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bettertomorrows-ao3 · 4 years ago

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Are You My Mother?

Ellie is frantic. Dina is amused. JJ has some questions.

JJ stays still in Ellie’s arms and his teeny voice is muffled when he says, “Max said you’re not my real mom so we’re not a real family and that you only fake love me.”

Tags: Post-Game, Family Fluff Rating: Teen for language

EllieDina Week // Day 4 // FAMILY

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It’s almost sundown when Ellie gets a visitor at work.

Her office is a medium-sized shack located near the stables of the main gate, a perfect place to house all the paperwork she needs in order to facilitate her new role as the patrol manager. Ellie had originally argued with Maria that the chore didn’t even exist, that it seemed like a feeble arrangement to give her a task somewhat similar to what she was used to just so she could still feel useful around town.

Maria admitted to some truth to Ellie’s point, but she also insisted that she would love for Ellie to start learning to ropes of leading the town. There was a buried emphasis in her request that suggested Maria only trusted Ellie to be the one to succeed her role in the future. That Ellie was already deeply embedded in the tangled mess of a family the Miller brothers left them with—and implication was what led Ellie to accept the job on the spot.

Managing patrol rotations is not the laid-back kind of job Ellie thought it would be.

It’s far more stressful than what Maria initially described it would be, but it’s a task that keeps her on her toes on a daily basis. It was hard to believe it at first, but rescheduling patrol rotations sometimes felt like hugging an exploding bloater. Not to mention how balancing patrollers with the right partners oftentimes resembled the act of gathering sheep into a barn. One wrong move, and a stray could lead the pack in the wrong direction.

Jackson’s townsfolk always knew she would have the job in the future, anyway. There was a tacit understanding that regardless of the complications of their familial relations, Maria’s niece would one day take over the duty of leading Jackson. It was never a question of whether it would ever happen, but more of when Ellie would feel comfortable to take on these responsibilities.

It came as a surprise to those who personally knew her—that Ellie would start making her way up before she was even in her thirties. Most of them thought they would have to wrench a 100-year-old Ellie away from patrolling duties, so to have her willingly take a job inside Jackson’s walls was a bit unnerving.

The desk job isn’t as exciting, but it’s definitely enough work to keep her busy throughout the week. Her favourite part of the job was toward the end of the day. When her last task was to wait for the afternoon patrols to come back home, and she spent the time quietly drafting ways to adjust routes for possible expansions to the town. Nothing felt better than to wrap up a workday with a glint of hope for a better future for her son.

Ellie is knee deep in concentration, head down studying a map and ready to sketch out a new patrol route when a knock on the door breaks her focus. It’s Andres, Dina’s new apprentice at the electric shop, a gangly young man whose family recently moved to Jackson. His presence immediately makes Ellie panic. They’ve only met three times since Dina hired him, and their interactions have been cordial at best. So, what else could warrant his appearance at her office at the end of the day if it weren’t for something urgent?

“Hey, uh… Ellie. A-are you busy?” he croaks out, Ellie can tell he’s nervous, but what for she’s not sure yet.

“Andres, right?” she asks hoping to calm his nerves even though she knows exactly who he is, “what’s up?”

“D-dina sent me t-to tell you to please… go to her house as soon as pos-possible once you’re finished with work,” Andres stutters out, making Ellie all the more concerned.

Ellie stands up from her desk and promptly grabs her coat from the chair, “did something happen? Is she hurt? Is JJ okay?”

She tries to calm herself enough to hear a response from him. Whatever it was must have not been too terrible, because if something dire had indeed happened to her family, there is no way Maria would have sent this semi-stranger to send the news.

“Oh! I don’t—um…” the young man stutters and brings a hand up to rub the back of his neck, “she didn’t say. I’m just a messenger.”

With her jacket half worn on her back, Ellie looks down to the scattered papers on the desk and then to the clock on the wall. She only had 30 minutes left before the last patrol shift returned and reported back to her. Ellie was not one to ever leave her post early, but she was unfortunately not immune to whatever nervous energy Andres passed on to her.

The whole situation was terrifyingly curious, and she had to get to her family to find out what was happening. Ellie scribbles a note on a torn piece of paper, neatly folds it, and hands it to noticeably anxious Andres.

“Since you’re a messenger and all… can you quickly send this to Maria for me, please?”

Ellie tries not to sprint to Dina’s house. She doesn’t want to alarm anybody in town, so she ends up speed walking instead. In hindsight, sprinting would have probably looked way less ridiculous than the quick shimmy her hips do when she makes herself walk fast.

The thought comes too late. Dina’s house is already in view when she decides to run the rest of the way.

Ellie pauses on the porch to catch her breath. She knocks on the door twice before she curses to herself. Why is she knocking when she has a key to the door? Ellie digs in her pockets for the familiar shape of the metal when the door swings wide open.

“Did you forget your key again?”

Ellie looks up and releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Dina is leaning on the door frame with a smirk on her face. She looks perfect as ever and all Ellie can’t stop herself from hugging her right away. Relief floods her senses when she feels Dina reciprocate, her arms wrapping tightly around Ellie’s waist.

“Are you fine? Like, you’re not hurt?” Ellie whispers into her ear.

“Yes? Is this a trick question? Why?” Dina is puzzled by Ellie’s panic-stricken face and leads them into the house.

“Andres said I had to come home, and he was all nervous and twitchy, so I freaked out and kind of ran here,” Ellie admits before adding, “wait, what about JJ? Is he safe too?”

Dina eyes Ellie as if gauging to see if she was being pranked. When she realizes that Ellie was serious, she laughs and gives Ellie a quick peck on the lips.

“JJ’s upstairs doing homework, but babe, you do know Andres has a speech impediment, right? Like, it’s a medical condition, it doesn’t mean he’s actually nervous,” Dina chuckles when Ellie finally realizes that there was actually nothing to worry about.

“A speech impediment? You mean to say I got nervous for nothing?” Ellie takes a step back to shrug her jacket off her shoulders.

“Mhm,” Dina agrees, and takes Ellie’s jacket to hang on the coat rack by the door.

“So, what was so urgent you sent you lackey out to fetch me?” Ellie tilts her head to the side, still so apparently confused by everything.

“Well… your son—” Dina starts but Ellie interrupts her.

“Oh no. What did he do?”

Dina points up to the stairs, “your son picked a fight at school today.”

Ellie’s eyes bulge out in amazement, “Potato picked a fight? But… he’s only five years old!”

“That’s what I thought!” Dina shrugs, “but then I remembered who his parents are and then I realized that the apple really didn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Holy fuck, you didn’t not just say that,” Ellie laughs.

“I literally just sounded like my mother,” Dina groans.

“Seriously, though,” Ellie asks, treading carefully but not without a smirk on her lips, “why did he get in a fight in the first place? Because questionable parents aside, he’s practically an angel!”

Dina sighs and leans forward letting Ellie hold her once again, “he said he doesn’t want to talk about it. Only that he wants to ask you something important.”

Ellie glances up toward the stairs wondering what their son could possibly want to ask her. She wonders what kind of demon would have likely possessed their sweet little spud to attack another student at school. The worst part is not even knowing how to explain to their son about not resorting to violence when the world they lived in required such actions to survive.

Despite the severity of the situation, Ellie couldn’t help but to joke, “if he wants to learn how to punch better, he’s asking for the wrong mom.”

The comment earns Ellie a light jab to the chest from Dina.

“Oof. Way to prove my point, babe.” Ellie shakes her head and grabs Dina’s hand to lead them upstairs to JJ’s room.

They share a look understanding that whatever JJ wanted to talk to Ellie about, they all had to do it as a family.

Ellie enters JJ’s room first. They find him slumped and sitting cross-legged on his big boy bed. Ollie is on his lap, and they seemed to have interrupted a silent conversation between JJ and his beloved toy. Ellie slowly makes her way to sit on the edge of the bed leaving Dina behind to lean on the doorframe. Their family was complete, but they still wished to respect JJ’s request to only talk to Ellie.

“Hey, bud. I heard what happened at school today. Wanna tell me about it?”

JJ sinks further into his bed and fiddles with Ollie in his hands. He hesitantly looks up and whispers, “do you love me?”

The question baffles Ellie and feels her heart breaking at sound of doubt in her son’s voice. She is more than a little concerned that her son somehow thinks there is a universe in which she could possibly stop loving him. She immediately scoots closer to him and wraps him tightly in her arms.

“Of course, I do, Spud. What makes you think I don’t?” Ellie eyes Dina by the door making a speechless plea for some comfort on her part. Dina only nods her head, assuring her that she is doing all right.

JJ stays still in Ellie’s arms and his teeny voice is muffled when he says, “Max said you’re not my real mom so we’re not a real family and that you only fake love me.”

“What? Who the fuck is Max?” Ellie growls making JJ flinch under her grasp.

Ellie has a sudden urge to hunt down this Max to teach a lesson about not meddling in other people’s business. Dina loudly clears her throat as if to remind Ellie that she is veering off track. Ellie has to remind herself that children can be unconsciously callous and that whoever this kid was probably didn’t mean any harm, and most likely doesn’t know any better.

“Are you angry with me?” JJ asks her and slithers out of her arms.

Ellie is reluctant to let him go and only does when Dina approaches them to sit next to her.

“Mom is not angry with you, Tater,” Dina speaks up, “she has her thinking face on.”

JJ pokes Ellie on the cheek as testing to see if his mom would notice. Ellie fails to hide the smile that emerges on her face. She kisses JJ on the head and comes up with a way to explain the dynamics of their family to a five-year-old.

“Do you remember the book I read to you the other night about the lost bird asking the dog if she’s his mother?” he nods and she continues, “well, our family is kind of like that. You have momma, and you have me. And just because we don’t look alike, it doesn’t mean that I’m any less your mom than momma is to you. Do you understand?”

The truth is that the allusion to the old story isn’t quite fitting to their situation, but Ellie hopes that it is basic enough for their little boy to understand the way their family works.

“You’re the dog and me and momma are birds, and you love us anyway?” he asks so innocently she and Dina can’t help but to laugh.

“I love you always no matter what other people say, Spud,” Ellie reassures him, and she is relieved to see him accepting her explanation, “we’re our own little family and I will always be your mom, even when you don’t see me.”

“What about momma? Do you love momma too?”

Dina tilts her head at Ellie, mimicking the hopeful look in their son’s eyes.

“Your momma owns my heart, Tater.”

Ellie feels Dina’s hand grasp one of hers, their fingers intertwined. JJ sees the contact, jumps on them, and nuzzles his little head in between theirs. The moment was so tender they almost forgot what had started the discussion in the first place.

Until JJ spoke again, “if we’re always a family, how come you don’t live with us?”

And damn, their son really did have some hard-hitting questions that night.

#elliedina week #ellie x dina #fanfiction #better late than never eh?#super late but heck why not

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bailsscorner · 4 years ago

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So Far

Yandere! Various! Haikyuu x Black! Fem Reader

2-3-4 (coming soon)

TW//CW: reader smokes, possible trauma & ptsd, reader has a speech impediment, and usage of profanities.

Description:

As you start out college, your aunt asks of you to start attending therapy sessions to alleviate your negative experiences of the past. However, you start to realize that sometimes the past can be inescapable.

1.0k words

Taglist: @xetou

A/N: Hi! Please let me know if you’d like to be apart of the taglist. Thank you for reading ❤

"O--ONE PUMPKIN SPICE latte, p--please.” You felt your hands shake, you had a lecture in a few minutes and you were close to being late. The barista nodded, going off to the side to prepare your drink. You looked around the café, it was cozy and warm. You made a mind note to frequent here in the future.

The barista then handed you the drink, you giving her the right amount cash in return. You took a sip of it, taking in the bitter sweetness.

“(Y/n), how could you possibly drink this evil thing and not get sick?!”

You were walking with Aiko to lunch. You giggled, shrugging your shoulders. “I don’t know, I usually take it black but every once in a while I change it up.”

Aiko rolled her eyes at your playfulness. You were so busy paying attention to her that you didn’t realize that you bumped into a toned chest. Splash! Your sweet coffee spilt all over his shirt. Your eyes widened in realization, quickly grabbing some napkins from your backpack. You felt heat rush to your cheeks. “O--oh my gosh, I am so sorry--”

“It’s fine,” he grunted. You looked up at him for a second, he was tall and seemed to be one of those ‘no bullshit’ kind of guys. There was a noticeable red tint on his cheeks but his expression told a much different story.

You heard a laugh from behind him. It was that boy you asked Aiko about yesterday. “Uh oh, looks like Iwa-chan got coffee all over his uniform.”

“Shut up Shittykawa.”

Aiko grabbed your arm, giving you a ‘lets get out of here’ look and you anxiously nodded. The two boys watched you leave with curiosity, both of them were equally intrigued by you. "What the hell was that, (Y/n)?"

You frowned in embarrassment. "I--I wasn't watching where I was going."

"Well be careful next time, or you'll bump into one of those bastards again. They’re bad news.”

You chuckled, locking arms with her as the two of you continued to stroll through the hallway. “Oh come on Aiko, I think that Oikawa guy seems nice-ish. Do you have some sort of vendetta against the volleyball team?”

“Something like that,” The red-haired girl muttered. Your eyebrows raised, deciding to not tap into her conflict with them.

“Who was the cutie?” Oikawa asked as he and a few other guys changed into their jerseys.

Iwaizumi pulled off his stained shirt and placed it in his duffle bag. He instantly knew who what his friend was referring to. “Some third year transfer. Judging by her slightly mediocre Japanese, she’s American.”

“Ah, she's definitely not like everyone else around here." Oikawa smirked at his the light-green eyed boy. "You know Iwa-chan? Something tells me we'll be seeing her a lot more often."

“Mhm.”

And with that, they headed off to the gym for practice.

You took a drag out of your cigarette. The lecture was quite succinct, only lasting about 30 minutes. Most lessons were straight-forward and to-the-point, which was one of the several perks that came with your college experience.

Sometimes you wondered how you managed to push through after what had happened. It seemed like a never-ending hell, maybe that's why the admission team felt bad for you when you wrote that heartfelt essay. Your phone vibrated, indicating someone was trying to call you. It was your aunt. You sighed, swiping left to hear what she had to say. "..H--hello?"

"(Y/n)? Hi sweetheart, how are you doing?"

"F--fine Auntie, I just c--came from a lecture."

"I see. You know your friend Aiko stopped by yesterday to see if you were still here. Poor thing misses you like hell."

You once again sighed. A part of you did miss your old friends from high school, but sometimes you've got to leave the past in the past. Hell, you moved out of Miyagi for a god-damned reason. Thinking of the past made you want to take another hit of your cigarette. So you did, savoring the ethereal feeling of nicotine entering your lungs.

"..(Y/n)?"

No answer, she instantly knew why. Aunt Em was now becoming irritated with you. "(Y/n), are you smoking again?"

You groaned, hanging up the phone on her. It's not like you were trying to be rude or anything. You hated when she tried to intrude on your bad habits, like a child. And you weren't a fucking child anymore.

You tossed the cigarette, pressing it into the ground. You looked at the time and internally cussed. It was almost 4:30. You had some stupid study session with one of your classmates, he was pretty nice but seemed to be reserved and a no-bullshit kind of guy as well.

You walked to the library, which was like a common-place for the students to hang out it. You spotted him, you were only like 5 or six minutes late. But making an effort to be punctual would establish a better relationship between the two of you.

Your classmate had this studious dark academia-like nature to him, which you found to be pretty hot. It was also his familiarity, he reminded you of someone from the past. You also liked how he was patient with you, given your speech impediment and all. It was pretty rare especially since you hadn’t always been like that.

“(L/n), you’re late.” His non-chalant voice bringing a few shivers down your spine. Obviously, you had gotten over your boy-shyness but you sometimes felt like a part of it was still there.

You quickly bowed your head and played it off with a giggle. “S--sorry Akaashi, I ran into a few things on the way here. It won’t happen again.” He nod

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” His gunmetal blue eyes boring into your (e/c) ones. He gestured for you to sit next to him to which you immediately followed. Both of you had aspirations within the world of humanities, especially you, who was looking to write a book someday. “So what have you worked on so far?”

You pulled up a word document on your laptop of some drafting ideas for a possible story. Your professor is has assigned each student to write a memoir of the past. “I--I decided to write about the more positive moments of my past, y’know?”

Akaashi just stared, once again showing no emotion. You hadn’t opened up to him at all really. But you knew he somehow suspected, with your aloof and timid nature, that something happened to you.

“Honestly,” he said making eye-contact with the window behind you.

“H--hm?” You internally panicked. Oh no, is my idea too dull-

He then smiled, making your eyes widen. “Honestly I think it’s a great idea, (L/n).”

#yandere #yandere haikyuu #yandere x y/n #yandere x black!reader #yandere haikyuu x black!reader #horror #haikyuu x reader #yandere haikyuu various x reader #yandere x black! y/n #black reader #yandere x poc!reader

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daiples · 2 years ago

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so if you want to know about them here you go

kestel: he/him, 20, originally an enderman from minecraft and 13 year old me's dream boy. he's dating cat

cat: she/her, 19, originally a self-insert who then turned into me projecting my irl friend onto an oc for a while. she was my first human oc. now she's her own character

reeve: he/him, 20, originally minecraft steve /srs. i had a roleplay on a mc server and there was like. herobrine and notch and of course steve. he has come very far and isn't like that anymore, he's had the most character development

taru: he/him, 19, myka's character, and him and reeve are dating (taru and reeve are dating i mean, as much as myka wishes he could). he's a little redstone nerd. taru's the reason that i even continued cat, kestel, and reeve's story. taru almost stopped having goggles but i bullied myka into keeping them

kavius: any pronouns, 15, KAVI IS MY BABYGIRL!! he's the narrator, the 4th wall breaker, the "you may be wondering how i got into this situation" character. he's got a shitload of magic and is by far the most dangerous character on this page. he might look rude, but he's just badly socialized

pike: he/they, 21, this guy is myka's personal thirst trap character and him, taru, and reeve have some sort of gay tension going on. pike is basically a piglin from minecraft. pike wants to adopt kavi has his little brother. taru also wants to adopt kavi as his little brother

qualli: she/her, 22, she is the Only. a bird (canary!) girl. she's very upbeat and forgiving. she has a speech impediment that she's insecure about sometimes, so she may come off as quiet, but won't shut up to teo, cus they're besties

teo: he/him, 23, teo is myka's character, and pretty shut off from others. he basically lived through the apocalypse with qualli, so he only truly trusts her. there's no foreshadowing at all

soph: she/they, 18, is jake's character and she is just a sassy girl with a ferret, what else could anybody need? she keeps her friends in line and cares with a passion

marx: ey/he/they, 17, myka's character again! marx is a nerdy eagle bird boy and a friendly guy who's confused about the world. ey is in a qpr with vish, in a pseudo-official way. they've been through some shit

vish: he/him, 18, would die for marx. like at any point. he is the edgiest demon i could muster up and the "cringe culture is dead" oc i have. his design has changed the least from when i first made him when i was 13, so that says something

mikey: he/him, 12, mikey is actually reeve's little brother, but said "i don't like reeve, vish is my new big brother now" and chose the Worst guy to be his role model. mikey has ice magic but tries to do fire magic instead so he can be like vish, it doesn't go well for him

alania: she/fae/they, 17, and despite being an owl, is star member of the flying track team. alania and marx are sort of rivals, but they become friends over time, with an air for competition. she used to be a nerdy student with straight A's, but dropped faer effort in her studies to focus on her flying track skills and is always on the grind

dayton: she/her, 35, uh... also started out as a self-insert... but she's become one of the most complex characters over time. she was turned into an angel! she's stacy's mom and extremely loving. her halo has the magic to revive people from the dead, but she gets hurt by using magic otherwise

zhiwhel: he/him, Adult Cat Age, this cranky cat was my first character in this universe specifically. he's just a bully and a talking cat who only likes dayton, that's all. he also likes science

stacy: she/her//they, 5, stacy is a fun-loving rascal. she's drawn as a child in this picture, but we have story in place for her teenage self (which is why she has 'they' in the pronoun set, for later). fun fact, she saved the entire universe once, when she was 4. hashtag just angel werewolf things

lizzy: she/her, 31 myka's character. lizzy is dayton's wife, and she's big on social media and makes a living doing various things online to do with fashion. she's just a girlboss

steave: he/him, 31, is also myka's character. steave and lizzy are siblings, twins actually. dayton and steave used to date but then she left him for his sister so... (/j! it was a complicated MESS) and he's stacy's biological dad, where she gets her werewolf-ness from, but he doesn't take part in raising her. in every other way, he is her uncle

calder: he/him, 30 sorta it's complicated? is jake's character! he has the hots for steave, who was committed to dayton at the time. there was a lot of drama, and he's-sorta-actually-evil and reminds me of ashfur from warrior cats. but gay. (so just ashfur from warrior cats /j) and if he had a nickel for how many times he died and got revived, he'd have 2 nickels

samaira: she/her, 18, isn't her real name. her real name is suhana, but after the phasing (a world-wide merging of two universes, leaving one in a soft apocalyptic state), she started going by samaira and doing shady stuff. she has magic little rock-carved animals in her pouches that were a gift from her grandma. she's the only person taru can see in color, due to the magic figurines

shep: he/him, 16 myka's oc. just a silly guy. sometimes kinda zappy. static. electricity guy. besties with dez and a lovely little goat friend with anxiety

dez: they/she, 16, is a shadowy energetic individual. they have a complicated family situation and find comfort in doing classic teenager-y stuff with shep, and trying to help him with his anxiety

this is probably the BIGGEST ART I'VE EVER DONE. all of the important characters in mine and a couple friends' story. some of these ocs are 7 YEARS OLD!! they've changed over the years, and some have different current designs now, but i chose to mix some designs or to just use the most iconic one

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thelastspeecher · 4 years ago

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Best Revenge AU - Closure?

I have to go to work soon, so quick summary: angst. Complicated emotions and relationships. Max revealing that he’s not as much as a dick as he seemed. Enjoy.

——————————————————————————————

Max waited patiently in the back of the classroom for the kindergarten teacher to introduce him. One of his favorite things about being a hero was coming to school classes to tell them about what he did. And kindergarteners were always the best audiences. Their wide-eyed enthusiasm was infectious.

“All right, kids, today, we have a special guest!” the teacher said cheerfully. “So, everyone go to the back and sit on the rug!” The kindergarteners obediently got up from their chairs and went to the back of the room, where they sat on the rug in front of Max. One child raised her hand. “Yes, Lisa?”

“Who’s the guest?” she asked.

“We are very lucky today! Our guest is the famous hero, Richter!” the teacher said happily. Like always, the children clapped and cheered. Except for one. A small boy sitting at the front. The boy frowned at Max.

“Ew,” he said, crossing his arms. The teacher frowned, visibly confused. “Hewoes-oes awe icky.” Max opened and closed his mouth a few times. The boy had a heavy lisp and stutter, but as someone who’d had a speech impediment when he was young, Max had no difficulty understanding the child.

“What makes you say that?” he finally asked. The boy wrinkled his large nose.

“Hewoes-woes-woes awe n-n-n-no good,” he said firmly.

“Junior,” the teacher warned. “Be polite.” The boy – Junior – stuck out his tongue.

“N-n-no! They awe smewy!” he insisted. “They don’t-don’t n-need powite man-n-n-news.”

“Stanley Pines Junior, if you don’t stop being disruptive, I’m going to talk to your parents,” the teacher said. Max’s blood ran cold.

Of course. Junior’s nose was unmistakably the one that ran in the McGucket family, while his stutter was the same Angie had until she was six. This must be the child she was pregnant with the last time I saw her. Junior smirked.

“Okay,” he said. He looked directly at Max. “You awe bad and stin-in-in-inky.” The teacher opened her mouth.

“It’s okay,” Max said quickly. He smiled at the teacher. “I can handle a heckler.” He straightened. “So, do you kids want to know what it’s like to be a hero?”

-----

Other than his ex-wife and archenemy’s son heckling him at the beginning, Max’s presentation went well. Afterwards, while parents were coming by to pick up their kids, the teacher pulled Max to the side.

“I’m sorry about Junior being disruptive,” she said. “He’s normally the most well-behaved student I’ve ever had! I have no idea what came over him.”

“It’s okay,” Max said. He forced a small smile. “Variety is the spice of life, you know?”

“Still…”

“Trust me, I’ve dealt with much worse,” Max said. The teacher sighed, but before she could continue apologizing, a parent called her over. Left to his own devices, Max did his best to watch Junior without seeming obvious. During his presentation, he’d felt a growing discomfort about the boy. Clearly, Junior was too old to be the child Angie was pregnant with when he’d seen her four years ago. In fact, he looked to be about six years old, which would mean Angie got pregnant immediately after leaving Max.

Or that she was pregnant when she left. Junior had Angie’s large nose and gentle face, but all his other traits were ones Max recognized. He saw those big ears, amber eyes, and straw-like hair in the mirror every day. The final nail in the coffin, however, was that Junior had the same lisp Max had struggled with until second grade.

No… Max quickly looked away from Junior, trying to convince himself he was imagining things. No. Angie wouldn’t do that to ya. She wouldn’t have yer child and not tell ya. Right?

“Richter?” Max looked over. The teacher had come back with a man and Junior in tow. The man, someone Max hated with every fiber of his being, smirked. “This is Stanley Pines, Junior’s father. I told him about Junior’s behavior.”

“Yes,” Stan said, nodding. “She did. I’m very surprised Junior was so rude in class.”

“It’s fine,” Max said. “Children don’t really have a filter.” He cleared his throat. “Still, that sort of language is concerning. I’d hate for him to grow up to become a villain.”

“Oh, yeah,” Stan said in a clearly exaggerated tone. “Yeah, that’d be awful.” He looked down at Junior. “Wouldn’t it, Junior?” Junior nodded sulkily. “What do you have to say to Mr. Richter?”

“I’m sow-w-wy,” Junior muttered. Max smiled.

“And I accept your apology.”

“Thanks for being so understanding,” Stan said. “C’mon, Junior, your sisters are waiting at home.” Stan flashed another grin at Max. “Good luck keeping the streets clean.”

“Thank you,” Max said, continuing to smile. The second Stan, Junior, and the teacher turned away, he dropped the smile. Seeing Stan and Junior next to each other had confirmed his suspicions. Junior didn’t look anything like the man that was supposedly his father.

I have a son. I have a six-year-old son I didn’t know anything about.

-----

Max walked up to the tan craftsman house that Angie and Stan lived in with their three children. It hadn’t been that difficult to track down where she lived now, given that he had access to HQ’s database. He felt a bit guilty about using the database for something personal, but he couldn’t let this slide. He had to get down to the bottom of this. After taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.

“Comin’!” said a voice he recognized. Shortly, the door opened, revealing his ex-wife. Angie’s mouth dropped open in a small “o”. “Max?”

“Angie,” Max said shortly. He blinked. While most of Angie’s appearance hadn’t changed, there was one major difference. “Yer hair’s shorter.”

“I cut it after I left ya,” she replied. “Like I always wanted. I only kept it long fer you.” She frowned. “It was this length when we crossed paths a few years back.”

“Well, I was a bit too distracted by yer obvious pregnancy to notice yer hair,” Max said. Angie sighed.

“What do ya want?”

“To talk to ya ‘bout my son.” A flash of fear crossed Angie’s face, so briefly that Max almost missed it.

“I don’t know anything ‘bout the son ya sired when cheatin’ on me,” she said.

“You know I’m not referrin’ to him. I’m referrin’ to the son what heckled me the other day in his kindergarten class. I’m sure Stan told ya ‘bout the incident.” Angie was silent. “Angie. Don’t drag this out.”

“Fine.” Angie stood to the side. “Come in.” Max stepped inside. “Follow me.” Max followed Angie into a nearby living room. Junior was sitting on the floor playing with building blocks. “Junior?”

“Yes?” Junior asked, looking up. He frowned at Max. “Who-who-who’s that?”

“An old friend,” Angie said after a moment. “Would ya be willin’ to play in yer room? This feller and I have to talk ‘bout boring grown-up things.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you, bean.” On Junior’s way out of the living room, Angie kissed the top of his head, eliciting a giggle from him. “Please, Max, take a seat.” Max sat on the tan couch. He looked around. The room was cozy and warm. A mixture of family pictures and pictures of amphibians decorated the walls.

“Did you take those?” he asked, nodding to the photos.

“Obviously. You know I like usin’ my camera,” Angie said, sitting on the couch, but a slight distance from him. “Yer not here to talk ‘bout my home’s décor, though.”

“No. I’m not.” Max closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. “Why didn’t ya tell me ‘bout Junior?”

“Max.” ��Max opened his eyes to look at Angie. A weariness had settled over her. One he recognized. “Ya know why I left, right?”

“I…” Max swallowed. “I was too overprotective.”

“You weren’t just overprotective. You tried to control me. Tried to keep me from livin’ the life I wanted. And, when I left, ya tried to physically stop me.” Angie leaned in. “You grabbed me hard enough to leave a bruise.”

“I- I did?”

“Yes.”

“Angie, I never-”

“I know sometimes it can be difficult to control yer own strength. But that’s all the more reason to not get physical with someone when yer in distress. You think Stan ‘n I haven’t had fights? Of course we have. But we don’t make it physical. We know better ‘n that.” Max stared at her in horror. He had read between the lines, and now had an idea of what Angie was dancing around. “What?”

“You didn’t tell me ‘bout my son ‘cause you thought I’d hurt him or you,” he whispered. Angie looked away. “Angie, I would never!”

“Maybe you’ve worked on yourself since we were married. But back then, you would’ve done anything to get me back. To get yer son,” Angie choked out. “Don’t pretend that ya wouldn’t have taken every course ya could. And- and-” Angie let out a sob. Max’s heart broke. “I knew that if ya tried to make me come back, I would have. I would have fooled myself that you had changed. That it was safe fer me and the baby. But I would’ve just been miserable again.”

“I-” Max paused. He thought back to every fight they’d had. They both would shout, she would leave, but then she’d eventually come back and they’d make up without resolving the thing they’d fought over. And Max would ignore her obvious weariness, the same that had come over her at the beginning of this conversation.

“All of our fightin’, too, it- it wasn’t a good place to raise a child,” Angie continued. “Junior’s happy and well-adjusted. If I’d stayed, he wouldn’t be.” Angie looked at Max. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. “Yer parents fought. You know how much that messes up children.”

“…Yeah. Yeah, it does.” Max clenched his hands into fists. “But one of our biggest fights was that ya didn’t want a child at that point in time. Ya can’t deny how it looks, fer you to be sayin’ over and over again that ya wanted to wait, only to leave while pregnant.”

“I didn’t know I was pregnant until after I had left. It was too late by then. You know that I could never- never- terminate a pregnancy.”

“But after Junior was born, ya kept him. Yer fam’ly definitely offered to have a cousin or siblin’ take him in.”

“Yes.”

“So why did ya keep a child that ya claimed ya didn’t want?” Max demanded. His voice rose. Angie frowned at him.

“Keep it down,” she hissed. Max took a steadying breath.

“Okay,” he said in a calmer voice. “But the question stands. Ya kept him, despite sayin’ ya didn’t want a child. Why?”

“I told ya I didn’t want a child ‘cause I was worried ‘bout my job. I was. I knew ya would push and push fer me to take as much time off as possible, and I would. Then, you’d push fer me to eventually leave, ‘cause I’d been off work fer so long. I would cave in to that, too. That wasn’t a worry no more after I left.”

“I wouldn’t-” Max started. Angie glared. He fell silent.

“Don’t claim ya wouldn’t. We both know ya would. Without the stress of our marriage weighin’ on me, everything fell into place. I was comfortable and safe and settled and…” Angie softened. “…and I had a lil bean on the way.”

“And Stan knows?”

“You think that poorly of me?” Angie spat. “That I’d claim to a man I was pregnant with his child when I was pregnant with someone else’s?” She got up. Max stood as well.

“Angie, I didn’t mean-”

“No. You did.”

“I’m just surprised he’d raise a child what wasn’t his.”

“He’s a good man, Max.”

“He’s a criminal.”

“That ain’t a dealbreaker to me.”

“It should be!”

“It-” Angie crossed her arms with a huff. “I tried to keep this conversation civil. We both could use some closure. But it’s clear to me that ya haven’t changed enough fer us to have this talk peacefully.”

“We can-”

“You need to leave,” Angie said shortly. Max clenched his hands into fists. Angie’s eyes narrowed. “You have three options. Option one: ya leave on yer own. Option two: I kick yer sorry ass out myself. Option three: Stan kicks ya out.” She checked her watch. “He should be home with the girls any minute now.”

“I-”

“Choose.” Angie’s eyes bore into Max. “Or I’ll choose fer ya.”

“Fine,” Max snapped. “Fine. I’ll leave.” He threw his hands into the air. “It’s not like I had a million more questions to ask ya or anything like that.”

“I can answer ‘em. Some other time,” Angie said firmly. She escorted Max to the front door and opened it. “I want us to both be able to close this chapter. But right now, we can’t without comin’ to blows.” Max stepped outside. “Work on yourself, Max. Then we can finish this conversation.” She closed the door. Max stomped away. His anger ebbed with every step, until, a block away, he felt completely empty. He came to a stop.

What kind of hero am I? My ex-wife was afraid of me. She was worried ‘bout what I would do to her and our child. And she was right to be scared. His shoulders drooped. My first son I had to give up ‘cause I couldn’t take care of him no more. My second son was six ‘fore I found out he even existed. He closed his eyes. I’m no hero. I’m a deadbeat. He looked back in the direction of Angie’s house. Maybe…maybe it’s time fer me to work on myself. Maybe… He put his hands into his pockets and began to walk again. Maybe it’s time fer me to hang up my mask.

#Best Revenge AU #Angie McGucket #Max Hillcrest #Stanley Pines #Stangie Family #ficlet #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks #Junior Pines

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bangcrizpychan · 5 years ago

Text

Tainted Daisies | i. The Missing Secretary

Chapters: | prologue | i | ii | iii | iv | v | vi | vii | viii | ix | x | xi | epilogue |

Genre: psychological thriller, angst, mystery, crime, rich kid!stray kids au, college!au, slow burn

Word count: 3.2k

Ratings: 16+

⚠WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol, slight gore

Tainted Daisies Masterlist

Tag list: @nightshade-minho @mikoto-ica-fics @momochiiiiiiii @nowimyourdaisies @ravenlilshots @channiesmixtape (If you want to be added to or removed from the tag list, please let me know.)

The huge building stared at you as you gaped at it, you felt as if it was almost calling you "broke" in 127 languages. It was obvious that every material that was used to build this place must have cost a lot of fortune. The look of surprise was written on your face, it was beyond of what you have imagined and if you were to be honest, you actually thought a city called "Yellow Wood" would come off as cheap, but this place is the complete opposite of that word.

The four-storey building was shaped like a huge box and in the shade of sapphire and light gray, with tinted glasses for walls that started from the ground and reached up to the very last floor of the building. Its unique design made it look modern and futuristic-the lack of ornament gave way to a clean aesthetic and the flat roofs gave emphasis on its horizontal and concrete planes. Overall, the beauty of its structure simply took your breath away.

"Are you just going to stand there?" The startling voice behind you made you jump and you felt like your soul had just left your body.

You clutched your pounding heart and turned around, there stood a guy who was kind of your age-he was wearing a white collared shirt that he neatly tucked inside of his denim pants- and you noticed that his shirt was buttoned up to the top that it looked almost suffocating in your opinion. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you muttered a quiet 'hello'.

"Do I know you? I haven't seen you around before," the stranger said, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows.

"I don't think so, I'm new. I just moved here yesterday." You said, looking at the ground and played with your fingers, you were never comfortable with talking to a stranger.

"That's cool! My name is Seungmin, Kim Seungmin," he said, offering his hand out and you politely shook it.

"I'm Y/n L/n," you said, slowly retracting your hand from his.

"That's a nice name, why don't I show you around?" Seungmin said, walking on ahead as you followed.

"That'd be nice, thank you Kim Seungmin," he chuckled at your politeness.

"Just Seungmin is fine."

Both of you headed to the front door that looked like it could accommodate a family giraffes. It was gigantic, "You don't have giants for students, do you?"

"Nope," Seugnmin said, popping the 'p' and smiled widely at you.

"Our school is just too extra, they wanted to emphasize their luxury by having a huge door and glass walls."

Looking around the place, you could attest that they were indeed extra; chandeliers were hung on the ceiling, clean and polished pale floors underneath you made you feel unworthy of stepping on them. In the middle of the lobby, you see an information desk and a big television attached to the wall above. Benches were scattered all around the place, it gave off a strong 'mall' vibe. But what you noticed the most is that the entrance hall seemed too vacant, aside from the three hallways that led to God knows where, some students rushing to their classrooms and some just sitting in the benches, that was all.

Is this really a school? You thought.

"You must be confused why it's too empty here," Seungmin said, looking at you as you nodded your head, absorbing the view.

"See that?" he said, pointing to a row of doors in one of the hallways that was located in the west side of the lobby.

"That's where our lockers are, and that one," he said, pointing to the east,

"That's where the faculty and staff stays, and lastly," you looked at the north, it was the longest of the hallways, each side had five elevators on them, and a wall at the end of it.

"It's our way to get to our classrooms to where we should be heading now because we're late." Seungmin finished, grabbing your arm and headed north but you stopped in your tracks causing him to look at you confusedly.

"You go on ahead, I still need to go the dean's office because I don't know where my classroom is." You said, smiling at him.

The look of realization appeared on his face and he quickly scratched the back of his head.

"Right, you're new. Just go to the east wing, each door is labeled with its corresponding college department." You thanked him and started to turn towards the east side when he suddenly called you,

"Y/n, I'll give you my number so we can continue with your tour, if you want to." He said, face turning to a shade of pink that you actually found kind of cute.

"I'd love to, I'll text you so you can come get me," you said, lending him a pen and reaching out your hand towards him.

He scribbled his number on your palm and left to his class while you headed for the dean's office. Stopping at the door that had a "Forensic Science Department" sign above it, you knocked politely before opening it. There were cubicles for the faculty on each side and a wooden door at the middle end.

"May I help you?" You turned to a teacher who was wearing a large spectacles with a stern look on her face.

"Good morning, Ma'am. My name is Y/n L/n, I'm a transfer student." you said, bowing respectfully.

She curtly nodded her head and pointed to the door in the middle end of the room. You thanked her and rushed to the said door, quietly opening it and as soon as you walked in, a rotting stench hit your nose almost instantly, you fought back the urge to vomit and squeaked out a tiny 'good morning'. In the room with you, there was a woman who looked like she was in her late 40's, so you assumed that she was the dean. She was dissecting a dead cat and you concluded that's where the horrid smell came from.

"Yes? Who are you?" she asked as she removed shards of glass from the cat, creating a squelching sound whenever a shard left the flesh.

"M-my Name is Y-Y/n L/n, I-I am a t-transfer s-student," you stammered, the dean put down the forceps and turned to you.

"Do you have speech impediment?" You shook your head and cowered when she rolled her eyes at you.

"Then speak up, girl. I couldn't understand a thing with what you just said," she said, looking irritated.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and let out a shaky breath.

"M-my name is Y/n L/n, I'm a transfer student," you said, introducing yourself.

"What year are you in?" she asked, removing her gloves and headed towards you, dried blood smeared all over her lab coat.

"I'm beginning my third this year,"

"How come you've only transferred now?" she questioned, narrowing her eyes.

You averted her strong gaze and found her messy dissecting table quite fascinating at the moment.

"My father and I had to move here because of his work, and I was offered a scholarship," you said, looking around the office.

She must have been outstanding in this field because there were diplomas and awards that hung proudly on her walls, and a plaque with "Linda Suh, Ph.D." imprinted on it sat neatly on top of her desk.

"Hmm, a scholar huh? Do you have your papers with you?" you frantically searched your bag and took out a folder, handing it to Dr. Suh. She flipped through your papers, humming every now and then.

"You have an exceptionally high grades, it would be an honor to have you as our student," how her demeanor instantly changed from stern to kind, terrified you.

"There's only one section for BS Forensic Science because not everyone has the guts to choose a career path where you always see blood and the human anatomy,"

"But this course is broad though, you don't always have to be present at a crime, you could be a forensic accountant-"

"What about you, Miss. L/n? Would you like to be on the scene of the crime?"

------

Dr. Suh's question played on a loop inside your brain the whole trip towards your classroom, of course you wanted to be a forensic analyst, you wanted to be in the field and not detect embezzlement or deal with taxes. You mindlessly entered your classroom which caused the door to slam a little too hard. Everyone snapped their heads towards you and you lowered down your head, embarrassed by your rashness.

"You must be Miss. L/n, class this is our transfer student. No time for introduction, go sit wherever you like," Your professor said, dismissing you and continued with her class.

You could still feel eyes set on you when you sat on the third row but they soon shifted their attention back to the screen. Scribbling down your notes, you noticed that you have already tackled this at your University back at home but you reckoned it was better to write them down again. The door slid open once more and revealed an attractive young guy with light brown hair, and when he entered the room,a bunch of girls murmuring and giggling with each other filled your ears.

"Mr. Lee, it's the first day of school and you're late,"

"I'm sorry Ms. Park, won't happen again," his deep voice charmed you and his Australian accent wasn't helping your curiosity either. Prof. Park sighed and told him to take a seat.

Highlighting the things you didn't understand, you ignored the young man. A series of 'you can sit with me' erupted in the room but Prof. Park quickly hushed them and went on with her lecture. You felt a presence standing next to you which caused you to look up and meet eyes with "Mr. Lee".

"Can I help you?" you asked, staring at his freckles.

"You're new aren't you?" He asked and you pursed your lips together, nodding nonchalantly.

"Can I sit next to you, then?" he asked, pulling out the chair to your left and you just mumbled a simple “whatever”.

"I'm Lee Felix, and you're definitely new?" he asked once again, looking like he doesn’t believe that he had a new classmate.

"yes, I am new," you said tiredly.

"Then aren't you going to tell me your name?"

"Do I have to?" that earned you a chuckle from him and glares from his 'fangirls'.

"Well, it's common courtesy to say your name when the other party introduced themselves to you," you sighed and set your pen down.

"My name is Y/n, I'm a transfer student, and that's all you need to know." You finally answered, before turning back to your notes.

You didn't mean to come off as rude to him, but it made you uncomfortable with how you earned harsh looks just by talking to him. He mumbled a soft 'fair' but did no effort to hide his amused smile at all.

-----

"Y/n, I could show you-" Felix started but you were already gone, he chuckled to himself and watched your figure disappear from the crowd.

You took out your phone from your pocket and texted Seungmin, who told you to meet him at the cafeteria, and luckily, both of you had the same lunch breaks. You went to the extension building because that's where the map said the cafeteria would be.

"Y/n!" You immediately recognized Seungmin's voice and you see him sitting in one of the tables with a guy who had a pretty peach-colored hair and who looked younger than you. You walked towards him and he instantly offered you a seat next to him, to which you gladly accepted.

"Y/n, this my friend, Yang Jeongin, he's in his second year," Seungmin said, introducing the young lad in front of you.

He shyly reached out his hands and you firmly shook it.

"Which reminds me, what year are you in and what's your major?" Seungmin asked.

"I'm in my third year-"

"Cool, we're in the same year then," he cut you off and you raised an eyebrow at him, he muttered a quick sorry then told you to continue.

"-and I take BS Forensic Science." Jeongin gaped at you.

"Wow, you must have a lot of guts to be taking that course."

"It's not all that brutal," you said, scratching the back of your neck and giving him a shy smile.

"Well, I major in BS Journalism," Seungmin said, showing you his camera and pointed at Jeongin.

"And he's taking law," Jeongin nodded his head, glancing at his law books.

"That's great! Maybe we could all work together fighting crimes after we graduate," you joked, watching the boys stifle a laugh.

Excusing yourself, you went to grab your food since the boys already had theirs. You thanked the lunch lady and as you started to walk back to your table, a hand suddenly grabbed your shoulders, you snapped your head towards the owner of the said hand and let out a sigh when you saw that it was only Felix.

"What do you want now, Felix?" you asked, heart still beating from your nervousness.

"Oh, don't be so grumpy new girl, I'm just here to offer you a seat with my friends."

"No thanks, I have made friends that I'd rather sit with," and with that, you made your way back to your table, ignoring Felix's calls.

"Was that Lee Felix?" Seungmin asked as you set your tray down, you nodded and sat down on your own seat.

"Yeah, he's my classmate." you said, stabbing the chicken with your fork.

"You shouldn't be friends with him," Jeongin interjected which caused you to cock your eyebrow at him.

Pointing his chopsticks towards Felix's table, you finally got to see his group of friends. There were five of them in the table; Felix was in between two raven-haired boys, one was wearing glasses and the other was an extremely tall and handsome looking guy-he looked unreal, you thought.

In front of them sat a dirty blonde-haired guy with cheeks that made him look like a squirrel as he chowed down his food, and a guy that made your breath hitch in your throat- he had curly blonde hair and was wearing a muscle tee that showed off his toned arms, you were going to be honest, it wasn't his muscles that caught your attention, but it was something about him that made you feel drawn to his presence. He looked...familiar.

"They're the Elites, their fathers are powerful and you don't want to mess with them," Jeongin said, stuffing his mouth with kimchi.

"Except for Bang Chan, it's that blonde buff guy, we don't know who his parents are but they're friends with him," Seungmin added.

Bang Chan. Even his name sounded familiar. Who is he? you silently thought.

-----

After your class ended, you and Jeongin decided to wait for Seungmin at one of the benches in the lobby, you were laughing at a joke Jeongin had cracked when the news suddenly caught your attention.

"Mayor Lee's secretary, Kim Hyunae, has been reported missing when she had not returned nor reported to work for three days. She was last seen at a café near the Yellow Wood City Hall at 9:28 in the evening. If you have any information about Ms. Kim Hyunae, please do not hesitate to call the Yellow Wood Police Department or the nearest police station near you."

"That's too bad, she used to bring Felix's stuff here when he had forgotten them at his home," Jeongin sighed.

"D-do you think she's dead?" you asked nervously to Jeongin, who just shrugged.

"Crimes are rare here at Yellow Wood, the chief of police, who's also Bang Chan's uncle, is really good at keeping the crime rates to almost a zero."

Kim Hyunae's picture they flashed on the screen, making you stare at it intently. Yellow Wood seems to be more interesting than you thought.

----

"-have any information about Ms. Kim Hyunae, please do not hesitate to call the Yellow Woo-" silence filled the department as the chief turned off the television.

Rubbing his temples, he reached towards his sixth cup of coffee but then released a sigh when he realized that it was empty. The Mayor had been putting him under pressure to find the secretary. Crimes were not unusual in this part of the city, there are muggings occasionally, but a missing person was new to everyone. It started a fear in him that there may be a threat emerging in the perfect city of Yellow Wood.

"Chief Wang?" the tired chief whipped his head and faced a concerned cadet. He was a new recruit and one of the best at the training school, to which why the chief of police handpicked him.

"Any reports about the missing case, Cadet Seo?" the cadet lowered his head and shook it slowly, Chief Wang grunted in frustration and rubbed his eyes.

It had been two days since he had proper sleep and not finding any clues about this hopeless case stressed him even more. This could risk his position at the department.

"But I think she was not murdered, Chief, just kidnapped." Cadet Seo said, making Chief Wang stare at him questioningly.

"What makes you think so?"

"Well, as far as I know, Secretary Kim has always been a sweetheart. There's no one that could possibly hold a grudge towards her," the young trainee said, handing the sleep deprived man a fresh cup of hot coffee.

"But... Mayor Lee has enemies everywhere. There could be a possibility that Secretary Kim was kidnapped-"

"-To gain information and find the Mayor's weaknesses." Chief Wang finished and the cadet nodded approvingly.

Chief Wang took a sip from the coffee and looked at the file, there may be hope about this case after all.

----

Entering your apartment quietly, you kicked your shoes off and hung your jacket on your coat rack. You breathed out a sigh of relief, you had made it inside just before the rain poured down. Taking a look at the apartment, you could see that what you have was small since you weren't rich, but you told yourself that you could still call it home. You passed your living room and noticed that the television was on, showing nothing but static.

"Good evening, Dad," the figure of a man was turned back against you, bottles of beer scattered on the floor making you assume that he must be wasted again. You turned off the television and went to the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of apple juice when the books on the shelves suddenly fell.

The alarming sound made your spine tingle with fear, you looked at the shelves and to the open window next to it, you figured the wind must've knocked them off. Quickly closing it and shutting the blinds off, you rushed inside your room and got ready for bed. The city itself was beautiful but having an apartment next to dark alleys made you anxious. You decided to call it a day and fell asleep with the missing secretary's face haunting your dreams.

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bardengarde · 4 years ago

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4, 5, and 7 for the historical figure asks!!!!!!!!

First of all, what is the name of your favorite historical figure?

Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain

4. In your eyes, what is their biggest strength?

The more I thought about answering this, the more difficult the question became! In the end, I think Chamberlain’s biggest strength was his character. In the letter he wrote to Maine’s Governor Israel Washburn, requesting a commission, he wrote “I have always been interested in military matters, and what I do not know in that line I know how to learn.” Source

Although that statement was only in reference to the military, obviously, I feel like it encapsulates a lot of his outlook on life. If there was something he did not know, he learned it; likewise if there was something he did not think he could do, he did it. “Do it; that’s how!” His father had once ordered Lawrence whenever he was unable to free a cart wheel that was caught between two stumps and asked how he should clear it. “Perhaps the underlying thought was to ‘haw the cattle to’, back out the wheel, and straddle the stump. But the terms and tone gave no instructions- only the order. The youth (which is Lawrence; he referred to himself only in third person in his Early Memoir) seized the hub, lifted the wheel clear of the stump, and threw it over with such force that the cart-tongue knocked against the nose of the ‘off-ox’ and the whole team was ‘off’ in a jiffy.” Blessed Boyhood!, Chamberlain. Pg. 42

Yeah, you read that right. Lawrence pulled a Valjean with a cart he claims had “only three or four hundred pounds of hay on”, and his father looked on him with a “moment’s pale astonishment, but not a word was said.” Blessed Boyhood!, Chamberlain. Pg. 42-43

And, as far as learning goes, he was fluent in like 11 different languages, could play the organ and bass violin, and overcame a speech impediment by figuring out how to phrase syllables that frustrated him in a sort of rhythm as if he were to sing them. Also remind me to tell you about the preparations he took in order to study to be accepted into Bowdoin College because that was also an insane feat.

Beyond that, Chamberlain was a reserved, quiet, and respectful man. From what I’ve read, he treated all he met with the same respect he believed that any man was due. Even as an officer, he still did not put himself too highly above other enlisted men. He was humble, and the men of the 20th Maine idolized him as one private remarked. “Lieutenant Colonel Chamberlain is idolized by the whole regiment. He makes a fine appearance, mounted on his rich present, at battalion drill, but he does not ride him in the presence of the enemy. ... Of course I do not have much to do with him, yet, if I wanted any favors, I should apply to him at once, knowing I should get them if it were in his power to confer them.” In The Hands of Providence, Trulock. Pg 77-78

I could go on- from being able to inspire all but six of the 120~ remaining members of the disbanded 2nd Maine to fight with the 20th, to commanding his men to salute the surrendering confederate soldiers as they surrendered their arms to his men at Appomattox Courthouse. I believe one of the biggest reasons he was so well liked and respected by his men and many others who knew him were because of those core values of his: learn what you don’t know, do what you think you can’t, and to treat everyone you meet with dignity and respect as they deserve.

5. What is the most ridiculous statement on them you've ever read?

He wore a beard for the first part of his adult life up until after he had gone to war, then a Mr. Brown trimmed it all off and left him with the mustache that we all know and love and he liked the look so much that he wore it for the rest of his life.

“Mr. [Adjut. John Marshall] Brown took the opportunity today of cutting my beard to suit his notion of my face. He has left me with a ferocious mustache and my bit of an imperial only. The ends of the mustache he has waxed and twisted and they reach positively the angle of my jaw... and would almost meet under my chin. Mr. B. thinks he has me now to suit him- especially for a profile.” Joshua L. Chamberlain- A Life In Letters, edited by Thomas Desjardin. Pg 174

Don’t ask me how, but it reminds me of this vine

7. Let us know three random facts about them!

oh lord where to begin-

- Gonna combine two facts into one in that he was, in fact, a Horse Girl and dedicated almost two pages of his Early Memoir to a story of how he tamed a mare at the tender age of thirteen and mentions her again and again and how well they understood each other. That being said, I feel like any time he mounts a horse it ends in a near death experience for him. That same mare once jumped fence where there was also a low hanging branch and while she made it over just fine, Lawrence had to jump off her and grabbed the branch where he was left hanging there, in his words, like Absalom. One time he was trying to plow a field with the same mare, but had trouble steering her and opted to hop on her back to see if that would make a difference. She got spooked somehow and took off in the direction of a fence, reared, and Lawrence very nearly missed falling on top of the plow. He also had six horses shot from under him while in the war. Six! I’d add excerpts and more sources here, but this post is already a mile long. If anyone needs the proof though, tell me and I’ll make a separate post. For now.... trust me. - He was friends with the Stowe’s, as in Calvin and Harriet Beecher. Calvin Stowe was the professor of natural and revealed religion at Bowdoin College and Lawrence studied Hebrew literature while taking his class. Lawrence was also invited to the Stowe’s house by Harriet on some Saturday evenings along with some other friends of the Stowe’s where she would read her newest chapters of her current work before she sent it to be published in the abolitionist paper The National Era, what would later become the book we all know as Uncle Tom’s Cabin. In the Hands of Providence, Trulock. Pg. 42

- While he was in college, there was this event called “Class-Tree day” where the custom of each class could go out, find a tree, and come back and plant it on campus. The game was to find a tree as far away from the school as possible, and Lawrence went out with a group of friends to find their own. His friends had brought some alcohol with them (which Lawrence did not drink; he did not drink at all while attending college) and they caused a scene in a town called Lisbon and the people there complained to the college about the students and Lawrence was brought forth to testify against them and point out who had brought along the refreshments. Except he didn’t; he made it clear he did not drink any alcohol but refused to testify against his friends because he did not want to break the trust he had with his friends and commit such a traitorous act. The president of the college threatened to expel him and Lawrence still did not relent, and said that if he was sent home for this then he knew his father would be proud of him. As he packed up his things, his friends heard about what happened and would not let such a fate befall him so they all marched to the Presidents office and fessed up. They all got basically a slap on the wrist and Lawrence wasn’t expelled! Blessed Boyhood!, Chamberlain. Pg. 55-57 Original post is here if you want to ask me more things!

#joshua lawrence chamberlain #Joshua Chamberlain #history #20th maine #american civil war #ask game #bard rambles #maine manz #holy shit this post was long #art i am so sorry

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lezliefaithwade · 4 years ago

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Being An Actress

I remember the moment I decided I wanted to be an actress. I was walking across the parking lot of my high school after an undoubtedly stellar performance as Portia in an all-girl production of The Merchant of Venice when my father turned to me and said, "Do you think you might want to do this for a living?" At the time I remembered feeling a little insulted. My grades were excellent. Didn't my father think I could be a lawyer or a veterinarian or a psychologist? It wasn't that I didn't love to act, but everyone I knew who wanted to be an actress was either egotistical or unstable. Not that one was mutually exclusive of the other. What did this say about me? No one in my family acted, although my Grandmother often hinted of an unsubstantiated family connection to Hermoine Gingold. Occasionally my parents would take us to see a play or listen to a concert, but only to help make us well-rounded individuals. When someone would go on about the Sound of Music my father would roll his eyes and say, “How can I take a nun singing on hilltops seriously?” And I found myself admitting that he had a point.

When I was four I appeared on Romper Room for an unprecedented two weeks. At the time my best friend, Mary Lou, had been selected for the local cable network but her incredibly shy demeanor had her mother worried.

“She’s gonna sit there like a sack of potatoes.” Mrs. Dean told my Mother who quickly suggested that I accompany Mary Lou for moral support.

“What do I have to do?” I asked my mother as she was tucking me into bed.

“Just be yourself,” she replied. My mother knew exactly what that meant. Naturally loquacious I kept things hopping on the set by constantly commenting on the camera man kissing the teacher. When asked what my father had in his garage, I remarked that it was presumptuous to even assume we had one. There was some discussion about a third week, but Miss Dawson put her foot down and said I was stealing the show.

Soon I was taking dance classes and skating lessons. My first stage appearance was as a rabbit in the famous ballet, Bugs Bunny's Birthday Party. I was excited because we second tiered rabbits were going to eat sandwiches on stage. Then disaster struck. The sandwiches were going to be peanut butter and I hated peanut butter. Teary eyed I complained to my mother who told me to grin and bear it. “That’s acting,” she said.

In grade four I wrote a play about a pair of motorcycle lovers and sang Baby Driver while they straddled their desks and rode off into the sunset.

“Hit the road and I’m gone.

What’s your number?

I wonder how your engine feels?”

“Okay,” Mrs. Orcutt interrupted, “I think that’s all the time we have for that today.”

After my father gave me his blessing to pursue a career on the stage, I decided to explore all of my options. I auditioned for an amateur theatre company and played bird #4 in Aristophanes’ The Birds, and a milk maid in Galt MacDermot’s musical adaptation of Shakespeare’s Two Gentlemen of Verona. Not exactly earth-shattering roles, but I knew there was a pecking order (no pun intended) and that dues must be paid. In Niagara Falls, where I lived as a teenager, there were two amateur companies. The youth group that took over the Firehall Theatre in the summer months of July and August, and the adult group that staked their claim the rest of the year. The youth company was run entirely by a handful of 18 to 20-year-olds who took themselves very seriously. We stretched ourselves artistically, which is really just another way of saying that were out of our depth. I remember as Bertha in Pippin I had to say, "Men raise flags when they can't get anything else up." At the time I had no idea what that meant but I certainly enjoyed the response I got every time I said it.

The amateur theatre company in the neighbouring city of St. Catharines were doing large scale musicals with professional directors and a cast of a thousand. Even I could tell the difference between Garden City’s production of West Side Story and the Niagara Falls Music Theatre Production of A Shadow Box. We told ourselves that we were doing something significant for the five or six audience members who sat in the dark to watch us perform. “At least they can appreciate art.” we told ourselves, ignoring the occasional snore beyond the footlights. When someone who had seen our production complained in the paper that “…smut didn’t belong on stage.” I was devasted. “Some people just don’t know a good thing when they see it,” I ranted, “It’s a Pulitzer award winning play.” I forgot that we weren’t Tony award winning actors.

Anxious to spread my wings and get a taste of the real thing, I auditioned for a one-act play festival at the nearby University and managed to get the part of an uptight bible thumper in an original musical called A Hundred Bucks a Week. It was the story of a topless shampoo parlourist who castrates a guy with her teeth. Did I mention that it was narrated by a cat? I still remember singing:

“We all must be as babies in the garden.

Smiling with our mouths all bright and new.

Innocently smelling lovely roses.

Not prying with our fingers in dog doo.”

Needless to say, my father was a little shocked when an actress appeared on stage topless while I sang my heart out in a futile effort to convert her. This time as he walked me across the parking lot to the car he suggested that perhaps I should seriously consider journalism at Carleton. “Impossible!” I stated dramatically, “I’m an actress.” And I actually believed it.

I arrived at University wearing vintage clothes with frizzy hair and John Lennon glasses. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to be Doris Finsecker from Fame or Janice Joplin. My dorm room-mate was an engineering student who was the first to know of a kegger and had never seen a play in her life. She often returned to our room late at night reeking of booze and sludge water after spontaneous dips in the Detroit River.

At theatre school I was told I couldn’t dance, I couldn’t sing, I had speech impediments and a wandering left eye that would completely destroy any hopes of a career in film “Too bad you didn’t have it looked at when you were a kid,”one professor told me, “It’s easily treatable if caught when you are young.” At the age of five I was a frequent visitor to Sick Kids Hospital for my eye and wore a patch over my glasses for a year. It didn’t cure me. So much for trusting the knowledge of my professors. Strike one!

I began to sink under the pressure of looks and expectations. While the rest of the women in my class wasted away proclaiming to have eaten nothing but broccoli over Thanksgiving, I gained seven pounds over a new found love of peanut butter and developed a bad attitude towards anyone who encouraged me to “feel space”. When my teacher overheard me mutter under my breath one day that I hated improve she called a class meeting to discuss why I hated her. Everyone stared at me shocked and disappointed. Why was I resisting the pu-pu platter of techniques spread out before me? “You’re a very stubborn actress,” the teacher announced, “but I’m going to break you.” That was strike two.

At my first semester tutorial I was told that I had talent, but I wasn’t tall, thin or pretty enough. “You have the face of Sally Field,” the department head told me, “but the body of Kathy Bates.” Strike three. I went home for Christmas and announced to my father that I was dropping out to focus, instead, on getting into a proper theatre school in New York. After all, I reasoned, it’s where I really wanted to be anyway.

There is probably nothing quite as depressing as returning to your hometown in the middle of winter when all of your friends are away at school having the time of their lives. The overall perception is that you have failed. It didn’t help to think that I had willfully brought myself to this point in time. The phrase, “small fish in a big pond” kept going around in my head. While my best friends were acing all of their classes and dating interesting freshmen, I was eating cookies, and counting the days until everyone would return to amuse me. In the meantime, I moped around the apartment, wrote letters to theatre schools and read a lot of plays.

“You have to get a job.” My father announced and for the first time I was forced to slog my way through the want ads in a half assed attempt to find work at either a wax museum or a fudge shop. Completely unqualified for anything except theatre, I was forced to become a chamber maid at a tacky little hotel near Clifton Hill. Picking up after the kind of clientele that honeymoon in tacky hotels in Niagara Falls is enough to get one thinking seriously about their life choices. Maybe Dad had been right. A career in the theatre wasn’t looking so good anymore. Something had been tarnished from University and I couldn’t pretend that my trajectory to success was going to be one clear straight line to the top. I’d hit rock bottom and was picking up the condom rappers and dirty Kleenex to show it.

There have been many times in my career when I’ve been very close to throwing in the towel and becoming a real-estate agent or a tour guide. At each one of those moments of genuine universal surrender something miraculous always happens. That year it was a letter of acceptance from the Neighborhood Playhouse in New York. By now my father, less convinced that I could make a go of it, made me a deal. If I could find a place to live in Manhattan within a week, he would allow me to go. So, I boarded the train in Buffalo and headed for the Big Apple.

I arrived in New York at around 2:00 PM on a very, very hot day in August. I walked straight to the library, took out the Village Voice, circled an advertisement seeking a room-mate for a four-bedroom brownstone on the Upper West Side, was interviewed at 7:00 PM and secured my living accommodations within twenty-four hours. It didn’t matter to me that I had no idea who the three men I’d be living with were. The place was nice and the price was right. I think I heard my father drop the phone when I called to tell him that I had accomplished the impossible. Studying in New York proved to be the best and possibly the worst thing that ever happened to me. I developed a philosophy of acting that has served me in every way, but it also created a high standard that hasn’t always been easy to live up to.

_________________________________________________________

A few years ago, I was invited to direct a production of Blue Stockings at the same University I had so unceremoniously departed from those many years ago. Parallel universes collided as images of my past kept imposing themselves on the present. There was the quad I had been initiated in. There was the building where I’d slept and laughed and cried. There was my window with the view of the cemetery and McDonalds. There was the library where I looked up the address of every theatre school in New York. There was the theatre I did my practicum in, all pretty much the same as the day I left it. The walls, hallways, buildings hadn’t changed, but I had. I didn’t need reassurance anymore. I didn’t need someone to tell me what I wasn’t or couldn’t be. If only we could teach students the value of tenacity and resilience.

I enjoyed directing that class. I hope I encouraged and inspired them. I was happy when they came to rehearsals in sweats and tee shirts, less concerned about how they looked than we had been. More confident in their choices. More involved. On Opening night after the cheers and flowers and the congratulations, it felt good to climb into the car and head for home. I’m not cut out for institutions. I don’t like the brick and the neon and the bureaucracy. Still, it was good to make my peace with that time in my life. On the four-hour drive to Niagara I was thinking about the young people I had just worked with making the transition from student to actor. Maybe some of them will end up in New York. Maybe not. The thing about acting is it can take you anywhere…from Romper Room to the stars with a few tacky hotels in between.

#actress #new york #university #self esteem

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memorylang · 5 years ago

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I Love This Orphanage | #13 | November 2019

While walking from the orphanage after my third visit (have spent a surprising three hours), I felt serving the teachers and children there was becoming one of my absolute favorite parts of this Peace Corps service. Within my first month, I visited there five times. On my fourth occasion, I even stayed over eight hours!

I describe how I came from seeing the family to feel like part of it. I recall how the children have shown me the mirrors to my younger selves. And I tell, too, how I’m relating to different groups of children.

Witnessing Family: My First Visit

When I first arrived for just an hour at the orphanage with a friend, at once a child with a speech impediment ran up to and hugged me in the office. I felt comforted. We stepped into a play area. Young children eagerly handed me origami boxes they’d made.

Later, toddlers would tug me by the finger to show me different group bedrooms. These pointed to large group portraits of the children. They said, “their family,” in Mongolian and named each member. 57 children live here.

I twinged with sadness when they pointed to those they said went to homes. Ultimately, that’s a goal. But I love these children together. In another room, I watched the children hop from bed to bed, as my own brother and I did when we were little. I sat down for a moment at a bench.

I saw something beautiful. An adorable toddler who kept dashing around to things (the same four-year-old who tugged my finger to bring me places) was doing a headstand. A younger girl beside her, emulating, started to headstand. But the toddler fell into the younger one. At once, the younger girl sobbed. A little boy ran up to the sobbing girl and picked her up. Then the toddler came over and kissed the girl she knocked over. And just like that, the younger one stopped crying. The children returned to plodding around the room with whomever.

I felt privileged to be here among the children.

Becoming Family

On my third visit arrived again an English teacher I met briefly my first two times at the orphanage. She was shortish, always beaming. She hadn’t time to remove her coat before children clustered around her. A toddler hardly tall enough to reach her waist hugged her legs. Then we went inside to teach a couple English lessons.

As for me, the children always noticed on my silver blazer my golden Peace Corps pin with its Mongolian and American flags above the white dove. I feel like when the younger children see the Mongolian flag, they seem to accept me as a friend, even without knowing me. I always have to explain the dove to them, hehe.

And by my fourth visit, I realized when it comes to personal life, the orphans felt like some of the most unassuming children I’d met. They asked in Mongolian how many are in my family. And as I replied, they didn’t seem noticeably horrified or disbelieving when I didn’t mention having a mom. Indeed, they looked content, even captivated, when I described having siblings, too. I had to explain I was actually born in the States and Mom was born in China, though, hehe. (I often have to explain this.) But I liked them.

In ways, the orphans reminded me of my student community in rural Номгон. But, these orphans must for the most part, always remain at the orphanage. They glow, eager to spend time with me when I come. They’re so eager to have me stay for their meals and introduce me to other children.

And on some level, time outside feels frozen when I’m with them. I feel unhurried to leave. Indeed, my third, fifth and fourth visits were amazingly three, four and eight hours long. I feel, if anything, relieved for other meetings to cancel so I can stay longer. A single day at the orphanage can feel like nothing for me. For them, it feels like more.

Meeting My Younger Self

After teaching those first couple English sessions to the children and teens of the orphanage and bidding farewell to my cheery co-teacher, I stayed in the classroom with the few children who remained.

Innocently, a nine-year-old stepped over to me. She took me by her tiny hand and walked me to the whiteboard at the classroom’s front. Then she just started writing math problems on the board while explaining them, completely in Mongolian.

She wrote, “2 x 1 = 2,” then noted, “3 x 1 = 3,” pointing out that with the 1 on the right, the product mirrors the first factor. She said tag questions like, “За юу?” (OK?), seeming to check my understanding. I felt amused by the confidence of this girl less than half my height. She didn’t particularly seek consent before she started instructing.

Then she wrote, “2 x 2 = 4,” and, “3 x 2 = 6,” noting below them how, “3 x 2 = 3 + 3.” Again, she asked a tag question, like “Тэ?” (Yes?), while nodding, like a tiny teacher telling a theory. I nodded my understanding. Then her classmate stepped up to the board, writing, “20 x 3,” and handing the marker to me. I wrote, “60,” pleasing both. I returned the marker to the nine-year-old.

Then, the little girl presented a sort of “exception” to her rule: “1 x 0 = 0.” She followed this with, “2 x 0 = 0.” She handed the marker back to me. I wrote, “3 x 0 = 0.” She seemed satisfied I understood.

In that moment, I felt humbled realizing I was once her. I treated my little siblings when I was her age as she treated me. Then, I felt, I’m standing before a future teacher.

Mom must have seen the same in me, when she watched me for years come home from elementary school, take my tiny siblings to that whiteboard I asked her to buy me, then show my siblings everything from reading to arithmetic. I’m grateful to have had Mom and glad she never held me back.

Meeting My Summer Self

A 10-year-old called, “багш аа, багш аа,” to get me to come back from the board. She asked me to sit with and teach her English. I noticed she hadn’t learned to read, as I tried to help her hear the difference between, “What?” and “Where?” Meanwhile, a 15-year-old at a higher level asked me simple questions I gave simple answers for. But the 10-year-old’s will impressed me. She kept asking me over and over to help, even as she struggled to understand.

In Mongolia, students don’t begin to learn English until fifth grade. And, when they begin, they learn only speaking and listening, with pictures. They don’t learn to read English in schools until sixth grade. But, the 10-year-old insisted on using the book that didn’t seem like her grade’s.

When I was in training during summer, I did the same with my host family as this little girl did with me, as I’d ask my grade school-teaching host mother and less-patient but loving host sister to help me understand confusing Mongolian words. Thanks to them, too, I learned as quickly as I did. For this 10-year-old, I felt I was like the family member who helps figure out this incredible conundrum of a language she wants to know.

On the flipside, I notice while helping the older teens, they seem more intent and stressed to get things right. When I discussed with them scholarships and community service on my fourth visit, they responded disheartened as if they faced insurmountable odds. I love helping them and wish I could reach them. The younger learners seem less defeatist. I’m still learning, too.

Students Striving

I love supporting those striving to improve. At the night’s end on my fifth visit, the nine-year-old wanted me to teach her the ABCs. We were back at a playroom at that hour. As I sang for her and the 10-year-old, they set their fingers on my vibrating Adam's apple. Since they looked confused, I briefly explained diaphragm breathing, showing them how to puff out their bellies, hehe. I recalled three years ago, I sang with vibrato, “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” to huge applause at the open mic night of a national conference in the University of Delaware, haha.

In practicing love, I find different relationships form between the teens, children, toddlers, girls, boys and me. Since my second visit, for example, many orphans call me, “агаа” (my close/big brother). I feel welcomed by the title. I’ll muse about it more in the Thanksgiving story coming next. But, others call me, “багш аа” (my teacher). By my fourth visit, I noticed some call me both. They would say “teacher” while inside the orphanage’s classroom or while talking about my classes. And they said “big brother” in the playrooms and other halls.

Dancing With the Girls

After teaching morning lessons, I came upstairs to join the children. On my fourth visit, they’d dance practice for a routine. I gave the children two thumbs up and a grin when they looked to me, and one of them mirrored me back with more glee! She would also reply, “Woooow!” and place her hands on her cheeks or below her chin, as I do, hehe. My honor society awarded me for how much I said, “Wow,” at university… Seeing their rehearsal, I felt this warm gut feeling, imagining this is how parents feel watching their kids perform. I thought to my smiling parents when I played piano for them.

After their rehearsal, the children had free time to dance. A teen who enjoyed K-Pop put on music and started teaching the younger ones other routines. Seeing the girls dance to K-Pop reminded me of college friends who performed at our conferences those same BLACKPINK and TWICE hits.

I’m quite a go with-the-flow fellow. On my fourth visit, the nine-year-old “teacher” wanted me to dance with her. So I said sure. This first mostly involved the kid taking my hands then waving our arms in rhythm. Then this girl started a sort of waltz, where we would step past each other and back before separating a hand, fanning out, coming back and twirling.

Like with the instructors at Teachers’ Day (who were albeit not too sober), I loved how my dance partner went unfazed by my inexperience. I remembered seeing Mother’s best friend dance, the summer in China I met her after my mother died.

In the moment with the orphan, a thought fluttered. I would love a girlfriend with the fearless will to just have fun. Or maybe a daughter. Maybe it’s life’s seriousness that wearies me.

But other little ones wanted me to dance with them, too. The girl would pout and lecture to them in Mongolian how it wasn’t their turns or something. Then she sat me down and insisted I was too tired to dance with anyone else. Luckily, the teen came to my rescue and had the girl go dance with children across the room. Meanwhile, little girls and boys would just climb on and cling to me. So then I had a few minutes to lift and spin those waiting kids.

By my fifth visit, even without music, the other little girls would take my hands and want me to dance with them. They would giggle with delight when I imitated their K-Pop moves. They would repeat them until I performed well. And all the kids enjoyed, too the popping and locking a fellow Peace Corps friend taught me during summer. So I did the wave and wrist rolls on command. And I’m glad I gave glee.

Brawling With the Boys

Though I often comment I enjoy Mongolian wrestling, I hadn’t wrestled since National Наадам. On my second orphanage visit, many young boys challenged our Peace Corps Health Volunteer to wrestle. My friend wasn’t up for it. When I chimed I’d wrestle, the tiny kids rushed my legs, trying to knock me down. Usually I sidestep so their own weight topples them. But when two kids heaved up both my legs, I was done for, haha.

Relatedly, I noticed a handful of toddlers thrash each other on my fourth visit. I considered how, heck, even my older brother and I beat each other up when we were little. The kids call each other names sometimes, but I always say, "үгүй ээ!" and tell them to be nice. They wouldn’t be family if they weren’t rowdy sometimes, I guess, hehe.

By my fifth visit, the adolescent boys finally took notice of me. So they, too, challenged me in their group bedroom to wrestling. It somewhat reminded me of the Galar Champion Cup from Pokémon, the way children would keep challenging me bout after bout, while others spectated around us. The first teen literally picked me up and dropped me on a bed. Then the next one toppled me from my legs.

A younger kid zoomed around me till I was able to push him down by his own weight. Then, another, I just let exhaust himself till it was a draw. Then I sat to catch my breath. Still, another wanted to go. I accidentally kneed him (ending that tussle), which we both apologized emphatically for. Then the kid I called a draw on rematched. He kept zooming around till I toppled him. But he caught me, and we both fell on the kneed kid. Oh, you can feel the cringe. Boyhood, friends…

Watching Over Toddlers

I wrap up those exhausting boy stories with a tranquil one. Toward my fourth day’s end, I was back in the little classroom with my co-teacher. It was a peaceful moment. So I asked her why she chose to work here. She loves children, she happily replied.

Then a couple toddlers ambled into the classroom. So my co-teacher sat with one at the teachers’ desk, while the boy practiced handwriting Mongolian’s Cyrillic letters. The other toddler was the energetic four-year-old from before. She stood at a different desk. I smiled and sat down with her.

A thought came to me while I watched her flip through an English picture dictionary. Focused, she would circle blank spaces with a yellow pencil she lacked the dexterity to hold properly. Sometimes she would look up at my smirk, then grin back at me, before resuming her paging and circling. I felt the pleasant warm gut feeling again.

A spiritual director advised me this Advent outside the States to be open to in whom I may find God. A toddler, too, was Jesus. His parents surely shared moments sitting with Him, watching His antics getting to know the world. How precious, it felt.

Presence, Longing and Leaving

As I prepared to leave on the third day, the children asked with a sort of urgency the next time I’d return. It’s often like this. I sensed myself in their longing to know when my friends would return to me. I promised as best I could I’d return around this time next week. And the children wished me farewells, returning upstairs to resume whatever they did before I came.

Leaving from my fifth, most recent visit, after I taught the ABCs, the children grilled me at least half an hour for when I’d come back. Like with my college students when they misunderstood my “going home” as going back to the States, the children looked visibly distressed when I said I may visit the States at all. I really do want to be here for them. So before leaving, I gifted the children a bag of my American candy to share. I heard they celebrated their birthdays the day before on Mongolia’s Independence Day. After handing the bag to an adolescent, I saw the children lining up as I left.

One night, while catching up with a friend who’s been in Hong Kong, she commended me and called me so generous for wanting to serve at the orphanage despite being in Mongolia so few months. I hadn’t thought of it that way, before. I hoped I serve well.

Echoes

Around the weeks I began visiting the orphanage, I also found a white kitten in the cold stairwell of my apartment building, curled in the darkness at my doorstep. Its purrs and mewing sounded like a small child, crying out. It scared me at first.

I would step away from my door and retreat down a few stairs. The kitten would follow me down and up, as though seeking a way in. When it neared me, it would nuzzle around my ankles and climb upon my boots. I would stand waiting till it climbed off before I continued stepping.

I don’t want to hurt the kitten, but I can’t care for it by myself. After I re-entered my apartment, I would still hear the kitten meow some nights. But I haven’t heard it recently. I hope it’s OK.

This time last year, when I detailed to a spiritual advisor my feelings of loneliness, he advised I worry less about whether my friends are reaching out to me and focus more on the individuals others aren’t reaching out to. He suggested I write to prisoners, for example. During the year that followed, I engaged in deeper conversations with people without homes, people with disabilities and those who work in stigmatized industries. I also followed my heart to spontaneously reach out to old friends, when feeling called to. Often, I never saw a reply. But that’s alright. “We all lead such elaborate lives,” I remind myself.

I’m meant to serve. I’m meant to love. Perhaps my service is my salve.

After coming home my third evening from the orphanage, I continued to hear in my head the children’s exclamations and questions reverberating. The way the toddlers would climb over me and hug whatever part of me they could reach reminded me of the little kitten, too. My presence is their present.

Two or three years from now, when I leave Mongolia, I’ll surely cry in my goodbyes.

My next story recounts Thanksgiving 2019 in Mongolia.

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me

#Jesus #winter #Thanksgiving #service #gratitude #love #university #student #teacher #English #Chinese #memoir #childhood #memoryLang #Peace Corps #Mongolia #orphan #holiday #story #Catholic

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robotslenderman · 5 years ago

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Headcanon -- Psijic Days Shenanigans

From Vanus’ and Mannimarco’s days as Psijics and students, along with Rowan’s mother:

Eilonwy and Leythen were the “twins” (read: two years apart but that’s so damn rare in Altmer society people regarded them as twins) of a couple who owned a vineyard. The family is descended from some humans, hence the black hair, and has a tendency of getting really embarrassed and yeeting black haired offspring as far away from their vineyards as possible because oh god what if the neighbours find out. Getting two in a row was just humiliating and their mother practically begged Iachesis to take them off her hands.

Ellacalion was all over them because “omg NEW FRIENDS” and he was basically the only kid on Artaeum before them.

So, the two grew up on Artaeum and always considered it home.

When Leythen was fifteen, Valsirenn returned from about twenty years of independent study and started teaching their class. Leythen had a huge crush at just about first sight and couldn’t talk to Valsirenn for years without stuttering.

Valsirenn was pretty concerned about Leythen’s speech impediment and ended up approaching Iachesis about it. Iachesis laughed so hard he cried.

Mannimarco and Vanus were always at each other’s throats. Eilonwy was the one who pointed out to Vanus that Mannimarco was flirting with him.

“You think he’s flirting with me?!”

“You think he antagonises everyone else as much as he does you?”

“Yes!”

“Well, he doesn’t!”

Eilonwy wasn’t a rebel, but she was an independent thinker and very eloquent about it, enough she had Mannimarco’s respect. Yeah, she thought his work was disgusting, but that was because she was more concerned about disease and so on, not because “omg evil”, which was enough Mannimarco was like “Yeah, okay, fair enough” and didn’t hate her guts for it.

Eilonwy’s way of discussing it wasn’t “yeah but what about DISEASE” but more “hey Mannimarco, look at this research on the links between the bodies piling up in sieges and the outbreaks of disease that occurred in the city afterwards due to bad disposal techniques.” Then the two of them would geek out about contagion control for a while. That’s why Mannimarco never hated her.

So, like, Ulliceta speaks as if she never met Mannimarco and Vanus even though she’s been on Artaeum long enough that she should have? Like, Esulo says that they left three hundred years ago, and Ulliceta said she’s been there three hundred and fifty. My headcanon is that she was baked out of her mind for a few decades and that’s why she can’t remember shit.

Esulo was totally an enabler.

Ulliceta and Esulo totally had their own corner of Artaeum just chock full of whatever the Tamrielic equivalent of weed is. Vanus liked to sneak down there and steal a bud or two every now and then. Eilonwy gave some to Leythen once, but he had a panic attack and hasn’t touched the stuff since.

When Leythen was about thirty Eilonwy was like, “you realise you and Valsirenn are both adults now, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Sooo... you can ask her out?”

“OMG. YES. I CAN. I COULD HYPOTHETICALLY DO THAT. HYPOTHETICALLY. ASK OUT THAT REALLY HOT INSTRUCTOR. WHO WILL PROBABLY REJECT ME. OMG”

“leythen. why.”

Cue Leythen spending five more years building up the courage to do it

when she said yes he full on stared at her and was speechless for about a minute because he really did not expect that.

He also absolutely did not expect how into him she was after that first date

basically their entire relationship up to Eldaawe’s death was mutual “wtf whY does this AWESOME PERSON like me so much????”

it was adorable

everyone thought it was adorable

(even Mannimarco thought it was adorable, although he’d sooner die than admit it)

Vanus and Mannimarco being found in compromising positions all over Artaeum. Vanus swears Mannimarco does it on purpose. Not that he minds, exactly...

"You made it sad!” headcanons:

The classmates Mannimarco killed were two idiots that Vanus hated, and Vanus feels guilty about their deaths to this day.

Eilonwy was disgusted with Mannimarco for killing and rezzing their classmates, but because Mannimarco didn’t talk to her between Vanus ratting him out and being expelled from the island, he had no idea and continued to hold her in positive regard.

He’d meet her again years later during his recovery from his captivity with Molag Bal, and she was Not Happy.

Eilonwy left long before Eldaawe was born, and never got to meet her niece.

Neither did Rowan ever meet her cousin, or her uncle.

although Rowan would visit Artaeum later, and everyone’s attitude was “omg, Eilonwy’s kid! one of us!!!!”

They were pointedly less enthused about her being associated with Mannimarco, but semi not surprised, given how stubborn Eilonwy was about discovering things for herself.

#Psijics #Mannimarco #Vanus Galerion #Leythen #Eilonwy Roseheart #Rowan Ravenhead #ESO #headcanon

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stormquill · 6 years ago

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mahpiohanzia | chapter three [Remus Lupin/Reader]

You are an Animagus-in-training nearing the end of your education. He is Generic Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher Replacement #7. Your final year at Hogwarts couldn’t possibly be any stranger than the previous six...but seven is one of the most powerful numbers in magic, after all.

Author’s Notes: Co-written by Andrew. Follow the blog @mahpiohanzia.

Notes: sorry for the lateness, I was much busier irl than I expected! I hope you had a wonderful holiday.

The most unexpected side-effect of carrying a Mandrake leaf in your mouth was the way it poisoned every swallow with bitterness.

Each sip of drink, every bite of food was tainted with a medicinal acridity that made your nose twitch and sent a shiver down your spine. You quickly made the transition to the plainest foods possible to prevent yourself from developing aversions, and six days into the endeavour, all you wanted to do was remember what non-Mandrake-laced roasted chicken tasted like.

The second most unexpected side-effect was how hard it was not to play around with it. With McGonagall’s approval, you’d used a Sticking Charm to keep the leaf affixed to the roof of your mouth, but you kept finding yourself tonguing idly at the thing, like a mouth wound you just couldn’t leave alone. Though the charm had to be reapplied multiple times throughout the day, it worked well to prevent accidents, especially while eating and sleeping.

With your mouth full of Mandrake and your gut constantly swirling with quarts of bitter saliva, you didn’t speak much for the remainder of September.

Snape and McGonagall, the only professors of yours who knew of your Animagus training, didn’t give you any preferential treatment, but at least extended you the courtesy of not asking you direct questions in-class. McGonagall only called on you when it was your turn to cast spells, which were performed non-verbally, while Snape took the simple approach of pretending you didn’t exist.

Flitwick and Vector were more difficult to handle. On the occasion you were called upon for an explanation, you kept your answers short and to the point, as your every other syllable was softened by a heavy lisp you clearly didn’t have before.

Not speaking in Lupin’s class, however, proved to be the biggest challenge.

You were studying advanced theory that month, starting with a thorough review of all offensive and defensive spells you’d learned since year one. The bizarre focus on wand movements would’ve been tedious under any other professor’s instruction, but Lupin had a way of making the most mundane of subjects fascinating; you were convinced he could’ve read the dictionary aloud and still had his class hanging onto every word.

Yet, Lupin encouraged class discussions more than any other teacher--the more you tried to keep to yourself, the more he’d pick on you for answers. You were sure he thought your reservedness was residual shyness from the Shield Charm incident earlier that month--a thought which only frustrated you even more, as you wanted to contribute--but every class, you were forced to choose between pretending not to know the answer, and speaking with a new speech impediment.

You didn’t want to answer any intrusive questions about it, and you certainly didn’t want to risk the leaf falling out, losing all your progress for the sake of engaging in some class discussions.

Idle thoughts of your next Defence Against the Dark Arts class distracted you during Potions one day, almost enough for you to miscount the rat spleens you added to your cauldron--but as you brought a stoppered vial of Shrinking Solution to the front after class, Snape jolted you from your anxious reverie by calling your last name.

“Wednesday,” he said, once again not bothering to make eye contact as he spoke. “Astronomy Tower. Eight o’clock.”

And just like that, your month was up.

Bzzt.

Your enchanted watch gave you a jolt, marking 7:45pm on the night of October 6th.

You were already here.

As the Astronomy Tower was off-limits outside of class time, you hadn’t stepped foot in this place since your finals in fifth year. The tower was just as you remembered it, though, with the familiar wooden floors creaking beneath your feet, and the massive floating gyroscopes rotating silently in the middle of the room. Open stone arches made the tower a bird’s nest, granting a breathtaking 360 degree view of the grounds below and the sky above. The stars were not yet at their brightest, and the pitch-black sky was broken only by the pale glow of the full moon.

You leaned against a railing. The scent of night autumn air was intoxicating--clean and cold and vaguely nostalgic. A stray intrusive thought urged you to jump.

“Clear skies,” said a dull voice behind you. “How fortunate.”

(How was he so damn quiet?)

“Good evening, Professor.”

Snape swept to your side, beneath the open archway with the best view of the moon, and offered up a crystal phial without looking at you. You accepted it. At this point, you didn’t need to exchange words--if you hadn’t memorized these steps by now, you had no right being here.

Holding the phial directly under the moonlight, you finally, finally removed the cursed leaf from your mouth, now dripping with spit, and slid it into the phial, careful not to get anything gross outside the lip of the bottle. You plucked a single one of your hairs from the root, adding it in as well. Snape pulled a second small bottle and a silver teaspoon from the inside of his cloak, measuring out a clear liquid onto the utensil before tipping it into your phial.

Reaching back into his pocket, Snape pulled out a dark, pod-like object and held it up between his fingers. Under the low light, the size and shape of it sort of reminded you of a Licorice Snap.

You offered your phial, but he shifted his arm away from you, as if he were playing keep-away with a child.

You realized he was making eye contact, now. You were not to take his next words lightly.

“The ingredients needed to create this potion are notoriously difficult to obtain,” he said, slowly. “Keep that in mind before doing anything that would warrant asking me for a second chance.”

You blinked.

The incantation. He must’ve meant the incantation.

From tomorrow morning until the next thunderstorm, you would need to recite a very specific spell, every sunrise and sunset. Failure to do so even once would mean having to get a fresh Mandrake leaf and starting the entire process over again.

That was why keeping time was so important this year.

You would charm your watch tonight to give you a five-minute warning before every sunrise and sunset. You would add bone conduction to the enchantment, if you had to, which would rattle you to your core any time the alarm went off. You would have to be incapacitated or dead to miss the alerts, and either fate would be through no deliberate doing of your own.

“I understand, sir.”

Still staring at you, unblinking, Snape took the crystal phial from you and plunked the moth chrysalis inside, before slipping the concoction into an inner pocket of his robes.

He turned his heel and strode away. “You are not to leave school grounds until the ritual is complete.”

“Yes, sir,” you called at his back. “Thank you for your help.”

“Don’t disappoint me,” came his reply, as he descended the steps of the Astronomy Tower.

On Monday afternoon, Lupin limped into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom with a cane in his hand and colour in his cheeks, seeming much lighter and brighter than the exhausted wreck of a man who’d instructed you the previous Wednesday, if not somehow more disheveled.

“Good afternoon, class!” he said, cheerfully.

‘Good afternoon,’ chimed the room.

“We missed you on Friday, Professor,” said a girl in the front row. “Are you quite alright?”

“Ah, yes--thank you for your concern, Miss Perrot.” He rested his cane against the side of his desk, and began unpacking his briefcase. “I should’ve told you all sooner so it didn’t come as such a surprise. I deal with a...chronic illness, though I’m sure you couldn’t tell just by looking at me.” (A sympathetic laugh from the room.) “On the occasion I am too unwell to teach, Professor Snape has kindly agreed to substitute. Now,” he added lightly, facing the class, “how did he do?”

Silence swallowed the room like a Lethifold.

When he wasn’t asking deliberately absurd questions on material you hadn’t yet covered, Snape had used every opportunity to make rude comments about Lupin and his curriculum. Sure, it was a well-known rumour among the older students that Snape had been gunning for Lupin’s job for years. Sure, Snape was probably still raw about the whole Boggart-in-a-dress incident that happened in one of Lupin’s third-year classes earlier last month. As seventh-years, you were all well-accustomed to Snape’s baiting tactics whenever he was in a foul mood, knowing the best way of dealing with them was to keep your head down and your mouth shut.

But no one wanted to break the news to Lupin, especially not when he seemed to be feeling so much better.

“We’re just happy to have you back, Professor,” you finally said, breaking the silence, to the emphatic agreement of the rest of the class.

It was the first time you’d spoken in his class in over a month.

He met your eyes, and all you could see was the pale green, green, green of his own.

“Well, then,” he smiled at you. “It’s good to be back.”

You were just being honest, but the way he beamed at you made your heart leap into your throat.

You looked down at a particularly fascinating scratch mark on your desk, trying to will away the steam you swore was pouring out of your ears.

“Now,” he continued. “It’s been a little over a month since the start of term. I have a fair idea of how we should advance.

“The standard Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum for your first several years entails a balanced mixture of spells and dark creatures. Your sixth and seventh years, however, have a much stronger focus on practical defensive magic. Professor Lockhart was on the right track, I think, starting a Duelling Club--though, my idea involves a bit less showboating.”

Lupin walked around to the front of his desk, leaning back against it to face his class.

“When it comes to this level of study, there is a level of understanding I must help you achieve. Yes, to pass your N.E.W.T.s, of course--but for real life application, as well. You’re far more likely to face another witch or wizard in combat than a Hinkypunk, after all. As with all things within this classroom, I pray you’ll never need this knowledge outside of it, but if you do...I want you to be prepared.”

A boy sitting near you raised his hand. “What is it we’re preparing for, exactly?”

Lupin shrugged, his shoulders shifting with the ominous weight of a history he would not share. “Whatever wicked this way comes.”

The purpose of your earlier spellwork review became clear as you spent the next few weeks practicing the identification of an opponent’s spell based on how they moved their wand. Of course, the readings only worked with spells that required more complex movements than point-and-cast, but once you knew what to look for, it was a surprisingly useful ability.

“Spellcasting is, in part, a visual skill,” Lupin had said, pacing through the classroom of duelling pairs, “universal across all spoken languages. When you cast a spell, you are writing your intentions in mid-air, plain as day. We each have our own little differences, our own styles--almost like a signature. With enough practice, you can learn to read an opponent’s moves as easily as their handwriting.”

Professor Lupin was a phenomenal teacher.

Though topics grew more complicated, he would do his best to ensure everyone’s understanding before moving on to something new. His exams and essay gradings were tough, but fair--whenever you received a paper back, you could expect the margins to be filled with his neat handwriting, containing helpful notes and further readings to help you going forward. During practical exercises, he would give careful attention to every student he passed by, providing praise and advice alike, adjusting the wrists and hands of those whose stances were a little off--and over time, you found yourself getting your stances wrong on purpose, just to have an excuse.

Defence Against the Dark Arts quickly went from your worst subject to your most anticipated class.

“Today,” he began one day, “we will be learning about one of the most satisfying techniques in the art of duelling: spell chains.

“Now, without getting too much into the details of wand movement theory and multi-spell compatability, spell chaining is exactly what it says on the tin--chaining spells together, one after the other, for faster casting and maximum effect. Before today, when you performed spells, each spell was exclusive from one another, yes? You’d practice a charm, reset your wand, and practice the charm again.” He exaggerated waves of his own wand as an example. “This gave you the habit of resetting your wand to center between every single spell. Wastes quite a bit of time, if you’re battling it out. If spell one ends here,” and he pointed his wand off-center, “spell two can be started instantly, right at this point. Spell chaining. Understand?”

The class gave murmurs of general agreement.

“Good. Who can tell me about Hobblemane’s Fourth Law?”

You and a few of your classmates raised your hands. He called on you, and you tried to ignore the way his eyes seemed to brighten as he did so.

“Hobblemane’s Fourth Law of Magical Energy,” you said, “states that a deflection of a spell, followed by a chained cast of that same spell, will use residual magic from the deflected spell to increase the chained spell’s strength.”

“Excellent! This is a very important concept to remember, mind you--I would be surprised if it wasn’t a question on your N.E.W.T.s. If I cast a Stunning Spell, and you deflect it with a Shield Charm chained into a counter Stunning Spell, that chained Stunning Spell will be much more powerful than you rebounding my spell back at me, or performing a Stunning Spell all on its own. Let’s give it a go, shall we?” he asked, and he motioned for you to come up to the front of the class.

The way your stomach churned made you feel full of Mandrake spit, again.

For some reason, you glanced around the room before you walked up, as if searching for someone else to volunteer as tribute. Your classmates were already muttering amongst themselves. You tried not to think about what they were saying about you.

Lupin offered a small smile. “The theory’s more complicated than the execution, I promise you.”

His hand rested against the small of your back to guide you, and your heart lodged itself somewhere in your windpipe, again.

All too quickly, he positioned himself several feet across from you.

“Very straightforward,” he assured, pulling his wand from his robes. “I will cast a spell. You will shield yourself and chain cast the same spell back at me, without repositioning your wand to center. Simple enough?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Good. Wand at the ready, then.”

You drew your wand from your robe pockets--jet-black, a little worn--and raised it, swallowing hard. He wasn’t giving you much time to be nervous, but you figured that was his point.

“One spell into the other,” he repeated, his own wand raised in return. “Just like a signature.”

You nodded.

A beat of silence.

Lupin’s movements were brisk and immediate, but a month’s worth of practice had you recognizing the shape of his spell moments before blue light erupted from the end of his wand.

You focused to make sure muscle memory didn’t bring your wand back to center--you made a slashing movement for the Shield Charm, flowing straight into the wispy movements for the chained Knockback Jinx. Another blue light, much more intense than the first, shot from your wand almost instantly.

Lupin shielded himself, and the spell dissipated with a deafening crack.

The duel had taken less than a second.

The sheer speed of the exchange, in combination with the enhanced power of the chained spell, drew amazement and applause from the rest of the class.

“Brilliant!” Lupin cheered. “Fantastic work, ten points to Slytherin.”

You broke into the biggest smile you’d felt on yourself in months.

You could still feel the ghost of his hand pressed against your lower back, and you had a feeling it might be there for a while.

Halloween brought with it the first Hogsmeade visit of the year.

As per Snape’s instructions, you weren’t allowed to leave the castle grounds until the next electrical storm. You were almost frustrated about not being able to make the day trip until you realized that, since the potion was made, Snape and McGonagall were also having to coordinate one of them being at the castle at all times, entirely for your supervision. Frustration gave way to overwhelming gratitude. Once this was over, you definitely needed to show them how grateful you were.

You had too much work to do to go to Hogsmeade, anyway.

In lieu of an in-class exam, Professor Vector wanted a historical number chart plotted for the entire year of 1872. Professor McGonagall wanted a roll of parchment on the Principle of Artificianimate Quasi-Dominance by Friday. Professor Snape expected his entire class to brew the Volubilis Potion from memory tomorrow morning, which was already difficult without him adding multitudes of instructions that weren’t even in the textbook he assigned. And you were behind on your Protean Charm practice for Professor Flitwick--you still hadn’t managed to get your second match to catch fire when the first one was lit, though you thought you saw it at least smoking a little last time you tried.

Your steady improvement in Defence Against the Dark Arts made it easier to see the gaps in your knowledge: things you should’ve known from earlier years, but never fully grasped. You added your previous years’ notes and books to the pile of things you needed to study, only to realize you didn’t have any proper material from year six--just a stack of discredited autobiographies from an old fraud.

Maybe Professor Lupin had some textbooks you could borrow.

As you made the familiar trek down the second-floor corridor, you spotted a third-year Gryffindor leaving Lupin’s office. The boy had unkempt dark hair and round glasses, and as his bright emerald eyes flickered up at you in passing, you couldn’t help but feel a little starstruck, like you did whenever you passed him in the halls.

If the rumors were anything to go by, Potter had been through the goddamned ringer since he arrived. You found it a wonder he kept coming back to Hogwarts, as you would’ve packed up ages ago if you’d seen half the things he saw at this school; two years in, and stories of what he’d done here were already legend. The famous jinx on the Defence Against the Dark Arts professorship was in effect long before he arrived, but he’d still killed Professor Quirrell-slash-You-Know-Who in his first year, and sent Professor Lockhart to St. Mungo’s long-term care in his second.

...you really, really hoped Harry Potter liked Professor Lupin.

Lupin was at his office entrance when you arrived, seeing Potter off. He didn’t seem to notice you at first, and you failed to ignore how charming he looked just standing there, half-slouching against the doorway with his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t wearing his robes, just a loose cardigan over a dress shirt and tie, with wear and tear in all the wrong places; he wore his dishevelment on his threadbare sleeves, and he made it work, somehow, wholly comfortable in his own skin.

His pale green eyes fell on you, and you remembered his hand on your back, again.

“Oh, hello,” he beamed. “Surprised to see another student not at Hogsmeade.”

“It loses its novelty after the first few years,” you lied, smiling back.

“Really? I’d think Honeydukes alone is worth the trip. What I wouldn’t do for a square of Pink Coconut Ice...I’ve been clean out for a while, now.”

“Why aren’t you at Hogsmeade, Professor?”

He suddenly looked rather tired. “I’ve got my own fair share of work to do, here.”

“Oh!” You pointed over your shoulder, into the distance behind you. “If you’re busy, I can come back later--”

“Not at all, I could use the distraction. I’ve just put on some tea, actually.” He jerked his head towards his office. “Come, keep me company.”

Your heart fluttered as you followed his lead.

Professor Lupin’s office smelled like freshly laundered linen and old parchment. A large, gilded window kept the room well-lit. Dark bookshelves lined the walls, overstacked with old, battered tomes of all shapes and sizes. A massive water tank took up a whole corner of the office, its small, tentacled occupant swimming in agitated circles behind glass. You had a sudden flashback to the first time you tried to visit; if Lupin kept live dark creatures in his office, you figured having a magical seal on his door made sense.

“Please, have a seat,” he offered.

You parked yourself in the squishy armchair in front of his desk, as he rounded his office to the still-steaming kettle nearby. An empty goblet sat on his desk, surrounded by rolls of half-marked student papers, and you couldn’t help but notice that the goblet was identical to the ones lining the shelves of the Potions classroom. Professor Snape was already substituting for Lupin’s classes--was he helping him manage his illness, as well?

Before that train of thought could develop much further, Lupin leaned right over your shoulder, setting a chipped mug in front of you. For the briefest of moments, you caught his scent: clean and cold and vaguely nostalgic.

He smelled like an autumn night.

(A stray thought urged you to jump.)

Sometime within the past couple of months, you’d come to terms with the fact that you may have fancied your professor. It was harmless, in the grand scheme of things--it wasn’t as if you were ever going to tell him, nor were you absurd enough to think it could ever be reciprocated. As it stood, it was something that made you eager to come to class, something that made you work just a little bit harder--and with the amount of studying you needed to do as-is, you would take every bit of motivation you could get.

You definitely had this under control. Definitely.

Sipping your tea, you watched him take the seat behind his desk. Cursive words faded onto the surface of his own mug as the ceramic warmed up in his grasp.

Your such a teas!

“Interesting cup,” you smirked.

“Oh, this old thing?” Lupin turned it towards himself, reading what it said. “Yes, it tells a different tea pun each time you use it. A friend gave it to me, years ago--I daresay the enchantment’s wearing off, though, that grammar is atrocious. How are your studies?”

“Fantastic,” you said, a touch more resolute than the situation warranted.

He raised an eyebrow. “Unusual word to describe your seventh year.”

“If I say it enough, maybe it’ll come true.”

“Given, it’s not the strangest coping mechanism I’ve seen so far.”

“Are you making fun of me, Professor?”

“I would never.”

You smiled at one another from behind your mugs.

Lupin set his back on the desk. “Well, if you’re here to inquire about your grades, you’ve nothing to worry about. Your in-class performance left a bit to be desired at first, but you’ve shown significant improvement this month. It’s wonderful to see you coming out of your shell.”

You bristled. There was no shell, you just had to carry a disgusting leaf in your mouth for four weeks and couldn’t talk properly, but you couldn’t very well tell him that now. If he interpreted this as improvement in his class, however, that was to your advantage--improvement stood out more than consistency, after all.

“Thank you, Professor. That’s good to know, but that isn’t why I’m here.”

“What can I do for you, then?”

“I’m reviewing my old Defence Against the Dark Arts notes, and I realized I don’t have any…” You chose your words carefully. “...credible materials for year six. I was wondering what textbook you assigned your sixth years, and if you had a spare copy I could borrow for a while?”

“I do, actually,” he said, brightening up. “I assigned Arsenius Jigger across classes. Sixth year would be Defence Against the Dark Arts: An Introductory Guide for Practical Use--and I’m sure I have an extra copy lying around here somewhere...”

He rifled through his desk drawers, and the hasty ruffle of parchment filled the room. Muttering to himself, he ducked to continue his search through the drawers, lowering further and further until you could barely see the top of his head behind his desk. He shoved a drawer closed with too much force; rolls of parchment went tumbling across the desktop, and on reflex, you stretched your hands out to keep them from falling off the edges. They were all labelled ‘N.E.W.T. Progress Guide,’ in Lupin’s careful handwriting, each a different version marked with roman numerals.

“‘Progress Guides’?” you read, aloud.

Lupin popped up from behind his desk, a book in hand. “Oh, yes. I’ve got my work cut out for me, as you can see.”

“There are fourteen versions here,” you said, reading the numbers as you tried to stack the rolls back onto each other. “Are you running fourteen different N.E.W.T. classes, Professor?”

“Gracious, no--just three, in total. But with Lockhart’s curriculum...well, everyone I teach is almost a year behind.” He gave a tired laugh, and a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Catching up seventh-year students with sixth-year concepts isn’t too complicated, as sixth and seventh year N.E.W.T. curriculums tie into each other. But catching up sixth-years with fifth-year content in addition to what they should be studying for the N.E.W.T.s is...rather challenging.”

All too empathetic with his dilemma, you nodded. “With all due respect to Professor Dumbledore, I’m surprised someone like Lockhart got hired in the first place. The teachers I’ve had for Defence Against the Dark Arts have all been pretty abysmal so far, but he was really...something else.”

“Dumbledore did his best with what he had, I’m sure. This post is an extremely difficult position to fill--it is jinxed, after all.”

“At least he got it right this time,” you said, unable to stop yourself.

“That’s...very kind of you to say.”

You continued busying yourself with the small tower of rolled parchment. You could hear the warm smile in his voice, coating his words like a happy secret, but you couldn’t bring yourself to actually look at him, not after such flagrant flattery--you were here for a little self-indulgence, sure, but now you were just being careless.

“You can borrow this one, by the way,” he offered. “It’s my personal copy, you may find the notes helpful.”

Your eyes flitted over to the textbook he was handing you. The book was bound in dark hardcover, its edges worn and its title glittering silver. Accepting it, you chanced a glance up at him, only to meet his eyes as he considered you--really considered you--his mouth rounding some word he hadn’t yet voiced.

“This might be unconventional,” he started, sounding wistful, “but I think I may have a solution that would work out for the both of us.”

“...sir?”

“How would you like to be my teaching assistant for the sixth years?”

“Me?”

“Why not?” he offered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve shown the most improvement in your class over the past two months. And you’ve demonstrated an earnest, self-motivated drive for learning, just by coming here today and asking me for this book.”

You gave a small, uncomfortable laugh. “But that hardly makes me qualified to teach.”

“Not teaching,” he corrected, pointing a finger in the air. “Teaching assistant. Going over assignments, grading papers, gathering resources for my classes. You would be studying the same curriculum as my sixth-years in real-time, which is--if I’m not mistaken--where you need the extra study. And you would be helping me just as much,” he sighed, motioning to the rolls upon rolls of his multiple curriculum revisions. “I could do with another pair of eyes on this. Only if you had the time, of course.”

You did not have the time. You did not have the time.

You definitely did not have the time.

“I’d be honoured,” you accepted, stupidly.

“Excellent! I’ll need to clear it with Dumbledore and Professor Snape, but I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

Your heart sank as quickly as it had lifted. “Professor Snape?”

“I can tell you’re worried,” he smiled. “I’ll need to speak with him, yes--he is your head of house, after all. But let me take care of that. I’m only glad to have some help.”

Lupin offered a handshake over his desk, and you took it.

In three hours’ time, you would find yourself at the Halloween feast down in the Great Hall, surrounded by dancing ghosts, delicious food, and far too many sweets to not stuff your pockets for later. In five hours’ time, you would find yourself ushered back to the Great Hall from your dormitory, quarantined to a sea of squishy purple sleeping bags, as news of a break-in that evening instigated a school-wide manhunt for Sirius Black.

But in that moment, his hand was in your hand and his smile was in your eyes.

He is an autumn night, and you jump.

#Remus Lupin #remus lupin x reader #lupin x reader #harry potter imagine #mahpiohanzia

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limitededitionsanderssidesblog · 6 years ago

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Speech Impediment - Chapter 18 (Final)

Ships: remceit, logicality, prinxiety, platonic dlamp

Summary: The end of the school year has come, finals are happening and stress is abundant for each member of their little group. However, the end of the year has also brought on a crushing revelation for Dexter. Remy is leaving for Medical School.

AO3 - Here

Chapter One Previous

It was all a mess. The end times had come for them all. They all huddled together in Remy’s apartment, as he had the most space and security and food, and refused to brave the outside. Tempers were shortened, friendships became rocky, and relationships were tested.

It was finals week, and everyone was cramming to get an A in their respective classes. They had all decided to have one massive study group together despite the fact that very few of them shared similar classes. Mostly they’d just read over material and quizzed each other on topics. Or they would just ask Logan for help or questions since he was the most level-headed out of the bunch.

Virgil and Dexter, who both actually shared a class, poetry, practically locked themselves away in another part of the apartment and hissed when anyone tried to interrupt them. At one point Virgil even threw his pencil pouch at Roman’s face when he wouldn’t stop bothering him, out of frustration. Remy was the only one able to coax Dexter out of the spare room, but only because he offered him studying tips for Anatomy.

But the biggest surprise of it all was the moment when Patton threatened Logan into being his portrait model with divorce. Dexter had been getting a cup of black tea to help him stay awake when it happened. Everyone, including Logan and Patton themselves, knew that he didn’t mean in, but it was still enough to make him reluctantly agree.

In regards to his own finals, Dexter was no longer studying hard for fear of losing his parents’ good favor, he already lost that, but rather to make sure he didn’t lose his student aid, which could be taken away if his grades got too low. He was now supporting himself solely on the part-time job that had become a near full-time one. Remy offered to help him, but Dexter refused to take any of his money. He did allow him to treat him to meals though.

Dexter didn’t regret his choice to enter that contest, it had gotten him the attention of several minor publishers after all, but in consequence he had lost his family. At first he felt bad since he was no longer welcomed in the household, which meant he wasn’t allowed to see Daisy until after she moved out once she grew up, but who was to say she’d want to see him after that. The next week, however, he was pleasantly surprised to see a friend request online from his sister. Dexter knew she wasn’t allowed to have social media and that she had broken that rule to reach out to him, and that made him happy. Dexter still wished his parents were more accepting, but he was finally ready to admit to himself that he was not the problem and not the mistake. His friends helped him to see that.

Back to the present, he was pretty sure that he aced his anatomy and poetry finals, thanks to the help of Virgil and Remy, but his psychology final definitely could have gone a lot better. His creative writing final had been easy enough for him; it simply took a hell of a lot of time to write over the past three weeks. Although, the upside was that once they were in class everyone was given a chance to either study for other classes or watch the movie that was played on the whiteboard. After those two hours were up and he had to leave, Dexter felt reluctant to go because he may very well never have Professor Sharp as a teacher ever again.

With finals now over, the school year finished, and nothing but his job at the bookshop occupying his time, there was nothing keeping his mind off of what was soon going to happen. The realization had come to him weeks in advanced and, although he should have, he didn’t confront Remy about it. Instead Dexter preoccupied his mind in his current life, using work, school, and finals as excuses to not think about it. In turn, Remy said nothing about it either, so he convinced himself it wasn’t of importance.

The two of them had been dating for a little over two months now, going slow and steady as Dexter had wanted. However, now it appears that their time is up. With finals now over, it was time for graduation, which is what Remy was doing. He had finished his four years here and, just as he had once told Dexter he had planned, was to move on to medical school in Chicago. While Chicago was only two hours away by car from their smaller city, Dexter knew that keeping up what they had was going to be difficult. They already only get to see each other a few times a week outside of class because of their schedules, but now they won’t be able to see each other for weeks on end.

But Dexter couldn’t be the thing to get in the way of the dream he constantly talked about. They never talked about their separation so he naturally assumed that they had silently agreed to allow themselves to drift apart.

So Dexter didn’t say anything during finals, or at his Graduation party, or after. That didn’t mean they didn’t speak, of course they did, the spoke of relaxed joy from the end of the semester and of hope for what was around the bend. They celebrated the past accomplishments of the school year. For the offer Dexter received from a smaller publications company to publish the story that had earned him second place in the contest; as well as Logan’s theoretical paper the University had awarded and sent in to NASA. Word was that he may have a position awaiting him there after he graduated next spring. There were so many good things to be happy for and look forward to.

Yet all he could feel was sadness. Try as he might, pushing down those emotions was betraying him, and whenever the subject of Remy moving was brought up, he shut down. He didn’t need to say it out loud for everyone to understand why he was feeling that way, it was obvious. To everyone except Remy it seemed like.

“There’s always video-chatting and online messaging!” Patton said in an attempt to console him, “You could visit on weekends and during breaks!”

“He didn’t tell me that his weekends will be open. He isn’t becoming an intern at a nearby hospital and that won’t take up a lot of his time.” Dexter sighed as he curled up in his bed. Dee Dee curled up next to his head on the pillow, woken up by his movement, “He’s already relaxed about his new schedule. I wouldn’t be a bother.”

“Kiddo, Remy would never think of you like that!”

“Patton’s right,” Logan agreed, sitting on the desk chair and running his fingers through Patton’s hair, who was sitting on the beanbag.

Patton was also due to leave, but only for the next month as he visited his family. Logan wanted to join him, but his own family was planning a trip to Florida to visit his grandparents for a few weeks; so the two of them were spending as much time with each other as they could before they both had to go.

“While Remy is rather... puerile, he has shown himself to be respectful towards you, and no one else.” He murmured the last part.

Dexter chuckled a little at that. Remy always loved to joke around with Logan and push his buttons, which is why the physics major had taken the longest to warm up to him. He knew Remy made Dexter happy, even if he didn’t completely agree with the him being suitable for Dexter.

“Dee, you really should talk to Remy about how you feel. Bottling it up isn’t going to solve anything and it certainly isn’t going to work out a plan for your guys’ future.” Patton told him.

Dexter turned to lie on his back, grabbing Dee Dee as she slithered under his sheets, afraid he might crush her. They were right. He needed to confront Remy about this before he left. He was due to move into the new apartment in Chicago at the start of July, which was currently two weeks away. With each passing day, the time crept closer and closer, and laying around certainly wasn’t accomplishing him anything.

“Alright, I won’t talk to him.”

In the center of the University’s campus there was a large fountain in the shape of a waterfall and river, completed with statues of fish and other animals that one could use to hop across the water, although it was not allowed. That, however, did not stop the few rambunctious students from messing around inside the artistic fountain. Thankfully there were no students currently trying to swim in the artificial stream, because it had been the spot Dexter had asked Remy to meet him at.

The conversation they were about to have could go any way, and though he knew Remy to be kind and understanding, Dexter didn’t feel comfortable having it alone in either his apartment or his dorm room. Dexter sat patiently on a bench for him to arrive, scrolling through his phone and watching the people who passed by as he waited.

“Dee!” Remy’s voice called out from behind. Dexter turned around in his seat to look at him as he walked up.

As per usual, Remy looked aesthetically amazing, wearing laced boots over a pair of faded ripped jeans with an over-sized white shirt, and a flannel wrapped around his waist. On anyone else the outfit would probably look atrocious, but on him it worked. Dexter had long since forewent trying to keep up with his style and continued to wear his plain slacks and button-ups.

“Goodbye, Rem.” Dexter stood up to greet him with a hug, now a bit more comfortable with physical contact to where he would initiate it more often.

“So, what’d ya wanna do? You kinda called me here without an explanation.”

Oh, right, the reason why they were meeting. Dexter didn’t quite feel like saying anything yet and ruin the mood right off the bat.

“It’s an awful day outside. I was thinking we couldn’t go for a walk around campus for the first time.” Dexter inwardly cringed, fearing he had already ruined the mood.

Luckily the med student didn’t appear to be put off and simply agreed with vigor. The two of them walked along side by side along the fountain and headed off campus towards the closest ice-cream shop. Dexter got a double scoop of vanilla and strawberry, while Remy went all out on the rainbow sherbet, Neapolitan, and bubblegum flavors. After they retrieved their frosty treats they continued to stroll through the campus grounds.

They spent a good amount of time just wandering and talking. Remy went on about a new Netflix show he had recently began watching, describing it the best he could without spoiling it in case Dexter wanted to watch it later. The show didn’t sound like his usual genre of interest, but he considered watching it simply from seeing how happy it made the other. Eventually they ended up back where they started at the school fountain. A sudden mischievous grin broke out over Remy’s face, and Dexter knew he was about to do something incredibly stupid.

“Hey babe, let’s swim in the fountain!” He said, his eyes shining brightly behind his sunglasses.

“Remy, I mean bad when I say this, but that’s a brilliant idea.”

“Well it’s too late!” Remy chimed, stripping off his boots and took off the flannel from his waist, dropping them on the concrete ground. Taking a running start, he jumped into the fountain, making a large splash. The fake river was only a foot deep at its best, yet he was somehow able to already soak himself.

A few passersby turned to look at the sound of the splash, staring curiously at the fully grown man who was currently splashing around in a public fountain. Dexter face-palmed and rubbed his eyes, questioning why he had to fall in love with such a lunatic.

Wait... I what? With him? Fuck, when did this happen?

“Baby snake, come and join me! The water’s fine!” Remy called out to him, turning the glares of those around them to him. Dexter shrunk back slightly at the sudden attention, and the ridiculous nickname he couldn’t shake off.

“The water’s temperature is what concerns me!” He called back and walked over. “You are supposed to be in there.”

“Aw come on, there isn’t any security around. Besides, even if there was, they can’t kick me out of school!”

“But they can’t kick me out.”

“Then you could just come with me to Chicago.”

The air grew quiet around them, the weight of what he had just said falling over them. The both of them froze in their places, stunned as their unknowingly agreed forbidden topic was brought to light. Dexter blinked at the implication of his words, not knowing what to think or say in return.

Remy looked away, turning his eyes down to the water that ran past his ankles and soaked his jeans. On the other hand, Dexter couldn’t look away from him, searching through every detail of his face to find any hint of untruth, but found none. Remy was the first to speak up at the end of the extended silence, shifting his head back towards him, but his eyes remaining down.

“I’ve wanted to ask for awhile now, but I didn’t want to force you to make that kind of decision so I wasn’t going to say anything. Looks like I screwed that up.” He laughed bitterly.

Dexter slowly sat down on the ledge of the fountain, pulling Remy down beside him, holding his hand tightly.

“I do want to lose you,”

The thought of splitting apart from him was hard and made him sad. He wished this didn’t have to happen. He’d surely miss the time they’ve spent with each other, all the fun they have, and the endearing moments that he’s come to treasure. They had known each other for six months now and have been dating for the last three, it didn’t seem long on the calendar, but to him it had been almost like years had gone by.

Yet the thought of leaving the others, after all they had been through, was so much worse. Patton had given him a home among them like no one ever had. Logan was caring and watchful towards him like his mother should have been. Virgil had opened up and shared words with him and put his trust in their friendship. Roman had been a helpful accomplice that assisted him through his worst bouts of writer’s block and a fun person to talk with. They all cried together, laughed together, each one of them had taught him things he had never known before; how to open up and be trusting, how to call someone a friend.

Next year both Logan and Patton would be graduating and Virgil and Roman would go on after, leaving Dexter alone; but for all they had now, and could have in the future, he didn’t want to miss a second of it. He cared deeply for Remy, he did, but when it came to choosing between him and the rest, he couldn’t leave them behind. If only he didn’t have to make this choice at all.

“I can go with you. Not when all of my friends are there. They aren’t the only family I’ve ever known.”

Dexter hung his head feeling guilty of his own words. Remy didn’t say anything at first, but instead placed a soft hand on his shoulder and pulled him closer. Dexter laid his head down and leaned into the touch, taking it in while he still could.

“I understand, it’s too much to ask of anyone, and I shouldn’t have put it on you. But Dexter,” The older student pulled away and faced directly towards him, peeling off his sunglasses to show his beautifully two colored eyes, a sign of trust. Remy had once confided in him about his insecurity towards his own eyes, telling him that he wore sunglasses to hide them from everyone, but that he trusted Dexter enough to take them off and allow him to see his eyes.

“I’ve said it before to ease your mind, and I’ll say it a billion times more. I’ll wait. Whether you wanna break up,” his voice cracked on those two words, “or try at a long distance relationship. You couldn’t chase me off with the friend-zone and ya still can’t with the distance.”

Dexter huffed out a small laugh, smiling up at him, “As if I wouldn’t want to.”

Remy smiled back at him and ran his fingers through Dexter’s short, chestnut hair, placing their foreheads together gently. They sat there for a long time in bittersweet joy, knowing that whatever was awaiting them around the bend, they wouldn’t give each other up so easily.

Time. All they had was time. They had two more weeks until they’d have to split ways. Surely the two of them would see each other soon after and talk as much as they could, but in the off chance that time may be far from now, there was one thing Dexter wanted to do before he went, something he was finally ready for.

“Hey Remy?” He called lightly, moving his head from its placement on his boyfriend’s shoulder to look up at him.

“Hm?” The other hummed smoothly, keeping his eyes closed peacefully.

“Could you- could you not, um,” Fuck he was starting to rethink this, it was so embarrassing it made him want to jump in the fake stream behind him and float away. “Could you not kiss me?”

That finally made Remy open his eyes, surprise and earnest glistening behind them as he regarded him.

“Are you sure it what you want?” He asked.

“No.” He nodded.

Remy chuckled lightly through his grin. The tender smile on his face brought out his softer features, highlighting his beauty and sweetness. Lowering his head slowly, giving Dexter time to change his mind, although he knew he wouldn’t, Remy placed a gentle kiss on his lips, as if he were merely floating above him. Dexter returned in kind, although he wasn’t really sure what to do.

Would you believe him if he told you that this was his first kiss? Probably. And if the heavens were on his side, this wouldn’t be their last.

-Fin-

Tag List:

@noneed4thistbh @romanasanders @fuckingemoace @bunny222 @sea-blue-child @astraastro@helloitistimetofight @blue-wolfbane @applecannibal @ryuity @anxiouslyfred @i-identify-as-a-mango @shadowjag @scorching-scotch @cyberpunkjinx @im-so-infinitesimal @witch197 @sparkly-rainbow-salt @calvindientesblancos @sympathetic-deceit-trash @pokii-jonas @eleventhdoctor-whomst @quietwords-loudthoughts @wikartsy @sanderssidestexts @moontreebabe

Thank you to all have been reading this story. I love y’all.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #speech impediment #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #remy sanders #ts remy #sleepceit #remceit #ts sleep #logicality #prinxiety

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jess-cas1800 · 6 years ago

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I should quit.

I should just quit. I'm not gonna get ahead and I'm never gonna catch up and my teacher is useless at teaching me something useful.

I just... I'm struggling in class. And some of it is my fault for not doing the assignments but it's not for lack of trying.

My education professor wants us to record ourselves each week to reflect on our teaching. Thing is, I haven't gotten a lot of teaching done.

My cooperating teacher doesn't feel comfortable sharing the class. I have been struggling a little with teaching high school because I don't have experience with them. I'm used to teaching middle school, hut high schoolers I can't teach apparently. My CT while helpful hasn't been exactly supportive and sometimes I feel like I'm getting fucked over. I'm supposed to do lesson plans each week but my CT doesn't share the plans she has, or she tells me she doesn't have any. I have only a simple "oh we're just gonna do worksheets this week, or we'll just be going over this book." I have no other instruction to go off of. Maybe some actual teachera can help me out and tell me if this is enough to use because as an undergrad in a grad course, I'm fucking lost.

But I've been struggling and my Professor has been getting on me for these lesson plans because sometimes I don't know what I'll be teaching because my CT won't tell me or what she tells me isn't enough. My prof is under the impression that only a simple "we're reading this book or we're going over (insert)" is enough. This is literally all I have to go off of and ahe expects me to do that for the whole week. And I know I'm supposed to know how to do this, but I really don't. I've been trying to but I don't.

"But Jess, just talk to your professor."

Well, unknown hypothetical person, my professor is a fucking bitch. Lemme explain.

I have a minor speech impediment. A stutter and a stammer that go away when I'm drunk. Unfortunately I cannot teach while drunk sk that's out of the question. my stutter gets worse when I try to record myself and I've had panic attacks to the point that it's easier for me to not do so. I brought this up recently and she has a) pointed out my stutter and suggested I write things down (which doesn't address the issue because the issue is the recording part). I attempted to talk to her about an alternative prior to this and she told me that I needed to get comfortable doing it. B) she's told me that this is only for a completion grade and yet she still criticized the video I made. C) seems go think that just because I'm uncomfortable onscreen it goes on to teaching. D) Has not proven actually helpful when I tried to bring up issues and turns it around so I feel guilty for not figuring things out on my own. I TRIED to go to her for help because I was struggling and she managed to flip it over ao that it was all my fault for not trying. She doesn't actually try to.make herself approachable to her students. I get literal panic attacks when she emails me. I can't read the entire thing without having a small panic attack.

I just broke down to my boyfriend who's having his own break down because of all the work we have to do. I tried to bring this up to my prof but aje just shrugged it off and told me that I shouldn't let it affect my teaching which fair but it wasn't why I was telling her. Which, another thing. When I brought this up she said, "well as a professional in this field, I feel like you should already know how to do this." Or some bullshit like that. Which again, fair, but I'm approaching her as a student struggling to keep up in her class.

I tried going to help and I tried improving in her class, but I that means I'm struggling in another class. And I need the other classes for.my bachelors.

But I can't drop out now because I've invested so much into becoming a teacher. I've tried ao hard for the past four years.

But gods, I feel like quitting. I feel like if I drop her course, pass my content exam or don't, it'll at least help me graduate with my bachelor's. And that's all I really need for a job.

And I'm failing her class too. And sure I can work my ass off but that means ruinign any progress I made in my sleep schedule and my decaying mental health. And even if I do, she'll find something to criticize. Something that os wrong and that I missed and then I'll get a bad grade and I'll fucking fail out of the program. And I just... I can't do this anymore.

I want to do nothing. Just lie down and do nothing all day. I want to not be in college. I want to skip when this is done. I want to be somewhere else and be someone else. I want the courage to tell my prof exactly what I'm struggling with but I KNOW she won't listen and find some way to say that I'm not trying hard enough when I'm barely keeping afloat with all the other work I need to do. And it fucking sucks.

I just want to quit.

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awestedevelopment · 6 years ago

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meet jameson ❝ jamie ❞ lennon and her beautiful son cody !!

i’ve added some important information about her and her son under the cut ;;

had always wanted to be a surgeon growing up because that’s what her parents were, but gave up that dream when she fell pregnant at the age of sixteen. as soon as he was born, jamie’s world completely shifted. she no longer cared about her own wants or dreams and instead solely focused on making sure that her son had the best quality of life that she could offer: it wasn’t much and she was often alone, but with the help of her mother, she got by. she and her father have not been on good terms since she told them about the pregnancy and rarely ever acknowledges cody. this upsets jamie greatly, but if he’s too stubborn to accept his grandson then it’s his loss. she won’t let her son suffer for his ignorance.

between her mother, an aunt or two and a few friends, jamie was able to finish high school and graduate as an honor student. she knew that med school could still be an option for her and that it was still plausible that she could become what she initially wanted to be, yet she didn’t. she worked odd jobs around her city of birth vancouver so that she could financially maintain the duo’s life once they moved out of her parents home.

twelve years later and now at the age of twenty-eight, jamie has been working as a paramedic for at least three years by this point while simultaneously studying to become a certified nurse. it may not be quite the same speed as a surgeon, but she saw the value and strength in the nurses that helped care for herself and her son throughout the years and she decided that’s what she wanted to do, too.

she has a tendency to be overworked, underpaid, exhausted and, more often than not, lonely, but she would never show such emotions or negativity around her son. she’s strong for him because she has to be being that she is both parents to this twelve year old boy.

compassionate, adorkable and perpetually exhausted, jamie is generally considered a hot mess. one thing that will never let her down, however, is the fact that she never gives up. it may seem like she does, but what she’s really doing is shifting course; she never gives up, she just redirects and continues forward. she rarely outwardly shows her emotions and has a tendency to bottle absolutely everything up, but do not mistake that for strength. jamie struggles. a lot. she just never grew up in an environment where it was okay to be so passionate about one’s feelings, and while she does her absolute best to make sure that cody can express himself in a healthy manner, it’s often pot kettle black as far as she’s concerned. she can give someone sound and relevant advice that could actually help, but the second it’s turned on her she turns into a brick wall almost. she just... doesn’t know how to handle any of that, and she hides this by putting on a smile.

not important, but when she was a kid her next door neighbour would often call her lemon. it was nothing vicious or anything of the sort, he just had a speech impediment that made him stumble over certain words, and often when he said lennon it would come out as lemon. their parents found it cute so continued to call her such as a term of endearment. she likes to pretend that she hates it, but she kinda does like it. she secretly hopes that one day she’ll hear her father call her it again.

and a ‘lil bit about cody since he’ll be mentioned a lot ;;

cody is a quiet kid and very much a mommy’s boy. he and jamie are practically inseparable; he loves her and he’s literally not afraid to admit it. though, sometimes, this can be bad as he often gets jealous of those who take her away from him for long periods of time.

he absolutely loves anything to do with mathematics and is considered a little genius when it comes to that subject.

he is very particular about his food and what he eats and has a tendency to just eat the same meals day in and day out and can sometimes be upset if this routine is broken. he likes to snack on cucumber and carrot sticks. his affinity for healthy snacks is often the reason why jamie still eats healthily. on the days she’s at work and is unable to get home, she eats so much junk that cody would gag if he saw.

when he was three, he wanted to be a professional clown when he got older. that dream didn’t last long, however, as his mother is petrified of them. now that he’s older and able to have a better grasp on who he is and what he wants, he would like to be a writer. jamie does everything she can do foster this want and encourages his creativity any way she can.

#⦕ jamie lennon ; about. ⦖#i know i know #pairing brie & jacob is unoriginal #but the idea matched them #and i couldn't say no

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logan-are-you-okay · 7 years ago

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Just Nice Friends at School

Robbie and JJ have been friends since they where little kids in kindergarten. JJ was deaf and mute, however Robbie knew sign language so he could communicate with JJ every single day. Also Robbie had a speech impediment, so that was the other way he communicated with other people. They now go to High School with Robbie’s older brother Anti. He was a total rebel at school, always getting in trouble and not caring about anything else. Well... expect Robbie and JJ. He would kill for them, and he has! He was a natural killer, his parents always feared him, but Robbie loved it. Anti would protect Robbie any time, he even protects JJ because he’s like a brother to him. He’s known him since he was hanging out with Robbie. And today... today was no exception.

——

Robbie and JJ where sitting underneath the cherry blossom tree outback behind the school just talking before school started. It was almost a tradition, they would always wait there under the tree until the other one got there. Even if one of them was sick, they’d still wait. At this point they where laughing over a small joke that JJ made when three male students came up to them. They both looked at each other.

‘Fuck’ JJ signed before Robbie gave an agreeing nod. They where bullied all the time, and these guys where the main source of it. Anti tried to convince Robbie to let him kill them, but Robbie said no because words speak louder then actions. Expect Murder, murder was always heard over words. JJ grabs ahold of Robbie’s hand helping them stand up. Prepared for whatever was going to happen.

“The Mute and the Disabled. Match made in heaven.” One of them says and the others snicker. Robbie slightly growls at the comment, and JJ just roles his eyes. He may be deaf, but he can easily read lips. He’s awesome at those ‘Whisper Challenges’ That people do.

“I-I’m n....n-not, n-not.... i-I’m not, d-disabled.” Robbie struggles to say, he actually said. JJ puts a hand on Robbie’s shoulder before looking back at the pricks who where bothing them. It was mainly a way to comfort him, but also to calm him down. JJ could see the pained look on Robbie’s face, he didn’t want it to get any worse.

“Sure, That sentence didn’t prove anything.” A different guy says who had dark black hair. It almost looked like it had blue tints in his hair. His skin was very Dark, more of a tan then anything else. He then took a step towards JJ, but Robbie pulled JJ to the side. He wasn’t in front of him so Robbie knew that he didn’t hear nor see it. He points towards it and JJ finally realizes.

‘I bet he actually has white hair, and just dyes it that color to over composite somewhere else.’ Robbie laughs while JJ chuckles. Not even a second later the first guy grabs JJ by the collar of his shirt away from Robbie and holds him the air. He quickly looks back at Robbie who was rubbing his hand through his fading purple hair, JJ really didn’t care if he was helped. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt, especially not Robbie.

“What did you say, Mute?” The teenager says with a furious expression. JJ just smirks while sliding his finger across his mouth. He. Can’t. Speak. Idiot. Also he didn’t SAY anything, he just signed it so haha. Almost immediately the kid raises his hand quickly, and JJ covers his head with his arms to prevent an attack. The others laugh, but Robbie’s growl deepens. There is no point in them hurting JJ for not being able to answer.

“Maybe we should help him speak, teach him to scream, aye?” One person suggest, while the others smirk in response. Robbie’s eyes widen as he sees the scared closed eyes of his best friend. He has no clue what they’re talking about... but Robbie won’t let them try. Quickly he runs over, shoves the first man away which makes him drop JJ to the ground. Robbie then wraps his arms around JJ’s shoulders almost as if he was trying to protect him. This was stupid! They’re picking on them for no dang reason! They where minding their own business, they’re the ones who came out of nowhere!

“Did you just fucking shove me? When I’m done with you, you really will be disabled.” He says with an aggravated look that sends chills down JJ and Robbie’s spines.

“I....I-if y...you if y-you t...touch me i-I’ll... i-I’ll get my.... i-I’ll get m-my b...b-brother!” Robbie yells out at them, which makes them all laugh but it makes JJ tense up. He’s never been scared of Anti, Robbie’s older brother, but he was scary when he got mad.

‘Your brother’s going to be very mad, Robbie. He scares me sometimes.’ JJ Quickly signs while the other’s keep howling in laughter. Robbie just smiles and signs back.

‘Don’t worry, you won’t be able to hear it anyways. Just close your eyes and you’ll be fine.’ Robbie laughs at his joke while JJ shows a face that looked like he was laughing, but wasn’t. It’s kinda sad really... JJ was born deaf, and he didn’t have a vocal cords or a voice box. So he couldn’t laugh, but he still did without the sound. If he was just deaf he would make a sounds, but he just... can’t. JJ doesn’t really care that much, he’s happy the way he is. Robbie helps him stand up as they look at the The kids in front of them.

“Oh no! Who’s your brother? He gonna makes us sad that we hurt you? Make ya feel guilty!?” The person that hadn’t spoke said that, he had blonde hair with a classic preppy boy look.

“Not really. I was thinking of a more violent option.” The attackers shriek as they quickly turn around. Robbie smiles widely as he sees the familiar dark green hair in front of the bullies. His pale grey skin that had piercings in his nose and gages in his ears. A tattoo going up the side of his neck. The dark black leather jacket that was hugging the outside of the black tank top with a abstracted purples, blacks, greens making a picture of an eye ball that looks infected. Chains where hanging on the outside of his pockets. Then his expression was difficult to describe. It was anger, agitation, a smirk of enjoyment.... and blood lust. A look Robbie has seen a lot.

“Woah, Anti! Hey! W-Whatcha doing here?” The supposed ‘leader’ of the click asks. Robbie looks down at JJ, thankfully he couldn’t see their mouths so he has no clue what was going on.

“I was checking on my little brother, however I saw three cunts blocking the way.” Anti then takes a step towards the three of them, which makes them all step back.

“L-Look man! It’s just a joke! I know you don’t care about anything, and you get in a lot of fights, b-but we didn’t mean anything by it!” The preppy little kid then starts to cower away as he said that.

‘What’s going on?’ JJ Quickly signs, man it must be really frustrating not to be able to hear what was happening.

‘Anti is talking to those jerks, if anything gets bad I’ll tell you.’ Robbie slowly let’s go of JJ’s shoulders. Holding JJ’s hand, Robbie helps him up as he looks back at his brother.

“I wouldn’t really call it joking around. Last week you broke his five ribs, then you beat his friend with a bat till he screamed. Which he couldn’t do, you only stopped because the police came-“ He takes another step towards them, and the others all in one movement step back.

“How is that a joke?” He asks with a very serious expression. However Robbie has seen that look before on Anti. He’s not going to listen to a dang thing they say.

“Listen if we really meant it then-“ yadda yadda yadda. Robbie’s eyes widen as Anti snaps his fingers and makes a knife come out of thin air! How the fudge did he do that!?

“Ya know, my parents have always been afraid of me. So has every teacher or adult.” The three guys then gasps as they see the knife and almost start begging for their lives! Anti just giggles away at their pathetic attempt. They weren’t even kneeling! Robbie quickly covers JJ’s eyes with one of his hands as he closes his own as screams fill the air. The sounds of squishing flesh against blood was faint, but everyone was in terror of what was happening. JJ flinches as he feels something wet hit his cheek. However he doesn’t move, completely afraid of what’s happening. Once the screaming stops, Robbie slowly opens his eyes, then they completely widen. THE FUDGE!? The three kids, on the ground, DEAD! Stab wound after stab wound, blood surrounding their bodies. Robbie’s eyes then fall on his brother who was giggling like crazy.

“A-A... Anti?” He asks timidly. He’s known that his brother kills people, but he’s never seen it first hand. Anti then turns around while inspecting his knife.

“Hey Robester. How’s your day been so far?” He then snaps his fingers and the knife disappears back into the air, and he looks at JJ who Robbie still had a hand over his eyes. Anti then smirks. Why was he smirking? He just killed three people and he’s smiling?

“You do realize you’re holding his hand with your free one right?” Robbie’s eyes widen as he quickly takes both his hand away to reveal a blood red blushing JJ underneath. His eyes where wide and the sight alone made Robbie blush. Anti laughs, but that’s when JJ noticed the bodies. Thank goodness he was mute or he would be screaming so loud that the whole school would’ve heard him. His expression was complete terror, and it even looked like he was screaming.

“Anyways Robster, I’ll clean this shit up. Have a nice rest of your day.” He says while turning around and humming ‘silent night’. JJ doesn’t wait another second before running as hard as he can towards the school while Robbie chased after him. He just saw the bodies of a murder! HIS BEST FRIEND’S BROTHER WAS A MURDERER! Oh shit he has to tell someone! Seconds later Robbie tackled him to the ground while he struggles to get free.

“Y...y-you n...n-need t-to... y-you n..need, y-you n...n-need to s-stop!” Robbie yells at JJ. He had to make sure that JJ didn’t get away so it worth not signing.

‘He killed them! They may have been assholes and hurt us but they didn’t deserve to DIE!’ JJ throws his hands around spastically.

“H-he w...w-was, p-protecting, h-h...he was h-h..h-helping us!”

‘We have to tell someone! There’s no way he’s going to be able to burry those bodies and hide the blood!’

“Y-y...yes h-he, h-h...he y-y...y-yes he c...c-can!” Robbie was waiting for JJ to respond, but all he got in return was him blushing. He arches his eyes brows, why was he blushing? Quickly he understands and stands up rubbing the back of his neck. JJ gets up after holding his arm, slightly looking away but also at Robbie so he can tell if he says something.

“J-j...just d..d-don’t... don’-t just.... n-n..no telli-ing a-any o...one, o-okay?”

‘Yup, won’t tell a soul.’ After that they quickly run inside with each other to class sitting down next to one another. Hopefully class will take their mind off of everything.

( @immortalpoptart did the prompt I asked ya!)

#jacksepticeye egos #jameson jackson #JJ #robbie the zombie #septicart #it counts fanficton is still a form of art #antisepticeye

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