you over and pinned you prone to the mattress, sinking into you and moaning your praises as you had clenched, trembling with overstimulation, sucking his cock into your aching body.

Throughout the night, his relief had waned, with longer and longer gaps between him seeking out the warm acceptance of your body. You would wake to his body flush against yours, Hiromi lifting your leg over his hip as he sunk into you, mewling and panting in the night.

Finally, you had woken with sunlight streaming through the windows, Hiromi draped around you, looking soft and exhausted as he slept; Hiromi woke to the smell of coffee and you, very much ready to be cared for...and, occasionally, argued with.

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Ugh, yes. Debate me, lawyer daddy.

[chaengluva]

Shy

Regina George x Fem!Reader: 2.6k words

You were so excited to show your girlfriend, Regina, your amazing artwork, but when you see it it’s completely ruined and when you find out who ruined it, your heart breaks. Regina finds the perfect way to cheer you up.

Warnings: Bullying, betrayal, slight angst, smut, Dom!Regina, Sub!Reader, Strap on, Eating out, Fingering, Mommy kink, don't mind Regina calling the strap her cock

I don’t usually write smut so sorry if its bad

In the beginning, Janis and Damien started to ignore you because you were dating Regina. It made you feel very lonely and Regina hated seeing you this way. You were sitting alone in art class, usually Janis and Damien would sit with you, but when they heard the news their heart broke with betrayal.

You pretended that it didn't bother you at all but it really did, they were whispering and giving you dirty looks throughout the whole class, you brushed it off and continued to paint, you were painting a mountain sight with the focus point being a waterfall. "That looks amazing Y/n!" The teacher says walking past, you smile, feeling proud of yourself, "Thanks miss."

You look over at Janis and Damien, seeing that they look at each other and roll their eyes, you sigh deeply and put your focus back on your artwork and add some final touches to the piece. The bell rang, you packed up all your stuff and left the artwork up so it could dry, you grabbed your bag and headed to the cafeteria.

You smiled when you saw Regina and quickly sat down next to her, she could feel the sadness in your body just by the way you sat down and how your smile wasn't genuine, she pulled you closer by your waist and leaned down slightly to whisper in your ear, "What's wrong baby?"

You look up at her with sad eyes, "I just don't get it, Janis and Damien will never let this grudge go." Regina sighs, pushing hair behind your ear, "Yeah It's going to take them a while to come to their senses, Let's talk about something that makes you happy?" You smile, "Well The teacher said she liked my artwork today, I really liked what I did!"

Regina smiled at you, "Well come on then, show me what you did." Regina said getting up, you smile brightly, dragging her to art class, you don't notice but Janis and Damien Smirk as you go to the art class.

You made it to the class and opened the door, confused why it's not locked. You brush it off and walk straight in and turn the lights off, you walk to where your artwork was drying, you look at it and gasp at what you see, Regina is standing behind you and gaps. "Y/n?"

Someone had poured black paint over the whole canvas, the painting was not dry yet so there was no saving the artwork, "My painting!" You gasp, this was the art work you had for an assessment that was 50% of your final grade and It was due in two days, you start to panic and the tears come to your eyes.

"It was good! Someone ruined it." You defended, she pulled you in for a hug, giving you comfort, "Don't worry baby..We will find out who did this." You nod, she wipes your tears and takes you to the principal's office.

You tell them what happened, the principle says that she'll check the footage, you ask if you allowed an extension on the assessment but she doesn't give you one, you start to panic again, Regina pulls you close to her and comforts you, "Baby it's okay, we will go to the shops after school and get whatever you need, I'll stay up with you and I'l willing to pay all the money in the world."

You smile at her words, they make you calm down and panic a little less. You wished you could get an extension but Regina knew you could do it, she knew you were talented and you could do anything if you put your mind to it.

After school the two of you rushed outside and when in her car, she drove to the art shop and you got everything that you needed, new brushes, a canvas, a canvas stand, paints, and all the other things that would make your artwork stand out from everyone else in the class.

The total ended up being over $300, Regina didn't seem to mind paying that much but you weren't going to let it go to waste. When you go to her house you set up everything straight away and began putting your full focus on that, Regina didn't want to disturb you so she went up to your room while you painted, a few hours passed and you still haven't moved from your spot, Regina came down and started to make you some dinner.

She saw that your artwork was coming along, you still had a while to go but you were doing really well for the time limited amount of time you had, she pulled you away and made you have a break while you ate your dinner, you didn't want to waste any time so you ate your food quickly and went back to painting your picture, This time Regina stayed with you, making sure that you didn't stay up too late.

It was 12am, you were staring to yawn and the artwork was almost finished, Regina came up behind you, "Babe, It's time for bed." You shook your head, determined to finish the artwork, "No.." you yawned, "I have to finish this.." Regina pulled you away and you didn't pull back this time, you still had another day and you were nearly finished so you didn't seem to mind.

The next morning, you get up early, way before Regina gets up. You start finalising your artwork, making sure that everything is done. "How long have you been up for?" A voice says, breaking the long silence. "Since 5am." Regina sighs, she sees that your artwork is finally done and it looks amazing!

You let it dry for the whole day, feeling confident about bringing it into class and showing whoever did this to your other artwork that you can get a better mark than them even though they tried to set you up. You walked into class and as soon as you sat down the principal walked in and asked you to come to the office. The whole class turned to look at you, saying "ooooo"

You rolled your eyes and got up and walked to the office with her, when you got there, you saw Janis and Damien sitting there, looking guilty, you walked in looking confused. "We found out that these are the people who ruined your artwork."

You looked at them and all the years you spent together had all gone to waste, you didn't even let them say a thing, you ran out and headed to the oval, you ran into someone, you looked up and thankfully it's your girlfriend. "Baby? What's wrong?" She asks, pulling you in for a hug. "J-Janis and Damien were the ones who ruined my artwork."

"Oh baby." She hugged you tighter as she thought of payback, but then she looked back at you and realised that she doesn't need to get those pathetic losers back. You redid your artwork and she knows that Janis and Damien will get the punishment they deserve. (She will definitely be getting them back)

Regina took you back to her place straight after, you were really hurt with what the the people you called your friends did to you, Regina knew how sad you were and how hurt you were, she comforted you, cuddling you close on her big bed, she would whisper sweet words into your ear, playing with your hair.

You had stopped crying after a while, Regina noticed your body to feel lighter and more relaxed, she looked at your face and smiled brightly to see that you were fast asleep, she quickly got up and set up a movie night for the two of you, downstairs, she made her mom cook dinner because she doesn't know how to cook.

While her mom was cooking she sat down on the bench and looked up pranks, but not one of them was good enough revenge for what Janis and Damien did.

"Mom.." She mumbled, getting her attention, her mom looked up, "Yes honey." Her mom said, Regina took a deep sigh before asking, "If someone who you love friends did something really bad to them, would you want to get revenge?" She looks at her daughter, rolling her eyes, "No."

Regina rolls her eyes back, "We think the opposite, are you sure I wasn't switched at birth?" Her mum giggles, continuing to scroll through her phone, still not being able to find anything that seems worth wasting her time on.

She hears light feet walk down the stairs, she smiles brightly, running up to you rubbing your eyes, you're still slightly tired but you feel much better then when you did before. "Baby, change into this shirt and tracksuit pants! We can be matching and post cute Instagram pictures." You smile brightly and jump up, wrapping your legs around her waist, she can't help but smile at your cuteness.

She carries you into the living room, the both of you change into the matching outfits, she takes a few photos of you and you take a few photos of her, and a few selfies together, she smiles as she choses her favourite ones to post to Instagram, putting a cute caption, she gets so many likes as soon as she clicks post, it's still shocking to you. The two of you sat on the couch, you were sitting between her legs, back against her front, arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

Minutes later, Regina's mom comes out with dinner, the two of you eat while picking a movie, deciding on a cheesy rom-com. "Regina! Your dad and I are going out, I can trust you to not burn the house down?" Regina nods, rolling her eyes.

As soon as the door closes, Regina starts kissing your neck, leaving dark spots all over, her arms go inside your shirt and grab your breasts, giving them a tight squeeze making you let out a loud moan, she smirks, giving you small kisses on the back of your neck, she hears your whimpers and whines and she knows that you want her, which only makes her want you more, she flips the two of you around, so you lying down on the couch and she's hovering over you. "Are we doing this?"

You nod smiling, taking your shirt off, allowing her to kiss your breasts, leaving more dark spots, she sticks her tongue  out and licks in between your breast, all the way back up to your lips, repositioning herself so now she's stranding your hips, she kisses you again, this time more slow and sloppy, when you pull away, strings of saliva fall down slowly after.

Regina's hands slowly go down and inside your tracksuit pants, she tickles your inner thighs, making you squirm, she looks down and see's that you're hating the teasing she's doing. "You want this?" She asks, kissing your forehead. You nod, not being able to even think of words at this point in time. She shakes her head, unsatisfied with your answer, "Words baby." You glared into her eyes, "Yes. I want it."

She pulled her hand out of your tracksuit pants, leaving you a little confused, she repositioned herself again so she was sat up right on the couch, leaning back, arm resting on the arm rest beside her, "Then earn it." She said, clicking her fingers, pointing to the floor in front of her, you were still confused, Regina laughed at how clueless  you were- she found it so cute. "Get on your knees."

You nodded and quickly rushed to get on your knees in front of her, she spread her legs and took her tracksuits pants off, carelessly throwing them somewhere. You stared up at the breath taking goddess, not wanting to do anything without her permission. She took her panties off and you were surprised by how wet she already was, the scene only made you more wet and you had to rub your thighs to allow some friction in between your legs. "Come on, don't make mommy wait." She said, gripping your hair, shoving you into her pussy.

You liked her clit, making Regina let out a loud moan, she gripped your hair tighter, shoving you further in, you shoved her tongue inside her, she let out another loud moan, gripping your hair up so you can look into your eyes, she stared down into your eyes, smirking at how submissive your eyes looked. You moved your tongue around, making Regina moan louder, she knew she was close, "Fuck baby, I'm gonna come."

You don't stop, you continue to give your girlfriend pleasure, she moans loudly and started grinding on your face, seconds later, she releases all over your face, your still on your knees and Regina is breathing heavily from the pleasure, once she catches her breath, she leans down, holding her finger under your chin to make you look up at her. "You did so good." she pats the couch next to her, telling you to lie down. You do as you told and lie down next to her.

She pulls your pants off, "Wait here." She says in a firm voice, going somewhere, she comes back with a blindfold and something behind her back, she puts the blindfold on your, you can't see anything but the little bit of light that was coming in the room. You heard clicking you were a little confused, a few seconds later you felt more weight added to the couch and a firm grip on your legs.

"I'm going to put your legs over my shoulders." She said, she wasn't asking, she pulled them over your shoulders and you felt the tip of her strap touch your entrance, you moaned slightly, you covered your mouth, she groaned and leaned forward, taking off the hand and your blindfold, staring into your eyes, you stared down and saw how big the strap was. "Regina.. It's to big."

Regina just laughs, kissing your lips, "I'll make it fit," She says, sitting back up, "And it's mommy." She corrects, she a lines the tip up with your entrance and with one forceful thrust she shoves it in, hitting your g-spot right away, you moaned loudly, she kept on thrusting inside you, kissing your lips to block out your loud moans, the room filled with kisses and wet sounds, you gasp at how good she makes you feel, "M-mommy. I'm gonna cum."

She hums in satisfaction, "Cum baby, Cum on my cock." She whispers in your ear, sucking on the area around it. You finally release, all over the strap, she pulls it out and takes it off, laying down next to you, pulling you in for a hug, she played with your hair and calmed you down from your heavy breathing.

"Baby, do you want to take a bath." Regina asks, kissing Your forehead. You nodded your head and she picked you up, taking care of you.

When you feel asleep she got out of bed and thought of the perfect plan on how to get Janis and Damien back.

[cityofmeliora]

another absolutely insane Primo interview

in my first post about Primo's characterization, i noted that he has a dark sense of humor and possibly cruel inclinations. i recently found scans of a April 2012 Metal Hammer interview that features Primo and a Nameless Ghoul (big thanks to @ Primoismelting on twitter!!) i can now say with absolute certainly that he delights in evil and cruelty and being a villain.

this interview is like. really long. so i'm not posting a whole transcript. but here some highlights from this interview:

Primo says he would maim a panda bear for less than $500.

THERE ARE VARIOUS MEANS OF ASSESSING WHETHER SOMEONE IS EVIL OR NOT You don't need to wait until a person plunges a rusty pair of gardening shears through your eye to stop and think: "Yes, my reading of the situation is that he's a bit on the evil side." Criminal psychologists and those working in secure psychiatric facilities use questionnaires called psychopathy tests in order to judge whether someone is a grade A violent nutcase or not... whether they're mad or simply bad. Today's two subjects from the occult rock band Ghost – a sinister figure shrouded in robes who answers only to the title of A Nameless Ghoul and a desiccated cadaverous fiend wearing the pope's robes and mitre, called Papa Emeritus – have agreed to sit ARE YOU EVIL? 101. We tell them, "No one will ever find out. Tell me how much money it would take to persuade you to hit a panda really hard in the face with a brick." Despite his voice being disguised by electronic effects to help preserve his identity, the disgust in the Nameless Ghoul's answer is audible: "It would take a lot of money. An insurmountable amount of money." But you would not kill the panda – probably just fuck its nose up a bit. And I have a Large amount of money to offer you. But the Ghoul will not budge and is clearly appalled: "I will pass thank you. I have no desire to hit a panda in the face with a brick." Papa Emeritus pauses for what feels like an eternity before croaking: "One. Million. Lire.” A willingness to harm animals is often judged to be an indicator of psychotic behaviour. Most people would never agree to hit the unfortunate bamboo-eating, sex-phobic, monochromatic bear on the hooter. Papa is not only happy to do it but he also knows a Gene Simmons-sized business opportunity when he sees one, yet the Ghoul on the other hand has revealed he has a more moral outlook. This is very confusing. Another test is needed. Metal Hammer (April 2012)

the Italian Lira is a now-obsolete currency that was phased out and replaced by the Euro from 1999-2002. in 2001, its last year of usage, it had an average conversion rate of roughly ~2180 Lire = 1 USD. 1 million Lire would be about $460 USD. Primo dgaf about endangered animals LMAO.

Primo reacts with sinister glee at the idea of invading and conquering Poland. (understandably, this is the interview where a Nameless Ghoul compares him to H*tler.)

We put the following to them, "OK, consider this. You are passing by Poland. Do you stop and think A) What a fantastic opportunity, I must visit this famous land and soak up its rich culture and history and make new friends in the process, or B) I must annex this God-forsaken strip of dirt and grind its populace under the heel of my jackboot in order to create Lebensraum for my Reich which will reign in glory for a millennium?" The Nameless Ghoul stammers: "I have yet to step foot in Poland so it's a foreign country to me." Stop avoiding the question. Would you sooner visit Poland for a holiday or invade it? He sighs and says: "In my line of work we are pretty much into invading countries. Being a rock musician with the aim of putting on a very good show all around the world, it would be very handicapping to not explore the cultural aspects of countries you visit. But when you are in a band such as Ghost that's on the rise and you go to a country like Poland, you go there with the aim of conquering the country. You go to their country to enrich them with your culture of blasphemy.” Papa Emeritus does not add anything but he is grinning as much as his rigor mortis will allow and rubbing his hands together. It looks like in his mind he is already packing his bags and choosing a particularly severe tank commander's outfit for the trip. Again there is a big divide between the mysterious monk and his partially decayed singer. The conclusion of the test is far from clear. Could it be – as strange as it may seem – that they are nothing more threatening than ordinary travelling minstrels who simply wish to excite young people with an invigorating and theatrical "rock show"? Or are they indeed, as they claim, emissaries sent from Hades to recruit foot soldiers for the most evil of battles to come? More tests are needed. Metal Hammer (April 2012)

Primo has no problem with being compared to H*tler, but he DOES NOT want you to forget that his dick is HUGE.

The Nameless Ghoul says this is partially the point: "A lot of people presume we're parodying the church by inverting it but this isn't the case. We do the exact same thing as the church but we add a little topping to make a point. I think the real Pope is a very frightening character and that's the reason why he is an impenetrable, invincible and uncontrollable figure. It is the same with Papa Emeritus. You can't defeat Papa Emeritus because he's sacred. Most people find authoritative figures like the Pope enthralling. So he represents everything that is sacred, powerful and authoritative. It is very humorous as well, because not only is he our own Eddie, he's also Freddie Mercury, Adolf Hitler, Dracula, Marlon Brando and the Pope rolled into one.” Anger rouses Papa Emeritus from his near slumber: "Don't forget John Holmes!" The Nameless Ghoul sighs and corrects himself, throwing the 13 -inch-cocked porn star into the mix: "He is like Freddie Mercury, Adolf Hitler, Dracula, Marlon Brando, The Pope and John Holmes rolled into one.” Metal Hammer (April 2012)

Primo fucks, but he DOES NOT do foreplay.

"Thank you," says Papa E. It has to be said, while the singer no doubt cuts quite a figure in his robes and he undeniably has great bone structure, some of which is exposed to the elements, it's perhaps a shame that he doesn't have a better grooming routine as this might afford him and Ghost more young female fans. The Ghoul laughs raucously beneath his hood: "You'd be surprised at how many women flirt scandalously with him from the audience. The Ghouls get repelled when we see this happening actually. It is true that he has good bone structure but I think it is not so much his looks as the idea of him being whoever they want…” So basically you're saying that there are a lot of women out there who are having impure thoughts about a cadaverous cross between Hitler and Freddie Mercury in a dress? He lets out another chuckle: "Yes... yes, I am." Papa cuts in with a lascivious leer: "Whatever makes you think that I do not engulf myself in the carnal aftermath of our masses? I do, however, refrain from so-called 'foreplay'."

in the original lore, Papa Emeritus I was a zombie pope. he was supposed to be an actual literal corpse.

the interview makes several references to Primo being a zombie. he's described as 'cadaverous', having rigor mortis and exposed bones. the joke was that the title "Papa Emeritus" is the title of former popes, but a former pope would by definition be a dead pope, so the idea was that Ghost's Papa Emeritus I was a dead pope. this was before Pope Benedict resigned in 2013 and became the first living Pope Emeritus, ruining the joke, LOL.

[jenscx]

[01] tumblr girls — first and last

it was cliché; being in love with danielle marsh, the straightest girl on earth. you thought your feelings were hopeless, until you discover her tumblr blog.

you squint your eyes at the excel sheet being flashed on screen. mo jihye? did your class even have someone called jihye? you sigh. the student was probably one of the kids at the back and would leave you to do all the work.

just your luck, that the project worth almost 30 percent of your final grade relied on some random person.

“i got jiwoo…” minji says.

hanni rolls her eyes, “that’s not bad. i got yeonjun. bro is gonna be so annoying.”

you turn to your two friends, confusion apparent on your face, “who the hell is mo jihye?”

minji and hanni both look at you with widened eyes, mouths agape.

“you don’t know jihye?” hanni asks, “she’s one of the most popular girls in school!”

“you saying that doesn’t help at all,” you murmur, heart racing at the thought of your high school’s most popular friend group. minji stares at you incredulously and you have the urge to slap your best friends.

“she’s australian and has a really nice voice,” hanni supplies unhelpfully. you furrow your brows, who else was australian other than danielle? maybe a new student.

sighing, you turn around to look at the screen again. the teacher now explaining the rubrics after the commotion about partners had died down. you frown, still thinking about jihye. somehow, you hadn’t heard of her and she was one of the most popular girls in school?

your eyes brighten when you realise that, one, jihye and danielle are probably in the same friend group, and two, becoming friends with jihye would basically mean becoming friends with danielle. you thought smugly to yourself.

(minji and hanni glance at you, concerned, when they hear you laugh quietly.)

“i encourage everyone to be in contact with their partners by the end of today. final assessment is due the last week of next month, please do take this project seriously as it is thirty percent of your grade,” mr lee says. your eyes dart around the class, danielle catching your onlooking gaze immediately. you feel your face flush and evert your eyes instantly.

you hear danielle’s god-gifted giggle and would have melted if not for the judging look from hanni. you try to sneak another glance at the girl, who crinkles her eyes when she smiles at you and you know it’s game over.

you were madly in love with a girl that probably didn’t even know your name. her brown gleaming eyes, angel-like smile, perfect wavy hair… you’re so screwed—

“y/n,” you snap out of your haze. “the bell just rung, class is over.” after blinking a few times, you realise that, one, minji and hanni had just ditched you, and two, danielle knows your name.

“ah… sorry,” you mumble a reply, embarrassed. danielle shakes her head and reaches out a hand to help you pack up. stunned, you glance at her and feel your cheeks heat up. wow… she has really long lashes…

“i saw you staring just now,” you freeze, “wanted to ask if you needed anything.”

she gazed at you expectantly.

“uhm…” you struggle to find a response, and was it always this hot in the classroom?

“sorry… i was just zoning out…”

danielle clicks her tongue and you feel guilty for making her impatient. she turns away, eyebrows furrowed.

“okay. i’ll see you later?”

“mhm.”

fuck, you were so lame.

“yeonjun keeps sending me hedgehog videos,” hanni complains, “who the hell keeps a hedgehog as a pet?” you pause momentarily, thinking, oh my god, i forgot about the project.

minji notices your stunned silence and nudges you with her elbow. “you good?”

“yup,” your voice cracks, “i don’t have jihye’s number.”

“oh, but didn’t you stay back in class—”

hanni gets interrupted when someone places a hand on your shoulder from behind. you slightly tense up and turn around slowly, eyes widening.

“hey…”

“hi y/n! i wanted to ask if you’re coming to the game later?” danielle smiles. you don’t have the heart to tell her that there’s a sea of homework piling up on your desk.

“uh, sure.”

“great! i’ll text you?”

“yes…”

with that, danielle bounces off. when you turn back to your friends, minji looks constipated and hanni’s brows are forming a judgemental look.

“what…?”

your two friends turn to look at each other and both release a coordinated sigh.

“for someone that gets straight As, you’re surprisingly stupid.”

“hey— what!”

“how could you not have her number if she just said that she’ll text you?” minji asks, exasperated. you gape at her, momentarily paused in time while hanni rolls her eyes at your stupidity.

“wait, what?”

“you didn’t know danielle and jihye were the same person— oh my god, are you even breathing? holy shit, hanni, do something bro!”

“what the hell?”

you blink, hands pulling at the varsity jacket minji had lent you. danielle got your number from haerin, who got it from jiwon, who got it from hanni. she texted you after school, making sure that you were attending the game and asking you to wait for her after so that you could work on your project. this was not how you wanted to spend the rest of the day. the stands were filled with students who cheered the cheerleaders on. they were performing some sort of routine before the game started.

despite the impressive flips and stunts they did, you could only focus on the brunette who was beaming brightly while performing. you stare in awe as they lift her up to do an aerial move. right as she is lifted, danielle (or jihye?) raises her head, making eye contact with you. hesitantly, you wave.

“—holy shit, did danielle just fall?” gasps erupt from the crowd as the cheerleader basically crashes down, arms flailing as she falls. the whole team rushes to her aid, and your eyes widen at the stink look one of them gives you.

the stands are filled with murmurs, mostly of worry and confusion. you feel guilt wreck you, did you distract danielle from performing? if she was injured, you would never forgive yourself. resisting the urge to get up from your seat to go see her, you sit back down, leg bouncing nervously. minji and hanni are seated beside you, muttering and whispering.

“it’s our first time attending a game and something goes wrong. this is why we don’t hang out with the popular kids,” hanni groans. minji nods in agreement while all you can do is shift in your seat in anxiety.

after danielle is escorted from the field to a bench, the game begins. you’re not focused on the game at all, more worried about danielle and whether she was okay. at the halfway point, minji and hanni leave to go get snacks, and you’re alone at the bench once more. feeling an urge to check in danielle, you groan, following your heart instead of your mind, and rushing down to the field. no one really notices you, more focused on the players and the game itself.

despite her injury, the girl still looks bright. her eyes gleaming and a cheerful smile on her face. she occasionally shouts out words of encouragement to the players and her fellow cheerleaders.

she doesn’t even notice you lingering around until one of your steps causes the grass to crinkle.

“oh, y/n!” danielle smiles awkwardly. you return the same. “wanna sit down here?”

“uh, i thought only cheerleaders were allowed to sit here?” you ask nervously, shifting your weight from one foot to another. danielle shrugs, “i don’t actually know. it’s okay if you sit though, i can just say you came to check up on me.”

you nod, hovering over the seat, unsure if you could actually take a seat. either fate, or danielle, decides you were taking too long, since she reaches out to your wrist, pulling you abruptly down.

with a yelp, you fall onto the bench ungracefully, cheeks heating up at the grip on your wrist and the shriek you let out. danielle, unable to resist, lets out the loudest laugh you’ve ever heard. your face flushing even more, you feel somewhat accomplished at the fact you managed to make her laugh.

now that you are sitting side by side with danielle, your throat constricts. wanting to start a conversation, you open your mouth, only to be interrupted by danielle who chirps happily, “let’s discuss our project!”

your posture deflates, an awkward smile put back onto your face. “sure.” you had wanted to avoid this topic the most; between your blunder of oh my god, jihye and danielle are the same person, and oh my god, my partner is danielle, it wasn’t a favourable position to be in.

“which topic do you want to do? i think we could do either cultural and prejudice or psychological affairs,” danielle says, “discrimination, inferiority of women— oh! maybe human attraction?”

you stiffen noticeably at the topic. human. attraction. of course danielle wanted to do a topic about human attraction. who wouldn’t be attracted to her? the brown, naturally-curled hair, hazelnut eyes, full lips—

“yeah, sure,” you croak out.

“great!” danielle smiles, “i think the game is ending soon, so i’ll text you about the project later? i gotta go hang out with my team.”

another nod. with her expectant gaze, you stand up, almost robotically, arms swinging by the side.

“uhm, that jacket…” danielle trails off. you tilt your head, what about your jacket?

“it’s minji’s?” she asks.

“uh, yeah.” you suddenly feel self-conscious, how’d she know it was minji’s? danielle seems to notice your confusion, since she points at the back, “says kim in big, bold lettering.”

you furrow your eyebrows. was there something wrong with your (minji’s) varsity jacket?

“you okay?”

danielle smiles, albeit dimmer than before, “yup. i gotta go.”

and with a wave, danielle leaves, limping towards her teammates, who welcome her with open arms. haerin sends you a stink eye and you gulp.

sighing, you head back up to the stands, minji and hanni celebrating the triumph of your school.

“where’d you go?” hanni asks.

you groan, “hell.”

masterlist | next

[tsukimefuku]

wardrobe malfunction ❖ nanami kento

summary: your cursed technique isn't exactly clothing-friendly, and when you find yourself in a less than ideal situation, you only had one person you could ask for help.

tags: jujutsu kaisen, f!reader, light nanami x reader, cursing, kind of suggestive but not exactly (?), second hand embarrassment is real, this is just pure crack to be honest, is reader lucky or unlucky? i fret, for i do not know, this is barely proofread because i wrote this absolute nonsense on a complete whim, i hope you have as much fun reading this as i did writing it.

wc: 1k

❖ collection of stories: "jujutsu partners au" → masterlist for fics listed in chronological order of events

You had just finished blowing up a grade 2 curse that lunged at you full-speed. Your chest heaved up and down with tiny droplets of sweat coming down, as you panted inside the abandoned apartment complex. For a while, the adrenaline pumping through your veins made it hard to assess your state, but then, as you began decelerating and looked at your body, you realized something.

“Oh, no. Not again.” 

Considering your innate cursed technique involved casting small bombs of cursed energy, they could blow up through many things, and when you didn’t manage to distance yourself from them before the impact… Well, safe to say that some things were bound to happen.

You pulled your phone ready to call… someone. Anyone, really. But the ancient piece of technology that you failed to replace in these past few weeks wouldn’t let you access your contacts list, providing you solely with your three last dialed numbers — Gojo, Yaga and Nanami.

Your fucking phone. Your damn, fucking phone.

Just thinking about this had you beyond mortified, but it was either this, or never leaving the building again. So you took a deep breath before pressing dial.

***

Nanami found Shoko to take care of some minor injuries on his arm, and as she was finished, his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, and saw your name flashing on the screen.

As he answered, you stuttered for a moment before mustering up the courage to speak.

���So, Nanami, I need, uh, some assistance.” 

He found that to be odd, considering you knew he was on another mission today, and this was a solo endeavor for you.

“Has something happened?”

“So, you know how my technique works, right?”

That question had the sorcerer feeling somewhat puzzled, given he had seen you use it — and explain it — multiple times already.

“Of course, we've been on missions together, and you have explained it to me more than once.”

You sighed before proceeding. “So, here's the thing, I kind of blew myself up.” 

That quickly got his attention and he tensed up. Shoko had just finished removing her gloves and noticed it.

“Are you injured?” His usually impassive voice had a hint of worry to it.

“No, no. I'm fine. Sometimes this kind of happens, and I'm pretty used to blocking the impact and using RCT if needed.” 

Is it her? Is she okay? She better be, I need her tomorrow, Shoko whispered at Nanami as she walked around and sat on a bench in front of him.

He didn’t notice what she asked, as he was humming confusedly, given you still hadn’t clarified why you called.

Your voice kind of cracked up for a moment, as you violently blushed on the other side. At least, the phone is an imageless form of communication.

“So, I’m okay. But my clothes, they, uh… I blew them up.”

He slowly began taking in what exactly you were saying.

“That's it, that’s what happened. I… I need clothes, please. Can you bring me some, just so I can get out of here without getting arrested for public indecency?”

Nanami kept silent for some time, and felt a slight rush of heat run over his cheeks.

“Nanami?” 

He coughed slightly, tensing his posture as he did.

“Yes, of course. But wouldn't you rather someone else to do that for you, like Ms. Nitta, or one of the female students?” 

That caught Shoko’s attention, and she discreetly looked at the sorcerer while he was still on the phone with you.

You nearly gagged.

“No! No way. I… I'm mortified as is.”

Somebody please fucking kill me.

“I can't talk about this with anyone else. It's too damn embarrassing,”  you stated, letting your mind go to random facts in order to try lifting the mood. “I now understand why that student from Kyoto keeps taking his shirt off to fight, but that's beside the point.”

You were met at the wake of your failed joke.

“I-I mean… Just bring me something, please.” 

Nanami cleared his throat as he pulled on his tie and opened his shirt’s top button.

“Fine. Send me your location.”

You sighed, relieved.

“Great, you're the best, thank you!”

He switched his phone off and grounded himself for a moment.

“Is she alright?” 

“Yes, she is,” he answered, some words choking on their way up for a second. “Ms. Ieiri, do you happen to have any clothes around here?” 

“What? Why would you need that?”

He couldn’t muster up anything remotely feasible to say, and given that embarrassment is an infectious condition, it began creeping up on him, too.

Nanami resumed speaking. “… I'm sorry to bother you. I just remembered I can get an assistant's uniform.” 

He then walked towards the door to leave.

“Nanami…” Shoko began.

“Hm?” He asked, as turning around.

“… Are you blushing?”

“... Good afternoon,” he answered, before stepping out a little quicker than usual.

***

Nanami had just arrived, and you let him know you were upstairs. As he asked how you wanted to receive the clothes, you were insistent that he threw the bag over the steps, and being a reasonable and rational person, the sorcerer obviously declined to do that.

“Just throw the thing already!” you yelled from the top of the stairs, away from his sight.

“I’m not uncivilized,” he replied, sighing. “I’m going to put them down here, and wait for you outside.”  

Nanami was considerably less mortified than you would expect, but it was him, Mr. mature, after all. Also, this wasn’t the first embarrassing situation of yours that he had witnessed.

You were prone to setting yourself up for absurd shenanigans, it seemed.

As you heard him leave and close the door, you stepped your way down and flimsily put the black pants and white buttoned shirt, which didn’t match at all with the hiking boots you usually wore on missions.

You went outside, and were met by him, his usual impassiveness slightly disturbed by something you couldn’t quite yet identify.

“Thank you, Nanami,” you stated, sighing relieved.

“It’s no trouble,” he answered, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. 

You were both uncomfortably silent for a while.

“These kinds of unexpected things happ-”

“We will never talk about this again as long as I live, please, I can’t cope” you pleaded, voice simmering with desperation for this awkward moment to be over, “just, please.” 

He cleared his throat, mindlessly adjusting his tie around his neck. It strangely felt more tight than usual.

“Of course. I apologize.”

“No need. It’s fine. Let’s just go back to Jujutsu High and pretend this never happened.”

“I do not know what you’re talking about,” he said, sparing you a quick glance.

You smiled, amused and thankful.

“Right. Precisely.” 

[violetasteracademic]

On Being a Published Writer: Without a Degree

This is a bit of a vulnerable share today, and I am writing it after a sleepless night, the monster of anxiety and shame weighing heavily on my chest. However, I have come far in life and undergone an incredible amount of healing, and refuse to be ashamed of my past. I hope sharing this can help even one person like me remember that when it comes to craft, when it comes to art, the only thing stopping you from being worthy is you.

This year, I became a published writer. After years of hard work and dedication to my craft, I finally felt good enough to begin submitting my work to literary magazines. I'm proud of that accomplishment. It's a little tag I get to add to my bio now as I submit work that helps make me feel *valid.* But that quickly, all it takes is for someone to remind me that I did not have access to a degree, that I did not learn from the best, and I will spend the rest of my life without a formal education behind my writing, and they achieve the goal they set out: to make me feel less than for not having their background.

In America, the education system is for profit and public school system inconsistent. There are many factors that can contribute to whether or not a person gets through it successfully, and it often has little to do with intelligence, work ethic, or strength of character and drive before the age of 18.

So here is my story:

I graduated high school with a 2.1 GPA.

My first hospitalization (out of the 17 I would have in my life) for edometriomas happened at age 15. I spent the majority of high school struggling with chronic pain, stage four endometriosis and the accompanying endometriomas cysts, and illness. By age 16, social services was threatened by my school to be called on my home for suspected neglect and abuse. I moved out of my house that year, and was given temporary guardianship by a friends family.

By the end of my senior year, I continued to bounce around between friends houses, sometimes sleeping in my car, and struggled to keep on top of my coursework. I was enrolled in the work study program designed for students who had to keep a job during their high school years, and earned school credits for staying employed.

Despite all of this, I still maintained high grades in Advance Placement literature and language, proceeded to get 5's on my AP tests (a perfect score, and a rare accomplishment) as well as near perfect scores on my ACT's. I spent every spare second reading and writing from the moment I learned how. My intelligence and comprehension were not the issue. My health and my home life were.

The only reason I got into college at all was because I decided to audition for a school play freshman year. Much to my surprise, I was cast in the lead role, and thus the course of my life was set. I poured everything I had into acting, I finally had a purpose and something to keep me out of having to go home after school. Still, applying for colleges was one of the most stressful and shame inducing experiences of my life. I got into many top performance programs in the country, then would not get into the university itself with my GPA. The conservatories that did not look into school performance did not provide the financial assistance required for me to attend.

There was one university that offered limited talent admissions that would allow the university admission requirements to be overlooked for students that had displayed exceptional talent in their specialized field of study. I had to put together a request for the school board, complete with letters from my high school teachers providing context for my low GPA paired with high test scores, character assessments on my likely ability to maintain the minimum required GPA in college, as well as a letter from the head of the performing arts department of the university stating that I was worthy of this talent exception. The wait was unbearable. But I was accepted. And I was approved for the work study program that allowed me to gain employment at the university to help offset the cost.

I felt like my whole life had changed in college. I had gotten in. I had gotten out. I was a new person, no one knowing about my past or the stain of my struggles. I had a fresh start. While I continued to battle my illness throughout college, it was manageable with a consistent bed to sleep in every night, as well as access to physical and mental health services. And although I tested out of being required to take any English classes with AP, I still filled my elective credits with writing classes. Screenwriting, playwriting, poetry, creative writing. Performing became my work, and writing became my joy. I took every class that sounded remotely interesting, often filling my schedule more than required on top of my work and performance load.

I am withholding some of the more personal details of my life, but when I finally moved out to LA, I hit the ground running. I accomplished more in a few years than fellow artists and performers who had been out there for more than a decade. And I valued every person I met. I was in small, independent theatre shows with Juliard grads. I was on professional sets with wildly naturally talented people working to get their GED with no formal education but that undeniable *it* factor. People from all walks of life set out for the Angel City to make it, and I was one of them. I also began writing again, this time short films and audition monologues. I began writing pieces for friends and classmates at their request. I secured my first talent agent with a performance piece that I wrote, along with an offer to renegotiate my contract to include literary representation should I complete a script worth shopping. I began to organize applications for writing fellowships at top studios, when my condition became so severe the only option to move forward with my life was surgery. And then my life completely changed again.

I came out of that surgery with nerve damage that left me unable to walk for six months, as well as developed a new permanent nervous system disorder.

My career and my life never recovered. I was permanently changed. However, during that time, I turned one of my sci-fi short films I had written into a 160k word novel, with outlines for a trilogy. While it was one of the darkest times of my life, writing got me through it. I moved out of Los Angeles to a more affordable city and threw myself into writing. I learned that ivy league schools like Stanford, Harvard, and Yale shared their syllabi for continued study coursework online, including the required textbooks for the courses. Example here. I took myself through the textbooks and coursework of top schools, I took every local workshop possible when it was in budget. Any education on craft that was within my means, I reached for.

I will never be able to change the course of my life. I will likely never be able to go back to school. However, this amazing video by Bandon Sanderson helped me overcome my shame, my lack of access to returning to higher education when my life and career were irrevocably changed: Be Anything But an English Major

I had already done what he had encouraged, pick a subject I was passionate about, fill my college coursework with things I found interesting, and let it inform my writing. While this is not to disrespect or degrade English majors or say successful authors think the degree is worthless, I am simply sharing to say this video helped ME combat against English majors who made me feel worthless for not having access to their diploma.

So to anyone feeling insecure today, you do not need a degree in the arts. Whether you want to be an author, an actor, a painter, a fashion designer, a poet. And I say this as someone whose greatest privilege and joy in life was getting a performing arts degree.

We must continue to prioritize art being accessible, value diverse backgrounds, and wish for it to be open and available to all. We must continue to treat art as subjective, and reject ideals that learning from a certain set of paid individuals makes all other opinions, choices, or ideas invalid.

There is no dollar amount I could give to a piece of paper that would make my mind, my intelligence, and my ability to organize and understand words in an impactful way that would make me more valid than I am today. There is no degree that could replace my work ethic, my empathy, my desire to write stories to do good. To give something to the world and help people survive in the ways that I had needed to survive.

Maybe I'll tell this story again one day, and it will help another young person with my background believe there may be more in life than the cards they were dealt. Maybe this will be the first and last time sharing these words. Maybe I'll never get another piece published, but will continue to write fanfic and poetry and prose pieces to share on the internet for free because I believe in my heart it is valuable. To look at myself, and my work, and deem myself worthy of my efforts and passion.

I am proud to be a member of the community of published writers without a degree.

I am even more proud to be a member of online fandoms full of writers, artists, creators, contributors and more who give their free time and energy towards something that does nothing more than make others happy.

So,

to the people who look at the stars and wish.

to the stars who listen— and the dreams that are answered,

this one is for you.

[nataliesfirefly]

chapter 1 - new year, same rivalry

a/n: hello! i’m back finally! super excited for this series, it’s definitely going to be more wholesome than my other one, and more of a slow burn! my plan is to have ten chapters, but that could change later on.. anyways enjoy and please tell me what you think! if you would like to be put on the series taglist, let me know! ♥️

chapter warnings: slight language

wc: 3.8k

series masterlist

“Welcome, year twelves. It’s lovely to see you all today, I recognize some familiar faces. My name is Mrs. Chasteen, I’ll be your teacher for English studies this year.” You set your bag down and take a seat, glancing up at the woman speaking. She’s very elegant, with her grey hair pulled into a strict bun and sophisticated tiny rectangle glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. You smooth out your black pleated skirt before crossing your legs.

“As I’m sure you all know, this year is very important. You should be considering which universities you wish to apply to, how you would like to further your education…” Your attention is side tracked when a tall figure hurries into the room, his dark eyes scanning for an open seat. You swear your heart drops to your stomach. Farleigh.

His eyes eventually fall onto you after spotting the empty seat next to you. He reluctantly walks over and sits down next to you with a big sigh, like he’s just put off by your existence. At least the feeling’s mutual.

“Your grades need to be in top shape this year, as they will determine your chances of getting into university. This year is arguably the most important for grades,” Mrs. Chasteen explains, pacing around slowly. You shift uncomfortably, scooting away from Farleigh. It’s like he’s trying to take up space on purpose as he splays his books and papers across the table. You shoot him an ungrateful look which he ignores.

“Now, enough about all that. I’m going to introduce the book that we will be studying closely this term.” You perk up at her words as she goes to her desk, picking a book up off the surface.

“This book is found on many, many reading lists for universities, namely Oxford.” You raise an eyebrow and sit up at the mention of your dream school. “A classic from the Victiorian era: Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë.” She holds up the book briefly and you let out a relieved sigh. “One of my personal favorites,” She adds quietly, setting the book back down.

Farleigh nudges you with his shoulder and you have to stop yourself from physically recoiling. “Would’ve thought you’d already read this by now,” He mutters with a slight smirk on his face, showing his teeth like a fox. Suddenly, a question enters your mind and now you have to ask, though you might come off as insecure. “Have you?” You whisper back, eyebrows furrowed. He shakes his head. “No.”

Okay, good. That would have been bad if he had already read it. It’s always nice at the start of the year. You’re both even, and no one’s ahead of each other in anything. Yet.

“We’ll be discussing and taking assessments over the chapters, so be certain to keep up with your reading. For your final project before winter break once we finish the book, you will be writing an essay based off of it and a prompt that I will give you. I will also be pairing you up with someone to collaboratively write said paper with.” Your eyes widen at this. A group project? Well, not a group. A duo. Nevertheless, it’s weird for two people to write an essay together. You’ve never heard of it.

“You need to learn how to critique each other and work together. It’s an important skill for uni.” Mrs. Chasteen seems to notice everyone’s looks of confusion. “Hmm,” Farleigh hums. You glance over to him shortly before observing the other students in your class. You recognize a lot of them. Just accquaintances, not friends.

“Anywho. Please come and grab a copy, then sign the sheet so I know you received one.” You quickly stand up and head over to her desk. You want to make a good first impression. But Farleigh and his stupid long legs make it there before you do, charming Mrs. Chasteen with a bright smile.

“Hello. I’m Farleigh. I’m absolutely thrilled to be taking your class,” He holds out his hand, speaking with his velvety voice while your teacher shakes his hand with a curt nod. “You’re quite tall,” She remarks with an impressed expression. You roll your eyes. Why does everyone feel the need to comment on his height? Does it make him better than everyone else? It’s just one more thing that makes Farleigh stand out more than you, and you hate that. You miss what he responds with due to your bitter thoughts.

“Please, take a book.” She steps back and gives him more space. He reaches down and takes a copy off of her desk, signing the paper shortly after with his free hand, writing in flawless cursive. You’re envious of how smoothly and quickly he can connect the letters. It looks like something out of a scroll from the eighteenth century.

“Oh, wonderful cursive,” Mrs. Chasteen clasps her hands together in approval and Farleigh just glances at you with a shit-eating grin before walking off and back to your shared table.

“Hi there,” You put on your best I’m very high achieving and hard working smile and mimic Farleigh’s actions, holding out your hand as you introduce yourself. She smiles back warmly while shaking your hand. “What a beautiful name. I’ve heard many great things about you from your previous teachers.” She almost lowers her voice. You feel your face heat up and you try not to show your pride.

“Oh, well then, I hope I live up to your expectations, miss.” You say with a beaming smile. She chuckles and hands you a book. “I’m certain you will,” She replies as you sign your name on the sheet of paper in slightly sloppier cursive, looking worse underneath Farleigh’s perfect signature.

You walk back to your spot with a spring in your step, holding your head high. Hearing just those few words from your new teacher’s mouth made your day. That’s how badly you crave academic validation. Or just… validation in general.

“You hear that?” You ask, returning his grin from earlier. “Hear what?” He asks, raising an eyebrow and turning to you with a confused expression. “Nevermind.” You don’t know why you thought he would’ve heard your conversation from all the way over here. “Mmm,” He hums in response, and there’s some attitude in his tone. You debate whether you should come up with a snarky question to ask him, but you decide against it.

Once all the books are handed out, Mrs. Chasteen walks up to the whiteboard and uncaps a marker. “So, can anyone tell me something interesting about Emily Brontë?” She asks.

Both of your hands shoot up at the same time. You mentally curse at Farleigh and shoot him an annoyed side glance. He returns the favor. Mrs. Chasteen notices this and raises her eyebrows. “Eager to answer, are we?” She chuckles and then looks around. “Anyone else?”

You glance around the room. No one else is raising their hands, they’re all just looking expectantly at you and Farleigh. You look back to your teacher with wide eyes, willing her to pick you.

“Alright then..” Mrs. Chasteen clears her throat. Her eyes land on you. She’s going to pick you. Yes. Now you can prove your intelligence and superiority to the rest of the class, and to Farleigh.

“Farleigh.” Your hand drops back down to your side in defeat and he turns to look at you. He just winks. He winks. The annoying fuck, you could probably strangle him right now-

“Well, Emily wasn’t the only poet and writer in her family. Her sister, Charlotte, wrote Jane Eyre, which was hugely successful. But Wuthering Heights was critiqued for being too clumsy or, rather, not well structured.” He explains, sounding like a fucking Britannica article. It was the exact thing you were going to say, and it pisses you off. You rest your elbows against the desk and put your chin in your hands, sighing dejectedly.

Mrs. Chasteen nods and writes this on the board, summing up the information into bullet points. “Correct. Very good.” She caps the marker again and turns back to the class. You raise your hand quickly, and she calls your name.

“I think Farleigh’s forgetting to mention Anne Brontë. She was probably the least popular out of the three sisters, but her works are seriously underrated. Her last novel, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, was one of the first feminist novels. She paved the way for other female authors and gave women a voice.” You explain, and Mrs. Chasteen looks surprised at your level of knowledge. You can feel Farleigh’s bristling energy next to you. You smile contentedly, watching as your teacher writes what you said about Anne off to the side.

“And have you read this book?” Farleigh suddenly asks. You turn to face him, unafraid of his challenging. “No, I have not. But I did a project over the Brontë sisters last year, and my research went quite in depth.” You explain, and he does one of those Olympic winning eyerolls. “Having extra information like that comes in handy, you know,” You grin as his eyebrows furrow, glaring sharply at you. “It’s not like it matters. We’re not even talking about Anne. She asked about Emily.” It seems like you two have forgotten completely about the rest of the students in the room, the teacher, and everything else in the world as you begin to argue. It just comes naturally.

“If I’m not mistaken, you mentioned Charlotte. She asked about Emily,” You mock him. He opens his mouth to say something back, then closes it and looks down.

“Alright.. anywho, now we’re going to read a short introduction to the book to give you all an idea of what you’re getting into.” Mrs. Chasteen explains, giving you and Farleigh a stern look.

Throughout the rest of the class, you and Farleigh remain silent and refuse to speak to each other, though you were instructed to discuss with the person next to you. You look out the stained glass window, watching the raindrops patter onto the cobblestone, the puddles illuminated by the golden light shining from the lanterns, the chatter around you drowned out by your own thoughts about the rest of today.

Your overthinking is interrupted by your teacher’s voice.

“Okay everyone, that’s it for today. I will see you all tomorrow. Could you two stay for a moment, please?” She turns to you and Farleigh as you’re gathering your things, gesturing for you two to come up to her desk. You both glance at each other before nodding and heading over after you’ve swung your bag over your shoulder.

“So… you two seem very.. competitive. You’re both very intelligent, make no mistake.” You wonder where she’s going with this. “Which makes me curious– May I ask which universities you two intend on applying to?”

“Oxford.” You both say at the same time, after which you immediately turn to each other with wide eyes. What? No. It can’t be. You’re seriously fucked if he applies to Oxford. They rarely ever take two people from the same school.

“You’re applying to Oxford?!” You both ask, once again, at the same time. He looks almost personally offended by you, with his upper lip pulled up and his eyebrows knitted together in a familiar scowl.

“Oh- Haha, well. What a coincidence,” Mrs. Chasteen chuckles nervously, glancing back and forth. “I went to Oxford. It was quite lovely there, and the professors–”

“No, you can’t. I’m applying to Oxford.” You point at yourself, and he scoffs. “Who says I can’t?” Farleigh asks, his voice dripping with sass. “Me.” You reply. He rolls his eyes and facepalms with exasperation.

“Well, the chances of you both getting in aren’t… impossible. If they see two exceptionally good students who are at the top of their class, they won’t mind if you’re from the same school. They only see the talent,” She goes on to explain, trying to stop an argument from breaking out again.

“Logically, they would pick the top student, though. Not students,” You emphasize the s at the end of students. Mrs. Chasteen continues. “You never know. And backup universities are a great option, if–”

“I appreciate the suggestion, but I’ll only be applying to Oxford. It’s Oxford or nothing,” You reply, your voice full of determination. “Me too. Oxford’s been my dream uni since I moved here from the states,” Farleigh adds. You turn to glare at him and he glares right back.

“Well then. That’s fine, just please try not to take up any more class time with your bickering.” She raises her eyebrows at you two. You nod. “Yes, miss.”

“And who knows,” She says, pushing her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose, “You two might work better together. Two smart brains are better than one,” You shudder at the word together. You and Farleigh working together? Absolutely not.

“Think about it.” She points a finger and you reluctantly nod, just to give her some temporary satisfaction. “You’re excused,” She dips her head and you hear Farleigh let out a little sigh of relief. “Thank you, miss. Have a good day,” He nods shortly to her before turning on his heel and heading for the door. You follow suit.

Shit. You forgot about the rain. Before English class, you had made it inside before the downpour had really started. Now the raindrops covered every inch of the ground. You have to cross the courtyard to get to your next class, which is in the west wing of the school. You awkwardly stand in the arched corridor, listening to the rain, slightly shivering as you try to make a decision. The weather is always bipolar in London. It’s September, and the other day it was sweltering. Now it’s freezing and rainy.

Farleigh turns around and raises an eyebrow at your hesitation. “What are you doing?” He asks. You glance down. He’s holding a black umbrella. How is he always prepared for everything?

“Well I don’t have an… umbrella,” You mumble, gesturing to the one in his hand. “Am I supposed to care?” He replies. Of course. Why did you think he would care?

“You asked me what I was doing,” You throw your hands up. “I was answering your question!” You exclaim angrily. He rolls his eyes. “What’s your next class?” He asks hesitantly.

You pull out the small yet important paper from your pocket with your classes on it, looking down and squinting. “Biology,” You reply, looking up and watching all the other students bustling around, chatting excitedly or holding umbrellas over their head as they walk through the courtyard. You look back to Farleigh, who seems to be thinking something over in his head.

“Alright, c’mon.” He nods to you, walking out into the open area, holding up the umbrella. You step forward without questioning it, just thankful for the rare act of kindness. “I’m headed to the west wing anyway,” He says as you walk side by side, as if he has to make it clear that this is not him being generous to you. It’s simply convenient.

You wish you didn’t have to stay so close to him, but if you want to be covered fully from the rain, you sort of have to get closer to him, your head brushing against his shoulder due to your almost embarrassing height difference and your feet almost tripping over his. You both remain silent, with only the sound of the rain pelting against the umbrella to keep you company.

You eventually reach the west corridor, and he’s quickly stepping away from you and wrapping up the umbrella. You begin walking to go find your class, before you hear his voice call after you.

“No ‘thank you’ or anything?” He asks. You turn around and groan internally. “...Thank you.” You respond, very reluctantly and quietly. “You’re welcome,” He smiles sarcastically and you roll your eyes before turning back around, quickening your pace to make it to your class on time.

A week later, your first calculus assessment of the year is already upon you. It doesn’t help that you share that class, of all classes, with Farleigh. Math has always been your most difficult subject. You’ve never been quick to understand it, it never comes naturally for you. But if you put in the time and work, you can make it seem like it’s effortless.

Apparently for Farleigh, it is effortless. He makes it clear that he never studies for tests or quizzes. While it infuriates you, you also find it hard to believe. How can he ace everything when he claims he doesn’t even try?

You sit down at your desk, fishing your pencil and calculator out from your bag. You nervously chew on the eraser, waiting for the papers to be passed out.

“First assessment of the year, good luck everyone. If you fail, there will be no corrections, so hopefully that makes you feel better,” Mr. Bailey says as he passes out the tests. His sarcasm somehow only makes the situation worse. You spent hours studying for this last evening, although he claimed this was all ‘mostly a review’ from your precalculus class last year. Right. Review. You should know this stuff by now.

As soon as the paper is on your desk, you begin working, starting with the problems you know how to solve. You get in that zone, completely unbothered by your surroundings or any distractions, just working, switching between writing down numbers and formulas to typing into the calculator.

You get stumped on a question and glance up to check the time. Your eyes wander from the clock over to Farleigh, who seems completely relaxed, one hand running through his hair and fiddling with his dark curls and the other working a problem out.

“Eyes on your own tests, please,” Mr. Bailey sternly calls out. Your eyes dart over to him, where he sits behind his desk, his gaze directly upon you. Fuck. Now he’s going to think you were cheating. But what were you actually doing? Staring at Farleigh? No. You were just… observing. You go back to your test, flipping the paper over to start the graphing section.

“That’s time. Pencils down, I’ll come by to pick up your papers.” Mr. Bailey announces, standing up and starting down the rows of desks and picking up everyone’s tests. He says something to Farleigh but you can’t make it out, but you see Farleigh grin. It seems that Mr. Bailey has already chosen his favorite student. You never even stood a chance.

Once he makes it to your row and picks up your test, you begin to pack up your things. “I’ll have these graded by tomorrow. Please don’t complain to me if you fail. That’s on you.” You scoff quietly at your teacher’s harsh remarks as you make your way to the door. Thank God that was your last class of the day. Now you can head back to your dorm.

Farleigh falls into step next to you. “So, how’d that go for you?” You stare straight ahead, focusing on the path ahead of you. “Good. Honestly, it was easier than I expected.” You reply. It’s half truth. It was slightly easier than you were preparing yourself for, but you usually prepare yourself for the worst. But you can’t let him know that you still struggled.

“Really. Hmm,” He hums, and you glare up at him. “What?” You study his expression. He must think you’re lying, based on his little smirk and raised eyebrows. “Nothing. It’s just… we both know math is not your strong suit,” He pauses and you stop next to him. “Okay, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be good at it.” You scowl up at him and he just grins.

“Unlike you, I actually study.” You continue walking, hoping he’ll leave you alone, but he follows you. “Aw, you actually need to study? Sad.” He pouts and you actually feel the urge to strangle him.

You turn around abruptly and he stops in his tracks. “Alright. Lovely talking with you. Bye!” You wave with a fake smile. Farleigh looks a bit surprised by your reaction. There’s only so much of his insults you can take.

“Bye,” He quietly mutters as you turn back around, walking quicker and more determined, putting some confidence into your step.

You groan and flop onto your bed once you enter your dorm. Suddenly, you realize how sleepy you are as your eyelids feel heavy You cover your face with a pillow and sigh, wishing you could rest. It sounds wonderful. But you have work to do. Reading, studying, the list goes on.

You chose this boarding school because you heard it was most similar to the Oxford experience, campus wise. It was also named the most prestigious secondary school in London. You often become very homesick, though, and you long for the comfort of your parents and your real home. At least it’s preparing you for university.

You groan once again into the pillow before sitting up and pushing the idea of sleep away. It’s time to get to work.

The next day, you wait to get your calculus test back. Mr. Bailey is handing them out while you overthink and prepare yourself for a failing grade. What would you do if you actually failed? You think you would rather be pushed off of a tall building than receive an F on a test.

Suddenly, a paper lands on your desk. You quickly glance down and see ‘97.5’ written in red ink at the top of the paper. Your eyes widen and you feel relief wash over you. Thank the Lord. You grin and pick up your test, inspecting it closer and going over your errors.

You hear someone coming up behind you. You quickly flip your paper over, hiding the grade from whoever is lurking over your shoulder. But it’s too late.

“Not bad…” A deep, American voice chuckles quietly. You turn around in your chair, and to no surprise, Farleigh is standing there with his arms crossed. He’s already seen your grade.

“Stop looking at my grades,” You hiss. “Relax, I was just curious.” He smirks at your frustration and holds up his own test. You see a ‘98’ scrawled up at the top along with a ‘good job’ next to it. You huff in response, turning back around.

“That’s not even much better than mine,” You mutter. “What’s that?” He asks, leaning over your shoulder, his breath ghosting over your neck. You shiver and remain silent, unable to repeat yourself for some reason.

“Sorry, who got the better grade?” Farleigh questions, his voice lowered. You let out a small sigh, ready to admit your defeat. “You.” You reply quietly.

“Right.” And then he’s gone, probably heading back to his own desk. What a bitch. You roll your eyes and pinch the space between your eyes, shaking your head. Yeah, he got .5 more points than you, and it doesn’t seem like much. But for Farleigh, it’s a huge win. But you’ll get him back. You always do. And you’re going to be the one who makes it into Oxford, you are sure of it.

[lalal-99]

of dirty cheats {h.j.} | track 6

©July 2023, June 2024 by lalal-99

Han Jisung x afab!reader | trope: slice of life, coming of age | word count: 5.8k

Synopsis: The one where you're hungover and visit home.

Check Chapter Overview for complete list of warnings

Note: Aaaand, I'm back! I'm sorry for the long wait, but if you've kept up with my life, there's been so many things going on... Anyway, this chapter concludes the overwork of previously posted chapters, and the next one will be brand new. I hope you enjoy this. If you do, please leave comments and reblogs. They always encourage me so much!!!

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You woke up the following day with the sun shining in your face and your head spinning.

Nausea overtook you within seconds, so you rushed one hand to your temple in an attempt to massage the pain away. It lifted some of the discomfort while also shielding your irises from the light, but it was hardly enough. Every effort to get up got cut short when you noticed Jisung’s arm snug around your waist, holding you close. It took you a couple of seconds to untangle one arm and reach for your alarm on the bedside table.

7 am. You shouldn’t have gone out yesterday.

Five more minutes of dozing and some careful wriggling later, you sat up, taking a moment to asses your state. The initial urge to throw up subsided once you came to a standing, although you still moved with care. It wouldn’t have been the first time, your initial assessment was completely off.

Your whole body was in a state of freezing, even once you had gotten dressed. Slipping yesterday’s clothes back on, you snatched one of your boyfriend’s hoodies, so you wouldn’t catch a cold on your way to your place. Also, your mini-skirt was too mini to be considered everyday attire. The length of the hoodie would shield most unwanted attention to your exposed legs.

Worry spread in your veins when you noticed Felix’s empty bed while gathering your belongings.

After the party Jisung and you had decided to sleep over at his place for convenience. It was distinctly closer, and you needed to get him into bed sooner rather than later. Which turned out to be tougher than expected. He had quite a lot to drink as the night progressed, so you stayed with him. Felix hadn’t made it home after your run-in in the bedroom back at the frat house, and his absence filled you with concern. He couldn’t have been avoiding you on purpose, could he?

“Baby?”

You turned to your hoarse boyfriend, whose eyes remained shut as he searched for your body next to him.

“I’m here. You alright?”

“I don’t know. Ask me in two hours when I’m all caught up on sleep.” After about 4 hours of actual rest, you weren’t doing much better than him on the tiredness scale. Still, you were up, and he— wasn’t.

“You’re not going to your class this morning?”

A sarcastic chuckle and Jisung rolled over, pulling the blanket deeper into his face.

“Can you close the blinds before you leave?”

You did so after slipping into your shoes. It annoyed you that Jisung was skipping class—this habit being one reason his grades had suffered back in High School. Yet, there was nothing you could truly do about it. He was in no state to tend to anything but his sleep deprivation, and you knew how he could get when overtired. After all, you were driving back home later today. You figured he would be less annoying once he had caught up on at least some of his sleep.

“I’ll be back at 10 to pick you up. Can you be ready by then?”

“Sure.” You knew there wouldn’t be a further answer, his mind already dozing off again. You left the room to be on time for your own morning lecture. One of you had to be responsible, after all.

The morning progressed so slowly, it was painful.

By the time you reached your class, you had somewhat woken up. A very intended goal, achieved by two double shots of espresso and a cold shower. Although your headache never truly left you, you made it through the first two hours of the day. Turned out, Jisung wasn’t the only one skipping morning classes today. About a third of the chairs in the lecture hall remained empty, thanks to Jackson and his gift of throwing amazing parties.

Unfortunately, that third also included Yuqi. Without her and her endless chatter about the latest trends or her latest crush, it was harder to stay awake. You must have dozed off half a dozen times, so you might as well have stayed in bed after all.

The anticipation of home was the one things that helped you power through. It had only been about two weeks since your move, though you already missed your family like crazy. This, by far, was the longest time you had been away from them. Ever. The thought of walking your hometown streets again was the light at the end of the tunnel— in this case Macroeconomics 101.

You must have mentioned your excitement about visiting home countless times to Jisung. So, why was it that when you reentered his dorm three hours after leaving, he hadn’t moved at all?

“Dang it, Jisung, you said you’d be ready by 10.”

“Why are you mad? I’m perfectly on time.”

“It’s 10:05, and you are still in bed. Unshowered.”

“I’m getting up already.” Your annoyance rubbed off on him, his tone raspy from alcohol, lack of sleep and irritation. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

Said panties, mind you, the same ones he couldn’t wait to get into the night before. He definitely hadn’t sounded so frustrated at you then.

You suppressed a scolding reply, aware of how it held power to start a full-on fight, making you even less on time. It took a lot of willpower to push the urge to confront your boyfriend about his choice of words down.

Stumbling out of bed, Jisung picked up some fresh clothes and his shower gel, before leaving with mumbled sounds of disapproval. A heavy reek of sleep and alcohol veiled the room despite the open window, so you moved closer to it. The nausea, yet again, vanished.

You ran your hand down your tired face, letting your bag fall onto his sheets.

“Is he always in a mood when he’s hungover?”

You sighed, “It’s really frustrating.”

Felix nodded, letting his phone fall onto his pillow. You could feel his eyes lingering on you, lip caught between his teeth and his leg bouncing, restless. It didn’t take more than a glimpse from your peripheral vision to identify his mood. Tired, nervous. Anxious. Of course, you knew what he was biting his tongue about. Remembering his shock and angst when you had walked in on him yesterday, it surprised you, he even spoke to you. And you were even more surprised when he was the first to mention it.

“Y/N?” You met his glances with a kind smile, leaning up against the wall. “I wanted to talk to you about something. About what happened— yesterday, actually.”

“You mean when I walked in on you?” His earrings dangled along to his nod. You swore you heard his heart pounding through his chest.

“I was wondering... If you— whether you saw—” He struggled to find the right words to voice his question before giving himself a push. “Exactly how much did you see?”

“Well,” you started, getting up and walking over to his bed to join him. Having this conversation with him called for physical proximity. “I saw you in bed. Naked, and with someone. With—” You cut yourself off, sending him a comforting smile. Felix’s face was about as white as fresh snow. By the time you ended your sentence, fear clouded his irises, “A boy.”

A tear slipped out of his eye and into his lap as he stared at his hands. He was avoiding your gaze, so you brought your hand to his back, rubbing him through his shirt. Hopefully consoling him. You could feel his shallow breaths become steadier, so your comfort must have worked in some ways.

It took him a few more deep breaths to speak up, your silence helping him voice his thoughts.

“I haven’t really told anyone. Ever.”

When he turned to face you, you saw a hint of dread in his eyes. As though he was expecting a negative reaction to his revelation. Or that you’d out him to everyone. Had it been anyone else, that assumption would have hurt you. Though you figured this reaction was only fair, coming from him. He barely knew you. He couldn’t have known how unreasonable his fear was.

“How long have you known?” you questioned, trying your best to not overstep the boundaries. To help him understand how you wouldn’t feel any different about him because of what you saw. What you now knew about him, as apparently the only person on earth. Well, apart from that guy he had been with the night prior. He must have figured from contextual clues.

“Honestly, I always sorta knew. But I only started accepting it a few months ago. I tried dating girls for years, but it never felt right. The guy from yesterday... He was kind of—” Felix stopped again, trying to find the right words. “He was my first guy.”

“Oh, honey!” You pulled him into your chest, your hands wrapping around his body. Felix soon hugged you back, holding on so tight your shirt wrinkled. As though he had needed this hug more than anything. It lasted for a couple of seconds, maybe even a minute, tears hitting your shoulder and drying on your shirt. “Thank you for telling me,” you mumbled against his skin. The burden of keeping his secret hidden fell from his shoulders with every tear.

“Thank you. For accepting me.”

“Of course.” As you drew away, he wiped the tears from his cheeks, eventually calming down. “And don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

“I appreciate that. I don’t think I’m ready yet. I should tell my family first, but I’m afraid they won’t take it as well. They don’t really— believe in this stuff.”

“Well, you can always come to me when you need someone to talk to.” You shared a moment of eye contact, smiling at each other. “Now to the important stuff. Who was the guy?”

Chuckling at your question, Felix took a tissue from his nightstand, blowing his nose. When he met your gaze, you saw a spark behind the watery curtains. “It’s this guy from my Psychology class. We never talked before yesterday. But then we shared a moment and somehow— I don’t even know how, but one thing led to another. Kinda like in the movies.”

“Damn, that sounds like straight from Hollywood. Was he any good?” Judging from Felix’s suggestive expression, eyebrows raising and eyes gleaming, you could tell his answer. “I take that as a yes. Well, I’m very happy for you.”

“Thank you.”

You wouldn’t have minded some further details on last night. Whether Felix would be seeing the guy again outside of classes. Or whether he even wanted to or rather explore his options, now that he had the opportunity. Felix, too, seemed eager to finally have someone to talk to about this.

It was the creak of the door thrown open that stopped your conversation. Jisung rushed in, hair wet from his shower, fresh clothes clinging to his moist skin.

When he noticed your proximity, Felix’s eyes reddened, Jisung’s eyebrow quirked. “Did I miss something?”

“Nothing,” you replied, sending Felix a wink as you rose from his bed. “Are you ready?”

“Two more minutes. I need to pack some things.”

“Are you kidding me? I told you to pack your stuff two days ago.”

And just like that, your mood suffered another hit, although you tried to not let it affect you too much. When Jisung started throwing random items onto his bed, you sent Felix a sarcastic eye-roll. He couldn’t help a relieved grin from spreading, the Mount-Rushmore sized rock finally lifted from his shoulders.

“Well, since you’re already pissed, I might as well tell you now.” What an awful way to start a sentence. “I’m not sober enough to drive yet. So, you’re gonna have to get us home.”

Not the easiest task with your brain still thumping against your skull, but at least Jisung could help you stay awake.

When you were younger, you used to be embarrassed by where you lived.

You had always felt bad for your privilege. Guilty even, seeing none of your friends lived a life close to the one you had. Most of your friends lived in small and run-down apartment-complexes, confined to little space and sometimes even sharing a bedroom with several siblings. Blame the recession that had taken its toll on their parent’s income.

It mostly seemed like they had made due with it, finding their content in it. It was still uncomfortable whenever you invited anyone over to your place.

You felt the worst about growing up rich when you met Jisung.

His dad had left the family when he was seven. His mother stranded alone in an apartment she couldn’t pay for and with two children she hardly had the money to feed.

She already worked one full-time job when his piece-of-shit father left. She needed to pick up another part-time one just so they could afford their most basic needs.

By age ten, Jisung supported his mother’s second job, cleaning the houses of the rich and wealthy on weekends. With his sister in a time-consuming gifted program—paid for by a scholarship—he had no other choice. Jisung needed to put his own interests behind if he wanted to keep the roof over their heads. Being the sweet son he was, he did exactly that. Without a single complaint about the afternoons his friends spent hanging out at the mall or enjoying their hobbies.

When you invited Jisung over the first time, your friendship only weeks old, you felt ashamed. He lost control over his facial muscles, his jaw slacking when he saw the entrance of your house. He almost passed out when you showed him your new Nintendo in your room. Jisung forgot all about the expensive gaming console once he realised you didn’t have to share it. Neither your toys nor your room, which already took up the space of his whole apartment. A Queen sized bed occupied the middle of your room, and still left enough room for a motherland of games.

It wasn’t until Jisung invited you to his apartment, that you fully understood his mesmerisation with the simplest things in your house. Like the fridge, which was taller and broader than the two of you combined. Or your couches—plural, not singular.

You tried hard not to let your pity show while meeting his mother and sister. You feared you’d say something to offend them, making them feel bad or appearing like a snob. Needless to say, you didn’t talk much that afternoon.

Jisung never once gave you any reason to feel any more guilty than you already did. He assured you time and time again that you had nothing to be ashamed of. You had your own hardships, your own problems. And his family was doing fine. He couldn’t remember a time not sharing all their meals at a tiny table or sleeping in the same room.

Nothing about that changed when you fell in love at 14, two years after meeting.

Still, that same guilt knocked down your self-esteem whenever you passed the mansions of your street in Jisung’s rusty, old car.

Your boyfriend had slept through the whole two-hour drive from campus to your home. It had annoyed you in the beginning as you had hoped to get some time to talk. As your carefully crafted playlist progressed, all annoyance faded into the air. Plus, speeding down highways and crawling through neighbouring villages made you nostalgic. By the time you arrived home, Jisung had caught up on his sleep and you were beaming in excitement.

Your dad was already waiting for you, ever so happily smiling as he hugged you.

“I’m happy you’re home,” he mumbled against you as he pulled you in. His statement wasn’t needed with how visibly content he was, having his only daughter and future son-in-law back.

“I’m glad to be back. I missed you.”

“We,” Jisung corrected, nodding to your dad. “We missed you.”

“Well, I’m happy you’re here. Brunch is ready as soon as you are.”

At the mention of food Jisung’s stomach rumbled, sending him into a laugh.

“He’s ready, too,” your boyfriend translated the sounds as you placed your bag beside the door.

The TV played in the living room, overshadowed by the juicer-sounds in the kitchen. The smell of fresh oranges filled your nostrils, your mouth watering as you stepped through the doorway.

“Is that orange juice I smell?”

“Y/N!” The young woman jogged around the island, pulling you into a bone-crashing hug. “I missed you!”

“I missed you, too, Jia.”

“What about me?” Jisung questioned, taking over your space once Jia let you out of your hug.

“I missed you too, but a little less.”

“Wow. Thanks, sis.”

“So, how’s university? Tell me everything.”

Jisung did. He told his sister all about his dorm, new friends and courses he visited. All the while, you only had one ear with them. The other was searching the attached dining and living area. Soon enough, your eyes joined as you wandered the lower floor of your house. You identified a pair of tiny dinosaur-themed socks discarded on the coffee table. The couch stood buried under plastic toys and books, a children’s show playing on the flatscreen.

When you found the rest of the room empty, you exited the living area altogether. As soon as you set foot into the hallway, you finally heard a familiar voice call out to you. Your head turned and you found a small figure running towards you. Quick reflexes came into play when he all but jumped into your arms, making your heart jump through your chest.

“Mama!” Tiny arms wrapped around your neck and tears immediately filled your eyes.

“Hi, baby.” His breath hit your neck as your heartbeat accelerated. “I missed you.”

“Me too,” he answered as you picked him up, giving him a small peck on his cheek.

“He couldn’t stop talking about seeing you again. He barely slept tonight.”

With your dad by your side and your baby in your arms, you reentered the kitchen. When he saw Jisung, your son’s eyes reshaped into hearts.

“Papa!” You couldn’t set him down quick enough before he began sprinting towards his father.

Jisung picked him up and spun him around once before hugging him tightly against himself. “Hi, Ki. You miss me?”

“Yes,” the boy agreed, his smile reaching from one ear to the other. Seeing him so joyful made your heart swell and you swiftly wiped your tears away. For the first time in two weeks, you felt at home.

“Should we eat?”

Your dad was already one step ahead, carrying the pan filled with pancakes from the stove to the table. Four sets of tableware were set up neatly as fresh-cut flowers decorated the scene. Food from all sectors of the food-pyramid occupied the dark wood, making your mouth water.

“Did you set the table, Dad?”

He laughed at your assumption, “I wish. It was this wonderful lady right here.” He pointed at Jia. “Remember, you can move in whenever.”

“You might say that now,” Jisung interrupted, taking the seat between Ki and his sister, “but wait ’til you actually live with her. She’s a slob. A big-brain slob, but a slob.”

“Says the boy who uses his dirty underwear as parquet flooring.”

Ki giggled at that mental image, munching away on the food his grandfather had set on his plate.

“We haven’t lived in the same room for 3 years. I’ve changed.”

“Y/N, back me up here.” You looked at Jia while filling the fresh orange juice into the glasses by everyone’s plate. “You’ve lived with him for the past 3 years. Does he still keep his dirty clothes anywhere but in the hamper?”

After he had moved from his childhood room into yours a few years back, you remembered this habit of his. Vividly. It had been the main reasons fights would break out between you. Other than the constant debate on how to raise a baby, of course. Over the years, it had gotten better; his clothes landed closer and closer to the laundry basket each week.

“He tries, but he never mastered reaching into the hamper. I don’t know how someone’s aim can be so off.”

Jia laughed, Ki joining in once he understood your words to be of the joking kind. He was at that age where he tried mimicking the people around him. That included emotional reactions from the ones closest to him. And to think you were missing this crucial part of his childhood.

“Complain as much as you want. Ever since we moved to campus, I’ve been very diligent about keeping things clean.” Your expression told him that you had seen his room and didn’t quite agree. “At least Felix never complains.”

“This Felix guy sounds like a catch.” That you couldn’t disagree with. “Glad you got a decent roommate.”

“He’s alright. Although—” Setting his fork and knife beside his plate, Jisung took a sip from his glass. “What were you two hugging about before? You seemed… close.”

There was no undertone to his question other than wanting to know the content of your talk. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Jisung was hinting at something.

“Nothing. Just small-talk.” Not a lie, but not the truth either. Though you figured a little white lie couldn’t hurt, knowing all it did was hide the secret Felix had shared with you. Jisung wouldn’t have judged Felix if you had told him, but you didn’t believe it was your right to out him. Especially after promising you wouldn’t tell anyone.

“Really? I could swear he was crying or something.”

“Oh, that? He was going through some personal things.” A little closer to the truth but still not revealing the whole story. Jisung seemed to believe you, and why wouldn’t he have? Had it been something that concerned your boyfriend, you would have told him. Didn’t have a reason not to. “Nothing to worry about, though.”

“Alright.” Your boyfriend picked his cutlery back up, slicing some of his son’s food for easier eating. “You’d tell me if it was serious, though. Right?”

“Of course,” you agreed as you beamed at your son. His mouth was stuck in a grin while he shoved spoons full of pancake into his mouth. “Everything’s alright.”

Brunch continued with little distraction. The topics reached from your future sister-in-law’s studies, which she was about to finish, to your son’s upcoming birthday. Still over a month away, but you could never start planning too early. It almost felt like you had never left. Your family, spending the late morning like you had any other weekend before moving to live on campus.

Your son’s lack of sleep showed right after he finished his plate. Despite his best efforts to keep himself awake, his eyes fell shut every few seconds. After missing you so much the past weeks, he wanted to spend any minute with his parents. It broke your heart. Of course, you knew it was better this way— staying close to campus and concentrating on your studies while your son stayed with your dad. Providing him the childhood he deserved. Still, it hurt you, knowing Ki missed you so much. Your own pain played a critical role in that feeling as well.

“I’ll take him to bed,” Jisung explained as he lifted his son from the high chair. Ki waved at you, already half asleep, as his father carried him out of the room.

Your dad had left a minute or two earlier, telling you about a discovery he had made while cleaning the attic. Thus, Jia and you were left to clean up the table, which you didn’t mind. It gave you a chance to catch up, something you had wanted the past few weeks but had never found the time for.

“So? How’s Uni for you? Did you make a ton of friends already?”

“I don’t know about a ton. But I did meet some people already,” you told her as you filled the sink with soap and water. “There’s this girl, Yuqi. She’s in my marketing classes, and she’s very nice. We get along great. And then, there’s Felix.”

“Sungie’s roommate?”

“Yes. He’s also very nice. I can see us becoming close.”

“That’s good. You never know when you’ll meet those people, but some of them will stick forever.” You nodded at her words, feeling like you had found two of these forever people in Yuqi and Felix. You had hardly met anyone you could open up to like you could to them, not even your High School friends. “How’s my baby bro doing on the friendship front? Is he adapting?”

“Surprisingly so. Jisung found a group of boys he’s been hanging out with. They seem cool; down to earth. They’re having a positive impact on him already.”

Had Jisung overheard your conversation, he would have most likely confronted you. Why would you talk about him behind his back like this? As though he was a social outcast you had to chaperone in his endeavours to make friends? However, he would have had to agree with you in the end.

Since you met him, Jisung hadn’t had the easiest time meeting new people. He was often awkward in social situations, and the lack of a filter caused him more problems than it fixed. You for one, loved him for it, as you always knew what was going on in his mind. Other people, not so much. In the past, Jisung had gotten himself in trouble due to saying the wrong things in tense situations. His social anxiety had only worsened the older he got. Having made friends already—without much effort—was a big deal.

Jia, being his older sister, knew about his issues.

“I’m glad he’s doing alright. It sounds harsh, but I wasn’t expecting him to make friends. Or worse.” She placed the dishes in the dishwasher as her eyes met yours. “He could have made the wrong friends.” You could tell where she was going with this. Her transition felt rather forced, but who could blame her? You, for one, had expected her to ask even earlier. “Speaking of—” And there it was. “Did you run into him already?”

Sighing at her words, you started scrubbing the pan below the soapy surface of the sink.

“We did.” Jia nodded, eyebrows furrowing in thought. “Seems like Jisung and him kept in contact. He invited us to this party at his fraternity yesterday.”

“So you talked to him?”

“Yup.” From her reaction you knew that she wasn’t satisfied with that. Jia was trying not to get too caught up in how you had talked to the one person she never wanted to think about again. After all, she couldn’t control who you ran into and chose to spend your time with. That went for both you and Jisung. Although, you were a bit more reserved about your relationship with the one who shan’t be named.

“I’ll regret asking later, but—” Again, you knew exactly what she was about to ask. “Did you meet— her?”

You placed the clean pan onto the rack to dry, taking off the cleaning gloves to hang them over the tap. You had thought a lot about how to approach this, but couldn’t come up with a painless explanation. So, the truth it was.

“I think so. I’m not 100 percent sure, but I believe she might be my roommate.”

A huff escaped Jia’s lips at the irony. “Of-fucking-course, she’s your roommate. And let me guess. She’s super nice and not at all a bitch who stole my boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t cheat on me and break my heart. That was all him.”

The glimmer of hurt in Jia’s eyes reminded you of that afternoon you found her crying on your doorstep. Her makeup smeared over her face and body trembling in your embrace. The pain wasn’t the same depth as three years ago, but you could tell it had left a scar. How couldn’t it have?

Jackson and Jia had been together for three years when she discovered his infidelity. There had been talks of marriage already, when he decided to throw it all out the window. And the worst thing, Jackson even tried to deny it when she confronted him. What he didn’t know was that Jia had seem them together. Two hours she had driven to campus to surprise him one weekend, and all to see him hugging and kissing some hot piece of ass. That’s how Jia had described her boyfriend’s affair after spotting them together. It had taken her around a minute to realise what was happening, then she up and left again.

A surprise phone call later that weekend Jackson answered with shock and denial. Not five minutes later, Jia decided she couldn’t hear it anymore. Like that, three years ended in what you could only describe as the second most heartbroken you had ever seen a person.

So, yes. The woman was still hurt. She was still in pain. Although that pain had morphed into hatred along the way.

“If it’s any comfort, she doesn’t seem to know you existed. And—” The next part was a shot in the dark. Hopefully, Jia would understand the humour in it all. “She started dating a woman immediately after Jackson. Said he made her realise she’d be better off without a man.”

That, Hwasa had told you in confidence. But seeing as it lightened the mood, you didn’t regret telling Jia. “Okay, that does make me feel better.” The atmosphere lightened up after that, though Jia needed to get one last thing off her mind. “But, you should keep track of that friendship between Jackson and Sungie.”

“You think?”

“Jackson himself might not be the problem. As hard as it is for me to say, he has a good heart. But that hardly goes for those friends of his. They’re some sketchy people.” Jia’s eyes showed honest concern. So much so that it worried you a little. “To this day, I believe he wouldn’t have done what he did, had his friends not had as much impact on him. They kept telling him he was too hot to let opportunities for hookups with random girls pass by. That our relationship was holding him back from reaching his full potential. And that’s a literal quote I overheard one of them telling him over the phone.”

“What? That’s crazy. Why did Jackson let them talk like this about you?”

“Who knows? But the matter of fact is that Jackson is a confident man. Always was. My brother, however...”

You understood she was hinting, again, at his social introversion.

“Since Dad left us, he’s been searching for a father figure in the older men around him. Do you remember that guy, Wonho, he hung out with in High School?”

“Do I? The dude was the personification of steroids.”

“Exactly. And Sungie had the biggest man crush on him. You do recall how that ended, right?”

“He broke his wrist trying to lift double his weight.”

“I love Sungie to the moon and back, but he has serious daddy issues. Not that it’s any his fault.” Jia had a point in everything she said. Even though you hoped Jisung couldn’t be manipulated, you understood it wasn’t impossible. “That Wonho-guy was his hero for months, and he wasn’t even trying to be. Imagine what could happen if some seriously sketchy guys meet him and see a trainable puppy.”

There was a moment of consideration as you imagined what Jia had described. Jackson and she had been happy before they went to university. Much like you and Jisung, they had been together a long time. Still, something inside you told you that Jisung wouldn’t hurt you like this. Jackson was a good guy, and they had been good together. But they also had their fair share of issues. Jisung and you, that was a whole other thing. You were soulmates. You had a son. Other than sweeping them under the rug, you talked about your relationship problems.

You wanted to voice those thoughts to Jia, but before you could do so, your dad and Jisung entered the room. Your dad carried a thick book, showing it to your boyfriend, who laughed at whatever he saw on the page.

“Baby, how were you so cute as a baby? I could eat you up.”

Your confusion resolved when your dad explained the situation. “I was showing an old photo album to Jisung. I found a stack of them in the attic.” Flipping the page, another chuckle escaped your dad’s lips. “Look! It’s you and your father. Gosh, I haven’t seen this picture in ages.”

At those words, a smile spread over your face as you made your way to his side of the book. And sure enough, there you were. Sitting in a flowerpot as your father held you up, smiling into the camera. The unfamiliar image warmed your heart, despite the tinge of sadness that appeared whenever you saw a picture of him.

“Your father was so handsome,” Jia said as she caught a glimpse.

“The most handsome,” your dad agreed, looking up from the page. “He did some modelling work while we attended law school and was good at it, too. Even made it into some magazines. He was so handsome even, it took me months to finally muster the courage and ask him out. And thank God, I did.” With those words, his eyes met you, still completely captured by the picture. “He would have been so proud of you, honey.”

A single tear rolled down your cheek as a smile plastered your face. Oh, what you’d give to have the chance and talk to him one last time. You would have told him so many things. Most importantly, you would have told him about the family you had found between all the grief and loss. The ones surrounding you, being the closest to you. And, of course, Ki. The love of your life.

No doubt, he would have loved your father as much as you did.

Next Chapter >>> coming soon

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[bonzos-number-1-fan]

What R# Means: The ABC's of Fear.

The grading system used by the OIAR is one of TMAGP's more central mysteries. The show is rife with administrative work that's obfuscated even to the employees that assign each case's rating.

I have my own theory about DPHW that I think is proving more and more likely each episode, but as of yet I don't think a comprehensive theory on CAT# or R# has been given. CAT# is still proving a hard to crack but I now think I can take a strong stab at the meaning behind R#.

Spoilers for TMAGP 1-7 below the cut.

For the people who aren't keeping close track of this I'll break down how those terms are used. Each incident the OIAR assesses is assigned a case number in the following format CAT#R#DPHW. CAT, short for Category, is assigned a value of 1, 2, 3, or any combination of those three digits (12, 13, etc.). R, short for Rank, are graded C, BC, B, AB, A, or S (potentially AS but it's not come up). For DPHW each letter is a category itself and replaced with a digit from 0-9 for its grading. So there are 6 separate statistics that the OIAR uses to assess each incident.

If I'm correct about DPHW it's a ranking based on the qualities the incident presents. That's obviously very valuable information. Because of how CAT# is formatted we know it's likely three non-mutually exclusive facets. I had some idea about what it could be but it's proving quite tricky to nail down.

However it's R# that is the topic of today's post and it's something I've had a few ideas on before. We know can assume from its formatting it's a linear scale. C is the "worst/weakest/etc." while S is the "best/strongest/etc.". Initially, I thought that R# was simply a straight forward ranking of potency or threat. Higher the rank, spookier the incident. Very early on that seemed like a strong idea. It was quickly disproven but I then had the idea that Rank was instead the scale of the effect. Higher the rank, wider the incident. Also quickly disproven.

Now I'm thinking it's graded on how hard it is to deny an incident's supernatural nature. Simply put, an outside observer can more readily find a believable rational explanation for an incident of lower rank than of higher rank. Either via their own conviction to believe the supernatural isn't real, or based on the story the OIAR cooks up to explain it.

For that to make sense it needs to tick two boxes. It needs to be able to be pre-assigned to an incident as all CAT#R#DPHW's seem to be, and it needs to be useful information to track. As they're operating under the assumption that CAT#R#DPHW's can be pre-assigned then they're operating under the assumption that each type of incident is relatively stable. Meaning that the likelihood that it can be rationally explained is also relatively stable. Tick 1. There is also a really strong reason for the OIAR to use this as a grade. They're the Office of Incident Assessment and Response, the Response Department might be dead but it was a part of the initial plan. Grading each incident on how likely they are to cause concern should the details go public is very useful for deciding how to approach any given case. Tick 2.

It being useful is all well and good but it does also need to have some evidence so let's look at our highest ranked incident to this point: CAT23RAB2155 - Transformation (Eye) -/- Trespass. A man grew eyes over his body. That's pretty tricky to explain away as a medical mystery. On the other end of the scale we've got CAT2RC1157 - Dolls (Watching), or CAT2RC3338 -Agglomeration (Miscellany) -/- Congregation†. Just a creepy doll and some crappy antiques. I think of all the incidents the one that's the least immediate fit is CAT3C7494 - Collection (Blood) -/- Musical. Most of that incident is very easy to slot in here. "It's just a violin that has sharp strings, so what?". But it's also a violin that made some people eat some other people. However, mass hysteria events do get reported every so often IRL and do have a very long history. So in the grand scheme of things I don't think the details of the event are necessarily all that outlandish. It's really in the realms of urban legend and witch hunts than it is definitive proof of the supernatural.

With all that out the way this is the broad strokes of how I could see this breaking down. C ranks are things you can entirely write off as urban legends, freak accidents, and stress. Potentially things that might not need any covering up at all. I think the majority of events people could entirely say didn't happen will end up in C. "Of course the doll wasn't watching you, dolls aren't alive". B ranks are things that are harder to entirely discount as things that happened but are themselves still relatively easy to excuse as mundane. "Sure, the circumstances of that blogger's disappearance are strange but people go missing all the time, doesn't mean a monster did it". We don't have any A ranks but given the AB rank we do have I'd say A's are things in which no rational explanation can account for it, and as such require more extensive covering up, if it indeed happened. "Okay, maybe the supernatural is real because people don't just grow eyes like that".

As I mentioned early, an S rank does exist. We've not seen this attributed to anything in the show yet and so it might prove to be a special case. However on Klaus' sheet‡ from the ARG it's attributed to an interesting incident. A CAT1RS[No DPHW] with the note Mr. B. And, well, if you know, you know.

From Klaus' sheet we also know that the higher ranked incidents happen less often than lower ones and that idea generally tracks with what we know of TMP and TMA. The supernatural tends to be something you can explain away. It often is explained away. Incredibly overt manifestations are a rarity.

This one will be a slow burn to see if it bears out. Much like with DPHW's it's only really interesting when things go against the theory. I'm not as certain on this one as I am the DPHW theory but I do think it's got legs with our current data.

† This did also feature people who seemed to erase their physical features from your memory after you interacted with them. This isn't something I mention in the theory because it's not taken into account by the header and case number. A major flaw in the OIAR's methodology here is that all incidents are only ever one thing. So the case number is based solely on the presence of lots of miscellaneous objects, rather than the mind-wiping people carrying them.

‡I have made an incident master doc here, containing all the current cases, their CAT#'s, R#'s, DPHW's, etc. It has about as much information on each as I think is reasonable, including who narrates it, a link to its episode, and any other relevant notes, as well as headers for incidents we didn't hear. Additionally it also contains the Klaus sheet (German and English) and links to it when an incident matches. It will be updated each episode after the episode is publicly available.

[lunarw0rks]

professor!price 🫦…you gotta write something about this now that you’ve mentioned it omg I’m a sucker for prof!price gosh

anyway I love your work/writings !! they’re freaking amazing💆🏻‍♀️

a/n: this was supposed to be a full fic, but i physically could not finish it for months. but rather than deleting all this work entirely, i decided i would release what i had! just to give you guys something. i hope these mere crumbs are sufficient as a kind of soft launch back into this blog...

─── ꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ PRICE MASTERLIST ꒦꒷

PROFESSOR!PRICE

synopsis: you catch the eye of your supportive, but firm literature professor. warning(s): SFW, BUT 18+ MDNI, professor/student dynamics, hint of dom!price, fem!reader, no use of y/n, not edited

Just your luck, being late on the first day of the semester.

It truly wasn't your fault. Your schedule was in shambles, and you had the administration to thank for that. Not to mention, your literature course was in an entirely different building; one you had yet to step foot in earlier in the year.

It was like starting kindergarten; eyes wide with nerves, knees trembling, searching for the correct classroom with a crumbled schedule in your hands.

Only today, those hands were grown and holding your phone screen, examining the digital schedule you'd been sent after the ordeal at the scheduling office. Still, that same troubled look in your eyes, no matter how far you'd advanced into adulthood.

But it wasn't a colorful large print displaying the three-digit class number like it had been when you were small.

It was a bland monospace font displaying your next stop;

┃ Classic Literature - Prof. John Price, Rm 1026

You were late by a few minutes, not an entirely catastrophic start to your first day, was it?

Internally, you were crossing your fingers that this professor wouldn’t be a complete hardass. That would be the taunting cherry on top of an already stressful mid-morning.

From behind the door, you could hear the gentle drone of what you assumed to be the professor's voice.

Gruff and sophisticated — that much you could tell before walking in.

"The syllabus is available—" his introductory speech interrupted when you opened the door slowly, causing an echo through the classroom when the hinges ground. His eyes met yours, staying on you as you shuffled along, for too long.

He broke himself out quickly, continuing on, "—available online or on the table beside the door. Paper or digital, it's your decision. Study it, learn it, and follow it."

Your new professor is intensely intimidating, despite not being outwardly threatening. Perhaps it was his aplomb when he spoke to the class, or maybe it was the gaze bordering on a glare he gave you.

Following, you made even more of an effort to blend in with the rest of the class. To sink lower into your seat, keep any and all attention on him, as if to undo the unfortunate first impression.

It was hard to focus, and not because of his teaching.

The following week, you made your best attempts to keep up. He wasn't assigning too much work or especially rude to the students. His gentle intimidation made it troublesome, despite not speaking one word to you yet.

There you were again.

Watching intently as he spoke in that soothing voice. White button down, or sometimes gray, exposing just a bit of his chest. Wispy dirty blonde hairs, just barely poking through, more so when he'd lean down to change his presentation slides.

Shit. He'd announced a test you had spaced completely, when you were too occupied with your other courses.

He reaches into a folder and holds it up. "This assessment is on paper. I want you all to do your very best; think back to the material we read in Chapter twenty-three."

23? What material? You were completely fucked, with not even a half-chance at earning a grade passing on this. You hear the rustling of paper, and then see all your seatmates passing the packets. With a widened expression, you shuffle the stack to the next person over, finally taking a gander at the paper below you.

Minutes passed, spent either chewing on your pencil or doing your best at bullshitting answer; analyzing a literature piece you hadn’t read a word of. He knew it, too. A sharp gaze whenever you’d happen to look up, jolting you back into fake focus.

This was bad, and you were running out of ways to define the feeling.

You weren’t even sure fucked would suffice.

Twenty-three percent — etched on the top of the exam. Surely, the only reason there was any sum at all was because you spelled your name correctly and scribbled the date.

It might as well have been a zero.

Beside the humiliating score, SEE ME was bolded in red ink, as if he’d murdered a sharpie to emphasize his disappointment. Fortunately, you snagged the graded paper exams from a box outside the room, saving you the heat of looking into his eyes.

Now, the real nail-bitter was going in to see him after hours. By no means was he an intimidator, nor callous, but he had power. The authority to tarnish your transcript forever. Whether he would or wouldn’t isn’t important — that scenario is still startling.

At least you had yourself to thank for not being careless in class; those students that huff or mutter curses when addressed directly. He always noticed their snide attitudes, whether they knew it or not.

But you weren’t them; you were attentive and reserved during his lectures, no matter how under stimulating their contents were. Though, the professor had a way of making anything feel profound or educative.

That’s what you told yourself when you knocked on the door. After hours, nothing but a dim light through the frosted glass next to the door. “Come in.” His gruff voice muffled back.

The cold metal fo the doorknob did little to soothe your nerves. Neither did the sight of him — and only him. No other students here to sort out a grade? Not a slacker begging for extra credit? A fellow teacher making boring small talk?

None of the above.

It's only you shuffling inside awkwardly and him at his desk. A small reading lamp illuminated only his workspace and not much more, leaving the rest of the lecture hall pitch black. He's writing fast with a fancy pen, one that's surely worth a pretty penny. When you've failed to make the first move, he glances up with a scowl.

Price curls his finger into a 'come here' motion, earning a gulp from you. You'd swear that bricks were tied to your ankles, and it was any wonder you didn't stumble the closer you got.

As if failing an exam wasn't humiliating enough; now you were alone with the stern professor behind the mark.

You trekked closer to the large desk, peering at the copy of your failed exam he brought forward. As if you needed another reminder. He brought out a felt tip pen as red as blood.

“Want you to be honest with me, save us the grief. Did you study for this exam?” Price asked, followed by an stone expression.

For a moment, you thought about lying. Muttering some pathetic yes and hoping for the best. Until you kept looking at him, how his stillness made you gulp and rethink.

“No, sir.” You sigh, suddenly having a parched throat.

For a moment, he went still — as firm as the glances he always through your way. When you were tempted to wave a hand in his face, he composed himself again, straightening and adjusting himself in his desk chair.

As if ignoring you, he resumed grading the assignments neatly stacked in front of him. Every glide of the crimson tip against the milky paper struck a nerve in you. You leaned on a hip in impatience, clearing your throat softly to regain his attention. After all — he was the one who called you here, wasn’t he? And now he’s treating you like you’ve faded out of existence.

You balled your fists, digging your nails into your palms to gather courage.

“Is there something I can do about this score? Or have you called me in here for no reason? Sir?” You’ll be the first to admit that the words came out brattier than intended.

But, to you, they were justified. And you most definitely didn’t want to spend the rest of the semester despising one of your professors.

His head raised slowly, placing the pen down at a slow speed. Leaning back with his legs spread, his hand dropped to his inner thigh. “Adding Sir won’t make this any easier on me you, darling.”

You got the attention you wanted. But not in the way you expected. At all.

As if breaking a record for speed, you were flush and shifting around awkwardly, unable to spit out a rebuttal. Who could? Especially when your opponent had the power to frame an expulsion, or flunk you purposefully. However, Professor Price wasn’t the malicious type — and that made this so much worse.

It was all genuine. Those glances, the stern tone, his want — no, need — to want better for you. Even if the methods were the definition of questionable.

“Don’t act meek around me. What is it you’re trying to say?” He inquired nonchalantly, blinking as he waited patiently for you to catch your breath. But you never did; you remained utterly stunned.

After what seemed like forever, but was really only a few seconds, John realized that this meet was going nowhere. Clearly, being direct was the only way to get through to someone as clueless as you.

His tone is firmer whilst assuming a lower volume — as if afraid someone would hear. But he wasn't. If there was the slightest chance of getting caught, he would've directed you to an extra credit sheet and sent you on your way.

Price curled his fingers. "C'mere."

⊹。°˖➴ SECOND NOTE: should i release more of my forgotten WIPs? | divider cred. - cafekitsune ༉‧₊˚.

[shibalatte]

whatevr ill post my stupid baby bill poem nonsense on this app

i hold my son close to me. we just went to our first eye doctors appointment. his big round eye is closed as he sleeps. he clings to me as he naps in my arms. i look at the medication they gave me. the bottle doesnt even seem to have proper dosage. i sigh. ever since my son has started his diagnosis journey, i've worried for him. all the doctors flock around him when he starts looking up nobody has ever seen what he calls up, it perplexes the specialists, the teachers at school, his peers. and yet, i feel like there has to be someone who has there has to be more like him, correct? today's my baby billy's first day of second grade hes grown so big from when he was in his baseball sneakers. i measure him from angle to angle, hes grown somewhat taller. he beams. i walk him to school, he tells me about the stars once again. how they glitter and glow. i tell him that even if i can't see what hes talking about, i see him, and always will. he smiles with his eye i tell him he'll have his silly straws clean when he gets home billy has started telling me he can't see. i check his medication. they've upped his dose from 2 sips to 3. i yelled at the doctor for not even giving me a proper dose for him. they told me not to worry, that they know best. i dont believe them. i have stopped giving bill his "eye medication" it turns out that it wasnt helping him at all, the doctor who gave it to us was outed as a fraud he looks at me with that round eye and wonders why ive stopped i tell him he'll be safe this is billy and i's first appointment at a psychologist. billy looks at me with worry in his big round eye. he's never had to have an appointment where he has to talk about himself. i tell him he'll be safe and that i'll hold his hand through the whole thing. they were perplexed to say the least, but they were helpful they told us to come back for an assessment they said they might have the answer the psychologists have a diagnosis its a thing they dont know a lot about, hes the first one to be officially diagnosed the doctors want to name it after him but i insist they don't. i don't need my boy to be the center of his condition he looks at me in the car with fear. i tell him that everyone is still learning, even doctors. he smiles with his eye again . i make him a sandwich with the crust cut off when we come back, he beams years later, the diagnosis has been named silly straw syndrome its considered a neurological conditon that effects the way someone sees the world. people are still scared of my son when he looks up at the stars but we're getting somewhere, the world of shapes is making progress. bill brought home a friend im overjoyed, hes never had a friend over and for once, i see a kid other than my own look up at the stars with him! and i finally see that my son is understood! i tear up, my beautiful boy is finally understood by his peers. i dont have to worry. im at peace. my son will be ok in the world, there IS people like him! i cry, i sob. my son is finally finding a place. hes finally ok.

[poisonlove]

Miss Ortega | j.o

Parte1

part 2

The new Calculus teacher descended with a small leap from the wooden surface. She walked around the lectern and sat in her chair, getting a better view of the class. She took out a notebook and a pen from her backpack, and with a small smile, she looked at the class.

"Well, now that I've introduced myself, I'd like to know your names and the grade you received in this subject last year."

Starting from the front row, each student stated their name, last name, and grade. Jenna opened her eyes and tried not to show her surprise at the low grades. She smiled nervously many times and looked curiously at those who spoke.

Looking into her eyes, one could almost see the frustration in her iris. With a sigh of exhaustion, the teacher tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

In the blink of an eye, it was my turn. I was the last one. All eyes were looking in my direction, some with curiosity, others with annoyance. I felt uncomfortable; I wasn't used to receiving so much attention. I cleared my throat to steady my voice, taking a deep breath to avoid stuttering in front of the class. I timidly glanced at Jenna, who observed me with curiosity.

She had her elbow resting on the desk, holding her head in the palm of her hand. She gave me a slight smile. Brown eyes piercing my soul.

"I..." I sighed, closing my eyes for a fraction of a second. I could feel all the blood rushing to my cheeks. "T/N T/A, 100," I managed to say who I was and my grade. I gave a nervous smile and hid my flushed cheeks with my hair.

Jenna composed herself and looked at me with surprise. An inevitable smile spread across her lips, almost relieved to have someone who understood even a little bit of her subject. I glanced at Enid, who was smiling at me with mischief. The blonde had something in mind, and I wasn't sure if I was ready to find out what it was. The teacher stood up from her chair, taking a stack of papers from her backpack.

"Well, now that you've told me who you are and your grades... we can have a little test to assess your level," she smiled at us.

Murmurs of disapproval quickly arose, and Johnny, our class president, raised his hand. Jenna nodded, granting him permission to speak.

"Professor, can we do it on Wednesday? Today is the first day of school... and it wouldn't be fair to give us a test right away," he adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, avoiding Jenna's penetrating gaze that had wiped the smile off her face. "Would that be possible?" he added, timidly.

"Come on, doll, don't ruin the good impression you gave us," Edward said.

Edward Smith, the most popular guy in school, the future star of the football team. He had a reputation as a womanizer, unafraid to flirt, and it was clear that he had no respect even for those in authority at this school. Professor Ortega blinked her eyes, somewhat incredulous, and then smirked. Her eyes looked at the blonde boy with disgust.

"Smith, right?" Jenna asked absentmindedly, gripping the papers tightly. Her knuckles turned white from the tight grip.

Edward nodded, pleased that she remembered his last name. He looked at his classmates with superiority, almost as if to say that he had the attention of all the girls he desired. Jenna walked towards him, leaning in with a threatening air to his desk.

Her eyes were piercing.

Smith blushed under the deadly gaze of Miss Ortega.

"Do not dare to call me 'doll,' do we understand each other?" Jenna tilted her head to the side, looking at the poor boy with disdain. "Now get out of my class immediately," she pointed towards the door with her index finger. Jenna composed herself and moved away from the desk.

Edward opened and closed his mouth several times, taken aback by the teacher's reaction. He stood up and stormed angrily out of the classroom.

I smiled satisfactorily, that boy was an idiot.

Professor Ortega rolled her eyes, slightly annoyed. She sighed and smiled again. I felt powerless, truly sorry that she had to endure such a comment. From the corner of my eye, I saw Enid fidgeting in her seat.

"After this unfortunate incident... we can continue with the test," she handed out two stacks of papers to those in the front. Once they took their papers, they passed the rest to the people behind them, and so on, until everyone had their test on their desks. "You have exactly..." the professor glanced at her watch, squinting her eyes and furrowing her brow. "1 hour and 30 minutes," she concluded.

I looked at the questions, surprised.

They were too easy, ridiculously so.

There were 5 equations to solve and 1 problem. I looked at the sheet with confusion and raised my head to the dark-haired Jenna. Almost immediately, our eyes met.

My breath stopped, and I tried not to hear the increasing beats of my heart. I raised an eyebrow, unsure if I should take this test as an insult. The teacher looked at me with a smile, enjoying my reaction. She tilted her head to the side, observing me with clear curiosity, while also keeping an eye on her students for any signs of cheating.

I shook my head and looked at my paper, feeling the frustration of Enid, who was seated next to me. I put the bottom of the pen between my teeth and focused on answering the questions, occasionally feeling the piercing gaze of those two coffee-colored eyes.

[bluekittyworld]

There is Karma.

Hello sweet people, this is my first time writing something, I hope you guys like it and all feedback will be appreciated.

Please don't post my work on other sites/platforms or copy it, or translate it, thank you.

Approx. 11,000 words in total and 5 chapters

Warnings: Lot's of angst, mention of suicide, smut, 18+

Main Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Happy Ending

Sad Ending

There is karma. It comes back, don’t use your heart in a bad way.

You were part of the popular girls at school, a rich spoiled brat as one may put it. Grade As and Bs were natural to you, you wondered sometimes if you had put in the effort, you could have scored better than all the nerds in your class, but who needed that, you were busy being the popular and pretty rich ‘it’ girl, belittling the quiet and less popular ones. There was one boy in particular, his name was Yunki or Yoonji, something like that. He wore thick framed glasses; his skin was ghostly pale, and he had contrasting pitch black hair in bowl cut. You found him an easy target as he never spoke back, no matter how many times you tripped him over, shoved him around, broke his ugly glasses, he never said anything back.

Why did you hate him so much? He didn’t care about anyone, and you hated it so much, why didn’t he try to fit in? He dressed so poorly, everyone just assumed that he was in this school on a scholarship, there was no way he could afford the fees by the way he dressed. On the other hand, you had to become mean to fit in, every day you woke up hours earlier to complete your work, prepare your hair and makeup, you had to stay relevant, have everyone’s attention, keep the ‘it girl’ title, life was so hard. So, every time you saw the careless Yoongi living his simple easy life, it boiled your blood and what ticked you off even more is that he never retaliated, come to think of it you had never heard his voice, was he mute?

This carried on for 5 years until the day of your graduation, just before graduation, you and your friends mocked this boy wearing his skinny ripped jeans, a t-shirt, and a plaid shirt. At the time your high-school boyfriend joined in too, you decided to give him a matching ripped shirt, pulling out your scissors you made a few cuts in his shirt and his bag, your friends laughed and recorded the scene. Your best friend took a few of his books, and teared them up, nobody noticed how Yoongi was having a panic attack and was on the verge of tears. Your boyfriend took the scissors and started cutting the poor boy’s hair, you did think it was pushing it too far, but nobody else seemed to care, why should you care right? Your boyfriend’s mates started kicking and punching Yoongi, he was now covered in blood and bruises, his eyes piecing into your soul, while he was being beaten up, his eyes were still fixated on you. You noticed this and felt a little bit of guilt, you pulled your boyfriend and asked to go to your favourite Korean BBQ. All your friends and his friends discarded Yoongi, leaving him in the middle of the school grounds, you didn’t even bother to look back if he was still breathing or not, nobody did.

On graduation day, Yoongi didn’t turn up, not like you really cared, you just wondered if he was okay, maybe you did go a little too far the other day. Also, it would have been a great opportunity to see his parents and assess his wealth today. Soon your friends and boyfriend came over to you, and that was the last time you thought of Yoongi.

Years had passed since graduation. You were well set into your father’s business, ready to take senior management positions, being born into an affluent family had its perks, your whole life was served on a silver platter, not a single day of difficulty. Life was monotonic and predictable you began to feel a growing sense of emptiness. Despite the success you achieved in your career and social life, there was an underlying dissatisfaction, a void you couldn't fill. A friend of yours suggested maybe participating in charity events may give you a sense of fulfilment, so you decided to join the next available event.

At this event, everyone was put into groups of 4, and the tasks varied, you were in a team with two boys and another girl. The aim was to visit the elderly and help them out with their chores for today. The drive to the house was quite quick, you didn’t really get to talk to your teammates, the only thing you knew were their names, Sora, Yeonjun and Yoongi. Yoongi rang a bell, but you couldn’t really remember if you ever knew a person with that name, maybe it was just a name of one of the many people you see every day at work, you brushed it off. 

Upon arriving at the house, you saw it was occupied by an old lady, the roofing had some issues and the wallpaper had been peeling off in various places. Yoongi took lead of the team, he suggested “Yeonjun and I will take the duty of fixing the ceiling, while you girls can start by removing the wallpaper.”

His voice was like a gentle breeze on a calm summer day, carrying warmth and serenity, you hadn’t heard such a caring voice in a very long time, even your own mother didn’t sound so affectionate.

You just nodded, while Sora nudged you, maybe you were looking at Yoongi for too long, he was looking back at you with his piercing dark eyes.

“The wallpaper removing machine is in the back of the car, let’s go get it” Sora mentioned.

You nodded and followed her along. Removing the wallpaper wasn’t hard at all, you and Sora had bonded quite well, it was interesting to find out about her, you learnt she ran a café nearby and had a fiancé, her parents currently live in Japan, and she has a poodle dog named Bobbi. You loved this kind of interaction; it was like a breath of fresh air being away from your routine life and interacting with people who didn’t have money on their minds 24/7. You glanced over to Yoongi’s direction now and then… there was a certain attraction you developed towards him, but you turned away each time in disappointment, him and Yeonjun were really focused on getting the ceiling fixed and didn’t really have time for other things. You really wanted to talk to Yoongi more and find out about him, maybe you wouldn’t get another chance and that really bothered you.

You and Sora were done removing the wallpaper, and the ceiling was still being plastered. You suggested to Sora “We should paint this room before the old lady comes back, it shouldn’t take too long, what do you think?”

“Perfect” Sora chimed “Let’s go to the nearby DIY store and pick out a colour.”

Sora got up and walked over to Yeonjun, by the looks of it you assumed they knew each other well, maybe they volunteered together previously, she asked “Yeonjun, my dear cousin, can you drive us in your car to the DIY store?”

Oh, now it makes sense, they were cousins, you smiled at learning the fact, you somewhat wished you were close to your family members.

At the DIY store you and Sora decided on a dusty pink colour, it would contrast well with the plants the lady had in her house. Yeonjun waited in the car and you guys were soon back, he suggested to grab some food, and as if on cue your stomach rumbled.

“Yup, ____ is hungry, we should definitely get food” Sora giggled.

You just smiled in embarrassment. The three of you had decided to buy four portions of Jjajangmyeon, not forgetting Yoongi of course.

Meanwhile Yoongi had finished up the plastering, he looked at the clock, it was 3pm, the old lady did mention she would return at 6pm, there were 3 more hours to go, more than enough time for the plaster to dry and paint over. He smiled at the fact he was ahead of schedule and thought the lady will be so happy to see the finished results. Soon you, Sora and Yeonjun came back, you distributed the noodle bowls to each person.

“Thank you” Yoongi smiled, you swear he had winked too, you felt excited like a teenage girl. You blushed and proceeded to sit down to eat, it was a nice meal, mostly Yeonjun sharing his personal life and how he has crush on his neighbour.

Chapter 2

[faebaex]

Hello! Congrats on 500 followers! For your event, could I have Riddle with a GN reader. Maybe he has a crush on the reader but doesn't intend to tell them, but when he gifts them their Valentine's chocolates, he ends up in an accidental confession.

Roses are Red...

author note: eee this was such a cute request, i enjoyed writing it! i like to think that Riddle is so in control and prepared all the time that when something unexpected happens, especially in a situation like this, he becomes all flustered (≧◡≦) ♡ thank you for waiting, i hope you enjoy it!!

characters: Riddle Rosehearts x GN!Reader

Riddle was flustered.

His fingers kept toying with the meticulously tied ribbon that adorned the box of chocolates in his hand, skewing it away from its previous perfection. He sighed as he fixed it back into place, the crease in his brow and the purse of his lips showing that something was on his mind. He was nervous.

Riddle had been pacing the floorboards of his room since he had finished his morning routine, the box of chocolates clutched in his hand. He had prepared the chocolates last night, especially for you. But now he agonised how he was going to give them to you, he wanted to gift you these chocolates because he knew how important the holiday was to you, but he certainly didn’t want to confess his feelings to you. He wasn’t ready! And besides, he had to focus on his studies, and he had his duties as Housewarden, and…

He sighed as he continued to pace around his bedroom. He had deliberately prepared some chocolates for his dorm, to present at the next unbirthday party so that the chocolates for you would seem less suspicious. It was just a friend giving chocolates to their friend on one of their favourite holidays. Perfectly normal, right? But… How did a friend give chocolates to their friend without it seeming like a confession? This is the question that Riddle was agonising over in the early hours of the morning.

Eventually, he settled on mentally preparing a script. If he stayed on script and recited it with enough preparedness, there is no way he could fail. He’d be able to deliver these friendship chocolates to you in a friendly manner and there is no way you could get any idea that you were anything more than just friends and he wouldn’t accidentally spill out all his feelings for you. If he just switched his thinking and approached this situation like he would an exam or assessment, there is no way he could fail. Confident in this approach, Riddle began to prepare his script in his head, ready to confess present you the chocolates later in the day…

You were sitting in the courtyard with Ace, Deuce and Grim, giggling as Ace lamented his complete lack of admirers on Valentine’s Day, coming up with wilder and wilder ways to justify why no one had come forward to confess their feelings to him. Deuce hadn’t received any Valentine’s gifts either but was nowhere near as bothered about it as Ace was. In fact, none of you had received any Valentine’s gift, which wasn’t unexpected, but only Ace was hilariously under the impression that he had a whole parade of admirers that were either too shy, suddenly struck with illness or suddenly out of the country to give him a gift today.

“Well, I have my Valentine riiight here.” You said with a cheeky smile, reaching out to tug affectionately at Grim’s cheeks, “I’ll buy you premium tuna tonight.” Grim’s eyes lit up and he celebrated loudly, hopping up and down as Ace rolled his eyes and Deuce tried to get him to quieten down. You continued to laugh and joke with your friends, enjoying a rare spot of free time with your friends that was not taken up by clubs or cramming for midterms. You were teasing Ace when a loud clearing of throat sounded, and both the Heartslabyul boys froze like they’d been caught in a nefarious act.

“Ace. Deuce. Shouldn’t you two be studying for your upcoming alchemy exam? I’m sure you are aware of what the consequences are if you were to bring a bad grade back to the dorm?”

Riddle stood behind Ace and Deuce, his hand behind his back as he stared sternly at the two. The frigid reminder was all the pair needed before they were making their escape, giving you a quick goodbye before their dormleader could start lecturing them any further. You smiled at the scene, a usual sight as you gathered your own belongings together, preparing to leave yourself. Another, softer clearing of throat stopped you, however, and you looked up to see Riddle staring at you, his posture stiff and expression stiffer. “May I have a word, Y/N?” Riddle asked, his tone as clipped as when he spoke with Ace and Deuce.

“Of course.” You responded with a smile, settling back down on the wall. Perhaps he had something on his mind, he appeared rather tense today… Or maybe he was going to scold you for distracting Ace or Deuce too much? Deciding to give Riddle the privacy he’d appreciate or alternatively save Grim from his wrath, you leaned forward and patted Grim on the head, “go get yourself a premium can on tuna, then.” That was all you needed to say, you could practically see the tuna cans in his eyes as he dashed off with a triumphant laugh, leaving you and Riddle alone. You patted the empty spot on the wall next you, signalling for Riddle to sit beside you with a kind smile.

Meanwhile, Riddle had mentally blue screened. He hadn’t even started yet, and everything was already off script! That smile and the way you kindly offered him a seat, he hadn’t factored any of that into his mental scenarios when he imagined how this would play out. His cheeks burnt red before he could stop them, and his palms began to sweat as he clutched the box of chocolates behind his back. Suddenly, the script he had carefully crafted became jumbled in his mind, and he began to stutter as he approached the wall, noting your eyebrow raise at his sudden flustered behaviour. He clutched the box of chocolates tighter, only for them to slip in his grip and tumble onto the grass.

“Oh!” You immediately hopped up, eager to help as Riddle scrambled to pick up the box and regain any of his previous composure as you knelt to help him. “Are you okay? What is that?”

Riddle froze as your fingers grazed his as you picked up the box of chocolates and dusted it off gently, staying knelt as you offered the box back to him. His face exploded in colour, the redness on his face almost similar to how he looks when someone has triggered his temper. Riddle felt completely disarmed, his heart racing and his words coming out in stutters.

“I-i… I made them for you…” Riddle cringed at how flustered his voice sounded, averting his eyes as he refused to take the box back from you. Your eyes finally fell to the box in your hand, looking at it properly for the first time. The box was black, with a simple rose design and a beautiful red ribbon tied around it. You stared at it for a moment, your mind taking a second to comprehend the seriousness of the gift, especially today. “Oh. Oh.”

Riddle sprang up, taking your utterance to mean the worst and clambering to retain at least some of his dignity. “W-well I, a-actually I made them because… W-what I mean to say is—” Words spilled past his lips incoherently as he struggled to regain control of the situation, his cheeks feeling hot, and his heart gripped with dread. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and he was still stuttering when you rose to your feet, box still in your hands. He looked anywhere but at you, unable to meet your eyes during such a colossal embarrassment.

“Riddle.”

He stiffened again when your voice called to him, having no choice but to finally turn his eyes to you. What he saw was not what he expected and made his heart leap in his chest – you directed a dazzling smile at him as you clutched the box happily in your hands, your eyes soft and staring directly into his. “Thank you, Riddle… This really means a lot. I love it.” Your smile was so genuine, so infectious that he felt a shy tugging of his own lips the more he looked at you.

“Say…” You began, your voice soft as you spoke, “Grim is probably going to be at Sam’s shop for a while, would you maybe like to… Take a walk with me?”

Riddle felt a fresh wave of blush rush to his cheeks, unnoticeable considering how red he already was and felt his heart soar at your words. Taking a deep breath and a short moment to compose himself, he gave you a small, appreciative smile for your discretion over his flustered state, “Yes, I would like that.”

You gave him another dazzling smile that just about took his breath away as you quickly scooped up your belongings and returned to his side, your arm brushing against his playfully as you began your walk together.

Sometimes, silence tells us more than words ever could.