#my teacher flunked the planet

[paperbackpurgatory]

Bruce Coville's My Teacher Flunked The Planet (1992)

The Thrilling Climax to My Teacher is an Alien

[brightsuzaku]

The thing, "humans are space orcs" is one of my favorite things out there in sci-fi right, particularly if we're unintentional space orcs, like, WHOOPS.

Bonding and becoming friends with the other dangerous space orcs. Briefly threatened to never join the Galactic Federation or whatever.

I mean, I remember that the entire plot point of a series of books I liked as a kid was that humans are VERY UNINTENTIONALLY dangerous space orcs, and the entire planet was basically going to be refused the chance to even consider joining galactic society, basically disinvited.

I still don't have the 3rd (or 4th?!) book in this series, and I'm afraid I lost my other two... One day, I'll find you again, Bruce Colville's "My Teacher is an Alien" series.

I also like coming up with weird aliens precisely because these books introduced me to very weird non-humanoid aliens, including a crystalline telepathic starship captain.

I read Animorphs, Goosebumps, and these books when I was in middle school, because I just hecking loved aliens.

[chipmunkweirdo]

Something to discuss at book club.

[siryl]

Cover art by Carles Demiguel for My Teacher Flunked the Planet by Bruce Coville.

[aish-thinks]

Simplifying Sustainability

While I was gazing the sky from a bench in the park heard "akka" (sister), to my right was a tiny tot with her science book. Then came her mum complaining me that she flunked her science exam. The girl immediately said "I don't understand science". The furious science enthusiast in me took up the role of her teacher for the day. The topic was - SUSTAINABILITY.

Mind talk - 'How can I? Probably it will take a day or two for her to learn the spelling it self'. But I will and here I go.

Me - Sustainability is all about changes or adjustments we make to help look after our mother Earth.

She - What changes?

Me – How did you come to the park?

She – Mumma bought me on her bike.

Me – How does a bike run?

She – Petrol.

Me – Where does the petrol come from?

She – From the fuel station.

Me – Ha-ha… how do fuel stations have it?

Puzzled her...

Me – We extract petrol from the crude oils found under the ground called fossil fuels. Once you burn them, they won’t come back. If we use them uncontrollably then by the time you grow up, the entire petrol is finished. Then what will you do?

She – What will I do? (Sad and shocked)

Me – You should start saving from now. You should walk or cycle instead of bike. Likewise, there are few other changes we can make to support our planet Earth like- Rain water harvesting, recycling, repurposing, composting, planting trees, saving energy, using solar power, reduce plastic usage, use more public transportation, save water, maintain ecosystem balance, etc.

She – Now I understand susaiability!

Me – Its SUSTAINABILITY.

She – Yes. S-U-S-T-A-IN-ABI-LI-T-Y.

Me – Yes. Very good!!

As she saw her friends entering, she lands the book in her mum’s lap and run in the playground. I hope she understood sustainability at least a little.

[howlingwolf23]

What is a favorite fact that you like but feel like you never have a chance to share? More than one favorite is also totally acceptable.

My favorite fact isn't about the fact it self but why I know it

So in high school I was apart of a team called Brain Bowl. Think of jeopardy but in teams. In my school, this was an after school program, whereas the schools we went up against was a whole ass class that taught them how to study and gave them specific things to study. We just gained random facts.

Also, I was not seen as a good student, by other students and most staff. I have literally forgot my ENTIRE BACKPACK at home on multiple occasions and flunked multiple classes, with 1 year, my GPA was a 1.25.

So I shouldn't have been on the team based on that but l was because I excel in math and they really couldn't be picky.

At the biggest tournament of the year, we bombed bad, but again, we weren't really prepared like the others. But I remembered the fact I stunned my entire team and teachers.

The quizzer was describing a moon that had seas on ammonia, land of ice, and volcanoes with molten water. The answer I gave was "what is Titan?" which was correct.

Now I love knowing this for 2 reasons.

First, my teammates were getting pissy with me because I was getting a lot of answers wrong and buzzing in a lot. But then our teacher pointed out that, yes I had the most buzz-ins but I also had the most right answers out of the group.

Second, the only, ONLY, reason I know this is because 2 weeks before, I happened to be watching Nova on PBS with my dad, which just happened to be about Jupiter, it's moons, primarily Titan.

I still think the fact is cool, the idea that technically their is a planet that you may be able to swim in it's "lava."

Also, in a much smaller competition of 3 schools in similar levels of skill, we won, and I was again named best in the group for answering the most correct questions. I know it's ridiculous but I was so annoyed that they wouldn't give me the trophy, the first trophy the school won for this. Now reasonably, I would never be allowed it but I also wanted it as proof I am smart.

[maaarine]

when I was a kid, I liked reading sci-fi novels about aliens and space travel, but in a very cool and not at all nerdy way obviously

and more than 20-25 years later, I still occasionally think about one of them

it was the French translation of My Teacher Flunked the Planet (Bruce Coville, 1992), which was the fourth entry in a series called My Teacher Is An Alien

the cover showed an alien about the press a big red button, and lead you to believe that he had pushed it to "flunk” the earth

but the twist of the story, and this is entirely based on my memory of it so I could be misremembering, was that he had indeed destroyed the planet, but not by pushing a button

he had actually contributed to the invention of television, which had inadvertently fucked over culture and people’s mind

obviously this worry about television is dated now, as it was a reflection of the time that you also find in the nonfiction classic Amusing Ourselves to Death (Neil Postman, 1985)

but the reason I still remember that book, despite remembering virtually nothing about my past, is because this idea that destruction would come from a seemingly innocuous piece of communication technology, instead of coming from an obvious weapon, had made a big impression on me at the time

and today when the news jump from talking about Russia’s nuclear power or North Korea launching missiles, to the less concrete concerns regarding GPT-4′s hallucination of false information or Tinder’s gamification of relationships, I still think:

the alien wouldn’t destroy the planet by blowing it up

he would invent GPT-4 and Tinder

[americanhellkmart]

Read animorphs it's elite literature

i've read all of them comrade they're very dear to my heart btw i got distracted answering this and was looking up somrthing about my teacher flunked the planet because i remembered it also radicalized me as a child and i learned the author is bisexual #based

[stubborn-society]

Perfection Won’t Save You

It’s terrorized me for most of my life - the greedy determination to be good at everything, to be perfect, to ascend to a level greater than human. I want to touch the veil between the normal and the paranormal every single day; anything less would deprive me of my destiny. I knew this as soon as I had the faintest grip of consciousness as a baby. As soon as I was aware I existed, I wanted to be great. It doesn’t bother me to admit it, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. 

Now let’s be real: like most people, I came into the world under average circumstances at best. My parents had no reason to put me here. I’m gonna be bold and say you were probably conceived under a very similar set of circumstances. There are a lot of us regular folks out here. No one is perversely concerned with what we’ll do or become now that we’ve been born, other than the things we shouldn’t do - don’t flunk out of school, don’t go to jail, don’t have kids too young - and there are billions of other people on the planet who also only got this directive. We’re brought into the world with very little ceremony - which seems less stressful, to be honest, but the trouble is, if we happen to be born artists, a humble upbringing doesn’t always prepare us for ourselves. It’s still a supernatural calling that we don’t really get to choose - zero resources won’t stop you from being an artist; limitless resources won’t truly turn you into one. One of the most destructive symptoms of being an artist is this supposed entitlement to greatness. Without the breeding to sanely calibrate that privilege, you’re on your own, kid. Kinda.

Some people are told their entire lives that they’re great, omnipotent, special, chosen…and that might not compel them whatsoever. Unlike us, they were conceived to fulfill a duty to be great. I imagine it’s difficult to feel an affinity for greatness when you’re so sheltered from the volatility of existence. The born-greats never experience wanting to be, they’ve never taken a harrowing dive into their deepest, darkest inner world to find a single pearl. Greatness is assigned to them, and they, through no fault of their own, have no reference for how to appreciate it. That’s a completely different experience from the existential hunger and terror us plebs experience. We’re unceremoniously booted out of the womb in the hundreds of thousands daily, only to slash around recklessly in a series of esoteric choke points for most of our lives, if not all. We resent our parents, teachers, and bosses for having authority over us without even having any clue why the hell we’re here - we’re supposed to figure it out while getting yelled at and punished for figuring it out. I’m making a point, I promise. 

I’m assuming that like me, you’re on this planet for no clear reason and you’re also an artist born into conditions that weren’t the most hospitable. Like me, you may have had to either hide your vocation or justify it by vainly obsessing, just to preserve yourself. I’m not insulting you, I’m right there with you. Now let’s say some years have gone by, and you’ve lost the thread. You’re cruising on a malignant loop, with big visions, ruminating over how to bring them to fruition. Let’s say you embark on this artistic journey to create your magnum opus with few resources, no guidance, no support, some close range frenemies, and a lot of internal pressure for your next move to propel you out of obscurity, and not the cool kind of obscurity. The kind that involves putting your purpose on the same level of importance as your family, your partner, your hometown buddies, all of whom have unique reasons to keep you right where you are. Or maybe you’re a few steps beyond that, and your loop circles around the approval of the most successful people in your scene, who also have unique reasons to keep you right where you are. Both scenarios aren’t great. Both spawn a hyper-critical obsessiveness that feels productive because you’re expending a ton of energy, but I’m here to tell you that obsessive perfectionism isn't always inspiration, nor is it hard work. It can be a block. I actually hated typing that. It hurts me too.

My point: you’re a human being. You’re expansive, mercurial, conductive, receptive. You aren’t a Hollywood montage of getting work done and winning. Time is real for you. Practice is real. Frustrations are real.

As artists, we need to continually clean our mental slate of media that oversimplifies our reality. We have to be able to look objectively at the things that inspire us, that seduce us, that fundamentally change us, and remind ourselves, this isn’t real. Eat and drink it for what it gives you, but suspend absolute faith. Because the practice of finishing art is making a village look like just one person. We don’t need to become data-crunching industry magnates to finish our work. We just need a proper grip on reality and a healthy relationship with fantasy. Sometimes it is hard to accept that we’re creating an escape for others to experience. We don’t live in our finished product, because it’s not for us. That’s just the rule, I didn’t make it. You’ll never be able to put our elbow in our ear; don’t get caught trying. The good news is that it doesn’t matter. Another artist made a world for you to walk into, and you can surrender to it at will because they aren't your competitor. 

Wait, wait. Don’t curb your enthusiasm! I’m suggesting you give yourself grace. If the pursuit of perfection is blocking your flow, give it up. Clean up glaring mistakes then keep it moving. Your outlook shouldn’t be controlled by the intentionally digestible media about how it all goes down, because that’s not how it all goes down. Nothing is wrong with you, that’s just not how it goes down. Music documentaries are entertainment. Autobiographies are entertainment. Even Wikipedia is entertainment in a way. The real depth is the reality of your process and flow. The stories we consume are counseled, drafted, edited, polished - and under no obligation to be true. It’s not gospel, it’s also not the product of one hot-blooded misfit chiseling away in their basement, even if that’s the story. No. For you to even see it, labor is divided among several experienced people. None of them individually are sweating as hard as you. Perfection is collective. Closing yourself off from working with others so you can retain your obsessive scruples over every step isn’t making art, it’s merciless vanity and self-involvement; it’s a weight on your spirit. I’ve been this person, I’m allowed to say this. Love yourself enough to be imperfect. Don’t worry. Eventually, all the low-budget insanity is going to make sense. Help is on the way.

I know not everyone is wired for humility, and that’s not a problem. I'm not asking you not to be arrogant. You can teach your arrogance to boogie with grace and chill. It’s really all good.

So far I haven’t found better instruction than this passage from the Tao Te Ching. It’s a reminder to stay grounded in the present, but with the courage to look outward and ahead: 

“He who stands on tiptoe

doesn't stand firm.

He who rushes ahead

doesn't go far.

He who tries to shine

dims his own light.

He who defines himself

can't know who he really is.

He who has power over others

can't empower himself.

He who clings to his work

will create nothing that endures.

If you want to accord with the Tao,

just do your job, then let go.”

(Dear Peasants, Perfection Won't Save You - originally published on beastsunltd.com February 9th, 2023)

[domorebemore]

i legit think my life would be so much better if my mom had actually listened to all the teachers who told her i had adhd and actually did something about it instead of just ignoring it and then years later when i try to bring it up say "well i have trouble concentrating sometimes so i think i'm also a little bit ADD!" like literally my life is in fucking shambles no one will test me i flunked out of college i never have my shit together i have vitamin deficiencies bc i live off of microwave meals i've never been in a serious romantic relationship and i feel like an alien on planet earth but sure i guess we can pretend there's nothing wrong

[90smovies]

[kamenwriter]

Since I found myself thinking about it this morning, shout out to the “My Teacher is an Alien” series. Really good sci-fi for young readers, especially in the last two books. I’ve had these copies since 1991.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

What are other books/series that you'd recommend that are in the same vein as Animorphs?

Honestly, your ask inspired me to get off my butt and finally compile a list of the books that I reference with my character names in Eleutherophobia, because in a lot of ways that’s my list of recommendations right there: I deliberately chose children’s and/or sci-fi stories that deal really well with death, war, dark humor, class divides, and/or social trauma for most of my character names.  I also tend to use allusions that either comment on Animorphs or on the source work in the way that the names come up.

That said, here are The Ten Greatest Animorphs-Adjacent Works of Literature According to Sol’s Totally Arbitrary Standards: 

1. A Ring of Endless Light, Madeline L’Engle

This is a really good teen story that, in painfully accurate detail, captures exactly what it’s like to be too young to really understand death while forced to confront it anyway.  I read it at about the same age as the protagonist, not that long after having suffered the first major loss in my own life (a friend, also 14, killed by cancer).  It accomplished exactly what a really good novel should by putting words to the experiences that I couldn’t describe properly either then or now.  This isn’t a light read—its main plot is about terminal illness, and the story is bookended by two different unexpected deaths—but it is a powerful one. 

2. The One and Only Ivan, K.A. Applegate 

This prose novel (think an epic poem, sort of like The Iliad, only better) obviously has everything in it that makes K.A. Applegate one of the greatest children’s authors alive: heartbreaking tragedy, disturbing commentary on the human condition, unforgettably individuated narration, pop culture references, and poop jokes.  Although I’m mostly joking when I refer to Marco in my tags as “the one and only” (since this book is narrated by a gorilla), Ivan does remind me of Marco with his sometimes-toxic determination to see the best of every possible situation when grief and anger allow him no other outlet for his feelings and the terrifying lengths to which he will go in order to protect his found family.

3. My Teacher Flunked the Planet, Bruce Coville

Although the entire My Teacher is an Alien series is really well-written and powerful, this book is definitely my favorite because in many ways it’s sort of an anti-Animorphs.  Whereas Animorphs (at least in my opinion) is a story about the battle for personal freedom and privacy, with huge emphasis on one’s inner identity remaining the same even as one’s physical shape changes, My Teacher Flunked the Planet is about how maybe the answer to all our problems doesn’t come from violent struggle for personal freedoms, but from peaceful acceptance of common ground among all humans.  There’s a lot of intuitive appeal in reading about the protagonists of a war epic all shouting “Free or dead!” before going off to battle (#13) but this series actually deconstructs that message as blind and excessive, especially when options like “all you need is love” or “no man is an island” are still on the table.

4. Moon Called, Patricia Briggs

I think this book is the only piece of adult fiction on this whole list, and that’s no accident: the Mercy Thompson series is all about the process of adulthood and how that happens to interact with the presence of the supernatural in one’s life.  The last time I tried to make a list of my favorite fictional characters of all time, it ended up being about 75% Mercy Thompson series, 24% Animorphs, and the other 1% was Eugenides Attolis (who I’ll get back to in my rec for The Theif).  These books are about a VW mechanic, her security-administrator next door neighbor, her surgeon roommate, her retail-working best friend and his defense-lawyer boyfriend, and their cybersecurity frenemy.  The fact that half those characters are supernatural creatures only serves to inconvenience Mercy as she contemplates how she’s going to pay next month’s rent when a demon destroyed her trailer, whether to get married for the first time at age 38 when doing so would make her co-alpha of a werewolf pack, what to do about the vampires that keep asking for her mechanic services without paying, and how to be a good neighbor to the area ghosts that only she can see.  

5. The Thief, Megan Whalen Turner

This book (and its sequel A Conspiracy of Kings) are the ones that I return to every time I struggle with first-person writing and no Animorphs are at hand.  Turner does maybe the best of any author I’ve seen of having character-driven plots and plot-driven characters.  This book is the story of five individuals (with five slightly different agendas) traveling through an alternate version of ancient Greece and Turkey with a deceptively simple goal: they all want to work together to steal a magical stone from the gods.  However, the narrator especially is more complicated than he seems, which everyone else fails to realize at their own detriment. 

6. Homecoming, Cynthia Voight

Critics have compared this book to a modern, realistic reimagining of The Boxcar Children, which always made a lot of sense to me.  It’s the story of four children who must find their own way from relative to relative in an effort to find a permanent home, struggling every single day with the question of what they will eat and how they will find a safe place to sleep that night.  The main character herself is one of those unforgettable heroines that is easy to love even as she makes mistake after mistake as a 13-year-old who is forced to navigate the world of adult decisions, shouldering the burden of finding a home for her family because even though she doesn’t know what she’s doing, it’s not like she can ask an adult for help.  Too bad the Animorphs didn’t have Dicey Tillerman on the team, because this girl shepherds her family through an Odysseus-worthy journey on stubbornness alone.

7. High Wizardry, Diane Duane

The Young Wizards series has a lot of good books in it, but this one will forever be my favorite because it shows that weird, awkward, science- and sci-fi-loving girls can save the world just by being themselves.  Dairine Callahan was the first geek girl who ever taught me it’s not only okay to be a geek girl, but that there’s power in empiricism when properly applied.  In contrast to a lot of scientifically “smart” characters from sci-fi (who often use long words or good grades as a shorthand for conveying their expertise), Dairine applies the scientific method, programming theory, and a love of Star Wars to her problem-solving skills in a way that easily conveys that she—and Diane Duane, for that matter—love science for what it is: an adventurous way of taking apart the universe to find out how it works.  This is sci-fi at its best. 

8. Dr. Franklin’s Island, Gwyneth Jones

If you love Animorphs’ body horror, personal tragedy, and portrayal of teens struggling to cope with unimaginable circumstances, then this the book for you!  I’m only being about 80% facetious, because this story has all that and a huge dose of teen angst besides.  It’s a loose retelling of H.G. Wells’s classic The Island of Doctor Moreau, but really goes beyond that story by showing how the identity struggles of adolescence interact with the identity struggles of being kidnapped by a mad scientist and forcibly transformed into a different animal.  It’s a survival story with a huge dose of nightmare fuel (seriously: this book is not for the faint of heart, the weak of stomach, or anyone who skips the descriptions of skin melting and bones realigning in Animorphs) but it’s also one about how three kids with a ton of personal differences and no particular reason to like each other become fast friends over the process of surviving hell by relying on each other.  

9. Sideways Stories from Wayside School, Louis Sachar

Louis Sachar is the only author I’ve ever seen who can match K.A. Applegate for nihilistic humor and absurdist horror layered on top of an awesome story that’s actually fun for kids to read.  Where he beats K.A. Applegate out is in terms of his ability to generate dream-like surrealism in these short stories, each one of which starts out hilariously bizarre and gradually devolves into becoming nightmare-inducingly bizarre.  Generally, each one ends with an unsettling abruptness that never quite relieves the tension evoked by the horror of the previous pages, leaving the reader wondering what the hell just happened, and whether one just wet one’s pants from laughing too hard or from sheer existential terror.  The fact that so much of this effect is achieved through meta-humor and wordplay is, in my opinion, just a testament to Sachar’s huge skill as a writer. 

10. Magyk, Angie Sage

As I mentioned, the Septimus Heap series is probably the second most powerful portrayal of the effect of war on children that I’ve ever encountered; the fact that the books are so funny on top of their subtle horror is a huge bonus as well.  There are a lot of excellent moments throughout the series where the one protagonist’s history as a child soldier (throughout this novel he’s simply known as “Boy 412″) will interact with his stepsister’s (and co-protagonist’s) comparatively privileged upbringing.  Probably my favorite is the moment when the two main characters end up working together to kill a man in self-defense, and the girl raised as a princess makes the horrified comment that she never thought she’d actually have to kill someone, to which her stepbrother calmly responds that that’s a privilege he never had; the ensuing conversation strongly implies that his psyche has been permanently damaged by the fact that he was raised to kill pretty much from infancy, but all in a way that is both child-friendly and respectful of real trauma.  

[epochofbelief]

What To Expect When You’re (Not) Expecting: Chapter One

an A Court of Thorns and Roses Modern AU

Completed Masterlist

Summary !!

All characters belong to SJ Maas!

TW: unexpected death of a family member

Author’s Note: This is only the beginning, and kind of a sad one. My apologies. I did my best to do justice to such a loss.

Chapter One

“Okay, okay everyone quiet down! I’m passing out the quizzes now. No talking or I will give you a zero, and don’t think I’m joking.”

Feyre slumped into the chair behind her desk as soon as every student in the class had received a copy of the quiz. It had been a long day--a long year, if she was honest with herself. Her first full year teaching had been full of surprises and stress she had not anticipated. Teenage drama, overly confident boys who thought they didn’t have to listen to her, rude teachers. It had been fun of course, and Feyre didn’t regret her choice to major in education in college and then jump right into the real world of adult work after graduation. But it had certainly been hectic.

While she’d much rather have taken a short nap at her desk as she waited for her students to complete the quiz, she pulled the enormous stack of seven-paged essays toward her and opened up the first one. It was all she could do to read the whole thing, marking it up mercilessly with her red pen. She knew she’d give a fair grade, of course, but Feyre liked to make every correction she could think of so her students got the most out of her class. And with only two weeks of school left, this might be her last chance to make an impression on her seniors’ writing skills.

Halfway through the quiz, Feyre glanced up at the class again to make sure no one was cheating. Satisfied that everyone’s eyes were on their own papers, she caught sight of her phone as she returned her gaze to the essay in front of her. The screen was lit up with notifications--most from her sister Nesta. She had seven missed calls and twelve texts from her older sister, as well as a few from numbers she didn’t recognize. One call from Elain’s phone.

Brows creasing, Feyre typed in the password to her phone and checked her texts from Nesta. All twelve of the texts read something like:

CALL ME ASAP

Or

FEYRE ARE YOU THERE

Nesta never texted Feyre during work. And she most definitely never called her sister. If she’d texted and called a thousand times in the last twenty minutes, then something had to be wrong. Alarmed, Feyre jumped up, knocking her knee into the side of her desk. “Shit,” she muttered, before realizing she was standing in front of a class of twenty eighteen-year-olds. Deciding it was best not to acknowledge the swear word, Feyre said, “I have to take this call. If I come back in and any of you are talking, I’ll flunk you.”

She slipped into the hallway, nearly tripping out the door in her hurry to find some privacy. She shut the door behind her and stood just outside of her classroom. The spacious hallways were empty, clean. There was still another twenty-five minutes until the bell signaling the end of class would ring.

Hands shaking, and wondering what on earth could prompt so many texts from her usually quite tacit sister, Feyre clicked the “Call” button on Nesta’s contact and waited.

It had barely rung once before Nesta picked up. Feyre waited for her to say something, but the line was silent.

“Nes?”

“Feyre. . .” Feyre heard sniffling sounds from the other end of the line. “I’m driving to the school to pick you up right now. Something’s happened.”

“Nesta, are you okay? Are you crying? What happened?”

“There’s been an accident.”

And Feyre knew. Even without her sister telling her, Feyre knew that the only person on the planet that Nesta would ever cry for would be their other sister--Elain. Elain, the kindest person Feyre had ever or would ever know. Elain, who’d stuck with Nesta and Feyre through all of their darkest moments. Elain, who’d perhaps just had the most difficult past two years of her life and had handled them like the champion that she was. Elain, who Nesta cared about most in this world. Who Feyre cared about most in the world.

“Is Elain okay?” Feyre whispered, not even sure if her sister would be able to hear her.

“N--no,” Nesta’s voice broke. “I--just come downstairs, get in the car. I’m two minutes away.”

“Nesta, I can’t just leave my class.”

“Feyre, get your ass down those stairs!” Nesta shouted, and Feyre rushed back into the classroom, grabbing her purse and telling her favorite student, Natalie, to go get the principal and tell him there’d been an emergency. Feyre bolted down the stairs, leaving her class to stare after her, quizzes momentarily forgotten.

Across the Great Hall of the school, through the lobby, and down the front steps, Feyre didn’t stop moving until she’d thrown herself into the passenger side of Nesta’s Honda Civic. She’d been telling herself that she wouldn’t believe what her gut told her until Nesta spoke the words, until Nesta told Feyre what she most feared had happened.

But all it took was one look at Nesta’s devastated, tearstained face and Feyre didn’t need the confirmation. She sat in the passenger seat, staring out the front windshield, much too afraid to ask. But she had to do it--she knew she did.

“What happened.”

Nesta sniffled, turning up the air conditioning as they barreled down the main streets of downtown Velaris. “It was--a car accident. Elain was driving through an intersection, that’s what the cop who called me said, and somebody didn’t see the red light and they crashed right into the driver’s side. She died almost instantly so--” Nesta’s voice broke off, and Feyre saw her hand shaking as she reached up to turn the AC back down again. “So she didn’t suffer. She’s at the hospital now--in the mortu--the mortuary. Fuck,” Nesta whispered.

Feyre had never seen Nesta cry like this. In fact, Feyre didn’t think she’d ever seen Nesta cry before. Feyre herself was too stunned to cry, unable to process the reality that her sister Elain, whom she’d seen not even a week ago at their usual Sunday night dinner, was gone.

Feyre gasped. “The kids! Were the kids with her? Nesta--”

“No! No--she was on her way to pick them up after work.” Elain worked half days at an emergency care clinic, her children going to daycare until after lunchtime, when Elain would pick them up to spend time with them for the rest of the day. In addition to working at the clinic, Elain had two side hustles: a mail-order bakery business and making corsages and boutonnieres for high school dances, weddings, etc. “They’re still at the daycare--I think we should leave them there until we can, um. Do whatever it is that needs doing.”

“Oh my God.” Feyre blew out a breath and put her face in her hands, resting her elbows on her knees. “Thank God the kids are okay. Shit.”

“I know. I know, Feyre.”

They rode in silence the rest of the way to the hospital.

---------

One Week Later

Feyre walked into the lawyer’s building, the heels of her shoes clicking loudly on the marble floors. She had a feeling she knew what was coming, but today would make it official.

And she didn’t know if she was ready to hear it.

Elain’s lawyer led her into his office, sat her down in the chair next to Nesta, who’d arrived a few minutes before her. After a few minutes of routine pleasantries, then a whole lot of legal jargon concerning Elain’s death, will, and more, the lawyer’s tone shifted.

“I understand you’ve both been taking care of Elain’s three children, Aspen, Aurora, and Basil Shadows. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Feyre spoke up, glancing at Nesta, who nodded. “We’ve all been staying at Nesta’s place, planning for the funeral, and everything.” The funeral had been yesterday. Feyre didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to relive that grey day, dark, sad, shadowed day in her mind. Ever again. And yet she couldn’t stop picturing the patch of dirt in the corner of the cemetery where they’d left Elain; the headstone hadn’t been ready yet. The image of Elain’s three kids standing in a silent line on the grass next to the grave, the cloudy day shadowing all three of their adorable, sad faces.

“Well, I’m here to tell you that Elain and her husband did designate a specific guardian for the children if they should both perish.”

Nesta leaned forward. Feyre sat back, sure that Elain would have left the kids to the oldest Archeron sister, even if Nesta was harsher and involved in a stranger job than Feyre was. As the owner of a local bar, Nesta had semi-stable finances but worked odd hours, often staying at the bar late into the night. Feyre did still want to be there, to offer Nesta her help, and tell her to never hesitate to ask if she needed Feyre’s help watching the kids.

“Elain and Azriel Shadows have chosen Feyre Archeron to be the Guardian of their children. They wished for Feyre to raise the kids, with the help of Nesta Archeron, of course.”

Feyre’s mouth dried up. The world shifted off its axis. Feyre stopped hearing the lawyer, didn’t notice Nesta’s sharp intake of breath at the news, barely felt the plush leather chair beneath her.

Three children--all Feyre’s. And she was only twenty-four. She worked a teacher’s salary. How would she--Feyre shook her head, trying to bring herself back down to earth. There was plenty of time to freak out later--without the lawyer watching.

“Elain also designated Feyre to inherit the home currently being built on Rose Street. That’s where Elain and Azriel wished for their children to be raised.”

Feyre felt as though she was hearing all the lawyer’s words through several layers of glass. The rest of the meeting passed in a blur; Feyre signed the paperwork that needed to be signed, wrote down all the things the lawyer told her she needed to do, and then followed Nesta silently out of the office and into the bright, late spring sunlight of the street.

Nesta stopped just outside the doors, opening her mouth to say something, but Feyre brushed past her, careening down the street. She didn’t know where she was going, or even if she’d parked her car in this direction, but she kept walking, because if she stopped, she knew she’d break down. She’d lost it. Reality would come crashing in and she’d have to figure out how to deal with the very real fact that she was now a mother of three, poor, with nothing but an enormous house on Rose Street to speak of.

“Feyre! For God’s sake, would you slow down?” Nesta shouted after her, finally catching up about fifty yards away from the offices and grabbing Feyre’s arm.

“I thought it was going to be you,” Feyre said.

Nesta shrugged. “Me too, Feyre, but let’s be honest. You’ll make a much better parent than me.”

“Why did they choose me? I’m dirt poor--I’m a teacher! I live in a tiny apartment and make enough money to feed me and me alone. I can’t give those kids what they need. I want to, and I wish I could, believe me I do, but I am not cut out for this.”

“Hey! You can do this--if I had the kids, I’d have to sell the bar, and then I would really be out of a job, and money. I work from six in the afternoon to three in the morning and sleep most of the day. I couldn’t care for those kids. You have a normal schedule. You have a steady job, and a steady mind. You can handle anything, Feyre. And don’t think I won’t be there to help you every step of the way.”

Feyre slumped down onto a bench bolted into the sidewalk. She tried to remember what her therapist always told her to do when she started panicking. She took some deep breaths, tried to focus on one thing she could see, one thing she could hear, one she could taste, touch. But all she could think of was the kids’ faces--Aspen had just turned six, Aurora, who they called Rory, was four and baby Basil was two. Barely a toddler. And she was the one who was supposed to raise them.

“What if I ruin those kids?” Her voice broke and tears finally pushed their way down onto Feyre’s cheeks.

Nesta sighed, sitting next to her. To Feyre’s surprise, her sister’s arm came to rest around her trembling shoulders. “There is no way in hell that you could ever ruin those kids.

Feyre glanced at Nesta. “Uh-huh.”

“I’ve never seen you shy away from a challenge, Feyre. Ever. Think of this as the biggest challenge you’ve had to face so far, with the added bonus of the challenge including three adorable little kids who practically worship you and the ground you walk on. Plus, you have a gorgeous, sexy sidekick who is your sister to help you do this.”

“Modest,” Feyre grumbled.

Nesta moved her arm, placing both of her hands on Feyre’s shoulders and turning her to look her in the eyes. “You’ve got this. I promise. Plus, now you have a huge-ass mansion to live in.”

“Not until they’re done building it. Too bad Elain used all the rest of Azriel’s money to build the house. . . I’m definitely going to need some extra cash flow now.”

“Nothing you can do to change that now,” Nesta said. “And you’re going to need the space, anyways. The money will come.”

Feyre sighed. And even though it still felt as though her insides had just been turned to mush, she dried her tears and spoke. “Okay. How do we tell the kids?”

“We have to be honest with them. Basil has no clue what’s going on, but Rory and Aspen. . . They deserve an explanation.”

“Of course.”

Nesta stood up, extending one of her hands. Feyre looked up at her. “You really think I can do this?” She asked as Nesta took her hand and pulled her up off the bench.

“Damn straight.”

“Then let’s go pick up the kids.”

TAGS:

@sleeping-and-books @awkward-avocado-s @illyrian-bookworm @queen-of-glass @emikadreams @art-e-mis

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[takadasaiko]

Growth and Comfort Do Not Coexist (a Veronica Mars oneshot)

FFN II AO3

Summary: When Logan and his Navy buddy get volunteered for the Career Day fair at Neptune High on the same day that Veronica is hired by Principal Clemmons for a case,  Logan's two worlds cross with some soul-searching results.

Notes: When I started this series the plan was to keep it as a pretty strict extension of canon, but after going through S4 again I feel like it's more accurate to say that it's a very subtle AU with most of canon intact. Most of the time, you may not even be able to tell, while others I'm going to splinter off a bit more. This is one of those times. I haven't finished the novels yet, but I understand that Logan provides a bit of backstory on how he joined the Navy in the second one. At least in spirit it lined up pretty closely with the head canon I was already getting attached to, so I decided to keep the head canon for this series. I'll try to let you know in any future fics as well if it splits for information I know was provided.

Growth and Comfort Do Not Coexist

One of the countless ironies in his life was that it had been his father that had started him on his love of quoting others to find his own way. It made sense, even if he hated it. An actor regurgitating others' words in his own voice and making a mint of people for doing so, but Logan hadn't stopped with movies. He watched everything, read more than admitted to in his younger years, and stored every word, every syllable that he could away in the library of his mind to work into his own vocabulary. He'd honed a quick wit and sharpened his tongue to a razor's edge of protection over the years. It hadn't defended him at home, but it left him ready to take on anyone outside of those walls willing to come at him. Anger had fueled him and made him deadly to the point that he'd driven off nearly everyone that was willing to challenge him for whatever reason.

Almost everyone, and those rare few that had remained had been his saving grace. All these years later he could acknowledge that. Duncan Kane who had been willing to walk off when he'd crossed that line into total jackassery, Dick Casablancas who had done what he could - if he even knew he was doing it or not - by harassing him out of the deep funks he fell in, and that shining beacon of light named Veronica Mars that had reminded him of his own mortality while simultaneously easing the sting of the wounds inflicted by his life. It hadn't always been easy, especially with Veronica. Aaron may have led him to a love of words, but as Logan closed the door to his convertible - tucked in a line of clunkers and high-end cars that made up the Neptune High parking lot - he knew that he never would have made it this far on words alone. He had always craved support. Needed it. And even after Veronica had left, fleeing the black hole that Neptune felt like at times, he'd found it.

He just wondered what kind of quote he could rattle off that could somehow find peace between his then and his now as he stood looking onto the high school that he'd graduated from, the life that he'd left so far behind in so many ways, but he was drawing a blank. No, this was what it was, and really he couldn't even trace it back to a place where he could remember agreeing to this potential powder keg of a day. The order had come down and he'd said yes sir like a good soldier.

"The rest of the squad and I have a bet going on just how much trouble you got into back in the day."

Logan turned to look at Dave Riley, one of the very few people on the planet that he would be willing to die for. He straightened, showing himself to be a good three or four inches shorter than Logan and skinny as hell. His strawberry-blond hair and green eyes that were too big for his freckled face gave him an air of innocence that Logan knew he used to his advantage. That Midwest drawl did it too. People always underestimate him, but Riley had scored even higher than Logan had on the ASTB-E - Aviation Standard Test Battery - which was saying something. He wouldn't have had anyone else watch his back in the air. Thankfully the Navy had agreed when they assigned Riley as his Weapons System Officer.

"Yeah? You really think it's a fair bet for you to weigh in on?"

Riley shrugged and flashed a wide grin that would have put anyone else at ease. Logan knew better. The more innocent he looked, the more shit Riley was likely to pull. "I'm just here to be the honest voice to deliver back anything I learn."

Logan snorted. "Uh-huh."

"Trust issues. You've got them, my friend."

"I've just known you too long."

"Maybe, but you do trust me."

"Doesn't mean anybody else should."

"Maybe I just want to see pre-bottom-of-the-barrel Echolls. They all saw you after you enlisted, but me? I saw you before and it was not a pretty picture."

Logan snorted, the corners of his lips quirking up as he caught Riley out of the corner of his eye. "Weird. See, I thought you were into me, because I kept telling you to fuck off and you kept coming back."

"You wish," Riley chuckled and shrugged. "Seriously though, what was I supposed to do? No telling what you would have done if I'd just left you there by yourself."

"Flunk out and drink myself to death?"

"Yeah, probably."

Logan finally turned to meet those amused, green eyes and his smirk eased out a little. "Rather have you at my back than anyone else."

"Better believe it, brother," Riley answered and reached up, ready for Logan to tap the back of his hand off of his in an old ritual. "You ready to go talk up the Navy to a bunch of teenagers that remind you of yourself?"

"'Originals cost more than imitations.' Suzy Kassem.'"

Riley snorted. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You're one of a kind," he chuckled as they started towards the building.

Logan flashed him a broad grin as his gaze swept the parking lot that they were walking through, finally falling on a familiar blue Hyundai that didn't belong there. Or maybe it did. Maybe a student there just had the exact same make and model of car that his girlfriend had. Coincidences happened. Sometimes. In theory, at least.

"Remind me again how we got roped into this?" Riley asked, drawing his attention back around.

"Pretty sure Wallace - Veronica's friend - put in the specific request. He's a teacher here."

"And here I am. Dragged in because of you," Riley sighed dramatically and Logan popped his fist against his shoulder, receiving a shit-eating grin and response dripping with false cheer in return. "And I wouldn't want to be anywhere else!"

"Logan!"

"Speak of the Physics teacher and he appears. Like magic," the man in question muttered, receiving a muffled laugh from his cohort as Wallace Fennel broke into a light jog towards them. "I hear we have you to thank for this," Logan directed at Wallace.

"I just put your name into a hat. No clue what had to happen to get a couple of aviators in."

Logan opened his mouth to take advantage of the oh-too-easy joke that Wallace had left open for him when Riley cut him off. "Technically, he's the aviator. I'm the Wizzo." Okay. So maybe he brought some of his Midwest propriety with him. There was a first time for everything.

"The what?" Wallace asked, tilting his head a little to the side in question.

"Weapons System Officer," Riley clarified. "WSO. Wizzo."

"Because we're in the Navy and we nickname everything," Logan popped off and tilted his head towards the man standing on his right. "Lt. Dave Riley. He literally watches my back."

"I shoot the assholes, Echolls makes sure we don't get shot by out-flying them," Riley added.

"So you're Goose?" Wallace asked.

"Yeah… just with less death."

"What do you need us to do, Wallace?" Logan asked, watching students filing in towards their first classes of the day.

"Are you going to hate me if I tell you that I didn't warn Clemmons it was you?"

"Pretty sure if you had he would have shut it down."

Riley straightened, interest piqued again. "And exactly why would this Clemmons fellow hate you?" It took less that two seconds for Riley to turn that inquisitive look on Wallace and, while Logan knew the man had to be able to keep up with Veronica in order to stay in her life as long as he had, it would have been nice to think that he didn't have to worry about fielding questions all day. There was a reason he didn't intentionally connection his life with the Navy to his life in Neptune with the exception of Veronica. Ah well. No turning back now. Good thing he was well versed in pretending things didn't phase him.

"I got some dirt," Wallace offered.

"And here I thought you came along to have my back," Logan grumbled, his glare sliding towards Riley.

"Always, man, but the rest of the squad is relying on me."

"Yeah, when'd you get promoted?"

"Even the squad leader has to own up," Riley teased, nudging Logan's shoulder as he strode forward. "Whatcha got for me. Wallace, was it?"

Logan did not like the look Wallace wore as he said, "How 'bout a trade? I'll tell you about the time Logan and one of the other guys from our class put the lit teacher's car on the flag pole -"

Riley's grin only broadened. "On?"

"On," Wallace confirmed, "if you tell us his call sign. Man will notshare. Can't be that bad, right?"

Logan snorted and started back towards the buildings, hearing a far-too-amused Riley agree to the terms and Wallace's story began. This was going to be a trip.

---------

Some days being a PI was exciting. An unexpected client dropped into the office with an interesting story, lots of holes in it that they didn't think you could possibly discover, and a whole puzzle to solve. And then other days it was your old high school principal who showed up with the Case of the Missing Lockbox. What was in the lockbox, she had no idea, just that it was connected to Career Day - she had zero recollection of having a career day at Neptune High. Wow. - and that it mustbe found.

And it was. Almost before Clemmons had finished rattling off his explanation of just how important it was. There was something in that someone needed and he needed…. Really, she'd lost track. Whatever the reason he wanted it, she found it hidden under a loose floorboard in the gym. The rest was history as soon as he'd signed and handed her the check. As soon as she found where Mac had gotten off to, she had no interest in sticking around.

At least until she spotted a very familiar figure standing at the Navy booth talking to an excitable teen about the F/A-18 Hornets that he flew.

Veronica felt her lips turn up at the corners without permission as she inched forward, waiting behind him until the kid was gone. "Take me to bed or risk losing me forever," she whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

Logan turned, cringing as he did. "I swear, if I never hear another Top Gun reference today…."

"You can live a long and happy life?" she offered.

"Exactly. What are you doing here? I thought I spotted your car."

Veronica leaned against the booth, never breaking eye contact. "Oh, you know, solving cases. Stopping crime. Paying the rent." She waved the check in her hand in front of him.

"One of the kids steal something from Clemmons?"

"You know they did, but I fixed it." He snorted a laugh and Veronica cracked a full grin. "Wallace rope you into this?"

"He did. I'm a good friend. Please feel free to remind him of that at any and every possible moment."

She felt her playful smile soften a little, but a voice broke in from the other end of the booth. "Hey, V!" Riley called, offering a wave when she looked over.

"Look at you standing on two legs," Veronica returned and motioned at the potential recruits. "Ask him how he broke his leg a few months ago. Go ahead. Ask him."

"You're not helping," her boyfriend grumbled with feigned irritation.

Veronica turned back to look at him. "So you and Wallace are friends now?" she asked, circling back around to their conversation. "I like the sound of that."

"I like Wallace. I may have even won him over with this one. It's Mac I'm hesitant about. What'd I do to her?"

Veronica cringed a little. "I think it was Parker."

"Seriously? She knows Parker broke up with me, right?"

"There was something about me involved, I don't know. She's around here somewhere bolstering the campus security. You'd have to ask her."

"I think I'll leave it as one of life's many mysteries."

She laughed, inching in. Hell, she did love him in those Navy whites. Her hand reached forward of its own accord, fingers touching the fabric there and ready to curl into it to pull him closer to her, but he caught it before she could. "I'm technically on duty."

"You're technically on duty when you get home from deployment and haul me off the deck to kiss me," she reminded him, her voice low and he'd have to be an idiot to miss her meaning. Logan Echolls was a lot of things, but an idiot wasn't one of them.

"They give me some leeway there. Not so much when I'm telling kids why they should enlist."

"You telling them to get shot at for a living?"

"Hey, now. Technically I have never gotten shot."

"And you've jinxed yourself."

"It's really not as likely if they're on the ship," he answered, his smirk more cocky than she would have liked. She knew all too well that they had come under fire.

"You're not funny."

"Seriously? I hear you find me hilarious."

Veronica held his gaze, those perfectly thin lips of his stretched out into a smile that made her want to drag him back to some secluded corner right then and there, but she knew she couldn't. He couldn't. Or wouldn't. For all of Logan's flippancy towards authority in their youth, he'd found something sacred in the Navy. She wasn't sure if it was the authority, per se, or something deeper that was just reflected there. He'd grown up alone in many ways, even before his parents had died, and certainly without the usual limitations that most children received. He had never told her the full story of how he'd tumbled into the Navy of all things, but her working theory was that it had something to do with the structure and direction that it provided.

Whatever the case, he loved it. His job, his squad, every inch of it. He didn't just love it, he respected it, and for that reason he would respect the fact that he was there to represent it. Oh, if only sixteen-year-old Logan could see himself now. What would he say?

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Mars," he teased, drawing her attention around.

"There was nothing to say that it was inthe gutter, Echolls," she countered, grinning up at him.

"You need a mirror? All the evidence you'll need for - what do you call it? - a money shot."

Her grin grew as her voice dipped. "Usually fewer clothes for that."

"Give me a couple hours," he promised.

Veronica loosed a laugh out on a breath and leaned against the booth, her gaze drifting out to the crowd of kids. They looked like them years before in so many ways. In others, nothing at all. For the first time in a long time she found herself desperate to see the ghost of Lilly Kane dancing through the throngs of students, laughing and teasing and alive. She'd missed so much.

"So, your buddy Wallace told me about the car on the flagpole incident," Riley's chipper voice pulled her out of her thoughts, "but even as spectacular as that is, it couldn't possibly warrant that look."

Veronica followed where he was pointing to see a very nervous looking Van Clemmons standing with Wallace, the principal's gaze fixed on Logan who was chatting with a student.

"Oh, you know, started a few fights, kept getting charged with murders he didn't commit."

"There was more than one?"

"Well, only one in high school," she answered with a shrug. "Looks like you boys may get let go early. Hiya, Mr C."

The principal looked over on his way to the booth, startled and he mumbled something about a dangerous pair. Veronica snorted a laugh and looked back at Riley. "So how do you like the old stomping grounds?"

"It's an experience. Never thought I'd see kids driving Teslas and Beamers nicer than Logan's to class."

She liked Riley, but she didn't often get time alone with him. She wasn't sure if Logan intentionally kept his Navy and his Neptune life a little bit separate, but she did know that as soon as Clemmons could pry his students away long enough from the Navy table he would politely thank the guys for their time and send them on their way. If she wanted to pick Riley's brain at all, now was a chance she hadn't expected. "You guys met sophomore year, right?"

"Yeah. After you left." His gaze slid over to her. "You fishing for intel, Veronica?"

"Just curious. Tell me you didn't sign on to get a few new stories on him."

"Where Echolls goes, I go," Riley answered with a shrug, but as Veronica waited a little of the mirth washed off. He turned to meet her gaze fully. "A few fun anecdotes are one thing, but this? It changed his life. That's his story to tell, V."

She nodded slowly, turning back to find a missing Logan and Mac having appeared at some point, now patiently waiting with Wallace. Wallace started forward. "Hey, Veronica. Didn't know you were going to be here today."

"Missing something or the other," she answered offhandedly. "Where'd Logan go?"

"Not sure. Fair's wrapping up so the kids can get back to class. Clemmons let you guys go early." Wallace extended a hand. "Lt Riley—"

"Just Riley's good, after the stories I got from you." He happily shook the offered hand, his grin returning. "So if Echolls wandered off, who's the lucky volunteer to drive me back to my car at his place? Unless you have extra keys to the Beamer, V. I'd be willing to slum it."

"But would you be willing to stake your life on it if you wrecked Logan's car?"

"Fair."

"We can take you," Mac offered. "If you're parked at their place it's not too far out of the way."

Veronica shot her a questioning look before filing she dug in her purse for her keys and tossed them at Mac. "You two kids be good. I'll grab a ride home with Logan."

She watched Riley turn a funny sort of smile on Mac who fell into step with him towards the parking lot. She would have to file that away in things to figure out later. For now, she had a Logan to track down.

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

Veronica had been busy chatting with Riley when Clemmons gave them the all clear to head out - not a huge surprise and probably the reason Wallace had tried to keep quiet who he'd managed to snag out of the aviation department to come in - and he just needed a couple of minutes to work through the thoughts that he'd shoved down below the surface since arriving on the campus. The students had been called back into their classes and had left the halls deserted, Logan standing alone on the school crest with one hand stuffed deeply into his trouser pockets, the other holding onto his uniform cap.

He hadn't been here since graduation, not that many people made an effort at returning to their high schools, but Logan had made even less so. Hell, he wouldn't have bothered with his ten year reunion if Sean Freidrich hadn't released those videos of Carrie to his instagram account. He didn't have a lot of positive memories associated with it. Sure, early on he'd been popular enough. Money tended to do that in Neptune, as did prestigious parents. Logan had had both. Funny, he'd still had to face most of the battles that had rolled in alone. Especially the ones that counted for anything.

"Hey handsome," a familiar voice chimed behind him and he felt Veronica's hands touch the small of his back lightly as she circled around, her smile flirty and light. "Deep in thought about all the scandalous things that happened here?"

"Yep. I'm pretty sure we made out in that corner. That one too. Oh, and there's the infamous women's bathroom that you kept dragging me into."

"You liked it."

"I did."

Veronica circled around him and he couldn't help but feel his smile turned a little more real. Well, one good thing had come out of it all. Her.

"What are you really thinking about?" she asked, her tone a little less teasing now and damn her. She did see right through him, didn't she?

Logan felt his smile even out, the weight of his thoughts settling back into place from their momentary relief. He let the feelings roll around in his mind for a long moment until they got enough traction to form something like words. Another moment or two and they even started to make at least a fraction of sense. "I've been trying to reconcile who I was with who I am," he said slowly, tasting each word as it left his tongue to make sure it was the right one that best coincided with the emotions that had bubbled up like a geisser ready to shoot towards the sky.

Veronica was uncharacteristically silent as she settled in next to him, both standing on the emblem in the middle of the hall and looking down the long stretch.

"I did a lot of things I'm not proud of. It's easy to say I was young and stupid, but I think…. It used to be easier to keep it all separated. Even living here, when I dated Carrie…. It was different. She had no interest in the Navy. The two worlds were completely separate. Riles only met her maybe… two or three times."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. It was awkward and forced. In the end it was just easier to live two lives, but since you came back it's been… complicated."

He could feel her tense at his side and he risked a look. Well that wasn't a happy look. More of a hurt-desperately-shoved-under-irritation look. "Sorry I complicated things," she groused and Logan scrambled.

"That's not what I mean. I mean, it is, but not like that." He pulled in a breath, trying to find a way to express it in a way that she might be able to understand. "I mean I want Riles to know you. I want you to know him. I want to be friends with your friends and vice versa until they're ours. I just… don't know how to do that without opening myself up for a hell of a lot of shit toted out for everyone to see."

There was another moment of silence from her and Logan shifted from one foot to another, feeling exposed. Finally, he heard her draw in a breath. "'Growth and comfort do not coexist.'"

Logan blinked hard. "Ginny Rometty," he cited, surprise lacing the name.

"I guess? You had it as your voicemail one time. One of your inspirational quotes." Her careful smile flooded him with a sense of warmth. "Seemed to fit."

"Yeah," he breathed.

"I get it," Veronica murmured, looking back down the hall. "When I went to Stanford, I cut ties with everything. I didn't want the two worlds colliding. I never dated anyone for long enough for him to feel like he should meet my dad or anything. To come home. Even with Piz who knew so much of it. I just… kept it separate."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't think I wanted to be that person."

"I love that person."

A small smile tugged her lips out and she reached for the hand still stuffed in his pocket. "Can I ask you something?"

Funny, that question would have terrified him a decade ago, but he heard his response roll off his own tongue without reservation. "Anything."

"Why'd you choose the Navy? I'm glad you did. I've seen…. What it gave you. What it did for you. I just wanna know how you got there."

Logan pursed his lips and considered the question for a long moment. It wasn't the first time she'd asked and she wasn't the only one curious. Just earlier that day Wallace had tried to press Riley for it. Good man Riley. He'd run his mouth about a lot, but not when it counted, and this did.

And because it counted, he knew Veronica deserved to hear it from him.

"I was okay all summer," he started, feeling a little numb as he spoke. "I thought you'd come back. I thought we'd...do what we did back then. Fall apart, come back, try again."

"I transferred."

"Yeah."

"Without telling you."

"I got the hint," he murmured, trying not to sound too bitter. He tightened his hold on her hand in his. "I never really… learned how to process things, I don't think. Not things that mattered. Hell, my go-to when my mom threw herself off a bridge was to hire my best friend's ex girlfriend to prove she wasn't really dead." A mirthless chuckle left him and he felt her tighten her hold on his hand. "I fell apart. Hit bottom. I was on the edge of flunking out, drinking waytoo much, and then this asshole sat down at my table in the cafeteria and just started babbling on about the design of a jet. Honestly, I was so hungover I couldn't tell you what jet he was talking about. All I remember is telling him to fuck off and he thought it was hilarious."

"Riley," Veronica said softly and Logan nodded.

"Riley. He's a stubborn bastard. He kept on me until somehow we became… friends, I guess? Something close to it. Found out later we'd had a class freshman year. The one Wallace and I had where I lost the bet and went streaking through it?" Veronica snorted a laugh at that. She had rolled her eyes pretty hard at the time. "He saw something, through all the bullshit. I don't know why or how, but he had… faith. Ended up convincing me to join ROTC and it was the first time I think I really found structure in my life. I always thought it'd be exhausting but it was… nice, somehow. Not just some assholes that had no business telling me what to do getting off on it, but these people had my back. I eased off the drinking, got my grades up, and did what I had to to get my wings."

"That's… amazing."

"You hear me say Riley saved my life and sure. In the air, definitely, but before that. He got me in the air."

The bell rang. "I'm glad he did," Veronica said earnestly as the doors started opening all around them and she tipped up on her toes to press the briefest of kisses to his lips before the students started to flood out. "Let's go home."

He nodded, words escaping him in that moment as she took him by the hand and led him towards Neptune High's exit, the chatter following them out.

----------- 

It felt like a weight had been lifted off that Logan hadn't even known was there. He had always known what had drawn her into the life she lived, what had driven her to find an outlet for the questions that raged after Lilly's death, but that small, lying voice in his mind had told him that she'd be upset if he explained how he had gotten to where he was. She'd be hurt, thinking that he blamed her for finally scraping rock bottom. Or angry that he had. Whatever the case, it would be his fault and clearly it would drive a wedge between them.

But it didn't. Instead she'd taken it in stride, seeming to be more grateful that Riley had been stubborn enough to help him through it than upset that he'd crashed and burned after she had left. They had both done what they had needed, and they had needed it. As much as they'd loved each other they had been so young and so angry and hurt by the world around them. Jaded and pained in ways they couldn't work through together, not at that point. No, they had had to work on themselves, to find themselves, before they could come back together. And they had. Of course they had. Their story was epic.

Logan pulled the BMW around to park it on the street, brows drawing together at the sight of both Veronica's blue Hyundai and Riley's Mustang. "I thought he'd be halfway back to San Diego."

"Yeah, and I thought my car would be at the office…."

They slipped out of the convertible, finding the steps leading to the apartment empty of waiting guests. Logan heard Veronica's voice and glanced over to see her phone pressed to her ear. "Uh huh. Suuure," she answered with a wide grin. "See you in a sec." She ended the call and motioned towards the beach. "Riley forgot his keys in the apartment and Mac decided to wait with him."

Logan tilted his head and they started the short trek to find his Wizzo and one of Veronica's best friends sitting on a beach towel that must have been in her trunk, deep in conversation. Mac was the first to turn at their approach. "Hi there, Hollywood!" she greeted, her grin quick and mischievous.

And suddenly he knew what the conversation had been about. He locked eyes with Riley whose grin was a bit more sheepish. "Traitor," Logan muttered even as Veronica barked a laugh.

"You finally got it out of him. 'Bout damn time." She turned a clearly fake apologetic look at him. "It's not so bad. You've told me some of the other guys' call signs and they're a lot worse."

"It wouldn't have stuck if he hadn't been such a baby about it early on," Riley chuckled.

"Asshole," Logan huffed without any real spite in his voice.

"Yeah, you love me." Riley stood, brushing off his uniform. "I should head back. Good meeting you, Mac. Loved the story about the scavenger hunt. We should do it again sometime." He glanced back pointedly at Logan. "Cross the streams a little, huh?"

Logan rolled his eyes a little, but he knew the smile inching into place was going to give him away. It was nice to find some weird equilibrium between two pieces of his life. "C'mon. Let's grab your keys."

"Oh, wouldn't you know it?" Riley stuffed his hand deeply into his pocket and returned with his keys. "Oops. There the whole time. See ya next time."

Veronica snorted a laugh as Riley sauntered his way up the beach towards the road. "He's a sneaky little bastard."

"I warned you, " Logan chuckled. "He's been looking for high school stories all day."

"And freshman year of college," Mac offered as she stood, stooping back down to grab the oversized beach towel. "But he does pay well with stories from after you ghosted everyone. How did you stay in ROTC with some of the stuff you pulled?"

Logan flashed her a smug grin and Mac laughed, shaking her head.

"You wanna stay for dinner? We can order Thai," Veronica offered.

"I think we have chicken. I can cook," Logan countered.

"You cook?" Mac asked, the amusement still strong in her eyes. "This I have to see."

"I even know how to wash dishes," Logan countered.

Veronica nodded at the distant figure just reaching the street. "Bet we can grab Riley before he leaves. Swap a few more stories?"

"There's no stopping you now, is there?"

"Flood gates aren't open," she agreed.

"I'll go catch Dave," Mac offered and she was gone before either of them could get a word in.

Logan looked to Veronica, finding those clear and curious blue eyes on him too. "Did she just call him Dave?"

"Pretty sure she did."

"Huh."

They started up the beach towards their friends, Logan risking a glance at the woman he loved out of the corner of his eye and feeling a strange sense of peace washing over him despite what would likely turn into a one-up-manship of stories that evening. Growth and comfort didn't coexist, it was true. It had nearly killed him to find a way to survive everything life has dealt him, He couldn't go back and change the past, and he didn't think he wanted to. Without the struggles he faced, he never would have grown like he had, and that growth had brought him here. It had brought him back to her, and for that he would endure any pain.

-----

Notes:

Hat tip to @his-beautiful-girl_Beautiful_Girl for the Suzy Kassem quote and all of the fantastic folks in the VM Fic Club that were willing to help me find the best quote to use there 3

[iheardarumorxxx]

Alright, time for biology class, let’s go.

Except not quite yet because I have a continuity question: This might be a book to movie error, but this says that Emmett, Rose, and Jasper were pretending to be seniors, but in New Moon (definitely in the movie, but I thought also in the book), Jasper is there at school with Alice and Edward and Bella. So did Forks High flunk Jasper???

Anyway, Biology class.

would manage to pull out anything in his lecture that would surprise someone holding two graduate degrees in medicine.

Edward has two graduate degrees in Medicine. This makes all of the Twilight books look hilarious in retrospect, but makes the fourth one especially funny in a rage inducing kind of way.

The humans weren't smart enough to know that they feared me, but their survival instincts were enough to keep them away.

1) You said this shit already back in the cafeteria, and I didn’t buy it then, so stop repeating yourself, and 2) I will say again since we’re repeating ourselves: They stay away from you because you’re a stuck up, smarmy little asshole.

Still, from the place where Bella Swan stood, nothing.

If only, sweet Weirdo, you had taken this as a sign of what it truly is: Your sweet precious flower Bella is empty space. A placeholder where hundreds of thousands of guys, gals, and non-binary pals can slip in and make it their fantasy. Can’t do that if she has unique and interesting thoughts. (And no, dear readers, I do not consider Twilight Bella’s ‘unique and interesting thoughts’ because SM never mastered that first person POV and it never felt like we were actually in Bella’s head.)

There was no room full of witnesses - they were already collateral damage in my head.

Okay everyone (myself included) clowns on the fact that as soon as Weirdo gets a sniff of the blood, he’s plotting out the murder of his entire class, but if we could all just take a second here. 

Edward Cullen, the Vampire with Morals and A Heart Of Gold (according to the fanbase) gets a sniff of Bella’s blood and is immediately plotting out the murder of his entire class. No hesitation, no thought. This does not strike me as a man with a high regard for human life, as the books tried to tell me over and over that he was. If the line is still in there, this will get even worse later, but for now, I’m letting it rest on that.

I would also like to make a point about Vampires and their Instincts, but I don’t think this is the time for it. Not yet. So hold on to that thought for later.

the face I'd beaten back with decades of effort and uncompromising discipline

Remember that time Weirdo got pissed at Carlisle and fucked off to go people for a few years in a fit of warped vigilante justice?

Okay, the section is far too long to quote, but let’s talk about Weirdo’s little murder plot, shall we? At this point in the story, especially in this one as I am in Weirdo’s head, I’m supposed to think that he’s driven mad by bloodlust and in some kind of incontrollable madness.

But he’s sitting in his seat literally planning out exactly what the best route is to kill every single student in this classroom so that he doesn’t leave any wittnesses to his crime. He’s being detailed to the point that he can tell exactly how much time he has to do this. 

That isn’t driven mad by bloodlust, guys. That’s fucking cold and calculated. This man is planning to the second how to kill 20 people all at once without getting caught. It’s planned down to the detail. As hilarious as it may be to clown on Weirdo about this passage, please think about it. Think about the cold, calculating way he’s describing murdering innocent teenagers and his biology teacher just so he can drink Bella in peace. Please think about the implications of what kind of person Edward Cullen is, that he can so coldly plan something like that. 

In my head, Carlisle's kind eyes did not judge me.

I have a lot of feelings about Carlisle, and none of them are very nice, but I’ll save that rant and see just how he is in this book, since we’re gonna see more of him.

There is more of Weirdo’s woe is me bullshit here. I feel like it’s supposed to be dramatic and really get us into his Feelies about the Tasty Good Hooman Blood he’s wiffing, but it reads so much like a dramatic pre-teen diary entry that all I hear when I read it is ‘Waaaaaah! Why me? I hate everything, this isn’t FAIR!’

But I didn't have to breathe.

This is a very relevant and important point about the mythology of vampires in this canon. They don’t have to breathe. They literally never have to breathe and choose to do so anyway, and while I could understand that new vampires might continue to breathe because it’s a comfort of their previous life and a force of habit carried over, Weirdo has had plenty of time to lose the habit. And it is absolutely possible to not notice someone not breathing if you aren’t constantly staring at them waiting for the signs, so saying that it’s a tactic to blend in (especially when the Cullens do nothing in their power to blend in to begin with) doesn’t fly either. Weirdo goes on to make a point about how he relies on scent more than his other senses, for the hunt and for warning signs and all that, but he is in school, and if we go by the text, he doesn’t want to hurt the humans around him, so even if he does use his sense of smell, he has no reason to use it in a school full of vulnerable teenagers.

Weirdo calls Bella a Woman-Child and Thanks I fucking Hate It.

And once again, Edward is going into a lengthy fantasy about how to get Bella alone to murder her. I said it already but I’ll say it again. This isn’t fucking bloodlust, this is a cold blooded killer plotting his next kill. This fucker is Calculating. He’s plotting. If he was truly as bad off as he’s claiming, he wouldn’t have the brain power to be this cold and rational about it.

I played a CD of music that usually calmed me, but it did little for me now.

This is funny to me for a number of reasons. The first is my assumption that the CD he’s playing is that one with the DeBussy song on it. Symbolism and all that. But the second is that this is v much something that happened all throughout the Twilight saga with SM. She refuses outright to call things by name. She won’t say the names of bands, or search engines, and the only ‘product placement’ we get is the cars. I can’t tell if she did this to try and make her stories feel more timeless or because she was genuinely afraid of being sued or something for using specifics.

He's almost young enough to be my son. Too young to think of that way..

We get is SM, you want us to think your Pires are the most beautiful, amazing, alabaster angel creatures on the planet. But no sane, rational middle-aged school secretary is going to think of a student this way. It’s gross and creepy and makes me think extremely badly of Mrs. Cope if she’s having lustilicious thoughts about what she thinks is a teenage boy. 

like they've found some way to cheat in every subject.

I would like to point out that, at the very least Weirdo has found a way to cheat in every subject. Even taking into consieration the amount of times he’s been through high school and college, the guy can literally just pluck the answers right out of the teacher’s head. 

And we end Chapter One with a wimper. There are a lot of plot holes in relation to Alice’s visions, but they aren’t bad here, so I’ll leave them alone. The narrative of ‘Vampires do everything so much better than icky humans because they’re just the best and wonderful and great and amazing’ has already started happening, and now that we’re in the head on one of the Pires, I can only assume it’s gonna get so much worse. Here, it only really came up in the form of ‘pitiful, insignificant humans could never do that that I could.’ and the super fast driving bullshit that makes no sense because a car is not a Pire so it can’t just magically adhere to the warped Pire physics.

Anyway, that’s chapter one done. On to the next.