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who's will

@catboydogma

ao3 @catboydogma | main @solipseismic | they/them/theirs or ze/hir/hirs | requests / prompts open | pfp by @monomalo
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another afterglow/another place we know

codywan week 2024 sol master list (solsterlist)

@codywanweek 2024 day 7 prompts, sol edition: modern au: teacher/uni/academia, courting

notes: title from boyfriend by teenage dads (a delightful band). for clarification: cody is a childhood/early teens language acquisition researcher (field research, language games, interacting a lot w kids, teaches reading and writing to struggling teens) and obi-wan is a pedagogy and polisci researcher (diplomatic relations, public addresses, legal/historical jargon; how these are both weaponized and used to defend/keep peace)

wc: 2,122

The ignominy of it all, really, was that as soon as someone else stepped up to futz with the damn thing, it started working again. Obi-Wan nearly threw his hands up in exasperation, but that would have meant tossing all his notes into the air and his dignity with them. He glanced down at the sheaf of battered papers in his hands, then back up—which was a mistake. He hadn’t taken much notice of the man who had come up to get the projector running, too busy trying to run through his talking points in his head, and then too busy being outraged that the projector had just been working not two seconds ago—

But, well. A man could hardly be blamed for discreetly checking out the… assets… of the department he was visiting. Especially when the helpful man—Obi-Wan took a moment to fervently hope he was a professor, and not a particularly tall graduate student—was, well, bent over the desk right in front of Obi-Wan, clicking into the program and pulling up Obi-Wan’s presentation from his thumb drive. My, but those slacks were certainly well-fitted.

“That should do it,” the man said, glancing over his shoulder at Obi-Wan and giving him a restrained yet friendly smile.

“Ah, thank you,” Obi-Wan said belatedly, holding his notes in front of him like a shield. And, good lord, the top button of that dress shirt really was straining to keep things together. He combed a hand through his hair, almost certainly mussing it out of its carefully-pomaded swoop, and stuck his hand out for a shake. “I’m quite indebted to you…?”

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