#he's learning how to talk less like a professor and more like a peer

[obessed-with-fictional-men]

oh my sweet Gale

I will admit, the very first run through of this game i found Gale annoying, pushy, dumped trauma everywhere, narcissistic in his knowledge of magic, and the need to prove how right his in in the subject. I often found myself thinking and saying out loud "omg shut up"..... buuuuut... having romanced him...... i found that his personality traits are the exact same as someone born as a child prodigy, had his ego inflated, alienated by everyone around him, and made to think he was superior by someone higher up just to then land on his ass.

I wont go through what i think of his character development because each play through is different, and for each player its different... but this is what i think of him over all.

Gale doesn't know how to talk to people. He doesn't have social queues that almost everyone else picks up on. Gale has spent, up till the tadpole, the exception in a lot of the situations he was put into and thus it became his default personality. Yes, for those of us who have romanced him (keeps romancing him) we see someone haunted by their past choices and watch him grow. We see the nerd that he is, but this is more about the potential Gale before we meet him. So bare with me.

He was a child prodigy and put into a prestigious school where he flourished. I can only image how his professors loved him and his fellow students less than enthusiastic response. You know what happens when you become the teachers pet? You become ostracized by your fellow peers. You know what happens when you are really good at something that usually takes A LOT of practice for others? You either get used or don't make friends. Gale has had ONE story that involved other people and it didn't involve friends, he was at a bar and defused a brawl with ale. He has openly admitted to Tara being his only real friend.

Now this isn't to say Gale never had to work at his magic or arcane knowledge to get him to where he is in the game when he first meet him. He was an archmage and the chosen of Mystera, but his innate ability to wield it as a young boy is what got Mystera's attention. Gale has stated that she was his teacher first, then his muse and finally his lover. You can only imagine how special he felt when Mystera chose him to be his guiding hand..... and then to be a lover? I don't care who you are..... That shit would have to inflate your ego. That shit would make you feel like you were SOOO much better than your fellow peers. You would have those toxic thoughts and comments of "yeah, well Mystera chose me! So who needs friends/criticism/physical lovers/ect". What do you typically do when you catch the attention of someone you highly regard? You try to impress them and do what you can to be even more impressive! So Gale's ambition grew to newer heights. I cant imagine what Mystera poisoned his mind with while they were together. Like, i get she told him to just be content with the things were.... but come on Mystera... you couldn't have expected him to stop striving to be better with a simple "nah, you're cool how you are. you don't need to be my equal". Not when the poor man has spent the last 2 decades of his life striving to be the best. His most important years for growth and development have been spent on trying to impress others.

Gale learns of a way to possibly convince Mystera to allow him into her domain and it gets a carnivorous orb shoved into his chest, dumped, stripped of his titles and holed up in his tower without nary a reason why. That had to be the biggest blow he has ever received in his entire life. His act of what he believed to be a sure fire way into getting what he wanted ended up taking almost everything away from him. If it wasn't for Tara, i'm sure Waterdeep would have succumbed his to orbs blight. The man locked himself in his tower and turned away all his colleagues and family.

So imagine, you are this lonely person... squirreled away from others and any social interaction. No one to talk to except your pet *sorry Tara* and all of a sudden you find yourself on a ship.... with a parasite in your brain and then your thrust into an adventure with a bunch of strangers. You have this orb in your chest that could blow at any time and you cant really explain WHY you need magical items.... but that if you don't get them.... everyone is in trouble.... you find your group facing monsters and doing weird ass side quests.... and at any given opportunity, you like to drop a knowledge bomb on the group.... just to find that some of the group members don't like your input... or don't listen at all.. which doesn't sit well with you. You've been told how right you are for like... 20 years... You haven't been given many acts of kindness since becoming an adult, what with your abrasive "im more knowledgeable in everything and i've slept with a goddess" personality, so when you see your fearless leader doing something nice, you approve. You grown to trust this leader enough to tell them the truth.... knowing full well they may turn on you, but they don't! You continue to watch them, and share moments of magic with them, you fight along side them, and what is this? Are you starting to develop feelings for them? Are they reciprocating these feelings?

He gets a death sentence slapped on his back and these new budding feelings he has for you need to be made known. What better way than to show you how much you mean to him than to literally paint the sky in the weave for you. To take away the Shadow-lands curse and SHOW you something better. He thinks 'the most perfect night would have to be some place im comfortable and vulnerable.... so that i can SHOW them. This is me, Gale. This is my whole world and at the center of it, my very heart'. he is literally showing you who he is. he is this studious... lonely man.. who sits in front of his fire place reading and researching... or out on his terrace watching the sunset with a book. Like, do you accept this version of me that you have not seen yet? *Not to mention the weave/ astral projected 3 gale gang bang you get while spinning through the cosmos. He is such a show off... or he just isnt confident in his own physical/ mortal ability to woo and wow*

To watch Gale throughout my few play throughs grow as a person and learn that having to much ambition can oft lead to ruin... and watch him change to just be content with himself as he is... i get a lot of comfort from it. I haven't gone down the God route yet, nor have i tried to make him more villainous, but who knows lol.

I have a lot thoughts on pre-tadpoled Gale and how his life up to that point made him who he is when we are first introduced to him. Gale is definitely my comfort character.

Sorry for the rant... or maybe im not. Once again... these are my thoughts from my multiple play throughs.

#baldurs gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #bg3 #listen #this is a rant #shut up

[kohakhearts]

i missed you so much + satogou if it strikes your fancy?

"i missed you so much." wc: 1631

For a while, Goh isn’t sure how to journey on his own; in spite of Grookey’s enthusiasm for being on the road, the Pokémon doesn’t offer much in the way of helpful advice, and can always be relied on to get them lost even when there’s a perfectly fine path they could have followed instead.

Cinderace and Inteleon are a little better with directions, but only just. After the fear of being lost wears off, though, Goh comes to find he prefers taking the backtrails after all. The long way—if it can even be called that, considering how convoluted some of the routes they take are—is reassuring in how void it is of other people. And quickly he adjusts to being by himself, so much so that he begins actively avoiding other people as much as is possible.

He's not a battler, so he doesn’t feel any remorse turning down battle demands from other trainers whose paths he does he cross, and he feels even less for parting ways with others shortly after meeting them. It’s his journey, he reasons, and he can’t depend on anyone else to help him get through it.

He catches many more Pokémon in the Kanto and Johto regions, and then he explores other parts of the world too, just him and his partner Pokémon. He calls Professor Cerise and Chloe often, of course, and sometimes he even talks to his parents. Once or twice, he toys with the idea of calling Ash, but just can’t bring himself to. He’s waiting for a reason—he’s waiting for something big to happen, so he can say that his journey has had meaning and purpose, but so far…

But Goh is not a quitter. Never has been. He boards a plane to the Kalos region and then hikes through the mountains to Paldea. He catches Pokémon Professor Cerise has never even heard of there, which they ooh and aah over on the phone as they learn more about them, but he never finds one that feels like enough.

So, he moves on from here too. He travels through Sinnoh and Hoenn. He battles with Legendaries in Unova, and even befriends a wayward Zapdos somewhere along the way. But when he thinks of some of the adventures he has heard Ash has been on, he knows that is not enough either. By the time he is heading back to Vermillion City to discuss some of his findings with Professor Cerise in person, at last at a loss for where to travel next, he has begun to wonder if anything ever will be.

It's been years of nonstop travel by this point, and he welcomes the chance to rest. Though disappointed to learn Chloe has gone off with Dawn to the Hoenn region for a while, the chance to see his Pokémon again and to work alongside Professor Cerise more than makes up for it.

He scours web forums and pores over research articles about various regional phenomena for weeks, trying to come up with a new travel plan, but if only privately, he can admit that he’s worn out from travelling, even as he itches with restlessness.

Some weeks into his stay at the laboratory, Professor Cerise surprises him while they are running some blood samples together:

“Professor Oak tells me both Ash and Gary are home for a while as well.”

Goh fumbles the phial in his hand, but Professor Cerise seems to have been expecting it; he wordlessly reaches over to steady his hand.

“Ash and Gary?” Goh asks, weakly.

“That’s right. I thought you might want to pay them a visit.”

“I… Well, I’ll think about it.”

Cerise peers down at him, far too critically for Goh’s liking. “Don’t be concerned about us. You know we can manage things just fine here without you for a while.”

But the prospect of seeing old friends again is not as warming as he thought it would be. He just shrugs, and Cerise thankfully drops the topic, at least for now.

Unfortunately, it becomes unavoidable a few days later, though whether the professor is to blame or not is less certain. Goh is in the park tending to the tangled fur of his recently evolved Pawmo; it puts up a bigger fight over being brushed than it did as a Pawmi, perhaps due to its added dual typing, but just when he has finally gotten it to work with him, the sound of approaching footsteps from behind Goh has it standing upright and bolting away before Goh can even hope to catch it.

He deflates, turning to berate whoever snuck up on them like that, but is stopped short as the offender greets him: “Hey, Goh! Long time no see!”

Goh tenses. His eyes flick up to see Ash’s familiar beaming grin. Though years separate them now, he is the same Ash as he ever was, Pikachu perched excitedly on his shoulder, and Goh’s throat dries up immediately.

“What kinda Pokémon was that?” Ash is craning his neck in an attempt to get another look at Pawmo, completely oblivious to whatever ridiculous emotion has tightened Goh’s chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.”

“Well,” Goh says, a bit hoarsely, “you could’ve seen it if you hadn’t charged in here and scared it off.”

Ash laughs; it only makes the feeling worse.

“Sorry,” he offers. “I was trying to be quiet, but you know me.” He shrugs. “So, what was it?”

Goh glances back at where Pawmo disappeared, swallowing thickly. “It’s called Pawmo. It’s a Pokémon from the Paldea region.”

“Whoa, cool! I heard you’d gone to Paldea, but I still don’t know much about it, honestly.”

Goh whips his head around again, blinking. “Who told you that?”

“Uh…” Ash thinks about it. “Gary, maybe?”

“Who told—” Goh stops, shaking his head. “Never mind. Professor Cerise must’ve told Professor Oak and he must have mentioned it.”

“Gary wanted to go there too,” Ash says, “but he got caught up in Kalos for a long time. I think he’ll go now, though.”

Goh can’t bring himself to ask the question brimming under his lips. He stands and dusts off his pants, not meeting Ash’s gaze. “So, what are you doing here?”

“I came to visit you!”

As little as a week ago, Goh thought this was what he wanted, but ever since Professor Cerise mentioned that Ash was back home, the idea has done little more than grip him in steely panic.

He takes too long to respond; at last, Ash realizes something isn’t right, and immediately he steps closer. Goh stumbles back without even thinking about it, then hates himself for it.

“Goh? What’s the matter?”

Goh can’t bear to look up and see the expression on his face; it’s bad enough to hear it in his tone.

“Sorry,” he manages. “I just wasn’t expecting anybody. It’s…been a long time.”

“Yeah, so we want to hear all about your adventures, right, Pikachu?”

Pikachu jumps down from his shoulder and approaches Goh. Perhaps because he has spent so long surrounded only by Pokémon, Goh doesn’t so much as flinch as he approaches and rubs affectionately against his leg.

He breathes out, some of the tension fleeing him as he crouches down to pet Pikachu.

“There’s not much to tell,” he admits after a long moment. “I caught a bunch of new Pokémon, but nothing too exciting. I could introduce you to some of them, if you want.”

But Ash is frowning at him when he finally manages to raise his eyes up and just look.

“That’s not like you,” he says. “Aren’tcha excited about catching more Pokémon? I bet they’re all awesome! And now you’re even closer to your dream, right?”

Goh looks away again, then pushes himself back up to his feet. He turns around and tells Ash, “Come on, then. I’ll introduce you to them.”

It takes the better part of the afternoon, but with each new Pokémon they meet, something seems to loosen in Goh. Ash and Pikachu both are buzzing with excitement at each one, and eventually that molten dread in the pit of his stomach begins to fizzle out. He laughs alongside them, and it feels the same as it ever did.

The feeling becomes something different, then; something painful, still, but so much lighter. An ache that has been there all along but makes itself known only now as it lessens, ever-so-slightly.

When they have toured the whole park, Goh stops Ash just before they are about to re-enter the lab. He averts his gaze as Ash turns to face him, but still digs up the courage to say, “Hey, Ash? I really missed you. I missed you so much.”

A beat, and then Ash puts a hand on his cheek and forces his eyes back up to his. He beams at him.

“I missed you too,” he says, and it’s all the warning Goh gets before he’s pulled into a crushing hug.

He closes his eyes against a sudden stinging sensations and lets himself melt into the hug. All this time, he has felt that nothing he’s done has been good enough for Ash; only now does he realize how foolish that was. Of course nothing would ever be good enough—he never had to be anything more or less than exactly who he is for Ash to want to call himself his friend.

When they pull apart, Ash tactfully says nothing as Goh swipes at his watering eyes. He smiles as brightly as he ever says, and remarks, “I’m starving. Let’s get something to eat!”

Some things will never change, Goh supposes. That’s just fine with him; turns out, he doesn’t want them to change too much anyway.

send me a prompt + a character/ship!

#answered #*reqs #anipoke #pokeani #pokemon #journeyshipping #firstfriendshipping #satogou #thanks for the prompt it was fun!!

[the-al-chemist]

The Beginning of a Symphony - Chapter 25

A/N: Héloïse finally speaks her mind, though it isn’t easy for her.

OCs mentioned: Shiv Llewelyn and Brady Pendleton @kc-and-co, Gwen Archeron @thatravenpuffwitch

Warnings: mild angst.

October 1896

The moon was already up as Héloïse climbed the steps of the Astronomy tower, its silvery light illuminating the staircase under her feet. Once she reached the top, she took a deep breath and leaned in the entrance to the parapet, looking out on the endless expanse of dark, starry sky. As she exhaled, the air fogged up in front of her.

The Astronomy tower was Héloïse’s favourite part of the castle, even more so at night. It was quiet, peaceful, and the view of the starlit sky was reassuring to her. When she had first arrived at Hogwarts, she had snuck up here several times a week, doing so less and less as she had grown increasingly accustomed to life at the castle. By the summer, she had only felt the need to escape to the tower on a monthly basis.

Now that she had returned from the long summer break, however, she had started to return more frequently, almost nightly, as she found herself feeling once more as if she were constantly treading water, entirely out of her depth, and near to drowning. Here, high above the castle with nothing but the stars and moon for company, was the only place she felt as if she could breathe easily.

Nothing was coming easily to Héloïse these days, much to her frustration. She had thought that she had started to learn the ways of this country and its people, its culture and its language, but after spending two months with her grandmother with nothing but weekly letters exchanged between herself and a handful of friends to practise her English, it was if every single bit of the progress she had made had been reversed. She was struggling to understand her peers, her professors, and her lessons. Every conversation, interaction, and lecture took an extraordinary amount of effort for her to attempt to understand, let alone try to make her own contributions, and she was having to spend hours in the library each night in an attempt to translate everything she was supposed to have learnt that day. The constant coding and decoding of each and every single word she heard and spoke was exhausting her, and yet, she could not sleep, no matter how tired she felt. And she was tired. So very tired.

A noise came from behind her - footsteps, followed by the sound of someone stumbling into a something metallic - and Héloïse turned to see Jim Hexley attempting to fix a telescope. She stiffened slightly. She had, until recently, thought Jim to be one of her few friends at the castle, however, since returning from the holidays, he always seemed to be uncomfortable talking to her. At first, she had thought that perhaps he was - like almost everyone else, or so it seemed - simply becoming impatient with how long it took her to understand and form words in English, however, just the day before, he had walked away from a conversation incredibly abruptly. After that, she had assumed that he perhaps no longer wished to be a friend to her. Then again, if that was the case, why had he come here?

Jim was still struggling to fix the telescope he had walked into, so Héloïse sighed and walked across to help him.

“I, um… It was an accident,” Jim said. “I didn’t mean… This won’t go back how it was.”

“Perhaps I am able to…” Héloïse sighed as she drew a blank. She gestured from the telescope, to the broken piece in Jim’s hand, and to herself. “I can to try, no?”

“No. I mean, yes. Yes, certainly.” He handed the piece to her. “Try away.”

“Away?”

“I… Er, as you see fit. As you like.”

Héloïse still was not certain what Jim meant precisely, but given that he had handed her the broken part of the telescope, she assumed that he did not actually wish for her to leave. She looked from the piece of equipment in her hand to the telescope, and quickly affixed it in the correct position.

“This is well now,” she told Jim.

“Yes, bravo. Brava, I should say. Jolly well done.” Héloïse did not feel at all jolly, but before she could find the words to tell him so, Jim cleared his throat to speak once more. “Er, Héloïse, I… Um, well, I thought that I should… I wanted to speak with you.”

“You wanted?” Héloïse frowned, disappointed by his use of the past tense, and Jim nodded earnestly.

“Yes. My actions yesterday, the way I walked away without saying… I was rather rude to you. I wished… That is, I do wish, to apologise to you. I am sorry. Je suis désolé, Héloïse.”

It took a moment for Héloïse to realise why she had become so suddenly able to understand what Jim was saying, and another moment for her to start to think in English again once she had recognised his - admittedly horribly accented - French. Unfortunately, her pause appeared to have been mistaken for a refusal to accept Jim’s apology, for his cheeks turned pink and he looked to the floor, his face crestfallen.

“You do not have to forgive me. I understand that my actions might… that I might have offended you. You have every right to be offended, I behaved dreadfully, and… If you do not wish to speak with me again, that is… Well, it is your prerogative, I suppose. I would not wish for that, but I dare say that I would deserve it. I just wanted to say sorry first, and now I have. Goodnight, Héloïse.”

He turned to leave, and Héloïse felt even more cast adrift than before.

“Jim, no,” she called after him, and he stopped. “I…” She exhaled loudly, letting out a deep sigh of frustration. “It is of nothing.”

“Sorry?”

“Yes. You are sorry. It is” - Héloïse shrugged - “of nothing. I am not in anger.”

“You are not?”

Héloïse shook her head, but as she did, she realised that, in fact, she was angry.

“Oh.” She frowned. “I suppose that yes, actually.”

Jim looked confused. “I… Um, sorry, but are you angry with me, or not?”

“Not you, no. Just angry.”

“Angry with what?”

“Everything,” Héloïse half-growled. “Everything here.”

“Here as in here, at Hogwarts?”

“Hogwarts and Scotland also, yes. I am angry, as you are saying, and also sad and… only.”

“Only?” A look of realisation passed over Jim’s face. “Ah. Lonely.” Héloïse closed her eyes, trying desperately not to cry from frustration. Jim cleared his throat. “Oh, no. No, do not… Please do not cry. You do not need to feel lonely, you have friends here, after all. Shiv and Gwen, and Brady, and… and me. You are not alone, and you mustn’t feel…”

“But I am feeling,” Héloïse threw her hands up by her shoulders. “I am feeling very much, but I am not knowing how to say it, and I am not knowing how to not… In French, I can say. And in France, I am not feeling this, because it is not here. I hate it here.”

“If you hate it here, why do you stay?”

“Because… I cannot to go.”

“Not back to Beauxbatons?” Jim asked and Héloïse shook her head. “Why not?”

“I have been… I do not know the English word. Exclue is the French.”

“Exclue… Expelled?”

“Yes, I suppose,” Héloïse shrugged. “I cannot to return, but am wishing I could. It misses me.” Jim looked confused. Héloïse narrowed her eyes. “I am saying this wrong, no? It is missing to me.”

“Uh, you miss it,” he corrected her, and she raised her eyes to the ceiling. “But that is quite… It is almost correct.”

“But I do not like this almost!”

“Yes, but…”

“No. Not ‘but’,” Héloïse snapped. “I am so… I have had so much of it. I cannot to understand or to speak, and when I try, it takes so long time, to have the words.”

“I understand that.”

“How can you to understand this?”

“Because of… Because I stutter. You must have noticed, that I… It takes a long time for me to, uh, find the right words to express what I…To say things as I wish. Sometimes, I think I have them, but it is as if… It feels as if they have been lost before they reach my lips. So I do understand a little, at least.”

“A little, maybe. But not all. Because you are needing to find your words, yes, but I am needing to understand yours before I can to choose mine. So I am slow, and all the world is thinking that this is because I am stupid.”

“I do not think that,” said Jim. “I think that you are really quite clever.”

“I am, but you are not knowing this.”

“I do know it.”

“No, you cannot to know it, because I cannot to make you,” Héloïse told him. “In French I am clever. You are not knowing how clever I am in French, or in Italian, Espanol, Latin, Catalan… No one is knowing this. They cannot, because I have not the words to… to make it known. And it is so” - Héloïse made her hands into fists, balled them up and showed them to Jim - “like this, no? I am so wanting for it to be known, and to make me known also. But I have not the words, so…”

As her words tailed off, Jim smiled encouragingly. “You will have the words, eventually.”

“No!”

“You will.”

“No, no,” Héloïse screwed up her face. “I have not finished to speak. This is why I say no, because I have more to speak, but you are… you are not… I am needing to find the words, you see?” She blinked back tears. “This is why you are not understanding. If you would to understand, you would not to talk when I have not finished talking.”

As Héloïse stopped talking, the room fell silent. Frustratingly so.

“Hein? Now you are not to say anything?”

“Sorry,” Jim said. “I did not know if I was allowed. You wanted me to wait until you had finished and I… Well, I thought that maybe you still had something to say.”

Héloïse narrowed her eyes at him. “You are mocking of me?”

“What? No! No, I would not… I am sorry. Very sorry, I’m fact. I did not mean to interrupt… to talk when you had not finished speaking. People do that to me, too, sometimes, and… I will endeavour to not do so in future.”

“What is ‘endeavour’?”

“Attempt. Try,” Jim explained, and Héloïse nodded. He cleared his throat. “That is presuming that… that you wish to continue to speak with me.”

“I am wishing, yes. I do not like to be so… lonely.”

“Good. I am glad,” said Jim. Héloïse smiled, just a little. “And, you know, if you like, I could try to speak French again.”

“I do not think that will be necessary.”

The words had escaped Héloïse without her meaning to, and as they left her lips, she realised how rude they sounded. Luckily, Jim appeared to find them amusing, or perhaps it was the guilty look on her face as she clapped a hand to her mouth that had tickled him, for he began to chuckle. And, for the first time in days, Héloïse found herself laughing, too.

#the hexley legacy #the beginning of a symphony #heloise perrault #jim hexley

[thunaraz]

Duncan4

Duncan 1

Klay Duncan

CCJ1010

Professor Piscitelli

October 9th, 2010

Critique on Teach Empathy to Ward Off Bullying

The topic I chose to address for this assignment is bullying. I chose an article entitled; Teach Empathy To Ward of Bullying, by Catherine Pearlman. Even though this is a topic which has been frequently discussed in the criminology class I am currently taking. My main reason for choosing this article is that I personally feel that bullying is something which is being overlooked and can become a bigger problem later on. After reading Pearlman’s thoughts on ways to "ward off bullying", I became convinced it was the ideal choice for this assignment. The author stresses that empathy (Chapter 4) is a big part of it. Without empathy, you cannot feel what someone else feels and cannot visualize yourself in their position; making it appear to you that there's nothing wrong with picking on someone. Lack of empathy can lead to improper decisions such as, terrorism, human trafficking, thievery, and destruction of property.(Chapter 1)

This article informs parents on what they may be doing wrong when raising their kids. It also suggests numerous ways in which parents might be able to avoid the deaths of children like Tyler Clementi. Yes, we may all know about bullies, and have seen them in comedies numerous of times - those movies usually start off with the tug of a wimpy kid's book bag and end with that kid coming with a group of friends to seek revenge when their tolerance has reached its peak as the pranks and jokes increase with time. In the real world, it doesn't happen this way. These scenarios usually end with vigorous beatings that result in the deaths of kids like Derion Albert that are too afraid to stand up for themselves.

The author first states parents don't imagine their kids as bullies - the typical bully. Parents don't think of the harsh things that their child could come up with over the internet; CyberBullying. CyberBullying is what ENDED the life of Tyler Clementi. Peer pressure of always being badgered about his orientation may have been largely responsible for his ultimate suicide. Bullying could be as the result of a strong lack of empathy. I believe that today with as much as we use the internet, CyberBullying is going to spike. CyberBullying is a serious issue that CAN be stopped, but it all starts at home with mom and dad. Over the internet, when you're sending a message to someone that you don't exactly know too well, it's a little more difficult to feel what they feel, and interpret as they do at that given moment. Parents don't imagine their 90lb 5'9" son to be a bully. If anything, their son would be the one being bullied, right? Wrong. The typical scenario of Sheldon's SamatoTypes (chapter 3); ectomorphs (often introverts)vs. the mesomorphs (often extroverts). The mesomorphs are the ones that would traditionally beat on the ectomorphs causing a cycle. The "ectomorph" will now go home like the introvert he probably is and CyberBully someone else to feel bigger and take out his frustration.

The author recommended that parents: Take the time to talk to their children about what they -- as a family, in their community -- can do to help make the world better, instead of purchasing more Christmas presents, try toy drives for the less-fortunate kids in the neighborhood and for immigrant families who are struggling in many ways she feels parents' kids can'. The author continued on to say "If we want kids to understand the hardships of others in their community, take them to the local family shelter or food bank to volunteer. How about requiring elementary school children to have 20 mandatory hours of community service per year to advance to the next grade?

Have a lemonade stand, but use the profits to benefit someone in need. Make every Friday mix-up day in the cafeteria so that everyone sits with a different classmate and learns that those kids are real people with real feelings.

Instead of having homecoming queens, have awards for the kid in school who helps to make a difference in the world."

I agree with her on the notion that parents should try to incorporate more empathy into their ways of parenting, however; the ways she's listed to go about this . . . Not so much. I think that many of the ways she listed deprives kids of a good time which could also end up with more bullying, the "I gave that kid my toys, my mom said he was very poor and unfortunate..." sort of thing. The only thing I thought her thesis lacked was spending adequate time on children with holes at home. Often, parents splitting up, domestic violence and blatant neglect can lead to a child engaging in bullying of all sorts.

All in all, if just simply parenting styles need to be changed to spare the suffering of another child, I think it should be followed. Her solutions stated weren't all that difficult to strive in parents' daily lives and I feel they all should be taken into account, and put into practice by all parents.

[tastydregs]

MIT Professor Compares Ignoring AGI to “Don’t Look Up”

MIT professor and AI researcher Max Tegmark is pretty stressed out about the potential impact of artificial general intelligence (AGI) on human society. In a new essay for Time, he rings the alarm bells, painting a pretty dire picture of a future determined by an AI that can outsmart us.

"Sadly, I now feel that we're living the movie 'Don't Look Up' for another existential threat: unaligned superintelligence," Tegmark wrote, comparing what he perceives to be a lackadaisical response to a growing AGI threat to director Adam McKay's popular climate change satire.

For those who haven't seen it, "Don't Look Up" is a fictional story about a team of astronomers who, after discovering that a species-destroying asteroid is hurtling towards Earth, set out to warn the rest of human society. But to their surprise and frustration, a massive chunk of humanity doesn't care.

The asteroid is one big metaphor for climate change. But Tegmark thinks that the story can apply to the risk of AGI as well.

"A recent survey showed that half of AI researchers give AI at least ten percent chance of causing human extinction," the researcher continued.  "Since we have such a long history of thinking about this threat and what to do about it, from scientific conferences to Hollywood blockbusters, you might expect that humanity would shift into high gear with a mission to steer AI in a safer direction than out-of-control superintelligence."

"Think again," he added, "instead, the most influential responses have been a combination of denial, mockery, and resignation so darkly comical that it's deserving of an Oscar."

In short, according to Tegmark, AGI is a very real threat, and human society isn't doing nearly enough to stop it — or, at the very least, isn't ensuring that AGI will be properly aligned with human values and safety.

And just like in McKay's film, humanity has two choices: begin to make serious moves to counter the threat — or, if things go the way of the film, watch our species perish.

Tegmark's claim is pretty provocative, especially considering that a lot of experts out there either don't agree that AGI will ever actually materialize, or argue that it'll take a very long time to get there, if ever. Tegmark does address this disconnect in his essay, although his argument arguably isn't the most convincing.

"I'm often told that AGI and superintelligence won't happen because it’s impossible: human-level Intelligence is something mysterious that can only exist in brains," Tegmark writes. "Such carbon chauvinism ignores a core insight from the AI revolution: that intelligence is all about information processing, and it doesn’t matter whether the information is processed by carbon atoms in brains or by silicon atoms in computers."

Tegmark goes as far as to claim that superintelligence "isn't a long-term issue," but is even "more short-term than e.g. climate change and most people's retirement planning." To support his theory, the researcher pointed to a recent Microsoft study arguing that OpenAI's large language model GPT-4 is already showing "sparks" of AGI and a recent talk given by deep learning researcher Yoshua Bengio.

While the Microsoft study isn't peer-reviewed and arguably reads more like marketing material, Bengio's warning is much more compelling. His call to action is much more grounded in what we don't know about the machine learning programs that already exist, as opposed to making big claims about tech that does not yet exist.

To that end, the current crop of less sophisticated AIs already poses a threat, from misinformation-spreading synthetic content to the threat of AI-powered weaponry.

And the industry at large, as Tegmark further notes, hasn't exactly done an amazing job so far at ensuring a slow and safe development, arguing that we shouldn't have taught it how to code, connect it to the internet, or give it a public API.

Ultimately, if and when AGI might come to fruition is still unclear.

While there's certainly a financial incentive for the field to keep moving quickly, a lot of experts agree that we should slow down the development of more advanced AIs, regardless of whether AGI is around the corner or still lightyears away.

And in the meantime, Tegmark argues that we should agree there's a very real threat in front of us before it's too late.

"Although humanity is racing toward a cliff, we're not there yet, and there's still time for us to slow down, change course and avoid falling off – and instead enjoying the amazing benefits that safe, aligned AI has to offer," Tegmark writes. "This requires agreeing that the cliff actually exists and falling off of it benefits nobody."

"Just look up!" he added.

More on AI: Elon Musk Says He's Building a "Maximum Truth-Seeking AI"

The post MIT Professor Compares Ignoring AGI to “Don’t Look Up” appeared first on Futurism.

[hardynwa]

Man Who Couldn’t Read Until 18 Becomes Cambridge’s Youngest-Ever Black Professor

In what will come across as a really startling development, a man who could not read or write until he was 18 years old, has accomplished the impossible. The man is about to become Cambridge University’s youngest-ever black professor. Professor Jason Arday was told he would likely spend his adult life in assisted living after being diagnosed with autism and remaining speechless until he was 11. The 37-year-old, from Clapham in London, spent years getting ‘violently rejected’ when he first started writing academically. Now, he is now an acclaimed professor who will take up one of the most prestigious professorship posts in the world – professor of sociology of education at Cambridge. He will be one of just five black professors at the institution and one of 155 black university professors in the UK from a total of 23,000. ‘My work focuses primarily on how we can open doors to more people from disadvantaged backgrounds and truly democratise higher education’, he has said. ‘Hopefully being in a place like Cambridge will provide me with the leverage to lead that agenda nationally and globally.’ Professor Arday was diagnosed with global developmental delay when he was a child, but says that didn’t make him question the world around him any less. He says he remembers thinking ‘Why are some people homeless? Why is there war?’ as a youngster. ‘I remember thinking if I don’t make it as a football player or a professional snooker player, then I want to save the world’, he added. After learning to read and write as a teenager, he became a PE teacher, which gave him an insight into the systemic inequalities that children can face in education. He knew he wanted to study further, but felt lost as he had no guidance on how to create his own path. Aged 27, he wrote on his bedroom wall at his parents’ house: ‘One day I will work at Oxford or Cambridge.’ He remembers his college mentor, Sandro Sandi, telling him, ‘I think you can do this – I think we can take on the world and win’. This was the first time he ‘really believed in himself’ and he became ‘determined and focused’ after this talk. Still working as a PE teacher during the day, he wrote papers and studied by night. ‘When I started writing academic papers, I had no idea what I was doing’, he said. ‘I did not have a mentor and no one ever showed me how to write. Everything I submitted got violently rejected. The peer review process was so cruel, it was almost funny, but I treated it as a learning experience and, perversely, began to enjoy it.’ After years of relentless hard work, Professor Arday has two master’s degrees and a PhD in educational studies. He has had roles at the University of Glasgow and the University of Durham, and is an adjunct professor at the Nelson Mandela University. Looking back at his inspiring story, he says he knows ‘this is what I meant to do’. He will start at the University of Cambridge on March 6 as Professor of Sociology of Education in the Faculty of Education. Read the full article

[hyperfixation-hideout]

Okay, I’ve jotted down all of Ozpin’s Volume 8 lines so y’all can see for yourselves just how differently his dialogue is structured nowadays. (I think someone finally told him not every sentence requires an adverb and multiple clauses.) So yeah! Here’s a handy post with the lines:

Head’s up.

You’re not going to tell them?

And yet, it’s something I’m becoming increasingly concerned about.

You all have every right to be upset. Especially you, Oscar. I’m sorry I left you.

I understand. But even though it may not have felt like I was with you, I was never truly gone. You’re gaining control of my remaining magic, recollecting my longest-held memories. Which means… our two souls are still on the inevitable path to becoming one.

Neither do I.

We need to find a way to work together. Not just the two of us... All of us.

Oscar? Don’t panic. We’re going to be okay.

I’d like to express again, that this is my burden to bear. Not yours. His grudge is with me.

I understand, I do. But you’ve done so much already. The least I can do is give you a break and try to get us out of here.

Hm. Maybe you’ve taken one too many hits.

Maybe we should do the same.

We certainly are similar, you and I. Maybe we have been presented with an opportunity.

Oscar, please—

Hello, Hazel.

Why do you follow her?

I know. I know how you see me. But her? Look at what she does, how is she the answer? Why not stop her?

Someone has to try! Salem isn’t a force of nature because Salem can be fought! Unless she brings the relics together. If that happens…

You’ll only be helping her bring about the end! For all of you!

You’ve never wondered why she recruited you – you, specifically, to help her find the relics?

New world order. No. When Salem gets all four relics, there will be no world left at all. Don’t you get it? She’s been alive longer than you can comprehend. All she craves now is release. Death.

Oh, Hazel. Don’t you see that is why she came for you? Because she could make you believe that this is what you needed.

Yes! But Oscar? The people of Atlas, Remnant? You haven’t done what you’ve done for justice. You’ve done it for yourself. Because she pushed you to think it would help you. Well? Has it?

“So long as this world turns, you shall walk its face.” That was the curse cast upon her. But if Salem can divide humanity beyond repair, and bring all four relics back together, she believes that maybe, her curse will be broken. The gods will rule against us, and destroy Remnant, once and for all.

But, Oscar—?

I recognize that. ‘The Girl Who Fell Through the World?’

I’ve lived through my share of them. How are you holding up?

She wasn’t the same girl anymore.

I… think this plan to divide might have run its course. It’s time we start thinking about a way out. Not having our cane certainly limits the options, so...?

I don’t blame you. Honestly, I think you’re doing just fine on your own.

Thank you, Oscar.

I was recently… reminded of an old fairytale. A young girl flees the consequences of a choice. To a magical place. But, having never learned from her initial failure, she only succeeds in spreading it. I failed all of you. I should’ve trusted you with the truth. And should never have run the day you discovered it.

And I hope… it’s a risk you can take on me again.

The Staff of Creation...

The spirit in the Staff. Like Jinn. But, well, he’s a character. He can build you anything, but, only if you can explain to him how. Like any craftsman, he’ll need blueprints. Some sort of reference. It’ll help if we have real-world examples to show him.

There’s still James, and his bomb to consider.

The staff of creation... (flashback)

Oh dear. Ambrosius.

The end!

#for all your ozmosis analysis needs! #professor ozpin #the merge #he's learning how to talk less like a professor and more like a peer #it's kinda neat but I also kinda miss his unnecessarily complex sentences sometimes :P #I mean Oscar used more long words than Oz this volume #quinpost

[that-disabled-radfem]

Happy back-to-school y’all

I’ve attended and worked at a couple of super liberal universities. I avoid the gender studies departments for obvious reasons and I still had a lecture in which the female prof gave a brief overview of TERFs and proclaimed her hatred of JKR. Being openly critical of gender ideology, the porn industry, kinks, and ‘sex work’ are the kind of things that can ruin your future in academia. Not to mention the fact that any speech or actions that could be labelled transphobic (ie. defining woman as adult human female) can get you a suspension according to many universities anti-hate-speech policies. 

So, here’s a list of small and smallish (small in terms of overt TERFery, some may require more effort than others) radical feminist actions you can take as a university student:

(this is a liberal arts perspective so if you’re a stem gal this may not apply. but also if you’re in stem maybe you can actually acknowledge that women are oppressed as a sex class without getting kicked out of school. idk)

(Note for TRAs hate reading this: One of the core actions of radical feminism is creating female networks. This is not so that we can brainwash people into being anti-trans. This is because female solidarity is necessary for creating class consciousness and overturning patriarchy. It is harder to subjugate the female sex when we stand together.)

Take classes with female profs. Multiple sections of a class? Pick the one taught by a woman. Have to chose an elective? Only look at electives offered by women. When classes have low numbers they get cancelled. When classes are super popular, universities are forced to consider promoting the faculty that teach them

Make relationships with these female profs. Go to office hours. Chat after class. Ask them about their research. Building female networks is sooooo important!

Actually fill in your end of year course feedback forms. Profs often need these when applying for tenure or applying for a job at another university so it is very important (especially with young and/or new profs) that you fill out these forms and give specific examples of how great these women are. Go off about what you love about them! Give her a brilliant review because you know the idiot boy in that class who won’t shut up even though he knows nothing is going to give her only negative feedback because he thinks any woman who leaves the house is a feminazi b*tch. 

(note: obviously don’t go praising any prof - female or male - who is blatantly racist, homophobic, etc.)

(Also if you have shitty male profs write down all the horrible things they have done and said and put it in these forms because once a shitty man gets tenure they are virtually untouchable)

(also also, leave a good review on rate my profs or whatever other thing students use to figure out if they want to take classes. idc if you copy paste your feedback from the formal review. rave about the class to your friends. do what you can to get good enrolment for that prof for reasons above.)

Participate in class. Talk over the male students. Say what you mean and mean it. Call out the boys when they say dumb shit

Write about women. If you have the option to make a text written by a woman your primary text in an essay, do it. Pick the female-centred option if you’re writing an exam-essay with multiple prompts. (Profs often look at what works on their syllabus are being written about/engaged with as a marker of whether to keep those texts the next time they teach the class. If there are badass women on your syllabus, write about them to keep them on the syllabus) Use female-written secondary sources whenever possible. 

(pro tip: many women in academia are more than happy to talk to you about their papers. expand your female networks by reaching out to article authors through email and asking them about their cool shit)

Get your essays published! Many departments have undergrad journals you can publish in. This will ensure more people read about the women you write about and will demonstrate to the department that people like learning about women

Consider trying to publish your undergrad essay with a legit peer-reviewed journal. If you can do it, your use of female-written secondary sources boosts the reputations of the women who wrote those secondary sources. Also this helps generally to increase scholarship about women’s writing!

Present your papers at conferences! Many schools have their own undergraduate/departmental conferences that you can present at. Push yourself by submitting to outside conferences. Bring attention to women’s works by presenting your papers. Take a space at a conference that would otherwise be reserved for mediocre men

Talk to your profs and/or your department and/or your university about mandating the inclusion of female works in classes if this isn’t something they do already

Sit next to other women in your classes. Talk to them. Make friends. Form study groups. Proofread each other’s essays. Give each other knowing looks when the boys are being dumb. Just interact with other women! Build those female networks!

Be generous with your compliments. A female classmate and I were talking to a prof after class and the classmate told me (out of the blue) that I always have such interesting things to say. I think about that whenever I’m lacking confidence about my academic skills. Compliment the women in your classes for speaking up, for sharing their opinions, for challenging your classmates/profs, for doing cool presentations, etc.

Talk to other women about sexist things going on on campus. Make everyone aware of the sexist profs. Complain about how there are many more tenured men than tenured women. Go on rate my professor and be explicit about how the sexist profs are sexist

Be active on campus and in societies. If a society has an all male executive or is male-dominated, any women who join that society make it less intimidating for more women to join. Run for executive positions! Bring in more women! 

(Pro tip: Many societies’ elections are super gameable. You can be eligible to vote in a society election sometimes just by being a student at that university — even without having done anything with the society before. Other societies might just require that you’ve taken a class in a particular department or attended a society event. (Check the society’s governing documents.) Use those female networks you’ve been building. If you can bring three or four random people to vote for you, that might be enough for you to win. Societies have trouble meeting quorum (the minimum number of people in attendance to do votes) so it is really super achievable to rig an election with a few friends. And don’t feel bad about this. The system is rigged against women so you have every right to exploit loopholes!)

(Also feel free to go vote “non-confidence”/“re-open election” if only shitty men are running. Too often people see that only candidates they don’t like are running and so they give up. But you can actually stop them getting elected)

Your campus may have a LGBTQIA+alphabetsoup society. That society definitely needs more L and B women representation. It may be tedious to argue with the nb straight dudes who insist that it’s fine to use “q***r” in the society’s posters and that attraction has nothing to do with genitals, but just imagine what could happen if we could make these sorts of societies actually safe spaces for same-sex attracted women and advocated for our concerns

Attend random societies’ election meetings. Get women elected and peace out. (or actually get involved but I’m trying to emphasize the lowest commitment option with this one)

Write for the campus newspaper. Write about what women are doing - women’s sports, cool society activities, whatever. Review female movies, books, tv shows, local theatre productions. Write about sexism on campus. We need more female by-lines and more stories about women

Get involved with your campus’s sexual assault & r*pe hotline/sexual assault survivor’s centre/whatever similar organization your campus has if you can. This is hard work and definitely not for everyone (pls take care of yourself first, especially if you are a survivor)

(If your campus doesn’t have an organization for supporting survivor’s of sexualized violence, start one! This is probably going to be a lot of hard work though, so don’t do it alone)

Talk to your student council about providing free menstrual hygiene products on campus if your campus doesn’t already do this. If your campus provides free condoms (which they probs do), use that as leverage (ie. ‘sex is optional, menstruation is not. so why do we have free condoms and no free pads?’)

If you’re an older student, get involved with younger students (orientation week and such activities are good for this). Show the freshman that you can be a successful and well-liked woman without shaving your legs, wearing heels, wearing make-up, etc. Mentor these young women. Offer to go for coffee or proofread essays. 

Come to class looking like a human being. Be visibly make-up less, unshaven, unfeminine, etc. to show off the many different ways of being a woman

Talk to the custodial staff and learn their names. (I know there are men who work in this profession, but it is dominated by low-income women) Say hi in the hallways, ask them about their lives, show them they’re appreciated

Be explicit with your language. When you are talking about sex-based oppression, say it. Don’t say ‘sex worker’ when you mean survivor of human trafficking. This tip is obviously a bit tricky in terms of overt TERFyness, so use your best judgement

That’s all from me for now! Feel free to add your suggestions and remember that feminism is about action

#back to school #university #terf safe #terfs DO interact #feminist action

[360iris]

Poly!Draco Malfoy x Blaise Zabini x Ravenclaw!Reader Blurb

Content warning: A dash of smut and a drop of daddy kink

Blaise was never close with anyone from his house. Whether it be, because of their attitudes or underdeveloped ideologies, but he remained to himself. That is until he was paired with you during a potions lesson in your second year.

Even as a child, he was never one to laugh much, but you were intelligent and funny. The two of you instantly clicked.

After that day, he found himself seeking you out. Whether you were curled up outside under a tree reading or falling asleep during a divination lesson, he’d slip in beside you and happily listen to whatever thought crossed your beautiful mind.

He doesn’t waste his time speaking unless there’s something he actually wants to say, otherwise he’s silent.

With you he’s adoringly attentive; with others, he comes off as blatantly unimpressed.

You’re best friends and share your first kiss at the age of fourteen, but don’t start formally dating until your fifth year.

Lots of cuddling in comfortable silence or Blaise quietly listening to you complain about Professor Snape, while not taking his eyes off of his book.

“He marked down my essay by a whole letter because he claims the herb isn’t recognized by that specific name anymore! What an absolute tosser! Every year I gradually understand why he’s always alone! No one can suffer his company! The funny thing is that I was just starting to feel like he was a decent guy!” You vent, blood boiling just recalling the interaction.

“Y/N?” He exhales from above you, your face currently squished against his chest.

“Hm?” You respond, lifting your head to face him, before suddenly feeling his lips on your own. It was disorienting, and then wholly consuming. But right as you bring a hand up to clutch his jumper, he’s pulling away.

“Don’t talk about other men while you’re straddling me, love.” He replies, turning his attention back to the pages in front of him. Your mouth drops as the butterflies in your stomach do airplane maneuvers.

“Wha- Blaise!” You try to appeal but you can tell by the smirk on his lips that he’s not budging.

“Don’t be a brat; that was all you’re getting.”

Sixth year was when Blaise introduced you to Draco. You had seen the platinum blonde boy over a dozen of times during your years at Hogwarts, but had never actually spoken to him. You were one of the lucky few.

Blaise later informs you that the boy had a fall out with his usual gaggle of idiots and needed to be around more grounded individuals.

“So... you want me to suddenly be best-mates with Draco-fucking-Malfoy? I thought you couldn’t have cared less about him?”

To say you were confused, was a severe understatement.

“He wouldn’t have even gotten in this predicament if he hadn’t spent the majority of his time here, devoted to pissing everyone off.” You huff, collapsing onto Blaise’s assigned bed. He’d snuck you in here many times over the years.

“I know what I said, Y/N. Now I’m saying that I pulled a couple of strings and he’s going to be my roommate.” He drawls out, rolling his eyes at the socked foot playfully prodding his torso.

“It’s not up for discussion.” He states, grabbing ahold of your foot and utilizing it to make room between your legs.

His usually pristine, ironed slacks wrinkling as his knees dug into the duvet underneath you.

“So, in short: All I want to hear from those pretty, little lips of yours is a confirmation that you’ll be a good girl and behave when he gets here.” His hands gripped at your exposed thighs and your skirt, ever so slightly hiked up to reveal more of your soft skin.

Biting your lip to keep in a whimper, your attention switches to the source of a surprised sputter from the door.

“Oh! Um.. Zabini...” The boy’s pale face already becoming red and splotchy from embarrassment.

It took a while for Draco to adjust to his new company. Most likely due to the fact that, for the first time ever, he couldn’t control his peers. Neither of you cared about his status or his daddy’s money. He soon realized that there wasn’t a need to put on an act anymore.

Within a short span of time, he learned to stop bothering other students. Whenever he unnecessarily detoured to pester an underclassman on the way to a lesson, Blaise and yourself would simply keep walking. Ultimately leaving him by himself.

Naturally everyone noticed the drastic change in his demeanor, and while you did get questions from girls in your house asking why Malfoy was suddenly trailing after you and your boyfriend like a lost puppy, the school appreciated the loss of one of it’s primary bullies.

The most to least talkative in the trio: you, Draco and lastly Blaise.

Oldest to youngest: Blaise, you and Draco.

Draco wasn’t accustomed to people being as sarcastically playful with him as you are. Teasing him as much as Blaise would allow, before he pulls you away from the younger boy by the waistband of your skirt.

Riling him up was by far your favorite pastime.

As months went by, you noticed the bonds the boys were forming, even if Draco seemed oblivious to it.

“He’s growing on you.” You say in a sing-song manner after Draco heads off to his next class. You smile when Blaise pauses his quill mid-stroke.

“Don’t you have an assignment you should be completing?” Is all he responds but you don’t let up, poking him under the table with your shoe.

“I think he likes you, though he probably doesn’t even know it yet.” Switching your gaze onto your hand, inspecting your manicure. He’s not looking at you anyway, bracing himself on the table with his forearms and face turned away.

“Do you want to sleep with him?” You ask, crossing your arms and he jolts.

“Merlin, Y/N!”

“What it’s okay! I do too! He has a puppy-dog energy to him.” You respond nonchalantly and Blaise scrunches his face, clearly overwhelmed.

“Wha-“

“I’m admitting it, so that you can admit it and then we can move on to the next step!”

He inhales deeply and sits back in his chair. Clearly taking a second to collect his thoughts. “And what’s the next step?” He asks, one of his perfect brows arching.

“So you know how we’re dating?” You ask and he stares back at you blankly. 

“Yes, Y/N. I’m aware that we’re dating.” He replies dryly but you continue.

“Well, I know he likes you. I mean, I have functioning eyes! He’s so reliant on you, it’s really cute! Anyway! I noticed that he likes me too! When I’m around, he’s always looking at me. Like when I make a joke or put my hair up, or if I’m just reading! It’s the same way you look at me.” You excitedly ramble.

“And how do I look at you exactly?” He questions coolly.

“Like you love me. Like, you’re seeing me for who I really am, and you must like what you find because you don’t turn away. If anything, you stare harder.” You say tenderly, daring him to deny it but he doesn’t. He nods his head and brings a hand up to his mouth.

“So what do you want to do?” He finally asks and you smile.

You decide on testing how far Draco would let you treat him as if you both were dating him too.

For Blaise this meant speaking softer and sweeter. Wrapping his arm around the boy’s shoulder when they walked together in the halls.

As for yourself, you made a point of sitting closer to him. Brushing your exposed thigh against his hips or pressing your chest on his arm when reaching for something. You might even act as if you’re removing an eyelash from his cheek or tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

He got the most flustered with you. When you got close he always froze in place, holding his breath nervously as if you were a skittish butterfly.

“Aren’t you tired, dear?” You ask with a faux furrow in your brow, innocently batting your eyelashes.

“Wha- What do you mean?” He replies confused as you sit almost flush against him as he’s seated at the end of Blaise’s bed.

The eldest boy looking up from the book in his lap, legs crossed as he leans back against the headboard. Watching as you drag a hand through Draco’s hair. He’s silent and unmoving when the blonde boy turns to anxiously meet his gaze.

“Don’t you want to touch me, Draco? Aren’t you tired of just looking?” You’re caressing his cheek as you speak and you already know you have him looped around your finger because he already looks so desperate.

“Do you want to touch me, sweetheart?” You ask again, and he nods eagerly causing you to chuckle.

As you straddle him, you look up at your boyfriend. His stare is intense and you smirk. This was going to be fun.

“Draco, dear.” You purr, situating yourself on his lap.

“Hm?” He’s looking at you with such adoration, your smile widens. Lacing a hand into the hair at the base of his neck, you press a kiss on his cheek.

“Let’s see how much we can get away with before Daddy intervenes.”

#draco x blaise #blaise zabini #blaise zabini x reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #poly fic #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter blurb #blaise zabini x draco malfoy x reader #blaise x draco x reader #hp imagine #hp blurb

[theeslytherinslut]

The Perpetual Freak (1/?)

Pairings: Sirius Black x reader, Marauders x reader

Warnings: Mention of bullying,

Word Count: 2,063

The Beginning

“Twitch,

Just 4 days now--like I need to tell you, likely been counting down the days all bloody Holiday, haven’t you? We’ll be there Sept 1st at 10 on the dot, we should make it to King’s Cross by 11 that way. Be ready this time, won’t you? I think Padfoot just might actually hex your grandmother if he has to make small talk with her again, but can you blame him? Anyway, we’ll be there at 10. Don’t forget Jinx this time. I don’t fancy being attacked once he breaks out of your grandmother’s house.

P.S Sirius said he’ll be on his best behavior--does that make you nervous too?

See you soon,

Prongs (& Padfoot)

The letter lay in the same spot on your cracked cherrywood desk since you received it. Though short and to the point, you’d reread it many times, hoping somehow the more you read it, the faster the day would come.

Holidays were hell. Being a muggle-born, there was always a bit of an adjustment period after coming home from Hogwarts for a break--an adjustment period usually aided by parents and family--however, this could not have been further from the truth for you.

“Y/N!” As if on cue, your Grandmother's angry call shot up the stairs. Cringing, you held your breath as you walked down the stairs into the kitchen. She stood with her blue gingham apron covered in flour, as well as most of the floor and countertop.

“If this bloody bird scratches my window one-more-time,” she said the words through clenched teeth, glaring at you from across the room. Her stacked icy grey curls bobbled on her head as she shouted, her fist pressed against her hip. “I’ll have to drown it in the creek.”

Your Snowy Owl, Jinx, sat outside the baby-blue curtained window, his big orange eyes peering at you innocently through the glass.

Piecing together the situation, you’d guessed Jinx had arrived suddenly during your grandmother’s baking and had startled her, causing her to spill much of the contents of her bowl.

Suppressing a smile at the mess, you walked over to the window and opened it. Jinx’s peppered wings stretched out briefly before you felt his talons brush against your collarbone, and he perched onto your shoulder.

“Sorry, Grandmother,” you mumbled, catching your cousin smirking at you. A blush of anger lit up your face, and you made to disappear back into your room before anything got ugly; you’d gone all Holiday without a vicious row, and you weren’t about to start one just before you walked out the door.

“When does that school of yours start again, anyway? Aren’t you normally gone by now? Blakely’s school has already started, he’s been working so hard,” she doted, smoothing his hair as he ate his cereal, milk dribbling from his lips and onto the table. “We could all use a little peace and quiet around here, frankly.” she sniffed.

Jinx gave an annoyed hoot and ruffled his feathers unpleasantly as your grandmother glared at him from across the room.

“Train leaves September 1st at 11am like it always does. I’ll be leaving within the hour,” you said, struggling to control your voice.

“Train? There are enough of you--you, people, for an entire train?” Blakely said, dropping his spoon in his bowl, splattering more milk onto the table, evidently thoroughly shocked.

“Yes, oddly enough, it seems I’m not the only freak in England,” you said, using the word he often threw at you.

“Maybe not the only one, but definitely the biggest,” he said quietly, glaring up at you from his cereal. Grandmother, however, pretended as though she didn’t hear, merely clanged dishes loudly together as she turned back towards the sink.

“One day, I’ll hex you so terribly you’ll be lucky if someone calls you something so kind as freak,” you pushed the thought into his head and promptly stormed out of the kitchen, though savoring the terrified shock on his face.

“She-she did it again!” Blakely called, color draining his face. But you were already halfway up the staircase with Jinx balancing on your shoulder before her angry screech reached you.

You’d almost always been an utter freak in their eyes, and it all started when you were only a baby.

Your mother died while giving birth to you, and your father was never in the picture, so there was no one but your Grandmother to take you in; no one but you to blame for it all. You were, after all, the product of your mother’s insolence--having fallen pregnant at 15 by a man whom she’d never spoken of. And further, you were the reason she’d died; she wouldn’t have bled out if you hadn’t been conceived. To your Grandmother, it was as if you were the cause of every problem she had in life, a walking reminder of where it all went wrong--and she made sure you knew it.

Terrible as things already were, nothing was to be helped by the events that were to unfold. As the story had been told to you, you were a little over a year old, crying incessantly in your crib. You’d evidently been exceptionally whiny that day, crying non-stop, refusing to be consoled, and just when she’d for the first time seriously considered doing you in, you stopped. Relieved yet confused, your grandmother had come in to check on you.

“I’m hungry.”

She had heard the words clear as day, in a voice she didn’t recognize, but the words sounded funny. The voice almost echoed, somehow managing to sound crystal clear but miles away at the same time. Sure she was simply going mad from a lack of sleep, she stood rooted to her spot in shock.

“Did you hear me, Grandmother? I said I’m hungry.”

Seeing your bright Y/E/C eyes boring up into hers, she let out an ear-splitting scream when you grinned as recognition dawned on her face.

Obviously, no Muggle doctor could give any sort of explanation or help. At most, they’d give one of the two of you some kind of a crazy pill and a suggestion of seeing a family counselor.

Soon after, tragedy struck your grandmother’s side once more, and you were landed with a cousin, Blakely. Blakely, however, seemed to adopt a mindset closer to your grandmother’s about it all and would no sooner take a shine to you than get friendly with the rabies-infected alley cat.

But as the years went on, things began to get even stranger.

At the age of 3, your wailing cries caused all the lightbulbs around you to pop inexplicably (costing your grandmother a fortune, as she so loved to remind you).

At 5, you’d managed to levitate a ball Blakely was taunting you with out of his hands and into yours.

However, at age 9 is when it became harder to keep a secret; at age 9 is when your grandmother began truly resenting you.

Being a self-ascribed ‘freak,’ bullying was something you were no stranger to. A comment here, a hair tug there. However, this had been a particularly extreme case. Kylie Kippely and her best friends had backed you into a corner, each shooting off snarky comments at your scared state, and when that wasn’t enough, they began throwing things--anything they could get their hands on--cans, papers, pencils, erasers. All the while yelling how everyone would be much better off without such a freak in their midst, about how all their parents were scared to even send them to school anymore after your last incident.

Then, they began running out of rubbish and started picking up rocks instead. Before a single rock could leave their hands, however, the mulch around you began to shake, then chips slowly started rising into the air behind them. As your face went from scared to full of awe, they turned around to see what you were looking at and simultaneously dropped everything in their hands. The mulch then began pelting at all of them, causing everyone around you to scream and disperse, all batting away the pieces of mulch pelting at their running backsides.

Grandmother had pulled you out of the school before you could receive any other punishment, and from that moment on, you’d been stuck in the house with her.

With no outlet, with nothing but growing rage and resentment inside of you, things began to spiral even worse.

Just when Grandmother began researching distant reform schools, however, you received your Hogwarts letter, and everything made sense.

All the strange things you could do, all the bizarre things you made happen, had an explanation. Sure the explanation was that you were, in fact, a freak--but you weren’t the only freak. There was a whole school’s worth of freaks just like you--well, almost just like you.

Though paper cranes soared around you and magic burst from the tip of hundreds of wands, through your time at Hogwarts, you found you did have one unique gift: it was evidently called Telepathic Impression, a branch of complex magic known as Legillimens--no one else could push thoughts into other people’s heads like you could, not naturally anyway. Nobody could ask a question silently and have the Professor answer for all to hear. After you’d interjected into McGonagall’s head during your first Transfiguration class, she’d had you go straight off to Dumbledore’s office. After a brief discussion, it was found you possessed natural Legilimency skills--something that had only been seen once before. He’d been absolutely transfixed when you told him the first instance had been at the ripe age of 1, in fluent advanced English no less.

You smiled fondly at the memory of his laugh of delight as you’d repeated, ‘Did you hear me, Grandmother? I said I’m hungry.'

Never before had you told that story in any sort of positive light, never got a positive reaction either. Dumbledore had been absolutely enthralled with you from then on.

He had carefully explained the practice of Legilimency, how the mind was a layered thing and could not be ‘read’ simply, like a book. He’d explained how everyone learned it to some advantage of theirs, how no two Legilimens were the same.

After several years of private lessons, it seemed all you’d ever be able to do with your gift was push thoughts, images, and sounds of your own into other’s minds--but this was an incredible feat in itself, a private gift of yours. However, just the year before, it was found that with effort, you could twist the thought to become persuasive, convince the person the thought was their own, and to complete the idea you’d given them. During the first lesson which you found you could do so, you’d been practicing with Dumbledore. Though he was giving no effort at all to resist, you’d silently suggested his tea was abysmal and that he knock it off his desk in disgust. With a twitch of his wrist, the cup shattered onto the floor, shocking you both into silence. It was after this Dumbledore had insisted you promise to never use it for evil, never ever use it with ill intentions--for as a Legilimens himself, he would know. You quickly agreed, of course; you’d never once had the thought to use it with ill motives--aside from maybe having Blakely go for a nice long dip in the creek in the dead of January, but that was a fantasy you kept for yourself to get you through Holidays like these.

Shaking your head of past childhood memories, you turned to your trunk to make sure you did indeed have everything all packed up and ready. You didn’t want to stay a second longer than necessary.

Spotting your cloaks pushed into the depths of your closet, you plucked them from the dark and folded them into your trunk. It wasn’t a moment too soon either, because right as you closed the lid, you heard the boisterous arrival of your best friends as they pulled in the winding driveway driving the enchanted car James’ parents had lent him. You heard an enthusiastic barking whoop and smiled as Sirius’ bright eyes and smile filled your mind.

Your stomach bubbling with excitement, you hastily put Jinx in his cage as he looked around in interest. Picking up his cage, you bounded down the stairs to meet them.

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[writingsbychlo]

sun in the shadows (03)

word count; 12,706

summary; trying to make some headway on the study leads to an interesting revelation, and progress in your friendship with noah.

notes; if this part is a little sucky, I apologise. it was a last minute addition that I created because I realised I wanted to include some extras.

warnings; brief mentions of panic attacks/anxiety, but it’s very mild.

The weather was improving, the drizzle of the winter and the grey skies overhead were getting lighter, the showers of rain were getting less frequent and the winter was moving on. Spring was making itself known, bulbs of daffodils were finally taking root in the soil, and green was sprouting from the earth that had been frozen over and dead only a couple of weeks ago. The watery floors were drying up, limited ice was fading away, and graduation was sitting right on the horizon for you all.

Your fingers flexed around the strap of your bag, rooting through the contents to find a place to slip your file inside, all your notes for the class you’d be having were inside, and there was a blank page for your next session waiting to be filled out. Once it had its place, albeit getting a little bit crumbled against the other content, you removed your wallet, a few coins jingling in the bottom, and you hoped it was enough for two coffees.

There was a coffee stand not too far away, and you were hoping an extra shot of coffee before you went in might get your brain working a little faster. Only a couple of feet ahead of you was a face you recognised, a dark jumper to match dark denim jeans, a pair of boots for motorbike riding that were beginning to scuff along the edges and the toes. He was hanging over his money, a brown bag holding a pretzel and a tall cup, the tell-tale tag of a teabag hanging over the edge, and he walked away.

Joining the back of the line, you watched him go, sitting not far across the quarter with his headphones on, settling on one of the recently repainted memorial benches. He pulled the tab on eh coffee back, opening it up and a cloud of steam left the drink, curling up into the air that still held a slight chill, drifting away to disappear as he blew against the surface of the drink. In his other hand was his phone, scrolling aimlessly on it as a way to keep himself disconnected from everyone else around him and prompt nobody else to join him. His bag was out on the bench too, pushed a short distance from his body in an attempt to take up the rest of the space to deter company.

Ordering a simple set of black coffees, and finding you had just enough change for a muffin too, you waited patiently for your order, an assortment of condiments and the double-chocolate treat you’d paid for being handed to you first. There was a grinding, the slight screech of the machine as it crushed the beans to create two black coffees for you, plastic lids sealed on and two cardboard jackets fastened around them.

Balancing the load between them all, you headed over to him, using your knee to nudge the bag up the bench until it bumped his leg, and he jerked slightly, looking up to see you. Offering him a beam, his narrowed eyes lightened a little, and he sighed. Putting down his phone and moving his bag to the floor, he lifted the headphones away from his ears, and let them hang around his neck. Sitting yourself down, he slumped back into the wood, and you scooted up to sit closer to him, placing the spare coffee you’d bought for Stiles on the floor away from your feet.

“Hey, Noah!” He gave a short nod, still a little uncomfortable, and he turned to face you more. “So, what’s your schedule looking like this afternoon?”

“How did you know I was here?”

You shrugged, opening up the bag of extras and searching through for a couple of sweetener packets, and a wooden stirrer. “I didn’t. I was just gonna’ grab a coffee before class and head to my hall early, because, y’know, studying at home is distracting.” Your hand waved off the statement, finding the packets you wanted, and clutching your cup between your knees for stability. “So, anyway I was going to text you when I got there, but then I saw you, so I figured I’d come and say ‘hey’!”

“Right.”

“So, hey!” You waved a little before taking the top from your coffee, and leaving it on the bench beside yourself. “I ask once again, what’s your schedule looking like this afternoon?”

“Well, since I am the most popular guy at this college, I’m pretty busy.” He smiled a little at his own joke, particularly when you gave him a laugh, and your brow raised.

“Oh, he’s got jokes today, huh? I like it, I can roll with that.” Tipping the sugar into the cup, you added a couple of packets, before stirring it slowly. “I take it you’re free, then. I was hoping we could squeeze in some study stuff this afternoon. I have a class in a couple of minutes, but I wanted to see if you were free?”

“Well, I’m free all day. I had a six AM class.” His face screwed up at the idea, and you could feel his pain, having spent the entirety of your sophomore year with a teacher who held lectures at six AM so she could avoid her morning sickness before class, and rush home for it afterwards. Professor Anderson going off on her maternity leave was the best thing that had happened to your education that year.

“Great, I’ll sort it with Stiles, and we’ll text you the details.”

“Sounds like a thrill. I can hardly wait.” He smiles, the sarcasm just like his brothers as it came through, and you repaid him for the joke with a chuckle. While the two of you had made progress, you could tell he was still a little unsure around you. You were polar opposites and he didn’t take well to that, the atmosphere that you brought with you could be a little too much for him to handle sometimes, you couldn’t stop the guilt that was eating at you a little. “What’s wrong? You’ve got a look on your face like you want to talk about things. Just warning you, I’m not good at that heart-to-heart stuff.”

“Yeah, I’ve witnessed that.”

“Shut it.” He teased, sticking his tongue out at you childishly, and you grinned cheesily in reply to him. “You can tell me, though. Can’t promise I’ll help, but..”

“It’s nothing weighing me down. I just wanted to apologise. I clearly interrupted your free time. You got yourself a little pretzel to eat in silence, and everything.” He offers you a blank look at your slight dig, and you only winked, waving the muffin in a bag that you’d bought, and taking a sip of your coffee once the lid was sealed back on. “People usually like it when I stop by to see them, I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay, really.” His words were strained, the response bringing you no relief as he forced them out, and your frown remained. “I’m serious, okay? It’s alright.”

You were trying your best but learning the lines with Noah was different to you. Upon starting college you’d been thrown in at the deep end of socialisation and a whole world you’d never quite had access to before. Coming from a smaller town that had always limited your expectations was tough, and you’d taken it differently from the way Noah had. You’d had so many experiences, becoming legal to drink and venturing beyond your comfort zone, truly leaving home and facing the idea of having your life laid out before you, the first time truly having your heartbroken, and being too far to simply collapse into the arms of your mom or dad for support when things got messed up.

“When does your class start?” You jumped, lost in your thoughts as you slumped back into the bench, and you sat up straight again, turning to find that Noah was already looking at you, eyes scanning over you slowly. It was a good reminder, time had been slipping away from you and in the ease of his peaceful and quiet company, you could have sat there for hours.

Checking your watch, you sighed, lifting your bag strap back up onto your shoulder more securely, and packing everything you had with you inside, leaving you to hold a coffee cup in each hand. “In about ten minutes.”

“How about I walk you?” He picked up his bag, swinging it over his shoulder, and you nodded, a warmer feeling at his offer blooming where cold guilt had been. Standing up and making sure not to spill any of the scalding coffee onto your hand. Peering around the busy campus quarters that was more filled now than it had been for months, the lighter weather tempting groups to come out of their dormitories and the cafés to gather outside instead.

He fell into step beside you, toes scuffing occasionally on the slightly uneven stonework of the quad, before it fell away into smooth concrete pathways on the way to your lecture. The grass alongside each path was growing greener, dull colour fading away into something brighter. Paper crinkled beside you, the cup of tea in his hands being finished and the cardboard cup was crushed between string fingers, knuckles even paler than usual as he crumpled it up, and as you approach the closest bin, it was disposed of.

Your fingers flexed around your coffee cup, almost having forgotten that it was there as the heat from the two began to fade away a little. Taking a sip, the refreshing burst of sweetened caffeine was like a spark to your system, and you revelled in it. “How do you take your coffee?”

You lower the cup from your lips, swallowing your mouthful, and you couldn't stop the rise of your brows once you turned to look at him. “Creamer, usually. I like a caramel flavoured one. But, since I’m not big on creamer in packets or from street vendors, this one just has sweeteners.”

“Cool.” He nodded, and your lips pressed together tightly to try and contain the smile you wanted to let free, silence forming between you both for a moment, a further gathering of steps as the two of you went on, your building coming into sight again. “Did you watch the news last night?”

“Is this small talk?”

“It’s an attempt at small talk.” He winced, and you chuckled, a small smile on his features as the fear of judgement or humiliation washed away, and he gave a sigh.

“Okay, let's try this.” Your mind spun, searching for a track of something to talk about, and a thought clicked into space. “If you could watch one genre of movies for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“Comedy. Like, comedy-action. You know, ones like ‘Jumanji’ or something?” He was quick with it, certain about his answer, and you nodded.

“Yeah? That was quick. How come you’re so sure?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, one hand coming up to hold his bag strap, swinging it to the side to be able to get inside, and fish out the paper bag with a pretzel inside. “I guess I just think they’re good for you. Good for the soul. They have action and it keeps you a little on the edge of your seat, but it’s funny. It's easy-going, when you’ve got anxiety, or you’re having a bad day, or you just want background noise, they’re perfect.”

“Alright. Fair enough. Okay, tricky one.” his eyes narrowed a little, but an amused look passed over his features while he waited. “If you had to choose specifically between comedy and action, which is it?”

“It’s got to be action. Because comedy usually means Adam Sandler or Seth Rogen, and some of their comedies are good, but some are jus-” He paused, jaw dropping a little, and his hand came out, pausing in front of your to bring you to a halt too. A smile curled on your lips, and he looked shocked. “Holy shit, you’re good!”

“Ask a basic question that people are passionate about, it always leads to more options, and everyone always wants to talk about something fun.” His head shook slowly, as though he was in disbelief, and you took a dramatic bow, trying not to spill the coffees in your hands as you giggled. “Give it a go, I bet you can do it.”

The paper in his hands crinkled, your footsteps taking up again, and the two of you were making your way towards the building once again. Taking a bite from his pretzel, a piece torn away with his teeth, he thought it over. “Does your family have any secret or ‘famous’ recipes?”

“Oh, that’s a good one. Kudos to you, Noah.”

“Thank you. I thought about it for, like, eight whole seconds.” He grinned, the joke moving away from you both as you left it behind, and you thought about his question.

“Maybe it’s not my family recipe, just a personal one, but I’m great at making lasagne.” He scoffed, and you nudged him with your elbow. “I’m serious! I make a great lasagne!”

“You don’t seem like a cook to me, is all! You seem like the sort of person who’d manage to burn a pit of water.”

“You can’t burn water, an.. oh, I just got it. You jerk.” It was a joke, your nose screwing up as you stuck your tongue out at him, thanking him a second later as he held the door open for him. The bright lights of the outside changed to artificial lights in the halls, not as much coming through the windows as trees outside managed to cast shade into the building. “Well, I can cook. I love to cook, and I’m good at it. Especially lasagne. My family are generally the only ones who have ever had it, and thanks to that insult, you’ll never have it.”

“Oh, woah, no! You have to let me try it now. Prove me wrong, or I’ll be forced to believe you’re bluffing.”

“You’re sneaky.” You scoffed, students filling the hall and filtering in from different sides of the building, lectures in different halls all waiting to take place, and you stepped to the side of the corridor once your doorway was within reach. “If you’re lucky.”

“I’m betting on that.”

Glancing back, Stiles was already inside, as expected. Stiles Stilinski had never once been on time, he was either twenty minutes early or twenty minutes late, and since he’d spent the night with Derek, who was an early bird, you’d figured which one today would be. His head was slumped on his hm half-asleep and on the verge of drooling as he sat there, and you chuckled, turning to Noah. “Thanks for walking me. Also, thanks for small-talking with me.”

“Thanks for the advice on small talk.”

“I’m gonna’ head inside, but, I’ll see you later, okay?” He nodded, confirming the times with you, and lingering a moment longer. It was quiet, but not so tense, and he rolled on the balls of his fete, the half-eaten pretzel in his hands was seemingly abandoned as one hand tucked into his jeans pockets, the other hanging limply while holding the delicacy by his side.

“Thanks for sitting with me. This wasn’t so bad. It was almost fun.”

“You know, one day, you’re gonna’ tell me you had fun with me. I look forward to that day.” He smirked, your head tipping to the side at the expression.

“If you’re lucky.” He was repeating your own words back to you, and you beamed at the chance. Backing away from him slightly, you fixed him with the cheekiest glance you could as you walked through the doorway.

“I’m betting on it.”

You could hear his laugh once you were gone, into the classroom and beginning to take the steps up to a seat beside Stiles that he’d reserved for you, his bag sitting on it. He’d already gotten his equipment out, notepads and pencil laid out in a somewhat organised mess on top of the desk.

Placing the two coffees down, you moved Stiles bag to the floor, tucking it behind his chair and a soft snore made itself known from him, the boy not doing well with early mornings but he never had, not once in your years of knowing him had he handled it very well, so it was no surprise.

“Opening up your bag, you dropped your notebook down onto the surface with a loud ‘slapping’ sound, and he jerked upwards, flailing as he did, and almost knocking the coffees over. Blinking quickly and shaking sleep away, he looked around, eyes wide as he finally focused on you.

“Jesus Christ, don���t do that.” He chastised you, leaning back in his seat and holding a hand over his heart. “I was dreaming about high school, I thought you were my lacrosse Coach waking me up for falling asleep in class again.”

“Maybe I am.” You winked, slamming a hand down on the counter. “Drop and give me twenty, Stilinski! Right now!”

“Don’t do that, it’s eerily accurate.” He cringed, shuddering a little, before a wide smile replaced the horrified expression that had morphed, and you pushed a coffee over to him. “You brought me a coffee?”

“Yes, I did. It’s bribery.”

“Oh? What am I being bribed for?” He was curious, rooting through the bag of condiments for it and taking the plastic lid from the cup, steam curling out into the air. Taking an ungodly and certainly unhealthy amount of sweetener and sugar packets to load into his coffee.

“Your free time this afternoon. I’m thinking about getting some of my study done, I can get all the work for the next couple of sessions sorted now, but how do you feel about being asked some later?” He tipped them in, a drop of coffee flying up over the edge and landing on the desk as he stirred his drink with vigour, that same hyper excitement that he always had.

“Can’t I just fill them out now?”

“It’d be better if I could get your responses with Noah.” He sighed, rolling his eyes and making a scene of it, but there was a smile that told you he already agreed.

“You should have brought me two coffees, but fine.”

You let out a victorious ‘aha!’, and shook the little brown paper bag that was still sitting on your half of the desk at him. “I also brought you half of a muffin!”

“Only half of a muffin?”

“Well, it was none, but since I didn’t eat it yet and I’d feel bad eating it in front of you, I decided to share it.” You tore it in half, pushing half across the scratched and vandalised wooden surface to him. Crumbs were left along the surface, and Stiles pressed the pad of his finger along them to gather them all up.

“Oh, right. Well, in that case, what I meant was; wow, a full half of a muffin!” He cheered, much more enthusiasm, and you nodded.

“Much better.” At the front of the classroom, your tutor entered, door slamming behind him as he kicked the wedge out from underneath, and his case was placed down on the desk. The room began a hushed quiet, save for the loud slurping of Stiles with his coffee beside you.

“You know,” Your best friend didn’t understand the concept of a whisper, everything he did was more like a dramatic stage whisper on a Broadway show, and a few dirty looks were sent his way. The professor was used to this, a year of experience and advice from previous tutors guiding him to ignore Stiles’ fidgeting and chatter. “You’re going to have to convince Noah to do this.”

Slumping down in your seat a little more, you turned your head to him, nibbling on your half of the muffin. “I already did.”

“What?” This time he was hushed, the man standing at the front near his desk, trying his best to give extra advice to everyone and answer any common questions that he’d been emailed. You’d have to catch the after-class notes in your emails. “When d’you do that?”

“This morning before class. I saw him while getting coffee for you and we walked over.”

Stiles huffed, his brows being pulled together slightly. “Okay. Damn, he was my last free shot at getting the afternoon off.” You grinned, pinching at your friend’s cheek, and he smacked your hand away. “Quit it, I’ve told you not to do that before.”

“In case I pinch your moles off?”

“That's where my power is. My funny is in my moles.” He hissed, only making you laugh more, and you covered your mouth with your hand over his silly superstitions.

“Whatever, freak.”

“Hoe.” He snarked back, and you grinned, punching at his shoulder as best you could from this angle, and he reached up a hand to rub at it. “So, if we’re doing this, I at least want to do it at my place. I’m going out this evening, I gotta’ be ready. Derek’s sisters are coming up to visit.”

“It won’t take long, don’t worry.” He hummed, pulling out his phone and keeping it ducked from view. He was texting his brother, letting him know to be ready, and at what time your class would be ending, giving him a little time to prepare. Opening your book up and flicking to the page you had marked, it was a journal written about the study of the ways that twins raised in different households could grow up similarly, and you were hoping to adopt some of the content for your study.

“So, what’ve you got done so far?”

Stile sighed, flicking open his notebook, and you were shocked by the fact that he was already at the end of it. There were pieces of paper stuck in, a list of book references on one of the tabs down the side of a page, and only a few blank pages left at the back.

“Oh, wow, okay.” You stared at your notebook, barely reaching a quarter of the way through with the notes you’d been making, and it looked like Stiles was ready to start making progress towards a conclusion for his hypothesis. “So, you’ve got a whole lot done, then.”

“Yeah, well, I want to spend as little time in a prison as I possibly can.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead, the pages crammed full of information as he flicked through to find a blank one. “Plus, I didn’t want to go and interview inmates on my own, so I wait until Derek has free time to go with me, and I get as much done in those sessions as I can.”

“You’re gonna’ be done weeks before I am.” You pouted, your pen twirling at the top corner of a page, drawing a collation of pretty flowers to form a border, and he chuckled.

“I have easier test subjects than you do. They’re already guilty and behind bars, they’re more than happy to open up. You’ve gotta’ deal with Noah.”

“That’s true.” You grinned, thinking back on the conversation you’d had with the other twin that morning. When he was alone, it wasn’t so bad, he talked more and he wasn’t so worried about judgements, but as soon as there was someone else who might hear, he completely closed down.

“Hey, seriously, we have ages left. You’re gonna’ be just fine.”

“I’m just freaking out a little bit, because this is the last hurdle, y’know?” He nodded, and you could see whatever it was he was thinking practically swirling in his eyes, because Stiles’ emotions were open to read like a book.

“It’s terrifying. It’s, like, what the hell are we supposed to do when we finish?”

“I don’t know.” Your head dropped to your hands, fingers soothingly rubbing at your temples. A large hand landed on your back, rubbing in comforting circles. “What I do know, though, is that if I don’t get on with coming up with some more content, I’m never gonna’ finish this study in time.”

“Well, put your headphones on and come up with some questions.”

You did as told, plugging your earbuds in and choosing some classical music that would make it easier to concentrate. Opening one of your survey works back up to the page you’d left off at, your eyes began to flicker over the pages, picking out the useful information. Once you had a list built, you had a foundation to work from, questions to create and organise into groups, different sessions being able to come together.

Beside you, Stiles’ hand never seemed to stop rising, a constant dialogue with your tutor as he checked his work and ironed out any kinks in his study. He was also full of chatter and laughter, getting along with everyone around him and asking about their works, making you turn your music up several times just to be able to concentrate. But, by the end of the session, when Stiles was tugging your earbud out and telling you your class was over, you had a solid three pages worth of questions that had been split up into sessions, and ready to be worked through.

“Pack up and get ready to go. I have plans to get ready for.”

Stiles already had his bag in his arms, notebook tucked inside and pens and pencils put away, two empty coffee cups and a muffin wrapper sitting out, which he quickly gathered up, once his bag was on his shoulder. He was gone, walking past you and down to the waste bin at the front of the hall to dispose of them, his fingers tapping idly on his thigh once he was done.

You gathered your belongings, packing them away and curling the wire of your headphones back up neatly, making sure everything had its correct place in your bag, before following him down and out of the steps.

The halls were filled once again, the two of you navigating through crowds to the outside of the building, and you followed him in his diversion across the pathway, all the way to his car. Some students had already left, spaces beginning to empty out as a bottleneck effect took place at the only entrance and exit to this carpark.

“Where’s your car?” The dirty blue jeep was one of the only ones left in the parking lot, Stiles looking around for your vehicle, and you sighed.

“Don’t get me started on that hunk of junk.” You growled, stomping a foot on the floor as Stiles laughed. Opening the driver’s side door, he hopped up inside of it, legs dangling from the chair. “I’m trying not to use it as much. It splutters when it starts up and I have to try it a whole bunch of times, so the less I use it, the closer to graduation we can get before it eventually taps out.”

“You ever think about just getting it fixed?”

“Oh, big words from the man whose engine is held together with duct tape.” Your hand rubbed over the hood of the car, a slightly dusty layer that made you cringe, and you wiped your hand off on your jacket to stop it.

“Touché.” Stiles only smirked. “C’mon, I’ll give you a ride to my place. I’ll be waiting for hours if you walk.”

He slammed his car door once his legs were inside, leaning over the centre console to pop open the passenger side door as you rounded the car, and he was sparking up the car before you were even fully inside. Slamming it shut, he was reversing from his spot as you clipped in your safety belt, swinging his car around, and you gripped onto the edge of the door. “Easy there, fast and furious.”

“Oh, relax. Nobody is around.”

“Except for me, and I’d like to live until graduation.” His eyes rolled, hitting the brakes and flicking on the indicators as he was leaving the parking lot, moving out onto the main roads. There weren’t so many other cars, the mid-afternoon meaning the other students were mostly in class, in bed, or eating their lunch. College was a weird time, and while you’d loved it, you couldn't wait to regain some kind of normality. “Can we swing by my place? I need to swap out my books. I don’t want to carry all these around.”

“Okay, but be quick! I have to be ready by six and out the door by six-thirty. Derek will kill me if I’m late for this.” His fingers were tapping on the steering wheel as he changed direction to head to your place instead of his own. The space between you both was filled with the radio, the simple tunes of classic 70s anthems, the songs Stiles had grown up with, his dad’s favourite records and he played them constantly. He knew all the words, mouthing along and banging his head, pausing occasionally to check the mirrors and the roads between dancing in his seat.

Rolling the window down as he slowed in his approach to the building, afresh air swept into the carbon of the car, the slightly musty smell of the older car was something you’d miss when it was gone. The shade of the concrete cover overhead was chillier than the sunny roads, and he swung himself haphazardly into a parking space.

“I’ll turn the car around and wait here, cool?”

“I won’t take long, promise!” Hopping from the car and closing the door, you leant on the open door frame, and Stiles slouched in his seat, as he usually did. “Lydia and Ally should both be out, so there’s nobody for me to even talk to.”

“Good, because you’re chatty.” He teased, and you flipped him off, a quick walk as you headed away from him to the stairs. Once you were there, you were taking a quick jog up the sets of stairs, headed for your floor, and balancing your books in your arms carefully. Rooting through your bag to find your keys, they were at the bottom, jingling tantalisingly for you to find.

Leaving your books on the countertop of the kitchen, you shifted through them, taking the notebook you needed and leaving the rest, piling them back up and taking them to your bedroom Abandoned on the desk, you rushed to change, throwing on a bigger and warmer jumper to get through the rest of the day, phone in your pocket and a bag on your arm. Passing back through the kitchen, you were ready to grab the notebook and bag you’d left there, keys hanging in the back of the door, and you eyed the freezer.

You’d made a bet, a point to prove, and you were certain that buried somewhere deep in the bottom, you had a frozen lasagne from the last time you’d made it for Allison and Lydia. You had a few spare moments, and so you moved over to the freezer, opening the door and crouching to scan over all the shelves.

Running your fingers over frozen plastic, you searched for the right one. Tinfoil crinkling in the back, behind a bag of dinosaur chicken nuggets and a tray of alcoholic ice cubes, was a tray of lasagne. Pulling it out, the cold chilled your arm, even through the layers of your hoodie, and you used your foot to close the freezer while wrapping the tray in the nearest tea towel for an extra layer.

Placing your notebook over it and holding it in both arms for security, you clicked the latch onto the door, keys in your pocket and bag on your shoulder to let it swing closed behind you.

Stiles saw you coming, his head snapping over to the metal door between the stairwell and the parking lot when it fell open, backing through it and his brows raised. Opening up the passenger side door, he took the lasagne from you when you handed it over, climbing back into the vehicle.

“This is cold. What is it?”

“Lasagne.” You settled it onto your lap once your safety belt was on, folding the towel underneath to keep your lap from getting chilled and painful, and he nodded. The engine was still running, and taking off the brakes, he was pulling out of the space again.

“So, not that I don’t love a home-cooked meal, but I’m going out for dinner. Why the traybake?”

“I have a point to prove to Noah.” You were looking out of the window, but you could feel his gaze on you, making you a little uncomfortable, and you turned to face him. His eyes were flicking between you and the road, brows furrowed, a stare like he was trying to figure you out, before he let it go. “He told me I looked like I couldn't cook, and it’s a battle I’m going to win.”

“Well, alright then. Save me leftovers?”

“We’ll see.” You winked, and he grinned, eyes flicking to the tray in your lap, before back to the road.

It was only a short journey, the distance between your place and Stiles’ building was short for a walk and even shorter in a car, on the edges of campus and conveniently placed, and it had been one of the building blocks of your friendship with him An easily accessible study partner, somewhere to hang out with, someone to walk home with you after a night out, someone to share a cab with, or simply knowing there was a friend so close to you.

“It’s going to be weird not living around the corner from you in just a few months.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He sighed, pulling into his one building sparking area and it didn’t have the luxury of being covered or underground, it was exposed each flat having allocated parking spaces, and Noah’s bike was parked underneath the shelter, you could see it from here, with a clamp around the wheel and covered from the impending and risky weather of the early months. “I have a feeling that you’ll end up living next door to me someday.”

“You do?”

He parked the car, arm behind your head as he reversed into it, ready to make a quick getaway on the next morning, or this evening, when he would invariably be late. In true Stiles Stilinski style. “Yeah. Especially after I rock whatever gown you want me to wear for being your maid of honour, someday.”

“Lydia is going to fight you for that role.”

“I will fistfight her for it.” He challenged, and you grinned, clambering down from the car as Stiles had parked a little too close to someone else on your side. With your bag on your shoulder and lasagne in one hand, you tried to squeeze around the door without scratching someone else’s paintwork.

Stiles’ arm was slung over your shoulder as you set off toward the building, the elevator being fully functional, and it was a refreshing change not need to take the stairs up to your place, or risk your life in a rickety elevator.

Throwing his keys down on the kitchen counter, they slid all the way across and to the other side, hitting the floor, and he grimaced when you turned to stare at him. “I’ll pick those up later.”

“Uh-huh.” The sounds of video games and music were coming from behind Noah’s door, though it wasn’t fully closed, only pushed halfway, and you hoped that was a sign that he was still in a good mood. Leaving your bag on the edge of the couch that was facing away from you, your hands rubbed together, glancing around at the environment you were still getting used to. “You should put this lasagne in now, so that it’s ready for after the study. Medium heat, leave the full-on tight.”

“Where are you going?”

“To say ‘hey’ to your brother.” Stiles’ face scrunched up, a mumble of ‘good luck’ as he picked up the tray, lifting it over his head to look in at it from underneath. Wandering toward the sounds coming from the hall, you knocked on the edge of the door, pushing it open a second later when you heard the game pause, and the music following it. Leaning on the doorframe, Noah turned to face you, brows raising slightly, and he shifted in his chair. “Hey.”

“Hi. It’s, uh, time for the study stuff, then?”

“Yeah. You okay?” He shrugged, turning back to his game and closing it off, leaning forwards from where he was sat on his bed enough to turn the console off.

“I didn’t realise we’d be doing it here. It feels more personal, somehow.” He had a large hoodie on, comfortable in his own clothes as he wore a baggy and warm outfit, the same way you often had when everything started to feel overwhelming.

“Well, this study is going to get pretty personal.”

“I know that. It’s just that right now, it feels a bit like I’m naked, y’know?” You chuckled, a momentary smile on his face flashing past, and you were glad to see it. “I just feel exposed.”

“This study is gonna’ do that, but I promise that I’ll try and make it as easy as I can. I’ll break it up, I’ll make it comfortable for you, and we’ll stop whenever you’re getting overwhelmed.”

“That’d be great, actually.” His hands rubbed together, sleeves hanging slightly down over his palms, and he looked a whole lot less terrifying right now than he did with the armour of a bike and a leather jacket. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Good, because I need you in high spirits. I brought a lasagne and I have a point to prove.”

You backed out of the room as he advanced toward you, the door closing and leaving you both standing in the hall, and he smirked down at you a little, a disbelieving expression. “You really brought that?”

“You bet I did. It’ll be ready by the time we finish.”

“Then I guess we’d better get started, huh?” He hopped over the back of the couch, settling in beside his brother, who scowled at him as his drink spilt down his shirt from the impact. Taking a seat on the other side of them both, your legs folded underneath yourself in the armchair, finding a glass of water laid out for yourself on the table, courtesy of Stiles.

They looked so different and yet so similar in this moment. You could understand how people may have confused the two of them before their styles became so radically different. In the beginning, before Noah turned to leather and a sleeve tattoo, when they both wore hoodies and band tees and had clean pale skin. With the sleeve of tattoos covered, and the pair both wearing hoodies, one with an etching across the front and the other with a faded logo from being washed one too many times,

Laying out your books, it was more of a note you’d keep to yourself, and following from that was your recorder, coated in the front pocket of your bag so as not to get crushed. Switching it on at the side, the red light flashed on to green blinking once to let you know it was active. “Can you guys do your confirmations for me while I get set up?”

“Surely can.” Stiles sat forwards, leaning down a little with his forearms braced across his knees, as opposed to Noah, who slumped back into the cushion. “Stiles Stilinski, happy to be recorded.”

“Noah Stilinski, aware of being recorded.” Stiles rolled his eyes at his brother’s dead tone, clearly not having as much fun as Stiles was, but you didn’t blame him.

“Okay, so, why don’t you guys tell me what it’s like to live together at college.” There was a beat of silence, and then a set of matching laughs from both of them, the two starting at one another. There was a look between them, one you didn’t quite understand, and it seemed like some kind of twin-telepathy communication.

“It’s, like, exactly the same as when we were in high school.”

“Uh, what?” Stiles interjected, and Noah turned to look at him. “It’s nothing like high school!”

“Yes, it is!” Noah insisted, and you smirked, picking up your water and taking a sip as the two stared in shock at one another. “We lived together in high school, we played video games, I did all the cooking and you did all the cleaning while dad was at work. The only thing that is different is that we can’t cheat from one another’s homework anymore.”

“We don’t drive to school together anymore, we’re on opposite sides of campus!”

“That so doesn’t count.” Noah scoffed, and Stiles twisted on the couch, his hand gestures much more emphasised than that of his brother’s and you watched the debate go down. “You can’t name any more than that.”

“I take that as a challenge.” Stiles’ head rolled side to side. “Our schedules don’t match up anymore, and we haven’t had our usual movie nights in almost six months now. I can’t bring Derek over because your room is right across from mine-”

“My room was across the hall from you at home. You just didn’t date in high school or have anyone to bring home.”

“Low-blow. Unlike some people, I didn’t want to traumatise my brother in high school by bringing someone home, for that.” Stiles reached out mid-sentence, swatting at his brother’s shoulder, before continuing; “Uh, let's see. Oh! We don’t talk anymore, you didn’t ride your motorbike so much at home, you used to ride in the jeep with me. It’s like a totally different world now.”

“I didn’t know you felt like that.” There was a palpable kind of feeling in the air, something between them that was sizzling with electricity, before Stiles sighed.

“It’s no big deal. The difference is just that we’re both so busy now.”

“That was really good, actually. Thanks.” The two seemed to have forgotten you were there, both flinching and turning to face you again, matching sets of honey-coloured eyes in varying shades were fixing on you again. “Speaking of what you said, though, does it ever make it hard for you guys when your class times are so different?”

“Hard to do what?” Stiles squinted at you, face set in a frown that his twin normally wore.

“Hard to hang out, talk, have that whole brotherly bond going on.” Your clarification did little for Stiles, his brows still pulled tight and frown never moving, but Noah’s face smoothed out.

“Oh.. well, I g-”

“Totally.” Noah pressed, and once again, Stiles’ head whipped around to look at his brother. “Don’t look at me like that. You basically said it, anyway. We don’t talk so much anymore. We barely know each other. You don’t even tell me about your podcast, anymore.”

“You never listened!”

“You used to tell me your problems, not broadcast them to the world with jokes and humour! I missed two episodes, and you just stopped keeping me updated on it.” The moodier twin crossed his arms over his chest, and you swallowed thickly at the environment you had unwittingly created. “I don’t know. Just feels like we used to talk a lot more.”

They both went silent, and Noah shot you a pleading look, but there was something darker behind it. It almost felt venomous, angry or defensive, as though to say ‘I told you so’ about it being more personal now that they were home. Stiles was occupying himself with pulling a loose thread on their couch cushion out and making it that much worse, distracting himself from it all. “Well, how about something a little bit lighter. Just some questions about hobbies. Stiles, what inspired you to first start a podcast?”

“Well, as you know, I never stop talking.” He smirked, Noah laughing beside him, and just like that, the awkward air between them both was completely evaporated. “I had a lot to say, I had a lot to get off of my mind. At first, it was just to get my thoughts out there. It was kind of like a recorded journey for myself, and to share with my friends from back home. But, then other people started listening. I thought it was going to be the end of my college social life, a social life that I was developing for the first time ever, and they liked it. I was just talking into a mic and getting things off of my chest, making no sense while telling stories and bitching about my homework and suddenly I had friends. It got a whole lot of followers and I made new friends,”

He paused, offering you a wink for the comment, and you beamed.

“-and I was going to parties, I met my boyfriend at a pep rally, and everything just kinda.. blossomed. The more I got out of it, the more inspired I was to keep going. I ended up making multiple videos a week, all differently themed. Sometimes movie reviews, sometimes songs, sometimes just talking. That’s how ‘Mischief Mic’ was born.”

“Alright. That was awesome.” Stiles bowed as best he could from sitting on the couch, and reached over to take a sip of his drink. “Okay, Noah, have you got any hobbies that you didn’t have in high school that you found when you came to college.”

“Not really.”

“Not even one?” You pushed, and the arms folded over his chest tightened, his gaze going to the floor, socked toes pushing into the twist cable rug. He took his glass, swigging all of it, the water draining from the glass in nervousness, and you could hear the crickets inside your mind chirping to fill the silence that had formed.

“No. Not really. I’m going to get more water, feel free to continue.”

“Uh, okay.” You pressed your pen down into your paper, drawing a line through the question on your paper as you realised you’d have no answer to that question when you listened back on the tape at a later time. “Stiles, back to you, then.”

Your next question came, and went, and Stiles was more than happy to answer them. Occasionally, Noah would answer a question, you’d be able to pin him down long enough to get a straight answer out of him, but there seemed to always be something that he needed to mess with, or fix. Almost half of your questions for him had a line drawn through, and you would have to ask them another time, and get a whole extra session in without Stiles, dragging the study out.

It was going to take you twice as long to get through it all if every time you had to ask them separately, and had to spend your time trying to force him to sit and answer. You were missing half of the information that you needed to be able to compare to Stiles’ answers, you couldn’t answer without them.

The clock ticked by, leaving you with all of your questions for Stiles answered. On a blank page, while Noah had once again been tinkering with something in the kitchen, you’d rewritten up all over the crossed out questions that would still need answers. You had doodled on the corner again, waiting for him to come and sit back down, a collection of hearts and flowers, the occasional bee or ladybug, even a couple of misshaped stars, forming a banner across the top of the page.

When he finally came to sit back down, he huffed, eyes moving to the clock as though he was waiting for this to end just as much as Stiles was, and you gave up.

“Okay, how about we just finish this up?” You had reached the end of your tether, not even bothering with the rest of the questions that were written down for him. “We got almost two hours in, that’s perfect.”

Noah sighed, something like an apology in his look as your eyes met his and he shrugged lightly. Stiles only nodded, eyes flicking up to the clock on the wall, and he was grinning when he came back. Tearing a page out of your notebook for each of them, you passed it over, blank paper sitting before them, and you searched for a pen or pencil in the bottom of your bag for each of them. Placing your pen down before Stiles and a pencil in front of Noah, they both leaned forwards, picking them up. Switching off your recorder and packing it away, you were left with the two staring at you expectantly.

“Okay, Stiles, come fill yours out in the kitchen. You can’t discuss these ones.”

“Oh, some mystery. I like that.” He picked up his paper and pencil, heading over to the kitchen counter, folding the sheet in half as he did, and you nodded. Standing from your place behind the coffee table, your bag slumped a little more from where it had been propped against your leg.

“Okay, I want you both to try self-diagnosing yourself.” Stiles gasped, a little excitement lacing it, and his pencil was already moving over the paper. Noah, however, looked a little lost, looking to you for guidance. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to use professional terms, just, describe what you think, I’ll be able to figure it out, and if I can’t, I’ll ask you about it at some point.”

He nodded, pausing, not quite as eager to get into the activity as Stiles was, before the pencil finally met the paper, and the slow scratching of graphite over paper filled the silence.

Moving away to the kitchen, you searched for plates, and a dish, laying them out on the counter before moving to the oven. A wave of hot air into your face once you pulled the door open, and when it cleared, you search for the kitchen towel you’d brought with you. Wrapping it carefully around the edges of the tray inside, you pulled it out, resting it atop the oven and closing the door back up.

Flicking off the handles, the light inside went dead, and Stiles loomed up behind you. “Smells good!” He presented a piece of paper to you, your eyes flicking over what he’d written once you’d taken it from him, and everything that he’d written about himself seemed completely accurate. It wasn’t a surprising self-evaluation, Stiles had spent almost four years studying this, just like you had, and so it was bound to be accurate and professional. Even if his handwriting looked a little bit like chicken-scratch.

Noah was still working on his, and Stiles was picking at the edges of the tinfoil, trying not to touch the glass of the casserole dish and burn himself, and as soon as he had some foil pinched between his fingers, he was pulling it back. “Wait, Stiles, watch out for the-”

“Fucking steam! Oh, my God, that’s so fucking hot!”

His hand snapped back, half unpeeled as all the steam from inside clouded in the air, and his hand was clutched to his chest. He was glaring at the pot, before moving away and running his hands underneath the cold tap at the sink, his thumb rubbing over wet skin to soothe it.

A second later, Noah was appearing, placing his paper face down on top of Stiles, which now lay on the kitchen counter. “Well, now that I’ve been scalded by pasta, I’m going to go shower and get ready.”

“M’kay.” He backed away, and Noah leaned on the counter beside you.

“Looks good, but does it taste any good, is the question.” The twin you were left with was teasing you, your eyes finding him, and you raised a brow.

“Yeah, yeah. Just get me something to serve it up with, alright?”

He smirked, pulling open the drawer behind him and searching for a serving spoon. Slicing it into pieces, you dished it up for him, a large slab on a plate, still steaming with cheese that had only just stopped bubbling. He grabbed a fork, and one for you too, waiting patiently as you served yourself, and put whatever was left into a dish for Stiles, covering it back up and leaving it to cool.

“Okay, prepare for the best lasagne of your life.”

Picking up the papers and your plate, the two of you moved back to the couch, sitting opposite one another, and you waited with excitement. Taking a piece off of his plate with the edge of his fork, he raised it, blowing cold air over it for a few moments, before taking the bite. There was a tense few moments, while he chewed, face unreadable, before he was swallowing the mouthful.

“Well?”

You couldn’t take the anticipation any longer, a smile on his face at the desperation you showed for his answer, and he gave in. “Alright, alright. This may actually be the best lasagne I have ever had.”

“Yes!” Your hands went up in the air, cheering excitedly and he laughed at your reaction, holding his hand up when you forced him to, palms slamming together in a high-five. He was tucking in again, and you reached for your plate, excited for the meal you had made, Taking a large piece on the tip of your fork, you tucked in.

The sound of Stiles’ shower was running in the background, and he was singing loudly, a song that you were certain was a TV show intro but you’d never seen the show, and there was a chance it was something from Disney Channel. Picking up the pieces of paper again, you turned Noah’s around to face you.

You’d had an expectation, you knew what you thought he was going to write down, and yet you were somehow surprised and entirely not surprised at the same time. It was what you expected but with a twist. He had confidence in what he’d written about himself he was sure of it, and while there were definitely elements that you’d disagree with, there was a lot of truth to it, and you frowned, reading it again.

Noah was watching you do so, the scrape of forks over plates as the lull in chatter came back, and you place the two pieces of paper into the front of your notebook, making sure that it was all sealed tightly away. “Is it alright?”

“It’s just not what I expected from you. But, it’s perfect.”

“That feels like a backhanded compliment.” He smiled softly, but he looked nervous, and you shook your head.

“Not at all, it just means that you have a better grasp on this whole thing than I thought you did.” It was the truth, and while you didn’t want to reveal so much to him about it all without compromising your work, but it made sense. “It just feels like with the way today went, like you weren’t really so interested in it, so I didn’t expect such an accurate self-diagnosis from you.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He sighed, pushing what was left of his food around the plate, and you copied him, appetite dwindling. “It’s just that when you’re here, in my apartment, and you’re asking questions about what changed and making me confront everything, it feels like real therapy. You said it was going to be casual, and this didn’t feel casual.”

“I get it. I really do, and it’s okay. I can just email you the questions you didn’t answer, and you can get around to them whenever you feel up to it, alright?” He nodded, shaking off the evening’s stress. He continued to eat, polishing off the meal that was laid out before him and settling his hands over his stomach once he was finished. There was a satisfied smile on his face, and your empty plate was soon stacking on top of his own. Leaning forwards a little, you caught Noah’s eye, and one of his brows arched up. “I can try to make it more informal, in the future.”

“That would be great, actually.”

You smiled, the consolidation made between the two of you, and your ears picked up on another sound. “Hold on, is Stiles blow-drying his hair?”

“Oh, yeah.” He laughed, head turning to the closed bathroom door where his brother resided. “He thinks it makes his hair fluffy.”

“He gels his hair, though! Why does it matter if it’s fluffy?”

“He’s insane. Don’t you know this, yet?” Noah scoffed, and your giggles carried you back into the rest of the chair as you settled back into it. The evening was still waiting to come in fully. Comfortable quiet fell between you both again, and Noah moved away to take the plates to the kitchen. He left them in the sink, water running to wash them up, before storing Stiles’ lasagne in the fridge.

The aforementioned boy moved from the bathroom to his bedroom, skidding on the floors a little and clutching the towel to his waist as he hurried, making himself late with the extra-long shower and the blowdrying of his hair. Noah was washing up the plates, leaving them to dry on the draining rack, and you took that as your cue. The night was over, that much was clear, and you’d be willing to bet that he was more than eager to get back to his alone time.

Taking your bag and double-checking that you had everything, you swung it up onto your shoulder, and made your way toward the door. Hearing the shuffling of your feet, Noah turned, drying his hands on the towel beside him. “Are you going?”

“Feels like I should. Stiles will be going soon, anyway. I’m sure you have things to do, too.”

“I don’t have anything to do, if I’m being honest.” He cringed at his own words, pulling down the rolled-up sleeves of his hoodie and making his way over to you. Undoing the catch on the door, he pulled it open, leaning against it and you linseed in the doorway.

“Since you’re not doing anything, do you wanna’ get a coffee with me?”

His eyes narrowed, just for a second, and his fingers tapped anxiously on the wood of the door. “As a study subject, or..?”

“As friends.” You confirmed, his lips a thin line for only a second, before pulling up at the sides in a smile.

“Then, yeah. I’d like that.” He looked down, sweatpants and mismatching socks on his lower half, and there was a tint on his cheeks when he looked up. “Just give me two seconds to go change, alright?”

He darted away before you had a chance to reply leaving you there with the words frozen in your throat. Stiles was clattering around behind his own door, and Noah’s door slammed shut, leaving you alone in the doorway. Your hands tapped against your thighs as you waited, bag swinging on your shoulder, and only a second later, one of the doors was opening.

To your surprise, it was Stiles, flapping the flannel on his body to shake out any creases, and he stood before you. Doing a little twirl from where he stood, he began to button it up down his front, looking somewhat smart. It was a nice black and white one, no rips or tears or stains like most of his other ones, and the black stood out prominently against the white, thick patterns with flecks of grey within it.

“How do I look, then?”

“You look great, Sti. I’ve never seen you wear anything so plain before. There’s no colour.”

“Yeah, well, this is a new flannel. It’s my best one, and the skinny jeans are Noah’s. All my skinny jeans are blue or red, it was this or khakis.” He was nervous, resisting the urge to mess with his freshly-styled hair. “The place we’re going to is kinda fancy, but I don’t feel fancy enough for it. I’m gonna’ do something stupid like drop my glass and smash it or make a joke about something dumb.”

“Haven’t you met his family before?” You teased, and he huffed, searching for his keys, and finding them under the counter where he’d never bothered to pick them up from.

“No, not really. I’ve met his mom because she comes to visit a lot, and of course, his little sister, because she’s a sophomore here. But, he has a lot of family. His extended family are coming to graduation, but this is his older sister and his dad, and his uncle, and I’ve never met them before.” His keys were tucked into his back pocket, and his phone followed, your gaze moving over him.

“You got a blazer, Stiles?”

“Uh, yeah. One that my dad made me promise to bring, I wore it to my senior prom.” He shrugged, hands smoothing over his front. “You think I should wear it?”

“Go get it, show me.” He nodded, moving back to his bedroom, and you were waiting for something with orange and blue stripes to come back out, which wouldn’t surprise you. In fact, you’d always imagined Stiles going to his senior prom in a Beetlejuice suit. Noah emerged from the other side of the hall, hangers scraping over their post in a wardrobe as Stiles searched for them. “Did Stiles go to prom in a Beetlejuice suit?”

Noah paused, rolling the edges of his hoodie up, charcoal grey skinny jeans that were only a  few shades lighter than the ones Stiles had stolen from him on his legs, and a pair of his usual scuffled boots. “What?”

He was laughing, loudly, shaking his head to hide his grin. “It’s a legitimate question! I have this mental image of it!”

“Unfortunately, he did not. My dad made us both go in three-piece formal suits. He saved up to have them custom made. Said that every man should have a smart suit.” He shrugged, crouching to start tying the laces on his shoes and Stiles reappeared. Over his shoulders was a dark black suit, crisp collar and pressed edges, and it was a beautiful piece of tailoring.

“You look good, Sti. Very smart, but casual. Like a polished version of your usual self.”

“Yeah? Good enough to meet Derek’s family?” His voice shook, and you wished you could ease him more.

“Totally. You look great.” He thanked you both, and Noah grabbed his wallet from the side, and his house keys, letting them both hang in the front pocket of an oversized hoodie.

“You ready to go?” He offered, hand on the top of the door, and Stiles’ head snapped up again from where he’d been checking his phone, presumably looking for texts from Derek.

“Where are you two going?”

“We’re getting coffee!” You beamed, and Noah nodded, stepping a little further out of the door with you.

“Oh, well, have fun. I’ll text you updates about how it goes. I might need bathroom-break pep-talk during the night.” You waved to him as you went, wishing him ‘good luck’, before the two of you were wandering down the halls. Thumbing the button for the elevator, the doors popped open, and you were stepping inside along with Noah.

“So, you wanna’ show off those new small talk skills to me, then?”

“Okay, okay. Let me think of something.” He hummed under his breath, glancing up to the top of the elevator and looking around at the posters on the walls for inspiration, and he seemed to find one. Turning his attention quickly back to you, you prepared for what he’d found. “Have you listened to any of the student bands? There’s been a lot of them growing, lately.”

“I’ve noticed that, actually.” There were several posters up around the inside of the elevator, different coloured flyers, some on shiny paper and some on smooth matte, varying fonts and designs, it was dizzying. “I haven’t, I’ve never been to see a student band. I should do that before I graduate, though. Have you?”

“I’ve been to a couple.” The door clicked open, the two of you stepping through it. Out into the setting chill of the evening that was threatening to break its way in. He chose the direction you’d be going in, heading toward the coffee shop on the side of campus that had been the first the two of you had met at when beginning the study. “Some of them are good, some of them are kinda’ average. They usually play at the bars on the edges of campus or in the places in the city, the less well-known, kinda’ alternative places. They can be fun.”

“You going out optionally to a night on the town? I’m shocked.”

“Uh, no!” He protested, grinning at you. “I’ve never been for a ‘night on the town’, and I never will. However, going to one of the few small bars around here that aren’t practically a nightclub, to listen to covers of good songs and get a pint without worrying about anyone bothering me or mistaking me for my brother, that’s nice.”

“Okay, well, maybe I’ll go to one sometime.”

“You should, I think you’d have fun.” The two of you weaved between other students, the small talk keeping up between you both as he did his best, and while it was sometimes a little stuttered and stalled, it wasn’t nearly as bad as you had expected. It wasn’t until the two of you had entered the coffee shop that he fell into tight silence again. The crowds, the rush of chatter from other groups gathered around the tables, and the friendly greetings of baristas whose chit-chat diverted to him due to his allegiance with you.

“What are you drinking? My treat.”

“Uh, just a black coffee.” He choked out, eyes flicking over all the boards, so many options up there, and you chuckled.

“Really, just a black coffee?”

“I’ve never really experimented. I just ordered whatever was the quickest and the easiest.” He confessed, already glancing back over his shoulder at the queue that was forming behind you both. “What would you recommend?”

“Hm, well, do you have a sweet tooth?” He only nodded, scratching around his cuticles on one hand and staring down at the flesh growing red, and you took his hand. Lowering it back down to his side, the hand formed a fist, flexed nervously, and you let it go, squeezing comfortingly first. Turning to the barista, she was still waiting patiently, and your eyes moved over the boards overhead. “Two mint and dark chocolate hot cocoas.”

“That sounds really good, actually.” He leaned down, mumbling the words into your ear to make sure you heard the quiet tone over the talk in the small coffee house.

“And, two croissants, too.” She rang it up on the machine, and you leaned in a little closer to her. “Do you have any of the warm and fresh ones straight from the oven?”

“We made a fresh batch about twenty minutes ago, they’re cooling. I’ll get them from the back for you.” She finished it with a wink, passing the card machine over to you once you’d produced your card from your wallet. Swiping it across the reader, you moved to the end of the line, and she moved away to begin preparing your order as someone else took over at the counter.

She was working, creating two beautifully constructed hot chocolates for you both. Placing them down on the counter before you, once they were garnished with chocolate sauce and whipped cream, she disappeared into the back room. Taking one of the ceramic plates with her, you were happy to see her bypass the glass cabinet with the older ones in, and only a moment later, she was coming back. Two fresh croissants on a plate, still warm and soft to the touch, and she handed those over as well.

Noah had been scouting for a place to sit, choosing which was the best one, and he carried both of the drinks while you carried the pastries, guiding you to the seat he’d chosen. It was tucked away in the back, a small loveseat sofa with a low sitting coffee table in front of it, and as soon as the paper cups were down on the surface of the table, he was dropping down into the seat.

“It feels like rush hour on the highway, but with coffee.” He mumbled, and you settled onto the couch beside him passing him his drink over, and he stared at it curiously. “What about the whipped cream. Do I eat that first? Scrape it off? Mix it in?”

“Any of the above.” You grinned, taking a wooden stirrer from the condiments tray in the middle and beginning to stir the cream into your hot chocolate. He placed it down, copying your actions, stirring slowly and trying not to spill any over the edges, but it was an impossible feat to achieve. Sticky droplets left over the edges of your cups and his, creating rings on the table that you had to mop up with tissues. “Okay, try it. This is one of my favourite orders here. It’s bitter because of the dark chocolate, but also sweet. Reminds me of you.”

“Now, that one is a backhanded compliment.” He muttered, taking a sip of the drink, and your lips rubbed together.

“Not everything is a backhanded statement, you know. I didn’t intend for it to be mean, it’s just the truth. You’re all dark and moody, but I can already tell you’re sweet on the inside.” You sipped your drink to finish your statement, and he filled the time where he didn’t know what else to say by pulling a chunk off of his croissant. Chewing on it idly, he settled back into the cushions, and you lifted your legs up to fold underneath yourself as you turned to face him. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You’ve already asked me a lot of questions today.”

“You didn’t answer many, though. You kinda’ have to give me this one.” He scowled falsely, but nodded, licking a flake of pastry from his lower lip. “Not that I think you need it, because personally, I think you’re just fine, but why are you so scared about therapy? The idea of it, anything to do with it, it makes you so closed off. Even more than usual.”

His eyes moved over the room, nervously, before scanning both you and the table, and you put your drink down, holding open palms up to him.

“No recorder, no study. I’m just curious.”

“Okay.” He sighed shakily, and slumped back. “Well, after my mom died, my dad made me and Stiles have therapy when we started acting out. We had a therapist who came to the house, and she was great, don’t get me wrong, but I hated it. I didn’t want her to tell me how to grieve or mourn, and I didn’t want her to tell me how to move on. Stiles needed all the advice he could get, but I didn’t want it. I wanted to do it my own way. Now, the idea of therapy, brings back all those feelings of sadness and pressure and stress.”

“I’m sorry, Noah.” You reached out, rubbing a hand over his shoulder, and his gaze fell to the contact. “Genuine sympathy and sorrow, not just that thing girls do that you hate.”

“Stop hanging things I’ve said over me, I don’t remember half of them. I blackout in social situations.” He grinned, moving past the moment, and you withdrew your touch.

“You know, if it makes you feel any better, I understand the nervousness of being in a study.”

“Yeah?” He picked up the rest of his croissant, a large chunk of it being eaten, as he waited for you.

“Yeah. When I moved here, I was so nervous. I was beginning to take my course and I didn’t really have any friends, and there was a senior who needed freshmen for her study.” Noah grinned, settling in for the story and sipping his drink. “She was doing a study about the difference between kids who travelled far from home for college alone as opposed to those who were still close to home, and whether it impacted social clubs, grades, all that. To be fair, it was an awesome study.”

“It sounds like it.”

You smiled, swirling the cup in your hands to gather any loose powder that may have begun to separate and gather at the bottom. “Well, I got drawn into it. She was a senior, and she was nice. I had no friends yet, I was in a flat-share with Allison and Lydia and three other girls who were all too busy getting adjusted to college themselves. So, this senior, she invited me to a party, and then another one, and suddenly people started wanting to be my friend because I was the freshman who hung out with seniors. I figured it would all drop away when her study ended and she didn’t need me anymore, but by then the whole social hierarchy had done its thing, and there I was.”

You shrugged, and Noah was hiding a shit-eating grin behind his mug. “So, you were just a little freshman lab rat, then?”

You scoffed, your laughter mixing with his, and the two of you were left in subtle amusement. His laughter was cut short, though, brought a rapid halt when a set of legs bumped against your table on the other side, followed by two more behind them.

“Hey, girl!” One of the girls on the cheer team, a lacrosse player behind her and a girl who you recognised from your psychology class texting on her phone. “Saw you over here, wanted to know what your plans for the evening were. We’re going to do some karaoke and get some food, you wanna’ come?”

Your eyes moved to Noah, whose attention was fixed on the floor again, as though the splintering wood was of utmost interest. “Maybe another time. I think we’re good here for now.”

“Oh, you sure? I think it could be super fun, you should both come.” The invitation was now extended to you both, and you shook your head at her despite it.

“Seriously, you should go, if you want to,” Noah whispered, and when you turned back to him now, he’d dared to look up, chewing on a lower lip that would go raw, but he met your gaze.

“No, I’m sure. I’m having fun here.” You held his gaze for a second longer, before turning to her, and confirming your denial, and she smiled, promising to make plans with you soon, before she was walking away. Noah was fidgeting beside you, shuffling in his seat, and you could practically feel the nerves rolling off of him in waves. “I’m serious, Noah. I’m having fun, and I’m perfectly happy here with you, right now.”

He was trying not to grin, a smile that was being bitten back on the inside of his cheek. “Well, for the record, I’m having fun too.”

“What was that?” You cupped your ear, challenging him to repeat it, even though you had heard it perfectly, and by the look on his face, he knew the game you were playing.

“I said I’m having fun. I won’t deny it.”

“Two victories in one day, for this gal. I’m breaking down all your walls, Noah Stilinski.” You poked at his cheek, and he swatted your hand away, taking a bite from your croissant as punishment, and you tried to snatch it back from him.

“Two victories, one loss. You’re not getting this croissant back, now.”

#sun in the shadows #SITS #void stiles #void stiles au #void stiles/reader #void stiles x reader #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski/reader #stiles stilinski teen wolf #void stiles teen wolf #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien teen wolf #dylan obrien stiles stilinski #dylan obrien void stiles #nogit-june #nogitjune #void month

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams

#the interpretation of dreams #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo x reader #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #the alienist angel of darkness #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler daniel bruhl #scuttle-buttle #tw self harm #tw suicude #tw child abuse

[jungshookz]

omg cee for a holiday drabble request can we get some shy!jungkook who’s had yn in his class all semester and is partnered up with her for a final project and he’s like !!!!!!!! AAAA!!!!!!!!!

➺ pairing; jeon jungkook x reader

➺ genre; sfw!! university!au!! fluff!! jungkook is shy!! y/n is friendly!! pocky sticks and goldfish crackers are exchanged!!

➺ wordcount; 4.9k

➺ what to expect; if he thought the back of your head was pretty... did that mean that he thought the rest of you was pretty as well?

                                     »»————-　❅　————-««

jungkook doesn’t like to say that he hates people because saying that makes him sound obnoxious and a little overdramatic, but if given the choice, he would 100% choose to be alone

and he doesn’t think that it’s a problem that he prefers his own company over the company of other people

it’s literally just a personal preference!

he likes to keep to himself mainly because he.,.,

well

to be honest, he just doesn’t like talking to people?? which he thinks is a pretty valid reason to roam campus as a lone wolf

it just takes so much effort maintaining a conversation and at the end of the day, he’s just here to learn and get his degree, you know?

and it’s not like he flat-out refuses to talk to people like a weirdo

he can talk to people, he just chooses not to initiate or engage in any type of conversation whatsoever unless he really has to

and don’t even get him started on those damn ice breakers that professors make everyone do at the beginning of every semester

it’s why he always sits in the very back of the auditorium where all the quiet people are

because quiet people understand each other and quiet people will nevER turn to start talking to each other when the professor tells the class to share two truths and a lie about yourself to the person sitting next to you!

there’s just a mutual understanding that everyone in the back of the room will sit in silence and keep to themselves all semester long which is very pleasant

not to mention, he hates having to deal with ‘semester friends’ aka the one friend that you make for the sake and convenience of having someone you know in the same class as you

you guys really don’t have that much in common and you can tell that they’re in a completely different social circle than you are (aka when you inevitably do a social media handle exchange you see that they have more than a thousand followers and you can immediately tell they were super popular in high school which intimidates you and your puny 250 follower count but you can’t back out of this friendship now without looking like a jerk) but the person is friendly enough that you can get along and kind of keep a conversation going

and then once the semester ends the two of you promise to keep in touch next semester even though both parties are fully intending to not stay in touch at all

and then when next semester rolls around no one makes any effort to reach out and be like hey, should we get coffee this week?? because you have conflicting schedules that would take so much reshuffling just to accommodate this acquaintance that you really don’t care that much about so then you end up hitting them with an ooh, i can’t make it this week! what about next week??

and then it just turns into a cycle of ugh, i’m swamped this week! next week? and can’t, sorry! next week?

and then you’ll see each other at the library one day and it’ll be a little bit awkward because you’ll do that awkward half-hug and your voice will go up like ten octaves when you greet them with that overly polite heyyyyyy!

and more promises will be made to get coffee and hang out soon even though everyone knows absolutely no coffee will be gotten

the point is: in the four years that jungkook’s been a university student, not onCe has he made a steady friend and not once has he been remotely interested in making a steady friend

and he doesn’t think that’s sad or anything - again, he prefers it that way!

...but you just had to come along and completely throw his plans out of whack, didn’t you??

unsurprisingly, you were the one who spoke to him at the beginning of the semester but he didn’t think too much of it because it wasn’t like the conversation the two of you had was very riveting

“hi, i’m sorry-” jungkook looks up from his notebook when you twist around in your seat to face him, “this is psychology 400, right? i lost a copy of my schedule and i think this is the lecture hall i’m supposed to be in but i can’t remember if it said auditorium 200 or 201-”

“yeah, you’re in the right place.” jungkook interrupts, offering you a stiff smile before looking back down at his planner

he was in the middle of compiling a grocery list for himself and now he doesn’t remember what that one thing he needed was…

…

ah!

chocolate pocky sticks

there we go

jungkook clicks his pen before tucking it back into his pencil case and shutting his planner

and… yeah!

that was the first conversation the two of you ever had

he doesn’t think he can really count it as a conversation because it lasted less than three seconds

the first exchange the two of you ever had?

the second exchange he had with you was actually the next class that same week

he was genuinely surprised that you sat in the same spot again because usually when someone realises that he isn’t willing to be their semester-friend, they move to another section of the auditorium the next time

but no

there you were in all your glory

“when’s the first assignment due?”

jungkook’s eyes flicker up from his laptop first before he looks up at you

“uh, in two weeks...?” he trails off, pulling up the calendar app on his screen before nodding affirmatively, “yeah, in two weeks. september sixteenth at midnight.”

“okay, sweet! and that’s a... thursday?”

“wednesday.”

“ah, okay. got it. thanks!

“mhm.”

the weird thing was the fact that you never pulled out the “i don’t think i ever got your name! i’m ___” card because you just seemed like a very ‘i wanna be your friend!!!!!’ person

and he doesn’t know how you made him do it but one day he found himself asking for your name which he didn’t think he’d ever do

(admittedly, he was a little klutzy in doing so because he’d never willingly introduced himself to someone and asked for their name all in one go before)

“are you eating goldfish crackers and... chocolate chips?” jungkook blurts out, leaning forward a little to peer into the little snack box you’re holding in your hand

you pause and look down into the container before twisting around to look at him, “mhm! you know, you wouldn’t think the combination would work, but it totally does,” you smile, holding your box up, “wanna try?”

jungkook immediately shakes his head, “oh, no, that’s oka-”

“no, c’mon-” you pluck out a cracker and a chocolate chip and set your box down on your lap, “hold your hand out!”

jungkook hesitates for a second before holding his hand out and letting you plop the treats in his palm, “and you... eat them together?”

“uh-huh!” you nod, popping a cracker into your mouth before gesturing for him to eat, “don’t worry - if you don’t like it, i promise i won’t cry.”

jungkook brings his palm up and tosses them back into his mouth

...

...

...

huh

that’s actually... not half-bad?

“see? what’d i tell you?” you beam, giving your box a little shake, “good, right?”

“yeah, i mean, i would never think to put the two together...” jungkook trails off, dusting the crumbs off his hands, “oh, um, by the way-” he clears his throat before swallowing nervously, “i, uh, i’m jungkook. by the way. yeah.”

“jungkook?” you say out loud, jungkook nodding in confirmation, “i will try to remember that. i’m pretty bad with names, so if i end up calling you, like, robert next week, don’t hate me.”

“i will try not to hold it against you if you call me robert next week,” jungkook laughs lightly before reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, “and you... um, your name is...?”

“i’m y/n! by the way.” you tease lightly, the apples of jungkook’s cheeks turning a little pink, “it’s nice to meet you! ...even though we met, like, a month ago.”

“touché.”

“jungkook, you dog-” you gasp lightly, and for a second jungkook’s heart drops to his stomach because he thinks he’s said something wrong- “at least take me out to dinner first before touchéing me.”

jungkook immediately snorts and shakes his head lightly as you giggle to yourself

with that being said, even after that exchange he still wasn’t sure if he wanted to stay friends with you or not

yeah, you were nice and kind of charming in your own way, but...

(he couldn’t come up with a reason as to why he shouldn’t be friends with you, so that train of thought is still chug-chug-chugging along.)

                                     »»————-　❅　————-««

“are those pocky sticks?”

jungkook stops typing, his eyes flickering up from his screen to see you looking at him with a soft little smile, your arms folded over the top of your seat and your chin propped up on them

he looks down at the open package of pocky sticks sitting on top of his backpack next to him before looking over at you and nodding, “uh, yeah. do you... want one?”

“are they the chocolate ones?”

“obviously.” jungkook snorts, pulling one out of the plastic bag before holding it out for you, “nothing beats the original flavour.”

you pluck it from his fingers, inspecting it for a second before biting into it with a crisp snap!, “i personally like the strawberry ones better-”

“what??” jungkook gawks, “i mean, yeah, the strawberry ones are fine, but the chocolate ones-”

“the strawberry ones have a thicker coating! the chocolate coating is so thin and barely-there!” you hold the bottom half of your pocky out so that jungkook can look at the cross-section of it, “see?? barely any chocolate-”

“you don’t know what you’re talking about!” jungkook scoffs playfully, slapping his laptop shut before crossing his arms on his desk and leaning forward, “chocolate pocky sticks are clearly superior to the strawberry ones-”

“alright, robert, whatever helps you sleep at night-”

“wha-” jungkook gawks in mock offence, too distracted by the fact that you like the strawberry pocky sticks over the classic chocolate ones to notice the feeling of his heart skipping a beat at the sound of your laugh

strawberry over chocolate

...

ridiculous!

                                    »»————-　❅　————-««

now, jungkook isn’t particularly sure when it was that he started to notice how twinkly your eyes were or how sweet your voice sounded or how pretty your smile was or how nice your hair smelled

it kind of just dawned on him one morning??

he was just staring at the back of your head and found himself wondering how it was possible for the back of one’s head to be so pretty (you had your hair down that day and it just looked so soft and clean)

and then he thought to himself how weird it was that he just called the back of your head pretty

and then he thought to himself that if he thought the back of your head was pretty... did that mean that he thought the rest of you was pretty as well?

and then he thought to himself that yes, i suppose i would consider y/n to be pretty if i was ever asked for a list of people i considered to be pretty

and then he realized that oh, god. do i think that y/n’s pretty because i like y/n?!

and now it’s december meaning that it’s almost the end of the semester and he still hasn’t done anything about his crush on you because he?? literally has no idea how to handle it

his plan was to just ask you for your instagram and if you wanted to keep hanging out next semester and hope that it didn’t turn into a can’t what about next week can’t what about next week situation

and the fact that you guys are working together for the final project certainly doesn’t help with him suppressing his feelings at all

because you two have gone from spending time like three times a week in class to five or six times a week in and out of class

it was at the beginning of november that he discovered that you both had an hour and a half break after this class

so you guys usually go for lunch together (obviously, you were the one who asked first) and then go your separate ways

and then it was the second week of november that jungkook started walking you to your next class even though hiS next class is located at the opposite end of campus

he just????

literally has no idea how any of this happened

one minute he’s perfectly fine with being alone and the next minute he finds himself glancing towards the door every three seconds waiting for you to walk in because the best part of his morning is seeing you

because every time you walk in and see him in his usual spot your entire face lights up and your pace quickens and he just thinks it’s really cute how excited you are to see him even though you guys literally see each other so often

he always looks forward to hearing about what you did over the weekend even though he usually doesn’t care less about what anyone did over their weekend

he always looks forward to you bringing out your little snack box and offering him a couple pieces of whatever you have (you brought these sesame-glazed cashews the other day and they were really good)

he always looks forward to sharing his pocky sticks with you even though he’s usually very greedy with his pocky sticks

last week he let you eat like half the box and he wasn’t even mad

and yeah, he finds himself tossing a couple of the strawberry pocky sticks into his basket whenever he goes grocery shopping, but that doesn’t mean anything!

...

right???

                                     »»————-　❅　————-««

jungkook glances back towards the door as he taps his foot against the ground anxiously before checking his phone for the time or any texts from you  

where are you??

he booked one of the conference rooms in the library so that you guys could work on your project in peace

it’s much more quiet working here than in the general studying area because there’s always that one person who’s sniffling and coughing like a maniac

and you can speak at a normal volume in here which is good

you guys agreed to work on the project together at the end of the day and then you’d grab dinner together

and jungkook hasn’t been classifying these hangout working sessions as dates or anything but for some reason, this feels like a study date AND a dinner date rolled into one which is why his hands are so clammy right now

and on top of thAT he actually has a christmas present that he’s planning to give you but now he’s wondering if it’s too late to back out

you’re already like twenty minutes late

did you forget about him??

did you purposely bail on him??

is this your way of telling him that this friendship is over???

maybe he can text you and tell you that he had to go home because he has food poisoning or something

...but the image of him hunched over the toilet probably isn’t a very attractive one

is there like a.,., like a sexy way to talk about food poisoning?

jungkook paces back and forth as he looks down at his phone, typing a message to you and then immediately deleting it and retyping

hey! i’m gonna have to reschedule. i had a funky ass burrito for lu-

okay so there’s definitely no way to make food poisoning sound sexy

maybe he can come up with a... cool excuse of some kind?  

hey! can we reschedule? i have to save a baby from a burning building because i’m also a firefigh-

nope

he’s terrified of heights and also he hates babies so that excuse would never work

hey! let’s reschedule! i have feelings for you and it’s overwhelming me and also i feel like maybe you kind of bailed on m-

“hey!”

jungkook jumps in his seat before whipping around to look at the door, feeling a sense of relief washing over him when he sees that it’s you

okay

well noW he knows that you didn’t forget about him and that you definitely didn’t bail on him

“he-” his voice gives out halfway and he clears his throat quickly, “hey! i was, uh, i was wondering when you’d show up.”

“i know, sorry i’m late-” you smile sheepishly, shutting the door behind you with a gentle click, “it’s for a good reason, though! i got us hot chocolates!”

you raise the takeout tray in your hand before setting it down on the table, “i was going to get you a peppermint mocha because ‘tis the season and all of that, but i didn’t know if you would like it or not so hot chocolate was the safer option.”

“i like hot chocolate!” jungkook coughs, “peppermint mochas- i mean, i would’ve been fine with a peppermint mocha too, but i- i still appreciate the hot chocolate-” he rambles, nervously flipping his pen back and forth in between his fingers, “i mean, i, like, what i’m trying to say is that i would like anything you brought for me, you know?”

okay

he’s spiralling

whY is this happening to him??

jungkook doesn’t know if he’s ever been this nervous for anything before

he wasn’t even this nervous when he had to do a solo presentation in front of two hundred people in his history course last semester and thaT was terrifying

“alright, well, i’ll definitely keep that in mind for next time!” you chirp, pulling out one of the wheely chairs before plopping down and turning to face him, “what else do we have to do for our report?”

jungkook feels his heart skip a beat when your knee bumps against his

oh god

okay

he has to get it together  

just relax!

“oh, uh-” he turns to look through the checklist on his notebook, “we have to write up the conclusion... and also the annotated bibliography.”

“annotated bibliography?” you huff, scrolling through yours guys’ twenty page report, “oh, god... that’s going to take forever- we used, like, thirty different sources...”

“i told you not to go crazy with the scholarly articles...” jungkook teases lightly before taking a sip of his hot chocolate

ooH

there’s whipped cream on this as well!

“i just thought that it would make us look smarter if we used more sources-” you grumble, pushing your bottom lip out in a pathetic little pout, “and now we have to go through and annotate every single one...”

“hey, if it motivates you to work faster, i’ll get you an extra order of onion rings for dinner tonight.” jungkook hums, smiling fondly when you gasp excitedly and turn to face him

one thing that he’s learned about you is the fact that you are verY food motivated

one time you told him that you would be willing to rob a bank for a pack of oreos

...and he wholeheartedly believes that.

                                     »»————-　❅　————-««

you try your hardest to hold back a grin when you notice that jungkook still hasn’t moved his leg from yours

the side of your thigh has been pressed right up against his for a good twenty minutes now and it seems like he doesn’t mind it at all

if anything, it’s safe to say that he’s comfortable being this close to you

that must mean that he likes you back, right?

because you know for a fact that he isn’t normally a touchy-feely person and you were fully expecting him to pull back the moment your leg touched his

this is!!!!

exciting!!!!

you don’t know when you started liking jungkook but the details really aren’t that important

you just know that you like him now and you’re like 80% sure that maybe he might?? like you back??

if he didn’t like you, why would he be willing to get coffee with you during your breaks and walk you to class?

you were actually a little put off by him the first time you spoke to him mainly because he seemed like he didn’t really want to talk to you

and usually you don’t do well with people who don’t want to talk to you because.,., you personally think you’re a greaT person to talk to and if the same vibes aren’t reciprocated then you immediately hightail it out of there

and you were actually going to switch seats the next class but it was pretty cozy in the back of the auditorium and you liked that your seat was near the exit so that you could be the first one out without getting trampled over by everyone else  

so you figured you’d just swallow your pride and try to work it out with mr. pretty boy (yes, part of the reason as to why you stayed was because of how handsome he is.,., you’re only human!!!)

and it looks like it worked out in your favour because here you are!! hanging out with him outside of class!!

with that being said, you haven’t really thought about what your next move is going to be because you’re..., not entirely sure how to ask him out without potentially freaking him out or something

because if on the off-chance that he tells you that he actually doesn’t like you back after you ask him out with full confidence,,..,

ugh

you don’t even want to think about how awkward that’s going to be

and you don’t even knoW how you’d play it off casually without letting your disappointment show (“oh! well, that’s- pft- that’s totally fine, it’s whatever- like, i’m so... like, i’m so cool. it’s totally fine! dates are- dates are so overrated, anyway- romance is so lame-”)

you were thinking of maybe asking him out after the final project because if he says no then you’ll never have to see him again!

that’s the beautiful part of being on such a big campus

it’s fine

you’ll figure something out

just focus on this damn bibliography and try not to think about how good jungkook smells and how pretty his hands look when he’s typing

                                     »»————-　❅　————-««

it’s about an hour and a half into the session that jungkook suddenly remembers that he has a present for you

he turns his head slightly to look at you

there’s a divot in between your brows as your fingers practically fly across your keyboard

wow

you must really want those onion rings

jungkook glances down at his backpack before pressing his lips together tightly

when would be a good time to give it to you without it being like.,,. awkward?

maybe after you guys are done?

or during dinner?

or after dinner?

or after he drives you hom-

“i have a present for you, by the way-!” jungkook blurts out a little louder than intended, shattering the serene silence of the atmosphere

okay never mind

“you do??” you ask, jungkook nodding quickly

“i... yeah. a christmas present! for you.” he clears his throat, leaning down to pull the neatly wrapped package out of his backpack, “it’s just a little something, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

“aw, that’s so nice of you... i didn’t know we were doing presents otherwise i totally would’ve gotten something for you...” you trail off, pursing your lips in disappointment

damnit

you weRE going to get jungkook something but you didn’t know if he’d find it weird or anything

and now you must look like a complete jerk!

“oh my god, don’t even worry about it-” jungkook flicks his wrist to dismiss your concerns, “you can count the hot chocolate as your gift to me! plus, you splurged on a venti just for me-”

“i did splurge on a venti just for you...” you joke along, instantly feeling a little better about the situation, “and i usually only treat people to tiny little talls!”

(for the record, you’re definitely going to get him a proper present over the weekend)

“also, it’s totally fine if you don’t like it-” jungkook swallows thickly when you start to rip open the packaging, “i can return it and get you something else-”

!!!!!!!!

“oH MY GOD i love it!” you exclaim, feeling your serotonin levels shoot straight through the ceiling when you pull out a heart shaped snack box, “i don’t even know what to say, this is literally the greatest present i’ve ever received in my entire life-”

“oh, thank god-” jungkook flops back in his seat before placing his hand on his chest, “i was worried that maybe you wouldn’t like it because you already have a pretty extensive collection of snack boxes- oh, and!” he perks up, spinning around to pull something else out of his bag, “i also got you a box of strawberry pocky sticks even though i still think your opinion about them being better than the chocolate flavour is very wrong.”

wow

he really knows the way to your heart :’)

“i don’t even know what to say, kook...” you smile, “thank you so much...”

jungkook beams, giving himself a mental pat on the back for a job well done, “ah, don’t worry about it. i’m just glad that you like your gifts...”

...

okay, you don’t have a gift for him so this is the next best thing

“can i-” you pause, trying to think of how to handle this, “can i- sorry, can you just close your eyes for a second?” you clear your throat

you’re suddenly feeling a lot more confident about jungkook’s feelings towards you than you were half an hour ago

(aka you are now 98% sure that he likes you back and if you’re wrong about this assumption then you’re definitely going to regret the thing that you’re about to do)  

“close my eyes?” jungkook snorts, “why?”

“it’ll make sense in a second. just close them!”

“this is the part of our friendship where you kill me, isn’t it?” he jokes, setting his laptop aside before turning his chair so he can fully face you

ha hA

very funny

“if i was planning to kill you, i would’ve poisoned your precious pocky sticks a long time ago-” you laugh lightly, wiping your clammy hands on your jeans before turning to face him as well

“speaking of pocky sticks, have you ever tried the cookies and creme flavoured ones?” jungkook hums, jolting in surprise when he feels you place your hands on his knees, “because i was thinking we could just buy a bunch of flavours and try them toge-”

smak!

jungkook’s eyes immediately pop open the moment he feels you kiss his cheek, his entire face going beet red and his mouth going dry

you smile innocently as you pull back, jungkook trying his best to noT melt into a giant puddle of goo

you-

you just...

you kissed his cheek?

you kissed him?

maybe it was an accident??

maybe there was a bug on his cheek and you were just trying to kill it with your mouth

“you- i- heh-” he reaches up to scratch the back of his head, quickly averting his gaze when he notices you looking directly at him, “um, why... uh, what did you do that for?”

“to say thank you...” you shrug, biting back a smile, “and i guess it’s me trying to tell you that i... i like you too, by the way.”

jungkook feels his heart stop beating in his chest and his fingers dig into his thigh

too?

you like him?

too????

jungkook blinks owlishly at you, “you like me... too? r-really?”

“of course i do.” you hum, admiring your brand new snack box before looking back at him, “how could i not?”

(judging by his reaction, you are now 100% sure that jungkook likes you back so you now have nothing to worry about.)

“but how’d you know that i even liked you in the first place?” jungkook asks dumbly, still a little dazed from that kiss on the cheek

he can’t even think about how his body is going to react when he eventually gets to kiss you properly

“i mean...” you let out a little laugh before tilting your head slightly, “if the in-between class coffee runs and the walking me to class even though we both know it’d make you late for your class didn’t give it away, the fact that you let me eat half a box of pocky sticks without slicing my hands off certainly did.”

oh

yeah

that’s fair

“you make a good point.” jungkook nods slowly, “touché-”

“-”

“-!” jungkook holds a finger out before the corners of his mouth tug up in a wide grin, “and i will definitely be taking you out to dinner first before even thinking about touchéing you. don’t worry.”

christmas with cee 2020 masterlist

🎁what would you like from ceenta this year? 🎁

#cwc2020 #requested drabbles #shy!jungkook #jungkook drabbles #bts drabbles #jungkook fluff #jungkook fics #jungkook fic recs #jungkook fluff recs #jungkook smut #jungkook smut recs #bts fluff #bts fluff recs #bts fics #bts fic recs #bts #bts smut #bts smut recs #bts au #jungkook au #bts university au #jungkook university au #university au #jeon jungkook drabbles #reader insert #jungkook x reader #jungkook cute #jungkook cute gifs

[jiminisnotavirgin]

A+

Pairing: professor!taehyung | collegestudent!reader

Genre: smut

Description: A one-on-one video call with your hot, college professor takes a surprising turn.

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: inappropriate student/teacher relations, mutual masturbation, fingering, clit-stimulation, and innapropriate language.

Note: After much anticipation, I hope this is my return to the writing part of the lovely fanfic world. Here’s a little something mischievous and self-indulgent (clearly!). I started writing this when quarantine and remote-learning first began last year and I returned to it earlier this week. Let me know what you think :) I hope you enjoy A+. Love, Phoenix.

Email after email, document after document, the light from Taehyung’s laptop shines bright blue across his features. The hours go by and the sky grows darker but he remains at his desk, only taking small breaks to lighten the strain on his eyes. His chair creaks as he leans back and glances outside the window. Like most nights lately, only the stars keep him company tonight.

His courses shifted to an online-only remote format due to the need for social distancing. Despite the initial confidence he displayed to his boss and colleagues over the change, Taehyung is more unsure than ever. Frustration sneaks its way into his mind like a viper wrapped around its squirming prey. His life has turned into a turbulent sea of e-mails and complaints from upset students. What’s the best way for him to support his students? How can he assure them that their mental health is more important than any essay or assignment they’ll ever complete?

A sudden knock at the door steals his attention. Jungkook, his roommate and best friend, leans against the doorway with crossed arms. “Professor Kim,” he begins with a smirk. “Do you have a minute to speak?”

“What’s up?” asks Taehyung, ignoring his friend’s use of the name his students address him with.

“Did you see Jimin’s text? He invited us over for drinks at his apartment. Are you coming?”

“Can’t,” answers Taehyung. His computer glows in his peripheral vision. “I have—“

“Emails to write, work to do. I get it, you’re a busy man.” Jungkook shrugs. “I thought I’d ask anyway since it’s Saturday night.”

“Maybe next time.” Guilt floods Taehyung’s chest and makes it difficult to look Jungkook directly in the eye. Not only is he a shitty professor but he’s a shitty friend, too.

Jungkook finally steps inside the room, occasionally tinkering with Taehyung’s things until he reaches his desk. “Whatever. I’m just worried about you, that’s all.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Jungkook’s already-large doe eyes go wider. “Because all you do is sit at that damn computer all day!”

“I have to teach classes online, what do you expect?”

“It’s not healthy. You barely even leave your room to eat.”

“Who are you, the food police?”

“No, I’m your best friend,” Jungkook answers. “When was the last time you did anything fun? Or normal? You’re twenty-six, Tae, not a hundred and six.”

Taehyung sighs. “I can’t think about any of that right now. Actually, I should get back to my work...”

Jungkook takes the hint and leaves, but not without shooting a glare that makes Taehyung regret his choice of words. He can’t worry about it right now though—not when he has a call planned with you in about two minutes.

He was surprised to see an email from you in his inbox yesterday. You’re one of the students that hasn’t reached out all semester unlike most of the others in his courses. He knows just what kind of student you are: the type who floats through classes quietly but still gets high marks. You’re an older student. You fade into the background by avoiding the attention of your peers but your work stands out, therefore, you do too. He recognizes it because he was that student, too.

Taehyung opens the app for the call, expecting you to pick up after a minute or two but you answer within seconds. “Hello,” he greets you.

You tuck a stand of hair behind your ear and speak but no sound follows the movement of your mouth. He waits but nothing changes.

Taehyung clears his throat. “I think your microphone is off,” he says and types the same words into the chat box at the bottom of his screen.

You squint as you bring your face closer to the monitor. “Can you hear me now?”

He smiles. “Perfect. So, how are you doing? How’s the semester been so far?”

You shrug. “It’s been okay. I’m just trying my best, you know? What about you?”

“Pretty much the same. There’s nothing to do besides read and grade assignments.”

“I wanted to talk to you about the midterm, actually...” your voice fades out and your eyes drift away from the camera. He digs through his memory for what you wrote but his mind comes out empty-handed.

“Let me pull it up on my computer.” He searches through his saved files and documents.

“Oh, you don’t have to do all of that.” You pause for a few seconds. “It’s about my grade.”

“Let’s see... B-plus. Nice work.” When he looks away from your paper, he catches you frowning.

“Could you give me some feedback on it?” you ask.

“I left a few comments on the side,” he answers, eyes still glued to the document. He exits the window and focuses on your face once again. “I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you. You’re a lovely writer.”

“Not good enough if I can only get B-pluses,” you answer with a sigh. Taehyung sits up in his chair, surprised by your shift in tone.

Are you looking for an explanation? A justification for the grades he’s given you? “Most students would be satisfied with a B-plus in an almost graduate level course.”

“With all due respect, sir, I’m not your other students.”

His brows twitches. “Oh?”

“I don’t know how to say this without sounding like an arrogant jerk but I’m not used to getting anything lower than an A on my papers. The fact that I’m about to graduate and can’t hack yours is pretty... frustrating.”

He presses his lips together. “I don’t know what to tell you.” What do you want to hear? Can anything he’ll say wipe that glare off your face? It’s interesting to see you lose your cool after all this time.

You refuse to back down from the challenge. In this impromptu staring contest, your brown eyes penetrate his through the computer screen.

Taehyung decides to give in. Slightly. “One thing I will say,” he continues, “is that I’m particularly tough on my best students. If I gave you an A-plus on every essay you handed in, what would you work up to? There’s no doubt about the strength of your writing.”

Your expression changes immediately. “Oh,” is the only word that leaves your lips. The lines of anger decorating your forehead smooth out as your mouth eases into a relieved smile.

It’s in this moment that Taehyung finds himself looking at you. Truly looking at you.

There’s something about the determination in your face as you plead your case, as though nothing else in the world matters more. Your glossy, heart-shaped lips possess a reddish tint that reminds him of cherries, or rubies. Even through the pixels on the computer screen, you retain the same freshness he remembers from a few months ago, if not more now.

All this time on the computer has gone to your head, he thinks to himself. Perhaps there’s still a chance for him to catch up to Jungkook and the others.

A giggle erupts from your side of the call. “So my papers are good? And here I thought I wasn’t good enough for you.”

“I didn’t mean to make you suffer,” he murmurs and runs a hand through the waves in his raven hair. His eyelids flutter closed as he sinks into his chair and stretches his arms. Finally, a meeting he can consider a success; a meeting where the student leaves the call less frustrated than when it began. He prepares to end the call and log off for the night.

Then he hears it.

It’s faint and quiet and quick but he hears it, as if all sounds in the world were turned off and yours was amplified. The sound echoes in his mind as though you were right there beside him: “If only you knew how you make me suffer.”

This progression of thoughts occurs in a matter of seconds. By the time he’s processed your statement, his eyes have been forced open and any chance of relaxation for the rest of the night disappears into thin air.

“What?” he asks, voice betraying the casualness he wishes to exude.

“Oh, nothing.” You blink innocently, long lashes fluttering like a pair of butterfly wings. “I just care about your opinion, Professor Kim, if you can’t tell.”

“Right...” His eyes trail to the messy display of pens and papers spread out across his desk—anything to avoid your gaze. Its intensity has multiplied a thousandfold and threatens to melt him like a popsicle in the sun. He ignores the surge of anxious heat flowing through his veins.

“I mean,” you continue, lips pursed. “Who doesn’t love hearing a little bit of praise every once in a while, right?”

Your statement hangs in the air for what feels like an eternity. His shirt suddenly squeezes his torso. His pants suffocate his thighs. The room feels like a furnace and dizzying all at once, but the tension in the air keeps him in the moment.

“What are you doing?” he finally asks.

All the blood drains from your face and your limbs freeze. You hold your hands up in the air. “I’m sorry, professor. I didn’t mean to—“

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” warns Taehyung. A new fire fuels his gaze. With his thick brows, chiseled face, and beautiful black hair to match, your professor is a flame and you’ve been dying to get burned since you first laid eyes on him.

You pull off your hoodie and toss it onto the ground behind you. With a small tug of your index finger, you adjust the spaghetti straps of your pink tank top, underneath which you wear no bra. Your nipples prick at the thin fabric that stretches with each of your breaths.

“You deserve so much more than a little bit of praise,” he murmurs, erasing any doubts over your advances towards him.

“I do?”

“Mmhmm. Especially since you’ve been such a good girl.”

This man couldn’t possibly be the same one that lectured your class all semester. Something sinful replaces the innocent, awkward mannerisms you’ve grown to know over time. No more does he hesitate with his words or actions. Instead, he leans towards the camera with his shoulders pushed back. You’re greeted by his neck and the tan slope of his chest that hides beneath the loose collar of his button-down. You want nothing more than to rip off his shirt with your bare hands. For now, you can only imagine what lies beneath.

“Good girls deserve rewards,” he says with a swipe of his tongue across his plump bottom lip, snapping you out of your daze.

“What should I do?” you ask and glance at your closed bedroom door. Fortunately, you locked it before the call started. You don’t want any intrusions from your roommate.

“You should wind down and take care of yourself. You’ve been working so hard.” His eyes dart down to your tank top. “Close your eyes and imagine it’s me worshipping your chest.”

Your eyes fall closed as your hands drift to the hem of your top. Your fingertips graze your stomach and stop when your skin begins to slope up into the mounds of your breasts. “What would you do if you were here with me right now?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “I’d make it my mission to kiss every part of you but first, I’d focus on those beautiful breasts of yours. They’d fit in my hands perfectly.”

With your left hand, you grasp one breast and tighten your grip just the slightest bit. The squeeze forces a sigh from your lips and although your eyes are closed, Taehyung struggles to control his own breathing as he watches you begin to unfold. With the other hand, you bring two fingers to your mouth and coat them in saliva only to bring them down to your nipples which harden with each squeeze and stroke.

Taehyung swallows in anticipation. “Just like that. Keep going.”

“Wait, what about you?” you ask, voice raspy and slightly out of breath.

“What about me?”

“I’m not the only one who deserves a reward.”

“Watching you wriggle and writhe in desire is enough for me.”

You cross your arms. “Nope.”

He chuckles. “What do you suggest I do, then?”

“I want you to fuck yourself with your hand and imagine it’s my pussy squeezing the life out of you.”

Your words knock the air out of Taehyung’s lungs but he manages to recover quickly. “You may be a good girl but you’ve got a dirty mouth.”

You smirk. “What are you going to do about it?”

The sound of his metal belt buckle clinks from his end. “Touch yourself right now. Play with your clit and we’ll see if you’ve still got that nasty mouth of yours when you’re begging me to cum.”

You raise your brows. “I fully intend on cumming at least once in your presence tonight, professor, whether I have your permission or not.”

“Call me Taehyung.” He takes a moment to reflect on the current situation versus the dynamic you had only minutes ago. “Why now? Why did you initiate—”

“My grades go above all else. I didn’t want to jeopardize any of that,” you answer. “And I also waited for your sake.”

“My sake? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were doing this to secure your grades,” he muses.

“Nothing boosts my ego like getting an A-plus based solely off my hard work,” you answer. “Fucking my hot professor is for my own personal pleasure.”

You description makes it sound so typical, just another everyday thing like washing the dishes. Are you using him? Deep inside, the thought of you using him arouses him. He wants to be used by you.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers, suddenly absorbed by you and the way you carefully orchestrated this interaction. How long did you think about this moment? Were you afraid of rejection?

“I know. Everyone likes me but I always want what I can’t have.” You wink. “Life’s more fun that way.”

Fun. “Enough talk. Let me see.”

“Yes, of course,” you stutter, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. You don’t mind his demands or commanding tone. In fact, you invite them.

“Slide back,” he instructs you. “I want to see everything.”

You swallow and obey immediately, rising to pull your chair further away from the camera. You take the chance to slip off your sweatpants which leaves you in nothing but your underwear and tank top. Your underwear isn’t fancy but it’s what’s below that he’s interested in.

You lower yourself onto the seat, not bothering to keep your legs pressed together. You spread your knees slowly, as if your legs were a book with pages waiting to be read.

“Good. Open up more and show me how bad you want it,” he says. The smile in his voice urges you on.

Your hand creeps along the stretchy waistband of your underwear. The material works against you, forcing your wrist against your pelvis and the area you so desperately wish to touch. You have to be patient since you seek to milk this moment for as long as possible.

Your middle finger searches for any sign of dampness and you gasp when you find a small pool already built up at your core. When you look back at the monitor to see what he’d like you to do next, you watch as he adjusts himself into a similar position to yours.

“Your turn. Take off your shirt,” you instruct.

He raises his eyebrows. A mischievous smile dawns on his face. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“So demanding. That’s what got us here in the first place,” he remarks but proceeds to unbutton his shirt.

“I’m not afraid to go out and get what I want.”

“I know, and I admire you for it,” he says. His shirt begins to crinkle as he unbuttons lower and lower until eventually, the front parts to reveal his chest. His abs are soft and his warm honey skin looks smooth. You wonder what it would it taste like.

As he rolls up his sleeves, you observe every movement of his hands. They’re large. One of the first things you noticed about him when he spoke in class and lead discussions. You always wondered what his hands would look like if they were doing something else entirely... Now, your fantasies have come to life.

You force your jaw closed but he’s already caught you staring. “Like what you see?” he asks through his low lids.

“Oh, please. As if you don’t know you’re attractive as hell.”

A low laugh emerges from the man and you smile. If only you could bottle it up and keep it. When he reaches into his pants, you follow along, taking the slick from your finger up to your clit in one smooth stroke. You hum and bite at your lips to contain your reaction.

He shakes his head. “Don’t hide it. You sound beautiful.”

Your other hand starts to wander as you go to work on your clit. From your head to your chest, you seek something to ground you as your soft bud puffs with pleasure. No longer does it hide, tucked away beneath the crevices of your lips. You grind against it using your hand and a slow swivel of your hips from left to right.

“You’re doing so good. I’m so proud of you,” coos Taehyung. “Your body was made for this. For pleasure.”

The sight of him gripping the base of his cock is almost enough to send you over. A light glaze of sweat builds on your forehead but you make no effort to wipe it. Taehyung wishes to feel the heat of your body on his. It’s probably better than anything he could ever imagine.

Perhaps now more than ever, he longs for the days before the virus took over and broke everyone apart. He misses those times so much he could cry, especially since he took them for granted. At the same time though, he thinks about the effort those close to him have made to keep in contact. Even old friends he hadn’t spoken to in years called to catch up with him. His students have stuck out the most out of anyone. One or two of them don’t even own laptops but they show up to class on time and bring their A-game. He believes he should take a note or two from them.

As he studies you, the way you squirm in delight, and the way your body responds to the ministrations of your hand, a wave of relief washes over him. If it weren’t for these circumstances, he wouldn’t have had this moment with you.

“Taehyung,” you moan, bringing him back.

The sound of you calling his name shoots heat straight to his cock. With the precum glistening at the top, he grabs his cock and works the tip using his thumb. “Fuck. Look at what you do to me,” he groans at the sensitivity.

“Please,” you take in a breath and continue, “t-tell me more.”

If praise is what you want, praise is what you’ll get. “You’re so hardworking in everything that you do. Look at you now. Touching yourself just for me.”

“Yes, yes.” You moan as your fingers settle into the one position that feels like you’ve struck gold.

“How far inside can those fingers go? I bet you can put them in real deep.”

It’s as though your hands were waiting for his approval. You slip inside your clenching, gaping hole using two fingers. They slide in easily but the initial stretch is foreign since it’s been so long.

Taehyung groans and for the first time tonight, you begin to see him lose control. His cool exterior sinks into the pleasure of his hand—and of you—leaving him a sweaty, desirable mess. His hair sticks to his forehead and his stomach clenches with each stroke of his hand. He moves slowly, trying to match the pace of your hand. You pick up speed and allow your body to move against the rhythm of your hand. Your insides feel warm and soft and slippery. You close your eyes and imagine he’s the one fingering you with those gorgeous hands of his.

The rubber band of pleasure in your stomach begins to stretch. The squelch of your pussy grows louder with each passing second.

Taehyung is well-endowed but never did you imagine his dick would expand so much in length and girth. He could spear your pussy in one fell swoop, destroying your insides and anything else that gets in his way.

“Taehyung, I’m close,” you say with a sigh. You barely have the energy to speak.

“Fuck, me too,” he adds. “I’m almost there. Cum with me.”

His hand travels from base to tip and each part of the journey is smoother than the last. He massages each vein and ripple and moves even faster when he catches a glimpse of the uneven quiver of your thighs. Heat churns in his stomach and all he can do is chase it desperately. He needs it like oxygen, to breathe in the sight of you along with the pleasure of his nether regions.

The rubber band snaps. It strikes you in waves, each crash stronger the last. You let the waves overtake you and succumb to the burst of pleasure spreading through your limbs. You pull out your hand and clench around nothing as the sensitivity forces your legs closed.

Just when you thought things were over, Taehyung makes a request: “Taste it.”

You waste no time in taking your fingers to your mouth, gliding your tongue on the pads of your fingertips, and spreading the salty fluid in your mouth. All you can focus on is the heavenly sight of Taehyung coming. Each breath he lets out comes with a moan. You swear you can feel the vibration of his low voice against your own chest. His hair covers his eyes but you know they’re closed in pleasure. He intakes one sharp breath before it finally takes him over.

He can feel nothing but release. Release of stress. Release of work. Release of anything except you. As white spurts of cum squirt from his dick in a messy stream of strings, all you can think about is the beauty of his body.

“This was fun,” you admit with a smile. “I’m glad my attempt didn’t flop.”

“No, that would’ve been a huge mistake on my part.”

As you look down, your eyelashes brush the top of your cheeks and you bite your lip in anticipation. “I know I’m graduating and all, but we should do this again sometime. If you’re interested.”

He rests his elbows on his desk and brings himself closer to the camera. With his hand holding the side of his face, he takes in the sweet sight of you. “Did you enjoy it that much?”

“Oh yes. In fact, unlike some people, I’d give you an A-plus.”

#bts #bts smut #kim taehyung #fanfic #bts au fanfic #bts au fic #bts fic #bts au #bts taehyung #bts kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #Taehyung #jiminisnotavirgin #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung x you

[bluejayblueskies]

53 + Jon for kiss prompts <3

kiss prompt list!

53 - against a wall kiss

i went with jontim! cw for mentions of ghosts, hauntings, and demons, mentions of decay and rot, bats (the animal), and mentions of alcohol

.

Jon looks up from the small scrap of paper he’s holding, squints suspiciously at the building in front of them, and looks back down at the paper with a frown. “This can’t be right.”

 “Huh,” Tim says, peering over Jon's shoulder at the paper. It’s barely illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlamps, small pinpricks of light against the night sky. “This was supposed to be a haunting, right? Some lady kept seeing a shadowy figure out of the corner of her eye, and her lights kept burning out.”

 “Alleged haunting,” Jon says tersely. “You know as well as I do that the ‘ghost’ statements are usually absolute rubbish.”

 “Yeah, but this one’s got zest,” Tim says with a grin, swiping the paper from Jon’s hands and ignoring Jon’s noise of protest. “Usually it’s all oh, there’s a cold spot and I came home to find the telly on or whatever. But shadowy figures of darkness and deceit—”

 Tim gasps dramatically. “Jon, we could be dealing with a demon.”

 Jon fixes Tim with an unimpressed look. “It’s more likely that we’ve driven two hours outside of London just to waste our time staring at a house that looks like it hasn’t been lived in for thirty years.”

 “Yeah,” Tim says with a grimace, “the place could really use a paint job. And, uh. Some actual glass in the windows.”

 Jon sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and mutters something under his breath about don’t get paid enough to—

 Tim couldn’t agree more.

“Fine,” Jon says, sounding resigned. He rifles through his satchel for a few moments before retrieving a small black torch. He clicks it experimentally on and off a few times. “We might as well get this over with.”

 “As much as I love your enthusiasm,” Tim says, “the place is very clearly condemned, Jon. The chains across the door don’t exactly scream hey, come in, it’s completely safe!”

 Not to mention that, technically, they’d have to break and enter. But Tim had learned long ago that the only problem Jon had with that was the physical effort it took to lift himself through broken windows and over chain-link fences. He’d decided, the first time he’d seen Jon pull a lockpick set out of his pocket and pick a lock in less than a minute, that he did, in fact, have a bit of a predilection toward delinquency. Particularly when said delinquent dressed like a college professor and used words like ‘ostentatious’ and ‘salient.’

 The being a little bit in love with him bit had come later. But it wasn’t like Tim hadn’t seen it coming.

 “I don’t think there will be any demons,” Jon says flatly, and before Tim can explain that he was actually talking about things like asbestos and rotten floorboards, Jon’s crossing the street at a quick pace and approaching the house.

 “Christ,” Tim mutters under his breath, scooping his backpack up from the ground and swinging it over his shoulder as he jogs after Jon. “Forget safety, let’s- let’s just run right into an abandoned building. Great.”

 By the time Tim’s wriggled his way through one of the ground-floor windows, Jon’s already scanning the inside of the house with his torch, an expression of intense concentration on his face as he maps the walls, ceilings, and floor. “Forget thirty years,” Jon says under his breath. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s ever lived here.”

 Jon’s right; beneath all the rot and decay and dust, the house itself is threadbare and hollow, walls a dull white and floor still an unfinished wood. Somehow, that more than anything makes Tim’s stomach turn with unease. “Right, well. This has been fun, but I think we’ve established that the statement belongs solidly in the discredited section so maybe we should… go?”

 Jon makes a noncommittal noise. “Why? It’s just gotten interesting.”

 “Right,” Tim says under his breath, hating how fond he sounds. “If this house collapses on top of us and we die, I am never going to forgive you.”

 Jon scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous. Nothing’s going to happen.”

 .

 “Nothing’s going to happen?” Tim demands, having just sprinted halfway down the street and into a small side alley with Jon’s hand firmly grasped in his, practically pulling him along.

 A bit breathlessly, Jon says, “Well, I- I was right. The house is still very much intact.”

 Tim affixes Jon with the strongest glare he can muster, his heart still threatening to jump straight out of his chest. “Jonathan.”

 Jon throws his hands up in the air, dragging Tim’s hand with them. “How was I supposed to know that there was something living in there?”

 “Because it was condemned, Jon! Of course there were things living there.”

 Jon lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a laugh.  “They were just bats, Tim. I would think that would be a significant improvement from demons.”

 “Hey, at least I get paid to deal with demons!” At Jon’s raised eyebrow, Tim amends, “Alleged demons. I can handle the monster-under-the-bed stories, but—”

 Tim shudders. “Bats. I hate bats.”

 Jon’s mouth curves into a smile, and this time the noise he makes falls squarely into the realm of a chuckle. “Yes, I noticed. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you make a noise quite like that.”

 “Hey, if you were getting assaulted by God’s most abhorrent creation on this Earth, you also would have screamed. I feel no shame.”

 Jon seems to realize that he’s still holding Tim’s hand at the same time Tim does. But instead of letting go, Jon squeezes Tim’s hand tighter and says, “I am sorry. I… may have gotten a bit carried away.”

 “Mm, a bit,” Tim agrees pleasantly. He squeezes Jon’s hand back reflexively, and Jon’s intake of breath is audible.

 Huh.

 Maybe it’s the adrenaline making him bold, or maybe Tim’s just gotten tired of waiting, but he finds it surprisingly easy to take a step closer, bracketing Jon between him and the brick wall of the alleyway, and say, “Jon, if I’m being completely honest: running away from a swarm of bats after breaking into a half-rotted building isn’t the worst way I pictured this evening going.”

 “Oh?” Jon says, voice pitched slightly higher.

 “I mean,” Tim says with a barely-concealed grin, “running from danger, hand in hand, catching our breath in a very narrow alley?” He shifts a bit closer to Jon, just to prove his point. “Could be worse.”

 Jon looks down at their still-joined hands, then back up at Tim with a small frown. “Are you…?” He cuts off with a small sound and a shake of his head. “Ah. Never mind.”

 God help him. Tim opts for bluntness, because if he’s going to show a few cards he may as well turn over his entire hand. “Jon, there is nowhere I’d rather be right now than holding your hand in a dingy alleyway.” He pauses, considering, then says, teasingly, “Well, almost nowhere. I hear the Canary Islands are nice this time of year.”

 Jon just stares at him for a long moment. Then, just as nerves start to creep up the back of Tim’s throat, Jon lets out a small, breathy laugh and says, “Well, until we get a statement about the Canary Islands, I suppose this will have to do.”

 Tim scoffs. “Have to do. You flatter me.”

 The smile Jon gives him warms him from the inside out. Carefully, Tim lifts his free hand and settles it on the bricks next to Jon’s head. Jon inhales sharply, and his eyes when they meet Tim’s are wide. Suddenly unsure, Tim says quietly, “Is… is this okay?”

 The noise Jon lets out is startlingly close to a whine, and he nods once before saying, in a small voice, “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

 Oh, Christ.

 Jon’s barely finished speaking when Tim leans in, tangles his fingers more firmly with Jon’s, and captures Jon’s lips with his. Jon lets out a contented sigh and relaxes back against the brick wall, and god, Tim’s never going to get that sound out of his mind. He presses closer and deepens the kiss, documenting every one of Jon’s little noises and sighs and storing them away for later, so he can relive this moment again and again and again.

 Tim’s not sure how long they stand there, Jon’s back against the wall and Tim’s hand splayed flat on the brick next to Jon’s head, before a bright flash of car headlights startles them apart. As the light fades, Jon lets out a sound suspiciously close to a giggle before pressing his free hand to his mouth to hide his smile. “Sorry,” he says, his voice muffled by his hand. “I just… all the times I imagined kissing you, I really didn’t have this in mind.”

 Tim’s brain, for a brief moment, bluescreens. “All the times?” he says in disbelief. “Jon, all the times?”

 Jon drops his hand, looking sheepish. “Yes, well. In my defense, I thought you weren’t interested.”

 “Not—” Tim cuts off with an exasperated noise. He reaches down and takes Jon’s hand in his, threading their fingers together and squeezing once. “Let it go on record that I have wanted to kiss you for a long time now and that I am very much interested.”

 “Yes,” Jon says, amused. “I know that now.”

 Tim groans. Under his breath, he mutters, “Not interested. Ridiculous.”

 Jon laughs softly before leaning forward and pressing another chaste kiss to Tim’s lips. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m glad that I was wrong.”

 “Jonathan Sims, admitting that he was wrong? I thought I’d never see the day.”

 Jon gives him a glare without any heat. “Yes, yes, all right.”

 I love you, Tim wants to say. But it’s entirely too early for that, and he’s certainly not going to give his heartfelt love confession in an alleyway that he’s starting to realize smells something awful. So instead, he pulls lightly on Jon’s hand and says, “Well, I’m definitely not working any more today. Fancy a pint?”

 “Only if you don’t ridicule my taste in beer.”

 “One time, Jon! That was one time.”

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #jontim #my writing #my fic #my longest kiss prompt yet bc i have no self control

[writingwithcolor]

The White-Presenting Mixed Japanese Experience

@horse-faced-activist-gay​ said:

Hello! I have what I fear is probably a stupid question. I have a character whose great grandmother was Japanese. Everyone else in his family is white. Is he a poc? Not in a breaking him down to a percentage type of way, and there are other characters in the story who certainly are poc, and his mother was close to her grandmother's culture, he isn't so much. It just feels like I should know to capture him properly. Thank you!

Neither Japanese identity nor POC status can be assigned purely by blood quantums. There are a fair number of individuals in the US who identify as mixed/ Japanese/ Japanese-American who fit the above description. What is more relevant for the purposes of your story is how this character views their Japanese identity, how they interact with white culture in the US, and how both of these concepts affect their interactions with family and friends. Please research the concept of “white presenting” for further insight. 

- Marika.

While in some ways, sometimes, I am white presenting, I’ve been pretty connected to my culture since childhood, so I’m pretty solid on my own POC label. I’ve reached out to other white-presenting Japanese peers for their experiences! 

It’s a complicated relationship. My respondents were split on whether or not the POC label was right for them individually, although everyone identified as Japanese/Okinawan. The POC label is very much a matter of personal choice and how you want to be perceived. As Marika said, sometimes it’s less productive to talk about “who is POC” and more productive to consider how someone’s racial or ethnic identity changes how they interact with the world. 

One common thread was how quickly they were racialized or invalidated the moment they opened up about their heritage. 

A: [Regarding physical comments like “oh, I see it a bit now in your eyes”] I've always seen it as ego soothing, like “damn sorry I misread your ethnicity here's something.” In the Western mind Asian people have particular eyes. Either that or the way people look at me shifts when I mention my ethnicity.

B: I recently had an experience where a professor said I couldn't be a person of color because I was lighter than a paper bag and it caused a whole discussion that was frankly humiliating. I feel weird claiming the identity of POC because I can evade a lot of racism just based on looking white. I've noticed a lot of my experiences with racism are based on disclosure. I generally get treated as white until I mention being multiracial or Asian specifically, then people get weird.

Another common thread was feeling as though monoracial white people didn’t see the utility in identifying with the non-white culture at all, and pressured them to “embrace whiteness”: 

A: I never got put into the Other category by white people. To white people it's always been, “why are you so weird, just accept you're white and move on.” I'm stubborn so people pushing against me meant I pushed back harder. My identity as an Okinawan-American is much greater than my identity as a European-American these days.

C: [It] made me feel so off-put. “Embracing” my whiteness was all me, on my own terms, using my own realizations. I'm fairly fine to say that I feel like I was bullied out of saying I'm Japanese openly. 

They also noted that monoracial Asians also gate-kept them out of the community (an experience I share with A as well!). 

A: When I mention something about my ancestry [to someone in the Asian-American community] to connect as a fellow Asian-American, I always get like, "wow really? I couldn't tell, you must've taken more after your [white] Mom" or some shit. So it can be a sensitive topic for me. It does feel like the second I drop the fact that I'm Asian on another Asian person it's like a test, like they gotta measure my Asianess." 

On a more hopeful note, they mentioned that they’ve worked to find ways to connect with their heritage or find a supportive community, and that it’s been rewarding. 

A mentioned that the local Vietnamese-American community was welcoming, and also found that learning Japanese in university meant a lot for cultural connection. 

B found that taking Japanese classes, going to Japanese cultural events, and sharing Japanese food with friends helped them connect. 

C mentioned having a great time exploring traditional dress and kimono workshops, as well as buying old/vintage Japanese items to learn about them. 

All of them mentioned that online nikkei communities have also been a great space to connect with each other, although they said there was a certain je ne sais quoi about in-person interaction that they greatly missed. 

So, OP, I hope you can see from this that cultural connection and community are going to mean a lot to someone like your character, and you should represent that by giving him an interest in keeping up with his Japanese culture, even if it’s through the little things. 

Also from my wonderful respondents is this message to any white-presenting Japanese person struggling with their identity (and this can apply to other white-presenting mixed folks too!): 

C: I think you'll build some confidence as you get older and that confidence includes not just your personality, appearance, but who you are. I fought to get into those Asian student clubs (failed), went on dates with some Asian people (failed), tried to make friends with certain Asians on the basis we were both Asian (failed), went to Japan and tried to connect with people (failed). You shouldn't have to do all this to prove to others or yourself that you are who you are. All my Asian friends have entertained the "come over I want to make this recipe" or "let's go see this Japanese pottery shop." Find people who want to support you.

~Mod Rina White-presenting & mixed Japanese followers, please feel free to use this as a space to share your thoughts. Your experiences are very welcome here. 

#mixed race #mixed experiences #white presenting #Japanese #identity #identity issues #culture #assimilation #characterization #POC #asks