#i need my tags bacckk ugh

[shadowedstilinski]

@lionxlilyxevans | as discussed!! :D //

Stiles had a potions essay, a transfigurations essay, and an ancient runes essay due monday.

Thank god, Merlin and Morgana Arithmancy hadn’t set anything for Tuesday, or he’d be swamped. As it is, he’s lightly wading in anxiety. No more than usual, anyway. Which is to say; more than the average person, but - no more than Stiles is capable of ignoring point-blank. 

Anyway.

So. Stiles had that stuff to finish by - oh. Ten o’clock. That night. Because it was Sunday. Ok look, it was just -very important, he’d had to do some very important work all Saturday, which did not include investigating his dad’s newest partner for police work that took the ageing officer of the law out of the office. Which, granted, Stiles isn’t sure that happens as often here as it did when Stiles was a little kid back in Beacon Hills, but then - when Stiles was a little kid back in Beacon Hills, his mother was alive and he’d been slated for Illvermorny. 

Times change. 

Stiles sighed and dropped the stack of books he’d collected onto the free space he’d managed to snatch up at one of the library tables. Stiles wasn’t the only person who was here - though, not all of them were doing dangerously-close-to-the-deadline homework, he’d wager. 

Stiles sat down, opened one of the books, grabbed some parchment, ink, a quill - and then there was a loud noise, directly behind him - Stiles jumped, accidentally throwing his ink across the desk. “Shit,” He said, glancing behind himself to glare at the guy who’d dropped a particularly heavy tome he’d been attempting to coax down from the top shelf, then looking back at the girl he’d just missed with the inkwell. Not so lucky, however, was her own parchment. “Shit, sorry,” He said, again, adding the apology. “Sorry, mate, that’s really not a good first impression, wow.” Stiles grimaced and took out his wand, then cleaned up the spilt ink as much as he could, leaving her parchment alone because - well, he’d probably mess up and clean off the ink she’d written with and he’d ruined in the first place. “I’m, uh, Stiles, or, well, ‘Mr Stilinski’,” Stiles said, mimicking Professor McGonagall. Bless her, she’d tried to pronounce his first name when he’d been sorted. She’d done a little better than his own damn Dad, but not by much - either way, she still did... okay, so that’s fine, Stiles figured. She’d never tried again, which he’d been thankful for. “I think we have a class together? I recognise the back of your head,” He said, “I can’t remember which, though.”