#professor emerson | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aemondslefteyeball · 10 months

Text

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi (1)

[Modern! Aemond x fem!reader. Yellowjackets inspired.]

[Warnings: Substance use, violence, plane crash, Aemond is such a dickhead y'all, allusion to eating disorders, eventual smut, eventual cannibalism, more warnings to come as we go on, shit's getting dark babies]

[Summary: Loving husband sends wife on fun happy vacation with 19 of her whackiest friends! What Artemisian cult antics will they get into? Let's find out!]

(I haven't written any fanfiction in like 8 years so if this blows my bad lol. Also does anybody have a link to a guide explaining how to format fics to look all pretty? Either way let me know what you think lmk if you guys also want to throttle Aemond ily all)

Word Count: 4k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1:

You pulled your hoodie as low over your face as it could go, eyes downcast. Lowering your shaking hand, panic gripped your senses at a foreign touch. White-hot terror struck through you and in a second you reacted, shoving the reporter as hard as you could before retreating closer into the safety of the group. Dozens of simultaneous questions and journalists battered the haggard group as they boarded onto the plane. You kept your eyes low to the ground as your friends disappeared into the vehicle. Despite your overwhelming anxiety, you were glad for the first taste of civilization you had in nineteen months. As your hands seemed to shake beyond control and your throat clenched, you turned around. Your mind began to float somewhere safer. Having stepped up to board the plane, you got a clear view of the press gathered around. Flashes of vultures picking at the carcass of a bear overwhelmed you. The rot. The smell. The crowd. Everything burst forth at once in a scream that didn’t register as having come from your body. Disoriented, you came to when Sabitha pulled you in, muttering something about fucking harpies and guiding you to sit. A dark shade was cast over the plane, and the uncomfortable silence never broke. Curling into the seat, your body pulled your legs to your chest while your mind drifted off somewhere else.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The house was as cold and dead as it always felt whenever you came home. You didn’t want to let the austere environment get you down though. The semester was finally over, and your backbreaking work had culminated in graduating Summa Cum Laude at Barth University in King’s Landing. You had a few weeks off before your summer internship started. Thousands of hours in the labs finally culminated in Professor Gerardys recommending you for a summer research internship studying extremophiles in Antarcticos before you started at King’s University in the fall. You couldn’t wait until you were gone, and you knew your husband would feel the same. If you could truly call him that. The only reason the two of you married was so you could become a Westerosi citizen. Aemond as awful as he was would be the key to your future. His closest concept to a love language was sending some expensive gift as an afterthought. No sentiment, of course. This time in particular was strange though. He offered to send you and 19 of your friends to one of his family’s estates in the Vale. The estate itself was stunning, nestled into the Mountains of the Moon overlooking green valleys. Something about all of it just didn’t sit right with you. Some nagging voice whispering about a danger you couldn’t quantify. You weren’t naive, you knew that he only wanted you out of the house so he could have his girlfriend over the entire time you were gone. At this point, you just could not bring yourself to care. You led your life, and he his. A notification pulled you out of your thoughts, and you set your stuff down to go greet your girlfriend. You met Emerson a few weeks before your arrangement with Aemond was put in place. You didn’t pursue anything with her at first, wanting to give your marriage a genuine shot. After it became clear Aemond barely recognized you as a person, you two got involved. Wrapping your arms around her willowy frame, you nuzzled your head into the soft curve of Em’s neck. “I’m going to miss you.” you mumbled, coming up on your tiptoes to press your body further into hers.

“I know lovey, ‘m going to miss you too. I’m sorry I couldn’t get the time off.” Emerson said, drawing a small circle on your shoulder blade with her thumb, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Don’t be.” you murmured. “You tried.” The two of you lingered in each other’s grip for a few moments more, basking in the familiarity before you headed to your room to pack for the trip.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aemond poured out a finger of hundred year-old bourbon. He casually sipped on it, silently musing about his upcoming vacation. He was still working as per usual, but you would finally be out of his fucking hair for once. It wasn’t enough for you to marry him for citizenship or live in his house, it seemed you also wanted to be his best friend and have fucking pillow fights. Though you stopped intentionally bothering him you still just couldn’t help but annoy him. From making your stupid little coffees every morning, to obnoxiously loud facetimes to friends back home, incessant piano playing, purposely walking around the house in a t-shirt and panties like it was the most casual thing in the world. Even his cranky old cat loved you, sleeping in your bed as soon as he left his. At least with you gone he could have some peace of mind to finally get all the employee reports in before the bonuses were decided. Aemond finished his bourbon, still sober but a little less tense. He locked up his office for the night, nodding a goodbye at his secretary before heading to his car. The drive home was long, and he bristled as his phone connected to the bluetooth. My Chemical Romance blasted over the boosted speakers and he switched the song as quickly as he could. He only listened to it because you couldn’t stop blasting Middle Schoolcore in the shower. He finally came to settle on Paranoid by Black Sabbath. Pulling into the driveway, Aemond grimaced. Emerson’s car. No doubt the two of you would be cloying and obnoxious, oblivious to how irritating your little Hallmark act was. He turned his car off, but sat for a few minutes longer. Worries about work pressed on him until he noticed a twinge in his hand. A cramp from gripping the steering wheel as hard as humanly possible. He relaxed his grip and stepped out of the car, his teeth clenched as he walked in. He followed his routine to a T, pausing in his office when he heard the two lovebirds warbling at each other.

“I don’t know Em. I was excited earlier but I’ve just been getting a really bad feeling you know? Like something really bad is going to happen. And you know the last time I-” Y/N’s voice cracked and he stepped closer to the door. His blood pressure rose as he stalked closer, trying to catch as much as he could through the distance.

“Y/N, it’s okay. If you want to cancel the trip then just tell Aemond.” Emerson’s voice rang out confidently. Aemond’s blood boiled. Of course your stupid fucking girlfriend was telling you to blow off the trip like she paid for the bookings.

“Yeah but you know how he is. Any time there’s a problem the world just stops spinning on its axis.” came the soft reply from Y/N. A sharp chuckle came a second later from his wife’s girlfriend. Aemond could practically see the wry grin splitting her face. Clenching his fist, he burst out of the office into the kitchen where the two of them were talking over a bowl of pineapple. He glanced over Emerson– the taller of the two women– disinterestedly to focus his singular gaze on his wife.

“What were you two talking about?” His voice cracked out sharply, he wanted to feign indifference but that ship sailed. He watched the panicked look spread across Y’N’s face, something predatory curling deep in his gut at the doe eyed look. Her mouth moved as if she was thinking of multiple different answers all at the same time. He watched expectantly as she blinked for a second. The silence weighed heavily until she softly spoke.

“I don’t think I want to go to the Eyrie anymore.” Her tone wavered slightly at the end, clearly stumbling to find her nerve. Before he could interject her girlfriend piped up.

“Trip’s off.” Emerson’s tone was far more sure, and she locked her hazel eyes onto Aemond’s and set her jaw stubbornly. Y/N fidgeted with her hands lightly, looking not at all surprised when a low laugh erupts from Aemond.

“Everything is booked, and we can’t get our deposit back. You’re going.” The words hung in the air with a finality he thought was clear. Apparently the tone kicked something into gear, amusement bubbled up at the sneer pulling across your cute little face. This was going to be adorable.

“You could cancel and pay for this trip five times over and still not noti-” He refused to let you finish, putting up a hand as if shushing a noisy toddler.

“Why exactly?” He questioned, pulling his hands to clasp each other behind his back. He took half a step towards Y/N, relishing in the way she took half a step back. He watched Y/N’s face stiffen, before she lowered her gaze.

“I just have a really bad feel-” Again cutting her off, Aemond laughed. Relishing how small she looked after he started, he put up his hand again.

“So you want to cancel a trip I have spent thousands on because of a bad feeling.” He spat each word out with more venom than the last, before he spared a second glance to his wife, watching resignation fall over her face.

“Good talk.” You mumbled, keeping your head down and quickly exiting the kitchen. Aemond went to the bowl of pineapple and popped a piece in his mouth, chewing it while maintaining eye contact with Emerson who stood there a second longer. He didn’t need the last word, he had already won. Eventually she rolled her eyes and walked off too, muttering something to herself. Aemond simply grabbed the pineapple and returned to his office. He had work to do.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

‘Three years after her disappearance, two fishermen spotted her body floating on Lake Crescent. What they found was horrific. When taken to the medical examiner her flesh sloughed off in the same way Ivory soap woul-’

“Okay I know it’s literally in the name but this is getting pretty morbid.” You chimed, loading the last of your toiletries into your bag. Flipping the lid over, Emerson followed your silent cue and pressed down on the top of it while you zipped it shut.

“What’s morbid is you packing enough clothes for a month.” Emerson teased, tracing her fingers up your waist lightly enough to almost tickle. “Seriously, are you planning on pissing yourself repeatedly every day you’re there?” Digging her fingers into your flesh lightly, she pulled you in. You relished the feeling of her slender arms around you, and the cascade of her chestnut hair over them. “I know you’re nervous about this, but try to have as much fun as you can. If nothing else to spite Prince Zuko.” You couldn’t contain the laugh that rang out of you at that, you knew it was below the belt but you couldn’t help but lean into it just a little.

Covering your left eye you summoned the most grave expression you could muster. “I must capture the CEO position of Targaryen Tech to restore my honor.” You grumbled out as best you could, quickly giving way to giggles. “God how did we never see that until now?” You questioned, leaning your head back against Em as she kissed your forehead.

“Well, inspiration only strikes around my muse I guess.” She quipped, pulling you in tighter before you sighed. You wanted to stay in her arms like this, softly rocking back and forth to a rhythm that wasn’t playing in your bedroom forever. The pit of dread in your stomach only grew, and you squeezed the arm she held across your chest gently. Picking up on the cue, Emerson dropped her hand and turned to face you full on. Grasping your face in both her hands, she pressed a quick kiss to the tip of your nose. “I love you.” She whispered quietly, pressing her lips to yours for a sweet few seconds. “I found a website that lets me track your flight as it's happening. I know you probably won’t have wifi..” She trailed off. You smiled softly, leaning your cheek into her right hand.

“You’re the prettiest stalker I could ever hope to have.” You teased, watching Emerson fluster for a second before the realization that you were fucking with her dawned. You two finally split apart. The ride to the airport was quiet. The two of you kissed in the car before she helped take your suitcase and carry on out of the trunk. “Bringing bricks along to your mountain getaway.” She grumbled as the suitcase landed with a heavy thud. The tech who took your bags at the gate didn’t flinch at the weight. You took that as a silent victory over Emerson and boarded the plane, the gnawing fear taking deeper root in your gut. You sat near the middle of the plane at an aisle seat, you couldn’t explain why but something told you that you had to sit there. Suddenly aware that you probably look weird, you lock eyes with Sara and let out a relieved sigh. Before you could greet her, the blonde piped up.

“Your husband set all of this up?” She asked, gesturing to the rest of the cabin with a bewildered expression. When you nodded she whistled and let out a teasing “Thank you Mr. Targaryen.” She was quick to follow it up with “Does he have any brothers?” you held back a laugh at that. She and Aegon had been dating on and off for a few years now.

“It’s pretty much the only nice thing he’s done since we got married. I can definitely hook you up with his brother though.” Venting about Aemond felt freeing. Venting about Aemond on a plane that he was paying for was fucking cathartic.

“Strictly dickly, no dice.” Sara replied teasingly, her face contorting in an exaggerated frown.

“I’m sorry to hear about your condition.” You shot back, knowing that Sara wasn’t the type to take it to heart. She laughed again before awareness slowly crept across her face, by now she had to feel the anxiety radiating off of you. The others in the group had already started to pour into the plane. Most of your friends were already there, along with Baela’s creepy little sister and your in-laws. Jacaerys and Lucerys were both nice enough, Jace a bit reactive but not unkind. When they heard of the trip they had asked if they could join, and Aemond looked furious at the thought of them coming so naturally you extended an invitation.

“Nervous flier?” She asked, her brow softening as you paused for a second. “Here.” she said, grabbing your hand and dropping a small white tablet into it before you could give her an answer. “I swiped it from my Mom’s medicine cabinet. She has like a million,” Sara paused to shake her head, shifting her gaze from yours. “She won’t even notice it.” You nodded at her, understanding the full implication.

“My Mom is the same way.” You reassured her. Grabbing a water bottle and downing the pill you grimaced for a moment at the bitter taste.

“Almond mom?” You laughed sharply, nodding heartily as you passed her the water bottle. Sara popped the pill in her mouth before unscrewing the lid and downing some water with the pill.

“Oh my god yeah, always announcing to the world that she only sniffed half of a string cheese for breakfast.” Your eyes involuntarily rolled at the memory. Sara was one of few people who could make anything better with a little smalltalk. The valium certainly didn’t hurt either. Eventually the chatter dies down between the two of you, and you both sleep deeply in your respective aisle seats.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

When the chat bubble popped up in the upper-right corner of his computer for the third time, Aemond started to grind his teeth.

‘this is important jackass’

‘its emerson’

‘theres something wrong with the flight’

Aemond exhaled sharply, taking a sip of black coffee and failing to hide his annoyance at the messages. He kept working, it was just like her to be dramatic about nothing. He didn’t have time to deal with her theatrics. Aemond left his phone on his desk and went to his morning meetings. They droned on, and the more his half-sister spouted off business terms she didn’t fully understand the more his mind wandered to Y/N. Had he been too harsh in his dismissal? Did it even matter? You weren’t actually his wife. The only thing that connected the two of you was a legal agreement. Why should he spare your feelings when you weren’t even his? You didn’t even acknowledge him these days. His knuckles ached as he released a fist he kept clenched under the table. Flexing his hand he chimed in when appropriate, relaying the quarterly metrics. After the meetings finished he returned to his office, placing his fresh cup of coffee on his desk and grimacing at the notifications on his phone. As if she could sense his avoidance, that was the exact moment the call bubble popped up. Pressing accept, Aemond couldn’t even get his one-liner out before he heard Emerson’s panicked voice.

“They’re too far north!” Aemond paused in place for a second, awkwardly hovering over his desk, he never heard Emerson use anything less than a disdainful tone with him. He felt genuinely taken aback. “Did you hear me?” She demanded impatiently. There it is.

“They’re too far north.” He repeated dispassionately, taking a purposely loud slurp of coffee.

“Gods you’re so fucking.” Aemond smirked, practically hearing Emerson grind her teeth. If nothing else could be accomplished with this phone call at least he could make her day that much worse. You were fine, and that she was just pushing her drama off onto you again. He would wager she was the culprit behind your bad feeling at the very last moment. You needed somebody who wasn’t so tightly wound. Not like her. “200 fucking miles too far north Aemond!” The worry in her voice started to seep into him, before he shut it back out promptly. Now she was pushing her drama onto him.

“I’m sure it’s just a refueling issue or something.” He mused, his tone flat. This was apparently not good enough of an answer since Emerson let out an exasperated huff.

“So why would they be flying over fucking White Harbor when there’s a massive fucking airport in the Eyrie?? Seven hells use your fucking head something is wrong here.” Aemond found himself taking another sip of coffee, this one more of an act of discomfort than mockery. “You chartered the plane. Just call the fucking airline and see if they can get in touch with the pilots or something. If I turn out to be wrong you can make fun of me for it until the end of time. Just fucking call.” Aemond exhaled heavily, trying his best to convey annoyance. Suddenly glad for the barrier created by the cell phone, he kept his tone disinterested.

“If I get around to it.” Aemond clicked the end call button before Emerson could debate further. His hands ached, and he reached into his desk to grab a small remote. Pressing a button, a few of the windows in his office glided open. Placing the remote back and grabbing his pack of cigarettes and a lighter, Aemond leaned against the windowsill. Inhaling and savoring the sweet sweet taste of future cancer, he breathed it all out into the streets of King’s Landing. The cigarette helped let off some of the tension, but he mentally cursed Emerson for the worry she instilled in him. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he texted Alys.

‘1845. My place.’

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You dreamt of Aemond. You hated it, but you did. Ignoring him gave you a sense of control, but it also stoked the lingering worry that you did it because you didn’t want him to leave you alone. He was yelling again, while you cried tears that grew into little bundles of holly. Aemond grew angrier, shaking you half feral. Suddenly his body pressed upon you so hard you wheezed, an aching in your head as you felt your eyeballs press into your skull. You felt like bricks were being piled atop you for a few more agonizing moments before you inhaled sharply, your mind starting to waver in and out of consciousness. His eye locked onto yours, and he lifted the eyepatch above his missing left eye to reveal a triangular symbol. You started to register a rattling noise, and Aemond shook you harder, yelling about how you no longer belonged. You wavered between your conversation and bleary eyesight. Displeased at this, your husband gripped you as tightly as he could, his arms placing a crushing weight on your waist.

“If you won’t listen.” He said, his violet eye blazing as he moved to grab your face. In his other hand he held a gag, and you resisted as much as you could. Finding yourself unable to speak or move, you mumbled “Get off.” weak as a kitten. Aemond didn’t relent, placing the muzzle on you.

When the cold plastic finally sat against your face you came to. The rattling noise from your dream grew to a deafening roar, and the warning bells started to flare in your drug-addled brain. Your father was a test pilot for the Lysene Navy and had taken you flying in his Cessna whenever he was stateside. The rocking of loose baggage against the overhead containers was too hard, and the dips of the plane too steep. Klaxons sounded and you foggily tried to recall what the individual sounds meant. The nose. As if on cue, your blurry line of sight dipped about 20 degrees and up even more. Somebody behind you screamed at the last dip. You watched as the figure you hazily recognized as Laenor Velaryon held on to the seat ahead of him as best he could. He snapped a mask over the sleeping Floris, grabbed ahold of the armrest and tried to propel himself back into the aisle. That was the exact moment that your line of sight tips back up, before dipping back down again at a steep enough angle that it sent your eyes painfully digging into the sockets again. Your eyesight blurred once more, only to clear just in time to see the drink cart slam against the emergency exit. A grinding noise soon echoed in your ears as the upper left wall of the plane tore open and off. The wind howled and tore at any exposed skin it could. You could only watch in dazed horror as Laenor was sucked out of the plane to wherever he would land. Your senses started to return to you as adrenaline kicked in. Making a conscious move to control your breath, you tried to remember everything your father had told you. When the pressure weighing on your chest abated enough that you could move, you raised the shade of the window to look out. Your throat dried instantly as you saw the tops of pine trees scraping against the wings of the plane. The terror at the realization that you had slept through most of this crash was quickly dawning on you, as was the realization that the plane was still coming down too fast. As the screeching engine rocked you to the point of vertigo, you remembered your father’s words.

‘Put your mask on. Stay calm. Cover your head and lean forward.’ You obeyed his commands, trying to fight off the last of the valium lingering in your mind. You knew you needed to remember everything he had told you. Your fingers dug into the nape of your neck hard enough to break the skin. You shut out the panicked sounds of screams around you. As the sensation of pain registered, one last thought came before blackness enveloped you.

It’s been waiting for us.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #hotd x reader #aemond fic #hotd imagine #aemond x reader

66 notes · View notes

edsforehead · 11 months

Text

November fic rec list

Better late than never? Lol. I never made a fic rec list for November and it’s always bothered me. So here it is. Some of my fav fics for Eddie Munson, JQ’s other roles, and potentially some other ST characters. 🔥smut 🗡angst ☁️fluff 🕷️dark

MULTI PART FICS Weedman (Part 1 | Part 2) ☁️ by @bewilderedbunny Rumours (Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 )(older!eddie) by @msgexymunson Too cool to admit it(Sadist!Eddie x Masochist!reader) by @carolmunson Sorry I missed you(friends to lovers) by @mantorokk-writes June baby by @luveline Camera shy(camboy!eddie x reader) (Part 1 | Part 2) by @pedgito You’re being mean(mean!dom!eddie) by @pxrxcxa Cruel little vixen(rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader) by @honey-flustered Anywhere but here(rockstar!eddie x band manager!reader) by @thefreakymunson Things that go bump in the night (Part 1 | Part 2) 🕷️ by @sadboyeddie Summoning(Demon!Eddie) by @lokis-army-77 Daddy and pricess by @quinnsmunson

ONE SHOTS Shy boy, my boy(shy!Eddie) ☁️ by @usedtobecooler Calling Eddie baby cow eyes by ☁️ @pedgito First snow (friends to lovers) ☁️🔥 by /gatheredmoss First frost (friends to lovers)☁️ by /gatheredmoss Make it big 🔥 by @corrodedhawkins I hear you knocking 🔥 by @heavenbarnes Kitten licks ☁️ by @corroded-hellfire Mean!Eddie(hatefucking) 🔥 by @pedgito Mommy issues 🗡☁️ by @corroded-hellfire Time can’t stop me(quite like you did) 🗡 /gatheredmoss Sleepover 🔥 by @ladyfogg Eddie bumps into his long-time crush 🔥☁️ by @munson-blurbs Embarrasing:Eddie’s mistake(virgin!eddie x emerson!reader) 🔥☁️ by @boomhauer Simple rules(Dad!Eddie x teacher!reader) ☁️ by @pedgito Green is the color(Jealous!Eddie) ☁️ by @punk-in-docs Older!professor!reader x student!eddie 🔥 by @mypoisonedvine Dangerous encounter by 🕷️🔥 @jazzycurls Meant to be🕷️🔥 @jazzycurls Dark!violent!protective!Eddie 🕷️🔥 by @ceriseheaven CNC with knife play 🕷️🔥by @corrodedhawkins

DRABBLES/BLURBS/ETC Eddie in tiny basketball shorts ☁️🔥 by @pedgito Sleepy morning sex with Eddie 🔥 by @chainsawmunson Truth or dare 🔥 by @pinkrelish Watch you(eddie x autistic!reader) 🔥 by @mantorokk-writes Sucking Eddie’s cock 🔥 by @wndalovebot Kidnapper!Eddie 🕷️ by @elliewlums Perv!Eddie x Perv!Steve x reader x readers friend ☁️ by @newlips Reader thinks Eddie stands them up 🗡☁️ by @munson-blurbs Like real people do 🔥☁️ by @augustslippedavvay Perv!Eddie(thigh fucking) 🔥 by @newlips Free use 🔥 by @elliewlums Unforgiving(ghostface!Eddie) 🕷️🔥 by @the-queen-of-hell-666 Rockstar!Eddie thots (piss kink mention) 🔥 by @mouthfullofmunson Wayne seeing he raise eddie right(eddie x reader) ☁️ by @munson-blurbs Eddie comes home from a gig ☁️ by @pullhisteeth You call Eddie husband as a joke ☁️ by @marianita195 Dacryphilia 🔥 by @pedgito Eddie plays a new song ☁️ by @eddies-ashtray Can’t you see that you’re hurting me? 🗡☁️ by @sweetpeamunson Perv!eddie x innocent!reader 🕷️🔥 by @quinnsmunson Rockstar!eddie x rockstar!reader(rivals) by @luveline Trapped head inside a small, tin box 🔥by @chaseadrian Rockstar!kindasubby?!Eddie x anxious!jealous!reader 🔥🗡 by @hard-candy-writing Gross!perv!eddie 🔥 by @mypoisonedvine Phone sex/video sex with modern!Eddie 🔥by @poppy-metal Kate 🔥by @deadboyfriendd

NON EDDIE FICS Long hot summer (ralph penbury x reader) 🔥 by @usedtobecooler Billy knight x reader 🔥 by @usedtobecooler Billy knight x roommate!reader 🔥 by @mypoisonedvine

#fic recs

104 notes · View notes

romerona · 10 months

Text

Avoided.

ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀʏɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ꜰɪɴᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ɪᴛ ꜰɪɴᴅꜱ ʏᴏᴜ. ꜰᴏʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴇᴍᴇʀꜱᴏɴ, ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ꜰɪɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ, ɪᴛ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ꜱᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴄᴋᴇᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴏꜰꜰ ʜᴇʀ ꜰᴇᴇᴛ… ʟɪᴛᴇʀᴀʟʟʏ.

Harry James Potter x OC

Marauders alive. Wolfstar.

Masterlist.

---------------------------

When her eyes opened, all Love could see was bricked ceiling, she focus on a single brick, it bother her, it was the only brick crocked, and tilted, messing up the symmetrical formation of the ceiling. Her focus then was snatched by the dull throb in her head and face, it wasn't exactly painful, but it was bothersome, like a nagging itch she couldn't reach. And who the hell was talking?

"For Rowena's sake, put those potions away."

"Uhm No? I'm trying to figure out which one I can throw at Potter without going to Azkaban."

"Say it louder, why don't you? His sodding uncle is somewhere in the room chatting with Madam Pomfrey, Padma. And not to mention, his father's an Auror for the Ministry, your arse would be in jail before you even throw the potion at his son, who is one of the most famous people in bloody Britain, mind you."

"Worth a shot... Hey Emma, if I ever get arrested would you speak for me at the Wizengamot?"

"No."

"...Rude, I would do it for you, twat."

"Y'know how I feel about the Ministry and Aurors. They are a corrupt organization that–"

"Only seek power for themselves and never let the public know what is going on unless it benefits them."

"Well, they are, I mean look at the Pettigrew situation, I bet my life that the Ministry kept it a secret until they realize they weren't getting anywhere near capturing Pettigrew again, that's bloody wrong, that murderer has been out and about for Merlin knows how long before they told us anything, risking our lives and for what?"

"Have you stopped and thought that perhaps they didn't want to tell us to keep the masses calm?"

"That's the thing, Padma, the Ministry can't just simply decide what it is going to do in secrecy and later on present it to the people, things can go wrong very quickly. And don't even let me get started on the people who run it, or are actively part of it..."

"Yeah, I'll give you that one. Some higher-ups need a full investigation, starting with Malfoy."

"Ugh, I can't believe they let someone like him be part of it–"

"Shut up, my head hurts." Love mumbled, her eyes closing as she feels her brain aching, she reckons is because of the discussion her friends were having about politics, of all things.

"Love!!" Both her friends exclaimed, jolting up from wherever they were and coming next to her, each on either side of her.

"Rowena Love, you gave us a right scare," Padma said, looking down at her a frown on her face, her mouth stretched on a small grin.

Love looks between her friends, slowly trying to seat up "Sorry?"

"A sorry doesn't cut it, it was irritating," Emma huffs, pursing his lips in indignation, but the crease on her eyebrows was giving away how actually worried he was for her. "And stop moving so much, wait for Madam Pomfrey before something else happens to you because you were careless."

"Oh relax Emma, it's not like it's her fault she's here," Padma says, rolling her eyes at the boy in front of her.

Love blinks, a frown making its way to her face as she tries to recall how she manages to get- which she guesses now- the Hospital Wing yet coming up with no answer, last she remembers was sitting on the fountain with Emma and Padma and then... Harry Potter walked up to her, didn't he? He gave her something...?

"What happened?" Love asks, ignoring Emma's protest as she seats up and leans against the bedframe.

Before either could answer Madam Pomfrey came out of her office with Professor Lupin in tow, both coming up to her.

"Ah, Miss Emerson, glad you're awake," Said the old healer when she realize Love was moving again. Padma and Emmanuel move out of her way as she approaches the bed and began to examine her nose, and when she was satisfied her head. "Anything hurts? Nausea?"

"I just have a slight headache, that's all," Love told her giving her a lip-tight smile.

"Does she has a concussion?" Emma asks sheepishly looking between Love and Madam Pomfrey.

"I believe she does." Madam Pormfrey nods, leaning back. "You receive quite the hit, Miss Emerson, but thankfully it was nothing serious, I believe a Pepperup Potion would do the trick with that headache,"

With a flick of her wand, Madam Pomfrey summons the vial of potion and hands it to her. "Drink this wait a few minutes and then you are free to go, however, if at any point you feel nausea or get another headache come right away, is that clear?"

"Crystal, thank you, Madam Pomfrey." Love sends her a grateful smile.

The old healer left without a moment to spare, leaving four people behind, making Love aware of the presence of the fourth member of the small group, Professor Lupin who was giving Love a sympathetic smile as she drank the potion.

"How are you feeling, Miss Emerson?" He asks.

Love sends him a smile, trying to ignore the faint flutter in her stomach for having the attention of the handsome professor and the embarrassment of having steam blowing out of her ears as that happens. "Fine... just a little confused about what happened?"

Professor Lupin's smile turns into a subtle grimace, "Right, about that..."

"Long story short, the boy who lived knocked you out," Padma spoke, interrupting the professor and making Love snap her head in her direction.

Love blinks, "I'm sorry, what?"

"Yep, out cold but that was after he broke your nose." Padma let out a chuckle.

"For Rowena's– Padma!" Emma scolded the girl, a disapproving frown on his face.

Padma rolls her eyes, yet the smile was still present. "Did he not?"

"Yes but have more tact about it, stop laughing."

"Wait wait," Love waves her hands, looking confused, "How did all that happen?"

Emma purses his lips, tilting his head "Well, actually I'm quite confused myself..."

"It all happened so fast, Love, you wouldn't believe it," Padma snickers for a moment too long making Emmanuel push her arm with a pointed look. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry but you've to admit it was pretty funny."

Emma stares at Padma for a second before looking away, a grin forming on his face before his shoulders began to shake with a silent laugh, making Padma snort once again all the while Love and Professor Remus watch them burst into laughter. Love was dumbfounded that her friends were laughing at her or her expanse yet not surprised, she glance at Lupin who had a hand over his mouth, shaking his head, he looked amused? Or maybe he was cringing? One of the two, Love couldn't decide.

"Sure, yeah I know my pain amuses you, but when you lot stop laughing at me can you please answer my bloody question?" Love huffs, crossing her arms.

"Oh, Love we are not laughing at you," Padma said, ceasing her laugh.

"You're not?"

"No, we are uh– " Emmanuel rolls his eyes, he glances at the professor before stopping his laugh altogether.

"Potter, we are laughing about Potter." Padma turns to the professor, who has now his arms crossed, letting his arms look toned under his shirt. Christ all mighty, isn't he so handsome? "Sorry, but it was funny, sir."

Lupin waves a hand dismissively, a small grin on his scarred handsome face. "No, no I can... I understand," He turned his chocolate eyes towards her which shinned with sincerity. "However, I do hope you know it was an accident, Love. Harry would never do that on purpose."

"I know..." Love trails off, "I mean, I don't know him but he doesn't seem like the type to knock someone out for a laugh, but none of you has answered my question as to how did that happen?" She looks between them in expectation.

"More like what didn't happen," Emmanuel mumbled sharing a look with Padma.

That afternoon Love came to find out that conversing with the famous Harry Potter could lead to possible injuries, for not even a five-minute conversation of him fundamentally giving her beloved journal back led her to a visit to the hospital wing. Love, despite it all, not only thought it was funny but she felt thankful for the boy, If it hadn't been for him, who knows when she would have found the journal, maybe she wouldn't have been able to, so, she decided then that she should thank him for giving her her journal back the next time she sees him.

Easier said than done...

The next day, Love woke up good as new, with no headache, no dull pain, no nothing, all thanks to Madam Pomfrey and her abilities, not that Love ever her skills. She almost forgot it happen if it weren't for the people asking about it.

"Is it true?" Cho Chang asks, sitting next to Love at the Ravenclaw table.

It was the next morning, Emmanuel, Love and Padam were sitting at their table in the Great Hall when Cho came up to her like a few people had done already and asked her about the incident.

"Yes," Love mumbled as she drink her pumpkin juice. "But I'm fine."

"That's good. Y'know, I barely believed Marie told me that you got knocked out, and by Harry Potter no less." The older Ravenclaw said, helping herself a serving of eggs.

Love hums, and shrugs. "Yeah, well, as much as I appreciate the headache, I know It was an accident,"

"I sure hope it was, it sounded horrid, that did," Cho said, nudging Love slightly.

"What did Marietta tell you about how it happened?" Padma asks, entering their conversation smoothly.

Cho turns to her, "That Harry came up to her, headbutt her and then pushed her into the fountain where you apparently cut your skull open," She sends Love's head a look, "But I know she has the tendency to exaggerate, so I know it wasn't that bad."

"It wasn't," Love deadpanned, "This is how rumours start, the next thing you know I've been cursed to death."

Padma chuckles, shaking her head in amusement. "But In a way, Potter did all that, though."

"Stop it," Love sighed sending her friend a look, her eyes subconsciously travelling to the red and golden table, searching for the boy with untidy black hair, yet no matter how much she look for him, he wasn't there. She must have missed him or perhaps he already left.

"Let's chat about something else," Love interrupted Padma mid-explanation about how she felt in the fountain.

Padma scoffs, leaning back to look at Love. "Like what? There's nothing as interesting as your concussion right now."

Cho giggles at the glare Love sends Padma, she reaches out and wraps an arm around Love soothing her. "What would you like to chat about, my mucker?"

"Dunno," Love shrugs, nursing the last of her cereal as a random thought pops up. "When does Quidditch season starts?"

"Two weeks into November," Emmanuel answered glancing quickly at the girls, the first time he spoke since Cho joined them.

"Bloody hell, it's just around the corner." Cho sighs, rubbing her forehead. "No wonder why Davis is forcing us to wake up at dawn."

Cho was also part of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, she plays as the seeker, and is pretty skilled too.

Padma scoffs, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "No, it's not, Davis is just being dramatic, we play on the second game, and there's plenty of time to practice."

"Better be well prepared, and we have it easy compared to some teams, " Said Cho, sending a look at the Slytherin table. "I heard Flint is making his team practice on our to end with no breaks and don't even get me started on Woods..."

Padma and Cho then began to discuss their team's practice management, Emma piped up a few times and Love had little interest in that so she stayed quiet for the most part, she was just glad she managed to change the subject successfully. Love took another glance at the Gryffindor table to no avail, Harry Potter wasn't there, however, his friend, Ron Weasley, she believes his name is, was eating away a pile of sausages and Hermione, who was pocketing a pastry into her satchel.

Odd, maybe she can catch Harry some other time.

Soon enough the bell rang and Love, Padma and Emmanuel were making their way to their first class of the day, charms, dodging running students and those who didn't watch where they were walking. Once in class, as Love was making her way to her usual seat, Professor Flitwick's high pitch voice called for her. Turning, Love made her way to his desk where he was standing on a couple of books to see her.

"Hello, Sir." Love greeted, sending the head of her house a smile.

Flitwick returns the smile. "Miss Emerson, I heard you were sent to the Hospital Wing yesterday, is everything well now?"

Love purses her lips, a bit annoyed that even the professors knew about what happened because as much as she found it slightly amusing at first it was beginning to get a bit embarrassing, the thought that maybe a good quarter of Hogwarts population saw her like that and most of them were whispering about it was distressing.

"Just a little bump in the head sir, nothing Madam Pomfrey couldn't fix." Love answered, trying her best to look as unaffected as possible.

"Good good." Said Flitwick, nodding his head in satisfaction. "I was concerned when I heard you were unconscious,"

Love's smile became sincere, she was touched by her professor's concern. "It's all well now, sir."

"And I am glad that is. Now, you tell me if you feel faint or anything, understand?" Flitwick told her, giving her a pointed look with warm eyes.

"Of course, thank you, sir," Love told him, she went to turn but he called her again.

Flitwick wave his wand, although it was more like a quick twitch and cupcake settle in front of Love, dancing in her direction. He nudge the pastry with his head but he didn't say anything just smiled at her. Love mirrored his smile taking the dancing cake, "Thank you, sir."

She then went to the seat next to Emmanuel, who already had all his books, quills and ink out. He send her a look when she slid down on her seat.

"Professor Flitwick gave you a cupcake?"

Love beams and nods as she places the pastry on the table to get her books out.

"For what?"

Before Love could answer, Padma piped in from Emma's other side, popping her head to look at Love. "What do you mean 'for what'? Obviously, because she got half beat up, genius."

"Really?" Emma huffs, crossing his arms. "A sympathy cupcake?"

"Pretty much," Love confirms, nodding her head.

Padma groans, pouting at the cupcake. "I wish I could get one,"

"Well, I can always hex you into oblivion, if you want." Love teases with a grin.

"Ha. Ha, very funny, but jokes on you, I win either way, because not only will you get detention but I'll get a cupcake" Padma told her, pushing the side of Emma to make his shoulder hit Love's.

"Oi, you sod." Emma huffs, fixing himself. "This dolt is right Love, instead of getting detention we should call Harry Potter, perchance he could do us a favour and knock this one out too."

Padma began to giggle, as well as Love. "That's awful."

"Come to think of it, he must be mortified," Padma told them, resting her elbows on the table. "He went from flirter to assailant, real quick."

"Flirter?" Love parroted confused.

Before she could ask Padma to elaborate, the class began and Love decided to forget about it and concentrate on the lesson. They were learning Carpe Retractum Spell, in other words, the seize and pull charm; a charm that produced a magical, retractable cord of light, that could be used to pull objects towards the caster, or, if the target was fixed in place, to pull the caster towards the target, according to her textbook.

The class was watching as Flitwick cast the charm, Carpe Retratum, on a pot of flowers, and the pot flew towards him for him to easily catch. Flitwick began to explain the charm and how it worked, when it was the best time to cast it and what it should be cast on before prompting his students, one by one to go in front of the class and cast the charm. Love was able to get the charm right, although it took a bit of force from her to make the pot fly steady towards her.

Soon, the class came to an end, but just before the Ravenclaws could leave their head of house asked for the Hogsmeade permission forms, which most students were more than eager to give away like Love and Emma but others, like Padma, who didn't have it with them at the moment were being told they can give it to him before Halloween day, which was in a few days.

"I know I sound like a broken record but I can't wait, I have the jitters and shit," Padma said as they were walking to their next class, Herbology.

Love nodded, chuckling with a smile stretching on her face. "Me neither, there are so many things I want to do, like go to Honeyducks..."

"Oh, my days, Honeyduck is not going to be ready for what's coming, I am going to raid that store."

"And the Shrieking Shack," Emmanuel added.

Padma made a sound from the back of her throat that sounded hesitant, "I'm not a fan of getting chased by malevolent spirits,"

"That's just a stupid rumour, Padma." Emma scoffs, turning towards her.

Padma shrugged, holding her hands up innocently. "I dunno that, but I'll rather not risk it. I don't play with that stuff."

"Oh, come on, Paddy, It can't be that bad, " Love nudges the girl with her shoulder, "Think about it if it really were evil spirits there do you think it students would visit it?"

"Because some people are pretty bloody stupid... but I'll do it if you do it." Padma sighs, defeated.

Love smiles, and intertwined her arm with hers and then with Emma's, who grunted but didn't move away. "It's going to be fun."

🤍

Days later, Love found herself walking towards owlery with several letters in her hand, she wanted to send them to her family, one letter for her mum, one for her mami, one for Tara, one for Kiara and one for Ezra. It might seem excessive but Love since her first year has done it this way, and it stayed that way, in a way it cure her homesickness.

As she was making her way through the halls of the school, thinking to herself that maybe it was time to invest in a pet owl, (sure, Padma usually urges her to use hers, Akash, but Love always declines, one never knows when something urgent happens to her or Parvati and she needs to send her parents a letter) when Love thought she caught a glimpse of Harry Potter, making a halt on her steps to focus her sight, she tries to search for the messy hair among the people once again but fails to find it, she only founds a taller and older version of him, it was undoubtedly his father, James Potter, looking confused.

"Cabron." She mumbles under her breath before continuing to walk.

Love never thought in her years of life that she'll have so much trouble getting in close proximity to someone. Since that day of the accident, Harry Potter has been avoiding her like a plague, it was getting ridiculous, even in the classes they shared, like Defense Against the Dark Arts, he made sure to sit the farthest away from where she is and is the first out the door as soon as the bell rings, she even caught him turning around when she was walking on his direction yesterday and speed-walk away. It was truly absurd, anyone who didn't know better would think Love was the one who kayoed him.

However, she wasn't giving up, call her stubborn but it hasn't even been a week, besides, her mothers always thought her to say thank you when needed, and she felt like she needed to thank him. She'll give it another week, if he keeps dodging her then she'll just send him a letter through Hermione or something.

Climbing the dreaded steps of the west tower, Love finally arrived at the owlery, cursing herself for forgetting her robes when she entered the owlery, for the circular room was rather chilly due to the lack of glass on the plethora of windows on the tower. She quickly went to find a school owl, trying not to cringe when she accidentally stepped on the bone of a mouse and they crunch under her shoe, picking a grey barn owl with big black eyes. Love fed him some of the peanuts Padma gives Akash before giving it to the letters, muttering her home address.

Love pats the owl on the head as it nips the last of the peanuts. "Thank you,"

"Pretty owl," A voice suddenly said, making Love jolt out of her skin with a gasp. She snapped her head to the owner of the voice, startled and found a familiar Hufflepuff boy, it was Ernie Macmillan, the blonde was awkwardly standing near the exit, with his hands tucked in the trousers pockets.

"Bloody Rowena, you scare the living magic out of me," Love breaths out, holding a hand to her heart.

Ernie's round cheeks began to change colour, from pale to crimson, "I'm sorry, It wasn't my intention to startle you."

"It's fine," Love lets out a breathy chuckle, trying to get her heart to beat normally again, "You just caught me by surprise, that's all."

"Right," Ernie nodded, he bit his lips and stayed quiet making Love think he was done speaking, so she turned back to the owl as it soared out of the tower with the letters clutched on its peak.

"You have a pretty owl,"

Erinies words made her turn from the window to where he was still standing at the entrance, Love huffs a laugh, shaking her head. "That's one of the school's owls, I don't own any... though I probably should,"

"Oh, yes, well, it'll make your life easier, I supposed," Ernie said, walking into the cold owlery. "I mean, I wouldn't know really, I've never used the school's owl before, I do own an owl, a Long-eared owl,"

Love hums, she nodded in acknowledgement, "Nice... though, I can't say I know much about owls to know anything about them."

"My owl it's really impressive, she's one of the fastest birds there is, not to mention her hunting ability, truly, my owl is of the top three most elegant owls in Hogwarts." The boy proudly praises his owl, Love even notices a change in his chest, a puff that wasn't there before.

"Woah, your owl sounds cool, is she here?" Love asks, looking at the many owls on the walls.

Ernie's puff chest deflated a bit, he purses his lips. "Eh- not- not right now, I sent her away this morning."

"Oh," Love blinks, a bit confused. "Then... why are you here?"

Ernie glances at the owl-dropping covered floor, away from her as his cheeks turn crimson once again, "I, well, I saw you in the hallway and I wanted to speak with you,"

"Me? Why?" Love asks, frowning in confusion, wrapping her arms around herself as a gush of chilly air pass through the windows of the tower.

She's confused as to why he followed her all the way here, last she remembers she hasn't spoken to him in a few weeks, what did they talk about? Hell, she couldn't remember but it must have been important if he climb all those stairs to talk to her.

"I heard what happen, with Potter..." Ernie told her, switching his weight between his legs.

Love frowns deepened, is that what he needed to talk to me about? "Yeah... but I'm alright now."

"It must have been awful,"

"It was an accident," Love bit her lips. Ernie was shifting nervously on his feet, and it was making her anxious. "Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?"

Ernie shook his head fervently, turning redder than before "No, no, I just wanted to– to erm... are you going to Hogsmeade and would you like to go with me?"

Love felt the anxiety Ernie was subconsciously sending her skyrocket at the question that left his mouth. Suddenly, she remembers the talk she had with Hanna Abbot in transfiguration class weeks ago.

"I..." Love gulped down her anxiety, she hadn't thought about it, with everything that has happen it skipped her mind and now she has to make a quick decision, "I was planning on going with Padma and Emmanuel,"

"But you are always with them, if you tell them you're going on a date they'll understand, surely," Ernie persists, taking a few steps towards her yet keeping space between them.

Love bit her lips, glancing away. She liked Ernie, he was nice, she knows he was smart and cute, and all the interactions she has had with him were pleasant enough, still, she hardly knows him, which is why this is so surprising for her, and stressing at the same time. She didn't want him to feel rejected but she didn't want to accept his invitation either.

"Well, I- I supposed they could but–" Before she could finish her thought, Ernie took another step towards her, making her feel slightly trapped.

"Is that a yes?" He asks with a large smile stretching on his face.

Before Love realize it, her head was moving, in a short series of up and down. She was nodding, "Why not? It could be fun."

And it could be, right? She should give it a go.

"Great, that's excellent." Ernie's smile was large, and Love almost could see all his teeth, he took the last steps closer to her and grabbed her hand which compared to his, was frozen but Ernie didn't seem to notice. "We should meet at the entrance, that is where McGonagall is going to take us to the village."

"Sure, yeah... okie-dokie." Love chuckles awkwardly, now she was the one shifting on her feet.

Ernie nodded, letting go of her hand. "Grand!! Well, I'll see you then,"

"In a while crocodile," Love hold her thumbs up as he left the tower.

When she knew he was no longer in hearing distance, Love sighs loudly, closing her eyes, and running a hand over her face, "Why did I just say no?" She slaps her forehead repeatedly, "Why? Why? Why?" She then groans. "In a while crocodile? Thumbs up? For fucks sake what's wrong with me?"

🤍

Harry Potter has a gift, and no, it's not his innate magic or his Quidditch skills, or even his talent with Wizarding chest which may not be as great as Ron's or his mother it was still respectable, no, none of that was his gift, nothing but his ability for things to always somehow go wrong for him, for bad things to happen.

It is a proven theory now, is it not?

First year, the year where he has supposed to make friends, get to know Hogwarts, and cause mischief because why not? Harry got caught up with the philosopher stone mess, almost got eaten, asphyxiate by plants, was attacked by giant pieces of chess and faced Voldemort for the first– or well, the second time in his life. Second year, once again he was supposed to make friends, focus on Quidditch and his studies, and cause some actual mischief, all that got thrown away the moment he talked to that sodding snake, and everyone thought he was the Slytherin heir, not to mention he yet again was closed to being eaten alive and face Voldemort for a third time, a younger version of him but still. Now, this year didn't start the best, not when the man who sold his parents to Voldemort escaped the unescapable prison, but nevertheless, Harry didn't let that stop him, he still wanted to have a peaceful year, go to Hogsmeade with the friends he managed to make, finally win the Quidditch cup, now that his uncle was here perhaps apply himself more when it comes to his studies, and if it all went well, ask Love Emerson on a date... but like aforementioned, he has a knack for things to never happen the way he wanted them to.

But how- in merlin's name- was it possible for things to go so flipping badly?

There he was, talking to his long-time crush, she was smiling at him, actually smiling at him, talking to him, laughing with him and then, before he knew it, Harry went and knocked her out. And if that's not the worst thing that could have happened, half of Hogwarts knew about it too, and they were whispering, which is something Harry was used to at this point of his life, however, this time was way worst. Those whispers were serving as a reminder of what he had done, not that he could ever forget about it, it's not every day you broke the girl you fancy nose or get her unconscious.

"Harry, mate can you lend me a quill?" Ron asks, looking down at his damaged quill. "I left my good one back in our room... Harry?"

Ron turn his head to the side, where his best friend was supposed to be sitting doing his charms essay, only to find an empty space making him frown.

"Oh honestly," Hermione mumbled as Harry came up from under the table, glancing about before seating on his former chair, ignoring Hermione's statement.

Ron looks at him perplexed, yet not surprised. "What in Godric's name are you doing?"

"I just thought I saw..." Harry didn't need to finish, both his friends knew who he was speaking about.

"Emerson?" Ron scoffs, shaking his head, "Mate, we already scour the library. She's not here."

They were sitting at a table near the back of the library, almost hidden but still present, per Harry's request. They were writing their charms essay about the Carpe Retractum Spell for their next class.

Hermione sighs, her eyes leaving the pages of the book to Harry. "You need to stop avoiding her, Harry."

"And say what?" It's been almost a week since the incident and all Harry has done is avoid her, because how is he supposed to face her now? "I doubt she wants me anywhere near her now, anyways."

"You can start with an apology, have you done that yet?" Hermione told him, sending him a look.

Harry groans, head falling on the table and shakes it. He couldn't face her. So much for a Gryffindor's bravery, huh?

"Reckon he's afraid next time he speaks with her he'll end up giving her a shinner," Ron mutters, sniffling a laugh.

"Ron!" Hermione scolds him while Harry hit his head on the table.

"Sorry Harry, but It was horrible but funny to watch," Ron said, chuckling softly.

Hermione rolled her eyes and turns to Harry, a sympathetic gaze in her eyes. "Harry, I really think you should talk to her, I am sure she knows it was an accident."

"Hermione, I can't—"

"Yes, you can." Hermione interrupted Harry, "Just go up to her and apologize, simple as that,"

Harry scoffs a humourless laugh, lifting his head to look at her. "Last time I went up to her she ended up in the Hospital Wing. I don't fancy a repetition of that."

Ron snorted again, taking Harry's quill for his use.

"It's very unlikely that it happens again," Hermione said, trying to reason with him.

"Yeah, well, I'll rather not risk it." Said Harry, shaking his head.

"But–"

"Leave it, Hermione. I don't want to talk about it anymore."

Hermione pursed her lips, it was obvious she has something to say but she respected his wishes and said nothing. She turns back to her essay.

"Come of it, mate, this will blow over soon enough," Ron told him, nudging his shoulder in comfort.

Harry nodded in acknowledgement of his words, yet said nothing. It won't blow over any time soon, at least not for him. He will be mortified by it for the rest of his life.

A/N: Hope you enjoy it. Tell me what you think about it.

53 notes · View notes

lonesome-witching · 11 months

Text

You Spoil Me, Robin Buckley

Short and sweet. The prompt read 'Robin spoils Nancy' so I tried to make that happen. I'm not sure if this entirely fit the prompt so as always if it didn't let me know.

Prompts are currently closed but will reopen in 2 days!! On Friday!! I can't wait to get back to prompts. Until then feel free to check out my previous prompts or my ao3.

Robin was born poor. Her parents had barely been able to pay for their small bungalow at the edge of town. They had been living out of the trunk of their car until her mom got pregnant with her. She had grown up with second hand clothes and an old bike of her mother’s that her grandparents had dropped off. Whenever she wanted a shiny toy, her parents had given her that sad smile before shaking their head. Sometimes they’d buy a second hand replica a few months later to make up for it but even that was rare.

And maybe her parents were supposed to make up for it by giving her more attention and love. But Robin had grown up poor in that department too.

So Robin had moved out after her senior year of high school. She had followed Nancy Wheeler like a lost puppy all the way to Emerson where she studied on a scholarship. She took a part time job in the local video store, Steve had written her a recommendation, and she saved as much of the money as she could. She spent her free time hanging out with Nancy until her cheeks ached from her smile. And then Nancy Wheeler, prissy perfect Nancy Wheeler, had leaned in and kissed her lips. Softly as first. More passionately the second Robin reciprocated.

Somehow that had been enough to build their romantic relationship. Nancy had always been the one to pay for dates. Always been the one to grab her wallet before Robin realized what was going on.

They had moved into a small apartment right outside of campus during their junior year. Robin chipped in for the rent as much as Nancy allowed her to, which wasn’t too much. So, Robin tried to find other ways to compensate.

She positioned the box prominently on the table. She’d picked out the engraved pen with meticulous care. The keys sliding in the keyhole warned Robin that her girlfriend had returned home. She quickly jumped on the couch, pretending to be busy.

“I might actually kill my professor.” Nancy greeted.

“What happened?”

“He made a damn fool of me in front of the entire-” Her voice stopped as she dropped her bag on the floor. “What is this?” Her eyes had locked onto the small black box.

“Just something.” Robin turned in her seat to look at the other girl.

“Robin, I told you you didn’t have to.”

“I know I don’t have to but I want to.” Robin tapped her hand against the headrest. “Open it.”

Nancy’s long, slender fingers gripped the box, lifting up the lid. “Oh my God.” She laughed, picking the pen up and looking it over. “You spoil me, Robin Buckley.”

“It’s nothing.” Robin smiled shyly.

“It’s everything.” Nancy walked over, pecking Robin’s lips. “You brightened my day. Just like when you got me that Blondie record.” Another soft kiss. “And the sweater I had picked out.” Another kiss. “And the lingerie set.”

“I’ll have to admit that was more a present for myself.” Robin interrupted, kissing Nancy herself.

“I think we both enjoyed that very much.” Nancy replied seductively. “Like I said, you spoil me.”

“You deserve it.”

#not my favorite one #prompts #ronance #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #my work #stranger things #fanfic #robin x nancy #nancy x robin #ronance fic #very short #very sweet

59 notes · View notes

theculturedmarxist · 4 days

Text

Many US papers are giving front-page, above the fold treatment to university administrators going wild and calling in the cops on peaceful campus protests, first at Columbia, followed by Yale and NYU. Harvard, in a profile in courage, closed its campus to prevent a spectacle. Demonstrations are taking hold at other campuses, including MIT, Emerson, and Tufts.

This is an overly dynamic situation, so I am not sure it makes sense to engage in detailed coverage. However, some things seem noteworthy.

First, in typical US hothouse fashion, the press is treating protests as if they were a bigger deal than the ongoing genocide in Gaza. I am not the only one to notice this. From Parapraxis (hat tip guurst; bear with the author’s leisurely set-up):

I am employed as a non-tenure-track professor in a university department dedicated to teaching and research about Jews, Judaism, and Jewishness. One day, I arrived at work to find security cameras installed in my department’s hallway. I read in an email that these cameras had been installed after an antisemitic poster was discovered affixed to a colleague’s office door. I was never shown this poster. Like the cameras, I learned of it only belatedly. Despite the fact that the poster apparently constituted so great a danger to the members of my department as to warrant increased security, nobody bothered to inform me about it. By the time I was aware that there was a threat in which I was ostensibly implicated, the decision had already been made—by whom, exactly, I don’t know—about which measures were necessary to protect me from it. My knowledge, consent, and perspective were irrelevant to the process… The prolepsis of the decision did more than protect me—if, indeed, it really did that. It interpellated my coworkers and myself as people in need of protection…. I was unwittingly transformed, literally overnight, into the type of person to whom something might happen. My employer has a campus—three, actually—meaning that it has a physical plant. I navigate one of these campuses as my workplace, but it almost never figures for me as “the campus.” In fact, the first time since beginning the job when I felt myself caught up in an affective relation, not to the particular institution where I work, but rather to “the campus” was when I looked up into that security camera and felt myself being “watched” by it. Only then did I think, a couple of months into my temporary contract, that I was not just at my workplace. Now I was on “the campus.” This incident with the poster and the camera occurred, of course, some weeks after the October 7 Hamas attacks on Israel and the onset of Israel’s retaliatory military campaign in Gaza. Against so horrific a backdrop, and relative to the intimidation and retaliation to which those who speak out against the war (including—indeed, especially—in the academy) have been subjected, my story sounds banal. And it is. In its very ordinariness, however, the anecdote is quite representative: first, of how decisions get made at contemporary institutions of higher education (generally speaking, without the input of those whom they impact); and second, of the logic of a peculiarly American phenomenon I call campus panic…. The months since October 7 have aggravated the most extreme campus panic I have witnessed. To judge by the American mass media, the campus is the most urgent scene of political struggle in the world. What is happening “on campus” often seems of greater concern than what is happening in Gaza, where every single university campus has been razed by the IDF. When all the Palestinian dead have been counted, it seems likely that these months will be recorded as having inflamed a campus panic no less intense than the one that accompanied the Vietnam War.

Second, many otherwise fine stories, like Columbia in crisis, again by the Columbia Journalism Review, and Columbia University protests and the lessons of “Gym Crow” by Judd at Popular Information, start off with the 1968 protests at Columbia as a point of departure. And again, consistent with the Parapraxis account and being old enough to remember the Vietnam War, I find the comparison to be overdone. Yes, there are some telling similarities, like the role of right-wing pressure in getting campus administrators to call out the cops, the device of dwelling on the earlier uprising seems to obscure more than it reveals. The Vietnam War, unlike Gaza, tore the US apart. Today’s campus students are, with only the comparatively small contingent of Palestinian students, acting to protest US support of slaughter in Gaza. In 1968, for many, the stake were more personal. The risk of young men having to serve was real.

Similarly, conservatives then supported the military and were typically proud of their or any family member’s service. Draft dodging and demonization of armed forces leaders was close to unconscionable. It took years of the major television networks and the two authoritative magazines, Time and Newsweek, showing what the war looked like, and intimating that the US was not succeeding, that shifted mass opinion.

And even the initial 1968 protests were more disruptive. The first wave at Columbia occupied some campus buildings, presumably disrputing operations. Today’s were encampments, as in outdoors. So they were more analogous to Occupy Wall Street, where the ongoing rebellion was an offense to authority even if it caused harm. But worse, the ones at Columbia and other schools now are by elites in training, and not presumed loser riff-raff.

So the aggressiveness of the crackdown looks like very insecure leadership. For instance, why escalate to calling in the NYPD immediately, as opposed to campus police, when the city’s cops reported everyone cooperated with the arrests?

This takes us to the third issues, that it isn’t just the students who oppose the stifling of protest, but also faculty. From the Popular Information article:

[President] Shafik’s actions were blasted in a statement issued on Friday by the Columbia and Barnard College chapters of the American Association of University Professors: Shafik also drew a rebuke from the Columbia student council. In a statement, the council said that “students possess the inherent right to engage in peaceful protest without fear of retribution or harm” and called for “the preservation of freedom of speech and expression among students.”

Popular Information also points out how the Biden Administration is, natch, whipping up fear about possible dangers to Jews while ignoring that Muslims have been on the receiving end. Recall that ex-IDF soldiers who attacked pro-Palestinian protestors at Columbia in January went unpunished. Again from Popular Information:

On Sunday, the White House released a statement in response to the protests at Columbia, denouncing “calls for violence and physical intimidation targeting Jewish students”: What incidents prompted this statement? A White House spokesperson did not immediately respond to a request for comment. But some media outlets are interpreting it as a response to this video, in which two unidentified men promise more terrorist attacks against Israel. According to the individual who posted the video, the incident did not occur on Columbia’s campus. There is no evidence that Columbia students were involved. An NBC reporter, Antonia Hylton, who was on Columbia’s campus with protesters, reported no instances of “violence or aggression” among students.

Now we’ll turn to Rajiv Sethi, who as a professor at Barnard, has, for better or worse, a front row seat on the turmoil.

By Rajiv Sethi, professor of economics at Barnard College. Originally published at his website

My campus is in turmoil, and it’s hard to think or write about anything else. Dozens of students have been suspended, arrested, and barred from the premises. Others have been advised to leave for their own safety. Most entrances are closed altogether, and the few that remain open are guarded to prevent entry of non-affiliates. Calls for the resignation of leaders are coming from multiple quarters—some concerned about excessively punitive measures and others about inadequate enforcement and protection.

There are several reports on social media of harassment, intimidation, and the glorification of violence. Such reports often conflate what is happening outside the gates—involving people who may not be affiliates and who are on ground over which the university has no jurisdiction—with the protests on the South Lawn. Based on what I have seen personally, the latter protests have been peaceful, prayerful, and even joyful at times.1

I did see one sign directed at President Shafik that I felt was offensive and ill-advised. And there is one phrase—recently deemed anti-Semitic by an act of Congress—that has been repeated loudly and frequently within the gates. This post is about the meaning of that phrase, and about meanings and messages in general.

While on stage at a political convention in July 2015, Martin O’Malley said the following:

Black lives matter. White lives matter. All lives matter.

Taken literally, these words are entirely unobjectionable, even laudable. But O’Malley apologized for them within hours, saying: “That was a mistake on my part and I meant no disrespect.”

Why was the apology deemed necessary? O’Malley was running for the Democratic presidential nomination at the time, and to many of the voters he was courting, the words “all lives matter” had come to mean something else entirely—an expression of indifference to racial inequality at best, and perhaps even a racist dog whistle.

As phrases come to be endowed with new meanings, some people respond by carefully avoiding them, while others are motivated to adopt them with relish. This further entrenches the new meaning and reinforces the process of selective abandonment and adoption. Thus “Democrat Party” can come to be intended and perceived as an epithet, and the seemingly harmless chant “Let’s Go Brandon!” a vulgarity.

This process is decentralized and largely uncoordinated, and there is little that legislation can do to enforce the attachment of meanings to messages. Of course, this hasn’t prevented our elected officials from trying. On April 16, by a vote of 377-44, the House passed Resolution 883:

Expressing the sense of the House of Representatives that the slogan, “from the river to the sea, Palestine will be free” is antisemitic and its use must be condemned.

One day later, Columbia President Minouche Shafik was asked by Congresswoman Lisa McClain whether she agreed that such statements were indeed anti-Semitic. President Shafik answered as follows:

I hear them as such, some people don’t.

The problem with this response is that it suggests that listeners are free to assign meanings to expressions, regardless of the identities and intentions of speakers. But meanings are created jointly by speakers and listeners, and the same message can carry different meanings depending on what is known about the parties engaged in communication.

People have often appropriated and de-fanged racist, misogynistic, and homophopic insults aimed at the groups to which they belong. Even the most vile and vicious slur in the American language carries a different connotation when used by Randall Kennedy in conversation. The meanings of messages cannot be established independently of the indentities of those who use them. They cannot be established by listeners alone.

Thus the attempt by the House of Representatives to define the meaning of a phrase is likely to be futile. The meaning will evolve over time based on the process of selective avoidance and adoption. And this meaning is vigorously contested at present.

Consider, for instance, the Jerusalem Declaration on Anti-Semitism. This document states clearly that “denying the right of Jews in the State of Israel to exist and flourish, collectively and individually, as Jews, in accordance with the principle of equality” is anti-Semitic. However, it also proclaims:

It is not antisemitic to support arrangements that accord full equality to all inhabitants “between the river and the sea,” whether in two states, a binational state, unitary democratic state, federal state, or in whatever form.

President Shafik could have referenced the above in pushing back against the idea that meanings can be assigned by elected representatives or college administrators. I understand the pressure she was under, and it is difficult to give thoughtful responses under such circumstances. But it is important that moving forward, the use of this phrase alone not be used as a basis for disciplinary action.

One organization that I have come to admire over the past few years is the Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression (FIRE), which has been admirably consistent in defending freedom of speech on and off campus. On this phrase in particular, FIRE’s position is the following:

If students at a peaceful protest chant anti-Israel slogans like “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free,” that speech, taken alone, is protected political expression. Even if some understand the phrase to call for the destruction of Israel, it is still—absent more—protected as political speech, advocating in general terms for violence elsewhere at an unspecified time against a broadly defined target… But context is determinative: Were the same statement to be directed at a specific Jewish student by a student or group moving threateningly towards him, during a protest that has turned violent and unstable, it may arguably constitute a true threat.

This is the right position to take and I hope that Barnard and Columbia will adopt it. The keynote by Killer Mike at the 2023 FIRE Gala explains in the clearest possible terms the value of this perspective, and it will join the Reith lecture by Chimamanda Adichie and the Stanford Memo by Jenny Martinez (along with the Kalven Report and the Chicago Principles) as a classic in the pantheon of free speech advocacy.

Among the people who have addressed the students on the South lawn are Madmood Mamdani and Norman Finkelstein; I caught the tail end of the latter’s speech but couldn’t hear much because amplification was limited and he tends to speak quite softly. I do hope that the students who invited him will read his latest book, which is as fierce a critique of identity politics as one is likely to find anywhere.

Norman Finkelstein addresses student protestors at Columbia on April 19th, 2024

I received a response to this post from Seth Weissman, whom I first met when he was a graduate student at Columbia many years ago. I remember Seth fondly, and have enormous respect for him. His message is posted (with permission) below:

Rajiv, as usual, a very thoughtful take. That said, you are missing something. I say this as someone who knows and respects you as fair-minded and as an Orthodox Jew who is: So what are you missing? I’m all for “from the river to the sea, Palestinians will be free.” That could mean in a binational state alongside Jews living freely, or in two states, one Palestinian (West Bank, Gaza, and the Arab sections of Jerusalem such as Abu Dis) and the other a Jewish home where Arab citizens are accorded full rights, which is the current (albeit imperfectly realized) concept of Israel. This is in accordance with the Jerusalem Declaration. But the chant, “from the river to the sea, Palestine will be free” explicitly and willfully denies Jewish self expression. In a context where some of the protestors (not all, and I am making no claim as to what percentage) have expressed solidarity with Hamas, it can be taken no other way. And while the majority of the protestors would denounce Hamas (I hope), they are standing shoulder to shoulder with those who empathize with Hamas. FYI, I have the scars from confronting nationalism and Islamophobia on the Jewish side. If I could pay the price for denouncing Jewish nationalists on my “side,” I can expect the protestors at Columbia and Barnard to do the same—criticize Israel without providing political support for terror and anti-Semitism.

After posting this I came across a credible report of significant harassment and intimidation within the Columbia gates. All classes at Barnard and Columbia are remote today, which I imagine is a prelude to clearing out of the encampment.

#naked capitalism #palestine #israel palestine conflict #norman finkelstein #columbia university

10 notes · View notes