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mikanotes · 3 months

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(no need for) liquid courage

arisu x gn!reader — 2.3k words

genre: fluff

warnings: alcohol usage, swearing, arisu and the never ending struggles of social interactions, love at first sight (not really but what the hell!) honestly badly written, barely proofread

synopsis: Arisu will never, ever like parties. He knows that. He has known that since forever. But then he sees you, and he has to consider changing his entire view on that.

author’s note: welcome back arisu i missed writing for u… also everyone thank my best friend for telling me not to write the ending i originally planned or i’m being very serious when i say the tags would’ve included major character death LMFAO

It only takes a total of thirty seconds at a party hosted by friends of Karube’s for Arisu to decide: this is definitely not his thing. Not at all. The colored, flashing lights. The uncomfortably loud music blasting through speakers and hitting each wall of the place until it reaches Arisu’s ears with the promise of an impending headache. The deadly amount of people— There’s just no way I could stay here and hope to actually survive the night, he thinks.

Someone jogs up to him and slaps him on the back and Arisu sighs. “No.” he says, before Karube can get a single word out. The latter groans and shakes the glass of alcohol in his hand. Alcohol. For a moment, that seems like a good idea. Karube chugs it down before shaking his head.

“Yes.” he counters, and shushes Arisu’s complaints immediately, holding up a finger, “Only time I’m acting like an asshole friend, alright? Only time. And even then, I’m trying to help you out.”

Arisu furrows his eyebrows and looks at him weirdly. Karube is not wrong, because he never pushes him out of his comfort zone much and Arisu appreciates it. However, he really can’t see this whole thing as an act of help in any way.

“Help?” he repeats, almost sounding baffled, “How? By just fucking, s-suffocating me in a crowd? What?”

“You know what? Yes.”

“Karube!”

Karube shrugs and lets go of him to gesture towards the ever-so-threatening crowd of drunken, dancing college students. “Arisu!” he mimics his tone lightheartedly, before walking away from him and disappearing between all the people.

Great. He thinks then that he’s glad he isn’t in college because he could not live a life surrounded by people who enjoy partying so damn much— And clearly, college students do.

He won’t try. He’s not gonna leave, not immediately, because he feels like he’s getting judged enough as is by the few people glancing his way, and he doesn’t want to worsen it by leaving a minute after walking in. Not that he cares, because he doesn’t know a single person here besides Karube, (and Chota, except he has no idea where he even went) so he doesn’t have to worry about seeing any of them ever again.

But he does care enough to lean against a wall and grab his phone from his pocket instead of leaving, because that’s just Arisu Ryohei. Besides, the prospect of hearing anything irritating come out of the mouths of either his father or brother if he was to come back home right now was much too unpleasant, and he couldn’t just hang outside without his two friends (who are here, in this stupid party.) So playing on a game until the two idiots decide they’ve gotten drunk enough to leave, it is.

Except his phone is knocked out of his hand not even a few seconds after he opens a game.

Fuck.

“Fuck.” an unfamiliar voice sighs, the sound of footsteps moving to a stop syncing with the one of his phone clattering against the floor. “Sorry.”

He glances up at the cause of his deepening despair and back down to grab his phone, only to find the one who knocked it out of his hand reaching for the fallen device as well.

It ends up with quiet apologies on both ends and awkward fumbling with the phone before everyone is back up straight and Arisu can check if his screen isn’t shattered enough to make him consider jumping out the nearest window.

Except the flashing party lights brighten your face before they do his phone, and he forgets how to function for a good three seconds.

So it takes one minute and thirty-three seconds into a party for Arisu to feel like he might be experiencing love at first sight. “Oh.” he says, stupidly, then clears his throat. Thinks about what to say. Cannot think of what to say.

Your face doesn’t let any emotions pass through, which is a bit comforting in a way because if he’s embarrassing himself, which he knows he is, you’re not looking at him like it’s the case.

Then you laugh a little. “I’m sorry. Can’t see shit in here.” you say lightly, glancing around for a bit, then back at him, “Are you okay, though?”

“I’m okay.” he says, pressing on a tight smile. Then he takes a deep breath and looks down out of habit, only to be met with a crack on his screen. “Nevermind that, actually.”

You lean a bit closer and sigh again. “Shit. I’m so sorry.” you say, leaning away. You cross your arms and Arisu looks up at your face. You look annoyed for a bit, but it seems like you’re thinking. “I’ll pay…” you trail off. You stay silent for a beat more before suddenly listing things off with your fingers, muttering about things Arisu cannot catch at all with the sound of the music. Curse the music. He wants to listen to you.

Snap out of it, idiot.

You clap your hands together lightly and nod to yourself before looking up at him with a small smile, “I’ll pay for the repairs. My fault.” you say, before laughing sheepishly. You clear your throat and nod your chin towards his phone, “It’s like, uh, working, right? Only the screen’s broken?”

Arisu blinks and shakes his head to focus and presses the button at the side of his phone. It lights up, and he checks the touchscreen before nodding. “Yeah, barely broken.” he says, looking back up at you. The light of his phone before it dims makes your features clearer for a moment again and Arisu swears something is wrong with him. Why is his heart beating so fast? Anxiety?

Anxiety. That has to be it.

“But you really don’t have to—”

“Please,” you shake your head, “I’d feel like I owe you, otherwise. Let me.”

An idea pops into his mind. “Uh, alright.” he says, then prepares himself mentally so the words come out right, “Then can I get your number? In case you, like, run away before paying and I need to find you.”

You chuckle and he breathes out in relief.

“Yeah. I’ll give you my number.” you say, “But you might want to type it in yourself. Clearly it won’t end up any better in my hands.” you gesture towards the phone. Arisu laughs at that and shakes his head, but goes to his contacts app himself nevertheless.

So he gets your phone number, and you’re getting whisked away by two of your friends before he can ask for your name. Part of him feels disappointed you’re gone but he’s also relieved he gets time to breathe and process the whole interaction.

So he… Stays. He tells himself it’s for the same reasons as earlier, but the way his gaze moves towards your direction every other minute tells a different story. Suddenly, a party seems great. He wants to get to that bar and order a good drink that’s definitely alcoholic so he gets enough courage to go back up to you. Anything. Any-fucking-thing.

“Hey, Karube!” he hears someone exclaim, though it’s muffled by just about every other sound at the party. He sees Karube turn towards someone and follows his gaze to you, who’s hand is gesturing for him to come over. You know Karube?! That could be good. Or the absolute opposite. Karube has had ‘flings’ with a few people. The sudden image of his best friend with his apparent new crush makes him uneasy enough to genuinely consider trying to brainwash himself into thinking he never met you.

Either you’re acquaintances, either you two had something at some point. Arisu doesn’t even pretend his game is of any interest to him anymore, focusing only on what you could be saying once his friend walks up to you. You’re gesturing towards the two friends you’d been hanging out with and saying a few words, before Karube takes out a pack of cigarettes and hands you two. His mannerisms seem to be saying ‘that’s all they get’ and you laugh as you hand the two cigarettes to your friends. Karube walks away, seemingly towards Arisu’s direction. Yes! Arisu thinks, perfect.

“Man.” Karube seemingly deflates the instant he walks in his vicinity, a disappointed look that seems to be much more exaggerated than it should be due to the alcohol, “You’re still here?”

“Would I be anywhere else?” Arisu scoffs.

The other man waves his hand back dismissively and sighs, “Alright. Get off your phone for a second.”

“I’m literally not on my phone.”

Karube ignores that and pulls him to his side by his sleeve, “So now, look around. Is there anyone that catches your eye?” he asks, slurring his words just a bit. “There has to be. I know the type of people you’re into. And, well, I’m saying this as your friend so don’t take it badly, but I know you have the typical shut-in look. But trust me, lots of people are into that! Surprisingly enough. Anyways, so don’t…”

Arisu would be lying if he said he was listening to his friend at all. The only thing he can focus on is you, talking and laughing with your friends near the dancefloor. The flashing colored lights only seem to compliment you. Long gone is the idea of them being the worst thing ever and a direct attack to his eyes. No, now everything feels pretty. Everything feels slow, perfectly-paced. The music is background noise and the partygoers are all in the shadows.

Fuck, what the hell?

“— So that’s why I’m trying to help you out.” Karube seems to finish what was a very-long monologue, then pauses for a beat. He shoves Arisu’s shoulder and the latter looks at him with wide eyes. “You weren’t listening at all.”

“No.” Arisu says blankly, only to break out into a laugh and back away when his friend pretends to try and strangle him. His eyes turn back towards your direction without even noticing.

“Huh. Oh! That’s why.” Karube barks out a laugh, grinning, “You got a crush on them?”

Arisu’s gaze moves wildly between the dancefloor and his friend as his lips part and open to speak, only to stretch into a nervous smile when he tries to laugh. “No? What? Who?” he nearly stammers.

Karube turns and yells a name which Arisu figures is yours and he fears he might hear it at least a thousand more times in his thoughts alone. Then he notes that the honorifics he used when calling you felt much too formal, so maybe you’re not as close as Arisu’s nightmarish thoughts imagined. You seemingly notice him and he beckons you over with his hand. He loses sight of you for half a second when you disappear into the crowd, and the rest of the time because he turns his gaze literally anywhere else.

“Yeah?” you ask, a bit breathless, “Oh, phone guy!”

Karube elbows Arisu (less than discreetly) and nods with a tight smile. “Meet Arisu Ryohei.”

“Oh, that’s Arisu?” you say, and the latter looks at you, chuckling nervously. He bites his tongue out of habit and decides he doesn’t need to participate in this conversation yet (Bless the heavens.) “Damn, I just saw Chota earlier, too. Who would’ve thought I’d meet all your friends tonight?”

“It’s more surprising you never ran into each other before. All of you seem to think the bar’s your free lounging space.” Karube scoffs, crossing his arms. “Anyways, you two met?” he looks at Arisu, who forces himself not to gulp.

“Yeah. Briefly.” he says, running a hand up and down the back of his neck, “My phone dropped ‘cuz of them.”

“Sorry.”

Arisu chuckles and shakes his head lightly. “It’s fine.”

“It’s fine, huh?” Karube echoes, squinting at him. He looks at him and tilts his head, prompting the other to laugh and look away, “I see how it is. Anyways, you said you saw Chota, right? I’ll look for him before he drinks too much.” he turns to you again.

“Sure. He’s talking with that girl from my history class. You know the one?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He slaps Arisu on the shoulder before he leaves.

And then there were two, huh? Arisu sighs and looks around the same way you do. He really wants to curse out Karube for fucking him over for the second time tonight (bringing him to the party, then leaving him alone with you) but he’ll save that for later. For now, his mind is too busy trying to find a way to make sure this silence doesn’t last long enough to become awkward, so it’s really difficult to think about anything else. You beat him to it.

“Didn’t— Huh. Wasn’t Karube calling me over to ask me something? Or was he just looking for Chota?” you ask, brows knitted in confusion. Arisu hums for a while.

“Uh… Honestly?” he laughs lightly, “No idea.”

You scoff and look at him. Properly. “Arisu Ryohei, huh?”

He finds himself biting back a smile, finally properly hearing you say his name. He nods slowly, then says your name for the first time, tasting the sound of it on his tongue. It’s nice. It’s better than the discomfort he would’ve faced had he decided to actually drink alcohol. Your name would’ve felt uncertain, mixed with the taste of beer. Slurred. And he might not have remembered it as well. Now it just feels… Clear.

“Well, nice to properly meet you.”

“Tell me that when we’re out of this club and the sun is up.” you say, “I mean let’s go out on… Like, let’s, I don’t know, hang out. Karube’s bar. If you're fine with it. When we’re all recovered from the party and stuff. Yeah?”

Something in the way your words come out sounds much more nervous than all the times he heard you talk before, and part of him feels relieved he wasn’t alone in this. Then he actually processes what you said and it’s his turn to struggle to get a coherent response out. Sound cool. Sound cool.

“Yeah!” What the hell, Ryohei?

You laugh, head tilting down for a bit. When you look back up at him, you’re smiling. “It’s a date.”

#arisu ryohei x reader #arisu x reader #ryohei arisu x reader #alice in borderland x reader #aib x reader #x reader

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kararisa · 1 year

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marigold promises

— 30. ice cream for three [☕︎ = 0.7k words]

notes: i'm back~ this also takes place a month after the start of second sem

Your concentration is broken by a sharp ring, and you glance up to see Albedo reaching for his phone.

"Sorry," he mouths, before answering the call. "Mom? Let me guess, you need me to pick her up?"

You watch as a small smile spreads across Albedo's face, and you realize this must be something he does for his Auntie Rhine on a regular basis; you’ve gathered that much from the handful of times he didn’t attend class to assist her with something, not to mention the one time he missed out a couple hours of training to help her out. But you never expected that he would have to pick up his sister. How often does he do this, you wonder.

“Alright, I’ll see you,” he hangs up and starts packing his things. "Sorry to cut this short, Cupcake."

You seize the opportunity before you. This could finally be your chance to get answers. “It’s cool. Say... is it alright if I join you?”

He raises an eyebrow at your request, “I’m sure you have better things to do than accompany me in picking up my sister from school.”

You lean forward, resting your elbows on the table. “Well, let’s just say I’m curious. I’d like to meet her if it’s alright with you.”

After a moment's hesitation, Albedo nods. “Alright. Hurry up and pack your things, I don’t want us to miss the next bus.”

Being a bus stop away from campus, Windrise Park quickly became a hotspot for any college students looking for a change of scenery while skipping class or anyone looking to relax.

The breeze picks up and rustles the nearby trees and flora, filling the air with a sweet, earthy scent. Further into the park lies a playground where you spot some children running as their laughter fills the air, most of them wearing the uniform of the nearby Favonius Academy. You see a child run up to her father on some nearby benches. He ruffles the child’s hair as a bright smile appears on her face.

Your chest tightens with longing as you watch the children be showered with a father's love, a mother's pride. You yearn for the warmth of a parent's love, but know that it will forever elude you.

Albedo walks beside you at a comfortable pace, his gait easygoing while he adjusts the strap of his bag. What is he like as a brother, you wonder. Does he tease her relentlessly? Does he laugh with her, does he comfort her when she cries? Has he shared in her joy, has he shared pride in her achievements?

The dodoco keychain on his belt loop answers your questions.

You and Albedo finally make it to the gates of the Favonius Academy when a young girl with pale blonde hair runs up and hugs Albedo.

“There you are.” Albedo’s eyes soften, his hand moving to ruffle his sister’s hair. She pushes his hand away, laughing as she does so. The girl’s light red eyes look into yours, and you immediately feel as if you are intruding on a private moment. She pulls on Albedo's sleeve while tilting her head at you.

“Klee, this is [name],” You respond to Albedo's gesture with a brief wave. “[name], this is my sister Klee.”

Klee's eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh, so they're the one you keep talking about!" she beamed. "It's nice to meet you."

Albedo's composure slipped for a moment as he struggled to find the right words. "I'm sorry," he stammered. "She can be quite... enthusiastic."

You laugh at the absurdity; it’s hard not to be endeared by Klee’s contagious enthusiasm. In some ways, she reminds you of your younger cousins – the ones you only get to see during the holidays.

The mere thought of spending the holidays with your immediate and extended family sends a shiver down your spine. This year, as well as the last, you had chosen to stay with Ganyu and Yanfei, but you can't help but worry about your cousins' well-being. You love your family, sure, but the prospect of facing the same old arguments, criticisms, and uncomfortable conversations makes you want to run for the hills.

You elbow Albedo gently and nod toward a nearby ice cream shop. If Klee is anything like Albedo, you know that treating her to a sweet treat will be a surefire way to win her over.

“Are you actually trying to buy her off with sweets?” he sees right through your attempt at bribery.

“Why? Is it gonna work?”

Albedo groans, “Unfortunately.”

— previous || masterlist || next

summary: you and albedo have finally reached a mutual understanding as your first year of college comes to a close. with a new school year comes a new beginning, and you start off strong with albedo asking you the oddest of arrangements: "would you like to be lab partners?"

author's notes:

klee my favorite menace 🫶

sorry for being gone for so long. life has been getting pretty busy, but it's gonna take a lot more than that to keep me from writing 💪

oh and just to clarify, windrise park is across the street from the mondmart

featured song: Bambi by Clairo

taglist (i):

@fvkkyu @mintreen @edreee @khyllynnn @xxmirrorballxx @aiikalvr @yaefics @unsterblich-prinz @aequha @alch3myy @lovely-althxa @nei-rinn @cridtiins @zestrya @skylions-den @moriiartt @theother-victoria @sunsethw4 @dazaisfavgf @serossidechick @koiir @lazy-sanns @sweetbunnybunbun @dee-zbignuts @redactedhimbo @yurstepm0m @fanfictwarrior @fuyaa @saoiirsee @ireallylikehamsters @kissingkzuha @whosxangel @kitsuvil @orionicchaos @blurr3db3rry @semi-orangeapple @kunikuzushiit @atlatcaheart @wrrapedroundmyfingerlikearing @scarafrisbee @lost-wicked-artist @kairxse @elysiasbae @eurekatanya @empathum @tatiratty @zannivrs @mikismusings @sunoo-bby @astolary

— the taglist is currently CLOSED! shoot me an ask or a reply if you've changed your url or you'd like to be removed.

#genshin smau #genshin impact smau #albedo x reader #albedo x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #albedo fluff #genshin imagines #genshin modern au #genshin college au #albedo smau #marigold promises smau

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jungk0oksthighs · 2 years

Text

Stay With Me | Forgotten Memories

exhusband!jungkook, singledad!jungkook, E2L, angst, smut, fluff

Word count: 3.2k

Two years after your divorce you still struggle with the realities of co-parenting. Warnings: Swearing, angst, mentions of divorce & relationship breakdown

MINIERIES COLLECTION

The drive to your ex-husband’s new apartment is always something you dread. Jungkook lives almost forty minutes away by car, you’re a little over halfway now and thankfully your son Seol is far too invested in something on his phone to notice your distain.

Jeon Jungkook, where do you even begin?

It was a classic tale of love at first sight, except the two of you were actually dating other people when you met. Jungkook had been with his girlfriend Pearl for almost three years at that point, they were high school sweethearts who moved in together for college. But it wasn’t all sunshine and romance, in fact, Pearl had been cheating on him throughout the course of their relationship with almost all of his ‘friends’ he played football with. He didn’t know that the night you met though, nor did you.

As for you, that fateful night you were in your first year of college – two years younger than Jungkook. You were shy and quiet, still adjusting to the lifestyle being a student had to offer. It didn’t help that your boyfriend Yoongi went to a different college, more than six thousand miles away from your new life. In a dark yet comedic twist of fate it turned out that Yoongi had also been unfaithful, but again, you weren’t aware of that when you initially met Kook, nor was he.

The memory of your first encounter with Jungkook still plays clearly in your head, even after all these years. You were in the library one Wednesday night trying to find a book from your reading list, you can’t even remember which class it was for now. There you were, skimming the shelves with brows pinched together in concentration until you found it, the large leather bound book dusty beneath your fingertips when you gripped it. Except you weren’t the only one hoping to check out that book.

From the other side of the shelf Jungkook looked for the biggest, heaviest looking book he could find, one that looked old and dusty so he could be certain nobody would want to check it out any time soon. He needed a new spider killer, giving that he’d lost the previous book he used. It’s funny really, how a man so muscular and fierce looking could be absolutely terrified of spiders. But he was, he still is. His method of getting rid of them is a little unorthodox, throwing the heaviest, biggest non-breakable object he can at them and praying it crushes them so he doesn’t have to deal with it at a close range. Hence the desire to take the enormous, heavy duty looking book you already had your hands on.

“Oh-,” You remember his surprise to find someone wanting the same reading material as him, “I’m sorry this ones taken...” He’d said with the faintest smirk, you could barely see him through the row of books but you sure do recall those big, chocolate doe-eyes trying to catch a glimpse of the person he’d labelled as the book thief. A nick name that stuck throughout your fifteen year relationship, twelve of which being married.

“I’m sorry… I need this for my assignment. It’s due next Friday, can I have it until then?” You were so painfully shy back then, hands growing clammy at the prospect of being a burden to someone, “I can give you it when I’ve finished my paper… I won’t need it for long. Just a couple days.”

It was like time itself stopped, the world stood still and the faint voices of other students became nothing more than white noise. Your heart hammered inside your chest, breath hitching in your throat when the owner of the voice made his way round the shelf with big, tattooed arms folded over his chest.

“You promise? Just a couple of days?” His voice was honeyed, there was something about his demeanour that softened as soon as he looked at you. He was stunning. At the time you felt guilty for finding another man attractive, giving you had a boyfriend, but Jungkook was… Something else. His hair was long enough to tickle his hooded eyelids, his big body towered over yours but in a non-threatening way, and his face and muscles looked as though they were carved by horny angels.

“Promise.” You nodded with a coy smile that made the man weak at the knees.

He smiled, a breath taking, panty-dropping gorgeous smile, “What’s your name? I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.”

“Y/N… I’m a first year so I haven’t been here long…” A bashful chuckle escaped your lips, “What’s your name?”

“Jungkook. I’m a third year... So what’s your major?”

The day before your wedding Jungkook had sent you a video of himself, kind of like a vlog but not in an obnoxious ‘hi guys welcome back to my channel’ way. He was sitting in his college apartment, one you recognised straight away. It was recorded barely an hour after your first interaction with him. The final year student was tipsy, flashing his signature bunny-like grin to the camera wearing khaki pyjamas that were almost sheer.

“Hi Jungkook,” He nodded with confidence toward the camera, proceeding to tell the time and date, “I know this is crazy, but I just bumped into this girl… She was…” He sighed with an open smile, shaking his head in disbelief, “She was amazing. A little shy but I’m sure her and I are going to become good friends one day… I can’t explain it, ahh. She was like… I don’t know. All I do know is that I feel drawn to her, yknow? Not like that I would never cheat on Pearl… Well, maybe like that? She was beautiful. I mean she is beautiful, unless she died in the last hour… I don’t know why I said was. Y/N is beautiful. Y/N... Maybe I’m just lonely and overthinking things since Pearl and I aren’t in a good place right now. I’m drunk, I’m not sure why I’m even filming this… I just know that I wanted to,... But Jungkook listen to me, this is serious. That girl is going to be special to you one day, I just know it.”

And special you were, because the day after you watched that very video you officially became Mrs Jeon.

And now, after the hardest heartbreak you’ve ever faced – Mrs Jeon is no longer who you are.

“Are you coming inside?” Seol asks innocently when you pull up to Jungkook’s apartment complex, dragging you back to the present, “My bag is kinda heavy since I brought my Playstation.”

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes with a small smile, Seol is always trying to get you and his father in the same room together one way or another, “Okay I’ll carry your bag up for you.”

“Yesss!” He grinned, clambering outside the car with a little too much enthusiasm.

Every other week you and Jungkook swap parental responsibility. Even after two years of co-parenting, it’s still painful. You hate being away from Seol, and Jungkook presumably feels the same way when Seol is with you… But this is the new normal, whether you want it to be or not. Two years since the divorce and yet when he swings his front door open wearing a plain black t shirt and jeans of the same colour, everything comes rushing back. The laughs, the cries, the love, the hurt. Everything.

“Y/N…?” Jungkook grins, quickly clearing his throat in an attempt to hide the pleasant surprise washing his features, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You inhale, lifting the large bag Seol has packed for the week, “Playstation’s heavy.”

“Oh here I’ll take that.” Your ex-husband pries the weekend case from your grip, “You want a coffee? Or a green tea? …Or any drink?” He’s frowning, awkwardly biting down on his lip, clearly embarrassed of his attempt to lure you inside.

“Please mom?” Seol slips past you, the pair of them grinning widely at you with identical expressions – like they’ve been copied and pasted.

“I should really be heading back… I’ve got—” You cut your sentence short with an apologetic smile, truth is you have a date this evening and need to start getting ready as soon as you can. But you don’t have the heart to mention that in front of your son, or your ex-husband. “You know what, sure, I’ll have a quick drink.”

“Okay!” Kook ushers you quickly into his home, and you’re sure it’s so you can’t change your mind.

You’ve only been inside his apartment a handful of times, usually during the pick-up/drop-off hand over of your son. The last time you were here was Seol’s birthday. Every year since he was a little boy you and Kook made him funfetti pancakes for breakfast on his birthday, and despite the divorce that’s one tradition you’ve at least manage to keep. The apartment it small, two bedrooms – his and Seol’s. It’s mostly open planned but compared to your big beautiful home it feels… lonely.

“So do you have plans for this weekend?” Jungkook asks when you perch yourself on a stool in front of the breakfast bar. Seol has already ran off to his bedroom, presumably to unpack for the week.

Nodding slowly you meet Kook’s gaze, he’s looking at you intently as though there’s a million things on his mind, “Same old really…” You lie, twiddling your thumbs. It’s not that you feel guilty for dating, you’ve been divorced for two years now – but he doesn’t need to know. If he were to openly discuss his personal and sex life with you it would make you feel awkward, and so you treat him how you expect to be treated and keep him in the dark, “Nothing much, how about you guys?”

“One of those Tiktoker’s he watches is doing a meet and greet tomorrow, I’m being forced to take him.” He chuckles, folding strong, heavily tattooed arms over his chest.

“Rather you than me.” You laugh, thinking fuck that.

“So I’ve got coffee, green tea or coke.”

“Any diet coke?”

“Why would I buy diet? Tastes like shit. Still don’t understand how you can drink it.”

You roll your eyes jokingly, “Green tea it is then.”

Once you have the steaming mug of tea in hand Jungkook sits next to you, nursing a coffee. Black of course, you’re smiling – some things never change, even down to the way he likes his drinks.

“So—”

“How have—”

You both apologise for speaking over the other with a breathy laugh, and he insists that you go first, his chocolate doe-eyes trained to your face.

“How have you been? How’s work?”

At this your ex-husband nods, taking a sip of his coffee, “Good yeah, everything’s good… You know me, always plodding along. How’re things with you?”

“Good thanks… Things are good.” You mirror his movements, the herbal tea is warm and you realise he’s used the fancy teabags you like.

“Have you met someone?” His question catches you off-guard, especially since he asks it so casually as though he’s speaking about the weather.

There’s a lump in your throat all of a sudden, perhaps it’s guilt, maybe even a little sadness. Truthfully tonight is only the third date you’ve been on since the divorce. But you’re finally in a place where you feel ready enough to move on with your life and meet someone new to share it with.

It’s not that you divorced Jungkook because you fell out of love with him, hell when you admire the features on his chiselled face there’s a part of you that still loves him even now. But marriages need more than just love to work; they need support, mutual understanding and even compromises. All the things your marriage lacked, and ultimately the reason you filed for divorce.

You swallow, choosing your next words oh so very carefully, “Not quite… I am going on a date with someone from work though so, yknow maybe.”

“I see…” You don’t miss the flash of disappointment in his eyes, the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, or the way his jaw tenses in discomfort.

“How about you—”

“Nah,” He sighs, almost sounding in pain, “Still gotta work on myself before I even consider getting back out there.”

You tense, knowing exactly what he’s referring to, “I see…”

Jungkook is many things but he’s not the ideal husband or father. He can be selfish, very much so. He’s spoiled and argumentative when he doesn’t get his way. And you disagree on the way you think your son should be raised, that being the biggest contributor to the end of your marriage. Sure he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever known. He can be romantic, he’s sexy, sophisticated and funny… Any woman would be lucky to have him, as soon as he’s finished ironing out his flaws.

“Mom!” Seol unintentionally breaks the tension by jogging into the kitchen somewhat out of breath, much to your relief.

“What’s up?” You turn to him with loving eyes, admiring his cute little face which is only growing more and more handsome by the day. He looks so much like Jungkook sometimes it catches you off guard, especially when his round eyes crinkle from his bright smile. He’s his father’s double.

“Okay, so my friends are all going to the beach and hopefully staying there overnight next weekend for the carnival and I want to go with—”

“Oh do you now? Whose parents are taking you?” You don’t mean to sound blunt, it’s just that there’s only a handful of his friends’ parents that you trust. And something tells you he’s not going to be chaperoned by them, rather the ones you don’t trust.

“Well…”

“Seol?” Jungkook tongues his cheek, clearly sharing your same fear.

“…Actually I was going to ask if you could take us all.” Seol looks between you and his father with eyes swimming in hope, shifting his weight between his feet while waiting for an response.

“Mmm…” Your lips purse, “How many of your friends are planning to go on this mini vacation you’ve planned?”

“Well there’s me plus five of my friends…”

“I can’t possibly keep an eye on six of you Seol… It’s a bit much.” You hate disappointing him, and you despise the disheartened huff that draws from his chest, but there’s no way you can chaperone six children at a carnival. For starters you won’t fit them all in the car, “If you can make it you and three friends I’ll take you and we’ll get a hotel. Is that fair?”

Compromise. Parenting is all about compromise and respect.

“But mooooom!” Another dramatic sigh comes from your son, “We all want to go, please please please?”

You shake your head gently, finishing your green tea, “I can only fit four of you in the car, I’m really sorry… Maybe one of your friend’s moms can take the other two? Actually it would be nice to have some adult company if I’m taking you guys to—”

“I can come with you.” Jungkook interjects, surprising both you and Seol who wear the same dumbfounded expression, “We can pack up the Mercedes, it’s big enough for the six of them in the back and you can ride up front with me.”

“Oh my god! Oh my god!” Seol’s jumping up and down on the spot, his Iron Man socks nearly causing him the slip on the floor tiles, “Mom please can dad take us?!”

“Only if your mom comes with us,” Kook reiterates with a chuckle, rubbing his big bicep with inked fingers, “I can’t possibly watch six of them, like you said… It’s a bit much.”

“Mom! Pleeeaaaase?!”

“Or I can ask my brother to come with me if you’d feel uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I’d want to make you feel.” Jungkook notices your internal struggle before it happens, but you find yourself speaking before you really have time to process what you’re agreeing to.

“No it’s okay I’ll come with you,” You offer your ex a warm smile, a smile he reciprocates and if you didn’t know any better you’d say he looks almost excited by your words, “But I’ll need to speak with everyone’s parents first. Deal?”

“Deal!!!!” Seol dashes off into the corridor, so fast that he almost slips on the floor again.

Kook notices this too, adding “Go careful! Watch where you’re going!” As your son disappears into his bedroom.

“...I should really get going now, thanks for the tea.”

“Right… Big date and all that.” He’s tonguing his cheek again, gazing in a different direction.

You frown, “I never said it was tonight…” It is, but you know that you didn’t tell him that.

“Sorry I just assumed,” He gestures to your body with his fingers, eyes lingering on the bend of your waist in your shirt dress before they finally settle on your face, “You look…”

Standing, you clear your throat before an awkward snigger bubbles your chest, “Well I hope the end of that sentence is good at least.”

Jungkook’s smile reaches his eyes before it tugs his lips, and for a split second you forget how to breathe. After saying goodbye to Seol Kook walks you to the door, opening it for you but you can see there’s a part of him that doesn’t want you to leave. It’s always like this. Tense, a little awkward, so many unspoken truths clouding the air between you. The memories of his lips on yours always fight their way to the front of your mind, especially when his tongue darts out to wet them when he says goodbye.

“I’ll see you next weekend then?” You reach for your car keys, giving him a small wave.

“Beautiful.” Jungkook leans against the doorframe, looking obscenely large against the entrance to his home.

You can’t hide your surprise, brows raised with a cocktail of equal parts confusion and shock when you fiddle with your keys. His eyes bore into your soul, reaching depths inside you that are long forgotten about. Parts of you that ignite for him, and only him.

“You look beautiful.”

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humanitys-strongest-bamf · 11 months

Text

"get me a damned matcha" | Chapter 1: June I

{{ Chapter 2: July I }} Chapter Directory

I'm so excited to finally publish this jdkflsjd. I'll get this chapter up on AO3 later this weekend or on Monday since my parents are in town, so I'm not sure how much I'll be able to be on! If you're interested in getting tagged for updates, fill out this new form here: x :3

EDIT: this is now up on AO3 as well!

✧ pairing ➼ levi ackermann x fem!reader, college x coffee shop x roommates!au ✧ summary ➼ After you find yourself plagued with misfortune due to struggles in your personal and family life, you find yourself needing to move last minute. As a junior in undergrad with little money and little social support, you considered yourself lucky when you found a sublease that was close to campus and was relatively cheap. Unfortunately, it seemed that your roommate did not seem to be so excited regarding your presence. ✧ content/warnings ➼ fluff, slowburn, enemies to lovers (sorta), strangers to lovers, fem!reader, eventual smut, ex was originally porco but i accidentally made him too much of a dick so i replaced his name with zack, no it is not a reference to zeke i'd rather puke, only adding tags/content warnings that are applicable to each chapter so people can skip around if need be!, will continue to add as more stuff comes up ✧ word count ➼ ~3.9k

College was difficult enough without having to worry about money, housing, and relationship issues. Unfortunately, you were not one of the few lucky students that could just get through those four years in isolation. In addition to worrying about school, you also had to deal with a last minute housing change after some recent bullshit regarding your now ex-boyfriend. Your dynamic had gotten to the point that you couldn’t afford to wait for another two months as leases began expiring and apartments would open up for prospective renters again. You’d rather live on the streets when compared to having to live with him for another day.

Given the fact that it was June and your only remaining family was out of the country, you were left with no choice but to desperately try to find a sublease that wasn’t ridiculously expensive. That, plus the fact that you didn’t have a car and would be forced to live near campus, meant that you were ready to rip your hair out by the time that you finally found a sublease.

You knew it was due to nothing other than pure luck when you found an apartment complex that was a ten-minute walk to campus, close to a bus stop, relatively cheap, and had a tenant that moved out the week prior.

Unfortunately, your luck ran out when you found that you'd have to take a 2-hour bus ride from your ex-boyfriend's house to your new apartment. It wasn't that far from the two destinations, but the bus routes looped around the town multiple times, making your commute much longer than if you had gone by car.

As a result, you found yourself leaning your head back against the glass window at the rear end of the bus.

This really is Zack's last "fuck you" to me, isn't it?

You anxiously tapped your foot against the floor as you pulled out your phone for the millionth time. The previous tenant that set up the sublease had given you the contact information for your new roommate to set up the exchange of keys along with getting everything set up regarding who's paying for what utilities and how rent would be split. You already knew this was going to be a pain in the ass to handle. What you weren't prepared for was the lack of a hasty response when you sent a text to the number that Miche had given you.

> [you (12:35pm)]: hey, miche said you'd be free this afternoon so i can get your keys? does 3:00 work

You had sent that text message to your mysterious roommate roughly an hour ago when you had boarded your first bus back towards campus. You were now about half-way through your trip and had boarded your third bus, which was finally your last one before getting dropped off roughly a block away from your new apartment.

You shot a frown towards your phone. Your roommate had still not answered. Frustrated, you began typing again, in case the urgency in your first text was missed.

> [you (1:45pm)]: im on the bus ride over. i don't have a car, so would we be able to handle this so i'm not stranded outside?

By the time you arrived, your roommate had still not answered. You had spent the entire two-hour ride anxiously bouncing your leg up and down, checking your phone every 5-10 minutes to see if you would ever get an answer.

You didn't.

When the bus driver finally announced your stop, you found yourself more anxious than you were relieved at finishing your annoyingly long bus ride. You stepped off the bus in a dejected manner, with your right hand holding onto your phone and your left hand holding onto your backpack strap that was a bit too tight on your shoulders. Your back ached from lugging it around all day. It was packed with the basic necessities that you would need to survive the week, with your ex-boyfriend, Zack, promising to drop off the rest of your stuff next week—although you knew that translated to "shit he didn't want". That's just how your dynamic was.

You unlocked your phone and typed in the address for your new apartment complex again, navigating your way through the fairly empty streets. It was a residential area and given the fact that it was near a college campus—and therefore primarily made up of university students—and it was in the middle of June, most of the tenants had gone home for the summer.

The new apartment complex wasn't bad. It certainly couldn't compare to a house, but it had an indoor lobby with mailboxes on one side and a recreation room on the other with some vending machines, and even a small kitchenette.

No wonder the rent was so expensive.

You stepped inside, a relieved exhale escaping your lips as you felt the cool air from the air conditioning unit wash over you. Although you were definitely still irritated, seeing the lobby and escaping the heat brought up your mood slightly.

Your resolve renewed, you began to climb up the stairs, trying to figure out the best way to greet your new roommate without being overly frustrated.

Maybe their phone was off. Maybe they took a nap and couldn't see the texts. Maybe you got the wrong number from Miche.

You thought of all the reasons as to why they wouldn't respond. You shook your head, knowing that you should just brush it under the rug. As long as your roommate was home to let you in and give you your keys, there shouldn't be any more issues—for now.

"Unit 217," you mumbled to yourself as you walked down the hallway, looking up at the door numbers.

Once you appeared in front of Unit 217, you frowned, noticing that the lights inside were off. That wasn't good news.

Maybe there's enough lighting from the windows that they don't need lights.

You gently knocked on the door.

There wasn't a sound—no movement, no noise, no talking, nothing.

You knocked again a bit harder.

Nothing.

You knocked again.

They're not home. Of course they're not home. What a wonderful start to this already shitty situation.

You rested your forehead against the door, tempted to smash your head against it out of frustration. Your eyes finally shot open when you heard a door open. You glanced over to the side and saw a tall blonde man with a beard and glasses walk out.

"Locked out?" he asked as you made eye contact.

"You could say that," you mumbled with a frown. "You wouldn't happen to know of anywhere within walking distance that has wi-fi?"

If you couldn't get ahold of your roommate, you might as well get some writing done until you can return later in the evening when your roommate has to be home.

"There's a café roughly a block down, if you were wanting to hang out there, although I'm not sure when Ackermann will be home. His schedule's been all over the place recently."

"Hmm," you muttered, indicating the lack of interest in learning about your roommate's backstory, although you now at least had a name.

Ackermann, huh? What a pretentious sounding last name.

~~~~~

These damn undergrads...

Levi Ackermann currently stood behind the doorway that led from the breakroom and into the main seating area of the small, local café that he currently held a part-time position as a barista at.

He wasn't supposed to be here. He had purposefully given himself the week off so he could catch up on some lab work, yet he still found himself here. One of the new hires—a sophomore named Marlo—called out roughly 20 minutes ago when Levi was headed home from his immunology lab after spending the entire morning chatting with his mentor about whether he'd be able to graduate with his PhD on time.

To make things worse, since he was new, Marlo's shift meant that Levi was stuck working at the registers to take orders, which he easily considered the worst part of the job. If his shift just consisted of making the specialty brews that came his way, he'd be significantly less grumpy. That way, he could just tuck away in his corner and do the one aspect of the job that he enjoyed—making tea—instead of having to deal with the irritation that came with dealing with the undergrads that frequently visited.

"For fuck's sake," he whispered underneath his breath as he shut the door to his locker, ignoring his phone that kept on lighting up. He had it on silent for everyone except for the two people that mattered in his life—Farlan and Isabel—and they wouldn't contact him unless it was an emergency.

The fact that coming into this shift was one of the smaller annoyances in Levi's life simply poured more salt onto his wound. He wasn't even supposed to be working this much since it took away from his school time to do his research, but the graduate program's financial aid office fucked up his stipend and he was left to fend for himself. It was only for this month, so it didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, but then his housing situation got all fucked up.

He had been living with Miche for roughly a year and they had a decent partnership as roommates, until Miche left to live closer to the city after freshly finishing a Master's program. Miche had moved out about two weeks ago, telling him that his new roommate would be reaching out soon. Levi's stipend situation couldn't come at a worse time, as Miche moving out meant he had to cover this month's rent on his own unless his new roommate magically showed up within the next day and was willing to cover rent when they hadn't even really started living there yet.

After shooting a death glare at the front register for a few more minutes, he finally decided to step up to the counter, hoping that it was at least a slow day so he could get home and pretend the grievances in his life weren't as bothersome for a few hours.

His shift had just started, so he was more than a little annoyed when he already heard the door open. The semester had just ended, which roughly translated to all the undergrads leaving for summer break. Other than the few stragglers and the unfortunate PhD students that were forced to work through the summer, everyone should have gone home. He glanced up as he saw someone walk inside.

An immediate frown appeared on his face. He could immediately tell that they were an undergraduate student, and likely an oblivious one at that.

Levi watched as you stumbled in through the door, dragging in a backpack that was slightly too large and overpacked. You looked like you had been running around with no sense of direction or purpose. You were all disheveled, as shown by how chaotic your hair looked and through how much you struggled stepping away from the door frame and towards the coffee bar.

He felt his eyes begin to roll before seeing you approach him.

Taking over Marlo's shift means I'm working the registers and have to talk with the undergrads. What a pain in the ass.

He stared at you with a neutral expression on his face as you plopped down at the coffee bar in front of him.

"Can I get you something?" he finally said, in a tone that indicated that customer service was not one of his skills in this profession.

You looked past him at the menu that was hung up behind him. Although you had passed this café a bunch whenever you found the time to travel off-campus and explore the town that surrounded the outskirts of Paradis University, this was the first time you actually found yourself in Chosahei Café. You squinted at the menu, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion at some of the options.

"Why are the specialty coffee drinks unavailable?"

"Ah?" mumbled Levi before turning around to glance at where you were looking. "The barista that specializes in those stepped out. I can get you one of the standard ones or I can get you one of the specialty teas."

You blinked at him for a few seconds as if you were struggling to process what he was saying.

"You're a barista and you can't make coffee?"

"Tch," he muttered, already beyond irritated as he frowned at you. He knew that he was likely biased against your presence and simply lumped you in with the rest of the undergrads that constantly drove him up the wall with their obsession with cheap iced lattes that he couldn't be bothered to care about making. "Did you not hear what I just said? I can get you a standard one or—if you were really wanting one of the house specialty drinks—one of the teas."

"You must get top remarks for your customer service skills," you said with a monotonous tone.

Levi placed his hands on the counter, leaning against it as he stared at you.

"This isn't some retail café like Starbucks—which is down the street, by the way," he said, pointing towards the door as a gesture to indicate that you could leave if you weren't satisfied. "The house drinks were all created by the employees and the barista that made the specialty coffees stepped out. Now are you going to order or not? I have other customers to attend to."

His eyes raised off of you and towards the back of the café, where a line of about 3-4 people gathered as they impatiently waited for you to order.

"Hmph," you said, letting out an irritated exhale. "Get me a matcha."

Levi raised an eyebrow at you.

"Out of all the specialty ones here, you go with something as basic as that?"

You were beyond confused over why this random barista in a small, local café was giving you this much grief.

"Oh what the hell? Just get me the damned matcha, you asshole," you snapped at him as you tossed your card towards him.

He quickly grabbed your card and put in the order with an unamused look on his face.

You kept your gaze on him as he begrudgingly prepared your drink. After about a minute, you glanced towards the door that opened as a tall gentleman that also wore the barista apron stepped inside. He was average height, but seemed much taller, likely due to the fact that the barista in front of you that decided to chastise you for ordering a matcha barely rose above you in terms of height—and you were not a tall person.

The new barista went behind the counter and started taking the other customers that had gathered behind you, removing the "unavailable" sign that covered up the specialty coffees. You frowned as he smoothly chatted with the customers, with your expression quickly turning into a scowl as you saw him remove the sign.

"I'm guessing he's the barista that actually knows how to make coffee?" you said, shooting another unamused look towards Levi as he walked back with your cup of matcha.

You heard a quiet grunt from the grumpy barista you had the misfortune of being served by and you sighed as you picked up the cup and took a sip of the matcha that he reluctantly made you.

You paused, a little taken aback by the taste.

It was pretty damn good—much better than any you've ever gotten at Starbucks, anyhow.

"Onyankopon brought over some specialty recipes that he apparently grew up making over at Marley," Levi grumbled to you. "That is why I couldn't make the specialty coffees."

After he said that, he subtly scowled at himself. Why he was even explaining himself to you was beyond him. You were just some random undergrad that stopped by and said annoying undergrad things. He had literally no reason to explain himself or justify his actions.

"So what brought you in? You're undergrad, right?" Levi asked, prompting you to look up at him. "Didn't classes just end? Most of you are back at your parents by now."

You sighed and pursed your lips, with a dark look entering your eyes. Levi was able to tell that you were biting your tongue on some information that was relevant, but that you didn't feel like divulging.

"Yes," you finally said. "I had some shit come up and had to move last minute, so I'm stuck on campus for now."

You took another sip of your matcha as a frown grew on your face.

"But at this point, I'm pretty sure it was a fucking mistake."

"Oh?" Levi asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

"I had to take a two-hour bus ride here since my asshole of an ex just happened to be busy on the day I need his car, but as luck would have it, my roommate also happens to be out, so I can't even get my damn keys from them, hence why I'm here getting chastised by you because I ordered a damned matcha instead of being in my new apartment and getting settled in."

You looked up at Levi upon hearing his silence.

"How unfortunate," he finally responded in an uninterested tone.

You rolled your eyes at his response.

"God, talking to you is a pain in the ass," you spat before quickly finishing the rest of the matcha and throwing a spare dollar onto the counter as a tip before getting up.

You paused before walking away, turning slightly towards the grumpy barista.

"You should probably consider the fact that people don't order your teas because they don't want to order from you."

"Ah?" Levi muttered as he took the dollar off the counter.

"People generally don't like interacting with someone that acts like a dick right off the bat."

~~~~~

Levi frowned to himself as he kicked off his shoes upon walking in the front door, placing them neatly upside down on the shoe rack next to the door. He sighed as he flipped on the light switch to his empty apartment. He didn't particularly mind living on his own, but Miche was a good roommate and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little on edge over who his new roommate was going to be.

He walked over to his bedroom, pushing the door open as he lifted his barista apron over his head to put away for the night. Seeing the apron reminded him of the café, and in particular, the conversation he had with a certain undergraduate student that he was forced to serve and insulted him right before they left.

Tch, he thought as he recalled the comment you made.

I'm not a dick. What the fuck.

He shut his closet after he put the apron away, his mood soured by the recollection of your conversation, although he wasn't in a great mood to begin with in the first place. He looked at the clock on his nightstand and saw that he had a few hours before he was supposed to "go to bed". Being a notorious insomniac, "going to bed" basically meant laying down and staring at the ceiling for a few hours. He rarely ever got to actually sleep, but the few minutes he can occasionally catch were enough to keep him going.

He walked over to his desk, turning the switch on his small desk lamp and pulling out a folder from his backpack that was hung up against the side of his desk. He pulled out a stack of paper and neatly placed them at the center of his desk. He took a seat in his chair and flipped through the packets, frowning at the sheer number he had yet to go through. His original plan for the day was to get home and read through some of these papers that Erwin had assigned him to read before he went back to lab on Monday—it was currently a Friday. He knew Erwin had high expectations for him. Erwin would even occasionally say that Levi was the best student he's ever had, which made Levi immediately want to shrivel up in discomfort.

He glanced up from the papers in his hand. His room was "empty". Miche had commonly made fun of him and said that Levi always made his space look like no one actually lived there. The top of his desk was always empty, his bed was always made, and not a single article of clothing was in plain sight. Levi Ackermann was just that type of person. It heavily contributed to why he was so on edge over who his new roommate would be and if they would even be compatible in terms of living style.

He turned on his phone to check the time, having ignored it for the entire latter half of the day.

7:30pm. That meant he had time to get at least a few papers reviewed.

He frowned as he looked through his notifications and saw an unknown number appear. The texts were from this afternoon, so he knew it was long past an appropriate time to respond.

> [unknown number (12:35pm)]: hey, miche said you'd be free this afternoon so i can get your keys? does 3:00 work > [unknown number (1:45pm)]: im on the bus ride over. i don't have a car, so would we be able to handle this so i'm not stranded outside?

He sighed as he locked his phone and placed it onto his desk. It was just his luck that he went into a last-minute shift right as his new roommate contacted him. He knew that this new roommate was going to be irate with him since it's been around 6 hours since they sent that text. This just added more things onto Levi's plate that he really didn't need right now.

Before he could move to pick up his phone to shoot a reply at this unknown number, he heard not-so-gentle knocking on the door. Knowing that this was likely his new roommate that he had unintentionally ignored all day, he internally groaned to himself before forcing himself out of his chair.

He heard another knock as he made his way from his bedroom to the front door, bracing himself as he unlocked the door and pulled it open.

A frown appeared on his face as he looked at the person in front of him in confusion.

"What the hell?" he muttered as he saw an equally confused expression appear on your face.

That annoying undergrad from this afternoon?

"Did you follow me home?"

You raised an eyebrow at him. The last person you had expected to be greeted with was the grumpy barista that you had the misfortune of interacting with earlier in the day.

"Did you?" you retorted.

Levi scoffed.

"How the hell would I have followed you home if I was here first?"

He cursed to himself as he recalled the monologue you gave him earlier on in the day.

You had said that you had to suffer on a bus ride and couldn't get in contact with your new roommate to get keys to the unit. Now that you were standing in front of the door to his apartment, his frown only grew.

Your eyes widened as you finally put together the pieces.

"Wait," you asked, shaking your head slightly. "Are you-?"

"I guess so," Levi responded with an unamused sigh.

"Fuck."

#: @levisbrat25 @gothgril69 @sckerman @berrijam @notgoodforlife @meowjaa @averysmolbear @roseofdarknessblog @bejewelledd @hhighkey @ayame236 @sad-darksoul @velouria17

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hard-boiled-criminal · 3 months

Text

A Witch Adrift

Chapter 2 - You're not a Wizard, Harry

< Ch 1 | Ch 3 >

Masterlist

Ao3 Mirror

“Consider it tough love. Now, just what is going on here?” A rather unique voice spoke over the cat’s complaints, but they were out of your line of sight. “And just what are you doing up there? I’ve been looking all over the place for you, and I find you playing games with your familiar, and a poorly trained one at that!”

“...What?” You mutter, at a loss for words. ‘First of all,’ you think, ‘shouldn’t your first reaction be of worry since there’s a person hanging onto a banister for dear life, and maybe, oh, I don’t know, offer to help?!’

“Hah! As if I’d serve some lowly human!” The cat yelled, accompanied by the sounds of it struggling. “Now, lemme go!”

“Yes, yes. Rebellious familiars always say that. Do be quiet for a bit, won't you?” The other voice speaks once more, as the cat goes quiet, only muffled yells of protest to be heard from it. “Dear me. Of all the students I've dealt with, you're the first with temerity enough to open their own gate and step out of it; Does the very notion of patience elude you?”

‘Is he talking about me? What does he mean by student?’

“No matter. Your orientation has already begun. Hurry up and get down so we may return to the Mirror Chamber,” He says, sighing with a hint of annoyance.

“Uh, I would if I could, man. I’m stuck,” You say matter-of-factly. You weren’t about to risk the three-meter drop, not with all the floating books and evil cords that could potentially mess up your landing and, worse case scenario, get you killed.

“If you were going to get stuck, why would you bother to get up there in the first place?” The man asks, seemingly dumbfounded at the prospect of how stupid he thought you were. You opened your mouth to answer but were cut off by him speaking again. “Very well, I shall help you, for I am gracious.”

The sudden feeling of weightlessness startles you and an invisible force starts to pull you away from the mezzanine. You squeak from surprise and tighten your grasp out of instinct.

“Goodness, I can’t get you down if you don’t let go. Now, come on, I won’t drop you.”

You take a moment to weigh the pros and cons of trusting him; It was either trust him to get you down safely or wait until your grip fails you and fall. You squeeze your eyes shut and let go, anticipating your plummet, but no such thing happens. Opening your eyes, you watch in awe as you slowly float to the ground. An “Ahem” from behind you breaks you out of your stupor, and you realize you’ve been staring bug-eyed at the floor where you had just landed for a good few seconds, much longer than what was seemingly acceptable to the magic man you still have not seen. You turn around to see a man in a rather flamboyant raven-themed ensemble, complete with a bird-like mask that covers the upper half of his face, leaving only two unsettling, glowing yellow orbs, presumably his eyes, to stand out against the black mask.

‘Is he wearing reflective contacts? Are those even a thing?’

“Now then, we must not waste any more time; Let us be off,” with a swish of his feathered overcoat, he spins around, heading towards the door of the library, the still-struggling cat wrapped in a… whip? What? Does this count as animal cruelty?

Seemingly not bothered by the cat, the man opened the door and looked back at you, waiting for you to join him. With a small stumble you hope he didn’t notice, you quickly catch up with him and leave the library, hearing the door shut behind the two of you with a small thud and click. He leads you back the way you came through, towards the courtyard, but not through it.

“Um, excuse me, Mr…?”

“I am Dire Crowley, the Headmage of the esteemed Night Raven College,” he says, and you think you see him puff out his chest a bit in pride.

“Night Raven…?” You mutter but decide you can ask about that later. “Um, Mr. Crowley, sir, could you give me a moment to grab my shoes from the courtyard?”

“Your shoes from the– why are your shoes in the courtyard?” He looks at you, quite bewildered, if his tone of voice is to be believed. It’s much harder to get a grasp on his emotions when his only telling feature is his mouth.

“...Self defense?”

“...I see… I suppose we’ll cut through the courtyard then. We can not afford to be late any more than we already are, so we’ll talk about whatever happened with you and your familiar after the orientation.” He turned on his foot and walked into the courtyard, his pace quickening by a margin.

“But I don’t have…a familiar…” You try to speak up, but he has already walked out of earshot of your quiet voice. You sigh and follow behind him. “If I may ask,” you say as you catch up to him, “where exactly are we?” He looks at you, stunned for a moment as you pick up your first shoe near the middle of the courtyard. “Why are you looking at me like that?” You meekly ask, starting to worry that you may have said something wrong.

“Do you…hmm. It seems the timespace teleportation must have addled your memories…” He brings his hand up to his chin, seemingly thinking about something. “Well, these things happen, I suppose.I shall explain it to you while we walk. Truly, my magnanimity is boundless.”

“Wha– tumespace what?”

He clears his throat, ignoring you (he seems to like doing that), and speaks in a practiced tone, “This is Night Raven College, of which I am the Headmage of, having been entrusted with its care by the chairman.” You two walk in the direction where you had initially run from, and you grab your other shoe as you near the edge of the courtyard. “It is an institution for students the world over who demonstrate a rare aptitude for magic. It is the most prestigious academy of its sort in all of Twisted Wonderland.”

He pauses when you reach the outer hallway where the cat had chased you, black scorch marks decorating the floor. Having come to a stop, you look up at him in confusion. He silently gestures to your shoes, still held in your hands. With a small “Ah,” of realization, you clumsily put your shoes back on in a haste.

“Magic, huh?” You say quietly. “Guess that’s how you got me down.”

“Well, of course! What else could it have been?” Ah. It seems he thinks you’re kind of if not completely stupid… Or maybe he thinks you’re a child? It seems magic is common sense to him, which would explain why he’s acting like you’re dumb. You know nothing about this magic he uses.

You shrug and make a noncommittal sound to say you didn’t know. “Psychic powers?” You offer, but he says nothing… It seems he thinks your legitimate question was a joke– one in very poor taste at that. Well, that’s what you infer when his frown deepens slightly. “But …why am I here?”

His expression didn’t change. Instead, as soon as you stood up, he continued to walk and began to speak again, “Only those who the Dark Mirror perceives as having a talent for magic are admitted to the college. Those who are selected are summoned to the campus through those "gates," which can appear anywhere. A black carriage bearing one such gate should have come to meet you.”

‘Does this birdman Crowley have a problem with me? Is he toying with me? It feels like he’s treating me like a child, what with his suspiciously selective hearing and stupid comments. Well, if I wanna know what’s going on, I guess I’ll have to put up with it.’ You rush to catch up with him and match his longer strides. “So, what do you mean by “gate?” I don’t remember seeing anything like a gate…” You trail off. ‘Wait, could he be referring to the pentacle I drew on the floor? Is he saying I opened a gate to hell and I got dragged in instead of me summoning someone out? Oooooh, no. Oh, shit. I think we done fucked up, (y/n).’

“You woke up inside of a coffin-shaped gate, did you not?”

“Wait, you mean I was summoned through a coffin?!”

“A coffin-shaped gate, to be precise, but yes.”

‘So, it wasn’t my summoning circle? Well, there goes that idea.’

The two of you, three if you count the bound cat, reached a set of ornate doors. The same doors to the room you woke up in. The doors to the room which could have been your final resting place, had you not escaped.

“Now, let us attend to your orientation.” With that, Crowley grabbed both door handles and started to pull them open.

“...had a tummy ache?” You just barely heard a bright voice saying something when Crowley suddenly swung the doors open all the way in a split second.

“I most certainly did not!”

‘...He totally used magic to swing those heavy doors open so quickly. If he was trying to make a grand entrance, he’s not doing a good job; it feels more like a dramatic entrance in a school play.’

“Ah, speak of the devil,” a clear, young voice spoke this time.

“If you must know, I was searching for the new student who'd failed to show up for orientation,” Crowley then stepped aside and ushered you forward in front of him. Now that he was no longer blocking your view, you could see the state of the once burning room.

People.

So many people. Too many people. You could feel the eyes of dozens, perhaps even hundreds, of eyes all turn to focus on you. Your chest tightens. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, its rhythm steadily accelerating. Just when your panic had finally begun to dissipate, your anxiety caused it to rear its ugly head once again.

“You are the only one who has yet to be assigned a dorm,” Crowley spoke to you, now, much quieter compared to his grand entrance. “Step up to the Dark Mirror, and be quick about it. I'll watch your tanuki.*”

You don’t want to. There’s too many people, their stares kindling your anxiety. It’s getting harder to breathe. You don’t want to step forward. You know the longer you stall, the more intense their stares will get, wondering what’s wrong with you, why you can’t just take a step forward. It feels like their stares are becoming glares, burning into your skin, hotter than the blue flames you ran through not even an hour earlier.

What felt like forever was only a few seconds of pause, enough time for Crowley to notice you weren’t stepping forward. He gently placed a palm on your back and gave you a nudge forward. Maybe it was because you weren’t expecting it, but it made you stumble forward a few steps.

You have no choice but to walk forward.

Stiffly, you walk, eyes trained on the floor. There’s too many eyes. You can’t look at them. So you focus on your feet. You take slow, deliberate steps. You’ve stumbled enough today; tripping over nothing in front of so many people might just make you cry. You take a quick glance up to see how much farther it is to the mirror. You’re halfway. It’s silent. At least, you think it’s silent. The roaring of your blood pumping through your ears makes it hard to hear anything else. The sound of your anxiety has never been a comfort before, but there’s a first for everything. Maybe you should be grateful you can’t hear any of their deprecating whispers about you. You no doubt look a mess with what you’ve been through today.

You can feel yourself shaking by the time you arrive at the mirror. You clench your hands into the fabric of your robe–you still don’t know who changed your clothes and why– to try to steady yourself. The mirror is dark, save for the swirls of green smoke reflected on its surface. But you’re not there. There’s no smoke in the room and you don’t see yourself in the mirror. This mirror isn’t a mirror. Or you’ve turned into a vampire, but you’ve felt no semblance of sanguine hunger. In the mirror, a white mask fades in from the dark until it becomes completely opaque. It is a full-face mask with defined features, and seems to be wearing a lacy, black masquerade mask.

Its lips move. “State your name.”

A booming voice fills the silent room. Perhaps it is a being of great power. Or perhaps your anxiety attack is causing its voice to sound so commanding and feel so heavy. The silence that lingers after it had spoken almost feels even louder. It’s waiting for you.

“(Y-Y/n). (Y/n) (L/n),” you stutter out your name.

“The nature of your soul is…” it pauses for dramatic effect. After a few seconds, you realize it did not pause for dramatic effect. Something is wrong. Its face scrunches in a way that reminds you of when you smell something familiar but can’t recall just what it is. A moment too long later, it speaks. “It is…unclear to me.”

“What did you just say?” Crowley sounds astounded in a way that, for once, is from pure shock. Like victorian-lady-in-a-book-about-to-faint shock.

“I sense no magical power from this one.” The mirror continues to speak. If it is bothered by Crowley’s outburst, it doesn’t show it. “Soundless. Colorless. Shapeless. Utterly vacant. Therefore, no dorm would be appropriate.”

‘Rude. I can do magick. Maybe not your psychic-type or fire-type magic, but still.’

The stares that were focused on you intensify and cause you to stiffen. The pairs of eyes from all the bored onlookers who initially weren’t paying attention to you now lock on to your frozen form. If everyone’s eyes weren’t on you before, they definitely were now. Their hushed murmurs grow in number across the room, so much so they morph into wordless noises. And you know they’re all talking about you.

“Are you suggesting that the black carriage went to receive a person who cannot even use magic?” Crowley asks, still unable to believe the situation at hand. “But that is absurd! The student selection process has not erred once in its century of existence! How could this have happened?”

“Mmmph! Nnnrgggh,” The cat manages to struggle out of its bindings and gasps for a breath of air. “ME! Let ME have this student's seat!”

“Not so fast, you hyperactive tanuki!” Crowley reaches out in an attempt to recapture the cat, but misses.

“Unlike that human, I can actually use magic! So let me be a student here! Look, I'll show you! My spells're the cat's meow!” The cat rears back and a small blue sphere starts to form in its mouth.

“Everyone, get down!” A redhead boy shouts, his voice you recognize being the one with the clear voice you heard after you and Crowley entered the mirror chamber.

“Myaaahhh!” The cat lets out an uncontrolled stream of blue flames from its mouth, lighting the room on fire, much like how it was before you escaped.

“AHHHHH! HELP! I'm on fire over here!” Another voice you vaguely recall came from a tan, white-haired boy, who didn’t seem to know about ‘stop drop and roll.’

“Someone, catch that blasted animal before it sets the entire school ablaze!” Crowley commands. Seems like he’s not planning to help with this.

‘You know what. Fuck this. I’ve had enough of dealing with this cat.’ You ungracefully sit yourself on the ground next to the fountain below the floating mirror. ‘If its flames reach me, I can just douse off with this… dubious green liquid… I hope it doesn’t come to that.’

Now that you’ve finally taken a moment to rest and the people’s attention is no longer on you, the pain from injuries you forgot about and didn’t even know you had flares up. You can’t tell if the vague nausea is from the massive bruise no doubt forming across your stomach or your anxiety attack. Your legs and feet sting, the pain ebbing and flowing sporadically. Your shoulders are sore, one more than the other, but thankfully not dislocated.

A few of the people wearing matching robes, but with their hoods down, start to argue among themselves, a floating tablet included in their argument. Now that you’ve taken a moment, everyone in the room, save for the cat and Crowley, are wearing the same exact clothes. Including you.

‘...Is this some kind of cult initiation? But he said this was a college and these were students, so… a cult-based school orientation?’

You watch as the redhead and a different white-haired boy with glasses(his hair had a slight purple tint compared to the other white-haired boy) chase the cat, who is still spewing flames, around the room, in an attempt to catch it. It’s kind of comical though. So you lean back on your hands–you cringe a bit, your skin a bit raw from holding onto and slipping down the banister–and watch the spell-slinging chase scene happening across the room. It isn’t until after the cat manages to set fire to many more things, and probably some people too, when the redhead loses his temper.

“Off with your Head!” The redhead waves a fairly short wand and a heart-shaped collar materializes out of thin air and locks itself around the cat’s neck.

“MYAH?!” The Cat shouts in surprise as the weight of the metal collar forces its head down. A dull clank resounds as the point of the collar hits the hard floor. “What are you doing?!”

The redhead speaks to the cat, but he’s facing away from you and too far away for you to hear what. The cat, on the other hand, has no trouble yelling at a volume that easily carries its words across the room. “I ain't a cat or a tanuki! Don't try to collar me! I'll burn it right off! …Huh? Wh-what gives? My fire ain't workin'!” A response from Red, as you’ve decided to call him, seems to anger the cat more. “M-meoWHAT?! I ain't nobody's pet-NOTHING!” Red speaks again, saying something that seems to cause the glasses guy to laugh, but it sounds a bit fake. You would know a customer service tone anywhere as a fellow sufferer.

Movement from your peripheral catches your attention, and you watch as Crowley marches up to you. “(Y/n)-san**” His clear anger makes you flinch. “Was I not clear that you are expected to take responsibility for your familiar? You must discipline your familiar properly!”

“But…that’s not my familiar,” you explain to him. Seems he really didn’t hear you earlier. “I don’t even have a familiar in the first place.”

“It’s not? Oh…Um,” Crowley clears his throat, a bit flustered having been mistaken. “Then I shall have it expelled from campus. I shall even spare it from being served as dinner. My, but I am kind. ...Someone take this away, please.” Crowley dismissively waves his hand in a ‘shoo’ motion. One of the hooded figures grabs the cat and heads to the doors.

“Nooooo! Let me gooooo!” The cat screams in protest, desperately trying to wiggle out of their hold, but to no avail. “You fools better remember my name!” It yells out one last time as the person opens and steps through the doors. “Cause I'm gonna go down in the annals of magic history! Just you wait!” The heavy door shuts with a thud, and you can now only hear muffled shouts from the other side.

‘This might be considered animal cruelty, but it was intelligent and should therefore be held accountable for its crimes. Fuck you.’ You might be biased though, considering it did light you on fire and attempt to kill you.

It’s much quieter in the room now, the source of the chaos having been removed. The flames have died out, maybe because of whatever the cat said about not being able to use magic? Without the cat–or tanuki? –around, you could hear what the others in the room were saying without them yelling.

“Well, that was quite the unexpected fracas. I hereby declare that orientation has concluded. Housewardens, please escort your students back to the dorms,” Crowlet announces with a clap. “...Hm? Come to think of it, I don't see Housewarden Draconia of House Diasomnia anywhere.”

“And that surprises you? Dude's a total recluse,” a guy with lion ears says with a bored tone.

“Wait a sec... Did anyone even invite him?” The tan boy who was screaming earlier asked.

“If you're that worried about him missing out, maybe you should have told him yourself,” a guy with very nice hair said.

“Maybe, but I don't know him too well either…” The tan boy replied, a bit sheepish.

A few boys near you mumbled to each other. “Draconia... Like, Malleus Draconia? THAT Draconia?”

“So it's true? He really does go to school here?”

“Yikes.”

‘...I don’t know what’s going on anymore; I still don’t really know where I am. And Draconia? What kind of chuuni*** name is that?”

“Ah. Just as I'd expected,” a rather short boy spoke this time, his voice not matching his cute appearance(and very short height) at all. “I figured I'd come down and see for myself whether Malleus had made an appearance. “But once again, he was evidently not informed that his presence was required at an official ceremony.”

“You have my sincerest apologies,” The boy with glasses spoke this time. “I assure you, this oversight was in no way intended as a snub.”

‘Is this, like, some Victorian era political bullshit? Where they subtly insult each other disguised with polite words?’

“I mean, you must admit, he's not exactly the easiest person to strike up a conversation with,” Red said.

‘...Red, my mans, you gotta read the room. You can’t just–ignore the obvious over-politeness. You gotta roll with it.’

“No matter. All who were assigned to House Diasomnia, follow me. I just hope he doesn't sulk about this,” the deep-voiced boy said, muttering the last sentence.

You watch as the colorful characters–plus a floating tablet–who stole the spotlight for most of the event left the room, the mass of hooded figures following after them until it was only you and Crowley left.

“Well, (y/n)-san. This is a most unfortunate turn of events. I'm afraid that you will not be attending Night Raven College after all. Surely you realize that I cannot very well admit a student with no magical ability to my academy.”

‘Don’t worry man, I didn’t wanna join your cult in the first place. I need to get back home in case that demon is waiting for me.’

“But worry not. The Dark Mirror will see you safely home,” Crowley held out a hand for you to grab, helping you to your feet–the first polite thing he’s done for you today. Wow, who’d’ve thought. Local bird-man is actually capable of kindness without bragging about it. Or is it considered him making vaguely-veiled threats, because if it were anyone else saying his ‘for I am kind’ lines, it would definitely sound like a threat. “Now, step into the gate, and visualize the place from whence you came.”

You watched Crowley use the same magic he had used on you earlier to bring forth one of the coffins. Hesitant, you slowly stepped inside and closed your eyes, visualizing your comfy bed, its covers just waiting for you to cocoon yourself with them.

“O Dark Mirror! Return this soul to where it belongs!”

A moment passes. Nothing. You’re getting some serious deja vu vibes.

Crowley clears his throat. “L-let us, er...try this again. O Dark Mirror! Return this soul—”

“There is no such place,” the mirror interrupts him.

“What?”

‘What.’

“There is no place in this world where this soul belongs. None.”

‘Um, what the fuck?’

“How can that be? My, but today is a veritable cavalcade of impossible phenomena!”

‘Dude, why are you using fancy talk? Hell, how are you calm enough to use fancy vocabulary? Now’s not the time for this!’

The mirror didn’t answer him.

“This has never happened throughout my long tenure. I must confess that I am at something of a loss,” Crowley turned to face you, who was still inside a coffin. “Tell me: From what land do you hail?”

‘I’ve never heard of Twisted Wonderland before, so let’s start broad,’ you decide. “Earth.”

Fully expecting him to give you a ‘well, no shit,’ look, you grew unsettled when he didn’t lose his serious demeanor.

“...You mean to say you came from the ground?”

“What? No, I mean Earth, you know, the name, not the dirt?” ‘The one I hope to dear god is the one I am on now.

“I'm afraid I am not familiar with such a place.”

“...Fuck.”

Crowley gave you a silent look as if to admonish you for your language, but seemed to let it pass considering the current situation. “I am intimately acquainted with the origins of every student who has ever come here, and yet... This mysterious homeland of yours eludes me. Let us go to the library and look it up, shall we?”

You’re in deeper shit than you thought.

“Just as I'd suspected. Nothing.”

The two of you now found yourselves back in the library where you’d first met. Whether these or the previous circumstances were more favorable was still up for debate.

“Not only is your homeland not listed on any map from any point in history.

Now, are you QUITE sure that you come from such a place? That wasn't some sort of lie, or jape? Because if so, the only explanation is that you've come from another planet far, far away. Or perhaps you were summoned here from another dimension?”

“I’m sure,” you respond plainly, if not a little shaken. “And it’s definitely at least a different planet.”

“Oh, what makes you so sure?”

“Earth is the name of my planet, and you didn’t recognize it as a name.”

“...Why would you introduce your home as your planet?”

“...I panicked.” A lie.

“Well, no matter. Now, show me everything that you brought here with you.

Do you have some form of identification, a driver's license perhaps? Or even a...shoe?” It seems he associates you with shoes now, since you told him about your choice of weapon against the cat. “You do seem a tad bit...empty-handed.”

“I don’t think I have anything. I don’t even have my clothes.”

“Well, this is quite the predicament.”

“Yeah. And speaking of–”

“I cannot have someone with no aptitude for magic bumbling about my magic academy,” he cut you off with a rather rude comment. “And yet, as an educator, I am loath to expel a young person without a cent to their name, or any ability to contact someone they know. Truly, my grace is boundless.”

‘Wow, this guy is super conceited… Now that I think about it, what if he doesn’t think I’m dumb? Maybe he’s just got a superiority complex.’

Crowley brought his hand to his chin and hummed in thought. “Hmmmmm... Ah! There is a vacant building on this campus,” he began to explain. “It was, in fact, used as a dorm a long time ago. With a proper cleaning, it should be habitable enough.”

‘“Habitable” is an odd choice… Is he saying the place currently is not habitable? I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’

“Out of the profound kindness of my heart, I will allow you to live there for the time being. In the meantime, we will investigate other ways to send you home.” He turned away to give a self-praising soliloquy, “Dear me, but I am a gracious man indeed! A model educator, one might say.”

‘...I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone purposely pause a conversation to give a soliloquy. Especially not one where they just compliment themselves…I think I can safely say I would only like this birdman if he was a character and not an actual person.’

“Well then,” he looked back to you, “I shall take you to your dorm straight away. It is an older building, but it has plenty of...character, one might say.”

“Character?”

“Precisely. Come along now, time waits for no one.”

He leads you back out of the library, this time taking you down a few unfamiliar hallways covered in paintings, whose eyes you swear were following you, and lit with tall candelabras. The candle flames were the same green as the liquid in the fountain and cast an eerie glow, the color reminiscent of poison. After a few minutes of travel, you ended up in a large, open area; the best way you could think of to describe it was as a lobby. Crowley walked up to a set of grand double doors at the center of the opposite walls. In the dark it was hard to make out, but they almost looked as if they were made of stone.

‘No, they couldn’t be. Who would be stupid enough to make doors made of stone?’

With the flick of a wrist, Crowley opened the doors with, once again, magic. The sudden chill from the cool wind blowing in sent a small shiver down your spine. You crossed your arms for some extra warmth, but you couldn’t tell if it helped or not.

“Make sure you don’t wander off,” Crowley gave you a pointed look, as if you were about to go missing and he’d have to search for you again. “It’s just this way; follow me.” Leaving no room to argue, he began to walk down the path with you in tow.

His tall height already gave him longer legs so his stride was longer than yours, however it seemed he was in a hurry tonight. With him speed walking, you almost had to jog in order to keep pace with him.

‘Stupid tall people with their stupid long legs and stupid fast pace. I should've expected this from Birdman Crowley… Yeah, the more I get to know him the less I like him.’

After a while of following Crowley down the stone roads in the chilly night, he led you up a small hill towards a fenced in building that could almost be called a small manor. Or, it at least was a manor. The metal fence was horrendously crooked in every which way: the fence itself was laid out in a way where it curved back and forth, the pointed tips were bent back and forth, the bars were bent terribly; it was in horrible shape, as if someone ran a truck into every part of the fence. Although the fencing was bad enough, it didn’t compare to the building itself. As Crowley guided you up the stairs towards its door, you could do nothing but stare in awe.

‘This place looks haunted as fuck.’

The building looked like it was on its last legs. All the windows were boarded up, covering what were more than likely broken parts of the glass panes. The side paneling was coming off in places, there were more shingles missing than you were comfortable with, and the roof seemed to dip unnaturally in places, probably from prolonged water damage.

“This… this is where I’ll be staying?” You ask in disbelief.

“Isn't it delightful? Right, scoot inside now. There you go,” he shooed you inside, past the door whose rusted hinges squealed when opened.

‘...This can’t be legal… This is a lawsuit waiting to happen. I should sue… But legal practices might be different here… Fuck man, there’s really nothing I can do, is there?’

“This should keep the elements at bay for the time being,” Crowley looked proud of himself. “Now, I should return to my research. Do try to find some way to keep yourself busy. But don't let me catch you wandering the campus! Ta!”

“Wha–huh? No, wait a min–aaaand he’s gone,” you called after him but he had already ditched you, the squeal of the door grating on your ears as it magically closed behind him. “Man, this place is a mess. Does OSHA not exist here? Like, a fantasy OSHA? FOSHA? Haaah, this place is probably infested with several different types of mold. I’m not looking forward to discovering them…”

‘Wait, that reminds me, if I’m not from here, that means I’m probably super susceptible to so many new diseases. Do they have vaccines here? Because I’m probably gonna need all of them. If they’re safe. What if their water carries bacteria that’s deadly to me? Or what if all their food is deadly to me too? Oh, no, this situation is a whole lot worse now that I’ve had time to think.’

Stuck in your nervous inner ramblings, you didn’t notice you had begun to pace the room, kicking up the dust.

‘I mean, these people definitely look human, or at least human with animal ears like that one guy, but for all I know they could be completely different biologically.’

It wasn’t until a frighteningly loud boom of thunder that your concentration broke, and made you squeak in surprise in the process, that you noticed it had begun to rain outside. It didn’t take long for the occasional water droplets to fall from the ceiling.

‘This could be a problem. As the storm goes on, the droplets will probably increase dramatically. I should go find some buckets or pots.’

You were about to go searching the dark building for a supply closet or the kitchen when you heard a familiar voice.

“GWAH! It's pouring out there!”

*Using tanuki instead of weasel because Grim doesn’t look like a weasel, and it makes more sense in the context of tanuki in Japanese mythology.

**Characters who are polite will refer to others with Japanese honorifics instead of English ones. It’s more gender neutral and flows better than using Mx. in my opinion, which will be more relevant in the future.

****Chuuni–short for chuunibyou.’

A/N: I spent half an hour trying to figure out the technical term for when you make sounds like “iunno.” Like when you use intonation and sounds but not words to speak and still get the message across. The best I could find would be calling it an approximate onomatopoeia of a phrase.

Edited

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#malleus x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #idia x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader

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mirahuyooo · 1 year

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012 for namjoon please💜

012. What if he stares at you everytime you look away? + kim namjoon

— Everyone has crushes, especially you.

word count: 1,882 contents: FLUFF, pining, yn kind of an idiot and a coward but she simps HARD for Namjoon (FELT ✋🥺💖), Joon being the type of crush that makes you want to become and do better in life rawr, secret admirers, strangers to lovers, College AU pairing: kim namjoon x reader

[masterlist] | check out more of [Four Years with Mira]!

A/N: ANON!! 🥰✨I GOT CARRIED AWAY AGAIN ✋😭💖💞💓 I was originally gonna split this into two parts but I pulled through so this is SIGNIFICANTLY longer than this others 😭😭😭 anways, I'm sorry this came out later than expected, but I'm SO glad you joined 💕 and I hope y'all enjoy this!! Happy Holidays everyone!! 🎄🎅💖

Everyone has crushes.

It's part of life, one could say, especially as one goes out into the world and ventures into the prospects of love. Most grow out of theirs, while some have enough luck to manifest their crushes into fruition. Some, like you, however, are unfortunate to have a crush so potent and stubborn that it leaves one pining for years on end.

It's a particularly difficult crush—one that has festered for years since high school, clinging onto you like a bitch no matter how many attempts you tried to make it go away. You're pretty sure it's not just a crush anymore, but you refuse to acknowledge that, because how does one even dare to confess to Kim Namjoon, prodigal president of the student body and part of the most sought after group of boys in the whole campus?

You can't. You absolutely can't.

Compared to him, you were subpar—a chaotic, colorful wall art next to an esteemed art gallery piece, if you will.

(That, of course, doesn't mean to disparage you and your achievements, because thanks to your perpetual crush on such an accomplished man, you've been inspired to do fairly decently in school, join clubs and competitions, and earn yourself a good reputation amongst your peers. It's just that, while you were good, Kim Namjoon is a whole lot better.)

Even now, tucked away in one corner of the library for the third day, you sat with your hair an unruly mess, getting in the way of you reviewing the lecture notes in front of you. A few tables away was Kim Namjoon, himself, who, unlike you struggling for an exam, was occupied with a philosophical book.

In relapses of weakness, you find yourself staring at him a bit longer, drinking him in under the warm light coming through the windows. His dark hair has grown longer, you note, framing his face softly as he peers down at his book. His glasses sat at the bridge of his nose, part of the golden frame glinting in the light.

The whole scene encapsulates his essence, you think, because while some may be intimidated by Namjoon’s height, build, and prowess, moments like these would show them his gentle nature—how simply content he is with the peace a good book offers.

His eyes are warm as always when they look at you—wait. You?

Panic shot through you upon realizing Kim Namjoon, himself, is looking at you, offering you a small smile of acknowledgement you could only attempt to smile-grimace at before he decides to go back to his book.

You, in turn, trained your head down to your notes and textbook, letting your hair hide a good part of your flustered face, but the heavens know you’re not reading about whatever the hell it is you’re meant to be studying for. You are beyond mortified and you could only hope you don’t look like a tomato right now.

Oh God, may the ground swallow you whole! What if you looked like a weirdo looking at him?!

You didn’t, at all, expect your day to have an interaction with Kim Namjoon. A part of you, remnants of fairytale enthusiasm and wistful thinking, whispers treason into your ears and unleashes butterflies in your belly amidst your panic.

What if he stares at you every time you look away?

Imagining Kim Namjoon stealing glances your way, too, only for his eyes to be caught in yours, elicits a more powerful reaction from you than you care to admit. Your heart races and your knee bounces in some poor attempt to distract yourself. You poor soul, you need a minute—go to the bathroom and take a breather or something.

And so, you did, waiting a few minutes to seem inconspicuous before you take your phone and wallet with you, and leave everything else to your seat for your supposed bathroom break.

It seems the universe, however, isn’t done with you, because as you return to your spot, your scattered notes and book was now organized more neatly than when you left it, and atop the pile was your favorite snack, a note and a black hair tie with a small butterfly charm.

You look around the room as you come to take a seat. This part of the library wasn’t as crowded, just you, a couple of professors, Namjoon and two of his friends. You aren’t close with any of them to even think of asking who might’ve left these for you.

What if it’s Namjoon?

You shake the thought away from your head, lest your jitters and delusion get the better of you yet again. Reaching for the note, you read it as you fiddle with the hair band. You’ve lost more hair ties, clips, and scrunchies than you care to count, to be honest, and so this little gift means a lot more for you than anyone else might think.

You're a butterfly unaware of the awe you transpire with your presence. Don't hide your beauty from the world.

Yours truly and always,

Your Admirer

P.S. You’ve been studying too hard! I’m sure you’ll do well in your exam either way so take care of yourself more :)

The note brings out a small smile from your lips, both guilty and beholden.

Everyone has crushes.

While you didn't think you were crush material, you're flattered still by this person's sweet prose. For a good week or two now, small gifts and letters began reaching you, all under the sender 'your admirer' inked onto paper by a typewriter. They were certainly thorough, you think, for not allowing you to go hunting for handwriting comparisons when the letters were typed in.

They can almost contend with your feelings for the student body president—almost.

In a way, you feel for your admirer—a kindred feeling of pining for someone, and yet, you also can't help but feel sorry for them. No one has ever made you catch feelings like Kim Namjoon—not even your favorite celebrity crush. Though you and your admirer have similar situations, however, you must admit that he's commendable in his pursuits compared to you, who is a likely coward for not making any moves to your own crush.

As it turns out, your admirer has more balls for love than you do—even more than you thought, too.

Sometime after your dreaded exam, flowers and a note appear at your designated seat in class. It was there before anyone else was in the classroom, a classmate told you as you idly caressed the white petals of the flowers you were given.

Dearest butterfly, you did great on your exams. I know well that you worked hard for it and I'm so proud of you!

It’s been three months since I began writing to you, and in three months, I fear my secret is more at risk, the more I hide from you. I know of your hesitation for my gifts and my identity, but I surely hope I haven’t crossed some sort of line in pursuing you.

I've been mulling it over for a year now, and I've come to realize all I've ever done is pine from afar. Maybe, it's time for me to unmask myself, and look you in the eyes properly.

If you'd let me, meet me in front of the library at 3 PM. I hope to see you then.

Yours truly and always,

Your Admirer

Eyes widening at the contents of the letter, you duck away from the hallway and into the bathrooms. What's more is that they've been thinking of confessing for a year? One whole year?!

Damn, you are a coward.

Compared to your admirer, you're years into crushing, and the most you've done with Namjoon was an idle conversation on a favorite book. You've given shy smiles, wordless support, and embodied his studious nature, but you've never even directly attempted to flirt with Namjoon, himself.

Is this a sign then from the universe, itself, for you to move on from Kim Namjoon?

Who is this person?

Curiosity begets you in the end, and here you are at the entrance of the library, five minutes before you were told to come, standing idly and fidgeting with the ends of your cardigan sleeves as you look around the people passing by. Your mind wanders, thinking about what sort of person found you enamoring enough to fall for you in such a way that they would write about their feelings for you in such beautiful words.

What made them think of you that way?

Do you know each other?

How did they find the courage to pursue you?

In time, your eyes see a familiar tall man amongst the crowd, and you dread to think of your admirer and Namjoon being in one place. Your heart can’t take it, having to choose between someone you like and someone that likes you. Meeting your admirer meant giving them a fair chance to sway your heart from Namjoon, and you can’t exactly do that whe—

“(Y/N)?”

A voice, warm and deep, brings you back to reality, and oh God, Kim Namjoon is standing in front of you!

“Hi,” you meekly smile up at him, eyes quickly looking around and unable to look him in the eyes. Where’s your admirer when you need them? Isn’t it time for you two to meet already?

It was then your eyes caught sight of a familiar looking hair tie with the silver butterfly charm on Namjoon’s wrist. Unconsciously, your hands reach to the back of your head, where your hair tie holds your hair back in a low, haphazard ponytail.

This, certainly, makes you look up at the man before you, eyes wide upon seeing his shy, dimpled smile and the same small bundle of white flowers he reveals from behind him. "You're my secret admirer?" you could hardly believe the question that left your lips.

Kim Namjoon’s been writing to you? Giving you small gifts?

This is a dream. It’s got to be—

Namjoon, to your complete and utter shock, nods his head. "Have I, uh,” he clears his throat, the back of his hand coming to his face as if it’d shield him. “Disappointed you?"

"No!" you immediately shriek, shaking your head. "God, no! I've had a crush on you since eighth grade!"

Crap. Slapping a hand over your mouth, you wish it’s a dream. Surely, you could do a better confession than this—something less embarrassing.

Kim Namjoon before you is just as shocked to hear of your years long pining, a blush spreading across his face. "We've wasted a lot of time then," he chuckles, rubbing at the back of his neck, still bashful.

Such words make your heart hurt. "Yeah…" you grimace, regret and remorse swallowing you whole. "I suppose we have."

More courageous than you, Namjoon hands you the flowers, a charming smile on his lips that marks the return of his dimples. "Would you like to go to a museum with me this Saturday?" he asks, making your heart skip a beat.

Outside of wistful fantasies, you never really thought this day would come. "Of course," you smile, “I’d love to.”

Everyone has crushes.

You and Namjoon, in a pleasant twist of events, have become one of the lucky ones to have them come into fruition.

#happy 4 years to me writing shit <3 #LOVING THE NAMJOON REQS #im so so soft #bts au #bts fluff #bts romance #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts drabbles #kim namjoon drabbles #kim namjoon imagines #kim namjoon fluff #kim namjoon x reader

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nutteu · 2 months

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Saltburn, but make it a slice of life anime (lol) (/srs)

Give me Oliver who felt enough with what he had and found no reason to lie, but was ambitious enough to get what he wants. Give me Felix who still found true kindness, instead of the false nicety taught by his family. Give me Farleigh who had a sharp, scathing mouth, but was loyal to the end of the road. Give me Venetia who struggled with her own issues, but retained the love and kindness she dreamed of when she was younger, when Farleigh and Felix still stumbled on their feet to reach her at the other side of the room.

Give me the start of the semester with blue sky instead of a darker one, petering out of winter into the embrace of spring within the flower petals and the wind caressing Oliver's hair, a greeting to the epidermis of his skin, a promise of a brighter day on the horizon. The noises of the students milling around, the air of curiosity and tinkling laughter. Give me Oliver who sighed at the idea of finding friends, but smiled nonetheless at the prospect.

Give me the sparkle of a soda pop when Felix met Oliver for the first time, a victim of a prank gone wrong and three thumbtacks on his tire; Oliver who smiled at him, and offered the bike, the brush of their fingers as they traded their bikes, the twinkle in Felix's eyes as he leaned down to kiss Oliver's helmet, called him a savior, called him Ollie, like it should mean something.

Give me teases on the tip of Farleigh's tongue, but never an insult; Oliver who smiled to himself because he could match Farleigh tease for tease, on par because they could be friends within their own rights, the promise of someone who could keep them on their toes and make things interesting. Farleigh's idea of a round of jagerbomb a challenge that Oliver could back out from anytime, but pushed through anyway, because he liked the startled bark of laughter out of Farleigh's mouth.

Give me both Felix and Farleigh coming up to Oliver to pay for the jagerbombs, and Oliver who refused softly, the drinks already paid for, but the warmth in his chest stayed because he was given an offer of kindness. Give me drunken college students who sang with all their hearts, who laughed and leaned against each other; who talked about their droning lecturers and dreams of a slow, lazy day and trading stories as they lay on the same bed, sat on the floor, on the couch against each other.

Then, give me Oliver who was so proud of his family that he didn't even consider lying, that he was so prepared of Felix attaining boredom and leaving because no one should say a bad thing about Oliver's little family, not even when it came from Felix. But he was pleasantly surprised when there was understanding, and a sliver of envy, from Felix, who was raised with everything available on a diamond platter, but never really understood the familial love, except for when it came from Farleigh and Venetia. So, Oliver was content in giving Felix stories about his sisters' and their caring and rambunctious nature, his mother's endless patience and kindness, his father's efforts in making them all feel happy and enough and his plethora of bad dad jokes that Felix surprisingly liked. They laughed about it, and laughed about Evelyn Waugh's novel, and it was Oliver, instead of Felix, who offered, "Would you like to visit? I'm sure they'll be thrilled about you coming there. Farleigh and Venetia can come as well; I've never really brought friends home, so I think my family will love the three of you."

Give me Felix who looked at Oliver like it was the first time he ever saw this man, and felt a touch of elation, or warmth, of trust, because of Oliver's love for his family, his kind gesture of inviting Felix and the people he loved, his offer of sharing his family's love for Felix because he knew that it would be different than Felix's own family. Give me Felix who started to appreciate Oliver more than before, more than just a drinking buddy and occasional tutor. Give me Felix who felt the telltale of a flush creeping up his cheeks, because he saw Oliver and realized just how nice it was to have Oliver by his side, a gentler side of life for the taking.

Give me Felix who now saw the summer in Oliver's blue eyes, the softness of the skin on his nape, the small berth of shoulders underneath his arm slung around them, the patience in Oliver's voice as he tutored Felix, the laughter and pretty smiles as he talked with Felix or when he traded banters with Farleigh; the soft encouragement he gave when Venetia called and then spent two hours on the phone talking to Oliver instead of Felix, the understanding he had of Felix's own shortcomings, of Farleigh's insecurities, of Venetia's burning embers of dreams long forgotten underneath cigarettes and liquor. Give me Felix who realized that Oliver was the only person in his life who saw Felix for himself, and not what he could benefit from their relation; who accepted his sister and cousin and wormed his way into their lives and hearts, into Felix's own.

But, also, give me Oliver who was all of that, but was ruthless in chasing his dreams, who took the schedule of his education and followed it down to the dot, who traded rebuttals with his tutors with Farleigh biting a smile next to him, who was on his way to summa cumlaude, who felt safe and appreciate and exhilarated within Felix's presence but didn't make his entire life revolve around it; who knew himself and what he was worth, but understood as well that he was weak and soft and indulgent when it came to Felix. Give me Oliver who was capable of being an individual with his own dreams, yet unwavering loyalty towards Felix as well; who was just as ruthless in chasing Felix's love without forgetting his value as an individual.

Give me Felix and Farleigh who dragged Oliver out of the ball, to the bridge, and planked him left and right like two protectors as they told him the tradition of the stone thrown into the water-- not in the memory of Oliver's father, in another, wretched life, but the past as they had known it, so they could face the future with the memory of who they were, and the dreams of what they could be. Give me Oliver who beat Felix to it, by inviting them to the Quick's household as he had offered before, and Farleigh's immediate acceptance, because he wanted to see the plethora of pictures of Oliver's past and his embarrassing moments; because Oliver was warm on his side and the night was silent around them, as if allowing them to be absorbed within the world they had made since the beginning of the semester.

And then, give me Felix whose eyes glistened and whose nod was soft, as he wrapped an arm around Oliver's shoulders, bringing him closer within his arms because he couldn't believe that there was someone like Oliver in his life; who was kind as much as he was ruthless, who listened well and spoke without fear, who was gentle and confident in turn, who indulged Felix all his whims and be there for him every step of the way, who offered a chance to delve into his family instead of the other way around. Give me Felix who said yes with trembling voice and reverence in his eyes, because it was his turn to appreciate Oliver and yearned for him, for his kindness, for his strength, for his understanding, for his patience, for his ruthlessness, for everything he was.

And then, at last, give me the Catton's children singing and laughing as they took the trip to Prescot, leaving their bewildered parents behind, with luggage on the back, enough for two weeks and more because they were still the Cattons-- they were greedy and selfish and learning to be someone better, and they would take the inch Oliver had taken to miles. Give me Venetia who had been in numerous phone calls to Oliver for hours on end as they talked about Venetia's love for learning, her dream of becoming a physicist, her collections of journals within the estate's library; give me her excitement of finally meeting Oliver, whom her brothers had talked about so much with fondness in Felix's voice and amusement and respect in Farleigh's.

Give me Oliver who paced the porch as they neared, who smiled so prettily when he saw them. Give me the Quicks, who prepared their rooms and a welcoming party and feast for them all. Give me Mama Quick who ushered them in and treated them like her own children; Papa Quick who immediately latched onto Felix for their shared taste of dad's jokes; Oliver's sisters who flocked to Farleigh and Venetia because they shared the same vibes and interest.

And then, as the sun came down, give me Venetia who snucked into Oliver's room to chat more, only to find Felix and Farleigh fighting for the shared space of Oliver's small bed, and it was ridiculous, because they both were much larger and taller than Oliver and they'd have cramps for being put into a small space. So, Venetia sauntered in, took her place on Oliver's bed, and laughed with him as Farleigh and Felix were forced to sleep on the floor. They all laughed about it in the end, and made noises within their conversations late into the night, until Mama Quick checked on them and smiled at their hands-caught-in-the-cookie-jar expression, and told them to sleep, so they could greet another day.

At last, give me their smiling faces as they talked in hushed voices about tomorrow, about a brighter day, about summer spent together. Give me blue sky and warmth within their chest, give me dreams and patience and friendship, give me something meaningful-- a life lived to the fullest and shared with loved ones.

Give me a summer, and let it stay within their hearts well into winter, until they could greet another summer within the cusp of their palms.

#shiki writes #saltburn #cattonquick #oliver quick #felix catton #farleigh start #venetia catton #slice of life #ramblings #wholesome

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grison-in-space · 1 year

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So I'm not sure if this is one of the dog questions on the list (it's too long for my brain to stick with T_T) but I would like to hear about your first dog that was *yours*. The first one you chose for yourself, rather than just a family dog or a partner's dog or what have you. Rescues you chose to take on/keep count as much as ones you bought!

Oh, that's Tribble, of course. My best girl, who's been with me ten years. My good, good leap of faith. (Questions mentioned from the Dogblr ask meme).

In the spring of 2012, I was finishing my senior year of college, interviewing at graduate school programs and coming to terms with the fact that I would be earning a salary and financially completely independent from my parents for the foreseeable future. I was going to be able to get a dog that I was going to be able to do sports with.

(At the time I was living with my family's dog Oliver, whom I generally described as a Corgi rolled in lint and who had already had one knee replaced. Around that time, he tried to hop up onto a curb and tripped over his own feet and fell on his face. I was not about to subject his knees to high impact exercise.)

I had been yearning to play agility for years and never been able to. I could get whatever dog I wanted, as long as I could find it under 35lbs (the upper weight limit for dogs in most of the apartments I was looking at) and it was within plausible deniability Not A Pit Bull.

I was full of daydreams. I was looking speculatively at Whippets and Manchester Terriers and Rat Terriers and Shelties, but I knew full well that I could identify a pretty good sport prospect from rescue, too... and I was gonna be broke for a While. But I was also keenly aware that I was about to go straight from college to being a first year PhD student halfway across the country, an endeavor of unknowable difficulty and struggle. It was clearly the sort of thing I should ease into slowly. Obviously I shouldn't actually get a new dog until I had moved and been in my program for six months or so.

But I was so, so excited, and dogshopping was a much less intimidating prospect than making decisions about things like what lab I would work in and where in the country I should live. Also I was in the process of shedding most of my local friend group in the wash of dissolving one of those hideously intense weird friendships that are so common for queer college kids, and a big chunk of the rest of my in person social life required facing down what was, in retrospect, a nasty case of PTSD fear response around other openly queer people derived from immersing myself in baaaaaasically all the online asexuality dialogue that existed in 2012.* It's not like I couldn't use the distraction.

So I made myself a bargain. I would make an extremely detailed list of traits I wanted in a dog ranging from the practical (size, height, ability to rent with, trainable, good structure for speed, jumping, and fast turns) to the slightly ridiculous and purely aesthetic (pointy ears; brindle or tri; no curly tails; short hair). I would restrict myself to perusing the website run by volunteers trying to make the local county animal control as low-kill as possible, which was a feat since the county animal control had ten kennels and a guaranteed three-day stray hold, plus a seven-day opening for dogs to get adopted through. I figured that the fast turnover, plus my own innate tendency to dither, would keep me from actually adopting a dog until I was safely installed in my new job and my new life.

This worked very well right up until the Monday of my last finals week, when the shelter website posted a dog named "Pockets" that checked literally all of my boxes, at least from what I could see from a still photo. She was perfect. And she was listed as a cattle dog mix, which was great: I couldn't see any evidence of a drop of cattle dog in that dog, but there was my plausible deniability for landlords. Goddammit. At least, I told myself, someone else would pick her up and everything would be fine; she'd be adopted by someone else and I could tell myself it just wasn't meant to be.

Then on Tuesday the "DANGER: DANGER" alarm went off on her listing. (It later turned out that she'd been brought in after having maybe? unclear? been cornered and perhaps? bitten a child or something? and her rabies hold had eaten all of her grace time.) Fuck. Fuck! It is perhaps worth noting that that shelter's euthanasia date was Wednesday, so if she was out of time, there really wasn't any time to sort things out.

I panicked--this looked like such a great dog--and made the mistake of asking my roommate if she'd mind if we added what was then a third dog to our three-person household for the remainder of the lease. There was a great mad scramble to make sure I could legally take her in and the landlord was okay with it: I decided that even if she wasn't a great fit for me, I could always rehome her myself later. I put in an application in early on Wednesday morning, then showed up first thing on Thursday before my very last final to meet this dog I had theoretically applied to adopt. She was clearly pretty overwhelmed, but her structure was gorgeous, she was friendly and politely interested in the dogs whose kennels we walked by, and she was capable of listening to me and paying attention. So.... fuck it, I thought, and updated my application to confirm the application.

I picked her up from her spay that Saturday--that shelter didn't, at the time, bother to spay or neuter the dogs until it was confirmed someone actually wanted them--and brought her home, where she promptly stretched her legs, looked around, and found herself a quiet place to pee that didn't (to her) seem to be very used. It happened to be where we kept the router, which is how I discovered that she was not house trained. She learned fast, though--that was the last accident I think she ever had that wasn't a matter of illness--and she soaked up all the training I could throw at her with enthusiasm pretty much immediately. You can actually see me posting my excitement with an earlier account when I adopted her.

Fuck, that was a good impulse decision. She's an amazing dog and we've learned so much together. I love her so much.

She's my buddy, and we've been through a lot together. I love her so, so much.

*no one I ever met at my college LGBTQ group was anything less than polite and kind to me, by my standards of the time: I was generally faced with a desire to understand one another well enough to act in solidarity. I'm still very fond of the people I met there and follow the careers of quite a few. But immersing myself into the online reactions took a toll, one that would have me grappling with regular panic attacks for a few years more.

#Tribble #dogblr ask meme

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we-are-inevitable · 2 years

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thinking about a modern au where the newsies run a nonprofit to provide resources for marginalized youth (basically anyone under the age of 23-ish) who have rough family situations/aren't safe in their living situations/are temporarily unhoused

jack kelly starts the foundation when he's 23 because he knows how hard it is to have a rough starting point in life, and his two brothers- Race and Charlie- join in with it when they can. they have other careers but they give 110% when they're working with jack to get the foundation off the ground. they find an office space that they turn into rooms for people to stay in when they need it, they build a good sized kitchen, they designate community spaces and educational spaces and they find volunteers and tutors willing to give their time.

they provide jobs for those old enough to work, and for those who can't work due to being too young or having a disability that prevents them from working traditional jobs, they provide classes and resources to make sure that they're still getting the quality information they need to live comfortably. also, they teach them things that parents are supposed to teach their children- everything from how to change a tire to sex ed to cleanliness and appearance- and it all depends on the age bracket that they fall into.

their place becomes a safe haven for unhoused people in marginalized communities, young adults of color who need resources and tips on how to handle racism in the workplace, queer people who just need someone to talk to who understands the struggle, etc. they try to have resources that can reach all people.

its basically just,, "you need a free meal? come on in! you need a place to stay? stay as long as you need, we'll help you figure out housing opportunities. you need a job? we can help you find one with good pay and will inform you of workers' rights incase things go south. your family kicked you out because you're queer? we're queer owned and operated and will sit and talk for as long as you need. you're a person of color who needs help with work and/or school related incidents of racism? we can get you in touch with the right people if youre interested in legal action, or will offer a space to listen to your struggles."

it's a lot and there's a lot of working parts but jack wants to make sure he can help everyone who walks through the front doors no matter what. it's queer and poc founded, most of the volunteers are there because they needed a place like this when they were younger, and it's a vital space for teens and young adults who have nowhere else to turn.

in an ideal world the people they help wouldn't NEED to have a career to be able to survive, but that's not the world they live in right now, so career readiness is a huge part of the foundation's mission statement. for those who want to go straight to the work force- maybe they just want something to pay the bills- they'll give them that work experience at the foundation, like working in the kitchen or handling custodial issues. (there's always a volunteer with them though; they aren't just making these disadvantaged people participate in unpaid labor alone, it's an active educational experience and they're compensated in other ways.)

if they decide they want to go to college or trade school, there are tutors available- at least two every day- who can help with college apps, scholarships, and even homework (for those still in high school). they have people who help with GEDs, for those who never graduated high school, and they do an annual fundraiser each year to make sure that the foundation is able to give a scholarship to each prospective college/trade school student participating in the program.

some more individual roles:

Jack Kelly is the founder. he graduates college with an art degree, but just a year after graduating he finds that he just,, isn't that happy with just doing art. at that point, it's more of a chore than a passion. he wants to help people, and he's always had these crazy dreams of running a shelter or something; he talks about it with Medda and expects her to think he's crazy, but she asks really good questions about logistics and it really gets the ball rolling. he decides he's going to do it, and once he has a mission statement and plan down, he recruits his brothers, and the rest is history. the foundation opens a year later and soon climbs the ranks of reputable nonprofits.

Medda volunteers every day when she retires and she's one of the people who teaches some of the classes to the teens, everything from "here's how to do basic hygiene on a budget" to "here's some cheap, easy recipes to make sure you're still healthy" to "lets just paint silly pictures and have a mental health day." she has a past in humanities and fundraising and has some connections to big donors, too, so she inadvert gives some publicity to the foundation just by being her lovely self.

Race stops by a few times a week and helps students with their STEM homework and he does a lot of community outreach for STEM scholarships and such (jack handles most of the arts/humanities scholarship opportunities). he's a 22 year old PhD student when the foundation actually opens, and education is where he thrives, so he kind of takes that on as his role when he volunteers.

Charlie does a lot of advocacy work with the disabled guests, which he originally wasn't planning on doing; he was originally just going to be the business brain for Jack, but oddly enough he finds passion in activism. he helps guests find resources for housing, legal disputes, different government programs to help financially, etc. when he's NOT doing that, he teaches a few recreational classes with instruments and things like that, just to offer some positive experiences for the people staying with them.

Davey joins the team soon after its been established for two years, just as they're starting to gain a lot of traction, and he mainly handles the business side of things, legal issues, and bills/finances. he only lasts a month in that position before jack finds someone else, because he can see that davey has a passion for people and not being stuck in an office all day. davey joins the tutoring team and also devotes a lot of his time to the queer community at the foundation; he eventually also becomes one of the people to help with religious issues, because that's another big personal value for him.

Katherine is the reporter who does the first big story on the group, and she's so drawn to the foundation that she soon quits her job to spend more time helping out. she helps a lot with applications, writing techniques, student essays, and eventually convinces Jack to invent more in the social media realm, which she steps in as an impromptu social media director. she makes TikToks talking about the foundation (keeping everyone there anonymous unless the consent to being filmed/answering questions), she posts information about fundraisers and donation accounts, and she spreads awareness about the foundation while interacting with other similar groups!!

the other newsies are volunteers, each bringing something new to the table! everyone has a role to play in making the Seize The Day Youth Foundation the best it can be !!

#i really don't know where this came from but i really like the concept #newsies au #jack kelly #racetrack higgins #davey jacobs #crutchie #crutchie morris #medda larkin #katherine pulitzer #newsies #david jacobs #livesies #newsies musical #newsies live #newsies on broadway #jac txt.#jac's headcanons

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eelhound · 2 years

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"Despite clear evidence that antiabortion laws make women’s lives worse in a plethora of ways, women are generally not much less likely to support abortion access than men.

Some might argue that these women have simply been brainwashed by capitalist or patriarchal ideology. But this is unconvincing. An alternative explanation, put forward several decades ago by the sociologist Kristin Luker, is much more plausible. Luker’s book, Abortion and the Politics of Motherhood, was both a history of abortion restriction and a study of 'pro-life' activist women.

Among the women she interviewed, Luker found that they tended to come from less affluent backgrounds, have less education, and have fewer career prospects. For these women, motherhood was by far the most important and socially valued role they thought they could play in society. Without access to meaningful, highly paid, or prestigious career paths, motherhood was central to their self-esteem and sense of social respect.

Abortion access, by making motherhood optional rather than the central telos of women’s lives, dethroned it as the key source of self-regard and community recognition. And for 'pro-life' women, that was the abortion rights movement’s grave sin. The struggle over abortion access was therefore a struggle over women’s place in US society and whether that place was centrally defined by motherhood.

Though Luker’s study was conducted in the late 1970s, its conclusions hold true today. Among people with a high school education or less, women are still more likely than men to oppose abortion rights. At the other end of the socioeconomic spectrum, the dynamic flips: women are more in favor of abortion rights than men.

Luker’s analysis has the advantage of explaining the sincere investment in 'pro-life' politics by tens of millions of US women while also linking it to the political economy of capitalism. The United States’ devastating economic inequality creates a situation where, for huge numbers of women, the elevation of motherhood to a sacred duty constitutes one of the only sources of positive meaning in their lives. As scholar Stephanie Coontz has argued,

Women with less economic or personal autonomy are often drawn to a culture of family values that emphasizes men’s responsibility to look after women. Women who have a shot at achieving or competing on their own emphasize equality, supporting the kind of policies that make it possible for them to move up in their jobs and combine work and family.

While 'pro-life' women are a crucial part of the antiabortion movement, it would be a mistake to overlook the equally central element of male sexism. From Rush Limbaugh’s leering rants about college students and birth control to GOP candidates saying women should learn to enjoy rape, misogyny permeates the 'pro-life' movement. For many men, restricting abortion access, and reinforcing women’s primary social role as mothers, is but one part of the broader project of cementing women’s subordination.

But this kind of misogyny and gender hierarchy is also deeply rooted in capitalist political economy — though again, not largely as a direct consequence of capitalists. Instead, capitalism tends to reinforce women’s social role as caregivers. Women are paid less than men, so in many families, it makes sense for them to prioritize childcare and domestic labor, while it makes more sense for men to prioritize their careers. Women are consequently viewed as less reliable workers than men (particularly in occupations with nonstandard hours, like business and law), further locking the structure of inequality in place.

Such inequality, ultimately generated in the labor market, also fosters power imbalances within relationships. Women are more likely than men to stay in unhappy relationships because of financial concerns and more likely to bear the burden of household labor. Domestic violence against women is more prevalent when there is a bigger wage gap between men and women. Crucially, even households that desire an egalitarian division of labor are undercut by labor-market inequalities. The structure of capitalism, left to its own devices, renders inequality between men and women, and the patriarchal ideology that justifies it, inevitable.

The political economy of capitalism and the politics of abortion restriction in the United States are deeply intertwined. Those links, however, don’t lead to capitalists’ bank accounts. Instead, they run between the restricted opportunities capitalism creates for huge sectors of the working class and ideologies that emphasize women’s role as maternal subordinates to men.

Because antiabortion politics are rooted in the inequalities of capitalism, combating them requires challenging those inequalities. First and foremost, the political inequality at the heart of the US Constitution, which empowers minorities over majorities and allows unelected justices to legislate, needs to be dismantled. Though the 'pro-life' movement commands the support of tens of millions, the simple fact is that clear majorities of Americans oppose outlawing abortion. Real political equality would deal a devastating blow to the antiabortion cause.

Even more fundamentally, the structure of capitalist labor markets needs to be tackled head-on. As Lillian Cicerchia recently put it, we need to 'create ties between feminists, the labor movement, and health care campaigning.' Unions shrink the pay gap between men and women. Egalitarian social policies, like Medicare for All, reduce both the dependence of workers on their employers and of women on men who earn more than they do. Family leave policy can allow men and women to have equal incentives to perform unpaid domestic labor, rebalancing power in both the labor market and the family. And finally, of course, we need to fight for widespread, publicly funded abortion access for anyone who needs one.

There is a deep connection between capitalism and forms of gender inequality like abortion restriction. But misunderstanding the nature of that connection only hinders the fight for a truly free society."

- Paul Heideman, from "The Antiabortion Movement Is the Rotten Fruit of a Brutally Unequal Society." Jacobin, 8 July 2022.

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llyncooljones · 2 years

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like a mirror - rowaelin month day nine.

ao3 || masterlist || rowaelin month ‘22 masterlist

prompt: single parent au.

word count: 1924

trigger warnings: language, inuendo

tag list: @rowaelinscourt @live-the-fangirl-life @rowaelinismyotp @rowanaelin @fireheartwhitethorn4ever @elentiyawhitethorn @autumnbabylon @leiawritesstories @backtobl4ck

the office, early afternoon.

It wasn’t often that Aelin’s voice could be heard across the entire executive floor of her office, in fact, she couldn’t recollect a single time she had ever shouted so loudly in the office. Not once.

Not even when she had fired that one guy for touching up one of her college-aged interns. She had gone more for the talk-quietly approach so that she could threaten him with genital dismemberment without being overheard. Then she had laughed because of dis-member-ment and genitals.

The employee she had been firing looked bewildered, and not at all scared until she showed him the concealed-carry permit she had.

After the meeting, and the crazed laugh she continued to let out as he left, and after he left, she decided she spent too much time around her teenage son and his equally immature teenage friends.

That had been over a year ago, and her son had only further filled her mind with immature, dirty jokes. Jokes she had to restrain herself from telling. Truly, she had nearly bitten her tongue in half the last time the whole executive floor had a meeting, so many missed opportunities.

Her son, Oren, would truly be displeased with her. he encouraged her inner child to come out and play, whilst also accepting that she had to be a strict mum sometimes.

She wasn’t quite sure how it worked, but she had a son who loved her, respected her, and behaved for her—except in the rare cases when he acted out.

Her laptop was cradled in her left arm, her phone in her hand, folios for the hour’s meeting she was heading to. She was set to go. All she had to do was manage to slip her feet into the stilettos under her desk, she couldn’t show up to a meeting with a prospective client, in unicorn slippers her son had bought her.

That wasn’t quite how she wanted things to go. Wasn’t the best message to send them.

After too many minutes of struggling, she managed to slip the red bottoms on, without toppling in the five-inch heels. She deemed it a success. She had just managed to pry her office door open—without putting down the items in her arms and hands—when the phone in her hand rang, startling her straight through the gates of hell.

Managing to hold onto her laptop and the folios, she answers the phone, keeping it on speaker phone as she slides through the tiny gap in between her office door and the door frame.

“Hello, am I speaking to Ms Galathynius?” spoke a voice, prim and proper, as though they went to a fucking school to learn how to speak. Maybe they did, but whatever the situation, Aelin was too distracted making it to the right boardroom, that she didn’t pay enough attention to her voice.

She, in fact, did not realise who the person on the other end of the was until it was too late to hang up.

“Yes, this is she. How can I help you, ma’am?” Aelin never used to answer the phone like this.

Sixteen years ago, when her company had been a start-up in her living room, she’d answered the phone with a yawn, the sound of a baby either screaming or suckling and a casual what d’ya want? but since those days, she’s learnt not to do so.

Funny how such seemingly small things, can have such a massive impact on your business reputation.

“Hi, I’m calling from the office of Principal Westbrook, in relation to the recent altercation your son was involved in. we’d really appreciate it if you could make it to the school in the next hour. We would appreciate a meeting with the parents of the students involved.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I can do that. Just give me forty-five minutes to get there, I just need to clear up a few matters at work.” Her mind was going a mile a minute, because she had an hour-long meeting scheduled in ten minutes, and those ten minutes needed to be used for prep.

Despite so many years in the business, she never quite got over the fright of standing in a room, full of men who no doubt thought themselves smarter than the woman who still carried her south-Orynth accent, wore bright pink heels, and won their money and loyalty.

And sometimes she lost, sometimes they laughed when she stood up, sometimes those people found their pockets empty the next morning, and sometimes women’s charities found themselves billions richer as a result.

Not that it had anything to do with Aelin.

No.

“Brilliant, I’ll book the meeting for an hour from now, and I’ll let you go.” Thank the gods, Aelin wasn’t sure how much longer she could listen to the woman’s voice.

“Thank you, buh-bye.” Rude? Maybe. Necessary? Absolutely. Aelin needed to be sane, for when she met with her son in that fucking oppressive office of the principal.

With hurried steps, she made her way to Boardroom One, ignoring the heads of department who tried to catch her eye or have a word. She had a scheduling crisis to sort out and no fucking time to do so.

With little time, she set out the folios for the law firm that was coming in, hoping to re-evaluate their approach to clients and the media via their advertising and social media. E.R.A. Media had made a name for itself in the last fifteen years, ever since Aelin’s favours from school had come through and she’d landed her first few high-profile clients. And since then, growth had been exponential, to the extent that she could dedicate teams of two specialists to each client.

SWM Law was a twenty-year-old practice, with a client list longer than Aelin’s own, and had become one of the major law firms across the country, with offices in every major and minor city. Whilst Aelin was successful, to make just over a billion in a year she had to be, the law firm was worth several billion, upwards of fifty on their good years.

And if Aelin didn’t land this client, it wasn’t the end of the world, but it sure would sting, because right then they were lined to be their biggest client to date.

In other words, she couldn’t afford to mess this one up.

With exhaustion, and questions unanswered, she slumped into a plush chair and rested her head in her hands. Raking them through the hair she had taken an hour to do that morning, she sighed. A proper sigh. One of absolute exhaustion.

“Uh, is this Boardroom One? I’m here for a meeting with Ms Galathynius?” spoke a large, and yet soft voice. She wasn’t quite sure what about it was large, or what about it was soft, but it made her think of the days when her father would tell her all about ‘the business in that strict, business voice of his, mixed with an affection no one else could quite match.

“Hi, yes. This is! And I am. Ms Galathynius, that is. I understand how unprofessional this seems, me sat here like this—”

“—Oh, gods, don’t apologise. I’ve spent so many ‘work hours’ just sitting in my desk chair. You really have nothing to apologise for—”

“—But I just got some news that is going to interfere with our meeting today, and I don’t want to force you to reschedule, I understand how busy you are, but I’m not sure I can fit all the plans into the short time period.” She rushed out, laughing awkwardly, and yet comfortably, at the man’s interjection. It made her happy, a little calmer, to know that he understood.

“I am all too happy to reschedule. Don’t worry about that, ma’am. Might I ask what news you got?” he was so kind, so diplomatic, it was no wonder he worked magic in a courtroom because underneath all his kindness she could see every ruthless bone in his body—and there were two-hundred-and-five of them.

“Oh, nothing. I just have to meet with my son’s principal. And I can’t send his father, because—the bastard he is—he ran off when he found out I was pregnant.” She gasped for breath at the end, having spoken too quickly, and it took a minute for her brain to catch up with her mouth. “Oh, gods, I should not have said that. I am so sorry, that was terribly inappropriate of me, I do promise I’m usually better than this. Sixteen years in the business, and yet I can’t keep myself together after one call about my son.”

“Gods, I can tell you right now, that I don’t miss the days my daughter was in high school, those were some trying times. Never helped that I couldn’t quite understand her troubles. But, regardless, I’d quite like to get this meeting done today—just to avoid the rescheduling hassle. I have no opinion on you picking up your son. How long will you be?”

“Oh, he’s over at Westbrook Preparatory, so it’ll be long past our meeting time when I’m back. Don’t worry, I’ll get my personal assistant on it. She’ll get on the line with yours, and all will be resolved.” Easy, his people, her people, and a new meeting time.

“I do hope this doesn’t weird, but I’d be rather open to having this meeting in the car. On the way to pick your son up. Now, I understand you don’t know me, but my daughter was at Westbrook, as a day student, and parent to parent, you’re going to want a lawyer because that school is going to try and sue you for something.” The friendly tone was selling her, and to be honest, from Aelin’s previous interactions with the school, she would not mind a lawyer.

The second it had been revealed she didn’t have a rich husband who paid for her stilettos, she had become public enemy number one.

“You sit silently in that chair until the law is brought up. I don’t give two shits how you did your shit, I do mine, my way. Until I need a lawyer. But I don’t need you until I need you, yeah?” she hoped it made sense to him. She wasn’t sure it would make any sense, but she could hope that he would understand.

“Totally. Anytime somebody tried to parent my daughter without my say-so, I can tell you I flew off the hook. I mean, honestly. Gods, there was a time,” as he spoke, they moved towards the door. Leaving the folios, leaving their laptops, leaving their business brains behind. Aelin would be a liar if she said she hadn’t remembered. She had; she was just enjoying this conversation. She had never met a single parent who was so successful, who somewhat understood her stressors.

Rowan continued on, and Aelin hung onto his every word as he spoke, every intonation had her nodding, every question had her answering, and every exclamation had her gasping.

By the end of the journey to Westbrook, they were fast friends. Telling stories about the worst and the best of times. The trials and the triumphs. The days that got the worst of them, and the guilt. But mostly the good times, mostly the joy that so few could understand.

It felt like looking into a mirror sometimes, and Aelin found that she had never liked the reflection so much before.

#rowaelinscourt #rowaelinmonth #rowaelin month 2022 #rowaelin month #rowaelin #throne of glass #throne of glass fic #tog #tog fic #my fic #my writing #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #llyncooljones' writing

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hoperays-song · 1 year

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Rant

My bio family is currently talking about how immature 18 year olds and young college students are, how they don’t have work ethic, entitled, and are completely reliant on their parents.

And when I tried to explain that a lot of us are struggling mentally, have a ton of academic pressure by our families, and were traumatized by the pandemic and missed a huge chunk of our childhoods, them and my 21 year old bio brother just waved it off and went “that’s just an excuse, you just need to grow up”.

Like I’m sorry, I forget that I’m an adult sometimes and say I’m 15 since that’s when the pandemic hit and I don’t really remember what happened afterwards. I was told I had to go to an Ivy League university since I was 6. I was refused testing and accommodations for years due to my being “smart”. I was told all the way through school that kids who didn’t go to college are going to go no where in life. And when I tried to explain that, I was told that “well that’s just your prospective”. Yeah it is! And you’re 83, what you said are just your prospective! My age does not invalidate my point!!

If kids are acting “entitled”, “lazy”, and “immature”, there might be a reason. They were taught to be that way. You can’t expect kids to be able to completely change their entire world view while still emerged in that culture.

#gen z #like my brother is acting like he’s not the most entitled person I’ve met #He legit yelled at me when he found out I might go into HR due to him getting in trouble for a “joke” at work #I don’t think a bunch of rich old people can talk about how kids are lazy #Especially if they only got where they are by a huge boost by their rich families #This is why I’m paying for my own college #this is insane

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feministdragon · 1 year

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You all need to check out this analysis of the history of college education in the US, and how it relates to Democrat/Republican values.

"But America has always been a country built on the promise of unlimited upward mobility. The working class condition had been traditionally seen as a way station: something one’s family passes through on the road to something better. ‘What makes American democracy possible’, Abraham Lincoln used to stress, ‘is that we lack a class of permanent wage laborers.’ At the very least, one passes through a stage of wage labor to eventually buy some land and become a homesteader on the frontier. What matters is not so much how much this was really true, as whether it seemed plausible... Every time that road is broadly perceived to be clogged, profound unrest ensues. The closing of the frontier lead to bitter labor struggles, and over the course of the twentieth century, the steady and rapid expansion of the American university system could be seen as a kind of substitute. Particularly after World War II, huge resources were poured into expanding the university system, which grew very rapidly, and all this quite developed quite intentionally as a means of social mobility. The Cold War social contract was not just a matter of offering a comfortable life to the working classes, it was also a matter of offering at least a plausible chance that their children would not be working class.

From the point of view of the governing elites, there are a couple obvious problems with this approach. First of all, a higher education system can’t be expanded forever. Second of all, there quickly comes a point where you end up with far more educated people than you can employ — that is, unless you want to have thousands of extraordinarily literate receptionists and garbage collectors. At a certain point one ends up with a significant portion of the population unable to find work even remotely in line with their qualifications, who have every reason to be angry about their situation, and with access to the entire history of radical thought. During the twentieth century, this was precisely the situation most likely to sparks urban revolts and insurrections — revolutionary heroes in the global South, from Chairman Mao to Fidel Castro, almost invariably turn out to be children of poor parents who scrimped and saved to get their children a bourgeois education, only to discover that a bourgeois education does not, in itself, allow entry into the bourgeoisie. In the US, we’ve never had the problem of hundreds of unemployed doctors and lawyers, but it’s clear something analogous began happening in the ‘60s and early ‘70s. Campus unrestbegan at exactly the point where the expansion of the university system hit a dead end.

What we see afterwards, it seems to me, is best considered as a kind of settlement. On the one hand, most campus radicals were reabsorbed into the university (in the late ‘70s and early ‘80s it often seemed all liberal disciplines were dominated by selfproclaimed radicals). On the other, what those radicals ended up actually doing was largely a work of class reproduction. As the cost of education skyrocketed, financial aid and student loan programs were cut back or eliminated, the prospect of social mobility through education gradually declined. The number of working class kids in college, which had been steadily growing until the late ‘60s or even ‘70s, began declining, and has been declining ever since. This is true even if we consider the matter in purely economic terms. It is all the more true when one considers that class mobility was never primarily a matter of income. Class mobility was about the attainment of a certain sort of gentility. Consider, here, the phenomenon of unpaid (or effectively unpaid) internships. It has become a fact of life in the United States that if one chooses a career for any reason other than the money — if one wishes to become part of the word of books, or charities, the art world, to be an idealist working for an NGO an activist, an investigative reporter — for the first year or two, they won’t pay you. This effectively seals off any such career for the vast majority of poor kids who actually do make it through college. Such structures of exclusion had always existed of course, especially at the top, but in recent years fences have become fortresses.

I think it’s impossible to understand the “culture wars” outside of this framework. The identities being celebrated in “identity politics” correspond almost exclusively to those groups whose members still see the higher education system as a potential means of social advancement: African-Americans, various immigrant groups, Queers, Native-Americans. (One might even add women, since by now women are attending universities at far higher rates than men — almost to 2 by some counts.) These are also the groups that most reliably vote Democratic. Dramatically lacking in debates about identity politics are identities like, say, “Baptist”, or “Redneck” — that is, those that encompass the bulk of the American working class, who are made to vanish rhetorically at the same time as their children are, in fact, largely excluded from college campuses and all the social and cultural worlds college opens up.

The reaction is, predictably, a tendency to see social class as largely a matter of education, and an indignant rejection of the very values from which one is effectively excluded. As Tom Frank has recently reminded us, the hard right in the US is largely a working class movement, full of explicit class resentment. Most working class Bush fans don’t have a lot good to say about corporate executives, but to the frustration of progressives everywhere, corporate executives never seem to become the principal targets of their rage. Instead, their hatred is directed above all at the “liberal elite” (with its various branches: the “Hollywood elite”, the “journalistic elite”, “university elite”, “fancy lawyers”, “the medical establishment”). The sort of people who live in big coastal cities, watch PBS or listen to NPR or even more, who might be involved in appearing in or producing programming on PBS or NPR. It seems to me there are two perceptions that lie behind this resentment:

the perception that members of this elite see ordinary working people as a bunch of knuckle-dragging cavemen, and

the perception that these elites constitute an increasing closed, caste-like group; one which the children of the white working class would actually have more difficulty breaking into than the class of Enron executives

It seems to me that both these perceptions are, largely, true. Let me take each in turn:

1. The first thing to be said about this perception is that it is largely true. Members of what passes for an intellectual elite in America do see their fellow citizens as idiots.

It is a peculiar feature of American democracy that we have never had much in the way of an intellectual class. America has never really produced figures like Camus, Tolstoy, Nietzsche, Bertrand Russell or even George Bernard Shaw: that is, genuine thinkers whose works are widely read and argued about by ordinary, literate citizens. The equivalent role tends to be filled, instead, by journalists. Mark Twain and H. L. Mencken are probably the archetypal figures in this respect: men of modest origins who rose through the world of newspapers and popular magazines, and who throughout their lives continued to earn their livelihoods, essentially, in the entertainment industry. Not surprising, then, that both tended to see the public as an irrational herd, or bunch of gullible simpletons. Journalists always tend to think that way. It has certainly been my own experience: it is hard to talk about politics with a professional journalist — even, often, relatively “progressive” journalists — without hearing some cynical tirade about the ignorance or stupidity of the American public.

It might seem surprising to see such attitudes reproduced — as in the quotes above — just as much among folksy populists like Twain as unapologetic snobs like Mencken, but actually, it is a strange paradox of the American spirit that elitism itself can be a populist attitude. We have always seen ourselves as a country of hucksters and salesmen; market democracy means that everyone is free to at least try to bilk, scam and rip each other off. It doesn’t cause resentment as long as people feel that anyone can play the game: that one can rise from obscurity. It’s when that is no longer the case that the sneering attitude becomes genuinely insufferable. When leads us to observation #2:

2. Consider, here, the current condition of Hollywood. Hollywood used to represent for many the quintessence of the American dream: a simple farm girl goes to the big city, is discovered, becomes a big star. For present purposes, it doesn’t really matter how often this actually happened (it clearly did now and then); the point is in the ‘40s, say, people largely saw the fable as not entirely implausible. Look at the lead actors of a major motion picture nowadays and you are likely to find not a single name that can’t boast a genealogy with at least two generations of Hollywood actors, writers, producers and directors. The film industry is dominated by an in-marrying caste. Is it surprising, then, that Hollywood celebrities’ pretensions to populist politics tends to ring a bit hollow in the ears of most working class Americans? In all this, Hollywood is not an exception. It’s emblematic. Almost the same thing is happening with lawyers, professors, even journalists.

Bush voters, I would suggest, tend to resent intellectuals as a class more than rich people, largely because they can imagine a scenario in which they might become rich, but cannot possibly imagine one in which they or any of their children would become a member of the liberal intelligentsia. If you think about it that’s not an unreasonable assessment. A truck driver’s son from Wyoming might not have very much chance of becoming a millionaire, but it could happen. Certainly, it’s much more likely than his ever becoming an international human rights lawyer, or drama critic for the New York Times. Such jobs go almost exclusively to children of privilege. Insofar as there are not quite enough children of privilege to go around — since elites almost never produce enough offspring to reproduce themselves demographically — the jobs are likely to go to the most remarkable children of immigrants. Executives with Bank of America, or Enron, when facing a similar demographic problem, are much more likely to recruit from poorer white folk like themselves. This is partly because of racism; partly, too, because corporations tend to encourage a broadly anti-intellectual climate themselves. It is well known at Yale, where I work, that executive recruiters tend to prefer to hire Yale’s “B” students, since they are more likely to be people “they’ll feel comfortable with.”

Here we come on what’s the most difficult and divisive aspect of this conflict: the racism, the homophobia, the fundamentalism. Obviously none of these things have been brought into being by current directions in educational policy; they have all been around for a long time. The question is why at this particular moment so many people are using as a basis for voting, even if it means voting against their own economic interests."

#david graeber #republican 'values'#liberal 'values'#why a college education doesn't mean much right now #rainbow diversity #vs #traditional gender roles

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