#something something sending emails to colleagues is different than sending emails as a student to professors and professionals

[crowleyanthonys]

Sending emails back in the day when a large percentage of my job was sending emails was a pain, but it became manageable. Networking and setting up meetings became easier after a while.

Now, five years later...it's torture. I've been trying to just draft four emails all day and I just can't. What the fuck happened???

[dino-nugget7]

TW: This post is going to be about my experiences as a teacher. This is going to include discussions of covid, child abuse, workplace negligence, and sucidality.

Well, got back on this lovely little hellsite for the first time in about 2 years yesterday. I left here around the time that I had decided to leave teaching. I talked a bit back then about how horrifically oppressive the school system is to students (which is still something I'm pissed about) But I wasn't ready to talk about a lot of the other aspects of the system that disturbed me. I thought I had bipolar disorder because I went through a severe depression and the meds I was put on to cope with that put me through a manic episode which was in some ways scarier than the depressive episode. I haven't had an episode in either direction since leaving. I mention this so you understand how fucked my situation was even if you don't read any farther. I do hope someone reads farther though even though its gonna be a depressing read because I need people to know how horrific it is to work in education, especially rural education.

So here's an exhaustive list of every fucked up aspect of my time as a teacher:

1. Within the first few weeks of being a teacher, a student confided in me about being beaten at home. Of course, I reported it and a few days later the caseworker assigned to that student informed my colleagues and I that the state did find evidence of violence against the student but that it was leaving the student in the home "because the student was 17 and had a history of drug use so there would be no foster families willing to take him." The student was beaten again to the point of ending up in the hospital and the state locked up his stepfather for a few months but left him in the home again with his mother who had let said abuse happen. This is not the worst case of a student experiencing violence at home and not being removed after we reported it that I witnessed. Just the first. I was powerless to help any of them because the safety net they were supposed to have outside of us when horrific shit happens, just...wasn't there.

2. As discussed before I left, I realized that even though I happened to have liked school when I was in, its fucked up how micromanaged every second of the day is for students and how they have no say over what they are learning about. Its fucked up that they are trained to be blindly obedient and forced to stay in spaces and interact with people that cause them suffering.

3. This is pretty specific to the fact that I was in a student self-paced rural alternative school but I was the only science and health teacher both years, the math teacher my first year and the art teacher my second. In a class period with 16 students, it was common for students to be working on 7 different courses. Which would have been fine, I had experience in college running that class structure, but I had no textbooks, no lab materials unless I bought them, very few math and art supplies, and I had to make all of my lesson materials and all 20 curricula from scratch because the curricula I had been handed by my predecessor had been written in 1993 and never updated. Between teaching, meetings, grading, curricula building, classroom upkeep and lab setup I was there every day from 5 am to 7pm at least and often also came in for a few hours on Saturdays.

4. When Covid hit and we all went remote, I spent every day staring at my own face on a webcam for 7 hours because none of the students showed up at all to any of their classes despite us calling the parents we could reach every day and sending emails every day. A few students completed a couple of assignments early on over email but even that didn't happen after a while. I didn't blame them, I know a lot of them were trapped in hell being stuck at home and the rest considered school hell but it fucks with your psyche to spend 35 hours a week forced to stare at yourself on a screen on the slimmest chance someone will show up for 2 months straight.

5. On the last day of school my first year, a parent called and yelled at me about her daughter not getting a science credit and having a 10% in my class. She claimed I never reached out. I pointed out that her daughter refused to do work in my class long before lockdown despite every effort on my part, which she(the parent) knew about based on previous conferences we'd had about this very behavior and forwarded her every email I sent her over the course of lockdown with work she could have done and links to my class zoom meeting if she'd wanted face-to-face help and pointed out every phone call we made. She went to my principal to demand an extension for her daughter into the summer which my principal granted so I got to spend Even More Time staring at my own face because Surprise surprise, her daughter still didn't show up or complete any assignments but I didn't recieve further berating from that parent about it at least.

6. When we went back to in person teaching I was the only adult in the building who took the mask mandate seriously so my classroom was the only one where students were wearing masks at all and I had to fight them tooth and nail about it because my roommate's son was immunocompromised and could not afford to get sick but because I was the only teacher fighting that battle, it got harder and harder instead of easier and a lot of students I had built good relationships with the previous year started to hate me for being so strict and I had to go get that test where they shoved a swab all the way up into your sinus cavity every single week until the vaccine came out. When I opened up to my colleagues about the stress this was causing me and why I cared so much (which I really didn't feel like I should have had to justify in the first place), they told me to "relax about it, kids aren't even the ones dying," entirely ignoring that I was in direct contact with a kid who could have, in fact, died from it. This was the straw that caused me to put in my resignation.

7. All of the above put me in a mental state where I had to call a suicide hotline and take an emergency few days off work because I couldn't physically get myself out of bed. I got put on those meds that made me manic but they take a few weeks to kick in at all and I contractually could not take that long off and couldn't have afforded to do so anyways so still in full-blown suicidal depression, my first day back was Parent Teacher Conference Night, which is exhausting and terrible at the best of times. My principal knew I was mentally unwell and had told me if I needed any accommodation as I readjusted to let her know so I asked if I could sit out conferences or at the very least have someone else in the room with me since the school was so small that every teacher had every student. She said no, that it was a privacy issue (which was untrue because we did whole-staff parent meetings All The Time for students with particularly concerning behaviors and because again we all taught everyone and had daily staff meetings about student progress and concerns so we all knew everything about everyone but even so she could have been the one to sit with me) I pointed all of this out and she told me, "Well being a teacher isn't about you, you have to put the students above yourself." When I had been doing that nonstop for two years to the point that I was in the mental hole I was in. I was in such a fucked up place that a lot of the parents noticed it and tried to check in on me as I started falling asleep or forgot what I was saying midsentence.

8. When I did my exit interview at the end of the year my principal told me that I was a great teacher and she hoped I'd return to the field someday even if it was in a different setting because students deserved someone who was constantly the voice in the room advocating for them even when their own parents and other teachers stopped doing so. This was the first meeting I ever had where I was told I was a good teacher rather than being constantly told what i should be improving on as I drowned trying to even lay a foundation for myself.

Despite everything it still breaks my heart to realize it will never be healthy for me to go back to teaching even if I was in a district with better supports because of how much trauma I've been left with and because of how jaded about the entire system i am. I loved the teaching part of my job. I loved those moments where students showed me projects they were proud of and when they finally understood concepts that had them stuck. I loved empowering students to make positive decisions and to come out of their shells in my class. I loved when I managed to create lessons that hit that learn something-have fun sweet spot. I loved when I was able to let students incorporate their real interests into what we were learning or even let them be the experts on a topic. I still have art students gave me. I know despite it grinding me down to a husk of myself, I was good teacher and I could have eventually been an excellent one. Its true that Teaching is more than a job, its a calling. But I'm no use to anyone dead.

[guysgreys]

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[five-rivers]

So first, I just want to say that I love Mortified, especially the arcs involving Ereshkigal and Innana. The whole thing is absolutely incredible, and I'm always thrilled to see an update. Second, I was rather hoping to offer you a prompt I've had swirling about my head. What if there is some sort of research facility exploring "that which is unknown and previously thought to be impossible" (i.e. magic but they don't call it that because people don't really know about magic and ghosts in this AU) and Danny's class is invited to go on a field trip there. At first, everything is normal, but just after the class leaves the researchers realize that their instruments show that some sort of Eldritch Horror is nearby and they start freaking out, but it's just Danny. I don't know where else this would go though.

Mr. Lancer chewed on the end of his pen.  It was a disgusting habit, he knew, but he could never quite get himself to kick it, especially when he had a problem to confront.  

Said problem was, presently, that enough of his students had expressed an interest in careers in ectology and paranormal science that he really had to give them a relevant field trip.  Unfortunately, there were very few reputable options for such a field trip.  The Fentons were unsafe, Axion Labs refused to give tours, the GIW were essentially a government sponsored hate group.  Most other ‘ghost hunting agencies’ were outright scams.  

But there had to be something nearby.  Or at least in the state.  Maybe not something that explicitly or solely dealt with ghosts, but something.  

Maybe...

Oh!

He shifted to sit straighter in his chair.  That would work.  He started typing an email.

.

“We got a what?” repeated Johannsson.  

“A field trip request,” repeated Deer.  

“Like... from a school?” asked Johannsson, cautiously.  

“A high school,” confirmed Deer, sounding rather stunned.  

“Do they... know what we do here?” 

“Evidently,” said Deer.  

“Like, they know we research magic and telepathy and stuff.”

“Yes.”

“And astral projection, higher-dimensional beings, alternate universes, that kind of thing?  Fringe science?”

“He says the junior class is interested in the ‘paranormal sciences.’”

“Wow,” said Johannsson, finally bringing his coffee up to his mouth and sipping at it cautiously.  “Where,” he started, “where are they from?”

“Um,” said Deer, peering at her computer screen.  “Casper High.  One sec.”  She started typing.  “It’s in Amity Park?  Do you think it’s a joke?”

“Ah,” said Johannsson.  “No, that tracks, actually, if it’s Amity Park.  We’ve got some weird readings on file from there, if you look it up.”

“It’s close,” said Deer.  “If we get readings, why don’t we have a presence there?”

“Another agency called dibs first,” said Johannsson.  “We have enough trouble.  No need to step on toes.”

Deer looked up at Johannsson incredulously.  “We fight eldritch abominations from the edge of reality,” she said.  “Is the boss really worried about stepping on toes?”

“Hey, that’s how we get funding,” said Johannsson, shrugging.  “We don’t want to end up like MKUltra.”

“MKUltra was a scam, Steve.  And also mostly illegal.”

“Yeah?”

Deer shrugged.  “Anyway, should I send this on, or...?”

“Yeah, go ahead.  The boss will probably get a kick out of it, if nothing else.”

.

“I would not have told the boss about this if I knew I’d be the one babysitting a bunch of teenagers,” said Deer through a clenched smile.  She jerked on the hem of her blouse, not used to the more formal clothes she was wearing on this momentous occasion.   

“Yeah,” said Johannsson, “but it isn’t like we get a lot of people coming into this profession for this profession.  And they’re kids.  So be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” grumbled Deer.  

“Well, look like it,” said Johannsson, elbowing her.  He caught sight of the yellow school bus.  “Here they come now.”

They waited until most of the students had gotten off the bus to approach.  

“Hi,” said Johannsson, “you must be Mr. Lancer.”

“That’s me,” said the rather frazzled-looking teacher.  “Come on kids, let’s get settled down.  Listen to our guides.  Let them introduce themselves.”

“Yeah, hey,” said Johannsson, waving.  “Welcome to the Edge Institute, where we study that which is unknown and often thought to be impossible.”

“Hi,” said Deer, frowning at one group of students in particular.  Johannsson followed her eyes.  

The trio in question didn’t seem particularly out of the ordinary.  Except...  Well, there was a reason Deer worked here.  

“I’m Steve Johannsson,” he said, getting back on track.  “This is Sylvia Deer.  We mostly work in report processing and assessment, but that brings us into contact with all our other departments, so we’re more than suited to show you around.”

Sylvia put her thumbs up.  “Yep,” she said.  

“Most of what we work with isn’t terribly dangerous, however, there are exceptions to that rule, and we have some classified projects, so don’t wander off.  Stay within view of us at all times.”

“What if we need to use the bathroom?” asked a student.

“Well, that’s different,” admitted Johannsson.  “We’ve got a couple scheduled stops, so make sure you go at those times.  Other than that, don’t go through any doors we don’t open for you and don’t touch anything without asking first.  Got it?”

There was a soft murmur of assent.  

“Come on, kids,” said Mr. Lancer, clapping, “he asked a question.”

The murmur became slightly more unanimous.  

“Right,” said Deer.  She jerked her head towards the building.  “Let’s go.”

“Anyway,” said Johannsson, “this is reception, which is the only part of the building freely open to the general public.  If you do need to go to the bathroom, they’re right there.  We’re going to hang out here for a few minutes, get everyone taken care of.”

Most of the students made their way to the restrooms immediately, however, that one trio stayed put.  

“Hey,” said the smallest of the group, “do you guys hear that?”

“Hear what?” asked Johannsson.

“Um,” said the boy, slightly rocking forward on the balls of his feet, “there’s, like, an alarm or a siren going off?  It’s really faint, but is everything okay?”

“We’d get a text,” said Deer.  “Not to mention an announcement on the PA system.”

“And the radios,” said Johannsson, tapping his.  

“Right,” said Deer, nodding.  “Maybe you have tinnitus or something?”

“Isn’t that recurrent, though?” asked Johannsson.  “He’d know if he had it.”

“I do not have tinnitus,” said the boy, firmly.  “I really think there’s an alarm going off.  Or maybe someone has a mosquito ringtone.  Gosh, I hate those...”

Johannsson glanced at Deer and noted that she, once again, was staring at the children rather intensely.  Mostly at the boy, but that made sense since he was the one speaking.  

“Danny has good hearing,” said the girl, who was decked out in an array of gothic and mystic symbols.  One which, on closer inspection, would probably be fairly effective at passive protection.  

Johannsson wondered if that was the result of research, intuition, or sheer luck.  

Perhaps that was why Deer was looking at them like that?

“Maybe I’m just imagining it,” said Danny, shaking his head.  “Let’s go to the bathrooms.  There’s probably a line by now.”

Once the kids were gone, and Johannsson and Deer were more or less alone in the entry hall, Johannsson turned to Deer.  “Think we should call Detection?”

“Yeah,” said Deer, pulling out her phone.  “There’s something not right, here.”

“Maybe he’s a sensitive?” suggested Johannsson.  “He could be picking up a project.”

“Or maybe he’s like you and he’ll break every piece of tech invented in the last twenty-five years as soon as he touches it.  Or he was cursed by a goddess, like Vicky in Containment.  Or maybe he just has tinnitus and is in denial.  I still don’t like this.”  She finished dialing Detection and brought the phone to her ear.  “Hey, I-”  She pulled the phone away, glared at it and cautiously brought it back.  “What’s going on?  An incursion?  Then why aren’t we on lockdown?”

Johannsson’s blood ran cold.  “An incursion?  How big?”

Deer held up a hand.  “That doesn’t-  You know we can’t detect everything!  It doesn’t matter if nothing else gets triggered, the protocol is lockdown until we can determine- If you had done your job, the kids would still be on the damn bus!”

At this point, Deer’s shouts had drawn the attention and worry of Mr. Lancer and several of the students who had emerged from the bathrooms.  

“Is everything alright?” asked the man.  

Johannsson glanced at Deer.  “No,” he decided, just before the security shutters slammed down and the emergency lighting came on.  “I’m really sorry,” he said, “but it seems like some of our colleagues were overly excited about your tour and didn’t, er, follow proper procedure following a, uh, event.  So-”

The PA system stuttered into life.  “Attention.  A level seven entity has been detected.  All nonessential personnel, please proceed to the nearest shelter.  Repeat-”

“Seven?” echoed Johannsson, starting to sweat.  “Seven?”

“It’s probably a false alarm,” said Deer, putting away her phone and smiling in the way only people who feel very ill do.  “None of the other incursion detectors went off.  No radiation associated with dimensional breaks or anything.  We should still get everyone to a shelter.  Maybe you can round up everyone from the bathrooms?”

“Right,” said Mr. Lancer, who was enviably calm.  

“Is an entity like a ghost or something?” asked one of the kids, who clearly weren’t grasping the gravity of the situation.  “How strong is a seven?”

Level seven entities couldn’t be described in terms of strength alone.  They were eldritch, uncaring gods that tore at the fabric of reality with their very presence, creatures that had no business being on the material plane.  They shed bright magic and dark science in their wake, leaving those unfortunate enough to see them grappling with madness that was not.  

He really wanted to know what was happening in Amity Park (ghosts?) that made these people so blasé about the alarms, flashing lights, and security shutters.  

Wait a second.  

He unclipped his radio from his belt.  “This is Johannsson, calling detection.  Can you describe the signal to me?  Over.”

The radio crackled.  “Slowly rising over the last thirty minutes, peaking and plateauing in the last ten.  Why?  Do you have something?  Over.”

The bus had arrived ten minutes ago.  Johannsson closed his eyes.  “Maybe.  Will inform.  Over and out.”

He looked over at the bathroom where Danny and his two friends were emerging.  Danny had his hands pressed over his ears.  Whenever the overhead lights flashed off, the boys eyes reflected green.  Just for a second.  

Yeah.  Johannsson had something.  The question was, what was he going to do about it?

[holycatsandrabbits]

Tollense, an original serial romance by Dannye Chase, Chapter 3

A history professor falls in love with his best friend, a 3000-year-old vampire.

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Chapter 3

1996 (Three years later)

Liam got a letter in the mail that morning, another one, from New York this time. Liam didn’t know anyone in New York who would send this kind of letter. In any case, they were all from the same person, no matter the constantly changing postmark, and they all said the same hateful, frightening things.

Liam had just tossed this one into the drawer with the others when Kurt appeared out of nowhere, as only he could. Liam had done a bit of research on vampires in the three years he’d known Kurt (as much study as he could on something that was supposed to be fictional), and teleportation was not a common vampire ability. But then Kurt was not a common vampire.

“Morning,” Kurt said, dropping into a kitchen chair. He looked a bit bed-rumpled, but Liam honestly wasn’t sure whether it was because Kurt had been sleeping or because Kurt thought that humans should look bed-rumpled in the morning. “Been for your run yet?” Kurt asked.

“I was just getting ready to go.”

“Want company?”

“You’re not dressed for it,” Liam pointed out, waving a hand at Kurt’s blue jeans, and that caused Kurt to vanish again. Liam was lacing his shoes when Kurt reappeared, this time wearing athletic shorts and, crucially, no shirt. Liam’s fingers tripped over themselves and got tangled in his shoelaces like clumsy people with jump ropes.

Liam had seen Kurt without his shirt on occasionally over the last three years, most memorably when Kurt had shown Liam the scars he still carried from the earliest thing he remembered— a Bronze Age battle. There was a scar above his heart and two on his left shoulder, the marks of flint arrowheads, presumably the wounds that caused his death.

But that was not what caught Liam’s attention when Kurt was shirtless. Kurt had the build of a fighter: a slender waist, sturdy legs, broad shoulders and strong arms. His chest was smoothly muscled around the scars. Meanwhile Liam had the body of a thirty-year-old history professor who went for a run most mornings, but also had a fondness for rocky road ice cream.

Liam wasn’t sure if Kurt knew about the threatening letters. He was also not sure if Kurt knew how fervently Liam desired him. If he was aware of either, or, most importantly, felt any desire in return, he had never said. And while Liam was sorting out the shoelace mess, Kurt pulled on a shirt, so the distraction passed.

The morning was cool, with fog still gathering around the trees. While they ran, Kurt told Liam about a morning in 1914 outside of Ypres, when snow had fallen silently, covering fallen leaves and fallen soldiers alike.

Liam had learned by now that Kurt did not feel the cold. It must have been obvious during a winter campaign, when Kurt’s fingers did not stiffen with frostbite, or his toes blister with trench foot. Sometimes, Kurt had told him, his fellow soldiers thought of him as an indestructible good luck charm. Sometimes they looked on the only member of their group to emerge from a battle unscathed and called him a demon.

A countless number of Kurt’s stories ended with him holding a fellow soldier as he succumbed to injury and passed out of this world.

When they turned back onto Liam’s street, there was a blue car in Liam’s driveway that belonged to one of Liam’s students, Martina. She was standing beside the car, waving at them. Of course, she wasn’t there to see Liam.

When Liam got out of the shower fifteen minutes later, he was surprised to see Kurt in the kitchen alone, drinking the coffee that Liam kept on hand for him. Coffee and water were the only things Liam had ever seen Kurt eat or drink. “Martina didn’t stay?” Liam asked.

“No. She was just returning my jacket.” Kurt looked melancholy for a moment, a brief flash across his features before it faded back into his usual somewhat detached expression. “She met someone else. He’s moving in.”

Liam looked at him in shock. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

Kurt shook his head. “I’m happy for her. She’s about to graduate anyway, so we were going to break it off.”

Martina was not the first of Liam’s students that Kurt had dated. Kurt was very good about it, really. The students he chose were from the graduate program, so all in their mid-twenties or older, and they’d all known what Kurt was. They’d chosen to be a part of his life for a while, providing him with companionship, and, though they didn’t usually state it so plainly, with blood.

“I don’t get attached,” Kurt said. “And I pick those who won’t get attached to me. I don’t have the patience for a line of angry exes. Better to be with those who will part as friends.”

“Have you ever been wrong?” Liam asked. He didn’t look at Kurt, carefully focusing on the toaster and butter dish.

“Accidentally broken someone’s heart, you mean?” Kurt asked. “Or lost my own?”

“Either.”

“Not in a long time.”

“Ah.” Liam buttered his toast with perhaps more force than was called for.

“I investigated him, though. Martina’s new boyfriend. His name is Devon.”

“Investigated,” Liam repeated. He sat down at the table opposite Kurt, accepting the cup of coffee Kurt passed to him.

“He seems like a very nice man. And he loves her.”

“So you read his mind.”

“I can’t read minds.”

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

Kurt looked amused. “I know. But not because I read your mind. In any case, Martina is my friend. She’s under my protection. And so are you.”

This last part was said gently, but Liam caught its meaning as overtly as he was meant to. He let out a groan and pushed away what was left of his toast. “How long have you known?”

“Long enough. The letters are mailed from around the country, but I am almost certain the sender is local. He probably travels a lot, and also has other people mail the letters without knowing what’s in them.”

“That’s what the police think. They also think they’re not serious.”

Kurt seemed immensely unimpressed by this opinion. “So did you do something that some bastard holds a grudge for? Murder his wife? Steal his parking space? Or do you think it’s because you’re gay?”

Liam’s sexuality was not something that had come up in conversation before, so Liam was a bit startled to hear it accurately described. “I have no idea,” he said. “I certainly don’t recall murdering anyone.”

“I’ve looked over the letters. No fingerprints, and I can’t find anything distinctive about the printer he uses.” When Kurt got emotional, he wore it strangely, as if he could be both agitated and unaffected at the same time. Right now his green eyes were bright and his mouth tight. His fingers curled sharply around his coffee cup, blanching white where they gripped too hard. But the rest of his body was still relaxed in the chair, stretched into the sort of lazy pretzel shape that sore legs often took after a run. Liam sometimes wondered what Kurt would be like if he stopped trying so hard to seem human.

“They’re not serious,” Liam told him.

“I’m not convinced of that. You really don’t have suspects?”

Liam shrugged. “Nobody in particular.”

“Ex-lovers?”

Liam focused on his coffee. “I haven’t had one of those for some time.”

“Family?”

“It’s just my sister and me, and we get along fine as long as she can pretend I’m not gay.”

Kurt’s fingers clenched around the coffee cup again. “This is a very intolerant period of history.”

Liam laughed, not unkindly. “It is all history to you, isn’t it? This is just another era to walk through. How odd to—”

“Stop trying to change the subject. Colleagues?”

“I’ve never had any problems. Anyway, the letters are all anti-university. Anti-technology. Unabomber-type stuff.”

“I’m not sure I trust the subject matter. Why send anti-technology missives to a history professor? It still feels personal to me. The one you got today talks about kidnapping you, Liam. That’s a very intimate threat.”

Liam groaned. “How the hell—”

“I read it while you were in the shower.” Kurt did look a little regretful, at least. “Look, I know you don’t like me being all— the way I am—”

“If I minded the vampire stuff, I’d never have agreed to work with you. What I object to is your being sneaky and intrusive on an entirely human level.”

Kurt seemed surprised, which was not a common look on him. He stared at Liam for a moment before saying, “Well, I object to being kept in the dark about your safety.”

“Kurt—”

They were interrupted by the ding noise that Liam’s computer made when he received an email. Normally Liam might ignore it, but at the moment, he welcomed the distraction.

The email was from a colleague in Germany, and as Liam read it, he forgot all about their argument. “Kurt,” he said, in an entirely different tone than the one he’d just used. Kurt was behind him in an instant, moving with that silent speed he had.

Liam traced his finger across the screen, aware that he wasn’t supposed to do that, but he hadn’t quite yet learned not to treat emails like they were pieces of paper. “Look at this. Someone found an arm bone with a flint arrowhead in the bank of the Tollense River in Germany. It’s not— it’s not a giant battle, not yet, just with one body, but it’s the right place, the right time. My colleague thinks this could be what we were looking for, and I think he’s right. Your earliest memory. Your origin. It could be Tollense.”

Kurt had knelt down so that he could read the screen more easily. When he turned his head it brought his mouth so very close to Liam’s. “You did it,” he said softly. “You found it.”

“Well, I didn’t find anything. Someone else—”

“But you put your neck on the line, theorizing about a battle in a time and place no one expected.”

“It’s not like I don’t have eye-witness evidence.”

“But no one knows that. You’ve endured a lot of controversy, trying to help me.”

“Oh, I don’t care about that. I care about—” Liam cut himself off before he could say it.

Kurt seemed to hear it anyway, because he leaned forward and pressed his mouth against Liam’s.

It was a light kiss only for a few seconds, until Liam made an intensely hungry noise and Kurt responded to it, bringing his hands up around Liam’s face to hold him steady. Kurt deepened the kiss, sweeping into Liam’s open mouth with his tongue.

Liam had thought about a kiss like this, thorough and overwhelming, fantasized about it, wondered if it might happen someday because Kurt would read his mind and know how much Liam wanted it. But Liam was suddenly sure in that moment that Kurt could not read minds, or at least, that he’d left Liam’s to its secrets. If he had read it, he would have known not to kiss Liam. Because unlike the students Kurt sought out, Liam was already attached, far too much, to this utterly alien man who kissed with a technique undoubtedly honed over millennia, ranging from soft to strong all in a single lick of his tongue, instinctively knowing which parts of Liam’s mouth were most sensitive, and all with a kindness Liam had never before felt.

It was the kindness that made Liam put his hands up and push Kurt gently away. Liam didn’t want kindness at that moment, didn’t want Kurt offering this kiss out of gratitude or friendship, or because Kurt knew Liam was attracted to men and would probably enjoy it. Even because he was worried about Liam’s safety. Kurt was three thousand years old, and he’d no doubt live for many thousands of years after this. Liam’s lifespan was a drop of water in the river of Kurt’s life. Kurt had said it just this morning— he would never allow himself to get attached.

After the kiss broke, Kurt looked at Liam searchingly for a moment, and then moved away.

“We should— we should visit Germany,” Liam managed to say. Kurt just nodded.

************

The battle of Tollense is a real thing! Here is the wikipedia and another article.

************

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My Carrd

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Tabula Rasa

Tabula Rasa has 8 stories at Gossamer, but there are even more X-Files fics at AO3 and her website. She writes Mulder and Scully in a very lovely way. I've recced 3 of my favorites of her fics here before: Bird in Snow, Fall: East on M St, and Skuamorph. Big thanks to Tabula Rasa for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

I'm always extremely pleasantly surprised to get kudos (or, very rarely, a comment) on my old fic, but I'm always happy to see it! I did post them all (I think) to AO3. I'm not surprised people are still reading fic, though. It's an iconic show and now with streaming, it's really easy to watch older shows and natural to want fic about them!

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

XF was my first fandom, definitely my first online fandom, and so it will always have a special place in my heart. Also... I had a great time! I stumbled upon and joined the Scullyfic email list by accident, but it was the best thing I could have done. I learned a lot about how to be a writer and how to be in fandom, and those lessons are still important to me. Foundational. Also, in terms of modern fandom drama, XF was more low-key on the drama (although it didn't seem like it at the time!). But I learned something that's always served me well: find like-minded people, and hang out with them. Don't worry about the rest.

Also... you can't control the show, but you kind of can control the canon.

Because of Scully, I ended up taking a forensic anthropology class in university-- and now I have a Master's in a forensic science! Part of the Scully Effect, and proud of it!

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Definitely mostly email list! I never really got the hang of message boards. Posting fic was exhausting, and tbh I never figured out how to work Ephemeral. I checked it every day, though! I loved, after a new episode, everyone sending in their thoughts and reading everyone's experiences together. Fandom was a lot more work back then, tbh!

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

That fic can be just as good, or better, than traditionally published works. There are works of XF fic that have stuck with me for years now, far more than some books I've read. That fan writers can know the characters better than the show writers. The fandom in general was really smart, and mostly more adult than me (I joined fandom when I went away to college, so I always felt at the younger end of the scale. That was good though!).

Also, my first time reading and writing porn. Not gonna lie, I was shocked the first time I accidentally read smut. But I adjusted fast. lol

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I was still a kid (now we would say preteen) when the show premiered- I think in middle school. But I was already into ghosts, aliens, monsters, solving mysteries, and I'd already imprinted on the dynamic thanks to Square One (really)! I was also just old enough to start developing celebrity crushes. Hilariously, I did not twig to the fact that I'm bisexual the entire time I was in XF fandom, despite having enormous crushes on BOTH Mulder and Scully. Ahhhh!

Also, my whole family was into the show, but I was definitely the one with the hyperfixation. I used to take notes and record the episodes as I watched. It just had the right stuff and hit at the right time. And I've always been obsessive.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

As a kid I also really liked Star Trek, and someone had given my dad a book about the history of Star Trek, which I read. This included mentions of fandom and fanfic. As soon as I had a private-- and perhaps more importantly fast-- internet connection (in college), I went looking for XF fanfic, and that was that. Hooked immediately. Also I shipped them A LOT so that's what I went looking for.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

I tend to not go back to a fandom once I have a new fandom, so I wouldn't say I'm in it. I did hang around the edges for the revival, of course, because I wanted to experience that with the same people, but since the revival was mostly not that great (with a few exceptions), I didn't get pulled back into it. But I still think of the people I knew in the fandom a lot, and always hope they're doing well.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I've never left fandom, and I've been in a BUNCH: Harry Potter, Doctor Who, Bandom, Supernatural, now CQL/The Untamed and other Chinese-media fandoms, with many smaller ones in between or on the side. I feel like at their core fandoms tend to be similar, although where you host the fandom makes a big difference: Livejournal, tumblr, twitter. I think that because fandoms now tend to be bigger and more diverse (which is good) there tends to be more wank (which is bad). In some of them I was close to a group of people, some of them not. Honestly the best thing is when someone you know from an old fandom is in your new fandom. It's so much fun. I have really good friends thanks to fandom, and I've had them for YEARS. Like. 15 years.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

I tend to focus more on ships than characters, but some of my all-time favs: Scully, Hermione, Sirius Black, Castiel, Lan Wangji, Xie Lian. That's just fandom-oriented ones, otherwise we'd be here all day. :D

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I don't often rewatch episodes any more, although if I come across an ep on tv I might. I definitely still think about them though! For example, I'm a teacher now, and just a couple weeks ago one of my colleagues mentioned he'd heard the students saying they shipped two of their classmates, and he was like "Ship? I don't get it" and I was like "HOO BOY, do I have a story for you!" And I explained how shipping came from XF fandom, and why. That was fun. I definitely still think about Mulder and Scully too-- I mean, they're cultural touchstones, so they do come up sometimes in greater pop culture. Also, I was in Hannibal fandom for a while, and Gillian Anderson is still The Best.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I haven't read XF fic in years, even the ones I remember as being really significant/important to me. I still have my all-time favs saved on an external HD though! Fic in another fandom- every day lol.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

Blinded by White Light by DashaK has stuck with me. Mr. and Mrs. Smith and the Ruby-Throated Warbler by I forget I'm so sorry -- that's lasted as my ideal post-canon MSR and as an interesting and different way to tell a story.  [Lilydale note: It’s by rah.] I was always thrilled to see fic by Brandon, JET, MaybeAmanda, Syntax6... and, frankly, everyone on the Scullyfic/ Emuse list. So many talented people in that fandom!

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Things Outside, which is the only thing I've ever written based on a dream, and I'm really satisfied with it. It was hard to write but so much fun to revel in the weirdness. I always kind of wanted to write more because I know a lot more about the situation, but otoh, I like the open, ambiguous ending (usually I am very HEA).

In other fandoms, King & Country in bandom (MCR) and in Supernatural I'm very proud of Hope and Clay. I struggle to write casefics even though I love to read them, but that one really worked out.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I don't think I'll ever write something new. There is an old fic that may be done but it was smut so I was too shy to post it at the time. In theory if I find it and it's decent, I could post it!

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I do! I write fic very slowly, but I do write still! I have a million ideas for stories, but I'm so slow at the actual writing part.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

I usually take a jumping-off point from canon, or of course, something I need to fix or expand on. Or sometimes I start telling myself a story as I fall asleep and the idea grabs me long enough I can manage to write it.

What's the story behind your pen name?

I was getting into fandom and realized people didn't use their real names. I flipped through my history book looking for inspiration, and decided tabula rasa was a great name for a writer. I tend to add an X because it's rare to get "tabularasa" as a username, and the X is indeed for X-Files (so I'm something like tabulaxrasa most places). I usually go by Tabula Rasa or Tab, though. And I still use it because 1) it IS a great name for a writer; and 2) it's not fandom-specific so I can keep it in every fandom.

I identify with it so much I have answered to this name in class (oops). I have a "Tab" t-shirt (as in the soda, but I have worn it to Comic-Con for ease of ID-- better than a nametag!). And my mom got me a necklace with a "tab" typewriter key as a charm, which I adore. Yes, I have accidental merch of myself.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

As you can tell from the above, my family knows (my family being my parents and sister). They are supportive! I think my mom read a couple stories? But obviously she has to know the fandom to get it... I got my sister into fic, and we even wrote a couple fics together (in Gundam Wing). She's a lot more selective about fandoms, but she's joined fandoms on her own, too. She's just not in one constantly, like me. :p

I tend not to tell not-online friends unless I have felt them out and know they're super fannish, or they bring it up first.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

Most of my old fic is now on AO3 and I hang out on twitter a lot, @tabula_x_rasa

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

I'm really glad people are still in this fandom! It will always be so important to me. Thank you Lilydale, for this nostalgia trip!

(Posted by Lilydale on March 30, 2021)

[angelkurenai]

Imagine Steve wanting to introduce you, his fiance, to his friends for a long time  but hesitating because he hasn’t told them something about your past and how you met. You were once his student.

“And then I tell him that if he wants 'em, he can come and have 'em since he knows my place. Simple as that. In what way, shape or form is that considered insulting? Pepper didn't let me hear the end of it!” Tony was sitting in the white couch, as expected, waved his hands animatedly; effectively earning everyone's attention in the room. More than one carefully eyeing the cup of coffee in his one hand, one of whom being the owner of the office and therefore said white couch.

“Tony” was however the only warning he got this time because, luckily for him, said owner was busy between his files and a chaos going on through his mind and heart. Mind due to work, mostly, and heart due to more personal issues both for good and less good reasons.

“And you think she's without reason?” Natasha raised an eyebrow at her friend.

“I think she's without reason to be so overdramatic. She's fussing over everything these days and I don't even want to think about the way she'll react when I tell her about the party. With all the guests and the preparations, and f course drinks I'll be the one to choose because Stark Industries owes this much to friends and colleagues, but I'm-” he paused, as if being striked by an idea – how not surprising – in the middle of his rambling. This time it was to look, or more specifically, glare at his friend wo didn't notice something was up until silence had set into the room.

“Rogers!” he nearly exclaimed, not a second after they'd made eye-contact, not tat it lasted long because Steve couldn't help but glance at his phone – you hadn't texted him all day and he wasn't clingy but that wasn't how it was between you two – much as he wanted to not look away from Tony because who knows what would be said his way or thrown.

“You're Rogers? Why, Tony, you are the fiance after all?” Clint joked, toying with a pencil as if it were a drumstick “And you got married without telling us too? Oh wow.”

“Oh I'd be a handful for him, trust me. We already argue too much for that but-” he jumped up from his seat as he stalked his friend's desk, eyes narrowed at him “That was exactly what I had in mind: Steve's wonderful fiance who has oh-so-accidentally missed every single party I've housed for the past year and a half. Now, I don't know how suspicious that makes you, because it certainly makes me very suspicious for good-boy Rogers here and I think that before any explanations, which you'll definitely have to give, is an answer to this-” he drew in a long breath “Will we be meeting future Mrs Rogers this time, Captain, or have you come up with another excuse to avoid this?”

“Alright-” Steve cleared his throat, subtly but certainly very uncomfortably shifting in his place “First of all, I haven't been coming up with any excuses. Those were real reasons and I have by no means been trying to avoid it. Timing wasn't right and it's not like you always warn me in advance for me to plan ahead of time, as if anyone could keep up with you. Not that he is anywhere near less busy herself, Tony.” he shrugged, not making eye-contact, as he placed back all of the folders in their respective drawers “Maybe next time you should plan ahead of time, maybe next time you should just make a phone call since you know I'm not that good with messages or emails or anything else. Maybe, just maybe, you should even reconsider altogether, this and every other time, since we've all got work to do and it would be better if we didn't have that too. I'm just-”

“Incredible.” Tony breathed out, loud enough to cut his friend off “Simply incredible. Does-” he turned to Natasha, pointing at Steve “Does Fury do that? Do new teachers, like, train on how to be spies? History teacher by morning, secret Agent by night. And hey, Captain America can be far from just your nickname now, Steve!” Tony exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air “No, I mean it-” tony continued when he noticed the look he got from his friend “That was simply so masterful, so skillful. Changing the subject so easily and not giving an answer to mine either, yet again, is incredible on a whole new level.”

“I didn't- I'm-” Steve blinked, losing any and every ability to form a proper sentence because truth be told he had expected to get away with that much once more and it seemed like every worry he'd had for the ast couple days – ever since Tony casually brought up that he needed to do another gathering after all this time – seemed to resurface and slowly make his worst nightmares seem all the more likely to happen in real life.

“There are no excuses, guys, I'm being honest. It simply has not come up yet, that's all. I assure you, she'd very much love to meet you too.” he said but for one reason or another he still couldn't meet anyone's eyes. Those weren't lies, he knew, but hiding the truth – the entire truth that he couldn't bear to be out with yet – wasn't by any means easier in any way.

“And that's why we're not blaming you for anything, nobody is. Right Tony? Right?” Bruce asked with a pointed look at the man who rolled his eyes and dramatically flopped back in his previous seat “We'd just like to, to put it in simple words, meet the newest member of the family. Or the member-to-be. You clearly love that woman and, based on what you say, she does too. We'd just... like to know her, welcome her properly no matter what.”

Steve couldn't say it out loud, not yet, but he would admit it to himself that those last three words gave him more hope than anything else. No matter what. He wished so bad they'd think the same, all of them, both now and especially after meeting you. It wasn't that he wasn't proud of you. He was the happiest man on Earth to be by your side, to have you say yes to a marriage with him was something out of his wildest dreams and yet it was happening, and he was certainly the most proud fiance already for everything you'd achieved. And nobody could even dare to question if he was in love with you because it was written all over his face, in the way he smiled and he brightened up when he spoke about you, that showed how much in love with you he was.

But none of it was enough to shake his worries away. Not the support he already had from is family, not the acceptance he always found in them and not even, sadly, how much of a catch you already were. All that paled in comparison to-

“Ah speak for yourself, Bruce. I'm gonna be showing up at your doorstep to drag the both of you out if I have to. So you-” Tony spoke up, and breaking Steve's trail of thoughts he pointed a finger at him “Prepare for everything. I'm going to find out more about her soon and yes, that means I expect to see you both at the party although you gave me no answer yet. You tell her or I'll send a personal invitation.”

“Well-” he cleared his throat, turning to face his friends “To be quiet honest, I have more pressing matters in my mind right now than your party Tony, I'm sorry for that.” only half a lie, because all of his problems lately had to do with said parties and meetings – which in reality stemmed from one issue: the way he'd introduce you to his friends and only family “And- Weren't we talking about a different topic here? I liked that one better than what my day and night activities are.”

“Oh I certainly am not interested to know about the nightly ones. Keeping your fiance satisfied is your business alone, Steve.” Natasha chuckled, speaking up at last “The beard speaks enough for itself.” that earned more than a few chuckles and a look from Steve “But even I have to side with Tony here on the fact that it's been really too long. When are we going to meet her at last?”

“I'm sorry, did you just agree with me? I'm having a hard time wrapping my mind around that. What is the date? Barton, not that down, quick!”

“Tony” Bruce chastised his friend who raised his hands in surrender once more.

“I never said that I didn't want you to meet her.” Steve said with a sigh “Nor that you are not going to meet her. You will, at some point, and no Tony I don't mean the wedding. You'll meet her sooner.”

“I bet you could avoid that too by not inviting me to it.” Tony snorted and despite everything, it earned a chuckle from everyone.

“Don't give me any ideas. Well-” he sighed again softly, relaxing more “It's only... it's more complicated than it and though I wish I could explain it all, I feel like I don't even know where to start sometimes. It's hard. It's not bad or sad or anything like that, I'm just-” he paused, eyebrows furrowed deeply “It's a mess, in my head. All of it. Then again, I think it has always been, I won't lie. But I will sort it out, sooner than later, I promise that. And you'll get to meet her. Right now is just- it's not the time.”

His words earned him warm smiles and nods, just like a soft hum. A moment of silence, content and understanding amongst longtime friends, even though he had mostly avoided giving a direct answer or dealing with the issue at hand, followed until-

“But what if... she's in prison?” Tony's eyes were trained on the floor but his words effectively earned a few groans and ended the peace that had settled “Was in prison? No, no, think about it. Maybe she's a serial killer and Steve here doesn't want us to know? Maybe, he helped her escape? Maybe he helped in the crime too!”

“Oh gosh, Tony.” Steve rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but laugh.

“Hey, you're not directly denying it. And you're avoiding eye-contact. Did I hit a nerve? I hit a nerve!” Tony pointed at him but Steve only shook his head “Now I really wanna meet her.”

“Says the man who called the actual president of the United States “sweetheart” because that's why Pepper didn't let you hear the end of it. You said “If you want 'em, you can come and have 'em since you know my place, sweetheart.” loud and clear.” Steve pointed out.

“Hey, they're my inventions, ok, I'm not about to hand them over. So you know what? I had every right to! What would you do capsicle?”

“Don't know what Steve would do, but I know what I will do now. And that's stop waiting.” Clint got up from his own seat, stretching “I have three kids and little time as you all know. When will Sam be done?”

“I think he only had five minutes left. I still don't know why they keep gym for the last class of the day.” Steve admitted with a sigh “But I do think that if he started heading for the door now, we'd find him there. Save him the trip to my office and then call Rhodey to tell the guys to get ready.”

“Sounds like a plan to me! Let's get started, this place is huge as it is, we'll probably meet him halfway.” Tony was the first one to copy his movement before they were all soon out of the office, no less in silence though at least for long “Speaking of which, you thought about that offer yet? It's no small thing being wanted by such a big university, can't compare to a high school. No matter how big or state-of-the-art it may be. Besides, hey, you could finally feel at home with all those 90-year-olds there.”

“While that would sound lovely, seeing as none of them would tease me about my lack of knowledge on technology like someone I know-” he gave his friend a side look, despite the smile on his lips “But still, no, I think there is something about SHIELD that I won't be able to find there. I have the Phds, I should be fine, but this school was helped build by your father, by my aunt for something great and that means a lot more. So for now, I think I'll stay.”

“Your choice. Can't say I blame you either.” Tony shrugged, hands in his pockets “I know we'd all miss you if you had to move to somewhere else, me included. Oh just thinking about it- Lots of manful tears.”

Steve's lips parted, ready to reply, only for his words to get caught in his lips. And it wasn't just the big lump in his throat that prevented him from breathing, it wasn't just his lungs burning with lack of oxygen or his dry mouth that made him feel sick. Sick with worry, he had gotten used over time. Sick with realization that this was it, having been caught unprepared at that, he didn't know if he could accept. If his body could ever comprehend it to begin with, because right now all it felt like was as if every organ was failing one by one and every cell in his body had frozen up; as he took the image of you at the other end of the hallway.

“(Y/n)?” he breathed out in horror, like he never had done before in his life. Possibly in his dreams, worst nightmares actually – hard as it would be to believe it when it came to you being in them. It wasn't you, nor because of you, but the rest of the situation. It was those exact gasps he heard that were responsible.

“That's (Y/n)?” it sounded as shocked as he had expected.

“You gotta be kidding me. Rogers' got that? I need to know what his secret is now!” another whisper.

“Ah, there he is!” Sam, who only now Steve realized you had been talking to, exclaimed.

For the second time in only a matter of second, Steve felt his body freeze in its place only for this time, only half a second later, to spring into action. When you turned to fully face him and he spotted the bandaged hand, the scratches on your forehead and the small drops of blood on your shirt, all of his worries turned into actual fear but for entirely different reasons. He actually exclaimed this time, eyes wide “(Y/n)!”

“I know, I know.” you sighed, approaching him with an apologetic smile “I didn't call and didn't give you a single warning about this. I'm really so sorry about this. If it was up to me I- I wouldn't be here but-”

“Wha- No, honey, no!” he breathed out hastily cupping your face in both his hands, trying to take in every little detail that was there and that was not ever since he last saw you in the morning “I'm not- I would never- This is blood, (Y/n), what happened?!”

“Oh oh! No, don't worry.” you placed your hands on his “It's- it's nothing major, just a scratch here and there, probably because I wasn't driving. Paul is fine too, though they took him to a hospital just to be sure. Honestly, the car's in a far worse condition than any of us, the accident wasn't that bad in itself but-”

“Accident?” he gasped “You were in a car crash? Sweetheart-” he paused for a moment, doing another check over with his eyes, lips parted as if he was ready to bombard you with questions about your state, advice on your well-being and so many things that he should do but you knew he was holding himself back only because you weren't alone. He could be as over protective as he wanted but truth was there didn't seem to be a real reason the more he looked at you. He took in a shaky breath and nodded his head slowly Are you sure? Maybe you should have gone with him too, get a couple of check ups just in case-”

“Steve, no, I swear I'm fine, darling. Believe me please.” you whispered, emphasizing on the words, as you fixed your fiance with a look that made him let out a small sigh before he nodded his head and kissed your forehead, moving to your cheek and then briefly your lips.

“Are you sure there is not something I can do though?” he dared whisper “Maybe you should have-”

“No. Steve, no.” you shook your head, giving him one final look as if to warn him that you weren't going to take any of it now “Now-” you let a soft breath, smiling up at him “I hope we established that I don't need any pampering, not at the moment at least. See, I wouldn't have come here if I hadn't forgotten my keys, though. My phone is definitely in pieces so I couldn't really let you know and I thought I'd stop by to get your keys before, well-” you stopped, looking over his shoulder before giving him a tight-lipped and certainly very apologetic smile “You know. But- yeah. Seems like my timing's just too shitty today.”

Your words did earn a laugh from your fiance, and he could see it in your eyes just how much you appreciated the sight of him relaxing, not that he had the chance to tell you so before Tony spoke up.

“Uh pretty sure doesn't like that kinda language!” he came closer, nowhere nearly subtly pushing his friend away to extend his hand towards you “I mean, he's all but an old man so it shouldn't be surprising. One would beg to wonder: Is dirty talking involved in it, or not? Tony Stark, by the way, and since you're here I think we'd finally get the question answered after all! So you are the fiance wow! (Y/n) (Y/l/n), what a pleasure to finally meet you! I've been coming up with all sorts of pictures of you in my head but let me tell you reality far exceeds every expectations! No wonder Rogers has been hiding you all along.”

“I-” you couldn't help but laugh a bit out of breath at his words, blinking in surprise at his rambling all in one breath “Well, let me tell you, you certainly live up to the image I had of you in my head, Mr Stark, and definitely all of Steve's descriptions.” you laughed, taking his hand “It's such a pleasure to finally meet you!”

“Please, Tony. Weird-” he glanced at Steve “I don't think I shared my performance in bed with Rogers.”

“Tony” Steve warned although you couldn't hold back your own laughter once more.

“What?” he asked in return “I'm just letting the woman know what's out there on the market in case she decides she needs to dump the capsicle and be a little more adventurous in life.” he added winking at you.

“Thank you, Tony, but-” you chuckled, noticed the way your fiance rolled his eyes, though there was too much playfulness in both of their demeanor to make it real or serious “I think after all these years, despite his quirks and habits that can drive me crazy, there's something called love. So I'll stick with him.”

“Oh he sure is a handful. But who am I to judge, some like them old.” he shrugged casually.

“But you're older than me!” Steve couldn't help but protest, almost sounding like a little child about to throw a tantrum. While it would have sounded funny, you couldn't help but notice the small crease in his brows that was always there when the topic came up. He was uncomfortable and even more self-consious about it, despite how much you'd always tried to reassure him that the age gap was never an issue for you.

“Alright, are you two quiet done or are we gonna have to witness you get at measuring it too?” Natasha spoke up there was a hint of exasperation in her voice that you couldn't help but understand if not completely relate to “Hi, name's Natasha and it's good to finally meet the woman that's got this guy with all those pounds of muscle wrapped around her little finger. It's quiet a show to watch, let me tell you. One way or another.” she grinned and you chuckled “Oh and here we have Bruce and Clint. Sam you've met.”

“Kind of a tough feat but I'm confident I'm doing well.” you smiled, nodding your head “It's great to meet you too Natasha, Bruce and Clint. You guys- I've heard so many stories with you, you have no idea how happy I am to finally be able to talk to you in person and get to know you. Though I hoped it was under different circumstances, I apologize for this.”

“Oh no, you don't have to apologize in the least bit. So long as you are alright, well, we're just glad to finally meet you too.” Bruce said with a gentle smile “We've been looking forward to knowing the woman that makes Steve so happy, even if it took some time. Which we can't understand because you're lovely.”

“Yeah, I uh- I know and I feel bad about that because-” you glanced at Steve who had put an arm around your waist, his breathing labor if not somewhat withheld, and you almost noticed his body had stiffened up as if he prepared himself for the worst “Well, I'm partially responsible. Work is taking up so much of my time and the few free hours I have, I try to spend with Steve and plan ahead of time. I've been told you've wanted us to both come to your parties-” you looked at Tony “And while the thought of beating Steve's ass at pool and sharing every detail, pardon, embarrassing detail of our first dates with you guys had been very tempting, I sadly had not been able to make it yet. Much as I'd love to get to know... the family.”

“Trust me, once you really get to know this family, you wish you hadn't. But you're just too sweet and innocent yet, so I won't ruin it for you.” Natasha chuckled “For now Steve's lucky. On every aspect.”

“I mean, hey, at least it is a better explanation than ex-serial-killer on the loose that Tony suggested. Not busy with prison either, I assume?” Clint shrugged as Tony exclaimed “Hey, it was a solid explanation.”

All you did was laugh “I'm not a serial killer, Tony, unless we consider my attempt at lasagna a murder. Come to think of it, the kitchen always ends up looking like a crime scene so who knows? But I haven't been in prison, either, not that I remember of at least. Right now being head of the museum is enough.”

“Smart, funny, sweet and incredibly beautiful- Rogers what is she even doing with you?” Tony teased.

His words earned a laugh from you and everyone else, managing to ease the tension. Or at least the tension that had set on Steve, because everybody else had been incredibly relaxed from the beginning including you, as much as it surprised him. Just some. He was not all that surprised to realize that they already adored you from the first five minutes of knowing you. He had had no doubt about it from the beginning. He was sure that charming them with a smile andmesmerizing them with your sweetness would be a piece of cake for you like everybody else you met, they loved you. Besides, he couldn't lie, that whatever the situation (car crash or not – even though he hated to think like that) were always radiant and as beautiful as ever and he'd always thank his luck for gracing him with a woman as stunning as you inside and outside. But taking pride in your wits and beauty that easily made his family adore you he couldn't really allow himself to fully accept it and relax. The small voice in the back of his head, even now as it saw that things were going so well – only one joke about the age difference, if any at all so far – he felt worry and fear. For what?

“And here I thought that the real kids would have left by now. Am I going to have to ask you all to enroll at some point or what? I can't seem to shake you guys off no matter wha-”

The voice was familiar somehow but your brain was slow at processing it, given everything that had and was happening, but the second your eyes fell on the man, well, there was no mistaking the face or the memories the came with it. Realization dawned on the man as well, obvious on his face as he trailed off.

“Mr Fury!” you breathed out with a smile and a laugh of disbelief at how little he had changed.

That.

“Well, I will be damned.” he grinned, as much as he ever would at least “Miss (Y/l/n), if this isn't a surprise!” you happily reached for his hand and shook it with a firm grip, a trait which he always appreciated in you “Came back to see if the building's still standing? As you can tell, much as our students have tried and would wish, both the walls and I are well standing. Again much to everyone's dismay. The arts class is right where you left it if you want to go check it, by the way.”

“Oh Mr Fury don't be like that. You're the best headmaster this place could get and, let's be honest, the only one who could handle the kind of kids in here without going insane.” you shrugged and he hummed in agreement nodding his head “Besides, you always had faith in everyone, whether you admitted it or not.”

He scoffed a laugh “Glad that at least in some cases I wasn't proven wrong.”

“Wait- you-” Tony blinked, raising a hand as to stop the conversation “I'm getting it all mixed up here. Fury, you know (Y/n)?”

You wouldn't even have realised if the sharp intake was real or not, much less coming from your fiance, if you weren't standing so close to him. You had naturally found your way back to his side and his hand had fallen on your waist, and when you felt a squeeze so fast and quiet intense, you understood that it was all him. And more than that, you saw the way he had stiffened up next to you, how he was holding his breath and his chest was puffed out. His eyes weren't nearly as wide but you could see an unspoken kind of fear in them that made your heart ache. This wasn't how you wanted it to go by any means, not on your first meeting of his family. Everything was going so well, you had gotten so exited and carried away that you had almost not realized it what it could mean to have Fury in front of you. Not until now. You didn't want it to be ruined for Steve but what could you do anymore? Stand and watch just like him, feeling more helpless was the only possible thing aside from hoping.

“Do I know her? I don't know Stark, there are some people I'd rather see once a month or even year because one can only take so much and forgetting them wouldn't sound so bad- If you know what I mean.” he gave him a look and for a moment you held your own breath. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, maybe- “But, forgetting the brightest student to walk these halls ain't possible. And speaking of that, what brings you back after all this time (Y/n)?”

“Student?” it sounded like Natasha but you couldn't be sure over the sound of your own heart drumming.

“I uhm-” you cleared your throat, deciding to look as confident as possible for the sake of your fiance who as standing frozen in his place if not terrified “Yes, yes I was-” a soft laugh which you could proudly say sounded genuine “I was a student here almost six or seven years ago. Small world.” the came out as a whisper “And uh I was here because I had to see Mr Rog- Steve. I needed an uhm favor, of sorts. I'm sorry to disappoint but I won't be staying long, it's already been a long day for me and I need to head home.”

“Of coure.” he said but sadly for you that wasn't that, and feeling the tension in the room not only from Fury who studied the way you were so close but from the rest of Steve's friends who stood frozen in their place, faces blank but tha probably the worst kind of expression they could have on “But uh I didn't know you two kept in touch. What- what is Mr Rogers exactly to you?”

There is no mistaking the look the headmaster is giving you, the way his eyes narrow a bit, just like there is no mistaking the bit of knowing look in his eyes. Steve however, still very tense, chokes out in a lightly small and hoarse voice “Fiance.” he cleared his throat “(Y/n)'s my fiance.”

Fury's eyebrows rose but not with as much surprise as you'd have expected, not even that of having his current thought being verified. Maybe they weren't any current thought at all? Maybe the suspicion had not sparked this very moment to begin with.

“Well, then, what else can I say but congratulations!” he gave you a smile which you tried to return. Key word: tried. Steve was even more stiff next to you, unable to even try himself.

Before you get the chance to speak, it's another female voice this time that you also recognise “Fury, I have some stats I need you to see now befo- Oh, (Y/n)!” Maria smiled at you and you couldn't help but return it, until it almost froze in your lips because of her next words “What a pleasant surprise to see you here, you haven't changed at all! Not were it counts at least. Look at you, from high school girl to badass business woman. That's a glow up.”

She had always been friendly with you, the playfulness was to be expected, and her words were always what could make your day but at this very moment it felt like the exact opposite. You forced a smile nonetheless “Thank you Maria, it's great to see you too!”

“Right.” Fury cleared his throat, smirk evident on his lips “Well, as you can tell, work never ends for this old man. It's great to see you again (Y/n) and of course, congratulations once more.”

You were sure you murmured a soft “Thank you” but maybe it was only your lips moving as a reflex. You saw Maria give him a questioning look but what caught even more the attention was the grin he could barely hide as he turned to her and started speaking in a hushed tone.

Not that much registered anyway. The silence that followed, even for a couple seconds, felt deafening. Your heart seemed to be stuck in your throat as you simply waiting for something, anything.

“Honey.” it was Steve that spoke up, drawing your attention as he placed the keys in your palm “You're tired and you've been through enough for today. Go home and I promise I'll be there shortly afterwards. I'll say a quick hello and then I'll be with you, no more than an hour.”

“Steve” you protested in a low voice, looking up to meet his eyes. You weren't protesting at him cutting his day out with his friends short, although you definitely wanted to fight him about that because you were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. You were protesting at him taking it all upon himself, doing the explanation and what not. You felt like you had to be there to, that you needed to stand by his side and defend your relationship, even in front of his friends.

“No” he shook his head, clearly reading the meaning behind your words “Go. I'll be fine.” he whispered in your ear before kissing your temple “Go”

You tried to fight him a bit longer, silently at least, but his pursed lips and firm eyes told you that he's not having it. With a heavy sigh you nodded your head and he let go of your face. You put on a smile and turned to his friends “It was... great meeting you guys. I hope I'll see you again soon in... better circumstances. That we could get to talk more.”

“Anytime.” Natasha says with a warm smile that's almost friendly and accepting and you wish to believe it.

Sharing goodbyes with the rest of the group, you reluctantly walk away despite the urge to linger close if only to at least hear what they're going to say. Not... that you'd have to.

“Steve, you absolute little sneaky shit!” Tony exclaims, not even trying to keep quiet as he laughs “Alright, alright, now you seriously have to teach me how you do that! Your secret- Tell us your secret, there has to be one! My, I never thought I'd say this to freaking Cap of all people but I need your tips now!”

His words were followed by more laughter, easy and calm as Natasha spoke up again “Really, Steve, that's the reason whyyou didn't want us to meet her?” she raised an eyebrow and Steve tried to stutter out words but nothing coherent was said, not as he stared dumbfounded at his friends “You realize that there is nothing you should feel ashamed about, right? She was your student, alright, but as long as you both leg- Wait, you both were, right?”

Steve's eyes widened “No, Nat- It's not-” he blinked before shaking his head “When any of it happened she was very much legally an adult. Nothing could have ever happened if she was not. I would never-”

“Lies!” Tony gave him a look “That's absolute bullshit, Rogers. Nobody believes it. Come on, teacher- student relationship is already out there, start admitting the rest of it!”

“That's the truth, Tony.”Steve rolled his eyes “I'm not hiding anything else besides-”

“Not the one I chose to believe, no. Doesn't have as much spice as I'd like and we've already established that you have dirty secrets, I'm set on discovering it all if I have to. In fact-” he got his phone out “How much do you think a lie detector takes to build up from scratch? I could always order but-”

“Maybe... you were right to want to hide it after all.”

“Not all of us could have a mature reaction when some of us are not even close to... mental adolescence.”

[phroyd]

Oh My, what terrible timing, and what a great loss! Rest In Peace Justice Ginsburg, thank you for all you have done for our country! - Phroyd

Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, the demure firebrand who in her 80s became a legal, cultural and feminist icon, died Friday. The Supreme Court announced her death, saying the cause was complications from metastatic cancer of the pancreas.

The court, in a statement, said Ginsburg died at her home in Washington surrounded by family. She was 87.

"Our nation has lost a justice of historic stature," Chief Justice John Roberts said. "We at the Supreme Court have lost a cherished colleague. Today we mourn but with confidence that future generations will remember Ruth Bader Ginsburg as we knew her, a tired and resolute champion of justice."

Architect of the legal fight for women's rights in the 1970s, Ginsburg subsequently served 27 years on the nation's highest court, becoming its most prominent member. Her death will inevitably set in motion what promises to be a nasty and tumultuous political battle over who will succeed her, and it thrusts the Supreme Court vacancy into the spotlight of the presidential campaign.

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Just days before her death, as her strength waned, Ginsburg dictated this statement to her granddaughter Clara Spera: "My most fervent wish is that I will not be replaced until a new president is installed."

She knew what was to come. Ginsburg's death will have profound consequences for the court and the country. Inside the court, not only is the leader of the liberal wing gone, but with the Court about to open a new term, Chief Justice John Roberts no longer holds the controlling vote in closely contested cases.

Though he has a consistently conservative record in most cases, he has split from fellow conservatives in a few important ones, this year casting his vote with liberals, for instance, to at least temporarily protect the so-called Dreamers from deportation by the Trump administration, to uphold a major abortion precedent, and to uphold bans on large church gatherings during the coronavirus pandemic. But with Ginsburg gone, there is no clear court majority for those outcomes.

Indeed, a week after the upcoming presidential election, the court is for the third time scheduled to hear a challenge brought by Republicans to the Affordable Care Act, known as Obamacare. In 2012 the high court upheld the law by a 5-to-4 vote, with Chief Justice Roberts casting the deciding vote and writing the opinion for the majority. But this time the outcome may well be different.

That's because Ginsburg's death gives Republicans the chance to tighten their grip on the court with another Trump appointment that would give conservatives a 6-to-3 majority. And that would mean that even a defection on the right would leave conservatives with enough votes to prevail in the Obamacare case and many others.

At the center of the battle to achieve that will be Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell. In 2016 he took a step unprecedented in modern times: He refused for nearly a year to allow any consideration of President Obama's supreme court nominee.

Back then, McConnell's justification was the upcoming presidential election, which he said would allow voters a chance to weigh in on what kind of justice they wanted. But now, with the tables turned, McConnell has made clear he will not follow the same course. Instead he will try immediately push through a Trump nominee so as to ensure a conservative justice to fill Ginsburg's liberal shoes, even if President Trump were to lose his re-election bid. Asked what he would do in circumstances like these, McConnell said: "Oh, we'd fill it."

So what happens in the coming weeks will be bare-knuckle politics, writ large, on the stage of a presidential election. It will be a fight Ginsburg had hoped to avoid, telling Justice Stevens shortly before his death that she hoped to serve as long as he did--until age 90.

"My dream is that I will stay on the court as long as he did," she said in an interview in 2019.

She didn't quite make it. But Ruth Bader Ginsburg was nonetheless an historic figure. She changed the way the world is for American women. For more than a decade, until her first judicial appointment in 1980, she led the fight in the courts for gender equality. When she began her legal crusade, women were treated, by law, differently from men. Hundreds of state and federal laws restricted what women could do, barring them from jobs, rights and even from jury service. By the time she donned judicial robes, however, Ginsburg had worked a revolution.

That was never more evident than in 1996 when, as a relatively new Supreme Court justice, Ginsburg wrote the court's 7-to-1 opinion declaring that the Virginia Military Institute could no longer remain an all-male institution. True, said Ginsburg, most women — indeed most men — would not want to meet the rigorous demands of VMI. But the state, she said, could not exclude women who could meet those demands.

"Reliance on overbroad generalizations ... estimates about the way most men or most women are, will not suffice to deny opportunity to women whose talent and capacity place them outside the average description," Ginsburg wrote.

She was an unlikely pioneer, a diminutive and shy woman, whose soft voice and large glasses hid an intellect and attitude that, as one colleague put it, was "tough as nails."

By the time she was in her 80s, she had become something of a rock star to women of all ages. She was the subject of a hit documentary, a biopic, an operetta, merchandise galore featuring her "Notorious RBG" moniker, a Time magazine cover, and regular Saturday Night Live sketches.

On one occasion in 2016, Ginsburg got herself into trouble and later publicly apologized for disparaging remarks she made about then-presidential candidate Donald Trump.

But for the most part Ginsburg enjoyed her fame and maintained a sense of humor about herself.

Asked about the fact that she had apparently fallen asleep during the 2015 State of the Union address, Ginsburg did not take the Fifth, admitting that although she had vowed not to drink at dinner with the other justices before the speech, the wine had just been too good to resist. The result, she said, was that she was perhaps not an entirely "sober judge" and kept nodding off.

Born in Brooklyn, N.Y., Ruth Bader went to public schools, where she excelled as a student — and as a baton twirler. By all accounts, it was her mother who was the driving force in her young life, but Celia Bader died of cancer the day before the future Justice would graduate from high school.

Then 17, Ruth Bader went on to Cornell on full scholarship, where she met Martin (aka "Marty") Ginsburg. "What made Marty so overwhelmingly attractive to me was that he cared that I had a brain," she said.

After her graduation, they were married and went off to Fort Sill, Okla., for his military service. There Mrs. Ginsburg, despite scoring high on the civil service exam, could only get a job as a typist, and when she became pregnant, she lost even that job.

Two years later, the couple returned to the East Coast to attend Harvard Law School. She was one of only nine women in a class of over 500 and found the dean asking her why she was taking up a place that "should go to a man."

At Harvard, she was the academic star, not Marty. The couple was busy juggling schedules, and their toddler when Marty was diagnosed with testicular cancer. Surgeries and aggressive radiation followed.

"So that left Ruth with a 3-year-old child, a fairly sick husband, the law review, classes to attend and feeding me," said Marty Ginsburg in a 1993 interview with NPR.

The experience also taught the future justice that sleep was a luxury. During the year of Marty's illness, he was only able to eat late at night; after that he would dictate his senior class paper to Ruth. At about 2 a.m., he would go back to sleep, Ginsburg recalled in an NPR interview. "Then I'd take out the books and start reading what I needed to be prepared for classes the next day."

Marty Ginsburg survived, graduated, and got a job in New York; his wife, a year behind him in school, transferred to Columbia, where she graduated at the top of her law school class. Despite her academic achievements, the doors to law firms were closed to women, and though recommended for a Supreme Court clerkship, she wasn't even interviewed.

It was bad enough that she was a woman, she recalled later, but she was also a mother, and male judges worried that she would be diverted by her "familial obligations."

Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg is pictured in the justice's chambers in Washington, D.C., during an interview with NPR's Nina Totenberg in September 2016.

A mentor, law professor Gerald Gunther, finally got her a clerkship in New York by promising Judge Edmund Palmieri that if she couldn't do the work, he would provide someone who could. That was "the carrot," Ginsburg would say later. "The stick" was that Gunther, who regularly fed his best students to Palmieri, told the judge that if he didn't take Ginsburg, Gunther would never send him a clerk again. The Ginsburg clerkship apparently was a success; Palmieri kept her not for the usual one year, but two, from 1959-61.

Ginsburg's next path is rarely talked about, mainly because it doesn't fit the narrative. She learned Swedish so she could work with Anders Berzelius, a Swedish civil procedure scholar. Through the Columbia Law School Project on International Procedure, Ginsburg and Berzelius co-authored a book.

In 1963, Ginsburg finally landed a teaching job at Rutgers law school, where she at one point hid her second pregnancy by wearing her mother-in-law's clothes. The ruse worked; her contract was renewed before her new baby was born.

While at Rutgers, she began her work fighting gender discrimination.

The 'Mother Brief'

Her first big case was a challenge to a law that barred a Colorado man named Charles Moritz from taking a tax deduction for the care of his 89-year-old mother. The IRS said the deduction, by statute, could only be claimed by women, or widowed or divorced men. But Moritz had never married.

The tax court concluded that the internal revenue code was immune to constitutional challenge, a notion that tax lawyer Marty Ginsburg viewed as "preposterous." The two Ginsburgs took on the case, he from the tax perspective, she from the constitutional perspective.

According to Marty Ginsburg, for his wife, this was the "mother brief." She had to think through all the issues and how to fix the inequity. The solution was to ask the court not to invalidate the statute but to apply it equally to both sexes. She won in the lower courts.

"Amazingly," he recalled in a 1993 NPR interview, the government petitioned the United States Supreme Court, stating that the decision "cast a cloud of unconstitutionality" over literally hundreds of federal statutes, and it attached a list of those statutes, which it compiled with Defense Department computers.

Those laws, Marty Ginsburg added, "were the statutes that my wife then litigated ... to overturn over the next decade."

In 1971, she would write her first Supreme Court brief in the case of Reed v. Reed. Ginsburg represented Sally Reed, who thought she should be the executor of her son's estate instead of her ex-husband.

The constitutional issue was whether a state could automatically prefer men over women as executors of estates. The answer from the all-male supreme court: no.

It was the first time the court had ever struck down a state law because it discriminated based on gender.

And that was just the beginning.

By then Ginsburg was earning quite a reputation. She would become the first female tenured professor at Columbia Law School, and she would found the Women's Rights Project at the ACLU.

As the chief architect of the battle for women's legal rights, Ginsburg devised a strategy that was characteristically cautious, precise and single-mindedly aimed at one goal: winning.

Knowing that she had to persuade male, establishment-oriented judges, she often picked male plaintiffs, and she liked Social Security cases because they illustrated how discrimination against women can harm men. For example, in Weinberger v. Wiesenfeld, she represented a man whose wife, the principal breadwinner, died in childbirth. The husband sought survivor's benefits to care for his child, but under the then-existing Social Security law, only widows, not widowers, were entitled to such benefits.

"This absolute exclusion, based on gender per se, operates to the disadvantage of female workers, their surviving spouses, and their children," Ginsburg told the justices at oral argument. The Supreme Court would ultimately agree, as it did in five of the six cases she argued.

Over the ensuing years, Ginsburg would file dozens of briefs seeking to persuade the courts that the 14th Amendment guarantee of equal protection applies not just to racial and ethnic minorities, but to women as well.

In an interview with NPR, she explained the legal theory that she eventually sold to the Supreme Court.

"The words of the 14th Amendment's equal protection clause — 'nor shall any state deny to any person the equal protection of the laws.' Well that word, 'any person,' covers women as well as men. And the Supreme Court woke up to that reality in 1971," Ginsburg said.

During these pioneering years, Ginsburg would often work through the night as she had during law school. But by this time, she had two children, and she later liked to tell a story about the lesson she learned when her son, in grade school, seemed to have a proclivity for getting into trouble.

The scrapes were hardly major, and Ginsburg grew exasperated by demands from school administrators that she come in to discuss her son's alleged misbehavior. Finally, there came a day when she had had enough. "I had stayed up all night the night before, and I said to the principal, 'This child has two parents. Please alternate calls.'"

After that, she found, the calls were few and far between. It seemed, she said, that most infractions were not worth calling a busy husband about.

The Supreme Court's Second Woman

In 1980 then-President Jimmy Carter named Ginsburg to the U.S. Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia. Over the next 13 years, she would amass a record as something of a centrist liberal, and in 1993 then-President Bill Clinton nominated her to the Supreme Court, the second woman appointed to the position.

She was not first on his list. For months Clinton flirted with other potential nominees, and some women's rights activists withheld their active support because they were worried about Ginsburg's views on abortion. She had been publicly critical of the legal reasoning in Roe v. Wade.

But in the background, Marty Ginsburg was lobbying hard for his wife. And finally Ruth Ginsburg was invited for a meeting with the president. As one White House official put it afterward, Clinton "fell for her--hook, line and sinker." So did the Senate. She was confirmed by a vote of 96 to 3.

Once on the court, Ginsburg was an example of a woman who defied stereotypes. Though she looked tiny and frail, she rode horses well into her 70s and even went parasailing. At home, it was her husband who was the chef, indeed a master chef, while the justice cheerfully acknowledged that she was an awful cook.

Though a liberal, she and the court's conservative icon, Antonin Scalia, now deceased, were the closest of friends. Indeed, an opera called Scalia/Ginsburg is based on their legal disagreements, and their affection for each other.

Over the years, as Ginsburg's place on the court grew in seniority, so did her role. In 2006, as the court veered right after the retirement of Justice Sandra Day O'Connor, Ginsburg dissented more often and more assertively, her most passionate dissents coming in women's rights cases.

Dissenting in Ledbetter v. Goodyear in 2007, she called on Congress to pass legislation that would override a court decision that drastically limited back-pay available for victims of employment discrimination. The resulting legislation was the first bill passed in 2009 after President Barack Obama took office.

In 2014, she dissented fiercely from the court's decision in Burwell v. Hobby Lobby, a decision that allowed some for-profit companies to refuse, on religious grounds, to comply with a federal mandate to cover birth control in health care plans. Such an exemption, she said, would "deny legions of women who do not hold their employers' beliefs, access to contraceptive coverage."

Where, she asked, "is the stopping point?" Suppose it offends an employer's religious belief "to pay the minimum wage" or "to accord women equal pay?"

And in 2013, when the court struck down a key provision of the Voting Rights Act, contending that times had changed and the law was no longer needed, Ginsburg dissented. She said that throwing out the provision "when it has worked and is continuing to work ... is like throwing away your umbrella in a rainstorm because you are not getting wet."

She viewed her dissents as a chance to persuade a future court.

"Some of my favorite opinions are dissenting opinions," Ginsburg told NPR. "I will not live to see what becomes of them, but I remain hopeful."

And yet, Ginsburg still managed some unexpected victories by winning over one or two of the conservative justices in important cases. In 2015, for example, she authored the court's decision upholding independent redistricting commissions established by voter referenda as a way of removing some of the partisanship in drawing legislative district lines.

Ginsburg always kept a backbreaking schedule of public appearances both at home and abroad, even after five bouts with cancer: colon cancer in 1999, pancreatic cancer 10 years later, lung cancer in 2018, and then pancreatic cancer again in 2019 and liver lesions in 2020. During that time, she endured chemotherapy, radiation, and in the last years of her life, terrible pain from shingles that never went away completely. All who knew her admired her grit. In 2009, three weeks after major cancer surgery, she surprised everyone when she showed up for the State of the Union address.

Shortly after that, she was back on the bench; it was her husband Marty who told her she could do it, even when she thought she could not, she told NPR.

A year later her psychological toughness was on full display when her beloved husband of 56 years was mortally ill. As she packed up his things at the hospital before taking him home to die, she found a note he had written to her. "My Dearest Ruth," it began, "You are the only person I have ever loved," setting aside children and family. "I have admired and loved you almost since the day we first met at Cornell....The time has come for me to ... take leave of life because the loss of quality simply overwhelms. I hope you will support where I come out, but I understand you may not. I will not love you a jot less."

Shortly after that, Marty Ginsburg died at home. The next day, his wife, the justice, was on the bench, reading an important opinion she had authored for the court. She was there, she said, because "Marty would have wanted it."

Years later, she would read the letter aloud in an NPR interview, and at the end, choke down the tears.

In the years after Marty's death, she would persevere without him, maintaining a jam-packed schedule when she was not on the bench or working on opinions.

Some liberals criticized her for not retiring while Obama was president, but she was at the top of her game, enjoyed her work enormously, and feared that Republicans might not confirm a successor. She was an avid consumer of opera, literature, and modern art. But in the end, it was her work, she said, that sustained her.

"I do think that I was born under a very bright star," she said in an NPR interview. "Because if you think about my life, I get out of law school. I have top grades. No law firm in the city of New York will hire me. I end up teaching; it gave me time to devote to the movement for evening out the rights of women and men. "

And it was that legal crusade for women's rights that ultimately led to her appointment to the U.S. Supreme Court.

To the end of her tenure, she remained a special kind of feminist, both decorous and dogged.

Phroyd

[haikyuu-scenarios-drabbles]

Professor Kuroo Part Two 

slides this across the table in a humble offering that it’s been 3 weeks since my poll pls forgive me 

part one

Love y’all,  J

~

You hate yourself for what you’ve done. But with the convention around the corner, your higher-ups are rightfully confused as to why you want out of Dr. Kuroo’s project so late in the game. You try to chalk it up to wanting to ‘broaden your horizons’, but even that doesn’t convince them fully. Instead, they tell you to continue working with Dr. Kuroo while also giving you some small task on Dr. Yu’s project that you’ll probably complete in two days.

So, Monday morning after that meeting crushing your hopes of just brushing what happened in the library Friday night under the rug, you trudge back to your desk trying your best to ignore the whispers following you as you go. Word spreads like wildfire around here. You’re not surprised, your request came out of the blue, particularly since up until now it seemed like you’ve been working fine with Dr. Kuroo.

Which…you have. Up until last week.

It isn’t that you don’t like him anymore, or that you don’t return his feelings—obviously not considering your reaction to his move on you. It’s more that you think it won’t be fair to either of you to go on pretending like nothing happened, because god knows you don’t even know if you can. Which is why it would be best if you stayed away from him, no reason to torture yourself like that. Or him.

Though, it looks like you’re just going to have to grin and bear it. No matter that you spent the entire weekend trying to stop thinking about what happened—and miserably failing. Any spare moment you had, without your permission, your brain would drift to the sensation of his hands clasped to your waist; his lips on yours, and from there you couldn’t stop imagining what would have happened had you let him continue.

That’s usually about the time you shoved your face into the nearest pillow to scream into or slapped your cheeks to bring you back to reality.

You think you can do it, act normal around him, give no inclination that anything is different. As much as you’re going to hate it, mainly because it’s going to hurt him, nobody—and you mean nobody can have any suspicions.

That is until he strides in the office door, looking more jaw-dropping than usual. You always had a hard time controlling yourself whenever he rolled up the sleeves of his button-up, but today he’s topping it off with the rare sight of his glasses and tousled hair looking notably unruly this morning. Judging from the glasses, hair, his bag practically bursting, and the numerous rolled up papers beneath his arm, it’s been a rough morning.

The dark circles under his eyes suggest it’s been a tough weekend as well.

You bite your lip, hoping it’s because of the conference and not you.

His eyes land on you almost immediately, expression giving away nothing. You are surprised that he makes his way over to you, drops his things on your desk in a huff, breathlessly explaining, “I have a meeting in like two minutes, I can’t make it back to my office in time, I’m sorry to ask you this but—,”

You go on autopilot mode, reassuring him, “I’ll handle it, just go!”

He gives you a grateful smile before jogging off to the conference room.

Truthfully, he’s glad he’s had a whirlwind of a morning, otherwise he doesn’t know how he would have approached you so normally. And he’s surprised at how receptive you were to him, he thought you’d be avoiding him, especially since you requested to switch off his project.

He frowns. He is not in the mood to think about that right now. It was bad enough being unable to focus this weekend, because if he lets himself, he’ll get consumed with thoughts of you. He’s thankfully able to think about something else during the meeting, distracted by data reports from other faculty and details about the conference. Upon the conclusion of the meeting, he’s surprised there’s no discussion about your request to transfer. As of now, all he knows is that the request has been made, there’s been no word on its verdict.

Before he can head out, he is by no means shocked when the head of the department asks him to follow him to his office. He does his best to remain as indifferent as possible as he follows him, making a point to ignore you as he passes your desk on the way to the back.

The door closes behind him, and Kuroo sets his expression straight, no need to give Dr. Takahashi any reason for suspicion.

“Are aware that your graduate student requested to be switched off your project, Dr. Kuroo?”

One of the reasons Kuroo respects his colleague so much is that he never dances around the subject, but right now he wishes he’d sound a little less accusatory with that statement.

No reason to lie here either, so Kuroo nods passively, replying with a noncommittal, “I did. Dr. Yu emailed me about it this weekend.”

He raises a brow. “Any idea why? There hasn’t seemed to be a problem all year, and with the conference coming up, it’s a bit unexpected.”

Kuroo takes a moment to consider what you might have said when probably asked a very similar question when you made the request. He’s certain you didn’t come clean about the situation, otherwise he’d be dealing with a much different person right now. “I’m sure they were looking for more to do,” Kuroo rolls his eyes good-naturedly, and judging by Takahashi’s expression he hit the nail on the head. “I can’t seem to give them enough, every time I turn around, they’re already finished and onto the task.”

Not entirely true, you do finish tasks quickly and diligently, but you’re pretty good about keeping yourself busy. He rarely has to explicitly tell you what to do next. He did when you first started, as expected, but by now you’ve gotten the flow of things and can work seamlessly with him like you’re reading his mind. Other professors are jealous and wish you were their graduate student, so he’s heard.

“Ah, well. Unfortunately, I denied the request. We’re winding down to the conference anyways, there’s not much to do anywhere. I’ll revisit it once things pick up again and see where they’re at.” He waves Kuroo out, and he almost sighs a breath of relief once the door closes until he realizes what comes next.

Facing you.

God, he’s gone over this situation over and over in his head all weekend, but now that it’s here his stomach is twisting into knots at the thought of confronting you. He wants to bring it up, thinking it would be best to talk it out, see where the other person is at, but not here. Not somewhere with the risk of someone overhearing.

He at least gives you the curtesy of approaching your desk from the front instead of behind like he usually does, as he found it amusing watching you jerk in surprise in your chair—no, even that’s too dangerous. You watch him carefully, wondering just what exactly he’s going to open with.

“Are you doing anything right now? Do you want to go over this week’s plan in my office?” He asks, unaware that the nerves coiling in your chest unravel slightly at his mundane request. It’s familiar, the two of you usually hash out the week on Monday to ensure an efficient plan, and you’re glad he started with that and not something ominous like, we need to talk.

Though there is an underlying suggestion in the seemingly simple question.

Go over the plan, in his office. A key detail that anyone else wouldn’t blink twice at.

You, on the other hand, fear an ambush. But part of you wouldn’t mind talking it out so there isn’t this air charged with anxiety that you can already feel simmering between the two of you.

“No, I was waiting for you to finish your meeting so we could go over the week.”

He smiles softly at you, and the expression that sends your heart thundering against your chest. The trek back to his office lets your nerves ramp up, making you paranoid about all of the possible things that aren’t the plan for the week he’s going to bring up once the door shuts. The closer you get, the more your mindset shifts from maybe being willing to discuss things to wanting to completely and utterly forget it, and go about your lives blissfully ignorant.

You’re glad he doesn’t take a seat behind his desk, which would have made you feel even more skittish that he’s planning on having a serious talk with you. Instead, he sinks into one of the two armchairs in the corner; a place the two of you have spent many hours in discussion over a cup of coffee in. You didn’t think it possible, but somehow that’s worse that him sitting behind his desk. This is far more…intimate.

He just looks at you, reading you so easily you hate it, saying, “I’m not going to bring it up. Not here.”

“Why not?” The words tumble from your mouth without much thought. You loathe how pathetic it makes you sound. His eyes softening only make it worse.

Choosing his next words carefully, he eyes the door behind you and lowers his voice, “Do you want to?”

He notices the flicker of your jaw. You’re contemplating something, so he just waits, despite his emotions rearing to bubble to the surface.

“I—uh…no. I’d rather not.”

You aren’t expecting the finality of those words to make your heart feel heavy in your chest. Like you’re closing a door that you’ve been wondering if it would ever open since meeting him and…it doesn’t sit right. None of this does. But you must continue on the way it is, there isn’t another choice, as much as you hate it.

You’re shocked to hear what he says next.

“Do you ever?”

Up until now, you were finding it difficult to look at him. But with those words, your attention snaps to his, getting pinned by his golden gaze. Without much thought you say softly, “I don’t know.” You wish he would wipe that stupid fucking expression off his face. It simultaneously makes you want to grab his head between your hands to kiss and slap him across the face. You have to resist the urge to do either, unfortunately.

“That’s fine,” he says, so nonchalantly you grit your teeth. He was the one to confess his feelings to you. It’s making you feel so childish how much you’re struggling with your emotions when he seems perfectly fine. Little do you know; he’s hiding his channeling his true feelings into gripping the armrests as hard as he can. At least you didn’t shut him out completely. “So,” he scratches his chin. “Your request to switch projects was declined.”

You visibly straighten. “Now that’s something I don’t want to discuss.”

He smirks, unable to resist his prevocational tendencies. “What are you afraid of?”

He watches as your fists ball, unsure if his tactic is going to work out in his favor or not. “You said we wouldn’t talk about it here!” You hiss, lowering your voice to barely a whisper.

Leaning forward in his seat and resting his elbows on his knees he proposes, “You’re right. How about tonight, The Brew at eight?”

“I am not going on a date with you! That’s the complete opposite of what we should do!” You whisper as angrily as you can muster.

“Just a humble meeting between colleagues,” he says simply. “Nothing else.”

Your eyes narrow, and he hopes with all his might you’ll agree to his request.

His heart soars as you say, “Fine. Just talking.”

“Just talking,” he nods, sincerely meaning it. You’re both adults here, and he’d like to settle this before it blows up in your faces.

He’s glad that you relax and slump into the chair beside him. “Can we talk about the week now please?” You hate how much you love the grin that lights up his face.

And as nervous as you are for tonight, you also feel a strange sense of calm about it. Relieved to get some things straight after a rather tumultuous weekend.

~

and now forgive me that there’s going to be a part 3 😈 

part three part four

[morningfears]

Television Romance [Chapter One]

Rating: PG-13 (some swears, nothing major)

Summary: Natalia Adler is a stressed out grad student who attempts to escape the noise of her office by visiting her favorite coffee shop. However, instead of a few hours of writing, she gets a lap full of coffee and a date with the most gorgeous guy she’s ever met.

Word Count: 3.4k

Chapter Two

The graduate student office was usually busy, bustling with activity and overflowing with graduate students working on various research projects or grading coursework as well as undergraduate students seeking assistance with assignments. It was always difficult to concentrate among the din, there was always some conversation or another taking place that was much more interesting than writing yet another proposal, but Tuesdays were the worst.

On Tuesdays, the graduate teaching seminar met in the student office. For an hour each week, the teaching assistants dragged whatever chairs they could find to the center of the room and formed a circle to discuss problems that had arisen in their classrooms, questions they had about university policy, and an article on teaching practices they were assigned to - but never actually did - read. The class was supposed to be useful, a way for them all to prepare for their futures as academics, but it usually turned into a shouting match as the stronger personalities argued over one another about best practices in classroom management. And after, when the dust settled and the faculty facilitator was gone, students who didn’t have a one o’clock class stuck around to catch up on whatever departmental gossip they’d missed throughout the week.

Most days, Natalia was able to tune it all out. Her desk was in the corner, hidden behind a flimsy partition, and her noise cancelling headphones worked wonders to drown out the arguments. She didn’t love catching snippets of pointless conversations about which departmental policies were outdated - they all were - or which graduate students were sleeping together but she made it work. However, today was not one of those days.

She had several important deadlines looming over her head - conference submissions, revisions for a potential publication, the first draft of her thesis proposal, all due within days of one another - and she was feeling overwhelmed. The argument as to whether the department was too hard or too soft on students - or whether professors played favorites - was only making things worse. Instead of subjecting herself to two more hours of torture, she decided to pack up her bag and head to the coffee shop across the street. Even if it was loud, it had to at least be less hostile than the office.

She stood, satchel slung over one shoulder with her cellphone and headphones in hand, and glanced over the top of her partition at the girl who sat across from her. Nicole, like Natalia, wore headphones whenever she worked in the office and only glanced up when Natalia tossed a paperclip at her.

“I’m going to Molly’s,” she announced when Nicole pulled her headphones away from her ears and glanced up at her. Natalia struggled to keep her voice quiet in an attempt to avoid drawing attention to herself, though she was half certain she could yell and still not be heard over her colleagues. However, she remained cautious as the last thing she wanted was for anyone to join her. “You want anything?”

“A new job, a better salary, a husband who takes out the trash… I could go on,” Nicole answered, rolling her neck and grinning tiredly at Natalia’s deadpan expression. “I’ll settle for a caramel latte, though. With almond milk and extra caramel, please. I’ll Venmo you.”

“I’ve got it,” Natalia assured her with a wave of her hand as Nicole reached for her cellphone, “you got me boba last week. You have class at three, right?”

“Don’t remind me,” Nicole sighed as she dropped the device, straightened up in her chair, and pulled a face as she glanced at the syllabus tacked to her partition wall. “We’re going over how Marxism influenced Burke today. I think I’d rather chew off my own foot than try to teach a group of undergrads about either Marxism or Burke.”

“I know the point of college is to make kids think,” Natalia began as she hoisted her bag a little higher on her shoulder and ambled around her partition to stop beside Nicole’s desk, “but I’m glad I got the class that’s a little more, ‘well, duh,’ than that. We’re going over how fundamentally fucked the US healthcare system is today.”

Nicole paused for a moment, staring at Natalia with a look that reeked of both annoyance and exhaustion, before she dropped her head to her desk and asked, “Is it too late to drop out?”

This was a conversation they’d had at least once a week since their first semester of graduate school and Natalia bit back a laugh as she nodded. “Yep. You’re halfway through your thesis proposal, no quitting now,” she pointed out as she nodded toward the stack of books on religious rhetoric that Nicole had stacked on her desk. “Anyway, only eight more months until we’re free.”

“I’m three pages in,” Nicole informed her, a pitiful whine erupting from her throat as she lifted her head and ran a hand through her unwashed curls. “This is going to be a long semester.”

Natalia, who had been under the impression that she was impossibly behind although she only lacked a completed methodology section, grimaced upon learning just how far behind Nicole was. She gave her friend a gentle pat on the shoulder and, although she had her own deadlines to meet, offered her assistance. “I’ll probably be sticking around after class tonight,” she informed her as she thought about the papers she still needed to grade, “if you need me to help with anything, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” Nicole sighed as she turned in her chair and smiled at Natalia, the exhaustion evident in her features although they were only a month into the semester. “I’m thinking about a writing party on Friday so that people can submit conference papers and then go get hammered after. You in?”

“Always down for drinks after opening myself up for rejection. You can send out an email and maybe follow up with a GroupMe or something. Your husband won’t mind you spending Friday with us?” she asked as she glanced over at the group of students, now talking instead of arguing, that still remained in the room. Although they got on her nerves sometimes, she had grown to love most of them.

“He’s going to a football game with some friends. If I stay home, I’ll just end up falling asleep in the tub with a glass of wine. I’ll send the email after class,” Nicole answered as she grabbed her headphones and moved to reposition them onto her ears. “Go, get out of here before someone stops you. You’ll be back by three?”

“Yeah, I’ll be back before you have to leave. I’ll text you when I’m on my way over. See you in a bit,” Natalia hummed as she tapped the top of Nicole’s partition before maneuvering around the group that crowded the doorway and stepping out into the hall.

The building itself wasn’t that busy, it rarely was, but campus was teeming with students as Natalia stepped outside. They typically opted for afternoon classes rather than morning ones and it was obvious that classes held after lunch were the most populated as she watched students wander from building to building. Her own undergraduate experience had been very different - classes as early in the morning as she could get them and work in the afternoons until late at night - but she understood the desire to take advantage of the opportunity.

As a graduate student, her schedule was a little different. She was usually the first one to arrive in the office, just to get a little work done, and held office hours during lunch. She was a TA for a class that met on Tuesdays and Thursday at three and had her own classes to attend, with each of the three meeting once a week, starting at six p.m. and ending at around ten. 

She was busier than she had ever been, even busier than the two years she spent working two jobs and overloading her class schedule. It was harder and lonelier than undergrad had been. She had little time to feel human or socialize without anyone outside of her program, however, she told herself that it would all be worth it when she finished and had a master’s degree under her belt.

Natalia made the most of the few minutes it took her to walk from her office to Molly’s, the closest coffee shop to campus that wasn’t the always crowded Starbucks in the library. She rarely got to enjoy her days. They were usually spent locked in the office or cooped up in the library, neither of which had enough windows. Although it was September, fall still seemed a lifetime away. 

She could still smell summer as an occasional ocean breeze wafted through campus. The sun was bright and high in the sky and the air was warm. It felt like the height of summer, as it usually did in Los Angeles, and she was grateful that she’d chosen to wear a dress instead of pants as the slight breeze kept her from overheating as she entered Molly’s.

The little coffee shop was every Instagram obsessed student’s dream. The exterior was nondescript with plain white walls and a small patio with string lights and a few small tables, however, the interior more than made up for it. There were walls covered with ivy - though Natalia didn’t know if it was real or not - and neon signs littered around the space. There was also a loft with tables and chairs that always seemed to be quieter than the rest of the shop.

It had all been too much for her the first time she visited. It seemed gimmicky, not the kind of place she wanted to frequent even if it was convenient, however, her opinion changed the moment she tried the coffee. Her predecessors in the program hadn’t been wrong in telling her that it was the best coffee she could get and that it served as a good hideout when the office got to be too much to handle. She understood why it was frequented by both students and the outside community, even if it took them too close to campus.

Although the coffee shop was bustling with students rushing in and out between classes, filled with the sounds of conversation and the excitement that came with a new school year, it still seemed quieter than the office. After ordering her iced coffee and settling into a table near the entrance, Natalia slipped her headphones back on and bit her lip in concentration as she opened her laptop and began working on the revisions she’d gotten back from her co-author.

It was difficult, not paying attention to the patrons that entered the shop as she loved people watching, but Natalia kept her eyes on her screen and typed away. If she had glanced up, she might have seen the looks that people threw one another as two men entered the shop. She might have seen how a few snuck pictures with their cellphones or how others whispered excitedly as they passed them by. But she didn’t. All she saw was the cursor on her document blink as she tried to string together a coherent sentence.

She focused on typing a new explanation for a concept she thought she’d covered well enough to need no further explanation, a metaphorical dark cloud hanging over her head as she let the reviewer’s comments weigh on her pride. However, as she got into a groove, her word count quickly climbing, she felt something cold splash against her right side.

She sat, stunned, for a few seconds, before she pulled her headphones off and blinked at the coffee that stained the right side of her dress and dripped from her skin. Ice cubes gathered in her lap, cold seeping through the fabric of her dress as she attempted to process what happened. It took a few more seconds of staring at the mess before she picked up her laptop and held it away from the growing pool of coffee. Ice cubes clattered to the floor as she stood and she grimaced as she watched them fall. She looked over the computer, sighing in relief when nothing appeared to be wet, before she lifted her head and looked at the person responsible.

Any other time, her attention would be on how beautiful the man in front of her was. He stood a head taller than her, easily, with broad shoulders and a surprised expression that she was sure matched her own. His blonde curls had fallen into his eyes, obscuring the blue slightly, and his cheeks and upturned nose were tinted pink in embarrassment as he looked over the damage he’d done.

They stared at one another for longer than necessary, his eyes lingering on her face just as hers lingered on his, and she was glad that he at least had the decency to stare at her face instead of the wet fabric clinging to her. The man beside him, slightly shorter and more amused than embarrassed, nudged his friend who moved as if he were a video that had been taken off pause.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, his words rushing together as he watched her place her laptop on a neighboring table to keep it out of harm’s way before she reached for a few napkins. “Fuck, here, let me help you with that.”

His hand bumped into hers as he reached for more napkins and began wiping at the table and, as cliche as it was, she felt a jolt of something shoot down her spine as she quickly pulled her hand away. It was easy for Natalia to ignore the feeling as she watched him make matters worse. She tried to hide it, however, she couldn’t help but grimace as she moved her bag away from the table, slipping it over her head in an effort to avoid him sweeping coffee inside it.

She shook her head at his apology and reached for another handful of napkins. “It’s okay,” she sighed, not wanting to be rude even though she knew she’d have to take time she was planning on using to write to go home and change before class, “at least it was iced coffee.” She tossed the soaked napkins into the trash and bent down to pick up the ice cubes and cup from the ground. “What happened, anyway?”

“He tripped,” the shorter, dark-haired man informed her before he took a sip of his coffee. He still looked amused, positively delighted as he watched his friend struggle to find the right words to say, and Natalia bit back a laugh as she realized everyone had a friend like him.

“I didn’t trip,” the taller man defended with a roll of his eyes, cutting his eyes at his friend before returning his attention to Natalia. He met her eyes sheepishly, the embarrassment softening his features as he explained, “Someone bumped into me on their way in and I, uh…” He trailed off, clearly having planned on saying that he tripped, and dropped his gaze to the floor as Natalia laughed.

“Tripped?” she finished, a smile on her lips despite the situation. When the taller man grimaced, bringing the hand not full of soaked napkins up to rub at the back of his neck, she laughed once more.

“Fine, I tripped,” he acknowledged, “but it wasn’t just being clumsy. Someone really did bump into me.” He gave his explanation more to his friend than to her and she wondered how often he found himself tripping over thin air. He looked solid, like he wouldn’t be the type to trip over his own two feet, but looks could be deceiving and she knew from personal experience how annoying it was to be the clumsy friend.

“It’s okay,” she assured him, a little more sincere in her assurance this time as she offered him a genuine smile. “Nothing spilled on my laptop and it wasn’t boiling so, worst case scenario was avoided. I think I’ll just not sit near the door next time, though.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good call,” he agreed. His lips were quirked in a smile, grateful that she wasn’t yelling at him, and he still held the soaked napkins in his hands. “I still feel bad, though. Can I make it up to you; buy you a coffee or something?” he asked, a hopeful lilt to her voice that told her he wasn’t just looking to make up for spilling coffee on her.

As much as it pained her to turn him down - and it hurt quite a bit as she found him to be beautiful, even in basketball shorts and a t-shirt - she didn’t have time. “That would be great,” she began, a rueful smile on her lips as she grabbed her laptop and slid it into her bag, “but I have to run. I need to go get changed before class. It’s really okay, though. No big deal.”

She didn’t miss the nudge his friend gave him and raised an eyebrow as she watched him swat at his friend’s elbow. “I, uh, how about dinner, then?” he asked, his eyes meeting hers. 

He looked so earnest, his skin still tinted pink and his eyes wide, and she felt a giddy excitement bubble in the pit of her stomach. He was gorgeous, the kind of guy she never imagined would be interested in her, and she wanted to give him a chance. She didn’t know him, didn’t know if that chance would turn into a disaster, but she found herself wanting to take that risk.

“I have class until ten tonight,” she told him, biting back a coo when his face dropped at what he assumed was her rejection, “but if you tell me your name, I think I could free up my Friday night for dinner.”

He blinked, surprised at how her sentence ended, and smiled at her. He had a unique smile, his teeth on full display and tongue pressed to the back of them, and his eyes brightened as he nodded his agreement. “Right, yeah. Luke,” he introduced, moving to offer her his hand before realizing he still held the wad of napkins. “This meeting isn’t really going that well, huh?”

“I’d say it went south when you dumped coffee on her,” the friend commented, not even bothering to hide his grin as he watched the interaction unfold before him. “All downhill from there, mate.”

“I’m Natalia,” she introduced, pointedly ignoring his friend’s comment with an amused glance in his direction. “I’ve had worse first meetings, don’t worry. My freshman year roommate opened a door on me and gave me a concussion. You just stained a dress.”

“Oddly, that makes me feel better about this, thanks,” Luke laughed as he reached out and dropped the napkins into the garbage. “Can I get your number? That way you can go change now and we can make plans later,” he clarified, smiling at her as he offered her his cellphone to put her number in.

She felt Luke’s gaze on her as she put her number into his phone and she offered him a smile as she handed the device back. “I have one request for Friday,” she told him as she grabbed her own phone from the table and grinned at the text he sent her with his name, “no tables near the entrance.” Luke laughed at her request, a sound that she found endearing, and Natalia grinned at him. “I’ll see you on Friday, then.”

“See you on Friday,” he confirmed, grinning as he watched her step around him.

Natalia and Luke maintained eye contact for a moment, each giddy and grinning as they felt the butterflies of something new on the horizon, before Natalia bumped into something solid on her way out and made a face before quickly turning to apologize. She tossed Luke a wave over her shoulder, her own cheeks burning in embarrassment, as she heard his friend mumble, “Wow, she’s perfect for you.”

As she stepped out into the world once more, she grinned at the encounter. It made her lose an hour of writing time - and ruined her favorite dress - but maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing. She’d been single for years and hadn’t had any luck with dating apps. She knew that a boyfriend wasn’t the most necessary thing in her life, however, it might be nice to be the girl with a date for once. And it certainly didn’t hurt that Luke was gorgeous.

Whatever the future held for them, she found herself looking forward to it. 

____________________________________________________

Author’s Note: If I try to start another series, someone fight me. Like, actually, genuinely fight me. I’m focusing on Rose Tattoo, These Violent Delights, and this. (And MF if I get inspiration but those updates are more sporadic, never meant to be regular, sorry. :() I want to write a few one shots but they’ll likely be shorter and just fun, you know? Not super plot heavy. I may or may not update the next chapter of this sooner than a week because this is kind of short. But, hey, I’ve got all the time in the world because after I defend next week, I’m done with grad school and that’s mildly terrifying. Anyway.  Here we go.

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[sxfterhearts]

22. [4:22 pm]

“That’s all for today, good job everyone on your midsemester exams, and don’t forget to submit your assignments by midnight on Saturday.” Loud rustles echoed around the room as impatient students began to pack up their things and leave. “See you next week, class.”

Even before you dismissed your tutorial class, nearly three-quarters of the room was already vacated. As the last few students got up and bid you goodbye, a few of them stayed back to ask you questions about the midsemester exam you just reviewed. Being an experienced tutor for this unit, you listened intently to every single one of their questions and worries, providing them with answers to the best of your knowledge. It was common for you to get held back for nearly fifteen to twenty minutes because the unit you tutored was known to be difficult yet essential for all students from your major. You remembered taking this unit yourself two years ago and all the grief it had caused you, hence you fully empathised with your students.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a familiar blonde-haired boy leaning against a table and browsing casually on his phone as you placed all of the midsemester exams back into the cardboard box, along with your stationary and other tutorial material. He was the last student left. “Bambam,” you called the boy. “How can I help you?”

“What are you doing after this, Y/N?”

You tried your best to resist the strong urge to roll your eyes. Bambam had been over the moon when he found out that you, his former class president from high school, was assigned to tutor his class for the entire semester. Ever since high school, he had made countless futile attempts to get closer to you. Most girls back then would have been flattered by the vice president of the student council’s undivided attention – he was always trailing around you like a lost puppy, offering to help you with tasks that you were fully capable of handling, or leaving you small gifts like chocolate and miniature wooden figures from his Woodwork class.

Undeterred, you never caved to his advances, for many reasons. For one, the two of you were polar opposites. The only similarity that you shared was that you were both teachers’ pets who sat on the student council. Anything beyond that, such as your personalities (you were the studious, quiet type; he was popular, smart and sporty) and your interests (you loved escaping to the library and reading; he practically lived on the basketball courts) were miles apart. Secondly, you absolutely loathed all the attention he gave you. You disliked his grand gestures that quickly became the talk of the school. There was so much unnecessary gossip surrounding you due to Bambam’s actions and you hated it when people talked behind your back. Some girls even started sending you anonymous threats on social media for being the apple of Bambam’s eye and for rejecting his heart. It was just too much for you and you decided that you wanted nothing to do with him.

Things were much more different now, of course. Most people mature when they enter university and thankfully the students who used to harass you either studied elsewhere or lost interest in the situation completely. You had enjoyed your peace and quiet without him in your first year when Bambam had decided to take a gap year, but he had since returned from his worldly travels. You rarely came in contact with him in your second year as you had completed a year of studies abroad, but this year, by some twisted stroke of luck, you had been assigned as his tutor.

He was the same old Bambam, always so persistent, but a bit more mature in his approach. He would ask you the same question every other week, about your schedule, and whether you were free to ‘catch up’, but he knew how to stop and wish you a good day once you rejected him. You always gave him the same answer, a polite “No, thank you,”, before parting ways with him. That is, until last week.

It was the week of midsemester exams. Due to the exam timetable, the exam of the unit you tutored fell on a Monday, four days before the exam that you had to sit which was on the Friday. Normally, this would be an ideal timetable, however another one of the tutors came down with a serious case of the flu and the professor assigned you to mark her load of papers by Friday. By Wednesday afternoon, you were marking papers in an abandoned corner of the cafeteria, running on a lack of sleep and an astronomical amount of caffeine in your bloodstream. When Bambam walked up to you and sat across you, spouting his usual questions, you just lost it. “No! I have nearly two hundred papers to grade and a difficult exam to study for. No, I am not free, so leave me alone!” You yelled at him, nearly on the brink of tears.

Bambam was clearly taken aback by your outburst, of course. You were soft-spoken and demure, never one to raise your voice in a public place. He could see the resemblance between the woman before him, struggling to hold back the tears, and the girl he saw hiding in an abandoned classroom three years ago, bawling her eyes out as she crouched amongst a sea of books and papers. He remembered that you never really dealt with academic stress very well.

On the surface level, Bambam seemed the stereotypical rich boy on campus, shooting hoops with the boys every day while playing with a different girl every night. It wasn’t true, though. There’s more than meets the eye.

You learned that when he had respectfully asked whether he could stay with you, and if he could bring you somewhere to take your mind off things. Suddenly exhausted, you finally gave in to him, watching him tidy up your things and place them into your bag. You figured it was about time you took a break from this madness anyways. He led you towards the footpath by the riverside across the road from your university campus. The two of you walked in silence, with nothing but the sound of waves crashing against the bay filling your ears. He took you to the far side of the bay which you rarely frequented and sat on the bench facing the river. There were many more yachts docked nearby, their periodic swaying therapeutic to watch, and the occasional dog would pass by, wagging its tail in greeting. Being in nature was calming, and you felt yourself relax in his presence.

“Hello, earth to Y/N.” Bambam waved his palm in front of your face. “Are you alright? You spaced out there for a sec,”

You swung your backpack over your shoulder and picked up the heavy box filled with stacks of paper. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Did you miss my question? I asked you about your plans after class.” The blonde boy reminded, walking side by side as the two of you exited the tutorial room.

You were still somewhat shaken by the flashback you had. It left a deep impression on you, and casted Bambam in a completely different light. “Uh, yeah, sorry.” You readjusted the box in your hands. “I’m just dropping these off at the professor’s desk.”

“Wait, did you just give me a proper answer?” Bambam wondered aloud, clearly taken aback by your less-than-usual response. I’m making progress, he thought. “Can I come with? I was hoping you’d be free after that too, I wanted to take you out for a coffee.”

“Why?”

“Well, see, I wanted to talk to you about last week. You know, when-” He was interrupted by your soft wince as you readjusted the box once more. “Do you want me to carry it?”

You shook your head adamantly. “It’s not heavy.” You shot him a pointed look. “I’m stronger than I look.”

Bambam stifled a laughter at your determined expression. “Yeah, I have no doubt about that.” He quickly stole the box out of your arms and cut you off before you could protest. “You know, Y/N, you don’t have to act so strong all the time. Let others help you once in a while, no one will think any less of you for sharing your burden.”

“I-”

“Ah, Y/N!” Your professor exclaimed, stumbling upon you on his way to meet a colleague. “Are those the papers?”

You and Bambam bowed in greeting. “Yes, sir.” You answered, taking the box away and handing it to your professor. “One of the students had their marks calculated wrongly, I’ve already sent you an email with his student number and the new score. I’m really sorry for the mistake, sir, I promise-”

“That’s fantastic, Y/N. Always so efficient and meticulous. There’s really no need to be sorry! As humans, we are bound to make mistakes. What’s important is how we fix them and how learn from them. Thank you for your hard work, Y/N. You’ve done a good job.”

You turned your gaze downwards, slightly shy due to his kind words. “Yes, sir. Thank you.” You replied softly.

“And who is this young man, Y/N? Are you getting him to do all your dirty work? I saw him carrying the box earlier. It is heavy, though, if I do say so myself.” The professor extended his hand in a handshake, to which Bambam responded with a bright smile on his face.

“My name’s Bambam, sir. I’m doing your unit too, and Y/N is my tutor.”

The professor’s eyebrows quirked up in interest. “Oh? Is this something I should be worried about?”

“Sir, what does that mean?” You asked hurriedly.

He laughed boisterously in response, his half-moon glasses nearly falling off the tip of his nose as he did so. “I’m just joking, you two. Tell me, Bambam, how is it like being tutored by your girlfriend?”

“What-” You shrieked.

Bambam denied hastily. “Girlfriend? She’s not-”

“Sir, this is a misunderstanding, he’s not-” The two of you were gesturing and shaking your heads in unison, denying the professor’s words profusely.

“Ah, young love.” The professor readjusted his glasses as a knowing smile graced his lips. “Listen, son, I’ve known this young lady for two years now and I can assure you that she’s one of the good ones. Treat her well, she’s hard to find and hard to keep.”

Bambam flushed pink at his words. “You can say that again, sir.” His eyes met yours as he flashed you a bashful smile. Little did the professor know that he had been chasing you for the past six years, since the first day of high school.

(And little did you know that, indeed, opposites do attract. Seems like the blonde boy had a soft side that he kept hidden under that goofy exterior of his.)

(Of course, a few months down the road and a dozen coffee dates later, he would ask you to be his girlfriend.)

(And you agreed.)

[hazelandglasz]

OMG They Were Zoommates

Based on this post 

I really couldn’t resist, and like @tchrgleek said, “Everything is a Klaine prompt”!

On AO3

All things considered, yes, this quarantine is a huge hassle.

Kurt doesn’t particularly like to be forced into confinement, and while he can put on a professional face like pretty much any thirty year-old, he doesn’t like being forced into social interactions through video conferences.

He may be an introvert, but even he needs more than this second-best choice to get in touch with his colleagues and partners.

Speaking of which.

“Mrooow?”

“Oh, stop being judgmental, Wildcat Jackson,” Kurt tells his cat, who is sitting on his bed and looking at him with what is, truly, a judging look. “At least I put on pants.”

The cat looks down at his legs before rolling herself into a ball, away from him. 

“They’re pants,” Kurt mumbles. Yoga pants, sure, but they are still pants.

And Kurt put on his pristine pink shirt and his brooch.

From the camera’s point of view, he’s every bit the professional he needs to project for this meeting with their new partners.

The Zoom meeting is not planned before 2pm, but it’s 1:50pm when Kurt logs in, because that’s just the kind of person he is. And yet, he’s not the first one in the Zoom.

“Um, hello? I just logged in.”

The person was away from his computer, and Kurt had just enough time to see a bookshelf filled to the brim with books, manuals and several Funko Pops. 

Nothing unusual from a company specialized in developing educational apps for teenagers and young adults.

But then the man slides back in place, and wow, that is not how Kurt pictures Dalton's CEO.

“Hi. I’m Blaine Anderson.”

The man looks like a lot of things—a model from the 1950s, a romantic male lead, a wet dream in the flesh, your pick—but not like the man who sent several emails regarding the intellectual property of both parties and who was a stickler for proper language.

Kurt waves. “I’m Kurt, Pavarro’s founder and CFO.”

Mr. Anderson smiles, waving back at Kurt. “Looks like we’re the early birds.”

“I always prefer to be early. Fashionably late is too 1990s.”

Blaine nods, waving his hand toward Kurt. “Though you seem to know a thing or two about fashion.”

Kurt looks down at his (visible) outfit and cocks one eyebrow at Blaine. “So do you,” he replies appreciatively, swallowing whatever flirtatious sentence was about to follow when other participants join in the conference room.

Blaine straightens up, his hand smoothing down his tie, before smiling to the camera.

Kurt can’t help but notice it is a very different, tighter smile than the one he had before.

“Now, I want to begin this unusual meeting by thanking all of you for agreeing to the accommodations we all had to make…”

---

They are at the very beginning of the negotiations to include Pavarro’s music sheets and vocal coaching videos to Dalton’s latest app, designed for high school students wanting to focus on the Arts.

After a dozen or so Zoom meetings involving different members, it quickly comes down to only Kurt and Blaine meeting through Zoom, either to explain the technicalities ...

“No, Kurt, I’m not saying this coaching lesson is wrong, all I’m saying is that maybe the coach shouldn’t look …”

“What.”

“Constipated.”

...  or to compare their business models and projected numbers.

“Blaine, if I may …”

“Of course, Kurt.”

“You seem overly enthusiastic about the potential breakthrough we would have in the Midwest.”

Through the meetings, both Kurt and Blaine have relaxed, both in outfits and composure.

Kurt is this close to say that they’re friends (for want of anything closer).

Blaine sighs and leans back in his chair, his yellow polo slightly stretched over his chest causing a hitch in Kurt’s heartbeat. “It’s where I’m from, Kurt. I need to be optimistic about my home state. I need for it to grow to become a place of origins for artists.”

“Midwest, uh?”

“Ohio.”

Kurt sits up, leaning toward the screen. “Ohi--no way! Me too!”

Blaine looks startled. “Really?”

“Lima!”

“Westerville!”

They both start laughing, before Blaine returns his attention to his notes. Kurt takes advantage of the moment to admire Blaine’s face so close, his eyelashes casting a shadow over his cheeks in the soft glow of his screen.

“We may have been just a teensy weensy bit enthusiastic, though,” Blaine finally says, looking up and surprising Kurt who can feel his face heating up immediately. “I’ll get over it with Wes and we’ll have to meet again in a couple of days.”

“Ah, the hardship.”

“Ha, ha.”

Blaine has mastered the art of talking with his eyebrows, and his cocked one clearly says “I see through your bullshit, Hummel”.

“I’ll let you set up the next meeting, then,” Kurt rushes to conclude the meeting before he lets himself blurt something totally unprofessional and embarrassing. “In the meantime, Tina will send David the singing coaching videos we developed while in confinement, so please disregard the poor quality and focus on the subject, ‘kay?”

“Will do. Take care, Kurt.”

“You too. Good evening, Blaine.”

As soon as the conference window is shut, Kurt picks up Wildcat and screams into her soft belly.

This crush has to stop.

…

It won’t stop, will it?

---

Kurt knows that he’s in the right conference Zoom, because he clicked on the link Blaine sent.

That’s the only element he has to know that he didn’t get “lost”.

Because right now, filling his screen, is not Blaine’s gorgeous mug.

An adorable mug it is, sure, but not the one he was expecting.

“Blaine?”

“Oh shit, ‘Gana, move!”

Blaine rushes into the screen, picking up the smiling corgi and unceremoniously pushing her away. His shirt is opened and Kurt wants to thank whichever deity is having fun right now for the sight, both of Blaine’s chest and of his blushing cheeks.

“I am so, so sorry for that, Kurt,” he whines softly. “I don’t even know how my dog came up here.”

“That’s a cute corgi you got here.”

Blaine runs his fingers through his hair and smiles, obviously relaxing. “She is very cute. And very stubborn.”

“What’s her name?”

Blaine’s blush is back at full force. “Um …”

“Come on, I promise I will level the field.”

Blaine cocks his head to the side and shrugs. “Fine.” He moves away before returning with his dog in his lap. “Kurt, meet General Pupgana Anderson, leader of the Resistance.”

On the Corgi’s collar, Kurt does notice a couple of buttons that give clues about Blaine’s political leaning. 

Particularly, a rainbow one.

Interesting.

“Your turn.”

Luckily, Kurt’s cat was just out of frame, lying on his desk to catch the afternoon Sun. He picks Wildcat and presents her like an offering. “Here is Wildcat Jackson Hummel,” he says, and Blaine frowns, resting his chin on top on his dog’s head before snapping his fingers.

“Hey look me over, lend me an ear

Fresh out of clover, mortgage up to here

Don't pass the plate folks, don't pass the cup …,” he sings, not even off-key.

Wildcat opens one eye and bats the camera, interrupting Blaine’s singing in favor of laughter.

Kurt really doesn’t know which sound he prefers. All he knows is that he should have recorded it.

“I didn’t know you were a singer too,” he comments, letting Wildcat walk away in a huff.

“Oh, yeah,” Blaine says, absentmindedly fluffing up his dog’s already fluffy ears. “I was the leader of my school’s choir, back then.”

“Choir?”

“Ok, Glee club. Happy?”

Kurt beams at the camera. “Would be if you had proof.”

“No.”

“So you tell me if I search Blaine Anderson choir on YouTube, nothing will come up?”

Blaine mumbles something.

“Beg your pardon?”

“It. Better.”

Kurt bursts out laughing. “Okay, fine. I won’t look it up.”

Blaine cocks one eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe I will look it up, but I won’t bring it up.”

“Hm-hm.”

“I won’t make it a big deal.”

“Right.”

“Pinky swear.”

Blaine smiles crookedly at the camera, a look of disbelief on his face, before he does hold up his pinky in front of him.

Kurt mirrors him, all while quietly and internally losing his shit over how cute Blaine is.

That level of cuteness and geekiness and just gorgeousness should be illegal.

“Now, back on the matter at hand. Let me show you the new numbers we cranked up for our Midwest penetration …”

Oh Lord, Kurt thinks while putting his glasses on, do not let me focus on the idea of penetration for the next hour.

…

Try again.

---

“I’m sorry, Kurt, but the files have been compromised in the transfer.”

Tina looks like on the verge of tears, and Kurt himself is this close to cry.

“How did it happen?” he simply asks.

“Artie is looking into the tech of it, but in the meantime, we, um …”

“What?”

Tina glares at him. “Don’t bite my head off, Hummel, I can smack you down via video and we both know it.”

Kurt takes a deep breath. “What?” he repeats, softer this time and with a smile plastered to his face.

“We need to re-record the songs we planned to send to Dalton.”

“You know what we could do, instead?”

“Fling ourselves through the window because nothing matters?”

Kurt blinks. “Err, no. No. We’re not going to do that. What we are going to do, is mirror what the musicians from the National French Orchestra did.”

“Play Ravel’s Bolero?”

Kurt shakes his head. “No, but we can have a Zoom conference with Blaine and David--”

“Blaine, uh?”

“Yes, Blaine.” Tina’s smile could rival the Cheshire’s. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m glad you and Blaine managed to build such a good relationship while apart.”

It’s Kurt’s turn to glare. “I see what you’re trying to imply, Cohen-Chang, and it’s not--it’s not that.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I may wish it was that, but it’s not, so can you please drop it and brainstorm something with me for a good …”

“Audition?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

Tina’s smile is softer as she ends the call, promising to come up with a list of songs they wanted to add to their catalogue anyway.

As the call ends, Kurt swirls around in his chair, worrying his lower lip.

Has he been so obvious?

Does every participant into their Zoom meetings see how he feels about Blaine?

Does Blaine know?!

Blaine must know, oh shit.

“Goddammit,” he mutters, pushing himself off his chair to get a well deserved homemade pumpkin spice coffee because he needs it and he’ll be a cliché in his own damn home if he so chooses it.

--

“Blaine?”

For once, Blaine seems very unfocused today on their meeting. He frowns into space, asks Kurt to repeat what he just said and just seems … upset.

“Yes, sorry. I’m here.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Kurt asks, pulling Wildcat into the frame.

Somehow, along the weeks, adding their respective pets to the discussion has become a signal that the meeting is about to take a turn for the more personal.

Blaine hesitates, before leaning down and picking up Pupgana, who seems delighted to see Kurt.

“So, what’s going on in that cute head of yours?” Kurt continues, throwing caution to the wind, mostly because Blaine doesn’t react one way or another to his little flirting.

Which is both a blessing and a curse for Kurt’s mental well being.

“I had tickets for a play for tonight,” Blaine says softly. “And I understand the lockdown, I understand the quarantine, I understand the necessity and the safety of it …”

“But.”

“But,” he repeats, smiling sadly at Kurt. “There is no way to be sure that the play will be reprogrammed for a later date. I have been reimbursed and everything, but still.” He sighs. “I was looking forward to it, and it may make me sound like an entitled white man, but …”

“But,” Kurt echoes. “I had tickets for an opening last week, too. One of my best friends plays in it, so I had first row tickets too.”

“Oh? Which show?”

“Six.”

Blaine straightens up immediately. “No. Way.”

Kurt can feel his jaw clicking open. “No.”

“Yes!”

“You--”

“And you!”

Kurt leans back in his chair, a startled, breathless laugh escaping him. “Wow.”

“Took the word out of my mouth.” Blaine chuckles. “Which part was your friend supposed to play?”

“Ah, Mercedes was supposed to be Queen Catherine of Aragon herself.”

“Mer--your best friend is Mercedes Jones?!”

Kurt preens a little. “Yep. Since high school.”

“Wow. You keep getting more and more interesting, Kurt.”

His face heats up enough to make him worried about getting a fever, but Kurt knows it shouldn’t have anything to do with the pandemic. “...Oh.”

Blaine’s cheeks do pink up too, but he doesn’t lose his composure. “I mean it, Kurt. You’re probably--no, without a doubt, the most interesting man I have ever met.”

“And we haven’t even met yet.”

Blaine leans his head against his closed fist and stares into Kurt’s soul--that is, into his camera. “Do you really feel that way?” 

Blaine’s voice is soft and low. Intimate, in a way Kurt cannot comprehend or translate or interpret in his emotional state.

“I …” he starts, ready to deny whatever Blaine is imply, but he can’t.

Kurt can’t lie to those golden green eyes.

“No, I don’t. Feels like we have known each other forever.”

“It does.”

Kurt sighs, and Blaine follows.

When Pupgana imitates them, they chuckle and look away, focusing once again on arranging Pavarro’s demonstration for Blaine’s board.

---

It goes pretty well, if Kurt may say so himself.

Adding the Beatles has always been a goal of his, if only because his dad loved the British band so much, and performing “Blackbird” to the camera, while Tina provides backup and Artie plays the guitar, along with their teaching methods, was a stroke of genius.

Everybody agrees that the demo is a success. Wes, David and Trent leave the Zoom chat first, having another appointment with investors, and Artie spends some time talking to Blaine about how their codes could be more compatible--a conversation that flies over Kurt’s head--but after a while, it’s just the two of them, alone again in their Zoom meeting.

Blaine seems thoughtful as he looks at Kurt every two seconds, his eyes and fingers otherwise busy typing away.

“I could get used to this,” Kurt says to break the heavy silence.

“Hm?”

“You, me, working together. It feels right.”

Blaine bites his lip as he nods before pushing his keyboard away. “Kurt, I have to tell you …”

This is it, Kurt thinks. He’s going to tell me that I have been inappropriate, that we’re barely friends, that we need to stop talking to each other every day…

“... I didn’t expect to feel so emotional about your performance.”

Ah.

Ah?

“I mean, I heard recordings of you singing before, but that was … You moved me, Kurt.”

“Oh, really?”

“I had to restrain myself from clapping when you were finished.”

“Blaine …” Kurt takes a deep breath. “You know that a lot of the subjects we talked about during our meetings were not my forte.” Blaine cocks his head to the side with a frown. “Why did you decide to have them with me anyway?”

“Oh.”

“Not that I mind, but it just feels …,” Kurt hesitates and lets his silence fill in for him.

It just feels … odd.

Abnormal.

Surprising.

Like it’s leading to something else, please tell me if there is something else, because I am feeling that “else” too.

“You know, Kurt, since we’ve been in lock down, I didn’t think I would--,” Blaine pauses, looking away and muttering something Kurt doesn’t catch. And then, Blaine looks back up, jaw squared as if getting ready to enter battle. “Kurt.”

Kurt has never been more focused on the sound coming from his speakers.

“There are some people you meet along your Life’s journey, and it doesn’t feel like a meeting but like a reunion with someone you already know. When we first met, I thought “oh, there you are”, like I had been looking for you forever, like all my decisions ever since Ohio were meant to bring us back together.”

Ho. Ly. Shit.

“And I know it may sound like a rehearsed speech, and yeah, I did, a little,” Blaine continues, running his fingers through his curls and chuckling self-deprecatingly, “but I didn’t have to look for the words. I had to rehearse to be able to say it all without stuttering over my own heart. Because he’s in charge here, and he told me to do anything necessary to spend more time with you.”

Kurt is about to faint, and he doesn’t even care.

“I know we met in an unconventional way, but I can tell you that all I want right now is to kiss you, if you’d let me.”

“I would.”

“Oh,” Blaine blushes, looking surprised (and, really? Surprised? So he didn’t know?), relieved and, well, ecstatic, really. “I guess we both know what we’ll do the first time we meet without cameras between us.”

“Oh, I do. Describe it.”

Kurt knows he’s pushing his luck, but a cute, intelligent guy just made him the most romantic love declaration, he is high on feels.

Blaine cocks one eyebrow, his smile turns into a slightly cocky one and he leans closer, describing in excruciating details all the micro-actions that would lead to their kiss.

Truth be told, Kurt is no longer a blushing virgin, but it still leaves him blushing fiercely and hot all over.

And that was just a virtual first kiss.

They don’t know how long this confinement is going to last, but Kurt knows one thing.

It won’t be boring with his new boyfriend.

*

Wildcat Jackson Hummel

General Pupgana Anderson : https://www.reddit.com/r/corgi/comments/b11ngx/pancake_would_like_to_facetime/

[magicalgirldiary]

workday in the life: hybrid teaching

first thing in the morning, I wake up and commence my morning routine. much of this is the same as it was pre-pandemic: I shower and do my makeup, make coffee (and put most of it into a thermos), eat breakfast, and try to give myself writing time before I think about the day at school ahead.

a few minutes after I wake up, my phone starts sending me push notifications to complete the daily health screening that allows me to come to campus. I’m asked to self-report symptoms and whether I have knowledge that I’ve been in close contact with anyone who had tested positive. when I complete the questionnaire, I get a message that clears me for the day. on my way out the door, I choose whichever mask best coordinates with my outfit and throw it into my purse.

when I arrive on campus, I put my mask on after parking the car. masks are required in all public spaces on campus, including outdoor spaces if you’re moving around. when I get to the front door of my building, I have to scan my ID to open the door. inside, I use the health app to scan a QR code to record where I am on campus.

in my office, I take my mask off, hanging it just beside my desk. mid-morning, building staff come by to empty trash cans and wipe door handles and light switches, and I slip on the mask whenever they knock on my door and briefly enter my space.

some of my colleagues who share a hallway with me come to campus, and I hear their doors open and close. now and then we’ll stop and have a conversation in each other’s doorways (by which I mean one person in or just outside the doorway, the other person seated at their desk), masks always on. our building used to be busy with tons of faculty offices and students dropping by for office hours, but we’ve all moved our office hours virtually and our floor doesn’t have classrooms on it, so the only student we see is the student worker if we happen to stop by the printer room. some faculty have permission to teach entirely remotely for health or family reasons. the building is uncannily quiet.

some days I bring lunch, keeping it in the refrigerator in our work room. all our hallways, rooms, and buildings have signs on the doors telling us which route we have to take to avoid people walking too close to each other, but as it happens I never see another soul in these rooms.

I still have to go across campus to check my mail. when I leave my office, I have to be sure I bring my keys, ID, and cell phone--all of which I need to get in and out of buildings. around the side of my building is one of our new outdoor classroom spaces--big plastic bench/desks that are spaced far apart but still close enough to the building to pick up wifi. once or twice I’ve seen a colleague holding office hours, their student sitting at the next table over.

the quads are sparsely populated if at all--all of campus feels like a ghost town. when I near the student center, I might see a handful of students eating lunch outside at picnic tables set up to accommodate social distancing. I enter the student center through the designated entrance beside the mail room, again scanning both my ID and a QR code on my phone. I enter through “enter” doors and exit through “exit” doors. if I have an errand on the upper levels of the student center, I walk all the way to one end of the building to use the “up” staircase; the other staircases are all designated as “down” only.

if I’m picking up lunch from the dining hall, I scan a QR code and check in with the staff, showing them the health pass on my phone that confirms I’m allowed to be on campus. the dining hall floor is covered in arrows and spacing markers to indicate proper social distancing. all plates, cups, and cutlery are disposable. to-go boxes are in high demand, so I’m unlikely to get one: I bring a plastic bag to hold my individually-packaged salads and dessert(s) so I can carry my open plate. all semester I haven’t seen more than a handful of students eating in the dining hall at once.

if I happen to meet another faculty member I know, we go upstairs to a huge, empty overflow dining room and sit in carefully-spaced chairs as we eat lunch together. otherwise, I take my lunch to my office and eat alone. on the days of our regular professional development lunches, I listen in to our Zoom call; but most of us don’t like eating on camera. except for the people presenting, even our own meetings are mostly full of little black “video off” squares. before the meetings begin, the hosts attempt small talk; but Zoom doesn’t allow for out-loud side-conversations. I usually pull up something else on my other screen as our Zoom call is going, even if I’m interested and paying attention. I think we all do, sometimes, even when we have our video on. my email is full of notifications from student health about this or that student who is out of class until x date. most of the students I receive emails about still log on to our class Zoom call.

after lunch, I teach. on the afternoons I teach one class, I have to leave my office at least 15 minutes before class begins even though I’m only going to the building next door. I print out any papers I need, load up my tote bag with all the components of my technology setup, retrieve a camera called a Meeting OWL from a locked closet (I borrow it from my colleague who teaches in the same room right after me), and then heft my full tote bag, the box the OWL comes in (almost as big as the tote bag), and my water bottle over to my second-floor classroom. I scan my ID to get into the building; like the building with my office, there’s only one “enter” door and “up” staircase. in the classroom we’re not allowed to move desks, but various pieces of the professors’ workstation get moved around a lot, so after I scan the QR code marking me present in my own classroom, I have to move a table, a podium, and a chair so that the HDMI cord reaches my laptop. I turn on the projector system and adjust the volume all the way up. I plug in my laptop to the power because it can’t run a full eighty-minute Zoom call without dying and to the ethernet because the wireless connection is randomly bad in that building some days. I plug in the OWL camera to the wall and to my computer. I open the Zoom call, make sure the projector is working, and start admitting students from the waiting room. I make sure Zoom is set to use the OWL as my camera and that sound goes through the classroom speakers. no more than three students trickle into the classroom; I ask them to show me their health passes because that’s part of our procedure. this was hard to keep track of in the first couple of weeks of the semester, but now I don’t even have to consult the sticky note of instructions I taped onto my laptop before the first day of class.

when class begins, I make sure the meeting is recording and that I can see the waiting room and the chat on the big screen. occasionally, this classroom has inexplicable audio issues and my Zoom students have to tell me the audio is “screeching.” usually if I mute and un-mute myself a few times in succession we fix the problem; but the internet connection is not so easily fixed. once this semester I had to abandon the classroom after 20 minutes and retreat back to my office to get a stable internet connection. the in-person students had to go back to their dorms and log on to their computers to finish class.

the class meeting is fine. the students are interested in the material and are frequently invited to speak from their personal experience, so discussion happens in spite of everything. but this is a class in which I made a special effort to learn “Zoom silence,” which is much longer than your usual classroom silence because you can only really see one or two people’s faces. sometimes I call on students and worry that they won’t answer, which is silly, because it’s their job to answer; but I still feel anxious about it. some students send me private messages in the Zoom call that they have to step away for a moment or that they’re going to the restroom--and although I don’t ask or require them to do that at all, it helps when I know that someone is definitely not going to answer right away.

assuming we make it through class with relatively few tech issues, I end class five minutes early so that I can pack up my things and give the next professor time to setup his various tech. this is also supposed to help with traffic in the hallways--to keep students from piling up in any one place--but not once this semester have I seen more than four or five students in an entire classroom building hallway at one time. students who don’t have a class immediately after mine will hang back to help clean, taking a paper towel and the class supply of disinfectant and wiping down their desks. I take care of the rest, spraying and wiping all the surfaces we’ve touched, even though it makes one of the tables I use particularly sticky. when I’ve unplugged and packed everything, I head back to my office.

on the afternoons I teach two classes, I’m in a different building with a different tech setup. my other classroom has a standing desk, which I prefer over having to teach sitting down. here, I plug in the computer to the wall, the ethernet, and the HDMI cable that goes to the projector. I unfold and plug in my folding document camera, a small clip-on webcam (although my laptop has a webcam) that I can swivel back and forth to try to capture more of the classroom, and a giant round directional microphone (not ideal, since students can’t hear me if I stand behind it--but it works better than my laptop or webcam microphones).

classes proceed in more or less the same way as the other classroom, though these classes involve more switching between cameras (which involves random, odd moves such as “advanced-share screen the doc cam instead of switching cameras because if you click ‘switch camera’ everything shows up backwards”). the doc cam is my whiteboard--even though I have a perfectly good and functional whiteboard--because we found out early on that cameras don’t pick up the whiteboard well.

the first day I taught my two classes back-to-back, I was scheduled to move to a classroom across the hall for the second class. I had to wait for a colleague to pack up her complex, multi-part tech setup and then redo my entire setup, which meant I started class frazzled and nearly ten minutes late. so I don’t move classrooms anymore. it turns out the class I was moving for is completely remote due to the professor’s health accommodations, so no one is trying to use the classroom after me.

in my second class, I often have only one student physically present in spite of expecting I’d have at least six or seven per class (and this was after I divided my class into two shifts who would have the opportunity to attend in-person every other day). since small group work is so important in this class, my lone in-person student often has to join the Zoom call just for breakout rooms; and I can’t drop in to that student’s breakout room once they’ve started. the college learned early on that if two people in the same room are on the same Zoom call with audio on, the audio begins to echo and then quickly mutates into something that sounds like someone has opened a terrifying, hellish wormhole. you can’t have more than one person in a Zoom call in the same room unless everyone is completely muted.

still, breakout rooms are often silent or chat-conversations only (comprised of things like can you hear me? and so-and-so your mic isn’t working and send me your emails for the Google doc). I know some of the students do the work and some don’t. I could have them turn things in individually to prove they’re thinking or working, but I don’t like the way that feels. I have no idea how to help them get out of the class what they normally would in the ways of conversation and community.

I try to make sure every student can see me listening to them when they speak, but I spend most of my time facing my computer. there are simply more students online, and I’m worried more about whether they can hear me than whether the student in-person can hear me from six feet away. sometimes in this classroom I accidentally end up literally turning my back on my in-person student(s), which I feel horrible about. but I have to be watching the chat for answers and also writing on a piece of paper under the document camera. I can’t step further away from the document camera, and I can’t move among the desks like I used to.

when each class is over, we wipe desks and surfaces as needed. I unplug everything and pack it back into my tote bag. sometimes it’s so still in the upstairs hallway that the automatic lights turn off. sometimes I’m so still in the classroom that the automatic lights go off on me, and students with their cameras on giggle to see me flailing an arm around to get the lights back on. the few people who attend in-person have long cleared the building by the time I’m ready to go, and I descend an empty “down only” staircase and walk back across an empty quad to the building where my office is.

when I return to my office and pack up for the day--when I don’t have a department meeting or an appointment with a colleague (all of which occur--where else?--on Zoom)--I make sure to take my laptop and charger cord home with me. I double-check that I’m not leaving behind any materials I would absolutely need to conduct the next few days of classes. every day, I pack up my office as if I won’t be back for two weeks, because I never know if I’m going to wake up the next morning with symptoms--or else if I’m going to be notified that having a student present in my classroom counts as having “close contact” with them, although our classrooms are measured out to make sure everyone sits six feet apart.

I wear my mask all the way to my car.

[mr-entj]

Thanks for your super helpful career advice, Mr. ENTJ! My question to you is how should a college student who is interning at a company excel in this position and leave their mark? Thank you again!

Combined with the following asks:

Hey Mr Entj! I’m starting an internship soon at a very well known international institution (in their PR department). Do you have any advice on how to impress?

In your experience, what are the characteristics of a good entry-level associate consultant? How would you stand out from the crowd?

Hi! ENFP here I will be interning at a unicorn 🦄 in SF and I read that you are currently working at a unicorn as well so would you have any tips on how to make a positive impression and make the most of my time there?

Hi Mr. ENTJ can you write about how I I can shine in a marketing internship that I’ll be starting in the upcoming months. How to stand out and really get the most from it?

Internship advice to be great at it? Want to be in your position one day :)

Related answers:

Resume and Cover Letter Guide

Job Interview Tips

Networking tips

Networking for introverts

How did you choose your career?

Congratulations on all your offers.

How to impress in an internship

1. Focus on making the lives of those around you easier. One of the best ways to make an immediate and lasting impact in an internship is to volunteer for the tough and undesirable pain-in-the-ass tasks that no one wants to do. It makes your presence valued and your absence felt. If there’s a spreadsheet that’s tedious that no one wants to maintain, offer to take it on as a side task. If there’s a project that requires extra hands to get to the finish line, step up and donate some of your time. The more urgent the deadline and/or the more disastrous the problem equals greater impact and more gratitude for your contributions.

Keep in mind I’m not saying to volunteer for 1,000 awful and soul-crushing tasks that will make your life a living hell– just a few here or there that are important to your manager and your team. Your manager and your team are your priority. Network with other people in the company but don’t neglect the main person who extended this opportunity because your salary is paid out of their budget.

2. Be consistent when you arrive and leave the office. An internship isn’t a job but the window of opportunity is small because it’s a short amount of time where you’re thrown into a new environment to quickly make an impact and leave a positive impression. Don’t be flaky and wishy washy about your hours, treat the opportunity seriously, because there’s nothing worse than an intern I have to chase like a rare and elusive Pokemon. Come into the office and leave at a predictable time which will make it easier for your colleagues to learn your schedule and anticipate when and where you’ll be so they can engage you with opportunities. FOMO especially applies in internships because if I have something awesome to give you but you’re not here to receive it– I’m giving it to one of the other interns.

3. Take initiative when it comes to managing the relationship with your manager. People are busy and we have full-time jobs in addition to managing our summer interns, you’re a priority but you’re definitely not my only priority. Make it easy for your manager to manage you: communicate your internship goals and interests clearly, schedule standing weekly meetings with them for regular check-ins, and ask for regular feedback on how you’re doing and what you can do better. Remember that internships are mutually beneficial relationships between you and the organization, don’t be afraid to ask for more opportunities in your areas of interest and pursue mentoring with your manager or colleagues.

4. Come with ideas and solutions, not just more questions. When it comes to getting actual work done, great interns ask the right questions to get the information required to get the job done, then make an attempt at it. Bad interns are the ones who ask a million clarifying questions without trying anything. Don’t be that intern. People are busy and asking a million questions is time-consuming and annoying. The best way to get clarity is to produce a first draft, no matter how rough and ugly it is, then get feedback and refine it until it’s perfect. Ask: “Is this what you’re looking for and am I on the right track?” Iterate, iterate, iterate.

Pro tip: Ask for templates or previous examples to work from. This can save a ton of time and grief because it prevents you from having to reinvent the wheel.

5. Own something from start to finish. Some internships are filled with bullshit and busy work, don’t let this happen to you. Focus on projects and work streams, not tasks, to maximize the benefits of your internship and to get impressive experience for your resume. Note the difference below:

This is a task: “Filed papers. Entered data. Took meeting minutes.” This is bad because it doesn’t quantify impact or show any meaningful outcomes. You’ll obviously have to do tasks but your entire time there shouldn’t be without contributing to something bigger to the organization’s goals.

This is a project or work stream: “Led an analysis of user data to identify process gaps and create recommendations to increase user engagement by 10%.” This is good because it shows what you did, how you did it, and the impact it made on the company. You successfully owned a responsibility from start to finish.

6. Meet as many people as possible. The people you meet at an internship are members of your future professional network– but you have to talk to them first. This isn’t the time to be shy and introverted. On this topic, a wise CEO once told me: “Never have lunch alone.” Schedule lunches with other people (or groups of people) because everyone’s got to eat so why not with you? It’s an easy way to engage them and build relationships in a relaxed environment.

Pro tip: The key to networking at work is to not always talk about work. Take a break from the daily grind and talk about other things: hobbies, cinema, travel, and any other interests. No one wants to spend 4 hours buried in spreadsheets only to take a break and have lunch with an intern who wants to chatter away the entire hour about more spreadsheets. Change the subject, switch it up, learn something from your colleagues and peers, and socialize.

7. Stick the landing. When it’s time to leave the internship, end it properly, and don’t overlook this part of the process. Finish as strongly as you started.

2 weeks before the end of the internship, meet with your manager and discuss outstanding projects and open action items. Ask him/her what they’d ideally want done in the limited time you have left. This shows initiative and foresight from a young intern who cares about their work and its status even after they’re gone.

1 week before the end of the internship, meet with your manager and discuss final performance feedback from the internship and potential opportunities for a full-time offer after graduation.

Pro tip: An amazing intern would make a slide deck or report that summarizes the work they did during the internship, the new owners of that work, the transition plan, the transition date, and the transition status.

1 week before the end of the internship, have a big goodbye lunch (or many mini lunches) with your cohort and colleagues. In-person interactions are far more meaningful than emails because they create more memories of your time there.

The last day of your internship, send a thank you and farewell email to the team.

Pro Tip: Instead of the cliche “thanks for a great learning experience, keep in touch!” line, try something new and specify your favorite parts of the internship such as projects, key learnings, and achievements. This does three things: 1) it highlights all the great work you’ve done in a modest and non-obnoxious way 2) it makes the others look good because they contributed something meaningful to your internship 3) it leaves everyone with a positive feeling of your departure

Before you leave the office, meet with your manager and express gratitude for the opportunity to be here. You should not leave an internship without this final parting interaction with the person who hired you.

After you leave the office, add colleagues to your LinkedIn as a way to keep in touch without being creepy.

[ohwhatamessiam]

Self Control - Chapter 11

Summary: Thanksgiving break comes and goes. And it leaves you angry, wondering how much Chris really cares about you. Will he prove that he wants this, or will he let your spark burn out?

Pairing: Professor!Chris Evans X TA!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Language, angst, lots of pain (the tweets from Brandon outlined this turn of events), I’m really sorry but y’all are gonna hate me for this one.

A/N: Hi everyone! I made it back for an update under 9 months this time (barely lol). There’s only 2 more chapters left in Self Control, and you guys will probably hate me for them, but this is the path we’re on together! Thank you all for your patience, and thank you to @fangirlisms-22. I have started on the next chapter but knowing me, it’ll be a while before it’s done. I’m going to ask y’all to be patient again. I tried to tag everyone, but some blogs have deactivated, changed urls, or won’t let me tag them. Let me know if you need me to change your url on my list. Here’s the Spotify playlist for the entire fic.

I love feedback, so send me your thoughts, feelings, wishes, etc!

Tags are still barely open for this story, so send me an ask here to be added to it or my permanent list!

Self Control | Masterlist

A week of radio silence goes by and you’re left alone with your thoughts. And lonely, desperate thoughts are not your friends. 

You try to stay in for the weekend, telling yourself that the distance is for the best. It’s giving you time to work on your story. You tear that piece to shreds and stitch it back together 10 times over. Your heart is starting to feel that same way.

Wednesday afternoon you realize you’ve run completely out of your grad student food staples: mac and cheese, tortillas, shredded cheese, peanut butter, and milk. And there’s only one box of cereal left on top of your fridge. Corn flakes. The bland cereal Chris loved so much. 

You can’t bring yourself to touch it. 

Forcing your body into a pair of sweatpants and shoes, you leave the apartment. The sun feels too bright for your sensitized eyes, and the temperature is much colder than you planned for, but you know better than to turn back. If you go back, you won’t come out until you have to see him after break.

As you pull into the grocery store it finally hits you. It’s already Thanksgiving eve. That much time had slipped away from you.

You trudge through the throngs of people scrambling for last minute items. No one pays any attention to your state of disarray.

Luckily, your basic needs are in stock and you’re able to get what you need without too much difficulty. You’re about to head to the registers when you stop at the liquor aisle. The thought only has to enter your mind before your feet immediately pivot toward the wine section.

You find 3 of the cheapest, most tolerable bottles and are stuffing them in your cart when you hear glass clanking behind you. You turn to find two of the last people you wanted to see.

Sebastian and Dr. Mackie.

“Oh shit,” Sebastian yelps as he tries to balance three separate bottles of liquor in one arm. Dr. Mackie snickers at him as he adds another bottle to their collection. 

You shift quickly, trying to keep your back to them. There’s no need for a conversation on a day like today.

“(Y/N),” Sebastian calls out. 

Your whole body tenses, fingers clenching the cart handle. How did he even know it was you in your chaotic state?

Footsteps approach you and you try to muster the strength to face them. At your best, you gather a forced smile.

“Hi (Y/N),” he grins as he slides up to your cart, Dr. Mackie in tow. 

“Hi guys,” you manage. You catch how Dr. Mackie’s eyes flash to your hair, and then your clothes. You try not to get caught up on how that makes you want to crawl home, with or without groceries. 

“What are you doing in town? It’s Thanksgiving,” Sebastian asks as he tries to pay more attention to his assortment of alcohol instead of your appearance.

“I’m staying here for break. My family’s a little spread out, so it’s hard to pick a side.” You glance over at Dr. Mackie, hoping that answer seems somewhat believable. 

He seems to buy it as he nods, “I get that.”

You’d never seen these men outside of an academic environment, and when you finally notice their current clothing, you feel the tiniest bit better about running into them. Dr. Mackie’s wearing a navy polo and a pair of gray chinos, while Sebastian’s in a pair of black jeans and a red henley.  

Something about seeing even your colleagues out of business casual, made you feel a little special. Like you were welcomed into Chris’s friend group with open arms. Like the relationship you and Chris have could exist both inside and outside of school safely.

Or had.

“If you’re staying in town, why didn’t you answer our email?” Sebastian asks.

“What email?” Your mind is already trying to remember the last time you glanced at your school account. It must have been nearly a week. But why would you check it when clearly staring at your text messages and voicemails from Chris had been filling your weaker moments?

“The one where we reached out to every grad student and faculty member whom had nowhere to go for Thanksgiving, and invited them to a potluck in the Webster hall student lounge?”

Your eyes shift between the men nervously, “Oh, uh, I must have missed that one.”

“That’s okay,” Dr. Mackie answers.

“Well look,” Sebastian continues, “we’re going to have a lot of food, and just need people to eat it now.”

“You could absolutely just bring a bottle of wine and load up a plate.” Dr. Mackie adds as he notices the bottles in your cart. Unfortunately, he doesn’t realize you already have plans to finish those bottles by yourself, and maybe even before Thanksgiving.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to make it.” More like you really hope you never have to leave your apartment again.

“Ah, you already have plans.”

You don’t, but you nod like you do in hopes they’ll back off. 

“Well I’m sure we’ll have leftovers,” Sebastian’s eyes become too sharp as the words leave his mouth, “so if you wanna stop by after you’re done doing whatever you have to do, you’re welcome to.” His tone of voice leaves you surprised he didn’t just outright wink at you.

But apparently he didn’t know yet. Chris hadn’t told him about your “distance.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to, but I’ll try.”

“Good,” Dr. Mackie nods, his eyes cutting to Sebastian, clearly trying to get his friend to leave you alone. You know the only time you’ve spent with him was at the faculty dinner, but inside you quietly thank him.

“Yeah, great. And you can bring anyone if you want. Thanksgiving is about sharing.” Sebastian’s eyes stay on yours, still unsubtly trying to communicate that Chris is welcome. Under his gaze, you feel a bubble of tension build in your chest, the precursor to more tears. 

“I won’t bring anyone, but thank you for offering.” You need to get out of here. You will not cry in front of Chris’s friends and colleagues. You drop your focus back onto your grocery cart, trying to stave off the warmth behind your eyes.

“You are very welcome. Seb, we should probably get going now,” Dr. Mackie swoops in for the save. “Whether we see you or not, have a good Thanksgiving (Y/N).” And he’s already guiding Sebastian away from you.

“Thanks, you too,” you call out. They don’t answer, and fortunately they round the corner before the first tear drops.

_______________________________________________________________________

You finish your last bottle of wine late on Thanksgiving. You pick up your phone and nearly dial his number, but just as you reach his name in your contact list, you picture it in your mind.

Him, sitting at a large table covered in all the traditional Thanksgiving dishes. On his right is Jennifer, and she’s beaming. This is her in her element. She’s getting what she wants because Chris won’t tell his family yet that they’re getting divorced. But your mind focuses on the space between them, their joined hands sitting on the table.

You can’t help but throw your phone across the room.

You don’t need confirmation that you’re right, that your fear isn’t imaginary. But you also don’t need to sit around calling him, embarrassing yourself with desperate voice messages that ultimately won’t help your relationship.

You know there has to be something else to fill this void.

And then pull out your laptop and start writing. And it’s a very different story than the one you’ve been working on.

_______________________________________________________________________

The rest of break comes and goes, and somehow you manage to honor the “distance.” Maybe it’s that your sadness has started becoming little pockets of anger, or maybe it’s that you’ve already cried and moped enough. 

But the first day back to classes, you go in with your head held high.

You made it this long without caving and calling, or going to see him. It’ll hurt, but you’ll make it through a class together. You end up being one of the first people in a seat, the students seem to have gotten slower since Thanksgiving break. Lethargic and ready for winter break already.

Winter break was supposed to be when you and Chris could end your distance, your weird work power dynamics would be over and neither of you could lose their job. But what used to feel like a hopeful promise felt like a drawn out execution now. If Thanksgiving had gone even vaguely how you imagined it had for him, you were sure the end was coming. 

Part of what made you love Chris was his heart, his empathy, his willingness to try to see the best in people. And while those traits hadn’t been applied to Jennifer in a while, you were nearly positive they could be again.

Tom comes in at his usual time, but sits at the end of the row behind you. You find that odd, but barely have a moment to dwell on it before Chris arrives. And his face is clean shaven.

A piece of your heart sinks, and you slip further into your chair. 

He avoids eye contact with you until after he has the presentation pulled up on the projector and the rest of the class has filed in. He takes a deep breath, his hands gripping the sides of the podium, and he looks out at the room. But his eyes seem to gloss over the break-hungover students and fall on you.

You feel yourself gulp, but you don’t look away. Not yet. His clothes are nicer, less rumpled than before break. His hair is shorter and slicked back, like it had been at the beginning of the semester. And his wedding ring seems to just catch the fluorescent lights perfectly. 

Everything but his gaze feels foreign. Almost too different than your Chris.

And that’s when you drop your gaze back to your laptop. Of course he’d been home long enough to do laundry and look like his old self again. Maybe it was for his family over break, but maybe it was for Jennifer. 

He watches you for one more moment, and then focuses back on the students. “Good afternoon, class. I hope everyone had a good break.”

Hearing his voice hurts worse than seeing him, but you straighten your spine and get through class. He does not hang his attention on you again, and the only one who seems to notice besides you, is Tom.

_______________________________________________________________________

Your office hours feel like slow torture since you’re left alone with your thoughts about Chris again. And how he looked. And how he barely looked at you.

You wish for a distraction. A student, Robert to come in, or even Tom to show up even though he’d been icy towards you recently. But you get nothing.

So instead, you work on the new piece you started over break. That piece about cycles, and circumstances. About love given, and love lost. About power dynamics and the risks you take when you ignore them. 

Office hours nearly end before you look up. 

And Chris is standing on the other side of your open door, not knocking, but not walking away. You’re not sure what to make of that. 

Is he stopping himself from rushing up to you? Or is he forcing himself to stay there until you say something, until you force him to admit what’s really happening here?

He finally meets your eyes and your heart drops. Just like it had during that awful phone call. And you knew what that meant then, and what that says now.

But you try to fight it. You tell yourself it is just paranoia.

“Hi,” you say, your voice coming out short, trying to hide its shakiness.

“Hi.” Just one word from his lips and your very marrow wants to crawl to him, pleading to forget Thanksgiving break. Forget whatever transpired then. Remember what you had before. What you could have next.

But you stay in your seat and watch him step into your office gingerly. His eyes take in the room, either looking for new evidence in support of your relationship, or looking for a distraction so he doesn’t have to say it. Or at least that’s what it looks like. 

His hands are shoved in his pockets, his shoulders hunched. And it makes this feel even sadder.  He’s resigned to this. Whatever’s coming, he doesn’t really want it. Not fully. 

You can’t take it anymore, you have to end this pointless staring. His at your office, yours waiting for him.

“So, what do you need?”

His face changes, the slightest furrow of his brows, the gentlest sigh. As if you wounded him, rushing him through this moment. A moment you were starting to want over.

He closes your office door, leaving you two alone in a room with so many memories. A room that just a couple weeks ago held what you hoped was the promise of a future.

“We need to talk,” he says, sitting on the edge of the seat across from you. You nod, but don’t say anything. Not until you know what kind of talk this is.

He stares at you for a moment, watching your face, waiting for it to change, shift into something else. But you keep your emotions away from the surface. You’ve had enough time to think about this during your distance.

He finally continues, “This Thanksgiving was tense. A lot happened. A lot was said. But the time apart helped me figure somethings out.”

“Like what?” You watch as his fingers twitch, his eyes roaming you for clues on what you want to hear.

“Like, I’m not the only one who’s been seeing someone else. She wouldn’t tell me who, but I can’t help but feel like it was her way of throwing us in my face.” He pauses, but you don’t break, don’t reach for his hand or tell him he’s right. You wait for the rest.

“And I learned that our families aren’t ready for a divorce yet.” His eyes focus on the edge of your desk. He still won’t stand up to them yet. 

He knows this isn’t fair to you. And he won’t even look you in the eye as he admits it.

“So, where does that leave me?” A fire fuels in your belly, you want to scream at him. You can’t keep living in this state of distance. That he needs to figure out whether he wants you more than he wants to avoid conflict with her and his family.

“As someone I want a future with.” He’s watching your chest now, the way your breath fills your lungs, and you hold it in, praying that he’ll just drop the other shoe. “As someone I could see myself growing old with, living a full, creative life together.”

“But?” 

He hesitates and you try to keep the air moving in and out of your body. You do not have any new breath-held wishes, everything you could ever hope for from this moment has already found a home in your mind. And it is accompanied by all your fears about this relationship, and its end. 

But the way his shoulders slump, and his elbows dig into his knees as he leans on them. The way his head now hangs in his hands. You feel that your fears are unfortunately, closer to this reality.

“But not someone I can have a now with.” 

Your heart felt it coming, and it hurts worse than you ever would have expected.

That fire is in your chest now, beating your lungs, eating the oxygen from them. Like a hit to the gut. There’s no more breath to hold. 

Was this relationship always going to be a waiting game? Or just a dalliance to fill the time?

“This time apart, this distance has already been painful enough, Chris. But I was doing it to protect both of us.”

He raises his head, and his watery eyes catch on your own, “It’s been terrible not seeing you, not talking to you. It’s been painful for me too. But it’s been for the best.”

“Best as in it protects us for our future? Or best as in it allows you to give your marriage another shot?” Will he stop trying to dance his way around this, stop softening this? You need a clear answer on where you stand, and where you are going to be moving forward.

“I- I’m afraid to say both.”

And that hits you with an overwhelming force. Your heart has sunk so far, you are not even sure you have one anymore. You just want to curl into a ball and cry. But instead, you let that fire from before crawl its way into your mouth. “So do you want me to wait around for you? Let you test the waters with Jennifer again until you're sure you want to be with me? Because that’s not what I signed up for with us.”

“I know that, and that’s not what I wanted for us either.” 

“And if I wait any longer, I’m not protecting us anymore. I’m protecting you, and your life, while mine gets boxed away. But what I want should matter too.”

“Y/N, it does,” he whispers, but it doesn’t slow you down.

“Should we still even try to be together? If you’re not sure that this is it, that I am who you should be with, what’s the point? What are we holding out for?”

All the air from the room feels like it has been sucked out. Chris is staring at you like you’ve wrecked his whole world. And inside, it absolutely feels like you’ve just ripped apart your own. But you know it had to be said. 

“Because I love you. And you love me.”

“Is that enough Chris? Because it’s starting to seem like it isn’t anymore.”

He looks at you, eyes wide as his lower lip trembles softly, but you remind yourself to hold your ground. He was the one who’d come in there to tell you he might go back to his wife. He was the one who had already planned on doing this.

“It was, it is. We just need to wait it out. See if Jennifer and Robert will leave us alone.”

“They already know, and so does probably half of the department.” You hope your words aren’t actually true, but between all the conversations you had before break, it sure as hell feels like it. “I’m not staying your secret affair. I’m not your office hours hook up because you can’t tolerate your wife. You either tell me right now that you will fully work on what we have, or you tell me it’s over.”

His eyes are searching your office again, looking for courage, or maybe an excuse. He doesn’t seem to find it, and his focus settles on your joined hands. You clench them together, a silent prayer for the truth. 

“I can’t do either of those things.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You just want a straight goddamn answer. “Chris…”

“I can’t. Because I don’t want to lose you, it hurts so much to be apart from you. But I can’t gamble with the rest of my life, my job, my family. I can’t just ignore them and run away again. It’s not working out for any of us that way.”

You want to snap that it was working out fine for you, but you try not to be more selfish than you already feel. And as well as you were making out, he is right, these last few months hadn’t been perfect. Except you don’t want perfect, you just want a promise to try. A whole-hearted attempt. 

Instead, you stay quiet for a moment, watching him, taking him in. His clearly upset features, his body perched on the edge of his seat. His words are telling you that the one fear you had grown so very close to this entire break, is real. His already established, semi-comfortable life is more important than you, or your happiness. And you had really wanted to be wrong.

“That is my answer.” Your mouth finally moves, saying what you were thinking all along. “Your inability to make a decision is everything I need to know.”

“I didn’t want this to happen (Y/N). I don’t want this to be over.” His hands reach out for yours, searching for a physical connection, a spark. Something that will help him soften this, or make you change your mind.

But it won’t. And you pull your fingers from your desk.

“Then you should have thought about that earlier, Chris. You should have considered whether kissing me in this hallway could ruin your life. That sleeping with me in your office could demolish everything. You should have decided then, if this last 3 months was worth it, to risk it all? Because I decided that then. I decided I wanted you, and this, but I knew I might regret it one day. And you’ve probably proven me right.”

Chris’s eyes latch onto your own, shock lifting his brows so gently. Like you’ve landed the final blow, you knocked him out. But this wasn’t a match for you to win. No, this was a mercy kill. You know now this relationship had to end before it sacrificed what was left of your control, and your sanity.

“I always wanted this. There’s not a single second I’ve regretted it.” His tone comes out rough, as if the anger you’ve let out finally reaches his own gut. And you hope it burns as much for him as it does for you.

“Good for you. But if you really wanted this, why didn’t you tell me about Jennifer’s sudden interest in getting back together earlier? Why didn’t you tell your family that you guys are over? That there’s no hope for your marriage, and that you’re ready to move on? Would you rather have a second chance with her instead of a first, real chance with me?”

You look down at your own hands in your lap, your fingers twisted together. And for a moment you second guess this whole conversation. Is this really how this has to go? “Or at least that’s what I asked myself over and over again during break.”

He stays quiet, his eyes shifting down, settling on his knees. They bounce as his heels tap the floor. His nerves are so raw, that he might just be finally admitting to himself, that this has reached its conclusion. That maybe this was never going to end any differently.

The words leave his mouth so quietly, you almost miss them. “So this is the end then?” 

As much as this already feels like slicing a part of yourself off, you were staying strong. But his tone, its soft resignation, it builds a heat behind your eyes. And your tears threaten to let loose.

“I’ll finish the semester as your TA, but yes. I-” the crack in your voice gives away more than you’ve shown this entire conversation. And his baby blues latch on to it, to you. A final, silent pleading. But you gulp, “I think it is.” 

Inside you are begging for him to say no, it’s not. That he won’t let this be the end. That you are more important than Jennifer, than his family, than anyone’s opinion.

He nods to himself, his eyes squeezing shut. He takes a moment to make himself accept it, and then he pushes himself up.

“I’m sorry this is how we’re ending, (Y/N). I never meant to compromise your feelings or your wants. I didn’t mean to hurt you. But I understand how my intentions have gotten lost in our situation.” He moves to your door, turning his back to you. 

You feel your bottom lip quiver as the tears in your eyes start to bleed out.

“I’m sorry too, Chris.” He hesitates, looking back at you as his hand reaches the door knob. “Goodbye.”

One more quick nod as his gaze drops, attempting to ignore your quiet sob. His fingers push open the door and he whispers, “Goodbye.”

And then he’s gone, and your office hours are over, and you want to be anywhere but here. But as you try to stand, you can’t move yet. This loss feels paralyzing. Your limbs lock in denial, your mind wants to bargain now. But you know it’s too late.

So you sit there, and cry every tear out you can, waiting for the pain to subside. Waiting for your breath to stop shaking. Waiting for you to feel confident in your choices.

And eventually, it does. And you do.

_______________________________________________________________________

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[ourkarlanicoleuniverse]

Sweet Nothing (MHA Staff AU Fanfiction)

Chapter 14

A/N: Sorry for going on a whole month hiatus with the story. I was swamped with college work and then I had slight writer’s block. But hopefully, that’s all over now. I’ll try to update more frequently. Thank you for being very understanding.  

Warnings: None, swf. Long chapter. 

Shouta Aizawa x OC  (Mai Montoya, Pro Hero Zion) 

If you want to read of the events before this chapter here is the Master List 😊

I heard a thump in the next room and a groan in pain; I rushed over to my guest room to see Aizawa dropped a box on his foot. I couldn’t help but burst into laughter. Mic, Vlad, and Midnight came rushing in to see the commotion and were confused to see me dying of laughter while Aizawa sat on the floor holding his foot.

“What happened?” Vlad asked.

Midnight took joy in seeing me laugh at Aizawa, “Clearly someone is a sadist. Mai is laughing at Aizawa’s pain.”

I wiped my eyes and held my stomach, “It’s not my fault. I told him not to handle heavy things because he barely recovered. He didn’t listen, and now he got hurt.” Once I composed myself, I grabbed the box he dropped and moved to unpack it, “Nemuri, I have ice packs in my freezer. Can you grab Aizawa one?”

Nemuri left to the kitchen while the two men were still standing dumbfounded. Aizawa glared at them, “You guys can go back to hanging stuff on the walls. We’re fine.” Mic threw his hands up while Vlad huffed. I couldn’t help but grin a little. Aizawa scooched over next to me to help me get the stuff out of the box while trying to figure out where to put everything. Nemuri came back in and gave him the ice pack not without kissing his cheek and leaving to go back to my room and organize my desk area. “This whole box is just books. Why did you bring all of this if you knew it was only going to be a year?”

“Because I didn’t trust my cousin with my books. I’ve collected them since before I started school. They’re my babies.” I hugged the books I had in my hands and slightly cradled them.

Aizawa just shook his head at me while taking more books out. “I’m almost positive you haven’t read all of them.”

“Yes, I have…. Okay, maybe at least more than half of them.” I pouted. “I’ve been busy.” Aizawa simply huffed and nodded in response. “I am going to go check in on Vlad and Mic. I’ll send you a picture of how I had my bookshelf back at home.” I heard a scoff come out from him as I walked out and texted him the photo. I simply ignored it.

Walking into my living room, I see Vlad adjusting a large frame with a picture of our graduating class, all while Mic was sitting on the couch. “Do you think I should move more to the left or the right?” Vlad called out.

“Honestly, I feel like the spot is okay. You just have it crooked.” Mic sat comfortably with his feet on the couch and a bottle in his hand.

I glided off the ground to go and help Vlad readjust the frame marking where the corners met the wall as Vlad went to grab the hammer and nails. He snuck a quick kiss on my forehead as he hammered away, “Thanks, Mai. I’m happy to have help.”

I giggled slightly and lightly slapped his shoulder, “You’re the one helping me out here. I should be thanking you.” I almost instinctively went in to kiss his cheek but was interrupted by a slight grumble coming from the blond laying on my couch. I turned over to Mic and pursed my lips, “Yes, Mr. Yamada?”

He took a swig of his beer, “Don’t call me that. But anyhoo, please refrain from being all cutesy in front of me. I didn’t even know you guys were a thing.”

“Who’s a thing?” Midnight walked in with an empty box.

“Mai and Vlad. I just saw them making out.” Mic cringed.

“I highly doubt they were doing that. They’re very reserved. But that's cute that you guys are together. I’m happy for you.”

I slowly went back to the ground and was a blushing mess, “Well, uh... “

“We haven’t made it official; we just been on one date, really. It’s mainly just us flirty back and forth. We thought that with the extra time from work and the students this week. We could squeeze a few more dates.” He draped his arm around me and smiled excitedly.

“That is, if nothing happens with any of the students during their work-study, I’m responsible for them if things occur because I am their counselor.” I shrugged. I motioned Kayama to come outside with me to show her where to put the empty boxes. I felt Mic’s eyes on me. It felt like I was doing something wrong. The judgment seeped through my skin.

I set the box on top of a stack of other boxes in the storage unit behind the building, “Don’t worry about Yamada. You know he gets protective of you.” Nemuri reassured me.

“I know, but it feels like it’s a different kind of negative aura. Almost like he was annoyed by the idea of Vlad and me. It’s barely anything like Vlad said. He doesn’t need to get so crabby.” I shrugged and hung my head low.

“He’s probably madder about Aizawa than about you.” Nemuri let out a small grin. Her hand reached over to rub my back. Nemuri was always like a big sister figure for all of us in the group, so I guess it’s just natural to play things off like it's nothing because she’s seen it all before.

“Why would he mad at Aizawa? This has nothing to do with him.” I looked up at her like a confused child looking at an older adult.

“Oh, just Aizawa pissed him off about something, so he’s just a little annoyed, is all.” She brushed off, but I could tell she was holding something in. “But honestly, it's good to see you see someone romantically for once. Even if it isn’t much right now, things like relationships grow anyways.” I simply nodded.

“I feel a little weird about it, to be honest,” I admitted. I liked the attention Vlad was giving me but it kind of felt off because of my circumstances. I only ever dated two people briefly, and the rest were casual hookups because I never really felt like I could be committed to someone. Between my hero work and then my own personal issues, it's hard to believe someone would even want something serious with me.

“Why?”

“With what happened to Lily, and, you know, me planning to leave at the end of the year. I just don’t feel like it's appropriate to start dating someone. Even if it just happened and I’m actually pretty happy with it.” I switched my gaze to the view of campus, “I feel like it’s not a good idea to be dating.”

“Then maybe communicate that with Vlad. He’s a very logical and understanding person.”

“I guess you’re right…” Beep. Beep. Beep. I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and saw a call coming from an unknown number. I decided it was best to ignore it. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Maybe you should answer that.” Nemuri giggled.

“I don’t know the number.” I sighed and answered the call, “Hello?”

“Mai?” An all too familiar voice rang through my ear. A voice that I shouldn’t hear from at all.

Gemini. “What do you want, Brandon?” Nemuri looked a little concerned, but I quickly shook my hand to let her know everything was fine.

“How’s Japan?” Is he serious right now?

“It’s fine, you do know you, and I aren’t allowed to be speaking during my suspension, right? Or did Captain Celebrity give you too many concussions that you forgot?” I rolled my eyes, trying to conceal the annoyance in my voice but failing miserably.

“Oh no, I am very well aware. I just had to know how my little poppy flower is doing? No suspension can prevent me from wondering.” I heard the evil smirk running across his voice. “Missing me? Or are you still pretending to act like a victim?”

“I’m hanging up. Go fuck yourself, Brandon. You’re better off by yourself and away from other people.”

“Now, that’s not very nice, Poppy. I just wanted to let you know that I can’t wait to have you back at work under me…” I hung up my phone and decided to text Nezu about getting a new phone number. Not even a stupid suspension and judge sentence can get that man off my back.

Nemuri gently grabbed my hand. “Mai, you’re shaking. What did he say to you?”

“It’s nothing. I’m just annoyed that I have to change my number again.” I gave her a reassuring smile. “Let’s just go back inside and finish up my apartment; please, I have a lot of emails to go through from teachers and parents.” Nemuri simply nodded but kept her hands in mine as we walked back into the apartment.

We walked in as Aizawa stormed out and shoving Nemuri and me into the door. We both turned over to look at Mic. He hesitantly spoke, trying to figure out how to explain what happened. I knew better to know that he was trying to find a way to cover for his best friend. “Um, apparently he needed to help with a case, and you know he’s not injured, so he’s a little excited to be working again.” He let out a nervous smile.

I let out a groan and ran out to catch up to Aizawa, “Recovery Girl told him that he still needed time before he did patrols; why is he like this?” Too bad, the man quickly vanished. “Idiot. I swear if he ends up injured again, I’m not taking care of him again.”

I made my way back inside with awaiting eyes watching me. I simply huffed and shrugged, indicating to them that I couldn’t find him. Mic approached me as I went into the kitchen to grab a water bottle. He leaned down and whispered in my ear, “He was fine until I mentioned you and Vlad we sort of a thing.”

I met with the emerald eyes that were peering into me, “Yeah, I kind of figured it wasn’t actually patrolling. He even said during lunch today that he wasn’t going to be patrolling any time soon. That he was going to take the week off from teaching the class to build up his strength.”

Mic huffed, “So you and he weren’t having any weird hang-ups? I can’t think of any reason why you and Vlad would piss him off.”

I took a sip of my water and shrugged, “Beats me. I don’t know everything about him.”

“Don’t you two have some unspoken connection?” Mic pursed his lips in genuine confusion.

“No, we don’t. If anything, he’s just grumpy to see Vlad happy. Remember, they have a weird competitive colleague relationship going on.” I tried my best not to sound so irritated. But I wasn’t in the mood to be dealing with Aizawa’s shenanigans after my little call from Gemini. “I thought you guys knew everything about each other.”

“Well, we kind of do, meaning I know about your little panic attack after the festival. And you know the almost kiss…” He raised an eyebrow at me condescendingly. As if I was a child being ratted out for misbehaving. “So, why are you dating Vlad instead of Aizawa?”

“Because I like Vlad and that almost kiss? It was just a reaction due to emotional stress and old feelings. Nothing too serious to focus on. Nothing happened after that. Plus, Vlad is nice to me.”

“Bullshit, what about this morning?” This morning? “In the nurse’s office? Longing pause between you both, you in his arms, the slow leaning in with the undying urge to mold into one another? Doesn’t ring any bells?”

I scowled at him, “That was nothing. You weren’t even there. How did you even know about that?”

“If it’s nothing, why are you mad that I know anything. Face it. You guys still have feelings towards each other.” He grinned like a mad man, “And if you guys do, then that’s good. I always felt that you guys were the closest thing to soulmates.”

“Soulmates, my ass. The guy ditched me in third year and then never wanted to keep in contact with me for fourteen years.” I couldn’t help but laugh in annoyance at Mic. “Stop trying to paint Aizawa out to be a nice person. He still did all of that and never fully apologized for it. If you were my friend, you would be happy that I’m starting something with someone that has only treated me well.” I stared into his eyes with nothing but sternness. “I get that Shota is a good person, with a lot of baggage. But so does everyone else. I’m sorry that I can’t look past that he’s treated me wrongly because of the few times he’s treated me like a human being since I’ve been back.” My eyes were slightly stinging at this point, “If I forgave so easily and didn’t hold it against people for what they did wrong to me, then I would be like all the other female pros in the U.S. being used and abused. And I’m tired of all of that. I’m tired of having to be the bigger person. If he has a problem with me being with someone else, that’s his own problem, not mine.”

Hizashi’s face fell in concern as he moved to wipe the tear falling from my eyes, “Okay. I get it. But maybe you shouldn’t be falling for the first person that does treat you the way you want to be treated too. You are worth more than that.” It’s hard for me even to believe that I am even worth anything at this point. I can’t wait to have you back at work under me…

“Vlad isn’t the first. And it's new, so don’t act like it's so serious.” I took a breath and wiped my face.

“And maybe you shouldn’t be dating with that mindset either; that’s not fair to Vlad. But if you’re having fun and enjoying yourself with his company, I guess that’s all that matters. Just please stop leading on Sho.”

“I’m not the one leading anyone on,” I grumbled.

“Well, I don’t know about that. You are a natural flirt. You never know when you have someone falling for you.” Hizashi moved a few pieces of hair out of my face and kissed my forehead.

You are a natural flirt. You never know when you have someone falling for you. That’s not really something I needed to hear right now.

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