#and hopefully they will look past all my wasted years of studying teaching >.<

[moonsinkfoxgirl]

girl who actually finished a job application.... now just gotta package it properly tomorrow and send it off >.< .... and then write the other one... and then maybe if it works out I might get to stay here instead of looking for more jobs in Vienna....hnngngngn nervous

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

Correspondence, Chapter 01

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary:  An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don't really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: some profanity, a side character who is a dick about Reid, set in season 06, self beta’d

Word Count: 2437

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

--

Chapter 01

--

March 2010

--

Dr. Spencer Reid

(Current Tenure: California Institute of Technology): Fred Kavli Professor of Theoretical Physics and Mathematics; Director, Walter Burke Institute for Theoretical Physics, Department Head of Mathematics, Physics, and Astronomy at Caltech.

- (Degrees, in order) Ph.D. Mathematics, Caltech, 1995; Ph.D. Chemistry, Caltech, 1997; M.A. Nuclear Science, MIT, 1999; Ph.D. Engineering, MIT, 2000; M.A. Sociology, Columbia University, 2001; M.A. Philosophy, Georgetown, 2001; Ph.D. Psychology, Georgetown, 2002; M.A. Applied Analytics, Columbia University, 2003; M.A. Socio Economic Statistics, MIT, 2004; M.A. Geology, Caltech, 2006; Ph.D. Geography, Caltech, 2006; M.A. Economics, Caltech, 2008; M.A. Brain and Cognitive Sciences, Caltech, 2009

- (Teaching positions, in order) Professor of Mathematics, Caltech, 1995-1997, Professor of Mathematics and Statistical Analysis, MIT, 1998-2005, Visiting Associate, Georgetown, 1999-2002; Professor of Chemical Engineering, MIT, 2002-05; Kavli Professor, Mathematics, Caltech, 2005-; Professor of Theoretical Physics and Mathematics, 2006-; Deputy Chair, 2005-; Director, 2008-.

“Jesus.”

The dossier is just an information sheet; no photo ID, no news articles beyond text component pieces, but it is a thick stack of correspondence and case consultations that S.S.A Aaron Hotchner holds in his hands.

“Five Ph.D.’s and eight separate M.A.’s in fourteen years? What was he doing before that?”

“Who knows? You don’t earn a Ph.D. overnight, even if his accommodation sheet makes ‘em look like they pop up like mushrooms,” Mark Anderson says, audibly tired through the phone speaker on his desk. He was one of the Unit Chief's from the teams at the FBI L.A. field office, who’s phone number was given to him by an old friend, Sam Cooper -- another BAU team leader. Hotch had hit dead end after dead end on this case, and sitting at his desk in Quantico, Virginia, he looks down at the recommended consultant’s extensive list of degrees and teaching positions with a building headache behind his dark eyes. He wasn’t a fan of Anderson, or his briskness, but at this point he’d take anything he could get. “I’m pretty sure that man has never lived outside an academic field. He’s a handful, runs my agents up the damn wall, but he knows his stuff.”

“I hope so. I’ve been on the phone the past three days trying to find someone with a background in Obscure Cognitive Linguistics,” Hotch reads from a separate file, filled with violent images and depraved acts described in morbid detail. “Our unsub sites a very particular thesis about a Study of Language from a Cognitive and Developmental Law, and I keep getting sent to experts in adjacent fields. I don’t see anything in this Dr. Reid’s background about language.”

“Oh, trust me, Hotch -- you’ll get more than you bargained for. This is your guy. He’s basically an expert on everything, and if he doesn’t know anything about languages I’ll eat my tie. He never shuts up.”

Frowning at the speaker phone, Hotch keeps his comments to himself. He’s sure that Anderson probably doesn’t appreciate having an old professor puttering around the field office, but that didn’t mean he had to insult the man. Especially when he was there as a consultant. 

“Okay, fine. Thank you. I’ll give him a call now-”

“Oh, you don’t want to do that. Just send him an email. Trust me.” Anderson all but groans like a petulant child. Graining on Hotch’s nerves excruciatingly.

“I’m sure he’s busy enough with his students, he doesn’t need to be fielding emails from the FBI,” Hotch hedged, still frowning. 

“Not too busy to write you a dissertation in reply, I’m sure, but you’ll at least get the answers you need. You could be on the phone with him a half hour before you get to what you called about. Hopefully it won’t take you too long to sift through.” 

Alright, now he is done listening to the other agent.

“Right. Thanks, Mark.”

“Anyti-” Hotch hangs up on him before the man could make any other remarks. His patience is non-existent after the past week and this extremely brutal case that only seems to compound exponentially in it’s viciousness with each passing day. If Anderson felt like being an asshole to some old man with nothing better to do than rack up Ph.D.’s, he could do it on his own time. Hotch needed help, and this man seemed to be the only person around who might be able to finally do so.

Dr. Reid’s office number is in front of him, as well as about three different lab location phone numbers, and one email address connected to the school faculty. He considers for a moment just ignoring Anderson’s advice and calling the old professor, but he has a meeting with his Department Chief, Strauss, in twenty minutes and the team would be arriving from canvasing the dumpsites soon. 

So with a suffering sigh, Hotch pulls up a new email (for what feels like the millionth time for this case) and composes a standard correspondence introduction. Who he is, credentials, case numbers and specifics as far as clearance rates for civilians go, and then finally the questions he needs answered. There is something about this particular thesis that has to be very tongue in cheek to the unsub, saying something that isn’t really there, and this could just be another dead end -- but if it led to them saving a victim from becoming another dead body, he is willing to give it one last try. 

Thank you for your time,  S.S.A. Aaron Hotchner Unit Chief, Behavioral Analysis Unit, FBI Quantico, VA. 

Then he hits send, and leaves the response up to the universe.

-

The team came up with nothing fruitful. Strauss proceeded to ream Hotch six ways from Sunday for wasting valuable bureau resources and coming up with zero results. His day was spinning down the drain in a hellish cyclone when he sits down behind his desk in his office an hour after leaving it. Case files still piled to one side, grotesque photos stacked within them, and Aaron Hotchner wants nothing more than for them to disappear. For the case to be solved and to be able to go home to his son and his quiet house. But there was no break in sight, no new information, nothing.

Except a new email in his inbox.

Agent Hotchner, 

I know that thesis paper well. I can help you.

All air seems to have been sucked from the room as Hotch reads the words a couple of times, not quite comprehending after the morning he has had that someone wasn’t giving him more bad news. That this Dr. Reid said he could help him. 

 A single click of the email opens up the correspondence reply, and the agent is met with a giant wall of text. Scrolling down for pages, and a quick skim of the material shows such a complex, comprehensive amount of information that there is no way it’s just copy and pasted from any one source. Or even several. It’s a long email spanning a vast number of pages, covering every topic he had asked about (and then some).

The thesis paper, the tongue-in-cheek citation from the unsub, how this killer is acting like he’s being clever when it’s really ‘very obvious what he’s doing, as long as you know the paper’ and detailed links and quotations and references to locations and side tangents on items mentioned that could be evidence to look for or weapons of choice, and so much else Hotch’s head feels like it’s spinning. Like reading the cliffnotes of a complex spy novel, with all the spoilers in one place. 

It takes him half an hour to read through everything Dr. Reid sent, meaning the professor had to have been typing a million words a minute from the moment Hotch had emailed him to get everything replied so quickly, and Hotch was baffled to realize that an old man with a handful of Ph.D.’s and no FBI training just solved his case.

Not a figment of speech.

Dr. Reid just solved the case, without even holding the file in his hands.

Hotch is dialing a phone number on his speed dial without even looking away from the screen. 

“Garcia? Call the team into the briefing room, and phone SWAT to mobilize. We’re going down to the riverfront in thirty minutes.”

“--Wait, what are you talking about? Did you figure out the unsub’s code?”

Not me, Aaron thought to himself, standing up and printing Dr. Reid’s email after forwarding it to the entire team and their tech analyst, Penelope Garcia. He didn’t have time to explain it that many times, and the amount of information in that single email would be enough to send any of them tumbling heels over head. But it solved every aspect of their case. Hook, line, and sinker.

And the clock was ticking. 

“Now, Garcia.”

He rushes from the room with the stack of files in his hands and his laptop open to Dr. Reid’s email. Not even thinking to thank the man for his help as he heads across the bullpen with profound determination.

They have work to do.

-

They catch the unsub that very day. 

Quick, efficient, completely by surprise. They saved Amanda Sutton and another girl they hadn’t even known was missing. No one died. None of his team was hurt. The unsub hadn’t confessed, but Rossi and Morgan had played him like a fiddle in interrogation and now all of his team members were walking to the elevators leaving for a long weekend where they wouldn’t have to worry about serial killers or another dead soul on their conscience. Today was a win. As close to a win as they ever can get, in their line of work. 

And it isn’t until he’s back at his desk, the hours ticking into the night, that he opens up his email and there in his inbox is the very reply that started everything. Dr. Spencer Reid. CalTech Department Head. Professor of everything under the sun. Expert on anything, even the obscure. 

The reason Hotch will get to spend the weekend with his son, without the overbearing aftershocks of a case gone so horribly bad plaguing him. 

His hands are moving before he can stop them. Opening up the email, typing out a response to Dr. Reid thanking him for his help. Relaying what happened, detail by detail much in the same fashion he had completed the paperwork piled on his desk. Letting him know that his information really did end up helping them. All of it. Even the side tangents. 

I don’t know how I can ever thank you for the extensive consideration you gave this case, or how to explain how it solved it so seamlessly, but your time and effort does not go unnoticed by me. 

Okay, so maybe he fluffs it up a bit more than the dreadful bullet-point list descriptions required by the Deputy Chief and the Director and SWAT Team justification reports. Just so it doesn’t look so inadequate in comparison to the man’s thesis-paper-length email he sent to aide Hotch and his team. The passion he has for his work leaps off the page, but it was a lot -- and if the old man put that much dedication into a basic FBI correspondence email, then he was probably used to it being a thankless effort. 

Hotch sends the reply, and continues with his work. He always takes a bulk of the paperwork, so his team can go home and rest and recharge. He needs them at their best for each case, and if that means he spends a couple hours longer after when they finish a case, it is worth every minute. But this time, once he finishes, he gets to take the coveted time off as well. 

It’s as he’s finishing up, everything stacked neatly and ready to be dropped at records, in the mailroom, Strauss’s office, the director’s, and he’s about to log off his laptop that he sees a surprise -- Dr. Reid replied to him, again.

It’s much more brief this time.

Agent Hotchner,

I’m so glad I was able to help you. 

You are one of the only agents to reach out and tell me how the case went after my consultation, and I’m very grateful to know that my information actually helped your team catch the killer. I know I tend to spout facts at random, but I do have methods to my madness and it’s such a nice change to correspond with someone who understands that. 

My services are always at your disposal. Anytime. Whatever I can do to help.

Sincerely, Dr. Spencer Reid

Hotch types out a brief reply. Thanking him for his offer, for lending him his expertise, and letting him know in not so many words --

I’ll have to take you up on that. 

He’d be a fool not to. Someone with that much knowledge and the ability to connect it all in the way Dr. Reid had in the span of an hour? He could be a real asset to the BAU, as a permanent consultant, even through email correspondence. 

He sends the reply just as he stands to leave. Turning off his office light, and his chest feels lighter for the interaction. For giving the professor that sense of assurance that what he had to say did in fact do some real good. Hotch even finds himself smiling softly, sadly, that he has also found a little bit of solace in helping another lonely old man across the country find a sense of purpose that night. Who was working late, as well, despite it being the end of the week. Speaking to not much waiting for him back at home, in whatever shape ‘home’ takes for the man. But Hotch can relate to that, too. Jack is at Jessica’s until the morning, and there is nothing at his apartment to greet him but silence and bare walls and memories he’d rather not dote on. Maybe this Dr. Spencer Reid is in a similar boat, finding comfort in his work when he can. He certainly seems to, with the amount of time he’s poured into his doctorates and degrees. In the number of departments he runs and monitors. 

Hotch can’t help but feel a connection, a companionship between empty offices. Thousands of miles apart, but maybe -- possibly -- at least similar in that aspect.

Not so alone, even if only for a brief moment.

-

(tbc...)

-

Tagged list: @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom​ @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat​​​ @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt - Meng Shi is NHS's mother, making him half brother to NMJ and JGY.

Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3)

- Chapter 1 - 

Meng Yao sat out on the balcony of the brothel, bored out of his mind, as he waited for the party in the fancy inn down the way to finish.

He knew it was an important one from the way his mother had nearly clawed another girl’s eyes out for the opportunity to go. It wouldn’t have been worth it otherwise: she was older, her looks a little faded, her body a little weaker than the others, and a party like that was not nearly as effective a means of making money as the steady work at the brothel.

But Meng Yao didn’t know why it was so important – only that his mother had looked especially excited as she’d gotten ready.

Maybe she thought she might find a patron there.

Wistful thinking, if she did – she hadn’t had a patron in over a year, and the last one hadn’t been worth much; they hadn’t even gotten a better room at the brothel out of it, much less being set up in a discreet apartment of their own the way Meng Shi had told him had happened in the past.

At least Meng Yao hadn’t been recruited to act as a server at the party. The bosses at the brothel and the inn asked for him to do odd tasks like that more and more since they knew they could get him to do it for free, and he had no choice, even though he hated seeing his mother smile and flutter her eyes at the men she serviced. This party, though, was too high-end, apparently, to risk having a child like him mess up – they’d gotten actual servers, paid ones, and never mind the cost.

Maybe there would be rich men there, generous ones. Maybe his mother would be able to get a good tip. Maybe the bosses would be well-paid enough to let her keep it. Maybe they could get some meat to eat…

“Hey, you! You – you up there! Can you help me?”

He looked down.

There was another boy there at the base of the balcony outside of Meng Shi's window, where Meng Yao liked to sit: a boy few years older than him, taller, in finely made clothing that would normally make Meng Yao itch all over in futile envy, but the other boy’s eyes were white around the edges in a way that was immediately, painfully familiar.

“Someone’s chasing you?” Meng Yao asked, and the boy’s eyes widened even further, surprised, but he nodded in confirmation. “There’s a trellis around the left side – can you climb up? I'll hide you.”

The boy found the trellis that Meng Yao used to get in and out of the second floor without anyone seeing – it creaked a little under the bigger boy’s weight, but he was just young and small enough that he managed to get up without too much of a problem, and Meng Yao pushed him through the balcony door just as a dark figure stepped out from the inn down the road, his motions a little too slow and deliberate to be anything but predatory.

The man was handsome enough, in a cruel sort of way. Meng Yao didn’t like the way he smiled as he started to survey the street with his eyes – looking for the boy Meng Yao had just hidden away, no doubt about it, and men who attended parties stocked with people like Meng Yao’s mother as party favors didn’t have good intentions when they looked at boys with a smile like that.

Meng Yao put on his stupidest and most vacant expression, leaning his head against the bars as if he’d never done anything more interesting in his life than daydream, and eventually the man walked by the brothel without paying him more than a cursory look.

As soon as he was sure the man was gone, Meng Yao turned and went back inside.

“Thanks,” the boy said. He was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, his knees pulled up to his chest and still shaking; he didn’t even seem to have noticed that he was in the perfumed heart of a brothel lady’s personal chambers. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“He was looking for you in particular,” Meng Yao said, crouching down next to him and studying him with the practiced eye of a boy raised among whores. The boy was handsome, with straight features, good cheekbones, and a certain ruddiness that suggested health – not the sort of pretty boy that usually got sought out at such parties, but certainly more than pretty enough. Tall, too, to judge by the length of his legs, but the amount of baby fat on his face suggested Meng Yao had been right about him being not that much older than him. “Why? He was at a party full of prostitutes.”

There wasn’t any point in obfuscating.

The boy ducked his head down, cheeks flushing dark. “My father’s there,” he said, not really answering the question. “They kept toasting him over and over, until they’d gotten him really drunk, and then they set up him with one of the – with a lady. Normally he keeps an eye on me so there isn’t any trouble, but this time...”

Meng Yao frowned. “That man’s been after you before?” A shaky nod. “You’re sure? Has he ever tried –”

The boy flinched.

“And your father still took you to where he could find you?” Meng Yao shook his head: fathers really weren’t worth anything, were they? His own had abandoned him, abandoned his mother without even purchasing her freedom, and this boy’s didn’t seem especially good either, if he was out getting drunk and leaving his son where known harm could come to him.

“He didn’t have a choice,” the boy mumbled. “Either about going to the party, or about bringing me. Anyway it’s not even – I don’t think it’s about me. He doesn’t have any reputation for liking boys generally. But he hates my father, and I’m my father’s only son, his heir. Wen Ruohan only wants to ruin me to hurt my father.”

Having seen the avid, avaricious look on the man’s face as he’d walked down the street, searching, Meng Yao wasn’t so sure about that, but he thought it might not help to say so. “Well, you lost him.”

“Thanks,” the boy said. “I’m in your debt. But I’d better get going, before he starts knocking on doors and asking questions.”

“In this district? No one will answer.”

“They will if he offers them gold,” the boy said, rubbing his face. He looked tired, and scared.

If this Wen Ruohan was willing to go knocking at every brothel in town and offer them gold to search for the boy, it definitely wasn’t just about his father, but Meng Yao was a practical sort of person. “I can help hide you,” he decided. “Will you give me gold for it, too, later?”

The bosses wouldn’t share any of Wen Ruohan’s gold with him, but this boy – or rather, his father – might, if Meng Yao played his cards right. Of course, he might get nothing at all, but nothing was more than likely what he’d get on the other side, too, and if he did nothing then there’d be another ruined boy on the streets, probably disowned when his dishonor was discovered, with no way to live other than to sell himself to one of the brothels that catered to things like that.

He wasn’t yet quite bitter enough to want others to be torn down to make his own misery seem less.

Might as well try to help.

The boy nodded, eyes wide, and Meng Yao tugged him over to the closet where his mother kept her clothing. “He’s looking for a boy,” he explained when the boy didn’t seem to understand. “This brothel doesn’t keep boys – I’m not a worker here, my mother is – and so it would be strange for there to be a boy here, you understand? But not strange at all for there to be another whore. Not even a young one.”

He probably could have just hidden the boy in the closet and called it done, but Meng Yao took a certain pleasure in stripping down the fine sturdy fabrics the boy was wearing and replacing them with his mothers’ cheap silks – they’d been more expensive, once, but she’d had to sell those – and in painting the boy’s face and eyes until he looked like any of the other girls that worked the house.

More pretty than some, even. His looks were really quite striking, even covered in cheap makeup, but with a fan and a veil to guard his face, no one looked twice at him where he was sitting in the corner of the main room, not even when the man hunting him, Wen Ruohan, leisurely followed the bosses around as they tore through the brothel, opening closets and looking under beds, searching for a stowaway.

Meng Yao’s pettiness turned out to have been a good idea, and if the boy asked, he’d definitely done it on purpose.

(A few of the men tried to buy ‘her’, always out looking for new meat, but Meng Yao was an old hand at turning down or redirecting customers that wanted things, and the one that kept persisting, a mean old drunkard that they’d had problems with before, got scared away by the boy’s own vicious glare.)

“Thanks,” the boy said again once the man he'd called Wen Ruohan had left. “Again.”

“You’ll pay me later,” Meng Yao reminded him, and the boy nodded. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“My name is Nie Mingjue. What's your name?”

“Meng Yao. Come upstairs – I have a little place in the attic where I sleep, and if you squeeze you might just fit.”

Nie Mingjue did, albeit barely, and if Meng Yao shoved himself into the boy’s arms, insisting that there wasn’t any other alternative, he thought that the bit of warmth he got was the least he deserved for enduring the stresses of the evening. His suspicions that Nie Mingjue was a great hugger whose hands never wandered were borne out by truth, and they stayed warm and safe the entire night through.

The next morning, Meng Yao reluctantly gave Nie Mingjue back his clothing – he would’ve liked to have sold a few pieces if he thought he could get away with it, but Nie Mingjue was meticulous in dressing properly – and watched him get dressed, thumbing idly through one of the cultivation manuals his mother had bought him. She hadn’t come home the night before, which meant she’d had a customer at the party; hopefully that meant they would be eating this month, even if Nie Mingjue forgot about paying what he owed. Assuming she didn’t waste the money on even more stupid books…

“What’s that?” Nie Mingjue asked, nodding at it.

Meng Yao showed it to him. “It’s supposed to teach you the basics of cultivating.”

He didn’t think it did, though. Nothing happened no matter how many times he practiced the motions, and it wouldn’t be the first time something his mother had bought at too high a price with her hard-earned money turned out to be a fake.

“Cultivation?” Nie Mingjue asked, and took the manual. “This is wrong.”

Meng Yao sighed. Of course it was.

“This won’t teach you anything,” Nie Mingjue continued, flipping through the pages with a frown. “Some of this is actually backwards - it’s not just useless, it’s worse than useless.”

Meng Yao blinked. “How do you know?”

“Because I’m a cultivator, of course,” Nie Mingjue said as if it was nothing. “Do you really want to learn?”

“It’s my mother’s dream for me,” Meng Yao said, his hands curling into fists with excitement. Nie Mingjue could be lying, of course, but he’d figured out pretty quickly in their conversation the night before that Nie Mingjue was very bad even at dissembling, and he didn’t look like he was lying now. “If you get me a real manual, there’s no need to pay any gold.”

“I’ll do both,” Nie Mingjue said, very seriously. “I don’t have a beginner’s manual with me, but I’ll get one from home and bring it to you next time we come here. Will that work?”

Meng Yao nodded furiously. Even if he got nothing, he started with nothing, he reminded himself harshly, but he couldn’t quite stop himself from hoping. Just once, just this once…

“And as for the gold, I can get that right now,” Nie Mingjue said. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Meng Yao spent the next quarter shichen telling himself to forget about seeing Nie Mingjue ever again, that the other boy had already forgotten him, that it was all pointless and he should be thinking instead about how to convince his mother to save some of what she earned from the night’s work rather than spending it at once.

But Nie Mingjue did come back, running as fast as he could.

“Meng Yao! Meng Yao!” he shouted, waving, and Meng Yao looked down at him from the balcony just the way he had the night before. “We’re going to leave right away, so I have to go back, but I got you whatever I could grab! Catch!”

Meng Yao caught the little bag Nie Mingjue threw him, stunned, and watched as the other boy ran back the way he came, a pair of fiercely scowling men in dark robes catching him by the arms and starting to scold him even as they dragged him away.

The pouch in Meng Yao’s hands was very light, feeling almost as if there was nothing inside, and very small, barely two fingers in width.

He figured that meant that there wouldn’t be much in there – a child’s pocket-money – but when he opened it up, he unexpectedly could fit his whole hand inside.

“Qiankun pouch!” he gasped, realizing what it must be, and grabbed a handful of the coins inside to pull out. They weren’t all gold – mostly not, in fact, but all those copper pennies and pieces of silver were still more than Meng Shi had managed to save up in six months’ time, and the two or three little chunks of gold hidden underneath would be an excellent start to a fund meant to buy her freedom.

Meng Yao hid the money in four different spots right away, putting the bag itself in the safest spot of all, and went to show the bosses a portion of what he’d gotten, claiming he’d gotten an unexpected tip. They took the small scrap of silver, leaving him with only a few copper pennies, and they went and found one of the more obviously hidden stashes to confiscate as well, just as he’d expected. But after that, they thought he’d been emptied out, while the gold and the rest of the money were still safe.

“Yesterday was a good day,” he told his mother with a smile when she returned, but she didn’t smile back even though her clothing was still intact and he didn’t see any new bruises, meaning it had to have been a decent enough night. “Wasn’t it for you?”

“No,” she said, her voice dull and deeply disappointed. “Not really.”

[spuffybot]

Walk Me to the Graveyard

Summary: Buffy walks through the graveyard alone at night, contemplating the past few months following the fall of Sunnydale. She reflects on her relationship with Spike, her friendships, and her future before receiving a shocking phone call.

Characters: Buffy, Willow, Dawn, Spike (mentions of Giles, Xander, Andrew, Kennedy, Faith, Wood, Angel, and Fred)

Warnings: Some adult language

Word Count: 4515

Author’s notes: If you read this, thank you. I’ve been chipping away at it for the past few weeks and I’m just glad I was able to finish something I started. “Ghostface” is a reference to the Scream movies, which Sarah Michelle Gellar had a cameo in. The high tea spot with the egg shaped bathrooms is Sketch, a place I didn’t get to visit this year due to the pandemic. I hope you all have a safe holiday season and new year. Hopefully I’ll finish the second part of this story in 2021.

Walk Me to the Graveyard (part 1)

Buffy’s joints creaked as she stood up from her crouched position. She’d been staking out this grave (no pun intended) for hours and dawn was slowly approaching. In the last few minutes the air had started to change, and she could hear the telltale rustling of birds in the trees. If this vampire was going to rise, it wouldn’t be tonight.

Stretching her arms up over her head, she rolled out her stiff shoulders, feeling strangely relieved by the lack of action.

Buffy had been coming to this cemetery every couple of nights for weeks, sniffing out even the barest hint of vampire activity. Technically she could have assigned graveyard duty to any of the Potentials, but she craved the silence and the normalcy of the activity.

She chuckled to herself. How far she’d come that she could relish a few hours of graveyard haunting and call it normal. If only her sixteen-year-old self could see her now.

The truth was she was tired. After the fall of Sunnydale, she’d been fueled by an insatiable need to just keep moving. Giles had suggested they hole up in LA and take refuge with Angel Investigations, but Buffy refused. She wanted to get started on rebuilding as soon as possible. They couldn’t afford to waste time in LA, on Angel’s turf, killing time as his sidekicks while thousands of girls woke up with powers they couldn’t explain. So instead the Scoobies had moved to London, taking on the role of de-facto Watchers Council. They’d rounded up the few surviving members of the former Council and had started reaching out to as many activated Potentials as possible.

They recruited the ones they could and provided support (emotional and financial) to the ones they couldn’t. It was rewarding and it kept her mind off things.

Things like telling a man she loved him only to have him choose death over a future with her.

Buffy kicked a crumbling headstone, cursing when she stubbed her toe.

She knew that wasn’t fair. Spike died saving the world. It was a sacrifice she’d made more than once, and she knew how much she resented the people she left behind for not understanding the weight of that choice. She didn’t want to sully the memory of his heroics with her bitterness. She just couldn’t help it. Besides, focusing on missing Spike was easier than accepting she didn’t know how to function now that she wasn’t the “one girl in all the world.” The irony of having an identity crisis over getting the one thing she’d always thought she wanted was not lost on her. She should be grateful that she wasn’t the only Slayer. Grateful that her future was finally hers to shape. Instead she just felt lost.

It didn’t help that everyone around her was adjusting to this new life and mission like they were born to it. Dawn was training to be a Watcher, and frankly, they needed as many as they could get. The Slayer to Watcher ratio had been drastically tipped and it was only a matter of time before things got out of control.

Faith and Wood had stayed behind in America, taking up shop at the Hellmouth in Cleveland. It was weird to think of Faith as the reigning defender of the Hellmouth, but it felt right. With Wood by her side she would stay grounded and on track. He understood the mission better than most.

Giles was in his glory. He’d vetted the surviving Watchers, firing some gleefully and taking others under his wing. Between them they’d established a kind of Watchers Hogwarts, training Watchers by day and guiding Potential Slayers on field missions by night. He was happy, which was something she’d never really seen him be before. Their relationship had taken a hit in the last few years and while she wasn’t ready to forgive him for everything, she didn’t begrudge him his success. Her Watcher had floundered ever since he was fired, unable to find purpose while she and her friends had grown up around him. Seeing as she suddenly found herself in a similar position it was hard not to understand how he’d gone off track. Besides, she’d lost enough people to know she wasn’t going to lose anymore. She’d fix things with Giles, eventually. For now, she’d just settle for on the same continent and on polite speaking terms. 

Xander and Andrew led the Potential Identification and Retrieval Taskforce. They came up with the name. Obviously. They spent their days traveling the world, chasing down leads and giving their best “join team save the world” sales pitch to scared and angry girls.

Buffy smiled thinking about them. The last time they’d video chatted, Xander had looked better than she’d seen him in years. He’d lost the chip on his shoulder that he’d been carrying since they graduated high school. For the first time in his life he was the best person for the job, and he knew it. Trustworthiness and warmth radiated from him and his knowledge of tactics and the cost of the fight lent him an authenticity the girls were drawn to. He never bullshitted or misled them, but he did inspire them. Like he’d inspired all of the Scoobies over the years to keep on fighting.

The sun was starting to peak over the horizon, and a misty fog enveloped the graveyard. She knew she was dawdling but she couldn’t bring herself to rush home. The alarms would be ringing any second now, Potentials and Watchers scrambling to the mess hall for breakfast before a day of study and training.

Technically she didn’t have any classes to teach until the afternoon, but Giles liked the staff to be present in the morning. He said it communicated solidarity and responsibility. Personally, she thought Dawn had just made him watch the Harry Potter movies one too many times.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she let it go to voicemail. It was either Willow calling to say she had another hit on the Potential alert locator spell or Giles calling to ask where she was.

Either way it could wait.

She just wanted to be in the quiet for a little bit longer.

That’s what she missed the most about Spike. Having someone she could be in the quiet with. He had always seemed to know what she needed, anticipating her every mood and desire.

She’d never met anyone she could just be alone with before him. He never expected anything of her other than to just be. In this chaotic mess of a life she now led she craved his company and his silence. Since she couldn’t have that she came to the cemetery. The dead kept her company in a way the living never could. The occasional scuffle with a vampire didn’t hurt either. The familiar comfort of a stake in her pocket, grave dust on her shoes, her breath quickening for the thrill of the kill, reminding her that even though everything had changed, some things never would.

Her phone buzzed again.

She frowned, wondering why she couldn’t even get a few hours of peace before the sun was fully risen.

Flipping it open she saw two missed calls from a number she didn’t recognize. No voicemail.

It was probably someone trying to sell her something.

Technically her phone was spelled against telemarketers, but magic was fickle. If someone really needed to reach her, they would call the office and leave a message with her secretary.

God. How had she ended up here?

When they’d first arrived in London she’d panicked. Back in California it had seemed so clear. Get to London, find the Watchers, find the Potentials, save the world. Simple.

Except once they arrived there had been bureaucracy and red tape to get through. The surviving Watchers had needed convincing and playing nice with morons wasn’t Buffy’s strong suit. After one particularly eventful meeting that ended with some snide British dude’s head slamming into a wall Giles and Willow had pushed her to take a back seat on the negotiations. Much to everyone’s shock, she listened.

As soon as she stopped leading she felt a huge weight lift off her shoulders. Without meetings and planning sessions to fill her days she’d found herself wandering the streets of London with Dawn, playing tourist.

They were having high tea at this ridiculous spot with baby pink furniture and weird egg-shaped toilets when it hit her. She could walk away. The Hellmouth was gone, and there were more than enough Slayers to pick up the slack. Her friends would be disappointed but eventually they would understand. As she sat there watching Dawn sample pastries, no fear of imminent death getting in the way of her fun, Buffy couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like. This could be their every day.

They could finish out the summer backpacking through Europe then head home to America to finish school and settle down. She was pretty sure she’d heard somewhere that there were hardly any vampires in New Jersey.

She was so wrapped up in the fantasy that she almost missed what Dawn said as they were walking home to their flat.

“Sorry, what with the what now?”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “I said, it’s crazy how there’s this whole world out here and no one was helping keep it safe before.”

“Ummm excuse me, Slayer here, has saved the world, a lot. Even got a nice shiny headstone for my troubles.”

“Obviously but...you were always in Sunnydale. And sure, most of the big bad world endy guys ended up there too but...what about all the other regular level baddies hurting everyday people? I mean, look at them all.”

Dawn stopped and looked around, forcing Buffy to take it all in. The couples strolling along, groups of friends, kids in strollers. The street was flooded with people going about their day. As soon as that sun went down, they’d be joined by all the things that went bump in the night.

“I just think it’s kind of amazing what we’re about to do. For the first time we’ll be able to protect people all over the world. These people will have a chance like they’ve never had before. Like everyone in Sunnydale got because you were around. We can give that to them. I’m just...glad.”

Buffy’s heart warmed even as dreams of running away slipped from her grasp. Dawn was right. This was her calling. She’d find a way to live with it. Normalcy would never be available to her and the sooner she embraced that, the sooner she could start working towards happiness.

At least that’s what Willow was always saying.

Willow who saw a therapist three times a week and a substance abuse counselor twice a week.

After the battle she and Kennedy had parted ways. Their relationship had run its course and Kennedy wasn’t interested in staying on Team Scooby. Instead she took her slaying act on the road, traveling town to town looking for monsters to hunt and people to save. Occasionally she’d run into a Potential and send a heads up their way. She seemed happy. Everyone seemed happy. Buffy just couldn’t seem to find her groove.

Ironically, Willow was the only one to notice how out of sorts Buffy was. Maybe it was all the therapy or maybe it was just that she was more herself than she’d been in a long time, but Willow had become Buffy’s sole confidant these past few months. If she thought about it too much she knew she’d cry. It hadn’t occurred to her how much she’d missed her best friend until she got her back.

At first when Willow tried to reach out, Buffy had been cold and distant. Willow understood, even writing Buffy a letter to explain that she respected her need for distance after the way she had torched their friendship and Buffy’s trust. The letter had melted something in Buffy’s heart. It was the first time Willow had really acknowledged the fact that their sisterhood had been a casualty of Willow’s addiction.

The first time they sat down for coffee together felt like coming home. Willow seemed lighter, more like the girl Buffy had met her sophomore year of high school than the all-powerful Wicca she had come to know lately. She seemed shy, hesitant to take too much from Buffy, a reticence that allowed her to give more than she had intended to when she agreed to meet.

By their third coffee date it was clear that they were going to push through this. When a third turned into a fourth and fifth they decided to just make it a standing girl’s night. Every Tuesday for the rest of their lives.

Last Tuesday they’d finally broached the subject of Spike. Buffy had been dreading this, afraid to pick at the scab only to be met with judgment and condemnation. She wasn’t sure their renewed friendship could handle it. As much as she loved having Will back, Spike was a sensitive spot and she was afraid of how she’d react if Willow said something she didn’t like.

“Buffy, I tried to end the world. What’s a little bumpin of the uglies between former enemies compared to that? I am judgement free Willow of the no judgies zone.”

Willows face scrunched up like it did sometimes when she was trying to find the right words, her nose crinkling and her eyes rolling skyward.

“I just want you to be ok. And if that means loads of tasty mochas and squishy details about Spike sex, I am all ears. I’ve even got marshmallows.”

Buffy saw the sincerity on her friends face and felt something crack deep inside her. She’d been prepared for judgment at worst and stoic acceptance at best. Being met with such openness and warmth took her by surprise and she found she couldn’t hold back anymore. Her eyes welled up and before she could reign it in and full body sobs shook her.

As she cried, Willow rubbed her back and let her get it all out, careful to avoid pushing her to talk. It was exactly what she’d needed to be able to open up.

And open up she did. It was like the levies broke and all the confusion and hurt came pouring out. She told Willow about what happened in the Hellmouth. About her last days with Spike, how he supported her and strengthened her when no one else could, or would. This last part she said without any venom, all her anger and resentment at Willow long gone.

She even spoke about their last night together. How they’d made love in the basement, on that shitty cot. The first and only time they’d ever been truly intimate, Buffy’s walls fully down, her heart totally exposed.

“I know having sex with someone isn’t like, a big deal or anything. Especially when you’ve had sex as many times as we did.”

Buffy cringed as the words left her mouth. The familiar guilt over her physical affair with Spike flaring up.

“No!” Willow exclaimed.

“Buffy no. It is a big deal. It’s like, the biggest of deals. You and sex haven’t exactly had the most copacetic relationship, no offense.”

She smiled apologetically, eliciting a soft laugh from Buffy despite the anxiety that was clenching her gut.

“If you let yourself feel something good with Spike, even just that one time, it’s important. Special. You shouldn’t downplay that. He loved you and you let him show it to you. It’s romantic.”

At that Buffy really laughed.

“God Will. Spike. Romantic.”

Willow laughed too.

“You know...it’s not that weird. Remember when he kidnapped me and Xander? He wanted me to do a love spell for Drusilla. I think he’s always had a romantic streak. In a weird, murdery, vampire kinda way”

Buffy shook her head in amusement.

“Did I ever tell you Spike was a poet when he was human?”

Willows eye widened, and her hands flew to cover her cackling laugh.

“A poet? Oh my gosh. That’s...that’s too good.”

Buffy took a sip of her mocha, relishing the warm caffeinated goodness before adding, “he would kill me for telling you this but, the best part is the whole “William the Bloody” thing? That’s because he had a reputation for being such a terrible poet.”

At that Willow dissolved into full on giggles, hands clutching her stomach

“Ugggggh ok ok, I’m done laughing. Promise. Also why is that so cute? That’s so cute. Little Spike the poet.”

Buffy sighed. “The thing is Spike has this immense capacity for love. Even as a violent serial killer he was still driven by love. It scared me. That he was so willing to throw himself headfirst into love without a shadow of doubt. I’ve never...I’ve never been like that.”

She looked up at Willow, trying to read her reaction. The witch just nodded encouragingly for her to go on.

“I just...I told Giles once that I didn’t know if I could love. I was worried I was broken, like all the slaying made me cold and loveless or something.”

“Buffy, no,” Willow cut in, but Buffy held up a hand to stop her.

“I know it’s not true. I died to save Dawn, to save all of you, weeks after I said that.” Buffy’s eyes filled up again but this time she swallowed it down and wiped them clean.

“He really loved me Will. And I don’t know that I was in love with him but that last night we spent together...I kind of thought that I could be, someday. You know? I wanted him to know that. To know that there was a chance for us. I figured we’d have all the time in the world after...”

Buffy trailed off, suddenly tired. She didn’t need to explain the rest. How Spike had died, believing she’d never love him. How all the time she thought she’d have to figure out if she could evaporated in a burst of fire and ash.

—————————

She’d reached the cemetery gates just as the sun broke through the horizon. Her car was covered in dew, glistening in the hazy morning light.

She still couldn’t believe she had learned how to drive. And on the wrong side of the road! Her mom would die of shock if she were still around.

The thought of Joyce made her wistful. If only her mom could see her now. In her heart Buffy new her mom would be proud of the choices she’d made. She’d encourage her to let go of the past and focus on the future. She’d be overjoyed to know that Buffy had a future now. Sure, it still involved a massive amount of slayage but for the first time in a long time, the fate of the world didn’t rest solely on her shoulders. Her mom would tell her to embrace that and to live this new life to the fullest.

I’m trying mom.

Her phone buzzed again, and this time Buffy yanked it out in annoyance and flipped it open.

“What do you want?”

The silence on the other end only ticked her off more. If it was so important for someone to call her three times before she’d even had a cup of tea they could freaking respond when she finally picked up.

“Hello? I’m hanging up in three seconds if you don’t get all un-ghostface on me and just tell me what you want.”

She heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. Her annoyance bled to curiosity and she willed herself to be patient.

Infusing her voice with a level of calm she didn’t feel, she asked “Do you need help or something? I don’t know how you got this line if you’re not part of Scooby Central but…you got me.”

The silence eked on for seconds that felt like minutes before the caller sighed. Buffy’s pulse shot up, anticipation making her antsy. She shuffled from foot to foot, fighting her instinct to hang up. If this was a Potential calling for help she needed to wait it out.

Finally, a voice broke through the silence.

“Slayer?”

Buffy dropped the phone on the ground, her fingers losing the ability to function along with her brain, which had gone fuzzy and staticky at the sound of the all too familiar voice on the other end of the line.

She stared down at her phone, the call still connected, wondering if she had fallen asleep somehow.

A muffled “bloody hell” came out of the fallen phone, causing Buffy to gasp and jump back. She crouched down low, getting as close to the phone as she could without actually picking it back up.

“Shit. SHIT. Spike?”

The muttering and cursing stopped.

“Slayer…yea. It’s a long story. But yea.”

Buffy felt her limbs turn to jelly and she sat down on the cold gravel, her head falling into her hands. A sob bubbled up from her chest, turning into a laugh that she couldn’t control. She giggled for a solid minute before gingerly picking her phone up and pressing it to her ear.

“How? You better explain yourself right now.” Her voice was edged with steel, anxiety and adrenaline giving way to nervous anger. If this was someone’s idea of a sick joke she was going to get murdery.

She could almost hear Spike roll his eyes.

“Good god woman, can’t I come back to life without brassing you off?”

She bit her lip to stop a smile, not willing to let hope overrule a protective layer of skepticism.

Rocking back on her heels Buffy gulped down the crisp morning air, willing her body to calm down so she could take stock of the situation. Her dead ex sort of boyfriend was calling her…she looked at the phone number quickly…from LA. Ok. She could handle this. She was the Slayer, queen of things that go bump in the night and let’s face it, this wasn’t her first ex to come back from the great beyond. If Angel could do it…Angel.

“Spike, why are you calling me from LA?”

He sighed again and she could picture him rubbing the back of his neck, a grimace on his face as he debated the best way to tell her what was going on.

Despite the rush of anger, her heart warmed at the thought.

“Eh look, I said it was complicated. I just thought it was right. Telling you I was alive. Thought you should know is all.”

Whatever ice had melted in her heart immediately froze back up. No way was Spike going to call her from beyond the grave and then immediately get shady and secretive.

“So, is that your weird dodgy British way of saying you’re not going to tell me why you’re calling me from LA? Where Angel lives? Are you with Angel?”

She heard Spike mutter something to himself that sounded an awful lot like “bloody bint”. She rolled her eyes and stood up, pacing the lot in an attempt to keep her temper in check.

“Yea. Alright yea.”

His voice had changed, his accent becoming sharper, and she knew he was starting to get worked up.

“I’m in LA and I’m with Angel. If you want to talk to him you can damn well call him yourself. I don’t know what I was thinking. Bloke comes back as a sodding ghost, gets himself corporealized by a nice scientist bird and calls his girl up and she wants to know about Angel. Figures.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, not even bothering to interrupt his tirade. She knew he’d run out of steam eventually.

“Are you finished?”

Spike sighed again and Buffy felt the fight go out of her. She sat down on the hood of her car, overwhelmed by the emotions swirling within.

“Yea Slayer. I’m finished.”

Buffy’s shoulders slumped and she laid back, gazing up at the sky. It was going to be a cloudy day.

“How?”

“That’s the million-dollar question love. Seems no one can answer it.”

“Wait.” Buffy sat up; brow furrowed in concentration as she started to put together the various odd things Spike had said so far.

“You were a ghost?”

She tried to picture that. Spike all floaty and haunty. The image made her chuckle, which she quickly tried to suppress.

“Yea, yea, yea, laugh it up. I don’t know if I was a ghost. I was a something. Couldn’t touch, couldn’t feel. Just trapped at bloody Wolfram & Hart with your beloved Prince of Brooding.”

“Wolf ram and what now?”

“It doesn’t matter. Done what I set to do. You know. Guess I’ll let you get back to it then.”

Buffy felt white hot anger burning in her chest. Did he really think he was going to call her up, say hey, and then leave? Maybe forever? Who did he think he was?

“Fine,” she spat out.

“Fine,” came Spike’s huffy reply.

They’d reached a stalemate and Buffy did the only thing she could think of doing.

She hung up.

She stuffed the phone in her pocket, unlocking the car door and sliding into the front seat. She stared out the frosted windshield for a moment before screaming at the top of her lungs. When that didn’t calm the storm she felt brewing inside she slammed her hands repeatedly into the steering wheel. The metal and leather began to crunch and warp under the weight of her blows but she didn’t care. She felt like someone had set her insides on fire. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t cry, couldn’t do anything but scream and rage into the void.

Eventually she ran out of steam. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed but her throat was raw. Rubbing her face she switched into Slayer mode. Something was up and she was going to get to the bottom of it. Cagey Spike and his caginess be damned.

She forwarded the number he’d called her from to Willow and Andrew. Between the two of them they’d be able to trace it and dig up some dirt on where Spike was. As for how he got there, she was going to need boots on the ground. Luckily Kennedy had last checked in from Arizona a couple of days ago. She couldn’t be far from there and she owed Buffy more than one favor. She might not be Spike’s biggest fan, but she would do some recon and get Buffy the answers she needed. Once she knew what was going on, she could show up in LA and punch Spike and Angel in the face herself.

Buffy felt calmer. She had a plan. It wasn’t perfect but it was a start.

She’d let Spike get away once before. This time would be different. She didn’t know why or how but it seemed the Powers That Be had given her a second chance.

She wouldn’t waste it.

—end—

[noona-clock]

Him

Genre: College!AU, Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Jinyoung x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 | Words: 1,685

“And that’s all I got for you today, folks,” your professor announced before closing his laptop and ending the slideshow presentation. “Class dismissed.”

A low buzz of activity suddenly filled the lecture hall as your fellow classmates began to pack up their bags and then make their way to the door. Once you slipped your laptop into your backpack, you followed them, sidling down your row of seats and loping down the stairs.

Before you reached the door, though, your professor called out your name. “One second,” he said.

Your brow furrowed slightly, and you gripped one strap of your backpack as you turned toward him. “Yes, sir?”

“Are you still interested in a TA position?”

The wrinkle in your forehead suddenly smoothed out as your eyebrows rose. “Oh -- yes. Yes, absolutely.”

Last week, you’d asked your professor if he would need a teaching assistant for this class next semester. Unfortunately, he’d said ‘no’ at the time, but maybe now he’d changed his mind! 

Your parents’ business had run into some financial trouble recently, so you would have to pay your own way through school from now on -- but it was way too late to apply for a scholarship this year, which meant you had to find a job. And fast.

Obviously, you would work retail or in one of the campus food halls if you had to, but a TA position was perfect for you and your organizational skills -- especially for a professor in the literature department.

“A colleague of mine was talking about needing one, so I thought I would tip you off,” he continued, and while it was little disappointing he didn’t need one himself, you couldn’t afford to be picky right now!

...You actually couldn’t afford anything.

“Thank you so much,” you replied, shooting him a hopeful grin. “That would be perfect.”

Your professor reached for a sheet of paper on the lecture stand and handed it to you. “It’s Professor Stewart, he teaches Medieval Literature.”

Well. Your major was British Literature, but hey. Britain was around in Medieval times, so you could totally follow along with the curriculum.

Hopefully.

You took the application from him, and he gave you Professor Stewart’s office room number before you thanked him again and headed out the door.

You decided to fill it out now so you wouldn’t get caught up in your studies and forget, so after exiting the lecture hall, you made a beeline to one of the study rooms in the literature building.

After scratching down your information and answering all of the questions in your favorite green ink pen, you hurried out of the study room and made your way to the offices on the second floor.

You searched the small numbers on the side of each door, looking for the one your professor had given you not even fifteen minutes ago. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw another figure coming down the hallway from the opposite end, walking toward you, so you stepped over just a bit to the side so he -- or she -- could get past you.

But when you found the office number you were looking for and stopped walking... so did the other person.

You shifted your gaze to look at this other person, quickly realizing it was a him.

And... a very handsome him.

“Excuse me,” he murmured, and you once again stepped to the side so he could get past you.

But he stepped to the side at the same time, like he was allowing you to get by.

“Sorry,” you chuckled awkwardly, now taking a step to the other side.

...But he did the exact same thing.

“I -- I’m trying to get to this office, actually,” you explained, your lips curved into a very clumsy grin.

“Oh,” the guy replied as his brow furrowed. “...So am I.”

And it was then you noticed he had a piece of paper in his hand just like you did.

“Are --” you gulped. “Are you applying for the --”

“TA position for Professor Stewart,” he finished. “Yes.”

You shifted your weight slightly and let out another awkward chuckle. “Me -- me too. I really need a job, and who wants to wash dishes in the dining hall, right?”

You weren’t sure why, but you anticipated the same sort of reaction from him. He would let out a nervous laugh, smile a bit anxiously, and wish you luck.

Instead, you got raised eyebrows. You got a very serious expression. 

And you got, “I have the highest GPA in the department, and I’ve taken two of Professor Stewart’s classes before. You should probably just recycle that, if I’m being honest.”

It took everything in you not to jerk your head back with surprise.

But you did knit your brows together and say, “Excuse me?” in a very annoyed and confused tone.

“I’m going to get the job.”

You just kind of... stared at him for a few moments before letting out a disbelieving laugh. “What makes you so sure? My professor seems to think --”

“I already said,” he interrupted. “I have the highest GPA in the department. Professor Stewart knows me. He knows how impeccable my work is, there’s no reason why he wouldn’t accept me.”

“My work is impeccable, too!” you scoffed.

“Trust me. As soon as he sees my name on the application --” The guy turned his piece of paper around and tapped on his name.

Park Jinyoung.

“He won’t have to even look at yours.”

“Okay, getting hired simply because the boss knows you is called ‘nepotism.’ You know that, right?” you reminded him, trying your absolute best not to sneer at him.

One corner of Jinyoung’s mouth quirked, and he murmured, “Well, at least your vocabulary skills aren’t lacking.”

All right -- it was time to ask a question you should’ve asked about two minutes ago. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”

Jinyoung immediately shook his head.

You narrowed your eyes in confusion, your forehead even more wrinkled than it had been just a few moments ago. “Do you always treat people you’ve just met like this?”

I mean! The guy was being incredibly arrogant and had just insulted you! ‘Well, at least your vocabulary skills aren’t lacking.’ Who says that without even knowing someone’s name?!

Jinyoung looked at you as if you were just a little bit crazy before he let out a soft chuckle and answered you. “No, of course not.”

“Ah, so I’m just that lucky,” you retorted, barely holding yourself back from rolling your eyes.

“Not it when it comes to getting this TA position.”

You actually laughed at that. You had to! Because the nerve of him! It was so ridiculous that you had to laugh -- otherwise, you probably would have punched him. And there was a good chance Professor Stewart would have found out about it which would have definitely hurt your chances of getting the position.

“I guess we’ll leave that up to Professor Stewart,” you countered with pursed lips. You reached over to open up the mail slot in Professor Stewart’s office door and slid your application through.

If Jinyoung had been a normal person -- meaning polite and not a total asshole -- you would have held the thin, metal flap open for him so he could slide his application in, too.

But he wasn’t a normal person. He wasn’t polite. He was a total asshole.

So, you didn’t hold it open for him.

You let it close with a fairly loud clang, turned on your heel, and strode away from him with your head held as high it could possibly be.

It wasn’t until you stepped outside of the literature building that you let out an extremely frustrated groan. Honestly, you felt like clenching your fists and stomping your feet, too -- but you would hold off on giving into those urges until you got back to your apartment.

Seriously, though! You had never in your life met someone so irritating and arrogant and annoying and handsome and aggravating and presumptuous as that guy! That -- that Park Jinyoung.

Ugh!

Hopefully -- if there was some higher being out there in the universe -- you would never run into him again. You hadn’t run into him before today, so it stood to reason that the odds of seeing him after today were pretty slim.

As you marched toward the nearest bus stop on your apartment complex’s route, you realized -- he hadn’t even asked you what your name was. You hadn’t given it to him, and even if he had asked, you probably wouldn’t have answered.

The fact he didn’t know your name was a pretty good sign that he probably wasn’t fuming about you as you were about him. So, you would let yourself be bothered on the bus ride home, and then you would stop.

You would stop thinking about his arrogance. His stupid little smirk. His dumb face. My word, did he have a dumb face. Just thinking about it made you even more angry than you already were.

But what put the icing on your angry cake?

His dumb face was just so perfect. 

How sad that his extremely good looks -- and I mean extremely -- were wasted on someone with that personality!

Okay, you should probably just stop thinking about him now. The bus ride was far too long to let your thoughts go on like this. The bus wasn’t even here yet.

So, you took off your backpack and plopped down onto the bench with a sigh.

That was it. No more thinking about -- no, you wouldn’t even think his name. No more thinking about him. Instead, you would think about an email to draft and send to Professor Stewart once you got home. That was definitely more worth your time than... him.

In fact, by tomorrow, you were pretty sure you would forget all about him!

Yep.

Totally!

He would be 100% completely and utterly and positively forgotten.

Part 2

[fayeimara]

Meant To Be Series || One For Every Billion

5. Thank Some Gods

You end up in Hyogo for a real hot minute over your winter break, thanks to your cousins Akira and Akari who decided to drag you along when they were forced to visit with their mom and older brother. Being a year older then them and already a seasoned solo traveller, the parents all thought you'd be a great chaperone. Woohoo, yay you.

Truth be told, you love spending time with them and you're really happy to be able to see your aunt and other cousin, their brother Kazuya, that you'd missed over the summer, as well. Although you did have to apologize to Tobio and his family because when you'd promised you would stay with them next, you should have specified you meant next time you were in Miyagi. Not Japan in general. You think they were just taking the piss though.

Oh right, your vulgar new phrases are courtesy of Akira, thank her very much. Spend a few minutes in the twins' company and you end up talking like them, or whatever their west coast academy friends are currently teaching them, at least. Akari has a valley girl phase going and you think Akira is gearing up for a Tarantino-inspired life. Can't see how your family is let that going to happen, but it's not your job to tell him that.

"Y/nnn, did you try this dango!" Akira runs right into you, appearing from the crowd of people on the festive street of the shopping district you're in, and locks her free arm around yours while waving a stick with round balls on it in other other hand.

"No, but I waited 10 minutes standing still in the cold and crowd so you can bet that I will. Half of that is already mine."

"Hmph," She scoffs, "No one told you to stand still and wait around, silly."

You give her an exasperated look, "You literally said, 'stay there a minute, I'm grabbing us some sweets!' and bounced off."

"Okay, okay, chill your roll, girl."

"Not sure that's a saying, girl."

"Maybe not at the snooty east side preps."

"Yo." Akira appears on your other side. "Half that's mine."

"A third. Or none at all." Akari sticks her tongue out at her twin.

He looks over at you and you nod, twisting quickly so you can grab and hold her occupied arm still while he plucks the dango from her hand.

"Hey! Looks like it's none at all!"

"No. Looks like it's half mine, half Y/n's." He bites off one of the chewy balls (okay, we all know how that sounds.. slow your roll, girl) before holding the stick in front of your face so you can grab one too. Oh wow. It is good. Why did you wait so long to try it? So many years wasted without enjoying this sweet texture.

You can see your third cousin approaching, holding onto a tray of steaming drinks, as you chew over your thoughts on the delicious dessert (see what you did there?).

"I got your coffee", he holds the tray between us so I can grab one of the cups with my free hand, but like.. Kazuya, which one is it?

"Kazuuu, they're bullying me!" Akari pouts for sympathy only for Akira to fire back almost before she reaches the last word.

"She bullied me first!"

Instead of responding to either, he rolls his eyes at their bickering but they're only having fun. You've never met siblings that have each other's backs more than these two. You think Kazuya misses it too, having decided to study in Japan and live with his mom who consequently chose to work here, while the other two live with their dad - but really at a boarding school - back on the American west coast.

"Whatever, are you grabbing your drinks or what?"

Akari only smiles at her older brother's deadpan expression, "Which one is my hot chocolate, niichan?"

"Please don't call me that."

"Why not?"

But it's Akira who answers with a snicker, "Because you don't even go here, brat. It's cringy coming from you."

"Shut up, ugly clone."

"That's literally impossible unless you're calling yourself ugly too."

Okay, you're just going to go for the cup closest to you on your left. You pick it up and sip slowly... success. The sweet, warm flavour of your white chocolate mocha slides down your throat.

Kazu is giving you an arch look now, he knows how much you live for coffee but he's still going to say something about it, right? "You know it's already dark out, I don't know how you can drink this stuff so late. Don't you want to get some sleep tonight?"

"Bold of you to assume I need sleep." You smirk at him over the rim of your cup while Akari makes an attempt at snatching the remaining dango back from her brother around you. Please don't make me spill.

"Nah, I just assume you're a robot and this is your regular maintenance or something."

You consider his words before shrugging, nothing too mean that you can call him out on, you guess. "Down the hatch then."

"Sure thing, but I'm not staying up late bingeing your crappy shows with you when you're wired."

"But you'll binge a non-crappy show?"

"Maybe."

Another smile for your favourite cousin of the minute. He did get you coffee, you know. Akari's managed to grab the third sweet off the stick with her mouth like some rabid animal, but it makes sense because the hand not still holding onto you is holding back Akari's arm. They're going to smac-

And they hit the tray that Kazu was only just holding. He somehow manages to grab one of the drinks you assume is his out of it's spot while avoiding the wreckage spill of the other two cups. He didn't even try to hold on to it, which is partly why you're laughing as both twins start simultaneously apologizing and complaining about their spilled drinks.

Kazuya's deadpan expression is actually pretty communicative for the the moment, "I'm not going back for another, this is on you guys."

"Kazu, do you like being mean to us?" They actually ask this at the same time but Kazu's not even phased.

"Yes, I want you to suffer." He's dry as ever.

You chuckle but they're so sweet, most of the time, so you'll make it up for them, "I passed a stall selling hot chocolate, since we don't need to replace my specialty coffee, I can go there to get you some."

"Me too?" Akira asks hopefully.

"Yes, you too, puppy."

He rolls his eyes, trying to adjust his expression back into an uncaring one. It's more natural on his brother currently, but you can definitely see him grow into a more serious demeanour someday.

"I'll come with you while these two stay put." Kazu gives his younger siblings a stern look.

"No need," You wave him off, grabbing the stick with the last piece of dango and handing it to him, "Enjoy this as repayment from us all for making you go all the way back into the mall for our drinks. In the meantime, I'll be right back."

"Hold on, you're going to the one next to the onigiri stand, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Okay, straight there and back in fifteen minutes or I'll come find you. And if I have to worry, I won't be happy."

"Okay niisan." You roll your eyes with your sarcastic tone. Older brothers. No wonder he and your brother Raiden get along so well, they're under some misassumption that their younger siblings just can't help getting into trouble, as if you all only live to annoy them. And he was doing so well as your favourite cousin for the time being.

You stroll away from the benches you were waiting at by the end of the street where the outdoor stalls meet the main street shopping mall and melt back into the crowd. This festival really is something, so brightly lit with pretty twinkling lights strung up everywhere and curled around any available post like glowing, warm yellow vines. You absolutely love the vibe but you know you're on a time crunch.

You notice the onigiri stand just ahead of the drink stall and debate for a quick second before stopping in the surprisingly short line up. A piece each of sweet dessert does not a stomach fill. Unfortunately, just as you take a sip of your coffee, someone bumps into you from behind, causing it to spill over your lips and dribble down your chin but you adjust enough in time, holding the cup out and away from you, so that you're not covered in any more than that and the little bit on your hand.

You hate wet clothing with a passion, especially when it's cold outside and it clings to you with that awful chilly, sticky feel. Not so bad when it's on your coat, but on principle, that's just as unpleasant if you run the cuff of your sleeve over it or it get on the collar and then you have the tiniest bit of discomfort right by sensitive skin and that makes it all the more glaring.

You realize the person who bumped into you also reached out to steady you at the same time and is now speaking, "Shit, I'm so sorry."

It's a little quiet but you make out his apology through his thick dialect. Hm, you think that's where the odd changes in Kazu and his mom's speech are coming from, a regional osmosis of accents?

"No worries, it's pretty crowded." You only half turn while you search your pockets for a tissue or napkin, spotting a flash of grey in your peripherals. Then an arm covered in that grey reaches out to hold a napkin in your field of view and you finally look up to see who it belongs too.

And now you're just staring. Hi there, I'd like hear your voice more. Preferably while you stare at his mouth move on his beautiful face. You can't believe he just had his hand on your waist, even if it was just for a split second and over layers of clothes, and you didn't get to appreciate it.

"It's not dirty." He shakes the napkin, you're assuming because he thankfully thought you were thinking that over instead of ogling him.

You chuckle, thinking how you definitely need to send thanks to some divine power on the new year for all the interactions with some serious eye candy these past six months, but out loud you say, "I really need to thank some gods out there, huh?"

What?

He gives you a confused look but you catch yourself and, before he can respond and question your sanity, quickly follow up with, "Or just you. For this. Thank you for the napkin."

"S'alright. Wasn't a big favour, really, just makin' up for my fault bumpin' into ya." You're not sorry he did, though? You can't tell what he's thinking, this guy is a closed book, folks. It's kind of jarring, since you consider yourself exceptional at reading people and acclimating to them.

You finally actually accept the napkin and wipe at your mouth and chin first, then your hand, responding, "At least you didn't make me drop the coffee or we would have had a real problem."

You think he realizes you're teasing because the corner of his mouth actually inches up the tiniest bit. You're not imagining, you swear it on your mocha!

"Coffee this late?"

"It's 11am somewhere."

"Ya wake up at 11am?" What an interesting thought process he has.

"Are you not on winter break? Or do you just assume your typical hours in every conversation no matter what day of the year it is?"

"Huh." You think he sounds thoughtful? Or was it just the word and you're associating it with how you use it..

"That's not an answer, but I'll take that to mean you go the typical route." You smile again because like you said, he's unreadable and you really don't want him to think you're being bitchy. You're really grateful for the napkin. And that face. So... yeah.

You're moving up, thankfully, because you thought you were blessed but this is just turning into what feels like an awkward encounter.

"I like sleepin' in, but sometimes I get too hungry so I'm up when my stomach is."

You look back at him in surprise, obviously because he bothered to continue a seemingly closed conversation, but that quickly turns into amusement and commiseration, "Oh I know! It's mostly coffee for me because not a lot of people bother to make breakfast in my house, but if I smell something delicious cooking, I forget I'm not a morning person."

He does smile fully then and it's beautiful. "Me too, but I'm usually the one doing the cookin'."

"Oh wow, that's dedication. I can respect but never reach that ideal." You hold your hand to your heart in a silly salute but also because he's still smiling and you're trying to tell your unreliable organ to be still. Not too still though, you're enjoying the moment and want to keep living it.

"Eh, I'm used to it."

"Well then, for once, let someone else take care of your food. I'll get your order for you."

"Seriously? It was just a napkin and my fault too.."

"Yeah, no, don't worry about it! Consider it a gift in essence of the festival!"

He doesn't say anything for a moment before, "I was going to try the different flavours. That's a lot."

"No way, that's awesome! I'll do that too, I don't even know what they have available, I just stopped here on a whim on my way there." You indicate the stand next to the one you're almost to the front of with a wave of your hand.

"Ahh.. if ya like, I can suggest some?"

You happily smile at him as you accept, "That would be great, thank you so much."

The two of you step up to the counter together and you listen while he orders. While you both wait for them to place each of your requests, he explains some of the fillings and why they work best depending on personal taste and even situation. You tell him about having just tried dango, sad about having realized you missed out so long, and he actually smiles widely at your exaggerated pained expression but also recommends some other desserts, including which shops to stop at in the city.

It's starting to snow as you two talk, which is not rare but still unusual for this region, but thankfully it's not much longer before you're each handed your containers and move aside. You look over to him and laugh when you realize this guy is already munching on one of the onigiris, your breath puffing out in a small cloud before you. "Which one is it?"

"Fatty tuna." He talks around it with his own little puffy cloud and it's pretty cute actually, instead of the usual cringe when people talk with their mouths full. Oh, the benefits of being good looking. Also, he's tilted his head down ever so slightly so it's almost polite in a perfected way.

"I'm just going to go ahead and assuming you're enjoying it."

He nods while swallowing and then makes some pretty intense eye contact while speaking way too seriously, "Thank you. This is amazing."

You smile, feeling like in the minutes the two of you were conversing, you've gotten a little more comfortable with the minute changes in his expressions. "You're welcome. I'm going to head over to the drink stall now, but it was nice to meet you!"

With a laugh as you walk away, you also add, "And thank you for sharing your knowledge with me, at least I'll know where to feed myself when I'm craving different things this week."

You're turning away as he seems to stand there watching you with some hesitation, but you can't do all the heavy lifting in a conversation when you're on a time limit, so you'll chalk this up to another fun run-in with a cute guy for the books.

You're lucky there's no line up, you're really short on your deadline and your fingers are getting pretty cold along with your coffee, so you pay for the hot chocolate, they pour, and you're back off towards the end of the street where your cousins are waiting.

You can't move too fast given the bag dangling from the wrist of the hand that's also carefully holding the tray of four hot chocolates, but the crowd is also thinning out a little now with the snow. Hopefully, if you're a couple minutes behind the expected time, the diverse and sheer amount of onigiri you have in the bag you're now holding, as well as the new round of warm drinks, will bring you forgiveness.

You finish up the last, cool dregs of your coffee just as you pass by a trash can, making the split decision to quickly reverse so you can toss your cup and free up a hand. As you execute your smooth move and then turn back, you unsurprisingly bump into someone yet again. Not so smooth then, you think, looking up.

It's deja vu and for a split second, you consider that he might actually be a weirdo and followed you, because stopping in your path as an apology drops from your lips is the guy you were only just talking to, same face, same dark hair, even same height... but with a different jacket on.

It takes you all of one more second to notice the small differences like the eye colour, the way the hair naturally parts, and the slightest difference in size, not to mention the more obvious difference in openness and personality literally exuding from this one. He's actually smiling wide right away with no provocation. So not a weirdo who changed his jacket and followed you.

Also, have you ever considered the odds of multiple sets of twins being in pretty much the same place at the same time?

"Oh, there's another one of you, huh?" You're talking again before he even has a chance to respond to your apology, but you guess you feel familiar thanks to your brief encounter with his twin. "That's unfair, don't you think?"

You step around him calling out, "Anyways, sorry about that. Enjoy your night." and walk away, back towards your own set of twins.

Ugh, Kazu's going to kill you. You won't be making it in time, for sure.

Miya Atsumu's POV

Atsumu turns to follow the stunning girl's progress as she moves around him and away, catching her last words but still more interested in her previous statement. 'There's another one of you, huh?'.

People have been confusing him and his twin for as long as they've been alive and only those that know them really well can only sometimes make out the difference.

It's no longer amusing, and actually irritating enough that he and 'Samu have been considering a little aesthetic change some time next year, maybe before their first year of high school.

'Tsumu knows it's his brother without looking when someone walks up to his left side from behind him. What he's surprised by is his first words, "She think you were me? I was talkin' to her a bit at the stall."

When he glances over, he notices 'Samu staring after her as well, with a lot more interest than simple, piqued curiosity. Does he know her?

"No.." He contemplates her words again before sharing with his brother, "She said 'There's another one of you, huh? That's unfair, don't you think?' and then walked away."

He can feel 'Samu looking over at him curiously, "Did ya talk to her?"

Why is he asking? He hasn't even picked up a new onigiri from the open box in his hand. "I just bumped into her. Didn't even say a word. Do ya know her?"

"Like I said, I only just met her." Pausing, 'Samu seems to think it over before adding, "We only talked a few minutes, maybe."

The twins are silent for another couple moments, while the snow continues to drift around them. The girl is long gone, swallowed up by the crowd at this point, but they keep staring at where they last saw her retreating figure, each in their own intrigued thoughts.

Finally, 'Samu's the one who breaks the silence, "Do ya believe in coincidences, 'Tsumu?"

"No, 'Samu, ya know I don't."

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Masterlist

Behind The Scenes!

-Tee was called out in the first thread because he doesn't use emojis often, especially not the half assed ones he used for a scenario like that so... caught slipping lmao (aw he does care about Y/n <3 Maybe more than he should?)

-Y/n was NOT expecting to get called out like that for saying she likes Oikawa when she'd literally just called him her friend... Iwa, you slick wingman ;) <3 He might bully the shit out of Oikawa (to keep him in check though) but he really is his best friend :')

-Ushi says what he means and means what he says lol, yeah, he wasn't really surprised

-Y/n's friends aren't all necessarily happy about this development; they've been aware of her various interactions as they usually are (some more than others) but... they're getting older and, well, all not sharing as much with each other as they once did

-But they're still going to call her out and roast her because they're her best friends lmao who else will? They have to keep her in check too loool

-Oikawa's last reply... <33 Take it how you will :D

-And Shin just dropping in to screenshot his cousin's embarrassing moments, hoping for a dirty delete so he can roast her all over again for the same crime lmao, probably shouldn't have warned her though... whoops

-I HC the Miyas' hair dyeing happening at/around their first year of HS, anyone know any different? It was only Osamu's jacket that was grey in Y/n's peripherals, just a little tease for us all ;)

A/N: Guys, I'm really, really sorry about the Miyas' 'accent'... you might see a couple different attempts in there but I had to edit a lot of what I tried out because it sounded just awful however I was originally trying to write it earlier. If you guys do have any suggestions, I'm very much all hears (and eyes lol - heart eyes specifically because I've seen some write them incredibly well!).

That aside, I hope you all enjoyed this one, I loved writing it so much, it just flowed once I started and I love the Miya twins, each in their own way <33 I've been dying to introduce them and the other 'main' characters but there's definitely going to be a difference in the weight of interactions Y/n has for a while. It's not favoritism, I promise; Y/n's time spent with various characters is just going to be uneven at various points due to the natural progression of her story :') but I plan for it all to even out as we move along the years (:

Taglist: @delusivist, @prettyinblack231, @kac-chowsballs, @sakusasimpbot

[petersasteria]

Past is Past - Peter Parker AU

Pairing: Peter x Reader, Harry Osborn x Reader Requested? Nah. It based on one of @writing-prompt-s’ prompts. 2.5k words Warning/s: character death, confusion, a satisfied ending

PP Masterlist

Big thanks to my friend @croissantwriting for the help! She’s doing a little gift-giving this Christmas, so if you want a gift from a stranger who’s super nice and friendly, check it out! 

* * * *

“She’s not getting any better, Mr. Parker. I’m afraid she’ll be going soon.” The doctor told Peter with no expression on their face. The doctor kept their face neutral, so that it wouldn’t be an issue for anyone. It was also protocol at the hospital.

The doctor excused themselves and left Peter standing alone in the cold hallway outside of his wife’s room. Peter couldn’t believe that he would lose the person he truly loved; he would lose her to cancer. ‘Fuck cancer.’ He thought. He wanted his wife to live long; to see their children grow up to be the people they’re meant to be. Alas, it was just wishful thinking.

You see, Peter was immortal. In a world where 2% of the population are born immortal, he was one of them. It could be anyone, really. One’s parents don’t have to be immortal for one to be immortal. They were just cursed that way. Being born immortal was God’s cruel way of letting people stay on Earth to be His stewards of creation for eternity. Whether they like it or not, if they were born immortal, they are immediately tied up and forced into the duty of being God’s steward.

The duty of being God’s steward felt wrong. It feels wrong  to watch mortals move on with their lives while some get stuck, getting caught by the sorrow of this immortality that has been given upon them.

Peter had the saddest eyes for a long time, but it all changed when he met the love of his life. Peter has seen things; someone’s last breath, some more heart breaking scenarios, etc. But everything changed when she came into his life. She appeared as someone new... and well, unexpected. She was a great surprise, though. She gave Peter a brand new purpose, she gave him happiness. Every time Peter was with her, he would forget about his curse.

Peter’s eyes held sadness again and it broke his heart to know that he couldn’t do anything to save her; his one true love. His heart broke at the harsh reality that no matter what happens, he’ll eternally stay on Earth while he watches his loved ones pass on.

Gathering up his courage, Peter took a deep breath before entering her hospital room. He quietly entered her room and slowly shut the door behind him. He observed the sight in front of him: his wife slept peacefully with their youngest son next to her on the bed while their two older children were asleep on the couch.

He silently approached the bed and held his wife’s hand as he sat on the chair that was next to her bed. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. This caused her to stir awake and look at him with a small smile adoring her face.

“Peter.” She breathed.

“Hey there.” Peter said softly as tears clouded his vision. It pained him to see her like that; weak and fragile and ill. If only there was a cure for her cancer, he would’ve given it to her in a heartbeat.

“I love you, Peter. So much.” She whispered.

“I love you more than everything else.” Peter said as tears freely streamed down his rosy cheeks.

“Please remember that my love for you is eternal. I’ll look for you in the next life just so I can love you the way I love you now. I promise you that, Peter.” She smiled softly. Peter could only nod, not trusting his voice to speak.

That was their last moment together. She died in her sleep, her youngest cuddling up to her as Peter held her hand.

The moment life left her body, God took it and gave it to the baby girl of the woman giving birth at the same hospital on a different floor.

“Baby, wake up or you’ll be late on your first day.” The man’s voice whispered in her ear. “Y/N, seriously. It’s time to get up. I’ll have the car ready for you.”

Y/N groaned and rubbed the sleep off her eyes before stretching and sitting up. She slowly opened her eyes and the sight of her boyfriend of three years greeted her. She smiled at him and said, “Good morning.”

“Good morning!” He smiled and leaned down to press a kiss on her forehead. “Breakfast is ready.” She hummed in response and got out of bed. Her boyfriend, Harry, led the way to the dining area and as soon as they arrived there, they sat down and ate their breakfast in peace.

Today was their first day in college and they decided it would be best to live together in an apartment near their university. Harry Osborn, Y/N’s boyfriend, was privileged and he was able to buy an apartment unit that suited his standards. After all, his girl deserved the best. Harry is kind and generous which surprised a lot of people considering his lifestyle. Y/N was truly lucky, but Harry claims that he’s the lucky one.

The couple parted their ways when they arrived at the university; both of them studying different courses. The rest of the day was alright. Nothing really significant happened and Y/N kept to herself most of the time. Only mingling when she’s supposed to. It wasn’t until her last subject when things started taking a turn.

Y/N sat at the back of the class and texted Harry as student after student came in the classroom. About ten minutes later, Y/N’s professor walked in.

Her professor was undeniably handsome. He had brown, curly hair and brown eyes. He wasn’t tall, but he wasn’t short either. His height was just right. He looked like he was in his thirties and he had the brightest smile. Naturally, the girls in her class swooned over him which made her chuckle. While she would admit that her professor is handsome, her loyalty remained with Harry. He was her endgame and she was sure. They wouldn’t last long if he wasn’t.

“Hello, everyone! My name is Noah Parker and I’d let you guys call me by my nickname, but that would be unprofessional. So, Mr. Parker or sir would be really nice.” Noah smiled at everyone. He wasted no time in teaching.

“Welcome to history 101 and I’ll be your professor for the whole semester.” Noah smiled and grabbed a chalk to write something on the board. Seeing as the class is for three hours, Noah started with the first lesson.

It was obvious that Noah was passionate about history. Everyone listened and he made history fun. They did some ice breakers and a short group activity and a quick game before the class ended. Noah gave them their first assignment which was really easy and it would be passed two days from now.

The class was dismissed and everyone gathered their things and left. Y/N took her time and Noah was erasing the things he wrote on the board. Y/N approached him and cleared her throat, “Excuse me, Mr. Parker?”

Noah turned around with a smile, but it quickly faded when he saw her. He dropped the eraser as his jaw dropped, his gaze remaining on her. Y/N was confused, so she just picked up the eraser and put it on his desk to avoid Noah’s gaze.

Noah shook his head and said, “I’m sorry, it’s just- mom? Is that you?”

Now, it was definitely weird

“Excuse me?” Y/N chuckled awkwardly.

“I can’t believe it.” Noah said in amusement. “I thought dad was crazy, but he’s right! You’d be in the next life after all. Well, your next life. You and dad can be together again! This is so cool. Oh my god.” Noah rambled in excitement.

“I’m so confused right now.” Y/N confessed. “I’m no one else’s mom and I don’t know who your dad is and I’m definitely not getting back together with anyone because I have a boyfriend. You must be mistaken, sir.”

Noah cleared his throat and said, “Um, was there anything you needed before?”

“Oh, yes!” Y/N’s eyes lit up at the change of topic. It was her saving grace. “I have a question about the homework, actually.”

Y/N asked about the homework and Noah happily explained it to her once more. After that, she left Noah all alone in the classroom.

Since then, everything has been awkward between them. Noah informed his father, Peter Parker, about what happened and Peter wanted to see her; to see if it was true. Now, it was Noah’s mission to get you to meet Peter.

One day after class, Noah asked Y/N to stay behind. She awkwardly sat on the seat in front of his desk and Noah sat on his chair behind his desk.

“I would just like to apologize for my behavior last time.” Noah started. “Second of all, I must tell you that I have this weird connection to you. No matter how far I stay away from you, there’s a force pulling me closer to you. Lastly, if you won’t believe me before, you might believe me now.”

Noah took out his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it. He opened his gallery and clicked on the album full of photos from his childhood, most of them had his mom in it. He handed the phone to Y/N and she gasped at the sight of the photos.

It was like she was looking at a window to the past. The woman in the pictures looked similar to her; not completely alike. She returned the phone to her professor, Noah, and gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“Um, I don’t know what to say.” Y/N said.

“Could you maybe meet my dad? It would mean a lot to him. I told you about him and he wants to see you.” Noah pleaded.

“I find this really weird, to be honest.” Y/N said. “I don’t know anything you’re talking about and frankly, I’m not curious about my past life...sir.”

“I understand, but could you maybe reconsider? My dad would love it if you’d visit.” Noah pleaded. “If you meet my dad, I’ll give you extra credit. You kinda suck at this subject, no offense.”

“None taken.” She said as she thought about it. “What if someone becomes suspicious about my grades going up?”

“I’ll just say that it’s because of your extra work and just say that you’ve been studying a lot recently. So, does this mean that you’ll meet him?” Noah asked hopefully.

“Fine. Mainly because I need extra credit.” Y/N agreed. She wordlessly grabbed her things and left the room. Later that night, she received an email from Noah.

Noah Parker To Y/N Y/L/N

Good evening, Ms. Y/L/N! 

My father would like to meet with you at my childhood home at 123 Hamilton Street, this Saturday at lunch time, 12 noon. Please confirm if you’re available at this time and if not, we can reschedule.

My personal phone number is: xxx-xxx-xxxxx. Please contact me there for more details.

All information will be kept between the two of us .

Thank you and stay safe!

Lo and behold, Y/N stood outside the Parker Residence. She took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. It didn’t take long for a young man to open the door. He looked similar to Noah, but he looked younger.

“Please come in.” The man said as he looked at her. She entered the home and the man led the way to the living room. Y/N made herself comfortable on the couch and the man who opened the door sat across from her.

“Um, I’m Y/N.” She smiled.

“I know.” The man said. “I’m Peter Parker and oh my god. It’s really you.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your relation to my professor, Noah Parker?” Y/N asked innocently.

“He’s my son.” Peter answered. “And you’re my wife.”

Y/N stared at him as Peter had happy tears streaming down his face, “We can finally be together again and we’ll be happier than ever! We could be a family.”

“I’m so confused. How can you be Mr. Parker father when you look like you’re twenty-three?!” Y/N shrieked.

“I’m immortal, honey. I stopped aging at twenty, but I’m still me! I love you and you love me. We can be together.”

“I’m so sorry, but I don’t know who you are and I can’t just start a life with someone I don’t know. If you think I can do that, then you’re sorely mistaken, sir.” Y/N said.

Peter shook his head, “But you said , on your deathbed, that you’d find me in another life. I’m here! We found each other. I don’t understand why you don’t want to stay. You said that your love for me is eternal and you’d love me the same way you did then. What happened? Why can’t we pick up where we left off?”

“With all due respect, if what you claim is right; if I’m your wife in the past, then I’m sorry I can’t be your wife in this life. I have my own things going on and I’m in a committed and happy relationship. I can’t leave him for you. Besides, you’re way older than I am despite your looks. I’m really sorry.” Y/N said softly.

“This is more heartbreaking than when we found out you had cancer.” Peter chuckled bitterly and nodded in understanding. “You may go now, Y/N. I’m sure your boyfriend would wonder where you are.”

Y/N stood up and walked to him to put a hand on his shoulder, “I’m really sorry, but I’d like to get to know you… as friends.”

Peter nodded, “Alright. That’s better than nothing.”

After that encounter with Peter, Y/N saw him a few times after that even after she graduated from college. She got a decent job and her friendship with Peter and the rest of the Parker family remained. Though they never saw each other after she got a job, they all remained in contact.

Y/N and Harry Osborn finally got married after being together for so long. The Parkers were invited to the wedding, but Peter never showed up. He was crestfallen upon finding out that the woman he loved was getting married to someone else.

A year later, Y/N and Harry welcomed their first born in the world. They have been graced with a son and the couple agreed that if they were going to have a son, Y/N would name him.

As she laid there with the newborn baby boy in her arms, she racked her brains for the perfect name. After thinking about it for a long time, a smile formed her mouth as she looked down at her son. They were alone in the room, her husband was buying some food outside. This moment was very soft and peaceful.

“I know what name to give you now.” Y/N whispered and kissed her son’s forehead. The door opened and revealed her husband with a paper bag with take-out in it.

“Have you thought of a name?” Harry asked quietly as he set the food down on the table.

“Yeah.” She nodded, sure of her decision.

“What’ll you name him?” Harry asked.

“Peter.” She smiled fondly at her son. “His name is Peter.”

* * * *

𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @blueleatherbag @harryismysunflower @buckys-little-hoe @sandystoriess @heeeyitskay @slytherin-chaser @quaksonhehe @yaya4302 @lil-mellow-bunbun @starlight-starks @swiftmind @alexx-stancati @sovereignparker @nerdyandproudofitsstuff @pearce14 @cherthegoddess @chewymoustachio @cocoamoonmalfoy @parkerlovebot @supred12 @peterspidey @givebuckyhisplumsnow @beverlythrillz @slutforsr

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:  @marvelousell @justasmisunderstoodasloki @rubberducky-jrr @allyz @osterfieldnholland @miraclesoflove @god-knows-what-am-i-doing @drie-the-derp @hollands-weasley @itstaskeen  @call-me-baby-gir1 @the-panwitch @iamaunicorn4704 @geminiparkers @holland-styles @calltothewild @fancyxparker​ @herbatkazmiloscia @whatthefuckimbisexual @justanothermarvelmaniac @unsaidholland @musicalkeys @lost-in-the-stars03 @hufflepuffprincess24 @hollanddolanfangirl @parkerpeter24 @bellelittleoff @agentnataliahofferson @aqiise @lexirv @blairscott @pearly-pisces @theonly1outof-a-billion @u-rrose @speedymaximoff @theliterarymess

[elfenbensord]

GOODBYE, STRANGER / CHAPTER 1

GOODBYE, STRANGER / CHAPTER ONE / OBLIVIATE

SERIES MASTERLIST

3-10.8.20

A/N: This is a new series I started a bit randomly one night. Enjoy some sad  Remus and chaotic Y/N content

Warning: A Sad™ time.

Word count: 3.8 k

It was an early morning yesterday

I was up before the dawn

And I really have enjoyed my stay

But I must be moving on

---

October 31st, 1981

On a train to London

Remus could see tiny stars on a black infinity as he looked up at the sky through the dingy windows of the train. He was all alone in the carriage, something which reflected his current life situation very well. In his mind, a series of panicked questioned were playing on repeat.

What had Dumbledore said? That the hiding place had been compromised? That the Dark Lord had personally gone after Lily and James?

And where was Sirius in all this? Where was Peter?

Were his best friends still alive?

The stars above granted him no answers. 

---

October, 1982

A year after

Remus woke up early. He always did. For a few hours, it was just him and the early morning sun. He hated it. Once, he could’ve given anything for just an hour of silence, a minute of calm. Now he felt himself suffocating on this endless expanse of nothing. The silence acted as yet another confirmation of one of his many dreadful suspicions - that he was lonely. Perhaps he always had been. He probably always would be. 

Breathing in deeply, he couldn’t help but turn his nose away in distaste. His entire flat smelled of old stains and neglected dishes. Sunlight peeked through the curtains of his bedroom window, illuminating a gentle storm of dust for an instance. After shining in a quite naturally magical way, it settled into his clothes, into his lungs. Looking down, he saw the same shirt and slacks he’d worn the night before. And the night before that.

I’m not even hungover, he thought. 

He wasn’t. He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol in months. The thought of drowning his sorrows in brown liquids and vile smells had never been appealing to him. Not even now. ‘Now’ being the end of everything. Well, maybe not everything. But the end of him, at least. It had already begun, deep in his mind. He just hadn’t come to the right conclusions just yet. 

The sun smiled at him from its rightful place in the sky. After giving it a dirty look, Remus closed the curtains.

---

His morning coffee tasted way too bitterly. With every sugar, it only seemed to turn darker. Nothing tasted quite the same anymore. Sweet was often exchanged for bitterness, and vice versa. Whenever he wished for one, he got the other. If anything, it made eating an awful business to him.

That night a year ago constantly lingered in the back of Remus‘ mind. That final night. When his entire fate was turned upside down. 

He’d lost so many things that one night. Went to bed one day, to discover it all gone the moment he woke up. He’d had a home. Grimmauld Place 12 had been a wonderful place back then, always full of volunteers and members of the Order, old and new. And there was a constant lingering smell of Molly Weasley’s roast chicken, companionship, and too much firewhiskey now and then.

And he’d had friends. Best friends. “Cross my heart and hope to die” friends. 

He’d had a purpose, or something like it. The war had given Remus a meaning. Where it to so many others had taken lives, it had unusually granted him one.

It was a life he did his best to take good care of. A life he’d spent years building, repairing, and desperately ensuring. He was even making plans to enroll in studies at a university nearby that hopefully one day would become a degree in teaching. He’d known where he was, and where he was going.

And over one night, nothing was left of that. 

He still remembered arriving to Grimmauld Place, only to see it empty and abandoned. And that recurring question - Where were his best friends? 

Gone. He’d discovered in the morning. No one had bothered to tell him - instead, he’d had to read all about it in the Daily Prophet.

James and Lily Potter dead. Their son, Harry, somehow survived. 

The Dark Lord defeated.

Peter Pettigrew - dead at the hands of Sirius Black. 

Sirius Black - the damned traitor! - a life sentence in Azkaban.

Remus was the only one left. Without friends. Without a home. And without purpose.

---

“Mr. Lupin, are you listening?”, the Healer inquired. 

“Hmm?”

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then what did I say?”

“I- I don’t… I don’t know.”

Remus felt like he was being scolded, like a child who’d nicked candy from the Christmas shelf. A heavy knot of tears started to settle in the base of his throat. Like a child. Pathetic. 

The Healer smiled in a, what he thought, sympathetic way. To Remus it simply looked like pity. A lot of things looked like pity to him now. “No worries, I’ll go over it again…”

Please, don’t, he thought. 

“As I said, I need you to keep coming back for checkups at least once a month…”

Great, another thing to dread.

“... and I’ll have your asthma medication ready next time…”

Not only are all my friends dead, now my lungs are giving in as well.

“... and I really think it’d be good for you if you started making some new friends.”

New friends?

“Did you hear me this time, Remus?”

“Loud and clear. I’ll be back in a month.”

“Looking forward to see you.”

I’m not.

---

New friends?

Remus wasn’t even sure how to do that anymore. Friends were something for the past him. He hadn’t had anyone since that final night, a year ago. He didn’t even consider himself to be his own friend. Because what other friends than his first and last could he possibly ever have? And he even felt like a traitor to them. Most days, he tried to think as little of them as possible. Hoped to eventually forget them, in an attempt to soften the pain. Tried to stay in the present. But nothing worked. Nothing would grant him a single second of relief.

How could it? His best friends had died. 

And now… Now he was someone else. He suspected he’d become unrecognizable to the ones who’d known him. He hadn’t cut his hair in a year. It hung around his ears in sorry curls. He hunched in a new way now, something which might’ve granted him a sense of anonymity and security during the war, but now only hurt his back more as each day passed. Sometimes he felt like he was still in the thick of it. Still in the middle of a wizarding war. Like he’d forgotten it was all over. That’s why he still couldn’t walk without casting cautious glances over his shoulder every other minute. That’s why he awoke soaked in sweat, terrified and confused, in the middle of the night. 

They were always there. In the back of his mind. Their screams. Their final words. 

And as he failed to forget them, he started to forget himself instead. His existence before this seemed more and more like a dream for each day that passed. He existed in an endless vacuum. Only ‘now’ existed. Nothing before or to be. Nothing ever would. 

And he could never forget the night that made him want to forget himself. But Remus wanted to forget. For real, not just for a moment.

And he knew just the spell.

---

“Bloody fuck”, he whispered, eyes locked at the grey cobble street by his feet. The wind tugged at his hair. He added a curse for himself, and for not realizing he should’ve worn a hat. His ears burned in that cool way, when warmth and cold seem indistinguishable. He drew his worn-out tweed coat tighter around him. It’s unusually cold for July. Is it even still July?

Before him was his well-familiar grocery shop. In one of the big glass windows hung a sign, ‘Sorry, we’re closed!’ and a handwritten note, stating that the shop was to close permanently because of family troubles. 

For Remus, that meant he’d have to walk two more blocks to get to the next shop. Or disapparate. But he hadn’t tried to teleport in so many months, he was scared he might’ve forgotten how to. And if he messed up, who would he call? 

What he’d have to do was to walk. And he’d come to despise walking. He muttered a few swears, before beginning his journey. 

It took one block, before his lungs started to burn. Remus had come to despise the wheezing sound they - his lungs - made after the smallest kinds of exercise. His airways only seemed to close in tighter, in their wild ambition to strangle him. He found that even if he did arrive at the shop, he wouldn’t be able to get home. And then the whole thing seemed rather pointless. 

All this resulted in him turning around, and accepting the fact that he couldn’t have dinner tonight. It wouldn’t be the first time. Sure, his Healer had said that any more skipped meals would eventually result in some sort of wicked starvation, which could get him a place at St. Mungo’s. And another month at St. Mungo’s wasn’t something he wanted. He thought he’d wasted enough time lying in a bed, being fed and dallied with.

Remus didn’t know what to do. His lungs burned. He could’ve killed for Molly Weasley’s roast chicken. With buttered potatoes and steamed green beans. Only a year ago, he had killed for Molly Weasley.

His lungs wouldn’t stop gasping for air. He pulled his arms around himself, and let out an ill-sounding cough. The sorry sight gained him a few looks from the people passing by. 

Pull yourself together!

Then he remembered - a few weeks back, he’d bought far too many instant soup packs after finding a coupon in the Daily Prophet. Maybe he could find one of them, preferably mushroom-flavoured, somewhere at the very back of his kitchen drawers. It was a shot in the dark, he admitted that. But it was a shot at something, at least.

---

Coughing and wheezing, he finally arrived home. Well, perhaps ‘home’ wasn’t the right word. He arrived at the place where he’d been hiding away for the past year. How homely that was, he didn’t want to judge for himself. 

As he held on to the wall beside the staircase for his dear life, he noticed how the front door opposite his own was hanging opened. 

Someone’s in there! His mind went haywire, hand cramping around the wand from his inner pocket. Breaths became shallow, inaudible. Steps softened. Time seemed to slow down. He could feel the seconds moving past him.

The top step creaked under the weight of his right foot. 

Remus moved closer to the open door. Meanwhile, he rehearsed the most useful spells for attack and defense.

But the scene before him was nothing like he’d imagined or rehearsed for.

“Hello there, stranger!” A girl half-shouted from inside. She was surrounded by moving boxes, but already looked quite at home. There was a happy look plastered upon her face. 

No Death Eaters. No ‘fight or flight’. Just a girl.

Remus was taken aback. “Good evening”, his voice sounded like an unfamiliar croak. “... stranger.”

At the presence of another human being, Remus also found himself quite self-conscious about his looks. He knew he hadn’t showered in ages, and he couldn’t remember if he’d brushed his teeth this morning. Only Godric knew the last time he’d combed his hair. He made a half-hearted attempt to calm his disorderly brown locks, before tucking his arms into his sides. He felt the sharp end of his wand dig into the flesh of his hips, and hoped he wouldn’t accidentally turn his insides to jelly. 

There was a stack of bowls wrapped in old newspapers in her arms, and a cheery smile on her lips. She hurried to put them down on the floor, causing Remus to cringe at the clinking sound they made. Surely something must’ve broken. She got up from the floor, standing in her full length. She still didn’t reach past Remus’ shoulders. “I’m the new neighbor.”

New neighbor?

“I’m Y/N”, she handed him her name. And, judging by the smile on her lips, a piece of her heart as well. She looked so effortlessly happy. It stirred something in Remus, making him wanting to return the smile in the best way he could.

He got lost in her happiness, and forgot himself for a moment. “I’m…”, an idiot. “I’m Remus Lupin.”

“Nice to meet you”, another goddamned smile. Wide and white-teethed. “I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. I mean, sharing a whole corridor and all.”

Remus had never once given that corridor a single thought. “Yup. An entire corridor...”

Another smile. “It’ll be fun, won’t it?”

Fun? “Sure.”

He realized he still had his wand in his hand, and quickly put it away as to not look like he’d just been planning an attack on a devotee of the Dark Lord. 

“I better get back-”, he mumbled.

“I need to keep unpacking-”, she said.

She reached out a final hand. A final smile. “Nice meeting you.”

Remus took it. It was softer than he remembered hands could be. His lips were forced into a strained smile, “Same.”

Nose crinkled, eyes sparked. “See you around, Remus.”

Her door was still hanging open when Remus turned his back on her to return to his own nest. Careless girl. 

All of this made Remus unsure of how to feel. This exceeded all his expectations - but to be fair, pretty much anything did now a days. He felt himself thrown off his usual dull rhythm. This was... new. He threw a last look down the corridor, and noticed he could still see her through her open door. 

Anyone could walk through an open door. Shaking his head, he closed his own door with a loud ‘thud’. 

---

FRIDAY

Remus had made sure the door was locked at least three times now. He got up from the coach to check again. Locked. Like it’d been the first time.

Satisfied, he returned to the coach. Looking around him, he made sure to check that everything was in order. He’d written himself a note, containing his name and birth information. He didn’t intend to forget every thing, but he knew that these sort of spells could be incalculable. ‘These sort of spells’ being spells for desperate fools. Such as himself. 

The note was in place on the coffee table in front of him. He figured he better sit down. It wasn’t impossible that a erasing your past could make you a bit fussy. 

It’s probably best to just nap it out, he thought to himself. Just… fall asleep old and wake up brand new.

The familiar wood of his wand felt like an old friend. Not that he particularly knew what those felt like anymore. The slender stick was the only thing linking him to his past. It started heating up slightly against his hand. Almost as if it knew what he was about to do. Begging him not to. His wand hand started shaking more. He needed steadier hands for this. The truth was, he needed someone else’s hands for this. Someone else to pull the plug. 

He had no one. Nothing. 

His lungs wheezed as he took a deep breath, steadying his hands. Another breath, and he braced himself.

His lips begun to shape the word, but his voice wouldn’t produce a sound. He tried again. Nothing.

Then, there was a sudden pain. The ever present ache in his head became more apparent; it turned into a sharp pain. His hands started to shake, dropping the wand like it was burning his skin. His airways closed in, there suddenly was no sair for him to breath. He could feel his head starting to spin, his vision becoming fuzzy. He felt like he was melting away.

Then there was nothing. 

---

SATURDAY

Remus woke up late. Judging by the way the sun was burning into his eyes, it must’ve been past noon. He’d been passed out for more than 12 hours. 

His mouth felt like sandpaper. Head was still fuzzy, and hands and limbs not feeling quite like they should. He was alive. And he didn’t know whether to be disappointed or not.

A shower, he thought. A shower and I’ll be fine. Well, ‘fine’ was an overstatement. 

Looking into the bathroom mirror, he barely recognized himself. Who was this man? With sunken in, dull eyes, gazing back at him. There was an angry red mark on the bridge of his nose, probably caused by his metal-rimmed glasses digging into his face all through the night. And most of the day. His face was nothing more but a pale complexion in a dirty mirror. 

I used to be covered in freckles, he remembered. Little delightful brown spots everywhere. Now, his face was laid bare. 

The hot water from the shower hurt and pricked his fragile skin. But it was a good hurt. It was an ‘I’m alive’ hurt. Remus rested his head against one of the tiled walls, feeling the water pour down his back. He still couldn’t understand what had exactly happened last night. He’d tried to forget. He’d ended up passing out. 

“Shit”, he mumbled. The water ran a little hotter. His fist punched the hard surface of the tile wall. “Shit, shit, shit, shit!”

Through the small window of his bathroom, the sun kept pouring in. It burned his eyes with its brightness. 

He cursed the sun. He cursed the moon and the stars. He cursed himself. Himself and his incapability. Himself and his naivete - had he really thought he could just forget?

A cold, frosty feeling started to settle into his insides. The water from the shower head turned freezing cold. Out of hot water. 

“... Shit.”

---

There was a knocking at the door. Three quick beats. At his front door. Remus was still standing in his hallway, towel wrapped around his middle and hair in a wet mess. He muttered a series of curses and swears, as he tried to find a clean shirt in his mess of a bedroom. Finding no such thing, he retorted to one of his coats from the hangers next to the door. It’d have to do. He’d fought off Death Eaters - one time even the Dark Lord himself - with worse dress sense. 

The knocking continued, followed by a voice. “Hello?”

The last syllable was dragged out far too long for Remus’ liking. Realizing a Death Eater most certainly would never use the word in such a comical way, he let himself relax just a little.

“Anybody home?”

He opened the door an inch, casting a cautious look outside. 

The new neighbor. The girl. Whatever her name was.

“Good afternoon”, followed by a wide smile.

Was it really that late?

She noticed the coat. The damned coat. “Are you going out?”

He crossed his arms around himself, in yet another attempt to hide himself. “No. Not particularly.” 

Remus’ confused face clearly amused her, for a bubbling laughter fell out of her lips. 

“Were you out for a bit too long last night?”

Was that a joke? “Yeah, something like that… Sorry, did you need anything?”

“No. I was just wondering what you were up to right now.”

A small smile started to involuntarily form on his lips. “I’m not doing… anything. Ever.”

At least that’s true.

“Good. ‘Cause I need a companion.”

“Companion?”

“You know, like a friend.”

Friend? “Oh. Right.” Friend? “Me? Am… Am I your friend?”

Another smile. “Of course. You’re the closest friend I’ve got in London at the moment.”

Friend? Remus wasn’t anyone’s friend. The thought both thrilled and concerned him.

“Okay. Sure. I can be your”, he cleared his throat, “companion.”  Then he remember, the damned coat! 

With his easiest smile, “Could you give me just a quick minute?”

“Sure. I’ll just wait inside.”

Before Remus could say or do anything she halfway forced, halfway snuck into his sorry excuse of a flat. This was not what he was expecting. But then, what had he really been expecting? From minute one, she’d been completely… unexpected. 

Whatever-her-name-was looked around, inspecting his dirty dishes, the clothes that had been on the floor for months. The layers of dust covering almost every area.

A small nod, another dawning smile. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

Remus could only try to keep up, “... Thanks?”

“You’re welcome. Oh, and you should probably put on some clothes before we head out.”

Remus looked down. His stomach dropped as he saw how his coat was hanging half open, revealing the towel around his waist. “Sorry! I’ll see to that right now.”

---

Dressed in his only clean button up shirt and a pair of almost clean jeans, Remus now walked side by side with his new acquaintance. He didn’t dare call her a friend yet, partly because of his own doubt, partly because of her (so far) unpredictable ways. The terms and conditions of this so called “friendship” were still a mystery to him, like so many things about her. 

“Excuse me for asking, but exactly where are we going?” He turned around to look at her, only to be met with a smile. Didn’t she ever stop smiling?

“Didn’t I tell you?”

Didn’t her mouth ever get tired?

“No, I don’t think so.”

Yet another smile. She seemed to have smiles for everyone. “How silly of me!” Her lips only widened. “We’re going to a marketplace.”

Marketplace? “Is there such a thing here?”

“I guess we’re about to find out.”

Right. Of course. 

“Right… And why did you need me to come with you?”

“So I don’t get lonely, obviously.”

Who was she? “Right. Sure. Obviously.” 

He realized a rather embarrassing fact. “I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

A smile. “You must have a really bad memory.”

“Well, no, I’d actually argue my memory’s quite good, but I was… distracted when I met you.” 

Another smile. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N. I’m your neighbor.”

“Yes. Right. And I’m Remus.” He stuck his hand out, “Very nice to meet you.”

She grabbed his hand in an unexpected way, and sped up her pace. “Come on, this’ll be fun!”

A strangled noise forced its way out of his throat. Chest begun to feel warm and slightly shaky. He was laughing. She soon joined him.

Looking up, Remus saw how the sky was clearing up. The sun still strained to reach through a fading curtain of clouds. He closed his eyes, and felt the sun smile on his face for what felt like the very first time.

---

taglists

permanent: @rocking-like-a-ravenclaw​ / @kapolisradomthoughts​ / @siriusement​ / @classy-sith-lady​ / @hermione-who / @theseuscmander​ / @sleepingalaska​

remus lupin: @writingwitchly​ / @serenefreakgeek​ / @spideyfan456 / @un-nouveau-soleil​ / @evyiione​ / @reggieblck​ / @bookworm0123​ / @deathbyramennoodles​ / @cedricisnotonfire​ / @allauraleigh​

[historicalemily]

studying history at university

hi all!! I get a lot of questions about studying history at university! I’m really passionate about this - a lot of people told me when I decided to study history that it is useless, a waste of time/money, and irrelevant. Lets just say they clearly didn’t study history! I just finishing my BA and am about to start my MA in history and I’ve learned more about myself and the world we live in over the past four years than my entire life. I compiled some of the most frequent questions I get so hopefully it will help some people who are considering history :) 

1. What’s being a history major like/what is the curriculum? (@we-all-become-stories) 

I think the curriculum for each program is different, but I can talk about mine! My university (and most, I assume) encourage students to learn outside of their specific time/location, so in my program you had to do at least two classes in 4/5 areas offered: Modern European history, Medieval history, East Asian/Chinese history, American History, and transnational history. Obviously I went to a small school so we were sadly lacking in African history, south american history, and middle eastern history (though we did get a great islamic studies prof my last year who taught 1-2 islamic history courses a year). History programs also emphasize language learning - to graduate I had to do at least 3 semesters of a language - a lot of history students end up doubling in their chosen language. 

2. Is it papers for every class, or are there other assignments? (@we-all-become-stories)

I’m not gonna lie - it’s mostly papers. This is what you’ll find with most humanities programs. I did have a few non-paper projects - I created posters for projects in my intro to medieval manuscripts class and my medieval book arts class. There are also quite a few presentations - the primary mediums for transmitting new historical arguments/information are through conference presentations and articles/books, so the curriculum mimics this! 

3. What do you do with a history degree? (@we-all-become-stories)

This is probably the question i get most frequently - the mentality of college/university has turned into essentially job training rather than learning for the sake of learning. A history degree definitely falls more into the second category of learning for the sake of learning because it doesn’t lead directly into one career. If you go to school for accounting, you’re going to be an accountant. If you go to school for history, you most likely won’t be a historian. BUT that doesn’t mean that you can’t get a job with a history degree - just the opposite! History is one of the most versatile majors - you see a lot of history majors in museums and archives, in law schools, in politics, and in newspapers. It teaches you critical writing and thinking skills - you are able to process large amounts of information and synthesize it! These skills will serve you in whatever job you want after you graduate :) 

4. What kind of extracurricular activities can I do in high school if I want to study history/humanities? Most extracurricular activities are STEM. (@supernct)

Honestly, this is not an easy question to answer... in high school, I didn’t do many in school extracurricular activities - I did a sport and was a part of a couple clubs, but nothing that stands out as being particularly history-related. Outside of school, however, is where I got history experience! I’m lucky that my hometown has a great history museum and when I was in high school I started volunteering there! If you are just going into high school, they probably won’t have you work with the historical collections, but you’ll be able to see history in action - how the displays are set up, how tours are given, etc. I eventually moved to work with the collections itself, doing annual condition reports on historical artifacts. If you are looking for a history-specific extracurricular activity, I would definitely suggest volunteering at a local museum!

5. How do you cope? I've been studying for 3 years but I still feel like I don't know anything and the essays are killing me. (@drunkwombats)

History is definitely not an easy major. It encompasses literally all of human history, so something that helped me ease the dread of not knowing everything is accepting that I won’t be able to know everything - it’s just impossible. And you probably know a lot more than you realize! Ah yes. The papers. They can be lethal. My best advice is, when possible, to write the papers on topics you’re genuinely interested in! When you take upper-level classes, usually you will be able to pick your paper topics - if you are passionate about gender studies, or economics, or wars, or whatever, write your final paper on that! The papers will still be a lot of work, as all finals are, but you will actually be interested in the topic, which make it feel less painful (at least in my opinion!)

[night-rook]

Cheesecake Was The Reason | Sanji x Reader |

A/N: This is my first post and also my first time writing an “??? x Reader”. Hopefully you all enjoy! I DON’T A OWN ANYTHING BUT: THE STORY PLOT AND DUSK!!!   Word court: 2,530

(Y/N) = Your name (C/C)= Career Choice (H/C) = Hair Color (H/L) = Hair Length (S/C) = Skin color (E/C) = Eye Color (F/F) = Favorite Food (B/T) = Body Type (Y/B/H) = Your Body Height

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Staring at one another, the brunette companion couldn’t help but laugh at their friend. (Y/N) had to hold back from attacking them, sinking into her chair as their laugh ceased to a chuckle. The pair always met up for a cafe date. The date was just to catch up on their lives since the pair couldn’t really meet every day. Her brunette friend was going to college for Fashion Design, while she had only gone for her (C/C).

“You’re so dumb for not checking,” Dusk leaned forward and took a sip of her Oreo milkshake, smirking at their (H/C) (H/L) haired friend.

(Y/N) huffed as she crossed her arms over her chest, avoiding the teasing eyes of her companion. She reached for her latte and took a sip. She recalls the events, being reminded herself what she had done.

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After a rather tough gym session, she was laying on her bed after a nice shower for her sore muscles. She reached for her phone and decided to text her fashionista friend. Telling her that she was craving a scrumptious strawberry cheesecake from the Baratie restaurant that the pair went to a year ago. The cheesecake was heaven for her. It was creamy with a light sweetness from the strawberry graze. The flavor was something she’ll die for again if she had the chance. She set her phone down as she waited for her friend’s reply.

She smiled at the memory from that lively night. Dusk saved her paychecks in order to take (Y/N) to the restaurant for her birthday, seeing as the restaurant was rather extravagant and one had to book a reservation months in advance. How the brunette managed to get an appointment on her birthday was something she wondered but she was happy to be treated to a fancy dinner. Especially when she was studying hard for her own exams, the young adult deserved a break.

She had texted someone, no doubt on that. However, she had clicked the wrong icon on the app. (Y/N) didn’t text Dusk, instead she had texted a stranger. The stranger received the text, and he couldn’t help but smile at the text. He didn’t know who the person was but he didn’t want to be rude since the text had complimented his workplace. Although, it wasn’t addressed to him personally. He blew out a cloud of smoke before replying to the text.

“Thank you for enjoying the meal. It warms my heart that you had a great birthday at the restaurant. However, I’m not Dusk… I’m sorry, but I think you have got the wrong person,” He texted before hitting the send button.

(Y/N) was surfing YouTube while she waited. She started to wonder what was taking her bestie so long, normally they were fast to reply. Maybe they were finishing up an assignment that was due tonight, but that doesn’t stop them from texting her. She was about to text them once more, until her notification popped up on the screen. Her (E/C) eyes widen at the unknown icon that showed on her phone screen. She was a bit suspicious of who had texted her, it could be spam.”

“Thank you for… It warms my heart that… not Dusk… got the wrong person,” She read slowly as pink slowly spread across her (S/C) face.

Quickly tossing her phone across the bed, (Y/N) stuffed her flustered face into her pillow and let out a rather loud, muffled shriek. After an hour of mentally cursing her dumbass and praying to whatever god to give her strength on not embarrassing herself more, she got a hold of her phone once again to try and reply to the stranger on the other end. Clearing up the mess she had put herself in and hoping she didn’t heck up again.

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“He seems like a cool guy. I mean, he could have pulled an asshole move by leading you on. What else happened, my dude?” Dusk shrugged as she finished up the milkshake. They picked up the small tablet and requested for another milkshake, it being her third one in the past hour.

(Y/N) sighed and finished up her coffee before setting the empty cup to the end of the table, “He said he wouldn’t mind if we went to the Baratie, even saying he would pay for our meals since not a lot of people compliment his cooking. Apparently my description of how fucking delicious the cheesecake was touched his heart, especially after a hard day in kitchen.”

The brunette nodded their head, resting their chin on the palm of their hand as they silently stared at the (H/C) female. The man was nice and he was kind enough to give her an offer. However, they couldn’t shake the feeling something would happen if they went. Free food is a blessing and free food from one of the city’s most top-tier restaurants was like a grace of god. When their third milkshake came, Dusk took a few sips so as to help make a decision.

“Alrighty then! We’ll go whenever he can get a reservation so we cast a food critic worthy review. Text him that so we know when, bae,” the brunette grinned.

(Y/N) smiled at her friend and texted the Baratie cook about his offer. The pair continued with their cafe date, joking around and enjoying the rest of the evening together even after the cafe.

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A few weeks had passed when it came to the restaurant day. The Baratie cook, who later said his name was Sanji, had told (Y/N) that he had managed to get a table cleared for her at the Baratie on the last Saturday of the next month. It was a loathsome wait for the dinner to come, the (E/C) eyed female was growing more anxious as it got closer. Dusk had planned the dress appeal for her earlier that month. They slightly lied about the restaurant having a dress code rule, but in reality they wanted to doll her up again for the special night.

The pair walked into the restaurant and told the host about their reservation. The host nodded before giving the menus and led the pair to one of the more private booths. A waiter came by for them and the pair ordered for some drinks before silence came over them. Dusk mainly looked over the menu to see what was appropriate for this night, while (Y/N) glanced around nervously.

She tugged slightly on her dress. Having her friend pick out her clothes was probably a good idea, but she should have said something on the length. It was short and fit to her (B/T) but the dress may be too short because it reached a little up to her mid-thigh. The more she tugged on the dress, the more she wanted to ask her friend for their coat. (Y/N) blushed a bit as her friend looked up from the menu to see her struggling with the outfit.

“Why did I let you dress me? This is cute and all, but it’s short as hell!” she quietly protested

The brunette only stared before looking over to the side and smiled at the waiter who came with their drinks and orders. After they ordered, Dusk leaned back into the leather seat and gave her a devilish smirk.

“Honestly, I wanted to see if you can charm the dude with that cute body of yours. You talk about him often, seeing as you and him have been texting in your spare time,” they commented before taking a sip of their drink.

(Y/N) covered her blushing face in her hands upon hearing their words. They were right about her texting him practically everyday. The past couple of weeks weren’t boring with the consent images of all the dishes he made. She would drool at the sight of each plate, secretly wanting to be a small piggy and pork it all down. The conversations she shared with Sanji were fun when it wasn’t about food. He would talk about recipes to asking how her day was. To her, he seemed to be a real gentlemanly kind of male. She won’t admit to anyone that she may have developed a sort of crush on the mysterious cook behind the screen.

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In the kitchen, a tall blond man was cooking up a storm. He wanted to make these dishes perfect! His pride was on the line because he was cooking for not just anyone tonight. He was cooking for the cute (H/C) female of his long text messaging nights from work. The blond always looked forward to the conversations. Each message was like a break from the stressful kitchen after cooking over thousands of plates for the hungry customs and regulars.

Sanji loved his job and he always made outstanding dishes. His mentor and father figure had taught him everything a chef of his expertise could do. The blond was the sou chef to the infamous Zeff, his teaching put him where he is now. Being a sou chef in a five star restaurant, it helped him get a better living style after the incident with his actual family. Something he wasn’t fond of and much rather leave it out of his life. When (Y/N) had texted that night, he swore he felt his heart stop.

He was telling the truth about never receiving a compliment, it was normally to Zeff who got them since he was the head chef and it was his kitchen. When he got the text, he knew it was a mistake but it nevertheless made him happy to get it. His offer on getting them a reservation had no catch, but he did want to see (Y/N)’s reaction to his cooking. He wanted her opinion over the flavors and texture the food had. To him, she was like a food angel. Not only did she give a review on the food she had all those months ago, she had remembered how she felt and how it tasted.

Tonight, he was going to outdo himself with their orders. As he finished up the detailing, Sanji set the dishes off. However, he told the server to inform the customers that once they were finished to ask for him right away. He didn’t wish to waste a moment!

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When their food had arrived, (Y/N) said her thanks before taking a careful bite of the (F/F). Her eyes widened as the pleasurable flavors a simple spoonful had. She took a minute to get herself back into reality before digging right in. Dusk chuckled to themselves at listening to her delightful moans as they ate their own meal. After they finished, the waiter came back and asked if they wished to get the chef.

“Yes, may we have a word with the chef who made these heavenly meals. We wish to personally thank them for their hard work,” Dusk quickly spoke before (Y/N) could utter a word in.

With the waiter leaving, the brunette set their napkin on their plate before getting up. (Y/N) looked up at her friend and was about to ask what they were doing. Dusk pointed over to the corner to show that they were heading to the restroom. Hiding their smirk from her, they left and let the (Y/B/H) meet her virtual crush.

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When Sanji saw her, he couldn’t help but blush at the sight of her (S/C) beauty. The dress was ravishing and showed the right amount of her to still leave for the imagination. He had to take a moment to shake his head before reaching her. He cleared his throat to get her attention and smiled at her, happy to finally see her in person after weeks of texting.

“Hey, Chérie. You look so beautiful tonight,” He smiled while standing by the table, looking down at her with gentle gray blue eyes.

His words made her cheek turn scarlet rather instantly. (Y/n) hung her head down and mumbled out a quiet thank you. There was a brief silence between the pair, until Sanji decided to tilt her head to face him. He could only smile at her before gesturing if he could take a seat with her, she quickly nodded a yes.

He broke the ice first with what he knew best, “ Was your food okay? Did it miss anything? If it did, I whip up something better for you, belle.”

Her head snapped up as she stared at the male with such shock. How could he ask if his cooking was just okay. It was way better than great and even beyond delicious!

“Your cooking is better than delicious, Sanji! It was like I was eating gold if that even has flavor. I bet you could make it taste flavorful too,” she yelled at the blond. Not a loud yell but one that sounded more firm and thankful.

His smile turned to a grin as her words made his heart flip. He chuckled at her pouty face, seeing as she may be annoyed from what he said. He reached over the table for her hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. Sanji was glad his cooking was marvelous enough for his angel. (Y/N) gave him a sweet smile in return, feeling the warmth from his hand on her cold hand.

They stared into each other’s eyes for the longest time, no words were shared between them. His grey ocean orbs lost in the silk smooth (E/C) depths of her eyes. They were enjoying the physical presence of each other after weeks of talking to one another over the phone. The restaurant became white noise as they were in their own world in that private booth.

Glancing down at this watch, Sanji internally dreaded the reality of going back to work. He looked back at (Y/N) before leaving a soft kiss to her hand.

“I have to get back to the kitchen if not the old man will have my hands,” he joked as he stood up and walked over to her. He smiled and shyly looked at her when he said the next few words, “May I take you on a proper date next time?”

(Y/N)’s face lit up like a fire blazing on a cold winter night. She didn’t trust her voice so instead she nodded her head as her smile grew to a grin. Sanji grinned and bent down to place a gentle kiss on her forehead, feeling relieved that his angel had said yes.

As he walked away, her brunette had returned from the restroom and took a seat back at the booth. They noticed the way (Y/N) stared longingly at the retreating blond. They didn’t bother to ask her what had happened, seeing her like a crushing schoolgirl was enough to satisfy them. Leaning back in their seat, the brunette waited for their order of strawberry cheesecake. It was after all the main reason for coming.

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[overdrivels]

Even more unsolicited resume advice

Corona has probably hit a lot of people hard and it has been a tough time for everyone, especially people who just left college to enter the work force or have been out of a job and had been looking to get back into the force. While this might not solve much, I want to provide some additional advice piggy-backing off a previous post.

<Previous Resume Advice Post>

Again, Your Mileage May Vary (YMMV) since this is entirely subjective and very US-centric. A lot of the resumes that come across my desk are for specialized jobs and higher-levels, so I’ve had a bit of a disconnect with entry-level and recent grad-level resumes. Regardless, I still want to help answer some questions that people have and hopefully give a bit of a push to help you into the jobs you want.

There’s more of this sort of stuff under the tag: ‘adult drivels’.

"What do I write for my Objectives/Summary of Qualifications?"

To be very honest, I only ever see Objectives from people trying to switch careers or from internship/entry-level resumes. At least 98% of the time, we know what your objective is. It's money. I don't care if the objective is to help save the world--believe me, I've seen enough resumes that say something along those lines (worked at a place that kind of championed that and boy is the reality nasty).

Anyway. Write a short paragraph (usually 2-3 sentences, but no longer than a full paragraph) about your skillset. Give me enough detail to want to read the rest of your resume.

Examples:

Finance student with 2 years volunteer experience in business accounting, correspondences with the Federal Reserve, and federal financial law. Specializes in XYZ, etc.

I couldn't make this any more detailed, but you get the gist of it. If not, here's another one.

Recent college graduate with experience in freelance computer repairs for Windows, Mac, and RedHat Linux. Customer-oriented from # years in customer service, and willing to learn new things especially more about network infrastructure and engineering. Currently studying to pass Network and looking to pass Security+ within the next year.  

This is just a personal nitpick, but be careful with very subjective character traits like ‘loyal’ or ‘hard-working’ or ‘effective leader’. Anyone can put that on a resume, but I need you to prove it in your resume. Some industries like this sort of self-description/self-evaluation, but I really don’t trust when people write that stuff down.

(Ex. Someone wrote they were detail-orientated and their resume was littered with typos. Mm, don’t trust like that.)

"I don't know what to write for my job experience. I don't have sales numbers or percentages like these websites are telling me."

You do. You have them, just not consciously.

You worked at Starbucks and trained newcomers? Fine.

"Trained ## new hires on all store procedures, safety, and customer service, and one was promoted to store manager with # months/one new hire won Employee of the Month/and I received formal recognition from corporate."

Or

"Created new training plan/procedures/whatever and implemented it over the course of # months, reducing the time needed for training and increasing effectiveness."

Didn't work at Starbucks? Just joined a club and helped organize a bake sale? Cool.

"Sold $# worth of merchandise for [school club] [sale] which contributed to #% increase in funding for the year's activities, allowing the club to do XYZ.

Don't have the percentage? Do a reasonable guess, or ask. Or just say it helped you guys earn your field trip to wherever. Whatever it helped do.

Didn’t do anything involving cash or numbers? No problem.

“Tutored # students at least # times a week in [subject], working with them using different teaching methods such as [example] and [example]; # students were able to pass their courses with satisfactory grades (insert grades somewhere, if you’re proud of that).”

The point is: [Action] --> [Result].

What did you do, specifically? And what was the direct result? That’s what I’m looking for.

“But I’ve never held a job. This’ll be my first one. How do I write my resume?”

That’s always tough. In this case, you’ll have to play on anything you do have. Volunteer work, school activities, extracurricular activities, personal projects, awards, personal achievements, etc. Sometimes people go for a skills-oriented resume which I don’t actually see a lot.

Basically, standard resumes have your regular stuff:

Personal Information

Summary of Qualifications/Objectives

Education

Job Experiences in chronological order

Extracurricular Activities

Skills

Awards/Certifications

Whatever else

A skills based resume usually replaces the ‘Jobs’ section with a huge-ass ‘Skills Set’ section which contains several main skills you want to highlight for the job and examples of how you demonstrated these skills.

Communication

- Corresponded and tutored students struggling in [subject] class, restructuring and explaining lessons using easy-to-understand anecdotes, resulting in students passing the class with scores of no less than a B. (This is lengthy as fuck, but you get the idea.)

- Successfully led one 24-person raid a month for 2 years in an online game where quick and clear communication and timing was vital.

So, that but multiple times until it fills out your resume.

This goes against my personal opinion about subjective traits, but if it works, it works. 

“Anything else?”

I turn my entire Word document into a table for formatting and then just hide all borders when I’m done.

Always, always export to PDF and do a test print. You never know how it’ll look on someone else’s screen or program. (Especially if you have LibreOffice or something, that really messed up the formatting sometimes.) 

I kind of like Google’s resumes, the one they have in Google doc templates.

To make different things stand out, I mess with fonts. Like sans serif for section titles and with serif for body text. Sometimes I just start going nuts with them, but not too nuts because again, it might not be a font on someone else’s computer.

To test the visual appeal of my resume, I’d usually print it out, paste it on a wall, walk away, turn around, and try to see if I can spot my name and the different section breaks instantly from a distance. If I can’t, I know I fucked up. If I can, great, formatting is clean. One thing I hate as an interviewer is searching through walls of text for important info or section breaks.

If you can, only submit as PDF. I swear, half the time, the Word doc gets mangled by the application platform that people send them through (you know, the automatic uploading thing?) It had definitely cost a few good candidates a job simply because the program mangled the resume’s formatting.

Following these steps still won’t necessarily get you the job. This is cruel, but reality. It could be your resume. It could be just because the role is meant for someone else with a different skillset. It’s not personal. You have to keep trying.

For the last time, TAILOR, TAILOR, TAILOR. You’re fighting with about 30 other people who have put in a hell of a lot of effort to get jobs. They also want the job and have been searching just as long or longer than you. You have to give yourself an edge by not blasting a generic version of your resume at the recruiter. That’s wasting our time and your own time.

Again, all of these opinions are my own and should be taken with a handful of salt and two handfuls of personal judgement.

Good luck on your searches and may the job you want be yours.

[atamascolily]

The cover art of Junior Jedi Knights: Promises by Nancy Richardson has Anakin about to be eaten by a giant green dragon on what appears to be Tatooine while Sand People lurk in the distance and a terrified Tahiri swings a gaderiffi stick at the dragon while trying not to trip over human skulls. So I'm all-in, despite the incredibly vague title.

Anakin dreams he's back in the Palace of Woolamanders with the golden globe (not the prestigious TV award), arguing with a Sith who turns out to be... himself! Becuse if you're not grappling with the legacy of your fucked-up grandfather, then what is even the point of being named after him?

(I get why Leia names him after her father. I really do. Still, was it necessary to give this poor kid EVEN MORE ANGST than his siblings?)

Tahiri wakes Anakin up. Her six-month trial period at the Academy is up, and she has to go back to Tatooine to tell Sliven, the leader of her tribe, her decision. *hums "Should I Stay or Should I Go"* Of course, we already know what the answer's going to be, but okay fine, field trip to Tatooine, let's go.

As you can imagine, Luke has Opinions about these two:

Luke Skywalker studied the look of defiance. Green eyes flashed, and white blonde hair surrounded a stubborn nine-year-old face. Luke’s blue eyes didn’t falter as he waited for the child to speak. It would not be long. Tahiri was rarely lost for words. Luke thought about the time she and his nephew, Anakin Solo, had snuck away from the Jedi academy. They’d returned to the Great Temple in the middle of the night. Tired and dirty, Tahiri had immediately begun chattering, trying to take all the blame for the adventure, trying to keep Luke’s punishment from extending to Anakin. What Luke hadn’t told either of them was that they were two of the most promising students he’d ever seen. There was no way he would expel either student. They would make great Jedi Knights one day-if they could keep out of trouble long enough to learn to use the Force.

Trouble seemed to find Tahiri and Anakin. Only last week they’d returned bruised and battered from Yavin 8, where they’d gone to help another candidate, a Melodie named Lyric, survive her changing ceremony. While on Yavin 8, the two candidates had fought giant black rodents, vicious snakes, and a red-bristled spider that trapped its prey in thick black webs and consumed it alive. Luke Skywalker believed that experience was the best teacher in the use of the Force, but Anakin and Tahiri always rushed headlong into dangerous situations.

That worried Luke.

I don't know why Luke is surprised, given that he knows Leia and Han's approach to parenting, and also he's ostensibly been teaching the twins. Compared to the trouble Jacen and Jaina get up to, Anakin's barely scratched the surface.

Tahiri says she doesn't want to go back to Tatooine, but Luke mentions his own issues about not going back to say good-bye to his family there, and asks Tahiri if she wants that. Then Luke goes to ask good old Peckhum to take them all to Tatooine - because this time, Luke's going, too.

And Luke had a strange feeling that Tahiri’s family, the Tusken Raiders, were dangerous as well.

No, REALLY? YOU THINK?

Ikrit's going to spend the entire book sleeping in Anakin's bed again, I see. Smart guy.

Tahiri has a pendant macguffin with her parents' thumbprints - a gift from Sliven. Sliven won't talk about Tahiri's parents, and she doesn't know why.

“All I know is that the Tusken Raiders are the only family I’ve ever known. The only family I have. If I choose to remain at the academy, I’ll lose them forever. I’ll truly be an orphan.”

I don't see why it's an all-or-nothing deal, except for drama, but... okay then.

“I feel so mixed-up right now. I’m about to return to the only home I know. It’s a place I hate and love, both at the same time. Just as I hate and love the Tusken Raiders. My life is as confusing to me as the golden globe. Except, unlike with the globe, I don’t have any clue about who I really am. I don’t even know if Tahiri is my real name, or just a name given to me by Sliven.”

TAHIRI *IS* YOUR REAL NAME, YOU ALREADY SAID HE WAS YOUR FATHER. Look, I sympathize with Tahiri's confusion, because it's GOT to be hard to feel like you never fit into either world you belong to, but... ADOPTED FAMILY IS JUST AS REAL (sometimes more so) than blood family and I hope the final moral will be Tahiri learning that.

Oh, and I thought Luke was coming along, but no, it's Tionne! This makes sense because Tionne was the one who found Tahiri on Tatooine in the first place, and also I love Tionne, so I'm happy the author's given her something to do in this book.

The Jedi instructor Tionne glanced back to make sure her two charges were seated. Luke Skywalker had sent her to watch over Anakin and Tahiri on Tatooine-to make sure that nothing harmed them. And that Tahiri returned to the Jedi academy, if she wished.

HAHAHA, I already know from the cover this is not going to work out, but hopefully Tionne will at least give it the old college try...

The Sand People are waiting for them, and there's some initial conflict, which Tahiri quickly smoothes over. Tahiri isn't wearing her face coverings or shoes, and Sliven is okay with that, so I guess this book isn't going to go the whole "unclothed flesh is abomination" route of other Legends books. Also, the narrative always refers to them as "Tusken Raiders" which is NOT what they call themselves - it's what the settlers call them. This is fine if we're seeing things from Anakin's or Tionne's POV, but not when it's Tahiri's! That's NOT how somebody raised by these people would think of them!! ARRGH!!

Anakin wishes they'd landed at Mos Eisley. LOL. Like Tionne would ever take you there. He's distracted by Tahiri re-uniting with her bantha, Bangor - Sliven says they don't name them, but Tahiri does anyway. Tahiri has a rappor with Bangor because he's an orphan, too... And here Sliven (rightfully) gets mad and says she's not an orphan and they need to go.

You will not be surprised to learn that Anakin Solo hates sand.

Oh, apparently, the rest of the Sand People don't trust Tahiri and they're the ones who issued the ultimatum that she has to choose between them or the Jedi. I don't know why Sliven negotiated this homecoming-of-sorts, but plot, I guess.

“Sliven knows that if I choose to remain at the academy the tribe will refuse to take me back. I think that having me return to make my decision was Sliven’s way of giving me one last chance to remain with the tribe, and with him.”

“It sounds like he truly cares for you,” Anakin offered.

���Cares?” Tahiri weighed the word thoughtfully. “In his own way, I know he does. But he’s never cared enough to give me the one thing in my life that I wanted. He has never told me the story of how he found me. And if he truly cared, he would give me my history,” Tahiri ended sadly.

I am 100% on Sliven's side here, although I sympathize with Tahiri's yearning to know more about her past.

There's a woman named Vexa, who hates Tahiri. She also hates Sliven because he brought an outsider into the tribe. If Tahiri lives, Sliven gets to lead, and if not, he's going to die. Tahiri is pissed because Sliven never mentioned this before.

(Tionne is doing all the translating here for some reason, even though Tahiri is speaking in Basic to Vexa, and it's not clear to me if the narrative has established that why she WOULD speak Basic?? But okay...yay, Tionne!)

Basically, Tahiri's trial is a version of a walkabout in the Dune Sea and Jundland Waste crossed with hide and seek to rejoin the tribe. If she doesn't do this, she has to go back to the Academy and Sliven dies. Now Tionne is pissed because neither she nor Luke knew this was on the table, and they don't want Tahiri getting hurt.

Sliven's bait for getting Tahiri to participate is the truth about her parents.... which seems really convoluted and complicated, but okay. Of course Tahiri accepts, so Anakin decides to go to. Tionne tells them no but Sliven says they'll fight her, so... there's that. Okay then.

(Sigh. Tionne, you're a Jedi! Use your words to persuade them! Sing them to sleep or something! Don't just stand there and... abdicate responsibility here!)

(Yes, I know this is JF and that's why Adults Are Useless, because this is an escapist fantasy for the youth, but... really? REALLY??)

Sliven was injured in battle with smugglers and taken in by Cassa and Tryst Veila, two moisture farmers, and their three-year-old Tahiri. He becomes part of the family - they teach him Basic, he teaches Tryst how to fight with a gaderiffi. In a plot decision that makes me wince, Tryst is instantly better than Sliven, despite the fact that Sliven has trained his entire fucking life with this weapon and I just... Can't Even... but Tryst was Force-sensitive and I'm just... THAT'S NOT HOW THE FORCE WORKS, OKAY???

Anyway, Sliven and Tryst are sparring, and the rest of the tribe (do they have a name?? apparently not) see them, think Sliven's being attacked, and kill Tryst and Cassa. Vexa wants to let Tahiri die, too, and Sliven refuses, so they make this stupid bargain. Apparently, the Sand Peoples' kids reach adulthood at nine, so that's why they're doing this now. Oh, and Sliven made the thumbprint necklace macguffin after Tryst and Cassa died, which is... really creepy. Sliven is consumed with guilt, and Tahiri lectures him about caring and I just... can't... even...

But she wants Sliven's thumbprint on the macguffin next to her parents, so at least she gets THAT right.

Anyway, they drop Anakin and Tahiri in the desert and ride off, and Tahiri nearly gets eaten by a tentacle monster (a Sarlacc? unclear) and Anakin has to save her, and I just... why. Tahiri grew up here, she should know how to handle this planet, not be rescued by Anakin, who's never been here in his life. Fuck that.

Next encounter on the wandering monster table is... Jawas! Anakin fixes their broken sandcrawler with his magic tech powers, but only after mind-tricking them into letting him aboard, and I just... I feel like this is ethically compromising and maybe somebody who's worried about becoming like his evil granddad maybe should be a bit more careful about manipulating the free will of sentient beings??

Anyway, they jump-start the crawler and the grateful Jawas give them food and water and a ride and two gaderiffi sticks. Womp rats scream in the distance. They find bodies. They're being stalked by a krayt dragon but Tahiri only thought to mention that now.

Krayt dragons were large carnivorous reptiles that lived in the mountains surrounding Tatooine’s Jundland Wastes. Some thought that the dragons no longer existed, that they’d become extinct when settlers came to Tatooine, exposing them to various infections as well as hunting them for food and trophies.

This is an interesting world-building detail I'd never heard before!

Anakin tries to mind-trick the krayt dragon, but it doesn't work, so Tahiri rescues him. They make it out, and keep going. They're almost out of water, and Tahiri finds a hubba gourd for Anakin's wounds. Tahiri decides to use the Force to call Bangor, and it doesn't work until she and Anakin call together. They get back just as Vexa's trying to declare Tahiri dead. Tahiri makes a dramatic entrance.

Sliven wins! He says this means Tahiri is now a part of the tribe for real. Tahiri disagrees:

“I now understand that I was never a Tusken Raider. The skills we both used to survive weren’t the skills of a Raider. We used the Force. And now I know that I’m meant to attend the academy. To grow strong, and to use that strength to break the curse of the golden globe, and one day become a Jedi Knight.”

WHAT. I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU DIDN'T USE ANY OF THE SKILLS SLIVEN TAUGHT YOU TO SURVIVE. WHAT. WHAT. WHAT.

(It's fine if that's Tahiri's decision - indeed, given the set-up of the book I would expect no less- but the reasoning here. I just... arrrrghhh.)

“What about Sliven? Won’t you miss him?” Anakin asked.

“That’s the hardest part,” Tahiri said sadly. “I love Sliven, but I know that I belong at the Jedi academy, not with the Sand People.”

“Then let us leave here,” Tionne said.

FINALLY TIONNE TAKES SOME AGENCY BESIDES STANDING AROUND AND LOOKING WORRIED.

But Tahiri gets Sliven's thumbprint on her pendant and take care of her bantha (forever!) and they leave. Anakin has a fever from his wounds. Luke is not pleased.

Luke Skywalker waited for the Lightning Rod’s cargo bay to open. Slowly the massive jaws of the bay yawned wide, revealing Luke’s nephew and Tahiri. Luke was pleased to see that the girl had returned. She belonged at the Jedi academy. He moved forward to greet the Jedi candidates.

“Welcome home-” Master Luke began. But his words caught in his throat as he stared at his students. Anakin struggled to stand and walk down the cargo bay’s ramp. Old Peckhum held one of his arms tightly, steadying him as hewalked. Anakin took several tottering steps, then fell forward. Luke anticipated his nephew’s collapse, and caught the boy in his arms.

Gently he lowered Anakin to the ground. Anakin’s academy jumpsuit was shredded on one side, revealing five gashes. There were dark circles under his eyes, and bruises were visible on his neck and hands. Tahiri knelt by her friend. The girl did not look much better, Luke thought in dismay. Spots of dried blood lined her jumpsuit in a pattern that looked like jaw marks. She, too, looked tired and hungry.

Luke’s eyes met Tionne’s for a brief moment. From her look of torment, he knew she’d tried her best to protect the children.

“Hi, Uncle Luke,” Anakin said with a small voice.

“What happened?” Luke asked in a voice full of worry.

“The Tusken Raiders had a little more in mind for me than just deciding whether or not to remain with the tribe,” Tahiri replied.

“We’ll talk later,” Luke said quietly to Tionne. “Right now, you are both going to the medical droid.” With that, he swept his nephew up in his arms and strode toward the turbolift, with Tahiri trailing.

I CAN'T. I CAN'T EVEN.

WHAT THE HELL IS LUKE GOING TO SAY TO TIONNE?

Anakin wakes up attended by a medical droid and also Luke. Leia wants Anakin home, but Han and Luke intervened. Remind me why Leia sent her kids here again? Doesn't she KNOW Luke's teaching style by now?

“Now get well, or Leia will never forgive me,” Luke instructed. Luke Skywalker sat beside his nephew as he slept. He wondered if the strange feeling of untold danger he’d sensed before sending the children to Tatooine had been a premonition of the promise Tahiri had chosen to keep. Luke closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. At least the children were safe.

No, Luke, that was called BEING A RESPONSIBLE ADULT, and YOU MISSED IT YET AGAIN.

Anakin falls asleep and goes back to his dream from the beginning, and uses the Force "to control his inner self", whatever that means. Tahiri wakes him up. Ikrit makes a dramatic entrance.

The Jedi Master, his white fur and the stones of the Great Temple strangely blending, scurried from the corner and leapt onto the window ledge. “After all,” he rasped, “this is only one battle of good versus evil. There will be others, if you are not up to the fight.”

Thnks, Captain Obvious! Anakin and Tahiri decide to go ahead and Ikrit... runs away, because they have to do this On Their Own. Sigh. This time, they walk to the Palace of the Woolamanders and I don't know why they couldn't just do that in Book One. Sigh. The evil voices try to use Tahiri's history against her, and she cites ALL her parents in rebuffing them. YES, GOOD. Then they try to use Darth Vader against Anakin and he laughs and the evil subsides. YES, GOOD.

Anakin and Tahiri enter the globe and free the childrens' spriits. The globe shatters and I half-expected the temple to crumble to pieces as they leave but it doesn't. Apparently, Ikrit went to get Luke, who is waiting for them outside.

“You know everything?” Anakin asked his uncle, gesturing toward Ikrit.

Luke Skywalker nodded. He wrapped his arms around Anakin’s and Tahiri’s shoulders.

“I am very proud,” Luke said, his eyes meeting theirs.

Slowly the group walked back toward the Jedi academy. For the first time in a long time, Anakin and Tahiri were not heading toward danger, but simply toward the future-adventure, the Force, and their ultimate goal: to become Jedi Knights.

The end.

OKAY THEN.

So, I didn't think the globe arc was going to resolve so quickly, but okay, fine, whatever. I thought that was going to be an entire book on its own. Tionne is basically useless here, which annoys me and I don't even know why she came at all. Luke is incredibly irresponsible, and Ikrit doesn't do anything. WHY. WHY. SUCH A WASTE. Sliven deserves better, and this book makes me angry at Tahiri for treating him the way she does for most of it. The crappy worldbuilding makes me cranky. I didn't feel like Books 1 and 2 could benefit much from re-writes, but this one is crying out for fix-it fics because HONESTLY.

[therainroguefanfiction]

⁂ Gold Cup (Jeno Lee)

Genre: Comedy, Fluff, AU, School, Crossover, Romance ☁

Word Count: 2,939 ☁

Pairing: Reader x Jeno ☁

World: NCT ft. Super Junior, F(x), Nu’est ☁

Author’s Note: I am trash for sports anime and I was so fucking passionate about writing this, I didn’t even want to play WoW, I just wanted to work on this. I should also note that I only know the basics of Football, so if I got something wrong, don’t sue me. Trust me, you won’t get anything but a bunch of grumpy cats. Also, I’ve never even THOUGHT about Jeno before (because damn you Chenle), but writing this made me so happy like you don’t understand and now I kind of like Jeno a bit more??

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You groaned as you got your math test back, receiving yet another bad grade. Academics had never been your strong suit and you honestly had no interest in it, either. Your strong point was Athletics and you were damn good at any sport you happened to be in the mood for. Throughout your school years, you had bounced from sport to sport, thoroughly enjoying each one. You didn’t find your love until you entered high school and joined the American Football team. It was just the kind of rough-and-tough adrenaline rush you craved. In middle school, you skated by on grades that just passed over the required number needed to pass and it didn’t affect your sports, but things were more strict in high school. If you didn’t start getting your grades up, you would be benched and disallowed from playing in any games. The thought made you want to slam your head against your desk.

Jaemin turned in his seat, sporting a frown. “You failed again, didn’t you?”

“I plead the fifth.”

“This isn’t the USA, idiot.” He sighed, plucking the test from your hand. “Coach is gonna be pissed when he sees this.”

“I know~” You threw your head back, staring at the white ceiling above. “What am I gonna do?”

“You could always ask Mark to tutor you.”

“Yeah, right, as if that boy doesn’t have enough to do.” You rolled your eyes. “Not only is he student council president, he’s also part of the drama club, music club, taking AP classes and he’s the captain of band.”

“What about Jeno?” He smirked, “He’s the second smartest kid in our class.”

Your lips pursed at the idea and you resisted the urge to kick him. Jaemin knew about your crush on Jeno and didn’t waste an opportunity to tease you about it. You glanced to the front of the room where Jeno sat, talking to a pretty girl with a cute smile.

“You don’t have many options, Y/N.” His voice was serious now as he rested his cheek in his palm. “The tournament is right around the corner and we don’t stand a chance without you. And I know you don’t want to miss this opportunity. It’s hyung’s last chance to take the cup before he graduates.”

As much as it pained you to admit it, you knew Jaemin was right. Dongho, the team captain, was in his last year of high school. His dream has always been to win the gold cup, and this would be his last chance. He was the best captain you’ve ever had and you wanted him to reach his dream, even if it meant you had to be a bit uncomfortable to do it.

Jaemin watched you curiously as you stood up, grabbing your test before approaching Jeno. The girl was gone and he was in the middle of putting away his books.

“Hey,”

He looked up at you in surprise, his cheeks growing warm. Was he dreaming? He was sure he was dreaming. “Yes?”

“Are you tutoring?”

He nodded, re-adjusting his glasses. “Do you know someone that needs help?”

“Yeah…” you rubbed the back of your head with a sigh, showing him your failed test. “If I don’t get my grades up, I’m going to be kicked off the team. I… need your help.”

His heart was beating rapidly in his chest and he bit back a smile at your words. You, the popular athlete that every sports team wanted, was asking him for help. You, the person he’s had a crush on since grade school, said that you needed him. He was ecstatic. “Um, I have time after school. Is that good?”

“I have practice… but I can skip.” You glanced at Jaemin and he raised a brow curiously, too far away to hear the conversation.

He quickly shook his head. “No, it’s okay! I can wait until practice is over.”

“Are you sure?” You questioned, meeting his eyes. It made your heart speed up.

“I’m positive.” He wouldn’t admit that he loved watching you play and silently cheering you on.

You smiled at him, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,”

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Your body rammed into Jaehyo’s as he tried to run past you with the ball, failing as you tackled him to the ground.

“Nice tackle!” Coach Heechul cheered from the sidelines.

You gave Jaehyo a smirk as you high fived Jaemin.

“Do you have to be so rough?” Jaehyo teased, slapping your shoulder.

“What can I say? I was born strong~”

“And humble,” he stuck his tongue out at you.

“Look who’s here,”Jaemin nodded to the stands and you glanced up, seeing Jeno settling down on the metal. He chose a spot off to the side, away from the cheering boys and girls that had crushes on the team. He had pulled out his notebook. “Jeez, he even studies when school ends.”

“It’s called homework,” Jaehyo ruffled the boy’s hair. “Is he your friend?”

“Y/N has a crush on hi – ”

You jabbed him in the gut, effectively shutting him up as he glared at you.

“No way. You? Having a crush on someone? Is hell freezing over?” He chuckled, now ruffling your hair.

“Come on, I’m human too ya know.” You frowned, shoving his hand away.

“True… but you’ve only ever been focused on sports.”

“What’s this?!” Amber snuck up behind you, pinching your cheek. “Is our little Y/N growing up??”

“God, you guys are annoying.” You grumbled, now shoving her hand away.

“Aww, don’t be embarrassed. It’s a natural part of life!” She wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug.

“I’m not embarrassed.”

“Then why are you blushing?” Jaemin interjected. The other two sniggered at the comment.

“Ugh!” You pushed her away and stomped away from the three, feeling annoyed at their prying. You caught Jeno’s eye and he smiled, waving shyly. You smiled despite yourself, glancing at the coach. “Coach, can I leave early?”

He scowled at you, putting his hands on his hips. “Just because you’re the ace doesn’t mean you can skip practice.”

You rolled your eyes at his attitude. “I’m not skipping practice. I’m asking if I can leave early.”

“Reason?”

“…my tutor is here.”

“Tutor?” He paused before lashing out, smacking you in the head with the papers in his hand. “Yah, you failed another test, didn’t you?!”

“Does it matter?” You rubbed your head, avoiding his next strike. “I’ve got a tutor, so I’m working on it!”

He sighed heavily, “Dismissed. You better have your grades up next test or else.”

“Yes, sir~” You sent him a mock salute before rushing away, avoiding his attack. Jeno was looking down at his notebook when you approached the stands. “Oi,”

His gaze snapped up, looking at you in surprise.

“I’m gonna go get changed and then we can study.”

“What about practice?” He looked at your team in worry.

“This is more important. Besides, I got in some practice before you got here.” When he nodded, you headed off for the locker room. Since your team was coed, there were two separate locker rooms for the boys and girls. You took a few minutes debating on if you should take a shower first but ultimately decided not to keep him waiting.

As you were heading for the door, you noticed a tree-shaped air freshener hanging against the AC unit. You glanced around before snatching it, tying it to the inside of your shirt. Hopefully, it was stronger than your sweat.

You rushed outside, purposely ignoring the smug smirk your teammates were sending your way. “Let’s go,” You spoke quickly, not stopping as you walked past. He already had his things put away, so he didn’t hesitate to follow you. “Where to?”

Jeno grasped the strap of his bag with both hands. “The library is closed. We can sit in the courtyard? It’s not too hot today.”

“Sure,” you murmured. The courtyard itself was quite large, separating the gate and the school building. Several round benches and matching tables were scattered around the area, most hidden from the sky under large oak trees. In the center sat a tall fountain with crystal clear water – the centerpiece was the school’s mascot, Paly the badger.

You chose the most shaded table, plopping down on the stone. Jeno sat beside you since the table was too wide for him to reach across to teach you.

He started to pull out his books and notes. “What is your worst subject?”

You scratched your cheek. “Er, all of them?”

He laughed softly. “Okay, what subject do you hate most? And no saying all of them!” Jeno stopped you when you opened your mouth, effectively silencing you. Your reaction made him laugh again.

“Math, I guess? I’m not good with numbers.”

“We’ll start there, then. May I have your test?”

You dug into your bag, grabbing the ball of paper and smoothing it out. You gave him a sheepish smile, “I uh, needed more room…”

Jeno bit his lip to hide his smile, nodding. Despite being crumpled and torn in a few places, he was able to see the questions and answers. For the next hour and a half, the two of you sat there going over each of your tests.

He was brilliant at explaining things in a way that you could understand and he was patient when you didn’t get something right away. He took the time to write out a fake test and had you answer the questions. You had no confidence in your answers, but you did better than normal. It was far from an A, but at least you didn’t fail.

“Damn,” you breathed out, staring at the red C- he had written on the top of the paper. “Maybe you should teach the class instead.”

His cheeks lit up at the compliment. “Ah, no, I’m not that smart.”

“Excuse me?” You scoffed, staring him down. “You just raised my grade from a D- to a C- in less than two hours. You’re a genius.”

He smiled softly, looking down at his notebook. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.”

“What?”

“Ah, nothing!” Jeno mentally slapped himself for saying that out loud. You sat in silence for several minutes.

“Hey, Jeno. Our first game of the tournament is in ten days.” You paused, thinking over your words. “You should come. If you want to, I mean.”

“Sure! I’d love to.” You both shared a smile as the wind lightly danced around you.

“By the way…” He shifted, thinking over his words. “You don’t have to wear air fresheners. You smell fine.”

Your face flushed. “Right…”

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

Jeno continued to tutor you every day after school even after the tournament began. With his help, you were maintaining a C+, B- average. In the process, the two of you had gotten a lot closer to one another.

Your team breezed through the first two rounds of the tournament, nearly losing the third round to last year’s champions, but you managed to pull it off with a score of 24 to 20. Round four was easy, but round five was evenly matched, neither team wanting to give. It went into overtime, but you managed to score the touchdown that won the game.

Your team had made it to the finals. One more game and you would take the gold cup for Dongho.

Your team gathered in the locker room on the day of the match. Jeno was standing next to you against the lockers.

“I can’t believe we did it,” Dongho looked at his teammates, eyes sparkling with tears. “We’ve worked our butts off. We didn’t get here through a fluke or by luck. We earned this! We… We…” His tears overflowed as the words caught in his throat. Amber hugged him while the coach patted his shoulder, also tearing up. “We will win the gold cup!”

“Yeah!” The team chorused, whooping and hollering in excitement.

You sniffled, cursing yourself for being so sensitive. Jeno smiled at you softly, pulling a small tissue pack from his back and handing it to you. “I’m not crying, I’m just having an allergic reaction okay.”

“I understand,” he responded softly, unable to hide his smile. You cared so much for your captain and your team – he admired you for that.

“Let’s get out there and prove that we didn’t get here on luck!” Dongho yelled. The team cheered, grabbing their helmets and filing out.

You handed the pack back, rolling your shoulders. “Jeno?”

“Hmm?”

You looked him dead in the eye, determination set in stone. “Watch me. I’ll win the gold cup for this team, for Dongho… for you.”

He couldn’t look away from your gaze, nor could he form words. Instead, he simply nodded, watching as you left the room.

The game was long, easily going into overtime. They were strong, seeming to knock you down as soon as you scored a point. Most of their players towered over your own teammates and you briefly wondered if they were on steroids because of how huge they were. Their tackles were sharp like spears, leaving your body bruised and sore, but you never gave up.

The clock ticked down.

There was less than a minute left of overtime and if you didn’t score a touchdown now, you would lose. You pushed your legs to run faster as you headed for the end zone, the ball tucked tightly against your body. You nearly tripped trying to avoid their tackles, but you stayed on your feet and kept pushing. The feeling in your legs was long gone, your body reaching its limit, but you had to keep pushing. You couldn’t let it end like this. You just couldn’t.

One of their linebackers appeared beside you and you couldn’t react in time. Your eyes snapped shut, waiting for the sharp impact but it never came.

Jaemin managed to block him, using all of his strength. “GO, Y/N!”

His scream gave you a boost of energy and surged forward, making the decision to dive. As you slid across the grass, it seemed as if time slowed down. Blood pumped in your ears and all you could hear was your heavy breathing. The screams of fans and your teammates were hazy and undistinguishable over the sound of your own heart. Why were you sliding so slow?

‘I’m slowing down. Please, just a little more!’ Time froze as you made it into the end zone. Seconds later, you felt yourself being smothered by the other team, a hoarse cry passing your lips as they knocked the air out of you. The piercing sound of the whistle greeted your ears followed by, “TOUCHDOWN!”

Time returned to normal, the screams of fans filling the air.

“Get off Y/N!”

“Move you brutes!”

“If you’re gonna cry, do it somewhere other than on our running back!”

The weight was lifted off you and you sucked in air. Jaehyo and Dongho helped you up, making sure you were alive and nothing was broken before they squished you in a tight hug.

Amber laughed at your face, “You just got your breath back and now they’re taking it again.”

“Help,” you wheezed, reaching out for Jaemin who was fighting back tears. He grabbed your hand but didn’t attempt to help.

“I’m so.. I’m so..” Dongho sobbed, squeezing you tighter.

“We did it,” Jaehyo cried.

“Break it up!” Heechul smacked the two with his papers, but it did little with their helmets on. “We need Y/N to win the cup next year!” It took some effort, but he finally managed to pry you away from the two sobbing boys, helping you towards the bench.

Your entire body was screaming, having been pushed past its limit, but you were so happy that you didn’t care.

“Y/N!” Jeno came running out of the stands, throwing his arms around your neck. His grip was warm and protective, not nearly as tight as your teammates’ had been. He didn’t care about the sweat seeping into his clothes. “I’m so proud of you. You were amazing!”

“We all were,” you breathed in his scent, a mixture of new textbook and mint. It invaded your senses. “I told you I was would win for you, Jeno.”

He pulled back, looking you in the eyes. “I… I made a promise to myself. I told myself that if you won, I would tell you…”

“Tell me what?” You had an idea of what that something was, but you wanted to hear it.

“Y/N, I – ”

“CHEERS!” Amber and Jaemin screamed, dumping the contents of the drink cooler on Jeno’s head. Jaehyo and Dongho did the same to Heechul.

Your body twitched in annoyance as you glared at the pair. “Oi, you ruined the moment you jerks!”

“Oh, were you finally going to confess?” Amber wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and you threw the closest thing at her – it was a towel and did no damage.

Muttering under your breath, you dug around in your bag to find your varsity jacket. It was a bit windy that day and you knew he didn’t have a change of clothes. He smiled at you sheepishly, cheeks turning dark as you handed it to him. You were similar in size, so it fit him snugly, filling his senses with the smell of pine and dirt.

“Jeno, I like you and want you to be my boyfriend.”

He pouted at you. “I wanted to confess first.”

You chuckled, “Just kiss me already.”

Without hesitation, Jeno’s lips found your own as his arms wrapped protectively around your body.

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📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

[greenninjagal-blog]

Idle Threats

Wow, this was not supposed to be this long, but hopefully it makes up for all the not writing I’ve done for the past month :)

Word Count: 8041

Pairings: Platonic Deceit and Logan. (With background LAMP)

Summary: No one has ever stood up for Dee so he decides to do it himself, in front of the class, in front of the brand new substitute teacher. And he almost regrets it. 

Quick Taglist: @felicianoromano @jemthebookworm @holliberries @stricken-with-clairvoyancy 

Read on AO3 || Master List 

Dante Ethan Ekans hates every single teacher in his school. Three years into his high school career and he had come across every single teacher—every single one of them—and he hated them all. He had sat through every lecture, done every assignment, battled in every single class discussion. He had done everything the school system had asked him to do.

And he is still staring at a low D average in all his classes.

It should have been impossible: the grading system was set up so that as long as students just showed up they were receiving a C grade.

And well, Dante had always been proving the impossible, possible. He had survived his own birth, survived the car crash that killed his father, and survived the worst of his mother’s psychotic tantrums. He had dragged himself to school with bruises on his wrists and broken fingers wrapped messily in old bandages that made his handwriting into an atrocious disgrace just so that he could at least get an education, get a chance at a scholarship, get a chance to leave town.

And he is in his third year of high school, the year most colleges start to look at prospective students, and he is getting a low D average and he couldn’t do a single thing about it.

It’s like the entire teaching staff had unanimously decided “hey, you know that kid whose face is all messed up with the burn marks from the car crash at age six? Let’s just ruin his entire life by grading him unnecessarily harder than everyone else in the school, turning a blind eye to when the other students mess with him, and loudly announcing how he needs to do better on his essays if he wants to get better grades in front of the whole class.”

Dante—and fuck if he hated that name. No one was called Dante anymore—had done everything he could to get his grades up. He studied twice as hard and twice as long as everyone else. He had swallowed his pride and asked the teachers for help (and been told to pay more attention in class) and for extra credit (and been denied). He had tried to argue grades and been sent to the Detention room for vulgar language and an attempted assault on a teacher (which was a blatant lie).

Not to mention that one asshole of a teacher, Mr. Walker, who had told him that not only was make up for females, but his use of cosmetics was an unacceptable cry for attention. Dante then had to stand there in front of the class with his cheeks burning red and his peers snickering as he told the teacher that he wasn’t wearing any make up, and that the burns on his face were the real deal, and that he couldn’t wash it off even if he wanted to.

So Dante Ethan Ekans—Dee for short; Dee was what his friends would call him, if he had any—has no hard feelings when he heard that Mr. Walker had been in a bad car accident and would not be back for the rest of the school year. What a complete shame that would be. How would they ever move on?

Apparently, there’s a substitute coming, one of those long-term ones that only ever dropped by for times of emergency. Dee had overheard the head of nutrition (a sweet, mother-like man that all the lunch ladies adore named Patton Hart) and school resource officer (who Dee doesn’t know the name of and kept far enough away from. He doesn’t need to be any closer to any law enforcers than he already was) talking about the teacher: about how strict he was, about how the kids had no clue what was coming, about how Mr. Hart should redesign the menu with the majority of the student’s favorites because this week was going to be rough with a capital R. They both had laughed after that, and Patton had caught sight of Dee and asked him if he needed anything in the kindest tone Dee had ever heard.

(He had run after that, had run as fast as he could without making it seem like he was running away. The last thing he needs is anymore people to look at him with pity, with cruelty, with smug better-than-you expressions that appeared the second Dee dared act vulnerable. The last thing he needs is to open his mouth and tell the truth.)

Dee isn’t expecting anything amazing to come out of the substitute teacher. He expects it to be another beanpole old lady who snaps anytime someone made a noise and confiscates phones on whim and assigns them all worksheets that were to be done and handed in by the end of the class period, no exceptions.

He’s usually one of the first into the science room because the class he has before it is Math which just down the hall, but he’s barely out of the room when Mrs. Johnston’s shrill voice slices through the student chatter.

“Ekans!” She screeches, “Ekans! A moment!”

It’s not a moment. It’s never just a moment with her. The bell rings and the halls empty and Dee stands in front of the math teacher for another three minutes listening to her tell him that he’s been doing his math the wrong way and if he doesn’t start doing it the way she taught in class she’s going to have to dock him more points (like there’s more to dock him in the first place), regardless of the fact he doesn’t understand the way she’s been teaching and his way is actually based on how a college professor explained it on the YouTube series he looked up for help.

He can see into her classroom, the one that’s filled with obnoxious freshman who are lounging around while they wait for their teacher to be done berating Dee. He can see the way they all point and snicker and make fun of the half of his face he can’t do anything about.

“And now you’ve made me waste time for my next class, Mr. Ekans.” Mrs. Johnston says, “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry,” Dee says robotically, and his hands tighten around the strap of his backpack. “It won’t happen again, Ma’am.”

But it’s a lie, because it always happens again.

But it’s a lie, because he’s not really sorry at all.

Because she might have missed the first few minutes of class, but she controlled the rate the students learned. Dee felt his own nails tear into his palm as he opened the door to the classroom where the new substitute was-- the one who’s voice was already droning on about what they were learning, already through the roll call, already letting the whole class know he was not going to tolerate any monkey business at all.

Dee glances at the teacher, who in turn does not break his lecture, but nods to him and to one of the several empty desks in the room. He’s young, nerdy looking, but Dee can’t think of anyone he knows who would have the guts to say it to the man’s face. He had a cold look about him, like he didn’t know how to smile and wasn’t in the mood to learn.

Dee throws himself into the closest empty chair, keeping his head down and tries not to make too much noise when he picks through his backpack for his notebook for the science class.

He’s so focused on not disrupting the teacher, not causing anymore eyes to fall on him, not helping the already terrible opinion the man has of him, that he wasn’t even paying attention to who he was sitting next to until it’s far too late to change seats.

And he finds out when sees another body drape over the desk to his left out of the corner of his eye and Dee freezes on the spot. He’s not hearing a single thing the new teacher says, not hearing whatever he’s mentioning about the quick technical drawing he has on the board, and definitely not hearing the notes he should be taking down. His tongue grates against his teeth as Kyle slides his chair an inch his direction with a weasel-ish expression on his face.

“Hey, Ekans,” Kyle murmurs just loud enough for Dee to hear.

Dee refuses to look at him, but it’s not like he’s seeing anything in front of him either. His fingers squeeze his pencil, and the soles of his feet rest firmly on the ground, like it can keep him from moving at all.

“Ekans,” Kyle says again louder, but not enough to stop the teacher. “The boys and I took some notes for you.”

They aren’t notes. Dee can see the header so neatly written on the top of the paper, so innocently telling him it’s a list of reasons no one likes him and what to do about it (and worse). It’s not original, its not new, and Dee stubbornly refuses to give him the satisfaction of taking it.

Dee can hear the rest of his friends, the idiots, the dicks, and those two girls who never had anything nice to say, snickering behind them and further left. He can see a motion that looks like one of them nudging each other, and he feels the familiar kick of someone’s foot against his chair.

He wants to say he’s used to it.

He doesn’t think lying to himself is healthy.

Lying to everyone else? Yeah, sure, he’s been doing that since middle school. He’s drowned in his fake apologies for things that weren’t his fault and his torn himself apart to appease people who need to feel like they’re better than others just to keep his own mind sane.

Honestly, he’s a little sick of it—all of it. He didn’t ask for his face to be the discolored mess that it was, didn’t ask for his mother to sometimes lose her mind, didn’t ask for everyone around him to be assholes. He remembers, vaguely, the doctor who had treated his burns (one of them?). At six years old, he can’t even put a face or a name to the form, but he can still hear the voice in the back of his mind telling him he’s lucky, so very lucky.

He could have lost an eye. His arm. His life.

Dee hasn’t felt lucky since then.

The foot kicks his chair again, Dee jerks. Someone laughs. The teacher says something about a test with a pointed clip to his tone. They settle down long enough that the teacher turns away and rambles on about the schedule he’s going to keep them on, blah, blah, blah.

Kyle leans over again. “Ekans—”

“Shut up,” Dee hisses. He regrets it a second later. Because there was a metaphorical door there and Dee had just flung it open and allowed Kyle to walk on in.

“Damn Ekans,” Kyle snickers, “You don’t have to be such a little bitch about it. Does your brother know your such a little bitch?”

Dee’s hand tightens on his pencil.

“Maybe we should tell him,” Kyle muses.  Dee doesn’t have to look to know the expression on the other’s face. “He goes to Mind Elementary, right? Just down the road?”

Dee counts backwards from Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven.

“It would be super easy just to sit down and have a chat with him. I wonder if he knows how big of a freak his brother is? I bet he’s too stupid to—”

Dee does not make it to six.

“If you so much as look at my brother, I’ll put you in the goddamn hospital,” Dee says.

The room seems to breathe for a second. Dee glares at Kyle and his stupidly pleased weasel face and beady green eyes that look like forest moss eating the carcass of some animal. The room seems to breathe for a second and Dee realizes with a fiery anger it was because no one was speaking.

The teacher had stopped. Which meant that everyone’s attention is on him.

“Mr. Ekans,” The substitute says a hand reaching up to adjust his glasses, and Dee flinches. “Is there something you would like to add to my lecture?”

It wasn’t even fifteen minutes into the class, and the man already knew his name. Kyle grins sharply, smugly. Two of his friends do an underhand five in the seats behind them. Dee thinks he hates everyone in the room at that very moment.

“No,” Dee says, through gritted teeth, “sir.”

The teacher hums. “Interesting, could that be because Mr. Phillips was providing an ample distraction in the middle of my class time?”

That was the moment that Dee realizes he had gone to school with Kyle for three years and had never heard his last name before.

After all, Kyle was every teacher’s favorite. If they didn’t know him from his numerous club activities (drama, art, debate, every honor club you could think of), he often brought them presents on the first day of class and was invited over for dinner every Saturday evening within the first week of class. No one addressed him by his last name.

The substitute teacher didn’t look pleased to be the first. Neither did Kyle.

And frankly, neither did Dee. (Because it wasn’t like it would last. It wasn’t like by tomorrow all of Kyle’s misdeeds would be forgotten and this teacher--this temporary teacher--wouldn’t be wrapped around Kyle’s finger like all the others.) Dee’s stomach clenched at the thought, a bit of envy, jealousy, anger clawing up his throat and making the burns from so long ago itch.

“Well?” The teacher says—and no, Dee checked, he had not written his name on the board. “Mr. Phillips?”

“I was just offering him the notes.” Kyle says, “He came in late. I was trying to be a help and he threatened me!” He looks at his friends who all nod earnestly like Kyle isn’t lying through the skin of his teeth.

“Curious how I do not believe that,” The teacher counters. “This is my classroom, Mr. Phillips. If I thought Mr. Ekans needed notes, I would have provided them to him. Additionally, your actions have caused more harm than good as I am now wasting more of this class’s time, and seeing how this is the last class of the day, I only have your attentions for approximately an hour and fifteen minutes.” He stops for a moment, his eyes darting between Dee and Kyle in a way that Dee does not like.

“Perhaps this is for the best.” He says suddenly, “It would do well to get this out of the way now. Both of you, up here.”

Dee freezes.

Kyle hisses under his breath and heaves himself out of the chair with false gusto. He makes a gesture to his friends that carries a round of giggling up to the front of the room.

“Mr. Ekans,” The teacher says. “That means you, too.”

In no way shape or form is Dee at fault here. He knows he’s not. Kyle and his friends have been picking on him for years and getting away with it and leaving charcoal rocks in Dee’s stomach from every encounter. Standing up feels a lot like striking a match and the entire trek up to the front of the room feels like lowering it to the rocks.

Dee’s face is already burning by the time he side by side with Kyle again. He stares stiffly at the whiteboard, glaring at a smudge of black marker from the last class.

“I am not your normal teacher,” The substitute says. “A lot of the things that were condoned in his class will not be in mine. You will not talk when I talk. You will not be on your phones unless I tell you to. You will not pass notes. You will not make idle threats—”

Dee isn’t sure what comes over him, but that charcoal fire in his stomach explodes outward and engulfs his entire body. For a split second everything turns red, every noise of all the twenty-two other students in the class fades to nothingness, and Dee turns sharply to the side.

Maybe its because Dee had a little bit of hope buries somewhere deep in his mind. Maybe its because he knew that teachers weren’t supposed to pick sides or hold prejudices. Maybe its because Dee spent a whole ten years being “lucky” enough that he survived everything thrown his way just to let another teacher turn a blind eye to the students’ interactions.

Maybe its because Dee was just so very tired of the smug look on Kyle’s face.

His fist connects before anyone realizes he even moved. Kyle yells, and he goes crashing to the floor. Dee’s knuckles pulsate with pain, and he pretty sure he tore the skin off on when it scraped Kyles stupid teeth. Several kids scream.

Dee looks back at the teacher, meeting his somewhat surprised gaze with his own angry one.

“There,” Dee spits, “It’s not an “idle” threat anymore.”

So he finds himself sitting in the front office hands jammed in his pockets and shoulders up to his ears. Part of him wonders if he can fold into himself until nothing exists. The secretary running the phone and letting parents in to pick up their kids, keeps side eyeing him, as if he’s a circus attraction she can’t quite believe is real.

Dee’s head is still ringing with the teachers voice telling him to take the quickly scribbled note and go to the Vice Principal’s office, but the edges of his adrenaline and his anger keep him from feeling the paper cut and the bruising on his knuckles that surely was coming.

He tries to convince himself he’s sorry for doing it, but if Vice Principal Joan tells him to apologize to Kyle in person Dee might have to take a short walk off the roof.

It had felt…good. It had felt great. It had felt a lot like a mistake too.

There was no way he was getting out of this one, no empty promises to do better could make up for assaulting another student. Not to mention that substitute teacher most definitely hated him now, and rightfully was about to join ranks with ever other teacher in the school.

VP Joan was going to suspend him, and then they’ll call Dee’s mother, and then Dee was never going to get into college, and he was never going to leave this town, and he was never going to overcome the scarring on his face that he had been so damn lucky to survive in the first place.

“Dante Ekans,” A voice calls from the hall of offices where all the staff had desks. Dee only recognizes VP Joan because of their face in the school newsletter and sometimes on the papers. They did a lot of fundraisers like kissing a pig if the students raised “X” amount of money, or one dollar to buy a strip of duct tape to tape them to the wall.

Dee goes with them into their office. It feels cluttered, but there is enough space for Dee to sit down and VP Joan to look stressed. Papers, mugs, several action figures Dee vaguely recognizes rest on the desk. There were awards on the walls and teaching certificates along with superhero posters Dee thinks probably aren’t the most professional until he sees it was signed by the cast of the movies.

“So,” The VP says, “Want to tell me what happened?”

The answer is no, Dee does not want to tell them what happened. Because even when Dee tells the truth, even when he lays down his words barren in front of the judges, even when he cries or yells or shows any validating emotion, his scarred face makes him appear less trustworthy. It happened before where Kyle said what he wanted and the teachers decided that must have been what happened and that Dee had lied and made everything up in yet another desperate cry for attention.

So, no, Dee doesn’t want to tell the VP what happened, because he’s so sick of being turned into the bad guy when he’s not. (Okay maybe punching the guy was a bad example here. Maybe Dee just wants to keep himself from digging a bigger grave with this one).

Dee stares at the wood grain in the VP’s desk and lets the silence hold out. It’s comforting in a way.

VP Joan taps their fingers on their side of the desk. If Dee shifts a little he can see the little blue unfolded note that the teacher had sent him with, and although he doesn’t know what it says, Dee knows it probably bad.

Like “Student Ekans interrupted class with a threat against unarmed peer and then acted upon said threat. Suggested course of action is immediate expulsion” bad. Or something worse.

“Mr. Ekans,” VP Joan says, followed by a sigh, “Fuck this shit.”

Dee blinks at the sudden language—language he’s pretty sure is not allowed in the school. Most of his teachers get after him for that (especially the ones who can’t get him with anything else. His last English teacher was a fan of cutting him off mid book discussion whenever he used a swear, until Dee just began to hold his tongue completely.)

“Look, I don’t know what you did that Logan needed you out of the classroom.” VP Joan says, “And I don’t really have any work that a student can do, uh, legally. Why don’t you go see if Patton—uh Mr. Hart to you—needs any help.”

Dee stills, “What?”

VP Joan holds up the blue paper, and the black scrawl that reads “Please entertain Mr. Ekans for the rest of the block” makes Dee’s eyes cross slightly.

“I’m not…in trouble?” Dee says. It sounds like a dream, like saying the words out loud will make the reality crack and fall apart.

“Should you be?” VP Joan asks, “Don’t answer that. Dr. Ackroyd and I go way back, but I’m still surprised he agreed to fill in here for the rest of the year. We need a competent science teacher, so I’ll turn my head to whatever complex puzzle he’s solving.”

Dee doesn’t understand what that means. He really doesn’t care either.

“Don’t forget your bag,” VP Joan says as they usher Dee out of the office and towards the cafeteria where Patton Hart might be found. “I’m sure I’ll see more of you, Mr. Ekans, but until then have a good day.”

It’s ridiculous, Dee thinks, like its part of a dream. Maybe it is? Maybe Dee punched Kyle and Kyle hit him back and he hit his head on the white board marker tray and now he’s hallucinating.

But he doesn’t think hallucinations were this real: he can hear the sound of each teacher teaching, laughter from some of the rooms, and the muttered conversation between two teachers who have a free period this block and don’t spare him a glance. He can hear the sound of the tape ripping as a couple of students hang posters on the walls for Cheerleading tryouts, can feel the sturdiness of the tile floor under his feet as he tries to catch the reflection of the artificial lights on the polish, can smell the lemon cleaner from the trolley outside the bathrooms that signifies they’re being cleaned at the moment.

He finds Patton Hart sitting at the only table left set up in the cafeteria. He’s laughing leaning forward with a bottle of Windex and a rag at his elbows, but it looks like he’s already cleaned everything that needs to be cleaned. Standing next to him is the resource officer, and Dee still doesn’t know the man’s name. It wasn’t like they talked very often. Still, the man looks smug and happy, and absolutely thrilled that he managed to get a laugh from the nutritionist.

Dee slows his pace, a half step for every real step he could be taking when he realizes that he doesn’t have a clue what he’s supposed to say. At best? Mr. Hart would set him up with some busy work to do, like cleaning lunch trays maybe (where there any of those left?). At worse? He’d demand to know why Dee wasn’t in class, and then drag him to said class and Dee would get to be the middle of a commotion all over again. Perhaps it would be better if he ran for the bathrooms and hid there until the end of the day. Then he’d sneak out with the rest of the students, avoid Kyle, pick up his brother, and make it all the way home before anyone stopped him.

His shoe scuffed the ground when he goes to turn around. His heart jumps to his throat, when both the staff members pause to look at him.

“Hey, kiddo!” Mr. Hart says, “You need something?”

The Resource Officer shifts to put his hands on his belt. Dee tries not to watch too intensely. His mouth dries up again, and he tries figure out what combination of English words isn’t going to ruin this chance to walk free of consequences. He hates that he remembers a time when he wasn’t afraid to talk to people, hates that he has to swallow the lump in his throat and fight the urge to stare at his shoes while his fingers tear at his bag’s straps.

“VP Joan,” Dee says finally, “sent me to you.”

“Me?” Mr. Hart blinks, pointing to himself. “Hmm, that’s not normal. Did they say why?”

Answering the question is a straight forward thing: VP Joan said that he had nothing for Dee to do, so he sent him to Mr. Hart. But Dee also knows that will lead the conversation to why he was sent to VP Joan in the first place and he really doesn’t want to tell anyone else how he managed to dodge the repercussions of decking another kid by some type of miracle and have that change.

The silence holds on a second, two, three, too long. Dee’s head drops to stare at his scuffed up converse (an ugly yellow pair that he had stolen from a GoodWill bin in the outer parking lot of a shopping complex late one night two years ago, which he had worn until they were a dusted brown).

“Kiddo?” Mr. Hart asks

The Resource Officer shifts again, “Wait, I know you!” He raises a hand casually turning back to Mr. Hart, and hopefully missing the way Dee’s shoulders tense. “He’s got Walker for last block.”

Mr. Hart claps his hands and turns back to Dee. His eyes sparkle behind his black framed glasses. “Oh, that means you were in Logan’s class! That’s amazing! He’s a great teacher!”

“Hardly!” The Resource Officer scoffs. “Logan probably scared them all out of their minds! He’s the worst!”

“Roman!” Mr. Hart hits him on the arm, “You take that back! Logan is the sweetest teacher this school is ever going to see!”

“Of course, you’d say that, Pat!” The Resource Officer- Roman?- says, “You never had to be tutored by him!” For a man who could probably bench press three “Logan’s”, Dee thought it was a little weird how he shuddered unpleasantly. Although that was not as weird as trying to make sense of what the two adults were talking about.

Honestly he wasn’t sure they were talking about the same person at all: The teacher-- Logan, Dr. Ackroyd (that’s was VP Joan had said right?)-- was stern and stiff and, sure, a little scary, but then again Dee didn’t exactly have stellar experiences with any other adult either. Still he couldn’t see what about him was “the sweetest teacher in this school”.

And the fact that Dee had been in his class for about ten minutes before he was sent right back out. He still wasn’t convinced the teacher wasn’t planning some big, huge, insurmountable class project to give to Dee as a punishment for punching such a nice kid like Kyle.

Mr. Hart stood up from his seat looking directly at Dee, “Come sit down, kiddo! Are you hungry? There’s some left ice cream sandwiches from lunch this week that I’m going to need to throw out before the weekend.”

Dee very much doesn’t know what to do. He’s not sure he nods, but Mr. Hart disappears into the cafeteria kitchen anyway so that Dee and the Resource Officer are left alone. Dee’s fingers ache whenever he moves them, so he takes extra special care to use his non-dominant hand to shrug off his backpack. The burn scars on his forearm and on his shoulder blade work in tandem to make him as uncomfortable as possible.

When he looks up, Resource Officer Roman is staring at him. His brain whirls with something to say, something defensive that will get the adult to keep his comments to himself, and please, please, don’t ask about them. But everything that comes to mind is nasty and ugly and he can’t say it to someone with a taser on their belt.

For a room that could fit upwards three hundred students for lunch, Dee feels trapped and claustrophobic.

“So,” The adult says, “What’s your name?”

“Ekans,” Dee says immediately. He stares down at the table.

“That’s…that’s a terrible name, kid.” The Resource Officer says. “Did your parents pick that one out or--?”

“Dante Ekans,” Dee says sharply, and squeezes his aching fingers tightly because the pressure overrides the pain even if its just for a second.

“Ah! Dante! Like the Poet! Writer of The Divine Comedy!”

Dee sinks lower in his seat, “Yep.” The centuries old text of a guy traveling through hell and purgatory and idolizing a guy that had been dead even longer than him. Like he hadn’t heard that one before. It was just another reason to hate his name.

Mr. Hart chooses that moment to come back, bouncing on the balls of his feet, sliding on the freshly polished floor, and those curls of his dancing. Resource Officer Roman immediately forgets all about Dee and Dante’s Inferno and all those things that adults like to think when they saw him. It’s a relief.

Kinda.

Mr. Hart sits down right next to Dee, ignoring his previous seat completely. Dee’s shoulders bunch up to his ears, he’s sure, and the way his mouth dries out is far from expected. But the man just hands him an ice cream sandwich that the cafeteria sold for a dollar during lunch shifts, and Dee takes it.

(He’s had one before, like once. For his birthday last year where he borrowed a single dollar from his mother’s and bought himself one birthday gift. It had been sticky and too sweet and the chocolate had clung to his fingers and he had thrown half of it out, but Dee had loved it. His mother had screamed when she found the money missing, screamed and tore his hair and Dee hadn’t said a word.)

Dee takes his time unwrapping the treat, part of him upset that if Mr. Hart knew why Dee was there, he wouldn’t be giving him a free ice cream sandwich, part of him wishing desperately he could save it and share it with his brother, part of him wanting to shove the entire thing in his mouth because he deserved it for having put up with this stupid shit for ten years.

“What nothing for me?” Resource Officer Roman asks petulantly.

Mr. Hart smiles at him innocently. “Oh, I have something else for you Ro! It’s just gonna have to wait until after work!”

“Oh yeah?” The Officer smiles, leaning in closer, “And why is that, my dear Pat?”

“Because you can’t eat and work, silly!” Mr. Hart laughs, “What if there’s an emergency? You’d show up all covered in ice cream…!”

Dee takes a large bite of the ice cream sandwich and silently presses “f” to pay respects for the resource officer. The obvious flirting seemed to have absolutely no effect on the man between them, and Dee wasn’t sure if it was the innocent nature of him or if he was trying to let the officer down nicely.

“Ah, my dear Pat,” The Officer says, “Always looking out for me. What would I do without you? Die, surely!”

Mr. Hart laughs, the freckles on his cheeks glow. Dee glances at Resource Officer Roman’s face and is not surprised to see the blatant “smitten” expression. He looks like some anime character seconds before the “heart eyes” started. It’s almost embarrassing. Dee takes another bite of the sandwich.

“Ah, I thought I’d find the three of you here.”

Dee chokes on the bite of the sandwich.

Resource Officer Roman jumps, letting out a yelp that was surprisingly high pitched for a man of his stature. Dee coughs to dislodge a glob of chocolate breading that got stuck  when his throat closed suddenly in a panic. The only one who doesn’t seem a little bit startled by Dr. Logan Ackroyd’s appearance is Patton, who jumps up from his seat and leans forward on the table with literal stars in his eyes.

“Logan!” He cries happily, “It’s been so long!”

“Too Long,” the Substitute teacher agrees, and Dee is uncomfortable with the amount of warmth in his expression—its a stark contrast to how he had looked in the classroom, to how he had looked at Dee. His hand pulses again, his fingers twitching in the pocket he had refused to take it out of since he had sat down.

“Logan,” Resource Officer Roman says, with a sniff of distaste that’s clearly artificial. “I can’t believe they let you back into the country.”

“Roman,” The teacher responds, the warmth sizzling in the air. “Your mother says hello.”

“When did you see my mother?”

“Yesterday, I helped her grocery shop. She called me the son she wished she had.”

The Officer flaps his hands, with a noise that sounds stuck between offended and flabbergasted. Dee feels a bit of the ice cream drip down his palm.

There’s a bizarre feeling in the air, a tension? No that wasn’t right. Dee can’t place the reason for the electricity in the air that the teacher had brought, buzzing and sparking between the three of them. Mr. Hart doesn’t seem to have a bad thing to say which meant that Resource Officer Roman had every right to hate the man at the other end of the table (since he was obviously hitting on Mr. Hart, ugh). But somehow the words and the tone don’t match at all. There’s no jealousy, no thinly vailed hatred that Dee was so adept at noticing.

(If he’s honest, he thinks the Resource Officer is eye fucking the substitute Teacher right there in front of him and that even more terrifying than the alternative.)

“I see you have both entertained Mr. Ekans, here.” The teacher says turning to Dee with a sharp piercing gaze. Dee stomach drops out.

Here it is. End times. Dee finds himself sinking backwards like he can hide in from the words that are coming. The burns on his shoulders sting with a phantom pain that’s all too familiar, and not at all real. He stares at the half melted ice cream mess in his hand because it’s easier than meeting the accusatory look of his teacher who was going to hold him accountable for injuring the “perfect” student.

“Don’t you have a class to teach, Calculator Watch?” Resource Officer Roman says, “Unless you murdered them all already. Bored them to death at fourteen! Tragic!”

“Your snide comments have no equal, Prince.” The Teacher shoots back, “They are sixteen and seventeen, and I left them for a mere moment to talk to Mr. Ekans. They believe I am picking up more worksheets for them to do in the coming weeks.”

No one says anything for a second, and Dee feels it in his bones the way the attention shifts. All three adults are looking at him, and he feels the need to defend himself in any way that’s possible. What could he say? That Kyle was a douche? A bully? Like any of them would believe that. Dee was the one who had threatened and then assaulted the other. Not to mention he looked like the bad guy in everyone’s stories. Short of the fangs, he was the monster that hid under kids’ beds.

(And he wasn’t thinking that just because once he had seen several of his brother’s friends run off screaming as he approached him in the pick up area of the elementary school, because he couldn’t blame a couple eight-year-olds for being scared.)

Dee’s mouth is halfway open with some half baked, insincere apology he doesn’t mean and hates to say when Dr. Ackroyd speaks.

“I came to ask how your hand was fairing.”

Mr. Hart’s head tilts to the side. Dee glares at the other side of the room and wishes he had slid into the restroom when he had the chance to. Cowardly? Maybe. But he’s never met anyone who liked facing consequences either.

“Kiddo?” Mr. Hart says. “What happened?” He sits back down, causing the table to shake and Dee to squeeze the rest of the ice cream from between the chocolate breading and onto the table.

“There was an altercation in my class,” Dr. Ackroyd says. “Mr. Ekans ended up punching another student.”

“Oh dear!” Mr. Hart cries, and Dee for the life of him can’t figure out why he suddenly grabs the rag at his elbows and gently cups the ice cream mess that is his out-reached hand. It’s the wrong hand, but Dee’s brain short circuits in the second their hands touch. (He’s not sure why that happened either and refuses to give a second to think about it.) Why was Mr. Hart trying to help him? Didn’t he see that Dee was the villain making threats and acting on them?

“I didn’t even notice! Are you alright? Do you need ice? A bandaid?”

“Am I gonna have to write a report for this one?” Resource Officer Roman groans, “Why are you trying to give me extra homework again, Logan? We graduated years ago!”

“If I remember correctly, you got off a minute and a half ago, Roman,” the Teacher says, placing himself in the seat directly across from Dee, “So therefore, no, you will not have to write an incident report for this event. Additionally, those extra homeworks were the reason you graduated at all.”

Dee glances at the clock in the corner, surprised to see there’s still twenty minutes of class left. Did the Resource Officer really get off early? Dee had never heard of that, but then again, he had never cared before either.

“It’s the other hand, Patton.” The teacher continues.

Dee gets the feeling he’s being analyzed. Mr. Hart coaxes Dee’s other arm from his pocket, and it stings where the lip of his jean pocket rips over his knuckles. He has to turn so that Mr. Hart can look at his fingers and the black nail polish on his nails where his mother hadn’t been able to scrub it off. But it’s turning away from Dr. Ackroyd and his calculated stare and for that Dee is grateful. He hides in his shoulder.

“Mr. Ekans,” The teacher says, “Might I inquire what possessed you to acquaint Mr. Phillips with your fist in the middle of my class?”

The word “no” is at the top of Dee’s tongue, clicking against his front teeth valiantly, although the silence is preferable. Somehow, he doesn’t think he could win a game of silence against the gaze of the teacher. Somehow the silence seems much more dangerous than speaking the truth.

But before it gets out, the Resource officer is suddenly right next to them, “Did you just say he punched Phillips? Like Kyle Phillips?”

Dee doesn’t have time to even panic.

The man is already turning to him a grin lighting up three-fourths of his face. “It’s Official, Dante Ekans! You’re my new favorite student!”

“Roman!” Mr. Hart says, “You can’t pick favorites! Kyle is--”

The Officer leans back with a scoff, “I’ll stop you there, my beloved baker! I had to hold you back from physically fighting his mom at the last PTA meeting!”

“Yeah but—”

“You wanted to burn their house down!”

Mr. Hart sticks his tongue in his cheek and bites it. “Their entire family is just so awful to everyone.”

Dee imagines what it would be like if Mr. Hart had burned down their house, if Kyle had lost his dad, if Kyle had been just as disfigured at Dee was. He hates it, he hates the smug feeling in his stomach, because he knew better than anyone how much life sucked and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Shouldn’t wish it on anyone.

Dee hisses where Mr. Hart’s rag rubs over his knuckles. The scraps were red, but at least it didn’t look like they were bleeding. He must have ripped the first couple layers of skin off, but that’s all.

Dee stares off in a direction where no one else was. It was easier than looking at the adults. The words caught in his throat, warbled and stuttered and barely more than a mumble.

“He started it.”

Did he sound like a five year old? Yes. Most definitely. Absolutely.

“I see,” the teacher says. He folds his hands deliberately in front of himself, in a fluid motion that Dee watches like a hawk without turning his head back. The tone gives him pause, because Dee can’t find any amusement in it, any hint that this new teacher is just humoring him because he wants a laugh or why-ever any of the teachers that ever listen to him do.

“I assumed as much from his attitude during my class. I’ve already set aside time to speak to him and his mother about his inexcusable behavior.”

Dee freezes as the teacher goes on to talk about proper class etiquette. He doesn’t hear a word after “inexcusable”. It makes his chest hurt, his eyes burn, and his scars itch. Its uncomfortable, its wrong, its different. Because no one has ever called Kyle’s behavior bad. The floaty feeling from earlier comes back (without him realizing it had been gone) and Dee is certain that this is somehow a twisted dream.

A twisted dream he wants so bad to be reality. A dream that Dee doesn’t want to wake from.

“—of course. If instances continue at this pace I would be obligated to—”

“You’re serious.”

The words plop out of Dee’s mouth and land on the table between him and the teacher in some type of ugly blob. He hadn’t meant for it to be so weak, so pathetic, but his tone to wobble somewhere between the four syllables just so much that the teacher’s mouth snapped shut and Mr. Hart’s gentle hands paused from examining his knuckles. Dee wants to take it back, wants to yank the words from the air and pretend they were never there.

Dr. Ackroyd adjusts his glasses and their eyes meet for the first time. Dee thinks it’s a lot like staring into the galaxy, into the great expanse, and knowing that it was also staring back at him.

“I’m very serious. I wear a necktie.”

It sounds like a joke when he says it, and maybe there’s a flicker of his lips that tells Dee is alright to laugh at it.

Dee feels like crying instead.

“I think you’ll find I’m not like your other teachers, Mr. Ekans.”

Mr. Hart smiles at that, smiles the whole conversation, smiles like the sun is shining and the birds are singing and global warming isn’t gonna end all life on Earth by the time Dee is thirty. He lets go of Dee’s injured hand and Dee finds he misses the warmth and the gentle touch. “I have some bandages in the back. Ro, can you help me?”

The Resource Officer makes some noise but the nutritionist takes him by the wrist and drags him into the kitchens. Dee thinks the man is too gay to have really protested anyway.

The teacher and him sit silently as the echoes of their voices, of Mr. Hart’s laughter fades until its just them in their own little untouchable bubble.

“Mr. Walker, your previous science teacher, left me several notes about his classes.” Dr. Ackroyd says, “As well as the grades.”

Dee itches the burns on his neck, a little angrily. He doesn’t say anything because there’s nothing to say. It’s midway through the year and there’s very little he can do to bring his grade up as far as it needs to go for science alone. Not to mention English, Mathematics, and History.

“He mentioned that I might find you to be a difficult student, but I disagree with that assessment.” Dr. Ackroyd prompts Dee to look at him again, “I get the impression you are a very bright student, Mr. Ekans, and very few people choose to see that part of you. I’ve met a lot of students in my time teaching in the United States and abroad. Most of them get by with less than a fourth of the effort than you’ve most likely put in. However, I can’t change the grades that your teacher has already declared for you.”

He pauses, “I can however enter a grade that hasn’t been posted yet.”

Dee dares to let his chest fill with that unfamiliar feeling, that whimsy mystical emotion everyone called hope.

“As it happens, you have a 62.45 percentage in this class as of right now. Mr. Walker was notoriously slacking when he entered any of your grades, so many of your grades are resulting zeroes from missing work, including the midterm from last week.”

The midterm that Dee had finished five whole minutes before everyone else and handed into to Mr. Walker directly. The one that he’s sure the teacher had finished grading before the end of school bells had rung.

Dee hangs on the teacher’s words, too desperate for the chance Dr. Ackroyd was offering to be embarrassed about how pathetic he was acting. He was starving and this ridiculous teacher was dropping him breadcrumbs.

“So, if you are open to recreating the work that has gone missing and putting time aside to retake a midterm I will provide, I would be more than happy to enter in the missing grades.”

“You’d…you’d do that?”

Dr. Ackroyd seems surprise that Dee would even have to ask.

“Of course. I see no reason to withhold grades as long as you put in the effort, Mr. Ekans.”

Dee doesn’t care if it’s a dream. If its fake. His knuckles hurt, his chest constricts, he’s not sure he can make words even if his life depended on it. A lump forms in his throat, thick and heavy and dangerous. Because that’s all he’s wanted, all he’s needed since he was six: just someone to treat him like everyone else.

Not Lucky. Not pitiful. Just Dee, by himself, putting in the effort for the education he needed.

“Just please, if you could refrain from making anymore, ah, serious threats against the rest of the student populace.”

And that’s all it takes for him to break.

Mr. Hart comes back hand in hand with Resource Officer Roman and they find Dee attempting to forcibly remove an onslaught of tears from his face before the bell rings to release the students, and Dr. Ackroyd appearing as incredibly uncomfortable as possible as a slew of confused apologies tumble from his mouth.

And all either of them do is smile.

Dante Ethan Ekans hated every single teacher in his high school.

(Except one. And a Resource Officer. And a Nutritionist.)

[Sequel]

[powered-by-paranoia]

Of Mutual Trust and Other Myths | Chapter 2

Chapter 1

genre: angst, fluff, slow burn, (eventual) smut

pairing: Loki x OC // Loki x Reader

summary: A long time ago, when the telephone had barely been invented on Midgard, a secret organization made a pact with a powerful Asgardian figure. After twenty years of training, the organization’s best agent was smuggled into Asgard, as one of the terms of the pact. The woman ends up working undercover as a librarian, and patiently waits for opportunities to dig her claws into the inner politics and circles of Asgard. But despite all the magic tricks, how trustworthy can a human weapon really be, when the humanity starts to show?

words: 2710

Chapter Two: Guilty

Ingrid woke up the next morning in the quiet of her own chambers, after a rather peaceful night, in the absence of any dreams. It seemed bizarre, since after what had happened she was convinced it would haunt her at least for a little while. However, after a few minutes of just laying in bed and staring into the darkness of the room, she realized she could not remember any kind of dream. Then, the thought struck her - had the events of the last evening been, in fact, the dream? She pondered upon the idea, before trying to switch to the other side of the bed. It was then the pain in her arm came back to remind her that what had happened was, in fact, real.

It wasn’t a crippling pain, but it did radiate throughout her body whenever she put pressure on it. On that note, she tried to get up as delicately as possible, and walked cautiously towards the windows, stretching her arms forward to feel the curtains. When she finally caught them, her fingers travelled to their middle ends of each, and the room instantly brightened as she pushed them to the side.

The sight she was greeted with wasn��t as grandiose as the one from the windows of the library, but it had its beauty. Instead, there was a small garden with a two meters high tree in full bloom in one corner. It was the only point of focus, since there were no plants growing in the garden but grass. It looked like an empty canvas waiting for some flamboyant painter to decorate it, or rather finish decorating it - the tree did have its majesty.

She let the cold morning air blow through the window before walking away to get done with her morning routine. It mainly consisted of brushing her hair, arranging it in a low-maintenance hairdo, washing her face with ice cold water and massaging some oil into her skin. Ingrid had read about the oil so many times, and heard the women of Asgard brag about it even more in the few weeks she had been there, so she just had to try it. She wasn’t sure what it was exactly, besides being an extract of some plant, but she had found it gave her face a significant glow throughout the day.

Her wardrobe wasn’t as extravagant as she liked it to be back on Midgard. While she missed the colorful and short dresses, or the pompous hats and hair accessories, she could not risk drawing any unnecessary attention here. She was, after all, a librarian, and had to play her role well. Therefore, she chose a long simple lavender dress, not for its looks, but for its plainness.

Downstairs, Rangvald was eating his breakfast and mumbling to himself. He was an old man now, and while Ingrid could be considered his apprentice, he did not care much about teaching her things. There was a silent agreement between the two - he let her do her thing, and she let him live the last of his days in peace, doing whatever made him happy. She’d only come to him with important queries, as he was not the one to delegate tasks. At first, she had thought of gathering intel from him, but each time something of importance was brought up, he’d completely stray away from the subject and start telling her stories of his past that ended up having little to no significance. It was as if he was purposefully denying her information, but the part of her brain that wasn’t distorted by paranoia told her that it was just the way old age had gotten to him.

He looked up at her with his icy blue eyes as she was walking down the stairs and waited until she acknowledged him. “I made you tea,” he informed her. She simply thanked him with a nod and a smile and grabbed the cup he had gestured towards. Ingrid never ate in the morning, and it had taken him a few days of wasted food to learn that. Still, he always insisted on making her something.

“I did something stupid yesterday,” she bluntly stated, before taking a sip of her tea. Her eyes were avoiding him, and she was instead looking out the window, but after a few seconds of no reaction, she looked back at him. Rangvald was studying the food in his plate, as if he had found something in it. She continued, “I lost a book.”

He didn’t look up at her, but kept playing with his food. “How come?” He clearly did not care, but she couldn’t tell if it was because he hadn’t realized what she had just confessed, or if he really did not care that much about the library anymore. Truth be told, she had behaved perfectly until then, so she was unsure how he would react to a mistake.

“I…,” Ingrid’s voice trailed off as she thought of how to put it. “I was taking it somewhere, and it was dark… I tripped over something and it fell out of my hand. I…,” she trailed off again, as she realized Rangvald was really not paying attention. She might as well test it. “...I got attacked by a four headed beast and lost my arm.”

It took him a few seconds to recognize that she had finished answering him. To that, he looked up at her with a curious expression and flatly stated, “Well that’s a pity. Can’t you go back and check for it?”

She smirked. “I’ll try.”

Their gaze met, and Ingrid’s smirk started to slowly fade away as her eyes focused on the man’s many wrinkles, boney face and white hair. She almost felt a shiver run down her spine when she wondered how many thousands of years this man had lived. How much he had seen. How’d she’d not even be able to see a tenth of all that before looking like him. And how, despite all of the knowledge he’d acquired and how wise he had become, time had turned him into a shadow of his former self, unable to focus and sometimes forgetting things that had happened mere minutes ago.

“Take care, child,” she heard him say as she walked out.

That day, she couldn’t say anything eventful had happened. As in the weeks prior to meeting Loki, she spent her day arranging books where they belonged and sometimes catching free time to read some for herself. Quieter days followed, until, about three days after her encounter with Loki, one particular young girl visited the library.

She wouldn’t have caught Ingrid’s interest if she hadn’t specifically requested a book on the magical arts. The girl was young, and could easily be confused for a twelve year old on Midgard. Ingrid was unsure how to estimate her real age, though. Before handing her the book, she hesitated for a moment, and pulled it back playfully. The red-haired girl was visibly enthusiastic, so Ingrid figured out she could toy with her for a little.

“Now before I hand this over to you, I need to know you’re going to use it wisely,” she said while flashing a smile. “Can you guarantee this?”

The girl smiled back at her. “Of course. Queen Frigga will make sure of it,” she responded proudly.

Ingrid resisted changing her expression to a confused one. “You are being trained by Frigga herself? Then I must say, it is my honor to hand you this book.” She stretched her right arm holding the book towards the girl, who grabbed it and held it tightly against her chest. “It must be exciting.”

“It is but my first day, but it sure is exciting!” The girl’s smile only grew larger as she spoke. While she could tell the girl was also quite in a hurry, Ingrid just had to dig deeper.

“I can only imagine. She must have trained the best of them.”

The girl only nodded and excused herself. Ingrid watched her run off with her teeth clenched, but with a smile plastered on her face nonetheless. The girl would hopefully return, and, possibly less rushed, would give her more information. In the meantime, all she required was patience. It had only been a few weeks since she had settled on Asgard, and enough had already happened for her to expect the mission to go smoothly. It was only a matter of time until she’d successfully get under the right person’s skin, be it one of Odin’s close advisors, Frigga’s apprentices or maybe even Loki himself. She did however have second thoughts when it came to Loki, since that was probably the most complicated alternative. But it also seemed the most fruitful.

With a sense of accomplishment and even a hint of optimism, Ingrid returned to where she had been sitting before meeting the apprentice, and opened back the poetry book she had chosen at random. All she had to do was wait for people to come to her.

And wait she did. For a few more days, nothing of importance happened. The apprentice had still not returned, and the library had been unusually empty. It didn’t discourage Ingrid; she used the time to research and skim through the vast collection of books.

Then one particular late afternoon, Loki visited her again.

She caught him just as he was entering the library. It made her stop dead in her tracks and their eyes met for a short glimpse of a moment, before he made his way towards one of the wooden reading tables. He sat down and looked at her, as if he had just entered a bar and was waiting to be served. Ingrid started walking towards him, noting his serious expression. It seemed as if something was bothering him, but a small part of her expected to be surprised nonetheless, and not trust the first impression he gave.

“I need everything you have on Vanaheim,” he demanded.

Ingrid raised an eyebrow. “That’s at least a few hundred books,” she dryly stated. Something was definitely bothering the prince of Asgard, but it seemed peculiar he was so open about it. He sighed in frustration and almost slammed his elbows against the table, before resting his chin on both hands and looking away from her. Ingrid continued nonetheless, “Perhaps you could be more specific.”

That specific remark made Loki look back at her, but with a frown this time. “Alright. Get me that diary my father took the last time he went there… Carr’s diary.”

It seemed wisest not to push him any further - that frown he had given her had already made Ingrid feel uneasy, and after whatever he had done to her the last time, combined with his current demeanor only fortified that decision. She simply nodded and started walking towards the registry book, where she could find the exact location of the book within the library. But as she rushed away, she could feel his eyes on her.

After reaching the supposed location of the book, Ingrid could still not find it. She checked each shelf, returned to the registry book three times so make sure she had gotten the location right, and even then checked each particular book in the bookcase. Had someone misplaced it? It clearly existed, and no record of anyone borrowing it, ever , showed up in the registry. It took Ingrid almost forty minutes until she finally gave up and made her way back to Loki, whom she wasn’t sure was even still waiting for her.

When she returned to the table, it was clear he wasn’t waiting for her anymore. In fact, he was skimming through the pages of the very same book she had been searching for.

Loki looked up at her once she was close enough, and simply flashed her a smile. “I helped myself. Thank you.”

She swallowed, as if that would cleanse her increasing anger. “I spent forty minutes searching for that.” It shocked her how his disposition had changed in not even an hour, but her reply came in a monotone voice, as if she was only saying it matter-of-factly, and not essentially complaining.

“And here I thought I was doing you a favor.” He widened his smile for a split second and returned to reading the book. She gritted her teeth but kept staring at him awkwardly. He obviously knew she was still there, but chose to ignore it. It only angered her more, almost enough to make her want to turn around and leave. But she had a higher purpose than starting a fight with the Asgardian. She could control her anger, but she could not control her thirst for intrigue.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” she stated, in a completely different tone this time. He didn’t lift his eyes from the book, but gave a shrug.

“I’ve been quite busy. Why, did you miss me?”

“You can’t just attempt to murder me and then leave. It gets boring afterwards,” she cheekily responded to his irony. That was enough to make him look at her again, this time with a smirk that almost made him seem proudly surprised. It made her relax a little more, seeing him like that.

“I must say, I did not expect to see you continue working here,” he stated. “I take it Rangvald went easy on you.”

She glanced at her feet. “Not exactly. He was furious. Said he’d only keep me around until he’d find another apprentice if I don’t bring the book back. I’m not sure what is going to happen to me after that.” A clear lie, but playing the victim was one of the things she did best. After a short pause, she looked back at him and added with a bitter smile, “Here’s to hoping it will take him some time until he does find one.” Loki’s expression had changed slightly, and while he was still keeping the smirk up, his eyes weren’t in tone with it anymore.

“There are always more fun things to do than to handle books all day,” he stated after a short pause, in which Ingrid fidgeted with one of the rings on her finger. He glanced at her from top to toe one last time and eventually went back to his book.

She abandoned the subject. “I’ll be in the registry room if you need me. There are some things I need to take care of.” With that, she crossed her arms and turned her back to him, walking away rapidly with her head hanging low.

Loki did have the intention to reply, but something stopped him. Instead, he focused on the last word of the phrase he had already re-read at least four times since he had been trying to pretend he was interested in the book. He had found what he had been looking for in it since before she had come back from searching for it, but decided to stay out of curiosity. And, of course, to see her face once she found out she had wasted almost an hour searching for a book he had already taken.

It perplexed him, how she seemed to never really care that much about the bad things that happened to her. He knew Rangvald was very selective with whoever he chose to have by his side, so gaining the position implied rather hard work on her part. If she was so deserving of her position, why was she handling losing it with such calmness? It had been his fault, after all. There was evident sadness in her expression when she spoke of losing it, but there was no anger towards him. None that he could perceive, at least.

Moreover, it seemed she had not told anyone about his role in all of it. Rangvald wouldn’t have hesitated to complain to Odin if he had been that furious about the book and if he knew Loki had something to do with it. No one had come to confront him about it. It could only mean she had taken all the blame for herself, something which he could not understand.

---

Even though Ingrid had isolated herself in the registry room, she could not sit still. She could not help but wonder if she had made a good decision, and a small voice at the back of her head kept telling her she should have stayed more and try to get more out of Loki. One thing she had learned though, both from being a woman and from her training - that sometimes playing disinterested yielded the biggest rewards. Trusting her instinct had rarely turned into a disadvantage, but until proven wrong, she would always doubt such risky decisions. Who knew when she would get to see him again?

After a few hours, Ingrid shut the immense registry book and walked out the door. One more hour and she could go home, anyway, so she had to make sure everything was in check before she left. Curiosity drove her to table Loki had been sitting at almost immediately, but she slowed her pace when she realized he had already been long gone.

When she reached the table, however, she noticed another book laying next to the diary he had requested. Ingrid furrowed her brows and grabbed it quickly, her fingers lingering on the cover as if she was trying to make sure it was real before touching it. She opened it and skimmed through the pages, smirking to herself. It was, indeed, real.

And it was the very same botanical guide she had thought was lost forever.

---

notes: thanks for the involvement with the first chapter. :) 

[rosettahart]

Glass-says: Chapter 10

Chapter 1, Chapter 9

Ao3 link

Summary: A few crushing gays getting to know each other a bit more.

Warnings: A Nod To What Happened With Paris, Self doubts.

Chapter 10

Patton couldn't stay still or keep his grin from his face, practically bouncing with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. He did his best not to kick against the counter he was sitting on in the back of the room, so as not to distract Virgil from the lesson. He hopped down from his spot as soon the bell went off, giving a sympathetic wince as Virgil flinched at the unexpected noise. 

"Sorry, Kiddo. Didn't mean to spook you there." Patton apologized, moving to stand beside Virgil as he packed up his things.

"It's okay, Pat. You're excited. I could feel it radiating off you since he asked you." Virgil shook his head. "You going to be able to sit through another class?" He teased.

"I just can't believe he did!" Patton exclaimed, taking Virgil's arm. "Do you think he has any siblings? They'd probably be graduated already or he would have been walking to school with them, right? What do you think his parents are like? Do you think I'll get a chance to meet them? Or I guess I wouldn't be meeting them so much as seeing them." He chuckled.

"Are these wonderings about my parents or someone else's?" Logan inquired from behind the two, pushing up his glasses and walking past them to set his bag down at a desk.

"Logan!" Patton tackled him into a hug, causing Logan to stumble back into the desk, just managing to catch himself. Everyone else in the classroom went quiet. Multiple pairs of eyes turned to try and figure out what was going on, glancing between Logan and Virgil.

Logan blinked a few times, his eyes wide in shock.

Virgil wasn't sure what to do, not enjoying all the attention.

Patton pulled away as he noticed the tension in Logan's figure, surveying the room and then looking back to Logan in concern. "Sorry, Lo. I guess I got a little excited there."

Logan took another moment to pull himself together, taking in the stares as he straightened his clothes and glasses. He was (for once) thankful for Romans presence as he entered with his associates, causing everyone else to return to their conversing.

"It's quite alright, Patton. Though a warning next time would be appreciated. You are rather hyper-excited to see me for having last been gathered..." Logan glanced down at his watch, opening his mouth so as to speak when the teacher slammed his bag down onto the desk, causing most the class to jump.

"Catch up period! Finish up any unfinished assignments and if you aren't sure how to just ask your friends for help. My wife is pregnant and craving dried seaweed so just leave when you're done." Mr. Lewis instructed.

"But you don't have a-" A girl with glasses tried to argue.

"Seaweed! Exactly!" Mr. Lewis interjected before she could finish her sentence. "Now everyone to the library!"

Logan sighed, pulling his bag back over his shoulder, leading the way out of the classroom. "Has Mr. Lewis always been this careless about his students education? This is the second time in three classes that he has sent us off to educate ourselves."

"No. He almost never raises his voice like that. He's usually pretty quiet and calm. We only get classes like this if we're ahead of where we're supposed to be." Virgil answered, unlocking the soundbooth door and settling into one of the bean bag chairs. He pulled out the glasses, putting them on.

"Interesting. Would it be right to assume he is not a married man either?"

"Mr. Lewis? Married?! No way. A third of the school has had a crush on him including Remy and they are not the type of person to go for a married man." Roman laughed from his place in the doorway. He tossed his bag onto the floor. "What's up Specs and…" Roman did a double take, smirking at Virgil, "Or I guess it's Specs one and Specs two now."

Virgil took a second, glancing at Patton and then bringing a hand up to touch the glasses he was wearing. His face reddened. He proceeded to swiftly yank them off and throw them at Logan who just barely caught them.

"They're Logan's! I don't need glasses! I just... I just wanted to know how bad his eyesight is that's all." Virgil reasoned, holding his hands up.

"Easy, panic at the everywhere, I won't tell anyone you need glasses." Roman chuckled, taking a seat on the floor. "I would have pegged you for owning a darker colored pair of glasses, but the blue really brings out your eyes."

Logan shook his head, switching his frames for Patton's and packing his own away. He pulled out his notebook to go over. 

"Was your only intention in coming here to flirt with Virgil or were you actually planning on completing any assignments?" Logan quipped, flipping through his notes and taking out another book and a pen.

Roman winced at Logan's annoyed tone. "Sorry." He apologized awkwardly, getting his own stuff out.

Logan looked up from his work confused by Romans lack of a comeback and way the room had gone into an uncomfortable silence. He noted Virgil's unsure glances to Roman and how he bit down on his lip.

"A not so nice Kiddo said some not so kind words about Roman possibly being gay yesterday. I'm sure you didn't mean it like that, but Ro might've taken it the wrong way." Patton explained, watching over Roman as he did.

Logan turned his attention to study Roman as well.

Roman was trying his best to look like he was actually working on one of his assignments. He glanced between his notes and his draft for an essay. Was it really that obvious that he liked Virgil? They had only just started hanging out, but it seemed everyone was already making assumptions about why they suddenly were. Maybe he should cool it with the flirting. He didn't even know if Virgil liked guys that way, but at least he knew he didn't mind the idea of same sex relationships. It was Logan he wasn't sure about. He pulled out his pen to make some notes on his essay, attempting to dispel the endless questions with work.

Logan exhaled, looking back down at his notes. "My apologies, Roman. It is not my place to comment on how you converse with Virgil unless it's hurtful or uncomfortable for him. I just wished for somewhere quiet to review my notes and was not expecting the extra company."

"It's alright, Teach. I shouldn't have invited myself in to crash this nerd party." Roman returned, putting his things down. He glanced around the space, leaning back on his hands. "This is quite the gathering place. When did you start hanging out here?" He asked Virgil.

"Uh, I don't know... Sometime last year?" Virgil supplied, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

"You mean we could've been eating lunch together for almost a year now?!" Roman exclaimed, realizing something with a teasing grin. "Did you ever enjoy any of my one man performances?"

"No! I never intentionally-" Virgil began to deny, his face heating up.

"So you did!"

Virgil groaned, pulling his hood over his head and tugging on the drawstrings.

Patton snickered.

"I am certain that most of what Virgil would have witnessed was completely nonsensical without context or audio to accompany all of your bouncing around the stage like a lunatic." Logan speculated from what he had seen himself.

"A lunatic?!" Roman sputtered indignantly. "I'll have you know most of my monologues are performed in one small section of the stage! And I never bounce around while I am performing one! If anything I would be gracefully gliding across the stage." He defended.

Virgil snorted from where he was sitting. "You mean like that one time you tripped over your backpack because you were so into the scene?"

Roman's face reddened. "It was part of the act."

Virgil shook his head. "You sprained your wrist."

"You were the one who told the nurse?"

The bell rang signaling the end of the school day.

Virgil packed up his things. "You were annoying me with your wincing the next class when you tried writing with it." He muttered.

"Thank you for looking out for me." Roman smiled softly.

"You were being an idiot." Virgil returned, getting up and leaving the soundbooth.

"I most certainly was not!" Roman began to argue, following after him.

Logan pulled his bag up over his head. "It's still hard to believe they haven't taken the time to become acquaintances till now. I am sure that reason has to do with Virgil's reluctance." He noted. "We should get going now. I opened up my schedule this afternoon so I don't want to waste any time."

"Aww, you freed up your time for me?" Patton teased with a hint of a blush. 

Logan exhaled, switching out a few things from his locker and bag. "If I hadn't we wouldn't have as much time to do tests and you would have had to wait as I did work around my house." He closed his locker. 

"Tests? I'm not very good at tests." Patton chuckled.

Chapter 11

Author's notes: One more chapter and then things get a little more interesting, hopefully. Thanks again for waiting. Next update will most likely be out sometime this month. Thanks for reading! -Danielle

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