#their assigned mentor once or twice a week.

[myimaginationplain]

imagine: professor utonium mentoring dexter vs professor membrane mentoring mandark

[starker-raving-mads]

For You: Part VI

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX

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It took nearly 2 weeks for the TONY profile to run. Every moment felt like the longest 2 weeks of Peter's life. He had Friday giving him updates at every 5% completion, but he only got those updates once or twice a day.

He spent every day at the penthouse in that time, stopping at May's apartment only twice for dinner (after threats of coming to check on just what he was doing in that lab all the time - which, he really did not want to explain). MJ was nearly as concerned but Ned totally seemed to get it.

"Dude if I had access to Tony Stark's lab I would never, ever leave," his friend had gushed at one of their lunches out at a hole-in-the-wall taco place in Queens.

"You are not helping, Ned."

But the Avengers, at least, also seemed to understand.

"This isn't nearly as bad as what Tony used to do," Rhodey said, beer in hand as he and Peter ate away at too much Vietnamese take out around the penthouse kitchen island. "He wasn't exactly the best role model, but I know you nerd types," he chuckled. "You can't help it."

"Thank you," the teen said emphatically. "It's like once I get on a roll I kind of forget time even exists." Which wasn't true, he'd been counting down the hours until the next 5% interval completed since he started running the algorithm to create the TONY sim, but the colonel didn't need to know that.

"Hey, just as long as you still acknowledge the outside world exists I think you're probably doing pretty okay," the older man shrugged. "So outside of becoming an experiment obsessed little weirdo like the rest of them - "

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Peter chuckled, stuffing his mouth with dumplings.

" - what have you been up to, Pete?"

It took the young vigilante a solid second to remember life outside the lab.

"Well," he replied, swallowing. He stopped for a gulp of water before continuing. "I picked my classes for the fall semester, which is pretty exciting."

"College is such a game changer," Rhodey agreed, "very exciting. I met Tony in college, you know, back when he was scrawnier than you are now."

"I know," Peter smiled. "He told me; you were a few years older than him at the time, right?"

"Oh absolutely, I was sponsored through the air force," Rhodey nodded. "No 14 year old geniuses in my family," he laughed. "Nah, I was already 20 by the time I met Tony. I was assigned to college dorms because it was just cheaper for the Air Force to put me up through my scholarship. Felt weird being surrounded by a bunch of 18 year olds, but then it got even weirder when Tony was assigned as my roommate."

"I bet it was pretty strange," the teen agreed, stuffing another dumpling in his mouth. The cabbage and meat and spices were just right and he was getting more than a little addicted to them.

"It was, at first," the older man said. "But you know Tony - the man had charisma out the ass even then, and was even more trouble than he was as an adult. Man," he laughed, shaking his head in reverie, "the amount of parties and fights I had to pull him out of. Not to mention that one time he hacked the Pentagon's database."

Peter choked on a dumpling. "He what?" He thought for a second and said, "You know what? I'm not even surprised."

All in all, Peter was pretty sure that his little TONY experiment was way less insane than the shit the older genius had gotten up to in his time and it made him feel a modicum less bad for running such an intense and secret experiment.

And maybe even feel a little closer to his mentor, in a way.

On the 13th day of running the algorithm, though, it finally completed.

"Mom," Friday called, waking Peter out of the doze he'd fallen into on the couch in the penthouse. He'd curled up under the comforter he had stolen away from the master bedroom and was just so comfortable it was hard not to fall into a cozy little nap.

"Yeah, Fri?" He ignored the funny little bright feeling in his chest at Friday calling him Mom - she'd adjusted to it a few days ago, after asking his permission, stating that, 'My research found it is the more common honorific for a close maternal loved one.'

"The TONY simulated Organic Intelligence model has completed."

He sat bolt upright, hair floofing into bedhead curls around his face with the movement. "Oh shit - shoot - uh okay, all right." He scrambled up from the couch, extricating himself from the comforter, and all but ran toward the elevator down to the lab. "Go ahead and boot it up, baby, I'm on my way."

By the time he'd gotten down to the lab, the center of the room was glowing with holographic particles. They floated around for a while before slowly coalescing into a rough blob in the center. The blob started forming distinct shapes at that point - a height of a few inches taller than Peter's own, a lean torso with trim waist, long legs clad in jeans, a torso covered in a very familiar sweater Peter may or may not have worn to bed last night.

Before his eyes, the visage of Tony Stark formed, crystal clear and faintly blue, chest glowing with a fake arc reactor. His eyes were closed but his fingers were twitching, face scrunching. 15 minutes passed with no other change and before he had the courage to ask Friday if it had worked - too scared that it had failed, too scared that it hadn't - the older man's eyes opened.

They glowed a bright, vibrant blue, the same color as the holoparticles and the arc reactor, but the look of them - the tilt of recognition as they took in the lab, the crease between them as they put together the situation - was all Tony.

Peter didn't breath for long moments until the projection in front of him spoke.

"Oh, kid," Mr. Stark said, voice impeccably deep and perfect, shoulders slumping, hands casually being stuffed into his pockets. His entire being screamed the mannerisms of Tony Stark and it both hurt Peter's soul and elated him at the same time.

He was back. He was back.

"Hi, Mr. Stark," the teen said, eyes wide, taking him in.

The older man - the holograph - hummed, looking around the lab like he was taking in the space. He walked over to Peter's desk and went to shuffle some of the paperwork around but his hand passed right through the surface. He chuckled and the sound was deep and rich, as it always had been. He looked over at Peter.

"So, I see you found my Peter Project," he smirked. There was something almost too calm about it, too casual. Peter hadn't known what to expect once he 'woke up' TONY, but it wasn't this somehow.

"Yeah - yeah I did," he ran his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that fluffed his curls into even wilder disarray than it had been before. "And I did some research and - and I know you couldn't finish it, but - "

"But that you had enough data on me to start me up," the billionaire finished, nodding. "Yeah," he sighed, hands back in his pockets as he sauntered back over to Peter. "I figured you might."

"You - you did?"

"Kid," the man smiled, warm and true this time. "If anyone's gonna know what's going on in that head of yours, it's me," he pointed out. Which, okay, true enough. For a long moment neither of them said anything until Tony sighed, looking over Peter in a way that made his Spidey senses tingle. "I can't believe it worked," he admitted.

"Your logic was sound," Peter rushed out, walking over to the papers scattered over his desk. "You had everything figured out you just didn't have enough data on me, which like I'm sure you realized, obviously, since you had to stop and - "

"No, Pete, I meant the time travel, the undoing of the snap," Tony interrupted.

"Oh," Peter said, very smartly. "Right. Yeah, yeah it worked." He smiled wide and real at the holograph of his mentor. "You brought everyone back!"

"I gotta say," Tony shrugged. He hopped up onto his table, staring into Peter's eyes without any more movement. "I was a little selfish on that front." The way Tony was looking at him was intense and it made Peter's heart beat harder.

"I don't see how it was selfish, Mr. Stark," he shrugged, mimicking Tony's posture by jumping onto his own table. They faced each other now, mirror images - one in holographic blue, and one in full color.

"Because, Pete," Tony said, soft. "It would be a lie to say I did it for any other reason than bringing you back."

Peter's mouth fell open in a soft, surprised gasp. He knew, of course - everyone said, Pepper had said - but it was so different hearing it from what amounted to the man himself.

Tony smiled, soft and sincere, at the look on Peter's face. "There's a lot I don't remember," he admitted. He rubbed a hand on his chest, over and around the glow of the arc reactor. "But I do remember just how important you were to me, kid. I can't imagine the real me being any less devoted to finding a way to get you back."

Peter's breath was coming in quick, sharp pants now. He was trying to slow them down, to breathe, to think but he couldn't - couldn't think of anything but Tony Stark saying he risked the universe just to bring him back. He was hyperventilating, but if this wasn't worth hyperventilating over, what was?

"Kid?" Tony's brows furrowed. "What are you - Friday?"

"Boss, Peter is having a panic attack."

"Shit," the other man swore. He bounded off his table and rushed over to Peter, movement silent and far more quick than any human would be. "Pete, why are you - what do you need?"

"I think you may have overwhelmed Mom with what you said, Boss," Friday supplied helpfully. "Mom, breathe with me. Hold your breath - 1, 2, 3 - breathe out. Breath in - "

The teen focused on the sound of Friday's voice all while his eyes flitted over Tony, who stood there fidgeting and restless with the inability to do anything. After several long, long moments, the tunnel vision that had blurred his vision eased off, his breathing evening out, and he slumped forward, shoulders sagging. He let out a shaky breath before looking up into the worried blue eyes of the natural AI that was now Mr. Stark.

"Hell of an impression of the big bad wolf you have there, kid," he joked, but Peter could see the concern and franticness left in the way he moved, the tilt of his frown. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah," he said, the biggest lie of his life. "I'm okay. I'm fine, Mr. Stark, really. Sorry." He ducked his head again and saw Tony's glowing hand touch his face. He looked back up and the glow on his cheek was still there.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for, Pete," Mr. Stark said, softer than Peter can ever remember him being. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you. And don't tell me I didn't," he said sternly. "I''ve always been a little much," he admitted, backing up, giving Peter some much needed space if he wasn't going to start hyperfixating on the man's face. "I, uh, kinda forgot about needing to real it in."

"No!" Peter jumped in. "No, I don't want you to - to not be yourself with me. It was just," he shrugged, "like I knew, you know? I knew you'd - probably - done it for me. The whole saving the universe thing. Ms. Potts might've mentioned it, and I can put two and two together. It's just having it confirmed, I guess?"

"We'll come back to that thing about Pepper," Mr. Stark said, "but I'm glad you at least had an idea." The older man sighed in a way that was so incredibly human it was hard to think he was only a culmination of data and leaps in logic. "You deserve to know how much you meant to me, Pete. I hung up the whole superhero gig after what Thanos did to you - to everyone. But the moment that Scott Lang came to my house saying there was a way to fix it?" He rolled his eyes to the sky and continued, lost in memory. "There was no way I was going to do anything but try."

"You might've done it for me, Mr. Stark," Peter said, getting the man's attention again. They locked eyes, blue meeting brown. "But you are a good man. I think even if you didn't have me to like push you to do it, you still would've found a way to help."

A wry smile crossed the billionaire's face. "You have too much faith in me, Pete."

"Nah," Peter grinned back. "I've got exactly the right amount."

They stayed there grinning at each other like idiots for a minute before Mr. Stark broke the silence.

"Now tell me, kid," he said, shoulders relaxing, leaning back on his table again. "Why on earth is Friday calling you Mom?"

[whentherewerebicycles]

I can’t stop thinking about that class I visited a couple days ago and about the basic classroom management issues that the prof leading the class seemed wholly unable to address. the class is a cohort program that has met together for three quarters and in the intro game they played it was clear that they have a moderately positive rapport with each other (they don’t seem super close but they got along and were willing to get into the game). but the second we went back to the tables it was like… the girls all sat together in the front of the room and were super focused/engaged in the activity, and then the boys (plus one girl) clustered in the back of the classroom, immediately got out their laptops even though I asked them to keep them shut, and started just talking through the entire presentation. like at one point I was standing right next to their desks, clearly listening in, and they just ignored me completely and kept loudly discussing a project they were working on for some other class during our class time lol. and the whole time the prof just sat in the back, clearly seeing this happen but seemingly totally unable or unwilling to intervene, which of course just signals to kids that they can do whatever because no one cares.

I’m not like mad about it or anything, more like I’m fascinated by it as a teaching challenge!! I think if this were my program, I would:

use a learning communities model where I put them in mixed-gender learning groups from the outset and keep those groups stable for 3-4 weeks before switching to new groups

build lots of small rapport-building exercises into group activities… like just little things where they’re actively naming and praising each other’s contributions, or exercises that teach them how to actively take responsibility for their fellow group members’ participation (inviting each other in, asking follow-up questions, deliberately connecting back new ideas to something someone brought up in the previous discussion, etc etc). like really commit the time to helping them build relationships with each other! and put the boys in situations where they feel less peer pressure to disengage to look cool and can instead participate fully because their participation is expected and recognized/valued by their group members.

no tech in the classroom period

more meta work where the groups are reflecting aloud on like, what makes class fun and engaging for me? what makes the time fly? what makes it seriously drag? and then developing like… not codes of conduct exactly but more like collective group norms for how they want to be and act

the prof kept downplaying the amount of work required for the homework and emphasizing how easy/low-stakes it was going to be to complete I was like ooh man that is BAD signaling. it presumably means that kids often don’t do the work and you’re trying to talk them into it by lowering standards or emphasizing how easy it is. but all kids hear is, this assignment is totally pointless, my prof doesn’t care about it, why on earth would I invest my limited time and energy in something that’s basically just busy work. you gotta have real, substantive assignments kids have to work reasonably hard to complete (and that they’ll find reasonably rewarding to complete bc the assignment is well-constructed and they can feel they’re doing something worthwhile!). and you have to be CONSISTENTLY clear and direct about why the assignment matters to their learning in the class and to you.

perhaps MOST importantly though… I don’t think this program involves 1:1 mentoring with the prof outside of the class. like they meet with the prof maybe once a quarter outside of class. it’s just not enough time to build relationships!!!! I’ve visited this class twice now and both times the prof sat apart from the students and didn’t really interact with them much. and I feel like her not intervening with the behavioral issues was probably because she’s tried/failed in the past or because she’s afraid she would fail and lose face in front of them and the guest instructor. I just feel like kids will generally (not always! but generally!) give you back the amount of respect and emotional investment you offer to them. and if you don’t really bother to spend the time getting to know them and their personalities you can’t really expect to have any influence over them in classroom management type situations. like when I sat down with the off-task group it was obvious within five minutes who was the popular charismatic kid who maybe felt like the activity was a little too easy for him, who was the kid who seemed to feel a little out of his depth and was acting out/goofing off to cover that up, who was the kid who kinda wanted to be on task but was trying to fit in by following his peers, who was the loner kid who had just attached to this group because he didn’t want to sit with the all-girl table, etc etc. and maybe my assessments were wrong but if I were their teacher I would use that initial info to guide relationship-building and to try to build trust with the kid! like maybe the kid who felt out of his depth needed some 1:1 time with an adult who affirmed his ideas and drew them out a little further so he could make more connections, and eventually as you built trust you could start working with him on some of the underlying feelings causing him to disengage in group settings, and then when you were facilitating in group settings you could make sure to name his good contributions or ask questions that set him up to look thoughtful/smart in front of his peers. or with the charismatic popular kid I feel like you can do SO much with those kids over time to get them to really feel like leaders in the class and to feel a sense of positive responsibility towards the kids who are having a harder time getting engaged. plus if a kid feels like the work is too easy you can really work with them to find ways to make it more challenging and rewarding, which in turn makes them feel like you respect their intelligence/abilities and really care about them getting something meaningful out of the class. instead of it becoming a popularity contest of teacher vs. visibly disengaged popular kid/ringleader you can work to make it more of a team thing, like we’re working together to make this experience a good one for everyone and I trust you to be a partner in that because you have influence over the group and others look to you as a model. idk but you just can’t do any of that work if you are afraid of the kids or are telegraphing to them that you don’t feel up to the challenge of dealing with them or if you just seem checked out!!!!! and this is not to blame the teacher I have no idea what’s going on in this situation or in her own life, but also just like I think often teachers become overwhelmed and think the class or some group of students have turned against them and can’t be brought back, or they feel like they have to ‘manage’ the class but aren’t confident they can do so and so withdraw from the task and try to ignore disruptive behavior, but like… it’s almost never a lost cause!!! but you have to do the relationship building work and you have to be there among the students talking and laughing with them and cajoling when necessary and pressing a little to get more out of them and communicating to them that you are invested instead of doing the isolated sage-on-the-stage thing or hiding out in the back of the room on your laptop. idk!!!

[alenaphale]

now i believe it is time to elaborate a little on the subject (everyone in this au is just so chaotic)

• there is one particular rule that not a single meeting of les amis fails to follow — the musicians always complain about professor javert. they literally cannot shut up.

• the artists could never understand their complaints, however, because valjean is such an amazing mentor — he never shouts, never makes any negative remarks, only gives soft suggestions and guidance. and they all respect him greatly, because he really is a professional, to that extent that he can interpret the rules in his own way.

• still, grantaire is systematically late for plein-airs, his hair and clothes in horrible disarray, his head still dizzy from the previous night’s party, but no one can blame him, honestly, because, despite his absolute lack of self-discipline, he somehow manages to get good grades (and not only because of valjean’s soft-heartedness and compassion. i swear.)

• enjolras is always pissed because everyone thinks he follows javert’s instructions blindly at the rehearsals — but he doesn’t, they just have very similar understanding of how an orchestra should work (although, of course, enjolras is more inclined to suggestions from the members, whereas javert is merciless towards ones who ‘cannot even play their part right’). enjolras always stands up for his colleagues, but honestly he never succeeds, for javert’s authority and experience are unquestionable.

• marius is always late for the rehearsals. there have been endless times combeferre sat in his chair in cold sweat, white-knuckled grip on his violin and the bow, knowing that javert will definitely notice poor bloke’s absence and then it will be over for them all.

• during the classes grantaire draws endless portraits of enjolras instead of actual assignments. valjean only sighs at this.

• marius and courfeyrac share an apartment and this is actually so terrible because marius is helpless and courfeyrac is irresponsible but the latter still manages to do the chores while the former is locked in his room for hours staring blankly at the wall. occasionally courfeyrac knocks on his door to bring him some dinner made of the leftovers from the fridge. marius answers with extremely sad and honestly pathetic violin solo.

• joly and lesgles also share an apartment, but in a completely different way. bossuet’s room is a mess and his shirt stains the moment he pulls it out of the laundry, joly cleans the flat in its entirety at least twice a week. bossuet breaks a cup or a plate on a regular basis and burns the pans, joly cooks the most healthy and hearty dinner one can imagine, leaving the kitchen counter perfectly clean. bossuet is always late to classes even if they leave the flat together. bossuet cuts his finger and doesn’t do anything about it, joly shows him a video with horrifying outcome of not washing your fruits properly. sometimes while watching something they fall asleep together in joly’s room, and for once bossuet doesn’t fall from the bed and joly is totally okay with being so close to another human being.

• feuilly made an installation of powstanie listopadowe for his term project. then bossuet ruined it while just walking past it on the exhibition and feuilly was swearing at him in polish for good fifteen minutes.

• combeferre is the one who prints out the scores for the whole orchestra. sometimes he forgets which one was the original — with all the marks javert left for every party — and spends the whole night copying the marks with his own hand. sometimes he hates being a concertmaster, but in the end he does it all out of good will only.

• sometimes when a meeting is over, enjolras and combeferre wait patiently (or not, if courfeyrac and grantaire are too enthusiastic to spend a little more time with them) until everyone takes a bus or a train home, and then they just wonder aimlessly through the streets, discussing everything and nothing in particular. sometimes they talk eagerly to the very break of dawn, and then they still have to show up for the rehearsal strictly at nine o’clock.

there is more to come! in the next post i will probably write about valvert because i love them dearly and of course they are insane even here.

[eliteprepsat]

Sometimes being a student can feel a little more like being an audience member in a show you’d probably rather get a refund for, except that you can’t because you’re mandated by law (and probably your parents) to be in class five days a week where you are expected to pay attention, complete assignments, and pass tests. It sure can feel like you don’t have a lot of freedom. But actually, you do. 

In any given situation, you always have the option to claim a certain amount of control. 

One way to exercise this control is to choose activity rather than passivity whenever possible. And one great way to be more active is to develop positive relationships with your teachers. In fact, this could be the very key to revolutionizing your whole scholastic experience.

Teachers are so much more than experts on the subjects they teach. They are mentors who, given the chance, can provide you with support and even offer life-changing advice. They are also community members who may know about all kinds of local competitions, activities, internships, or scholarships. Plus, don’t forget that they are are the ones you will need to ask for college application letters of recommendation. If they don’t know you, how can they write letters promoting you? 

If nothing else, having personal connections with teachers will deepen your investment in their classes, leading to more enjoyment, more desire to pay attention, and more motivation to do well.  

Before we get into some suggestions for taking an active role and cultivating good relationships with your teachers, a couple points of caution to keep in mind:

Don’t be too pushy. You typically want to stay away from interrupting people or taking teachers away from their work too often. Furthermore, careful not to instigate unnecessary conflict. Questioning a grade or asking to retake a test once is fine, but challenging missed points on assignments or asking for extra credit all the time may put a strain on your relationship with your teacher. 

Don’t be a suck-up. Teachers can usually tell when your only motivation is to get a college recommendation letter or special treatment. Hogging teacher time or coming off as overly sycophantic will probably cause your classmates to resent you too.   

What to Do in Class

Show up to class regularly and on time.

Punctuality is about more than keeping up with class material and maintaining your attendance score; it’s about demonstrating respect and integrity. It’s showing you’re ready to take advantage of the opportunities  presented to you. 

Act engaged in class.

To acknowledge you hear what the teacher is saying (and to aid in your concentration), try nodding your head in agreement, reacting with facial expressions, taking notes, and participating in class discussions. When you look and act interested in class, teachers notice and feel both appreciated and appreciative. Plus, you’ll feel more personally connected to the material, and the teacher. 

Communicate openly.

If you know you will have to miss class or if you don’t understand something, clearly let your teacher know by asking questions before, during, and/or after class. You’ll stay caught up, increase self-efficacy, and demonstrate your commitment to succeeding. 

Be agreeable.

If a teacher asks you to do something, such as group work, comply readily and even take a leadership approach if you can. Being a self-starter, rather than a dawdler who needs to be asked twice, will remind you of control you have while enhancing the positive bond between you and your teachers.  

Always treat everyone well.

I know you already know this one, but sometimes we get lazy and let our inner-bullies make snappy comments to classmates. Be aware that your teachers observe your interactions, which provide more data about your character. Only you have control over your kindness and helpfulness.    

What to Do Outside of Class

Make an appointment with your teacher.

If there isn’t enough time before or after classes to interface with your teachers, you can often schedule a private conference during lunch or a free period. Now you’re really taking things into your own hands! Privately, you’ll be free to discuss topics such as your progress in class, mutual interests, and possible extracurricular opportunities. At the very least, you will have showcased your willingness to succeed.

Facilitate conversation.

When talking with a teacher outside of class, showing interest in anything about their lives can help you develop rapport. You can ask questions, and then remember to check in later about those personal details they’ve shared with you. Don’t forget that listening during interactions will tend to make you more likable, so aim for a good balance of talking and listening.    

Be your genuine self.

(First of all, always be your genuine self wherever you are!) In front of your teachers, you don’t need to be the perfect student. You can share honest details about your life, dreams, or concerns. Showing vulnerability humanizes people, leading to more understanding and appreciation of one another.

Get involved in activities outside of class.

Going to optional review sessions or volunteering for a campus cleanup your teacher is hosting shows initiative and that you care about yourself and others. When you volunteer, you show yourself you have choices, and you choose to invest in your life.  

You can see how much control you can have over your classroom experience. You can start small; do something a little differently in class, and see how it feels. Be open to seeing your role as a student differently. If you feel intimidated by certain teachers, don’t forget that sometimes initial impressions can be quite deceiving. What you perceive as a “mean” teacher who “doesn’t like you” could just be a stressed out teacher. Or perhaps a strict, albeit caring, teacher hoping to use discipline as a way to motivate you.* Give them a chance and you might be surprised what you get out of connecting more with your teachers.  

In the end, of course, it’s completely your choice whether to be a passive audience member or an active cast member. 

*Sometimes, teachers are legitimately mean or inappropriately harsh, in which case please let your counselor or school admin know as soon as possible. 

[ask-agent-rapzutin-vodello]

Hey Norma how many times has raz genuinely scared the life outta you. Like he did something that just shook you to your core for a little bit.

For more backstory and Raz moments, read the full story of "The lives and times of Razputin Vodello" on Archive on our own.

[Norma] Oh, that kid manages to get a scare out of me at least once or twice a week. He's so hyperactive, and sometimes doesn't look where he's putting his feet.

He's trying to get more in touch with his 'Aquato side', so he's been trying to learn some basic acrobatics, but ...he's not good at it. let's say he's been getting used to the taste of dirt the last couple of tries.

Like a couple of days ago, when he tried out the tightrope. He had taken maybe one-and-a-half steps before he landed butt-first on the ground. Granted, the tightrope was just a few feet of the ground, but it was still quite the smack. But then he just kept laying there, eyes closed. I knew he was fine, because - like I said, it wasn't that high a drop - but the way he was just motionless, it ...

(Long pause) It reminded of that one time I thought he had died.

If you're new to this blog, you probably haven't picked up on this; considering it's been a while since it's been brought up, but Raz used to have major basophobia, before ...things got resolved. Whenever he would unexpectedly lose his balance; trip; fall or get picked up suddenly by someone who doesn't have his total trust , he would get these massive panic attacks, or just seize up.

The following happened in the year before Raz joined us in the Program. I was studying in my room, when I suddenly hear this massive ...loud impact, things dropping to the floor and such. Someone certainly had fallen - quite painfully, by the sound of it - but I didn't think much of it. We're all old enough to treat our own boo-boo's.

So for a few minutes in a row, it's dead silent, but I still didn't think anything about it. Then it dawned on me that the rest of my fellow interns all had assignments with their mentors; except me, because Agent Forsythe had a meeting in Washington with the Board. I was supposed to be all alone, but Milla had come in a while earlier saying that Raz might pop in to hang out.

I just jumped up from my seat and ran to the common room, and ...and there he was, laying on the floor, all sorts of electronica parts around him, probably from another one of Gisu's projects. He must've tripped over them. But he was laying motionless on the ground, not moving a single muscle, like he was ...

(Deep inhale) I just ran up to him and picked him up, and I felt a bit more relieved when I saw his eyes darting around, but he wasn't breathing, at all. I didn't know what to do, so I just ...hit him hard onhis chest to trigger his breathing reflex. Him taking that big gasp of air sounded like music to my ears. He was fine, only ended up with a bit of a scare. Him and me both.

Afterwards, I just sat with him in the couch, comforting him, talking with him, until everyone else returned. Then, we just tried to have fun until Milla came to collect him. I already had informed her what had happened some time before, but as long as he wasn't seriously injured, she was confident I could take care of him.

(Sharp exhale) Man, that turned into a longer thing than I thought it would be. But I hope you got your answer.

[thotsforvillainrights]

Can I please get a fic for AFO with a G!N Reader who was one of his earliest and most loyal supporters when he started building up his criminal empire, was given a longevity quirk by AFO, along with the powerful gravity based ‘crushing’ quirk he was born with, and now is one of Shigarakis’ most valued and powerful allies?

~I Trust You~

headcanon|scenario|imagine|match-up

“It would appear you’ve grown tired of the device I gifted you last week?” A familiar voice spoke from behind your relaxed form. You didn’t bother to look behind you as you’d already known who was talking to you. Instead you focused your vision on the many stars above your head. He slowly approached you to sit at your side, ignoring the thin layer of melted snow wetting the pants of his suit. “Got a space flight quirk you can give me old man? I think I want to see the stars up close.” You mumbled while reaching outward. “Not particularly. My apologies. Perhaps a vision enhancing quirk would suit you?” He offered and you thought on it. “Nah. That’s what telescopes are for.” You looked at him and smiled. For a little while he was quiet as he sat next to you. He admired the stars, the constellations and the glow of the moon right alongside you. Finally he decided to break the comfortable silence between the two of you. “Y/N, you know how much you’ve served me?” He waited for your response. “Yes sir, of course. Are you dying or something old man?” He chuckled at your words. “Not as far as I know. However, I’m moving forward with some things and I have to make preparations now. This includes handing over Machia to the doctor and pushing my young mentor forward.” You frowned at this. “The blue haired kid you took in? Are you anticipating your own downfall or something?” You had your answer when he stayed silent. “Sir with all due respect, are you sure you should just roll over and let them take you like this?” He chuckled at your words once more. “Try not to see it that way. Trust me. I have everything planned out far ahead of what you can see for now. In the mean time I need you more than I ever had. I need you to see to it that Tomura is successful in his endeavors. Can I trust you to do this?”

“Sir, you can trust me always.” 

Although it was cold, you stayed up on the roof and stared at the stars for a little while longer by his side until the cold air became too much to take.

That was a week ago. Right now you were completing your move into the League of Villains base. It was hard to say whether or not you were adjusting very well. It certainly wasn’t your master’s mansion that’s for sure. You tote your last box past the shining lights of the bar and straight up the shabby wooden stairs to your assigned room. Since being here you’ve gotten to know some interesting people without a doubt. There was Toga, Twice, and Magne the eccentric friends of the group. Spinner was rather interesting but tended to be a little quite when near you. Muscular was rather obnoxious and violent and Mustard was boastful of himself. Moonfish was downright weird and Dabi was a tad bit creepy even for you. Compress was at least likeable and you’d already known Kurogiri for a long time. It was mostly interesting to see and reconnect with Master’s young ward. Shigaraki was much bigger than he was long ago when master had first brought him into the mansion. You still remember like it was yesterday.

How lucky that your longevity quirk hadn’t affected your memory as a side effect.

“We need you on the front lines.” Shigaraki had interrupted the peace of you arranging you belongings in the dusty room. “Me? Don’t you have enough goons to handle whatever mess it is that you’ve got planned?” You tried to not seem too snippy in front of the young man, but it was a little difficult since you were essentially thrusted into the situation a week ago. “The vanguard action squad needs to move as a unit. I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think we needed you. Y/N, you’ve served master for a very long time. As long as I can remember so when he told me he was sending you here a few days ago I have to say I was a little excited. I know without a doubt you can bring us the success you did just as when you worked directly under master. I trust you.” 

“Alright. Whatever you say.”

[doggosaurusrex]

Magical Mentorship (1/10)

Against his protestations, Hubert has been assigned to lead a class on reason magic, where he ends up with an unexpected --and unwanted -- dedicated student.

Meanwhile, unsure of how to approach his budding feelings for Ferdinand, Hubert finds himself in the role of student, whether he likes it or not.

Also known as that time Sylvain became Hubert’s self-proclaimed wingman in exchange for magic lessons.

Takes place during the Crimson Flower route with all possible units recruited.

Word count: 4848

Part Two

-----

“With all due respect, professor, I believe there are far more…suitable candidates for this endeavor.”

“Hubert, you are one of the most talented spellcasters I have encountered. I am only asking that you take a couple hours a week to share your knowledge with some of the others. They could learn a lot from your valuable experience.”

And with that simple conversation, Hubert found himself stuck with the dismal task of leading a reason magic seminar twice a week.

Truthfully, the professor’s idea of having her former students run seminars based on their strengths was tactically sound and an effective way to boost camaraderie between the generals in her majesty’s army. The original Black Eagles all knew each other well; however, many students from the other houses had joined their cause as well.  A boon Hubert had not anticipated back in his academy days, but one he valued, nonetheless.

There were many students who took naturally to their roles as mentors and tutors. Ferdinand was nearly running himself ragged running classes on horseback riding, lance and axe training, as well as heavy armor maintenance. With a fond smile, Hubert recalled how ecstatic Ferdinand was to be sharing his expertise. The other man had shown Hubert some of his lesson plans, at times tripping over his own words out of sheer excitement and vibrating with eagerness.

Dorothea and Petra were similarly engaged leading a large number of seminars as well. Annette and Constance had jumped at the opportunity to run their own classrooms (though how much of value the two managed to pass on to their students was up for debate). Even Caspar had convinced the professor to let him run a “battle cry” seminar…which mostly encompassed him encouraging everyone in the room to scream unintelligibly for an hour. As absurd as the concept was, the class had actually been successful in boosting Ignatz’s and Marianne’s confidence on the battlefield.

The army, with soldiers not only hailing from Adrestia, but Leiscester and even Faerghus as well, was an eclectic pool of talent. It would be a waste not to share it.

That said, Hubert had not been expecting the professor assign him as an instructor as well. He had tried to politely decline the role on multiple occasions, citing that he was already stretched thin with his duties to Lady Edelgard, as well as his off-putting demeanor that would make him ill-suited for mentoring others.

Alas, the professor had worn him down in the end. Especially once Lady Edelgard had been pulled into the conversation and she wholeheartedly agreed that Hubert would be an excellent teacher.

Hubert found himself in the lecture room that had been assigned for his seminar. With a heavy sigh, he began writing down some notes on the chalkboard at the head of the classroom. He had not the faintest idea of who would be attending, if anyone at all. It was likely Lysithea would attend for a short time. In the past, she had expressed interest in comparing magical knowledge with Hubert.

About fifteen minutes before the seminar was set to begin, Annette, Constance, and Mercedes entered the classroom, chatting with one another. Hapi trailed behind them, appearing as if she had just woken from a long nap. The four took their seats at the left side of the classroom.

Minutes later, Lysithea entered the room. She greeted Hubert before finding a seat towards the back of the classroom. She set her quill and parchment on her desk and waited for the class to begin.

Having a clearer idea of who he would be teaching, Hubert adjusted the notes he had written on the board. The five gremories in the classroom were already talented spellcasters and did not need to be re-taught the basics.

With only two minutes remaining until the session was scheduled to begin, and certain that no other students would be joining, Hubert began the lecture. If he was fortunate, the session would be done quickly and with as little aggravation as possible.

He barely got out his first sentence when the clang of armoured footsteps drew his attention to the open door.

In entered Sylvain Jose Gautier, still wearing most of his paladin’s armour and panting as if he had just run the length of the Monastery grounds. Several books were tucked under his arm and a satchel, with a sizeable number of scrolls poking up from the top, was slung over his shoulder. Sylvain took a seat at the front of the class to Hubert’s right. He pulled out some parchment and his quill, placing the objects, as well as the books he was carrying, on his desk.

“Ferdinand’s heavy armor maintenance and training seminar is being held down the hall and started twenty minutes ago,” Hubert sighed, gesturing towards the door.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing that I’m not attending Ferdinand’s heavy armor maintenance and training seminar then, isn’t it?” Sylvain said flatly, remaining rooted in his seat.

Hubert could feel a migraine building in his temples already. The five gremories Hubert could manage. Most of them had already expressed interest in sharing magic knowledge with Hubert in the past. They were most likely attending the seminar out of professional curiosity as fellow spellcasters.

Sylvain, on the other hand, was a disaster that Hubert had hoped to never endure. Knowing the lack of interest most of Faerghus’s knights showed towards magic, it was likely that the paladin had only joined the class due to large ratio of women who were attending. Truthfully, Hubert knew that much of Gautier’s philandering was an act, not that that seemed to stop the knight from continuing his charade with every woman he encountered and subsequently incurring their wrath.

Hubert was tempted to preemptively expel Gautier from the seminar before an incident occurred.

Interestingly, Sylvain had chosen a seat that was nowhere near his other classmates. Furthermore, his attention was fully on Hubert, waiting for the class to begin.

With no reasonable cause to dismiss the paladin from the room, Hubert began the lecture.

Having already curtailed his lesson towards experienced mages, and figuring Sylvain would not absorb any of the material anyway, Hubert jumped into a discussion on how to best analyze which types of magic demonic beasts and other large creatures were vulnerable to. He jotted some notes on the board, categorizing which specific elemental spells would be most effective at shattering a beast’s well-fortified defenses.

Sylvain’s hand shot up partway through the discussion. It took every ounce of willpower Hubert had not to groan out loud. He attempted to ignore the raised hand for a time, but once it became clear that the hand would remain unwaveringly raised, Hubert sighed and silently gestured for Gautier to share his question.

“Let’s say you’re working with a battalion that specializes in lightening magic, but you’re using fire magic yourself, will the attacks stack damage or will mixing the different elemental types diminish each of their effects?”

Hubert was unable to mask his surprise. Sylvain had not only been paying attention but had asked a genuinely intelligent question.

Hubert answered Sylvain’s question and used it as a launching point into a segway of the different tactics that could be employed to fuse magic prowess with battalion formations.

Partway through the lesson, Annette, Mercedes, and Constance began talking with one another, quiet giggles coming from the trio. Hubert glared venomously at the three gremories, causing them to go silent. Hapi had given up any semblance of paying attention and was openly doodling on her scrap of parchment. Lysithea had jotted down a handful notes and watched the lecture with the quiet interest of someone who was already well-versed in the topic.

Sylvain, on the other hand, spent the entirety of the lesson fiercely scribbling notes onto his parchment. The lettering was cramped, nearly illegible, but it quickly filled the whole page. A quick glance at the knight’s writing revealed that he was copying down nearly all of the key points Hubert was lecturing about. Sylvain had even added some annotations indicating areas he had more questions about and noting connections between different topics.

The remainder of the class passed with little of interest. Sylvain asked two additional questions regarding tactical formations of mixed class units that utilized magic. Although Hubert already knew that Sylvain was far more intelligent than he let on, the astuteness of the questions still came as a surprise.

The hour came to a close and the class ended. Each of the students gathered their belongings and filed out of the room. Lysithea thanked him for the seminar and wished him a good day on her way out the door.

Once alone in the classroom, Hubert let out a heavy sigh. The seminar was not as excruciating as he had feared, but it was still an experience he had no desire to repeat. Fortunately, it seemed unlikely that the five gremories would be attending another session. Sensible, as they were already well-versed in reason magic and would be better spending their time and energy elsewhere.

As for Sylvain…his presence was likely a fluke. A moment of whimsy for the knight. Nothing more than a novel way to fill in some spare time.

Hubert doubted Sylvain would be attending any more classes.

He cleared the chalk board of his notes and diagrams, and placed his books in scrolls into a satchel. Satisfied the room had been adequately tidied, Hubert made his way to the gardens where he was to meet with Lady Edelgard.

Two days passed, and Hubert found himself making his way back to the classroom. It was minutes before the seminar was set to begin, and he had hardly prepared any materials. A scouting mission the previous day and night had consumed much of Hubert’s time. Nonetheless, he was certain the room would be empty.

He knew Mercedes had been assigned to instruct a class on faith magic. A quick glance in her classroom revealed that Annette, Constance, Hapi, and Lysithea were in attendance. Hubert smiled to himself as he continued down the corridor, knowing that not only would he be able to forego the lecture, he now had evidence to present to the professor that no one found his classes of any interest and it would be a waste of everyone’s time to continue them.

Hubert opened the door to his own classroom and balked.

Already seated at his desk, with his parchment, quill, and books ready, was Sylvain. He looked over at Hubert.

“I’m afraid there will be no class today. You are dismissed,” Hubert barked.

Sylvain crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

“That’s not what the schedule says.”

“Well, I’m afraid the schedule is incorrect,” Hubert hissed.

“I just got back from a mission with the professor. She said everything’s good to go for today’s lessons.”

Hubert gritted his teeth.

“Annette and the others are not attending. They have elected to take part in Mercedes’ faith magic seminar.”

“Okay…” Sylvain responded flatly. He made no move to pack his things or rise from his seat.

Hubert grumbled under his breath and made his way to the front of the room.

He picked up a piece of chalk and began outlining diagrams for tomes, staffs, and other artifacts, catalysts that were needed for safely casting magic. Exhaustion clung to his bones. Spending the night covertly tracking Thales’s movement had left him little time for rest and leading seminar was nearly the last thing he had wanted to do. Hubert wrote his notes in the smallest lettering he could manage and muttered his lecture barely above a whisper. He kept his back to his student. Perhaps if the lesson was unpalatable enough, Sylvain would leave on his own accord.

After some time, a rustling of parchment and the clinking of armor alerted Hubert that Sylvain was leaving his desk. Hubert smiled to himself knowing this farce was soon at an end.

However, instead of the armoured footsteps moving further away and out of the classroom, they only came closer until they were right beside Hubert.

“May I ask why you are out of your seat,” Hubert groaned, looking to the paladin to his right.

Sylvain held one of his books, using it for a hard writing surface for the parchment on top. He rolled his eyes at Hubert.

“Well, I can’t see or hear and damn thing from back there, so you’ll just have to put up with it.”

Grumbling to himself, Hubert continued the lesson with the same lack of enthusiasm.

The hour mercifully came to an end. Sylvain collected his belongings and made his way from the classroom.

With his only student gone, Hubert made his to the fishing pond to pay the professor a visit.

As expected, the professor was seated on the dock, a fishing pole in her hand, and a rare look of true serenity on her face. The water was still as glass, no signs of fish attempting the catch the bait. She turned at the sound of Hubert’s footsteps, her expression masked by an eerie blankness once more.

“Hubert? What can I help you with?” she asked.

“Professor, I respect your decision of assigning me as a classroom instructor; however, these last couple seminars have only confirmed my suspicions that I am unsuited for this task. I respectfully ask that you reassign someone else to lead the reason magic seminars.”

The professor frowned, her face, normally void of outward emotions, was tinged with disappointment.

“That’s too bad. I know Sylvain learned a lot from your lesson the other day. He was able to reliably cast Bolganone at least three times during our excursion this morning.”

“Is that so?” Hubert’s eyes widened. Bolganone was an intermediate fire spell. Not the hardest spell to cast, but still took a moderate amount of both honed skill and innate magical talent to successfully conjure.

The professor nodded.

“He was even nearly able to cast Sagittae.”

Hubert was stunned silent for several seconds before regaining his composure.

“Surely that has more to do with your tutelage that any minuscule knowledge gained during my seminar.”

“On the contrary,” the professor said with a small, rare smile, “Your instructions gave him a clear way to apply his spellcasting to the battlefield. I knew he had innate magic talent, but I didn’t have enough knowledge of the topic to properly guide him. I think your combination of grounded reason magic application and battlefield tactics resonated well with him.”

“Although it pleases me to hear Gautier was able to find something of use during my lectures, I am sure there are other instructors that will be able to accommodate his learning preferences.”

The professor sighed. She reeled in her line, placed the fishing rod down, and stood up from the dock. Her unnerving stare burrowed into him. Hubert tried not to flinch under its intensity.

“If that is truly what you want, I will respect your wishes. You will no longer be required to lead the reason magic seminars.”

“You have my sincerest thanks, professor.”

Hubert bowed to the professor with barely restrained glee and took his leave.

He made his way towards the gardens where he was to meet with Ferdinand for tea and coffee. The flash of energy he received when being formally dismissed of his teaching duties surged even higher as he spotted his companion already seated at one of the garden side tables.

Ferdinand waved to him, beaming, as he saw the mage approach. Hubert could not help but return the smile. It was hard to believe that mere months ago the two had been snapping at each other’s throats like starving wolves. Ferdinand’s idealism inevitably clashing with Hubert’s ruthless pragmatism. Not to mention their differing views on how to best serve Lady Edelgard and the empire. But over time and countless challenges they faced together, animosity had turned into grudging respect, grudging respect had turned into easy camaraderie, which in turn quickly became friendship. A friendship that was on the brink of turning into perhaps…something more.

“I apologize for my tardiness. There was a matter a needed to discuss with the professor,” said Hubert, taking a seat across from Ferdinand.

“You need not worry; your timing is perfect. The tea has steeped the perfect amount and the coffee has just finished brewing,” Ferdinand said with a warm smile. He picked up the percolator and poured some coffee into the closest cup.

Ferdinand handed him the cup of coffee, their fingers brushing momentarily. Hubert silently wished he had removed his gloves so that he would be able to feel the touch of Ferdinand’s flesh against his own. He shook the thought away, knowing his hands, scarred with grey lines and blotches due to overextending his casting limits, would likely just repulse Ferdinand.

Hubert accepted the cup of coffee with a thanks, a light blush touching his cheeks.

The rich aroma of the beverage sunk into his core and eased the tension he carried in his muscles and nerves. Hubert sagged in his chair, sighing with relief.

“A busy day, I take?” Ferdinand chuckled.

“Soon to be less busy. I have been mercifully relieved of my teaching duties.”

“Oh,” said Ferdinand with a frown, “That is unfortunate. I feel as if you would have made an exceptional instructor.”

“Your flattery is kind, but inaccurate in this case. I am hardly suited for mentorship.”

“Nonsense!” Ferdinand said firmly, his eyes blazing, “You are one the most intelligent and talented men I have ever encountered! Why, seeing you on the battlefield is nothing short of resplendent! Your magic, a dazzling kaleidoscope of indigo and violet, you yourself, moving with liquid finesse between shadows. Why, it is a struggle to take my eyes off you. Any student would be honoured to have you as a mentor!”

“Were you not the one who insisted compliments should be put down in writing?” Hubert said softly. He could feel the blush on his face intensifying.

“I supposed I did,” Ferdinand replied with a shy chuckle, his own cheeks tinged pink.

Ferdinand’s hand rested on the table only inches away from Hubert’s. It would be so easy to reach across the table and hold Ferdinand’s hand. Perhaps lift the hand to his lips and place and kiss on the lance-calloused fingers. Hubert could then reach up, cup the side of Ferdinand’s face, running his fingers through the copper hair, and pull the other man into a…

“There you are!” another voice cut in, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

Hubert grimaced, recognizing Gautier’s voice. Sure enough, the paladin was approaching the table Hubert and Ferdinand were seated at. Sylvain dragged over a nearby chair, the iron legs scraping against the stone walkway with an ear-shattering screech, causing several other people in the garden to look in their directly. He plunked himself at the table, haphazardly moving aside the teapot and percolator. A handful of scrolls, all annotated with Sylvain’s scribbled handwriting, were spilled onto the table. The paladin unrolled the one at the top with one hand and grabbed his quill with the other.

“Look, I get how tomes and staffs can be used as magic catalysts, but how is that supposed to work with regular weaponry? Sure, a lance will stop a caster from getting blasted by their own spell, but the spell’s a lot weaker as a result. There’s got to be a way to minimize the diminished effects of casting while wielding a lance or axe, right?” said Gautier, quill in hand, and looking to Hubert for the answer.

Hubert silently stared at him; eyes narrowed into slits.

“Hubert! You did not tell me that you were such an inspiration to your students!” Ferdinand beamed, completely oblivious to the glare Hubert was shooting at Gautier. “And here you insisted that you were unsuited for teaching! It would seem you have a gift for mentorship after all.”

“That is…this is…” Hubert stammered.

“I would hate to come between a teacher and a student eager to learn. Allow me to take my leave,” said Ferdinand, rising from his chair and collecting his teacup.

“That is unnecessary! Gautier can save his question for after we are finished here!” said Hubert, perhaps a little too desperately.

“Nonsense!” Ferdinand beamed, once again unaware of Hubert’s internal screaming, “We can take tea together another time.”

He made a small departing bow to Hubert, before turning to Sylvain.

“I wish you well, Sylvain,” said Ferdinand with another small bow, “Your magic tutelage is in the hands of the greatest sorcerer Adrestia has to offer. You could not want for a better instructor. Until next time!”

Hubert watched helplessly as Ferdinand departed, the mage silently pleading for the other man to return.

“Wait…” said Sylvain as he too watched Ferdinand leave. An insidious grin spread across his face. “Did I just crash your date?”

Hubert groaned, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands. Never before had he wanted the ground swallow him up so much as he did at that moment.

“I haven’t the faintest idea of which you speak,” Hubert growled in as menacing as a voice as he could manage.

Evidently, not menacing enough as Sylvain broke into a roar of laughter.

“I knew it! Ha! Balthus owes me fifty coins! So, how long have you and Ferdinand been an item?”

“As I have said, Ferdinand and I are merely comrades. There is nothing of a romantic nature going on between the two of us,” Hubert gritted. He could feel fire crawling up his neck and spreading across his face. He internally cursed how crimson his pale skin could turn.

“Wait, you guys really aren’t officially together? Damn! Now I owe Yuri seventy coins,” Gautier cursed to himself.

Hubert seriously considered luring Gautier to secluded spot in the monastery and dousing the paladin with Mire until his flesh melted into an unrecognizable, congealed mess. Or perhaps slitting the knight’s throat and framing the “unfortunate” incident as an assassination from the church.

However, as much as it pained Hubert to admit, Sylvain’s presence was a boon to her majesty’s war efforts. He was the first of the former Blue Lions to join her majesty’s cause (even if his initial reason for joining their class was utterly preposterous) and was a large part of the reason they were able to recruit students from houses Galatea and Fraldarius. Furthermore, he would be a much-needed asset in stabilizing the northern regions of what would soon be the former kingdom once Blaiddyd was cut down. Not to mention the valuable intel House Gautier had on the relationship between Fodlan and Sreng.

Disposing of Sylvain Jose Gautier was, regrettably, out of the question.

“Dare I ask why the subject of my personal affairs has become the source of so many wagers?” Hubert growled; his fists clenched on his lap.

“You’re joking, right?” Sylvain said with a raised eyebrow, “You two have been mooning over each other for weeks! Everybody sees it! The lunches together where you shower praise on one another, the tea dates, and don’t get me started on that heartfelt gift exchange the two of you had last week.”

Hubert felt the colour drain from his face and his stomach plummet to his feet. He could have sworn the two of them had been alone, and as far as Hubert knew, neither of them had shared the interaction with their peers. The only dormitory near their meeting was…      

“Bernadetta,” Hubert muttered, burying his face in his hand.

“Don’t get mad at Bernadetta,” Sylvain sighed, holding up his hands as if defending the mentioned archer on her behalf, “You know how terrified she is of you, even when you wear that embroidered flower she made. Besides, she instantly regretting blurting out what she saw and now thinks you’re planning on murdering her in her sleep.”

Hubert groaned, his face still buried in his hands.

“When you say ‘everyone’…”

“Pretty much three quarters of the Garreg Mach alumni and instructors. The remaining quarter is either somehow more oblivious than the two of you, or just flat out don’t care. Edelgard was one of the only people who insisted there wasn’t anything going on between you and Ferdinand…at least until she walked in on Ferdinand making himself some coffee, stating that he had become “accustomed” to the taste…I wonder how that happened…”

“You pulled her majesty into this utter nonsense?” Hubert snarled.          

“In our defense, she invited herself once the rumours started flying. Don’t worry, she fully supports you guys!” Sylvain said with a grin.

Hubert was not the praying type, but he prayed with every ounce of his being that a bolt of lightning would appear and turn Sylvain into ash. Of course, if what Sylvain said was accurate, lightning bolts would be needed for a good chunk of their army. Perhaps it would be easier if Hubert himself got struck by the bolt instead…

“So, when are you going to finally admit to our army’s famous golden boy that you fancy him?”

“I was under the impression you were here to discuss magic, not to pry into my personal affairs,” Hubert growled.

“Didn’t answer my question, Hubie,” Sylvain smirked.

Hubert gritted his teeth. It was one thing when Dorothea used the absurd nickname. But coming from Gautier…Hubert was no brawler, but suddenly the urge to slug the knight’s smug face sounded immensely appealing.

“Why the sudden interest in magic?” said Hubert, desperate to change the subject, “You are already a skilled paladin. Magic hardly seems to be the type of subject a knight of Faerghus would concern themselves with.”

Sylvain sighed, his face turning serious. He reached into a pouch that was secured to his belt. He pulled out creased bit a parchment and placed it on the table. Hubert picked up the parchment, his eyes widening as he read its contents.

“The Dark Knight examination. My, that is an ambitious goal.”

A masterclass exam, and one of the hardest ones to complete. The professor had tried to convince Hubert to try out for the exam too, though his abysmal horseback riding abilities held him back from attempting the certification.      

“The professor thinks I have some innate magic talent and thinks Dark Knight training would be a good fit for me,” Sylvain replied in a tone that could almost be described as shy, “Problem is the certification exam is pretty brutal and I’ve never received any formal magic training. I’m learning what I can from books in the library and professor has given me a few pointers, but I don’t think it’s going to be enough…”

“A troubling predicament, indeed,” Hubert handed the parchment back to Sylvain, “I wish you the best of luck in your endeavor.”

The two sat in silence for a few moments before Sylvain spoke again.

“I have an idea…”

Hubert did not like the grin that was spreading even wider across Gautier’s face.

“You continue to tutor me on reason magic, and I help you come up with ways to woo Ferdinand. Deal?”

Sylvain smiled politely in a way that suggested what he said was a most reasonable proposal.

Hubert stared at him flatly.

“I do not need assistance “wooing” Ferdinand, as you so aptly put it,” Hubert hissed, his jaw clenched to the point that it felt as if his teeth were about to shatter.

“Really? Because the little bit I saw was pretty pathetic,”

Hubert slammed a fist on the table, causing it as well as the teapot and percolator to rattle. Sylvain just watched him with a raised eyebrow and a small smirk.

“As I have stated multiple times, I have no romantic feelings for Ferdinand von Aegir,” Hubert said sternly, struggling to keep his voice even.

“Okay, let’s skip to the part where you stop lying, and discuss how your courting attempts are going so far. The fancy tea gift was a good start, but what’s your next plan?”

Hubert threw his hands up in the air, resisting the urge to scream. Sylvain patiently watched him with the same infuriating smirk. Taking a few calming breaths, Hubert spoke.

“Tell me, Sylvain, what would possess me to think that you are a suitable source for courting advice? I was under the impression that most of the women who come into contact with you cannot be rid of your presence fast enough.”

“Hey, most of that is self-inflicted, and you know it. Don’t pretend you don’t’ have some creepy dossiers on everyone in this army, detailing all of their behaviours and innermost thoughts,” said Sylvain. Hubert remained silent, neither denying nor confirming the accusation.

“Look…think about what I said. I think we can help each other out quite a bit,” Sylvain smirked.

With that, the paladin stuffed the scrolls back into his satchel and departed, leaving Hubert by himself at the table.

Hubert grumbled under his breath, tidying up the remaining dishes, teapot, and peculator that were left from his tea with Ferdinand.

Courting advice.

What an utterly absurd notion.

[grambini]

"Clinic Memoirs" - a short story (part 3)

Much like many of her other attempts at finding the answers to the mysterious journal, she was left stumped. Even her mentor hadn't a clue as to how to get the man to crack. It had almost been a full week since her last meeting with him and had resorted to, in a sense, stalking the man. She was not trained in espionage by all means, nor even simple stealth reconnaissance. She only went through basic and then started her long journey of paperwork and lecture halls. So she had to rely on different ways to get information, which included all except actually following the man wherever he went. She was too clumsy for that. She could practically see herself sprawled out on the ground due to tripping on air as the mercenary stared back at her with that blank look in his eyes he always had. Her best option which had gotten her a little closer without directly stalking, was to be where he most frequented, places where she wouldn't stand out of course.

Loud shouts of laughter brought her out of her thoughts for a split second. The common room was the most common area for personnel on the base to hang out. It had food, games, more comfortable chairs, and a more relaxing atmosphere than the other locations. She was used to coming here prior to obsessing over the interworkings of a certain merc's brain. This meant most of the other people who came here knew her too and were familiar with and used to seeing her sit in the same spot for hours on end, usually milling over some kind of stack of papers. Then, when a certain someone came to visit, it wasn't necessarily odd for her to sit in a way that faced him without looking suspicious. Unfortunately, only seeing him twice since their meeting did not give her any answers to her questions. And to make matters worse, she was now on a time crunch. Her mentor had pulled her into her office that next morning and announced that the task force he was assigned was destined to depart on an operation in less than two weeks.

Running her hands through her tightly bound hair, she looked down at her notepad. There were only three bullet points she was able to add to her observations. The man certainly was aloof. From her two encounters with him, she noted that he did not take off the mask, even with the other task force members. They seemed familiar with this, especially since a couple of them do the same. She also noted that while the other members of the 141 joked around and talked, he would only pop in occasionally and ask the captain about business matters. She had only witnessed him sitting down with the rest of them once, and it was only when the most bubbly of them had practically begged him to.

They were sitting around playing cards when he came in and went straight to the captain, as always, his steps were silent on the lino. That was when the man doing most of the talking and laughing sporting a short mohawk stood and made his way over to the mercenary. She could still remember her heart rate spiking. Were they about to fight? What was going to happen? But the man simply smiled and said a couple words before the merc sat down in the midst of them.

Suddenly, a thought came into her mind. Maybe instead of direct observation like she had been doing. One of the other members of the task force would be willing to tell her something. After all, it was their lives and safety she was ensuring with his assessments. Rising from her usual spot in the corner, she decided the best one to talk to would be the captain himself. Luckily for her, during this time of day, the room tended to have less occupants.

As she made her way over to the captain she couldn't help but begin to get nervous. She was about to waltz up to the captain and ask him to spill everything he knew about one of the men on his team. Would he think of it as snitching or even betrayal to some level? Her thoughts ceased when she stood at his feet. She could see him notice her and stop talking to the man with the mohawk seated in front of him and slowly turn to her. His face somewhat crunching up making his mustache hide more of his mouth. Tipping his boonie hat up he looked up at her as she quickly saluted then shuffled her feet.

"Can I help you with something?" He said simply and propped one of his elbows up on the table.

"I was wondering, I mean, Hi, I'm the stand-in counselor for one of your task force members, and was wondering if you could answer a couple questions for me." She said stiffly and maybe a bit too fast. The man's deep blue eyes never leaving hers as his eyebrows scrunched together before he turned back to the man in front.

"Afraid I'll have to cut this conversation short, Soap. The shrinks are begging for information again." At this, the man she knew now as being called Soap tutted and slowly shook his head before rising from his chair and exiting the room leaving only her, the captain, and some newer recruits in the room. He then took in a deep breath and exhaled motioning for her to sit in the now vacant seat across.

"This better not be about Ghost again. I've told you shrinks that he isn't going anywhere." The captain said in a hushed but firm tone as she took her seat.

"No, no. Rather this is about someone who is not an official member of your team. I need some answers about the hired mercenary known as Rüdiger Torvik." She said controlling the waver in her voice and sitting up straight.

"You mean Odin?" The captain said tilting his head slightly. "I'll admit some of his actions are a bit unconventional, but they do get the job done."

"I see, well, as you must know, one of the requirements for him to be able to stay here and on your team he must give reports showing he won't be a liability to the operation."

"Please just say what you want from me, counselor." The captain's tone had gotten more stale and dry.

"Rüdi- I mean, Odin, has pages ripped out from his journal." She said in a hushed tone.

"You shrinks are throwing a fit over a couple of missing pages?"

"Well, yes, we think that he is hiding valuable information-"

"Well of course you shrinks would automatically assume ripped pages are his way of compromising the operation." He leaned back and huffed out an annoyed breath. "I understand how it can be seen as suspicious. But from seeing him in action in the field, I can guarantee you, it is nothing of the sort."

"That's very admirable of you to say, but I really just need some kind of proof to offer to the higher-ups explaining that exact same thing." She leaned forward and placed both her hands on the table. "Please Captain, I need you to tell me some kind of information that can keep him here, if not, then he is going to be escorted off and this base will either lose a traitor or a valuable asset."

The captain went silent for a moment. His mustache wiggled back and forth as he stared back at her deep in thought. "I can't tell you much, simply because I do not know the whole story, but I'm guessing those torn pages have to do with our last operation."

"Thank you, anything will be helpful." She said with a sigh of relief. She was finally going to get some answers. She sat even more forward in her chair as the captain scooted closer brought both his elbows up onto the table and clasped his hands together bringing them under his jaw. His face turned to that of concern and his eyes cast down to the table.

"That operation was not a good one for anyone, especially Odin. We were stationed near a small village in Siberia. Enemy forces had trapped us on the borders of the town so there was no way for us to get back up yet much less RTB. The villagers of the town pitied our situation as we had run out of supplies. They invited us in and sheltered us from the harsh conditions. They weren't well off though. Many of the villagers were ill and or starving already. There was a high percentage of orphans roaming around." As he spoke she quietly jotted down notes. The captain would speak clearly and precisely, but it wasn't until she noticed his voice suddenly quiet.

"My men would run across them often and offer what we had left to them. Odin would often sit on the sidelines during the times we would sit together with the villagers. That was until one day I noticed a small child sitting with him. He would offer her the food he had and sometimes I would see her scribbling away at his journal. Just in those couple of weeks, we were trapped, he wasn't ever seen sitting alone." He said in a hushed tone and let out a breath he seemed to be holding in. "One night the village was ransacked by the enemy. No one was prepared for what they had planned. The next hours were complete chaos. Bodies of the villagers we had gotten to know were scattered on the ground. None survived. We did our level best to bury them all given the supplies we had. When we could finally RTB, it took a couple hours for one of my men to find Odin. 'Said he was sitting at one of the smaller graves." The captain finally looked up at her and smiled weakly. "I'm no counselor, but I'd say the ripped out pages are the least of your worries."

All she could do was nod numbly. Her pen had stopped writing long ago through his recollection. This indeed was more information she could ever have hoped of. But now that he had it, part of her felt guilty for knowing. She felt like she had intruded into a painful memory never allowed to see the light of day.

[eazy-group]

Mary lost 291 pounds

New Post has been published on https://eazydiet.net/mary-lost-291-pounds/

Mary lost 291 pounds

Transformation of the Day: Mary lost 291 pounds. Suffering from Osteoarthritis, Rheumatoid Arthritis, and joint disease, her mobility was limited. She started her wellness journey to improve her mobility and physical, mental, and emotional heath.

Social Media: Instagram: @journey_to_snatched_ @resilient _health_Remedies_ TikTok: @journeytosnatched YouTube: Snuggly to Snatched Weightloss  Facebook: snugglytosnatched_weightloss_ 

What was your motivation? What inspired you to keep going, even when you wanted to give up?  My motivation was always seeing me as a better version of myself physically, mentally, and emotionally. 

My bubbly, jolly, and sunflower personality inspired me to keep going, though I had days of wanting to give up. Who I was on the inside and what I enjoyed doing didn’t fit my external self. I’m just a ball of jovial, energetic joy. Being heavier, I wasn’t always able to let that side of my personality shine bright like a diamond.

Is weight loss surgery part of your journey? Yes, I had the VSG Surgery on August 10, 2010. [vertical gastric sleeve]

How did you change your eating habits?  I changed my eating habits not just for weight loss but also because my physical mobility was affected. I’m a disabled woman. I suffer from Osteoarthritis (OA) and Rheumatoid Arthritis (RA). My mobility was limited, and I was given up on by the doctors, who basically declared me “wheelchair-bound” because my bones were degenerating. I was already using my crutches, walker, and canes to move around.  

I stopped eating dairy, certain meats, carbs, and sugar. This specific plan came about after I came to the point where I felt being wheelchair-bound was going to be my life. For a short while, I actually entertained the life I was being assigned. 

I realized I didn’t desire this life for myself, and that’s when the light came on. I did much research and self-study on myself. Let me tell you, after a few trials and falls, I discovered that removing certain foods from my diet was a WIN for my disability as well as a WIN for achieving weight loss. I not only promote disability awareness but also weight loss support through live mentoring. 

What is your workout routine? I didn’t have any specific workout routine, being that I was physically unable to perform any workouts without experiencing pain on a scale of 10 out of 10. I did some water exercises, and that’s about it. Today, I’ve improved my workouts, but I still have to be careful with the ones I do because of my degenerative joint disease and inflammation. 

How often did you work out? Whenever my body allowed me to do some type of low-impact workout, I did it 2-3 times a week. There were times I was only able to work out twice a month.

What was your starting weight?  My starting weight was approximately 484 pounds, possibly higher. 

What is your current weight? I got down to 193 pounds as my lowest weight. Due to not having guided workouts like I needed to, I crept back to 206 pounds.

What is your height? My height is 5’2″. 

When did you start your journey? My journey started many years before with up and down weight loss, but it was in Spring 2010 (leading up to August 2010) that I had the VSG surgery. [gastric sleeve]

How long did your transformation take?  I’ve had different transformation journeys, but this part of my journey has taken 13 years and counting. 

What is the biggest lesson you’ve learned so far? The biggest lesson I learned so far is that being honest with myself is the best win ever. Once I achieved that, that’s the biggest, most valued learned lesson ever. Understanding this will allow any goals or intentions you set to be accomplished.  

What advice do you have for women who want to lose weight?

My advice for women who want to lose weight is to be patient with yourself and don’t worry about losing weight (as ill feeling or some type of punishment). Make a game of it, keeping it fun. As this is happening, the weight can come off effortlessly. Before you know it, you’re halfway to your goal if you haven’t already achieved it.

Another piece of advice that I tell many ladies or even men is not to be a scale stalker every day. Leave that scale alone, or break up with it, lol. A scale isn’t needed to know if you’ve lost weight. You will know by how you’re feeling energy-wise, moving freely, and recognizing more non-scale victories.

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[twobraincellkentwell]

Acting On Your Best Behaviour

[A Game Called Revenge]

Part Six

Series Masterlist Part One.

Summary: "ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ ꜰʀɪɢʜᴛᴇɴᴇᴅ ɢᴏᴅꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴀɪɴ.  ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀᴇɪɢɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇᴍ,  ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀᴄʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴅᴇᴇᴘʟʏ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ." One of the only things more important than the games themselves is the tribute parade. A chance to reintroduce themselves to the nation. To remind them of who they are and which of them are not to be messed with. Sponsors and fellow tributes alike.

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the nature of content in some of the chapters. I don't think there's any specific chapter warnings this week, but there is the usual mentions of murder and death. Language always.

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: Hello there, we back in business baby! This felt like the longest week of my life without a post but I did enjoy writing this chapter - hopefully you enjoy and once again, look for my favourite line!

Clio awakens to the sound of Xanthe shuffling around the suite, muttering something about how she can't have lost a tribute already. In her half asleep state, the words confuse her until she hears a groan from beside her, rolling out of bed as Cato lowly mumbles at the escort and shoves his head into his pillow, "Shut the fuck up."

Realising she slept in Cato's assigned room last night, it occurs to her that she's Xanthe's 'lost tribute' causing her to throw one of her boyfriend's shirts over her body and step out into the hallway. Upon opening the door, she can immediately smell the freshly brewed coffee grounds from the dining table in the suite and Xanthe gasps as she sees her walk into the room.

"Where have you been, Clio?" She inquires, her high-pitched Capitol accent breaking slightly with stress.

Clio tilts her head back, rolling her head from side to side to stretch the muscles of her neck as she pulls out a chair around the dining table and takes a seat. She's gotten into a habit of rolling her neck, doing the motion several times a day, partly as a grounding ritual but mainly because her neck still causes her some discomfort after her games. "Asleep?" She answers Xanthe, confused as to why she's so panicked this morning.

"I knocked twice and when I went in to fetch you, you weren't there!" Xanthe scolds, high going up another octave, if that's even possible.

"Sorry?" Clio shrugs, reaching towards the stacks of food laid out on the dining table. She's not sure what Xanthe expects her to say so instead she grabs the tongs beside the enormous platter of food to begin helping herself to a serving of scrambled eggs, honey-glazed bacon and sourdough bread. Brutus and Enobaria sit across from her, the former stirring several sugar cubes in the mug of black coffee on the placemat in front of him while Enobaria meticulously slices her helping of bacon and eggs into small, thin pieces with her knife; for chewing with her altered teeth is notoriously difficult.

The escort's head snaps up at the sound of a door shutting in the hallway. "Good morning, my dear!" She announces when Cato enters the dining room. Where was my good morning, Clio thinks and her face must give away her thoughts for when she lifts her head from her breakfast, her eyes meet Brutus' who shakes his head gently at her and causes the scowl to slip from her face.

"Morning," Cato mutters, still half asleep when he sits at the table beside Clio and places his head in his hands, shutting his eyes for a millisecond before he pries them open and reaches for the food.

Usually the first breakfast in the Capitol involves the mentors cramming every ounce of tactic and strategy into the brains of their tributes, speaking quickly about sponsors and alliances while brushing up their manners and etiquette. This year though, breakfast was eaten in almost silence, the only words being those of Xanthe who muses over the taste of her breakfast and sips leisurely on her blood orange mimosa. Eventually after Clio has helped herself to two servings of cinnamon rolls drenched in syrup, Xanthe claps her hands together excitedly and begins to ramble on about how excited she is to see all the outfits the stylists have put together this year. She ushers her tributes from their seats and into their rooms so that they can wash up before they were to be taken downstairs to the prep room; whilst Brutus and Enobaria head upstairs to speak with the District Four mentors as decided yesterday.

After her shower, Clio is directed into a cold, empty room, with plain white walls and one singular window that looks right out at one of the metallic buildings of the Capitol. As she enters, the chatter of the district two prep team dies down and is replaced with an unusual silence.

"Oh Clio, darling," Appia says, her facial expressions portraying pity, for what Clio isn't yet sure, "We're so sorry about your-"

"Don't." Clio snaps, cutting her off so abruptly that it makes the young girl flinch.

"Look at you" Gaia says quietly as Clio shrugs, "You look wonderful dear, let's get this prep session done so that we can pass you off to Juno."

As instructed, Clio lays on the waxing table so that her prep team can start their work. Their hands are all over Clio's body, trailing wax starting from her feet and working their way up her toned frame. She barely flinches as the hairs are swiftly ripped from her limbs before a smooth, cooling lotion is immediately rubbed all over; all while the women tread carefully around their conversation with Clio. What the hell are they talking about? Clio thinks when she hears them talking about the large sums of money and jewels she could have made in the capitol had she not been made to go back into the arena. My own prep team doesn't believe I will win this time around, she surmises. As one girl bronzes her body, another works on her eyebrows, plucking almost excessively before she is finally released from their clutches. Gaia leans closer towards Clio's face, her skin tinted a pale lilac colour apart from the swirling white tattoos which curve around her brows and rest at the tip of her nose. Her eyes, although dyed a cornflower blue to match her elaborate hair, are kind as she closely examines her eyebrows, ripping a final few hairs from the arch of her right and stepping backwards to admire their work.

Eventually, her team departs and leaves her alone to wait for Juno, her stylist. She doesn't bother to reach for the robe hung up on a hook nearby as she sits in the rounded chair in the corner of the room.

"Clio, darling," her stylist says as she enters the room, the door slamming shut behind him, and approaches Clio with her arms stretched out.

"Miss me?" Clio teases lightly.

"Of course I did my darling, my favourite District Two lady," Juno is noisy and abrasive as usual, her lilac pant suit matching her hair pulled into a high, tight ponytail secured by a thick gold bangle and her bright eyes highlighted by glittery, pale purple eyeshadow and wispy golden lashes.

Clio laughs lightly as Juno calls for her assistant and a blue haired Avox enters the room carrying a pile of shimmery golden fabric.

"You always look stunning in gold my dear" Juno muses, "And we thought this is such a wonderful homage to last year also."

Sitting the girl down, Juno applies Clio's makeup herself, enhancing her soft, freshly bronzed skin with a golden flush to further define her high cheekbones, and a matching subtle gold swept across her eyelids to bring out the hazel of her eyes. She is then helped into her dress before she is given the chance to take a look at herself in the mirror as her stylist finishes accessorising her like a show pony.

She is clad in a shimmery champagne gold fabric that clings to her and gives the illusion that she has been dipped in liquid gold. The fabric falls from two delicate straps at her shoulders in a plunging neckline that accentuates the more womanly shape she has grown into since her games. A gold lace applique adorns the front of the dress above the golden band that wraps around her waist; both made to resemble the wreath that is used to crown the victors. The champagne mesh of the skirt falls all the way to the floor, save for the thigh high slit on her left, and perfectly matches the hue of the arm drapes that flow from the back of the dress to the solid gold rings around her wrists.

They've left her hair flowing behind her, meticulously styled to hold a perfect curl that lays the same across her back. The focal point of her look, though, is the bright golden sun crown that is meticulously placed on top of her head and framed by two dark brown curls which fall to frame her face. The headpiece is a bold choice from the District Two style team, to remind the audience of the victor that she is; as is it clear that the imagery of the ancient Greek goddesses inspired the look once again.

"Wow Juno, it's beautiful."

"You're beautiful my darling," she compliments with a warm smile, gesturing to her assistants to pick up the train of Clio's dress as she motions for the girl to follow her. "Always a wonderful model to work with."

It doesn't take long for her to find Cato. He's standing waiting by the elevator with Brutus, Enobaria and Festus, his stylist. She quickly notices he's dressed very similar to she is, modelled after an ancient Greek god; and although she didn't pay enough attention in their history lessons to tell exactly which one, she has the firm belief that he looks all the bit the god he is meant to symbolise. A champagne toned asymmetrical skirt was wrapped loosely around his waist, flowing to about mid thigh and fastened together with a golden chain link on his right side. Two golden straps flow under his arms, attached to the short red cape that glides across his broad back and is fastened by another golden chain that rests on his chest. Metallic gold bands cover each forearm, the seven rings of each bangle connected by a long feather accessory which runs up the length of his forearm. His hair is left natural, just lightly tousled to one side.

Closing the distance between them in a few rushed steps, Clio wraps her arms under his to rest her chin on his chest, breath hitching ever so slightly when she helps one of his hands grab her hip and the other cradle the side of her face; the height difference enough that his chin is not impaled on the spikes of her sun crown. "You look stunning in that dress."

Clio couldn't help but smile at the compliment, eyes shining brighter despite their circumstances and his husky tone of voice making her shiver a little as she thanks him, "And you look..."

She paused for a moment to think of the right words that could describe her feelings about his outfit, and in that time although she couldn't see his face, she could practically hear the smirk that was creeping onto his lips with every passing moment; his brow arching as he waits for her to finish her sentence. "I know."

"Good. You look good." She tells him, tilting her head upwards to meet his eyes. To any onlookers it could seem that the small woman was nervous, caught off guard by her boyfriend's lack of clothing, but to anyone who knew the two of them, it was obvious that she was playing around.

"That's it? Just good?" He teases her, a joking pout following his words, moving his hands off her body in fake outrage.

"I'm not going to boost your ego," with a playful smile, Clio grabs his hand with hers. "It's already big enough as it is."

Cato's chest shakes lightly as he laughs, but before he can vocalise his thoughts, Clio pulls her hands from around his back to place them in his broad shoulders as she moves onto her tiptoes to quietly whisper into his ear. "But if you're lucky I might show you how much I love that outfit later tonight."

Pretending to not see the bright smile that spreads across his face, she giggles softly before he places his hands on her face again so that he can pull her up to kiss him.

"Alright, enough, stop it." Enobaria calls out to them, forcing them to pull apart and turn to face their stylists again to receive their guidance for the parade.

"This year, we want you to act unbothered. Act dangerous." Juno says, "Amp up your confidence a bit. Show them that you're ready but don't engage." Festus continues.

"You're careers!" Enobaria exclaims, "Yes, they're all victors but you're above them all."

"The Capitol loves you both." Brutus tells them enthusiastically, "Don't be afraid to show off about it."

"Yes." Both stylists agree, voices carrying in unison. "Now go."

The couple leave their stylists and mentors behind as they step into the elevator. The doors close automatically as soon as they're both inside, and promptly zips downwards to the lower floor of the remake centre. The doors fly open, revealing a spacious area with flocks of people hovering around and tending to a line of twelve chariots, already in formation. However, the tributes, and some other victors are clustered in various groups around the room, chatting with hushed voices and bright smiles that if you looked at them you would never guess that all but one would be dead and forgotten by Panem in the upcoming week. The two look at each other, wordlessly deciding to approach the various people surrounding the district one chariot. Clio's eyes find Cashmere's, the latter waving her over.

"Of course you get to look like greek gods" Johanna utters with an eye roll as Clio passes her.

"Perks of being from Two," Clio smirks, her eyes scanning the tree-like outfit that covers Johanna's body.

"Or a perk of being a beloved victor," Cato offers with a snicker, a soft laugh emitting from Clio in response. "Not that you'd know what that feels like, huh Jo?"

"Oh would you two just fuck off?" Johanna says with a snort before the three laugh again as she shoves Cato lightly. Not harsh enough to be entirely threatening, but just enough to show that as much as they've become somewhat familiar over the past two years she's not one to count out once they enter the arena. "You can't be too beloved if you've been brought in to die again." She taunts.

"Ever thought I'm going in just to kill you off?" Clio teases, her tone light but there's an odd look in Johanna's eyes as she digests her words. It's not fear; instead Clio can't quite place it.

"We'll see about that in the arena." She responds as she turns around to talk to Blight once more; and the two take it as their cue to move on with a smile when they overhear him warning her that Clio will rip her throat out without a thought.

The two of them make their way over to stand beside Cashmere and Gloss; the sibling duo who both Cato and Clio had become friends with, though after last night she's questioning that status. Cashmere has been dressed in a black and silver dress which Clio notes suits her perfectly. A deep black fabric wraps around her shoulders, scooping into a low neckline which reveals her décolletage that had been decorated with fine strokes of glitter. Sequin fringe hangs from the long full sleeves which gather into a cuff at her lower forearm. Wrapping around her waist, a thick silver belt draws attention downwards to the sequin silver material of the rounded bubble skirt. One thin tulle strand flows from the back of the skirt and is positioned to wrap twice around Cashmere's long, tanned legs and gives the illusion of a taller frame; assisted by her large silver stiletto heels. Her long, blonde hair is pinned up in the front to frame her face but most of it cascades down her back as a large sequin headpiece is secured just above her forehead.

Gloss is once again, styled to compliment his sister. He dons a solid black shirt with a sequin trim around his shoulders which is a combination of black and silver. The tailored black trousers he wears are likewise covered in black sequins with a dusting of silver glitter that has fallen from his neatly gelled hair.

"Clio! Cato!" Cashmere calls once she notices them arrive beside her, completely abandoning her previous conversation with one of her stylists to give the both of them a tight hug.

"You look gorgeous tonight Cash, truly," Clio tells her honestly. Even with all her confidence she sometimes envies Cashmere for how naturally beautiful she was. Cato nods lightly in agreement as he greets Gloss before stepping aside to let Clio give him a hug.

"Oh how I wish I could've seen this dress at any other event than this" Cashmere compliments her as her fingers lift one of the curls falling in front of Clio's face.

"It's laughable really, the idea that we're here again after all the promises they made us." Clio starts, opening her mouth to continue before quieting down when she sees Gloss gaze around as if looking for something.

"Don't let anyone hear you say things like that." Gloss hisses as he takes a step closer to the two of them. "You two are young but you have so much skill, don't waste it."

Clio wants to argue back, tell Gloss that they don't plan on wasting anything in that arena but she bites her tongue when Cato gives her a warning glare. Rule one of the games: don't piss off your allies, especially not your friends from District One who you already know want to kill you.

Cato changes the subject. "Have you had a chance to speak to the others yet?"

They know that talking to the others would be the most strategic move as this time around the competition is exclusively smart, skilled, cunning victors who know one another. No one could hide this time around, they all know everyone's tactics and strengths and after their discussion last night, the couple know that they need the others to prefer them over the siblings from One if they are opening up their career alliance to the other tributes.

"I have." Gloss brags, Cashmere nodding simultaneously as she finishes his sentence. "Finnick is the only one worth our time if Topaz is successful in sweet talking him. Johanna would be useful to ally with but she'd never be open to our alliance."

"The same Finnick who's talking to the bitch from Twelve?" Clio queries, nodding her head towards the far end of the room where Finnick can be seen in close conversation with Katniss. The four careers let out shallow laughs at how uncomfortable the young girl seems around Finnick; she's not used to his ways yet of course.

"I'm sure he's just checking out the competition, she looks terrified." Gloss chortles again at the look of discomfort.

"Have we heard if he's interested in joining us yet?" Cato asks them, "As annoying as he is, he'd definitely have his uses in there, especially if we end up surrounded by water."

"Potentially." Cashmere responds vaguely. "But convincing Loopy over there is proving more difficult than expected." Tilting her head to the side, Clio's gaze follows Cashmere's direction to find Luna Crawford standing with Mags around by the District Four chariot. "She should be open to talk to us, considering the circumstances."

Hearing a light laugh from Katniss, Clio is practically seething with rage as she moves to watch Finnick retreat from their conversation just as Peeta reaches his chariot. As if she can feel eyes on her, Katniss turns her head and her eyes meet Clio's murderous gaze. Not one to back down from a challenge, Clio refuses to look away; staring the other girl down with a threatening smirk until Katniss averts her eyes. So preoccupied with intimidating the girl from Twelve, Clio hadn't noticed Cashmere and Gloss excusing themselves from their conversation to return to their chariot, not until she catches sight of an almost entirely naked young man save for a glittery net wrapped around his waist as he approaches. "Well look who's finally came to see us, hey pretty boy."

"You hear that?" Finnick faces Cato with a teasing smile, "your girlfriend thinks I'm pretty."

"Would you rather she called you ugly instead?" Cato replies expressionless.

"Oh you'd like that wouldn't you" Finnick jokes,

"Alright shut up, you both like to be called pretty." Clio says, the teasing remark making both of them blush lightly as they laugh together. The three of them get along surprisingly well, and it makes Clio wonder which way Finnick will swing in the arena. He's more than deserving enough to be let into their career alliance, and being Dour's most famous victor he could definitely be useful in persuading sponsors. "Saw you talking to Twelve." She prompts, hoping she can get him to let her in on a tactic or two.

"Save it gladiator, she's got no secrets." Finnick jests, "None worth mentioning anyway."

Clio rolls her eyes, trust Finnick to not use his charm the one time he should've she thinks, her next remark interrupted by Cato asking, "You going to be with us in there?"

Finnick smiles, about to respond to the line of questioning before he is interrupted by a hand around his waist and a soft spoken voice from behind him. "I see you're finally taking my advice on the obvious choice of allies."

"Nervous, Luna?" Clio asks. The redhead's words give her a little bit of hope that Brutus was successful in persuading Luna to extend an invitation into the career alliance to Finnick, but yet Cashmere's earlier words contradict Luna's entirely. Is Finnick on board or not? She thinks. Even more confused than before, she offers a charming smile at the strawberry blonde as she looks her up and down with an intense look. "You look nervous."

Luna laughs lightly, her head tilted towards the floor, "I'm not nervous for him sweetie, I'm nervous for you."

Finnick lets out a snort at this, laughing loudly at the outlandish comment his girlfriend just made to a victor known for being easy to anger; but Clio keeps her face calm. "Aww you're worried about me? Cute."

"I suppose you two are the ones with something to lose in this year's games." She says earnestly, any nerves she truly felt before this conversation are gone by now. She was having fun winding Clio up.

"Are you goading me?" Clio asks her. This conversation is not playing out like she imagined. She can't quite comprehend that Luna - Panem's weakest victor - is picking a fight with her. And right before her boyfriend goes into the games. Not her smartest move, she thinks, but she finds herself feeling a strange sense of respect towards Luna for the first time. At least she's finally trying to mentor.

"Not really. We all know they're not going to make the same mistake twice." Luna responds with confidence, leading a beaming Finnick away as a booming voice instructs the tributes to return to their chariots. Luna looks back over her shoulder at the two then, ignoring the glowering eyes directed at her by the small woman. "That's why I'm glad I'm not in there."

Wordlessly, the two of them climb into their chariot; Cato first and he holds his hand out to Clio to help her up into the carriage. As the two stand in place, Cato breathes out a laugh and mocks the redheaded girl from four in a high pitched tone, "I'm nervous for you."

"Stop laughing." Clio narrows her eyes at him through her sidelong glance, "She's not funny."

Cato doesn't get a chance to respond as a sharp crack of a whip fills the open concrete space, thrusting the first chariot - District One - into motion. The couple can hear the roaring of the crowd as Cashmere and Gloss pull out into the open avenue. Their chariot then slides into motion, the two looking straight ahead as their horses move them out of the building and into the open air. The moment the District Two chariot rolls into the streets of the Capitol, the crowd go into a state of hysteria, roaring and screaming their love for the couple, increasing in volume at the sight of the District Four chariot behind them and not dying down until the chariots for Districts Seven or Eight pass through. The sun hits the golden metals adorning their heads at the right angle to cover the avenue in a dazzling reflection, making their outfits seem even more ethereal. They keep their faces serious, their expressions not once flickering in response to the chants of their names echoing around them, keeping up the aura of the untouchable victors who are without a doubt, above the rest. It feels entirely unnatural to them as they are used to waving until their wrists are sore; familiar with soaking in the attention the Capitol citizens shower them with; accustomed to interacting with people until their shouts fade to baseless noise.

As their chariot comes to a halt, Clio tilts her head to look up at the viewing screens to see the other tributes' outfits, only for her eyes to widen in surprise. The two of them are dressed in all black; Peeta in a high neck jumpsuit while Katniss is in a low square neck dress that sports a reverse halter neck strap. Dim embers of red and orange cover the fabric, gradually increasing in intensity until their entire bodies are covered in roaring flames, giving the appearance of smouldering coal left untouched. On the screens she notices that neither of them are waving either, using the same angle that the career districts used, directing glares ahead whilst the last chariot pulls to a stop. The audience are captivated by their outfits and their refusal to acknowledge them only seems to draw them in more; the only sound that can be heard is the incessant chants of the young girl's name, and the louder it gets, the more angry Clio becomes. I hate her, Clio is seething as President Snow clears his throat to address them all, and squeezes Cato's hand hard to stop herself acting in a way she knows she shouldn't.

"Welcome! Welcome!" the president begins to thunderous applause. "On such a momentous occasion we're treating you to a Games like no other. We've ensured that everything was handpicked purely for your utmost entertainment; bringing back your favourite tributes and some of your favourite features." The crowd's noise only increases at the man's words; the Capitol not understanding their underlying meaning unlike the twenty-four who stand directly before him.

"And welcome back, tributes. We salute your courage and your sacrifice. We wish you a happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favour." After addressing the tributes before him, he retreats from his position above them, back into the shadows to watch their every move like a haw. The Capitol citizens that line each side of the avenue cheer as the chariots begin to return down the avenue.

They disembark quickly once they arrive back in the underground area of the training centre. Their stylists are waiting for them, alongside Brutus and Enobaria who stand next to the pair of horses used for transporting them in the parade. Peacekeepers amicably but promptly urge the four victors towards the lifts as they try to stop all the tributes from talking amongst themselves for now. There seems to be a large crowd of victors congregating around the lift doors, all waiting to be taken up to their respective floors.

As they walk towards the lifts, Clio can see Katniss and Peeta standing with Haymitch, and Seeder and Chaff - the two from District Eleven. They seem to be getting friendly with each other whilst they wait, and she can see a flash of something in Haymitch's eyes as he speaks. They're probably just glazed over from being drunk, she thinks. She tries to overhear their conversation, and she notices that Cato, Brutus and Enobaria are all doing the same thing, they must have something of use. Haymitch goes to speak again but he's interrupted by the loud ding of the lift arriving at the lower level. His hand waves in motion of the door, gesturing for his tributes to enter the lift but before either of them can step closer, Clio is using her elbow to split the small pool of victors and brushes through into the empty glass lift without so much as a word. She turns to face the open doors, as the rest of the District Two team file in behind her; the others don't follow and the doors don't shut immediately. "Are you coming in or..?" Clio trails off.

A scowl can be seen on Katniss' face, causing Clio to let out a light laugh as the younger victor protests at the now half filled lift that she wanted to take back to her floor. "You couldn't have taken the stairs two floors up?" She bites back with an eye roll.

All four of them raise their eyebrows slightly at the fight she shows, their eyes glistening with amusement as she tries to glare at them; only to look affronted when Cato only laughs. "Dressed like this?" He questions her back, strategically removing the golden chain that crosses his chest.

They notice her take a step closer to Peeta and watch as she weighs up her options of whether they enter the lift. Clio looks at Haymitch for an answer then, "So are you coming with us or not?"

"We'll wait." Haymitch decides; and with that Enobaria promptly presses one of the buttons and the lift swiftly arrives at the second floor with a jolt.

Series Masterlist. Part Seven

[wonderful-writes]

Presume

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader

Summary: Tom thinks you’re too pretty to be any good at academics. You can imagine his shock when he’s proven wrong.

Word Count: 2k (2,097)

Author’s Note: The idea for this fic was given to me by @bellaswansrealgf. It was such a fun topic to write, so thank you so much bae for coming up with the idea! I’ll definitely be using more of your suggestions in the future.

Tom Riddle found himself becoming increasingly irritated. How could Professor Slughorn possibly expect him to work with a partner? What kind of fool did Slughorn think he was? Tom was perfectly capable of completing his project himself, and it was rather insulting for his professor to assign someone to help him. And not just anyone. Slughorn had assigned you.

You, the pretty girl, were in no capacity an ideal partner. You were friendly and charming and surely too bubble-headed to know a thing about potions. You were probably irritating and selfish and vain, too. Tom would have rather been partnered up with the clown from Gryffindor than with you.

“Tom, right?” you asked as you took a seat next to him. You were dressed in neat robes and had nicely styled hair. You probably spent all morning on it.

“Yes,” he replied curtly without so much as a glance your way. He began flipping his textbook to the desired page and scanning it with his eyes.

“I’m Y/N,” you introduced.

Tom ignored you as he continued to read the page.

“So, what kind of potion do you think we should make?” you asked him, opening your own book.

Once again, Tom didn’t bother to look up or respond.

“Hello?” you tried again.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Listen, I know potions is probably not your area of expertise, so it’s best if you just sit there and let me work.”

“Excuse me?” you asked, surprised at how this stranger could claim to already know you without having ever spoken to you. “How would you know if I’m not good at potions?”

Tom scoffed. “If you haven’t noticed, you don’t exactly look like you’d be much of an academic.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you questioned, starting to get offended.

“Well, I’m the best in the class,” Tom said like it was the most natural thing to come out of his mouth. “Professor Slughorn probably sent you here so that I could babysit you. You can’t be any good if you need me as a mentor.”

“I don’t need you as a mentor,” you told him. “Professor Slughorn wanted us to work together for this assignment.”

“Like I said,” he replied, turning back to his book, “maybe you should let me handle the assignment.”

You were beyond aggravated. How could someone who barely knows you make such assumptions about you? You were more than adept in potions, and it was unfair of him to shut you down without letting you prove your skills.

“You realize this assignment is worth 25% of our grade, don’t you?” you asked him as you crossed your arms.

 “Precisely,” he answered. “Which is why I won’t let you mess it up.”

You had never met a more arrogant person.

“If you’re going to be this way,” you declared, “I’ll just ask Slughorn if I can work alone. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience the great Tom Riddle.”

Tom breathed a sigh of relief as you packed your belongings and walked away. You were attractive, sure, but you were also annoying. He was glad to be rid of anyone who didn’t let him take charge.

Slughorn allowed the two of you to work separately. To Tom’s approval, you set up your station far away from his. He almost pitied you. It couldn’t be easy for someone like you to complete an entire project by yourself. People like you only cared about their appearances or what the latest gossip was. There was no way you could make any of the complicated potions on the list of options for the assignment without help.

~

By the end of the week, Slughorn had finished grading the students’ potions and their accompanying essays. Tom, ever so confident in his abilities, was shocked when he didn’t receive a perfect score.

“What did I do wrong, Professor?” he asked after class had been dismissed. “I could have sworn I didn’t miss anything.”

“You forgot to crush the bay leaves before you put them in,” Slughorn explained. ��But not to worry, my boy. You chose a highly complex concoction. It is almost guaranteed that any student who attempts to recreate it will forget at the very least one step.”

“Did anyone else choose that potion?” Tom wondered.

Slughorn nodded with a twinkle in his eye.

“And did anyone get it right?” Tom asked. He was doubtful that anyone in the class could have succeeded at something he failed to perfect, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“That’s for me to know, my boy,” the teacher answered. Seeing the frustrated look on Tom’s face, he chuckled and added, “Just know that you shouldn’t judge your partners so prematurely.”

Tom spent the majority of the night ruminating on Slughorn’s words. Could it be that you were the student who had gotten the perfect score on the potion he had attempted? He refused to believe it. Slughorn must have been referring to another student, one that Tom was paired with in the past. You couldn’t possibly be the partner in question.

~

It had been weeks since Tom came in second for the first time in his life. He convinced himself that it couldn’t have been you who bested him. Of course, he speculated who the true victor could be, but he couldn’t put his finger on who in the class could be worthy of such high marks.

Eventually, the time came for the annual examination preparation. Professor Slughorn’s students were assigned a series of practice exams to help them prepare for the actual ones. Each practice test focused on a different area within potions, and it was the students’ job to be well-versed in all of them.

At the beginning of every week, a new practice exam was passed out, and the grades for the previous week’s exam was posted on a roster at the front of the class.

Tom never bothered with making a show of checking his grades, knowing fully well that he would always be at the head of the class. But with the newfound knowledge of a possible competitor, he couldn’t quell his curiosity.

Making his way to the front of the room with the usual throng of Slytherin boys, he displayed no sign of concern. Why should the best in the year have to worry about some halfwit who ran into a bit of luck one time?

His air of indifference was quickly squashed, however, when he approached the posted practice exam scores and saw that his was the second highest. Second? That couldn’t be right. Tom Riddle never came in second. Who was first? Who could feasibly best Tom Riddle at a potions examination? The most brilliant student in all of Hogwarts, and in his best subject too?

He was horrified beyond comparison when he saw none other than your name at the pinnacle of the score sheet.

You.

Impossible. There was no chance that the bubbly girl with the face of an angel, er, a moron, could ever have received such excellent marks.

He’d seen you around, and you were most definitely not the kind of girl who cared about your performance in school. You were always smiling with your friends or tucking your hair behind your ear or dazzling a crowd with an extraordinary story. When you weren’t smoothing down your clothes or checking your made-up face, you were befriending the professors, something only stupid people needed to do.

So how could you have gotten a higher score than him? There must have been a mistake. He would have to ask Slughorn about it after class.

As he walked back to his seat, he glanced at where you were positioned, a table not too far from his own. You had already started on your assignment for the day, making quick work of the cutting and crushing of ingredients. Sure enough, you were dripping with the grace and beauty of someone who most likely didn’t know the difference between reed and foxtail.

How could one possibly be proficient in any academic subject when they looked like that? You probably spent more time shining your shoes than studying for exams. Then how did you beat him, and twice?

He watched you work for the remainder of the period. To his surprise, you were doing everything correctly. You never added a drop too much or a sprig too little. You stirred with precision and knew what color to look for in the brew. You seemed to know exactly what you were doing. Were you truly more intelligent than he had originally presumed?

Still unconvinced, he approached Professor Slughorn after dismissal to question the scores from the most recent exam.

Slughorn only sent him a mysterious look before answering, “Everything is as it should.”

-

After the third week of coming in second place, Tom decided that it was enough. It was time he put his troubles to rest and find out for himself what sort of witchcraft was in play.

“Are you cheating?” he abruptly asked you the moment you took your seat. Professor Slughorn was not yet in class, giving the students ample time to converse before lessons began.

Startled, you stared back at him. “What?”

“You must be receiving help on your practice exams or at the very least borrowing notes from someone,” he stated matter-of-factly. “So tell me. Who is it?”

You had had enough of this arrogant git’s behavior. “What makes you think I need help? Is it so hard to believe that you are not the only person in this room who can do well in school?”

“Well I- you see, you’re not exactly the sort to put much thought to academics,” he defended.

“And what sort is that?” you questioned.

“You know, the vain, pretty lot,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’d imagine you spend more time on your appearance than on your academics.”

You gaped at the boy before you. “You think I’m pretty? And before you go on, my appearance has nothing to do with my drive to excel in scholarly affairs. I’ll have you know I’m more than capable of receiving just as good of marks as you are, despite what you think.”

“Then work with me on today’s partner project,” he challenged.

“Excuse me?” The last thing you were expecting was for the high-and-mighty Tom Riddle to want anything to do with you after his blatant rudeness.

“If you’re truly as good as you say—”

“You mean as good as the scores prove,” you cut in.

Tom rolled his eyes. “If you’re really that good, show me. Demonstrate your skills on today’s potion, and I’ll believe you.”

So the two of you spent the class working together on the assigned potion. Tom made sure to stand back so that you could have the freedom to do things on your own, silently hoping that you would make a mistake. But you didn’t.

Your potion was perfect. There was not an herb out of place or a drop not potent enough. Everything was as it should.

You had clearly proven to Tom that you were a skilled student, worthy of his second glance. You only hoped that the self-righteous twat would realize not to judge people before knowing them.

“While I hate to admit my own shortcomings, you were right,” Tom conceded.

You smiled at his admittance. “Thanks, Tom. I’m glad you learned something from this experience.”

He had expected to feel more disdain at the fact that he had finally found his match. He was waiting for annoyance, jealousy, some spark of rage at being second-best. But all he felt was a strange sensation.

You were quite honestly brilliant, and he couldn’t remember a time when he genuinely thought that about a fellow student. You were quick-witted, sharp-tongued, and unafraid to back down from a challenge. You stood up to him despite barely knowing anything about him, other than that he was a royal pain to you. And, not to mention, you were quite a sight to behold.

It was no secret that Tom kept to himself more often than not. Sure, he had a group of peers who respected him — whether out of fear or genuine liking is up for debate — but he never got to know anyone on a personal level. He never let anyone get too close or see him for someone other than the shining pupil with big plans. But, for once, he wanted someone to share his genius with.

He intended to make you that person.

—

Part 2

[talktomeinclexa]

On The Ground All Can Hear You Scream

By: TalktomeinClexa

Rating: Mature

Status: WIP

Warnings: None so far

Summary: Novitiate Lexa is captured by reapers and wakes up prisoner in a cage, not knowing that the blonde who finds her there will change her destiny. Unless this enemy turns out to be who Fate had in store for her?

***

The girl’s head poked from the side of the trunk she was hiding behind, her green eyes merging with the leaves around. She was crouched on a thick branch, controlling her breathing as her fos had taught her, more immobile than a statue. The danger seemed to have passed, and she relaxed her shoulders. Being too tense would affect the accuracy of her throw and the length of her jump. A beginner’s mistake the girl was too experienced to make.

When a shadow appeared below her, passing through a bush with little care, she felt the corners of her mouth twitch. Finally, after so many weeks of training, victory was hers at last. The girl held her breath and waited for the person to come closer. When they stepped under the branch she was on, she let herself fall on top of them, assured to surprise her opponent.

Her hands met nothing but air, and before she could realize what had happened, she landed on her back, the oxygen kicked out from her lungs from the impact. The cold iron of a sword pressed against her throat, forcing her to tilt her head back and concede defeat.

“You’re dead,” a detached voice said, and she reddened at the disappointment in it. “Again.”

“How did you spot me this time?”

“Your buckle. Metal reflects the sun. Never forget that, seken. If you’re in hiding, you must remove all metallic pieces or cover them with mud.”

“Sha, fos.” The girl got back on her feet, annoyed to have been bested once more. Her mentor was one of the best warriors of her clan, a future general. Failing her felt like a personal defeat, and Lexa loathed the feeling more than any pain or punishment Anya could inflict.

--

As per Juskoud, the law of the blood, the former Commander, Heda Kemji kom Trishanakru, had assigned her a fos the year of her eighth summer. A warrior tasked with training the young novitiate half the year and teaching her all the Flamekeeper and his apprentices couldn’t. Hunting, tracking, cooking, surviving in the wild, killing… Although shy and soft-spoken, Lexa had dared to ask Heda Kemji why he chose to place her under Anya’s care. The young woman was a war hero, the tale of how she led half a battalion of exhausted Trikru against twice as many Azgeda and won spreading like wildfire. What could such a ferocious warrior want to have to do with a girl who loved her books and fellow novitiates?

She could still remember the tall, blond man slapping her across the face for her insolence and ordering Anya to take her away and not bring her back until she knew her place. She thought her new fos would beat her bloody for being ungrateful and spent the day dreading the moment they would set camp.

“Why did you question your Heda, Leksa?” the woman asked her once they were sitting near the fire, waiting for the hare to cook. “Are you displeased with his choice?”  

“No, fos. It is a great honor to have you as my mentor.” The girl felt tears pooling at the bottom of her eyes, and she coughed to hide a sniffle. “I am worried I will let you down. I am not as fast as Ben or as skilled as Luna with a staff. And many novitiates are much older than me. Wren, Hanbin, Serah… I won’t stand a chance against them.”

The warrior stared at her for a minute, and the girl forced herself not to squirm under the weight of those almond eyes. Just when she thought Anya would send her to her furs without dinner, the woman sighed. “You are not wrong. Whether it is the will of the Spirit or not, winning the Conclave has much to do with timing. The older the novitiates, the more experienced and likely to win they are. But tell me, Leksa, what are you good at?”

“Titus has me help the others with Gonasleng, even older novitiates. And I remember our history well. I have read many books from the library.” The girl’s ears reddened at the confession, realizing that none of it could be what Anya was hoping to hear.  

To her surprise, the woman shook her head and chuckled. “A scholar then?”  

“I apologize, fos.” Lexa bit the inside of her cheek to hide her sadness. How could someone like Anya waste her time training a bookworm? Realistically, she wielded weapons much better than most children her age. In Polis, her days were filled with physical exercises ever since she was three. But she would not face ordinary children in the Conclave. She would face those who, like her, had been trained since they could hold a blade. Other novitiates who wanted to be the next Heda and would not hesitate to strike her down to achieve their goal. What would happen if Anya brought her back to Polis and declared her unworthy of her nightblood? She would rather die than face such shame.

The woman tilted her head to the side, wondering what to do with her strange charge. “Tell me, what makes a good Commander?”  

 “The three pillars are wisdom, compassion, and strength,” the girl recited, remembering one of Titus’s many lessons.  

“Yes, but what does that mean?”  

 Lexa pondered over the question for a minute, surprised by Anya’s approach. She hadn’t expected the warrior to care about such things. “The Commander is supposed to be the best warrior. Otherwise, they can be challenged, and someone else takes their place.”  

“That is true. Does that mean Sheidheda was a great Commander? He was the best warrior of his generation, longer even. No one could defeat him.”  

“No, he was a bad Heda. He was cruel and did not care about his people. All he wanted was to conquer as many clans as possible and force them to bow to him.” Anya nodded, encouraging her to continue. “A Commander should want the people to thrive. To defeat the Mountain and finally bring peace to all the clans.”  

“By the sword?”  

Lexa’s brows furrowed as she tried to articulate her thoughts. The eight-year-old struggled to reconcile what Titus taught her of their history with what her heart told her. “No. Too many people would die. More would want revenge and resent having to obey another clan. It would not last; it never does. It would have to be a more peaceful process. To goal would be for them to work together, to be united. An alliance where all the clans would be equal. Not with one dominating the others.”  

Anya hummed at her answer, not giving away her thoughts. Suddenly, she stood up and pulled out a dagger from the sheath tied around her thigh. Its richly decorated blade made Lexa’s eyes widen with envy, and she wondered where the woman had found such a weapon. Did Indra, the leader of the Trikru clan, gift it to her former seken for her feats on the battlefield? “It seems you have a choice to make, Leksa. I am going to sleep while you keep watch.” She threw the weapon on the ground where it stuck, deeply embedded in the grass. “If you still breathe by the time I wake up, we will start your training. It will be painful, and you will be forced to harden your heart. But I will make a fighter out of you.” The woman stretched her leg and headed toward her fur before turning her head over her shoulder. “If you ask me, a good Commander is a great warrior. But a better Commander is someone who has a vision. And you, if the Spirit is willing, might one day be the best one we have ever had.”

Lexa spent the night staring at the fire, her fingers playing with the dagger she couldn’t let go of. She replayed the conversation in her head a hundred times, waiting for Anya to stop pretending to sleep and mock her for daring to believe that she could change their world. Yet, as the stars began to disappear and stripes of pink bled through the dark sky, the girl’s resolve strengthened. The interclan wars had plagued her people for far too long. Children starved, warriors died, and innocents suffered for the sake of their leaders’ egos. The Mountain kept abducting men, women, children with impunity. Someone had to put an end to it.  

Wincing when the blade cut her palm, she watched her dark blood drip into the flames and made a vow to the rising sun. She would train harder than everybody else, bleed and fight until she became the Commander. She would bring peace to her people, or she would die trying.  

When Anya opened her eyes, she didn’t seem surprised to find the girl staring back at her, her chin high with pride and her eyes shining with a new fire. And when Lexa tried to hand her the dagger back, the tip still coated in black, she shook her head. “Keep it, seken. It is yours now.”

Keep Reading

[imagine-knowing-a-name]

Mysterious Girl (Part 9)

Summary: A mysterious figure saves your life...twice, and becomes an integral part of it.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

A/N: Penultimate chapter now. It’s literally just major fluff from here on in.

Warnings: Small bit of language

Word Count: 2614

Series Masterlist

—————————————————

You and Natasha went on a lot of dates. To aquariums, to see movies, coffees, even night-time picnics in the park. You made sure to thank Clint after each and every one of them. Even if he was away and had no idea a date had happened, he could work it out by the ‘thank you’ text he would receive.

You thanked him as well the day Nat moved permanently into your room in the tower (even if her room had been just next door to begin with), thanked him for getting you placed on missions with your girlfriend (you weren’t an Avenger per se, but someone had to keep her safe), and now you were thanking him once more, because he was there again to give you the push.

“I know you two have an eternity, but I’d like to be there to see it” he’d told you privately,

“Have you said the same thing to Nat?” you asked. He shook his head.

“Nat may be waiting for it, but I can bet you’re the one thinking about doing it”

“you make a bet with Bruce again?” you teased, “because he owes you money if you have”

“Wait, really? Have you got a ring?”

“I was going tomorrow, do you want to come?”

“Y/N, it would be my absolute pleasure”

“Thank you Clint”

—————————————————

He helped you through every step of the proposal plan, working with you to decide which ring Natasha would like best, to keeping her occupied as you set up the plans. You couldn’t have kept Natasha in the dark for so long without his help.

“So you own a castle still?” Clint asked curiously at a team dinner. You’d put him up to it, but there was nothing in his mannerisms that would give that away.

“Yeah, it’s where I lived for like, 200 years, I’m not selling that”

“We should go back, I want to see how it’s holding up” you suggested suddenly, catching Natasha’s eye then looking down to where your hand was holding hers.

“I can take next week off” she told you gently, “I want to see it too”

You looked back up at her and reflected the honest smile on her face. “Just us? or are we inviting the whole team too?” you muttered to her ear, still knowing the others could hear.

“You’re not being sneaky, we can all hear that” Clint remarked, “and it’d be a bit rude not to invite us after building up our hopes for a castle visit”

Natasha broke your gaze and looked at the table; the group had grown since you and Natasha had started dating. Sam, Rhodey, Vision, and Wanda being added after the Ultron fiasco, (you had not done well in that short time Natasha was kidnapped). “Yeah I suppose you can all come” she relented, though the glimmer in her eyes gave away her true feelings, “it’s not like there’s a lack of rooms.”

You gave Wanda a slight nudge with your foot when you noticed her wariness. Meeting her eye and silently asking what was up. You’d come to care for the girl; Natasha had been assigned as her mentor, being the most related superhero, helping her develop her powers and her skills as an Avenger. As a result, you’d witnessed her grow on Natasha, from just a teammate to almost a daughter. And you couldn’t help but be drawn in too, she still seemed so young.

*what’s up?* you asked, not out loud as such, but as a projected thought. Natasha turned her head, hearing her thoughts too, then followed your eyeline to see Wanda.

*it’s not like Sokovia is it?*

*oh honey no, that was a lab, this is an actual home. It’s nice, I promise* Natasha replied, causing Wanda to ease up a bit.

“Are they having one of those mental conversations again?” Sam asked,

“Explains why they’re suddenly so quiet” Tony confirmed. You took a sip from your drink to hide the smirk of being found out. At exactly the same time Natasha decided to continue,

*I mean, there is one torture chamber actually*

You spit out your drink and Wanda choked on nothing, drawing the team’s attention back to the three of you. Wanda caught your eye, testing whether to continue the conversation out loud now. You made the choice for her, “you have a what in your castle?”

“A torture chamber”. The Avengers were really focused on you three now.

“Why?” Wanda asks, not scared, just curious. You’re proud of her.

“It was my family’s castle, and they deemed that the Tsars needed their own personal torture chamber, in case of spies or anything.”

“That did not come up on the tour” you commented, still trying to get your breath back.

“Yeah it did. The basement. The one I told you not to go in.”

“Oh. Makes sense”

Clint connected the dots faster than you did. “You wouldn’t hide a disused torture chamber”

“You don’t know that” Natasha defended, a sudden hostility in her voice that only confirmed Clint’s statement. You grabbed her arm, restarting the mental conversation.

*Nat, ease up baby*

She glared at you but you held her gaze, matching it with a soft expression on your own face, *I didn’t use it as a torture chamber*

*I would have been surprised if you did*. She didn’t reply, and thankfully Wanda was not interrupting, so you continued, *I’d guess it was for food?*

An almost imperceptible nod followed. You smiled at her, *it was a different time*, you reassured and, although she remained on the edge throughout the whole of dinner, she didn’t run. You just held her close through the night and let her work through it herself.

—————————————————

“Damn, Tasha!” Clint exclaimed as the quinjet touched down, the castle you’d called home for ten years finally in sight.

“I need a castle” Tony mused, “or maybe I already have one?”

“You don’t, Tony” Natasha confirmed, striding from the cockpit to stand next to you at the door.

“Thanks Natalie” he smiled sarcastically. Nat smirked, rolling her eyes playfully, then turned and grabbed your hand,

“You’re ready?” she asked,

“sure am”

She pressed the button at the side, opening the door and letting direct sunlight stream in to your position. You hissed involuntarily at the sting. “Let’s go” she commanded once it was down enough for you to get out, and the two of you sprinted as fast as possible. You relished in the shade the overhand provided, waiting as Nat unlocked the door.

“I’ll just go get-” Nat began as the door swung open, but her eyes caught on the dried patch of blood on the floor. A reminder of the last time you’d been here. Her grip on your hand tightened. “They can find their own way up”, she muttered. You knew she wouldn’t want to leave you alone after seeing that, and you decided to drag her through the rest of the castle instead.

“Bit dusty isn’t it?” you commented, running your finger over the mantlepiece, then immediately sneezing as some got into your nose.

She chuckled, “it’s been 200 years. I probably should have hired a cleaner”

“Who needs a cleaner when you have the Avengers?” you joked, pleased when she laughed,

“Should I buy them all some nice pick aprons and feather dusters?”

“mmhmm, make sure to get the extra frilly ones too”

“Oh of course”

“Natasha? Y/N?” you heard from the door, and you sped off to answer, seeing the Avengers gathered right inside of the doorway without closing the door.

“What, did you not learn to close doors? were you raised in a barn?” you teased with a smirk, but they looked unamused.

“If we close the door it’s pitch black in here” Steve explained,

“Oh, light, of course” you realised, “there’s candles around, one sec”. You called over your shoulder, back towards the room your girlfriend was in, “Nat, you got any matches around here?”

“Oh shit, yeah, light” Natasha remembered. And with a flurry of activity, the candles began to flicker with a soft, orange glow, and the door could finally be shut.

“There’s really 200 years of dust in here, isn’t there?” Tony commented,

“Ooh, I can help” Wanda volunteered eagerly, “you might want to step away from the door”. You all did as she instructed, opting to stand in the centre of the grand entrance hall. She raised her arms and the dust began to swirl, collecting into a miniature tornado in the centre. Dust streamed out of every doorway to join the column, before a wave of Wanda’s hands sent it all out the front door to drift off in the air.

“Nice move” you complimented, patting her shoulder and surveying the newly cleaned accommodation.

“Let’s take you around then”. You and Natasha escorted the others to their assigned room, pausing slightly to check out yours and Natasha’s old rooms. “Someone didn’t make their bed 193 years ago” she teased and you scoffed.

“Someone was dragged out of bed 193 years ago to check out a truly awful cake”

“Hey! I put a lot of effort into that”

You patted her cheek patronisingly, “I know you did babe, but you still have no taste”. With that you pulled away, skipping to explore the rest of your room. Clothes from the 1800s lined your closet, Frankenstein lay half read on your bedside table, and the curtains were still firmly shut. You made the bed sombrely and grabbed the book, you never did finish it. Natasha was still loitering in the doorway, so you shot her a reassuring smile and walked with her to her own room.

“I was wondering” you suggested, “do you want to go for a walk tonight? Like the old days, back to my village?”

“Do you just want to see your old home?” she smirked as if she saw right through you, and you went along with it,

“it’s been two centuries, the whole village might not be there”

“Alright my love, we can go tonight”

“I love you”

“I love you too”

—————————————————

Later that afternoon, you found the team in the living room, a few of them reading books, the others using the Iron Man suit as a personal hotspot to use the internet.

“What did you even do back in the day” Tony whined at your entry,

“Read books, go on walks... talk to each other?”

“Overrated”

“Suit yourself... anyway, Nat and I are going out for the night, you guys might want to go somewhere too and find food, because I doubt there’s anything edible here” you informed the team, but stared at Clint, instructing him to lead.

“Yeah we should” he began, “you know any good places?”

You gave him directions to your village, “if it’s still on the map, there’s sure to be a pub or something there”. He winked, then went off to find Nat, explaining that they were going out in the quinjet.

It was another few hours until the sky had darkened enough for you and Nat to go out. You’d dressed up nicely for you ‘date night’ in the village, but you’d chosen a loose fitting dress for a reason, the small box hidden in your pocket even as you fiddled with it. “You look beautiful Tsarevna” you breathed as Nat emerged, hair plaited down her back and a tight black dress on. She had, thankfully, still gone for flat boots, you weren’t sure she should be running at vampiric speeds through the woods in heels, though you also didn’t doubt that she could.

“As do you my love” she returned, taking the hand you held out. Then the two of you sped down the familiar track, ending up in the village you used to know so well.

“It’s changed a bit” you commented, modern (also known as 1900s onwards) housing had been crammed between the houses that you knew had been there before. And even those houses had been given renovations, windows and rooves had been redone, and you knew that was only the outside, who knew what the inside would look like. “I’m glad it’s still here though”

“Do you want to see your old house?”

You shook your head, “maybe later but... let’s just walk around town”

The town centre was about as similar as it could be, electric lighting coming from the pub being the only major difference. It was even the same pub, ‘est. 1765′ written atop the doorway. You smiled at the familiarity, and at least it meant there was somewhere for the Avengers to eat.

Eventually, you ended up where you wanted, after winding through the streets, you and Natasha were brought to the forest path. “This is where we met” you began with a smile. You spotted the tree Clint was hiding in and held Natasha’s attention so she wouldn’t. He gave a tiny thumbs up and you stopped, holding Natasha’s hands while she looked at you, visibly confused.

“203 years ago, when you saved me from those soldiers, right before you saved me from that highwayman, then saved me from my parents.”

She opened her mouth as if to say something, then seemed to decide against it, sealing her lips together and eyeing you warily instead. You continued. “You saved me physically three times that year, but then you kept saving me, every day that you let me spend with you because I would have hated if my life had gone any differently. When I lost you, I lost myself, and I cannot exaggerate how much I could not go through that again. You were my best friend and my family when I had none back then, and you’ve been the best girlfriend I could ask for since I found you again. So...”

You took a deep breath, lowering yourself to one knee, “Natasha Romanoff, Natalia Romanova, the person I have spent over 200 years thinking about, and the person I want to spend over 200 more years with.”

Her eyes sparkled once you opened the ring box. You knew she’d clocked on to what was happening at least when you started your speech, but nonetheless, she gasped in surprise, hand covering her mouth,

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes. Of course yes” she answered instantly, pulling you off the ground and into a desperate kiss. You pulled back breathlessly and she replied with a whine, “I just have to put the ring on you” you explained, quickly slipping it onto the finger she held out for you, then reigniting the kiss.

You felt one of Natasha’s hands come away from your back during the kiss and heard Clint chuckle behind you. When you turned, you grinned at the team emerging from the trees, pointing excitedly at Natasha’s hand as if they hadn’t just watched you propose.

Nat was still holding her middle finger up at the team, only lowering it when you took her hand instead. “Were you all in on this?” she asked,

“Just Clint, babe” you confirmed, and he held his hand in a thumbs up, “he’s the only one I knew wouldn’t accidentally project the thought to you”

“And I am your friend and she values my opinion” he added,

“meh, maybe that too” you teased, earning a light slap from the archer.

“Don’t slap my fiancée Clint” Natasha defended, and you kissed her quickly, “I like the sound of that”

“Look, congratulations to you both and all, but we’ve actually been sitting in these trees for the last couple of hours and I’m hungry” Tony complained, getting mutters of agreement from the others.

“Pub?” you suggested,

“Pub.”

Next Chapter

[makeste]

So, which of these desperately sobbing children gets to compete for Worst Day? I... think Shouto's our, uh, lucky winner, but I think Deku, Momo, and Tokoyami all put up strong fights

so seeing as we are finally approaching New Chapter Times again after a very long three weeks, this feels like a good time to do a recap of just how much everything currently sucks for our intrepid heroes. it may seem a bit insensitive of me to go through the cast list one by one and arbitrarily assign each character a number score based on how shitty their day was, but... well actually I don’t really have a good defense for that, lol. whatever, let’s just get to ranking these children’s misery (and while we’re at it, some of the adults’ as well).

Midoriya Izuku

current status: unconscious. currently has a pair of those floppy inflatable flailing tube men dealios for arms. had to watch his teacher and his best friends get hurt and nearly die while being helpless to do anything to stop it. has a new quirk which “warns” him of approaching danger by giving him ice pick headaches, as if he didn’t have enough pain in his life as it is. is being targeted by the most dangerous person in the world. and last but not least, is probably on the verge of his super-secret quirk becoming not-so-secret, and having to deal with the fallout of that.

rank: 9/10. hard to imagine how things could get much worse for this little guy atm. NO HORIKOSHI THAT IS NOT A CHALLENGE. YOU LEAVE HIS MENTOR ALONE.

Bakugou Katsuki

current status: unconscious. got impaled by the Big Bad which initially did not look good, but apparently it wasn’t enough to stop him from flying around in drunken loop-de-loops whilst ignoring Iida’s protests, so who knows. proudly announced his new hero name to the world only to be met with scorn and ridicule and hysterical laughter from that fucking Caillou-looking motherfucker whose opinion he never mcfucking asked for, thank you very much. and also his best friend’s self-sacrificing tendencies are giving him anxiety, and his other best friend’s brother just pulled a reverse Darth Vader on Endeavor and upended hero society as we know it. so there’s a good chance he might be called upon to provide emotional support to one or even BOTH of them in the near future. has... has he actually become the stable friend in the trio. fuck.

rank: 7/10 just because he briefly appeared to be in a situationally-inappropriate good mood for those few brief minutes right after Jeanist appeared. you were having too much fun to get a top score, Katsuki.

Todoroki Shouto

current status: not unconscious but probably wishing he was. older brother came back from the dead and revealed that he was a mass murderer and broadcast all of Shouto’s personal traumas to the entire world before earnestly trying to set him and his friends on fire. so is currently dealing with all of the fun fallout from that, on top of watching his teacher and friends all come within inches of death. will probably be dragged into a national controversy against his will now that Endeavor’s past has been revealed. all of it is honestly so shitty that it’s all but impossible for me to put an irreverent spin on this. I honestly can’t think of a single joke to make. goddammit Shouto.

rank: 10/10. a perfect storm of shittiness.

Yaoyorozu Momo

current status: somehow Momo went from having no mentors that we knew of, to having two mentors, and then back to having no mentors, all in the span of a single day. has to be some sort of record.

rank: 8/10. and the worst part of all is that she was a fucking BAMF during this arc, but she can’t even enjoy that now because of all the trauma. I’m still proud of you, Momo.

Uraraka Ochako

current status: mentally and physically exhausted after spending a day out on the front lines dealing with the aftermath of an unnatural disaster. saw things that were canonically enough to make a grown man have a nervous breakdown right then and there. had a really weird and unsettling encounter with Toga who keeps trying to relate to her by telling her things like “hey Ochako, this one time I turned into you and used your quirk to murder someone horribly isn’t that wild.” it’s just been a very long day for her.

rank: 6/10. stressful af but she’s still in one piece and no one was actively murdered in front of her. sometimes you gotta take whatever wins you can get.

Tokoyami Fumikage

current status: his mentor was nearly burned to death in front of him and he was almost burned to death too, and the guy who kept attempting to burn him was all “YOUR MENTOR’S A MURDERER BTW AND SO YOU SHOULD JUST LET ME KILL HIM”, and so he was kind of put on the spot there and he didn’t really know what to do, and somehow he managed to escape with Hawks anyway but Hawks’s wings were all burnt off, and then a fucking video of Hawks stabbing Twice in the back got broadcast to the entire nation and so it’s like, ???? he didn’t sign up for this??? he is just a little birb??? can he live????

rank: 7/10 because he missed out on all of the other traumatizing stuff, but it’s honestly impressive how bad his day managed to be even in spite of that.

All for One

current status: All for One’s day is actually going pretty good.

rank: 0/10. hey but fuck you, AFO.

Shigaraki Tomura

current status: woke up early from his nap which always sucks. only got to enjoy his cool new Transcendent Being powers for a few minutes before the heroes all ganged up on him and incinerated him a bunch of times and fucked up his shiny new cape. has his old mentor currently taking up residence in his head uninvited and trying to boss him around. found out his grandma was part of One for All?? then slept through all of the fun stuff with the Dabi reveal. also a bunch of his friends are either dead or captured. all in all was not really the best day for him.

rank: 8/10 because he was having himself a grand old time for a while there, but once some of this stuff finally sinks in the Suck Factor is going to go way, way up. also, seriously, AFO is currently possessing his body, jesus christ. just leave him alone already.

Hawks

current status: had to make an impossible choice between sitting back and letting an untold number of people die, and turning on a good but misguided man who was only trying to help his friends. has to live with the trauma of literally stabbing his friend in the back for the rest of his life. may have been rendered effectively quirkless. was publicly dragged through the mud alongside Endeavor, and unlike Endeavor he didn’t actually do anything to earn it (though that probably won’t stop him from feeling like he has). oh and speaking of Endeavor, just found out that the hero he looked up to since childhood abused his family and shit, and so now he has to grapple with that on top of everything else. how fucked is it that the minute he finally got to drop his whole double agent balancing act, his life somehow got even more fucked up and complicated.

rank: 9/10. let Hawks rest.

Aizawa Shouta

current status: unconscious. seems to have lost an eye which may possibly affect his quirk. had to saw off his own fucking leg. met the man who experimented on his childhood friend. doesn’t know yet that said man was originally targeting him and not Shirakumo. oh and also his other other childhood friend just died and he doesn’t know it yet. and someone else sacrificed himself in order to save him. and most of his other hero pals are either dead or wounded too, and all of his kids are deeply traumatized. and the guy they went through all of this shit to try and capture in the first place got away, and hero society is now in shambles.

rank: 11/10. Horikoshi. wtf did Aizawa ever do to you.

anyways it’s getting late and I was gonna throw in a few honorable mentions, but I think I’ll just call it a day instead. feel free to weigh in on any of the ones I missed. Dabi for one is having himself a FINE, fine day. but Endeavor not so much. sob.

[eliteprepsat]

Sometimes being a student can feel a little more like being an audience member in a show you’d probably rather get a refund for, except that you can’t because you’re mandated by law (and probably your parents) to be in class five days a week where you are expected to pay attention, complete assignments, and pass tests. It sure can feel like you don’t have a lot of freedom. But actually, you do.

In any given situation, you always have the option to claim a certain amount of control.

One way to exercise this control is to choose activity rather than passivity whenever possible. And one great way to be more active is to develop positive relationships with your teachers. In fact, this could be the very key to revolutionizing your whole scholastic experience.

Teachers are so much more than experts on the subjects they teach. They are mentors who, given the chance, can provide you with support and even offer life-changing advice. They are also community members who may know about all kinds of local competitions, activities, internships, or scholarships. Plus, don’t forget that they are are the ones you will need to ask for college application letters of recommendation. If they don’t know you, how can they write letters promoting you?

If nothing else, having personal connections with teachers will deepen your investment in their classes, leading to more enjoyment, more desire to pay attention, and more motivation to do well.  

Before we get into some suggestions for taking an active role and cultivating good relationships with your teachers, a couple points of caution to keep in mind:

Don’t be too pushy. You typically want to stay away from interrupting people or taking teachers away from their work too often. Furthermore, careful not to instigate unnecessary conflict. Questioning a grade or asking to retake a test once is fine, but challenging missed points on assignments or asking for extra credit all the time may put a strain on your relationship with your teacher.

Don’t be a suck-up. Teachers can usually tell when your only motivation is to get a college recommendation letter or special treatment. Hogging teacher time or coming off as overly sycophantic will probably cause your classmates to resent you too.

WHAT TO DO IN CLASS

Show up to class regularly and on time.

Punctuality is about more than keeping up with class material and maintaining your attendance score; it’s about demonstrating respect and integrity. It’s showing you’re ready to take advantage of the opportunities  presented to you.

Act engaged in class.

To acknowledge you hear what the teacher is saying (and to aid in your concentration), try nodding your head in agreement, reacting with facial expressions, taking notes, and participating in class discussions. When you look and act interested in class, teachers notice and feel both appreciated and appreciative. Plus, you’ll feel more personally connected to the material, and the teacher.

Communicate openly.

If you know you will have to miss class or if you don’t understand something, clearly let your teacher know by asking questions before, during, and/or after class. You’ll stay caught up, increase self-efficacy, and demonstrate your commitment to succeeding.

Be agreeable.

If a teacher asks you to do something, such as group work, comply readily and even take a leadership approach if you can. Being a self-starter, rather than a dawdler who needs to be asked twice, will remind you of control you have while enhancing the positive bond between you and your teachers.  

Always treat everyone well.

I know you already know this one, but sometimes we get lazy and let our inner-bullies make snappy comments to classmates. Be aware that your teachers observe your interactions, which provide more data about your character. Only you have control over your kindness and helpfulness.

WHAT TO DO OUTSIDE OF CLASS

Make an appointment with your teacher.

If there isn’t enough time before or after classes to interface with your teachers, you can often schedule a private conference during lunch or a free period. Now you’re really taking things into your own hands! Privately, you’ll be free to discuss topics such as your progress in class, mutual interests, and possible extracurricular opportunities. At the very least, you will have showcased your willingness to succeed.

Facilitate conversation.

When talking with a teacher outside of class, showing interest in anything about their lives can help you develop rapport. You can ask questions, and then remember to check in later about those personal details they’ve shared with you. Don’t forget that listening during interactions will tend to make you more likable, so aim for a good balance of talking and listening.    

Be your genuine self.

(First of all, always be your genuine self wherever you are!) In front of your teachers, you don’t need to be the perfect student. You can share honest details about your life, dreams, or concerns. Showing vulnerability humanizes people, leading to more understanding and appreciation of one another.

Get involved in activities outside of class.

Going to optional review sessions or volunteering for a campus cleanup your teacher is hosting shows initiative and that you care about yourself and others. When you volunteer, you show yourself you have choices, and you choose to invest in your life.  

You can see how much control you can have over your classroom experience. You can start small; do something a little differently in class, and see how it feels. Be open to seeing your role as a student differently. If you feel intimidated by certain teachers, don’t forget that sometimes initial impressions can be quite deceiving. What you perceive as a “mean” teacher who “doesn’t like you” could just be a stressed out teacher. Or perhaps a strict, albeit caring, teacher hoping to use discipline as a way to motivate you.* Give them a chance and you might be surprised what you get out of connecting more with your teachers.  

In the end, of course, it’s completely your choice whether to be a passive audience member or an active cast member.

*Sometimes, teachers are legitimately mean or inappropriately harsh, in which case please let your counselor or school admin know as soon as possible.