#But the real answer is as part of the curriculum or at the time anyway

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wild fucking åmål’s on netflix now they should add hipp hipp hora too to complete the “swedish movies every norwegian middle schooler in the late 2000s early 2010s had to watch in norwegian class” collection

[the-guilty-writer]

Work The Case

Request from @doctorsteeb: This may be too sensitive a topic but just an idea— Hotch!daughter taking out a school shooter?

Aaron Hotchner x daughter!reader

Summary: A normal Tuesday takes a turn when you come face to face with your father's work.

A/N: Not going to lie I wasn't going to write this because I felt like the idea was too sensitive but then I remembered that I'm the queen of writing too sensitive things in real life so I may as well do that here too (within limits of course. I still have ethics). So here it is!

CW: school shooting, fatal gun shot, talks of foyet, talks of dead mothers, talks of car crashes, talks of drunk driving, talks of divorce, Jackson Pollok slander

---

The morning started out like any other Tuesday: you got up and ready for the day before having breakfast with your dad and brother- oatmeal and orange juice- then your dad drove you and Jack to school. Jack always got dropped off first at the elementary school, and you at the high school. The ride between the two was short, but it was always long enough for a small, private conversation between you and your father.

“You okay?” he asked you. 

Ugh. Profilers.

“I’m…” You thought about saying ‘fine,’ but you knew he wouldn’t take that as an answer. You sighed. “The teacher let the class vote on what chapter we would cover in class next, so we started on abnormal criminal psychology yesterday.”

“Oh.” You’d never heard your dad sound so uncertain.

“It’s an extra chapter. Since it’s not listed in the curriculum we aren’t being tested on the material. The teacher told me I could spend that period in the library if it was… too much,” you finished.

You dad pulled in front of the school, leaning over to kiss you on the forehead goodbye. “Whatever you need, sweetheart.”

“Thanks,” you told him. 

“Try to have a good day,” he said before you shut the car door.

You nodded. “I’ll try.”

---

You took your teacher’s offer and went to the library instead of their classroom. The space was large, but mostly empty of people- there was just the librarian behind her desk and a few students scattered amongst the tables. You took a seat and pulled out your homework, trying not to think about what they were learning back in the classroom. You’d honestly overheard enough phone calls that whatever they were learning about you already knew. There was a buzz in your pocket, which automatically made you freeze. You kept your phone on do not disturb through the school day. The only reason your phone would buzz would be if your dad was texting you… and if your dad was texting you it was an emergency.

You pulled your phone out and you were right- it was a text from your dad. Three words: Work the case.

Shit. That was code for you and Jack to hide- to hide somewhere that you wouldn’t be found unless you wanted to be. You looked around the library, but the area was like an open plain. You shoved your work in your backpack and hurried towards the doors-

BOOM!

A gunshot.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

People began to scream. Through the glass windows of the library you could see students running, but it wasn’t because they were late to class. The lockdown alarm sounded and you scrambled under one of the tables, hoping it would be enough cover.

There was a stillness and a silence for a minute and you hoped that it was over, but gunshots rang out again- this time they were louder than they had been before. Someone was getting closer.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, making it feel as though your entire body was thumping to its too-fast rhythm. You wanted to cry, but you didn’t shed any tears. You wondered if this was what it had been like for Jack when Foyet had killed your mother and then tried to kill your father. As part of WISTEC, you had been sent away to a private boarding school with an alias while Jack and your mom were sent elsewhere. In the end, sending you away had saved your life, but now you were wondering if you were going to die soon anyway.

That was, until the library doors burst open. From your view under the table you could only see old shoes and baggy jeans but you heard the shots that were fired into the air.

“Get up! All of you!” It was a male voice.

You, along with the six other students in the library that had all dropped to the floor, looked around at one another- who would make the decision to stand up or stay down? Who would make that call?

More shots were fired. “I said get up!”

You thought about your dad- what would he do? And so you were the one to make the call, the first student to crawl out slowly from under the table and rise, your hands held up to show that you were no threat. The rest of the students followed your lead. This was your team now- if one of them died, it was on you.

You looked at the shooter and you knew who he was- Timmy Rogers. He’d been in some of your classes in middle school and high school. He had always been quiet- the kind of kid who did well in class but never answered any questions. The person who put their share into a group project and didn’t complain about having to pick up the slack if someone else bailed. He was nice enough of a person that you wouldn’t have expected him to be holding a firearm in the middle of your school, but then again most unsubs could keep themselves hidden for years- that much you knew.

“Line up against the wall. Now!” he shouted.

You walked calmly to the wall while some of the other students scampered. One girl was crying. Another boy’s fists were twisted with fear. The librarian was on her knees, pleading with Timmy. “You’re a good boy. You always have been. Your mother-”

“Don’t talk about my mother! Don’t talk about me! You don’t know me!”

“Yes I do,” the librarian was crying. “I do know you and your mom wouldn’t have wanted-”

Timmy pulled the trigger and she was gone. He marched over and grabbed the girl who was crying, dragging her out in front for the rest of you to see. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” She fell to her knees. “Please, I’m sorry-”

You thought quickly about everything you knew about Timmy. He wasn’t an athlete by any means but he joined the wrestling team anyway, he liked art and his project last year was based on his parent’s divorce, his father was a marine, and his mom…

Oh. His mom had died in a car crash last week. She was hit by a drunk driver.

“You never cared about me!” he yelled. “Nobody cares about me. Nobody cared about her-”

“I did.” You didn’t know where the words came from- they were solid and bold and half a lie, but they made Timmy let go of the girl.

“And who are you?” He pointed the gun in your direction. You wanted to scream, but you didn’t.

“I’m (Y/N) Hotchner. W-we had art class together last year.” You hoped your stumble wasn’t too obvious.

“Yeah, and why does that matter? Why should I let you live? Why should I let any of you live?” He waved the gun around in the air, making some of the students shriek, but somehow you stayed calm even though you wanted to explode. 

“Y-your mom died in a car crash last week. But it wasn’t her fault. It was the other person who was driving drunk and it wasn’t fair that they got to live and she had to die,” you said.

“Why do you care?” He spat.

You reached deep down… really deep. “My mom died too. She was murdered by a serial killer. She deserved so much better, just like your mom did.”

Timmy paused, the gun in his hand was shaking but still pointed at you. From your view, you could see that through the glass there were officers moving into the school. No. Not just officers- they were wearing FBI vests. Help was almost there, you just had to stall.

“My parents got divorced too,” you said. “Your final project last year really spoke to me- your dad was away all the time and your mom got tired of it, even though they still loved each other.” That was a total lie- the guy was about as talented as Pollok, but you had to find something. “My parents were the same way.”

Now Timmy was crying. You could see behind him that agents were moving towards the library, but you were too focused on stalling Timmy that you weren’t focused on their faces.

“And I was at a boarding school when she died so I was alone- all alone, just like you, Timmy. My mom died and nobody was there to comfort me. My dad wasn’t with me, just like your dad isn’t here right now.”

He was so distracted by your words that he didn’t even notice that the library doors had opened behind him allowing Agent Morgan, Dr. Reid, and your dad to come in unnoticed.

“He- he didn’t even come for her funeral-” Timmy’s hand was getting weaker. He was crying harder. “I-I can’t reach him-”

“I know. I couldn’t reach my dad either since I was still in WISTEC. They couldn’t tell me anything about him until I got home. It’s not fair. I know it’s not fair. I care that it’s not fair.”

Timmy dropped the gun, crumbling to the ground in a fit of tears. Agent Morgan tackled him, pulling his hands behind his back while Dr. Reid disabled the firearm. Your dad ran straight to you, gripping you in a bone crushing hug and you sobbed into his chest.

He pulled you in tighter, stroking a hand down your hair. “It’s over, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. It’s over.”

“I worked the case, dad,” you managed to get out between your sobs. “I worked the case.”

[p0ison-moon]

I have what’s going to be a really unpopular take but please just hear me out. Lately a lot of fellow Jewish bloggers on this website have (rightfully!!) been getting annoyed by random people going into their inboxes and asking if they’re Zionist, how they feel about Israel, etc. And I totally empathize with that because I’m an anti-Zionist Jew so I spend a lot of time correcting people’s assumptions that I must support Israel because I’m Jewish. Furthermore, I want Zionism to stop being seen as a central, undeniable part of being Jewish because that makes Jews like me feel pretty unwelcome. And I am aware that those asks often accuse us of dual loyalty, an antisemitic stereotype. So I’m not saying bloggers should have to answer those asks, or that they can’t get mad about them.

However, I think bloggers are wrong when they say that they can’t affect or change what happens in Israel because they’re American Jews (or otherwise diasporic, but it is almost always Americans who say this), not Israeli Jews.

Look. It’s one thing if you just don’t want to get involved (although I am totally judging you). But I can name a billion different ways American Jews have changed things in Israel, and stuff we can do right now! For example:

- protesting our tax dollars paying for weapons and bombs Israel uses to kill Palestinians, by pressuring our elected representatives, senators, and president into taking a stand against Israel

- supporting the Not on Our Dime Act, which is aiming to prohibit tax-deductible donations from being used to fund illegal Israeli settlements in the West Bank

- working to change Jewish studies curriculum and summer camp + youth group programming to provide kids and students with more options than just Zionism, and a more complete + less biased education about Israel

- no tech for apartheid: Jewish Google workers protesting against Project Nimbus, which helps the Israeli government with surveillance of Palestinians

- using our position to educate people and make our opinions heard, so we don’t let Jewish Zionist organizations speak for us all and influence what gentiles think about Israel and current-day antisemitism

- I have my own opinions about the recent protests over Netanyahu’s judicial reform, but lots of American Jews supported them and they were definitely effective

- and that’s just a few of the many ways I’ve seen American Jews work towards creating real change in Israel. are we the only ones who can do this? no. but gentiles can’t shape the future of the American Jewish community, which altogether has quite a lot of influence in Israel. only we can do those things.

Saying that as American Jews our voices and actions don’t matter when it comes to Israel is actually such a weak, lame-ass excuse for refusing to take a stance for or against Israel. This isn’t something we get to be neutral about; silence equals support for Zionism.

That being said, I can’t control what individual people do. If you seriously want to refuse to support Palestine, fine. Whatever. Just please stop using “American Jews can’t help anyways!” as your excuse when that’s such a blatantly false claim.

[spookystrawberry-blog]

Romance on the surface (part 2)

Y/n x Sans

A few days pass and you really get closer to the skeleton brothers and Toriel who you consider your real mother now. Undyne, Alphys and Metaton have each found jobs and moved away but come to see you from time to time. Today you congratulate Undyne on passing her police entrance exam and Papyrus says he would also like to take the exam.

P: Wowie, the great Papyrus, chief of police, this is a new goal at my height!

You answer that for that he needs the baccalaureate. Papyrus looks at you questioningly and you explain to him what it is. Toriel then tells you about the education system for monsters, set up by the government. She explains to you that for monsters over 25 years old, certain professions are accessible after a short formation but that for monsters under the age of 25 you have to pass it. All monsters under the age of 18 will follow the classic curriculum and those over the age of 18 will go directly to final year. Sans looked at her.

S: Does that mean me and Papyrus will have to go to high school?

P: Wowie, high school looks great! I want to go to high school!

Toriel then suggests that you enroll in school. Papyrus is enthusiastic but you are less so. Toriel looks at you tenderly and tells you that she knows it's going to be hard for you and Frisk. In fact, you have both been out of school for 2 years after having experienced harassment for several years. But Toriel reassures you by saying that this time you will not be alone, that she will watch over Frisk, and that on your side there will be Sans and Papyrus to watch over you. You look at the skeletons smiling at you and you sigh, telling Toriel that she's right, that it's best for you.

Papyrus and Sans come to ask you questions about school.

P: What does it take to be a police officer?

Y/n: Hmm I would say you need to focus on political Sciences and sports.

P: Sport, I’m good at sport! But...what is the political Sciences?

You see Papyrus looking for answers in Sans's eyes who doesn't seem any more informed than him. You reassure them by telling that you will take the time to explain it to them. You then ask Sans if he has any idea of what he wants to do. He replies that he doesn't really know, he doesn't know what jobs exist here but that in the underground he tended to do scientific research. You then tell him that he can become a scientist, that it exists here too and that for that he should concentrate on maths and physics-chemistry. Papyrus in turn asks you what you want to do and you tell them that you would like to become a visual arts teacher, Papyrus seems enthusiastic about the idea. Sans wonders.

S: It seems like a lot to catch up on anyway... Of course we obviously went to school in the underground but the knowledge seems different from yours, for example with this...political Sciences? I'm not sure we'll be able to keep up once we get to high school.

You then offer to help them revise until the start of the school year. The boys agree and you get started now. Sans is particularly focused, which doesn't escape Frisk who notices you before you go to sleep.

As the start of the school year approaches, Sans asks you if you can also study together in the evening, because he wants to be sure to be ready on time. Papyrus, delighted with his brother's investment, offers to work in the bedroom, he says it won't bother him to sleep. You blush at the idea of finding yourself in their room in the evening but, wanting to help Sans as best you can, you accept. After eating, you sit down with Sans at the office in the skeleton room. You work quietly together while Papyrus sleeps, until Sans approaches you to show you a passage from the textbook.

S: And what does that mean here?

You move closer to look but quickly realize how close you are to Sans. He realizes this too and you pull away, blushing. You then shyly answer his question and act as if nothing had happened. In the background Papyrus, who was not really sleeping, takes on an air of satisfaction.

[van-goghs-smoking-skull]

Ok, so for those of you who saw that one post about homework and religious holidays, there is a reason why I said what I said and a reason this isn't an apology post.

The separation of church (religions) and state (the government and government run and/or funded institutions) exists and remains for a reason. It began with the church in the US requesting it, as otherwise the US would likely have had a state-mandated religion otherwise, which happened to be the Anglican church, which would be a massive problem. The US had just broken ties with the British and were no longer a colony and the prospect of giving the British monarchy full control over the US through the Anglican church was NOT something the newly freed people of the US relished the idea of, understandably. Now, it's what prevents churches from running government-funded (which is to say taxpayer-funded, as in all taxpayers, not just taxpayers of specific religions) in such a way that students are expected to follow a mandated religion in school (you can use private, religious schools for that if you like, BYU as an example). It also means that religious institutions do not have to pay taxes and they are largely allowed to teach their own religion as they see fit. Everyone is free to practice their religion without the need to infringe on other religions or on atheists, who chose a lack of religion. It works (when people let it) and it benefits both theists of all kinds and atheists - everyone gets to have freedom of religion by law.

So, there are theists pissed that schools give out homework on their holy days (seen as the state infringing on religion) and even atheist kids would likely prefer to have less homework, but the question not being asked is, if we abolish homework based on religious holy days, isn't that religion infringing on the state? The answer is yes, actually, it is.

So, options

Leave things as they are, screw both free time AND religious holidays. Keep the infringement rolling.

Create databases of students and their religious affiliations (there's that infringement again), forcibly outing them to the school (which isn't nearly as secure as some imagine) in a country where religious institutions have been targets of mass shootings, and in a world where lists of undesired people helped Nazis keep the Concentration Camps gassing and burning people. Use these unsecure databases to avoid assigning homework on holy days. This means separate curriculums for each student to accommodate different holy days and practices, leaving student who have a lot of holy days with less homework and atheist students with homework everyday (oh the privilege of those holy days).

The same databases as the first part of option 2, but get rid of homework for every student on which any religion's holy days fall (everyday if we're going to include all religions and be honest about it, making the need to track which students are which religion rather moot).

Acknowledge that everyday is going to be a holy day for someone, and simply skip both the database and bringing religion into the school. Get rid of mandatory homework for all the students and simply not mention specific holy days in that policy. No homework on holy days for anyone at all, whether they observe or not.

Break with the separation of church and state, make Christianity be the mandated religion taught in all schools, and well, if we do that, may as well take science out of school and replace it with Bible study, and watch the fireworks as Catholics fight Protestants over who the 'real Christians' are, and then watch all the Protestant denominations duke it out over which group is right, and maybe even take it down to the synod level of things. Who needs education anyway, when you can just scream at each other? (Honestly, if I were Christian, I wouldn't wish that on anyone, and I'm not Christian, so that appeals even less to me.)

At no point are students barred from believing in their chosen religion, no homework is assigned on holy days, no database mandates that students have a figurative target on their backs, religion does not infringe on the school (state), and the state does not infringe on religion if we go with option 4. I say go with the option that does not give everyone or specific groups some sort of downside. Option 4 respects theists' holy days without having to cite them or track theists, and atheists don't get thrown under the bus by being made to do homework no one else has to do. Option 4 is win/win.

I know there's people out there that would argue Christians would never do such a thing or that all religions would automatically get along in schools, but there's a reason The Flying Spaghetti Monster of Pastafarianism is a thing. (Reminder to religious scholars: that's not 'the atheist church' or 'the atheist religion')

From Wikipedia:

"The "Flying Spaghetti Monster" was first described in a satirical open letter written by Bobby Henderson in 2005 to protest the Kansas State Board of Education decision to permit teaching intelligent design as an alternative to evolution in public school science classes.[10] In the letter, Henderson demanded equal time in science classrooms for "Flying Spaghetti Monsterism", alongside intelligent design and evolution.[11] After Henderson published the letter on his website, the Flying Spaghetti Monster rapidly became an Internet phenomenon and a symbol of opposition to the teaching of intelligent design in public schools.[12]"

(Intelligent Design and Creationism are pretty much the same thing, as proven by the fact that the textbooks made to teach them simply had an automatic cut and paste function added textbook-wide and the cut and paste function kinda screwed up and missed a couple spots. Oopsies.)

[codemodee]

The Advantages of Having a Certified Online Coding Platform

Introduction: There are several online classes for coding in this day and age, and they exist across a varied range of expertise and professional excellence. online coding platform for schoolers USA Their principal aim is to impart the latest trends, skills, and breakthrough innovations in coding.

However, it is important to ask ourselves what the point of coding is in the first place. Why is there an extra emphasis on acquiring the basic skills and talents of coding? To answer simply, without coding, the internet, websites, apps, digital platforms, and devices would be impossible to operate. online coding platform for java         This is due to the fact that they all run and operate on preprogrammed software commands which are built with basic to advanced coding. So, that answers part of the question as to why certified coding classes are relevant and vital. Let us examine the others below.

What are the Advantages of Certified Online Coding Classes anyway?

Practical coding opens doors to multiple careers and specializations in the IT industry.

In the case of online certified coding classes, the training faculty are qualified and experienced, the curriculum used is standard and professional, the skills imparted are lifelong, and the tools used—from software to communication channels to devices—are all original. Moreover, they are safeguarded from piracy and substandard skills. This opens doors to a future with unlimited career possibilities and opportunities in the IT sector, along with its secondary and tertiary sectors.

Ability to create relevant web-related software with in-depth programming skills.

The primary relevance, importance, and advantages of a certified online coding platform are related to its massive programming capabilities. It not only provides the ability to create critical web-based software, but it also vastly improves programming skills. It makes learners ready to face and join the real world of computer-savvy programmers.

Transition from foundational to advanced coding, data science, and artificial intelligence.

In coding, you can start fresh and quickly progress to more advanced stages. Coding courses are formatted to have levels, in order to inculcate skills and knowledge through their practical emphasis. Beginners can start with courses teaching the foundations of programming and coding, and advance to becoming experts at coding languages such as Python, C++, Java, JavaScript, Scratch, and more. In this way, students gather knowledge through consistent practice and learning.

Convenient, flexible, and affordable well-spaced-out class timings

By offering a huge number of courses, online coding classes deliver convenient learning opportunities to students anywhere. They are accessible, affordable, and can be taken by people from any level of educational background. Moreover, these class offerings provide a medium for payment and attendance that suits the flow of school curriculums.

Coding classes impart advanced organizational and problem-solving skills

One of the key takeaways from offline and online coding classes is the ability to foster order and organizational skills. Along with thorough analysis and decision-making, there is an enhanced perception and application of knowledge. Students can become better at formulating theoretical and practical skills by practicing clear logical thinking. With all foundational and advanced concepts precisely and concisely taught and practically illustrated, students can gain a clear grasp of coding fundamentals.

Increases confidence and builds a stronger and sharper memory.

Through learning coding, sharp recollection skills can be built, in addition to helping with other school-related or professional tasks. It is the systematic impartation of programming skills that enables, empowers, and makes all this possible.

Summary: Learning to code through specialized and certified coding classeshelps young people polish different types of skills and also develop strong coding fundamentals. It is the ultimate platform for a rewarding and successful career in data science and other key emerging technologies of today.

For more info :-  

ap computer science python

Real World Python Projects

Source Url :-  https://sites.google.com/view/codemodee/home

[in--somnium]

She probably shouldn't have asked it at all, in hindsight. Most people didn't believe in that kind of stuff. Magic. Ancient artifacts with special, mystical, properties and powers. She supposed, in some small part, her asking if he believed they still existed instead of asking if he thought they ever had was her way of fessing up to what she was. Or, at the very least, not-so-outright admitting that she believed in it all in the first place. Still, though, this certainly wasn't a "pillow talk" worthy discussion. Then again, Cass didn't think she was all that good at actual pillow talk, anyway. Her mind ran too fast for the more delicate, sugary, flowing, nectar of sweet nothings (unless she was already turned on...).

Caleb's odd reaction didn't go unnoticed- that jaw clench, the nervous way he ran his thumb across his knuckles. Self soothing. She still had plenty to learn about him, but she'd learned her fair share already. He was either stressed or anxious about something. She just couldn't figure out what. Maybe he suddenly remembered an upcoming test? Or an essay or something he needed to finish? Well, perhaps she could provide some distraction from his distress.

"Some of them were real," She answered plainly, as if it was a fact everyone just knew. She could have walked it back, suggested that they were "real enough to people who believed in them, at least" or something... but she didn't. She stuck to it, kept it up as fact because it was fact. And in doing so, she took the bait that Caleb placed without really considering that that's what she was doing. As far as she was aware, she was just... carrying on a conversation, not helping him cover something up. When he turned on his side to look at her, she did the same- turning on her side to face him. Just a foot or two of space between them. The first time they'd been this close, she'd felt shy about it. Now, though, it was a kind of comfortable she'd never felt before. It was borderline blissful. "It was discussed a little in class. Not much," Mythology wasn't a commonly covered thing in a core curriculum, and Cassia had left England well before they would have introduced it as more than just a fun little unit or two in primary school. Still, though, she knew quite a bit. She reached a hand out to lightly run her fingers along his jaw. No real reason for it, she just wanted to touch him. She did this only for a few moments, though, before slipping her fingers between Caleb's. She wasn't so fond of public displays of affection (well, not usually), but she'd found she was far more open to physical intimacies when they were alone together. In fact, it was taking a great deal of self restraint not to drop the whole discussion and just kiss him.

"It's been on my mind lately, is all..." She had a feeling that something strange was going on around here. Something that was keeping her on her toes. It also felt odd that she couldn't find any books at the library about the history of Ipswich- which she had been desperate to learn more about because she had now heard Caleb and the others referred to as the "Sons of Ipswich" on two separate occasions. Yet she couldn't seem to get more of an answer out of him than just them being the descendants of the founding families or whatever. But Nicholas had mentioned it was more than just that but he didn't know anything specific: "check the library, there's a bunch of books on it all if you're that curious". Cass was curious (even when it was to her detriment), so she'd gone to find out more and... nothing.

"The thing about mythology, legends, all that-" She started, realizing that her accent was coming a bit thicker than usual in the moment, probably because she was used to talking about these things with her father and her accent tended to be more prominent when she had his to bounce off of. She did her best to temper it right now, though. "-is that they're not too removed from stories we write today. They're... tales meant to give warning, or to teach lessons. Sometimes they're simply meant to make you feel something specific, to entertain. They can soothe a sick child's weary mind. Offer insight on hard decisions. Even incite anger and conflict. Give thought that leads to change. That's the thing... They're just stories passed from one person to the next. They're important works of fiction, yes, but that's all they are- fiction." She paused for a heartbeat, her lips pulling into a grin. "That doesn't mean there isn't some truth to them, though." Her fingers, still laced with his, tapped lightly against his knuckles. "What parts are real, then, and what parts are made up just to further the agenda they're created to promote? Names change, people and places transform, but some of them are stemmed from reality. Real individuals and situations, even artifacts, which inspired the fictional, perhaps to a larger degree than we're currently aware. The line to distinguish those parts is a much thinner one than we're lead to believe. It's been blurred over centuries of word of mouth, written text, changes made to the story to benefit the current teller in some way or another, or simply to liven up a bland piece of history," She paused a moment, realized she might already be saying too much and would definitely tell him things she shouldn't if she didn't shut up. The things was... she didn't know a lot outside of what most people already knew, but she knew the stories her families had passed down. That an ancestor on her mother's side had provided inspiration, in some fashion, for a little piece of the exact legend that Caleb had just so happened to bring up. Of course, Morgana had been based on far more than that one enchantress and healer alone. She was composed of pieces of many. Modron. Matrona. Niamh. The Morrigan. It was easy to cover the truth beneath the veil of the mythological. (What parts of the mythologies of the world, too, were true, she wondered. You could trace any number of stories back to their most base components in centuries old legends, after all).

"And so we're brought back to ancient artifacts..." She propped her head up on her free hand, her smile widening a bit. "Some of which were real. Some of which are only legend. None of which, it seems, are especially easy to locate these days. Maybe they no longer exist." Or maybe people just didn't actually know where to look. "My father has been researching some, just for fun, or perhaps for a story or plotline he's yet to mention. Either way, it made me curious, so I've been doing some research of my own." That wasn't entirely the truth- her father had researched things like that in the past, but he wasn't doing so currently. She was just... trying to read up on what she could because she felt unsettled lately. Her father hadn't felt that same discomfort and she thought maybe she was just going crazy. But there were times when she felt so uneasy she hardly dared to breathe. Something was going on. She just didn't know what.

Then, seemingly out of the blue (but only because it popped into her head and she had a hard time filtering her thoughts when she was already talking): "Oddly, the library has plenty of resources on all of that. But very little on the history of this town..." Most specifically on the founders of the colony. She shrugged, though. "It's fine. I just googled it, instead." Which gave her just enough information to feed her curiosity and get her off their trail. Lucky for Caleb and the others, there was seemingly no trace of anything linking their families back to magic so readily available online. Or, at least, not surface level enough for her to have caught sight of when she was just doing a little reading for fun. It's not like she was trying to dig anything up, after all. She didn't even know there was anything to dig up. She touched a quick kiss to his lips then tucked herself against him, her cheek pressed against his chest. She knew they should get up, but she was warm and cozy right here with him.

"I've been reading about ancient artifacts imbued with magic. Do you think they still exist?" (Cassia to Caleb. Up to you whether this is after they learn about each other's powers or if Cass just brought it up randomly not knowing Caleb has magic, too 😂)

Oh, shit.

Caleb remembered that other than being traumatized by Chase, Sarah (his very-much ex) had taken the news concerning his Powers and his friends being witches. Still, she'd ended up leaving Ipswich for New York (specifically, NYU), admitting that she liked him, but it was all too much for her to take in at once. Caleb was very happy with Cassia--that's why he was freaking out. He and the guys had gone through Spenser's library for two afternoons, to check out all the books with info linking their families and the Sons to magic. After all, Cass wasn't stupid. If she got her hands on one of those, she'd easily figure it all out. He didn't want to risk losing her. It was selfish, he knew because if he wanted a future with her, he'd have to 'fess up eventually. Until then, he was trying to keep his secret a secret.

He noticed that he was rubbing his thumbs over his knuckles and that his jaw was clenched. If Cass knew him as well as he thought, she knew he was stressed out about something. Caleb forced himself to lower his shoulders, and that sort of got his muscles to relax. Ever since he'd charged himself with taking care of his mother (who now, thankfully, was doing much better) he'd taught himself to create a facade of calm whenever he was internally freaking out in front of people. And then, drawing on what he was learning in his debate club, Caleb decided to both answer Cass's question logically, and to ask another question so she was more focused on her words than his.

"I dunno. I guess it depends on whether or not the artifacts were ever actually real to begin with. They always call Excalibur 'legendary', not mythical, and Jayn told me that Brits believe King Arthur's supposed to return when the nation's in trouble, using the sword I guess..." He turned on his side to look at her. They'd both finished taking a nap ten minutes before, having agreed that they had studied enough for one afternoon. "You're from England, right? Did they ever talk about it in class?"

Please take the bait.

He felt bad, scheming against his girlfriend, but he had family to protect.

[noteguk]

i was wondering how bad influence! jk and oc started interacting? like what made them start talking

[ ! ] this dabble is a prequel to “bad influence”

— words; 1.6k

~

Your professor was looking at you with expectation, the small piece of paper hanging between his fingers like the sword of Damocles over your head. You were staring at him in silence for a few seconds now, and the whole situation was starting to get awkward. 

“So,” he pressed on, dangling the paper in front of your eyes. On it, the name and phone number of one of your classmates. “What do you say?” 

When he asked you to stay after class, you expected it would be something related to tutoring. Your professor had mentioned it in passing a few times before, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise when he told you he had found you someone who really needed your assistance. You were beaming with joy for precisely a minute and twenty one seconds until he revealed the name of your student. 

Jeon Jungkook. 

Before you had any chance to muster an excuse for why you couldn’t — under any circumstance — get close to someone like that, even less tutor him, your professor already had his card up his sleeve. “It’ll be good for your curriculum.” 

And you said yes in a heartbeat. 

~

Jungkook was predictable. You knew that he would be late (after all, his cringy bad boy persona would never allow him to follow one single rule in his life), you just didn’t know it would be almost two-hours-late. By the point that you saw that hurricane in human form walking into the library, you had already finished your homework for the entire week. 

He had the nerve to smirk at you, and you swore an oath to yourself that you wouldn’t present him with the irritation he was expecting. And you didn’t — with all the patience and kind-heartedness that your parents had pushed down your throat your entire life, you put on your best commercial smile and greeted him like he was just in time. 

“Well, now that you’re here, let’s start with the basics and go over some defense cells.” You tugged the heavy Immunology book towards you, quickly flipping the pages towards the chapter that you had chosen for that first session. Jungkook had already taken his typical slouched position on the chair next to you, looking like he was about to slide down to the carpeted floor. “I’d like to know how familiar you are with it, though. Can you start by telling me about the types of lymphocytes?” 

He chuckled, running one hand through his hair. “I have no idea what that shit is.”

You took a deep breath and ignored the irritation that was building up on your stomach. You didn’t know how someone could be so indifferent about everything. “Well... that’s why I���m here,” you managed to keep your voice cheerful. 

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re here because you wanna get paid, princess. No need to play the Good Samaritan.”

You thought about telling him that you weren’t getting paid, but the idea wasn’t the best one. He’d probably mock you even more for wasting your Friday afternoon tutoring in the name of your curriculum. Not that he knew the importance of that, anyways. 

“This is some bullshit.” Jungkook rested his head on his crossed arms, lying over the table, pushing away your pens and notebooks as he did so. His black hair fell over his features as he grouchily mumbled out, “I don’t even know why I chose this class, it has nothing to do with my major.”

You were surprised that he was even majoring in something, instead of just frequenting the campus as an excuse to meet girls. “Well, I can't answer that for you, can I?” You asked, tapping on his book’s hardcover. That little antibody drawing was staring at you in a silent mockery, wondering if you’d be able to make him study — or even care about anything. “But I can help you with the rest. Now, come on. Types of lymphocytes.”

His eyebrows came down to form a confused frown. Jungkook would’ve probably given you the same reaction if you had just called his mother all the filthy names you could think of. “You’re really trying to teach me?” He asked. “Like, for real?” 

You sighed. The time you taught your little cousin how to read was less frustrating than that. “It’s kind of my job as a tutor, you know.”

Jungkook rose from his position and leaned back against the chair, his arms crossing before his chest. Beneath them, his strong pecs stressed against the fabric of his white shirt, but you refused to look. “You know that you can just pretend to teach me, I can pretend to learn, and you’re gonna get your credits anyways, right?” He asked as if you were the stupidest person he had ever met. “You don’t need to actually put in the effort, princess. Especially since I don’t give any fucks about immunology.” 

If he called you that stupid pet name one more time, you swore you were going to knock him out. “Well, I’m already here, I’d rather do things right.”

He scoffed, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes. “God, you’re so booooring,” he groaned. “Don't you have some charity work to do or something?” 

“I’m doing it right now.” You smiled. “I can see that you’re really trying to fail this class, don’t get me wrong. But I’m just trying to do my job—“

“Boooooring,” he sang, louder than the librarian would ever allow if she was close enough to hear him. Jungkook looked back at you, his eyes narrowed. You couldn’t really tell if he was disgusted or just annoyed. “Why do you even care? It’s just some stupid class, it doesn’t even matter. I’ll tell the professor you taught me everything and we can both go home.” 

“I can’t do that,” you said, firm. 

“Why not?” 

“First of all, because that’s wrong,” you told him. Just as you were about to say that, also, his unavoidable horrible grades would make clear that he hadn’t learned shit (which would make you look like a clown instead of a tutor), his laugh ruptured your sentence. 

“Oh, come on. You’re kidding me.” He smiled brightly — not a tender one, of course, but one full of perverse mockery. You had never met someone as condescending as Jungkook, and he was managing to push every single button inside you. “That’s wrong? What are you, six?” 

You frowned. “You’re the child here, just trying to find a easy way out instead of putting in the eff—“ 

“What are your dreams, princess?” He interrupted again, leaning his head to the side. You really, really, really hated him. “Wait, no, let me guess. A family, a suburban house, and a dog? A nine to five? Something like that? Having your husband cheat with the babysitter before you’re forty?”

Some part of you knew that he was just trying to make you so angry that you would give up on tutoring him. Jungkook didn’t know that you wouldn’t throw away your obligations so quickly, but he was able to make you mad enough to get an answer. “What are yours?” you spat, kindness long forgotten. “Remaining unemployed, talentless, mentally trapped in your twenties, and fucking desperate milfs for money until you die from an early overdose?” 

If your priest had heard you talk like that, he would most surely faint. 

Jungkook, however, didn’t seem so horrified. In fact, his disgusted smile quickly morphed into a diverted one, a chuckle leaving his lips. “Uh,” he mumbled. “Interesting.”

The shame from your previous outburst was starting to weigh down on you, but you managed to keep it undercover. “What?” 

“Didn’t know you had a mouth on you,” he said, clearly entertained. In a way, you were glad that he hadn’t taken your words to heart, because he could probably snap you in half if he was feeling like it. “You’re always so shy and shit. I thought you were going to cry.” 

“I’m not shy,” you spoke, defensive. You had gotten close to shedding a couple tears, but he didn’t need to know that. You hated confrontation. “I just don’t wanna talk to people like you unless I’m obligated to.” 

He raised his eyebrows — a silent threat. “People like me?”

There was a second of hesitation from your part that Jungkook didn’t miss. “Yes.” You couldn’t hold his piercing gaze. As much as Jungkook was annoying the shit out of you, you didn’t actually want to have a full-blown argument with him. Especially on university grounds. “People who can’t even tell me about lymphocytes. Now, are you done with your victimization session? Can we start, or do you wanna tell me more about how you’re burning college money and you are so superior because of it?” 

He chuckled and looked you up and down — actually looked at you. Weirdly enough, it felt like the first time that Jungkook was actually seeing you, and not the empty shell of a stereotype that he had built for you in his peanut-sized brain. “You’re really trying here, aren’t you?” He asked. 

You didn’t know if he was talking about the tutoring session anymore, but you decided not to bite. “Is that a sin now?” And, before he could say anything else, you added, “Page 124. Come on. Unlike you, I don’t have all day to sit around doing nothing.” 

He smirked. “You’re more fun than you look, princess.” 

And, for the first time, Jeon Jungkook wasn’t predictable — he actually opened the book on the page you told him to. 

~

One hour later, he was already dozing off, a small puddle of saliva accumulating on top of his chaotic notes. Still, you counted that as a victory. 

~

BAD INFLUENCE COLLECTION

[fortisfiliae]

Promised Part 14 - Tom Riddle x reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Masterpost | Masterlist

Summary: In this story, Tom didn’t grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader’s sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Disclaimer: Please be aware that I don’t condone any of this in real life. (GIF is not mine)

Warnings: Arranged marriage

Word count: 3.7k

Part 14 - Gaunt Manor

The weeks after Nagini had shed and you had added her skin into the antidote got more and more exhausting. The potion needed tending up to twelve times a day now and unfortunately, you didn’t own a time turner. Both Tom and you had not gotten a full night’s sleep in a while and it started to show. Every day that went by seemed to last for an eternity while the circles under your eyes carved deeper and deeper by the minute. 

The curriculum had gotten more challenging, as the teachers were preparing their students for the N.E.W.T.s. Homework was harder and more time consuming than in any other year before and you had to study for hours afterwards as well. These things alone were enough to wear out most students from year seven. Because of that, thankfully no one got suspicious of how drained you looked. Except for Camille. She had started to ask a lot of uncomfortable questions whenever you had left to take care of the potion. She knew you too well. Sneaking out every two hours to go to the Come and Go Room on top of your studies and school work had drained you to the point where you must have looked like a walking corpse.

One day, when Professor Leveret had dismissed you after an exceptionally long Astronomy lesson in the late evening, you had reached your breaking point and were on the brink of tears, pondering about failing every single subject at the end of the term. There was little to no energy left inside of you. So little, you couldn’t even bring yourself to cry, but merely stared into space with reddened eyes and parted lips. Tom brought you to his room that night and went to the Come and Go Room alone. And when you were in bed, you were too tired to fall asleep. How ironic. You never knew that was even possible. But once you weren’t distracted anymore, your mind started to wander. It was impossible to keep up with everything at once. You would either fail your N.E.W.T.s or spoil the potion. The latter would be worse of course and for no price would you let your sister down, so you mentally prepared yourself to either leave Hogwarts without graduating or repeat your entire seventh year. Oh, there were the tears. Finally. They ran and flowed along with hollow sobs and wouldn’t stop now that they were coming. 

What if the Gaunts were so appalled by your failure that they would call the wedding off before you could cure Elsie? They could easily paint you as a disgrace for not completing school and make your sister pay for it. No matter how it would turn out, they would take it out on her. The plan had worked so well until now and yet you were still desperately trapped inside Marvolo’s web. 

Half an hour must have passed when Tom came back. The cushion beneath you was damp from the tears that had rolled down your cheeks and you held your breath to prevent another whimper from escaping your mouth. You hastily wiped your face and turned your back on him, trying to breathe slowly and act as if you were asleep. But he noticed, of course. And even his well-chosen words of comfort couldn’t ease your mind. You couldn’t let yourself fall into his touch and allow yourself to drift off to sleep because you knew that in two hours, the circle would start once again.

The next day, when you sat on Tom’s sofa together to study for Transfiguration, and you had just started reading the same paragraph for the third time since you just couldn’t concentrate, it just rolled off your tongue.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Tom looked up from his book. “What, the twentieth chapter? I just-”

“No, not this,” you sighed and threw your book on the coffee table. “I mean everything. This whole situation. It’s too much.”

“Well,” he said and laid his book aside too. “It certainly is a challenging time. The N.E.W.T.s, the schoolwork and the antidote.”

Challenging was an understatement.

“I just need a full night’s sleep, or two,” you mumbled. “And you do too. We need help, it’s inevitable.”

“Help?” he asked, brows raised. “What do you have in mind? Ask Hilt to look after the potion?”

His expression changed once he had seen how you shifted. “No. Don’t tell me that’s what you were thinking.”

“I thought about asking Camille for help. She wouldn’t tell anyone and she’s always been great at Potions,” you explained. “And then I thought, Ben would ask her where she’s going all the time. He wouldn’t leave her alone anyway. So I considered telling them both.”

Tom looked like he had been petrified for a second, not moving a muscle. “But you’d have to tell him about the pact.”

“I know.”

“That’s what he was after since the beginning.”

“Yes. But I think we can trust him.”

“You think?” he asked. “Why, because he’s stopped Freda’s quill? That’s enough to gain your trust?”

“It’s not like we have a lot of options, Tom,” you replied, slowly but surely getting annoyed by his constant suspicions. “Camille wouldn’t be with him if he was a snitch.”

“We will just plan better. It won’t be easy, but we-”

“No. This is too much work for two people. Just look at us. We’re both barely keeping up. It won’t be long until we’re completely worn out. We need help.”

Tom’s brows were furrowed, still not convinced even if he understood. You stretched out your hand towards him and waited for him to hold it.

“If we don’t ask for help we’re going to mess up. I’ll either fail my N.E.W.T.s or the antidote won’t be finished. No matter what happens, Elsie will pay for it. Please.”

Camille and Ben looked at Tom and you like you had both lost your minds when you took them to the seventh floor. They had asked so many questions on the way there, but you were far too tired to answer them all. Besides, they would just be able to see for themselves in a bit.

When you had arrived, you said to them once more: “I’m going to show you something now. And it is unbelievably important that you understand this needs to stay between us. No one else must know.”

Camille and Ben nodded, both with serious and still confused looks on their faces.

“And might I add,” Tom said as he looked directly at Ben. “That my memory charm is very powerful. If you can’t keep your mouth shut I’ll obliviate you and I might even make you forget that you have magic running through your veins.”

Ben nodded again. “Alright mate, I got it.”

The door to the Come and Go Room appeared and the two wore the same expression that you must have had when you had first seen it. 

“Come in,” you said as you opened the door.

The room was a bit tight with the four of you in there. You stirred the liquid inside the cauldron like you did each time while Ben and Camille looked around curiously. 

“A potions room?” Camille asked once the door had been closed. “Now, can you please tell us what’s going on?”

You looked at Tom, who stared back at you, lips pressed together and still unsure if what you were about to do was a good idea. But still, he nodded. He had every right to be suspicious, you had to admit now that you had brought them there. But Camille was to be trusted and frankly, you were far too tired to think of any consequences.

So you began to tell them everything from where it all had started, a day before the school year, at your house. Camille knew half of the story already, but once you told them about the Gaunts and that they were the ones who had cursed Elsie, she stood there wide-eyed, just like Ben.

“And this is why I wanted to ask you both for your help with the potion,” you said once you had told them every detail. “If you don’t mind of course. If you’re willing to help, everyone would just have to come here three times a day. That would make our lives a lot easier.”

They didn’t even need to look at each other and nodded right away.

“Of course,” Camille said. “It all makes sense now. Oh, you must be exhausted. Twelve times a day?”

“I can come more often if you want,” Ben chimed in. “I don’t have as much to do as you, my N.E.W.T.s are still a year away and I wouldn’t have bothered studying much this year anyway.”

“What a surprise,” Tom muttered, even though there was a hint of a smirk on his face.

“One more question,” Ben said. “What about the last ingredient? Banshee tears you said, right? Where are you going to get those?”

“Well. That’ll be the final obstacle.”

“My uncle owns a flask,” Tom explained. “He and my Grandfather will be out next week and we’ll go and try to get them. Our house-elves will be on high alert however, so it’s going to be risky.”

“So,” Ben said. “When are we going?” 

“We?” Camille and you asked simultaneously.

“You can’t sneak your way in anyway with the elves around, right?” he said. “Four people are a better distraction than two. I’m in.”

“You weren’t even invited in,” Tom said.

“I don’t care,” Ben shrugged. “I’m still in if you need me.”

Tom sighed as he walked in circles around the cauldron, his hand covering his mouth while he considered Ben’s offer. “As much as I hate to admit it,” he then said. “I think you might be right. A distraction could be of benefit.”

“See?” Ben chuckled. “The muggleborn isn’t that dumb after all.”

“Oh brush off the arrogance, Hilt. We don’t have the flask yet.”

“Boys, please. Let’s discuss that another time and let me show you how to tend to the potion.”

You spent the following week planning for Saturday, when the Gaunts would leave their manor to attend the honouring of the Order of Merlin. You had also gotten some most needed hours of sleep. Not only that but just knowing that Camille and Ben were taking some weight off your shoulders made it much easier to concentrate on school and homework as well. 

On Saturday evening, when you met at the fireplace connected to the Floo-Network, you went over your plan again.

“And don’t forget,” Tom said. “There are two house-elves. They’re loud, but not very bright. Much like Gryffindors.”

Camille stifled a laugh and looked over to Ben.

“Mate,” Ben replied. “Can you stop bullying me? I’m helping you out here.”

“Sorry,” Tom answered and bit the inside of his cheek. “I was just joking.”

“Oh yes. Riddle’s first joke in eighteen years and of course I take the fall.”

“Guys,” you scolded. “Get it together. Do you remember everything?”

“Yes,” Camille replied. “We are Theresa Carrow and Connor Prewett, your new and very pureblooded friends. We’ll be distracting the house-elves while Tom and you look for the flask. Once you got it, Tom will obliviate them and we'll come right back here.”

“Alright then,” you said as you watched Tom disappearing inside the fireplace. “See you there.”

The green flames consumed you whole once you let the Floo Powder fall and transported you swiftly to Gaunt manor, where you found yourself in a dark hallway, the reception hall, perhaps. 

Tom was there already and offered his hand for you to step out of the fireplace. Camille came next, followed right by Ben. Before you could say anything, you heard two raspy, high-pitched voices coming your way.

“Who is it?” one voice asked. “Master? Is it you?”

“Show yourselves,” the other voice croaked and the elf snapped her fingers, making all the candles around the room light up. It still was dim, but you could see them a bit better now. Both of them were wrinkly and old, their faces scrunched up in suspicion. They didn’t look like the elves at your home at all but were hunching and worn out, completely different to Tummy. The male elf, Scrook, missed a large piece of his left ear and the female one, Hokey, walked with a severe limp.

“Master Riddle,” Scrook said once he had detected him and bowed tediously. “What do we owe the honour? Master Gaunt didn’t tell us you would visit today.”

“He didn’t?” Tom asked. “He must have forgotten. I told him that I’d come by today. Isn’t he here?”

“No Master,” Hokey answered. “They just left thirty minutes ago. Should we inform them for you?”

“Not necessary. I just wanted to treat my friends to dinner, you see. May I introduce you to Miss Carrow, Mister Prewett, and my fiancée.”

“Oh, networking, yes,” Scrook said and bowed once again. “Welcome to Gaunt manor.”

“Shall we prepare some food for you, Master?” Hokey asked.

“Certainly. Bring my guests to the sitting room, will you? I’ll join in a bit.”

“Of course, Master. Of course.”

The two elves escorted Camille and Ben to the back, bickering and wrangling like an old couple.

“Quick now,” Tom whispered to you and walked the opposite way, towards the basement. The whole mansion was cold and dark, mahogany bleakly spread across the floors and even on some walls. The marble staircase in the entrance hall might have looked impressive, but only added to the frigid aesthetic of the house.

“Allow me to ask, Mister Prewett,” Scrook said while Ben and Camille took a seat. “What magical family do you belong to? I’ve never heard your last name before.”

“I, uh. I’m related to the Black family,” Ben said.

“The noble and most ancient house of Black,” Hokey crowed. “What an honour.”

The corridor to Morfin’s chamber was long, you had walked there for at least a minute, and it got even colder with every step you took. When you finally reached the door at the far end, Tom halted and you took a deep breath. Tom turned the doorknob, but the entry remained closed. 

“Locked,” he said. “Alohomora.”

The door stayed shut. Tom frowned. That would have been too easy.

“A different spell?” you asked. “Or is there a key somewhere?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s a charm.”

Merlin’s beard. What could it be? You thought about what Morfin could have done to lock the door. Something that only he or Marvolo would be able to use.

“What about Parseltongue?” you asked. “Does Morfin know it too?”

“Yes,” Tom answered and proceeded to speak unfamiliar words in the language. The doorknob clicked and sprung open by itself. “There we go.”

Meanwhile, in the sitting room, one of the elves got more and more interested in Ben and Camille’s backstory. “Can Scrook offer you a drink Miss? Sir?” he asked, while Hokey was busy in the kitchen. “Please, if you don’t mind, Mister Prewett. Would you tell me how exactly you’re related to Arcturus Black? Master Morfin is on good terms with him and I wonder why I’ve never heard of you before.”

When you entered Morfin’s chamber you were surprised by its size. It was almost as large as the entire Potions classroom in Hogwarts. Dead bats and shrunken heads were hanging down from the low ceiling here and there, along with strange feathers and strings that must have been some creature’s strands of hair. Despite its size, the room was crammed with bottles, finished potions and ingredients of all sorts. It wasn’t messy, not at all, but very chaotic for anyone unfamiliar. 

“Morfin arranges everything by type,” Tom said. “Liquids from living creatures must be in this corner then.”

You both started opening the drawers and looked for anything that could possibly be Banshee tears.

Ben and Camille still got cross-examined by Scrook. “Interesting, interesting. Mister Black is your great-uncle, you say. Have you met him lately?“

In the chamber, you had searched for over ten minutes already, and gone through hundreds of little flasks. The number of different liquids in this room must have been in the thousands. Slughorn’s stock was absurdly small compared to this. 

“Can’t we just use a summoning charm?” you sighed, going through your fifteenth drawer of vials filled with animal blood.

“No,” Tom said while closing a drawer. “The elves would notice it immediately.”

You shoved yet another drawer shut. “Bloody hell. What if it’s hidden?”

“That’s possible,” he mumbled, still scanning over all the flasks inside the cupboard.

“Wait,” you said. “What if we’re looking in the wrong place?”

“All liquids are here, as I said.”

“Yes, but I just remembered. Slughorn said this years ago. Banshee tears when stored, turn into tiny, pearly white crystals.”

Tom lifted his head to look at you.

“Where are the solids stored?” 

He pointed at the opposite corner of the room. “Over there.”

At the same time, Hokey brought appetizers into the sitting room. “Enjoy,” she grumbled, her tone not fitting her kind words at all.

“Thank you,” Ben said after he and Camille had taken some canapés from the tray.

Both elves froze in shock, deeply offended. “Sir, you have not just thanked Hokey, have you?” Scrook asked.

“Of course not,” Camille stated, holding her head high. “What are you thinking? He thanked me for handing him a canapé.”

“I see,” Scrook said, eyes narrowed. “I’ll go and look for Master Riddle now. He’s taking awfully long, whatever he’s doing.”

“No!” Camille and Ben shouted which lead the elf to turn back around.

“No,” Camille repeated, her voice a lot calmer. “I’d like to know more about this house. Can you tell us how long you have worked for the Gaunts?”

In the chamber, you went through the flasks and glass containers on the other side of the room, where the solid ingredients were stored, while Tom still roamed the liquids. And finally, between fairy wings and unicorn liver, lay a tiny flask of Banshee tears.

“Got it,” you called. “There it is.” 

Tom walked right over and checked out the flask too. “Good girl, very smart thinking.”

You lightly pushed him with your elbow for what he had just called you and smiled. “Let’s go.”

Scrook had gotten disturbingly close to Ben. “I’ll gladly tell you all about this house, Miss,” he said, not taking his eyes off the boy. “When Mister Prewett reveals his real name.”

“My real name?” Ben asked. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not a pureblood, are you?” the elf hissed. “I can smell it.”

“Excuse you, elf!” Camille bellowed. She was a much better actress than Ben. “You surely didn’t mean to insult Mister Prewett in that way. I must have misheard you. Now apologise.”

Before they knew it, Scrook had gripped Ben’s hand and pulled it towards his own face, sniffing at the inside of Ben’s underarm. “I knew it!” the elf yelled. “Mudblood! Hokey quick, alarm the Masters!”

Hokey came running in from the kitchen at the same time as Tom and you arrived in the sitting room. All three of you stood there in the archway and looked at Camille, Ben and Scrook in disbelief.

“Traitors!” Scrook screamed and accidentally knocked the tray of canapés off the table. “What have you done, Master Riddle? Bringing a mudblood into these halls.”

Ben had finally wrenched his arm away from the elf, holding on to it tightly while standing up straight, his chest heaving.

“The Masters must know,” Scrook whined and turned around. “We have to tell them immediately, Hokey.”

“Enough,” Camille said as she rose from her seat. “Stupefy!”

In an instant, Scrook fell to the floor without another word, completely unconscious. Hokey let out a yelp at the sight, turned around and ran toward the kitchen. 

“Quick, before she apparates,” you shouted.

“Stupefy,” Tom called with his wand pointed at Hokey. “We don’t have much time. The charm wears off on elves much quicker than on humans.”

Ben and Tom dragged the two elves to the entrance hall and dropped them next to the fireplace, while Camille cleaned up the mess on the floor, where the canapés had landed.

When you had gathered by the fireplace again, Scrook already opened his eyes, blinking slowly.

“Leave,” Tom urged and pointed his wand at the elves. “Obliviate.”

Camille went first and disappeared into the flames, followed by Ben and you.

Back in Hogwarts, when Tom stepped out of the fireplace, you finally felt like you were able to breathe again.

“We did it,” you said and fell into his arms. “I can’t believe we really did it.”

Tom held you for a moment, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, then moved his head and looked at Ben when he let go. “What happened?”

Ben still hadn’t calmed down. He rubbed his hands on his trousers repeatedly and shook his head. “I don’t know. They were shocked when I thanked them for serving us food. Then the elf said he could smell that I’m not a pureblood.”

“You thanked them?” Tom asked. “Elves don’t accept that.”

“How am I supposed to know that? I’ve never seen a house-elf before.”

“Forget about that now,” Camille interrupted. “Did you get them? The Banshee tears.”

“Yes,” you said and pulled them out of your pocket. “We got them.”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Masterpost | Masterlist

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[whentherewerebicycles]

y’all we all survived almost 10 hours on zoom. the students did SO freaking well and were SO generously, warmly, open-heartedly engaged in each other’s presentations, and it was just really really really moving to see that we actually did manage to build a genuinely supportive little community despite never meeting each other face to face. good lord this has been a long year. my own life/job experience has been extraordinarily cushy compared to many people’s, but it has still really worn on me to feel so disconnected from the parts of teaching that energize me & challenge me to grow. i really wanted to do this symposium because i thought it would be important for the kids to get to share their work with each other, but i wasn’t expecting it to make ME feel so tearful and grateful and human again. i am someone who really struggles when i feel disconnected from Meaningful Work, and as a result this past year i’ve felt so adrift and purposeless for long stretches of time. but i think that getting to see their projects assembled together this weekend (and getting to watch them have all these wonderful, supportive conversations with each other) helped me realize that i really have done intellectually and emotionally meaningful work this year, even if the circumstances of zoom teaching and advising made it much harder than usual to see/feel that along the way.

and it was also really affirming to have my boss there to see the entire thing! she was one of my grad school mentors/advisors (so she’s known me for almost a decade) and is one of the teachers i admire most. she tapped me for this position two years ago even though i worried that i didn’t have the skills or experience to do it effectively. i was kind of right lol but i also have worked really really hard over the past two years to learn the things i didn’t know how to do and to become the kind of person who could do this job effectively. and i’ve done it. i took a program that had no real structure, no clear sense of its own purpose, and no mechanisms for actually teaching students to do the kind of work we expected them to do, and i completely overhauled it (a couple times over!) and built an entirely new program from scratch. the year before i came, only one student out of eight finished their project; my first year when i took over unexpectedly in the fall, only four out of eight (pandemic didn’t help); and this year (the first year with a fully implemented new curriculum and new mentoring structures), sixteen out of sixteen will finish.

that is 1000000% a testament to the creativity and resilience of our students in this hell year. but seeing their work today i could also see how the program structures i built and the guidance i provided gave students the foundation and the tools they needed to do this work successfully. and my boss just could not stop talking during the breaks and after the symposium about how night-and-day the change was from the program’s beginnings to now. i feel like as you get further along in professional life you have fewer opportunities to get external feedback or validation. and that’s mostly good, i think! because it forces you to consciously develop your own ability to assess where you started and what you’ve learned and how much you’ve grown! but also, let’s be real, sometimes it still feels sooooooo nice to have someone you really respect look at the hard work you’ve done and say “holy shit. YOU DID GOOD.”

anyway i am sorry to always be talking about my Glorious Successes lol but 1) it’s MY public diary i am allowed!!!, and 2) this is an important part of my year-end rituals! i believe with my whole heart that teachers need to take time to let themselves really look at the work they’ve done and let themselves feel the good feelings. it is such stupidly (and wonderfully) emotional work, and we pour so much of ourselves into it, and LORD there are so many small defeats and embarrassments in the day-to-day practice of teaching, and sometimes the care and effort we put into it goes unrecognized by others or doesn’t seem to be making an immediate difference in anyone’s life. teaching can feel, and can be, so tough and self-defeating. so i think it is important to say aloud: i worked hard. i learned a lot. i took risks. i persevered through frustrating or depressing situations that could’ve defeated me. i built important, emotionally meaningful relationships with students. i strengthened my trust in my own skills and in my ability to figure out the things i don’t know how to do. i did work that aligned with my core values and was meaningful, both to me and to other people. i spend like, 97% of my time and energy at work trying to set aside my own ego so that i can be fully present with/for students, listening deeply and asking questions and creating learning environments where they can arrive at answers for themselves. and i love that work! but it is also okay and right to take time/space in my non-work life to recenter myself as a learner, and to recognize and celebrate my own learning in the same way i celebrate my students’.

[collecting-stories]

Yours - pt. 03 - Rafe Cameron

Summary: A chapter of firsts. 

A/N: This chapter is like 5.5k words so I apologize in advance for that. 

One Thing Right Masterlist | Outer Banks Masterlist

▽ △ ▽ △

-First Thanksgiving-

“You know what would be even better than seeing my family for Thanksgiving?” Rafe attempted, sitting at the wrap around counter on his laptop, trying to finish the last of his work before the inevitable holiday dinner you were hosting happened. 

“Is the answer, not seeing your family?” You asked, looking over at him. 

When Rafe’s dad had extended the invitation for Thanksgiving, for the first time since Rafe started paying his own bills, he knew exactly what the intention was. Despite the show at Christmas of a gift arriving to his apartment the only people he kept in touch with besides friends from back home were his sisters. Sarah less than Wheezie but they’d come a long way from when they were teens. And with Wheezie back home during her year off from school, he knew that Rose had no doubt seen his Instagram. Notably, the pictures of you that had begun to literal his once scarce feed. 

And just like that, out of nowhere, Ward called with the great idea that everyone get together for the holidays. 

“Thanksgiving.” Rafe has offered, “you can come up to Boston, we’ll host.” It was an olive branch. A tiny one, barren too, more like a twig but it was something and Ward took it because he was curious. 

Rafe had gotten a job with an economist firm right out of college and two years later he had completely cut his father out of his life. The firm was the reason he was in Boston, they offered him three locations, Los Angeles, which felt too far away from his sisters, Chicago, too windy, and Boston. He’d taken the job and bought an apartment that looked like something out of an ad for Restoration Hardware, sleek and modern. Cut the toxic parts of his family off and now it’d all seemingly paid off. 

When you placed the last dish on the table, thirty minutes from his family’s arrival, Rafe spun his barstool around so he could grab your waist and pull you back into him. 

“I could use the nap right now, honestly.” You admitted, leaning back against him. Rafe kissed the side of your head, hands brushing up the sides of your yoga pants, trying to find skin without looking. You’d started your pursuit of the perfect Martha Stewart approved Thanksgiving with a sweatshirt on, but that and the shirt beneath it had eventually been shed and tossed over the back of Rafe’s couch in favor of just your yoga pants and sports bra. Your anxiety had a habit of making you warm. 

“My dad and Rose won’t be here for like, thirty minutes, go relax.” He offered, loosening his hold on you when you twisted around in his arms so that you could face him. 

“I don’t have time, I still have to get dressed.” You mumbled, face pressed into his shirt. 

In all honesty, you weren’t sure you could’ve relaxed anyway. Ever since Rafe had told you his dad and step-mom were coming up for Thanksgiving with his sisters you had been internally freaking out. A meeting the family holiday wasn’t something you had never done before. You’d met Ian’s family at a Christmas dinner the first year that you’d dated. But that had been a dinner you simply showed up to, not one you put on yourself. 

This was your dinner, that you made from scratch, in Rafe’s apartment. It was your first real holiday together aside from the Halloween party you’d forced him to attend at Nina’s and now you were entertaining his family too.

-

“Things are moving really fast huh?” Nina had teased, standing over the bar cart in her small apartment, trying to remember how to mix a vodka martini. 

“Not...really fast.” You replied. Nina had been bugging you about the pace of your relationship for a while now, acting like it was so out of the ordinary that you had swapped structured date nights for take out at his apartment or yours. 

“You guys have already hit pre-moving-in-together stage.” Nina supplied, “trying to beat Anya out for a wedding this year?” 

“I’m not trying to beat anyone out?” You knew you sounded defensive but you couldn’t help it. “Can we please talk about something else?” 

“Too late,” she laughed, taking a sip of her finished concoction before grimacing. She looked over your shoulder, “do you know how to make a martini?”

“Afraid not.” Rafe replied, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and guiding you a little closer to him. He had agreed to Halloween at Nina’s because he wanted to spend the night with you and this party was a stipulation of that. He was dressed as Tom Cruise in Top Gun, something you had teased him about relentlessly from the moment he put on the costume but you’d be lying if you said he didn’t look insanely hot in the get up. Especially now that the small apartment had gotten so crowded and overheated that he’d slipped off the top of the coveralls and had them tied at his waist with just a white tank on. 

“What’re you good for then?” You joked, laughing when he pulled you even closer, pressing his lips to your neck. “Stop!” 

“Do you want one of whatever this is?” Nina asked, holding her drink out to Rafe. 

“I would but I actually came over here to steal my girlfriend.” He replied, attention moving from Nina to you, “I’ve got a meeting in the morning, I should head out.” 

“Okay,” you moved out of his hold to say goodbye to Nina, giving her a hug and trying not to let her slosh any of her martini on you. 

“No, stay!” Nina insisted, a bit whiny from tipsiness. 

“I‘ll text you tomorrow,” you promised, pulling away from her, already reaching your hand out for Rafe’s. You felt him take your hand, glancing back and smiling at him before giving Nina a kiss on the cheek, “love you, bye.” 

“Love you!” She called as Rafe pulled you away to the door. 

Once in the elevator you let out a breath, squeezing Rafe’s hand gently to get his attention. “Sorry, you could’ve stayed.” He finally said. 

“It’s okay, besides,” you replied, leaning against him and wrapping your arms around his waist, “I have off tomorrow and I know for a fact that your meeting is a zoom conference that’s like, an hour.” 

“That’s true,” Rafe said, nodding and grinning.

“So, I can bother you the rest of the day.” 

-

Wheezie and Sarah had been on zoom plenty of times while you were around and Sarah had even come up to Boston for her birthday a few weeks into you dating Rafe so it wasn’t his sisters that you were sweating. Ward and Rose were both pretty imposing. You weren’t impressed with their wealth or intimidated by it. You had grown up in a similar environment to Rafe but your parents had never felt quite as cold as his. 

“At least there’s alcohol,” Sarah teased, coming up beside you to pour herself a glass of wine. Her own boyfriend had opted out of Thanksgiving with her family to stay down in the Outer Banks and you were a little jealous he didn’t have endure this. 

“Thank god,” you replied, taking a sip of the only red wine you didn’t absolutely hate. A sweeter red from a subscription box that one of Rafe’s friends had gotten him for Christmas once and that he kept up with. 

Dates to fancy restaurants hadn’t been scraped altogether but they were usually reserved for dinners that included more that you and Rafe. You didn’t need over priced food and dry wine to be impressed by him and he certainly enjoyed just hanging out without all the pressure. But apparently fancy restaurants and the wine they served in them was exactly what Rose was looking for. 

“My god, you can taste the sugar in this. It’s like grape juice.” She complained, lips pursing at the unwelcomed flavor. 

“Drink something else then.” Rafe replied, annoyed that he was even putting himself through this. And that he was putting you through this too. He knew you were stressing about Thanksgiving. You’d been back from the wedding for a week, and things between the two of you had been better than before (though before they’d been pretty fantastic too), and now he was subjecting you to his family.  

“Well if there was anything here that was drinkable,” Rose snapped, glaring at her stepson, “I would.”  

“How’s business been?” Ward asked, drawing Rafe’s attention away from Rose and her scrutiny.

You tuned out their chatter in favor of listening to Wheezie talk about her current endeavors, which sounded a lot more pot driven then anything else. Hiking the Pacific Crest Trail with a group of friends to “discover her inner self” was not quite the Wheezie you had heard stories about but Rafe had told you plenty of times that his youngest sister’s new girlfriend was a bit of an irresistible influence. Whether that was good or bad was still to be determined.  

“What about you?” Rose asked, interrupting her daughter’s novel-length plans.  

“What about me?” You repeated. You knew what the question meant and you certainly expected it. Rafe had an incredibly good job for a guy his age. He was smarter than his family gave him credit for, more responsible than anyone expected, and then here you were, and sure, you made a delicious apple pie but that didn’t qualify you to be party of them.  

“What do you do?”

“I teach first grade.” You replied, not as impressive as being an economic analyst for a firm that had offices in Los Angeles, Chicago, Beijing, and Boston but it was yours and you loved it.  

Rose, clearly, did not, as evidenced by the way she grimaced at you. As if you were worse than the wine she had finally abandoned on the counter. “What age is that?”

“Usually 6 or 7 year olds.”  You replied. “There’s two first grade classes in my school and then two in the other three schools in our sort of, district. I teach my class but I’m also in charge of helping to finalize curriculum for all the other first grades.”  

“Sounds like a lot of stress and not a lot of money.” Rose replied. “You must be grateful to have found someone so financially secure.”  

The implication was there, and loud enough that the end of Rafe’s sentence teetered off as he turned away from the conversation with his father to look over at his stepmom. She had, in so many words, called you a gold digger, right there at Thanksgiving dinner and you hadn’t even sat down to eat the meal yet. If you knew Rafe, and at this point you certainly did, he was itching to say something. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, he wasn’t living under his dad’s roof or dependent on their money, he finally could say something and he looked ready to.  

But you wanted to at least have some sort of dinner so you attempted to speak up before he could, “actually, I make a fairly comfortable salary and-”

“You don’t have to justify anything to her.” Rafe said, “she’s just never met anyone who actually works for a living.”  

“I am one of the top real estate agents in the Outer Banks, do you know how many houses I closed on last year?” Rose snapped, looking toward her step-son and her husband.  

“Rose, please, let’s just sit and eat.” Ward commented. His attempts at keeping the peace were all for show. Everything he said seemed to have some sort of edge behind it. As if he’d worded it just right to compliment and insult at the same time.  

You sat beside Rafe once you’d served the dinner, staying between him and Sarah so you didn’t wind up anywhere near his parents. Wheezie dominated most of the dinner conversation talking about some guy who was doing podcasts from salvation mountain because he believed that he could commune with the “ancestors of America”.  

“Please tell me your sister is high right now.” You whispered, leaning close to Rafe.  

“Oh yeah, high as a kite.” He replied, “think she’ll give us some?”  

“That’s just what we need.”  

Rafe leaned closer, lips practically brushing your ear as he whispered, “It’ll be fun, kick everyone out, get high, have sex.”

“No.” You bit your lip to stop from laughing when he kissed just behind your ear, “now eat your food.”

“Is Fivel here?” Wheezie asked suddenly, interrupting her own story when she remembered your dog. She’d seen him on facetime enough that she had been dying to meet the black lab.  

“What is a Fivel?” Ward asked, looking at you and Rafe.

“He’s my dog. He’s in Rafe’s bedroom, I didn’t want him messing up the table or anything before anyone arrived.” You explained, turning back to Wheezie, “I have to walk him after dinner if you want to come?”  

“Yes.”

Rafe had told you, the first time he met your dog, that his father never allowed pets of any kind when they were kids. Not even a goldfish was permitted in the Cameron Household. He said that, according to Ward, the children were irresponsible and would never be able to care for an animal.  

-

“One time I brought a stray cat that I found home.” Rafe said, sitting in your bed, petting Fivel. The dog was beside himself, rolled to expose his stomach with his head in Rafe’s lap.  

“He didn’t like kill it, did he?”

“Honestly, wouldn’t have been surprised.” He admitted, “When he got mad he was scary. But no, he just made me drive with him to the SPCA to drop it off. I cried the whole way there over having to give up this kitten and then my dad made me walk all the way home.”

“Why?”

“Cause I cried.”  

The bed dipped as you climbed back onto it, sitting beside Rafe and pressing a kiss against his bare shoulder, “you dad sounds like a dick.”

“Oh yeah, no argument there.”  

-

Ward piped up again, seemingly in the mood for conversation and always happy to paint his son in a bad light. “Rafe wanted a cat once when he was younger but I didn’t allow it. The poor thing would’ve died in our house, Rafe’s never been good at taking care of anything, let alone himself.”

“Dad,” Rafe snapped.  

“I’m just putting it out there. I mean, you work with kids,” he said, looking at you, “you must’ve thought about having them.”

“Uh, yeah.” You nodded. It was a conversation that you and Rafe had for the first time when you stayed up north a ways for Anya and Ian’s wedding. Kids were not going to happen next month, certainly, but they were something you both agreed you wouldn’t mind.  

“Well, usually, you know, they say if you can take care of an animal then you can take care of a kid. And I’m just tell you, Rafe couldn’t take care of either.”  

“Dad!” Sarah interrupted this time, glaring at her dad. “Can we just have a nice family meal?”  

“We are.” Ward insisted. Under the table, you reached for Rafe’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly as his father continued talking, seemingly unaffected. “Did Rafe tell you he used to do drugs? You don’t do that anymore right? He snorted coke, wasted thousands of dollars on the stuff.”

The flatware and serving dishes on the table banged together as Rafe stood up suddenly, letting go of your hand. You thought for a moment that he was going to lose it and flip out on Ward and honestly, you wanted to yourself. But he said nothing, walking down the hall to the spare room that he used as an office, all of you watching in silence. Was he so upset he was locking himself in, you could imagine the absolute joy Ward would take in knowing he knocked his son down so far that he was sequestering in his bedroom.  

Finally he came back, piece of paper in hand, and he stopped at Ward’s chair. “Here, get out of my house.”

“What’s this?”

“A check. For 25 thousand. Now take your wife and get out of my house.” Rafe repeated, “dinner is over.”

You sat there in silence, too shocked to look at Sarah and Wheezie, who mirrored your expression, watching as Ward and Rose stood and left. Rafe walked them to the door, slamming it after them and, finally letting out the anger that had been boiling over all night, punched the wall, hand going right through the plaster.

“Wheezie and I can walk Fivel for you,” Sarah whispered, standing up and ushering Wheezie to the bedroom to get the dog and give you and Rafe some privacy.  

You got up at the same time though you headed for your boyfriend, who had his bloody hand pressed against a white button up, face red. “Hey,” you spoke soft, in what you hoped was not your ‘talking to kids voice’, “come on. I know you have a first aid kit cause I bought it.”

He followed you into the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet while you pulled the first aid kit out from below the sink. The front door opened and closed as Sarah and Wheezie left with Fivel. Just the two of you in the apartment now.

“Hey,” you brushed his hair out of his face and he tilted his head back to look up at you. “You did the right thing. He shouldn’t talk to you like that, or about you like that.”

“He’s right. I was a fucking screw up.”  

“In the vain of sounding like I’m going into teacher mode,” you said and Rafe laughed, leaning forward to press his forehead to your stomach, “Everyone messes up sometimes. You’re not that person anymore, and no one should ever talk to their kid like that.”

“I’m just glad he’s gone.” Rafe replied. “I don’t care if I never see him again.”

“Won’t argue with you on that.”

-

-First Christmas-

With the way that Thanksgiving had gone for the two of you, Rafe had proposed a Christmas without family. You might’ve agreed except he hadn’t met yours and you were more than determined to prove that not everyone was like his family. Christmas brought a lot of things. The four-month mark on your relationship, though Nina claimed it felt more like you had been dating a year, and your first major fight.  

Which began as a spat at his place and evolved into a whole verbal sparring match once you were at yours.  

“I’m not going.” He kept repeating the same phrase over and over.

“Christmas is so important to my family, I already told you-”

“And I already told you that the last thing I want to do is subject myself to a house full of people on Christmas when I could be home.” He was adamant about his ‘no family holidays’ decision.

“You haven’t met my family yet.” You argued. You’d been subjected to his and you talked with his sisters frequently but he had never bothered to meet any of your family.  

“Schedule a dinner.”

“Rafe! I did Thanksgiving, it’s not fair that you won’t come up for Christmas with me.” What wasn’t fair was bringing up Thanksgiving in the first place. The only physical memory of evening, besides the 25k that Ward did end up withdrawing from Rafe’s savings, was the hole in the wall that one of his friends had jokingly bought a frame for when they were up visiting from North Carolina the week after.  

“No.” He said the word with enough finality to end the argument.  

“Fine, I’ll go without you.”  

Dinner that night was tense and he didn’t stay over like he usually did. You didn’t text him in the morning and when he finally asked about getting dinner together two days later you lied and told him you were busy. Maybe you were being petty, probably you were, but you didn’t care. You were pissed, and rightly so. You had endured Rose’s scrutiny and had been there afterward for Rafe after he confronted his dad and he couldn’t even make the drive to western Mass. to see your family.  

So, you went alone. Packed your bags, packed up Fivel, and drove out yourself, arriving the day before Christmas Eve to your parent’s house. Christmas was a big deal in your family. The day of was always spent at home, together, with a brunch spread that could’ve fed far more people and the Hallmark channel on a constant loop of ridiculous movies that you loved way more than you should’ve. But Christmas Eve was a whole other story. Since you were a kid your mom had been hosting Christmas Eve at her house, family, friends, anyone who wanted to was welcome to come over. There was chili and meatball sandwiches and appetizers and none of the food the people usually ate for dinner. This was no Martha Stewart Holiday.  

The drive to western Mass wasn’t long, thankfully, because it took Rafe about an hour after you left to realize that there was absolutely no way he wanted to spend Christmas the same way he had the last few years. Alone in his apartment re-watching Die Hard or some other pseudo Christmas movie.  

He got there on Christmas Eve, pulling his car in next to yours in the crowded driveway. It was already snowing pretty heavily but his main concern was you. Would you be happy he changed his mind or pissed that he put you through all that fighting just to decide in the end that he was going to come?  

There were people on the porch and the front door was open so Rafe took that as hint enough to go inside. Your house was smaller than Tanney Hill but probably just as old, the woodwork inside that you’d told him about was as daunting as you said, though he still thought the house looked more welcoming than his.  

He weaved through people who said hello without knowing who he was until he managed to find the kitchen, and you, standing at the island talking to your mom. “I just think it would’ve been nice if she told you ahead of time that she wasn’t gonna show up. No one else wants to eat vegan spinach artichoke dip.”  

“She said she was going to try to make it.” Your mom replied, looking up from the oven and realizing that the two of you weren’t alone in the kitchen anymore. She had seen enough pictures of Rafe from your instagram and from what you’d sent her that she recognized him immediately. “Anyway, I’m taking this out to the living room.” She announced, grabbing the charcuterie board and passing Rafe on her way out.  

You turned, to finish your thought on your cousin, and caught sight of Rafe for the first time. “I thought you wanted to-”

“I know I said I wanted to stay home and not do family stuff but...I’d rather be here with you than stay in my apartment by myself.” He admitted. Rafe wasn’t one to fall on his own sword, he’d always been too stubborn to acknowledge when he was wrong but he couldn’t keep doing that. Not if he wanted this to last and he really did.  

You crossed the small space between the two of you, wrapping your arms around him, “it means a lot to me that you’re here.” You replied, “Christmas Eve is my favorite.”

“I think this is more people than house parties I’ve thrown.”

“Crowds are the best.” You stepped away enough to kiss him, the peach flavor of your lip balm making him lick his lips when you pulled away.  

“Why’s that?”

“Cause you can sneak off in crowds.” You replied, smiling enough that he knew exactly what you were insinuating as you pulled away from him, hooking your arm with his instead, “can I give you a tour of the house Mr. Cameron?”

“Absolutely.”

You walked him up the stairs, trying not to be suspicious as you ducked out of the party.  

-

“I watched this documentary about Nancy Reagan once,” you began to say, laying with your head against Rafe’s chest. It was Christmas morning, as your mom had reminded the two of you when she knocked on the door a few minutes ago.  

“Interesting post-sex commentary,” he teased, cutting you off.  

“Shut up.” You laughed, “I was trying to tell you something nice.” You sat up, angling yourself so that you were facing him, holding the sheet up in front of you. He looked at you skeptically, reaching for the sheet and giving it a tug but you held on. “No, cause you’ll distract me and then I won’t remember what I was gonna say and if we take too long my mom will come back upstairs.”

Rafe pouted, “no early Christmas presents?”  

“Trust me, you’ve had enough early Christmas presents to last until the new year.” You laughed, leaning over to kiss him. The moment you did, of course, he pulled the sheet away and grabbed your hips, guiding you back onto his lap. “Family Christmas.” You reiterated, determined to make it downstairs.  

And you did, though not before Rafe insisted he needed a shower and you needed to join him. The nice clothes you’d both worn for the party the night before were exchanged this morning for pajamas, yours a onesie that Nina had bought you from pink a few years ago.

Rose had always done Christmas for show, a gaudy tree and enough blinding lights and white on sliver to make someone feel like they were in a Kardashian’s house and not the Outer Banks. She never did yard ornaments or sentimental anything and someone else always baked whatever desserts they had for dinner at the holidays. Yours was entirely different. Red and green everything, the overwhelmingly large tree much more visible then it had been the night before with people crowded around the living room. There were ornaments from every year of your life, some silly figurines from Hallmark and others handcrafted with school pictures in them.  

“Guess how old I was in that picture?” You said, pointing to a baby picture of you that hung on the tree.

“I don’t know, two?”

“Five months...I just had a shit ton of hair. My mom said one time when she took my brother to Tennis the girl there asked if I wanted to join the seven-year-old class. I was three.” You replied.  

“So you were always weird?” Rafe asked, grinning when you smacked his arm.  

“How did you two meet? We didn’t get the story.” Your mom said, carrying a tray of food in and putting it on the coffee table. Your brother was with his husband’s family this year, but your sister was here with her husband and her three kids, one of whom was currently climbing onto Rafe’s lap the second he sat down.  

“Sorry, Garrett still gets u-p-s-e-t when he doesn’t get enough a-t-t-e-n-t-i-o-n.” Your sister said, as Garrett tugged on the strings of Rafe’s hoodie. Your sister was holding one of her twins and her husband had the other in his arms.  

“That’s fine, Garrett and I can chill, right?” Rafe said, tilting his head to look at your nephew.

“Yeah chill,” he repeated, smiling up at Rafe.

“So,” your mom said, drawing the conversation back, “how did you two meet?”

“Like how did we actually meet?” Rafe asked, smiling at you as you sat down on the couch beside him, Garrett repositioning himself so he was stretched out across both of you, laughing when you tickled him.  

Your mom nodded.  

“We uh, met at college but I was kinda still with Ian so nothing really happened and then Nina saw him on my Tinder and swipped and now we’re together.” You replied, “a modern love story.”

“Yeah, we,” he looked down at Garrett and then back to your mom, “h-o-o-k-e-d up and she broke my heart by not calling me back.” Rafe said.  

“Rafe!” You laughed, nudging him.  

“God, I hated Ian...what a d-o-u-c-h-e,”

“We actually just went to Ian’s wedding in November,” You replied, lifting Garrett so that you could grab some food off the table. Rafe put his arm around your nephew when he tried to rock back again.  

“No!” Garrett laughed, squirming around. “I wanna do presents.”

“Okay, okay, we’ll do presents.” Your stepdad promised. Garrett slid off of Rafe’s lap, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the tree. Rafe followed, sitting down at the base of the tree so that Garrett could look for the presents with his name on them.  

“How was the wedding?” Your sister asked, sitting on the floor by the couch with one of the twins. “I can’t believe he invited you.”

“Oh he didn’t,” Rafe piped up, “Ian married her grade partner.”

“Are you kidding?” She practically hissed, immediately going into older sister defensive mode.  

You rolled your eyes, getting off the couch and sitting down beside Rafe and Garrett. “Not kidding, and it doesn’t matter anyway.”

-

Being at your parents for Christmas had the same feeling as being out of the city for the wedding. Maybe even more so this time around, spending time with your family, made it easier for Rafe to think about the possibility of moving out of Boston and settling down with you somewhere like this.  

“I bought that bike unitard, by the way.” You mentioned, packing your suitcase to leave. Rafe was laying on the bed in your childhood room, Fivel spread out next to him.  

“The what?” He asked, raising his head a little.  

“The bike unitard, that I showed you, from that yoga website.” You replied, “its the shorts.”

He hummed, laying his head back down and brushing his hand through Fivel’s fur.

“What’s the ‘mmhmmm’ supposed to mean?” you asked, mimicking his humming.  

“You don’t ride a bike. Also, it’s December.”

“I might start.” You argued. In reality the chances of you biking were slim to numb but the outfit had been cute and the site had a 20% off sale.  

“No.” He replied, “Nina asked you to bike two weeks ago and you said it was, and I quote, the worst activity in the world.” He said, finally sitting up all the way when you stopped packing to sit on the bed with him.  

“Well I could stationary bike?” You suggested, though that was unlikely too. “They have those ones with the desk. So you can work out and work.”

“You’ll never use that.”

“I might.”

“Why not just use that stupid peloton in my office.” It had been a gift from Rose and Ward two years prior and Rafe had used it a total of never. It just sat there, staring at him as he worked.  

“Then I’d be at your apartment all the time!”  

“More than you are now? I’m surprised I don’t get mail in your name already.” He replied, getting off the bed and going over to his weekend bag. You should’ve left by now to make it home before dark but neither of you were rushing to leave.  

“Well, we’re always busy! If I was there and not busy-”

“Coincidentally,” Rafe started to say, only to have you cut him off.

“Coincidentally?”

“Yeah, here.” He turned back toward you and held a small wooden box out.  

You took it somewhat skeptically, “what is this? This looks like the Leslie and Ben box.”

“That’s because you have the best fucking boyfriend in the world who watches endless reruns of Parks and Rec with you.” Rafe replied, “open the box.”

Sitting inside the wooden box was a keycard and a spare, silver key, both of which you recognized. “Are these to your apartment? Are you giving me keys to your apartment?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I’m also asking you to move in with me. I know your lease ends in January and my building is animal friendly...imagine my bookshelves with actual books on them.”

“You want us to move in together?”  

“I want a lot more than that,” Rafe admitted, “but, it’s a good place to start.”

-

Taglist: @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife  @freckled-and-daydreaming  @chasefreakinstokes @millie-753 @fangirlwithme @alex12948 @katherine097 @tangledinsparkles @carbonated-beverage @mariofgreengables @damonsalvawhore27 @dopedoodes @dolanfivsosxox @belledutchess @poguelifeeee @faded-blue @parkerpetertingle @thebookwormlife @summer-clouds-and-long-days @jellyfishbeansontoast @minigranger @hoewkeye @love-someone-special @tiredfeels @strangerthanfanfiction713 @the-only-nana @tomzfrog @mozz-are-lla @vindictive-hearts @ssprayberrythings @jenahbell @beautyandthebleh @gothackedalready @teenwaywardasgardian @sarahcxmeron @haha-fuck-you-thot @stillbelieve398-5 @rewindlr @queenniccimicci @thedarkqueenofavalon @alytavzla @bqmblebee @linniep @nerdypartytrashpsychic @xxchxrryxx  @danielladreaming @obx-saltlife @youngestxhearts @spnobsessedmemes @wowitswondergurl @aoba-josigh @pineappleandcherries @mysterious-adventurer @justawilddreamerchild @rhyetaylor62 @calm-rejects @oh-annaa @aiifandomsunite @x-lulu @ceruleanjj @wicked-laugh @obxwriterfan @allie-mcginn @literarycharleton @khiaraaa-in-spacee @crushe-s @teamnick @daydreamlilys @collectiveuniverses @activist-af @mdgrdians @buckys-sunflower @vindictive-hearts @copper-boom @talksoprettyjjx @5am-cigarette @smiithys @dontjinx-it  @mysticsthinking  @rudy-pankow-needs-an-oscar @babymatilda @raekenliar @lemur46 @under-a-canyon-moon @calums-betch @dpaccione @bbeauttyybbx @teenwolfobx @iccyyyybitch @popcrone818 

[tsukiyadori]

Sakura and Kaede: Btw. how did you propose to mum? Tsubaki: ... I haven't proposed to her now that you mention it Fudanshi Kazoku Chapter 34.2

This chapter part is amazing. Last chapter was already great, but this one doubles down on it even more.

The first page actually bamboozles me the most.

Because this is cute. It's just endearingly cute. Just a few years younger-me would have thrown tomatoes at me now for being such a sucker to cream cheese.

And then we're back to Tsubaki who is in the middle of his little crisis after realizing that a few BL tropes too many are getting too relatable to him. So he thinks about the nature of his and Hiiragi's feelings. But it's seriously, this time, not in the midst of a dorky freakout denial session. He's still trying to reason that unlike Hiiragi he's just fawning over him like and idol.

BUT:

Consulting his BL stack, there happens to be exactly basically his current feelings' realization plot arc.

And yes, he can't quite deny this book is saying quite the same thing as he's been thinking for a while. Right next page to it is also closing with "It was love after all". Is he getting his answer there?

BUT.

That panel's followed up with * fierce sex *

And Tsubaki's immediately like "Nonononono, that's IMPOSSIBLE".

I laughed so badly in my head. rofl.

That just seems so, just so relatable. What do you do when you have absolutely no clue? You consult the next best thing somewhat close to it to get at least a crumb of an idea, even if you (kinda) knew it's burning dumpster fire of trash you shouldn't have looked up. Even at the risk of getting some really warped, bad ideas out of it, you kinda just feel compelled to understand this nonsense. And what else do you even have there when there isn't somebody real there to explain things to you? (... Yes, biology textbooks, school curriculums and teaching staff, I am still salty at you. Not just for ignoring the existence of somebody like me, but doing a terrifically incomplete job at explaining for the rest as well, even if they all seemed to have had some fun at their secret conclaves or whatnot that formed.)

But now that it wasn't awesome enough, it serves up more Katsura!

Tsubaki is all down and gloomy with his confused, bleeding heart, so his sons try to cheer him up and distract him. Then the question of his proposal comes up. And he has to admit he never did propose. What's more:

Tsubaki: On that day, Katsura suggested it herself. It was convenient in a few ways, so I was ok with it. We did registed the marriage some when that day. Small print: Katsura: I can't have children without in-vitro fertilization anyway. Tsubaki: Ah... Katsura: Anyway, here write. In-vitro fertilization? That's even one step above that was shown implied already. There wasn't any attraction between them, they literally had no sexual relations whatsoever despite even having children. Didn't expect it to be even more clear on what was kind of obvious anyway.

And dense Tsubaki suddenly gets that bright spark:

Eh? Now that I think about it, we've continued on just like friends...

Katsura is amazing. So simple and practical. Just thinking about how cool it would have been if I could have had such an arrangement in my life. I could have stayed peacefully dense and oblivious to all that nonsense. So much less irritating headaches!

I mean, just look at this:

Katsura: "You're the 'uke' of my ideals"

That's the most romantic thing Tsubaki can think of that Katsura ever told him! (Not that it wouldn't have been a riot in an actual romance as well.)

And he's still clearly had a fulfilling, happy life with her before and his family so far, too. There is still no indication that it was lacking compared to what he's feels storms he's getting served up right now, so he's never questioned his relationship with her at all, nor had any sense of intrinsic need for any change. The main purpose of making any differentiation between the two seems really just to put Tsubaki at ease that Hiiragi isn't a contradiction to his loyalty to Katsura, that they can coexist in his heart on equal levels. And he can also safely start thinking that because Katsura arranged it all already long before. 'Tis awesome.

Katsura: "Won't you become 「　」 with me?" Tsubaki: Ah... right...

Now given the framing of that phrase of this last panel group it's most decidedly not a 恋人 (lovers). 夫婦 (husband and wife) kinda feels a bit off, too, maybe. So my bet's on 「　」 being 'family'. Simply because it's in the title. But I'm all ears if it's something else, too.

[thebrownssociety]

Hi, so I was wondering about the toons getting an education. You said that they didn't know how to read or write at the begining. First of all, when did they learn to read and write? And second of all, when they started learning those things, how did they do it? Did all of the toons go to school, you know, like kids do? Did they have classes and classmates, different subjects, different teachers? Or did they have private tutours?

So, first things first, thank you Ana for giving me one of my most complicated asks yet! That's why it's taken me so long to answer, I need to first of all sort through the strands of my brain in order to find the answer, and then translate it so it can be understood by normal people.

This headcanon is LONG, I hope you lot enjoy.

the majority of the toons [about 90 percent] are NOT created with the ability to read and write. In the olden days it was generally assumed that they didn't have the ability to learn either.

The other ten percent DID. They tended to be toons that were created to be doctors, lawyers or other professions that need the ability to read and write. Or members of royalty because the creators made the decision that royals would have been taught to read and write and so incorporated that into there designs. This is why Porky Pig is unusual, because he has the ability read and write, but he's not royalty and he doesn't have an official profession. Technically Porky is an anomality, it just happens that his anomality has helped him more than hindered him.

Moving onto the villains, it tends to follow the same rules as above. Grimhilde [wicked stepmother] has the ability to read and write because the creators assumed that as the now queen she had to be a princess before, therefore fit the rules.

Maleficent however, couldn't read or write [much to her frustration] because she was a villainous fairy and although she was [I think?] royalty of some sort within the fairy world the creators decided she didn't need the ability.

You might be getting an idea of the timeline from the movies I mentioned. I headcanon that the toon began campaigning to get an education during the 60's. They did this largely via peaceful means [mainly because one thing that has always been acknowledged by humans is that Toons are quite powerful and they aren't to keen to annoy them massively. The toons for their part don't want to cause massive distress to humans - they want to make them laugh! - so it actually works to a degree. During the 60's though the Toons decided something needed to be done.

The directors and other higher-ups had been promising to change the rights for the last decade and it hadn't happened. In 1965 the Toons decided enough was enough, they would start peacefully protesting. They adhered to the riles of there contracts to the letter. The LT's contract for instance says they have to arrive at least five minutes before filming starts, so they arrived five minutes before filming started when previously they'd been arriving half an hour so the director could run through everything with them.

They also left straight after seeing as there contract said they were free to go after the filming ended.

The LT's were also contracted to be available should WB ask them to do anything like help in the kitchens, but they only gave to do that for a set amount of hours each week. They worked those hours to the letter and went straight after. A few of the more devious toons even reasoned the contract just says they have to show up, not do any work, so they didn't. At first the studio got round that by asking toons who they knew would do the work properly, but it didn't take the toons long to figure out that was happening and then the 'good' toons wondered why they should bother when the 'bad' toons were being allowed to get off scot-free?

Eventually no toons was doing any work to help the general running of WB at all.

The above, I should mention, did not happen overnight. It took around 18 months, and it wasn't just happen at WB. Although Disney didn't have the exact same contract, they ran on the general principle of arriving at a set time and leaving straight after, so the toons just adhered to there contracted times.

18 months later and the companies decided enough was enough. They were having to go overtime to film the cartoons/movies now the toons weren't doing extra [previously unpaid] hours. [Which they did because the majority of them are perfectionist when it comes to the cartoons and wanted them to be the best they could be.] They were also having to pay the Human employees extra to cover the hours, often at extremely short notice. And unlike the toons they weren't contracted to come in just because the company wanted them to.

So anyway, the point of me detailing this is to explain the circumstances that meant that the companies were at there wits end and ended up petitioning the president to give the toons rights. Mickey Mouse also helped out enormously here as well. Walt Disney had died a few months earlier and Mickey was now running Disney. Which also meant control of the theme parks. Mickey decided that seeing as Toons clearly weren't valued enough to bother educating [despite being proven as intelligent] they shouldn't bother providing entertainment at the parks either.

The Disney toons also had it worked into there contracts that they had to make periodic appearances at Disney's parks [kinds like the people dressing up as the characters do now, except it's the actual toons] and are on a rota basis. Unless they're doing an events [like Halloween for the villains or valentines day for the princes and princesses] then each toon does at least one 12-hour day at Disney per year. It was this bit that Mickey was putting a stop to.

It had a real knock-on effect as, as well as the rides, most people went there hoping for a glimpse of there favourite toon. Without that...

As much of an absolute business-killer as this idea was, Mickey was more than happy to explain to anyone who would listen [read: most of the world news] exactly WHY he was doing it. With all this pressure it was really just a matter of time until the laws changed and the toons were able to gain an education. This was in 1968.

Now as fast as things work in Toontown, this was such a complicated area that it took a full 2 years for the various schools to be built, staffed and a curriculum drawn up (which followed the same basic guide as human education, but with some added stuff and some stuff taken out. It basically followed a 'would a toon actually need this in future life?' and went from there.

Here's were it gets slightly complicated. Because I mentioned before that toons age in a weird way. But the main thing is they go up and down in there age on a day to day basis until they are about 20. This makes educating them quite difficult, to say the least.

The studios solution to this was to bring in Human teachers to teach them at the grades human children would go through. So Kindergarten, Grade 1 ext. The thing was that a lot of the toons had learn some of th education already, like identifying shapes and coulors and things. And of course the ones who were professionals [Like Ludwig Von Drake and Gus Goose] already had a college-level of education, they just needed to prove it to the teachers.

The end result of this was that it wasn't unusual for a toon to be in a class for only a few months at a time while they did the work [don't forget, they only need 4 hours of sleep as well, so they could study for longer if they wanted]

It did eventually even up though and the toons ended up spending 9 months if the right class. For example, Porky Pig aced Kindergarten all the way up till 4th grade and then found he was struggling with 5th grade. This was a shock to him after spending 21 months in education [excluding holidays], to suddenly need help. Porky was forced to realise that he had centred a lot of his identity around being 'the one who can help his friends/family read.' and hadn't expanded his personality much beyond that.

So yeah, as an average most toons took about ten years to complete Kindergarten - end of high school.

Then a few of them took college courses, which lead to them getting degrees, which led to a couple of them getting teaching degrees. The majority of the LT's you see in Tiny Toons [excluding Foghorn, who decided he didn't want to be a teacher, and Elmer who took a undergraduate degree in law until 1992] did their teaching degrees from 1988 - 1992.

There's a couple of you who might had realised that they were filing Tiny Toons at the times and learning how to be parents at the same time. That was partly why they wanted to do it then, they realised that after Tiny Toons had finished the kid would need educating. Although the human teachers had been alright, they'd found it slightly difficult to cope and the LT's didn't want their kids to go through that particularly. Also, what's the point of building a school just to got rid of it after?

So here's the main schools: (After the toons gained teaching degrees)

Disney Elementary - Kindergarten- Grade 5.

Hanna-Barbara Middle School - Grade 6_8.

The Looniversity (the name stuck after the TV show) Grades 9-12.

So the Tiny Toons finished filming in 1992 and had it promptly explained to them that they would be attending school the next August [Tiny Toons were created in 1987, so were 6 by the end of filming.]

Toons don't do pre-school because there doesn't seem to be any point. Loads of Toons have coped without preschool for decades now, why would they start now?

So the TT's started Kindergarten at Disney Kindergarten, run by Snow White and helped out by Cinderella and Fairy Godmother. Kindergarten is the only school year where the toons have to do an entire year in it, the logic being they'll have longer to get adjusted to school if they're there for a year as opposed to three months.

Then it was decided which was the toon would go. Would they move upwards into Disney Elementary school, run by the Three Good Fairies? Or would they be taught by human professors? Or - the final option - they could be privately educated. [It's mainly royalty or the children of famous toons like Micky and Minnie that go down this option. The TT's were unusual in that all the LT's opted to send there kids to Disney Elementary with the hope it would help them make friends with other toons outside the LT bubble. Whether it did or not remains up for debate.

Anyway, they then go to Hanna-Barbera Middle School, which is then followed by the Looniversity. Now, despite what was shown in Tiny Toons, The Looniversity does not focus solely on Toon Physics and the like, the kids have to study the curriculum. They have options to take Toon Physics class if they wanted to, but they don't have to.

The Toons technically don't HAVE to finish High School, but they're strongly encouraged to. College is another matter, it's quite hard so only Toons who the adults know will stand a chance of passing are encouraged to do it.

Toontown University focuses primarily on The Performing Arts and Toon Physics. As well as those subjects, it offers Art, Physical Education, separate courses of Dance, Drama and Music and LAMDA.

If a Toon wants to study the likes of Maths, English and Science they can either be privately educated [A lot of the adult toons have ridiculous amounts of money due to there cartoons and the fact that until the 50's Toontown didn't exist and all there expenses were being covered by there respective directors/studios] or they could join one of the smaller colleges that specialised in what they want to do.

Push comes to shove, they find a Adult toon [over the actual age of 25] with a degree and try to mentor under them. This happens a lot.

[isoraqathedh]

Using notation to understand the world

This post was originally an article in my Gemini capsule. You can read it in its gemtext form here. Note that since Tumblr does not like Gemini links this actually goes to the HTTPS mirror.

Notation is the idea that an arbitrary object can be represented by some other abstract object. A specific type of notation, which is the one most people would understand in the conventional sense of the word “notation”, is when the object doing the representing is written. Commonly seen examples of notation include those that represent maths, music, electrical circuits and even lists of key-presses. In this article I discuss how notation has shaped my understanding of things, and also propose a notation-oriented way of understanding something.

How to understand something

There was an xkcd comic that goes something like this:

My hobby:

Sitting down with grad students and timing how long it takes them to figure out that I'm not actually an expert in their field.

In the end, the protagonist of the comic managed to find a field of study where he successfully made inroads into a community by producing words in the right order to pass for genuine knowledge.

This made me think about how someone would go about successfully fake knowledge of something. Eventually, I came up with this two-step process:

Understand the language, and how to recognise something as a correct statement.

Understand how to combine statements together to form a correct third statement.

I brought this up with someone, and he noted that by the time you have done both of these things, you aren’t faking knowledge of something, you now understand it.

In my opinion that isn’t strictly true, but it does come a lot closer than other processes. A studied reader might recognise this as reminiscent of a Chinese room, where someone can fake knowledge by reading in written text (i.e. a question) and responding according to a translation book.

While it may look like a Chinese room at first, a critical difference is that in a Chinese room, the translation book is something external to the operator, whereas the situation I came up with requires you to memorise it. While a rote memorisation would result in something almost entirely identical, a common occurrence with human minds is that it like to take shortcuts, and it is there where the situation becomes markedly different, as the shortcuts are now a form of understanding where you can now produce correct statements without memorising any translation book.

Additionally, a second form of understanding is to be able to generalise from the words you are given. A translation book can give you some rules, but when a human reads it the experience is that he will try to generalise from the existing rules and make up new ones in the vein of the ones he was given. This is expressed in a number of ways – notably some of them are quite distasteful – but the key here is that there is a point where a human would try to expand the rules that he was given and apply it to something unrelated just to see if it works. (Though, in some cases, “just to see if it works” is replaced with “and assume it works”, leading to all kinds of consequences that are beyond the scope of this article.)

Let’s now move away from dry theoretical explanations and show how this applied to me by way of example.

Making your own – the C. C. F. D. N.

The problem statement

When I was 17 I was very bad at Chinese. I am still fairly bad at Chinese, which we’ll get to later.

The main problem with writing Chinese is that sinograms – what the language is written in – are taught badly to me. I could not really understand any of the logic behind writing these unusual things, and what real information was given to me was not well-organised. What that means effectively is that I was stuck writing in a language where I have to reason about strokes from first principles, and just like trying to write a program in assembly language, it means that I missed out in understanding other parts of the language, particularly the things that are in the curriculum, which means that I failed many tests.

Then one day a friend of mine started learning Japanese, and then he had to deal with sinograms as well. But since I’m familiar with them already, I decided to help a little bit. This amounted to looking up the character in Wiktionary and then reporting on its pronunciation and its graphic etymology, both of which are helpful in understanding why a character is written and pronounced (some of the time) the way it is. However, looking up many of these characters realise that a lot of the information is repetitive and redundant. So I then built a little notation to condense it down into something that cuts away all of that.

The notation itself

The result is the Chinese Character Form Description Notation. The exact form of the notation is not needed to make my point, but we’ll discuss it as an aside here anyway. The notation describes the graphic etymology of the character by breaking it apart into its components. For instance, the character “to think” 思 is derived by combining a meaning-carrying component of “heart” 心 with a sound-carrying component of 囟, which was later simplified into the unrelated character 田. Putting that together, the notation would write the above sentence as:

思 = <心|囟→田>

Which summarises all of what I just wrote in an appealing string of symbols. Additionally, this separates it from an existing notation in Unicode called the ideographic description sequence, which instead describes how a character can be broken down in its current form.

Consider now another character, “small, narrow, fine”, which is 細. If I now provide its C. C. F. D. N., you would easily be able to figure out what its graphic etymology is, even without me spelling it out, if I mentioned that the meaning-carrying component 糸 means “fibre, rope, string”:

細 = <糸|囟→田>

But look now that 細 and 思 don’t look too alike, as their corresponding IDS would make explicit. I had not expected that the two are related quite like this – their pronunciations are also quite a bit different – and now that I have made that connection I realised that I had something in my hands that is valuable.

Ultimately, the notation I have invented for myself made everything click together in my head, and it cleared up almost everything that had been blocking me from being able to move away from focusing on what I write and instead focusing on what the writing means on a more abstract level. It wasn’t enough to eventually make me pass my exams, but I feared the language a lot less than I had before I built the notation.

(In a sense, while it was helpful it would never have come on time; reflecting on what I did in my secondary school years it was fairly clear to me that this was a thing that would have troubled me for as long as it did no matter how I did it, and I would have rejected this notation if it was handed onto me the same way that all those other explanations have.)

How the notation changed the way I think

The key to the notation’s success is, in my opinion, the following:

First, it is general. It can break apart a large number of characters and describe their etymologies in a succinct manner. There are very few sinograms where it cannot handle it at all, and in those cases it is typically because the character has an unknown graphic etymology and therefore can’t be described, though undoubtedly there is going to be a couple that would slip behind the cracks. I can’t take full credit for this one, as it is based on an existing method of classifying sinograms.

I will however say that the way I designed (?) this notation allows me to grasp the recursive nature of this classification and furthermore allow me to gain a foothold in scripts that use things that resemble sinograms but are not, such as Sawndip.

Second, it is manipulable. What you can change and in what ways are easily read out by looking at the notation. Whether or not it describes an actual character is another question, but you can basically always produce a valid formula for generating a character and hint at its meaning and pronunciation using the notation. This will prove invaluable if I were to build a script that has similar properties to Chinese characters, this is exactly how I would start approaching it.

Third, it is not clever. The key to a proper notation is that it represents the thing that it does straightforwardly, in such a way that allows one to verify that it is in fact representing what it claims to. This allows me to hook onto it and adapt myself into seeing the notation at the same time I am presented with the character.

Finally, it is flexible. Notice that in the above examples the sinograms are described in terms of other sinograms. There’s no particular reason why those sinograms are chosen. In fact, you can replace those characters with their descriptions, allowing a full drill-down of the character and describing how every little bit came to be in a simple manner. This property allows you to hide away details when such detail is not needed but still permit an exhaustive description if it is.

Reading an existing notation

In real life sometimes an existing notation is already available, and if it is it would probably be better than any notation that you would be able to make when studying it, as it is referencing the entire body of knowledge that it is built on rather than just what a student might learn as he builds it for himself. With that in mind, if one were to understand something by its notation it is prudent to understand an existing notation first before trying to make one’s own.

To this end, I would say that it is helpful to learn something by referencing its notation. Specifically, the question to ask is “how do you write this down, and why do you choose to write it this way?” This question can be asked in multiple contexts and expect multiple answers. What “this” in the question is differs depending on the exact thing you are studying, and the “why” could be surface-level “why this symbol over another” or a deeper “why arrange the symbols in this way”.

Once you learn the notation, the next step is, as hinted at earlier in this article, to learn how to combine two true statements written in that notation into a third one also written in that notation. In a sense, this task is much harder than the other two; if we apply it to, say, English, the first is “reading and spelling” and the second is the entirety of English grammar and literature. The key to this is not to complete the task, but instead to basically learn the subject “the normal way” but using the notation as a centrepiece to unify everything you learnt into it, so that you have a way to relate everything to everything else.

Consider how this can be applied to chords and music theory: you learn what notes correspond to which chords and how to write down changes to those chords, and then you can combine the chords together as simple letters on a page to form music. This is an iterative process: you learn what chords go together nicely based on existing theory, mirror it in the notation, and then generalise it in the notation before turning it back into notes and seeing if it appeals. Doing this correctly, you will both increase your understanding of music theory and also have a nice way of generating music.

Another example where the idea of learning by notation has been successfully applied (but not by me) is site-swap notation in juggling, where someone wrote down sequences of digits to describe how balls are thrown in. The inventor eventually discovered a new way of juggling (called “5551” in the notation) just by looking at the notation.

Shortcomings

It is only fair to discuss situations where notation-oriented learning is not the approach to take when learning something.

Sometimes there is no existing notation, whether because the experts have decided that writing bits of ink on a page is not sufficient for the field, or no one has thought of it, or even that all the existing ones have failed to gained currency because it doesn’t perform or there are too many competing ones. In most of these cases you can get around it by attempting to make your own. You can make this work if you know yourself well, and perhaps even present it to the community as as a way to understand the field itself.

Some people don’t take kindly to writing things down, especially in the more artistic field of study where notation might be perceived as constraining to a creative mind, and even knowledge of the existence of some notation is considered harmful because you’re always supposed to learn things “the hard way”, i.e. without any aid whatsoever, much less written ones. Whether one chooses to heed those warnings or proceed anyway is up to individual preference, but in a notation-averse community – for any reason – perhaps it would not be the best idea to show that community your new home-grown notation.

Summary

One of the ways that I have learnt something is to create a notation system for it. This involves figuring out how to write existing facts in that notation, and then how to create new things by altering the notation and seeing what the results in back in the original object that the notation depicts. I found this to be a greatly useful way to understand topics in general and a central point from which to handle unknown fields of knowledge from, while also acknowledging that there are some fields and probably some would-be learners that may not be suited to this way of learning.

[needtherapy]

Mao’er Makes A Friend

Wasn’t it enough that Wei Wuxian got his brother a puppy? Now Jiang Cheng wants him to LIKE her, like he likes all the other dogs. Wait. What other dogs? Lan Zhan? What does he mean “other dogs”?

Part 2 of JiuJiu Gets A Puppy

Read more Kristina Writes Tiny Stories

His eyes narrowed at Mao’er. He hadn’t seen her move, but he suspected she was plotting.

“Wei. Wuxian. Are you paying attention?” He looked up at Jiang Cheng, offended. “Of course I am. You were talking about irrigation. Do I need to give you input on irrigation?”

He looked back at Mao’er. This time, she had definitely moved. Still sitting, but sitting...closer.

“First of all, I didn’t ask for your opinion on irrigation.” Jiang Cheng sounded dangerously calm. “Second of all, that was ten minutes ago. Lan-zongzhu asked for your report on how the Yunmeng Jiang juniors are progressing.”

Oh. Oops.

Wei Wuxian dragged his attention back to the meeting he had been forced to attend at Cloud Recesses. Well, “forced” might not be wholly accurate. He had been very nicely and very firmly asked to attend by Jiang Cheng, Lan Zhan and finally, da-baizi, with full Zewu-Jun formality. And everyone else was there, so he suspected it would have been considered rude if he had declined. Although, he thought, it was very unfair that Nie Huaisang seemed to be dozing behind a fan in the corner.

It wasn’t so much that he didn’t want to be there. He liked talking about the different training curriculums, and he was the only person who regularly taught in both Lotus Pier and Cloud Recesses. But these days, being around Jiang Cheng meant being around Mao’er. And Mao’er was—complicated.

Wei Wuxian was perfectly aware that giving Jiang Cheng a puppy had been his idea. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, and he had worked very hard to accept that dogs did not have to be the terrifying beasts of his nightmares. Mao’er had been one of Jin Ling’s prized husky puppies, so Wei Wuxian had been able to spend the first four months of her life petting her soft baby fur, feeding her pieces of meat from his fingers, and trying not to flinch when her tiny teeth playfully nipped his fingers. His heart had melted a little more every time she had rolled on her back, legs curled up for a belly rub. Jin Ling had even made Wei Wuxian teach her to sit and stay, explaining that it would help Wei Wuxian bond with her.

And oh, it had been worth it. There had been the smallest twinge of apprehension when he’d slid her into a basket to give to Jiang Cheng. But the look of hopeful love on Jiang Cheng’s face when he’d seen Mao’er for the first time had dissolved whatever trepidation Wei Wuxian harbored. It was one of the best moments of Wei Wuxian’s life, and not just because Jiang Cheng had cried.

Somehow, though, over the last year, puppy Mao’er had turned into adult Mao’er, and it worried him. No, she wasn’t big. She didn’t bite or snarl or try to steal his food. In fact, she was very well behaved, always glued to Jiang Cheng’s heel, moving when he moved, sitting when he stopped. But she was smart. Eerily smart. 

For one thing, she could sword fly. Not on her own, of course, but in a moment of weakness, Wei Wuxian had made a flat platform that expanded like a fan and hooked to Sandu’s hilt. He never thought it would actually work, but of course, Mao’er turned out to be adept at balancing. Jiang Cheng took her everywhere with him, her nose always turning up to sniff the wind as they flew. It was unnatural.

And for another, she would carefully hold anything Jiang Cheng handed her until he asked for it back. He even let her carry Sandu once, glaring at Wei Wuxian when his mouth had dropped open in shock.

Most unnervingly, Wei Wuxian was sure she watched him when he wasn’t looking.

Today, she was inching closer to him, and he couldn’t figure out why. He’d only caught her doing it once, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that every time he looked away, she did this odd sitting scoot that moved her closer to him without ever standing up.

“Stop looking at my dog like that,” Jiang Cheng snapped, and Wei Wuxian blinked up at him, surprised by the sharp tone. It had been a long time since Jiang Cheng had seemed this upset with him.

“She’s moving toward me,” Wei Wuxian tried to explain, but it sounded ridiculous even to him.

“Of course she is.” Jin Ling smoothly interrupted Jiang Cheng’s growing annoyance, patient as always when it came to dogs. “She adores you.”

“But why?” Wei Wuxian asked, trying not to whine and failing. Next to him, he felt Lan Zhan’s tiny sigh. 

Jiang Cheng was less subtle. “I can’t imagine,” he snorted. “But she’s trying to win you over. She did it with Huaisang too.”

Wei Wuxian grimaced, thinking Mao’er might have been more successful with Nie Huaisang if she hadn’t eaten so many fans when she was teething.

Jiang Cheng misinterpreted the expression and splotchy red indignation bloomed across his face. He stormed across the room, followed by Mao’er, to stand in front of Wei Wuxian, hands on his hips. 

“How can you still be afraid of her? You picked her out! You trained her! You even got to name her! And you were never afraid of anyone else’s dogs until Fairy. Why is it just mine?”

The room got very, very quiet. Again, Wei Wuxian sensed Lan Zhan’s reaction, tension this time.

“What other dogs?” Wei Wuxian asked, confusion knitting his brows together.

Jiang Cheng exploded, shifting into outrage in the blink of an eye. “What do you mean, what other dogs? You live in Cloud Recesses with the country’s most famous dogs, and I have never once heard you complain about them!”

It did not seem possible, but the room got even quieter. Wei Wuxian felt the blood drain from his face as he turned to look at his beloved husband who would never, ever lie to him.

“Lan Zhan? What dogs?” Wei Wuxian’s voice cracked, and he could not believe the guilty look on Lan Zhan’s face. It was not possible.

“Wei Ying, I did not know you were afraid of dogs before...” Lan Zhan trailed off, a flush creeping up his neck. “Before you came back. You were here numerous times and did not seem bothered by them. But once I knew, we made sure you never had to be around them.” 

The tone in Lan Zhan’s voice was almost like pleading.

“Laodie, the pekes live all the way over in Mengshi,” Jingyi added unhelpfully, as if Wei Wuxian had any idea what Mengshi was. “In the last four years, they’ve never caused you any trouble, so what difference does it make?”

Wei Wuxian shot out of his chair. “Show me. Now.”

Lan Zhan clearly did not want to, so in the end, da-baizi sighed and beckoned for Wei Wuxian to follow him down a twisting path toward the edge of the great forest. They ended up at the gate of a house he’d only ever seen from a distance and had always thought was empty. There were half a dozen golden, furry logs galloping around inside a fenced courtyard, their flat black noses snorting with enthusiasm. It wasn’t a particularly graceful or elegant run like Mao’er’s, more of a rolling waddle, and Wei Wuxian had a hard time believing these were dogs.

A Lan disciple was sitting in the yard with them, throwing a small wooden ball and ruffling the long hair of the animals whenever they got close to him. Wei Wuxian knew that disciple.

“A-Yuan?” Wei Wuxian didn’t yell, but he didn’t have to. 

Sizhui glanced up and froze.

“Adie,” he started, jumping to his feet. 

Wei Wuxian pointed a finger at him. “Don’t ‘adie’ me! You knew? This whole time? I thought pets weren’t allowed in Cloud Recesses!”

Sizhui paled and looked around nervously, waving his hands at the yard.

“Wei-qianbei, don't say that. These are not pets. These are Lan-laoshi’s award-winning Pekingese. Lans have bred Pekingese for so many generations, they are considered members of the family. Lan-laoshi has been teaching me the art of bloodlines and traits for breeding.”

Sizhui smiled fondly at one of the ridiculous things that had come over to pant on his feet. Wei Wuxian surrendered immediately, swayed by Sizhui’s obvious pride and affection.

“How did I miss this?” he asked, turning to Lan Zhan for some kind of answer. But when he was immediately distracted by the dark pools of Lan Zhan’s eyes, the slope of his nose, and the faint curve of his lips, he remembered that perhaps he didn’t spend quite as much time observing his surroundings as watching his husband’s face. 

Jingyi patted his shoulder consolingly. “So now you know. Who cares?” He muttered under his breath, “They’re barely dogs anyway. Not like the Nie mastiffs.” “Yeah!” Jiang Cheng was annoyed again, and Wei Wuxian was confused again. “You aren’t afraid of the Nie dogs either, and I know you see them all the time!” 

“Nie Huaisang doesn’t have dogs?” He heard the question in his own voice.

Everyone turned to stare at him except Jiang Cheng, who grabbed his arm and dragged him over three decorative bridges, around one large koi pond, and down the hill to the Gusu Lan stables.

“I thought those were small horses,” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, peering at the shaggy animals Jiang Cheng pointed at. 

Granted, he’d never looked at them that closely, but now that he thought about it, it was very strange for horses to be rolling around on the ground. And those did look more like paws than hooves. 

But no.

Wait.

No.

“They have saddles. I’ve seen the saddles. I’ve seen your son ride them,” he accused Jiang Cheng, who did not look even remotely repentant.

“You didn’t think it was weird that Chifeng-Zun had miniature horses in his war room?” Jiang Cheng thundered, and Wei Wuxian looked at him blankly.

“No. Not really.” Everyone knew the former Nie zongzhu was crazy about horses.

They all paused for a moment until da-baizi laughed, the light music of his voice breaking the silence.

“That is exactly something Mingjue would have done,” he agreed with a wry smile.

Something occurred to Wei Wuxian, and he slumped heavily to the ground.

“Jin Zixuan’s dog statues? Those were real dogs, too?” 

He didn’t even bother to look up at their reactions. Of course they were. Those fragile-looking sculptures with the silky crested ears that sat on decorative pillows had been alive, and he’d just never noticed. He shuddered. Thank the gods he’d never tried to touch one.

To his surprise, Jiang Cheng sat down next to him, bumping his shoulder.

“You really didn’t know? This whole time, all these years, I thought…” Jiang Cheng swallowed audibly, and Wei Wuxian looked at the damp corners of his brother’s eyes with dawning horror.

“I thought it was just me. That you just didn’t like dogs and you made a fuss because you didn’t want to live with them.” Jiang Cheng’s voice was low and hoarse. “I mean, it was fine because you were more��”

Wei Wuxian cut him off so he wouldn’t say something that would make them both cry in front of everyone they knew. “I really didn’t know.”

He felt something cold and wet under his hand and he moved his fingers, absently scratching a soft nose and velvety ears, thinking about all the stupid misunderstandings of the past. Would he ever stop finding things he needed to apologize for?

He looked back at Jiang Cheng, ready to say he was sorry. But Jiang Cheng was looking past him, a soft smile on his face. Wei Wuxian followed his gaze to his own hand resting on Mao’er’s head, a wide-open doggie grin on her face. 

As soon as his eyes met hers, she licked his face and laid her head on his lap. He had to laugh. He had to. She had finally won.

He looked up into Lan Zhan’s face, overwhelmed by the love he always found there.

“Lan Zhan, I think we’re going to need to get a dog.”

Notes:

As always, thanks to @wangxianbunnydoodles​ for always having the best names and for the very good beta read.

猫儿 Māo'ér means kitten 猛室 Měngshì means fierce house.  大伯子 dà-bǎizi means husband’s elder brother 老爹 lǎodiē is a respectful way of saying grandfather, but as this is Jingyi, it is a little less respectful.

I did not call this “Crouching Mastiff, Hidden Pekingese” although I was very tempted

[tiffdawg]

Curriculum Vitae: Prologue

Gif: @javier-pena​

curriculum Vitae: noun cur·ric·u·la vi·tae Latin. the course of one's life.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (fem; no y/n)

Word Count: 1.8k

Rated: M - rating will go up | Warnings: Period-typical sexism, angst, mild language.

Story Summary: After leaving Colombia and retiring from the DEA, Javier Peña steps into a new role as a university professor. A woman with multiple degrees and more books than you can count, you meet Javier as you similarly struggle with the future of your career. Despite your odds, the two of you find something you need in each other during uncertain times.

A/N: So, the idea of Professor Peña has been on my mind lately (is this because I, myself, am pursing a career in academia? who’s to say ) and this multi-chapter, semi-slowburn, enemies/idiots-colleagues-friends-lovers story is the result. Just in case, I wanted to be clear that this story won’t be about a student-teacher dynamic – I went in a totally different direction. This will be a playful, sexy romance full of dreamy images of our favorite DEA agent turned university professor set against the backdrop of Los Angeles of the 1990s. I also want to note that UCLA is about to take some hits in this story, specifically the sociology department, but it’s just for the plot. I’m a UC alumna myself so mad respect any bruins out there! Anyway, I’ve already fallen in love with this story and I’m so excited to share it with you!

Read on AO3

CV Masterlist | My Masterlist

... . ...

Prologue

Checking your reflection in a nearby window, you straightened your blouse and mentally prepared yourself to knock on the imposing door in front of you. Your top was sticking to you in all the wrong places, probably from your nerves as much as the dry heat of August in Los Angeles and you really wished the university would be a bit more forthcoming with the air conditioning. The chair of the sociology department usually opted to pass along information via a memo, phone call, or through the office’s shared secretary, the latter being his preferred method. You knew it wasn’t good when he called you personally to ask for a meeting.

Steeling yourself, you rapped your knuckles against the old wooden door and listened for the brusque enter from your boss.

“Good morning, Dr. Campbell,” you announced politely, “You wanted to speak with me?”

“Ah, yes! Please come in.” He gestured to the overstuffed leather chair across from his wide mahogany desk and you sat yourself on the edge of the seat, crossing your legs at your ankles. His spacious office was lined with rows upon rows of well-read books and shelves stocked with awards and accolades. He was an intimidating man on a good day, but this was torture. You watched attentively as he cleared his throat and shuffled a few loose papers around on his desk before finally looking up at you through the thin wire glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, seemingly intent on drawing out the awkward interaction for as long as possible. “I’m afraid I have some rather sour news for you, miss.”

Gritting your teeth, you ignored his gaffe; whether the man never remembered your proper title or just refused to acknowledge it, you’d never know, although you had your suspicions. At that precise moment, it was the rest of his statement that unnerved you.

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir. Concerning what, exactly?” you prompted, hoping he would take the bait and get this over with already. He was a man known for being a bit long-winded. 

“Well, your tenure,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “Or lack thereof, pardon my candor.”

… . …

You needed to get off that godforsaken campus.

Hastily unlocking the door to your office, letting it fling open without much concern for the wall behind it, you stomped in with a little less decorum than you usually maintained at work. You threw open your bottom desk drawer and dug out your crossbody purse and large tote, tossing both carelessly onto your desk, and then proceeded to shove a few of the books and notepads strewn about your cramped workspace into your bag. You would work on your lectures for the upcoming quarter at home over the weekend, too upset to stay at the university for a second longer than you absolutely had to.

As you made your exit, the framed degrees you’d proudly hung on your wall caught your eye. You could’ve sworn they were glaring at you, taunting you.

“Useless. All three of you.”

… . …

“You are an exemplary lecturer, instructor, and researcher, and the university is fortunate to have you among our prestigious faculty,” Dr. Campbell droned on, clearly trying to soften the blow.

“However?”

“The department cannot offer you a tenured position at this time.” He rested his forearms on his desk, his bony fingers forming a pointed steeple.

You drew in a deep breath of air and dug your nails into the soft flesh of your palm, sure to leave ugly crescent moons. “I’m not sure I understand, sir,” you ground out. “This is my sixth year as an assistant professor. I was offered this professorship with the understanding that it was a tenure-track position and last year when I was overlooked for tenure, I was well-assured that this year would be different.”

The man across from you sighed again, clearly not enjoying the fact that he had to deal with an angry woman. “I am aware of the situation, lest you forget I was the one who offered you this position in the first place.”

“Then can I ask what’s changed?”

“In all honesty, the matter is out of my hands,” he placated. “This directive is coming from the dean’s office. Beyond our department, the school of social sciences is offering fewer positions this year and diverting funds elsewhere, hopefully, if I may be so bold to suggest, to services beneficial to our rapidly increasing student population.”

It took every ounce of willpower you had not to roll your eyes at his explanation. “And are competent, contented professors not beneficial to our students?”

“Well, the sociology department is being gifted a rather impressive visiting lecturer for the year.”

… . … 

“Beneficial to our students?” Beverly scoffed into her end of the receiver. If there was anyone in the world you could count on to be even angrier for you than yourself, it was her. Not only was she your best friend in Los Angeles – actually, at this point, probably the world – but she worked in student services and understood university politics even better than you did. “God, I can’t believe that pretentious asshole had the gall to say that to you.”

“You’re telling me,” you mumbled, precariously cradling the phone to your ear with a shoulder as you set the timer on your microwave oven. 

“And I’m still shocked that they’re doing this to you again,” she continued, “The department promised you tenure. Literally, promised. I remember you telling me word for word what was said at that meeting last fall.”

“Oh, don’t worry so do I.” You sniffed at a second container of leftovers, making a face when you decided the crispy tofu and Chinese broccoli hadn’t survived a few days in the fridge nearly as well as the veggie curry. “I think I etched that conversation into my brain because some part of me knew this was going to happen.” You resealed the container and moved to throw it away, only making it halfway across your kitchen before the phone cord pulled taut and nearly drugged you backwards. “Shit, hold on.”

You picked up the receiver just as your microwave beeped and you were fairly certain Beverly was laughing at you. She’d been on enough calls where you actually did overextend yourself and drop the phone to know exactly what had happened. 

“So, what are you going to do?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Sulk, probably.”

“Nah, that doesn’t sound like you,” she challenged. “I’ve worked at that university for nearly a decade and to this day you’re one of the most determined, hard-working, dedicated professors I’ve ever met.”

“Bev-”

“No! Scratch that. One of the most determined, hard-working, dedicated people I’ve ever met anywhere in my entire life.”

You chuckled as you stirred the remnants of your red curry and jasmine rice. “What would I ever do without you?”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” she scolded, “But that’s alright because I’m going to tell you what you’re going to do.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” you quipped.

“I’m going to ignore the sarcasm, this time, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You knew not to argue when she was using her mom voice on you.

“Now, listen carefully. You’re going to throw yourself into your work, as you are so prone to doing, and make this your best year yet. I’m talking professor-of-the-decade worthy.”

“I don’t think that’s a real thing,” you said with a laugh.

“You know what I mean! And I’m not finished so stop interrupting me.” She paused to make sure you were done being cheeky. “You’re going to make this your best goddamn year of teaching, research, mentorship, and whatever else it is you do, and if they don’t offer you tenure at the end of it, you’re going to remember your worth and then go where that’ll be appreciated. UCLA be damned.”

You were quiet for a long moment as you considered your words. They pulled at something hidden inside of you and were simultaneously encouraging and deeply uncomfortable. “I can’t just-”

“You can. You’re free to do whatever you need to do for yourself, and you should. There’s nothing tying you here. No family, no kids, no tenure-track, that’s for sure.” You swallowed around a lump forming in your throat and ran a hand over your face. “You still there, sweetie?”

“Yeah,” you said, switching the receiver to your other ear. “Yeah, and you’re right. I know you’re right.” 

“Of course I am.” You could practically see the grin on her face. “If they don’t have the money to make you an associate professor, at the very least, then you should go somewhere that will.”

“That’s the best part. I’m pretty sure they do. The department is bringing in a new visiting lecturer so you can’t tell me they don’t have some discretionary funds.” 

“Really? Who?”

You moaned. “One of the guys who brought down Pablo Escobar. It’s a fucking publicity stunt.”

“Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse.” There was a crash on the other end of the line followed by an ear-piercing shriek. “I’m really sorry babe, but I gotta go. Henry’s going to be home soon and I’m making dinner and the baby’s crying and I think the other two are trying to kill each other. Again.”

“Oh, no. Go take care of your family. I’m sorry I called – I didn’t realize how late it was.” 

“No, I’m so glad you did. I was worried when you didn’t show up at our usual spot for lunch today. Anyway, I’m sure this will all work out in the end somehow. I’ll see you Monday.”

You hung up the landline, silencing the dial tone. You scanned your empty apartment, your eyes dancing between the random stacks of books, your cluttered dual-purpose kitchen table/worktop, and your makeshift bedroom partially partitioned from the rest of the studio. You exhaled and skewered a few rapidly cooling vegetables onto your fork as you thought over Beverly’s words. Your whole life fit inside these four walls. There wasn’t anything tying you down besides your hope that your hard work would finally be rewarded. While that should’ve been reassuring, it just tore at your already broken heart.

This couldn’t be all there was for you.

Something had to change.

 A spunky bark pulled you from your spiraling thoughts. “Is it dinner time for you too, Sunny?”

A second bark and a wagging tail confirmed your suspicion.

Well, at least you weren’t entirely on your own.

... . ...

Thanks for reading! 💕

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Tag List: @leo-moon​ @readsalot73​