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#apparently for one of the exams only one student passed with distinction
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Carter G. Woodson, 1947. Prints and Photographs Division. Library of Congress
The Father of Black History
Dr. Carter G. Woodson (1875-1950), “the father of Black History,” believed that the only way to achieve racial equality was through the study and elevation of Black excellence. Woodson’s beliefs were not new or unique. Like many who came before him, Woodson believed that education would show the world that African Americans helped build, shape, and bring prosperity to the United States.
Carter Godwin Woodson was born in Virginia, the son of formerly enslaved parents. He spent his life pursuing education and was primarily self-taught in his early years. In 1912 he received a doctorate in history from Harvard University, the second African American, after sociologist and activist W. E. B. Du Bois, to earn this distinction. He went on to work as a school educator and administrator, journalist, and historian. Seeing the effects of white supremacist Jim Crow segregation laws in the South and the devastating toll that the lynching of Black people was taking on the country, Woodson searched for a way to both elevate his community and make white Americans recognize the contributions of African Americans to society.
Education, Abolition, and the Racial Divide
Learning in the face of opposition is a theme that exists throughout African American history. For nearly 250 years in early America, every colony (and then, every state) prohibited or restricted Black education. Although slavery was illegal in New England by the early nineteenth century, education was no easier to obtain for those who were said to be free. A common misconception is that free Black Northerners were safe from enslavement and lived with the same advantages as their white neighbors. However, freedom in New England was tenuous, as glaring economic and social inequalities were a daily part of living. The existence of slavery in the Southern states was a constant threat to free Black Northerners; they could be kidnapped under the guise of fugitive slave laws and sold into bondage in the South. This unstable existence pushed free Black people to search for a way to not only end slavery but to see themselves and be treated as equal citizens. That aim forged the inextricable link between education and abolition.
In his 1933 book The Mis-Education of the Negro, Woodson wrote, “The same educational process which inspires and stimulates the oppressor with the thought that he is everything and has accomplished everything worthwhile, depresses and crushes at the same time the spark of genius in the Negro by making him feel that his race does not amount to much and never will measure up to the standards of other people.” His view is apparent in the efforts made in the 1840s on the Massachusetts island of Nantucket. Education petitions pointed out that segregated schools were both injurious to students and an insult to the African American community. They went as far as to equate the situation with being in a South Carolina jail. This comparison drew parallels between Southern slavery and Northern racial prejudice, criticizing Massachusetts and exposing the hypocrisy of the North.
In 1839, seventeen-year-old Eunice Ross of Nantucket was seeking a high school to attend. Like so many other schools designated for the free Black community, Nantucket’s did not provide high school classes, nor did it receive funding equal to its white counterparts. Public school segregation became a major debate, with those in favor of segregation accusing abolitionists of “race mixing” and calling African Americans inferior. Abolitionists fought back, stating the need for equal education and the issues that resulted from segregating students. Despite passing the high school entrance exam and being one of the most qualified who took it, Ross was denied entry because of the color of her skin. Nantucket’s African American community rallied around Ross. There is no record of Ross ever attending the high school but in 1847, all Nantucket public schools began admitting African American students.
The Birth of Black History Month
Woodson’s desire to bring African American history and American history together would lead to the founding of the Association for the Study of Negro Life and History in 1916. Woodson was one of a few historians who brought light to the struggle of African Americans in the North and their fight for education. He noted that by 1850, there were 2,038 free Blacks in Boston with approximately 1,500 enrolled in schools. Woodson launched Negro History Week in February 1926, selecting the period that contained the birthdays of Abraham Lincoln (February 12) and Frederick Douglass (February 14). In 1970, Black educators and students at Kent State University in Ohio extended the week to a month-long commemoration. Black History Month was adopted nationwide in 1976 during the celebration of the U.S. bicentennial. Recognition has since expanded to Canada and the British Isles.
Black History Month would not only educate whites but also remind African Americans about their long and arduous journey. A journey filled with struggle and determination. A testimony to those like Eunice Ross who fought hard to remind the country of their humanity and their right to equal citizenship. Woodson believed that at some point, Black History Month would no longer be needed. As February draws to a close, it is obvious that it is needed more than ever. Black History Month serves as a reminder to respect, protect, and honor Black lives and to tell the stories that are often dismissed, overlooked, and forgotten. It is in the stories of these pioneers that we can find the strength to continue to move forward and, one day, fully achieve Woodson’s dream.
See more ways to engage with the stories of Black New Englanders, past and present.
Erica Ciallela, a volunteer at Historic New England’s Study Center, holds a master of fine arts degree in history and a master of library information and science. She also volunteers at the Prudence Crandall Museum in Canterbury, Connecticut. The museum was the site of the Canterbury Female Boarding School, where in 1833-1834 town residents violently opposed Crandall’s efforts to educate Black students.
BLACK HISTORY MONTH ❤️🖤💚💛
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lifeofkaze · 3 years
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An Art of Balance #6
A/N: If anyone’s interested, the perfume Lizzie is wearing is one of my all-time favourites, Aqua di Gioia by Giorgio Armani. It’s really poorly described here because my olfactory recognition doesn’t go beyond ‘good’ and ‘bad’, but well. It’s divine though. Also, bear with me if sth astrological is wrong, this stuff is complicated! Katriona Cassiopeia (aka KC) belongs to my lovely friend @kc-needs-coffee
  Word Count: ~ 2.100
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Chapter 6: A New Perspective
As it turned out, Orion’s decision to name Everett Hufflepuff’s new Beater had been the right one. He still had a way to go, but he immediately fell in line with the rest of the team. What he lacked in precision, he made up in strength.
Orion had taking his individual training on himself. As the team’s captain, he saw it as his personal responsibility to ensure every one of his teammates was able to reach his full potential. Everett was a fast learner, but it would take him a few more sessions to even be remotely able to hold a candle to the Ravenclaw Beaters.
Rath and Cassiopeia had been a well attuned team for many years now, both as skilled a Beater as they came. They would need any protection against them they could get, and the match against Ravenclaw was approaching fast.
Although Orion wasn’t the type of person to let his mind be clouded by worries, he had to admit he wasn’t entirely sure they could get Everett into proper form in time. He had been voicing his concerns to Lizzie the other day, during one of their tutoring sessions. If anyone knew what it took to become a Beater in a short amount of time it was her.
Lately, Orion had found himself looking forward to their meetings in the greenhouse, despite his already tightly packed schedule. It was refreshing to discuss their team matters with someone that didn’t flood him with a multitude of statistics for a change. Lizzie had a different approach to things than him, but they weren’t polar opposites like he and Skye. Exchanging views with her had provided him with a new impulse more than once.
In fact, he had come to enjoy her presence in general, even more so than before. They had always been friends but his knowledge about her had pretty much begun and ended at the Quidditch pitch. Seeing her outside team meetings and practise had allowed him to get to know other sides of her. He’d had no idea Lizzie had been part of the duelling club until last year. Or that Arithmancy was one of her favourite subjects. Or that she used a perfume smelling distinctively of jasmine and mint.
Orion had a harder time bonding with her friend Rowan. He hadn’t had any points of contact with her before he had started tutoring them. Now, several weeks later, he still knew hardly anything about her. She seemed to be exceptionally smart, but also equally as shy. Most of the time she would consult her textbook about the plants he tried to teach them about, while Lizzie paid it no mind, listening to his explanations instead.
Orion couldn’t help his impression that Rowan was struggling with his unconventional style of teaching. He didn’t refer to books more than he had to, rather letting his instinct and experience guide him.
Having trained with him for years, Lizzie knew his way of conveying knowledge was not always straightforward. Rowan, however, had a hard time letting go of protocol. She was clinging to the academic theory as if her life depended on it. Following the rules could help with a lot of problems, but she would never master the delicate nuances advanced Herbology had to offer, if she wasn’t willing to tread paths unknown to her.
“And what exactly is the difference between dried foxglove petals and desiccated foxglove petals?”
McNully snapped him out of his thoughts and back to where they were sitting in the Great Hall. It was study time and most of the students were gathered at their House tables, brooding over their homework.
They had been discussing their latest Potions essay, covering the effects sourcing methods had on the quality of ingredients.
“That is what we are supposed to illustrate, I believe.” Orion dipped his quill into the ink bottle they were sharing and tried to pick up where his wandering thoughts had let him off. His eyes wandered casually across the other Hufflepuff students lining their table.
It lingered where Skye and Lizzie were sitting. Lizzie was rapidly flicking through the pages of her textbook with a puzzled expression. Skye was talking insistently at her, looking equally as bewildered.
Several heads shot up as Lizzie audibly slammed her book shut and clambered off the bench. When Skye made no move to follow her, she jerked the other girl up off her seat and motioned with her head towards where he and McNully were sat.
They quietly walked towards the head of the Hufflepuff table. Seeing them approach, McNully reached for his wheelchair that was blocking the way. He moved it aside to allow the girls to join them. Orion smiled.
“What can we help you with?”
Wordlessly, Lizzie held up her copy of Unfogging the Future and slid into a seat between Murphy and him. She reopened the page she had been examining before and gave a frustrated sigh.
“I cannot tell you how much I hate Divination, I really can’t. You’re good at this, aren’t you?”
Orion supressed a smile. “So I am told. What bothers you in particular?”
“It’s those bloody birthstones,” Skye explained. “No matter how often we go over it, Lizzie and I always come to different results and we can’t find the mistake.”
They handed him their notes and Orion quickly gave them a check before returning them.
“That is because both choices are correct. There is more than one birthstone for each of the zodiac signs. You both chose the right stone for the right sign, but in different parts of the time span covered.”
Skye groaned in frustration, earning her a chiding glance from Professor Flitwick, who was supervising them today. “What do you mean, more than one? Why can’t this stuff be straightforward for once?”
“Everyone is different and such is reflected in the stones fortifying our inner strengths. Why should there be so little birthstones when there are so many traits to represent?”
Both girls looked at him with blank expressions.
Patiently, he flipped the pages to one of the star charts at the back of the book. “The astrological year is divided into the twelve zodiac signs. Each zodiac sign is subdivided into three decades, meaning a set of ten days. There are additional factors to consider, but simply put, there are three birthstones for each sign, representing one decade each. That is why you come to different conclusions, you didn’t factor in the time of the month.”
He contemplated telling them about the stones meant to counteract each signs weaknesses. But seeing Skye pinching the bridge of her nose, while was Lizzie trying to process what he had just said, muttering “I hate Divination” under her breath, he decided against it. Better not too much at once.
“How do you know all this nonsense?” Skye was shaking her head in disbelief.
“I know all this because it is explained in the introduction of the chapter you two apparently weren’t reading too diligently.” He turned the pages back to the beginning and pointed at the paragraph on the first page.
Lizzie’ cheeks flushed a bright read as she quickly scanned the text. “I can’t believe I overlooked this.” Embarrassed, she quickly snatched the book out of Orion’s hands and got up. “Thanks for helping anyway.”
They made their way back to their places, the scent of jasmine and mint lingering behind. Orion was always glad if he could help a friend. A few seats down the table, Lizzie was discussing what he had just told them with Skye. He thought back on what Penny and Murphy had said on the train ride to Hogwarts a few weeks earlier.
Lizzie really had changed a lot. She seemed to be standing taller, an air of effortless confidence around her. The blush on her cheeks had made her look really pretty, reminding him of how the rush of the wind brought the colour to her face when she was flying. She was moving differently as well, more graceful and fluently, her hips swaying ever so slightly with every step she took. He had never noticed her hips swaying like that before.
McNully nudged his shoulder. “Uhm, Orion… if you don’t want to rewrite your whole essay, I’d move my quill if I was you.”
He snapped out of it and looked down at his parchment. The ink was dripping from the tip of his quill, forming a large black puddle at the end of his last sentence that was quickly spreading onto the rest of his half-finished essay.
Orion cursed under his breath, immediately drawing his wand to vanish the excess ink. Fortunately not too much of his work was ruined.
McNully raised his eyebrows. “Such a strong language, my friend. I have only heard you curse three times, so far. One time was when you crashed your broom into the commentary box and broke your wrist, the second time when you forgot the time while broom balancing and almost missed your Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. exam and the third time when you burned yourself on your cauldron and spilled Wiggenweld Potion all over Professor Snape. This reaction is 87,9 % surprising.”
He felt the heat creeping up his neck. McNully was right, he wasn’t easily enticed to displaying his emotions verbally. He hadn’t meant to let himself slip like that.
Choosing not to answer his curious friend, he committed himself to restoring the missing part of his essay. But McNully wouldn’t let it pass like that.
He was nodding in the direction of Lizzie. “I wonder if she knows how much attention she is attracting.”
Orion gripped his quill a little tighter, concentrating on finishing his sentence. He fought the urge to follow McNully’s gaze.
“Our friend has a captivating personality, for sure. But would you mind lifting the veil of ignorance from my eyes and tell me how you reached such a conclusion?”
For a moment, McNully smirked knowingly before he directed Orion’s attention over to where their roommates were sitting. He could easily make out what McNully had been referring to. Everett was eyeing the girls up without even trying to conceal it.
“Him, of course. He’s been checking Lizzie out ever since she came over to us.” He smiled innocently at him. “Why, who did you think I was talking about?”
Orion’s brow furrowed in concern. He didn’t like the predatory look on Everett’s face. This guy had somewhat of a reputation.
“Yeah, I don’t like the looks he’s giving her either,” McNully echoed his unspoken thoughts with a scowl. He leaned closer to him, putting his elbow on Orion’s shoulder in conspiratorial way. “I think we should do something about it, don’t you? And by ‘we’, I obviously mean ‘you’.”
Shaking off McNully’s hand, Orion gave him a disapproving look. “And why would I do that? He is our new Beater if you don’t recall.”
“For the sake of the team, of course!”
McNully started reciting his calculations. “I’d put the chance of him going for our little Chaser prodigy at roughly 80 %. There are some variables unaccounted for, but I’d say the chances of Lizzie falling for him lie at something around 54 %. Which would affect the team’s dynamic gravely. And we can’t have that decreasing our- I mean, your odds on winning the Quidditch Cup.”
Orion blew onto his parchment until the ink had properly dried. “You talk as if he was actually hitting her up. All he did was looking at her.”
And there was certainly nothing wrong with looking.
“Lizzie can fend for herself if need be. Besides, who am I to interfere with the course the heart is deciding to take.”
McNully looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “Mate… I don’t think the heart has much to with it if you get my drift. Seriously, do something.”
“Don’t worry, I will.” He stood up and handed Professor Flitwick his work of the day.
McNully raised one eyebrow at him. “And what would that be?”
Orion gathered his strewn books and notes. “Finding balance inside and outside of my mind, my dear friend. See you at dinner.”
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thorne93 · 4 years
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The Softest Fire (Part 1)
Prompt: Rosaline Vaughan had it all: fame, money, power, glory, a high status job. Until, one day, she woke up, and realized something was missing from her life.
Word Count: 3379
Warnings: mentions of being an orphan
Notes: First Fantastic Beast fic! I could NOT have done this at all without @arrow-guy​. They have created a counterpart to this fic, writing it from Nora Vaughan’s perspective (Rosaline’s cousin/adopted sister). Fic aesthetic done by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​.
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A long line of wizards and witches had lived before me. Long, long before me. Our family wasn’t famous, and wasn't extremely well to do. As far as fortune or fame went, we were just like any other family. The Vaughans. I was born, in 1897, as Rosaline Vaughan. Soft blonde curls, creamy skin, and ocean blue eyes were my distinctive features.
The only difference for me was, my parents weren’t alive. When I was three, my father’s life was cut short when a horrible accident occurred. He was an auror for the Ministry of Magic, chasing down a criminal. In his pursuit, he was about to apparate… And he did, only he did so incorrectly. Something distracted him, and it ripped his chest wide open. Splinching, I believe is what they call it. He couldn't be saved…
It was only a year later that my mother had a tragic mishap with her potions. She dabbled, even thought of starting a shop for elixirs and tonics… But she’d misread a label… and the whole lab was destroyed. 
Their deaths is how I wound up in my Uncle and Aunt’s home, living and being raised with my cousin Nora. They raised me as their own and Nora and I were practically inseparable, sisters, if you will. Lovely, lovely people. My Uncle and my father were brothers, those two got along marvelously, and so did Nora and I, for being two entirely different people. 
Nora is seven years older than me. I was beginning to learn how to properly write, read, and do arithmetic when she received her first letter to Hogwarts. I was raised on magic, bred on magic. Nothing about magic was a secret in my Aunt and Uncle’s home. Nora is the adventurous one, the bold one, the dedicated, patient, and the curious one. She was creative, and sometimes pushed the envelope. 
On the other hand, I was… quiet, reserved, non-risky one. I never defied, never disobeyed, always kept my nose down.
I often studied the books Nora bought in Diagon Alley weeks before her stay at Hogwarts. By the time I attended… well I was years ahead of anyone in my class. 
Most people, including my professors, thought I would or should be in the Ravenclaw house at Hogwarts, given my thirst for knowledge and my nose always in a book. However, Hufflepuff was given to me. I didn’t complain. I had no preference on the matter. Nora had spoken of each house to me when I was younger. She had explained that Ravenclaw was for the well read, the book worms. Gryffindor was for the courageous, the brave. Hufflepuff was for the kind, the steadfast. Slytherin was for the cunning, the quick witted. Each house had something to offer the world, and so long as I got a letter, I was happy to be in any house. 
Hufflepuff seemed to suit me well though, in my time there. 
In my seventh year, my last year, I was selected Head Girl. An honor and a privilege. I hadn’t really expected it, to be honest. I was too focused on schoolwork, making top marks, working closely with all the professors before and after class. Everywhere I went, people wanted to be my friend. I supposed I was nice enough, perhaps that was the reason. Boys asked me to the Winter Ball every year, and I accepted, solely so I didn’t hear any grief from my aunt and cousin. 
Men were hardly ever on my mind. All I had ever wanted, or dreamed of, was mastering magic. Dating and socializing rather got in the way of that at times. I had friends, sure, I attended parties, dances, the like. But I never sought out more friendship than needed. The funny thing was, people seemed to gravitate towards me and my effort to interact was often very little, but somehow, I always ended up the center of every social circle. 
Maybe it was my never ending compassion, or desire for real justice that people loved about me. Because towards the end of my sixth year at Hogwarts, a peculiar event took place. 
Leta Lestrange had an incident with a Jarvey. For some reason her friend, Newton Scamander, one of my own Hufflepuffs, took the fall for her. He stated it was his. The thing was, you knew it was hers. She’d had the Jarvey a lot, she was also a Lestrange, who were known to be a … finicky bunch. Why Newton took the blame, I wasn’t sure I would ever know. Be that as it may, he faced expulsion. It was towards the end of the year however, and they let him finish his exams and would review his case before the next year. When the seventh year came, I was elected Head Girl. Along with this came many duties, one of which was helping to carry out the sentence given to Newton Scamander. 
He was allowed to return for his final year at Hogwarts under one condition: he was not be left alone on the grounds without a professor, other faculty, myself, or the head boy. This became tedious as nearly every professor was always tied up in their work, leaving it to me to follow Newt. 
The problem wasn’t carrying out my duties. The problem was I knew who the real culprit was and I had to see Newt be monitored like a feral creature held captive. In this time, I grew fond of Newt. He was a quiet, well to do, intelligent young man who I admired. It was in this time that I began to dislike Leta Lestrange more than I ever had before. 
She had a horrible reputation. Bad student, disobeyed orders, it was a wonder they ever invited her back to the school. Not to mention letting an innocent boy pay for her crimes.
But I suppose all things worked out in the end. We all graduated, and went out into the world. Newt got to keep his wand and he graduated the same as the rest of us. In fact, he worked for some time at the Ministry. 
By the time I graduated Hogwarts, life couldn’t get much better. Except that I went straight into working for the Ministry with letters of recommendations from every professor I’d had. 
From what I’d heard Newt worked for the Ministry for four years. He was in a confidential program for a short while, before being moved to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Then, because of his unsurprising amount of knowledge in regards to magical critters, he was moved again to the Beast Division. 
The two of us hardly ever saw each other except a pass in the hall here or there, at least when it came to work at the Ministry. I began in the office of Improper Use of Magic. I found the work easy. Sentencing was swift, just, and easy. My employers saw how bored I was getting and seemed to want to make me happy so they offered to move me into the Hit Wizards division. Quite a bit more faced paced, exciting, and finally, a challenge. Or… it would’ve felt that way if I weren’t as talented and skilled as I am.
During my schooling at Hogwarts, the only professor who seemed to be able to rival my skill set was Professor Dumbledore. Even at the Ministry, no one could raise their wand to me. It was customary, for all employers to learn how their employees worked, trained, fought, defended… Every fight, without fail, I reigned victorious, and much more quickly than my peers. 
Rumors, gossip, and whispers about me floated about in the wizarding world. 
No one feared me, but I most certainly got the respect I deserved. I never had to raise my voice, give anyone a stern glare, or utter a word to get things done that needed to be done. I rather liked that, the power, the will. 
I never thought much of the level of my power, not until people started to constantly mention it. Criminals, peers, colleagues, professors, employers. It was as if people hadn’t seen what studying could do for people. 
Even when I realized that I was quite powerful, I had no desire to exploit it, to use it against others. All I wanted to do in life was have a good job, hold a secure career, and live in a humble home. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. 
The years went on, and Nora opened a book shop. Curious, as I was in such an adrenaline rush of a job, and she ran a simple book store. Leta Lestrange had joined the Ministry and that turned my stomach. She was in Department of Magical Law Enforcement, assistant to the head! Of all things. The very idea of her in that position had me fuming. Newt was offered a position to write a book, and he took it. The opportunity allowed him to travel the world and discover new creatures. Nora, my cousin, would sometimes join him. 
Nora, however, was one year behind Newt’s brother, at Hogwarts. Theseus Scamander. Now, he was a very well-to-do boy. Always kept, always pressed, always ready for the next promotion. Much like myself, he kept his nose down, and he followed orders, to the dot. He was someone who I very much admired. Even if I wasn’t very close with him, word had gotten around about him. Excellence was often noticed at the Ministry. 
It seemed to be though, that Theseus and I were often in the same social and work circles, while the two dreamers -- Newt and Nora -- were off in the world, discovering things. Nora helped Newt at his flat with the animals on and off, when he was out traveling and needed someone to stay behind to take care of what he couldn’t bring along. 
Things were starting to get stale around my life. No man, no real loss there. No friends outside of work. Not much but Nora and the occasional chat with Theseus, Newt, and other Hogwarts alumni that roamed the halls of the Ministry of Magic. So, my ears perked up when I heard it may be time to elect a new Minister for Magic.
The campaign began, with the blessing of my direct employer. He headed up the starting program himself. Before I knew it, the election was only a few months away. The polls were looking fantastic, with my name always 100 points ahead of anyone else’s.
But one day… It all changed.
Nothing extreme happened. Nothing dire. Nothing life changing. No mid-life crisis. Nothing extraordinary at all. I merely woke up, with an intense desire to not return to my job, or to pursue being the Minister for Magic any longer. 
It wasn’t stress. I handle stress incredibly well. Wear it like a new Chanel suit. Even if it was the stress of the campaign and the very real fact I may be the new Minister for Magic, at least for a part of Europe… I could’ve just withdrawn from the race. But no, this ran much deeper than that. 
But seeing as I never do anything hasty, or risky, I sat on it, at least for three weeks, to see if I could shake it. Yet, nothing wavered. The pull to leave a life I’d strived to built was ever present. 
So I began job seeking. 
“You… want to what?” Nora had asked while I stood in her shop.
“I want to leave,” I stated matter of factly. Why was this so hard to grasp?
“But you’re… you’re practically Ms. Minister for Magic. Why now? Is it the campaign?”
I frowned, waving her off as she filled an order, waving her wand to stack some books. “No, nothing like that. You know me. That wouldn’t bother me.”
“I do know you,” she agreed emphatically. “Which is why I’m concerned that you want to leave at all… but, if you’re serious, I do know that Newt is looking for a full time assistant.”
“An assistant?” I asked, a hint of incredulous in my voice. 
“Yes, something wrong with that?” she retorted. 
I made a slight face. “No, but…”
“If you want prestige, cousin, you may reconsider staying where you’re at,” she said with a lilt in her voice. 
In response, I sighed, my shoulders drooping momentarily in my cranberry blazer and matching silk blouse. I stood back straight and tall though, smoothing out my skirt, looking rather lean in my heels. 
“No, that’s perfectly fine… But I thought you--”
“Bookstore’s getting busy, and unless I can find some help…” She peered at me for a moment, wanting me to chime in. 
“Cousin, I’d be delighted, but I would enjoy work that took me… away from London, for a bit.”
Nora nodded, smiling gently. “I understand. He’s interviewing for the position. I’m sure he won’t mind if you drop by.”
“Oh, is he home?” 
“Just for the week. He leaves on Sunday.” 
“Fantastic. I’ll head there now,” I informed with a slight grin. 
I made my way through the city to Newt’s humble abode. As soon as I arrived, I knocked twice, and after a moment, the red-haired man appeared on the other side of the door.
“Rosaline?” he greeted, slightly confused. Typically, it’d be my cousin. Or myself and Nora, but I never arrived alone. 
“Hello, Newt,” I greeted in return, warmly. 
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” he suddenly started.
I laughed. “No, no. I’m not here for that. No. Of course you haven’t. You’re just fine, Newt, I promise,” I assured, touching his sleeved arm with my gloved hand. “Do you mind if I come in?”
“Uh, not at all.” He backed up and let me in, showing me to the kitchen, where he made some tea. “What brings you by, then, if you don’t mind my asking. You and I aren’t very--”
“Social?”
He nodded. 
I sipped my tea before jumping to the point. “I’m looking for work, and heard you were hiring an assistant.”
He peered at me with incredible shock. “You’re… you’re here about the job?”
I nodded. “Mhm.”
“Alright. Uh, let me just… get my questions,” he said before pulling his wand out. He whisked it in the air and said, “Accio interview papers.” Before long, a few papers came gliding into the room, landing in his hands. He glanced at me nervously before speaking. 
He went down a list of fifteen questions, to which I answered them all truthfully. He put his papers down and stared at me for a long time. I kept my hands on the table, my long fingers interlaced. 
“Newt? What’s the matter? We’ve known each other for nearly fifteen years…”
He nodded. “I know, I know. It’s not that.” 
“Then why are you taking so long to make up your mind. You know what I do, what I’m capable of. I know what you do, what you’re capable of. You know my cousin very well. If you can’t teach me, I’m sure she can... “
“Why do you want this job?” he suddenly asked, curiosity burning in his voice. “Why leave your job at the Ministry?” 
“I want this job because… I want something more fulfilling in life. I don’t… I don’t want to spend my entire life in politics, in police work, in… deciding who gets to keep their wand, their power? I want to do something that enriches my soul. I feel that’s needed, to have a good, happy life, don’t you?” I said. 
It wasn’t until I uttered those words, there in Newt’s small kitchen that I realized how true they were. I was afraid of giving my life over to the Ministry. Of my life having nothing more to show for it than a plaque or two, a portrait here or there. I wanted my life to feel like it was mine, that I was serving myself, as well as others. My job was never my reason to get out of bed in the morning, nor was anything else, and I wanted to change that. I wanted to wake up, and be thrilled for where I was going, and not just because of the status that job gave me. 
“I do,” he agreed with a head nod. “If you remember, my boggart was an office desk in school.” 
I grinned at the memory. “Yes. Dumbledore found it amusing.”
“And you? Clearly you aren’t one to fear a desk,” he noted.
“Newt, I left desk work a long time ago. I’m a hit witch now. My life has been out and about for some time now…”
“Then… why change? If you believe it’s satisfying.”
“Not all adventure is satisfying,” I retorted. 
He thought for just a moment, but then concurred. “This is true, I suppose. So you’re looking for the right adventure then, hmm?” 
“I suppose I am, yes,” I realized with a grin. 
“And you think you’d like it here?” he wondered, peering at me, gauging my response. 
“I do. I’ve always found your work fascinating. I love creatures, animals. Nora tells me you’re about to set off on another leg for your book, gathering information…” 
“But why… me? Why my work? You’re… you’re one of the greatest witches alive. I’ve never seen such talent. The way they talk about you at the Ministry. The way my brother talks about you… I can’t help but think you’re entirely too overqualified for this job, Rosaline.”
A tiny grin came to my face. 
“Newt… Your job is to study creatures, learn their behavior, their thinking, their eating, the way they sleep, where they live… And most people say you’re the best at what you do…”
He frowned for a moment, wondering where I was going with this. 
“How would you feel if someone told you that you were overqualified for your job? Would you step aside, and let someone else gather the information that you so lovingly gather all by yourself?”
“I think I’d--”
“Hate it? Loathe the idea of being forced to sit in an office? That’s how I feel…Being your assistant is fulfilling work, I’m sure. I wouldn’t let you down. I’d be here early. I’d read and learn all about the creatures…”  
After a second, he said, “I can’t pay you what you’re getting paid at the Ministry.”
“I didn’t even bring up salary,” I reminded with a soft grin. 
“So you’re willing to take a cut in pay, in status, all to… travel the world with me to find strange creatures?” he asked. Of course, he didn’t think the animals or critters were strange, but to most, they were, and he was trying to get to the bottom of why I wanted to leave a job I’d worked so hard for.
“There are no strange creatures, only strange people. People too dull not to see their beauty,” I noted, almost as if I weren’t answering him at all. Snapping out of my thought, I finally looked directly at him. “I know this isn’t orthodox. I’m sure if it were me, I would be incredulous too, but I’m not here for a temporary position. I’m not doing this on a whim. You know me, Newt.”
“I do.”
“You know I’m not doing this until I can figure out what I really want to do or any of that nonsense. I’ve had a change of heart, that’s all. My heart no longer seeks what the Ministry can offer me.” I stood up, taking a deep breath. “If you’d like to think on it though, review other applicants, I understand. These animals mean a great deal to you, and you can’t just hire anyone. Feel free to think it over, just keep me as a consideration…” 
I began to leave. I didn’t want to pressure him into hiring me. He had a right to think on my offer. 
When my hand hit the door handle, he suddenly spoke up behind me. 
“An hourglass, right? Your boggart… it was an hourglass, wasn’t it? Your biggest fear is time.” 
A grin popped onto my face. 
“Perhaps it was, Mr. Scamander. Let’s make sure this interview and offer wasn’t a waste of yours.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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simple-heroics · 4 years
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Nejire Chan and Ryukyu with a Quirkless Hero S/O
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Baby blog’s first ask, baby blog’s first ask, baby blog’s first ask – !!!! And answered with no less than 2554 words. Whoops. I was really inspired by this ask and got ahead of myself. So no promises on every future ask getting this same amount!
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Nejire Hado
Okay. So, I love Nejire. I do. And I don’t want Nejire Nation to come after me for this but I have to be real: Nejire…is an insensitive dick when she first meets you. 😬😬😬
I said what I said because it’s true. This is the girl who just straight up asked Todoroki how he got his scar in the front of the whole damn class. Get this girl a goddamn filter.
Given how rare Quirkless people in your generation (see amazing meta here), it’s extremely likely that you are the first Quirkless person Nejire has met. And Nejire has questions. Many, many questions - some of which humming with implicit bias. 
“Woooah, y/n, I didn’t know there were still people born without Quirks! I thought only old people were Quirkless. When did you find out? Did you have to get x-rays? Do you really have an extra joint in your pinky toe? Were your parents sad you didn’t inherit their Quirks?”
Um, ouch. Nejire, what the fuck, that’s practically bullying! (On the bright side, you form a sort of comradery with Tamaki as you both understand what it’s like to be “sweetly” picked on by one Nejire Hado.)
You’re not even the same class, her being in the hero department and you having just scraped into general studies by your teeth after getting your ass handed to you the practical exam. So, you know, you two are in a completely different sections of UA and realistically you two would hardly ever see each other outside passing in the halls, forget actually interacting with any kind of frequency.
Wrong. 
Apparently your Quirklessness is such a novelty to her that Nejire actively seeks you out. All. The. Time. Somehow, she always finds new questions to ask about your lack of Quirk - unintentionally othering you in the process - and then others that are completely random. Why would she care if you like boba tea or not? why do you think, you dork
And when she finds out that you, too, want to be a hero? The questions  blister.
“How are you going to fight people with really strong Quirks? Has there ever been a Quirkless hero before? I wonder what kind of agency would take you on…”
What makes these questions all the worse is that you know that there’s nothing malicious about them; they were honest, prompted by genuine curiosity. You’ve learned the difference a long time ago but it didn’t make it hurt any less.
And to have it come from her? A student from the the coveted UA hero program, one the Big Three at that? Someone gifted with a phenomenal Quirk and this bubbly personality and charm and a cute face and - ? yeah you may already have a crush whoops
These feelings - along with an entire lifetime of mockery and prejudice - eventually boil over…
Your fist slammed into the wall next to you. “Yes, Hado, I get it. I’m frickin’ Quirkless.”
Nejire jumped, cut off mid-sentence. “Y/n, what - “
Your nostrils flared as you inhaled sharply. “Surprise. I’ve been Quirkless my whole life! I don’t need you - or literally everybody else - to remind me. But you wanna know what?”
Her typical smile fell, expression melting into something strangely blank and watchful.
“Being Quirkless doesn’t make me weak. I may not be in the hero course or strong like you but I still got into UA. I got all the way here without a Quirk and I’ll become a hero without one, too! So quit looking down your cute nose at me from that pedestal and watch me.”  
Nejire’s bright eyes blinked once, twice, long eyelashes fluttering. She tilted her head. “You think my nose is cute?”
Jerking back, your face heated up. “That’s what you got out of that?”
“No, I got everything else,” Nejire said. Somehow, her eyes seemed brighter - sparkling as they looked at you. A smile returned to her lips, different from others you’ve seen from her before. This one made your heart stutter. “I never thought you were weak, y/n. Actually…you wanna know what?”
Clasping her hands behind her back, she stepped closer to you.
Crap, crap, crap - did you just piss off one of the strongest students in the school? You cringed against the wall behind you, floundering between embarrassment and panic and - whatever this weird feeling in your stomach was. You blamed the Lunch Rush.
Nejire peered up at you from under her eyelashes. “I’ve already been watching.”
Haaaaa! Turns out Nejire kept pestering you and asking you so many damn questions because she had a huge crush on you.
Just to be clear, Nejire does sincerely apologize to you. You two have a long, long talk about boundaries and what’s going too far. 
Fairy girl also makes it up to you with that boba tea she asked you about awhile ago and then some 😉
Okay…okay, so I actually waited to add this part because it’s something you wouldn’t quite pick up on at first and only really notice after Nejire eases up. That is: Nejire is/was kind of the only one bugged you about being Quirkless.
Well, when you first started at UA, there was the usual ribbing which eventually mellowed out and you chalked it up to your classmates just getting bored with it. This sudden “boredom” happened coincide with the time you first caught Nejire’s interest.
Who overheard some things.
All I have to say is this: Have you ever seen a really, really nice person finally snap? If your answer is “no”, good for you. You don’t want to.
ANYWAY. Nejire is a very supportive girlfriend. If you want to be a hero, she’ll help you in every way she possibly can.
She invites you to train with her, Mirio, and Tamaki. Her own personal stamina training helps you, and the other two happily offer tips to help you out.
Nejire is super creative and actually comes up with a lot of ideas on ways. Sometimes, she goes on entire tangents while brainstorming different ways you can kick ass.
Hell, she even brings you up to Ryukyu! The girl nearly begs the Pro to let you at least train with her agency. Ryukyu gently declines, knowing that she herself isn’t a fitting mentor for you 😔 unlike a certain someone in Ryuko’s life if you read below wink wink
Totally uses her privilege as a hero course student to request specific items from the support department just for you to try out and experiment with. As it turns out…this is exactly the kind of boost you needed.
Nejire brags - no, gushes about you. A lot. She still constantly brings up the fact that you’re Quirkless to anyone who will listen but there’s a distinct undertone of pride there.
Because you were so, so, so strong. You held your head high even when others laughed at your goal. You stood up for yourself. You trained relentlessly, pushing yourself harder every day, and inspired Nejire to do the same.
Nejire remembers the classmate who quit the hero course, how they had so much promise and this amazing Quirk yet still crumbled under the pressure. You, though? You never let something like being Quirkless stop you from pursuing your dream. 
You’re already a hero in Nejire’s eyes.
And you look so cute when you get all flustered, she’ll add laughingly after one of these tangents. She loves you so much and can’t help singing your praises, much to your never ending embarrassment. Guess she never quite outgrew the unintentional bullying, huh… 
But no. You also help Nejire grow as a person. She never forgets the time you confronted her before you began your relationship. 
Gradually, she learns to be choose her questions with a little more care, to stop and consider them before asking. Nejire becomes more conscious of other people’s feelings and how her words may affect them.
It’s unlikely that you’ll ever transfer to the hero course. However, you shouldn’t let this deter you and Nejire reminds you that not every hero got their license through a hero course. (Gran Torino didn’t.) 
Other couples talk about someday moving in together and maybe adopting a dog. You and Nejire talk about what it will be like to open up a hero agency together. (A pet friendly one so your eventual dog can go to the office with you.) Your beautiful fairy is just that confident in your abilities and your relationship both. 
And with a girl like Nejire Hado by your side, you can’t help but think anything is possible.
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Ryuko Tatsuma
This one I tweaked a little bit as Ryukyu is an adult, ergo so is her s/o. At this age, it’s make or break: either s/o made it as a hero or just didn’t. There is no more “trying” with bills to pay. So let’s say yes, her sweetie absolutely made it as a hero! ^^ 
You met during a briefing for a joint mission early on in your hero careers. Ryuko didn’t give you too much thought at first. You blended in with the rest of your colleagues, and she herself focused on the briefing. You likely wouldn’t have spoken if not for being assigned to work together.
You two were partnered up because your individual talents and weaknesses balanced each other out: her Quirk is pure strength but it disallows much room for finesse while you specialized in agility and typically ran undercover assignments but were vulnerable to more brutal attacks.
You also find that you two just…naturally worked extremely well together. You just clicked.
The villains didn’t stand a chance.
“That went better than planned,” Ryuko said as you both watched police officers escort the cuffed drug traffickers into the back of police vans. A hero’s job was never fully complete until
Still high on the adrenaline, you laughed loudly. “No kidding.”
Arms crossed, Ryuko looked at you from the corner of her eyes. You had a thin, long cut that traced the curve of your cheek and down the corner of your jaw. It would definitely scar but on you…she imagined it would look quite distinguished. 
However, it was an unnecessary one.
“You didn’t use your Quirk, though.”  There was a silent admonishment in that simple statement.
To her confusion, you sent her a very dry look. “That’s because I don’t have a Quirk to use.”
Ryuko’s eyebrows nearly rose to her hairline. Her lips parted, forming small o-shape. “…ah.” 
To say Ryuko was intrigued would be an understatement. And you appreciated that she didn’t make a big deal about it. She just accepted it, accepted you. 
So, you two keep in touch, compare notes on similar leads, give each other tips on each other’s cases, maybe volunteer for certain missions when you hear the other is on it. Communication on the Hero Network turn into texts. Pretty soon she has your coffee order memorized from when she delivers it to you during your late night stakeouts, and you find yourself watching and then rewatching Ryuko’s press conferences. 
Because you’re both supportive of your friends and colleagues, right? Right? Yeah, right. You quickly fell head over heels for each other.
Ryuko didn’t make a Big Deal out of you being Quirkless. However, even she’s internalized some of the stigma - making her a little protective, even quietly defensive. It’s something she had to work on a lot in the beginning of your relationship.  
And sometimes it’s hard to watch her soar to higher and higher above you, both literally and figuratively. You’ve made your dream of becoming a hero a reality with your own two hands but there will always be kernel of internalized prejudice inside you.
And it fucking hurts.
You and Ryuko have a lot of late night conversations - about your occasional jealousy, your frustrations, her own conflicting desires to let you take care of yourself and shield you, the microaggressions from colleagues, how the public questions your abilities. 
It’s hard but these conversations deepen your relationship, as any conflict would.
Your dragon girlfriend picking you up for a private flight always cheers you up, though. 
Also, general pro-tip: don’t say shit about the Dragon Lady’s s/o. Ryuko lets you handle it ‘cause you’re a badass and growing Quirkless has lead you to perfecting your clap backs. And it always gives her a good chuckle to hear your witty retorts.
If however you aren’t in the room but your name is in someone else’s mouth, Ryuko handles it. And that’s that.
She is in the top 10 for a reason, you know.
Ryuko is a professional on the field - no flirting, rarely any cute couple banter - but anyone can tell how the Dragon Hero feels from how she looks at you.
Even from meters away, arms crossed and focused on the task at hand, she sends you these brief but intense glances from the corner of heavy-lidded eyes. Often a soft smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. Ryuko could be deep in tactical conversation with another hero yet those looks she make it feel like you’re the only person in the room she really sees.  
Yes, Ryuko knows you’re perfectly capable.Yes, she respects you and your skills. Yes, you two have mutual professional boundaries so neither of you are emotionally compromised on the job. Hell, it’s rare for your patrol schedules to even line up.
But if anything ever happens to you in the field and she’s there, she will go absolutely draconic. I’m not saying Ryuko goes this far but she comes pretty damn close. shit I should totally write that
Afterward, when you come to in the hospital and find out what happened, you scold her a bit. She can’t just lose control of herself like that, not with a Quirk like her, no matter what happens to you.
But honestly? Quirk or no Quirk, you’d do the same for her.
Ryuko has no control over the hero rankings, as she said, and wouldn’t put herself in the top 10 (we stan a humble queen) but you? Why aren’t you higher up??
Lowkey loves watching you at work. She’s too dignified to make a big scene or brag but no one is immune to the inherent eroticism of their s/o kicking villain ass. Like, oof look at her baby go. Good god, that’s her s/o. How did she get so lucky?
Ryuko is just in complete awe of you. Through countless hours of training, discipline, and sheer force of will, you’ve become a formidable hero in your own right. Even people blessed with astounding Quirks don’t always make the cut but you - beautiful, strong, Quirkless you - do and you excel. 
More than that, you know what it’s like to be scared and hurt and targeted and vulnerable from living with the prejudice that comes . And instead of letting this jade you, you use this to empathize with others. You use your personal hardship motivate yourself further to protect people going through the same.
Simply put, you are her hero. 
Damn, I didn’t know I was horny for Ryukyu until this happened. It’s like my Gay Awakening all over again. 🥵🥵 I think I’m gonna need more asks for the Dragon Queen in the future. 
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sunshine-pup-fics · 5 years
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V O O D O O // Shinso x Reader
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So I actually really like this quirk idea and want to develop it more and make an actual character out of it- but we’ll see how it goes!
Also, this idea just hit me and I really like it... But idk if I managed to write it well... also Shinso feels a little OOC? :p
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(Y/n) frowned, gazing down at her supplies before her. There were a plentiful amount of small glass bottles littering her desk, each with a label with something scrawled on it.  She traced her fingers across them, scanning the names for what she was searching for. She finally picked out one of the bottles, holding it up to the light. There was a small amount of liquid, perhaps enough for a few drops. She sighed, putting the bottle back as she quickly packed them all roughly away. She fled to her bedside table, grabbing her phone and purse, before slipping them into a messenger bag. She slung it over her shoulder, heading for her bedroom door. She skidded down the halls, sliding on her socks as she searched for her parents, which she finally found in the kitchen. “I’m going to the store super quick, do we need anything for dinner?” Her mother glanced at her, smiling as she hummed softly. “Ah, if you could grab some snacks for your lunches that would be great. There should be some money on the counter.” She gestured vaguely toward the other side of the kitchen before returning to her cooking. (Y/n) swipes the few notes from the counter, then headed toward the front door. She slipped on her shoes then hurried out the door.
(Y/n) dawdled down the sidewalk, eyeing the colourful storefronts. There were bookstores and clothing stores, with the local grocer just down the road. However, she turned into one of the stores, a small one that was painted a deep blue. A little bell jingled as she pushed the door open, and the scent of lavender seemed to smack her in the face as she headed in. There was a small portion of the wall covered in plants, beside it was a small couch. The rest of the room had shelves lining the walls, with a variety of different sized and different colours bottles sitting atop them. (Y/n) headed for one of the shelves, plucking a bottle from it and heading straight for the counter, which was nestled in the back corner. It was decorated with more plants, as well as some different crystals ranging in size and colour. There was an elderly lady behind the counter, who smiled warmly. “Another bottle of lavender? Is it for your newest little friend?” She expertly scanned it, slipping it into a small paper bag. “Thank you!” (Y/n) chirped. She handed over a few yen notes, taking the light paper bag and bidding farewell before heading back out to the street. She turned to her left, continuing down toward the grocery store. There was a dull chime as she entered, but no one paid her any mind. She began down each aisle, picking a few items each time. Arms full, she headed quickly toward the counter. There were a few people already standing in line, so she joined the queue. A few moments passed before she caught sight of a flash of purple in the corner of her eye. She casually turned to glance at it, only to be staring at none other than her classmate, Shinso. “O-oh. Good afternoon, Shinso.” She timidly bowed, averting her gaze away from him. The boy cleared his throat, keeping his gaze off her as well. “You’re... (Y/n), right?” The girl bobbed her head. “General studies, class 1-C.” They fell to silence. Shinso idly glanced around the store, while (Y/n) resorted to staring down at the food in her arms. Her head suddenly jumped to look at him, and she opened her mouth as if to speak.  Shinso brought his gaze to hers, quirking a brow. (Y/n) closed her mouth, lightly shaking her head as whispered a “sorry, it’s nothing.” 
Shinso seemed to notice her more the next day. They were in the same class, yet he’d never really seemed to notice her. She sat near back, on the furthest row from the door. He wasn’t sure why he was suddenly curious about her. He pinned to the fact that he just wanted to know what she was going to say in the supermarket. He kept seeing her in the corner of his eye. Talking to someone or grabbing a book, or even just passing him in the hall. He kept noticing her, but she seemed totally oblivious to him. Not once did he catch her gaze. It even occurred to him that he didn’t have an inkling of an idea to what her quirk was. The final bell rang and there was a flurry of scraping chairs as the students hurried out of the classroom. Shinso stacked his books, slipping them into his bag before slinging it over his shoulder. He turned to leave, before hearing a small voice call his name. “Excuse me, Shinso.” He glanced over his shoulder, seeing none other than (Y/n) weaving around the tables toward him. She paused before him, gripping her bag strap as she gazed over his shoulder. “I just... wanted to ask if you were feeling okay? I-uh. The rest of the class-Uhm- noticed that you seemed less agitated.” She chewed her lip. Shinso furrowed his brow, before lightly nodding. “I don’t know why you need to know, but yeah. I’ve been feeling... better, than usual.” Shinso couldn’t describe it. As soon as she said that, (Y/n) seemed to glow. Her eyes lit up, and a soft smile graced her lips. She tried to play it off, scuffing the floor with her shoe and pretending to not be too interested. “Oh, that’s nice then! I uh- I have to get going. A few people in the class were just curious.” She bowed her head before ducking around him. He turned to watch her, only catching her (h/c) hair disappear past the door. If he was already curious, he was surely infatuated now. He felt drawn to her. He felt as if he was already comfortable with her like she calmed him down. And he was going to figure out why.
For the next few days, he tried to coincidentally ‘bump’ into her. In the hallways, during lunch, he even headed back to the convenience store a few times in hopes he might catch her again. She hadn’t seemed to change her behaviour, she either didn’t notice his glances or she didn’t care. Yet he had caught her stealing glances at himself a few times. Today had produced futile attempts, as usual. He’d wandered around the store after school, eyeing different foods and drinks in order to at least pretend like he was shopping. However, it didn’t seem she was coming today either. He picked up a bottle of water, quickly heading to the register and paying before shuffling out the door. He turned to continue down the street, only casually throwing a glance over his shoulder. And then he spotted her. Her unmistakable (h/c) (h/s) hair bouncing with each of her steps as she hurried up the sidewalk. She was heading the other direction, but he scrambled to follow her, weaving through the few people wandering the street. He slowed when he passed the store she has come out of. His gaze flickered between the two, before he came to a stop, watching her disappear around a corner. He hesitantly turned toward the store. It was painted dark blue, with a worn-out awning bolted to the wall. He craned his neck, peering in through the tinted window. After a few moments of deliberation, he headed for the door. He nearly jumped when a small bell rung as he pushed the door open. The first thing he noticed was the distinct smell of lavender. He felt as if all his jittering nerves seemed to settle almost immediately. He gazed around, simply taking in the small store. “Do you need anything, dear?” Shinso spun on his heel, realising the middle-aged woman seated at the counter at the back of the room. She was smiling politely. He glanced toward the door. He was too far in to back out now. He sheepishly wandered toward her, coming to a halt as he gazed at the nearest bottles, trying to read their labels. “What can I... hmm.” The woman trailed off, glancing him up and down, brows furrowed. “May I ask what you sell here?” Shinso inquired. The lady seemed to snap from her trance. “Oh, we sell natural oils and extracts. They’re mostly used for things like incense and natural remedies.” Shinso picked up one of the bottles, frowning when he noticed the price. “If you don’t mind, could you tell me about that girl that was just in here?” Shinso tensed as the women sent a stern look his way. “Dear (Y/n)? She’s one of my best customers. Very polite and so dedicated to her craft.” She seemingly smiled to herself. “She’s been buying a lot more lavender than usual recently... must be for someone...” she paused. Her gaze then shot to Shinso and she grinned. “You! That’s where I recognise you from! Ah, of course! You’re her newest victim.” She chimed. “Excuse me?” The woman quickly waved him closer. “Oh, I shouldn’t say it quite like that. You’re a classmate of hers, correct?” Shinso nodded. “(Y/n) has a quirk fit for the hero course, yet it apparently did no good against the machines they set you lot against in the entrance exam. She’s absolutely wonderful. I can’t remember exactly what it’s called, but she uses voodoo dolls! Like in the movies! Bless the girl, she makes dolls for her family and friends and bathes them in oils and showers them with love. Of course, her quirk is involved and whatever she does to those dolls actually does affect the person.” “Wait, are you saying she-“ “Oh! I’ve gone and said too much already! Here, take this lavender oil and give it to her next time you see her, alright? Now shoo! I can’t go blabbering again!” Shinso couldn’t even get another word in. A small bottle was shoved into his hands and he was ushered out the door. 
Shinso was nervous the next morning. He wasn’t sure why. All he had to do was talk to (Y/n). It’s not like he hadn’t done that before... but before he hadn’t know anything about (Y/n)... he trailed the school halls, paying no mind to the other students that killed around. Every step toward the classroom felt a little heavier than the last. He felt as if he had become hypersensitive. He could hear her beautiful laugh from the classroom down the hall. He was in so deep now. He tried to act inconspicuous, simply walking into class. (Y/n) was by her desk, talking to one of her classmates. All he had to do was act natural. He shuffled over, pausing a few feet away as they quickly finished their conversation. He cleared his throat, quickly gaining their attention. “Excuse me, I need to speak to (Y/n). Would lunch be alright?” The girl in question looked surprised, stuttering for a moment before nodding. “O-okay. Yeah. See you then.” She kept her gaze locked on her books, and if Shinso wasn’t mistaken, a faint pink flushed her cheeks. (Y/n) stood quietly by the cafeteria door, watching the few stragglers make their way into the lunchroom. She rocked on her heels, gaze trailing up and down the halls in search of the purple-haired boy. She slipped her hand into her pocket, absent-mindedness beginning to fiddle with the little doll she kept in her pocket. Shinso finally appeared, coming to a halt a few steps away. “So... what is it you want to talk about?” (Y/n) asked. Shinso pulled something from his pocket. Held between his thumb and forefinger was a small bottle. (Y/n) knee instantly what it was. “A-Ah... right... Shinso- I-I don’t mean any harm by what I do! I swear I don’t do anything bad! I know it sounds bad you include voodoo dolls but-“ Shinso cut her of with a frown. “Look, that old lady said some stuff, but I want to know from the source. What’s your quirk?” (Y/n) tensed, a knot tying itself in her stomach. She hesitantly opened her mouth. “My quirk involves what’s commonly known as voodoo dolls. I make them all myself... essentially, like the movies, whatever I do to the doll happens to the person... in a sense. So I... I've made dolls of my friends and family and I take care of them. I use essential oils like lavender-“ She gestured to the bottle he was holding, “to help them feel calm.” She smiled sheepishly. “And uh...” she pulled her hand from her pocket, revealing a small doll in her hand. It had a mess of purple wool hair and matching button eyes. It even had a small u.a blazer. Shinso started at, mouth left hanging open. “Sorry if it’s been to invasive or anything...” Shinso shook his head, earning a surprised gaze. “Why? Why would you care about some classmate?” He took s step forward. “You just... you always looked tired, stressed, overworked. I could see it. So I figured I could help. Even just a little bit...” Shinso watched as her gaze fell to the floor, tracing the tiles. “There’s something else, isn’t there?” He pushed. “I guess once I heard about your quirk... I felt like maybe we were already closer... i... i got shunned by my old classmates for having such an evil quirk. They always said that I’d always be capable of more harm than good. Whispered about how at any moment, I could kill someone...” she sniffled, keenly aware of the wet streak down her cheek. There was silence. Shinso wordlessly shuffled closer. He gently took (Y/n)s spare hand, and pressed the bottle into her palm. “I’ve felt the best I have been in a long time. I’ve actually been able to have a good nights sleep... could you... please, keep doing whatever it is you do.” He fell silent, quickly looking away, pink encroaching on his ears. (Y/n) let a smile grace her lips. “Gladly.” Shinso stepped back, shoving his hands into his pockets. His stoic expression returned. “However I’ll buy any of the oils you need. I’m not allowing you to spend so much money on me.” “What-“ Shinso sharpened his gaze. “Okay. Okay... would you like to accompany me to the store after school then?” “Sure.” “See you then, Hitoshi” (Y/n) turned on her heel and disappeared through the cafeteria doors, leaving behind a stuttering Shinso.
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jacksgreysays · 4 years
Text
Incidental Equilibrium, 1/? (2020-06-18)
Incidental Equilibrium
In which Ringo is proactive, Zakuro is stubborn, and Tetsuki needs a little help with some legal matters. 
The whole friendship thing? That kind of just happens.
(Or, the Counterpoise and Externality mashup that literally nobody asked for)
~
1) on the matter of becoming genin
It could have gone like this:
The Uzumaki twins attempt the Academy's graduation exam two years before their age mates. Naruto is ambitious, Konran is anxious, and neither of them get what they want.
That's because the Uzumaki twins do not pass the exam. They do not graduate:
She does. He doesn't.
Konran gets put on a team with two boys practically slated for the corps and a jounin who has to be literally dragged into the role of sensei. Ringo and Zakuro are known for not getting along with strangers, but this time they're willing to take the risk. Somehow, perhaps out of spite, the newly formed Team Five actually passes Riichi-sensei's ludicrous test and make him face the consequences.
They are, if not happy, then paving their way toward it.
Naruto gets sent back to the Academy, placed in the class who are slated to graduate next year. Nobody knows him, but they already don't like him--the rumors and Yanagi-sensei's cold demeanor the only information they have to work with. He meets Tetsuki who, even though kindness doesn't come naturally to her, takes a chance and helps him graduate.
They get put on a team with Komadori, a neutral classmate which is the best they can get really, under the command of a displeased Kakashi-sensei.
Like the formation of Team Two, their happiness, if it exists, is temporary.
Ringo and Zakuro help Konran find herself despite everything working against them all. Naruto and Tetsuki learn enough from each other before their divergent destinies tear them apart.
... But becoming genin is only the start.
---
It should have gone like this:
There are no Uzumaki twins. (Perhaps that night of the Kyuubi it was otherwise. Or perhaps a few years later, even, until an ambassador from Cloud saw an unprotected child with bright red hair. Or perhaps it was always as such.) Regardless, there is only Naruto.
Ambitious, he attempts the Academy's graduation exam two years before his age mates and fails.
Ringo and Zakuro, assigned a third teammate they're incapable of cooperating with, also fail their jounin sensei's test. They go to the corps as expected and must learn to become content.
Naruto is placed in Yanagi-sensei's class where nobody knows him or likes him. That stays true the entire year. When it comes time for the graduation exam, he fails again.
Maybe he would have passed with a little help from a classmate, even one ill-suited for kindness, but none take that chance. (And if Yanagi-sensei vaguely remembers a missing student, an orphan who held her own even against clan kids until her mysterious disappearance years ago, well. Orphans disappear in Konoha all the time.)
Naruto is placed in Iruka-sensei's class where destiny finally sinks its teeth into him and doesn't let him go.
Sometimes he's happy, he thinks. He must be.
---
But it actually went like this:
On a random morning a few months before graduation, Ringo's parents talk over breakfast about his future.
"Your cousin Suzuka is due for a promotion soon," Ringo's mom says while he blearily chews on egg and rice. He's not the best after just waking up, true, but he has time still before he needs to train the weakness out of himself.
"She could have an apprentice" she continues, as if he answered verbally. "I can ask her next time I'm on shift with her."
"Would be better than wasting time by going through the corps' prerequisite classes," his dad says, "Honestly, why they don't allow exemptions or testing out of those--so inefficient."
Ringo's dad is of the opinion that simply being part of the Nohara clan means they are naturally better at being medics than outsiders: as if medical knowledge and jutsu were akin to other clans' blood limits or secret techniques.
Maybe they're a little better at memorization and chakra control, but Ringo thinks his advantage has more to do with being raised by and amongst an entire clan of medics than anything he was born with--wait a second...
"Ask Suzuka what?" Ringo asks, belatedly, quickly shaking awareness into his head.
"Ask her to take you as an apprentice, of course," Ringo's mom answers easily, "I won't have you squandering your time in the Medic Corps or, heaven forbid, the Genin Corps."
Ringo blinks, uncomprehending. "I could end up on a jounin led team," he says, mildly.
His parents' response are less mild: his mom's light smile immedately twisting into a harsh frown, while his dad's hands clench into fists.
"No, no, no," his mom says, almost horrified at the idea.
"They'll try to put you on a team with That Man," his dad says, warningly. "It's what happened to your older cousins."
"They failed purposefully, of course. They know better than to trust their safety--much less their education!-- to That Man. But still," Ringo's mom closes her eyes, as if pained by the very thought, "Why the Hokage even tries to put a heartless creature like that in charge of young shinobi--and at the expense of our clan! Oh, no, Ringo, I couldn't lose you, too."
Then she reaches out for his hand, for comfort, and he tries to do his best.
Ringo's not stupid. He knows who That Man is: Comrade Killer Kakashi Hatake. Aunt Rin's murderer.
He doesn't think the Hokage would allow an actual psychopath to teach children, genin though they may be, so Kakashi Hatake can't still be a comrade killer. But he knows better than to bring it up in front of his parents.
It's not a battle he will win and honestly, not one he particularly wants to win. He doesn't want to be on a team lead by the man who killed his aunt--whether murder or manslaughter--and bore no consequences. If anything, and here his mom might have a point, the Hokage's continuous attempt to make a Nohara one of his students has prevented Ringo's cousins from following any career path but the Medic Corps or, apparently if the timing is right, an apprenticeship from another cousin.
But that's not what Ringo wants for himself. If he enters the Medic Corps, or apprentices under cousin Suzuka, then he won't be able to be on a team with Zakuro.
Maybe a compromise is in order.
...
On a random morning a few months before graduation, Zakuro tries to sneak out of the house only to be caught.
"Zakuro," says Uncle Shinku behind him, and Zakuro tries his best to hold in the annoyed sigh that desperately wants to escape. Last time he didn't, Uncle Shinku lectured him for thirty minutes about how disrespectful and ungrateful he was.
He turns around, "Yeah?"
Uncle Shinku glares. Well, that's just his default face, but it gets more glare-y. "Yes, Uncle," he says flatly, pointedly.
Zakuro holds in another annoyed sigh, "Yes, Uncle Shinku."
The man hums. Zakuro has no idea if that's approval or not.
"You will be graduating from the Academy soon," Uncle Shinku says, which is... true? Obvious? Not something Zakuro knows how to respond to.
He nods. "Yes, Uncle Shinku," he says, because maybe if he just repeats himself, the conversation (does this count?) will be over faster.
"I will not have you shaming us..."
Which is, wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence.
"Our arrangement with the Kurama clan still holds, for all that their heiress remains... reclusive. I will not have you embarrassing the Yuuhi clan," Uncle Shinku continues.
Great. Cool. This is why Zakuro needs to work on his stealth.
"When you join the Genin Corps, I will turn you into a shinobi worthy of our name, unlike your mother."
He sees an opening. "Thank you, Uncle," Zakuro says swiftly, bowing deep enough so as to hide his scowl. "I will go train so as to improve myself! Please excuse me!" Then, without waiting for a dismissal, Zakuro leaves.
If Uncle Shinku responds, he can't hear it. Not over the angry rush of blood pounding in his ears. He meets eyes with cousin Kurenai, her equally red eyes wide with a complicated mix of relief and guilt.
Why is she even here? She has an apartment. If Zakuro could live away from his asshole of an uncle, he would never set a single foot inside this house.
"Zakuro," she says, quietly, "I wanted to--"
Meanly, he interrupts with a loud, "Good morning cousin!" He spitefully enjoys the twist of annoyance on her face before bolting for the Academy.
It's early still but it's not here and that's all that matters.
If he's lucky, maybe Ringo will be there, too.
...
On a random morning a few months before the end of her fifth Academic year, Tetsuki sits alone in a room in T&I.
She's been here since yesterday afternoon, so by this point any adrenaline and fear have long since been replaced by bitter exhaustion.
And anyway, this is not her first time in T&I, so the novelty has worn off.
Although, at least, the room is nicer. Last time it really felt like an interrogation room: stark walls, hard chair, cold lighting. This time, they've put her in something almost comfortable. There's still an obvious viewing window, though it has a tasteful decorative frame, and she could almost fall asleep in the cushioned seat she's in.
Almost.
She hasn't slept since they brought her here and, ostensibly, she's alone right now. But still, she resists. She can sense at least two other people watching her from the observation room on the other side of that fake mirror--three, maybe. There's two distinct rectangles of body temperature metal standing about a meter apart. Forehead protectors, if she's interpreting it correctly, each with a matching pouch of kunai and assorted weaponry. And while she can't sense a third one, the door knob in that room opened and shut nearly thirty minutes ago with neither of the other two leaving.
So someone who doesn't carry metal on them, maybe? Unless it was just someone delivering a message... better to err on the side of caution.
She sits, exhausted eyes half-lidded, and waits for her fate to be decided.
Last time she was here, she thought no one would care if she disappeared. No one to miss her or notice--certainly no one to speak up if they did--just one of many Konoha orphans who mysteriously vanish.
This time, she knows it to be true.
She knows why she's here, this time around--or, at least, she can make an educated enough guess. Yesterday, Yanagi-sensei and Hinoura-sensei had distributed elemental chakra paper wearing nonconductive gloves. Gleefully, everyone in class grabbed at their papers, eager to find out their elemental nature in hopes that this would lead to lessons in ninjutsu.
Tetsuki didn't have particularly high hopes--such things hardly led to anything as exciting as her classmates would hope, probably just more lectures--but she certainly hadn't expected it to go this badly.
For the most part, everyone's paper reacted in an expected way. A lot of ash from the fire natured people, some crumbled to pieces or soaked through entirely--earth and water respectively. She thinks she saw one or two slice in half; wind natured, which is rare but highly appreciated in Land of Fire.
Hers crinkled.
She thought maybe that just meant she didn't have an elemental nature, there were some classmates whose papers did nothing--Neji Hyuuga for example, but everyone knows that Hyuuga chakra is weird--it wasn't too out there.
That was, perhaps, too optimistic.
Lightning natured chakra isn't unheard of Konoha. That alone would not have gotten her here, surely.
But that combined with her previous visit--where she was interrogated on whether or not she knew Cloud nin and if the light haired, dark skinned boy she used as her henge model was a real person that she knew--probably doesn't look that good.
Her paper crinkled, Yanagi-sensei dismissed everyone for lunch, and Hinoura-sensei brought shinobi wearing the T&I uniform to take her away.
They took her blood, put her in this room, had a sweetly smiling old lady ask her a bunch of questions, and then left her here.
The door to her room opens up. The person that enters is not someone she recognizes.
He's in his fifties maybe, quite old for a shinobi which he must be considering he's in this room and not a prisoner. She's not much of a danger to anyone, given she's only an Academy student, but they wouldn't bring a civilian in. Not that she would have a chance--for him to have survived to his age, he must be quite skilled.
He stares at her and says nothing, so she stays silent as well.
"You are Tetsuki, yes? Of the... Ryokushoku orphanage?" He asks almost hesitantly.
She doesn't know why, he clearly has access to her file. And it's not like a hesitant old man will get them any other answers than the sweetly smiling old lady did.
She nods in response.
"I'm Kunugi Mokume, conservator of the Utsugi clan holdings," he introduces himself. She nods again, because she doesn't know what else to say. "The Utsugi clan has been largely believed to be wiped out during the Night of the Kyuubi. Clearly, that is not the case," he says with a small smile.
She doesn't smile back.
Perhaps chagrined, perhaps not, Kunugi Mokume continues, "Unfortunately, we're under something of a quandary and a deadline on top of that: The decade of reservation is nearly up before the Utsugi clan holdings reverts to Konoha's possession. You are the sole heir but, unfortunately, due to your legal status as a minor your guardian would be the one to receive your inheritance."
Her guardian being the Ryokushoku orphanage, which just goes back to Konoha. Unless...
"Given the news of your possible inheritance, any applications for your adoption would be denied at this time. For your protection," he says.
Sure. Okay then.
"So I started with nothing and I will continue to have nothing," Tetsuki says with a nonchalant shrug.
Kunugi Mokume flinches. She doesn't know why. It's the truth. What is a clan name if there is no family to go with it? And anyway, she has long since abandoned the hope of having one.
"There is one possibility," he says, as if this were some kind of planning session and not just some stranger telling her nonsense after she's spent hours in Konoha's T&I, "If you become a legal adult before this October, you can inherit without any issue."
"Ah, of course. I'll just age a few years right now then," she snipes because she's tired and angry and something in her hates this man more than she's ever hated anything in her life for giving her this hollow, useless hope.
Weirdly enough, that makes Kunugi Mokume smile. "When you become a genin, you become a legal adult in the eyes of Konoha."
Tetsuki stares at him in confusion. "I'm only in my fifth year at the Academy," she says slowly, which, given how frequently her teachers have ratted her out to T&I as a potential spy is frankly a miracle.
He looks back at her, equally confused. "It's been a while since I've been at the Academy," he admits. 
That's fair. He's old. And she knows during wartime the length of Academy schooling is shorter.
"I have another year before my class is up for graduation," she explains. "It won't be in time for this October." She doesn't know why she's bothering, this is all nonsense.
"Maybe your class won't be ready," he argues, "but you could be. If you take the upcoming graduation exam and pass..."
He doesn't need to say any more, but he does anyway. "You have nothing, right? So what do you have to lose?"
~
A/N: I saw this post and I don't know why my brain responded by immediately smashing together two (arguably three? if you include (In)difference) still incomplete concepts as a response but I guess I wanted it enough to write the above.
I may continue this? I don't know.
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monohart · 5 years
Text
clouds. (college!au)
ft. mark lee, sunny days and the brink of adolescence.
dating the campus’ radio dj was not an easy job
he was always, always busy, especially in the evenings.
he was exempted from 2/3 of his classes this semester to fit in broadcasting sessions and also to mentor the new broadcasters.
apparently they recruited a freshman, jisung. but he was a shy little bean, and mark needed to spend a lot more hours mentoring him.
which kinda meant that you would spend less time with your boyfriend
thankfully, y’all had similar classes.
there was this one class which was a capstone subject
which meant if u want to graduate u HAD to take it lol
and he aced all of the assessments in that subject so far this year
but you were just a bit competitive, so with exams coming, you planned to score a higher grade than him
which.. was an easy job, right? he spent most of his nights hosting the radio show anyway.
it both bugged and made you so extremely proud that mark was already getting proper job offers from major broadcasting channels
like when he got his first offer, he actually just finished a broadcast at around 3am, and was on the way back home
but he read the email on his phone and took a detour to your apartment
which scared the sh*t out of you
mark its almost 4am you could’ve just sent me a text??
“i don’t care i just needed to tell you this in person, oh my goodness is this even real????”
idk mark you tell me???
it was real, because he started getting offer after offer in the following week
but thankfully he didn’t pop by your place in the middle of the night again, after that first time
because you actually let him stay over that night and -
he held you in his arms as he leant against your headboard
and you just used him as a pillow because he you made him take a quick shower and he smelt of your soap but he still smelled of him and it was a comforting scent which sent you off the dreamland real quick
and he actually watched you fall asleep and made sure you were asleep before he pulled out his laptop to work on an assignment that was due the next day
when you woke up the next morning, you felt something cold and hard prod your back and you panicked for a moment before realising it was his laptop
and you heard the shower running so you knew it was mark going through his morning routine
but then you thought.... did he even sleep?
when he hopped out of the bathroom clad in same the clothes he wore the night before, he was still drying his hair with a towel
and his face was strew with exhaustion
but as soon as he saw you sitting groggily on the edge of your bed, his face lit up and he strode over to kiss the top of your head
“mark, did you even sleep?”
“nope, but i’m off again, i’ve got to hand in my assignment! i’ll see you for lunch?”
“wait what assignment?? did you need help on it?”
“nope, i got it done last night! thanks for letting me crash.”
before you could stop him, he pressed a hasty kiss on your lips before grabbing his laptop and bag and rushed out the door
and you sigh because
this was how dating mark lee, the campus dj, was like.
anyway
now, you guys were just a few days away from finishing the semester’s classes
and this was your last semester... given if you’ll pass the exams lol
so it was kinda the last few days you’d be able to spend together, on campus.
summer was coming
and the sun was so bright these days, it cleared the skies
no rain, none at all
which was not entirely Great because rainy days helped you study... and rainy days also meant more people tuned in on the campus radio
which meant
mark was kinda jobless today
which ALSO meant!!!
you could finally spend a whole day with him.
but, oh man...
when he called you around 11pm the night before, he was also checking his email and ... accidentally forgot that he had another assignment due at 8am the following morning
guess who didn’t get any sleep at all again!!!
your heart hurt seeing him work so hard
but somehow he convinced you to go to sleep first and not stay up to help him
he still got the assignment in on time because hes mark lee
so when you guys sat on the lawn in the middle of campus just like any typical college couple would on a nice sunny day, mark lay his head on your lap and used one of your textbooks to shield his eyes from the sun
and you were using his laptop to compile your notes from the semester, and also to help him tidy up his
“hey baby...?”
“hmm?”
you waited for mark to continue his sentence but he went silent
“mark, what?”
“mark-”
you lifted your textbook from his face only to find that he had fallen asleep.
his lips were slightly parted and he was snoring really quietly, and his fingers were in loose fists as they rested on his belly.
dont deny but you busted the biggest uwu didnt you
ofc like
you couldn’t possibly waste this precious photo opportunity but
your phone was just slightly out of reach rip
so when you grappled for it, mark woke up in an instant
he sat up real quick, and a tuft of his hair was sticking up messily.
“oh no, i didnt mean to-”
“so d’you wonder why we’re all clouds?”
you stared at each other with equally as confused frowns lol
like mark was actually
hella confused
but your expression literally read wtf
he didn’t really notice but instead yawned and held his arm out to you
and you move closer to him, snuggling into his side as he slowly lays the both of you down again, in a way so you could use his arm as a pillow.
the sun was really really bright so y’all lay there with your eyes squished shut
“we’re all just clouds, aren’t we?”
his serious question was met by your quiet scoff
“no, no, i’m for real. y’know how everything we do are for exams. exams this, assignments that... gpa... scores.. grades... deadlines... those kinda things. they turn us into clouds.”
“that is one extremely weird way to describe college students, mark.”
“no, baby, but... it’s accurate, isn’t it? the anxiety, stress, exhaustion... and just about everything we do turn us all into little clouds.”
“do elaborate, cause i don’t get why you’re comparing us to condensed water vapour.”
mark chuckled a little, and you roll your eyes figuratively, keeping your eyes tightly shut to shield it from the unforgiving sun.
"actually, never mind, it sounded way better in my head.”
at that point you were getting up to lie on your side
he turned his head and squinted at you as you gently placed a hand on his chest
"are you writing lyrics again?”
he hummed quietly and you shift a few inches closer to him.
“show me. i want to read those lyrics, no matter how dumb you think they are.”
“they’re not ready yet.”
“if you’re writing about anxiety, i can be your muse.”
“no way, you’re not a cloud. you’re a sunflower.”
he wrote lyrics all the time and most of the time he’d write them about you
sometimes he’d let you read them, sometimes he kept them to himself
and you’d catch him grinning idiotically over some lyric he wrote some time ago
so when he goes to sleep you would sneak a peak at it and it’s basically a love letter to first-date-you, or a diary entry of how he feels every time he sends u home from a date or from school but its so dreamy and seems unreal but you kNOW ITS REAL!!
bc u were there!!
anyway 
idk what came over you but you slung an arm around his torso and rested your head against his shoulder and he let out a quiet little puff of breath
you would think he’s pretty ok with skinship since y’all been together for so long
but yeah it was chill and okay and he’d be super clingy at home but when y’all were in public
man,,, he got so flustered and nervous
u just wanted to cuddle lol but he suddenly turned into a robot
the sun made everything seem slow and warm and sluggish which was pretty okay with you because you were finally spending time with mark!!!
and he was soft and squishy and a little bit awkward but so so so cute so u rly just wanted the moment to last longer
but no
just as u were about to drift off a Shadow™ loomed over u both
mark probably fell asleep again tbh
u heard a rly loud camera go CLICK and distinct voices whisper-yelling at each other
and there was a struggle
and the struggle ended with a Butt falling onto mark’s other shoulder
“MARK IM SO SORRY RENJUN PUSHED ME”
“NO YOU STINK YOU FELL BY YOURSELF”
“oh hey guys shut up the photo turned out alright”
“JENO SHUT UP THEY’RE RIGHT THERE”
mark was sitting up and you fussed over his other shoulder which was attacked by jaemin’s butt
and although he was so .. unfortunately.. woken up from his nap he was grinning and squinting up at his squabbling friends
and he chuckled as he watched u stand up and wrestle jeno for his phone to see the Photo
he was watching you chase chenle and renjun around the lawn, the two boys purposefully running slower to tease u
donghyuck sat down next to mark and put his head on his shoulder to mimic you from a few minutes ago
“oh you’re disgusting please go away.”
hyuck turned his head and batted his eyelashes up at mark who was still watching u with a dreamy smile
“you’re leaving soon, we just wanted to spend time with you before u abandon us”
mark laughed and told him he’s only graduating
but hyuck scowled and nudged mark with his elbow then gestured in your direction
“but you spend more time with her nowadays than you do with us”
mark let out a loud laugh and shook his head
“she’s my girlfriend.”
“so?”
“she’s my lover.”
“so??”
“she’s... everything to me.”
jisung, who was listening, gagged and haechan slapped mark’s tummy while hollering
and then u look over at them from the other side of the lawn, wondering why mark was lying on the floor again and why the other dreamies were surrounding him in a cultish circle
jeno and jaemin turned to face you with big chummy smiles on their faces and together they made heart arms at u
some other people on the lawn were beginning to stare and so u hide behind chenle bc renjun is too tiny
then jisung must’ve texted their group chat because renjun cackles and leads you back to the group
and u notice how bright mark’s face was which makes u blush like crazy as well
and even though stress from school, work and everything in general, was making u feel like a big and heavy raincloud
one look at mark lee made u feel like sunflowers and daisies
it totally didn’t help that when he’d look at you, the corners of his eyes would crinkle ever so slightly, and his eyes would shine with genuine adoration
and his cute little lips would stretch into the widest grin
uwu
and u bet the next batch of lyrics he gonna write is gonna be about you again!!
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bnhascribbles · 5 years
Text
Competition
Shinso x Teacher!Reader
Fluff & Humor; Just a couple of ridiculously sarcastic teachers figuring out their relationship and navigating an (intentional) misunderstanding
Words: 3.3K
Warnings: Very mild swearing
Sometimes, you really believed that full-time heroes had it easy.  Sure, they had to risk their lives daily, but then again, so did you.  As a teacher at U.A., you were all-too-familiar with the fact that danger was a part of the curriculum.  After all, when a hero-in-training screwed up, it was your job to yank them out of whatever situation they found themselves in.  You had a collection of scars stemming from misfired quirks, shrapnel from training-ground explosions, and the occasional struggle to pull apart brawling students.  That wasn’t even the worst part of teaching.  It was the fact that if you failed your “mission,” if you failed these kids, you weren’t just ruining their lives, you were putting the entire country at risk–it would be like filling barrels with gunpowder and just watching them roll into a burning building.
Naturally, this meant that your workdays seldom actually ended with the ring of the final bell.  There was always stuff to do after classes ended–papers to grade, exercises to plan, troublemakers to scold.  Your most recent project involved planning summer training camp for the second years.  The students this year had a diverse combination of quirks, so it was up to you and the teacher from 2-A to devise a program that would incorporate several different training regimens.  Picking the location, creating individualized plans for each student, recruiting pros to act as stand-ins in the moments where the two of you were off making sure everything ran like clockwork–most of the time, you were swamped, working well past dark.  On those nights, coffee and sugar were your lifelines.  You’d set up shop in a 24-hour donut shop and pray that you’d manage to leave before the 3 AM drunks began to pour in through the doors.  This had been your reality for the past three weeks, four days, and seven hours.
Tonight marked the end of all that–after you double-checked all of the arrangements, you were free.  Knowing that the planning was done and that you could finally relax should’ve been a reason for celebration.  Well, it wasn’t.  Not because you were a sucker for suffering and certainly not because two hours of sleep was the perfect amount you needed in order to teach a class full of hormonal teenagers.  No, it was because, despite the long hours and constant stress of the whole process, you actually enjoyed spending time with the grumpy teacher of 2-A.
Shinso and you weren’t friends in the traditional sense of the word—you only ever interacted at school and in these little meetings.  Even so, your banter was famous at U.A.  In the halls, the classrooms, the training grounds–everywhere you met, the two of you were at each other’s throats.  Sure, it might’ve had something to do with your drastically different teaching styles–he was way more of a disciplinarian than you were–but the truth was, it probably because Shinso was the only person you knew with a wit sharp enough to match your own.
“I thought I saw you crack a smile at the sports festival.  Congratulations, I didn’t know ‘Shinso-sensei’ was capable of experiencing actual human emotion.”
“Clever, clever.  Maybe if you directed a fraction of the energy you spend insulting me into actually teaching your class, then it’d be half-competent.”
However hostile the exchanges seemed, all of it was done in good fun–most of the time, you were snickering before you even got through your next comeback.  Still, it was easy to see why some people might get the wrong idea.  In your first month of teaching, both of you were called in individually for a meeting with the principal.  Apparently, however playful you knew your bickering to be, other teachers had a difficult time grasping the...intricacies of your humor.  They thought that you and Shinso genuinely wanted to murder each other.  Even after explaining the situation to Principal Nezu, however, he was adamant that the two of you put an end to the insults.
So naturally, the two of you acted like the smartasses you were and shot off to the opposite end of the spectrum.  If you were gonna have to be nice, you were gonna do it your way, dammit.
“Wasn’t gonna stop by, but after seeing those class rankings, I just had to.  You should be SO proud.  One student in the top thirty?  Wow, what an improvement.”
“Thanks, Shinso.  I really appreciate you walking all the way to my classroom to tell me that.  God, I’m sorry for getting distracted, but can’t help asking: How much sleep did you get last night?  Because I am LIVING for those dark circles.”
You can’t be sure when exactly you started anticipating your little encounters, when it was that hearing the sound of his voice became the highlight of your day.  You don’t know when realized you liked him–beyond the whole “friendship” or “professional admiration” sort of stuff.  Sure, the man was fatalistic, arrogant, and liked to pretend that he was apathetic towards just about everything, but there was more to him than that.  You saw the way he worried over his students–how he’d spent nearly the entire provisional license exam clenching onto the edge of his seat, his knuckles white.  Then, there was his talent for committing the tiniest things to memory.  Trivial things, like how your favorite color was purple.  After you’d mentioned it offhandedly in one of your little “arguments,” you found that every written reminder from him (“Turn in this form today” or “Midterms happening next month”) came on a distinctive, lilac-tinted sticky-note.  He was paying attention.  Maybe it was wishful thinking on your part, but that was the first sign you noticed that, maybe, he liked you too.  
So as you sat in that cheap old donut shop, wrapping up your last “planning night” together, you decided to take the leap.
“If you aren’t too busy scheming up new ways to crush your students’ spirits, then we should meet up again tomorrow.”
“Why, did we forget something?”  Shinso groans, flipping through his papers.  “Cots?  Food?”  He takes another swig of his coffee.  “The students are old enough to figure it out.  A couple days of roughing it won’t kill them.”
“Harsh.  But no, that’s not it.  I’m completely over work; I was imagining something a little more casual.”  You swallow hard, willing yourself to follow through.  You’ve thought about this for way too long to chicken out now.  “Something more date-like.”
Shinso peeks up at you out of the corner of his eye.  He stares for a moment, then he leans back in his chair, fiddling with the plastic tab on the lid of his drink.  
“I might have to pass on that.  I’ve got a girl waiting up for me back home, and the longer I’m out, the pissier she gets.”
You can feel the red-hot flush as it creeps across your face, coloring every inch of your skin.  God, you probably looked like some sort of overripe tomato.  In a frantic attempt to hide, you take a large gulp from your cup and hold it up against the bottom half of your face, even when you’re done.  Your hot chocolate doesn’t taste sweet anymore–it’s bitter and leaves a chalky, burning feeling in your throat.  Then again, that could be embarrassment setting in.
“Oh.” It’s a struggle to keep your voice level–a struggle that you lose.  Diffusing the situation with humor isn’t even an option–you were smart dammit, but you couldn’t focus for long enough to say something even remotely thought-out.“I had no idea...I didn’t mean–”
“It’s alright.”  Thankfully, he cuts off your stammering before you make an even bigger fool of yourself.  “Not many people know about her; She’s not so good with strangers.”  He places his coffee down on the tabletop.
“That’s awesome.”  You mumble through a pathetic, fake smile.
Stop it, that little voice in your head warns.
“Not the, uh, stranger part.  That’s unfortunate.”
Please shut up.  For God’s sake, you still have to WORK with this dude.
“It’s cool that you’ve got someone.”
Just get up and leave while you still can.  Fake a phone call.  A heart attack.  ANYTHING.
“More than some people can say, haha.”
Awesome.  If he didn’t already think you were desperate, he sure does now.
You finally listen, stopping yourself before any more word-vomit can escape your lips.  The damage has already been done, though.  Men cackle boisterously at a table to your right.  A barista drones through a generic list of house specials for a customer.  The espresso machine hisses and bubbles angrily.  But you and Shinso sit in complete silence.  You pretend to be utterly fascinated by the lip of your cup, folding the edge up and down.  Really, you just needed something to stare at.  Something that wasn’t him.
“Want to meet her?”  
The air gets caught in your throat as you inhale, and you let out an incredibly obvious, choked cough.  “Excuse me?”  Hiding your shock is off the table now.  Then again, you’d already managed to make a fool of yourself–how much worse could it really get?
“Do you want to meet my kitten?”  He speaks slowly, stressing each individual word, but you’re still at a loss.  “I actually think she might like you.”
Things were getting really weird, really fast.  Surely, he had to know that the proposition was absolutely insane.  As it stood, all you wanted to do was go home and curl up on your sofa–pretend you’d never bumped into him and drown your humiliation with a bottle of cheap grocery store wine and a pint of ice cream.  If you were lucky, you’d sleep through your alarm.  At least then you wouldn’t have to see those indigo eyes tomorrow morning, wouldn’t have to pass him in the halls pretend everything was fine.  The two of you would squabble, as always.  He’d leave his sticky notes, as always.  Maybe, if you were lucky, they’d still be purple.  Hell, it wasn’t like the color actually meant anything, after all.
The more you think about it, the more the self-pity festers, becoming something else.  Frustration.  Was the moron possessed?  What on earth would make him even entertain the thought that you’d want to meet his “kitten” (even thinking about the pet-name made you want to gag)?  He’d rejected you.  That should’ve been the end of it; He should’ve just let you skulk off and ponder past sins–the reasons why the universe saw fit punish you with the curse of boldness and bad timing.  
Of course, Shinso hadn’t said no to you outright.  Still, he’d made it very clear that he was taken.  He had a girlfriend.  
...except, he’d never really said that any of that.  You’d just filled in the blanks.  After all, that was the only possible–
“How are you with fur?”  He cuts off your thought with another question.
And it clicks.  The absurd, ridiculous, impossible idea that you hadn’t even noticed percolating at the back of your mind suddenly becomes plausible–logical even.  You forget about your assumption, opting instead to act on what you know.  Verbatim.
His girl.
His kitten.
“Hitoshi Shinso.”  No, it couldn’t be true.  You were just being insane.  Wishful.
“Yes?”  It’s drawn out, teasing.  He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“I know you’re not talking about your actual cat.  Because if you are, so help me god, I will end you.”
He cocks up an eyebrow, smirking.  “Promise?”
The bastard.
You bury your face in your hands, dumbfounded.  You don’t know whether you should get angry or laugh or just breathe.  When you peek through your fingers at Shinso, he at least has the decency to look a little guilty–emphasis on a little.
“In my defense, I thought you’d figure it out quicker than that.”
“In my defense, I’ve never heard a man use his pet as an excuse not to go on a date.”
There’s another silence, but it’s a different sort from the first.  Less uncomfortable–still a bit awkward, but more pensive than before.  Shinso stretches against the back of his chair, staring at the ceiling.  You shift in your seat and peer out the window.
Shinso is the first to speak.  
“I’m free all day Sunday.”
You turn towards him, shaking your head, incredulous.  But when you look up, his expression isn’t mocking or cocky.  He’s using his palm to almost completely cover the bottom half of his face–you can’t even see his mouth behind it.  His other arm is curled tight around his stomach, like he’s trying to protect himself from some imaginary punch to the gut.  The posture was all-too-recognizable.  The man was nervous.  Just like you’d been when you’d asked him.
Part of you was thrilled that everything had managed to work out, even if it’d taken longer than you’d expected to reach this point.  But then, there’s also an ounce of bitterness left in that petty, petty heart of yours.  Not enough to leave Shinso sitting in agony for too long, but certainly enough to draw out his suffering the slightest bit.  You weren’t going to make things easy for him after he’d tortured you with his little joke.
You fold your arms across your chest and let your jaw shift to one side.  “I don’t know, is your cat really gonna be okay with that?  Wouldn’t want her getting jealous or anything.”
“I’ll get her permission tonight.”  A quick response.  Even if the words seem playful, his voice is brittle, on edge.  “So?”
You suck in air over your teeth, resting your elbows on the tabletop and resting your thumbs beneath your chin.  “Well, I’ve never been the best at sharing.”
Shinso catches onto your act, letting the hand fall away from his mouth.  He breathes in a long, deep breath through his nose.  The corner of his lip twitches and twists upward.
“I’m afraid my little girl and I are a package deal.”  He slides his papers to the side and leans forward, mimicking your posture.
“Can I at least know the name of my competition?”  You ask with an upward lilt on the final word.
“Bean.”
You laugh out loud, despite your best efforts to seem serious and seductive.  Bean.  Never in a thousand years would you ever even consider that a little fur-ball named Bean would cause you so much trouble.
“And you’re sure you’re not down to negotiate?”
“No.  This is an all-or-nothing sort of deal.”
“Ouch.  With baggage like that, it’s no wonder you’re still single, Shinso.”  You try not to get distracted by the closeness of your faces.  It’s difficult considering the fact that your forearms are practically pressed against each other.  The tiny size of the café table is beginning to show.  “Do people usually pack up and leave once you’ve stated your terms?”
There’s a pause as his gaze flits between each of your eyes.  “I wouldn’t know, none of them have ever made it this far.”
Oh.  You can’t tell if he’s being serious, or if he’s just that smooth.  Either way, your pulse quickens.  It doesn’t help that your faces are mere inches apart.  You can count each of his eyelashes, smell the coffee on his breath, feel the warmth radiating off his skin.  He has you completely intoxicated by his presence; It makes you reckless.
“So I’m special.”  Not a question–an observation.
He purses his lips, then smiles.  “I guess you are.”
That’s it.  Something about the way he says the words–without a hint of sarcasm or insincerity–shakes you to your very core.  You feel the heat in your neck first, feeling it sear your skin as it creeps up to your cheeks and ears.  Then comes the buzzing in your skull, the frantic thudding of your heart in your chest.  
“So?”  He says it softly, like he’s afraid to actually hear your response.  For all the reluctance in his voice, Shinso himself is bold.  Before you even know what’s happening, he’s reaching across the almost-nonexistent space between the two of you, his hand hovering beside the place where your fingers rest on your cheek.
“ ‘So,’ what?  You didn’t ask a question.”  You’re hyper-aware of everything–the temperature of the air, the subtle tremble in his arm, your own shallow breathing.
“You understood what I meant, though.”
His hand inches in closer, and when finally feel it dust over the side of your palm–experience the jolt of pure electricity that sparks through you where his skin meets yours–you almost forget to draw things draw things out.  Almost.
“If you were hoping I’d agree to go out with you, then prepare for disappointment.”  When his fingers edge in beneath your own, gently coaxing your palm away from your cheek, your breathing hitches involuntarily.  You press on anyway.  “My houseplant doesn’t like it when I spend time with other guys.”
He huffs, and you can tell he’s trying not to smile.  “Come on.  I’m being serious now.”  
He drags your hand down to the table, laying it palm up.  His fingers start at your wrist, tracing over the shallow creases in your palm.  Slowly, deliberately–like he’s trying to commit each line to memory.  When you look up at his face, it really does look like he’s studying; His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, his lips pulled off to one side of his face.  A strand of hair floats down in front of his eyes, but he ignores it.  It’d be easy to believe he thought there was nothing more important at that moment than the shape of your hand beneath his fingers.
Your heart is done being petty.  You cut straight to the part where you stop playing hard-to-get and actually say what you want.
“You are single, right?”  You curl your fingers and catch his hand, putting an end to its exploring.  “I mean, besides the live-in-home cat-girlfriend.”
He lifts his eyes up from the table, laughing.  “Yeah, I am.”
You exhale, relieved.  “Good, I just had to make sure.”  You don’t even consider prying your hand away from his.  Instead, you remove your other one from your cheek and gesture outwards towards Shinso.  “Give me your phone.”
He doesn’t hesitate to obey, reaching into his pocket (notably, with his free hand) and practically tossing his phone into your outstretched palm.  You begin entering your number.
“Seriously, though, the next time you scare me like that, I’ll sic my class on you.”
He scoffs, rolling his eyes.  “Right, because I’m absolutely terrified of class 2-B.”
“You should be.”  You check the newly-entered contact and hand him back his device.  “They’re crazy strong, and they actually like me.  Not like those 2-A thralls you train.”
“One of your students was sent to the clinic last week for getting his arm stuck in a locker.  Not even two days later, another one gave herself a concussion because she tried to jump in the conveyer belt for lunch trays.”  He leans forward, going to slide his phone back into his pocket.  “Like I said: I’m terrified.”
You pretend to be annoyed at the jab, but really, you’re too over-the-moon to be even a little convincing.  Really, you could’ve gone back and forth with him all night.  You could’ve insisted that your class was superior–that they were intelligent and creative and street-smart, but Shinso probably already knew that; This was all just another act meant to get a rise out of you.  It might’ve worked any other day, but tonight, you’re too willing to let him get away with more than usual.
When you get home that night, you get a text from an unregistered number.  It’s a photo message–an image of a puny calico kitten lounging on top of a sofa, staring intently into the camera.  The next text comes in about thirty seconds later.  It was less than ten words long, but it made you burst into a fit of giggles all the same.  
As you can see, you’ve got some stiff competition.
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Text
actually another point that really pisses me off with extracurriculars (also called ECs in this post) and ESPECIALLY the ECs while I was in uni, was the fact that nearly all of them required a distinction (75-84) average/high distinction (85-100) average to actually participate. like this counted for even general tutoring where youd suppose a credit average (65-74) should be enough in arts subjects at least lmao.
like the most irritating ones that required the distinction/high distinction averages were like “leadership” workshop presenters and even uni promoters who’d travel to schools around my district and sometimes further afield to talk about study or the uni. but the most infuriating thing with that is that they also looked at your ATAR- ie. your uni entrance score or what would be the equivalent to like the SAT score in the US/A levels in the UK or the IB score internationally. and the ATARs usually hd to be in like the 80 zone to do anything with tutoring or leadership/study workshops etc.
like my ATAR was low back in 2013 when I did my hsc- coming back as 38.25.... but I still managed to pull through undergrad with a credit average and get into my post grad diploma. but is that enough to talk at elevate study workshops? apparently not. apparently the only inspiring people for these study and leadership seminars are people that are loaded with money (usually bc most attended tutoring during school.... if I remember my elevate workshop from year 10 correctly) so that they could achieve great marks to get into uni and know how to maintain them while they were at uni. they have the resources to do serveral extracurricular things and even some community work to boot. in short, they had EVERYTHING to get them to uni.
for me, i found the above super hard to relate to in year 10. and hell, even now. like I didn’t have the home environment or a great chance of doing anything really (or at least that’s how my 17/18yo self viewed it from her depressed and anxious thoughts in 2013) at all during my hsc to get good marks in those final exams. like in year 10 in 2011 before the hsc, for the school certificate, i basically almost had to repeat bc i’d stopped handing in assessments. one of my friends actually had to save my ass for me by writing half of my english speech for me so that I didn’t fail and have to repeat the next year. all through year 10 i was threatened by teachers telling me that my (now defunct) school certificate wouldn’t be marked bc if I wrote by hand myself.
it was the same in years 11/12. but my teachers were so tired with fighting the board of studies for a laptop for me to use during my final exams, that they relied on the BOS to tell me that I’d got one. but the BOS never told me, so I went in without studying and believing that everyone around thought I was too fucking brainless to achieve anything above a 50 atar without studying. I did have a computer for my final exams though, but I didn’t know UNTIL THE FIRST DAY OF MY FIRST ENGLISH EXAM when my community and family studies (cafs) teacher FINALLY decided to tell me.
like after all of that bullshit, I came out with 38.25. I moped and cried and hated myself bc I didn’t get a good atar and had to go to business college instead. bc they were one of the places that didn’t judge on ATAR at all. I hauled my ass through my fucking advanced diploma of marketing and got into uni. I did over 600 pages of work in my AD, with my longest assignment being fucking 75 pages!!!! like y’all I wrote a whole (super poorly) written textbook in a fucking year!!!!! like how fuckin ridiculous is that?????!!!!
like yes. I struggled like fuck through undergrad... in fact I wanted to drop out halfway through second year bc I felt like I’d done my whole 3 years already. but I pushed on through that finally graduated in oct 2018. now I’m half way through my grad diploma. like yes during that i only did one extra curricular, which was attending toastmasters sporadically when I remembered/felt like going/or my class schedule permitted. I tried the blogging thing but never interviewed anyone bc i was too shy... I basically did the blogging thing bc IT WAS THE ONLY THING that didn’t require the atar/some uni grade average to do it. it was that or a multimedia newsroom assistant that didn’t need a grade average... other than some career programs. so I focussed on career building workshops instead. after all of that I came out with roughly a credit average according to my undergrad uni’s WAM calculator.... my wam was about 68.8 or something by the time I graduated.
but like. the whole time i was at uni I was met with the question “how did you even get in... if your atar WAS THAT LOW???? you couldn’t even get into the uni college with 38.25.” i constantly got that from careers advisors and stuff. and I had to say “well it was my advanced diploma that got me in bc it was a pass/fail course.”
like why isn’t that considered more “inspiring” as opposed to shitty, snobby kelvin or henrietta over here who got all straight A’s through school, did several sports and other ECs; did a fuck load of charity and community work, did the duke of Edinburgh award by working at a retirement home for a year as a conversation giver or whatever they’re called. like I find that so fucking unrelatable bc I didn’t have the time and money to do any of that. like yes my hsc marks were abysmal and so were most of my marks in junior school (but let’s not count math and PE for this post, considering i went into arts lmao)... like surely the stories of lower achieving students that get into uni and eventually pick themselves up off the floor to get some shit done are 10billion times more relatable than Goodie-Two-Shoes My Parents Are Loaded AF Sally™️ or My Parents Sent Me To Over-Priced Tutoring That Sometimes Did My Homework For Me But I Turned It In As I’d Done It Myself Jerry™️ that are both selected as presenters for these programs.
like fuck off with your “how did you even get here if your atar was so low and how are you even still here?” Janice in careers central. or elevate leaders conference. let lower achievers speak and have a chance to do some fucking extra curriculars that involve public speaking etc.... so that they can inspire and relate to the lower achieving kids to maybe attend and finish uni..... and come out on top of the stupid rich cunts like henrietta/sally/jerry/kelvin who are usually the ones who are more likely to drop out half the time.... because they realise that they’re just doing it to make the parents proud.... bc it turns out that it’s not what they ACTUALLY WANTED TO DO in the first place.
so yeah. I think more ECs at universities should be more accomodating to people in the lower mark ranks (like credit averages or people who got lower atars than the standard 70 for most courses)..... and especially the ones that are about “leadership” or “study” or whatever.... bc like i didn’t do my advanced diploma probs wouldn’t‘ve gone to uni until much later in life (i think anyway idk). and people should be kinder to others who got into uni via alternate pathways like a diploma from an outside institution and not be all snide like “how did you even get here if your academics were so low?” like learn to acknowledge that people have problems with getting high marks or will usually nowadays get hit with bad depression/anxiety in year 12 over marks and thus not achieve what they probs could have.
anyway there’s another academia/extra curriculars rant done lmao.
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faean · 5 years
Text
Adamance of a Dragon
Made in collaboration with @i-am-here-with-fanfic.
Rating: T+; This chapter features some vulgar language.
Word Length: 2,038
Chapter 1- New Arrivals
           It had taken me most of the morning, but I was finally able to organize all my belongings. Admittedly, it took much longer than it reasonably should have, considering I didn’t bring much from my old home in the states. Then again, I was overly sentimental for a few of the items I had, particularly my favorite jacket.
           Speaking of favorites, my dear friend and metaphorical brother, Aaron, should be well on his way exploring the city we moved to. Musutafu, I believed it was called; home to the prestigious hero school- U.A. 
           The school Aaron and I are planning on attending, assuming we pass the entrance exam. Well, assuming he passes the exam. Thanks to the numerous programs back in the states (notably in California, where we hail from), I was able to get into the school on several recommendations. Nonetheless, I was taking it out of curiosity, and so Aaron wouldn’t have to endure it alone.
           Alone… Ah, dammit. I was supposed to join Aaron and keep watch of him while we found our way to the academy. Checking my phone, I realized I wouldn’t be able to make it in time to the… Come to think of it, I don’t know where Aaron is, or how he was planning on making his way to the academy. Which meant that if he got lost, the one person I actually feared, Aria, his mother and my adoptive guardian, would kill me.
           Physically shuddering at the thought of her wielding her legendary axe against me, I opted to take a ‘short cut’ and do something I normally wouldn’t do; considering the amount of strain it put on my body.
           Concentrating, I envisioned Aaron in my mind, expelling magical energy to warp space-time to allow me to teleport. It wasn’t something I could naturally do with my quirk, evident by how I fell from the ceiling of the… train? onto the floor of it, Aaron sitting in the seat next to where I had landed, and hairline cracks began emanating from the seals on my ankles and wrists.
           “Ello, Aaron. How’re you liking the new city?” I spoke, nonchalantly. With his help (once he got over his surprise), I got off the ground and sat on the seat next to him, noting a rather irritated blonde a few seats away.
           Puffing out his chest as he answered, Aaron joyfully stated “I was able to figure out the train system and found a path to the school without any help!”
           Giving him a reassuring smile, I congratulate him, and tell him that he will be leading the way as I follow close behind. Nodding his head in agreement, we stayed on the train for a few more minutes, chatting about our respective mornings. I also had to sit through him berating me for already damaging myself with my quirk. I could do no more than shrug at my best friend and try to change the subject.
           “We have got the entrance exam in a couple weeks. We should probably do some training beforehand.”
           With a sigh, Aaron replied. “Yeah, it’d be for the best. But, can we spend the rest of today relaxing after we find the school? I’m tired from unpacking, and you need to rest. You know better than to overuse your quirk when sealed.”
           Conceding, as I could not argue with truth, I contented myself with sitting back and relaxing while Aaron brought up a rumor that an entire class at U.A. was once expelled. Telling the story of how the students were expelled, and theories stated it could be due to disobedience or flashy quirks and cocky attitudes. He continued rambling, which would happen often when he went off into his own little world.
           Hoping to respond, I leant forward and turned my body to face him, but before I could utter a single syllable, the train’s PA system activated and announced that we had reached a stop. Our stop, as Aaron rose, and I quickly followed.
           Although, as we exited the train, he had to catch me when I stumbled, my ankles buckling under the force from when I hopped off the train. Steadying me, we walked over to a map, and my friend traced a route from the station to the school. Unfortunately, we realized we actually got off a stop early, and Aaron understood that, although I could easily make the trip, I would probably complain the entire way (with a hint of sass and sarcasm).
           With a single look, Aaron spoke in a southern accent, switching from Japanese to English. “Don’t drop me like a baby bird!” was the only warning I got before he launched himself into my arms.
           Fortunately, he does this regularly, and I caught him with ease, steadying myself while holding him bridal style. I turned towards the exit of the station, and unfurled my (red draconic) wings, taking flight and speeding through the air, following the path he showed me.
           Arriving at the school, Aaron leapt out of my arms as we examined the impressive architecture of the academy.
           “So, this is the esteemed academy. Certainly, it appears more organized than the one’s back home.” I mention as my eyes continued to scan the wall surrounding it.
           Aaron agreed, and brought up the excellent query of “Do you think the students know about vines and memes?”
           A mischievous grin spread across my face as I answered. “They will know soon enough. At the very least…” I paused for only a brief second as I switched to an accent, finishing with “we know de wae.”
           Playfully punching my arm, Aaron chuckled at the reference. However, it was short lived as we realized we didn’t actually have anything planned after finding the school. Fortunately, our confusion lasted only for a moment before Aaron suggested we continue exploring. Looking up places nearby on his phone, Aaron began listing off different activities. My interest was piqued when he mentioned the reclaimed beach; partly because it offered a chance for me to fully recover, but also because I was curious about the ‘reclaimed’ portion of its description.
           Flying us to the beach, I set down on the soft sand, the damage to my body already beginning to heal. Dropping Aaron (gently, mind you), I turned my attention to the cause of the beach’s title of ‘reclaimed’. Apparently, the entire shoreline was used as a dump, but was gradually cleaned up over the course of the past year. Now, only a small section of it remained a dump, the rest free of trash.
           Although, considering it was once a dump, and that it was technically still winter, no one else was in the area. Using my magic, I ensured a swath of the land around us was indeed clean, and I warmed up the sand and a portion of the sea so Aaron could enjoy it as well. After, I bounded towards the water, my jacket folded neatly on a sand dune along with my moccasins, the rest of my clothing shifting into a proper swimsuit.
           With a grand leap, I splashed into the ocean, happily swimming about and experiencing the rolling waves. Aaron, however, was hesitant, and actually approached me from a different direction than from where we landed. It wasn’t difficult to ascertain what had gotten him wound up.
           The #1 Pro Hero: All Might, was training a young, green haired… child? I couldn’t tell from the distance, and it didn’t help that All Might towered over a majority of people.
           Whatever the case, I needed to help Aaron relax. It was simple enough, creating a water whip to snatch my friend and toss him into the ocean near me. When he rose to the surface, his red hair clung to the front of his face, obscuring has vision as he playfully questioned my motives.
           “You are in my domain now, asshole!” I exclaim before diving into the depths of the sea, hoping to entice him to join in the fun.
           And he did, albeit he was reluctant. He stayed close to shore and refused to venture out too far. Upset that he wasn’t enjoying his time to relax, I decided to use some magic.
           Creating orbs of light to illuminate the sea bed and my surroundings, I turned my attention back to Aaron. This time, I made a bubble of breathable air, launching it at him so he could breathe underwater for the time being. He began to swim further into the water, occasionally looking over his shoulder, probably wondering about heading back. From my view point, I could see him grow more confident, a wide grin on his face as child-like wonder filled his eyes.
           It didn’t last, however. I had started messing with the water current, weaving underwater slides with loops and random shapes. I used them to zip around, and I was enjoying myself immensely. Sadly, Aaron lost his confidence and swam back to shore. I felt bad knowing I was likely the reason for his panic, and I quickly swam towards him, popping out of the water to come to the same sight he had.
           All Might and the boy he was training, who was likely about our age, were standing near where our spare articles of clothing were placed, staring at us. Uncertain about the situation, I receded into the water, concerned I may worsen things. From what I could gather underneath the waves, Aaron had a fairly short conversation with the hero, his booming voice still discernable from where I was submerged. After the confrontation, Aaron swam down to me, and we were able to relax and swim about, peacefully this time.
           Until Aaron had to drag me out of the ocean when I started to experience sensory overload. Plopping me on the ground, out of reach from the pull of the ocean’s waves, Aaron reprimanded me for losing track of time, knowing full well what happens when I spend too long near a natural nexus for elemental magic. I could only manage a weak chuckle in reply as I examined my body. Parts of it began to meld into the water and it wasn’t until now that my body began to return to normal.
           I stood up when I had the ability to do so again and was able to use my magic to dry off and change my clothing. Donning my jacket and footwear, I casually announce “Well, I can still use distinct types of magic, so I didn’t fuck up that badly. On the bright side, I’m fully recovered.” Wearing a toothy grin, I asked Aaron if he knew anything about the pair we encountered.
           He assumed the green haired lad was likely training with All Might in preparation for U.A. It could be why he was training in what remained of the dump; in fact, part of his training could have been to clean up the beach. Either way, I didn’t press Aaron or keep up the conversation, as I could tell something about the meeting with All Might had an effect on him.
           We opted to walk to the train, indulging in the colors the setting sun cast on the structures in the city. It wasn’t a relatively long walk, but as I had found a house closer to the school I would be attending, I did not need to take the train. I was going to have to say my goodbyes to my friend when we arrive there, but until then, I was happy to spend more time with him before we had to deal with the exa-.
           “Mmph…”
           Deep in thought, I ended up bumping into someone while walking. Embarrassed, I began to apologize profusely. “Oh dear! I am so terribly sorry…” I trailed off in my apology as I locked eyes with the stranger in front of me.
           The shorter male had two-toned hair, and lovely heterochromatic eyes, although, he had a large burn mark over the left one. He looked fairly attractive, and from his loose attire, I could see a hint of toned muscle. Still examining his features, I did not snap back into reality until he spoke; his voice was so strangely… Alluring. 
First chapter done. Wondrous! I hope you heathens enjoy; I’ll likely try to update with a new chapter every Tuesday and Saturday.
Beta Reader, Collaborator, Owner of Aria and Aaron Granchester, and Creator of the Illegitimate Son storyline- @i-am-here-with-fanfic.
PS- Spam her with puns while you enjoy her blog(s).
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natpeabct · 5 years
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i’m not creative
How ineffective “creative” pedagogy can lead to self doubt
My first Creative Technologies (CT) experience occurred before I even enrolled. I had a lot hinged on this course. My options were to drop everything and move up from Dunedin, or to continue rolling pizza dough full time. However, my arms were getting tired.
Open day seemed necessary. I had to be certain moving to Auckland would be worth it, and CT was not a traditional course. Trying to explain it to family and friends only made me realise how little I understood. The vague CT presentation didn’t silence my screaming doubts and burning questions, instead left me feeling inadequate and anxious. My confidence sunk even further when a list of CT traits was displayed. Contrastingly, my parents felt reassured as they believed that I fitted this archetype. Given the nature of CT, it makes sense that the presentation was ambiguous. To be otherwise would contradict the essence of creativity and CT. My feelings after the presentation were perpetuated by the single insistent thought of “I’m not creative”.
New Zealand filmmaker and artist Taika Waititi defines creativity as “having fun, looking at life through the lens of a child” (Ted X Talks, 2010). Prior to CT I felt as though creativity was binary, you either had it or not. When I thought of creative people, I thought of my free spirited, accomplished artistic friends. I had constructed a stereotype that creative people looked a certain way and produced unique creations, ignoring that creativity is a way of thinking without restriction, and child-like curious exploration. So why was it I felt this way? What influences have made me feel uncreative?
Personally, I believe it was a traditional education system that didn’t foster curiosity and student directed self-discovery. Harris (2016) affirms that learning and teaching practices are responsible for fuelling creativity and the networks that support it (as cited in De Bruin & Harris, 2017). My primary school experience consisted mainly of a transmissional approach to teaching which I found disengaging. For example, we were still being read to in Year 5, while we were capable of exploring our own interests and literary worlds. This is particularly dangerous considering the important formative stages of Year 5. Disinterest for reading may arise if the chosen text doesn’t resonate with them and agency over their reading is not fostered. How can primary school facilitate creativity while still adhering to National Standards? I believe that all primary teachers should encourage curiosity by treating every question, suggestion, answer and comment as valuable. When posed with outlandish questions, “I’m not sure, good thinking” should be replaced with “I’m not sure, let's find out”. Students feel valued when the teacher is humble and willing to learn alongside them, while autocracy is detrimental to a child's creativity (Lin, 2011).
The church was another major authoritative influence in my childhood. An unattributed proverb states, “the fish will be the last to discover water”, meaning when constantly immersed in something, they will know no difference. Church, for me, was a place full of doubt. Ultimate biblical statements were indoctrinated through light-hearted innocent media such as the animated talking Tomato called Bob. The lack of research suggests that we ignore the danger in teaching such existential topics to children in such a mollified way. However, Ennew (2006) says “spiritual-abuse” can subtly occur when adults “devalue children’s appreciation of awe, wonder, and imagination; making faith strictly cerebral” (as cited in Segura-April, 2016). This reflects my feelings as a child at church. There was little room to be curious as the sacred Bible had all the definite answers. How and when certain topics are introduced need to be examined, to avoid raising generations of doubtful children. I believe that when dealing with significant topics such as creation, afterlife and punishment of sins, children should be intellectually capable of having critical discussion. Adults must be willing to converse with curious doubtful children, and share the historical context that the Bible was written in and the inherent “Mystery of Faith”. Being definitive about such topics leads to indoctrination, which consequently extinguishes creativity.
As I developed a more critical mindset, school and church became less daunting. I met certain teachers who had the humility to foster my curiosity - most notably an old, strict chemistry teacher from New York. This teacher, as old-school and blunt as he was, would answer every question with equal attention. On the occasions where the answers were uncertain or non-existent, he would make the effort to research and learn about the topic alongside students. Not only did this facilitate students curiosity, but it also humanised the teacher. He effectively enabled his students and allowed us to learn from each other, authority was exercised in a manner of mutual respect, and humility. This was effective teaching because my teacher sort wisdom from his students and was aware of his own uncertainties. Students are enabled in classroom environments where questions are encouraged, they will have freedom to explore and deepening their understanding of the curriculum.  However, it is important for teachers not to view thoughtful questions, challenging or clarifications personally (Waks, 2018). If we continue to measure the performance of schools and teachers on pass rates, then teachers will solely focus on the curriculum. This creates a culture where all learning must be “by the book”. A teacher saying “don’t worry, it’s not in the exam” exemplifies the pressures put on teachers by senior management to produce strong pass rates. High school teaches us so much about so little; only the teachers and students who see through the artificial curriculum will learn anything. High school and primary school are regulated by NCEA and National Standards respectively, which incentivises teachers to only teach what is required, leading to avoidance of divergent topics and treating areas of interest as nonsense. This diminishes creativity in both teachers and students.
CT is an industry focused environment where diversity is celebrated through different disciplines, thinking and people. I felt petrified at open day because of how foreign CT was. It is a student-directed, passionate and democratic pedagogy I had encountered only few times throughout my education. The freedom of CT became apparent at the presentation. It both excited and scared me. My preconceived idea of University consisted of lecture halls, academic journals and competitiveness, however CT is an open studio, conversation and collaboration. Learning in a studio compared to a lecture hall is evident of the pedagogy present. Shulman (2005) compares the different “nurseries” of learning. He states that we can learn about professions through studying their places of training and development. Notably, a lecture theatre has a lecturer behind a desk at the front, while a studio has groups of students working around tables with an instructor circulating among them. They are representative of autocratic and democratic atmospheres. Both have a figurehead but one talks while the other talks then observes/listens. Through a democratic approach to teaching CT, in a studio format with a focus on experimentation and collaboration, learning is organic. We are given the freedom to discover with and from each other, as teachers and students. The culture of CT supports students through teachers who recognise the fluidity of creativity. Students are encouraged to be resourceful, adaptable and diverse in thinking and skills. After two months in CT, I feel comfortable with the freedom and learning processes. Making frequent mistakes is seen as a valuable lesson rather than failure, this spurs me on to try and try again, a valuable and natural way to learn.
Open day was a glimpse into a teaching method that confused me. I was challenged on how I perceived university and creativity. The subsequent feeling of inadequacy was built on outdated pedagogy which didn’t allow for collaborative exchanges or self-discovery. Famous creatives are often viewed as outcasts and rebels, perhaps because societal pressures and education systems are too rigid and funnel people towards certain outcomes rather than supporting their own curiosity and interests.  Several contributing factors are responsible for this channeling - the stereotype of creativity only being practiced in fine artists, indoctrinating establishments such as the Church and the inflexible education system which limits our educators. “I’m not creative” is a self-fulfilling-prophecy (von Oech, 1973). As the poster in my father’s classroom room states, “if you think you can, or you think you can’t, you are right”.
References:
De Bruin, L., & Harris, A. M. (2017). Developing Creative Ecologies in Schools: Assessing creativity in schools. Australian Art Education, 38(2), 244–260. Retrieved from http://search.ebscohost.com.ezproxy.aut.ac.nz/login.aspx?direct=true&db=aft&AN=128027487&site=eds-live
Jeffrey, B., & Craft, A. (2004). Teaching creatively and teaching for creativity: Distinctions and relationships. Educational Studies, 30(1), 77-87. doi:10.1080/0305569032000159750
Lin, Y. (2011). Fostering Creativity through Education—A Conceptual Framework of Creative Pedagogy. Creative Education, 2(3), 151. doi: 10.4236/ce.2011.23021
Segura-April, D. (2016). Appropriate Child Participation and the Risks of Spiritual Abuse. Transformation, 33(3), 171. Retrieved from http://search.ebscohost.com.ezproxy.aut.ac.nz/login.aspx?direct=true&db=edb&AN=115728074&site=eds-live
Shulman, L. S. (2005). Signature pedagogies in the professions. Daedalus, 134(3), 52-59. Retrieved from https://www.jstor.org/stable/20027998?seq=1#metadata_info_tab_contents
Ted X Talks. (2010, November 04). The Art of Creativity | Taika Waititi | TEDx Doha [Video file]. Retrieved from https://youtu.be/pL71KhNmnls
Von Oech, R. (1973). A Whack On the Side of the Head: How You Can Be More Creative. California, USA: Creative Think.
Waks, L. J. (2018). Humility in Teaching. Educ Theory, 68(4/5), 427-442. doi: 10.1111/edth.12327
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princess--af · 6 years
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EXO - Daddy!au
MINSEOK/XIUMIN: ‘Bend over Daddy’s knee, you need to be punished.’
Minseok was not happy.
He had given me that look just before we left the apartment to go have dinner with his work friends. The one that said he was not happy other people were getting to see me in the tight white dress I had just bought myself, apparently being much too tight and short for a casual dinner with friends.
And to make matters worse, we ended up at a traditional Thai restaurant, seated on cushions on the floor, making the dress ride up impossibly high on my thighs. Enough so that he had to drape his jacket across the lap to prevent wandering eyes (or hands) that were not his own.
The ride back home was silent, Minseok tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, not looking or speaking to me the entire way home, content on listening to the late night music they played on the radio.
The walk up to the door of the apartment was even more silent, Minseok stepping aside to let me in first, walking past me taking my shoes off in the doorway, headed straight for the bedroom. I followed him.
“Minnie, I’m sorry, I didn’t-” i started, sealing my lips shut when he held up  a hand.
“Bend over Daddy’s knee, you need to be punished.” Smoothing out his slacks, he waited for me to hesitantly climb onto his lap, jumping when his hands lifted the hem of my dress, rubbing gently along my pantie-clad bottom. “Do you know why you’re being punished?”
Whimpering softly, I tensed when he lifted one of his hands, only to relax when I saw he was tugging a cushion towards him, pushing it under my chest for support.
“Because I wore something inappropriate in front of… Daddy’s friends… And I embarrassed him.” Biting my lip, I buried my face in the blanket, gasping at the sharp pain that came from the first smack, wiggling in his lap a little to alleviate the pain.  
“Don’t move, little one,” Minseok’s free hand pressed down on my lower back, keeping me still against him. “Just 9 more, then I’ll let you go. Do you think you can handle just 9 more little smacks?
JUNMYEON/SUHO: ‘Let Daddy spoil you.’
Junmyeon had been waiting outside the University gates, ignoring the appreciative looks he was getting from the other students, only perking up when he saw me skipping towards him, reaching up on my tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his already puckered lips.
“How was class?” Wrapping an arm around my waist, Jun led me away from the University, hand sneaking into the back pocket of my jeans, squeezing playfully.
I shrugged, tucking myself close to his side. “I got a HD on my Social Psychology exam, but that was as interesting as it got today.”
Jun grinned down at me, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. “I’m proud of you, baby. We should celebrate then? I know you studied hard for that one.”
Humming softly, I leant my head on his shoulder, sighing when I saw where he was steering us.
“Junmyeon, I hardly think a little High Distinction warrants a Rodeo shopping trip.”
Junmyeon ignored my comment, walking us across the road, the crowds gradually thinning out from the usual University students, now only showcasing rich house wives and businessmen, spending their lunch break in the high end fashion street.
“I don’t need anything, Junny.” Digging my heels into the ground, I stopped us from walking any further, Junmyeon pouting down at me, both his arms wrapping around my waist. “Don’t try to pull aegyo on me! That’s not fair!”
“Please baby, I just want to treat you! We should celebrate even the small victories,” ducking down to tuck his face into my neck, he pressed soft kisses along my jaw, smirking against my neck when he felt me shiver in his hold. “Please… Let Daddy spoil you..”
Blushing, I glanced around, making sure no one heard him, pushing him away from my neck, grabbing his hand instead.
“Fine, then I want a new handbag and matching shoes for your friends party next week…”
Jun raised a brow, smiling down at me. “Is that all?”
Humming softly, a little smile came to my face. “Maybe some new lingerie? But I want to surprise you with it… So no peeking!”
YIXING/LAY: ‘Did you wear that just for Daddy?’
Stretching out along the length of Yixing’s plush couch, I let out a soft moan, the joints in my back popping satisfyingly. I had been hunched over the coffee table for the better part of the afternoon, flicking back and forth between textbooks and my notebook, attempting to finish the perfect essay a week before it was due. Usually everything would be left until a few days before, but Yixing had promised to take a week off work to spend time with me, and the temptation of a week of sex and good food and cuddling on the couch without any pesky work interruptions was too good of an opportunity to pass up.
“Well this is a lovely sight to come home too…”
Grinning, I rolled onto my front, arching my back and stretching out like a cat, giving Yixing a good view of my backside as he dropped his work things near the front door. I listened to the soft shuffling of his socks against the timber flooring, blinking innocently at him when he crouched next to me, one of his hands running appreciatively down my bare thigh.
“Have you finished your work?” Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to my forehead, lightly stroking the back of my thigh.
“Almost. Just a few more paragraphs, then can you edit it for me?” Lifting myself onto my knees, Yixing sat beside me, leaning his side against the arm rest, allowing me to rest my head on a pillow on his lap.
“Of course. You can be quite the diligent student when you have the right incentive,” he teased, carding one of his hands through my hair, scratching lightly at the base of my neck, the other hand resuming to stroke my thigh. Humming softly in agreement, I nuzzled my face into his stomach, practically purring when his hand disappeared under the oversized hoodie I had thrown on. “This certainly isn’t your typical lazy day outfit… Did you wear this just for Daddy?”
Fingering lightly at the lace bodysuit I had put on this morning, Yixing’s hand at the base of my neck tightened slightly; not enough to physically keep me lying down, but firmly letting me know I wasn’t allowed to move until he told me to.
“I think you’re allowed a reward for working hard today,” Yixing hummed, running the tip of his index finger gently over my heat, a little smirk gracing his lips when I tried to subtly spread my legs to allow him better access. “Lie down properly for me, princess. Daddy wants to devour that pretty pussy of yours.”
BAEKHYUN: ‘Only Daddy is allowed to touch you here.’
“You understand why I don’t like you hanging out with him, right?” Baekhyun gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, but his hand on my thigh still stayed the same; warm, comforting, rubbing soothingly.
Sinking into the plush leather seats a little more, I nodded, distracting myself from the conversation by fiddling with the cuff links on his shirt.
“And you know what he tried to do was wrong?” Slowing the car down at the red light, he glanced over at me, tutting quietly when he saw my eyes well up. “I’m not upset with you, babygirl, so please don’t think that. I just don’t like the idea of anyone trying to hurt my precious baby.”
“I know,” I pouted, blinking quickly to keep away the tears. “Can we cuddle when we get home? I don’t really want to talk about it anymore.”
Raising a brow, he simply nodded, squeezing my thigh gently as he continued the trek home, humming softly along to the music playing on the radio, knowing his singing always helped me calm down.
Pulling into the driveway, he parked just outside the dorms doors, hurrying out of the driver's seat and around to my side, helping me up out of the low car, locking it behind him as he helped me hobble my way across the gravel driveway in my heels, shivering until he closed the front door behind us, trapping us in the heated walkway.
“Never wearing these shoes again,” I huffed, bracing myself against the wall and lifting one foot up, frozen fingers trying to undo the buckles on the offending shoes.
“One more thing baby girl,” Baekhyun hummed softly, stopping me from my mission of trying to undo the buckle on my heels, his body pressing me against one of the walls, his slim frame towering over me. I shivered at the feeling of his hand gliding up my bare thigh, the feeling a much more pleasant and welcomed one, compared to earlier. Running lightly over the scrap of lace that covered my behind, before changing direction to cup the front of me, fingers deftly removed the offending material so one finger could sink into my wet heat, a loud gasp leaving my mouth. “Only Daddy is allowed to touch you here, okay baby girl?”
Nodding numbly, I attempted to grind down onto his hand, which was pulled away from my core, his finger tapping against my mouth impatiently. “Daddy has to mark his baby girl up, so no one will ever try to touch her again..”
JONGDAE/CHEN: ‘Daddy’s so proud of you, beautiful.’
Bouncing lightly on the balls of my feet, hands clenched tightly in the pockets of my coat, I tried to avoid making eye contact with the cashier before I actually had to, knowing it would cause an even bigger anxiety flare up than what I was already experiencing.
Jongdae had insisted on meeting for lunch at his favourite cafe off campus, and had texted through his order, as he was late getting out of his class and didn’t want to make me wait any longer. Which meant I had to order for the both of us, in an unfamiliar cafe, that was thankfully not too full. What’s the worst that could happen.
“Hi, what can I get for you?” The chirpy cashier smiled sweetly at me, tilting her head like a confused puppy when she saw the wide eyed look I was giving her.
“Uh, the wagyu beef burger with an iced coffee, and…” I paused, glaring up at the menu along the wall. “The fritters… With a… Strawberry milkshake?”
“Is that a question, or is that a definite on the milkshake?” She teased playfully, fingers already tapping along the screen to put the order through.
“Ah yes, please, I want the milkshake,” Blushing, I handed over my card, staring down at my freshly manicured nails. Jongdae’s mentality was if I had pretty nails, it would stop me from anxiously picking at them and causing myself harm.
“Alright, go sit and your food should be out shortly,” Smiling sweetly once more, she handed the card and a number back to me. Breathing out a sigh of relief, I bowed my head at her in thanks, scurrying off to the back corner of the cafe where I had set down my things before ordering, only to see someone sitting opposite the chair containing my backpack.
“How long have you been here?” Dropping my purse into my backpack, I raised a brow at my boyfriend sat across from me, his cheeky kitten smile ever present on his face.
“Long enough to see you did well at ordering our food,” he shrugged, reaching across the table to take a hold of my hand, lacing our fingers together and squeezing gently. “Daddy’s so proud of you, beautiful.”
Shaking in my seat lightly with giddiness, I couldn’t stop the smile that broke out on my face, hiding it behind my sweater paw, squeezing his hand back.
“Now tell me about your day. Surely something amazing must’ve happened for you to be this brave.”
CHANYEOL: ‘Daddy bought you some new clothes today. Why don’t you try them on?’
Sighing softly as I toed off my sneakers at the front door, I listened for any excessive noise that would indicate if Chanyeol had invited his friends over after finishing work. The only sound that greeted me was the gentle murmuring of the TV.
“Baby, is that you?” I heard Chanyeol call from the back of the apartment, indicating he had probably only just beaten me home. Shuffling down the hall, pushing open the partially closed door to our bedroom, I leant against the door frame, watching my boyfriend wander around with just a towel slung over his hips, back still wet from the shower. “How was work?”
“Tiring.” Pushing myself away from the door, I started to strip out of my own clothes, wrinkling my nose at the smell of paint that had probably permanently seeped into my work clothes. “Apparently 7 year olds don’t enjoy being told to do their math work, and think painting the teacher is much more fun.”
Chanyeol paused his search for his favourite comfy sweats, turning his head to pout at me. “You should’ve texted me, and I would’ve waited to shower with you…” Dropping the towel, he stepped into a pair of boxers, pulling the sweats on, sitting on the edge of the bed and gesturing me forward. Holding both my hands in his, he tugged me onto his lap, large hands gently holding my bare waist to keep me secure. “How about I run you a bath. I’ll wash your hair for you, get you all nice and clean. Daddy bought you some new clothes today, so why don’t you try them on and give me a little fashion show after your bath, hmm?”
Hooking my chin over his shoulder, my eyes scanned over the bags lined up neatly against the wall, Gucci, Agent Provocateur and Chanel bags glittering prettily in the late afternoon sun.
Wiggling happily in his lap, I pressed a kiss to his jaw, letting out a content sigh when his hands slowly started stroking up and down my back, unclipping my bra to have complete free access. “You’re the best.”
“My girl only deserves the best,” Chanyeol hummed, littering kisses across one of my shoulders, hands pressing me firmly against him. “Come on, we need to get you in the bath before any of this continues…”
I pulled back, pouting, beginning the slow roll of my hips across his slow hardening cock. “But Daddy… I need to show you how grateful I am for all of the gifts and the pampering…”
KYUNGSOO/D.O: ‘You better behave tonight, babygirl.’
Kyungsoo hated frat parties. I knew this. His house knew this. But no one ever listened to his objections when he tried to weasel his way out of yet another party his house was throwing.
“There’s no reason to be throwing one,” he would try to say, scowling at his house brothers in an effort to scare them away from even thinking of having another party. But they never listened, simply cooing at their small and scary brother, and proceeding to plan another chaotic party.
“I’m not going,” Kyungsoo had showed up at my dorm room 2 hours before the party, clad in black skinny jeans, a black tee and his favourite charcoal jacket thrown over the top. Typical party wear. Black so he could blend into the shadows and not be forced into any of the stupid drinking games his brothers loved so much. “Why are you wearing that?”
“... Nini invited me…” Zipping up the fly of my black skinny jeans, I turned back to my mirror, adjusting my outfit slightly. “We don’t have to stay the whole time. But you knew what you signed up for when you pledged, and you knew you would be made to go when you accepted Treasurer.. We can leave half way through and go to that pizza place you like?” Kyungsoo stayed silent, glaring at my back. “Do you want me to change my top?”
He looked away, a light blush crossing his cheeks. “No, it’s fine. I can’t believe they invited you even when I told them no. It’s basically blackmailing me..” Rolling my eyes, I slipped into my favourite black boots, throwing on a dark bomber jacket to keep my shoulders warm on the walk over. “We’re matching.”
“Of course, I can’t let my grumpy bum Daddy be all dark and brooding by himself,” I teased, sliding my hands along his abdomen and linking them together at the base of his back, nuzzling my face into his neck. He tsked softly, one hand slipping into my back pocket, the other cupping the back of my neck, squeezing lightly until I lifted my face to look at him. Raising a brow slightly, his eyes flicked down to my lips, a little smirk appearing when he saw me raise myself onto tiptoe.
“You better behave tonight, babygirl,” Kyungsoo hummed, barely brushing his lips over mine, instead moving down to suck gently at the sensitive skin under my jaw. “No flirting with my brothers, only 2 drinks, and when I say we’re leaving, I don’t want any arguments from you. Is that clear?”
Fisting the bottom of his shirt between my hands, I nodded, whining low in my throat until he planted a gentle kiss on my lips. “I promise I’ll be good.”
JONGIN/KAI: ‘My precious babygirl. I love you.’
Breathing deeply through my nose, I fisted the blanket Jongin had thrown over me; the soft pink one he had brought back from his recent trip to Japan with little corgis printed along the bottom.
“Are you with me, baby?” Squeezing my eyes shut, I burrowed my nose into the blanket, whimpering when I could smell Jongin’s cologne in the fabric. He always draped it over himself when he was working from home and got cold.
“Daddy,” I whined softly, blinking quickly when he pulled the blanket back from my face, the lights in our bedroom dimmed so they didn’t irritate my eyes.
“Sit up for me, baby.” Tucking his hands under my arms, he lifted me sideways onto his lap, one arm wrapped securely around my waist to prevent me from toppling over, the other holding a bottle of water up for me. “Drink some for me, please.” Huffing, I dropped my head onto his shoulder, hands wrapping loosely around his hand that was holding the water, sipping slowly from the straw. “You did so well for me, baby. Daddy is very very proud of you. You took your punishment like a good girl.”
Pushing his hand away, I snuggled my face into the crook of his neck, pressing a wet kiss to his heated skin to let him know I was still listening.
“Do you want to have a shower with Daddy?” I tapped twice on his chest; yes.
“Does your bottom hurt a bit?” Two tentative taps. “Alright, I’ll rub some cream on it after the shower. Can you speak to Daddy? I need to know you’re ok, and you’re not angry with me for punishing you.”
Whining,I pulled back from my warm spot, pouting up at him. “Could never be angry with you…”
Jongin smiled almost bashfully down at me, plush lips pressing against my forehead in a silent thank you. “You know I love you, right?” I nodded, letting him move my body around so I was comfortably straddling his lap, my hands resting comfortably on his warm chest. “My precious babygirl… I love you… So damn much.”
Wiggling happily on his lap, I surged forward to peck his lips, hands trailing up to rest on his shoulders for leverage. “I love you too, Daddy… Even if you beat my ass black and blue…”
Scoffing softly, he wrapped his arms around my waist, throwing me onto my back and crawling over my giggling body. “It’s only a light purple right now, but I can change that if you keep being cheeky!”
SEHUN: ‘You look so pretty sucking Daddy’s cock.’
Shifting slightly, I attempted to make myself more comfortable, hands splayed on top of Sehun’s thighs for support, leaning heavily on them instead of on my knees, hoping to relieve some of the pain. Sehun had put a pillow down there before we had started, but there was only so much it could do against the hardwood timber flooring of his apartment.
“You’re doing so well, baby,” Sehun hummed softly, slender fingers tangling into my hair, scratching lightly at the base of my neck. “Daddy’s so proud of you…”
Humming softly around his cock, I sunk down a little more, determined to show Sehun I could be good and I was deserving of his praise.
Sehun let out a shaky breath, the only indicator, apart from the slightly tightened grip on my hair, that he was affected by what I was doing. He was always so composed. “Fuck… Are you trying to make me cum?”
Blinking up at him innocently, I hollowed my cheeks, my tongue trailing along the underside of his cock, flicking at the head, eyes crinkled up in glee when he threw his head back, letting out a loud groan.
“Shit, when did you get so good at this?” Glaring down at me, he cupped the back of my neck, my only warning that he was about to fuck my mouth. “Open your mouth, baby. If you’re not going to play nice, than neither am I.”
Gripping his thighs tighter, I took a deep breathe through my nose, screwing my eyes shut at the first tentative thrust; testing the waters to see if I was okay. Shuffling closer to Sehun on my knees, I glanced up at him, relaxing my throat and nodding at him the best I could with a mouth stuffed full.
His hips start to roll upwards smoothly, one of his hands still gripping the back of my neck to keep me from pulling away, the other smoothing down my cheek, his thumb running along the sides of my stretched lips.
“You look so pretty sucking Daddy’s cock,” Sehun hummed, smirking when he saw me rub my thighs together, whimpering and trying to sink down further to hide the blush on my cheeks. “You were just made for this, baby.” Squeezing the back of my neck, he guided me off, chuckling when I pouted up at him, my hands sliding further up his thighs, thumbs rubbing lightly at the base of his cock. “Do you want to keep going?”
Biting my lip, I nodded, lifting myself up slightly to peck his lips. “Yes please, Daddy.”
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official-ilvermorny · 6 years
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The Laveau Academy
“D’un flux pour un grand fleuve.”
As is true with most of her life, scholars who study the life of the legendary Marie Laveau fiercely debate whether or not the Voudon Queen of New Orleans ever really intended to open a school when she retired to the manor house that became her home in the wild swamps of Louisiana. She had, after all, been a leader in all other respects, bearing the standard of an influential business woman, a spiritual guide, a society dame, a political dynamo, and both a natural and adoptive mother in her own time. There is little reason to suspect that she desired to add “founder and headmistress of a renowned center of magical education” to that list.
But then again there is little reason to think a woman as ambitious and civically minded as Marie would not.
Regardless, the Laveau Academy opened its door in 1875, less than a year after the magical-society pages claimed Marie had entered self-proclaimed retirement from public life. She hand-selected a faculty that largely consisted of witches and wizards whom Marie had tutored or taken on as apprentices during her own career. She was equally selective in choosing her student body. A half-blood herself, Marie held no pretensions about the importance of blood status in determining how powerful or successful a student would be, and she held even less regard to the question of race. The former Voudon Queen judged her pupils entirely on some other trait, known only to her, a “sliver of excellence” as she called it, that set them apart from others. Utilizing a broad network of agents and allies up and down the Mississippi, and throughout the American south, Marie tracked down those pupils who, but for her interference, may not have had a chance for an official education. Throughout the Winter of 1875, Marie traveled in person to meet her prospective pupils and make a final decision on their potential. When all was said and done, the Laveau Academy opened with fewer than 25 full-time pupils of various races, bloodlines, and regional origins.
Since then, the Laveau Academy has grown little. The smallest of all eight major American wizarding schools, the Academy accepts fewer than 50 new pupils every year. Though many of these students come from the South, the Laveau Academy still seeks out students with that “sliver of excellence” that can be fostered into full potential. This quest for distinction amongst its students is reflected in the school’s motto, “D’un flux pour un grand fleuve,” or “From a stream flows a mighty river.”
The Laveau Academy holds class from Winter to Summer, giving students a breaks in the middle of Autumn. The school’s end of the year feast is held on Halloween night, and restarts January 21st. The schedule was established by Marie herself, and remains largely out of a sense of proud tradition rather than for any practical purpose. The school itself in hosted in a large manor house that relocates on a regular basis through the Atchafalaya Basin, sometimes floating on the dark waters of a Mississippi bog, and sometimes looking over an otherwise hidden branch of the mighty river itself. Students are warned of an impending jump by the tolling of phantom church bells, and every student is issued a small charm to help locate them should the school accidentally leave them behind.
Student housing is based predominantly on their year and their gender. First year students are housed in communal rooms of 12-14 students, situated in bunk beds. The beds come with privacy curtains, but are otherwise communal in their space, with a single fire place on either side of the room and several armchairs. Despite the nod to equality, however, the beds are not equally spaced, and some are more comfortable than others, while others have thicker curtains or slightly more space. Control over the fireplaces and windows are also up for students to decides on their own, and they are encouraged to compete and bargain with each other for control. This is most students’ introduction to the Laveau Academy’s belief that competition fosters excellence, and that every student must find their own path to power.
In the 2nd and 3rd year, students are divided into smaller groups of 3-4 students with a single room. As this core group will be a student’s roommates for the rest of their stay at the Laveau Academy, students are encouraged to make the choice on their own with regards to whom they will live with. Since 2005, the faculty has allowed non-traditional pairings on a case-by-case basis. Between the fourth and sixth years, students are moved into more luxurious rooms, and, finally, in the 7th year, select groups are moved into fourth-floor suites with a private bathroom and living room. These suits are highly sought by students, and they work hard to jockey favor with the faculty members responsible for making the rooming appointments.
The Manor House is, of course, spatially warped in its interior to make room for so many, but students can always find their way to bathrooms and the dining hall, regardless of where they are in the building, despite the fact the most students prefer to take their meals in one of the many private salons hidden throughout the building, or, in the warmer months, in the gardens that follow the house like a faithful puppy as it teleports throughout the swamps. Other rooms, including class rooms and libraries, require that the student use their own ingenuity and wit to find.  Faculty rooms are sequestered in the attic, which can only be reached by students who have been summoned there. Indeed, a summons from the Headmistress will result in students arriving at her door no matter how hard they try to avoid such a fate.
Unlike most schools, the faculty of the Laveau Academy takes a special hand in guiding each of their students towards a particular field of magical study with which they show the greatest promise. All base-courses are taught in two tiers. First-tier instruction provides only the basic necessities of the course that students need to pass their LAMP and SALEM exams. The Second-tier, however, is designed to give students with a talent in that particular field a more rigorous and intensive education. Students can move between the two classes based on their proficiency in a given year, and for the first year all students share a single course in a particular field (giving the faculty a chance to examine their talents and proclivities.) Every student must have at least two classes at the advanced level, but they may have more. Having numerous advanced classes is a mark of honor amongst the students, and working to maintain those levels is part of the competitiveness natural to the Laveau Academy’s philosophy of education. There are two instructors for everyone of the core-courses, providing enough staff for both the basic and advanced courses.
To say the Laveau Academy promotes bullying, social-jockeying, or enmity between its students is not entirely correct. To say it turns a blind-eye to what it sees as the natural and necessary act of students honing their social skills to a dagger’s edge would be more accurate. The Laveau Academy believes every student has their own, personal path to power, and that it is good for them to learn that while alliances and friendships are absolutely vital on that path, one’s peers will never simply clear the path to your success. Marie Laveau was a Queen long before she was a teacher, after all, and those who have taken over her Academy follow her instinct that every student has it in them to achieve similar greatness. Friendships between students in different years is promoted by the faculty, and in the 6th and 7th years, students with time can follow in the long tradition of the school that students of the Academy become teachers themselves. By applying to a professor a student of the Academy can become a teaching assistant for younger classmen training for their LAMP exams. Extra credit is the general rule for 3rd years and above who tutor younger students in a subject. Finding a good tutor is considered an excellent idea to jockey for both better grades and influence with the professors, so younger students often compete for those tutors rumored to be the highest scoring or the most beloved by instructors.
The official animal of Laveau Academy is the alligator, and the school crest consists of three harsh, black X’s surrounded by a black circle in which six silver pins are stuck on a field of dark purple. There are three recognized school-ghosts, though rumors abound that Marie Laveau herself is the unofficial fourth. Countless students and visitors to the school have claimed to have seen her since her apparent death in the early 1900s. Faculty members, strangely enough, never claim such sightings, at least publicly. All in all, the original Headmistress’ voice is only ever evoked with respect, and her portrait hangs in the place of highest honor directly behind the seat of the current Headmistress.
The school has an excellent Charms and Potions curriculum, and flavors much of its magical education with the sort of cultural diversity that defined Marie Laveau’s own powers. Voudon and Native American practices often work their way into the class rooms. The school has been more or less the official training ground for Seers and Prophets since the early 1900s.
Posted originally on @americanwizarding, which has since distanced itself from any information outside of the original books, with some minor modifications by Prefect Selwyn to fit it in with the rest of canon and this blog
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researchmiscellanea · 3 years
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Dr Winifred Muirhead: A Very Partial Biography
I am terrible for seeing something and then going down a rabbit hole, in this case a biographical one. Looking at the 1911-12 Edinburgh and Leith Post Office Directory, the fact that the Asylum had a female doctor caught my eye.
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So I present a very partial biography of Dr Winifred Muirhead: bacteriologist, pathologist, and first woman doctor in Northern Transvaal.
In looking up these references I’ve had to presume that they are all referring to the same person; the names (married and unmarried) are uncommon enough, and the timeline fits for a single person, but it’s always possible I have gone astray in places.
I haven’t been able to find out anything about her background, but she studied medicine at the Edinburgh School of Medicine for Women, which was founded in response to Edinburgh University refusing admission to women for its medical degree. A lot of the School’s students were local, so it’s at least fairly likely that she was from Edinburgh or nearby; in the years she worked at the Royal Edinburgh Asylum there is noted a Mrs Muirhead of 5 Ettrick Road in the list of regular donations to the Asylum - proud mum, or just a coincidence?
Winifred completed the Triple Qualification, a set of exams run by the Scottish Royal Colleges which offered an alternative route to qualifying in medicine outside the universities. She passed the first examination in July 1896, and the second in 1897 with a distinction.
In 1900 she was working at Plaistow Maternity Charity in London, which seems at that point to have offered mostly outpatient care for women in the locality.
The next place she turns up is near here:
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This was a slum in Johannesburg called “Coolie Location” (which was pretty much as offensive at the time as it is now), which suffered an outbreak of plague in 1904 - the article “Pneumonic Plague in Johannesburg, South Africa, 1904″ (pdf and source of the photo) gives an interesting look from a medical point of view. Our reference to Winifred is that in April 1904 she was working in the hospital bacteriological laboratory during this plague outbreak (warning for racism).
There is a not-quite brush with history here; one of the people involved in the plague outbreak was a 35 year old lawyer called Mohandas Gandhi. Did Winifred meet him? Possibly, but there’s nothing that points strongly towards it.
Something brought her back to Scotland, or maybe South Africa was only ever meant as a temporary situation. We next find here here, Stirling District Asylum:
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In 1907 she was Assistant Medical Officer here, and had a paper in the Lancet, A Case of Typhoid Fever: A Note on the Bacteriological Examination of the Blood.
She became a member of the Medico-Psychological Association (the forerunner of the Royal College of Psychiatrists) in 1908. She seems to have had a very specific set of interests in the intersection of infection and mental illness which means that she must have been pleased with her next career move, to the Royal Edinburgh Asylum. Edinburgh was where the central Laboratory of the Scottish Asylums, run by Dr William Ford Robertson, was based. Ford Robertson had written A Text-book of Pathology in Relation to Mental Diseases and was an enthusiast about the connection between infectious disease and mental illness. However, there is no evidence I can find that she ever actually worked with Ford Robertson; I must admit that he comes over to me as rather opinionated and arrogant. The vast majority of his works are his sole authorship; the few which are not are co-authored with men, though this isn’t all that unusual at that time. I may be doing him a disservice, but I wonder if he was a draw in the abstract and a disappointment in person.
By 1908 Winifred was the Royal Edinburgh Asylum’s Bacteriologist and Pathologist, with prominent billing in the annual report:
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Not particularly relevant, but that same annual report included photos of the accomodation for private patients, including this:
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No photos of accomodation for everyone else. Safe to presume it wasn’t like this.
In 1909 she published a paper, The Occurrence of Organisms in the Blood and Cerebrospinal Fluid in Mental Diseases in the Journal of Mental Science, which apparently was awarded a “special prize” by the Medico-Psychological Association.
In 1910 she was supervising another doctor doing research in the Asylum laboratory, Dr Alice Babington. Just after that mention comes this paragraph, which I feel beholden to both screencap and transcribe:
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“I desire to point out how suitable work of this nature is for lady doctors. Neatness and dexterity in delicate manipulation are required for it as well as great patience and attention to detail, and in all these respects women excel. On the other hand there is a minimum of responsibility and strain associated with the work, which is what women feel most.”
Can you imagine working with that level of patronising waffle?
In 1911 she was “recognised by the University as a lecturer on the subject of Practical Bacteriology in its relation to Mental Diseases.”
The 1912 annual report mentions a paper “done conjointly by Dr Henderson and Dr Muirhead, on the different forms of cells found in the cerebro-spinal fluid in disease, would have obtained on its merits the Bronze Medal granted by the Medico-Psychological Association, but for a technicality.” Now there is a sentence which is hiding a story, and almost cetainly a mighty argument. I haven’t been able to find the paper which this refers to, which just makes it more intriguing.
She resigned on her marriage in 1912, becoming Mrs Montgomery, and the Asylum annual report for 1913 says “for five years she had been Pathologist to the Institution, and organised on very satisfactory lines the new laboratories, &c, provided by the Managers. Her work was most methodical and accurate, and was of the greatest help in the treatment of the patients”
There were two papers she published jointly with others around that time, A Report of a Case of Insanity Associated with Chloral Bromide Poisoning and a Brain Abscess likely before her marriage, and Toxic Exhaustive Insanity Associated with Chronic Suppurative Otitis Media, Labyrinthitis, and Extra-Dural Abscess likely afterwards.
She seemed to disappear after her marriage, with lots of irrelevant search results for either Winifred Muirhead or Winifred Montgomery, and no more published research. Then I realised that I’d seen the name Montgomery before, as one of the other doctors in Johannesburg. Had she gone to South Africa? Yes!
An article written by her husband in 1933 (warning for racism and graphic medical descriptions) also shows that this was quite a change of scene - not laboratory medicine but extremely rural and extremely hands-on medicine. “Delivery of such presentations as this one is still more complicated when one’s sole light is a storm-lantern, and one has to grovel on the floor of a hut.”
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It’s also noteable that after the two uses of “I” in those first two paragraphs, everything medical thereafter is “we” - this was a joint operation, not just him calling the shots.
They seem to have lived in what is now Polokwane (Pietersburg at the time), which is now a city, but in 1904 it had less than 4,000 residents. Quite a change from Edinburgh, which at the time had more than a quarter of a million residents.
She is recorded as having her named removed from the medical register as deceased in the August 1946 South African Medical Journal, and has a very brief obituary in the 1946-48 report of the National Council of Women of South Africa.
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“The first woman doctor in the Northern Transvaal” seems an appropriate note to end this on.
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cheetahsprints · 6 years
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Beyond the Surface
Words: 2822 Summary: Cisco couldn’t stand Harrison Wells. Crossing his path in an unexpected place would change that view permanently. Rating: Gen A/N: Title inspired by Fly Down - Stephen
Cisco tapped his pen on his mouth. He checked over his grocery list to be sure he got everything. It was just general foodstuff. He added some extra items.
- That new conditioner I heard about - All the bath bombs - Try the candle Caitlin suggested that smells like my kinda man called “Mechanical grease and Angst” - A recorder to piss off my grumpy neighbor. Tell him it's for a hipster band. - Dog food. - One of those big fake owls. It might freak out neighbors cats
Cisco always left without dog food. He underlined it three times. He chuckled at the recorder addition, picturing the constipated expression his neighbor would make. It wasn’t a challenge to antagonize him. Cisco was constantly finding new and creative ways to accomplish his mission.
His neighbor was also his professor. He was the unrelenting Harrison Wells. He cursed the day he incidentally moved to his floor, beside him to boot. The man was intelligent, handsome, and mysterious. Under most circumstances, Cisco would have a crush the size of Alaska. Unfortunately, Harrison Wells needed a personality transplant. He was an infuriating jackass. He gave not an inch, and he enjoyed pushing people over the edge.
Every day he passed the man’s giant door poster. It was a picture of the Grinch (cartoon version) that said: Don't bother me after 8 p.m. or I'll steal YOUR Christmas. The building supervisor had referred to him as only Mr. Grinch, due to this decor.
Cisco was willing to bet it was custom-made. Rumor had it that Professor Wells was a man of many talents. Cisco’s complaints also fell on deaf ears. Because no one else lived on this floor to corroborate his stories. Cisco didn't blame people for moving. On the bright side, he had to pay lower rent for this shit apartment location. The apartment itself was nice, with a big bathtub, walk-in closet, and balcony. It was worth Wells knocking on his door to tell him his party was too loud. Wells threatened to call the cops, but he never did. He knew Cisco would have it cleaned and shut down before they got halfway there.
His cats meowed all hours of the night. Cisco didn't know how he could hear them running around at night. Especially since one was a stick. One had also snuck into his apartment and shredded his stuffed Rocky the flying squirrel. It had been a present from his ex, Lisa. On one hand, technically kind of a good thing. On the other, he had liked that squirrel.
Cisco perked when he heard his six month old brown-and-white shih tzu mix yapping. He strolled out to the balcony. Sure enough, there they were. Wells’ stringy black and white oriental shorthair and tabby maine coon. The maine coon was the chillest animal on the planet, asleep to the tune of barking dog. That was the one that murdered his squirrel. Everytime Cisco left his apartment, the oriental starting yowling from behind Wells’ door. Then his puppy barked her head off.
Stevie, his brindle greyhound, appeared to investigate. He nudged Cisco curiously. He patted his service dog on the head absently. Cisco was prone to seizures. They were mostly random, but could sometimes be caused by distress. He grabbed a squeaky toy to distract Buttercup. He closed the balcony doors. He packed up and got Stevie in his work outfit. He expected to run into the Professor’s dumb face when he opened the door. He always complained about Buttercup’s barking even though he could just bring in his cats. Cisco had nothing against cats as a whole. He had everything against Wells’ disregard for the effects his cats had on others. Cisco was relieved when he was miraculously not there. He either decided to keep to himself or went out. Cisco saw enough of him in class, it just figured he would end up living beside him.
On a positive note, pissing him off was the most entertaining thing. He even drove him crazy in class. On the first day, Professor Wells had began by saying, “Science fact: The world around you is made up of protons, neutrons, morons, and electrons.”
When he said “morons” he had looked directly at Cisco. He wasn’t sure if Wells was presumptuous, if it was an accident, or if the man was prejudiced. Wells hadn’t eased up on him. He had called on Cisco to answer the toughest questions, contradicted all of his answers. Cisco wasn’t a special case, Wells was mean to other students, but they were slackers or whatever. He did have the potential for kindness, immediately helping anyone who seriously required it.
Either way, Cisco went out of his way to make his teaching aspect of life a bit of a nightmare. He pretended to be incredibly dumb in class, forcing Wells to cater to him. He would ace his tests and grin like a little shit.
He would ask the stupidest most basic questions, eyelashes fluttering like an infatuated schoolgirl. Wells was that “hot silver fox professor” as the women, and even some men, all of whom had no self respect, referred to him. They fawned over him. It was revolting. Cisco made them upset too by imitating their behavior. Wells always apparently lost his train of thought. He would sort of freeze on the spot, mouth open. He stuttered over his next words. It took everything Cisco had to hold in his laughter.
He kept the irritation to the minimum at home. Needless to say, but the airheads in his class didn’t believe Wells played the most obnoxious music at four in the morning. They didn’t believe he had a psychic connection to his cats and bid them to drive Cisco up the wall. They didn’t believe Wells pounded on the wall when Cisco played Christmas music. They didn’t believe he would sit on his balcony and throw things onto Cisco’s. Those objects had included: a wrench, a stupid singing toy from a dollar-per-item store, and even a rather large dildo. He had the supernatural ability to know when Cisco was studying. His hobby of throwing random shit would always scare the daylights out of Cisco.
For some reason, they did believe when he told them about the time Cisco had returned to his apartment shirtless. Some wiseass at he dog park had knocked him into a puddle of mud. At least, he hoped it was mud. He had thrown his shirt away and stormed home in a huff. Wells had seemed to choke on his own saliva when he saw Cisco. His blushing and stuttering was adorable. It was like he had never seen another man shirtless. 
Cisco figured he might’ve been offended by the tattoo, curling around his nipple and over his shoulder. Cisco had experienced a bit of a phase in his first semester of college. He lost a bet which required him to get the tats. They were pretty, and he luckily didn’t end up regretting his decision. He went through a bit of a ‘only get away with being young and dumb once’ phase. He cleared his less that stellar ideas and urges from his system, to pave the way for responsible adulting. He would have a lot of stories for his kids, if he ever felt like having any. Maybe he would tell the stories to Barry’s or Caitlin’s.
Stevie walked easily beside him in the Starling-Central City Shopping Center. He whistled a jaunty tune. He was having a pretty good day. He had satisfied with his level of studying for the upcoming exams and wasn’t exhausted. His new puppy hadn’t peed on the carpet this week. He hadn’t seen Wells’ annoying face yet.
He spoke too soon. He saw Wells, browsing in the assorted candles and incense. He glared at his turned back. He couldn’t believe the man chose this day to enter society and be shopping for something Cisco was looking to purchase. He tentatively stepped into the section, footsteps light. He hoped Wells wouldn’t see him.
He heard someone scoff and stage-whisper, “Do you see that rat he has in his cart? Like anyone believes that’s a real service dog.”
His girlfriend cackled. “What an asshole.”
Cisco’s gaze riveted on Wells’ little dog. She was a chihuahua-corgi mix named Rocket. Wells was secretive as hell. The only things Cisco knew was that he had a daughter and pets. That was due to the photos on his desk of a young girl in braces, a calm Chorgi with its tongue hanging out, next to the 85 % legs oriental shorthair (same pic) and one of the fluffy Maine coon. And there was a final faded, worn one of a German Shepherd/Dalmation in a doggie wheelchair next to an urn simply engraved Sam - Never Forget. Cisco had asked the little dog’s name, and gotten such a gruff reply that he didn’t inquire further.
It was simple to assume his professor was not much beyond a grumpy old jerk. His humanity seemed to be buried deep. He was robotic, functional enough to take care of pets and teach a class, that was all. Cisco would have to rethink that. Rocket was even cuter in person. Wells had obviously heard and he winced. He picked up Rocket, cradling her close. He marched up to the couple.
“Hey what is your deal? His dog is well-behaved, and he did nothing to you!” Cisco crossed his arms, raising his chin. The boyfriend attempted to tower over him, but he was no match for Cisco’s sheer force of will.
“Back off asshole,” The girlfriend butted in. “No one asked you.”
“I’m the asshole? It’s pretty rude to go around assuming things about someone’s life. For all you know, he nearly lost his life fighting in a war.”
“For all I know, you’re a phony too. Look at that - that thing you have. Is it imported from Africa or something?” The Dude narrowed his eyes at Stevie. And that was the end for Cisco.
“Listen here,” he said dangerously, voice flat. “Judgey tools like you is why we can’t have nice things. You can get that stick out of your ass and -”
Dude started making offended noises. The Girlfriend looked ready to jump on Cisco and tear his hair out. He braced himself. Let them try. A distinct high-pitched bark interrupted his tirade. His mouth shut with an audible click, and he whirled around. Rocket was back in the cart, whining, trying to get to Harrison Wells. He was crouched on the floor, all six feet of him. His hand was covering his eyes. The other hand was braced on the shelves. He was rocking back and forth, making breathy noises.
Cisco rushed over, argument forgotten. He wasn’t sure if he’d go to hell for it, but he gently picked up Rocket and placed her on the floor. He certainly lost his mind whenever someone tried to touch his well-trained greyhound on duty. But this seemed like an emergency. Rocket whined again and snuffled on Wells cheek. He sighed and pulled her close, taking deep breaths. Cisco shifted. He glanced over his shoulder to see that the couple had wandered off. Confrontation wasn’t always the best idea. Sometimes, his anger got the better of him. Stevie watched calmly. He looked a bit twitchy. He was always wary whenever Cisco got himself into tense situations.
Wells gained control of himself. His eyes were glazed for a moment, then it faded. His hands were shaking. Rocket was pressed close, licking at his face. He picked her up and stood, clutching her to his chest. He stared at Cisco with wide, bleary eyes. He had never seen Wells looking so spooked.
“Hey buddy. You good or do you need to call someone?”
“Did - did I hurt anyone? When episodes strike, I black out,” Wells explained at Cisco’s confused look. “I can be prone to violence because I think I’m. Back there.”
His voice was at such a low pitch. Cisco was stiff as a board. He shook out his hands, trying to loosen his muscles. He wasn’t afraid. He just wasn’t sure how to tread here.
“No it’s fine. You were kinda on the floor. Was that my fault?”
“They started it, you were only trying to defend me, thank you,” Wells replied.
He was surprisingly relaxed, for all that they didn’t get along. Cisco felt like a veil had been torn from in front of his eyes. He saw everything in front of him anew. He should really take some of his own advice.
“Well, it got a little out of hand ‘cause I don’t know when to shut my mouth and walk away sometimes. Can I - can I buy you some ice cream or something, Professor Wells?”
Wells blinked. Then he laughed, heartily. “You can call me Harry, Mr. Ramon.”
“Cisco!” He continued, mostly to himself, “Big Belly Burger sounds damn good right now.”
Harry nodded in agreement. Cisco indicated his cart. Harry began to pile his stuff inside. It was more efficient to take one cart. His eyes widened at the Star Wars paraphernalia. So, he was a fellow nerd too. There was probably so much Cisco didn’t know about him. These recent discoveries only scratched the surface. He suddenly had an overwhelmingly urgent desire to know everything that Harry would give him.
On the way to the in-store restaurant, Cisco said casually, “I have seizures. Stevie here, he’ll sit and howl when he senses one coming, so I can find a safe place. He stays by my side and helps me out. Completely necessary just like yours.”
“Some people think they’re smart. The reality being they know nothing at all,” Harry replied.
“I know that all I know is that I do not know anything,” Cisco said and snorted. “That guy didn’t even know how to remove the stick in his ass.”
“There’s no proof of that phrase, but the spirit of it is true.”
They finished their meals, bought separately, and Harry paid for their ice cream. Cisco opened his mouth to protest. He was silenced by Harry’s glare.
“I’m sorry I act empty-headed in your class,” Cisco confessed.
Harry nodded and lapped at his ice cream. He smiled as he scooped some with two fingers and fed it to Rocket. Absurdly, Cisco’s stomach started doing acrobatics. He couldn’t pinpoint the cause. He scratched Stevie’s ears, who made a dog-sigh of content.
“I’m sorry for being a difficult neighbor,” Harry offered. “Let’s promise to be at least civil to one another for now on?”
“Agreed. Life will be much easier. And we’re totally having a Star Wars marathon.”
Harry grinned. He rubbed at his lips with a finger. Cisco gnawed on his cone and watched him for a moment. He felt a stab of guilt. He had despised Harry for his behavior. He was a hypocrite. He saw now he had acted the exact same way and judged him. He knew next to nothing about his private life, because he presumed that he did not have one. What did he think? That Harry went home and hooked himself up to a charger?
The man probably had dreams, hobbies, as many likes as dislikes. Hell, Cisco had known he had a family he must care about, from the picture of his daughter on his desk. Cisco distantly noticed Harry had no wedding ring. Somewhere, under all that brain and bluster, Cisco was beginning to see his heart.
The best restart would be to address the root of the problem. Then they could clear the air. He licked his lips nervously. He locked his fingers in his lap and leaned forward. Harry folded his arms on the table, chin lifting in preparation.
Cisco kept his voice soft and not accusing. “Why did you single me out the first day of class?”
“Are you kidding? I heard you were practically wunderkind,” Harry answered in an incredulous tone. “I was very impressed with your records.”
“Seriously? I grew up in the most obscure town.”
“I’m in the habit of keeping an eye on talent. Finding out you were in my class made my entire week, which isn’t saying much, but still. You are the most brilliant and creative person I’ve met, aside from my daughter.”
Cisco internally preened, a flush of pleasure coming over him. He had a weakness for direct compliments of his talents. He realized that also meant Harry had believed in exactly none of his bullshit. Harry pointed at his own face and raised his eyebrows. Cisco squinted at him. Harry spread his hand and made circles. Cisco scrambled in embarrassment to wipe his face off. He found it wasn’t as bad as Harry indicated. He scowled.
“You say such sweet things. But you’re still a dick.”
“Did you really expect anything else?”
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