#IT WAS THE FUCKING. UNIVERSITY FACULTY TOO. AWARE OF ME. YOURE NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT

[leitmotif]

had an irl "everybody clapped" moment today and one thing i can say is that those stories do not prepare you for how to react when that happens. autism social scripts all thrown out the window

[moonlightsanctuary]

The Librarian X Reader

here’s something for the peeps! :D *DISCLAMER* There will be smut! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED -.-

( also the spacing is really off so I apologize about that. Just make sure you scroll down all the way!)

@chaoticallywriting @darlingimmafangirl

You loved going to Republic city university library, always felt at home surrounded by books that offered you a sanctuary, away from life’s problems. It also gave you a chance to see her.

You didn’t know much about her when you first moved to Republic city but you were memorized by the way her beauty mark under her right eye made those brilliant pale green eyes stand out . You liked the way her sleek black hair was always pulled back into a tight bun. Though most people couldn’t pull it off at such a young age, she could. It was a natural look to her. She couldn’t have been much older than you, but she certainly acted like it. She held an authoritative posture and spoke with such professionalism that it rivaled many of the older faculty members.

When you first applied for your library card you stole a glance at her ID card hanging from her neck. Kuvira was her name. A name you never forgot, even months later. Oftentimes you came to study, but there were times you stole glances at her. It wasn’t something you could help. The way she projected herself always walking with such poise and grace was something that quickly caught your attention. Her tone was never condescending, always warm and welcoming whenever you required her assistance in searching for new reading recommendations or a book needed for class projects, she was always willing to help. It made her that much more unique and interesting, something you couldn’t help but admire. You found it odd that you were developing a crush on her but who wouldn’t she was clearly a breathtaking sight.

Though she spoke very little the times you did speak to her she always had something interesting to say whether it was newfound knowledge or a book recommendation. It was hard for you to tear your attention away from her.

One day you caught her off guard, engrossed in a romance novel that you couldn’t help but recognize. The author was one of your favorites, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the similarities and taste you both shared in books.

“That’s a really good book. What chapter are you on?” You asked.

Kuvira looked up to peer over at you with the book still in hand. Her pale green eyes watched you carefully through black square-framed glasses. “Beg your pardon?”

“The book that you’re reading. I read it before and it’s very good. I was just curious how far you’ve gotten”

Kuvira paused momentarily before realizing that you were referring to the book she held in her hands. “Oh, I didn’t think you were interested in Nora Roberts.”

“How could I not be? Her books are very good. I like how she writes the female characters. Though they struggle through their strife they always manage to find the will to fight through their problems.”

Kuvira took a moment, taking in your words before nodding in agreement. “I know it's a bit much, but she has a writing style that is very unique. I do like how she incorporates mysteries and suspense into her books.”

“True. My favorite book from her is a book called Sanctuary. I’m not sure if you ever read it.”

“Actually I have,” Kuvira answered, smirking. “Ironically it is also one of my favorites.”

“Well then, you obviously have good taste.”

It was then Kuvira smiled, a rarity in itself. You couldn’t help but notice the fluttering sensation you felt in your stomach. She was absolutely beautiful. You watched as she placed the book on the table and placed a marker into it. You wondered if It was out of embarrassment as Kuvira tried to hide the blush that was growing on her face.

“I should say the same about you. I actually have read some of the books you checked out previously, which is why I always recommend some to you. What brings you by today Y/N?” Kuvira said, changing the topic.

“I just wanted to use the library to study. I have a test coming up. Midterms to be exact.”

“I see. Well, you are always welcome to use one of the open tables unless you’re trying to check out a study room.”

“No, the table should be enough. Thank you.” You said offering a warm smile before turning to walk away. Once you settled in an open seat you stole a quick glance at Kuvira and noticed her watching you from afar her gaze fixated on you. You could feel your heartbeat quicken but managed to quell your feelings by dismissing it as coincidental and focused on studying, assuming that she had no interest in you in that way. However, you soon learned how wrong you were.

One evening, on a rainy day you came into the library soaked. Your shirt clung to you uncomfortably which caused it to outline your figure more. Exposing the fullness of your chest and waist. You cursed yourself for not wearing a jacket or bringing an umbrella. You approached the Librarian’s desk where Kuvira stood. Her gaze fixated on you with so much intensity you could feel yourself tremble. You questioned if it was from her gaze or the chill from being in wet clothes for too long, you couldn’t tell.

“Hi,” you said awkwardly

Kuvira continued to stare. Standing stiffly not seeming to hear you.

“Um… are you ok?” You asked, growing more nervous as she continued to stare.

You watched as she jerked back, her eyes blinking in confusion.

“Sorry?” Kuvira finally spoke, clearing her throat as a blush grew on her face.

“I was asking if you were ok.” You said watching Kuvira’s expression carefully.

“I should be asking you that, especially since you’re dripping water onto my carpet. Rough day?”

“More like a rough week. This is just a lovely addition to it.”

“You are aware it’s supposed to be raining for the rest of the week right? That typically happens when the season transitions into fall around here.”

“I wasn’t aware but then again I was too much in a rush to leave before even thinking about checking the weather or grabbing an umbrella.”

“ I see…” Kuvira regarded you a moment before turning on her heel and walking away towards her back office. After a few awkward minutes, she came out with a coat in tow. She placed it on the counter between the two of you and slid the coat towards you.

“Here, it’s a spare. Hopefully, it will help you get through the day.” Kuvira said gently, eyes full of compassion.

You stare dumbfounded at her, surprised at her kind gesture. It stirred those feelings again this time with much more intensity.

“Thank you.” You said quietly, appreciative of her kindness.

Kuvira smiled widely as she took in your expression. “Of course, flu season is upon us. I wouldn’t want you to get sick. You can return it to me when you’re finished with it.”

“I will, I promise.” You took a moment to put the jacket on, enjoying the warmth it immediately offered you. You held the collar tightly to your face, could even smell the Librarian’s scent on the coat. It smelled of pine and a hint of tea-tree. At that moment you prayed you weren’t blushing as you thanked Kuvira before turning away and heading towards your usual area to sit and study. You wondered if she was usually like that with everyone.

Your happiness was short-lived over the next few days as you went through a chain of unfortunate events. You ended up catching a cold that forced you to be bedridden for a few days. When you came back to school you entered your philosophy class and were greeted to a surprise pop quiz in which you ended up failing miserably. It didn’t help that your college professor blew it off as something that was your fault. You could feel the irritation and rage growing as he seemed to be accusing you of being irresponsible. What made it worse was his insinuation of you moonlighting with some student you met on campus and felt the need to bed him. It took every ounce of willpower not to punch him in the face. You had heard from the reviews that your professor could be rather sexist but didn’t know the extent of how far he could take it. You thought your grades were enough to validate that you were a hard-working student but to him, you were nothing more of a nuisance. That’s struck you deeply. Knowing full well that was far from the truth, but it wasn’t the first time you were mislabeled.

One of the passing sorority girls overheard your conversation with your professor. She stopped with her gaggle of handmaidens and laughed at you. You recalled her telling the professor that wasn’t true, how can someone as unattractive as you could possibly find anyone who would want to date let alone fuck you. If anybody decided to give you the time a day it was because they were very desperate. It was then you lost your temper, suppressing hot tears that threaten to fall as you rounded on the sorority group yelling that they had no room to talk since they probably fucked their way through half the campus by now, probably had STD’s still unknown to scientists, and were so loose that once age finally caught up to them they would be nothing more but leathery skin and bones that not even their stepdad want to fuck.

It was a bitter defeat as one of the girls stepped out and punched you hard in the face, causing your lip to bleed. Your Professor stood there laughing, doing absolutely nothing to help. What made you enraged was when you heard him say “you got what you deserved.” It was then you knew you were outmatched, that there was no way you could win this fight. So you did the best you could in that situation, you grabbed your bag and walked away. You tried to maintain your composure as you reached the door to the library. Swinging open the door, you rushed past Kuvira’s desk.

“Y/N? What happened to you?!?” Kuvira demanded, shocked at the state of your being.

You didn’t even realize that she had tried to get your attention. Kuvira watched in horror when she saw blood running down your lip as you stormed off. You opened the door to one of the study rooms and slammed it shut. You released a shaky sob as you let yourself fall into one of the chairs, dropping your arms on the table. You leaned forward resting your head on them. It was then you allowed yourself to fall apart. You couldn’t help the sobs that racked through your body, couldn’t control the cries of anguish echo through the room. Engrossed in your emotions you failed to realize the Librarian that stood at the small window of the door to the study room watching you cry. Kuvira watched your body shake and could hear your sobs through the closed door. She debated using her master key to unlock the door but didn’t want to invade. With a heavy sigh, she turned away from you and walked back to her desk.

After what felt like hours and the tears finally subsided, you collected yourself to where you felt comfortable enough to take your leave. Taking a quick glance at your phone to check the time you realized that the library had already closed. You were surprised Kuvira didn’t try to shoo you out. Swinging your bag over your shoulder you stood up to leave. You carefully opened the door, taking a moment to peek your head out to see if anybody was still there. The library was completely abandoned. No sounds...nothing…

When you realized the coast was clear you gently shut the door behind you and began walking towards the exit.

“I was wondering how long you were going to lock yourself there Y/N” A voice called out. You immediately recognized that voice. It caused you to cease your movements abruptly. You slowly turned around to find the Librarian standing directly behind you, pale green eyes locked on to yours. You noticed she wasn’t wearing her glasses. It made her gaze much more intimidating...

“Kuvira? I’m sorry I didn’t mean to keep you here so late.” You said ashamed, guilt began eating away at you.

“Y/N…” Kuvira trailed off, taking a step towards you.

A hand reached out and lifted your chin, tilting it to the side. Kuvira could see the dry blood from your busted lip. Something flashed in Kuvira's eye, her expression darkened. From what exactly, you didn’t know. You assumed it was because of your busted lip.

“Who did that to you?” Kuvira asked in a dangerously low tone that made you tremble.

“It’s nothing.” You said defensively. You fought back the tears that threatened to fall, causing your eyes to sting painfully.

“It obviously isn’t nothing.”

Kuvira said sharply, causing you to look away. You set your gaze to the floor.

Kuvira’s hand moved to your shoulder, squeezing it gently as she pulled you towards her. “Come with me.”

You obeyed as Kuvira led you up and around the check- out counter towards her office in the back. When you entered you were guided to a chair. Kuvira gestured for you to sit as she turned back to the door. The office was nice, the decor rather simple. There was a large desk in between you and an office chair that was pushed in behind the vacant desk. Two accent chairs sat on the other side. A laptop rested beside a neat stack of papers. Landscape paintings adorned the walls giving a room a cozy atmosphere. You heard the door click shut. You turned to watch Kuvira approach, rounding her desk. She opened her desk drawer pulling out a napkin and a bottle of water. She quietly folded the napkin into a neat square. She then opened up the water bottle placing the napkin at the lip of the bottle before flipping it over to wet the napkin. Once she was satisfied that it was wet enough she placed the water onto her desk before grabbing her office chair and pulling it from behind her desk. She set the chair in front of you, sat down, and settled into it.

“Here,” Kuvira said gently, taking hold of your face. She carefully placed the napkin on your lip, gently trailing down to wipe away the dried up blood. You couldn’t fight the waves of emotions that you felt, finding it increasingly hard to meet her gaze.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Kuvira asked. Her voice was much more gentle as she continued on with her ministrations.

You sighed deeply debating on whether or not to tell her the events from earlier that day that led you into her office as she finished, tossing the napkin into the waste bin beside her desk. Her hands still on your face, gently pushing away strands of hair behind your ears.

“What’s the point… it's not like it matters anyway.” You stated in a nonchalant tone.

“It does matter,” Kuvira said, her voice still gentle but held much more of a serious undertone. She let her hands fall away as she gripped her knees. “It’s my job to help students no matter what the situation may be. Especially when I find one of them barging into my library near tears and with a bloody lip that I know for a fact was not accidental.”

“Well then, you’re probably one of the only faculty members of this university’s pathetic excuse of what they call staff that actually cares. My professor didn’t even care when that girl socked me in the face when she interfered with a conversation she had no business getting involved in.” You said dryly, words coming out more bitter than you intended them to be.

“A professor witnessed this? What did they do? Surely they were at least reprimanded.”.

“HE didn’t do shit. That bastard did nothing but laughed when those girls cornered me.”

“What!” Kuvira said shocked, taking in a sharp breath to quell the anger she felt from this newfound information. “What is your professor’s name?”

“It’s fine, you probably don’t even know him. Besides, I do not wanna become more of a nuisance that people have already painted me out to be.”

“Try me. You’d be surprised how many people I am forced to interact with when my face isn’t glued to a book. I probably met this man at one of our weekly faculty meetings.”

“It’s okay, Kuvira. The last thing I want to do is to trouble you further with frivolous issues”

“Y/N,” Kuvira said, coming out more forceful than she intended.

Your eyes finally met her gaze, almost if challenging her. Your rising anger quickly dissipated as you took in her expression. Her face was hardened, you could see Kuvira’s jaw clenching tightly as suppressed anger flared in those pale green eyes, her gaze zeroed in on you with such intensity you knew that no matter how much you tried to stonewall her she was not going to let this go. She was going to get the answers she sought, by hook or by crook.

You sank into your seat, deciding to be honest to the one person who clearly proved that she had your best interest at hand. “His name is Professor Caldera.”

Anger flashed sharply across Kuvira’s face. “Did you say, Caldera?” She asked voice full of malice as her expression darkened.

Taken aback by her abrupt change in demeanor you tensed up, carefully answering her question. “Yes, do you know him?”

“Unfortunately I do, that man is the most disgusting, vulgar, perverted, piece of shit and sorry excuse of a human being. He loves to start drama and stir the pot with both faculty and students. I’ve sent so many complaints up to the board members from things I've witnessed and from others and they still haven’t got rid of him.”

“Well, he witnessed the whole ordeal. Actually, all this began because of him. It all started when he began accusing me of getting laid by some imaginary guy. A group of girls from the Alpha Delta pi sorority group overheard the conversation and said that if anyone wanted to bed me then they must be pretty desperate. I don’t even have a boyfriend and I haven’t been laid in god knows how long… So you know me being a smart ass and all I told them they probably fucked through half the campus, had STDs that we’re still unknown to scientists, and by the time old age caught up to them they would be so ragged and loose that not even their stepdad would want them.”

Kuvira bit down on her lip hard, trying her very best to suppress her laughter, but failed. She snickered loudly. She gathered her composure, drawing her hips into a tight smile. “Very well worded.”

“Glad you enjoyed it. The fist to my face wasn’t something I enjoyed though, but I guess I brought that on myself.”

“Y/N,” Kuvira said gently, her face full of compassion and empathy. “That was in no way your fault. Caldera had no right to talk to you like that. Neither did those bimbo sorry excuse of what we call sorority girls. I am sorry I wasn’t there to help but rest assured that I will be reporting this to the president, dean of the sorority group and will be giving a lengthy speech at the next board meeting. So please, put your trust in me and allow me to fix this.”

“I appreciate the help but don’t trouble yourself, it’s not worth the effort.” You said casting your eyes to the ground.

Strong hands took hold of yours, squeezing gently. “I am, and I will! No one should have to go through something like that. Especially somebody as hard-working, dedicated, and sweet as you.”

“I really do appreciate it. I just don’t want you wasting your time”

“You are not a waste of my time, actually if anything I enjoy having you around. You’re very funny, with excellent taste in music.”

“You know what I listen to?” You asked, surprised.

“Yes, I sometimes will screen monitor the computers to make sure that they are being used appropriately. You’d be surprised how many people think they can get away with watching porn in public.”

You chuckled nervously remembering the many obscene searches you had made on the library’s computer. The number of fanfics and erotic stores you read, praying that no one noticed made you wonder how much she actually knew.

“I don’t know about all that. I mean in a way the sorority girls are kinda right. They got the money, the clothes, the looks...I just have my books and my mind.”

“Hey Y/N, don’t listen to those girls… you are much more beautiful than they will ever be.”

“Am I really though?” You asked, challenging her response. “I mean I’m not dating anyone, I don’t have many friends and I’m a huge nerd. I don’t see how anyone could find me attractive. In a way, it doesn’t surprise me.

“There are more things in life that are much more fulfilling than to waste time trying to attract the attention of boys. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. Good looks will only get you so far and if there is one lesson those girls could learn from you is that you are correct. Their good looks will only last for so long before age does catch up with them. When that time comes, they will realize the mistakes they have made in life.”

“I just wish I felt that way...it’s just difficult… especially when everyone else tells you otherwise.” You said, turning your attention away from Kuvira.

Kuvira released you and abruptly stood up, pushing the chair away. She reached out and turned on the small lamp on her desk before walking towards the door. She turned off the lights to her office.

“I think you’re attractive…” Kuvira said so softly, her voice barely above a whisper. It made you wonder if you heard her correctly or if you were just imagining it. It made you turn your attention back to her.

You heard the clicking sound of the door lock sliding into place. She turned around slowly, eyes locked onto yours. The low light from the lamp made her eyes glow in such a way that was mesmerizing and breathtaking. Her expression darkened in a way that it stirred something deep inside you, bringing out fantasies you knew wouldn’t ever happen in your wildest dreams.

You chuckled awkwardly before deciding to dismiss what Kuvira had said as pity. “I appreciate the compliment but there’s no need to lie to make me feel better.“

“Who says I’m lying?” Kuvira asked, eyes watching you carefully as she approached you. You could feel your heartbeat heavily in your chest with every step she took.

“Come on. Seriously Kuvira, how can you? Just look at me.”

Kuvira stood directly in front of you, towering over you. Her eyes never left your face.

“I am,” Kuvira said in such a tone you felt your body stiffen.

She rounded your chair, coming to stand behind you as you felt her hands resting on your shoulders.

“I’ve been watching you for quite some time Y/N.”

Kuvira leaned down, inches away from your ear, feeling her hot breath tickling your ear as she whispered. “And I know you have been too.”

You release a soft whimper, feeling your body heat up. You didn’t think it was obvious that you secretly had a crush on Kuvira, but learned at that moment how wrong you were. Trying to gain the upper hand, you tried to feign innocence.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about...” You said softly, your voice betrayed you coming out rather shaky that even you knew Kuvira would question the validity of your statement.

“Do you?” Kuvira whispered again, shifting slightly as she leaned into your other ear before continuing. “Because if watching me at a distance isn’t enough to convince me then maybe the trashy short stories that you’ve been writing and reading on the university’s computer is enough to tell me otherwise…”

Shit. You mentally cursed. Feeling the embarrassment gnawing at you as your face turned bright red. You had no idea she had seen them. How you wrote about her dark hair and pale green eyes. Wrote about the way her beauty mark made her hard features much softer, much more beautiful in your stories. How could you not? Kuvira was one of the reasons you always visited the library. You never thought she would find out.

“How?” You asked nervously, wondering if you could handle her response.

Kuvira chuckled before answering. “Because I see everything… I’ve been around long enough to know when someone has taken an interest in me romantically…”

Kuvira smoothed her hands slowly over your stiff shoulders before letting them fall away. She moved from behind the chair to stand in front of you, her hands coming up to grip the armrest of the chair you sat in trapping you in place as she leaned over, face inches away from yours.

Kuvira’s lust-filled eyes searched your face, slowly drifting over as her gaze fell upon your lips. She hesitated for a moment, appearing mentally conflicted, trying to decide what course of action she wanted to take. You bit your lip in anticipation, feeling yourself trembling with desire. You watched as Kuvira’s face darkened, her eyes grew more feral, fixated on your lips. Her hand reached out, tugging your lower lip free before coming up to cup your face.

“Don’t,” Kuvira whispered, her voice full of want. “It drives me insane when you do things like that.”

You let out a shaky breath at her admission. Growing heated at every passing second. You wondered if the temperature of the room was increasing or if it was just you. Nothing, absolutely nothing could prepare you the moment Kuvira crashed her lips onto yours, muffling your surprised gasp. Her kiss was rough, needy even, you couldn’t help but shutter. It was Kuvira who pulled away first, taking a moment to study your face for any signs of rejection. When she saw nothing but your flushed face, panting heavily, she rested her forehead against yours.

“Spirits Y/N, I’ve waited so long to do that.”

Before you could speak her lips were upon yours again, this time both hands coming up to cup your face. The tip of her tongue traced your lips, begging for entrance. You moaned softly, granting her wish. You felt her slip her tongue in seeking out yours. Kuvira couldn’t get enough of you. She enjoyed ravishing your mouth, she was so intoxicating, so divine, you couldn’t tell if any of this was real. You felt Kuvira’s hands settle on your waist, felt them slip underneath your shirt, slowly making their way up to your chest. You moaned into the kiss feeling strong hands cupping your breast, squeezing you gently. Kuvira loved how you fitted perfectly in her hands, loved how soft and silky smooth your skin felt under her palms. Kuvira nipped at your lower lip, using her teeth to snag your swollen lip, tugging at it gently. She trailed kisses down to your neck, there she sucked greedily at the skin. You cried out feeling Kuvira’s teeth sinking into your neck. She used her tongue to soothe the mark before peppering kisses over it, soothing the abused skin. Kuvira pulled away from you dropping onto her knees. Her hands seized your hips, pulling you closer to her as her fingers fumbled with the waistband of your pants. She managed to pry them open, dragging the zipper down. In sharp jerking movements, she pulled them down panties and all. You shifted so she could get them off easier. You watched as Kuvira removed your shoes, dropping them carelessly to the floor so she could fully remove your pants. She pushed them aside as she settled at your feet.

Her eyes peered up at you. You could see the hunger in them as she kissed your knees gently, causing your arousal to grow stronger. You felt her hands gliding up your legs, stopping at your lower thighs. Her fingers curled, gripping at your legs firmly. In one swift movement, she jerked your knees apart eliciting a surprised gasp from you as she settled in between your legs. Kuvira nipped and kissed your inner thighs, moving closer and closer to your throbbing center that ached for her touch. You whimpered, feeling her tongue peeked out to trace up your slit. Kuvira used the pads of her thumbs, opening you up to her. You could feel her hot breath between your legs. Kuvira’s eyes searched yours almost as if she was asking for permission. When you showed no signs of protest she leaned forward and tasted. You gasped sharply at the way her mouth ravished you. And ravished you she did, showing no mercy as she used her tongue, lips, and teeth to attack your core. You threw your head back in rhapsody, feeling that heat plummet south to your throbbing core, building up and bringing you closer and closer to your breaking point.

Your thighs closed in around Kuvira’s head. She pried you open, hands resting on your inner thighs as she continued her ministrations. You moaned loudly when you felt her tongue plunge inside you, the bride of her nose rubbing that tight bundle of nerves. It was then you felt yourself at your peak. You screamed out her name as you fell over, coming into her mouth as you felt your release wash over you. Kuvira eased you through your orgasm, lapping away greedily at your essence while your release raked through you. Your body went limp against the chair. Breath coming out deep and ragged. You watched through heavy-lidded eyes as Kuvira stood up, wiping the remains of you from her mouth as she leaned over you and kissed you hard.

She wasn’t done with you. She was determined to hear those noises again. Two fingers plunged into your core pumping into you. You tore away from her lips, choking back a moan. You felt your body shaking violently, her thumb circling that over-sensitive bundle of nerves as her fingers worked you. You felt your body tighten around her fingers sliding in and out of your wet aching core as she stared down at you, lust determined eyes watched you carefully. She leaned forward kissing your neck before she bit down hard. You suppressed a scream, nails digging into the armrest of the chair you sat on. Those clever fingers grew bolder, seeking out the very center of your being, curling upwards and shaking vigorously as incoherent noises escaped your lips. God Kuvira loved the sounds you were making. It was so intoxicating, so thrilling, it stroked a dark part of her ego knowing she could bring you under her control, could even get you to scream out her name. You tried to fight your orgasm, tried with every fiber of your being to hold on. But once Kuvira’s gaze shifted back to you, she leaned in, her face mere inches away from yours. “Y/N, I know you’re fighting me,” Kuvira said in a low voice that made your pulse quicken. “Let go. Come for me.”

As if your body had a mind of its own you obeyed, arching off the chair, your hips canting against her hand as you reached your breaking point. You cried out loudly as you felt your release crash over you so hard that you felt your body stiffen, your mind haze, and the room spinning around you. You felt her lips upon you again swallowing your cries of release as she eased you through your high. Your body fell back against the chair with a loud thud. You felt weak, heavy even. You opened your eyes to see Kuvira’s pale green eyes staring at you, a mischievous smirk graced her lips.

“So beautiful,” Kuvira whispered, leaning down to peck a quick kiss to your dry and swollen lips before straightening back up.

“Still think I’m lying?” She asked you, amusement evident in her voice.

“No.” You managed to say. Surprised by how small your voice sounded. You learned your lesson the hard way. You learned to never question Kuvira again.

[bitch-i-migth-be]

Crash Course | Chapter 03: Ready?

Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman,  

Relationships: Danny Fenton & Jazz Fenton,

Characters: Danny Fenton, Jazz Fenton, 

Words: 2′246

Tags: BAMF Danny, BAMF Jazz, Sibling bonding, Shenanigans, Swearing

Summary: He swore his sister was trying to make him go into cardiac arrest - considering his halfa status that was quite the accomplishment-

But there was no other explanation to his sister’s stubbornness, and if he knew her at all there was just no talking her down from interning at goddam Arkham.

A/N: I appreciate the comments, guys. :33  Let me know what u think.

CHAPTERS: 1, 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 , 7

Danny might not be the smartest person out there but he sure was crafty as fuck.

He had needed to be even before the ghost entered the picture. Then, after the portal was up and running the habit of thinking on his feet and the fine art of rolling with the punches had been added to his skill set.

So, Danny knew from experience that no matter how good you could get at improvisation, it was always better to prepare beforehand if you had the opportunity. Because if you let something to chance, it would probably come back later to fuck you over. Or some annoying ghost would get in the way out of goddamn nowhere. He could deal with them, but it was just a waste of everyone’s time. Better get going before someone interrupted him.

Normally one small thing or another would backfire anyway because of his salted luck, but he preferred not to poke sleeping dragons when he could.  

Taking into account all of that, he had decided the first order of business in the Fenton Crash Curse for Suicide Missions: Start packing all the shit they would need to take with them.

Because It’s never too early to pack for the road to hell.

Especially if you are already in a hell all of your own.

-.-.-.-

“What do you mean you are coming with me?” Jazz murmured from the threshold of Danny’s room, eyes wide open, as she watched her little brother try to pack all types of random things into suitcases.

Since she had announced at the Fenton Family Dinner her plans of going to Gotham University and accepting an internship at Arkham, Danny had been behaving like he was possessed, which considering the portal in their basement was not that far fetched; he had started carrying around a book-like-journal and would not stop murmuring about survival-of-the-fittest. Jazz was not going to lie, she appreciated the concern but that part was a little bit concerning. Not the survival in general, they had been playing that game since forever in this house, but they had never really needed to write anything down.

Until now, apparently.

It was kind of weird witnessing all this. Weird as in she wasn’t used to him fusing so much over her. A normal amount, yes. But most of the time it was the other way around, she was the big sister after all. Also,  with the ghosts around and him going all hero on their behinds her brother was in dire need of all the support she could dispatch. So, yes, she wasn’t expecting this reaction at all, and she was even less prepared for her brother declaring his intentions of joining her in Gotham.

She hadn’t asked how he was planning on dealing with the ghost problem yet, but considering he was already packing when she, they now, weren’t leaving until the end of the summer Jazz thought her brother must have had something in mind already.

She didn’t even know how they could need some of the things he was putting in there but it appeared like Danny was on a roll and she wasn’t going to be the one stopping such, umh, productivity.

“I said what I said”

Jazz frowned lightly.

“Are mom and dad aware-?”

“I told them I was going to be your assistant with the research; mostly the field part because I don’t think they trust me with the equipment after what happened the last time,” Danny answered while still hunting down for more essential items to put in bags, those things were handy as fuck. “also, get a job or something”

“A job?” jazz raised an eyebrow and leaned against the doorframe.

“It’s on the list,” Danny waved his journal/diary/thing in the air. Huh, so they were survival tips. “considering you are the only one with a scholarship and I´m not going to school anyway it seemed appropriate.”

“excuse me? you are not going to what?”

“May as well-” Seeing his sister’s expression he quickly backtracked, “but I mean, if you are really that opposed there is always online classes”

Danny tried to smile in her sister’s direction, but his nervousness made it come out more like a grimace. He kept trying. Jazz kept staring at him. Danny kept grimacing back.

Then she smiled back. A proper, full toothed smile. Oh fuuck

“I think I can do you one better” And with that, she turned on her heel and left.

Danny blinked two times. one after the other.  

“D-Do me one bet-? Jazz, wait!”

But it was already too late, his sister had another ball to start rolling.

-.-.-.-

Her brother was not stupid.

If her brother choice to appease her by taking online classes had been born merely of a strategic need, and hence the best course of action to take, Jazz wouldn’t have rebuked at all, there were, after all, some pretty good online options that her brother could take. But alas, that was not the real motive of his decision.  

It pained her and enraged her to see people belittle her little brother without even knowing him. See them think they had any right to decide whether he was worth something.

And it nagged at her than even knowing the basics of what was wrong with her brother’s low grades, she couldn’t help him more than she currently did. Not really. Unless she wanted him to end up in the hands of the G.I.W.

Fat chance of that.

But if there was a thing a Fenton was not it was a settler. And like hell she was going to let these people bring her brother down.

The first order of business would be to scout out the G.S.U. properly, some phone calls could prove useful, after all those who search shall find. 

-.-.-.-

When Jazz had retreated to her quarters earlier Dany had been left on his own with an uneasy feeling nagging at his gut. It felt a bit like foreboding.  

Like most things in life that inconvenienced him when it came to family issues he decided to ignore it until it came back to bite him, so he continued with his preparations and eventually took a seat among all the clutter that had become his room. After that, he didn’t have to wait long.

His sister had come back strolling decisively into the room, only pausing briefly to warily give the evil eye to the sheer number of things spread all over the room that appeared to have multiplied since she left the place.

She stopped right in front of her brother’s seated form and trusted her phone into the smallest Fenton’s unsuspecting hands.

“Look! There is still time to apply to a full-ride scholarship at Gotham Academy” Danny blinked up at her without a word, and at his sister’s insistence looked down at the phone to start reading, then he did a double-take and started re-reading.

Jazz had got to be kidding him.

“You want me to apply to some posh elite school?” He looked up incredulously at the redhead “Elite, Jazz? Me? With my grades and the amount of time I would get to study for an entrance exam I would be failing this just by applying.” grumbled the boy.

“That’s the best part.” Said the girl smiling like the Cheshire cat. “This particular exam is practical in engineering”

Danny froze. His eyes shot back to the phone.

“Practical you say?”

“Yes, lately there have been more scholarships granted for demonstrating a great gasp in the practical portions. Gotham is a little, umh, hard to handle, I suppose, and there have been situations in which people with the knowledge to accomplish great things have been turned down because of a lack of proper school background or support. So they decided to start implementing this.” She explained while her little brother continued scanning the document up and down.

Eventually, Danny shook himself back together.

“Ok, look, let’s say I had a shot at this.”

“Which you do-”

“Which I might.” The younger interrupted her, “This still requires to prepare at least three proposals for the faculty’s designated table of judges to evaluate and grade to get the green card, and this is like two weeks -two weeks!- from now, it doesn’t even specify what they are gonna have the applicants doing for the final test. How the fuck am I-?!”

The redhead decided to cut in before he could drive himself into a frenzy.

“Well if you are that sure about joining me then you won’t have a problem acing this, will you?” she smirked, then it softened into something more fond. “I know you can do this Danny, and so do you. And if you are that worried about the time, I can help you, we can start tag teaming together for ways to deal with the ghost from the get-go. It may not be permanent, but it will have to do.”

Her brother started biting his own lower lip and still looked somewhat unsure, so she decided to use the final big gun.

“Did I mention that Gotham Academy is right across the road from Arkham?”

Danny’s shoulder slumped.

“Ughh, fine!”

Jazz beamed down at him.

“I will leave you to it then!”

-.-.-.-

“Also, those things are not going to fit anywhere if you don’t organize them”

“Oh, ye of little faith.”

-.-.-.-

So. Jazz did have a good reason to believe her brother could get the G.A. scholarship.

The Fenton thermos technology was not only useful for capturing ghosts but could also store other things. That’s to say, more tangible things.

And her brother was the one who made it happen.

Danny has been tinkering with his parent’s things a lot more than some people would be comfortable with. The truth is, some of the things Jack and Maddie have invented could be fucking useful for everyday life if you took out most of the ghost shit or rearranged them a bit, it could have gained them a pretty penny, but like we all know the Fentons are not interested in anything if it’s not ectoplasmic.

Danny, on the other hand?

As much as he ends up believing all the bullshit others say about his sister being the only genius child of the family, he had never been afraid of dismantling and mounting up again some of his parents’ equipment. For him, it was not a question of whether or not he was qualified to do so, after growing up watching his parents tinker random machines all over the house he had inevitably started to pick up their ways almost as if via osmosis.

His parents, of course, had never fully noticed the fluffy-sweater clad toddler waddling after them from time to time watching them work, at first this happened when Jazz was otherwise occupied in extracurricular activities and couldn’t keep the boy successfully distracted somewhere else.

If at the time, Jazz had realized what was going on, she may have panicked and stopped her sweetly feral summer child of a brother from getting anywhere near their parents in the middle of a craze. As it was, she had not noticed in those first years, and by the time it had come to her attention even she had to concede that if her little brother had managed his recon missions without no one the wiser - Her brother was sneaky like that -, then he deserved the benefit of the doubt.

And, had that not been enough to convince the big sister, that had been the moment the sudden realization than her brother, unlike her, was more of a hands-on learner hit her full force, which would have been enough to make her relent. Learning was always good in her books.

Later, Danny would find most of the classes being imparted in Casper high boring as fuck. Not necessarily for the subject, but the way they were imparted. The youngest Fenton needed a good explanation along with a hands-on approach applied to something he found interesting to fully commit to something. At school, the most he could get were the theory and the occasional practical classes.

If the classes had been related to something interesting, say, rockets, stars, maybe NASA, it would have been easy to pay his full, unconditional attention to the teachers. But not one of the teachers had bothered to try and link the lessons to the interest of the alumni, not surprising, considering public school stuck to basics and had a timeline to complete and the classroom never seemed to learn things at the same rhythm so concessions had to be met.

It was still boring as fuck. But if he wanted to someday make it into NASA he would have to suck it up and force himself to survive with relatively good notes this torment.

Then the ghost fights had entered the picture and his motive to keep up the grades had all but vanished, and the little time left behind to work with was not enough to make, at least, an average grade. He didn’t have enough reasons to strive for more.

For this though? A new chance far from the ghost and he could keep protecting her sister?

He had the brains. He had the passion. And a good damn motive to drive him forward.

Once he was done, the luggage - and Loony town - wouldn’t even know what hit it.

-.-.-.-

NOTES:

 Also, the thing about Jack & Maddie not trusting Danny with the equipment was one of Danno’s secret tries at messing around with the things. Needless to say, that one time didn’t stay a secret.

Oh well, it was not like he asked for permission in the first place.

-.-.-.-

“fluffy-sweater clad toddler”

Not gonna lie, I made myself crave some cuddles from toddler danno, so. fucking. cute.

There he goeees just waddling like a little duckling asdfghjkl

-.-.-.-

If someone here is a fan of the Gotham Academy Comic I greatly regret -not really- to inform you I’m only taking hostage the place for my evil fanfic purposes. I don’t know if there is going to be references but that particular comic is not the focus of this story, SO. You have been forewarned.

[pinkhairedlily]

Judgment needed, not judgment deserved

Chapter 7 of The Spring He Came Back | 7 of 12

The academy tribunal was rarely used. When it was opened to the public, it only meant that the students and professors violated the stringent protocols of the academy. Public trial also implied public shaming, a more surefire way to ruin an academic reputation. The regular admission students filled the big room, hushed voices growing along with the shuffling of feet.

It took a while before Hitsugaya to reach the front benches where Soul members were supposed to sit. He almost froze when his eyes met the wavering gaze of Momo. They both said hurtful words, but hers were more painful. She was standing beside Aizen who was still smiling behind the podium. Hitsugaya eventually found Rangiku, Rukia, and Renji sitting behind Urahara and Byakuya.

Unohana stepped forward, her figure commanded the fall of heavy silence in the room. Academy supervisors readied their hands on laptops for real time transcription. “Aizen Sousuke, senior faculty and Soul member, and Hinamori Momo, top student of regular class A, you are facing charges for plagiarism, fraud, and embezzlement. I, Unohana Retsu, will oversee your public trial today. Please acknowledge your audience.”

“What a beautiful day,” Aizen only replied. Hitsugaya can barely keep his irritation under control because while he was keeping that smile on his face, his research assistant was far from pretending to be happy. It didn’t slip his eyes that the professor lightly tapped Momo’s shoulder in a pretend assurance.

“You’re such a liar, Sousuke,” Urahara Kisuke said aloud. Unohana glared at him with her smiling eyes.

“Dr. Urahara, please do not speak unless we acknowledge you. Please respect the rules of our academy.”

“Oh right, I was on sabbatical leave. Many things happened huh? Like you stealing my work?” It was clear Urahara was prodding Aizen on, but the latter only kept smiling without even recognizing his statements. Byakuya placed a hand on Urahara’s shoulder, willing him to calm down in front of such a large crowd.

“Dr. Aizen, please answer in affirmative if you have written the studies published in the following journals….” Unohana listed the titles, all of which Momo assisted in. “Are you aware that your programming method, experiment design, and control treatment parameters were similar with Dr. Urahara Kisuke’s work?”

“I was promptly assisted by my great assistant, Hinamori Momo, in conjuring those designs. It was due to her hard work under my guidance that we were able to come up with such results,” Aizen deftly defended himself. For a minute, Hitsugaya thought he wouldn’t genuinely hurt Momo.

“You submitted a patent application to your design, calling it the Aizen Theorem.”

“That is right, again thanks to the bright idea of my trusted partner, Momo.” The casual use of her nickname didn’t escape Hitsugaya’s ears or the blush that crept on her cheeks.

“Fuck you.” He muttered under his breath. He knew where this was going.

“Are you saying Hinamori Momo is the root of all your charges?”

“I didn’t say anything like that, Dr. Unohana.”

“You are implying it is.”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself? Isn’t it the reason why she’s here?” Aizen placed his hand behind Momo’s back and urged her to come at the front, thereby shifting the blame to her.

“She’s not credited for his works, not one.” Hitsugaya tried telling Byakuya. Rukia held him back, her eyes telling him not to interfere.

“Y-yes, it was me.” Momo’s voice was shaking, her eyes can barely look at Unohana. She was still probably angry at Hitsugaya, but her teary gaze wandered to look for him in the sea of indictors. When their eyes met, she conveyed her worry and fears. For Aizen or for herself, he’ll never know.

“Hinamori Momo, did you also know that Dr. Aizen forged his reference papers?”

“That’s not true, Dr. Unohana.” Aizen laughed this off as if it wasn’t a heavy violation.

That easygoing nature was lost on Momo, however. She cannot answer. She was frozen in spot, silently screaming help across Hitsugaya who was also powerless against the hold of his other friends.

“Hinamori Momo, were you involved in preparing budgets for your projects?”

“Y-yes, Dr. Unohana.” Momo’s voice was a desperate plea for help. Aizen, despite being the lead charge in the studies mentioned, looked like he was having the time of his life. He has his model scapegoat, after all. An enamored, naïve research assistant who could take the fall.

“So were you aware that these studies were declared under the academy’s jurisdictions, but the investors’ money were being funneled directly into Dr. Aizen’s personal banks?”

Hinamori, again, failed to answer.

“She has nothing to do with this.” Hitsugaya gritted his teeth.

“If she wasn’t remotely involved, shouldn’t it be simple to say no?” Byakuya asked him in all seriousness. Emotions do not hold metric in their system, but emotions are heavy tolls in Momo’s.

“I…don’t know,” Momo muttered under her breath.

“These are hilarious charges, Unohana.” Aizen dropped the doctor designation. “You don’t even have evidence on us.” His face was truly sure that he was out of the woods.

“Sorry, Toshi,” his mentor told him before standing up with Byakuya. The two of them walked towards Unohana and gave her a black notebook, a folder, and several documents. Hitsugaya’s face fell flat, and cold sweat started kicking in. He was the only one who knew where they were stored.

“These are Urahara Kisuke’s field notes, your forged references, and budget documents – we managed to gather them from Hinamori’s house. We received a call from one of the investors, wondering why no one apart from you was collaborating with them. An internal team investigated your office but found nothing.” Unohana looked directly at Momo, but she was staring at Hitsugaya. “An informant tipped us where to find them.”

Momo - wide-eyed and filled with bitter tears of betrayal. If he could hear her silent screams, it would be a ringing why, and he couldn’t give an answer. He never disclosed the location of the notebook or talked about the references with anyone. He never shared his messy, confused thoughts or his turmoil in her decisions. He endured his pain alone so why would he weaponize it to get back to her? Why would he when he loves her?

“Convenient, isn’t it?” Aizen asked dryly. The smile was nowhere to be seen, only a grim countenance.

“A third-party laboratory analyzed these documents, Aizen.” Unohana also dropped the honorific. Damn the damned. “They did cross-comparisons of your handwriting and Urahara’s. They were significantly different, as well as from the hundreds of designs and blueprints we found. University references have unique watermarks in hard copies which yours didn’t have. The budget documents we sent over to the investors. You should know by now they pulled out of our town’s development.”

“Plead guilty now, Sousuke.” Urahara antagonized him further.

If his wounded gaze could convey his sincerest thoughts to her, she wouldn’t have probably done the next thing.

“It was all me, Dr. Unohana.” Momo raised her hand. Her eyes were brimming with tears but she dared not blink. “I fed Dr. Aizen the notebook, the documents, and I suggested he source out personal funds from the academy investment. It was all me. Please don’t give him a sentence. Please punish me instead.”

“Momo, no.” Hitsugaya was scrambling to stand up. Three pairs of strong arms held him down to his seat, three faces all similarly pained.

There was a clear power imbalance between the mentor and the research assistant which Hitsugaya’s group and the senior faculty knew, but Aizen played this to his advantage.

“Why don’t you put it to a vote?” a student called out.

“Dr. Aizen wouldn’t do such thing.” “He is so kind to us.” “He’s so intelligent he doesn’t even need that.” “He will never use a student that way.” “The audacity of that peasant to feed him lies? Sickening. She deserves to be banished.”

Bit by bit, the whispers grew into a full-blown uproar. This was the flaw of the public tribunal, a flaw that Aizen turned into an opportunity. The board members of the academy called Unohana to the side and delivered their judgment.

“Hinamori Momo, starting today, you are expelled from the academy.”

It was a judgment needed, but not the judgment deserved. Because Hinamori Momo was a girl from an unknown background with no strong backing. Because she was a student while Aizen came from a family with a high pedigree. Because she dedicated her life to a man who emotionally manipulated her. Because she was too trusting, too naïve, too easily swayed. Because she has emotions. Because she was Momo.

She was ushered out by some administrators, her eyes glued to the ground. They were soon followed by shuffling of feet and disgruntled students heaving sighs of relief from the ordeal. When all of that has come to pass, it was Aizen’s turn to go.

“Such a drag, huh?” Aizen mentioned to no one in particular. “Hoping you could catch me?”

“I am advising you to transfer,” Unohana hasn’t backed down. “That was what the board wanted.”

“Ahead of you, Retsu. That’s exactly my next step.” Aizen stopped beside the bench where Hitsugaya’s group still stood waiting. “Though it was unfortunate to let go of Momo. How sweet that girl was, so willing and so hardworking, to the point that she left her grandma alone to work.”

If blood could boil, Hitsugaya’s veins could have popped, drowning Aizen with his heated rage.

“Too bad that her best friend outed her, huh? If only she was more careful of who she associated with.”

A punch landed on Aizen face and then several more. Hitsugaya was but thirteen but his fists saw older days on the streets. After all, he was a peasant and a peasant always fought back. The fucker was the one who tipped the investigators, making Momo think it was Hitsugaya. He probably could have bought them himself. He capitalized on Hitsugaya and Momo’s relationship to drive a rift and completely separate himself from the problem. The fucker was a master emotional manipulator.

A flurry of robes forcefully grabbed Hitsugaya away from a smirking Aizen. “Fucking liar.”

“Hitsugaya Toushiro!” Byakuya rarely raised his voice, but the intensity of his warning stiffened Hitsugaya.

Aizen walked out of the classroom, seemingly unruffled as if he didn’t have a bruised eye or a cut lip. It took all of Hitsugaya’s energy not to go after him and put more damages in.

“Still the same MO,” Urahara said. “Best be careful around him, Toshi.”

“You know you need to be reprimanded for this, Hitsugaya.” Unohana said. “But I won’t because you’re one of our best.”

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

The secret hideout and their silent reprieve – it became his escape. He couldn’t go to Momo to comfort her. From her understanding, he betrayed her. So he wallowed in self-pity, in helplessness, in his weakness. It wasn’t enough that he was like this. He skipped all his classes, didn’t do his experiments, and avoided the well-meaning questions of his friends. He picked fights, especially with regulars. They kept on calling Momo names, painting her to be the manipulator that put Aizen in such a complicated position when it was the other way around.

The opportunity came when Byakuya called him to his office. Urahara was there too. It was probably about his behavior.

“You can’t protect your friend like this,” his mentor told him. “Not when Sousuke still roams the academic field like a vulture.”

“We need to permanently excommunicate him,” Byakuya concurred. “We can only do that if we catch him red-handed alone, with no one to pass the blame on. He has done this exact operation in previous schools, but his networks run deep.”

“And he just appears to his next victim school like a mushroom.” Urahara poured Hitsugaya tea, and his heart throbbed in pain because Momo used to do that. “With a clean slate. So bigger higher-ups must be involved, funneling research and development funds into shady accounts yada yada.”

“What exactly do you want me to do?” Hitsugaya asked his mentors.

“You’re still a kid, Toshi.” Urahara ruffled his silver hair and his mind jolted back to a memory of a daffodil flower crown, Momo’s smile, and that last hug. “You can’t go around picking fights for her sake. It’s a lost cause. She’s shunned by the community.”

“You can’t continue associating yourself with her, Hitsugaya,” Byakuya added. “Because that will be an added burden. You’ll only rise from this. But when you do and you choose to remain here, she will not be rid of those comments. Considering your history, she’ll be accused again of feeding you plagiarized notes, helping you with fraud, and embezzling funds.”

“No one can protect her from those. She has no friends left,” Hitsugaya interjected. In no world will he leave Momo alone. He can’t see past the reasons given by his teachers. “She only has….me.” The doubt was in the open before he could open his lips. Not after the public tribunal. She made the decision that he wasn’t on her side.

Urahara took away the already cold tea in his hands and smiled at him through his long fringes. “Or you could go abroad, become the best, catch Aizen red-handed, and clear her name. Sounds good, right? Come with me again, my intern.”

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

Snow marked the start of winter. Hitsugaya waited beside Urahara on the platform outside of town, the train arriving at their station any time soon. He made his goodbyes to Rukia, Renji, and Rangiku, all three asking silently whether it was okay to tell Momo. He shook his head in defiance, not wanting to trouble her further.

When the train arrived, he almost hesitated. At the very least, he wanted to see her again and Baba and share a watermelon for the last time. The doors opened and Urahara signaled to go inside quickly.

Please mind your distance. The doors are closing soon. The doors are closing soon.

The doors finally closed and Hitsugaya leaned on the side, tears pooling in his eyes. It was goodbye. The wheels started to keep pace and the slow fall of white snow turned into a flurry. As the train left the station, he caught a glimpse of loose black hair dancing with the wind. Maybe he just imagined it.

NEXT CHAPTER | 8 OF 12 | BREATHING IS A FOREIGN TASK

[eldri-sv]

9 - Aizawa

Kaori Shinsou has always been fascinated by people's minds. She is one of the best students in her Criminal Psychology course at U.A. and - being the lucky girl she is - her professor is not only one handsome dude, but is also working on the case of the serial killer Stain - a case that has been going on for years. As she is about to become Professor Aizawa's TA during the next term, a lot of other interesting cases start popping up all over the country... AU, OC x Aizawa

Trigger warnings: mentions of death, injury, stress, hospitals, worrying

(possibly incomplete, if you’d like something added, please let me know)

There's a thousand things inside my head I wish I ain't seen

(The Devil Makes Three - Old Number Seven)

Shouta Aizawa wasn't alone when he woke up. He also didn't feel dizzy or confused when he first woke up. He opened his eyes and was wide awake. He quickly realized he was in the hospital and in his mind, he recounted what had gotten him here. The attack, him and Anakuro being the only faculty members there... which meant they had to step up to protect those kids. And then there was Shinsou, just in the middle of everything, despite him telling her to stay with the others.

God, he hoped she was okay. Shinsou was smart as fuck, but how the hell was she being such a dumbass? He really hoped she was okay. She was such a smart and beautiful young woman, it would be a shame if...

Aizawa knew there was someone sitting in the room with him. He could feel someone watching him and out of the corner of his eyes he could see a lot of fidgeting and pacing around. There was only one person in the whole world, who would waste their free time being worried about him and had this constant obnoxious presence, making everyone else nervous.

"Zashi, stop pacing around, for fuck's sake."

Hizashi Yamada was Aizawa's best (and probably only) friend since they both went to high school and then university together. He was also a pain in the ass. Always had been. But for some reason, Aizawa was able to tolerate his presence and even enjoy it. Maybe he had just gotten too used to him.

"You're awake?" Yamada asked and quickly knelt down on the floor next to Aizawa's bed. Aizawa's eyes darted to the side as he looked into his worried face. He had his long, blond hair pulled together in a bun and his glasses were as dirty as usual. Aizawa wondered how he could see anything.

"Of course I'm awake. Now, why can I barely move? I can't stay here for long, I have things to do." he replied.

"Shou, you just woke up after you've been knocked out for hours. You had to have surgery and everything. You can't just get up and leave." Yamada said. Aizawa - who slowly became more and more aware of how his entire face was wrapped in bandages - squinted at him. Who was he to tell him what he could and couldn't do?

"Watch me." he mumbled and tried to sit up. It took a considerably larger amount of effort than he anticipated and he also realized that both his arms were bandaged with fixtures. And they hurt. Right, that was probably because he got his arms broken. Not that that would stop him. Much.

Aizawa was a stubborn person and everyone who had known him for longer than a day could attest to that. Yamada had gone to sit down in one of the chairs next to the bed. He was watching him with a triumphant smile, probably because he was sure that Aizawa wouldn't be able to get up, even if he wanted to. Once he had managed to sit up that smile started to fade, however.

"Shou? Stop trying to get up, you have several broken bones and your skull was fractured. You had to have surgery on your skull. You can't just walk out of the hospital right after that!" Yamada started protesting, once Aizawa had managed to sit up straight. His head was starting to hurt really badly now, but he would never admit it to Yamada. Especially not at this stage.

"Shouta! I'm going to call one of the nurses on you, if you keep trying to get out of bed!" Yamada threatened. Aizawa just nodded.

"Good. Tell her to bring all the forms I need to release myself from the hospital. Then we can get this over with faster." he replied, as he carefully inched his legs closer to the edge of the bed. He started feeling a little dizzy now, but he wasn't going to give up. Not now, after he had gotten this far. Yamada looked really worried and Aizawa almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

"Why do you even need to do this now? To prove a point? If that's the case you've already done it, so lie back down." Yamada said.

"I have loads of work to do, I can't just take a few days off to lie around in a hospital doing nothing."

"I can't believe how much of a workaholic you are, Shouta. You're going to get yourself killed." Yamada replied, holding his hand in front of his eyes and sighing. He peaked through his fingers and saw Aizawa sitting on the edge of his bed now, trying to keep his balance despite feeling quite dizzy.

"Oh my God, Shouta, stop right there! I swear, I will call a nurse!" he exclaimed. Shouta chuckled a little. He knew Yamada too well to be pretty sure that he wouldn't go through with that threat. There was a small chance that he'd do it, but Aizawa doubted it. He had other things to worry about right now. He needed to focus on his breathing, in an attempt to try and feel less dizzy.

Then he had to get out of here. He was painfully aware he had left some very important documents on the backseat of his car and he just had to know if they were still there. And then he needed to get the details on what happened back at the Rescue Training Facility. It was annoying him that so many of them got in, completely unnoticed. And they seemed to have some greater goal, too. If criminals were starting to work together in groups and they were doing that just for the sake of being criminals instead of profit, then shit was hitting the fan.

"Zashi, did you get here in your car?" Aizawa asked, as he moved forward until his feet were touching the floor. He leaned against the hospital bed and tested how far he could go away from it without needing a break.

"Yeah, why?" he wanted to know.

"I'm gonna need a ride. There are some papers I left at the Training Facility and I need to get them out of my car. And then I need to get home." Aizawa replied, getting away from the bed and somehow managing not to fall flat on his face completely without support. It was alright. He still felt somewhat dizzy, but he could deal with it. His head still hurt, but that was to be expected. He had started feeling a little nauseous and he hoped that would go away as soon as he got to sit down again. Preferably in Yamada's car.

"You don't really think that I'm going to support this whole adventure by driving you around the place, do you?" Yamada said. Aizawa shrugged. He had thought that's what he'd say. And he was prepared for it.

"Well, guess I'll go and take the bus to the facility then and drive on my own from there. And then, when I get home, I can get some rest and start working on those cases, I suppose..." he reasoned. Yamada gave him an angry look.

"Fine, fine, fine. You'll have to convince the doctors to let you out, though. And I'm not going to help you with that." he replied.

"They can't legally keep me here against my will." Aizawa said and took a limping step towards the door. And another one. It wasn't really so much a problem with his legs, moreso with his ribs. Some of them were probably broken, judging from the pain he had when breathing.

It took him quite a while, but he did make it to the door after all. Opening the door was another problem, but somehow Aizawa managed to push down the handle with his bandaged arms. Once he had managed to open the door to his room he felt dizzier than ever before. He leaned against the doorframe trying to catch a breath and feel more stable. He heard Yamada get up from his chair.

"Come on, Shouta, I'll help you get to the nurse, if you're really too stubborn to stay in the hospital. You look like you're going to collapse any second." he said and opened the door properly for him.

"I'm fine... but I do appreciate the help. Where do I even need to go?" Aizawa wondered, looking around. These bandages on his face were getting really annoying and he wanted to get rid of them, but he knew that probably wasn't smart at this stage. He'd get a run-down from the doctors on what he would have to take care of, once he got home. He'd be fine, he was sure of that.

"Come on, I know where the nurse's office is on this floor. Let me know if you're feeling sick or dizzy, alright? We can take a rest anytime." Yamada told him. Aizawa nodded. He was feeling a little better now, although he still had a massive headache. And that probably wouldn't go away easily.

"Thanks, Hizashi. I appreciate it." he said, when he heard someone call out after them. Both of them turned around and saw a nurse quickly approaching them. She was waving a file around and did not look happy.

"What do you think you're doing, Mr. Aizawa? You should be in bed, resting." she called out to him. Aizawa sighed. This would be a tough discussion and he really wasn't in the mood for this.

"Ma'am, I'd like to speak with the doctor about being discharged." he said to her, once she got a little closer and he didn't have to shout through the whole hallway. She looked at him, eyes so wide they looked like they might fall out any second.

"Excuse me, but... dis... discharged? You? You can talk to the doctor, but he'll tell you that won't be possible. You shouldn't even be up and walking right now." she answered with a confident smile on her face. Aizawa took a deep breath and rolled his eyes almost instinctively.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I need to remind you of the fact that you are not able to legally keep me from leaving, even against medical advice. So I'd like to see the doctor, please." he replied.

"Fine. I'll see if he has time." the nurse said with an annoyed expression on her face. Yamada shook his head.

"Man, she's not gonna like you after that."

[abundantchewtoys]

HS Epi: Meat p17-18 reaction

I've realized how page 15 ended with the command "Close your eyes" and page 16 started with Rose talking with her eyes closed. :p

Rose talked about how she'd wake up after looking the demon on her chest into the eyes. She then proceeded to look Dirk straight in the eyes and fall under the spell or whatever it was.

If Dirk truly started influencing Rose and it wasn't just the narration being overly dramatic, then I think it started as she talked about caring about the pieces on the board.

I'm not as sold on the idea that Dirk could be turning into the post-victory end boss anymore. I mean, it's certainly plausible. It could even be that the remaining Reload B2 kids (minus Dirk himself) team up with John against him.

But I think the last paragraph on page 16 could also be interpreted differently. Maybe part of ascending to his ultimate self, for a Prince of Heart, is to "destroy" the boundaries that exist on what he sees as his "self". In that he learns how much of his qualities and flaws exist in other people too. If he can see into his heart, he might learn empathy and become a better person.

Okay, the last sentence seemed to show Dirk take over the narration, but it could also be the visual cue that the narration switched from 3rd person to Dirk's POV, if only for that sentence. It could also be taken to point towards Dirk's growing self-awareness: he's becoming aware of the fact he's a fictional character. In that case, what would it take for John to come to this understanding? To "understand what it all means"?

As for Dirk taking over the other people somehow, growing perhaps a hivemind... Eh. We've had confirmation that Jake looked into his eyes without a problem. Granted, that may have been before Dirk ascended to the god tiers.

Now, next page could stay with Dirk, but I hope it switches back to John. I expect him to undergo some dream sequence before awakening, hopefully still alive. And I hope Terezi will be there when he wakes up. Though it will be sad to see her reaction, if she's learned about Vriska.

==>

AAHHHHHHH he really took over the narration!!! ... Pony Pals Epilogue?

Well then. I... Okay, I wonder whether he'll stick to narrating proceedings on Earth C, or how far his self awareness has grown. DOES he know what Doc Scratch knew, Lord English... Reload Dirk?

"None of my friends have noticed it yet, but you have." He's acknowledging us, the readers. Dear god.

"Anyone paying attention could have guessed by now who’s really telling this story." ... Andrew Hussie? Does Dirk want to wrestle control of his life from the author?

"I’ve caught you leering at some pretty personal moments. Are you having fun being a voyeur?" I came to read a story and I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now. Also, I feel I'm being compared to Caliborn in this.

"Knowing their thoughts are transcribed by a third party, does it fill you with a sense of unease, of sickness, sensing that the observations made of their mental interiors may be tainted?" So, Dirk is calling us out on reading their story, as well as indicating to us that what we read about them, even their personal feelings, can be removed from the truth. But, it's not as if HE's going to want to be our narrator, right? Plus, his own POV is still not 'the' truth.

"I am specific. I have a name, an agenda, a vision. I am a monolith of concentrated narrative authority, relaying events to you, and swaying them as I see fit. Whereas you are pointedly nonspecific. You are the generalized, impotent witness to all this." Dirk is self agrandizing himself and describing the MSPA Reader here. He's actually started sounding a lot like Lil Hal, now that he's so convinced of his intellectual prowess. That's not a great evolution.

"I even have the ability to decide what “you” actually means. I can take the “you-ness” away from you, and put it inside another passive mark, such as John Egbert." Does he mean, like, right now, he can decide he's aiming this narration at John? Or... is it what's Blaperile telling me now, that this is supposed to indicate Dirk was the narrator for the entire epilogue up till now? If that's so, everything said in the narration, including the prompts, has just become that much more unreliable.

"So what makes John so special? The answer is something I’m sure you’ve suspected all along but would rather not face, which is: probably nothing. He isn’t special. He’s quite ordinary, I assure you. Boring, even, and getting less interesting by the minute as he’s forced to confront his absolute lack of heroic purpose except as a pawn to be manipulated by a fatalistic reality." Dear god, is John going to have to fight for control of the narration? As for the first thing Dirk says: well, it's true that John is supposed to represent the everyman, the guy that things happen to instead of that he makes them happen, the audience avatar. Now, if John learns about this fact, he might decide to do something against it, snap out of his stupor.

"Anyone can be endowed with this you-ness, if I think it achieves a certain goal." So, will we switch to other you's later on still, narrator guy?

"Even if the objective is merely to demonstrate the gambit’s potential, to reveal the effortlessness behind it. To make a show of who matters and who doesn’t, and even if they do matter, for how long and for what purpose, as dictated solely by the allocation of this faculty. You-ness can be stripped from the lowly Egbert just as easily as it was given, and then bestowed upon the mighty Serket, but even then only long enough to dismiss the vainglorious spotlight hog from the narrative forever. Good riddance." Note that he's saying the "you-ness" is not meant to imply importance to the story. He's saying the effect is used for show. But then this still IS a story, and showing events is part of telling a story. It's like he's trying to convince us he has control over the story, but his control is PART of the story, so yeah, he still hasn't escaped.

... Good to see Homestuck can still become even more meta, after all this time.

"No, in truth, the time has come to make my presence known in order to start bringing my plans to fruition. It’s time to get down to fucking business.

John needs to wake up." Wow. It's time for Dirk's masterpiece then, taking the biggest control he can ever have, weaving the biggest scheme. To what end, then?

Simply to confront John - in Dirk's eyes, a random character in the story, if one with a lot of focus inside the story - with his existence as a fictional character? Will he guide John to Andrew Hussie's ghost?

Also, will the narration even switch back to black ink, I wonder? If it does, though, we'll still be left with the eery knowledge that what we're reading is, even in the first person, narrated by Dirk.

I'm starting to get the distinct impression that Caliborn didn't just botch his maturation process, he also bodged his god tier process. He still took control of the narration, and "expanded" his consciousness through other means (soul sludge merge), and then took control of his story in the multiverse... only for Paradox Space to still damn him in the end.

Also, didn't John speak through the narration during one of the later Homosuck Acts? When he zapped into Caliborn's room? I wonder if he'll do that again some time quick.

Lastly, I wonder if this is why the epilogues are in text format. So that this thing with the narration works even better. Guess What Pumpkin and VIZ Media are publishing this as a novel.

It's a great use of the format Homestuck exists as on the web, making use of the site's template for good color contrast.

==>

Start of Epilogue Four.

"You wake up.

JOHN: wh-what?" ... Is John going to become aware of the change in narrative 'colour' from the start? Starting to speak in dialogue with it, becoming recalcitrant? ... Is Dirk going to start filling the shoes of WV, Terezi, Karkat and all those poor souls guiding John on his story?

"You finally process the true magnitude of what has happened. The Furthest Ring has been completely destroyed. And you’re all alone." Wow. So, uh, what now? And, what of all the universes inside the sessions in the Furthest Ring? How could they have been destroyed, if Universe C is contained somewhere in there?

"Well, you’re vomiting up everything in your stomach. Rest assured, it’s pretty gross" Well, uh, at least he's now finally gotten rid of all that uncooked meat filling his stomach. Seriously, that probably wasn't being digested all that well.

How long before John acknowledges something is wrong with the narration, I wonder?

"You seriously need to get it together. You look like absolute shit right now, my man. In fact, you really should strongly consider issuing an apology for the mess you’re making." And here we have the first instance of Dirk definitely abusing his power.

"JOHN: i’m... JOHN: i’m sorry." :/ What was even the point of making him do that. Just to upset the MSPA Reader, I suppose.

This is basically: what if Lil Hal was an exile.

"Everyone’s dead." Everybody's dead, Dave.

"Well, almost everyone.

But certainly the vast majority of what qualifies as “everyone” in your current frame of reference." John himself excluded, of course. But see, this implies there are more people around, still alive. ... Then again, the narration wouldn't be lying if there were also still dreambubble ghosts. They'd still be dead, after all.

"And most of your friends—Rose, Dave, absurd Cat Dave, and hundreds of ghosts" Not starring in this list: Jade, Meenah. Of course, unreliable narrator goes without saying at this point.

", who all valiantly contributed to a victory which you’re only now beginning to question the functional necessity of." Well, Rose couldn't see "beyond the story" yet when she sent John on this mission. Care to enlighten us, oh wise and omniscient narrator?

"JOHN: functional... necessity?

JOHN: that... that doesn’t sound like something i would think." Ahhhhhh... That feels good. It took John all of two minutes to figure out something was wrong. I'm honestly quite impressed he wasn't hornswaggled on some crazy MacGuffin hunt first.

"That’s because it’s not." Huh! I'd actually thought Dirk would lead with: 'Yes, it is.' Guess he realizes the jig is up!

"You’ve finally noticed.

No, not me. You go back to ignoring the fact that I’m the voice in your head. You noticed how it hurts when you breathe." Ah. So he just goes right back to forcing John to dance to his tune. Tssh.

"On the other hand, the tooth is poisoned." Uh, how? Why? Poison? ... Yet another way in which Lord English was OP'd.

"So you’re pretty much fucked either way, and that’s really all there is to say on the matter.

JOHN: sigh.

You sigh in painful resignation, and wonder what to do next." Dirk is trying to put John's REAL thoughts into a different context. He's basically replaced the narrative, so... Yeah, this really IS a callback to Pony Pals. God damnit. Who'd have thought that would be foreshadowing THIS.

"English is dead, so you suppose you can go home, right? It’s tempting. You consider zapping back to Earth C, being done with this nightmare for good, and never breathing a word of it to anyone ever again. But you can’t yet, can you?" He can't because he won't, or because you won't let him? Does John want to ensure the safety of Universe C, first? Or will he want to check on Terezi first, potentially (we wouldn't be able to tell) nudged into it by Dirk.

"Why not, you wonder? What’s the harm? You’re right, it would probably be a harmless decision, in the grand scheme of things." ... Don't tell me we'll have ANOTHER split path coming up.

"How about Jade though? She could still be out there somewhere, injured, alone, scared. And it’s your fault, isn’t it?" John turned his back on the body, so he's now unsure what happened to it. It's probably a red herring though, planted by Dirk.

... If it even IS Dirk. I mean, the narration could just as suredly still be coming from Andrew in-universe, and he'll go "tadaa! fooled you twice!" at some point...

"You decide that no matter how terrible you feel, you should look around first before you leave. You were the one who dragged her here. You owe her at least that much. Plus, there’s someone else on your mind, isn’t there?" ... I wonder if Dirk can only influence his thoughts in the Furthest Ring. Actually, I doubt it. Since, when you think about it... Jake fantasizing about Dirk is put into a different light entirely now. As were all the turns of phrases that were perhaps a little too sarcastic for the situation to warrant. I had a few times where I thought: the narration doesn't feel the same, but I put it up to the new format as well as the co-writers. Now, though...

"You proceed to wander for a long fucking time. Time passes differently here than it does for everyone else. Here, I’ll simulate it for you. I just left to go take a piss. Then I microwaved myself a hot pocket. Then I came back. In the time it took me to do that, you just spent hours drifting around the entire circumference of the black hole thinking sad-sack thoughts about the years of inaction that led you to this point, intermittently humming the Ghostbusters theme to yourself. You get so worked up about one of your GB freestyles that you almost miss it." Now Dirk's just showboating. On the other hand, I wouldn't mind hearing a couple of John's Ghostbusters freestyles.

"There. Eleven o’clock. Do you see it? It’s that tiny dot floating over there." Eleven, eh? So, what should I be betting on? Not Jade? Terezi perhaps? Or a random item from a dreambubble?

"You scramble to catch it before it drifts any closer to the event horizon. Got it. What the hell?" Huh, it's something very small? ... Not a firefly, is it? ... If so, in come the theories that it's actually Alternate Calliope.

"It feels familiar, but you want to make sure you’re not imagining it. A wallet. Your dad’s wallet. You chew your lip and press your fingers into the soft leather." What the-... Huh. Well, I was kind of hoping John would have a vision of his Dad, in his dream. This might lead up to something more! I'm reminded of Doomed John seeing a vision of his Dad in the dreambubbles.

So, the ACTUAL wallet ended up in Aradia's hands. John found it left for him on the battlefield, then CD? stole it, Liv Tyler took out the Tumor but gave it to him, CD? was killed by Bec Noir for killing Jade, and he stored the wallet into Lil' Cal. Then Lil' Cal crashed on Alternia with one of the doomed Aradiabots, leading to Aradia finding her frog temple and the Crosbytop. ... So, is there anything left of value in the wallet after all this time? A metric ton of shaving cream, a lighter with a spades symbol... Oh wait, but Spades Slick also got his hands on the Crosbytop, so did he steal the wallet back from Aradia? If so, then the wallet was last present in the B2 session... But if Aradia still had it on her, she took it with her into the Furthest Ring!

"Space is an infinitely large expanse and a wallet is a tiny, insignificant object. Sure, there have been crazier coincidences in the course of this wacky adventure you’ve been having for the past ten years, but this one feels very precisely aimed at your heart.

You take a deep breath, unfold the wallet, and open it." ... So it contains something captchalogued. Cause it sure won't be a Dad note, after all these years and having gone through all those hands, right? ... Right? Now I'm reminded of how Jake had part of his old home captchalogued.

Blaperile jokingly said: "I hope it isn't Aradia or Terezi captchalogued in there", but actually, if there's something to withstand the end of the Furthest Ring, it would be this wallet.

---

... Wow. At least Dirk's tenure as unreliable narrator is rooted in familiar grounds, Lil Hal genre influencing people. And I know I mustn't get my hopes up for ever getting more information about Dad, or seeing something from his youth... But here I am.

[diinofayce]

Finger Painting 101

This is for @green-eyeddragonfanfiction ‘s 3k Follower Writing Challenge! Congratulations on the followers and thank you for all the amazing stories. I’m going to make this a series, I’m not sure how long yet. I’m just gonna go for the ride and see where it takes us.

Pairing: College!Steve Rogers x Reader | College A/U, Non-canonical | Word Count: 2,100 | Warnings: Mentions of drinking, swearing probably | A/N: This is my first A/U fic, so I hope you guys like it!

You sat in your creative writing class, tapping your fingers rhythmically on your blank notebook and staring blankly at Professor Laufeyson as he droned on about the project he was assigning for your final. He had a stack of outlines in his hands and finals weren’t for another two months so you let your brain succumb to the mush that was your Monday morning hangover. You knew better than to go with Wanda and Natasha to that party that Wilson was throwing, but Wanda had talked you into it arguing that it was your job as Natasha’s friend to help Wanda get Natasha over the crush she had on her volleyball coach; Clint Barton. Of course, if Nat was going to get herself a boyfriend in college it would be with a faculty member, she was always the flirting with danger type of girl, but you couldn’t risk one of your best friends getting kicked out of school so you went. You had come to the realization last year when you turned 21 that you didn’t have a drinking problem, you had a stopping problem. Once you got that first drink in your system it was all or nothing and it usually left you waking up the next morning in someone’s bathtub.

You stretched out the kink in your neck from sleeping with your face pressed against a bathtub tap and tried to focus in on what the professor was saying. Laufeyson waved the stack of papers above his head as he tucked a long black curl back behind his ear with his other hand.

“Now, I’ve written the names of a student on the top of an outline which will be handed out at random. They will be your partners in this assignment, as your grades will both equally reflect your final score I suggest you do your best work in tandem with them,” Professor Laufeyson stated coolly and started walking along the rows, grabbing random papers and setting them down on desktops in front of your classmates.

In front of you, you saw Wanda pick up the paper that was set in front of her and groan silently, dropping her head in her hands and tangling her fingers in her long brown hair. When your outline is dropped in front of you, you look in confusion at the name at the top: STEVEN ROGERS. You look over your shoulders behind you, frowning. You knew Steve, he was roommates with Sam Wilson - party thrower extraordinaire - you also knew that Steve was in no way an English major. He was Fine Art if you remembered Wilson’s drunk boasting, he had a weird way of showing his pride with each of his friends. With Steve it was drunk boasting, like a proud suburban mom, with their other roommate, Bucky, it was brotherly teasing. You couldn’t help but feel that you zoned out something very important with this project. You looked up suddenly as your classmates around you were collecting their things and heading to their next destination, in front of you Wanda still sat with her head in her hands.

You slung your backpack over your shoulder and headed up the row to your friend. “Hey, friendo, who’d you get?” Your voice was still dull and pained, the hangover pounding in your temples, you were trying to sound sunny and chipper and failing miserably. Wanda looked up at you, pushing her curtain of hair to the side and chuckling up at you.

“Still hurting from last night?” You nodded and waved your paper at her.

“I missed the details with the partners. Who’d you get partnered with?” You ask reaching for her paper. VISION was written on the top of her paper, another Fine Arts student and one that Wanda had a major crush on. Wanda was also thoroughly convinced that he hated her.

“We have to write a short story, partnered with one of Professor Odinson’s illustrations students to illustrate our story. I can’t believe I got partnered with Vision. Every time I try to talk to him he just stares at me like I’m an idiot or something,” Wanda moaned, raking her fingers through her long sandy locks again. “Who did you get?”

“Wilson’s roommate, Steve,” you answered as Wanda grabbed her backpack and got up, swinging it over her shoulder.

“See, that’s so much better, he’s so sweet,” Wanda grumbled staring at her project outline. “Wanna trade? If we trade Vision won't figure out I’m a complete suckass until after we get married and have kids.”

You laugh and shake your head. “You’re not a suckass, Wands, and I don’t think he thinks you’re an idiot. I think he likes you just as much and doesn’t know how to act around you either.”

Wanda made a scoffing noise and shook her head. “Preposterous.”

The walk back to your shared apartment was quick, the leftover snow of winter lining the edges of the sidewalk mixed in with mud and gravel. You and Wanda avoided cutting across the university lawn as it was basically a mud pit but paused as you noticed a bunch of guys out in the middle of it tossing a football to each other. The two of you stopped your trek when you noticed the four boys were soaking wet and covered in the mud, their game of football obviously leaning more towards tackle than touch.

“Oh, that’s Wilson and his roommates…and isn’t that your brother?” you commented suddenly, seeing the familiar streak of Pietro’s bleached hair dive under Sam’s outstretched arm.

Wanda clicked her tongue against her teeth and shook her head. “That boy is going to catch a cold playing in the mud like that. It’s supposed to rain too,” Wanda chastised, sounding more like Pietro’s mother than his twin sister. Wanda immediately started stomping across the field, mud flicking up onto her jeans. You grimace and follow suit, knowing that your Converses are going to need to take a round in the wash after this.

Wilson noticed the two of you approaching first, having just caught a stellar pass from Steve. “Hello, beautiful ladies,” he called and immediately ate dirt as Pietro rammed into his side and bulldozed him to the ground.

“Do not call my sister a beautiful lady,” he demanded, causing Wanda to gasp with indignation, splashing water from a dirty puddle at Sam before getting up and brushing grass off the front of his green long sleeved shirt.

Bucky and Steve jogged up to the rest of you, Bucky smiled lazily and Steve looked down at Sam in concern - helping his friend out of the mud before focusing on your and Wanda’s arrival.

“Pietro Django Maximoff,” Wanda scolded. “Your track season is about to start and you are going to get your death of cold out here.” Wanda grabbed onto her twin’s ear and started dragging him back towards the apartment building the bunch of them all lived in. You pressed your knuckles to your mouth to stifle your laughter as you watched them walk away from you, Pietro swearing angrily and causing other passing students to stop and stare. “Meet you back at home!” Wanda called back over her shoulder at you. You waved your hand in the air in acknowledgment before turning to raise an eyebrow at Sam.

“He wrecked you, Wilson,” you laughed in his face, smiling at Bucky and Steve. Bucky laughed and punched Sam square on the shoulder, Sam pushed him back in response.

“That’s because you came up all pretty and distracted me,” Sam accused, winking at you. You laughed and wiped a streak of mud off his cheek with his thumb.

“Hey, Bucky, Steve.” You greeted biting the corner of your lip as the two a once over.

Bucky’s long hair was slicked back with water and mud, his red Henley stuck to his chest and wet jeans stretched across his thick thighs. You knew plenty of girls in your classes (and more than a few guys) that swooned over the star quarterback of your university’s varsity football team. Bucky was here on an athletic scholarship and was taking classes in kinesiology. He gave a small wave his chest still rising and falling heavy from running around in the muck. But it was Steve’s perfect dazzling smile that made you feel like you got punched in the gut. His blue, v-neck t-shirt that was already a size too small from him clung to his torso leaving nothing about his toned physic to the imagination. He wore khaki cargo shorts that fell just below his knees that were streaked with mud and he had a small cut under his right eye that had stopped bleeding but was obviously fresh.

“Hey, Y/N,” Steve said jovially, laughter dancing in his blue eyes. “Good to see you up and out of our bathtub.”

“Ah, yes. Well, thanks for waking me up in time for class,” you feel yourself blush. “You’re going to get dirt in that cut, Rogers. Can’t have you getting an infection and dying before our finals project,” you teased. You were suddenly aware that you were just wearing an over-sized university hoodie, a pair of yoga pants and you hadn’t even bothered to brush your hair before throwing it up in a tie.

“Our finals project?” Steve asked, resting his hands on his hips and cocking his head to the side.

“Oh! Have you not had your Illustrations class yet? Fuck, here,” you handed him the outline that was still sitting on top of the binder in your arms. Bucky and Sam looked over Steve’s shoulders, it was pretty early in the semester to be handed the details of a classes finals project, you still had two months left in the school year most classes wouldn’t be starting projects for another month.

Steve smiled and handed the paper back to you, the white sheet now smudged with his muddy fingerprints. “This looks like it will actually be fun!” He said lightheartedly. “And at least I know I have a good partner. I have my illustrations class in two hours, do you want to get dinner in the caf and talk details?”

You nod, trying not to look too eager. “Yeah, sounds good. I’ll be around that part of campus around four after a class if that works for you?”

“Sounds like a date,” Steve said, looking behind him and chuckling softly as Barnes and Wilson already took back off across the field throwing the ball at each other.

“Yeah, see you then,” you wave meekly as he ran off after them after giving you a wink. Turning on your heels you finish the trudge back to your apartment.

~*~

Back at your apartment, you sat on your couch with Wanda and Pietro, Natasha was petering around in the kitchen making coffee for everyone. Pietro had changed into an over-sized long sleeve shirt and basketball shorts that he kept in one of Wanda’s drawers for when he got drunk and passed out on your couch.

“It’s not actually a date, Wands, you’re taking it at face value,” you argued with Wanda who was being insistent that Steve’s words had a deeper meaning. “We’ve only talked a handful of times at the parties at their place and it wasn’t about anything interesting.”

“He said, it’s a date,” Wanda insisted further.

“It’s a figure of speech, Wanda,” Natasha agreed, coming into the living room with four cups of coffee in her hands. She set them down on the coffee table and curled up in their battered armchair with hers. You reach forward to pick up yours and sip it with a hum of gratitude. Natasha made the best coffee and after slopping across the cold university grounds had given her a chill that only the red head’s coffee could cure.

“Besides, Rogers has a girlfriend,” Pietro said over the chipped rim of his mug. “Some girl named Peggy from his high school, she’s at a school out East in New Jersey or something.”

You don’t know why your heart sank or you felt an overwhelming sense of disappointment. Sure, Steve was a gorgeous piece of man, but maybe he had some really off-putting mannerisms. You had no idea because you literally had one sober interaction with him and that was the one out on the university lawn earlier. Your friends changed the topic of conversation easily enough, moving onto Wanda’s predicament of finals partner, Pietro getting ready for the start of track season, and Natasha’s tryst with Coach Barton. You nodded along and laughed on cue, but your mind was on four o’clock and your date/not-date with Steve Rogers.

NEXT CHAPTER

[eirian-houpe]

All Our Past Mistakes - Chapter 7

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Milah/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle/Gaston (Once Upon a Time)

Characters: Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle (Once Upon a Time), Milah (Once Upon a Time), Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Gaston (Once Upon a Time), Mad Hatter | Jefferson

Additional Tags: Angst, AU, Smut, Accidental Voyeurism, Assault, Extramarital Affairs, Child Neglect, non cursed storybrooke, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Dubious Consent, Teacher-Student Relationship

Summary: Doctor Gold, professor of history at the local campus of Maine University, is stuck in a loveless, and one might say abusive relationship with a wife who is less than attentive to their family, and whom he suspects cares little for her marital vows. His resolve to maintain his own faithfullness is sorely tested by the presence of one of his new students - a junior by the name of Belle French - whom it seems fate is determined to put in his way. The two become embroiled in a passionate, and redemptive relationship, but not before suffering numerous setbacks and separations.  This is no instantaneous happy ever after, but a tale of two hurt souls finding their way together through darkness and despair.

Read on AO3

[Chapter 1]  [Chapter 2]  [Chapter 3]  [Chapter 4]  [Chapter 5]  [Chapter 6]

Chapter 7 - Last Straws

Though he tried his hardest not to take the events of the day out on his remaining classes, to say that he was surly and exacting would have been a blatant understatement. At least one student left his seminar in tears, and several of the others muttered behind his back about the size of the bug he had up his ass as they hurried to gather their things and leave the room.

“Well, I must say,” Hauter’s voice came from a corner in the back of the room, “that was perhaps the best example of how to put the fear of God into the entire student body, not to mention getting yourself censured.”

“Fuck you, Jeff,” he spat.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Hauter answered. “Since I may have saved you from the latter of the two.”

“Miss Boyd?” Gold asked with a sigh, remembering the strip he’d torn from the young woman at her inane response to a question he’d asked of her.

“The same,” Jeff said. “I intercepted her in a torrent of waterworks, heading for the dean’s office. Managed to steer her toward her counselor instead. Girl’s—”

“Pregnant, yes, I’m aware,” Gold snapped, “but that doesn’t excuse her singular lack of engagement in a class supposed to be her major.”

“You really do have a massive bug up your ass, don’t you?” Hauter got to his feet and walked to the door to flip the lock. “So… before you do your career irreparable damage, you’re going to tell me what’s going on.”

“What do you care?” Gold growled, but it was entirely without conviction. If he could count anyone as a friend in the faculty, it would be Hauter.

Jeff shrugged. “Maybe I don’t,” he said. “Maybe I just love the schadenfreude.”

Gold sighed, and perched on the edge of the desk at the front of the seminar room. “It’s Bae,” he said.

“Well that’s a refreshing surprise,” Hauter said dryly, “I felt certain you were about to regale me with more of the fucked up exploits of that bitch wife of yours.”

“Do you want to hear this or not?” Gold snarked.

“Sorry,” Hauter held up his hand, “Go on. I promise not to interrupt again.”

Gold raised an eyebrow at that. If Jeff Hauter managed to keep that promise, he’d owe the man a whiskey.

“You know he’s not been doing well at school,” Gold began, continuing to slowly and quietly outline all of the consultations and testing, and doctor’s visits that Bastion had been attending, unfolding the picture in such a way that - he hoped - Hauter would put the pieces together and come up with the answer without him spelling it out.

“She said that?” Hauter asked as he finally told him about the earlier conversation he’d had with Milah.

Gold nodded. “That and far more,” he said.

“Gold, seriously I—”

“I’m also pretty certain she’s having an affair,” Gold finally admitted. Saying the words out loud felt like some kind of failure, as though it were somehow his fault, that he had driven her away - hadn’t paid her enough attention, had been too harsh with the attention he had given her.

“Ya think!” Hauter said, with no small amount of sarcasm. “Took you long enough to finally see it!”

“Oh, I saw, but I—”

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for this.” Hauter interrupted.

“I was going to say I didn’t want to believe,” Gold said. “She’s a mother, for fuck’s sake!”

“Not much of one, it sounds like,” Hauter said, and Gold let his head fall onto his chest with a heavy sigh. “It’s time, Gold, you know it is.”

“Yes,” Gold said softly. “I…” he swallowed, “I’ve already spoken to my attorney, I just… She’s Bastion’s mother, Jeff,”

“And she told you she doesn’t care to see to his wellbeing,” Hauter said, and put a hand onto his shoulder. “And that she doesn’t love you - if she ever did - can you live that lie?”

**

After putting Bastion to bed and reading him a story, as seven o’clock approached, Belle found herself growing nervous, but it was an excited kind of nervousness; almost expectant.

After making sure she had tidied up in the kitchen, she made her way through to the lounge, and tried to relax, pulling one of her text books from her backpack and starting to read. Reading was always good for helping her to do that, no matter what the subject of the book, nor whether fiction or non fiction, but today she couldn’t focus, couldn’t concentrate.

She jumped when she heard the sound of the front door, and set her book down on the table in front of her, all but leaping to her feet as though she shouldn’t have been sitting in the lounge, on Doctor Gold’s beautiful, antique furniture.

“Miss French,” his voice was soft, and he sounded a little weary. She turned to see him standing in the doorway, his over-stuffed brief case in one hand, and bags from Cacciatore’s restaurant in the other. He looked overburdened, and she hurried over to him.

“Let me help you with that,” she said, and as she reached his side, he allowed her to relieve him of one of the take-out bags. Her belly flipped as their fingers brushed together for an instant, and she felt as though she had been scalded.

“Thank you,” he said softly, “I trust you like Italian food?”

“One of my favorites,” she confessed softly. “But really, you didn’t need to go to all the trouble—”

“It is the least I could do,” he interrupted, “after all you have done for me today. Bae was no trouble at bed time, I hope?”

She smiled as they began walking towards the kitchen. “He was an absolute angel all evening,” she said. “He read his school book to me before he ate, and then I read him a bed time story. He went out like a light.”

She saw a momentary look of surprise cross Doctor Gold’s face, and also the way he schooled it into an expression of calm a second later.

“I’m glad,” he said quietly, and she didn’t miss the tone of relief in his voice, barely there, but she felt so very attuned to each nuance of him since he had arrived home, since the brush of their hands, as though there were something already between them, bubbling under the veneer of careful politeness.

Doctor Gold set the bag he carried on the counter, and she followed his lead, setting the one she had taken from him beside it. The scent coming from the bags rolled over her then, and she realized how hungry she was. She watched as he began to bustle around the kitchen, warming plates, and opening a bottle or red wine, to allow it to breathe.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked, feeling a little awkward just standing there and watching him work.

“Yes,” he said and glanced at her over his shoulder with a smile. “You can have a seat… please. You have already done more than you can know.”

“Honestly,” she said, but did as he asked and sat at the kitchen table, watching as he began lifting packages from the two bags. “It was my pleasure,” she said.

“I…” he hesitated, both in speaking and in the work he was doing with his hands to unpack the food. “I wonder if I might prevail on your for your further assistance, Miss French.”

“Belle,” she said. “Please, at least when it’s just… us.” She swallowed hard then, as her voice cracked a little on the last word of the request.

She watched as he appeared to weigh what she was asking of him, though she sensed there was more going through his mind. She wanted to prompt him, to repeat her plea, but held herself back. She wanted to give him time. He was obviously troubled, and it made her heart ache to think that anything could be bothering him.

Finally he nodded, and then said, very softly, barely a breath in truth, “Sabrael.”

Her heart fluttered wildly as she realized that he was giving her his name, and his permission for her to use it. She swallowed again, and wanted to reach out to him, touch him, take whatever burden it was that he was carrying and ease it from him, for a time.

“You… wanted to ask me something?” she said instead.

He sighed softly, and then said, “I know that I have already asked if you would help Bae with his school work, tutor him.” He paused for a moment, and began serving the food onto the warmed plates, as though the distraction would help him to say what it was that was running through his mind, and Belle worried at her lower lip with her teeth. “But I… wonder if I might ask you…”

He faltered again, and Belle couldn’t stand to see him struggling. She got up from the table, came over to him and laid a gentle hand onto his arm to halt his movement, so close to him then that she could feel the heat coming from him, and the tension in his body, which was there even before her touch.

“Doctor Gold… Sabrael,” she savored the taste of his name on her lips. She felt herself flush with color and with something far deeper, more insistent. “You can ask me anything.  What’s wrong?”

[ti-infires30x]

Symphonic Dysfunction

Chapter 1

The cavernous walls of the hallway seemed stifling and cramped this morning. Namjoon usually found solace in the sound of his shoes click clacking across the tile, reverberating and filling the empty hall as if the acoustics were built for him. A far cry  from the Performing Arts Center that his father had conducted at, with its slatted panels that shifted and directed the sound offstage as if the world was his music box for just a few minutes. Still, he was grateful for what he had here at the YONSEI. Even if the Auditorium practically rattled,  he would make the best of it. Even if ‘the best of it’ included having his kids play their concert in the hallway outside so they could understand how it feels to hear and be heard. The first hour or so that Namjoon was at school were hardly his favorite of the day but they were definitely moments of silence that he cherished. As an interim conductor of 3 string Orchestras, a full symphony, and his part-time student status as he grapples to juggle his final semester toward his Masters degree in Conducting, he has little time to himself.

Running a hand over his face, he wipes his eyes and lets out a yawn as he finally rounds the bend to the fine arts hall. Why they stuck my parking space all the way over by the gym with the coaches, I will never know. Namjoon made it a point to avoid the coaches at all cost after their altercation over funding in the fall. How many soccer jerseys can one team need that we don’t even have room in the budget for a proper score library? Coach Wonho, a rookie soccer coach who everyone took a shining to because of  his reputation as a former starter for the South Korean Olympic team, assumed upon meeting Namjoon that he was a fellow coach. An easy misconception to adopt largely because of Namjoon’s towering height, youth, and physical fitness, however Mr.Kim was quick to correct his colleague. Ever since Namjoon told Wonho exactly where he could go to find his precious special edition cleats for his team, the two had not necessarily been on good terms.

Regardless, Mr.Kim continued to plow on and was already being thrust into his 2nd semester as Orchestra director for the YONSEI University symphony program. Mrs. Eun Joo had been very pregnant at the beginning of last year’s fall semester and had left on her 3 month maternity leave.  3 months turned into 6 months which turned into her resignation as word spread of the paternity of her child. Wonho walked around like he was the most virile man in South Korea for months afterward. The Dean, of course, caught wind and every member of faculty was greeted at the beginning of the term with a flowery email filled with sheepish wording that said in no uncertain terms: don’t fuck your coworkers. Especially the married ones.

Inadvertent as his employment was, he loved it nonetheless. The chief reason that you could tell that Mr. Kim Namjoon loved nothing more in his life than his job was the smile that could be seen on his face whenever he saw one of his kids. The visible change as his chest swelled with pride, his eyes brightened, and his legendary dimples appeared was infectious.  Each student carried that energy and confidence with them throughout their day because when that pride is directed at you, there can be no doubt in your mind that it is genuine and deserved. Of course, he can only call them his ‘kids’ in his head since in reality, there are quite a few members who are considerably older than he is.

Checking his watch, Namjoon winces at the time. 7:45am. Right on time for sectionals. With a concert date looming, Namjoon decided to buckle down and have the kids lead student taught sectionals for his struggling club students. Led by the Chamber top group, of course, the advanced students would instruct the non-major students who were merely in the Camerata Orchestra for something to be involved in, with drills and practice techniques to level up in their musicianship. As lovely as an idea that Namjoon remains convinced that it was, since its inception about 2 weeks ago, it has gone less than smoothly. The first Monday sectional featured the section leader of the violas abandoning their Little’s altogether upon hearing them screech out the opening chord of their Telemann. That Wednesday, the 1st violin first stand knocked over what had to have been the tiniest freshman girl on campus  in their attempt to rock paper scissor who gets to play the tuning note. Oh, and the poor dear that told Hobi he should ‘lighten up’. I honestly don’t know if she’s going to pick up a bass ever again.

It was now the following Friday and it was time for none other than the cello sectionals. The previous week they had gone fairly well under the guidance of Park Jimin, and Namjoon saw considerable improvement of the Camerata group’s G major 3 octave scales in rehearsal. They were working hard and there was no doubt that the reason for the improvement was Jimin’s skill paired with Taehyung’s sheer magnetic approachability. And his smile, of course his smile. As talented a cellist as Jimin is, Kim Taehyung could make the devil feel comfortable in a church. Of course it helps that many of the freshman girls were absolutely infatuated with him. And with good reason, it must be said.

Fumbling with his belongings  at the big double doors of the Orchestra hall, Namjoon goes red in the face as he drops his keys. Again. He’s had a set of keys for the Orchestra Hall since his sophomore year as a student. He was in the room more than the instructors so Eun Joo-nim finally caved and printed her annoying little try-hard a copy.

His father had told him that he should never do something he enjoyed as a job because it would soon become a chore, however, he was never happier than he was now. The job came with its difficulties of course, he got very little respect from the rest of the staff. Namjoon tried to remain patient with those who condescended to him, he really did. He fully understands how ludicrous and humiliating it must be to have a department head who has only been able to drink alcohol legally for 3 years. At 22, he was the youngest faculty member by a long shot, but that didn’t bug him at all. Having graduated high school at 16, 3 years ahead of his peers, he was comfortable with being the youngest in the room. What made Namjoon uncomfortable was the assumption that he was inherently less than qualified just because of his age. If I’m a shitty conductor, then I’m a shitty conductor but don’t you dare pin that on my age.

“Good morning Mr.Kim!”, the proud bearer of a boxy, bouncy smile swoops down and picks up Namjoon’s keys for him. Namjoon can’t help but melt a little as Taehyung grins at him as if he’s never been happier to see someone in his entire life. Taehyung is blissfully unaware of his slightly dishevelled state, touting sweatpants with one leg rolled halfway up his shin, a massive hoodie that he stole from his older brother, ashen hair that stuck straight up the back of his head, and a sleep-puffed face.

“Good morning Taehyungie,”, Namjoon indulges, as he swings the door wide for Taehyung to accommodate his cello. “And don’t call me Mr. Kim.”

“Yah, Tae! Hold the door!” From down the hall, an undeniably beautiful man cartoonishly speedwalks to the door, laden with a stack of papers that makes the broad man look tiny.

“Good morning, Jin!” Tae chimes once again.

Chest heaving, Jin storms into the office door that sits adjacent to the front entrance of the Orchestra Hall and sets the papers down with a huff.

“Yah! You call this maknae ‘Mr.Kim’ but all I get is “Good morning, Jin”? You should be ashamed, how can you treat your hyung like that? Worse still, your concertmaster? I bust my ass making sure we have scores and assignments and all I get is-” Jin’s half-hearted, bemused tirade is cut off as abruptly as it begins as another boy enters the room, the door yawning shut behind him.

“Kim Namjoon. Kim Seokjin. Kim Taehyung.” His soft voice renders any harsher tone obsolete and the boys stare at the smaller boy blinkingly as he takes up the remaining space in the office. As if answering their unspoken question he stifles a yawn and mumbles, “You’re all “Mr.Kim”.’

The tirade quieted, Jimin rolls his case to his section and begins unpacking his cello. A stark difference from his stand partner, Jimin is the picture of elegance. Or as elegant as a 21 year old man can get. His honey colored hair perfectly in place, dressed simply in a loose collared shirt and ripped dark jeans, Taehyung continuously found himself captivated with the effortless way that Jimin presented himself. I wish I could be that cool. Looking down at his own clothes, he mentally kicks himself for not putting in more effort on a day to day basis. That’s just not where my energy goes,he reconciles with himself, I’m concerned with other things.

Taehyung crosses the hall to the cello locker room, fetches his cello case, and returns to take his place next to Jimin as second chair. Jimin frets over his cello, rosining his bow, tuning and re-tuning, ensuring his music is in the right order. Glancing over at Tae, who is busying himself with plucking out chords in an attempt to play a double stop that he hasn’t yet heard, Jimin grows envious of Tae’s care-free nature. I wish I could just fly into things like Tae does, without a plan. It would save me so much trouble.

All too aware of the silence that has settled in the hall since he stopped his plucking, Tae clears his throat to cut the awkward tension. The most unsettling thing is silence in a place that is supposed to be filled with noise.

“So what are we going over in sectionals with the Little’s today?”

“Tae, you can’t call them Little’s, Jeong Jae-Sun is a year older than us.”

“But. But. He’s so… Little!” Tae pouts. “Have you seen his bow hold? He might be able to knock me out in one punch and outdrink… well, you; but he has the bow hold of a 6th grade girl.”

“Yeah I know Tae, I was tempted to bring thumbtacks to fix our Yoo Soo Jin’s collapsing wrist. If they keep playing like this, they’re going to hurt themselves.”

Jimin falls silent and rubs his wrist, empathetic pain from his own tendonitis flaring at the memory of their poor posturing. I got hurt, and I was playing correctly. Jimin had played violin since he was 3 and while he was training for his audition for Julliard his sophomore year, he worked so tirelessly that he developed carpal tunnel syndrome and couldn’t play for months. The beginning of the end of his promising violin career.

    Namjoon takes long strides out of his office to his place on the podium before chuckling, “First of all, no one could ever out drink our Jiminnie. Second of all, I’m glad you’re showing so much concern for the well being and progress of our kids because we’re having an emergency rehearsal Saturday and I need you there if you can make it.”

    Tae heaves a great dramatic sigh and throws his head back, sinking down into his chair until the neck of his cello is resting on the back of his chair. “And if I can’t make it?”

    Namjoon sobers a bit and faces Tae, “Then I completely understand, but I do hope you can make it. You make the kids more comfortable. They love you.”

    Jimin bends to set his end pin up and then hoists his cello up onto his shoulder, “Besides, what do you have planned? You practically live here.”

    “That’s pretty rich coming from the one that I found sleeping in a practice room at 4am last week.” Tae shoots back in mock defense.

    “Yeah, and what were you doing by the practice rooms at 4am last week?” Jimin wheedles.

    Tae’s face falls when he sees that he’s been beat. ”...Practicing.”

    Jimin’s face brightens into a smug shit eating grin and his posture screams an explicit, check mate.

    Tae, already embarrassed at being outed hangs his head over his cello and absently picks at the rosin build up under his bridge. Face reddening at the anticipation of the ribbing to come, Tae mumbles, “I have a date on Saturday.”

    Jin materializes from thin air next to the podium and begins shouting about how “this girl better not break your heart” and “make sure you stay safe, use protection, you don’t know what these hoes got” and “oh lord, he’s just a kid. Don’t you think you should wait a while to date again?”

    Namjoon raises a hand to silence Jin and melts further at the visibly mortified maknae in front of him. Leaning down to where they meet eye to eye, he smiles affectionately at Tae. “Well, who is it?”

    Tae, grateful for the reprieve in shouting, allows his smile to fall open once more and his cheeks redden in a very different tone as he recalls the object of his infatuation. I can’t believe I got this lucky. Years of pining and I finally got her to say yes to  a date. A real date.

    “Chung So-Young.” Jimin could tell from the lilting way Tae hung onto every vowel in her name as if he were afraid to let go of them, that he was head over heels for her.  

    “Oh, the saxophone player from Jazz Band? I thought she was with Hobi?” Jin pops Tae’s love sick bubble without remorse.

    Visibly pouting, Tae snaps back, “Look, if I swore off being interested in any girls that Hobi-hyung has been with then I would never date anyone. I don’t have many options as it is since Kang Mo-Yeon turned the entire Yonsei English Society against me. And I really like this girl.”

    Jin returns to the office, fuming. Shutting the door firmly behind him, he lasts a good 3 seconds before whipping it back open and marching back to the cello stand. Tae might have been intimidated by the massive man barreling towards him with rage in his eyes had it not been for the knowledge of his intent. Jin comes to a halt and in a deluge of profanity begins cursing anything that has to do with Kang Mo-Yeon and the YES club. “How dare she cheat on you and then convince half of the campus that you’re the jackass?! Tae-Tae?! You couldn’t hurt a fly! You’re a jackass but you’re OUR jackass and if she publishes one more vaguely accusatory article in the English Paper I will single handedly drag her ass-”

    “Jin-hyung.” the honorific coming from Namjoon is enough to give Jin reason to pause. Namjoon jerks his head to the door and the herd of cellists that are gathering around it, waiting for the sectional to begin. “There’s a time and a place. They don’t all need to know his business.” Turning to Tae, he places his hand on top of Tae’s mop of hair and  smiles down at him. “Have fun on your date. Just know that there will be a legion of cellist noonas absolutely heartbroken that their handsome oppa isn’t there to show them thumb position for the upteenth time.” Laughing at the sheepish flush that graces the boys cheeks once again, Namjoon adds, “Oh, and stop giving May Sun private lessons, I overheard her working in the practice room the other day and she knows how to do everything you’re teaching her. She’s been playing dumb to get more time with you.”

    Struck dumb by that information and deaf by the resounding cackle from his stand partner, Tae sits mouth agape like a fish as the floodgates of the door break and none other than May Sun is the first to breach the Orchestra room.

    “Good Morning Taehyung oppa!” a bright girl who is far too well done up for 8am, in a cute outfit, heels, and full makeup, plants herself firmly in front of Taehyung and presents a muffin to him. “I brought you breakfast, oppa! I wanted to say thank you for all of the time you’ve spent with me on lessons this week. Kamsahamnida- oppa!”

    Jimin does his best to choke down his laughter but Taehyung just straight up chokes. Stuttering like his bow in the Dvorak piece, he numbly takes the muffin and, in an attempt to avoid further conversation, stuffs the whole thing in his mouth.

    Namjoon prompts the confused looking girl to unpack her instrument so they can start sectionals, and she scatters to do as she’s told. Jimin leads sectionals in his signature matter of fact style, fixing bow holds now and again. Although he receives less attention borne of infatuation from his pupils, he receives the most respect and attentiveness. Jimin has studied at Julliard and has a reputation as being hands down,  the best cellist in the school, and the most stern. Conscious of his intimidating demeanor in rehearsal settings, Jimin is glad to have Taehyung present to lighten the mood. Jimin is glad for the company but frustrated that this is the one facet of the musical process that he doesn’t excel at. Taehyungie is training to become an Orchestra teacher, it only makes sense that he is a natural teacher. People are drawn to his personality, people are drawn to my music. There’s a reason I’m applying for my Master’s in Cello Performance and not Music Education. Despite his regular pep talk regarding the fact that it is ok to not excel at teaching, Jimin still envies the easy way that Tae corrects the kids with kindness and patience shining in his eyes.

    8:40am comes and goes and students enrolled in the 9am Symphony block class begin to show up. A small boy with shining white hair stalks in without a word and settles into the back row of the 2nd violin section as if he was made for that chair. Somehow willing himself invisible even in the morning light, he fades into the background of the classroom. Tae waves at him from his adjacent place in the Orchestra, furiously mouthing “Morning, Yoongi-ssi!”

    Next to make an appearance was a man with the complete opposite and equal energy as Yoongi. A tall figure entered that exuded so much attitude that he actually sauntered into the room through the side door. Dressed to the nines in an effortlessly cool look of dark jeans, a dangerously low-buttoned collared shirt, and the latest Yeezy’s that color coordinated perfectly with his round tinted glasses and bandana. Every head in the Hall turned to follow his gait to the bass locker as if transfixed by his energy. He appeared aware of but completely unbothered by the attention he was receiving, even smirking slightly as he met eyes with several of the cellists, making them blush furiously.

    Namjoon takes advantage of the pause in productivity to address him from the podium. “Nice to have you back Hoseok-hyung. I trust the Jazz Studies field trip went well and you are returning to us as a more enlightened and sensitive musician.”

To which Hobi grins, scratching the back of his head and stammers something along the lines of ‘Uh… yeah it was, great.”

    Seokjin peeks his head out from the office and shouts, “He went to New Orleans and he studied… jazz? Yeah right, Namjoon. He is returning to us with a higher alcohol tolerance and at least 3 STD’s.”

    “SEOKJIN. NOT the time.” Namjoon pulls out his Director-nim voice that he hides away for special occasions such as these.

    The entirety of the participants of the now long dismissed sectional remain standing in the back, watching the verbal volley with bated breath. Eyes bouncing from Jin to Hobi to Namjoon as if if the contents of the conversation were going to be on their final exam.

    “Don’t you guys have classes to go to? Go on, scatter.” Jimin speaks up, shooing the group away with no regard to his social reputation with them.

    The remainder of the relatively small 20 piece orchestra files in, class begins and they go straight into the Holst Planets movements that they had been agonizing over for months. After Hu Yoon-Ji and Seokjin’s savage ‘discussion’ about whether the Andante Maestoso should start on an upbow or downbow, the final missing seat is filled. Another boy barrels in and as soon as he comes into view he gives the impression that he has grown very quickly in a very short period of time. Not exactly towering in height, but large and muscular, he looks as if he should be on his way to lacrosse practice, not Orchestra. He chucks his bag near across the room and rushes to unpack his violin. Crashing through the rest of the Orchestra, nearly knocking Baek Chi-Young’s stand over in the process, he finally takes his seat next to Jin, a huge smile plastered across his face.

    “Nice of you to join us Jungkook.” Namjoon, says, with only minor sarcasm.

    “Joesonghamnida, Sunbae-” Jungkook attempts a full 90 degree bow from his chair but ends up hitting his head on his stand and knocking his instrument out of tune. Rubbing his head, he looks up at Namjoon apologetically. Namjoon could tell that he had prepared a well thought out apology and excuse to present on behalf of his tardiness but the lump on his head and the humiliated look on his face was all the penance he needed.

    “That’s okay Jungkook. Just tell Coach Wonho that you need to leave soccer practice early next week and I’m sure we can get you here on time.”

    “Yes, sunbae.”

    “And stop calling me Sunbae, Kookie.”

    “Yes, sun-... Namjoon-hyung.”

After running their 30 minute show, once, twice, and spot checking trouble areas, Namjoon finally released the class.

    “Good work today, guys!” Namjoon bellows to the fleeing kids.

    “Get home safe, hyung!” Echoes back from the retreating crowd and Namjoon is sure that it’s Hu Yoon-Ji.

    “With Jin driving? Not likely!”

    “Yah, drive yourself then!” Jin snips back from his position in the office.

Although Namjoon was technically Jin’s sunbae by occupation, Jin is more than happy to point out the 2 year age difference between the two roomates. Jin casts his thoughts back to his freshman orientation. He had waited on pins and needles for his roommate assignment and was shocked when a gangly boy with a jet black bowl haircut rolled in with a suitcase that was wider than himself. Tagging behind were an older couple that he assumed were his parents.

“Kim Namjoon?” Jin questioned, as the boy took in the room with oddly wise eyes.

“Pleased to meet you. You must be Kim Seokjin. You’re a violin performance major, aren’t you?” Dumbfounded by this child’s confidence, Jin merely nodded. Namjoon’s parents rushed in with a distinct air of protectiveness.

“So you’re Namjoon’s roomate? Please take care of him. He won’t be here long so just, while he’s here, can you please make sure he doesn't cause too much trouble for himself?” Jin agreed as noncommittally as possible and then beat a hasty retreat to the hall on the pretense of saying goodbye to his parents. His parents had left hours ago, but he needed distance from the smothering tension in that tiny brick prison. Catching his breath just outside the door he catches snippets of a conversation. Chills ran down his spine as they always do when you know that you’re overhearing something that was never intended for your ears.

“You’re only 16, are you sure you don’t want to take a gap year or two? We can still get a spot in the Engineering camp that offered you a scholarship.”

“Min-ya, it’s not worth it. He won’t listen to us. You’ve been telling him for years to abandon this music foolishness.”

What surprised Jin the most wasn’t the sentiment from Namjoon’s parents, it was more common than not in the fine arts department for students to not have the blessing of their parents. What took Jin aback was the stony silence coming from Namjoon’s side of the conversation, as if he had nothing to say so nothing should be said. That level of maturity from a sixteen year old kid was something unheard of. Even Jin, who had a supportive, if absentee family, snapped at his mother occasionally with his 19 years of experience.

He decided at that point that he would do exactly as Ms.Kim requested of him. He would protect little Namjoon and hopefully learn as much as he can from him. Not that he would ever tell him that.

“Jin-hyung, what time is your Music Theory class today?” Namjoon interrupts.

“I only teach Tuesday and Friday. We can go home for lunch and come back at 2pm for Philharmonia.”

“Excellent!” Namjoon, practically bounces out of his chair, rocking on the balls of his feet. Slipping into his jacket he qualifies, “Do you want to go to Goreul-saem first, I don’t feel like cooking tonight.”

“Namjoon, you haven’t cooked in 6 years.”

“Yah, I cook sometimes! I made ramyeon for you last week.”

“Jinja, fine. We’ll go out. But I know it’s just because of that cute noona that works the register.”

“No, I-” Namjoon panics as he goes to lock the door of the Orchestra room behind him.

“Yah, yah, yah, They serve the same menu at Booreul- saem but you’ve insisted on Goreul the past three weeks. Booreul is closer! I don’t care if you like her, just fucking ask her out already so I can stop wasting my time on it!”

Namjoon scratches the back of his head and stares at the floor. “I guess. Yeah, that’s true.”

“I know! When I have ever been wrong?” Jin slings his arm across the shoulders of his dongsaeng and they marched back down the hallway together.

[welawofattraction-blog]

Manifestation MIRACLE Canvass MANIFESTING A Punter History

Manifestation MIRACLE Canvass MANIFESTING A Punter History

manifestation miracle refresh videoIn this manifestation Miracle remember we're exploit to fuck an in-depth wait at what's part this Law of Attraction upbringing program. I comic it module provide you settle whether this action is worthy for you or not.

For me, I was felicitous enough to distinguish this thought at the very time I needed it most. manifestation Miracle helped me out of a moody point in my lifetime, I wish it gift do something retributory as muscular for you. So, let's get on with the review…

This is a manifestation Miracle practice. Go to the semiofficial computer => dawn here

WHAT IS manifestation MIRACLE?

Manifestation Miracle is a support by interval document to pirate you how to use the Law of Characteristic to manifest those things that you truly essential in your existence. It takes you by the aid and guides you to seemly the soul that you were sure to be.

It entireness on the law that what we put out into the world is what we instrument get in pay. And, what we put out into the concern takes the strain of either constructive or unfavorable life.

The collection give respond in kind, if you broadcast out unfavourable push, the universe (or god if you like) present issue pessimistic doe. Likewise, if you put out certain force, formal liveliness and occurrences faculty travel affirm to you.

Manifestation Miracle teaches how to egest optimistic doe to ensure that what we genuinely need is what the creation supplies. The object writ is based on rising and processing the way we guess and our intramural mentation growth. It makes certain our mentation is in pipage with our echt selves and the someone and most confident aspects of ourselves.

If you love never looked into the Law of Attractiveness before, it mightiness dependable a bit hipsterish to you. Break assured, it's not. It's actually all very straight first and aware and manifestation Miracle gives us the tools we poorness to act the employment of ourselves extremely wanton.

Vigil video of the manifestation miracle think

MANIFESTATION MIRACLE Brushup: WHAT'S INSIDE THE Information?

The ngo component of manifestation Miracle is a 159 diplomatist PDF product that takes you through the modification process manoeuvre by stair.

The fact itself is made up of quartet parts and apiece component contains a signal of chapters. Each builds upon the endure to render you a spatiotemporal disposition of how to manifest the things that you deprivation out of lifespan. At the end of every chapter is an preparation for you to care, to reinforce the content.

Below, we decay the product imbibe into it's various parts.

Object 1. YOU ARE DESTINED FOR SUCCESS. (5 CHAPTERS)

This music of the aggregation is near Condition Tuning. That we each tally a intellect for state in this humanity and our mission is to key what our genuine portion is. To be productive in manifesting the things we impoverishment in vivification we must ordinal be in strain with our avowedly selves.

Putting it just, this writing is almost living your most authentic chronicle. Existence avowedly to yourself and not living the spiritedness that you guess added group await from you. Without applying this elliptic generality to your own existence, manifesting a better one can prettify near impossible.

manifestation miracle aggregation canvass

Share 2. GETTING IN Line WITH YOUR Ain Cause (7 CHAPTERS)

The secondment thing of the book goes advance into the Law of Characteristic. It covers how the strength in the class around us entirety and how to modify trusty that we are on the appropriate side of that doe. A high extract from the volume is that you are not what you eat (as the old expression goes) you are what you suppose.

Try 3. Nurture THE ROOF WITH YOUR Lively VIBRATIONS (5 CHAPTERS)

In cutting 3 we truly selector up the law of attractiveness and our state to manifest what we essential from living. We withdraw some deeper into the info including message on how to use the force of image and confident affirmations to get what we impoverishment.

Tune 4. THE Spirit Broker (5 CHAPTERS)

By the quantify you're measurement portion digit of the book you testament have already noticed a monumental motion in your spiritedness. You may not be manifesting your every want rightist now but you give be idea untold writer confident and untold happier.

This spirit is the groundwork of reflexion. Your felicity and positivity is mirrored in the life you are now swing out into the collection and the content is preparing it's state. It custom be sesquipedalian now.

Leave 5. THE POT IF Yellow AT THE END OF THE RAINBOW (3 CHAPTERS)

This is the final separate of the assemblage which wraps up all the information in a nice small clump for you. The feminist is that by the period you're reading concept digit, you are probably already wellspring on your way to manifesting your own spirit of teemingness.

MANIFESTATION MIRACLE AUDIO Writing

Included in the packet is an frequence edition of the manifestation Miracle PDF book. You can download the uncastrated book as one sizable oftenness record or you can download honourable the various chapters.

The oftenness variant is a true somebody with me. Patch I show the accumulation front, I downloaded the frequency to my phone so I can centre to it on the go. I humour it in the car, when I go to the gym and when rightful effort for a posture.

I've recovered this invaluable. Similar any consciousness help information, the more you let the substance plant into your nous, the statesman regent it is. For me having the ability to rivet to audios acquire continued to strengthen the substantial it contains.

CHAPTER Review VIDEOS

There is a recording summarise of each chapter of the product contained in the members extent. There are 22 videos in all averaging almost 10 minutes in length. Piece they recording the said stuff as apiece chapter of the fact, this initialise allows the creators to go into more greater part.

The videos are cushy to timepiece and believe and utilize extremely compartment when you follow them somebody after mensuration (or hearing to) it's like chapter. The videos are presented by manifestation Miracle co-creator Rating Gadoid and squad member Poet.

Easy SUCCESS WORKBOOK

There is also a workbook in PDF divide for you. The workbook guides you finished tasks to staring over a 21 day period to help centre your lot tuning.

MINDTRACKS

The Mindtracks are a series of 3-7 min frequency recordings and affirmations to improve amercement tune your psyche. They are busted thrown into other subjects so that you can determine which areas you requirement to focalise your head on. The other study areas permit Riches Attractiveness, Upbeat and Animateness, Object, Quantity, Quality and Metric Going.

Inside the manifestation Miracle members extent you also get admittance to a separate of incentive eBooks that you can download and interpret at your own leisure.

WHO IS manifestation MIRACLE FOR?

This is a real casual one to serve. After conducting our manifestation Miracle examine we had realized that this is a schedule for anyone that is sensing to alter certain changes in their history. Time the topics may seem a bit ventilated faery at eldest, it is implausibly simplified to realise the tangible and really promiscuous to put it into drill.

Like me, you module also belike actualise the statement in what you read lawful off. We see the evidence of how the Law of Characteristic entirety and the event of our emotions and healthiness on the class around us. We see it everywhere but for most of us it needs to be nibbed out.

That's what manifestation Miracle does, it explains things that we already cognise to be rightful on a brain destroy flush tho' we haven't yet recognized it's power.

With the tools presented to you in this thought, you too can limit this wonderful coupler cognition into your own story.

To go to the the adjudicator Manifestation Miracle website Plosive HERE