#the academy has students in their fifties

[getvalentined]

Can I gush for a second about the use of pokeballs in Pokemon Scarlet/Violet to indicate characterization? I'm sure this has been brought up many times before by people more dedicated to the series as a whole than me, but I'm really delighted by this particular detail, so: let's talk about Team Star.

—

Mela is only seen with a quick ball, which works better when used immediately during an encounter with a wild pokemon. It's what you use if you want to get it over with. Mela is hotheaded, impatient, and prone to jumping the gun. She likes to gets things over with fast so she can get back to he own life before she gets too annoyed.

—

Atticus is seen using a repeat ball, which works best on pokemon that have been caught by the trainer multiple times before. This is for people who like to have make sure that they have the best pokemon for a given situation, perfecting their choice over time through a combination of training and selection. Atticus is patient and detail-oriented, and he works in the design and creation of clothing, which requires dozens of mockups and modifications to get right. He'll go through a hundred shirt designs that aren't quite right before finally producing the one that is.

—

Ortega is shown with a luxury ball, which is extremely expensive but immediately increases the friendship of any pokemon caught with it. This is for people that like to work with the "hard customers" of the pokedex without necessarily having to go through all the hard work to get those pokemon to like them. Ortega is extremely wealthy, but he very clearly values his friends more than his position: he's not a classic spoiled brat, using what he has to make things easier for the people he cares about. If I had to guess, I'd say his love language is gift giving.

—

Giacomo uses a timer ball, which works better the more turns have elapsed in a given encounter. This is for trainers that don't give up when they want to catch a specific monster, those who are willing to wait take their time if it means they get what they want. Giacomo is patient, has an excellent concept of strategy, and is willing to take as long as he has to in order to get where he wants to be.

—

Eri uses a heal ball, which instantly heals any pokemon put in it. This is for trainers that focus really heavily on the health of their pokemon, those who want to make sure that they're always at their best. Eri is fiercely protective of the people she cares about, to the point of standing guard at the gate of her base herself so that none of her people are put in danger. Her biggest concern is the health and safety of the people around her, regardless of the toll protecting that might take on her own.

—

In contrast to these five, the Big Boss of Team Star uses normal pokeballs. Because they're nothing special, and at first glance the boss isn't either—but when it all comes down to it, this is a character that is dedicated, steadfast and reliable, the one that started everything for Team Star and the one that everyone comes back to in the end. Out of context, them using normal pokeballs doesn't seem to mean anything, but when put against the backdrop of the rest of the team, it's as indicative of character as all the rest.

[theinfiknight]

My favourite thing about the Pokemon universe is how incredibly accepting it is. Everyone has the freedom to stray however far from the norm and be however eccentric they like and it's absolutely 100% accepted over there. You want to spend all day wearing a cape and gloves and brandishing a whip? Go right ahead! You want to spend the majority of your time in darkness talking to the dead? Shit, head right up to the tower on route 209 and there are a ton of spirit mediums and hex maniacs with the same idea. You want to finish your highschool education despite being over fifty? Absolutely! There's a world famous Pokemon academy in Paldea that would be more than happy to have you! You can be the heir to a powerful clan of dragon masters and still choose to be a highschool arts teacher instead and that's absolutely alright.

One in five people is a student of the martial arts who spends all day in a gi training to get stronger, and another fifth of the population stand around in long sleeved outfits honing deadass psychic powers. Honest to gods ninjas are part of society, and it's not at all hard to find kids around training hard in their ways. Science is an exploding field and the people who conduct research are well respected and highly regarded. You can be absolutely anything, wear a godsdamned clown outfit and breathe fire on the streets for fun and no one will bat an eye.

A bunch of women in pink, flowery outfits spend their days inside of a giant dollhouse taking the places of toy dolls in toy rooms, and this arrangement is approved of by the official Pokemon league just as their leader is a respected gym leader. The Eiffel tower was designed and is maintained by a fifteen something year old boy. A large portion of the population of gym leaders, trainers who are acknowledged by the pokemon league as capable of testing others, are children under the age of 16, with a smaller number being adults over the age of 60. A member of the Paldean elite four is six years old. Capability matters far more than age in this world. Kids are taken seriously and given positions that befit their accomplishments.

Respected and looked up to members of the community go around in white fairy outfits with wings, or nothing but swim trunks, or wearing wooden masks, or Hawaiian shirts, or that gay little number Wallace wears in oras, and they're still beloved and admired by the population regardless of their quirks, and more often because of them.

The most famous, most badass rap artist in the pokemon world is a lady in possibly her seventies. The founder of the Alolan Pokemon League is a pro wrestler in his free time. The most powerful Pokemon trainer in the Hoenn region spends his time collecting rocks.

There are absolutely no requirements there other than be kind and considerate to others, and don't be an ass, and I can only hope that our society can reach that point someday.

[galedekarios]

elminster & gale

more datamined dialogue, this time idle banter between elminster and gale. as the dev notes indicate, these were supposed to take place at the beginning of act ii when elminster reveals the charge given to him by mystra for gale:

elminster: it took some doing, finding you. gale: well now you've found me, perhaps you can share your purpose. (node context: some impatience) elminster: have mercy on these old bones, m'boy. a short respite will not harm us.

elminster: i am glad to talk to you again, m'boy. even under such circumstances. (node context: sincere) gale: as am i. (node context: sincere) elminster: it is important to cherish everyone conversation as if it were the last - for it could very well be the last. (node context: considering that this may be the last time he ever sees gale)

elminster: it comes with age. along with some less-desirable traits... gale: please. i do not need to hear of your joint aches and privy sorties again. (node context: 'not this again') elminster: very well. not everyone finds such matters as fascinating as i do... (node context: slightly displeased grumble)

gale: you may be proven incorrect - time is not on my side, i fear. (node context: a little grim) elminster: i know what you mean. trust me - for the moment, all is well. or at least acceptable. (node context: reassuring) gale: oh to have but a thimbleful of your confidence at my disposal. (node context: wry)

once again, i find this (very, very sadly) seemingly cut content fascinating. it's very sad it wasn't included in the release version of the game because it shows the deeper bond that elminster and gale share despite gale's impatience and, as it's phrased here, not-this-again attitude. it speaks of knowing each other well, and of the affection between them from both sides.

we get to see this, too, in the gale origin. elminster's visit remains much the same as it is an origin tav playthrough, yet there are slight variation in how elminster treats gale (a softer voice, calling him 'dear boy', etc.).

and that affection he has for gale, gale holds for him, too:

"his disappointment cuts deeper even than mystra's." is so significant considering just who mystra is for gale. gale is hurt by having had elminster witness him as he is now. a shadow of who he used to be. he has disappointed him. he once more wasn't good enough.

elminster, who not only saw potential within him, but "plucked" him from obscurity and offered his guidance, who had become a mentor to him, and a figure to look to for guidance.

as a side note, i can't help but wonder if elminster was perhaps responsible-or at least helped-to have gale attend blackstaff academy:

Blackstaff Academy was a loosely organized group of elite apprentices and students who studied under the Blackstaff at Blackstaff Tower in the 14th and 15th centuries DR. The school was made up of an everchanging roster of about fifty apprentices and students to the Blackstaff, with new arrivals always ready to replenish the ranks as graduates moved on.[2] Acceptance to the Academy was predicated on either demonstrating extraordinary magical aptitude (those who could not cast arcane spells were very rarely admitted) or having a particularly compelling personal history. Joining the Academy was free, however monthly dues were required to continue attendance. These fees started at 10 gp per month and increased as a student gained seniority and required more advanced tutelage. In addition, it was a requirement that any new spell that was discovered or researched by an apprentice had to be added to Blackstaff Tower's library. [source]

anyhow. this bond between the two is also reflected in the aftermath of the visit. elminster sneakily breaks mystra's order, by having tara deliver a letter written by him to gale, trying to reassure gale and make him see that there is another way out of his predicament than the one mystra commands him to follow:

i cannot stress enough that elminster is ready to defy direct orders from mystra for gale. he obviously cares about him and his regreat at having not said more when he was there is palpable in his letter. gale acknowledges this as well:

to a lesser extent, the same is shown in a custom protag playthrough:

gale knows this isn't something elminster wanted to do and elminster himself admits as much, too. yet he is forced to, obligated to, by his status as chosen and the mission he was given by his goddess.

we can later ask gale about this once more:

and here we can also infer just why mystra sent elminster and not anyone else: "for mystra to have sent him... the severity of her bidding could not be clearer. or weigh more heavily on me."

it shows that this was a very much calculated choice-mystra must have been aware of the bond two of her chosen shared-and so it helps to achieve exactly what she intended it to: gale accepts the charge that he is given.

i think all in all, even though the situation is bad enough already as it is, this makes what was asked of elminster by mystra even worse.

[livingdreams97]

Wednesday Addams -- "The wolf in my bed" (Part 3)

Wednesday Addams x Male reader/oc

Summary: The new girl at Nevermore Academy is forced to live with a person who is the complete opposite of herself. But what will happen when the brother of said roommate has a personality similar to Wednesday's?

Words: 3.679

PREVIOUS /// NEXT

Masterlist

Wednesday POV

My research on the monster was progressing, but it was not doing so at the expected speed and every time I managed to advance one step, I was forced to take two steps back.

I don't know how he does it, but it's like the monster knows every move I'm going to make and I don't like that at all.

For example, the homeless man who lived in the old meeting house; who was murdered two nights ago. The monster sees me in the ruins and that same night kills the person who lived in that same place?

It's not a coincidence.

But thanks to that event, I got all the information about the bodies in the morgue and I have deciphered a pattern. It's subtle, but reading the reports and seeing the photos of the bodies it's easy to decipher.

Each victim has had a part of their bodies removed. The first victim was missing a kidney, the second a finger, the third his gallbladder and the homeless man from the meeting house two toes.

I don't know why the murderer needs these parts, but I plan to find out.

Thornhill 's class is anything but new information, since everything she is saying about orchids and their pollination is something I learned when I was 9 years old.

I hear a complaining sound from my left, causing me to look towards the person sitting next to me through my peripheral vision and seeing the school artist.

Xabier: I hurt my back fencing.- he excuses himself quickly without me asking him.

Mrs.Thornhill: The orchid produces pheromones that imitate a female insect, thus attracting males.- continues with her explanation. -Once the plant is pollinated, what do the male insects get in return?- questions waiting for the answer from one of the students.

Bianca: Nothing. - she answers before anyone else. -Like all the boys at the dance.- she finishes amusingly, causing most of the students to laugh at it.

Mrs.Thornhill: Okay, okay.- she says to get the attention of all the students. -I know you're all looking forward to Saturday, that's why I'm not going to send you homework.- she informs us, causing a small celebration on the part of the rest. -But I'm going to need volunteers for the decoration committee, anyone interested can come see me.- she says with a smile ending the class.

As soon as class ends, everyone gets up from their seats and immediately starts talking to each other.

Xavier: What? Aren't you going to participate? - he asks me directly. -Don't you like disco balls and surprise punch? - he asks with some sarcasm. -There will even be a DJ, Mc Blood Suckaz - comments with some amusement .

Wednesday: I prefer to stick needles in my eyes.- I respond immediately. -Although maybe I will do it anyway.- I comment casually, knowing that I would prefer it a thousand times over going to the dance.

Xabier: Invite someone to have a little fun.- he says bending down to put the book in his backpack and that's when I see it.

On the right side of his neck, which was being hidden by his shirt and jacket; three scratches. That has not been done in fencing.

I get up from my chair, deciding to follow my classmate and try to find out how those injuries could have been caused. He's hiding something and I plan to find out what he's hiding at all costs.

POV You

I grunt tiredly, hiding my face in my arms and resting on one of the tables in the square. This is getting repetitive too fast.

Enid: Do you want to stop growling, you're exaggerating.- she assures me, hitting my arm.

Y/n: Then stop asking me the same thing fifty times.- I growl again, raising my head from my arms and giving her a dirty look.

Enid: I haven't asked you more than 3 times! - she exclaims in defense and I look at her, raising an eyebrow.

Y/n: Three times in the last five minutes.- I point out. -But you've been asking me the same thing for five days.- I remind her breathing deeply, not wanting to lose the little patience I have left.

Enid: I'll stop asking you when you do it.- she assures me, crossing her arms and with a smile full of superiority.

Y/n: And why do you want me to ask Wednesday if she wants to go to the dance with me? - I asked her confused with the reason behind her insistence. -What do you get out of all this? - I say without understanding anything.

Enid: Because you would be a perfect couple and because unlike you, I would love for my best friend and brother to be together. - She answers with a huge smile.

Y/n: Three things- I list with my fingers. -First, what makes you think that Wednesday of all people wants to go to the dance, this being an unnecessary social event for her?- I ask, raising a finger. -Second, at what point has your mind thought that your best friend wants to be in a romantic relationship with someone, when she almost didn´t agree to be your friend?- I raise the second finger.

Enid: Because I know... - she starts in her defense but I tell her to shut up.

Y/n: I'm talking.- I remember, looking straight into her eyes. -And third, haven't you learned from what Ajax did to you?- I ask her with some anger in my voice, but my anger is not directed at her.

Because even with all my warnings not to go out with any of my friends, she asked Ajax on a date and he stood her up. The worst thing of all is that my best friend doesn't want to tell me why he stood her up and I haven't spoken to him in several days because of that.

No one plays with my sister's feelings, and Ajax 's black eye is an example of the consequences of that.

Enid: You didn't need to say the last point.- she growls at me angrily and with a certain gleam of pain in her eyes. -But whether you want to listen to me or not, there is something between you two and you can't deny it.- he assures me, looking me directly in the eyes.

Y/n: Well, look how I deny it.- I say with a false smile. -There is nothing between Wednesday and me.- I assure seriously.

Enid: You don't even believe that yourself.- she snorts, shaking her head. -It took her a month to let me hold her arm and you slept in her bed the first week, plus I can see the looks you give each other.- She points her finger at me accusingly.

Y/n: What looks are you talking about? - I ask, completely confused with what my sister means.

Enid: Oh please, the looks you give each other every time the other isn't looking and the intense but strange way of flirting you have.- she comments with exasperation.

Y/n: I don't flirt, I just have fun getting on Wednesday 's nerves.- I shrug with an amused smile.

Enid: That's called flirting.- she assures me as if it were obvious. -And don't deny it because you know we can spend the whole day like this.- she points her finger at me again so I can close my mouth. -So are you going to ask her to go to the dance with you or not? - she asks again with a big smile.

Y/n: I'll think about it.- I accept tiredly. -But you promise me that if I do, you won't bother me anymore with the looks that you say we give each other and the supposed flirtation.- I stretch my hand towards her, watching her bite her lip and think carefully about whether to accept or not.

I can see the internal struggle she is having in her head through her eyes and every slightest gesture on her face. I just wait in silence and keeping my hand outstretched.

Enid: I promise.- she growls after a while, accepting my hand. -But only if you ask, otherwise I can continue bothering you.- she says with a smile, shaking our hands energetically.

Y/n: Whatever. - I deny amused by her attitude and getting up from the bench.

Enid: Where are you going? - She asks me confused when I let go of our hands.

Y/n: I have homework to do.- I respond, raising my shoulders.

Enid: But Professor Thornhill hasn't sent us anything.- She remembers me confused.

Y/n: Do you only have botany class? - I ask amused by the look f confusion on her face. -I'm leaving.- I say goodbye, entering the school hallways.

I walk towards my room, thinking about what my sister told me and as if on cue I see the person we were talking about.

Y/n: Wednesday! - I exclaimed, calling her and running to catch up with her. -How are you going with the investigation?- I ask her when I get to her side.

Wednesday: Good.- she nods her head, continuing walking. -I have new clues and I have discovered something about the deaths.- she tells me and I walk next to her.

Y/n: Do the dates or the shape of the wounds form some pattern?- I ask interested.

Wednesday: No. - she denies in response and doesn't say anything else.

She continues walking in the direction of Ophelia Hall, so I understand that she doesn't want to continue talking and I decide to stop walking. I watch her walk away and turn around to resume my walk to my room.

Wednesday: Where are you going? - I hear her question from behind me so I turn around seeing her with her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.

Y/n: To my room.- I respond confused. -I thought that since you haven't continued talking and haven't stopped walking, you wanted me to leave you alone.- I explain simply.

Wednesday: At any other time you would be correct about the message of my actions, but this is not the case.- she assures me with her monotonous tone of voice. -Now follow me.- she practically orders me, turning around and resuming her walk towards her room.

I quickly look around, making sure no one is around and run again to catch up with her.

We do the rest of the way to the room she shares with my sister in complete silence. Once inside the room, she walks over to a cork board and looks over her shoulder at me.

I approach, looking at the board and appreciating the reports and photos of what I assume are the victims of the monster.

Wednesday: There have been a total of four murders, but none of them are related to each other other than by the monster that killed them. - she explains to me, pointing to the files of the victims . -The attacks have happened on random days, there is no pattern regarding a specific number of days between one murder and another, nor any lunar phase or anything like that. - she continues explaining to me and I see each date of the murders on each victim.

Y/n: That means that wolves, for example, are ruled out since all the murders would had to be during the full moon. - I comment, reading the forensic file of the second victim.

Wednesday: Exactly, although it is clear that there are some wolves that do not need the full moon to transform. - she comments with a knowledge that I did not know she had. - You, for example. - she points her finger at me.

Y/n: How do you know that? - I ask confused, since not many people know it and it´s better to keep it that way.

Since it is very rare that a werewolf can make a complete transformation at any time, without the need for a full moon and it is something that must be kept secret.

It is very dangerous for it to be known, since it would be a perfect excuse for the normies to blame us for any crime like this and also such information can be dangerous in the hands of another supernatural being .

Wednesday: Enid.- responds simply.

Y/n: Of course.- I growl, annoyed with my sister, since she knows she can't tell anyone.

Wednesday: But it is clear that it is not a werewolf, since the claw wounds that the victims present are more spacious than those of a werewolf. - she explains to me, pointing to an abdomen, or what remains of it . -But I have noticed that in each victim, the murderer has extracted a part of their bodies and that none of them match.- she explains to me.

Y/n: You mean, the killer has taken a part of each victim 's body? - I asked confused. -As a type of amulet or reminder?- I question looking at the girl next to me, who is with her arms crossed.

Wednesday: It seems that way, but I still don't know the exact reason. - she answers me simply.

Y/n: I may not be right.- I comment thoughtfully. -But don't serial killers usually take the same thing from all their victims? - I ask without stopping looking at the photos.

Wednesday: Not always, most prefer to take any of the victim 's personal belongings. But when it's a part of the body, it varies depending on the murderer. - She explains to me and I nod, looking at her when I hear the sound of a piece of paper.

Y/n: What is that? - I ask her when I see how she takes out some pages from inside her school jacket.

Wednesday: Some very realistic and detailed drawings that I have gotten of our monster. - she responds, hanging the two drawings on the board.

Y/n: Where did you get them from? - I ask looking at said drawings.

Wednesday: From Xabier's hut.- she answers and I look at her quickly.

Y/n: He painted this? - I ask her without stopping to look at her and blindly pointing at the drawings.

She just makes a sound of confirmation, tearing her gaze from mine and moving it to my friend's sketches.

I imitate her action, returning my gaze to the paintings and paying attention to every detail of the monster.

I know that many times Xabier has very realistic lucid dreams that he then draws. But dreams are usually related to things he has seen or knows. Which would mean that he has somehow seen the monster.

Y/n: Do you think he has something to do with the monster?- I ask her in a low voice, not knowing if I want to know the answer.

Wednesday: It is possible.- it confirms my fears. -Today he had a fairly large scratch on his neck and was acting a bit suspicious. In addition to the fact that those were not the only drawings, wherever you looked, the monster's face was everywhere in that hut. - she tells me and I sigh without wanting to continue with the topic.

I decide to take a couple of steps back, moving away from the board a little and trying to think of something else.

Y/n: Hey Wednesday.- I caught her attention, causing her to look at me instead of the board. -Would you like to go with me to the Raven on Saturday?- I ask her the first thing that comes to mind unconsciously to change the topic.

I open my eyes realizing what I've said and my heartbeat skyrockets. I can see that her eyes have also opened in surprise, but they have barely opened two millimeters and if I wasn't staring at her I wouldn't have noticed.

The air in the room becomes very heavy, due to the silence and lack of response from the black-haired girl. I swallow heavily, feeling my body temperature rise and my heart beat in my throat.

Wednesday: No. - responds monotonously and for some reason that I don't understand, I feel disappointment invade my body and a phantom weight in my heart, as if I had stones in it.

Y/n: I know that you are not the type of person who enjoys unnecessary social events like dancing and that you prefer to stay in your room writing your novel. - I explained quickly without thinking. -But I wanted to ask you just in case.- I lift my shoulders, feigning indifference.

Wednesday: I don't reject you for that reason.- she assures me and I look at her confused. -It's because I've already asked someone and that person has accepted.- she tells me with the same monotony as always.

I think since I've known her, it's the first time I hate how monotonous her voice is and how impassive her face is. Because for once, I would like her to express a minimum of feelings with her features so I can at least know what she thinks.

Y/n: Oh.- I murmur a few seconds after her response and processing the information she has given me.

She doesn't say anything, she just watches me in complete silence and for the first time, it makes me uncomfortable.

Never before had I felt so watched by her and so uncomfortable and embarrassed in her presence. I don't want to continue feeling her gaze on me, trying to read me, much less for her to realize that this rejection has somehow caused something in me.

Y/n: I think I've bothered you enough.- I clear my throat, taking a step back. -I have things to do.- I excuse myself, pointing to the door and walking towards it.

Wednesday looks at me, nodding and turning her attention back to the board.

I take advantage of the fact that her back is turned to flee from the room and walk towards mine, feeling the disappointment latent within me.

These feelings are the reason why I didn't want to ask her to go to the dance in the first place. I knew she was going to say no and that I would feel bad, but I didn't think will fell this bad.

I thought it would be like that day in the ruins, when Xabier appeared and they both ignored my existence, as if I were not by their side. I thought I would feel a certain heaviness for her failure to acknowledge my existence and anger for having her full attention on Xabier instead of me.

But it has not been that way. I know that what I felt the other time was jealousy and I still don't really understand why.

Although this time it wasn't jealousy, it was as if they were piercing my chest and squeezing my heart, preventing it from pumping blood to the rest of my body.

The worst thing of all is that she has asked someone to go to the dance, it was not another boy who asked her and for some strange reason she has been forced to accept. 

No. 

She was the one who asked someone to go to the dance with her and I didn't see her very upset about it when she told me.

On the other hand, how can I know what she feels if she never shows it.

Wednesday POV

After the strange interaction with Y/n and my refusal of his invitation to the Raven, he excuses himself and I am left alone in my room.

I don't spend much time alone before my extravagant roommate walks into our room and looks at me with a slightly disturbing smile.

Enid: I've seen my brother walk away from Ophelia Hall.- she comments in a sing-song voice, causing me to look at her seriously.

Wednesday: I have shared with him the progress of my research.- I respond walking towards her.

Enid: And you have only talked about the investigation? - she asks with some emotion to which I cannot find an obvious origin.

Wednesday: Yes.- I agree emphatically. -But I need your worldly wisdom for a last minute situation that has arisen.- I say, maintaining my usual seriousness and impassiveness, but without knowing very well what I have to do.

Enid: Okay? - nods with some insecurity.

Wednesday: What are the steps to follow to attend a social event like the Raven? - I ask, maintaining my position and avoiding reacting to the inhuman scream that my roommate lets out.

Enid: Oh my goodness! Wednesday Addams is going to the dance! - she exclaims, jumping on the spot and with a somewhat high-pitched voice. -Do you know what you need? - she asks me excitedly.

Wednesday: A shot to the head? - I ask sincerely.

Enid: A dress! - she exclaims full of emotion.

Wednesday: I already have one.- I assure her without reacting to her emotion.

Enid: Is it the one you showed up here with? - she asks with some fear on her face. -It was an abomination for fashion that not even I could resurrect.- she assures me. -Thing, help me.- she says to the hand on my right.

He responds with a thumbs up, implying that he agrees with her and that I cannot wear the dress in which I arrived at Nevermore .

Enid: You need something that says: First date, get out of the way bitches! - she exclaims with too much energy. -Besides, being Y/n's sister, I can help you better.- she assures me with an even bigger smile than the one he had before.

Wednesday: What does your brother have to do with all this?- I ask normally and with some confusion at the mention of the boy.

Enid: Aren't you going to the dance with him?- she asks, erasing the smile from her face and frowning in confusion .

Wednesday: No. - I deny immediately. -I'm going with Xabier, for reasons that aren't important right now.- I explain and I see how her face contorts in a similar way to her brother's when I rejected his invitation to the dance.

Although the expression on my roommate's face is lighter and she doesn't have the lost look like her brother has had for a few moments.

In addition, the range of emotions that her face shows is not exactly the same and there is a difference between the emotions of confusion, some sadness and perhaps guilt that Enid reflects, which are easy to decipher.

His brother's were more difficult, since I had only been able to clearly see the gesture of disappointment and the emotion of pain he made for a second.

But otherwise I can't say exactly what emotions he felt, much less the reasons why he felt them.

[junghelioseok]

miss taken.

↳ you pride yourself on being a professional, but sometimes your students' parents really test your patience.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ fluff | smut | teacher!au | single parent!au | e2l ◇ 20.3k [1/1]

❛❛ our kids are bitter rivals and the only time we ever meet is when we’re both called to the principal’s office and whatever maybe i think you’re kind of cute but your kid’s a monster and ALSO someone keeps buying the last everything bagel at my favorite coffee shop 2 minutes before i get there in the morning and has heard about my plight and has started leaving me bragging notes about it ❜❜

notes: fic number two in the serendipity series is here at last!!! this took me like a million and a half years to finish because Real Life happened but here we finally are! also, i changed the type of bagel that the story is centered around, because i honestly didn’t come to like everything bagels until relatively recently and i will still only eat it if it’s part of a bagel sandwich because? just having cream cheese or whatever on an everything bagel feels kind of unhinged to me! but that’s neither here nor there and no one is here for my bagel opinions so! hope you enjoy the story!!! 💕

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dilf!jk, some kissing and hand stuff, ✨sexual tension✨ but nothing too terribly explicit tbh

Silence has never sounded louder. 

You drum your fingers against the armrest of your chair, nails clacking against the cheap plastic. On the wall, the second hand of the clock completes yet another revolution, and you glance over when your companion sighs, plucks off her reading glasses, and sets them down on the desk beside the placard that houses her title: Principal Pamela Baker, Hybe Academy. 

A woman nearing her fifties, Pam has sandy blonde hair cut into a neat bob and an enviable ability to pull off any lipstick color, no matter how bold. You’re lucky enough to call her both a friend and a mentor, and when she mutters a curse under her breath, you chuckle. “Late again,” she huffs, offering you a wry smile before leaning back in her seat and casting her gaze skyward. “Typical.”

“You know what these corporate types are like, Pam,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “They have zero regard for anyone else’s time. He was twenty minutes late to our parent-teacher conference last semester, so don’t take it personally.”

“Believe me, I know plenty of men like Jungkook Jeon,” Pam says with another sigh, this one heavier and longer than the last. “I even married one, you know. But that was before I came to my senses and divorced his ass. Best decision of my life, right after getting my tubes tied.”

“Three kids was enough for you?” you tease, and Pam snorts out a laugh. 

“More than enough,” she replies. “What about you, though? Thinking of having another kid anytime soon?”

“I don’t think so… well, not anytime soon, at least. Ask me again in—” 

The sound of a doorknob turning stops you in your tracks, and a moment later, the door to the office swings open with a dull click. 

“Principal Baker. Miss {L/N}.” Jungkook Jeon is standing at the threshold in a wool coat the color of charcoal, the buttons of which are undone to reveal the undoubtedly designer suit underneath. His dark hair is parted neatly across his forehead, still sprinkled with lingering snowflakes from his journey here, and you bite back the urge to remark on his tardiness. Instead, you stand when your boss stands up, mustering up every ounce of professionalism you possibly can.

“Mr. Jeon,” Pam says, giving his hand a firm shake before gesturing to the empty chair beside you. “It’s nice to see you again. Please, take a seat.”

You incline your head in Jungkook’s direction as he lowers himself into the plastic chair, the legs scraping against the tiled floor in protest as he adjusts his position. “Hello, Mr. Jeon. Thank you for finally joining us.”

If Jungkook notices the snarky inflection of your tone, he doesn’t let it show. He merely levels you with a cool gaze, blinking lazily before turning to your boss. “Excuse my tardiness,” he says, smoothing down the lapels of his black jacket and straightening his slate blue tie. “I got here as fast as I could. Where is my daughter?”

Pam gestures toward the door. “Daeun is down the hall in the library, under Mr. Kim’s supervision. I thought it best if we spoke without the children first.”

The dark-haired man hums. “What happened, Principal? You were rather vague on the phone.”

Pam nods, and you exchange looks before she turns her attention back to Jungkook. “Yes, well, as I explained on the phone, there was an incident. Daeun forcefully took her classmate’s book during the free reading period, and refused to return it when asked.”

At that, Jungkook casts you another glance. “I see. And I presume the classmate was Miss {L/N}’s daughter?”

“It was,” you confirm, taking care to keep your tone even despite the irritation simmering in your belly. “This is the second time Trixie’s been targeted by your daughter, Mr. Jeon. Do you think that’s a coincidence?”

Jungkook’s eyes narrow, his lips twisting into a displeased frown. “I'm not sure I like what you’re implying, Miss {L/N}.”

The iciness in his voice is unmistakable, but you have fifteen minutes’ worth of annoyance festering in your belly—annoyance that has amplified with every second that he made you wait. That, combined with his behavior last semester is enough to stir that annoyance into full-blown anger. He’s been short with you every time you’ve called to talk about his daughter’s progress in class, and you very nearly canceled his eight o’clock appointment to meet with you during December’s parent-teacher conferences. You remember pulling up his contact information nineteen minutes after eight, thumb hovering over the call button on your phone when he finally burst into your classroom. No preamble, and no apology. He just sat down, as if nothing was amiss, and began asking about Daeun’s grades in math.

It’s no wonder you’ve never heard so much as a word about a Mrs. Jeon. The nosy part of your brain wonders about Jungkook’s home life on occasion, and the more vindictive part relishes in the fact that he’s no doubt a single parent. Any woman would have to be a saint to put up with Jungkook Jeon, you reason, because as far as you’re concerned, he’s the devil. 

The devil dressed in head-to-toe Armani, who is currently fixing you with a look that could temper steel. 

“Mr. Jeon.” Pam, as always, is quick to diffuse the sudden tension that’s settled over her office. “No one is implying anything here. We just want to have a frank, civil discussion about Daeun’s behavior, and see if you can think of anything that may be causing her to act out. A recent change in her life, perhaps? Something new that she hasn’t quite adjusted to yet?”

You take a deep breath, releasing it through your nose before putting your professional mask back on. “Her shift in behavior was extremely sudden,” you chime in, watching out of the corner of your eye as Pam inclines her head in agreement. “Laughing when Trixie and another classmate slipped and fell on the ice, and now this? I don’t believe for a minute that this change came out of nowhere—something must have caused it. Daeun is a smart girl, Mr. Jeon. She’s outgoing and a little rambunctious, but she’s always been kind to her classmates in the past. Today’s behavior was incredibly out of character for her.”

A beat of silence passes, as your words fade into silence. Then Jungkook shifts in his seat, crossing one leg over the other as he turns his full attention to you. “We keep talking about Daeun as if she was the only child involved in this incident, Miss {L/N}. Why don’t we talk about your daughter instead? Trixie, is it?”

And just like that, your mask begins to splinter at the edges. “Trixie was reading quietly at the table when Daeun approached her,” you reply coolly. “She didn’t instigate anything, Mr. Jeon.”

“Oh, and I’m supposed to take your word for it?” Jungkook huffs out a humorless chuckle, leaning back in his seat. “I think you, of all people, might be a little bit biased.”

Fury flares in your belly, hot and bright. “I am a professional, Mr. Jeon,” you manage between clenched teeth. “I care about all of my students equally, and treat them as such. But I don’t expect you to understand that.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to retort, but your boss stops him before he can utter a single syllable. “I think that’s enough for today,” Pam says, rising to her feet and stepping around her desk to shake Jungkook’s hand. Even in heels, she only comes up to his chest, and you would have laughed at the height disparity if it weren’t for the rage still bubbling through your veins. “Like I said before, the girls are just down the hall with Mr. Kim. If you’ll follow me…”

Pam ushers Jungkook out of the office, chattering mindlessly about the cafeteria renovations that are underway—funded in large part by Jungkook himself, you’re certain. As much as you’ve grown to dislike the man, you know that he cares deeply about education and donates a rather large sum to your school every year. Trailing after them by a few paces, you listen as Pam points out a row of plaques hanging on the wall, honoring distinguished students and teachers alike.

The library, when you reach it, is empty save for three figures seated at one of several rectangular tables that occupy the middle of the room. Taehyung Kim, the copper-haired librarian, springs out of his seat upon your arrival, and you wave tiredly as he approaches with a warm, affable grin. 

“Welcome!” Taehyung says, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses before extending a hand for Jungkook to shake. “You must be Daeun’s dad. I’m Taehyung Kim, the librarian here at Hybe.” 

“Jungkook Jeon.” Then Jungkook’s gaze flits past him to where the two children are seated opposite one another. Daeun is a slender, petite girl with dark hair braided neatly down her back and round, brown eyes that are narrowed in concentration as she colors in a picture of a lion. Quietly, Jungkook strides over to his daughter, kneeling down beside her chair until he’s eye-level. “Hey, Daeun,” you hear him murmur. “What happened today, hmm?”

You, meanwhile, join your own daughter at the table, sitting down in the chair Taehyung abandoned and taking in the paper and coloring utensils scattered across the surface “Hey, jitterbug,” you murmur. “Were you nice to Mr. Kim while I was gone?”

“Tae read us a book about butterflies,” Trixie replies, shrugging her little shoulders. “He taught us about migration.”

You chuckle. “Migration, huh? That sounds interesting. You want to tell me all about it on the drive home?”

Trixie nods, her pigtails bobbing in time with the movement. Then she glances over to where Jungkook is instructing Daeun to pack up her backpack, tucking books and notebooks neatly inside while Daeun collects her crayons and puts them into a sparkly little pink case. “Are we going home now?”

“Soon, bug,” you promise. “I just have to finish up with Mr. Jeon and Principal Baker, okay?”

“Okay,” Trixie says agreeably, returning to her drawing. Pam gestures for you to join her and Jungkook near the library doors, and you meet Taehyung’s gaze as you brush past where he’s pulling a few books down for a display. Good luck, he mouths, and you suppress the urge to make a face. Instead, you mouth a quick thanks back, offering Daeun a quick smile as well before joining her father and your boss at the door. 

“Mr. Jeon,” Pam says, casting a surreptitious glance toward Daeun and Trixie before lowering her voice. “I don’t think you should ignore this behavior from your daughter. If there’s something in her home life that is making her act out, I can recommend a few counselors who would be more than happy to speak with the two of y—”

Jungkook shakes his head, a lock of dark hair coming loose from whatever gel he’s used to style it. “With all due respect, Principal Baker, I don’t appreciate my parenting abilities being called into question. I think it’s probably best if Daeun and I take our leave.”

Pam sighs. “Mr. Jeon, I don’t mean to offend. But Daeun did take a book out of Trixie’s hands.”

“And I’ll be sure to discipline her for that,” Jungkook replies. “But if this is all over a book, Principal, I think the solution is simple. I can easily buy her whatever book she needs.”

“I’m not so sure it’s about the book itself,” you point out. “Tae—I mean, Mr. Kim—has multiple copies of Charlotte’s Web available for the students.”

Jungkook hums and turns up the collar of his wool coat, pulling it snug around his throat. “Nonetheless, I think we’re done here. Daeun, we’re leaving.”

The six-year-old looks up from the book Taehyung has checked out for her and immediately runs over to grab her father’s extended hand. “Are we going home?” she asks quietly, and he nods. 

“Yeah, we are, sweetheart. Come on. Say bye to your teachers.”

Obediently, Daeun waves to you and Taehyung before bidding Pam goodbye as well. Jungkook offers you a stiff nod, and Pam resignedly offers to walk the duo out. They depart together, and you watch as they disappear around the corner of the hall before turning to Taehyung with a heavy sigh. Trixie is still engrossed in her coloring, and you lower your voice as you join Taehyung where he’s begun re-shelving books from a cart of returns. 

“Thank god that’s finally over,” you murmur.

Taehyung glances both ways, ensuring the coast is clear. “Yeah. That Jungkook guy is a total wang.”

///

By the time you pull out of Hybe Academy’s parking lot, rush hour has well and truly begun. Silently, you curse Jungkook’s tardiness as you merge onto the main road and almost immediately come to a complete standstill amongst the traffic. Glancing back in the rearview mirror, you take in the sight of your daughter, buckled neatly into the backseat with her face pressed against the window.

“What color are we looking for today, bug?”

“Red,” she replies, her nose scrunching against the glass. Every day, your daughter picks a color and counts the number of cars she sees in that particular shade. She’s taken to keeping a running tally on the refrigerator—working toward the answer to a research question that only she understands. Her work is accompanied by a variety of figures and diagrams as well, which she’s plastered across the remainder of the refrigerator door and are slowly encroaching on the freezer door as well. You’re pretty sure she’ll need a larger surface soon enough—the wall of the hallway leading to the bedrooms would probably suffice—but until then, you have no plans to interfere with her creativity. If anything, you sometimes wish you could see the world through a child’s eyes again—to view every new experience as an adventure, and delight in the simple things. It’s one of the many reasons you love working at Hybe, even if you do have to deal with the occasional entitled parent.

Unwillingly, your mind wanders back to Jungkook Jeon. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive, even if you’re reluctant to admit it and refuse outright to say it aloud. He’s blessed with the kind of face that angels could rhapsodize about—his dark, expressive eyes set above a strong nose and an enticing mouth. His jawline is sharp as a knife, and you’re fairly certain the devil himself sculpted his thighs. Even beneath the drape of his expensive suits, you can see the definition of his musculature as clearly as if he wasn’t wearing anything at all. You wonder—more often than you’d like to admit—how his workplace hasn’t deemed his suits obscene. Maybe he needs a dress code, you think to yourself, easing off the brake as the cars in front of you begin to inch forward. Baggy clothes only from this point forward. The more skin covered, the better. 

“Oooh! Found one!” Trixie exclaims, tapping the glass vigorously. “And look, there’s another. It’s a darker red, though.”

You hum and nod toward the traffic up ahead, where you can glimpse the corner of a cherry red bumper. “What about that one up there? That makes three, right?”

In the mirror, you see your daughter nod. A few minutes pass, the two of you calling out when another red car is spotted, and traffic eventually eases up enough that you can continue your way home. 

“So, what did Mr. Kim teach you about butterflies?” you query as you make a right turn. “Something about migration?” 

Trixie nods absently, still fixated on the cars driving by in the opposite lane. “Yeah. They go south for the winter to stay warm.”

You glance at her reflection in the mirror again. “Must be nice.”

“Yeah.”

Up ahead, the light turns green. You hit the gas, debating whether to bring up Daeun or not, but your daughter speaks again before you can dwell on it any further. 

“It’s weird,” Trixie says, her face still pressed against the window and her breath misting the glass. “Daeun was never mean to me before. We weren’t friends, not really. But now it feels like she’s picking on me on purpose and I don’t know why.” 

Something in your chest splinters at the tone of her voice—subdued and small. She’s dragging a finger through the fogged up glass now, tracing the crooked outline of a butterfly, and you take a moment to collect your thoughts before speaking again.

“We’ll figure it out together, then, jitterbug. Now, why don’t you start thinking about what you want for dinner?”

///

Mornings are always a little chaotic in your home. Trixie is sprinting around the entirety of the two-bedroom apartment looking for her favorite scrunchie, a half-eaten piece of toast clutched in one hand and her backpack swinging from the other. In the kitchen, you’re going through a mental checklist of all the places your daughter could have possibly left the accessory while sipping on your morning coffee. The mug nearly slips from your hand when your pet cat, Taco, slinks past your legs on her way to her food bowl, and you hiss out a sharp curse.

“Fuck!” Hot liquid dribbles down your knuckles. The calico cat gives you an unimpressed look, and you glance both ways to make sure Trixie is out of earshot before wagging a reprimanding finger. “Manners, Taco. You’re better than this.”

Taco merely flicks her tail and turns back to her own breakfast, rebelliously batting her water bowl with a paw before settling down to eat. Sighing, you finish the remainder of your coffee and rinse out the mug, listening as Trixie darts in and begins rummaging through the silverware drawer. 

“Bug, I don’t think your scrunchie’s in there,” you remark, earning yourself a shrug in response.

“Can’t be too careful,” she says in a startlingly accurate impression of you, and you can’t decide whether to laugh out loud or roll your eyes. Coming up empty, your daughter runs off again, and you return your attention to your bag, rifling through the folders and assignments within. “Aha!” you hear in the distance, and smile. Trixie comes bounding down the hall a few seconds later with a sparkly holographic scrunchie in hand, and you obligingly help her wind it around her ponytail as she wriggles in place with excitement.

“Ready to go?” you ask once finished, and she nods eagerly. “Have all your homework?” Another nod. “What about those books you have to return to Mr. Kim at the library?”

Trixie heaves a dramatic sigh and fixes you with a look. “Yes, Mom. Can we go now?”

You chuckle and extend your hand for her to take, heaving your bag onto your opposite shoulder. “All right, all right. Let’s go.”

Locking the front door, you and Trixie take the elevator down to the ground floor of the building and exit out into the wintry air. Your car is parked on a nearby side street, and immediately, you see that the windshield is coated in a light layer of frost. Sighing inwardly, you head toward the trunk where you store the ice scraper. Trixie releases your hand when you pop open the lid, and you turn to watch as she skips her way down the sidewalk. “Sure you don’t want a ride to school?” you call.

She stops, her nose wrinkling. “It’s lame to go to school with your teacher, Mom.”

You feign offense, slapping a hand to your heart. “Oh? I’m lame now, am I?”

“Don’t take it personal,” Trixie replies, shrugging. “All adults are kinda lame.”

With that, she waves and darts the rest of the way down the sidewalk, making her way to the bus stop at the end of the block. You watch her go, waiting until she safely joins the other half-dozen kids clustered on the corner beside the stop sign, before turning back to your car and climbing into the driver’s seat. 

There’s something calming about your morning commute—something about the low hum of the engine and the whir of wheels against asphalt that soothes your soul. The route downtown is a familiar one, and you navigate it with ease. A glance at the clock on the dashboard tells you that you have just enough time to grab some breakfast, and at the next intersection, you opt to turn left instead of right. Three minutes later, you’re pulling up to your favorite coffee shop in the city, snagging one of the few remaining parking spaces on the street and braving the chill one more time as you head for the brightly painted front door beneath the cheery sign that reads, Bean There, Done That!. 

The smell of warm cinnamon and vanilla washes over you as soon as you step inside the coffee shop. There’s a relatively short line, and you pull out your phone as you join it, scrolling through news articles and notifications until you reach the counter. “Good morning, Bonnie,” you greet the middle-aged woman working the cash register, before waving at the man who’s already brewing a fresh espresso in the corner. “Morning, Jin.”

“Hiya, {Name},” Jin replies. As the owner of the shop and a dear friend of yours, he knows your usual order like the back of his hand. “Got your coffee going right now.”

Bonnie smiles at you, nodding as Jin plops your finished drink down and joins her at the counter. “Morning, hun. You’re too late again, I’m afraid. Can I get you something else?”

You glance over at the glass display case where all the baked goods are housed, disappointment sinking into your stomach when you see the empty row in the bagel section. “No cinnamon streusel? Again?”

“Some guy beat you to the last one,” Jin answers as Bonnie rings up your coffee and slides it across the counter into your waiting hands. “Same one as last week, actually. He comes here pretty regularly.”

Your eyes narrow. “You mean the same jerk has taken my bagel three times now? How is it that I haven’t run into him yet?”

“I dunno—dude’s an early riser, I guess. You missed him by about ten minutes this time, but sometimes he’s in here even earlier than that.” Jin shrugs and jabs a thumb toward the back where you can just barely see the kitchen through a small window. “We’ve got more bagels going right now though, if you can wait five minutes.”

The time on your phone’s screen tells you that you cannot. “Sorry,” you tell him. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for school.” Turning, you nod at Bonnie and drop a few bills into the tip jar. “See you both tomorrow.”

“Wait!” Jin pats down his apron pockets and fishes out a crumpled napkin from within. “I almost forgot. The guy—he left a note.”

“He left… what?” You frown. “Why?”

Awkwardly, Jin clears his throat. “I, uh, may have let it slip that he kept beating you to the last cinnamon streusel bagel on Friday. And then he asked if he could leave you a note, so….” Uncrumpling the napkin, he extends it toward you. “Here.”

You can’t help it—curiosity roots in your belly and winds its way to your fingers as you carefully accept the note and smooth it out on the countertop.

Better luck next time ;)

“That prick.”

Jin winces. “Yeah, I know. I mean, he does always leave a twenty in the tip jar, but yeah, totally. I’m with you. Guy’s a wang.”

You’re barely listening. Scowling, you fumble for the pen in your purse, taking the napkin that Bonnie wordlessly hands you and scribbling out your own note so fiercely you nearly rip through the papery material.

Game on, mister.

///

The rest of the week seems to drag by, until Friday arrives at long last and shepherds with it stormy gray clouds on the horizon. You’re already feeling rather grumpy—no doubt thanks in part to the collection of snarky napkin notes you’ve accumulated over the past few days—and the sun’s absence only serves to exacerbate your foul mood. Even worse, you had an unfortunate run-in with one Mr. Jungkook Jeon yesterday, meeting with him in the principal’s office following an incident where Daeun took and hid Trixie’s favorite holographic scrunchie. Thankfully, it was recovered quickly, but even now the mere thought of Jungkook Jeon’s stupid, condescending face is enough to tank your mood. Scowling, you lock your car and head in the direction of Bean There, Done That!, carefully eyeing every person who exits in an effort to discern whether they might have purchased a cinnamon streusel bagel and hoping that none of them have snagged the last.

You’re running a full forty-five minutes early today—all in an attempt to beat the damned bagel thief. Half an hour hadn’t been enough—you found that out the hard way yesterday, when Bonnie had greeted you with an apologetic smile and Jin had wordlessly doubled the usual shot of espresso in your coffee without charge. Looking back, your initial attempts to be a mere fifteen minutes earlier were feeble at worst and laughable at best. But today, you think, today will be different. 

The bell over the door jingles pleasantly when you step inside the coffee shop, and you immediately deflate when Jin catches your eye and shakes his head. He’s there to greet you when you finally reach the front of the line, and you sigh as you accept the folded napkin he hands over. “He beat me? Again? Does this guy not sleep?”

“He was super early today,” Jin replies with a shrug. Groaning, you unfold the note and smooth it out on the counter, sucking in a breath when you read the words scrawled there. 

What’s that saying again? Something about the early bird always getting the worm? ;)

“That fucking asshole,” you grit out. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“Testy,” Jin says, clicking his tongue. “What’s got your panties in a bunch today?”

You sigh. “School stuff, mostly. I had to meet with the father of one of my students yesterday, and he’s a real piece of work. And then I was up late grading homework.”

“You could always assign less,” Jin offers up unhelpfully, which earns him a snort and an eye-roll from you. Relenting, he instead begins pouring your coffee, chattering on as the hot liquid splashes into your cup. “So, about this guy’s impending doom. How exactly do you plan on murdering a man when you don’t even know what he looks like?”

“Stop being logical,” you groan, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Just then, the coffee shop door flies open, letting in a gust of chilly wind. You turn to see Bonnie bustling inside, wearing a bright pink woolen hat and ushering along her eleven-year old son, Caleb. “Hi, hun,” she greets you, her nose scrunching when she sees your frown. “I take it you still haven’t found your mystery bagel man?”

You heave a sigh, shaking your head. “I don’t think I can get DNA off of his notes, so no. I have no idea who this guy is, which means I have no way of tracking him down and giving him a piece of my mind.”

Bonnie tuts sympathetically and pats your arm. “Sorry, hun.” Giving your elbow an affectionate squeeze, she slips past the counter and into the back room to grab her paycheck. Jin finishes up with your drink, and you thank him as you take a long sip. Then you turn to Bonnie’s son, who’s taken a seat in a nearby booth and is doodling on a piece of scrap paper. 

“Hey, Caleb. How’s it going?”

The boy, normally quite talkative, just shrugs. Taken aback, you decide not to press the issue and instead turn back to Jin, who’s wiping down the espresso machine and whistling something that sounds vaguely like “Never Gonna Give You Up” under his breath. Bonnie returns then, and you give her a quizzical glance as she pours herself a to-go cup of coffee and adds two generous pumps of caramel syrup. Is something up with Caleb? you mouth, and watch as confusion flits across her face before realization dawns.

“Don’t worry about him,” she whispers, approaching you so you can hear. “He’s just a little bummed from yesterday. Misspelled ‘serendipity’ in the school spelling bee, and it cost him the win in the end.”

You wince. “Ouch. That hurts.”

“Yeah, that sucks real hard,” Jin chimes in from his spot at the espresso machine. “Little guy didn’t even try to steal a cookie from the display like he normally does.”

Bonnie chuckles. “I’ll grab a couple to-go, then—a double chocolate and a snickerdoodle, if you please. But then we’ve really got to head out. School starts in twenty.”

At the reminder, you pull out your phone and glance at the time. “Yeah, I need to leave soon too. Give my best to Caleb, okay? There’s always next year’s spelling bee.” Turning to Jin, you hand over your credit card to pay for the coffee before grabbing a pen and a napkin. It takes you a few seconds to figure out what you want to write, and then another few to scrawl out the note:

Don’t forget, the tortoise always beats the hare in the end.

Straightening up, you hand the napkin over to Jin, who accepts it wordlessly and tucks it into his pocket. And once he’s handed your card back to you, you wave goodbye to both Jin and Bonnie before heading out.

It’s typically a five-minute drive to Hybe Academy from the coffee shop, but this morning, it takes you almost ten. Every red light in the city has seemingly teamed up in order to make you late, and you make it through the door of your classroom with mere minutes to spare. Thankfully, the first bell hasn’t rung yet, and to your surprise, Taehyung is still lounging in your desk chair when you enter the room. The two of you have a longstanding tradition of having breakfast together in the mornings—even if breakfast just turns out to be two extra-large cups of coffee with anywhere between zero and four shots of espresso added in. Taehyung occasionally brings in some of his kitchen experiments as well, and you’ve had to politely decline his offer to share on more than one occasion. 

“Hey, there you are!” Taehyung grins and props his feet up onto your desk, crossing one leg over the other. “I was just about to leave.”

“Really? It looks like you’ve made yourself pretty comfortable,” you reply, dropping your bag onto the floor and collapsing into the chair he’s pulled up beside him. “Must be nice, not having to worry about being on time for first period.”

Taehyung nestles deeper into the back of your chair and lets his eyes drift shut. “Sure is.”

You snort and take a sip of your coffee. “Jerk.”

“I’m rubber, you’re glue,” he replies without missing a beat, his eyes remaining staunchly shut.

Shaking your head, you instead direct your attention to the tupperware container that’s sitting on the desk in front of your friend. You can see what looks like some kind of pastry inside, and prod curiously at it before poking Taehyung in the shoulder. “So, what’s this? Don’t tell me you tried to make croque monsieurs again.”

“Excuse you, those weren’t even that bad,” he defends, his eyes flying open. “And no, I didn’t. I made quiche this time.”

“Right,” you say suspiciously. “And what’s in it?”

“Bacon, cheese, onions,” Taehyung lists with a shrug. “Oh, and a few baby carrots I had on hand. I didn’t really know what else to do with them.”

It’s far from the strangest combination your friend has come up with—a sentiment you voice aloud as you pry open the edge of the container and accept the fork he hands over. “This feels shockingly normal.” Cautiously, you dig into an edge and bring it to eye level so you can examine the filling. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

“I’m going to start force feeding you if you don’t stop teasing,” Taehyung threatens, grabbing a fork for himself and helping himself to a generous bite. “Seriously, give it a try—I promise it’s good. I didn’t even drop any eggshells in it this time.”

Laughing, you bring the quiche to your mouth. The pastry is flaky and the filling is smooth, and you’re pleasantly surprised by the harmonious balance of seasonings that you taste. Taehyung watches in satisfaction as you go in for a bigger piece, and pushes the tupperware closer when you nearly drop it. 

“Told you it was good,” he says smugly, and you can only nod your agreement and raise your coffee in silent commendation. 

The two of you eat in silence for a few moments—until you remember the napkin shoved in your pocket and pull it out with a grimace. You’ve ranted to Taehyung about your new nemesis on more than one occasion by this point, and he doesn’t even blink as he flattens out the material and scans the words scrawled there. “I’ve gotta say, the guy’s got good handwriting,” he remarks, and you immediately fix him with a scowl. 

“Really? You’ve got to say that?”

Taehyung holds up his hands innocently. “Just an observation,” he says. “How many of these notes do you even have now? Three?”

“Five,” you grumble. “And I’m still no closer to figuring out who he is. I don’t suppose you have access to a police database or anything, right? Some way to match this guy’s handwriting?”

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work like that,” is Taehyung’s blasé reply. “Besides, it’s not like you’re going to do anything, even if you do figure out who he is. You’ll just keep stewing until something else comes along, so why even bother with the manhunt in the first place?”

You sniff. “I’m raising Trixie to be a strong, determined woman who can accomplish anything she sets her mind to. What kind of example would I be setting if I can’t do this one thing?”

Taehyung doesn’t even bother trying to disguise his snort of laughter. “You’re so full of shit. Jesus Christ.”

The bell rings, then—signaling that students have five minutes to make their way to their classrooms. You sigh, and Taehyung wordlessly stands up and begins gathering his tupperware back into his bag, tucking the cutlery in last and grabbing his remaining coffee as he turns toward the door. 

“Catch you later,” he says at the threshold, and you wave him off before brushing a few stray crumbs off your desk. Finishing off the last of your coffee, you pull your planner from your bag and absentmindedly shove the napkin note in its place—putting away any and all thoughts of your bagel nemesis as students slowly begin filtering into your classroom. Trixie briefly catches your eye as she files in with a couple of her friends, and you smile as you rise from your seat and begin outlining the day’s lesson plan on the chalkboard. 

There’s no doubt that Fridays are your favorite. Friday afternoons at Hybe Academy are dedicated to the arts, and listening to the soft strains of music coming from the orchestra room and the various solo instruments taking lessons brings you boundless joy. You love seeing the new paintings on the walls the following Monday too, and often stay a while after school lets out on Friday to hang up the pieces produced by your own class. 

But this particular Friday—it isn’t going as planned at all.

You’re beginning to think that this morning’s strike from your bagel thief was an omen. Up until two hours ago, it’s just been the usual inconveniences and minor drawbacks—a misplaced pencil here, or a spilled bit of juice there. But now, halfway through the schoolday, you feel like you’re drowning. Your stomach is growling and your hair is in disarray, and it’s all thanks to the fact that you currently have twice the amount of students you normally do occupying your classroom—all of whom are seemingly intent on covering every available surface with splatters of paint. 

You can’t blame Miss Kumar, of course. Family emergencies are just that—emergencies. They can’t be predicted or controlled, and when she was called at lunchtime with unexpected news, you understood that she had to leave immediately. In an unfortunate turn of events, none of the Academy’s usual substitute teachers were available, and you soon found yourself haplessly watching on as her first-graders filed into your room with chairs in tow, taking up residence two to a desk alongside your own students. 

And even though you’re doing your absolute best to maintain some semblance of order, you know you’ve lost when one of Miss Kumar’s students—Nicholas, you think his name is—upends a little plastic canister of paint onto his desk and splats both hands into it. Blue paint goes flying in every direction, and as he giggles, the other children quickly begin to follow his lead. 

“Guys, no, wait—” you try to say, but it’s too late. A fully fledged paint fight has broken out, and you watch in horror as Daeun flings a dollop of yellow paint straight onto Trixie’s Hercules shirt. 

If there’s a bright spot in all of this, it’s that Principal Pam Baker works fast. You’d called her mere minutes into the fight breaking out, and she’d done her part by calling the parents of the students you’d named as instigators of the fight. Those who could came in right away, and once you managed to settle everyone down, you brought their kids down to Pam’s office so that she could have a group meeting with both the parents and students alike. The remaining children you took to the library to be watched by Taehyung while you cleaned up your classroom. It’s an absolute disaster zone, and you’ve only just begun spraying down the first desk when the door flies open.

“Most of the children are at the library,” you say without turning around, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn bit of red paint on the corner of the desk with a wet wipe. “If you’re looking for your child, you’d best head over there.”

“Actually, I’m here to speak to you,” a familiar voice says, and dread pools in your stomach as you turn and find yourself face-to-face with none other than Jungkook Jeon, his dark eyes unreadable. On his wrist, just barely concealed beneath the sleeve of his charcoal overcoat, you can see his expensive silver watch glinting in the fluorescent light.

“Mr. Jeon,” you manage once you’ve found your voice again. “How can I help you?”

For a few long seconds, Jungkook remains silent. He steps over the threshold and into your classroom, taking in the paint-splattered walls and the chairs scattered haphazardly about. Then his gaze settles on you, his nose wrinkling slightly as he speaks again. 

“It smells in here.”

“It’s the paint,” you answer shortly, stepping over an upended cup of brushes and making your way to the window. Fumbling with the lock, you struggle for a few seconds before finally managing to heave it open, letting in a welcome gust of cool wintry air. 

Jungkook watches all of this in silence. Then he hums, faint amusement lacing his voice. “I see that.”

Irritation blooms in your belly at his blasé tone. “What did you want to talk about, Mr. Jeon? If you’re looking for Daeun, I’m afraid she’s down the hall in Principal Baker’s office.”

“I’m well aware of that.” Jungkook takes a step forward, the heels of his sleek black oxfords clicking against the tiled floor. “This is the second time you’ve lost control of your classroom, I believe. And tell me, Miss {L/N}, why has my daughter been sent to the principal’s office two days in a row, now?”

You glance up from where you’ve begun wiping at a spot of hot pink paint on the windowsill. “With all due respect, Mr. Jeon, I think that’s a question that only Daeun can answer.”

“Daeun.” There’s outright laughter in Jungkook’s voice now—but it’s the humorless sort that makes the hairs on your neck stand on end. “Right, of course. The blame is always on my daughter, isn’t it? Never any of the others. Never your own.”

For a moment, you can only stare at him. Then, without even fully realizing what you’re doing, you begin walking forward. First one step, and then another—until the tips of your sensible block heels are mere inches from the tips of his oxfords. Emotion is building steadily in your chest—a cocktail of exhaustion and anger topped off with the day’s frustrations—and all of it comes flooding out as you raise your chin and look Jungkook Jeon square in the eye. 

“Unlike you, I saw what happened today, Mr. Jeon. Several students were responsible for instigating and perpetuating this fight, and unfortunately, Daeun was one of them. I don’t appreciate you implying that I favor any of my students over others, and I certainly don’t appreciate you questioning my ability as a teacher.” Your chest heaves as you pause to take a breath. “I am a professional, Mr. Jeon. Maybe you don’t think so, but I am. I’ve been teaching for nearly a decade, and I’ve spent almost every day with these children for the past year. You don’t get to come in here and disrespect me in my own classroom. I don’t care how much money you give to this school. I’m not beholden to you or your money, and I’ll thank you to not come in here with unnecessary attitude and finger-pointing.”

Your blood is rushing in your ears by the time your speech comes to an end. Jungkook is silent, staring down his nose at you for three long seconds before he deliberately raises a dark eyebrow. “Are you finished?” he asks. 

You shiver as his hot breath fans against your cheeks. “No.” And then, in a surge of stupid, adrenaline-fueled bravery, you add, “I kind of want to cuss you out, to be honest.”

The other eyebrow rises to join the first, as a huff of wry laughter escapes his lips. “Oh?”

You deflate slightly, your bottom lip finding its way between your teeth. It shouldn’t be so easy for a parent to get a rise out of you, but Jungkook seems to do it so easily—and so often. “I’m not going to,” you murmur. 

“No?” Jungkook’s gaze darts down to your lips, then up to your eyes, and then down to your lips again. “That’s rather disappointing.”

Unwittingly, you’ve drifted even closer to him since you first started talking. You can see each fleck of amber in his irises, and could probably count each of his individual eyelashes if you so cared. This close to him, you can see that one of his eyebrows is pierced—his dark hair brushed back just enough to reveal the silvery metal embedded in his skin. You don’t pull away though, and neither does he. If anything, he seems to be willing you closer—his lips parting and his tongue darting out to moisten them.

And then he blinks, and you pull back as if burned. “If… if that’s all, I should really get back to cleaning up,” you stammer, hating the wobble in your voice as you return to your desk and grab a fresh wet wipe. “Principal Baker’s office is down the hall on the left.”

“I remember. I was there yesterday, after all.” The faint amusement has returned to his tone. Straightening his tie, he begins making his way to the exit, only to pause in the doorframe and glance at you once more over his shoulder. “Oh, and Miss {L/N}?”

You look up. “Yes?”

“You should really look in a mirror. It looks like a Smurf exploded on your face.” 

///

Saturday brings with it clear blue skies and a sweet, sweet reprieve from the chaos of the week. You’d promised Trixie that you would make ratatouille together over the weekend—just like in the movie—and now you’re making good on that promise as you push a shopping cart around the grocery store with your daughter skipping happily by your side. “Ooh! We need these, right?” she exclaims, pointing at a display of zucchini, and you nod, watching as she carefully selects two and plunks them into the cart. 

Together, the two of you finish up in the produce section and head for the aisles that house all the baking goods. Trixie peruses the shelves as you stock up on the essentials—flour, sugar, and a couple boxes of baking soda. Then you grab a package of chocolate chips, laughing when Trixie immediately perks up at the sound of the bag crinkling and whirls around to look at you with wide, eager eyes. 

 “Can we do chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies?” she asks, clasping her hands in front of her chest. 

“I think you’re pushing your luck, young lady,” you tell her, but relent when she selflessly offers to bring the extras to class on Monday to share. 

Ten minutes later, you’re heading toward the checkout line when you suddenly realize that you’ve forgotten something. “Tomatoes,” you say aloud, glancing down at Trixie apologetically. “Totally slipped my mind. Let’s go grab some, bug.”

Trixie sighs dramatically, but turns toward the produce section nonetheless. Faster than you can blink, she trots off, leaving you to trail after her with the shopping cart. Maneuvering around a particularly tall display of onions, you pull out your phone to check the grocery list one more time—only to be interrupted by the metallic clang of your shopping cart hitting another. Immediately, you open your mouth to apologize, but stop short when your eyes meet the owner of the other cart.

“O-oh,” you stammer, your head spinning as you try to recover your full vocabulary. “Mr. Jeon. I… I didn’t see you there.”

Jungkook chuckles. “That much I gathered.” Then he nods toward Trixie, who you can just barely see two aisles and a crate of watermelons away. “Doing some shopping, Miss {L/N}?”

You don’t respond. Your brain is in overdrive, struggling to reconcile the Jungkook standing in front of you with the one you’d seen just yesterday in your paint-splattered classroom. His dark hair isn’t parted neatly across his forehead for once—instead, it falls in soft waves around his face. Rather reluctantly, your brain acknowledges that he looks good—irritatingly so. You’ve never seen him in casual clothes before—only neatly pressed suits that cost more than your entire paycheck—and the change is jarring to say the least. His purple sweatshirt is baggy and his black joggers are just tight enough to show off the definition of his thighs, and—

—hang on, is he wearing Birkenstocks?

Trixie, thankfully, comes to the rescue as you gape at Jungkook’s feet for several seconds too long. “Is this enough?” she asks, lugging a plastic bag bulging with at least a dozen heirloom tomatoes. Still a little shellshocked, you look down at her, blinking dumbly before bursting into laughter.

“That’s plenty, bug. In fact, we probably need to put some back, unless you want tomatoes in your cookies too.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Trixie says thoughtfully, pursing her lips. “Or we can make marinara and have spaghetti and meatballs tomorrow!”

Jungkook chooses that moment to huff out a laugh of his own. “Spaghetti and meatballs, huh? Great minds must think alike—Daeun suggested the exact same thing for our dinner tonight. Only thing is, we’re apparently making everything by hand, even the spaghetti. And we’ve never made pasta before, so…” He chuckles. “You can imagine how well that’ll probably go.”

You glance around the nearest visible aisles. “Daeun’s a proper little chef, I see. Is she here with you?”

The dark-haired man gestures toward the back of the grocery store. “I tasked her with grabbing some milk and eggs while I get the onions. She won’t go near them until they’re cooked, so I figured this would be most efficient.”

You grin. “Divide and conquer, huh?”

“Exactly,” Jungkook answers with a surprisingly boyish smile. You note with amusement that his front teeth are more prominent than the rest, just enough to give him the resemblance of a rabbit. Rather unfairly, it somehow manages to work in his favor when put together with the rest of him. Your cheeks warm when you register again just how handsome he truly is, and you quickly suck in a deep breath as you search around for a distraction.

You’re in luck. Daeun rounds the corner of a nearby display of cantaloupes with a wide grin, a gallon jug of milk and a carton of eggs in either hand. Her grin widens when she spots you, and you chuckle as she tries and fails to raise her jug-bearing hand to wave.

“Hi, Miss {L/N}!” she exclaims as she comes to a stop alongside Jungkook’s cart and deposits her goods inside. “What’re you doing here?”

“Dae,” Jungkook chides gently, but you laugh and wave him off.

“Hi, Daeun. I’m doing some shopping with Trixie, just like you are with your dad. Speaking of which—you probably have a lot of cooking to get to.” You return your attention to Jungkook. “I mean, I know we do. Somehow, I was talked into making two types of cookies this weekend, so we should really head out and get started.”

“Wait—hang on a second.” Jungkook speaks again, and maybe it’s your imagination but you think you hear a tinge of desperation in his tone. “I’m actually glad we ran into you today. We were going to do this on Monday but since you’re both here, Daeun has something she’d like to say to Trixie. Isn’t that right, Dae?”

Daeun’s gaze drops to where she’s scuffing her sneakered feet against the tiled linoleum floor. Jungkook reaches down, giving her an encouraging nudge, and she hesitates for a second before looking back up and glancing between you and Trixie. “I’m sorry,” she begins shyly. “I shouldn’t’ve thrown paint at you. Or taken your book.” And when Jungkook nudges her again and lifts an eyebrow, she continues again. “And… I’m sorry for laughing when you fell down on the playground. It wasn’t funny, and I wasn’t being nice. I’m really sorry, Trixie.”

There’s a beat of silence, as Daeun falls silent and looks at your daughter hopefully. You glance between the two girls, then up at Jungkook, who still has a hand on Daeun’s shoulder and seems to be holding his breath. Trixie, for her part, looks to be deep in thought, her face scrunched in contemplation as she taps a finger against her lips. Vaguely, you wonder if you should say something, but decide against it.

And then Trixie beams, toothy and bright. Daeun’s answering smile is still tentative, but it transforms into full-blown giggles when your daughter rushes forward and clasps one of her hands in both of her own. “I forgive you,” she says shortly, giving her hand a shake like a little businesswoman. You and Jungkook watch on as the two girls proceed to skip off, hand-in-hand and singing “Baby Shark”. 

“Wow,” you remark, turning back to Jungkook. “I have to admit, I’m a little surprised. What brought that on?”

Jungkook begins to look rather sheepish, scratching at the back of his neck. “I actually have a bit of a confession to make. Not to mention, I owe you a huge apology. I talked to Dae last night, and… well, you were right. She wasn’t acting out for no reason. She… she was actually jealous of Trixie."

You frown. "What?"

He nods. "Yeah. See, I got promoted at my job a while ago. Right after the holidays, I had to start working longer hours, which of course meant less time at home with her. And I guess all of that took its toll, especially since I had to stop taking her to school every morning.” He sighs. “She didn’t adjust very well to that. I tried my best to make things work, but there’s only so much I can do, you know? Eventually I had to set up a morning carpool with some of the neighbors. And I tried to ease the transition as much as I could, but…” He trails off with another sigh. “Guess I did kind of a shit job there.” 

Your mind is reeling at all of this new information, but you manage to find your voice again after a few moments. “You did your best,” you tell him, resisting the sudden urge to reach out and touch his arm. “And you’re still trying. That’s all that matters, you know. You’re trying to make things better. Daeun can sense that, and believe me, it’s paying off.”

Jungkook chuckles. “I think you’re giving me too much credit, but thank you. I’m just glad that Dae has a good school and good teachers. Actually, you’ve always been her favorite, did you know that?”

You didn’t. “Really?”

“Really.” 

You aren’t sure what to say after that, so you opt to look around instead. At some point—you aren’t sure when—the two of you must’ve started walking around the grocery store again because all around you are shelves full of bread and baked goods. Mindlessly, you grab a bag of everything bagels and smile when Jungkook follows your lead and drops a bag into his own cart.

A few minutes of meandering later, you find Trixie and Daeun together in the snack aisle, deep in discussion about their favorite candies. The conversation winds down as you and Jungkook approach, and you decide not to comment when Trixie not-so-surreptitiously slips a package of chocolate caramels into your shopping cart.

“We should probably get going,” you say instead, pulling out your phone and glancing at the time. “Gosh, there really aren’t enough hours in the day. You ready, bug?”

“Yep!” Trixie replies cheerily, turning to wave goodbye to Daeun and Jungkook. “Bye, Daeun! Bye, Mr. Jeon!”

“See you Monday, Trixie! You too, Miss {L/N}!” Daeun exclaims. And as you and Jungkook exchange smiles and farewells of your own, you feel lighter than you’ve felt in days, as if an invisible weight has lifted.

///

Like clockwork, Monday morning finds you at the counter of Bean There, Done That! with an apologetic Jin offering you your usual coffee in a size larger than the one you’d paid for. “Again?” you exclaim as you accept the cup and take a generous sip. “I can’t believe this. You opened like, twenty minutes ago.”

The corner of Jin’s mouth twitches. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he produces a full tray of cinnamon streusel bagels from somewhere beneath the counter, picking out the best-looking one before sliding the tray into its spot in the display. “I just wanted to see the look on your face,” he admits as he slips the bagel into a paper bag and hands it over. “These are fresh—still pretty warm, in fact. Surprised you didn’t smell them when you came in.”

“I did smell them,” you tell him, wagging a finger. “But the blueberry bagels are always kind of overpowering and this whole place tends to smell like vanilla anyway, so excuse me for taking you for your word when you said you were out.”

“You know, a simple ‘thank you’ would’ve sufficed,” Jin sniffs. Then he gestures to the stack of napkins next to the cash register and waggles his eyebrows. “Care to leave a snarky note of your own?”

A slow grin spreads across your face as you start fishing in your purse for a pen. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

///

The rest of the day goes smoothly, and you’re pretty sure it’s all thanks to the cinnamon streusel bagel you’d had the time to truly savor this morning. You’d even bought an extra for Taehyung, who for his part contributed a tupperware full of bacon strips and a pitcher of mixed berry smoothie to your breakfast. For lunch you’d made sure to eat a healthy dose of vegetables, and as you head into the final period of the day, you feel more than ready to give a room full of children their next big assignment.

“All right, class,” you say as your students filter into the classroom and start taking their seats. “We’ve been learning about the animal kingdom for the last few weeks, and it’s finally time to put everything we’ve learned so far together. I’m going to go around and hand each of you a card. Take a look at it—you’ll either see a picture of an animal, or the name of an animal.” Grabbing the stack of cards off your desk, you begin distributing them, slowly making your way up and down the rows of desks. “Then, I want you to get up out of your seats and find the card that matches yours. If there’s a picture of a zebra on your card, you want to find the person with ‘zebra’ written on their card. And that person will be your partner for this project. Does that make sense to everyone?”

Nods and exclamations of affirmation all around. Satisfied, you hand out the last of your cards and return to your desk, gesturing for your students to stand up and find their partners. You watch as the children mill around, exclaiming happily when they find their match. Much to your satisfaction, you see that Daisy—a little girl who always has her blond hair corralled into a neat braid—and Josiah—a well-mannered boy with a different-colored polo for each day of the week—just so happen to be partners. You hadn’t planned it that way, but you’ve always gotten the feeling that there was a hint of a little crush there.

Another pleasant surprise comes in the form of Daeun, who’s plopped herself in the seat beside Trixie and is animatedly gesturing at her card. Even from your spot in the front of the classroom, you can read the big block letters that spell out “penguin” and see the corresponding line drawing on Trixie’s card. And as the girls begin to chat, it’s as if the issues of the last few months hadn’t happened at all.

Your class spends the last few hours of the school day in the library, working on their newly assigned project. You’ve set up shop at the table nearest Taehyung’s desk, which you’ve always kind of envied. Perfectly round and situated in the center of the room, it allows for a 360-degree view of the entire library if he so much as spins in his chair. “Honestly, I could get so much done if I had one of these,” you lament to him as you watch Josiah sharpen Daisy’s pencil for her out of the corner of your eye. “I’d set up the best frickin’ assembly line you ever saw.”

“You sound like a workaholic,” Taehyung replies, doing yet another lazy revolution in his seat. “Or a lunatic. Same thing, really.” 

Resisting the urge to stick your tongue out at him, you settle for rolling your eyes instead. The final bell of the day rings, and you shepherd your students out of the library with your friend on your heels. As the children disperse to their lockers, you trail after Trixie and Daeun, waiting for the two to say their goodbyes so you and your daughter can walk to the car together. It’s still odd seeing the two getting along so well, but you aren’t about to question it as you and Taehyung follow the girls to their lockers—which happen to be in the same section of the hallway—and then out and into the bright afternoon sun. Smiling, you listen to them chattering excitedly about the project even as Taehyung launches into a tirade about his latest rent increase.

“Seriously, I should just move at this point—it’s fucking ridiculous. I don’t even use the conference center, and the indoor pool is just a waste of space when there’s a public one that’s twice the size three blocks away. And that one even has a hot tub! Not to mention—”

You sigh, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Jeez, Tae, just move. You’ve been threatening to for over a year now, and it’s not like anyone’s forcing you to stay. You don’t even like the neighborhood, for god’s sake. I don’t know why you stuck around for that long.”

Taehyung sniffs. “Moving’s just such a hassle, you know? I really wanted to avoid it, but I guess I can’t this time around. A 22% rent increase… fucking hell. You’ll help me pack, won’t you?”

“I’d rather not.”

“But you’re so good at packing! And you have all that bubble wrap and the box of styrofoam peanuts hoarded in your closet—”

“Stored in my closet.”

“Whatever,” he says dismissively, waving you off. “I’m not here to debate semantics with you.”

“No, you’re here to guilt me into helping you move,” you reply. “What’s up with that, anyway? I thought you swore off of renting U-Hauls for good after last time. You were googling moving companies and getting quotes for weeks.”

“Yeah, I definitely lost that spreadsheet,” Taehyung admits. “Besides, money’s a little tight right now. Every last bit of spare change we have is going toward Jimin’s new pilates studio. We’re saving wherever and whenever  we can.”

You nod in understanding at the mention of his fiancé and his new business venture. “How’s all that going, anyhow? I know Jimin’s been super busy—we haven’t been to bar trivia in weeks.”

“Yeah, it’s a whole thing,” Taehyung says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Starting a business is hard—who knew?”

“Who knew, indeed,” you echo. You’re about to say something else, too, but any semblance of coherence flies out of your head when you glance at the girls again and see that they’ve come to a stop. There’s a sleek black Mercedes-Benz idling at the curb, and leaning against it is none other than Jungkook Jeon—dressed in a sharp navy blue ensemble with his hair slicked back and dark sunglasses perched on his nose. It’s impossible to tell whether he’s seen you yet, and it’s all you can do to tear your gaze away before you get caught staring. Turning back instead to Taehyung, you raise a hand in farewell. “Well, it looks like this is my stop.”

“Seems that way,” your friend hums, casting a curious glance at Trixie, who’s enthusiastically greeted Jungkook with a Hi again, Mr. Jeon! and is now giggling with Daeun about how they can see their reflections in his car. “See you tomorrow. Don’t get into too much trouble!”

You roll your eyes at the flagrant wink Taehyung sends your way, surreptitiously flipping him off from behind your tote bag. Then you make your way over to your daughter, who’s still engrossed in conversation. Coming to a stop behind her, you lay a hand on her shoulder, smiling as she looks up and flashes you a big grin. “All righty. You ready to go home, jitterbug?” you ask.

Trixie juts her bottom lip out into a pout. “Can I go to Daeun’s?”

You raise an eyebrow, glancing up at Jungkook, who’s now scrolling through his phone. Then you return your gaze to your daughter, taking in her eager, bright eyes. “I don’t know, bug. Have you asked Mr. Jeon if you can come over?”

Daeun pipes up then, her pigtails bobbing with every word. “He says it’s okay, Miss {L/N}! Since we have a project to work on and all. He even said we can order takeout for dinner!”

Again, you look at Jungkook. His expression is unreadable behind his sunglasses, but when he feels your gaze he glances up, tucking his phone back into his pocket and pushing his sunglasses up onto his head. “Dae’s right—I did promise the girls takeout. Sorry to catch you off guard with last-minute plans like this, Miss {L/N}. If you’d like, you’re welcome to join us as well.”

You blink. To say that the invitation has caught you off guard would be a massive understatement, and as your brain races to catch up, you suddenly realize that he’s willing to let you come to his home. You would be in his space—where he lives, eats, sleeps. The thought is simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating.

“I—I don’t want to impose,” you finally manage after what feels like an eternity. “I’m sure you’re busy, and I have a lot of homework to grade, and…” You trail off, hesitant, and Jungkook waits a beat before chiming in.

“No imposition at all,” he says, offering you a small smile. “Honest. I’ve spent two of the last three weekends hosting sleepovers for Daeun’s friends, and I’m not convinced I remember what adult company is like anymore.” Then his smile widens—just enough to offer a glimpse of his endearingly prominent front teeth and crinkle the corners of his eyes. “Remind me?”

You aren’t sure if you’re imagining the flirtatious edge in his tone, but you push the thought to the very back of your head and straighten the hem of your blouse before grasping for the phone tucked in your bag. “I… I suppose that would be all right,” you begin hesitantly as you pretend to check for new notifications. “You’re sure it won’t be any trouble?”

“None at all,” Jungkook reassures. “Here, I’ll give you my address for your GPS, but it might be easier if you just follow me. Where are you parked?”

You gesture toward the staff parking lot, which is usually separated from the main lot by a row of neatly manicured hydrangea bushes that bloom in bursts of pink and blue and purple during the spring and summer months. Right now, there are only a few sparse yellow daffodils, pushing up through the dirt and signaling that spring is not far off despite the lingering chill in the air. “I’m about three rows in. I can drive over and meet you here, if that works?”

Trixie chooses that moment to pipe up, instinctively raising her hand like she’s still in class. “Can I ride with Daeun and Mr. Jeon?”

You hesitate, glancing over at Jungkook, who shrugs as if to say fine by me. Turning your attention back to your daughter, you nod and reach down to adjust the glittery pink scrunchie in her hair. “Be good,” you order. “Don’t distract Mr. Jeon while he’s driving, okay?”

“Mmhmm,” Trixie hums, already turning toward the sleek black Benz and tugging on the door handle. “See you there, Mom!”

You wave, watching as the girls climb into the backseat before turning and making your way to your own car. Unlocking the door, you slide into the driver’s seat and take a deep breath. Then, you take another. And a few moments later, you take a third.

Even as you mentally play back the events of the afternoon, you still can’t wrap your head around how it came to this. Here you are, about to drive to Jungkook Jeon’s house. You’ve seen his address in your files, and you know from the street name that he lives downtown, in the part of the city that’s dominated by high-rise buildings and five-star hotels. It’s an area that you don’t visit often, having no reason to unless there’s a particular restaurant that you’re looking to try out—and have the money for. It feels odd inputting his address into your phone’s navigation app, but you do so nonetheless, watching as it calculates the optimal route. 

Steeling yourself, you start up the ignition and ease up on the brake. As you pull out of your parking space, you crane your head to see if Jungkook’s car is still where you’d last seen it, which it thankfully is. Slowly, you make your way over to where the Benz is idling, pulling up alongside him and giving him a little wave. Jungkook has donned his sunglasses again, but he lowers them when he sees you and nods in acknowledgment. Ready to go? he mouths, and you nod even though it’s a lie. You aren’t ready. You aren’t sure you ever will be. But Jungkook is already pulling ahead and out of the parking lot, and you’re forced to push aside your intrusive thoughts and follow. 

The first stretch of the drive is easy. Jungkook is a measured driver, and you can tell that he’s taking care to turn only when there’s enough room for both of your vehicles. The second stretch, however, proves far more difficult. Now that you’re downtown, there’s an abundance of one-way streets and pedestrians. Traffic lights sit on seemingly every corner, alternating between red, yellow, and green at random, as far as you can tell. You nearly lose Jungkook twice on particularly short green lights, and only narrowly avoid hitting an overeager dog dragging its hapless owner into the crosswalk before the walk sign has changed. 

The third time, it finally happens. Dismayed, you watch as Jungkook’s sleek black Benz cruises past a green light, just before it turns yellow for a split second and then flips to red. You’re forced to brake far faster than you’d prefer—way too fast to be safe, for sure—and watch as Jungkook disappears around the Starbucks on the next corner. Muttering out a quiet curse, you drum your fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as you wait for the light to change again. Thankfully, you’re only about two minutes from your destination. 

After what feels like an eternity, the light finally turns green. Releasing your foot on the brake, you take the turn that Jungkook had taken, glancing between your phone and the surrounding buildings to identify your destination. There’s a string of restaurants, a pharmacy, and a post office. You cruise past a dentist’s office and a few dry cleaners, and then your phone is directing you to turn right onto a street that boasts a long row of glass-fronted office buildings. 

Two blocks later, you’re pulling up to a tall, sleek chrome building. The first floor is occupied by a seafood restaurant and the second and third seem to be a gym, but as you crane your head upward you can see that the floors above that seem to be condominiums. Letting your head fall back against the headrest, you glance down at your phone one more time, confirming that this is indeed your destination. Then you take a long, deep breath before you begin following the little blue signs that claim to lead to a parking garage beneath the building.

To your relief, the garage itself isn’t difficult to find. You take a ticket from the machine as you descend down the concrete ramp, keeping an eye out for any open spots that are designated as guest parking. Seconds pass, and then minutes. Your heart flutters nervously in your chest as you descend deeper into the parking garage, seeking a break in the rows of cars that never comes. You’re seconds away from giving up and turning around, when finally, you see an open spot. It’s a little cramped and it’s right next to a concrete pillar that’s just a little too close for comfort, but you manage to squeeze into the space. Heaving a deep sigh of relief, you turn off the ignition and tuck your keys into your purse, taking a moment to gather yourself before exiting your car and locking it behind you.

That’s when you encounter your next obstacle: figuring out how, exactly, to get out of the parking garage. You can’t find a single sign to guide your way—only a locked dark green door that you assume is some kind of mechanical room. Groaning, you spin in a full circle, taking in your concrete surroundings. Maybe if you just start walking, you’ll find a sign that will point you to the elevators. You’d even consider taking the stairs at this point, no matter how many floors down you are (you’re pretty sure it’s seven or eight). 

Just then, your phone begins to buzz in your pocket. Pulling it out, you see Jungkook Jeon (Daeun’s Dad) emblazoned across the screen and immediately swipe to answer. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Jungkook says, obvious relief coloring his tone. “I’m sorry I lost you back there. Where are you now?”

“I’m in the parking garage below your building,” you reply, idly scuffing your foot along the concrete floor. “I’m parked pretty far down, and now I can’t seem to figure out how to get upstairs.”

Jungkook hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’ll admit the signage isn’t great down there. Let me see… can you see any doors?”

“Just this green one, but it’s locked.” Reaching out, you try the handle again to double-check. “Other than that, nothing.”

Another hum from the man on the other end of the line. “Okay, walk away from that door. Try and head toward the middle of the garage—that’s where the elevators are. There’s four of them, and they’re in this big concrete circle. Can you see them yet?”

“Maybe?” You can see a break in the rows of cars up ahead, and a rounded concrete wall in the distance. Speeding up, you make your way around the edge and blink as a bank of elevators comes into view. “Oh, wait—yeah! Huh. Weird. I didn’t expect the doors to be orange.”

Jungkook chuckles. “Each floor’s color-coordinated, yeah. Orange means you’re near the bottom, though. Didn’t you see the guest parking on the first floor?”

You blink. “No, I don’t think so. Did I miss something?”

That draws another chuckle from him. “Probably. There’s a row of spaces off to the right as soon as you enter the garage, but it can be pretty easy to miss if you don’t know to look for it. I should’ve given you a heads-up.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him as you enter the elevator and hit the button for the thirty-fourth floor. “I could’ve asked.”

Bidding him farewell and assuring that you’ll see him soon, you hang up and tuck your phone back into your pocket. The elevator ride is relatively short despite how high you’re going, and before you know it you find yourself standing in front of a navy blue door with a polished brass knocker. Raising your hand, you’re about to knock when the door flies open, revealing Daeun and Trixie standing there with identical grins.

“You’re finally here!” your daughter exclaims, bounding forward to take you by the hand and lead you inside. “Mr. Jeon said we had to wait for you to get here. He says he’s gonna give us a grand tour!”

“It’s really not as exciting as they’re making it sound.” Jungkook’s voice comes from around the corner, and the man himself steps into view a moment later. He’s taken off his jacket and removed his tie, leaving him in navy slacks and a crisp white shirt with the first few buttons undone. Your gaze lingers a little too long on this newly exposed sliver of chest, but you forcibly tear your gaze away when Trixie gives your hand a squeeze. 

“Come on, Mom! You can see everything from the window. It’s like you’re on top of a mountain!”

Laughing, you follow your daughter deeper into the apartment. She points to the closet off the foyer, where you obligingly hang up your coat next to her periwinkle one. Then she leads you to the far end of the foyer, where it opens into a wide hallway. On the other side of the hall is an archway that leads to a spacious kitchen with white cabinets and polished granite countertops. You take note of the bright yellow bar stools at the kitchen island, chuckling when Daeun loudly declares that she picked them out—and that Jungkook had caved to her despite wanting boring gray ones instead.

As you continue your tour, it becomes abundantly clear that Jungkook has caved to his daughter on multiple occasions. The furniture in the living area is neutral—shades of beige and dark wood that pair well with the polished floorboards and modern floor-to-ceiling windows. But scattered throughout the space are pops of color and quirkiness that you can confidently attribute to Daeun—having graded several of the art pieces that you now see hanging on the wall and adorning the sleek glass coffee table. There’s the lopsided clay vase painted with streaks of hot pink and specks of bright yellow, and there’s the papier-mâché snowman with his jaunty orange hat. You see more and more of Daeun’s influence everywhere you look—the watercolor butterfly paintings on the wall, and the red floral accent chair that you’re sure Jungkook didn’t pick out himself. 

“That’s Daddy’s room,” Daeun says, pointing to a nondescript white door beside the bookshelves that flank the flatscreen TV hanging on the wall. Then she points down the hall, past the kitchen where you can see a few more doors. “And that’s my room down there, next to Daddy’s office. Do you want to see?”

You nod. “I can’t wait. Lead the way.”

Cheerfully, Daeun gestures for you to follow after her as she skips toward the door at the very end of the hall. She opens it with a flourish, allowing all of you inside, and as soon as you step past the threshold you’re transported to a fantastical world. Daeun’s bedroom walls are painted to resemble an enchanted forest, complete with delicate fairy lights wrapped around the wooden four-poster bed. A white desk and an accompanying green chair sit in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, the pale pink curtains opened to let sunlight stream in. Along the sill is a collection of stuffed animals, ranging from a tiny butterfly to an elephant that you’re pretty sure is taller than Daeun herself. Opposite the bed is a gallery wall, composed of colorful floral prints and Daeun’s own art—a charming, eclectic mix of animal paintings and landscapes. It’s the kind of bedroom that you would’ve loved as a child, and your daughter is equally taken with it if her awed expression is anything to go by. 

“This is so cool!” Trixie runs to the window to peer out at the city below, before twirling in a circle to take in the art on the walls. “I can’t believe you live here. It’s like a magic forest!”

“It’s a beautiful room,” you remark, nodding your agreement. “And all of these drawings are amazing, Daeun. You’re a talented artist.”

Daeun flushes at the compliment, thanking you with a shy smile. Then she and Trixie are off again, speeding down the hallway to look at something else in the apartment. You and Jungkook trail after them slowly, until he opens another door off the hall to reveal his office. It’s smaller than Daeun’s bedroom and far more simplistic in its decor, but it’s a cozy and inviting space nonetheless. One wall is lined with mahogany bookshelves, and a polished wooden desk is pushed against the opposite. A plush burgundy armchair with a matching ottoman sits in the corner beside a tall potted plant, creating the perfect space for reading, and you can tell from the indentation in the seat cushion that it’s been well-loved over the years.

“I’ve definitely been bringing my work home too much lately,” Jungkook admits. “I’ve been cutting back though. Ever since Daeun’s behavioral problems…” He trails off. “Well, you know all about that already. And I do want to apologize for giving you a hard time. It’s just… I guess it’s not all that fun being told that you’re failing as a parent.”

“You’re not failing as a parent,” you reply, laying a hand on his arm before you can think to stop yourself. “You’re doing your best. It’s all we can do, isn’t it? Do everything we possibly can for our children?”

He nods, but he isn’t looking at you. He’s looking down at your hand on his arm, and you blanch inwardly as you quickly pull back and pretend to brush invisible dirt off your skirt. “We should go find the girls,” you murmur. And just like that, the tour is over. 

The two of you rejoin the girls in the kitchen, where they’ve begun assembling themselves a snack of peanut butter and crackers. Jungkook slices up an apple and a banana for them to share, and they barely take the time to thank him before disappearing into Daeun’s bedroom to work on their project. You and Jungkook find yourselves alone in the kitchen, and when the silence between you has stretched on for just long enough to be awkward, you decide to speak. “So. I guess I should probably grade some homework while I’m here.”

Jungkook blinks and shakes his head a little, as if coming out of a trance. “Right, of course. I’ve got a few things I need to wrap up myself. Please, make yourself comfortable. You’re free to work in the office, if you’d like.”

Immediately, you shake your head. “Oh, no. I don’t want to intrude.”

He nods, then gestures out toward the dining table, which sits in a little nook between the main living area and kitchen. “Well then, feel free to make use of the table. Or the kitchen island. Or even the couch, if you’d prefer.” He pauses. “Wait, where are my manners? I haven’t even offered you anything to drink! Did you want anything?” 

“Oh.” You hesitate. “I’m okay.”

Jungkook begins making his way to the refrigerator, regardless. “Seriously, it’s no trouble. I have coffee, tea, banana milk, and I think there’s probably a carton of apple juice in here too. What do you usually drink when you’re grading?”

“Tea,” you admit. “Any kind. I’m not picky.”

“Tea it is.” Jungkook sets about grabbing two mugs. “Go on, make yourself comfortable. I’ll bring it to you.”

For a moment, you wonder if you should ask if he needs help. But he’s already preoccupied with the kettle, his back to you, and you have to force yourself to look away from the way his broad shoulders taper into his slim waist. In an attempt to distract yourself from gawking, you walk back out to the dining table. Pulling out a chair, you settle your bag on the floor beside you and take a seat. And by the time Jungkook comes out of the kitchen with two steaming mugs of tea, you’re already halfway through grading the first math worksheet in your pile.

“Here you go.” Jungkook places a mug by your elbow, and you glance up at him with a grateful smile.

“Thanks.” “No problem.”

To your surprise, he takes his mug to the opposite side of the table and sets it down. Then he disappears into the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with his laptop in hand. You try not to stare as he sets up shop across from you, a loose lock of dark hair flopping across his forehead as he logs in and begins reading something, his dark eyes flitting across the screen. His piercing in his eyebrow glints in the sunlight streaming in through the nearby window.

Ripping your gaze away, you force yourself to focus on the homework you need to grade. And after a few minutes, you’re fully immersed, thumbing through sheet after sheet and writing down your notes.

Before you even realize it, two hours have passed. You only become aware of how late it’s getting when Jungkook shuts his laptop with a click, stretching his arms overhead and working a few kinks out of his neck. “It’s almost dinnertime,” he remarks, glancing out the window where the sun is steadily dropping closer to the horizon. “Did you have any thoughts about dinner? I can order some pizza or something.”

“Oh, I don’t think—” you begin to protest, but Daeun and Trixie choose that moment to dash in like mini tornadoes, whirling around the dining table. 

“We can still order takeout for dinner, right Daddy?” Daeun gazes up at Jungkook with pleading eyes, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “And Trixie and Miss {L/N} can stay if we do, right?”

Trixie looks at you, lower lip already beginning to jut out in a pout. “Please, Mom?”

Jungkook gives you a meaningful glance across the table, and you can only shrug and relent. “Yeah, all right. Since takeout was already promised, we can stay for dinner. But we’re going home after that, okay? It’s a school night.”

The girls burst into cheers. After a brief discussion on what kind of food to order, you all settle on Jungkook’s initial suggestion of pizza. As he puts in the order, you begin tidying up the dining table, clearing it of your graded homework. Daeun points out where the plates are kept, and together, you and the girls set the table for dinner. 

“Estimated delivery time is half an hour,” Jungkook says as he tucks his phone back into his pocket and joins you at the dining table. “What should we do while we wait?”

“Let’s play Candyland!” Daeun exclaims. 

Trixie gasps. “I love Candyland!”

And just like that, it’s settled. The four of you settle around the coffee table for the game—you and Jungkook making yourselves comfortable on the cream-colored sectional while the girls sprawl out on the shaggy rug on the floor. The pizza arrives just as Trixie reaches Candy Castle, and Jungkook goes to answer the door while she celebrates her victory. Then, the four of you sit down for dinner.

It’s strange, sitting in Jungkook’s undoubtedly expensive apartment and eating pizza. But even more strange is how okay it all feels—natural, even. You aren’t sure when you became so comfortable in his presence, but you aren’t about to question it. You’re grateful for the lack of awkwardness.

An hour later, the last slice of pizza is finished. You volunteer to do the dishes, and Jungkook clears the table while you take up residence at the sink. You’ve tasked Trixie with gathering up her things so you can depart after you’ve finished in the kitchen, and can hear her giggling off in the distance with Daeun. “Thanks for hosting us today,” you murmur to Jungkook.

He chuckles, waving off your gratitude. “It’s no problem, seriously. I had a good time.”

You smile at him before returning to the dishes. Just as you’re putting away the last plate, the girls run back into the kitchen—Trixie with her backpack in tow. 

“Can Daeun come to our house next time?” she asks, and you laugh.

“Sure, jitterbug. You’re welcome to come over whenever you’d like, Daeun.”

And with that, you and Trixie say your final goodbyes. You slip back into your shoes and grab your coats from the closet. Jungkook gives you directions for the easiest route out of the parking garage, and you thank him for what feels like the umpteenth time.

You’re barely listening to your daughter’s ramblings as you climb into the driver’s seat and turn on the ignition. All you can think about is Jungkook and this strange, newfound warmth that stirs in your belly whenever he seeps into your thoughts.

///

“You wiped that part of the counter already.”

Trixie’s voice barely registers in your mind, but the washcloth in your hand slows nonetheless. It’s a beautiful Saturday morning with hardly a cloud in the sky, and Jungkook and Daeun are due to arrive any minute. You’ve been cleaning for the past hour, and even though you know you’ve already gone through the kitchen, you can’t help yourself. This is the first time Jungkook will be seeing your humble abode, and you—ostensibly—want to impress.

“Bug, can you set the table?”

Trixie sighs dramatically, but complies nonetheless. Grabbing four plates, she places them down carefully before returning for four glasses. You join her at the table with a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice, straightening out one of the striped blue placemats as you set it down beside the vase of flowers that serves as a centerpiece. 

You’ve just started frying bacon when the doorbell rings. “Got it!” Trixie calls, darting to the door, and you listen as she enthusiastically greets your guests. A few seconds later, Jungkook rounds the corner with both girls, decked out in jeans and a gray cable-knit sweather and carrying a plain white cardboard box in his hands. 

Curiously, you tilt your head. “Mysterious box you’ve got there.”

He laughs. “Hello to you too.” Then he puts the box down and pops open the lid. “I brought my favorite bagels—I hope that’s okay. Didn’t want to show up empty-handed.”

You smile at him. “Of course it’s okay. I was just planning on making some toast, but bagels are way be…” You trail off as the bagels in question come into your view. 

Perfectly golden, with a dusting of cinnamon sugar and streusel crumbles on top. You’d recognize them anywhere. 

“{Name}?” Jungkook sounds concerned. “Are you all right?”

You blink and shake your head, mind still whirring. “Are these from that coffee shop downtown? Bean There, Done That?” 

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, have you been?”

You nod. “This… this might sound crazy and I might be way off base. But do you stop there every morning for a bagel?”

Jungkook blinks. Then he blinks again, his lips parting wordlessly. A beat passes, and then another. “Wait,” he finally manages, his voice a croak. “Hang on. Is it… I mean, it can’t be… can it?”

You reach into the drawer next to the stovetop and pull out a wad of pen-stained napkins. “Did you leave me these?”

For a few seconds, it seems like Jungkook can only gape at you. “Holy shit,” he finally breathes, before slapping a hand to his mouth with wide eyes and glancing around to make sure the girls aren’t within earshot. “I was leaving you notes this whole time?”

You can only laugh in disbelief. “You were the one taking my cinnamon streusel bagels?”

“Hey, I wouldn’t have taken them if you’d gotten there earlier,” he teases. Chuckling, he picks up a napkin note and uncrumples it, scanning across the text. “Damn. Small world, huh?”

“The smallest,” you agree, mind reeling from this new development. Still chuckling, Jungkook steps past you to get to the stove, and you belatedly remember that the bacon is still sizzling in the pan as he picks up your tongs and carefully flips each strip. 

“I kept your notes too,” he says after a moment. “I shoved both of them in my glovebox.”

You huff. “Both. Yeah, okay, you beat me to the last bagel way more than I beat you. You don’t have to rub it in, Jungkook.”

“Oh, come on.” He grins, toothy and bright, and you’re momentarily distracted by the endearing prominence of his teeth. “I think I have to rub it in a little.”

“Hmph. As long as it’s only a little,” you concede as you join him at the stove with another pan and begin scrambling eggs. Together, the two of you finish making breakfast, piling eggs onto one plate and bacon on another. You grab the bowl of fruit salad you’d prepared last night out of the fridge, and Jungkook grabs the box of bagels and calls for Daeun and Trixie to come eat. Then, he surprises you by sitting beside you, leaving the girls to sit next to each other on the opposite side of the table.

Breakfast is a relaxed affair—even if Taco keeps trying to jump up on the table to steal some bacon. You’ve eaten several meals with Jungkook and Daeun since that first dinner—usually at Jungkook’s apartment, but also once at the food court in your local natural history museum, where you took the girls to see the ocean exhibit’s penguin display. Since this is the final weekend before their group project is due on Monday, you’ve promised to take them to the zoo to see real, live penguins and complete the last of their research. Both girls already have their backpacks packed and ready to go, and you task Jungkook with checking to make sure they have all their notes while you clean up in the kitchen. 

Twenty minutes later, you’re on your way to the zoo. Jungkook has volunteered to drive, and you can’t help but gape a little as he unlocks his sleek black Mercedes-Benz and opens up the passenger door to reveal cream-colored leather seats and shiny silver hardware. “Wow,” you remark, catching his eye as he walks around to the driver’s side. “This is like the Batmobile or something.”

“Hardly,” he says with a laugh. “I wish I had rocket boosters and ejection seats. That’d be cool as hell.”

“Daddy!” Daeun gasps, scandalized. “That’s a bad word!”

Jungkook has the decency to look properly abashed. “I’ll put a dollar in the swear jar when we get home,” he promises before pretending to zip his mouth shut and throw away the key. Satisfied, Daeun clambers into the backseat with Trixie on her heels, and Jungkook shoots you a conspiratorial little wink as he takes his own seat and starts up the engine.

The drive to the zoo takes only about fifteen minutes. It’s already beginning to get crowded by the time you get there, but Jungkook still manages to find parking with little difficulty. Together, the two of you usher your daughters out of the car, reminding them not to run too far ahead when they immediately make a beeline for the entrance. 

After a short wait in line to buy tickets, you finally make your way past the lion statues flanking the front gate. The wide concrete pathway leads to an open plaza where people are milling about—some looking at the directory located at the far end while others rely on the colorful signpost in the center, reading through the various directional arrows before heading off to their destination. Along the edges of the plaza are a multitude of stalls—selling everything from footlong hot dogs to stuffed animals to cotton candy. There’s a couple of artists painting faces, too, and Daeun only has to give Jungkook one wide-eyed, pleading look before he caves and pulls out his wallet. Aghast, you try to protest, but he waves you off and sends them both off with some cash in hand. 

“Consider it payment for all the bagels I’ve deprived you of,” he says, and you relent with a laugh.

Slowly, the two of you make your way around the plaza, making sure to keep a watchful eye on the girls at all times. Half an hour later, Trixie and Daeun come skipping back your way, their faces bright with colorful paint. Daeun has an intricate pink and blue butterfly, while Trixie has opted for the distinctive orange and black stripes of a tiger. 

“Do you like it?” she asks, and you nod, bopping her fondly on her painted black nose. 

“I don’t just like it, jitterbug. I love it.”

Pleased, she rejoins Daeun, who has successfully diverted Jungkook to the cotton candy stand. Following after her, you hand the vendor your credit card to pay for both snacks before Jungkook can get a word in edgewise. Reluctantly, he tucks his wallet away, laughing when you stick your tongue out at him.

Once the girls have had their fill of the main plaza, the four of you head off in the direction of the penguin exhibit, stopping to look at the zebras and giraffes along the way. Photographs are snapped, and Trixie even flags down a nearby couple and asks them to take a photo of all four of you together. The girls jostle into place in front of the giraffe enclosure, and you suddenly find yourself standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Jungkook, the warmth of his body radiating off of him like the sun in the sky. Your resulting smile feels forced—especially when the girl starts taking multiple photos from different angles—but gradually relaxes. And now, even as you enter the penguin exhibit, you can’t stop sneaking glances at the last photo. 

Because in it, you and Jungkook look like couple. You’re standing close enough that anyone who saw it would construe it as a family photo, the two of you beaming with your giggling daughters in front of you, their arms draped over each other’s shoulders.

Swallowing, you let your phone screen go dark and tuck it back into your pocket. You’re coming up on the penguin exhibit now, and the girls can barely contain their excitement as they run ahead to the outermost edge of the enclosure where a massive glass wall allows for a clear view of the penguins swimming about underwater.

“They’re so fast!” Trixie exclaims. She stops at one of the numerous placards lining the glass wall, her little face scrunching as she slowly reads it out loud to Daeun. “It says here some can swim over twenty miles an hour!”

As the girls pull out their notebooks and begin taking notes, you and Jungkook find an unoccupied bench near a rocky outcrop occupied by several bronze penguin statues. “Look,” Jungkook says, patting one of the upright penguins. “You can see how many people have rubbed this little guy’s head. It’s turned gold.”

“Must be good luck,” you remark, running a finger along the golden beak of another penguin. “Or maybe I should make a wish? I don’t really know what this situation calls for.”

“I’m pretty sure you make wishes when you throw a coin into a fountain,” your companion replies, brushing a dark strand of hair off his forehead. “Actually, I think I saw a fountain back there. Should we check it out later?”

“I don’t think I have any change on me,” you reply, peeking into your purse to make sure. “Seriously, who even carries coins anymore?”

“Not me,” Jungkook agrees. “I do usually have at least a little cash on me, though. It’s nice to have sometimes.”

“Mm, yeah. You never know when you’ll need it.”

Just then, Trixie and Daeun run up, gesturing toward the brown building at the very back of the enclosure. “There’s a penguin movie playing over there!” Daeun says. “Can we go see it?”

“Sure,” Jungkook says. “How long is it?”

“I think it runs every twenty minutes,” you reply when Daeun frowns and scratches her head. “Come on. If I’m remembering correctly, we should be able to see more penguins inside too.”

Daeun and Trixie beam. “Cool!” they exclaim in unison, before galloping off and leaving you and Jungkook to follow after them as quickly as you can manage without breaking into a run yourselves.

Your memory proves correct, as you enter the brown building and immediately see that the walls inside are glass as well. A penguin dives off of a rocky island and into the clear blue water, and you watch as it goes all the way to the bottom of the pool before coming back up for air. 

After doing a lap of the building, Daeun and Trixie decide to go into the theater to see the fifteen-minute short film. Meanwhile, you and Jungkook find a quiet little alcove near the entrance, chatting softly while watching the penguins behind the glass on the opposite wall. 

“I haven’t been to the zoo in ages,” Jungkook admits. “Dae’s mom used to always take her, though. They always came back with a stuffed animal from the gift shop—you might’ve seen them in Daeun’s room, actually. She loves them.”

You nod. “I remember, yeah. It’s quite an impressive collection.” Then you hesitate, gnawing on your bottom lip as you consider your next words and debate whether you’re being too nosy. “Daeun’s mom… can I ask what happened between you?” You pause, then quickly speak again. “And feel free to say no, obviously! You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m probably just poking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Jungkook smiles at you, but there’s a faraway quality to his gaze that wasn’t there before. “Nah, it’s okay. There’s really not much to tell, if I’m honest. Evelyn and I, we started dating when we were nineteen. We got married at twenty-three, had Daeun a couple years later, and then one day we realized that we’d become entirely different people and that we weren’t really in love anymore.”

“Oh.” You aren’t sure what else to say. “I-I’m sorry to hear that.”

He shrugs and sighs, tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling. “No need to be sorry; it was a mutual thing. Totally amicable. We’re still friends, and we’re a pretty kickass co-parenting team too.”

The conversation continues, and you find out that Evelyn’s job took her overseas last year. According to Jungkook, she currently lives with her new boyfriend, who’s a little pretentious but completely harmless. And despite the six-hour time difference, Evelyn still finds the time to FaceTime Jungkook and Daeun every Sunday afternoon. Because of those calls, she’s apparently heard all about you, too—you’re her favorite teacher, remember? he’d said with a laugh.

“What about you, then?” Jungkook glances over at you inquiringly, his eyebrows raised. “Is it my turn to pry?”

You can tell from the melodious lilt in his tone that he’s teasing. “My story’s far less interesting than yours,” you answer, fiddling with a stray thread on your jacket sleeve. “I don’t have an ex-partner or anything like that. I’ve just always wanted to be a mother, so one day I decided that I was going to do it. I used a donor, got pregnant, and here we are.”

Jungkook takes this in slowly, nodding. “Do you… I mean, do you know who your donor is? Have you met him?”

You shake your head. “No, it was an anonymous thing. I got a profile and some information about his appearance and hobbies and stuff, but not much beyond that.”

“I—” Jungkook begins, before trailing off. “I’m sorry. I’m asking too many questions. I don’t know a whole lot about the sperm donor thing, but I’m glad it worked out for you. Trixie’s an amazing kid.”

“She is,” you murmur. “I love her more than anything.”

“And you’re an amazing mom.” Jungkook’s voice grows softer, and when you turn to look at him, he seems closer than he was before. “I don’t know how you manage it all, teaching and parenting. But you do, and it’s incredible. You’re incredible.”

You aren’t sure who leans in first. All you know is that one moment, you’re staring into Jungkook’s earnest brown eyes, and then in the next, you’re kissing him.

It starts soft. Cautious, even. His lips press against yours gently, once, before he pulls back for a breath. You can feel him exhale, the warmth fanning your cheeks. And then you pull him back in by his collar, fisting one hand in the knit material and finding the soft hair at his nape with the other. 

Time slows to a standstill. Jungkook groans against your lips, and you feel the way it rumbles through his chest, the sensation sinking into your skin and settling straight in your core. His hands find your hips, and you wind both arms around his neck to pull him closer. 

And then, just as suddenly as it had stopped, time starts ticking again. Reality crashes down around you in the form of familiar, boisterous voices rapidly heading your way. You and Jungkook only barely manage to untangle yourselves before Trixie and Daeun round the corner of the alcove, chattering excitedly about all the new penguin facts they’ve learned. 

“Can we go to the petting zoo next?” Trixie asks, seemingly oblivious to your lingering embarrassment at nearly being caught.

Awkwardly, you clear your throat. At your side, Jungkook is faring no better, shuffling his feet and refusing to make eye contact. “Yeah, sure, bug,” you finally manage when you find your voice again. “Lead the way.”

///

Monday dawns cloudy and gray. The weather app on your phone promises thunderstorms later in the afternoon, but that isn’t enough to dampen your mood one bit. Instead, you thumb back over to your messages, your heart skipping a beat when you see the text still sitting at the very top.

[6:54am] Jungkook Jeon: Make sure to stop by bean there, done that before school. Left you a surprise ;) 

Taking a deep breath, you type out a response:

[6:56am] You: I’m a little scared. Should I be scared?

His answer comes in immediately. Nah. It’s a good surprise, I promise.

[6:58am] You: Sure it is… 🤨

Biting back a grin, you tuck your phone into your bag and head toward the front door of your apartment, nearly tripping over Taco along the way, who has chosen that moment to start slinking between your legs. 

“Really, Taco?” you ask the unperturbed calico cat at your feet. “What if I fell and cracked my head open? Who would feed you then, huh?”

As usual, Taco merely gives you an unimpressed look before flicking her tail and wandering off. Sighing, you call for Trixie to hurry up before turning to check your appearance in the mirror leaning against the wall of the entryway. It’s a large, vintage piece—a gold-framed, flea market find that you treasure dearly and swear makes you look good no matter how awful you might feel.

Satisfied, you hike your bag higher on your shoulder and smooth down the lapels of your coat. Trixie rounds the corner and gives herself a quick once-over too, and you give her a thumbs-up. “Ready, bug?”

“Yup!” she replies, tightening her grip on her and Daeun’s project—a carefully constructed shoebox diorama that shows a group of penguins in their natural icy habitat. 

“Let’s go, then.” Opening the front door, you let her through before locking it up behind you. Together, you head out to the car, and Trixie ensures that her diorama is completely secured in the seat beside her while you check your mirrors and turn on the ignition.

The drive to Bean There, Done That! takes only about ten minutes. Jin waves cheerily when he spots you walking up to the counter, but his face positively lights up when he sees Trixie is with you. He absolutely adores your daughter—Trixie loves him too—and on the occasional instance you’ve had to call on him to babysit, the two of them always end up stuffed with food on the couch and giggling over bad puns.

“What can I get you, ma’am?” Jin asks, directing the question at Trixie, who beams at him before turning to look at you with pleading eyes.

“Can I have a double chocolate cookie?”

“That… actually sounds really good,” you admit. “Make that two. And Jin, did someone leave something here for me earlier?”

Jin grins. “Thought you’d never ask. This here is from one Mr. Jungkook Jeon.” Reaching beneath the counter, he pulls out a box and watches as you open the lid to reveal half a dozen cinnamon streusel bagels with a neatly folded napkin on top. Unfolding it, you can only laugh at the words written on it:

Hope you have a mug-nificient day!

“Just so you know, he stole that line from me,” Jin says with a sniff. “I’m not letting him take the credit.”

“Duly noted,” you tell him, trying and failing to hide your smile as you look down at the note again. After a couple beats, Jin clears his throat, and you glance up to see that he’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat. 

“Sooo,” he begins slowly, dragging out the single syllable, “I imagine you want a fresh napkin and a pen, unless… are you going to see Mr. Jungkook Jeon at some point?”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance as best you can. “Trixie was paired with his daughter for a school project, so we’ve been meeting up for the past few weeks so they can work on it. Now that that’s over with… I don’t really know. We’re both pretty busy.”

Jin scoffs. “That’s a lame excuse, especially since he’s clearly flirting with you. And—”

Unfortunately, Trixie interrupts before he can finish his sentence, skipping back over from where she had been examining the pastry display cases along the wall. “Can I have a lemon bar?”

You fix her with a stern look. “You already asked for the double chocolate cookie, remember? The lemon bars can wait until next time.” Then you turn back to Jin, reaching into your bag for your wallet. “We should probably get to school, anyhow. What do I owe you?”

“Not a thing,” he replies, handing over a paper bag with your cookies and a bottle of apple juice. “It’s already been taken care of.”

From the wink he sends your way, you know that it must have been Jungkook who doled out the extra cash for your breakfast. “Thanks, Jin,” you reply, handing Trixie the cookies and juice before accepting the cup of coffee he hands over. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Pleasure doing business with ya,” is his response. Trixie waves goodbye, and together, the two of you head back out to the car. It’s started drizzling since you arrived, and you thank your lucky stars that you’d managed to snag a parking spot right up front.

Your daughter seems to be deep in thought as you help her buckle her seatbelt, her lips pursed in concentration. Then, out of nowhere, she asks:

“Do you like Mr. Jeon?”

You nearly choke. “W-what?”

“Mr. Jeon,” she repeats patiently, and you’re thankful that she’s not looking at you—instead, she’s focused on the raindrops splashing against the window and racing each other down the glass. “You spent a bunch of time with him when Daeun and I were doing school stuff. What’d you do?”

“Adult stuff,” you reply, before cursing inwardly at the potential implication behind your words. “Mostly, I spent my time grading homework. And he had some things to do for work, too.”

Trixie hums, apparently satisfied with this answer. “He’s nice,” she declares. “He buys us food and he has a cool house.”

“Sure,” you agree. “He’s a very nice man.”

And with that settled, you finish buckling her in her seat. Shutting the back door, you suck in a deep, calming breath before circling around to the driver’s side and setting off on the familiar route to Hybe Academy.

///

“... Miss {L/N}, are you listening?”

You blink and sit up a little straighter in your chair. “Yes, of course. Please go on.” Hastily, you scribble down a few random words, hoping that will placate the parent sitting across from you. It’s parent-teacher conference week—and you’re beyond grateful that it’s Friday night as Mrs. Greene rambles on and on about how the school isn’t doing enough for her precious baby boy. She’s talking about how the school day should be extended now—or at least how teachers should watch after the children whose parents can’t pick them up right at three-thirty. I don’t understand why it’s so difficult to understand. I mean, my husband is a very busy man, and I have my own business to run. I can’t be expected to drop everything in the middle of a client meeting to come pick Derrick up…

It takes everything in you not to snap at her. You know for a fact that her “business” is selling bejeweled keychains on Etsy—and that they’re incredibly poorly made, if the reviews are anything to go by. Instead, you bite your tongue—hard enough to taste metal—and remind her that the school’s operating hours are not for you to decide. 

After what feels like an eternity, the clock strikes seven, marking the end of her reserved time block. Standing up, you shake her hand and wish her a pleasant evening before opening your planner and checking to see if you have any more meetings. Your parents have Trixie for the night and there’s a bottle of wine on your kitchen counter calling your name, and you cannot wait to get home and relax in the bath with a glass. Maybe, you think, I’ll even do a face mask.

The final name written in your planner stops you in your tracks. You haven’t seen him in over a week—not since that Monday when he left you half a dozen bagels at the coffee shop. The girls had insisted on meeting up that evening to celebrate turning their project in, so you’d all gone to a popular taco joint. 

And then there’s a knock on your door, the three raps pulling you right out of your musings.

Silhouetted there in the doorframe is Jungkook Jeon, decked out in a polished charcoal suit and wearing a smile that makes your insides lurch dangerously in your chest. His dark hair is parted on the side, and you catch the slightest glimpse of his brow piercing glinting behind the hair that’s loose across his forehead. “Hi,” he says, his voice low, and you have to remind yourself that it’s impolite to stare as you find your voice.

“Hi yourself.”

He grins, baring the adorably prominent front teeth that you hate to admit you’ve grown rather fond of. “You look like you weren’t expecting me.”

“Oh, no. I just wasn’t expecting you on time,” you retort, gesturing to the plastic chair sitting across from your desk. “Your track record is questionable, at best.”

Jungkook grimaces. “Yeah, sorry about that. I made sure to leave plenty early this time, just in case I ran into traffic. Or if Bobby decided to corner me in the elevator again—that guy really doesn’t know when to shut up.” He pauses. “Wait, I told you about him, right? Works on the development team, owns one singular tie? Balding but tries to hide it with a bad combover?”

“That rings a bell,” you reply. “The tie is red and Christmas-themed, right?”

“Sure is.” Jungkook chuckles. “I thought they might’ve been polka dots the first time I met him, but nope. Christmas ornaments, even in the middle of July.”

You laugh. “Odd fashion choice.”

“Seriously. Don’t even get me started on the rest of his clothes,” Jungkook says, shaking his head. “Here, let’s change the subject. Have you eaten yet?”

You gesture around your classroom, artificially lit with fluorescent light even as the sun begins to dip closer to the horizon. “Nope. I mean, I had about twenty minutes between the end of the school day and the start of my first meeting, so I scarfed down an apple in the break room. But that was hours ago.”

“Perfect.” At your look of disbelief, he chortles and quickly amends his phrasing. “Sorry, I just mean that I’ve got you covered. Here, look.” And he begins pulling things out of a paper bag that you hadn’t noticed him carrying before. Crackers, sliced baguette, an assortment of cured meats and cheeses, grapes. He produces a bottle of wine next, and you very nearly start clapping. 

The last thing he pulls out is a single red rose, his smile soft and warm and dizzyingly affectionate as he presents it to you. “I—wow.” You aren’t sure what to say. “Thank you. I… I feel like I should’ve prepared something. Stolen an apple for you from the teacher’s lounge, at least.”

Jungkook snorts. “Well, here’s something you can help me out with. I don’t actually have glasses for the wine. Totally spaced and forgot that we’d need them. Any ideas?”

You’re on your feet before he can even finish asking. “I teach elementary schoolers, Mr. Jeon. I always have cups.” 

Making your way to the cabinet by the window, you grab a box of little paper cups and pull out two. Jungkook accepts them when you hand them over, and you watch as he unscrews the cap on the wine bottle before pouring out two generous helpings. Together, you lay out the food he’s brought, spreading it across whatever empty space there is on your desk. “Cheers,” Jungkook says once you’ve both taken your seats again, raising his paper cup to tap against yours.

“Cheers.”

For a moment, there is silence as you both take a drink. Then Jungkook speaks, glancing up at you as he carefully begins crafting himself a mini salami and cheese sandwich. “So, where does Trixie stay while you’re doing all these meetings? Do your parents have her?”

You nod, taking another much-needed sip of wine. “Yeah, my mom picked her up after school. They actually have her until Sunday—my dad’s going to teach her how to fish tomorrow, and then I think they’re going to build a pillow fort.”

Jungkook chuckles around a mouthful of gouda. “I love a good pillow fort. Dae insists on building one at least once a week, and at this point, I’m honestly surprised there isn’t one permanently in her bedroom.”

Grinning, you reach for a cracker and some cheese. “Taco manages to destroy every pillow fort Trixie and I try to make. She either decides it’s a trampoline, or that it’s a good time to start scratching everything she can reach. We can’t win.”

“Sounds like you need better defenses,” Jungkook replies, waggling his eyebrows. “That, or you can come over whenever you need a pillow fort fix. I’m sure Dae and Trixie would create something truly epic together. I mean, that penguin diorama was pretty fucking cool, wasn’t it?”

“Very fucking cool,” you agree, and both of you burst into laughter.

Deep blue twilight settles outside as the two of you continue chatting over your makeshift meal. The cheese begins to dwindle, only a few lonely grapes remain on their stems, and when you go to top of your wine, you realize there’s less than a quarter of the bottle left. 

“Wow, we really put a dent in this thing,” you remark, holding it out for Jungkook to see. “And it’s already dark out. The time kind of got away from us, huh?”

“You won’t catch me complaining,” Jungkook replies, tipping the last of his drink into his mouth. “I’m enjoying spending time with you.”

You can’t help but smile at his earnest honesty. “Me too.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then you rise from your seat. At the same time, Jungkook stands up from his chair on the other side of the desk, making his way around to meet you halfway. And then his mouth is on yours, warm and firm in a way that makes your heart do a backflip before plunking straight into your churning stomach.

Jungkook’s hands find your hips, palming along the flowy material of your dress before finding a resting place just above the soft curve of your rear. Your fingers delve into the soft hair at his nape to tug him closer, and he groans against your lips when your nails rake across his scalp. Slowly, he begins trailing kisses from the line of your jaw down to the column of your neck, pausing to lavish attention on any spots that make you gasp or squirm in his grasp.

The growing hardness against your lower belly is growing more and more evident with each passing second. Deliberately, you slide one hand down his chest, admiring the toned ridges of his abdomen that you can feel through his white shirt, before making your way down past his silver belt buckle. Jungkook inhales sharply when you cup his hardening cock through the charcoal material of his slacks, and, emboldened, you thumb across the head and relish in his resulting groan.

Any caution you may have had is thrown to the wind. Adjusting your grip, you shiver when you realize that he’s now fully hard beneath your fingertips, his erection thick and hot through the fabric. You try and visualize what it looks like underneath it all—the color of the flared head, the veins that run along it, the curve of the shaft, if there is one. And then you realize that you don’t have to imagine—you can look. You can rip his clothes off and explore every inch of his body in the way you’ve been itching to since you first kissed at the zoo last week. Your hands scrabble for his belt buckle, fumbling with the silver prong embedded in its notch.

“W-wait.” Jungkook’s hand lands over yours, and you note the breathlessness in his voice with satisfaction. “I… this is probably cheesy, but this isn’t how I pictured this happening. Not that I don’t like what’s happening, but I just… I’d like to take you out first. On a proper date, I mean. Without our girls in the next room, or down the hall, or in the museum playplace wreaking havoc.”

“That does sound nice,” you admit. “Actually, I’d really enjoy that. I haven’t been on a proper date in years.”

“Let’s do it, then,” Jungkook says. “My babysitter’s already been paid to watch Daeun until midnight, and your parents have Trixie. This is kinda perfect.”

You can’t help it—you drag your thumb across the head of his still-hard cock again and revel in the way his breath hitches just a little bit in his throat. “Midnight?” you query with an innocent tilt of your head. “Were you expecting something to happen tonight?”

“Hoping,” he replies with a cheeky grin. “And wait, let me ask you out properly. It just wouldn’t feel right otherwise.”

Confused, you let him stand from his seat and slip around you to retrieve the paper bag on the ground. Understanding dawns when he reaches inside and grabs a napkin, and you watch on in amusement as he takes a pen from the cup on your desk and begins writing. And after a few seconds, he wordlessly presents this to you:

Drinks? Dinner? Maybe dessert? ;)

And you can only laugh. “Game on, mister.”

[lalalian]

aethergarde academy: interior pt.1

UPDATED WITH BATHROOM***

date: september 13, 2024

I just found a bunch of images that fit my image of aethergarde; feel free to add these into the script if you'd like!

dorm rooms

Ok so there's two versions of the dorms, this is one reserved for noble students. These dorms were built ~37 years ago through increased pressure by noble families-- hell, even the royal family donated millions of marks just for Aethergarde to expand their dorm units to be more... comfortable. Aethergarde Academy does not accept bribes... so... why were these dorms built?

Okay well first of all, I at least want to sleep like a god after training my ass off.

Secondly, the royal family ordered for these dorms to be built (an outside construction group built it, nobody in Aethergarde did so). They did not tell Aethergarde in advance; they literally just built it because the heir to the throne was found to be a dragon rider. Other nobles scrambled to negotiate with the royal family to let them have a spot in this building.

This is why there are fifty rooms, fifty nobles who had dragon rider children negotiated with the royal family to add more rooms to the dormitory.

These rooms are first come first serve. About a third of the student population will be able to live in these dorms.

what is included in these dorms?

1 small tea table area near a window (for like personal meetings)

1 king sized canopy bed

lots of storage!!!

one large chest at the end of the bed

another large chest

2 chippendale chests

1 large wardrobe

2 weapon display stands

2 armor stands

1 child dragon bed (they're about as large as a dog bed meant for large dogs)

1 personal bathroom

personal bathroom

It’s a medium sized bathroom that fits the aesthetic of the bedroom, so the colors would be different.

1 white clawfoot bathtub with gold 'legs'

a blue rug that dries as soon as your feet leave the carpet (they're enchanted) under the bathtub

a towel rack next to the bathtub

2 chippendale chests

a sink + a mirror mounted on the wall behind the skin

a full body mirror

a toilet with a toilet paper rack next to it

guardian heights

These are the regular original dorms. The vast majority of the student population will sleep here, and there are four beds to each room. Each room comes with their own personal bathroom.

the keepers

Due to security restrictions, none of the dorms had servants (yes, including the noble dorms). ~3 years ago, Aethergarde finally hired servants to tend to the student quarters. Servants in Aethergarde are held to a very strict standard of both skill, cleanliness, tact, and secrecy. All cleaning staff are formally called the keepers. A keeper must sign a blood contract to never report anything important about Aethergarde Academy to outsiders (including family). A small black dragon symbol is apparent on their tongues, but it does disappear when they leave campus to allow them to engage in light spy work.

If a keeper decides to break this contract, a large black rune will emerge on their skin-- spanning from the upper neck down to the collarbone. A keeper cannot speak (their lips are stuck shut) until the Head Keeper releases the curse on them. Once information is extracted from the keeper regarding why they broke the contract, they'll either be re-admitted into the keepers (if the reason for their conduct is reasonable), or they'll be taken to court for breaking the contract. Due to the nature and prestige of this contract, the keeper has to either pay an egregious fine that is pretty much impossible for them to pay off in their lifetime, or they have to do 7-10 yrs of prison time. Before punishment is enacted, the keeper's memory is wiped of Aethergarde to further protect Aethergarde from outside forces.

Anyway, a keeper must be well trained in Aethergarde's emergency procedures; this includes herding students and dragons into safe places during drills and actual emergencies. Keepers are usually former knights from low-noble (baron) families, and tend to have a lot of admiration for dragon riders. They clean, protect, and another unit of keepers, the Scale Keepers, tend to older dragons (the ones that aren't in the nursery anymore) when their riders are in classes.

this is the uniform for all the keepers, they also have their own keystones.

closing notes

no pets are allowed-- dragons are easily angered by pets (especially in their first few years of life) due to general territorial instincts, jealousy, and of course... primal needs. They'll often see your pet as food, essentially.

Aethergarde did allow students to have pets at one point (only small birds, canine, and feline animals) but this privilege was promptly taken away due to the heavy toll it took on the keepers and the (small) number of casualties caused by stupid hungry dragons. Imagine having to clean a whole building, walk at least 50 dogs and cats, clean shit and piss every 10 minutes, hunt and feed dragons, cook, and prepare baths for 150 students... every single day.

There was also a problem with dragons terrorizing pets.

So yeah. Pets aren't allowed. No, fish aren't allowed either.

Part 2 here!

wanna know more about my aethergarde academy dr? here's a masterlist with everything I've posted about it!

[gallusrostromegalus]

You’ve mentioned several times that Matsumoto is deeply weird, could you explain how?

I think Matsumoto is Autistic and EXTREMELY good at masking, somewhat to her detriment, to be honest.

Point the first: Matsumoto drinks a lot- or at least, is SEEN to be "drinking" but she's rarely actually drunk. She's practically sober relative to her companions the few times we see her drinking in a group. I think that she's not drinking that much- She's getting *just* tipsy enough to: 1. Take the edge of some of her sensory issues and 2. To give her plausible deniability if she blurts out the wrong thing or says something that comes out way more rude than she intended. 3. Surround herself with people whose social inhibitions are lowered and whose skills are a bit clumsy- like how she feels all the time.

Point the Second: Matsumoto is Constantly fucking tired. I think the midday naps are the result of constantly overclocking herself to stay socially likeable and ignore how much that 'silly' thing is bothering her and probably also a sensitivity to barometric pressure changes that lots of Autistic people have.

Point The Third: What evidence do we actually have that Matsumoto is a Bimbo vs this is an act she puts on? IIRC, we don't have canon proof she sleeps with anyone in the series except MAYBE Gin, before they became shinigami. It's been 15 years since I read the series but for someone who certainly dresses and talks and plays up her reputation as a Bimbo, Matsumoto doesn't seem to have much sex. I think the Bimbo persona is just that- an act. It's an act she's learned gets her the kind of attention she wants- In the Rukongai, it was probably a great way to earn hella tips while working service jobs before she became a shinigami, in the academy nerds would be falling all over her to help her study, and as a seated officer, the carefully cultivated Bimbo persona means she can sort of excuse herself from any project she doesn't want to work on.

I'm basing that last point, and a lot of Matsumoto's characterization in AEIWAM on my aunt, who is an attractive big-chested blonde who didn't get diagnosed with Autism until her Mid-fifties. But SO MUCH of Matsumoto's mannerisms and behavior from the Manga remind me of Aunt Sophie- she has a doctorate in Theater Science now, but while she was working undergrad, she was a bartender who cultivated a persona she called "Bartend Barbie" who was a silly, slightly drunk and giggly bimbo with an impressive collection of blonde jokes at her disposal, and "Barbie" got about five times in tips what she was being paid hourly, and that's how Aunt Sophie graduated without student debt in the 80's. She's also recently made the connection between how her severe masking is and her profoundly deep understanding of how theatrical roles are played.

I think Matsumoto Rangiku is very autistic but has had a long time and a lot of practice masking to the point where she has an intensely convincing and extremely likeable persona that she uses almost constantly, and that prior to his betrayal, Gin might have been the only person that knew Matsumoto from before her "Barbie" days.

I don't know what Matsumoto's special interests are. Kubo wasn't great at giving his female characters interiority. I'm tempted to give her Aunt Sophie's understanding of theater, but I'm open to suggestions.

[flurry-of-stars]

Hello! You might have seen me commented under your posts lately, hope i didn't bother you tho. Actually i haven't commented or requested anything to anyone at all ever since i have tumblr, so i guess you're my first! I wanna have a little fic request about slow burn academy au ranpo x reader! And ofc I wouldn't mind one bit if you don't feel like to. Thankyou so much!

Hello there! ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ You haven’t been a bother at all! I’m always grateful for all your comments and I’m even more honoured to be your first request! I do hope you like it! (´⌣`ʃƪ)♡ Now I’ve never written Ranpo before so I hope he isn’t too OOC or anything! (;° ロ°) This is just the first chapter, since writing a full multichapter fic would take a very long time. I could come back to write more for this AU in the future though! ♡ I was listening to the song Sparks by Coldplay when writing and imagining alot of this and how I would make future chapters play out and yeah (´⌣`ʃƪ)♡

ᴮᵘᵗ ᴵ ᵖʳᵒᵐⁱˢᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗʰⁱˢ ♡ ᴵ'ˡˡ ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᵒᵘᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘ

✧˖°𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰✧˖° Academy Ranpo x Anxious Reader ✧˖°𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮✧˖° Slow burn Academy AU, no Abilities AU, Female reader, Ranpo and the reader are teenagers, reader is very anxious. ✧˖°𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽✧˖° 5𝓴

Twin Light Academy. It’s gates stood before you casting long shadows across the perfectly trimmed and maintained school grounds, opened wide like a beast beckoning you inside its maw. This academy was known for producing some of the world's greatest minds, but earning a place here was no easy task. Your exhausted, sleepy mind and aching body are a testament to that. You step through the gates, moving slowly, your new, pristine black shoes clicking against the cobblestone path as you enter, alongside the rest of this year’s chosen students, dressed in uniforms of white and grey. Blazers and vests surround you on all sides, all present with the school's emblem; a flame with the infinity symbol beneath it. Only one hundred fifty students were deemed intelligent and charismatic enough to attend Twin Light’s harsh academic regime. The academy building stood before you, a gigantic castle carved and built into the side of a mountain with nothing but expert craftsmanship, standing proud as an institution of learning for the past two hundred years. Ancient statues of Komainu stood beside the wide steps leading students into what would be their home for the next year. They stood proud and tall as if they would be watching over each Twin Light student this coming year.

You walk past, pausing to bask in the glory of the gigantic white lion dogs, the sun shining down and making them look like majestic guardians. You smile as a cool breeze caresses your hair. You felt like this was the start of the rest of your life. This academy held promises of a secure future for you. A future where you could live comfortably. A future where you could be the person you wanted to be. The person that would make your family proud. And maybe, just maybe, you'll finally manage to make some friends. You finally walk forward, joining the other students in the final climb into the entrance hall. Shiny marble floors greet you first, your shoes clicking softly on the shimmering surface. Towering stone walls rose, creeping tall above you and guiding your gaze to the ceiling where cute cherubs nestled in white, puffy clouds lay in an intricately beautiful painting. Tapestries line the walls, depicting events of the past from all across the globe. World wars and huge political events that shaped the world as you know it today. Each one has been woven with an expert touch, making them completely irreplaceable. You feel tempted to walk over and touch them but you resist the urge, placing your hands in your lap as you walk. Many of the seats have already been filled, so you take one at the back. Before you stands a large stage. You assume it was recently built, due to looking more than a little out of place against grey brick walls and shiny marble floors. The school’s emblem is adorned on flags positioned at the front of the stage.

Behind the stage is a vast stained glass window, circular in shape, depicting caterpillars growing into butterflies with many gorgeous stained glass flowers in each corner, almost covering the entire window. It cast its multicolor lights across the stage where the principal would soon stand.��

You place your bag by your side, listening to the hushed whispers around you. Many students are trying to get to know one another. To find anyone with any sort of common ground.

They would be stuck with each other for the next year after all, even during the holidays. It was best to make at least a few friends. Your eyes flick up as you hear the chair next to you creak. Turning your head, you blink in surprise. Joining you is a young man with messy black hair. You notice the glasses perched on his head right away, along with his uniform. Or rather, lack there of an official uniform. Twin Light Academy had a strict uniform: a white, button-up shirt or blouse, a grey blazer or vest with the school’s emblem on it, and a grey plaid skirt or long pants, with clean black shoes. This young man seemed to have added his own flair to the uniform. A black cape is draped over his shoulders, cascading down the back of the metal chair he’s leaning back on. You see he does indeed have the white button-up on but he’s wearing dark trousers instead and a tie that’s been sloppily done up, along with his vest, it’s colouring matching the trousers he has on with the school's emblem nowhere to be seen.

You also smell an enchantingly sweet smell coming from him. You notice the bag of candy in his pocket as he takes a handful and starts munching on various sweets. You frown and furrow your brows. How did this guy manage to get an approved application when he can't even dress in the right uniform? “Hey, um,” you speak up in a hushed voice. The raven-haired boy looks over at you, his emerald green eyes meeting your gaze as he devours his mouthful of candy, “Were you in a rush this morning? I think you must have put on the wrong clothes by mistake–” “They’re just clothes,” he replies with a carefree shrug. You watch as he pops a strawberry-flavoured lollipop into his mouth, slipping it to one side to keep speaking to you. He looks you up and down before he gives you a small grin, “Putting on that frilly skirt and vest didn’t make your IQ raise any, did it?” You blink, mouth agape like a fish out of water, your gaze darting away as you fiddle with your skirt. Was he mocking you? Taunting you? You struggle to reply as a soft heat builds in your cheeks, “I-I…well…”

You blink, mouth agape like a fish out of water, your gaze darting away as you fiddle with your skirt. Was he mocking you? Taunting you? You struggle to reply as a soft heat builds in your cheeks, “I-I…well…” Before you can embarrass yourself further, your attention is drawn towards the stage. You catch a glimpse of the principal stepping onto it, approaching the podium to give his welcome speech. His stern expression makes you tense a little.

You knew this institution was very serious about raising top students, but you hoped the principal and the other professors were at least kind. Once he begins to speak, any other conversations go silent immediately. His voice is stern but not demanding. Warm and welcoming, but still meaning business. “Good morning everyone. It is with great pleasure that I stand before you today to welcome you all into Twin Light Academy for Gifted Minds.” His blue eyes scan the crowd carefully as he continues. “It is wonderful to see a few returning faces this year. I have high expectations that you will all do your best in welcoming and helping your underclassmen when you can. I’m sure you all remember how anxious you were when you first began studying here.”

“To our new students, it is nothing but a pleasure to have you all here. I am the Principal of Twin Light Academy. I will be here to guide you through this academic journey, along with your professors and the other staff here–” A loud crunch next to you snaps your gaze off the principal; his speech continues as your eyes dart to the raven-haired boy, who’s taken out a candy fruit mix now. You grimace as he bites down on them, seeming quite calm about the principal’s speech. “U-um,” you whisper as you wring your hands together. The boy doesn’t look over at you, his hand diving into the bag of sweets before crunching into another handful. Now a few of your peers are looking back, mumbling in irritation. Shakily, you lift a hand, tapping his shoulder with a near feather light touch. Finally, he looks up at you as you softly whisper, “Y-you’re…um…distracting everyone…maybe you could–” “Hm? What’s that? Can you speak up?” He replies, not getting the memo about keeping his voice down. His voice echoes through the entrance hall, capturing the attention of more students now and the eye of the principal. You feel your entire body tingle as multiple eyes land on the pair of you. You rub your hands together awkwardly, trying to soothe yourself. Whispers sound like loud mockery in your ear as your voice grows more meek, “U-u-um…y-you’re chewing too–” “I still can’t hear you!” He repeats, sighing in irritation. You feel even more eyes now scanning you both. You hear some harsh whispers, telling you both to quiet down and suddenly, you wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole. “Ranpo,” the principal’s voice cuts through the noise, causing all murmuring to cease once more. The boy next to you, Ranpo, looks up at the stage now. The principal gives him a scolding look. It reminds you of when your father would reprimand you for bad behaviour, “Can you keep it down?”

“You’re the boss!” he replies with a smile, causing a whine of relief to slip past your lips. You relax back into your seat, taking a deep breath as you try to calm down from the entire room having its eyes on you. Beside you Ranpo settles into his chair, tucking away his bag of candy at last. With a relaxed sigh, you turn your attention back towards the front as the principal continues his speech, “Lastly, perhaps most importantly, remember to be kind to one another. Twin Light Academy is a diverse community. All of you come from different backgrounds and cultures and all carry with you rich experiences that have crafted you into the young people you are today.” The warmth and praise in his tone make your heart swell. It made you feel proud of yourself even if only a little bit. He continues, “So I expect you all to treat each other with respect, understanding and empathy.” You watch as a smile, warm and soothing, creeps up onto his face, “Best of luck to all of you in the coming school year. Please don’t hesitate to drop by my office at any time.” As he gives a polite bow, you and your peers clap for the principal as he steps down. His place at the podium is soon taken by another. A woman holding a clipboard with glasses hurries up onto the stage.

She sounds slightly more flustered than the principal did, “If all our returning students could please begin making their way to their dorms, that would be wonderful. All our first years, please remain behind for the tour of the school.” Slowly, the crowd of one hundred fifty begin to disperse as you stay sitting in your chair, not wanting to get in anyone’s way. You keep your head down, fiddling with your skirt as you shyly watch the second years leaving with smiles and laughter.

They seemed friendly enough. But you were sure they all already had friend groups formed from the previous year. As you begin to look back around the room, you notice a few first years are already forming groups and pairs. A few girls are giggling and sharing their phone screens. They must be sharing funny videos or pictures. Oh, but you were sure none of the videos or photos you had would be funny to anyone else. There’s another group, a mixed one this time with a few girls and boys. They seem pleasant. One of the girls touches one of their boy's shoulders. Ah, they’re flirting then. Right, okay. You shouldn’t push your way in. You don’t want one of the girls to think you want one of the boys they’re trying to court. You stand up, picking up your bag by the straps. Well, that’s okay, you decide. Maybe you will make friends in time. After a few classes and enrolling in a club, surely someone would reach out to you. It was statistically probable, you decide, smiling to yourself as you gazed longingly at each group.

It must be so nice to have somewhere you fit in like that. “Hey.” A startled sound escapes you, eyes darting to the raven-haired boy at your side. What was his name again? Ranpo, wasn’t it? “Y-yes?” Your voice trembles, his emerald eyes staring directly at you but not making eye contact. He’s silent for a long while before you try speaking again, “D-did you need something?” “Why do you keep staring at everyone?” His blunt question makes your heart drop. Oh no, was it really that obvious that you were staring? Did the groups see too? You’re so caught up in your whirlwind of thoughts that it takes you a few seconds to register what he says next, “You keep looking at everyone like a lost puppy. Are you looking for someone in particular?” You shrink away from him, a wave of self-consciousness flooding through you. Your stomach churns, twisting in tight knots as you try to find an excuse.

The truth would be so embarrassing for you, “I…I-I was…um…d-directions!” You look up; the boy tilts his head at you. “The school tour, I-I mean. I just wasn’t sure where to go..” He’s silent for a long while, his intense green eyes never leaving you. Then his lips curl into a warm smile, “Oh, the tour?” He turns his gaze at last, directing your attention to the lady with glasses. She’s currently rounding up the new students, seeming to be doing a head count of each one. “Just go to her. There’s no need to join a group or anything.”

“O-oh…thank you…” You reply softly, taking a few quick steps towards the gathering group. You’re about to focus on acting like this really was what you meant, when suddenly Ranpo comes up beside you. “Actually, I’m going to stick with you.” You blink in surprise, pausing in your tracks as you look back at him. His gaze flickers around the large entrance hall, his smile quirking into a grin. “Who needs to memorise a map when you can have someone else to lead you?” “But I don’t know the school layout–” “Well then you best focus on the tour then, because you’re going to be my guide!” His grin grows, leaving you to question just what you’ve signed yourself up for. As a duo, you both join the rest of the group waiting for the tour. Many of the other students are giggling, discussing their interests and the like. You look over at Ranpo briefly.

His attention is elsewhere, specifically on his bag of sweets again. Now it looks like he’s moved on to a cream bun of some kind. Where in the world is he hiding all of that food? “Ranpo Edogawa!” You flinch. Both yours and Ranpo’s eyes dart up towards the woman with glasses. She frowns, tapping her clipboard, “You’re not in uniform again this year. And you’re not a first year! Why are you–”

owned the institution? Or were at the very least funding it?

Were they big shots in the government or law enforcement or– “Hey, earth to space cadet!” You squeak as a hand waves in front of your face. You blink, taking a few steps back, your attention turned back to Ranpo.

He points his thumb towards the group as they begin to move, “The tours starting. You should save the staring off into space thing for later.” “O-oh….um…sorry…” You pull your bag close, unzipping it to pull out the diary you’d received a week prior with your acceptance letter. Flipping through the pages, you bring up the map, sharing it between you and Ranpo. His eyes skim the map briefly and you swear you notice his smile falter. The school tour begins. Your eyes scan over the map eagerly, smiling as you notice all the facilities that are shown to you on your journey and that are labelled on the map in your hands. The dining hall, kitchen and most of the staff rooms, including the staff lounge, principal’s office and the nurse’s bay were located here on the first floor, along with directions for the greenhouse, sports fields outdoors and the co-ed dormitory outside of the building. The second floor was full of classrooms with the expected blackboards and whiteboards for pen-to-paper learning, along with three science rooms. The trio of rooms were connected by small hallways that housed every chemical you and the other students would be working with this year. The doors for each hallway room were locked, of course. The library was also located on this floor, spanning up onto the third floor via spiral staircases, where one could find clubrooms for a variety of subjects like art, music and poetry. And last but not least, there was the roof but the map specified that it was off-limits. Your curiosity was peeked but whenever you considered asking your tour guide for a reason why, your throat suddenly felt very tight. Luckily, the guide did bring it up. “Due to an incident last year, we’ve had to section off the roof,” she explains as your group passes by the locked door with a large, bright yellow warning sign on it. You frown, a chill running down your spine. Your imagination is more than happy to fill in the blank spaces, “But it will be reopened later this year after a few renovations are completed. It will be a nice little eating area for you all by Spring.”

“It wasn’t even bad,” you hear Ranpo murmur beside you. You glance at him briefly. He has his hands behind his head and his elbows up. He looks quite relaxed about the whole thing. “Everyone freaked out for no good reason.” Your curiosity is peaked. You’re tempted to ask for details but you decide against it. With how nonchalant he’s come across so far, you’re rather worried about what he deems as ‘not even bad.’ “And that will just about do it for the tour.” Your attention is drawn back to the tour guide, a relieved smile on her face. “Your dorm room number should be written on the back page of your diaries. If it’s missing, feel free to drop by the office during lunch and we’ll help you out.” Turning your attention back to your diary, you flip through the pages till you reach the end of the book. Sure enough, there’s your room number. 1-43. Dorm block one, room forty-three. You repeat it a few times in your head, memorising the numbers, although your mind wanders a little. These were co-ed dorm rooms. There was a chance you’d be sharing a room with a boy you’d only just be meeting for the first time today. Your hands sweat a little as an uncomfortable tightness stretches across your chest. You close your diary, wanting to go and check your dorm out immediately. “Hey!” You blink rapidly turning your attention over to Ranpo. He has a pout on his face, his hands on his hips, and for the third time today, he has many eyes on him and voices whispering about him.

Once you face him, he crosses his arms, his pout seeming to grow. “U-um…yes?” You reply, hands fiddling with caressing the spiral coil of your diary with your fingers. A small huff escapes him. “I need you to lead me to the principal’s office, guide lady.” Guide lady? Your skin flushes with heat. You swear you can hear a few of the other students nearby giggling and looking your way.

Your throat suddenly feels constricted as he keeps going, his tone sounding more like a child throwing a tantrum now, “You can’t just walk away when I still need your help! You’re my guide and–!” “O-okay!” You blurt out quickly, your fingers combing through your hair a few times as you nod rapidly, your eyes darting from the wall nearby to the long ruby red, gold-trimmed runner then finally up to meet Ranpo’s gaze.

You swallow roughly, turning and beaconing him to follow you as you jog away from the group. “Huh? Hey, slow down!” But you don’t. You jog like there’s somewhere urgent you need to be, which in truth, there is. Away from everyone and everything else. You keep up your pace, not knowing if Ranpo is keeping up with you as you head down the first flight of stairs, then the second. Once you’ve reached the first floor again, you finally start to slow down, pausing and keeling over, hands braced on your knees as you pant. Behind you, you hear Ranpo’s heavy panting as well, followed by a soft thump. You turn quickly, worried he may have tripped in his pursuit of you. “Was there really a need to run? Geez…!” He asks between his heavy panting, his tone irritated. Thankfully, he didn’t trip. That’s a relief. He’s sitting on one of the steps behind you, trying to catch his breath. “The office isn’t going anywhere you know!”

“I-I’m sorry, I just–” Before you can speak any further, Ranpo huffs, standing back up. He jumps towards you, taking the steps two at a time. Soon, he’s standing right in front of you. You can see the sweat rolling down his forehead as you listen to his soft panting. He stares into your eyes and you take a small step back, feeling a little intimidated. His emerald eyes remind you of clovers, of the first day of Spring. They were so vibrant and lovely, charming yet mysterious.

Though perhaps it was best not to be admiring his eyes right now. But much to your surprise, he gives a huff and a smile, “Oooh! You shoulda just told me if you were in a hurry!” You gasp as he hooks his arm around one of yours, his smile growing ever wider, “Okay! Lead the way tour guide!” “I-I have a name…” you murmur, body stiffening as a wave of awkwardness floods through you. As you begin to walk, you contemplate telling him to let go but every second you consider it, your heart flutters like a butterfly is trapped inside.

You hear Ranpo hum as you guide him towards the principal’s office. Slowly. “I have a better name for you!” He announces, not even bothering to ask for your name, “I’m going to call you Wisp.” You wanted to correct him. You wanted to tell him your name or the nickname you would prefer to be called by. You open your mouth. Your throat starts tightening once more and becoming drier than the desert. But you manage to get one single word out. “O-okay…” Thankfully, you find the principal’s office. He doesn’t appear to be in, but you’ve completed the task that was thrust upon you. Fixing your vest and blouse as Ranpo takes a seat outside of the principal’s office, you clutch your school diary a little tighter as you speak up nervously, “U-um…if that’s all, then I have to go now–” Ranpo flashes you one more wide grin as he swings his legs back and forth slowly. He lifts a hand, waving to you quite enthusiastically the moment you begin to hurry away from the area, “Bye bye Wisp! I’ll see you soon!” You raise your hand, giving a faint little wave as you back away. Then like a bat out of hell, you run away as fast as your legs can take you.

Hurrying for the entrance, you leave the academy, heading past the Komainu statues and returning to the cobblestone path that led you here to begin with. 

You pant wildly, heart fluttering like a panicking bird in your chest as you try to calm down. That was too much for your first day. Why did that boy feel the need to cling to you so much? Out of one hundred and fifty people? He isn’t even a first year! Doesn’t he have other friends he could seek out for help? Why you?

You begin walking along the cobblestone path, following the signs nearby to find your way to the dormitories that are already bustling with activity. You see alot of second year students there already, chatting with other classmates. Some are cleaning out their dorm rooms, even moving furniture around with the aid of their room mate. Others are debating switching rooms for a variety of reasons. Your stomach swirls and twists; what if you were sharing a room with a second year student? Worse.

What if you were stuck with a second year boy that already had a girlfriend? What if she was aggressive about changing rooms with you to be with him? What if she wanted to fight you?! Oh, no, no, no! You couldn’t fight! You could barely run track in your previous school without feeling light headed! Your eyes dart across each door, opened or closed until they land on your room door. 1-43. This was it. Oh god, oh god. You shakily step towards the door, lifting a trembling hand to grab the shiny brass door knob. You take a few unsteady breaths as you turn the knob, opening the door to find– No one else. The dorm room is empty. Both sets of keys are still waiting on the hooks by the door. You groan, stepping inside and dumping your bag on the floor. All that worry for nothing. The dorm room itself wasn’t anything immaculate. Compared to the rest of the academy, they were quite small. The back wall is a soft grey, but the other two were a creamy white. The carpet wasn’t exactly soft but it was better than nothing. A large paned window is slotted between the two beds, the vertical blinds open and letting in sunlight from outside. An old wooden chest of drawers was positioned between the two beds, a simple bedside lamp with a wide base in the centre. A desk was positioned at the end of each bed, too small to keep a desktop computer but definitely suitable enough for a laptop. They each came with a lockable drawer and shelving, the perfect spots to put the few sentimental items you’d brought with you and a few books. Your luggage is already here, the large rolling suitcase left at the end of one of the beds. Approaching the bed, you flop down onto it, quickly learning that the pillow isn’t as fluffy as it looks. Still, you groan into it. It’s barely been half a day and you can feel exhaustion crawling through every inch of your body. As you roll onto your back, your mind reels, forcing you to remember every moment the other students looked your way.

Suddenly, their grins and laughter seemed more menacing that it initially was.

They were laughing at you. They had to be. Oh god, were you the academy’s laughing stock already? The way they looked back at you and Ranpo. Those grins on their faces. They were mocking you, weren’t they?

You whine, rolling back over, your face pressing into the flat pillow. It had been your dream for years to come to this academy! Being here was a dream come true for you. You’d hoped that by coming here, you’d find people you could finally connect with. But now, it felt like you had already spoiled your chances. Suddenly, the door opens wide. You squeal, sitting up quickly as the hinges squeak. Your roommate was here already? You look towards the door quickly, your hand gripping at you thigh as you blink in surprise. “R-Ranpo? What are you doing here?” With a smile, Ranpo steps into the room, his voice so loud that you notice other students looking into your dorm from outside, “Well, well! It looks like we’re going to be rooming together Wisp!” He doesn’t bother to close the door. You get up quickly, scampering to the door to close it before you gain an even larger audience. “That’s perfect! Now you don’t have a reason not to be my guide!” You look back only to find him sitting on the bed you’d already claimed. He picks up the pillow, trying to fluff it out before he looks back at you, holding it up, “You’re gonna wanna do something about this pillow situation though!” “Wait…wait, wait…” You shake your head in disbelief, watching as Ranpo grabs the pillow from the other bed, testing to see which is fluffier between the two. “Y-you…? You’re…you’re going to be my roommate?” “Yep! For the entire year!” He looks back up at you, his smile growing wider. He tosses the first pillow over to the other bed. He turns his attention away from you, focusing on fluffing up the pillow he’s chosen to claim. You stand there, completely astonished as you stare at your new roommate. Twelve months. You were going to be stuck living with Ranpo for the next year. 'It could be worse,' you think. 'I mean...at least I kind of know him...?' You look over at your new roommate, settling in and getting comfortable on the bed you already laid claim to. So maybe he had a few quirks, but he didn't seem to be a bad person. Maybe, just maybe...you'd be okay with him being your first friend.

Dividers: @/thecutestgrotto 𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 (If you'd like to be added, go here ♡) @tecchoussuperlady @hearts4heidi @lovestruckbook @wixxlemuff @twinkaesop @livelaughyo @yonseibananamilk @honeyangelsblog @soggyoreoinmilk @verminthorr

[inhuman-obey-me]

Congratulations on +4000 followers. You deserve all the support <3 May I request 🗡️ with Lucifer? Tbh I have LOTS of requests, these prompts have my head running wild. But I'll settle for one for now ^^' have a good day/night :)

Hahaha, thank you, and we're glad you like the prompts!! We're quite excited about them too! (๑>ᴗ<๑)

"Let the knife leave its mark." - Lucifer

content warning: violence, torture, gore/blood

Lucifer has never much minded being called a sadist. He's been accused of it since long before he became a demon. If anything, some might even think he's gone soft since the fall, or so Simeon teases.

His present victim, however, would disagree. Unlike the former seraph, he never actually knew Lucifer as an angel. But what the Avatar of Pride is doing to him now cannot possibly be called soft -- can it?

Lucifer takes his time, carefully examining the way the blood snakes its way down the blade with the judgmental eye of a professor examining his student's work. But although he has been known to teach the occasional course at RAD, and the lesser demon before him is indeed a student at the academy, this is most certainly not standard coursework.

With a tut, Lucifer stands and plucks a similar tiny knife out from the stomach of the puppet in Dresop's hands. The lesser demon winces hard, trying his best to resist automatically squeezing on the doll as the knife that was in his own belly removes itself and disappears. He'd made that mistake earlier, and had earned himself some extra bruises in the process.

"The angle is 0.2 degrees off. Again," the Avatar of Pride instructs, closing up the other's wound with a wave as he hands Dresop the miniature blade again for the umpteenth time.

How long has he been at this, now?

It's an effective punishment, to be sure; over the last several hours, he certainly has come to regret his actions quite deeply. The lesser demon had attacked and injured one of the RAD fangol team members in hopes of opening up a spot for himself to join before the yearly tournament. When he'd been captured, the student council vice president had offered him a choice: Dresop could either inflict the same wounds upon himself once, using this puppet, or Lucifer would do it to him fifty thousand times over himself.

Dresop had chosen what he'd thought was the obvious choice. He hadn't understood what it had actually meant.

He understands now, too late. The Avatar of Pride is unrelentingly strict, and he will not accept anything short of perfection. It'll only extend his punishment further if he's careless about where he strikes.

His eyes are bleary with pain, but he tries to blink away the fuzziness from his vision so he can focus again on the photo of the fangol player's injuries. With a deep breath, he attempts to stop his fingers from trembling as well, trying again to line up the tip of the knife on the puppet to match how the injury looks in the picture.

Another knife materializes in his stomach again as he pushes the blade in, and Dresop has to choke down the bloody bile rising in his throat before his hand shakes from the convulsions, earning a wry smirk from Lucifer.

The Avatar of Pride leans down to examine Dresop's handiwork once again, then slowly straightens back up so he can look down upon the shaking fiend hunched before him.

"Well, after sixty-three thousand, two-hundred forty-seven attempts, it appears you've finally managed to produce a single satisfactory result," he remarks, a vicious smile spreading across his lips. "We can finally let the knife leave its mark."

He hands the demon another one.

"Only twelve more to go, then. And I expect you ought to be quicker about it this time."

[best-underrated-anime]

Best Underrated Anime Group F Round 4: Talentless Nana vs Welcome to Demon School! Iruma-kun

#F6: Talentless Nana (Munou na Nana)

Normal school until stuff happens

#F8: Welcome to Demon School! Iruma-kun (Marimashita! Iruma-kun)

Young boy gets sold to a demon to be his grandson

Details and poll under the cut!

#F6: Talentless Nana (Munou na Nana)

Summary:

Fifty years ago, horrific creatures dubbed as the “enemies of humanity” suddenly appeared around the world. To combat these threats, teenagers gifted with supernatural abilities called “Talents”—such as pyrokinesis and time travel—hone their powers at an academy on a secluded island.

Nanao Nakajima, however, is quite different from the others on the island: he has no Talent. With many “Talented” teenagers around him, Nanao is often a target for bullying, but even so, he still strives to complete his training. Soon after, two transfer students, the mysterious Kyouya Onodera and the mind-reading Nana Hiiragi, join the class. But just as everyone starts blending as comrades-in-arms, mysterious disappearances begin to threaten the class’s entire foundation.

Propaganda:

I’d like to start off by saying that this is NOT a copy of My Hero Academia, even though it sounds as such. It’s kinda hard to explain the show without spoiling a major plot point, but it’s pretty much as the summary says. Honestly, if you want to watch this, don’t look up anything about it—you will get spoiled right away, and it does ruin the experience. I started this without knowing anything about it and I think that’s for the best because it’s plot twist after plot twis,t and you’re not sure what to expect next. That’s honestly something I really liked about it because you don’t know where the story will take you. Anyways, highly recommend because more people should know about this series.

Trigger Warnings:

Child Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Graphic Depictions of Cruelty/Violence/Gore

There’s a Nazi-coded character who does eugenics, and he’s also the reason for the child abuse tw

Sexual assault attempt on main character

Necrophilia (there’s a character who controls another person’s corpse and act like they’re dating)

#F8: Welcome to Demon School! Iruma-kun (Marimashita! Iruma-kun)

Summary:

Fourteen-year-old Iruma Suzuki has been unfortunate all his life, having to work to earn money for his irresponsible parents despite being underage. One day, he finds out that his parents sold him to the demon Sullivan. However, Iruma's worries about what will become of him are soon relieved, for Sullivan merely wants a grandchild, pampering him and making him attend the demon school Babyls.

At first, Iruma tries to keep a low profile in fear of his peers discovering that he is human. Unfortunately, this ends up being more difficult than he expected. It turns out that Sullivan himself is the chairman of the school, and everyone expects him to become the next Demon King!

Iruma immediately finds himself in an outrageous situation when he has to chant a forbidden spell in front of the entire school. With this, Iruma instantly earns a reputation he does not want. Even so, he is bound to be roped into more bizarre circumstances.

Propaganda 1:

The main character, Iruma, is very kind and wholesome, and you really just want to see him succeed throughout the series, especially after knowing everything he’s been through. He was neglected and used by his parents, but now he gets to live out a nice life despite being surrounded by demons, as his new grandfather spoils him. The demon that adopted him, Sullivan, is an extremely powerful figure in the demon realm, but through most of the series, he looks like an egg. The side characters are also well-designed with interesting personalities. The main two, Asmodeus and Clara, become almost inseparable from Iruma after they become friends, and the three of them are very cute together. There is also a canon nonbinary cat person, who is technically Sullivan’s servant, but he is treated as part of the family, and he’s a disaster bisexual.

Propaganda 2:

It’s really good in terms of art, plot, and characters. There’s nonbinary representation in the form of Opera, and there’s friendship galore with very poly undertones. It’s so sweet and good, and it’s just rahhhhh. Everyone is silly but also realistic and well-developed. There are reasonable arcs, and there’s a well mix of plot-driven growth and character-driven plots. I love every person who appears onscreen, even for like two seconds. The world building is lovely and so bright and colorful.

Propaganda 3:

You should vote for it because it is genuinely one of the best animes I’ve ever seen. It has good character development, mysteries, focuses on the cast well, and it is not a harem anime. The plot is also really good and is suitable for all age groups.

Fun fact: the main character crossdresses three times in the first three seasons

Trigger Warnings: Child Abuse (mild)

When reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

If you want to criticize one of the shows above to give the one you’re rooting for an advantage, then do so constructively. I do not tolerate groundless hate or slander on this blog. If I catch you doing such a thing in the notes, be it in the tags or reblogs, I will block you.

Know one of the shows above and not satisfied with how it’s presented in this tournament? Just fill up this form with your revisions, and I’ll consider adapting those changes.

New: Starting round 5, screenshots will be included in the poll post. You can submit screenshots through the form linked above, or through here, via ask or dm.

Guidelines in submitting screenshots:

No NSFW or spoilery images.

Pick some good images please. Don’t send any blurry or pixelated ones.

You may send up to 9 screenshots, but not all may be used.

[fanficfish]

explaining Hetalia character badly: highschool edition

Honestly this is prob just gonna be "if Hetlaia was MHA" but bigger and mixed with some American archtypes lol....just imagine they're in some weird highschool anime!

this is the same format as my Family Reunion explaining post. i'm just make this a tag.

again- ALL HEADCANON CRACK! FOR FUN! :D

also not affiliated with W Academy!

Germany: Class Prez. Who you watched struggle with the milk carton from the cafeteria. And the vending machine dispenser.

N. Italy: The class idiot. Every good class has one, you don't know how they're here but OH GOSH WHEN DID HE LEARN TO USE A SCYTHE LIKE THAT-

S. Italy: The one in the back of the class that gets surprisingly decent grades but also has a potty mouth. You know who I'm talking about.

America: Thinks he's the main character.

Canada: Knows he's not the main character.

Estonia: Is the main character and doesn't realize it until he realizes he's in a love triangle, keeps adopting random animals off the street, has an archnemesis that actively tries to murder him, and somehow survives things he definitely shouldn't have survived.

Lithuania: The one with the highest GPA but everyone thought he was a delinquent.

Latvia: The one with the second-highest GPA that everyone knows is a delinquent. Mostly because he was selling test answers out of the janitor's closet.

Russia: The school bully every good school has.

Belarus: The popular girl every school has that can't decide if she likes the "main character" or not.

China: The guy that acts like he's actually 70 and not 17.

Japan: The quiet kid that knows everyone's dark secrets.

France: Of course he's the obligatory French dude in the Japanese anime. Actually what's up with that? Seriously, all the big amines have either a French guy or a super short person (the best ones have both)....

Lichenstein: She's the short one.

Switzerland: Aaaaaand there's the one in the corrner of the cafeteria scheming how to make the most out of the Job Fair.

Austria: That one weird kid that's got a full ride to Juliard and is the reason why your underfunded school has a MUSIC ROOM, HUH-

England: The guy that somehow got himself class monitor, and does a mostly decent job. Unless you ask him about That Clique.

The Clique: aka, the jocks who miiiight also bully the class monitor by flaunting popularity points a little. Just a little. -Denmark: Clique ringleader, acts friendly with everyone so he's popular but you KNOW you're not getting in on the real action unless he invites you to one of his legendary house parties.

-Norway: Clique leader's second in command who's some introvert the clique leader got attached to. Y'know, as extroverts are required to do. Usually has his face in his phone.

-Finland: Popular on his own, the one person in the clique who doesn't understand that in a clique you generally don't socialize outside the clique. Is the reason the main character gets character development through a house party halfway through the series.

-Sweden: That one jock in the group who looks like a jock, talks like a jock, sometimes acts like a jock, but has the highest GPA out of all of the jocks. He's the one that knows Genovia's official fruit but not the name of the fictional kingdom, if you've seen the meme.

-Iceland: Someone's brother who got absorbed into the clique.

Hungary: The girl campaigning that everyone should do the same kind of pushups, that girls can compete with guys and making presentations on the gender gaps in atheltics. Ofc she's the jock that falls in love with the nerd (Austria).

Ukraine: Bakes everyone treats

Netherlands: Bakes everyone treats but makes everyone pay for them

Luxenberg: Your obligatory rich kid., riding to school in Gucci glasses, a Mercedez-Benz, and a jacket with a high-end brand splashed across the pocket. Also has the latest iPhone.

Belgium: Student council rep, joined fifty clubs.

Greece: He shows up, but usually late, with Starbucks, and sleeps through class.

Romania: He shows up every other day, and bribes the class monitor to mark him present. Does show up for Halloween though.

Bulgaria: You show up?

Spain: Complains about the cafeteria food to anyone who will listen.

Australia: Resident jock #1

Cameron: Resident jock #2

Cuba: Resident jock #3

Portugal: Don't mind him he's in a goth phase. The skulls lining his locker will pass. Probably.

Seychelles: The one that secretly brought all the girls flowers from the fundraiser during Valentine's Week despite not knowing what the fundraiser was for.

Poland: The one on the student council who is the reason everyone is wearing couple outfits for School Spirit Week and the theatre club is doing Legally Blonde.

India: The guy who everyone asks to copy his homework because he sure isn't the most popular but damn does he actually know what's going on.

Turkey: The guy that tried to punch a guy, got punched, then turned around and punched the other guy's bullies. Basically he's That Kid That Got Detention For Trying To Be Helpful, though he did start the fight sooooooo

Egypt: Recorded the fight. For historic purposes of course.

idk i ran out of ideas i'm gonna sleep and fix this if i remember who i was gonna put where lol

[web-novel-polls]

Have You Read This Web Novel?

Shi An is the last Abyss Dragon in the world. Since he was bored, he decided to go into a deep sleep while hugging his treasures. After fifty thousand years of satisfying slumber, Shi An opened his eyes only to discover that he had become a weak human with short hands and legs. He glanced down at his mysteriously downsized body and then lifted his head to look around his empty cave. “……” Where is my powerful and majestic body? My big tail? Most importantly, where are my treasures?! After thousands of years of hard work, sleeping just once has sent me to square one. *** In the year 2202, the conflicts between humans and monsters are becoming more and more intense. Although the monsters are strong, the fantastical species that used to rule the continent have all but disappeared. Shi An, the Shi family’s youngest son, is Mage Academy’s infamous mage who has no magic power. Each student’s magic power is measured at the beginning of the school year. Shi An looked at the three destroyed magic detection equipment and innocently asked, “Eh? Are these equipment’s quality not very good?” During actual combat training, low-ranked monsters fled before Shi An could get close. Shi An looked at their fleeing figures and innocently exclaimed, “Yay, lucky!” Everyone else was speechless. “……?” I believe I am dreaming. *** Mu Heng——human species’ strongest mage——is the only remaining human who bears the noble dragon slayer bloodline. He coldly and arrogantly said, “Dragons? Extinction is their best outcome.” A long time later, Mu Heng turned his head back to look at the dragon cub reclining on the piles of treasure. Mu Heng withdrew his gaze and leisurely asked, “Are there any other jobs? I want a well-paid one.” Extinction is out of the question now. As a matter of fact, I can only earn more money so that I won’t get kicked out of bed at night. - Novel Updates

If you’re in the process of reading this web novel, please choose whichever option best fits your situation. You do not have to be completely finished with it to answer “yes.”

[sovonight]

i had a lot of opinions on xan's age in the mod to the point where i had a post in my drafts all written up about it, essentially just to say that xan should be younger. anyway this is that post

first off let me just put his canon portrait aside. seeing as how bg2 said "hey don't look at the old portraits, jaheira is blond and has slanted eyes now, and viconia is super hot," let's just disregard it as something that can and would probably have been retconned if xan had been brought back officially (especially since he was airbrushed in heroes of baldur's gate).

second off let's set aside all timeline considerations, because bioware doesn't care about timelines, and the video games certainly don't care about timelines, so i don't want to hear "but how could erevain reference xan's depressing attitude in iwd if xan was only in his fifties when erevain--" shhhh shh shh sh. it's okay. bioware forgot about elves when they stated that gorion's ward was 20 years old (and don't even get me started on the flimsy excuse that they're "physically adults" at 20, this is clearly a story meant for a protagonist who is emotionally considered a young adult for their race, elves are elf-20 when they leave candlekeep, thank you), the timeline issue is bigger than all of us.

now, to my point. in the bg2 mod xan's age is stated to be 263, but i disagree. here's why:

elf lore reasons (dnd loremasters avert your eyes):

according to a period-appropriate 2e text, 263 would put him in "old age". just... ruminate on that for a moment. does the bg2 mod remember that elves do still show physical signs of age? if he's 263, shouldn't xan be comfortably tucked away in a wizard tower by now? or like, just generally residing in the safety of his beloved evereska? i know forgotten realms is its own campaign world or whatever, but let’s just assume for a second that the cultural lore here can be directly translated over, because the book also says that not many elves choose to keep adventuring past adulthood. so what is xan doing still adventuring at the age of 263?

"but he's a greycloak!" putting aside how the "greycloaks" were invented solely for the video games so we know next to nothing about them, let's dig into that for a second. just because he's a greycloak doesn't mean he still has to be doing fieldwork. how is it that at 263, he hasn't already been offered some higher up position back at headquarters where he's the one coordinating who takes what missions where? it's not like he's bad at his job--both mods imply that he does well in his career. even if he's not one for management and really just excels in the field, the bg2 mod mentions that xan had a mentor in the greycloaks when he first started--so how is it that he's never mentored anyone else yet?

"sovo he's not good at his job he was literally captured by mulahey and held captive for a month" first of all how dare you, mulahey was a difficult fight with a full party and xan is just one sad little guy. second of all i kind of agree; rookie mistake to head in there completely alone. hmmm, wouldn't that invite you to place him closer to the beginning of his career...? one could even assume that this is his first big solo mission without his mentor...

xan himself

in the bg1 mod, his anecdotes are largely about his time as a student at the academy of magic & the death of his father as a child. to me, that says that he's still close to those periods in his life, and hasn't yet created many experiences beyond them. it's only in the bg2 mod, where his age of 263 is stated for the first time, that he starts telling anecdotes about past greycloak missions and lamenting about how old he is compared to charname.

confusingly, the bg2 mod also gives him a new voice that's rather young compared to his supposed age. yeah yeah i know it's a feat to get voice acting for a mod at all, and the perceived age of a voice is subjective, but it still strikes me as a weird choice that's at odds with the new narrative and dynamic that the mod is trying to push on xan and charname's relationship.

xan and charname's dynamic

in the bg1 mod, xan occasionally calls charname a child when he thinks she's being immature, naive, or optimistic (which is, to him, synonymous with naive). iirc, this is mainly in their earlier exchanges when they're getting to know each other, and charname says things that he thinks are ignorant or rub him the wrong way. this never stuck out to me because it's a usage that fits neatly into the fantasy setting, and it's not saying that he views her as a child. when he does comment on her age outright--like saying that she's surprisingly capable for someone so young--it points out that there's a gap in age between them, but it certainly never gave me the impression that it was on the scale of, like, 100+ years.

in bg1 the gap in life experience between them feels more balanced. xan has much more experience on the road, with adventuring and combat and loss, but he's clearly not... the most well-adjusted or well-rounded guy. he excels both academically and professionally, but his social ties are severely lacking for it--he's isolated, already an outcast before he ever even exiles himself. meanwhile, charname has been confined to candlekeep until adulthood, and so has very little real adventuring/combat experience, but (depending on your rp) has a much more generous view of the world than xan does, and has more long-lasting and close relationships with others (not just considering the game's companions, but the inhabitants of candlekeep).

i read xan's bg1 romance as, this is his first time being in love, ever. and he doesn't know what to do with himself, with these feelings that make his heart soar and sink and that comfort and frustrate him, to the point that his solution is to just up and leave the party. also, his justification for leaving is that he's afraid of what he's heard love will do to him--he's heard that in bonded couples, if one dies, the other will likely die of heartbreak. d'you see the picture i'm painting here?

meanwhile, in the bg2 mod, xan and charname's gap in life experience is newly defined and emphasized. a new array of conversation topics imply that xan was already past all of his firsts in life, including love. xan also now occasionally calls charname "silly girl" or "foolish girl" as some weird admonishment/term of endearment, which... i'm not a fan of, given the new emphasis on how he's so ~old and experienced~ and she's so ~young and innocent~. there's also a dialogue option i despise where charname can tell xan to focus on how young and beautiful she is to take his mind off things, and in another exchange there's an option that starts with an admonishment of "you're not my father," which given everything else that the mod has pushed forward, that comparison is kind of um, ew? charname and xan no longer feel like equal romantic partners to me in bg2, and when he calls her "foolish girl," i don't hear endearment--i hear a statement of perspective. to a 263 year old xan in bg2, she is just a girl, one year out from home.

the significance of 263

"but WHY is he 263," i hear you ask? well, it's simple. it's so simple that they literally stated it in the mod. you see, xan was apparently born in 1105 dr...the year of the guardian.

YES. YOU READ THAT RIGHT. the ONLY reason he's 263 is so that he could say he was born in the year of the guardian! you know, like how he's?? a guardian??? because of the moonblade?? OH, HOW CLEVER!

it’s just yet another way to tie everything about him back to the moonblade (which is funny, considering how he has such mixed feelings towards being a moonblade wielder, and how in the retcon happy ending, he's released from it, so, what's the point) and it’s kind of nonsensical too, because what, everyone who was born in that year turned out to be a guardian of some kind? surely not!

and in case you have any lingering doubts, you're pretty much told outright that the name was part of the reasoning because xan starts guessing charname's birth year.... based on her class. yes, he starts suggesting year names with "blade" or "shadow" in them if you're a thief class. and i thought he was supposed to be intelligent.

my fix

i prefer to think of xan as being 140, about halfway through the conventional adventuring age range of 110-174. this would put him as being born in 1228 dr, year of the tattered banners, which honestly, if you really want the name of the year to be tied to him in some way, "tattered banners" sounds worn and depressing enough to suit him. it’s a fitting age for him to be bleakly thinking that he’ll die before he ever reaches middle age bc the adventuring life will be the death of him, to still have his years as an academy student actively on his mind, and to act like he already knows everything about life without recognizing that he still has a lot to learn.

this may feel like a very simple and underwhelming answer for the journey we took to get here, and it is. really, though, i can't get over the year name reasoning. you know there's a "year of the trembling tree"? you know who also trembles? xa--

[pink-gladioli]

shit i forgot to post the first chapter before i left my bad

also shout out @/ p-s-yokubo for being my beta reader!!!

One hundred and fifty years wasn’t really long, not at Knightons Knights’ Academy. Peace had thrived in Knighton for centuries, monsters were a thing of the past even a hundred and fifty years ago all that remained of the inhuman creatures was a few weak stragglers at the edges of civilization. But it seemed as if it didn’t matter if there were monsters or not, a threat to the realm or peace, there would always be knights in Knighton just as the sun would rise every morning. So, in order to train these knights, the Knights’ Academy would stay alive but those youths they trained to become knights were far from what was deemed “knightly" all those centuries ago.

The Knights’ Academy had been founded over three thousand years ago, by Reginald Brickland, a member of the Order of the Eight, yet if its founder were to step foot in its halls he wouldn’t be able to recognize the very walls he built. It had gone through renovations, sure, no building can last three millennia no matter how much magic you blast into the foundation, but it was as if the very soul of the Academy had changed. With no monster to fight or major wars across its realm, Knighton had lost the need for rigidly trained knights. Instead, the Knights’ Academy served a more modern purpose, a training center for the kingdom's young minds. Everything from traditional combat training to acting was taught to the over ten thousand students that graced its halls. While every student was required to learn the ways of Knighthood, most didn’t have the intention of actually becoming a Shield Bearer or a Protector of the Realm. Most students attended to have access to the best educators Knighton has to offer, opportunities to raise their social class after graduation, or to mingle with the children of nobility. Regardless, each child that had the privilege of attending the Knights’ Academy was required to take at least some form of combat training which, for some, was part of the reason they worked so hard to enter this academy and for others it was… a pain.

“For the last time- it’s swing perry thrust then you-” “Will you shut up?! I don’t care how its supposed to be done, I finished the-” “Well, if you actually paid attention to the lesson then we wouldn’t have come in last place-” “SHUT UP YOU-”

Ah yes, the sixth years of Knightons’s academy, truly the most civil of knights in training. It was a cool spring day, the sun shone just enough to warm the skin but not too much where it was stronger than the cool eastern winds. A perfect day for outdoor battle practice and that was just what concluded. But unfortunately it was a group practice day in which all the students would be bunched into random groups and pitted against each other in battle. As one could imagine, not every group got along swimmingly.

“Lance, you have to pay more attention and actually try in practice! You act as if none of this matters!” A young boy yelled out, he was slightly shorter than the boy he was yelling at, his hair was a deep brown and was slicked back to not end up with hat hair from wearing a knight’s helmet too long. His skin was a light brown with slight scarring all over his arms and a bit of hyperpigmentation from sun damage. His eyes, much like his hair, were a deep brown but despite their dark color his annoyance was clear as day.

“Because it doesn’t matter! We finished the battle, who cares if we came in last place? I don't care and my opinion is the only one that matters! Get off your high horse, no one here really cares about this, Clay!” The other boy, Lance, yelled back. His hair was the perfect natural blond, styled to the T, that somehow survived the physical battle he and his peers just had. His skin was fair and face lacking any blemishes, most likely from the boy's 12 step skincare routine, and his eyes were such a bright light blue it was a shock he could actually look up at the skin without going blind.

The rest of their battle group did nothing to stop their bickering, they were all used to it. It wasn’t until a tall and lanky boy walked up to Clay and tapped his shoulder when they stopped yelling, if only for a second to listen to what he had to say. “Hey Clay- I uh- it’s time to go back and change into our uniforms, uh class is o-over…” The boy said timidly, nervously twiddling his fingers together as he avoided eye contact with Lance who was staring at him. He was taller, he had a few inches on Lance yet his body language was timid, like he was trying to seem as small as possible despite his size and disappear into the background. The boy was thin, very thin, and if it weren’t for the guaranteed three meals a day he got from the Knights’ Academy one would have wondered if he was eating enough. His skin was almost sickly pale, lacking any warmth, almost looking like lead white clown paint. The only bit of color visible on him besides the school provided battle armor was his eyes and hair. His hair was completely black, not even a direct hit from the sun would show any undertone, but it was hidden underneath the knight's helmet. Yet despite his black and white face, his eyes were a bright emerald green. Despite their glow, they stayed firmly on the ground, avoiding eye contact with both Clay and Lance.

“…Fine” Clay said, giving Lance a quick glare before walking away with the other boy. He ignored Lance’s name calling he whispered under his breath, if he spent more time arguing he would be late to Chivalry and Ethics 102. Clay took a deep breath as he reached the armory, took off his chestplate, and hung it carefully on the rack, “You did good Jestro, really” Clay said as he turned to the taller boy.

“H-Huh-? Oh, uh thanks Clay, I s-still messed up a lot…” Jestro said, looking down at the floor as his hands started to move in small circular movements, almost as if he was juggling something.

“Oh come on Jestro, you have to give yourself more credit! I saw your block after Glaziere came at you with his sword, a few weeks ago you were telling me how you thought you would never learn how to block!” Clay countered proudly, trying to motivate his friend.

“Yeah and immediately after I got hit in the back with an arrow. I’m not good at anything…” Jestro said, his entire soul seeming defeated, but once he got a glimpse of Clay’s facial expression that was a mix of concern and pity he straightened up his posture and put on a weak smile, “B-But m-maybe that just m-means I need to t-try harder! A-And if this whole knight thing doesn’t work out I can always keep s-studing under Merlok!” Jestro said, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself more than Clay.

“That’s the spirit Jestro, I’ll see you at lunch” Clay said with a smile before quickly taking off to his next class. He always made sure to arrive a few minutes before class started, something about how it showed his determination to learn. Jestro didn’t really understand it. He sighed, taking off his helmet and quickly putting on a jester hat. He changed out of his armor and into his school uniform.

If Jestro were to be honest, he would say he didn’t want to become a knight. Who really wanted to be a knight nowadays anyways? Certainly not him, but he would never admit it to Clay, he was so determined to become a Protector of the Realm. Still, Jestro had the suspicion that deep down Clay knew that Jestro didn’t want to be a knight, he just wanted a purpose, something to do with his life. But it didn’t help that everything he did was a complete failure. The only reason his battle squad didn’t get dragged down to last place due to him was because somehow Clay and Lance’s fighting was a greater weakness than his existence. He was reminded of his failure everyday, even as he got onto the Academy’s Holorail he could hear the quiet snickers that he knew were directed at him. He had messed up so many times in practice battles, gave the wrong answer in class, or tripped over nothing he became the prime target for bullying. Lucky for him, the ride to Merlok’s library was short enough where he didn’t hear too many whispered insults from his peers.

As Jestro stepped out of the holorail he looked up at the tower in front of him. It was one of the few old buildings left in the capital, the only real sign of modern day technology was the security system it had in place and even that wasn’t visible. The only tech that was visible was a small keypad and camera at the door but even those had been magically infused to keep them from shutting off if there was a power outage. At the top of the door, written in a magically glowing gold font was the words “Merlok the Magician’s Library,” this was the place Jestro spent instead of going to traditional classes. While the young man still had to take his core classes at the Academy, even Principal Brinkland knew that Jestro didn’t… thrive in these classes, so they simply shoved him to Merlok to get him out of their hair. He walked up and nervously typed in the code. It changed everyday and the only person that knew what the combination would be everyday was Merlok, so every morning Jestro would be awoken by some messenger bird pecking at the window with the code written on a piece of parchment tied to the bird’s leg. Jestro had tried to teach Merlok how to use a phone he could simply text him the code but somehow the teaching session ended up with a blown up phone and Merlok claiming that messenger birds were more reliable because they could take a fire blast without dying. Jestro then had to remind the man that no, birds can’t take a fireball to the head and survive, just like a phone can’t but there was no changing the man’s mind.

The old door stayed closed after Jestro typed in the code so he tried again, nothing. “Huh, that’s odd, it normally opens on its own after I type in the code” Jestro mumbled to himself before trying to push it open one more time and nothing again. So, the young boy took a few steps back before running at the door shoulder first, intending to brute force it open, but right before his shoulder made contact with the old wooden door, it opened and caused Jestro to run into the tower and crash against the wall.

“Ow! Crap ugh that hurt… Of course it opens-'' Jestro got up, ignoring the pain in his side as he dusted off the dirt on his clothes before making his way up the long spiral column of stairs. It felt like an eternity before he made it to the top of the tower, gently knocking on a large wooden door locked before him before pushing it open. “Merlok? Are you in here?”

As Jestro stepped into the library he saw an elderly man standing next to a large table that was covered in books with a staff in hand. The older man looked up from one of the old books and smiled warmly, “Ah, there you are my boy. Come over here I was looking over my old spell books and found some different incantations we could try.” Merlok was a kind soul, the last his kind, yet he did his best to pass his wisdom onto Jestro,

“Oh- uh I-I was kinda hoping we could j-just read and study instead of… practicing” Jestro said as he put down his bag next to the door then walked over to Merlok, his hands shaking slightly as he touched one of the books that was decades older than him. It didn’t matter how many times he interacted with Merlok’s relics, Jestro always felt like was going to ruin the sacred text somehow. “I don’t want to b-break anything…”

“Nonsense! Everything in this library is already preserved under the Royal Palace. Anyone can spend their whole life studying something but if they never apply that knowledge then it’s pointless. And besides, few are even able to use that knowledge” Merlok said with a sly smirk, gently nudging Jestro’s shoulder. Jestro gave a nervous smile back to the magician before he reached down for the small staff laid out on the table. “A-Alright, what are we doing?”

“It’s a simple teleportation incantation, although I’ve edited it slightly to focus more on the first part, making an object disappear!” Merlok said, flipping open one of the many books on the old table open to a page that had much more recent calligraphy in comparison to the century old spells written on the other pages.

“Wait, isn’t this the spell you use for events in the Joustdome? I thought it was a wordless spell,” Jestro asked, “Ah, yes. Of course, with experience even the most complicated of spells can be performed without its incantation, but young sourcers are always taught the incantations of their spells. But don’t worry, this is a simple spell, you’ll get the hang of it and before you know you’ll be performing alongside me in the Joustdome” Merlok said with a warm smile, placing a reassuring hand on Jestro’s shoulder before reaching for a empty potion bottle and placing it on the table. “Now simply read the incantation here and focus your mind onto the glass bottle, just like the levitation spell we practiced a few weeks ago.”

“A-Alright, I-I’ll try not to turn it into a glass pig…” Jestro mumbled nervously as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wooden wand. It was the first item that started his magical journey, Merlok had noticed the fine bits of purple feathers crafted into the small staff would glow a faint light whenever Jestro tried to do anything whilst the wand was near around the boy’s second year in the academy. That was how Merlok discovered Jestro had the ability to wield magic, although faintly and his connection to magic still needed to be greatly strengthened; it had been the first sign of a possible new wizard in decades.

“So it’s uh- Okay, d-deep breaths, you c-can do t-this… E-Evanescet- AH-!” As soon as Jestro raised his wand and the spell slipped from his lips a golden light surrounded the glass bottle. But just as soon as it began to glow, its light faded and violently shattered into a thousand small pieces. How Jestro nor Merlok was hit the young wizard in training didn’t know. But as soon as realized what happened he quickly started apologizing.

“Gah- Merlok I’m so s-sorry I-I didn’t mean to-” Jestro tried apologizing as he panicked at the sight of the broken bottle.

“It’s alright my boy, no one got hurt and mistakes happen. Normally failed incantations result in nothing and I can’t say I remember any of the other wizard trainees of the time of the Council having such a…” Merlok paused for a second, trying to find the right word that wouldn’t break the boy’s already fragile ego, “…violent result to such a simple spell…”

Merlok didn’t have to say it and he never tried to say anything that would hurt Jestro, he knew the boy was trying, but his facial expression showed his confusion, slight disappointment, and worry clear as day. Jestro pushed down the shame as deep as he could, he wouldn’t cry over something this small, no matter how much it hurt him to have his mentor disappointed in him. He knew Merlok wasn’t the best at comforting people so he tried to put on a neutral face.

“But it’s okay, let’s take a break alright?” Merlok said, putting down his own staff and closing the book, “We’ll clean up later. Now, tell me how your interview for your role of Royal Jester went?” Merlok asked, quickly trying to change the subject as he led Jestro out of the library.

so thats all i have so far! pls leave any suggestions and critism you have!! next chapter will probably just be focused on introducing the main 5 with maybe a bit of ava and robin in the background idk

[daifukumochiin]

Summary: Sasuke's orderly life at elite Sairiumu Academy is disrupted by the arrival of Hinata, a timid transfer student whose obvious crush on him, a young man dedicated to his craft and his current relationship, stirs unease. (Initial SasuSaku with SasuHina endgame, modern Norse myth AU, high school, angst, romance, photography, postmodern-ish fic). Rated T

LIGHTS,

BOWS, and

MISTLETOES

an entry for SasuHina Month 2024, Day 27 : Forget and Remember

(for peachy-hina, since December)

@sasuhinamonth

ffnet: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14369143/1/Lights-Bows-and-Mistletoes

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57030778

Part 1: Lights

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vii

As it turned out, there weren't many Hyuuga families in Metro Konoha including Neji's family of three, formed from the union of a self-made millionaire and the scion of the long-term mayor of Metro Konoha. As a result, the private investigator Sasuke had hired had managed to call back earlier than expected.

"She's not listed under any Hyuuga family here," said the PI, handing Sasuke the files.

The office reeked of cigarettes. Every so often, the door would open, making the bell ring, and a sheepdog would wander in. Sasuke had never hired a private investigator before—this was more up his brother's alley—which made him anxious, knowing that anyone he knew could easily walk into this office and pry into his business.

"Do you mind?" Sasuke gestured to the door.

The PI waved his hand indicating he was free to do so, and Sasuke quickly locked it.

When he returned to the report, Sasuke's mind raced as he scanned the PI's findings. A mix of frustration and curiosity gnawed at him. "What could this mean?"

"Hyuuga is not a common name around here. She must've hailed from somewhere else, another country perhaps—"

"Can you check immigration records?"

"Sure, but it'll cost extra."

Sasuke clicked his tongue in scorn. He'd rather spend it on software or equipment.

"Rich kid like you, why so stingy?" The PI laughed.

"Rich." Sasuke snorted. "Just my old folks."

"Sounds the same to me."

"Is that really the only possibility? That she's here on a visa? But if that's the case, why is her family background confidential? Don't you think there could be other reasons?"

"People can come up with all sorts of things. In one of my past cases, a woman discovered that the lady applying to be her son's babysitter was her husband's illegitimate daughter. At first, when we started digging, we found out she wasn't listed in any family registry. The wife had only gotten suspicious in the first place because the girl had a port wine stain on her forehead that looked just like her husband's. So, we sent in DNA samples. Turned out, she was right.

"Now, in this Hyuuga girl's case, she's studying at Sairiumu and renting an apartment at Hashirama Park for 500,000 ryo a year, all paid in cash. It could be that she got this far with missing documents because Dad—or whoever—could pull the necessary strings. Just not any unsavory gossip that could hurt their reputation. That sort of thing…"

Sasuke stood abruptly, his chair creaking. Goosebumps covered his arms. That must be it. Hinata Hyuuga was a hidden mistress's daughter. No wonder Neji seemed appalled.

"But these are just theories," the PI added, lighting another cigarette. "The truth could be a whole lot different once we try to find out."

Sasuke covered his nose. "I've heard enough."

In the wake of this conclusion, Sasuke felt it justified when the results of the qualifying exhibition came out with no mention of Hinata Hyuuga. Whispers circulated among the recruitment committee about how entry number sixty-seven could have fallen short of the top fifty despite its popularity during the exhibit. But that was all. No complaint has been filed by Hinata either.

It wasn't until Sasuke saw the two together that the intricacies of the truth about their situation truly hit him.

The school had already quieted then, with only a few stragglers lingering as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the empty pathways. After returning some books to the library, Sasuke circled to the back of the building to take a shortcut to the studio when he heard a familiar voice—Neji's—talking to someone by the plaza with the antique bronze drinking fountain. Curiosity drew him closer. He peered from behind a cypress and realized that the other person had been Hinata.

"Didn't I tell you? There's no place for you here. Go back to Yukigakure—"

Hinata kept her head down, her eyes glued to the granite pavers, silent.

"—Or would you rather I tell the school head how you're actually psychologically ill? You think I can’t see through you? You're not here for school or the photography club. You're here because of Sasuke—leave him alone. Drink your meds and don't leave your room until you start thinking straight. He's not who you think he is, and you're not who you think you are."

Frustrated that Hinata hadn't responded, not with even as much as a glare, Neji spun away with an offended huff and strode off. When Hinata lifted her head, tears dripped down her cheeks, and just as silently as they fell, she tried to wipe them out of her eyes. But they only kept coming, the devastation in her war-torn expression not making a sound. The layers of grief that she tossed with a look to the sky budded only to die at her feet.

For some reason, Sasuke felt cemented to the grass and couldn't walk away pretending that he heard and saw nothing.

So, the day after, when it happened that their paths crossed, that their gazes met—when she made a slight bow and timidly carried on with her pace—Sasuke made a decision. With jaws set and hands balled tight, he called:

"Wait."

Hinata stopped.

"I liked your entry," he said.

Her mouth stayed half-open—it didn't immediately register, it seemed. Gradually, as it did, her eyes widened, her face lit aglow. Her unassuming reaction to just a few simple words caught him stunned and faltering. He glanced elsewhere, his ears burning, his heart pounding loudly.

"Don't stop taking pictures," he urged after clearing his throat, though what he wanted to say was: I think you have something special.

If only their start hadn't been that time at Hashirama's bridge and her stalking, perhaps he would've been interested in working with her.

When he arrived at his office, on his desk was a book that didn't belong to him nor had he borrowed a copy from the library: The Poetic Edda by Jeramy Dodds.

He searched the front and back covers and the edges for any identification to no avail. One of the pages had been dog-eared, and when he opened it, a wild chamomile flower fell off. Highlighted in yellow on the page was the passage:

As though a switch had been turned on, the words transported him back to his research for the qualifying exhibition the previous year, bringing to the fore in vivid recall Longfellow's "Tegner's Drapa" and the bits he'd read off C.S. Lewis's Surprised by Joy; a memory that worked like his would store anything that caught his eye like clockwork, categorized and filed away until he'd found some use.

Line by line, the words connected, popping off; images formed like ant trails in his mind. Realization surged within him like lightning coursing down his veins, gathering into his trembling fists, fingers squeezed near breaking point. Having maxed out all charge storage capacity, he screamed muted air out, emptying his lungs.

He finally found the theme.

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[jeniffercheck]

ignore tenderness (part 1)

shivlina parent-teacher au: karolina is the vice principal of waystar academy, the flagship of the roy dynasty, shiv's daughter is starting first grade there as tomshiv go through a very fun divorce xx

words: 2k

read here or on ao3

It’s different when she walks in.

Well, not different, just not how she remembers, which is to say, that it’s different, all the same.

The school has been renovated in the last ten years—which, more than ten, but she doesn’t need to go there—at the helm of some benevolent benefactors that Dad had begrudgingly accepted.

(The Nan Pierce Center of Art and Communications had been the cause of the big one, she’s sure of it.)

It’s still archaic, in a sense—the hardwood flooring of the grand foyer creaking underneath her feet as she steps on floorboards that she’s certain were just as creaky as when she was a student, the walls still lined in that ornate aging oak that’s excruciatingly reminiscent of the day school out in Dulwich that Mom had shipped her off to that one summer when she was ten and wouldn’t do so much as look in her mother’s direction without picking a pitiful fight (Caroline’s words), and it still smells the same, like lemon-oil and fucking wood, a pyre of austere childhoods waiting to go up in flames before they can amount to anything that even so much as resembles a dream.

But the rest of it—the halls where she sprinted with her friends, spouting hushed giggles as they skipped class during senior year, the windows that were sure to break every time the fall semester rolled right around with hurricane season, even the fireplace that was never on, now both on and electric, burning bright at the center of the entrance—it’s different.

Not that she thought she’d have to see it.

(Tom walked so far up Dad’s ass during Easter dinner last spring that he’d promised Logan they’d be seeing Emma at Waystar Academy for the start of first grade without consulting Shiv first. Logan had been so delighted that they couldn’t renege, and Shiv had been so enraged that she told Tom that she wouldn’t be stepping foot on that campus without it involving a lighter and a canister of gasoline.

That was the start of the end, she thinks.)

Life works in one, very simple way for Shiv Roy. She wants something, and then it doesn’t happen.

She wanted Tom to make good on his promise that if her daughter were to be enrolled in this school, it would be his problem. Enrollment interviews? His problem. Parent-Teacher conferences? His problem. Transportation? His problem. PTA requirements? Most definitely, his problem. And realistically, no, Shiv would’ve have made it to the end of October before the pettiness wore out and she took her rightful spot at the helm of it all, but she thought she had more time, at the very least.

She didn’t think she’d be walking into this school, the birthright that isn’t actually hers, not even a full four days into the term because Tom has a very important meeting that I absolutely cannot miss, Siobhan, unless you’d like to be paying spousal support for the next thirteen years of your daughter’s life so that she doesn’t have to spend fifty-percent of her time in a shoebox in Battery Park and Shiv had wanted to say there’s no way in ripe hell that you’re getting fifty-fucking-percent of anything but she was in a strategy meeting with way too many eyes and just smiled politely and said that’s fine, Tom, we’ll talk about this tonight, and an hour and a half later she was thirty minutes outside of the city, pulling a company car into the parking lot of the one place she never wanted to return to.

Now, she’s standing outside of the Vice Principal’s office—because he can’t even be bothered to see to his own granddaughter, she supposes—waiting to find out why it is that Tom was called into the school during the middle of the day on the first Thursday of the school year.

  —

  Shiv knows within about ten seconds of meeting the Vice Principal that she does not like the woman.

First, she walks into the office to find Emma already there, sulking in one of two big seats across from the Vice Principal’s desk. It swallows her entirely—still small for five-almost-six, though the doctor isn’t concerned, just mildly interested in tracking her growth over the next few months or so—and she cowers into it as Shiv arrives, the dark strawberry blonde trusses of her ponytail catching the leather seat like tv static, and the Vice Principal is kneeling in front of the chair, smiling at her daughter like they share a secret that Shiv could never dream of understanding, and it’s not until Shiv loudly closes the door behind her and clears her throat that either of them even notices she’s walked in at all, and that’s that.

The Vice Principal stands—all dark hair, dark clothing, and sharp eyes, cold and not at all like she’d expected Frank’s replacement to be—and holds out her hand.

“Ms. Roy, I’m Dr. Novotney,” she says, then glances toward Emma, discreetly and briefly. “We were expecting Mr. Wambsgans.”

She doesn’t finish the sentence, not with the question she means, and Shiv glances down as well, Emma focused solely on untying and tying her shoelace with all the concentration that a nervous almost-six-year-old can muster.

(Emma had insisted that she start the first grade with laced shoes and Shiv had insisted that if she wanted to wear them then she better know how to tie them. By the end of the next week, she could do both in under a minute.)

Shiv waits for Emma to finish the new knot before she brushes the top of her head, brushing down the rogue baby hairs with the pad of her thumb.

“Shoes off the chair, Emma,” she says. “You know the rules.”

She looks fine, decidedly, which can only mean so many things, and Emma listens diligently, still not looking up. Shiv returns her gaze to Dr. Novotney, eyes the myriad of framed diplomas sitting proudly behind the desk.

“Tom’s tied up in the city,” Shiv says, smiles politely. “We appreciate you waiting.”

Dr. Novotney—first name, Karolina, as presented on each meticulously spaced-out accolade—returns the smile, short and tight, and moves behind her desk. She gestures to the chair next to Emma’s.

“Please, take a seat.”

  —

  Emma, for whatever she lacks in brute physicality, is certainly Shiv’s daughter.

“What do you mean she pushed him?”

Dr. Novotney, folds her hands calmly on the desk, Shiv’s stiff in her lap. She eyes Emma, still fussing, having moved onto the hem of her skirt.

“Well, Ms. Roy—she pushed him,” Dr. Novotney says, and Shiv holds her breath, bites the inside of her cheek so as to not roll her eyes at the statement, because, yes, they’ve clearly established that her daughter pushed someone.

“And is there more to it than that, or are you trying to tell me that she just walked into school today and felt like pushing someone?”

Emma, still looking away, crosses her arms.

“The teacher on duty reported that there was a—verbal spat in the lunch line,” Dr. Novotney explains. “As you know, the entire school eats lunch together, so, occasionally the older classes are next to the younger classes in line, and this student seemed to know, well—who Emma is.”

“What was the spat about?” Shiv asks. The Vice Principal shifts then, and looks at Emma briefly, Emma looking away, dutifully defiant.

“Um—” Dr. Novotney leans forward. “You know, Ms. Roy—sometimes the children hear things at home, and then they bring those things into the school, and they don’t even know what they’re saying, but they say them anyway—”

“What did he say?” Shiv interrupts. She looks at her daughter. “Emma?”

Emma steals a glance at Dr. Novotney this time, as if looking for permission to repeat the words that had been spoken, and the principal nods at her.

“It’s okay, Emma,” Dr. Novotney says, gently.

Emma looks down and scuffs her shoes together in a way that would have Shiv scolding her in any other situation.

“He said I don’t look like daddy,” she says, and Shiv sees red, just very briefly, and knows she should cut the meeting short, tell Emma that she has permission to push anyone who speaks to her that way, any stupid boy who dares to get in her face and speak with vitriol—to use rumors against her, whether he understands them or not, whether they’re true or not.

(Rumors that, if were true at all, even just a small percent— would make Shiv Roy’s life infinitely easier.)

Emma’s eyes drop under those long lashes that look so, so, much like Tom’s and Shiv curls a fist inward, returning a sharp gaze to Dr. Novotney.

“So, my daughter felt threatened by an older, male, student because he was spreading lies and teasing her about them, and she’s being punished for defending herself?”

The Vice Principal, to her credit, sets her jaw in a way that lets Shiv know that she’s not exactly happy about the arrangement either, but to Shiv’s absolute displeasure, it doesn’t change a damn thing.

“Ms. Roy, as you also know, we have a zero-tolerance policy for violence here at Waystar Academy,” she starts. “Fortunately, Emma was unharmed in the spat, but we can’t say the same for the other student.”

A boy in the third grade with a sprained wrist, courtesy of his falling over after being pushed by a thirty-four-inch tall five-year-old.

“He taunted her—” Shiv says. “A boy is bullying my daughter and the school’s response is to punish her?”

“Ms. Roy—”

“Does my father know about this?”

The Vice Principal takes a deep breath, and Shiv would laugh if she weren’t so enraged. She’s good at this.

“Ms. Roy, we generally like to keep disciplinary action through the Vice Principal’s office unless the situation calls for escalation.”

Shiv nods. She’s not stupid. She can read between the lines. “You asked him already?”

Dr. Novotney diverts her eyes. “I raised it with him,” she confirms. “Seeing as Emma is his granddaughter.”

“And?”

Dr. Novotney looks back at her. “He thought it best that her punishment come from an unbiased party.”

Shiv doesn’t move a muscle. “And what is her proposed punishment?”

Dr. Novotney straightens a stack of papers on her desk, pulling a page out and sliding it to Shiv. “We’ll start with a seven-day restricted play during recess,” Dr. Novotney says. “She’ll still receive outside time with her class, just no recreation during the thirty minutes.”

“And the boy?”

“We’ll ensure that he and his parents are spoken to about this behavior,” Dr. Novotney says, and Shiv can’t help it when she finally laughs, quietly, but she does, at the incredulity of the situation.

“Right,” Shiv says. “Wouldn’t want to have a lawsuit on your hands.”

Dr. Novotney opens her mouth at that, and then smiles, sweet, kind, and turns to Emma. She stands.

“Emma, would you please wait outside?”

Emma, ever caught between all the authority in her surroundings, looks at Shiv. “Go on, honey,” she says, digging her phone out of her pocket. She unlocks it, switches it to Emma’s setting. “Just wait quietly, alright?”

Emma nods and takes the phone, still not quite meeting Shiv’s eye. She leaves her backpack, forgotten on the floor beside the chair. Karolina is silent until Emma disappears behind the door.

“Video games are against school policy,” Dr. Novotney says, watching the door close completely.

“Bullying is against school policy as well, no?”

Dr. Novotney sighs, and Shiv finds it impressive almost, that she still hasn’t cracked under Shiv’s attempts at instigation. “Look, Ms. Roy—” She walks around the desk, stops in front of Shiv, and leans back. “I’m not under the illusion that the actions of the other student were acceptable, but there are policies, yes, and violence is not one that we can let go without punishment.”

“So, you can let other broken policies go without punishment?”

“The other student will receive a recorded verbal warning as stated under our anti-bullying policy,” Dr. Novotney says. “There are three strikes until suspension. That’s all I can do at this moment.”

Shiv shakes her head and stands.

“The lengths this school goes to,” she mutters. “To raise entitled men.”

Something flashes in the Vice Principal’s eyes then, solid but shimmeringly enraged in a way that Shiv knows well, and Shiv can tell she agrees. She also knows it doesn’t mean anything.

“If you have any issues with the solutions discussed today, I’d be more than happy to raise them with the principal.”

Shiv smiles. Just another lackey. Not a thing at this school is any different.

“No need,” Shiv says. “I have him on speed dial.”

“Of course,” Karolina smiles.

“If that’s all?”

“There was one more thing,” Dr. Novotney says, standing up from the desk. She looks nervous, suddenly. “I just wanted to ask—if this sort of behavior, well—Emma’s only been here a few days and there wasn’t anything that stood out in her previous school records, but—is this sort of behavior typical for her?”

Shiv freezes.

“Is my daughter typically violent toward other children?” Shiv asks, squinting her eyes.

“I’d just like to know if there are any accommodations we should be making for her, anything that we missed in the onboarding process,” Dr. Novotney says. “We can work with her if she’s having problems with, you know—regulation.”

Shiv smiles—she thinks. “Yes, well, I appreciate the concern, but she seems to regulate just fine when other kids aren’t standing in the lunch line suggesting that her father isn’t actually her father.”

“Of course,” Dr. Novotney says, quickly. She pauses, bends down, and picks up Emma’s backpack. “It’s just my duty to ask. And—I assure you, we will be having that discussion with the other student.”

She holds it out toward Shiv, and Shiv grabs it, biting her tongue. She nods.

“Please let my office know if you have any questions,” Dr. Novotney says, with a sense of finality. “Send my regards to Mr. Wambsgans.”

“I’ll make sure to send him your very best, Dr. Novotney,” Shiv says, voice dripping in poison. She leaves the office without another glance.

She holds out her hand to Emma. “Let’s go.”

(Tom, later, hushed in the ensuite of the bedroom that he doesn’t sleep in anymore—

“She pushed another kid—and you took her out for ice cream?”)